dit's sake and you may depend on it I shall soon discover Sir Oliver's weak side! Charles S. Out with him, to be sure. [Both forcing Sir Oliver out. Enter SIR PETER and LADY TEAZLE, MARIA and ROWLEY. Lady Sneer. I have no diffidence of your abilities! only be constant to one roguery at a time. [Exit Lady SNEERWELL, Sir Peter T. My old friend, Sir OliverJoseph S. I will, I will. So! 'tis confound- hey! What in the name of wonder-here ed hard, after such bad fortune, to be baited are dutiful nephews-assault their uncle at a by one's confederate in evil. Well, at all first visit! events my character is so much better than Lady T. Indeed, Sir Oliver, 'twas well we Charles's, that I certainly-bey!-what! came in to rescue you. this is not Sir Oliver, but old Stanley again. Plague on't that he should return to tease me just now I shall have Sir Oliver come and find him here — and Enter Sir OLIVER SURFACE. Gad's life, Mr. Stanley, why have you come back to plague me at this time? You must not stay now, upon my word. Sir Oliver S. Sir, I hear your uncle Oliver is expected here, and though he has been so penurious to you, I'll try what he'll do for me. Rowley. Truly, it was; for I perceive, Sir Oliver, the character of old Stanley was no protection to you. Sir Oliver S. Nor of Premium either: the Joseph S. Tis now complete! Joseph S. Sir, 'tis impossible for you to Sir Oliver S. Sir Peter, my friend, and Rowstay now, so I must beg-Come any other ley too-look on that elder nephew of mine. time, and I promise you, you shall be assisted. You know what he has already received from Sir Oliver S. No: Sir Oliver and I must my bounty; and you also know how gladly I be acquainted. would have regarded half my fortune as held Joseph S. Zounds, sir! then I insist on in trust for him: judge then my dissappointyour quitting the room directly. Sir Oliver S. Nay, sir ment in discovering him to be destitute of faith, charity, and gratitude. Joseph S. Sir, I insist on't: here, William! Sir Peter T. Sir Oliver, I should be more show this gentleman out. Since you compel surprised at this declaration, if I had not myme, sir, not one moment-this is such inso- self found him to be mean, treacherous, and lence! [Going to push him out. hypocritical. Enter CHARLES SURFACE. Charles S. Hey day! what's the matter now! What the devil, have you got hold of my little broker here? Zounds, brother! don't hurt little Premium. What's the matter, my little fellow? Joseph S. So! he has been with you too, has he? Charles S. To be sure he has. Why he's as honest as little-But sure, Joseph, you have not been borrowing money too, have you? Joseph S. Borrowing! no! But, brother, you know we expect Sir Oliver here everyCharles S. O Gad, that's true! Noll mustn't find the little broker here, to be sure. Joseph S. Yet Mr. Stanley insistsCharles S. Stanley! why his name's mium. Lady T. And if the gentleman pleads not guilty to these, pray let him call me to his character. Sir Peter T. Then, I believe, we need add no more: if he knows himself, he will consider it as the most perfect punishment, that he is known to the world. Charles S. If they talk this way to honesty, what will they say to me, by and by? [Aside. Sir Oliver S. As for that prodigal, his brother, there— Charles S. Ay, now comes my turn: the damned family pictures will ruin me. [Aside. Joseph S. Sir Oliver-uncle, will you honour me with a hearing? Charles S. Now if Joseph would make one of his long speeches, I might recollect myPre-self a little. [Aside. Sir Peter T. I suppose you would undertake to justify yourself entirely! [To Joseph. Joseph S. I trust I could. Joseph S. No, sir, Stanley. Charles S. No, no, Premium. Joseph S. Well, no matter which-butCharles S. Ay, ay, Stanley or Premium, 'tis the same thing, as you say; for I suppose he goes by half a hundred names, besides A. B. at the coffee-house. 1) [Knocking. Joseph S. 'Sdeath! here's Sir Oliver at the door. Now I beg, Mr. Stanley Charles S. Ay, ay, and I beg, Mr. Pre mium Sir Oliver S. Gentlemen Joseph S. Sir, by heaven you shall go! ment, A. B. at a Coffee-house, or other place. Sir Oliver S. Well, sir!—and you could justify yourself too, I suppose? Charles S. Not that I know of, Sir Oliver. Sir Oliver S. What!-Little Premium has been let too much into the secret, I suppose? Charles S. True, sir; but they were family secrets, and should not be mentioned again, you know. Rowley. Come, Sir Oliver, I know you cannot speak of Charles's follies with auger. Sir Oliver S. Odd's heart, no more I can; nor with gravity either.