Obrazy na stronie

To steady thought progressive, driving forth
All floating, wild, unhappy fantasies,
Till thou, with brow unclouded, smilest again;
Like one who, from dark visions of the night,
When the active soul within its lifeless cell
Holds its own world, with dreadful fancy pressed
Of some dire, terrible, or murderous deed,
Wakes to the dawning morn, and blesses heaven.
De Mon. It will not pass away; 'twill haunt me

Jane. Ah ! say not so, for I will haunt thee too,
And be to it so close an adversary,
That, though I wrestle darkling with the fiend,
I shall o'ercome it.

De Mon. Thou most generous woman !
Why do I treat thee thus? It should not be-
And yet I cannot_0 that cursed villain !
He will not let me be the man I would.
Jane. What sayst thou, Montfort? Oh! what words

are these !
They have awaked my soul to dreadful thoughts.
I do beseech thee, speak !
By the affection thou didst ever bear me;
By the dear memory of our infant days;
By kindred living ties—ay, and by those
Who sleep in the tomb, and cannot call to thee,
I do conjure thee, speak !

Ha ! wilt thou not?
Then, if affection, most unwearied love,
Tried carly, long, and never wanting found,
O'er generous man hath more authority,
More rightful power than crown or sceptre give,
I do command thee !
De Montfort, do not thus resist my love.
Here I entreat thee on my bended knees.
Alas! my brother !

De Mon. [Raising her, and kneeling.]
Thus let him kneel who should the abased be,
And at thine honoured feet confession make.
I'll tell thee all—but, oh! thou wilt despise me.
For in my breast a raging passion burns,
To which thy soul no sympathy will own-
A passion which hath made my nightly couch
A place of torment, and the light of day,
With the gay intercourse of social man,
Feel like the oppressive, airless pestilence.
O Jane ! thou wilt despise me.

Jane. Say not so:
I never can despise thee, gentle brother.
A lover's jealousy and hopeless pangs
No kindly heart contemns.

De Mon. A lover's, sayst thou ?
No, it is hate ! black, lasting, deadly hate !
Which thus hath driven me forth from kindred peace,
From social pleasure, from my native home,
To be a sullen wanderer on the earth,
Avoiding all men, cursing and accursed.

Jane. De Montfort, this is fiend-like, terrible ! What being, by the Almighty Father formed Of flesh and blood, created even as thou, Could in thy breast such horrid tempest wake, Who art thyself his fellow? Unknit thy brows, and spread those wrath-clenched

hands. Some sprite accursed within thy bosom mates To work thy ruin. Strive with it, my brother ! Strive bravely with it; drive it from thy heart; 'Tis the degrader of a noble heart. Curse it, and bid it part. De Mon. It will not part. I've lodged it here too

long, With my first cares, I felt its rankling touch. I loathed him when a boy.

Jane. Whom didst thou say?

De Mon, Detested Rezenvelt !
E’en in our early sports, like two young whelps


Of hostile breed, instinctively averse,
Each 'gainst the other pitched his ready pledge,
And frowned defiance. As we onward passed
From youth to man's estate, his narrow art
And envious gibing malice, poorly veiled
In the affected carelessness of mirth,
Still more detestable and odious grew.
There is no living being on this earth
Who can conceive the malice of his soul,
With all his gay and damned merriment,
To those by fortune or by merit placed
Above his paltry self. When, low in fortune,
He looked upon the state of prosperous men,
As nightly birds, roused from their murky holes,
Do scowl and chatter at the light of day,
I could endure it; even as we bear
The impotent bite of some half-trodden worm,
I could endure it. But when honours came,
And wealth and new-got titles fed his pride;
Whilst flattering knaves did trumpet forth bis praise,
And grovelling idiots grinned applauses on him;
Oh ! then I could no longer suffer it !
It drove me frantic. What, what would I give-
What would I give to crush the bloated toad,
So rankly do I loathe him !

Jane. And would thy hatred crush the very man
Who gave to thee that life he might have taken ?
That life which thou so rashly didst expose
To aim at his? Oh, this is horrible!
De Mon. Ha! thou hast heard it, then ! From all

the world, But most of all from thee, I thought it hid.

Jane. I heard a secret whisper, and resolved Upon the instant to return to thee. Didst thou receive my letter? De Mon. I did ! I did ! 'Twas that which drove

me hither. I could not bear to meet thine eye again.

