SCENE I.—A Parlour in DICKINS'S; Break⯑faſt things laid.

I'LL truſt nothing to the errand cart, you muſt bring up my own waggon; cuts ſuch a figure! a Gentleman's fine team ringing thro' a country town.

Why it does make folks ſtare.

There's the Duke's cart, Lord, Mar⯑quiſs's cart, and why not his Worſhip's cart? and on it written in capitals, ‘Sir Hans Bur⯑geſs! Samphire Hall.’ Go—

Late breakfaſt here. This little ſhop-keeper is quite ſpoilt by a Lord's taking notice of him—aping all the abſurd im⯑pertinence of faſhion; an inſignificant cur mon⯑grel, ſetting himſelf up for a greyhound.

When one ſups at the Caſtle, no riſing next morning

The Caſtle! ſup with Lord Viſcount Torrendel.

His Lordſhip would make me bumper it laſt night, roaſting ſuch bundles of his fine girls; 'pon my ſoul I and Torrendel knock'd the bot⯑tle about rarely. How his Lordſhip ſtared at dinner when I hob nob'd him; ſays he, my dear Dickins, are you in earneſt? 'pon my ſoul, ſaid I, my dear Torrendel I am, that's poz. I'm uſed to good old black port, and his Lordſhip's pink Burgundy has given me an immenſe head-ach. No getring from him, he's ſuch good company.

Then I'm not even to be aſked to ſit down?

Sir Hans Burgeſs! Oh, how do ye do?

Well, this is good, a Gentleman comes to talk about buſineſs, and its "Oh, how do ye do."

Buſineſs! true, I ride out with my Lord this morning.

Pleaſe, Sir, firſt to ſtep into your ſhop, and weigh out the ſugar and tobacco for my ſervant, Robin Hoofs.

Sir, if you don't know how to behave as a parlour viſitor to me, as a cuſtomer, walk into my ſhop, and wait there till you are ſerv'd. Here, John, take this perſon's orders. Weigh tobacco! as you are [3] now Sir Hans Burgeſs, I may yet be Sir An⯑thony Dickens; I may be knighted for bring⯑ing up an addreſs. You made your money by a contract of hats, and an't I making mine by—

Your country merchant ſhop of all ſorts.

My banking-houſe, agencies, receiver⯑ſhips, factorſhips—

And coal-ſhips. Now I have laid out my money in buying a ſcope of land, and my grand hobby is to turn it into a faſhionable ſea⯑bathing place. I have ſuch a liberal mind to accommodate the publick, I built firſt there a beautiful houſe—

For yourſelf. As my Lord ſays, to ſerve a man's ſelf, has been long the way of doing things for the public good.

I raiſed as pretty an hotel! and the neat row of lodging-houſes!

But to give it a name, you muſt get a few of us people of faſhion down to it. Suppoſe I ſay to his Lordſhip, 'pon my ſoul Torrendel, now you ſhould take a houſe from my friend, Sir Hans, he's a good, honeſt, ſtupid ſort of a ſoul—why then, ſays my Lord, nay my dear Dickens, you are too ſevere. Yes, perhaps I may prevail on Torrendel to take one of your new houſes.

Not ſo much good in you, hem! a pity, friend Dickens, my Lord can't admit you for an hour to his table, but it makes you ſo curſed ſaucy.

Proud! a proof my Lord ca'n't do without me.

Why you are ſo clever that I will truſt you, becauſe I ca'n't do without you.

Very civil,

as my Lud ſays; then ſays I, oh, dem it my Lud—

Devils in you, and the Lud; I came to conſult you. You know I deſign to beſtow my ward Auguſta Woodbine, with her whole fortune, on my ſon George; but I fear the re⯑port of her riches will bring all your flaſhy, high-titled gentry about her, then—

Ay! then, indeed, ſhe may be for deſpiſing a ſon of yours. As my Lud was fil⯑ling his glaſs, my jogging his elbow, dem it, Dickens, ſaid he, you are ſull of miſchief.

Oh, zounds!—

Hem! wa'n't Miſs Auguſta adopted by her uncle on his diſcarding his own daughter for a faux pas with ſome man of faſhion two and twenty years back?

Devil's in your twenty years back! how to bring my ſon's marriage about now?

Make your ward think that her uncle has made a ſecond will, and that ſhe's not worth two-pence, then ſhe'll be glad to ſnap at your George.

Eh! I expect her to-day from Lon⯑don. According to that plan, it will ſhew too much attention to go myſelf to meet her—I'll let her down—I'll ſend any body—will you go, my dear fellow?

Civil again;

its a doubt to me, if you know how to make a bow, Sir Hans, ha, ha, ha! this morning I, making my bow of leave to his Ludſhip, ſliding back, ſtumbled upon the poor Chaplain's toe; my Lud laughed! [5]Zounds! cries his Reverence, you've killed me! Huzza, ſays my Lud, then the parſon's dead, and has loſt his living, ha, ha, ha! Oh, but to meet this Lady I'll ſend my daughter Fanny. Here ſhe is.

Why, Miſs, isn't this your ſchool hour?

Yes, papa, but I've ſtept home for a book; did you ſee my Pleaſing Inſtructor?

My dear, you muſt ſtep over to the inn to receive—

Lord! papa, what would our Go⯑verneſs ſay if a young Lady of her ſchool was ſeen going into an inn? beſides its now my reading time; then I have my embroidery; then I muſt practice my muſick; then ſay my French leſſon; then the dancing-maſter; then, papa—

I muſt not take her from her accom⯑pliſhments—I'll go, and in my way drop this parcel at my Lud's, a trivial thing, but was I to ſend it, it would be, ‘Eh, now, Dickens, why didn't you come yourſelf, my dear fel⯑low? always happy to ſee you.’ Muſt call, my Lord may think I'm getring proud, pride is ſo contemptible.

So it is, I deſpiſe it at this mo⯑ment.

Well, good bye.

Devil's in your good bye! Introduce me now to Lord Torrendel.

Why, I don't know, his Lordſhip ſup⯑ports [6]vaſt dignity; but never mind, tho' he is very difficult of acceſs, I'll introduce you, for my Lud ſays, ‘Dickens, I'll be glad to ſee ſome of your people; from my reſpect to you, you may command any ſervice—never mind their aukward want of breeding, if known to you.’ Sir Hans, I'll preſent you to my Lud; expect to ſee all the importance of genuine old nobility; yet I'm of that conſe⯑quence with him, that once preſented by me, his Lordſhip and you are hand and glove.

Ay! that you and I may be hand and purſe.

SCENE II.—A Chamber in LORD TORREN⯑DEL'S Caſtle.

Then you think, L'Oeillet, Lady Torrendel is ſtill in Cumberland. She is too good a wife—I uſe her ill.

Oui! mais, mi Lor, dat be de faute of la nature, vich did give your Lorſhip conſtitution galante amoureuſe.

No interruption from my wife here, ha, ha, ha! good deception this of mine, to make her believe I'm at Liſbon for the re⯑eſtabliſhment of my health; never was better in my life!

Your Lorſhip be robuſte comme Hercule; vid your ſpindle ſhank.

Lady Torrendel, among the lakes, little imagines that I am retir'd hither to this ſcene of darling pleaſures; a doubt to me if ſhe even knows I've ſtill a ſeat in this part of the country. She is truly amiable, her mind ſtored with every delicate refinement, and for per⯑ſonal charms has few ſuperiors; I like people ſhould know ſo fine a woman choſe me;—yes, ſhe ſeems the only perſon unconſcious of her ſhining qualities; but I cannot help my irre⯑ſiſtible penchant for variety,

I'm not at home; the little girl, Dickins's daughter Fanny! isn't her name Fanny? an abſolute Cherub!

Ah! oui milor—Fanny Dickins, Fanny Cherub!

But living beauty cannot baniſh the ſweet remembrance of Emily Woodbine. If her father hadn't diſinherited her for coming off with me, and adopted his niece, I ſhou'dn't now be troubled with this profligate boy of her's, this Lord Arthur, as he calls himſelf— preſumes as if my ſon in real wedlock. My fitting him out for the Indies was doing very handſome for a chance child.

Milor, I did vid money, you give me, furniſh him ſuperbement for voyage de mer; but he did make ſuch a ſabat affreux in de ſhip, dat he vas turn'd out—

ſo I did tell you; but your money I have ſnug dans ma poche.

He's well enough, I hear, as to his perſon.

Oui! il eſt fait á peindre, l'image of your lorſhip!

But mad! I'm abſolutely afraid of him.

Milor, here come de pretty girl.

L'Oeillet! how do I look this morning? candid now! I always like the truth.

Den, en enverité, milor, you look not above fifty, tho' you are a quarter paſt.

Fifty! L'Oeillet you are exceed⯑ingly coarſe.

Ha, my charmer!

'Pon my word, Sir, my Lord I mean, if you talk that way to me, I won't come here any more; I didn't know you was in the room, or I ſhou'dn't have come in I aſſure you, Sir, my Lord I mean.

Ah, petite badine. Mamſelle Fanny come purpoſe to ſee my Lor.

Monſieur, how can you tell ſuch fibs.

Do now, my love, declare and make me happy.

Then I only came becauſe—

What, my love?

Ah, pourquoi?

Becauſe papa ſays its a boyiſh play, and all the rooms in our houſe are ſo ſmall, and you've ſuch a fine long gallery here, and Jenny the houſe-keeper's daughter is ſo ſmart at—he! he! he!

Va tén!

Oh, ſome beg⯑ging petition. How! my Lady Torrendel's hand! L'Oeillet do you read, and write ſome conſiſtent anſwers; date the letters from Liſbon as uſual.

Wile you, milor, play de raquette vid Miſs Fanny.

What! can you play, Sir, my Lord I mean?

To win a girl one muſt comply with all her childiſh follies.

Say the ſprain's not better—can't lift my arm—and all that.

Ca'n't lift you arm! you flouriſh it finely, Sir; my Lord I mean.

Come, my love.

Ah! bien—trés bien!

Oh! my Lord, what a rare old beau the King wou'd think you now, and if my papa was to ſee me—oh!

So, this is your "Pleaſing In⯑ſtructor".

The dignity of "genuine old no⯑bility!"

Ah, hem! what, Sir?

I beg you Lordſhip's pardon, but I brought a parcel, and am come up to ſave your Lordſhip's coming down.

Impudent intruſion this!

Miſs, you ſtep over to the Roſe Inn to receive a young Lady juſt arrived from Lon⯑don—go.

Lord, Papa!—give my battledores to Jenny.

How finely ſhe holds up her head.

All the good ſhe's got at the board⯑ing ſchool.

Dem it! once you make free with theſe kind of people.

The devil's in your ſtrutting! why don't you preſent me?

Oh, true, my Lord give me leave to introduce—

Ah! hey! L'Oeillet!

Dickins, ſince I have been intro⯑duced by you, his Lordſhip and I are ‘hand and glove,’ ha, ha, ha!

Get drunk with a man over night, and in the morning its—

Ah! hey! L'Oeillet!

Hem!

Stop, my Lord ca'n't do with⯑out you.

Mon dieu! vere be my Lord to rell him of dis beauty lady ſtop at de Roſe Inn?

I ſee the valet's the prime favourite after all.

Monſieur, pleaſe to accept—

Qu'eſt que c'eſt? vat's dis?

'Tis—you are ſo civil.

Ah! je vous entends—to make me civil.

Sir!

Two guinea! very polite! he vant ma protection. In his Lordſhip's ſervice I have been but four year, yet have ſav'd two thouſand guinea; the guinea flow to my coffer in many channel. My Lor fancy watch, trinket to preſent as de⯑coy to Lady, I buy at ten guinea, charge him twenty. I wink at de tradeſman's bill, ven paid he ſlip me de guinea:—if tenant want leaſe re⯑newed, I ſpeak to my Lor, tenant mé donne the guinea. De maitre tink we be dere ſer⯑vants, but when we have got into de love-ſecret, pardi! den de maitre become ſervant to de valet de chambre.

SCENE III.—A Room in an Inn.

This way, Madam.

How d'ye do, Ma'am, after your journey?

Tolerably well, Miſs—but, pray, who am I to thank for this obliging enquiry?

Why, Miſs, a'n't you the great heireſs, Miſs Auguſta Woodbine, Sir Hans Burgeſs expected down here from London?

Where is the good old gentleman?

He good! brought papa upon me juſt how! he, he, he! I was caught—but pray don't you young Ladies in London ſometimes play at ſhuttlecock?

Ha, ha, ha! why, Miſs, you are very agreeable—what a ſimple thing!

but, how came you to know, or expect me?

Papa ſent me to receive you.

I didn't know Sir Hans had a daughter—Miſs Burgeſs I preſume.

He, he, he! no! no! I am not Miſs, but I may be Mrs. Burgeſs, for young George is quite partial to me; there he's now gone on his travels round Brighton, and Battle, and Haſtings, Sandwich, and Margate, and Ramſ⯑gate. My dear ſoul, George Burgeſs is a very fine creature, I aſſure you.

