Sir P.-So-I have gained much by my intended expostulation; yet, with what a charming air she contradicts everything I say, and how pleasingly she shows her contempt for my authority! Well, when an old bachelor marries a young wife, what is he to expect? 'Tis now six months since Lady Teazle made me the happiest of men-and I have been the most miserable dog ever since. We tiffed a little going to church, and came to a quarrel before the bells had done ringing, and I had nearly lost all comfort in life before my friends had done wishing me joy. Yet I chose with caution—a girl bred wholly in the country, who never knew luxury beyond one silk gown, nor dissipation above the annual gala of a race ball. Yet she now plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies of fashion and the town with as ready a grace as if she had never seen a bush or a grass-plot out of Grosvenor Square! I am sneered at by all my acquaintance, and paragraphed in the newspapers. She dissipates my fortune and contradicts all my humors; yet the worst of it is, I doubt I love her, or I should never bear all this. However, I'll never be weak enough to own it. [Exit Sir Peter.

SCENE II.

Lady T.-Why, Sir Peter, I hope you have not been quarreling with Maria. It is not using me well to be ill humored when I am not by.

Sir P-Ah, Lady Teazle, you might have the power to make me good humored at all times.

Lady T-I am sure I wish I had; I do want you to be in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be good humored now, and let me have two hundred pounds; will you?

Sir P.-Two hundred pounds! What, am I not to be in a good humor without paying for it? But speak to me thus, and there's nothing I could refuse you. You shall have it. And you shall no longer reproach me with not giving you an independent settlement. I mean shortly to surprise you. But shall we always live thus, hey?

Lady T.-If you please. I'm sure I don't care how soon we leave off quarreling, provided you'll own you were tired first.

Sir P.-Well, then, let our future contest be who shall be most obliging.

Lady T.-I assure you, Sir Peter, good nature becomes you; you look now as you did before we were married, when you used to walk with me under the elms, and tell me stories of what a gallant you were in your youth, and chuck me under the chin, you would; and ask me if I thought I could love an old fellow who would deny me nothing didn't you?

Sir P.-Yes, yes, and you were as kind and attentive

Lady T-Ay, so I was, and would always take your part when my acquaintance used to abuse you and turn you into ridicule.

Sir P.-Indeed!

Lady T.-Ay, and when my cousin Sophy has called you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking of marrying one who might be my father, I have always defended you, and said I didn't think you so ugly, by any means.

Sir P.-Thank you.

Lady T-And I dared say you'd make a very good sort of a husband.

Sir P.-And you prophesied right; and we shall LOW be the happiest couple

Lady T.-And never differ again?

Sir P.-No, never!—though, at the same time, indeed, my dear Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very seriously; for in all our little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect, my love, you always begin first.

Lady T.-I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter; indeed, you always gave the provocation.

Sir P.-Now see, my angel! take care-contradicting isn't the way to keep friends.

You

Lady T.-Then don't you begin it, my love! Sir P.-There, now! you-you are going on. don't perceive, my love, that you are just doing the very thing which you know always makes me angry.

Lady T-Nay, you know if you will be angry without any reason, my dear

Sir P.-There! now you want to quarrel again.

Lady T-No, I am sure I don't. But if you will be so peevish

Sir P.-There now! who begins first?

Lady T-Why, you, to be sure. I said nothing. But there's no bearing your temper.

Sir P.-No, no, madam; the fault's in your own temper.

Lady T-Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said you would be.

Sir P.-Your cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent

gypsy.

Lady T.-You are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my relations.

Sir P.-Now, may all the plagues of marriage be

doubled on me if ever I try to be friends with you any more!

Lady T-So much the better.

Sir P.-No, no, madam; 'tis evident you never cared a pin for me, and I was a madman to marry you—a pert, rural coquette, that had refused half the honest squires in the neighborhood.

Lady T. And I am sure I was a fool to marry you— an old dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only because he never could meet with any one who would have him.

Sir P.-Ay, ay, madam; but you were pleased enough to listen to me; you never had such an offer before.

Lady T-No! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Terrier, who everybody said would have been a better match? for his estate is just as good as yours, and he has broke his neck since we have been married.

Sir P.-I have done with you, madam! You are an unfeeling, ungrateful-but there's an end of everything. I believe you capable of everything that is bad. A separate maintenance! Yes, madam, a separate maintenance! I'll make an example of myself for the benefit of all old bachelors.

Lady T.-Agreed! agreed! And now, my dear Sir Peter, as we are of a mind once more, we may be the happiest couple-and never differ again, you know-ha! ha ha! Well, you are going to be in a passion, I see, and I shall only interrupt you. So, by, by. [Exit.

Sir P.-Plagues and tortures! Can't I make her angry either? Oh! I am the most miserable fellow! But I'll not bear her presuming to keep her temper. No, she may break my heart, but she shan't keep her temper.

SHERIDAN.

TABLEAUX.

I.

THE VILLAGE CHOIR.

Two lads and two lassies dressed in old style, standing with their note books in their hands, their mouths open in a most sanctimonious manner.

II.

REVERIES OF A BACHELOR.

The old bachelor sits in his easy chair, a handsome fellow, in dressing-gown and slippers. To the right or left, and in the rear, should be placed the frame of a pier mirror, behind which his visions must glide. First his early love, the girl of twelve years; second, the country lassie of sixteen; after these, the soft-eyed Italian girl, the broad-shouldered Hebe of Germany, the fashionable city girl, and, finally, the woman of his mature love, in bridal dress and veil. At this point the bachelor starts up transfixed, the curtain drops quickly, and when it rises he too is standing behind the frame, in dress coat and suit, with the blushing bride, indicating by the attitude that the ceremony of marriage is about to be performed.

III

THE MOTHER OF THE GRACCHI.

CORNELIA.-Roman matron's dress, white sandals; a small white tiara upon the head, under which the white hair is parted and drawn straight back in classic style. THE GRACCHI.-Two boys of about ten and twelve years of age; they wear the Roman sacque belted at the waist, with low neck and short sleeves; legs bare; white sandals; curly white wigs.