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Bev. No; live, I charge you. We have a little one; | The truth direct; for these to me foretell though I have left him, you will not leave him. To And certify a part of thy narration ; Lewson's kindness I bequeath him. Is not this with which, if the remainder tallies not, Charlotte ? We have lived in love, though I have An instant and a dreadful death abides thee. wronged you. Can you forgive me, Charlotte ?

Pris. Then, thus adjured, I'll speak to you as just Char. Forgive you! O, my poor brother!

As if you were the minister of heaven, Bev. Lend me your hand, love. So; raise me-no; Sent down to search the secret sins of men. it will not be; my life is finished. O for a few short Some eighteen years ago, I rented land moments to tell you how my heart bleeds for you; of brave Sir Malcolm, then Balarmo's lord; that even now, thus dying as I am, dubious and fear. But falling to decay, his servants seized ful of a hereafter, my bosom pang is for your mise all that I had, and then turned me and mine ries. Support her, Heaven ! And now I go. 0, (Four helpless infants and their weeping mother) mercy! mercy!

[Dies. Out to the mercy of the winter winds. Lew. How is it, madam? My poor Charlotte, too ! A little hovel by the river side Char. Her grief is speechless.

Received us : there hard labour, and the skill Lew. Jarvis, remove her from this sight. [Jarvis In fishing, which was formerly my sport, and Charlotte lead Mrs Beverley aside.] Some minis Supported life. Whilst thus we poorly lived, tering angel bring her peace. And thou, poor breath- One stormy night, as I remember well, less corpse, may thy departed soul have found the rest The wind and rain beat hard upon our roof; it prayed for. Save but one error, and this last fatal Red came the river down, and loud and oft deed, thy life was lovely. Let frailer minds take The angry spirit of the water shrieked. warning; and from example learn that want of pru- At the dead hour of night was heard the cry dence is want of virtue.

[Exeunt. Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and ran

To where the circling eddy of a pool, Of a more intellectual and scholar-like cast were

Beneath the ford, used oft to bring within the two dramas of Mason, Elfrida and Caractacus. My reach whatever floating thing the stream They were brought on the stage by Colman (which had caught. The voice was ceased; the person lost: Southey considers to have been a bold experiment in But, looking sad and earnest on the waters, those days of sickly tragedy), and were well received. By the moon's light I saw, whirled round and round, They are now known as dramatic poems, not as act

A basket ; soon I drew it to the bank, ing plays. The most natural and affecting of all the And nestled curious there an infant lay. tragic productions of the day, was the Douglas of Lady R. Was he alive? Home, founded on the old ballad of Gil Morrice, which

Pris. He was. | Percy has preserved in his Reliques. Douglas' was

Lady R. Inhuman that thou art ! rejected by Garrick, and was first performed in How could'st thou kill what waves and tempests Edinburgh in 1756. Next year Lord Bute procured

spared ? its representation at Covent Garden, where it drew

Pris. I was not so inhuman. tears and applause as copiously as in Edinburgh. Lady R. Didst thou not ? The plot of this drama is pathetic and interesting. Anna. My noble mistress, you are moved too much: The dialogue is sometimes flat and prosaic, but This man has not the aspect of stern murder; other parts are written with the liquid softness and Let him go on, and you, I hope, will hear moral beauty of Heywood or Dekker. Maternal Good tidings of your kinsman's long lost child. affection is well depicted under novel and striking Pris. The needy man who has known better days, circumstances—the accidental discovery of a lost One whom distress has spited at the world, child— My beautiful! my brave!—and Mr Mac- Is he whom tempting fiends would pitch upon kenzie, the Man of Feeling,' has given as his opi- | To do such deeds, as make the prosperous men nion that the chief scene between Lady Randolph Lift up their hands, and wonder who could do them; and Old Norval, in which the preservation and And such a man was I ; a man declined, existence of Douglas is discovered, has no equal in Who saw no end of black adversity; modern and scarcely a superior in the ancient drama. Yet, for the wealth of kingdoms, I would not Douglas himself, the young hero, 'enthusiastic. ro. Have touched that infant with a hand of harm. mantic, desirous of honour, careless of life and every Lady R. Ha! dost thou say so? Then perhaps he other advantage when glory lay in the balance, is lives! beautifully drawn, and formed the schoolboy model Pris. Not many days ago he was alive. of most of the Scottish youth sixty years since.' Lady R. O, God of heaven ! Did he then die so lately! As a specimen of the style and diction of Home, Pris. I did not say he died; I hope he lives. we subjoin part of the discovery scene. Lord Ran- Not many days ago these eyes beheld dolph is attacked by four men, and rescued by Him, flourishing in youth, and health, and beauty. young Douglas. An old man is found in the woods, Lady R. Where is he now? and is taken up as one of the assassins, some rich

Pris. Alas! I know not where. jewels being also in his possession.

