True. So well I know thy honest heart, guilt cannot harbor there. Barn. Oh, torture insupportable! [Aside.]

True. Then why am I excluded? have I a thought I would conceal from you?

Barn. If still you urge me on this hated subject, I'll never enter more beneath this roof, nor see your face again.

True. 'Tis strange but I have done, say but you hate me not. Barn. Hate you! I am not that monster yet.

True. Shall our friendship still continue?

Barn. It's a blessing I never was worthy of, yet now must stand on terms: and but upon conditions can confirm it.

True. What are they?

Barn. Never hereafter, though you should wonder at my conduct, desire to know more than I am willing to reveal.

True. 'Tis hard; but upon any conditions I must be your friend. Barn. Then, as much as one lost to himself can be another's, I am yours. [Embracing.]

True. Be ever so, and may heaven restore your peace!

Barn. Will yesterday return? we have heard the glorious sun, that till then incessant rolled, once stopped his rapid course, and once went back. The dead have risen, and parched rocks poured forth a liquid stream to quench a people's thirst. The sea divided, and formed walls of water, while a whole nation passed in safety through its sandy bosom. Hungry lions have refused their prey; and men unhurt have walked amidst consuming flames: but never yet did time, once past,

return.

True. Though the continued chain of time has never once been broke, nor never will, but uninterrupted must keep on its course, till lost in eternity, it ends where it first began; yet as heaven can repair whatever evils time can bring upon us, we ought never to despair. But business requires our attendance; business, the youth's best preservation from ill, as idleness his worst of snares. Will you go with me?

Barn. I'll take a little time to reflect on what has passed, and follow you. [Exit TRUEMAN.] I might have trusted Trueman, and engaged him to apply to my uncle to repair the wrong I have done my master; but what of Milwood? must I expose her, too? ungenerous and base. then heaven requires it not. But heaven requires that I forsake her. What! never to hear her more? does heaven require that? I hope I may see her, and heaven not be offended. Presumptuous hope! dearly already have I proved my frailty. Should I once more tempt heaven, I may be left to fall, never to rise again. Yet shall I leave her, for ever leave her, and not let her know the cause? she who loves me with such a boundless passion! can cruelty be duty? I judge of what she then must feel, by what I now endure. The love of life, and fear of

shame, opposed by inclination strong as death or shame, like wind and tide in raging conflict meet, when neither can prevail, keep me in doubt. How then can I determine?

From "George Barnwell.”

AN INCORRUPTIBLE FARMER.

THOS. MORTON.

SIR PHILIP BLANDFORD and FARMER ASHfield.

Sir P. Send Farmer Ashfield hither. That boy must be driven far, far from my sight-but where?—No matter! the world is large enough. Enter ASHFIeld.

Come hither. I believe you hold a farm of mine?

Ash. Ees, zur, I do, at your zarvice.

Sir P. I hope a profitable one?

Ash. Zometimes it be, zur. But thic year it be all t'other way, as 'twur; but I do hope, as our landlords have a tightish big lump of the good, they'll be zo kind-hearted as to take a little bit of the bad.

Sir P. It is but reasonable. I conclude, then, you are in my debt. Ash. Ees, zur, I be-at your zarvice.

Ash. I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds, at your zarvice.

Sir P. Which you can't pay?

Ash. Not a varthing, zur, at your zarvice.

Sir P. Well, I am willing to give you every indulgence.

Ash. Be you, zur? that be deadly kind. Dear heart! it will make my auld Dame quite young again, and I don't think helping a poor man will do your honor's health any harm-I don't, indeed, zur—I had a thought of speaking to your worship about it--but then, thinks I, the gentleman mayhap be one of those that do like to do a good turn, and not have a word zaid about it-zo, zur, if you had not mentioned what I owed you, I am zure I never should-should not, indeed, zur. Sir P. Nay, I will wholly acquit you of the debt, on condition— Ash. Ees, zur.

Sir P. On condition, I say, you instantly turn out that boy-that Henry.

Ash. Turn out Henry!-Ha, ha, ha! Excuse my tittering, zur; but you bees making your vun of I, zure.

Sir P. I am not apt to trifle-send him instantly from you, or take the consequences.

Ash. Turn out Henry! I do vow I shouldn't knaw how to zet about it-I should not, indeed, zur.

Sir P. You heard my determination. If you disobey, you know what will follow. I'll leave you to reflect on it. [Exit.

Ash. Well, zur, I'll argufy the topic, and then you may wait upon me, and I'll tell ye. [Makes the motion of turning out.] I should be deadly awkward at it, vor zartain-however, I'll put the case. Well! I goes whiztling whoam-noa, drabbit it! I shouldn't be able to whiztle a bit, I'm zure. Well! I goes whoam, and I zees Henry zitting by my wife, mixing up someit to comfort the wold zoul, and take away the pain of her rheumatics-Very well! then Henry places chair vor I by the vire side, and zays-" Varmer, the horses be ved, the sheep be volded, and you have nothing to do but to zit down, smoke your pipe, and be happy!" Very well! [Becomes affected.] Then I zays"Henry, you be poor and friendless, zo you must turn out of my house directly." Very well! Then my wife stares at I-reaches her hand towards the vire place, and throws the poker at my head. Very well! Then Henry gives a kind of aguish shake, and getting up, zighs vrom the bottom of his heart-then holding up his head like a king, zays— Varmer, I have too long been a burthen to you. Heaven protect you, as you have me. Farewell! I go." Then I zays, "If thee doez, I'll be blowed!" [With great energy.] Hollo! you Mister Sir Philip! you may come in.

