Fab. Love is sometimes extremely condescending; and this Clermont is certainly a handsome young fellow.

Sir J. Curse the dog! and what is to be done?

Fab. Difficulties, any dear Sir James, are only a spur to true genius; 'tis not in vain that I bore during ten years the frock of St. Ignatius, and though compelled reluctantly to quit it, I have not forgotten the lessons I learned in that instructive seminary. What is to be done! Contrive that Clermont shall be banished the house in disgrace, and so that Emily herself shall be deceived.

Sir J. A project worthy of thee, my best of friends. But how shall this matter be brought about? If the question were to disgrace him with Mrs. Harley, I might perhaps be able to help you out.

Fab. As how?

Sir J. By a story I could tell-there must be some little variations from the truth; indeed that's a trifle; it relates to some remarks made by Clermont on Madam Harley's Craniological Essay, which I can dress up as I please.

Fab. That may not be a bad auxiliary. As to the main point, I have an embryo project in my head;-Clermont has just withdrawn a hundred pounds of his little fortune from Mr. Harley's hands. This I learned at our breakfast, Miss Emily being present; indeed it was the occasion of her betraying herself. We have here a foundation, on which methinks a superstructure might be raised. I must reflect. [He walks about.]

Sir J. Great geniuses must not be disturbed when meditating projects for the good of mankind. Reflect as much as you please, sublime Fabricio, only fail not in due time to bring forth.

Fab. Yes-so-that may do. Sir James, have you brought Patrick with you?

Sir J. The dog was so drunk, though it was but nine o'clock in the morning when I set out, that he could'n't stand behind the carriage.

Fab. Very unlucky! Why isn't there a law made to prevent servants' drinking. I have the plan in my headbut how to execute it.

Sir J. Mr. Patrick, then, had the honor of being a

party concerned in your project. But, ah heavens! what sort of an animal do I behold there ?

[RIMALDO appears, peeping in at the door.]

Rim. Mr. Fabricio-Mr. Fabricio-you are not alone, I see.

Fab. Oh is it you, Rimaldo? Come in, 'tis only my friend, Sir James O'Ryan, you needn't mind him. But what wind has blown you hither?

Rim. [coming forward] Wind indeed! 'Tis an ill wind, they say, that blows nobody good; and to be sure this wind has blown good to some folks, though not to your honor. Been at your lodgings in town-nobody there; been at Mr. Harley's-the bird was flown; glad to see, however, that my inscription has been put up; never wrote more beautiful lines in all my life

"Sacred no longer to th' Aonian maids."

Fab. They are not much amiss, it must be confessed. Rim. Oh! within these few days I have had a perfect explosion of ideas; such sallies of imagination: an absolute Parnassian frenzy. My poetic vein has flowed as the waters of Hippocrene, or rather rushed as the torrent of Cedron. Behold here the effect of my inspiration, every sort of Apollonic production. [Pulling a parcel of papers out of his pocket.]

Fab. I have no doubt that they are very fine, but I have not leisure now to attend to them. Hasten to the point. Rim. Why then the point is, to speak in plain prose, without allegory or metaphor, that there has been the devil to pay with the little

Fab. Oh, if that's all, 'tis in no such great hurry, 'twill do very well another time; so if you've nothing else to say, Rimaldo

Sir J. Nay, illustrious saint, thou hadst better hear him now. What! I warrant it, brunette was the word you cut short? Ah! Fab., Fab, thou art a sly dog; a true Jesuit after the petticoats. But why use ceremony with me? Believe me, I shan't have the better or worse opinion of thee for any thing thy Mercury can say.

Fab. Well, speak, Rimaldo. The little gypsey then does not yield?

Rim. Yield! all our schemes are baffled, quite blown up. Every thing's turned topsy-turvy since I saw you

last. Yesterday evening I went, accompanied by the bailiffs, and there exerted all my eloquence to persuade the girl that it was the duty of a child, even at the expense of her honor, to purchase the liberty of a parent, and had almost succeeded in making her believe it.

Sir J. Especially if the peccadillo should be committed with a son of the church.

Rim. Faith, no; I did not think of that, or else it would have been an excellent argument. But I talked of the great Mr. Fabricio as of a guardian angel sent by heaven to her assistance. I talked of his talents, his virtues.

Sir J. Talents and virtues !-Ha! ha! ha! Thou, a poet, shouldest have recollected the song of Daphne and Apollo, and have talked in a different strain.

Rim. Lord bless you, Sir, I talked of every thing. Above all, I descanted on the ecstasies she would feel at saving her aged parent from a prison, and contributing to the comfort of his declining years. I talked of his grey hairs descending in peace to the grave; though, by the way, the old gentleman wears a damn'd shabby caxon.

