SCENE I.—Jacob Friendly, sen's House.

YOU and I, brother, ne­ver did, or ever will agree on this subject. You know the terms upon which I took your son; I adopted him as my own child, and hold myself responsible for his conduct.

Little dost thou know his cha­racter, and much do I repent of putting him under thy direction; it will be the ruin of him, soul and body.

'Sdeath, Jacob, what do you mean by such reflections? They are enough to make one quarrel with you outright. After all the expense I have been at, in giving him the first-rate education, don't he possess all those neces­sary accomplishments which constitute the agree­able [Page 14] companion▪—and yet you say I have ruin­ed him, soul and body.

What thou doth call accom­plishments, brother, are what lead him the broad­way to destruction; there is scarce a night but I hear of his disorderly behaviour; dost thou not think that these reports hurt me, who am the father of the young man?

Parents often create themselves unnecessary trouble by being too particular with their children—you multiply all the foibles of your son into vices, and make no allowances for the sprightly sallies of youth; we will see which will turn out the cleverest fellow, him or your primitive son, whom you are bringing up in the straight path.

Would that George was like unto Jacob! What a consolation would it be to my mind! It would be a healing comfort, bro­ther.

And I am sure it would be mortifying to me if George was like unto, Ja­cob; I mean him for a different sphere in life, and trust some of those days he will make a fi­gure; I know him—the seeds of greatness are planted in his breast, and time and reflection will make them blossom fair to the world.

The great danger is, that the rank weeds of vice will overgrow the seeds of virtue: thou hast been too indulgent to him; and where thou hast been most to blame, was in making him too independent of thee.

Brother, these are narrow, contrac­ted notions; it is destroying every idea of [Page 15] independence to have a person hanging on one, a wretched dependant; I have placed George in easy circumstances: I know he will be grateful, and make use of his money like a gentleman; come let us go and see Hannah and Rachel.

Scene.—George Friendly, jun's lodgings.

Invi­tations upon invitations; cards upon cards; I will be with ye ladies and gentlemen: Pleasure thou art my goddess, and I'll pursue thee with unremitting ardour.

Very good; tell Ra­chel I will attend to it. How are all at home, brother Jake?

Bravely, I'm obliged to thee, brother George.

Your servant, gentlemen.

Manly, your most obedient.

Farewell, brother George and friend Manly.

There goes the hope of the fa­mily—daddy's pet.

He is a good kind of a lad.

A sly fellow, depend on't— Harry, methinks you look very brilliant; this has been a grand parade day—a fine sparkling hilted sword—now tell me truly is there not vanity in dangling that fine affair by your side?

No, George, not a particle; but I feel a conscious pride in wearing it, for [Page 16] these reasons:—it has been my trusty friend in the hour of danger; and the first moment I gir­ded it on this side, I subscribed my name to our glorious independence, which I will support while I have breath.

What a Don Quixote in po­litics! you were always an enthusiast in that way, Harry.

I glory in being an enthusiast in the cause of liberty and my country; and esteem it the most fortunate circumstance of my life, that I have been instrumental in effecting a re­volution which has given freedom to millions living, and will secure it to millions yet unborn.

A political prophet, too—I hope you will not prove a false one. Our national go­vernment has its enemies.

Not a great many: it is the nature of a popular government, like ours, for party-spirit to prevail.

Some will tell you it is the life and soul of a republican government: it kept the lamp of liberty burning at Rome a long time, but, unfortunately, extinguished it at last.

We have nothing of that kind to fear among us: a great majority of the citi­zens of the united states are sufficiently enlight­ened to judge for themselves: they will not be led away or imposed upon by designing men of any description whatever: they, I trust, set a just value upon one of the best constitutions that ever was framed for the government of man. What people on earth, save ourselves, can boast of so free and equal a representation, or of choosing [Page 17] their chief magistrate? What people under hea­ven enjoy civil and religious liberty with that pu­rity we do? With such advantages, and under such a government, how can we but be happy?

There is no doubt but we are, and may continue to be the happiest people on the face of the globe; but let us throw politics aside, and converse about the affairs of the world in general. Have you heard any thing that is wonderful through the day?

Not a sentence: methinks the town seems very dull.

Ha! ha! ha! dull indeed. Where have you concealed yourself?—Here man—see what a volume of invitations I have: I am engaged to dinners, tea-parties, and balls, for the month to come.

Really, really, Friendly, you are in great demand;—much in fashion among the belles; I wonder you don't single out one from the fair flock for matrimony.

Matrimony, eh!—no, no, Har­ry;—as the song goes,

No, no, Harry, hang me if I marry—unless I could have a thousand wives.

What an extravagant rogue thou art! I should think myself supremely blest with one.

Apropos, Major: how do you [Page 18] come on in that business?—won't father give consent?

He will not.

Run away with her.

That would be dishonourable.

Ha, ha, ha, honour indeed! do you talk of honour in love matters? Love is not to be restricted.

Yes, rational love may be; though your sister is the dear and first object of my affections, and one in whom all my earthly happiness is centered, yet such are my no­tions of honour, that were she to put herself under my protection, I think I could not basely steal her from her parents.

Harke, Major, you have ac­quired much reputation under the banner of Mars, but I am afraid you have too much ho­nour to make any great figure under that of Venus.

George, my worthy fellow, how are you? Major, most noble Major, I kiss your hand. The news, gentlemen, tell me at once; I am on the wing in pursuit of the finest girl that ever was viewed by mortal man.

The Empress of Russia is dead.

And her successor is glad of it; I am off gentlemen.

What an oddity!

'Tis a superficial animal.

I had no conception it was so late. I must be off too; adieu George.

[Page 19]

Fare you well Harry.

Sambo, take this note to Mrs. Soapsuds.

Eh, eh, eh, dare he go sing like moc­key bird. Massa George berry fine young man; berry good to poor foke; he gib great deal mo­ney away; but he drom rogue for gall; he keep he tings berry close too: he no tell Sambo he secrets; but Sambo be drom cunning for all dat. Now I take dis to missey Sopey Suds; berry well: den missey Sopey Suds gib it to somebody else; Sambo know all about it: how Sambo wish he had a rich quare-toe old uncle, like massa George. he be a drom rogue among fair sex too.

I tink I berry hand­some fellow:—look much like a gemmen; we negro improbe berry much.

I am in love, George, over head and ears, by all that is charming in woman; delu­ged, inveloped, swallowed up in the great gulf of love;—and with whom do you think?

Why, faith, that it is not easy to divine; but, as I know you are fond of varie­ty, I should guess it to be with a black damsel.

No, damn it, not quite so strong a sto­mach; but, by the bye, it is with one of those called people of colour; the sweetest creature [Page 20] ever my eyes beheld: do you know, Friendly, it is a complection I think superior to all our boasted fair whites and reds: 'tis a fine standing colour: oh, such soft, such sweet, languishing, melting, dissolving looks.

Cease, thou rogue, and tell me where she is to be found.

Such an elegant, such a graceful figure, such dear little feet, such well-turned ancles.

No, but prithee, Trifle, where is this yellow piece of perfection to be seen?

That is the devil of it: I don't know.

And what the devil, have you been talking about all this while?

I lost her by the strangest accident that ever happened to man: I will tell you the whole story. As I was addressing her in her own lan­guage, you know I speak French very well, while I was holding her in conversation, a dog was chasing a monstrous great hog, just out of the wallow,—and what must the damn'd brute do, but run between my legs, and throw me off my centre, to the great mirth of the spectators.

Ha, ha, ha: it must have been a laughable sight.

That was a trifling mortification com­pared to the loss of her. However, I'll try to fish her out.—

And let me know.

You are not to be trusted—oh, damn it, I thought I had something to ask you; do you set your face towards Mrs. Peevish's to-morrow night? I am told there is to be a damn'd rout there.—Mrs. Peevish is a sweet woman.

[Page 21]

She is perfection itself: I was once half in love with that lady myself.

It is said you are so yet, George.

Whisper not such a word, Tri­fle.

SCENE.—An apartment in Peevish's house.

A pack of pickpockets I have about me: every one eating the bread of idleness. Pa­trick, you Patrick.

Shir.

Why did you not come before? one must be calling and ringing an hour before you budge.

I came as soon as I shaw you ring the bell, shir.

You did not, sir: you are such a hea­vy-heeled fellow that you move like an ele­phant: Did you attend to the horses last night?

Yes, shir: I gave them as much oats as they could ate all night;—and Dick looked as if he would burst this morning he was so fat.

Oh, you blundering Irish fool: you have foundered my horses. It is provoking to be plagued with such blockheads. I will send to England for servants that I can depend on: I must go and look after my creatures myself: it is mortifying that people of fortune and fa­mily should be treated in this way.

