[]WHICH IS THE MAN?

SCENE I.

HERE, Betty, Dick! Where are ye? Don't you ſee my Lord Sparkle's car⯑riage?—I ſhall have my lodgers diſturbed with their thun⯑dering.—What, in the name of wonder, can bring him here at this time in the morning?—Here he comes, look⯑ing like a rake as he is!

Bid 'em turn; I ſhan't ſtay a moment.—So, Mrs. Johnſon, I pull'd the ſtring juſt to ſee how your Syl⯑vans go on.

As uſual, my Lord; but, bleſs me! how early your Lordſhip is!

How late, you mean.—I have not been in bed ſince yeſterday at one!—I am going home now to reſt for an hour or two, and then to the Drawing-room.—But what are the two ruſtics about? I have not been plagued with them theſe three or four days.

They are now out.

I ſuppos'd that, or I ſhould not have call'd.—But prithee, do they talk of returning to their native woods again?

Oh no, Sir!—The young gentleman ſeems to have very different ideas:—Miſs, too, has great ſpirits, though ſhe ſeems now and then at a loſs what to do with herſelf.

Do with herſelf! Why don't you perſuade her to go back to Cornwall? You ſhould tell 'em what a vile place London is, full of ſnares, and debaucheries, and witch-crafts.—You don't preach to 'em, Johnſon.

Indeed I do, my Lord; and their conſtant anſwer is, ‘"Oh, Lord Sparkle is our friend! Lord Sparkle would take it amiſs if we ſhould go; 'twould look like diſtruſting his Lordſhip."’

Was ever man ſo hamper'd!—Two fools! to miſtake common forms and civilities for attachments.

I fear, my Lord, towards the young Lady ſomething more than forms—

Never, upon my honour!—I kiſſed her; ſo I did all the women in the pariſh—the ſeptennial ceremony. The Brother I us'd to drink vile Port with, liſten to his village-ſtories, call his vulgarity wit, and his impudence ſpirit. Was not that fatigue and mortification enough, but I muſt be bored with 'em here in Town?

But, Miſs, Sir, talks of preſſing invitations, and letters, and—

Things of courſe; they had influence, and got me the borough. I, in return, ſaid ſhe was the moſt charm⯑ing girl in the world; that I ador'd her;—and ſome few things that every body ſays on ſuch occaſions, and nobody thinks of.

But it appears that Miſs did think—

Yes, 'faith: and on my writing a civil note that I ſhould be happy to ſee them in Town, et caetera—which I meant to have ſuſpended our acquaintance till the General Election—they took me at my word; and before I thought the letter had reach'd 'em, they were in my houſe, all joy and congratulation. I didn't chuſe to be encumber'd with 'em, ſo placed 'em with you. The Boy was at firſt amu⯑ſing, but our Circles have had him, and I muſt be rid of him.

I muſt ſay, I wiſh I was quit of them at preſent; for my conſtant lodger Mr. Belville came to town laſt night, and he wants this drawing-room to himſelf: he's oblig'd to ſhare it now with Mr. Pendragon and his ſiſter.

Hey! Belville!—'Gad, that's lucky! There is not a fellow in Town better receiv'd by the women.—Throw the girl in his way, and get quit of her at once.

If you mean diſhoneſtly, my Lord, you have miſtaken your perſon: I did not live ſo many years with your mother to be capable of ſuch a thing.—Ah, my Lord, if my Lady were living—

She would ſcold to little purpoſe,—and you may ſpare yourſelf the trouble.—I tell you, I care nothing about the girl: I merely want to get rid of her, and you muſt aſſiſt me.—

—Hey-dey! the nicety of your Ladyſhip's honour is piqued! Ha! ha! ha!—the miſtreſs of a lodging-houſe!—Bien drole—Ha! ha! ha!

But who is this hobbling up ſtairs?—Ha! old Cato the Cenſor, my honourable couſin!—What the devil ſhall I do?—No avoiding him, however.—

I wiſh I had been out of the houſe, Fitzherbert, before you appeared! I know I ſhall not eſcape without ſome abuſe.

I never throw away reproof, where there are no hopes of amendment—your Lordſhip is ſafe.

Am I to take that for wit?

No; for then I fear you would not underſtand it.

Poſitively, you muſt give me more of the felicity of your converſation: I want you to teach me ſome of that happy eaſe which you poſſeſs in your rude⯑neſs; 'twould be to me an acquiſition. I am eternally get⯑ting into the moſt horrid ſcrapes, merely by politeneſs and good-breeding.—Here are two perſons now in this houſe, for inſtance—

Who do not know, that the lan⯑guage of what you call politeneſs, differs from that of truth and honour.—You ſee I know thoſe to whom you allude.—But we only loſe time!—Good day, my Lord!

Loſe time! Ha! ha! ha!—Why, of what value can time be to you? the greateſt enemy you have, adding every day to your wrinkles and ill-humour. I'll prove to you now, that I have employ'd the laſt twelve hours to better purpoſe than you have. Nine of them you ſlept away—the laſt three you have been running about Town, ſnarling and making people uneaſy with themſelves;—whilſt I [4] have been ſitting peaceably at Weltjie's, where I have won—gueſs what?

Half as much as you loſt yeſterday—a thouſand or two guineas, perhaps.

Guineas! Poh! you are jeſting! Guineas are as ſcarce with us, as in the coffers of the Congreſs. Like them we ſtake with counters, and play for ſolid earth.

Well!

Bullion is a mercantile kind of wealth, paſſing thro' the hands of dry-ſalters, vinegar-merchants, and Lord-Mayors.—Our Goddeſs holds a cornucopia inſtead of a purſe, from which ſhe pours corn-fields, fruitful vallies, and rich herds. This morning ſhe popp'd into my dice-box a ſnug villa, five hundred acres, arable and paſture, with the next preſentation to the living of Guzzleton.

A church-living in a dice-box!—Well, well; I ſuppoſe it will be beſtow'd as worthily as it was gain'd!—Good day, my Lord, good day!

Good night, Crabtree—good night!

Tell Belville I call'd to congratulate his eſcape from the ſtupid country.

My Lord!

Sir!

I am going this morning to viſit Lady Bell Bloomer,—I give you this intimation, that we may not riſk another rencontre.

Civilly deſign'd; and for the ſame polite reaſon I inform you, that I ſhall be there in the evening.

Your maſter in bed yet! What time was he in Town yeſterday?

Late, Sir.—We ſhould have been earlier, but we met with Sir Harry Hairbrain on the road, with his new fox-hounds.—Fell in with the hunt at Bagſhot—broke cover, run the firſt burſt acroſs the heath towards Datchet;—ſhe then took right an end for Egham, ſunk the wind upon us as far as Staines, where Reynard took the road to Oxford, and we the route to Town, Sir.

Very geographical indeed, Sir.—Now, pray in⯑form your maſter—Oh, here we come!

Juſt riſen from your pillows!—Are you not aſham'd of this? A fox-hunter, and in bed at eleven!

My dear, moroſe, charming, quarrelſome old friend, I am ever in character!—In the country, I defy fatigue and hardſhip.—Up before the lazy ſlut Aurora has put on her pink-coloured gown to captivate the plough-boys—ſcam⯑per over hedge and ditch. Dead with hunger, alight at a cottage; drink milk from the hands of a brown wench, and eat from a wooden platter. In Town, I am a fine gentle⯑man; have my hair exactly dreſſed; my cloaths au dernier gout; dine on made-diſhes; drink Burgundy; and, in a word, am every-where the ton.

So much the worſe, ſo much the worſe, young man! To be the ton where Vice and Folly are the ruling deities, proves that you muſt be ſometimes a fool, at others a—

Pſha! you ſatiriſts, like moles, ſhut your eyes to the light, and grope about for the dark ſide of the human character: there is a great deal of good-ſenſe and good-meaning in the world. As for its follies, I think folly a mighty pleaſant thing; at leaſt, to play the fool gracefully, requires more talents than would ſet up a dozen cynics.

Then half the people I know muſt have wond [...]rful talents, for they have been playing the fool from ſixteen to ſixty.—Apropos! I found my precious kinſman Lord Sparkle here.

Ay! there's an inſtance of the happy effects of total indifference to the ſage maxims you recommend.

Happy effects do you call them?

Moſt triumphant! Who ſo much admired? who ſo much the faſhion?—the general favourite of the Ladies, and the common object of imitation with the men. Is not Lord Sparkle the happy man, who's to carry the rich and charming widow Lady Bell Bloomer from ſo many rivals?—And will not you, after quarrelling with him half your life, leave him a fine eſtate at the end of it?

No, no!—I tell you, No!

Nay, his ſucceſs with the widow is certain.—He boaſts his triumph every-where; and as ſhe is ſuch a fa⯑vourite of yours, every thing elſe will follow.

No; for if ſhe marries Sparkle, ſhe will be no longer a favourite. Yet ſhe receives him with a degree of [6] diſtinction that ſometimes makes me fear it; for we fre⯑quently ſee women of accompliſhments and beauty, to which every heart yields homage, throw themſelves into the arms of the debauched, the ſilly, and the vain.

Mr. Beauchamp.

Oh! I expected him to call on you this morning. You muſt obtain his confidence; it will aſſiſt me in my de⯑ſigns. When I found myſelf diſappointed in my hopes of his Lordſhip, I ſelected Beauchamp from the younger branches of my family: but of this he knows nothing, and thinks himſelf under high obligations to the patronage of the Peer; an error in which I wiſh him to continue, as it will give me an opportunity of proving them both.—But here he comes!—This way I can avoid him.

Beauchamp!—and in regimentals!—Why, prithee, George, what ſpirit has ſeized thee now? When I ſaw thee laſt, thou wert devoted to the grave profeſſion of the Law, or the Church; and I expected to have ſeen thee invelop'd in wig, wrangling at the bar; or ſeated in a fat benefice, receiving tythe-pigs and poultry.

Thoſe, Be [...]ville, were my ſchool-deſigns; but the fire of youth gave me ardors of a different ſort. The heroes of the Areopagus and the Forum have yielded to thoſe of Marathon; and I feel, that whilſt my country is ſtruggling amidſt ſurrounding foes, I ought not to devote a life to learned indolence, that might be gloriouſly hazarded in her defence.

I ſhan't give you credit now for that fine flouriſh.—This ſudden ardor for "the pride, pomp, and circumſtance of glorious war,"—I dare ſwear this heroic ſpirit ſprings from the whim of ſome fine Lady, who fancied you would be a ſmarter fellow in a cockade and gorget, than in a ſtiff band and perriwig.

If your infinuation means that my heart has not been inſenſible of the charms of ſome fair Lady, you are right; but my transformation is owing to no whim of her's: for, oh Charles! ſhe never yet condeſcended to make me the object of her thoughts.

Modeſt too!—Ay, you were right to give up the [7] Law.—But who, pray, may this exalted Fair-one be who never condeſcended?

I never ſuffer my lips to wanton with the charm⯑ing ſounds that form her name. I have a kind of miſerly felicity in gloting on her dear idea, that would be impaired, ſhould it be known to exiſt in my heart.

Ha! ha! ha! who can be the nymph who has inſpired ſo obſolete a paſſion!—In the days of chivalry it wou'd have been the ton.

I will gratify you thus far: The Lady has beauty, wit, and ſpirit; but, above all, a mind.—Is it poſſible, Charles, to love a woman without a mind?

Has ſhe a mind for you? That is the moſt im⯑portant queſtion.

I dare not feed my paſſion with ſo preſumptuous a hope; yet I would not extinguiſh it, if I could: for it is not a love that tempts me into corners to wear out my days in complaints: it prompts me to uſe them for the moſt important purpoſes:—the ardors it gives me, ſhall be felt in the land of our enemies; they ſhall know how well I love.

Poh! poh! this is the gallantry of One Thouſand One Hundred and One; the kind of paſſion that animated our fathers in the fields of Creſſy and Poictiers.—Why, no Beauty of our age, man, will be won in this ſtile!—Now, ſuppoſe yourſelf at the Opera

‘"Gad, that's a fine girl! Twenty thouſand, you ſay? I think I'll have her. Yes, ſhe'll do! I—I muſt have her! I'll call on her to-morrow and tell her ſo."’ Have you ſpirit and courage enough for that, my Achilles?

