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“ecod! he can't do better than marry her: so, fend “ for the parson, become Mrs. Gabriel Lackbrain ; « and then, you know, I bid you good-bye for life.”

Craft. Well, and what did she say then?

Gabr. Why, she laughed, and talked of her accomplishments; reminded me of her finished education, and spoke a good deal of one Meters and one Talio.

Craft. Plha! it's the same person-Metaltalio. -Dolt! blockhead!

Gabr. Blockhead! how could I help it? didn't you bring me up among the mountains ? And fo í told her-says I—"I know nothing of either of « these Roman warriors, and I don't see why I " should: Latin won't teach me to sow barley, or « Greek to facten a pig."-Says I, “ I'm no

foreigner; I can write and read my native lan“guage ; and I wilh, with all my soul, your great « scholars could say the same."

Craft. You did, did you?-then she laughed again, I suppose ?

Gabr. She did consumedly. But to conclude, she told me, though the preferred the country, I might visit London; and that her cousin, che rich baronet, would introduce me to all the first circles. This, you may be fure, won my heart ; for I had always a buckish turn, you know. So we struck the match ; she sent for the clergyman

Craft. Sent for the clergyman!-We'll go directly, and, by way of settlement, read the letter of Mr. Primitive. Odsheart! she's the very woman he'd select; lo disgusted with London! so devoted to the country!-Oh! she'll have a thousand charms for him ;-and, what's better, The'll have more than twelve hundred for me (aside). So, come, you rogue, come and be married.

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Gabr.

Gabr. Aye, the sooner the merrier, I say; for I do so long to see the baronet, and visit London: and when I get there, dang it, how I'll astonish these cocknies! I know they look upon us countrymen as a parcel of comeys and doeyes, that can only clap our hands upon our hearts and talk of conscience, innocence, and nature : but they san't wrong us in that manner; they shan't suppose us so much behindhand; for I'll convince them there's more love-making in our woods than in their squares; more drinking in our alehouses than in their taverns; and for speculating, and shaking a dice-box, you can satisfy them about that you know, guardy. But now for the great lady. “Come let us dance and sing, &c.”

[Exeunt,

SCENE-A Room in the Hotel.

Enter CLIFFORD and WAITER.

Clif. You're sure there's no such person just arrived?

Wait. I'm sure there's no lady in the house of that descripcion: but if such a one should arrive, you may depend on the earliest intelligence from the best of waiters in the best of hotels in the best of watering places.

Clif. That's right; and here's an earnest of my future bounty (giving him money). Be wary now, for my existence depends upon recovering her. I came from London in pursuit of her, and she certainly took this very road. But, in the mean time, lay the cloth in the dining-room (opens door in back Scene). Why, here's company.-(Sir Harry

Torpid discovered fitting in a chair, with a news, paper in his hand, fast asleep. A table close to bim, with wine and glasses on it.)

Wait. No, Sir, the gentleman's just going. He came here about two hours ago, intending to enjoy our sea breezes for a fortnight; but, as usual, he is already tired, and will be off again in a moment.

Clif. Indeed !--Why, 'ris Sir Harry Torpid.

Wait. It is, Sir; and, between ourselves, I fancy he is a licle tired of himself; for he bribes the postboys to drive like madmen till he gets to a place; and, when there, behold how it ends !-in snoring over a newspaper, whilst the same boys are preparing to drive himn equally fast back again.

Clif. Yes, I've known him long; and the cause of all this is, his having nothing to do.—But he wakes; I'll talk to him; leave us,

[Exit WAITER. Sir H. (yawning and Aretching out his arms.) Aw! aw !-still in this infernal place! still alone! still — (rises)-Damme! I'll be off. I'll try Tunbridge again: to be sure I've been there already twice this summer : however, any where but where I am. Here, waiter, a chaise and four again.

Clif. What, Sir Harry, have you forgotten-

Sir H. What, Jack! Jack Clifford !--my dear fellow, you're just come in time; I was reduced to the last extremity; had taken my after-dinner snooze, read the advertisements twice over ; and, except paying the bill and wrangling with the waitet, hadn't a single hope on earth. But now! Git down and finilh the bottle, my boy.

Clif. Why, you're a strange creature, Sir Harry! but yesterday I saw you in Pall Mall.

Sir H. Yes, and very likely there you may see me again to-morrow. I'm sick to death of these

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sea-port towns. . One goes to the libraries, the card-rooms, and the tea-rooms; and nothing interefts, nobody seems alive. Upon my soul, Jack, if there sea cormorants didn't continually compel me to put my hands in my pockets, I shoudn't know that I was alive myself. But you, what is your pursuit here?

Clif. The most tormenting one in the world love, Sir Harry.

Sir H. Love! Oh, how I envy you ! what would I give to be in love!

Clif. Don't, don't think of it; it has made me miserable.

Sir H. So much the better; that's what I want: and if I could but work myself into a most unhappy passion--no matter with whom were she ever so ugly or ill-tempered, it would still answer my purpose.

Clif. What! would a scolding wife answer your purpose ?

Sir H. To be sure: instead of sitting alone in a coffee-room, picking my teeth, or yawning over a newspaper; think of having a fine, active, cheerful companion, who will scowl at me, Inarl at me, and fet my whole foul in a delicious ferment !-then, Jack, after an hour of delightful quarrelling, what fay you to the reconciliation, to the kisling and making up again ?-And, to complete the charming fire-side, call to mind half a dozen liitle Sir Harries; think of their noise, their nursing, their expence.-Oh! all this must produce agitation ; and, were I as miserable as you are, I should be the happiest dog in England.

Clit. Pha! you know not what you talk of. Do you call it happiness to lose the object you are attached to?

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Sir H. Lose her!

Clif. Yes, that is my case. My aunt, Mrs. Clifford, lately brought with her from Switzerland a lady of the name of Belford. At first sight I loved her; but, on declaring my affection, she treated me with scorn: however, I persisted; and, aided by my aunt's entreaties, hoped for success ; when suddenly she left the house, and Aed I know not whither.

Sir H. What, and you pursued her ?

Clif. Yes; but hitherto in vain: cursed chance! I can gain no tidings of her.

Sir H. All the better again: the pursuit, my boy, the pursuit is every thing; and I only with somebody would run away from me.

Clif. 'Sdeath! this trifling is ridiculous : were I as weary of myself, would I not seek out some employment ?

Sir H. I have; I have tried every thing; devoted half my life, and nearly all my fortune, to racing, hunting, drinking, gaming, volunteering; in short, at the age of thirty, I've lo outlived every enjoyment, that if I can't contrive to fall desperately in love, that I may run after somebody-to be sure, there's one other prospect-my credicors grow so pressing, that probably I shall have to run away from somebody; and then, you know, I'm com fortable; for, next to love, certainly debt is most likely to keep a man in hot water.

Enter WILLIAM.

Clif. Well, Sir, have you been more fortunate than your master ? have you any news of the runaway?

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