gentleman; he never troubles himself about servants.

COOK. No, he's too busy about other people's affairs to mind his own-but as for missus, agh! Exeunt SERVANTS. FEATH. (speaking outside). Trap! here, take these letters to the post, and let my horse be at the door in half an hour. Enter FEATHERLEY, followed by TRAP, with letters in his hand.

FEATH. (turning over the leaves of his memorandum book). Let me see what engagements I have to-day! Um! to call at Grip and Grind, the lawyers, about my executorship under old Bagley's will. It seems I've been unconsciously doing something I should not have done, and that I'm to be simultaneously made the defendant in twenty-four actions at law, besides standing a good chance of being committed by the Lord Chancellor for contempt. I, that have always had the

CLAPHAM.

MRS. F. (to COOK). A neat little dinner, cook, with fish and soup, and a small dessert, will suffice when we dine alone. I have marked some items in your weekly bill that may be dispensed with in future. (Gives Cook a paper.),

COOK. Oh, very well, ma'am. (Aside to the SERVANTS.) Calls herself a lady, and cuts down her cook like that.

MRS. F. (to GARDENER). I find, Drill, that growing early peas is a very costly economy; those we had the other day cost us a shilling a pea. We'll have no more early peas

GARDENER. As you please, ma'am. (Aside.) Rob a gardener of his early peas! I'll never stand that.

MRS. F. Where's the coachman?
COACHMAN. Here, madam!

MRS. F. This account of yours is not correct, Harris; I can't make thirty-five days in a month. (Gives him paper.) COACHMAN. I beg pardon, madam. (Aside.) I'll give warning to-morrow.

I

Cook (and the others talk apart). never was so insulted in my born days. GARDENER. The place won't suit me, I see.

COACHMAN. Nor me. I hate missuses who pry into what don't consarn 'em. GARDENER. But master's a perfect

VOL. V.-W. H.

ary. (Looks at memorandum book.) Twelve o'clock I'm to be at Grip and Grind's offices, Bedford Row. Twelvethat's awkward. I've promised Crawford to introduce him to Lord Lazytongs at twelve, and there are half a dozen other appointments that I must keep-but how is it to be done?

MRS. F. (at her accounts at table). Put down six and carry nothing,

FEATH. Hey! (turns, and sees MRS. F.) Eugenia, I did not perceive you. What are you doing, my love?

MRS. F. Casting up my monthly bills; would you like to look over them?

FEATH. By no means, my dear; I have the most unbounded confidence in your correctness, morally and arithmetically. I audit your accounts without looking at them, and pass them unanimously.

MRS. F. (rising, and crossing). At least, you'll sit down, Felix, and check the butcher's pass-book for me. I suspect he has put down a leg of mutton, which we have never had, and I'm not sure that his charges are always right. Sit down; here are pen and ink.

(Puts the pass-book into his hands, and sits at work-table.)

FEATH. I-I-(takes seat at table, and sighs.) What's this? "B-f-" oh, ah, that's the phonetic for beef-and here, in

11

MRS. F. Veal, my dear!

FEATH. What a superfluity of literature your butcher bestows upon a breast of veal. Um! "nine lb. ten oz., at seven pence three farthings, six and two pence three farthings.' (Aside. I might as well try to discover the longitude.) I've a dreadful headache this morning, which quite unfits me for abstruse calculation. That confounded Benson would insist on my supping with him last night, after the opera. You know Benson, my dear, an old friend of mine-capital fellow, the best cigars in London. I resisted as long as I could, knowing you were here alone, and should have been so delighted to have spent a quiet, sociable evening together; but a man must sometimes make a sacrifice of himself for his friend.

MRS. F. Undoubtedly, my dear, "sometimes," but you are perpetually offering yourself on the altar of friendship, and in your eagerness to render yourself useful to any one who needs your assistance, you entirely neglect your own affairs.

FEATH. Now, really, my dear Eugenia, you are too severe. I confess, when a friend wants a helping hand, even on a bill of exchange, I can't refuse him-it's a constitutional weakness; sternly speaking, it may be a fault-but it's not pleasant to be reminded of one's faults.

MRS. F. Forgive me, dear Felix; what I said was not meant as a reproof. Our friends have claims upon our active services, but to devote one's whole time to them

FEATH. Is preposterous! You are right, Eugenia, as you always are; from this very day forward I'll not take the slightest interest in anybody's affairs but

our own.

