Harriet. But do you really think the Winter is so destitute of comforts?
Maria. Ha, ha, comforts! by comforts I suppose you mean the sweets of domestic life—the large portion of comfort arising from a large winter fire, and the very pleasing tittle-tattle of an antiquated maiden aunt, or the equally pleasing (tho' less loquacious) society of a husband, who, with a complaisance peculiar to husbands, responds—sometimes by a doubtful shrug, sometimes a stupid yawn, a lazy stretch, an unthinking stare, a clownish nod, a surly no, or interrogates you with a—humph? till bed time, when, heaven defend us! you are doom'd to be snor'd out of your wits till day-break, when——
Harriet. Hold, Maria—what a catalogue of uncomfortable comforts have you run over.—Pleasure and Comfort are words which imply the same thing with me; but in this enlighten'd age, when words are so curiously refin'd and defin'd, modern critics and fashionable word-mongers have, in the abundance of their wisdom, made a very nice distinction between them—for my part, I always endeavour to reconcile modish pleasure with real comfort, and custom with reason, as much as is in any way consistent with the obligation one is under to conform a little to the perverse notions of mankind.
Maria. There now!—you know I can't abide to hear you moralize—prithee, my dear Harriet, leave that to grey beards and long-ear'd caps—everything is beautiful in its season, you know.
Harriet. Common sense and propriety are ever in season, Maria, and I was going to mention a sentimental pleasure, a rational enjoyment, which is peculiar to the present season, tho' beautiful in every one, if you had not got frightened at the idea of being comforted.
Maria. Well, my dear comfortable, rational, sentimental Harriet! Let me hear what this rational enjoyment of yours is?
Harriet. Hearing a good play, my dear.
Maria. Hearing a good play! why not seeing it, pray?
Harriet. Because I believe plays are frequently seen, and not heard; at least, not as they ought to be.
Maria. I protest you are quite a critic, Harriet.