_Squire Headlong._
Miraculous, by Mahomet!

_Mr Milestone._
This is the summit of a hill, covered, as you perceive, with wood, and
with those mossy stones scattered at random under the trees.

_Miss Tenorina._
What a delightful spot to read in, on a summer's day! The air must be
so pure, and the wind must sound so divinely in the tops of those old
pines!

_Mr Milestone._
Bad taste, Miss Tenorina. Bad taste, I assure you. Here is the spot
improved. The trees are cut down: the stones are cleared away: this is
an octagonal pavilion, exactly on the centre of the summit: and there
you see Lord Littlebrain, on the top of the pavilion, enjoying the
prospect with a telescope.

_Squire Headlong._
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.