Tob. Oh! this good gentleman will forgive me. Baron S. What do you want?

too, seems fully sensible of his happiness, and is resolved to retain it. He has quitted the service to live here. I am yet afraid he may soon grow weary of Wintersen and retirement.

Mrs. H. I should trust not. They who bear a cheerful and unreproaching conscience into solitude, surely must increase the measure of their own enjoyments. They quit the poor, precarious, the dependent pleasures, which they borrowed from the world, to draw a real bliss from that exhaustless source of true delight, the fountain of a pure, unsullied heart.

Baron S. Has retirement long possessed so lovely an advocate?

Mrs. H. I have lived here three years. Baron S. And never felt a secret wish for the society you left, and must have adorned?

Mrs. H. Never.

Baron S. To feel thus belongs either to a very rough or a very polished soul. The first sight convinced me in which class I am to place you.

Mrs. H. (With a sigh.) There may, perhaps, be a third class.

Baron S. Indeed, madam, I wish not to be thought forward; but women always seemed to me less calculated for retirement than men. We have a thousand employments, a thousand amusements, which you have not.

Mrs. H. Dare I ask what they are?

Baron S. We ride, we hunt, we play, read, write.

Mrs. H. The noble employments of the chase, and the still more noble employment of play, I grant you. Baron S. Nay, but dare I ask what are your employments for a day?

Mrs. H. Oh my lord, you cannot imagine how quickly time passes when a certain uniformity guides the minutes of our life. How often do I ask, "Is Saturday come again so soon?" On a bright cheerful morning, my books and breakfast are carried out upon the grass-plot. Then is the sweet picture of reviving industry and eager innocence always new to me. The birds' notes, so often heard, still awaken new ideas: the herds are led into the fields; the peasant bends his eye upon his plough. Everything lives and moves; and in every creature's mind it seems as it were morning. Towards evening, I begin to roam abroad; from the park into the meadows: and sometimes, returning, pause to look at the village boys and girls as they play. Ten do I bless their innocence, and pray to heaven those laughing, thoughtless hours, could be their lot for ever.

Baron S. This is excellent! But these are summer amusements. The winter, the winter!

Mrs. H. Why for ever picture winter like old age; torpid, tedious, and uncheerful? Winter has its own delights: this is the time to instruct and mend the mind by reading and reflection. At this season, too, I often take my harp, and amuse myself by playing or singing the little favourite airs, that remind me of the past, or solicit hope for the future.

Baron S. Happy, indeed, are they who can thus create and vary their own pleasures and employments!

Enter PETER.

Peter. Well, well-pray, now-I was ordered-I can keep him back no longer; he will come in. Enter TOBIAS, forcing his way.

Tob. I must, good heaven! I must. Mrs. H. (Confused.) I have no time at present. I -I-You see I am not alone.

Tob. To return thanks. Even charity is a burden if one may not be grateful for it.

Mrs. H. To-morrow, good Tobias; to-morrow. Baron S. Nay, no false delicacy, madam. Allow him to vent the feelings of his heart; and permit me to witness a scene which convinces me, even more powerfully than your conversation, how nobly you employ your time. Speak, old man!

Tob. Oh! lady, that each word which drops from my lips, might call down a blessing on your head! I lay forsaken and dying in my hut; not even bread nor hope remained. Oh! then you came in the form of an angel, brought medicines to me; and your sweet consoling voice did more than those. I am recovered. To-day, for the first time, I have returned thanks in presence of the sun; and now I come to you, noble lady. Let me drop my tears upon your charitable hand. For your sake, heaven has blessed my latter days. The Stranger, too, who lives near me, has given me a purse of gold to buy my son's release. I am on my way to the city: I shall purchase my Robert's release. Then I shall have an honest daughter-in-law. And you, if ever after that you pass our happy cottage, oh! what must you feel when you say to yourself, "This is my work!" Mrs. H. (In a tone of entreaty.) Enough Tobias; enough!

it.

you!

