MPEK A P iCi A A S lif Cents Eacli ^ C7\ Bottle, Drunkard’s Doom. Aunt Dinah’s Pledge- M T I • . 11 ^ 1 Tern] 1 , . ' 15 5 1 Friiii M S’ Temperance Doctor, • • 10 4 Fruits of the Wine Clip, • 6 6 2 1 Drunkard’s Warning, [cj 6 8 Xo. XCVI. FRENOH’S STANDARD DRAMA. T H E HEIR AT LAW. % (S^rjincbiJ, IN FIVE ACTS. BY G-EORaE OOLMAN, THE YOUNGER. WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, OAST OF CHARAC- TERS, COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c. N£IF YORK. Samuel French 6c Son, PUBLISHERS, nSTassam Street, LONDON, Samuel French, PUBLISHER, S9 3'rjEt.A.iNrr>- BOOKS iJVKRY AMATEUK. SHOULD HAVE, AMATEUR’S GUIDE; or. Howto Get up Home Theatricnl«! and to Act in them, with Rules, By- Laws, Selected Scenes, Plays and other usefulinfonuation for Amateur Soch ties. Price J35 cts. GCIDE TO THE STAGE- 15 cents. ^ ART OF ACTING. " 5 cents. ■ ,• - ^ - The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. To renew call Telephone Center, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN NOV 6l 914 1 OCT 1 4 191 4 JftN 03 W 6$ OD 1 L161— 0-1096 No XCVI. FRENCH’S STANDARD DRAM/ TH E HEIR AT LAW. Qi €omeiij5, IN FIVE ACTS. D\ OEOKGE COLMAN, THE YOUNGER NFAV-YORK : SAMUEL FRENCH, 121 NASSAU-STREET. Mr. Johnstcfl C. Fishei Burtoi] Russeli Levere L. Thompson Gourley Parsloe Mrs. Hughe? Mrs. Fisl Mrs. Skerret DANIEL DOWLAS Gkreeu coat, richly embroidered ; flowered waist coat, silver buttonholes ; salmon-colored breeches ; white sil' stockings ; shoes ; paste buckles • lace ruffles ; cornered hat, &c. DICK DOWLAS: — Green coat; white waistcoat; light breeches white silk stockings ; dress shoes. HENRY MORLAND : — Black frock coat ; white waistcoat ; blacl pantaloons ; black silk stockings, pumps and hat. STEDFAST : — Dark plain suit ; boots, hat and cane. I DOCTOR PANGLOSS : — Black velvet coat, with glass buttons ; blac cloth breeches ; silk stockings ; shoes and buckles ; small cane ; ruffles ; three cornered hat. ZEKIEL HOMESPUN Black coat; buff waistcoat; buckskii breeches ; striped stockings , laced boots. KENRICK:— Grey (old man’s) coat; plain waistcoat; green baize breeches; brown stockings ; shoes; old man’s round hat. WAITERS: — Plain blue coat ; yellow waistcoat and breeches; whit stockings and shoes. LADY DUBERLY : — White satin petticoat ; lace apron ; loose pinl satin gown, ornamented, short sleeves ; old-fashioned head-dress high-heeled shoes. CAROLINE DORMER : — Dark satin Dody, andleno petticoat, trim med with black lace. CICELY HOMESPUN : — Slate-colored dress, neatly trimmed will black ; straw or chip hat, with black ribbon ; striped stockings and black shoes ; small black handkerchief round her neck. RELATIVE POSITIONS R. means Right; L. Reft; R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door S. E. Second Entrance ; U. E. Upper Entrance ; M. D. Middle Dcof F. the Flat ; D. F. Door in Flat. CAST OF CHARACTERS. (^Burton^s Theatre^ Sept. 2, 1852.) , Lord Duberly, alias Daniel Dowlas^ Jj- Dick Dowlas y - - - - - ; Dr. Pangloss , L. L. D. and A. S. : r^( Mr. Stec^ast, - - - - - ! ^ Henry Morlaoid, - - . . ■ Zekiel Homespun, - - - . Kenrick, - - Norton. [ John, Waiter at the Inn, - - - . Lady Duberly, alias Deborah Dowlas, . 'Caroline Dormer, . - . . ■ Cicely Homespnn, . - - . COSTUME. 7 REMARKS. Of all tne plays written by George Colman, the ycunger, there is not oce, that is seen with greater pleasure or affords move amuse- ment to an audience, than the Heir at Law. The char acters of Dr Pangloss, Lord and Lady Duberly, Zekiel Homespun, and Cicely, are drawn with a truth and fidelity to nature, not to be .‘surpassed. The manly feeling of the honest countryman, whose ploughman’s fist is ready at all hazards to vindicate the wrongs of his sistor, but in the next moment, receives to his heart that repentant trJend whose head, turned by sudden good fortune, had dared to attemp't his sister’s honor, makes Zekiel Homespun a pattern of an honest farmer, whom all admire, while they despise Dick Dowlas, the Law- yer’s Clerk, and the Chandler’s Son, for his attempt to ape the libertinism of nobility. Then the unsophisticated innocence ot Cicely, whose love is not to be shaken, but whose principles ol virtue are equally strong— and proof against all the false allure- ments of wealth and fashion, unaided by the true pledge of Love, the Wedding Ring, carries with her throughout the play the sympathy as well as admiration of the audience. The ridiculous attempt of the uneducated shopman to mend his '‘^kdkolology^'* by the purchase of a w hole library of books, written “ by one Tome,” is a source of great amusement; while his Lady wife too plays a most essential part in the “ dramatis person©.” The Pedagogue and Tutor the L. L. D. and A double S, whos-^ only ambition is to receive his pay — doubly^trebly — for allowing EEMAKKS. all parties to do as they please, so that he be allowed to pocke “just nine hundred pounds a year,” although not to be met in rea life — is a most humurous acquaintance upon the stage — and hi apt quotations prove the classical knowledge of the author. Di Pangloss, is the pivot on which revolves all the fun of the play, am the ludicrous positions in which he is placed, cause the sides of th audience to ache with laughter. These five parts afford scope for the display of the highest comi talent, the style of each being so different that the actors can b seen to the best advantage — this alone always makes the Heir a Law an acceptable play. It is’ to be regretted that mawkish sentimental comedy was th fashion of the Stage, when this play was written, forcing the autho to make suCvCess certain, to introduce the very insipid underplot i; which Henry Moreland, Stedfast, Kenrick, and Caroline Dorme are introd need, they form an episode necessary only to bring bac the heir 'if the deceased peer, and thus complete the “denouement — this portion of the play as now acted, has been judiciously cm tai^:ed, but the little left is tiresome. S’* C, W. THE HEIR AT LAW. ACT I. Scene I. — An Apartment in Lord Duberly’s House. Lord and Lady Duberly discovered at breakfast. Lord D. But what does it matter, my lady, 'whether I irink my tea out of a cup or a saucer ? : Lady D. A great deal in the polite circles, my lord. We iave been raised, by a strange freak of fortune, from no- thing, as a body may say ; and — I Lord D. Nothing! as reputable a trade as any in all [xosport. You hold a merchant as cheap as if he trotted ibout with all his property in a pack, like a pedlar. ! Lady JD. A merchant, indeed 1 curious merchandize you iealt in, truly 1 Lord D. A large assortment of articles : coal, cloth, her- dngs, linen, candles, eggs, sugar, treacle, tea, bacon, and brick-dust ; with many more, too tedious to mention, in oh is here advertisement. 8 KEIR AT LAW. Lady D. Well, praise the bridge that carried yoa over , but you must now drop the tradesman, and learn life. Consider, by the strangest accident, you have been raised to neither more nor less than a peer of the realm. Lord D, Oh ! ’twas the strangest accident, my lady, tha^ ever happened on the face of the universal yearth. Lady D, True, ’twas indeed a windfall ; and you must now walk, talk, eat and drink, as^ becomes your station. ’Tis befit a nobleman should behave as sich, and know sum* mut of breeding. Lord Z>. Well, but I ha’nt been a noblem.an more nor a week ; and my throat isn’t noble enough yet to be proof against scalding. Hand over the milk, my lady. Lady D. Hand over ! ah ! what’s bred in the bone will | never come out of the flesh, my lord. j Lord D. Pshaw ! here’s a fuss, indeed ! when I w^as plain j Daniel Dowlass, of Gosport, I was reckoned as cute a dab | at discourse as any in town^ Nobody found fault with meA then. Lady D. But, why so loud ? I declare the servants will hear. | Lord D. Hear ! and what will they hear but what they! know ? our story a secret ! lord help you ! tell ’em queen ] Anne’s dead, my lady. Don’t everybody know old Dubei; *- ly was supposed to die without any hair to his estate — a s the doctors say, of an implication of disorders ; and that : his son Henry Mori and, was lost, some time ago, in the salt sea ? Lady D, Well, there’s no occasion to — ^ Lord JD. Don’t everybody know that lawyer Perret, of Purnival’s Inn, owed the legatees a grudge, and popped a ; bit of an advertisement into the news ! — “ whereas the heir ! ' at law if there be any reviving, of the late baron Duberly, I _ will apply — so and so — he’ll hear of summut greatly to hisi advantage.” Lady D, But ’why bawl it to the — j j Lord D, Did’nt he hunt me out, to prove my title ? and | lug me from the counter to clap me into a coach ? a house | here in Hanover Square, and an estate in the country, worth fifteen thousand per annum ? why, bless you, my ^ 1 1 a i I HEIPc AT LAW. 9 lady, every little black devil, with a soot bag, cries it about the streets, as often as he says sweep. Lady D, ’Tis a pity but my lord had left you some man- ners with his money. Lord D, He ! what my cousin twenty thousand times removed ? he must have left them by word of mouth. Never spoke to him but once in all my born life — upon an erectioneering matter : that’s a time when most of your proud folks make no bones of tippling with a tallow-chand- ler, in his back room, on a melting day ; but he ! — except calling me cousin, and buying a lot of damaged huckaback, to cut into kitchen towels, he was as cold, and as stiff as he is now, though he has been dead and buried these nine months, rot him ! Lady D. There again now ! rot him ! Lord D, Why, blood and thunder ! what is a man to say when he wants to consecrate his old stifif-rumped relations ? l^rings the belL Lady T>, Why, an oath now and then may slip in, to garnish genteel conversation : but then it should be done with an air to one’s equals, and with a kind of careless con- descension to menials. Lord D. Should it ? w’ell then — ^here, John ! Enter John, r. My good man, take away the tea, and be damn’d to you. John, ’i es, my lord. \^Exit^ Lady D. And now, my lord, I must leave you for th« concerns of the day. We elegant people are as full oi business as an egg’s full of meat. Lord D. Yes, we elegant people find the trade of the tone^ as they call it, plaguy fatiguing. What, you are for the ivis a wis this morning ? much good may it do you, my lady. Damme it makes me sit stuck up, and squeezed like a boar in a bathing tub. • Lady D. I have a hundred places to call at. Folks are io civil since we came to take possession ! there’s dear Lady Littlefigure, Lord Sponge, Mrs. Holdbank, Lady Betty , Pillory, the Jlon. Mrs. Cheatwell, and — Lord D. Aye, aye : you may always find plenty in this rjhere town to be civil to fifteen thousand a year, my lady. 1 10 liElR AT LAW. Lady D, Well, there’s no learning yoa life. I’m sure they are as kind and friendly ! the supper Lady Betty gave to us, and a hundred friends, must have cost her fifty good pounds, if it cost a brass farden ; and she does the same thing I’m told three times a week. If she isn’t monstrous rich, I wonder, for my part, how she can afford it. Lord D, Why, ecod, my lady, that would have puzzled me too, if they hadn’t hooked me into a damn’d game of cocking and punting I think they call it, where I lost as much in half a hour as would keep her and her company in fricasees and whip sullibubs for a fortnight. But I may be even with her same o’ these a’ternoons! Only let me catch her at Put ; that’s all. Enter John l. John. Doctor Pangloss is below, my lord. Lord D, Oddsbobs, my lady ! that’s the man as learna me to talk English. . Lady D, Hush ! consider — [pointing to John, Lord D, Hum ! I forgot — curse me, my honest follow, shew him up stairs, d’ye here, {exit John, l.) There, was that easy ? I Lady D, Tolerable. Lord D, Well, now, get along, my lady ; the Doctor and I must be snug. { Lady D. Then I bid you good morning, my lord. A?s lady Betty says, I wish you a bon repos, [Exit^ r. ? Lord D, A bon repos ! I don’t know how it is, but women are more cuter at these here matters, nor the men.l My wife, as every body may see, is as genteel already as if she had been born a duchess. This Doctor Pangloss will j do me a deal of good in the way of fashioning my discourse j So here he is. j Enter Pangloss, l. Doctor, good morning — ^I wish you a bon repos ! take a chair, doctor. Pang, Pardon me, my lord ; I am not inclined to be se- dentary ; I wish, with permission, erectos ad sideratollere vultus?'' — Ovid. Hem ! Lord D, Tollory vultures ! I suppose that that means you had rather stand ? HEIR AX LA'A^. il ' Pang, Fye, this is a locomotive morning with me. Just nurried, my lord, from the society of arts ; Vv^hence, I may eay, I have borne my blushing honors thick upon me.” — Shakspeare. Hem ! Lord D, And what has put your honors to the blush this morning, doctor ? Pang. To the blush ! a ludicrous perversion of the au- thor’s meaning — ^he, he, he ! hem ! j^ou shall hear, my lord, lend me your ears.” Shakspeare again. Hem ! ’tis not unknown to your lordship, and the no less literary world, that the Caledonian University of Aberdeen, long since conferred upon me the dignity of L. L. D. ; and, as I never beheld that erudite body, I may safely say they dubb’d me with a degree from sheer considerations of my cele- brity. Lord D. True. Pang. For nothing, my lord, but my own innate modesty, could suppose that Scotch college to be swayed by one pound fifteen shillings and three pence three farthings, paid on receiving ray diploma as a handsome compliment to the numerous and learned head of that seminary. Lord D. Oh, damn it, no, it wasn’t for the matter of money. Pang. I do not think it was altogether the aiiri sacra fumes.'^^ — Virgil. Hem! but this very day, my lord, at eleven o’clock, A. M., the society of arts, in consequence, as they were pleased to say, of my merits, he, he, he 1 my merits., my lord — ^have admitted me as an unworthy mem- ber ; and I have henceforward, the privilege of adding to my name the honorable title of A double S. Lord D. And I make no doubt, doctor, but you have richly deserved it. I warrant a mail doesn’t get A double S tack’d to his name for nothing. Pang. Decidedly not, my lord. Yes, I am now artium societatis socius. My two last publications did that busi- ness. “ Exegi monumentum cere pereniiins.'^'^ Horace. ' Hem 1 Lcn'd D. And what might them there two books be I about, doctor ? ; Pang. The first, my lord, was a plan to lull the restless i to sleep, by an infusion of opium into their ears, the efficacy ^ ot this method originally struck me in St. Stephen’s chapefi f a OF ILL u& 12 HEIR AT LAW. while list .^iiing to the oratory of a worthy counirj’' gentle- man. Lord D. I wonder it wa’nt hit upon before, by the doc- tors. Fang. Physicians, my lord, put their patients to sleep in another manner. He, he, he ! ‘‘ to die — ^to sleep ; no more.” Shakspeare. Hem ! my second treatise was a proposal for erecting dove-houses, on a principle tending to increase the propagation of pigeons. This, I m.ay affirm, has received considerable countenance from many who move in the cir- cles of fashion. Nec geinere cessabit turturF Virgil. Hem ! I am about to publish a third edition, by subscrip- tion. May I have the honor to pop your lordship down among the pigeons ? Lord D. Aye, aye ; down with me, doctor. Pang. My lord, I am grateful. I ever insert names and titles at full length. AVhat may be your lordship’s spon- Borial and patronymic appellations ? {taking out kis pocket- book. Lord D. My what ? Pang. I mean, my lord, the designations given to you by your lordship’s godfathers, and parents. Lord D. Oh ! what, my Christian and surname ? I was baptized Daniel. Pang. Abolens baptismatc lahem.'