Well, Dick, curiosity has run you out of breath. Gratified or punished for your daring—eh!

The most savage of hoaxes! instead of gallanting a goddess to our shores, I had the felicity to usher from the boat the ninth part of a man.

Ha, ha, ha! poor Tom Tape, the young cockney tailor, who, tired of sitting cross-legged at home, has e'en adventured over ocean to mend his own fortunes, and the coats of his countrymen here in Bengal.

Ah! Captain Dorrington, give you joy as well as myself. At last, Neptune's suit of dark green ditto is thrown aside, and earth's gay varieties slip on once more: what an agreeable change!

I congratulate you, Tape, upon your safe arrival in Bengal. 'Tis my intention to recommend you.

Do, Captain—I shan't disgrace your patronage, for though my own habits have been indifferently loose, I was always famous for making a tight fit with those of my customers.

A metropolitan artist, Mr. Tape.

Born, sir, within the romantic precincts of Candlewick Ward, but transplanted to the shopboard of Buckram &Co. There, sir, I soon became acquainted with the measures of our greatest men, whether in army, church or state!

  A proud distinction faith!

Yes, sir—my master worked for none but people of the very first quality. Not a tradesman in all St. James's parish could boast of a greater number of book debts. Oh! an immense connexion! visited the most fashionable men upon town.

How! a tailor visit men of fashion?

Yes, sir, frequently two or three times a-day; but he seldom was so fortunate as to find them at home—they were too much engaged in paying the debts of the nation to attend to their own.

An enviable circle of acquaintance, truly!

Superb! grand! tip top! But—ah! in a luckless hour— Shakspeare, gentleman, Shakspeare seduced me, and a private theatre in Berwick street, completed my undoing—'twas there I sustained the character of Brutus!

Assumed the Roman toga—eh?

Cabbaged the cloth for it out of the luxuriant capes then cutting out for my Lord Hunchington's upper Benjamin—cream colored superfine! I carried my drapery with the happiest effect.

But how did you support the character.

Ah! if you had only seen me murder Cæsar in the third act! To be sure, some would-be critics said I had done the same for Brutus from the beginning of the play—but that was spite ‘By the gods.’

Then your debut was successful?

‘A palpable hit!’ my dying scene encored. The triumph   of that night decided my fate, and I renounced the shopboard for the boards of Thespis. My next essay was at Margate on the regular stage.

Brutus repeated?

No. Romeo—the tender empassioned Romeo! A lovely fugitive from parental tyranny, made her virgin offering to Melpomene on the same night. Oh, Celestina Beverley! there was a Juliet!

Well, but tell us the event. Was the verdict of your partial friend's confirmed?—did the public—

Name it not. The fickle monster!—the perfidious beast!

Ha, ha, ha!

A brother snip from town, who towered among the gods, detected my face—published my trade. “Twig the tailor!” was instantly the watchword; and just when my soaring spirit would have emuluated the eagle—

You caught the goose.

Hissing hot, too. The curtain fell upon my disgrace but not upon my woe; for even while Celestina Beverley strained me in death's wild embrace, her ruthless parents in pursuit, fresh reeking from the steamer, rushed upon the green cloth: they tore us from each other's arms—“fathers have flinty hearts!” “The course of true love never did run smooth!” Forgive me, gentlemen, if I produce my handkerchief at her recollection.

So, my poor fellow, forsaking England, and equally cut by   Cupid and the Muse—

I come to India, and hope to cut again.

Well, I think I can promise you one capital customer. Only contrive to please Sir Matthew Scraggs, and your fortune is secured; but, didn't you tell me something about a relation who had married greatly in Calcutta?

My own annt by the mother's side—but how to find her out will be a poser, for we never could learn the name of the great man she caught.

Well, her discovery must be an after search. Come, Dick —have with you, boy! (Milton crosses, L.) Now for Scraggs's house, and Hymen's paradise! Cheer up, young Romeo!

“Cheer up, young Romeo!” Ah! “he jests at scars who never felt a wound!” but I will cheer up. One last vagrant sigh to London, and to Celestina Beverley—then, “Great ambition, I am all thine own!”

My Lady Scraggs no more of your palaver—I'll not be made a Jerry Sneak. Zounds! my lady, I'm determined to wear the breeches.

Delicacy forbid, Sir Matthew, you ever should be— hem! But positively, your manners in society are so alarmingly vulgar.

