Capt. P. And do you give her to me in way. When my cousin is pleased to surrengood earnest? der, 'tis probable I shan't hold out much longer. Just. B. If you please to take her, sir. Capt. P. Why then I have saved my legs and armis, and lost my liberty. Secure from wounds, I am prepared for the gout. Farewell subsistence, and welcome taxes.-Sir, my liberty and the hopes of being a general are much dearer to me than your two thousand pounds a year; but to your love, madam, I resign my freedom, and to your beauty my ambition; greater in obeying at your feet, than commanding at the head of an army. Enter WORTHY. Wor. I am sorry to hear, Mr. Balance, that your daughter is lost. Just. B. So am not I, sir, since an honest gentleman has found her. Enter MELINDA. Mel. Pray, Mr. Balance, what's become of my cousin Sylvia? Just. B. Your cousin Sylvia is talking yonder with your cousin Plume. Mel. And Worthy.-How? I Re-enter CAPTAIN BRAZEN. Capt. B. Gentlemen, I am yours.-Madam, Mel. I'm glad on't, sir. Capt. B. So am I.-You have got a pretty house here, Mr. Laconic. Just. B. Tis time to right all mistakes-my name, sir, is Balance. Capt. B. Balance! Sir, I am your most obedient-I know your whole generation — had not you an uncle that was governor of the Leeward Islands some years ago? Just. B. Did you know him? Capt. B. Intimately, sir-He played at billiards to a miracle. You had a brother too that was a captain of a fire-ship-poor Dick -he had the most engaging way with him of making punch-and then his cabin was so neat-but his poor boy Jack was the most comical bastard-Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! a pickled dog; I shall never forget him. Capt. P. Have you got your recruits, my dear? Capt. B. Not a stick, my dear! Syl. Do you think it strange, cousin, that a woman should change? But I hope you'll ex- Capt. P. Probably I shall furnish you, my cuse a change that has proceeded from con- dear! instead of the twenty thousand pounds stancy. I altered my outside because I was you talk'd of, you shall have the twenty brave the same within, and only laid by the woman recruits that I have raised at the rate they to make sure of my man: that's my history. cost me. My commission I lay down, to be Mel. Your history is a little romantic, cou- taken up by some braver fellow, that has more sin; but since success has crowned your ad- merit and less good fortune-whilst I endeaventures, you will have the world on your vour, by the example of this worthy gentleside; and I shall be willing to go with the man, to serve my king and country at home. tide, provided you'll pardon an injury I of- With some regret I quit the active field, fered you in the letter to your father. Where glory full reward for life does yield; But the recruiting trade, with all its train Of endless plague, fatigue, and endless pain, I gladly quit, with my fair spouse to stay, And raise recruits the matrimonial way. [Exeunt. Capt. P. That injury, madam, was done to me, and the reparation I expect shall be made to my friend: make Mr. Worthy happy, and I shall be satisfied. Mel. A good example, sir, will go a great GARRICK. DAVID GARRICK was born at Hereford and baptized Feb. 28, 1716. At the age of ten years he was put under the care of Mr. Hunter, master of the Grammar school of Lichfield, but made no great progress in Literature. He very early showed his attachment to dramatic entertainments; having in the year 1727 represented the character of Sergeant Kite in the Recruiting Officer, with great applause. From school he went to Lisbon to visit his uncle, but stayed only a short time there before he returned to England, on which he went again to Mr. Hunter; and in 1755 became the pupil of Dr. Johnson. The progress he made under this able tutor was not such as the brilliancy of his parts might seem to promise; the vivacity of his character unfitted him for serious pursuits, and his attention to the drama prevailed over every other object. After a time Johnson grew tired of teaching; and Mr. Garrick being desirous of a more active life, it was agreed by both the pupil and his tutor to quit Lichfield and try their fortunes in the metropolis. They accordingly set cut together on the ad of March 1736; and on the 9th of the same month Mr. Garrick was entered of Lincoln's Inn, it being intended that the law should be his profession. His father died soon after, and was not survived by his mother. He then engaged in the wine-trade, in partnership with his brother Peter Garrick; but this connexion lasting for a short time he resolved to try his talents on the stage, and in the summer of 1741 went down to Ipswich, where he acted with great applause under the name of Lyddal. The part which he first performed was that of Aboan, in the Tragedy of Oroonoko. He made his first appearance at the Theatre in Goodman's Fields the 19th of Oct. 1741, in the