Then came the pleasures of the crush-room, that most singular of all places of amusement, where a mob of good company assemble twice a week, in a thorough draft of air, to enjoy the pleasure of inhaling the odours of expiring lamps, amid the ceaseless din of "Lady Townley's carriage stops the way"--"Lord D----'s servants'--"--"the Duchess of N---'s carriage"--"Lord P----'s coming down"--"The Duke of S---- must drive off," and sounds such as these constantly reiterated. Young ladies by the dozens were to be seen freezing, with shawls off one shoulder, trying to inveigle some man, by means of sweet words or sweeter looks, to hand them to their carriages; the unfortunate mammas behind them, looking worn out in the service, ready to expire with the cold and bustle, sinking on the sofa opposite to the fireplace to await their turn with what patience they might. [4] And after enlarging upon the various methods by which the representatives of the _haut ton_ strove likewise to secure the satisfaction of "hearing their names proclaimed by each passer-by," she exclaims--"Say! ye frequenters of the Opera round-room, if these are not its chiefest pleasures?" Meanwhile the flirtations which were wont to beguile this tedious hour invariably attracted much attention. _January 29th, 1808._ I have heard some news respecting the little Viscount which surprises me--that he is to marry the second Miss Bouverie as soon as she is presented. [5] That the eldest was cruel & moreover that he always preferred the second, though he has never given the slightest hint & did not go near her at the Opera, not even in the crush-room. He is gone to Bath, probably to avoid the talk & gossip of London till it is publickly declared. _February 22nd, 1808._ On Monday we were charmed at Drury Lane with Mrs Jordan in "_Three weeks after Marriage_." I admire her so much I could forgive the Duke of Clarence anything. On Friday, we had a dinner party at Mrs Glyn's--_hum-drum enough_. The next night we had a dinner here, at which we had George Hampson, who is now one of our great flirts; he has been much in Edinburgh and likes nothing better than Scotch dancing. The dear Prims [Primroses] dine here _à l'ordinaire_. I met the Viscount in the Park with his love, and he went again in the evening, but I wonder they don't dine together of a Sunday. She is a nice little girl, very genteel and pleasing, but no beauty like her sister, who is all-conquering this year. At Court the other day she had a trimming and headdress of her own composition, all pheasant's feathers, the plumage of two-and-thirty. As for poor little Frankey [Frank Primrose] as Mary Lowther says, all the Roast Beef and Plum Pudding will produce nothing.