I know it, and I glory in my vulgarity. I'm not one of your mushrooms, so overgrown as to deny the dunghill whence it sprung. It's my pride that all the world should know my origin —that I, Scraggs, now worth a quarter of a million, hadn't six-pence in my pocket when I landed in India; that my father kept a little tobacco shop in Cow Cross; that my mother got up small linen! that one of my uncles was a cobbler, and—

A—h! forbear the barbarous detail, or I swoon without resource. But, sir, however sordid your own connexions, you ought to remember that when you intermarried with a daughter of the ancient house of Trewarren—

Aye, now for it again—fire away with your Cornish pedigree! those cursed long guns of Tre—Pol and Pen!

Mine was a family of such exceeding antiquity!

That it tumbled into ruin long ago. Why, didn't I marry you without a second gown to your back, when you came over as nursery-maid to an Irish Countess?

Horrible perversion of terms! Sir—the post I condescended   to accept in the Countess's family, was that of governess to her daughter.

A baby in long coats want a governess! Haven't I seen you rock the cradle, and warm the pap when I came a courting to you? Where's the good of all your great ancestors if they didn't leave you a penny? 'Twas I who made a woman of you—a rich woman—a bit of a woman of quality, too. Zounds; madam, 'twas I who made you my Lady Scraggs!

Oh, down to the ground must I acknowledge the obligation!—yet, Sir Matthew, allow me to observe, that had you never offered, Bengal is a land where a high-born girl, with personal attractions—

Well, you may brag a little on that score. I admit you were once a devilish fine woman!

Once! Sir Matthew—once!

Aye—twenty years ago.

There are men, I believe, who consider me a fine woman still. Had you attended the ball last night, and witnessed the devotion of the French Count, lately arrived from the Isle of Bourbon—

Oh! the Count Glorieux. I've heard of the fellow—expect to see him soon. He brings a letter of credit upon our firm.

Indeed! he distinguished me last night in a manner almost distressing—never ceased to follow me with his glass round the assembly. I was really quite annoyed.

  No—you were tickled. A woman of your age must be pleased with admiration, if 'twere only for its rarity. The Mounseer was only quizzing you.

Sir Matthew, you are always a brute! however, had you witnessed the quiz, I fancy 'twould have made you sufficiently jealous.

Not I, truly. There are forty good reasons why I consider my wife, at this time of day, secure against any man's attempt.

Highly flattering, indeed! but since you are so doubtful of my report, inquire of your niece—I made her observe the the Count's conduct.

And, pray, did anybody distinguish Sally by some of the same quite distressing attentions?

It grieves me to reply, Sir Matthew, that a peculiar something in the manner of Miss Scraggs—

Aye, cursed queer! I know it. Frightens the men with her gibberish out of novels, and stage play books. How the wench picked up such trumpery is the puzzle. Her father took to the old tobacco shop at Cow Cross when I sailed for India. After your ladyship and I had been married twenty years, without children of our own, I thought to do a brotherly kindness, and adopt Ben's eldest daughter as my own. Over the wench is sent us, but—lord! lord! instead of a decent, steady tradesman's child, as I had expected, out comes a fantastical, nondescript miss, half   hoyden, half heroine—romping one minute, ranting the next. Between you and I, my lady, I think Sally a little cracked.

No, no, Sir Matthew; Miss Scraggs's style at present is rather eccentric, but with my example constantly before her, let us hope—

Uncle! uncle! where's uncle.

Mercy o' me! what a hilloa—cry! sure the wench thinks herself following the hounds at an Epping hunt.

O ho! I've found you at last. Do you know, uncle—

Miss Scraggs, you forget yourself. Uncle is an interdicted phrase. Whenever you would address relations remember to distinguish them, not by consanguinity, but by the name.

“What's in a name? A rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Hussey! don't talk to me of smelling. What's that in your hand?

Much the same with what's in my head—“The way to get Married!” Did you ever read it? Julia Faulkner is a sweet character.

One of those lunatic play books! Hussey!—hussey! such reading will unfit you for the business of real life.

Quite the contrary; reading the way to get married here suggested to me a question of real business, which I have now come expressly to ask. (crosses, C.) Pray how much longer am I   to wait for a husband?

Miss Scraggs—fie! young ladies never talk upon such a subject.

Don't they? then it must be the same reason as with the parrot in the fable—because they think the more. I'm sure before I left England, we talked of nothing else. My father and mother, and all my sisters, agreed that I was to marry a nabob as soon as I landed. They told me that husbands in Bengal were as plentiful as hops in Kent, and that I should have only to pick and choose— but no such luck: here have I been in Calcutta six good weeks, and never an offer yet! to be sure the men have kept dangling and dangling after me, but not one of them has come to the point.

