Jul. What was his offence?

Lyd. Nothing at all; but I don't know how it was, as often as we had been together, we had never had a quarrel; and, somehow, I was afraid he would never give me an opportunity; so, last Thursday, I wrote a letter to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was, at that time, paying his addresses to another woman. I signed it, 'Your unknown friend,' shewed it to Beverley, charged him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, and vow'd I'd never see him more. Jul. And you let him depart so, and have not seen him since?

Lyd. 'Twas the next day my aunt found the matter out; I intended only to have teased him three days and a half, and now I've lost him for ever.

Jul. If he is as deserving and sincere as you have represented him to me, he will never give you up so. -Yet consider, Lydia, you tell me he is but an ensign: and you have thirty thousand pounds!

Lyd. But you know, I lose most of my fortune, if I marry, without my aunt's consent, till of age; and that is what I have determined to do ever since I knew the penalty; nor could I love the man who would wish to wait a day for the alternative.

Jul. Nay, this is caprice!

Lyd. What, does Julia tax me with caprice? I thought her lover Faulkland had inured her to it. Jul I do not love even his faults.

Lyd. But you have sent to him, I suppose?

Jul. Not yet, upon my word! nor has he the least idea of my being in Bath: Sir Anthony's resolution was so sudden I could not inform him of it.

Lyd. Well, Julia, you are your own mistress, though under the protection of Sir Anthony; yet have you, for this long year, been a slave to the caprice, the whim, the jealousy of this ungrateful Faulkland, who will ever delay assuming the right of a husband, you suffer him to be equally imperious as a lover. Jul. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were contracted before my father's death: that, and some con

while

sequent embarrassments, have delayed what I know to be my Faulkland's most ardent wish. He is too generous to trifle on such a point; and, for his character, you wrong him there too. No, Lydia, he is too proud, too noble, to be jealous; if he is captious, 'tis without dissembling; if fretful, without rudeness. Unused to the fopperies of love, he is negligent of the little duties expected from a lover; but, being unhackneyed in the passion, his affection is ardent and sincere; and as it engrosses his whole soul, he expects every look and emotion of his mistress to move in unison with his. Yet, though his pride calls for this full return, his humility makes him undervalue those qualities in him, which would entitle him to it; and not feeling why he should be loved to the degree he wishes,' he still suspects that he is not loved enough. This, I must own, has cost me many unhappy hours; but I have learned to think myself his debtor for those imperfections which arise from the ardour of his attachment.

Lyd. Well, I cannot blame you for defending him; but, tell me candidly, Julia, had he never saved your life, do you think you should have been attached to him as you are? Believe me, the rude blast that overset your boat was a prosperous gale of love to him.

Jul. Gratitude may have strengthened my attachment to Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him before he had preserved me; yet, surely, that alone were an obligation sufficient.

Lyd. Obligation! why, a water-spaniel would have done as much! Well, I should never think of giving my heart to a man because he could swim!-What's here?

Enter Lucy, in a hurry.

Lucy. O, ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute, just come home with your aunt!

Lyd. They'll not come here:-Lucy, do you watch. [Exit LUGY. Jul. Yet I must go; Sir Anthony does not know I

am here, and if we meet, he'll detain me, to shew me the town. I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects to Mrs Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as long as she chooses, with her select words, so ingeniously misapplied, without being mispronounced.

Enter LUCY.

Lucy. O lud, ma'am! they are both coming up stairs. Lyd. Well, I'll not detain you. Adieu, my dear Julia! I'm sure you are in haste to send to Faulkland. There-through my room you'll find another staircase. Jul. Adieu! [Exit.

Lyd. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick. Fling 'Peregrine Pickle' under the toiletthrow 'Roderick Random' into the closet-put 'The Innocent Adultery 'into 'The Whole Duty of Man' thrust 'Lord Aimworth' under the sofa-cram 'Ovid' behind the bolster-there-put 'The Man of Feeling' into your pocket. Now for them!

[Exit LUCY.

Enter MRS. MALAPROP and SIR ANTHONY

ABSOLUTE.

Mrs. M. There, Sir Anthony, there stands the deliberate simpleton, who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling.

Lyd. Madam, I thought you once

Mrs. M. You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all; thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you would promise to forget this fellow-to illiterate him, I say, from your memory.

Lyd. Ah! madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget.

Mrs. M. But I say it is, miss! there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle, as if he had never existed; and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman.

Lyd. What crime, madam, have I committed, to be treated thus?

Mrs. M. Now don't attempt to externate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it. But, tell me, will you promise me to do as you're bid? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing?

Lyd. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that, had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion.

Mrs. M. What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion? They don't become a young woman; and you ought to know, that, as both always wear off, 'tis safest, in matrimony, to begin with a little aversion. 1 am sure I hated your poor dear uncle, before marriage, as if he'd been a black a-moor; and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife I made; and, when it pleased Heaven to release me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed! But, suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley?

Lyd. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words.

Mrs. M. Take yourself to your room. You are fit company for nothing but your own ill humours. Lyd. Willingly ma'am; 1 cannot change for the [Exit.

worse.

Mrs. M. There's a little intricate hussy for you!

Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am; all that is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library: she had a book in each hand-they were halfbound volumes, with marble covers: from that moment, I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress.

Mrs. M. Those are vile places, indeed!

Sir Anth. Madam, a circulating library in a town is, as an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge!-It

blossoms through the year! And, depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit at last.

Mrs. M. Fie, fie, Sir Anthony: you surely speak laconically.

Sir Anth. Why Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, what would you have a woman know?

Mrs. M. Observe me, Sir Anthony-I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning; I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman;—for instance-I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or Algebra, or Simony, or Fluxions, or Paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning; nor will it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical,diabolical instruments; but, Sir Anthony, I would send her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and, as she grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the contagious countries: above all, she should be taught orthodoxy. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would have a woman know; and I don't think there is a superstitious article in it.

Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the point no further with you though I must confess, that you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost every third word you say is on my side of the question. But, to the more important point in debate -you say you have no objection to my proposal?

Mrs. M. None, I assure you. I am under no positive engagement with Mr. Acres; and as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps your son may have better success.

Sir. Anth. Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I have for some time had the proposal in my head. He is at present with his regiment.

Mrs. M. We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; but I hope no objection on his side.