No truly.

Then give up all thoughts of being received.

I have no thoughts of hazarding a reception. The pride of birth, and a few hundreds for my education, were the ſole patrimony the imprudence of a father left me. My relation Lord Sparkle has procured for me a commiſſion.—Generouſly to offer that and a knapſack to a Lady of five thouſand a year, would be properly anſwered by a con⯑temptuous diſmiſſion.

But ſuppoſe ſhe ſhould take a fancy to your knap⯑ſack?

That would reduce me to the neceſſity of de⯑priving myſelf of a happineſs I would die to obtain; for [8] never can I ſubmit to be quartered on a Wife's fortune; whilſt I have a ſword to carve ſubſiſtence for myſelf.

That may be in the great ſtile; but 'tis ſcarcely in the polite. Will you take chocolate in my dreſſing-room?

No; I am going to take orders at my Colonel's: where ſhall we meet in the evening?

'Faith, 'tis impoſſible to tell! I commit myſelf to Chance for the remainder of the day, and ſhall finiſh it as ſhe directs.

Poor Lady Squander! So Chriſtie has her jewels and furniture at laſt!—I muſt go to the ſale.—Mark that Dreſden ſervice, and the pearls. (Gives the catalogue to the Maid) It muſt be a great comfort to her to ſee her jewels worn by her friends.—Who was here laſt night? (ſitting down, and taking ſome cards from the table) I came home ſo late, I forgot to enquire!—Mrs. Jeſſamy—Lady Racket—Miſs Belvoir—Lord Sparkle (ſtarting up)—Lord Sparkle here! Oh Heavens and earth! what poſſeſſed me to go to Lady Price's? I wiſh ſhe and her concert of three fiddles and a flute had been playing to her kids on the We [...]ch mountains!—Why did you perſuade me to go out laſt night?

Dear ma'am, you ſeem'd ſo low-ſpirited, that I thought—

I miſſed him every where!—At four places he was juſt gone as I came in.—But what does it ſignify?—'Twas Lady Bell Bloomer he was ſeeking, I dare ſwear:—his attachment to the relict is every where the ſubject. Hang thoſe widows! I really believe there's ſomething ca⯑baliſtical in their names.—No leſs than fourteen fine young fellows of fortune have been drawn into the matrimonial nooſe by them ſince laſt February.—'Tis well they were threatened with impriſonment, or we ſhould not have had an unmarried Infant above ſeventeen, between Charing-Croſs and Portman-Square.

Well, I am ſure I wiſh Lady Bell was married; ſhe's always putting you out of temper.

Have I not cauſe? Till ſhe broke upon the Town, I was at the top of faſhion—you know I was. My dreſs, my equipage, my furniture, and myſelf, were the criterions [9] of taſte; but a new French chamber-maid enabled her Ladyſhip at one ſtroke to turn the tide againſt me.

Ay, I don't know what good theſe Mademoi⯑ſelles—

But, Tiffany, ſhe is to be at court to-day, out of mourning for the firſt time: I am reſolved to be there.—No, I won't go neither, now I think on't.—If ſhe ſhou'd really outſhine me, her triumph will be increaſed by my being witneſs to it.—I won't go to St. James's; but I'll go to her route this evening, and, if 'tis poſſible, prevent Lord Sparkle's being particular to her.—Perhaps that will put her in an ill humour, and then the advantage will be on my ſide.

Mercy on us! To be a chamber-maid to a Miſs on the brink of Thirty requires as good politics, as being Prime Miniſter! Now, if ſhe ſhould not riſe from her toilette quite in looks to-day, or if the deſertion of a lover, or the victory of a rival, ſhould happen, ten to one but I ſhall be forced to reſign, without even a Penſion to retire on.

SCENE I.

WHAT an invaluable treaſure! Thoſe dear papers, that have lain within the frigid walls of a Convent, inſenſible, and unintereſting to every one around them, contain for me a world of happineſs. He is in England! How little he ſuſpects that I too am here!

Mr. Fitzherbert will be here immediately, Ma'am.

Mr. Fitzherbert! Very well. Has Lady Bell finiſhed dreſſing yet?

No, Ma'am.—Mr. Crape the hair-dreſſer has been with her theſe three hours, and her maid is running here and there, and Mr. John flying about to milliners and perfumers, and the new vis-à-vis at the door to carry her Ladyſhip to court—Every thing black baniſhed, and the liveries come home ſhining with ſilver; and the moment ſhe is gone out, every body will be in ſuch a delightful hurry about the route that her Ladyſhip is to give this evening; and they ſay all the world—

Ha! ha! ha! Prithee ſtop! I can't wonder if Lady Bell ſhou'd be tranſported at dropping her weeds, for it ſeems to have turn'd the heads of the whole family.

Oh! dearee, Ma'am, to be ſure! for now we ſhall be ſo gay! Lady Bell has ſuch fine ſpirits!—And 'tis well ſhe has; for the ſervants tell me, their old maſter would have broke her heart elſe.—They all adore her!—I wiſh you were a little gayer, Ma'am!—Somehow we are ſo dull!—'Tis a wonder ſo young and ſo pretty a Lady—

Don't run into impertinence.—I have neither the taſte nor talents for public life that Lady Bell Bloomer has.

Laws, Ma'am, 'tis all uſe! You are always at home; but Lady Bell knows, that wit and a fine perſon are not given for a fire-ſide at home

She ſhines every [11] evening in half the houſes of half-a-dozen pariſhes, and he next morning we have ſtanzas in the Bevy of Beauties, and ſonnets, and billets-doux, and all the fine things that fine Ladies are ſo fond of.

I can bear your freedoms no longer!—Carry theſe flowers with my compliments, and tell her Ladyſhip I ſent to Richmond for them, as I know her fondneſs for natural bouquets; and bid Harry deny me to every body this morn⯑ing, except Mr. Fitzherbert.

Happily excepted, my dear Ward! But I ſuppoſe you heard my ſtep, and threw in my name for a douceur. I can hardly believe, that when you ſhut your doors on youth and flattery, you would open them to a croſs old man, who ſeldom entertains you with any thing but your faults.

How you miſtake, Sir! You are the greateſt flatterer I have: your whole conduct flatters me with eſteem, and love; and as you do not ſquander theſe things—

There I muſt correct you.—I do ſquander them on few objects, indeed; and they are proportionably warmer. I feel àttachments fifty times as ſtrong as your good-humour'd ſmiling people, who are every one's hum⯑ble ſervant, and every body's friend. Where is Lady Bell?

Yet at her toilette, I believe. My dear Sir, I am every hour more grateful to you, for having given me ſo charming a friend.

So I would have you. When you came from France, I prevailed on her Ladyſhip to allow you her ſociety, that you might add to the poliſh of elegant man⯑ners the graces of an elegant mind. Here ſhe comes! her tongue and her heels keeping time.

Ay, ay, if all the women in the world were prating young widows, love and gallantry would die away, and our men grow reaſonable and diſcreet.

Oh you monſter! But I am in ſuch divine ſpirits, that nothing you ſay can deſtroy 'em.—My ſweet Julia, what a bouquet! Lady Myrtle will expire.—She was ſo envelop'd in flowers and ever-greens laſt night, that ſhe look'd like the picture of fair Roſamond in her bower.—My dear Fitz, do you know we dined yeſterday in Hill-ſtreet, and had the fortitude to ſtay till eleven!

I was tired to death with the fatiguing viſit.

Now, I, on the contrary, came away with freſh reliſh for ſociety. The perſevering civility of Sir Andrew and the maukiſh inſipidity of his tall daughter act like olives: You can't endure them on your palate, but they heighten the guſto of your Tokay.

Then I adviſe your Ladyſhip to ſerve up Sir Andrew and his daughter at your next entertainment.

So I would, only one can't remove 'em with the deſſert. But how do you like me? Did you ever ſee ſo delightful a head? Don't you think I ſhall make a thouſand conqueſts to-day?

Doubtleſs, if you meet with ſo many fools.—But pray, which of thoſe you have already made, will be the moſt flattered by all theſe gay inſignia of your liberty?

Probably, he whom it leaſt concerns.

Pray tell us which is that?

Oh, Heavens! to anſwer that, requires more reflection than I have ever given the ſubject.

Should you build a temple to your lovers, I fancy we ſhould find Lord Sparkle's name on the altar.

Oh! Lord Sparkle!—Who can reſiſt the gay, the elegant, the all-conquering Lord Sparkle? the moſt diſtinguiſhed feather in the plume of faſhion—with⯑out that barbarous ſtrength of mind which gives impor⯑tance to virtues or to vices. Faſhionable, becauſe he's well dreſt:—Brilliant, becauſe he's of the firſt Clubs, and uſes his borrowed wit like his borrowed gold, as tho' it was his own.

Why, now, this man, whom you underſtand ſo well, you receive as tho' his tinſel was pure gold.

Aye, to be ſure!—Tinſel is juſt as well for ſhew.—The world is charitable, and accepts tinſel for gold in moſt caſes.

But in the midſt of all this ſunſhine for Lord Sparkle, will you not throw a ray on the ſpirited, modeſt Beauchamp?

A ray of favour for Beauchamp!—Were I ſo inclined, to make it welcome, I muſt change my fan for a ſpear, my feathers for a helmet, and ſtand forth a Thaleſtris.—You know his miſtreſs is War—

—But why do I trifle thus?—The hour of triumph is at hand.

Of what?

The moment of triumph!—Anglice, the mo⯑ment when, having ſhewn myſelf at half the houſes in St. George's, I am ſet down at St. James's, my fellows ſtand⯑ing on each hand, as I deſcend—the whiſper flying thro' the croud, ‘"Who is ſhe? Who is that ſweet creature?—One of the four heireſſes?"—"No; ſhe's a foreign am⯑baſſadreſs."’ —I aſcend the ſtairs—move ſlowly thro' the rooms—drop my fan—incommode my bouquet—ſtay to adjuſt it, that the little gentry may have time to fix their admiration—again move on—enter the Drawing-room—throw a flying glance round the Circle, and ſee nothing but ſpite in the eyes of the women, and a thouſand nameleſs things in thoſe of the men.

The very ſoul of giddineſs!

The very ſoul of happineſs!—Can I be leſs?—Think of a widow juſt emerg'd from her weeds for a huſ⯑band to whom her ſather, not her heart, united her—my jointure elegant—my figure charming—deny it if you dare!—Pleaſure, Fortune, Youth, Health, all opening their ſtores before me; whilſt Innocence and conſcious Honour ſhall be my handmaids, and guide me in ſafety through the dangerous ordeal.

To your Innocence and conſcious Honour add, if you have time

a little Prudence, or your centinels may be ſurpris'd aſleep, and you reduc'd to a diſgraceful capitulation.

Oh! I'm miſtreſs of my whole ſituation, and cannot be ſurpris'd.—But, Heav'ns! I am loſing a con⯑queſt every moment I ſtay!—The Loves and Pleaſures have prepared their roſy garlands—my triumphal car is waiting—and [...]y proud ſteeds neighing to be gone.—Away to victory!—

A charming woman, Julia!—She conceals a fine underſtanding under apparent giddineſs; and a moſt ſenſible heart beneath an air of indifference.

Yes, I believe her Ladyſhip's heart is more ſenſible than ſhe allows to herſelf. I rally her on Lord Sparkle, but it is [14] Mr. Beauchamp, whoſe name is never mentioned but her cheeks tell ſuch bluſhing truths, as ſhe wou'd never forgive me for obſerving.

Upon my word, you ſeem well acquainted with your friend's heart!—Will you be equally frank as to your own?

Sir!—my heart!

Yes; will you aſſiſt me in reading it?

To be ſure, Sir.

Then tell me, if amongſt the painted, powdered, gilded moths whom your beauty or fortune have allured, is there one whom you would honour with your hand?—Aye, take time; I would not have you precipitate.

No, Sir—not one.

I depend on your truth, and on that aſſurance in⯑form you, that a friend of mine is arriv'd in town, whom I mean this morning to preſent to you.