^'^ I forgot where — QO matter — ^hem ! the right honorable Daniel — {ivriting. Lord D. Dowlas. Pang. {ivriting)J)o^N\di ^ — ^ffilthy Dow !” hem! Shake- speare. The right honorable Daniel Dowlas, baron Duber ly. And now, my lord, to your lesson for the day. [ They sit. Lord D. Now for H, doctor. ^ Pang. The process which we are now upon, is to eradij cate that blemish in your lordship’s language, which the|) learned denominate cacology^ and which the vulgar call| slip-slop. \ Lord D. I’m afraid, doctor, my cakelology^ will give youi a tolerable tight job on’t. | Pang. Nil desperandum?"' Horace, hem I we’ll begdi in the old way, my lord. Talk on ; when you stumble, ll check. Where was your lordship yesterday evening ? I Lord D. At a concert. I HEIR AT LAW. ^ 13 Fang, Umph ! tete a tete with lady Duberly, I presume. Lord D, Tete a tete with five hundred people, hearing of music. Fang. Oh ! I conceive : your lordship would say a con cert. Mark the distinction : a concert^ my lord, is an enter- tainment visited by fashionable lovers of harmony. Now a consort is a wife : little conducive to harmony in fhe present day ; and seldom visited by a man of fashion, unless she happens to be his friend’s or his neighbor’s. Lord D. A devil of a difierence, indeed ! betw^een you and I, doctor, (now my lady’s out of hearing) a wife is the devil. Pang. He, he, he ! there are plenty of Jobs in the W’orld, my lord. Lord D. And a damned sight of Jezebels, too, doctor. But patience, as you say — for I never gives my lady no bad language. A¥henever she gets in her tantrums, and talks high, I ahvays sits mumchance. Fang. “ So spake our mother Eve and Adam heard.” Milton. Hem ! {they onse) silence is most secure, my lord, in these cases ; for if once your lordship opened your mouth, ’tis tv/enty to one but bad language would follow. Lord D. Oh, that’s a sure thing ; and I never liked to disperse the w^omen. Fang, As perse. Lord D. Humph ! there’s another stumble ! after all, doctor, I shall make but a poor progress in my vermicular - tongue. Pang, Your knowledge, of our native, or vernacular language, my lord, time and industry may meliorate. Ver- micular is an epithet seldom applied to tongues, but in the case of puppies who want to be worm’d. liord D. Ecod, then I an’t so much o\it, doctor. I’ve met plenty of puppies since I came to town, whose tongues are so troublesome, that worming might chance to be of 1 service. But, doctor, I’ve a bit of a proposal to make to you, concerning my own family. Fang. Disclose, my lord. Lord D, Why, you must know, I expect my son, Dicky, in town this here very morning. Now, doctor, if you would 14 THE HEIR AT LAW. but mend this cakelology, mayhap it might be better worth while than the mending of mine. Pang, I smell a pupil ; {aside) whence, my lord, does the young gentleman come ? Ijyrd D. You shall hear all about it. You know, doc- tor, though I’m of good family distraction — Pang, Ex. Lord D, Though I’m of a good family extraction, ’twas but t’other day I kept a shop at Gosport. Pa7ig, The rumor has reached me. Fama volat vires- que?'' Lord D. Don’t put me out. Pang, Virgil. Hem ! proceed. Lord D, A tradesman, you know, must mind the main ch ance ; so when Dick began to grow as big as a porpus, I got an old friend of mine, who lives in Derbyshire, close to the devil’s — ^humph ! close to the peak — to take Dick ’pren- tice at half-price. He’s just now out of his time; and I warrant him, as wild and as rough as a rock ; now, if you, doctor, if you would but take him in hand and soften him a bit — Pang, Pray, my lord — “ to soften rocks.” Congreve. Hem! pray, my lord, what profession may the honorable Mr. Dowlas have followed ? Lord D. Who ? Dick ? he has served his clerkship to an attorney, at Castleton. Pang, An attorney I gentlemen of his profession, my lord, are very difficult to soften. I^rd D, Yes, but the pay may make it worth while. I’m told that Lord Spindle gives his eldest son. Master Drumstick’s tutorer, three hundred a year, and, besides learning his pupil he has to read my lord to sleep of an afternoon, and walk out with the lap-dogs and children. Now, if three hundred a year, doctor, will do the business for Dick, I shan’t begrudge it you. Pang, Three hundred a year 1 say no more, my lora. li.L. D. A. double 8, and three hundred a year 1 I accept the office. “ Yerhum Horace. Hem 1 I’ll run to my lodgings — settle with Mrs. Suds — ^put my w^ardrobe into a— -no, I’ve got it all on, and — {going.) THE HEIR AT LAW. 15 Lord b. Hold, hold ! not so hasty, doctor , I must first send you for Dick, to the Blue Boar. Pang, The honorable Mr. Dowlas, my pupil, at the Blue Boar. Lord D, Aye, in Holborn. As I an’t fond of telling people good news before hand, for fear they may be baulk- ed, Dick knows nothing of my being made a lord. Pang, Three hundred a year ! “ I’ve often wished that I had, clear For life — six” no ; three — “ Three hundred.” Lord D, I wrote him just before I left Gosport, to tell him to meet me in London with — • Pang, Three hundred pounds a year ! Swift — Hem ! Lord D, With all speed upon business, d’ye mind me. Pang, Dr. Pangloss, with an income of! — no lap-dogs, my lord ? Lord I), Nay, but listen, doctor; and as I did’nt know where old Ferret was to make me live in London, I told Dick to be at the Blue Boar this morning, by the stage- coach. Why, you don’t hear what I’m talking about; doctor. Pang. Oh, perfectly, my lord — three hundred — Blue Boars — ^in a stage coach 1 Lord D. Well, step into my room, doctor, and I’ll give you a letter which you shall carry to the inn, and bring Dick away with you. I warrant the boy will be ready to jump out of his skin. Pang. Skin ! jump 1 zounds, I’m ready to jump out of mine 1 I follow your lordship — oh, doctor Pangloss, where is your philosophy, now 1 I attend you, my lord. Equam memento?'^ Horace. Servare mentem — ^hem 1 bless me, I’m all in a fluster, L.T.. D. A. double S., and three hun- dred a — I attend your lordship. Scene II . — A room in Blue Boar HiU^ Holborn. Enter Waiter, showing in Zekiel Homespun, and C](;el'? Homespun ; Ze;iiel carrying a 'portmanteau,^ l. 16 HEIR AT LAW. Wail. This way, if you please, sii. Ze/c. So here we be at last, in London, at the — what be your sign, young man? Wait. The Blue Boar, one of the oldest houses in IIol- burn. ZeL Oldest ! why, as you do say, young man, it do seem in a tumble downish kind of a condition, indeed ! Wait. Shall I put your portmanteau on the table, sir ? [offering to take it. Zek. {jerking it from him.) No, but you don’t though. I ha’ heard o’ the tricks o’ London, though I ne’er sat foot in’t afore. Master Blue Boar, you ha’ gotten the wrong sow by the ear, I can tell ye. Cicely. La, brother Zekiel, I dare say the young man is honest Zek. Haply he may be. Cicely ; but the honest chaps o’ this town, as I be told, do need a deal o’ looking a’ter. Where can Dick Dowlas, now, be a loitering so long, in the yard ? Wait. The gentleman that came in the coach with you, sir ? Zek. Yes, yes ; the gentleman wi’ all his clothes in his hand, tied up in a little blue and white pocket handker* chief. V/ait. Shall I bid him come up, sir ? Zek. Aye, be so kind, will ye ? Wait. I shall, sir. [JElxit., r. Zek. I ha’ nothing left but this portmanteau, and you Cicely : if I w^as to lose either of you, what would become of poor Zekiel Homespun ? Cicely. Dear, now ! this was the cry all along upon the road. Don’t be down-hearted, brother ; there be plenty o’ ways o’ getting bread in London. ‘ Zek. Oh, plenty, plenty ! but many of the ways, they do say, be so foul, and the bread be so dirty, ’twould turn a ( nice stomach to eat on’t. Cicely. W ell, I do declare, it seems a pure place ! with a power of rich gentlefolks, for certain ; for I saw No. 945 upon one of the coach doors as we came along ; and no doubt, tnere be more of them still. I do so like it, Zekiel 1 Zek. Don’t ye now — don’t ye. Cicely — pray don’t be so merry : you scare me out o’ my senses. Think what a HEIR AT LAW. 17 charge I have of ye, Cicely ! father and mother dead — ^no kin to help us ; both thrown o’ top o’ the wide world, to seek our fortunes, and only I to take care of ye. Indeed, indeed, I do love ye. Cicely ! you would break your poor brother’s heart if any harm was to befall you. You would not do that would you, Cicely ? Cicely, I, Zekiel ! I wouldn’t hurt a hair o’ your head, if I was to be made my lord mayor’s lady for it. You have been a kind brother to me, Zekiel ; and if I have the luck to get at service first, I’d work my finger’s to the bone to maintain you. Zek. Buss me. Cicely. Odd rabbit, girl, I be only chicken- hearted on your account. Cicely, Well, let us hope for the best, Zekiel. Poor fa- ther has followed mother to the cold grave, sure eno'ugh ; and the squire, out of the spite he owed us, has turned us out of the Castleton farm ; but ; — Zek, That were bad enough! though I could ha’ stomach’d that — ^but damn him 1 (heaven forgive us) he spoke ill o’ father’s memory. I’d as big a mind to lick squire, as ever I had i’ my life ; and then, as you do say, to turn us adrift. Cicely, But we are young and strong, brother Zekiel, and able to get our living. Zek, Why that be true enough. Cicely. Cicely, Well, then, come now, pluck up a spirit! be lightsome and jovial a bit, Zekiel, do now. Zek, Well, I — I’ll do my best. Bang if ^ve had but a friend now. Cicely. Why, haven’t we ? Zek, None that I do know of, bating Dick Dowlas, who be come up wfi’ us in the Castleton coach. Cicely, Well, brother, I’m sure he’d go through fire and water to serve us. He has told me so, Zekiel, fifty good times by the side of old Dobbin’s pond, by moonlight. Zek, Aye, I do know he ha’ kept you company. Cicely, I told him, when father died, that I was agreeable to his having of you, provided matters got a little more smoothish j with you. Cicely, Did you ? la, Zekiel ! Zek, Dick be an honest fellow. Cicely, That he is, indeed, brother. [eagerly, Zek, I hft’ krowm him now, seven good years, since first HEIR AT LAW. IB he came Castleton; and we ha’ been for all the world like brothers. Dick be a little rantipolish, but as generous a lad — [Dick Dowlas, singing and talking ivithont^ l. “ Oh, London is a fine town, A very famous city.” Take care of my bundle, d’ye hear ? Enter Dick, singing. “ Where all the streets are paved with gold, And all the maidens pretty.” ^Vell, shan’t wo have a bit of something to eat ? just a snaok, Zekiel, eh ? here, you waiter ! Enter Waiter^ ivitli a bundle^ l. AVhat, Cis, my girl ? come, get some cold beef, you. How dost do, after the journey V aye, cold beef, put down the bundle ; mustard, vinegar, and all that, you know : Cis likes a relish. Wait, Directly, sir. \^Puts DicEs bundle doivn and exit^ R. . Dick. Aye, jump about, m}^' tight fellow. Zounds, how the rumbling of the old coach keeps whirling in my head ! Zek, I do think, Dick, your head be always a little upon the whirling order. Dick. If I hadn’t got out to take the reins in hand now and then, I should have been as muzzy as a Methodist par- son. Didn’t I knock the tits along, nicely, Cis ? Cicely. Aye, indeed, Dick ; except bumping us up against the turn-pike gates, we went as pure and pleasant. Dick. Pshaw, that was an accident. Well, old Domino hasn’t call’d for me here yet — can’ think what the old boj ’ \vants with me in London ; bad news, I’m afraid. Cicely. No, don’t you say so, Dick ! Zek. Hap what will, Dick, I’ll stand by ye. I be as poov as Job, but — Dick. Tip us your daddle, Zekiel ; you’ve as tender a heart as ever got into the tough carcase of a Castleton farmer. Yes, the old boy’s last letter but one told me that things were going on badly. Damn that chandler’s shop ( HEIR AT LAW. 19 bacon, eggs, coal, and candles, have laid him low. A bankruptcy, I warrant, and he is come up to town to white- wash. Zek, And to consult wi’ you, mayhap, as you be in the iaw, about the business. Bick. Gad, then it will be like consulting most people in the law — She’ll get nothing from me that’s satisfactory. Old Latitat had as little business as I had inclination in the practice. Zek. Well, but Dick, sure you can do somewhat in your calling. You can draw up a will, or a lease of a farm, now ? Bick, I can shoot a wild duck with any lawyer’s clerk in the country. I can fling a bar — play at cricket — Zek. That you can : I used to notch for vou, vou do know. Bick, I can make a bowl of punch — Zek, That you can : I used to drink it wi’ you, you do know. Bick, I can make love — Cicely, That you can, Dick. Bick, I can catch gudgeons — Zek, Aye, aye, that be part o’ your trade. Catching o’ gudgeons be a lawyer’s chiefest employment, they do say. Bick, Well, now to business : here’s a newspaper I pick- ed up at the bar ; there is something in it, T think, that will suit Cis. Eead it. Zek, {readmg) Wanted — a maid” Bick, That’s a difficult thing to be found in London, I take it. Zek, So far ’twill do for our Cicely. Cicely, Yes : I’d better make haste and get the place for fear any thing should happen, you know. Zek, Let’s read it, Cicely, — ‘‘Wanted a maidservant by a young lady” Cicely, Dear . a young lady ! Zek, “ Who lives very retired at the west end of the town — must be clean in h€T person Cicely be very clean. / Bick, As any lass in Derbyshire.* Zek, “ And good natured” — Cicely be as good natured a girl as ever — umph ! well, let’s see “ And willing to do what is required.” 20 HEIR AT LAW. Cicely. Well, I an* very willing, you know, Dick, an’t I ? Dick. That you are, Cis. Kiss me. Cicely. La, Dick, this will just do ; I’m so pleased ! Zek. “ If from the country the better.” Rabbit it. Cicely, this be the very thing. Tol, de rol lol ! or if any farmer in difficulties, from a numerous family, wishes to put hi? daughter to a service,” — Oh, my poor old father ! this be the thing— “ she will meet with the tenderest care from the lady, who has herself known what it is to be unfortunate.’' Tol, de rol, lol ! buss me. Cicely ! hug me, Dick Dowlass \ I shall provide for sister — the care next my very heaft. Tol, de rol, lol ! Rabbit it, I be ready to choke for joy ! Cicely. Dear, now ! this is the rarest luck ! live with a young lady ! I shall be so great and grand Dick. And grow giddy with good fortune, and forget your poor friends, Cis. Zek. No, no ; Cicely be too good for that. Forget a poor friend ! when such giddy folks do chance to get tum- ble, they may e’en thank themselves if nobody be ready to help ’em up. Cicely. Now, I wouldn’t have said such vrords to you, Dick. You know, so you do, ii' I was to be made a queen, it would be my pride, to share ail my gold with brother and you. Dick. My dear Cis ! well, I’m sorry ; faith I am ; and if ever I, or my family, should come to fortune, — but pshaw ! — damn it, my father keeps a chandler’s shop, without cus^ tom. Enter Waiter, r. Wait. The cloth is laid for you in the other room, gen- tlemen ; for you can’t dine here. Dick. Why so ? Wait. The church wardens come to eat a great dinner here, once a month, for the good of the poor ; this is their day. Zek. That’s as they do down wi’ us : but I could ne vet- find out why stuffing a church-warden’s guts was for thci good of the poor o’ the ‘parish. \ Dick. Nor I neither ; unless he got a surfeit that carried I him off. Come, Zekiel; you shall go presently after the! lace: but let us refi'esh. What we eat will be for the' HEIR AT LAW. 21 good of the poor, I’m certaia. Cis, your arm. Take my fcundle, you dog : {to the Waiter) and don't drop anything out, for I’ve no linen to spare. Come Cis. \Exeunt r. END OF ACT I. ACT.H. Scene I. — An Apartment, Caroline Dormer, discovered. Car, I ‘vish Kenrick were come back. My last hope hangs upon the answer he will bring me. "World, world! when affluence points the telescope, how closely does it at- tract thy venal inhabitants 1 how magnified are all their smiles 1 let poverty reverse the glass, far distant does it cast them from us, and the features of friendship are dwin- dled into nothing. I hear him coming. o o Enter Kenrick. Well, Kenrick, have you carried the letter ? Ken. Indeed, and I have. Miss Caroline. Car, And what answer from my father’s old friend, Ken rick ? Ken. Faith, now, your father’s old friend, begging your pardon, answer’d like a big blackguard. Car. Surely, Kenrick, he could not look surprised at my application ? Ken. Faith, he look’d for all the world as if he had swal- low’d a bottle of vinegar. When I was his honor’s (^^our poor deceased father’s) butler, and help’d this dear old friend to good bumpers of Madeira, and be hang’d to him, he made clean another sort of a face of it. Car, And has he sent no letter in answer ? 