All your own fault; you scare away the men with your confounded rant! There was my old friend, Major Turmeric, when he called upon us just after his recovery from the jaundice, didn't you exclaim before him—“Avaunt, thou yellow plague, I'll none of thee?”

That was from the “Merchant of Venice.”

Yes, miss; and even last night at the ball, when the rich banker's son, young Dwarfly—who, by-the-bye—is undersized, and has a tinge of the half-blood in his veins, invited you to waltz with him, and asked your favourite tune, didn't you answer —“Turn about my little tawny tight one?”

Well, that's true—“I confess the cape;” but what stupid wretches your men in India must be! Why, if they had only understood   theatricals—

Theatricals! what in the name of Bedlam has a niece of mine to do with theatricals? What have theatricals to do with the daughter of a tobacconist?

Hush! hush, Sir Matthew—that horrid word—

Gunpowder and lucifers, my lady! what horrid word? You with your pedigree pride are as crazy as the wench. What is there horrid in tobacco?

Ah!

Zounds! then my niece does come from tobacco—I, too, come from tobacco. Fire and smother! My lady, the whole of your generation come out of smoke!

“Pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell!”

Stand still, you profane jade, and don't swing your arms about like the sails of a windmill. Such a brace of petticoat plagues! between them I shall have a fit of the gout, I know I shall—I feel a twinge there!

Captain Tancred, sir, has just returned with another gentleman.

Odso! Dorrington, I suppose. Show them into my study. (Exit Servant, L.) These women have so discomposed me, that I must cool myself before I give my friend a warm reception. Sally, I shall read you a lecture presently. As to you, my lady, with your airs and your affectation, please to know that I will   talk of tobacco whenever I please—aye, of all sorts of tobacco: long cut, short cut, and pig-tail; so put that in your pipe and smoke it, my lady!

The irreclaimable savage! what a destiny is mine! but I deserve it, When a woman of my pretensions, forgetful of an elevated ancestry, stoops to the addresses of a grovelling plebeian! However, I have the secret satisfaction of knowing I never would have accepted the monster if any body else had offered.

That was a good flourish with the right arm—'twould tell well for Hermione's exit in the fifth act of “The Distressed Mother.” “But chiefly I renounce thee— monster thee!” Heigho! I find this Calcutta but a dull place after all—not a circulating library with a novel in it I hadn't read in England months before; and as for a playhouse, we've nobody but amateurs—pretty work they make of it, too; to be sure, if we could get up a tragedy in the house amongst ourselves, there might be some fun. I could teach all the family. “Jane Shore.” That will do famously! Anybody can dawdle through Jane Shore, and Alicia is the very thing for me—the mad scene's capital! she dashes herself upon the stage twice, and I could force three rounds of applause to each tumble.

Miss! Miss Sally! there she scampers away, ranting and raving and won't hear me. Well, what this French Count can see in such a madcap, is to me amazing. However, that's not my affair; and since I'm to have five pieces for slipping this billet-doux   privately into her hand—

I certainly must have left my reticule in this room.

Directed, too, in English!—“To the most fair of the very fair.” Come, that's a good one of mounseer's.

Poplin, what are you doing with that note?

Ah!

What ails the girl?—is it a note for me?

Yes—that it is—no, I can't tell who it's for, my lady.

Give it me directly.

I'm ruined if I tell the truth.

What's this direction? “To the most fair of the very fair.”

Oh, dear! my lady, don't be angry. Indeed, I meant no harm; but a French nobleman—

Hush! the direction is sufficiently explained. (reads eagerly) As I guessed—'tis from the Count. Um! um! “Last night—the ball—your charms”—I knew it—“perceived your triumph, indeed I did.” Um—um! “rapture—agony—six glasses of Noyeau before I slept—private interview—declaration of passion!” Now, Sir Matthew, can you be jealous now?

Goodness forbid, my lady! Well what impudence, to talk of passion to a married lady!

Poplin, you are a good child, and naturally must have feared my indignation—but you are pardoned. As for this Count— if I do grant this interview—

  Oh, the father! will your ladyship?

Yes, but merely for his reformation—I shall receive him with a withering look. Poplin, I can look withering.

Is it possible, with so sweet a countenance?

You are a deserving creature, Poplin. I shall indite a guarded reply to this billet, which you shall deliver presently. Now, Sir Matthew, brute as you are, you shall be convinced that there are men who still think Lady Scraggs a fine woman!