character of Richard the Third, his excellence dazzled and astonished every one; and the seeing a young man, in no more than his twenty-fourth year, and a novice to the stage, reaching at one single step to that height of perfection which maturity of years and long practical experience had not been able to bestow on the then capital performers on the English stage, was a phenomenon which could not but become the object of universal speculation and as universal admiration. The theatres towards the court-end of the town were on this occasion deserted, persons of all ranks flocking to Goodman's Fields where Mr. Garrick continued to act till the close of the season; in the ensuing winter he engaged himself to Mr. Fleetwood, then manager of Drury Lane playhouse, in which theatre he continued till the year 1745, in the winter of which he went over to Ireland, and continued there through the whole of that season, being joint manager with Mr. Sheridan in the direction and profits of the Theatre Royal in Smock Alley. From there he returned to England, and was engaged for the sea son of 1746 with the late Mr. Rich, patentee of Covent-garden. This however was his last performance as a hired actor; for in the close of the season, Mr. Garrick, in conjunction with Mr. Lacy purchased the property of that theatre, together with the renovation of the patent. In this station Mr. Garrick continued until the year 1776, with an interval of two years, from 1765 to 1765, which he devoted to travelling abroad. While Mr. Garrick was in France, he made a short excursion from the capital with the celebrated Parisian performer Preville. They were on horseback, and Preville took a fancy to act the part of a drunken cavalier. Garrick applauded the imitation, but told him, he wanted one thing which was essential to complete the picture, he did not make his legs drunk. "Hold, my friend, "said he, "and 1 will show you an English blood, who, after having dined at a tavern, and swallowed three or four bottles of Port, mounts his horse in a summer evening to go to his box in the country." He immediately proceeded to exhibit all the gradations of intoxication. He called to his servant, that the sun and the fields were turning round him; whipped and spurred his horse, until the animal reared and wheeled in every direction: at length he lost his whip, his feet seemed incapable of resting in the stirrups, the bridle dropped from his hand, and he appeared to have lost the use of his faculties. Finally, he fell from his horse in such a deathlike manner, that Preville gave an involuntary cry of horror; and his terror greatly increased when he found that his friend made no answers to his questions. After wiping the dust from his face, he asked again, with the emotion and anxiety of friendship, whether he was hurt. Garrick whose eyes were closed, half opened one of them, hiccuped, and, with the most natural tone of intoxication, called for another glass. Preville was astonished; and when Garrick started up, and resumed his usual demeanour, the French actor exclaimed "My friend, allow the scholar to embrace his master, and thank him for the valuable lesson he has given him. " The 10th of June 1776, after performing the character of Don Felix in Mrs. Centlivre's Comedy of the Wonder for the benefit of the fund for decayed actors he took leave of the stage. He died at his house in the Adelphi, after a few day's sickness, on the 20th of January 1779. His body was interred with great funeral pomp at Westminster Abbey, on the 1st of February following. Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce, the lover and the hero, the jealous husband who suspects his wife's virtue without cause and the thoughtless lively rake who attacks it without design, were all alike open to his imitation and all alike did honour to his execution. Every passion of the human breast seemed subjected to his powers of expression; nay, even time itself appeared to stand still or advance as he would have it. Rage and ridicule, doubt and despair, transport and contempt, love, jealousy, fear, fury, and simplicity, all took in turn possession of his features, while each of them in turn appeared to be sole possessor of those features. One night old age sat on his countenance, as if the wrinkles she had stamped there were indelible; the next the gaiety and bloom of youth seemed to overspread his face, and smooth even those marks which time and muscular conformation might have really made there. As if Nature had from his cradle marked him out for her truest representative, she bestowed on him such powers of expression in the muscles of his face, no performer ever yet possessed; not only for the display of a single passion, but also for the combination of those various conflicts with which the human breast at times is fraught, so that in his countenance, even when his lips