22 HEIR AT LAW. Ken, Not a syllable at this present writing ; it was all by varbal word of dirty mouth. Car, Insulting! Ken. Give my compliments to Miss Caroline Dormer, says he, and tell her I’m sorry for her misfortunes : bless you, says I. But I cannot be of the smallest service to her. The devil fly away with you, thinks I. Car. Did he assign no reason ? Ken. Och 1 to be sure, an ould skinflint doesn’t always give you plenty of reasons for being hard-hearted 1 ’tis fit- ting he should. Miss, becase the case requires it ; but com- passion is compassion; and that’s reason enough for showing it, in all conscience. Car. But what said he, Kenrick ? Ken. Her father, Mr. Dormer’s bankruptcy, says he, has made a terrible deal of noise in the world. Aye, and a ter- rible deal of work too, says I ; for you know. Miss Caro- line, my poor old master, rest his soul, wsls one of the big- gest merchants in the city of London. Car. True, Kenrick ; but died almost one of its poorest inhabitants. Ken. That’s what the ould fellow said. Her father has died so involved, says he, that no prudent man can concern himself for the daughter, or run the risk of meddling with his affairs. And so he ended, with his respects, and a par- cel of palaver, to you ; and an offer of half-a-crown to your humble servant, as an ould acquaintance. Car. And yet, had my father’s prudence been of his complexion, I doubt, Kenrick, whether this man would now have half a-crown to offer you. Ken. Och ! now, if I had but minded to tell him that ! but I 'made the half-crown tell it him, as plain as it could speak ; for I threw it on the ould miser’s table, with a great big whack ; and, by my soul, he never jump’d so high at two-and-six-pence before in all his beggarly born days. Car, Then there is no hope from that quarter, Ken- rick ? \ Ken. No more hope than there is in a dead coach-horse.- Car. I w’ould wish to be alone, Kenrick : — pray leave! me. I Ken. Lea^ e you ! and in grief, Miss Caroline I \ HEIR AT LAW. 23 Car. I would not have you, my good old man, a witness to my affliction. Ken. What, and wasn’t my poor, dear, departed wife, Judith, your own nurse, wet and dry, for many a good year ? and isn’t myself, Felix Kenrick, your own foster- father, that have dandled you in these ouldarms when you were the size of a dumpling ? and will I leave you to take on, after this fashion, all alone, by yourself? \Jialf crying. Car. Pray, pray be silent, Kenrick ! — oh nature ! spite of the inequalities which birth or education have placed be- tween thy children, — still, nature, with all thy softness, I own thee. The tear of an old and faithful servant, which bedews the ruins of his shelter, is an honest drop that pene- trates the heart. Ken. Aye, cry away, my poor Miss Caroline ; cry away ! I shared the sunshine of your family, and it is but fair that I should go halves in the ruin. Car. A poor two hundred pounds, Kenrick, are now all that remain to me. Ken. Well, come, two hundred pounds, now-a-days, are not to be sneezed at. Consider how consoling it is, my dear Miss, to think that, with good management, it may be a matter of two years before you are left without a penny in the whole wide world ! and that’s four-and-twenty calender months, you know. Car. Had this hollow friend of my father’s exerted him- self in the wreck of our house’s fortune, he might, probably, have averted the penury which threatens me. Ken. Och! if I could but beat humanity into his heart, through his carcase, I’d make him as tender as a sucxing pig- Car. Lord Duberly’s death, too, in the moment of my difflculties ! in him I might still have found a protector. Ken. Aye, and his brave son, too, the honorable Mr. Henry Morland, that was to have married you. Well, be oi good heart now — ^for he’s dead ! the poor drown’d youth. Car. Desist, Kenrick, I beseech you. / Ken. Aye, well now you are unhappy ; but you see I’m after making you easy. J ust as the two families had popp’d down the man of your heart for your husband, faith, ho popp’d himself into his decent watery grave ; and I am left, 24 HEIR AT LAW. the only tender friend you have in the world, to remind yon of it. Car, Eemind me no more, Kenrick. Your intention is good, but this is torment to me instead of Zek, {Speaking without,) Above stairs ! oh, very well ma’am, — thank you, ma’am. Car, Hark ! I hear somebody inquiring for me, on the stairs. Ken, Now, that’s the worst of these lodgings. Faith, the people come into your house before you have opened the door ! [A knock at the door of the room. Car, Come in. Entei Zekiel and Cicely Homespun, r. Have you any business with me, friend ? Zek, Why, yes, ma’am, it be a smallish bit of business, as a body may say. Car, Well, young man? Zek. Why, madam, I be come to — pray, if I may make so bold, isn’t your name A. B. ? Car, Oh, I understand ; you come in consequence of an advertisement. I believe you may leave us, Kenrick. It was I who advertised for a maid-servant. Zek. And, with submission, madam, I be come to offer for the place. Ken, This is the first time I ever saw a servant-maid in a pair of leather breeches, in all my life. [Exit, r. Car, You, honest friend, as a maid-servant ? Zek. Yes, for Cicely. Curt’sey, Cicely. Cic. I do, brother Zekiel. Zek. This be my sister, madam. We be newly come from Derbyshire ; and lighting at the Blue Boar — the great in — ^in — Holborn — that — but, perhaps you may fre- quent it, madam. Car, Well, friend? Zek. Why we stumbled upon your notice in the news^ madam ; and so — and so here we be, madam. Car, {to Cicely) Have you ever been in service befor e, child ? 1 Cic. No, never, if you please, madam ; — I was alwaws with father, and minded the dairy. I Car. And why did you quit your father pray I HEIR AT LAW. 25 Cic, He died, if you please, madam. It was a sad day for brother and I. ’Tis a cruel thing, madam, to lose » good father. Car. It is, indeed, child. I can well feel it. Cic. And when he dies in distress, too, madam— Car. Did your father die so, child ? ZeJc. All along o’ that damned squire. Mother were gone long ago ; and when children be left destitute, it be hard to find a friend to compassionate ’em. Car. I — I will be that friend. My power is little — al- most nothing — ^but, as far as it can go, you shall find pro- tection. Cic. Oh, the gracious ! — ^what a pure lady ! Car. But can you refer me to any one for a character ? Zek. I ha’ gotten a character in my pocket, madam, they tell me that be the way they do take most characters in London. Here be a certificate from parson Brock, of our parish, [ Giving it. Car. I see. What can you do to be useful. Cicely ? Cic. Oh, a power of things ; I can churn and feed ducks ; milk COW’S, and fatten a pig, madam. Zek. Yes, yes — jon will find Cicely handy enough, I warrant her. Car. All this wdll be of little service in London. Zek. Od rabbit it, madam, she wrill soon learn here to put her hand to anything. Won’t you. Cicely ? Cic. If I don’t, it shan’t be for want of inclination to please you, my lady. Car. Well, child, come in the evening, and you shall be- gin your service. We shall not disagree about wages : and you will be treated more like a humble friend than a ser- vant. Kenrick ! I shall only have yourself and a poor, faithful Irishman. Zek. {Aside.) An Irishman ! dang it, these Irishman, as I be told, be devils among the girls. My mind do mistake me ; for Cicely be young and thoughtless. I Enter Kenrick, r. ! Car. Show these good people down, Kenrick ; and take tliis bill to Lombard-street. Ken. I shall do that thing. Miss Caroline. Zek. Oh ! then this be the Irishman. He be a plaguy 26 HEIR AT LAW. old one, indeed ! come, there be nothing tc fear about he. {Aside,) A good day to you, madam. Cui*t’sey, Cicely. Ken. Come, you two go first : for I must be after show mg you the way, you know. [Kxitj following Zekiel and Cicely, l. Cor. This simple girl’s story approaches so near to me. Poor innocence ! mine is a sorry shelter in your wander- ings : yet it may be warmer than one more splendid ; for opulence relieves, sometimes with coldness, sometimes with ostentation, sometimes with levity ; but sympathy kindles the brightest spark that shines on the altar of compassion ; and tenderness pours on it the sweetest balm that charity produces, when the afflicted administer to the afflicted. {Exitj L. Scene II. — A Room in the Blue Boar Inn. Enter Dr. Pangloss and Waiter, l. Pang. Let the chariot turn about. Dr. Pangloss in a lord’s curra ]portahur eodem?'^ Juvenal. Hem! waiter I Wait. Sir. Pang. Have you any gentleman here, who arrived this morning? Wait. There’s one in the house, now, sir. Pang. Is he juvenile ? Wait. No, sir, he’s Derbyshire. Pang. He, he, he 1 of what appearance is the gentleman ? Wait. Why, plaguy poor, sir. Pang. “ Iholdhim rich, al had he not a sherte.” Chaucer. Hem 1 denominated the honorable Mr. Dowlas ? Wait. Honorable ! he left his name plain Do wlas at the bar, sir. Pang. Plain Dowlas, did he ? that will do, “ for all the rest is leather.” Wait. Leather, sir 1 1 Pang. And prunello.” Pope. Hem! tell Mr. Dick, Not broke, but Gazetted ! why, zounds and the devil ! Fang, Check your passions ; learn philosophy. When the wife of the great Socrates threw a — hum ! threw a tea- pot at his erudite head, he was as cool as a cucumber When Plato— Bick, Damn Plato ! what of my father ? Pang, Don’t damn Plato. The bees swarm’d round his mellifluous mouth as soon as he was swaddled. Cum in Tunis apes in labellis consedissent,^'' Cicero. Hem ! Dick, I wish you had a swarm round yours, with all my heart. Come, to the point. Pang, In due time. But calm your choler. Iro furor brevis est?"^ Horace. Hem ! read this, \gives a letter, Bick, (^Snatches the letter^ hi'eaks it open and reads. ^ “ Dear Dick. This comes to inform you I am in a perfect state of health, hoping you are the same.” Aye, that’s the old beginning. It was my lot, last week, to be made” — aye, a bankrupt, I suppose — ‘‘ to be made a” — ^what ? ‘‘ to be ' made a P. E. A. E ;” a pear ! to be made a pear ! what the devil does he mean by that ? Fang, A peer— a peer of the realm. His lordship’s orthography is a little loose, but several of his equals coun- tenance the custom. Lord Loggerhead always spells phy- sician with an E. Dick. A peer ! what, my father ! I’m electrified. Old Daniel Dowlas made a peer ! but let me see — {reads on) pear of the realm. Lawyer Ferret got me my title” — • titt — oh, title ! and an estate of fifteen thousand per ann., by making me out next of kin to old Lord Duberly, be- cause he died without— without hair.^\ ’Tis an odd rea- son, by the bye, to be next of kin to a nobleman, because he died bald. Pang. His lordship mean^ heir — ^heir to his estate. Wo shall meliorate his style speedily. Eeform it altogeth W.” Shakspeare. Hem ! Dick. I sent my carrot.” Carrot ! i Pang^ He, he, he ! chariot his lordship means. I Dick. With Dr. Pangloss ii? it.” \ Pang, That’s me* I HEIR AT LAW. 29 Dick, “ Eespect him, for he’s an L. L. D., and moreover an A double S.” {they how. Pang, His lordship kindij condescended to insert that at my request. Dick. “ And I have made him your tutorer, to mend your cakelology.” Pang. Cacology; from K-aiiog^ malus^ and Aoyof, var- bum. Vide Lexicon. Hem ! Dick, Come with the doctor to my house in Hanover feviuare.” Hanover Square ! “ I remain your affectionate father, to command, Duberly.” Pang. That’s his lordship’s title. Dick. Is it ? Pang. It is. Dick. Say sir to a lord’s son. You have no more man- ners than a bear. Pang. Bear! under favor young gentleman, I am the* bear leader ; being appointed your tutor. Dick, And what can you teach me ? Pang, Prudence. Don’t forget yourself in sudden suc- cess. Tecun habito?'^ Persius. Hem 1 Dick, Prudence to a nobleman’s son; with fifteen thou- sand a year ! Pang. Don’t give way to your passions. Dick, Give way ; zounds ! I’m wild : mad ! you teach me, pooh ! I have been in London before, and know it re- quires no teaching to be made a modern fine gentleman. Why, it all lies in a nut shell : sport a curricle — walk Bond street — play at Paro- — get drunk-^dance reels — go to the opera — cut off your tail — pull on your pantaloons — and there’s a buck of the first fashion in town, for you. Dam’me d’ye think I don’t know what’s going ? Pang. Mercy on me. I shall have a very refractory pupil ! Dick. Not at all. We’ll be hand and glove together, my little Doctor. I’ll drive you down to all the races, with my tferrier between your legs, in a tsndem. j Pang. Doctor Pangloss, the philosopher, with a terrier between his legs, in a tandem. Dick, I’ll tell you what, doctor. I’ll make you my long stop at crirkei. — ^you shall draw corks when I’m president — laugh at TiQ}' jokes before company — ^squeeze lemoius for 30 HEIR AT LAW. punch — cast up the reckoning — and wee betide you if you don’t keep sober enough to see me safe home, after a jollh fication ! Fang. Make me a long-stop, and a squeezer of lemons I zounds ! this is more fatiguing than walking out with the lap-dogs ! and are these the qualifications for a tutor, young gentleman ? Fick. To be sure they are. ’Tis the way that half the i 3rig parsons, who educate us honorables, jump into fat ivings. Pang. ’Tis well, they jump into something fat, at last, for they must wear all the flesh off their bones in the process. Dick. Come now, tutor, go 5 ^ou and call the waiter. Fa.ng. Go and call ! sir, sir ! I’d have you to understand Mr. Dowlas — Dick. Aye, let us understand one another, doctor. My father, I take it, comes down* handsomely to you for your management of me. Pang. My lord has been liberal. Dick. But ’tis I must manage you, doctor. Acknow- ledge this, and between ourselves. I’ll find means to double your pay. Pang. Double my — Dick. Do you hesitate ? why, man, you have set up for a modern tutor without knowing your trade. Pang. Double my pay! say no more — done actum, est.^^ Terence. Hem! Waiter! {bawlingj) gad, I’ve reached the right reading at last *• I’ve often wished that I had clear For life, six hundred pounds a year — ” Swift. Hem ! waiter I Dick. That’s right; tell him to pop my clothes and linen into the carriage ; they are in that hurdle. Enter Waiter, r. b- Pang. Waiter, here, put up the honorable Mr. Dowlases elothes and linen into his father’s, lord Duberly’s chaiiot i Pang. Where are they all, sir ? V Pang. AH wrapped up in the honorable Mr. Dowlas’Ai pocket-handkerchief {Exit %vaiter.,%vitlvh'undle.