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Lydia. Heigho! Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern has been before me; She has a most observing thumb, and, I believe, cherishes her nails, for the convenience of making marginal notes. Well, child, what have you brought me !

Lucy. Oh, here ma'am ! [Taking Books from under her Cloak, and from her Pockets.] This is "The Man of Feeling," and this, "Peregrine Pickle"-Here are "The Tears of Sensibility," and "Humphrey Clin

ker.

Lydia. Hold!—here's some one coming-quick, see who it is-[Erit Lucy.]-Surely I heard my cousin, Julia's voice!

Enter LUCY.

Lucy. Lud, maʼam! here is Miss Melville !
Lydia. Is it possible!

. Enter JULIA.

Lydia. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I! [Embrace.] How unexpected was this happiness!

Julia. True, Lydia, and our pleasure is the greater; but what has been the matter? you were denied to me at first.

Lydia. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you! but first inform me what has conjured you to Bath --Is Sir Anthony here?

Julia. He is; we are arrived within this hour, and I suppose he will be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dressed.

Lydia. Then before we are interrupted, let me impart to you some of my distress; I know your gentle nature will sympathize with me, though your prudence may condemn me: My letters have informed you of my whole connexion with Beverley; but I have lost him, Julia; my aunt has discovered our intercourse, by a note she intercepted, and has confined me ever since; Yet, would you believe it? she has

fallen absolutely in love with a tall, Irish baronet, she met one night, since we have been here, at Lady Macshuffle's rout.

Julia. You jest, Lydia!

Lydia. No, upon my word-She really carries on a kind of correspondence with him, under a feigned name though, till she chuses to be known to him ;but it is a Delia, or a Celia, I assure you.

Julia. Then, surely, she is now more indulgent to her niece?

Lydia. Quite the contrary; Since she has discovered her own frailty, she is become more suspicious of: mine. Then I must inform you of another plague; That odious Acres is to be in Bath to-day, so that, I protest, I shall be teised out of all spirits!

Julia. Come, come, Lydia, hope for the best :Sir Anthony shall use his interest with Mrs. Malaprop. Lydia. But you have not heard the worst ;-Unfortunately I had quarrelled with my poor Beverley, just before my aunt made the discovery, and I have not seen him since, to make it up.

Julia. What was his offence?

Lydia. 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 friend unknown", showed it to Beverley, charged him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, and vowed I'd never see him more.

Julia. And you let him depart so, and have not seen him since?

Lydia. "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.

Julia, 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!

Lydia. But, you know, I lose inost 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.

Julia. Nay, this is caprice!

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

Lydia. But a-propos! you have sent to him, I suppose?

Julia. 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.

Lydia. 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, while you suffer him to be equally imperious as a lover.

Julia. Nay, you are wrong entirely—We were contracted before my father's death: That, and some consequent 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.This temper, 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.

Lydia. 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.

Julia. 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

Lydia. 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! Julia. Come, Lydia, you are too inconsiderate. Lydia. Nay, I do but jest.- What's here?

Enter Lucy, in a hurry.

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

Lydia. They'll not come here-Lucy, do you watch. [Exit Lucy. Julia. Yet I must go ; Sir Anthony does not know I am here, and if we meet, he'll detain me, to show me the town. I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects to Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as long as she chuses, with her select words, so ingeniously misapplied, without being mispronounced.

Enter LUCY.

Lucy. O lud, ma'am! they are both coming up stairs!

Lydia. Well, I'll not detain you, Coz.-Adieu, my dear Julia! I'm sure you are in haste to send to Faulkland. There-through my room you'll find another staircase.

Julia. Adieu !
Exit JULIA.
Lydia. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books.

Quick, quick.-Fling " Peregrine Pickle" under the toilet-throw "Roderick Random" into the closetput "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-so, so now lay "Mrs. Chapone" in sight, and leave "Fordyce's Sermons" open on the table.

Lucy. O, burn it, ma'am! the hairdresser has torn away as far as Proper Pride".

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Lydia. Never mind-open at "Sobriety" Fling me "Lord Chesterfield's Letters."- Now for them!

Enter MRS. MALAPROP and SIR ANTHONY

ABSOLUTE.

Mrs. M. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate simpleton, who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling. Lydia. 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 will promise to forget this fellow-to illiterate him, I say, from your memory.

Lydia. Ah, madam! our memories are independ ent 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 chuses 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,

Sir Anth. Why, sure, she won't pretend to remember what she's ordered not! ay, this comes of her reading!

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

Mrs. M. Now don't attempt to extirpate youself

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