at the Master of the Buck-hounds, the Groom of the Stole, the Mistress of the Robes, and such uncouth fossils, had to do with a grand exhibition of the fruits of industry.
The Mistress of the Robes made no robes; the Ladies of the Bed-chamber did nothing with beds but sleep on them.
The posts of honor nearest the Queen's person ought to have been confided to the descendants of Watt and Arkwright, Napoleon's real conquerors; while the foreign ambassadors should have been the sons of Fitch, Fulton, Whitney, Daguerre and Morse; and the places less conspicuous should have been assigned, not to Gold-stick, Silver-stick, and kindred absurdities, but to the Queen's gardeners, horticulturists, carpenters, upholsterers and milliners!
(Fancy Gold-stick reading this passage!) The traveler, however, even at such a moment is not unmindful of similar nuisances across the ocean, and pauses to express the hope that we may be able, before the century is out, to elect something else than Generals to