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

tune if I

you know I lose most of my formarry 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 apropos-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-but being unhackneyed in the passion, his affection is

ardent and sincere; and as it engrosses his whole soul, he expects every thought 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 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 chooses, with her select words so ingeniously misapplied, without being mispronounced.

XRe-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!-(Embrace.) [Exit JULIA. Lydia. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick.-Fling Peregrine Pickle' under the toilet-throw 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-so, so-now lay Mrs. Chapone' in sight, and leave Fordyce's Sermons' open on the table.

Lucy. O burn it, ma'am, the hair-dresser has torn away as far as Proper Pride.'

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

Enter Mrs. MALAPROP and Sir ANTHONY AB

SOLUTE.

୮

Mrs. Mal. 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

you

Mrs. Mal. You thought, miss! I don't know any business 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, quite from your memory.

Lydia. Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget. Mrs. Mal. But I say it is, miss; there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a per