Cliff. Why, the wench being cut short of marketing by word of mouth, desired me to write proposals. I am inclined to do so. We will show the answer to Lord Gayville, and, depend upon it, there will be character enough displayed to cure him of the sentimental part of his attachment.
Sir. C. I like your idea—Sit down, and put it into execution immediately——[Clifford writes.]——[To himself.] He is quick at invention—has a pretty turn at profession—A proud and peremptory show of honour would overpower prejudices. Thank Heaven, my opinions of knavery are convictions!
Cliff. [Writing.] I am sorry to detain you, sir.
Sir C. [Looking at the Furniture.] Oh! I am amusing myself better than you think—Indulging an edifying contemplation among the tombs of departed estates—[Looking round the Furniture, viz. Closets, that show old Writings, tied up; Shelves with Boxes, labelled Mortgages, Lease and Release, &c.] What mouldered skins, that will never see day-light again, and that, with a good herald, would vie with Westminster Abbey in holiday entertainment. For instance, now, what have we here?—Hah! The last remains of Fatland Priory—Once of great monastic importance: A proverb of pride, sloth, and hypocrisy. After the Reformation, the seat of old English hospitality and benevolence—In the present century, altered, adorned, pulled down, and the materials sold by auction.
Cliff. Edifying, indeed, sir; your comments are not lost.
Sir C. Here lie, undisturbed, in dust, the relics of Court Baron Castle, granted, at the Conquest, to the family of Loftimount. The last of this ancient race, having won twenty-seven king's plates, and represented the county in six parliaments, after many struggles, died of the pistol fever. A disconsolate annuitant inscribed this box to his memory.—Well, Clifford, have you done?
Cliff. Yes, sir.
[Reads, as if to himself.
You have captivated a young man of rank and fortune, but you are discovered, and his ruin and yours would be the consequence of pursuing any designs, that could impede his proposed marriage with Miss Alscrip.—Throw yourself upon the generosity of his family, and your fortune's made.—Send your answer (and let it be immediate) to me, at Sir Clement Flint's house.