Lord Narcissus. But have you thought of naming the happy day? Must I long languish ? Lady Amarilla. How can you be so tormenting, Narcissus? Lord Narcissus. (Leading her opposite to a looking-glass, and pointing to her reflection in it.) Can Lady Amarilla wonder? * Lady Amarilla. (Giving him her hand.) Well, I declare you are an irresistible monster. Lord Narcissus. Charming creature! Apropos-so it is settled that Lord Everbloom Daisymore and your elegant sister, Lady Cecilia, are -+ Lady Amarilla. Why, between ourselves but here they come. (LORD EVERBLOOM DAISYMORE and LADY CECILIA join them.) Lady Cecilia. I'm positive he knew nothing of the affair on the tapis, be cause Lord Everbloom. I hope not; but 'pon honour Amarilla can best inform us. it however, Lady Lady Cecilia. Amarilla, do you know that this obstinate creature will have Lady Amarilla. Oh! about the Colonel? Positively I can't say, for "he never told his love." Lord Narcissus. Elegantly quoted! Lady Amarilla. But have you heard of Lord Sweetberry's scheme for the Colonel ? Lord Everbloom. No; pray let us have it. Lady Amarilla. But, mum; for 'tis a secret. Finding the Colonel rather but here he comes.‡ Enter COLONEL FITZMYRTLE, looking sad. Bless me, Colonel, I began to fear we had lost you. Colonel. (Sighing.) Ah! Lady Amarilla! Lord Narcissus. You seem out of spirits, Fitzmyrtle. Colonel. (Aside.) I must dissemble.-Never in better, believe me. Lady Cecilia. Will you join our little satirical party, or adjourn to a cardtable? Colonel. The party of Lady Cecilia must ever be mine. (Bowing.) Lady Cecilia. (Curtseying.) You overpower me, Fitzmyrtle. (To Lord Everbloom.) Now I declare he's a charming man. Lord Everbloom. (Evidently piqued.) You think so? *All this is very elegant. Do you know it is whis t + These breaks in the dialogue, where one of the interlocutors begins a sentence which the other does not finish, serve a double purpose: they economise the Author's matter, or his wit, by dividing one idea between two or more persons; and suspend what he calls the interest. The scheme here on the point of exposition seems to be nothing less than to induce the Colonel to quit the party, among whom is the object of his fruitless and unhappy passion, and court oblivion at the Opera. Indeed, so far as I can perceive, this forms the entire plot of the Comedy. It is not remarkable for interest, nor are the situations and incidents arising out of it either numerous or striking; but the gentility of the dialogue is a sufficient compensation for deficiency in other respects. § (Note of the Author, attached to the MS.) "This scene of jealousy all my own-best I ever wrote-perhaps too strong for genteel Comedy-query, cut it out? Theodore Hook swears it's finer than Felix and Violante, and he is not the man to quiz I myself think it is more refined; in better taste, and so forth." one. || (Another note by the Author.) "Positively will cut out all this-too cutting and severe-might be said I'm coming too near the scandal scene in What's-his-name's play of the School for Scandal-besides, any body in general might think I mean somebody in particular-rather lose my joke than my friend." Spite of the Author's diffidence, I cannot resist the pleasure of informing the reader that the weight of this exquisite satire fell chiefly on the tie of Captain S's neckcloth, and the cut of Lord R's boot. I congratulate them both on its suppression. Yet Lord Everbloom. Lord Narcissus. : Lady Amarilla. A truce, a truce. Really, Narcissus, there is no defence against your satire. Your shafts are too piercing. Lord Narcissus. Were they piercing as the shafts shot from those eyes Lord Everbloom. A truce, as Lady Amarilla says; a truce to this contest of wit. To prevent discord, we will fly to harmony. Lady Amarilla will sing us Lord Narcissus's new song. Lady Amarilla. The song he wrote on my refusing to allow him to take charge of my reticule and fan?