usual, bidding like a fury against herself. And then so curious in antiques! herself the most genuine piece of antiquity in the whole collection.

HONEYWOOD.

Excuse me, ladies, if some uneasiness from friendship makes me unfit to share in this good humour: I know you'll pardon me.

Mrs. CROAKER.

I vow he seems as melancholy as if he had taken a dose of my husband this morning. Well, if Richland here can pardon you, I must.

Miss RICHLAND.

You would seem to insinuate, Madam, that I have particular reasons for being disposed to refuse it.

Mrs. CROAKER.

Whatever I insinuate, my dear, don't be so ready to wish an explanation.

Miss RICHLAND.

I own I should be sorry, Mr. Honeywood's long friendship and mine should be misunderstood.

HONEYWOOD.

There's no answering for others, Madam. But I hope you'll never find me presuming to offer more than the most delicate friendship may readily allow.

Miss RICHLAND.

And I shall be prouder of such a tribute from you than the most passionate professions from others.

HONEYWOOD.

My own sentiments, Madam: friendship is a disinterested commerce between equals; love, an abject intercourse between tyrants and slaves.

Miss RICHLAND.

And, without a compliment, I know none more disinterested, or more capable of friendship than Mr. Honeywood.

Mrs. CROAKER.

And, indeed, I know nobody that has more friends, at least among the ladies. Miss Fruzz, Miss Odbody, and Miss Winterbottom, praise him in all companies. As for Miss Biddy Bundle, she's his professed admirer.

Miss RICHLAND.

Indeed! an admirer! I did not know, Sir, you were such a favourite there. But is she seriously so handsome? Is she the mighty thing talked of?

HONEYWOOD.

The town, Madam, seldom begins to praise a

lady's beauty, till she 's beginning to lose it.

(Smiling.)

Mrs. CROAKER.

But she's resolved never to lose it, it seems. For, as her natural face decays, her skill improves in making the artificial one. Well, nothing diverts me more than one of those fine, old, dressy things, who thinks to conceal her age, by every where exposing her person; sticking herself up in the front of a side-box; trailing through a minuet at Almack's; and then, in the public gardens, looking for all the world like one of the painted ruins of the place.

HONEYWOOD.

Every age has its admirers, ladies. While you, perhaps, are trading among the warmer climates of youth; there ought to be some to carry on an useful commerce in the frozen latitudes beyond fifty.

Miss RICHLAND.

But, then, the mortifications they must suffer before they can be fitted out for traffic. I have seen one of them fret a whole morning at her hairdresser, when all the fault was her face.

HONEYWOOD.

And yet, I'll engage, has carried that face at last to a very good market. This good-natur'd town, Madam, has husbands, like spectacles, to fit every age, from fifteen to fourscore.

Mrs. CROAKEr.

Well, you're a dear good-natur'd creature. But you know you 're engaged with us this morning upon a strolling party. I want to shew Olivia the town, and the things; I believe I shall have business for you for the whole day.

HONEYWOOD.

I am sorry, Madam, I have an appointment with Mr. Croaker, which it is impossible to put off.

Mrs. CROAKER.

You

What! with my husband! then I'm resolved to take no refusal. Nay, I protest you must. know I never laugh so much as with you.

HONEYWOOD.

Why, if I must, I must. I'll swear you have put me into such spirits. Well, do you find jest, and I'll find laugh, I promise you. We'll wait for the chariot in the next room.

Enter LEONTINE and OLIVIA.

LEONTINE.

[Exeunt.

There they go, thoughtless and happy. My dearest Olivia, what would I give to see you capable of sharing in their amusements, and as cheerful as they are!

OLIVIA.

How, my Leontine, how can I be cheerful, when I have so many terrors to oppress me? The fear of being detected by this family, and the apprehensions of a censuring world, when I must be detected-

LEONTINE.

The world! my love, what can it say? At worst it can only say that, being compelled by a mercenary guardian to embrace a life you disliked, you formed a resolution of flying with the man of your choice; that you confided in his honour, and took refuge in my father's house; the only one where your's could remain without censure.

OLIVIA.

But consider, Leontine, your disobedience and my indiscretion: your being sent to France to bring home a sister; and, instead of a sister, bringing home

LEONTINE.

One dearer than a thousand sisters. One that I am convinced will be equally dear to the rest of the family, when she comes to be known.

OLIVIA.

And that, I fear, will shortly be.