SCENE I.

YES, terrible as the idea is, I believe I ſhall prefer a convent to your brother, my dear.

I believe you will not, my dear.—My brother has chiefly reſided in his native province, has been ſeveral times in Spain, and is lately come to Paris, the intrigues of which have been moſt tremen⯑douſly deſcribed to him—His head is whimſical, but his heart is good.

You have almoſt as much reaſon to fear his jealous caprices as I have.

More—The excellence of your principles, and propriety of your conduct when married will ſoon cure him of ſuſpicion; but I am in inſtantaneous danger; he inſiſts on my immediate marriage with that ridiculous Spaniſh doctor, Don Decrepito.

And you are in love with this Engliſhman, the generous Sidney.

Huſh! Not ſo much as a whiſper.

Why ſo? The Engliſhman is even a better match.

Who? What Engliſhman?—Who is a better match?

The—The—Pſhaw—What is the title of that—my Lor Anglois, my dear?

Lackland.—

True—my Lord Lackland would be a better match for Mademoiſelle—

My Lord, and Mademoiſelle—Subterfuge! Pretext.

My good brother—

Intrigues!—You are breathing the licen⯑tious air of Paris—the ſeat of falſehood, art and libertiniſm.

Do you know, ſir; I think you have taken very ſtrange fancies?

Blame the place, blame the people, Madam.

Why then did you come here?

To meet my friend, marry my ſiſter, and get married myſelf.

With my conſent, Sir.

That you had kindly granted, Madam.

You rely, perhaps, on the commands of my family; but thoſe would be ineffectual, I aſſure you, Sir, if I did not perſuade myſelf your pre⯑ſent humour would be of ſhort duration.

I was generous enough, Madam, to rely on yourſelf.

And why not rely on me too, brother?

I have my reaſons.—Every man in Paris is by profeſſion a lover.

Yes, it is really a charming place.

It ſhall be my care, however, that none of them ſhall enter this houſe.

It will be your care, I'm afraid, to make your⯑ſelf their jeſt. Virtue, Sir, is a better ſecurity than priſons.

I will have both ſecurities.

In the ſpace of four and twenty hours many ſtrange things happen in this great town.

To the credulous and unwary I grant, but not to the prudent and the wiſe.—I will there⯑fore inſtantly take every precaution. Antoine! Picard!

This good jealous brother of yours is really to be pitied.

Trick'd, thou meaneſt.

I wiſh it with all my heart.

We will cure him, I hope, girl.

Now, Picard; whither in ſuch haſte?

Muſt not tell, Madam.—

Yes, you may.—

Lord, Madam, you have ſuch winning ways—I am going for the Smith and Maſon—huſh!—

So, ſo!

Let me know when they come.

Muſt not, Madam.

Pho! I tell you once more you may.

Lord, Madam, you have ſuch convincing reaſons.

Why do you wiſh to know?

Becauſe I ſhould not wonder if my enamoured Engliſhman, and his crafty valet, La-fourbe, were themſelves to perſonate this Smith and Maſon; I will watch for them through the window.

Ay, indeed! How can they gain intelligence?

You ſee the mercenary temper of Pariſian ſervants, and know their unconquerable pro⯑penſity to tattle and intrigue.

Yes, and your brother knows it too.

Sidney has planted his emiſſaries, by whoſe aid he gains intelligence, not only from my maid Marinette, whenever ſhe can find op⯑portunity, but from this Picard, and his fellow⯑ſervant, Antoine, of every thing that paſſes.

That I may aid you more effectually, you muſt inſtruct me how I may become acquainted with your lover.

I will find ſome means of ſending him to you.

I think you had better not; I ſhall perhaps prefer him to this jealous brother of yours.

I do not fear you, girl—I flatter myſelf, he ſincerely loves me. Beſides, he is an Engliſh⯑man, and piques himſelf on his fidelity.

Then he has not been long at Paris. However rich in money, and ſincerity, your prodigal Engliſhmen may come to this city, they gene⯑rally return bankrupts in both.

Where does this fellow ſtay?

The Smith and Maſon are waiting at the ſtreet-door. May they come in, Sir?

Huſh! No, blockhead! Hav'n't I told you no man muſt enter the houſe under any pretence whatever?—Fetch my keys!—Stay—I will go myſelf.

Fine doings, Madam!—My maſter has placed Antoine at the door, with a double-loaded, double-barrell'd muſquet on his ſhoulder, to ſhoot any man that wants to come in—but huſh!

I very well perceive, Roſalie, you think my conduct ſtrange.

Lord, brother, how is that poſſible? I am delighted with your bolts, bars, bullets, centi⯑nels, ſpring-guns, and man-traps.

I wiſh you were delighted with your future huſband.

What, my dear Doctor Decrepito!—Oh! the charming Adonis—His nine hairs on each ſide his bald pate, ſo bepowdered; his ſallow face, griſly beard, and briſtly eyebrows, are all ſo bewitching! So gallant too in his dreſs! Diſ⯑daining flannels, and ſhivering in ſummer ſilks.—Such eaſy elegance of carriage, his gait ſo up⯑right, [13] his manners ſo poliſhed, and his language ſo eloquent. Oh! the delightful creature!