were silent, his meaning stood portrayed in characters too legible for any to mistake it. In a word, the beholder felt himself affected he knew not how; and it may be truly said of him, by future writers, what the poet has said of Shakspeare, that in his acting, as in the other's writing: "His powerful strokes presiding truth impressed, And unresisted passion storm'd the breast" as Notwithstanding the numberless and laborious avocations attending on his profession as an actor, and his station as a manager, yet still his active genius was perpetually bursting forth in various little productions both in the dramatic and poetical way, the merit of which cannot but make us regret his want of time for the pursuit of more extensive and important works. THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE, was first acted at Drury Lane, in 1766. When two such names as Colman the Elder and Garrick, united to write a play upon an original idea of such a third man as Hogarth, much was to be expected; and all that expectation could rationally form is here most amply fulfilled. The Epilogue artfully tells us that Hogarth's Marriage Alamode is the foundation, we find all our faculties seized on by the irresistible effect of caricature; and we are in imagination hurried through the whole list of his inimitable productions; The two Apprentices, The Gates of Calais, Midnight Conversation, Players in a Barn, and Marriage Alamode, put us in the best humour in the world to judge of an author's productions; and before our reason has had time to examine, our heart has approved. Mrs. Inchbald says, "Lord Ugleby, once the most admired part in this comedy, is an evidence of the fluctuation of manners, modes, and opinions; - forty years ago, it was reckoned so natural a representation of a man of fashion, that several noblemen are said to have been in the author's thoughts when he designed the character; now, no part is so little understood in the play and his foibles seem so discordant with the manly faults of the present time, that his good qualities cannot atone for them." To this it has been well replied, that, considered merely as a delineation of manners, Lord Ogleby is, no doubt, a fleeting and fugacious being; but the foundation of his artificial character is so noble, so generous, and so kindly, that, whenever it can find a proper representative, it must continue to excite our sympathies." But we must observe, that the part of Canton, however amusing to the galleries, is an illiberal caricature of the Swiss nation, and therefore disgraceful to the English stage. SCENE I-A Room in STERLING'S House. Fan. What's the matter, Betty? of that sort, for fear of an accident. Bet. Dear ma'am, you may depend upon me. There is not a more trustier creature on the face of the earth than I am. Though I say it, I am as secret as the grave—and if it is never told till I tell it, it may remain untold till doomsday for Betty. Fan. I know you are faithful-but in our circumstances we cannot be too careful. Bet. Very true, ma'am! and yet I vow and Fan. I am glad to hear it.-But pray now, protest there's more plague than pleasure with my dear Betty, be cautious. Don't mention a secret; especially if a body mayn't mention that word again on any account. You know it to four or five of one's particular acquainwe have agreed never to drop any expressions tance. Fan. Do but keep this secret a little while am under the perpetual terrors of a shameful longer, and then I hope you may mention it detection. to any body.-Mr. Lovewell will acquaint the Love. Indeed, indeed, you are to blame. family with the nature of our situation as soon The amiable delicacy of your temper, and as possible. your quick sensibility, only serve to make Bet. The sooner the better, I believe: for you unhappy.-To clear up this affair proif he does not tell it, there's a little tell-tale, perly to Mr. Sterling, is the continual employI know of, will come and tell it for him. ment of my thoughts. Every thing now is in Fan. Fie, Betty! [Blushes. a fair train. It begins to grow ripe for a disBut you're covery; and I have no doubt of its concludwan, and so ing to the satisfaction of ourselves, of your father, and the whole family. Bet. Ah! you may well blush. not so sick, and so pale, and so many qualms Fan. Have done! I shall be with you. quite angry Fan. End how it will, I am resolv'd it shall end soon-very soon. I would not live anoBet. Angry-Bless the dear puppet! I am ther week in this agony of mind to be missure I shall love it as much as if it was my tress of the universe. own. I meant no harm, heaven's knows. Love. Do not be too violent neither. Do Fan. Well, say no more of this-it makes not let us disturb the joy of your sister's marme uneasy. All I have to ask of you is, to riage with the tumult this matter may occabe faithful and secret, and not to reveal this sion!