^\.. \ HEIR AT LAW. 31 Dick, See ’em safe in, doctor, and I’ll be with you lirectly. Pang. I go, most worthy pupil. Six hundred pounds a ^^ear ! however deficient in the classics, his knowledge of arithmetic is admirable. I’ve often wished that I had clear • For life ” Dick, Nay, nay, don’t be so slow. Pang. Swift. Hem ! I’m gone. [Exit^ l , Dick. What am I to do with Zeldel and Cis ? when a poor man has grown great, his old acquaintance generally begin to be troublesome. Enter Zekiel, r. Zcl\ Weil, I han’t been long. Dick. No, you are come time enough, in all conscience. [ Coolly, Zek. Cicely ha’ gotten the place. I be e’en almost stark wild wi’ joy. Such a good-natured young madam ! why, you don’t seem pleased, man ! sure, and sure, you be glad of our good fortune, Dick. Dick, Dick ! what do you — oh ! but he doesn’t know yet, that 1 am a lord’s son. I rejoice to hear of your suc- cess, friend Zekiel. • . Zek, Why, now, that’s hearty. But, eh ! why you look mortal heavy and lumpish, Dick. No bad tidings since we ha’ been out, I hope. Dick, Oh, no ! Zek. Eh ! let’s have a squint at you. Odd rabbit, but summut have happened. You ha’ seen your father, and things ha’ gone crossish. Who have been here, Dick ? Dick, Only a gentleman who had the honor of being de- puted an ambassador from my father. Zaek. What a dickens, an ambassador ! pish, now you be a queering a body. An ambassador, sent from an old chandler to Dick Dowlas, lawyer Latitat’s clerk ? come, that be a good one, fegs. Dick. Dick Dowlas 1 and lawyer’s clerk ! sir, the gentle- man came to inform me that my father, by being proved n^xt of kin to the late lord, is now lord Duberly ; by which iriieans I am now the honorable Mr. Dowlas. 32 HEIU AT LAW. Zek, Odds flesh ! gi’ us your fist, Dick ! I ne’er shook the fist of an honorable, afore, in all my born days. Old Daniel made a lord ! I be main glad to hear it. This be news, indeed ! but, Dick, I hope he ha’ gotten some ready along wi’ his title ! for a lord without money be but a fool- ish, wish3^-washy kind of a thing a’ter all. Dick, My father’s estate is fifteen thousand a year, Zek. Mercy on us ! you ha’ ta’en away my breath. Dick. Well, Zekiel, Cis and you shall hear from me soon. Zek, Why, you ben’t a going, Dick ? Dick. I must pay my duty to his lordship ; his chariot waits for me, below. AVe have been some time acquainted, Zekiel, and you may depend upon my good offices. Zek. You do seem a little flustrated with these tidings, Dick. I — I should be loth to think our kindness was a ‘.ooling. Dick, Oh, no ! rely on my protection. Zek. AVh}^ look’ee, Dick Dowlas : as to protection, and ah that, we ha’ been old friends : and, if I should need it from you, it be no more nor my right to expect it, and 3'our business to give it me : but Cicely ha’ gotten a place, and I ha’ hand and health to get a livelihood. Fortune, good or bad, tries the man, the}^ do say ; and, if I should hap to be made a lord to-mOrrow, (as who can say what may betide, since they ha’ made one out of an old chandler) — Dick. Well, sir, and what then ? Zjck. AA^hy, then, the finest feather in my lordship’s cap would be, to show that there would be as much shame in slighting an old friend, because he be poor, as there be pleasure in owning him, when it be in our power to do him service. Dick, You mistake me, Zekiel — I — I — ’sdeath ! I’m quite confounded ! I’m trying to be as fashionable here, as my neighbors, but nature comes in, and knocks it all on the head. {Aside.) Zekiel, give me y^our hand. Zek. Then, there be a hearty Castleton slap for you. Thje grasp of an honest man can’t disgrace the hand of a Duko, Dick. Dick. You’ve a kind soul, Zekiel, I regard you sincerelyv, Hove Cicely, and — damn it, I’m going too far now for a lord’s i HEIR AT LAW. 33 Bon. Pride and old friendship are now fighting in me, till ll am almost bewildered. (Aside.) You shall hear from me in a few hours. Good-bye I Zekiel ! good-bye ! [Exit. Zek. I don’t know what ails me, but I be almost ready to cry. Dick be a high-mettled youth, and this news ha’ put him a little beside himself I should make a bit of allowance. His heart, I do think, be in the right road ; and when that be the cause, he be a hard judge that won’t par- don an old friend’s spirits, when they do carry him a little way out on’t. [Exit. END OF ACT II, ACT III. Scene I. — A Hotel. Enter Henry More and, Stedfast, and a Waiter^ l. Wait. These are the apartments, gentlemen. Henry. They will do. Leave us. Wait. AVould you choose any refreshment, gentlemen ? oui* hotel provides dinners. Stea. IS o chattering : we have business. (Exit waiter., r.) Welcome, at last, Mr. Morland, to London. After wander- ing over foreign lands, with what joy an Englishman sets his foot on British ground ! his heart swells with pleasure as he drives through his fat, native soil, which ruddy labor has cultivated, till he reaches this grand reservoir of opu- lence : an opulence which may well make him proud, for its honorable source is his countrymen’s industry. Henry. To you, Stedfast, who have no private fears — no anxieties for your family, the satisfaction must be exquisite. Sted. Why, I am an old bachelor, ’tis true, and without relations ; but the whole country is my family, I could not 34 HEIfl AT LAW. help thinking, as we posted to town, that each jolly peas- ant, and each cherry-cheeked lass, was a kind of humblo brother and sister to me, and they called forth my affec- tions accordingly. Eich or poor, great and small, we all form one chain, Henry. May the larger and lesser links held kindly together, till time slides into eternity. Henry, Truce to these reflections, now, my dear Sted- fast ; they do your heart honor ; but mine is filled with a thousand apprehensions. My father, Caroline. Sted, A father, and a mistress ! duty and love — ^that’s a slow fire, and a fierce blaze ; and, doubt blowing the bel- lows upon ’em, ’tis enough to scorch a young soul to a cinder. Henry. ’Tis strange I have never heard from either of them. After escaping the perils of shipwreck ! after the sufferings which followed — a father, and a mistress soon to be made my wife, might, surely, have sent one line, to tes- tify their pleasure at my preservation. Sted. Aye, now make yourself miserable. A young mind is too soon sanguine and therefore too soon depressed. Henry. Why, what can be the reason that they have never noticed my letters ? Sted. Umph ! there is one reason, indeed, that — , Henry. You alarm me ! what can that be ? Sted. That they have never received them. Henry. Impossible ! Sted. Nothing more likely. Consider your last letter from Quebec told your father, lord Duberly, that you had arranged all the business which had called you there, and that, in three days, you should embark for England. Henry. Well, that he never answered. Sted. I can’t tell, probably not. Most people think it somewhat superfluous to write to a correspondent at Que- bec, after he has left the place. * Henry. Pshaw y I’m bewildered. But, since. Sted. Why, since, the chances have been against jou ; wrecked on our passage — thrown upon the uninhabited part of the Island of Cape Breton — Henry. I shall never think of it without horror; nor without gratitude, Stedfast. To your friendly care (stran- gers as we then were to each other,) on that frozen shore of desolation, I owe my life. HEJR AT LAW. 35 Sted, Pshaw ! nonsense — we hoth met as fellow- passen- gers, and were fellow-sufferers ! and I happened to be the toughest, that’s all. To do as we would be done by, is merely a part of our duty. But there is so much fuss made about it, that I am afraid the duty is too often neglected. I suppose we shall soon have to thank our shoe-black for brushing our boots, though we reward him for his business. Henry. Yet humanity, Stedfast Sted. Is every man’s business ; and the reward he will ultimately receive is far above human calculation. But come, thank providence, and not me. To survive, at the end of two months, when most of the small parcel of our comrades were dead, or dying about us, with cold and hunger, is no common escape. Henry. And then, in a desperate hope, to launch our shattered boat, in quest of an inhabited country, and to toss about for two months more, till, benumbed and perish- ing, we were discovered by the native and friendly Indians. All this, Stedfast, was indeed a stout trial. Sted. Then away with trifling fears, now. Since our deliverance we have changed our ground daily, on our re- turn to England. The time, the distance — your letters — theirs — all may have miscarried. Henry. May it prove so ! but let me hasten to my fath- er’s, and clear my doubts. Sted. Stay, stay, stay ! you know it was at my request you came to this hotel : now, pray, at my request, let me wait on lord Duberly, to prepare him for your appearance Henry. But for what purpose ? Sted. A v£ry evident one. The wreck of our ship has ' doubtless, long been public in London : and as the crew and passengers ai:e probably all supposed to have perished, your abrupt entrance at your father’s might be too much for him. Henry. You are perfectly right. In. the moment when cur passions are afloat, how beneficiMis the cool judgment of a friend, to direct u& ? but should’nt I give you a line of introduction to my father ? Sted. Umph ! why, according to usual form, indeed : but I was never good at forms ; and in this case, it may be bet- ter to let me introduce myself, in my own way. I hope lord Duberly is no stickler for ceremonies. jo . HEIR AT LAW. Heyi'iy. He has the manliest virtue, and the warmest heart in the world, my friend : but I confess to those who are unacquainted with him, these qualities at first, are a little concealed, by a coldness in manner that Sted, Oh, I understand ; a little stately or so. Henry. Only a little of the vielle cour about him. A long habit of haranging in parliament gives a man a kind of dig- nit} of deportment, and an elevation of style, not met witn eveiy day, you krow. But gentleman, is written legibly on his brow — erudition shines through every polished period of his language — and he is the best of men and •fathers, believe me. Sted. Aye, aye ! I see, I see ! — grand and stiff, but of sterling value, like an old-fashioned silver candlestick. Well, I’ll soon bring you an account of my embassy. Henry. And, while you are at my father’s, I will walk to Mr. Dormer’s. My suspense about Caroline, is intoler- able. I must See the good old gentleman, and he will break my arrival to his daughter. Sted. Meet me, then, here, in a couple of hours. Henry. Be it so. A thousand thanks, my dear Stedfast. Sted. A thousand fiddlesticks ! I hate to be thanked a thousand times, for a trifle. I know ’tis the language of the day, but modern complimentary cant is the coinage of dishonesty — for the profession exceeds the feeling — and nine men in ten, who give it under their hands that they are your devoted humble servants, pledge themselves to you for much more than they ever mean to perform. \^Exeu7it. Scene II. — An Apartment in Lord Duberly’s House. Lady Duberly and Dr. Pangloss discovered. Lady D. And how does my lord come on with his learn- ing, doctor ? Pang. Apt, very apt, indeed, for nis age. Defective in nothing now, but words, phrases, and grammar. Lady D. I wish you could learn him to follow my ex ample, and be a- little genteel ; but there is no making a silk purse out :>f a sow’s ear, they say. HEIK. AT LAW. 37 ner’d youth in Christendom. iS; i assure you. "^'pawl^^Vur^readingTWm be various, logic, ethics, and tViAmatics • history foreign and domestic; geography, “'‘•.rlnd miderT’ Vages and travels; antiquities BrTtish aud foreign ; natural history ; lettre^and philosophy; classics; arts and sciences , belles lettres, a a “SrS!' Bless me! >tis enough to batter the poor boy’s brains to a mummy. Pang. “ A little learning-—— Lady D. Little? A load . TTpin I Pan% Is a dangerous thing.” Pope. Hem 1 Lady D. And you have left out the mam article Pang. What may your ladyship mean . "S: |.”g£>e“pS-pW, touch S'd. Between whiles, you might give Dick a lesson or tSo in the hall;-as my lord’s valet will be quite handy to have you both m the house, you ^'^^Pang. This is a damn’d barbarous old ."'oman. With submission to your ladyship, my business is M:o tells U.0 that th, he^of voSoo men of fashion, now a-days. are by no mei ovwloafed. They are all left to the barber an! dentist 38 HEIR AT LAW. Pang, ’Twould be daring to dispute so self-evident an axiom. But, if yOur ladyship Lady Look ye, doctor , -he must learn to dance and jabber French ; and I wouldn’t give a brass farden for any thing else. I know what’s elegance and you’ll find the grey mare the better horse, in this house, I promise you. Pang, Her ladyship is paramount. Dux famina factiy Virgil. Hem ! {aside). • Lady D. What’s your pay here, Mr. Tutorer ? Pang. Three hundred pounds per annum : — that is — six — ^no, three — no — ay — no matter : — the rest is between me and Mr. Dowlas, {aside.) Lady D. Do as I direct you in private, and, to prevent words. I’ll double it. Pang. Double it ! what, again ! nine hundred per an- num ! {aside.) I’ll take it, “ your hand ; a covenant.” — • Shakspeare. Hem ! zounds, I’ve got beyond the reading, at last ! “ Fve often wished that I had, clear, For life’’ — [Lord D. speaks ivithouX I hear, my lord — “ Nine hundred pounds a year.” Swift. Hem ! Enter lord Duberly and Dick Dowlas, r. Loi'd D. Come along, Dick ! here he is again, my lady. Twist, the tailor, happen’d to come in promiscuously, as I may say, and - Pang. Accidentally, my lord, would be better. Lord D. Ay, accidentally ; — with a suit of my lord Dock- tail’s under his arm : — and, as we was in a bit of a rumpus to rig out Dick, why Pang. Dress, not rig — unless metaphorically Lord D. Well — to dress out — why, we — hump ! doctor, don’t bother, in short, we popp’d Dick into ’em ; and, Twist says, they hit to a hair. Dick. Yes, they are quite the dandy; aren’t they, mo- ther ? — this is all the go, they say ; cut straight, that’s the thing : — square waist — wrap over the knee, and all that Slouch is the word, now, you know. HEIR AT LAW. 39 Lady D. Exceeding genteel, I declare ! turn about, ’Dick ; they don’t pitch, do they ? Dick Oh no ! lust as if I’d been measured. . Lord D. Pitch ? lord love you, my lady, they sit like a sack. But why don’t you stand up ? the boy rolls about ^'^I)icF°T*hat’s the fashion, father ! that’s ™odem ease. Youno- Vats, the beau brewer, from the borough, brought it down, last Christmas, to Castleton. A young fellow is nothing, now, without the Bond street roll, a tooth-pick betwefn his teeth, and his knuckles cramm . Don’t say no. A drop of wine now, or a sneaker of punch, or — Sted. Nothing, my lord. I am thunderstruck ? [aside: Lord D. ell, now then for this here bit of business. Sted. 1 have some fears, my lord, that I might be too abrupt in the disclosure ; but since this introduction Lord D. Gh rot it ! I was never for long rigmaroles, not I. An honest man’s meaning needs no flourishes. Hon- esty is like a good piece of English roast beef. Muster Stedfast; it lacks little garnish, and the more plainer, the more palatabler. That’s my sentiment. Sted. I admire your sentiment, my lord, but I can’t say much for your language, (aside.) — I must inform your lord- ship that no great length of time has elapsed since I left~ do not be agitated — Quebec, in America. 12 HEIR AT LAW. Lord D. A Yankee Doodle, mayhap ? Sted, A Yankee Doo — I am not an American, my lord. l^Rises. Lord D. 