Scene. A Planter's Eſtate on the Iſland, near a Mill, and a Piece of Canes.

SO my dear Charles, you are at length, after a paſſage of five weeks, three days, and odd hours, arrived in our little ſun-burnt iſland?

Nothing, I'll aſſure you Whitmore, would have brought me on this ſide the Atlantic, but my unconquerable paſſion for the adorable Louiſa Winſtone.

Miſs Winſtone, Sir, has been long the belle of this iſland, and has been the occaſion, I al⯑ready hear, of much envy among the ladies, and as much paſſion among the gentlemen. But could you obtain nothing more deſirable at home, that you muſt needs neglect an Albion flower for a poor drooping Antigua bloſſom?

Don't diſhonour my Louiſa by any odious compariſon. Before ſhe left England ſhe car⯑ried the roſe in her cheeks, the rainbow in her forehead, lightning in her eyes, with grace, innocence and elegance in her whole frame.

Huſh, huſh, man; don't be over extrava⯑gant; I grant Miſs Winſtone might have poſ⯑ſeſſed all you ſay upon her firſt arrival here, but you do not know how ſoon every thing fades in this climate. For my own part, I cannot ſay much for her complexion.

Her complexion Sir, I grant you, may be a little tanned, but I am ſure her features ever muſt remain beautiful. My dear Whitmore I am impatient to ſee her; conduct me therefore to her father's wherever it is.

It is juſt by; but I am ſo engaged with plan⯑tation buſineſs that I am afraid I ſhall hardly be able to ſpare a minute from the toils of the crop. However Sir, not to baulk ſo paſſionate a lover, I'll mount you on the beſt ſteed I have, and follow you like a true 'Squire on the beſt mule or jack aſs on the whole eſtate. But pray, Sir, would you not chuſe a draught of punch after your hot ride from town? it is the cuſtom here always to have the bowl in readineſs. Here, Ceſar, Ceſar.

Coming, Maſſah.

But pray, Sir, what impreſſion do you re⯑ceive from the ſcenes about you in this part of the world.

Why truly I am at a loſs to explain them; but they are upon the whole very ſtrange. As I journeyed through the different eſtates I heard as I thought nothing but the cracking and bouncing of fire works; but was very ſoon convinced that the noiſe proceeded from the ſmacks of the whips, and the correction which is daily and hourly inflicted on the ſlaves.

Indeed, Sir, I am ſorry to ſay it, but we are obliged to put the whip to a ſlave as we do a match to powder, in order to get it to act at all. Ceſar, I ſay Ceſar!

Coming, Maſſah! coming.

How ſlow the fellow is.

Every thing, Sir, is ſlow in this climate, the horſes are ſlow, the cattle ſlow, mules ſlow, in ſhort a general ſloth hangs upon every thing. Ceſar! Ceſar! Ceſar!

What, Sir, were you aſleep? ſtupor hangs as naturally upon the dog, as miſt upon the mountains. My ſervice to you, Sir.

Pleaſant liquor in troth.

Aye don't drink too much of it though; for it may play the devil with you till you are better uſed to the climate. Here, Mr. Ceſar, take it away, and ſaddle the young Engliſh horſe for this gentleman, and my manager's mule for me. Do you hear?

Yes, Maſſah, me bring um up directly.

If poſſible do ſo, but I am afraid you will re⯑quire another nap firſt.

I ſhould conceive it, Sir, a very laborious and painful employment to have the inſpection of a gang of ſlaves; have there been no ef⯑forts made to raiſe them above their brutal ſtate, and to inſpire them with the ſentiments of man?

Yes, Sir, there was one man mad enough to make the attempt; but it was very ſpeedily found that as the ſlaves of his own eſtate im⯑proved in intellectual diſcernment, their corpo⯑real faculties relaxed, ſo that the other gentle⯑men of the iſland by woeful experience very ſoon dropped their liberal ſentiments, and hung the dead weight of ignorance again about them.

Ignorance undoubtedly is the true cauſe of ſlavery.

That is a truth, Sir, which we find verified every day; but pray, as you are ſo paſſionate an admirer of Miſs Winſtone, why did you not pre⯑vent her voyage to this part of the world?

Why I was then Sir, but a minor, and though Miſs Winſtone favored my addreſſes, her father thought Jack Rattoon a better match for her, ſo brought her over to marry him againſt her conſent.

Very true, Sir, I recollect the whole affair; ſhe became on her arrival the adoration of the men in general, and very ſoon grew out of humour with Jack, whoſe face ſhe compared to a large four-ſop; and whoſe head ſhe declared was as ſoft as a rotten quaver.

Pray, Sir, what are the diſtinguiſhing good qualities of the ladies of this part of the world.

Fidelity to their huſbands, and tenderneſs to their children.

The inhabitants too are in general remarked [9] for their hoſpitality to ſtrangers, as well as their candour and openneſs to each other.

They are ſo, Sir, but theſe take their riſe from the ſocial principle of man's nature, and which the want of ſociety creates. But here, I ſee Ceſar has already prepared and ſaddled our cattle, therefore like a true Knight-Errant equip yourſelf at all points, to meet your beauteous Dulcinia?

That I am already; what more would you have?

I will play this romantic youth a trick

Why, Sir, though it may ſurprize you, it is a cuſtom here, whenever any gentleman pays his firſt viſit to the lady he loves, to go armed and defended with all the weapons and implements of chivalry.

Certainly you jeſt?

No in faith it is an old cuſtom, derived from the Spaniards, to whom you know theſe iſlands firſt belonged.

Impoſſible!

Nay but it is actually ſo, and unleſs you permit me to arm you like a Knight-Errant, you will not ſee Miſs Winſtone to-day.

Why my dear Mr. Whitmore you'll make a fool of me.

A fool of you indeed; I'll put Minerva's own helmet on your head, and you ſhall then ſee if you don't look as wiſe as a judge. Here, Ceſar, fetch my old helmet, with the ſhield and ſword.

Yes, Maſſah.

Certainly this man does not mean to expoſe me; what he ſays is very true; this iſland be⯑longed to Spain, and it is probable that a tincture of chivalry might have been derived from that ſource; beſides, he is a Weſt Indian, and tells the truth.

Firſt, Sir, let me gird on the ſword; there, [11] there it is; now put the ſhield thus; and now laſt of all, Ceſar fetch me the ſpear.

There, Maſſah,

Upon my word, Mr. Whitmore, if I had known this was neceſſary, I would have brought a compleat ſuit of armour with me from Eng⯑land.

That would not have done ſo well perhaps; now Sir look at yourſelf in the firſt glaſs you come to, and ſee if you are not as warlike as Jack the Giant-killer.

I am obliged to you though, for making me ſo.

You have nothing to do Sir, but to puſh your ſpear againſt the firſt rival you meet on the road.

Rivals Sir! I hope to God I ſhall not meet any.

You will certainly meet a great many. Only conſider the beauty and accompliſhments of the lady. She is always ſurrounded by rivals Sir. [12] Pray by what name do you chuſe to be an⯑nounced to her?

By my own to be ſure; James Jeremiah Lovemore, Eſq.

Pugh, pugh, the name of Lovemore will be a diſgrace to Knighthood; call yourſelf the Knight of the Dreadful Phiz.

Aye any thing. Let us be off as faſt as we can.

But harkee Mr. Knight, can you ride well? for if you cannot the horſe will certainly throw you, as you muſt expect he'll ſtart at the ſight of a man in armour.

Where then is the uſe of armour, if it expoſes a man to new dangers; and as for my riding Sir, I am by no means ſecure in my ſaddle.

Why then there will be an end to your knight hood if you once come to the ground: but come Sir, our cattle are braying, and I long for ſome new atchievement.

Aye, I wiſh I don't break my neck.

Scene II. An Apartment in the Houſe of Mr. Winſtone.

It is very true as you ſay. Hannah, what is the faith and the truth of artful men? Do you think I can have the aſſurance to hope that Mr. Love⯑more will renew his addreſſes, eſpecially when he ſees me turned as brown as a gipſey.

