ACT I.

MR. Diggory, your maſter's up; I hear his horn.

Aye, Maſter Frank, I've got his breakfaſt here.

Beef and porter! his ſtomach is delicate this morning.

Why, yes, he's always a little puny after a night's hard drinking. Aye, about a pound and half, or ſo, will make him eaſy 'till near two, and then—

Ha! I think my maſter's a little impatient too for his breakfaſt.

Shall I take up the things, Mr. Frank?

'Sdeath! what do you wait here for? Fly! I imagined you had left 'em above this half hour.

Why I thought—

You thought! Ah! this thinking is the ruin of us. Now if you wou'd not think, but do as you are deſired, it would make—

I ſuppoſe a man may have leave.

No converſation, I beſeech you.

Have you any ears?

I have, and hands too, and that you ſhall find ſome time or other.—Takes more box upon himſelf than the maſter!

The impertinence and freedom of theſe ſcoundrels is abſolutely intolerable.

Who ſhould he make free with, if he wou'dn't with his fellow ſervants?

Fellow ſervants, Mr. Diggory! Do you make no difference between a fellow in a livery, and a gentleman's gentleman? In the country, I ſuppoſe, it's "hail fellow, well met;" but here, ſir, we are delicate, nice, in our diſtinctions; for a valet moves in a ſphere, and lives in a ſtile as ſuperior to a foot⯑man, as a Pall-mall groom porter to the marker of a tennis-court.

For certain, ſir, we vale-de-ſhams are grand fellows; but you'll ſee more of that when I get on my new regimen—I mean my new liver;—pſha! my new clothes, I mean. Did you breakfaſt, ſir?

Yes, I've had my chocolate.

Do take one ſlice of beef.

What a vulgar breakfaſt! beef! ſhocking!

I don't know as to that, ſir, but I have heard my old maſter, Mr. Hardcaſtle, ſay, that beef was Queen Elizabeth's breakfaſt; and, if that's the caſe, I think it's good enough for I.

But isn't that for your maſter?

O, I'll leave enough for he, I'll warrant.

That muſt be for me, Mr. Diggory. Bon Jour!

How genteel he looks in his maſter's old clothes!

Ha, Diggory! the London air agrees with you, I find; keep working, lad; ſtrong beer is our ſtream of life, liberty our vital air, and in good beef lies the marrow of an Engliſh conſtitution—that's in the genteel way.

I muſt follow the ſound of the horn.

Mr. Tickle, ſeveral perſons are waiting below for Mr. Lumpkin, and they aſk to ſee you.

Perſons!

Yes, ſir; there are tailors, ſhoemakers, milliners, perfumers, dancing-maſters, muſic maſters and boxing maſters.

I'll be with them in a pig's whiſper.

Pig's whiſper! what a fellow for a gentle⯑man's tutor! O! he's a ſhocking dog!

Aye! now how could he do without me? If he wants a coat cut in the kick, who can ſhew him? I—A taſty nab? Why Tim.—Handſome pumps? I know the go. If he'd have a tune from his muſic-maſter, a thruſt from his puſhing-maſter, a ſtep from his dancing maſter, or a ſquare from his boxing-maſter, I'm the boy that can ſhew him life in the genteel way.

Maſter Tickle, the 'Squire wants you.

I ſtir.

I'll tell him ſo.

They can do nothing without me. Tony Lumpkin's nobody without Tim Tickle. I'll go—no—I think I'll ſtep firſt and give my bear his break⯑faſt; poor ſoul! many a good one he has got me; aye, and may again for aught I know. The 'Squire's good at a promiſe, that's certain; but what's a pro⯑miſe? Pye-cruſt. I'd no more depend upon a gem⯑man's promiſe, than I would upon a broken ſtaff, or a candidate for the county after he had gained his election.

Frank, has your lady quitted her apartment?

Yes, ſir, I think I heard Mrs. Lavender ſay—Oh, ſir, here is my lady.

A good morning to you, my dear.

Thank you, love. Lavender, give thoſe cards to Pompey, and deſire him to deliver them agreeable to their addreſs. I have an immenſity of viſits, but muſt pay them this morning in paper; or, Shock, you dear polite toad, will you take the chair, and be my repreſentative to the ladies?

Oh, my head! ſuch a night! Mr. Jonquil, when did you break up at the maſquerade?

I fancy, my dear, 'twas five.

I might as well have accompanied you there, for I counted the clock 'till four. A maſque⯑rade to this houſe laſt night, was a Quaker's meeting. Such a noiſe and uproar!

Uproar! what was the mrtter?

Only your couſin Tony holding his nocturnal revels.

Tony! So, ſo, 'twas here he came, when he ſlipped from me at the Pantheon.

Yes, here he came indeed; and ſuch a ball as he held with the bear and the ſervants, and the mob out of the ſtreet, I believe!

Madam, I'm ſorry I'm obliged to complain of a ſervant, but don't blame me, ma'am; but indeed there's no ſuch thing as living in the houſe.

