SCENE I-A Wood Path. Enter Miss TUCKER, and FLORENTINE with a portfolio.

Floren. Ha! ha! How often have I heard you wish you had been born a huntress! And nowin this blessed month of June, you'd sit by the fire

side, and do nothing but grow roses in worsted. Keep house such an hour as this! Why, 't is treason

to nature.

Miss T. Allow me to observe-though, as I'm a dependent, I know I have no right to speak—that your frequent allusions to nature are not decorous. With young women of my time, nature was the last thing thought of. I know I'm only a dependent; and people who live in other people's houses should have no tongues,—no eyes, eyes,-no—

Floren. I can not bear this-I will not bear it. You hurt me-wound me deeply. If it irk you to dwell beneath the same roof-if it constrain you in the least, though why it should, I know not-choose your own abode; share my little fortune, how and where you will. But I can not have my friendship taken as alms; my love thus ever chilled by the cold sense of obligation. You have at length forced me to speak. It is unkind of you—indelicate.

Miss T. Indelicate! Such a word to me-to me, who have kept parlor boarders. I know I'm only an interloper; but can gratitude be indelicate?

Floren. It may be mean. True gratitude, in very fullness of its soul, knows not the limits of its debt: but when it weighs each little gift-books down each passing courtesy-it ceases to be gratitude, and sinks to calculation. Why, I hope I am grateful for the flowers at my feet, but I were most unworthy of their sweetness, could I coldly sit me down to count them. I entreat you, no more of this.

A. A 21.

Miss T. You know I love you,-always loved you more than the other girls: for when they were all at their romps, did n't I always lock you up that you might be safe? And I'm sure you're very kind now. I have, I know, the best bedroomthough yours, no doubt, will be the warmest in winter. I have the best side of the fire-place, but then it's not my own fire-place; and, as for gifts, it was very kind of you a week ago to give me this gown, though if I'd gone to the mercer's with my own money, 't is the very last color I should have thought of.

Floren. The fault was in my eyes; next week shall choose for yourself.

you

Miss T. I dreamt on Friday of a black satin; but Friday's dreams seldom come true; and then 't is impertinent in poor people to dream at any time beyond their means.

Floren. Nay, it shall be your privilege to dream, and mine to turn your visions to realities. Now, like a dear, good governess, for still you are so,come with me, that I may finish my sketch of that beautiful oak.

Miss T. Why look at the clouds-I'm sure there'll be a storm, and you might have finished it on Tuesday.

Floren. You know we were interrupted.

Miss T. Interrupted! What, because a gentleman stood to stare at you? You should have let him stare-have never seen him-but have gone on

the harder showing your accomplishments. When a young woman can't do this, the blessings of education are lost upon her.

Floren. Never fear; I shall be hardened in time. Now, only half an hour; this is the path.

Miss T. Ha! the last time we trod that path, he was with us, and where, where is he now?

Floren. In a beautiful glass case-yes, shrined in crystal, as such a creature ought to be.

Miss T. He was the pearl of pugs. But it has ever been my fate! As the sweetest of poets sings— “I never reared a young gazelle

To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well,-

And love me, it was sure to die!"

Floren. There certainly was a sentiment about that dog!

I see

Miss T. He could n't move for sentiment. him now with his beautiful face, so black, yet so benignant! Now cropping a daisy with his lilywhite teeth; and now looking up and barking at me, as if he knew my inmost thoughts

Floren. And quite agreed with them.

Miss T. But he is dead-murdered!

Floren. Compose yourself: I'll buy a parrot, warranted to live a hundred years; so that you may both descend to your peaceful graves together.

Miss T. Florentine, the human heart is not a peg, now to hang one thing upon, and now another.

And people who live in other people's houses have no right to the use of their own affections: though, to be sure, but for the conduct of some people, [meaning FLORENTINE] I might still have a house of my own. Oh, I forgive you: but that bold minx, Miss Bessy Tulip

Floren. Dear, dear Bessy! And she is now in India.

Miss T. I hope they 'll carry her a million miles up the country, and marry her to a blackamoor.

Floren. She ought to marry an Indian king.

Miss T. A king! a king with a ring in his nose. Ugh! you never knew her arts: a little lapwing! I've caught her with-ha! I forget his name; but I've seen her leering and looking, and sidling round him, like a kitten round a cream jug.

Floren. Ha! ha! Bless her merry heart! and she was good as she was merry: for she had n't a thought but she spoke it.

Miss T. The more shame for her. In my time, girls would have blushed to do such a thing. But for her boldness, you'd never have run away with the baronet's nephew.

Floren. Nay, we shall lose this most delicious light.

Miss T. But you have very properly picked him from your heart, like a crooked letter from a sampler. Floren. Sure 't was an easy task for five long years; and there 's not a day I haven't worked at it. Come.