He dressed by preference in checked overcoats and curly brimmed bowler hats that were at once dashingly smart and four decades out of date.

[…] wert not thou to blame, To counsel me to give the Reins to Cyrus? Pleas’d me with Hopes, and fed my longing Ears With cunning Tales of this ambitious Boy, And when myself wou’d fain have led my Armies, Made me lie down in Sloth, yielding to him These Hands, these Feet, my Legions, and my Strength, And left me then a weak and limbless Body, Drench’d in Delights, and drown’d in studies Pleasures.

Using that kind of language in mixed company, Mike? For shame!

Mrs. M’Mullen, the pedestrianess, whose performances we recorded last year, commenced on Monday evening, a more arduous undertaking.