SCENE I. The Landing-place at Cal­cutta.

Captain Coromandel,—once more welcome to Bengal.

Ah, my old friend Stanmore; I ex­pected to have seen you in England before now.—Well, Sir, what news in Bengal?—How is your old friend and patron, Colonel Bentley; as whimsical as ever?

As well beloved in the settlement as ever, I promise you: the Colonel's singulari­ties do not cloud his virtues;—while others court esteem, he commands it.—You know he has long fought under the banner of plain dealing.

Oh, that's a service in which there is but bad pay.—He won't be able to enlist many recruits."

But then the honour!"

"Why, as you say, if he loves the honour of fighting, he will have enough—for with plain dealing, he will be sure to find enemies in plenty every where."—And how is the charming young lady, whom the Colonel has taken under his patronage?

Ormellina, you mean.—She is a charming creature indeed—but still unmarried.

I suppose she won't remain so long; [Page 3] the Colonel has, no doubt, taught her to be obedient, in order to train her up for a wife.

A wife! No, no, sir, the Colonel is too much a man of honour, to think of uniting threescore and eighteen.

But what has honour to do in the busi­ness, my dear Stanmore?

Not much, indeed.—I think an un­fortunate young woman has far less reason to complain of the poor fellow who takes her purse on the highway, than of the old dotard who robs her of her happiness, under the title of mar­riage; and yet the same laws which encourage her to hang the one, command her to honour and obey the other.

You seem to speak feelingly.

I have but too much cause;—the woman I loved was thus sacrificed.

Pshaw, man, don't droop because you are separated from your mistress; she will love you the better when you meet: without a storm now and then, we should not enjoy fair weather.

Here comes a passenger of mine, a taylor, with whom I must bring you acquainted; I think the fellow will entertain you.

Mr. Stanmore, this is Tom Twist,—a very whimlical fellow, who, not being satisfied with sitting cross-legged in London, is resolved to cut out work for himself in Bengal.

I am his most obedient.—And pray, Mr. Twist, what business do you mean to fol­low in Bengal?

The same business which every one else follows in Bengal; getting money, oh, Captain."

But in what line?—For there are various ways of carrying on that business.

Yes, Sir, and some of them d—d strange ways, they tell us in England.

And pray, Mr. Twist, on what do you mean to depend, in becoming a favourite of fortune?"

Accomplishments, Sir.—I can dance a cotillion tolerably; sing twenty songs, about Jockies and Jennies, for the ladies; and play Malbrouk on the fiddle.—In short I can do every thing but write and read, and my genius never could stoop to that.

But tell me, how did you acquire these elegant accomplishments?

You know, Sir, I always moved in a genteel circle.—My master worked for none but people of quality: not a tradesman in Westminster could boast of a greater number of book debts.

That must have been a vast happi­ness!

Yes; old Staytape ruined himself by his great connections—He visited some of the first people.

What! a taylor visit the first people?

Aye, Sir,—two or three times a day sometimes; but he was seldom fortunate enough to meet with them at home; they weretoo much engaged in paying off the debts of the nation, to attend to their own.

Well, Twist, a truce with your wit for the present. I have promised my friend Mush­room to send you to him.—He wishes to have some clothes made up in a hurry; and if your needle goes but as fast as your tongue, I shall gain credit by recommending you.

Mr. Twist, I heartily wish you success.—We are all three brother adventurers, and how­ever different our situations, our object is the same.

SCENE, Colonel BENTLEY's.

Once more, my dear little adventurer, welcome to Bengal. Captain Coromandel's letter introduces you to me with the highest en­comiums; but he omits to tell me what has oc­casioned you to quit England in this disguise.

Ah, my dear Ormellina, what be­ing is that in the creation, for whom woman feels a thousand various emotions, who is her blessing and her torment, her tyrant and her slave, the man she loves?—In short, I am come to Bengal in search of a husband, no uncom­mon errand, I believe.

But your story.

Is told in a few words. The prayers and intreaties of an indigent mother forced me to marry where I could not love. The object of my affections quitted the kingdom in de­spair, and took passage for Bengal.—My auld Robin Grey is lately dead. I disguised myself thus, and embarked for India, in the hope of discovering my lover, and sharing with him that fortune, which I have so dearly acquired.

Generous girl!—And so this lover is my friend—Ensign Stanmore. But tell me, what is this history of me, which you say you have heard?

That you are an orphan—educated by Colonel Bentley as his daughter.

Well.

That your lover's name is Warnford—that you are jealous of him with a woman of intrigue—a Mrs. Mushroom.

Who could have told you this?

All that relates to you and Mr. Warnford, I learned from Mrs. Mushroom herself: I called at her house just now, with a letter of introduction from Captain Coro­mandel.—You seem surprised at my know­ledge; but I should think very meanly of myself, indeed, were I to be in any place two hours, without learning the scandal of the whole neighbourhood."

But you have no reason to suppose that Warnford requites her attachment.

That I am not sure of.

Oh that I were ascertained of the contrary.

You shall not long remain in suspence—I am now going again to Mrs. Mushroom, and will contrive to gain information; but I vow I had forgot to tell you my name.

Your name!

You must know that, in order to conceal myself from my lover the more effec­tually, I have assumed this disguise, and am at present Alexander M'Proteus, at your service.

And why disguise yourself from my poor friend Stanmore?

Only till I have perplexed him a little.—Coquetry with a lover, is like playing with your lap-dog, "or kitten." The fonder you are of the pretty animal, the more delight you feel in teazing it. Come, come, my dear friend, I shall make you a convert to my laugh­ing philosophy.

I wish indeed you could.

Depend upon it, I shall. None can pay more sincere homage to Cupid, than we laughing lovers. You sighing folks make him an eastern despot, and fall prostrate before him; with us, he is an European prince—we bow and simper at his levee: you degrade him to the mere tyrant of slaves; we exalt him to a glorious situation—the monarch of happy sub­jects.

SCENE, MUSHROOM's House.

Mrs. Mushroom!

Well, Mr. Mushroom.

Do you dine at home to-day?

Perhaps not.

You are not resolved then?

No—yes—no—I won't dine at home.

I am very glad of it.

I shall leave you to expose yourself as much as you please to-day, and not take the trouble of interpreting your nonsense to your company, to persuade them you are not a fool.

They'll never believe me to be other­wise than a fool, whilst they remember I mar­ried such a precious wife.

Well, Sir, and is it not that pre­cious wife who has introduced you to most of the company you keep in Bengal?

Yes, my dear, you have indeed in­troduced me to all the rake-helly young dogs in the three provinces; they stick so close to you, that, whenever you go out, you move like the queen bee, with a whole swarm after you.

You don't mean to insinuate that I have wronged your bed, Mr. Mush­room?

Not I, my love—I would not in­sinuate that, till I have proof of it, and I'm afraid you'll take care to keep that out of my reach."

Very well, Sir, very well; but indeed what had I else to expect, when I mar­ried an illiterate, sordid wretch, and twenty years older than myself into the bargain?

Aye, that's an unpardonable crime in me. I never knew a woman leave age out of the list of a man's faults. What an ass was I to marry a broken milliner from Bond-street, who brought out a face as badly patched up as [Page 10] her reputation, for a venture to Bengal; be­sides which, she hadn't stock in trade enough to fill one of her own band-boxes.

A very fit match, Mr. Mush­room, for an ignorant run-away shop-boy, with a mind as destitute of ideas as his pockets were of money.—The whole settlement knows your origin.

Yes, I always meant they should know it. I glory in it, that there was a time when Martin Mushroom, one of the richest men in Bengal, had not half-a-crown in his pocket, nor a whole coat to his back.—Zounds!—

Don't fly in a passion now.

Not I, egad. That we hate each other most heartily, you very well know.

And the worst part of the story is, that we must not own it before com­pany.

No—that's a cursed confinement upon us.

Well, it can't be help'd, Mr. Mushroom; as we are tied together, we must make the best of a bad bargain. Hush! here is somebody coming.

Mr. M'Proteus.

Shew him up.—Draw your chair closer.

My dear M'Proteus.

Ah! blessing o' ye're hearts—ye're a pattern for a' married folk.

Yes, and a pattern that is pretty much in vogue, I believe.—We have been talking over some old stories; hav'n't we, my dear Mr. Mushroom?

Yes, my life, we always talk them over when we are alone.

