want no further connection. We are to turn to the right, did you say?

Tony. No, no; straight forward. I'll just step myself, and show you a piece of the way. [To the landlord.]-Mum.

Land. Ah, you are a sweet, pleasant-mischievous

humbug.

ACT II.

SCENE I-An old-fashioned house.

[Exeunt.

Enter HARDCASTLE, followed by three or four awkward Servants.

Hard. Well, I hope you're perfect in the table exercise I have been teaching you these three days. You your posts

all know at at forend your places; and can show

that you have been used to good company, without ever stirring from home.

Omnes. Ay, ay.

Hard. When company comes, you are not to pop out and stare, and then run in again, like frighted rabbits in a warren.

Omnes. No, no.

Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a show at the side-table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself behind my chair. But you're not to stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you. See how Diggory carries his hands. They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter.

Digg. Ay; mind how I hold them. I learned to hold my hands this way, when I was upon drill for the militia. And so being upon drill

Hard. You must not be so talkative, Diggory. You a must be all attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not think of talking; you must see us drink, and not think of drinking; you must see us eat, and not think of eating.

Digg. By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forward, ecod, he's always wishing for a mouthful himself.

Hard. Blockhead! is not a belly-full in the kitchen as good as a belly-full in the parlour? Stay your stomach with that reflection.

Digg. Ecod, I thank your worship, I'll make a shift
to stay my stomach with a slice of cold beef in the
pantry.

Hard. Diggory, you are too talkative. Then if I
happen to say a good thing, or tell a good story at
table, you must not all burst out a-laughing, as if you
made part of the company.
#2 Cole rend

Digg. Then, ecod, the gun-room: I can't help

your worship must not tell the
story of Ould Grouse

laughing at that-he! he! he -for the soul of me.
We have laughed at that these twenty years-ha!

ha ha!

Hard. Ha! ha! ha! The story is a good one. Well, honest Diggory, you may laugh at that-but still. remember to be attentive. Suppose one of the company should call for a glass of wine, how will you behave ?

A glass of wine, sir, if you please. [To DIGGORY.]— Eh, why don't you move?

Digg. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the eatables and drinkables brought upon the table, and then I'm as bauld às a lion.

Hard. What, will nobody move?

1 Serv. I'm not to leave this pleace.
2 Serv. I'm sure it's no pleace of mine.
3 Serv. Nor mine, for sartain.

Digg. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine.

Hard. You numsculls! and so while, like your betters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must be starved. Oh, you dunces! I find I must begin all over again. But don't I hear a coach drive into the yard? To your posts, you blockheads! I'll go in the meantime, and give my old friend's son a hearty reception at the gate. [Exit HARDCASTLE. Digg. By the elevens, my pleace is gone quite out my head.

of

Roger. I know that my pleace is to be everywhere. 1 Serv. Where is mine?

2 Serv. My pleace is to be nowhere at all; and so I'ze go about my business.

[Exeunt Servants, run

ning about as if frightened, different ways.]

Enter Servant with candles, showing in MARLOW and

HASTINGS.

Serv. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome. This

way.

Hast. After the disappointments of the day, welcome once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room,

passer

and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well-looking house; antique, but creditable. Marl. The usual fate o of a large mansion. Having first ruined the master by good housekeeping, it at last comes to levy, contributions as an inn.

Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good side. board, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame a reckoning confoundedly.

Marl. Travellers, George, must pay in all places. The only difference is, that in good inns you pay dearly for luxuries; in bad inns you are fleeced and starved.

Hast. You have lived very much among them. In truth, I have been often surprised, that you, who have seen so somuch of th the world, with your natural good sense, and your many opportunities, could never yet →

acquire a requisite share of assurance.

But tell me,

Marl. The Englishman's malady. George, where could I have learned that assurance you talk of? My life has been chiefly spent in a college, or an inn; in seclusion from that lovely part of the creation that chiefly teach men confidence. I don't know that I was ever familiarly acquainted with a single modest woman-except my mother.

Hast. In the company of women of reputation, I never saw such an idiot, such a trembler: you look, for all the world, as if you wanted an opportunity of stealing out of the room.

Marl. Why, man, that's because I do want to steal out of the room! I have often formed a resolution to

C

break the ice, and rattle away at any rate. But I don't know how, a single glance from a pair of fine eyes has totally overset my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty; but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever counterfeit impudence.

Hast. If you could but say half the fine things to them that I have heard you lavish upon the barmaid of an inn.

Marl, Why, George, I can't say fine things to them. They freeze, they petrify me. They may talk of a comet, or a burning mountain, or some such bagatelle : but to me, a modest woman, drest out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation.

Hast. Ha! ha! ha! At this rate, man, how can you ever expect to marry?

Marl. Never, unless, as among kings and princes, Ant my bride were to be courted by proxy. If, indeed, like an Eastern bridegroom, one were to be introduced to a wife he never saw before, it might be endured. But to go through all the terrors of a formal courtship, together with the episode of aunts, grandmothers, and cousins, and at last to blurt out the broad-star question of-Madam, will you marry me? No, no; that's a strain much above me, I assure you.

Hast. I pity you. But how do you intend behaving to the lady you are come down to visit at the request of your father?

Marl. As I behave to all other ladies: bow very low; answer yes, or no, to all her demands. But for the rest, I don't think I shall venture to look in her face, till I see my father's again.