- Sir Peter, do you know, the rogue bargained with me for all his ancestors; sold me judges and generals by the foot, and maiden aunts as cheap as broken china. Sir Peter T. Plot and counter-plot, egad! Lady Sneer. The torments of shame and disappointment on you all.— Charles S. To be sure, Sir Oliver, I did make a little free with the family canvas, that's the truth on't. My ancestors may rise in judgment against me, there's no denying Lady T. Hold, Lady Sneerwell—before you it; but believe me sincere when I tell you-go, let me thank you for the trouble you and and upon my soul I would not say so if I that gentleman have taken, in writing letters was not that if I do not appear mortified at from me to Charles, and answering them yourthe exposure of my follies, it is because I feel self; and let me also request you to make my at this moment the warmest satisfaction in respects to the scandalous college, of which seeing you, my liberal benefactor. Sir Olivers S. Charles, I believe you; give me your hand again: the i!llooking little fellow over the settee has made your peace. Charles S. Then, sir, my gratitude to the original is still increased. Lady T. Yet, I believe, Sir Oliver, here is one whom Charles is still more anxious to be reconciled to. Sir Oliver S. Oh, I have heard of his attachment there; and, with the young lady's pardon, if I construe right-that blush you are president, and inform them, that Lady Teazle, licentiate, begs leave to return the diploma they gave her, as she leaves off practice, and kills characters no longer. Lady Sneer. You too, madam-provokinginsolent-May your husband live these fifty years! [Exit. Sir Peter T. Oons! what a fury! Lady T. A malicious creature, indeed! Sir Peter T. Hey! Not for her last wish? Lady T. O no! Sir Oliver S. Well, sir, and what have you Sir Peter T. Well, child, speak your sen- to say now? timents! Maria. Sir, I have little to say, but that I shall rejoice to hear that he is happy; for me -whatever claim I had to his affection, I willingly resign to one who has a better title. Charles S. How, Maria! Sir Peter T. Hey day! what's the mystery now?- While he appeared an incorrigible rake, you would give your hand to no one else; and now that he is likely to reform, I'll warrant you won't have him. Maria. His own heart and Lady Sneerwell know the cause. Charles S. Lady Sneerwell! I am Joseph S. Sir, I am so confounded, to find that Lady Sneerwell could be guilty of suborning Mr. Snake in this manner, to impose on us all, that I know not what to say; however, lest her revengeful spirit should prompt her to injure my brother, I had certainly better follow her directly. [Exit. Sir Peter T. Moral to the last drop! Sir Oliver S. Ay, and marry her, Joseph, if you can.-Oil and Vinegar, egad! you'll do very well together. Rowley, I believe we have no more occasion for Mr. Snake at present? Snake. Before I go, I beg pardon once for all, for whatever uneasiness I have been the humble instrument of causing to the parties present. Sir Peter T. Well, well, you have made atonement by a good deed at last. Snake. But I must request of the company, that it shall never be known. Sir Oliver S. Hey!-What the plague!—Are you ashamed of having done a right thing once in your life? Joseph S. Brother, it is with great concern obliged to speak on this point, but my regard to justice compels me, and Lady Sneerwell's injuries can no longer be concealed. [Opens the door. Enter LADY SNEERWELL. Sir Peter T. So! another French milliner! Egad, he has one in every room in the house, I suppose. Lady Sneer. Ungrateful Charles! Well Snake. Ah, sir! consider, I live by the may you be surprised, and feel, for the inde-badness of my character; I have nothing but licate situation your perfidy has forced me my infamy to depend on! and if it were once known that I had been betrayed into an Charles S. Pray, uncle, is this another plot honest action, I should lose every friend 1 of yours? For, as I have life, I don't under-have in the world. stand it. into. Joseph S. I believe, sir, there is but the evidence of one person more necessary to make it extremely clear. Sir Oliver S. Well, well, we'll not traduce you by saying any thing in your praise, never fear. [Exit Snake. Sir Peter T. There's a precious rogue! Sir Peter T. And that person, I imagine, Lady T. See, Sir Oliver, there needs no is Mr. Snake. -Rowley, you were perfectly persuasion now to reconcile your nephew right to bring him with us, and pray let him and Maria. Sir Oliver S. Ay, ay, that's as it should be, and egad we'll have the wedding to-morrow morning. Charles S. Thank you, dear uncle! Sir Peter T. What, you rogue! don't you ask the girl's consent first? Charles S. Oh, I have done that a long time-a minute ago-and she has looked yes. Maria. For shame, Charles!