[]The Myſteries of the Caſtle: A DRAMATIC TALE.

SCENE I.

—Holloa! Damſels! Stop a little, and I'll eaſe you of your wares, I'll warrant you. Well, thank Heaven, we're arrived in a chearful country at laſt.

Bleſs me! What a charming air! And what a charming appetite it gives one! I have ſcarcely ſwallowed any thing but duſt for theſe three weeks, but here ends our tedious journey—Yonder is the city of Meſſina, and hard by reſides the man my maſter is in ſearch of—Why my maſter has left Savoy, to ſeek this interview with poor dead Julia's jealous huſband, I am yet to learn—Oh! Here he comes.

—At length, Valoury, the hurry of travelling is over—you now will have time to re⯑cover your fatigue.

Yes, Signor Carlos, and to loſe my appetite I hope; for the one is as irkſome a com⯑panion as the other.

Would my diſtreſtes could be as eaſily removed as yours—The ſhade of my departed Julia haunts me at every turn, and her injured memory calls aloud for vengeance.

Ah! Sir, if grief or reſentment could reſtore her to life, I'd ſtarve myſelf into a paſſion with pleaſure; but as that is impoſſible, might I adviſe you, Signor, I ſhould recommend a tem⯑perate meal or two, before we proceed any fur⯑ther.

Temperate! Valoury, can anguiſh in⯑ſupportable be temperate! Liſten to the ſtory of my heart—That Julia, the hapleſs wife of the im⯑perious Count Montoni, whom thou ſaw'ſt interr'd at Palermo—

And a melancholy ſight it was, Sig⯑nor Carlos—I remember I was juſt ſitting down to an excellent barbacue, ſmoking hot, when the proceſſion paſſed the window; but ſo it is, when⯑ever a man is upon the point of being happy, ſome curſed thing or other always interferes to chill his proſpects.

Think, Valoury, of an attachment begun almoſt in childhood, and improved with growing years; when love's ſoft wiſhes were ſanc⯑tioned by reaſon, and dear expectation nouriſhed by conſenting friends.

What then was the cauſe of your loſ⯑ing her?

Her father's avarice and ambition. This proud, indignant Lord, the Count Montoni, with large poſſeſſions, and extended power, was [8] captivated with my Julia's blooming charms, and, do I live to repeat it, tore her from me in the mo⯑ment when ſhe was to have been mine for ever.

But how came the Lady to conſent?

There thou haſt touched the cord of anguiſh in my breaſt; that drove me from my native home, to ſeek in ſolitude a calm, which, alas, Valoury, thy maſter's heart can never more experience; that brings me back again on the wings of rage, and vengeance, to demand atone⯑ment for wrongs too great to be endured.

Bleſs me, Sir! Has any thing hap⯑pened lately?

Yes; from the amiable Conſtantia, the only ſurviving ſiſter of my hapleſs love, I learn by papers found ſince her deceaſe, that the moſt infernal arts were put in practice by the Count and his adherents, to bend the timid fair one to their cruel purpoſe.

Mercy on me! My hair ſtands on end. They hinted too at Palermo, that the Lady's death was ſudden and extraordinary.

By baſeſt forgery ſhe was induced to believe I had already been wedded to another.

To another indeed! As if Gentlemen of your prudent turn of mind, did not think one wife at a time quite ſufficient.

But the hour of retribution is at hand; meanwhile bear this letter to Conſtantia—Her father, old Fractioſo, is one of the Chief Magi⯑ſtrates in the city. I would on no account that he ſhould hear of my return; therefore be careful to deliver it into her own hands.

Truſt it to me, Signor, and Dad ſhall know no more of the buſineſs, than an Ex-Mini⯑ſter does of the Cabinet, or a faſhionable huſband of his wife's bed-chamber.

From her you may learn tidings of my friend, Hilario, whoſe return from Germany I ex⯑pect about this time; and I know, notwithſtand⯑ing her father's obſtinate prohibition, Conſtantia is not inſenſible to his deſerts.

And a charming Gentleman he is; would he were here—his chearfulneſs would drive away your honour's melancholy—ſorrow with him, is like a bad Signet, it ſqueezes the ſurface; but leaves no impreſſion.

Hark! Here come the Falconers with their Hawks—we muſt not be ſeen, retire—be expeditious, and meet me at the Hotel.

At the Hotel—ah! Sir, you need not doubt my expedition; for ſure no love ſick girl in Europe can be more ſharp ſet than is your honor's very hungry, humble ſervant.

Montauban, draw near; thy activity and diligence are commendable—are the Hawks ſtrong and eager?

Well, my Lord—no doubt we ſhall have ſport.

Methinks I ſhall not ſport to-day—diſ⯑miſs thy followers awhile—I would confer with thee in private.

How ſhall your vaſſal repay this condeſcenſion?

Thou know'ſt Annette, I think, Con⯑ſtantia's woman.

I do, my Lord.

And toy'ſt with her occaſionally?

The damſel has charms, and I admire them, nothing more.

I do not mean to chide thee, gentle Montauban, nor thwart thy amorous purſuits— they may, perchance, enable thee to do me ſervice.

O! Let me fly to execute your commands.

Then, thus it is. I have reaſon to ſuſ⯑pect that Conſtantia holds ſecret correſpondence with Carlos, my avowed, and mortal foe; the man who in life's childiſh, thoughtleſs hour, ſtole my wife's affections; for whoſe ſake ſhe ſhun'd my embraces, and notwithſtanding her father forced her to be mine, with-held from me a huſband's lawful rights, and died the ſullen veſtal ſhe had lived.

You aſtoniſh me, my Lord—

Exert thy influence with this forward waiting woman; careſs, cajole, do any thing thou canſt to diſcover, if poſſible, theſe dark proceed⯑ings; for know, thy maſter's peace, his fame, his honor, nay, his life, may be at ſtake.

Forbid it Heaven!

Haſt thou ſeen Bernardo, my truſty Steward lately?

Not theſe two days as I think—he ſeemed wrapt up in thought, and deeply penſive.

Did he ſo? I do not wonder at it; for indeed, I dread his preſence.

He has done me ſignal ſervice, and I mean, as ſuits my charac⯑ter and ſtation, to give him due reward.

Your Lordſhip's ever bountiful and good.

I thought to have met him here—he will not be tardy to attend—I tremble at the inter⯑view—yet how avoid it—it ſhall be ſo

, tho' Bernardo is deſerving of my warmeſt gratitude, [12] yet the load of obligation bears ſo hard upon my nature, I cannot, will not ſee him face to face, till opportunity afford him ample recompence.

Such ever is the caſe with noble minds!

Do thou go forward—meet him on the way—give him this ring, as earneſt of my friend⯑ſhip—tell him we ſhall meet anon—meanwhile he'll reſt aſſured, my favour ſhall go hand in hand with his deſert to lateſt life—haſte thee, good Montauban.

Right glad I am this meeting is awhile delay'd; for tho' I have gone too far to recede, tho' injured pride, and wounded honor, demand from the offender due expiation; and though I am certain Bernardo has uſed every pre⯑caution to ſecure us from diſcovery, yet ſuch are the weak workings of my mind, there is a ſome⯑thing which I cannot ſhake off, that makes me ſhudder at the thought of ſeeing him.

Pardon me, Count Montoni, if I thus intrude upon your privacy, and dare to interrupt your progreſs.

Ha! My deteſted rival.

I ſee you dare invade the privilege of decorum, and in⯑trude upon me like a lawleſs robber.

Spare your opprobrious epithet—it re⯑coils upon yourſelf—who wa'ſt that robb'd me of my heart's beſt joy? The lov'd companion of my early years—the allotted partner of my future life? Who was't that baſely practiſed on a timid female, and in conjunction with a ſordid parent, led her [13] to pronounce unwilling vows, and meanly triumphed o'er a forced conſent?

I ſcorn your imputation, and deſpiſe your vanity; thus idle coxcombs, when their ſchemes are baffled, and the light froth that flat⯑ters giddy girls, are in more ripen'd years ſeen through and ſlighted, they know not how to bear their humbled pride, but fly to falſehood and abuſe for ſhelter.

Infamous evaſion!

Go—learn to check this habit of con⯑ceit; learn to endure the freaks of female minds; and condeſcend to think, the gallant Carlos, tho' in the zenith of his youth's career, may ſome⯑times ſuffer from a jilting miſtreſs, while men, with leſs deſert, may prove more fortunate.

Your levity, Count Montoni, is con⯑temptible, and your inſinuation ungenerous as unjuſt—did I not, ſoon as I heard the gentle maid had yielded to your ſolicitation, and, as I then thought, from worldly motives, abandoned the heart ſhe once had deigned to prize; did I not tear myſelf from my friends, my family, my home, quit the fond ſcenes where I had been ſo bleſt, and with a boſom bleeding at every pore, leave you to the uninterrupted enjoyment of your nuptial happineſs?

Why then return to brave me unpro⯑voked, and interrupt domeſtic grief? My wife is now no more; you can no longer plume your⯑ſelf upon her favour, or attack the ſacred honor of a huſband.

Heaven grant me patience! Muſt I then repeat the wrongs thou haſt done me, and ſting thy hardened boſom with reproach?

Go on—I'm proof againſt a ruffian's foul invective.

Draw then, and with thy ſword defend, what. with thy tongue thou can'ſt not.

'Tis well I am prepar'd, elſe had thy murderous intent been gratified.

Baſe ſlanderer! But words are uſeleſs, I come not to remonſtrate, but to puniſh.

Have at thee then, aſſaſſin, as thou art!

What do I ſee? My Lord—my Lord—is this the method to ſecure your wiſhes?

Bernardo!

Then I muſt pauſe—no power on earth but thee could ſtay my arm.

I ſee you are now protected; but mark me, Count; my juſtice ſhall not ſleep till treachery like thine, feel the reſentment it deſerves.

Take my defiance with thee. Bernardo, thou art welcome! Indeed thou art. I did not think we ſhould have met ſo ſoon.

Not ſo ſoon, my Lord! I came hither by your own appointment.

True; I ſent a meſſage to thee, by Montauban, but no matter—this rencontre has determined me—we have no time to loſe—I had ſome compunction; but now rage and jealouſy reſume their ſway.

Let them not tranſport you too far— [15] we have hitherto proceeded with diſcretion; but caution ſtill is neceſſary.

The funeral at Palermo will lull ſuſ⯑picion.