Sir J. Ha! ha! ha!-But all wouldn't do?

Rim. I was on the point of succeeding. The bailiffs had hold of the old gentleman; the brunette was on her knees imploring their compassion; and I was holding forth with more than usual eloquence, when on a sudden another guardian angel appeared, who, before one could say Jack Robinson, had paid the bailiffs, and sent 'em packing; raised the brunette from the ground, and given her to her aged parent's arms. They were pouring out their souls in effusions of gratitude and transport, while I, astounded and abashed, slunk away, and gained the street, very desirous not to be recognised by the guardian angel, who hitherto had not had leisure to bestow a glance on me.

Fab. You know the person, then?

Rim. Indeed, I do: nor is he wholly unknown to your honor: "Twas neither more nor less than Mr. Clermont. I can't say whether his benevolence received the recompense which your honor's demanded, but I rather believe it was more disinterested.

Fab. Audacious scoundrel! And how the devil came he to the knowledge of this affair?

Rim. That's more than I can say.

But you know he has a strange passion for seeking out and relieving objects in distress.

Fab. 'Twas, then, for this purpose, that he wanted the hundred pounds? But he shall pay this insult a hundred fold. I have thee now in a cleft stick, young man, and ere long thou shalt know to thy cost, that Fabricio will not be circumvented with impunity. Go, Rimaldo, and make pretty speeches to the bar-maid for a few minutes? I will call thee again presently.

Rim. If it would be the same thing to your honor, I had rather at this moment pay my court to the cook, than to the bar-maid. In the actual situation of my intestines, I should feel more inspired by the smell of a good hot beef steak, than by the most lovely pair of blue eyes that ever languished in a female head. Erit. Sir J. Ha! ha! ha! A curious original this. Whence comes he?

Fab. As you perceive, from Parnassus. But now to arrange my plan. Patrick, then, is not here?

Sir J. But I am here myself, cannot I serve

Fab. No: 'tis a valet that I want, not a master; though there are many masters who might well pass for valets; still more, perhaps, for grooms.

Sir J. Caustic as ever. But how then can the matter be arranged?

Fab. I have it now, by means of this son of Apollo.

Sir J. And can you suppose that so great a poet will condescend to turn valet?

Fab. His stomach is so empty at present, that he will do any thing for money.

Sir J. He is certainly then a very convenient personage for thee, Fab. Indeed, the history he has related speaks him not over scrupulous. Where did you pick him up?

Fub. I have knows him long. He has done me many little services. An actor at setting out in life, in that capacity he was damned; nor was fate more kind to him as a dramatic author. Obliged to seek some other mode of subsistence, he became a parish sexton, and as such was considered one of the most expert resurrection men in

town.

Sir J. Aha! I smoke the thing, you became acquainted with him as a craniologist.

Fab. Even so.

Sir J. And he has been of great assistance to you in furnishing Mrs. Harley's craniological cabinet.

Fab. Right again. Deprived, however, of his employment, from being unfortunately detected, through over confidence in his own dexterity, his principal subsistence at present is derived from being poet laureat to two of the most popular ballad-singers in town; though he is ready to do any other little jobs that will increase his earnings. But I must summon him. The plan is almost arranged in my mind. He goes to the door, and calls ] Rimaldo! Sir J. May I be made the confident of it?

Fab. You know, that ever since Mrs. Harley commenced her craniological studies, she has been wild for a bust of Dr. Gall.

Sir J. And knowing that one had been executed by a. celebrated female sculptor in this country, commissioned you to apply to the lady to execute one for her.

Fab. Which commission I readily undertook.-But where can Rimaldo be? [He calls again.] Mr. Rimaldo! This bust Mrs. Harley expects every day. I do not expect it so soon.

Sir J. That I believe indeed, sublime genius.

Fab. I was employed to procure the marble for the lady to work upon. Marble is very dear in this country; it must be of the finest carrara. I could not get a block under thirty pounds. Mrs. Harley observed, that the price was exorbitant. [He calls again.] Rimaldo, I say.

Sir J. The money was, notwithstanding, remitted to you, it is safe in your strong box, while the marble remains at the statuary's, and the lady rests wholly ignorant of the honor intended her.

Fab. Geniuses of a similar cast easily divine the thoughts of each other. But though the bust will not arrive to-day, a note of excuse on the subject may. [He calls again.] Rimaldo, I say, once more. You understand my plan now, Sir James.

Sir J. Confound me, if I understand an atom of it.

Fab. I'm sorry thou'rt so dull-but thou wilt comprehend it in due time, patience at present, for here comes our poet.