-Indeed 'tis charming. Lord Narcissus. (Bowing to her.) When you sing it, I think so too. (Lady Cecilia appears piqued.) Or when Lady Cecilia sings it. (Bowing to her.) Lady Amarilla. Well, we will each sing a verse. Let a servant place my harp here. Lord Narcissus. I am your servant. (He brings forward the harp.) LADY AMARILLA sings. O let me thy richly-wrought reticule carry, To thee it belongs, then to me-it is dear! Believe me, my lady, Sir Charles, or Lord Harry, Will scarce breathe a sigh on the 'broider'd "Souvenir.” Yet harm no bijou that may nestle within; Though fervent my love, my respect shall repress it : All exclaim. Exquisite! Divine! LADY CECILIA sings. The fan that on Sycamore's button now dangles, He knows not its worth-I don't mean for its spangles- Consign it to me, and I'll still hover near thee; The fan shall be ready to summon one there. Lord Narcissus. Lady Cecilia, nothing can equal the charm of your voice Lord Everbloom. Except the charm of Lady Amarilla's; nor can any thing equal the beauty of the music. Colonel. Except the beauty of the poetry. to Colonel Fitzmyrtle.) (Bowing to Lord Narcissus.) Too generous man! (Bowing Colonel. (Drawing Lord Narcissus aside.) Narcissus, I have something of the last importance to communicate. Lord Narcissus. (Eyeing Lord Everbloom Daisymore with his glass.) Daisymore's collar is a prodigious deal too high.† Colonel. I am going to Paris. Lord Narcissus. Eh?-Oh!-Ah! Colonel. In that gay vortex of pleasure, I will recollection of the lovely Lady Amarilla for ever. you are to be the happy man—but you deserve her, charming creature. endeavour to banish the My love is unavailingNarcissus, for you are a I am not of opinion that the Author was in any danger of being dragged into a comparison with the School for Scandal; nor do I entirely subscribe to the maxim he alludes to, that it is better to sacrifice one's joke than one's friend. Much depends on their relative value: the joke may be a good one, and worth preserving; the friend, not. It must be remembered they are rivals. + This trait is finely characteristic of fashionable attention to a communication of the last importance. The Colonel has said this once already; but the repetition may be pardoned for the extreme prettiness of the speech. Lord Narcissus. Were merit alone considered, she would be yours, Fitzmyrtle; for you are a sweet fellow-now don't deny it-you know you are. Colonel. But, hush! we are observed. Lady Amarilla. (To Narcissus.) This is the instant for the execution of Lord Sweetberry's project. Your arm, Narcissus. Lady Cecilia. Everbloom, yours. (Aside to him.) We must leave the Colonel here alone. Lord Everbloom. And, fortunately, he's lost in reverie. Lord Narcissus. Come then, my lovely burthen. (As he leads Lady Amarilla off, he takes some flowers from a vase, and scatters them before her.) Do you take?-May we ever tread on flowers. Lady Amarilla. Fascinating creature. Colonel. I am lost in reverie. (Exeunt all the characters except the Colonel.) Enter LORD SWEETBERRY. Lord Sweetberry. The moment is propitious; the Colonel is alone. (Looking off) Everbloom with Cecilia-Narcissus bending over Amarilla! Sweet creatures! my dearest hopes are gratified.—Colonel. Colonel. (Starting from his reverie.) My Lord-pardon. Lord Sweetberry. (Aside.) I must open my project cautiously.t-Still brooding over your late disappointment? You ought rather Colonel. To seek relief in the busy haunts of pleasure. True, my Lord. Lord Sweetberry. (Aside.) He anticipates my wish. (Affecting carelessness.) Have you heard the new Opera? Colonel. No, my dear Lord; and I am anxious to hear it. Lord Sweetberry. (Looking at his watch.) 'Tis not yet twelve, and as the ballet will hardly be ended Colonel. Suppose we go? Lord Sweetberry. (Aside.) 'Pon honour the thing I would have proposed.The carriage is in waiting.-Colonel, I am yours. Colonel. I'll follow you, my Lord. (Lord Sweetberry bows, and exit.) And must I leave her! Sure none can tell what pain it is to prove END OF THE SCENE.§ (Exit.) P*. These gentlemen's praises of each other are uncommonly soft and sweet; and, considering they are rivals, there is something very touching in their acknowledgments of each other's merits. + The reader will not fail to observe with what consummate art and address this difficult and important scene is conducted. Throughout this admirable genteel Comedy, the propriety and consistency of the characters are preserved with the most scrupulous exactness. Sending Lord Sweetberry and his friend to hear the new Opera a full hour after it is over is a masterly stroke, and exhibits wonderful intimacy with the manners of fashionable life. § I have taken it on my own responsibility to designate this as the end of the Scene merely, though, for any thing that appears to the contrary, it might have been intended as the end of an Act, or even the end of the entire piece. So ingeniously is this play constructed, that the