Suffer me to tell you, ſiſter—

Oh yes—a prodigy of wiſdom, as is evident in his determination to take unto himſelf a wife, and in ſelecting me, happy woman, to be the partner of his joys.

Look ye, Roſalie; I ſhall not waſte time in reaſoning; I have given my promiſe, and am determined.

No, brother, I am determined, and will loſe no time either.

SCENE II.

I muſt be gone; my brother is coming; but take that direction to my friend Lauretta, and conſult what is beſt to be done.

One moment, my angel!

Who are you, friend?—What do you want there?

Want, ſir?—I, ſir—I—I—I am the ſmith, ſir.

And I the maſon, at your ſervice, ſir.

Oh!—But why were your eyes fixed on that window?

Why, ſir?

Ay—Why?

Lord, ſir, my maſter—that is, my neighbour, here, knows there are a great many cheats, im⯑poſtors, and houſe-breakers, in this town—ſome ſteal your goods, ſome your money, ſome your wives, ſome your daughters.

Very true, friend; 'tis a damn'd wicked town, and my ſtay in it ſhall be ſhort.

What then, ſir, you are a ſtranger? Ah! 'tis a wicked town indeed; if you did but know all its tricks.

Yes, ſir, I was meditating within myſelf whether it might not be poſſible for one of theſe tricking fellows to get in at that window.

To prevent which, friend, I have ſent for you.

You did right, ſir—My maſter's your man.

Your maſter!

Yes, ſir, yes; I call him my maſter, 'tis a way I've got—he's ſuch a maſter of his buſi⯑neſs.—He's as honeſt a fellow as any in Paris.

Have you any ready made iron bars?

No.

None?

No.

Have you any ſtrong wire-net work?

No.

What, ſir, you have ſome bird, I ſuppoſe, which you are afraid ſhould fly away?

Why look you, my honeſt friends, I'll be ſincere with you:

I have an un⯑married ſiſter.

Have you, ſir? I warrant then that is her window?

It is, and I have ſent for you to faſten it up; and for you

to wall up the garden gate.

Sir, I'm your very humble ſervant; but I have not the leaſt inclination to be hang'd in your ſervice.

Hang'd!

'Tis a ſign you are a ſtranger, ſir—Why, ſir, it was but laſt week there was a placard poſted on every wall, by which it is death to nail up windows, or wall up doors, for the purpoſe of impriſoning wives, ſiſters, or daughters.

Surely, friend!—

'Tis very true, ſir.

I never ſaw any ſuch placard.

That may be, ſir.—But hark ye—this way—by the ſame edict, if we do not inform againſt you, for making this propoſal, we may both be ſent to the Gallies.

Zounds! I never heard of ſo ſtrange an edict!

Ah, ſir! ſtrange indeed! But you are a ſtranger in Paris.—You ſee that fellow?

Well, what of him?

I know him; I ſpeak him fair, becauſe he's a ſorry knave.

Aye, indeed! You ſpeak him fair, becauſe he's a ſorry knave?

Oh! yes! I don't mind affronting an honeſt fellow, but I always ſpeak fair to a knave—Take my advice; give him a louis, or two, huſh money.

Why—but—

Juſtice is very ſecret—and very ſudden here—Tried and executed before you can well ſay your prayers.

The fellow may be a ſorry lying knave him⯑ſelf; however, it is better to make ſure—Well, well, friend, I don't mind a louis.

Here.

Sir!

Huſh money. Nay, don't pretend to be baſhful, neighbour; take it, take it.

Raſcal!

Don't you think a louis-d'or enough, friend?

Oh yes; quite enough.

Well, you'll be honeſt.

I'm in no danger, am I?

None in the world, ſir.

None in the world, ſir, from my neighbour, here—but—

But what?

Why, ſir, as two of us were privy to the fact—

Well—What then, friend?

Tho' I have a very good opinion of myſelf—I dare not be anſwerable for too much. Man is frail; I might forget how generous you had been to my neighbour, here—not having any thing to remember you by myſelf.

I think, friend, you told me there were plenty of cheats, and rogues, in this town.

I did, ſir: they are very plentiful: beware of them—take every precaution.

And give you a louis likewiſe?

If you pleaſe, ſir.

At this rate I ſhall have cauſe to remember Paris.

Oh! that you will, ſir.

Well, ſir, now be honeſt, if you can.

Never fear; the family of the La-fourbes is famous for its honeſty.

How dare you, ſirrah—

Don't be in a paſſion, ſir.

Are not you afraid of broken bones?

Not in the leaſt, ſir—You Engliſhmen threat⯑en, but take care not to beat your ſervants.

And how ſo, ſirrah?

Becauſe, in your ſulky land of liberty, if you beat them, they are apt to run reſtive, face about, and beat you; though egad they are begin⯑ning to do that here, in Paris.

But we turn impertinent fellows away, ſir.

Of that, ſir, I am in no fear.

Why not?

Oh Lord, ſir, you want my aſſiſtance.

If you are ſo very eager after money, you might have truſted me.

A bird in the hand—

Do you doubt my generoſity?