I shan't be able to keep my temper much longer.—Well, my dear, I must leave you for an hour or two: if Coromandel should send the taylor, let them set him to work to alter my blue and gold; and if Colonel Baton should call, pray entertain him till I return.

Oh, that is the French officer you expect from Pondicherri.

The same, my dear. He never was in Calcutta before. He is a man of gallantry, Mr. M'Proteus—a dangerous man among the ladies.

Then I'm resolved to make a conquest of him.

—How do I look to­day, my dear?

Much better than you did—

before you were painted.

Ha! ha! ha! Mr. M'Proteus: the only looking glass an old married woman has to consult, is her husband.

You are reight, Madam:—like a look­ing glass, he'll let ye see aw ye're fauts.

Well, if you must go, good bye, love.

Adieu, my angel. You see, Sir, what it is to have a wife so d—d fond of one.

At length we are alone. "Oh, Mr. M'Proteus, what an acquisition it is to [Page 12] have a friend like you.—The moment I saw you, I discovered that we had kindred minds.

I houp, Madam, they wunna gree th' war for being relations."

You will recollect I mentioned to you my fears, that Mr. Warnford might mis­understand my behaviour to him?

I remember it perfectly, Madam; I never forget my friends.

Indeed! Well, that is very disinterested to remember your friends while you forget yourself, and that you certainly do at this moment.—What is become of that charming Caledonian accent which graced your conversa­tion? Ye're reight, Madam: like a looking glass, he'll let ye see aw ye're fauts.

Ha! ha! ha!

I cry for quarter, my dear Madam; a slip of the tongue has betrayed me, to be sure. The truth is, love induced me to assume this disguise, which I must wear for two or three days. You shall then know who, and what I am. Come, madam, you need not fear to make me your confidant; I am too much in your power for you to apprehend I should de­ceive you.

There is some reason in that.—Well, M'Proteus, I will convince you that I can be generous.

Then, Madam, to the subject of our conversation—Mr. Warnford.

Well, as I told you—I have chatted, laughed, rallied him, and have given into a thousand little levities in which we inno­cent women indulge, without meaning any thing.

Certainly—Why, what can you do? If a smart fellow will attack you with a curse me, madam, but you are a monstrous fine wo­man, you would not be so ill bred as to blush, look foolish, and threaten to tell your husband.

That would be ill breeding, indeed.

To be sure. Lud, why a declara­tion of love excites a woman to coquetry, as naturally as the sound of a fiddle excites her to dance. Never mind, my dear Madam; scan­dal is a tax on pleasure; and if the commodity cannot be smuggled, a woman of spirit will rather pay the duty than go without it.

But is it not very hard that scan­dal should attack us women of spirit, who, in­stead of shrinking from Temptation, boldly meet him, put him to the rout, and shew the rest of our sex the way to victory and glory? My maxim, Mr. M'Proteus, is, that virtue should be tried.

Therefore, I presume, Madam, you have tried yours.

Aye, Sir, I thank my stars, often, and often—do you know—

Ah, Madam, what a treasure do you possess in such a veteran virtue!—You must have great confidence in it."

"Prodigious—I'll give you a proof of it."—I mean to give Warnford a private meeting, and in my own room too. Ha! ha! you seem surprised; but you don't consider that so bold a proposal will argue such a confidence in my own prudence, that it must entirely destroy all his hopes of success.

No, really, I did not think of that.

You have it in your power to witness the purity of my motives, in case my conduct should be misconstrued; but" I have written a letter to Warnford, which I will show you.

This will be bad intelligence for my poor friend Ormellina. But to the letter.

'I am extremely anxious to remove any pre­judice you may have formed to my disadvan­tage. As I think that can be best done by a private interview, let me see you as soon as possible.—Three raps at my chamber-door will be your passport to the explanation proposed by MARIA MUSHROOM.'

One of Warnford's servants happens fortunately to be in the house—It will be much better to send it by him, than by one of my own people.

How d'ye do, Rosario? You must deliver a letter from this gentleman to your master.

Yes, Missee.

Dere always be some cus mischief ven Missee be so civil.

You have not directed the letter.

It would not be prudent for my hand-writing to appear on the direction—besides, Rosario supposes the letter yours.

Shall I address it then?

Oh, no; that will appear so [Page 15] strange to Warnford:—there is no necessity for any direction.—There, Rosario—there is the letter.

I hope this will set my character in a proper point of view. It is really very troublesome for people to fall in love with one in this manner—is it not, M'Proteus?

Faith, I don't know, Madam; love is like money, every one abuses it, and yet I know not what we should do without it.

Ah! my mind misgive m [...].—Dis letter be no honest, no say any ting o [...] outside—all white and clean outside—nice and fair, like Missee—afraid though it be wicked and black within.—Poor Massa, why should Rosario give him bad letter?—He be good massa—give me money for my poor father—never say to me rogue—rascal—but always speakee kind, and call my own name.

[Page 16]But den massa be angry if me no give letter, me tink.—

Eh bien! ma fille charmante—As monsieur be not at home, I vill pay my respect to madame.

Your name, Sir, if you please.

Le Colonel Baton—French officier—come from Pondicherri.

I will see if my mistress is at home.

You maitresse! Par ma foi, ma­dame, I did suppo [...] you vas de lati of de house—you be so jolie [...] your figure so gentille, so negligee.

Ah, Sir!—you French gentlemen are so gallant.

Gallantrie! Ah, c'est mon metier—It be my trade—Cupid be mon general—I have been his soldier great many year.

Indeed, Sir!—Dear, I should think it is almost time for you to retire upon half pay.

Ah! ma [...]ere, have pity on my sigh.

Sighs! O Lord, Sir, sighing lovers are a set of the silliest mortals.—I'll tell you how they torment themselves.

Ah! ha! ha! Litel divil—Je l'ai prise! I'ave caught her. Ven ever dose litel girls fall in loaf vid me, dey alvays laugh di­ablement—mais allons—now for de maitresse.

No—won't give letter to massa—Egod, have great mind to give it to French­man—don't like Fr [...]chmans—bad letter good enough for him—a [...] that will make joke.

Une lettre! pour moi!—Ah ha! vidout directione! Somebody else in loaf avec moi; nous verrons.

Pri­vate [Page 18] interview—tr [...] rap at my chamber door. Marie Mushroom. Serviteur, Madame Mush­room—Poor ladi—she is struck aussi—saw me from the window, peut-etre.

Sir, I am sorry to tell you, my mis­tress is out.

Ma ch [...]e, I am sorry to contra­dict you—but you are out yourself. Montrez moi la chambre de m [...]dame—de lady's chambre door—tree rap, ma [...]lle eh!—

Dear, Sir, what would you have?

I can't [...]ll you dat, my dear,—only shew me madam [...]s room—voici la lettre.

My mistress's hand-writing, as I live! What is this to produce?

I am au dese­spair, dat I 'ave no time to be more in love vid you à present, Mademoiselle, but I shall 'ave dat honneur anoder time

Oh dear, Sir, I am in a hurry.

Allons! ma belle, allons!

Bless me, here is somebody coming; step into that room, Sir, on the right-hand—I'll attend you presently.

Come, come, Rosario, tell me truth—you are certainly in love with some pretty little Indian girl in this house—I meet you here continually—what say you, Lucy?

If ma [...] should find out dat I no give him letter, wh [...] shall I do?

Lord, Mr. Warnford, you are always talking about love.

Well, Lucy; I own that my heart [Page 19] yields like war to the impression of the little god.

I fancy the wax is soon hot and soon cold, and yields to a different impression every day.

You are mistaken, Lucy:—it does not follow that I should be inconstant, because I am attentive to the whole sex.

Well, Mr. Warnford, my mistress is not at home; and as for my master, I sup­pose you hardly come to inquire after him.

No, i'faith, I came to inquire after an old friend of my father's, Colonel Baton, who, I hear, is arrived in Calcutta.—I expected to find him here.

Then, Sir, you'll be disappointed in your expectations.

Perhaps he is not arrived."

And as for my mistress, she is not at home.

No! why then I have half a mind to make love to you. Come, come, my dear Lucy, don't frown, but confess honestly with me that making love is no very unpleasant amusement.—Your eyes answer yes.—And what say you, my poor Rosario?—Nothing! Ah, I thought mine was an universal opinion.

SCENE, Mrs. MUSHROOM's Chamber.

