Well, friend, who do you come from?

_Dennis._ I come from the Red Cow, sir.

_Frank._ The Red Cow?

_Dennis._ Yes, sir!--upon Muckslush Heath--hard by your honour's father's house, here. I'd be proud of your custom, sir, and all the good looking family's.

_Frank._ [_Impatiently._] Well, well, your business?

_Dennis._ That's what the porter ax'd me, "Tell me your business, honest man," says he--"I'll see you d.a.m.n'd first, sir," says I:--"I'll tell it your betters;--and that's Mr. Francis Rochdale, Esquire."

_Frank._ Zounds! then, why don't you tell it? I am Mr. Francis Rochdale.--Who the devil sent you here?

_Dennis._ Troth, sir, it was good nature whisper'd me to come to your honour: but I believe I've disremembered her directions, for d.a.m.n the bit do you seem acquainted with her.

_Frank._ Well, my good friend, I don't mean to be violent; only be so good as to explain your business.

_Dennis._ Oh, with all the pleasure in life.--Give me good words, and I'm as aisy as an ould glove: but bite my nose off with mustard, and have at you with pepper,--that's my way.--There's a little crature at my house;--she's crying her eyes out;--and she won't get such another pair at the Red Cow; for I've left n.o.body with her but Mrs. Brulgruddery.

_Frank._ With her? with who? Who are you talking off?

_Dennis._ I'd like to know her name myself, sir;--but I have heard but half of it;--and that's Mary.

_Frank._ Mary!--Can it be she?--Wandering on a heath! seeking refuge in a wretched hovel!

_Dennis._ A hovel! O fie for shame of yourself, to misbecall a genteel tavern! I'd have you to know my parlour is clean sanded once a week.

_Frank._ Tell me, directly--what brought her to your house?

_Dennis._ By my soul, it was Adam's own carriage: a ten-toed machine the haymakers keep in Ireland.

_Frank._ d.a.m.n it, fellow, don't trifle, but tell your story; and, if you can, intelligibly.

_Dennis._ Don't be bothering my brains, then, or you'll get it as clear as mud. Sure the young crature can't fly away from the Red Cow, while I'm explaining to you the rights on't--Didn't she promise the gentleman to stay till he came back?

_Frank._ Promised a gentleman!--Who?--who is the gentleman?

_Dennis._ Arrah, now, where did you larn manners? Would you ax a customer his birth, parentage, and education? "Heaven bless you, sir, you'll come back again?" says she--"That's what I will, before you can say, parsnips, my darling," says he.

_Frank._ d.a.m.nation! what does this mean?--explain your errand, clearly, you scoundrel, or--

_Dennis._ Scoundrel!--Don't be after affronting a housekeeper.

Havn't I a sign at my door, three pigs, a wife, and a man sarvant?

_Frank._ Well, go on.

_Dennis._ d.a.m.n the word more will I tell you.

_Frank._ Why, you infernal----

_Dennis._ Oh, be asy!--see what you get, now, by affronting Mr.

Dennis Brulgruddery. [_Searching his Pockets._] I'd have talk'd for an hour, if you had kept a civil tongue in your head!--but now, you may read the letter. [_Giving it._

_Frank._ A letter!--stupid b.o.o.by!--why didn't you give it to me at first?--Yes, it is her hand. [_Opens the Letter._

_Dennis._ Stupid!--If you're so fond of letters, you might larn to behave yourself to the postman.

_Frank._ [_Reading and agitated._]--_Not going to upbraid you--Couldn't rest at my father's--Trifling a.s.sistance_--Oh, Heaven!

does she then want a.s.sistance?--_The gentleman who has befriended me_--d.a.m.nation!--the gentleman!--_Your unhappy Mary._--Scoundrel that I am!--what is she suffering!--but who, who is this gentleman?--no matter--she is distress'd, heart breaking! and I, who have been the cause;--I, who----here----[_Running to a Writing Table, and opening a Drawer_] Run--fly--despatch!--

_Dennis._ He's mad!

_Frank._ Say, I will be at your house, myself--remember, positively come, or send, in the course of the day.--In the mean time, take this, and give it to the person who sent you.

_Giving a Purse, which he has taken from the Drawer._

_Dennis._ A purse!--'faith, and I'll take it.--Do you know how much is in the inside?

_Frank._ Psha! no.--No matter.

_Dennis._ Troth, now, if I'd trusted a great big purse to a stranger, they'd have call'd it a bit of a bull:--but let you and I count it out between us, [_Pouring the Money on the Table._] for, d.a.m.n him, say I, who would cheat a poor girl in distress, of the value of a rap.--One, two, three, &c. [_Counting._

_Frank._ Worthy, honest fellow!

_Dennis._ Eleven, twelve, thirteen--

_Frank._ I'll be the making of your house, my good fellow.

_Dennis._ d.a.m.n the Red Cow, sir,--you put me out.--Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.--Nineteen fat yellow boys, and a seven shilling piece.--Tell them yourself, sir; then chalk them up over the chimney-piece, else you'll forget, you know.

_Frank._ O, friend, when honesty, so palpably natural as yours, keeps the account, I care not for my arithmetic.--Fly now,--bid the servants give you any refreshment you chuse; then hasten to execute your commission.

_Dennis._ Thank your honour!--good luck to you! I'll taste the beer;--but, by my soul, if the butler comes the Red Cow over me, I'll tell him, I know sweet from sour. _Exit DENNIS._

_Frank._ Let me read her letter once more. [_Reads._

_I am not going to upbraid you; but after I got your letter, I could not rest at my father's, where I once knew happiness and innocence.--I wish'd to have taken a last leave of you, and to beg a trifling a.s.sistance;--but the gentleman who has befriended me in my wanderings, would not suffer me to do so; yet I could not help writing, to tell you, I am quitting this neighbourhood for ever!--That you may never know a moment's sorrow, will always be the prayer of_ _Your unhappy_ MARY.

My mind is h.e.l.l to me! love, sorrow, remorse, and--yes--and jealousy, all distract me:--and no counsellor to advise with; no friend to whom I may--

_Enter TOM SHUFFLETON._

_Frank._ Tom Shuffleton! you never arrived more apropos in your life.

_Shuff._ That's what the women always say to me. I've rumbled on the road, all night, Frank. My bones ache, my head's muzzy--and we'll drink two bottles of claret a-piece, after dinner, to enliven us.

_Frank._ You seem in spirits, Tom, I think, now.