No doubt, my Lord, it will—but this intruder, Carlos, muſt be guarded againſt.

Vile miſcreant! His officious return has fixed my wavering reſolution, and nerv'd my trembling hand—to-night, at the caſtle let us meet.

We will, my Lord.

Provide thee a torch—a ſpade—the dagger ſhall be mine.

I ſhall not fail.

My truſty Ber⯑nardo, take this caſket, it contains jewels that be⯑longed to—what ſhall I term her? They now are yours—I am reſolved—Oh love! what art thou to revenge!

SCENE II.

Hah! What—when—how—a tall, raw boned fellow, you ſay, will come into my houſe, whether I will or no.

Yes; and will ſee my young Lady, whether you will or no, and will ſhake you by the fiſt, whether you will or no.

And he ſhall feel my fiſt too, if he dare incroach upon my premiſes.

So I told him; but it ſignified no⯑thing—Says I, my Maſter, though a ſweet-tempered, ſweet-ſpoken, good kind of a good-looking old gentleman—

Pooh! What ſignifies all this foolery?

Not much, indeed, for he would not believe a ſyllable.—What then, ſays I, I ſuppoſe you think he is a little four-faced, croſs-grained, peeviſh, pettiſh, ſurly, avaricious—

Hold your larum, do, Mrs. Minx, and come to the point at once.

Well. isn't this coming to the point at once.

You ſay he has ſomething to com⯑municate—What ſort of a perſon is he?

He looks like a ſervant.

Ay, an humble ſervant, I ſuppoſe.

Humble indeed! I never ſaw a ſau⯑cier fellow ſince I was born; he treats me with no more reſpect, than if I had been his equal.

You are not his inferior in pertneſs, that I can warrant—Where is he all this time?

Below in the pantry, ſtuffing himſelf with a brace of the beſt partridges in the whole latder.

Ha! what—devouring my proper⯑ty—Run, Annette, fetch him before me this in⯑ſtant.

Partridges forſooth! Zounds! he's the moſt im⯑pudent marauder I ever knew—to plunder the garriſon, before a parley can take place.

Dear Sir, what is the matter? Has any thing happened to diſconcert you?

Any thing! Yes! every thing—I am vexed—teized—threatened—eat up alive.

Mercy on me! who can have done all this?

Who? A man—and he would do as much for you, if he could get at you.

A man, pray dont be alarm'd on my account, I'll face the danger.

No doubt you would—You have face enough for any thing—I dare ſay he'd like a young chicken as well as a partridge—but I'll take care to damp his appetite—Oh! here he comes—Do you, Conſtantia, ſtand at that end of the room.

I never taſted a better bird in all my life.

Keep your diſtance, fellow.

What, you are the Lord of the Manor, I preſume—Do you want a Game-keeper?

I'll ſoon let you know what you want—A Magiſtrate.

Oh! oh! You're a Magiſtrate, are you?—Pray lend me your arm—I love to have Juſtice on my ſide.

Why, you audacious varlet, would you aſſault my perſon, after having ſtolen my pro⯑perty?

Lord, Sir, you quite miſtake me; I come to protect your perſon and property too— There are other people waiting to ſteal it—You know Signor Carlos?

Ha! Who—Carlos? Well—what of him?

Pleaſe to diſmiſs the Lady of the Bed Chamber.—I only ſpeak to principals in office—always mute before underlings.

Annette retire! And do you hear, let us have none of your liſtening tricks.

I liſten! I'm ſure there's nothing that underlings need ſtay for; for I fancy I leave both knave and fool behind me.

Now, Sir, let us draw near to him, that we may not be over-heard.

Keep away child—Why ſhou'd we fear being over-heard—Come, ſirrah, what have you to tell us?

Signor Carlos, you muſt know, is—is—

What the devil is he? Have you got a pain in your ſhoulders, that you can't keep your arms ſtill?

He is a great friend to one Hilario.

Hilario! ſaid you What of him?

That's no buſineſs of yours—Do you preſume to make en⯑quiries after a fellow not worth a dollar—the greateſt coxcomb in all Meſſina.

And the moſt impudent dog in all Italy—he once gave me ſuch a ſlap on the ſhoul⯑der.

Why, raſcal, ſcoundrel—how dare you treat me with ſuch familiarity?

I aſk pardon! It's a way I have, I only meant to enforce my argument—but I have done—my errand is completed—mute as if your Honour was an underling.

Get out of my houſe, you impu⯑dent ragamuffin! This fellow's coming here, had certainly more meaning in it, than I have been able to diſcover.

This is all your doing, Madam Headſtrong—One daughter had the per⯑verſeneſs to die on purpoſe to plague me, and you ſeem determined to live on the ſame ſyſtem.

O! Sir, think on my poor ſiſter's hard fate; let that be a leſſon to you. Had ſhe married the man of her choice, ſhe might now have been alive to thank you for it.

The man of her choice! What, that pauper, Carlos, the intimate friend of the prating puppy, Hilario, that you would throw yourſelf away upon. But I'll take care to prevent it— To-day you ſhall be lock'd up, and to-morrow ſent away to a nunnery.—Annette! Annette!

Where is the key of this apartment?

In my pocket, Sir,

Then take it out of your pocket, Ma'am, for I mean to put it into mine.

Lord, Sir! its faſtened to a great ſwinging bunch—I dont think I ſhall be able to got it off.

Then open the door with it on— for I am determined to keep my daughter under lock and key.

Not in that room, I hope, Sir; for they ſay, ſince poor Madam Julia's death, evil ſpirits have walked there.

Evil tongues have talked there, more likely—Give me the key directly.

I muſt change my ground,

To be ſure, Sir, here it is.

If a young Lady will be obſtropolous, why, ſhe ought to be locked up.

What, are you againſt me too?

'Tis every one's duty to be againſt you, when you run headlong to deſtruction. Shall I open the door, Sir?

Ay, do, child: I ſee you are a good, ſenſible girl, and more diſcreet than I thought you.

The very words my grandmother uſed to make uſe of: poor old woman! Your honor always puts me in mind of her.

Fecks! I believe the key-hole is ſtopt up.

Stopt is it? Well, go and look for ſomething to clear it—You'll find a file, Annette, in the breakfaſt chamber.—No—now I think of it, I'll go myſelf, for the tea-cheſt was left open, I believe, and there's no truſting a waiting woman within the ſcent of ſouchong.—Take care of your young Lady till I return.

I believe I can open the door now; Miſs Conſtantia, will you take a peep at your prison?

Are you really what you ſeem, Annette?

I follow the way of the world, ma'am; but dont mind a little confinement, it's only a prelude to matrimony—look in, and ſee if there are any ſpirits,

Am I ſo frightful then, my deareſt Conſtantia! Does this travelling equipage make me look like an hobgoblin?

In the name of wonder when did you arrive?

Not an hour ago—I paſſed thro' Italy on a gallop—croſſed the bay in a ſtorm, landed at the quay in a whirlwind, and flew like lightn⯑ing to viſit my adorable, without waiting for my toilette, as you ſee; though many a trim barber eyed me wiſhfully as I ſcoured along the ſtreet, as who ſhould ſay, "would I might take your worſhip by the noſe!"

But how, Hilario, did you gain admittance?

By the aſſiſtance of this, my better angel; ſhe that pretended to take your father's part.

Yes, Ma'am; I always take the blind ſide, and ſo I'll faſten the door on the inſide.

But, Hilario, my friend, it will be impoſſible for you to continue here.

But, Conſtantia, my love, it will be impoſſible for me to continue any where elſe.

Will you liſten to me?

For ever, ſo you don't deſire me to leave you; after having ſcampered acroſs the Con⯑tinent [22] like a greyhound, it were hard to be turned out like a mongrel; beſides it would be ſo ungrateful to your indulgent papa, who has thus kindly left us together.

Mark what poor Carlos writes,

‘"I am returned to Meſſina, for the ſole purpoſe of avenging my Julia's death—ſhould you ſee Hilario, tell him I am deſperate, and may ſtand in need of his aſſiſtance."’

A very pretty ſummons! Becauſe he's deſperate, he ſuppoſes I muſt be mad; and you, my Conſtantia, in return for the hole you have made in my heart, want to have a bullet popt thro' my noddle.

Unkind Hilario! You know the ſincerity of my character; though fully tinctured with my ſex's levity, I am above the little artifices which they generally adopt—notwithſtanding your eccentricities, I am convinced of the goodneſs of your nature, and believe me, it poſſeſſes all my eſteem.

For that dear confeſſion, let me but touch the tip of the nail of your fore-finger,

and command me all over the world.

Fly then to your friend—conjure him to relinquiſh his deſigns—tell him my ſiſter's wrongs are buried with her in the grave; and ſay, his interference may renew our ſorrows; never can redreſs them.

I fly at your deſire

but hold—I believe I muſt fly through the key-hole, for Daddy Cautious has double lock'd the [23] priſon.

Zounds! ſomebody is at the door.

Conſtantia! Annette!.

As I live, it is the old one again! What ſhall we do? If you return into the other room, he'll ſearch it, and we muſt let him into this—for heaven's ſake, Sir, get up the chimney, or out of the window.

Then another old one, that you may have heard of, muſt aſſiſt me—do you think I can climb like a ſquirrel, or fall upon my legs like a cat?

Annette, open the door.

Do as he tells you, and rely upon me; if I can't tumble out of window, I can tumble in, which will be a much ſafer experiment; only prepare yourſelves with a good ſcream to honor my entree.

Annette, I tell you, open the door.

Coming, Sir—my Lady and I have been taking a little nap.

Take away the ladder, my boys—I have done with you.

Here I am old truſty!—I was deter⯑mined to make you a viſit, and finding your doors lock'd againſt me, I made bold to come in at the window.

That wicked dog, Hilario! Oh, you villain! I'll have you laid by the heels, that I will.

That's right, father, take care of my heels—you ſee I have taken care of my head already.

You're a houſe-breaker—you want to plunder my property, and run away with my child.

Damn your property—I'll have none of it; and as for your ſweet child, I adore her— and you too, old ſurly—I'll adore you too.

Help! Help! He will murder me, and ruin the women. Conſtantia, why don't you run for aſſiſtance?

Lord, Sir, there's no occaſion to be in ſuch a panic—it's only a drunken frolic— I dare ſay the gentleman will do us no harm.

I dare ſay you'll think it no harm, let the gentleman do what he will.

Right, Sir—there your honour put me in mind of my poor old grandmother again.

