a man's made of, I wonder? Oh! here comes the English slave I purchased lately;-but where's his companion? that fellow, I see, must be looked to-he appeared a proud spirit, unwilling to work-contumacious-unbending-in short, an Englishman. This seems of a more pliant disposition: let me observe him. [He retires, L.

Enter TIMOTHY TOURIST, R. S. E. wheeling a barrow full of earth-he stops and fans himself.

Tim. Fugh! it's infernally hot-talk of Calcutta -talk of the black-hole there! its an icehouse, a Spitzbergen to this. Oh, a plague upon my restless spirit! see to what it has brought me at lastI must needs be travelling-I must needs see the world-egad, its my belief, the world will see little more of me. If I should but live, however, to escape from these blackguards' hands, what a great man I shall become; what a figure I shall cut in the literary world with a published account of my travels-title page, narrative of a captivity among the Algerines-author, Timothy Tourist-size, imperial, with a whole-length portrait-paper hot pressed-price six guineas-edition twenty first to be had of all booksellers from Whitechapel to Chelsea. By great good luck I have preserved my memorandum-book, and so to add a few observations, that I don't remember to have seen made in any other work on the same subject. [He seats himself on a barrow, takes out a note book, and writes.] "The Algerines are of the Mahometan religion-governed by a Dey-year turbans"

[While he is writing MAHMOUD approaches unseen, and strikes him a cut with his whip-TIMOTHY starts up.

Mah. Aha! lazy villain, I've marked you.

Tim. [Rubbing his shoulder.] That I'll be sworn you have.

Mah. What, you want to get the whip-hand of me, ey? but you'll find it won't do, I intend to set you to double work.

Tim. And that's the reason you cut me in two. Mah. Come, come, such jesting won't pass with me: so take up your shovel and on with your labour, or— [Lifting the whip. Tim. No, no, don't fatigue yourself, I beg; the wea

ther's warm, and I should be sorry you over-heated yourself on my account, such a kind-hearted-sweet-tempered -good looking

Mah. [Roughly.] Pshaw! don't presume too much on the mildness of my looks and manners; but to your business. The Bey returns this morning from the citadel, and will expect to find his gardens in a state of forwardness.

Tim. The Bey?

Mah. Your new master,-the mighty Orasmin Abdallah Ben Ubba Ben Jamin Ben Nadir Ben Seyd.

Tim. Abdallah Ben Ubba. [Taking out his note book.] I beg pardon; but would you just repeat that name-a little work I wish to set my hand to, if you would only assist me.

Mah. Work?-oh, we'll find you work enough. Here, set your hand to remove that rubbish from these walls: then, when you have cleared the grass-plot, piled yonder stone, mixed the mortar, cut the fire-wood, and fed the dromedaries, you may join your fellow-slaves in the Court-yard above, where we mete out to each his bread" and water.

Tim. Cut fire-wood and feed dromedaries!-here's employment for a man of genius! [Crosses to L. Mah. No more words-to your labour, dog! [Exit, R. Tim. Dog!-he said dog, I think [Taking out his note book and writing.] “The Algerines are utterly ignorant of any thing like manners. Curse that fellow ! he has no more bowels for genius than a critical review; Ey!-he's returning, I believe,-[Hastily resuming his work.] no; its only my master, looking as doleful as an author whose quartos won't sell.

Enter ALGERNON, R. with a spade in his hand, habited as a Slave in the Moorish fashion.

Alger. This fever of the mind is insupportable! Tim. Yes, its rather warm, isn't it, sir?-close mucky weather they have in these parts; they were always famous for it, you know.

Alger. Cursed was the hour when we first reached this country!

Tim. Yes; we put our foot in it then, didn't we, sir? Alger. Amanda-oh, Amanda !-to be torn from thee at such a time, and left in cruel ignorance of thy fate 'tis more than I can bear; my brain gives way beneath it!

Tim. Nay, sir; never despond-we may chance to give these copper-coloured devils the slip yet,you know -your friends may come down with a ransom, and

Alger. Never; you know not half the extent of my misfortunes. I have no friends-all shun me--all disown me-listen to my unhappy tale. Early in life I was the pride of a fond father's bosom; whose every wish was for my welfare, whose every thought how to ensure it; this he deemed might be done by allying me with the daughter of a noble house, who would secure to me an accession of rank and riches-but oh! I had seen Amanda, who, though born in humbler life, shone forth unrivalled in the charms of loveliness and virtue. Need I say, that to behold was to adore? Enough; I wedded her; and there commenced my miseries.

Tim. [Aside.] Most men's do with marriage. I beg pardon, you wedded her

Alger. Aye; but could in vain obtain forgiveness from my father, for the step that I had taken. Incensed at the frustration of his fondest hopes, he spurned my prayers for pardon, refused even to see my angel wife, and bade me, as I would avoid a parent's curse, fly from his sight for ever!

