Y. Wild. My address?

Pap. Parisienne.

Y. Wild. My hat sits easily under my arm; not like the draggled tail of my tattered academical habit?

Pap. Ah, bien autre chose.

Y. Wild. Why, then adieu, Alma Mater, and bien venu la ville de Londres; farewell to the schools, and welcome to the theatres; presi- | dents, proctors, short commons with long graces, must now give place to plays, bagnios, long tavern bills, with no graces at all.

Pap. Ah, bravo! bravo!

Y. Wild. Well, but my dear Papillion, you must give me the chart du pays. This town is a new world to me: my provident papa, you

know, would never suffer me near the smoke of London; and what can be his motive for permitting me now, I can't readily conceive. Pap. Ni moi.

Y. Wild. I shall, however, take the liberty to conceal my arrival from him for a few days. Pap. Yous avez raison.

Y. Wild. Well, my Mentor, and how am I to manage? Direct my road: where must I begin? But the debate is, I suppose, of consequence?

Pap. Vraiment.

Y. Wild. How long have you left Paris, Papillion?

Pap. Twelve, dirteen, year.

Y. Wild. I can't compliment you upon your progress in English.

Pap. The accent is difficult.

Y. Wild. But here you are at home.
Pap. C'est vrai.

Y. Wild. No stranger to fashionable places.
Pap. Au fait.

Y. Wild. Acquainted with the fashionable figures of both sexes.

Pap. Sans doute.

Y. Wild. Well, then, open your lecture>and, d'ye hear, Papillion, as you have the honour to be promoted from the mortifying

Y. Wild. Pr'ythee, do.

Pap. Why then, you are to know, Sir, that my former situation has been rather above my present condition, having once sustained the dignity of sub-preceptor to one of those cheap, rural academies with which our county of York is so plentifully stocked.

Y. Wild. But to the point: why this disguise? why renounce your country? Pap. There, Sir, you make a little mistake; it was my country that renounced me. Y. Wild. Explain.

Pap. In an instant; upon quitting the school, and first coming to town, I got recommended to the compiler of the Monthly Review.

Y. Wild. What, an author too?

Pap. Oh, a voluminous one. The whole region of the belles lettres fell under my inspection; physic, divinity, and the mathematics, my mistress managed herself. There, Sir, like another Aristarch, I dealt out fame and damnation at pleasure. In obedience to the caprice and commands of my master, I have condemned books I never read; and applauded the fidelity of a translation, without understanding one syllable of the original.

Y. Wild. Ah! why, I thought acuteness of discernment, and depth of knowledge, were necessary to accomplish a critic.

Pap. Yes, Sir; but not a monthly one. Our method was very concise. We copy the title-page of a new book; we never go any farther. If we are ordered to praise it, we have at hand about ten words, which, scattered through as many periods, effectually does the business; as, laudable design, happy arrangement, spirited language, nervous sentiment, elevation of thought, conclusive argument." If we are to decry, then we have, "unconnected, flat, false, illiberal, stricture, reprehensible, unnatural." And thus, Sir, we pepper the author, and soon rid our hands of his work.

Y. Wild. A short recipe.

Pap. And yet, Sir, you have all the materials that are necessary: these are the arms with which we engage authors of every kind. To us all subjects are equal; plays or sermons, poetry or politics, music or midwifery, it is the same thing.

Y. Wild. How came you to resign this easy employment.

Pap. It would not answer. Notwithstanding what we say, people will judge for themselves; our work hung upon hand, and all

I could get from the publisher was four shillings a-week and my small beer. Poor pittance! Y. Wild. Poor, indeed. Pap. Oh, half-starved me.

Y. Wild. What was your next change? Pap. I was mightily puzzled to choose, when chance threw an old friend in my way that quite retrieved my affairs.

Y. Wild. Pray, who might he be?

Pap. A little bit of a Swiss genius, who bad been French usher with me at the same school in the country. I opened my melancholy story to him over three penny-worth of beef-à-lanode in a cellar in St. Ann's. My little foreign friend pursed up his lanthorn jaws, and, with a shrug of contempt, "Ah, maître Jean, rous n'avez pas la politique; you have no finesse: to trive here, you must study the folly of your own country." 66 How, Monsieur!" Taisezrous: keep-a your tongue. Autrefois I teach you speak French, now I teach-a you to forget English. Go vid me to my lodge. ment, I vil give you proper dress, den go present yourself to de same hotels, de very same house; you will find all de doors dat was shut in your face as footman Anglois, will fly open demselves to a French valet de chambre."

Y. Wild. Well, Papillion?

Pap. Gad, Sir, I thought it was but an honest artifice, so I determined to follow my friend's advice.

Y. Wild. Did it succeed?

Pap. Better than expectation. My tawny face, long cue, and broken English, was a pusse-partout. Besides, when I am out of place, this disguise procures me many resources.