Fortune and family, by my shoul, I know his inshides so well, that if he had all the riches in the world, he [Page 22] would be a poor man; and as for family, I heard the paple spaking in the kitchen, that he never had a fader, and that his moder was a fish wo­man, and sold tripes in the market.

Is the old fellow gone?

I, and the devil go wid him, I shay.

You'll get used to him:— don't be disheartened. How do you like this country, Patrick?

Why, I like it so well, that if I was once in dare Ireland again, the devil burn me if I would be here.

That's certain—if you was there you would not be here:—you mean, if you was once in your own country, you would not return to this country.

Yes, honey:—that is what I thought I shaid.

I suppose you have got a sweet-heart there.

Upon my shalvation I have not.

Was you ever in love, Patrick?

Upon my word I am not quite shar­tin,—but I think I have some such disorder about me now.

Do you think so?

In faith I do.

With whom?—I hope it is with me.

Why faith, to tell you the honest trute, it is with your dear shelf.

With me, Patrick? You surprize me. [Page 23] —I am pleased with the declaration: it is a hand­some good lump of an Irishman.

You may belave me, when I tell you I love you above all flesh; whene'er I come nare you, I have odd thoughts and strange fail­ings.

How do you feel, Patrick?

I will tell you, my jewel, and will call all the world to witness the shincerity of my heart: when I come close to you, I fail a trem­bling all over, and my shoul jumps about so in my body, I am afraid it will tumble out of my mout.

Strong symptoms of love;

Suppose, Patrick, I was to listen to your passion, and consent to be married to you, what would you do for me?

In troth, I would use all my powers by day and night to sharve you.

Ah, but we American girls run a great risk in marrying foreigners; perhaps in a year or two, there would be an Irish wife coming to take you from me.

I would not lave you for all the wives in the world.

Then you are married!

The devil burn me if I ever was, and [...] am willing to take my oat of it before all the [...]ists and justices in the whole world.

What, made you say you would not [...]ave me for all the wives in the world?

Oh hone, my swate, how you take [...]e alarms for nothing at all at all: what I did [Page 24] mane was, if I was married to all the women in the world, I would never lave you.

Here is our mistress coming.

Pray, Jenny dare, let me be upper­most in your mind.

Ah, ah, if you behave yourself per­haps you may.

Scene changes to another apartment.

Jenny, did you call on mr. Last for my shoes?

Yes ma'm: I have brought them, and he desired me to tell as how he begged you a thousand pardons for not making them sooner.

It was of no great consequence I suppose he has been hurried.

Considerate soul! most excel­lent woman! she is worth her weight in gold— the kindest, the best mistress that ever drew the breath of life.

Melancholy I will force thee from me.

Neighbour Peevish, I am come ac­cording to promise—don't let me interrupt thee—thou knowest how delighted I am with music—I could hear thee the live long day.

—Welcome my dear Miss Friendly, I was waiting with impatience for your agreeable compa­ny—sit down my dear.

[Page 25]

I thank thee for thy friendship: and be assured, I find as much pleasure in thy so­ciety, as thou can possibly have for mine. I should have been here sooner, but for that plaguy creature, Manly.

Ah, ah, ah! The poor major has lost his heart; and don't diguise it from the world, that you have got it.

Who! me got his heart? How strange thou dost talk, Betsey Peevish.

Come, come, Miss; you must not suppose the world does not know you hold the major in chains: treat your captive at least with humanity.

Why, to be frank with thee my dear, I confess that he is far from being disa­greeable to me; but prudence tells me, I must stifle a passion, that if suffered to grow, will be a source of unhappiness to me.

Why so, Miss Friendly? are not Mr. Manly's connections respectable: he is in easy circumstances; and as for character, there are few men who stand higher in the opinion of the world.

One would suppose he had em­ployed thee as a counsel, to plead his cause.

No: upon my word, I am quite disinterested: what I say upon the occasion, is entirely upon the score of friendship.

I am confident thou art actuated by no other motive. I am sensible of Manly's worth; and was I at liberty to act for myself▪ he would be my choice: but my parents are to be satisfied upon that point; and such are the [Page 26] inflexible attachments my father has to the rules of our persuasion, that he will not give his con­sent to my being married in any other way.

That is a bar, I never thought of.

It is a bar I have not the cou­rage to jump over; tho' it would be into the arms of the man I love.

Jenny; inform Mr. Peevish, we expect the pleasure of his company to tea.

Yes, Ma'm.

Your servant, Miss Friendly; I do not believe there ever was a man in the world so ill used as I am.

Poh, poh, my dear; don't let such trifles ruffle your temper.

Trifles do you call them? having my horses ruined; my fine greys, that cost me three hundred dollars, by that Irish, buffle-headed blockhead, who told me he understood how to take care of horses.

Perhaps they are not so injur­ed as you apprehend: Patrick will take more care in future: he is a good natured obliging creature, as ever we had about the house.

Ay, ay—you women always spoil servants.

Come, my dear—let us have your judgment upon this fresh tea.

It is horrid stuff; where did you buy it?—what did you give for it?— what scoundrel imposed upon you.

[Page 27]

I bought it from an honest Quaker lady.

She is no lady—she is a great cheat: it is bad tea.

You must not be judge and jury both; and condemn the poor tea, unheard and untried: Now—I think Miss Rachel and myself are the most proper per­sons, to try, and pass judgment upon the me­rits or demerits of the said tea. What do you think of it, Miss Friendly?

Why, I think, neigh­bour Peevish, it is delicious.

And I, also:—It has a most charming flavour.

There—thou seest thou hast two to one against thee, friend Peevish.

And I think when a man has got the tongues of two women to contend with, it is time for him to decamp:—So, ladies, I leave you to sip your hot water, and talk scandal as long as you please.

I did not think thy husband had such an unhappy temper: I thought thou was very happily married.

Ah! the world is sometimes deceived by appearances.

Just in the nick of time, ladies:—I have been shooling this hour for a dish of tea.

Take a seat, Mr. Trifle: You shall be accommodated.

Dev'lish good faith: a piece [Page 28] of that dried beef, ma'm—you see I make free, Mrs. Peevish: Freedom is the life and soul of friendship; ha! ha! ha!—I'd thank you for ano­ther dish, ma'm;

another, ma­dam;

that was damn'd hot:— Enough, ma'm. Now, ladies, I must feast my eyes. Mrs. Peevish, you look majestic. Miss Friendly, there is an elegant neatness in your dress, that I extremely admire—and, as you are not forbidden fruit, I have a strong inclination to taste you.

I protest thou shall not.

I protest and swear I will.

A truce—a truce, Trifle.

A truce in the moment of victory!— You would make a bad commander in chief, Major.

I believe, Trifle, thou hast more assurance than all the men in the world put to­gether.

You mistake, my dear girl, 'tis confi­dence—and I find it of infinite use to me: there is no cutting any figure without it: it is that which gives a man a certain consequence in himself.

What say you, Major?

Insignificant puppy.

As you ask my opinion—I think I had rather be more remarkable for my diffidence, than for my impudence.

I hope you do not mean to apply that to me, Major?

[Page 29]

Why—will you put the cap on, Tri­fle?—Mrs. Peevish, I believe I have been so rude as not to enquire after your health: I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you well, madam.

You are very excusable, Ma­jor:

I am well, I thank you, Sir.

—Are you go­ing, Miss Friendly: Shall I have the pleasure of seeing you home?

What a tormentor he is.

Officious coxcomb:

Trifle, you will be so good as to let me have that honor.

Ecod, now I think on it;

I am, at this very hour, engaged upon business of the utmost importance:—the Major, Miss, will afford himself the supreme felicity of waiting upon you, with all the honours of war. Pardon me—ladies, I am your slave: Harry, I am your's from the highest to the lowest or­der of men and things.

I am glad he is gone.

Betsey Peevish, I expect thee will soon return this visit.

I will—'ere long. But why is this visit so short?

I will give the reasons for it, when I see thee again. Farewell, Betsey.

Madam, your humble servant.

Adieu—amiable pair:—may heaven smile upon your virtuous loves.

Madam, I think you are very defici­ent in point of respect to me.

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In what instance, my dear?

In what instance?—Why, this even­ing at tea you made me appear very contempti­ble:—If you had any sense of gratitude, Ma­dam, you would behave with more propriety to the man whom you owe all your conse­quence to.

Such language, Mr. Peevish, is as cruel as it is unjust:—I have always exerted myself in doing honour to the affairs of your house; and in no way have I been wanting in affection and respect to you.

I tell you, Madam, you have forgot yourself.

Barbarous man:—Ah! why did I sacrifice myself?

