SCENE I.

'TIS always so, my dear, you will never let me have my way, and yet I can plan as well as any body.

Bless me! my love, what knock down this par­tition?

Yes! knock it down, and turn these two chambers into one—we shall then have an excellent hall to en­tertain company in.

Two rooms full of company at once!

[Page 10]

You have no soul for grandeur, Mr. Sententious. I mean to be remarked for splendour and luxury; these are the steps by which I design to ascend to the pinnacle of politeness and the tip top of the better­most genii. My fortune was told me that I should be a lady.

I foresee infinite expense in this plan.

I foresee infinite pleasure in it. There is nothing like echoing back a husband's remonstrance.

If we have made a fortune by our own industry, it is no argument that it should be squandered away in one winter.

If we have made a fortune, it is no argu­ment that it should be hoarded up, to look at, to all eternity.

But, my dear, if we set sail upon the sea of luxury, the hand of the most skilful pilot will be too feeble to manage—

That is just like you—you always pother me with your similes.

In a word, my dear, the desires of extravagance are no more to be filled up than the ocean.

[Page 11]

In a word, my dear, the desires of avarice are worse, they can no more be filled up than the bot­tomless pit.

Lord deliver us from these wives.

Lord deliver us from these husbands.

I must be all prepared against this evening—I have engaged a splendid company—here will be Alonzo, Mira, and Capt. Flash, and Harry Truelove, and a house full of the better sort.

Your brain is ever fertile in schemes of extrava­gance. It is not every body that would go to the expense that I do—You might therefore relinquish a little of—

[Page 12]

Not every body! what fools them is!

You ought not to say " them is"—I never shall be able to teach you to speak grammatically.

The bettermost genii don't place the ton in mere words—it is in actions, and actions of high life and grandeur too—It is these that distinguish the better sort from the canal.

The canaille! you ought never to use words you do not understand—say the vulgar, or commonalty; but my own instructions, added to those of the musick master, the dancing master, and a hundred other mas­ters, is breath wasted upon the wind.

I dare say you think it all money thrown into the fire—

Yes, Madam—and out comes a molten calf that I am obliged to worship.

All this is nothing to the purpose—I shall order the workmen immediately to proceed in their busi­ness, and make these two rooms into one elegant hall.

O that I could teach you to reflect one minute! How often have I expatiated on the virtues and hap­py [Page 13] consequences of prudence, and still you are deaf to the voice of economy.

Now for the sentimental!

She who cherishes in her bosom a passion for ex­travagance, will find she nurtures a viper to sting her to the heart.

'Tis a pity but you had been Secretary to King Solomon—you make full as good proverbs.

When she has once indulged—

Yes, my dear, when we once get a taste of it, 'tis hard to leave it off—I grant all that—

When she has once indulged herself in trespassing on the bounds of luxury, she proceeds with less caution, without reflecting that the admission of the first errour but opens the door to a train of uncon­querable evils.

You mean to the train of the better sort.

When people of common life get something fore­handed in the world, it certainly discovers a little mind to strive to emulate the extravagance of their superi­ours.

[Page 14]

Come, my love, no more words.

Words!—God bless the woman! Words!—I would not have you mind my words! I mean to in­culcate sentiments, and I wish you, Madam, to distin­guish between them. Would to God I could write these sentiments with a pen of iron upon the heart of every woman in town.

Come, my love, no more words—these sentiments, as you call them, always fright ladies of the better sort into hystericks.

More shame for them—

O! I faint— Betty! Betty!—my drops, my drops, my sal val latinum—I faint—

Come wife, let us end the debate—make the house into one room if you wish it—make a playhouse of it and welcome—only give me more peace and qui­etness, and less of your repartee and fainting.

Madam, please to walk down—the company is come.

Come, Sir.—

SCENE II.

TELL me what is the matter—are you in the dumps?—How is Harry? You have the character of being a girl of spirit; let me desire you then, to dis­burthen yourself freely, and rely upon my friendship.

