Out upon it! cried I—but the interjection was equivocal—and, I think, wrong placed too—for the end of an osier which had started out from the contexture of the ass’s panier, had caught hold of my breeches pocket, as he rush’d by me, and rent it in the most disastrous direction you can imagine—so that the
Out upon it! in my opinion, should have come in here—but this I leave to be settled by
Reviewers
of
My Breeches,
which I have brought over along with me for that purpose.