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the letter; and methinks the writing is somewhat like your own. (Harwood looks at it; then staggering back, throws himself into a chair, which happens to be behind him, and covers his upper face with his hand.)

Col. My dear Harwood!

Roy. See how his lips quiver, and his bosom heaves! Let us unbutton him: I fear he is going into a fit. (Agnes comes from behind the screen in a fright, and Withrington pulls her in again.)

Col. (With great tenderness.) My dear Harwood!

''Har. (With a broken voice.)'' I'll go to mine own chamber. (Gets up hastily from his chair, and then falls back again in a faint.)

Col. He's gone off.

Roys. Help, help, here! (Running about.) Who has got hartshorn, or lavender, or water! help here. (They all come from behind the screen. Agnes runs to Harwood, and sprinkles him over with lavender, rubbing his temples, &c. whilst Colonel Hardy stares at them all in amazement.)

Ag. Alas! we have carried this too far? Harwood! my dear Harwood!

Col. to Roys. What is all this?

Roys. I thought we should amaze you, I knew I should manage it.

Col. You have managed finely indeed, to put Harwood into such a state, with your mummery,

Ag. Will he not come to himself again! get some water, Mariane—See how pale he is. (He