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no charge of him.—Good day, Mr. Smitchenstault.

SMITCHENSTAULT.

O! but you have not hear where de sense of my argument lies.

CRAFTON.

I have not indeed.

SMITCHENSTAULT.

But you must, tough. I go wid you. (Taking him by the arm, and speaking busily as they go off.) De soul is de sublime energy; it is de subtile matter, de, &c. &c. &c.

[Exeunt Crafton and Smitchenstault.

CHARVILLE (now looking without restraint to Mrs. Charville and Freemantle in the garden).

Very good friends, truly, with their letters and their confidences. That coquettish animation too: they must have some merry joke to laugh thus. No, hang it! 'tis their own damned pleasure in being together. (Runs to them in the garden, and the scene closes.)