This is lovers' pastime; I own it funny; but it is open to one objection,
this single practice of sitting upon eggs no longer chickenable, carried
to a habit, is capable of turning a solid intellect into a liquid one,
and ruining a mind's career.
We leave Mr. Vane, therefore, with a hope that he will not do it every
night; and we follow his friend to the close of our chapter.
Hey for a definition!
What is diplomacy? Is it folly in a coat that looks like sagacity? Had
Sir Charles Pomander, instead of watching Mr. Vane and Mrs. Woffington,
asked the former whether he admired the latter, and whether the latter
responded, straightforward Vane would have told him the whole truth in a
minute. Diplomacy therefore was, as it often is, a waste of time.
But diplomacy did more in this case, it _sapienter descendebat in
fossam;_ it fell on its nose with gymnastic dexterity, as it generally
does, upon my word.
To watch Mrs. Woffington's face _vis-a-vis_ Mr. Vane, Pomander introduced
Vane to the green-room of the Theater Royal, Covent Garden. By this
Pomander learned nothing, because Mrs. Woffington had, with a wonderful
appearance of openness, the closest face in Europe when she chose.
On the other hand, by introducing this country gentleman to this
green-room, he gave a mighty impulse and opportunity to Vane's love; an
opportunity which he forgot the timid, inexperienced Damon might
otherwise never have found.
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