Sir P. I thank you, madam; but don't flatter yourself, for though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you. However, I am equally obliged to you for the hint.

Lady T. Then why will you endeavor to thwart me in every little expense, and make yourself so disagreeable to me?

Sir P. Had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me?

Lady T. Sir Peter, would you have me out of the fashion?

Sir P. The fashion, indeed! What had you to do with the fashion before you married me?

Lady T. For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste.

Sir P. Ay; there again-taste. Zounds! Madam, you had no taste when you married me!

Lady T. That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter; and having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's.

Sir P. Ay, there's another precious circumstance-a charming set of acquaintances you have made there.

Lady T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation.

Sir P. Yes, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose any body should have a character but themselves! Such a crew! Ah! many a poor wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation.

Lady T. What! would your restrain the freedom of speech?
Sir P. Ah! they have made you as bad as any one of the society.
Lady T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace.
Sir P. Grace, indeed!

Lady T. But I declare I bear no malice against the people I abuse When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humor; and take it for granted, they deal exactly so with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too.

ter.

Sir P. Well, well, I'll call in just to look after my own charac

Lady T. Then indeed you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So, good-bye to you. [Exit Lady T.]

Sir P. So I have gained much by my intended expostulation; yet with what a charming air she contradicts every thing I say, and how pleasingly she shows her contempt for my authority! Well, I can't make her love me, but there is a satisfaction in quarreling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing every thing in her power to plague me.

SCENE II.

Lady T. Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been quarreling with Maria? It is not using me well to be ill-humored when I am not by.

Sir P. Ah! Lady Teazle, you might have the power to make me good-humored at all times.

Lady T. I am sure I wish I had; for I want you to be in charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be good-humored now, and let me have two hundred pounds, will you?

What! ain't I to be in a good speak to me thus, and i' faith You shall have it; but seal me

But

Sir P. Two hundred pounds! humor without paying for it? there's nothing I could refuse you. a bond of re-payment.

Lady T. Oh, no; there my note of hand will do as well. (Offering her hand.)

Sir P. And you shall no longer reproach me with not giving you an independent settlement. I mean shortly to surprise you; but shall we always live thus, hey?

Lady T.—If you please. I'm sure I don't care how soon we leave off quarreling, provided you'll own you're tired out first.

Sir P. Wel; then let our future contest be, who shall be most obliging.

Lady T. I assure you, Sir Peter, good nature becomes you; you look now as you did before we were married, when you used to walk with me under the elms, and tell me stories of what a gallant you were in your youth, and chuck me under the chin, you would; and ask me if I thought I could love an old fellow who would deny me nothing didn't you?

Sir P. Yes, yes, and you were kind and attentive

Lady T. Aye, so I was, and would always take your part when my acquaintance would abuse you, and turn you into ridicule. Sir P. Indeed!

Lady T. Aye, and when my cousin Sophy has called you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking of marrying one who might be my father, I have always defended you, and said I didn't think you ugly by any means.

Sir P. Thank you.

Lady T. And I dared say would make a very good sort of husband.

Sir P. And you prophesied right; and we shall be the happiest couple

Lady T. And never differ again?

Sir P. No, never! though at the same time, indeed, my dear Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very seriously; for in all our little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect, my love, you always begin first.

Lady T. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter; indeed you always gave the provocation.

Sir P. Now see, my angel, take care-contradicting isn't the way to keep friends.

Lady T. Then don't you begin it, my love.

You don't per

Sir P. There now! you-you-are going on. ceive, my life, that you are doing the very thing which you know always makes me angry.

Lady T. Nay, you know if you will be angry without any reason, my dear

Sir P. There, now, you want to quarrel again.

Lady T. You are just what my cousin Sophy said you would be. Sir P. Your cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent gypsy. Lady T. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my relations.

Sir P. Now may all the plagues of marriage be doubled on me if ever I try to be friends with you any more.

Lady T. So much the better.

Sir P. No, no, madam; 'tis evident you never cared a pin for me, and I was a madman to marry you—a pert rural coquette, that had refused half a dozen honest squires in the neighborhood.

Lady T. And I was a fool to marry you, an old dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only because no one would have him.

Sir P. You were pleased enough to listen to me. You never had such an offer before.

Lady T. No! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Terrier, who every body said would have been a better match? for his estate is just as good as yours, and he has broke his neck since we have been married.

Sir P. I have done with you, madam! You are an unfeeling, ungrateful—but there's an end of every thing. A separate maintenance as soon as you please. Yes, madam, or a divorce! I'll make an example of myself for the benefit of all old bachelors.

Lady T. Agreed! agreed! And now, my dear Sir Peter, we are of a mind once more, we may be the happiest couple in the world— and never differ again, you know-ha ha! ha! Well, you are going to be in a passion, I see, and I shall only interrupt you; so bye-bye. (Exit Lady T.)

Sir P. Plagues and tortures! I am the most miserable fellow! keep her temper; no! she may break my heart, but she shan't keep

Can't I make her angry either! O,
But I'll not bear her presuming to

her temper.

Liberty and Independence.

JULY 4, 1776.

There was tumult in the city,

In the quaint old Quaker town,
And the streets were rife with people
Pacing restless up and down;
People gathering at corners,

Where they whispered each to each,
And the sweat stood on their temples,
With the earnestness of speech.

As the bleak Atlantic currents

Lash the wild Newfoundland shore.
So they beat against the State House,

So they surged against the door;

Sheridan.

And the mingling of their voices
Made a harmony profound,
Till the quiet street of Chestnut
Was all turbulent with sound.

"Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?"

"Who is speaking?" "What's the news?" "What of Adams?" "What of Sherman?" "Oh! God grant they won't refuse; "Make some way there!" "Let me nearer!" "I am stifling!" Stifle, then!

When a nation's life's at hazard,

We've no time to think of men."

So they beat against the portal,
Man and woman, maid and child;
And the July sun in heaven

On the scene looked down and smiled.
The same sun that saw the Spartan

Shed his patriot blood in vain,
Now beheld the soul of freedom,
All unconquered rise again.

See! see! the dense crowd quivers
Through all its lengthy line,
As the boy beside the portal
Looks forth to give the sign;
With his little hands uplifted,
Breezes dallying with his hair,
Hark! with deep, clear intonation
Breaks his young voice on the air.

Hushed the people's swelling murmur,
List the boy's exulting cry!
"Ring!" he shouts, "ring! grandpa,
Ring! oh, ring for LIBERTY !"
Quickly at the given signal

The old bellman lifts his hand,
Forth he sends the good news, making
Iron music through the land.