Jane. Alas! that, tempted by a sister's tears, I ever left thy house! These few past months, These absent months, have brought us all this woe. Had I remained with thee, it had not been. And yet, methinks, it should not move you thus. You dared him to the field; both bravely fought; He, more adroit, disarmed you ; courteously Returned the forfeit sword, which, so returned, You did refuse to use against him more; And then, as says report, you parted friends. De Mon. When he disarmed this cursed, this worth

less hand
Of its most worthless weapon, he but spared
From devilish pride, which now derives a bliss
In seeing me thus fettered, shamed, subjected
With the vile favour of his poor forbearance;
Whilst he securely sits with gibing brow,
And basely baits me like a muzzled cur,
Who cannot turn again.
Until that day, till that accursed day,
I knew not half the torment of this hell
Which burns within my breast. Heaven's lightnings

blast him !
Jane. Oh, this is horrible! Forbear, forbear!
Lest Heaven's vengeance light upon thy head
For this most impious wish.

De Mon. Then let it light.
Torments more fell than I have known already
It cannot send. To be annihilated,
What all men shrink from; to be dust, be nothing,
Were bliss to me, compared to what I am !
Jane. Oh ! wouldst thou kill me with these dread-

ful words? De Mon. Let me but once upon his ruin look, Then close mine eyes for ever!Ha! how is this? Thou 'rt ill; thou ’rt very pale; What have I done to thee? Alas! alas! I meant not to distress thee--O my sister !


Jane. I cannot now speak to thee.

De Mon. I have killed thee.
Turn, turn thee not away! Look on me still!
Oh! droop not thus, my life, my pride, my sister !
Look on me yet again.

Jane. Thou, too, De Montfort,
In better days was wont to be my pride.

De Mon. I am a wretch, most wretched in myself,
And still more wretched in the pain I give.
O curse that villain, that detested villain !
He has spread misery o'er my fated life;
He will undo us all.
Jane. I've held my warfare through a troubled

And borne with steady mind my share of ill;
For then the helpmate of my toil wast thou.
But now the wane of life comes darkly on,
And hideous passion tears thee from my heart,
Blasting thy worth. I cannot strive with this.

De Mon. What shall I do?

[Speech of Prince Edward in his Dungeon.] Doth the bright sun from the high arch of heaven, In all his beauteous robes of fleckered clouds, And ruddy vapours, and deep-glowing flames, And softly varied shades, look gloriously? Do the green woods dance to the wind ? the lakes Cast up their sparkling waters to the light? Do the sweet hamlets in their bushy dells Send winding up to heaven their curling smoke On the soft morning air? Do the flocks bleat, and the wild creatures bound In antic happiness ? and mazy birds Wing the mid air in lightly skimming bands? Ay, all this is—men do behold all thisThe poorest man. Even in this lonely vault, My dark and narrow world, oft do I hear The crowing of the cock so near my walls, And sadly think how small a space divides me From all this fair creation.

Female Picture of a Country Life.]

Even now methinks Each little cottage of my native vale Swells out its earthen sides, upheaves its roof, Like to a hillock moved by labouring mole, And with green trail-weeds clambering up its walls, Roses and every gay and fragrant plant Before my fancy stands, a fairy bower, Ay, and within it too do fairies dwell. Peep through its wreathed window, if indeed The flowers grow not too close; and there within Thou ’lt see some half-a-dozen rosy brats, Eating from wooden bowls their dainty milkThose are my mountain elves. Seest thou not Their very forms distinctly?

I'll gather round my board All that Heaven sends to me of way-worn folks, And noble travellers, and neighbouring friends, Both young and old. Within my ample hall, The worn-out man of arms shall o'tiptoe tread, Tossing his gray locks from his wrinkled brow With cheerful freedom, as he boasts his feats Of days gone by. Music we'll have; and oft The bickering dance upon our oaken floors Shall, thundering loud, strike on the distant ear Of ’nighted travellers, who shall gladly bend Their doubtful footsteps towards the cheering din. Solemn, and grave, and cloistered, and demure We shall not be. Will this content ye, damsels ?

Every season Shall have its suited pastime: even winter In its deep noon, when mountains piled with snow, And choked up valleys from our mansion bar All entrance, and nor guest nor traveller Sounds at our gate; the empty hall forsaken, In some warm chamber, by the crackling fire, We'll hold our little, snug, domestic court, Plying our work with song and tale between.

[Description of Jane de Montfort.] [The following has been pronounced to be a perfect picture

of Mrs Siddons, the tragic actress.] Page. Madam, there is a lady in your ball Who begs to be admitted to your presence.

