with from your uncle, added to my fears of losing you, distract me. Har. But can you doubt your Harriet? There is no power upon earth shall force me to be another's; do then, dear Mandeville! strive to calm this tumult in your mind.-Betrayed by the violence of your passion, you talked of going in search of Count Pierpont-let me beseech you not. Man. You were deceived, Harriet, in what you heard me say do not prevent my going-I have business of a most particular nature calls me. Har. I know perfectly the business that calls you but let me conjure you, by all that regard you ever professed for me, not to think of it You say your fears of losing me, distract you— judge then of the state of my heart, by your own Has Harriet no fears for her Mandeville, at a moment she sees him eat up with an ungovernable rage-about, perhaps, to hurry himself or a fellow-creature into eternity. Man. Your apprehensions, Harriet, are groundless from what I learn of the Count's character, I believe him to be a man of too nice honour, too equitable, too generous, to reduce me to the necessity of proceeding to extremities; I only wish to explain matters to him. Har. I can recommend a much better course to you, and one much more likely to succeed - Go to your uncle, that good, that noble hearted man - tell him your story if any body has weight with Sir Oliver, it is Colonel Talbot. Man. Nobody has weight with him, when avarice claims his ear. Har. You are mistaken: he is not so great a slave to avarice as you suppose him. Man. He is your uncle, Harriet, and I cannot speak of him with harshness. Har. I know, by your eyes, you are not so angry as you were. Man. I will be guided by you in every thing. There is a fascinating power, Harriet, in your looks and accents, when you would persuade, that cannot be resisted; a melting softness clings about my heart as I listen and behold you; there is sure a divinity in angel-beauty! You caused the tempest in my soul, and have calmed it. [Exeunt. his chair.]—Your wine's so good-I wonder how any body can quit this liquor. Johns. But suppose there's a lady in the case -you won't press me to stay, surely, after I tell you that? Cal. Damn it! Take me with you. Johns. Impossible! Cal. Then sit down and drink with me, for I won't part with you. Johns. What the devil shall I do? [Looking at his watch.] It wants but a quarter to six, and Mrs. Wilkins will be waiting tea for me. [Aside. Cal. Come, to the charge again, and a brimmer it shall be. Johns. [Aside.] I shall get fuddled too. I have often in a frolic assumed drunkenness; suppose I practise that stratagem now, to get away from him? [Hiccups, etc. Cal. Why, now I look at you, I think you are getting a little forward. Johns. But I am not quite so bad as you think; do let me go, Mr. Talbot. Cal. Do you think I have no more regard for you? I tell you, you must go to bed,— now, do go to bed. Johns. How the devil shall I get away from him? Zounds, Sir, I am not drunk. [Appearing to be sober. Cal. Poor fellow! I am sorry to see you so far gone; but I'll take care of you for this night. No, no: no going out this night. [Impeding him. Johns. 'Sdeath and fire! Will this convince you that I am sober? [Walking firmly up the stage. Cal. Take another turn, and I'll tell you. Johns. But will you let me go then? Cal. After we have had another bottle. Johns. Zounds! another bottle!-Well, I'll go down to the cellar for it. [Crosses. Cal. Mind you don't stay. Johns. No, no; I sha'n't stay-[Aside.]-long in this house, now I have got out of your clutches, young gentleman. [Exit. Cal. This is a devilish honest bottle- there is half a pint in it yet.- Well, my friend is gone, so here goes his health. [Drinks.] Poor fellow!I never saw a man so soon drunk and sober.Damn it, how he stays! I long for a glass of wine; though he's not here, ecod, I'll fill my glass-a good bottle of wine is excellent company. [Drinks. Enter MANDE VILLE. Man. What, Sir, drinking by yourself? Cal. I'm sure that's not my fault I shall be very glad if you'll sit down and keep me company. I expect Johnson every minute with the other bottle. Man. I suppose, Sir, Johnson has been your companion? Cal. Yes, and a choice companion he is; only apt to get muzzled too soon.-Come, come, let me fill you a glass. Man. I'll drink none, Sir; nor shall you drink any more; your father desires to see you instantly. Cal. You'll let me finish the bottle? Man. You must drink no more! He puts me beyond all patience. [Aside. Cal. Ecod, then, I'll take it with me. [Takes it up. Man. Set it down, Sir. (Lays hold on him vio- | know of no other difficulty which is not to be lently: CALEB, in a fright, drops and breaks the surmounted. bottle.] Cal. There, [Looking at it.] I have set it down, and am ready to go with you; we must be good friends again, now we have cracked a bottle together. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A Library. CREVELT, seated, with a book. Crev. [Throws the book down.] It is to no purpose-I cannot read -This adorable girl has taken such entire possession of my mind, it has not room for any other object; when Mr. Mandeville told me she was going to be married, and to whom, my hope died within me, for then I knew all hope was lost.