Lady R. O, fate! I fear thee still. Thou riddler

[Discovery of her Son by Lady Randolph.] Direct and clear, else I will search thy soul.

Anna. Permit me, ever honoured! keen impatience,

Though hard to be restrained, defeats itself. Lady R. Account for these; thine own they cannot Pursue thy story with a faithful tongue, be:

To the last hour that thou didst keep the child. For these, I say: be steadfast to the truth;

Pris. Fear not my faith, though I must speak my Detected falsehood is most certain death.

shame. [Anna remores the servants and returns. Within the cradle where the infant lay Pris. Alas! I'm sore beset; let never man, Was stowed a mighty store of gold and jewels; For sake of lucre, sin against his soul!

Tempted by which, we did resolve to hide, Eternal justice is in this m just!

From all the world, this wonderful event, ), guiltless now, must former guilt reveal.

And like a peasant breed the noble child. Lady R. O, Anna, hear! Once more I charge thee That none might mark the change of our estate, speak

We left the country, travelled to the north,

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Bought flocks and herds, and gradually brought forth Till I shall call upon thee to declare,
Our secret wealth. But God's all-seeing eye

Before the king and nobles, what thou now
Beheld our avarice, and smote us sore;

To me hast told. No more but this, and thou For one by one all our own children died,

Shalt live in honour all thy future days; And he, the stranger, sole remained the heir

Thy son so long shall call thee father still, Of what indeed was his. Fain then would I,

And all the land shall bless the man who saved Who with a father's fondness loved the boy,

The son of Douglas, and Sir Malcolm's heir.
Have trusted him, now in the dawn of youth,
With his own secret ; but my anxious wife,

John Home, author of Douglas, was by birth conForeboding evil, never would consent.

nected with the family of the Earl of Home; his Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and beauty;

father was town-clerk of Leith, where the poet was And, as we oft observed, he bore himself,

born in 1722. He entered the church, and sucNot as the offspring of our cottage blood,

ceeded Blair, author of "The Grave,' as minister of For nature will break out: mild with the mild,

Athelstaneford. Previous to this, however, he had But with the froward he was fierce as fire,

taken up arms as a volunteer in 1745 against the And night and day he talked of war and arms. Chevalier, and after the defeat at Falkirk, was imI set myself against his warlike bent;

prisoned in the old castle of Doune, whence he But all in vain; for when a desperate band

effected his escape, with some of his associates, by Of robbers from the savage mountains came

cutting their blankets into shreds, and letting Lady R. Eternal Providence! What is thy name? | themselves down on the ground. The romantic Pris. My name is Norval ; and my name he poet soon found the church as severe and tyranbears.

nical as the army of Charles Edward. So vioLady R. 'Tis he, 'tis he himself! It is my son! | lent a storm was raised by the fact that a Pres0, sovereign mercy! 'Twas my child I saw!

byterian minister had written a play, that Home No wonder, Anna, that my bosom burned.

was forced to succumb to the presbytery, and reAnna. Just are your transports : ne'er was woman's sign his living. Lord Bute rewarded him with the heart

sinecure office of conservator of Scots privileges at Prored with such fierce extremes. High-fated dame! Campvere, and on the accession of George III. in But yet remember that you are beheld

1760, when the influence of Bute was paramount, By servile eyes; your gestures may be seen

the poet received a pension of £300 per annum. He Impassioned, strange; perhaps your words o'erheard. wrote various other tragedies, which soon passed Lady R. Well dost thou counsel, Anna; Heaven be- | into oblivion; but with an income of about £600 per Stow

annum, with an easy, cheerful, and benevolent disOn me that wisdom which my state requires !

position, and enjoying the friendship of David Anna. The moments of deliberation pass,

Hume, Blair, Robertson, and all the most distinAnd soon you must resolve. This useful man

guished for rank or talents, John Home's life glided Must be dismissed in safety, ere my lord

on in happy tranquillity. He survived nearly all Shall with his brave deliverer return.