From you, my love, all assurances of friendship are vain. How unfortunate is my situation! To be debarred the company of the youth of my affections, [Page 17] and subject to the caprice of an unnatural father—of a father who places his happiness in the accumula­tion of riches, and deems every man unworthy his esteem, whose disposition is not equally parsimoni­ous. For this reason I begin to suspect the inten­tions of old Alonzo. I see him daily closeted with my father, and indeed he has been uncommonly polite to me, of late. What a sorry plight must a poor girl be in, who has the misfortune to have a rich father, when any man who fears to become a bankrupt may repair his consumptive purse by falling in love with her—money—I love, and I acknowledge I have long loved the engaging Harry, and yet am constrain­ed, through fear, to conceal my passion from my par­ent. My spirits alone can preserve me.

I believe these men are all Turks, and think wom­en have no souls: But I will let them all see that I have a soul—I am determined to exercise my spirit—resolution is the only specifick in my desperate case.

[Page 18]

It gives me great pleasure, my dear, to hear you talk with so much spirit, only stand to it, and I'll be bound to lay A PLOT that will insure your felicity—Your father and Alonzo, I think, will be here this e­vening.

I am to have the honour of an interview with his misership, presently.

In the mean time I'll draw his picture to your fa­ther—I'll swear to you I will not flatter him—Possi­bly I may speak a good word for Harry at the same time.

A very excellent contrivance—but stop—I hear the rustling of silks—

SCENE III.

LADIES, I beg your pardon for detaining you so long—I had some small matters to see to, which was the occasion of my not waiting upon you immediately on your arrival.

[Page 19]

Make no apology, Madam.

Ladies, the company comes, will you walk up stairs?

SCENE IV.

WHY, Sir, you appear early here this even­ing.—

Yes, yes, daughter, I want to have some small talk with you about matrimony—

I think, Sir, you had better take an opportunity for that purpose at our own house—

No no child, no—Here's Mr. Hazard, I shall in­troduce him to you—He is much in love with you—a good man truly—he is good.

So the important secret is out! Old Alonzo—ha! ha!—Surely there is a power who will countermine this sacrifice, and at length reward true love and con­stancy—I must persevere, however, in my resolution— A girl of spirit will hearken to good advice, and not suffer her temper to rise to rashness.

SCENE V.

IT is with inexpressible pleasure, my dear an­gel, that I embrace this favourable opportunity of telling you with what sincerity I am your most obe­dient humble servant.

I beg, Sir, to be excused from attending to your u­sual torrent of impertinence—

Seasonably come, my Jenny, to relieve me from the fears of an inundation of politicks—

I beg pardon, good folks—the tongue, you know, will some times say things foreign to the heart—

Thank you for your compliment, Sir—

I suppose then, a gentleman's tongue is situate in his head, somewhat like a waterman in a boat, who looks one way and rows another—or, like a politician who speaks for one party and votes for the opposite.

Or like a school boy—

Lord! Miss Jenny—none of your tales about school boys—you can't hold a candle to me for tell­ing [Page 25] a story—Only hear me tell about our sleighing frol­ick—As soon as we got over the Neck, going up Roxbury hill, who should we meet but a hack full of your bloods, of the first water, red hot from the Punch-bowl—Well—down they come, full tilt—Our dri­ver, in turning out, cut up his nags, and away we went, Jehu like, into the snow drift, and turn'd the sleigh bottom up, as clean as a whistle, five girls and three fellows—"O lud! O lud!" that was the song, such squeaking, and hollowing, and bawling, and yelling, and sighing, and laughing—and the poor la­dies had nothing to do but to travel to the sleigh a­gain, " wading over head and ears in snow, as high as their knees"—

Bravo! bravo, Yorick! If you mean this in favour of your frolicking, you'll never catch me there. I wonder girls don't catch their deaths.