What is all this?

Why ma'am, Mr. Diggory, 'Squire Lump⯑kin's man, ran into your ladyſhip's dreſſing-room, and ſnatched your cold cream off the toilet.

Ha! ha! ha! what in the name of delicacy could Diggory want with the cold cream?

He ſaid it would do to oil his wig, ſir.

Ha! ha! ha! ha!

Nay, but Mr. Jonquil, this is be⯑yond bearing. I'll aſſure you I'll—

Come, my dear, don't be diſcompoſed, 'twill ſoon be at an end.

Let me ſee what time his mother propoſes to be in town, for I think ſhe ſays ſhe'll take a houſe for him. I have his letter here, I wiſh he was in a houſe of his own, from my ſoul, for in a fortnight I ſhould not know mine from a carrier's inn.

What gives me moſt ſingular amaze⯑ment, is, that you chuſe to be ſeen in public with him.

I grant he is not the moſt eligible compa⯑nion for a man of faſhion: but at a maſquerade I was ſafe from cenſure, for every body imagined the un⯑couthneſs [7] of his appearance, and ruſticity of his man⯑ners, merely the effect of his imitative genius. The company thought his behaviour all aſſumed, put on pour l' occaſion; for he threw off his domino, and I'll aſſure you, ſimple nature got him inſinite reputation. He gaped at the maſks, roared moſt ſtentoriouſly diſ⯑cordant with the muſick; overſet the pyramids, pock⯑eted the ſweetmeats, broke the glaſſes, made love to an Arcadian dairy maid, tripped up the heels of a har⯑lequin, beat a hermit, who happened to be a captain in the guards, and gave a biſhop a black eye.

But his mother's epiſtle; I languiſh to hear it.

I aſk your pardon; here it is.

Bleſs me, what's that?

Oh, that's Tony's ſummons for his man; he ſays he hates the ringing of bells, therefore has in⯑vented that polite ſubſtitute.

Hollo, Diggory, hollo.

Oh, here he comes.

Hollo! ſlap up the bear here.

Heaven defend us, ſure he won't drive in a bear here.

No, no, my dear, don't be alarm'd.

Come along, Bruin.

Come in; I long to introduce Bruin to my relations. Couſin Milly, will you ſee the bear, ma'am, if you pleaſe?

Bear! oh heavens!

Couſin Milly's very timberſome, ſure; Bruin is a mighty civil beaſt; why he's as gentle as the good-natured lion in the Tower, that let's the dog lie in his den with him.

I don't entertain a doubt of his politeneſs or good-nature; but you'll eternally oblige me by ſend⯑ing him down.

Now would it oblige you in downright ear⯑neſt?

Beyond meaſure,

Tim, walk Bruin down again: bid him firſt make his honours at the door tho'. Come here—only, couſin, look,—only look at him. Servant, ſir; why he learned among the grown gentlemen at Hat⯑ton-garden. Ah do now let him in, and he, and I, [9] and you, will dance the hay. He's muzzled! Tim, an't he muzzled?

Yes; Sir.

Oh! then there's no danger; you ſee he cou'dn't bite you, if he had a mind; he can only ſcratch you a little.

Gads curſe, but I'm not diſpos'd to be ſcratch'd this morning.

Oh! very well; any other time. Only ſay the word; and Bruin's the boy for it. Slap him down, lad.

I wiſh the Devil had you and him together; Such a fellow!—Mr. Lumkin, have you a fancy for. this houſe?

Anan?

I ſay, do you like this houſe?

Like it? for certain I do.

Then to you and the bear, I muſt abſo⯑lutely reſign it.

I thank you for your kind offer; but if you was to give me your houſe, and your pyebalds, and your viſee vie, I would not thank you; becauſe them that give all, give nothing at all. But indeed if you d let me bring in a little queen with me ſome night or other, unknown to couſn Milly, you'd make me as happy as a king.

Oh, fie!

Oh fie! Baw! ſhake hands! Why don'you get drunk ſometimes? It's mighty pleaſant! ay, and very wholeſome, once a week. Dr. What-d'ye-call-um [10] ſays ſo, in the book that lies in my mama's window: what ſay you to a bout, couſin, ha?

Excuſe me; drinking is, in my opinion, the moſt ſavage and barbarous method, that ever bru⯑tality invented, to murder time and intellects.

By jingo, then mama is the firſt time-killer within ten miles of Quagmire Marſh: Oh! ſhe loves a ſup dearly.

For ſhame! Mr. Lumpkin.

Oh! take me, it's all in the genteel way, tho'; for my mama always ſipp'd her cordial out of a tea-pot; and then, before folks, it was only a drop of cold tea, you know.

Ha, ha, ha!

Ay, and Couſin Con, Miſs Nevill, that was courting me, uſed to drink like a glaſs-blower, all in the ſentimental way: Over a love-ſtory book, ſhe and my mama wou'd read and ſip till it came out of their eyes. Sure Couſin Con was in love with me; Oh! how ſweetly ſhe'd kiſs me after a chapter of Mildmay, and a twiſt of the tea-pot.

