however, was to inform me, that as he had the night before sent for the licences, and expected them every hour, he hoped that I would not refuse my assistance in making all the company happy that morning. A footman entered while we were speaking, to tell us that the messenger was returned; and as I was by this time ready, I went down, where I found the whole company as merry as affluence and innocence could make them. However, as they were now preparing for a very solemn ceremony, their laughter entirely displeased me. I told them of the grave, becoming, and sublime deportment they should assume upon this mystical occasion, and read them two homilies and a thesis of my own composing, in order to prepare them. Yet they still seemed perfectly refractory and ungovernable. Even as we were going along to church, to which I led the way, all gravity had quite forsaken them, and I was often tempted to turn back in indignation. In church a new dilemma arose, which promised no easy solution. This was, which couple should be married first; my son's bride warmly insisted that Lady Thornhill (that was to be) should take the lead; but this the other refused with equal ardour, protesting she would not be guilty of such rudeness for the world. The argument was supported for some time between both with equal obstinacy and good breeding. But as I stood all this time with my book ready, I was at last quite tired of the contest, and shutting it, "I perceive," cried I, “that none of you have a mind to be married, and I think we had as good go back again; for I suppose there will be no business done here to-day." This at once reduced them to reason. The baronet and his lady were first married, and then my son and his lovely partner.

I had previously that morning given orders that a coach should be sent for my honest neighbour Flamborough and his family, by which means, upon our return to the inn, we had the pleasure of finding the two Miss Flamboroughs alighted before us. Mr. Jenkinson gave his hand to the eldest, and my son Moses led up the other; and I have since found that he has taken a real liking to the girl, and my consent and bounty he shall have, whenever he thinks proper to demand them. We were no sooner returned to the inn, but numbers of my parishioners, hearing of my success, came to congratulate me; but among the rest were those who rose to rescue me, and whom I formerly rebuked with such sharpness. I told the story to Sir William, my son-in-law, who went out and reproved them with great severity; but, finding them

Must I be cruel because he happens to be importunate; and, to relieve his avarice, leave them to insupportable distress?

Farvis. Sir, the question now is, how to relieve yourself—yourself. Haven't I reason to be out of my senses, when I see things going at sixes and ?

sevens

Honeywood. Whatever reason you may have for being out of your senses, I hope you'll allow that I'm not quite unreasonable for continuing in mine. Jarvis. You're the only man alive in your present situation that could do so. Everything upon the waste. There's Miss Richland and her fine fortune

gone already, and upon the point of being given to your rival.

Honeywood. I'm no man's rival.

Farvis. Your uncle in Italy preparing to disinherit you; your own fortune almost spent ; and nothing but pressing creditors, false friends, and a pack of drunken servants that your kindness has made unfit for any other family.

Honeywood. Then they have the more occasion for being in mine.

Farvis. So! What will you have done with him that I caught stealing your plate in the pantry? In the fact; I caught him in the fact.

Honeywood. In the fact? If so, I really think that we should pay him his wages, and turn him off.

Jarvis. He shall be turned off at Tyburn, the dog; we'll hang him, if it be only to frighten the rest of the family.

Honeywood. No, Jarvis; it's enough that we have lost what he has stolen; let us not add to it the loss of a fellow-creature.

Jarvis. Very fine; well, here was the footman just now, to complain of the butler; he says he does most work, and ought to have most wages.

Honeywood. That's but just though perhaps here comes the butler to complain of the footman.

Farvis. Ay, it's the way with them all, from the scullion to the privycouncillor. If they have a bad master, they keep quarrelling with him; if they have a good master, they keep quarrelling with one another.

Enter BUTLER, drunk.

Butler. Sir, I'll not stay in the family with Jonathan: you must part with him, or part with me-that's the ex-ex-position of the matter, sir.

Honeywood. Full and explicit enough. But what's his fault, good Philip? Butler. Sir, he's given to drinking, sir, and I shall have my morals corrupted, by keeping such company.

Honeywood. Ha! ha! he has such a diverting way

Farvis. Oh! quite amusing.

Butler. I find my wines a-going, sir; and liquors don't go without mouths, sir; I hate a drunkard, sir.

Honeywood. Well, well, Philip, I'll hear you upon that another time, so go to bed now.

Jarvis. To bed! Let him go to

Butler. Begging your honour's pardon, and begging your pardon, master Jarvis, I'll not go to bed. I have enough to do to mind my cellar. I forgot, your honour, Mr. Croaker is below. I came on purpose to tell you.

Honeywood. Why didn't you show him up, blockhead?

to me.

