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 forefaw, to-day he fell desperately in love ⚫ with the wench, he! he! he!

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

Hardy. That's a pretty queftion! 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 some way or other contrive to get more votes than Rubrick, he'd loose the lectureship? How did I But what the devil makes you so 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, Cousin, 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 fhould be presented in, distracted me for a week; and whether I should be married in white or lilac, gave me the most cruel anxiety.

care?

Letit. And is it possible 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.

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 handfome man! and what's all this melancholy for, I say?

Mrs. R. Why, because he is handsome and senfible, 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 signing and fealing, he fhall not have ye, and yet I can't fay that neither; for you know that estate, that cost his father and me upwards of fourscore 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, whilst he was a-dying. „Ah!“ said I,,,I foresee you'll never live to see 'em come together; but their firft fon fhall be christened Jeremiah after you, that I promise you." But come, I lay, what is the matter? Don't you like him.

Letit. I fear Sir if I must speak

-

- I fear 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 vastly. 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 ain 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 fuccefs.

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 less, and will at our next interview endeavour to heighten his indifference into diflike.

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

Mrs. R. ferious?

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

Mrs. R. Why endeavour to make him diflįke you?

Letit. Becaufe 'tis much easier to convert a sentiment 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 unufual fpirits, and on this hazard willingly stake my chance for happiness. I am impatient to begin my measures.

XXI.

(Exit Letitia.)

Mistreß Inchbald.

Ausser der Mrs. Cowley haben sich noch mehrere englis sche Frauenzimmer als dramatische Dichterinnen Ruhm ers worben. Schon zu Ende des vorigen, und zu Anfange des gegenwärtigen Jahrhunderts zeichneten sich Aphra Behn, Susanna Centlivre, und Mrs. Manley von dieser Seite vortheils

น 5

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 Schauspiels kunft, worin sie auf der Bühne zu Edinburg die ersten, nicht ganz unglücklichen, Versuche machte. Sie verheirathete sich mit einem Schauspieler, Inchbald, der zuerst in London felbft, 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 Schotts land spielte, aber schon im I, 1779 starb. Im folgenden Jahre erschien Mrs. Inchbald auf dem Schauplaße zu Lons bon im Coventgarden, und hernach auch auf der Haymarkets Bühne. Seitdem verfertigte sie verschiedne Lustspiele und kleinere Stücke, in denen feiner Wig, Weltkenntniß und glückliche Sittenschilderung, unverkennbar sind. Ihre biss herigen Arbeiten sind; The Mogul-Tale; a Farce - I'll stell you what Appearance is against him; a Farce — The Widow's Vow; a Farce Such Things are —— on a Summer's Day · Midnight Hour, aus dem Frans zösischen des Tumaniant The Child of Nature - The Von 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 eigenes 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 biefer zweiten Verheirathung kommt sein Oheim, Anthony Euston, aus Westindien zurück, weiß von dieser Veränder

Married Man.

--

All

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 jetziger Gemahlin, die ihn für einen Onkel der erstern hält, 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 Euston, 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?

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

coming.

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

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

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

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

Mr. A. Well, Madam. Unless you have enquired of the fervants, you are yet a stranger to my name and connections

Lady.