When we arrived at the Chaise-vamper’s House, Both the House and the shop were shut up; it was the eighth of September, the nativity of the blessed Virgin Mary, mother of God⁠—

⸺⁠Tantarra-ra-tan-tivi⁠⸺⁠the whole world was gone out a May-poling⁠—frisking here⁠—capering there⁠⸺⁠nobody cared a button for me or my remarks; so I sat me down upon a bench by the door, philosophating upon my condition: by a better fate than usually attends me, I had not waited half an hour, when the mistress came in to take the papilliotes from off her hair, before she went to the Maypoles⁠⸺⁠

The French women, by the by, love Maypoles, à la folie⁠—that is, as much as their matins⁠⸺⁠give ’em but a Maypole, whether in May, June, July, or September⁠—they never count the times⁠⸺⁠down it goes⁠⸺’tis meat, drink, washing, and lodging to ’em⁠⸺⁠and had we but the policy, an’ please your worships (as wood is a little scarce in France), to send them but plenty of Maypoles⁠⸺⁠

The women would set them up; and when they had done, they would dance round them (and the men for company) till they were all blind.

The wife of the chaise-vamper stepp’d in, I told you, to take the papilliotes from off her hair⁠⸺⁠the toilet stands still for no man⁠⸺⁠so she jerk’d off her cap, to begin with them as she open’d the door, in doing which, one of them fell upon the ground⁠⸺⁠I instantly saw it was my own writing⁠⸺⁠

O Seigneur! cried I⁠—you have got all my remarks upon your head, Madam!⁠⸺⁠J’en suis bien mortifiée, said she⁠⸺’tis well, thinks I, they have stuck there⁠—for could they have gone deeper, they would have made such confusion in a French woman’s noddle⁠—She had better have gone with it unfrizled, to the day of eternity.

Tenez⁠—said she⁠—so without any idea of the nature of my suffering, she took them from her curls, and put them gravely one by one into my hat⁠⸺⁠one was twisted this way⁠⸺⁠another twisted that⁠⸺⁠ey! by my faith; and when they are published, quoth I,⁠⸺⁠

They will be worse twisted still.