Lady. Is it not one of our invited friends ?
Page. No; far unlike to them. It is a stranger.
Lady. How looks her countenance ?

Page. So queenly, so commanding, and so noble, I shrunk at first in awe; but when she smiled, Methought I could have compassed sea and land To do her bidding.

Lady. Is she young or old?

Page. Neither, if right I guess; but she is fair,
For Time bath laid his hand so gently on her,
As he, too, bad been awed.

Lady. The foolish stripling!
She has bewitched thee. Is she large in stature?

Page. So stately and so graceful is her form,
I thought at first her stature was gigantic;
But on a near approach, I found, in truth,
She scarcely does surpass the middle size.

Lady. What is her garb?

Page. I cannot well describe the fashion of it:
She is not decked in any gallant trim,
But seems to me clad in her usual weeds
Of high habitual state; for as she moves,
Wide flows her robe in many a waving fold,
As I have seen unfurled banners play
With the soft breeze.

Lady. Thine eyes deceive thee, boy;
It is an apparition thou hast seen.
Freberg. [Starting from his seat, where he has been

sitting during the conversation between the Lady and the Page.]

It is an apparition he has seen, Or it is Jane de Montfort.

This is a powerful delineation. Sir Walter Scott conceived that Fear was the most dramatic passion touched by Miss Baillie, because capable of being drawn to the most extreme paroxysm on the stage.

[Fears of Imagination] Didst thou ne'er see the swallow's veering breast, Winging the air beneath some murky cloud In the sunned glimpses of a stormy day, Shiver in silvery brightness ? Or boatmen's oar, as vivid lightning flash In the faint gleam, that like a spirit's path Tracks the still waters of some sullen lake? Or lonely tower, from its brown mass of woods, Give to the parting of a wintry sun One hasty glance in mockery of the night Closing in darkness round it ? Gentle friend! Chide not her mirth who was sad yesterday, And may be so to-morrow.


GEORGE COLMAN, manager of Covent Garden Theatre, was an excellent comic writer, and produced above thirty pieces, a few of which deservedly keep possession of the stage. His Jealous Wife, founded on Fielding's Tom Jones, has some highly effective scenes and well-drawn characters. It was produced in 1761; five years afterwards, Colman joined with Garrick and brought out The Clandestine Marriage,

in which the character of an aged beau, affecting borrowed hack, and being overtaken by night in gaiety and youth, is strikingly personified in Lord the streets of Ardagh, he inquired with a lofty

confident air—having a guinea in his pocket-for the best house of entertainment in the town. A wag pointed to the house of the squire, a Mr Featherston, and Goldsmith entering, ordered supper and a bottle of wine, with a hot cake for breakfast in the morning! 'It was not till he had despatched this latter meal, and was looking at his guinea with pathetic aspect of farewell, that the truth was told him by the good-natured squire.'-(Forster's Life.) This was a good foundation for a series of comic mistakes. But the excellent discrimination of character, and the humour and vivacity of the dialogue throughout the play, render this piece one of the richest contributions which has been made to modern comedy. The native pleasantry and originality of Goldsmith were never ore happily displayed, and his success, as Davies records,

revived fancy, wit, gaiety, humour, incident, and character, in the place of sentiment and moral preachment.'


[4 Deception]
(From She Stoops to Conquer.]

Landlord. There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise at
the door. They've lost their way upon the forest, and
they are talking something about Mr Hardcastle.

Tony. As sure as can be, one of them must be the George Colman,

gentleman that's coming down to court my sister. Do

they seem to be Londoners ? Ogleby.-ARTHUR MURPHY (1727-1805), a volu Land. I believe they may. They look woundily like minous and miscellaneous writer, added comedies Frenchmen. as well as tragedies to the stage, and his Way to Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll Keep Him is still occasionally performed.-HUGH set them right in a twinkling. [Exit Landlord.) KELLY, a scurrilous newspaper writer, surprised the Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough company public by producing a comedy, False Delicacy, which for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you had remarkable success both on the fortunes and in the squeezing of a lemon. [Eceunt Mob.] Fathercharacter of the author: the profits of his first third in-law has been calling me a whelp and hound this night realised £150—the largest sum of money he half-year. Now, if I pleased, I could be so revenged had ever before seen—and from a low, petulant, upon the old grumbletonian. But then I am afraid absurd, and ill-bred censurer,' says Davies, Kelly -afraid of what? I shall soon be worth fifteen was transformed to the humane, affable, good- hundred a year, and let him frighten me out of that natured, well-bred man.'— The marked success of if he can. Kelly's sentimental style gave the tone to a much more able dramatist, RICHARD CUMBERLAND (1732 Enter LANDLORD, conducting Marlow and HASTINGS. 1811), who, after two or three unsuccessful pieces, in 1171 brought out The West Indian, one of the had of it! We were told it was but forty miles across

