" I felt an
involuntary shudder--to-day, thought I, I _am_ John Ebenezer
Scropps--two days ago I was Lord Mayor; and so the rencontre ended,
evidently to the advantage of the bristly brute. It was however too much
for me--the effect of contrast was too powerful, the change was too
sudden--and I determined to go to Brighton for a few weeks to refresh
myself, and be weaned from my dignity.
We went--we drove to the Royal Hotel; in the hall stood one of his
Majesty's ministers, one of my former guests, speaking to his lady and
daughter: my girls passed close to him--he had handed one of them to
dinner the year before, but he appeared entirely to have forgotten her.
By and by, when we were going out in a fly to take the air, one of the
waiters desired the fly man to pull off, because Sir Something
Somebody's carriage could not come up--it was clear that the name of
Scropps had lost its influence.
We secluded ourselves in a private house, where we did nothing but sigh
and look at the sea. We had been totally spoiled for our proper sphere,
and could not get into a better; the indifference of our inferiors
mortified us, and the familiarity of our equals disgusted us--our
potentiality was gone, and we were so much degraded that a puppy of a
fellow had the impertinence to ask Jenny if she was going to one of the
Old Ship balls. "Of course," said the coxcomb, "I don't mean the
'Almacks,' for they are uncommonly select.
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