"WIDOW. Talk not of such affairs. Who could love such an unhappy relict as I am? But, dear madam, what grounds have you for that idle story? "FOURTH LADY. Why he toasts you and trembles where you are spoke of. It must be a match. "WIDOW. Nay, nay, you rally, you rally; but I know you mean it kindly. "FIRST LADY. I swear we do. [TATTLEAID _whispers the_ WIDOW. "WIDOW. But I must beseech you, ladies, since you have been so compassionate as to visit and accompany my sorrow, to give me the only comfort I can now know, to see my friends cheerful, and to honour an entertainment Tattleaid has prepared within for you. If I can find strength enough I'll attend you; but I wish you would excuse me, for I have no relish of food or joy, but will try to get a bit down in my own chamber. "FIRST LADY. There is no pleasure without you. "WIDOW. But, madam, I must beg of your ladyship not to be so importune to my fresh calamity as to mention Nutbrain any more. I am sure there is nothing in it. In love with me, quotha!" [WIDOW _is led away. Exeunt_ LADIES. Thus runs the comedy, trippingly as the tongue of a gay _raconteur_. Sometimes the scenes are exaggerated, sometimes the characters may be overdrawn, but the satire is true, and the wit is of the best. Take, for instance, the picture reproduced above. Are not its colours--albeit bold and merciless--tinged with the redeeming hue of naturalness? And of you, fair daughters of Eve (if any of you condescend to read these pages), let the author ask one impertinent little question: Is there not something in the conversation of Dick Steele's First Lady, or his Second Lady, or all the other Ladies, which suggests the charity and intellectuality that doth hedge in an afternoon tea? CHAPTER X THE BARTON BOOTHS "Sweet are the charms of her I love, More fragrant than the damask rose; Soft as the down of turtle-dove, Gentle as winds when zephyr blows; Refreshing as descending rains, On sun-burnt climes, and thirsty plains." Thus rhapsodised the great Barton Booth, who could write harmless poetry when the cares of acting did not press too hard upon him. In this case the verses were addressed to the object of his passion, a lady who seems to have been, at first, a trifle parsimonious in her smiles; for, in another song intended for the same siren, the lover asks: "Can then a look create a thought Which time can ne'er remove? Yes, foolish heart, again thou'rt caught, Again thou bleed'st for Love. "She sees the conquest of her eyes, Nor heals the wounds she gave; She smiles when'er my blushes rise, And, sighing, shuns her Slave. "Then, Swain, be bold! and still adore her Still the flying fair pursue: Love, and friendship, still implore her, Pleading night and day for you." [Illustration: BARTON BOOTH]