So—now I'm in a pretty scrape! my lady takes to herself the love-letter meant for Miss—Mounseer expects an appointment from the niece, and gets instead an assignation with the aunt. What am I to do? I'll e'en leave the parties to find out the mistake between themselves.

Eh, bien! ma fille charmante, you tell me dat old Monsieur Scraggs est sorti—he be out.

To be sure he is, or I never should have let you in. As this is to be a private interview, I have brought you through the garden quite unknown to any of the family; but I hope, monsieur, you won't be any ways rumbustical with the “most fair of the very fair.”

Ha! you be von vicket little girl—I see de diable now look out of your black eye—mais soyez tranquille. Count Glorieux will make de young bien contente. Galanterie—it be my trade. Cupid be mon general—I have been his soldier great many year.

Gemini! what a beautiful snuff box—all over gold and   diamonds.

Oui, ma'amselle, dis be von testimonie of my grand service. De city of Bordeaux present to me dis tabatière ven I vas commandant. Aha! c'est inestimable. I could not part vid dis for de empire of Bengal! (puts it up briskly as Poplin offers to examine it) Mais allons. Now for de young ladies. Allons—ma belle, allons!

Yes, that last touch makes me irresistible! now let the victim be conducted to my feet. (rises) What a momentous epoch —a passionate sacrifice offered to my charms for the first time these—No matter, one need not be particular as to dates. How shall I receive my captive when he first appears? Shall I be discovered standing in a severe attitude frowningly, as Jupiter repulsed Ixion? No, that might be too awful! What then, if I trip forwards with an innocent gaiety as if unconscious of his approach—stop suddenly level the full artillery of my eyes in one concentrated glance, then start back in the prettiest surprise imaginable—give a faint scream, and totter till he catches me. Let me practise it directly. Ah! the man's at the door, and chance must now decide it.

Heavens! Monsieur le Comte! Ah, Poplin! what have you done?

Diable! the formidable Madame Scragg. Ah, Poplin! what have you done?

Why, conducted you to the lady, who received your billet doux “to the most fair of the very fair!”

C'est une vilaine méprise! mais n' importe. De tough hen to-day—de tender chicken to-morrow. (advances and bows with grimace) Madame—

Monsigneur, before I permit you to remain in my presence, assure me that your intentions are strictly innocent.

  Madame, dis moment 'tis my wish to be de most innocent man in all de vorld.

That declaration from a man of honour is sufficient. Poplin. (crosses to R.) withdraw into the corridor—but leave the door ajar, and keep within call. (Poplin retires, R.—some ceremony ensues) Monsieur, be seated—nay, not quite so close. Positively I must have you further off!

Il comprehend, madame—de more far off de more plaisir pour vous et—

Count, as an indispensable preliminary to our conversation I must observe that in me you behold a woman whose virtue is impregnable: he must be a bold man who would attack it.

Oui, madame; he must have de courage of de diable!

My fidelity to Sir Matthew has long been proved.

Oui, very great number of year, I dare believe.

Therefore, in permitting your devoirs, I accept you— but no freedoms. I must always keep you at a certain distance.

Madame! let de distance be so great possible. Je suis bien content.

Oh, my lady! the most unluckiest thing in all the world! Instead of my master not returning till the evening, he is now in the house.

Oh! my sacred reputation. Count, you must be gone!

Oui! Avec beaucoup de plaisir.

No, not that way—he'll meet my master upon the stairs!

  Nay, then, into the verandah, from that you can jump into the garden—'tisn't above ten feet from the ground.

Madame, I should be too much enchanté to jump anywhere from you; but I have von little malheur make it impossible. I am trouble vid de rheumatiz in my knee.

Unfortunate! what a time for a man to have the rheumatism.

Courage, madam—I have it. There's a young man whom Captain Dorrington has recommended to my master as a tailor—he is waiting in the passage. The Count shall slip on his coat, and then he may pass through the house unsuspected. (runs to the door) Harkye, young man; step in here.

Where you please, miss. (seeing Lady Scraggs) I beg pardon—(bowing)

Young man, you have not the rheumatism, I hope?

Very kind of your ladyship to hope so. No, thank heaven! nor the gout neither.

Then you are not afraid of jumps?

Jumps, my lady!—that's a staymaker's business. I'm a ailor.

Never mind—you must change coats.

No, miss, I make coats—don't change 'em.

Pooh! step with me into this verandah, and I'll explain everything. Come, mounseer.

Ah, madame, c'est une vilaine aventure.

  Strange family to work for—queer customers!

Nobody has seen him! most extraordinary thing I ever knew. Oh, my lady! pray have you seen the French Count?

I, Sir Matthew?—I!

