abroad; and if he had, he'd have thought no more of

her face, may be, than his own.

Mrs, R. May be, not half so much.

Hardy. Aye, may be fo:

but I fee into things;

exactly as I foresaw, to-day he fell desperately in love with the wench, he! he! he!

Letit. Indeed, Sir! how did you perceive it?

8

Hardy. That's a pretty question! How do I perceive every thing? How did I foresee the fall of corn, and the rife of taxes? How did I know, that if we quarrelled with America, Norway deals would be dearer? How did I foretell that a war would fink the funds? How did I forewarn Parfon Homily', that if he didn't fome way or other contrive to get more votes than Rubrick, he'd loose the lecturefhip? How did I

But what the devil makes you fo dull, Letitia? I thought to have found you popping about as brisk as the jacks of your harpsichord.

Letit. Surely, Sir, 'tis a very serious occafion.

Hardy. Pho, pho, girls fhould never be grave before marriage. How did you feel, Coufin, beforehand? Aye!

Mrs. R. Feel! why, exceedingly full of cares.
Hardy. Did you?

Mrs. R. I could not fleep for thinking of my coach, my liveries, and my chairmen; the taste of clothes I should be presented in, distracted me for a week; and whether I fhould be married in white or lilac, gave me the most cruel anxiety.

care ?

Letit. And is it poffible that you felt no other

Hardy. And pray, of what fort may your cares be, Mrs. Letitia? I begin to foresee now that you have taken a diflike to Doricourt.

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11 4

Letit.

Letit. Indeed, Sir, I have not.

Hardy. Then what's all this melancholy about? A'n't you going to be married? and, what's more, to a sensible man; and what's more to a young girl, to a handsome man! and what's all this melancholy for, I say?

Mrs. R. Why, because he is hand fome and fenfible, and because she's over head and ears in love with him; all which, it feems, your foreknowledge had not told you a word of.

Letit. Fye, Caroline!

Hardy. Well, come, do you tell me what's the matter then? If you don't like him, hang the figning and fealing, he Thall not have ye, and yet I can't say that neither; for you know that eftate, that coft his father and me upwards of fourfcore thousand pounds, muft go all to him, if you won't have him: if he won't have you, indeed, 'twill be all yours. All that's clear, engrofs'd upon parchment; and the poor dear man fet his hand to it, whilft he was a-dying.

Ah!" faid I,,,I forefee you'll never live to fee 'em come together; but their first fon fhall be christened Jeremiah after you, that I promise you." But come, "But I say, what is the matter? Don't you like him.

Letit. I fear

Sir if I must speak

I was lefs agreeable in Mr. Doricourt's eyes, than he appeared in mine.

Hardy. There you are mistaken; for I asked him, and he told me, he liked you vaftly. Don't you

think he must have taken a fancy to her?

Mrs. R. Why really I think fo, as I was not by. Letit. My dear Sir, I am convinced he has not; but if there is spirit and invention in woman, he shall. Hardy. Right, Girl; go to your toilette

Letit. It is not my toilette that can serve me: but a plan has ftruck me, if you will not oppose it, which flatters me with brilliant success.

Hardy. Oppofe it! not I indeed! What is it?

Letit. Why, Sir.. it may seem a little paradoxical; but, as he does not like me enough, I want him to like me still lefs, and will at our next interview endeavour to heighten his indifference into dislike.

Hardy. Who the devil could have foreseen that?
Mrs. R.
Heaven and earth! Letitia, are you

ferious?

Letit, As ferious as the most important business of my life demands.

Mrs. R. Why endeavour to make him difli ke you?

Letit. Becaufe 'tis much easier to convert a sen timent into its oppofite, than to transform indifference into tender paffion.

Mrs. R. That may be good philosophy; but I am afraid you'll find it a bad maxim.

Letit. I have the strongest confidence in it. I am inspired with unusual spirits, and on this hazard willingly stake my chance for happiness. I am impatient

to begin my measures.

XXI.

(Exit Letitia.)

Mistreß Inchbald.

