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plicit. When Delville went to Bengal, where I first saw him, his constitution had scarcely recovered the effects of a wound he received in a duel. It was on this subject alone he was ever reserved with me. I never heard any particulars from him he condemned the system of duelling indeed, but further he never went.

E. Bel. The system?
Del. It is surely detestable.

E. Bel. It is horrible. It decides no appeal, it confirms no doubt, it asserts no plea, it defends no right, it establishes no character, it ratifies no truth, and so far from testifying real courage, it reduces to the same level the cowardly and the brave,

O'Neale. Gently, gently there—I do believe indeed the system of duelling cannot be easily reconciled to morality or to law, and perhaps as little to common sense, but it sometimes enables a weak body to do justice to a noble spirit in opposition to the tyrannic violence of brute strength,

Del. Who shall decide between us-shall we refer the question to the ladies ?

Louisa. Not to the ladies, who may seem interested in a system so chivalrous. For my part however, when I hear of any man appealing to force, I conclude he does not himself imagine he has reason on his side.

O'Neale. The decision, I find, is against E. Bel. Well-Mr. Arundel —you was giving me an account of Delville's health. The heat of the climate, rendered more dangerous by the exertions of his profession, may perhaps have been too much for him, but as he is now on his passage home, I am in great hopes that his native air and the care of those he will honor with his friendship (Sighs) will quickly restore him. What is the meaning of this ? you bring no information of a melancholy nature?

me,

Del. Mr. Belford, I will not torture you with suspense—I have information to give you of the most unfortunate kind. Delville died on his passage.

E. Bel. Gracious heaven !

O'Neale. (to E. Belford) You must bear the blow manfully

E. Bel. Then I must sink under it.
Louisa. What calamity is this?

E. Bel. What calamity ? Delville is dead my friend—my ever loved, honored, offended friend your devoted protector--every man's idol. Louisa. Alas! alas! is it possible.

Sinks in a chair. O'Neale. I swear I could almost consent to die for the pleasure of being so lamented.

Mrs. Bel. What's the matter with the child ? There is nothing very extraordinary in the intelligence. Mr. Delville was a soldier and exposed to death in a thousand ways. Besides, I always knew he would never return.

E. Bel. Never return? mercy, mercy, hea

ven !

you will but

Bel. Look up, Edward—take courage, man -the world is all before you yet,

if make the best of it.

E. Bel. Oh! had he died in England, I could have borne it. Had he given me the opportunity, the sacred opportunity of watching by him on his death-bed and receiving his forgiveness for the outrage I did him ; in the last moment of fainting nature, had I marked the smile of pardon on his countenance, or caught the sigh, that I might have construed into regret at leaving me, then, then, I could have borne his loss. But now-at a distance-unforgivenmyself perhaps the cause of his death—it is intolerable, dreadful.

Bel. The affair is unfortunate certainly-however, there is always a consolation in having a thing decided some way or other. I am let into a secret too, which takes off the poignancy of my grief considerably.

Del. On one point your mind may be at ease. The last expression of Delville was full of the strongest affection and regard for you-his last sigh I will not dare interpret.

to Louisa. Bel. No-keep to the bare facts, if you please, Mr. Arundel.

E. Bel. I thank you, (to Delville) sir-for your tears-oh that they should be so fruitless!

Del. I will now take my leave. You shall see me again shortly, when I will communicate all the particulars I think will interest you. You will then find how entirely you was forgiven, and that Delville, with Mr. O'Neale, would have almost wished to make the experiment of dying for the high privilege of being so lamented.

Exit. E. Bel. Oh! what a blank is this world to me! What a dull, cold, cheerless waste I have to pass through, 'till I am at rest with Delville. Come, my dear Louisa, we will talk of his excellencies together, and follow the long, long enumeration with a sorrow that shall end only with our lives.

They join the group-the curtain falls.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT V,

SCENE I.---An Apartment at LADY LOVELL'S.

Enter LADY LOVELL-LAURA.

Lady Lovell.

REALLY he is so excessively careless and imprudent, it is impossible to trust him. His errors indeed are not great, and he does not think them worth repenting of, but they are ludi, crously numerous.

Laura. Oh! he will improve.

L. Lov. At the same time I own I am not insensible to the pleasure of acting in a manner so essentially beneficial to the country. The intermarriage of the English and Irish, particu. larly since the union, is certainly highly de. sirable.

Laura. Yes—we shall canonize you as a patriot saint, and shew your figure in wax-work amongst the male idols of their country.

L. Lov. Then amongst all his blunders he has so much good in him, that it really would be

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