Yes, yes, what I've always found; curſe me! if there's a woman in the world eaſier had, than the die-away romantic novelliſt.

How fine I tell lies! he ſwallows them like ſyllabub.

But you gave me the ſlip laſt night, at the Pantheon; why did not you wait for ſupper?

Why, I love my ſupper as well as any bo⯑dy, eſpecially after a day's hunting; becauſe then we have ſomething to talk of. But the ſong way for my [11] money; and we had our own gig here at home; I never ſaw the bear ſo airy.

But what think you of the ſplendor of the Pantheon? Is'n't it the temple of Elegance? an Olympus hall, worthy the gods to revel in?

Gods do you call' em? I took ſome of 'em for raſcals. A fool of a fellow would have it, that I was a lady; now I am ſure I have not a bit of the lady about me, except the ſoftneſs of my voice: but the monkey was a macaroni; and thoſe beaux, I fancy, make as much uſe of a woman, as they do of a ſword; they keep both merely for ſhew. Oh, now I talk of that, by jingo, I ſaw a power of fine ſhews yeſterday, o'top of Ludgate-hill.

Shews?

Ay, I believe I've ſeen all the fine ſhews now; aye, Dog and Magog, St. Paul's and the Tower, and the high poſt near the Bridge, that's going to fall upon the neighbours heads; and I've ſeen a hanging, and a houſe on fire; and I paid a halſpenny to walk over the Thames at Blackfriars; and I eat calves-head turtle, oppoſite the Bank; and ſaw Lord Thingumme's fine coach, and the Lillipu⯑tian Patagonians, and the ſtock-brokers on 'Change; the mad folks in Bedlam, and the actor folks at the play-houſes: one of the play men at What-d'ye-call-it play-houſe was very like you, and—

But, Mr. Lumpkin, I imagine 'tis time for you to begin to dreſs; ſome of the Scavoir Vivre and Dilettanti dine with me to-day, and you'll be a precious exhibition.

y, ay, I'll be as fine as the ſheriff's horſe, by-and-by.

Get out!

Why, ſure, 'Squire, you'll be proud enough yourſelf of your new clothes when you get into them.

Yes; but there's difference between the miller and his dog. Pray know your diſtance; and I deſire, Diggory, you'll never dare to be ſo ſuperfti⯑tious with me, before company.

Well, I won't.

You won't?—I think you might call me, my honour; and not waſte much of your manners.

If that's the caſe, there's all kinds of nice tradesfolks, and ingenious learners, of all ſizes, wait⯑ing below for My honour.

Your Honour, you cuckold, it's my honour they want.

I'll tell them ſo, ſir; your honour, I mean.

Well, now, couſin:, I'll go; and—

Sir, Mr. Lumpkin, I have a triſling requeſt to make.

What is it? I'll give you any thing you aſk.

That you will dreſs with all poſſible cele⯑rity; for I languiſh to ſee you one of us.

Hollo, for lace and powder. Hollo, Diggory; hey, for grandeur—yoies;—hark forward, taylors, milliners, and glorious haberdaſhers! hollo, hollo!

Such a fellow!—makes more noiſe than a kennel of hounds.

He will; I ſent his man to tell him.

Greatly obliged to you, ſir.

You are ſo, if you knew all; but, for my good word, 'Squire Jonquil wou'd have took Mon⯑ſieur Frippery, the new faſhion French taylor.

He's coming; pray ſit down, gentlemen; it's as cheap ſitting as ſtanding.

Diggory, keep your own ſtation. I do all in the gentleman-uſher way, d'ye ſee; becauſe why, I know the genteel thing; but take me, neighbours, I don't want you to ſtand, d'ye mind me; only, Diggory, your encroaching upon my compartment, is juſt as tho'f, as how, as if my bear was to ſnatch my hurdy-gurdy out of my hand, and pok'd me till I mov'd a hornpipe.

For certain, that would not be manners; but I was only —

Say no more! you're an ignorant man; and you don't know the genteel thing.

Hey, for grandeur, lace and powder! which of you is my taylor?

I'm the man, ſir.

Ha! ha! ha! ha!

What do you laugh for?

Ecod, I can't help it, to hear the taylor call himſelf a man; when we all know he'd take eight of his journeymen to make him one.

Come, come, keep the line. Have you my clothes, Mr. Taylor?

Here they are, ſir; and a more faſhionable ſuit never hung upon the back of an ambaſſador.

Tim, do they fit me?

Quire the kick.

But won't your honour try them on?

No; it's too much trouble. I make Tim try on all my new clothes for me.

Your ſhoes, ſir.

Black ſattin, beautiful! ah, Tim, if I had but my ſilver Artois buckles I loſt!

Hey! what merry ſellow's this? Get along, boys, leave your goods, and ſend your bills to Tim.

