ACT II.-SCENE I.

The Park.

Enter MELLEFONT and SETTLE.

Sett. Its true, I assure you.

Mellef. Impossible.

Sett. Its too much trouble to contradict you.
Mellef. Well, well, how was it?

Sett. He was speaking to me about his duel, but he had not finished his story, before the girl I told you of came tripping up to him—just as she was going to open her lips, he sealed them with a kiss, and after a little of his nonsensical love eloquence, led her by the hand to the cottage by the side of the water.

Mellef. But did not she resist?

Sett. No, indeed, she was collected as I should have been, if instead of being ravished, she had attempted to ravish me; she seemed too proud to oppose him, but pray ask me no more, here he is himself, let him answer.

Enter MELVILLE.

Mel. This was a most fortunate accident, Settle.

Mellef. Considering the use you are going to make of it, I can't agree with you.

Mel. What, to have a fine girl thrown into your arms without the trouble of searching for her-just to step from your door and be welcomed by such beauty-our inimitable dramatist himself could hardly do her justice-" cheeks deeply blushing at the insinuations of her telltale eyes-lips smiling at their own discretion, or if not smiling, more sweetly pouting"-you remember it, Settle?

Sett. Not I, I never attend to such inflammatory descriptions.

Mellef. Really, Melville, just at this moment I should think you might find another employment for your thoughts.

Mel. I can never run on in any path, if a fine woman happens to cross it-I must follow her, though my life depends upon my speed in the other direction.

Mellef. But, Mrs. Melville.

Mel. She has offended me, she knows she has offended me, and if this dear little unknown had a skin the colour of mahogany.

Sett. And teeth of ebony.

Mel. If she had but one eye, and that seemed to be always taking measure of an enormous hunch upon her back-by my soul I'd make love to her, if it was only for the pleasure of revenge.

Mellef. But what will old Lovechild say; con

sider his attachment to his daughter, and his inflexible honour.

Mel. Yes, I must manage to conceal my prize from him. I am very much obliged to my ancestor, Sir Roger, for his cottage-its a glorious hiding place for contraband commodities.

Mellef. But still Mrs. Melville.

Mel. Take care, Mellefont. It has been a favourite maxim with all wise men, from Solomon down to Rochefoucault, never to interfere between a man and his wife.

Mellef. Well, but if no other considerations will move you, to tyrannize over a poor girl who has put herself under your protection.

Mel. Under my protection! ridiculous, why, surely you're not such a novice in the world as to be deceived by such an artifice as this. What! I suppose, this peerless damsel has just escaped from the magic spells of some black enchanter, and now trusts to that worthy and chaste knight, Charles Melville, to carry her back in safety to her castle-no, no, these arms shall be her castle.

Sett. Its easy to see from her manner, she is of a rank superior to what her dress indicates.

Mel. Oh, no doubt, some noble lady in disguise.

Sett. I see you are incorrigible.

Enter LOVECHILD.

Mel. But hush! here's my father-in-law-not a word on your life.

Lovec. Charles! I left Louisa in the library, (aside) I wish he'd just go and speak to her, she is so unhappy at the thought of having offended him.

Mel. Its a fine morning for fishing, sir-Settle and I have been amusing ourselves.

Lovec. As I said, I left my daughter in the library.

Mel. (Aside.) I suppose she has been complaining to her father-I fancy, sir, my company is not wished for, and I detest unwelcome intrusions.

Lovec. He's in a fine passion, I see; perhaps not-perhaps not, sir.

Mel. Well, sir, its all very well, and how is my friend Lovell, I hear he arrived last night. Lovec. I hardly know how he is, egad I believe he could not answer that question himself.

Mellef. What, still in love with Emily? Sett. Who is this Mr. Lovell, Melville? Mel. Oh, an old acquaintance of mine-I knew him at college, and there is not an honester fellow breathing-but in love he's a complete madman-I must introduce you, Settle, and if you can but sprinkle a few drops of your calmness upon his fire, you'll improve him greatly.

Sett. What, a fellow of tinder, I suppose-consumed a thousand times, yet still capable of fresh burning.

Mellef. Yes, and poor Emily, who has really a respect for him, is more perplexed than you

can imagine-he construes the smallest civility into a violent demonstration of love-if she attends to him, when he speaks, if she gives him her hand, as she steps into her carriage, he fancies himself secure of her for a wife-if to undeceive him, she treats him with coldness and distance, he complains, that whatever are her feelings towards him, he at least deserves politeness.

Sett. What a vain coxcomb he must be !

Mel. No, not so, no man was ever more free from vanity-he has a thousand excellent qualities, which he could not enumerate, and if you asked him for a picture of himself, his humility would prevent a resemblance.

Sett. He must be a whimsical fellow. I shall be glad to make his acquaintance.

Mellef. Oh! you'll be an excellent sedative to his evaporating spirit.

Sett. But, tell me, is he constant in his attachments?

Mellef. No, in good faith, no-for this last year I had heard no name from him but Sophia, and he has repeated it so often, that he seems to have taught it the very echo, for I can never stir without fancying I hear it—but what is most ludicrous of all is, this Sophia is a school acquaintance of Mrs. Melville and her sister, so that while he is dying for Emily, she detests him as a traitor to her friend.

Mel. Nay, nay, laughs at, rather than detests, and almost pities while she laughs.