Yes, I did sigh; but it was at the huge and hideous Adelaide that presented herself, as I got into the coach. In describing her, our wittiest novelists would say, that her nose lay modestly retired between her cheeks; that her eyes, which pointed inwards, seemed looking for it, and that her teeth were 'Like angels' visits; short and far between.' She first eyed me with a supercilious sneer, and then addressed a diminutive old gentleman opposite, in whose face Time had ploughed furrows, and Luxury sown pimples. 'And so, Sir, as I was telling you, when my poor man died, I so bemoaned myself, that between swoons and hysterics, I got nervous all over, and was obliged to go through a regiment.' I stared in astonishment. 'What!' thought I, 'a woman of her magnitude and vulgarity, faint, and have nerves? Impossible!' 'Howsomdever,' continued she, 'my Bible and my daughter Moll are great consolations to me. Moll is the dearest little thing in the world; as straight as a popular; then such dimples; and her eyes are the very squintessence of perfection. She has all her catechism by heart, and moreover, her mind is uncontaminated by romances and novels, and such abominations.' 'Pray, Ma'am,' said I, civilly, 'may I presume to ask how romances and novels contaminate the mind?' 'Why, Mem,' answered she tartly, and after another survey: 'by teaching little misses to go gadding, Mem, and to be fond of the men, Mem, and of spangled muslin, Mem.' 'Ma'am,' said I, reddening, 'I wear spangled muslin because I have no other dress: and you should be ashamed of yourself for saying that I am fond of the men.' 'The cap fits you then,' cried she. 'Were it a fool's cap,' said I, 'perhaps I might return the compliment.' I thought it expedient, at my first outset in life, to practise apt repartee, and emulate the infatuating sauciness, and elegant vituperation of Amanda, the Beggar Girl, and other heroines; who, when irritated, disdain to speak below an epigram. 'Pray, Sir,' said she, to our fellow traveller, 'what is your opinion of novels? Ant they all love and nonsense, and the most unpossible lies possible?' 'They are fictions, certainly,' said he. 'Surely, Sir,' exclaimed I, 'you do not mean to call them fictions.' 'Why no,' replied he, 'not absolute fictions.' 'But,' cried the big lady, 'you don't pretend to call them true.' 'Why no,' said he, 'not absolutely true.' 'Then,' cried I, 'you are on both sides of the question at once.' He trod on my foot. 'Ay, that you are,' said the big lady. He trod on her foot. 'I am too much of a courtier,' said he, 'to differ from the ladies,' and he trod on both our feet. 'A courtier!' cried I: 'I should rather have imagined you a musician.' 'Pray why?' said he. 'Because,' answered I, 'you are playing the pedal harp on this lady's foot and mine.' 'I wished to produce harmony,' said he, with a submitting bow.