[Page 27]

I suppose you need not turn over, without you're a mind to—but consider the necessity of some amuse­ment for such a town as this—

Then we must consider the balls and concerts, and the endeavours of the gentlemen of the Musical Society, to please and entertain us—

And what is musick without words?—'Tis just like a soul without a body.

A very sit simile, it having too much of the celestial to suit your earthly ideas—

You may depend upon it, Yorick, if you think to find amusement in that which is not congenial to your taste, you will be deceived with a cloud, instead of em­bracing a Juno.

I don't know any thing about that—but this I know, I like dancing well enough, but as to your tweedle dum and tweedle dee, without any words, I an't over fond of it—

There are many good singers in town, and to deny It would be swimming against the stream of popular applause.

[Page 28]

Granted—But what I complain of is, that there is nothing new for them to sing—Must we be obliged to sing English songs forever—I heard a person some evenings since sing a song about Auld England's glory— what have Americans to do, in the name of Phebus, with " Auld England's glory?" So you see, my com­plaint is not without reason.

And I applaud his judgment who sung—Who is there to make songs or musick in this country? Or what is there to make songs about? Or if they were made, what would they be good for?—

And so Captain you think we ought to sing the songs of your country because they are ready cut and dry!—Charming reason!

Every nation is undoubtedly characterized by their songs—They were anciently calculated to inspire the minds of the people with great ideas of liberty and sentiments of heroism. Even our American Indians have their war songs. Remember the effect of the songs of Ossian. The Welsh bards were put to death by Edward I. when he conquered Wales, for the reason I have given, and through motives of policy. I have now by me " General Montgomery,"—"The Battle of the Kegs,"—"Frencau's Poems,"—and many others which were favourites with the Conti­nental [Page 29] soldiers, and no doubt contributed as much to encourage them to endure hardships and persevere in the struggle, as paper money.

One may observe the songs of our British sailors in the same point of view—One of your Connecticut wits says "They have sung themselves into invinci­bility"—and possibly " Hearts of Oak," and the " Roast Beef of Old England," may inspire their minds, as you say, with great and heroick sentiments.

Don't all these observations center in my favour? and ought not a new nation to have new songs? I wish some clever fellow would sit down and write us half a hundred.

So do I too.—

SCENE V.

WHY Capt. Flash, you seem to object to things, merely because they are American.

[Page 31]

Step forward a little into the room, where we may be by ourselves, and I will endeavour to convince you of the truth of my arguments.

Sir, I am a true whig of '75, and a staunch seder­alist of '89—and if you persevere to belittle my coun­try, you'll anger me sorely—

I shall not be singular in my perseverence, if I con­tinue in my sentiments—The intrepid Abbe Mably, and the judicious Abbe Reynal have insisted on the truth of what they aver, and they say, every thing in nature, when once transported to America, will de­generate—

Very judgmatical fellows, this Master Reynard and tother one. I wish they'd take a peep at our grey horses, they have not grown an inch smaller these seventeen years, to my knowledge.

You cannot object to the testimony of two credi­ble French witnesses—the French are your friends.

Frenchmen may be mistaken as well as English, tho' I don't say they wou'd take such delight to mis­represent things—

Explain yourself, Sir—that's an insinuation derog­atory to the character of my nation—and I shall resent it, for I am —

[Page 32]

Who are you!—

I declare myself to be a British subject—Now, who are you, Sir?—

Who am I—Why, I'm a Yankee, all over—

You should say, you was a citizen of America, Yor­ick—consider, you are engaged in a national dispute —a very important one, too.

Why, Sir, I shan't be afraid, if so be he don't chal­lenge me to fight a duel—I hate them bloody pis­tols, tho' I won't tell him so.

I'm an Englishman—I shall let no reflection pass in my hearing, with impunity.

Why?—How will you prevent it!—

I shall call him to the Field of Honour—and his life, or—

Whi—e—u—Why you're a bloody minded fellow, to be sure!—and since you are going to put on them there airs, I'll tell you two things—the first is, I am not afraid to fight; the second is, that I was only in jest.

