Miss Her. Haughty to the last.-Well, thank heaven! this interview is over. Julia, I have fought hard

for you.

Mrs. Rach. Indeed, my dear niece, you carry matters too far: you will certainly lose Mr. Wingrove some of these days, if you persevere in your present treatment of him.

Miss Her. No, my dear madam-certainly no.-The symptoms of love vary with the difference of constitution; and, in a lively nature, there is no surer proof of it than a little playful malignity-and that the man ought to have sense enough to understand; or, wanting that, I am sure he has too little to entitle him to become the lord and master of a young woman of my spirit and pretensions.

Mrs. Rach. Aye, but have a care, Harriet.

Miss Her. Well, madam, I'll do my best-but, indeed, if I cannot laugh and tease him out of some of his faults, we shall make a miserable couple. I can be a willing slave to a gentle master; but I should prove a most rebellious subject to a tyrant, I am certain.

[Exeunt.

Scene V.-Mr. Manly's.

Enter YOUNG MANLY.

Y. Man. Heigho! What is't o'clock-I wonder? My head aches horridly-perhaps a little tea, timely administered, will set all to rights; we'll try.

Enter WILLIAM.`

William, how came I to have no better accommodation than the sopha, last night?—I suppose I was a little gone; but you might have put me to bed, sirrah.

Will. Sir, you know I wasn't at home-you employed me elsewhere.

Y. Man. Elsewhere? Hang me if I remember-why, how did I employ you?

Will. You know, sir, when I called upon you at the Star Inn, you sent me to hire a little vessel to carry you and Miss Wingrove to France.

Y. Man. Miss Wingrove and me to France !-Peace, you profane rascal !

Will. Dear sir, I wonder you should forget-You know you was almost beside yourself for joy yesterday, and told me that Miss had consented to be yours; and that you should marry her in France first, for fear of accidents and then you bid me hire a good tight vessel, and to tell the master, that if he would bring to in the west creek, and put to sea directly upon your getting on board, you would give him a hundred guineas, as soon as he had landed you upon the coast of France.

Y. Man. Eh!-how?--Miss Wingrove-coast of France!

Will. But it growing day-light, and the captain getting sulky, thinking as I had made a fool of him, I made the best of my way home to see what was the matter; and now it's all the talk this morning, that Miss Wingrove is run away.

Y. Man. What's that? Julia left her father's!— And where is she? Tell me this instant.

Will. Dear heart, sir! why how should I know? I thought she had been with you.

Y. Man. This is most unintelligible.-William, are you sure I am awake now? Don't laugh, you rascal!— Speak, fool! Are you certain I am awake, I say?—I believe I had better convince myself by beating the fellow handsomely; what say you, sir?

Will. Why, sir, only—that if it be the same thing to your honour, I would as lieve you would be so good as try some other experiment.

Y. Man. Heavens! what a confusion of horrors

breaks in upon my mind-My Julia fled, and I not the partner of her flight!-Oh! I dare not speak my apprehensions even to myself!-If they are true, I am undone Wretch that I am! were that all, it would be a trifle; but, Julia, my life, my soul, my love, I have ruined thee. I feel it all come rushing o'er my mind; yet still it has the wildness of a dream-I recollect something of a fair creature weeping and entreating me to let her go-Was it possible, that in any state I could let her sue in vain?

Will. I hope, sir, you'll forgive me for being so bold, but I am afraid miss and you have had some differ

ence.

Y. Man. What's that to you, sir?-Contemptible villain that I am, I blush that my own servant should guess at my conduct-Yet she has escaped Lord Dartford-How know I what she has escaped, or what endured? Those heavenly charms of her's may have exposed her to worse than robbery! Yet surely her melodious tongue would subdue a tiger!-Did it soften thee, thou more obdurate far than any other of thy kindred savages in the forest?-And yet 'tis hard'Twas to her own dear health I sacrificed my reasonOh! Julia,-if I had lov'd thee less, I had not deserved to have lost thee-Perhaps William might get some intelligence-I cannot let him know how I have acted -Selfish wretch! dost thou start at shame?—May he not bring word where she has taken refuge-Possibly I can serve her-Not for myself—I renounce all hopeYet if I can but serve her-William.

Will. Sir.

Y. Man. I have behaved like a scoundrel, Williamworse than a brute. I went to meet Miss Wingrove, and you find how I qualified myself to be her protector. -Where she is, I know not-Go, inquire, good. William-and be speedy-Go to her father's-every where -and bring me word before I'm quite distracted

Stay, I'll go too-we'll divide, and meet at the posthouse an hour hence.

Will. Sir, you're so much flurried, you had better stay here till I come back.

Y. Man. Don't talk, sir-And do you hear?-Take care you don't get drunk, sir-I know your failing, rascal; but when matters of importance are in agitation, none-no, none but a scoundrel like myself would degrade his nature by basely unfitting it for all the functions which render it either useful or respectable.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

Scene I-Larron's House.

Enter MRS. LARRON and JULIA.

Mrs. Lar. So, my pretty young madam, I have found you out, have I? But I guessed how it was from the first, hussey.

Julia. Is there any thing I can say that will convince you?

Mrs. Lar. Why no, to be sure there an't-Don't you think as all you says must go for nothing, after all that fine masquerading story trumped up between my husband and you? He said you was just com❜d out of a nunnery. What sort of a nunnery was it, I wonder? Julia. Good madam, let me prevail on you to listen to my unhappy story.

Mrs. Lar. Well, child, you may go on, I hears you. Julia. Your husband found me this morning, deprived (by a most unlooked-for accident) of friends, of home, of every thing.

Mrs. Lar. You must be a good un by that-Well, let's hear-go on, child.

Julia. I made him acquainted with my distress, and he agreed to afford me shelter, till I could form some plan, adapted to my melancholy situation.

Mrs. Lar. And so you'd have me believe, as you and my husband know'd nothing of one another before this morning?-Hey?

Julia. I can solemnly assure you, that this morning was the first of our acquaintance.

Mrs. Lar. Well, have a care that you doesn't equivikit now If I finds you equivikiting, you shall dearly repent it, I promise you-And so you says as you wants work-Why, if I thought you would behave yourself as you should do, may be I'd find you a friend myself, that wou'dn't require much of you; and I suppose you don't care how little you does But I should like to know how you lost your last friend.

Julia. Let me entreat you, madam, to spare me upon that point.

Mrs. Lar. Aye, you none on you likes to tell-I suppose it wa'n't for no good as he turn'd you off. [Julia turns aside and weeps.] What a poor little whimpering thing it is I wonders where she can have been, as I have never seen her afore-If I can get her off to old 'Squire Manly, who is a little like my husband for goodness, it will be putting her out of Larron's way, and be something into my pocket-Well, well, adone crying, do I suppose you are not so dilliket as to object to a middle-aged gentleman.

Julia. Has he any family, madam?

Mrs. Lar. Oh, yes-he's a son and a daughter, and a wife into the bargain-but you know that's no hobsticle to the likes of you.

Julia. Quite the contrary, madam; I am glad to hear it.

Mrs. Lar. Well, that's as much as ever I hard-But that's none of my business.