Dub. Well, well, that 's no matter of mine.

Your fate

may have laid another way, to be sure, as you say.

Ste. [Aside.] Another way! Zounds! he can't dare to insinuate that I was born to be hanged! He appears the most ignorant, unfeeling,—[Aloud.] Hear me, my lord.— Has your son ever been dear to you?

Dub. Plaguy dear, indeed, Muster Stedfast.-Only ax Doctor Pangloss.

Ste. An intimate, I suppose, to whom your lordship has unburdened your mind in private.

Dub. Yes; he mends my cakelology every morning; and is, moreover, a great Philosopher.

Ste. On such an occasion, a father might well call in philosophy to his assistance.

Dub. I hired him on purpose.

Ste. Hired him! [Aside.] Hired a philosopher to console him for the death of his son! Delicacy is superfluous here, I see.- [Aloud.] In short, my lord, I come to inform you, that your son, lost as he has been to the world, has newly and unexpectedly entered into life.

Dub. Well, and what then?

Ste. [Aside.] What then? The brutal apathy in this post of a peer makes me ready to beat him.-[Aloud.]— Why, then, he has this day arrived in town-here, in this very metropolis.

Dub. Why, what signifies a cock-and-a-bull story about what I know already?

Ste. Know it! It must then be by inspiration.-By what supernatural sign have you discovered his arrival ?

Dub. What sign? Why, a Blue Boar.

Ste. My lord! my lord! ignorance-little, indeed, from the account I received from a blindly affectionate youth, did I expect to find it here! Ignorance may palliate meanness and buffoonery, and merely meet contempt; but want of feeling excites indignation. You have shocked me, and I leave you. From exalted rank, like yours, my lord, men look for exalted virtue; and when these are coupled, they command respect, and grace each other; but the coronet which gives and receives splendour when fixed on the brow of merit, glitters on the worthless head like a mark of dis. grace, to render vice, folly, and inhumanity conspicuous. [Exit.

Dub. That there chap's mad.—He has put me all of a If my lady had happened to be here, I'm sure

twitter.

she'd have perspired with fear.-[Calling.] John!

John. My lord.

Enter JOHN.

Dub. Has the porter let out that there man?
John. Yes, my lord.

Dub. Never let him clap his ugly mug into these here doors again!-He's as mad as any poor soul under a statue of lunacy.-Shut the doors-d'ye hear? [Exit JOHN.] Odd rabbit it! if peers are to be frightened in this here fashion, I'd rather serve soap and candles again in comfort at Gosport! COLMAN.

THE HEIR AT LAW.

Third Selection.

Enter HENRY MORLAND and STEDFAST.

Ste. Be more yourself, Henry. Firmness, in the moment of disappointment.

Mor. Disappointment! 'Tis torture! it racks me! Caroline fled, no one knows whither! unprotected! perhaps exposed to want, too! to biting penury! The account, though confused, which I gathered last night from the unfeeling wretch in possession of the late Mr. Dormer's house -Why not have gone to my father's? Caroline might there have relied on an asylum.

Ste. Umph!-Perhaps not.

Mor. Oh, Stedfast! how little you know of my worthy father's heart!

Ste. Yet, I have had a specimen.

Mor. Well, but you saw my father?

Ste. I did.

Mor. And he received you with that complacency so friendly a messenger deserved ?

Ste. Why, to say the truth, I found none of that stately dignity about him which you led me to expect.

Mor. To you, of course, when you explained the purpose of your visit, he would throw that aside. The tenderness of the father softened the austerity of his habits; and his language came warm from the heart.

Ste. Upon my word, 't would puzzle me to tell where his language came from; but, to do him justice (notwithstanding his harangues in the house of peers, which you talked of), his language was as little parliamentary, as any language I ever heard in my life.

Mor. Oh! yours was no meeting of formality. Business, like yours, called for no pomp of words on either side.

Ste. Words! no; so his lordship seemed to think, when he told me they buttered no parsnips.

Mor. My father? You jest, sure!

Ste. Indeed, I do not; and I am afraid, my dear young friend, your ardent feelings have painted the parental affection of Lord Duberly in warmer colors than it merits. Mor. Good heaven! What do you mean?

Ste. To be plain-he received the account of his lost son's arrival with more than coldness.

