when I've a brother-in-law who takes the chair at the vestry, and who assures me confidentially he'd consent to be Speaker for half the money.

Gloss.-Enough, Mr. Stout. Mr. Evelyn has too much at stake for a leveller.

Stout. And too much sense for a bigot.

Gloss. A bigot, sir!

Stout.-Yes, a bigot!

[Puts his hat on, and with his hands in his pockets looks fiercely at GLOSSMORE.]

Evelyn. [Laughing.]—Mr. Evelyn has no politics at all. Did you ever play at battledore?

Both.-Battledore !

Evelyn.-Battledore—that is, a contest between two parties: both parties knock about something with singular skill-something is kept up-high-low-here-there-everywhere-nowhere! How grave are the players! how anxious the bystanders! how noisy the battledores! But, when this something falls to the ground, only fancy-it's nothing but cork and feather!-Go and play by yourselves—I'm no hand at it.

[Crosses to the left.]

Stout [aside.]-Sad ignorance! Aristocrat!

Gloss. [aside.]—Heartless principles! Parvenu!

Stout. Then you don't go against us? I'll bring Popkins

to-morrow.

Gloss. Keep yourself free till I present Cipher to you. Stout. I must go to inquire after Hopkins. The return of Popkins will be an era in history. [Goes out.] Gloss.-1 must go to the club:-the eyes of the country are upon Groginhole. If Cipher fail, the constitution is gone. [Goes out.]

Evelyn.—All parties alike! nothing but money! Money versus Man!—Sharp, come here—let me look on you. [Sharp arises from the desk.]-You are my agent, my lawyer, my man of business. I believe you honest;—but what is honesty? -where does it exist? in what part of us?

Sharp. In the heart, I suppose, sir.

Evelyn. Mr. Sharp, it exists in the breeches' pocket! Observe, I lay this piece of yellow earth on the table-I contemplate you both;-the man there the gold here. Now, there is many a man in those streets as honest as you are, who moves, thinks, feels, and reasons, as well as we do; excellent in form, imperishable in soul; who, if his pockets were three days empty, would sell thought, reason, body, and soul too, for that little coin! Is that the fault of the man? No! it is the fault of mankind. God made man; behold what mankind has made a god! By the bye, Sharp, send a hundred pounds to the poor bricklayer whose house was burnt down yesterday. Sharp.-Yes, sir.

·Evelyn.-Well, man, don't stand gaping there: have you no bowels? Go and see to it immediately.

[They go out at opposite sides.]

SCENE FROM THE POOR GENTLEMAN.-COLMAN.

[To this dialogue, the same observations as those which preceded the last apply; with this addition, that the eccentric peculiarities of OLLAPOD must be marked by a brisk utterance and a comic manner.]

CHARACTERS: SIR CHARLES CROPLAND-WARNER, his Steward

-OLLAPOD.

War.-Your honor is right welcome into Kent. I am proud to see Sir Charles Cropland on his estate again. I hope you mean to stay on the spot for some time, Sir Charles.

Sir C.-A very tedious time-three days, Mr. Warner.

War.-Ah, good sir! things would prosper better if you honored us with your presence a little more. I wish you lived entirely upon the estate, Sir Charles.

Sir C.-Thank you, Warner; but modern men of fashion find it devilish difficult to live upon their estates.

War.-The country about you so charming!

Sir C.-Look ye, Warner: I must hunt in Leicestershirefor that's the thing. In the frosts, and the spring months, I must be in town, at the clubs-for that's the thing. In summer, I must be at the watering-places-for that's the thing. Now, Warner, under these circumstances, how is it possible for me to reside upon my estate? For my estate being in KentWar. The most beautiful part of the country!

Sir C.-Hang beauty! We don't mind that in Leicestershire. My estate, I say, being in Kent

War.-A land of milk and honey!

Sir C.-I hate milk and honey!

War.-A land of fat!

Sir C.-Melt your fat! Listen to me: my estate being in Kent

War. So woody!

Sir C.-Burn the wood! No, that's wrong-for its convenient; I am come on purpose to cut it.

War. Ah! I was afraid so! Dice on the table, and then, the axe to the root! Money lost at play, and then, good lack! the forest groans for it.