Don't cry, my dear mistress—don't cry: I heard every word he said to you—and, indeed, Madam, I wonder you don't take up the cudgel; and not suffer him to lord it over you so:—If it was me—

Hold, Jenny: Don't you pre­sume to reflect upon your master.

I won't, Madam, if it is not agreeable to you. O lard—she is the most extraordinary wife I ever heard of: won't abuse her husband her [...]f nor suffer any one else to do it:—If Pa­trick uses me so, when we are married, if I don't comb his head with a three-legged stool, there is no snakes in Ireland.

Hard—hard is the lot of helpless women. When young—exposed to the subtile arts of man—who have a thousand ways [Page 31] to deceive our unwary sex; instead of being our protectors, too, too often become our base destroyers: and when once the marriage knot is ty'd, we become subject to their arbi­trary and capricious humours. Thus it is with me: allured by the wealth of Mr. Peevish, and prompted by that vanity too common to our sex, of living in all the fashionable parade of life, I gave my hand to the man, that I cannot say I sincerely loved, but yet esteemed; and was in hopes that esteem would have ripened into love:—Alas! I fear it will never take place.

SCENE.—A room in Jacob Friendly sen's House.

I insist upon it, brother, that parents have not a positive right, in every in­stance, to cross their children in marriage mat­ters:—Here are two young people whose affec­tions are mutual; and who are ready and wil­ling to pull off their shoes and stockings toge­ther, and you won't let them.

Thou speakest strangely, brother:—If thou wast a parent, thou wouldst not support such sentiments.

Yes I would: zounds, what [Page 32] objection can you have? Is not the man every way upon a footing with your daughter? Is it because he is not one of us.

I'll maintain it Jacob; and was going to say, it is a dev'lish arbitrary law of your society, that you won't permit a connection with other sects of christians.

It is in vain to reason with thee, brother—thou art so violent in what thou dost undertake: our society has had its rules of long standing; which have kept the church to­gether, from generation to generation.

Psha, psha—don't tell me a­bout your generations and generations: you are a virtuous, valuable people; but you should not set yourselves up, in opposition to other people, so much.

What aileth thee brother George? —thou looketh as if something troubled thee.

Ah, ah, ah; yes, sister, I am very much troubled: it vexes me to the heart, to find so much perverseness in your husband: I am sure, if it depended upon you, it would soon be settled—you are a woman of liberality.

What is the business?

Why, to have your daugh­ter and the major married, and Jacob won't consent:—Mind; I do not advise them to make a run-away match: but if they do—they will find an asylum at my country seat.

I wish, Jacob, thou wouldst be more accommodating to thy brother—thou knowest he is somewhat hasty, yet has got an [Page 33] excellent heart:—Consider how much he is the friend of our family.

I know it, Hannah—but I cannot be so accommodating as to give up the prerogative of a parent.

Indeed, husband, I think thou doth sometimes carry thy prerogative too far: for instance—the other night thou didst for­bid George from coming to our house.

My house shall never be for the reception of profligates.

I do not view him as such: but even if he was—remember he is our child.

Foolish, and too indul­gent mothers! it is owing to ye, that children too often take to improper ways:—It is in vain for fathers to precept, while mothers, by their too great indulgencies, counteract all they do.

Rachel, come hither. Have I not always been a kind father to thee?

Thou hast been one of the best of parents.

Then, why art thou ungrate­ful?—Why wilt thou wring my old heart?— Why hast thou suffered thy affections to be en­gaged to a man, so every way a contrast to thy­self?

Ah, me!—What reply shall I make?

Father, there is a Friend [Page 34] wants to see thee, upon some business of a ve­ry urgent nature.

O love!—O tyrant love! —Thou destroyer of my peace of mind by day, and repose by night: but a little agone, my heart was as free as air—all men were alike to me: now, one object engrosses all my thoughts. In vain I strive to banish him from my affec­tions, and confine myself to the guidance of my father—whenever I see him, my resolution va­nishes.

SCENE.—An apartment in Peevish's House.

Patrick, my worthy fellow, you seem to be much improved:—Do you think you can keep a secret?

By my shoul, I believe he is taking lave of his rason, be spakes so shensible and shi­vil.

Upon my word I can Shir: I will only tell it to Michael O'Gra, my comrade; he and I travelled over sa, in the same ship toge­ther; he tells me all his sacrets, and I tell him all mine—he is all one as myshelf.

But you must not tell anyone.

Very well, Shir.

I am going out of town. What I want you to do, is—to take notice what gen­tlemen come here while I am gone—and who comes most frequently: in particular, take no­tice if young George Friendly comes often.

Very well, Shir.

Here, Patrick—be attentive.

Now, the devil take me; if I will ei­ther [Page 35] kape your money or your sacrets: the mo­ney I will give to the first poor crater I meet, and the sacret I will give my mistress: I will tell her all, and more too:—The old shinner is jea­lous; I don't much wonder at it—he must know in his own conshence, he is not shutable for her: O, she is the swatest woman that ever was made—she is sho good and sho kind;— whenever she wants any thing, she will shay— Patrick, I will thank you to do this, or I would be oblaged to you to do that; that makes one do things pleasantly; in fath, I would get up in my slape, any hour in the night, to do her a good turn:—As for him, I have not the laste liking for him; he goes snarling about the house, like an old mastiff; and seems never better plased than when he is in a passion, scoulding us poor sharvants. Upon my con­shence, he made me sho angry the other day, that if I had not been very much afrade I would have kicked him behind, before his face.—Oh, here is the swate crater.

Heigho! This love has turned me topsy-turvy; I hardly know what I am about; Patrick is always in my thoughts. In putting water into the kettle, for tea—instead of pump, I put it full of rain water: and this morning, I put on my stockings wrong side out.

Jenny, dare, have you shettled the matter wid yourshelf. Will you have me or not?

I am afraid to trust you, Patrick.

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Then, as I can't live without you— I'll cut my own troat to shave my wretched life.

O lard, may be he will—then I shall be made miserable.

Then, Pat, I'll be thine to-morrow-come-two-weeks.

I'm struck dumb: I can't spake for joy.

Now America is the best country in the world; and I'll fight for it, while I have an inch of flesh.

Scene changes to George Friendly jun's Lodgings.

This is mysterious:—Peevish is gone a jour­ney.—

I have it: by all my pleasures past, and joys to come, 'tis a gantlet for an assignation; now for the plan of operation: we soldiers of Venus have a right to assume any shape—Peevish is out of town—she don't want me to appear in the house as young George Friendly.

I have hit upon the mode—

I come, my friend, to bid you farewell; I received some bad news from my island; I am very sorry cruel necessity compel me to leave this country—that it also oblige me leave you, my very dear friend, to whose politeness I am so much in debt.

My worthy friend, I am dis­tressed at the occasion that obliges you to leave our country; and lament, that I am to be de­prived of your society: I hope the accounts you have received, have been exaggerated.

God know: I hope so. I request one thing of you, my dear friend. I left behind one belov'd sister; perhaps she is now on her way [Page 38] to this country: should she arrive in my ab­sence, I beg you will give her your protection. Here is one letter for her, and there is her like­ness.

Rest assured, should she come here, I will render her all the services in my power.

I go content: to-morrow I take stage for New-York; there is one ship there which sail direct for the Cape. God bless you, friend.

May heaven protect you; I hope you will find matters better than you ex­pect. Are you in want of cash? pray be frank with me; my purse is entirely at your service.

You discover your goodness. I have no need, though the obligation is equally impressed: once more, farewell.

Of all the young foreigners I am acquainted with, that youth I most esteem. There is a certain something in the physiog­nomy and address of some men, that strike at first sight: I had not been an hour in young Beauchamp's company before I became interes­ted in him; and now feel as perfect a friendship for him, as if I had been acquainted with him for many years.—Now for the likeness of his sister: ha! the most lovely face I ever saw what regular features.

What expression!

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George, I have been weighing the matter well.

'Tis a most charming face.

I have reflected upon the consequen­ces, and am come to a determination to take your advice.

What elegant flowing hair.

What a contest I have had between love and honour, but love has triumphed;—

I have resolved, Friendly, to put the question to your sister for an elope­ment. Why George, don't you hear me speak?

Oh, Harry, are you there? When did you come in?

Did you not see me come in?

Not I, upon my word. Man­ly, do you know that I am most confoundedly in love?—Young Beauchamp has taken his de­parture for Cape-Francois, and left in charge with me, his beautiful sister: there is her like­ness—did you ever see so beautiful a creature?

It is a handsome face, but I am acquainted with one much more so—I never heard he had a sister here: where does she lodge?