Tob. I beg pardon: I cannot utter what is breathing in my breast. There is one who knows May his blessing and your own heart reward [Exit, Peter following. Mrs. Haller casts her eyes upon the ground, and contends against the confusion of an exalted soul, when surprised in a good action. The Baron stands opposite to her, and from time to time casts a glance at her.

Mrs. H. (Endeavouring to bring about a conversation.) I suppose, my lord, we may expect the Count and Countess every moment now?

Baron S. Not just yet, madam. He travels at his leisure. I am selfish, perhaps, in not being anxious for his speed: the delay has procured me a delight which I shall never forget. Mrs. H. (Smiling.) You satirize mankind, my lord.

Baron S. How so?

Mrs. H. In supposing such scenes to be uncom

mon.

Baron S. I confess I was little prepared for such an acquaintance as yourself; I am extremely surprised. When Solomon told me your name and situation, how could I suppose that-Pardon my curiosity; you have been, or are, married?

Mrs. II. (Suddenly sinking from her cheerful raillery into mournful gloom.) I have been married, my lord.

Baron S. (Whose inquiries evince his curiosity, yet are restrained within the bounds of the nicest respect.) A widow, then?

Mrs. H. I beseech you-there are strings in the human heart, which touched, will sometimes utter dreadful discord: I beseech you

Baron S. I understand you. I see you know how to conceal everything except your perfections.

Mrs. H. My perfections, alas! (Rural music without.) But I hear the happy tenantry announce the Count's arrival. Your pardon, my lord; I must attend them.

[Exit,

Baron S. Excellent creature! What is she, and what can be her history? I must seek my sister

instantly. How strong and how sudden is the interest I feel for her! but it is a feeling I ought to check. And yet, why so? Whatever are the emotions she has inspired, I am sure they arise from the perfections of her mind; and never shall they be met with unworthiness in mine. [Exit.

SCENE II.-The Lawn.

SOLOMON and PETER are discovered arranging the Tenantry. Rural music. Enter COUNT and COUNTESS WINTERSEN, (the latter leading her child.) BARON STEINFORT, MRS. HALLER, CHARLOTTE, and Servants following.

Sol. Welcome, ten thousand welcomes, your excellencies. Some little preparation made for welcome, too. But that will be seen anon.

Count W. Well, here we are! Heaven bless our advance and retreat! Mrs. Haller, I bring you an invalid, who, in future, will swear to no flag but yours.

Mrs. H. Mine flies for retreat and rural happi

ness.

Count W. But not without retreating graces, and retiring cupids too.

Countess (Who has, in the meantime, kindly embraced Mrs. Haller, and by her been welcomed to Wintersen.) My dear Count, you forget that I am present.

Count W. Why, in the name of chivalry how can I do less than your gallant brother, the Baron? who has been so kind as nearly to kill my four greys, in order to be here five minutes before me. Baron S. Had I known all the charms of this place, you should have said so with justice.

Countess. Don't you think William much grown? Mrs. H. The sweet boy! (Stoops to kiss him, and deep melancholy overshadows her countenance.) Count W. Well, Solomon, you've provided a good dinner.

Sol. As good as haste would allow, please your right honourable excellency.

Peter. Yes as good as-(Count goes aside with Solomon and Peter.)

Baron S. Tell me, I conjure you, sister, what jewel you have thus buried in the country?

Countess. Ha, ha, ha! What, brother, you caught at last?

Baron S. Answer me.

Countess. Well, her name is Mrs. Haller.
Baron S. That i know, but-

Counters. But; but I know no more myself. Baron S. Jesting apart, I wish to know. Countess. And, jesting apart, I wish you would not plague me. I have at least a hundred thousand important things to do. Heaven's! the vicar may come to pay his respects to me before I have been at my toilet; of course, I must consult my lookingglass on the occasion. Come, William, will you help to dress me, or stay with your father? Count W. We'll take care of him. Countess. Come, Mrs. Haller.

[Exit with Mrs. Haller, Charloite following. Baron S. (Aside and going.) I am in a very singular humour.

Count W. Whither so fast, good brother? Baron S. To my apartment. I have letters toI

Count W. Psha! stay. Let us take a turn in the park together.