-I protest, Sir Peter, there has not been a word. Sir Oliver S. Well, then, the fewer the better;-may your love for each other never know abatement! Sir Peter T. And may you live as happily together as Leady Teazle and I intend to do!ja proof that I intend to set about it; but here Charles S. Rowley, my old friend, I am shall be my monitor my gentle guide-ah! sure you congratulate me; and I suspect that can I leave the virtuous path those eyes illuI owe you much. Sir Oliver S. You do indeed, Charles. Rowley. If my efforts to serve you had not succeeded, you would have been in my debt for the attempt; but deserve to be happy, and you overpay me. Sir Peter T. Ay, honest Rowley always said you would reform. Charles S. Why, as to reforming, Sir Peter, I'll make no promises, and that I take to be mine? Though thou, dear maid, shouldst wave thy Thou still must rule, because I will obey. SIR RICHARD STEELE Was born about the year 1676, in Ireland, in which kingdom one branch of the family was possessed of a considerable estate in the county of Wexford. His father, a counsellor at law in Dublin, was private secretary to James Duke of Ormond, but he was of English extraction; and his son, while very young, being carried to London, he put him to school at the Charterhouse, whence he was removed to Merton College, in Oxford, where he was admitted a postmaster in 1692. His inclination and genius being turned to polite literature, he commenced author during his residence in the university, and actually finished a comedy: which, however, he thought fit to suppress, as unworthy of his genius, Mr. Steele was well beloved and respected by the whole society, and had a good interest with them after he left the university, which he did without taking any degree, in the full resolution to enter into the army. This step was highly displeasing to his friends; but the ardour of his passion for a military life rendered him deaf to any other proposal. Not being able to procure a better station, he entered as a private gentleman in the horse-guards, notwithstanding he thereby lost his Irish estate. However, as he had a flow of good-nature, a generous openness and frankness of spirit, and a sparkling vivacity of wit,-these qualities rendered him the delight of the soldiery, and procured him an ensign's commission in the guards. In the mean time, as he had made choice of a profession which set him free from all the ordinary restraints on youth, he spared not to indulge his inclinations in the wildest excesses. Yet his gaicties and revels did not pass without some cool hours of reflection, and in these it was that he drew up his little realise, entitled The Christian Hero, with a design, if we may believe himself, to be a check upon his passions. For this use and purpose it had lain some time by him, when he printed it in 1701, with a dedication to Lord Cutts, who had not only appointed him his private secretary, but procured for him a company in Lord Lucas's regiment of fusileers. The whole plan and tenour of our author's book was such a flat contradiction to the general course of his life, that it became a subject of much mith and raillery: but these shafts had no effect; he persevered invariably in the same contradiction, and, though he had no power to change his heart, yet his pen was never prostituted to his follies. Under the influence of that good sense, he wrote his first play, which procured him the regard of king William, who resolved to give him some essential marks of his favour; and though, upon that prince's death, his hopes were dissapointed, yet, in the beginning of Queen Anne's reign, he was appointed to the profitable place of Gazetteer. He owed his post to the friendship of Lord Halifax and the Earl of Sunderland, to whom he had been recommended by his schoolfellow Mr. Addison. That gentleman also lent him an helping hand in promoting the comedy, called The Tender Husband, which was acted in 1704, with great success. But his next play, The Lying Lover, found a very different fate. Upon this rebuff from the stage, he turned the same humorous current into another channel; and, early in the year 1709, he began to