Indeed Couſin Winſtone, you deſerve to be tanned, as a puniſhment for the coquettiſh airs you practiſed upon all the men at your firſt arrival: aye Couſin, who was then ſo cruel as yourſelf?

It is cruel Miſs Hannah in you to accuſe me of being a coquet; but girls like you, who were never handſome or fair, take a pleaſure in ſeeing every one reduced to their own ſtandard.

You may talk as you pleaſe Miſs Winſtone, when but laſt week, you know, Mr. Cogwil, a rich manager of this iſland, made love to me in your preſence, what did you do then?

What did I do then!

Aye, how did you look then? in truth you looked Miſs, I can tell you, like a windmill ſtript of its f [...]s and not a breeze of wind to turn it round.

It is better Madam to be without a breeze of wind than to require ſuch cattle as Mr. Cogwil to ſet one in motion.

I don't care for your repartees; you don't recol⯑lect I ſuppoſe how you uſed to dance with one, drop your fan for another, propoſe ſome fooliſh errand for a third, and in ſhort ogle the red coats ſo much, that they no doubt contributed with the rays of the ſun, to toaſt you into your preſent criſp and brown complexion.

Pray couſin, when were your family, the family of the Bananahs, accounted wits, that you ſhould at this day begin to play it off upon me?

You need not, I can tell you, be ſo ſevere; for though I was never at Queen-ſquare boarding ſchool, as you have been, I have received as good an education as you, and that though I was never off the iſland.

Pray let us have done ſcolding, and wait Mr. [15] Lovemore's arrival here, who is to be introduced to us by his acquaintance, Mr. Whitmore; he may, notwithſtanding my charms are fled, find others more durable in my mind; theſe perhaps will be enough, and bring him to my feet, without the aſſiſtance of any others.

I wiſh you may find it ſo, Miſs Winſtone, but I believe he will be the firſt man who ever fell at the feet of a plain woman.

Nay, my dear Coz, did you not tell me Mr. Cogwil fell at your's?

No, Miſs, he did not fall at my feet.

Though you were ſo handſome!

Nay, Miſs, if you perſiſt in teazing, I will ac⯑tually complain of it to your papa, for it isn't to be borne.

My dear girls take care of yourſelves, for a man has been juſt ſeen on the borders of the eſtate, [16] clad in a compleat ſuit of armour; he has fright⯑ened the ſlaves from their work, ſtartled the mule that carried one of my overſeers, and been the means of putting out the fellow's ſhoulder.

Good gracious, Sir!

Good gracious indeed! it is to my thinking a moſt ungracious piece of buſineſs all together; for God's ſake take care of yourſelves.

What can he want, Sir?

To take you both off, I ſuppoſe.

Oh! I won't go with him, will you, couſin Hannah?

Not I, go with a man in armour; no, no, a man in nankeen or Ruſſia drab for me.

Why don't you arm the negroes, Sir?

Here Quacou, Quaſhy!

Here both of you get my guns, load them to the mouth, fix on the bayonets, and come and keep guard at the door, for there is a great gigan⯑tic fellow coming to deſtroy us all.

Lud a mercy, Maſſah!

Sir, the negroes will be afraid, and run away; you had better arm yourſelf, and take their place.

What you ſlut, expoſe your old father at his years, to have a ſpear in his guts. Oh! what a jade!

Now ſtand faſt, and as ſoon as you ſee a great white man, covered all over with ſteel plates and platters, preſent your bayonets thus.

Sir they will not have courage.

They will I tell you; they have both attended me to the field when I commanded the red regi⯑ment, and ſerved a campaign or two under me.

Oh! then couſin. Heaven defend us from the Commander and his company.

So ſay I; I wiſh we could hide ſomewhere, if it was even with the cold meat in the larder.

Maſſah, Quaſhy afraid of his right hand, if he raiſe it againſt a white man.

One word for Quaſhy, and a hundred for your⯑ſelf; I ſee you black raſcals you are frightened; never mind his right hand, but run your bayonets through the white man's heart. See! ſee! he is coming! now do your duty.

Oh! the diabolical poltroons?

I ſee. Sir, you dread my hoſtile and warlike ap⯑pearance.

I do in faith, dread Sir, moſt dreadfully.

I perceive your fears, but pray diſmiſs them; I come here in queſt of an angelic fair one, and am [19] aſtoniſhed to find myſelf oppoſed by a couple of black rivals.

Indeed, good Sir, I do not underſtand you, nor can I conceive your intention in frightening one of the iſlanders, and two harmleſs young ladies in his houſe.

What a ſtupid old fellow; to be bred in the bowels of chivalry, and not know a man in the dreſs of a Knight.

Are not you frightened, couſin Hannah?

Oh! I am like a ſenſitive plant all over!

He muſt certainly be mad! ſuppoſe we fall on our knees to him, couſin.

Aye do, Louiſa.

Ladies, your ſervant; Mr. Winſtone your ſer⯑vant

huſh! I have made a fool of this man.

Upon my ſoul ſo I thought.

Only think, couſin, the man is a fool, ha! ha!

Aye good gracious, what a fool, ha! ha! ha!

Which Sir, is the beautiful lady of this caſ⯑tle, tell me that I may fall down, expreſs the ar⯑dour of my unabating paſſion, and pour out my whole ſoul in raptures at her feet.

Aye which of you, Louiſa or Hannah, is the beautiful lady of this caſtle?

Is it you, couſin Winſtone?

No; it is you, couſin Hannah. This, Sir, is the beautiful lady of this caſtle.

I am ſorry that it is, from my ſoul.

Oh! inform me which is Miſs Winſtone, that I may grow at her feet, and gaze my very ſight away.

As I live it is Mr. Lovemore's voice; ſupport me, Heaven!

Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Lovemore, and mad with love for my poor, tanned, ſun-burnt couſin Win⯑ſtone.

This, Sir Knight, is Miſs Winſtone.

This, Sir, is my daughter; and I, Sir, am her father.

What the Devil, Sir Knight, is the matter with you? you look as chop-fallen as Don Quixote when vanquiſhed by the windmills.

You have frightened the Knight, couſin Louiſa.

Moſt ſurely, Madam, your beauty went through his heart like a ſlug.

I ſee my miſtake, am convinced of my folly, and ſo will be off again to Old England without delay.

The Knight ſeems to muſe.

Aye I've muſed and muſed upon the woman, till the Muſes have led me quite aſtray.

Pray Sir Knight hold up your head: accoſt the ladies, or they will imagine you have loſt both your tongue and your teeth, and that you cannot ſo much as mumble.

Villain! dog! raſcal!

I ſee the cauſe of this frolic and anger; my loſt beauty is the only cauſe.

You ſee, couſin Louiſa, he has never fallen at your feet.

Away, you moſt inſipid of all Bananahs.

Don't talk of my inſipidity, couſin, for the Knight has found your's out without ſo much as taſting you.

Lookee, Mr. Winſtone, the gentleman is in a calenture—a tropical fever, Sir.

I wiſh to my ſoul he was well out of my houſe: he will be for pinioning me next.

This damned Creole has been making a dupe of me. There is not a woman in the iſland, I dare ſay, beautiful enough to authorize the rank of Knighthood.

Here, Sir, take your armour again,

put them on the next fool you meet, for I'll not be aſs enough to wear the lion's ſkin any longer.

It is a pity that you flung it off, for by my ſoul it became you mightily.

I wiſh Sir, good Mr. Viper, you would ſhake your rattles ſomewhere elſe.

Faithleſs Mr. Lovemore! am I the woman to whom you ſwore ſuch unconquerable paſſion?

Indeed, Madam, I cannot believe that you are.

Bluſh, Sir, for your perfidy, your ill manners, and your folly.

I do not know, Madam, whether I bluſh, but I can aſſure you I feel very fooliſh.

Upon my ſoul you do look very fooliſh indeed; here Quacou, gather up my armour, put it by, but don't attempt to ſcower it, do you hear?