Auffer der Mrs. Cowley haben sich noch mehrere englis fche Frauenzimmer als dramatische Dichterinnen Ruhm ers worben. Schon zu Ende des vorigen, und zu Anfange des gegenwärtigen Jahrhunderts zeichneten sich Aphra Behn, Susanne Centlivre, und Mrs. Mantey von dieser Seite vortheil

115

vortheilhaft aus; und in den neuern Zeiten Mrs. Lennox und Griffith.......... Einen sehr rühmlichen Rang behauptet unter ihnen noch jezt Mrs. Elisabeth Inchbald, die Tochter von Mr. Simpson, einem Pächter unweit Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk. Diesen ihren Vater verlor sie schon in ihrer frühen Kindheit, und gewann bald hernach immer mehr Geschmack an Schauspielen, und selbst an der Schauspiel kunft, worin sie auf der Bühne zu Edinburg die ersten, nicht ganz unglücklichen, Versuche machte. Sie verheirathete fich mit einem Schauspieler, Inchbald, der zuerst in London selbst, auf dem Theater in Drurylane, aber mit keinem sons derlichen Beifall, gespielt hatte, und hernach mit seiner juns gen Gattin auf verschiednen Bühnen in England und Schott land spielte, aber schon im J. 1779 starb. Im folgenden Jahre erschien Mrs. Inchbald auf dem Schauplaße zu Lons don im Coventgarden, und hernach auch auf der Haymarkets, Bühne. Seitdem verfertigte sie verschiedne Lustspiele und kleinere Stücke, in denen feiner Wiß, Weltkenntniß und glückliche Sittenschilderung, unverkennbar find. Ihre biss herigen Arbeiten sind: The Mogul-Tale; a Farce I'll tell you what Appearance is against him; a FarceThe Widow's Vow; a Farce Such Things are - All on a Summer's Day — Midnight-Hour, aus dem Frans zösischen des Dumaniant The Child of Nature-The Married Man, — Bon diesen Schauspielen erhielt das: I'll tell you what den grössten Beifall, und wurde im J. 1786 zuerst auf das Haymarket- Theater gebracht. Es hat eigents!! lich, wie die meisten englischen Lustspiele, eine zwiefache Fabel, die aber glücklich genug in Ein Ganzes verflochten ist. Sir George Euston, ein Landedelmann von liebenswürdigem Charakter, ist in seiner ersten Ehe nicht glücklich, und hat sich daher scheiden lassen und wieder verheirathet. Bald nach dieser zweiten Verheirathung kommt sein Oheim, Anthony Euston, aus Westindien zurück, weiß von dieser Veråndes

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rung

rung nichts, und wird nicht wenig betroffen darüber, die erste Frau seines Neffen, der nicht zu Hause ist, vorzufinden. Er glaubt daher, sich in dem Hause zu irren, und wird von Sir George's jeßiger Gemahlin, die ihn für einen Onkel der erstern hålt, nach seines Neffen voriger Wohnung gewiesen, wo er zu seinem neuen Erstaunen einen ganz Unbekannten antrifft, der Sir George's erste Frau geheirathet hat. Dieß ist der Major Cyprus, der auch die Liebe der zweiten Frau von jenem zu gewinnen sucht, aber zurück gewiesen wird. Eine der schönsten Scenen ist die zwischen dem alten Anthony. Lufton, der seinen Sohn, wegen einer Heirath wider seis nen Willen, enterbt hat, und seiner ihm noch unbekannten Schwiegertochter, die er, ohne sie zu kennen, aus der Ges fahr, von einem seiner Freunde verführt zu werden, und aus der grössten Verlegenheit gerettet hatte:

Enter Servant.

Mr. Anthony. Is not this the time that the Lady gave me permiffion to wait on her?

LEY Servant. The Lady fent word fhe wou'd wait on you, Sir. This is the time; and, Sir, fhe is

coming.

Mr. Anth. Shew her in. (Exit Servant.)

(Mr. Anthony walks two or three turns, and then the Lady is fhewn in.)

Mr. A. I hope, Madam, my message did not disturb you?

Lady. Not at all, Sir. I had afked permisfion to see you, before I received it. (He draws chairs, and they fit.).

quired of the fervants, you are yet a stranger to my

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name and connections.

Lady.