FullReads

LADY K. [aside].–Emily? why does she not call the child by her blessed mother’s name of Arabella? [To MRS. B.] ARABELLA is quite well, Mrs. Bonnington. Mr. Squillings said it was nothing; only her grandmamma Bonnington spoiling her, as usual. Mr. Bonnington and all your numerous young folk are well, I hope?

MRS. B.–My family are all in perfect health, I thank you. Is Horace come home from the city?

LADY K.–Goodness! there’s the dinner-bell,–I must run to dress.

MRS. PRIOR.–Shall I come with you, dear Lady Kicklebury?

LADY K.–Not for worlds, my good Mrs. Prior. [Exit Lady K.]

MRS. PRIOR.–How do you do, my DEAR madam? Is dear Mr. Bonnington QUITE well? What a sweet, sweet sermon he gave us last Sunday. I often say to my girl, I must not go to hear Mr. Bonnington, I really must not, he makes me cry so. Oh! he is a great and gifted man, and shall I not have one glimpse of him?

MRS. B.–Saturday evening, my good Mrs. Prior. Don’t you know that my husband never goes out on Saturday, having his sermon to compose?

MRS. P.–Oh, those dear, dear sermons! Do you know, madam, that my little Adolphus, for whom your son’s bounty procured his place at Christ’s Hospital, was very much touched indeed, the dear child, with Mr. Bonnington’s discourse last Sunday three weeks, and refused to play marbles afterwards at school? The wicked, naughty boys beat the poor child; but Adolphus has his consolation! Is Master Edward well, ma’am, and Master Robert, and Master Frederick, and dear little funny Master William?

MRS. B.–Thank you, Mrs. Prior; you have a good heart, indeed!

MRS. P.–Ah, what blessings those dears are to you! I wish your dearest little GRANDSON—

MRS. B.–The little naughty wretch! Do you know, Mrs. Prior, my grandson, George Milliken, spilt the ink over my dear husband’s bands, which he keeps in his great dictionary; and fought with my child, Frederick, who is three years older than George–actually beat his own uncle!

MRS. P.–Gracious mercy! Master Frederick was not hurt, I hope?

MRS. B.–No; he cried a great deal; and then Robert came up, and that graceless little George took a stick; and then my husband came out, and do you know George Milliken actually kicked Mr. Bonnington on his shins, and butted him like a little naughty ram?

MRS. P.–Mercy! mercy! what a little rebel! He is spoiled, dear madam, and you know by WHOM.

MRS. B.–By his grandmamma Kicklebury. I know it. I want my son to whip that child, but he refuses. He will come to no good; that child.

MRS. P.–Ah, madam, don’t say so! Let us hope for the best. Master George’s high temper will subside when certain persons who pet him are gone away.

MRS. B.–Gone away! they never will go away! No, mark my words, Mrs. Prior, that woman will never go away. She has made the house her own: she commands everything and everybody in it. She has driven me–me–Mr. Milliken’s own mother–almost out of it. She has so annoyed my dear husband, that Mr. Bonnington will scarcely come here. Is she not always sneering at private tutors, because Mr. Bonnington was my son’s private tutor, and greatly valued by the late Mr. Milliken? Is she not making constant allusions to old women marrying young men, because Mr. Bonnington happens to be younger than me? I have no words to express my indignation respecting Lady Kicklebury. She never pays any one, and runs up debts in the whole town. Her man Bulkeley’s conduct in the neighborhood is quite–quite–

MRS. P.–Gracious goodness, ma’am, you don’t say so! And then what an appetite the gormandizing monster has! Mary tells me that what he eats in the servants’ hall is something perfectly frightful.

MRS. B.–Everybody feeds on my poor son! You are looking at my cap, Mrs. Prior? [During this time MRS. PRIOR has been peering into a parcel which MRS. BONNINGTON brought in her hand.] I brought it with me across the Park. I could not walk through the Park in my cap. Isn’t it a pretty ribbon, Mrs. Prior?