ABSTRACT
One afternoon, as the family at Mr. Hawthorn’s were assembled round the fire in the drawing-room, a carriage stopped at the door, and a servant came into the room, and informed them that Mr. Pearson was come to pay his compliments to them; and immediately after, a person about thirty entered, dressed in the highest, or perhaps we may add, in the most outrée mode of modern, dress I cannot call it, neither do I know any other name to give it, unless I am allowed to coin one, and call it, Bond-Streetism; 134 for in Bond-street, / and the box-lobbies of the Theatres, it is the distinguishing habit of the most despicable race of unmannered and unmanly wretches that have ever disgraced any age and country; who, by their noise and their insolence, have induced the unfortunate women who haunt our streets and public places to add open drunkenness and impudence to the horrors of their otherwise pitiable situation; and whose highest triumph is, when, linked in each other’s arms, with something like the hug of French fraternity, they drive every modest woman they meet into the kennel. They are peculiarly distinguished in the present day for their attachment to French principles, and by being the only persons who are not enrolled in some corps for the defence of their country, as a cockade is their aversion. 135 It operates on them something as a cat does on those who have an antipathy to it; they not only dislike to wear it themselves, but are so much affected by seeing it on the hats of others, that it acts as an antidote even to their favourite / amusement – there being no instance of their pushing a lady from the pavement when accompanied by a man distinguished by this odious ornament.
