Mifs NEVILLE. But, my dear coufin, fure you won't forfake us in this diftrefs. If the in the leaft fufpects that I am going off, I fhall certainly be locked up, or fent to my aunt Pedigree's, which is ten times worse. TONY. To be fure, aunts of all kinds are damn'd bad things. But what can I do? I have got you a pair of horses that will fly like Whistlejacket, and I'm fure you can't say but I have courted you nicely be-. fore her face. Here fhe comes, we muft court a bit or two more, for fear the fhould fufpect us. [They retire, and feem to fondle. Enter Mrs. HARDCASTLE. Mrs. HARDCASTLE. But But Well, I was greatly fluttered, to be fure. my fon tells me it was all a mistake of the fervants. I shan't be eafy however, till they are fairly married, and then let her keep her own fortune. what do I fee! fondling together, as I'm alive. never faw Tony fo fprightly before. Ah! have I caught you, my pretty doves! What, billing, exchanging ftolen glances, and broken murmurs. Ah! TONY. I As for murmurs, mother, we grumble a little now and then, to be fure. But there's no love loft between us. Mrs. Mrs. HARDCASTLE. A mere fprinkling, Tony, upon the flame, only to make it burn brighter. Mifs NEVILLE. Coufin Tony promises to give us more of his company at home. Indeed, he shan't leave us any more. It won't leave us, coufin Tony, will it ? TONY. O! it's a pretty creature. No, I'd fooner leave my horfe in a pound, than leave you when you fmile upon one fo. Your laugh makes you fo becoming. Mifs NEVILLE. Agreeable coufin! Who can help admiring that natural humour, that pleasant, broad, red, thoughtlefs, (patting his cheek) ah! it's a bold face. Mrs. HARDCASTLE. Pretty innocence ! TONY. I'm fure I always lov'd coufin Con's hazle eyes, and her pretty long fingers, that fhe twifts this way and that, over the hafpicholls, like a parcel of bobbins. Mrs. HARDCASTLE. Ah, he would charm the bird from the tree. I was never fo happy before. My boy takes after his father, poor Mr. Lumpkin, exactly. The jewels, my dear Con, fhall be yours incontiently. You fhall have them. Isn't he a fweet boy, my dear? You shall be married to-morrow, and we'll put off the reft of his education, like Dr. Drowfy's fermons, to a fitter opportunity. Enter DIGGORY. DIGGORY. Where's the 'fquire? I have got a letter for your I had orders to deliver it into your own hands. TONY. Who does it come from? DIGGORY. Your worship mun ask that o' the letter itself. TONY. I could wish to know, though (turning the letter, and gazing on it.) (Afide) Undone! undone! A letter to him from Haftings. I know the hand. If my aunt fees it we are ruined for ever. I'll keep her employ'd a little if I can. (To Mrs. Hardcastle). But I have not told you, madam, of my coufin's fmart answer juft now to Mr. Marlow. We fo laugh'd-You must know, madam,This way a little, for he must not hear us. (They confer. ΤΟΝΥ. TONY. (Still gazing) A damn'd cramp piece of penmanship, as ever I saw in my life. I can read your print hand very well. But here there are fuch handles, and thanks, and dashes, that one can scarce tell the head from the tail. "To Anthony Lump"kin, efquire." It's very odd, I can read the outfide of my letters, where my own name is, well enough. But when I come to open it, it's all buzz. That's hard, very hard; for the infide of the letter is always the cream of the correfpondence. Mrs. HARDCASTLE. Ha ha ha! Very well, very well. And fo my fon was too hard for the philofopher. Mifs NEVILLE. Yes, madam; but you must hear the reft, madam. A little more this way, or he may hear us. You'll hear how he puzzled him again. Mrs. HARDCASTLE. He feems ftrangely puzzled now himself, methinks. TONY. (Still gazing) A damn'd up and down hand, as if it was disguised in liquor. (Reading) Dear Sir, Aye, that's that. Then there's an M, and a T, and an S, but whether the next be an izzard or an R, confound me, I cannot tell. Mrs. Mrs. HARDCASTLE. What's that, my dear. Can I give you any af fiftance? Mifs NEVILLE. Pray, aunt, let me read it. No body reads a cramp hand better than I. (twitching the letter from ber) Do you know who it is from? TONY. Can't tell, except from Dick Ginger the feeder. Mifs NEVILLE. Aye, fo it is, (pretending to read) Dear 'fquire, hoping that you're in health, as I am at this prefent. The gentlemen of the Shake-bag club has cut the gentlemen of Goofe-green quite out of feather. The odds- -um-odd battle-um-long fighting-um-here, here, it's all about cocks and fighting; it's of no confequence, here, put it up, put it up. [Thrufling the crumpled letter upon him. TONY. But I tell you, mifs, it's of all the confequence in the world. I would not lofe the reft of it for a guinea. Here, mother, do you make it out. Of no confequence! [Giving Mrs. Hardcaftle the letter. Mrs. HARDCASTLE. ་ How's this! (reads) "Dear 'fquire, I'm now 26 waiting for Mifs Neville, with a post-chaife and pair, at the bottom of the garden, but I find my "horfes yet unable to perform the journey. I ex"pect you'll affift us with a pair of fresh horfes, as "you |