In pursuance of my last date from hence, I am to proceed on the accounts I promised of several personages among the men, whose conspicuous fortunes, or ambition in showing their follies, have exalted them above their fellows:  the levity of their minds is visible in their every word and gesture, and there is not a day passes but puts me in mind of Mr. Wycherley’s character of a coxcomb:  “He is ugly all over with the affectation of the fine gentleman.”  Now though the women may put on softness in their looks, or affected severity, or impertinent gaiety, or pert smartness, their self-love and admiration cannot, under any of these disguises, appear so invincible as that of the men.  You may easily take notice, that in all their actions there is a secret approbation, either in the tone of their voice, the turn of their body, or cast of their eye, which shows that they are extremely in their own favour.  Take one of your men of business, he shall keep you half an hour with your hat off, entertaining you with his consideration of that affair you spoke of to him last, till he has drawn a crowd that observes you in this grimace.  Then when he is public enough, he immediately runs into secrets, and falls a whispering.  You and he make breaks with adverbs; as, “But however, thus far”; and then you whisper again, and so on, till they who are about you are dispersed, and your busy man’s vanity is no longer gratified by the notice taken of what importance he is, and how inconsiderable you are; for your pretender to business is never in secret, but in public.  There is my dear Lord Nowhere, of all men the most gracious and most obliging, the terror of all valets-de-chambre, whom he oppresses with good breeding, in inquiring for my good lord, and for my good lady’s health.  This inimitable courtier will whisper a privy councillor’s lackey with the utmost goodness and condescension, to know when they next sit; and is thoroughly taken up, and thinks he has a part in a secret, if he knows that there is a secret.  “What it is,” he will whisper you, “that time will discover”; then he shrugs, and calls you back again—­“Sir, I need not say to you, that these things are not to be spoken of—­and hark you, no names, I would not be quoted.”  What adds to the jest is, that his emptiness has its moods and seasons, and he will not condescend to let you into these his discoveries, except he is in very good humour, or has seen somebody in fashion talk to you.  He will keep his nothing to himself, and pass by and overlook as well as the best of them; not observing that he is insolent when he is gracious, and obliging when he is haughty.  Show me a woman so inconsiderable as this frequent character.  But my mind (now I am in) turns to many no less observable:  thou dear Will Shoestring![380] I profess myself in love with thee:  how shall I speak thee?  How shall I address thee?  How shall I draw thee?  Thou dear outside!  Will you be combing your wig,[381] playing with your box, or picking your teeth?