Oh dear, no, ſir, I am happy in giving you every opportunity to ſhew it.

Come, come, ſir, to buſineſs. Have you procured the pedlar's parcel for me, and the Scotch diſguiſe?

La Ruſe is waiting with it, at yonder cabaret, ſir.

You muſt be very loud, you, and your dozen Savoyards, and threaten me with deſtruction, death, and murder.

Never fear, ſir—We underſtand threatening.

Away! Here comes the brother again.

What! have theſe fellows been lurking here all this while?

Yes, ſir; they are about no good.

How ſo? What did they ſay?

I cannot tell, ſir. You know I am not to ſtir from my poſt—but I heard them talk of blood, and gunpowder, death and deſtruction; and 'tis my belief they are going to come to blow up the houſe, and murder I.

Cowardly booby!

Nay, I am certain I heard them talk of either a hundred, or a hundred thouſand, Savoyards?

Keep your poſt, poltroon, and let no man enter at your peril.

Lord, ſir, though I have a double barrel gun; what can poor I do againſt a hundred thouſand Savoyards?

Mind my orders, or beware—I believe they were two lying, deſigning villains; but this city ſwarms with ſuch—I muſt look to my ſiſter. If any of them get her from this houſe, till ſhe [23] is the wife of my friend, the doctor, they ſhall be crafty indeed.

Well, brother, are all your locks and bars in readineſs?

What locks? what bars, ſiſter?

Ha! ha! ha! Do you think you can make yourſelf the jeſt of every ſervant in the houſe, and keep it a ſecret?

Well, let it ſerve at leaſt to convince you of my affection, Roſalie, ſince I ſubmit to be the jeſt of my very ſervants to ſecure your hap⯑pineſs.

My good brother, I love you dearly for your kindneſs; but really now you are the very worſt judge in the whole world of the ſort of man I ſhould like for a huſband.

But not of him you ought to like—

Hey dey!—

Mercy!

Oh Lord, ſir! here they are!—Here they are!

Who are?—What are?

The Savoyards! The hundred thouſand! Every man of them! With murder, fire, ſword, and ſlaughter!

Have they broken into the houſe?

O yes.—They burſt upon me; raviſh'd my gun; and fired at me through the key-hole, and I do believe I'm a dead man.

Idiot!

I feel the bullets in my back.

How now, ſir! who are you?

Let me tack breeth—Let me tack breeth, gude ſir, and ize tal ye.

O poor man, he's murder'd too! I ſaw them fall on him, back, belly, head, and ribs, with⯑out mercy!

Yas—it was the gude Providence protacted me!

Who are you, ſir?

A poor Scots mairchant, by the rabble caw'd a paidlar. I was peacably exhebiting my com⯑modetees, and the ragamuffins, whi hai tak'n it intul their waiſe heeds that the Aingliſh manu⯑factories and commaircial treaty ha' ruin'd the French trade, fal upon me, an had I not provi⯑dantially flitcht intul yeer hooſe, ſir, I had been as deed by this as John Knox, or Julius Caeſar.

Poor man! And what have you got to ſell?

I hai a few muſlins, calicoes, Mancheſters, and ſum of the varra baſt London hoſe. An ye want to buy, young lady, or ye, ſir, Ize ſall ye a painny worth for your painny, in gratitude for the protaction your hoſpitable hooſe has af⯑forded me.

Well, good man, I'm glad you are in ſafety!—And ſo that was the cauſe of the riot with⯑out?

By my gude troth, ſir, was it—Here, ſir, are ſome ſaifron colour'd hoſe; yee ſhall hai' them a bargain.

Saffron colour'd! Very apropos for a wed⯑ding.

Oh varra! varra!

How much a pair?

Ize ſal them ye at ten livres. An ye wul ha the gudeneſs, maidam, to examine my bill of laiding, ye wul find they coſt every bawbee of the money.

I think they are cheap.

Yas, yeer craidulous Angliſh hai glutted the market—it is but aſk and ha; and if foreign nations will but be ſo gude as to ackſapt their commodities, they wul gie cradit to the four quarters of the globe.

Ten livres!—Let me examine your bill.

Nay, ſir, ye need nae do that.

No, no; its ſuch a ſcrawl, nobody can make any thing of it.

Pooh! let me ſee it.

An odd ſcrawl, indeed.

I am diſcover'd—An anſwer, for the love of mercy—La-fourbe will be here within a quarter of an hour, diſguis'd as a man-milliner.—

Enough! Enough!—

‘Seven dozen of the beſt china at eight and four-pence.’ ‘How, madam, ſhall I expreſs’—Hey day! What is the meaning of this? ‘How, madam, ſhall I ex⯑preſs the impatience—five dozen of patent ſilk, at eleven and nine-pence—Expreſs the im⯑patience, the ardour of £. 35 5 1’—Expreſs! Oh ho! I perceive—

—‘How, madam, ſhall I expreſs the impatience, the ar⯑dour of my paſſion! How paint the fears, the torments, I ſuffer!—There is no expedient, no enterpriſe, I will not undertake, to deliver you from a fooliſh rival, and a tyrannical brother.’—

Where are they? Hey? Zounds!—Picard! Antoine! Marinette! She's gone! I've loſt her! 'Tis all over!—Picard! Marinette!