[Page 33]

Ha! ha! ha! That's a good come off, Yorick—I applaud you, my boy—you were carried too far in your country's cause by the high blood of youth—you swum out of your depth, buoyed by a pure federal principle—and were the generality of mankind as ready to make concessions as you are, we should have none of your duels.

There I join you, Sir—I look upon all dueling, gaming and guzzling, and the like of that (excepting sleighing frolicks) to be perfectly antifederal—and as to you, Capt. Flash, when I happened to say that the French did not take such delight to misrepresent matters as the English, I considered the different in­terests of the two nations. It is for the glory of Great Britain, to depreciate the merit of America, that she may appear unrivalled—the like as we may see in our manner of electioneering; for instance; a man wants to be a Rep. or a Congress man, he in the first place puts a piece in the Centinel, telling how and a­bout what a great man he is, with his name in a line of capital letters; but the cream of the jest is, that he takes care to black all the other candidates. A Frenchman, on the other hand, is a gentleman, and I love a Frenchman. We are under infinite obliga­tion to that generous nation, and he who utters a syl­lable disrespectful of our great ally, deserves the sever­est [Page 34] punishment that can be inflicted—the punishment of ingratitude.

If there be not solid truth in your reasoning, I grant that there is something like a show of plausi­bility, and for which reason I accept it as a concession. But after all I advise you not to place too much con­fidence in French faith—because they are deeply in­terested in whatever concerns Great Britain.

'Tis mighty strange that some folks must needs judge others by themselves!

I look upon America to be nothing more than a cats paw, which the ambition of France, prompted by diabolical antipathy to Old England, has made use of to stir up the embers of sedition. America, it is true, is independent, but in my mind she will soon rue the time she withdrew from the protection of the parent country. How happy would it be then, for both countries, if America were to return.

Such a return would be, as the song says, to go

By which you would insinuate, I suppose, that if Old England got you in her power again, it would be a hard matter to slip your necks cut of the collar.

[Page 35]

No, no, I mean that King George is dead.

Dead! how unfortunate!—I shall have to buy a new commission—

I once made a hunting song about a sleighing frolick, and thought mine was the best in nature, but you beat me out and out.

SCENE VII. CAPTAIN FLASH and MRS. SENTENTIOUS.

I PLAINLY see, Madam, as to our opin­ion of high life, or what may be called living, we perfectly agree.

True, Sir, I should be sorry to differ in opinion from Captain Flash—Your taste is built by the English model, and whatever is English charms me.

Not merely from its being English, I should pre­sume, Madam, but your notions of life being regu­lated by a true taste, it is the merit of the English which you admire, and which, give me leave to add, is worthy your admiration and imitation.

[Page 37]

Sir, I never descend to definitions—the "better sort" say, that whatever comes from England is best, and so I assent to what the better sort say.

English and Excellent are synonimous terms.

Yes, Sir—

The manners of the English are so free and so engaging—

Yes, Sir—

There is so much candour, and honesty, and ele­gance, and politeness, in an Englishman—

Yes, Sir—

She assents to every thing I say, I'll try t'other way.

Allowing, Madam, for a little dissimulation—

Yes, Sir—

And mauvaise honte, and aukwardness—

Yes, Sir—

[Page 38]

You are a lady of such exquisite good breeding that you contradict nothing I say—

True—Sir—I never contradict any body but my husband—

After all, I don't know what you mean by your mauvaise honte—it sounds to me as a very odd, out of the way word.

But I took you to be a woman of words.

That is very strange, that you should take Mrs. Sententious for a woman of words—

You are disposed to be witty, Madam—

I do not aspire to the honour of being a woman of words—for my modesty would rest perfectly satis­fied with the humble title of a woman of letters.

I have had a long conversation, my dear, with Cap­tain Flash, about the English—he admires my imita­tion of the manners of the better sort—and advises me to proceed in my resolution.

He is very liberal of his advice—I am much oblig­ed to him!

