_Lady E._ That's the art--Lord, if one lived entirely upon one's own whims, who would not be run out in a twelvemonth? _Miss Als._ Dear Lady Emily, don't you dote upon folly? _Lady E._ To ecstacy. I only despair of seeing it well kept up. _Miss Als._ I flatter myself there is no great danger of that. _Lady E._ You are mistaken. We have, 'tis true, some examples of the extravaganza in high life, that no other country can match; but withal, many a false sister, that starts as one would think, in the very heyday of the fantastic, yet comes to a stand-still in the midst of the course. _Mrs. Blandish._ Poor, spiritless creatures! _Lady E._ Do you know there is more than one duchess who has been seen in the same carriage with her husband--like two doves in a basket, in the print of Conjugal Felicity; and another has been detected--I almost blush to name it-- _Mrs. Blandish._ Bless us! where? and how? and how? _Lady E._ In nursing her own child! _Miss Als._ Oh! barbarism!----For heaven's sake let us change the subject. You were mentioning a revived cap, Lady Emily; any thing of the Henry Quatre? _Lady E._ Quite different. An English mob under the chin, and artless ringlets, in natural colour, that shall restore an admiration for Prior's Nut-brown Maid. _Miss Als._ Horrid! shocking! _Lady E._ Absolutely necessary. To be different from the rest of the world, we must now revert to nature: Make haste, or you have so much to undo, you will be left behind. _Miss Als._ I dare say so. But who can vulgarize all at once? What will the French say? _Lady E._ Oh, we shall have a new treaty for the interchange of fashions and follies, and then say, they will complain, as they do of other treaties, that we out manufactured them. _Miss Als._ Fashions and follies! O what a charming contention! _Lady E._ Yes, and one, thank Heaven, so perfectly well understood on both sides, that no counter declaration will be wanted to explain it. _Miss Als._ [_With an affected drop of her Lip in her Laugh._] He! he! he! he! he! he! _Lady E._ My dear Miss Alscrip, what are you doing? I must correct you as I love you. Sure you must have observed the drop of the under lip is exploded since Lady Simpermode broke a tooth--[_Sets her Mouth affectedly._]--I am preparing the cast of the lips for the ensuing winter----thus--It is to be called the Paphian mimp. _Miss Als._ [_Imitating._] I swear I think it pretty--I must try to get it. _Lady E._ Nothing so easy. It is done by one cabalistical word, like a metamorphosis in the fairy tales. You have only, when before your glass, to keep pronouncing to yourself nimini-pimini--the lips cannot fail taking their plie. _Miss Als._ Nimini--pimini--imini, mimini--oh, it's delightfully infantine--and so innocent, to be kissing one's own lips. _Lady E._ You have it to a charm--does it not become her infinitely, Mrs. Blandish?