interest excited by it would be neither augmented nor diminished were the scene before us (or indeed any other scene of it,) made to serve as its beginning, its middle, or its ending. The plot, if indeed it ever possessed one, must have dropped out in the course of the many changes the piece has undergone, backwards and forwards, from Drama to Farce, and from Opera to Comedy. But this is of no sort of consequence; it is one of the great advantages inherent in GENTEEL COMEDY, that nothing is expected or required from it but decent, well-behaved dialogue; and this condition has been amply fulfilled by the Author of LA BELLE ASSEMBLEE. THE ROSE IN JANUARY. INTRODUCTION. A GERMAN TALE. I HAD the good fortune to become acquainted in his old age with the celebrated Wieland, and to be often adImitted to his table. It was there that, animated by a flask of Rhenish, he loved to recount the anecdotes of his youth, and with a gaiety and naïveté which rendered them extremely interesting. His age-his learning his celebrity-no longer threw us to a distance, and we laughed with him as joyously as he himself laughed in relating the little adventure which I now attempt to relate. It had a chief influence on his life, and it was that which he was fondest of retracing, and retraced with most poignancy. I can well remember his very words; but there are still wanting the expression of his fine countenance-his hair white as snow, gracefully curling round his head-his blue eyes, somewhat faded by years, yet still announcing his genius and depth of thought; his brow touched with the lines of reflection, but open, elevated, and of a distinguished character; his smile full of benevolence and candour. "I was handsome enough," he used sometimes to say to us-and no one who looked at him could doubt it; "but I was not amiable, for a savant rarely is," he would add laughingly, and this every one doubted; so to prove it, he recounted the little history that follows. "I was not quite thirty," said he to us, "when I obtained the chair of philosophical professor in this college in the most flattering manner: I need not tell you that my amour propre was gratified by a distinction rare enough at my age. I certainly had worked for it formerly; but at the moment it came to me, another species of philosophy occupied me much more deeply, and I would have given more to know what passed in one heart, than to have had power to analyze those of all mankind. I was passionately in love; and you all know, I hope, that when love takes possession of a young head, adieu to every thing else; there VOL. V. is no room for any other thought. My table was covered with folios of all colours, quires of paper of all sizes, journals of all species, catalogues of books, in short, of all that one finds on a professor's table: but of the whole circle of science I had for some time studied only the article Rose, whether in the Encyclopedia, the botanical books, or all the gardeners' calendars that I could meet with you shall learn presently what led me to this study, and why it was that my window was always open, even during the coldest days. All this was connected with the passion by which I was possessed, and which was become my sole and continual thought. I could not well say at this moment how my lectures and courses got on, but this I know, that more than once I have said Amelia,' instead of philosophy.' "It was the name of my beautyin fact, of the beauty of the University, Mademoiselle de Belmont. Her father, a distinguished officer, had died on the field of battle. She occupied with her mother a large and handsome house in the street in which I lived, on the same side, and a few doors distant. This mother, wise and prudent, obliged by circumstances to inhabit a city filled with young students from all parts, and having so charming a daughter, never suffered her a moment from her sight, either in or out of doors. But the good lady passionately loved company and cards; and to reconcile her tastes with her duties, she carried Amelia with her to all the assemblies of dowagers, professors' wives, canonesses, &c. &c. where the poor girl ennuyed herself to death with hemming or knitting beside her mother's card-table. But you ought to have been informed, that no student, indeed no man under fifty, was admitted. I had then but little chance of conveying my sentiments to Amelia. I am sure, however, that any other than myself would have discovered this