Baron S. Excuse me. I am not perfectly well. I should be but bad company. I[Exit. The Tenantry retire. Count W. Well, Solomon, you are as great a fool as ever, I see.

Sol. Ha, ha! At your right honourable excellency's service.

Count W. (Points to Peter.) Who is that ape in the corner?

Sol. Ape! Oh! that is, with respect to your excellency be it spoken, the son of my body; by name, Peter. (Peter bows.)

Count W. So, so! Well, how goes all on?

lency will see how I've improved the park: you'll Sol. Well and good, well and good. Your excelnot know it again. An hermitage here, serpentine walks there; an obelisk, a ruin; and all so sparingly, all done with the most economical economy. Count W. Well, I'll have a peep at your obelisk and ruins, while they prepare for dinner.

Sol. I have already ordered it, and will have the honour of attending your right honourable excellency.

Count W. Come, lead the way. Peter, attend your young master to the house; we must not tire him. [Exit, conducted by Solomon.

Peter. We'll go round this way, your little excellency, and then we shall see the bridge as we go by; and the new boat, with all the fine ribands and streamers. This way, your little excellency. [Exit, leading the Child. SCENE III.-The Ante-chamber.

Enter MRS. HALLER.

Mrs. H. What has thus alarmed and subdued me? My tears flow; my heart bleeds. Already had I apparently overcome my chagrin; already had I at least assumed that easy gaiety once so natural to me, when the sight of this child in an instant overpowered me. When the Countess called him William-oh! she knew not that she plunged a poniard in my heart. I have a William, too, who must be as tall as this, if he be still alive. Ah! yes, if he be still alive. His little sister, too! Why, fancy, dost thou rack me thus? Why dost thou imagine my poor children, fainting in sickness, and crying to their mother? To the mother who has abandoned them! (Weeps.) What a wretched outcast am! And that just to-day I should be doomed to feel those horrible emotions! just to-day, when disguise was so necessary.

Enter CHARLOTTE.

Char. Very pretty, very pretty, indeed! better send me to the garret at once. Your servant, Mrs Haller. I beg, madam, I may have a room fit for a respectable person.

Mrs. H. The chamber into which you have been shewn is, I think, a very neat one.

Char. A very neat one, is it? Up the back stairs, and over the laundry. I should never be able to close my eyes.

Mrs. H. (Very mildly.) I slept there a whole year. Char. Did you? Then I advise you to remove into it again, and the sooner the better. I'd have you to know, madam, there is a material difference between certain persons and certain persons. Much depends upon the manner in which one has been educated. I think, madam, it would only be proper if you resigned your room to me.

Mrs. H. If the Countess desires it, certainly. Char. The Countess! Very pretty, indeed! Would you have me think of plaguing her ladyship with such trifles? I shall order my trunk to be carried wherever I please.

Mrs. H. Certainly; only not into my chamber.

Char. Provoking creature! But how could I expect to find breeding among creatures born of one knows not whom, and coming one knows not whence?

Fra. The only son of Count Wintersen.
Stra. Immaterial.

Fra. A gentleman, by report, worthy and benevolent as yourself.

Stra. (Angry.) Silence! Dare you flatter me? Fra. As I look to heaven for mercy, I speak from my heart. When I observe how you are doing good around you, how you are making every individual's wants your own, and are yet yourself unhappy, alas! my heart bleeds for you.

Stra. I thank you, Francis. I can only thank you. Yet share this consolation with me; my sufferings are unmerited.

Fra. My poor master!

Stra. Have you forgotten what the old man said this morning? There is another and a better world!" Oh! 'twas true. Then let us hope with fervency, and yet endure with patience. What's here?

Enter CHARLOTTE, from the Park-gate. Char. I presume, sir, you are the strange gentleman that drew my young master out of the water? (The Stranger reads.) Or (To Francis) are you he? (Francis makes a wry face.) Are the creatures both dumb? (Looks at them by turns.) Surely, old Solomon has fixed two statues here by way of ornament; for of any use there is no sign. (Approaches Frances.) No, this is alive, and breathes; yes, and moves its eyes. (Bawls in his ear.) Good friend! Fra. I'm not deaf.