-She comes this way-I would avoid her, but have not the power. Enter CHARLOTTE, a volume of Shakspeare in her hand. Char. [Reading.]- -“She never told her love; But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek; she pin'd in thought, Bless me! Captain Crevelt, [Starting.] I did not see you. I was quite absorbed in poor Viola's melancholy relation of undivulged love; this little picture is so highly finished, so delicately coloured with touches of the true pathetic, that I never read it without being wonderfully affected.-Don't you think it one of the finest passages in all Shakspeare? Crev. I so much admire it, Madam, that I would give the world this moment for the pencil of its immortal writer, to paint one of our sex in the same state of uncomplaining despondency. Char. I protest you spoke those last words with so serious an air, that I'm half inclined to think you are in love yourself: if that be the case, come, make me your confidante: I'll be as silent as Shakspeare's own marble Grief and Patience. Crev. You speak, Madam, like one well versed in the passion. Char. And is that strange, Sir, when I come with Shakspeare in my hand-a master, who teaches the whole history of the passions? Crev. Were I to wish another laurel on the grave of Shakspeare, it should be planted by the hand of so charming a commentator. Char. Sir, there is a laurel already planted on his grave by one of our sex, which will flourish till the spirit of his genius, and his writings, are no more remembered-but to the point I have pronounced you in love; now let me know who your mistress is? Crev. Madam, I dare not. Char. Dare not! Is that a soldier's phrase? Courage, man; there is nothing impossible to spirit and perseverance: besides, the more difficulties are in the road to your mistress, the better she'll like you for surmounting them. Crev. But suppose there was a difficulty not to be surmounted? Char. If your mistress does not dislike you, I Crev. But, even presuming that were the case, which I have by no means reason to imagine, Í cannot think of her without condemning myself. Char. Is she so much beneath you? Orev. She's above my praise, and above my hopes. Char. If she deserve all this adoration, she never will think herself above a man of merit. Crev. Then, Madam, you don't think marrying for love entirely out of fashion? Char. I never would marry for any thing else. Crev. [Aside.] Then I'm undone; she loves the man for whom she is intended; and the assurance of it, that I have now received from her own lips, was meant as a reproach to a passion she has discovered, in spite of all my efforts to conceal it. Char. [Seeing his disorder.] What's the matter, Sir? Crev. I fear, Madam, only interrupt your studies. [Going. Char. How can you talk so! I don't know any one whose conversation, on so short an sequaintance, is so agreeable to me; this last has been particularly interesting. Crev. It is plain, from the sarcasm of that reply, that she understands me- but I am justly punished for my apostacy to honour, in daring to think of her. [Aside. Char. He appears confused and embarrassed all of a sudden; I fear my vanity has betrayed me too far, and that I have been mistaken in the [Aside. object of his affections. Crev. I have not power to speak to her. Sir O. Sir! How melancholy a monosyllable comes from a woman's mouth: it sounds as dismal as a single bell after a full peal. But, Charlotte, what's the matter? I never saw you so thoughtful before: I hope it is not your marriage that makes you uneasy. Char. It never gave me an uneasy moment; I had made up my mind on the subject. Sir O. Well, well; let the matter rest then: however, I must confess, I should like to see my girl well married and settled before I leave the world. Char. I don't think I shall ever marry. Sir O. Never marry! Char. No. Sir O. Confound those monosyllables! Charlotte, let me have no more of them; the laconic style does not become you: I wonder from whom you take it; for my part, I'm fond of the figure of amplification in discourse; and I'm sure your mother deals in an eloquence, copious at times, even to redundancy. Char. Sir, I have not spirits for conversation. Sir O. I am surprised at that, when you have every thing your own way: you wont marry this body, nor you wont marry t'other; and I, like an easy, indulgent, old soul, humour you in every thing, fond as I am of contradiction. Char. Haven't you all's one as held me up to sale to the highest bidder ?