As a—

As a lover, who has my warmeſt wiſhes that he may become your huſband.

Do I know the perſon for whom you are thus in⯑tereſted, Sir?

You do not; but I have had long intimacy with him, and 'tis the deareſt wiſh of my heart to ſee him and Julia Manners united.

I truſt, Sir, you will allow—

Be under no apprehenſions.—Much as I'm inte⯑reſted in this union, your inclinations ſhall be attended to.—I am now going to your lover, and ſhall introduce him to you this morning.—Come, don't look ſo diſtreſs'd, child, at the approach of that period which will give you dignity and character in ſociety.—The marriage-ſtate is that in which your ſex evinces its importance; and where, in the intereſting circle of domeſtic duties, a woman has room to exerciſe every virtue that conſtitutes the Great and the Amiable.

The moment I ſo much dreaded is arrived! How ſhall I reveal to my Guardian, and to Lady Bell, that I am married? that I have already dared to take on me thoſe im⯑portant duties? I muſt not reveal it—my ſolemn promiſe to my huſband—But where is he?—Oh! I muſt write to him this moment, that I may not be left defenceleſs to brave the ſtorm of offended authority, and love.

SCENE II.

Let my trunks be ready, and the chaiſe at the door to-morrow morning by ſix, for I ſhall dine in Dover.

Ha! juſt in time, I ſee!—You are ready plumed for flight.

True; but my flight wou'd have been to you.—Impatient to know the cauſe of your ſummoning me from the Dryades and Hamadryades of Berkſhire, your letter reach'd me at the very inſtant I was ſetting out for Dover, in my way to Paris.

Paris!

Yes.

Poh! poh! ſtay where you are, ſtay where you are! The great turnpike between Dover and Calais is a road de⯑ſtructive to this kingdom; and I wiſh there were toll-gates erected on its confines, to reſtrain with a heavy tax the number of its travellers.

I fear the tax would be more generally felt than the benefit; for it would reſtrain not only the folly-mongers and the faſhion-mongers, but the rational enquirer and the travelling connoiſſeur.

So much the better! ſo much the better!—Our travelling philoſophers have done more towards deſtroying the nerves of their country, than all the politics of France. Their chief aim ſeems to be, to eſtabliſh infidelity, and to captivate us with deluſive views of manners ſtill more im⯑moral and licentious than our own.—Hey-dey! who's this?—Oh, the Corniſh lad, I ſuppoſe, whom Lord Sparkle placed here.

Yes; an odd being!—He was deſigned by nature for a Clodpole; but the notice of a Peer overſet the little underſtanding he had, and ſo he commenced fine gentleman. He has a ſiſter with him, who ran wild upon the commons till her father's death; but ſhe fancies her⯑ſelf a wit, and ſatirizes Bruin.—Here he comes.

My dear fellow-lodger, I'm come to—Oh! your ſervant, Sir!

—Is this gentleman a friend of yours?

He is.

Your hand, Sir!

—If you are Mr. Belville's friend, you are my friend, and we are all friends; I ſoon make acquaintance.

A great happineſs!

Yes, ſo it is, and very polite too. I have been in the Great World almoſt ſix weeks, and I can ſee no diffe⯑rence between the Great World and the Little World, only that they've no ceremony; and ſo as that's the mark of good-breeding, I tries to hit it off.

With ſucceſs.

To convince you of that, I'll tell you a deviliſh good thing.—You muſt know—

Excuſe me now, but I am convinc'd you will amuſe me, and deſire your company at dinner—they'll give you my addreſs below. Mr. Belville, I have buſineſs of importance.

Gad, I'm glad he aſk'd me to viſit him!—He muſt be a Lord by his want of ceremony.

"Mr. Belville, I have buſineſs of importance"—and off they go.—Now in Cornwall we ſhould have thought that damn'd rude—but 'tis eaſy.—"Mr. Belville, I have buſineſs of im⯑portance."—

Eaſy—eaſy—eaſy!

Brother Bobby!—Brother Bobby!

I deſire, Miſs Pendragon, you won't Brother me at this rate—making one look as if one didn't know Life.—How often ſhall I tell you, that it is the moſt ungenteel thing in the world for relations to Brother, and Father, and Couſin one another, and all that ſort of thing. I did not get the better of my ſhame for three days, when you bawl'd out to Mrs. Dobſon at Launceſton Concert—"Aunt, Aunt, here's room between Brother and I, if Couſin Dick will ſit cloſer to Father!"

Lack-a-day!—and where's the harm? What d'ye think one has relations given one for?—To be aſham'd of 'em?

I don't know what they were given us for; but I know no young man of faſhion cares for his relations.

More ſhame for your young men of faſhion; but I aſſure you, Brother Bobby, I ſhall never give in to any ſuch unnatural, new-fangled ways. As for you, ſince Lord Sparkle took notice of you, you are quite another [17] thing. You uſed to creep into the parlour, when Father had company, hanging your head like a dead partridge; ſteal all round the room behind their backs to get at a chair; then ſit down on one corner of it, tying knots in your handkerchief; and if any-body drank your health, riſe up, and ſcrape your foot ſo—"Thank you kindly, Sir!"—

By Goles, if you—

But now, when you enter a room, your hat is toſs'd careleſsly on a table; you paſs the company with a half bend of your body; fling yourſelf into one chair, and throw your legs on another:—"Pray, my dear Sir, do me the favour to ring."—"John, bring Lemonade."—"Mrs. Plume has been driving me all morning in Hyde-Park, againſt the wind, and the duſt has made my throat mere plaiſter of Paris."—

Hang me, if I don't like myſelf at ſecond-hand better than I thought I ſhould!—Why, if I do it as well as you, Sophy, I ſhall ſoon be quite the thing!—And now I'll give you a bit of advice:—As 'tis very certain Lord Sparkle means to introduce you to High Life, 'tis ſitting you ſhould know how to behave; and as I have been amongſt 'em, I can tell you.

Well!

Why, firſt of all, if you ſhould come into a draw⯑ing-room, and find twenty or thirty people in the circle, you are not to take the leaſt notice of any one.

No!

No!—The ſervant will, perhaps, give you a chair;—if not, ſlide into the neareſt. The converſation will not be interrupted by your entrance; for they'll take as little notice of you, as you of them.

Pſha!

Then, be ſure to be equally indifferent to the coming-in of others.—I ſaw poor Lady Carmine one night dying with confuſion, for the vulgarity and ill⯑breeding of her friend, who actually roſe from her chair, at the entrance of the Dutcheſs of Dulcet and Lady Betty Blowze.

Be quiet, Bobby!

True, as I am a young man of faſhion!—Then you muſt never let your diſcourſe go beyond one word.—If any body ſhould happen to take the trouble to entertain the company, you may throw in—"Charming!—Odious! [18] —Capital!"—Never mount to a phraſe, unleſs to that dear delightful one, of "all that ſort of thing."—The uſe made of that is wonderful!—"All that ſort of thing," is an apology for want of wit; it is a ſubſtitute for argu⯑ment; it will ſerve for the point of a ſtory, or the fate of a battle.

Well then,—upon going away?

Oh, you go away as you came in!—If one has a mind to give the lady of the houſe a nod,

one may; but 'tis ſtill higher breeding to leave her with as lit⯑tle ceremony as I do you.

I wiſh I could be ſure it was the faſhion not to mind forms, I'd go directly and viſit Lord Sparkle. I could tear my eyes out to think I was abroad to-day when he call'd on Mrs. Johnſon!—In all the books I have read, I never met with a lover ſo careleſs as he is.—Sometimes I have a mind to treat him with diſdain, and then I recol⯑lect all I have read about Ladies behaviour that break their Lovers hearts;—but he won't come near me.—Now I have been three days in a complying humour—but 'tis all one; ſtill he keeps away. I'll be hang'd, if I don't know what he's about ſoon!—He ſha'n't think to bring me from the Land's End to make a fool of me: Sophy Pendragon has more ſpirit than he thinks for.

A Wife! Heaven's laſt beſt gift!—But—a—no—I ſha'n't marry yet. I have a hundred little follies to act be⯑fore I do ſo raſh a thing.

But I ſay, you ſhall marry.—I have ſtudied you from eighteen, and know your character, you faults, and your virtues; and ſuch as you are, I have pick'd you out from all the blockheads and fools about you, to take a fine girl off my hands with twenty thouſand pounds.

'Tis a bride, doubtleſs!—But what is the Lady; Coquet, Prude, or Vixen?

You may make her what you will. Treat her with confidence, tenderneſs, and reſpect, and ſhe'll be an angel; be moroſe, ſuſpicious, and neglectful, and ſhe'll be—a woman.—The Wife's character and conduct is a comment on that of the Huſband.

Any thing more?—

Yes, ſhe is my ward, and the daughter of the friend of my youth.—I entertain parental affection for her, and give you the higheſt proof of my eſteem in transferring to you the care of her happineſs. Refuſe it, if you dare.

Dare! My dear friend, I muſt refuſe the honour you offer me.

How!

To be ſerious, it is not in my power to wed the Lady.

I underſtand you.—I am diſappointed!—I ſhould have mentioned this ſubject to you, before I had ſuffered it to make ſo ſtrong a feature in my picture of future happi⯑neſs.

Would you had, that I might have informed you at once—that I am—married.

Married!—Where, when, how, with whom?

Where?—In France.—When?—About eight months ſince.—How?—By an Engliſh clergyman.—With whom?—Ah, with ſuch a one!—Her beauty is of the Greek kind, which pleaſes the mind more than the eye.—Yet to the eye nothing can be more lovely.—To this charm⯑ing creature add the name of Julia Manners, and you know my wife.

Julia Manners! Julia Manners did you ſay?

Yes, Julia Manners! I firſt knew her at the houſe of a friend in Paris, whoſe daughters were in the ſame con⯑vent with herſelf. I often viſited her at the grate; at length, by the aſſiſtance of Mademoiſelle St. Val, prevailed on her to give me her hand, but was immediately torn from her by a ſummons from my uncle at Florence; whence I was diſpatched to England on a miniſterial affair.

So, ſo, ſo, very fine!

—I ſuppoſe you had the prudence to make yourſelf acquainted with the Lady's family, before you married her?

Yes: her family and fortune are elegant. She has a guardian, wheſe addreſs the ſweet Obſtinate refuſed to give me, that ſhe might herſelf reveal the marriage;—which I had reaſons, however, to requeſt her not to do, till we both arrived in England.

Then you have not ſeen your bride in England?

Oh no!—My Julia is yet in her convent. I have been preparing for her reception in Berkſhire, and have written to inform her, that I would meet her at Calais; but I fear my letters have miſſed her, and ſhall therefore ſet out [20] for Paris, to conduct to England the woman who muſt give the point to all my felicities.

And has Julia been capable of this?—Ungrateful girl! is it thus ſhe rewards my cares?

Your ſilence and your reſentment, my dear friend, whilſt they flatter, diſtreſs me.

I'm indeed offended at your marriage, but not with you:—on you I had no claims.

I do not apprehend you.

Perhaps not; and at preſent I ſhall not explain my⯑ſelf.

If you will leave me, adieu! I am going to run over the Town. My mind, impatient for the moment which carries me to my ſweet bride, feels all the interme⯑diate time a void, which any adventure may fill up.

Spite of my diſpleaſure, I can hardly conceal from him his happineſs!—Yet I will.—Julia muſt be puniſhed. To vice and folly I am content to appear ſevere; but ſhe ought not to have thought me ſo. I have not deſerved this want of confidence, and muſt correct it. If I don't miſtake, Pendragon is a fit inſtrument.—I'll take him home with me.—Yes, yes, my young Lady, you ſhall have a lover!—Oh theſe headſtrong girls!

SCENE 1.

POOR George! and ſo thou wilt really be in a few days in the boſom of the Atlantic!

I accept your laſt words for my omen; and now, in the true ſpirit of Homer's Heroes, ſhould take my congé, and depart, with its influence upon me.

Firſt take an office which I know muſt charm you.—You admire Lady Bell Bloomer?

