remember now-'twas Xanthus-plague o' the namethat's it.

Quiz. Egad! so 'tis. "Thankus, Thankus "-that's it -strange I could not remember it. [Aside.] "Twouldhave been stranger if I had.

Sir Ch. You seem at times a little absent, Mr. Blackletter.

Quiz. [Aside.] Absent! I wish I was absent altogether.

Sir Ch. We shall not disagree about learning, sir. I discover you are a man, not only of profound learning, but

correct taste.

Quiz. [Aside.] I am glad you have found that out, for I never should. I came here to quiz the old fellow, and he'll quiz me, I fear. [Aloud.] O, by-the-by, I have been so confused-I mean, so confounded: pshaw! so much engrossed with the contemplation of the Latin classics, I had almost forgot to give you a letter from your son.

Sir Ch. Bless me, sir! why did you delay that pleasure so long?

Quiz. I beg pardon, sir, here 'tis. [Gives a letter.] Sir Ch. [Puts on his spectacles and reads.] "To Miss Clara."

Quiz. No, no, no-that's not it-here 'tis. [Takes the letter, and gives him another.]

Sir Ch. What, are you the bearer of love epistles, too, Mr. Blackletter?

Quiz. [Aside.] What a horrid blunder. [Aloud.] Oh, no, sir, that letter is from a female cousin at a boardingschool, to Miss Clara Upright,-no, Downright. That's the name.

Sir Ch. Truly, she writes a good masculine fist. Well, let me see what my boy has to say. [Reads.]

"Dear Father,-There is a famous Greek manuscript just come to light. I must have it. The price is about a thousand dollars. Send me the money by the bearer." Short and sweet. There's a letter for you, in the true Lacedæ

monian style-laconic. Well, the boy shall have it, were it ten times as much. I should like to see this Greek manuscript. Pray, sir, did you ever see it?

Quiz. I can't say I ever did, sir. [Aside.] This is the only truth I have been able to edge in, yet.

Sir Ch. I'll just send to my bankers for the money. In the mean time, we will adjourn to my library. I have been much puzzled with an obscure passage in Livy—we must lay our heads together for a solution. But I am sorry you are addicted to such absence of mind, at times.

Quiz. "Tis a misfortune, sir; but I am addicted to a greater than that, at times.

Sir Ch. Ah! what's that?

Quiz. I am sometimes addicted to an absence of body.
Sir Ch. As how?

Quiz. Why thus, sir. [Takes up his hat and stick, and walks off]

Sir Ch. Ha, ha, ha,-that's an absence of body, sure enough an absence of body with a vengeance! A very merry fellow this. He will be back for the money, I suppose, presently. He is, at all events, a very modest man, not fond of expressing his opinion-but that's a mark of merit.

CCV.--GIL BLAS AND THE OLD ARCHBISHOP.

LA SAGE.

Archbishop. Well, young man, what is your business with me?

Gil Blas. I am the young man whom your nephew, Don Fernando, was pleased to mention to you.

Arch. Oh! you are the person, then, of whom he spoke so handsomely. I engage you in my service, and consider you a valuable acquisition. From the specimens he showed me of your powers, you must be pretty well acquainted with the Greek and Latin authors. It is very evident your education has not been neglected. I am satisfied with your handwriting, and still more with your un

derstanding. I thank my nephew, Don Fernando, for having given me such an able young man, whom I consider a rich acquisition. You transcribe so well, you must certainly understand grammar. Tell me, ingenuously, my friend, did you find nothing that shocked you in writing over the homily I sent you on trial,-some neglect, perhaps, in style, or some improper term?

Gil B. Oh! sir, I am not learned enough to make critical observations; and if I was, I am persuaded the works of your grace would escape my censure.

Arch. Young man, you are disposed to flatter; but tell me, which parts of it did you think most strikingly beautiful.

Gil B. If, where all was excellent, any parts were particularly so, I should say they were the personification of hope, and the description of a good man's death.

