Mr. H. Give him a shilling, that is what these fellows come for.

2d Waiter. He has sent up to know by what name your honour will please to be inserted.

Mr. H. Zounds, fellow, I give him a shilling for leaving out my name, not for putting it in. This is one of the plaguy comforts of going anonymous. [Exit 2d Waiter

Enter 3d Waiter.

[Exit.

8d Waiter. Two letters for Mr. H. Mr. H. From ladies (opens them.) This from Melesinda, to remind me of the morning call I promised; the pretty creature positively languishes to be made Mrs. H. I believe 1 must indulge her (affectedly.) This from her cousin to bespeak me to some party, I suppose (opening it)—Oh, "this evening"" Tea and cards"-(surveying himself with complacency.) Dear H., thou art certainly a pretty fellow. I wonder what makes thee such a favourite among the ladies; 1 wish it may not be owing to the concealment of thy unfortu nate-pshaw !

Enter 4th Waiter.

4th Waiter. Sir. one Mr, Printagain is inquiring for you. Mr. H. Oh, I remember, the poet; he is publishing by subscription. Give him a guinea, and tell him to put me down.

4th Waiter. What name shall I tell him, sir?

Mr. H. Zounds, he is a poet; let him fancy a name. [Exit 4th Waiter.

Enter 5th Waiter.

oth Waiter, Sir, Bartlemy, the lame beggar that you sent a private donation to last Monday, has by some accident dis covered his benefactor, and is at the door waiting to return thanks.

Mr. H. Oh, poor fellow, who could put it into his head Now I shall be teazed by all his tribe, when once this i known. Well, tell him I am glad I could be of any servic to him, and send him away.

5th Waiter. I would have done so, sir; but the object i his call now, he says, is only to know whom he is obliged to Mr. H. Why, me.

5th Waiter. Yes, sir.

Mr. H. Me, me, me; who else, to be sure?

5th Waiter. Yes, sir; but he is anxious to know the name of his benefactor.

Mr. H. Here is a pampered rogue of a beggar, that cannot be obliged to a gentleman in the way of his profession, but he must know the name, birth, parentage, and education of his benefactor. I warrant you, next he will require a certificate of one's good behaviour, and a magistrate's license in one's pocket, lawfully empowering so and so to-give an alms. Anything more?

5th Waiter. Yes, sir: here has been Mr. Patriot, with the county petition to sign; and Mr. Failtime, that owes so much money, has sent to remind you of your promise to bail him.

Mr. H. Neither of which I can do, while I have no name. Here is more of the plaguy comforts of going anonymous, that one can neither serve one's friend nor one's country. Damn it, a man had better be without a nose than without a name. I will not live long in this mutilated, dismembered state; I will to Melesinda this instant, and try to forget these vexations. Melesinda! there is music in the name; but then, hang it, there is none in mine to answer to it.

[Exit. (While Mr. H. has been speaking, two gentlemen have been observing him curiously.)

1st Gent. Who the devil is this extraordinary personage? 2d Gent. Who? why, 'tis Mr. H.

1st Gent. Has he no more name?

2d Gent. None that has yet transpired. No more! why that single letter has been enough to inflame the imaginations of all the ladies in Bath. He has been here but a fortnight, and is already received into all the first families.

1st Gent. Wonderful! yet nobody know who he is, or where he comes from!

2d Gent. He is vastly rich, gives away money as if he had infinity; dresses well, as you see; and for address, the mothers are all dying for fear the daughters should get him; and for the daughters, he may command them as absolutely asMelesinda, the rich heiress, 'tis thought, will carry him.

1st Gent. And is it possible that a mere anonymous

2d Gent. Phoo! that is the charm-Who is he? and what is he? and what is his name? The man with the great nose on his face never excited more of the gaping passion of wonderment in the dames of Strasburg, than this new-comer with the single letter to his name has lighted up among the wives and maids of Bath: his simply having lodgings here

draws more visiters to the house than an election, Come with me to the parade, and I will show you more of him. [Exeunt.

SCENE in the Street,

Mr. H. walking, BELVIL meeting him.

Belvil. My old Jamaica schoolfellow, that I have not seen for so many years? it must-it can be no other than Jack (going up to him.) My dear Ho—

Mr. H. (Stopping his mouth) Ho-! the devil, hush.
Belvil. Why sure it is→

Mr. H. It is, it is your old friend Jack, that shall be name less.

Belvil. My dear Ho

Mr. H. (Stopping him) Don't name it.
Belvil. Name what?

Mr. H. My cursed unfortunate name. conceal it for a time.

I have reasons to

Belvil. I understand you-creditors, Jack?
Mr. H. No, I assure you.

Belvil. Snapp'd up a ward, peradventure, and the whole chancery at your heels?

Mr. H. I don't use to travel with such cumbersome luggage.

Belvil. You han't taken a purse?