HEY day! do my ears deceive me, or did I hear Warnford's signal?—Three raps at my door!—How can he possibly have received my letter so soon?

Hark!—The signal repeated! This is a lover's haste, indeed!

My confusion will scarcely suffer me to explain what I dare say must surprise you.

Oh no, Madame; I am used to dese affaires.

Oh, heavens!—who are you, Sir, and what brought you here?

Your commande, Madame—La voila.

Permittez moi, Ma­dame—Suffer me on my knee—

Ruin'd and undone, Madam!—Here is my master return'd home suddenly, and is coming into your room.—If he should catch the Colonel with you—

Don't be alarm, Madame; ve people of gallantrie never mind such accidens. [Page 22]

Put me in a closet, or under your bed, or vere ever you please, Matame.

No, that will never do—We have but one chance for your escape—In that closet is a window, which looks into the garden—you must e'en jump out—it is not above seven or eight feet from the ground.

Seven or eight feet from de ground!—Pardonnez moi, Madame, it be impossible.

Impossible!

Madame, I should be vera happy to jump any vere for you; but I 'ave von litel malheur vill make it impossibel. I am trouble, Madame, vit de rheumatism in my knee.

Unfortunate beyond every thing.—What a time for a man to have the rheumatism!

Courage, Madam:—I have thought of an expedient to save both your reputation and the Colonel's lame knee. Twist, the taylor, is just arrived, and is now waiting at the garden­door, for this very coat which I have in my hand—But we have not a moment to lose—This way, Sir.

By what strange accident could this old Frenchman have got my letter?—Co­lonel Baton I think she call'd him—the very man whom we expected here.

Mrs. Mushroom!—my dear!—Why, I say, Mrs. Mushroom!

What shall I do, Lucy?

We are all safe, Madam. As I told you, Mr. Twist happen'd to be waiting for me, at the garden-door—I call'd to him from the [Page 23] closet; and the Colonel has bribed my gentleman to exchange clothes with him from the window, and will attend you as soon as he is dress'd—Ha! ha! ha!

But how must I manage, Lucy?

Fear nothing, Madam!—You must keep the old Colonel in good humour, by nods, winks, and tender glances—and leave the rest to me.

Mrs. Mushroom!—my love—

Dear, Sir, is it you?

Yes, it is me, Madam; and an unwelcome visitor I am, no doubt. I suppose you had a gallant with you, my love.

I sha'n't answer such questions, Sir.

Perhaps, then, Madam, you will answer me."

Is the gentleman dis­posed of?

Oh yes, Sir; I am much obliged to you—I took care to provide for that, while you were knocking at the door.

You did—hum—and pray, my good Jezebel, how did you contrive to get rid of him?

Why, Sir, I wanted him to jump out of the window; but unluckily he had the rheu­matism.

Bless me, Lucy, how can you talk so?

Let her alone—She tells lies with so good a grace, 'tis a pleasure to hear her.—Well, my dear, go on.

So, Sir, we were even obliged to hide the gentleman in that closet—Ha! ha! ha!

Why, you audacious slut, how dare you laugh at me in this manner?

Lord, Sir, if you doubt my veracity—believe your own eyes.

Hey day! why, who, in the name of nonsense, have we here?

Who should it be, but the taylor sent to you by Capt. Coromandel, to alter your clothes?

A taylor! he looks much more like a mountebank doctor.—Well, my old boy, is it not rather too late in the day for you to come to India?

Diable!

Eh! what! Diable!

My dear Colonel, be patient—consider, it is for my sake.—

Ah! Ma­dame, pardonnez—I had forgot dat—To suffer disgrace in de cause of beauty, is de triomphe, "de victory and glory."

A Frenchman, eh! Egad though he is a fierce-looking fellow.—Look ye, Mounseer, I can't jabber your lingo, so I believe my wife must talk to you; she can parlee voo a little.

Aye, aye; I'll release him from your vulgarity, Mr. Mushroom.

Not till I have given him directions how my coat is to be alter'd, Mrs. Mushroom.—Come here, Mounseer, and let me try it on; though, on second thoughts, I won't trouble you. Egad though I have forgot, all this time, to in­quire after Colonel Baton. I am very anxious for his arrival.

I dare say you will find him a very agreeable guest.

I dare say I shall; for I hear he is a great fool, with plenty of money—part of which will go through my hands, he! he! he! Indico tells me, in his letter, the silly puppy fancies every woman, who sees him, is in love with him.

Pshaw!—Indico means to laugh at you.—I understand the Colonel is a man likely to win any woman's affections.

Of most engaging manners.

An agreeable person.

Not above the middle age, and with an excellent constitution,

ex­cepting an old rheumatic complaint.

A man of wit, politeness, and gallantry.

Why, what the devil makes you bow and grin so, Mounseer? They are not talking of you.

He feels the compliment to his coun­tryman, Sir, as if it were to himself.

Has Colonel Baton been here yet?

Colonel Baton, Sir!

Aye—the French gentleman I ex­pected.

French!—Dear, Sir, there is an out­landish-looking [Page 26] gentleman now walking in the garden, with a white cockade in his hat.

A white cockade!—Zounds, 'tis the Colonel!—I'll run immediately—no I won't—Give my compliments—and say, I shall be glad to see him here.

Mrs. Mushroom, he'll take it as a compliment, to be received in your dressing-room—I'm told that is quite the thing in France.

Diable! dis be vilain avanture.

What shall we do, Lucy?

I'll give Mr. Twist his cue, never fear me.

My dear Colonel Baton, I am heartily glad to see you in Calcutta.

But, odso, I forgot—perhaps he can't speak English.

Let me talk to him, Sir; I'll warrant I'll contrive to make him understand us.

This is a mighty queer kind of a Frenchman—he is as silent, and as shamefaced, as if he had been bred up in England.

Bred up in England!—No bad hint that—pursue it by all means.

Oh, Colonel Baton! how shall I make you amends for all this?

Madame, I vill have de honeur to tell you anoder time.

Bless me! what could make her so mosh in love vid me?

And so I'm to pass for the French Colonel—But are you sure I sha'n't get my bones broke for this?

Pshaw! you can't oblige the Colonel more—Come, begin.

And may I give my­self as many airs as I like?

The more the better—be as impudent as you please.

A match—I warrant you shall have no reason to complain of my mo­desty.

Mushroom, my dear old boy, how are you?

Thank ye, thank ye—but you need not have been so violent in your salutation.

I have an English tongue, you find.

Yes, and an English arm too—and you have learnt our country fashion of asking people how they do.—My dear Mrs. Mushroom, this is Colonel—

Psha! zounds! the lady knows very well who I am—By your leave, Madam—

No offence, I hope.

Ah, peste! Madame. I am enragé—Shall I cut his troat?—Diable! I have no sword.

By no means, Colonel—The poor fellow means no harm.

But, pray, Colonel, how does it hap­pen that you speak English so well?

Oh, I was bred up in England from a child—I was at school in London.

Egad, I should not suppose you had been at school any where by your breeding.

—I'll take a pinch of your snuff, Colonel.

I don't know whether I have a snuff­box [Page 28] about me.—Oh, yes—here it is.

What a handsome box! charm­ing indeed.

Yes, 'tis pretty enough—I think I never observed it before.

Pretty!—it is exquisite.

The box is much at your service, if you like it.

My dear Colonel, ten thousand thanks.

This fellow will prove a fine pigeon.

Ah, ma chere tabatiere! my deare box!

Rogue! vilain!

Hey day! what does that taylor want with you?

Faith, I don't know—perhaps he imagines my coat wants altering.

Why, I don't think it would be amiss to—

It does look as if it was not made for me—that is the truth of the matter.

He shall alter it for you.—Here, Mounseer—take measure of this gentleman di­rectly—He is your countryman; and if you don't alter his clothes to his liking—I'll have your ears cut off.

I may venture to bluster a little, as the Colonel is present.

Oh, hang him—he is as aukward as if he had never measured a man for a suit in his life—I dare say I could alter the coat better myself—set him about your own clothes.

Egad, there is no time to lose, indeed; so go to work directly, Mounseer.—I commit him to your care, Lucy—Lock him up, and give [Page 29] him nothing to eat, or drink, till he has com­pleted the job.

So it is your destiny to be my prisoner, Sir.

Ah, ma chere—I did read dat destiny in your eyes ven I first saw you.