I ca'n't doubt his taſte, Miſs, when I underſtand he's an admirer of your's.

Ah! now I ſee the difference between you and us down here. You are a true Lady, and we are only conceited figures, and ſo I'll tell all the Ladies in our ſchool, and I don't care if my French teacher hears me too. 'Pon my honour, with all my finery, I'm but a ſhabby genteel.

If my ſcheme of letting down our young heireſs, can bring about a match with Sir Hans's ſon George, by agreement I touch the handſome preſent.

La, papa! why don't you ſpeak to the young Lady?

Welcome, Miſs!

Sir.

I wiſh ſomebody would call my ſervant.

Miſs, I'll run.

Stop. Now to let her down.

Miſs, I've diſcharged your ſervant.

How, Sir!

And, my dear, inſtead of attendance on yourſelf, you muſt learn to attend on others, my dear.

Sir! very odd and myſterious; this brutal treatment—

—my guardian lives but a few miles—the carriage ready!

Never mind, my dear, you'll be able to walk as far as you've to go; you can walk!

Heavens! what can be the mean⯑ing!—

A word, Miſs; you have been brought up with the idea of a great fortune. Smoke! your uncle has made a ſecond will, and bequeath'd all his property to a—ſome Mr. Jackſon, or Mr. Johnſon, no matter who.

I don't know who you are, Sir, but if acquainted in my affairs, ſurely by my uncle's will I am—

A man's laſt will is the clincher, tho' he had made fifty before; you are left a trifling legacy, and a handſome education, ſo muſt now battle it out for yourſelf.

I could cry for her misfortune, if I wasn't glad at its making us more equal. Be⯑fore, I admir'd; but now, I ſhall love her dearly.

My generoſity is ſuch, that at Sir Hans's requeſt, I'll take you into my houſe to be governeſs to my daughter Fanny, here.

Can this be poſſible?

Lawk! then I'm to leave ſchool!

You ſhall have my protection, you may dine at my table when we have no parti⯑cular company. No occaſion to acquaint you, my dear, of my property and fortune—firſt faſhion.

My Lord may now have call'd at my houſe! but dem-it, let him call again!

Here, Sir Hans's man ſays you ſold him better moiſt ſugar for 6d. a pound.

Get you gone, you raſcal!

La, papa, why don't you mind the buſineſs of the ſhop?

Hem! yes, I want a governeſs for my daughter. What ſay you, Miſs?

Sir, I am a friendleſs orphan; no alternative—but ſuch an aſylum!

Come, young Lady, don't be caſt down.

I am ſurpriſed—perhaps concern'd; but the proſpect of riches gave me little plea⯑ſure in the reflection that I was to poſſeſs what belong'd to an unfortunate relative; the unfor⯑giving ſpirit of her obdurate parent took the birth-right from his own lamented daughter, caſt down! I could be happy was I ſure my uncle's wealth would devolve on the offspring of his child's offence; the poor youth, who may at this moment be a wretched outcaſt, [15]diſown'd by an unprincipled father, and no in⯑heritance, but his mother's ſhame.

Why, a babe was, I heard, the con⯑ſequence of your Couſin's ſlip; a boy—this young mand Lord Arthur D'Aumerle, as he calls himſelf;

but, dear, nobody knows any thing of the bantling; it may be dead or drowned, or—well, but, Miſs, what think ye?

Sir, I accept your offer.

Now, I ſhall have you under my own eye, no more playing ſhuttlecocks with Lords— but, how are you qualified for this office? what is your idea of the duties, in bringing up a young woman?

Sir, by the mouth of a parent ſhe receives admonition from Heaven itſelf; and when he commits that charge to another, it is indeed ſacred. The care of youth is an ardu⯑ous, and delicate truſt of confidence, and honor; I look upon truth, cleanlineſs, and frugality, to be the firſt principles in a lady's education. They preſerve to her mind, perſon, and means, purity, health, and independence of obligation, which thro' the devious paths of her future life, to the unſuſpecting female, is often the con⯑cealed adder, for the deſtruction of her in⯑nocence.

She ſet out pretty well about my heavenly authority, and my delicate mouth; but, lord, ſhe has got quite out;

well, in truth, my dear, your quondam guar⯑dian, bid me break this affair in a rough way, to lower your ſpirit, to your ſituation; but it's my intention to treat you with kindneſs and reſpect.

This will do me no harm, when ſhe finds ſhe has ſtill the fortune

Vraiment oui! here is de char⯑mante inconnue for milor;

and Miſs Fanny! ah! ha!

And Miſs Fanny's pa! pa!

Monſieur—you want now, I ſuppoſe, to engage my daughter in a match of cricket; but you ſhall get all the notches on your pate.

Non! Monſieur, I did come vid milor's compliments—you ride cavalcade vid him dis morning.

What! after his affronting me!

Affront pah! votre interêt.

True! intereſt is the gold-beater's leaf, for my wounded pride. Come, Miſs, be chearful; you'll dine with us—dinner on table at ſix.

Why, papa, we always dine at one.

Fanny, to amuſe you, will ſhow you our town here.

I vill ſhow de Lady de town.

Don't you believe it. After you, s'il vous plait, Monſieur.

Yes, papa, I'll take Miſs Auguſta to the cathedral, the play-houſe, and ſhambles, the beaſt-market, and aſſembly-room, and by— ſhe ſhall ſee the fine gallery of pictures, in my Lord's caſtle too.

Give me my own big bottle of old claret, in my own fiſt.

A man! oh! Lord! I muſt take care of my governeſs.

Puppies! but they coudn't read in my face, that I was gentleman to a Lord.

Here, porters, fetch up his Lord⯑ſhip's, and the Gentleman's trunks, let Dick and Tom Oſtler give a help; take care how you turn the ſtairs.

Here, Ma'am, is the luggage.

And call for claret!

Your maſter, Sir, is—?

The Honorable Lord Arthur D' Aumerle.

The Honorable Lord—

I hope my Lord wo'n't find out, that I collected all theſe tradeſman's bills, which he ran up in London; he'd never have thought of them him⯑ſelf. This claret is neat—ſince he did call for it, I may as well drink it; for he has run out of the houſe. If his father, this Lord Torrendel wo'n't do ſomething, no going back to London, for us!

Sir, the other gentleman is calling for you, and making a great noiſe.

Noiſe! aye, that's quite himſelf. Then, Sir, this gentleman will wait on that gen⯑tleman, and that may happen to ſave all the bottles and glaſſes in your houſe.

He has juſt taken lodgings, at the jeweller's over the way.

What may the price be?

I think, they let them at three guineas a week.

Don't be frighten'd, it's only a little new tune I was humming.

Sir, he deſires his luggage to be brought to him.

Sir!

What's the matter with you now? luggage! have you good ſtrong porters here, and a big cart?

For what, Sir?

For—hem! only Sir—I'm afraid, our luggage will break down the landlady's ſtair-caſe. "And there was three travellers— travellers three."

SCENE I. Before the Caſtle.

No, the phaeton:

I may ſee this little girl in the evening, and after an hour on horſeback; my limbs, not quite ſo ſup⯑ple, appear rather older than ſuch a young crea⯑ture ſhould think one; but, true—I aſked this Dickins to ride out with me to-day. One ſhould hold theſe ſort of people at arm's length, till we want to turn them into ſome uſe.

There! now you have the whole kit of them.

Who are you? what's all this? bills!

Yes, and by my ſoul they're not bank bills, and that's the worſt of them; and, they're not play bills, and that's the beſt of them; for there's not a gaming debt in the whole cluſter.

But, friend, you ſhould have de⯑livered them to my banker, Mr. Dickins.

A banker! he'll give me the money!

by finding you ſo good, oh! how you've diſappoined me.

Stop!

"Lord Torrendel, debtor, for goods delivered to Lord Arthur;" who the Devil's Lord Arthur D'Au⯑merle?

Now don't be in a paſſion, why, I am his ſervant.

But who is he himſelf?

Come, be aiſy my Lord, don't go to pretend to know nothing of your own child.

How dare any fellow aſſume Lord Arthur!

He has the honor of being your ſon.

'Tis falſe.

Well, he has no honor in being your ſon.

An infernal raſcal! run about, contract debts, ſend in his bills to me! I won't pay a ſhilling to ſave him from perdi⯑tion.

Perdition! ſome new-faſhion'd name for the King's Bench.

My Lord, am I to ſaddle the cheſ⯑nut mare for Mr. Dickins? he inſiſts upon hav⯑ing it.

Yes, yes, ſcoundrel!

She coſt your Lordſhip two hundred guineas; he's a bad rider, and if ſhe ſhould get any hurt—

Dem it, don't trouble me with your quarrels.

Refuſe his child a few pounds, a bit [21]of beef, a feather bed, and a hat and a pair of ſhoes, or ſo; yet mounts a Mr. Dickins on a horſe coſt 200 guineas!

This damn'd—, can't keep within the allowance that I—

What allowance do you mean?

An extravagant—

He is extravagant; wicked; he's a devil! but, it's all your fault, my Lord, as a father; not noticing and bringing him up with a ſenſe of duty to himſelf and his neighbours. Call to mind how you loved his mother, and inveigled her from her friends, tho' you wasn't married to the poor unhappy lady, that doesn't make the child's little finger a bit leſs your ſon.

Emily!

for her dear ſake—

Then bleſſings on you! beſides, Lord Arthur is ſuch a gay—

Lord Arthur again! not a guinea!

And as like your lordſhip as a ſprightly young buck is like—an auld ſham⯑bling baboon.

I know nothing about him.

Theſe they call gallantries, to bring a living creature into the world and then to leave him like a wild beaſt to prey upon ſociety.

Now, my lord, only ſee him.

Begone.

I'll tell you what—you'll drive him deſp'rate; he'll do ſome helliſh thing or other; he'll commit a ſuicide upon either himſelf or me, for, when once he thinks any thing, he [22]immediately does it, without thinking at all about it.

Harkye, you ſcoundrel! if I hear of your lord Arthur, or yourſelf, being ſeen about my door, I'll have you taken up.

Well, a ſmall man taken up, doesn't cut ſuch a pitiful figure, as a great man taken down.

This eternal torment!

Yes, John, I think I'm very well equipp'd to ride out with my lord.

Well, ſir, you had a hundred guineas fee with me, and the day may yet come, for my croſſing a hunter.

It may, John; when I was 'prentice in Barbican, and, like the houſe dog, ſlept in the ſhop; promis'd the watchman a pint, to rouſe me, to go to the Eaſter Epping Hunt; "five o'clock and a fine morning!" thump comes the pole againſt the ſhop door; tingle, tingle, goes the little bell behind it; up ſtarts me, from my bed under the counter; on with my buckſkin and jemmy jacket; jumps into my two boots; mounts my three and ſixpenny nag; but, firſt I put my ſpurs in my pocket; hey off we go, thro' Hackney, Hammerton—I ſaw the ſtag once, but then heard the hounds all the way; find I've a ſhort and a long ſtirrup: diſ⯑mount to put them even; forgetting to buckle the girt, down comes me, and the ſaddle at top of me; by this I was ſlung out; but, to prove [23]I was in at the death, preſents my kind miſtreſs with a piece of the ſtag's horn, which horn ſhe gives her huſband for a tobacco ſtopper, with "ah my dear hubby, I wiſh you were as good a ſportſman as your 'prentice Tony Dickins, ah he's the ſmart fellow," ha! ha! ha! and ſo I was, and dem it ſo I am ſtill—John, you needn't wait dinner, I ſhall dine with Torrendel.

Sir Hans! curſe it, I can't be plagued with ſuch a ſilly old fool now.

Hollo, Dickins! ſo you have ſeen my ward, Miſs Auguſta.

Yes, yes, I have humbled her rarely, but pray don't delay me now, I'm engaged to ride out with my Lord. I, and Torrendel, may firſt take a turn or two down the Street, arm in arm, right ſide, ſo don't hide the ſtar! my dear Hans don't ſtop to talk to me; if you've people with you, and ſhould bow, I'll return it.

Scoundrel! call himſelf my ſon; keep ſervants too.

Well, my Lord, here I am: whip and ſpur.

Deſire the porter not to admit either of them.

Not admit either of us!

Poh! hold your tongue.

My lud, I had a little head ache from our [24]debauch laſt night; you look vaſtly well, but a little cherry will do us both good.

Pray, Sir, what are you talking about?

Why, my Lord, you ſent for me to—

Poh! poh! man, I ſha'n't ride out to-day.

Go to the expence of dreſſing! view'd by every body in the town, ſtrutting out in my leathers, and—

Why, Sir, you're equipp'd in your leathers.

‘Poh! poh! man I ſha'n't ride out to-day.’

And, pray, man, who cares whe⯑ther you ride or walk? big little nobody! I'll introduce myſelf—Gad's curſe! a'n't I a Knight, and if I can effect this marriage with Auguſta and my George—

Timolin!