Lord, ſir, are you mad? What's the matter?

Where is your miſtreſs? Where is my ſiſter?

In her own room, ſir. Where ſhould ſhe be?

Are you ſure ſhe is there?

Nay, if you won't believe me—

I may go and ſee myſelf—and ſo I will.

What is the matter, brother?

Thank Heaven, ſhe is ſafe!

Did you want me?

Yes.

For what?

To inform you that, for reaſons which you can very eaſily imagine, I am determined this marriage ſhall be concluded with all haſte—Perhaps to-night.

The man-milliner is below, madam.

Man-milliner! No man-milliner ſhall enter theſe doors.

Then I can't be married to-night.

Well, bid him come up—I'll watch him. This is another of the libertine cuſtoms of this abominable place! Men-milliners to wait on women, and women-milliners for men. But he ſhall be cunning if he gives any more bills of lading for the young lady to read.

Him! I wait your commands, maim! from Madame du Chiffonier. Him!

Have you brought my cap?

Him! Yes, maim! Him!—One of the very neweſt faſhions, à l'eſpiègle, maim—Him!

Let me try it.

Yes, maim—Him!

Madame du Chiffonier, ſir, is the very firſt milliner in the whole world.—Him!—She ſends a dreſs-doll to London once a week, and another to Ruſſia by every courier—Him!

That is—ſhe is milliner to fools, fribbles, and bears.

This cap does not quite pleaſe me; take it back to your miſtreſs; tell her the crown is not large enough. You underſtand me? The crown—

Oh, yes, maim!—Him!—

Hark ye, ſir.

Sir!—Him!

Come back, ſir.—I am certain you have neither given nor received letter, billet, nor bill of lading; for I have had my eye upon your hands all the while.

Him!—Very true, ſir.—So, if you pleaſe, I will go about my buſineſs—Him!

Not ſo faſt—I muſt firſt examine your band⯑box.

My bandbox!

You are very curious, brother!

Yes, I have a curious ſiſter.

No⯑thing there.

Nothing in the world, ſir.—Him!

Is there no falſe bottom?—

No—but now for the cap.

Ha! by the furies! Yes!—Here!—Here it is!—I feel it!

Oh my cape!

Damn your cap!—Picard!—Sciſſars!

Oh my cape!

Sciſſars! Sciſſars!

I am ruin'd! Oh my cape!

Aye, aye! Miſerable man! Deceitful wo⯑man! Damn'd city—Now for the contents.—

"Put it to the fire."—Why, what is the meaning of this?

Oh my cape!

"Put it to the fire!"

The meaning, brother, is, that you are a very ſtrange man, and, I am afraid, not in your proper ſenſes.

What is this paper?

That paper, ſir, is nothing more than a ſupport to the crown of the cap.

Yes, ſir, that's all. Oh my cape! I'm ruin'd! My character is gone!

I am afraid I have been too haſty.

Your jealouſy, brother, will become pro⯑verbial; and I can aſſure you, if my friend Lauretta comes to the knowledge of theſe ſtrange proceedings, you will have loſt your miſtreſs, as well as have made your ſiſter wretched.

But the bill of lading.

And what of the bill of lading?

Was it not a love-letter?

How can I tell, ſir? Did not I return it to you, becauſe it was ſuch a ſcrawl I could not read it?

Was it not addreſſed to you?

If it even were, am I to be accountable for all the love-letters people ſhall pleaſe to write?

But the fellow in diſguiſe?

Sir, I am as unable to prevent the arts as the jealouſy of men.

I doubt I have been too ſuſpicious. It may be as ſhe ſays. I juſt now thought too ſhe had eloped—but I was miſtaken.

Ohmy cape!

Take your cap, friend.

'Tis ſpoil'd—and I'm undone!

Pſhaw! Charge it in my ſiſter's bill.

I would rather have riddy money, if you pleaſe, ſir—Him!

Well,—how much?

Two louis d'ors, ſir—Him!

Two louis d'ors!

Paris, ſir, had not ſo faiſhionable a cape—the neweſt mode; à l'eſpiègle—Him!

There—there.

Make up another, and bring it.

Yes, maim—Him!

Obſerve the directions I have given you; perhaps my kind brother will not call for the ſciſſars to cut the next to pieces.

Yes, maim!—Oh my cape!—Him!

SCENE I.

"PUT it to the fire!"—This is the ſtrangeſt enigma.

Very odd indeed, ſir: the young lady made ſigns as if drying her handkerchief.

Ha! I ſuſpect!

I have diſcover'd the riddle, and Roſalie is a girl of wit.

A miracle both of wit and beauty—ſhe has written in lemon juice!—Has ſhe not?

Yes, ſhe has.

And what does ſhe ſay?

You'll be vain if I read.

Nay, pardon my impatience!

Well, well.

‘Sir, I will be frank enough to own I prefer a liberal minded Engliſh⯑man to a ſilly covetous Spaniard—’

Kind, charming Roſalie!