Tim. [Aside.] Lord-lord!-what a rare little episode this will make in my journal.

Alger. The remainder of our unhappy story is soon told;-deserted by friends and pressed by want, we quitted our native land for Genoa, in whose service I had determined to enlist.

Tim. Yet ere you could arrive, were taken by an Algerine corsair having first picked up by the way your humble servant, Timothy Tourist; who, to speak the truth as affairs stand at present, had just as soon you had left him behind. [A roll of the tambour heard, L.] But hark-what mean those sounds, I wonder?

Ben

Alger. Doubtless they bespeak the arrival of the Bey. Tim. What, my friend with the short name? Ubba Ben.-1 shall never get that fellow into my jour nal.

Alger. It seems that we must shortly appear before him in order to have our names duly registered.

Tim. Then if ever you look to be free, sir, stick to the advice I gave you at first, and don't tell him your's. If they find you are a gentleman, they'll demand the more for your ransom; say you are my brother or cousin, or some pitiful Hopkins or Jenkins.

Alger. I will observe; but fear my temper in his presence, when I reflect that my beloved Amanda may at that very moment be a prey to some such lawless ruffian ; shrieking within his fell resistless grasp the thought distracts me!

Tim. Its far from being a composing one, certainly, sir; and I don't wonder at its giving you some unpleasant little shooting pains just hereabouts. [Pointing to his head.] But fare you well, sir; I must away to get a peep at our new lord and master-a terrible fellow, I dare be sworn -who thinks no more of whipping off heads, than they would in England of thinning an apple-tree, Ecod! I hope my codlin will be one he'll allow to grow ripe on its own stump. [Exit, L.

Alger. Alas! the hopes of life's early morning-how have they all fled from me? What have I now to live for? Amanda, my beloved, my last remaining joy, art thou not wrenched from me for ever?

SONG.-ALGERNON.

The mid-day sun was bright on high,.'
The white sail caught its burning ray,-
The waves were calm, and clear the sky,
As cut our bark its liquid way.
Ilittle thought that smiling noon
Might still a night of tempest be;
I little thought-alas! how soon
My true love would be torn from me!
Night fell around-the Corsair came,
And fierce the rage of battle roar'd;
With tongues of thunder, lips of flame,
Their strength the deadly cannons pour'd.
Still-still above the trampled slain,
Girt by the few who yet were free,
I fought.esisted-strove-in vain-
My true love soon was torn from me!

[Exit, R.

SCENE II.-A Grove.

Enter CoGI, leading LAURETta, L.

Cogi. Come along, my dear, come along-you are my property now-and must attend to what I say.

Laur. Your property! you old, ugly, disagreeable man. Why, didn't you tell me just now that I was to

wait on a great English lady, with whom your master was deeply in love; and that I should have nothing to do but to wear fine clothes, and just to follow my own amusements?

Cogi. Very true, my dear, and so you shall. You shall have plenty of amusements; you shall sing and dance to me all the day long.

Laur. Sing and dance to you all the day long!-A pleasant time I shall have of it, truly.

Cogi. Oh, very pleasant. I assure you, my dear, you may think yourself one of the lucky ones. Then in the day time you shall live so grand, with slaves to attend on you, and in the evening we will steal away, and odds, me! we will be so merry and loving-Ha! ha ha! What a lucky old Mussulman am I !

Laur. Nay, but stay awhile-Pray, are there many such merry, loving, happy, little Mussulmen as yourself in the palace?

Cogi. Oh, no, don't fear-I shall have you all to myself. Then I shall fly the other women, and be so constant and true-you will not find me like my fickle countrymen, hopping from this flower to that-No, no, Cogi will stint himself to one wife at a time.

Laur. But what if I were married already, and that in England we stint ourselves to one husband at a time?

Cogi. Ey! But you are not in England now, my dear; and as the old proverb says, you know, When in Rome, you should do as Rome does."

Laur. The horrid animal !-but I must not offend him; he seems high in authority-a sort of overseer of the parish, I dare say. So I must e'en submit to my fate, till I find a good opportunity of running

away.

Cogi. What's that you mutter?-Running away!No, no, that is a liberty you must not take; but, my dear, you may take any other liberties with me you please; and now come along, for I must present you to the English lady, our master's favourite, that you are to wait upon.

Laur. Poor lady!-You said, I think, she was unhappy what is the cause of her grieving so?

Cogi. Our master's love-I know of no other. Laur. What! Is your master like you, then? Coyi. Like me?-Oh, no; in that case mayhap she would not weep. [Conceitedly