And this is the fellow you wou'd give me for a ſon-in-law?

Yes, I am he, Holofernes—I am the Very fellow—Come, give us your bleſſing, old boy, and who knows, but in good time, you may have a ſupply of young ones.

Give you my bleſſing? Give you a halter! Get out of my houſe, this inſtant, if you don't wiſh to be hanged up in the court-yard.

Pray, Sir, be ſo kind as to walk down ſtairs—no doubt you have friends [25] in the neighbourhood, who may be uneaſy at your ſtay—Pray begone.

I am off—much adored nymph—dam⯑ſel of divinity—I'll do what you deſire—ſteady, ſteady to my promiſe—farewell, old Coffer.

Away with you, you filthy ſot.

Hold —hold—no words—I'll tell you a ſtory.

I dare ſay you will—a thouſand. But leave my houſe, and never let me ſee your face again.

You ſha'n't—you ſha'n't ſee my face, old Cormorant; for I'll come back in a maſk, and we'll have ſome fun, my man of merriment, we will. Harkee! Do you know me?

I am ſon-in-law to little Fractie, the juſtice grinder, as croſs-gained a crab as any in all Meſſina. He poſſeſſes more ducats than I do doits, and yet thinks as much of burning an inch of candle, as I ſhou'd of illuminating the whole city. Nevertheleſs I'll hug the old rogue, that I will—I'll hug him into good humour.

Murder! I ſhall be ſuffocated— Help to turn him out

Mercy on me! There is no ſecurity for one, either at home or abroad—All the bolts in the world can't keep a forward girl in the houſe, or hanker⯑ing fellow out of it.

Dear papa, you do not, indeed you do not purſue the right method to ſecure my duty, or your own peace. Would parents treat their children as friends, inſtead of keeping them at a ſevere diſtance, the ſocial communication of each [26] other's ſentiments, would enable one party to give better advice, and induce the other more readily to accept it.

SCENE III.

Well done, Cloddy! Thee didſn't lay thy ſnares laſt night for nothing—By the dickens, here's as pretty a bunch of preſerved property as any juſtice would wiſh to ſee at his table; and a [27] pretty round ſum it will bring me, when I ha' got it ſafe houſed—for our old rich citizens do ſo like a tit-bit, eſpecially when it is prohibited—and why ſhould they not? They call me a poacher— mayhap, ſo I be—what then—ſo be other people. Its my belief as how its a pretty general trade.

Od ſo! Here's ſomebody coming! I muſt run into my old hiding place yonder—that hole under the Caſtle wall—it has uſed to be a rare ſnug place; but o' late I ha' heard ſo many ſtrange noiſes near about, I fear there be other people hiding as well as myſelf—rabbit it, here they come!

So, my poor friend, after the father had generouſly locked you into his daughter's apart⯑ment—he cooly turned you neck and heels out of his own ſtreet door.

Faith, ſomething very like it; or, not⯑withſtanding my attachment to your perſon, my love for another perſon's perſon, would have made me a truant to friendſhip.

Impoſſible!

Impoſſible is it, that a man ſhould prefer being ſafe in a warm houſe, playing bo-peep with the bright eyes of his miſtreſs, to ſcampering acroſs a cold country for a game at piſtols with his friend's rival?

Notwithſtanding your pleaſantry, I am convinced you would go a great way to ſerve me.

Yes, and not a little way to ſerve myſelf—your kindneſſes to me, and our early [29] friendſhip will, I truſt, never be forgotten—you certainly ſtand ſecond—that is, after the ladies, in my account—but I myſelf, am at the top of the page, and you know its the faſhion now, to take care of number One.

True my friend; and number One is at preſent tolerably ſecure—I have already had a rencontre with this dread adverſary.

Already! I hope you are not wounded?

Sorely.

Bleſs me, Carlos! Where is it?

In the heart, Hilario—deep—incur⯑able—a ſurgeon's ſkilful hand may eaſe the poniard's ſtroke—time's healing finger is ineffec⯑tual here.

I am ſorry for it. How much kinder the old greybeard is to me—as he totters round me with a grin, I whip his ſcythe from his hand, and cut off my ſorrows in the middle.

Enviable vivacity! Had not relendeſs fortune mark'd me for the child of woe, I might have ſhared in all your chearfulneſs.

My dear friend, take comfort—let us return to the city—theſe deſolate old ruins don't ſeem to promiſe much entertainment— they've made me grave already.

To me the world is all a void—Julia! my once deſtined Julia's loſt for ever!

Whence came that diſmal ſound?

From that diſmal caſtle I ſuppoſe—let us begone—the toll of a bell always makes me nervous.

I thought this dreary ſpot had been uninhabited—who could have occaſioned it?

Who? Gaffer Belzebub, to be ſure— who the devil elſe would live in ſuch a place—I ſhall retire—he's not fit company for me.

Perhaps it is ſome perſon in diſtreſs— ſome lonely hermit, ſinking beneath the preſſure of diſeaſe!

Or, perhaps, ſome robber, who hav⯑ing tenderly murdered the lonely hermit, kindly reſolves to give him chriſtian burial.

Again—I am reſolved to ſee further into this buſineſs.

And I am determined to remain totally in the dark—Carlos, I'm off.

Will you leave me Hilario? Can you deſert your friend?

What did you ſay? Deſert you— never—I may be at times, a little apprehenſive, but I never can forſake my friend—was the whole court of Lucifer armed againſt my Carlos, dam'me but I'd have a tuſtle with ſome of the cloven black⯑legs.

Come then—ſuppoſe we try whether theſe antique gates will yield to our attack.

Move on—if the worſt comes to the worſt, it will be only bringing an old houſe about our ears—it won't do—old Ebony has faſtened them with his own claw.

Let us ſearch narrowly round the mouldering walls; time may, perhaps, have made ſome opening in them

Softly—doſt: thou obſerve a light in yonder turret?

A light! To be ſure I did— [31] the devils are at work—I think we had better leave them to themſelves.

Mark! It moves along—now it diſappears.

I'm glad of it—we've ſeen enough— however, don't be afraid—I'll ſtick cloſe by you.

Here is actually a hole, ſeemingly under the wall; who knows but it may afford a paſſage into the caſtle—Heavens! ſomething living is concealed in it.

Be upon your guard, Carlos—don't venture in—it may be a wolf, or a tiger.

Then it muſt be a man tiger. However, be it what it may, I'll drag it forth—Shew thyſelf, fellow, and ſay, what brings thee here?

Brings me here! Why, iſe only fetch⯑ing a walk.

Fetching a walk! What, in a hole in the wall? Zounds! this is the moſt impudent fetch I ever heard of.

No trifling, ſirrah! Tell us who that caſtle belongs to?

Nan!

Blockhead! does any one reſide in that caſtle?

Reſide! what be that?

Does any body live there? Anſwer this minute, or it ſhall be your laſt.

O lud! O lud! Noa. No⯑body lives there but the rooks and ravens. To be ſure they ha'had ſome viſitors lately, and by their cawing and croaking, I dont think they much like their company.

What company are you talking of?

Why, ſpirits and hobgoblins, I be⯑lieve; for I never heard ſuch ſhrieking and ſqueaking in all my born days.

Shrieking and ſqueaking! Hadn't we better get more aſſiſtance, Carlos?

What avails human aſſiſtance, if we are to encounter ſupernatural foes? Did you ever ſee, as well as hear, any thing extraordinary?

Yes, one night, when I was taking a walk.

What, walking again, friend? Well, what did you ſee?

Why, I feed a light in the South tower, and ſoon after, a ſort of a kind of an ap⯑parition appeared, and when I cried out, it called me fool.

Ay, claim'd relationſhip.

What was it like?

There—look there it be again!

Something myſterious is certainly go⯑ing on—I am determined to unravel it.

I hate myſteries confoundedly. How⯑ever, I dont ſpeak becauſe I want to flinch—But it is ſo ill bred to pry into family ſecrets.

Somebody is approaching—We have no time to loſe.

Its Maſter Montauban, with the ſportſmen—I muſt be off.

Off, fellow!—for what reaſon? who are you?

I be Cloddy, own brother to ſiſter Annette, and ſhe be the ſame to me.

How! brother to my Guardian-angel —Come to my arms, my ally from the hole in the wall—Annette aſſiſted me, and therefore you and I will fetch a walk together.

Wounds! An'you be ſiſter's friend, I'll do any thing you like; and if you want to peep into that old caſtle, I believe I can ſhew you a way under the wall; but you muſt ſtoop very low, and, mayhap, creep upon all-fours.

No matter—point out the path—no⯑thing can deter us.

Time preſſes— away—away.

I wiſh, with all my ſoul, we were fifty leagues away from this place.

SCENE I.

At length, my friend, the hour of retri⯑bution comes; and love inſulted, claims its ſacri⯑fice—the time, the place, occaſion—all conſpire, while ſecrecy ſecures revenge.

Would I could ſay ought to ſtay your purpoſe!

Impoſſible! 'tis now too late—Is not this favour'd rival come to vaunt his valour? Shall we reſtore the idol of his panting heart, and be ourſelves, the victims of his triumph?

Never my lord—her deſtiny is fix'd.

Yet, ſpite of the rage which fires an injur'd huſband's breaſt, reſiſted pity will at times intrude—fear too, appals, and dread remorſe— the very figures faſhion'd in theſe antient hang⯑ings, with ghaſtly eye-ball ſeem to frown upon us.

Weak imagery of the brain, which quick deciſion muſt efface—truſt me, my Lord, we have little leiſure to deliberate.

What mean'ſt thou, Bernardo?

Not an hour ago, waiting, as is my duty, for your Lordſhip's preſence; a deep ton'd [35] bell, fixed unknown to me, in the interior of the Caſtle, was on a ſudden by our mourner ſounded.

Indeed!

At firſt I thought 'twas fancy; but being repeated, I flew to trace the cauſe, and in⯑ſtant cut the rope.

'Twas well.

Soon after, the outward gates were by rude hands attempted to be forced.

Thou alarm'ſt me—

With ſpeed I mounted to the turret, and deſcried ſome ſtrangers in cloſe conference.

Didſt thou know them?

The day declining, prevented more diſcovery—The ſportſmen returning from the field forced them to retire.

Who could they be? No matter—ap⯑prehenſion will but prompt our purpoſe—her doom's inevitable—but then—the remains.

All is prepared—the coffin is at hand.

