Stra. The hand of misery lies heavy on me.-But how came you here? What want you? Bar. Strange! Here was I ruminating how to address this mysterious recluse: he appears, and proves to be my old and dearest friend. Stra. Then you were not in search of me, nor knew that I lived here? Bar. As little as I know who lives on the summit of Caucasus. You this morning saved the life of my brotherin-law's only son: a grateful family wishes to behold you in its circle. You refused my sister's messenger; therefore, to give more weight to the invitation, I was deputed to be the bearer of it. And thus has fortune restored to me a friend, whom my heart has so long missed, and whom my heart just now so much requires. You Stra. Yes, I am your friend; your sincere friend. are a true man; an uncommon man. Towards you my heart is still the same. But if this assurance be of any value to you-go-leave me-and return no more. Bar. Stay! All that I see and hear of you is inexplica ble. "Ts you; but these, alas! are not the features which once enchanted every female bosom, beamed gaiety through all society, and won you friends before your lips were opened! Why do you avert your face? Is the sight of a friend become hateful? Or, do you fear that I should read in your eye what passes in your soul? Where is that open look of fire, which at once penetrated into every heart, and revealed your own ? Stra. [With asperity.] My look penetrate into every heart! Ha! ha! ha! Bar. Oh, Heavens ! Rather may I never hear you laugh than in such a tone!—For Heaven's sake, tell me, Charles? tell me, I conjure you, what has happened to you? Stra. Things that happen every day; occurrences heard of in every street. Steinfort, if I am not to hate you, ask me not another question. If I am to love you, leave me. Bar. Oh, Charles! awake the faded ideas of past joys. Feel, that a friend is near. Recollect the days we passed in Hungary, when we wandered arm in arm upon the banks of the Danube, while nature opened our hearts, and made us enamoured of benevolence and friendship. In those blessed moments you gave me this seal as a pledge of your regard. Do you remember it? Stra. Yes, Bar. Am I since that time become less worthy of your confidence? Stra. No! Bar. Charles! it grieves me that I am thus compelled to enforce my rights upon you. Do you know this scar? Stra. Comrade! Friend! It received and resisted the stroke aimed at my life. I have not forgotten it. You knew not what a present you then made me. Bar. Speak then, I beseech you. Stra. You cannot help me. Bar. Then I can mourn with you. Stra. That I hate. Besides, I cannot weep. Bar. Then give me words instead of tears. Both relieve the heart. Stra. Relieve the heart! My heart is like a close-shut sepulchre. Let what is within it moulder and decay. Why, why open the wretched charnel-house to spread a pestilence around? Bar. How horrid are your looks! For shame! A man like you thus to crouch beneath the chance of fortune! Stra. Steinfort! I did think, that the opinion of all mankind was alike indifferent to me; but I feel that it is not so. My friend, you shall not quit me without learning how I have been robbed of every joy which life afforded. Listen much misery may be contained in a few words. Attracted by my native country, I quitted you and the service. What pleasing pictures did I form of a life employed in improving society, and diffusing happiness! I fixed on Cassel to be my abode. All went on admirably. I found friends. At length, too, I found a wife; a lovely, innocent creature, scarce sixteen years of age. Oh! how I loved her! She bore me a son and a daughter. Both were endowed by nature with the beauty of their mother? Ask me not how I loved my wife and children! Yes; then, then I was really happy. [Wiping his eyes.] Ha! a tear! I could not have believed it. Welcome, old friends! 'Twas long since we have known each other. Well; my story is nearly ended. One of my friends, for whom I had become engaged, treacherously lost me more than half my fortune. This hurt me. I was obliged to retrench my expenses. Contentment needs but little. I forgave him. Another friend-a villain! to whom I was attached heart and soul; whom I had assisted with my means, and promoted by my interest, his fiend! seduced my wife, and bore her from me. Tell me, sir, is this enough to justify my hatred of mankind, and palliate my seclusion from the world?Kings, laws, tyranny, or guilt, can but, imprison me, or kill me. But, O God! O God! Oh! what are chains or death compared to the tortures of a deceived yet doting husband! [Crosses, L. Bar. To lament the loss of a faithless wife is