—I was first intended for Mr. Mandeville, next destined to Colonel Talbot's new-found heir. Sir O. His new-found bear you should say; but, Charlotte, Charlotte, how uncandid you are! when I proposed the last match I had not seen the man. Char. Sir, you change your mind so often, and bandy me about in so extraordinary a manner, that I shall become a topic for public ridicule. Sir O. Well, and if I do change my mind often, isn't it for your good? As one project starts up in my mind better than another, in order to take advantage of that, I must naturally contradict myself. The Spanish proverb says, a wise man often changes his mind, the fool never. Char. According to that proverb you should be a second Solomon: who you intend me for next I cannot possibly guess; but, as I never will marry without your consent, I trust it will not be deemed undutiful, if I always retain a negative to myself, in a matter which so nearly concerns my happiness as the choice of a husband. [Exit. Sir O. What's to be done? she actually sets my authority at defiance; but this comes of rich uncles leaving fat legacies to their nieces; it converts a father into a cipher. Enter LADY OLDSTOCK and HARRIET. L. Old. Sir Oliver, Sir Oliver, the whole world s condemning you. Sir O. So much the better; a quarter of the world never was right, but the whole is always wrong; you have brought me this good news, I suppose, knowing I was out of spirits. Har. To contract for me, without my knowledge, and with an utter stranger too! as if I had not the common privilege of a thinking, rational creature? Sir O. Ecod, I think you have too much of that privilege: why, you ungrateful minx, do you fly in my face for endeavouring to get a count for you? ing? Sir O. Your greatest men have been formed by difficulties. Har. Every moment is big with danger to my happiness. Sir O. Methinks, I now resemble the memorable column of English infantry at Fontenoy, marching down between two forts, with all their batteries playing upon it: whiz, fly the small shot from the left: and bang go the great guns from the right; but on we march, firm as a wedge; withou confusion, without disorder, without dismay; and quit the field of battle with honour. [Exit. Har. My principal fear, is a quarrel between Har. Dear aunt, how can you talk thus? So fine a woman will never lose her influence. L. Old. Pray, Harriet, have you ever read that elegant fellow St. Evremond's account of the lovely Ninon; she who retained her beauty and power of fascination to the age of eighty. Har. I have never read St. Evremond, Madam. L. Old. Then you have read nothing he was the intimate friend of Fontaine, Racine, and Corneille; all the great men of his time valued his friendship: but what most endears him to me, was his esteem for the lovely Ninon-I shall never forget one of her letters, in which she mentions her first wearing spectacles; but said that charming woman, as I had always a grave look spectacles become me. Har. I declare, aunt, I have always thought the same of you, when I have seen you with your spectacles on. L. Old. But you're mistaken, Harriet, if you suppose I wear spectacles from any necessity I have for them-I wear them by way of prevention. Har. As I hope to live, here comes the count: he'll teaze me to death if I stay-I never saw you look so well, aunt. L. Old. You may go, Harriet, and find Captain Crevelt-I'll once more try my influence with [Exit HAR. L. Old. A count! A strange kind of count-this Frenchman. the fellow made love to me. Sir O. Then indeed must he be a strange kind of count. L. Old. I shall sue for a separate maintenance. Har. And I shall sue for the little property my father left in his hands. Sir O. Damn it, since you have begun, come, fire away from both sides, volley after volley; don't spare me, I'll make you raise the siege at last; contradiction's my element, as fire is the salamander's. I can't have too much of it; my opinion is impregnable. Har. It's in vain to speak to him. Enter COUNT PIERPOINT. Well, count: I hope you have changed your opinion since our last conversation, and that you're become a little more anglicised. Count. Eh bien! Madam je ne puis pas comprendre, I no understand. L. Old. Why, we have changed characters; you can't understand me now, and I couldn't understand you before: but, count, I'd advise you to consider you are in England; and though it may be the etiquette in France to treat a married lady with as much attention as a single, it is in this L. Old. Speak to him, child! now he's in all country of jealous circumspection, very dangerous mus glory. VOL. II....P 10* it is almost sufficient to cause a separation. Count. Ah, Madam! have a some pity on those whom your charms enslave; quand l'amour est dans le cœur, il fait l'esprit comme lui même; dat is, ven love is in de heart, he make a dey ununderstand blind as himself, by gar. L. Old. The French are certainly the most agreeable people in the world; if they transgress, they make reparation with so good a grace, that it's delightful to be on good or bad terms with them. L. Old. Now there will be no end to his sus picions. Sir O. Ecod I think this is putting suspicion out of the question.-Well, my lady, what have you to say for yourself! You asked me if I wasn't deaf; now, are you dumb?-Damn it, say something, if it's only to contradict me. Count. Monsieur Oldstock, je suis—I am your very good friend. Sir O. You are count; and what's more, I find you are my wife's friend. Count. I made von grand faux pas; but, like good general, me vil profit by my loss. [Aside.]