Marlow. What a tedious uncomfortable day have we best stage-plays which English comedy can yet the country, and we have come above threescore. boast. The plot, incidents, and characters—includ

Hastings. And all, Marlow, from that unaccountable ing the first draught of an Irish gentleman which the theatre had witnessed—are all well sustained. reserve of yours, that would not let us inquire more

frequently on the way. Other dramas of Cumberland, as The Wheel of Fortune, The Fashionable Lover, &c., were also acted under an obligation to every one I meet; and often

Mar. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself with applause, though now too stiff and sentimental stand the chance of an unmannerly answer. for our audiences.-GOLDSMITH thought that Cumberland had carried the refinement of comedy to receive any answer.

Hast. At present, however, we are not likely to excess, and he set himself to correct the fault. His

Tony. No offence, gentlemen ; but I am told you first dramatic performance, The Good-natured Man, have been inquiring for one Mr Hardcastle in these presents one of the happiest of his delineations in parts. Do you know what part of the country you are the character of Croaker; but as a whole, the play in? wants point and sprightliness. His second drama, Hast. Not in the least, sir; but should thank you She Stoops to Conquer, performed in 1773, has all for information. the requisites for interesting and amusing an audi Tony. Nor the way you came ? ence; and Johnson said, 'he knew of no comedy for Hast. No, sir ; but if you can inform usmany years that had answered so much the great

Tony. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road end of comedy-making an audience merry. The you are going, nor where you are, nor the road you plot turns on what may be termed a farcical came, the first thing I have to inform you is that, you incident-two parties mistaking a gentleman's have lost your way. house for an inn. Such an adventure, however, is Mar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that. said to have occurred to Goldsmith himself. He Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask was returning to school after the holidays on a the place from whence you came?

Mar. That's not necessary towards directing us Land. A troublesome old blade, to be sure ; but a where we are to go.

keeps as good wines and beds as any in the whole Tony. No offence; but question for question is all county. fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Mar. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall Hardcastle a cross-grained, old-fashioned, whimsical want no further connection. We are to turn to the fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son ? right, did you say ?

Hast. We have not seen the gentleman; but he has Tony. No, no, straight forward. I'll just step myself the family you mention.

and shew you a piece of the way. [To the Landlord.] Tony. The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trolloping, Mum !

[Exeunt. talkative may-pole; the son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody is fond of.

[Arrival at the Supposed Inn. Mar. Our information differs in this: the daughter

Enter Marlow and Hastings. is said to be well-bred and beautiful; the son, an awkward booby, reared up and spoiled at his mother's

Hast. After the disappointments of the day, welcome apron-string.

once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room and Tony. He-he-hem. Then, gentlemen, all I have to a good fire. Upon my word, a very well-looking house ; tell you is, that you won't reach Mr Hardcastle's house antique, but creditable. this night, I believe.

Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having Hast. Unfortunate!

first ruined the master by good housekeeping, it has Tony. It's a long, dark, boggy, dangerous way. at last come to levy contributions as an inn. Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr Hardcastle's

Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to [winking at the Landlord)—Mr Hardcastle's of Quag- pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good sidemire-marsh. You understand me?

board, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually Land. Master Hardcastle's ? Lack-a-daisy ! my

put in the bill, inflame the bill confoundedly. masters, you 're come a deadly deal wrong. When

Mar. Travellers must pay in all places; the only you came to the bottom of the hill, you should have difference is, that in good inns you pay dearly for crossed down Squash-lane.

luxuries; in bad inns you are fleeced and starved. Mar. Cross down Squash-lane ? Land. Then you were to keep straight forward till

Enter HARDCASTLE. you came to four roads.

Hardcastle. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily Mar. Come to where four roads meet?

welcome. Which is Mr Marlow ? [Mar. advances.] Sir, Tony. Ay; but you must be sure to take only one. you 're heartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, Mar. O sir! you ’re facetious.

to receive my friends with my back to the fire ! I like Tony. Then, keeping to the right, you are to go side to give them a hearty reception, in the old style, at ways till you come upon Crack-skull Common; there my gate; I like to see their horses and trunks taken you must look sharp for the track of the wheel, and care of. go forward till you come to Farmer Murrain's barn. Mar. (Aside.] He has got our names from the servants Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the already. [To Hard.] We approve your caution and right, and then to the left, and then to the right about hospitality, sir. [To Hast.] I have been thinking, again, till you find out the old mill

George, of changing our travelling-dresses in the Mar. Zounds ! man, we could as soon find out the morning; I am grown confoundedly ashamed of mine. longitude !

