Mask. These!—Why, in these I am a young travell'd Cognoscento: Mr. Glib bought them of Sir Tom Totter's Valet; and I am going there directly. You know his Picture-Sale comes on to-day; and I have got my head full of Parmegiano, Sal Rosa, Metzu, Tarbaek, and Vandermeer. I talk of the relief of Woovermans, the spirit of Teniers, the colouring of the Venetian School, and the correctness of the Roman. I distinguish Claude by his Sleep, and Ruysdael by his Water. The rapidity of Tintoret's pencil strikes me at the first glance; whilst the harmony of Vandyk, and the glow of Correggio, point out their Masters.
Enter Company.
1st Lady. Hey-day, Mr. Silvertongue! what, nobody here!
Silv. Oh, my Lady, we shall have company enough in a trice; if your carriage is seen at my door, no other will pass it, I am sure.
1st Lady. Familiar Monster! [Aside.] That's a beautiful Diana, Mr. Silvertongue; but in the name of Wonder, how came Actæon to be placed on the top of a House?
Silv. That's a David and Bathsheba, Ma'am.
Lady. Oh, I crave their pardon!——I remember the Names, but know nothing of the Story.
More Company enters.
1st Gent. Was not that Lady Frances Touchwood, coming up with Mrs. Racket?
2d Gent. I think so;——yes, it is, faith.——Let us go nearer.