the morning, and went to the Opera before the assembly! There is a vast
flight of steps, and he was forced to rest two or three times. If he
dies of it,--and how should he not?--it will sound very silly when
Hercules or Theseus ask him what he died of, to reply, "I caught my
death on a damp staircase at a new club-room."

[Footnote 1: Almack was a Scotchman, who got up a sort of female club in
King Street, St. James's, at the place since known as Willis's Rooms. In
the first half of the present century the balls of Almack's were the
most fashionable and exclusive in London, under the government of six
lady patronesses, without a voucher from one of whom no one could obtain
admittance. For a long time after trousers had become the ordinary wear
they were proscribed at Almack's, and gentlemen were required to adhere
to the more ancient and showy attire of knee-breeches; and it was said
that in consequence of one having attempted unsuccessfully to obtain
admission in trousers the tickets for the next ball were headed with a
notice that "gentlemen would not be admitted without breeches and
stockings."]

Williams, the reprinter of the _North Briton_, stood in the pillory
to-day in Palace Yard.[1] He went in a hackney-coach, the number of
which was 45. The mob erected a gallows opposite him, on which they hung
a boot[2] with a bonnet of straw. Then a collection was made for
Williams, which amounted to near £200. In short, every public event
informs the Administration how thoroughly they are detested, and that
they have not a friend whom they do not buy. Who can wonder, when every
man of virtue is proscribed, and they have neither parts nor characters
to impose even upon the mob! Think to what a government is sunk, when a
Secretary of State is called in Parliament to his face "the most
profligate sad dog in the kingdom," and not a man can open his lips in