Here, Diggory, lay my clothes ready.

Doctor Minum.

Tol de rol, loll. Gentlemen, I aſk ten thouſand pardons: I thought Mr. Jonquil had been here; but if I don't miſtake, Mr. Lumpkin, I preſume.

You're wrong, tight boy, that there's the 'Squire; I'm Tim Tickle, his tutor.

Sir, I'm very glad to ſee you well,

That's a damn'd lie, if you're a right doc⯑tor, and know I've got fifteen hundred pounds a year.

If your auricular organs be happily huma⯑niz'd to the celeſtial ſcience of harmony, from your affinity to a gentleman of Mr. Jonquil's taſte, you may command my aſſiſtance.

Oh, I'm not long enough in London to ſtand in need of a doctor.

No, d'ye ſee, lad, we want no doctors nor poticaries yet. I don't know how long we may re⯑main ſo.

Your pardon, gentlemen—but, I fancy—

Did you know Jack Slang, the horſe doc⯑tor?

Entirely unacquainted with any of the fa⯑culty; but under favour, there's a trifling miſtake in this overture to our acquaintance. Give me leave to inform you, gentlemen, I am not one of the pre⯑ſcribing performers, who convey this human inſtru⯑ment, the body, to its mortal caſe, by pill, bolus, or draught; but I ſhift the ſoul above the ſtars, in ſounds ſeraphic, by minum, crotchet, and quaver. And pleaſe to obſcrve, that tho' I am a doctor, I've no more ſkill in the materia medica than an advertiſing quack; I am a profeſſor of muſic, and compoſer of original pieces, in that elegant and mellifluous ſcience; and, to [16] oblige my friends, a ſelect ſett of the firſt rank and diſtinction, I inſtruct on the violin.

Then ten to one, but you know how to play the fiddle.

I'd venture to accompany you in that bett:

Zounds, man, cou'd not you ſay at once that you were? fiddler, and not come round to it with ſuch a circumbendibus?

Fiddler, in the name of Orpheus! Eh! what! fiddler? allow me, ſir, a da capo to my own introduc⯑tion?

A what?

Three bar reſts; if you pleaſe, ſir; I am ſurpriz'd you can be ſo much out of tune, gentlemen: I am one of the connoſcenti—have had the honour to be balloted a member of three ſelect private concerts, compoſed of perſons of the firſt rank, aye the Alto' Primo of taſte—had the refuſal of the band of Car⯑liſle Houſe—led the band for five ſeaſons at Vaux⯑hall—had ſome thoughts of purchaſing the gardens myſelf—I have compos'd two oratorios, ten ſerenatas; three ſets of overtures, concertos for Signior Florenti⯑ni's violoncello, ſongs for the Capricci of Palermo, and ſolos for Madam Sirmen's violin, grand ballets for Signor Georgettini, Signora Caperini, Signora Baccini, Signora—

Damn your Signioras and your Signiors your Inis and Winis; can you play, Water Parted, or Lango-lee?—that's the genteel thing.

Oh, may hap they're too hard' for him. Give me your hand; I'll give it you again; I love a [17] fiddler, becauſe one may make him play till he's tir'd, and then kick him down ſtairs—Do, dine with me to-morrow.

I'll promiſe you any thing, to get from you to-day.

I ſhall poſitively do myſelf that ho⯑nour, ſir.

That's a good fellow; but bring your fiddle under your coat, will you? you ſhall have as much liquor as you can carry.

You're ſuperlatively good, ſir.

The devil a better—You ſhall hear Tim Tickle touch up his hurdy-gurdy.

Oh, ſir!

You ſhall! ſee the bear dance too.

That muſt be fine indeed!

Why, it's the genteel thing; 'Squire will have the dulcimer man.

Ah, Caro Divino! we ſhall have a delight⯑ful concert—I ſhall certainly attend you, gentlemen; but a moſt particular engagement obliges me to de⯑prive myſelf of the felicity of your company at pre⯑ſent.

Hold, hold, doctor; you muſt give us a raſp before you go; Tim, fetch the fiddle out of the next room; couſin Jonquil was playing on it juſt now.

I ſtir.

Orpheus, protect me!

You will give us a ſcrape; ha, boy?

Oh, ſir

how ſhall I get out of this ſcrape?

Ay, do you find fiddling; I'il find dancing.

Andante, Andan⯑tino, Piano, Pianiſſimo, Allegro, Preſto!

Here's the coal-box, Doctor; what! he has borrowed himſelf!

Gone!—yoies — hollo, fiddler, hollo!

Where's this fiddler?

Fiddler, ſir! oh, Doctor Minum, I ſup⯑poſe, you mean; lord, ſir, he flies as if twenty Dutch concerts were in the wind.

The next time I catch the raſcal, I'll make him play for me, and kick him all the while.

Then, ſir, you'll kick him to ſome tune; but, ſir, my maſter's compliments, and wiſhes you'd pleaſe to get dreſſed; it's now cloſe upon three.