Admire her!—Yes, by Heaven—

No heroics, dear George—no he⯑roics! They are totally out now—totally out both in love and war.

How, my Lord!

Indifference!—that's the rule.—We love, hate, quarrel, and even fight without ſuffering our tranquility to be incommoded;—nothing diſturbs.—The keeneſt diſ⯑cernment will diſcover nothing particular in the behaviour of lovers on the point of marriage, nor in the married, whilſt the articles of ſeparation are preparing.

Diſguſtful apathy!—What becomes of the energies of the heart in this wretched ſyſtem? Does it annihilate your feelings?

Oh, no!—I feel, for inſtance, that I muſt have Lady Bell Bloomer, and I feel curioſity to know her ſenti⯑ments of me, of which, however, I have very little doubt: but all my art can't make her ſerious; ſhe fences admira⯑bly, and keeps me at the length of her foil.—To you ſhe will be leſs on her guard.

Me I you ſurpriſe me, my Lord! How can I be of uſe in developing her Ladyſhip's ſentiments?

Why, by ſifting them. When you talk of me, ſee if ſhe bluſhes. Mention ſome woman as one▪ whom I [22] admire, and obſerve if ſhe does not make ſome ſpiteful re⯑mark on her ſhape, complexion, or conduct; provoke her to abuſe me with violence, or to ſpeak of me with confu⯑ſion—in either caſe, I have her.

Your inſtructions are ample, my Lord; but I do not feel myſelf equal to the embaſſy.

Your pardon, Sir! You refuſe then to oblige me?

I cannot refuſe you—my obligations to your Lordſhip make it impoſſible:—but, of all mankind, I perhaps am the laſt you ſhou'd have choſen for the purpoſe.

Nay, prithee don't be ridiculous! It is the laſt ſervice you can do me: and you are the only man whom I could entruſt with ſo delicate a buſineſs.

I accept it as a proof of your Lordſhip's con⯑fidence, and will diſcharge the commiſſion faithfully.—

It will at leaſt give me an occaſion to converſe with Lady Bell, and to converſe with her on love.—Oh! my heart! how wilt thou contain thy ardors in the trying moment?

Ha! ha! ha! I am confirm'd in my ſuſpicions, that the fellow has had the vanity to indulge a paſſion for Lady Bell, himſelf. Well, ſo much the better! the com⯑miſſion I have given him will ſufficiently puniſh him for his preſumption.

Mrs. Kitty is below, my Lord, Miſs Manners's woman.

Ha! Send her up—ſend her up.

I had began to give up that affair; but I think I won't neither. It will be rather a brilliant thing to have Lady Bell for a wife, and her friend for a miſtreſs:—yes, it will be a point. I think I'll have the eclat of the thing.—

—Well, Kitty, what intelligence from the land of intrigue? What ſays the little froſt-piece Julia?

Oh, nothing new, my Lord! She's as inſenſible as ever.—I makes orations all day long of your Lordſhip's merit, and goodneſs, and fondneſs, and—

Merit, and goodneſs, and fondneſs! And don't you give a parentheſis to my ſobriety, and my neatneſs too! Ha! ha! ha! you fooliſh little devil, I thought you knew better!—Tell her of my faſhion, my extravagance; that I play deepeſt at Weltjie's, am the beſt-dreſt [23] at the Opera, and have half ruined myſelf by grant⯑ing annuities to pretty girls.—Goodneſs and fondneſs are baits to catch old prudes, not blooming miſſes.

What, my Lord! is ſpreading out your faults the way to win a fair Lady?

Faults! Thine is chambermaid's morality, with a vengeance!—What have all my paſt leſſons been thrown away upon thee, Innocence!—Have I not told thee, that the governing paſſion of the female mind is the rage of being envied? The moſt generous of them wou'd like to break the hearts of half-a-dozen of their friends, by the preference given to themſelves. Go home again, good Kitty, and con your leſſen afreſh: if you can pick up any ſtories of extravagance and gallantry, affix my name to 'em, and repeat them to your miſtreſs.

Then ſhe'll tell 'em to Lady Bell, perhaps, for a warning—

For a warning, quotha!—My de⯑voirs to Lady Bell are of a different kind, and we under⯑ſtand each other. I addreſs her for a wife, becauſe ſhe's the faſhion; and I addreſs Julia for a miſtreſs, becauſe 'tis the faſhion to have miſtreſſes from higher orders than ſemp⯑ſtreſſes and mantua-makers.

And is that your only reaſon, my Lord, for bribing me ſo high?

Not abſolutely. I have a pique againſt her guardian, who, tho' he has the honour to be related to me, will not ſuffer me to draw on his banker for a ſingle gui⯑nea. His eſtates, indeed, he can't deprive me of; ſo as it can do no harm, I'll have the eclat of affronting him with ſpirit.

Oh Gemini! I am glad to hear that! I'd do any thing to plague Mr. Fitzherbert, and can go on now with a ſafe conſcience!—He had like to have loſt me my place once, becauſe he thought I was flighty;—but I'll be up with him, now.

Mr. Belville.

My dear Belville!

Go, Kitty, into that room, I'll ſpeak to you preſently.

[24] Welcome once more to the region of buſineſs and plea⯑ſure!

I thank you! But pray, my Lord, don't diſmiſs the lady.

The lady! Ha! ha! ha. That lady, Sir, is a Lady's gentlewoman, a'n't pleaſe ye! I ſuppoſe you have heard that I am going to marry Lady Bell Bloomer; we are the two moſt faſhionable people in town, and in courſe muſt come together.

A clear deduction.

Now ſhe has a friend, whom I mean at the ſame time to take for a miſtreſs:—won't that be a ſtroke, eh!

Decidedly. Your life is made up of ſtrokes! Every thing with you, my Lord, is a hit.

True, true! I deteſt a regular, mechanical mode of doing things.—Men of ſenſe have one way of getting through life; men of genius, another.

Doubtleſs; and the advantage lies with the men of genius, for to their genius are all their faults imputed; nay, their faults are conſidered as the graceful meanderings of a mind too ethereal to be confined to the rules of com⯑mon-ſenſe and decorum;—a mighty eaſy way of building reputation! ha! ha! ha! You are dreſt with infinite malice to-day, my Lord.

Malice! Not at all.—The women now-a-days are neither caught by finery or perſon!—I am dreſt for court.—I was going to Weſtminſter; but I hear there is to be a preſentation of Miſſes to-day, and I would not for the world loſe the dear creatures bluſhes on their firſt ap⯑pearance; for, 'faith, moſt of them will never bluſh again.—Will you go?

'Tis too late to dreſs: beſides, I have devoted this day to adventure. I am rambling through the town, diſ⯑covering what new ſtars have appeared in the Galaxy of Beauty during my abſence, and a dangerous progreſs it is! The rays of a pair of black eyes from a chariot in Pall-mall would have annihilated me, had not at the ſame inſtant two beautiful blue ones from a window given a fil⯑lip to my ſinking ſpirits. A fine-turn'd ancle, whoſe po⯑liſh ſhone thro' its neat ſilk ſtocking, encounter'd me in St. James's-ſtreet; but I was luckily relieved by a little roſy mouth, that betray'd, with a deceitful ſmile, teeth moſt murderouſly white. A Galatea darted by me on the right, whilſt a Helen ſwam along on the left:—in ſhort, from ſuch ſweet beſiegers nothing could have preſerved me [25] but the ſweeter charms of a beloved, though abſent fair-one.

Now, I never trouble my head about abſentees!—I love beauty as well as any man; but it muſt be all in the preſent tenſe. Shall I ſet you down any where? I muſt go.

No; but I ſee your writing-things are here. If you'll permit me, I'll pen a ſhort note to Beauchamp on bu⯑ſineſs I had forgot this morning, and diſpatch it by a chairman.

To be ſure. I penned a note ten minutes ſince to my ſteward, to raiſe the poor devils rents. Upon my ſoul, I pity 'em! But how can it be otherwiſe, whilſt one is obliged to wear fifty acres in a ſuit, and the produce of a whole farm in a pair of buckles? Adieu!

Good morning!—My compliments to the Ladies bluſhes.

So, ſo, his Lordſhip has forgot me! I muſt go after him.

Hah! that's the confidante!—So, pretty-one, whoſe chattels are you?

My miſtreſs's, Sir.

And who is your miſtreſs?

A Lady, Sir.

And her name?

That of her father, I take it.

Upon my word, your Lady has a very brilliant ſervant!—Is ſhe as clever as you are?

Why, not quite, I think, or ſhe would not keep me to eclipſe her.

Bravo! I wiſh I knew her! Will you tell me her name?

Can you ſpell?

Yes.

Why then you'll find it in the four-and-twenty letters.

Nay, by Heaven, you have rais'd my curioſity!

Poh! what ſignifies aſking me? You know well enough who ſhe is.—I heard you and Lord Sparkle talking about her. Let me go; for I am going to carry a meſſage to Mr. Fitzherbert.

Mr. Fitzherbert!

Aye, her guardian.

Her guardian! What, Fitzherbert of Cambridge⯑ſhire?

Yes; and if you want to know more, he's the croſſeſt old wretch that ever breathed. You'll find him out by that deſcription; and ſo, your ſervant!

Fitzherbert's ward! and this creature her ſervant! and Lord Sparkle plotting to get her for a miſtreſs!—I am aſtoniſh'd!—the very Lady he this morning offered for my bride!—Well,—I muſt find Fitzherbert immediately.—Lord Sparkle will perhaps think me guilty of a breach of honour—The imputation I muſt incur, that I may not be really guilty of a breach of humanity, and of gratitude.

SCENE II.

Tell Miſs Manners I am here. (Exit Servant.)—I cannot perhaps be ſeriouſly angry with Julia; but I muſt take ſome revenge on her diſobedience, before I acquaint her with the felicity that attends her. Come in, Young Corniſh, pray!

What, does the Lady live in this fine houſe?

Yes.—but pray obſerve, that I don't engage ſhe ſhall be ſmitten with you. I can go no farther than to in⯑troduce you; the reſt muſt depend on the brilliancy of your manners.

Oh leave me alone for that!—I knew how 'twould be, if I once ſhew'd myſelf in London. If ſhe has a long purſe, I'll whaſk her down to Cornwall, jockey Lord Sparkle, and have the Borough myſelf.

A man of ſpirit, I ſee!

Oh, as to my ſpirit, that nobody ever doubted!—I have beat our Exciſeman, and gone to-law with the Par⯑ſon; and to ſhew you that I did not leave my ſpirit in the [27] country, ſince I came to London I have fined a hackney⯑coachman for abuſe.

Very commendable!—But here comes the Lady!

Mr. Pendragon, this is my ward, who, I am ſure, will give your addreſſes all the encouragement I wiſh them.

Servant, Ma'am!

She looks plaguy glum.

I can ſcarcely ſupport myſelf!

Pray, my dear, ſpeak to Mr. Pendragon! You ſeem greatly confuſed!

Oh, Sir, I underſtand it! Young Ladies will look confus'd and embarraſs'd, and all that ſort of thing, on theſe occaſions; but we men of the world are up to all that.

Heavens! is it to ſuch a Being I ſhould have been ſacrificed!

I ſee your ward is one of the modeſt diffident ones: I am ſurpriſed at that—bred in high-life.

Oh, now and then, you find a perſon of that caſt in the beſt company!—but they ſoon get over it.

Yes, formerly I uſed to bluſh, and be modeſt, and all that ſort of thing; but if any one ever catches me modeſt again, I'll give 'em my eſtate for a pilchard.

Then it ſeems impoſſible—pardon me, Sir!

that a union can take place between you and me; for I place modeſty amongſt the elegancies of manner, and think it abſolutely neceſſary to the character of a gen⯑tleman.

Well done, Julia!

—Fye upon you to treat my friend with ſuch aſperity!

O leave her to me, Sir; ſhe's ignorant, but I ſhall teach her. There are three things, Miſs, only neceſſary to the character of a Gentleman;—a good air, good aſſu⯑rance, and good teeth.

Doesn't his liſt want good man⯑ners, Sir?

