thing I say, and how pleasingly she shows her contempt for my authority! Well, though I can't make her love me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing every thing in her power to plague me. [Exit.]

ACT III. SCENE I.

Sir P. Was ever man so crossed as I am? Every thing conspiring to fret me! I had not been involved in matrimony a fortnight, before her father, a hale and hearty man, died, on purpose, I believe, for the pleasure of plaguing me with the care of his daughter. [Lady TEAZLE sings without.] But here comes my helpmate! She appears in great goodhumor. How happy I should be if I could tease her into loving me, though but little!

Enter Lady Teazle.

Lady T. Lud! Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been quarrelling with Maria? It is not using me well to be ill-humored when I am not by.

Sir P. Ah! Lady Teazle, you might have the power to make me good-humored at all times.

Lady T. I am sure I wish I had; for I want you to be in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be goodhumored now, and let me have two hundred pounds, will you? Sir P. Two hundred pounds! What, ain't I to be in a good-humor without paying for it? But speak to me thus, and i' faith there's nothing I could refuse you. You shall have it; [Gives her notes.] but seal me a bond of repayment. Lady T. O no! there, my note of hand will do as well. [Offering her hand.]

Sir P. And you shall no longer reproach me with not giving you an independent settlement. I mean shortly to surprise you: but shall we always live thus, hey?

Lady T. If you please. I'm sure I don't care how soon we leave off quarrelling, provided you'll own you were tired first.

Sir P. Well, then let our future contest be, who shall be most obliging.

Lady T. I assure you, Sir Peter, good-nature becomes you. You look now as you did before we were married, when you used to walk with me under the elms, and tell me

stories of what a gallant you were in your youth; and chuck me under the chin, you would; and ask me if I thought I could love an old fellow, who would deny me nothing; did n't you?

Sir P. Yes, yes; and you were as kind and attentive—

Lady T. Ay, so I was, and would always take your part, when my acquaintance used to abuse you, and turn you into ridicule.

Sir P. Indeed!

Lady T. Ay, and when my cousin Sophy has called you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking of marrying one who might be my father, I have always defended you, and said I did n't think you so ugly by any

means.

Sir P. Thank you.

Lady T. And I dared say you'd make a very good sort of a husband.

Sir P. And you prophesied right; and we shall now be the happiest couple

Lady T. And never differ again. [Both sit.]

Sir P. No, never!-though at the same time, indeed, my dear Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very seriously; for in all our little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect, my love, you always begin.

Lady T. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter; indeed, you always gave the provocation.

Sir P. Now see, my angel! take care, contradicting is n't the way to keep friends.

Lady T. Then do n't you begin it, my love!

Sir P. There, now! you-you are going on. You do n't perceive, my life, that you are just doing the very thing which you know always makes me angry.

Lady T. Nay, you know if you will be angry without any reason, my dear

Sir P. There! now you want to quarrel again.

Lady T. No, I am sure I don't; but if you will be so peevish

Sir P. There now! who begins first?

Lady T. Why, you, to be sure. [Both start up.] I said nothing; but there's no bearing your temper.

Sir P. No, no, madam; the fault's in your own temper. Lady T. Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said you would be.

Sir P. Your cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent gypsy.

Lady T. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my relations.

Sir P. Now, may all the plagues of marriage be doubled on me, if ever I try to be friends with you any more.

Lady T. So much the better.

Sir P. No, no, madam; 'tis evident you never cared a pin for me, and I was a madman to marry you,—a pert, rural coquette, that had refused half the honest squires in the neighborhood.

Lady T. And I am sure I was a fool to marry you,—an old dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only because he never could meet with any one who would have him.

Sir P. Ay, ay, madam; but you were pleased enough to listen to me; you never had such an offer before.

Lady T. No? didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Terrier, who everybody said would have been a better match? for his estate is just as good as yours, and he has broke his neck since we have been married.

Sir P. I have done with you, madam! You are an unfeeling, ungrateful--but there's an end of everything. I believe you capable of everything that is bad. Yes, madam, I now believe the reports relative to you and Charles, madam. Yes, madam, you and Charles are--not without grounds

Lady T. Take care, Sir Peter! you had better not insinuate any such thing! I'll not be suspected without cause, I promise you.

Sir P. Very well, madam! very well! A separate maintenance as soon as you please! Yes, madam, or a divorce! I'll make an example of myself for the benefit of all old bachelors. Let us separate, madam.

