your liberties; whereas you went every Lord's day abroad to the park, and a visiting. You went every day almost to the plays, spent your time at home playing at cards, reading plays, and the like.

Niece. It is true, Madam, we did so; but we did not reckon these unlawful liberties, Madam, nor do I yet think so.

Aunt. I am sorry for that, my dear, I am quite of another mind.

Niece. But, Madam, if they were so, who gave us the example? who bred us up in that liberty? Did not my father and mother always go out with us to the park on Sundays, and go with us to the play? Nay, did they not lead us into it by their example? And did not my mother give me most of those very books she threw into the fire, out of her own closet? If this was a wicked course, why did they not bring us up otherwise, and not introduce us to it themselves?

Aunt. My child, they own they were in the wrong, and that is their grief. I have heard them express themselves with tears, and a just sorrow, on that account; and they are forward enough to charge themselves with it, as the cause of all the obstinacy of you and your brother, in re. sisting their measures of reformation; and should not reproach them, my dear, with what they repent of.

you

Niece. I do not reproach them, perhaps they have cause for their repentance; but still it may be allowed for a reason against their so violently driving us into their new measures, and breaking us off from our friends and society at once, without any other reason, but that they thought fit to have it so. Had we been little children, it had been another case.

Aunt. I cannot be against you, niece, in it, though this part may seem hard to you; for if the thing was necessary and just, you could not justify so great a breach with your father and mother, for the manner of it.

Niece. That is what I looked for, Madam, and is the

reason why I mentioned it; for if Mr.

thinks to go

on with what my father has begun, I am no wife for him to be sure. If I were, why should I come away from my

father?

Indeed, niece, I love you respect for him also, and,

Aunt. Why, if you were married to my son would you refuse to have him pray to God in his family, or to join with him if he did? very well; but I have so much above all, so much zeal for the keeping up the face of religion in families, that I could not in conscience be for the match.

Niece. If, Madam, that had been the quarrel between my father and me, why did I come to your house? Do I scruple going to prayers with you all here? Did I omit going to church with my father? or do I omit it here? You are satisfied I knew the orders of your family before 1 came hither. This makes it plain it was not that which made the dispute, but the manner of his acting, and abridging us of all those liberties he had bred us up in, and then beginning a new discipline, when he ought to have allowed us to be past discipline: why did he not, without all that ceremony, and those severities upon us, called his family to prayers, and called us in, do you think, Madam, we would have run away, or have left our father, because of his going to prayers?

Aunt. Well, niece, though he might have done so, yet I cannot think you were in the right in it, nor your brother, neither; who, I hear, insults bis father very rudely ever since, because he has an estate without him: but I fear that young gentleman will want bread yet, unless his father help him; I am persuaded I shall live to see him brought to his father's door in as bad a condition as the prodigal, though without the prodigal's repentance. I wish I am not too true a prophetess.

Niece. This very thing is the reason, Madam, why I am so willing to speak of this case, before I can talk any thing to the purpose about Mr.

Aunt. Why, child, what does this relate to him? He knows it all, and we know it all, and yet we are willing he should make you his wife; if these things do not hinder on his side, sure they can never hinder on your side.

Niece. I think just the contrary, Madam, and I beg you will bear with me, in speaking it plainly. "Tis true, he knows all this as well as you do; but if he believes me in the wrong too, as you do, I would be glad to know how I, that think myself in the right, am to live with him, in the case of such liberties which I justify, and he condemns: to be sure, if I thought them not justifiable, I would go home to my father this minute, and ask his pardon upon my knees; and if I continue to think them justifiable, I shall think it more hard to be abridged by my husband than I did by my father. And this is the difficulty I mentioned before.

Aunt. Why, child, what liberties do you mean? or what would you speak of in such a case? I hope you would desire no unlawful, unbecoming liberties, especially when you were a wife, and a mistress of a family.

Niece. I hope not, Madam, nor unbecoming restraints, neither; and that is the reason of my discourse: he may think himself willing to run the risk of the last; for our power of acting under them will be by no means equal.

[Just at this word, the young gentleman comes in again.]

Aunt. Here's my son, let him answer for himself. State your objection.

Niece. No, Madam, you can do it much better.

[The aunt repeats the words to him.]

Son. I wonder, Madam, you should think I should practise restraints with you; I see nothing in your conversation that prepares me to expect you can want a restraint, or that bids me fear it.

Niece. I may be a worse wife than I am a cousin, as 1

have been a worse daughter to my father, than I have been a niece to my aunt.

Son. I am not so willing to suppose that, as I am well satisfied to the contrary.

Niece. But I would know what restraints I am to expect.

Son. You can hardly mention upon what occasion. Niece. Upon the very probable occasion of my being a bad wife.

Son. That's a general head; and yet you shall have a particular answer to it, Madam. I know no practical restraints that a husband can honestly make use of, but those of intreaties, persuasions, and kind reasonings; and those I know you would allow.

Niece. You are capable of learning, though you may know no other yet.

Son. Pray, Madam, be so particular then, as to name some of the cases in which you apprehend I shall restrain

vou.

Niece. Perhaps I will go to the play, what will you do? You won't go with me.

Son. To the door, Madam, to see you safe, I should. Niece. Perhaps, when you will go to prayers, I go a visiting.

Son. If you won't let me pray with you, Madam, I hope you'll let me pray for you.

Niece. Suppose I have a mind to go to the park on Sundays.

Son. I'll show you the reasons why I dare not go with you, and use all the intreaties and persuasions I can with you not to act so much against your own conscience; and I hope to prevail with you too. But to wave such sugges tions: upon the whole, Madam, it is my principle, and I believe it will be my practice, that between man and wife no violence can be justified, but that of affectionate, tender persuasion, and a reasoning importunity. My disposition does not lead me to rudeness; all the government, and all

U

the obedience of the married state, that I have any notion of, consists in the dominion of love, and the subjection of ⚫ love. What monster I may be transformed into, I cannot say, but this is my judgment, and I persuade myself, you are not apprehensive of the rest, any more than I am ap prehensive of your acting as you say you will.

Sist. This, brother, was the substance of our discourse and an odd sort of courting you'll say it was; and thus the case stands now: what shall I resolve to do in it, I know not. What would you advise me to?

Bro. I'll be very plain with you, sister: if you were on as good terms with your father as ever you were, yet if this had offered then, I would have advised you to have had him, if ever you expected to be happy. He is a sober, virtuous, generous spirited gentleman, and such a one can never use you ill. I know you love Sir Anthony but you are undone if ever you have him; for he is a brute and a beggar: he only wants your money; and if he marries you, he has neither estate to maintain you, sonse to entertain you, or manners to use you well.

Sist. I believe I shall take your advice, truly, but I shall not be too hasty.

Bro. I am glad to see you in so fair a way to come off this ugly family broil.

Sist. I do not see that this will bring me off of it at all, my father will be the same man.

Bro. Yes, yes, it will bring you off; he will bring you to be reconciled, and my aunt will work another way; and if it should be impossible, still you are provided for.

Sist. I can't say but I shall be provided for, yet I own I shall never enjoy myself; for whether I am right or wrong, I cannot say I am easy to be at such a variance as not to be on speaking terms with my own father and

mother.

Bro. That's just my case. I know not what I shall do to go abroad, and perhaps may never see them again; and to go, and not so much as see them again, or have their