Mrs. O. Mighty well! But that won't do, Sir! Did not I hear you lay the whole intrigue together? Did not I hear your fine plot of throwing all the blame upon Charles?

Oakly. Nay be cool a moment

Thou muft

know, my dear, that the letter which came this mor ning, related to this Lady

Mrs. O. Ì know it.

Oakly. And fince that, it feems, Charles has

been fo fortunate as to

Mrs. O. O you deceitful Män! That trick is

too stale to pass again with ine

It is plain now what you ineant by your propofing to take her into the house this inorning But the Gentlewoman could intro duce herself, I fee.

Oakly. Fie, fie, my dear, The came on purpose

to enquire for you.

Mrs. O. For me!

Better and better! Did not she watch her opportunity, and come to you just as I went out? But I am obliged to you for your vifit, Madam. It is fufficiently paid. Pray, don't let me detain you.

Oakly. For fhame! for fhame, Mrs. Oakly! How can you be so abfurd? Is this proper behaviour to a Lady of her character?

Mrs. Ở. I have heard her character. Go, my fine run-away Madam! Now you've eloped from your father, and run away from your aunt! Go! - You fhan't stay here, I promise you.

Oakly. Prithee, be quiet. You don't know what

you are doing. She shall stay.

Mrs. . She fhan't stay a minute.

Oakly.

Oakly. She fhall stay a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year! 'Sdeath, Madam, fhe shall stay for ever, if I chufe it.

Mrs. O. How!

Har. For Heaven's fake, Sir, let me go. I am frighted to death.

Oakly.

Don't be afraid, Madam
I infift upon it.

stay, I infift

Ruffet. (within.) I tell you, Sir, I will go up. I am fure that the Lady is here, and nothing shall hinder ine.

Har. O my father! my father! (faints away.) Oakly. See, The faints. (Catching her.). Ring the bell! Who's there?

Mrs. O. What! take her into your arms too! Oh! I have no patience.

XVII.

Cumberland.

Richard Cumberland, - ist der Sohn des durch ein weitläuftiges Werk über das Naturrecht bekannten Bischofs zu Kilmore in Irland, und von mütterlicher Seite ein Enkel des berühmten Richard Bentley. Er ist einer der, fruchtbars ften neuern englischen Theaterdichter, sowohl in der tragis schen als komischen Gattung; der Werth seiner Schauspiele ist aber sehr ungleich, und sie verrathen überall die zu große Eile ihrer Verfertigung, obgleich die meisten bei der ersten Vorstellung viel Beifall fanden, und sich darin noch immer behaupten. Ihr Verfasser hat seit einigen Jahren auch Schriften andrer Art, z. B. Anekdoten der spanischen Mahs ler, und das Wochenblatt, The Obferver, geliefert. Seine Lustspiele find: The Suanmer's Tale

--

The Bro

3

thers

The Weft-Indian- The Fafhionable Lover-
The Choleric Man The Natu

The Note of Hand

ral Son The Country Attorney -

"

The ImposIhr grösstes Verdienst ist genaue Kenntniß und Nachs bildung des Welttons und der Umgangssprache; den Charaks teren aber fehlt mehrentheils die gehörige Vollendung; auch find sie durch die Vielfachheit der Handlung zu sehr gemischt, und oft nur flüchtig angedeutet. Die Sprache der Person ist selten natürlich und eigenthümlich genug; nicht ohne Wik, aber zu leer von sichtbaren Eingebungen des Gefühls und des Herzens. Cumberland's bestes Stück, der Westindier, ist auch in Deutschland, durch Bode's Uebersehung und ofte malige Vorstellung, bekannt genug. Aus diesem und dem Liebhaber nach der Mode hat er die Hauptpersonen in feinem Natural Son wieder auftreten lassen, und ein paar neue hinzugefügt, die Handlung aber aus dem Tom Jones entlehnt. Der natürliche Sohn ist ein Fündling, den ein würdiger Landedelmann erziehen lässt, und von dem sichs am Ende entdeckt, daß er sein Neffe ist. Drollig genug ist der Charakter des Dumps, den man aus folgender Scene kennen lernt:

O'Flaherty. (feeing Dumps as he enters.) Oh the Beelzebub! what's here? Which of the feven deadly fins begot you? what gibbet have you defrauded of its furniture?

Dumps. I am ferving-man to Squire Ruefull? I haften'd in advance, to fignify the coming on of my Mafter Salve, Domine! Et tu quoque! in domo!

Pax

O'Fl. What the plague! which of your evil tongues is that?

Dumps. 'Tis Latin; I learnt it when I fhew'd the tombs in Westminster Abbey.

O' Fl. Oho! if you come out of the tombs, no wonder you speak the dead languages.

Dump. Recte.

Sir Jeff

'tis

When will your Master be here, fellow? Dumps. Anon.

Sir Jeff Hark ye, David, take this mummy into the cellar, and wet his duft with a cup of October. You'll find better company in my vaults, friend, than the abbey's.

1

Dumps. Oh dear, Sir, I was reasonably merry, till I came into my Master's fervice; he is a monunent of a man: we fhou'd have had a terrible journey of it, if we had not luckily fallen in with a black job by the way, and kept company with the corpse of Exeter cathedral.

น

Jack. I must be acquainted with this fellow — What is your name?

Dumps. My name is Dumps an' please you.

Jack. How long have you been in Mr. Ruefull's fervice?

Dumps. Five years by the calendar, five centu ries by calculation I had indeed the choice of being keeper of a pefthoufe; but I was fool enough to withftand the offer; and, all other trades failing, took into my present service,

O'F. What other trades have you followed? Let us know your history.

-

Dumps. 'Tis foon told, gentlemen — I am the fon of a fexton, and worked at my father's business in my youth; I then went into the service of a diffecting furgeon, and with my father's help furnifh'd my master's academy with fubjects.

O' Fl. Oh Lord, have mercy upon us!

Dumps. When that trade fail'd, I hir'd myself out to the Humane Society *).

O' Fl. That was the devil of a jump backwards.

Dumps. Many an honeft gentleman now walks about with breath of my blowing; but it was too much labour for one pair of lungs; and by giving life to a drowned Alderman upon a swan - hopping party I contracted a confumption, and turn'd murder-monger to a morning paper.

O' Fl. Murder-monger! there you are in your old quarters once more! And what's murder-monger, I would fain ask.

Dumps. Cafualty

compiler, an' please you,

inventer of murders to amufe our customers; but they said I wanted variety in my violent deaths, I made to much use of the brewer's dray; fo they took a tragic poet in my place, and I was turn'd into Westminster - Abbey as Valet de Chambre to the ragged Regiment, to brush the duft of the faces of the wax work; from thence I came into Squire Ruefull's fervice; and if I take another step downwards, it must be to the old one; for I can go no lower in this world.

Sir Jeff. Try the depth of my cellar firft; and then we'll talk further with you. Get you gone.

Eine Gesellschaft in London zur Rettung ertrunkener und andrer verunglückter Personen,