Julia. Most right! I had forgot! I thank you, sir, For so reminding me; and give you joy,

That what, I see, had been a burthen to you,
Is fairly off your hands.

Clif. A burthen to me!

Mean you yourself? Are you that burthen, Julia?
Say that the sun's a burthen to the earth!
Say that the blood's a burthen to the heart!
Say health's a burthen, peace, contentment, joy,
Fame, riches, honours! everything that man
Desires, and gives the name of blessing to!-
E'en such a burthen, Julia were to me,
Had fortune let me wear her.

Fulia. [Aside.] On the brink

Of what a precipice I'm standing! Back,
Back! while the faculty remains to do 't!
A minute longer, not the whirlpool's self
More sure to suck me down!

One effort! There!

[She returns to her seat, recovers her self-possession,
takes up the letter, and reads,

To wed to-morrow night! Wed whom? A man
Whom I can never love! I should before

Have thought of that! To-morrow night! This hour
To-morrow! How I tremble! Happy bands

To which my heart such freezing welcome gives,
As sends an ague through me! At what means
Will not the desperate snatch! What's honour's price?
Nor friends, nor lovers,—no, nor life itself!
Clifford! This moment leave me!

[CLIFFORD retires up the stage out of JULIA'S sight. Is he gone!

O docile lover! Do his mistress' wish

Nor turn it over once, but many a time :-
That flaw, speck,-yea-the shade of one,-a soil
So slight, not one out of a thousand eyes

Could find it out, may not escape thee; then

Say if these nuptials can be shunn'd with honour! Clif. They can.

Julia. Then take me, Clifford !

[They embrace.

SCENE FROM "THE HUNCHBACK.”
BY JAMES SHEridan Knowles.

HELEN. MODUS.

Helen. I'm weary wandering from room to room; A castle after all is but a house

The dullest one when lacking company.
Were I at home, I could be company
Unto myself. I see not Master Walter.
He's ever with his ward. I see not her.
By Master Walter will she bide, alone.
My father stops in town. I can't see him.
My cousin makes his books his company.
I'll go to bed and sleep. No-I'll stay up
And plague my cousin into making love!
For, that he loves me, shrewdly I suspect.
How dull he is, that hath not sense to see
What lies before him, and he'd like to find!
I'll change my treatment of him. Cross him, where
Before I used to humour him. He comes,

Poring upon a book. What's that you read?

Enter MODUs.

Mod. Latin, sweet cousin

Helen. 'T is a naughty tongue,

I fear, and teaches men to lie.
Mod. To lie!

Helen. You study it. You call your cousin sweet, And treat her as you would a crab. As sour

'T would seem you think her, so you covet her!
Why how the monster stares, and looks about!
You construe Latin, and can't construe that!
Mod. I never studied women.

Helen. No; nor men.

Else would you better know their ways; nor read
In presence of a lady. [Strikes the book from his hand.
Mod. Right you say,

And well you served me, cousin, so to strike
The volume from my hand. I own my fault;
So please you may I pick it up again?

I'll put it in my pocket!

Helen. Pick it up.

He fears me as I were his grandmother!
What is the book?

Mod. 'Tis Ovid's Art of Love.

Helen. That Ovid was a fool!

Mod. In what?

Helen. In that!

To call that thing an art, which art is none.
Mod. And is not love an art?

Helen. Are you a fool

As well as Ovid? Love an art! No art

But taketh time and pains to learn. Love comes
With neither! Is't to hoard such grain as that

Most fit I let him see me play the fool!
Shame. Let me be myself!

[A Servant enters with materials for writing.

A table, sir,

And chair.

[Servant brings table and chair, and goes out. She sits awhile, vacantly gazing on letter-then looks at CLIFFORD.

How plainly shows his humble suit!

It fits not him that wears it! I have wrong'd him!
He can't be happy-does not look it !—is not.
That eye which reads the ground is argument
Enough! He loves me. There I let him stand,
And I am sitting!

[Rises, takes a chair, and approaches CLIFFORD. Pray you take a chair.

[He bows, as acknowledging and declining the honour. She looks at him awhile.

Clifford, why don't you speak to me?

Clif. I trust

You're happy.

Julia. Happy! Very, very happy!

You see I weep, I am so happy! Tears

[She weeps.

Are signs, you know, of nought but happiness!
When first I saw you, little did I look

To be so happy!-Clifford !

Clif. Madam?

Julia. Madam!

I call thee Clifford, and thou call'st me madam !

Clif. Such the address my duty stints me to.

Thou art the wife elect of a proud earl,

Whose humble secretary, now, am I.

Julia. Most right! I had forgot! I thank you, sir, For so reminding me; and give you joy,

That what, I see, had been a burthen to you,
Is fairly off your hands.

Clif. A burthen to me!

Mean you yourself? Are you that burthen, Julia?
Say that the sun's a burthen to the earth!
Say that the blood's a burthen to the heart!
Say health's a burthen, peace, contentment, joy,
Fame, riches, honours! everything that man
Desires, and gives the name of blessing to !—
E'en such a burthen, Julia were to me,
Had fortune let me wear her.

Fulia. [Aside.] On the brink

Of what a precipice I'm standing! Back,
Back! while the faculty remains to do 't!
A minute longer, not the whirlpool's self
More sure to suck me down! One effort! There!
[She returns to her seat, recovers her self-possession,
takes up the letter, and reads,

To wed to-morrow night! Wed whom? A man
Whom I can never love! I should before

Have thought of that! To-morrow night! This hour
To-morrow! How I tremble! Happy bands

To which my heart such freezing welcome gives,
As sends an ague through me! At what means
Will not the desperate snatch! What's honour's price?
Nor friends, nor lovers,-no, nor life itself!

Clifford! This moment leave me!

[CLIFFORD retires up the stage out of JULIA'S sight. Is he gone!

O docile lover! Do his mistress' wish