MISS SNA. How very strange that he can never get courage to express the feelings, that you say he so beautifully describes in his epistles. What can be done to make him speak out? MISS SKY. I suppose I must take his silence as the greatest proof of his sincerity; for all philosophers have declared that strong feelings, like great griefs, are generally dumb. MISS SNA. Then where is the language of love? MISS SKY. In that case the language of love is no language at all. MISS SNA. And yet you tell me he writes so beautifully. MISS SKY. You shall hear. _(They sit; MISS SKYLARK produces a letter from her basket.)_ Will you have a despairing or an enthusiastic letter? MISS SNA. Try me first with a little despair, then the enthusiasm will relish all the better afterwards. MISS SKY. Here is one that will suit you then. _(Reading a letter.)_ "Dearest object of my soul--pardon the intrusion of your despairing admirer--but my passion for you is so intense, that neither night nor day can I close my eyes!" MISS SNA. Poor fellow, how badly he must want a night's rest. MISS SKY. _(Reading.)_ "For ever haunted by your charms, I have no other relief than in continually describing the feelings of my seared and desolate heart!" Isn't that beautiful? He must have an affectionate disposition, or he couldn't express himself so sweetly! "Seared and desolate!" What beautiful language! It seems only fit to be sung--never to be merely spoken. _(Singing.)_ "Seared and----" MISS SNA. Pray don't begin singing your love letters--we shall never get to the end of one of them. MISS SKY. I beg your pardon, I was carried away by my feelings. I'll go on: _(Reading.)_ "If it should be my wretched fate to meet with your scorn, pray destroy this letter, as you have already destroyed the happiness of your devoted slave----" MISS SNA. Eh! Bless me, those words are very familiar to me! MISS SKY. Familiar to you! Surely he has not been writing to _you?_ MISS SNA. I have that letter in my pocket at this very moment! MISS SKY. You have. Oh, the little monster!--I'll box his ears! MISS SNA. Nay, nay, the case is not so bad as you suppose it to be, though I have a similar letter in my possession, it is not from Mr. Pinkey. MISS SKY. I don't understand you--pray explain. MISS SNA. _(Taking a small book from her pocket.)_ You see this book--look at its title. MISS SKY. _(Reading.)_ "The Complete Letter Writer." MISS SNA. Mr. Pinkey's despairing epistle is copied word for word, from that book. MISS SKY. Copied from this book. Oh! the little amatory plagiarist! MISS SNA. Look and be convinced--turn to page 20.