'No offence to you ; but seeing you have got a tawneyish tinge, (rises,) I thought you might be a little outlandish. Sted. I shall ever be proud, my lord, in being able to say that I am an Englishman ; but I should suppose any person recently arriving from the counti*y I have named, must sensibty interest your feelings. Lord D. Interest my — why, what’s he at ? if I seem not to understand, now, I shall make some plaguy hole in my manners, I warrant. (Aside.) Sted. 1 perceive by your silence, that your lordship is affected. A person in your situation, cannot naturally be otherwise. Lord D. Then it’s the fashion, I find, for a peer to be in a pucker when anybody comes from Quebec, in America. l^Aside. Sted. Pray, inform me, my lord, have you received any letter from your son, since he wrote to advise you that he had finished the business which induced you to send him from home, and that he was immediately preparing to meet you in London ? Lord B. Since that ? No, to be sure. Why, lord love you, he set out directly a'ter it on purpose to come. Sted. And your lordship has heard no news from any of his fellow-passengers ? Lord. B. Eellow-passengers ! No, not I — neither inside nor out. Sted. Inside nor out ! ’tis plain, however, that we are all supposed to have gone to the bottom. — (Aside.) Know then, my lord, I was his fellow-passenger. Lord B. Was you ? You are just come up, then, it seems. Sted. Come up ! this is an easy way of talking to a man supposed to be drowned. (Aside.) I am here, you see, my lord; but providence be* praised, it was never my fate to go down. Lord B. Well, well, that’s no matter of mine. Your fate may have laid another way, to be sure, as you saj^. Sted. Another way 1 zounds, he can’t dare to insinuate HEIR AT LAW. 43 that I was born to be bang’d. He appears ttie most igno- rant, unfeeling-(asi^^e.) Here me, my lord,-has your son ever been dear to you • . , , ^ Lord D. Plaguy dear, indeed, Muster fetedfast. Only ax Dr. Pangloss. i j t.* Sted. An intimate, I suppose, to whom your lordship has unburthened your mind, in private. . _ Lord D. Yes: he mends my cakelology every morning , and is, moreover, a great philosopher. Sted. On such an occasion a father might well call in philosophy to his assistance. Lord D. I hired him o’ purpose. Sted Hired him ! hired a philosopher to console him tor the death of his son ! delicacy is superfluous bore, 1 see. (aside.) In short, my lord, I come to inform you, that your son, lost as he has beeii to the world, has newly and unex- pectedly entered into life. Well, and what then? _ Sted. What then !-The brutal apathy m this post of a peer, makes me ready to beat him. (aside.) why, then he has this day arrived in town ; here, in this very metro- D. Why, what signifies a cock and a bull story about what I know already ? t? Sted. Know it ! it must then be by inspiration. Jiy what supernatural sign have you discovered his arrival . Lord D. What sign ? Why damme, a Blue Boar. Sted. My lord, my lord '■ ignorance,-little, indeed, from die account I received from a blindly affectionate youtn, did I expect to And it here ;-ignorance may palliate mean- ness and buffoonery, and merely meet contempt; but want of feelino-s excite indignation. You have shocx.d me, and 1 leave you. From exalted rank, like yours, my lord, men look for exalted virtue; and, when these are coupled, thcj command respect, and grace each other : hut the coronet, which gives and receives splendor, when fixed on the brow ol* merit, glitters on the worthless head, like a mark of dis- grace, to render vice, folly, and inhumanity conspicuous. Lord D. That there chap’s mad. He has put me all of a twitter. If my lady had happen’d to be here, I’m sure she’d have perspired with fear. J ohn 1 u HEIR AT LAW Enter John, r. John. My lord. Lo7'd D. Has the porter let out that there man ? John. Yes, my lord. LiOrd D. Never let him clap his damned ugly mug itta tnese doors again. He’s as mad as any poor soul under a state of lunacy. Shut the doors, d’ye hear? {Exit^ John, L.) Odd rabbit it! if peers are to be frightened into this here fashion, I’d rather serve soap and candles again in comfort, at Gosport. \^Exit^ r. Scene IV . — Another apartment in Lord Duberly’s house. Enter Dick Dowlas and Zekiel Homespun, l. Eick. Well, but at this unreasonable time, to— Zek. I couldn’t help it, Dick. Dick. ’Tisn’t the fashion to pay a visit, at this* time in the evening. Who let you in ? Zek. Why, a fat man in the hall, that popp’d out of a leather chair, that comes all over his head like a tub. Dick. The porter, I suppose. Zek. Belike it was. He has tassels a top of his shoul- ders ; and a sight of binding, that looks like parsley and butter, about his waistcoat. Dick. But why did you come now ? Zek. Why, I do tell ye, I was uneasy about ye, Dick. 1 couldn’t ha’ staid away, if I was to be hang’d for’t. You did promise to meet us, this a’ternoon. Dick. I have been prevented. AYe jmung fellows ot fashion can’t answer for our hours. Zek. Ah, Dick, London fashions and friendship, I do fear do seldom long go cheek by jowl. I ha’ just left Cicel}^ at the place. Dick. AVell, and what of her, Zekiel? Zek. Poor soul 1 she ha’ been sobbing ready to burst her heart. Dick. Cicely in tears I — ^for what ? Zek. All along o’ you, man. You did promise to come ; md she do tell me, she ne’er know’d you break your wmrd HEIR AT LAW. 45 ill you were made a gentleman. I said all 1 could think if to comfort her. W ell, and what did you say ? Zel\ Why, I told her that you had always dealt fair and »pen with her till now ; and, it you could be honest to her vhen you were a lawyer, there might be some hope of our being so now, even though you be made an honorable. Dick. Well, well, I shall see her to-morrow, and see you, 00, Zekiel ; and settle some plan for her, and — Zek. Plan ! why the plan be settled already, you do mow. She be in a place, and — Dick. Pshaw ! in place will never do. I have a liking or her, you know : and when — Zek. A liking? Dick. Yes, that’s a love, you know; and a regard for 'ou, Zekiel ; and — in short, a girl on whom lord Duberly’s on has fixed his affections, must not remain in service ; it vould disgrace one of us. Zek. It can’t disgrace one of Dick. A good girl, vho has lost her parent’s support, and do get her bread in lonest industry, be a pride, instead of a disgrace, to any hat loves her, you do know. Dick. I didn’t mean that — I — Zek. No, no : bless you, ’twere only your good will run Lway wi’ you. You do wish us well, Dick — ^ou do wish o serve us, and overshot yourself a little in what you said, hat be all. Dick. Why, look ye, Zekiel. You are a well-meaning ad — Zek. Aye, and so be you, Dick. I were getting a bit iffish wi’ you at the Blue Boar. I did think sudden pride vere going to turn you topsy-turvy. I was angry at my- lelf afterwards ; but I do beg your pardon — ^heartily, my jood friend, faith, heartil}^ Dick. Nay, hear me; ’tis fit we should understand one mother ; \vhich we do not seem to do, at present. Zek. Don’t us, ecod ! I should be grieved at that, Dick. Dick. Listen to me; my situation, you see, is much iltered. Zek. Woundily, indeed ! here be a house ! and what a )rave coat you ha’ gotten on, Dick ! Dick. No matter : but, there are situations in the w'orld, 46 HEIit AT LAW. Zekiel, that do not always tally. Chance may remove one man so far from another, in the rank of life, that, though their good will may continue the same, custom requires that they should not live exactly — mind, I say, not exactly^ on the same footing. Zek, I see what you be driving at, Dick : I see it ; I did fear it all along. Well, well, I — I do know. I ben’t com- pany for a lord’s son ; but w^hen a lord was once a chan- dler, I thought, indeed — ^no matter. Bless thee, Dick ; I shall always wish thee well ! Dick, Nay, nay, I don’t mean that we should separate. On the contrary, I wish we may be closer in friendship than ever. Zek. Ah, Dick ! I have loved thee — I’d ha’ parted with my last farthing to — ^no matter. Dick. There is no occasion to take it in this manner. We may both be rich — both happy, Zekiel : but you know how impossible it is for the son of a peer to marry your sister. Zek. Aye, aye, I do see it ; it be all over ! Dick. No reason for that on earth ; for, though the world places a distance between Cis and me, as to matrimony, yet it makes an allowance for everything else. Zek. I don’t understand ye, Dick. Dick. Why, my rank not permitting the usual forms be- tween us, which my regard for her happiness makes me wish could take place, all I can now do, is to raise her from future fear of poverty; and we may be man and wife in everything but the ceremony. Zek. Oh ! now I understand ye. You be a rascal. Odds flesh! I shall choke. A damned rascal! keep out o’ my way, or I may do you a mischief. Dick. Nay, but — Zek. Dick, Dick! had a stranger done this, I’d ha’ knocked him down ; but for a dear friend to turn traitor— {bursU into tears,) damme, it’s too much, I can’t stand it ! Dick. Well, but only hear me — Zek. I ha’ heard too much already. Rot it! I be ashamed to be such a blubberer : but the greatest shame do light upon you. Dick, {abashed.) I begin to feel that it does, Zekiel. Zek. And well you may. If it be the part of a lord’s son to stab his friend to the heart, by robbing his sister of her HEIR AT LAW. 47 lonesty, much good may it do you wi’ your grandeur. Bui et me tell your grandeur this, Mr. Dowlas ; you do know ;om’at (little enow to be sure) of the law ; and the law of he land do make no difference ’twixt a peer and a plough- nan. If you dare to hurt Cicely, the law shall lay you flat, n the first place, and my ploughman’s fist, in the second : ind so, my service to you ! {Exit l. Dick, My heart upbraids me. I have wounded at one flow, an honest man, and an innocent girl, whom reason ind inclination tell me to love. Now, am I so mere a be- !;inner, that whether this is, or is not fashion, curse me if I mow : but I have been told it is. I must go deeper into ts mysteries, or abstain from it altogether ; and I feel so Quch pain already, that in the same career of fashion, where eeling they say is banished, I shall make a very awkward igure. {Exit^ r. END OF ACT III. ACT IV. Scene I. — Caroline’s lodgings, Iekiel and Cicely Homespun discovered^ seated. Cicely crying,^ and leaning on Zekiel. 7jek, Do ye, do ye cheer up a bit, sister Cicely ! don’t ye ike on so ; don’t ye now ! Cic, Oh, Zekiel ! for certain my poor heart will break. Zek, Don’t ye say so. Cicely ; for that would go nigh to reak mine. Cic, I never will give ear to a lovyer’s vows again as )ng as I do breathe. Zek, Aye, that bo what all the girls do say, over and ver. 48 HEIR AT LAW. Cic. A base perjury man ! ZeJc, That he be. He ha’ stung me to the quick. . viper ! and to offer to abuse you — damn him. Cic, Oh, don’t j^ou say that of him, Zekiel. I can’t bej that though he ha’ been so cruel to me. TjcIc, Then pluck up a bit of spirit, now ; pray you, d You ha’ gotten a good place, you do know : and thin^ will go well enough, I warrant us. How dost like madar eh. Cicely ? Cic. Purely ! she is so tender and kind to me, Zekie Heigho ! Zek, Come, dry your eyes, now. Cicely. I be main gh to hear madam be so good to you. What did you do, aft( I left you, last night ? Cic. Why, I was but poorly, Zekiel. I had been cryin] you know. Zek. Yes, yes ; but don’t ye cry any more. Cicely. Cic. And when madam Caroline saw it, she was so kini and so comfortable to me ! Zek. Was she ? good soul ! Cic. And she bid me go to rest, and spoke as sweet, an took as much care of me — as poor mother used to do. Zek. Bless her for it. If I ever be able to make a retui I’ll Cic. Dear, I hear her in the next room 1 she is up ; am if she should catch us here — there now. Enter Caroline. Car. Cicely, child — I thought you had not risen. ^ did’nt wish you to attend, if you are unwell, my poor gii Cic. Thank you, madam. Zek. Thank you, very kindly, madam. Car. Oh, your brother, I see. Zek. At your humble service, madam. I made bold 1 call to see how sister were ; and to make my humble dui to you, madam. Cicely do tell me you ha’ been main kir to her. We be poor, madam, but I do hope you will 1 pleased to take our thanks, without offence. Car. Offence 1 honest friend. To merit and receive tl thanks of the poor is one of the heart’s best gratificatioE Zek. She be main good-natured, indeed ! I — I — had a- little bit of a favor to ask, madam. HEIR AT LAW. 49 Car. What is it, friend ? Zek. Why, here be a scrap of paper, here ; it were poor father’s. If you would be pleased to tell me, if it be worth unything, now it be so old. [ Giving it. Car, It is worth enquiring after. ’Tis an old lottery ticket. [^Returning it, Zek, Pshaw — then it be of little good. Father had no luck that way ; but, for all mother could say, he was al- ways a dabbling, and 'a dabbling. I’ll seek about it at shop, tho’. I do wish you a dutiful good morning, madam Car, A good day, friend. Zek: {apart to Cicely) Pluck up a spirit, do you now, Cicely ? Gi’ me a buss. There, now let that comfort ye a bit. I’ll call by and bye. A good day to you, madam. \_Exit^ L. Car. You do not look recovered yet. Cicely. Cic, I shall be better in time, if you please, madam. Car. Come, child, you must not give way to low spirits Your situation is new to you, indeed : but this fickle world is full of changes. Cicely. Cic. {crying) Oh, dear me — sure enough, this world is full of fickleness and change. Cur. Well, but do not cry thus, child. I Cic, I must cry, if you please, madam : I can’t help it indeed, I can’t. Car, Poor girl ! — does any thing press heavily on your mind. Cicely ? Cic. Ye — yes, madam. Car, What is it ? is it in my ability to relieve you ? Cic, Oh, no, madam. ’Tis quite out of your power to give me what I have lost. Car, Lost child ! have you lost any thing since you came to London? Cic. Yes, madam. Car. Your clothes ? or a parcel ? or— Cic. No, madam. Car. What then, child ? Cic. A young man, madam. Car. Lost a young man, Cicely ? Cic. He was once the truest hearted youth ! lawyer Latitat’s clerk, of our town, if you please, madam. Wo were to be married — ]>rother was agreeable to it — and now 50 HEIR AT LAW. he has basely left me : and all because he has grown rich and great. . , ^ Car, "What, since last night ! that is somewhat saddeD, indeed ! Cic, Ay, I should as soon have look’d to be queen, as to think my Dick would be made a lord’s son. Car, Made a lord’s son ! how, Cicely ? Cic, I don’t know how they make lord’s sons, madam : but his father has had good fortune, by a death j and so Dick is now son to lord Duberly. Car, Lord Duberly ! good heavens ! how that name agitates me ! — the— the present Lord Duberly, you mean, Cicely ? Cic. Yes, if you please, madam. The last lord — Zekiel heard it all from the porter— the last lord’s son was drowned at sea, they say. Perhaps you have heard on’t, madam r Car. {agitated.) I have, I have, indeed. Cicely. Cic. Oh, dear ! arn’t you well, madam ? Car. Yes— I— I— ’tis nothing Cicely. And so your lever, my poor wench, has deserted you. Cic. Oh, worse than that, madam. Brother is almost out of his wits about it ; for he said — a base, cruel man ! he would make my fortune, by ruinating me. ' Car. Poor simplicity ! dry up your tears, my good girl and rather rejoice that you have escaped the snares of i profligate. You shall not want protection while I can give it you. ^ , Cic. Heaven bless you. You are very, rery kind madam. Enter Kenrick, hastily, l. Ken. Och, Miss Caroline ! Car. Well, Kenrick. Ken. Och, why didn’t I die before I was born to see tin ill looking day. Car. Why, what’s the matter r . ^ Ke:i. The matter, and hav’nt I trotted into Lc mbari street to get your draught turned into money ? Car. To be sure ; there lies the little which I now po« sess, Kenrick. , , , Ken. Paith, and it lies there, like my ould uncle JJennii HEIR AT LAW. 51 h Carrickfergus churchyard ; for we shall never see it igain, as long as we live. Car, Good heavens, you alarm me ’—surely the house las not failed ? Ken, No, faith ; the house stands plump and upright, ust where it did ; but the ould thief of a banker hasn’t a hirteen left to cross his rogue’s hand with. Car, Broke ! Ken, By my soul, all to shivers ; and so bad, they say, hat all the devil’s can’t mend him. Car, Then, indeed, I am completely ruined ! Cic, (g unning up to her,) No, don’t you say so, madam. [Caroline smk,^ on a chair, Ken, Don’t grieve, my sweet Caroline, don’t grieve. Och, he devil, my ould heart is as full as a basket of eggs. Pray low, keep a good spirit ; for you have lost every farthing ou have in the world. Cic, Oh, the gracious ! is that it ? pray, if you please, ladam, don’t take on so, then, for I have money. Gar, What ! have you money ? Cic, Aye, that I have ; and, while I have ten good lounds that poor mother left me, in my box, and a silver i^atch, it shall never be said that I kept it from one in dis- ress who has been so kind to me. Ken, Bless your pretty little soul ! what a pity it is now bat a generous heart hasn’t always a heavy purse to keep ; company. Car, My poor girl, your grateful attachment touches me. must retire and think of— do not follow me, Cicely. I lust consult on measures to — Oh, Providence, for what lisery am I ordained ? \Exit, r. Ken, Oh, oh, oh ! Cic, Dear, I hope I haven’t given madam offence bv ^hat I said. Ken, No, my sweet one ! you’re a little cherubim in a lob cap. What will I do now ? Paith, I haven’t a brother, or a nephew, nor a cousin german, nor a father, nor any ttlo bit of a kinsman left, to assist in this botheration, '-ome, little one— there’s my watch, and my buckles, and ly— -by my soul, I’d pledge myselj] if the pawnbroker ^ould lend me anything upon me. ’Exeunt, l. u. OF ILL I.1& 52 HEIR AT LAW. Scene IL — The street. Enter Dick Dowlas and Dr. Pan gloss, l. Dick. It don’t signify, doctor; I can’t rest t:ll I hu\ Been Cicely. Pang. What’s a tutor’s power over a pupil in love annihilated. True, though trite, that “ Omnia vindt amor. Ovid. Hem ! is she pretty ? Dick. What’s that to you ? Pang. Nothing. I’m dead to the fascinations of beautj since that unguarded day of dalliance, when, being full ( Bacchus. ‘‘ Bacchi plenus.