publish The Tatler; which admirable paper was undertaken in concert with Dr. Swift. His reputation was perfectly established by this work; and, during the course of it, he was made a commissioner of the stamp-duties, in 1710. Upon the change of the ministry the same year, he sided with the Duke of Marlborough, who bad several years entertained a friendship for him; end, upon his Grace's dismission from all employments, in 1711, Mr. Steele addressed a letter of thanks to him for the services done to his country. However, as our author still continued to hold his place in the stamp-ofice under the new administration, he forbore entering with his pen upon political subjects. But, adhering more closely to Mr. Addison, he dropt The Tatler; and afterwards, by the assistance chiefly of that steady friend, he carried on the same plan, under the title of the The Spectator. The success of this paper was equal to that of the former, which encouraged him, before the close of it, to proceed upon the same design in the character of The Guardian. This was opened in the beginning of the year 1715, and was laid down in October the same year. But, in the course of it, his thoughts took a stronger turn to politics; he engaged with great warmth against the ministry, and being determined to prosecute his views that way, by procuring a seat in the House of Commons, he immediately removed all obstacles thereto. For that purpose, he took care to prevent a forcible dismission from his post in the stamp-office, by a timely resignation of it to the Earl of Oxford, and, at the same time, gave up a pension, which had been, till this time, paid him by the Queen, as a servant to the late Prince George of Denmark. This done, he wrote the famous Guardian, upon the demolition of Dunkirk, which was published August 7, 1713; and the Parliament being dissolved the next day, the Guardian was soon followed by several other warm political tracts against the administration. Upon the meeting of the new Parliament, Mr. Steele having been returned a member for the borough of Stockbridge, in Hampshire, took his seat accordingly in the House of Commons, but was expelled thence in a few days after, for writing several seditious and scandalous libels, as he had been indeed forewarned by the author of a periodical paper, called The Examiner. Presently after his expulsion, he published proposals for writing the History of the Duke of Marlborough. At the same time he also wrote The Spinster; and set up a paper, called The Reader. He also continued publishing several other things in the same spirit, until the death of the Queen. Immediately after which, as a reward for these services, he was taken into favour by her successor to the throne, K. George I., and appointed surveyor to the royal stables at Hampton Court, and put into the commission of the peace for the county of Middlesex; and, having procured a license for chief manager of the royal company of comedians, he easily obtained it to be changed the same year, 1714, into a patent from His Majesty, appointing him governor of the said company during his life; and to his executors, administrators, or assigns, for the space of three years afterwards, He was also chosen one of the representatives for Boroughbridge, in Yorkshire, in the first Parliament of that King, who conferred the honour of knighthood upon him, April 28, 1715; and, in August following, he received five hundred pounds from Six Robert Walpole, for special services. Thus highly encouraged, he triumphed over his opponents in several pamphlets, written in this and the following year. In 1717 he was appointed one of the commissioners for inquiring into the estates forfeited by the late rebellion in Scotland. This carried him into that part of the united kingdom, where, how unwelcome a guest soever he might be to the generality, yet he received from several of the nobility and gentry the most distinguishing marks of respect. In 1718 he buried his second wife, who had brought him a handsome fortune, and a good estate in Wales: but neither that, nor the ample additions lately made to his income, were sufficient to answer his demands. The thoughtless vivacity of his spirit often reduced him to little shifts of wit for its support, and the project of The Fish Pool this year owed its birth chiefly to the projector's necessities. The following year he opposed the remarkable peerage bill in the House of Commons, and, during the course of this opposition to the court, his license for acting