‘My friend, Lauretta, has an Iriſh relation, for whoſe brother you might paſs—’

The luckieſt thought in the world!

‘But you muſt again condeſcend to aſſume ſome diſguiſe. If ever I am yours, I will en⯑deavour, by the ſincerity of my affection, to reward the zeal and love you teſtify. Roſalie.’

Divine creature!

She is indeed a delightful girl, and you muſt not loſe her.

Firſt loſe my life!

Can you ſpeak the brogue?

Tolerably.

The brother of this Iriſh gentleman, whom our jealous guardian has never ſeen, is in the Spaniſh ſervice. But come, follow me, I will inſtruct you in particulars while you are pre⯑paring the diſguiſe.

I am all impatience, and muſt not waſte a moment.—Here, ſir

. Go with your band-box again, and convey this picture to Roſalie.

That is no ſuch eaſy matter, ſir.

I know, ſirrah, you love to enhance difficul⯑ties; but ſucceed and I'll give you five louis.

Then ſir, never fear!—Oh! if every hand⯑ſome woman in Paris had but a jealous brother, what happy times wou'd it be for us men of genius!

SCENE II.

Is the doctor return'd?

No, ſir.

Has any body been to the notary?

Yes, ſir.

Has the door been well guarded?

Antoine has never had his hand off the latch, ſir.—He wants to know if the man milliner may come in again.

Yes, yes.

Our good brother's ſuſpicions ſeem a little lull'd, for the preſent.

Sir, your very humble—Maim, your moſt obedient—Him!

Have you brought me another cap?

Yes, maim.—

Yes, this—this I believe will do.

Madame du Chiffonier, ſir, is a prodigy of genius, and has perdigious invention in the fine airts—Him!

Ha! he certainly ſaw me; I have but this reſource.

What have you brought me here, ſir?

Maim!

How dare you, ſir, have the inſolence to con⯑vey the picture of a man to me clandeſtinely?

Maim!

How!

Look here, ſir, the picture of ſome young gentleman, which this man has convey'd, along with the cap.

And of a deviliſh handſome fellow too!—It is the portrait of the Engliſhman whom I have met in all public places, wherever I went, ſince I came to Paris.

Yes, I think I remark'd ſome ſuch perſon. As you ſay, brother, he's a very agreeable man.

How dare you, Mr. Man-milliner!

Sir, as I hope for ſailvation!—Sir!—Maim!

Oh! you may be ſure, ſir, he'll deny having brought it.

To be ſure I do.

I told you ſo, ſir.

Here, ſir; take this to the perſon who ſent it, and tell him I am glad of an opportunity of ſhewing him what my real thoughts are, by thus returning this picture.

Oh my five louis!—Lord, maim!

Silence, ſir.—Siſter, you have won my heart! Promiſe me you will conſent to be married when every thing is prepared, and I will call Antoine from the door, rely on your word, and aſk your pardon for what is paſt.

That, brother, I very freely promiſe.

Antoine! Picard!

Leave the door. Let free egreſs and regreſs be given, and every body be admitted who has any buſineſs with my ſiſter.

Oh! yes, ſir—Rare news—

Well, really, madam, this is a moſt excellent contrivance, and the five louis are my own!

What do you mean, ſir?

Nay, madam, he's out of hearing, I aſſure you.

Pray be gone, friend, and do as I deſired you.

Nay, this is carrying the jeſt too far, madam.

You will find it no jeſt, ſir, if I call the ſer⯑vants.

Upon my ſoul, this is—I—I—don't know what!—Will you not receive the picture, ma⯑dam?

No, ſir; and I once again deſire you to take it, and deliver the meſſage exactly as you re⯑ceiv'd it—and moreover deſire your maſter, [42] when he ſends again, to ſend by a more intelli⯑gent meſſenger.

Lord, madam, more intelligent! More intel⯑ligent!—Oh, I—Look ye, madam, take the picture, and we'll ſhare the profits.

If you are not gone inſtantly, ſir—

Well, this is another riddle, which I once again want the wit to explain—Oh my five louis!

Poor La-fourbe—Now let me examine my prize. How excellent the painting! Yet how inferior to the original!

Why did I forget to en⯑quire whether my Sidney meant to come in diſguiſe? How ſtupid! I am afraid this La-fourbe is gone.

SCENE III.

Every thing is prepared, and I am now im⯑patient for the return of La-fourbe. I hope the lovely Roſalie received my picture kindly.

Oh, never fear—Here comes your meſ⯑ſenger.

Now, La-fourbe!

Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!

What's the matter? Is your father dead?

No—o, madam!

Your brother, perhaps?

No—madam!—

Have you loſt my portrait, raſcal?

No—o—, ſir.

Did you go where I bid you?

Yes, ſir—

Did you gain admittance?

Yes, ſir.

Did you ſee Roſalie?

Yes, ſir.

Did you give her my picture?

Yes, ſir.

Did ſhe ſeem pleaſed?

Yes, ſir.

And what did ſhe ſay?

Threa—a—a—eatened to have me toſſ—toſſed out of the window, ſir.

That's very unlike Roſalie.