Y. Wild. As how?

Pap. Why, at a pinch, Sir, I am either a teacher of tongues, a friseur, a dentist, or a dancing-master: these, Sir, are hereditary professions to Frenchmen. But now, Sir, to the point: as you were pleased to be so candid with me, I was determined to have no reserve with you. You have studied books, I have studied men; you want advice, and I have some at your service.

Y. Wild. Well, I'll be your customer. Pap. But guard my secret. If I should be so unfortunate as to lose your place, don't shut me out from every other.

Y. Wild. You may rely upon me.

Pap. In a few years I shall be in a condition to retire from business; but whether I shall settle at my family seat, or pass over to the continent, is as yet undetermined. Perhaps, in gratitude to the country, I may purchase a marquisate near Paris, and spend the money I have got by their means generously amongst them.

Y. Wild. A grateful intention. But let us sally. Where do we open?

Pap. Let us see-one o'clock-it is a fine day the Mall will be crowded.

1'. Wild. What is it?

Y. Wild. Pr'ythee, be plain.

Pap. You have, Sir, a lively imagination, with a most happy turn for invention. Y. Wild. Well.

Pap. But now and then in your narratives you are hurried, by a flow of spirits, to border upon the improbable, a little given to the marvellous.

Y. Wild. I understand you: what, I am somewhat subject to lying?

Pap. Oh, pardon me, Sir; I don't say that; no, no: only a little apt to embellish; that's all. To be sure it is a fine gift, that there is no disputing: but men in general are so stupid, so rigorously attached to inatter of fact-And yet this talent of yours is the very soul and spirit of poetry; and why it should not be the same in prose, I can't for my life determine. Y. Wild. You would advise me, then, not to be quite so poetical in my prose?

Pup. Why, Sir, if you would descend a little to the grovelling comprehension of the million, I think it would be as well.

Y. Wild. I'll think of it.

Pap. Besides, Sir, in this town, people are more smoky and suspicious. Oxford, you know, is the seat of the muses; and a man is naturally permitted more ornament and garniture to his conversation, than they will allow in this latitude.

away.

Y. Wild. I believe you are right. But we shall be late. D'ye hear me, Papillion: if at any time you find me growing too poetical, give me a hint; your advice sha'n't be thrown [Exit. Pap. I wish it may'nt: but the disease is too rooted to be quickly removed. Lord, how I have sweat for him! yet he is as unembarrassed, easy, and fluent, all the time, as if he really believed what he said. Well, to be sure, he is a great master; it is a thousand pities his genius could not be converted to some public service. I think the government should employ him to answer the Brussels Gazette. I'll be hanged if he is not too many for Monsieur Maubert, at his own weapons.

the powder magazine in a fortified city. Pap. Quitted America! well pulled. Miss Gr. You have served in America, then?

Y. Wild. Full four years, Ma'am: and dur ing that whole time, not a single action of consequence, but I had an opportunity to signalize myself; and I think I may, without vanity, affirm, I did not miss the occasion. You have heard of Quebec, I presume?

Pap. What the deuce is he driving at now! Y. Wild. The project to surprise that place was thought a happy expedient, and the first mounting the breach a gallant exploit. There indeed the whole army did me justice.

Miss Gr. I have heard the honour of that conquest attributed to another name.

Y. Wild. The mere taking the town, Ma'am; but that's a trifle.-But, Madam, it is not to the French alone that my feats are confined: Cherokees, Catabaws, with all the Aws and Ees of the continent, have felt the force of my

arms.

Pap. This is too much, Sir.

Y. Wild. Hands off! nor am 1 less adroit at a treaty, Madam, than terrible in battle. To me we owe the friendship of the five Nations; and I had the first honour of smoking the pipe of peace with the Little Carpenter. Miss Gr. And so young!

Y. Wild. This gentleman, though a Frenchman and an enemy, I had the fortune to deliver from the Mohawks, whose prisoner he had been for nine years. He gives a most entertaining account of their laws and customs: he shall present you with the wampum belt and a scalping-knife. Will you permit him, Madam, just to give you a taste of the mili tary-dance, with a short specimen of their warwhoop.

Pap. For Heaven's sake!

Miss Gr. The place is too public.

SCENE II.-The Park.

[Exit.

Y. Wild. Your ladyship's handkerchief, Ma'am.

more glorious in wearing your chains, that in triumphing over the vanquished world.

year.

Miss Gr. Is this meant to me, Sir?

Y. Wild. To whom else, Madam? surely, you must have marked my respectful assiduity, my uninterrupted attendance; to plays, operas, balls, routs, and ridottos, I have pursued you like your shadow; I have besieged your door for a glimpse of your exit and entrance, like a distressed creditor, who has no arms against privilege but perseverance.