Hercules it is ſaid, Sir, has been known to lay his club at a woman's feet, but you have done more, for you have caſt down your helmet, ſhield, and ſpear, all at once.

Mr. Whitmore, Sir, damme Sir I cannot ſpeak, I feel ſo curſed fooliſh!

I underſtand you, Sir, you would tell us that you came expreſs from England to renew your addreſſes to Miſs Winſtone. But becauſe ſhe has had a fit of the ague and loſt a little colour, you hang your ears like an aſs, and crouch like a poor devil of a ſpaniel.

That is the real cauſe indeed.

Be under no further embarraſſments Sir about me, your addreſſes were always diſagreeable; and now you perfectly make me deteſt you: come along, couſin Hannah.

Poor Couſin Winſtone.

Oh! Hannah, the cruel, cruel man.

You hear Sir, my daughter tells you, your ad⯑dreſſes were always diſagreeable.

Aye, Sir, hear it! liſten!

She told me another ſtory, Sir, in England.

Sir, do you perſiſt in inſulting me?

Yes, Madam, he is as obſtinate as a mule.

Mr. Whitmore. Sir, your fun becomes offenſive.

Then, Sir, it is of a piece with your love.

Indeed, Sir, you are rude beyond meaſure; why then if I muſt, I will tell you, Sir, I will not bear it.

Nor, Sir, will I bear an inſult from ſuch an old Creole as you are.

Creole or not, Sir, I've the ſpirit of the devil.

The devil, Sir, was always a coward; and you had a great deal of his ſpirit juſt now, when I ap⯑peared in armour, and frightened you out of your wits.

Aye that is true enough, I was a coward then I muſt own.

Perhaps, Sir, you are not ac⯑quainted that I am the firſt man in this country.

Yes Sir, you are as great here as Gulliver was amongſt the Lilluputians, becauſe they are all leſs than yourſelf; but come over to Old England, the nurſery of every thing good and great, and you will there, Mr. Winſtone, be as ſmall as the ſame Gulliver was at Broddignag.

I never was ſo talked to in my life, if a ſlave had ſaid that, I would have ſtabbed him; I will go this minute, order the ſhell to be blown, and you Sir, to be hooted off the eſtate, as a moſt dangerous incendiary.

Do you hear that?

What then?

Why you won't ſtay to be hooted, will you?

I am indeed a moſt precious fool; but this buſi⯑neſs will reform me quite.

I hope it will, for you have taken a vaſt deal of needleſs trouble; ycu did not find the red and white roſes in her cheeks as you expected.

No, they were blaſted all to nothing, and the poor girl herſelf looked like—

Like what?

I won't tell you.

How could you be ſo credulous as to arm your⯑ſelf at all points, but here comes Captain Greville and Mr. Wyndham.

Gentlemen your ſervant; you are come I ſup⯑poſe to take a ſlice of the old Judge's turtle, and a bottle or two of his claret.

We are indeed; I hope you will bear us com⯑pany.

That we cannot do, for we are preſently to be hooted off the eſtate; but pray give me leave to introduce you both to Mr. Lovemore, a friend of mine juſt arrived from England. Mr. Lovemore, [28] Mr. Wyndham and Captain Greville, they are both knights of valour and renown, and bred in the very boſom of chivalry.

In conſcience, Captain, he's at his jokes again.

He muſt in faith, for I was born in Ireland, and you Wyndham, we all know very well was laid by your mother in a piula pear buſh, for the firſt week after her delivery in this iſland, for it was there you firſt learnt to daub your cheeks with a new kind of rouge.

Pray, gentlemen, are there any remains of chi⯑valry in this iſland?

Chivalry! what is that?

It is uſual when a man makes love here the firſt time, to make a fool of himſelf.

God bleſs me, I thought you knew it was a cuſtom all over the world.

Is it a practice here, I ſay, for a man to clap [29] a helmet on his head, a ſhield on his arm, and to bear a ſpear in his right hand, when he goes to his miſtreſs.

No to be ſure, ha! ha! ha! you muſt be a Spa⯑niard by the queſtion.

Not at all, Sir: but this man muſt be the Spa⯑niard for making ſuch a fool of me; and who do you think, Sir, it was to ſee but a girl as brown as a berry.

Ha! ha! ha!

Nay, Sir, that, Sir, was your own fault; for had I not ſeen your romantic inclination, I ſhould'nt have duped you as I have done.

Pray was Miſs Winſtone the lady?

Oh! yes, Sir, ſhe was the lady, and he has juſt paid his vows at her feet, ſwore conſtancy on her hand, and is juſt going to get a veſſel to tranſport her to Salamancha.

Tranſport her to Negroe-Land you mean. I, [30] I loved the girl once, when ſhe was white, but ne⯑ver thought of her after ſhe became a Mulatto.

In faith ſhe loſt a number of lovers in a little time, and myſelf among the number.

Yes, ſhe may go and whiſtle now for her beauty; there is one good thing, it has broke her of her coquetry; ſhe is in as bad a condition as a peacock ſtript of his plumes.

It is very true, and the greater the pity; for this poor gentleman has come quite acroſs the Atlantic to ſee her.

In faith, Sir, it was bad policy.

Indeed, Sir, it was; but I hope you are both men of too much honour to publiſh it about.

Oh! Sir, you may depend upon our ſecrecy.

Harkee, Pinguin, we will not loſe a joke from a ſqueamiſh regard to honour: we will tell it where ever we go.

And harkee, we muſt not loſe the ſtory of the armour.

No, tell it all, for if you don't I will for you; he has thrown the poor girl into tears and the helmet at my head.

Come, Mr. Whitmore, let us be off.

No ſtay, Sir, you will find the old fellow's ta⯑ble more agreeable than his daughter: ſtay Sir till the evening, by which time you will be certain to have forgot the deluding joys of Venus in a goblet or two of foaming liquor; for my part I conſider his houſe as an ordinary for the military gentlemen, and old Winſtone merely as their landlord.

I ſee things getting ready for dinner; let us re⯑tire to the ladies, Captain; where, harkee, we ſhall hear the whole jeſt out, and laugh at the lover till our very ſides ach.

I muſt requeſt you, gentlemen, not to liſten to the miſrepreſentation of Mr. Winſtone, whoſe an⯑ger is excited from the imagined ſlight to his daugh⯑ter.

You may depend upon us, Sir, indeed, that we will expoſe you to all the iſland before the ſun ſets.

Hark, hark, I hear the ſhell, ſo let us be off.

To hell if you pleaſe.

We are half way there, for we are in the tor⯑rid-zone already.

Scene III.

Surely you will not perſiſt in your regard for a man who has openly inſulted you before your face.

Indeed, Hannah, be it as it will, I cannot help loving him; he muſt have loved me ſincerely, or do you think he would have come acroſs the wa⯑ter? I thought that he perfectly looked ſublime in his armour.

It was a pretty inſtance of his ſublimity, to in⯑ſult my poor uncle as he did; indeed I think him a very ſilly fellow, couſin.

You are a harſh judge; I would give the world to be able once more to bring him to me, though the attempt I'm afraid will be as fruitleſs as that of waſhing the blackamore white.

I could put you in a way now couſin, if I choſe it, to make a blackamore white.

Indeed!

Aye indeed!

Pray teach it me.

Teach it you! I thank you then for the confeſ⯑ſion, couſin Louiſa.

The confeſſion, what confeſſion?

That you are a blackamore.

This is monſtrous ill manners, what can you mean by this ſavage behaviour.

To make you humble, couſin.

The ladies ſeem at high words; I'll ſee if I can diſcover what they are at.

Do not be angry, couſin Louiſa, and I will actually put you in a way to recover your loſt beauty.

By what means pray?

Firſt tell me what return you will make me.

Why firſt to endeavour to make you as beauti⯑ful as myſelf, and next to turn all the lovers that are tireſome to me, over to you; where they may vow, ſwear, and proteſt, as long as you chuſe.

What ma'am, you would ſkim the cream of their [35] affections, and give me the ſour milk; if that is your reſolution you may hunt the ſecret out as you can.