his associates, and died in 1808, aged eighty-six. Pris. If I, amidst astonishment and fear,

Among the other tragic writers may be menHare of your words and gestures rightly judged, tioned Mallet, whose drama of Elvira was highly Thou art the daughter of my ancient master; successful, and another drama by whom, Mustapha, The child I rescued from the flood is thine.

enjoyed a factitious popularity by glancing at the Lady R. With thee dissimulation now were vain. characters of the king and Sir Robert Walpole. I am indeed the daughter of Sir Malcolm;

Glover, author of 'Leonidas,' also produced a tragedy, The child thou rescuedst from the flood is mine. Boadicea, but it was found deficient in interest for a Pris. Blessed be the hour that made me a poor mixed audience. In this play, Davies, the bioman!

grapher of Garrick, relates that Glover 'preserved My poverty hath saved my master's house.

a custom of the Druids, who enjoined the persons Lady R. Thy words surprise me; sure thou dost not who drank their poison to turn their faces towards feign!

the wind, in order to facilitate the operation of the The tear stands in thine eye: such love from thee potion!' Horace Walpole was author of a tragedy, Sir Malcolm's house deserved not, if aright

The Mysterious Mother, which, though of a painful Thou told'st the story of thy own distress.

and revolting nature as to plot and incident, Pris. Sir Malcolm of our barons was the flower;

abounds in vigorous description and striking ima. The fastest friend, the best, the kindest master; gery. As Walpole had a strong predilection for But ah! he knew not of my sad estate.

Gothic romance, and had a dramatic turn of mind, After that battle, where his gallant son,

it is to be regretted that he did not devote himself Your own brave brother, fell, the good old lord

more to the service of the stage, in which he would Grew desperate and reckless of the world;

have anticipated and rivalled the style of the GerAnd never, as he erst was wont, went forth

man drama. The · Mysterious Mother' has never To overlook the conduct of his servants.

been ventured on the stage. The Grecian Daughter, By them I was thrust out, and them I blame ; May bearen so judge me as I judged my master,

by Murphy, produced in 1772, was a classic subject, And God so love me as I love his race!

treated in the French style, but not destitute of

tenderness. Lady R. His race shall yet reward thee. On thy faith

[Against the Crusades.] Depends the fate of thy loved master's house. Reinem berest thou a little lonely hut,

I here attend him, That like a holy hermitage appears

In expeditions which I ne'er approved, Among the cliffs of Carron?

In holy wars. Your pardon, reverend father. Pris. I remember

I must declare I think such wars the fruit The cottage of the cliffs.

Of idle courage, or mistaken zeal; Lady R. 'Tis that I mean;

Sometimes of rapine, and religious rage, There dwells a man of venerable age,

To every mischief prompt. Who in my father's service spent his youth:

Sure I am, 'tis madness, Tell him I sent thee, and with him remain,

Inhuman madness, thus from half the world

To drain its blood and treasure, to neglect
Each art of pouce, each care of government;
And all for what? By spreading desolation,
Rapine, and slaughter o'er the other half,
To gain a conquest we can never hold.
I venerate this land. Those sacred hills,
Those vales, those cities, trod by saints and prophets,
By God himself, the scenes of heavenly wonders,
Inspire me with a certain awful joy.
But the same God, my friend, pervades, sustains,
Surrounds, and fills this universal frame;
And every land, where spreads his vital presence,
His all-enlivening breath, to me is holy.
Excuse me, Theald, if I go too far:
I meant alone to say, I think these wars
A kind of persecution. And when that,
That most absurd and cruel of all vices,
Is once begun, where shall it find an end?
Each in his turn, or has or claims a right
To wield its dagger, to return its furies,
And first or last they fall upon ourselves.

THOMSON's Eduard and Eleonora.

[Solitude on a Battle Field.] I have been led by solitary care To yon dark branches, spreading o'er the brook, Which murinurs through the camp; this mighty camp, Where once two hundred thousand sons of war, With restless dins awaked the midnight hour. Now horrid stillness in the vacant tents Sits undisturbed ; and these incessant rills, Whose pebbled channel breaks their shallow stream, Fill with their melancholy sounds my ears, As if I wandered, like a lonely hind, O'er some dead fallow, far from all resort : Unless that ever and anon a groan Bursts from a soldier, pillowed on his shield In torment, or expiring with his wounds, And turns my fixed attention into horror.

