_Nev._ Without direction!--What can it mean?
_Peter._ Sir, "tis from Lady Waitfor"t.--The servant, who brought it, said, her ladyship had reasons for not directing it, which she would explain to you when she saw you. [_Exit._
_Nev._ Oh, the old stratagem:--as it is not directed, she may swear it was designed for another person. [_Reads._
_Sir_,
_I have heard of your arrival at Bath, and, strange as my conduct may appear, I think it a duty I owe to the virtuous part of mankind, to promote their happiness as much as I can; I have long beheld your merit, and long wished to encourage it.--I shall be at home at six this evening. Yours,_
A. WAITFOR"T.
_Ennui._ In fact--a very sentimental a.s.signation, that would do as well for any other man.
_Nev._ If I show it to my lord, I know his bigotry is such, that he would, as usual, only suppose it a trick of my own--the more cause there is to condemn, the more he approves.
_Ennui._ I"ve an idea, he"s incomprehensible.--In fact--who have we here?
_Nev._ As I live, Vapid, the dramatic author--he is come to Bath to pick up characters, I suppose.
_Ennui._ In fact--pick up!
_Nev._ Yes--he has the ardor scribendi upon him so strong, that he would rather you"d ask him to write an epilogue to a new play, than offer him your whole estate--the theatre is his world, in which are included all his hopes and wishes.--In short, he is a dramatic maniac. And to such an extent does he carry his folly, that if he were not the best natured fellow in the world, every body would kick him out of doors.
_Ennui._ Has he not a share of vanity in his composition?
_Nev._ Oh yes--he fancies himself a great favourite with the women.
_Ennui._ Then I"ve an idea--I"ve got a thought, by which you may revenge yourself on Lady Waitfor"t--in fact--give him the letter--he"ll certainly believe "tis meant for himself.
_Nev._ My dear friend, ten thousand thanks!--We"ll flatter his vanity, by persuading him she is young and beautiful, and my life on"t it does wonders;--but, hush, he comes.
_Enter VAPID._
_Nev._ Vapid! I rejoice to see you,--"tis a long time since we met; give me leave to introduce you to a particular friend of mine--Mr Ennui--Mr Vapid.
_Ennui._ I"ve an idea--you do me honour--Mr Vapid, I shall be proud to be better acquainted with you--in fact--any thing of consequence stirring in the fashionable or political world?
_Vapid._ Some whispers about a new pantomime, sir,--nothing else.
_Nev._ And I"m afraid, in the present scarcity of good writers, we have little else to expect.--Pray, Vapid, how is the present dearth of genius to be accounted for; particularly dramatic genius?
_Vapid._ Why, as to dramatic genius, sir, the fact is this--to give a true picture of life, a man should enter into all its scenes,--should follow nature, sir--but modern authors plunder from one another--the mere shades of shadows.--Now, sir, for my part, I dive into the world--I search the heart of man;--"tis true I"m called a rake--but, upon my soul, I only game, drink, and intrigue, that I may be better able to dramatize each particular scene.
_Nev._ A good excuse for profligacy.--But tell me, Vapid, have you got any new characters since you came to Bath?
_Vapid._ "Faith, only two--and those not very new either.
_Ennui._ In fact--may we ask what they are?
_Vapid._ If you don"t write.
_Nev._ No, we certainly do not.
_Vapid._ Then I"ll tell you:--The first is a charitable divine, who, in the weighty consideration how he shall best lavish his generosity, never bestows it at all:--and the other is a cautious apothecary, who, in determining which of two medicines is best for his patient, lets him die for want of a.s.sistance.--You understand me, I think, this last will do something, eh?
_Ennui._ I"ve an idea--the apothecary would cut a good figure in a comedy.
_Vapid._ A comedy! pshaw! I mean him for a tragedy.
_Ennui._ In fact--I don"t comprehend, nor, possibly, the town.
_Vapid._ I know it--that"s the very thing--hark ye, I"ve found out a secret--what every body understands, n.o.body approves; and people always applaud most where they least comprehend.--There is a refinement, sir, in appearing to understand things incomprehensible--else whence arises the pleasure at an opera, a private play, or a speech in parliament?
why, "tis the mystery in all these things--"tis the desire to find out what n.o.body else can--to be thought wiser than others--therefore--you take me--the apothecary is the hero of my tragedy.
_Nev._ "Faith, there is some reason in all this--and I"m amazed we have so many writers for the stage.
_Vapid._ So am I--and I think I"ll write no more for an ungrateful public--you don"t know any body that has a play coming out, do you?
_Nev._ No--why do you ask?
_Vapid._ He"ll want an epilogue you know, that"s all.
_Nev._ Why, you won"t write him one, will you?
_Vapid._ I! oh Lord! no;--but genius ought to be encouraged, and as he"s a friend of yours,--what"s the name of the play?
_Nev._ I really don"t know any body that has written one.
_Vapid._ Yes----yes----you do.
_Nev._ Upon my word, I do not--a cousin of mine, indeed, wrote one for his amus.e.m.e.nt, but I don"t think he could ever be prevailed on to produce it on the stage.
_Vapid._ He prevailed on!--the manager you mean--but what did you think of it?
_Nev._ I never read it, but am told it is a good play--and if performed, Vapid, he will be proud of your a.s.sistance.
_Vapid._ I speak in time, because it is material--many a dull play has been saved by a good epilogue.
_Nev._ True--but I had almost forgot.--Why, Vapid, the lady in the Grove will enlarge your knowledge amazingly.
_Ennui._ I"ve an idea--she"s the pattern of perfection.
_Nev._ The paragon of beauty! Ah, Vapid! I would give worlds for the coldest expression in this letter.
_Vapid._ That letter!--what do you mean by that letter?
_Nev._ And you really pretend not to know the young Lady Waitfor"t?
_Vapid._ No,--I hav"n"t spoke to a woman at Bath,--but a sweet girl I danced with at the ball; and who she is, by the Lord, I don"t know.