All the ladies of our acquaintance are just the same. Besides, there are some little things that make amends: my lady has a whole train of admirers.

Ram. That, Madam, is the only circumstance wherein she has the honour of resembling you. [Bell rings louder.] You hear, Madam, I am obliged to leave you-[Bell rings.] So, so, so: would the bell were in your guts! [Exit Ramilie.

Lap. Oh Wheedle! I am quite sick of this family; the old gentleman grows more covetous every day he lives. Every thing is under lock and key; I can scarce ask you to eat or drink.

Wheed. Thank you, my dear! but I have drank half-a-dozen dishes of chocolate already this morning.

Lap. Well, but, my dear! I have a whole budget of news to tell you. I have made some notable dis

coveries.

Wheed. Pray let us hear 'em. I have some secrets of our family too which you shall know by and by. What a pleasure there is in having a friend to tell these things to!

Lap. You know, my dear! last summer my young lady had the misfortune to be overset in a boat between Richmond and Twickenham, and that a certain young gentleman, plunging immediately into the water, sav'd her life at the hazard of his own---Oh! I shall never forget the figure she made at her return home, so wet, so draggled!Ha, ha, ha!

Wheed. Yes, my dear! I know how all your fine

ladies look when they are never so little disorderedthey have no need to be so vain of themselves.

Lap. You are no stranger to my master's way of rewarding people: when the poor gentleman brought Miss home, my master meets 'em at the door, and, without asking any question, very civilly shuts it against him. Well, for a whole fortnight afterwards I was continually entertained with the young spark's bravery, and gallantry, and generosity, and beauty.

Wheed. I can easily guess; I suppose she was rather warmed than cooled by the water. These mistresses of ours, for all their pride, are made of just the same flesh and blood as we are.

Lap. About a month ago my young lady goes to the play in an undress, and takes me with her. We sat in Burton's box, where, as the devil would have it, whom should we meet with but this very gentleman! Her blushes soon discovered to me who he was: in short, the gentleman entertained her the whole play, and I much mistake if ever she was so agreeably entertained in her life. Well, as we were going out, a rude fellow thrusts his hand into my lady's bosom, upon which her champion fell upon him, and did so maul him-My lady fainted away in my arms; but as soon as she came to herself-had you seen how she looked on him! Ah, Sir! says she, in a mighty pretty tone, sure you were born for my deliverance! He handed her into a hackney-coach, and set us down at home. From this moment letters began to fly on both sides.

Wheed. And you took care to see the post paid, I hope.

Lap. Never fear that-And now, what do you think we have contrived amongst us? We have got this very gentleman into the house in the quality of my master's clerk.

Wheed. Soh! here's fine billing and cooing I warrant; Miss is in a fine condition.

Lap. Her condition is pretty much as it was yet; how long it will continue so I know not. I am making up my matters as fast as I can, for this house holds not me after the discovery.

Wheed. I think you have no great reason to lament the loss of a place where the master keeps his own keys.

Lap. The devil take the first inventor of locks say I. But come, my dear! there is one key which I keep, and that I believe will furnish us with sweetmeats; so if you will walk in with me I'll tell you a secret which concerns your family. It is in your power, perhaps, to be serviceable to me. I hope, my dear! you will keep these secrets safe; for one would not have it known that one publishes all the affairs of a family while one stays in it.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Garden. Enter CLERIMONT and HARRIET.

Cler. Why are you melancholy, my dear Harriet? do

you repent that promise of yours which has made me the happiest of mankind?

Har. You little know my heart, if you can think it capable of repenting any thing I have done towards your happiness: if I am melancholy, it is that I have it not in my power to make you as happy as I would. "Cler. Thou art too bounteous; every tender word "from those dear lips lays obligations on me I never

can repay; but if to love, to dote on you more than "life itself, to watch your eyes that I may obey your "wishes before you speak them, can discharge me "from any part of that vast debt I owe you, I will "be punctual in the payment.

"Har. It were ungenerous in me to doubt you; " and when I think what you have done for me, be"lieve me I must think the balance on your side."

Cler. Generous creature! and dost thou not for me hazard the eternal anger of your father, the reproaches of your family, the censures of the world, who always blame the conduct of the person who sacrifices interest to any consideration ?

Har. As for the censures of the world, I despise them while I do not deserve them; folly is forwarder to censure wisdom than wisdom folly. I were weak indeed not to embrace real happiness because the world does not call it so.

Cler. But see, my dearest! your brother is come into the garden.

Har. Is it not safe, think you, to let him into our

secret?

Cler. You know, by outwardly humouring your father in railing against the extravagance of young men, I have brought him to look on me as his enemy; it will be first proper to set him right in that point. Besides, in managing the old gentleman I shall still be obliged to a behaviour which the impatience of his temper may not bear, therefore I think it not adviseable to trust him, at least yet he will observe us. Adieu, my heart's only joy!

[Exit.

Har. Honest creature! What happiness may I propose in a life with such a husband! what is there in grandeur to recompense the loss of him? Parents choose as often ill for us as we do for ourselves: they are too apt to forget how seldom true happiness lives in a palace, or rides in a coach-and-six.

Enter FREDERICK.

Fred. Dear Harriet! good morrow: I am glad to find you alone, for I have an affair to impart to you that I am ready to burst with.

Har. You know, brother, I am a trusty confidant. Fred. As ever wore petticoats; but this is an affair of such consequence

Har. Or it were not worth your telling me.

Fred. Or your telling again: in short, you never could discover it; I could afford you ten years to guess it in. I am-you will laugh immoderately when you know it; I am-it is impossible to tell you; in a word -I am in love!

Har. In love!