GLOVER's Boadiant

[Love.] Why should we kill the best of passions, Love? It aids the hero, bids Ambition rise To nobler heights, inspires immortal deeds, Even softens brutes, and adds a grace to Virtue.

Thomson's Sophonisba.

[Miscalculations of Old Men.] Those old men, those plodding grave state pedants, Forget the course of youth; their crooked prudence, To baseness verging still, forgets to take Into their fine-spun schemes the generous heart, That, through the cobweb system bursting, lays Their labours waste.

THOMSON'S Tancred and Sigismunda.

So prone to error is our mortal frame,
Time could not step without a trace of horror,
If wary nature on the human heart,
Amid its wild variety of passions,
Had not impressed a soft and yielding sense,
That when offences give resentment birth,
The kindly dews of penitence may raise
The seeds of mutual mercy and forgiveness.

GLOVER'S Boadicou. [Fortitude.]

But, prince, remember then The vows, the noble uses of affliction; Preserve the quick humanity it gives, The pitying, social sense of human weakness; Yet keep'thy stubborn fortitude entire. The manly heart that to another's wo Is tender, but superior to its own. Learn to submit, yet learn to conquer fortune; Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds And offices of life; to life itself, With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose. Chief, let devotion to the sovereign mind, A steady, cheerful, absolute dependence In his best, wisest government, possess thee. In thoughtless gay prosperity, when all Attends our wish, when nought is seen around us But kneeling slavery, and obedient fortune; Then are blind mortals apt, within themselves To fly their stay, forgetful of the giver ; But when thus humbled, Alfred, as thou art, When to their feeble natural powers reduced, 'Tis then they feel this universal truth That Heaven is all in all, and man is nothing.


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[Avfulness of a Scene of Pagan Rites.] This is the secret centre of the isle: Here, Romans, pause, and let the eye of wonder Gaze on the solemn scene; behold yon oak, How stern he frowns, and with his broad brown arms Chills the pale plain beneath him: mark yon altar, The dark stream brawling round its rugged base; These cliffs, these yawning caverns, this wide circus, Skirted with unhewn stone; they awe my soul, As if the very genius of the place Himself appeared, and with terrific tread Stalked through his drear domain. And yet, my friends, If shapes like his be but the fancy's coinage, Surely there is a hidden power that reigns 'Mid the lone majesty of untamed nature, Controlling sober reason; tell me else, Why do these haunts of barbarous superstition O'ercome me thus ? I scorn them ; yet they awe me.

Mason's Caractacus. [Against Homicide.] Think what a sea of deep perdition whelms The wretch's trembling soul, who launches forth Unlicensed to eternity. Think, think, And let the thought restrain thy impious hand. The race of man is one vast marshalled army, Summoned to pass the spacious realms of Time, Their leader the Almighty. In that march Ah! who may quit his post ? when high in air The chosen archangel rides, whose right hand wields The imperial standard of Heaven's providence, Which, dreadful sweeping through the vaulted sky, Overshadows all creation.

Mason's Elfrida.


The comic muse was, during this period, more successful than her tragic sister. In the reign of George II., the witty and artificial comedies of Vanbrugh and Farquhar began to lose their ground, both on account of their licentiousness, and the formal system on which they were constructed with regard to characters and expression. In their room, Garrick, Foote, and other writers, placed a set of dramatic compositions, which, though often of a humble and unpretending character, exercised great influence in introducing a taste for more natural portraitures and language, and these again led the way to the higher productions, which we are still accustomed to refer to veneratively, as the legitimate English comedies.

Amongst the first five-act plays in which this She Stoops to Conquer, performed in 1773, has all improvement was seen, was The Suspicious Husband the requisites for interesting and amusing an audiof Hoadly, in which there is but a slight dash of ence; and Johnson said, he knew of no comedy the license of Farquhar. Its leading character, for many years that had answered so much the Ranger, is still a favourite. GEORGE COLMAN, ma- great end of comedy-making an audience merry.' nager of Covent Garden theatre, was an excellent The plot turns on what may be termed a farcomic writer, and produced above thirty pieces, a cical incident-two parties mistaking a gentleman's few of which deservedly keep possession of the stage. house for an inn. But the excellent discriminaHis Jealous Wife, founded on Fielding's ‘Tom Jones,' tion of character, and the humour and vivacity has some highly effective scenes and well-drawn cha- of the dialogue throughout the play, render this racters. It was produced in 1761; five years after- piece one of the richest contributions which have

been made to modern comedy. The native pleasantry and originality of Goldsmith were never more happily displayed, and his success, as Davies records, revived fancy, wit, gaiety, humour, incident, and character, in the place of sentiment and moral preachment.

