Croaker. Lord! good sir, moderate your fears; you're so plaguy shy, that one would think you had changed sexes. I tell you we must have the half or the whole. Come, let me see with what spirit you begin. Well, why don't you? Eh! What? Well then - I must, it seems Miss Richland, my dear, I believe you guess at our business; an affair which my son here comes to open, that nearly concerns your happiness.

Miss Richland. Sir, I should be ungrateful not to be pleased with anything that comes recommended by you.

Croaker. How, boy, could you desire a finer opening? Why don't you begin, I say? (To Leontine.) Leontine. 'Tis true, madam, my father, madam, has some intentions-hem of explaining an affair — which himself can best explain, madam.

Croaker. Yes, my dear; it comes entirely from my son; it's all a request of his own, madam. And I will permit him to make the best of it.

Leontine. The whole affair is only this, madam; my father has a proposal to make which he insists none but himself shall deliver.

Croaker. My mind misgives me, the fellow will never be brought on. (Aside.) In short, madam, you see before you one that loves you; one whose whole happiness is all in you.

Miss Richland. I never had any doubts of your regard, sir; and I hope you can have none of my duty.

Croaker. That's not the thing, my little sweeting; my love! No, no, another-guess lover1 than I; there

1another-guess lover: A lover of another sort. "Then we should have things done in another-guess manner." The Vicar of

he stands, madam; his very looks declare the force of his passion! Call up a look, you dog But then, had you seen him, as I have, weeping, speaking soliloquies and blank verse, sometimes melancholy, and sometimes absent

Miss Richland. I fear, sir, he's absent now; or such a declaration would have come most properly from himself.

Croaker. Himself, Madam! He would die before he could make such a confession; and if he had not a channel for his passion through me, it would ere now have drowned his understanding.

Miss Richland. I must grant, sir, there are attractions in modest diffidence above the force of words. A silent address is the genuine eloquence of sincerity.

Croaker. Madam, he has forgot to speak any other language; silence is become his mother-tongue.

Miss Richland. And it must be confessed, sir, it speaks very powerfully in his favor. And yet I shall be thought too forward in making such a confession; shan't I, Mr. Leontine?

Leontine. Confusion! my reserve will undo me. But, if modesty attracts her, impudence may disgust her. I'll try. (Aside.) - Don't imagine from my silence, madam, that I want a due sense of the honor and happiness intended me. My father, madam, tells me your humble servant is not totally indifferent to you. He admires you; I adore you; and when we come together, upon my soul, I believe we shall be the happiest couple in all St. James's.1

Wakefield, chap. xix. See Browning's The Ring and the Book, IV, 1498.

1 in all St. James's: The fashionable district of London, St. James's Parish, is referred to.

Miss Richland. If I could flatter myself you thought as you speak, sir

Leontine. Doubt my sincerity, madam? By your dear self I swear! Ask the brave if they desire glory! ask cowards if they covet safety

Croaker. Well, well, no more questions about it. Leontine. Ask the sick if they long for health; ask misers if they love money, ask

Croaker. Ask a fool if he can talk nonsense! What's come over the boy? What signifies asking, when there's not a soul to give you an answer? If you would ask to the purpose, ask this lady's consent to make you happy.

Miss Richland. Why, indeed, sir, his uncommon ardor almost compels me, forces me to comply. And yet I'm afraid he'll despise a conquest gained with too much ease; won't you, Mr. Leontine ?

Leontine. Confusion! (Aside.) Oh, by no means, madam, by no means. And yet, madam, you talked of force. There is nothing I would avoid so much as compulsion in a thing of this kind. No, madam, I will still be generous, and leave you at liberty to refuse.

Croaker. But I tell you, sir, the lady is not at liberty. It's a match. You see she says nothing. Silence gives consent.

Leontine. But, sir, she talked of force. Consider, sir, the cruelty of constraining her inclinations.

Croaker. But I say there's no cruelty. Don't you know, blockhead, that girls have always a roundabout way of saying yes before company? So get you both gone together into the next room, and hang him that interrupts the tender explanation. Get you gone, I say; I'll not hear a word.

Leontine. But, sir, I must beg leave to insist Croaker. Get off, you puppy, or I'll beg leave to insist upon knocking you down. Stupid whelp! But I don't wonder; the boy takes entirely after his mother. [Exeunt Miss Richland and Leontine.

Enter Mrs. Croaker.

Mrs. Croaker. Mr. Croaker, I bring you something, my dear, that I believe will make you smile.

Croaker. I'll hold you a guinea of that, my dear.

Mrs. Croaker. A letter; and, as I knew the hand, I ventured to open it.

Croaker. And how can you expect your breaking open my letters should give me pleasure?

Mrs. Croaker. Poo! it's from your sister at Lyons, and contains good news; read it.

Croaker. What a Frenchified cover is here! That sister of mine has some good qualities; but I could never teach her to fold a letter.

Mrs. Croaker. Fold a fiddlestick! Read what it contains.

Croaker (reading).

DEAR NICK,- An English gentleman, of large fortune, has for some time made private, though honorable proposals to your daughter Olivia. They love each other tenderly, and I find she has consented, without letting any of the family know, to crown his addresses. As such good offers don't come every day, your own good sense, his large fortune, and family considerations, will induce you to forgive her. RACHAEL CROAKER. My daughter Olivia privately contracted to a man of large fortune! This is good news indeed! My heart never foretold me of this. And yet, how slyly the little

Yours ever,

baggage has carried it since she came home. Not a word on 't to the old ones for the world! Yet I thought I saw something she wanted to conceal.

Mrs. Croaker. Well, if they have concealed their amour, they shan't conceal their wedding; that shall be public, I'm resolved.

Croaker. I tell thee, woman, the wedding is the most foolish part of the ceremony. I can never get this woman to think of the most serious part of the nuptial engagement.

Mrs. Croaker. What would you have me think of, their funeral? But come, tell me, my dear, don't you owe more to me than you care to confess? Would you have ever been known to Mr. Lofty, who has undertaken Miss Richland's claim at the Treasury, but for me? Who was it first made him an acquaintance at Lady Shabbaroon's rout? Who got him to promise us his interest? Is not he a back-stairs favorite, one that can do what he pleases with those that do what they please? Is n't he an acquaintance that all your groaning and lamentations could never have got us?

Croaker. He is a man of importance, I grant you. And yet, what amazes me is, that while he is giving away places to all the world, he can't get one for himself.

Mrs. Croaker. That, perhaps, may be owing to his nicety. Great men are not easily satisfied.

Enter French Servant.

Servant. An expresse1 from Monsieur Lofty. He vil be vait upon your honors instammant. He be only giving four five instruction, read two tree memorial,

1

an expresse: A personal messenger; usually used only by

royalty.