Well, don't be huffy! one would think you had trod upon a nettle. Go down again, d'ye hear, and inquire of everybody.                                         Exit Servant, R. Monstrous strange! I was going to meet my friend Oswald on the road, when Dick Milton overtook me, and said he had just seen that French Count enter our garden gate; so home I posted directly, for the chap has a letter of credit to a large amount, and something may be made of the connection; but would you believe it, my lady, not a creature in the house has seen him, (Poplin and the Count, metamorphosed, come in sight) Heyday! what's that odd figure whisking about with Poplin, in yonder, among the flower pots?

My dear, didn't you expect a person recommended by Dorrington?

Odso! a tailor. So, that's he. (crosses to L.) Come here, my honest fellow. Lord! lord! what an ill-looking old baboon it is!

Support your character or we're undone.

Monsieur, je suis votre cés humble serviteur.

A Frenchman, too! Dorrington never told me that. Well, I thought he was too ugly for an Englishman. Why I say, my old boy, it's something late in the day with you to be seeking   your fortune; however, since I've promised, I shall employ you; though I must say, if you make your customers' coats to fit no better than your own, you must be a plaguy bad workman! My lady, only look at the fellow—(turning him round)—did you ever see such a scarecrow? Ha, ha, ha!

Sare! vat you mean?—vhy de scarecrow?

Ah! for my sake—

Oui, madame, I take de scarecrow for you.

Sir, I've found a strange gentleman in the garden—he said he was waiting for you, so I brought him here.

Aye, this is indeed the Count. (shakes hands boisterously) Your lordship is welcome to Calcutta! ten thousand pardons, my lord, that I happened to have popped out just as your lordship popped me a call; but I was back in a twinkling. Welcome to Scraggs House, my lord!

My lord! I suppose that fellow's coat must have given a twist to one of my shoulders.

My dear lady, I don't think the Count understands one single word of my talk. Brush up your French, and jabber for me a bit.

Be cautious what you say. Remember you are a Count.

The devil I am.

You shall be well rewarded.

Oho! If there's a pension with the peerage, I've no objection   to the title. What am I to do?

Swagger—be free and easy—keep it up.

I will! (seizes Sir Matthew's hand) My friend, I am delighted to see you!

Prodigious! Why the Count speaks English.

To be sure; and I flatter myself like a native.

Well, that's charming! Why, to be sure, you must have lived some time in England—mayhap in Lunnun?

Served out my full time there; seven years in St. James's!

Oho! resided at the British Court! that accounts for it. Well, then, now we can chat together quite friendly like. I believe your lordship brings with you a letter of credit?

No, do I? Let me see.

Or, perhaps you mean to present a bill?

To be sure I do; and I hope to make it a devilish long one. No, there's no letter, only a snuff-box.

Don't flinch—keep it up!

I will! My dear sir, do me the honour to taste my nose feeder!

Your lordship does me—Eh? gadso! the handsomest box I ever saw.

Do you really think so? Nay, then you must accept it.

Oh, positively!—I'm quite shocked!

Oh, positively!—I quite insist.

He's a fine liberal fellow! I   like him monstrously!

Sare! ma chère tabatière!—C'est un brigand—un grand voleur.

What's that hullababoo? Why, sirrah, how dare you make such a noise? Odso, Count, I must ask pardon. This is a tailor whom I forgot to dismiss when you entered the room. Get down stairs, you rascal! and wait till you're sent for, in the kitchen.

'Sdeath! he has got my pattern book in one of the pockets. My dear sir, I make it my particular request this poor man may remain. Bless you! I've not a bit of pride—I think a tailor very respectable company.

Oh, if that's the case, mounseer, you may stay. And harkye! since you are a countryman of the Count's, out of respect to him, you shall make new liveries for all my servants. There's encouragement for you, my old boy!

Yes, there's encouragement for you, my old boy!

Quel coup de tonnerre! mille bombes! Par tous les diables!

Holloa! what's that he's jabbering?

Oh, that's French for gratitude.

Well, now, really I took it for swearing. Gratitude makes that fellow grin most horribly. Pray, Count, to what order may those fine trinkumbobs belong that dangle about your coat?

To what order? Oh—why, to the order of—   But every body knows what order.

I must help him through. My dear, don't you know the Count belongs to the Legion of Honour? I believe, also, to the Chamber of Deputies.

Odso. Why, then, Count, as I take it, you must be something like one of our parliament men in England.

Yes, I'm very like—one of your knights of the shears!

Sir Matthew, the colonel has arrived.