Pauvre fille! quite jealouse of me—I must be kind to her.

One must treat these fellows a little harshly, to make them do their duty.

Certainly, certainly. These taylors are a set of the most lazy, impudent—I'm glad the fellow is gone.

So am I, most sincerely.

I am not sorry for it. I did not much like his looks.—But, where are your letters, Co­lonel?

Letters!

Ay, from my friend at Pondicherri—and the bill which he advises having drawn upon one, in your favour.

This will discover all.

Bill!—Really, my memory is so bad.

Perhaps you have put them in your pocket-book.

They may be there, for aught I know.

Here, Mush­room, look over the book for me. "I can't submit to the trouble of doing it."

I don't know what to make of this Frenchman.

Here is another letter—perhaps this is for you.

Eh! a letter from my wife, and to this French puppy—An appointment—Three raps at my chamber-door—This is a fortunate blunder of his.

'Tis very remarkable, that, though I speak English so well, I never could read it.—But pray, Mushroom, at what hour do you dine? I really think eating and drinking a mighty agreeable relief to conversation.

Egad, I should think any thing a relief from your conversation.

You'll excuse my freedom—But I am always perfectly at ease, wherever I go—You know that's very polite.

But, pray, my dear friend, is whisper­ing a part of modern politeness?—You seem to deal in that mightily.

Whispering!—Why, my dear Sir, it is the perfection of eloquence.

May be so—but I will take care you sha'n't profit much by the use of it.

SCENE, The Garden-Room belonging to Col. BENTLEY's House.

It does not signify talking, Stan­more; I will not discover to Ormellina, that she is my daughter. I love the slut so well, that I must not let her know it.

And so, Sir, you will still continue the imposition, of letting her suppose she is an orphan, supported and educated by your bounty.

Certainly. It is that happy ignorance of her birth, which has saved her from the ill effects of my fondness; for, I am sure, if I had once owned her for my daughter, I should cer­tainly have spoilt her. You know, Stanmore, I am one of those fools, who are vulgarly called good-natured people, and who find themselves involved in a thousand difficulties, merely be­cause they can't say no to any thing.

Yes, I know that is your infirmity.

Whenever a man wanted to borrow a few guineas, which he never meant to repay, Jack Bentley was the man applied to; and I had the exclusive privilege of being pigeon'd by my friends, merely because I was the best creature in the world. However, I soon found it was a damn'd misfortune to be so agreeable; so I e'en parted with my character, to save my money, and affronted my acquaintance, to prevent my being obliged to quit society.

Ay, there it is, now—What a pity, that good-nature, like the dress of an officer in battle, should be only a dangerous mark of dis­tinction, for the enemy to aim at.

How often have I envied poor Sam Sulky! He was a happy fellow—blest with the worst temper I ever knew, and had the finest forbidding frown—never lent a man a shilling in his life—nobody praised him, and he praised no­body—so he grew rich, because people did not like his company well enough to ruin him.

Ah, Colonel! you would not have changed places with him, for all that—Your natural disposition—

For heaven's sake, Stanmore, don't betray me, by calling me a good-natured man—Do act the part of a friend—and abuse me be­hind my back.

Here comes Mr. Warnford.

For his answer, I suppose.—He ask'd my consent, yesterday, to marry Ormellina.

Well, Sir; and—

And I mean to try the force of his at­tachment, by leaving him a little while in sus­pence—But he is here.

My dear Colonel, I rejoice to see you.—Mr. Stanmore, yours.—I read your con­sent to my marrying Ormellina, in your coun­tenance.

He who believes all he reads, young man, must be often wofully mistaken.

I cannot be mistaken here, Sir—I depend on my author—Nature has traced be­nevolence and good-humour in every feature; and her characters have not been defaced by malice or hypocrisy.

Sir, you do me a great deal of honour, to fancy my face a gazette extraordinary of good news to you. But, I say again, that you are mis­taken; I am not benevolent—I am ill-temper'd, Sir, and morose; and, as for all the silly cant of lovers, I consider it as the half-form'd dialect of children, an abuse of language, which they cor­rect as they grow older.

It is the language of my heart, Sir; and while that heart beats, such must be its effusions.

And so I am to infer, from all this, that, if I refuse my consent, you will run away with the girl.

Why look ye, Colonel—I will not answer for myself—if Ormellina will agree to it.

A fine fellow, i'faith!—

This is beyond bearing, Warnford.

Nay, I predict that you will forgive me. You have a friend, who will infallibly make my peace with you—a constant friend, to whom you now owe some of your happiest moments.

Eh!—what friend do you mean?

The remembrance of what you were at my age—I'll be hang'd if you would not have done the same thing.

No, no—indeed no, Warnford—though, to be sure, at your age, I did not want for fire.

You were in love, Sir?

In love!—Who could have seen my dear Sophia, without loving her? Oh, Warnford! such a pair of eyes! such a winning smile!—But I am a vile hand at description—I shall never forget when she got into the chaise to elope with me.

You eloped with her then, Sir?

Aye, my boy.

Her guardian had refused his con­sent?

Pshaw! What signifies that?

Bravo, Colonel Bentley;—and o, glowing with youth, love, and high spirits, you asserted the privilege of a lover, and snatch'd a fine girl from the tyranny of caprice, as I would do now.

Eh!—Snatch a fine girl!—Caprice! Why, what the devil, I must explain myself, Warnford.

The voice of Nature needs no ex­planation, Sir.

Zounds! Stanmore, why didn't you stop me, when you saw me exposing myself so? The dog took me unawares, and unfortunately surprised me into a fit of good-humour. He is a fine high-mettled fellow, faith.

Perhaps, Sir, you may find him too much so.—You know he has given you fair warn­ing of his intention to run away with Ormellina; and I think your only chance for preventing him, is, to own her publicly as your daughter imme­diately.

Surely I heard your name mentioned—Stop, I beseech you; perhaps the conver­sation may be interesting to you.

Egad, Stanmore, you are in the right—I will declare myself to Ormellina—she shall know all the affection I feel for her. To­morrow I will call her mine in the face of the world.

Then my misery is complete.

It is as you suspected, and your guardian means to become your husband.

How many years has affection struggled with prudence to prevent the secret escaping me! But I will delay my happiness no longer.—I shall only insist on the slut not praising me.—She must not shew her gra­titude.—I'll overwhelm her with kindness, if she will but promise to let nobody know it."

What accumulated misfortune! To-morrow, did he say? I shudder at the thought. What shall I do, Eliza?—What advice do you give me?

The only advice people in love ever take—to follow your own inclinations.

Yet this dreadful stroke is not half so severe, as the cruel doubts I entertain of Warnford's affection—Oh, Eliza! I cannot sup­port the idea of his inconstancy—You must go to him.

And endeavour to pass on him for [Page 37] this Colonel Baton, who is expected from Pondicherri?

Yes, it will be the easiest thing in the world—Warnford never saw him—You will at least gain an introduction to him, and dis­cover the state of his heart—Nay, should you even be discovered, the attempt will pass for a jest.

Poor Warnford!—Heaven help him, if I begin to torment him; besides, you know I am engaged in teazing my own lover, and really I think it is sufficient amusement for any reasonable woman, whether married or single, to plague one man at a time.

Pshaw! if you would be serious.

Well, then, to be serious; suppose the real Frenchman should arrive!"

Oh, my dear girl, do not oppose my impatience.

I am at your disposal then from this moment; it will not be the first mad prank I have play'd, however, as these habiliments wit­ness.

Remember your lesson, that your name is Colonel Baton—that you are from Pondicherri—that you are to be at Mush­room's house during your stay in Calcutta—that—

Never fear me, Madam."

I am sure you will pardon the effects of my anxiety, when you consider the situation of my heart; and yet amidst all my uneasiness, I listen to the sweet accents of hope.

Here comes my dear Henry—how fortunate!

I cannot get this youth out of my head—the most exact resemblance of her I love—

Now for a good opportunity to enter into conversation with him.

I never heard of my dear girl having a brother.

The very per­son as I live—I'll speak to him—You are lately from England, Sir?

Yes, Sir, just arrieved, and on an errand which may be weel surprise ye:—What say ye to love send­ing a mon to India? Dinna ye think I am the only instance o' th' kind?

I fear not, Sir.

Indeed!

I am thus circumstanced.

May be, then, our situation is ex­actly alike;—the object of my affactions is now in Bengal.

