quainted with my motives, and if you will only promise that you will not betray me, (he takes out his pocket book, and offers a note,) any remuneration that is within the compass of my finances

Stew. No, no, cook; put up your money; I won't deprive you of any more. What I said, was only to put you in a fidget. But come, cook, the sooner you get about serving up the dinner, the better; you'll have a wedding dinner to prepare.

Char. A wedding dinner! for whom?

Stew. For Miss Courtley, who is to be married to-morrow morning, to our young secretary.

Char. To the secretary?

Stew. Aye, he that gave you such a lecture in the art of cookery. But bless your soul, he's no more a secretary than you or me. He's a lover in disguise.

Char. A lover in disguise! (In a rage.) What, Ellen, the lovely Ellen, a party to such a diabolical plot! I cannot, will not believe it. But I'll know the truth; I'll seek out this soi disans secretary, and if he dares to confirm the steward's statement, either he shall relinquish his pretensions, or I'll blow his brains out. (As he advances furiously, enter Alderman Gayfare; they meet face to face.)

Char. My father!

Gay. My son!

Stew. (Aside.) What, our cook the son of an alderman? This is a day of wonders. (Exit Steward.-After a moment of surprise, Charles attempts to pass Gayfare, who pushes him back.)

Gay. No, young man, you shall not escape me now. I have found you. What, you have been playing at bo-peep, have you? Well, come, my boy, give me your hand. (They shake hands.) I'm glad to see you; I know your attachment and your wishes; I intended to be in a terrible sham passion with you, but I'm too honest for dissimulation, and too hungry to do any thing to delay the dinner. I've paved the way for you with Sir George, and he has promised me that to-morrow morn. ing shall make Miss Courtley my daughter-in-law.

(Enter Sir George Courtley and Ellen.)

Sir G. (As he enters, having heard the last part of Gay fare's speech.) No, alderman, no, I protest against that. Gay. Why, Sir George, you surely will not pay so little re. gard to your word as

Sir G. Remember the conditions, that your son shall meet my approbation; and after the scene which we have just acted together

Char. (Aside.) We have acted together!

Sir G. If it had not been for our friendship, I verily believe I should have thrown him out of the window. But as he was your son, I contented myself by merely kicking him out of my study.

Gay. (Bowing.) Upon my honor, Sir George, I am much indebted to you for your forbearance. (To Charles.) Come, sir, why don't you express your acknowledgments to Sir George, for his kind consideration?

Char. My dear sir, I scarcely know whether I'm awake or asleep; but if this be a vision, I'm undone. (He advances to Ellen, and takes her hand.)

Sir G. (To Charles.) And pray, who are you, sir?
Gay. Who is he? Why, my son, to be sure.

Sir G. This your son?

El. Certainly, papa; this is Charles.

Sir G. Then, who in the name of common decency and decorum, was that fellow who was with me in my study, and whom the steward introduced to me as my secretary: a vulgar booby, who could not write three words of intelligible English?

Char. I happen to know something of him, sir: he pretended to be a lover of Miss Courtley's in disguise. (Charles and Ellen confer apart.)

Sir G. In disguise! Then he must have had some improper motives; he must be pursued.

Gay. Not before dinner, Sir George, I beseech you, for in the very nick of time, here it comes, and if I fast five minutes longer, I shall faint.

(Enter four Footmen, each carrying a dish, which they place upon the table; then enters Sam Savory, in his cook's dress, with an apron on and a napkin on his arm, covering a dish with great care.)

Sir G. (Recognizing Savory.) Why, by all that's miraculous, this is the fellow I was just speaking of!

Sam. You did me too much honor, sir.

Gay. Why, bless my heart, 'tis my old cook, Sam Savory, whom I intended to recommend to your notice. (To Sam.) Why, zounds, you rascal, have you been the cause of all this confusion? (He raises his cane, as if going to strike him.)

Sam. (Cooly taking off the cover, and holding the dish under Gayfare's nose.) Strike, sir, strike, but smell.

Gay. What have we here? (Smelling.) By my appetite, 'tis my favorite dish: marinated pheasants' poults, as I hope to be saved.

Sam. (He goes and places the dish upon the table, then comes forward and addresses Sir George.) Please your excellency, I was your secretary by accident, and am now your cook by inclination. Although I was a fool in the study, I trust that by descending a story or two lower, I become a man of talent; for, according to the old proverb, the gentleman is known by his actions, and the cook by his ragouts.

Char. I fancy Sir George does not yet fully comprehend the arcana of this day's adventures; but I'm now in perfect possession of them, and shall make it my business to explain them at table. We have been for some time playing a game of cross purposes; but, thank fortune, we are all now restored to our proper places; and 1 hope every one present is as well satisfied as I am. (He leads Ellen forward, and addresses the audience.) The approbation of our indulgent friends, is the element in which alone we can live; and I trust we shall not, on the present occasion, find ourselves in that sense, "Fish out of Water." (Exeunt.)