Mor. Oh! you mistook my dear father's manner.

Ste. Nothing could be less equivocal. He treated me with-. But that doesn't signify. When I introduced myself, by informing him that I came from Quebec

Mor. Aye, that must have excited his attention. made a thousand inquiries ?

Ste. No faith! only one.

Mor. What was that?

He

Ste. Psha! trivial-mere ribaldry! Deuce take it! I'm ashamed, for his sake and yours, to mention it.

Mor. Nay, nay; I entreat you, tell me.

Ste. Why, he asked if—psha !—if I was a Yankee-Doodle, if you must have it !

Mor. You astonish me!

Ste. Not more than I was astonished. In short, instead of finding the fond, anxious, agitated father, I met a man, reckless of his child's fate, and treating the friend, who brought the news of his son's preservation, with levity

and insult.

Mor. Impossible! 'tis not in his nature!

Ste. Nay-even with buffoonery.

Mor. Take care, Stedfast! you may have misconceived; but I must not have my father's character made an illtimed sport.

Ste. Nay, 'tis sportive enough in itself, for that matter.
Mor. Sportive!

He deals in witch

Ste. Yes-beyond comprehension. craft, it seems; for he was even jocular enough to tell me, that he had a familiar, in the shape of a Blue Boar, who had given him intelligence of your arrival. I confess I was shocked.

Mor. As I am, Mr. Stedfast, shocked at your attempt, in a moment like this, to trifle with the feelings of a friend, and endeavour to sully a venerable character, too well established to be tainted by the breath of misrepresentation!

Ste. Why, zounds! I tell you that Lord Duberly

Mor. Lord Duberly, sir, is as incapable of the conduct and language you have described, as I am incapable of hearing you without resentment.

Ste. Resentment!—You are warm, Mr. Morland.

Mor. I have reason, sir. Look at the man! look at Lord Duberly!-His very countenance contradicts the assertion!

Ste. Why, I don't know. I believe, since you say it, that "gentleman" was once written legibly on his brow; but, hang me! if time has not scratched out the writing as thoroughly as ever writing was scratched out in the world! Mor. This conduct of yours shall not go unpunished, Mr. Stedfast.

Ste. Unpunished, young man!

Mor. No, by Heaven! Such a gross aspersion of my good and worthy father shall be answered with the life of that man

Ste. Who lately saved yours, Henry?

Mor. Mr. Stedfast, I

I

Ste. Young man, 'tis well for us that winters enough have passed over my head, to make my blood flow in a temperate current. Did it run riot, like yours, we might now be cutting one another's throats! Would it please you, think you, to have done me that office?

Mor. Please me!-It makes me shudder!

Ste. Yet this, now, is what the world calls satisfaction! I trust I am as little daunted with big words, and a stern

look, as most men; but the truest courage, Henry, is founded on reason;-and were the head oftener permitted to check the passions of the heart, there would be fewer fatal encounters on foolish causes; and the peace of many a parent, wife, and child, might remain unbroken!

Mor. O Stedfast! The man who reasons thus could surely, never mean to sport with my anxieties! There must be some mistake! Pray, pardon me, and accompany me to my father's:-assist me in unravelling this mystery, which confounds me. Can you forgive my heat?

Ste. From the very bottom of my heart, Henry; for, however rash in itself, the impulse was filial piety, and that, with me, will amply excuse it.

COLMAN.

THE LIAR.

Enter YOUNG WELDING and PAPILLION.

Young W. And I am now, Papillion, perfectly equipped?

Pap. Personne mieux.

Young W. My figure?

Nobody better.

Pap. Fait à peindre.

Young W. My air?

Pap. Libre.

Young W. My address?

Pap. Parisienne.

Young W. My hat sits easily under my arm; not like

the draggled tail of my tattered academical habit.

Pap. Ah! bien autre chose.

Young W. How long have you left Paris, Papillion?

Pap. Twelve,-dirteen year.

Young W. I can't compliment you upon your progress

in English.

Pap. The accent is difficile.

Young W. But here you are at home.

Pap. C'est vrai.

Young W. No stranger to fashionable places.

Pap. Sans doute.

Young W. Well, then, open your lecture; and, d'ye hear, Papillion, as you have the honour to be promoted