Oh, no, Ma'am! If you had ſaid good taſte, it wou'd have been nearer the thing; but even that is unne⯑ceſſary.—A Gentleman's friends can furniſh his houſe, and chuſe his books, and his pictures, and he can learn to cri⯑ticiſe them by heart.—Nothing is ſo eaſy as to criticiſe;—people do it continually.

You ſee, Mr. Pendragon has information, Julia.—I'll leave you a few moments, that he may unfold himſelf to advantage; and remember, if you refuſe the man I de⯑ſign for your huſband, you loſe me.—Keep it up with ſpi⯑rit! I'll wait for you below

—Now ſhall impertinence and diſobedience correct each other!

Now to ſtrike her with my ſuperior eaſe!

—So, Miſs, your Guardian, I think, has a mind that we ſhall—in the vulgar ſpeech—marry!

Well, Sir; but are you not frighten'd at your approach to ſuch a ſtate!—Do you know what belongs to the character of a Huſband?

What belongs to it? Aye! Do you know what belongs to being a Wife?

Yes; I gueſs that to your wife will belong ill-humour with you at home—ſhame with you abroad;—in her face forc'd ſmiles—in her heart hidden thorns.

The Devil! What, you have found your tongue, Ma'am! Oh, oh, I ſhall have a fine time on't, I gueſs, when our connection begins!

Our connection!—Pray, Sir, drop the idea!—I proteſt to you, that were it poſſible for me to become your wife, I ſhould be the moſt wretched of women.

Oh no, you woudn't! I hardly know a wife who is not wretched.

Unfeeling man! Would you preſume to enter into a ſtate, to the happineſs of which, union of ſoul, delicacy of ſentiment, and all the elegant attentions of poliſh'd manners are neceſſary and indiſpenſible?

What's all that! Union of ſoul! ſentiment! at⯑tentions!—That's not Life, I'm ſure.

I am not able to conceive by what witchcraft Mr. Fitzherbert has been blinded to the weakneſs of your head, and the turpitude of your heart.—Tell him, Sir, there is not a fate I would not prefer to that of being united to a man whoſe vice is the effect of folly, and whoſe folly is as hateful even as his vice.

Yes, yes, I'll tell, depend on't!—Egad, ſhe's a ſpirit!—So much the better, more pleaſure in taming her!—A meek wife cheats a man of his rights, and de⯑prives him of the pleaſure of exacting her obedience.—Let me ſee!—Vice—folly—impudence—ignorance—Ignorance too!

What have I done? I dare not now ſee my guar⯑dian! His diſpleaſure will kill me. Oh Belville! where art thou! Come and ſhield thy unhappy bride!—What ſteps can I take?

Dear Ma'am, I'm ſo griev'd to ſee you ſo unhap⯑py! If I had ſuch a croſs old guardian, I'd run away from him.

The very thought which that inſtant preſented itſelf to my mind!—Have you not told me, that ſome re⯑lation of your's has lodgings?

Yes, Ma'am; the moſt eleganteſt in London.

I don't want elegant apartments; but I wiſh for a ſhort time to be conceal'd in ſome family of reputation.

To be ſure, Ma'am, 'tis the moſt prudent thing you can do.

And yet my heart fails me.

Oh, Ma'am, don't heſitate! I'll go and pack up a few things, and call a coach and be off, before Lady Bell comes from Court.

I fear 'tis a wrong ſtep; and yet what other can I take? I dare not reveal my marriage, without the per⯑miſſion of my huſband; and till his arrival, I muſt avoid both a guardian's anger and the addreſſes of a lover.—The honour of Belville would be inſulted, ſhould I permit them to be repeated.

I know not what ſhe means, but there is ſome myſtery, I find. So there ſhou'd be!—If ladies had not myſteries, a chambermaid's place would be hardly worth keeping.—I have myſteries too, and ſhe ſhall have their explanation from Lord Sparkle.

SCENE III.

Ha! ha! ha! my dear creature, what an em⯑barras! Driving ſwiftly through the ſtreets, Lady Whip⯑cord daſh'd upon us in her flaming phaeton and ſix, gave a monſtrous big Newmarket word to my poor fellows, and [30] with infinite dexterity entangled the traces. It happen'd near your door; ſo I have taken ſhelter with you, and left her Ladyſhip to ſettle the diſpute with my coachman, ha! ha! ha! But why were you not at Court to-day?

I had a teazing head-ach; but pray, tell me what happen'd there.—

Deuce take her, ſhe looks as well as ever!

Oh, the Ladies, as uſual, brilliant—nothing ſo flat as the men! The horrid Engliſh cuſtom ruins them for converſation. They make themſelves members of Clubs, in the way of buſineſs; and Members of Parliament, in the way of amuſement: all their paſſions are reſerved for the firſt, and all their wit for the laſt.

'Tis better in Paris.

Oh, 'tis quite another thing! Whilſt we auk⯑wardly copy the follies of the Pariſians, we abſurdly omit the charming part of their character. Devoted to elegance, they catch their opinions, their wit, and their bons mots from the mouths of the ladies.—'Tis in the drawing-room of Madame the Dutcheſs, the Marquis learns his politicks; whilſt the ſprightly Counteſs diſpenſes taſte and philoſophy to a circle of Biſhops, Generals, and Abbés.

All that may be juſt; yet I am miſtaken, if you have not found one Engliſhman to reconcile you to the manners of the reſt. Lord Sparkle, for inſtance—your Ladyſhip thinks, I'm ſure, that be has wit at will.

Oh yes, quite at will!—His wit, like his eſ⯑ſence-bottle, is a collection of all that is poignant in a thouſand flowers; and, like that, is moſt uſeful, when he himſelf is moſt inſipidly vacant.

With ſuch ſentiments, I wonder you can ſuffer his addreſſes.

What can I do? The man is ſo much the fa⯑ſhion, and I ſhall be ſo much envied.—Why you now, my dear, for inſtance—you'd be inclin'd to ſtick a poi⯑ſoned noſegay in my boſom, if I ſhould take him.

Ha! ha! ha! ridiculous! Believe me, Madam, I ſhall neither prepare a bouquet, nor invoke a fiery ſhower to grace your nuptials.

No, your ſhower would be tears, I fan⯑cy.—Here be comes!

Hah! Lord Sparkle! Your Ladyſhip's accident was fortunate.

Heavens! Lady Bell! your horſes fly like the doves of Venus. I follow'd you from St. James's;—but my poor earth-born cattle wouldn't keep pace with yours.

Oh, don't complain! If her Ladyſhip won the race, you ſee ſhe ſtopp'd for you at the goal.

Charming Miſs Belmour, what an enliv'ning in⯑timation! Where was your Ladyſhip on Thurſday? You would have found excellent food for your ſatire at Mrs. Olio's: We had all the Law Ladies from Lincoln's-inn, a dozen gold velvets from Biſhopſgate, with the wives and daughters of half the M. D's. and L. L. D's. in town.

Oh, my entertainment was quite as good as yours! We were in Brook-ſtreet, at Lady Lau⯑rel's, and found her ſurrounded by her Literati of all de⯑nominations.—We had Maſters of Art and Miſſes of Sci⯑ence:—on one hand, an Eſſayiſt; on the other, a Mora⯑liſt:—there, a Poetaſter; here, a Tranſlator:—in that cor⯑ner, a Philoſopher; in the oth r, a Compiler of Maga⯑zines.—Tropes, Epigrams, and Syllogiſms flew like ſky⯑rockets in every direction; 'till the ambition of pre-emi⯑nence lighted the flame of controverſy, when they gave each other the lye literary with infinite ſpirit and decorum.

Excellent! I'll repeat every word in a place where it will be remember'd, and the ſatire enjoy'd.

In that hope your Lordſhip may ſafely knock at every door in the ſtreet:—ſatire is welcome every where.

Yes, if it will bear a laugh—that's the grand art of converſation. They pretend we are fond of ſlander; but rob ſcandal of its laugh, and 'twould ſoon be baniſh'd to the ſecond table, for the amuſement of butlers and chambermaids.

Indeed! Then I believe half our acquaintance wou'd go down ſtairs to the ſecond table too!—they'd think their ſervants had the beſt of the diſh.

Julia! aſtoniſhing!—So ſudden in your movements, Mrs. Kitty?—

This vulgar thing call'd buſineſs is the greateſt evil in life! It deſtroys our moſt brilliant hours, and is ſit only for younger brothers and humble couſins.—Miſs Belmour, I muſt tear myſelf away. Shall I attend your Ladyſhip to your carriage?

If you pleaſe!—Miſs Belmour, "I muſt tear my⯑ſelf away;"—but you'll ſhine upon us at night.

Shine upon you at night!—That I know you are inſolent enough to believe impoſſible.—What can I think of her ſentiments for Lord Sparkle! Sometimes I believe 'tis a mere attachment of vanity on both ſides.—That re⯑ſerv'd creature Beauchamp is in his confidence; but he leaves town this very day, and I ſhall have no opportunity of converſing with him.

There is but one chance—going to viſit him.—But how can I poſſibly do that? Deuce take him! If he had a library, one might go to look at his books. Well, I don't care, go I will; and if I can't invent an excuſe, I'll put a good face upon the mat⯑ter, and go without one.

I ſhould expire if my viſit ſhou'd be diſcover'd. Poh! I muſt riſque every thing!—To be bold, is ſometimes to be right.

SCENE I.

MISS Manners gone out in a hackney-coach, and no meſſage left!

No, Madam.

Very ſtrange!

Mr. Beauchamp has been waiting almoſt an hour for your Ladyſhip's return.

Mr. Beauchamp!—Here, go and put ſome otto of roſes in that handkerchief.

Now, ſhall I admit him, or not? This formal waiting looks very like formal buſineſs. Poh, I hate that!—I ſuppoſe he has at length vanquiſh'd his modeſty, and is come to tell me that—that—Well, I vow I won't hear him.—Yes, I will. I long to know the ſtile in which theſe reſerv'd men make love.—To what imprudence would my heart betray me? Yet I may ſurely indulge myſelf in hearing him ſpeak of love; in hearing, probably for the firſt time, its genuine language.

Tell Mr. Beauchamp I am here.

Now, how ſhall I receive him? It will be intolerable to be formal.—

Oh, Mr. Beauchamp, this is the luckieſt thing!—I have had ten diſputes to-day about the figures in my fan; and you ſhall decide 'em. Is that beautiful nymph a flying Daphne, or an Atalanta?

From the terror of the eye, Madam, and the ſwiftneſs of her ſtep, it muſt be a Deph⯑ne. I think Atalanta's head would be more at variance with her feet; and whilſt ſhe flies, her eye would be invitingly turn'd on her purſuers.

I think you are right!—Yes—there does want the kind, inviting glance, to be ſure.

What a misfortune to a lover! I know one to whom your Ladyſhip appears the diſdainful Daphne.—How happy! could he behold in your eye the encourage⯑ment of Atalanta's!

Mercy! for ſo baſhful a man that's pret⯑ty plain.

This is probably the laſt viſit I can make you before I leave England:—will your Ladyſhip permit me, before I leave it, to acquaint you that there is a man, whoſe happineſs depends on your favour?

So, now he's going to be perplexing again!

—A man whoſe happineſs depends on me, Mr. Beauchamp!

Yes, Madam!—and—and—

I cannot go on—Why did I accept a commiſſion in which ſucceſs would deſtroy me?

How evidently this is the firſt time he ever made love!

—The man ſeems to have choſen a very dif⯑fident advocate in you, Sir.

'Tis more than diffidence, Madam, my taſk is painful.

Ay, I thought ſo! You have taken a brief in a cauſe you don't like; I could plead it better myſelf.

I feel the reproach.

'Tis difficult for you, perhaps, to ſpeak in the third perſon?—Try it in the firſt. Suppoſe now, ha! ha! only ſuppoſe, I ſay! for the jeſt's ſake, that you yourſelf have a paſſion for me, and then try—how you can plead it.

Thus—thus would I plead it, and ſwear, that thou art dear to my heart as fame, and ho⯑nour!—To look at thee is rapture; to love thee, tho' without hope,—felicity!

Oh, I thought I ſhould bring him to the point at laſt!

