SCENE III.

Miss Alscrip discovered at her Toilet. Chignon, [her Valet de Chambre,] dressing her Head. Mrs. Blandish sitting by, and holding a Box of Diamond Pins.

Miss Als. And so, Blandish, you really think that the introduction of Otahaite feathers in my trimming succeeded?

Mrs. Blandish. Oh, with the mixture of those charming Italian flowers, and the knots of pearl that gathered up the festoons, never any thing had so happy an effect——It put the whole ball-room out of humour. Monsieur Chignon, that pin a little more to the front.

Miss Als. And what did they say?

Mrs. Blandish. You know it is the first solicitude of my life to see the friend of my heart treated with justice. So when you stood up to dance, I got into the thick of the circle——Monsieur, don't you think this large diamond would be well placed just in the middle?

Chignon. Eh! non, madame; ce ne releve pas——Dat give no relief to de weight of de curl——Full in de front un gros bouton, von great nob of diamond! pardie ce seroit un accommodage à la Polyphême; de big eye of de geant in de centre of de forehead.

Miss Als. Chignon is right in point of taste, though not quite so happy in his allusions as he is sometimes.

Chignon. Ah! Madame, you have done von grande injure to my contrée: You go for von monthe, and bring avay all de good taste——At Paris——all von side——de diamond—de cap—de glance—de bon mot même—All von side, nothing direct à Paris.

Miss Als. [Smiling at Chignon, and then turning to Mrs. Blandish.] Well!——And so——

Mrs. Blandish. So it was all admiration! Elegant, says Lady Spite—it may do very well for Miss Alscrip, who never looks at expense. The dress of a bridal princess! cries Mrs. Scanty, and for one night's wear too!

Miss Als. Delightful! the very language I wished for——Oh, how charmingly apropos was my accident! did you see when my trimming in the passe-pied of a cotilion came luckily in contact with Billy Skim's great shoe-buckle—How it ripped away?

Mrs. Blandish. Did I see it?

Miss Als. One of the great feathers stuck fast on the shoe, and looked for all the world like the heel wing of a Mercury in a pantomime.

Mrs. Blandish. Oh! you witty creature, how you describe!

Miss Als. It was a most becoming rent!

Mrs. Blandish. And what a display of indifference; what an example for a woman of fortune, did you exhibit in the bustle of picking up the scattered fragments!

Miss Als. When the pearls were trundling about, and I insisted upon the company being no longer disturbed, but would leave what remained for fairy favours to the maid who swept the room. He! he! he! Do you think Lady Emily would have done that better?

Mrs. Blandish. Lady Emily? poor girl!—How soon must she submit to be the humble second of the family.

Miss Als. He! he! he! Do you sincerely think so, Blandish? And yet it would be strange if it were otherwise, for I could buy her ten times over.

Chignon. Madame, vat humeure vould you wear to-day?

Miss Als. Humour, Chignon? What am I dressed for now?

Chignon. The parfaite aimable, madam: but my bringing de point of de hair more down to de eye-brow, or adding a little blowse to de sides, I can give you de look severe, capricieuse—vat you please.

Miss Als. We'll put it off for half an hour, I am not quite decided. I was in the capricieuse yesterday—I believe I shall keep on the perfect amiable. [Exit Chignon.] Tiffany, take off my powdering gown——Ah! ho!——How the wench tugs—do you think you are pulling off the coachman's greatcoat?

Mrs. Blandish. My dear amiable!—do not let that sweet temper be ruffled—Why will you not employ me in these little offices. Delicacy like yours should be waited upon by the softness of a sylph.

[During this Speech exit Tiffany peevishly.

Miss Als. I am promised a creature to be about me out of the common way.

Mrs. Blandish. A new woman?

Miss Als. No; something to be raised much higher, and at the same time fitted better to receive one's ill-humour. An humble companion, well born, well educated, and perfectly dependent, is a most useful appurtenance in the best families.

Mrs. Blandish. Well, do not raise her to the rank of a friend, lest I should be jealous.

Miss Als. You may be perfectly secure—I shall take particular care that friendship shall be out of the question on both sides. I had once thought of a restoration of pages to sit in scarlet and silver (as one reads in former times) upon the forepart of the coach, and to hold up one's train—but I have a new male attendant in a valet de chambre, who has possession of my bust—My two women will have the charge from the point of the shoulder to the toe—So my person being provided for—the Countess of Gayville shall have an attendant to wait upon her mind.

Mrs. Blandish. I vow a most elegant and uncommon thought.

Miss Als. One that can pen a note in the familiar, the punctilious, or the witty—It's quite troublesome to be always writing wit for one's self—But above all, she is to have a talent for music.

