Lov. Take it, take it, only dress my hair, and

take my whole wardrobe.

Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A room:

MRS. MELVILLE and EMILY.

Mrs. Mel. You have heard who arrived last night after we were all in bed.

Emily. Mr. Lovell-indeed I am very sorry

for it.

Mrs. Mel. I was sure he would accept Melville's invitation-you'll torment him in spite of yourself-but we'll talk no more of him-he's one of the men that give us poor women the character of coquettes, by construing distant civilities into proofs of love-how did Mellefont take your delay of marriage?

Emily. With the saucy arrogance of a man who thinks himself secure of me.

Mrs. Mel. And with a grave ill-natured speech upon the impropriety of your conduct. Emily. No, no, now you wrong him, though satirical he is never ill-natured.

Mrs. Mel. Well, upon my word I think he has some right to be offended.

Emily. You quite frighten me with that grave look, but you remember, sister, how positively I

declared, not three months ago, that I would keep these men at a distance. When you was talking of domestic happiness and congenial sentiments. Alas! how little have your hopes been realized!

Mrs. Mel. Pray, Emily, don't be personal.

Emily. I used to laugh at you, and call the whole race cruel, perfidious, ungenerous; of the tiger species-that ought to be caged as such; very well to look at from a distance, but terrible to approach.

Mrs. Mel. And then Mr. Mellefont convinced you I was right.

Emily. I don't know of what he has convinced me, but really ever since I knew him I have been so near the clouds!-in such an indescribable

state of heavenly confusion! But, my dear Louisa, how can you imagine I should be very anxious to marry, when I see you unhappy with a man whom we all know to be more affectionate than the rest of his sex taken together. How can I venture, when hope, seemingly so well founded, has been so delusive-you remember the song

Hope o'er the bridal bed

Suspends his radiant flight,

And whispers joy to come.
Ah, me! how soon he's fled!
How fades his purple light,

'Till all around is gloom.

Mrs. Mel. I own there are moments when

my spirits, great as they are, hardly support me, but it is the report of his ill-usage, so current in the world, that wounds me most; however, the time will come-I know the time will come, when they will envy me as much as now they affect to pity me; in the interval they shall not be gratified with my mournful looks, I am deter, mined-my father!

Enter LOVECHILD.

Lovec. What, in tears, Louisa!—always in tears! this is not be born; the world says true, I perceive-Melville treats you shamefully.

Mrs. Mel. Its a pity your informers can find no better amusement than to pry into family concerns that don't relate to them.

Lovec. The world is censorious enough, heaven knows; but general reports are seldom without foundation; to me they have always been favourable 'till now, and I am too old to bear the change with patience. I don't like to have it said that my daughter suffers from the tyranny or oppression of any man, while I stand by, afraid to interfere. No-I don't like it, and I won't bear it. Now tell me, own to me, are not you a most miserable woman? Emily, is not she a most miserable woman, I say?

Mrs. Mel. Miserable with Melville?

Lovec. I shall separate you from this worthless husband of yours.

Mrs. Mel. I am happier with him, faulty as he sometimes is, than in any other situation you could describe.

Lovec. There's a self-willed piece of romance for you-come, come, this is nonsense, rank stuff, he's rich, and can make you a handsome allowance.

Mrs. Mel. I can hear no more on this subject, even from you.

Lovec. What think you of a thousand a-year, your carriage, your jewels, and a service of plate.

Mrs. Mel. I have no ambition to be buried splendidly.

Lovec. Buried, do you call it―'sdeath, Louisa, you know he drinks hard.

Mrs. Mel. That I deny.
Lovec. Plays deep.

Mrs. Mel. Go on as you please.

Lovec. Stays out all night; nay, Miss Allost declared the other evening, just at the time too, when a sans-prendre-vole had put her into tolerable humour, she knew he beat you.

Mrs. Mel. Its slander, slander all! and the falsehood of the report is only equalled by its malice.

Lovec. Well, well, I see there's nothing to be done with you in this temper, but I will not suffer you to be ill-used, to be made a laughingstock, a by-word; a subject of jest over the bottle, pity at quadrille-heavens ! when I think

what a pride and comfort you were to me-but I have done! I have done! Exit.

Mrs. Mel. And did he really mean to separate us-how Melville will laugh when he hears of it.

Emily. Indeed, Louisa, you're a most excellent creature, practising all your life what wiser man can only teach. I protest here's Mr. Mellefont, and with such a frown on his countenance, I would not meet him for the universe. Let us fly. Exeunt.

Enter MELLEFONT.

Mellef. I perceive she is afraid of encountering me. Well, well, let me not imitate poor Melville, and make myself the hero of a tragedy.

Enter DAZZLE.

Ah! Dazzle-I wanted such a good humoured fellow as you. I see you have not lost the spring of your walk.

Daz. There's life in it-there's eleganceyouth and vigour in it—eh?

Mellef. You stay a day with us, I suppose you have brought back from your travels a store of information.

Daz. It is well you spoke in time, for I see the Morning Post has announced my arrival,