To what diſhoneſty have I been betray'd▪—Thus, Madam, ſpeaks my friend, thro' my lips;—'tis thus he pleads his paſſion.

Provoking!

—What friend is this, Sir, who is weak enough to uſe the language of another to ex⯑plain his heart?

Lord Sparkle.

Lord Sparkle! Was it for him you knelt?

—Then, Sir, I muſt inform you, that the li⯑berty you have taken—

Heavens, how do I be⯑tray myſelf!—Tell me, Sir, on your honour, do you wiſh to ſucceed in pleading the paſſion of Lord Sparkle?

My obligations to his Lordſhip—our relationſhip—the confidence he has repos'd in me—

Stop, Sir! I too will repoſe confidence in you, and confeſs that there is a man whom I ſometimes ſuſpect not to be indifferent to me;—but 'tis not Lord Sparkle! Tell him ſo;—and tell him that—that—tell him what you will.

Heavens, what does ſhe mean! What language is this her eye ſpeaks?

Do you viſit me this evening. Here will be ma⯑ny of my friends, and you ſhall then ſee me in the preſence of the man my heart prefers.

Heavens! what neceſſity have lovers for words? What perſuaſion in that baſhful irreſolution! Now, ſhall I let him quit England, or not!—What! give up a coronet and Lord Sparkle for a cockade and Beauchamp! Prepoſ⯑terous! ſays Vanity.—But what ſays Love? I don't exactly know; but I'll examine their ſeparate claims, and ſettle them with all the caſuiſtry of four-and-twenty.

SCENE II.

I am ſo agitated with this raſh ſtep, that I can hardly breathe!

Why did you confirm me in my imprudent reſolution?

Imprudent! I'm ſure, Ma'am, 'tis very prudent, and very right, that a young lady like you ſhould not be ſnubb'd, and have her inclination thwarted by an ill-natur'd poſitive old guardian.

What apartments! and the hall we came through had an air much beyond a lodging-houſe! 'Tis all too fine for my purpoſe; I want to be private.

Oh dear Ma'am, you may be as private here as you pleaſe!

There's my couſin come home, I dare ſay; I'll ſend her to you, and then you may ſettle terms.

I feel I have done wrong, and yet I am ſo diſ⯑tracted, I know not how I could have done otherwiſe.

Heavens! Lord Sparkle here!

Yes, my lovely Julia, here I am; and upon my ſoul, if you knew the engagements I have broke for the happineſs, you would be gratified.

Gratified! I am aſtoniſh'd! equally aſtoniſh'd at your being here, and at your ſtrange addreſs.

Aſtoniſh'd at my being here! Why, to be ſure, it is not uſual to find a man of faſhion in his own houſe; but when I heard that you were in my houſe, how could I do leſs than fly home?

Home! Your own houſe! What can all this mean?—

Mean! Love—Gallantry—Joy, and ever-new delights.

Oh! I am betray'd! Where is my wicked ſer⯑vant?

Poh, never think of her!—Why all this flut⯑ter, my ſweet girl! You have only chang'd guardians; and you ſhall find, that being ward to a young man of faſhion and ſpirit, is a very different thing from—

Oh Heavens! what will become of me?

Nay, this is quite ridiculous, after having fled to my protection! I feel myſelf highly honour'd by your confidence, and will take care to deſerve it.

Why do I remain here an inſtant?

This is downright rudeneſs! But you young Ladies are ſo fickle in your reſolutions—But be aſſured, after having choſen my houſe for your aſylum, I ſhall not be ſo impolite as to ſuffer you to ſeek another.

Oh wretched artifice! You know, Sir, that your houſe and you I would have fled from to the fartheſt corner of—

Oh, Mr. Beauchamp, ſave me!—I have been baſely betray'd!—

Betray'd!—Miſs Manners! Yes, Madam, I will protect you at every hazard.

Come, none of your antique virtues, George, pray! This is a piece of badinage of the Eighteenth Century, and you can't poſſibly underſtand it!—Miſs Man⯑ners choſe to pay me a viſit, and I deſire you'll leave us.

My Lord, how dare you thus trifle with a wo⯑man's honor?

Be not alarm'd, Madam, I will defend you.

Poh, prithee, George, be diſ⯑creet! This is all female artifice!—You popp'd upon us, and this is a ſalver for her reputation.

Pardon me, my Lord! In believing you in op⯑poſition to the evidence of this young Lady's terrors, I may be guilty of an irremiable error.

Nay, if you are ſerious, Sir, how dare you break in upon my privacy?

This is not a time to anſwer you, my Lord! The buſineſs that brought me here, I am indebted to; I ſhould not elſe have prevented your baſe deſigns.

Baſe deſigns, Mr. Beauchamp!

Yes, Lord Sparkle!—Shall I attend you home, Madam?

Oh, Sir, I dare not go there! I fled from Lady Bell's, when I was betray'd into this inhuman man's pow⯑er.—Convey me to ſome place where I may have leiſure to reflect.

And do you think, Mr. Beauchamp, I ſhall put up with this?—Remember, Sir—

Yes, my Lord, that, as a Man, it is my duty to protect endanger'd innocence; that, as a Soldier, it is part of the eſſence of my character; and, whilſt I am grateful to you for the commiſſion I have the honour to bear, I will not diſgrace it, in ſuffering myſelf to be intimidated by your frowns.

So!—ſo!—ſo!—an antient hero in the houſe of a modern man of faſhion!—Alexander in the tent of Da⯑rius!—Scipio and the fair Parthenia! The fellow has not an idea of any morals but thoſe in uſe during the Olympiads.

Mr. Pendragon and his ſiſter, my Lord.

Who!

Mr. and Miſs Pendragon.

Then carry 'em to the Houſekeeper's room!—Give 'em jellies and plumb-cake, and tell 'em—

Oh, my dear Miſs Pendragon, you honour me!—But I am the moſt unlucky man on earth!—I am oblig'd, upon buſineſs of infinite conſequence, to be at Whitehall within five minutes.

But, firſt, my Lord, you muſt ſettle a little buſi⯑neſs here with Miſs Pendragon.

I tell you, Bobby, I'll ſpeak myſelf;—and as few words are beſt, pray, my Lord, what do you mean by treating me in this manner?

I ſhall be miſerable beyond bearing, if any treat⯑ment of mine has incurr'd your diſpleaſure.

Well, now you talk of being miſerable, you have ſoften'd my heart at once! But pray, my Lord, is it faſhionable for people on the terms you and I are, to keep aſunder?

What the Devil can the girl mean?

Never even write!—no billets!—no bribing the maid to ſlip notes into my hand!—Why you don't even complain, tho' 'tis five days ſince you ſaw me.

Complain! I am ſure I have been exceedingly wretched.

Then why did you not tell me ſo? Why, that's the very thing I wanted! If I had known you had been wretched, I ſhould have been happy.

Well, I ſee I ſhall loſe an opportunity here!—I came to challenge you, my Lord.

Challenge me!

Yes!—Miſs Pendragon told me ſhe was diſſatisfied:—then ſays I, I'll demand ſatisfaction:—and I didn't care if things had gone a little farther; for to call out a Lord would be a feather in my cap as long as I live.—However, you are agreed.

Do be quiet, Bobby!—We are not agreed:—I have heard nothing of Settlements yet; nothing of Jew⯑els.

My dear Ma'am, you are pleaſed to amuſe your⯑ſelf.

Why, my Lord, thoſe things muſt be all ſettled before-hand, you know.

Before what!

What! Before our marriage, my Lord.

Marriage! Ha, ha, ha!

Heydey! Will you pretend that you did not in⯑tend to marry me, when I can prove that you have courted me from twenty inſtances?

Indeed!

Ay, that ſhe can! inſtances as ſtriking as your Lordſhip's red heels.—Come, Miſs Pendragon, your proofs? I'll ſupport 'em.

Why, in the firſt place, my Lord, you once placed a noſegay in my boſom, and ſaid, "Oh! I wiſh I were theſe happy roſes!"—the very ſpeech that Sir Harry Hargrave made to Miſs Woodville!—Another time you [39] ſaid, "I was a moſt bewitching and adorable girl!"—exact⯑ly what Colonel Finch ſaid to Lady Lucy Luſtre!—Ano⯑ther time you ſaid, "How would a Coronet become thoſe ſhining treſſes!"—the very ſpeech of Lord Roſehill to Miſs Danvers; and theſe couples were every one married.

Married! I never heard of 'em!—Who are they? Where the Devil do they live?

Live!—Why in our county, to be ſure.

No, no, Bobby, in The Reclaim'd Rake, and The Conſtant Lovers, and Sir Charles Grandiſon, and Roderic Random, and—

Yes, Sir; they live at Random, with Sir Charles Grandiſon.—Now d'ye know 'em?

Ha! ha! ha! you are a charming little Lawyer,

and might, perhaps, eſtabliſh your proofs for precedents, if Sir Charles Grandiſon was on the Bench: yet I never heard of his being made Chief-Juſtice, tho' I never thought him fit for any thing elſe.

What the Devil's this?—What, did not you bring all thoſe fine proofs from faſhionable life?—And are you ſuch a fool as not to underſtand what we call common-place?

Common-place!

Yes, we perſons of elegant life uſe the figure Hyperbōle.—

Hyperbōle! What's that?

Why, that's as much as to ſay, a ſtretch.

A ſtretch! What, then, you have been mocking me, my Lord?

Not in the leaſt; I ſhall be the happieſt man ex⯑iſting to, to—

Egad, I muſt take care of my phraſes!—I mean, that I ſhall be always, and upon all occaſions, your moſt devoted, tres humblement ſerviteur.—Were there ever two ſuch Bumpkins!

What's he gone? Oh! Villain! Monſter! I am forſaken! Oh! I am rejected!—All Cornwall will know it!

Tin-Mines and all. But don't ye cry, Miſs Pen⯑dragon—don't ye cry!

Oh! I am rejected!

I am glad on't, with all my heart! I'll challenge him yet, and they won't know in Cornwall exactly how it was.—They'll hear that a Lord fought about ye, and all [40] that ſort of thing; and whether for ye or againſt ye, 'twill be much the ſame.

But will you challenge him, really, Bobby?

Upon honor!—I admire the claw of the thing! Egad, Sophy, I'm glad he's forſaken thee! Now my cha⯑racter will be finiſh'd. A man can't ſhew his face in com⯑pany, till he has ſtood ſhot, and fired his piſtol in the air.

In the air! If you don't fire it thro' him—

Oh, never fear! I'll do all that ſort of thing. Come along! I'll go home directly, and practiſe at the hen-coop in the yard. I'll fire thro' one end, and you ſhall hold your calaſh againſt the other; and if I don't hit it, ſay I'm no markſman.

SCENE III.

I intreat your pardon for conducting you to my own lodgings;—but here, Madam, you will be ſafe, 'till you determine how to act.—What are your commands for me?

Oh, Mr. Beauchamp, I have no commands—I have no deſigns!—I have been very imprudent; I am ſtill more unhappy.

Shall I acquaint Mr. Fitzherbert?

It was to avoid him that I left Lady Bell.—I have reaſons that make it impoſſible to ſee Mr. Fitzherbert now.

Is there no other friend?

O yes, I have one friend!—Were he here, all my difficulties would vaniſh!—It may ſeem ſtrange, Mr. Beauchamp, but I expect that you believe—Heavens! here's company!

'Tis Miſs Belmour—the laſt woman on earth whom I would truſt!—Where can I go?

Miſs Belmour! Very odd!—But pray be not uneaſy!—That room, Madam, if you will condeſcend—

Ha! ha! ha! I expect your gravity to be amazing⯑ly diſcompos'd at ſo hardy a viſit; but I took it very ill that you did not deſign to call upon me before your depar⯑ture; [41] and ſo as I was paſſing your door, I ſtopp'd in mere frolic to enquire the cauſe.

You do me infinite honour, Madam! I am thank⯑ful that I fail'd in my attention, ſince it has procur'd me ſo diſtinguiſh'd a favour.

Oh, your moſt obedient!—You are going to leave England for a long while! You'll find us all in different ſituations, probably, on your return!—Your friend Lord Sparkle, for inſtance—I am inform'd that he is really to marry Lady Bell Bloomer; but I don't believe it—do you?