Ay, Ay, people are most commonly very liberal of that which costs nothing—teach young people the main chance, and give them a clear idea of principal and interest, and they'll want no advice.

Is that all the principle you would instil into young minds—Hearken to my advice—

Very chimerical heirships these—nothing to be got by them, therefore I think you had better teach them that two and two make four.

I am not a sentimentalist, nor yet so wise as to keep my money to look at—I am a true buck, and now I'll sing you my advice.

[Page 42]

Gentlemen, I beg leave to differ from you all—I flatter myself, I possess as much of the wisdom of Mr. Hazard, as not to be cheated—as much of Mr. Sen­tentious, as not to be negligent in the relative duties, and as much of the Captain Flash, as will furnish me at any time with an answer for one of his order.

SCENE VIII.

MISS Mira, I am your most obedient slave.

Sir! I emancipate you from this instant—

I presume your good father has acquainted you with his intention of bestowing upon me your fair hand.

[Page 43]

He has: It may be in his power to bestow my hand, but remember, my heart is at my own disposal.

We never stand for trifles, nowadays, my dear—after marriage, love comes of course.

Vile, villainous suggestion!

To own the truth, I didn't expect a young lady would fall in love with me at first sight!

Dare you talk of love, whose only idea is attached to the subject of money?

Oh! fine notions truly! the sentimental! ha! money!—I'll sing you a song about that—a song I composed myself on modern love and courtship, on purpose to serenade you, my dear—in courtship I'd have you know that money is always the object—and as to love, that's all fol de rol.

Is it possible such consummate villainy can exist with mankind! How is it that misers—

Stop, Madam, stop, stop—villainy!—misers!—the lady is a little out of temper. I had something more to say, but I will adjourn it to a future opportunity—Madam, your most obedient and very humble ser­vant.

[Page 45]

Sir, Yours,

—I shall know how to get rid of him another time.

But why do I repine? If I have relied upon my spirits in the beginning, perseverance only can support me to the end. I must therefore sit down here, and calmly wait the event.

SCENE IX.

JOYFUL news! my dear Myra!

What has happened.

In conversation with your father, he informed me that he had promised you in marriage to his friend Alonzo; but he had just heard that Alonzo had lost the greatest part of his property by dealing too ex­tensively in the usury business. In consequence of which your father has utterly discarded him.

I suppose the old gentleman perceived the situation of his straitened finances and would have made himself good by attaching my fortune to his estate.

That is all! my love; Alonzo is a man of an ex­cellent heart—for though your fortune might have undergone some little diminution, he never would have proceeded to any outrage against your person.

Please to proceed in your story.

Your father then took me cordially by the hand, and begged leave to congratulate me on my good fortune.

[Page 47]

You surprize me!—what fortune?

I have been so lucky, my love, as to draw the high­est prize in the North Mills Lottery!

Let us then endeavour to view the glittering store, not as happiness, but only as a mean of enjoying it.

SCENE X.

BEHOLD, good gentlefolks, the Conscious Lovers.

I told you I would LAY A PLOT

— Mr. Henry I congratulate you on your good fortune.

Be happy, my children—I was disappointed in the character of Old Hazard—Our friend Jenny has told me strange stories—alas! alas! that there should be so much dissimulation in mankind!—However, I learn thus much—that though it may be the duty of a father to see his daughter well married off, yet there can be no harm in a girl putting on a good share of spirit to every body whomsoever.

[Page 48]

I am extremely happy that such an eclaircissement should happen in my house—One who has contribut­ed in the least to the happiness of any person, may hold up her head with the better sort.

If Jenny will now speak a good word for Yorick, it will augment the happiness of the evening, and con­clude the feast of sentiment.

Let me finish one thing at a time.—

Give me your hand.

As I have cut a great flash in the conversation of this evening, I now say, if it were possible I could for­get my King and country, I would settle in Boston, and leave off my old pranks. In the mean time I most heartily drink to your health—