The fellow has got a tattler, ſtrike him plump.

Zounds! I wiſh I cou'd get a watch, that the figures of it was not in letters; I never can know what a clock it is, by the X's and the V's and the I's—I wiſh I could get a watch with the figures in figures upon it.

'Squire, that's becauſe you know how to cypher.

I suppoſe ſo—Hollo, Diggory, my new clothes; and then for grandeur, lace and powder—Hollo, hoilo.

ACT II.

Ha! ha! ha! Indeed, Lavender, I think ſo too: but where is the ſavage now?

Ma'am, I fancy by this time he's almoſt transformed into a very fine gentleman. He's gone to dreſs.

Dreſs! Ah! his native ruſticity is invincible by the powerful combination of art and ele⯑gance. His tutor a bear-dancer, you tell me; ha! ha! ha! with ſuch a pupil a bear-leader we muſt grant him.

Ma'am, he has brought Mr. Tickle pur⯑poſely to London with him, to ſhew him taſte and high life in the genteel way, as he ſays.

Yes, taſte and gentility at a Sunday tea-garden, and high life on the top of St. Paul's!

Come, maſter Painter, come along; this way, I believe, we can take a ſhort cut to the 'Squire's room.

Who are theſe? what's the matter?

Only going to quarter the ground.

Fye, Mr. Tickle! what buſineſs have you here? and why would you bring fellows into my lady's apartment?

Fellows! why, ma'am, this is Jack Raddle, the ſign-painter, that's ſo clever a hand at a ſhoulder of mutton.

Yes, and the Split Crow, Tim.

And the Bird in Hand. Why it was this here Jack that painted the Three Jolly Pigeons at Quagmire-marſh, down in our parts.

Yes, and the Saracen's Head, Tim.

Come, come, get you along out of this, with your ſplit crows and your ſhoulders of mutton.

Get out! Strike me plump! is that your manners, ma'am?

Go, man; pray take your Saracen's Head out of this room.

Sr.racen's Head? I Hark'ee, if you deny that You paint a Saracen's Head every morning, your tongue gives the lie to your cheeks.

Tim, that was a daſh with the pound bruſh!

Ay, ay; I'm the boy for it. Come along; Ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha!

An impudent fellow! I paint a Saracen's head indeed! A pretty diſcerning tutor for a young gentleman!

Lavender, hand me the eau-de-luce. I die! oh heav'ns, the fellow! throw up that ſaſh! I ſhall expire!

And no wonder, ma'am: I'm ſure the chamber ſmells of oil worſe than Greenland-dock.

Heav'ns! what's this now? what do you want, man?

Why is the devil in the fellow? For ſhame, Diggory! why do you come into my lady's apartment this way?

This way! why would you have me come in at the window?

For mercy's ſake, do, good man, withdraw.

Curſe you all, I ſay; what do you want?

I want my maſter's boots.

What the miſchief could bring his boots into my lady's dreſſing-room?

His legs, I believe; for I think 'twas here he took them off.

Do, pray retire, I bcſecch you, ſir.

I beg pardon, ma'am, I ſee the boots are not here; ſo I'll go look in the ſtable.

What monſter have we now?

Avec permiſſion!

My maſter! madam.

Entrez, monſieur.

This way, my dear, for wonder ſake, quick, quick. Ha! ha! ha! ſuch a ſight, tranſcending all Soho!

My dear, I think it muſt be ſomething ſupernatural that can excite my wonder now. But allons for his miracle.Exeunt Mr, and Mrs. Jonquil.

A Saracen's head? yes, it muſt be my lady he meant.

Now ſettle your features.

O, I ſet riſibility at defiance.

Mr. Lumpkin, are you apparell'd, quite completely a-la-mode?

O yes, I think I'm the very colliflower of the mode. Tell me in downright earneſt, how do you like me,

Eh! Couſin Milly? I believe, now I'm ſomething like a tanzy; how do you like my hair, tho'?

Charming!

The ſtyle moſt happily fancied.

So it is, couſin Milly; you've a fine head of hair, if it's all your own—it's very like ſome of the heads I ſaw in the barbers windows.

Now, that's ſo civil.

That's what every body ſays of me, that I'm ſo civil; but do you know that my mama uſed to dreſs up my hair herſelf every Sunday, whether I would or no? ſhe'd rub it up with ſoap, and put a paper in the top, juſt like the ſign of the unicorn.

Preſently; Mr. Lumpkin, will you allow me the liberty to withdraw myſelf for a moment or two?

Ma'am, I'll excuſe your going away with a great deal of pleaſure. How polite fine clothes make a body!

'Squire, the Painter's ready.

Mum.

Pardon my curioſity, Mr. — excuſe me, ſir—you ſpoke of a painter; are you acquainted—I mean have you a penchant?

A what?

That is, do you admire the art?

Oh, Yes, ſir; my tutor's very knowing in the picture way. Tim, ſhall I tell couſin you car⯑ried a ſhew-box?

