“But they must have a devilish good conceit of themselves, though,” said the Captain, “to believe all that. Howsomever, whether or no, I should be glad to be told by some of you, who seem to be knowing in them things, what kind of diversion can be found in such a place as this here, for one who has had, long ago, his full of face-hunting?”
Everybody laughed, but nobody spoke.
“Why, look you there now,” continued the Captain, “you’re all at a dead stand!—not a man among you can answer that there question. Why, then, I must make bold to conclude, that you all come here for no manner of purpose but to stare at one another’s pretty faces:—though, for the matter of that, half of ’em are plaguy ugly;—and, as to t’other half—I believe it’s none of God’s manufactory.”
“What the ladies may come hither for, Sir,” said Mr. Lovel, (stroking his ruffles, and looking down), “it would ill become us to determine; but as to we men, doubtless we can have no other view than to admire them.”
“If I ben’t mistaken,” cried the Captain, (looking earnestly in his face), “you are that same person we saw at Love for Love t’other night; ben’t you?”
Mr. Lovel bowed.
“Why, then, Gentlemen,” continued he, with a loud laugh, “I must tell you a most excellent good joke;—when all was over, as sure as you’re alive, he asked what the play was! Ha, ha, ha!”
“Sir,” said Mr. Lovel, colouring, “if you were as much used to town-life as I am—which, I presume, is not precisely the case—I fancy you would not find so much diversion from a circumstance so common.”
“Common! What, is it common?” repeated the Captain; “why then, ’fore George, such chaps are more fit to be sent to school, and well disciplined with a cat-o’-nine tails, than to poke their heads into a playhouse. Why, a play is the only thing left, nowadays, that has a grain of sense in it; for as to all the rest of your public places, d’ye see, if they were all put together, I wouldn’t give that for ’em!” (snapping his fingers). “And now we’re talking of them sort of things, there’s your operas—I should like to know, now, what any of you can find to say for them.”
Lord Orville, who was most able to have answered, seemed by no means to think the Captain worthy an argument, upon a subject concerning which he had neither knowledge nor feeling: but, turning to us, he said, “The ladies are silent, and we seem to have engrossed the conversation to ourselves, in which we are much more our own enemies than theirs. But,” addressing himself to Miss Mirvan and me, “I am most desirous to hear the opinions of these young ladies, to whom all public places must, as yet, be new.”
We both, and with eagerness, declared that we had received as much, if not more pleasure, at the opera than anywhere: but we had better have been silent; for the Captain, quite displeased, said, “What signifies asking them girls? Do you think they know their own minds yet? Ask ’em after anything that’s called diversion, and you’re sure they’ll say it’s vastly fine—they are a set of parrots, and speak by rote, for they all say the same thing: but ask ’em how they like making puddings and pies, and I’ll warrant you’ll pose ’em. As to them operas, I desire I may hear no more of their liking such nonsense; and for you, Moll” (to his daughter), “I charge you, as you value my favour, that you’ll never again be so impertinent as to have a taste of your own before my face. There are fools enough in the world, without your adding to their number. I’ll have no daughter of mine affect them sort of megrims. It is a shame they a’n’t put down; and if I’d my will, there’s not a magistrate in this town but should be knocked on the head for suffering them. If you’ve a mind to praise anything, why you may praise a play, and welcome, for I like it myself.”
This reproof effectually silenced us both for the rest of the evening. Nay, indeed, for some minutes it seemed to silence everybody else; till Mr. Lovel, not willing to lose an opportunity of returning the Captain’s sarcasm, said, “Why, really Sir, it is but natural to be most pleased with what is most familiar; and, I think, of all our diversions, there is not one so much in common between us and the country as a play. Not a village but has its barns and comedians; and as for the stage business, why it may be pretty equally done anywhere; and even in regard to us, and the canaille, confined as we all are within the semicircle of a theatre, there is no place where the distinction is less obvious.”
While the Captain seemed considering for Mr. Lovel’s meaning, Lord Orville, probably with a view to prevent his finding it, changed the subject to Cox’s Museum, and asked what he thought of it?
“Think!—” said he, “why I think as how it i’n’t worth thinking about. I like no such jemcracks. It is only fit, in my mind, for monkeys:—though, for aught I know, they too might turn up their noses at it.”
“May we ask your Lordship’s own opinion?” said Mrs. Mirvan.
“The mechanism,” answered he, “is wonderfully ingenious: I am sorry it is turned to no better account; but its purport is so frivolous, so very remote from all aim at instruction or utility, that the sight of so fine a show leaves a regret on the mind, that so much work, and so much ingenuity, should not be better bestowed.”
“The truth is,” said the Captain, “that in all this huge town, so full as it is of folks of all sorts, there i’n’t so much as one public place, besides the playhouse, where a man, that’s to