chance, but I was a perfect novice in gallantry; and, until the moment when I imbibed this passion from Amelia's beautiful dark 2 E eyes, mine, having been always fixed upon volumes of Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Chaldaic, &c. &c. understood nothing at all of the language of the heart. It was at an old lady's, to whom I was introduced, that I became acquainted with Amelia; my destiny led me to her house on the evening of her assembly; she received me I saw Mademoiselle de Belmont, and from that instant her image was engraven in lines of fire on my heart. The mother frowned at the sight of a well-looking young man; but my timid, grave, and perhaps somewhat pedantic air, re-assured her. There were a few other young persons-daughters and nieces of the lady of the mansion; it was summer-they obtained permission to walk in the garden, under the windows of the saloon, and the eyes of their mammas. I followed them; and, without daring to address a word to my fair one, caught each that fell from her lips. "Her conversation appeared to me as charming as her person; she spoke on different subjects with intelligence above her years. In making some pleasant remarks on the defects of men in general, she observed, that what she most dreaded was violence of temper.' Naturally of a calm disposition, I was wishing to boast of it; but not having the courage, I at last entered into her idea, and said so much against passion, that I could not well be suspected of an inclination to it: I was recompensed by an approving smile; it emboldened me, and I began to talk much better than I thought myself capable of doing before so many handsome women; she appeared to listen with pleasure; but when they came to the chapter of fashions, I had no more to say-it was an unknown language; neither did she appear versed in it. Then succeeded observations on the flowers in the garden; I knew little more of this than of the fashions, but I might likewise have my particular taste; and to decide, I waited to learn that of Amelia: she declared for the Rose, and grew animated in the eulogy of her chosen flower. From that moment, it became for me the queen of flowers. Amelia,' said a pretty, little, laughing Espiègle, how many of your favourites are condemned to "Not one,' re death this winter? plied she; I renounce them-their education is too troublesome, and too ungrateful a task, and I begin to think I know nothing about it.' "I assumed sufficient resolution to ask the explanation of this question and answer: she gave it to me; ' You have just learned that I am passionately fond of Roses; it is an hereditary taste; my mother is still fonder of them than I am; since I was able to think of any thing, I have had the greatest wish to offer her a Rose-tree in blow (as a new year's gift) the first of January;' I have never succeeded. Every year I have put a quantity of rose-trees into vases; the greater number perished; and I have never been able to offer one rose to my mother.' So little did I know of the culture of flowers, as to be perfectly ignorant that it was possible to have roses in winter; but from the moment I understood that it might be, without a miracle, and that incessant attention only was ne cessary, I promised myself, that this year the first of January should not pass without Amelia's offering her mother a rose-tree in blow. We returned to the saloon-so close was I on the watch, that I heard her ask my name in a whisper. Her companion answered, I know him only by reputation; they say he is an author; and so learned, that he is already a professor.' I should never have guessed it,' said Amelia; he seems neither vain nor pedantic.' How thankful was I for this reputation. Next morning I went to a gardener, and ordered fifty rose-trees of different. months to be put in vases. • It must be singular ill fortune,' thought I, if, among this number, one at least does not flower. On leaving the gardener, I went to my bookseller's-purchased some works on flowers, and returned home full of hope. I intended to accompany my rose-tree with a fine letter, in which I should request to be permitted to visit Madame de Belmont, in order to teach her daughter the art of having roses in winter; the agreeable lesson, and the charming scholar, were to me much pleasanter themes than those of my philosophical lectures. I built on all this the prettiest romance possible; my milk pail had not yet got on so far as |