Lord, lord, where has my imagination carried me? I am mistaken: she is on her way to this place; but, faith, I am out of my senses: Harry, you have the advantage of me: you are in love with a substance—I only with a shadow. Beauchamp having received unpleasant news from the Cape, set off imme­diately for New-York, to take shipping for that place: on his departure, he gave me this like­ness [Page 40] of his sister, with a letter, requesting, at the same time, if in his absence she should arrive here, I would take her under my protection. Rouze, Manly! damn it, what makes you look so grave? you have lost all your vivacity.

Ah, George, you are a happy fellow.

Happiness was made for man, but he is eternally breaking his limbs over other people's faults, or planting thorns in his own road: well, how do you come on, Hal? Have you made the proposition? try her; I'll engage she will leave father and mother, and cleave unto you. You, that have assisted in lay­ing the foundation of a great and mighty em­pire, afraid of a woman! ha, ha, ha.

It was the very business I came upon: I have now come to a serious determination of appealing to your sister's affections for a private union.

Bravo, bravo! that will be acting like a soldier. Your hand, Manly: by heaven it joys my heart, that I am to salute you by the name of brother, and that my sister is to be so fortunate, as to fall in with a man of your worth.

I thank you, my friend: if I should be so fortunate as to gain your sister, I hope I shall prove myself deserving of so valuable an acquisition. I am impatient to be gone, fare­well.

Farewell.

Ha, ha, ha! what fools do these females make of us lord-like creatures men! the brave, the gallant Manly, who has [Page 41] undergone all the fatigues and hardships of war —braved death at the very cannon's mouth— might now be knocked down with a straw; a very slave, a supplicating love-sick man; for my part, I am determined to be free. Now for Mrs. P. The dress will answer very well which I had on in my other night's excursion.

In this garb I will find my way into Mrs. Pee­vish's house.

How you cum here? Why you no tump at de door? Dat away you beggar peeple teel in a house when you see nobody, den you tief.

O, Mr. black man, do not be so hard on a poor unfortunate white man: I have a wife lying at death's door, and three small children down with the small-pox.

You tell true?

O, O yes.

Where you lib?

I live a great distance from here.

Cum here to-morrow: my massa's heart big for poor foke; he gib you someting for you poor wife, and you poor leetel tings.

I will come to-morrow.

Tay—

poor souls—

here—

here, take dis: go home quick to you wife and childre, fo fere dey tarve or die fo you get dare.

I can hardly refrain from embracing him.

You are a good black.

I see you safe out of eh door.

SCENE—A room in Peevish's House.

I have changed my plan: I was afraid to trust that blundering Irishman, and thought it most advisable to assume this beggar's dress: I have hung about my house in order to discover my wife's visitors, and am pretty well convinced of the purity of her con­duct, and the goodness of her heart: none visi­ted here but the wretched, and they left the house with tears of joy.

Thus far on my important mission.

Ha! there is something here: I will slip into this closet, where I can see and hear all that is going forward.

What are your wants, my friend?

Now for the wheedling tongue of a Richard, and the impudence of a Sir Harry Wildair.

Madam, behold your devoted slave.

Protect me heaven! where am I?

In the arms of the man who loves you to distraction.

[Page 43]

Audacious man, stand off.

Come, come, madam; this is carrying the joke too far▪ the note, Mrs. Peevish, you sent me.

Presumptuous coxcomb; to hold you in conversation would be an outrage upon chastity. Begone, ruffian; and in future learn to pay due respect to virtue.

So, so, so, so; I have made a pretty hand of it; there is some cursed mistake in this business: well, fortune—legar, I must shew my generalship by making a good retreat.

Young rake-hell, have I caught you with intentions to dishonour me?

Ha! who the devil are you?

I'll let you know, scoundrel.

'Sdeath, 'tis Peevish; it is all legerdemain and inchantment.

Madam: Eh, eh, eh, mercy on me, two witches.

Madam.

'Tis time for me to make my escape.

In the name of shaint Patrick, what are you?

[Page 44]

Never mind now; run, and seize that person who just now went out.

On my life I will not; one bird in the bush is better than two out of the hand.

Besides, it would be unmannerly to lave you with nobody but yourshelf; and as you are a stranger, I sale a kind of duty to provide lodg­ings for you for fare you might run-away from yourshelf, and get lost in this great shity.

Why Patrick, don't you know your master?

You auld Beelzebub, my master is at laste a thousand miles from here.

I tell you, I am your master; I have changed my mind; I did not go out of town.

Arrah, don't be prating to me you [...]ould crater.

Here constable, take this ould woman to the work-house.

O lord, O lord, how have I taken myself in.

Constable, I am Mr. Peevish, I am the master of this house. Patrick don't you know my legs.

Hell and fu­ries, what a situation have I reduced myself to?

O, 'tis a poor crazy woman, run-away from the hospital: see, her head has been shaved; I will take her back, poor creature.

O you devils, you are all combined against me.

Oh! oh! oh! Murder! murder! [Page 45] Fire! fire! fire! murder! fire! murder! mur­der!

Ha, ha, ha, this is what may be cal­led shatisfaction.

Scene changes to G. Friendly, jun's Lodgings.

The indignant flash from her eye, shot presumption dead. I have got myself into a pretty scrape: to what lengths has my vanity carried me! by heaven it was ill done; a lady, who is a pattern of virtue; one who al­ways treated me with the utmost hospitality: what the devil could possess me to put such a vicious construction upon her prudent injunc­tion.

I see now the whole affair. Peevish has become jealous of his wife, without just cause, I am sure. He, in order to come at her supposed inconstancy, has affected to prosecute a journey, but in fact has remain­ed in town, and assumed the dress of a woman, lurked about the house, to be a ready spy upon the actions of his lady.

How am I to act in this affair? I must write a penitent letter to Mrs. Peevish; but what the devil shall I say to Peevish? I will go and beg his pardon for the dishonor intended him. If he should require other satisfaction, I shall be rendered extremely unhappy, though not afraid to meet him; yet as I have been the aggressor, it would be adding injury to insult. Peevish is a man of understan­ding, though of a fretful temper. I hope he will be satisfied with due concessions, and the mat­ter be hushed: thus I go on sinning and repen­ting, repenting and sinning.

SCENE A Garden.

Henry, thou art fully acquaint­ed with my sentiments respecting thee; the only obstacle to our union, is the want of my fa­ther's approbation, and I cannot marry without it.

But why, my love?

be not offended at my calling you by that endearing name: why should there be so blind a submission to the arbitrary mandates of an unreasonable parent? Has there not been a due respect paid to him?

Wouldst thou persuade me from my duty? that daughter, who would be want­ing in gratitude and obedience to her parents, will never make a good wife.

I'll run the risk; say that you will be mine.

Ah! Whither wouldst thou lead me?

To the altar of Hymen, my charmer, where we may be made the happiest pair in the United States.

Stay thee Henry—that would be a step that might involve in it very serious con­sequences to me. If thou should prove unkind, where should I find a friend?

And can you, my adorable girl, have a doubt of the lasting sincerity of my love, if the oath or the affirmation of a man of honor will convince you; I declare, in the presence of that being, who knoweth the inmost recesses of all hearts, that neither time nor circumstances [Page 47] shall abate my affection; and I trust, my dear girl, you will never have cause to repent your partiality for me.

Then, to thy honour I resign myself; and hope a little time will reconcile us to my father.

I am now the happiest man on earth.

I see my father coming this way—we must not be seen together. Farewell.

Scene changes to Peevish's House.

Here am I, once more in my own house, after pursuing a phantom created by in­fernal cursed jealousy; I am thoroughly asham­ed of my behaviour: self conviction, thou re­former of the human mind; thou glass, in which we see the vileness of our actions, and the impropriety of our conduct: that I have grossly wounded the feelings of an amiable wo­man, is to me, a matter of keen remorse. Here she comes: I must take every opportunity of convincing her of my penitence.

I hope, my dear, you have enjoyed a good state of health since I left town?

This is strange double-dealing.

Mr. Peevish, Mr. Peevish, have I deserved such treatment?

My dear love and wife, I am as con­vinced of your innocence, as I am of my own guilt; and I humbly solicit your pardon.

[Page 48]

Where there is repentance, there should be forgiveness.

Do you really forgive me?

I do, I do: Oh! this is unex­pected. To be re-instated in your affections, is a piece of good fortune, I did not expect.

Most deserving woman, hencefor­ward we will live in the habits of love and friendship, and all my future life shall atone for the past.

SCENE.—The Street.

Retournez vous en lache Americain, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,

I have had a diverting scene of it. As I was strolling along, I discovered Trifle sneaking about a door; I put this mask on which I sometimes carry about me for my di­version; pointed my cane at him; spoke loud French, and the fellow took to his heels and run as tho' he had a thousand Indians yelling after him. I'll off to his lodgings, before he get there, in order to have a full laugh at him.