-I have brought letters from lord Ogleby matter till we disclose it to the family our- and sir John Melvil to Mr. Sterling. They selves. will be here this evening-and I dare say within this hour. Bet. Me reveal it!-If I say a word, I wish I may be burned. I would not do you any harm for the world-and as for Mr. Lovewell, I am sure I have loved the dear gentleman ever since he got a tide-waiter's place for my brother. But let me tell you both, you must leave off your soft looks to each other, and your whispers, and your glances, and your always sitting next to one another at dinner, and your long walks together in the evening. -For my part, if I had not been in the secret, I should have known you were a pair of lovers at least, if not man and wife, as Fan. See there now again! Pray be careful. Bet. Well, well-nobody hears me.-Man and wife-I'll say no more.-What I tell you is very true, for all that Love. [Within] William! Bet. Hark! I hear your husband— Fan. I am sorry for it. Love. Why so? Fan. No matter-only let us disclose our marriage immediately! Love. As soon as possible. Fan. But directly. Love. In a few days, you may depend on it. Fan. Indeed you must-I have the most alarming reasons for it. Love. Alarming, indeed! for they alarm me, even before I am acquainted with themWhat are they? Fan. I cannot tell you. Love. Not tell me? Fan. Not at present. When all is settled, Bet. I say here comes Mr. Lovewell.-Mind you shall be acquainted with every thing. the caution I give you-I'll be whipped now Love. Sorry they are coming!-Must be if you are not the first person he sees or speaks discovered!—What can this mean? Is it posto in the family. However, if you choose it, sible you can have any reasons that need be it's nothing at all to me-as you sow, so you concealed from me? must reap-as you brew, so you must bake. Fan. Do not disturb yourself with conjec-I'll e'en slip down the back stairs, and leave tures-but rest assur'd, that though you are you together. [Exit. unable to divine the cause, the consequence Fan. I see, I see I shall never have a mo- of a discovery, be it what it will, cannot be ment's ease till our marriage is made public. attended with half the miseries of the present New distresses crowd in upon me every day. interval. The solicitude of my mind sinks my spirits, Love. You put me upon the rack—I would preys upon my health, and destroys every do any thing to make you easy.—But you comfort of my life. It shall be revealed, let know your father's temper-Money (you will what will be the consequence. Enter LOVEWEll. excuse my frankness) is the spring of all his actions, which nothing but the idea of acquiring nobility or magnificence can ever make him forego-and these he thinks his money Love. My love!-How's this?-In tears?- will purchase. You know, too, your aunt's, Indeed this is too much. You promised me Mrs. Heidelberg's, notions of the splendour of to support your spirits, and to wait the deter- high life; her contempt for every thing that mination of our fortune with patience. For does not relish of what she calls quality; and my sake, for your own, be comforted! Why that from the vast fortune in her hands, by will you study to add to our uneasiness and her late husband, she absolutely governs Mr. perplexity? Sterling and the whole family. Now if they Fan. Oh, Mr. Lovewell, the indelicacy of should come to the knowledge of this affair a secret marriage grows every day more and too abruptly, they might perhaps be incensed more shocking to me. I walk about the house beyond all hopes of reconciliation. like a guilty wretch: I imagine myself the ob- Fan. Manage it your own way. I am perject of the suspicion of the whole family, and suaded. Love. But in the mean time make yourselfeasy, not be able to keep my word with you, if I Fan. As easy as I can, I will. We had did promise you. better not remain together any longer at pre- Ster. Why, you would not offer to marry sent. Think of this business, and let me know her without my consent! would how you proceed. Love. Depend on my care! But pray be cheerful. Fan. I will. well? you, LoveLove. Marry her, sir! [Confused. Ster. Ay, marry her, sir!-I know very well, that a warm speech or two from such a dangerous young spark as you are would Enter STERLING, as she is going. go much further towards persuading a silly Ster. Hey-day! who have we got here? girl to do what she has more than a month's Fan. [Confused] Mr. Lovewell, sir. mind to do, than twenty grave lectures from Ster. And where are you going, hussy? fathers or mothers, or uncles or aunts, to preFan. To my sister's chamber, sir. [Exit. vent her. But you would not, sure, be such Ster. Ah, Lovewell! What! always getting a base fellow, such a treacherous young my foolish girl yonder into a corner?