So ready, Bernardo—Yet, wherefore delay—danger may follow—bring hither the crow, the fatal dagger too—I left it in the portal, my hand refuſes—can I be the aſſaſſin? Stay awhile—yet no—begone—fly—give not hor⯑rid thought a moment's pauſe.

I will return, my Lord, as quick as the dark windings of this dreary manſion will permit me.

The night advances faſt— wherefore this inward pang, this ſtruggle of na⯑ture? Come, wounded pride, love ſlighted, ſcorn⯑ed—come ſuffering honour, aid this weak heart, [36] and give it manly reſolution—huſh! was not that a ſigh, a deepened ſigh? How ſoon the laſt muſt follow, let me ſeize this ſolitary interval to take one final look, ſilent, unobſerved—alas! the dim light that glooms around, ſcarce ſhews the diſmal path.

Carlos! Carlos! Carlos! ſoftly—you go too faſt—thank heaven, at laſt we have emer⯑ged from that horrid cavern—zounds! I am as damp as a new newſpaper, and as muſty as old cheeſe out of a wine cellar.

In truth, Hilario, it is ſomewhat ſur⯑priſing, after the extraordinary occurrences with⯑out the walls of this old caſtle, we ſhould as yet be able to make no diſcoveries within; a ſolemn ſilence ſeems to reign around, and nothing, ſave the hollow murmur of the wind, ſtrikes on the liſtening ear.

A murmur of another kind, ſtruck upon my ear.

What mean you?

You ſhall hear—but come a little further from that curſed cavern; you know, after having trampt about theſe diabolical apartments for half an hour together, we agreed to ſeparate at the end of a long gallery, and took different routs.

We did ſo—and the diſtant glimmer of light from this lanthorn, which I found ſtanding on the pavement, led me to the diſmal receſs where we again met—but proceed—

The fact is, that old Ebony has been more attentive to me, than to your worſhip.

Will you be ſerious one moment?

Serious! upon my ſoul I don't think I ſhall ever be otherwiſe. I am terrified to death— I cou'd as ſoon raiſe the devil as a grin.

Torture me not with ſuſpenſe—but tell me all.

That I will, if I can find breath to go thro' with it—firſt I deſcended ſeveral ſteps of a dark narrow paſſage—at the bottom I heard a door open, then the patting of a man's foot, whether cloven or not I can't ſay—ſoon after, I ſaw a light, ſo I made a pauſe, and ſaid to myſelf now dont be frightened, Hilario—now dont trem⯑ble, my dear fellow, but ſummon up all your courage, and boldly run away.

Would I had been there inſtead of you.

Would you had, with all my heart! tho' I defy you to run faſter—but in the attempt, I fell plump on my face, and in ſcrambling to get up, I clawed hold of this broken bit of a ſhield. There ſeems ſomething like letters ſcratch'd upon it.

Letters, Hilario! Try then, to decy⯑pher them.

No, try your⯑ſelf, I have got ſuch a mumbling in my mouth, and my teeth ſo chatter, that—

Heavens! what's this I ſee?

‘"Julia, wife to the Count of—was forced to this Caſtle—the marble hall—the dreary vault—Oh pity and remember"’

'tis the labour of my Julia's [38] hand, the unavailing record of her hapleſs fate— Oh my foreboding heart! ſhe has been murdered.

I'm all over in a cold perſpiration, we had better get into the open air—it may ſave us from a fit of the ague—I feel die quaking al⯑ready.

Never will I quit this gloomy edifice, till I diſcover my poor Julia's ſad remains, dread⯑ful idea!—the mangled relicks of her beauteous form.

Dreadful indeed! who knows but our forms may be mangled in the ſame manner.

Was it for this, I left my friends, my home? To abandon the dear object of my earli⯑eſt vows, to coward fraud and ruffian violence, Gods! I ſhall run diſtracted!

Be adviſed, Carlos—let us retire.

No faithful monitor to warn her unſuſpecting youth—no arm to ſhield her helpleſs innocence—heh! what noiſe was that?

What? the perſpiration is coming again.

It ſounded like a groan.

Dear Sir, dont frighten one, more than there is occaſion.

Mark me—obſerve that window—do you not ſee a light?

A Li—ght!

It points me out the way—brightens, and animates the darken'd ſcene.

Heaven is in our cauſe—ſomething is to be done, haſte—follow.

Follow! I'm numb'd, I'm petrified—I have not a limb to ſtand upon—ſoft —let me try

yes, I have put my right foot foremoſt, no, let me take it back again.

What ſhall I leave my friend in the lurch? let him grapple with old Ebony by himſelf? for ſhame, Hilario! after him, my boy!

Wheugh! I'm dead and buried! a Coffin!

and I dare ſay the ſexton will be here before I can ſay my pray'rs, mum! here he comes.

Count! Count!

He miſtakes me for ſomebody elſe.

Your excellence!

Its an excellent miſtake, however.

Where are you?

He—ere.

I have brought the ſpade and dag⯑ger as you ordered.

Give them to me.

You feel cold.

Yes—its ſo hot.

Hot! its a dreadful night—but all will ſoon be over. I'll enter the receſs the back way, and lead the victim down the ſteps into the marble hall—'tis yours to give the blow.

I will, I will.

Till then farewell!

Give the blow! gad, if I dont take great care I ſhall get the blow. I ſhiver from head to heel like a top-ſail in a ſtorm. This murder-loving villian has kindly indulged me with two inſtruments, one to kill myſelf with, and the other to dig my own grave.

Bernardo why do you loiter ſo? Is this a time for delay? what, ſilent; do you ſhrink at laſt? Give me the means—I'll do the reſt myſelf, faithleſs coward!

Faithleſs coward! aye ſo it ſeems, elſe ſhou'd I leave poor Carlos to battle with theſe two butchers alone? No by heaven!

aye, growl on, I'll extricate my friend or periſh with him

bleſs me, how dark! would I had half a do⯑zen lacqueys at my back with a flambeau in each hand. If a man muſt be executed, I think the more parade the better.

SCENE III.

What could Bernardo mean? He ſeem'd fix'd and motionleſs. He will not ſure be⯑tray [41] me— impoſſible

hark! the door opens—he leads her down—the dreadful ſcene approaches—I'll conceal myſelf awhile.

My duty is diſcharg'd—lady, I take my leave.

Oh Bernardo! do not leave me thus— tho' in the lone receſs, where I have been ſo long confined, without one ſuccouring friend to cheer my ſolitude, tho' when you daily brought my ſcanty pittance, a gloomy ſilence mark'd your ſhort'ned ſtay; now, I conjure you, grant my laſt requeſt, ere ſuffering nature ſink to long oblivion— ſay, why am I now brought ſorth?

I but obey the mandate of my lord, your huſband.

My huſband! ſay my tyrant, murderer.

I muſt not liſten to ſuch epithets.

Did he not, under pretence of riding for my health, entice me to this ſequeſtered ſpot, attended only by yourſelf? Did he not, on a ſud⯑den, force me from my horſe, drag me thro' various dark apartments, and lodge me in that vaulted room, from whence you now have led me?

Lady, he is here.

Oh ſtay—protect me—do not abandon a poor helpleſs female, to ſuch deteſted hands.

'Tis well, Madam—I ſee your haughty ſpirit ſtill con⯑tinues—ſoftneſs might have ſubdued my feeble [42] nature—and woman's tears, might have produ⯑ced a womaniſh compaſſion.

Fear not, ferocious man—no tears can ſoften thy obdurate heart, nor will compaſſion find a votary there.

Once again, I'll deign to aſk what puniſhment you think your conduct merits.

Talk'ſt thou of conduct! can'ſt thou mention wrongs? Thou who haſt injured me be⯑yond deſcription—ſtabbed my fair fame; robbed me of health, and cut me off from every hope in life.

Thyſelf alone, hath wrought thy own undoing—hath cauſed the woes you have already borne—the pangs you yet muſt ſuffer—am I not thy huſband?

Oh, profane not thus the ſacred appel⯑lation—a huſband! honor'd name! wooes the ſoft virgin in the morn of life—wooes, if her heart be free, and fairly wins, but thou—

Well Madam! what of me?

To gratify a baſe, unworthy paſſion— knowing my ſoul was wedded to another, left no diſhonourable means untried, to force a wretched maid, heart-broken, to your arms—had not diſ⯑guſted nature made me ſhun thee.

Call it not nature, but adulterous love— a wanton flame excited by another—an outcaſt, rejected by your parent.

Unhappy parent! who, miſled by treachery, and lured by gain, hath doom'd his child to miſery and death.

Art thou then prepared?

If innocence and purity of mind be pre⯑paration, then am I ready. If, with a heart ſuſ⯑ceptible [43] of every ſoft emotion, to have laviſhed all the tenderneſs of growing years, on one whom I am taught to think unworthy, whilſt a hated tyrant holds me at his diſpoſal, be the height of human woe, then is the grave my only refuge.

To make that grave more welcome— know, ill-fated fair, thy minion was not falſe!

Not falſe! not wedded to another.

No—devoted but to thee, he wan⯑ders o'er the earth, a wretched exile.

You have pierced me to the ſoul—now draw thy murderous ſteel—thou can'ſt not wound me more.

To ſave you from a diſgraceful union, I plann'd this honeſt artifice—to ſave myſelf from ſhame, I brought you hither—

To ſave thy own coward heart.

Coward! be ad⯑vis'd—deſiſt—'twere fatal to go on.

Yes, coward—to glut thyſelf in a weak woman's blood; alone—defenceleſs—loſt to every human being—none to protect—none to avenge her death—elſe had the valiant youth, whom thou, at diſtance, dareſt calumniate, awed thy daſtard ſpirit with a frown.

'Tis too much— ſince thou wilt provoke.

Strike, monſter, ſtrike—for with my lateſt breath, I will adore his virtues, and execrate thy baſeneſs.

Then breathe thy laſt.

Hold—ruffian!—murderer!

Confuſion! he here! What ho! Bernardo.

Revive, my Julia! Let me not again loſe you, thus unexpectedly re⯑ſtored.

Oh! ſave me from that tyrant!

Be not alarm'd, my angel—recall your ſcatter'd ſpirits—'tis your Carlos, who implores.

Carlos! My long loſt, my unhappy friend!—Oh, my diſtracted thoughts! by what magic are you here?