Scene changes to Trifle's Lodgings.

Ha! I have got here before him.

A curse on all intriguing, I say—O lard, I can scarce breathe—eh, eh, eh.

Ha, ha, ha—ha, ha, ha—ha, ha, ha—what a metamorphosis. In the name of every thing that is extraordinary, how came you in that dress, Trifle?

In this dress?—Why, this dress, George, has been the means of preserving my life. You know, I told you, I would find out the beautiful must [...]e—I did; but had not been there long, before a damn'd great Frenchman, with a nose as big as the man of Strasburgh, made at me, with a sword, as long as himself. I parried him with a small cane-sword I had, till it broke into twenty pieces—then I was obliged to retreat; and if I had not been as nimble as a monkey, he would have pinked me. I ran— he pursued; I slipped into a slop-shop, threw off my hat and fine coat; put on this sailor's jacket and cap, and pushed out of a front-street door; by that means evaded the bloody rogue.

Ha, ha, ha, a narrow escape, upon my word. However, you had this conso­lation—you did not disgrace the name of an American. You say, you fought with great bra­very?

Fought! I had no idea I could han­dle the sword so well; but a man don't know [Page 50] what he can do, until he is put to the push. If that Frenchman was here, and had any candor, he would acknowledge I behaved like a valiant man.

Savez vous le nez.

O Jack! Jack! what a failing thou hast, in deviating so often from the truth.

Sir, Sir, I don't under­stand such treatment.

Poh—man: don't get into a pet about the matter:—It was quite an acci­dental affair.

Damn it, here is somebody coming. I must change my dress.

Gentlemen, your most obedient.

Careless, your humble—I have not seen you this age.

Nor I.

Your movements and mine, gentle­men, are very different. Your time is dissipated in balls, tea, and card parties, &c. for my part, I am fond of my case—and study it before all the fashionable follies of life.

What materials are you made of, Careless. My happiness consists in balls and routs:—in being in the society of the female world.—What a poor helpless animal man would be, if it was not for lovely, charming woman?

Psha, psha, that is all stuff. I had as [Page 51] soon have a mill-stone ty'd about my neck, and thrown into the Delaware, as to be obliged to dance attendance after those she affairs.

We will have him tried by a court-martial of ladies, for supporting such senti­ments.

And condemned and guillo­tined in one day.

Hang me, if I care if it were so. I am almost tired of this [...] world.

Fye, Careless, fye—rouse and shake yourself. What say you to a social party to-morrow night? I am told Mr. M. has got some excellent claret, and sparkling champaign —there you will have an opportunity of em­bracing the mistress you love.

With all my heart. There is some­thing substantial in that kind of pleasure.

Trifle, you are of the party.

Oui, Messieurs.

I'll be at my post.

And I.

And I—where corks will be drawn instead of daggers.

Scene changes to G. Friendly, jun's Lodgings.

Sambo, what a gal call a pretty fellow.

Dis wool of mine will curlee up so, can't get him trait—dat all de fashion among [Page 52] gemmen. Sambo tink himself handsome. He berry complish'd to; he sing well; he dance well; he play siddle well. Can tink so, so, pretty well. He tink; he berry often tink why he slave to white man? why black foke sold like cow or horse. He tink de great somebody above, no order tings so.—Sometime he tink dis way—he got bess massa in e world. He gib him fine clothes for dress—he gib him plen­ty money for pend; and for a little while, he tink himself berry happy. Afterwards he tink anoder way. He pose massa George die; den he sold to some oder massa. May be he no use him well. When Sambo tink so, it most broke he heart.

Be softened as thou wilt, still, slavery, thy condition is hard. The un­tutored, pathetic soliloquy of that honest crea­ture, has more, sensibly affected me, than all I have read, or thought, on that barbarous, ini­quitous slave-trade—and yet how many thou­sands of the poorer class of whites are there, whose actual situation are vastly inferior to his: he has no anxious cares for to-morrow, no fa­mily looking up to him for protection—no duns at his doors. Yet, still, still there is something wanting. It is cruel. It is unjust, for one crea­ture to hold another in a state of bondage for life. Sambo, thou shalt be free.

Sambo, suppose you had your liberty, how would you conduct yourself?

Ah, massa George, you no ax Sam­bo dat for true.

Yes, Sambo, I do; and from [Page 53] this moment you are free. You may remain with me upon wages, or go where you may think yourself more happy.

O massa George, I feel how I neber feel before. God bress you.

I muss go, or my heart burst.

Tell me, ye sensualists, what are all your luxuriant gratifications, compared with the exalted mental sensations of doing a ge­nerous act? Would to heaven, I could as easy liberate our fellow-citizens, who are slaves in Algiers.

When massa George ax me how I like go free, I tink he joke: but when he tell me so for true, it make much water come in my eye for joy. I coud hardly peke a word, and I tink he look like an angel. God bress him. Sambo hope he no be sorry for make him he own massa. I sabe all my wages for buy my Sue free, and make her my wife.

He no fear he lose he head. He now citizen Sambo.

Scene a room in Major Manly's Lodgings.—(Ma­jor Manly humming a tune in a sprightly manner.)

Tol, lol de lol.—Major, I re­joice to see you. Harry, my heart is as light as a feather. I have got over that rocky piece of bu­siness. The dear woman has forgiven me, and Peevish and I are upon the best of terms. As it has happened, good has come out of evil. It was a little unfolding scene, wherein Peevish disco­vered his wife to be a truly virtuous woman. So, you see I have been the means of promoting her domestic happiness.

I am glad the affair has ended so well. I hope you will take care for the future how you trespass upon hallowed ground.

Let me have the pleasure of introducing Mrs. Manly to you.

Tantarara, brave boys.—

Rach. a bride's kiss.

The Triumphs of Love, Major—ha, ha, ha—soldier, where's your honour? Your hands.

Long may you live, and be happy!

We are sure of your good wishes:— and to complete our happiness, we want those of your worthy father.

Patience, all will come right, by and by. My father no doubt will feaze, and call you naughty names—but you will find powerful friends in my mother, and good uncle.

I wish, George, thou wouldst go to father's house. Thou certainly dost wrong in staying away.

I can't find [Page 55] freedom in going. Thou knowest how peremp­torily he bid me be gone from his house, because I happened one night to be a little mellow or so, romped with you; hussled Jake; cracked a joke upon my mother; said a smart thing or two to him: In consequence of which, he or­dered me to depart his dwelling, and not to re­turn again. When he desires me to return, I will obey.

It is the duty of children always to give way to their parents.

I catched the report flying, and was determined to know the truth of it. It is so.—

I always told you, you was a fly rogue. A bride's kiss.

— Major, my gallant fellow, I give you joy. It af­fords me infinite pleasure, to find that your vic­torious arms, has encircled the object of your wishes. I hope your union will produce men as brave as the father, and women as beautiful as the mother. Have you heard the news, gentle­men? There is news arrived, that the people to the westward, are in arms against the laws of government. We are all to turn out: I expect to have the command of a regiment.

And fight, till your sword is broke into twenty pieces: as you did—

Mum—George.

Are you really serious, Trifle?

Faith, I am. There has been five ex­presses come in within this hour.

At the old trade, Trifle—of stretching?—

[Page 56]

What does the report say, George? I have had anxious thoughts about those infatua­ted people.

Only that they have been at­tacking the revenue officers.—Burning and destroying private property. That is but a tri­fle for your liberty boys.

Anarchy-boys, rather say. The genuine sons of liberty will ne­ver disgrace themselves by such a conduct. But will ever be obedient to the laws.

A government that is the admiration of the world! That might be the great asylum of the unfor­tunate, and persecuted of all the earth!—The flattering prospects opening to our view!—To have our national character sullied by a—

Hold.—These people say, they are deprived of their rights, by being obliged to pay a tax on whiskey.

Very good, very good. So, they are to enjoy all the benefits of government without contributing a single farthing towards its sup­port! At the very time, too, that its parental arm is extended for their protection. They are ungrateful in the highest degree.

There are some worthy men in that country.

I know there are. Men, for whom I have the highest esteem. There are others, again, who take the basest means of acquiring popularity.—Oh! had I but power to lash such scoundrels out of our country!

My dear Henry, thou dost seem to [Page 57] be in much anger. I hope thou wilt not go to fight these wicked people.

If there is occasion, my love, I will; and should think myself unworthy of being your husband, and being called an American ci­tizen, if I did not.

It is but a little human erup­tion—it will soon be over.

It is one of those eruptions, George, that if not attended to in due time, there may proceed a fire, that will consume the body poli­tic.

How often do these things happen in Europe!