plays was revoked, and his patent rendered ineffectual, at the instance of the lord chamberlain. He did his utmost to prevent so great a loss, and, finding every direct avenue of approach to his Royal Master effectually barred against him by his powerful adversary, he had recourse to the method of applying to the public, in hopes that his complaints would reach the ear' of his Sovereign, though in an indirect course, by that canal. In this spirit he formed the plan of a periodical paper, to be published twice a week, under the title of The Theatre; the first number of which came out on the 2nd of Jan. 1719-20. In the mean time, the misfortune of being out of favour at court, like other misfortunes, drew after it a train of more. During the course of this paper, in which he had assumed the feigned name of Sir John Edgar, he was outrageously attacked by Mr. Dennis, the noted critic, iu a very abusive pamphlet, entitled The Character and Conduct of Sir John Edgar, To this insult our author made a proper reply in The Theatre, White he was struggling, with all his might, to save himself from ruin, he found time to turn his pen against the mischievous South Sea scheme, which had nearly brought the nation to ruip, in 1720; and the next year he was restored to his of fice and authority in the playhouse in Drury Lane. Of this it was not long before he made an additional advantage hy bringing his celebrated comedy, called The Conscious Lovers, upon that stage, where it was acted with prodigious success; so that the receipt there must have been very considerable, besides the profits accraing by the sale of the copy and a purse of five hundred pounds given to him hy the King, to whom he dedicated it. Yet, notwithstanding these ample recruits, about the year following, being reduced to the utmost extremity, he sold his share in the play-house, and soon after commenced a lawsuit with the managers, which, in 1726, was determined to his disadvantage. During these misfortunes of Sir Richard, there was once an execution in his house. Being, however, under the necessity of receiving company a few days afterwards, he prevailed on the bailiffs to put on liveries, and to pass for his servants The farce succeeded but for a short time; for the knight enforcing his orders to one of them in a manner which this vermin of the law thought too authoritative, the insolent rascal threw off the mask, and discovered his real occupation, Soon after, Sir Richard retired to a small house on Haverstock Hill, in the road to Hampstead. Part of this building remains, and is now a cottage. Here Mr. Pope and other members of the Kit-cat Club used to call on him and take him in their carriages to the place of rendezvous. Having now, therefore, for he last time, brought his fortune, by the most heedless profusion, into a desperate condition, he was rendered altogether incapable of retrieving the loss, hy being seized with a paralytic disorder, which greatly impaired his understanding. In these unhappy circumstances, he retired to his seat at Langunnor, near Carmarthen, in Wales; where he paid the last debt to nature, on the 21st of September 179, and was privately interred, according to his own desire, in the church of Carmarthen. Sir Richard was a man of undissembled and extensive benevolence, a friend to the friendless, and, as far as his circumstances would permit, the fa ther of every orphan. His works are chaste and manly. He was a stranger to the most distant appearance of envy of malevolence; never jealous of any man's growing reputation, and so far from arrogating any praise to himself from his conjunction with Mr. Addison, that he was the first who desired him to distinguish his papers. His greatest error wa want of economy, However, he was certainly the most agreeable, and (if we may be allowed the expression) the most innocent rake, that ever trod the rounds of indulgence, THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS, Comedy by Sir Richard Steele. Acted at Drury Lane 1721. The general design of this celebrated comedy, which had been written some years before it was acted, and at first intended to-be called The Unfashionable Lovers (or, a some say, The Fine Gentleman), is taken from the Andria of Terence: but the author's principal intention in writing it was, as he himself informs us, to introduce the very fine scene in the fourth act between young Bevil and Myrtle, which sets forth, in a strong light, the folly of duelling, and the absurdity of what is falsely