Where's Timolin? Sir, I aſk pardon. My raſcal dare loiter and had only to come and bring me a couple of hundred guineas from my father; I'll ſee my Lord my⯑ſelf.

Some young fellow of faſhion!

I'm run out in ſlippers; all aſleep here!

Yes, Sir, they were at a jollifica⯑tion laſt night; Mr. Dickins told me.

Who? aye, my father keeps it up here, and I without the price of a bottle.

A little civility might make this Gentleman take lodgings at Samphire-hall.

So, I'm not to be let in! then I'll have ſome of you out.

Are you in this way, Sir!

the devil's in you, Sir! what ſort of mad trick's that, to knock a Gentleman's ſnuff-box.

Whoſe boots are theſe? what do you aſk for theſe boots?

They are bought already, Sir, I'm bringing them home to my Lord Torrendel.

My father;

you could make me a pair?

Certainly, Sir.

Theſe are about my ſize.

Don't put them on, Sir, I can take your meaſure.

My dear fellow, why ſhould I give you that trouble, when here is a pair ready made? that fits, now this, the whole world is made up of this, that, and tother, I have this, and that, and tother I don't want, for two boots will do for me as well as fifty.

Lord, Sir, don't walk about in them, his Lordſhip wo'n't have them.

A paradox! his Lordſhip cannot have them, and his Lordſhip has them already.

Only the pebble knocked out of the lid! never ſaw ſuch a ſtrange—

The boots are now unſaleable, his Lordſhip wo'n't take them off my hands.

Nor off my lordſhip's feet.

Lord! then I'll pocket my broken box.

They are two guineas, Sir.

Sir, I beg you a thouſand pardons for my inadvertency.

Inadvertency! a man of rank, by not knowing what he does.

We never book ſuch trifles, Sir.

Well then ſet them down to me, to Lord Arthur D'Aumerle; or, carry the bill to my father; or, Timolin will pay you; or, any body will pay you.

I'll ſee if the law wo'n't make you pay me.

Sir, I preſume you are Lord Arthur D'Aumerle.

Right—who are you?

oh! Sir Hans Burgeſs! that old fool they were laughing at—I hear an immenſe character of you, Sir Hans.

Pray, my Lord, what do they ſay of me?

Ha! ha! ha! what I ca'n't ſay to your face: that's my father's houſe.

Indeed! why we didn't know Lord Torrendel had a ſon.

He doesn't like my coming about him—he affects to be thought ſo very young, to recommend him to the Ladies; you underſtand me, Sir Hans?

Not ſee you! he's a very unnatu⯑ral father.

And yet I'm quite a natural ſon.

Sir, my Lord is very much alarm'd, and begs you will not commit any more outrage, or attempt to ſee him.

Did he give the money to my ſervant?

Why, Sir, I did ſee his Lordſhip's purſe—

Then, he has my profound duty—I aſk his pardon.

He's a very tolerable father after all—huzza! I'll now pay my debts and be a man again.

I with my ſon George had your fire.

You've a ſon? I'll ſhew him how to knock your caſh about!

Good morning to you, Sir.

Not ſo, Sir Hans! come and take a Sandwich with me.

You hit my humour—I'm very wiſe and cunning—I'd do any thing to get money: but all only to ſee my ſon George make a blaze.

A conflagration! come—old Hock's the word. I have a bachelor's houſe— that is, I lodge at the jeweller's yonder; I like to have things about me; I've ordered in wines and reliſhes—I want your opinion of a horſe I've bought juſt now. Dam me! how I'll curve it before noble dad's door! he ſhall ſee I can ſpend my money like a gentleman.

What a noble lad, I could never get my ſon George to buy a jack-aſs.

Come, old hock's the word.

SCENE II. LORD ARTHUR'S lodgings. New cloaths, linen, ſaddle, hat, &c. lying on chairs.

Oh, melancholy is our new home here. I'd wiſh to keep up my poor maſter's ſpirits, but he'll ſee an empty pocket in my diſmal countenance. If his papa had only given him as much as would have taken us back to London—well, well, we have no debts to lay hold on us in this town, however—

oh thunder and zounds! what's here;— been ſhopping on the ſtrength of the expected money! Ordered in wine too! Oh, oh, then not a cork ſhall be drawn till it is paid for.

This way, Sir Hans. Oh, very well ma'am; but where's my ſer⯑vant?

Bringing company too!

Pray, Sir, walk in—be ſeated. So we've touched.

Yes! we ſhall be touched.

Timolin, that old hock!

Timolin, that old hock! I believe you're jumping out of your leather.

Ha! ha! ha! very well, Ti⯑molin. Sir Hans, that fellow's a treaſure: but, when he does any thing clever, ſuch as bringing [29]a man a couple of hundred guineas, it makes him ſo pert—

Yes! my Lord, when once a ſer⯑vant knows he's an honeſt man, he begins to be an impudent raſcal.

Poh! what talk's that! Was the devil buſy with you, Sir, to ſend in all theſe new things from the tradeſmen?

Ha! ha! ha! very well— Timolin, the wine!—unlock! No! Sir Hans, this is the ſecret hiſtory of old hock,

and this

is the key to it.

Broke open the cupboard—Oh, he'll get us both hanged.

Sir Hans, without expedient a man's nothing.

You and your ſervant, my Lord, put one in mind of a couple of ghoſts. You are all ſpirit, and he is no body—ha! ha! ha!

Bravo!

My Lord, let me ſend theſe things back to the honeſt people.

Send yourſelf out of the room.

Only hear me.

I'll give you ſuch a beating, you villain!

Well, ſo you do but hear me, beat me as long as you like.

Lay the money upon my bureau and go to the devil.

The fel⯑low is ſo puffed with doing a petty ſervice—

My Lord, I hope for the honour of ſeeing you down at Samphire Hall, an infant [30]ſcheme merely for the health and convenience of the gentry in this part of the country. I've converted a naked beech into as commodious a ſea-bathing place—

Then your principal object is—

The main ocean!

Pſha! you want to eſtabliſh it into a faſhion? its done, I'll be ſeen there upon your ſtein or eſplanade; my phyſician ſhall re⯑commend all his patients from Brompton, and Paddington; a variety of gambling tabbies, honourable black legs, and rickety children.

You told him! then untell him; for he won't hear me talk at all at all.

There again! then, dam'me! now you ſhall bring me ſome brawn and an⯑chovies.

Now don't make quite a kiſkawn of yourſelf.

Sir, I thought, when I told you that my Lord's purſe—

Yes! I'm grateful for good news—you ſhall have a bottle.

. What! don't be quite ſo buſy; ſit ſtill.—

You march.

What a fine model for my ſon George! Come, my Lord, I'll give you a patriotic toaſt—Here's ſucceſs to all my un⯑dertakings.

Patriotic and diſintereſted in⯑deed, Sir Hans! here's—

Succeſs to my undertakings!

Right, little pigeon—finiſh your bottle by yourſelf, and, if you quarrel with your company, I'll kick you both out of the room. Have you advertiſed this place at Samphire Hall?

I fancy advertiſing might make it better known; for newſpapers are a ſort of thing that's read.

Why, yes, Sir Hans, people do read newſpapers; how the deuce did you find out that? Come, I'll draw you up a flouriſh⯑ing advertiſement.

I employed a famous auctioneer to draw up one for me.

Mind how he deſcribes the beauties— ‘To the right, the bold cliffs and high bluff heads —at the foot, Sir Hans has built an elegant ſtrait row of houſes, called the Creſcent—’ Eh! that's very fooliſh.

Why, yes! your creſcent is a little in the full moon order, ha! ha! ha!

What do you mean by walking in here with your executioner's face?

Well, I didn't run in debt for my face. Step in here, all of you.

Sir, the horſe you bought—I'll be ſatisfied with a draught on Mr. Dickins, our banker, for the 50 guineas.

Neighbours, you can take back your goods undamaged: but, I inſiſt on being paid for my boots.

Timolin!

Oh! I know nothing at all about it.

Pay the people this moment.

With what?

What! the two hundred my father gave you.

He didn't give me a Manx rap half⯑penny.

No! why, I thought—by Heavens! I'll get into the houſe myſelf.

Oh! my Lord, a thought ſtrikes me of great conſequence, in the preſent caſe.

Well—Sir—quick?

That here, inſtead of curlews, he ſhould have ſaid ſea-gulls.

Damn your ſea-gulls, Sir! ſee a nobleman baited, by a parcel of mecha⯑nical—

There's all your goods for you again—what more do you want?

Every one of you, lay down my property this moment, in the very ſpot from whence you took it. I'll pay you the firſt money I receive; but now, begone, or I'll murder you.

Go good people, whatever he ſays he'll do.

Here's gaiety and innocence!

True, it was you who told me firſt, that the money—I'll make you gay, you innocent dog.

Oh! what a model for my George.

SCENE III.—A Gallery in Lord Torrendel's hung with whole length Pictures of Women.

So very lovely!

Une beauté celeſte! et pauvre— poor, derfore no danger from relations. So, my Lord, think no more of the rich mechanic Dickins's daughter.

Why, their ſturdy Citizens may be troubleſome; but you ſay this young Lady is coming with Fanny, to ſee my pictures.

Oui, my Lor.

This way, Miſs Auguſta.

L'Oeillet!

well, you have brought your new friend, to ſee my paintings?

Oh yes, Sir; my Lord I mean, but I didn't think you'd be in the way.

Don't let her be alarmed at my pr [...]ſence.

Oh true, I'm not to let out you are a Lord? but ſhe don't mind Lords, ſhe's come from London; why, there's plenty of ſuch ſtupid nonſenſe.

Fanny! I ſhould like to have your picture here.

No, my Lord, ſure you woudn't?

And you ſhall have mine for a locket.

You think me a ſilly girl, but I know enough, never to give tokens, or accept preſents, but from my papa, and one beſides, a certain— not an old Lord! but a young man. As my new ſong ſays,

Here, my Lord, be de beauté Lady.

What a monkey you are, I don't know what you mean, by making ſo much of my governeſs.

Oh, are you here Fanny, the pictures in that room are ſo faſcinating.

L'Oeillet has good taſte, ſhe's a lovely creature;

ſervant ma'am.

Sir!

Miſs! never mind this old gentleman, he's only the houſe ſteward.

Old!

Something in the manner of the beauties at Hampton Court— true, I've been told what he is.

What do they ſay of my Lord? he, he, he! ſhe's going to abuſe you.

Fancy habits, or drawn in their real characters?

Both, madam, they are Ladies that his Lordſhip's heart has at times been devoted to.

And his Lordſhip, I preſume, has flattered himſelf into the idea, that he was at times in poſſeſſion of their hearts.

Now, what do you bow for? Miſs wasn't ſpeaking of you, Mr. Old Steward.

I was told he's very vain.

Yes! he's quite a conceited figure, and as grey as a badger—isn't he, Mr. Old Steward?

I ſaid ſhe'd abuſe you.

What a ſweet expreſſion in that coun⯑tenance!

Her loſs, madam, makes a chaſm in his Lordſhip's heart, never to be filled but by a face, the lovely emblem of this collected group of charms.

That is Miſs Emily Woodbine.

My couſin! then am I in the houſe of her baſe deſtroyer!

What's the matter Madam?

Not much, Sir, I'm not very well. Come, Fanny! a ſtar! heavens! have I been talking to—

Stay, my divine girl!

My Lord, it ill becomes my youth, and humble life, to offer admonition, where age ſhould be the monitor of inexperience; and exalted rank only illuſtrious in virtuous example. The veil of delicacy drops between my mind and tongue—I cannot ſay what I think you: but the bitter reproach will yet reach your heart, when your only hope lies in pardon for a bad life, from perhaps, a too late repentance.

What, has my governeſs run away! why Miſs! Miſs.

Her words have piere'd me—but I muſt have her—the only being worthy to ſup⯑ply the place of my loſe Fanily, and baniſh all other purſuits from my mind; from her good [37]ſenſe I ſhall enjoy rational ſociety—and from her beauty—yes, L'Oeillet muſt finiſh, what he has ſo well begun.

Prevent a dutiful ſon from ſeeing his honour'd parent! I'll convince him I'm a good boy—he ſhall ſee me, and I will be his comfort, and, though he commands me to be gone, I'll ſtay with him to prove my obedi⯑ence. What a pity that the omiſſion of ſaying a few words, before I was born, ſhould prevent me from being lawful heir to this caſtle! perhaps the pride of my father! the darling of the tenants! favourite of the neighbours, and friend to the poor! now, a wretched outcaſt, ſhunned like a ſavage, foe to mankind, and man at enmity with me! no eſtabliſhment! profeſſion! friend, or character. Oh! my father, where are you?

do not ſhun, I'll kneel, till you ſpurn me from you—that face! it is my mother. I heard of his Lordſhip's gallery of beauties—quite an exhibition for every ſtarer: but my dear mother ſhall no more be diſhonoured, by making one in this un⯑happy collection—no, by heavens! her misfor⯑tunes ſhall be no longer the topic, for the ſneer⯑ing comments of vulgarity and ill nature.