Why are we eternally confounding our situation with the governments of Europe? There is no comparison. We are a distinct, hea­ven-favoured people. The very nature of our go­vernment affords us an opportunity of establish­ing a national character, superior to any people on the face of the earth.

Mayhap you rate the Ame­rican character too high:—Human nature is much the same in every age. We are but mor­tals—and it is the nature of mortals to be rest­less and dissatisfied.

Never had mortals less cause to com­plain, than the people of the United States. In no age, nor in any country, was ever human nature in so dignified a state, as in ours.—View our Congress assembled. See the representatives of an extensive empire, clothed with the peo­ple's power, devising for their general good!— But, there is this to be observed:—It is in vain [Page 58] for them to legislate, if this fundamental prin­ciple is not sacredly adhered to:—that, what the majority determine upon, shall be the law of the land. That is the great rock, which our grand democratic republic is built upon. Des­troy that, and the beautiful fabric will crumble into atoms. If that principle is kept alive, I will be bold to defy either the intrigues of fo­reign courts, or the conclave machinations of our own citizens, to prevail against it.

O damn it—I am tired of hearing your politics. George, let us go. You know our engagements. We are to sup to-night at M's. tavern.

O, brother George—I wish thou wouldst not go so often to taverns. It is time for thee to think of settling thyself.

And it is time for thee to alter that Quaker tongue; and say Yes Sir, and No Sir: Yes Ma'm, and No Ma'm.—

Thou art too wild, George.

And thou art too tame Rach. Mayhap you won't always be so. Like most wives, you will get into the habit of scolding by and by. Come, Trifle, let's be gone. The animating Burgundy and sparkling Champagne call us.

[Page 59]

To the copes, to the copes lead away.

To the copes, to the copes lead away.

I wish, brother George would al­ter his course of life. I am concerned about his evil doings.

There are few but have their failings, my dear. You will find some in your husband, by and by.

I don't believe thou hast one.

You are all innocence, with respect to George. Some vices he has; but his good qualities vastly outweigh them. He possesses one of the most generous, friendly hearts, that ever was centered in man. If we can but get him engaged in the happy bonds of wedlock, I'll an­swer for it, he will become a new man.

Scene changes to Peevish's House.

Jenny would be for making a gan­tleman of me. Shays she, Patrick, you must get a new shuit of clothes, and have them made in the fashion. Shays I to her, the devil a farthing has poor Pat to buy them. Then the good shoul inshisted upon rigging me out at her own expence.

Upon my shoul, I think Mr. Shars has has made them to fit me very nate..

Fait, I don't know how they do, who are fops and gantle­man every day. I fale rather unasy in this new-fangled dress. Besides, there seems to be a strange combustible in my head. I hope Mr. Puff has not put some many-fated cra­ters [Page 60] in it. All the time the fellow was taring my head, I expected he would pull every hair out. But when I come to look at myshelf in the glass, I found he had put millions more hairs in my head than I had before.

Now I am a fine gantleman, I am led to think a little dape. Upon my honesty, I think it is a comical quare world we are oblaged to live in. There is so many downs and ups—so many cross-ways in it, that one don't know which way to look. The oder day, my master and mistress were very much at outs. He was as jealous of her as the de­vil could make him, and now he is as fond of her as if she was not his wife; and she hangs upon him as if she loved him from the bottom of her shoul. All these things, I shay, puzzles my shen­ses. Fait, I believe, the best way to have things come right in the end, is to do them wrong in the beginning.

What an elegant looking man he is now he is dressed. How it delights me to look at him—

Patrick, I think your clothes fit you very well.

Arra, my dare Jenny, are you there? Fait, I think so too. I was just admiring my­shelf, thanks to you, my dare: let me pay a tribute upon your swate lips;

and when I come to be your husband, I'll pay you many fold. But why, my dare, will you push off the business so long? Had we not better become two and one at once? As there are sho many unshartainties in this life—I do not ex­pect you will decave me, yet I have my fares [Page 61] for all. I saw English Dick, Mr. Bustle's man, close in wid you, last night. Now, if you were once my wife, you would be quite clare of such rubbish.—Why can't you, my dare shoul, bate the two wakes into to-morrow night, and make it the happiest day of my life.

Stop, Paddy-Whack—you are on my premises. She has promised herself to me.

O lard, what shall I do with this fel­low?

—'Tis false; I only gave you half a promise.

Then I have the best right to her. She has only promised the half or hershelf to you: but she has promished me her whole bo­dy and shoul, and every part of her. And, shir Dick, if you call me Paddy-Whack again, I'll make you fale the weight of an Irish fist upon your English pate.

If you are for that kind of work, I can give you the Mendoza tip in a moment.

Ah! me, what shall I do? they will get to fighting, and the whole house will be in an uproar.

O, Patrick, don't fight with him.

Ha,ha, ha, fight wid him: the mushe­rene is benathe me. For your sake, I will not strike the crater; but I will give him a twir­ling.

That was to the right about.

That was [Page 62] to the left about. Now march off, before I brake every bone in your skin.

No I won't—

without my wife, my promised wife.

O, Dickey, let me beg of you to go away. You make so much noise, I am afraid every moment, that Mr. and Mrs. Peevish will come in. (Was ever poor girl in such a plight? I could poke my head into an augur hole.—

I want them to come in.

I will make as much noise as ever I can, to expose you; you deceiver.—Hollo, hollo— Paddy-Whack, Paddy-Whack. Irish Pat! Irish Pat!

It is too much for blood and flesh to bear.

Ha, ha, ha, Paddy-Whack, Paddy-Whack; Irish Pat.—Hallo, hallo.

Oh! Oh! Oh!—

Pa­trick, Patrick.

Scene changes to a Tavern.

And a hunting we will go—and a hunting we will go.

Damn your singing—push about the bottle. All gone but we three:—heighup. Friendly, I hope you are not flinching?

Not I. Heighup. I can drink the ocean dry.

Here's to all generous souls. May they never [Page 63] know distress.

Upon my honor, ac­cording to the common phrase, I believe I am almost done over.

O, damn it; you have no head at all. Heighup. I could drink three or four bottles more. What, Careless asleep?

What the devil is the matter?—heighup.

Was not that well done? Put them all in the bin, landlord. Heighup.

I am for a cruize—down town —or battle with the watchmen. Heighup.

I believe I'll moor where I am.

No casting anchor here, Bob. While you have some sail set, let's get under way.

Hallo, hallo.

Scene changes to the Street.—Watchmen crying the hour.

And a hunting we will go—and a hunting we will go.

O past twelf o'clock, and a moon­light morning.

You are mistaken old man, it rains furiously—heighup. Go back to the watch-house and get your coat.

You are young plackguards, and I'll but you poth all three upon the work-house.

[Page 64]

Take us to the work-house, you old scoundrel; mutter that again, if you dare— heighup.

Never mind them, never mind them, Watchman: they are, heighup, both as drunk as David's sow.

Out mitch you; you are all drunk: I'll but every one of you upon the work-house.

Let me at him, heighup. Let me at the old scoundrel.

It would be a good piece of fun, to leave Trifle with the watchman.

Are you going to desert me, gentle­men? Heighup.

Ha, ha, ha, you are a vali­ant man; you can defend yourself.

Take good care of him, Watchman. Heighup.

Oh dem ye. I have fell into the pit I have been digging for Friendly, heighup. Mr. Watchman▪ pray Sir, will you be so polite, heighup, as to see me to my lodgings, Sir?

To the tivel mitch you. It is now Mr. Watchman, and Sir. Pefore, I was an old scoundrel. I will take you home, where you ought to be. Come, get up mitch you.

It burned furious, but was soon extinguished. The people, much to their honour, are always very active on such occasions.

[Page 65]

Come along mitch you.

Murder! Murder!

What is all this? Goes up to the watchman. Watchman, don't abuse the poor man.

He has apused me peyond all pea­ring.

As I live, it is Trifle!—Why, how came you in this situation, Jack?

Why, Sir, your nephew, George, Careless, and I—heighup; were walking very soberly along, and this old fellow attacked us without mercy.

Now, 'tis old fellow again. He tells lies, Master Friendlys: tey were all tree trunk; put he pehaved the worst to me.

Come, Mr. Watchman, I'll be his bril. See him safe to his lodgings.

Upon your account, Master Friendlys, I will.

There, thou doth see what kind of company George keeps. That is the way he is constantly debauching and dissipating his time.

Fire! Fire! Heighup. The world is on fire: we shall all be burned! heigh­up.

What do mine eyes behold? Art thou my son Jacob?

I am not quite wise enough, heighup, to answer that question.

[Page 66]

Oh! Heart-breaking fight! Where hast thou been?