Gadso! I'm taken at a nonplus. My lady, we must meet him below. Count, I beg pardon, but the most particular friend I have in the world—Let me first introduce Captain Dorrington to your notice.

Proud of an occasion to—Why, who the devil's here?

Why, certainly it is—

To be sure it is—the Count Glorieux!

Come—come, Count—you be pleased to take my lady's hand. (the Count involuntarily steps forward—Sir Matthew twirls him across the room) —How now, you impudent son of a thimble! Dorrington, this tailor of your's is a most audacious fellow!

What squall is blowing now? Tom Tape in masquerade.

That old quisby has certainly contrived to slink out of the house; as to the matter of the two coats, I've certainly the best of the bargain; but then my book of patterns—the rascal has carried off my stock in trade. What shall I do now? Sneak off while I'm in a whole skin, and wait at my lodgings till I find what the wheel of fortune, and a chapter of accidents may do for my benefit. But this house is such a wilderness, I'm puzzled which passage to take next.

I never read the “Mourning Bride” before, but really Almeria is a part worth studying, (spouting)

Who calls that wretched thing that was Alphonso?

“Angels and ministers of grace defend us!”—(they both turn, and gaze at each other from opposite corners, then start into extravagant attitudes) Oh, all ye gods!

Ye goddesses!

Is't he?

Is't she? Celestina Beverley!

Augustus Portarlington!

Ah,—oh! he lives—she speaks! My life! my soul! I swoon—I die!—

And do I clasp you to my beating heart once more? Oh, rants and rhapsodies! I gaze on Celestina, and the sun's eclipsed!

  Augustus speaks, and nightingales are mute. And hast thou crossed the stormy seas to follow me?

Whether I followed or went before, it matters not; we are both together now, and that's enough.

How came you in this house?—was it to urge Sir Matthew on the ancient suit?

No, 'twas to measure him for a new one—but thou, my love. Speak! wherefore are you here?

How! know you not that I am Sir Matthew's niece? and, what's better still, his heiress!

The devil you are? Let us play Portia and Bassanio, love —you'll find me perfect in the casket scene.

What, you want me to run off with you again? Ecod, with all my heart; but what's the meaning of this dress? Has my Augustus become an officer?

Eh? perhaps I have; but really since I entered this house, I have undergone such wonderful changes, that at this moment I can't precisely say what I am.

Ha! I perceive it is a disguise to carry on the plot—delightful! Then you haven't been discovered?

Not exactly yet, but no saying how soon I may; therefore as I have already left this house by the window once to-day, I should like, just for novelty's sake, to quit it this time by the staircase, and not with too much velocity neither. Couldn't you show me the way?

  Come on—I know a winding passage above. I'll lead thee suddenly.

Let me get my hat; but we must fix the measures of our future meeting.

To be sure we will; and ecod! if you've courage enough to carry me off again, I'm the lass to be carried.

Say you so? But Gretna Green is an infernal distance!

Pooh! we can't find a blacksmith in this country, but I dare say a Brahmin will do as well. Then when once we are married—

Aye. “The Honeymoon”—a delicious comedy.

“Three Weeks after Marriage!” not a bad entertainment; and as for “Man and Wife”—

Oh! that's a stock piece everywhere, which never fails at a benefit once in each season, with “Speed the Plough,” and the “Children in the Wood!”

Well, I vow, this is a capital incident. So, his countship was really in love with me all along, and had his coat stripped off his back this morning, for the sake of her who had already stripped him of his heart.

Oui, ma'amselle. I strip off anything vid plaisir for de satisfaction of you. Miss Poplin has make von grand mistake, but now she tell you all de truth.

Yes, indeed, miss, monsieur adores you to distraction!

That's famous! I like anybody that's distracted. Well, what does this poor madman want me to do?

Ah! vous êtes si drôle, si brusque, ma'amselle. I lay my hand down at your feet before Sir Matthew de Scragg.

No, that will never do. My uncle hates all Frenchmen mortally; so I'm sure you'll not get his consent.

Aha! den by de god of love I carry you off vidout. Ma'amselle, I make you madame la comtesse dis very night; and de envie of all de ladies in de vorld to-morrow.

Not quite so fast. We have a proverb in England— “Never halloo before you are out of the wood!”

Comment! out of de vood! Ma'amselle, what do you mean in English by de vood?

Not know what wood is?—la! what a head you've got, Why wood? Why, it's everything about you—the floor, and the chairs, and the tables.

  Aha! je comprends. De chair, and de tables be de vood. Bien obligé for de explanation. Allons, ma belle! you run away vid me dis night.

