‘O’Donaghoo and the great O’Brien, That banged the strength out of Orion.’ It was all about her, and her bating Venus for beauty, and went to the tune of ‘Jackson’s Morning Brush.’ “Only think of our darling Miss Mildred being thought of in the same day with _these_ ‘bloomers,’ as if she wore a man’s hat and waistcoat—to say nothing of _the other things_—in the broad light of day; and if _that_ isn’t enough, strapped over the _boot_! Our own, born, bred, and reared Miss Mildred, with the blush of innocence on her cheek, a brow as fair as if it had been bathed in May-dew every morning of her life, with the freshness of youth on her rosy lips, cantering through the country on her snow-white pony, man-fashion, to say nothing of boots and spurs! “Well, this band of Bloomers is quite different to what you would expect from the name. My mistress bought the picture of one, and that was pretty enough to look at. But think of the dress of a slim young lady of ten years old, on a grown-up woman, particularly if she is rather fallen into flesh, and you’ll see how I saw a stout Bloomer look—certainly, that was not blooming. Any thing looks well on youth and beauty; or rather, youth and beauty look well in any thing; but the deepness of the dress was that it was only a _cloak_, (though that’s not true, for _cloaks_ are not Bloomers,) only a sign, or an all-over sort of badge, for another thing—putting us all into counsellor’s wigs, and turning us into Parliament men and ministers, and police-inspectors and generals, and rifle-brigades. The upsettingest thing that ever crossed the wild waters of the Atlantic!