Char. No, nor dumb, I perceive, at last. Is yon lifeless thing your master?

Fra. That honest, silent gentleman is my master. Char. The same that drew the young Count out of the water?

Fra. The same.

Char. (To the Stranger.) Sir, my master and mistress, the Count and Countess, present their respectful compliments, and request the honour of your company at a family supper this evening. Stra. I shall not come.

Char. But you'll scarce send such an uncivil answer as this. The Count is overpowered with gratitude. You saved his son's life.

Stra. I did it willingly.

Char. And won't accept of "I thank you," in return?

Stra. No.

Char. You really are cruel, sir, I must tell you. There are three of us ladies at the castle, and we are all dying with curiosity to know who you are. [Exit Stranger.] The master is crabbed enough, however; let me try what I can make of the man. Pray, sir-(Francis turns his back to her.)-the beginning promises little enough. Friend, why won't you look at me?

Fra. I like to look at green trees better than green eyes.

Char. Green eyes, you monster! Who told you

Fra. Thank you! Now to see how habit and example corrupts one's manners! I am naturally the civillest spoken fellow in the world to the pretty prattling rogues; yet, following my master's humour, I've rudely driven this wench away. I must have a peep at her, though. (Looking towards the park-gates.) Enter STRANGER. Stra. Is that woman gone? Fra. Yes.

Stra. Francis!

Fra. Sir?

Stra. We must be gone, too.
Fra. But whither?

Stra. I don't care.
Fra. I'll attend you.

Stra. To any place?

Fra. To death.

Stra. Heaven grant it-to me, at least. There is peace.

Fra. Peace is everywhere. Let the storm rage without, if the heart be but at rest. Yet, I think we are very well where we are: the situation is inviting; and nature lavish of her beauties, and of her bounties, too.

Stra. But I am not a wild beast, to be stared at, and sent for as a show. Is it fit I should be?

Fra. Another of your interpretations! That & man, the life of whose only son you have saved, should invite you to his house, seems to me not very unnatural.

Stra. I will not be invited to any house. Fra. For once, methinks, you might submit. You'll not be asked a second time.

Stra. Proud wretches! They believe the most essential service is requited, if one may but have the honour of sitting at their table. Let us begone.

Fra. Yet hold, sir! This bustle will soon be over. Used to the town, the Count and his party will soon be tired of simple nature, and you will again be freed from observation.

Stra. Not from yours. Fra. This is too much. doubts?

Stra. Am I in the wrong?
Fra. You are, indeed!

Do I deserve your

Stra. Francis, my servant, you are my on'y friend.

Fra. That title makes amends for all.

Stra. But, look, Francis! there are uniforms and gay dresses in the walk again. No, I must begone. Here I'll stay no longer.

Fra. Well, then, I'll tie up my bundle.

Stra. The sooner the better. They come this way. Now must 1 shut myself in my hovel, and lose this fine breeze. Nay, if they be your high

bred class of all, they may have impudence enough to walk into my chamber. Francis, I shall lock the door. [Goes into the lodge, locks the door, and fastens the shutters.

Fra. And I'll be your sentinel.
Stra. Very well.

Fra. Now, should these people be as inquisitive as their maid, I must summon my whole stock of impertinence. But their questions and my answers need little study. They can learn nothing of the Stranger from me; for the best of all possible reasons I know nothing myself.

Enter BARON STEINFORT and COUNTESS
WINTERSEN.

Countess. There is a strange face. The servant, probably.

Baron S. Friend, can we speak to your master? Fra. No.

Baron S. Only for a few minutes.

Fra. He has locked himself in his room.

Countess. Tell him a lady waits for him.

Fra. Then he's sure not to come.

Countess. Does he hate our sex?