The ſecret! how ſhould a girl who has ſpent all her days in this part of the world have any receipt for beauty? I am certain, Hannah, had you ever known this ſecret, you would have availed yourſelf of it long ago; but I am afraid that ſweet face of your's moſt ſtrongly contradicts what your tongue would pretend to diſcover.

No reflections ma'am upon my face, for I am now determined you ſhall never benefit by it, and ſhall at laſt die an old maid, for your unkindneſs and incredulity.

And you, couſin Hannah, like a million of old maids before you, carry the ſecret with you to the grave.

Fie, couſin Winſtone, is this your Engliſh edu⯑cation.

Theſe ladies are certainly, by their fondneſs for ſecrets, female Free maſons, and I long to hear the ſecret.

An Engliſh education, Hannah, has taught me to ſubdue all prejudice and fooliſh credulity, and an Engliſh boarding-ſchool has early initiated me into every art of adorning the perſon. I am alſo con⯑vinced [36] this ſecret of your's, had it been good for any thing, would have been made uſe of by — in Pall Mall, or Sangwine in the Strand, amongſt their other tinctures and waſhes.

Be as faithleſs, ma'am, as you pleaſe; but as you doubt my ſecret, you may endeavour to gueſs it, and if you have courage to make the trial, improve, and benefit on this hint.

May I never gain my complexion again if I have not found it out; but it is a cruel, cruel remedy.

Pride you know, Miſs, feels no pain: had I been as vain as you, I might have tried it long ago.

But ſhow me, my dear Hannah, how the opera⯑tion is performed, and I will run the riſk of the ſmart; I have heard it glanced at, but never ac⯑compliſhed.

Oh! it is very poſſible, very poſſible.

And will it make me as roſy and as lilly-like as ever?

It is better than all the waſhes in the world.

Oh! then I ſhall not mind a little pain; come [37] along couſin Hannah, let us prepare it, for I will certainly try it before I ſleep.

Conceited, vain girl! ſhe has no idea of half the torture ſhe muſt undergo; but I will endeavour to lay it on properly, and burn her to ſome purpoſe.

Methinks I ſee the men already paying me a thouſand new compliments: you look charmingly to day, cries one; you bloom like a new roſe, cries another; you are like a perfect Venus riſing out of the ſea, ſays a third.

While you, couſin Winſtone, will be like a new tried piece of gold, finer for going thro' the fire.

Oh! yes, quite at changed creature; you ſhall ſee then couſin how I'll treat the men in their turn.

Aye I dare ſay you will give yourſelf as many airs as ever,

but there is one comfort, you will be well burnt for it. Here is the receipt, couſin,

Bury ſome caſhoo nuts nine days under ground; take them up, and extract the oil, which mix with a little old rum, and lay it on the face with a feather, and the ninth day after the ſkin will come off in a maſk.

Oh! come along, come along Hannah.

Yes, couſin, you ſhall be burnt to ſome purpoſe.

Scene IV.

Egad I have heard the ſecret, and have a good mind to try it myſelf; but it is very painful, and I unfortunately could never bear pain in my life: I cut my finger once, and the doctor only put a little Turlington to it, and the ſmart I recollect brought tears into my eyes; if I ſhould try it now to improve my pretty face, and it ſhould pain me, I ſhould certainly caper about, roar aloud, and ſo blaze the ſecret all over the iſland; ho! ho! I'll call one of the black fellows, try it on him firſt, and if he endures it, I may then venture to try it upon myſelf: apropos, here one of them comes; here, Mr. Quacou, have you a parcel of caſhoo ſeeds near at hand?

Yes, Maſſah, I have ſome for the deſert after dinner.

Will you go then and beat the oil out of them, and when you have extracted it, bring it to me in a phial.

What you want it for, Maſſah?

To ſkin my face to be ſure, to make me quite [39] fair, take the ſun burn off, and make the women admire me.

Does it make a negroe man white, Maſſah?

It does more; for it makes him ſo lovely, that the very white women will be glad to adopt him as a huſband; but I will tell you it is kept a profound ſecret from all the blacks, leaſt they ſhould become as white as ourſelves, and ſo no longer continue in ſubjection to us.

Oh Maſſah! Maſſah! Maſſah!

There's a ſecret for you: ſet them about ſkinning their faces, and in a little time they will ſhake off the yoke and fetters of ſervitude.

Oh! Maſſah, me go get the oil directly.

Immediately, how eaſily I have duped the fellow. For the value of a black dog, I will put him in pickle at once, and if poſſible make him more like the devil than ever; he loves his liberty however, though old Winſtone is in general a kind maſter, and feeds his houſe-negroes as well as himſelf: however if this feminine piece of buſineſs ſhould get to the ears of the women, what will they ſay? Let them ſay what they will, I do not care, ſo they do but ad⯑mire me: faith the experiment will do well, if as it [40] gives the black fellow the opportunity of ſhaking off his chains, it ſhould enable me to lead freſh cap⯑tives in mine—But here he comes already.

Maſſah—haſte, Maſſah, here is the oil.

You cannot make too much haſte then to gain your liberty; ſit down then, and make haſte to re⯑deem your freedom.

He will burn, Maſſah.

Quite the contrary—oil is a ſovereign remedy againſt all inflammations; ſit down, I ſay

Now while I rub it over your face you muſt ſhut your eyes, or you will ſuppoſe you ſee the devil about you—now for it—here it goes—you will find it cool your face amazingly; a little upon your noſe to take the new rum and ſpirits of wine out; there now—how do you find yourſelf?

He burn too much,

ha! ha! ha! Maſſah, try it yourſelf, he quite cool; ſit down, Maſſah, and let me cool you.

A very little of it then,

Now Maſſah, how you like it yourſelf?

Like it, you black raſcal, why you have pep⯑pered and ſalted my face.

Ha! ha! ha! how you like it, Maſſah? he no quite cool?

How can you bear it, you dog?

How can a negroe feel pain; we never feel when you beat us?

Zounds the very devil is pulling my noſe off, and my ſkin burns like an infidels in the inquiſition. Help, help, help, murder, hell and the devil.

Which way is he?

There that's he, that black raſcal is the devil, and is burning me up,

How is this?

I ſee the gentleman is inſane. He ſees what does not exiſt. His diſorder lies deep.

You miſtake, Sir, for it is merely on the ſurface.

Aye Sir, all over my face, noſe, and eyes

Oh! doctor, a poultice immediately.

A bliſter of blue-flies would be better.

Oh! I'm damned for ever.

What the devil have you been about? you puz⯑zle the doctor himſelf.

I'm in torture! in agony.

I am glad of it; ſo much the better, the greater will be the cure—take the patient to bed.

Fling a pail of ciſtern water over him.

Fire muſt expel fire, ſo hold a ſhaving diſh of coals to his face.

Put him on the grid-iron at once, for I ſee what he has been about.

Oh! my face, my face, my dear face.

Scene. I. A loud Laugh heard behind. An Apartment in the Houſe of Mr. Whitmore.

RIDICULE you ſee purſues me from one end of the iſland to the other; ſurely all the people who arrive at this period muſt think the iſland inha⯑bited by owls.

True, there is ſuch a hooting, I do not wonder at it: for my own part, I cannot help laughing as often as it comes acroſs me.

Why I have been long enough in the iſland to have furniſhed a new ſubject for diverſion.

Very true; but it is a rule here never to loſe a good joke, ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha!

that is becauſe there is ſuch a ſcarcity of bon mots; I attempted you ſaw to laugh at myſelf, but all my laughter made them ha! ha! ha! as loud again as before.

True, true, to a proverb. I pity you indeed.

Damn your pity; if you preſume to pity me— if you preſume to pity me!

What, will you then be laughed at in preference?

Zounds no; but you are welcome to beat out my brains.

There is no fun in that; if I do that, you will make us no more jokes.

So I ſee I am a buffoon to the whole iſland.

What Sir, am I a pickled herring, a merry Andrew, a jack pudding, Sir?