^^ Horace. Hem ! my pocki was picked of a metal watch, at the sign of the Spectre, - Shoe-lane. Dick. This is the house ; I’ve told you my story, and ^ you value my three hundred pound a year, doctor, be read to assist me, either by message or letter, or — ^but what damned gig you look like. Pang. A gig I umph ; that’s an Eton phrase : the Wes minsters call it vuiz. Dick. And you are the greatest, sure, that ever was di patched on love’s embassies, from the court of Cupid. Pang. I’m not proud of the post. Take my counsel ai drop the pursuit. ‘‘ Eefrain, desist, desine?'^ Terenc Hem ! . . Dick. Why, look ye, doctor ; I’ve done an injury to t^ worthy souls, and I can’t rest till I have made reparatic We are all of us wrong at times, doctor ; but, a man doubl his ill conduct, when he is too proud to make an apoloj for it. 1 Pang. Yes, confessing our faults, Mr. Dowlas — Dick. It’s only saying, in other words, doctor, “ that ^ are wiser to-day than we were yesterday.” Pang. Swift. Hem! plenty of precedents, however, 1 your conduct. At lover’s perjuries, they say — ” Dick. Well, what do they say ? Pang. “They say Jove laughs.” Shakspeare. Hei Phaon left Sappho ; Theseus, Ariadne ; Demophocn, Ph lis: JEneas, Dido, Dick. Oh, damn Dido! Pang. Damn Dido ! well, damn Dido ! with all my hea HEIR AT LAW, 53 ihe was the daughh^r to king Belus, of Tyre ; but as very \ verago Dick. Well, we need not go far for examples. Now, mock at that door. ^ Pang. Double ? Dick. Zounds ! no ; you’ll spoil all. A sneaking, single :ap, like a dun, doctor. Pang. Like a dun ? I know the knock well, Mr. )owlas. Dick. And when ’tis given, get out of the way for a labile. ) Pang. My constant custom, on such an occasion. knocks at the door.) There’s the thorough thump of a reditor. I never heard it but I run away upon instinct.” hakspeare. Hem ! [Exit n . u. e. ^ Enter Cicely at the door . — ^Dick is with his back I towards her. Cic. Dear! Sure somebody knocked. I see nobody but lat gentleman, neither. It could not be he ; for, if foot- len thump so loud, for certain your gentlefolks must ways beat the door down. Was it you that knocked, ray, sir ? (Dick turns rounds and Cicely screams.) Don’t [)me near me 1 Dick. My dear Cicely, I Cic. Oh, Dick! Dick! [Cries and falls in his arms. Dick. I cannot bear this. Your tears go to my very •ul. Cicely. Cic. ’Tis you have been the cause of them. You have most cut my poor heart in two. Dick. My own suffers for it, sufficiently, believe me. Cic. How could you be so barbarous to me ? but, in- 5ed, indeed I forgive you. Your cruelty will cost me any a tear; but this is the last time I shall ever upbraid ►u. Di:k. Oh, I deserve all your reproaches. Cic. If I had come to fortune, and you had been poor, .ck, I would have flown to you and cheered you in your »verty ; I wculd have poured my gold at your feet ; I )uld have shared all my joys with you, and told you, that bes could never change my heart. 54 HEIR AT LAW. Dick. And I come, now, to share all mine with yoi Cicely. Cic. Oh, no, Dick! my lot is very humble, bnt I scor the gold that would buy my honesty. We must neve meet more : but indeed, indeed, I do truly wish you to h prosperous, though you sought my ruin. Bless you, Dick and if ever poor Cicely comes into your mind, think, thj she prays to heaven to forgive you, for trying to harm he innocence, whose greatest blessing would ha\0 been t make you happy. [ Going. Dick. Stay— stay, and hear me, I entreat you 1 I com to sue for pardon ; I come in repentance, Cicely. Cic. And do you repent ? Dick. I do, most earnestly. Cic. That is some comfort to me ; for your own hea: will be easier, and I shall bear my hard lot better, nov? for I know your great friends will never let you stoop 1 one in my station. Ah, times are much changed with u Dick 1 Dick. However changed, they shall not now alter m purpose. Cicely. I have been dazzled, and I have wounde you. I have covered myself, too, with shame and conf sion ; but if they can make atonement, my fortunes, n heart, and my hand, are all at your service. Cic. Your hand ; I— I shall be able to speak more, soo Oh, Dick 1 Dick. My dear, dear Cicely 1 I rose strangely to ran and I shall now, perhaps, in the eyes of the great worl strangely support it 1 for I am afraid, Cis, that^ half yo young fellows of fashion would rather seem wicked th. ridiculous ^ but I shall never, for the future, think th marrying a worthy woman whom chance has placed benea us in life, can be any disgrace, while seducing her is r^ oned, among profligate fops, a matter of triumph. D your tears, Cicely 1 n- -i -u-i Cic. These are not like the tears I shed a while af They are tears of joy, Dick 1 {Bell rings.) Hark 1 I J called. Biclt. One moment ! tell me you forgive me. Cic, Porgive you ? oh, Dick ! you have made me hap] How this will comfort my poor Zekiel ! Bich, I shall be ashamed to meet him again, Cicely. HEIR AT LAW. 55 Cic, Oh ! I will tell him all ; and— rings again.)— rk ! I am called again. Dick. Adieu! I \Yill see you very, very soon. Pare- ill. Cic. Good bye, and — Dick, {at D.) One kiss, and — good bye 1 [exit Cicely] it one kiss of lovely virtue is worth a million times more m all the blandishments that wealth and luxury can pur- ase. Where the devil, now, is the doctor ? I am brim- of joy, and 1 have nobody to communicate my — Re-enicr Dr. Pangloss, r. u. e. i ! you are return’d Embrace me, doctor ! Fang. Embrace you 1 Dick. Open wide thy arms, in friendly congratulatior., d embrace, you prig of a tutor, the happiest fellow in iristendom ! [they embrace. Pang. Bless me ! Avhy, we’re in the middle of the street, icorum, Mr. Dowlas — Dick. Damn decorum 1 I’m out of my senses. Pang. Heaven forbid I for, it would be as clear a nine ndred pounds a year out of my pocket, as ever man lost his life, {aside) What’s the news ? Dick. The news ? why, that I’m going to be married. Pang. Married ! mercy on me ! then be is mad, indeed. yibus anticyris caput insanabile.^'^ Horace. Hem 1 msider the — Dick. Pshaw ! I have no time to — come, come with me , my father’s. I’ll explain all to him, and — Pang. Only reflect on — Dick. Eeflect 1 look ye, you grave mustard-pot of a phi- lopher 1 you shall dance a jig down the street with me^ show your sympathy in my happiness. Pang. A doctor of laws dance a jig, in the open street, noon day 1 Dick. Foot it. “ 0v3r the hills and far away.” {Sing D') Pang, I ish I were far away, with all my heart. 56 HEIR AT LAW. Dick, Dance — dance 1 or, damn me, I cat ofif your three hundred a year in a twinkling. Fang. Will you ! oli then — a flourish of trumpets.’- Shakspeare. Hem ! Over the hills and far away !” {F 4 xeunt^ hand in hand, dancing and singing, r, END OF ACT IV. ACT V. Scene I . — A Street. Enter Kenrick, r. Ken. To be sure, misfortune isn’t a neat touchstone t< try friendship upon ! faith, noW', all my loving friends de serve a decent kicking ; and my soul, I believe they ex pccted it from my hands ; for I no sooner said the won lend^ but they all turned their backs to me. Och, my poo: Miss Caroline ! w^hat will I do, now your aground, to kee] your pretty little chin above w^ater ! if w^e could have kep the brave Mr. Henry Morland’s chin above w^ater, now but he’s gone : he’s gone : and tw^enty humane societie couldn’t bring him back. How my poor ould bones ache and sure the biggest bone about me is in my heart, for tha aches more than all the other half of my body. I’ll mak^ bold just to rest me a bit at this door. Don’t be frighten ed, good gentlemen within, for I a’nt coming to bon'ow c you. {Sitting doivn on the steps of a. door.) Faith, thi step is like my dear friends’ hearts; for, by St. Patrick ’tifl as coM and as hard as a hailstone. HEIR AT LAW. 67 Henry More and avd Stedfast, l. Sted. Nay, nay, be patient, Henry ! Henry. My dear friend, ’tis impossible ! the blow is too gieat. So good, so kind a father, lost ! and his death so strangely explain’d to me! indeed, indeed, Stedfast, my spirit is now almost broken. Ken. I can’t see their faces, now ; but sure these two must be a rich man, that won’t lend, and a borrower ; for ione is trotting about in great distress, and t’other stands as cool as a cucumber. Steel, Come, come, Henry ; — the encounter has been a strange one, ’tis true ; and the shock sudden. When you entered a father’s house, and prepared to leap into a fa- ther’s arms, to meet that low wretch, who has caused all our mistakes, was, indeed— Henry. Oh, it distracts me ! so many things are floating in my disordered mind, I — Steel. But ’tis necessary you should be collected now ; absolutely necessary. You must do speedy justice to your self: — to the memory of your departed father. How came you not to discover yourself to that lump of ignorance, who has jumped into your inheritance ? Henry. I was staggered. I heard enough from him to unravel all ; and ’tis well, perhaps, w^e withdrew so abrupt- ly. I might have done something rash, at the moment. Oh, Stedfast, I shall sink under it 1 Sted. For shame, Henry ! fie on this weakness ! sink under it ! decent sorrow for a near loss is amiable : — and modest nature never looks more lovely than when the filial tear steals gently on the tomb of a parent : but desperate grief outrages manhood and religion : for in the trials which we are all born to undergo, Henry, the man and the Chris- tian forgets his duty to Providence, and to himself, when he loses his resignation and his fortitude. Henry. You are an able and kind counsellor, my friend : I will endeavor to be more firm. Sted. Come, let us go back to our hotel. You may there compose yourself. Ke 7 i. (gets up) So having taken a rest. I’ll go home with my bad news, to console poor Miss Caroline. \coming forward. 58 HEIR AT LAW. Henry. I cannot be mistaken in that face. Kenrick \ Ken. Eh ? why sure it can’t be ! Sure, my old eye’s aro so bad, that I see what’s invisible ! Henry. It is he 1 (Running to him.) Oh, Kenrick, my good old man ! tell me ! — where, where is my Caroline ? Ken. Och, faith ! ’tis himself! ’tis himself! ’tis himself I safe, sound, and dry, without a wet rag about him ! Henry. But inform me, my honest Kenrick, of — Ken: Hubbaboo ! hubbaboo ! hubbaboo ! och, I’ll ga wild — I’ll go mad I don’t spake to me yet, my dear, sweet Mr. Henry ! — och, good luck to the day when your honor walked ashore, after you were drowned ! Hem'y. But tell me, Kenrick, of— Ken. Yes, I’ll tell you — I’ll tell you of — och, upon my soul you must wait a bit. I believe I’ve been drowned myself, for the salt water runs out of my eyes by pails-full. Steel. Poor fellow ! an old servant of Mr. Dormer’s I per- ceive. Henry. Well now, speak, speak, Kenrick. Only tell me, is Caroline safe ? Ken. Indeed now, and she is. Henry. Thank Heaven — and in London ? Ken. Yes, in this wide dirty town ; and big as it is, there isn’t a thirteen to be had, for love nor money, to help her out of her distress. Henry. Her distress ? but I feared it. Let me fly to ner, and — you are surely with her still, Kenrick ? Ken. With her ! and is it yourself, Mr. Henry, that can ask Kenrick that question ! — could I leave my sweet young mistress ? or, would I leave any friends in their need, that supported me in their prosperity ? Och, the devil fly away with him that would, I say ! Sted. Honest fellow ! Henry. Pardon me, my good Kenrick ; I know not what I say. Conduct me to her ; and you shall explain all by the way. Ken. Conduct you ! faith, old as I am. I’ll go hopping over all the kennels home with you, as nimble as a jackdaw. Henry. Come then, Stedfast. Sted. Come, Henry; I’ll see you to the door of Miss Dormer, and then I’ll leave you ; and on this occasion, my dear friend, let mo heartily congratulate you. Sucli an HEIR AT LAW. 69 Bvent as this comes most opportunelj ^ and it may prove bo you, Henry, that in this chequered life of joy and sorrow, Providence has ever some balm in store, to pour into the svounds which it inflicts ; and that the worst of griefs may be assauged by the pitying Power who chastens us. [Exezmt, ^ Scene II. — An Apartment in Lord Duberly’s House. Enter Lord and Lady Duberly, r. Lord D. But listen, my lady, to reason. Lady D. Then I musn’t listen to yoit^ my lord. Lo7rl D. Urn ! why, I’ve been almost scared out of my leven senses. The old madman, who was here last night, ‘ushed in, with another young one with him, this morning. ; can’t make head nor tail of what he wants, for my part. 3ut as to Dick, my lady, he’ll certainly break his heart, if le doesn’t marry this here wench. Lady D. I wonder, my lord, you can think of such a hing ! — a peer’s son marry a maid-servant ? Lord D, Od rabbit it, my lady, don’t be so obstropulous. fou know, when his father married you, you was but a lear starcher. Lady D. That’s quite another sort of an affair ; and you night have more manners than to mention it now. But as o learning you elegance — ah, we may lead the horse to the vater, my loi d, but there’s no making him drink. ^ Lord D. Nay, I’m sure, my lady, I did’nt mean no dis- jaragement to you ; for you w^as counted on all hands, the »est getter up of small linen in our town. Here’s the doc- or, let’s ax his advice in this here business. Enter Dr. Pangloss, l. Vay now, doctor — ^you must know^ we’re in a bit of a uandary, doctor. Fang. Your lordship had better be in an nneertainty. Lord D. Why, lord love you, so I am, mum. Pray lid’nt you never hear of no great man as was married to a armer’s daughter ? Fang. Walter; a marquis pf Lombardy. 60 HEIR AT / Lord D. There, my lady— the marquis of Lom^rdy 1 that’s the place where all the poplars come ft-om._ He’s a tip-top, I war’n’t him. Mayhap you may have lit on him, in your visits, my lady ? I Lad7j D. Frequently. , , • , s Fang. “ ’Tis false.”