By that, which from the firſt moment I beheld you, influenced all my actions—by the magic of your blooming graces, the memory of our endearments, the miſery of our ſeparation, the dreadful uncertainty of your fate.—

Carlos! I have been ſadly uſed— Anguiſh and diſtreſs have been my portion, ſince you left me.

Did I leave you, Julia?

Oh no! Julia deſerted you—forſook the dear poſſeſſor of her firſt affections—But, tho' not yours, believe me, I have never been ano⯑ther's.

How! Are you not wife to the Count? May I once more preſs you to this faithful boſom?

Deſiſt—it muſt not be— Time will unravel all—O Carlos! feel for your devoted Julia—And the more you hear of my misfortunes, the more you will reſpect them— Had I not believed you falſe, a parent's threat, a father's ſupplication, had been equally in vain.

Dam'me, how I peppered him! the ſcoundrel—hah! my honored Lady Julia—he told me you was alive—let me thus ſpeak my joy.

Where have you been, my friend?— to whom doth that ſword belong?

To one of the butchers, to be ſure— I have got him ſnug in a cloſet, and you may peep at him thro' the iron bars, as you would at a curioſity—I'll have him ſhewn for a ſight—Oh Carlos! had you ſeen my courage—I wanted no⯑thing but a live lady to animate me—for the moment I heard how it was, Madam—I fought like a lion.

You deſerve every thing.

I drove him down a ſtair-caſe—whiſk'd him thro' a trap-door—dragg'd him over the duſty rubbiſh—caged him—and here I am with his trophy—but what's become of the other butcher?

Fled, like a guilty coward—but I'll purſue him thro' the world.

And ſo will I, into the next—Wheugh! my hand is in, and I could fight a legion of Bel⯑zebubs.

Oh, my friends! let me conjure you to proceed no further—leave the wretch to the re⯑proaches of a guilty conſcience, to the rage of diſappointed malice—Carlos you have ſaved my life, now protect my fame—conduct me to my father's houſe—there alone, my harraſs'd mind can be at peace.

Forgive the impetuoſity of a man, torn [46] with contending paſſions—agitated at once by love, reſentment, by hope, and by deſpair—your fame has ever been dearer to me than my own— let us then, quit this ſcene of horror, and reſtore my injur'd Julia to her paternal roof.

Attempt not, Carlos, to accompany me home—you know how much my father is in⯑cenſed againſt you—ſhould we be ſeen together, 'twill give ſuch colour to the Count's calumny, as may prove injurious to us both—for the whole ſtory will ſo crowd upon his mind—

Egad, ſo it will—then the tables may be turn'd upon us, and Ebony make us appear as black as himſelf—now, leave every thing to me— Fractioſo and all—I am the man for the old one —if Lady Julia will truſt herſelf to my care, I'll undertake to convey her, unſeen, to the apart⯑ment of her ſiſter, my adored Conſtantia; and then we can manage her return to life with all pro⯑per decorum.

Lead on.

Muſt we then part ſo ſoon? Oh Julia, form'd for the enjoyment of ſocial tenderneſs, my heart is doom'd to ſuffer unceaſing diſappoint⯑ment. At leaſt, let me conduct you ſafely thro' the arched vaults, and narrow paſſages, that fill this melancholy pile—then will I purſue the guilty Count, and conſign him to the vengeance of of⯑fended laws.

Take with thee, Carlos, all the love I dare to offer, every anxious with I freely can beſtow.

And as you don't want any of my courage, I'll take it all with me, to guard my precious charge—and then, fire and tow! let me [47] ſee who will dare to come within arm's length of us.

What is to be done with the owner of your trophy there?

Ay, the raſcal in the pound—we muſt take him with us, and ſecure his evidence, by pro⯑miſe of pardon.

But notwithſtanding your courage, Hilario, 'twill be as prudent to have ſome officers of juſtice to aſſiſt us.

Certainly—for the moſt dauntleſs ſpi⯑rit may be ſometimes ſeized with a cold perſpi⯑ration—but never mind—move on—I'll lead the way

follow cloſe, if you pleaſe tho', and we ſhall ſooner be out of this curſed old den of Philiſtines.

SCENE IV.

Where can my young Lady be gone? I have ſearch'd for her all over the houſe—ſhe muſt certainly have gone abroad—and ſhe may thank me for the opportunity—how aſtoniſh'd ſhe will be, when ſhe knows what I have overheard —I muſt ſay, my talent for liſtening has been of great ſervice to me in life, and has help'd me to un⯑ravel a number of myſteries.

For that very night, when I was at my favourite amuſement, liſtening, I heard a ruſtling of ſilks upon the ſtair-caſe, there was my ſpark making love to my Lady's maid, rigged out in an old caſt off, of her miſtreſſes: ſo,—

For calling one day, with ſome bombazeen to renew her weeds with, I overheard a parley in the back drawing room, ‘"come widow, don't carry on this farce any longer, its troubleſome to be ſqueezing out tears from morning to night, marry me at once, you know my merit—I managed your late huſband's buſineſs the laſt five years of his life."’

For being invited to a ſnug diſh of tea and a little ſcandal, I chanced to go ſomewhat ſooner than I was expected, and paſſing her chamber I heard the corner cupboard unlock, and the follow⯑ing ſoliloquy. ‘"Come to my heart, my beſt ſupporter; man, faithleſs man, has ſlighted and deceived me, you are the only warm friend I have."’

Annette, what can have detained Hilario ſo long?

What can have detained you ſo long? I have ſomething to tell you of the utmoſt impor⯑tance.

What mean you? For heav'n's ſake be explicit—has any thing happened to him?

Yes, Ma'am—to him, and to her, and to me, and to all the world.

If you have any love for me, I con⯑jure you to ſhorten the miſery of ſuſpence—ſay, is he dead?

No Madam—nor is ſhe dead—nor I— nor any body elſe—we are all come to life again.

You rave Annette—or do you find delight in torturing your unhappy miſtreſs.

I torture you, my dear young Lady! I had rather torment a dozen lovers from morning till night, than give you one moment's uneaſineſs, but I am ſo confounded, and ſo overjoyed, and ſo perplexed, and ſo—

What can be the matter?

Why then, as I hope for one huſband at leaſt, I have ſome reaſon to think that my Lady Julia is not dead.

How! My ſiſter alive?

You ſhall hear—juſt now, as I was ſtanding in the paſſage, thinking of nothing, and peeping, as I now and then do, in a little pocket looking glaſs, who ſhould whiſk by me, but the Count Montoni.

What of him?

He look'd alarm'd and confuſed, and I am convinced he didn't know what he was about.

Why ſo?

Becauſe he took no more notice of me, than if I had been the meereſt dowdy in all Meſſina—ſo I was determined to go and liſten at the door of your father's library, where they were lock'd up together.

Well!

At firſt I heard ſome muttering about an old Caſtle, and then the words, ‘"Carlos and murder."’

‘"Carlos and murder!"’ Alas, my poor Hilario, no wonder you are not returned.

Don't be uneaſy, Madam—I am cer⯑tain no miſchief has happened; for I heard the old Gentleman exclaim, ‘"Julia not dead, then Carlos muſt be laid hold of,"’ and ſo, Ma'am I ran to acquaint you with the news.

If you love me, Annette, ſteal ſoftly back again, and try if you can diſcover any thing further.

I will, my dear Lady—liſtening is my forte—and for ſounds, ſhew me who has a finer ear than myſelf.

My ſiſter ſtill living! Can it be poſſible? Some dreadful myſtery remains to be diſcovered—oh, Julia, how deplorable muſt have been your ſituation.

SCENE V.

Sure as I'm born, a pretty tight ſportſ⯑man, ſomething queer is going to happen, by rea⯑ſon my right eye did ſo tickle and itch this morn⯑ing—and our cat made up ſuch a woundy thick tail, that—but where o' the name o' dickens have I wandered to? Ho! I ſees—there be my old friends, Scylla and Charibdis—they ſay, whoever gets clear o' the firſt, falls plump down into the latter, that's for certain—if you don't break your head againſt the rock, you are drowned below in the whirlpool—ah, it's the fame with the women —the moment you get quitten o' one, pop you're laid hold of by another.

Oh brother! My dear brother Cloddy I'm glad I've met you—I'm almoſt frighten'd out of my wits.

That's unlucky—becauſe why—you ha' no great deal to ſpare.

Then I'm a true ſiſter—I take after you—but no matter—I have ſuch wonderful news to tell you.

It's no more than I expected—I thought our cat's tail did not ſwell for nothing—what be it?

Why, I never liſten—but I have a way of overhearing, you know.

Yes, I know you have—wounds, here's Scylla and Charibdis both in one—but on with you.

Well—I heard the Count tell my old maſter, that his daughter Julia, my dear loſt lady, was ſtill alive—that the great burial was all a flam —and that ſhe was found ſecreted in an old caſtle, under the protection of Signor Carlos, her firſt lover, who, he ſays, aided by Conſtantia, and Hilario, were the authors of the whole contrivance.

Odratten! I don't believe it—I be⯑lieve that black dog I uſed to ſee on the parapet, was the real poacher; he and the Count, depend on't, were the knaves that laid the ſnares.

So I think—and therefore I have ven⯑tured abroad this dark night, at my lady's deſire, in hopes I may be able to ſee Madam Julia, who, they ſay, is ſtill at the caſtle, and give her intelli⯑gence of the plots that are carrying on againſt her at this moment.

Oh! Ho! So then I find your great folks can carry on their plots in the dark, as well as us little ones.

Yes; the old Gentleman, at the inſti⯑gation of the Count, has ſummoned the city guard to their aſſiſtance, and ordered the gallies to row round the light-houſe, in caſe Carlos and his friend ſhould put off to ſea; for he has reſolved this very night to arreſt, and convey them to priſon. Come with me, brother—there is not a moment to loſe.

No—nor a moment to find neither; for here are the whole poſſe at our heels, and as I don't much like a priſon—why I'll make bold to ſtep behind that tree; and liſten, ſiſter, as you do, by way of overhearing.

And ſo muſt I too, by way of ſecurity.

Go forward with the lights, I tell you—I can't ſee an inch before my noſe

This it is to be hauled out at mid⯑night, when we ought to be ſnug in our beds.

Conſider Sir, the honour of your fami⯑ly, which muſt be ſupported.

So I do, Count—I do con⯑ſider it—but I cant help ſaying I wiſh it could be ſupported in broad day, with a warm ſun over our heads—nothing can be ſo dreadful, as the ſhriek⯑ing of owls, and the croaking of frogs, when one muſt climb battlements, and dive into caverns.