I'm ſure I ſaid all the good I could think of concerning you, ſir. I aſſured her you was the moſt generous man on earth; that you never ſcolded your ſervants; paid them their wages before they were due; never enquired where they went, when they return'd, what they ſaid, or what they did; and that you was the beſt maſter in the world—I told above a hundred lies in your ſervice!

Did ſhe accept my picture?

Yes, ſir.

Well.

And then—ſhew'd it to her brother!

How!

True, ſir, as I'm an honeſt man!—Flew into a rage; returned it with contempt; and threat⯑ened me with a horſepond for having had the inſolence to bring it!

Impoſſible!

"Take it, ſaid ſhe, to the perſon who ſent it, and tell him, I am glad of an opportunity of ſhewing him what my real thoughts are, by thus returning this picture."

I pleaded with the tongues of five lawyers—Nay generouſly offer'd to ſhare the profits!

Scoundrel!

But here, ſir—

.—This lady is my witneſs, I return it ſafe into your own hands.

How dare you give me back the picture that had the misfortune to diſpleaſe the woman I ſo ardently adore?

Well ſaid, Roſalie! Come, come; don't be inconſolable. Look!

What do I ſee! The very beauteous image of herſelf!

Yes, ſhe has received your picture, and re⯑turned her own.

Oh! the confounded, cunning—!

Silence, blockhead!

Well, but, ſir, they are mine.

What?—

The five louis!

Ay, ay, and as many more for this lovely en⯑chanting gift!

As many more!—I'm a made man!—A more intelligent meſſenger? Yes, I'm obliged to confeſs, even I am a fool to her!

Come, come, you muſt forget your rap⯑tures.

Oh! never!—La-fourbe—Come and help me to dreſs, ſirrah.

SCENE IV.

I tell you, ma'am, you left the picture on your table, that your brother has found it, and that he is running up and down the houſe like a madman.

How could I be ſo careleſs?

You had beſt keep out of his way.

No, my brother has no cruelty in his nature.

Leave your lover's picture upon your dreſſing table!—A girl of thirteen would not have been ſo thoughtleſs.

Roſalie!

He's coming!

Take no notice, but obſerve the hints I ſhall give you.

Roſalie!—

Here I am, brother.—I tell you, your crying and pleading are all in vain.

You ſhall not ſtay a day longer in my ſervice!—Let me inſtantly know what your wages are.

What is this?

Why don't you do as I bid you?

Pr-a-a—pray, ma'am, forgive me!

What is the girl to be turn'd away for?

Nay, ſurely, brother, that is no concern of yours.

I inſiſt upon knowing. I ſuppoſe ſhe is too honeſt for your ſervice!

Ye—s, ſir—

I wiſh I could ſuppoſe ſo too, brother—but hear and judge. Juſt after you left me, I ſent this girl (to whom I have been but too good) for ſome gold fringe for my new riding habit; and preſently back again ſhe comes (for once making haſte of an errand), bringing me the very picture that was convey'd to me before in your preſence.

How! How!

This you may very well think excited my [49] anger. I reproved her very ſharply. She was impertinent, and I left the room, ordering her to go inſtantly and return the picture to the perſon from whom ſhe had it, and now, on en⯑quiring, ſhe has the inſolence to affirm that it is loſt, that ſhe left it on this table, went out for a moment, and when ſhe came back could not find it.

Gold fringe for a riding habit?

Yes, ſir, gold fringe—

Left it on the table?

Yes, brother;

thereabout.

Aye!—Thereabout!—How do you know where ſhe left it?

How!—Why—ſhe, ſhe told me, to be ſure.

Yes, ſir, I deſcrib'd the very ſpot.

Well, but you are convinc'd ſhe did not leave it thereabout, for you are going to turn her away.

True—yes—I am convinc'd ſhe did not.

And are you not alſo convinc'd—you left it thereabout yourſelf?

Brother!

Aye, and ſiſter!

Make yourſelf eaſy, Marinette; I ſhall not turn you away.

Ha!

Thank you, ma'am! Thank you kindly, ma'am.

I very well perceive you are not to blame.

No indeed, ma'am, I am not to blame.

My brother has the picture himſelf.

How do you know that?

Oh, ſir, your jealous manner of queſtion⯑ing betrays you.

Now could not the Devil himſelf unravel this myſtery.

But pray, how did you come by this picture?

I—I—

Hold! I'll queſtion you ſeparately.

She found it.

My very ready ſiſter, be kind enough to walk into the next room for a few moments.

Oh! with all my heart, ſir.—

Well, now—

Yes, ſir, I found it.

Aye, aye, you found it—But the circum⯑ſtances?—Where did you find it?—How?—

Sir, I found it—I found it in the—in the ſtreet, ſir.

In the ſtreet, ſir!

Yes, ſir, in the ſtreet, ſir—I ſaw it in a hol⯑low place, ſir.

In a hollow place, ſir!

Yes, ſir, in a hollow place, ſir—a kind of chink, ſir.—

Humph! Whereabout? What hollow place? What chink?

In the Rue St. Honoré, ſir—juſt oppoſite a milliner's ſhop, ſir.

And this you affirm to be truth?

Yes, indeed; indeed, ſir.