Pap. So, now, he is in for it; stop him who

a time to renew our acquaintance; at present it is necessary we should separate.

Y. Wild. Stave to your will, I live but to obey you. But, may I be indulged with the knowledge of your residence?

Miss Gr. Sir?

Y. Wild. Your place of abode?

Miss Gr. Oh, Sir, you can't want to be acquainted with that; you have a whole year stood sentinel at my ladyship's portal.

Y. Wild. Madam, I—I—I—

Miss Gr. Oh, Sir, your servant. Ha, ha, ha! What, you are caught? ha, ha, ha! Well, he has a most intrepid assurance. Adieu, my Mars. Ha, ha, ha! [Erit

Pap. That last was an unlucky question,

Sir.

Y. Wild. A little mal-à-propos, I must con

fess.

my own composing. The conceits were pretty; allusions to Venus and the sea-the lady and the Thames-no great matter; but, however, well timed, and, what was better, well taken. Sir J. Doubtless.

Pap. At what a rate he runs!

Y. Wild. As soon as we had gained the centre of the river, two boats, full of trumpets, French-horns, and other martial music, struck up their sprightly strains from the Surry side, which were echoed by a suitable number of lutes, flutes, and hautboys, from the opposite shore. In this state, the oars keeping time, we majestically sailed along, till the arches of the new bridge gave a pause, and an opportunity for an elegant dessert in Dresden China, by Robinson. Here the repast closed with a few favourite airs from Eliza, Tenducci, and the Maittei.

Pap. Mercy on us!

Y. Wild. Opposite Lambeth, I had prepared a naval engagement in which Boscawen's victory over the French was repeated: the action was conducted by one of the commanders on that expedition, and not a single incident omitted.

Sir J. Surely, you exaggerate a little.
Pap. Yes, yes, this battle will sink him.
Y. Wild. True to the letter, upon my hon-

Y. Wild. As how?

Sir J. A band of music in boats.

Y. Wild. Were they good performers? Sir J. The best. Then conducted to Marblehall, where she found a magnificent collation. Y. Wild. Well ordered?

Sir J. With elegance. After supper, a ball; and, to conclude the night, a firework.

Y. Wild. Was the last well designed?
Sir J. Superb.

Y. Wild. And happily executed?
Sir J. Not a single faux pas.

Y. Wild. And you don't know who gave it?

Sir J. I can't even guess.

Y. Wild. Ha, ha, ha!

Sir J. Why do you laugh?

Y. Wild Ha, ha, ha! It was me.

Pap. So, so, so; he's entered again.

Sir J. Why, you are fortunate to find a mistress in so short a space of time.

Y. Wild. Short! why, man, I have been in London these six weeks.

Pap. O Lord, O Lord!

Y. Wild. It is true, not caring to encounter my father, I have rarely ventured out but of nights.

Pup. I can hold no longer. Dear Sir-
Y. Wild. Peace, puppy.

Pap. A curb to your poetical vein.

Y. Wild. I shall curb your impertinence.But since the story is got abroad, I will, my dear friend, treat you with all the particulars. Sir J. I shall hear it with pleasure--This is a lucky adventure: but he must not know he is my rival. [Aside. Y. Wild. Why, Sir, between six and seven my goddess embarked at Somerset-stairs, in one of the companies' barges, gilt and hung with damask, expressly for the occasion.

Pap. Mercy on us!

Y. Wild. At the cabin-door she was accosted by a beautiful boy, who, in the grab of a Cupid, paid her some compliments in verse, of

our collation, ball, feu d'artifice, with the thousand little incidental amusements that chance or design produced: it is enough to know, that all that could flatter the senses, tire the imagination, or gratify the expectation, was there produced in a lavish abundance.

Sir J. The sacrifice was, I presume, grateful to your deity.

Y. Wild. Upon that subject you must par don my silence.

Pap. Modest creature!

Sir J. I wish you joy of your success-For the present, you will excuse me.

Y. Wild. Nay, but stay and hear the conclusion.

Sir J. For that I shall seize another occasion.

Pup. Nobly performed, Sir.

[Exit.

Y. Wild. Yes, I think, happily hit off. Pap. May I take the liberty to offer one question?

Y. Wild. Freely.

Pap. Pray, Sir, are you often visited with these waking dreams?

Y. Wild. Dreams! what dost mean by dreams?

Pap. Those ornamental reveries, those frolics of fancy, which, in the judgment of the vulgar, would be deemed absolute flams.

Y. Wild. Why, Papillion, you have but a poor, narrow, circumscribed genius.

Pup. I must own, Sir, I have not sublimity sufficient to relish the full fire of your Pindaric

muse.

Y. Wild. No; a plebeian soul! But I will animate thy clay; mark my example, follow my steps, and in time thou may'st rival thy master.