Undoubtedly—and unleſs fame and property were at ſtake.

There it is—was it not for one's pro⯑perty, I ſhould not much care.

Who knows to what lengths the con⯑ſpirators may go—detection may make them deſ⯑perate.

Zounds! ſo it may—that raſcal, Hilario, is one of the gang, I warrant.—He's a moſt deſperate dog, believe me.

No doubt he is.

That fellow, and his friend Carlos, have been my torment theſe five years, on and off. They come in at a window to one daughter, and lock another up in a Caſtle—look ye, Count, I can't ſay I ever doubted you and now I am con⯑vinced that Conſtantia — Carlos — Julia—that damn'd Hilario, and all of them, have joined in a conſpiracy to rob and murder us—for if they bring dead people to life, they can ſoon make live peo⯑ple dead.

You know, Signor, that your daugh⯑ter Julia went to Palermo, at your own requeſt, for change of air; it was not then in my power to attend her—news was brought to us of her de⯑ceaſe, and funeral honours followed in due courſe this you are acquainted with—but you know not perhaps, that Carlos's ſervant, if not himſelf, was diſcovered prying about during the ſolemnity.

Zounds! I'm all over in a conflagration —where is the caſtle? which is the road? I'll ſeize them myſelf—hah! here are ſome of them—ſtand back—keep back with the lights—let's liſten— mum!

Would we were at home! tis a dreary, diſmal journey, in the dead of night.

No doubt you think ſo—ſince you have been obliged to ſeparate yourſelf from poor Carlos.

Did you mind that, Count—I told you I ſaw thro' the plot— there's no deceiving me.

I dread the meeting with my father— he is ſo credulous and partial to the Count.

I know it—but if he won't believe his own eyes, and will perſiſt in perſecuting you, do you think I'll ſtand tamely by—no—as I have brought you from one old tottering fabric, I wont ſee you entomb'd in another.

You wont,—you imp—you puppy, wont you?—Count—guards— ſeize him—he is the wicked one.

No—ſeize the Count—there he ſtands; he is the wicked one.

What are you about?

My father!

Keep off, cockatrice—I ſee thro' it all—you can't impoſe upon me, didn't you pre⯑tend you was dead—put the whole family to the expence of new mourning, and make us cry our eyes out.

Oh my honour'd parent! liſten to your child.

Regard her not—falſe to her huſband, will ſhe be juſt to her parent?

I wont hear a word—you're an un⯑grateful [58] girl, and as low minded as that raſcal we have caught you with—you would rather live in an old cellar with Carlos, than in a ſuperb manſion with the noble Count, your huſband.

Unhand me, that I may tear that noble monſter piece-meal—come forward you penitent tool of authority—you promiſed, if I wou'd unpound you, to ſpeak the truth?

Speak Bernardo! you can protect me from the ſlanderer's tongue, but for you I had fal⯑len by the poignard of that aſſaſſin, Carlos, who having ſtained my honour, wou'd have dyed it deeper with my blood.

True my lord—but for me, your life had been ſacrificed. But for me, your fame would now be deſtroyed—give me liberty, and I will fully explain the guilt of Carlos, and his vile aſſociates.

Guilt of Carlos! oh Belzebub! that thou ſhould'ſt ſuffer mortals thus to outdo thee.

Stop that fellow's mouth, and releaſe Bernardo—I want no further proof—Carlos ſhall be hang'd, and you ſent to the gallies for life.

What, tie me to an oar!—Is this the way a grandee ſhou'd treat his future ſon-in-law.

Will nobody ſtop that fellow's mouth? You, Madam, ſhall be convey'd to ſome remote diſtance, to try if confinement will reſtore you to a ſenſe of your duty.

Confinement, alas, has itſelf no terror for your child—But if nature yet pleads for me in your breaſt, Oh, let my priſon be my father's home—devote me not again, to horror and to death.

What do you mean by being devo⯑ted? Isn't the Count, your huſband, a man of honour—a man of fortune, rank and title?—you would be devoted only to that villian Carlos.

Carlos is not a villain—I'll tell you what—his ſoul is right honourable, every inch of it, whilſt that of the Count is like the old ſhabby bit of parchment that deſcribes his titles—black, white, narrow, cold, and ſhrivelled.

Contemptible defamer!

Here's a fellow! talk to me of a ſhabby bit of parchment—I that am Vice Legate, Proetor, Nuncio, Viguier, Rota, Scrota, and ſo forth—away with him to the gallies—away.

On my knees let your un⯑happy daughter ſue to you for juſtice—tho' doom⯑ed herſelf to inevitable deſtruction, let not her brave deliverer be the victim of his own compaſ⯑ſionate heart.

Spare yourſelf the trouble, Ma'am— I have done my duty as becomes the future ſon-in-law to a grandee—life's an eternal ſee-ſaw—now I am a poor galley ſlave—in a month, perhaps, I may make a cockſwain—in another, captain of a ſquadron, and in a third, Vice Legate, Proetor, Viguier, Nuncio, Rota, Scrota, and ſo forth.

Take him away, I tell you, and clap him in irons.

Now Count, we'll go and engage a veſſel—mean⯑while Mountaubon, with ſome choſen ſoldiers, ſhall purſue Carlos—We'll revenge ourſelves I warrant—an impudent ragamuffin, to compare me to a ſhabby bit of parchment—zounds! I'll have his hide ſo tann'd, that a troop of drummers [60] may find employment upon it—lead on, torch⯑bearers!

Here's a pretty buſineſs! talk of my laying ſnares! why, no poacher in all Sicily can trap this fox of a Count—odratten it! I ſhould like to unkennel him.

Do, my dear Cloddy—think how they've treated that ſweet, kind hearted, laughter-loving Gentleman, my young miſtreſſes favourite.

Yes; and I knows he to be innocent— for I myſelf ſhewed him into the caſtle—and if ſo be, I had na been afraid of ghoſteſſes, I would ha' gone in too.

Dear, dear, how my poor young lady will take on—ſhe was ſo eager to ſee her ſiſ⯑ter again, and ſo anxious to find her lover again, that ſhe prevailed on Valoury, Carlos' ſervant, late as it was, to endeavour to hire a boat—and I ſhou'dn't be at all ſurprized if ſhe was to croſs the bay to the caſtle this very night—hiſt! isn't that muſic on the water.

Yes—ſure enough it is— hark! it comes nearer—its ſome boatmen ſinging as they row to ſhore—let us hide ourſelves again.

SCENE I

Gad! its a raw morning—I wiſh they'd come and relieve guard—there goes ano⯑ther heavy load—I have ſeen old Signor Fractio⯑ſo's ſervants buſied theſe two hours, in conveying things on board that veſſel—I wonder what it can mean? But its no affair of mine—when the old begin to move off, there's more room for the young to move on, that's my comfort.

Stay, my ſweet—my dear comrades; don't leave me here in the cold.

Peace, you ungrateful varlet—was'nt it at your own requeſt, and thro' the intereſt of good Montauban, that your puniſhment of being a galley-ſlave for life, was remitted, on condition of your ſerving as a ſoldier? and now would you ſtill grumble?

I tell you I dont underſtand the exer⯑ciſe.

Don't you? then we'll teach it you— come—proceed.

At your peril quit your poſt.

Now don't I cut a pretty figure, whiſkered up to the eyes like a turk, and loaded with arms like a baggage waggon—If I ſtay, I ſhall be flogged for not knowing my duty. Suppoſe I run away—no, I'll be ſhot if I do—I know the worſt on't—to ſubmit like my betters in office, to be cut up a little—here's an habita⯑tion for the future ſon-in-law to a Grandee! no furniture—no ſtate apartments!

However, here's a good lock and key to the premiſes, and they pay no taxes—but ſhall I never ſee my brave friend, Carlos again, nor embrace my divine Conſtantia?—no—no more ſalutes for me, but with a drawn ſword, or a muſquet—ah! poor, poor Hilario!

So, ſo, there's the ſhip I ſee—all ready to ſail—ay, ay, I knew as how there was ſome in⯑famous poaching going forward—but I'll expoſe the old curmudgeon—I'll fetch ſiſter, and ſetten her on—ſhe'll cackle—I know ſhe will—for no man ſhall take bread out o'my mouth—no man in all Sicily ſhall poach but myſelf, if I can help it—

ah, Centinel! how do you do?

Zounds! this is Annette's brother— [67] he don't know me in my regimentals—he may be uſeful

well! how are you? Its very cold indeed—ſo let's get warm by ſhaking hands— you're a fine fellow!

Yes, and an honeſt fellow too;—for when ſo be, I ſees miſchief going forward, that I've no hand in, I always tries to prevent it.

Yes, you have no hand in it, and therefore tries to prevent it.

Yes;—now do you ſee that veſſel down in the harbour—it belongs to that old piece of totteration, Fractioſo—he that is the Vice-le⯑gate.

Rota, Scrota, and ſo forth. I know him—well, what is he going to do with that veſſel?

I'll tell you—he has gotten a houſe in the remote part of the country, among the moun⯑tains on the ſea-coaſt—and he is going to take his daughter there, and all his plate, and his jewels, and every thing he can carry away.

What can be his motive for that?

Why, they ſays he don't like the Count Montoni, her huſband, as well as he was uſed, and they have had words together, and I ſuppoſe he thinks, if he doesn't ſecure the property himſelf, the Count will do it for him.

Likely enough—but hasn't he another daughter?

Yes; but ſhe has no huſband to make any claims, and to take care that ſhe never ſhall, he has ſent her to a convent.

To a convent, has he?

Sure enough—to keep her out of the way of a moſt miſchevous fellow, one Hilario—do you know him? he's the wickedeſt dog—

Ay, that he is—I know him as well as I do myſelf—but ſee here's the old man coming.

There he is, an old rogue—leading his daughter to be baniſhed—od rabbit it—ſiſter can know nothing of this flight;—I doubt ſhe ha' been off her liſtening, or ſhe'd raiſe the whole city with her clack—how a' name o'fortune has he made Madam Julia conſent to go? But ſhe's a ſweet lady, that's the truth on't, and as tractable as a ſtaunch pointer.

Cant you contrive to aſſiſt the lady? I dare ſay you're full as clever as you're honeſt.