Oh! yes Sir, you are a walking repoſitory of [45] fun for the whole iſland; a noſtrum againſt the ſpleen; better than bark for the fever or the ague; indeed a punch himſelf could not have pleaſed us better.

I ſee, Sir, the cauſe of all this affected riſibility. The imagined ſlight put upon a Weſt Indian fe⯑male, has turned all the heads here both young and old into the ſoft texture of the calabaſh, and their hearts into the ratling nature of a tropical ſand box.

No, Sir, they laugh from their ſouls, I believe; I do from mine, I muſt confeſs; even the Coun⯑cil and Aſſembly laughed at you.

The Council and Aſſembly are fools. Let them laugh on.

They have ſent over too, a moſt diverting anec⯑dote of it to the Parliament in England; now if you ſay they are fools, we will indict you for Mag⯑natum Scandalum.

A pretty inſtance of their wiſdom faith. This is more like the government of Lilliputians now than ever. I cannot ſee a woman without a maſk, all aſhamed to ſhew their faces.

Quite the reverſe, the ſhame lies upon you. The [46] maſk is only a hint to you to hide yours; they indeed put it to theirs, as we put the fore-finger on the noſe to a child, thus, when it does amiſs. ah! ah!

Aye, I know I was pointed at. But I ſhall leave you to yourſelves; I am beſet on all ſides: one queſtions me concerning the lady's beauty, ano⯑ther admires my taſte, and a third exclaims in wonder at my gallantry; and in ſhort I am a Don Quixote, Sancha Pancha, and every thing they think that is mad and ridiculous.

Scene II. An Apartment in the Houſe of Mr. Winſtone.

Now, couſin Hannah, what will the impudent adventurer ſay now?

Say? why he will not know you to be the ſame perſon.

Oh! I am ſo lovely now, he would perfectly pine out his ſoul at my feet.

But you would not let him, would you?

Not let him! I am determined he ſhall die; yes he ſhall die for it, I'll aſſure you, Hannah.

That is the height of cruelty, couſin. But take care, for he is this very moment in ſight with Mr. Whitmore; they neither of them will know you, I dare ſay.

Let him come, for I can now meet him with con⯑fidence; alas! he little knows how much my va⯑nity has coſt me.

Nor any one elſe indeed. You perfectly danced a rigadoon for the firſt hour after the oil was laid on.

I actually felt as if my face was the prey of ſcor⯑pions and centipedes or of muſquitos.

Yes, and how you began to abuſe the man. Lord, Lord, I thought you would have died under the operation.

But now it is over, how charmingly I feel; who would not undergo a little pain to redeem loſt beauty, or to give delight to the man we love?

You had love, and love enough; for you may recollect you ſaid you thought the very God of Love himſelf was running his ſharp pointed arrows into [48] your face, which indeed he could not have done had he not blinded you before.

Indeed it was the moſt comical, and at the ſame time the moſt painful ſenſation I ever felt.

You were one moment laughing, the next cry⯑ing, then ſtamping, and then ſneezing, that upon my word I began to tremble for you myſelf.

Verſes and ſonnets, now Hannah, you ſhall ſee will fly from all quarters; one bard will praiſe my eye brows, another my complexion, and all together join in chorus on the ſubject of my ſkill, fortitude, and reſolution.

Why may you not be ſatyriſed and lampooned, inſtead of being praiſed and commended? why not nick-named and laughed at for your folly? and in ſhort put in the claſs of thoſe animals who actually caſt their ſkins off.

Why if I am claſſed in that rank, I will ſend the ſkin of my face to England, there to be depoſited in the Britiſh-Muſeum, and preſerved amongſt the other curioſities of the place.

It would have been a greater curioſity, couſin Winſtone, to have ſeen you in pickle yourſelf, as well as the curious graft of the cuſhoo upon the body of the pine, ha! hal ha!

How different we look now Hannah. You look juſt as I did, when the oil began to poiſon my face; you ſeem under the operation now, and not I. My ſtars! what a contraſt! ha! ha! ha!

By the ſun and moon, Miſs, your vanity is enough to turn your head: preſume to ſhew me any more airs, or make any more odious compari⯑ſons, and I will very ſhortly render your face as yellow, as I now have made it fair.

You underſtand the art Hannah, and have prac⯑tiſed it too I believe in rendering your face all colours.

Good gracious me!

You are a witch Hannah.

A witch, couſin Winſtone?

Yes, a witch, for making yourſelf ſo brown and me ſo fair.

I will tell my uncle Winſtone you call me a witch.

And I will tell him you poiſoned my face, till my head and every feature grew as large as a bloated toad; not only that, but as he is Judge of this iſland, he ſhall bring you under the cognizance of that law, made againſt witchcraft, which will moſt certainly condemn you to be burnt.

And you couſin Winſtone, as the witches ſub⯑ject, every thing belonging to her, you know, ſhould be conſigned to the flames.

In truth Hannah, I think it would be to the inter⯑eſt of us both to keep the ſecret as long as poſſible. However I muſt make haſte to ſhew myſelf, and the aſtoniſhing transformation that has been wrought in me; ſo come along.

Scene II. An Apartment in the Houſe of Mr. Whitmore.

Patience, patience, Mr. Lovemore.

This is not a country to learn patience in. I am ſomething like Orpheus, who was fool enough to go to hell to fetch back his wife Eurydice.

Aye, Euridice! Euridice! he cried, as you did Miſs Winſtone.

In one word, Mr. Whitmore, I begin to deteſt this little damn'd ſpot more than ever.

You would not even now raffle for the lady I ſuppoſe.

No, by heaven! I ſee I muſt take conſolation with a black wench at laſt.

Poor fellow, I pity thee!

Damn it you are always pitying me, though the very firſt to expoſe me.

I ſincerely pity thee, to think thou ſhouldſt have come all this way, in queſt of an angel of light, yet be obliged to take up with one who has ſo much affinity to the devil.

There it is. Now I ſuppoſe you will tell all the Iſland.

To be ſure, to be ſure man: I would'nt loſe a joke for the world, ha! ha! ha!

Jokes, one would think, were as ſcarce as drops of rain, and that the inhabitants ſtood with their mouths open, to catch and ſwallow them down. But what, Sir, has become of Miſs Winſtone all this while? She has been now ill near a fortnight I think.

Yes your cold armour ſtruck ſuch a damp to her ſoul, that ſhe has been laid up with the ague ever ſince.

Mum for that. I'll embark immediately. Your vermin in this part of the world are very fond of freſh Engliſh fleſh; my legs are now bliſtered with the knats, my toes devoured by chiggers, a centi⯑pes ſtung my noſe the other night, and while I was at dinner a few days ſince, juſt as I was about to taſte a bit of the moſt delicious part of the turtle, behold, to the admiration of the company, a large cock roach flew pop into my mouth.

It muſt have been what we call a drummer in this part of the world.

I don't know what it was, but it was the moſt nauſeous morſel I ever taſted in my life.

You ſpit it up I ſuppoſe.

Oh no! it followed the turtle down my throat.

Poor fellow, I pity thee!

Damn it, you are always pitying me.

Becauſe thou art always deſerving it. I will then if you pleaſe accompany you to the water ſide, and pity you there for the laſt time.

I wiſh I was well out at ſea, with all my heart. I have already been drank into a fever, when I meant moſt to drink healths; and am indeed ſo apprehenſive of a famine, that I wiſh to get back again as faſt as I can.

Do not be afraid of that. I have an antidote againſt it.

Pray tell me what it is?

It is daily practiſed by our negroes, and it is this—to bind the belly hard.

To bind the belly! Why is it not a very ſavage cuſtom?

To bind it externally I mean, with a handker⯑chief or band, thus.

But how does it compenſate for the loſs of food? It appears to me worſe than the Ruſſian bread, made of ſawduſt.

