In our way down stairs, Madame Duval, in a very passionate manner, said, “Ma foi, if I wouldn’t give fifty guineas only to know who gave us that shove!”
This Museum is very astonishing, and very superb; yet if afforded me but little pleasure, for it is a mere show, though a wonderful one.
Sir Clement Willoughby, in our walk round the room, asked me what my opinion was of this brilliant spectacle!
“It is a very fine, and very ingenious,” answered I; “and yet-I don’t know how it is-but I seem to miss something.”
“Excellently answered!” cried he; “you have exactly defined my own feelings, though in a manner I should never have arrived at. But I was certain your taste was too well formed, to be pleased at the expense of your understanding.”
“Pardi,” cried Madame Duval, “I hope you two is difficult enough! I’m sure if you don’t like this you like nothing; for it’s the grandest, prettiest, finest sight that ever I see in England.”
“What,” cried the Captain with a sneer, “I suppose this may be in your French taste? it’s like enough, for it’s all kickshaw work. But pr’ythee, friend,” turning to the person who explained the devices, “will you tell me the use of all this? for I’m not enough of a conjuror to find it out.”
“Use, indeed!” repeated Madame Duval, disdainfully; “Lord if every thing’s to be useful!-”
“Why, Sir, as to that, Sir,” said our conductor, “the ingenuity of the mechanism-the beauty of the workmanship-the-undoubtedly, Sir, any person of taste may easily discern the utility of such extraordinary performances.”
“Why then, Sir,” answered the Captain, “your person of taste must be either a coxcomb, or a Frenchman; though, for the matter of that, ?tis the same thing.”