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[A Deception.]
(From "She Stoops to Conquer.]

Landlord. There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise at
the door. They've lost their way upon the forest, and
they are talking something about Mr Hardcastle.

Tony. As sure as can be, one of them must be the gentleman that's coming down to court my sister. Do they seem to be Londoners ?

Land. I believe they may. They look woundily like Frenchmen.

Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll set them right in a twinkling. xit Landlord.] Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon. (Exeunt Mob.] Fatherin-law has been calling me a whelp and hound this half-year. Now, if I pleased, I could be so revenged upon the old grumbletonian. But then I am afraid

-afraid of what! I shall soon be worth fifteen hunGeorge Colman.

dred a-year, and let him frighten me out of that if he

can. wards, Colman joined with Garrick and brought out The Clandestine Marriage, in which the character of Enter LANDLORD, conducting MARLOW and HASTINGS. an aged beau, affecting gaiety and youth, is strikingly personified in Lord Ogleby. ARTHUR MURPHY had of it! We were told it was but forty miles across

Mar. What a tedious uncomfortable day bave we * (1727-1805), a voluminous and miscellaneous writer, the country, and we have come above threescore. added comedies as well as tragedies to the stage,

Hast. And all, Marlow, from that unaccountable and his Way to Keep Him is still occasionally per- reserve of yours, that would not let us inquire more formed. Hugh KELLY, a scurrilous newspaper writer,

frequently on the way. surprised the public by producing a comedy, False

Mar. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myDelicacy, which had remarkable success both on the self under an obligation to every one I meet; and fortunes and character of the author: the profits of often stand the chance of an unmannerly answer. his first third night realised £150—the largest sum

Hast. At present, however, we are not likely to reof money he had ever before seen— and from a low, ceive any answer. petulant, absurd, and ill-bred censurer,' says Davies,

Tony. No offence, gentlemen ; but I am toid you * Kelly was transformed to the humane, affable, have been inquiring for one Mr Hardcastle in these good-natured, well-bred man.' The marked success parts. Do you know what part of the country you are of Kelly's sentimental style gave the tone to a much in? more able dramatist, RICHARD CUMBERLAND (1732- Hast. Not in the least, sir; but should thank you 1811), who, after two or three unsuccessful pieces, for information. in 1771 brought out The West Indian, one of the Tony. Nor the way you came ! best stage plays which English comedy can yet Hast. No, sir; but if you can inform usboast. The plot, incidents, and characters (includ- Tony. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the ing the first draught of an Irish gentleman which the road you are going, nor where you are, nor the road theatre had witnessed), are all well sustained. Other you came, the first thing I have to inform you is that dramas of Cumberland, as The Wheel of Fortune, -you have lost your way, The Fashionable Lover, &c., were also acted with Mar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that. applause, though now too stiff and sentimental for

Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask our audiences. Goldsmith thought that Cumber- the place from whence you came ? land had carried the refinement of comedy to ex- Mar. That's not necessary towards directing us cess, and he set himself to correct the fault. His where we are to go. first dramatic performance, The Good-Natured Man, Tony. No offence; but question for question is all presents one of the happiest of his delineations in fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same the character of Croaker ; but as a whole, the play Hardcastle a cross-grained, old-fashioned, whimsical wants point and sprightliness. His second drama, fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son 1


Hast. We have not seen the gentleman ; but he has keeps as good wines and beds as any in the whole the family you mention.

county. Tony. The daughter a tall, trapesing, trolloping, Mar. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall talkative maypole; the son a pretty, well-bred, agree- want no further connexion. We are to turn to the able youth, that everybody is fond of.

right, did you say? Mar. Our information differs in this: the daughter Tony. No, no, straight forward. I'll just step myis said to be well-bred and beautiful; the son an self and show you a piece of the way. (To the Landawkward booby, reared up and spoiled at his mother's lord.) Mum!

[Ereunt, apron-string. Tony. He-he-hem. Then, gentlemen, all I have to

[Arrival at the Supposed Inn.] tell you is, that you won't reach Mr Hardcastle's

Enter MARLOW and HASTINGS. house this night, I believe. Hast. Unfortunate!