Would that I could say the same!—but the mistress of my heart is in England.

How I long to contradict him!—May be than your mistress wur nae kind to ye?

I do not complain of her.—If she was in an error, she must have already felt its effects but too severely.

Generous man!

But what way ha' ye borne ye're misery?

I have borne it as becomes a soldier—in silence.

And wur it really sorrow unmixed wie anger? wud na' an exclamation against the sex break forth noo and than?

Ah, Sir, if she whom I love could but view my heart; it is an emblem of the glassy rivulet, on whose banks we have so often taken our melancholy walk; though a sudden storm may for a time efface her image from the sur­face, the succeeding calm faithfully restores the picture.

But you forget aw circumstance, to render the simile complete; neither the rivulet, nor the heart can preserve the lady's picture in her absence.

You are to be envied, who can treat love with raillery.

Indeed you mistake me.—I love wi an affaction equal to yours; I love sa weel, that—

Heavens! what am I saying!—I forget what I have promised to Ormellina.

You seem agitated, Sir.

I am so indeed—I wusht to say some­thing to ye which I canna noo explain—Yeur hond, Sir. Meet me at Captain Coromandel's in the evening.—Speer ye for ain Mr. M'Pro­teus; [Page 40] —you wull find reason to flatter me wi the title of freend at least.

SCENE, WARNFORD's House.

Poor massa! he be sure in love; he walk about and talke to himself. I wonder if he love like poor Indian—He can't love better.—Sometime I sigh by myself, and wish I was [Page 41] grand English gentleman, to ride in my palan­quin, and have great riche—and den I meet Dayda, and she smile and say, dear Rosario, I love you;—and den I wish for no palanquin, no great riche—I so glad dat I be poor Rosario.

My master will wait on you immedi­ately, Sir.

Ah, don't let him hurry himself. The devil take this Mushroom for bringing me here, and insisting on my being introduced to Warnford.—Curse his civility.

Come along, Colo­nel.

Zounds, what's the matter with you?

Why, really, it is very kind of you, to insist on my being introduced to Mr. Warn­ford;—but—

But what?—I tell you he'll like to hear you talk of his father, with whom you were so well acquainted when you visited England.

Then he'll be plaguily disappointed—for I'm resolved not to open my lips on that subject. I hate old stories—they are a shock­ing bore.

Well, I must leave you for the pre­sent; however, I'll endeavour to find Warn­ford, and send him to you.

What will become of me?—Egad, I find impudence, like corks to a bad swimmer, may tempt a man dangerously out of his depth. I wonder whether this Warnford is apt to be choleric.—Zounds, if he should deal in kick­ing!—I should like to see whether he has a fight­ing face; if one could get a squint at him through any compassionate window, or the cre­vice of a door—or—

Tell Monsieur Warnford dat his friend [Page 44] le Colonel Baton vait to pay his respect.—

Poor Henry!—I declare he has made me almost as pensive as himself—There is something very contagious in the melancholy of the man we love.—But now for my French character: so exit love for the present, and vive la bagatelle.

Here he is;—I am not so much afraid of him as I expected to be.

Hey day, whom have we here?

Coromandel's taylor in mas­querade, by all that's ridiculous.

The little lady-like passen­ger, who came on board our ship!

Gentlemen, your most obedient—I am extremely anxious to pay my respects to Colonel Baton, if he will do me the honour to name himself.

Sir, I—

What can that fellow mean? He is dressed as if he meant to personate—

Egad, I'm fairly plunged in over head and ears: if I do sink, it sha'n't be without a struggle however."

Sair, I'ave de honneur to announce myself.

Yes, Sair, I'ave de honor to an­nounce myself.

Gentlemen, your impatience to an­nounce yourselves is highly flattering to me; but pray which is Colonel Baton?

C'est moi.

I am the colonel, Sir.

A most singular incident! When you are both inclined to be serious—

Serieux!

Aye, Sir—serious.

Nay, I beg pardon; if you are dis­posed for a tilting bout, I'll interrupt you no longer—Three persons form an aukward party on these occasions.

These are a couple of scoundrels.

Vera extraordinaire to treat a me dus, Sair; moi, your old friend.

"At least, Sir, you're an old friend with a new face."

You are also an old friend of mine.

Yes, Sir, and I have as great a re­gard for you as I had for your father.

Ha! ha! ha! You will pardon my caution, gentlemen; but it is so difficult to distinguish one's real friends.

Ah! sans doute.—I dare say vid your pleasant brutale manners you 'ave never yet find any friend at all.

Except yourself, Sir; and you know you were pleased to honour me with that title, though you had never seen me.

Yes, Sair, for dat vara raison, because I had not seen you."

I'faith, the little fellow acts it rarely.

I can't manage it half so well.

Your are witty, Sir.

Ha! ha! ha!—I believe, Sir, you grow a little angry.

Perhaps I may, Sir—and then—

Ah! pray please to be angry—It will amuse me. Ah! it be so charmant to see Jack Roast Beef ven he be enragé, like de grand stupid Lion at de Tour of Londres, ven dey give him little poke, and rouze him up, and make him roar.

Zounds, Sir!

Bravo! bravo! trot about—dancez, s'il vous plait, plus vite, faster, faster—

Malbrouk s'en va t'en guerre.

Ha! ha! ha!

What d'ye mean by that, Sir? 'Sdeath, I'll—

Mrs. Mushroom, Sir.

How absurd to suffer these fools to ruffle my temper!

Warnford, I am come to quar­rel with you. Hey-day! you're engaged, I see.—

What can all this mean?

I would introduce Colonel Baton to you, if I knew which it was of these two gen­tlemen. "But I see it is unnecessary; you seem to be acquainted with them both."

Mr. Warnford, a word with you—Ask me not who or what I am; "for I won't tell you" I came hither to serve you. Do [Page 47] not interrupt, but answer me. Can you submit to see Ormellina married to another, to her guardian, Colonel Bentley?

I tremble at the thought.

This evening then must determine your fate; she will be at Captain Coromandel's—I'll meet you there, and pilot you to happiness.

I believe, Sir, you had better, like a falling mi­nister, retire to prevent you being turned out.

I will, Ma'am—but then the worst of it is, I must retire without a pension.

I vow the history of the two last hours would furnish an additional story for Ovid's Metamorphoses.

If the information should be false.—

Very true, indeed, Madam, as you say.

I sent you a letter this morn­ing—I find, however, it was not received.

But then for what purpose should he deceive me?

—No, Ma'am—not received."

Now I own my idea—

Oh, Ormellina!

A—a—yes, Madam, that is my idea.

And pray, Sir, what may your ideas be? For your echo conversation does not betray any signs of them.

Pardon, pardon, my dear Mrs. Mushroom.

Come, come, you are agitat­ed by the news you have heard from the gen­tleman who has now left you, Mr. M'Pro­teus [Page 48] —

He has been mentioning the contents of my letter.

I am so, indeed.—

Surely she is apprized of Ormellina's intended mar­riage.

I know not what he meant by so whimsically assuming the dress of a French officer—but undoubtedly he came on pur­pose to give you the information.

He said so indeed."

I imagine M'Proteus told you he saw my letter to you.

You wrote me a letter then?

Yes, appointing an interview—I could not rest till I explained to you.

Yes, yes, she knows of Co­lonel Bentley's design of marrying Ormellina.—

Generous woman!

But a ridiculous mistake pre­venting my letter reaching you—I am now come in person to inform you—

On my knees let me thank you for your condescension—Love alone like mine—

Love like mine—Is it my turn to be Echo now, Mr. Warnford?"

Where is he, I say?

My husband's voice!

His arrival is very fortunate indeed—I dare say he will lend us his assistance in any scheme to effect my happiness.

Sir!

Nay, Ma'am, if he is ignorant of the circumstance, and you wish him to remain so—

Upon my life, Warnford, you jumble jest and earnest in such a manner, that [Page 49] I don't know what to make of you—But I must retire—So get rid of Mushroom as soon as you can.

Jumble jest and earnest!—"I am sure I see no jest in the matter."

Zounds! what's become of the Co­lonel? Off!—Eh!—Ah! you had some fe­male visitor, I suppose?—Come, tell the truth—Nay, no ceremony with me—You know I hate ceremony—I was bred a low fellow, and so I have always remained—Not a farthing the poorer for that, by the bye. But I abhor gen­tility.