Timolin! why don't you come up? Timolin!

What uproar is this in my houſe?

Sacriſtie! by dis meeting milor [38]will find out, I did keep all de money, he did give me for his ſon's ſupport.

Have you any buſineſs with me, Sir? who are you?

Sir, this was my mother.

Diantre! he is ſoftened, and I am ruined—milor, here be Miſs Auguſta in de hall ſtill.

Begone!

My ſon, the child of Emily!

This our firſt interview ſince my infancy! my father not ſpeak to me! no gentle word, no complacent ſmile. Now I am poor! where to turn? every face meets me with a frown, a ſea of horrors ruſh on me! the ſtorm's up, and let it blow me as it will!

Well, and you ſaw your papa?

My heart was good, but now I'm all vexation, grief, and terror. A look now and then at this, might calm my mind. Timolin, take that picture to my lodgings.

What?

Take that picture to my lodgings.

SCENE I.—A Street.

Cram a fine daſhing fellow into their priſons for hats and ſhoe-buckles! Sha'n't. What a bright model this Arthur for my ſon George! yet if he had but life and ſoul to ſhew it, George is a compleat and finiſh'd pattern for moſt of our young men now-a-days. I don't know any one thing that my boy is not perfect maſter of, muſic, dancing, fencing, lan⯑guages, a magazine of accompliſhments: ſet him to country ſports, he excels every body; he's as keen as an attorney, has the courage of a maſtiff, generous as the Man of Roſs! but hang it, all his ſhining qualities clouded by want of ſpirit to daſh! Oh, if I could but ſee him a bold, free daſher!

Sir, who ſhould paſs me juſt now but the young ſquire.

What, my ſon George whiſk'd by you in a phaeton? a chaiſe and four? a tandem?

George, why, what the devil's this ſort of figure?

Sir, how are you?

Plague on it! ſpare no expence for you to appear like a prince; give you mo⯑ney to flaſh in a ſhining tour, to be here and there, before any body can tell where you are, and when I expected you to come, tearing up the pavement, in a phaeton as high as the clouds, over chickens, old women, and pigs, all the people jumping out of the way, with huzza for the young Squire, here you ſneak into town, limp⯑ing like a lame beggar-man, covered with duſt as if you had been dancing in a canniſter of Scotch ſnuff. 'Sblood, Sir! what do you mean by this behaviour?

Sir, on my leaving home you gave me a two hundred pound note, and ſix guineas; there's your note—I've ſtill one pound five and ſeven-pence in bank.

Devil's in you and your ſeven⯑pence! I wiſh you were both in the ſtocks you pitiful cur. Damn me if I havn't a mind to diſinherit you, and adopt Robin. Robin you can drive ſix?

You knows, Sir, I drives eight in our waggon.

Pſha! go to the Roſe inn, and be⯑ſpeak the beſt dinner they can provide for I and George, and the gallant Arthur, if we can find him.

Why, Sir, I am a little hungry.

By the Lord! a ſon of mine knaw⯑ing a cruſt in the open ſtreet!

Sir, as I paid for it at the laſt ale⯑houſe where I ſupp'd—

Supp'd at an alehouſe!

Yes, Sir, a neat little place, ſign of the Goat in Boots.

Oh, Lord! and perhaps ſome of my friends, in their coaches, ſaw you?

Yes, Sir, Lady Beechgrove and the two Miſs Loftys, drove by in a coach and four; they didn't ſee me at firſt, but I ſaluted them.

Oh, the devil's in your politeneſs! ſalute ladies from the Goat in Boots! Where did your noble honour dine?

Upon the mile-ſtone this ſide Sa⯑liſbury.

Sir, I had no occa⯑ſion to ſhut myſelf from the open air, as I had a couple of hard eggs in my pocket.

Zounds! and I ſuppoſe you brought ſalt in your pocket?

Yes, Sir, and a penny roll.

His penny roll has choak'd me! and where did your honour take your bottle?

True, Sir, I ſlipp'd off the bank into the river, as I was getting a little water in the brim of my hat.

The devil take them that took you out again!

Father, the walking got me an ap⯑petite; after my repaſt, I was neither dry nor hungry; I drank no wine; but then I was free from an head-ache, and, without mixing in com⯑pany, my heart was chearful.

This gay Arthur will make him another thing. Gadſo! but Dickins will have the conſtables after him. George, you'll give me what information you've picked up in your tour; how they manage their machines [42]and lodging-houſes; what they do, and what they don't do, that I may know what I ought to do.

Ca'n't make up that other ſix-pence —oh! the halfpenny to the boy for opening the gate!

Dem the boy; come poliſh your⯑ſelf up a little, my ward Miſs Auguſta Wood⯑bine's come from London, and I've a certain reaſon for her thinking well of you. If ſhe ſhould ſee you ſo—

—ſuch an appearance by the Lord ſeems as eaſy and ſatisfied, as if dreſt for a ball. Can nothing make you aſhamed?

Thanky, Sir, I'll take care to do nothing that ſhall make me aſhamed. You ſhall never ſee a bluſh in my face.

Plague of your bluſhing face, I mean your dingy appearance. Here's the Lady —I'll try what effect an accidental meeting may have. Now to know what they have done with the gay Arthur!

I ſear I've loſt my clothes bruſh.

Bleſs me! where can ſhe be? if ſhe has run home, and told papa, I ſhall have it in ſtile.

Fanny! how do you do, my love?

My dear George! when did you come? Lord! I'm ſo glad!

You look as charming as ever.

Thankye; but, upon my word, you don't look ſo charming.

I ſhould make myſelf a little decent.

Then run home, and change your dreſs.

Oh, no occaſion, I've my clothes bruſh in my pocket.

Oh! governeſs, I've been running about after you.

What could induce you to bring me into Lord Torrendel's houſe? ſure you know that he is a very dangerous character.

Lord, its no ſuch thing, who could have told you ſuch a fib? his Lordſhip has no more pride! he's not aſham'd at making one in a game of romps, even with his own ſervant maids.

Ah, Fanny, when our ſuperiors of the other ſex condeſcend to affability, inſtead of exalting, it is for the purpoſe of degrading us to a ſtate of the moſt pitiable humiliation.

Now don't ſnub me, I'll introduce you to—

Oh, no more of your introductions, pray.

I will, tho'; Miſs Auguſta, this is—

A Mr. Steward, I ſuppoſe.

Ha, ha, ha! George you don't know what we're laughing at.—

Miſs, don't go tell him that I play at ſhuttlecock with my Lord in the great gallery.

A piece of his Lordſhip's condeſcen⯑ſion [44]I didn't know before. My guardian's ſon, I preſume.

The deſcription of Miſs Auguſta Woodbine falls ſhort of what I have the happi⯑neſs to behold.

There, I told you he was a ſmart fel⯑low ſometimes. Come, George, you ſhall be our chaperon about the town, but you are an odd-looking beau.

Well, I'll attend you on your ram⯑bles —

though I've already walked twelve miles to-day.

Madam will you honour my arm.

Ha! here's odds. Madam, my arm is at your ſervice.

Do you know this Gentleman?

Lord, true, this is Aſſembly night.

Gentlemen, treat the Ladies.

Hem! the Ladies don't want—ſhall we walk?

Quite a hound! ha! nectarines ſo early! Madam.

Six are a guinea.

There!

Oh! Sir, by no means.

Miſs, an apple—Fanny!

Sir, theſe are Angels, not Eves, [45]to be tempted by your paltry pippins.

Sir, what d'ye mean?

Good Gentlemen and Ladies, I've a ſick huſband lying in priſon.

For debt? what is it?

Above eighteen ſhillings.

Pray go—don't teize people; their diſtreſs is only the conſequence of idle⯑neſs. I'd never encourage beggars—there, go—

plagueing one.

Sir, it's a guinea!

Well, don't trouble one now.

Get your huſband out of priſon, and comfort your child.

What's this?

Bleſs you, governeſs, George is al⯑ways doing theſe kind of things. He'd grudge himſelf a penny cheeſecake, yet maintains and clothes half the poor round; he's king of a ſmall iſland near his father's ſeat.

What a pitiful ſcoundrel am I. My guinea nectarines, and little penny-worth of pippins, with the benevolent heart of a god! Sir, if I dare beg the honour of your acquaint⯑ance—I haven't a card, but I'm over at—

Sir, I'll put down your addreſs;

points broke

cutting it away—waſtes—

Oh, Sir, I'll remember.

George, what ſignifies your bowing there? come and pay ſome attention to me.

How charming! what a block am I, talking half an hour to a Lady, and never look'd at her!

Fanny, we muſt be walking towards your papa's.

But you hav'n't ſeen our ball-room here.

Ball-room. Ladies, do you know I'm a moſt capital dancing-maſter? harkye, my worthy friend, a word.

Oh! Sir, as many as you pleaſe.

Lord! that rattle there has dragged George up into the Aſſembly-room; I hope its not to fight—ecod! if he goes to ſight, George will kill him.

That's he! I know his ſweet little finger.

What an aſtoniſhing reſemblance! Fanny, did you ever ſee any likeneſs of this ſtrange gentleman?

Ah! the image of Miſs Woodbine's picture! its Lord Torrendel's great boy.

The neglected ſon of my un⯑happy couſin!

To drive him in ſorrow from his doors! my poor maſter now is ſunk in grief and woe.

Bravo!

Ladies, 'pon my word, my friend is an excellent ſtick; his reſpects to you, Miſs, and my moſt humble adoration to you, Madam, we'll have a little dance above.

Oh, Sir! no, no! come Fanny.

Lud! it would be fine fun, governeſs don't you ſee how cloudy it gets; I'm ſure there will be a ſhower, and if I walk thro' the rain, you, as my governeſs, ouglit to be very angry with me.

Fye, Ma'am, wou'd you ſpoil your dreſs? we ſhall have a daſhing ſhower, a great drop fell on the tip of my noſe.

No, indeed! come Fanny.

You, Sir, where's my mother?

With your father. I left the picture in the porter's lodge; for the Frenchman has turn'd away the porter for letting you in.

Go back, and bring it to my lodgings, or I'll maſſacre you.

Tol de rol lol! we'll be with you, boy.

But, Sir, as George plays, where's my partner?

I'll whiſtle, ſing, and dance, all in a breath.

A pity that Chriſtians hav'n't a laughing and crying ſide to their faces; for, in a comfortabe fit of ſorrow, up ſtarts ſomething to give us an he, he, he! and when the mouth's opened for a nice grin, up goes the finger in the eye with an ho, ho, ho!—but my face muſt take the humour and fortunes of my maſter; in the road of life the ſmall muſt follow the great, and that's the reaſon the big coach-wheel runs after the little one.

SCENE II.—The Inn.

Won't you pleaſe to reſt, Ma'am?

I thank you, but ſo long ſhut up in a carriage, one ſhould reſt walking. Miſs Clare, will you be ſo kind as to aſk the footman if I've left my memorandum-book in the coach?

Some handſome equipages about here! have you many gentry in the town?

Oh, yes, Ma'am, we've a Lord, and Knight, and power of Squires.

Here, Ma'am, is the book.

Oh! I thank you.

I'll haſten the horſes.

My Lord had a ſeat in this part of the country, and I think a banking agent of his lives in this town.

Mr. Dickins, yes, very true.

This ſeems a charming place, my Lady!

It is! I wiſh my Lord hadn't part⯑ed with it! the caſtle and its delightful envi⯑rons were the tranquil ſcenes of my moſt happy hours! after marriage our firſt years were paſs'd here, and tho' there was title on his ſide, and great wealth on mine, yet ours was not a match of faſhion! neither ambition on my part, or (I think) avarice on his; very young to be ſure, [49]but then I was a little philoſopher, tho' bred in the full brilliant certainty of every dazzling joy that riches cou'd beſtow, yet my ſight was proof againſt the glare of ſplendor. My Lord was gay, accompliſh'd, and the generoſity of a youthful mind repell'd all idea of advantage in our union.

Ah, Madam! any Gentleman muſt think himſelf poſſeſs'd of every advantage in a union with your Ladyſhip.

I wiſh I had myſelf gone to Liſbon with my Lord; this journey ſeems ſo tedious, and then the uncertainty of the ſeas; thro' his indiſpoſition he may want that tender cordiality, his claim from me; I'm all anxiety to proceed.

Madam, the horſes are too, but does your Ladyſhip know my Lord's here?

Here! how! what do you mean?

In this very town my Lady, I met our old Martha.

Impoſſible! return'd to England! ſomething very myſterious—

Well, what is it?

I cannot talk my Lor's buſineſs in public entré.

Eh, why—ſure that is my Lord's valet.

It certainly is, Madam.

Huſh, ſtep this way, Heavens! oh, my heart will—Martha you ſay—tell me—

Really, ſince my Lord's loſty con⯑duct to me, I ſhall give up his affairs. I've my agencies, and my bank to mind.