I tell you what, centinel—I wou'd do any thing to ſerve her, becauſe why, when I acci⯑dentally tumbled down once, and killed a large co⯑vey of partridges, ſhe interfered with her father, and ſaved me from a dangerous ſore-throat

oh, you old hard heart⯑ed bit of juſtice!

It don't ſignify talking—you muſt go and you ſhall go—and I will have you go—I tell you again, between the mad Count, and the cun⯑ning Carlos, I don't think my life is worth a year's purchaſe.

Had Carlos been ſo inconſiderate, as to entertain improper hopes, the letter you have juſt now obliged me to write to him, muſt have extin⯑guiſhed them all—Oh Sir! why did I write but to oblige my father—where do I wiſh to live and die, but under his protecting roof? Let me not how⯑ever, be torn from my loved ſiſter, the partner of [69] my infancy, the only companion of my happy days, I ever now can cheriſh.

Your ſiſter is ſafe enough in a cloiſ⯑ter—ſhe has no huſband to frighten her poor fa⯑ther—don't you remember how fierce the Count look'd, at our laſt interview! he knit his brows and ſaid "Ough! I will have my wife"—then you cried—" no——no" then he replied, "blood and oons! I will have her dowry" then I too, cried "no no"—ſo, I'm determined to hide both you and the property, where they will be ſafe from a furious huſband, and an artful lover.

Oh, Sir! Conſider your diſtreſs'd child!

Yes, and I'll conſider my diſtreſſed ſelf—I ſhould not be ſurprized if they were to try to lock me up likewiſe in an old caſtle—therefore diſpatch—come on board while there is nobody to interrupt—nay, no demurring—who knows but that dog Hilario, may have made his eſcape, and be now at hand to outwit me!

Muſt I then renounce every ray of hope! Oh, Carlos! Carlos!

Come, no crying—go to the boat— Anthonio!

Conduct her on board —give me my ſailing cloak and hat—I'll but wait for the Captain, and follow—take thoſe diamonds, Julia—there I knew you would not be diſobedi⯑ent.

Diſobedient! Alas! an implicit ſub⯑miſſion to your will, has brought on your unhappy Julia, every misfortune of her life.

I think there is nothing elſe but miſ⯑fortunes when we have to deal with women—loſs of property, as well as loſs of time,

[70] where can this ſea Captain be gone to? Centinel!

Your honor!

Have you obſerved any body waiting here about?

I have.—Give me leave to aſſiſt your honor.

Thank you friend—who have you obſerved?

Two or three ſtern—looking fellows.

Two or three!—you alarm me—who were they?—what did they ſay?

They enquired if I had ſeen a little decrepid old gentleman, embark on board a veſſel.

The devil they did!—I'm all over in a tremble—I dare ſay that devil Hilario, was one of the party—nobody elſe wou'd have aſked ſuch a queſtion.

Yes, he was one—I know him—he is now one of us—he's made a ſoldier.—

That's too good for him—what com⯑pany is he in?

Very indif⯑ferent at preſent—huſh!

Why, what the devil are you about?

It can't be—yet it is— there they are again—coming this way—don't you ſee them?

See who? why you wont let me ſee any thing.

Who!—the ſame ſterr—looking fellows that were in ſearch of the little decrepid old gen⯑tleman—and there—there's that fiend you talk'd [71] of—that imp of the devil, Hilario—ſee, they're all with their ſwords drawn.

I'm murder'd—I'm a dead man.

Why, they have got muſick!

Yes, to drown your cries—don't let them ſee you—don't look at them—get into my box directly, and I'll protect you.

Look at them—I'm ſo terrified, I can ſcarce ſee my own way—open your door— quick, quick—

There—get in— quick—and don't ſtir till I call you—nor don't be ſurpriz'd at any thing I may do—or ſay—but think it a ſcheme of mine, to get them away.

Thank ye—thank ye—good centinel—get them away as faſt as you can.

I will—I will—huzza! what ſoldier ever did his duty better—I've reliev'd the garriſon— impriſon'd the enemy—promoted myſelf—and now all that's left is to march off with the ſtores and baggage—ha! here's the Captain of the veſſel—now to manoeuvre him too.

Let me dreſs as becomes a grandee—that is to be.

All health! Signor Fractioſo—the lady ſtays for you on board.

Captain, it is our pleaſure to embark —farewell grandee—I'm off with the moveables.

You ſee I have got on your cloak—to get them away.

That's right.

If ever you ſee that dog Hilario again, depend upon it, I'll be cloſe at his heels.

A fine piece of work, truly—pop off one daughter to a convent, and ſhip off another to the lord knows where—I have already counter-acted the firſt ſcheme, and hope I ſhall be in time to prevent the other—Ha! who is that coming this way? It's the wretch Bernardo—he ſeems much agitated.

Ungrateful, treacherous villain! after having hazarded my life in his ſervice, to make an attempt upon it himſelf.

Who made ſuch an attempt, good Bernardo? who cou'd be baſe enough to attack ſo precious a life as yours?

Who? that monſter, the Count Montoni.

What, your friend and patron?

The ſame—finding me reſolv'd no longer to aſſiſt his criminal deſigns againſt the lady Julia, and her father, and dreading my diſcover⯑ery of the paſt, he would have ſecured my ſilence by the dagger's point.

That's one way indeed, of making one hold one's tongue.

I luckily averted the blow, and wou'd have aveng'd it, but the diſappointed aſſaſſin took refuge in a boat, that was waiting for him on the beach, and has, I ſuppoſe, fled his country for ever.

In my mind his country is very much obliged to him. It would be lucky if all countries [73] could get rid of their ſecret enemies in the ſame way.

I am determined now, to make every atonement in my power.

Indeed, I think it's high time—So then, my friend, your aſſertion reſpecting the guilt of Carlos, was a miſtake, and the buſineſs at that old caſtle, was—

O! name it not—horror and remorſe o'erwhelm me—wou'd I cou'd ſee Signor Frac⯑tioſo! he knows not that Carlos, whom he de⯑ſpiſed and rejected, has been the ſaviour of his daughter's life.

None but ſuch an obſtinate ſimpleton as my maſter, could have been ſo impoſed upon.

He has been deceived—groſsly de⯑ceived.

Oh, he's always made a fool of—he ought to be lock'd up in ſome place for life.

Ha! ha! ha!—ſiſter—ſiſter—help me to laugh a little—ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha!—you don't ſeem to want any help—what's the matter wiſe-acre?

I'll tell you—you ſee that ſhip—old Fractioſo hired it to carry his daughter, and the reſt of his goods and chattels, to the Black Moun⯑tains, and intended to go with them himſelf—well, the lady and the things are on board, the wind fills the main-maſt, huzza! there goes a farewell [74] gun

but inſtead of the old gentleman, who the devil do you think has taken his place?

Why, the devil himſelf.

No, but a near relation of his— Hilario.

You villain—holloa! ſtop the ſhip —ſave my property, that's all I care for—holloa!

How has this happen'd, Sir?

Out of my way, Jezabel—I dare ſay you are as bad as the reſt.

How came you out of the way, when a man carried off your daughter?

Would he had carried you all off! ſo that he had taken nothing elſe.

O fye! that's not at all like my poor old grandmother.

Curſe your poor old grandmother—there they go —but I'll be after them—you knave, you minion of that raſcally Count

come with me—get into a ſhip, and if you overtake that veſſel, I'll ſave your life—if not, I'll erect a gallows, and hang you, and myſelf too—and you, you poaching dog, you ſhall make one of the bunch!

Noa—noa—thankee for the offer—an I do ſwing, I ſhould like to have the whole tree to myſelf.

Well Madam—it's lucky I contrived to get you out of the convent—my talent of liſt⯑ening, has been of ſervice to us all—tho' I little thought your father was rivalling me in my own art—he has overheard Bernardo's full confeſſion of the Count's guilt—and I ſhould hope the old gen⯑tleman is not quite out of his mind.

But what is become of poor Carlos? you ſaid, when you deliver'd him my ſiſter's letter—

Ah! the one her barbarous father forced her to write to him.

Forced indeed, Annette—'twas the only alternative he left her, to ſave herſelf from being again committed to the power of her tyrant huſband.

When Carlos read the cruel mandate, commanding him never to think of her more— oh! I ſhall never forget him—he pauſed—then read it again—then tore himſelf away, ſaying, he would ſeek refuge in ſome happier clime.

I truſt his friend Hilario, knows of his retreat.

Lady, if you have any pity for your father, you'll haſten to the Quay. He is at this moment engaging a veſſel to ſail, he knows not where; and is ſo outrageous, I believe none but yourſelf can quiet him.

I'll go to him directly—come, Annette.

Certainly—Ma'm—all theſe diſaſters are brought upon us, by that deteſtable Count, [76] your maſter

Huſbands indeed! I ſhould never think of ſuch wretches—and if ever, Montauban, you attempt to put your wife down into a cellar, let me adviſe you to beware of your own upper ſtory—come Madam.

True it is, I was a firm adherent to the Count ſo long as I thought him an honour⯑able patron—now juſtice to myſelf demands that I ſhould withdraw my ſervices from one ſo treacher⯑ous and unprincipled.

SCENE II.

Ah! Poor Gentleman! There he goes, as uſual, to mope and pine amongſt thoſe ruinated places by the ſea ſnore—well, if as how I hadn't been in the way, he wou'd have gone [77] near to have died for it—this duelling is a ſad thing amongſt gentlefolks, tho' it ſeems to gain ground now, amongſt people who are no gentlefolks—I think I hear ſomebody approaching—pray heaven it be none of the robbers who infeſt this part of our Calabrian coaſt—thof' they can get nothing from ſuch a poor fellow as me.

O lord! Where am I! I believe I'm ſafe at laſt—no, I'm not—here's another of e'm— forgive me my ſins! Ah, Sir! ſweet, beautiful Sir! pray don't rob and murder me; for as I live that favour has been done me already.

Has it indeed? Then I muſt ſay you bear it wonderfully—why, what does the fool take me for?

Take you for? A footpad to be ſure —no, I don't—I take you for a gentleman, an honourable gentleman; but a burnt child, you know—

What, have you too been hurt? There is a poor wounded Signor hard by, that I have been taking care of for ſome days paſt.

A wounded Signor! What is he called?

I think I ſaw on the back of a letter he is always reading, the name of Carlos.

Carlos! What Carlos! He that is in love with the Lady Julia—he that is the rival of the Count Montoni—he that is maſter to the ſweet⯑eſt and beſt looking ſervant that ever had an appe⯑tite—where is he? Let me ſee him—I am his faithful follower—and have come here on purpoſe to make him laugh and be merry.