Why, Sir, as for the Colonel—

Come, come, I know you don't like him—He is not genteel enough for you—But I wish you hadn't packed him off so soon—There is Captain Coromandel below stairs, who longed to see him.

Who? Captain Coromandel? Ex­cuse me for a moment.

Hey-day! What's in the wind now? Egad he takes my advice, and makes no ceremony with me, indeed! I fancy there is not much ceremony between him and my jade of a wife neither—I find she is somewhere about the house at this moment; and I begin to doubt whether her letter was meant for that booby French Colonel. Let me read it once more.

All is quiet! I hope Warnford has sent my husband off.

Ah! my dear, I know I always have your good wishes—You did not expect to meet me here, I dare say; but I believe there is a secret sympathy between us.

A secret sympathy then it must be; for I have never found it out.

Then I have the advantage of you, my love—But, indeed, I am ever making dis­coveries, and indebted to you for them all too.

And yet you have not profited by what a wise man would deem the most im­portant of my discoveries. You know, my dear, I have often, with a faithful pencil, given you a whole length picture of yourself.

And, I fancy, my dear, you have paid particular attention to finishing my head properly—Ha! ha! ha!

Your attempts at wit, Mr. Mush­room, are a kind of hysterical disorder, which creates universal pity, and makes no one laugh but yourself—Not that I deny you some merit.

Aye, aye, what may that be?

You have the peculiar happi­ness of reconciling us even to your ill-manners. They are a set of bad features distorted into a pleasant caricature. Absurdity, your constant friend, tinges even your impertinence with folly, and saves you from chastisement, by rendering [Page 51] you ridiculous. Is the picture complete, my life?

Yes, my soul, and now for yours.—

Hush! here is somebody com­ing.

That's unlucky—I had one of the severest things at my tongue's end—However—I'll save it for our next quarrel.

My dear Coromandel, you give me new life: you say you've seen Ormel­lina!

Ay, and have removed all her scruples. You shall see her this evening—and—but we are not alone—

My old friends, I rejoice to see you."

There is a pair whom Hymen has bound with wreaths of roses.

I'faith, then the roses have dropt off, and left nothing but thorns.

My experience of wedlock, Mr. Warnford, leads me to wish all my friends mar­ried.—

It is some comfort to have compa­nions in one's misfortunes.

Aye, aye, that's right, Mushroom.

SCENE, COROMANDEL's House.

I WONDER this Mr. M'Proteus is not come yet. He certainly can tell me some news of my Eliza.

From love and shipwreck Heaven preserve me! Why, what's the matter with the man?

I cannot help it—I own myself un­fit for society.

Once more, Colonel, welcome to my house: I congratulate you on your escape from old Mushroom's: I find you suffer'd some in­dignities there.

Ce n'est rien—Ve people of gal­lanterie tink dat litel difficulté make de plaisure of de conquest greater; dat Madame Mushroom be adorable;

she love me to distraction.

Ah! Colonel, you are a happy man—but I am persuaded that your own happiness will not render you forgetful that our friend here is not so.

Sair, ven I do so I vill renounce my contrée: I rejoice to hear de accents of hap­piness from all around me; de harmonie de­light my heart, and I join de chorus.—But if von string be out of tune—if one litel sigh of miserie reach my ear—ah! all de concert be spoil pour moi.

My dear Colonel, I perceive the goodness of your heart; I give you credit for your kind intentions.

No, Sair, I vill have no credit—I vill pay vat I owe; you be my friend—you vant my assistance—I can give it to you—and I love to pay my debt. You say Madame Ormel­lina consent to run avay vid you?

Yes, my persuasions have prevail'd on her to seek an asylum in a foreign settlement, where the power and influence of her guardian cannot reach us.

I find your friend the French captain fails for Pondicherri early to­morrow morning; I have contrived that the lovers shall be safely convey'd on shipboard this evening—and then—

Dé sighs of love vill fill deir sails—Cupidon vill be deir pilot—Hymen vill stand at de helm—and I vill go and settle every ting with the Capitaine. Morbleau, I vish I had tought of it before; I dare say Madame Mush­room vou'd be of de partie; or if she vou'd not go, perhaps dat litel girl dat laugh so—her fille de chambre—Bless me, I shou'd like to run avay vid somebody.

Hark! some of your visitors are come already.

Then I had better join them, to pre­vent suspicion. Remember that when Ormellina steals away from the company, she is to conceal herself in the garden, till every thing is ready for your elopement.

'Sdeath, here comes my torment, Mrs. Mush­room.

Oh, Warnford! I am so glad to meet with you at last. Do you know my husband is absolutely jealous of you.

Jealous of me?

He watches me so narrowly, that I have made an excuse for bringing Lucy with me, to observe him, and prevent his com­ing upon us unawares.

Really you surprise me.

I dare say I do; I don't know any thing in your conduct and mine, which could have given rise to Mr. Mushroom's suspicions; though he pretends to say our mutual attach­ment is very apparent.

I begin to perceive the drift of these ingenious reflections.

Perhaps, indeed, relying too far on the purity of my intentions, my unsuspecting temper may have betrayed me into a levity of manner; or perhaps (pardon the supposition), but perhaps you, in a convivial moment, might have spoken of me in such terms as often give birth to scandal.

I'll teaze her—No never, as I recollect.

How provoking! Come, come, Warnford, I know a man, without any [Page 57] dishonourable intention, might, in speaking o a lady, say, "Egad, she is a fine woman"—Her husband is a horrid fellow—and if she were to throw herself in my way—

A most curious catechism

—I assure you, Madam, I never spoke thus of you in my life.

What an insensible creature!

—Though Mr. Mushroom seems to lay the greatest stress on what happened the other evening at my house: You were silly enough to attempt to kiss my hand; and I was silly enough to let you. He says your eyes spoke a thousand tender things; to which I only re­plied, I did not observe it; and, as I told him, I am sure you meant nothing at all—Now did you?

A home question, by my soul—there is no parrying this

My dear Ma­dam.

Ma'am, Ma'am! just as we expected, my master miss'd you from the room below, and is coming softly up the back stairs, in hopes of surprising you and Mr. Warnford together.

Deuce take his curiosity!

It is very impertinent, to be sure—This way, my dear Ma'am.

Don't go out at that door, Sir; it leads to the garden, where you will be surely discovered—make haste into this room—here is the key of the door—I'll match the old gentle­man, I'll warrant him.

The same key fits both locks; that is lucky indeed.

Hey day, gone already! why How can they have escaped?—That jade Lucy here?—then there is mischief stirring—

How the devil did you come here? and what are you fidgetting about at that door?

Dear Sir—you—you—really your questions confuse one so.

Indeed! well, I didn't think any question whatever could have confused you—however, I'll spare your blushes for the sake of their novelty—so open that door for me.

What door, Sir?—this?

Ay, Madam, that—I suppose you have the key.

I have the key, to be sure, Sir; but hadn't you better go into the other room.—In­deed, Sir, you will find nobody here.

Hussey, Hussey! you're in league with my wife.

Who, Sir, would not be partial to so kind a mistress?

Yes, i'faith, I believe she's a kind mistress to half my acquaintance—but open the door, I tell you.

Pray take my advice, Sir;—indeed, if you go in you'll repent it.

Open the door, I say.

Well, Sir, if it must be so.—

Well, Madam, what do you think of me now?

Words cannot express what I think of you.

That is exactly my case, Lucy, and therefore let this speak for me.

Adieu then till to-morrow—I shall expect to see you.

If I am in Calcutta, Madam, you may depend upon me.

Open the door—Zounds, you have lock'd me in.

Well, Sir, you would not take good advice when I offered it. I said you would re­pent it.

Come, I know my wife has bribed you—But I'll pay you double what she gave you.

Why, Sir, you ought to be punished for your unkind suspicions. What reason now can you have for thinking—

Pshaw! what signifies arguing through a key-hole? Release me, and trust to my genero­sity.

Well, Sir, for once I will—

Here, Madam, I commit my prisoner to your care.

Aye, aye, I'll reward you, and as for my wife—

Here I am, my dear husband, in the obedient discharge of my duty. How agreeable it is to meet thus unexpectedly!

Yes, but it would be rather more agreeable to part unexpectedly.

Come, come, Mushroom, we have quarrelled till we have nothing more to say. Let us agree by way of variety.

With all my heart, I know you like variety.