I'll tell you all about it; heighup. There was Joshua Meek, Jeremiah Sleek, Tom Sly, heighup, and I. Tom Sly and all of us, went to the sign of the goose and grid­iron; where we had a grand supper, and ex­cellent, heighup, wine.

Heighup wine, in truth, ha, ha, ha. Verily, verily, thou art a hopeful youth. I told you, brother, he would flip his bridle some time or other. Yet, take my advice. Let him have more of the rein; dress [...]; as­sociate with the girls; go to see a play now and then; and I will engage he will do yet.

How have I been deceived in him? Come home, thou knave.

Scene changes to a Room in Jacob Friendly sen's House.

The conduct of that boy has hurt me as much as the undutiful behaviour of my daughter.

I did once flatter myself, I should enjoy a tran­quil happiness, in the eve of my life; but my hopes are every way blasted. My daughter sto­len by a base, infamous villain; robber▪ worst of robbers.

Where is your christian for­titude? Patience, man.

Talk not to me of pa­tience. My afflictions are almost as great as Job's.

[Page 67]

You make the very worst of every thing, brother. Remember the old saying: all is not lost which is in danger. You view every thing on the dark side. Now, let me take a look at the light side. It is true, you have been deceived in your younger son; but with prudent management, he may live to be a comfort to you. Your daughter, make the ve­ry worst of it, has only taken a jump over the pales of your church, and married a man who is an honour to his country, and I am sure, will make her happy. As for George, depend upon it, he will not eventually disgrace you, or dishonour me. Come, let us go to rest. Keep up your spirits, and hope for the best.

Scene changes to G. Friendly, jun's Lodgings.

Dans sons carmagnole, &c. &c. Liberty and quality for eber and eber.

You tan dere, sir.

And you tay dere, sir.

Li­berty and quality, for eber and eber. Caesar, Pompey, and I, had drom fine frolic upon a trent of our become free. Caesar massa, forget to put him in a book dat make him free; and de good Quaker foke buy Pompey free.

Drom Caesar heart, he make me drink too muth.—Sambo feel berry sick. Eh, eh, eh— house go round like a wholagig.

Ha, ha, ha, we have prayed Trifle a devil of a trick. I don't know how you [Page 68] feel, Careless, but I feel a little sober to what I was.

The fumes of the wine have evapo­rated from me too.

You will lodge with me to­night, Bob?

With all my heart.

Sambo.

Coming Sir. O me!

What ails you, Sambo?

O me, Sir.—Got e gripe, Sir.

Got e gripe, Sir.

'Tis so. A situation I never saw him in before. You have got e gripe in e tomach. Sambo, where have you been?

Pompey.

Where?

Caesar. Heighup—wine.

Caesar—Pompey—wine. I can make nothing of that.

Why—I suppose he has got drunk with Caesar and Pompey, who like their name-sakes, no doubt, are two mischievous rogues.—I am afraid our friend Sambo, will make a bad use of his liberty.

Poor fellow, I hope not.—

I'd thank you to get this un­fortunate fellow to bed.

Tan off, you drom coundrel.

Massa George, heighup, you [Page 69] are a drom cleber fellow. I know you well, Sir. Liberty and quality for eber and eber.

Come, Sambo; I insist up­on your going to bed.

Yes, Sir. Massa George, you forgib Sambo. Sambo die for you.

Tan off, I say; I say you coundrel tan off. I go mysef. Liberty and qua­lity, heighup, for eber.

So much for against liberating those people. The greatest number of them, after they are set free, become vicious.

That, by no means, autho­rizes their being detained in a state of slavery. Much is to be said in favour of them, for their want of education.

Gentlemen, do you wish to be light­ed to your chambers?

We will attend you.

SCENE.—Clementina's Lodgings.—Ladies' Apart­ment.

Be not offended heaven, at my complaints. Surely it is the privilege of the [Page 70] wretched and unfortunate. Which ever way I look, distress and sorrow mark the path. Oh, who is like unto me—in so short a time to ex­perience such a reverse of fortune? Some few months ago, I was in the full enjoyment of all the luxuries of life—and in one day, obliged to fly my country and possessions, with some few hundred dollars: thought myself fortunate in getting a passage for this famed country of liberty and tranquility. But was arrested by the way, by cruel pirates, and stripped of the remnant of my fortune, save a few dollars the relentful savages left me: and here I am, a wretched refugee; reduced almost to the last extremity. Oh! my brother, didst thou but know my situation!—

Madam, a gentleman requests to see you.

To see me? Ah! who can want to see me? Shew him in.

'Tis she, by heaven! the ve­ry same; the sister of Beauchamp.

Ma­dam, I just got intelligence of your arrival.— At the request of your brother, I am to do my­self the honour of paying you due attentions.

My brother! Gracious heaven, where is he?

Not very distant. What a lovely creature.

Here is a letter he de­livered to me to present to you, if you should arrive here.

[Page 71]

It is his well-known hand.

He doth mention you in most excellent terms. Ah! my poor brother. I fear he is gone into the very jaws of death.

What a divine-looking crea­ture.

No madam, he is not gone. He was disappointed in his passage. Here is a letter I received from him yesterday.

I thank thee, my God. I shall see my brother. He mentions he will be here very soon.

I will write immediately to your brother, to inform him of your arrival.— In the mean time, madam, I shall afford myself the pleasure of personating him in his absence.

Excellent stranger. Friendly Ame­rica How shall I requite you for your good­ness?

It is all over with me. I am gone:—Caught in love's trap, at last.

By giving me your heart. Lovely woman, excuse the abruptness of my declaration. I have held you in adoration from the moment I beheld your portrait. Your brother, at his departure, presented it to me.

O, Sir, you do me too much honour. It gives me pleasure to look at you. But you must not be deceived.— You see before you, a poor, unfortunate woman, who once possessed much wealth. But, alas!—

cruel fortune has deprived me of it. I am now reduced to poverty.

[Page 72]

Madam, cease to weep. The heaven-born act shall be mine, to relieve virtue in distress. Your vicissitudes mark you as the greater object of my affections. Thank heaven, I have a handsome fortune—with great expec­tations from a rich, and good uncle: and all I want to complete my happiness, is to call you mine. At the same time, I wish not to take ad­vantage of your situation—or, that necessity should force your inclinations. I will leave you for a short time; with a request, that you will be so good as to make up your mind on the subject. Whatever may be your determination, you may rely on my tender friendship. Madam, your humble servant.

All-gracious heaven, how wonderful are thy ways!

What am I to do? I feel a partiality for this noble-minded American. Surely, it is the interposition of hea­ven.

I humbly thank thee, thou great disposer of all things. I gratefully thank thee for thy goodness. That generous youth, I will embrace as my lover—my friend: and thro' thee, my guardian angel.

Scene, G. Friendly jun's Lodgings.

My dear George, you are now arrived at that time of life, which should teach you to set a just value upon time. You know I have never been a spy upon your ac­tions; nor never wish to cross you in rational [Page 73] pleasures. I have heard of some of your exces­ses, which has given me uneasiness. Depend up­on it, too constant a repetition of those mid­night revels, will neither promote your health, nor establish you a fair reputation in the world. To be serious with you, George, I wish you to enter into the banns of wedlock. Cast your eyes around you. Single out some lady, whom you may think worthy of your affection. It mat­ters not, whether she has wealth, provided she has merit. For my part, I would rather have you form a connection with a woman of a mo­derate share of beauty, with good sense, and an amiable disposition, if she had not a second change, than to one that would bring you thousands, and lead you a termagant life.

Propitious to my wishes.—

Best of uncles and more than father.

Rise, George. Kneel to none but your God, or a woman. You always have, and can be, sufficiently respectful standing.

Was I wanting in respect to you, Sir, I should be one of the most ungrateful wretches in existence. The obliga­tions that I am under —

Enough of that George.— You are becoming too ceremonious. Whatever obligations you may conceive yourself under to me, your manly and grateful behaviour, will be a convincing proof to the world, that I have not-misplaced my patronage. I have deviated from some parents and preceptors; for, whilst I fostered you as a child, I brought you up as [Page 74] my most particular friend. However, to make every thing short, I want to see you settled in life. I mean married.

Worthy Sir, at all times I am ready to comply with whatever you may think proper to prescribe; but perhaps never did an injunction come so opportunely. I was just upon the point of requesting your consent for an union with a lady, wherein all my hap­piness in life is involved.

You were?

Who is she?

Sir, she is a foreigner; and I hope when I make you acquainted with the cir­cumstances of our acquaintance, and the situa­tion of the lady, you will neither condemn my conduct, nor disapprove of my choice. She is the sister of my young friend, Beauchamp—a young lady of most extraordinary beauty and accomplishments.

Are you certain she is a wo­man of honour?

Yes, Sir; I can have no doubt of it.

