Cried "Mine's lost "- "Mine's at home "- "Mine's at church, 'pon my word."

Quoth our cousin, "Dear squire, I my wager have won,
But another I purpose to win ere I've done ;

Though the parsons could not bring a prayer-book to view,

I'll bet the same bet, they can find a corkscrew."

"Done! done!" roared the squire. "Hilloa! butler, bring

nearer

That excellent magnum of ancient Madeira; "

'Twas brought-" Let's decant it; a corkscrew, good John." Here each of the parsons roared out" I've got one!"

But let us not censure our parsons for this,

When a thing's in its place, it can ne'er come amiss;

Prayer-books wont serve for corkscrews; and I'm such a sinner, Though a sermon I like, I don't want it at dinner!

SIR PETER. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it. LADY T. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in everything; and what's more, I will, too. What, though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married.

SIR P. Very well, ma'am, very well! so, a husband is to have no influence, no authority?

LADY. T. Authority! no, to be sure; if you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not mar ried me. I am sure you were old enough.

SIR P. Old enough, aye, there it is. Well, well, Lady

Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance.

LADY T. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be.

SIR P. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife! to spend as much to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter, as would suffice to turn the Pantheon into a green-house, and give a fête champêtre at Christmas.

LADY T. Lord, Sir Peter, am I to blame, because flowers are dear in cold weather? you should find fault with the climate and not with me. For my part, I'm sure, I wish it were spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet.

SIR P. Oons! madam, if you had been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when I married you.

LADY T. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you.

SIR P. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat an humble style; the daughter of a plain country 'squire. Recollect, Lady Teazle, when I first saw you sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side; your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted, of your own working.

LADY T. Oh, yes! I remember it very well, and a curious life I led. My daily occupation, to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog.

SIR P. Yes, yes, madam, 'twas so, indeed.

LADY T. And then, you know, my evening amusements. To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up; to play Pope Joan with the curate; to read a novel to my aunt; or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase.

SIR P. I am glad you have got so good a memory. Yes,

madam, these were the recreations I took you from; but now you must have your coach, vis-à-vis, and three powdered footmen before your chair; and in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a dock'd coach-horse?

LADY T. No; I swear I never did that; I deny the butler and the coach-horse.

SIR P. This, madam, was your situation; and what have I done for you? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank; in short, I have made you my wife.

LADY T. Well, then, and there is but one thing more you can make me to add to the obligation, and that is—

SIR P. My widow, I suppose?

LADY T. Hem! hem!

SIR P. I thank you, madam; but don't flatter yourself; for though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you; however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint.

LADY T. Then why will you endeavor to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense.

SIR P. 'Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me?

LADY T. Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me out of the fashion?

SIR P. The fashion, indeed! What had you to do with the fashion before you married me?

LADY T. For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste.

SIR P. Ay, there again; taste! zounds, madam, you had no taste when you married me.

LADY T. That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter; and after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's.

177168 A

SIR P. Ay, there's another precious circumstance; & charming set of acquaintance you have made there.

LADY T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation.

SIR P. Yes, egad, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose anybody should have a

character but themselves. Such a crew. Ah! many a

wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation.

LADY T. What! would you restrain the freedom of speech? SIR P. Ah, they have made you just as bad as any one of the society.

LADY T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with tolerable grace.

SIR P. Grace, indeed!

LADY T. But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse. When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humor; and I take it for granted, they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too.

SIR P. Well, well, I'll call in just to look after my own character.

LADY T. Then, indeed, you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So, good bye. [Exit.

SIR P. So, I have gained much by my expostulations; yet, with what a charming air she contradicts everything I say, and how pleasingly she shows her contempt for my authority. Well, though I can't make her love me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing everything in her power to plague me.

CURTAIN.

THE STAGE-STRUCK DARKEY.

AN ETHIOPIAN INTERLUDE.

SCENE.-Street.

WHITE.

Three or four PERFORMERS seated on Stage. Enter TRAVELLING MANAGER, with valise, overcoat, &c.

MANAGER. How do you do? Does any ob you folks want a situation?

ALL. What to do?

MANAGER. Well, I'm a travelling manager of a show and in search of talent. I want a young man of good natural parts, and I'll teach him de rest.

ALL. (Speaking together.) Julius is de berry boy.

Enter JULIUS, whistling, and sauntering along.

MANAGER. Young man, would you like to be an actor? JULIUS. A what?

MANAGER. Have you ever been on de stage?

JULIUS. No, but I've drove three months on de Sixth Ave

nue cars.

MANAGER. Oh, you don't understand. See, look here. (Strikes very tragic position.) See-don't you see?

JULIUS. Yes, siree sir; I'm one ob dem.

MANAGER. Well, now I want a specimin to see what you're made of; I want to hear your voice. Suppose you touch me on de shoulder and call me a liar, as they do in anger on de stage.

JULIUS. It's a go-I'll do it. (Walks around stage, then goes behind MANAGER's back, slaps him on shoulder, and says, very faintly.) Liar!

MANAGER. Oh, dat's too weak. Now let me show you. (They change positions-MANAGER says, very savagely) Liar-r-r-r-r' (Waving body to and fro.)

JULIUS. Why, what do you call dat? (Imitating him.)

MANAGER. Why, dat's your tragedy-don't you see?—and here's when you recover. (Moving to and fro.)

JULIUS. Well, what's next?