_Miss Als._ Madam, pray be seated-- _Miss Alton._ Excuse me, madam,-- _Miss Als._ Madam, I must beg-- _Miss Alton._ Madam, this letter will inform you how little pretension I have to the honours you are offering. _Miss Als._ [Reads.] _Miss Alton, the bearer of this, is the person I recommended as worthy the honour of attending you as a companion._ [Eyes her scornfully.] _She is born a gentlewoman; I dare say her talents and good qualities will speak more in her favour, than any words I could use--I am, Madam, your most obedient_--um--um--. Blandish, was there ever such a mistake? _Mrs. Blandish._ Oh! you dear, giddy, absent creature, what could you be thinking of? _Miss Als._ Absent indeed. Chignon, give me the fauteuil; [_Throws herself into it._] Young woman, where were you educated? _Miss Alton._ Chiefly, madam, with my parents. _Miss Als._ But finished, I take it for granted, at a country boarding school; for we have, _young ladies_, you know Blandish, _boarded and educated_, upon blue boards, in gold letters, in every village; with a strolling player for a dancing master, and a deserter from Dunkirk, to teach the French grammar. _Mrs. Blandish._ How that genius of yours does paint! nothing escapes you--I dare say you have anticipated this young lady's story. _Miss Alton._ It is very true, madam, my life can afford nothing to interest the curiosity of you two ladies; it has been too insignificant to merit your concern, and attended with no circumstances to excite your pleasantry. _Miss Als._ [_Yawning._] I hope, child, it will be attended with such for the future as will add to your own--I cannot bear a mope about me.--I am told you have a talent for music--can you touch that harp--It stands here as a piece of furniture, but I have a notion it is kept in tune, by the man who comes to wind up my clocks. _Miss Alton._ Madam, I dare not disobey you. But I have been used to perform before a most partial audience; I am afraid strangers will think my talent too humble to be worthy attention. SONG. _For tenderness framed in life's earliest day,_ _A parent's soft sorrows to mine led the way;_ _The lesson of pity was caught from her eye,_ _And ere words were my own, I spoke in a sigh._ _The nightingale plunder'd, the mate-widow'd dove,_ _The warbled complaint of the suffering grove,_ _To youth as it ripened gave sentiment new,_ _The object still changing, the sympathy true._ _Soft embers of passion yet rest in the glow--_ _A warmth of more pain may this breast never know!_ _Or if too indulgent the blessing I claim,_ _Let reason awaken, and govern the flame._ _Miss Als._ I declare not amiss, Blandish: only a little too plaintive--but I dare say she can play a country dance, when the enlivening is required--So, Miss Alton, you are welcome to my protection; and indeed I wish you to stay from this hour. My toilet being nearly finished, I shall have a horrid vacation till dinner.