'Tis impoſſible, Madam, for me—

Poh! poh! impoſſible! Such friends as you are I ſuppoſe keep nothing from one another.—We women can't exiſt without a confidante; and I dare ſay, you men are full as communicative. Not that it is any thing to me; but as I have a prodigious regard for Lady Bell—

Beauchamp! Beauchamp!

Heaven and earth, how unlucky! Here's ſome man! I am the niceſt creature breathing in my reputation: what will he think? I'll run into this room.

Pardon me, Madam, you can⯑not enter there!

I muſt—Oh—oh! the door is held, Sir.

My dear Madam, I am infinitely ſorry for the accident; but ſuppoſe—ſuppoſe, I ſay, Ma'am, that a friend of mine has been in a duel, and conceal'd in that room.

Ridiculous! I ſaw the corner of a hoop and a white ſattin petticoat:—is that the dreſs of your duelling friends? I will go in.—

So!

'tis too late!

So! ſo! ſo! I beg your pardon. How could you be ſo indiſcreet, Beauchamp? Tho' a young ſoldier, I thought you knew enough of Generalſhip to be prepar'd for a ſur⯑prize.

Oh, ſo he was; but not for two ſurprizes.—One has happened already, and a haſty retreat the conſequence.

Believe me, Belville—I am infinitely concerned

Oh! I deteſt your impertinent concern! Keep it for the Lady in the other room.

A Lady in the other room too! Heydey! Beauchamp, who would have ſuſpected—

'Tis all a miſtake! The Lady in the next room—But prithee go.—

Only tell me if you have ſeen Fitzherbert. I have been ſeeking him this hour, on a buſineſs of the utmoſt conſequence.

I have not; but about this time you'll find him at home.

Enough! Miſs Belmour, pray ſuffer no concern; depend on my honour.—Beauchamp

, who is the Lady in the other room?

Had I meant you to have known, that room would have been unneceſſary.

Now do I die to know who it can be! Indeed, 'tis neceſſary for my own ſake.—Whilſt ſhe has been hid, I have been expoſed; and who knows what the creature may ſay? I'll try once more. She has my ſecret, and I'll have her's.

Belville!

Julia!

Miſs Manners!—Ha! ha! ha!

Oh, Belville, throw me not from you!

Aſtoniſhing!

Oh charming! The modeſt Julia, and the reſerv'd Beauchamp! Ha! ha! ha!—But Mr. Belville, how came you of this ſober party? ha! ha! ha!

Speak to me!

Now, Mr. Beauchamp, you know the purport of my viſit.—I had heard that Miſs Manners has been ſeen to viſit you, and, not being willing to truſt to ſuch a re⯑port, was reſolved, if poſſible, to diſcover the truth.

Wretched woman!

Barbarous creature! Oh hear me, I conjure you!

Hear you!—No, madam;—and if my contempt, my hatred, my—oh!—You, Sir, I muſt ſpeak to in another place;—yet perhaps you were not acquainted that—What would I ſay!—The word which I have pro⯑nounced [43] with rapture, choaks me. From this moment farewel!

What can I think of all this?

Oh Sir!

Permit me, Madam, to aſk i you have long known Mr. Belville?

Yes, too long.

Oh, oh, too long!—Aye, young ladies ſhould be cautious how they form acquaintance. For my part—But you look ill, child!—

Well, I have no hard heart; I can pity your weakneſs, Miſs;—I won't upbraid you now.—My coach waits;—ſhall I conduct you home?

Yes, to Lady Bell—to Lady Bell—I am very ill!

Adieu, Mr. Beauchamp! This has been an unlucky frolic!—'Tis amazing, you grave people can be ſo care⯑leſs.

An unlucky frolick, indeed! And I am ſo thoroughly confounded, that I know not what judgment to form of the adventure.—I always conſidered Miſs Man⯑ners as a pattern of delicacy and virtue; nor dare I now, ſpite of circumſtances, think otherwiſe.

So, ſo, Signor Quixote! What ſo ſoon loſt your prize! Aye, you ſee quarrelling for theſe virtuous women, is as unprofitable as the aſſault of the windmills.—Have you ſeen Lady Bell in my behalf?

Lady Bell, my Lord! Why, ſure, 'tis impoſ⯑ſible after your attempt on Miſs Manners—

Pſha! that is a ſtroke in my favour. Women like to receive the devoirs of thoſe, whom others of their ſex have found ſo dangerous. What did you diſcover of Lady Bell's ſentiment towards me?

I meant to have given the intelligence ſoftened, but the agitations of my mind make it impracticable; I muſt, therefore, inform you in one word, Lady Bell Bloomer's choice is made, and that choice has not fallen upon your Lordſhip.

Then I muſt inform you in two words, that I [44] am convinced you are miſtaken. But your reaſons, Sir, your reaſons?

Her Ladyſhip furniſhed me with a deciſive one: ſhe acknowledged a pre-engagement; and added, if I viſited her this evening, I ſhould ſee her in the preſence of the man her heart prefers.

Excellent! charming ingenu⯑ity! Ha! ha! ha! the kindeſt, ſofteſt, meſſage that ever woman fram'd; and you, like the ſheep loaden with the golden fleece, bore it inſenſible of its value.—Ha! ha! ha! you can't ſee through the pretty artifice?

No, really.

Why, 'tis I who am to be there; there by par⯑ticular invitation. You'll ſee her in my preſence; and this was her pretty myſterious way of informing me that I am the object of her choice.

Indeed!

Without a doubt! But you deep people are the dulleſt fellows at a hint; a man of half your parts would have ſeen it.—But I am ſatisfied, and ſhall go to her route in brilliant ſpirits.—You ſhall come, and ſee my triumph confirmed.—Come, you rogue! and ſee the lovely Widow in the preſence of the man her heart prefers.—Poor George! You muſt have been curſedly ſtupid, not to have conceiv'd that I was the perſon.

Yes, I will come.—Oh vanity! I had dared to explain—Yes, I conſtrued the ſweet confuſion—Oh, I bluſh at my own arrogance! Lord Sparkle muſt be right.—Well, this night decides it.—Narrowly will I watch each tone and look, to diſcover—Oh!—ever-bleſt!—he whom her heart prefers!

SCENE I.

ARE the tables placed in the outer room?

Yes, Ma'am, all but the Pharaoh-table.

Then carry that there too.—I poſitively will not have a table in the drawing-room.—

Thoſe who play don't viſit me, but the card-tables; and where they find them is very immaterial.—Let me ſee! For whiſt, Sir James Jennet—Lady Ponto—Mrs. Lurchem, and Lady Carmine.—For Pharaoh, Mrs. Evergreen, Lord Dangle, Sir Harry—Hey-dey!

Come, child, don't faint!—You had more cauſe for terror half an hour ago.

Heavens, Julia! where have you been?

Ay, that's a circumſtance you would not have known, but for an accident; and I am very ſorry it fell to my lot to make the dicovery.

Speak, my love!

Miſs Belmour will tell you all ſhe knows.—I am too wretched!

Nay, as to what I know,—I know very little.—I can tell what I ſaw, indeed.—Having received intimations not quite conſonant to one's notions of decorum, I pretended a frolick, and called on Mr. Beauchamp, and there I found this Lady concealed.

Heavens, Julia! 'Tis impoſſible.

Nay, ſhe can't attempt to deny what I myſelf ſaw.—Other diſcoveries had liked to have been made too; but Miſs Manners may explain them herſelf; for I ſee your rooms begin to fill.—I ſhall report that your Ladyſhip is a little indiſpoſed, as an excuſe for your not immediately appearing.

Julia! You at Mr. Beauchamp's!

Lady Bell, tho' I have acted raſhly, and was in⯑deed found there, I am not the guilty creature you imagine.—I am married!—I will no longer conceal it!

Married! Oh Heavens!

I dared not reveal it to my guardian, and for that reaſon fled from your houſe.

O Julia, and you are married! What a ſer⯑pent have I nouriſhed!—But forgive me!—You knew not—alas! I knew not myſelf, till this moment, how much—

My deareſt Madam, do not add to my afflictions!—for indeed they are ſevere.

Ungenerous Girl! why did you conceal from me your ſituation?

Good Heavens! is it deſtin'd that one imprudent ſtep is to loſe me every bleſſing! In the agonies of my heart I flew to your friendſhip, and you kill me with reproaches.

And you have killed me by your want of confidence! Oh, Julia! had you revealed to me—

I dared not; for when Mr. Belville prevailed on me to give him my hand—

Mr. Belville!—Mr. Belville, ſay you?

Yes; it was in Paris we were married.

So, ſo, ſo; what a pretty miſtake I made!—But it was a miſtake! . . . . . . . . . . And ſo my ſweet Julia is married! married in Paris! Sly thing! But how came you at Mr. Beauchamp's, my Love?

In my raſh flight this morning, my wicked Maid betray'd me into Lord Sparkle's houſe.—There Mr. Beau—champ ſnatch'd me from ruin, and gave me a momentary aſylum in his lodgings.

Did Beauchamp!—But what is his worth and his gallantry to me? Can't he do a right thing, but my heart muſt triumph?

At Mr. Beauchamp's my huſband found me;—and found me hid with ſo ſuſpicious a ſecrecy!—Hah! Here comes Mr. Fitzherbert! How can I ſee him?

My Julia!—My dear Julia!

Oh Sir!—

Come, I know all; and to relieve one cauſe of your diſtreſs, will tell you that the lover I ſhock'd you with to⯑day, was only my agent in the little revenge I had reſolv'd to take for your having married, without my conſent, the very man for whom all my cares deſign'd you.

—Is it poſſible!

At the moment he left Paris for Florence, you re⯑ceived my directions to return home: thus Belville's letters miſs'd you, and he remain'd ignorant that you were in London.

Oh Sir! had you reveal'd this to me this morn⯑ing, what evils ſhould I have eſcap'd?

My dear girl, I decreed you a little puniſhment; but your own raſhneſs has occaſioned you a ſeverer portion than you deſerv'd.

But where is the Bridegroom? I long to ſee the necromancer, whoſe ſpells can thaw the Veſtal's heart, and light up flames in the cold region of a monaſtery.

He is without, ſatisfied from the mouth of Beau⯑champ of your conduct,

and impatient to fold his Julia to his heart.

Oh Sir, lead me to him!—To find my huſband, and to be forgiven by you, are felicities too great.

What a diſcovery has Julia's marriage made to me of my own heart! I have perſuaded myſelf it knew no paſ⯑ſion but the deſire of conqueſt; that it knew no motive to admiration but vanity; but the pangs of jealouſy prov'd to me, in one moment, that all its ſenſe is love!

I proteſt I have been three quarters of an hour getting from the top of the ſtreet to the door!—I really believe, when people give routes, they think more of the buſtle they occaſion without doors, than the company they have within.

Oh yes! I am quite of that opinion.—The noiſe and racket in the ſtreets are frequently the pleaſanteſt part of the entertainment; and to plague one's ſober neigh⯑bours is delightful! Ha! ha! ha! My next-door friend, Mrs. Saffron, always wheels into the country on my pub⯑lic [48] nights,—on pretence of her delicate nerves; but the truth is, her rooms will hold but ſix card-tables, and mine thirteen.

Well, I proteſt I wiſh the ladies would baniſh cards from their aſſemblies, and give us ſomething in the ſtyle of the Converſaziones.

Oh no, Sir Charles, that won't do on this ſide the Alps;—we have no knack at converſation:—we think too much to be able to talk. Good talkers ne⯑ver think. Sir Harry Glare, full of bons mots, never thinks.—I myſelf am allowed to be tolerable, yet I never think.

Oh, that I believe all your friends will allow.—Hey-dey! here comes Lord Sparkle's borough acquaintance—Mr. Pendragon.

Bobs, Miſs Belmour, how d'ye do? I didn't think to ſee you.—Mr. Fitzherbert brought me here, and I have been examining every face, to ſee if I knew any body; but fine ladies are ſo alike, that one muſt have long intimacy to know one's acquaintance!—Red cheeks, white necks, and ſmiling lips, croud every room.