Why you ſee the ſenſation of pain, ariſing from hunger, is produced by the action of the two coats of the ſtomach acting upon each other; now the bandage confining the ſtomach, and preventing this action, of courſe takes away the pain. This therefore is one argument among many others to prove that digeſtion is performed by the action of the maſtication of the ſtomach, and not by putre⯑faction as ſome phyſicians erroneouſly ſuppoſed.

This indeed is natural, and obvious enough; but it certainly cannot ſupport a man, as you would have me believe. I ſhould be deviliſhly loth to be ſerved in that manner.

It anſwers ſo well Sir, that a negroe, deprived of his uſual food, and at the very moment without an ounce to ſupport nature, will continue at his work for many hours.

It is a rare cuſtom indeed. I will publiſh it at my return to England, as a precious preſervative [55] to all hungry poets, extravagant rakes, and proud beggars; but Sir, as you are about this, could'nt you teach your ſlaves to chew their cud at once; they are the only beaſts of burthen that do not I believe.

That would be bad policy. It would be to open a ſecond ſtomach when we could not anſwer the cravings of the firſt.

Oh! I recollect the reaſon now of your putting the mouth-piece upon them; but in caſe that ſhould not anſwer, and they ſhould by chance ſlip any thing down the throat, egad you'd let it choak them by confining the ſtomach.

That is a reaſon founded in your own ingenuity.

Oh! Mr. Whitmore, ſlavery is a damned thing. I was near flinging an overſeer t'other day into a cauldron of hot liquor for flogging a ſlave beyond his deſerts. Here comes Captain Wyndham, bring⯑ing laughter and ridicule along with him, I dare ſay.

Gentlemen, your humble ſervant. What Mr. Lovemore muſing again upon that dear fair one, the adorable Miſs Winſtone.

Wyndham thouſeeſt things ſacred and profane con⯑ſpire [56] againſt the poor fellow. Women ugly and handſome inſult him to his face; ſpinſters and de⯑cayed matrons ridicule and laugh at him behind his back.

Give thyſelf no further trouble, Lovemore; and as for Miſs Winſtone, if ſhe pretends to laugh at you, believe me it is on the wrong ſide of her face; for ſhe is now like a bird that had moulted its fea⯑thers away.

I am rejoiced to my ſoul to hear it; any other woman at the point of death would have aſked me pardon for the fruitleſs trouble ſhe had given me.

It is quite the reverſe with her; for ſhe did no⯑thing but abuſe you I am told, and that you in fact run as much in her head, as ſhe did once in your heart.

As ſhe has caſt her feathers as you ſay, I am in hopes ſhe will caſt her bill likewiſe, and leave off ſpeaking.

I have juſt had a commiſſion from old Winſtone to bring you and our friend Whitmore to his eſtate to ſee a moſt precious piece of wax-work. This he reckons a great curioſity, and wiſhes you to view it before you return to England.

Wax-work! why the ſun is ſufficient to melt it in this climate.

So I ſhould think; and I wonder I never heard of it before. Old Winſtone is the laſt man whom I ſhould ſuppoſe a connoiſſeur; and ſo enlightened in natural hiſtory, that I am certain he would not know the ſhell of a turtle from that of a crab, if it was not that he generally had one or the other every day at his table.

But come, let us proceed without delay. I am in hopes of ſeeing his beautiful daughter, and know⯑ing whether her face is grown any browner than it was; indeed I am not ſorry for it; for the ſun which tanned her complexion has turned the beſt ſpirits of her diſpoſition to vinegar.

Scene IV. An Apartment in the Houſe of Mr. Winſtone, in which are placed different Figures in Wax-work; a Pedeſtal ſtanding among the Figures, intended for Miſs Winſtone.

Now, now, my dear, we will revenge ourſelves on this mad, unmannerly Engliſhman; now he ſhall ſee what he ſhall ſee; by the ſhades of our forefa⯑thers, and of thoſe of Breſlaw and Jonas, nothing will ever equal, ha! ha! ha!

It will do charmingly if I can but keep from laughing. Oh! I long to make fools of the men, ha! ha! ha!

That you ſhall do immediately: only keep to the pedeſtal, and as ſoon as he comes be as com⯑poſed as death.

I at this moment hear their feet; they are com⯑ing greedily on: Captain Wyndham ſwaggering and rattling his ſword, Mr. Whitmore cracking his jokes, and poor deceived Mr. Lovemore led like an aſs in an halter. There now I am as ſtill as the ſun upon a dial.

Gentlemen, your humble ſervant. Mr. Love⯑more, notwithſtanding our late miſunderſtanding, I have invited you here to ſee theſe precious figures in wax-work; ſo that return when you will to to England, you will be able to tell them old Win⯑ſtone did not ſpend all his time in digging cane holes, or erecting windmills or whirligigs on his eſtate.

Oh! Sir, quite the reverſe. I have been juſt telling him you were one of the greateſt philoſo⯑phers of the age; and theſe figures convince me of it, for they are very fine, very fine indeed.

They are very fine, very fine indeed.

But the ſtatue of that lady, repreſented as lean⯑ing [59] upon the pedeſtal, is the moſt like the dear creature your daughter who won my heart in Eng⯑land.

Upon my ſoul ſhe is very handſome.

I obſerve Sir, however, that there is a degree of ſtrength in the lines of the face, and though the figure repreſents a perſon aſleep, it is like one un⯑der the painful preſſure and influence of the night⯑mare.

Juſt ſo Sir: my poor daughter could never ſleep without it. Blooded continually; but indeed it was of little ſervice, for her poor dear mother fell a victim to it herſelf.

Aye poor ſoul! you ſhould tell Mr. Lovemore Sir, that the ſtaggers and the night-mare are the prevailing complaints of this iſland.

That I can well believe, as I have been ſtag⯑gered at every thing I have heard ſince my arrival. Oh! this divine creature Sir! ſhe takes up all my attention.

So it ſeems. But pray who does this black fi⯑gure repreſent?

That Sir repreſents the identical figure of a ſlave, [60] who having abſconded and hid himſelf, was at length diſcovered, brought home, and ſeverely flogged; but happening to die under the laſh, was unfortunately, (for his expeditions to the woods,) ſomewhat too prematurely ſent to the ſhades.

Your anger then Sir, did not purſue him after death?

O God! Sir, no. He haunted my conſcience for ever after; he appeared at night by my bed ſide, and in ſhort troubled me ſo much, that in order to appeaſe the fellow's ghoſt I erected this to his honour.

He was a revengeful fellow, though a damn'd good cooper, and came from Guinea. I knew him well.

Now the ghoſt of another country ſlave would not have troubled me, but have lain quiet enough.

Heaven I ſee has revenged the old man's ſeve⯑rity, and for a ſlave killed has returned him a daughter burned; for a black loſt, a mulatto gained.

It was well Sir, that as you cut ſhort the thread of his mortality, you raiſed this buſt to his fame and renown.

There was nothing for it but that; the group of [61] other figures you ſee, are pieces done from fancy, white, black, and yellow; but that which takes up Mr. Lovemore's attention is the principal one.

Would you be ſo obliging as to permit me to touch this wax, for upon my ſoul the artificial ver⯑million of the lips looks ſo much like real, balmy, benign true blood, that I am almoſt tempted to kiſs them. If I gaze longer, like the ſtatuariſt of old I ſhall forget myſelf, and fall in love with a piece of wax. I will! I muſt! thou ſweeteſt piece of artificial nature! Ha!

Why damme Captain, old Winſtone deals with the devil.

Yes, you know his conſcience was haunted be⯑fore.

He is now like a Perſian worſhipping the Sun.

Gentlemen, what is the matter?

How can you aſk, when you ſurprize us ſo. Is the lady really Miſs Winſtone, or a piece of organized wax work.

Go to her and ſee.

Not I faith.

Nor I, for I have not faith. How theſe women love miſchief; ſhe wiſhed to ſurprize me, I ſup⯑poſe, becauſe I was a ſoldier.

Well, Sir, how do you feel now?

Oh! Sir, I cannot tell you. I begin to ſuſpect the wax figures to be all impoſtors.

And ſo do I. We muſt take care what we ſay, and keep cloſe together.