— L. Old. Sir Oliver, conscious as I am of the Madam Oldstock is vat you call von grand bas-purity of my thoughts, I could look down with tion, or outwork: I will take a that first, et la contempt on every extravagance to which your petite citadel, Mademoiselle Harriet, follow of jealous temper hurries you: but, when I consider course by gar. how the fairest reputations are every day injured from the slightest foundations-if it should creep into the public prints L. Old. Well, count, I forgive you; but it's on condition that you are more circumspect in fu ture. Enter SIR OLIVER, at the back of the stage. Sir O. If I could lay my hand on Burn's Justice in the library, that would set me right: but I think it's a question for gentlemen of the common law.-Eh! what's all this? [Seeing the COUNT and L. OLD. Count. Madam permettez-moi baiser votre main; I must kiss a your von pretty hand in sign of reconciliation. [Kissing her hand. Sir O. I was thinking of the common law: but here promises to arise a question for gentlemen of the civil law. L. Old. Jealousy, count, is a tree of English growth. Sir O. It may be a tree of English growth; but it's a tree would never flourish, if a taste for French gardening did not so often make the branches sprout. Count. Mon Dieu! quelle grand disproportion in your age and the Chevalier Oldstock ! L. Old. When a woman marries very young, my lord, a dozen years' difference is nothing in the age of a husband. Sir O. A dozen years! damme, if there's a dozen months between us. L. Old. That's a most beautiful brilliant, count, on your finger-I think I never saw so large a one: the rich cluster of its rays cast a light actually celestial. Str O. If that poor diamond could speak now, perhaps we'd find it was not very celestially come by. Count. To reconcile me complete permettezmoi to make you von present. L. Old. Dear count, I cannot think of accepting a ring of such immense value.-No, no, count, I am not such an infant as to wish to possess every thing that I admire. Sir O. No, to be sure, you an't.-Why, count, how is all this? [Coming forward. L. Old. Oh! heavens! Sir Oliver! Sir O. Yes, my lady; does the great disproportion of our years frighten you. Count. Upon my vord, Monsieur Oldstock, this is not behave with your usual politesse. Sir O. Why, what the devil, man! aren't you content with one of my chickens but you must have my old hen into the bargain! L. Old. Old hen! Sir O. Then I'll give you a little comfort-nobody will believe it. L. Old. The cool malignity of his temper is more provoking than his jealousy-I can't bear to have been all my life reproached for nothing. Count. Monsieur Oldstock. [Erit. Sir O. Count Pierpoint, no apologies: I am not at all angry with you, nor do I entertain any suspicion of my wife.-Love of admiration is her ruling passion; and as long as she lives, she'll fancy herself an object of that admiration. Count. Vous savez très bien my passion pour Mademoiselle Harriet. Sir O. I know every thing-I now see your view, in all this attention to Lady Oldstock: you imprudently made her your enemy, not knowing her character; but you have very wisely rectified your mistake.-You see, count, I'm a keen old fellow; I haven't lived for nothing so many years in the world. Count. Mon dieu! vous êtes un Machiavel. Sir O. Come along, count.-But before you go, how do you think your friend Colonel Talbot stands affected as to matrimony? Do you imagine, if a fine girl was thrown in his way, that he'd marry her? Count. Nothing more like, on my vord; il est un homme de galanterie; sans doute, he has a de son, if dat be no objection. Sir O. Objection! he should marry for that very reason, and get more sons, if it was only to convince the world that he has mended his hand, in the business. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I-Continues at MANDEVILLE'S. Enter HARRIET and CHARLOTTE. Har. I am half in love with Count Pierpoint for his noble behaviour.-The moment matters were properly explained to him, he withdrew his claim instantly-Well, I never more will hear the French spoken ill of; they carry the point of honour to a pitch of heroism-but, Charlotte, what is the matter? Your spirits are intolerably depressed! Char. You only fancy so, from the unusual gayety of your own. Har. I have a great mind to send Captain Cre Sir O. Yes, my lady; when I had you first velt to you; you are just fit company for cach you were no pullet. other: two moping, melancholy fools. Char. From sune conversation I have had with him, I take it, that he is in love. Har. And I fancy I have a fair friend much in the same situation. Char. He leaves town to-day. Har. Unless you issue your sovereign commands to the contrary. Char. My sovereign commands! How you trifle! What influence have I over him? Har. That influence which a beautiful woinan will always have over a man of exquisite sensibility.