You need not mind it now.

There are ſome tolerable paintings here, ſir.

Yes; they are quite genteel.

I warrant, now, they ſtood you in a matter of fifteen or twenty pounds.

Above ten thouſand.

Pounds?

Poſitively.

What a ſtud and a kennel of hounds that would! uy a man!

What a collection of wild beaſtiſſes!

Beſides the money I have expended in my Flemiſh and Italian acquiſition, during my tour, I have, at this moment, a pecuniary underſtanding with moſt of the eminent picture-dealers and auctio⯑neers in town; and, conſequently, the refuſal of an⯑tiques, coins, china, lap-dogs and original pictures.

How do you order it?

Briefly thus: if an extraordinary engage⯑ment prevents me from a private peep, previous to the ſale, ſuppoſe me in the auction-room: a full ſale, good pictures, my favourite piece, up, friend Mallet, in the heat of his oration, caſts me an eye ſignificant; I, unperceived by the company, return an affirmative ſignal; and one, two—down, the picture's mine for one third of the value.

What then becomes of his poundage?

That, ſir, I make good by an ample dou⯑ceur.

Well, let them ſay what they will of ſlock paper, pretty pictures for my money; couſin, you muſt chooſe me ſome nice ones, when my mama takes a new houſe for me.

Ay, I dare ſay, 'Squire Jonquil knows all the painters in town, in the genteel way.

In town?—no—no—Mr.—ſir—if a mo⯑dern ever intrudes upon a pannel of mine, taſte must give the preference to Flemiſh and Italian; if the [25] contrary ſhould tranſpire, ſir, I'd be excluded the ton, as void of all virtue.

Virtue! It does not ſhew much virtue to encourage foreigners, and let your own countrymen want bread; damn me, if I do that; and damn them that do.

Well ſaid, tight boy; there's a fine fellow, and I'm his tutor.

I own, ſir, I'm of your opinion; but pow⯑erful faſhion!—

Tim, there's a clever fellow, running after a pretty girl among the buſhes!

—Apollo, purſuing Daphne, by Corregio; obſerve the modeſt grace in the ſlight of Daphne; and that figure of Apollo, what fine proportion in the outline! what a raviſhing attitude!

He ought to keep his raviſhing attitude 'till he catches her; now, that there I call a tall woman.

A Vandyke!

Mrs.Vandyke?

No, no; it is the portrait of Beatrix Con⯑ſtantia Contacroyana, painted by that maſter. The Judgment of Paris, the ſleeping Venus, and that delightful picture of the Cardinal Virtue, Faith, Hope and Charity, are by Carraci; a moſt enchanting piece! obſerve how finely the Hope is relieved.

Relieved by Charity; poor ſoul!

That's a pretty woman that's looking up at the ſky.

A Cleopatra, by Guido.

See the little eel in her hand! that's a dark looking man in the black bonnet.

A Rembrandt, by himſlf.

Yes; he's all alone; there's a woman riding on a white bull.

Europa, an undoubted Raphael.

No!

As true as the cartons.

Riding on a bull! ſtrike her plump; Squire, the woman and the gooſe!

Jupiter and Leda; upon my honour, I never ſaw a more capital picture!—but, dear ſir, the gooſe happens to be a ſwan.

Mayhap'twas only a gooſe before you got it. Tim, who is that like in the black wig?

That is the portrait of Charles the Second.

He's mighty like Matt Muggins the exciſe-man.

It's a Sir Godfrey Kneller; but I fancy king Charles never ſat for it.

And ſo they've drawn him ſtanding. Who is the lad with the long hair?

Lod, ſir? that's a Magdalen, by Guido.

She's a plump Mag. Who is that thin ill-looking fellow?

It's a picture of Caſſius, that ſtabb'd Cae⯑ſar— [...]t's a Rubens, very bold.

Yes, he was a bold fellow.

Good keeping!

Faſt enough; I remember they kept him in Newgate.

Charmingly brought out!

He was brought out in a white cap, tied with black ribbon.

What a glow of colouring!

I never ſaw a man look better upon the occa⯑ſion.

Greatly deſigned! forcibly executed!

Only the peace-officers at his execution, no calling in the military; we have had enough of that already.

What harmony of light and ſhade! What noble maſſes!

Maſſes! He a Papiſh! I'll bett half an ounce, that Tom Caſſius, that ſtabb'd Squire Caeſar, died a Preſbyterian.

How knowing my tutor is!

Coufin, Couſin Jonquil, hollo!

Sir!

I intend to have my picture taken off ſome evening or other.

You're a very good ſubject.

The King has not a better.

Sir, Lord Spindle has ſent to let you know, he waits for you at the Cocoa-tree.

The chariot at the door?

Yes, ſir.

Adieu, mon cher Ami!

Abſolutely, 'Squire, this couſin of your's is a tip-top macaroni.

Yes, he's a famous mac.