Hey-dey! a natural curioſity!—Pray, Sir, how long have you been in the world?

How long! Juſt twenty years, laſt Lammas.

Poh, I don't enquire into your age! How long is it ſince you left your native woods?—Was you ever at a route before?

Aye, that I was, laſt week!—It beat this all to nothing.—'Twas at our neighbour's the Wine-Merchant's—at his country-houſe at Kentiſh-Town.

Oh, lud! I wiſh I had been of your party! I ſhould have enjoy'd a Kentiſh-Town route.

Oh, you muſt have been pleaſed; for the rooms were ſo little, and the company ſo large, that every thing was done with one conſent. We were pack'd ſo cloſe, that if one party moved, all the reſt were obliged to obey the motion.

Delightful!—Well, Sir—

We had all the fat widows, notable miſſes, and managing wives of the pariſh; ſo there was no ſcandal, for they were all there.—At length the aſſembly broke up.—Such clattering, and ſqueedging down the gangway ſtair⯑caſe, [49] whilſt the little foot-boy hawl'd from the paſſage, ‘"Miſs Bobbin's bonnet is ready!"—"Mrs. Sugar-Plumb's lanthorn waits!"—"Mrs. Peppercorn's pattens ſtop the way!"’

Oh, you creature, come with me! I muſt exhi⯑bit him in the next room.

Oh, ſtay!—Take my card.—I ſhall have com⯑pany next Wedneſday, and I inſiſt on yours.—He is really amuſing!—

But hide your diminiſh'd heads, ye Beaus and Witlings! for here comes Lord Sparkle.

I hope the Belles won't hide theirs; for in an age where the head is ſo large a part of the Lady, one ſhould look about for the ſex.

Well, my Lord, you ſee I have obey'd your ſummons! I ſhould not have been here, notwithſtanding Lady Bell's invitation, had you not preſs'd it.

Nor I! I promis'd to meet a certain Lady in the Gallery at the Opera to night,—and I regret that I did not; for I ſee her huſband is here.—Why did you preſs us ſo earneſtly to come?

Why, 'faith, to have as many witneſſes as I could to my glory!—This night is given by Lady Bell to ME.—I am the hero of the fête, and expect your gratulations. Here the dear creature comes!

How do you do?—how do you do?

You wicked creature, why did you diſappoint me laſt night! Lady Harriet, I have not ſeen you this age! Oh, Lord Sparkle! I have been detain'd from my compa⯑ny by Mr. Fitzherbert, planning a ſcheme for your amuſe⯑ment.

Indeed! I did not expect that attention from him; tho' I acknowledge my obligations to your Ladyſhip's politeneſs.

That air of ſelf-poſſeſſion, I fancy, would be incommoded, if you gueſs'd at the entertainment.—Have you ſeen Mr. Beauchamp?

For a moment.—But, charming Lady Bell,

I ſhall make you expire with laughing. I really believe the poor fellow explained your meſſage in his own favour, ha, ha, ha!

Ridiculous! ha, ha, ha!

Ha! 'tis true! There they are, retired from the croud, and enjoying the privacy of lovers.

See there he is! I long to have a little badinage on the ſubject.—Let us teaze him.

Oh, nothing can be more delightful!—"Hither, ſighing ſhepherd, come!"—Come, Beauchamp, take one laſt, one lingering look!—ſha'n't he, Lady Bell?

Doubtleſs,—if he has your Lordſhip's leave.

He ſeems aſtoniſh'd—ha, ha, ha!—Nay, it is cruel!—If the poor youth has the misfortune to be ſtrick⯑en, you know he can't reſiſt fate.—Ixion ſighed for Juno.

Yes, and he was puniſh'd too. What puniſh⯑ment, Mr. Beauchamp, ſhall we decree for you?

I am aſtoniſh'd!—Was it for this your Lady⯑ſhip commanded me to attend you?

How did I command you? Do you remember the words?

I do, Madam.—You bid me come this evening, that I might behold you in the preſence of the man your heart prefers.

Well, Sir, and now—now you ſee me!—

Oh, the ſweet confuſion of the ſweet confeſſion!

'Sdeath! this oſtentation of felicity, Madam, is ungenerous, ſince you know my heart; 'tis unworthy you! But I thank you for it—I have a pang the leſs.

Hold, Sir, are you going?

This inſtant, Madam.—I came in obedience to your commands; but my chaiſe is at your door, and before your gay aſſembly breaks up, I ſhall be far from London, and in a day or two from England. I probably now ſee your Ladyſhip for the laſt time.—Adieu!

Stay, Mr. Beauchamp!

Ay, prithee ſtay! I believe Lady Bell has a mind to make you her conjugal father at the wedding.

I forgive you, my Lord.—Exceſs of happineſs frequently overflows into inſolence, and it is the privilege of felicity to be unfeeling.—But how, Madam, has the humble paſſion which has ſo long conſumed my life, ren⯑dered me ſo hateful to you, as to prompt you to this bar⯑barity? I have not inſulted you with my love; I have [51] ſcarcely dared whiſper it to myſelf: how then have I deſerved—

O mercy, don't be ſo grave! I am not inſen⯑ſible to your merit, nor have I beheld your paſſion with diſdain.—But what can I do? Lord Sparkle has ſo much faſhion, ſo much elegance—ſo much—

My deareſt Lady Bell, you juſtify my ideas of your diſcernment: and thus I thank you for the diſtin⯑guiſhed honour

Oh you falſe-hearted man!

Hey-dey!

Don't believe a word he ſays, for all you are ſo fine a Lady. He'll tell you of happineſs and miſery, and this, and that, and the other, but'tis all common-place and hyperbōlé—and all that ſort of thing.

Indeed! What has this young Lady claims on your Lordſhip?

Claims! Ha! ha! ha! Surely your Ladyſhip can anſwer that in a ſingle glance. Claims! Ha! ha! ha! Is it my fault that a little ruſtic does not know the language of the day? Compliments are the ready coin of conver⯑ſation, and 'tis every one's buſineſs to underſtand their value.

True, my Lord, true;—and pray inſtruct me what was the value of the compliment, when you told me I ſhould make a figure in the Guards, and that you would ſpeak to your great friends to make me a colonel?

Value! Why, of juſt as much as it would bring! You thought it ſo valuable then, that you got me a hun⯑dred extra votes on the ſtrength of it; and you are now a little ungrateful wretch, to pretend 'twas worth nothing.

But here, Lord Sparkle, is a Lady who claims a right on a different foundation. She had no Election inte⯑reſt to provoke your flatteries, yet you have not ſcrupled to profeſs love to her, whilſt under the roof of her friend, whoſe hand you was ſoliciting in marriage.

Yes, I intreat your Ladyſhip not to fancy that you are to break the hearts of half our ſex by binding Lord Sparkle in the adamantine chains of marriage.—I boaſt an equal right with you, and don't flatter yourſelf I ſhall re⯑ſign him.

Mere malice, Lady Bell! Fitzherbert's malice!—I never had a ſerious thought of Miſs Manners in my life.

What, my Lord! and have you dared talk of love to that Lady without a ſerious thought?

Hey-dey! what right have you—

Oh, very trifling! only the right of a Huſband—The Lady ſo honour'd by your love-making in jeſt is my wife; in courſe, all obligations to her devolve on me.

Your wife! My dear Belville, I give you joy with all my ſoul! You ſee 'tis always dangerous to keep ſecrets from your friends. But is any body elſe coming? Have I any new crimes to be accus'd of? Any more witneſſes coming to the bar?

No; but I am a witneſs in a new cauſe, and accuſe you of loading the mind of my friend Beauchamp with a ſenſe of obligation you had neither ſpirit or juſtice to confer.

A Commiſſion, my Lord, which was ſent Mr. Beauchamp under a blank cover, by one who could not bear to ſee his noble ſpirit dependent on your caprices.

And when his ſentiments pointed out your Lord⯑ſhip as his benefactor, you accepted the honour, and have laid heavy taxes on his gratitude.

Well, and what is there in all that? Beauchamp did not know to whom he was obliged; and wou'dn't it have been a moſt unchriſtian thing to let a good action run about the world belonging to nobody?—I found it a ſtray orphan, and ſo father'd it.—But you, Fitzherbert, I ſee are the lawful owner of the brat; ſo prithee take it back, and thank me for the honour of my patronage.

Your affected pleaſantry, Lord Sparkle, may ſhield you from reſentment, but it will not from contempt. Your effrontery—

Effrontery! Prithee make diſtinctions!—What in certain lines would be effrontery, in me is only the eaſe of Faſhion; that delightful thing, which enables me at this moment to ſtand ſerene amidſt your meditated ſtorm.— [53] Come, my dear Lady Bell, let us leave theſe good gentry, and love ourſelves amidſt the delights of faſhion, and the charms of bon ton.

Pardon me, my Lord! As caprice is abſolutely neceſſary to the character of a fine lady, you will not be ſurpris'd if I give an inſtance of it now; and, ſpite of your elegance, your faſhion, and your wit, preſent my hand to this poor ſoldier—who boaſts only worth, ſpirit, honour, and love.

Have a care, Madam!—Feelings like mine are not to be trifled with! Once already the hopes you have inſpir'd—

The hour of trifling is paſt; and ſurely it can⯑not appear extraordinary, that I prefer the internal worth of an uncorrupted heart, to the outward poliſh of a mind too feeble to ſupport itſelf againſt vice, in the ſeductive forms of faſhionable diſſipation.

Hey-dey! what, is your Ladyſhip in the plot?

The plot has been deeper laid than you, my Lord, have been able to conceive. As I have the misfortune to be related to you, I thought it my duty to watch over your conduct. I have ſeen your plans, which generally tended to your confuſion and diſgrace; and many of them have been defeated, tho' you knew not by what means. But what fate does your Lordſhip deſign for theſe young people, de⯑coy'd by you from their native ignorance and home?

Let them return to their native ignorance and home as faſt as they can.

No, no; hang me if I do that!—I know Life now, and Life I'll have—Hyde-Park, Plays, Operas, and all that ſort of thing.—But, Old Gentleman, as you pro⯑mis'd to do ſomething for me, what think ye of a Commiſ⯑ſion?—The Captain there can't want his now; ſuppoſe you turn it over to me?

No, young man, you ſhall be taken care of; but the requiſites of a ſoldier are not thoſe of pertneſs and aſ⯑ſurance. Intrepid ſpirit, nice honour, generoſity, and un⯑derſtanding, all unite to form him.—It is theſe which will make a Britiſh ſoldier once again the firſt character in Eu⯑rope.—It is ſuch ſoldiers who muſt make England once again invincible, and her glittering arms triumphant in every quarter of the globe.

Well, Bobby may do as he will—I'll go back to Cornwall directly, and warn all my neighbours to take ſpe⯑cial [54] care how they truſt to a Lord's promiſes at an Election again.

Well, great attempts and great failings mark the life of a man of ſpirit!—There is eclat even in my diſap⯑pointment to-night; and I am ready for a freſh ſet of ad⯑ventures to-morrow.

Incorrigible man!—But I have done with you.—Beauchamp has anſwered all my hopes, and the diſcernment of this charming woman, in rewarding him, merits the hap⯑pineſs that awaits her; and that I may give the fulleſt ſanc⯑tion to her choice, I declare him heir to my eſtate. This, I know, is a ſtroke your Lordſhip did not expect.

And was it then to you, Sir!—The tumults of my gratitude—

Your conduct has compleatly rewarded me; and in adopting you—

Oh, I proteſt againſt that!—Our union would then appear a prudent, ſober buſineſs, and I ſhould loſe the credit of having done a mad thing for the ſake of the man—my heart prefers.

To you I reſign him with pleaſure: his fate is in your hands.

Then he ſhall continue a ſoldier—one of thoſe whom Love and his Country detain to guard her deareſt, laſt poſſeſſions.

Love and my Country! Yes, ye ſhall divide my heart!—Animated by ſuch paſſions, our forefathers were invincible; and if we wou'd preſerve the freedom and independence they obtain'd for us, we muſt imitate their virtues.