hought people took it to clear the brain.

_Rig._ The beaux have no brains at all, Sir; their skull is a
perfect snuff-box; and I heard a physician swear, who opened one of
'em, that the three divisions of his head were filled with
orangery, bergamot, and plain Spanish.

_Mock._ Zauns! I must sneeze, (_sneezes._) Bless me!

_Rig._ Oh, fy! Mr. Mockmode! what a rustical expression that is!
'Bless me!' You should upon all such occasions cry, Dem me! You
would be as nauseous to the ladies as one of the old patriarchs, if
you used that obsolete expression.

Sir Harry Wildair gives a good sketch of a lady's waiting-woman of the
time.

_Colonel Standard._ Here, here, Mrs. Parly; whither so fast?

_Parly._ Oh Lord! my master! Sir, I was running to Mademoiselle
Furbelow, the French milliner, for a new burgundy for my lady's
head.

_Col. S._ No, child; you're employed about an old-fashioned
garniture for your master's head, if I mistake not your errand.

_Parly._ Oh, Sir! there's the prettiest fashion lately come over!
so airy, so French, and all that. The pinners are double ruffled
with twelve plaits of a side, and open all from the face; the hair
is frizzled all up round the head, and stands as stiff as a bodkin.
Then the favourites hang loose on the temples, with a languishing
lock in the middle. Then the caul is extremely wide, and over all
is a coronet raised very high, and all the lappets behind.

This lady on being questioned, says that her wages are ten pounds a
year, but she makes two hundred a year of her mistress's old clothes.

But Farquhar is best known as the author of the "Beaux Stratagem."
Though not so full of humour, as "Love in a Bottle," it had more action
and bolder sensational incidents. The play proved a great success, but
one which will always have sad associations. It came too late. Farquhar
died in destitution, while the plaudits resounded in his ears.

The following are specimens from his last play:--

(Aimwell (a gentleman of broken fortune looking for a rich wife) goes to
church in the country to further his designs.)

_Aimwell._ The appearance of a stranger in a country church draws
as many gazers as a blazing star; no sooner he comes into the
cathedral, but a train of whispers runs buzzing round the
congregation in a moment: _Who is he?_ _Whence comes he?_ _