JOHN.--Some cream, some jelly, a little champagne, Miss Prior; I thought
you might like some.

GEORGE.--Oh, jolly! give us hold of the jelly! give us a glass of
champagne.

JOHN.--I will not give you any.

GEORGE.--I'll smash every glass in the room if you don't; I'll cut my
fingers; I'll poison myself--there! I'll eat all this sealing-wax if you
don't, and it's rank poison, you know it is.

MRS. P.--My dear Master George! [Exit JOHN.]

GEORGE.--Ha, ha! I knew you'd give it me; another boy taught me that.

BELLA.--And a very naughty, rude boy.

GEORGE.--He, he, he! hold your tongue Miss! And said he always got wine
so; and so I used to do it to my poor mamma, Mrs. Prior. Usedn't to like
mamma much.

BELLA.--Oh, you wicked boy!

GEORGY.--She usedn't to see us much. She used to say I tried her nerves:
what's nerves, Mrs. Prior? Give us some more champagne! Will have
it. Ha, ha, ha! ain't it jolly? Now I'll go out and have a run in the
garden. [Runs into garden].

MRS. P.--And you, my dear?

BELLA.--I shall go and resume the perusal of the "Pilgrim's Progress,"
which my grandpapa, Mr. Bonnington, sent me. [Exit ARABELLA.]

MISS P.--How those children are spoilt! Goodness; what can I do? If I
correct one, he flies to grandmamma Kicklebury; if I speak to another,
she appeals to grandmamma Bonnington. When I was alone with them, I had
them in something like order. Now, between the one grandmother and the
other, the children are going to ruin, and so would the house too, but
that Howell--that odd, rude, but honest and intelligent creature, I
must say--keeps it up. It is wonderful how a person in his rank of life
should have instructed himself so. He really knows--I really think he
knows more than I do myself.

MRS. P.--Julia dear!

MISS P.--What is it, mamma?

MRS. P.--Your little sister wants some underclothing sadly, Julia dear,
and poor Adolphus's shoes are quite worn out.

MISS P.--I thought so; I have given you all I could, mamma.

MRS. P.--Yes, my love! you are a good love, and generous, heaven knows,
to your poor old mother who has seen better days. If we had not wanted,
would I have ever allowed you to be a governess--a poor degraded
governess? If that brute O'Reilly who lived on our second floor had not
behaved so shamefully wicked to you, and married Miss Flack, the singer,
might you not have been Editress of the Champion of Liberty at this very
moment, and had your Opera box every night? [She