MRS. F. How glad I am to hear you say so, for now I want to consult you on the propriety of having one of those new washing-machines; I'm told the saving they effect in soap is immense.

FEATH. (who is turning over the leaves of his memorandum-book). Certainly, my dear, by all means let us save in soap.

MRS. F. And here are the plans for the cottages (taking them from table) I wish to have built for six poor families on your Hampshire estate. Are they not pretty? FEATH. (looking at them carefully). Charming cozy little nests, with the wood

perfect paradise for hedge-sparrows.

MRS. F. I have calculated they can be built for a very moderate sum indeed; and although we are not rich, we may, by retrenching a few of our expenses, and by

FEATH. Saving in soap

MRS. F. Be enabled to contribute to the comfort of these poor people, without materially inconveniencing ourselves.

FEATH. And the consciousness of having done a benevolent action will make us endure our privations with fortitude. By the bye, Eugenia, don't you think this room wants refurnishing? The curtains are as faded as a fashionable beauty at the end of the London season.

MRS. F. We must send them to the dyer, then, to recover their good looks. Here are the estimates for my cottages. (Taking paper from table.) Will you examine them, dear?

Enter TRAP, flat with letter on salver, which he hands to MRS. FEATHERLEY, who opens and reads it to herself.

TRAP exits.

FEATH. Estimates! I'm utterly incompetent to the task! I haven't a head for bricks and mortar. Pray, my dear, take all these matters into your own hands (looking at his watch), for I really have not time. (Aside.) She's a charming little creature, and so good. I'm sure if she had been anybody's wife but my own I should be distractedly in love with her.

MRS. F. I have invitation cards here, Felix, to Mrs. Grimshaw's Excelsior Conversazione this evening. Will you come?

FEATH. Mrs. Grimshaw! (Aside.) 1 know that terrible piece of intellectuality who stands up for the rights of woman in undarned stockings. I'll not be lured to her den, if I can help it.

MRS. F. Well-what do you say? Miss Thornback, the famous American advocate for abolishing the distinction between the sexes, is to be there.

FEATH. (Aside). Heaven preserve me! On consideration, my dear, I have an engagement this evening. The fact is, I have promised to meet Sir Twamley Turner at the Megatherium-I want to secure his interest to get young Wotherspoon a place under government, where there's a good salary, and nothing to do for it.

FEATH. So much the better. I can draw on my imagination for his merits, which I could not do if I knew him more intimately.

MRS. F. Then you cannot accompany me-but this afternoon, you remember, you have promised to take me to the flower-show at Chiswick.

FEATH. This afternoon! Well, now that is particularly unfortunate-I quite forgot the flower-show, and I have-a

MRS. F. Made another engagement (with emotion). 'Tis the first time since we were married that I felt the bitterness of being forgotten-but I have no right to be exacting-I claim neither your time nor your thoughts-nothing, Felix-nothing that your heart does not spontaneously yield me. (She turns away to conceal her tears.)

FEATH. Hem, hem! (Aside.) There, I've brought tears to her eyes, and rashly charged those formidable engines against myself. Hem! I can't stand it. I find I must give up the day to domestic exigencies. Eugenia, my love, don't:-nothing spoils the eyes so much as tears, and yours are such beautiful ones. As you seem to desire it, I will remain at home with you this morning, and in the afternoon we'll go together to the flower-show. MRS. F. (delighted). Dear dear Felix, have I, indeed, not lost the power of rendering you happy in my society? Do I still possess the empire I once held over your heart?

FEATH. Undivided and absolute-with all the rights, privileges and prerogatives appertaining to the sovereignty of that vital organ. I have discussed the matter seriously with myself, and have arrived at the conclusion that man can nowhere be so happy as in his own home, when that home is brightened by the presence of a beloved object. (Sighs.)

MRS. F. (caressing him). Dear Felix, now you speak as you used to do. (He puts his arm round her waist.) This is so like your manner when we were married twelve months ago.

FEATH. Only twelve! I thought it was much longer.

MRS. F. Has the time, then, been wearisome to you?

FEATH. Oh, no, no-it has been one long-very long dream of happiness.

MRS. F. Certainly. (MRS. FEATHERLEY opens piano.) What shall I sing you? (Turning over some music.) Ah! here's that pretty little romance you wrote for me-when-need I say when, Felix?