-Mandeville told me he was eternally talking of you. Char. Talking of me! Lord, I wonder what the man can have to say about me? stealing myself upon her affections, and attribute her dislike of his son to me?-But he comes; I cannot meet his eye in the present state of my feelings. [Aside.]-Adieu, dear Miss Oldstock. Char. But are we never to meet again? Crev. It is a sacrifice, Madam, that pierces and widows my heart for ever; but honour and gratitude demand it. [Exit. Enter COLONEL TALBOT. Col. Wasn't that Captain Crevelt, Miss Oldstock, that parted from you? Char. Yes, Sir: he has just taken his leave of me, and said I shall never see him again. Col. There is a refinement in Crevelt's temper, Har. Oh! a thousand handsome things, I dare say but if you wish to be satisfied as to the par-that to strangers makes his conduct at times ticulars, you may have them from the gentleman's own mouth, for here he comes; so I'll leave you together. Char. Then you will be so ill natured? Har. Good natured, sweet cousin.- [Exit. Char. Eternally talking of me! Whence, then, arote his sudden coldness and reserve, when I but too plainly discovered my partiality for him? Yet I may have been mistaken; a mind possessed of so much delicacy as his, might have deemed it criminal to address me on the score of love, at a time he thought I was intended for the son of his friend, Colonel Talbot-it is, it must be sothe pulses of my heart quicken at the thoughtbut he's here. Enter CREVELT. Crev. Miss Oldstock, as I mean to quit town this evening, and possibly may never see you again, I am come to solicit the honour of a few minutes' conversation. Char. Never see me again! I hope you are not going back to India. Crev. No, Madam, that is not my intention. Char. Oh! then I understand you; it is that compound of every female excellence, of whom you spoke to me in such raptures, who is the cause of your leaving us. Crev. I own it, Madam. Char. But you talked of never seeing me again; is your mistress that jealous creature as to exact such a promise from you? Crev. No, Madam; that is a punishment I voluntarily inflict upon myself. Char. You do say the most gallant things, with the most sombre countenance; your wit and your face, Captain Crevelt, are the diamond and its foil; the dark shade of the one lends a more vivid glow to the other's sparkling brilliancy-what an alteration the presence of your mistress would make in your looks; could you look thus in her presence? Crev. In the present state of my heart, I could not look otherwise. Char. No! not if she smiled upon you? Crev. A smile from her would raise me from despair: but that, Madam-confusion! yonder I see Colonel Talbot; this is the second time today he has found me in earnest conversation with her. [Aside. Char. I did not think it possible till now, Colonel Talbot could put me out of temper. Crev. Will he not suspect that I am meanly appear very unaccountable; but I fancy I have discovered the cause of this extraordinary resolution. Char. And sure, Sir, you can prevail upon him to alter it? Col. Then my lovely girl wishes he should alter his resolution? Char. Oh, Sir! Is it possible to be acquainted with so noble, so accomplished, so brave, a youth, and not esteem him? Never see me more ! Col. It is as I suspected; and, indeed, as I wish; for who but Crevelt is worthy of such a woman? [Aside.] I hope, Miss Oldstock, you are now perfectly convinced, that I would not purchase the greatest earthly happiness at the price of your peace of mind -Highly as my pride and natural affection would be gratified to call you daughter, I trust I can turn my eye with manly firmness from the bright, the flattering prospect; and, resigned to the dispensations of a Power who never afflicts his creature but for wise and good purposes, point out a man in every respect but birth and fortune deserving of you. Char. Birth and fortune, colonel! despicable distinctions! when nature asserts her superior claims to reverence, by ennobling the spirit, how low it lays the insolence of ancestry, and humbles the vanity of wealth. Col. Madam, your words penetrate my very soul; with an aching, joyless heart, I look back to those imaginary scenes of happiness, fancy had painted in meeting with a son; the only pledge of love from the first object of my affections, and whose image still warms this desolated bosom.Birth! when I survey my own offspring, and behold poor Crevelt, I am ashamed to think so empty a thing as family pride had ever any influence over me. Char. But you will prevail upon him to alter his resolution? Col. On one condition, Madam. Char. What is that, colonel? Col. That you will receive him as my adopted son.-Your father's objections I will remove, by making him your equal in fortune. Char. I don't know how to thank you, colonel: but, perhaps, he's already gone. Col. Gone, without seeing me first, impossible! -But what says my sweet girl to the proposal I have made her? Char. You are so good, so disinterested, and so generous, that it is impossible not to acquiesce in any proposal of yours: but yet I will not make you an absolute promise; mind that colonel: tiil |