I'm afraid old Winſtone means to wreck his re⯑venge upon me, and that the other figures are all bullies.

Ha! ha! ha! you three ſneaking, cowardly fellows, hold up your heads, and look upon me. You, Captain Wyndham, what do you mean by pro⯑faning this place, after making the unfortunate Miſs Winſtone the ſubject of your ſcandalous con⯑verſation and ridicule; do you come here with that brown face, and falſe heroic air of yours, to endea⯑vour once more to ſubdue the creature you deſpiſed?

It is her ſure enough.

Well ſaid, my dear: upbraid them to the pur⯑poſe.

You too, Mr. Whitmore, what do you do here, Sir? Do you think, with that ugly face, any wo⯑man will ever adopt you even as her gallant? are not you enough to frighten the God of Love, blunt his arrows, and be the very ſport of all genuine paſ⯑ſion?

Charming girl! how delightfully ſevere ſhe is.

Now comes my turn.

You laſt though not leaſt, Mr. Lovemore.

Aye ſo I ſaid; though laſt, not leaſt in love I hope Madam.

Laſt in love, and firſt in hate, Sir.

Do not upbraid me, Madam; for if I had any idea you could have been ſo metamorphoſed, I vow and proteſt I would have taken more pains to have deſerved your love.

Contemptible as the evaſion is, I believe it; and the worſt that ſhall befall you is to be moſt hear⯑tily laughed at.

That I have been already, Madam. Could not you change the puniſhment to running the gaunt⯑let? Regard me, Madam, as a poor, ſilly fellow, who came a great way on a wild gooſe chace, who knew no better, one of the fools of nature, and the ſlave of your ſex.

Therefore the beſt ſubject for its ſcorn.

Well done, my dear. How charmingly ſhe re⯑taliates. Why Mr. Lovemore, my daughter is ſe⯑vere upon you.

Yes Sir, if you ſet her on.

In truth, Sir, I do; and had ſhe not made amends for your ill manners by ſhooting you plump through the heart juſt now, I was determined to have run you through the body.

That, Sir, you may do yet, and I will be your ſe⯑cond. Poor Lovemore, how I pity thee!

Damn your pity! you are always pitying me!

For my part I expect to ſee all the other figures ſtart into life. They are all black, white, and yel⯑low, the natural children of old Winſtone. How, pray Madam, was the miracle wrought in your countenance?

Tell us, Madam, that we may make ourſelves as lovely as you could wiſh.

Lovely, ha! ha! ha!

My daughter's method of regaining her com⯑plexion is kept a profound ſecret; but you and Captain Wyndham may regain your's by the aſſiſt⯑ance of ſteel filings, brown ſand, ſcalding hot wa⯑ter, and a ſcowering bruſh.

Why that will take the ſkin off!

The old gentleman will not tell us, Wyndham, for I ſee he means to monopolize the patent to himſelf.

Yes, he is afraid of my carrying it to England be⯑fore him; but it is of no conſequence, as it has wrought ſo agreeable a change in this charming lady.

Well ſaid, Sir. In England you compared me [66] to alabaſter; juſt now you thought me a piece of wax-work: but it is the way of all mankind, whatever they imagine us at firſt, they find us mere downright fleſh and blood.

Harkee! have you a mind to try old Winſtone's receipt?

What ſcower my face? be laughed at as Love⯑more has been? oh! no, not for all the world.

Shall we ſtay then till the patent comes out?

Oh! by all means. I would not ſcald my face for all the women in the Grand Signior's Seraglio.

Shall we kneel down then and aſk Miſs Win⯑ſtone's pardon for laughing at her; beſides ſhe is really ſo wonderfully mended, that my knees bend under me without hardly knowing the cauſe.

With all my heart; but we muſt do it genteely. So here goes.

Oh! this is rare, ha! ha! ha!

We do it becauſe we know you love rarities.

I wiſh Hannah was here, with all my heart; but [67] ſhe keeps out of the way becauſe my triumph would make her heart ach.

Here is victory compleat—a victory too over theſe—. Come, my girl, let me embrace you.

Why the father himſelf is in love with her.

I wiſh I knew what the had done to herſelf to make us all ſuch fools.

It has ſucceeded moſt rarely.

I Madam am the happy man.

But a moſt unfortunate knight-errant.

They are all at loggerheads now to ſerve her. I have abſolutely a great mind to ſkin my face, and marry the firſt beautiful young woman I meet; for the ſucceſs has been wonderful.

I was ſorry to hear of your indiſpoſition, Madam; but am now happy to find your beauty was all that while improving.

Yes Sir, I am happy to find that my indiſpoſition has ſo much improved your manners.

Oh! Madam, it has improved us all.

Miſs Winſtone was juſt as long in the attempt as —

As what, Sir?

As a grub would be turning into a butterfly, or the ſoldier crab changing his ſhell.

Odious! odious!

A devil of a compariſon.

Ha! ha! ha!

One would imagine, Sir, by your unpoetical compariſon of the grub, you were imported here from Grub-ſtreet; but ſweet Madam be under no uneaſineſs, for I will protect you from all ſuch ver⯑min.

You will want my armour again for that.

Oh! Madam, how ſhall I hide my confuſion, or how expreſs the ſentiments of my returning paſſion for you? Can you forgive me my paſt folly, and once more receive a faithful, [69] ſincere penitent: in a word, Madam, do I owe the wonderful tranſmigration to your affection for me?

Affection for you! ha! ha! ha! Are you ſuch a ſimpleton to think ſo? You, Mr. Lovemore, are the laſt of men who ſhare any part of my af⯑fections.

Affections indeed? ha! ha! Only hear him, Wyndham; he has the impudence to talk of affec⯑tion.

Harkee, Sir.

What do you ſay?

I pity you moſt ſincerely, upon my ſoul.

Damn, damn your pity, Sir.

How wonderfully fooliſh he looks; upon my ſoul he is biting his nails; his eyes wink as if he was going to cry.

I do not wonder at it. A man never looks ſo fooliſh, never ſo much like a hang-dog, as when a pretty woman refuſes his ſuit.

Aye, my dear Sir, I know it by experience. It [70] is to a red-coat worſe than a battle-ax, bayonets, or ſcalping knives.

The whole iſland you know, Madam, has rung with my unfortunate, my incurable paſſion.

And the whole iſland Sir, are determined to make you ring with theirs; for they hold the virtue and the happineſs of their families in this part of the world in ſuch high eſteem, that they would not ſuffer either to be trampled up by any mortal upon earth, though more than Briton born.

No that we will not ſuffer either to be trampled upon. Will we, Wyndham?

No upon my word.

So it appears by the jokes they have cracked up⯑on me.

The jokes are only a prelude Sir to ſomething more ſerious; as gentle currents of air ſpread ſmall fires into extenſive conflagrations.

You do not mean to burn me, Sir. The women could not ſtrike with their eyes, ſo they are deter⯑mined to put me into an actual furnace at laſt.

Why don't you make the inſulted lady ſome apology.

Apology! I might tell her indeed that I am ſorry, ſorry, very ſorry, ſorry, and ſo on.

You are ſorry and ſorry, and very ſorry. That's like a great booby of a ſchool-boy, who cannot be otherwiſe after a ſevere beating.

Vile reptile protect yourſelf

Murder! my image! my image! death! Mr. Whitmore, what do you mean? I wiſh you were laid at the bottom of the ſea, and your friend there packed off the iſland.

Sir, I proteſt I am ſorry, ſorry, and very ſorry.

Damn your compaſſion; for it ſpares neither things animate or inanimate. I will have a dozen of field negroes for this.

They ſhall be lazy ones then, and as incapable of ſervitude as your image.

I ſay, Mr. Winſtone.

Damn your remonſtrances, Sir: ſee what you've done.

Oh! Madam, whatever my paſt conduct has been, accept my repentant vows; your changed features are ſufficient to warm the heart of an her⯑mit; and theſe, added to Miſs Winſtone's now durable good qualities, will ever enſlave the heart of her poor, unhappy, unfortunate Lovemore.