Arch. I see you have a delicate knowledge of the truly beautiful. This is what I call having taste and sentiment. Gil Blas, henceforth give thyself no uneasiness about thy fortune, I will take care of that. I love thee, and as a proof of my affection, I will make thee my confidant: yes, my child, thou shalt be the repository of my most secret thoughts. Listen with attention to what I am going to say. My chief pleasure consists in preaching, and the Lord gives a blessing to my homilies, but I confess my weakness. The honor of being thought a perfect orator has charmed my imagination: my performances are thought equally nervous and delicate; but I would of all things avoid the fault of good authors, who write too long. Wherefore, my dear Gil Blas, one thing that I exact of thy zeal, is, whenever thou shalt perceive my pen smack of old age, and my genius flag, don't fail to advertise me of it, for I don't trust to my own judgment, which may be seduced by self-love. That observation must proceed from a disinterested understanding, and I make choice of thine, which I know is good, and am resolved to stand by thy decision.

Gil B. Thank heaven, sir, that time is far off. Besides, a genius like that of your grace, will preserve its vigor much better than any other; or, to speak more justly, will be always the same. I look upon you as another Cardinal Ximenes, whose superior genius, instead of being weakened, seemed to acquire new strength by age.

Arch. No flattery, friend: I know I am liable to sink all at once. People at my age begin to feel infirmities, and the infirmities of the body often affect the understanding. I repeat it to thee again, Gil Blas, as soon as thou shalt judge mine in the least impaired, be sure to give me notice. And be not afraid of speaking freely and sincerely, for I shall receive thy advice as a mark of thy affection.

Gil B. Your grace may always depend upon my fidelity. Arch. I know thy sincerity, Gil Blas; and now tell me plainly, hast thou not heard the people make some remarks upon my late homilies ?

Gil B. Your homilies have always been admired, but it seems to me that the last did not appear to have had so powerful an effect upon the audience as former ones.

Arch. How, sir, has it met with any Aristarchus ?

Gil B. No, sir, by no means, such works as yours are not to be criticised: everybody is charmed with them. Nevertheless, since you have laid your injunctions upon me to be free and sincere, I will take the liberty to tell you that your last discourse, in my judgment, has not altogether the energy of your other performances. Did you not think so, sir, yourself?

Arch. So, then, Gil Blas, this piece is not to your taste? Gil B. I don't say so, sir: I think it excellent, although a little inferior to your other works.

Arch. I understand you: you think I flag, don't you? Come, be plain: you believe it is time for me to think of retiring.

Gil B. I should not have been so bold as to speak so freely, if your grace had not commanded me: I do no

more, therefore, than obey you; and I most humbly beg that you will not be offended at my freedom.

Arch. God forbid! God forbid that I should find

fault with it. I don't at all take it ill that you should speak your sentiments, it is your sentiment itself, only, that I find bad. I have been most egregiously deceived in your narrow understanding.

Gil B. Your grace will pardon me for obeying

Arch. Say no more, my child, you are yet too raw to make proper distinctions. Be it known to you, I never composed a better homily than that which you disapprove; for, my genius, thank Heaven, hath, as yet, lost nothing of its vigor: henceforth I will make a better choice of a confidant. Go! go, Mr. Gil Blas, and tell my treasurer to give you a hundred ducats, and may Heaven conduct you with that sum. Adieu, Mr. Gil Blas! I wish you all manner of prosperity, with a little more taste.

CCVI.-CONVERSATIONS AFTER MARRIAGE.

From "THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL."

PART FIRST.

R. B. SHERIDAN.

Enter LADY TEAZLE and SIR PETER.

Sir Peter. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it! Lady Teazle. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in every thing; and what's more, I will too. What! though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married.

Sir P. Very well, ma'am, very well-so a husband is to have no influence, no authority?

Lady T. Authority! No, to be sure :-if you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me: I am sure you were old enough.