FEATH. Oh, no; I remember perfectly -it was one of my nonsensical effusions, when I was spoons about you.

MRS. F. Spoons!

FEATH. Well, when I was dying in love with you, my dear. Have you nothing from the new opera, or that last pretty ballad?

MRS. F. You know, dear, that since we came to town my time has been so completely occupied by household duties I have not had leisure to open the piano.

FEATH. Very true, and I have no doubt you performed those duties with unflinching zeal, and managed the affairs of the pantry with an executive skill that merits my warmest acknowledgments. Never mind the ante-nuptial romance.

MRS. F. Well, then, I will read for you, Felix. You used to be fond of poetry. (Takes an album from table.) And here are some beautiful pieces I have copied in my album.

FEATH. Yes, I am particularly partial to poetry, and should like, of all things, to hear you read to me.

MRS. F. How singular! I have opened at a sonnet addressed to me by yourself. We may fancy ourselves lovers again, Felix, as on the day you gave it to me.

FEATH. Ah, that was an eventful day! I remember, I had half an ounce of prussic acid prepared to swallow in your presence if you had rejected me. But the sacrifice was averted-for, like a pitying angel, you accepted me, and my life was saved, with the loss of my hand. (Nestling comfortably amongst the cushions.) What followed is matter of parochial history. Ah, well, let me hear it.

MRS. F. (reads). "The harp I take

but I can choose no theme, Eugenia, but thyself, when thou art nigh. Oh, grant me inspiration from the beam Of liquid light that laughs in either eye, Like twin stars, mirrored in the dimpling stream.'

"Dimpling

FEATH. (drowsily). stream. That's pretty! MRS. F. "Grant inspiration by those lips' sweet sigh, Which flies as odor-laden zephyrs fly, O'er beds of infant roses

(FEATHERLEY slightly snores.) Hey? FEATH. (rousing himself). Charming -charming! Your reading has such a tranquillizing effect.

(While MRS. FEATHERLEY continues to read, FEATHERLEY gradually falls asleep.) MRS. F. "Grant inspiration by those lips' sweet sigh,

Which flies as odor-laden zephyrs fly, O'er beds of infant roses-lips, which

seem

Sweet music's ruby gates-and I will try,

By one ethereal presumptive flight,

To woo the muses in their native sky: But look not so; with eyes so killing bright,

They scorch, they dazzle, and consume me quite.

Yet better thus, to perish in their light, Than live without their beams in darkest night."

ICEBROOK appears at the door, while MRS. FEATHERLEY is reading. When she has concluded, he applauds FEATHERLEY, awakened by the noise, jumps up and applauds too.

FEATH. Beautiful, beautiful, beauti-
1
ICE.
ful!

FEATH. Capital! (Returning to comsciousness.) Ah! what, my dear fellow, Icebrook! Ha, ha, ha! You have surprised us in one of our little conjugal matinées. I'm an enthusiast in poetry and my wife's reading

ICE. (significantly). Sets every care to sleep.

FEATH. (apart to him). Don't-don't. The heat of the weather, and-a drowsy calmness to which I am occasionally subject

MRS. F. (laughing). It was scarcely fair of you, Mr. Icebrook, to play the eavesdropper-I never read aloud but to please my husband.

FEATH. Never, but to please me. (Yawns slightly.) It's delightful when we're alone (chimney clock strikes eleven).

MRS. F. Eleven! dear me, how time flies and I have a thousand things to do.

Shall we expect you to dinner, Mr. Icebrook?

ICE. Madame-I-I-a-fear that-IFEATH. Oh, hang your fears! you must come-we shall be quite alone and dullhem-I mean quiet and sociable.

MRS. F. We shall reckon on you, then? have first to visit our girls' school, then to (ICEBROOK bows.) Let me see, now, I call on one or two tradespeople: but you shall find me ready at one o'clock to accompany you to the flower-show; sc till then, good-bye, dear.

MRS. FEATHERLEY courtesies to ICEBROOK, and exits.

FEATH. Frank, that's an adorable woman! But I've discovered she has one serious fault, she's-(sighs).

ICE. What?

FEATH. She's too good for me. ICE. Ha, ha, ha! That's a strange fault in a wife.

