THE LOAN OF A LOVER.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-Gardens of a Villa on the Canal near Utrecht. The tower of the Cathedral is seen in the distance. In one corner of the Garden, overlooking the Canal, is a Summer House, R., in the Dutch taste.

Enter SwYZEL and DELVE, r.

Swy. Do as you're bid, and no reflections. Don't you know the mistress is the master?

Del. Well, but now really, Mynheer Swyzel-to put out the orange-trees before the white frosts are over-is that common sense?

No

Swy. What have you to do with common sense? thing at all—or you would not pretend to have more than your mistress. It is Mamzelle Ernestine's pleasure to turn the orangery into a ball-room, and turned it must be. Del. But the trees will die.

Swy. Let 'em die, then-that's their business-yours is to clear the place out, according to order. About it, without more words! If she told me to fling all the Schiedam in the cellar into the canal, I should do so, without hesitation.

Del. You'd fling yourself after it, I'm sure.

Swy. Not when it was mixed with water, you rogue! or while the Baron has money enough to buy more. Come -to work! to work! or you'll not get the room ready by midnight.

Del. Oh, my poor range trees-they'll die, every one of them! [Exit, R. Swy. Silly fellow, to trouble his head about what does not concern him. If his employers take no care for their

own interests, why should he fidget about them? He hasn't the slightest notion of service!

Spyk.

Ah! here's Peter

Enter PETER, L.

Well, Peter.

Pet. Good morning, Master Steward.

Swy. So, you've been to Amsterdam, to buy cattle, I hear!

Pet. Ay, and fine beasts they are, too, Master Steward. But, talking of beasts, how do you find yourself to-day? you were rather poorly when I left.

Swy. Oh! I'm better, thank you; but I'm not so young as I was thirty years ago-I find that, Peter. Ah! I envy you, you rogue! Three-and-twenty-stout-timbered light-hearted and rich, I may say; for old Jan Spyk, your father, left you a pretty round sum, I take it?

Pet. Why, it might have been less, and yet worth having, Master Steward.

Swy. Well, and why don't you get a wife, now? All the girls in the neighbourhood are pulling caps for you.

Pet. Why, I don't know; they do look at me, somehow, but I'm not smitten with anybody in particular. However, I don't wish to prevent them-they may fall in love with me, and then I can choose, you know,

Swy. Well, perhaps that's the best way.

Pet. Yes, I think so-as Gertrude said to me the other day you don't love anybody in particular, Peter, so you can look about you.

Swy. Gertrude-what, our Gertrude? The simpleton that has the run of the house and gardens by permission of the Baron, because she's the orphan daughter of his old bailiff, and who is always so mighty busy, doing nothing at all, by way of earning the living allowed her! Is she your counsellor ?

Pet. Oh, she and I gossip now and then, when we meet. She's a sort of relation of inine-my brother-in-law's aunt stood godmother to her.

Swy. Well, that is a sort of relation, certainly.

Pet. And then, you see, simpleton as she is, she has now and then an idea, and that's the only thing I want-I never have an idea. It's very odd, but I never have what

you can really call an idea-of my own, that is-for I'm quick enough, if a person only just-and yesterday, now I saw her but for two or three minutes, and I'll be hanged if she didn't give me a capital idea! and that's what has brought me here this morning. You've a Captain Amersfort staying here, haven't you?

Swy. Oh, yes; one of our young lady's score of lovers -and the best of 'em, too, to my mind; but she's too capricious to make up hers. He's a fine fellow-handsome,

clever, gallant

Pet. And landlord of the fine farm of Appledoorn-so Gertrude says.

Swy. Ah! and you want to be his tenant, no doubt? Pet. Why, Gertrude thinks

Swy. Well, she's right there—it's pretty property; but there are several farmers offering.

Pet. So she tells me; but she says that if you were to speak to the Captain in my favour

Swy. Well, she's right there, too. If I were to speakPet. And will you?-will you, Master Steward? I've a keg at home of the finest flavour, which I should be too happy

Swy. Pshaw! pshaw! you know, if I do anything, it's never with a view to benefit myself, Peter; [Crosses, R.] so send me the keg, if it will serve you, and we'll see what can be done about it.

Gertrude. [Without, L.] Mynheer Swyzel! Mynheer Swyzel!