Butler. Show him up, sir? With all my heart, sir. Up or down, all's one (Exit.) Farvis. Ay, we have one or other of that family in this house from morning till night. He comes on the old affair, I suppose; the match between his son, that's just returned from Paris, and Miss Richland, the young lady he's guardian to.

Honeywood. Perhaps so. Mr. Croaker, knowing my friendship for the young lady, has got it into his head that I can persuade her to what I please. Farvis. Ah! if you loved yourself but half as well as she loves you, we should soon see a marriage that would set all things to rights again.

Honeywood. Love me! Sure, Jarvis, you dream. No, no; her intimacy with me never amounted to more than mere friendship-mere friendship. That she is the most lovely woman that ever warmed the human heart, I own. But never let me harbour a thought of making her unhappy, by a connection with one so unworthy her merits, as I am. No, Jarvis; it shall be my study to serve her, even in spite of my wishes; and to secure her happiness, though it destroys my own. Farvis. Was ever the like? I want patience.

Honeywood. Besides, Jarvis, though I could obtain Miss Richland's consent, do you think I could succeed with her guardian, or Mrs. Croaker his wife; who, though both very fine in their way, are yet a little opposite in their dispositions, you know?

Farvis. Opposite enough; the very reverse of each other; she all laugh and no joke, he always complaining and never sorrowful; a fretful, poor soul, that has a new distress for every hour in the four-and-twenty

Honeywood. Hush, hush, he's coming up! he'll hear you.
Jarvis. One whose voice is a passing-bell-

Honeywood. Well, well, go, do.

Farvis. A raven that bodes nothing but mischief; a coffin and crossbones; a bundle of rue; a sprig of deadly nightshade; a-(HONEYWOOD, stopping his mouth, at last pushes him off). (Exit JARVIS.)

Honeywood. I must own, my old monitor is not entirely wrong. There'is something in my friend Croaker's conversation that quite depresses me. His very mirth is an antidote to all gaiety, and his appearance has a stronger effect on my spirits than an undertaker's shop.-Mr. Croaker, this is such a satisfaction

Enter CROAKER.

Croaker. A pleasant morning to Mr. Honeywood, and many of them. How is this? You look most shockingly to-day, my dear friend. I hope this weather does not affect your spirits. To be sure, if this weather continues-I say nothing but may we be all better this day three months.

Honeywood. I heartily concur in the wish, though I own, not in your apprehensions.

Croaker. Maybe not. Indeed, what signifies what weather we have, in a country going to ruin like ours? Taxes rising and trade falling. Money flying out of the kingdom and Jesuits swarming into it. I know at this time no less than a hundred and twenty-seven Jesuits between Charing Cross and Temple Bar.

Honeywood. The Jesuits will scarcely pervert you or me, I should hope? Croaker. Maybe not. Indeed, what signifies whom they pervert in a country that has scarce any religion to lose? I'm only afraid of our wives and daughters.

Honeywood. I have no apprehensions for the ladies, I assure you.

Croaker. Maybe not. Indeed, what signifies whether they be perverted or not? The women in my time were good for something. I have seen a lady dressed from top to toe in her own manufactures formerly. But now-a-days there's not a thing of their own manufacture about them, except their faces.

Honeywood. But, however these faults may be practised abroad, you don't find them at home, either with Mrs. Croaker, Olivia, or Miss Richland.

Croaker. The best of them will never be canonised for a saint when she's dead. By-the-by, my dear friend, I don't find this match between Miss Richland and my son much relished, either by one side or t'other.

Honeywood. I thought otherwise.

Croaker. Ah! Mr. Honeywood, a little of your fine serious advice to the young lady might go far: I know she has a very exalted opinion of your understanding.

Honeywood. But would not that be usurping an authority that more properly belongs to yourself?

Croaker. My dear friend, you know but little of my authority at home. People think, indeed, because they see me come out in a morning thus, with a pleasant face, and to make my friends merry, that all's well within. But I have cares that would break a heart of stone. My wife has so encroached upon every one of my privileges, that I'm now no more than a mere lodger in my own house.

Honeywood But a little spirit exerted on your side might perhaps restore your authority.

Croaker. No, though I had the spirit of a lion. I do rouse sometimes But what then? always haggling and haggling. A man is tired of getting the better, before his wife is tired of losing the victory.

Honeywood. It's a melancholy consideration indeed, that our chief comforts often produce our greatest anxieties, and that an increase of our possessions is but an inlet to new disquietudes.

Croaker. Ah, my dear friend, these were the very words of Poor Dick Doleful to me not a week before he made away with himself. Indeed, Mr. Honeywood, I never see you but you put me in mind of poor Dick. Ah, there was merit