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satisfaction—this he ddclin'd—I presented him a pistol—he grasp'd it to defend his life—which I conceiving an acceptance of my challange, and wild with fury and with wrongs, fir'd !—he fell; and in

a few sliort months Oh my friend! I fee you

tremble at my rashness; he was Amelia's father, and I deserve a death more terrible than his!

Henry. No; I tremble from another cause—the proof:—who can give proof against you?

St. Orme. None, but my daughter; and she is purposely concealed: if she remain so till the trial's past, I'm free to trace and rescue her I love; but if she's found, I fall—and she, poor girl—her mother robb'd of reason, and her father by her own evidence !—Oh! I can bear all but this.

Henry. And so can I: therefore good b'w'ye.

St. Orme. Why—where are you going?

Henry. To Sir Edward—to your new antagonist; and I'll ask him civilly—very civilly—not to search after Lauretta;—but if that won't do, and he persists in forcing a daughter to convict her own father—talk of pistols, my dear fellow—I'll fire off all the cannon in the navy. So go; retire to your

chamber, and rely on me. -But stop—stop—as

I can't get on quickly, owing to this infernal ballast (pulling out a purse')—do lighten me, will you —do take part of a friend's load, Charles.

St. Orme. I thank you: but a stranger has forestalled your generosity (produces a letters — See—rnot an our ago, I received this letter.

Henry. From a stranger! (reads')—" One, who "pities the unfortunate,—who was the friend of "Mrs. St. Orme, and suspects that the present "baronet prosecutes you and secretes her, solely "to keep possession of the large estate—sends you "the enclosed, in the wish that it may lessen your "afflictions, and assist in restoring you to her, '* whose best hope is in your affections."—Upon

my my word, a charming correspondent!—can't you guess?

St. Orme. Oh, yes: her messenger betrayed her— her name's Honoria Pembroke.

Henry. Honoria! my Honoria! don't fancy

I'm in love with her, Charles—because, you see, I'm in love with somebody else;—but I tell you what—I with you'd let me keep this letter—I should like to look at it now and then ;—and if I thought nobody look'd at me, I should like—{looking round •with anxiety) Oh, bless her! {kissing the letter violently)—and if she were present, and the whole world present, I'd serve her in the same manner. But adieu !—and with such friends fear not success.

St. Orme. And with such friends I've consolation

if I fail; for the best passport to a happier world is

approbation from such hearts as yours. Farewell!

vv [Exit.

Henry, (stillgazing on the letter.) Oh! who else

can write such lovely, such bewitching what

other female hand can Damme, there I go.

again—I forget her ladyship; and though she never honour'd me with any specimens of her penmanship,—further than merely writing " Pay the bearer"—yet with her elegant, accomplish'd mind—— Oh! if (he writes but as (he talks—then is her style all tenderness—all—(as be is going).

Enter Robert Grange.

Robert. Sir, your very humble servant. They told me you were here, and ib I did come to ax your honour a bit of a question.

Henry. What! a poor prisoner!—

Robert. No;—thank you kindly, sir—at present I do outdoor work with farmer Nightshade at Ivyfarm; and he did send me this morning to ax for a new serving lad; and so I did think the best place to hear of such a thing was the public-house—and B 4. who who (hould I meet there, but Thomas !—your man

Thomas :—and so over a mug of ale he! he!

—by gom!—if it's .she, she's a lucky lass!

Henry. Who ?—who is lucky sir?

Robert. Why Beli—cousin Bell to be sure. We do think after getting her name chang'd to Miss This, and Mistress That, and Widow T'other, that at last (he be come a real downright lady; my lady—oh ay—my Lady Sensible -, and you fee, I should like to know the truth of the matter: because if Bell a got this prefarment, it wasn't koind and pretty of her, to let poor 1 stay at plough—or her sister Sal cry matches and sell alincompain—or her brother Jack, for a slight pig affair, be senc out of this very place to Botany-bay.

Henry. Blockead !—Lady Sensitive your——. why, she'd faint at the idea!