— Kowe. Hem! {aside) , Lady D. But you have heard nothing yet of tue high imfi^^Hio'li tone ! rot it, I have nothing else but the high tone when you’re in the house, my lady. And who did he marry, doctor? „ j i. Fang. Grizzle : a perfect pattern of patience ;— daughter v,;o .Taf-nlina : and— “ This markis hath here v/ to his tenant, jkcolina; and— “ This markis hath spoused w'ith a ring.” Chaucer. Hem! _ Lord D\ There, my lady ! what do you think of that . damn it, if the marquis smoused Grizzle, Dick may marry pupil '• zounds, my salary I “ Tremor occ» pat artusT Virgil. Hem ! my income totters, {aside.) Lord D And in that there case, doctor, your three hun dred a year must go to the mending of my cakelology. Fan^ Yes, but I shall lose— no, nothing ; a la.psus lin guce. One annuity gone with my pupil 1 then I ve oulj clear, for life, “ six hundred ” Ijidy D. Doctor— , -kt ^ 9 Fan'^ “ Pounds B year.” Swift. Hem- Madam. Lady D. {apart to Pang.) You know, doctor, my thre< hundred stops the moment my son mames. Fan<^. AVhat, stop your three “ Thrice the braiidei cat has^mewed.” Shakspeare. Hem! here he comes. Enter Dick Dowlas, r. Dick. "VVell, father, has my mother made up her mind / Lord D. AVhy, I can’t tell, Dick. My 1^^^ twixt and betweenish, as a body may say. But, it all d. nends upon her vardic. [Dick takes his mother apai t. ^ Pansr, Does it ’• Oh, Jupiter, if ever contradiction crej; into the bosom of beauteous ^Nomw—' Mu^cr frrmascL Horace. Hem !-stuff a double dose into that terrible ol woman, and save the fortunes ot Peter Pangloss Lady D. Well, she is only a farmer’s daughter, tbt| iay. And what’s a farmer, my dear ? i i I HEIR. AT LAW. 61 Di-k. Why, an English farmer, mother, is one who sup> ports his family and serves his country, by his own indus- try. In this land of commerce, mother, such a character will be always respectable. Lord. D. That’s right, Dick. Father’s own son, to a hair. When I kept my shop at Gosport, I Lady D. Hush, ray lord. Well, you— you were always my darling, you know, Dick j and I can’t find in my heai t 1 to give you a denial. I Fang, Can’t you ! — I wish you could find it in your tongue. Six hundred a year blown away by the breath of that Sybil, {aside,) Dkk, That’s my good mother! you’ve made me so happy ! — I — zounds, I shall run mad 1 '^Fang. Zounds, and so shall I. Bick, A thousand thanks, my dear mother! and my dear father, too ! — I’ll get as drunk to-night as — wish me jov doctor; wish me joy, wish me joy a hundred times. Fang, A hundred times ! — I feel, Mr. Dowlas, on this occasion, six hundred times more than I know how to express. Bkk, And, if you would but indulge me now, m letting me conduct you to Cicely-— Lord D, Od rod it, my lady, let’s humor Dick for once. The young ones loves to be cooing and building, you know. Lady D, Why, the coach, I believe, is at the door, my lord. , , i ^ LordB, Is it ? ’sbobs! then, my lady, let s bundle— Dick!— -come, doctor. Now, you musn’t ride me back- wards, my lady; for you know, I han’t been used^to a ooach, and I shall certainly be qualmish if you do. Come, my lady. _ [^Exeunt Lord a7id Lady Duberly, l. / Bick, Come, doctor, we lose time. Fang, Time ? lose ! I’ve lost as pretty a pair of snug annuities as ^let me see— -take six from nine Bick, Why, doctor? Fang, And three remains.” Cocker. Hem! Bkk, Come, come— -’tis late. Fang, Only three. Dick, Only three ! why, ’tis only twelve, man ; b at como, 62 HEIR AT LAW. if you don’t attend to my father, better, I can tell you, he’ll kick you and your three hundred a year to the devil Pang. Will he ? “ 0, for a horse with wings !” Shaa- epeare. Hem ! I fly, Mr. Dowlas. [Exeunt^ l. Scene III. — Caroline's lodgings. Caroline and Cicely, r. Cic. Indeed, I truly hope you are better, madam. Car. I have little reason to be so, Cicely. Cic. Oh, but I hope you have ! and, if the worst comes to the worst but, I am almost ashamed to tell you, madam. Car. Innocence, like yours, my good girl, can know no- thing it should fear to reveal. Cic. Why, I needn’t be muoh afraid, neither : for ’tis what a power of folks, both rich and poor, do all come to at last. Car. What is that, Cicely ? Cic. Wedlock, madam. Car. Indeed! this is unexpected, after what you told me this morning. Cic. Ay, but you know, madam, as to wedlock, and all that, many things fall out between the cup and the lip, as they say. Car. [sighing) ’Tis too true, indeed. Cicely. Cic. And so my Dick came to our door, madam, ’tis but a little while agone ; and his dear eyes were as full of tears ! and. you know, that was a pity, madam : for his eyes are so fine, and so blue, ’tis a shame any thing should spoil ’em. Car. Well, Cicely? Cic. And so, we soon brought matters to bear, madam. Car. How, Cicely ? Cic. Why, he look’d so sorry, that it made my heart bleed to see him ; and when I love him so dearly, it would be cruel not to marry him, when he ask’d me. Don’t you think so, madam ? Car. May you be very, very happy. Cicely ! ’tis an ease to my mind, in the midst of my misfortunes, to know that you will be provided for. I was on the point of telling you HEIR AT LAW. 6S that my reduced circumstances would not jenidtme to keep you with me any longer. Cic, Oh, dear : — and was you going to be so unkind to me, madam ? Car. Unkind to you, my good girl ! Oh, no ; it would have touched me sensibly, to have sent forth simplicity like yours unprotected. But, hard necessity! I rejoice, my good Cicely, I rejoice most sincerely in your good fortunes. Cic. Ah, madam, I should rejoice more at my good for- tune, if you would but let me do what I have been think- ing on. Car. "What is that, Cicely ? Cic. I hope you won’t be angry at what I am going to say, madam. Car. Oh, impossible ; — speak freely. Cic. Why, you know, madam, Dick’s a lord’s son ; and when I’m his wife, I may do just what I please ; for rich folks’ wives, I have heard say, do just what they please in London. Now, if you would be so good, when I’m mar ried, as to let me serve you for nothing. Car. No more — no more. Cicely- — I Cic. And when my husband gives me any money, if you would be so kind as to borrow it of me, I should 1)6 ver^ much obliged to you, indeed, madam. Car. Oil ! — you have overpowered me. ( Falls 07 Cicely'' s neck.) Oh heaven, how pure are all thy creatures endowed with reason, till worldly habits corrupt them ! Zekiel, without, r. Zek. Tol, lol de rol, lol 1 Car. What is that ? Cic. ’Twas brother Zekiel’s voice. Sure he can’t think to make such a noise here. Enter Zekiel, capering and singing^ r. Zek. Tol, lol de rol, lol I tol, lol de rol, lol 1 Cic. Why. Zekiel — why, you must be crazy sure. I Zek. Zooks, and so I be, sister. Tol, lol de rol, lol. I Cic. Think where you are, brother. There’s madam. Zek. Babbit it, madam, I do humbly crave pardon : but 1 be in such a flustration— I ha’ got— lol lol de rol, lol;— I ha got twenty thousand pounds 1 HEIR AT LAW. 64 Cic, My gracious ! twenty thousand pounds I Zek. Tol, lol de rol, lol ! Cic, But stand still now, brother Zekiel. Where did you get such a sight of money ? Zek, I’ the lottery, lass—i’ the lottery. Let me take a bit of breath. I do crave pardon, madam father’s ticket —let me take a bit of— have come a prize of-a bit of breath —of — —dear, dear ; heaven send this luck do not set my simple brain a madding ! Car, Compose yourself, honest friend. Zek, I do humbly thank you, madam. I ha’ run all the way from lottery office, and Cic, Well, and what will you do with all this money, Zekiel % Zek, What will I do wi’ it, sister Cicely ? Why, what should a man do wi’ his riches 1 I will first provide for such as I do love ; and then lend a helping hand to them as be poor about me. Cic, Dear brother, that’s just the thing. Come here, Zekiel. Poor madam has fallen into great trouble. Zek, Has she ? how ? Cic, Why, all her friends are dead, it seemS"* Zek, Poor soul! Cic. And her banker stole all the money she had, this very morning; and— Zek. Don’t ye say any more, sister Cicely. Hum— ma- dam, I— I be main glad to hear you be tumbled into mis fortunes, madam. Car. Glad, friend ! ! Zek. Main glad, indeed ; because you ha’ been so kind | to sister ; and I be able now to return you the favor. Car, Oh, no more of that, Zekiel : you distress me. Zek. With submission, madam, I do want to take away your distress. Here, madam, {^pulling out notes) here be a hundred, and there be a five hundred, and here be a rabbit it, my hand do shake too much to stand a counting. 1 will spread ’em all upon the table, here. Take what you do want, and welcome ; and thank you too, madam. {spreading all on the tMe in a great flurry. Car. I cannot— I cannot think, friend, of Zek. and Cic Pray ye do, now, madam— pray ye da fdounng ana curtseying^ HEIS AX tAVf. 65 Enter Lord and Lady Duberly, l. Car, Bless me 1 who’s this ? ^ Lord D, Beg pardon, ma^am ; but the landlady bid ua bundle up. Car, Your commands with me, sir ? y/^ Lord D, Why, the whole preamble of this here affair is, that my lady and I speak to the gentlewoman, my lady. Lady D. Ah, you have a head, and so has a pin. We made bold to pay our respects, madam, having a little busi- ness, concarning a female of your family. ^ Lord D, Yes, and Car, To whom have I the honor of speaking, sir ? ^ IjyrdD, Whj, you have the honor of speaking to lord Duberly, madam. 7uek, What! {gaUiers up his notes hastily and comes forward^ . Car, To lord Duberly ? r Lord D. But Dick’s coming up, with Dr. Pangloss hard at his heels, and they’ll tell you the long and short on’t. Zek. What, Dick Dowlas! then you be the old chandler they ha’ made a lord on ? Lady D. Old chandler, indeed ! Zek, Look ye, now, my lord soap and candles— Lady D, Soap and candles ! Zek. Your son had better keep clear o’ me, I can tell him that. Enter Dick Dowlas and Pangloss, l. Lick, Cicely, let me— [running towards Cicely, Zek, {interposing) Stand off, Mr. Dowlas— stand off. To think to come here to -odd rabbit it, my fingers do itch to be at you. Keep you behind me, sister Cicely. Dick. My dear Zekiel, I Zek, Don’t ye dear me. I put little trust in fair words with foul actions. Cic, Dear, now, you are so hasty, Zekiel. Zek, Hold your peace, Cicely. The best he that wears a head had better be hang’d, than venture to harm you. Dick, Cicely, I find, has not explain’d. I am here^ Ze- kiel, to make reparation. 66 HEIU AT LAW. Zek, You have stung me to the quick. You do know you have. Dick, I share with you in all the pain, Zekiel, which I have so wantonly inflicted. My heart smote me, even bo* fore you left me ; and very little reflection convinced me, that, in the vanity of sudden fortune, I have offered you, and the woman of my heart, a bitter injury. I am thought- less, Zekiel, but not deliberately base ; and, if you can once more take me to your bosom, a guilty, but repented friend — Zek, Oh, Dick, Dick ! {runs and embraces him) my dear, my old companion ! Ah, Dick ! that be a stony bosom that can shut out an old friend, who be truly grieved for his faults, and do sue for mercy. It be more than I can do. Cic, Dear, I am so happy ! Zek. You have made my heart, many and many a pound the lighter, Dick. Dick. And my own too, Zekiel. And, to prove my sin- cerity, my father and mother here, are come with an offer of my hand to Cicely. Father— Lord D. "Why, my lady — ^here is a little upon the grumpy order, for his calling us chandlers. But, for my part, I don’t value that not of a button. A man needn’t take no affront, to be told he was born low, when he has got better in the world without no dishonesty. There, children, be happy together. Zek. Why, now, that’s hearty. And, as luck be apt to turn wi’ us all, why, I ha’ now gotten twenty-thousand pounds— * Lord and Lady D. How ? Zek. And I warn’t sister Cicely shall ha’ summut hand some toss’d in at the wedding. Cic. Aye, all in the lottery. I’ll tell you. [they go apart.) Pang. Twenty thousand pounds ! {goes forward to Ze- kiel.) Sir, as you will now need a tutor, to usher you into life, three hundred per annum are the trifling terras of your obedient servant, Peter Pangloss, L. L. D. and A double S. Enter Kenrick, r. Ken. Stand out of the way 1 he’s coming, my dear Miss Caroline 1 he’s coming. HEIR AT LAW. 67 Car. Who, Kenrick ? Ken. ’Tis himself! ’tis himself I he’s alive, and leaping up stairs, like a young salmon out of the water. Car. Who do you mean ? Ken. My dear, young, lost master. ’Tis Mr. Henry himself, madam. Car. My Henry ! oh, support me. Enter Henry Morland. Henry. My Caroline I Oh, let me clasp you to my heart, and shelter you there for ever. ^ [Caroline faints in his arms. Loi'd D. Why, zounds ! that’s the young sucking mad- man, as scared me out of my senses, with the old one, this morning. Car. {recovering.) This is too much; oh, Henry ! do we once more meet : and after such — ^by what miracle have you escaped ? Ken. Be satisfied, ma’am, for he’s too much bothered now to talk. But you see he’s here, and that’s enough. The true, long lost, Mr. Henry Morland. Lord B. Eh I what? Mr. Henry Morland ? why, zounds, the late Lord Duberly’s lost hair. Henry. Son and heir to that revered and respectable man, be assured, sir. You have done me the favor to be my locum tenens^ in my absence, and I am. now returned to relieve you from further trouble. r Lord B. Why, what the devil ! have I only been a kind Ya peer’s warming pan, after all; just popped in, to keep his place from getting cold, till he jumped into it ? Henry. Nothing more, believe me. I have witnesses RuflScient, should it be necessary, to identify my person in a minute. j Zjord B. Od rabbit it, then, old Daniel Dowlas is no longer a lord — Lady B. Nor Deborah Dowlas a lady — Bick. Nor Dick Dowlas an honorable — Fang. NorPeterPanglossa tutor. Now, thank heaven ! Ijord D. Thank heaven 1 for wLat ? : Fang. “ That I’m not worth a ducat.” Otway. Hem ) Zek. Then it do seem at last, Dick, that I be the riel 68 HEIR AT LAW. man, and you be the poor. Od rabbit it^ I be glad on’t; for I can now please myself wi’ serving my friends. Henry. Who is this, Caroline ? Car. An honest creature, Henry, brother to this simple girl. Their affection to me in my distress, has been most piercing. Henry. Then it shall not go unrewarded, my Caroline Zek. Wi’ humble submission, sir, kindness to a fellow creature in distress, do reward itself. Thanks to the lot- tery, we be rich enow. But, as Dick Dowlas be to marry sister Cicely, if you would just lend a helping hand for his father and mother here — Henry. Gh ! rest contented, honest friend ; I shall not dispossess them without making a proper provision. Fang. My lord : hem ! if a boy should bless your nup- tials, which I conjecture, are about to take place, he will, doubtless, need a tutor. Three hundred jger annum., are the terms of your lordship’s obsequious servant, Peter Pangloss, L. L. D., and A double S. Henry. You are not one of those, it seems, sir, who lose an appointment for want of an early application. Fayig. The human mind, iny lord, naturally looks for- Avard, animus preevidit futura.'''