FEATH. It's a melancholy fact, though. Eugenia was intended by nature to shed a mild lustre on a family hearthrug. She should have been united to a man who could appreciate as they deserve her devotion to domestic duties and her talent for pickles. Would you believe it, Frank, that angel knows the multiplication table abstract point of view, I don't object to in all its complex ramifications. In an the intellectual advancement of the sex

but a man feels himself humbled in the presence of a woman who knows the multiplication table.

ICE. Poor fellow! how deeply you are to be pitied! But if I could picture such a future to myself, with the woman I love, what a happy dog I should be!

FEATH. Ah! I envy you those delicious sensations. I once experienced them myself, when I was Eugenia's lover. Days of blissful illusion! We loved (sighs), and we married. For one whole month I floated in Elysium-not a cloud dimmed our honeymoon; but, alas! honeymoons don't shine all the year round (sighs). By the bye, Frank, how goes on your suit with the widow you were pursuing? Has she consented to throw herself and three per cent. consols into your victorious arms?

ICE. Pray don't make a jest of my suf fering. I am really and seriously in love with the paragon of women.

FEATH. Seriously?

ICE. Seriously! It's not a matter to be laughed at.

FEATH. You are quite right; we must not make a jest of your misfortune. In the course of nature, every man is liable to love we take it like the measles-I know all its symptoms from experience there are three stages to the complaint first, you love, very bad, indeed; secondly, you are beloved-slight improvement; thirdly, you are married-and the cure is complete.

ICE. You traitor to the noblest passion that ever warmed the human breast-do you deny the eternity of love?

FEATH. By no means. It sometimes lives through a whole honeymoon. But about your widow, Frank. You never told me her name.

ICE. Her name is Swandown. FEATH. Swandown! What a nice, soft, comfortable name-Mrs. Swandown. Ah! it's a name to love-and this delicious Swandown-I know she must be delicious-is she propitious to your suit? ICE. That's precisely what I want to discover. I cannot any longer endure my

torment.

FEATH. Is it a chronic attachment on your part?

ICE. Decidedly-from my earliest childhood I secretly loved my little playmate.

FEATH. Precocious susceptibility! ICE. I was sent early from college to travel, and during my absence she was married to a rich old city merchant.

FEATH. Ay, the vagrant Cupid-though he flutters about a good deal amongst bowers and flowers and cottages, generally closes his wings near the Bank of England.

ICE. I can't describe to you the effect her marriage had upon me. I was miserable, and had serious notions of retiring to a hermitage on the summit of Mont Blanc! but at the end of five years, and before I put my solitary project into execution, Mrs. Swandown's husband died.

FEATH. Heaven released the poor man from his labors, and his inconsolable relict, I dare say, dropped a warm tear upon the cold stone where his numerous years and virtues were recorded.

the lady's, I'll be sworn. The fact is, you're so cursedly cold and reserved amongst women

ICE. No-no-'tis not coldness; 'tis the profound awe which a petticoat inspires, that strikes me dumb. When Mrs. Swandown is not present, I compose speeches full of poetry and passion, but the moment she appears I lose the power of speech.

FEATH. Ha, ha, ha, ha! If you can't speak, why don't you take her hand?

ICE. So I do, every time we meet. Oh, that lovely hand! so white, so small, so soft, that I

FEATH. That you kiss it rapturously. If you were an anchorite you could not do less-I couldn't-no man could

ICE. Me kiss it-I never attempted any thing so daring-though I confess I should greatly like it. Sometimes when she abstractedly leaves that little hand in mind, I am sorely tempted, but I call resolution to my aid, and respectfully let it go.

FEATH. Frank, I wish you were not my friend-I wish I did not respect your high moral principles, that I might kick you out of my house this moment. You a lover, and drop the hand of your charmer as if it was the claw of a griffin !

ICE. I wish I had a little of your impudence; but I haven't. I can't look in the face of a woman under sixty years of age without blushing, and I feel more alarmed at a glance from a pair of bright eyes than at a brace of pistols levelled at my head. Therefore, I am come to ask your assist

ance.

I haven't an idea how you can help me, but you're such a clever fellow, and so good-natured, that I make no apology for troubling you.

FEATH. Not the least occasion, my dear fellow. I live but to oblige my friends, and my friends kindly live to make use of me. Now let's see what's to be done for you. Have you ever written to Mrs. Swandown?

ICE. Never. I tried, but my hand shook so I was obliged to give it up.