Fag. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery o’ the matter. Hark’ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste: a lady who likes him better as a half-pay ensign than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a year.

Thos. That is an odd taste indeed!—But has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? Is she rich, hey?

Fag. Rich!—Why, I believe she owns half the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily as I could my washerwoman! She has a lapdog that eats out of gold,—she feeds her parrot with small pearls,—and all her thread-papers are made of bank-notes!

Thos. Bravo, faith!—Odd! I warrant she has a set of thousands at least:—but does she draw kindly with the captain?

Fag. As fond as pigeons.

Thos. May one hear her name?

Fag. Miss Lydia Languish.—But there is an old tough aunt in the way; though, by-the-by, she has never seen my master—for we got acquainted with miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire.

Thos. Well—I wish they were once harnessed together in matrimony.—But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath?—I ha’heard a deal of it—here’s a mort o’merry-making, hey?

Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well—’tis a good lounge; in the morning we go to the pump-room (though neither my master nor I drink the waters); after breakfast we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards; at night we dance; but damn the place, I’m tired of it: their regular hours stupefy me—not a fiddle nor a card after eleven!—However Mr. Faulkland’s gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties;—I’ll introduce you there, Thomas—you’ll like him much.

Thos. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne—you know his master is to marry Madam Julia.

Fag. I had forgot.—But, Thomas, you must polish a little—indeed you must.—Here now—this wig! What the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas?—None of the London whips of any degree of ton wear wigs now.

Thos. More’s the pity! more’s the pity! I say.—Odd’s life! when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I thought how ’twould go next:—odd rabbit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, I guessed ’twould mount to the box!—but ’tis all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and look’ee, I’ll never gi’ up mine—the lawyers and doctors may do as they will.

Fag. Well, Thomas, we’ll not quarrel about that.

Thos. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of the professions ben’t all of a mind—for in our village now, thoff Jack Gauge, the exciseman, has ta’en to his carrots, there’s little Dick the farrier swears he’ll never forsake his bob, though all the college should appear with their own heads!

Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick!—but hold—mark! mark! Thomas.

Thos. Zooks! ’tis the captain.—Is that the Lady with him?

Fag. No no, that is Madam Lucy, my master’s mistress’s maid. They lodge at that house—but I must after him to tell him the news.

Thos. Odd! he’s giving her money!—Well, Mr. Fag——