How long have you been ac­quainted?

Sir, Sir—our acquaintance is of no great length; but I am convinced she is a woman of virtue—and what is more, she is in distress.

Give me your hand, George. You have my consent. Your having attached yourself to suffering virtue, has done you ho­nour, whilst it is extremely grateful to me.— [Page 75] There cannot be a more god-like act, than for a man to alleviate the misfortunes of a virtuous woman in adversity.

Meet me in about ten minutes at the coffee-house, and I'll go with you to see the object of your love.

Seize her goods! Take her bed from under her! Hell receive thee for that, Gripus. May thou be damn'd beyond redemp­tion; and when thy parched tongue needeth water, may no one be found to give thee any. If I had him here, damme how I would maul him.

Great Pa­rent of Nature, can there be a greater crime, ex­cept murder, than to oppress the poor, poor forlorn widow. Long has this worthy woman been contending with the strong current of ad­versity: now and then I have lent her a friendly hand: perhaps never better timed than now.—

—Here, my little innocent, give this to your mother—it will relieve her present necessities.—Tell her I will call to see her to-morrow, and place her in a permanent situation.

Thank you, Sir. God bless you.

The man who can­not feel for the misfortunes or afflictions of his fellow-creatures, is unworthy of the common benefits of human nature.

Scene, an apartment in Peevish's House. Mr. and Mrs. Peevish.

Now, Pat, you have got a wife. Tho' I am made extramely happy by being married to Jenny; yet it occasions me some sorrowful thoughts. Now, the great question is, how I am to kape her and the children alive. By my shoul, I never wished to be rich before.—I ne­ver did like kaping company with those four-footed bastes: besides, it is a devil of a hard life. One is oblaged to turn out in the snow and cold at very unshasonably hours, and there is no grate dale got by it after all. One may be riding about the whole yare, and at the end of it, be just where they walked off from, without a farthing the better. Now, I think, if I had about three, or two hundred dollars, I could shut up a grate store; and it appares clare to me, I could make a grate dale of money. Jen­ny tells me, that many of my countrymen came here very poor, and have made grate fortunes out of nothing at all at all; and with the bles­sings of heaven, Pat will do it too.

Scene changes to another apartment.

They are married, my dear, you say; when did that take place?

Last night, one of the servants informed me.

Their courtship has been very con­cealed.

I had not the least suspicion of an attachment. I wish Jenny had consulted me. [Page 77] I am afraid, poor girl, she has been rather hasty; tho' Patrick appears to me to be a sober, well-intentioned young man; but he has not been in this country a sufficient time to give full evidence of being worthy of her.

He is sobriety itself, and that is a quality which generally is the ground-work of prosperity.

I'll befriend them. Jenny I know has claims on you.

Tell Patrick and Jenny I wish to see them.

Yes, Sir.

What can all this mane?

Well, Patrick, how do you like your new situation? You have kept your courtship and marriage, very private.

He has become the most shivel man in the world of late.

Why, indade, dare shir, we were not long making the bargain at first:—Jenny would be for putting the mar­riage off for two wakes, but I pushed the mat­ter so home to her, that she consented to bate the two wakes into a shorter time, and the good praist made us one last night.

And you are now happy?

As to happiness, I can shay, the more I'm acquainted wid her, the more I love her; and in this blessed country, where my dare Jenny tells me, paple are free before they are born, we shall be happy as long as we and the world stick togeder.

Well, Patrick, I am glad to see you [Page 78] impressed with such just sentiments of our hap­py government. You have got a good girl for a wife, and you live in a country, where, if you are virtuous and industrious, you will be sure to thrive. Jenny, come here.

You have been a faithful girl to your mistress; you shall not go from our house unrewarded.

I request, my love, you will present Jenny with a sum adequate to purchase furniture for their house.

Oh, Sir, I can't express myself.

How I have been decaved in him!—

Patrick, you are a tolerable scholar. Suppose I was to set you up in the grocery line, do you think it would answer?

On my shoul, Shir, that was the very business I was thinking I could make a fountain of money by.

I will look out for a good stand for you▪

Blessings on you, Shir.

Dear master and mistress, I gratefully thank you.

Shir, I hope you will not be affron­ted at my taking you by the hand. I fale more in my heart than I can spake wid my tongue.—

Pat and his Jenny will strive to deserve your friendship.—Blessings on both your swate shouls.

[Page 79]

Well, my dear, with respect to the young couple, the plan is happily concerted, and I hope will succeed.

He certainly cannot withstand all our importunities.

This is about the time they are to be here.—

Mr. and Mrs. Peevish, your humble servant.

You surprize me. I am glad to hear it.

The secret must not be kept from you Mr. Peevish. My nephew George is married: it was somewhat hasty, but may not be the worse for that. It was my desire it should be so. I want to completely surprize my bro­ther. Here he comes.

How dost do, brother George? And thou, friend, Peevish?

All the better for seeing you. Please to take a seat, Sir. Have you heard any thing new?

Nothing new?—Didst thou not send for me?

I did. Mr. Friendly, I am informed you have a valuable tract of land to dispose of; I have some inclination of making a purchase of you, if we can agree about the price.

As for the price, thou shalt not find me unreasonable. It is considered by those who have seen it, as a very fine body of land.

Venerable Sir—your children suppli­cate your forgiveness, and beg your blessing.

A wife and mother intreat thee to forgive them.

A brother, begs the same fa­vour.

Mrs. Peevish and I make the same request. Remember, you just said, you would not be unreasonable about land matters: pray, be not so, about what concerns the happiness of your children.

Brother, can you withstand all this? I wish I were in your place, that I might have the pleasure of forgiving.

I am all amazement. Thou hast taken me unawares, brother. Rise my children.

Rachel, thou hast not trea­ted thy father well. But still thou art my child. Parental affection must supercede resent­ment. Ye have my forgiveness, and I pray hea­ven to bless ye both.

Tol, lol de rol.

I am twenty years younger. That was acting like a christian and gentleman, brother.

—Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of introducing Mr. and Mrs. Friendly to you.

Brother George married!— [Page 81] Strange. To whom, I wonder?

Son George married. This is unexpected.

George married!

A singular circumstance.

I have not the honor of being per­sonally known to your lady, George, but I must have a bride's kiss.

Ha, ha, ha, George!—you are at length reduced from one thousand, to one single object. Love has now its bounds.

I stand a happy proselyte be­fore the altar of Hymen.

Is it possible?

The very same—tol lol de rol. My heart is as blythe as a lark's.

George, ob­serve more decorum. Remember who are pre­sent.

I thank you, Harry; I had forgot myself.

Come, brother, you must give another blessing. I make a request for George and his wife.

To whom is he married?

A charming, though unfor­tunate French lady; one of the late sufferers of St. Domingo.

My dear parents, I hope we shall have your blessings in turn.

I am all astonishment▪ I hard­ly know whether it is a dream or a reality.— [Page 82] George, thou hast been very wild; but I hope thou art convinced of thy follies and evil ways. Thou and thy wife have our blessings. May ye enjoy uninterrupted happiness. I pray heaven to shower down its choicest blessings on you all, my children.

My parents! occurrences extraor­dinary in themselves, have introduced me into your family, the history of which you will soon be acquainted with. With a heart over­flowing with gratitude, I will never cease to be to you one dutiful daughter, and to your son, one faithful, affectionate wife.

My Sister!

My broder, my broder—do I em­brace you once more. Mon Dieu je suis content.

Yes, my sister: and we cannot be too thankful to the great Supreme, who hath brought us together under such fortunate au­spices. I have many questions to ask you, but, for the moment, I must wave them.

My best friend, my broder. O mon Dieu, je vous remercie.

I must honestly confess, I was not prepared for this scene.

The tears of sensibility rol­leth down my cheeks. It pleaseth me, that my son George hath contributed so much towards the happiness of these strangers. I have great hopes he will become my principal comfort.

[Page 83]

It shall constitute the prin­cipal part of my happiness to be so. I acknow­ledge I have been thoughtless and imprudent; but, I hope, by forming a connexion with this amiable woman, that virtuous love will tri­umph over what foibles and vices I may have had.

I feel for your peculiar situ­ation, as I do for all your unfortunate country people, who are in similar circumstances: If my purse could beat in unison with my heart, I'd relieve ye all—but you shall be my parti­cular care.

O, Sir, you are too good. I cannot be enough grateful.

I pay my respectful duty to the parents of my friend. I hope my sister will be one dutiful child to you.

Yes, I'll engage she will. I see love, duty and affection beaming thro' her charming face. Brother, you ought to think yourself the happiest man in the world. I am made so, by effecting this Happy Reconciliation. For love—virtuous love, has here its triumph and reward.