eadlong._
Glorious, egad!

_Mr Milestone._
Here is a rugged mountainous road, leading through impervious shades:
the ass and the four goats characterise a wild uncultured scene. Here,
as you perceive, it is totally changed into a beautiful gravel-road,
gracefully curving through a belt of limes: and there is Lord
Littlebrain driving four-in-hand.

_Squire Headlong._
Egregious, by Jupiter!

_Mr Milestone._
Here is Littlebrain Castle, a Gothic, moss-grown structure, half
bosomed in trees. Near the casement of that turret is an owl peeping
from the ivy.

_Squire Headlong._
And devilish wise he looks.

_Mr Milestone._
Here is the new house, without a tree near it, standing in the midst
of an undulating lawn: a white, polished, angular building, reflected
to a nicety in this waveless lake: and there you see Lord Littlebrain
looking out of the window.

_Squire Headlong._
And devilish wise he looks too. You shall cut me a giant before you
go.

_Mr Milestone._
Good. I'll order down my little corps of pioneers.

During this conversation, a hot dispute had arisen between Messieurs
Gall and Nightshade; the latter pertinaciously insisting on having his
new poem reviewed by Treacle, who he knew would extol it most loftily,
and not by Gall, whose sarcastic commendation he held in superlative
horror. The remonstrances of Squire Headlong silenced the disputants,
but did not mollify the inflexible Gall, nor appease the irritated
Nightshade, who secretly resolved that, on his return to London, he
would beat his drum in Grub Street, form a mastigophoric corps of his
own, and hoist the standard of determined opposition against this
critical Napoleon.

Sir Patrick O'Prism now entered, and, after some rapturous
exclamations on the effect of the mountain-moonlight, entreated that
one of the young ladies would favour him with a song. Miss Tenorina
and Miss Graziosa now enchanted the company with some very scientific
compositions, which, as usual, excited admiration and astonishment in
every one, without a single particle of genuine pleasure. The
beautiful Cephalis being then summoned to take her station at the
harp, sang with feeling and simplicity the following air:--

LOVE AND OPPORTUNITY

Oh! who art thou, so swiftly flying?
My name is Love, the child replied:
Swifter I pass than south-winds sighing,
Or streams, through summer vales that glide.
And who art th