Dr. Not above twice a week?

Pa. No; not oftener.

Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite? Pa. Yes, sir, thank God, I have; indeed, any ill-health that I have is about meal-time.

Dr. [Assuming a severe look, knitting his brow, and lowering his eyebrows.] Now, sir, you are a very pretty fellow indeed. You come here and tell me you are a moderate man; but upon examination, I find by your own showing that you are a most voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man; yet, by your own showing, you are a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, and a guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat indigestible suppers, and swill toddy to force sleep. I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can stand this? Go home, sir, and leave your present [course of] riotous living, and there are hopes that your stomach may recover its tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors.

Pa. I'm sure, Doctor, I'm very much obliged to you [taking out a bundle of bank-notes], I shall endeavor to. Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me: put up your money, sir. Do you think I'll take a fee for telling you what you know as well as myself? Though you're no physician, sir, you are not altogether a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or, take my word for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase.

CCCLXXVI.

THE TWO ROBBERS.

[ALEXANDER THE GREAT, in his tent. A man with a fierce countenance, chained and fettered, brought before him.]

ALEX. What! art thou the Thracian robber, of whose

exploits I have heard so much?

Rob. I am a Thracian, and a soldier.

Alex. A soldier!—a thief, a plunderer, an assassin! the pest of the country! I could honor thy courage; but I must detest and punish thy crimes.

Rob. What have I done of which you can complain?

Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority; violated the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons and the properties of thy fellow-subjects?

Rob. Alexander, I am your captive I must hear what you please to say, and endure what you please to inflict. But my soul is unconquered; and if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man.

Alex. Speak freely. Far be it for me take the advantage of my power, to silence those with whom I deign to converse.

Rob. I must, then, answer your question by another. How have you passed your life?

Alex. Like a hero. Ask Fame, and she will tell you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest; among sovereigns, the noblest; among conquerors, the mightiest.

Rob. And does not Fame speak of me, too? Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band? Was there ever— but I scorn to boast. You yourself know that I have not been easily subdued.

Alex. Still, what are you, but a robber a base dishonest robber?

Rob. And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too, gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry; plundering, ravaging, killing without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion? All that I have done to a single district, with a hundred followers, you have done to whole nations, with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the earth. What is then the difference, but that as you were born a king, and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I?

Alex. But if I have taken like a king, I have given like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and philosophy..

Rob. I, too, have freely given to the poor what I took from the rich. I have established order and discipline among the most ferocious of mankind; and I have stretched out my protecting arm over the oppressed. I know, indeed, little of the phi

losophy you talk of; but I believe neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world for the mischief we have done it.

Alex. Leave me. - Take off his chains, and use him well. Are we, then, so much alike? Alexander to a robber? Let me reflect.

Dr. Aiken.

CCCLXXVII.

THE MISER.

LOVEGOLD JAMES.

LOVE. Where have you been?

above an hour.

I have wanted you

your coachman or your

James. I thought, indeed, it was not your coachman ; for you have had no great occasion for him since your last pair of horses were starved; but your cook, sir, shall wait upon you in an instant. [Puts off his coachman's great-coat and appears as a cook.] Now, sir, I am ready for your commands.

Love. I am engaged this evening to give a supper.

James. A supper, sir! I have not heard the word this halfyear; a dinner, indeed, now and then; but, for a supper, I'm almost afraid, for want of practice, my hand is out.

Love. Leave off your saucy jesting, and see that you provide a good supper.

James. That may be done with a good deal of money, sir.

Love. Is the mischief in you? Always money! Can you say nothing else but money, money, money? My children, my servants, my relations, can pronounce nothing but money.

James. Well, sir; but how many will there be at table?

Love. About eight or ten; but I will have supper dressed but for eight; for if there be enough for eight, there is enough for ten.

James. Suppose, sir, at one end, a handsome soup; at the other, a fine Westphalia ham and chickens; on one side, a fillet of veal; on the other, a turkey, or rather a bustard, which may be had for about a guinea —

my

Love. Zounds! is the fellow providing an entertainment for lord mayor and the court of aldermen ?

James. Then a ragout

Love. I'll have no ragout. Would you burst the good people, you dog?

James. Then pray, sir, what will you have?

Love. Why, see and provide something to cloy their stomachs let there be two good dishes of soup-maigre; a large suetpudding; some dainty, fat pork-pie, very fat; a fine, small lean breast of mutton, and a large dish with two artichokes. There; that's plenty and variety.

James. O, dear

Love. Plenty and variety.

James. But, sir, you must have some poultry.

Love. No; I'll have none.

James. Indeed, sir, you should.

Love. Well, then, - kill the old hen, for she has done laying. James. Mercy! sir, how the folks will talk of it; indeed, people say enough of you already.

Love. Eh! why, what do the people say, pray?

James. Oh, sir, if I could be assured you would not be angry. Love. Not at all; for I'm always glad to hear what the world says of me.

James. Why, sir, since you will have it, then, they make a jest of you everywhere; nay, of your servants, on your account. One says, you pick a quarrel with them quarterly, in order to find an excuse to pay them no wages.

Love. Poh! poh!

James. Another says, you were taken one night stealing your own oats from your own horses.

Love. That must be a lie; for I never allow them any.

James. In a word, you are the bye-word everywhere; and you are never mentioned, but by the names of covetous, stingy, scraping, old

Love. Get along, you impudent villain!

James. Nay, sir, you said you would n't be angry.
Love. Get out, you dog! you -

Fielding.

CCCLXXVIII.

THE LETTER.

SQUIRE EGAN, and his new Irish servant, ANDY.

SQUIRE. Well, Andy, you went to the post-office, as I ordered you?

Andy. Yis, sir.

Squire. Well, what did you find?

Andy. A most imperthinent fellow indade, sir.

Squire. How so?

Andy. Says I, as dacent like as a gentleman, "I want a letther, sir, if you plase." "Who do you want it for?" said the posth-masther, as ye call him. "I want a letter, sir, if you plase," said I. "And whom do you want it for?" said he again. "And what's that to you?" said I.

Squire. You blockhead, what did he say to that?

Andy. He laughed at me, sir, and said he could not tell what

letther to give me, unless I told him the direction.

Squire. Well, you told him then, did you?
Andy. "The directions I got," said I,

here,

66 was to get a letther that's the directions." "Who gave you the directions?" says he. "The masther," said I. "And who's your "What consarn is that of yours?" said I.

masther?" said he.

Squire. Did he break your head, then? Andy. No sir. "Why, you stupid rascal," said he, "if you don't tell me his name, how can I give you his letther?" "You could give it, if you liked," said I; "only you are fond of axing impident questions, because you think I'm simple." "Get out o' this!" said he. "Your masther must be as great a goose as yourself, to send such a missenger."

Squire. Well, how did you save my honor, Andy?

Andy. "Bad luck to your impidence!" said I. "Is it Squire Egan you dare say goose to?" "O, Squire Egan's your masther" said he "Yes," says I; "Have you anything to say

Squire. You got the letter, then, did you?

Andy.

"Here's a letther for the squire," says he. "You