Lie ſtill my heart, and teach me to repay his ſcorn.

My poor image.

Will not you raiſe him up, Madam?

Not I Sir; it is too much trouble; in this part of the world we require aſſiſtance, and take care to let others ſhift for themſelves.

Will you permit me to return Madam, without one kind, one tender look.

I ſee there is nothing to be done: why this then finally fixes my reſolution [73] of going back to England. What a figure I ſhall make when I land at Dover or Deal.

Aye juſt like a ſtripped ſmuggler for all the world.

I boaſted to ſome brother collegians that I was going to Colchis in queſt of the golden fleece; compared myſelf to Jaſon and the lady to Medea; but I will verily go back to my old muſty college, take a degree, forget the ladies entirely, and con⯑ſole myſelf the remainder of my days, with black ſtrap and philoſophy.

The joke though will attend you all the way; it will not loſe ſight of you depend upon it.

What, Mr. Lovemore, excites your vanity on the preſent occaſion, may more probably be attributed to my own. Is it not the pleaſure of our ſex to lead yours in chains? and do not we wiſh for beauty more to make us generally admired, than to drag one dull, ſtupid help-mate along all one's life?

Certainly, Madam. You ſee, Lovemore, Miſs Winſtone is a public ſpirited lady; ſhe did not put herſelf to pain only for you, but that Wyndham and myſelf alſo might be among the number of her ad⯑mirers.

The gentlemen however are not yet ſufficiently [74] informed on this ſubject of tranſmigration. If you pleaſe Sir, introduce the effeminate Mr. Gre⯑ville, for he poor man has met with ſuch an acci⯑dent, ha! ha! ha!

He has been ſcowering his face I dare ſay.

Aye till he has made it ſhine again.

Do Sir fetch him to the gentlemen.

I had difficult work to bring him. He was very ſtubborn.

I know Sir you brought me here to be laughed at, and I deſerve it.

What haſt thou been doing with that ſweet pretty face of thine?

Ha! ha! Harlequin touched it with his wand, and turned it to the ſtripes of his jacket.

It's like a carrion crow hung upon a barn door, and bleached with the beams of the ſun.

Or like the laſt remaining dregs in the crucible of ſome old chymiſt.

In ſhort gentlemen, the devil put his fingers on his face, and ſcratched it to this faſhion. Now you ſhall ſee the devil himſelf.

Fie, fie, Mr. Greville, how can you help it?

It is a misfortune gentlemen, and it's cruel to laugh at me.

The ſcrubbing bruſh and ſteel filings have taken all the ſkin off his face.

Here is the devil indeed!

He looks as if he had run into the woods of America, and all the monkeys and baboons there had ſcratched him into a leproſy.

As for Mr. Greville, I cannot help regretting that a perſon of your taſte and refinement ſhould have been born in this climate; as in the land from whence I came, inſtead of a cuſhoo-nut, a man, [76] by the aſſiſtance of a little brown paint mixed with a portion of vermillion, would have made himſelf every thing charming and faſhionable.

What a pity, what a pity it is I did not know it before.

Mr. Lovemore, Greville is ſorry, ſorry, very ſorry, ſorry, and ſo on. It is impoſſible he ſhould ever make his fortune now in the way of wedlock, unleſs the widow of ſome fellow who ſhewed wild beaſts ſhould think fit to marry him, expoſe him as one of the pole-cat kind for money, and take his face by way of dower or pin money.

What has your couſin Hannah too, Madam, been ſcowering? has ſhe been improving her beauty?

Oh! yes poor girl, ſhe has been trying, but all to very little purpoſe: the ſun burn and yellow jaundice together has ſunk ſo very deep into her face, that nothing under the ſurgeon's knife could ever poſſibly eradicate them thence.

What a deſperate caſe.

You have a new ſubject for pity then, Whitmore.

But not ſo good as the old; no you are the beſt ſubject for pity I ever ſaw under the ſun.

He wants to change the fool's cap and bell from [77] his own head to that of the poor lady's; that is not like a true knight-errant I muſt ſay.

Aye that is cowardly and pitiful to a degree.

But Mr. Lovemore, what if I ſhould loſe my complexion again?

Why then you muſt repeat the experiment again.

Yes and have another ſuit of armour, and ano⯑ther 'Squire like myſelf to help him out.

Mr. Lovemore, my reſentment is paſt; my knowledge of your family, fortune, and connec⯑tions, teach me to pardon the follies of an under⯑ſtanding crouded with romance. In mere com⯑pliment to a heart regulated by the greateſt philan⯑thropy and benevolence, my daughter is your's, I give her to you.

With your eſtate, Sir, in ſee ſimple I preſume.

Hold your tongue, Sir; what right have you to preſume.

Now Whitmore here is an end to your pity.

An encreaſe you mean. I pity thee more than ever. Mr. Greville with his blotched face, the black fellow with his, Miſs Winſtone, who was ſome time ago on the rack, are not ſo much to be [78] pitied. Come along Wyndham, he is no longer fit for us, he is going to be married.

Oh! I pity him then from my very ſoul; harkee

if he has not his face ſkinned depend upon it he will have it ſcratched before the year is at an end.

Get you gone, and tell the driver to lay you on nine and thirty laſhes.

Lud a mercy, Maſſah.

I am doomed to more torture and ridicule, Ma⯑dam, than either of theſe men. Have you. Madam, forgot the hours of mutual endearments ſpent be⯑tween us in England? is there no hope? or has this inhoſpitable climate blaſted all remembrance, all tender recollection of my former attachment.

Pride, thou juſt and noble ſupport of my ſex's dignity, leave me not at laſt, but ſtill aſſiſt and bear me through this hour of trial!

Forgive him, my dear; and let him ſee that though we are in this part of the world ſubject to ſudden and violent fits of anger, yet we are as in⯑capable of bearing malice as we are of bearing wrongs.

Now, now ſhe is going to make a ſpeech, huſh.

Sir, there was a time I muſt own when my heart [79] gloried in the affections of Mr. Lovemore; and though I was by the commands of my father torn from his vows to a country where I were often, and conſtantly made me yet out of compaſſion for him I refuſed both my hand and heart to thoſe that requeſted them: ſuch were once my ſenti⯑ments towards you; but now inſulted, rejected, what ſhall I ſay to your importunities?

That he muſt croſs the ſeas twice every year for half a dozen years to come, before you will even let him kiſs your hand.

Nay then without further delay, I will give it him.

This is more than I deſerve; my heart over⯑flows with gratitude.

Know then, Mr. Lovemore, ſince my father has e'en given me to your love, that I was endued with fortitude enough to ſtand againſt all the ſhocks of ridicule and deriſion which were thrown out at my loſt beauty; yet the tender recollection of my firſt attachment revived all the latent ſparks of paſſion in my breaſt, and has been the occaſion of the ſur⯑prizing change you ſee.

Tranſporting change! No more Miſs Winſtone, but my own dear, long loſt maid.

Harkee, friend, the cock has found an unex⯑pected [80] pearl upon the dunghill, and is now begin⯑ning to crow.

Upon my ſoul my pretty chick has turned the Captain into a cock, and ſet him a crowing.

He means Sir, I ſuppoſe, to make me run away.

Yes as the lion did before you.

Yes he frightened the dam, and now he means to terrify the cub.

Her acceptance of him at laſt ſurprized me I aſ⯑ſure you not a little; for I expected her to have ſent him back to England with a box on the ear.

It's a pity ſhe did not, ha! ha! ha! Lovemore adieu! We pity thee, my dear boy. Let us know when you give a dinner, and we will pity thee for the laſt time.

Rakiſh reprobates!

I am happy, Mr. Lovemore, to find you join the two extremes, wildneſs and connubial love. May you be as happy as you deſerve. Retire with me for the preſent; A marriage ſettlement ſhall be drawn agreeable to your wiſh, and every thing ſo diſpoſed as to give you mutual and laſting ſatis⯑faction.