madness. Stra. Call it what you please-say what you please—I love her still. Bar. And where is she? Stra. I know not, nor do I wish to know. Stra. I left them at a small town hard by. Bar. But why did you not keep your children with you? They would have amused you in many a dreary hour. Stra. Amused me! Oh, yes! while their likeness' to their mother should every hour remind me of my past happiness! No. For three years I have never seen them. I hate that any human creature should be near me, young or old! Had not ridiculous habit made a servant necessary, I should never have engaged him, though he is not the worst among the bad. Bar. Such too often are the consequences of great alliances. Therefore, Charles, I have resolved to take a wife from a lower rank of life. Stra. You marry! Bar. You shall see her. She is in the house where you are expected. Come with me. Stra. What! I mix again with the world! Bur. To do a generous action without requiring thanks is uoble and praiseworthy. But so obstinately to avoid those thanks, as to make the kindness a burthen, is affectation. Stra. Leave me! leave me! Every one tries to form a circle of which he may be the centre. So do I. As long as there remains a bird in these woods to greet the rising sun with its melody, I shall court no other society. [Crosses, R. Bar. Do as you please to-morrow; but give me your company this evening. Stra. No! Bur. Not though it were in your power, by this single visit, to secure the happiness of your friend for life? Stra. Ha! Then I must.-But how? Bar. You shall sue in my behalf to Mrs. Haller. You have the talent of persuasion. Stra. I my dear Steinfort! Bar. The happiness or misery of your friend depends upon it. I'll contrive that you shall speak to her alone. Will you? Stra. I will; but upon one condition. Bar. Name it. Stra. That you allow me to be gone to-morrow, and not endeavour to detain me. Bar. Go! Whither? Stra. No matter. Promise this, or I will not come. Stra. I have directions to give my servant. [Crosses, L Bur. In half an hour, then, we shall expect you. Remember, you have given your word. : Stra. I have. [Exit Baron through gates. The Stranger walks up and down, thoughtful and melancholy.] Francis! Francis! Enter FRANCIS, from Lodge. Stra. Why are you out of the way? Stra. Perhaps to go into another land. Stra. Perhaps into another quarter of the globe. Fra. Very well. [Going. Stra. Come here, come here first, I have an errand for you. Hire that carriage in the village; drive to the town hard by; you may be back by sun-set. I shall give you a etter to a widow who lives there. With her you will find two children. They are mine. Fra. [Astonished.] Your children, sir? Stra. Yes, mine! Is it so very inconceivable? Fra. That I should have been three years in your service, and never have heard them mentioned, is somewhat strange. Stra. Pshaw! Blockhead ! Fra. You have been married, then? Stra. Well-go, go, and prepare for our journey. [Going. [Exit, L. Stra. Yes, I'll take them with me. I'll accustom myself to the sight of them. The innocents! they shall not be poisoned by the refinements of society. Rather let them hunt their daily sustenance upon some desert island with their bow and arrow; or creep, like torpid Hottentots, into a corner, and stare at each other. Better to do nothing than to do evil. Fool that I was, to be prevailed upon once more to exhibit myself among these apes! What a ridiculous figure shall I make! And in the character of a suitor too! He cannot be serious! "Tis but some friendly artifice to draw me from my solitude. Why did I promise him? Yet, my sufferings have been many; and, to oblige a friend, why should I hesitate to add another painful hour to the wretched calendar of my life! I'll go, I'll go. [Exit into Lodge. SCENE II.-The Antichamber. Enter CHARLOTte, r. Char. No, indeed, my lady! If you chuse to bury yourself in the country, I shall take my leave. I am not calculated for a country life. And, to sum up all, when I think of this Mrs. Haller Enter SOLOMON, L. Sol. [Overhearing her last words.] What of Mrs. Haller, my sweet Miss? Char. Why, Mr. Solomon, who is Mrs. Haller ? You know every thing; you hear every thing. Sol. I have received no letters from any part of Europe on the subject, Miss. Char. But who is to blame? The Count and Countess. She dines with them; and at this very moment is drinking tea with them. Is this proper? Sol. By no means. ⠀ Char. Should not a Count and Countess, in all their ac tions, show a proper degree of pride and pomposity ? Sol. To be sure! To be sure, they should! Char. No, I won't submit to it. I'll tell her ladyship, |