Lady T. Agreed, agreed! And, now, my dear Sir Peter, we are of a mind once more, we may be the happiest couple, and never differ again, you know,-ha! ha! ha! Well, you are going to be in a passion, I see, and I shall only interrupt you; so, bye, bye. [Exit.

Sir P. Plagues and tortures! Can't I make her angry,

either? O, I am the most miserable fellow! but I'll not bear her presuming to keep her temper. [Exit. Richard Brinsley Sheridan.

THE BOOK CANVASSER.

He came into my office with a portfolio under his arm. Placing it upon the table, removing a ruined hat, and wiping his nose upon a ragged handkerchief that had been so long out of the wash that it was positively gloomy, he said: "Mr. I'm canvassing for the National Portrait Gallery; splendid work; comes in numbers, fifty cents apiece; contains pictures of all the great American heroes, from the earliest times down to the present day. Everybody subscribing for it, and I want to see if I can't take your name.

"Now, just cast your eyes over that," he said, opening his book and pointing to an engraving. "That's-lemme see-yes, that's Columbus; perhaps you've heard sumfin' about him? The publisher was telling me to-day before I started out that he discovered-- No; was it Columbus that dis- Oh! yes. Columbus, he discovered America-was the first man here. He came over in a ship, the publisher said, and it took fire, and he stayed on deck because his father told him to, if I remember right, and when the old thing busted to pieces he was killed. Handsome picture, ain't it? Taken from a photograph, all of 'em are; done especially for this work. His clothes are kinder odd, but they say that's the way they dressed in them days. Look at this one. Now is n't that splendid? William Penn, one of the early settlers. I was reading t'other day about him. When he first arrived he got a lot of Indians up a tree, and when they shook some apples down, he set one on top of his son's head, and shot an arrow plump through it and never fazed him. They say it struck them Indians cold; he was such a terrific shooter. Fine countenance, has n't he? Face shaved clean; he did n't wear a moustache, I believe, but he seems to have let himself out on hair. Now, my view is, that every man ought to have a picture of that Patriarch so's to see how the fust settlers looked and what kind of weskets they yoused to wear. See his legs, too! Trousers a little short, maybe, as if he was going to wade in a creek; but he's all there. Got some kind of a paper in his hand, I see. scription list, I reckon. Now, how does that strike you? There's something nice. That I think, is-is—that a—ayes, to be sure, Washington-you recollect him, of course? Some people call him Father of his Country, George-Wash

Sub

ington. Had no middle name, I believe. He lived about two hundred years ago and he was a fighter. I heard the publisher telling a man about him crossing the Delaware River up yer at Trenton, and seems to me, if I recollect right, I've read about it myself. He was courting some girl on the Jersey side, and he used to swim over at nights to see her when the old man was asleep. The girl's family were down on him, I reckon. He looks like a man to do that, do n't he? He's got it in his eye. If it'd been me I'd gone over on a bridge, but he probably wanted to show off afore her; some men are so reckless, you know. Now, if you 'll conclude to take this, I'll get the publisher to write out some more stories about him, and bring 'em round to you, so 's you can study up on him. I know he did ever so many other things, but I've forgot 'em; my memory 's so awful poor.

"Less see! Who have we next? Ah, Franklin! Benjamin Franklin! He was one of the old original pioneers, I think. I disremember exactly what he is celebrated for, but I think it was a flying a-oh! yes, flying a kite, that's it. The publisher mentioned it. He was out one day flying a kite, you know, like boys do nowadays, and while she was a flickering up in the sky, and he was giving her more string, an apple fell off a tree, and hit him on the head; then he discovered the attraction of gravitation, I think they call it. Smart, was n't it? Now, if you or me 'd a been hit, it'd just a made us mad like as not and set us a ravin'. But men are so different. One man's meat's another man's pison. See what a double chin he's got. No beard on him, either, though a goatee would have been becoming to such a round face. He has n't got on a sword, and I reckon he was no soldier;-fit some when he was a boy, maybe, or went out with the home-guard, but not a regular warrior. I ain't one, myself, and I think all the better of him for it. Ah, here we are! Look at that! Smith and Pocahontas! John Smith! Isn't that gorgeous? See how she kneels over him, and sticks out her hands while he lays on the ground, and that big fellow with a club tries to hammer him up. Talk about woman's love! There it is for you. Modocs, I believe. Anyway, some Indians out West there, somewheres; and the publisher tells me that Captain Shackanasty, or whatever his name is there, was going to bang old Smith over the head with a log of wood, and this here girl she was sweet on Smith, it appears, and she broke loose, and jumped forward and