called the point of honest; and in this particular merit the play would probably have ever stood foremost, had not that subject been since more amply and completely treated by the admirable author of Sir Charles Grandison, in the affair between that truly a complished gentleman and Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, This play was acted twenty six nights the first season: yet, before it appeared, it excited the envy and ill-humour of Dennis, who, while it was in rehearsal, published a pamphlet (alluding to Sir Richard Steele's censure of Etherege's Man of Mode, in The Spectator), under the following title: "A Defence of Sir Fopling Flutter, written by Sir George Etheridge: in which Defence is shown, that Sir Fopling, that merry Knight, was rightly composed by the Knight his Father, to answer the Ends of Comedy; and that he has been barbarously and scurrilously attacked by the Knight his Brother in the 65th Spectator; by which it appears, that the Knight knows nothing of the Nature of Comedy." The scurrility of this pamphlet (which was intended to prejudice the publicagainst Steele's forth coming play) is implied in the title-page; and in the course of his writing he not only flects illiberally on Steele for being an Irishman, but foolishly calls him a twopenny author, because he wrote the Tlers, Spectators, and Guardians. In fine, he promised a criticism on The Conscious Lovers, when it should appear es the stage: which criticism, when it appeared, was allowed by all to be the most civil, and therefore the dullësi, of all his critical writings. This was the first play acted on the secession from Fleetwood, Sept. 20, 1743. ACT I. man, I indulg'd him in living after his own manner. I know not how otherwise to judge of his inclination; for what can be concluded from a behaviour under restraint and fear? But what charms me above all expression is, that my son has never, in the least action, the most distant hint or word, valued himself upon that great estate of his mother's, which, acSir J. I'll tell thee then. In the first place, cording to our marriage settlement, he has this wedding of my son's in all probability-had ever since he came to age. shut the door-will never be at all. Hum. No, sir; on the contrary he seems Hum. How, sir! not be at all? For what afraid of appearing to enjoy it before you or reason is it carried on in appearance? any belonging to you. He is as dependent Sir J. Honest Humphrey, have patience, and and resigned to your will as if he had not a I'll tell thee all in order. I have myself, in farthing but what must come from your imsome part of my life lived indeed with free- mediate bounty. You have ever acted like a dom, but I hope without reproach; now I good and generous father, and he like an obethought liberty would be as little injurious to dient and grateful son. my son; therefore, as soon as he grew towards SCENE I-SIR JOHN BEVIL's House, Enter SIR JOHN BEVIL and HUMPHREY, Sir J. HAVE you ordered that I should not be interrupted while I am dressing? Hum. Yes, sir; I believ'd you had something of moment to say to me. Sir J. To be short, Humphrey, his repu tation was so fair in the world, that old Sea-| Sir J. That's what I wanted to debate with land, the great India merchant, has offered his you. I have said nothing to him yet. But only daughter, and sole heiress to that vast lookye, Humphrey, if there is so much in this estate of his, as a wife for him. You may be amour of his, that he denies upon my sumsure I made no difficulties; the match was mons to marry, I have cause enough to be agreed on, and this very day named for the offended; and then, by my insisting upon his wedding. marrying to-day, I shall know how far he is Hum. What hinders the proceeding? engaged to this lady in masquerade, and from Sir J. Don't interrupt me. You know I was, thence only shall be able to take my measures. last Thursday, at the masquerade; my son, In the mean time, I would have you find out you may remember, soon found us out. He how far that rogue, his man, is let into his knew his grandfather's babit, which I then wore; secret: he, I know, will play tricks as much and though it was in the mode of the last to cross me as to serve his master. age, yet the maskers, you know, followed us Hum. Why do you think so of him, sir? as if we had been the most monstrous figures I believe he is no worse than I was for you in that whole assembly. at your son's age. Hum. I remember indeed a young man of quality, in the habit