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_Cliff._ [_With emotion._] That we are compelled to call reason and honour to our aid----
_Sir C._ And then----
_Cliff._ We lose the intemperance of our inclinations in the sense of what is right.
_Sir C._ [_Aside._] Sententious impostor!--[_To him._] But to the point.
_Cliff._ Sir, I would please you if I could--I am thinking of a scheme to restore Lord Gayville to his senses, without violence or injury to any one of the parties.
_Sir C._ Let me hear it.
_Cliff._ Why, the wench being cut short of marketing by word of mouth, desired me to write proposals. I am inclined to do so. We will show the answer to Lord Gayville, and, depend upon it, there will be character enough displayed to cure him of the sentimental part of his attachment.
_Sir. C._ I like your idea--Sit down, and put it into execution immediately----[_CLIFFORD writes._]----[_To himself._] He is quick at invention--has a pretty turn at profession--A proud and peremptory show of honour would overpower prejudices. Thank Heaven, my opinions of knavery are convictions!
_Cliff._ [_Writing._] I am sorry to detain you, sir.
_Sir C._ [_Looking at the Furniture._] Oh! I am amusing myself better than you think--Indulging an edifying contemplation among the tombs of departed estates--[_Looking round the Furniture, viz. Closets, that show old Writings, tied up; Shelves with Boxes, labelled Mortgages, Lease and Release, &c._] What mouldered skins, that will never see day-light again, and that, with a good herald, would vie with Westminster Abbey in holiday entertainment. For instance, now, what have we here?--Hah! The last remains of Fatland Priory--Once of great monastic importance: A proverb of pride, sloth, and hypocrisy. After the Reformation, the seat of old English hospitality and benevolence--In the present century, altered, adorned, pulled down, and the materials sold by auction.
_Cliff._ Edifying, indeed, sir; your comments are not lost.
_Sir C._ Here lie, undisturbed, in dust, the relics of Court Baron Castle, granted, at the Conquest, to the family of Loftimount. The last of this ancient race, having won twenty-seven king's plates, and represented the county in six parliaments, after many struggles, died of the pistol fever. A disconsolate annuitant inscribed this box to his memory.--Well, Clifford, have you done?
_Cliff._ Yes, sir.
[_Reads, as if to himself._
_You have captivated a young man of rank and fortune, but you are discovered, and his ruin and yours would be the consequence of pursuing any designs, that could impede his proposed marriage with Miss Alscrip.--Throw yourself upon the generosity of his family, and your fortune's made.--Send your answer (and let it be immediate) to me, at Sir Clement Flint's house._
_Yours, &c. &c._ HENRY CLIFFORD.
[_CLIFFORD folds the Letter._
_Sir C._ Our French friend is the man to deliver it, and to bring the answer. I am going home; you'll overtake me.
[_Exit._
_Enter CHIGNON._
_Cliff._ [_Sealing the Letter._] You come apropos, monsieur. [_Gives the Letter with an Air of Mystery._] Have the goodness to put this letter into Miss Alton's own hands.
_Chignon._ [_To himself._] Mademoiselle Alton! Peste! My trick has not pa.s.sed.
_Cliff._ To Miss Alton by herself--I am in all the secret.
_Chignon._ [_To himself._] Devil take Tiffany, for making you so wise.
_Cliff._ And you serve your lady, when you serve me with Miss Alton--Monsieur, an answer as quick as possible--You will find me at Sir Clement Flint's--it is only in the next street--and--you understand me--[_Shaking his Purse._]--Alerte, monsieur.
[_Exit._
_Chignon._ Understand you!--Oui da! you talk de language universal.
[_Imitating his shaking the Purse._] J'entre vois, I begin to see something--By gad, I vill give de letter, ami try de inclination of Mademoiselle la Musicienne--if dis be de duette she vill play, it take her out of the vay of Alscrip, of Gayville, and of myself also--Voila le malheur--there--de misfortune--eh bien--when love and interest come across--alway prefer de interest for to-day, and take de chance of de love to-morrow--dat is de humour of France.
[_Exit._
SCENE II.
_SIR CLEMENT FLINT's House._
_Enter LORD GAYVILLE and SIR CLEMENT._
_Lord G._ I am resolved to see Miss Alscrip no more.
_Sir C._ And I hope you are prepared with arguments to justify the cause of this breach, to me, and to the world.
_Lord G._ For my reconciliation with you, I hope your former partiality will return to my aid; and as for the world, I despise it. The mult.i.tude look at happiness through the false glare of wealth and pomp: I have discovered it, though yet at a distance, through the only true medium, that of mutual affection.
_Sir C._ No common place book, formed from a whole library of plays and novels, could furnish a better sentence. Your folly would shame a school-boy--even of the last age--In the present, he learns the world with his grammar, and gets a just notion of the worthlessness of the other s.e.x, before he is of an age to be duped by their attractions.
_Lord G._ Sir, your prejudices----
_Sir C._ My prejudices?--will you appeal to Clifford--here he comes--your friend--your other self.
_Enter CLIFFORD._
_Lord G._ And will Clifford condemn the choice of the heart?
_Cliff._ Never, my lord, when justly placed--In the case I perceive you are arguing, I am ready to blush for you--nay, don't look grave--I am acquainted with your enchantress.
_Lord G._ You acquainted with her?
_Cliff._ Yes; and, if I don't deceive myself, shall make her break her own spell. I am in correspondence with her.
_Lord G._ You in correspondence with Miss Alton!--when? where? What am I to think of this?
_Cliff._ My dear lord, that she is the most arrant coquette, the most accomplished jilt, the most ready trafficker of her charms----
_Lord G._ Phrensy and profanation!
_Sir C._ Come, Gayville, I'll be plain with you; you have sillily let the girl raise her price upon you--but, if nothing else will satisfy you, e'en pay it, and have done with her.
_Lord G._ Sir, her price is an unadulterated heart: I am afraid we cannot pay it betwixt us.
_Enter CHIGNON; he delivers a Letter to CLIFFORD, apart._
_Chignon._ Alerte, monsieur, I repete your word--Mademoiselle Alton be all your own.
