“Mr. Harris declared himself her partizan.
“Lady Edgcumbe warmed up ardently for Agajari.
“Mr. Dean.—‘But pray, Dr. Burney, why should not these two melodious signoras sing together, that we might judge them fairly?’
“Dr. Burney.—‘Oh! the rivalry would be too strong. It would create a musical war. It would be Cæsar and Pompey.’
“Lady Edgcumbe.—‘Pompey the Little, then, I am sure would be la Gabrielli!’
“Enter Lord Bruce.
“He is a younger brother not only of the Duke of Montagu, but of his Honour Brudenel. How the titles came to be so awkwardly arranged in this family is no affair of mine; so you will excuse my sending you to the Herald’s Office, if you want that information, my dear Mr. Crisp; though as you are one of the rare personages who are skilled in every thing yourself,—at least so says my father;—and he is a Doctor, you know!—I dare say you will genealogize the matter to me at once, when next I come to dear Chesington.
“He is tall, thin, and plain, but remarkably sensible, agreeable, and polite; as, I believe, are very generally all those keen looking Scotchmen; for Scotch, not from his accent, but his name, I conclude him of course. Can Bruce be other than Scotch? They are far more entertaining, I think, as well as informing, taken in the common run, than we silentious English; who, taken en masse, are tolerably dull.
“The Opera?—the Gabrielli?—were now again brought forward. Lady Edgcumbe, who is delightfully music mad, was so animated, that she was quite the life of the company.
“At length—Tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, too!