Bank! vat! de little till in your boutique? you had better ſend challenge to mi Lor—ſwell and puff! ma ſoi! c'eſt comique ca! let mi Lor take his money out of your bank, den vat is your bladder of conſequence.

'Slbood I don't want any body to take their money out of my bank.

Here be a freſh pacquet of letters.

Which I am to forward, as uſual, to Lady Torrendel in Cumberland.

I have date 'em, ſo as to make mi Lady believe my Lor ſtill at Liſhon.

To keep the unſuſpecting wife cool amongſt the lakes there, while the gallant huſband enjoys his roſe-buds in his pleaſure grounds here.

Mi Lor, to ſpare himſelf, ſtill fineſſe de ſprain hand, and trouble me vid de vife—ſo dere I ave writ dat whole bundle for her at vonce. I ave upon my mind des affaires d'importance to get de pretty girl for mi Lor.

And I, as a magiſtrate, have to ſend this young dog to priſon, who has been taking up the tradeſmen's goods.

Magiſtrate! fi done! petit bour⯑geois —you huff abaut pah!

Who cares for your paw, or your four claws, you damned outlandiſh cockatoo! I muſt ſend theſe one by one, which firſt?

My Lord in England all this time!

Dated this day—"to Lady Tor⯑rendel."

How's this!

Then to give time for her to ſup⯑poſe it came from her Lord at Liſbon, where he has not been at all, her Ladyſhip ſhall have this in about a month.

A little ſooner, if you pleaſe, Sir.

Lady Torrendel hereſelf!

Separate himſelf from me by ſuch a complicated ſeries of invention, and by fallacious accounts of his ill-health, keep me in perpetual uneaſineſs! cruel man! make me believe he had ſold his eſtate here, yet re⯑tain it only for the baſe purpoſe of converting a ſpot (that brings to my mind the ſweet re⯑collection of delight, and innocence) into a contaminated retreat for licentious, guilty, ſor⯑did pleaſures! you charg'd the coachman not to mention who I am? but I fear that now is too late.

No, Ma'am, for his own diſcre⯑tion ſuggeſted the neceſſity of that, before I mentioned it to him.

Do you think too, if the people of this houſe know it, I can engage them to keep my arrival a ſecret.

The woman promiſes that, for tho' my Lord ſpends ſo much money, he's no [52]favourite in the town, from the knowledge of his ill uſuage of your Ladyſhip.

I wou'dn't have him diſpiſed; but how to gain full and certain proofs? to put be⯑yond all doubt his motive for ſecreting himſelf here?

So far I have taken the liberty of anticipating your Ladyſhip's wiſh. I have aſk'd Martha—

My good friend! a thouſand thanks! I'm charm'd with your zeal. Yes, it is my wiſh; what! Martha will convey me privately into the Caſtle? delightful! I think none of his ſervants know me here, but his French Secretary. Write to me by a ſervant! not open my Letters! unkind! ungrateful! but then, to ſteal upon him, its a ſevere trial—I'm faint! but I muſt ſummon fortitude! they'll ſee I've been weeping; come—

SCENE III. Dickins's parleur: large books lying on the table.

Step in, only ſtop a moment, my maſ⯑ter will be in directly, and take all your infor⯑mations. You know I can do nothing in it.

The young Gentleman is thought⯑leſs and wild, but I believe there's not much harm in him.

I don't think I can find in my heart to proſecute, if the affair is likely to af⯑fect his life.

He's but a bad one I ſear, yet I'd not hang a man for all the boots I'm worth.

So, the Lady has got into the Caſtle. Ecod! ſhe'll trim his gay Lordſhip—yes, ſhe has ſtole a march upon him—he ſha'n't hear of it from one. Oh what curtain lectures, per⯑haps a divorce, then maybe he'll marry my Fanny. No, he's a damn'd impudent fellow; a pretty buſineſs, this young buck—

If he can raiſe the money to pay me I don't wiſh to hurt him.

Pay you, oh! the Devil, I ſhall loſe my ſees!

You ſelfiſh dog, would you compound a felony: Some revenge upon the father, to have the great family-name of D'Au⯑merle down in a Mittimus.

Fellow, where's your pris'ner?

Pleaſe your worſhip, he be daunc⯑ing— he deſired me to gi' you this bit of pa⯑per.

What the devil! I ſend you for a thief, and you bring me a bit of paper—"he be dauncing."

"Lord Arthur D'Aumerle's compliments to Juſtice Dickins, is now engaged with ſome Ladies, but after another dance will wait upon"—dance!

Yez, there bes young Squire Bur⯑geſs got fiddling, and Miſs Fanny, ecod they be gigging it up rarely.

My daughter! is this the firſt leſſon [54]from her new Governeſs! but you ſtupid ſcoun⯑drel, I ſuppoſe you took a bribe.

Noa, Sir, I only took half-a-crown.

How dare you, only a Conſtable, meddle with the Juſtice's buſineſs. A notorious offender; charged with crimes of life and death! he come! no! he'll abſcond—we ſha'n't ſee him in a hurry.

I want the Juſtice!

Why, that's he, but damn me if you find Juſtice here

I muſt examine the cul⯑prit in form; you, ſirrah! John, what the devil are you about in the ſhop, when I want you in my office? weighing raiſins and pepper; down with the ſcales and balance, and bring my great books, and my ink-ſtand, and my wig, aye! and I'll take my chocolate here.

I've finiſhed our Coranto in a quick ſtep, and, with a kiſs hand to the Ladies, have flown to receive your commands.

Now, is this folly, impu⯑dence, courage, or generoſity?

Upon the information of the butter'd muffins, Juſtice Dickins, I preſume—

What the devil! Sir, upon the infor⯑mation of the Conſtable, a great rogue I pre⯑ſume— but pon honor I didn't expect you.

Oh! then, Sir, your moſt obe⯑dient!

Stop! ſtop! is this the man that took your goods?

Yes!

Enough! write his mittimus—you all proſecute; what's your name Mr.—

Lord Arthur D'Aumerle.

Alias Duke of Dunſtable, alias Cap⯑tain, alias Major.

Was my father ſtill in the army, I'd have enliſted a common ſoldier in his own regiment—then the world might have ſaid, there's Lord Torrendel's ſon carrying a knap⯑ſack— but now let it ſay, a parent ſuffers his child to lie in priſon for the neceſſaries of life. Cou'dn't you carry me to gaol by the caſtle?

Conſtable, you have my authority, take him.

No man in England ſhall take him. So then, you've met with George—made him dance—bravo! but, my prince of bold actions, what are they going to do with you?

Conduct him to priſon!

I'll bail him.

Pray be quiet, Sir.

I wo'n't be quiet, Sir.

But, here's an aſſault and battery— muſt be bound over to keep the peace for a year and a quarter—no, a year and a day.

I'll anſwer for him! aye, two thou⯑ſand pounds! there's my name; fill up the inſtrument.

Oh! very well: he'll ſave his neck, [56]and you'll loſe your money—let him out now, and catch him again if you can.

Does your little raſcally ſoul conceive I'd let a friend ſuffer for an act of be⯑nevolence, and to myſelf? No! human laws may puniſh other crimes; but, let the hotteſt bolt of heaven ſtrike ingratitude.

Sweet Mr. Conſtable, 'pon my ſalvation I didn't—

Meaſter, here bes an accompliſh.

I'm not accompliſh'd, I'm quite a bog trotter.

The picture that was robb'd out of—

What, you found it upon him?

Upon his very head.

You notorious criminal!

My maſter to be jumping about with Ladies, and leave me—oh! my dear Sir!

did he! then plaiſe your honour, will you be bound bail for me too?

For you! pardon me.

No, Sir! aſk them to pardon me.

I'll bail my ſervant.

You! a rare ſhadow! ah! friend, I know you. Thanks to the noble Lord Torren⯑del's gallantries, we've twenty ſuch Lords cut⯑ting cabbages, and drudging for oyſters down at Sandgate Iſland—but becauſe your mother had a pretty face, a great fortune, and no vir⯑tue—

Throw a reflection on the me⯑mory of my honour'd parent! defame the ſacred memory of the dead—the only univerſal epitaph—oblivion to the frailties of huma⯑nity!— I'll murder him, by heavens!

No occaſion to ſwear, you've ſaid it, and you'll do it.

Hold! the devil's in you; break the peace, and I loſe my two thouſand pound.

True, my dear friend—oh! I burn with fury—but your Worſhip's wig ca'n't ſwear a battery.

There's Burn's Juſtice, Blackſtone, and Coke upon Littleton.

Come along, Timolin.

Maſter, ſtay for me—take me—

Oh! what a bright model for my ſon George!

SCENE I.—An antique Room in the Caſtle.

There, you ſtay faſt, coquin! ſuch audace—of robbery, take ſurniture and pictures out of my Lor's houſe!

I'm more guilty than my maſter, as the receiver is worſe than the thief.

Who is your maſter, the receiver? ſpeak!

Friend, you may take me for a rob⯑ber, if you will; but you ſhan't prove me an in⯑former, becauſe I've a regard for my cha⯑racter.

Stay there till we find Mr. Dickin, de juſtice, to ſend you to jail; be merry with that table and chair; ſorry to diſgrace—make a brown bear of my chamber—there ſit and ſing —"de charge is prepared, de lawyers are met."

I wiſh they had crammed me into a jail at once, and not took me up in this diſ⯑mal top of a caſtle. Oh did my poor mother ever think that, before I died, I ſhould get my⯑ſelf hanged for a thief? Lord Arthur! Lord Ar⯑thur! unlucky was the day that Mr. Felix Ti⯑molin hired to be your ſervant man.

Here's letters and papers, ſcribble ſcrabble, eh! why, this is my Lord's own hand, I remember it by one of his Franks— ‘To [59]Monſieur Loeillet,’ what does he write to his ſervants; but what's all this to me; no way to get out of window, may be in this cloſet.

Why, I vow my Lady, this is the valet's room, and none of us ever knew this door to it.

I think, Martha, I remember the caſtle better than you, who have lived in it ſo long. Out of that door there's a ſtair-caſe to my Lord's dreſſing-room, where I'll wait till he comes in. I'd wiſh to know a little more be⯑fore I ſee him. Rather mean this lurking about and tampering with ſervants—but no hope of reclaiming him, except he's certain I know what then will be out of his power to deny.

My Lord rode out you ſay; formed diſcompoſed? well, not a word that I'm here,

this houſe ſeems all wild, no regularity, peace, or the comforts of a home, but the gratification of paſſions which reaſon and nature now ſhould ſubdue, reconciles him to inquietude, meanneſs, and diſhonour. So, this room now belongs to his vile agent! it was formerly put to a better purpoſe—this is the very room I converted to a ſchool for the poor infant ruſtics. Here the young mind was trained to virtue and induſtry—here now, are perhaps, plans laid to corrupt and deſtroy the ſweet roſe of innocence! Eh, who's here!

No, looks into a deep court. Oh, I'm very high up, they've double locked the door.

Oh dear! oh dear!

Dos'nt ſeem to be one of the fa⯑mily!

This letter, from my Lord to Mon⯑ſieur, I've a ſtrong curioſity to ſee.

How! as I'm here on a voyage of diſcovery, the ſight of that might prepare me better for this dreaded interview with my Lord.

It's ungenerous to look into another man's letter, only I'd like to ſee the raſtieſt mode of writing. I'm told its not the faſhion now to croſs the t's, and put little tittles on the i's; no harm to ſee that ſure—

‘The ſight of this boy has troubled me exceedingly!—’ Boy! oh, that's my maſter;

‘Pro⯑bably, I ſhan't be home before evening, but if you can contrive to get Auguſta into your power, the better. She may be brought down to Sandgate iſland’—Oh, here's villainy!

Some poor intended victim! My coming at ſuch a time is highly fortunate.

‘Pray have an eye upon that Arthur's ill-looking Iriſhman’—Oh, that crowns his rogueries— ‘No harm to keep Auguſta under lock and key.’ I'll keep this proof of their wickedneſs, and if they talk of hanging me for a bit of an old picture, I'll bring it out in the noſe of their ſhabby red faces— ill looking Iriſhman—eh, one would think they took me for Miſs Auguſta.

[61]Then they have locked you up? you moſt un⯑happy beautiful ſoul.

Why he takes me for the preſent object of purſuit! by giving into this miſtake, I may diſcover ſome more of my huſband's at⯑chievements.

Are you his Lordſhip's emiſſary?

I, Miſs! I deſpiſe ſuch doings.

I believe it; your ſace ſpeaks ho⯑neſty.

Then it ſpeaks truth, and the devil himſelf ſhan't make it tell a lie.

But, who are you?

My maſter is his Lordſhip's ſon that's at this inſtant ſhifting about, and can't get a beef-ſteak without venturing his neck for it.

True—Martha told me of this un⯑happy deſtitute youth—Oh, huſband! falſe to me, and unnaturally cruel to the offspring of your follies.