Then you are come to very little purpoſe. He's wounded both in body and mind— I fear, in ſpite of my ſkill, he'll not be long above water.

Above water! Why, what's the mat⯑ter? What has happened?

All I know you ſhall hear—return⯑ing from fiſhing the other evening, I ſaw land, out of an open boat two men of decent appearance— more ſo than either you or I.

Speak for yourſelf if you pleaſe—but go on.

I overheard one ſay, "This retired place will ſuit." The other replied; "It will—and the event will prove who beſt deſerv'd her." Well, they walked into a wood—I followed, to ſee what it all meant—directly they drew their ſwords, and after a round or two, one unknown gentleman fell, and the other fled, leaving him for dead.

And the other was the Count, beyond all doubt—oh, the butcher! But where is my poor maſter? Shew me to him.

I am only going down to the ſhore to prepare my tackle ready for the next tide; and if you'll follow me, in a few minutes I'll direct you to where the poor gentleman paſſes moſt of his time. He is ſadly out of ſorts, that's the truth of it. But my ſkill, perhaps, may do ſomething.

I'll fated maſter! Wounded both in body and mind—however, I'll raiſe my own ſpirits, leſt I ſhou'd damp his—oh! this love! They manage thoſe matters much better in Eng⯑land, that's the country for people to marry in.

SCENE III.

"Here died Carlos, who lived but for Julia"—that is my epitaph—there the penſive moraliſt, or chance wanderer, may read the little ſtory of my fate. Thoſe who loved me, will ſhed a tear of recollection to my memory; thoſe who but profeſs'd it, may paſs the ſtone unmoved—oh Julia! could I have believed you would have uſed [81] me thus?

can it be her hand? It is, it is—alas, what can ſo deeply wound the heart, or ſo fatally unſtring each nerve of life, as coldneſs and ingratitude from the object on which all our hopes are centered.

There he is—bleſs me, how chang⯑ed! can that be my once gallant maſter. Sir! Signor! heaven be praiſed we are met once more, Sir.

We are, and perhaps for the laſt time, my faithful Valoury—your are come to lay your maſter's aſhes in the ſilent tomb—look there.

There—why what's that hole? ſurely it is not a grave?

Why not? what place ſo proper to terminate my woes? Time's beckoning hand, amid theſe mouldering ruins, ſeems to invite de⯑caying nature here to ſeek her laſt repoſe.

Mercy forbid!

Here is my death blow—fixed— determined—all will ſoon be over

ſee—'tis Julia's hand—'tis ſhe has ſealed my doom.

Dear Sir, don't mind what the ladies write—do let me lead you to the fiſherman's hut— think how much more comfortable even that will be, than to remain amongſt theſe broken bits of ſtone, ſo hard, that not even an oſtrich could di⯑geſt them.

Valoury, obſerve my final requeſt—I [82] thought e're this, to have met the triumph of my toils; but lingering ſtrength ſtill keeps me on the brink of fate—deſpair muſt ſpeed the blow

when you ſhall behold me disfigured, mo⯑tionleſs and pale; when that cold houſe ſhall take its tenant in, convey this ſtone to the ſpot—ſtrew ſome damp earth on your departed maſter, then fix the monument, and turn away.

Lord! your honour, don't talk ſo dolefully.

One thing beſide, ſhou'd chance con⯑duct the fair one to theſe lonely ruins, point out the undeckt ſtone, tell her, one tear will not de⯑grade her honour or incenſe—I can no more— my eyes grow dim— my ſtrength fails.

Alas! my dear maſter, I am like an April day, I wiſh to ſmile, but am forced to weep; my faithful ſervices were acceptable when you was happy. I hope they will be doubly uſefull now in your diſtreſs.

There, Sir—do you hear that? Do cheer up a little—who knows but that veſſel may bring you comfort.

What comfort can it bring to me? misfortune has clouded all my youthful proſpects, and flatt'ring hope beam'd forth one tranſient ray, only to fix a gloom more permanent.

Hear, your Honour, how joyous they are —no doubt they're friends.

Perhaps not, noiſe and uproar are of⯑ten the forerunners of vice and profligacy—let us [83] retreat however, and ſhelter ourſelves behind theſe ivy'd towers.

Away you rogues—away, you've ſteer⯑ed right, and I have rewarded you

So, our perſon is arrived, and all our moveables are ſafe—well, charming lady, isn't this better than the Black Mountains? they ſay Carlos is in this part of the coaſt—it would have been full as gallant, if he had come down to the ſtrand, to re⯑ceive our perſon on landing.

Alas! I know not why—my heart for⯑bodes ſome new misfortune: I ſhudder at the recol⯑lection of the unfeeling letter my father forced me to write to him—why did the country people tell us he was buried among theſe ruins?

Only a figurative expreſſion, as we, authors term it. He was always fond of poking in odd holes and corners; ſo, the bumkins call it, burying himſelf alive—Carlos! holloa, Carlos!

Gad, was ever lady in ſo whimſical a ſituation? Her lover hid amongſt piles of old rubbiſh, and her father lock'd up in a watch-box—Carlos! Car—hah! what the devil's here? an epitaph

"Here died Carlos who"—dead! why it is—O lord! Oh! ho! ho!

What's the matter, Sir? are you not well?

Well! y—e—s—very well—never better

"who died for Julia!"

Has any thing happened? have you hurt yourſelf?

I have indeed.

This ſtone's ſo curſed ſharp—Don't you go near it—It will cut you thro' and thro'.

You ſeem greatly agitated. What in⯑ſcription is that?

He's dead! he's dead!

Almighty powers! the meaſure of my woes is now compleat.

Have patience, deareſt lady!

E'en this I cou'd have borne, Hilario, had your friend's dying moments witneſſed my un⯑ſhaken conſtancy, and ever growing love—but to ſuppoſe me baſe, perfidious—with his laſt breath perhaps to curſe—Oh! 'tis too much, I can't ſup⯑port it.

Madam I have little comfort to be⯑ſtow—yet, let me ſay, that grief, when temper⯑ed with reaſon, honours alike the living and the dead.

Here will I paſs my drooping hours of life, and weary heaven with pray'rs for Carlos.

Riſe hapleſs lady— be adviſed.

Yes—let me riſe—ſuperior to my fate; let me aſſert the rights of nature—no brutal Lord, no tyrant father, ſhall reſtrain me more.—Yes, Carlos, I lov'd you living—I revere your me⯑mory—you early taught my heart to feel, and its laſt pulſe ſhall beat for you.

Then am I bleſt indeed—my cares are flown, and joy and rapture fill my heart anew.

He lives! he lives! down with the ſtone, and kick all inſcriptions to the devil.

My Carlos! my firſt, my only love— do I again behold you.

Generous, divine Julia!—and my friend Hilario there, how has this happen'd?

By making ſure of the old one.

What mean you?

Only that I have lock'd daddy gran⯑dee up in a watch-box.

At leiſure you ſhall know all.

My ever lov'd, ado⯑red Julia! you are the balm in every ill—the ſole diſpoſer of my future deſtiny.

Ay, ay, all this is very fine; but pray let's talk of deſtiny elſewhere—come let's adjourn to ſome more hoſpitable part of the coaſt to a warm room, and—

A good dinner—This cold place will ſtarve us; I'll follow, Sir—

Lay hold of them—down with them hah! hah! what have you to ſay now, my vali⯑ant centinel? Here's the little decrepid old gen⯑tleman come again—I perceive you're ſtill in in⯑different Company.

Zounds! what's to be done? O for another watch-box!

My dear Conſtantia! ſave—implore—

Silence in the Court! Let me get rid of what I have to ſay.

Honour'd parent of my adored Julia! if you did but know—

I tell you I know every thing; and I know what it is to be locked up in a cupboard. Firſt, I ſay I have got proofs—proofs about the ſtory of that infernal Caſtle—So, expect a reward for your conduct, you treacherous Quartetto

What do you deſerve hah? you, Mr. Juſtice on your ſide, will you have any more partridges? anſwer me— no, don't—for I wont be interrupted.

Alas! my heart right⯑ly foreboded ſome new calamity.

Be quiet—I ſay I have proofs— damn'd proofs—I have ſeen my ſweet ſon-in-law, that was—heard Bernardo confront him—I have taxed him myſelf, and by my famous croſs-exa⯑mining talents I have drawn out the whole truth. The Count is no more married to my daughter than he is to me—the ceremony was a baſe de⯑ception upon us all—he had got another wife be⯑fore.

Huzza! and I ſuppoſe he has as many caſtles, as wives to conceal them in.

Will nobody ſtop that fellow's mouth? I tell you I have delivered him over to the hands of juſtice, and Julia is her own miſtreſs again, and free to do every thing that ſhall command.

A very great indulgence indeed!

Yes, and therefore I command her on pain of a nunnery to give her hand—to Car⯑los; [87] he has ſaved her life, and now let him pre⯑ſerve it.

Don't ſay a word—I hate all ſpeechifying except my own.

Moſt people ſeem to be of your Ho⯑nour's opinion—there's a doxen talkers to one liſtener all over the world.

Don't inturrupt me—while I have breath to ſpeak, let me go on—and that I may get rid of both my daughters, my two plagues at once—come here you imp of miſchief—take Conſtantia with a very ſmall dowry—juſt to keep you cool and comfortable—arn't you a pretty fellow with your Rota, Scrota, and—

Yes, I believe I am—I always ſaid I ſhou'd be ſon-in-law to a grandee at laſt—My dear Conſtantia's ſilence gives me room to ſpeak.

Aye, and your dear Conſtantia's tongue will keep your's ſilent, if poſſible, when you're married—I never knew any of the ſex that fail'd—Annette, doesn't that put you in mind of your old grandmother too? Zounds! here are the natives coming down upon us —we'll let them partake of our joy.

Words are inadequate to ſpeak my feel⯑ings. Raiſed from the depth of woe, to the higheſt pinnacle of human happineſs, I ſcarce be⯑lieve the wonderful tranſition.—A ſhort time paſt, my heart was fettered, and every ſentiment of nature ſhrunk from action—now all the energies of life ſpring forth anew, and duty, love, and friendſhip, ruſh upon me—Oh! may each varied character be well ſuſtained, that in the partial boſoms of approving friends, my future conduct may invite affection, and ſecure eſteem.