Hard. I beg, Mr Marlow, you 'll use no ceremony in Hast. What's to be done, Marlow?

this house. Mar. This house promises but a poor reception ; Hast. I fancy, you're right : the first blow is half the though perhaps the landlord can accommodate us. battle. We must, however, open the campaign.

Land. Alack, master! we have but one spare bed in Hard. Mr Marlow-Mr Hastings-gentlemen-pray the whole house.

be under no restraint in this house. This is LibertyTony. And to my knowledge, that's taken up by hall, gentlemen ; you may do just as you please here. three lodgers already. [After a pause, in which the Mar. Yet, George, if we open the campaign too rest seem disconcerted.] I have hit it: don't you fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is think, Stingo, our landlady would accommodate the over. We must shew our generalship by securing, if gentlemen by the fireside with three chairs and a necessary, a retreat. bolster ?

Hard. Your talking of a retreat, Mr Marlow, puts Hast. I hate sleeping by the fireside.

me in mind of the Duke of Marlborough when he Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster. went to besiege Denain. He first summoned the

Tony. You do, do you? Then let me see—what if garrisonyou on a mile further to the Buck's Head, the old Mar. Ay, and we'll summon your garrison, old boy. Buck's Head on the hill, one of the best inns in the Hard. He first summoned the garrison, which might whole county.

consist of about five thousand menHast. O ho! so we have escaped an adventure for Hast. Marlow, what's o'clock ? this night, however.

Hard. I say, gentlemen, as I was telling you, he Land. (A part to Tony.] Sure you bean't sending summoned the garrison, which might consist of about them to your father's as an inn, be you?

five thousand menTony. Mum ! you fool, you ; let them find that out. Mar. Five minutes to seven. [To them.] You have only to keep on straight forward Hard. Which might consist of about five thousand till you come to large house on the roadside : you'll men, well appointed with stores, ammunition, and other see a pair of large horns over the door ; that's the implements of war. Now, says the Duke of Marlborough sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you. to George Brooks, that stood next to him-you must

Hast. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants have heard of George Brooks—I'll pawn my dukedom, can't miss the way.

says he, but I take that garrison without spilling a drop Tony. No, no : but I tell you though, the landlord of blood. So.is rich, and going to leave off business; so he wants to Mar. What? My good friend, if you give us a glass be thought a gentleman, saving your presence, he, he, of punch in the meantine, it would help us to carry on he! He'll be for giving you his company; and, ecod! the siege with vigour. if you mind him, he'll persuade you that his mother Hard. Punch, sir !—This is the most unaccountable was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of the peace. kind of modesty I ever met with.


Mar. Yes, sir, punch. A glass of warm punch after actual consultation upon what's for supper this moment our journey will be comfortable.

in the kitchen.

Mar. Then I beg they'll admit me as one of their

privy-council. It's a way I have got. When I travel, Enter SERVANT with a tankard.

I always choose to regulate my own supper. Let the This is Liberty-hall, you know.

cook be called. No offence, I hope, sir. Hard. Here's a cup, sir.

Hard. O no, sir, none in the least : yet, I don't know Mar. So this fellow, in his Liberty-hall, will only let how, our Bridget, the cookmaid, is not very communius have just what he pleases.

[Aside to Hast. cative upon these occasions. Should we send for her, she Hard. [Taking the cup.] I hope you 'll find it to might scold us all out of the house. your mind. I have prepared it with my own hands, Hast. Let's see the list of the larder, then. I always and I believe you 'll own the ingredients are tolerable. match my appetite to my bill of fare. Will you be so good as to pledge me, sir? Here, Mr Mar. (To Hardcastle, who looks at them with surprise.] Marlow, here is to our better acquaintance.

Sir, he's very right, and it's my way too. [Drinks, and gives the cup to Marlow. Hard. Sir, you have a right to command here. Here, Mar. A very impudent fellow this; but he's a Roger, bring us the bill of fare for to-night's supper : I character, and I'll humour him a little. (Aside.] Sir, believe it's drawn out. Your manner, Mr Hastings, my service to you.

puts me in mind of my uncle, Colonel Wallop. It was Hast. I see this fellow wants to give us his company, a saying of his that no man was sure of his supper till and forgets that he's an innkeeper before he has learned he had eaten it. to be a gentleman.