of a clown, that was particularly troublesome. Enter Toм, singing. Sir J. I see it in the rascal's looks. But I have dwelt on these things too long: I'll go to my son immediately; and while I'm gone, your Sir J. Right; he was too much what he part is to convince his rogue, Tom, that I am seemed to be. You remember how imperti- in earnest. I'll leave him to you. [Exit. nently he followed and teased us, and would Hum. Well, though this father and son know who we were. live as well together as possible, yet their fear Hum. I know he has a mind to come into of giving each other pain is attended with that particular. [Aside. constant, mutual uneasiness. I am sure I have Sir J. Ay, he followed us till the gentle-enough to do to be honest, and yet keep well man, who led the lady in the Indian mantle, with them both; but they know I love 'em, presented that gay creature to the rustic, and and that makes the task less painful however. bid him (like Cymon in the fable), grow po- Oh, here's the prince of poor coxcombs, the lite, by falling in love, and let that worthy representative of all the better fed than taught.old gentleman alone, meaning me. The clown Ho, ho, Tom! whither so gay and so airy was not reform'd, but rudely persisted, and this morning? offered to force off my mask: with that the gentleman, throwing off his own, appeared to Tom. Sir, we servants of single gentlemen be my son; and in his concern for me, tore are another kind of people than you domestic, off that of the nobleman. At this they seized ordinary drudges, that do business; we are each other, the company called the guards, raised above you: the pleasures of board wages, and in the surprise the lady swooned away; tavern dinners, and many a clear gain-vails, upon which my son quitted his adversary, and alas! you never heard or dreamt of. had now no care but of the lady; when, Hum. Thou hast follies and vices enough raising her in his arms, "Art thou gone," cried for a man of ten thousand a year, though it he, "for ever?-Forbid it, heaven!"-She re- is but as t'other day that I sent for you to vives at his known voice, and with the most town to put you into Mr. Sealand's family, familiar, though modest, gesture hangs in sa- that you might learn a little before I put you fety over his shoulders, weeping; but wept as to my young master, who is too gentle for in the arms of one before whom she could training such a rude thing as you were into give herself a loose, were she not under ob- proper obedience. You then pulled off your servation. While she hides fer face in his hat to every one you met in the street, like a neck, he carefully conveys her from the company. bashful, great, awkward cub as you were. But Hum. I have observed this accident has your great oaken cudgel, when you were a dwelt upon you very strongly. booby, became you much better than that Sir J. Her uncommon air, her noble modesty, dangling stick at your button, now you are a the dignity of her person, and the occasion fop, that's fit for nothing except it hangs there itself, drew the whole assembly together; and to be ready for your master's hand when you I soon heard it buzzed about she was the are impertinent. adopted daughter of a famous sea officer, who Tom. Uncle Humphrey, you know my master had serv'd in France. Now this unexpected scorns to strike his servants. You talk as if and public discovery of my son's so deep the world was now just as it was when my concern for herold master and you were in your youth; when Hum. Was what, I suppose, alarm'd Mr. you went to dinner because it was so much Sealand, in behalf of his daughter, to break o'clock; when the great blow was given in off the match. the hall at the pantry door, and all the family Sir J. You are right: he came to me yester- came out of their holes, in such strange dresses day, and said he thought himself disengaged and formal faces as you see in the pictures, from the bargain, being credibly informed my in our long gallery in the country. son was already married, or worse, to the Hum. Why, you wild rogue! lady at the masquerade. I palliated matters, Tom. You could not fall to your dinner and insisted on our agreement; but we par- till a formal fellow, in a black gown, said ted with little less than a direct breach be- something over the meat 1); as if the cook had not made it ready enough. tween us. Hum. Well, sir, and what notice have you taken of all this to my young master? 1) A prayer used generally to be said before setting down to dinner, |