Hast. After the disappointments of the day, welTony. It's a long, dark, boggy, dangerous way. come once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr Hardcastle's room and a good fire. Upon my word a very well. [winking at the Landlord)—Mr Hardcastle's of Quag. looking house; antique, but creditable. mire-marsh. You understand me?

Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion. Haring Land. Master Hardcastle's? Lack-a-daisy! my first ruined the master by good house-keeping, it has masters you're come a deadly deal wrong. When at last come to levy contributions as an inn. you came to the bottom of the hill you should have Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to crossed down Squash-lane.

pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good sideMar. Cross down Squash-lane ?

board, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually Land. Then you were to keep straight forward till put in the bill, inflame the bill confoundedly. you came to four roads.

Mar. Travellers must pay in all places; the only Mar. Come to where four roads meet?

difference is, that in good inns you pay dearly for Tony. Ay ; but you must be sure to take only luxuries; in bad inns you are fleeced and starved.

Enter HARDCASTLE. Mar. O, sir! you're facetious.

Tony. Then, keeping to the right, you are to go Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily wel. sideways till you come upon Crack-skull Common; come. Which is Mr Marlow? [Mar. advances.] Sir, there you must look sharp for the track of the you're heartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, wheel, and go forward till you come to Farmer Mur- to receive my friends with my back to the fire! I like rain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to give them a hearty reception, in the old style, at to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then my gate; I like to see their horses and trunks taken to the right about again, till you find out the old care of. mill

Mar. [Aside.) He has got our names from the serMar. Zounds! man, we could as soon find out the vants already. [70 Hard.) We approve your caution longitude !

and hospitality, sir. [To Hast.] I have been thinkHast. What's to be done, Marlow?

ing, George, of changing our travelling dresses in the Mar. This house promises but a poor reception; morning; I am grown confoundedly ashamed of mine. though perhaps the landlord can accommodate us. Hard. I beg, Mr Marlow, you'll use no ceremony

Land. Alack, master! we have but one spare bed in this house. in the whole house.

Hast. I fancy, you're right: the first blow is half Tony. And to my knowledge that's taken up by the battle. We must, however, open the campaign. three lodgers already. [After a pause, in which the Hard. Mr Marlow-Mr Hastings - gentlemenrest seem disconcerted.] I have hit it: don't you think, pray be under no restraint in this house. This is Stingo, our landlady would accommodate the gentle- Liberty-hall, gentlemen ; you may do just as you men by the fireside with three chairs and a bol- please here. ster?

Mar. Yet, George, if we open the campaign too Hast. I hate sleeping by the fireside.

fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a bol-over. We must show our generalship by securing, if ster.

necessary, a retreat. Tony. You do, do you? Then let me see-what if Hard. Your talking of a retreat, Mr Marlow, puts you go on a mile farther to the Buck's Head, the old me in mind of the Duke of Marlborough when he Buck’s Head on the hill, one of the best inns in the went to besiege Denain. He first summoned the garwhole country:

risonHast. O ho! so we have escaped an adventure for Mar. Ay, and we'll summon your garrison, old boy. this night, however.

Hard. He first summoned the garrison, which might Land. (Apart to Tony.] Sure you bean't sending consist of about five thousand menthem to your father's 's as an inn, be you?

Hast. Marlow, what's o'clock? Tony Mum! you fool, you ; let them find that out. Hard. I say gentlemen, as I was telling you, he [To them.) You have only to keep on straight for- summoned the garrison, which might consist of about ward till you come to a large house on the road-side : five thousand menyou'll see a pair of large horns over the door; that's Mar. Five minutes to seven. the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about Hard. Which might consist of about five thousand you.

men, well appointed with stores, ammunition, and Hast. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants other implements of war. Now, says the Duke of can't miss the way.

Marlborough to George Brooks, that stood next to him Tony. No, no : but I tell you though, the landlord - you must have heard of George Brooks, I'll pawn is rich, and going to leave off business ; so he wants to my dukedom, says he, but I take that garrison withbe thought a gentleman, saving your presence, he, he, out spilling a drop of blood. Sohe! He'll be for giving you his company; and, ecod ! Mar. What? My good friend, if you give us a if you mind him, he'll persuade you that his mother glass of punch in the meantime, it would help us to was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of the carry on the siege with vigour. Deace.

Hard. Punch, sir!—This is the most unaccountable Land. A troublesome old blade, to be sure ; but a kind of modesty I ever met with.


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