Mr. H. To relieve you at once from all disgraceful conjectures, you must know,'tis nothing but the sound of my name. Belvil. Ridiculous! 'tis true, yours is none of the most romantic; but what can that signify in a man?

Mr. H. You must understand that I am in some credit with the ladies.

Belvil. With the ladies!

Mr. H. And, truly, I think not without some pretensions. My fortune

Belvil. Sufficiently splendid, if I may judge from your appearance.

Mr. H. My figure

Belvil. Airy, gay, and imposing.

Mr. H. My parts

Belvil. Bright.

Mr. H. My conversation

Belvil. Equally remote from flippaney and taciturnity.

Mr. H. But then my name-damn my name.

Belvil. Childish!

Mr. H. Not so. Oh, Belvil, you are blessed with one

which sighing virgins may repeat without a blush, and for it change the paternal. But what virgin of any delicacy (and I require some in a wife) would endure to be called Mrs. ? Belvil. Ha-ha-ha! most absurd. Did not Clementina Falconbridge, the romantic Clementina Falconbridge, fancy Tommy Potts? and Rosabella Sweetlips sacrifice her mellifluous appellative to Jack Deady? Matilda, her cousin, married a Gubbins, and her sister Amelia a Clutterbuck.

Mr. H. Potts is tolerable, Deady is sufferable, Gubbins is bearable, and Clutterbuck is endurable, but Ho

Belvil. Hush, Jack, don't betray yourself. But you are really ashamed of the family name?

Mr. H. Ay, and of my father that begot me, and my father's father, and all their forefathers that have borne it since the conquest.

Belvil. But how do you know the women are so squeamish? Mr. H. I have tried them. I tell you there is neither maiden of sixteen nor widow of sixty but would turn up their noses at it. I have been refused by nineteen virgins, twentynine relicts, and two old maids.

Belvil. That was hard, indeed, Jack.

Mr. H. Parsons have stuck at publishing the banns, because they averred it was a heathenish name; parents have lingered their consent, because they suspected it was a fictitious name; and rivals have declined my challenges, because they pretended it was an ungentlemanly name.

Belvil. Ha-ha-ha! but what course do you mean to pursue?

Mr. H. To engage the affections of some generous girl, who will be content to take me as Mr. H,

Belvil. Mr. H.?

Mr. H. Yes, that is the name I go by here; you know one likes to be as near the truth as possible.

Belvil. Certainly. But what then? to get her to consent― Mr. H. To accompany me to the altar without a name-in short, to suspend the curiosity (that is all) till the moment the priest shall pronounce the irrevocable charm, which makes two names one.

Belvil. And that name—and then she must be pleased, ha, Jack?

Mr. H. Exactly such a girl it has been my fortune to meet with; hark'e (whispers)-(musing) yet hang it, 'tis cruel to betray her confidence.

Belvil. But the family name, Jack.

Mr. H. As you say, the family name must be perpetuated. Belvil. Though it be but a homely one.

Mr. H. Tiue, but come, I will show you the house where dwells this credulous, melting fair.

Belvil. Ha-ha-my old friend dwindled down to one letter.

[Exeunt.

SCENE.-An Apartment in MELESINDA's House.

MELESINDA sola, as if musing.

Melesinda. H., H., H. Sure, it must be something precious by its being concealed. It can't be Homer, that is a heathen's name; nor Horatio, that is no surname; what if it be Hamlet? the Lord Hamlet-pretty, and I his poor distracted Ophelia ! No, 'tis none of these; 'tis Harcourt, or Hargrave, or some such sounding name, or Howard, high-born Howard, that would do; maybe it is Harley, methinks my H. resembles Harley, the feeling Harley. But I hear him, and from his own lips I will once for ever be resolved.

Enter MR. H.

Mr. H. My dear Melesinda.

Melesinda. My dear H.-that is all you give me power to swear allegiance to-to be enamoured of inarticulate sounds, and call with sighs upon an empty letter. But I will know.

Mr. H. My dear Melesinda, press me no more for the disclosure of that which in the face of day so soon must be revealed. Call it whim, humour, caprice in me. Suppose I have sworn an oath never, till the ceremony of our marriage is over, to disclose my true name.

Melesinda. Oh! H., H., H. I cherish here a fire of restless curiosity which consumes me. "Tis appetite, passion, call it whim, caprice in me. Suppose I have sworn I must and will know it this very night.

Mr. H. Ungenerous Melesinda! I implore you to give me this one proof of your confidence. The holy vow once past,' your H. shall not have a secret to withhold.

Melesinda. My H. has overcome: his Melesinda shall pine away and die, before she dare express a saucy inclination; but what shall I call you till we are married?

Mr. H. Call me? call me anything; call me Love, Love! ay, Love; Love will do very well.

Melesinda. How many syllables is it, Love?

Mr. H. How many? ud, that is coming to the question with a vengeance. One, two, three, four-what does it sigafy how many syllables?

Melesinda. How many syllables, Love?