^ Cicera. Hem ! Henry. If I should need such a person, sir, depend upon it, I should be very particular in iny choice; for I suspect there are some among those to wIkuu youth is intrusted, who bring the character (»f tuti»r into ilisrepute ; and draw ridicule upon a respectable sit nation, in which many men of learning and proi)itv are ])laci*«l. Fang. This man will never do for me. Again must I retire to Milk Alley, and spin my brains for a subsistence. “ Pangloss’s occupation gone.” Shakspeare. Hem! Henry. In calmer moments, my Caroline, I will explain the circumstance of . my pj'eservation ; and, when I have paid the mournful ti*ibnte due to a much lamented father, let me call you mine, and place you above the reach of future sorrow. Car. Little sorrow can reach me when you are safe, Henry. Zek. And we’ll get into the country ; take a bit farm, and all be as merry as grigs, Dick. Dick, Agreed, Zekiel. Come, Cicely 1 I have seen HEIR AT LAW. 69 enough already of splendor to seek for happiness in quieter scenes : and I have learnt, Zekiel, that, in spite of all the allurements which riches or titles may boast, the most solid and valuable possession is a true friend. THE END. DISPOSITION OF CHARA^CTEBS. EPILOGUE. Spoken by the Dramatis Personae, Dick, Custom exacts, (and who denies her sway ?) An epilogue to every five act play. Pang. Y ou speak it, then ; and do not mouth it ; come I But “ be nottootameneither.” — Shakspeare. Huia v/ Da7i, Odd rabbit it, best let these logs alone. Pang. Epi — Dan. Well, epilogs, Mrs. D. There all the tone, Zek, What be the epilogue you be talking on ? Pang. E^m et A.oyog—vide Lexicon. Ken. I’ll tell you, honey ; Epilogs, they say. Are what are alwa 3 "S spoke before the play 5 By some good looking gentleman, 'well diest. Cic. Oh, then I’m sure my Dick will speak it best Henry. To win the town, the epilogue intends, _ And, the play over, please our best of tnendB. Zek. Please our best friends? Aye, that be right. I spy A power here, we fain would please . who il try ( Henry. I — Car. I — Dan. 1 — Mrs. D. I— Zek. Cic. Dick. Ken. Pang. I— I~ I— I— And 1. EPILOGUE ri Cic, ]Ja?i Ken, Ocly, faith, wo re of one mind, had w e been twenty ^Tis carried — Pang, Nemine dissmtiente, Dick, Vhus to begin, then : If here, some thoughtless youngster may be found, In fashion’s giddy vortex whirling round. May he, to-night, from Dick’s example, see That honor’s real pomp is honesty : May reformation’s pledge his cheek o’ercast ; The self-accusing blush, for errors past. If there’s a lass in love, — yes, I’ve spied her ; Sitting, quite snug, with that young man beside her [pointing. Let her, like Cicely, to this maxim cling ; Love slights all gold, except a wedding ring. Pray, is there ne’er a chandler here ? because, Old Daniel Dowlas axes his applause. Mrs, D, Hush — ^hold your tongue : Dan. Why, zounds— Mrs, D, ’Twill never stop, Dan, I’m only begging custom for the shop. Henry. While filial duty animates our youth ; While virtuous passion warms the breast of trutl! With qualities like these, to Britons dear Henry may surelj* hope for favor here. And may not Caroline applause secure ? Who, to all these, adds feeling for the poor. Och, bother; you’ve so many virtues here, There won’t be any left for me, I fear. Burn him, who leaves (I can’t say more nor less) A patron, friend, or female, in distress. Zek, Plesh ! gi’s your fist— that’s hearty now and fair ; You be of Zekiel’s kidney to a hair. Pang. Hem— on my virtues I shall lay no stress : I’m L. L. D. and A double S. If any body wants a tutor here. My terms are just three hundred pounds a year On their own merits modest men are dumb ; * Plaudite et Terence. Hum. Car. Ken. ■i 1 H -A. C3r -A. 3\r ^ S Ladies, DO YOU WANT A PURE, BLOOMING COMPLEXION ? IF SO, A FEW APPLICATIONS OF HAGA-N S BAL-M Will gratify you to your lieart’s content. It causes the plainest features to soften into refinement, and glow with loveliness. It makes a lady of fifty appear but twenty. It does away with , Redness, Blotches, and Pimples. It overcomes the Flushed Ap-,: pearance of heat, fatigue, and excitement. By its use the.; roughest skin is made to rival the Pure Radiant Texture of . Youthful Beauty. Sold by all Druggists at 75 Cents per Bottle. LYON MANUFACTURING CO., 53 Park Place, New York Hagan’s Magnolia Balm is used by hundreds of Actresses. It gives a brilliant, beautiful, and natural complexion, which no other preparation can rival. It is impossible to detect its use when properly applied. , for a ]mbw descriptive catalogue [Catalogue continued from second page of cover.) VO I.. XLII. 329 Ticket of Leave Man 330 Fool’s Revenge 331 O'Neil the Great 332 Handy Andy 333 Pirate of the Isles 334 Fanchon 335 Little Barefoot 336 Wild Irish Girl OL. XLI. Pirate’s Legacy Charcoal Burner githa r Valiente stRose s’s Daughter ilia’s Husband Gold Ct». fREAT SECRET OF SHADOW TOMIMES ; or, Harlequin in the Shades. » get them up and how to act them. With d concise instructions, and numerous Ulus- By Tony Denier. Price .25 OR TABLEAUX ; or, Animated Pic- or the use of Families, Schools, and Public « tions. By Tony Denier. Price. 25 •EUR’S GUIDE TO HOME THE- ICAliS. How to get them up, and how to hem; to which is added, “ How to get up icals in a Country House,” with By-Laws, i Scenes, Plays, and everything useful for jrmation of amateur societies. Price. . . . >25 lUIDE TO THE STAGE, by Leman iSRede. Containing clear and full direc* )r obtaining Theatrical Engagements, with te and valuable instructions for beginners, i to salaries, rules, manner of going through sals, securing proper Dresses, conduct at a pearance, 4&0., &c. Price 15 \RT OF ACTING ; or. Guide to the In which the Dramatic Passions are de- nalyzed, and made easy of acquirement ; 3 requisites necessary for performers of both heroes, gentlemen, lovers, tradesmen, heroines, fine ladies, hoydens, characters lie and old age, etc. Price ' 15 VOL. XLIII. 337 Pearl of Savoy 838 Dead Heart 339 Ten Nights in a Bar- room 340 Dumb Boy of Manchester 341 Belphegor the Mountebank 342 Cricket on the Hearth 343 Printer’s Devil 344 Meg’s Diversion VOL. XLIV. 345 Drunkard's Doom 346 Chimney Corner 847 Fifteen Y ears of a Drunk- 348 No Thoroughfare fard’s 349 Peep O’ Day I Life 350 Everybody’s Friend Hamlet, in Three Acts Guttle & Gulpit ^ c. MASSEY’S EXHIBITION RECITER AND DRAWING-ROOM ENTER- TAINMENTS. Being choice Recitations in prose and verse. Together with an unique collec- tion of Petite Comedies, Dramas and Farces, adapted for the use of Schools and Families. Two numbers per number, 80 The two numbers, bound in cloth, School style — 76 THE OLIO; or Speaker’s Companion. A col- lection of Recitations in Prose and Verse, Dia- logues and Burlesques, compiled for the use of Schools, Thespian Societies, etc., and for Public Declamation or Reading. In three parts. . . each, 1 5 DRAMAS FOR THE DRAWING- ROOM. By Miss EeaYing. Two parts, each, 40 PLAYS FOR THE PARLOR. By Miss Keating. Two parts each, 40 ACTING CHARADES. By Miss Picker- ing 40 COMIC DRAMAS, for College, Camp, or Cabin (Male Characters only), four parts each, 40 DRAMAS FOR BOYS (Male Characters only), by Miss Keating. 40 HOME PLAYS FOR LADIES (Female Characters only), complete is three parts.. . . each, 40 AN EVENING’S ENTERTAINMENT, an original Comedy, a Burlesque and Faroe 4 (> THE ETHIOPIAN DRAMA. (NEW SERIES.) and Jinks Number jdy’s Coat Paris of Dickens Die Bull st Tragedy of All t Make- Airs ud Cox »pa 1 States Mail oopers ad' s Cabin ival Lovers tiam Doctor Millers ins and his Dinah uack Doctor ystic Spell lack Statue Jeff ischievous Nigger lack Shoemaker NO. 8 Tom and Jr^'ry, and Who’; been Here 9 No Tator, or Man Fish 10 Who Stc’.e the Chickens 11 Upper T en Thousand 12 Rip Van Winkle NO. 13 Ten Days in the Tombe 14 Two Pompeys 15 Running the Blooktde 16 Jeemes the Poet 17 Intelligence Offioe 18 Echo Band NO. 18 Deserters 20 Deaf as a Post 21 Dead Alive 22 Cousin Joe’s Visit 23 Boarding School 24 Academy of Stars NO. 17 The Magic Penny 18 The Wreck [ny Cupids 19 OhHushI or The Virgin- 20 The Portrait Painter 21 The Hop of Fashion 22 Bone Squash 23 The Virginia Mummy 24 Thieves at the Mill 25 Comedy of Errors 26 Les Miserables 27 New Year’s Calls 28 Troublesome Servant 29 Great Arrival 30 Rooms to Let 31 Black Crook Burlesque 32 Ticket Taker NO. 33 Hypochondriac 34 William Tell .35 Rose Dale ’ 30 Feast 87 Fenian Spy 38 Jack’s the Ltd 39 Othello 40 Camille 41 Nobody’s Son 42 Sports on a Lark 43 Actor and Singer 44 Shylock 45 Quarrelsome Servants 46 Haunted House 47 NoCure,-NoPay NO. 48 Fighting for the Union 49 Hamlet the Dainty 50 Corsican Twins 51 Deaf— in a Horn 52 Challenge Dance 53 De Trouble begins at Nine 54 Scenes at Gurney’s 55 16,000 Y ears Ago 50 Stage- struck Darkey 57 Black Mail [Clothes 58 Highest Price for Oid 59 Howls from the Owl Train ^W-pid Honks 61 The Three Black Smiths 62 Turkeys in Season Tony Denier’s Parlor Pantomimes.— In Ten Parts, 25 Cte. each. A Memoir of the Author. By Sylvester r. Esq. How to Express the Yarious •NS, Actions, etc. The Four Lovers ; or, rales’ Rendezvous. The Frisky CobbIjER ; Rival Artisans. —The Rise and Progress of Pantomime. 3HOOI.MASTER ; or the School in an Uproar. OF Madrid; or, a Muleteer’s Bride. La E Blanche ; or. The Lovers’ Stratagem. I.— M. Dechalumeau; or, The Birthday The Demon Lover; or, The Frightened . Robert Macaire ; or, Les Deux Fugitifs. .—Jocko, the Brazilian Ape; or. The ivous Monkey. The Conscript ; or. How to he Draft. The Magio Flute ; or, The Ma- s Spell. r No. V.— The Vivandiere ; or, The Daughter of the Regiment. Dame Trot and her Comical Cat ; or. The Misfortunes of Johnny Greene. No. VI.— Godenski ; or. The Skaters of Wilnau. The Enchanted Horn ; or, The Witches’ Gift. No. VII.— The Soldier for Love ; or,. A Hero In Spite of Himself. Simeon’s Mishaps; or, The Hungarian Rendezvous. No. VIII.— The Village Ghost; or. Love and Murder both Found Out. The Fairies' Frolic; or, The Good Wife's Three Wishes. No. IX,— The Rose of Sharon; or. The Unlucky Fisherman. Pongo, the Intelligent Ape, and the Unfortunate Overseer. No. X.— Mons Toupet, the Dancing Barber ; or, Love and Lather. VoL Au Vent and the Millers; or, A Night’s Adventures. Samuel French, Publisher, le above sent by Mall or Express, on receipt of price. 122 Nassau Street (TJp StaIES). 4 FRENCH’S MINOR DRAMA.! Price 15 Cents each.— Bound Volumes VOL. I. 1 The Irish Attornej 2 Boots at the Swan 3 How to pay the Rent 4 The Loan of a Lover 5 The Dead Shot 6 His Last Legs 7 The Invisible Prince 8 The Golden Parmer VOL. II. 9 Pride of the Market 10 Used Up 11 The Irish Tutor 12 The Barrack Boom 13 Luke the Laborer 14 Beauty and the Beast 15 St. PaVfick’s Eve 16 Captain of the Watch VOL. III. 17 The Secret I pers 18 White Horse of the. Pep- 19 The Jacobite 80 The Bottle il Box and Cox £2 Bamboozling Widow's Victim C Robert Macaire _VOL, IV. 25 Secret Service 26 Omnibus 27 Irish Lion 28 JT Wd of Croissy 291^ Old Guard 30 Raising the W ind 31 Slasher and Crashei* 32 Naval Engagements VOL. V. S3 Cocknies in California 34 Who Speaks First 35 Bombastes Furioso 36 Macbeth Traveatie 37 Irish Ambassador 38 Delicate Groutid 39 The Weathercock [Gold 40 All that Glitters is Not VOL. VI. 4 \ Grimshaw, Bagshaw and Bradshaw 41 Rough Diamond . 43 Bloomer Costume 44 Two Bonnycastles 0 Born to Good Luck f Kiss in the Dark [jurer t 'Twould Puzzle a Con- 46 Kill or Cure VOL. X. VOL. XIX. 73 Ireland and Amenca 145 Columbus 74 Pretty Piece of Buciness, 146 Harlequin Bluebeard 75 Irish Broom-maker jl47 Ladies at Home 76 To Paris and Back forjl48 Phenomenon in a Smock Five Pound! 77 That Blessed Baby 78 Our G..I 79 Swiss Cottage 80 Young Widow VOL. XI. 81 O’Flannigan and the Fa- 82 Irish Post [ries 83 My Neighbor' Wife 84 Irish Tiger 85 P . P . , or Man and Tiger 86 To Oblige Benson 87 State Secrets 88 Irish Yankee VOL. XII. 89 A Good Fellow 90 Cherry and Pair Star 91 Gale Breezely 92 Our Jemimy 93 MiUer'i Maid 94 Awkward Arrival 95 Crossing the Line 96 Conjugal Lesson VOL. XIII. 97 My Wife’s Mirror ~~ Life in New York 99 Middy Ashore 100 Crown Prince 101 Tv 0 Queens 102 Thumping Legacy Frock 149 Comedy and Tragedy 1150 Opposite Neighbors 1151 Dutchman's Ghost 152 Persecuted Dutchman VOL. XX, 153 Musard Ball 154 Great Tragic Revival 155 High Low Jack & Game 156 A Gentleman from ^re- 157 Tom and Jerry 'land 158 Village Lawyer 159 Captain’s not A-miss VOL. VII. 49 Box and Cox Married and 50 St. Cupid {Settled 51 Go-to-bed Tom 62 The Lawyers 53 Jack Sheppard 54 The Toodles 65 The Mobcap 66 Ladies Beware VOL. VIII. 57 Morning Call 58 Popping the Question 59 Deaf as a Po.st . 60 New Footman .61 Pleasant Neighbor 62 Paddy the Piper 63 Brian O’ Linn - 64 Irish Assurance VOL. IX 65 Temptation . 66 Paddy Carey ; 67 Two Gregories ! 63 King Charming j 69 Po-ca-hon-tas ■ 70 Clockmaker’s Hat ; 71 Married Rake 72 Love and Murder ( VOL. XXXVII. 289 All the World’i ^ Stage 290 Quash, or Nigger Practice 291 Turc Him Out 1 292 Pretty Oirls of Stiflberg 293 Angelof the Attic 294 Circumstances alter ’'-‘t 295 Katty O'Shea 1 296 A Supper in Dixie VOL. XXVIl 217 Crinoline i 218 A Family Failibi 219 Adopted Child 220 Turned Heads 221 A Match in the 222 Advice to HusT 223 Siamese Twins 224 Sent to the To' VOL. XXIX 225 Somebody Elseffii 226 Ladies' Battle , 227 Ai-t of Acting 228 The Lady of the>]f 229 The Rights of 230 My Husband's « 231 Two Can Play^| Game 103 Unfinished Gentleman 104 House Dog VOL. XIV. 105 The Demon Lover 106 Matrimony 107 In and Out of Place 108 I Dine with My Mother r" Hi-a-wa-tha 110 Andy Blake 111 Love in ’76 ^ties 112 Romance under Difficul- VOL. XV. 113 One Coat for 2 Suits 114 A Decided Case 115 Daughter [nority 116 No ; or, the Glorious Mi- 117 Coroner’s Inquisition 118 Love in Humble Life 119 Family Jars 120 Personation' VOL. XVI. 121 Children in the Wood 122 Winning a Husband 123 Day after the Fair 124 Make Your Wills 125 Rendezvous 126 My Wife’s Husband 127 Monsieur Tonson 128 Illustrious Stranger VOL. XVII 129 Mischief-Making [Mines 130 A Live Woman in the 131 The Corsair 132 Shylock 133 Spoiled Child 134 Evil Eye 135 Nothing to Nurse 13G Wanted a Wid.-^w VOL. XVIII. 137 Lottery Ticket 138 Fortune’s Frolic 139 Is he Jealous? 140 Married Bachelor 141 Husband at Sight 142 Irishman in London 143 Animal Magnetism 144 Highways and By-Ways VOL. XXXVIII, Ici on Parle Francais Who KiUed Cock RoMb ^ Declaration of IndepeadhOM ^ Heads or Tail* 160 Amateurs and Actors VOL. XXI. 161 Promotion [ual 162 A Fascinating Individ- 163 Mrs. Caudle 164 Shakspeare’s Dream 165 Neptune’s Defeat 166 Lady ©f Bedchamber 167 Take Care of Little 168 Irish Widow ( Charley VOL. XXII. 169 Yankee Peddlar 170 Hiram Hireout 171 Double-Bedded 172 The Drama Defended 173 Vermont Wool Dealer 174 Ebenezer Venture [ter 175 Principles from Charac- 176 Lady of the Lake (Trav) VOL. XXIII. 177 Mad Dogs 178 Barney the Baron 179 Swiss Swains 180 Bachelor’s Bedroom 181 A Roland for an Oliver 182 More Blunders than One 183 Dumb Belle 184 Limerick Boy VOL. XXIV. 185 Nature and Philosophy 186 Teddy the Tiler 187 Spectre Bridgroom 188 Matteo Falcone 189 Jenny Lind 190 Two Buzzards 191 Happy^Man 192 Betsy Baker VOL. XXV. 193 No. 1 Round the Corner 194 Teddy Roe 195 Object of Interest 196 My Fellow Clerk 197 Bengal Tiger 198 Laughing Hyena 199 The Victor Vanquished 200 Our Wife VOL. XXVI. 201 My Husband’s Mirror 202 Yankee Land. 203 Norab Creina ^ 204 Good for Nothing 205 The First Night 206 The Eton Boy ^207 Wandering Minstrel 208 Wanted, 1000 Milliners VOL. XXVIl. 209 Poor Piicoddy 210 The Mummy 211 Don’tf orgetyonrOperal 213 ASthoJy^aSaeopatra I ^ 214 Trying It On. Jo^ng Actre- 232 Fighting by Pr( VOL. XXS Unprotected Fm 234 Pet of the Pettg 285 Forty and Fifw 236 Who Stole the-[| 237 My Son Diana < 238 Unwarrantable ? ■239 Mr. and Mrs. Wlj 240 A Quiet Family VOL. XXIW 24: Cool CucunilU •2*2 Sudden Thoughl 243 Jumbo Jum ^ 244 A Blighted Beixn 245 Little Toddlekinl 246 A Lover by Prdx 247 Maid -with the >. 248 Perplexing Predi VOL. XXXIj 249 Dr. Dilworth , 250 Out to Nurse . < 251 A Lucky Hit i 252 The Dowager j 253 Metamora (Biqi 254 Dreams of Del« 255 The Shaker Lflj 256 Ticklish Timed VOL. XXXlfj 257 20 Minutes: witl 258 Miralda: or, thi of Tacon . ; 259 A Soldier's Cd) . Servants by L® 261 Dying for Love ♦ 262 Alarming Sacirfi 263 Valet de'Sbau^ - :ki 264 Nicholas Nickli VOL. xxxn 265 The Last of the ! 266 King Rene’s D| 267 The Grotto Nya 268 A Devilish Gojj A Twice Told f 270 Pas de FascinS 271 Revol-utionarjf 272 AManWithouj VOL. XXX5 273 The Olio, Pa ' 274 The Olio, Pari 275 The Olio, Parf 276 The Trumpet? 277 Seeing Warrel 278 Green Mountt 279 That Nose 280 Tom Noddy’s | VOL. XXXIi 'Glasses! 281 Shocking Ev* ‘ ' 282 A Regular Fif 283 Dick TurpiBf 214 Trying I VOL. XXXIX. 106 •iiK) VaA*r Good Nature. 806 Care for the I thit CotHT stntfrtt hy mail, on receipt^ Obstinate Family My Aunt That Rascal Pat Don Paddy de Bazan Anything oi New and explicit Descriptive List mailed free oR SAMUEL FRENCH, Pnblirfier, 122 Nassau S ;C ‘ -ti ’ ;r. : ./-^^ * . ■ '."- '* 4 ' '’"^' lArj'i-. ->v\' 4' .A •'•.iv,,"" J‘. :#