I do not know who Mrs. Haller is, as I have already told you; but what I do know of her, shall not be concealed from you. It may now be three years ago, when, one evening, about twilight, a lady was announced, who wished to speak to me in private. Mrs. Haller appeared with all that grace and modesty which have enchanted you. Her features, at that moment, bore keener marks of the sorrow and confusion which have since settled into gentle melanchely. She threw herself at my feet; and besought me to save a wretch who was on the brink of despair. She told me she had heard much of my benevolence, and offered herself as a servant to attend me. I endeavoured to dive into the cause of her sufferings, but in vain. She concealed her secret; yet opening to me more and more each day a heart, chosen by virtue as her temple, and an understanding improved by the most refined attainments, she no longer remained my servant, but became my friend; and, by her own desire, has ever since resided here. (Courtesying.) Brother, I have done.

Baron S. Too little to satisfy my curiosity; yet

Countess. And why?

Fra. He may, perhaps, have been deceived.
Countess. This is not very courteous.

Fra. My master is not over courteous; but when he sees a chance of saving a fellow-creature's life, he'll attempt it at the hazard of his own,

Baron S. You are right. Now hear the reason of our visit. The wife and brother-in-law of the man whose child your master has saved, wish to acknowledge their obligations to him.

Fra. That he dislikes. He only wishes to live unnoticed.

Countess. He appears to be unfortunate.
Fra. Appears!

Countess. An affair of honour, perhaps, or some unhappy attachment may have

Fra. They may.

me your aid-I would marry her.

Countess. You?

Baron S. I.

Countess. Baron Steinfort ?

Baron S. For shame! if I understand you.

Countess. Not so harsh, and not so hasty! Those great sentiments of contempt of inequality in rank are very fine in a romance; but we happen, not to be inhabitants of an ideal world. How could you introduce her to the circle we live in? You surely would not attempt to present her toBaron S. Object as you will, my answer is-I love. Sister, you see a man before you, whoCountess. Who wants a wife.

Baron S. No: who has deliberately poised advantage against disadvantage; domestic ease and comfort against the false gaieties of fashion. I can withdraw into the country. I need no honours to

Fra. So do I.

Countess. What, don't you know him yourself?

Fra. Oh! I know him well enough. I mean his real self; his heart, his soul, his worth, his honour. Perhaps, you think one knows a man, when one is acquainted with his name and person.

Countess. 'Tis well said, friend, you please me much. And now I should like to know you. Who are you?

Fra. Your humble servant. [Exit. Countess. This is affectation! A desire to appear singular. Every one wishes to make himself distinguished. One sails round the world, another creeps into a hovel.

Baron S. And the man apes his master! Countess. Come, brother, let us seek the Count. He and Mrs. Haller turned into the lawn.

(Going.)

Baron S. Stay! First a word or two, sister. I am in love.

Countess. For the hundredth time.

Baron S. For the first time in my life.
Countess. I wish you joy.

Baron S. Till now you have evaded my inquiries. Who is she? I beseech you, sister, be serious. There is a time for all things.

Countess. Bless us! Why, you look as if you were going to raise a spirit. Don't fix your eyes so earnestly. Well if I am to be serious. I obey.

me to make their happiness my own. With such a wife as this, children who resemble her, and fortune enough to spread comfort around me, what would the soul of man have more?

Countess. This is all vastly fine! I admire your plan; only, you seem to have forgotten one trifling circumstance.

Baron S. And that is

Countess. Whether Mrs. Haller would have you

or not.

Baron S. There, sister, I just want your assistance. (Seizing her hand.) Good Henrietta!

Countess. Well, here's my hand. I'll do all I can for you. Hist! We had nearly been overheard. They are coming. Be patient and obedient. Enter COUNT WINTERSEN, and MRS. HALLER, leaning on his arm.

Count W. Upon my word, Mrs. Haller, you are a nimble walker: I should be sorry to run a race with you.

Mrs. H. Custom, my lord. You need only take the same walk every day for a month.

Count W. Yes; if I wanted to resemble my greyhounds. But what said the Stranger?

Countess. He gave Charlotte a flat refusal; and you see his door, and even his shutters, are closed against us.

Count W. What an unaccountable being! But it won't do. I must shew my gratitude one way or other. Steinfort, we will take the ladies home, and