-Well rogue, as to seduce my daughter's affections, -well-let us but once see her eldest sister and destroy the peace of my family in that fast married to sir John Melvil, we'll soon manner.-I must insist on it, that you give provide a good husband for Fanny, I warrant me your word not to marry her without my you. Love. Would to heaven, sir, you would, Love. And I flatter myself, that such a proposal would not be very disagreeable to miss. Fanny. Ster. Better and better! Love. And if I could but obtain your consent, sir consent. Love. Sir-I-I-as to that-I—I beg, sir— Pray, sir, excuse me on this subject at present. Ster. Promise then, that you will carry this matter no further without my approbation. Love. You may depend on it, sir, that it shall go no further. Ster. Well-well-that's enough — I'll take care of the rest, I warrant you.-Come, come, let's have done with this nonsense! What's doing in town?-Any news upon 'Change? Love. Nothing material. Ster. What! You marry Fanny ?-no-no Ster. Have you seen the currants, the soap, -that will never do, Lovewell!- You're a and Madeira' safe in the warehouse? Have you good boy, to be sure I have a great value compared the goods with the invoice and bills for you-but can't think of you for a son-in- of lading, and are they all right? law. There's no stuff in the case; no money, Lovewell! Love. My pretensions to fortune, indeed, are but moderate; but though not equal to splendour, sufficient to keep us above distress. -Add to which, that I hope by diligence to increase it-and have love, honour Love. They are, sir. Ster. And how are stocks? Love. Fell one and a half this morning. Ster. Well, well-some good news from America, and they'll be up again. But how are lord Ogleby and sir John Melvil?-when are we to expect them? Ster. But not the stuff, Lovewell!-Add one Love. Very soon, sir. I came on purpose little round 0 to the sum total of your fortune, to bring you their commands. Here are letand that will be the finest thing you can say ters from both of them. [Giving Letters. to me. You know I've a regard for you— Ster. Let me see-let me see -'Slife, how would do any thing to serve you-any thing his lordship's letter is perfumed!-It takes my on the footing of friendship-butbreath away. [Opening it] And French paLove. If you think me worthy of your per too!-with a slippery gloss on it that dazzles friendship, sir, be assured that there is no one's eyes.-My dear Mr. Sterling-[Readinstance in which I should rate your friendship ing]-Mercy on me! his lordship writes a so highly. worse hand than a boy at his exercise. But Ster. Pshaw! pshaw! that's another thing, how's this?-Eh!-With you to-night-Lawyou know. Where money or interest is con-yers to-morrow morning.-To-night!—that's cerned, friendship is quite out of the question. sudden, indeed-Where's my sister HeidelLove. But where the happiness of a daughter berg? She should know of this immediately. is at stake, you would not scruple, sure, to sacrifice a little to her inclinations. Here, John! Harry! Thomas! [Calling the Ster. Inclinations! why you would not persuade me that the girl is in love with you- Ster. Mind now, how I'll entertain his lordeh, Lovewell? ship and sir John-We'll show your fellows Love. I cannot absolutely answer for miss at the other end of the town how we live in Fanny, sir; but am sure that the chief happi- the city-They shall eat gold-and drink gold ness or misery of my life depends entirely and lie in gold.-Here, cook! butler! [Callupon her. ing] What signifies your birth, and educaSter. Why, inded, now if your kinsman, tion, and titles!-Money, money! - that's the lord Ogleby, would come down handsomely stuff that makes the great man in this country. for you-but that's impossible-No, no-'twill Love. Very true, sir. never do--I must hear no more of this-Come, Ster. True, sir!-Why then have done with Lovewell, promise me that I shall hear no your nonsense of love and matrimony. You're more of this. not rich enough to think of a wife yet. A man Love. [Hesitating] I am afraid, sir, I should of business should mind nothing but his bu siness. Where are these fellows? - John! transparent! - Here, the tops, you see, will Thomas!-[Calling] Get an estate, and a wife take off, to wear in a morning, or in an unwill follow of course-Ah! Lovewell! an En- dress-how d'ye like them? [Shows Jewels. glish merchant is the most respectable character Fan. Very much, I assure you-Bless me, in the universe.-'Slife, man, a rich English sister, you have a prodigious quantity of jewmerchant may make himself a match for the els--you'll be the very queen of diamonds. daughter of a nabob.-Where are all my ras- Miss S. Ha, ha, ha! very well, my dear!cals?-Here, William!- [Exit, calling. I shall be as fine as a little queen indeed.—I Love. So as I suspected. Quite averse to have a bouquet to come home to-morrow— the match, and likely to receive the news of made up of diamonds, and rubies, and emeit with great displeasure.