well, seeing is believing—I come up to Town on purpose to be present at the Wedding, and now I am here, I don't know what to say to it. I thank you, however, for your care of my daughter, she has been but a Troublesome Baggage, I fear, here in your House so long.

Sir Robert. So agreeable, that I'm not fond of parting with her.

Quicksett. Why does not the young Man appear then? I want to see him.

Sir Robert. I have sent upstairs for him—he'll be here presently.

Quicksett. I don't know how to say it—he's but just arriv'd as I may say, and he's the Town-talk already.

(Enter SIDEBOARD)

Sideboard. My young Master is not stirring yet, Sir.

Quicksett. Not stirring at this time o' day?

Sir Robert. Nay, there's nothing in that—he has not recover'd from his Fatigue—but there's his governor yonder. He can give an account of him—call him in Sideboard. The Truth of the matter is, I have not seen much of him myself, but by all accounts—O, here comes Mr. Florid—Mr. Florid, they say is a particular sort of Philosopher that talks much of characteristicks, I don't well understand what characteristicks are, but he is a well spoken Man. O, here he comes.

(Enter FLORID)

Florid. Sir Robert, I hope I see you with your Spirits in due Harmony, and all your Affections in proper ballance.

Sir Robert. I am very well, I thank you, if you mean that—Mr. Florid, this is Mr. Quicksett.

Florid. The warmth of my Affections, Sir Robert, gives an instantaneous glow to my Spirits, and I behold your Friend with Congenial Feelings, and all the Impulse of Sympathetic Raptures. Sir, your most Obedient.

Quicksett. Sir, your Servant—I am a plain spoken Man, lookye, downright, and honest—my intended Son-in-Law, I find has been under your Care. I should be glad to hear from you that he has taken up a little, and sowed his wild Oats, as I may say.

Florid. Dear Sir, such an alteration was never known. The Senses in general, Sir, have been wrongly confin'd to the five Classes of External Senses—there are, Sir, in Human Nature many other Inlets of Perception—there is the Public Sense—the Private Sense—the Sense of Honor—the Moral Sense—the Internal Sense—

Quicksett. Ay, but has he common Sense?

Florid. The Sensus Communis, or the Public Sense is the same thing. Now Sir, there is an amazing Connexion between the Organs of Bodily Sensation, and the Faculties of Moral Perception, and there are certain Powers in Human Nature—which seem to be Intermediate—

Quicksett. Sir Robert, I don't rightly comprehend this.

Florid. Those Intermediate Powers have been stiled in general the Powers of Imagination, which do not seem to have given him an ardent propensity to the Mimetic Arts—but his faculties of moral perception have given him the To Prepon, the Kalogathia of the Greeks, Honestum of the Latins, the Sympathetic Regularity, the Responsive Harmony—

Quicksett. Odds, my life, I had as soon be at a Foxchase without ever seeing the Dogs, as hear all this without understanding a Word.

Sir Robert. Mr. Florid, my Friend Quicksett is like myself a plain spoken Man—cou'd not you tell him now in plain English that the Boy is reform'd?

Florid. Dear Sir, that's the very thing I'm about—the young Gentleman has really very delicate Sensations, and when I have fixed in him certain determinations to be pleas'd with the complex forms of Beauty, Regularity, Order, Harmony and Proportion—

Quicksett. I am very much obliged to you, Sir—but I am as far to seek as ever. And so now I'll go to the coffeehouse and see if the Papers mention the taking of any more French ships.

Sir Robert. Nay, but Mr. Quicksett—don't be in such a hurry, my Son shall be call'd upon.

Quicksett. No, I won't disturb him—I'll call again in the Evening.

Sir Robert. Well, well, I'll step to the coffe house with you—will you dine with us?

Quicksett. No, I am to dine with Sergeant Interrogatory in Chancery Lane—but I'll call in the Evening.

Florid. You may make yourself perfectly easy about the young Gentleman—you'll find every Word I have said to be true.

(Exit Sir Robert and Quicksett)

Florid. (Alone) I have already fixed a ridiculous Aposiation of Ideas in my young Pupil's Mind concerning Marriage. If I can bring him to decline it, I shall see whether I can't awaken Miss Harriet's Affections in my own behalf—I have almost finish'd a short Treatise upon Beauty, which I shall dedicate to her. I must make all I can of this family; and then the pleasures of Imagination will strike the Internal Sense with a finer Impulse, when some Ideas of Property concur.

(Enter SIDEBOARD)

Sideboard. My young Master's stirring Sir, and desires to speak with you, Sir.

Florid. Honest Sideboard, I attend him. (Exit)

Sideboard. This House is nothing but a Scene of confusion, I think, with all these French Parlevous about the House.

(Enter ST. LOUIS singing)

St. Louis. La Guerre en Angleterre—hey—Bourguignon—La Fleur, you must come upstair.

(French Servants run across the Stage)

Sideboard. I wish these fellows were out of the House—always quarrelling with the Cook—and tossing up Ragouts and powdering their Hair in the Kitchen—so friend Roger—

(Enter ROGER)

Roger. Master Sideboard, a good Morning to you.

Sideboard. Good Morning, Roger. Why you're not chang'd in your Travels abroad Roger.

Roger. No, Heav'n be prais'd, they cou'd not change me. Is the Squire stirring yet?

Sideboard. Yes, and that chattering Frenchman is with him. Pray, who is he?

Roger. O that's Mounsieur Abbé—the Squire has brought un home with un to write Remarks, as I overheard un say, upon all our Country Folk. He has learned English on purpose, and jabbers from Morning to Night. Lord! When he was abroad, a used to dress quite and clean in another manner, a was all over black with a silk thing flowing behind, with a spruce Wig, and a black Patch on the Crown of his head, as if a was one of your Sergeants at Law as one may see upon circuit; but dear Heart, the Squire will be in a sad frame presently when I tell un what news I got for un.

Sideboard. Why, what's the matter now?

Roger. I ha' been at the Coostum Hoose to get un things home that he sent by long Sea from Calais but they are all siezed upon, excepten some linnen and wearing Apparrell—Wounds! Says the Coostum Hoose—Gentleman, your Master is an Enemy to his country, to lay out so much Money abroad, and starve honest Tradesfolk at Home, so there's the Devil to pay, a power of Embroidery and Lace, and I don't know what all, seiz'd upon. (Hurra without) Pray Master Sideboard, what may all that mean?