Let me see then how gallantly you can hand me back to the company.

Agreed.

Our friends are quite impatient for you.

I have been taking a ramble over this part of your house, Mr. Coroman­del, and admiring the elegance with which it is fitted up.

Yes, Mrs. Mushroom is very fond of rambling sometimes." Let us go and make our apologies. Take care, my dear, how you walk—you know you are very apt to trip.

SCENE changes to the Garden—The Entrance of a Walk overshadowed with Trees, is seen on the right Hand.

Give me joy, Coromandel; our scheme has succeeded beyond expectation—a pretended head-ache afforded my dear girl an opportunity of quitting the company, and Co­lonel Bentley was the first to urge her to go home.

Behold the place of your retreat, Madam. That walk, which I formed into a bower to shield me from the rays of the mid­day sun. This is the only entrance to it, and I will send Rosario to watch if any one approach.

Still so pensive!—Surely, my charm­ing Ormellina will no longer doubt my truth.

No, Warnford, you have convinced me that I need not blush to declare my af­fection for you. Let guilt be the parent of shame—I feel none in avowing my attach­ment to a man of honour—the first and only at­tachment of which my heart was ever suscept­ible.

Delightful confession.

Here are the turtles—This is what I suspected.

I consider Colonel Bentley as my dearest friend—He has a claim to my utmost gratitude and esteem—But you have my heart, and I shudder at the idea of mocking him with a shadow of affection.

All soul and sentiment—not a single vile, earthly idea abour her, I war­rant.

However the Colonel may be blind­ed by passion, I know him to be honourable, and I know he will one day thank me for having put it out of his power to be unjust—But you ought to quit me for the present, Warnford; the Colonel will wonder at your absence.

I go, my love.

And I'll stay, my love, to see the end of this romance.

Pray leave me—Consider—on this hour depends our fate.

I obey—"And may the dawning presage of happiness, which now revives my [Page 63] soul, smile on us with meridian splendour when next we meet."

This is, indeed, an eventful mo­ment for me.

Ah! Rosario, I'm glad you are come—I am sure I hear somebody talking with Mr. Warnford—follow him, and listen, Rosario; I will retreat here in the meanwhile

Heavens! some one is conceal'd here already: how unfortunate!

Need not be frighten'd, Missee Ormelli­na; it be only Captain Coromandel talk with my massa—Don't be melancholy, Missee Ormel­lina; I be sure my massa love you dearly. Rosario will sing a little song to amuse you.

Come hither, my good boy, I want to speak to you. Will you do me a favour?

Yes, Sir, Rosario would love dearly to do you a favour, you say so kind.

Be so good as to step to Mr. Stan­more, and tell him a gentleman waits here to speak with him; whisper to him, Rosario, so that nobody may overhear you.

No money, Sir. I shall like to ob­lige you; but it be no oblige ven you pay me—rather you keep money, and say to me, thank ye.

And I will thank thee, Rosario, as I ought.

Ah, ha!—Voila mon homme—

Serviteur. I am told, Sair, you call your­self Colonel Baton.

I—I have answer'd to that name, Sir.

Den I presume, Sair, you be officier in de French service, by your vite cockade.

Sir, I—I, yes, Sir; I wear a white cockade—I admire it extremely.

So do I, Sair.

I am very glad you like it—I—

And I must 'ave it, Sair.

Have my cockade, Sir! Bless me, that is a little extraordinary.

Monsieur.

Well, Sir, there it is—If you have taken any fancy to the hat, Sir, it is at your service.

I wish Henry were come.

Now, Sair, you 'ave no mark of de livree of my sovereign—I tell you dat you be villain, poltroon.

Really, Sir, I think it is very absurd for us to cut throats about a piece of white rib­bon—so—

I know dat I do you too much ho­neur to fight you.

Then I am sure, Sir, I don't desire any more honour than is my due.

Allons, defend yourself.

I wish I could, Sir.

Combatez! combatez! Monsieur.

No, Sir, you have dishonoured my reputation, by calling me a coward, and I will not fight till I have cleared my character. Pray, Sir, don't be so violen.

What shall I do? I must avow myself.

Repondez scelerat!—answer me—do you deserve the name of man?

No, indeed, Sir—I am—

Parlez—vite.

I am—

Vat be you?

I am—

Sir, your most obedient humble servant.

Heavens! that voice—no longer dis­tinguished by the Scotch accent—I—

Here is my champion, Colonel—Surely he will defend a life which I have risked for the joy of seeing him once more; and which, from this moment, shall be devoted to repair the wrongs he has suffered.

My life! my soul! my dearest Eliza.

My dear Eliza! Oh ho!

Madame, vil you pardon my mistake? Dere be de cockade. Venever you like to go into de armie again, I hope to 'ave de honneur of be your commanding officer.

You see, Colonel, I have engaged with another commander, and I am sure you are too much a man of honour to wish I should ever desert.

Ah! dat last glance at me mean something. I have catch her too.

I need not ask whether an explana­tion has taken place.

Indeed, it has been as short as sweet, thanks to Colonel Baton's mode of frightening one out of a secret.

I am sorry, however, the secret has made so much noise. You have positively alarmed the house. Colonel Bentley, and our whole party, are coming into the garden, to see what is the matter.

Den I must retire for de present.

Well, Colonel, when you retreat, I think my courage will not suffer by following your example.

Poor Ormellina will be scared out of her wits.

Don't be alarmed, my dear Madam—Nobody knows you are there, except Warnford and myself.

Well, Coromandel, what the devil has produced all this clatter?—some of your spoilt servants, I suppose, at their gambols—aye—all the effects of your foolish good-nature.

Come, Colonel, let us have no more of this affectation.—You to abuse good­nature—you, in whose composition the milk of human kindness is the chief ingredient."

"Sir, I deny it—I disclaim it—'Tis on the milk of human kindness, knavery thrives, Sir."—I rejoice in my ill-humour; it [Page 68] is a fortification raised around me by nature, to guard me from ruin.

Don't tell me of your fortifications—A tear from virtue in distress would make a practicable breach in one minute.

Let me tell you, Sir, I take your compliments very ill; and if you persist in your cursed civility, you will oblige me to quit your house.

Nay, my dear Colonel, rather than offend you, I will allow you to be as bad as you please; I will acknowledge you to be unfeel­ing, uncharitable, cynical, morose—In short, one of the most disagreeable men I am ac­quainted with."

Pshaw! a fig for your arguments; let us go and finish our bottle.

No, no; if we must have a bottle, let us have it here. It is a fine evening, and I like variety—you know I am whimsical.

Dear Sir, consider the absurdity.

I always was reckoned absurd, and I wish to act up to my character.

Well, but Colonel—

Mr. Coromandel, obstinacy is my favourite virtue—on this spot I either take a glass of wine, or take my leave—so make your choice."

"Then, Sir, my choice is made." Bring wine immediately.

'Sdeath, Coro­mandel, are you mad?

Pshaw! give the child his rattle, and he'll soon be tired of it.

Colonel Baton wants me, do you say? desire him to walk this way—here are none but friends.

Ah, Colonel.

Hush, my good Sir,—I—I—I thought you were alone—I'll call on you another time.

Hey day, Colonel, you seem con­foundedly frightened at something.

Sudden surprise, Sir, that's all.

Here is Coromandel and Warnford—I shall be blown presently.

Oh, oh! the surprise of meeting your old friend Colonel Bentley so unexpectedly?

Yes, Sir; really it overcomes me.

I'faith, you sha'n't leave us.

There is that rascal, Twist, disguised in Baton's clothes.

Let him alone—we have a more serious object to en­gage our attention."

Pray which is my old acquaintance Colonel Bentley?

There he sits. How astonishingly altered he must be to have escaped your re­collection! I'faith, he looks at you as if he had never seen you before.

So he does—and—and it absolutely distresses me. Let me tell you, Mr. Mushroom, that to be forgotten thus by one's friends—but my [Page 70] feelings overcome me—I had rather go, if you please.

Indeed I sha'n't suffer you to go. I will seat you next to Colonel Bentley, without telling him who you are.—It will be a very good joke.

Heigh-ho! Well, if it must be so; but, upon my soul, I am not in a joking hu­mour.

I declare I am quite in love with our situation; this is an excellent place for a catch.

And there is another excellent place for a catch in the house—'Tis a most bewitching room—when one is once in it, one hardly knows how to get out again—Eh, Mr. Warnford.