Swy. Here comes Gertrude.

Enter GERTRUDE, running, L.

Ger. Mynheer Swyzel! Mynheer Swyzel!

Swy. Well, don't bawl so-you young baggage. [Crosses, c.] What do you want?

Ger. [Out of breath.] You're to go directly—I've been looking for you everywhere, to tell you there's Peter Spyk.

Swy. To tell me that ?-why, I know that.

Ger. No; to tell you to tell you-how d'ye do, Peter ? are you very well? [Crosses. c.

Pet. Ay, ay!

Swy. Will

you tell me what you mean to tell me?

Ger. Law! I'd almost forgotten-I'd run so fast. How well Peter looks this morning-don't he?

Swy. Do let Peter alone! and tell me who wants me— and what for. Is it the wine for breakfast?

Ger. Yes, that's it-you've got the keys of the cellar, and the Baron wants some of the best Moselle, to give Captain Amersfort.

Swy. Good morning, then, Peter. I'll take an opportunity of speaking to the Captain, depend upon it. I must go now for the Baron.

FRENCH AIR.-GERTRUDE.

Well, but make more haste about it,
Master wants to treat his guest.

SWYZEL.

Oh, I'll please him! never doubt it;
Of his wines I know the best.

He shall own, that down his throttle.
Such has seldom found its way.

GERTRUDE. [Aside.]

Then you'll get him up a bottle

Of what you drink every day.

[Exit Swyzel, L.

Ger. [Aside.] An old rogue, I am sure he is; and he always snubs me and scolds me. So does everybody, indeed, except Peter. Peter never snubs me, at any rate; but that's because he hardly ever speaks to me. Now on

ly look at him this moment! there he stands, puffing away with his pipe, and turning up the whites of his eyes. Now, what can he be thinking about ?—that is, if he is thinking -suppose it's about-[Aloud, and taking hold of his arm].

-Peter!

Pet. Eh!-Oh! you're here still, are you ?

Ger. [Aside. How civil! [Aloud. Yes, I'm here still; and if I had kept still, you'd never have known it, seemingly. What are you thinking about so deeply?

Pet. Thinking about? Why, I was thinking about Mother Wynk's tavern, where I breakfasted this morning. Ger. What an interesting subject!

46

Pet. Rather. The old vrow worried my life out withWhy don't you get married, Farmer Spyk ?"-" Why do you live alone, in that old house, like an owl in an ivybush ?""Why don't you take a wife? you've got money

enough to keep one, and you are your own master; you've only to please yourself."

Ge. Well, and haven't I told you so over and over again?

Pet. Well, so you have; and I do think, if I should get the Appledoorn Farm, I'll sign a lease and a contract the same day.

Ger. But, if you don't get the farm, what does it signify?-you might marry all the same for that. You've enough without. You needn't wait—that is, if anybody well enough to marry them.

you like Pet. Ah, but then I don't know that I do. Now, who is there, in your opinion, that would suit me?

Ger. Oh, I don't know. I dare say, if I were to choose, I could name somebody.

Pet. Well, but let's see, now. To begin with the neighbourhood:-I know all the girls here, and I am sure I can't say. [Suddenly.] What d'ye think of Mary Moerdyke, to begin with?

Ger. Very bad to begin with, and much better to have done with as soon as possible. She is the worst tempered girl in all Utretcht, and as tall as the tower yonder—a great, gawky, sulky thing, just like it.

Pet. Ah, well, I don't think she would suit me, certainly. But there's her cousin, Judith-she's very good-natured? Ger. Ah, Judith's a pretty girl, if you please, and very good-natured, as you say,-perhaps a little too good-natured.

Pet. No, really, humph!-I shouldn't like that. do you say to Anne Stein?

What

Ger. Everybody says she's a great coquette. See her on a Sunday, that's all! or at a dance at the fair! She's always changing her partner.

Pet. Oh, if she's always changing her partner—well, they can't say that of the little Barbara?

Ger. No, because she's lame, and can't dance at all. Pet. That's very true; poor thing, she's lame, so she is. Well, I declare, then, Vrow Wynk herself!

Ger. Old enough to be your grandmother.

Pet. And Rachael, her daughter?

Ger. She's engaged to young Maurice.