Suppose I was to consent, who is there to marry us?

Dere be von Portugais priest—he live all day at my hotel—he make de bon mariage in five minute.

Ecod! a Portuguese priest would do better than a Brahmin. I've a rare thought. Harkye, Mr. Distracted! if I do elope I must manage everything my own way.

Sans doute—speak your plaisir.

Well, then, do you hurry back to your hotel this moment —tell your old priest to be in readiness to receive a young lady, that he is to marry her to a gentleman whenever she desires; but you must not tell him you are the man. I choose that to be quite a surprise! and above all, you must not be in the way when I arrive, nor think of showing yourself in my presence till I send the priest to summon you.

Ah! ces conditions be trop difficiles.

Very well, then, the bargain's off.

Ah! no, no—I give consent to all. I fly to my hotel— I order every thing as you desire tout suit. Et assurez vous, ma'amselle, dat I vill remember alvay dat excellent proverbe Anglais you teach me; and never more make de halloo till I be out of your chairs and tables.

There's a lover, miss. So you are to be a countess after all.

  Not I. I've only been making a fool of the man; he's to furnish a priest, but I shall provide the husband. This Portuguese dominie marries me to nobody but my own dear Augustus. There's a “Belle's Stratagem” for you Poplin.

Gemini! what a cheat! Why, surely, miss, such conduct isn't strictly moral.

Perhaps not, but it's perfectly dramatic!

Hist! Is the coast clear?

Approach, thou seductive Don Giovanni! Dear Poplin, keep watch for us at the stair head—the confidante always retires when the lover enters.                                         Poplin, at C. D. Well, I've studied the first act of “The Fugitive” quite perfect; and now am ready to join you in the Witch's Chorus—“We fly by night.”

Oh, thou prodigy of precocious talent—and is the deed resolved?

To be sure it is, and half performed, too; for I've engaged the priest.

What a real canonical reverendissimo?

Such an equivoque—such a situation for stage effect; “but rest thou ignorant of my purpose, dearest chuck, 'till thou applaud the deed.” I've only a few trinkets to pack up in yonder closet, then hey for a capital performance of “The Clandestine Marriage;” after which (by particular desire), “Old Squaretoes Outwitted;” the whole to conclude with “The Devil to Pay!”

  That girl is a tip-top genius! she was born to be an ornament of the British stage: combined, too, with talent such as mine, what an effect might not our united energies produce upon the town. Ah! that's but a delusive fancy now.

Augustus, canst thou carry a leetle bundle?

Bless you! when I was a prentice—Hem! that is, I think I could contrive to do such a thing.

Here's something worth the catching.

Say you so? Then I'm the boy for a catch.

Now set we forth, and be the gods auspicious.

Come on, my queen! though Jove himself with all his thunder barred our course, despite of Fate itself young Ammon would go on!

Hollo! who's making that riot in my niece's chamber? Sally, I'm coming up!

The devil you are then I shall be kicked down.

I have it. Here are a couple of closets—hide yourself in one of them, and leave the rest to me.

Yah! sir, would you tumble over me?

Stand out of the way! I'll tumble where I please. (Sally has just time to push Tom into a closet, when Sir Matthew bursts in at the middle door) So, madam niece, are these your tricks? (looks round him in surprise) Why, where's your fellow?

Sir, in the opinion of many excellent judges, my fellow is not easily to be found.

  None of your double tenders, miss. I'll swear I heard a man in this room, with a voice like a roaring dragon. The rascal bawled out his own name, too. Where is “Young Ammon,” hussey? You've hid him somewhere. Ha! in one of these two closets.

Search that closet, sir—the door's open—I request you to search that!

No I won't, because you request it. I'll search this closet. Stand out of the way, Jezebel!

Upon my honor, sir, you'll find nobody.

Upon my honor, miss. Nobody and I must be better acquainted.

Hollo! open the door—let me out! Fire and fury, let me out! I'll kick the door down—I'll break—I'll burst. I'll—

Mercy on us! Why, Sir Matthew, are the Burmese in Calcutta? really my nerves—

Confound your nerves! Where's that hussey—where's Sally?

She very nearly overset me rushing down the staircase.

Was there a fellow in her company?

Yes, some man followed her, who held a bundle before his face.

Then she's off! Young Ammon has got her.

Who's he, my dear? I hope a man of family?

Let me dispatch your servants in pursuit.

  No, not a foot shall stir—I wash my hands of the baggage! let her go;—and have I no kind friend to complete the business, and carry off Lady Scraggs?

