is----

_Mr. H._ It is, it is your old friend Jack, that shall be nameless.

_Belvil._ My dear Ho----

_Mr. H. (Stopping him)._ Don't name it.

_Belvil._ Name what?

_Mr. H._ My curst unfortunate name. I have reasons to conceal it for
a time.

_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 ha'n't taken a purse?

_Mr. H._ To relieve you at once from all disgraceful conjecture, 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 flippancy 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, twenty-nine relicts, and two
old maids.

_Belvil_. That was hard indeed, Jack.

_Mr. H_. Parsons have stuck at publish