And you will ſay the ſame if your miſtreſs ſhould be in a different ſtory?

Sir, I—Yes, ſir.

Well, now go you out at that door.

And, ſiſter, if you pleaſe—

O yes, brother, whatever you pleaſe.

Well, this box was found?

Yes.

And now pray be kind enough to tell me, circumſtantially, how, and where, it was found.

Yes—I will, brother—when I know.

Siſter!

And brother,

I begin to be weary of your ſuſpicions—The girl told me ſhe found it, [53] and I being leſs inquiſitive did not queſtion her circumſtantially—But even if I had invented the ſtory, can you ſuppoſe me ſimple enough to betray myſelf in ſo palpable a manner?—If you either love your ſiſter, your honour, or your peace of mind, be more generous, and leſs jealous.

The gentleman is waiting for an anſwer, ſir.

‘Captain O'Dogherty, of the Walloons, preſents his reſpects to Mr. Du⯑cheſne, and would be glad of the honour of paying his’—Captain O Dogherty! The brother of my beſt, my deareſt friend! Shew him up, inſtantly.

Stop! What am I doing?—How do I know that this is the brother of my noble friend?—It may be a trick.—I'll order him out of the houſe—Yet, what raſhneſs!—Should it really be his brother!—With how many cares am I diſtracted!—I begin to fear I have vainly undertaken an im⯑poſſible taſk, that of encountering the wit of woman, and all the arts of this infernal town!—Shew me to the gentleman.—

Your lover and his man, madam, are both below, in diſguiſe. I have told them the whole ſtory of the picture, and you have no⯑thing to fear.—They are prepared.

I'll reward your ingenuity.

There, you ſpalpeens! Drink that to the honour of the Grand Monarque; and that to the honour of his maſter.—Why! what do you ſtare at? I ſay his maſter.—

Where is Captain O'Dogherty?

Oh! and that am I, and very ſinſarely glad to ſee you, tho'—tho' I never ſaw you be⯑fore.

There is no man on earth I more ſinſarely reſpict than ſir Patrick O'Dogherty.

Sure I know that, agrah!—Here, ſir.—Here; he ſinds this by me.

You have made a miſtake, ſir, I believe, and given me a wrong letter.

Indeed, my good frind, and I have not.

This is not the hand of ſir Patrick.

No, faith—I wiſh it was.

Sir?

Raid, ſir, raid.

"Dear ſir"—Dear ſir! Sir Patrick always begins his letters to me with—Dear friend.

But why will you not raid?

"I am in a high fever"—A fever!

Yes, a favour.

"It is uncertain whether we ever ſhall meet again in this world".

Is he indeed ſo dangerouſly ill?

Faith, I expict by the very nixt poſt to find myſelf his unfortunate heir.

‘My brother will deliver this, to whom I intreat you will transfer the friend⯑ſhip you have ſo generouſly entertained for me, and that you will aid him in accompliſh⯑ing [56] the buſineſs which he himſelf will explain. Yours eternally, PATRICK O'DOGHERTY.’

Yours eternally!—That's not his phraſe!

Phraſe! Why ſure would you have a man when he is delirious pick and cull his phraſes as they do carnations?

Delirious!—Poor Sir Patrick.—But how delirious? How could a delirious man dictate ſo connected a letter?

Drill!

Your honour!

Have you brought in my portmanteau, and all the reſt of my luggage?

Yes, your honour.

Then, do you hear, take it all out again.

Sir!

Your moſt obadient.

Sir, I beg!—I entreat!—Upon my ſoul! Upon my honour, ſir, there is no man on earth I ſhould more reſpect than—than the brother of Sir Patrick O'Dogherty!

Aye, indeed, Mr. Du-cheſne—then upon my ſoul, and my honour too, you have an odd way enough of ſhewing that riſpict.

Muſt I remove the baggage, ſir?

By no means, ſir; I aſk your pardon; believe me, I wou'd lay down my life to ſerve the brother of my friend.

Wou'd you, Mr. Du-cheſne?—Why then you are a ginerous fillow, and ſo give me your hand.—Oh! and if ever you return to old Ire⯑land, and I ſhou'd happen to be Sir Patrick O' Dogherty, by my ſoul, ſir, I'll make you ſo drunk for a month, that you ſhan't be able to ſit, ſtand, or lie for a fortnight.

I thank you, ſir.

And I'll take care of your ſervant the ſame way, ſir.

I am equally oblig'd to you—I am no ſtran⯑ger, ſir, to Iriſh hoſpitality. And while you remain at Paris, command me, my houſe, my ſervants, all that I have.

Why that now is like the frind of my brother, Sir Patrick. Apropos of Ireland—Pray do you know an Engliſhman, of the name of Sidney?

Sidney! Sidney!

Aye, Sidney.

Is he a handſome man?

Why faith I have been told ſo—But I will ſhew you his picture, and then you will ſee

. Drill!

Your honour!

You ſcoundrell—I'll—

Gently, gently, ſir, there may be ſome miſ⯑take!—Have you loſt any thing?

I went into a ſhop as I paſs'd through the Rue St. Honoré, and I recollect I laid it on the coun⯑ter, and this brat of Bellona, though he knows what a waike mimory I have—

Be not too raſh, ſir. What have you loſt?