There is some hidden meaning in all this."

"Oh, yes, 'tis the fashion to have things hidden in this house; aye, and in this garden too; for" I am much mistaken if I had not the glimpse of a petticoat in that ar­bour just now.

My loving wife, most likely.

'Sdeath, I must explain the truth, to keep him quiet.

What does all this mysterious conver­sation signify?

Why, it signifies that we have not yet had wine enough to understand each other pro­perly.

And you say Ormellina is really concealed there?—Egad, I [Page 71] could have sworn it had been my wife; for I did suspect you, Warnford. However, leave me to bring the Colonel to reason.

A word with you.—I suppose you don't know that a particular friend of yours is in that arbour; but, indeed, you have no great knack in finding out your friends—Eh, Colo­nel.

This may be wit, Mr. Mushroom.

Aye, and truth into the bargain.—I tell you as a fact, that Warnford has concealed Ormellina in that arbour; by the bye, he must not know I told you so.

I have long owed Warnford a good turn, and now I think I have paid him."

Just as I could wish. I long to embrace the spirited young rogue.

Well, Colonel, after what I have explained to you, your suspicions must of course cease.

You don't seem to be angry."

"Zounds, Sir, but I am, and very angry too." Mr. Coromandel, I have par­ticular reasons for wishing to know who is in that retired walk.

My dear Colonel, the request is so strange!

Sir, I must persist in it. I charge that gentleman

with hav­ing meanly concealed—

Meanly concealed! No man, but yourself, Colonel Bentley, dare use the expression. If I have had recourse to artifice, it was in an honourable cause; in defence of beauty and vir­tue, which claimed my protection against the [Page 72] man who dares to become my accuser.—I own a lady is there.

Faith, 'tis very hard a man can't hide a pretty woman in a corner, with her own con­sent, without the place being searched, as if it contained smuggled goods.

That lady was concealed there by me—my warmest hopes have been crowned with her consent to elope with me this evening—Her heart is mine, and I will defend the possession of it with my life.

—Confusion!

Why, what the devil does this mean, my dear?

Really, my dear, you had bet­ter ask Mr. Warnford's servant, Rosario—he watch'd me in my concealment, and, I suppose, can explain the reasons why he did so.

What's the matter, Warnford? You have only had recourse to artifice in an honour­able cause, in defence of beauty and virtue, which claimed your protection.—By the bye, I don't recollect that ever I offered any violence to Mrs. Mushroom's delicacy.

I must tell you, Mr. Warnford, that you have used me cursedly ill.

I don't see that, Mushroom—you know 'tis very hard a man can't hide a pretty woman in a corner, with her own consent.

Rosario!

Come hither, blockhead; go instantly to the lady whom you watched in that arbour—"pre­sent my compliments," and request she will [Page 73] favour me with one minute's private conversa­tion here.

Poor Miss Ormellina will be so afraid:—before all dis company, Sir?

Tell her I shall be alone.—Obey my orders instantly, Rosario. Now gentlemen, "we shall have this mystery explained—I flat­ter myself Mrs. Mushroom will not refuse me an explanation, and I am content that yourselves shall witness it."—Retire into that very arbour which has been the source of our embarrassment, and from thence you may over­hear our conversation.

This is some trick of that tormenting woman, and she deserves to be ex­posed.

Is all safe, massa? All gentlemen gone?

You see I am alone.

Den Missee Ormellina may come here.

Oh, Warnford, what have. I not en­dured for this last half hour!

'Sdeath, how unlucky!—the Colonel will overhear every word.

By the strangest accident, I was de­prived of the retreat we had agreed upon, and have been waiting in the garden—

Pray forbear—this is not a proper time"—

"Well, then let us be gone. Colo­nel Baton is now in the garden." A guide is [Page 74] ready to conduct us to the ship, and, in short, every obstacle to our escape is removed.

No, Ormellina, there is still an obstacle to your escape.

There can be none, Sir, while that lady consents to be mine.

You are mistaken, young man, that obstacle is my authority—the authority of a father.

Gracious Heaven!

Yes, Ormellina, this accident has forced the secret from me, which a regard for your welfare has for so many years buried in my bo­som

"As for you, Warnford, you are not much pleased with this discovery, I take it."—Look ye, Sir; zounds, if I were to give way to my feelings upon this occasion—but I will repress them—I shall content myself with telling you, that you need not flatter your­self with any hopes of eloping with my daughter, and that effectually to prevent the most distant chance of your repeating so abominable an at­tempt, I am fixed and determined to give my consent for your marrying her to-morrow.

Generous friend!—how shall I thank you?

By making a good husband to my laughter, you rogue—that's the best way of thanking me.

Ah, Stanmore, give us joy.

Colonel Bentley, give me leave to congratulate you and our friends here on this agreeable discovery.

An agreeable discovery, indeed; but this seems to be a day of discoveries, and I be­lieve, my dear, we are not yet got to the end of them.

But I thought I heard somebody name Colonel Baton—is he arrived?

Arrived! ha! ha! ha! Why the Colonel has been in company with you for this half hour past.—You have seen him—spoke to him—drank with him—Why here he stands—This is Colonel Baton.

Is it? then he is a most extraordinary man, and I should like to follow his example, for he is grown twenty years younger, at least, since I saw him last.—Harkee, you dog—who are you?

Ah! mon ami—joy—joy—je vous fe­licite—I give you joy—here I am.

Pardon me, my dear friend, you have forgot yourself. There you are;

I find you have been here this half hour past—that I have talked with you, drank with you—and that there you stand at this moment.—Does not he, Mushroom?

Ah! ah! vilain! pol­troon—I'ave got you. So you be Colonel Baton?

No, Sir,—not the original Colonel Baton;—I am only a translation from the French.

And a very free translation too, for there appears to be great liberties taken with the original.

My dear Colo­nel, you must prevent an eclaircissement—You [Page 77] are bound as a man of gallantry to conceal that weakness which you have occasioned.

Well, Sir; now for the whole truth.

With all my heart, Sir.—I am sure I have found lying a very hazardous trade.—I'll tell the company the whole story, from the beginning to the end.

No, Sair, it shall not be—Taizez vous.

Don't tell me of your taizez vous—I have got a letter in my pocket, from my wife to you; and, Sir, I shall insist upon an ex­planation.

Here be my explanation, Monsieur.

You shall 'ave it venever you please.

Here, Colo­nel; let me present you with another French translation, a great favourite of mine.

It is done by a woman, Madam, and of course, you know, claims an exemption from severe criticism.

A woman!—How is all this, Stan­more?

Yes, Sir, that lovely woman whom I thought irrecoverably lost.

A brave girl, i'faith. "I must salute her"

Welcome, most sincerely, my little heroine.

Then you are not afraid of venturing on a military wife, eh, Stanmore?

Why should he fear? Military disci­pline would teach me the most difficult duty of a wife—to obey.

Ah! Stanmore, you are a happy dog.—Zounds, I shall grow good-humoured in spite of myself.—I'll own neither man nor wo­man as my friend, who does not wear a smiling countenance.

Then, Sir, your bounty has se­cured me a claim to your friendship."

I own, my happiness has received no trifling addition, in seeing my little friend here finish her campaign so successfully.

And now farewell to the big war—my occupation's done. For though matrimony is sometimes a service of danger, I inlist in hopes of remaining on the peace establishment. What is your opinion of the matrimonial corps, Colo­nel Baton?

Very respectable corps, Madame; I should like to serve von campaigne, or so, in it—but den de diable be, dat von cannot give up de service ven tired of it.

And therefore the Colonel con­tinues in the corps of Rangers.—"For my part, I do not regret the temporary cloud, which, for the first time in my life, has darkened my reputation, since it has tended to produce so fortunate an event.

"Some ladies are so generous, as not to value reputation, when it can be sacrificed for a friend."—Hey-day, Mushroom, you don't seem too happy, however.

Oh, yes, Sir,—I have been happy for these sixteen years past; ever since I married Mrs. Mushroom.

And what says my old acquaintance, [Page 79] whom I never saw before? He is a merry look­ing dog—what shall I do to make him happy?

Why, Colonel, my wishes are mo­derate, considering what old friends we have been (as Mrs. Mushroom knows)—I should be glad to be appointed your taylor in ordinary.

Thank ye, thank ye, for asking no more; for, in my present good humour, I could refuse nothing.