Landlady. Well, this, to be sure, will be the best dressed Montem that ever was seen at Eton; and you Lon’on gentlemen have the most fashionablest notions; and this is the most elegantest fancy cap— _Finsbury_. Why, as you observe, ma’m, that is the most elegant fancy cap of them all. That is Mr. Hector Hogmorton’s fancy cap, ma’m; and here, ma’m, is Mr. Saul’s rich satin bag, covered with gold net. He is college salt bearer, I understand, and has a prodigious superb white and gold dress. But, in my humble opinion, ma’m, the marshal’s white and purple and orange fancy dress, trimmed with silver, will bear the bell; though, indeed, I shouldn’t say that,—for the colonel’s and lieutenant’s, and ensign’s, are beautiful in the extreme. And, to be sure, nothing could be better imagined than Mr. Marlborough’s lilac and silver, with a Roman cap. And it must be allowed that nothing in nature can have a better effect than Mr. Drake’s flesh-colour and blue, with this Spanish hat, ma’m, you see. (_The farmer looks over his shoulder from time to time during this speech_, _with contempt_.) _Farmer_ (_reads the newspaper_). French fleet at sea—Hum! _Landlady_. O gemini: Mr. Drake’s Spanish hat is the sweetest, tastiest thing! Mr. Finsbury, I protest— _Finsb._ Why, ma’m, I knew a lady of your taste couldn’t but approve of it. My own invention entirely, ma’m. But it’s nothing to the captain’s cap, ma’m. Indeed, ma’m, Mr. Wheeler, the captain that is to be, has the prettiest taste in dress. To be sure, his sandals were my suggestion; but the mantle he has the entire credit of, to do him justice; and when you see it, ma’m, you will be really surprised; for (for contrast, and elegance, and richness, and lightness, and propriety, and effect, and costume) you’ve never yet seen anything at all to be compared to Captain Wheeler’s mantle, ma’m. _Farmer_ (_to the Landlady_). Why, now, pray, Mrs. Landlady, how long may it have been the fashion for milliners to go about in men’s clothes? _Landlady_ (_aside to Farmer_). Lord, Mr. Hearty, hush! This is Mr. Finsbury, the great man-milliner. Farm. The great man-milliner! This is a sight I never thought to see in Old England. _Finsb._ (_packing up band boxes_). Well, ma’m, I’m glad I have your approbation. It has ever been my study to please the ladies. _Farm._ (_throws a fancy mantle over his frieze coat_). And is this the way to please the ladies, Mrs. Landlady, nowadays? _Finsb._ (_taking off the mantle_). Sir, with your leave—I ask pardon—but the least thing detriments these tender colours; and as you have just been eating cheese with your hands— _Farm._ ’Tis my way to eat cheese with my mouth, man. _Finsb._ _Man_! _Farm._ I ask pardon—man-milliner, I mean. _Enter_ LANDLORD. _Landlord_. Why, wife! _Landlady_. Wife!