Pap. Very well, Sir, this is all very lively; but remember the travelling pitcher: if you don't one time or other, under favour, lie yourself into some confounded scrape, I will be content to be hanged.

Y. Wild. Do you think so, Papillion?And whenever that happens, if I don't lie myself out of it again, why then I will be content to be crucified. And so, along after the lady—

[Stops short, going out.] Zounds, here comes my father! I must fly. Watch him, Papillion, and bring me word to the Cardigan. [Exeunt separately.

SCENE III.—A Tavern.

YOUNG WILDING and PAPILLION rising from

table.

Y. Wild. Gad, I had like to have run into the old gentleman's mouth.

Pap. It is pretty near the same thing; for I saw him join Sir James Elliot: so your arrival is no longer a secret.

Y. Wild. Why then I must lose my pleasure, and you your preferment: I must submit to the dull decency of a sober family, and you to the customary duties of brushing and powdering. But I was so fluttered at meeting my father, that I forgot the fair: pr’ythee,

who is she?

Pap. There were two.

Y. Wild. That I saw.

Pap. From her footman, I learned her name

was Godfrey.

Y. Wild. And her fortune?

Pap. Immense.

Y. Wild. Single, I hope?

Pap. Certainly.

Y. Wild. Then will I have her.

Pap. What, whether she will or no? Y. Wild. Yes.

Pap. How will you manage that?

O. Wild. Was it quite so decent, Jack, to be six weeks in town, and conceal yourself only from me?

Y. Wild. Six weeks! I have scarce been

six hours.

O. Wild. Come, come; I am better informed. Y. Wild. Indeed, Sir you are imposed upon. This gentleman (whom first give me leave to have the honour of introducing to you,) this, Sir, is the Marquis de Chateau Brilliant, of an ancient house in Brittany; who, travelling through England, chose to make Oxford for some time the place of his residence, where I had the happiness of his acquaintance. O. Wild. Does he speak English?

Y. Wild. Not fluently, but understands it perfectly.

Pap. Pray, Sir

der you here, you may readily command. Y. Wild. Any services, Sir, that I can renPap. Beaucoup d'honneur.

Y. Wild. This gentleman, I say, Sir, whose quality and country are sufficient securities for his veracity will assure you, that yesterday we left Oxford together.

O. Wild. Indeed! Pap. C'est vrai.

O. Wild. This is amazing. I was at the same time informed of another circumstance too, that, I confess, made me a little uneasy, as it interfered with a favourite scheme of my

own.

Y. Wild. What could that be, pray, Sir?
O. Wild. That you had conceived a violent

Pap. I don't understand you, Sir.

Y. Wild. Oh, I shall only have recourse to that talent you so mightily admire. You will see, by the circulation of a few anecdotes, how soon I will get rid of my rivals.

Pap. At the expense of the lady's reputation, perhaps.

Y. Wild. That will be as it happens.
Pap. And have you no qualms, Sir?
Y. Wild. Why, where's the injury?
Pap. No injury, to ruin her fame!

Y. Wild. I will restore it to her again.
Pap. How?

Y. Wild. Turn tinker, and mend it myself.
Pap. Which way?

Y. Wild. The old way; solder it by marriage: that, you know, is the modern salve for

every sore.

Y. Wild. Sir!

O. Wild. And had given her very gallant and very expensive proofs of your passion. Y. Wild. Me, Sir!

O. Wild. Particularly last night; music, collations, balls, and fireworks.

Y. Wild. Monsieur le Marquis -And pray, Sir, who could tell you all this? 6. Wild. An old friend of yours.

Y. Wild. His name, if you please?
O. Wild. Sir James Elliot.

Y. Wild. Yes; I thought he was the man.
O. Wild. Your reason.

Y. Wild. Why, Sir, though Sir James Elliot has a great many good qualities, and is upon the whole a valuable man, yet he has one fault which has long determined me to drop his acquaintance.

O. Wild. What may that be?

Y. Wild. Why you can't, Sir, be a stranger to his prodigious skill in the traveller's talent? O. Wild. How!

Y. Wild. Oh, notorious to a proverb. His friends, who are tender of his fame, gloss over his foible, by calling him an agreeable novel. ist; and so he is, with a vengeance. Why, be will tell you more lies in an hour, than all the circulating libraries put together will publish in a year.

O. Wild. Indeed!

Y. Wild. Oh, he is the modern Mandeville at Oxford: he was always distinguished by the facetious appellation of the Bouncer. O. Wild. Amazing!

Y. Wild. Lord, Sir, he is so well understood in his own county, that at the last Hereford assizes, a cause, as clear as the sun, was absolutely thrown away by his being merely mentioned as a witness.

O. Wild. A strange turn!

Y. Wild. Unaccountable. But there, I think, they went a little too far; for if it had