Robert. Faint!

Henry. Ay: 'twould so shock her sensibility

Robert. Sensibili what! she do fob and

ifream and laugh and tumbles—by gom! it's she! —Bell always had a deadly turn for fits and feeling and flourishing, owing to—{making signs of drinking)—that's the fact—I know it, you fee, because since she lest the farm I've been somewhat in the flourishing way myself; but whilst she staid, I had no chance of any sensibility at all.

Henry. Rascal! (collaring him.)—If I wer'n't

this moment call'd away, I'd but I know your

master well; and if he don't punish you for this audacious libel on the idol of my affections—on the lovely—the divine Honoria!

Robert. Honoria !—nan i

Henry. On Lady Sensitive I mean—plague on't! —to be between wind and water, is one thing— between two fires, another—but between two women !—oh Bebebub himself could not be cool in the contest! [Exit.

Robert,

Robert.(Clapping on his hat and strutting.') It's she !—cousin Bell's my lady !—and I—dang it—I wonder what I be; I suppose a sort of a man of honour at least—mayhap, a kind of a half lord; something like the mayor of our town here. But stop now, Bob—don't you be counting your eggs before you are sure the th?. g's sartain—And where to learn this ?—Oh—from his uncle—I'll go ask him directly j and if I find I'm really of this pretty koind of pedigree, and you come cuffing and collaring, Mister Sapling I'd better take care

though—what with practice and lessons, 1 dare fay Bell has taught him to try my sensibility that way also- "[Exit.

SCENE.—An Apartment in Delauny House.

In the Flat three Gothic Windows formed of Transparencies—Afo Centre Window exhibiting the Painting of the « Vestal buried alive," very large and markingthe two other Windows of a

less size, with any fancied Transparencies. .

Being Nighty the Windows are not illuminated.— On one Side is a Ptclure not finished, -with Appai ratus for Painting; on the other a Table, with Books, Papers, and Candles upon it.—Sir Edward Delauny and Paul Postpone discovered sitting near it.

Sir Edw. Yes, Sir,—my conduct needs not vindication; I can avow it to the world.—On my accession to the title and estate, I found this wretch impriloned for atrocious murder—his wife confin'd for lunacy incurable; and whilst respect for him I represent bids me seek vengeance on the vile assassin, humanity still prompts me to secrete the wretched lost Amelia.—Am 1 not justified in both?

Paul. Why, I don't like off-hand opinions, Sir

Edward;

fdward •, my plan is to recur to law books :—but rather fancy you've no power over the lunatic. Sir Edw. No!—Then read .Sir Frederick's will—made on the morning of his death. (Reads.) "I die in peace with my unhappy daughter, and V in the cafe of her recovery, bequeath her my •*estate for life;—but to preserve it from her i* husband's power, I nominate my nephew her "trustee, and on her death, devise the whole to "him."—Now, is she not at my disposal ?—and if the villain should escape from justice, shall he e'er know the place of her confinement ?—No—i never.

Paul. Never!

Sir Edw. No till they can prove she's re

stor'd to reason—and that's a hopeleli prospect :— none dare arraign me !—But to prevent his ever interfering, let us secure conviction; and this witness—on whose sole evidence his fate depends— this stage-struck daughter, who professionally knows all arts, all stratagems—oh! if she 'scape our search, is there no other way?

Paul. None! no witness—no verdict.

Sir Edw. Then let me haste again to feck her;

and if found of course you have prepur'd the

necessary process.

Paul. What pro. oh! aye :—the subpœna. No;—I've been so taken up with other parts of the

cafe but I'll tell you what—I'll fill it up this

moment (going towards the table")—this moment— (music without). Heh! where's that delightful music?

Sir Edw. In the next room—and they'll disturb and interrupt you.—I'll stop them as I pass.

Paul. Don't, en my account. I like music— often sing a merry song myself—and as there's nching else, after filling up this little affair—'gad I'll make one amongst them (fitting down and beginning to write).

Sir Edw.

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