ACT II.

SCENE I.-A Room infide of the Hermitage. Door in the back Scene.

Mifs Stoic difcovered fitting with a Book in her Hand,

reading.

Mifs Stoic.

OH, world, world! but that thy ftrange mutations make us hate thee, life would not yield to age!" Well, well! So long mitanthropy has chill'd my foul, fo long I've fhunn'd life's miferable feenes, that fometimes I prefer to read thofe bards that point its bleffings out. Sterne, Congreve, or a modern German play-oh, had I met with focial minds like thefe-but here's my brother; and for a time I muft affume the love of folitude and rural peace.

Enter MAJOR TORNADO.

Well, fir, I hope the hour of reafon has arrived, and that you own your error.

Major. I do: you were right, Dorothy, you are always right; but when I abufed a country life, I little thought it could afford fuch pleasures.

Mifs Stoic. (with triumph) Oh, the country can afford pleasures then?

Major. Plenty! 'tis the place of all others for an old foldier to retire to; for, I'll tell you-Sir Edward took me to their club, to their arcadian meet

ing, and, upon my honour-that is, for the time it Jafted-I don't think I ever faw a more general engagement, or much fharper fighting.

Mifs Stoic. Fighting!

Major. Aye: it feems there are three parties in this vale of peace and innocence; 'Squire Dobfon's party, Vicar Robson's party, and Apothecary Hobfon's party; and, like good quiet neighbours, they have been all in Chancery thefe twelve years, about the right of fishing in a gudgeon ftream; which ftream proving to be the fame I tumbled into yefterday, one faid I might at any time fish and drown myfelf there with his leave, and another faid I fhould not drown myself there without his leave, till, from words, these rural Yorks and Lancafters got to blows, and then-oh, I was wrong fifter; for I fee now there's no difference between camps and country towns, except that, by combating for kingdoms, you fometimes gain promotion, but, by fighting for gudgeons, you don't even get half-pay for your fervices.

Mifs Stoic. For fhame! for fhame! this is the fex; this is your boafied male fociety! Had you kept company with fuch as mc

Major. What, with the ladies! Oh Lord, their parties run ten times higher; for we drank tea with the Sheriff's wife, an old Red Rofe dowager; and her oppofite neighbour, a White Rofe, having lately built a new bow-window to improve her profpect, curte me if Mrs. Sheriff didn't order her husband to erect a gallows, and hang a tall highwayman plump in the front of it. It will do, it will do! I am already chuck-full of rural ardour, and to-morrow I fhall have more of it; for Sir Edward Specious gives a grand concert to both armies, and has appointed me generaliffimo.

Mifs Stoic. You!

Major.

Major. Aye: I am to marfhal out the mufic; reconnoitre for the fingers, and manoeuvre the band and I know what I'm about; for instead of the ruftic carol, and the fhepherd's pipe, they fhall have nothing but war's alarms, and wind inftruments. And, fee, I'm not to fpare expence; no, he has given me thefe two hundred pounds (shewing bank-notes.)

Mifs Stoic. Two hundred pounds!

Mrs. Aub. (without) Let me pafs! I muft and will fee him!

Mifs Stoic. Heavens! here's infolence! Mrs. Aubrey!

Major. What, the bad governefs! The-now we fhall hear

Enter Mrs. AUBREY.

Mrs. Aub. Oh, fir, admit Olivia! She is without, imploring to behold, for the first time, her friend, her fole protector.

Mifs Stoic. Then there let her ftay: I wholly influence my brother's mind, and

Major. You do, fister; and think you, madam, (to Mrs. Aubrey) I can wish to fee one fo untutored and ungrateful?

Mrs. Aub. Ungrateful! Oh, your pardon, fr;

but the inventor of a flanderous tale is fcarce more criminal than he who wantonly believes it; for calumny would perish in its birth, but a credulous, misjudging world rush forth to hail and to mature it.

Major. Why, that's very true, indeed.

Mrs. Aub. Judge for yourfelf then, fir, and oft you'll find that from fome random and unmeaning caufe, vice gains that credit which virtue would for ever lofe, but for its own fuperior triumph,

Major.

Major. True again: for whilft our old colonel was never accused of inebriety, though his face was the herald of three bottles a day; yet, because I once in my life quaffed too much port, the whole regiment raised the cry of "mad-dog," and I was nick-named Major Blackstrap ever after. So let me inveftigate▬▬

Mrs. Aub. Oh, I will fly

Mifs Stoic. Hold! the treads not on this ballow'd ground! And for you, brother, dare to difpute my word; and on fuch poor, fufpicious evidence as her's.

Mrs. Aub. (with pride) Madam!

Mifs Stoic. Aye: whence came you? What's your myfterious flory? Why conceal

Mrs. Aub. Conceal! 'Tis known that years ago I came as governefs to Mrs. Lorimer, and on her death was her fucceffor. What more fhould I reveal?

Mifs Stoic. Only why, in frantic grief you have fo often proclaimed yourself a guilty wretch; aye, and at Olivia's fight, have bid her fhun you as a peftilence, a fiend-(Mrs. Aubrey fhews great agitation)-Deny it not.

Major. How! Is this true?.

Mrs. Aub. No-yes: pity me, fpare me; but, for protecting her thus let me kneel and blefs you!

Major. What!

Mrs. Aub. She has no faults, nor have I one to her. Oh yes, I have--but not as monitrefs; for, fchooled myself in error, I would have rather died a thousand deaths than not have profited by fuch example, and taught Olivia gratitude and truth.

Major. Enough-you have confirmed my fifter's ftory; guilty yourfelf, you have corrupted her, and I've for ever loft-Go, leave me!

Mijs

Mifs Stoic. Stay-I infift Olivia is removed tonight.

Major. She fhall.

Mrs. Aubr. Where? not to Sir Edward's! You cannot-will not

(Major points towards the door), What! you perfift! Well, let me go :-But, till Olivia fhall herfelf confent to be the facrifice of art and falfehood, I will, alone, be furety for her honour-Farewel! once more my bleffings wait you (kiffing his hand); and, did you know the fecret motives that direct me

Major. Relate them now.

Mrs. Aub. Never; they would complete Olivia's ruin. And yet I hope the eventful hour will come, when a poor orphan, long from its kindred branches torn, fhall, in defiance of the withering ftorm, ftill grow and flourish in its native foil.

[Exit. Major. Now this I call a very odd woman-a very odd woman indeed! and what with one kind of rural felicity and another, I'm all over in a fort of charming conflagration. Poor girl! poor Olivia! I fay, fifter, 'tis lucky I never faw her.

Mifs Stoic. It is: nor had you feen this artful governefs, but for my fenfelefs fervant-He knows that none of human form gain entrance in this calm. abode.

Enter OLD NICHOLAS, haftily.

Nich. Lord, ma'am! I'm fo flurried! Here's a fervant from one Mr. Jack Doric, of Piccadilly, London; and he infifts on your company this evening to a ball at the hotel.

Mifs Stoic. My company!

Nich. Ay and yours alío, Major-here are the

cards.

Mifs Stoic. I fhall run wild. Brother, go forth. yourself,