And his man Frank ſays he's a dillitante?

Oh, he's a great dilly; but tho' he ſeems to love his pictures, as I do my horſes, he does not take half ſo great care of em. Think of old bonnets and black and brown heads! Coſt him ten thouſand pounds too. Why my iittle Robin, my Whipper-in, looks more decent then the beſt of them.

Aye! but when my friend Jack Raddle the painter comes, bruſh upon 'em, they'll be quite an⯑other thing.

But what keeps him?

Here he is.

Are you there, Jack? Come, fall to.

Hold, you remember the, bargain: Tim, be witneſs. You're to paint fine large powder'd pretty wigs upon every head in this room, at the rate of half a crown a nob all round.

That's the bargain.

And I ſcorn to go back, tho' it's a tight price, your honour.

How charmingly they'll look!

Yes, they'll be quite genteel. Hark'ee, Jack, d'ye ſee, I recommend you to this here fquire; ſo do the job neatly. None of your little ſtarv'd caxons, with, one buckle, and that no larger than a pipe ſtop⯑per; [29] but let me ſee the browneſt face againſt this wall, wigg'd like an alderman.

Say no more.

But quick, quick, buſtle; you muſt have 'em done before coufin comes back.

Sir, the gentleman's come.

What gentleman?

How ſhould he know? I'll go ſee myſelf.

Come, come, fall to.

Don't fear, ſir; they fhall ſoon be quite another thing.

Come along, we'll be with you ſoon again. Come; Lord! how delighted couſin Jonquil will be!

Here's my maſter.

Sir, your humble ſervant.

Sir, this is the—

Diggory, I tell you once for all, if you come the gentleman uſher, while I am by, you'll abſo⯑lutely knock your head againſt my fiſtis.

Why ſure I—

Go, go, you fool, and ſee that the painter ſlaps away briſkly.

Well, ſir, are you a barber?

A barber! no, ſir; my name is Pulville.

But what are you?

[...] am a perfumer, ſir.

Now, [...] me, if I know what trade that is.

Tim do you talk to him.

A perfumer? I'm at home, tho' he's too [...] ſupp [...] he [...]o [...]lted in Monmouth.

Maſter, how do [...]?

Sir?

Do you ſhoot 'em?

Aye, do you ſhoot 'em?—What, Tim?

I ſhoot, Sir!

Aye, how do you order it?

If you mean my buſineſs, ſir; by calcina⯑tion, infuſion, mixtures, compoſitions, philters, and diſtillation.

What, then mayhap you don't uſe the fer⯑ret?

No, ſir, the only eſſential animal is the civet cat.

The cat will catch them, I allow; but then they mangle them ſo curſedly.

Mangle who, good ſir?

Ever while you live, take rabbits with a fer⯑ret, that's the genteel thing. Mayhap, lad, you're in the hedge-hog way. Have a care, tho', for ſince [31] ſome buſy fellow put it into the news-paper, that they were as good as a partridge—my bear to a lap⯑dog, if hedge-hogs don't ſoon be included in the game-act. You're the firſt rabbit catcher I ever knew that—

I a rabbit catcher! I don't underſtand you, gentlemen. I'd have you to know, I keep one of the firſt perfumer's ſhops in St. James's pariſh; I can't imagine what you mean, by talking to me about rab⯑bit-catchers and hedge-hogs.

I believe my tutor knows every thing.

Sir, I thought every body knew Mr. Pul⯑ville. However, ſir, I have the honour to be very well known to the nobility, as my book-debts of ten years ſtanding can ſufficiently teſtify. Rabbit catch⯑er! Sir, ſir! I'm original inventor of the genuine Circaſſian beautifying coſmetic lotion, cream of roſes, and powder of pearl. Step into my ſhop a cro⯑cus, and you walk out a narciſſus; my ſweet lip-ſalve can change a blubber to a pouting—a walnut to a cherry-lip. Then, ſir, my perfumed powders con⯑quer nature; I can give a lady a pink head, a green head, or a blue head. Do you know, ſir, that I make the chymical Paphian waſh, for eradicating hair; ſo innocent, it may be uſed by infants juſt born, and yet ſo powerful, that three ablutions give an Eſau the hand of a Jacob? And now, ſir, with me, and me alone, the elderly maiden ladies deal, for their ſweet-ſcented ſhaving powder.

I ſaid he was a barber.

Rabbit-catcher!—Why, ſir, my bear's greaſe—

Do you dance a bear, tight boy?

Sir, do I look like ſuch a ſcoundrel?

Scoundrel! Strike you plump, am I a ſcoun-drel?

You, ſir! I—

Aye, poke you well—I dance the ſpright-lieſt bear in all England, that's in the genteel way.

Hem!—Sir!—when you want any thing in my way, you'll ſee my name, P. Pulville, over the door. Rabbit Catcher!

A bear dancer, a ſcoundrel! you raſcal, I'll—he's gone—he was right; my name is Tim Tickle; and now you've told me your place of abode, call upon me when you will.