-What's best to be ralds, and topazes, and amethysts-jewels of done? Let me see-Suppose I get sir John all colours, green, red, blue, yellow, intermixMelvil to interest himself in this affair. He ed-the prettiest thing you ever saw in your may mention it to lord Ogleby with a better life!-The jeweller says I shall set out with grace than I can, and more probably prevail as many diamonds as any body in town, exon him to interfere in it. I can open my cept lady Brilliant, and Polly What-d'ye-callmind also more freely to sir John. He told it, lord Squander's kept mistress. me, when I left him in town, that he had Fan. But what are your wedding-clothes, something of consequence to communicate, sister? and that I could be of use to him. I am glad Miss S. O, white and silver, to be sure, you of it: for the confidence he reposes in me, know. -I bought them at sir Joseph Luteand the service I may do him will ensure me string's, and sat above an hour in the parlour his good offices. Poor Fanny! it hurts me to behind the shop, consulting lady Lutestring see her so uneasy, and her making a mystery about gold and silver stuffs, on purpose to of the cause adds to my anxiety.-Something mortify her. must be done upon her account; for, at all events, her solicitude shall be removed. [Exit. Fan. Fie, sister! how could you be so abominably provoking? Miss S. Oh, I have no patience with the SCENE II.-MISS STERLING's Dressing-room. ever observe the airs of lady Lutestring, dresspride of your city-knights' ladies. — Did you MISS STERLING and FANNY discovered. ed in the richest brocade out of her husband's Miss S. O, my dear sister, say no more!-shop, playing crown whist at Haberdasher'sThis is downright hypocrisy. You shall never hall-whilst the civil smirking sir Joseph, with convince me that you don't envy me beyond a snug wig trimmed round his broad face as measure. Well, after all, it is extremely na-close as a new cut yew hedge, and his shoes tural-It is impossible to be angry with you. so black that they shine again, stands all day Fan. Indeed, sister, you have no cause. in his shop, fastened to his counter like a bad Miss S. And you really pretend not to envy me? Fan. Not in the least. Miss S. And you don't in the least wish that you was just in my situation? shilling? Fan. Indeed, indeed, sister, this is too much -If you talk at this rate, you will be absolutely a bye-word in the city-You must never venture on the inside of Temple-bar again. Fan. No, indeed I don't. Why should I? Miss S. Never do I desire it-never, my Miss S. Why should you? What! on the dear Fanny, I promise you. Oh, how I long brink of marriage, fortune, title-But I had to be transported to the dear regions of Grosforgot-There's that dear sweet creature, Mr. venor-square-far-far from the dull districts Lovewell, in the case.-You would not break of Aldersgate, Cheap, Candlewick, and Faryour faith with your truelove now for the ringdon Without and Within!-my heart world, I warrant you. goes pit-a-pat at the very idea of being inFan. Mr. Lovewell!-always Mr. Lovewell! troduced at court!-gilt chariot!-pieballed -Lord, what signifies Mr. Lovewell, sister? horses!-laced liveries!-and then the whispers Miss S. Pretty peevish soul!-O, my dear, buzzing round the circle-"Who is that young grave, romantic sister!—a perfect philosopher lady? Who is she?"-"Lady Melvil, ma'am!" in petticoats! Love and a cottage!-eh, Fanny-Lady Melvil! My ears tingle at the sound. -Ah, give me indifference and a coach and -And then at dinner, instead of my father perpetually asking-"Any news upon Change?" Fan. And why not a coach and six with--to cry, "Well, sir John! any thing out the indifference?-But pray when is this new from Arthur's?"-or, to say to some happy marriage of yours to be celebrated? I other woman of quality, "Was your ladyship long to give you joy. at the duchess of Rubber's last night? Did Miss S. In a day or two-I cannot tell ex- you call in at lady Thunder's? - In the imactly-Oh, my dear sister!-I must mortify mensity of crowd I swear I did not see you her a little [Aside] I know you have a pretty-Scarce a soul at the opera last Saturdaytaste. Pray give me your opinion of my jew-Shall I see you at Carlisle-house next Thursels. How do you like the style of this es- day?"-Oh, the dear beau monde! I was clavage? [Showing Jewels. born to move in the sphere of the great world. Fan. Extremely handsome indeed, and well Fan. And so in the midst of all this hapfancied. piness you have no compassion for me-no Miss S. What d'ye think of these bracelets? pity for us poor mortals in common life. I shall have a miniature of my father set Miss S. [Affectedly] You? You're above round with diamonds to one, and sir John's to pity.-You would not change conditions with the other. And this pair of ear-rings!-set me.-You're over head and ears in love, you six! |