XXVIII.-FROM THE FASHIONABLE LOVER.-Cum

berland.

MORTIMER-AUBREY-COLIN MACLEOD-BRIDGEMORE-NAP

THALI-SERVANT.

Scene 1.-Fish Street Hill.

(Enter Aubrey.)

Aubrey. If Bridgemore hasn't shifted his abode, that is the house-'twas there that, eighteen years ago, I lost a wife, and left an infant daughter. All-disposing Providence, who hast ordained me to this hour, and, through innumerable toils and dangers, led me back to this affecting spot, can it be wondered at, if I approach it with an anxious, aching heart, uncertain as I am, if I have still a child or not? What shall I do? If my Augusta's lost, 'twere better I should never enter those illomened doors; if she survives, how shall I disclose myself, and

tell her she has still a father! Oh! that, unknown and unperceived, I could but catch a sight of her; gaze till I'd gratified my longing, and 'till this throbbing might abate. I'll watch the door till somebody comes out that I may speak to. (Steps aside.)

(Enter Colin.)

Colin. The murrain light upon this Fish Street Hill, whereever it may be. I would it had na' got its name for naught, that I might fairly smell it out, for I am clear bewaldered. Johnny Groat's house would as soon be found, as this same Bradgemore's. One cries, turn o' this hand, one o' that; t'other stares and grins, forsooth, because I hanna' got the modern gabble on my tongue, but speak the language in its auncient purity. Hoot! this mon seems of a batter sort, and, peradventure, would concede an answer. Speed you, gentleman, I pray you, which way leads to Fish Street Hill?

Aub. This is Fish Street Hill.

Col.

Gadzooks! and that's the reason I could find it na' where alse. Ken ye one Bradgemore's, may I ask?

Aub. He used to live in yonder house, with the great gates; but it is many years since I have been in England.

Col. I' faith, you need na' tell me that; I apprehend as much, from your civility.

Aub. Give me leave, now, in my turn, to ask you a few questions.

Col. With aw my heart; you have good right; you may interrogate me freely.

his

Aub. You are acquainted with this Bridgemore?

Col. I am.

Col. Ay, and enough, in aw good reason; the de'il, sir, in vengeance, need na' add a third.

Aub. But, to be serious; tell me, I beseech you, do you know of no one else in Mr. Bridgemore's family?

Col. Of none.

Aub. What do I hear? Pray recollect yourself, honest friend; has no young lady, of the name of Aubrey, come within your knowledge?

Col, Ay, ay, poor lassie; she once lived with Bradgemore;

the worse luck hers, but that is over; she has got her liberty; she's now released.

Aub. I understand you-she is dead.

Col. Dead! Heaven forefend! An' you would give me time, I would ha' told you she's released from yon fat fellow's tyranny. Na' more; out on him filthy porpoise! aw the bowels in his belly, though he has got gude store, dunna' contain one grain of pity. Troth, with his gude will, she might ha' starved and perished in the streets.

Aub. What is't you tell me? In the same breath, you bring my hopes to life, and murder them again. Starved in the streets! I thought she had an affluent fortune.

Col. In virtue, sir-nought else; and that will not pass current for a dinner. Zooks! and I mysall, by heaven's gude Providence, had na' stapt in, upon the very nick of time, my life upon't, she had been lost.

Aub. Distraction! how this racks my heart.

Col. Ay, and mine too. Ecod, it gave it sic a pull, I can. na', for the sol of me, get it back into its place again.

Aub. Come to my arms, then, whosoever thou art, and wonder not, for thou hast saved my daughter!

Col. Daughter! gadzooks! you make my heart jump to my laps for joy. Are you Miss Aubrey's father?

Aub. I am her father.

Col. An' if I'd found mine awn, I could na' been more happy. Wall, wall, I hope you'll merit your gude fortune; by my sol, you've got an angel of a child. But where have you been buried aw the while? for we believed you dead.

Aub. You shall hear all my story, but this is no fit place to tell it in; satisfy me, first, if my poor child is safe.

Col. Fear nought, she's safe with Maister Mortimer; I laft her but this moment.

Aub. Who is Mr. Mortimer?

Col. Why, Maister Mortimer is one who does a thousand noble acts, without the credit of one; his tongue wounds, and his heart makes whole; he must be known, and not described. An you will bait awhile in yonder tavern, till I come from Bradgemore's, I'll accompany you to your daughter.

Aub. Agreed. I fear I've been mistaken in this Bridgemore. Three years ago I consigned to him a cargo of great value from Scanderoon; if he has robbed me-but, till I've seen my daughter, I'll suspend my inquiry. Step with me into yonder tavern; there we'll concert the means of bringing