Beef. Our fellow-traveller, as it seems!
Cas. Yes, Beefington—but wherefore to Hamburgh?
Beef. Oh, Casimere[[279]]—to fly—to fly—to return—England—our country—Magna Charta—it is liberated—a new æra—House of Commons—Crown and Anchor—Opposition—
Cas. What a contrast! you are flying to liberty and your home—I, driven from my home by tyranny, and exposed to domestic slavery in a foreign country.
Beef. How domestic slavery?
Cas. Too true—two wives—[slowly, and with a dejected air—then after a pause]—you knew my Cecilia?
Pudd. Yes, five years ago.
Cas. Soon after that period I went upon a visit to a lady in Wetteravia—my Matilda was under her protection. Alighting at a peasant’s cabin, I saw her on a charitable visit, spreading bread-and-butter for the children, in a light-blue riding-habit. The simplicity of her appearance—the fineness of the weather—all conspired to interest me—my heart moved to hers—as if by magnetic sympathy. We wept, embraced, and went home together: she became the mother of my Pantalowsky. But five years of enjoyment have not stifled the reproaches of my conscience—her Rogero is languishing in captivity—if I could restore her to him!
Beef. Let us rescue him.
Cas. Will without power[[280]] is like children playing at soldiers.