Knows all the points of honour.

Oh, ſir, they're juſt done; and 'Squire Jonquil is juſt walking out of his carriage.

I told you, 'Squire, Jack Raddle cou'd touch 'em up in the genteel way, becauſe he's the boy for it; come, we'll take a ſquint at his handy work.

Come, I'm as glad as a guinea; how my couſin Jonquil will be delighted!

Do, let me give him another curl.

I can't ſtand it, man;—be ſtill, I ſay; let him be.

What do I ſee! confuſion! what is all this?

I knew he'd be delighted.

Stop your ſacrilegious hands, you prophane villain.

Bleſs your heart, maſter, I don't grudge you a curl or two more

My Rembrandt! from the Florentine gal⯑lery! You aſſaſſin, why did you murder me?

Sir!

Anſwer me, you miſcreant; who brought you here? what mortal enemy to the fine arts, what fiend, whiſper'd you to perpetrate ſuch an infernal action?

If this moment was my laſt, ſir, it was white lead of eightpence a pound.

White lead, you caitiſſ!

How cou'd a poor fellow, like me, afford flake-white-for the price?

What price? you barbarian; explain, ſirrah; confeſs, or I'll have you flay'd like Mar⯑ſyas.

Sir, 'Squire Lumpkin, the little, round, fine gentleman, employ'd me to paint white wigs, upon all the pictures, at half-a-crown a head.

Indeed, ſir, I'm ſure my maſter would not grudge twice the money, to make them look decent, as they belong to your honour.

I'm undone!

Eh, Tim!

I believe they are the thing.

Bang me, but they are quite genteel!

Mr. Lumpkin, I thank you, ſir.

I gueſs'd you wou'd.

I am infinitely oblig'd to you, ſir.

You're mighty welcome.

I am eternally your debtor.

I'll never charge you a penny for it. I be⯑lieve now they look like gentlemen. How pleas'd I am that I thought of it!

I thought of it firſt.

You lie.

You do, Diggory; 'twas I adviſed the 'Squire to it. becauſe I know the genteel thing.

Oh, pray, no contention for the brilliancy of the thought; for I'd give three or five thouſand pounds to undo what you have done.

What!

You have ruin'd me.

Anan!

You've undone me, ſir!

Who, I! as how?

You've ſpoil'd my pictures.

Tim!

I ſaid, at firſt, it was a damn'd ſtupid thing of you.

And you know, 'Squire, I told you, that none but an aſs could think of ſuch nonſenſe.

Can you unwig 'em again?

What will I get by that?

I'll give you fifty guineas,

Lay it here,

There's the money; charm my longing eyes, once more, with the fight of my Rembrandt's dear, dear, black bonnet,

Then, ſir, they're only done in water colour; ſo a wet towel and a little ſoap ſettles their wigs in five minutes.

Tol de rol, loll. Give me your hand; I was dreadfully alarmed; but now I can laugh at it. Ha! ha! ha! what a whimſical thought! but, you ſtupid rogue, why would you ruin the women?

I never ruin'd a woman in my life, ſir.

I mean, why would you put wigs upon the ladies?

Sure it's the faſhion now for all ladies to wear wigs. How charming they look! Poor fellows, ye muſt ſoon loſe your grandeur!

Sir, the company are come.

Very well.

Pleaſe your honour, may I laugh at them a little?

Tutor, kick Diggory out of the room, if you pleaſe.

To oblige you, 'Squire.

I'll ſave you the trouble.

All is now very well; but I have one re⯑queſt to make you.

What is it, pray?

Only to diſmiſs one of your retinue.

That's Diggory.

Who?

The bear.

What! the bear?

That's the gentleman.

Why, Tim, d'ye hear my couſin? Will you?

Look'ee, 'Squire; this here harmleſs ſoul, this bear of mine, has maintained me ſome years, when I could not do for myſelf; and though, thanks to my good breeding, I'm grown polite enough to be a gent⯑leman's tutor, yet I'll never be ſo much in the fa⯑ſhion as to forſake an old benefactor.

I wiſh I could get any regular family to board him with: enquire among your acquaintance, ſir.

Sir, I'll do myſelf the honour to en⯑quire.

Bruin's a lad of few words, but he's as ci⯑vil a fellow as ever ſtood upon two legs. But, couſin Jonquil, I won't offer you your fifty guineas you gave the painter.

Say no more; you meant well, and that palliates the confequence. But, for Rubens' ſake, forego your pretenſions in future to a taſte in pictures.

Well, I know the points of a horſe, and that's made by a better workman.

Therefore, to the knowledge of horſes and dogs, like a true 'Squire, from this moment confine your claim; for if a man will, in oppoſition to nature, meddle with matters of which he is fo extremely ig⯑norant, he muſt inevitably render himſelf the object of ridicule and laughter.

Laughter! and what's pleaſanter than a laugh? By jingo, a laugh is all I wanted.