an odd mixture of liveliness, impudence, and a coarse yet not unjoyous
spirit of reckless debauchery. He approached us with a saunter, and
saluted Tarleton with an air servile enough, in spite of an affected
familiarity.

"What think you," resumed my companion, "we were conversing upon?"

"Why, indeed, Mr. Tarleton," answered Cibber, bowing very low, "unless
it were the exquisite fashion of your waistcoat, or your success with my
Lady Duchess, I know not what to guess."

"Pooh, man," said Tarleton, haughtily, "none of your compliments;" and
then added in a milder tone, "No, Colley, we were abusing the
immoralities that existed on the stage until thou, by the light of thy
virtuous example, didst undertake to reform it."

"Why," rejoined Cibber, with an air of mock sanctity, "Heaven be
praised, I have pulled out some of the weeds from our theatrical
/parterre/--"

"Hear you that, Count? Does he not look a pretty fellow for a censor?"

"Surely," said Cibber, "ever since Dicky Steele has set up for a saint,
and assumed the methodistical twang, some hopes of conversion may be
left even for such reprobates as myself. Where, may I ask, will Mr.
Tarleton drink to-night?"

"Not with thee, Coll. The Saturnalia don't happen every day. Rid us
now of thy company: but stop, I will do thee a pleasure; know you this
gentleman?"