my poor tender heart?--'Tis too
much!

_Everg._ Bless me! Lady Handy is ill--Salts! salts!

_Sir Abel._ [_Producing an essence box._] Here are salts, or aromatic
vinegar, or essence of--

_Everg._ Any--any.

_Sir Abel._ Bless me, I can't find the key!

_Everg._ Pick the lock.

_Sir Abel._ It can't be picked, it is a patent lock.

_Everg._ Then break it open, sir.

_Sir Abel._ It can't be broke open--it is a contrivance of my own--you
see, here comes a horizontal bolt, which acts upon a spring, therefore--

_Lady H._ I may die, while you are describing a horizontal bolt. Do you
think you shall close your eyes for a week for this?

_Enter_ SIR PHILIP BLANDFORD.

_Sir Philip._ What has occasioned this disturbance?

_Lady H._ Ask that gentleman.

_Sir Abel._ Sir, I am accused--

_Lady H._ Convicted! convicted!

_Sir Abel._ Well, I will not argue with you about words--because I must
bow to your superior practice--But, Sir--

_Sir Philip._ Pshaw! [_Apart._] Lady Handy, some of your people were
inquiring for you.

_Lady H._ Thank you, sir. Come, Sir Abel. [_Exit._

_Sir Abel._ Yes, my lady--I say [_To_ EVERGREEN.] cou'dn't you give me a
hint of the way he had--

_Lady H._ [_Without._] Sir Abel!

_Sir Abel._ Coming, my soul! [_Exit._

_Sir Philip._ So! you have well obeyed my orders in keeping this Henry
from my presence.

_Everg._ I was not to blame, master.

_Sir Philip._ Has Farmer Ashfield left the Castle?

_Everg._ No, sir.

_Sir Philip._ Send him hither. [_Exit_ EVERGREEN.] That boy must be
driven far, far from my sight--but where?--no matter! the world is large
enough.

_Enter_ ASHFIELD.

--Come hither. I believe you hold a farm of mine.

_Ash._ Ees, zur, I do, at your zarvice.

_Sir Philip._ I hope a profitable one?

_Ash._ Zometimes it be, zur. But thic year it be all t'other way as
'twur--but I do hope, as our landlords have a tightish big lump of the
good, they'll be zo kind hearted as to take a little bit of the bad.

_Sir Philip._ It is but reasonable--I conclude then you are in my debt.

_Ash._ Ees, zur, I be--at your zarvice.

_Sir Philip._ How much?

_Ash._ I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds--at your zarvice.

_Sir Philip._ Which you can't pay?

_Ash._ Not a varthing, zur--at your zarvice.

_Sir Philip._ Well, I am willing to give you every indulgence.

_Ash._ Be you, zur? that be deadly kind. Dear he