Enter SIR PHILIP BLANDFORD.

Zur, I have argufied the topic, and it wouldn't be pratty-zo I can't. Sir P. Can't? absurd!

Ash. Well, zur, there is but another word-I won't.

Ash. No, zur, I won't; I'd zee myself hanged first, and you, too,

Ash. I be zorry for that, too--I be, indeed, zur; but if corn wouldn't grow, I couldn't help it; it wer'n't poisoned by the hand that zowed it. Thic hand, zur, be as vree vrom guilt as your own.

Sir P. Oh!

[Sighing deeply.

Ash. It were never held out to clinch a hard bargain, nor will it turn a good lad out into the wide, wicked world, because he be poorish a bit. I be zorry you be offended, zur, quite; but, come what would, I'll never hit thic hand against here, but when I be zure that zomet at inside will jump against it with pleasure. [Bowing.] I do hope you'll repent of all your zins-I do, indeed, zur; and if you should, I'll come and see you again as friendly as ever. I wool, indeed, zur. Sir P. Your repentance will come too late! Ash. Thank ye, zur.-Good morning to you-I do hope I have made myzelf agreeable-and so I'll go whoam.

[Exit.

[Exit.

From "Speed the Plough."

JUSTICE TO THE LOWLY.

SIR PHILIP BLANDFORD and HENRY.

Enter HENRY.

Sir P. By what title, sir, do you thus intrude on me?

THOS. MORGAN.

Hen. By one of an imperious nature: the title of a creditor.

Sir P. I your debtor!

Hen. Yes; for you owe me justice. You, perhaps, withhold from ine the inestimable treasure of a parent's blessing.

Sir P. [Impatiently.] To the business that brought you hither. Hen. Thus, then-I believe this is your signature

Sir P. Ah! [Recovering himself.] It is

[Producing a bond.

Hen. Affixed to a bond of 10007., which by assignment is mine. By virtue of this I discharge the debt of your worthy tenant, Ashfield; who, it seems, was guilty of the crime of vindicating the injured and protecting the unfortunate. Now, Sir Philip, the retribution my hate demands is, that what remains of this obligation may not be now paid but wait your entire convenience and leisure.

to me,

Sir P. No; that must not be.

Hen. Oh, sir, why thus oppress an innocent man?-Why spurn from you a heart that pants to serve you? No answer? Farewell.

Sir P. to ask it.

[Going.

Hold-one word before we part-tell me—|
-[Aside.] I dread
How came you possessed of this bond?

Hen. A stranger, whose kind benevolence stepped in, and saved-
Sir P. His name?

Hen. Morrington.

Sir P. Fiend! tormentor! Has he caught me !-You have seen this Morrington?

Hen. He did-and of your daughter. "Conjure him," said he, "not to sacrifice the lovely Emma by a marriage her heart revolts at. Tell him, the life and fortune of a parent are not his own. He holds them but in trust for his offspring. Bid him reflect, that while his daughter merits the brightest rewards a father can bestow, she is by that father doomed to the harshest fate tyranny can inflict."

Sir P. Torture! [With vehemence.] Did he say who caused this sacrifice?

Hen. He told me you had been duped of your fortune by sharpers. Sir P. Ay, he knows that well. Young man, mark me. This

Morrington, whose precepts wear the face of virtue, and whose practice seems benevolence, was the chief of the hellish banditti that ruined me. Hen. Is it possible?

Sir P. That bond you hold in your hand was obtained by robbery. Hen. Confusion!

Sir P. Not by the thief who, encountering you as a man, stakes life against life, but by that most cowardly villain, who in the moment when reason sleeps and passion is roused, draws his snares around you, and hugs you to your ruin.

Hen. On your soul, is Morrington that man?

Sir P. On my soul, he is.

Hen. Thus, then, I annihilate the detested act, and thus I tread upon a villain's friendship.

Sir P. Rash boy! what have you done?

Hen. An act of justice to Sir Philip Blandford.

Sir P. For which you claim my thanks?

[Tearing the bond

Hen. Sir, I am thanked already-here. [Pointing to his heart.] Curse on such wealth! compared with its possession, poverty is splendor. Fear not for me, I shall not feel the piercing cold; for in that man whose heart beats warmly for his fellow-creatures, the blood circulates with freedom. My food shall be what few of the pampered sons of greatness can boast of-the luscious bread of independence; and the opiate that brings me sleep, will be the recollections of the day passed in innocence.

Sir P.
Hen.

Sir P.

Hen.

Noble boy! Oh! Blandford!

Ah!

What have I said?

You called me Blandford.

Sir P. 'Twas error-'twas madness!

Hen. Blandford! A thousand hopes and fears rush on my heart. Disclose to me my birth-be it what it may, I am your slave for ever. Refuse me, you create a foe, firm and implacable as—

Sir P. Ha! am I threatened? Do not extinguish the spark of pity my breast is warmed with.

Hen. I will not. Oh, forgive me!

Sir P. Yes, on one condition-leave me.-Ha! some one approaches. Begone, I insist-I entreat.

Hen. That word has charmed me-I obey. Sir Philip, you may hate, but you shall respect me.

[Exit.

From "Speed the Plough."