"Trifles!" burst forth the exasperated lady; "are females always to be imposed upon in this manner?" "Monsieur le Clerc!" continued the lady, calling to a tall thin Frenchman, in a light grey coat, holding under his arm an umbrella, a book of drawings, an English dictionary and a microscope, "Monsieur le Clerc, why don't you insist on the coachman's finding my travelling basket?" "Yes, to be sure, certainely," said the Frenchman, looking about for the coachman. "_Allons, cocher, Madame demande son panier_. Madame ask for one litel someting out of your boots directly." "Did I not desire you to mention, Monsieur le Clerc, when you took my place, that the basket was to go inside?" demanded the lady. "Yes, _oui,_" answered the Frenchman eagerly. "I tell you, Mr. Cocher, dis morning, six, seven, ninety-five times, madame must have her litel, vat you call---over her knee." "I'm sorry for the mistake, sir; but it would take a couple of hours to unload that there boot, and I must be off this here instant." "Come now, aisey there, aisey," bawled out a queer, poor Irishman, with a small bundle in his hand, running towards the coach in breathless haste. "Aisey! aisey! there, sure and I'm a match for you, this time, anyhow in life," continued he, as he stepped into the coach, and then took out his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his face. He was so wretchedly clothed that Mrs. Hodson eyed him with looks of dismay, while drawing her lavender-coloured silk dress close about her person, that it might not be contaminated. I was, indeed, surprised that this poor fellow could afford an inside place. The lady and her French _beau_, seeing no remedy, ascended the steps of the carriage in very ill humour, and they were immediately followed by a man with much comic expression in his countenance. He wore a would-be dashing, threadbare, green coat, with a velvet collar, and his shirt collar was so fine, and so embroidered, and so fringed with rags, that I think he must have purchased it out of the Marquis of Lorne's cast wardrobe. His little Petersham-hat seemed to have been _remit de nouveau_, for the third time, at least. "Lord! Mr. Shuffle, how do you do? Who would a thort of our meeting you, in the coach?" inquired Mr. and Mrs. Hodson, addressing him in a breath. "Delighted to see you both," said Shuffle, shaking hands with them. "And now pray, Mr. Shuffle, if I may be so bold, what might have brought you up to London? What antics might you be up to, hey? Are you stage-struck as usual, or struck mad by mere accident?" "Thereby hangs a tale," said Shuffle. "What! a pig-tail? I suppose you're thinking of the shop." "Not I indeed," Shuffle observed; "I've done with wig-making these two years; for really it is not in the nature of a man of parts to stick to the same plodding trade all his life as you have done, Hodson."