Miſs, I'll aſſure you, Lord Arthur is as brave a little boy—

And bears his forlorn ſtate with meekneſs and reſignation?

Oh yes! Miſs, he's as meek and gentle—ah, hem!

Poor youth, he has a fa⯑ther, and yet an orphan! Then he ſhall find a friend in me—though not mine, he belongs to the man I ſtill love! but to continue this de⯑ception—cou'd you contrive any means for me to fly this manſion of ſhame and ruin?

Offer to come in to touch her, and, [62]by the mighty powers of heaven, I'll ſlay you.

Oh!

Suffer me to periſh, and im⯑priſon my faithful ſquire for his attachment! Put your arms a-kimbo, ſirrah, ſtump down thoſe great ſtairs with your hat on, and let me ſee who dares ſquint at you—Oh! that lovely divine Auguſta!

What! then you've ſeen her, Sir.

What do you ſtand winking and making faces there, ſirrah? come out.

But there's ſomebody elſe lock'd up.

Kick up your legs boldly, no matter whoſe ſhins are in the way.

But, Sir—

B'y'r leave there for Mr. Fe⯑lix Timolin.

SCENE II. A Street.

Aye! and well George?

We had a dance, Sir.

As if he had ſaid we had a funeral. 'Sblood! man, ſay—we had a dance.

Arthur was maſter of the ceremonies—you ſhuffled it away? eh, boy?

Yes, Sir, I was'nt afraid to ſhuffle, for I had my thick walking ſhoes on.

Shoes! aſſes' hoofs! I believe they're half an inch thick.

Yes, Sir, they're an inch.

I muſt ſee if the poor woman has releaſed her huſband.

George, ſo 'twas you raſp'd up the fiddle for them?

Yes, Sir, ſo we had no fiddler to pay.

Pſha! I'd hire Handel's anniver⯑ſary band to ſee you dance the Cameronian Rant with Auguſta. This ſcheme of leaving her at large wo'nt do—ſhe'll be ſnapt up. Gad, yon⯑der ſhe is—I muſt clench this buſineſs. Why do you put on that diſmal look, ſirrah?

I was thinking, father, of the cruelty in keeping people in priſon for ſmall debts above a twelvemonth however; liberty's ſo ſweet, they'd purchaſe it if in their power, if not, hard to puniſh a man for only being unfor⯑tunate.

Here comes Miſs Auguſta. Devil's in your thick ſoal'd ſhoes!

That man certainly whiſpered ſomething diſagreeable that cauſed the abrupt departure of Lord Arthur.

Dear no, he's a very civil ſoul, why 'twas papa's conſtable. Oh my good gracious, if here is'nt George.

Your waiſtcoat's buttoned all crooked —no powder in your hair—by the lord! you look like the duſtman.

Well Miſs, how do [64]you like your new ſituation?—ſtop, I want to ſpeak to you.

Stop, he wants to ſpeak to us—how do you do, George?

Ha! very free with George!

Miſs Woodbine, I've your good at heart. Your uncle's whim, in taking his fortune from you, makes you an object of compaſſion.

Many would rather be an object of envy—but, to my thinking, an humble ſtate is preferable to affluence, built upon the ruins of unmerited adverſity.

Made for each other!

George, to her in her own way—out with your handkerchief, and cry for the poor debtors. My ſon, Miſs, is ſo happy to ſee—to be with you—

Happy to ſee her? but I'm ſure its no ſuch thing, old codger.

He expreſſed great joy at your coming ſo opportunely.

Opportunely indeed!

Miſs, could you lend me a needle and thread?

Go along you raſcal, ſortune! I'll bind you apprentice to a taylor.

You're happy, Sir, in having a ſon of ſo much frugality for his years.

Frugal, ma'am! he's the moſt ex⯑travagant—

I ſee now he only wants them to like each other; I muſt prevent this.

Why, look now, with his coat over his knuckles; he has on lace ruffles at three guineas a pair. Pull down your ruffles.

By the lord! he has got into [65]hopſack. What have you done with all the fine linen and lace I ſent you?

The lace was too fine for uſe—but the Holland made ſoft child-bed linen for the curate's wife.

Yes, madam, the biſhop's lady was the good woman in the ſtraw. He is very frolickſome—it's a ſhame for you to be ſuch a buck.

Lord, Miſs, George is no buck! he's a mere milk ſop, an't you George?

Get away you little devil, who wants your prate.

Miſs, we'll conceal your loſs from my ſon—he's ſo proud—ſee how he throws his head about.

George, with Auguſta's caſh, you can do ſuch pretty charities! Son, this lady is worth one hundred thouſand pound.

Lord, how can you tell ſuch fibs— George, ſhe's only my governeſs, and as poor —borrowed five ſhillings from me juſt now to releaſe her box from the waggon—ſay you did.

Get along you little buſy thing

. You know, ma'am, you're an im⯑menſe fortune.

Sir, I am neither ambitious of com⯑paſſion or ridicule.

George, never mind—ſhe's very rich.

Oh no, Sir!

Zounds! Madam, you're a Jew.

My governeſs is not a Jew, ſhe has more religion than the biſhop.

The devil's in me, if I don't make your father pull your ears!

Miſs, my [66]ſon has a moſt liberal mind, a ſoul of magniſi⯑cent extravagance.

Madam, my father is only jeſting.

True, George, now that's very good, Sir Hans is always making his ſun of every body.

By the Lord, overthrowing my whole ſcheme.

Hop home you little magpie.

Madam, be aſſured, I eſteem oecono⯑my the firſt virtue.

Then the devil's in you both! but it's you, prating monkey, has done it all; you, you raſcal, with your oeconomy and aſſes' hooſs, truff down to Samphire Hall; and you, Miſs, ſtalk with your poverty to Mr. Dickins, the banker's.

Madam, your humble ſervant!

Devil's in your humble ſervant, you civil ſcoundrel! ſome mad gander will tuck her and her fortune under his wing, and hop off to Gretna Green.

George ſent down to the rocks, oh! oh! then I know where ſomebody will go.

Sir Hans, your moſt obedient, good morning to you, Sir!

Oh very polite Ma'am, but I wiſh you had dropt your curtſy half an hour ago.

The forlorn thought⯑leſs Arthur! Sir, tell me—is Miſs Woodbine's ſon my uncle's heir? then why not inſtantly ex⯑tricate him, from the embarraſſing perplexities that muſt end in his deſtruction.

What ſon?

The gay Arthur! true, Lord Torrendel's;

oh ho! [67]I ſuſpect there's love here—this was her dancing partner. My dear, as to affection and all that, this Arthur—

Sir, I am only intereſted for him, on account of my couſin Woodbine.

Right! for his heart is engaged to a girl, he told me all over a glaſs of hock.

Yes! ſhe likes him— then, in one word, Miſs Auguſta, my dear, I'll not part with you, till I ſee you and my ſon fairly coupled.

Sir Hans!

Yes, Sir! paſt three.

Paſt three! Don't much like his avoiding me, and taking the lady. His bail⯑bond may keep me from limbo—but muſtn't rob me of paradiſe either.

Run, ſirrah, after Miſs Auguſta, and—

Back again to your father's?

You will perſiſt, we left Miſs Auguſta there;

if I can but obtain the love of this charming girl, ſhe's ſo beautiful, elegant—but then, very modeſt; I'll have her—oh! Timolin, I will have her, run with this letter.

With what?

Stop to aſk queſtions with your hows and whats—run, take this letter to the young lady.

Oh! I'll give no letters to ladies. Do you want, Sir, to carry on your father's pro⯑fligate rigmarolds? but you don't make a French [68]Mounſeer of me—for the ſpirit of Mr. Felix Timolin is a peg above that, I aſſure you.

What! walk back, if you pleaſe, into Caſtle Quad.

Then 'pon my word, I won't.

How, you ſcoundrel! do you object to go into priſon when I—? begone! I diſcharge you.

Oh! Sir, I diſcharge myſelf, and there's a receipt for my wages.

I'd hazard my life, to procure you what you might again repay—but, helping you to take the innocence you could never return, is beneath the ſoul of Mr. Felix Timolin.

Dem it! now I've loſt him. I had no conception of this mighty Iriſh honour of his brave ſoul. He has had moral, from his ruſtic parent in his mud cabin; but, I never knew a father's kind precept or good example.

What does this fellow eye me for?

My Lady ſent me to know his perſon—yes! that's he, very well.

You're no Coachman, my friend you're a bailiff—they take all diſguiſes.

SCENE III. A walk near Lord Torrendel's

To divert mi Lor from de thought of dis tapageur, ſon of his, I muſt get off Miſs [69]Auguſta for him; but, to ſee more of this letter of inſtruction—eh! oh! I have left it on the table in my room—Thomas have borrow Sir Hans's livery to carry her ſham meſſage; but if there be danger, we yet want ſome ſtrong, able, deſperate—

I could be contented with one dinner in three days, becauſe it's a thing I've practis'd with ſome ſucceſs—but, my poor dear maſ⯑ter—

Oh! you be got out, where I did lock you—

Here, lock me up again; for I've loſt my maſter, and I don't care how I am.

I ſuppoſe you be not overcharg'd vid money, and I take it you be fripon—in your character, roguery be the leading feature.

I judge that your noſe is your lead⯑ing feature—ſo I take it.

I, a rogue! produce a proof that I'm one.

Here be a ſtirling proof.

So, becauſe you've money, you've a right to call a poor man out of his name.

Dere now, call me out of my name.

Then, you're an ho⯑neſt man a genteel noble lad. If I can find my lord, this will carry us back to town.

Arreté! dat is for ſervice you vill do me.

Milor! go! dat footman vill tell you vat it be. Beſides, more reward, [70]if you ſhould be taken up again for little pecca⯑dilloz, milor's intereſt vill releaſe you. Allez!

Paid for doing good before hand! now I've gold and a clear conſcience, two com⯑panions that are ſeldom together now a day's.

That fellow of Arthur's ſtill lurk⯑ing about here!

Peſte! quelle ballourdiſe! I have made fine confident in my Lord's ſcheme,

O! my Lord, he only aſk—

I hope you have'n't let this affair go further than thoſe already concerned?

Oh! no, my Lord! if he knew I had employed this Iriſhman, I am undone.

L'Oeillet, I've improved upon your plan. Thomas's being in Sir Hans's livery may not be ſufficient to perſuade Auguſta, that ſhe is really ſent for by him—now if you could borrow Sir Hans's poſt chaiſe, that would ef⯑fectually remove ſuſpicion—make any excuſe, he'll be glad to oblige me.

Diantre! here I go for Sir Hans's coach to carry off Miſs Auguſta, and have ſet Thomas and the Iriſhman to take her off with horſes.

Why, L'Oeillet, you don't ſeem over hearty in the cauſe now?

Oh! I'm devoted to your Lord⯑ſhip's ſervice.

Once wheedled into the carriage, a pretext is ſoon found to get her to Sandgate Iſland.

Ah! mais ceſt que ceſt excellent ca!

About it now—I ſhall be there before you.

Pardi! dis is lucky—for now I vill do it myſelf. I viſh tho' I cou'd meet vid dis maroufle, to hinder him meddle in de affair— dat malheureux Iriſh tief vill do me ſome miſ⯑chief.

SCENE IV.—A Road.

Well, Mr. Thomas, I know all your plan, now you've told me. So here you've borrowed Sir Hans's livery from one of his ſer⯑vants, and you're to go and tell Miſs Auguſta, he has ſent you for her—but, as you may be a cowardly kind of chap, the Mounſeer has bid me aſſiſt you with my tight bit of arm. Huſh! here ſhe comes

I thought ſhe was a little girl juſt left ſchool.

I don't know, whether ſhe ſhe goes to ſchool or no—but, this is the very Miſs Au⯑guſta, that was lock'd up in the caſtle with me.

Oh! I'll make a neat example of ye all.

My mind is in a ſtate of the moſt tormenting ſolicitude! I wiſh I knew where to find [72]this young lady, and apprize her of my Lord's deſigns. Whether to return and wait for him? I dread the interview, unkind upbraiding often ſhakes the very baſis of affection. Yet I know he'll endeavour, by ſome artful evaſion, to ſlip from my charge, except I can bring it to a full conviction—but firſt to afford this poor young man aſſiſtance.

Young man, that muſt be me—ſhe ſaw I was in diſtreſs.

Deliver this to him, without let⯑ing him know who it comes from.

Stop! I'm here.

Oh, his ſervant.

Now, this goodneſs to me, has de⯑termined me, in what I was reſolved upon; to ſave her from all danger.

Perhaps I may now learn, who this young lady is.

Go you, and ſtay with your horſes—I'll deliver the meſſage to her my⯑ſelf.

But you're not in Sir Hans's livery —It wo'n't take her.

How d'ye do, Miſs Auguſta?

My truſty champion's miſ⯑taking me for her, I find, continues.