Sir. C.-But you are not the forest, and why the deuce do you groan for it?

War. I heartily wish, Sir Charles, you may not encumber the goodly estate. Your worthy ancestors had views for their posterity.

Sir C.—And I shall have views for my posterity: I shall take especial care the trees sha'nt intercept their prospect. In short, Mr. Warner, I must have three thousand pounds in three days. Fell timber to that amount, immediately. 'Tis my peremptory order, sir.

War.—I shall obey you, Sir Charles; but 'tis with a heavy heart. Forgive an old servant of the family, if he grieves to see you forget some of the duties for which society has a claim upon you.

Sir C.-What do you mean by duties?

War. Duties, Sir Charles, which the extravagant man of property can never fulfil: such as to support the dignity of an

English landholder, for the honor of old England; to promote the welfare of his honest tenants; and to succor the industrious poor, who naturally look up to him for assistance. But I shall obey you, Sir Charles. [Exit.]

Sir C-A tiresome old blockhead!-But where is this Olla

pod? His jumble of physic and shooting may enliven me; and to a man of gallantry, in the country, his intelligence is by no means uninteresting, nor his services inconvenient.

Ah! Ollapod!

Enter OLLAPOD.

Oll.-Sir Charles, I have the honor to be your slave! Hope your health is good. Been a hard winter here-sore throats were plenty-so were woodcocks. Flushed four couple one morning, in a half-mile walk from our town, to cure Mrs. Quarles of a quinsey. May coming on soon, Sir Charles— season of delight, love, and campaigning! Hope you come to sojourn, Sir Charles. Should'nt be always on the wing-that's being too flighty. [Laughing.] He! he he! Do you take, good sir? do you take?

Sir C.-Oh, yes, I take. But by the cockade in your hat, Ollapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avocations.

Oll.-He! he! Yes, Sir Charles. I have now the honor to be cornet in the volunteer association corps of our town. It fell out unexpected-pop, on a sudden; like the going off of a fieldpiece, or an alderman in an apoplexy.

Sir C.-Explain.

Oll.-Happening to be at home-rainy day-no going out to sport, blister, shoot, nor bleed-was busy behind the counter.You know my shop, Sir Charles-Galen's head over the doornew gilt him last week, by the bye-looks as fresh as a pill.

Sir C.-Well, no more on that head now. Proceed.

Oll. On that head! [Laughing.] He! he! he! That's very well-very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir—I owe you one! Churchwarden Posh, of our town, being ill of an indigestion, from eating three pounds of measly pork, at a vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic for the patient; when who

should strut into the shop but Lieutenant Grains, the brewer, sleek as a dray-horse-in a smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarb-colored lapelle! I confess his figure struck me. I looked at him, as I was thumping the mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a military ardor.

Sir C.-Inoculated! I hope your ardor was of a favorable sort.

Oll-Ha! ha! That's very well-very well, indeed!— Thank you, good sir-I owe you one! We first talked of shooting-he knew my celebrity that way, Sir Charles. I told him, the day before, I had killed six brace of birds. I thumped on at the mortar.-We then talked of physic: I told him, the day before, I had killed—lost, I mean, six brace of patients. I thumped on at the mortar, eyeing him all the while; for he looked devilish flashy, to be sure; and I felt an itching to belong to the corps. The medical and military both deal in death, you know-so, 'twas natural. He! he!-Do you take, good sir? do you take?

Sir C.-Take!-Oh, nobody can miss.

Oll. He then talked of the corps itself; said it was sickly; and if a professional person would administer to the health of the association, dose the men, and drench the horses, he could, perhaps, procure him a cornetcy.

Sir C.-Well, you jumped at the offer?

Oll.-Jumped! I jumped over the counter; kicked down Churchwarden Posh's cathartic into the pocket of Lieutenant Grains's smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarbcolored lapelle; embraced him and his offer; and 1 am now Cornet Ollapod, apothecary, at the Galen's Head, of the association corps of cavalry, at your service!

Sir C.-I wish you joy of your appointment. You may now distil water for the shop from the laurels you gather in the field.

Oll.—Water for-Oh! laurel-water. He! he! Come, that's very well-very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir-I owe you one! Why, I fancy fame will follow, when the poison of a small mistake I made has ceased to operate.