To Mr Allspice's town goes a London merchant of the name of Dashall, who receives a letter on his arrival, and reads it to the whole of the audience:—
"Dashall, (reads).—'Dear Dashall, all's up. Transfer swears if you don't settle your beer account in a week, he'll blackboard you. Affectionate enquiries are making after you at Lloyd's; and to crown all, hops were so lively last market, that there is already a loss of thousands on that scheme. Nothing can save you but the ready. Yours,
"'Tim Tick.
"'N.B.—Green peas were yesterday sold at Leadenhall market at ninepence a-peck, so your bet of three thousand pounds on that event is lost.'—So! Lurched every way; stocks, insurance, hops, hazard, and green peas, all over the left shoulder; and then, like a flat, I must get pigeoned at Faro by ladies of quality, for the swagger of saying, 'The Duchess and I were curst jolly last night.' But confusion to despair! I'm no flincher. If I can but humbug Allspice out of a few thousands, and marry his daughter, I shall cut a gay figure, and make a splash yet.
"Waiter, (without.)—A room for Lady Sorrel.
"Dashall.—What the devil brings her here? Old and ugly as she is, I'll take decent odds that 'tis an intrigue.
[Enter Lady Sorrel.
"Lady Sorrel.—Inform my cousin Caustic I'm here. Ah, Dashall! I suppose the warm weather has driven you from town?
"Dashall.—True, London was certainly too hot for me, but how could your ladyship leave the fascination of play?
"Lady Sorrel.—Hush! that's not my rural character. I always assimilate. The fact is, Dick, I have here a strange, plain-spoken, worthy, and wealthy relation; he gives me considerable sums to distribute in London to the needy, which I lose in play to people of fashion; and you'll allow that is giving them to the needy, and fulfilling the worthy donor's intentions.—Ha! ha!