[Servant brings in the bill of fare, and exit. Mar. From the excellence of your cup, my old Hast. All upon the high ropes! His uncle a colonel ! friend, I suppose you have a good deal of business in We shall soon hear of his mother being a justice of peace. this part of the country. Warm work now and then [Aside.] But let's hear the bill of fare. at elections, I suppose.

Mar. (Perusing.] What's here? For the first [Gives the tankard to Hardcastle. course ; for the second course ; for the dessert. The Hard. No, sir; I have long given that work over. devil, sir! Do you think we have brought down the Since our betters have hit upon the expedient of elect- whole Joiners' Company, or the Corporation of Bedford, ing each other, there's no business for us that sell ale. to eat up such a supper? Two or three little things,

[Gives the tankard to Hastings. clean and comfortable, will do. Hast. So, you have no turn for politics, I find.

Hast. But let's hear it. Hard. Not in the least. There was a time indeed, Mar. [Reading.) For the first course : at the top, a I fretted myself about the mistakes of government, like pig and prune-sauce. other people; but finding myself every day grow more Hard. And yet, gentlemen, to men that are hungry, angry, and the government growing no better, I left it pig, with prune-sauce, is very good eating. Their to mend itself. Since that, I no more trouble my head impudence confounds me. (Aside.] Gentlemen, you about who's in or who's out than I do about John Nokes are my guests, make what alterations you please. Is or Tom Stiles. So my service to you.

there anything else you wish to retrench or alter, Hast. So that, with eating above stairs and drinking gentlemen ? below, with receiving your friends within and amusing Mar. Item : a pork-pie, a boiled rabbit and sausages, them without, you lead a good, pleasant, bustling life a florentine, a shaking-pudding, and a dish of tiff-taff of it.

-taffety cream. Hard. I do stir about a good deal, that's certain. Hast. Confound your made dishes! I shall be as Half the differences of the parish are adjusted in this much at a loss in this house as at a green and yellow very parlour.

dinner at the French ambassador's table. I'm for plain Mar. (After drinking.] And you have an argument eating. in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in Hard. I'm sorry, gentlemen, that I have nothing you Westminster Hall.

like; but if there be anything you have a particular Hard. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a little fancy to philosophy.

Mar. Why, really, sir, your bill of fare is so exquisite, Mar. Well, this is the first time I ever heard of an that any one part of it is full as good as another. Send innkeeper's philosophy.

(Aside. us what you please. So much for supper : and now to Hast. So, then, like an experienced general, you attack see that our beds are aired, and properly taken care of. them on every quarter. If you find their reason manage Hard. I entreat you'll leave all that to me. You able, you attack them with your philosophy; if you find shall not stir a step. they have no reason, you attack them with this. Here's Mar. Leave that to you! I protest, sir, you must your health, my philosopher.

[Drinks. excuse me; I always look to these things myself. Hard. Good, very good; thank you; ha! ha! Your Hard. I must insist, sir, you 'll make yourself easy on generalship puts me in mind of Prince Eugene when he that head. fought the Turks at the battle of Belgrade. You shall Mar. You see I'm resolved on it. A very troublehear.

some fellow, as ever I met with.

Aside. Mar. Instead of the battle of Belgrade, I think it's Hard. Well, sir, I'm resolved at least to attend you. almost time to talk about supper. What has your This may be modern modesty, but I never saw anything philosophy got in the house for supper?

look so like old-fashioned impudence. (Aside. Hard. For supper, sir? Was ever such a request to

[Exeunt Mar. and Hard. a man in his own house?

(Aside. Hast. So, I find this fellow's civilities begin to grow Mar. Yes, sir; supper, sir; I begin to feel an appe. troublesome. But who can be angry with those assiduitite. I shall make devilish work to-night in the larder, ties which are meant to please him? Ha! what do I I promise you.

see? Miss Neville, by all that 's happy! Hard. Such a brazen dog sure never my eyes beheld. [Aside.) Why really, sir, as for supper, I can't well Two years after Goldsmith's dramatic triumph, a tell

. My Dorothy and the cookmaid settle these things still greater in legitimate comedy arose in the person between them. I leave these kind of things entirely to of that remarkable man, who survived down to our them.

own day, RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. On the Mar. You do, do you?

17th of January 1775, his play of The Rivals was Hard. Entirely. By the by, I believe they are in ) brought out at "Covent Garden. In this first effort

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