Miſs, your guardian, Sir Hans Bur⯑geſs, hopes for your company down at Sam⯑phire-Hall—he has ſent horſes.

I'll whiſper a few words, that ſhall bring her directly. Harkye, Miſs! don't go, this is a rogue, that wants to coax you again into the mouſe-trap.

You miſtake—I'm not the perſon.

That's a good thought to deny your⯑ſelf —I'll ſecond it—are you ſure you never ſaw Miſs Auguſta before now?

Not I.

Then this is not ſhe—ſo go about your buſineſs.

What!

He wants to inveigle you, to Lord Torrendel.

Indeed! this is charming, as I ſuppoſed! the moſt lucky opportunity to do good, prevent evil, ſave the innocent from ruin, and overwhelm the guilty in the bluſhing ſhame of his own baſe intentions.

I was ap⯑prehenſive of ſome error—you've brought horſes you ſay—very well, I'll—wait on my guardian.

Then you are Miſs Auguſta. Why, what did you mean juſt now by—

Yes, yes, you're right enough.

If they take you for a Lady, that will fly off to an old libertine, they're right enough indeed; but I was wrong, when I thought you a bit of an angel.

Come.

A word, ma'am! your charitable intentions juſt now about me, were good—but, ſince you give yourſelf up to this old reprobate, I ſcorn your aſſiſtance, and, if a little turn of virtue, ſhould ever make you repent of your non⯑ſenſe, don't expect any defence from the ſoul of Mr. Felix Timolin.

Heavens! I leave a ſhocking impreſ⯑ſion on the mind of this worthy creature.

[74]Well, well, we ſhall find time to clear my cha⯑racter.

An old rotten potatoe for your cha⯑racter! bye and bye, when you're ſeen flouriſh⯑ing in curricles, with a different gallant every day, ſtuck up at your elbow, you'll ſtill be chat⯑tering about your character, to all the turn⯑pike-men.

Yes! it is a baliſſ—he's at my heels. Timolin, do you ſee any door open? ſtand in that ſpot, you ſcoundrel.

Oh! if any more of thoſe compli⯑ments paſs between you and me, it's a toſs up who's to pay them.

If he don't touch me, it's no caption.

He's returning with the money, the gay miſs gave him for me.

I've had a good chace after you, Sir.

Attempt to give me the tip, and—

Here it is—this bill for three hundred pound.

If it was ten thouſand, I wou'dn't ac⯑cept it.

You villain, do I want you to accept bills for me?

It's a good note, and your own too.

Well, I know I have notes and [75]bonds enough out—but if I pay one of them, I'll be damn'd.

Sir, don't frighten yourſelf, about what doesn't concern you.

Hold your tongue, ſirrah; of my own accord, I came from our dance, when old Wighum, the juſtice, ſent for me; but, compell'd, I will not go; ſo let the plaintiff carry the bills in to my father.

Now, Sir, you're too nice. I promiſed to do the buſineſs, and I will.

Aye! he only wants to touch me.

Arrah! what ſignifies your dancing round me, like a couple of May-poles?

Oh, how my fingers—Ti⯑molin, knock him down—I wonder whether it's a capture if I touch him.

What are you at with your caps, and hats? The Engliſh of he thing is—Miſs Au⯑guſta, I deſpiſe.

Speak o of my divine charmer.

Oh! if he diſcharges me, and comes once a day to give me a knock in my cheek, I'm to have a bleſſed life of it—tho' my honour wou'd not ſuffer me to take relief from this Miſs Auguſta, yet I'll try and get the reward from Mounſeer. For, if I was to preach in a pulpit as high as Patrick's ſteeple, the ladies, and gentlemen, would be running after one another, and, till they give roaſt beef for nothing, to mere honeſty, a guinea is convenient in an empty pocket.

SCENE I.—Samphire hall: Sir Hans's, and other Houſes:—A view of the Sea, bathing Machines, &c.

A month ſince i've been down here at my favourite rocks. How do the lodging-houſes go on? I hope they keep low with their prices, till the place is known. Aye! I may yet ſee Samphire-Hall, eclipſe Brighton, Weymouth, and Scarborough.

Yez! your honour; for the young Squire has ſet up a ſtaple commodity of trade, and already the volks bes ſo merry about'n. You know Humphry Grin, the ſtone maſon, is famous in the letter cutting way—Meaſter George had gin the freedom of the quarry, and he has eſtabliſhed a manufacture for tomb⯑ſtones.

Tomb-ſtones to make people merry!

He has finiſhed half a dozen choice epitaphs with:

Devil's in his phyſicians!

That was certainly Lord Torrendel turn'd into the green lane—muffled up, and ſeem'd hiding his face. Robin gave me a hint of his deſigns upon Fanny.

A ſweet morning concert for the rooms, of chipping and ſawing! Tell Maſter Grin, he muſt depart in peace with his merry monuments, from this part of the world. Did you hire a new poſtillion?

Yez, ſir.

Don't come near me—get a tin pot and a bit of ſtick, and pick up cockles on the beach—you haven't a ſoul above a cockle-gatherer, you curſed otter. Robin! have they put up the ſhelves in the raffling ſhop?

Sir, the men are working at their looms.

Looms!

Inſtead of encouraging frauds, cheat⯑ing ſtrangers with paltry toys, I have erected looms, that will give bread to two induſtrious families.

Why, they're Weavers!

Yes, ſir, weavers of ſtockings, gloves, and mittins.

A ſtocking loom in the place of my elegant raffling ſhop!

There's a ribband loom too. This was the firſt wove in it; for the motto's ſake, put it in your hat.

"Succeſs to Commerce, and laſting happineſs to England." Well, let Induſtry throw the ſhuttle to this motto with all [78]my heart. What ſmoke's that yonder? clink⯑ing of hammers! by the lord it's—

Yes, Sir, it's the forge I built for poor old Grimes.

What, a ſmith?

Yes, Sir, a worthy blackſmith.

Within the very walls of my cold bath, old Grimes blowing his bellows!

What uſe for a cold bath juſt on the verge of the ocean? and the farmers want the neceſſary tools for bleſſed agriculture.

I baniſh you for ever, from my faſhionable bathing place. You barbarous young ſavage! after my high puff advertiſements of cold larders, neat wines, circulating libraries, baths, concerts, balls, billiards, machines, and bathing-caps, to expect to drag people of faſhion down here, amongſt ſtocking-looms, tombſtones, and bellows-clinkers!

Father, my little colony was famiſh⯑ing on Lord Torrendel's iſland. Since I have brought them here, in pity don't diſturb them.

A fine ragged colony you've planted.

Conſider, Father, induſtry is a flower that ſhould be encouraged by the genial warmth of patronage.

By the lord! the fellow's only fit for a plowman, or a weaver.

Well, Sir, the one gives bread, the other cloathing; as a plowman and a weaver are the moſt uſeful characters, I know of none more noble.

Ah plague on it don't talk to me, my very ſervants will deſpiſe you you dog, I [79]dare ſay not one of 'em would ſtir a ſtump to ſave your ſoul and body, you young Beaver.

Your purſe, Sir—I found it on the road.

Thank you, Robin,

George's purſe! how much was in it?

More than I can tell—once I knew it to be maſter George's, I never put finger on the caſh it held.

Suppoſe it had been my purſe?

Ecod! your honor, you might never have ſeen it again: Gold's a tempting thing, and I don't ſet up for more honeſty than my neighbours; but young Squire's money already belongs to the poor, and he bez a bad man in⯑deed that wou'd take, what the generous heart is ſo ready to give.

Eh, now Robin, you've been playing tricks, knocking my purſe about—its all broke —ſtupid fellow, I dare ſay you'd take better care of your own!

La, Sir, I have no purſe, only a little bit of a leather bag, to divide a few ſhillings from the halfpence.

Whole, and ſound, ſhou'dn't have thought of your impudence—tearing one's pro⯑perty—there's my broken one, I ſhall keep yours.

But, Sir, the gold's in it.

Never mind, keep it Robin, you're [80]an honeſt fellow; honeſty is a true diamond, and ſhould be ſet in gold.

My generous boy, George, build up and pull down, juſt as you pleaſe;

the rich man's ſafeſt guard, is the bleſſings of charity; but gold is the grand ſtaple of your trade of benevolence—I've brought Miſs Wood⯑bine, and her fortune; go and entertain her.

Iſn't that Lord Torrendel's French⯑man.

Your honor, Mounſeer's come from his Lord, to borrow your poſt-chay—going on a viſit, and his own be broke.

Here's an oportunity to oblige my Lord. He ſhall have it, and hanſel my new poſtillion too.

Some knavery in this poſt⯑chaiſe! Robin, a word.

Here ſtill; hop to the Lady, you curſt curlew! hold, here ſhe is.

'Twas certainly Arthur croſſ'd the road.

Sir, I've walk'd out, to ſee your charming place here.

Hem!—I bid him ſpeak to the Lady, and by the lord he's whiſpering Robin; George, addreſs her with rapture.

Yes, Sir! Madam, the—great—plea⯑ſure of—Robin.

The great pleaſure of—Robin! oh! the devil's in you, for a fine amorous ſcoundrel! Stop, you Sir.

This young gentleman is an unadorned caſket, encloſing the moſt delicate ſprings of ſenſibility; but that heart is not for me; or rather mine is not for him. I muſt not cheriſh an hopeleſs paſſion for Arthur; if, as Sir Hans tells me, another poſſeſſes his affections.

Fanny!

My dear governeſs, I've got down to you; I'm only come, becauſe you are here— where's George?

You only come becauſe I'm here— "where's George!" Ah, Fanny!

I've made papa bring me too—by a monſtrous fib though. I've told him, Sir Hans wants him on moſt prodigious buſineſs.

Diſtanced the nabber! my lovely partner! who could expect to find you here, like a ſea-nymph ſent from old Neptune's palace, to make mortals plunge into the ocean, enamoured from this divine ſpecimen of aquatic beauty.

Moſt heroically gallant indeed, Sir.

Now for ſomething gallant to me— How d'ye do, Sir?

Ah! little titmouſe, ſuppoſe, my love, you ſtep and gather a few honeyſuckles from the hedge yonder.

George might have had the manners to meet, and make nymphs of other people. Titmouſe, indeed!

Madam, you ſee before you, a fellow the moſt wretched—

ſhall I venture to declare my love? no—farewell.

Whither, Sir, are you going?

The truth is, Madam, tho' Great-Britain's large, I'm drove to the water's edge, where I'll ſtep into, and puſh off the firſt fiſhing boat I can find; for abandon'd by my father, and purſued by—England, Ma⯑dam, is no home for me. If I can get acroſs the channel, amongſt camps, and batteries, my empty ſconce may keep a bullet from a head that has brains in it.

Your fortunes, Sir, are not, per⯑haps, ſo deſperate—your mother was—

How! Madam, have you heard?— ſhe is I hope an angel—and you my heaven.

Overtaken you at laſt!

I'll be damn'd if you have though.

I'll be damn'd but I will though!

Unhappy youth! they'll purſue him to deſpair; but I'm uſurping a concern that be⯑longs to the miſtreſs of his heart; yet, tho' I muſt not love, am I to reject all feelings of humanity.

Oh! governeſs, I have aſked the poſtillion to give us a roll on the beach—you don't know half this ſweet place.

In the chaiſe I may have a better chance of ſeeing which way he takes.

Muſtn't tell 'twas my Lord's valet propoſed our ride, ſhe's ſo ſqueamiſh.

Does Sir Hans know of this jaunt?

Very true—he may not let us go; I have if, ſit in the chaiſe till I come; I'll fetch your hat and cloak.

Is this prudent, but no time for re⯑flection, Arthur may be loſt for ever.

SCENE II.—A parlour in Sir HANS'S.

Deviliſh good place the Knight has got here; a fine proſpect of the ſea; a pretty mortgage; and I may pick up ſuch a bit as this, with Torrendel's intereſt—what can this be, Sir Hans has ſent for me!

My Governeſs is ſo giddy—where can ſhe have leſt her hat.

Oh, Fanny, where's your friend Au⯑guſta? you ſeem all upon the fidgets.

Oh no, Sir.—Lud! the two old boys will be running after us—what can I think of to keep them here? oh, true, my fine fib.

Papa, I wonder why Sir Hans has ſent for you; do you know?

No, child, but I ſhall if I can get to ſee him.

Here he is, ha, ha, ha!

only look papa, what a fine proſpect at that win⯑dow; you can ſee, I believe, to the Iſle of Wight.

Oh no; but very fine.

Fanny, where's your papa?

He's there, Sir, but his head is ſo full of this ſerious affair, he's come down to tell you.

Oh, very well.

He, he, he; now each will be ſo full of expectation of the other telling, when there is nothing to tell, it may bring them into a ſquabble, and that will keep them as cloſe as a game of backgammon—but deuce, where's Auguſta's hat? he, he, he.

Ah, Dickins! how do you do?

Oh, Sir Hans, well, I've trundled down to you in a whiff.