Profligate man! yet how would you be agonised were I to take you at your word?

Try me, my dear, only try me.

Sir Matthew—one word more, and I quit the house!

Only one, my duck? Bless you! I'd give a thousand, if words might produce so happy an event!

Where could I have lost it?

So I have caught you, and now I've got you, I'll keep you.

I'd have you to know I'm a respectable married woman, and not to be kept.

Sare, I have apprehend dis rascal what run away wis your niece.

Oho! you apprehend them? Well, I've no objection to satisfy you for your trouble. Heydey why, if this isn't the old French tailor bedizened out in a new coat—one of his customer's, I suppose. Bless me, now I look again,—why, yonder chap is the Count!

No, monsieur—tout au contraire.—I am de Count, and dat be de tailleur. He great rogue! he run away vid your niece, dat I mean to run away vid myself.

This is a conundrum of the devil's twisting. Dorrington,   will you expound it?

My dear sir, there has assuredly been some great mistake; however, this is certainly the person I recommended for your custom.

Then, hussey, you have really married a tailor?

Ah, (screams) Poplin, help me to a chair—I insist upon fainting this instant.

If I have there's no disgrace in the match. Ned Rapid was a tailor, yet Jessy Oatland and Miss Vortex were both in love with him at the same time.

I never heard of those women before, but two rare vulgar trollops, I'll warrant 'em. Harkye, hang dog! haven't you a word to say for yourself, or is it your modesty that keeps you silent?

Speak, Tom, speak!

I will, Captain; and if he's made of penetrable stuff, I'll touch his feelings! (plants himself in an attitude)

No more! Why, you rascal, is not that enough?

  Hold! My good friends, since this affair is now irrevocable, allow me to offer a plain word by way of mediation, Sir Matthew. I sincerely believe this young man to possess both honesty and good intentions, so that considering Miss Sally's peculiar habits, it is possible she might have fallen into worse hands.

Umph! the wench is half a lunatic, that's certain, and if I were only assured of the fellow's principles—I've money enough for all; and as for family, I never regarded that a brass button.

Speak for yourself, Sir Matthew; but never expect a woman of my blood to countenance so degrading an alliance.

Come, come, my lady, don't be too hard upon a young fellow who risked his neck by jumping out of window to oblige you.

Eh! what's that?

Ahem!

Oh, merely a figure of speech; but as to my family, though 'tis low 'tis honest; besides, I've a rich relation in this very town, if I could only find her out, who, perhaps, might lend a helping hand.

Indeed!

Aye, that I have—my mother's own sister, only we could never learn the name of her husband. Perhaps some of you gentlemen may have heard of her. She was formerly one Nancy Tredwarren, from Helston, in Cornwall.

  Ah!

What's that?—speak it again. Nancy, that's right. She always called herself Annette.

She came out to India as nurserymaid, with the Countess of Doubledrag.

Hurrah! hurrah! she's found—she's found—she's caught! To her, my fine fellow—there stands your aunt.

It's all false.

No, it's all true—I'd swear to every tittle. Only tell me—what was Nancy's father?

As honest a plumber and glazier as any in the borough of Helston.

A plumber and glazier! Oho, my lady putty and lead! this was the man “Who ascended to one of the very loftiest stations in the church.”

So he did. He fixed with his own hand the weathercock upon Meragissey steeple, which was reckoned the highest job in the plumbing line ever known in Cornwall.

Then her uncle—“One of the most popular orators of his time.”

Aye, that must have been uncle Kit.

“Who never would accept a seat in parliament, but who made a prodigious noise in his own county.”

That's true again. He was town crier, and whenever he chaunted “Oh, yes!” his lungs were accounted as clear as his bell.

  Take my niece—take my fortune, you've earned them fairly. Soho, my lady highflyer! you're found out at last. Why, you are a greater impostor than the Princess Caraboo, of the fasting woman at Tetbury. Ah, you may well hang down your head—you've crowed over me long enough! but now— wheugh! I'm cock of the walk.

Eh bien? all dis be tres agreeable, but I do not perceive vere be de satisfaction pour moi?

Satisfaction, mounseer? Why, you shall sit down with us to the wedding supper; or, if your appetite sets sharper after an English wife, here's Poplin at your elbow, disengaged. I've nothing better at present to offer.

Poplin, that is all stuff.

Odsbobs! I'm so galvanized all over with pleasant feelings, that—Lady Scraggs, come here—don't pout! since this seems to be a night of general reconciliation, I'll even indulge you with a tender smack. (salutes her with great form) There! now make much of it, you don't get such a treat every day.