_Mrs. H._ The Count possesses a most cheerful and amiable philosophy. Ever in the same happy humour; ever enjoying each minute of his life. But you must confess, my lord, that he is a favourite child of fortune, and has much to be grateful to her for. Not merely because she has given him birth and riches, but for a native sweetness of temper, never to be acquired; and a graceful suavity of manners, whose school must be the mind. And, need I enumerate among fortune's favours, the hand and affections of your accomplished sister? _Bar._ [_More and more struck as her understanding opens upon him._] True, madam. My good easy brother, too, seems fully sensible of his happiness, and is resolved to retain it. He has quitted the service to live here. I am yet afraid he may soon grow weary of Wintersen and retirement. _Mrs. H._ I should trust not. They, who bear a cheerful and unreproaching conscience into solitude, surely must increase the measure of their own enjoyments. They quit the poor, precarious, the dependent pleasures, which they borrowed from the world, to draw a real bliss from that exhaustless source of true delight, the fountain of a pure unsullied heart. _Bar._ Has retirement long possessed so lovely an advocate? _Mrs. H._ I have lived here three years. _Bar._ And never felt a secret wish for the society you left, and must have adorned? _Mrs. H._ Never. _Bar._ To feel thus belongs either to a very rough or a very polished soul. The first sight convinced me in which class I am to place you. _Mrs. H._ [_With a sigh._] There may, perhaps, be a third class. _Bar._ Indeed, madam, I wish not to be thought forward; but women always seemed to me less calculated for retirement than men. We have a thousand employments, a thousand amusements, which you have not. _Mrs. H._ Dare I ask what they are? _Bar._ We ride--we hunt--we play--read--write.-- _Mrs. H._ The noble employments of the chase, and the still more noble employment of play, I grant you. _Bar._ Nay, but dare I ask what are your employments for a day? _Mrs. H._ Oh, my lord! you cannot imagine how quickly time passes when a certain uniformity guides the minutes of our life. How often do I ask, "Is Saturday come again so soon?" On a bright cheerful morning, my books and breakfast are carried out upon the grass plot. Then is the sweet picture of reviving industry and eager innocence always new to me. The birds' notes so often heard, still waken new ideas: the herds are led into the fields: the peasant bends his eye upon his plough. Every thing lives and moves; and in every creature's mind it seems as it were morning. Towards evening I begin to roam abroad: from the park into the meadows. And sometimes, returning, I pause to look at the village boys and girls as they play. Then do I bless their innocence, and pray to Heaven, those laughing, thoughtless hours, could be their lot for ever. _Bar._ This is excellent!--But these are summer amusements.--The winter! the winter!