Then the affair is very urgent? ſit down.

Of conſequence, I hope; for I had 2 good deal to do.

And ſo?

Well

Well? ſo ſudden, I was alarmed? but does it concern me ſo much?

That you beſt know.

How the Devil ſhould I know!

Well then, when you tell me, perhaps I may know.

When you tell me, perhaps I may not know. But come.

Ave?

The fellow's afraid of being over⯑heard I ſuppoſe; come, I'll faſten the door.

Oh, if it is of ſo much conſequence, and ſecrecy, I'll faſten this door too.

There now, we are quite ſafe.

aye?

Aye?

What the devil do you fit gaping! why don't you out with it?

Why do you ſit ſtaring and ſtretch⯑ing your neck? why don't you tell it at once?

You ſent for me down about your buſineſs—and, zounds! what is it? that I may go about mine.

I ſend for you! you came here to tell me of ſomething of great importance—tell it, and ſhorten your viſit, when you pleaſe, Sir.

Sir, your ill manners, in your own houſe, are equal to your impudence in bringing me into it for nothing.

Impudence, you vulgar man! it's well you are in my houſe, or, by the hand of this body, I'd have you pitched out of window.

Pitch me, you hard-headed old fool! if Torrendel was to behave ſo, I'd—

I ſhall choak.—

You're un⯑der my roof, you pleb—ſo ſay what you will— Robin Hoofs!

Damn your hoofs, and your horns, Sir! I can quit your houſe myſelf. You're as impudent as Torrendel.

Oh George! George! my Governeſs has run away with George! falſe fellow! to [86]dreſs himſelf up as the new poſtillion, and drive off with my Governeſs, when I only turned to fetch her hat and cloak.

My ſon drive off with Auguſta! Huzza! he's a daſher.

And then Lord Torrendel's valet, to jump up behind the chaiſe—'twas all a packd thing to deceive me.

What! zounds! the Frenchman gone off with my ward.

Yes, they'll ſurely be married.

What, the Frenchman?

No! George!

Did I know where, i'd ſtand up in the church, and forbid the banns.

But where are they gone?

Rattled down the beach, towards Sandgate Iſland.

Zounds! Robin Hoofs, John, the devil, I've loſt my ward.

Yes, I heard Sir Hans brought her down here to marry George; a demure look⯑ing thing, ſhe new better than to take the mad Lord, and I, myſelf to introduce her to my George; this is female friendſhip indeed, here's my friend's hat, and my friend's rib⯑bands, oh that I had herſelf here.

SCENE III; and laſt.—Sandgate Iſtland; one ſhattered houſe, and a few wretched cottages.

Damn the ferryman, not to run his boat boldly in the creek—oblige me to daſh [87]through the water! If I could but get over to the continent, I'd fight like a true volunteer—the firſt Enſign that dropt, pick up his colours— huzza! I wiſh I had a ſew ſhillings, to pay my paſſage in ſome fiſhing ſmack.

There again—by heavens! you ſha'n't have all the bailiff-work to yourſelf—we'll have a tuſsle for it—if you are ſtronger, I go—if not, I com⯑mit your body to maſter ſhark—begone, or into this ſea I daſh you.

Then, there Sir, is a three hun⯑dred pound Bank of England note—now I've at laſt done my job.

It is—and I to miſtake my bright angel for the blackeſt of all imps, a catchpole! three hundred! now they ſhall ſee who is Lord Arthur D'Aumerle—who from? my kind father, doubtleſs. Now I've caſh, where is my poor faithful Timolin.

A dreary Iſland, but one houſe—you live yon⯑der, maſter.

Live! ah, Sir.

Complain! Why, in the winter here, you've ſtorms in high perfection—ſnow, hail, rain, lightning and thunder, neat as imported —no door to your houſe, and ſcarce a houſe to your door! the ſpangled canopy your bed-teſ⯑ters, and for a clear proſpect no glaſs to your windows! not a tree on your iſland, becauſe you wou'd not harbour noiſy rooks to diſcompoſe [88]your ſlumbers!—nor even a buſh! but that's vanity—that you might have it to ſay, you challenge the globe round to ſhew a ſpot more deſolate.

Why, ſir, but for the charity of Mr. George Burgeſs we ſhould be worſe. He has unpeopled our iſland tho', and ſettled them com⯑fortably near his father's. Since Lord Torren⯑del, our landlord, leaves us to his Frenchman and that Maſter Dickins, I wiſh they'd take the houſe off my hands.

They'll be taking it preſently from about your ears—

Ha! ha! ha! I'm tickled with a ſtrange ambition—I'll be king of this Iſland from my father's ſole inheritance. Old Cruſoe, I'll enchant your houſe from the court of poverty, to the caſtle of comfort.

You look comfort in you happy face. Welcome, ſir, Dame!

This iſland is now my territory— here am I king! oh! for my queen! but plague of my palace.

Now dat your comrade has brought lady over in toder boat, let no one elſe croſs but Milor.

Ah! quel bonheur to find Auguſta myſelf! now Monſieur Thomas and dat villain Iriſh thief may hunt her for deir own recreation—la voice—dis ſolitary iſle—here milor have no perſon to interrupt.—

The deſire of ſeeing my couſin Arthur once again, before it is too late, can ſcarcely [89]reconcile me to this ſtep—altogether this iſland wears a moſt forbidding aſpect—I'll return, and ſit in the chaiſe, till Fanny comes.

Ah! ma chere

You muſt vait for Milor.

He here! heavens! I'm betrayed—I ſee my folly.

I was your laquais, mon ange, and did ſit behind de chaiſe, and you did not know.

Pray, ſir, ſuffer me to go.

Oui, to Londres! dere Milor vill buy you fine cloaths and jewels, and you vill ſhine at operas and ball and concert, and he will kiſs your hand dus.

How!

Diantre!

Heavens! ſir, what have you done?

Only caſt my bait into the ſea— Lucifer will always bite at a ſcoundrel.

Sir, he'll be drowned.

A ſouſe, madam! he's already a pickled dog—don't be alarm'd—you're ſafe now from even the ſhadow of inſult. How came you here in this remote place with that ſcoundrel? ſpeak—but no matter—you ſeem diſtreſs'd.

Vice ſhould not humble the father in the opinion of the ſon.

Lean upon me, ma'am—holloo! old Cruſoe, where's your dame? come, madam.

Should Loeillet get my Auguſta ſafe, here is no accommodation; I thought I had ſome tenants on this iſland! they've let the place run ſtrangely to ruin. Confuſion! Sir Hans!

But dem it ſquire, why diſguiſe yourſelf; ſure you coud'n't be a confederate with that French pandar, to ſteal my daughter's gover⯑neſs?

Aye, George, where was the neceſſity of uſing artifice, to run away with Auguſta, the very girl I wanted to give you.

Then to explain the myſtery—ſome baſe deſigns of others, have ſunk me into a ſchemer of ſtratagems. My lord, my name is Burgeſs.—I'm no profeſs'd knight-errant, yet I openly avow that I will endeavour henceforth to protect female innocence from your lordſhip's diſhonourable purpoſes.

Bravo! George. He has been drinking hock wich Lord Arthur.—My lord, I'll talk to you.

My lord, to you I'll talk.

Then no ſhelter from open ſhame, but to turn champion myſelf! beſides, the ſtorm once blown over, my ſeeming her protector wins her love by gratitude.

Oh, my lord, here flies the ſweet creature, with her character under her arm.

That villain, Loeillet, make my ſon's ſervant a party in this buſineſs.

Where's my guardian? how!

Aye, I told you, but you wou'd run head⯑long [...] the devil. And there he ſtands, ready to receive you.

What's your purpoſe, you ſcoun⯑drels, in bringing the lady to this lonely place?

Our purpoſe! well, that's very high!—

Madam, rely upon my protection. I am bound by honour to defend you from every inſult.

Certainly, my lord! every gentle⯑man ſhould be the protector of his wife.

Lady Torrendel! damnation!

The Lady herſelf! then 'twas to her huſband ſhe was running, oh! here's a wonder, and a blunder!

My Lord, I ſee you are confounded, yet could I hope your preſent humiliation pro⯑ceeded from a ſorrow that promiſed repentance, and conſequent reformation, my heart's feelings for the man I did love and honor, ſhould melt me to compaſſion!

but no! my lord! take [92]my reſentment! my deſerved, and bitter re⯑proach! grief cannot reach a breaſt ſo callous as yours! it is only the ſtings of a wounded pride, and diſappointed purpoſe, that now agitates you; reflect! return an humble gratitude to heaven for having made my unexpected arrival here the means of ſnatching you from the repetition of a crime the moſt hoſtile to ſociety. A ſelfiſh, tranſient gratification, that muſt baniſh for ever an unhappy female from the paths of honor! ſhun'd thro' life by the beſt part of her own ſex! —and even deſpiſed by you! the author of her ſhame! your wrongs to me are nothing, but your meditated ſhifts, tricks, and plans, which you call gallantries, reflect only a diſgrace on the dignity of manhood!

Lady Torrendel—I confeſs I'm al⯑together ſomewhat ſhocked, and wiſh—I ſay —I'm very unhappy to ſee—that is—I'm un⯑happy at your ſuſpecting—

Oh, you miſtake, my lord! I have no ſuſpicions! mine are all certainties—but even if you conſider my throwing the paſt into the ſhade of oblivion, any indulgence, I ſhall inſiſt upon a few conditions, and the firſt—turn your countenance and protection to that poor deſerted youth! you are, as a parent, reſponſible for every violation that your neglect has occaſioned him to make on the laws of propriety; if you refuſe, I will be his parent, and I henceforth re⯑gard your poor friendleſs ſon, with all the care and tenderneſs of maternal affection.

He too, a witneſs!

Huzza, the joy that laughs on me, ſhall ſmile on all around; ſir, I thank you for your bounty, but—

My lady, I gave Lord Arthur the money, and—

Well! well!

How! from you, madam.

Did you give countenance and relief, where wives, in general, look with con⯑tempt and even hatred. Madam, can you par⯑don?

My lord, your conduct renders you rather an object of pity, than reſentment—you have implicitly delivered up your fortune, your character, nay more, my lord, your honor, to be the ſport and property of an infamous paraſite— your confidential ſavourite, your French Valet, has counteracted the rectitude of your intentions, by embezzelling the ſums he had for purpoſes dictated by duty and nature. O! why will thoſe who poſſeſs the godlike power of doing good, delegate a baſe, unworthy agent, for the kind purpoſes of ſoft humanity.

Then, madam, 'twas you that relieved me. You're an angel—angel you ſhall ſee! where's my divine Auguſta?

Here, boy, take Auguſta,

Thank ye, Sir Hans!

Thank ye, indeed, for that! George, devils in you! will you loſe your wife ſo?

I've one ready at hand—father, with your leave and her own conſent.

To be ſure, I conſent—and we all conſent.

Oh! yes! we all conſent—my dear governeſs, are you going to be married? It ſeems I'm going to be married. He! he! he! eh! George?

To ſee my ſon taken before my face with an, he! he! he! s'blood, ſir! let the girl go, he, he, he, indeed.

Then I diſcover your tricks, ſir, oh! oh! oh! indeed!—madam, no matter what he ſays—you are ſtill heireſs to your uncle Woodbine's fortune. Throw it into my bank, chuſe me your guardian, I'll recover—dem'me, I'll ſend Sir Nob a ſheet of cracklin ramſkin, that ſhall reach from Chancery-lane, to the "devil and bag of nails, at Chelſea."

Can this be!

Indeed! well, even ſo the property of the mother ſhould devolve to the ſon, to him I reſign it.

No! ſooner than take it from you, my generous couſin, Timolin and I will buffet the world again—where are you, old Bagatrot Caſile?

I'm here, your honour, dead or alive—we'll jump into our boots, before they're bought—and pull juſtice's wigs about—away, maſter! I'm your man thro' thick and thin, fire and ſmoke.

I could force myſelf to accept this fortune—that is, with a certain ſweet'ner,— Will you, my Auguſta, accompany it?

Then, ſir, for paltry gold, you'd quit your love! oh! fie!

Devil's in you, child! I was only joking about the girl over the hock, to make you marry George.

Why, this is right. Lady Tor⯑rendel, your unexampled liberality will reclaim me into a huſband and a father—my boy, were bleſſings mine, you ſhould have one from me.

Then, as you're not worth a bleſſing, ſhow'r a bundle of yellow-boys upon us both.

A good motion throw them into my bank.

My lord, father, and you moſt adored Auguſta, if I am deſtined to affluence, here is my model,

who can forego the comforts of life to beſtow its neceſſaries on the indigent!

Why, zounds! my moſt magnifi⯑cent, gay Arthur, I thought you was to be George's model, and that he'd have grace enough like you to play the devil.

So he ſhall—we'll kick Care out of the window, our abode ſhall be the Houſe of Joy, and the firſt card of invitation ſhall be, to the Man of Sorrow.