Mrs. Blandish. Ay, your very soul is framed for harmony.

Miss Als. I have not quite determined what to call her—Governante of the private chamber, keeper of the boudoir, with a silver key at her breast——

Enter Chignon.

Chignon. Madame, a young lady beg to know if you be visible.

Miss Als. A young lady—It is not Lady Emily Gayville?

Chignon. Non, madam, but if you were absente, and I had the adjustment of her head, she would be the most charmante personne I did ever see.

Miss Als. Introduce her. [Exit Chignon.] Who can this be?

Mrs. Blandish. Some woman of taste, to inquire your correspondent at Paris—or—

Enter Miss Alton.

Miss Alscrip courtesying respectfully; Miss Alton retiring disconcerted.

Miss Als. Of taste indeed, by her appearance!—Who's in the antichamber? Why did they not open the folding doors?—Chignon, approach a fauteuil for the lady.

Miss Alton. Madam, I come!—

Miss Als. Madam, pray be seated—

Miss Alton. Excuse me, madam,—

Miss Als. Madam, I must beg—

Miss Alton. Madam, this letter will inform you how little pretension I have to the honours you are offering.

Miss Als. [Reads.] Miss Alton, the bearer of this, is the person I recommended as worthy the honour of attending you as a companion. [Eyes her scornfully.] She is born a gentlewoman; I dare say her talents and good qualities will speak more in her favour, than any words I could use—I am, Madam, your most obedient—um—um—. Blandish, was there ever such a mistake?

Mrs. Blandish. Oh! you dear, giddy, absent creature, what could you be thinking of?

Miss Als. Absent indeed. Chignon, give me the fauteuil; [Throws herself into it.] Young woman, where were you educated?

Miss Alton. Chiefly, madam, with my parents.

Miss Als. But finished, I take it for granted, at a country boarding school; for we have, young ladies, you know Blandish, boarded and educated, upon blue boards, in gold letters, in every village; with a strolling player for a dancing master, and a deserter from Dunkirk, to teach the French grammar.

Mrs. Blandish. How that genius of yours does paint! nothing escapes you—I dare say you have anticipated this young lady's story.

Miss Alton. It is very true, madam, my life can afford nothing to interest the curiosity of you two ladies; it has been too insignificant to merit your concern, and attended with no circumstances to excite your pleasantry.

Miss Als. [Yawning.] I hope, child, it will be attended with such for the future as will add to your own—I cannot bear a mope about me.—I am told you have a talent for music—can you touch that harp—It stands here as a piece of furniture, but I have a notion it is kept in tune, by the man who comes to wind up my clocks.

Miss Alton. Madam, I dare not disobey you. But I have been used to perform before a most partial audience; I am afraid strangers will think my talent too humble to be worthy attention.

SONG.

Miss Als. I declare not amiss, Blandish: only a little too plaintive—but I dare say she can play a country dance, when the enlivening is required—So, Miss Alton, you are welcome to my protection; and indeed I wish you to stay from this hour. My toilet being nearly finished, I shall have a horrid vacation till dinner.

Miss Alton. Madam, you do me great honour, and I very readily obey you.

Mrs. Blandish. I wish you joy, Miss Alton, of the most enviable situation a young person of elegant talents could be raised to. You and I will vie with each other, to prevent our dear countess ever knowing a melancholy hour. She has but one fault to correct—the giving way to the soft effusions of a too tender heart.

Enter Servant.

Serv. Madam, a letter——

Miss Als. It's big enough for a state packet—Oh! mercy, a petition—for Heaven's sake, Miss Alton, look it over. [Miss Alton reads.] I should as soon read one of Lady Newchapel's methodist sermons—What does it contain?

Miss Alton. Madam, an uncommon series of calamities, which prudence could neither see, nor prevent: the reverse of a whole family from affluence and content to misery and imprisonment; and it adds, that the parties have the honour, remotely, to be allied to you.

Miss Als. Remote relations! ay, they always think one's made of money.

Enter another Servant.

2 Serv. A messenger, madam, from the animal repository, with the only puppy of the Peruvians, and the refusal at twenty guineas.

Miss Als. Twenty guineas! Were he to ask fifty, I must have him.

Mrs. Blandish. [Offering to run out.] I vow I'll give him the first kiss.

Miss Als. [Stopping her.] I'll swear you shan't.

Miss Alton. Madam, I was just finishing the petition.

Miss Als. It's throwing money away—But give him a crown.

[Exit with Mrs. Blandish striving which shall be first.

Miss Alton. "The soft effusions of a too tender heart." The proof is excellent. That the covetous should be deaf to the miserable, I can conceive; but I should not have believed, if I had not seen, that a taste for profusion did not find its first indulgence in benevolence.

[Exit.