Is it the picture, ſir?

'Sblood, raſcal!—

I am ſure, ſir, you did not leave it in the ſhop—but as you came away, I ſaw you pull out your handkerchief, and perhaps you loſt it then, for a young woman coming by ſtoop'd and pick'd up ſomething.

Is this it, ſir?

Why how, Mr. Du-cheſne, how the divil did you obtain poſſiſſion of this picture?

By an odd train of accidents ſure enough.—'Tis very true, I am too ſuſpicious! Tyrannize over my ſiſter!—terrify my ſervants! and in⯑ſult the brother of my friend!

Captain O'Dogherty, I am aſhamed you ſhou'd remain ſo long without refreſhment—pray walk this way.

Which way you will, my good frind. You are commander in chief.

Three livres! I am ſure it is too much.

And I tell you again 'tis a foreign letter.

Where is your miſtreſs? Shew me to her im⯑mediately.

No, ma'am, I can't do that, till I have taken this letter to my maſter.

Letter!

Yes.

Is there an Iriſh gentleman here?

Oh yes, he's within.

Well, give me that letter, and I'll take it to your maſter.

No, thank you for that; I have no mind to loſe my place, and get my bones broke into the bar⯑gain; and ſince you want to get it, I'll take it to my maſter directly.

He has made his ſervants as ſuſpicious as him⯑ſelf.

Well, my dear.

Undone! Undone!

What's the matter?

I have juſt receiv'd a letter from Sir Patrick O'Dogherty, informing me that he is coming to Paris, and that he has written by the ſame poſt to your brother; your brother's letter is this mo⯑ment come, and Picard has taken it to him.

What ſhall we do?

Where is Sidney?

Within, with my brother.

How ſhall we let him know this diſaſter?

Have you the letter you receiv'd?

Yes.

Quick, then; this letter, I ſee, is a double one; take away the cover, and it may have been writ⯑ten to any body elſe—convey it to Sidney—if we can accompliſh that.

I underſtand!—Sidney may paſs it off as written to himſelf, from his brother, Sir Patrick O'Dogherty, and we ſhall then I think be in little danger.

Picard!—Antoine!—An impoſtor!—A ſcoundrel!—My friend, Sir Patrick, is in good health; and, as he informs me, here, in⯑tends to be in Paris within a fortnight—

Antoine!

Sir!

Run to the Corps du Garde for a ſerjeant and twelve men.

Yes, ſir.—

The picture too!—The bill of lading!—The Scotchman!—The man milliner!—Every thing!—My ſuſpicions have all been true!—Oh this intolerable town!—Oh this vile world!

Why, now, do you run away from us, my dear frind?

Call'd out, on particular buſineſs—But, do you know, my very good friend, Captain O'Dogherty, that I think you—Hem!

O yes, Mr. Du-cheſne, and I alſo think you—Hem!

So your brother, Sir Patrick, was in a high fever?

Faith and he was, when I ſaw him laſt.

Well, that now is very ſurpriſing—conſider⯑ing that I can ſhew you—a letter in his own hand-writing

, in which he informs me he is in very good health.

And you think that ſurpriſing!—Now I can ſhew you another litter in his own hand-writing, in which he informs me of the viry ſame

It is his hand! Is this real, or am I under the power of witchcraft to-day?

Arrah, now, what is the matter wid you, Mr. Du-cheſne?

Well!

Huſh! All's ſafe.

I'll never harbour ſuſpicion more! No, by heaven, never! For even if my ſuſpicions be true, I ſhould in vain oppoſe ſo many machina⯑tions; and, if falſe, I expoſe myſelf to the moſt dangerous conſequences.

That, ſir, was very excellently ſaid.

I know not, ſir, whether you are, or are not, the brother of my friend, Sir Patrick O'Dogh⯑erty; but I am determined to believe you ſuch, ſince you ſay you are—Siſter, you are your own miſtreſs.

Now, dear brother, that is ſpoken like your⯑ſelf—But, are you ſure, brother, that your fe⯑veriſh fits are all paſt?

Oh yes!—I'm perfectly cur'd!—Marry whom you will, when you will, or not at all—Pleaſe yourſelf and you pleaſe me.

Marry whom I pleaſe!

Whom you pleaſe.

Seriouſly!

Poſitively—I'll never more torment either myſelf or you.

Why then, Mr. Captain, otherwiſe Mr. Sid⯑ney, I think you may venture to appear in—

in propria perſona.

What, then!—

Nay, I hope there's no danger of a relapſe.

No, no—But pray, ſir, who are you?

A man of family and fortune.

And a moſt ſincere admirer of your ſiſter, ſir.

Well, I take it for granted you are ſo—and, to ſay the truth, I begin to admire you, myſelf; for you have impoſed upon me, tho' I doubled all the precaution which habit had already made natural to me.—I will enquire further when my mind is cool, but with a full determination, af⯑ter embroiling myſelf to no purpoſe with ma⯑ſons, men-milliners, Scotch pedlars, and Iriſh captains—never more to be SUSPICIOUS.