The Contrast
by
Royall Tyler
A Comedy
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY THOMAS J. McKEE
INTRODUCTION.
THE 'Contrast' was the first American play ever
performed in public
by a company of professional
actors. Several plays by native authors
had been
previously published, the more noteworthy being
the
'Prince of Parthia,' a tragedy by Thomas Godfrey
of
Philadelphia, which was probably written, and was
offered to Hallam's
company in 1759 (but not pro-
duced), and was printed in 1765, two
years after the
author's death.<1>
A comedy called the 'Mercenary Match,' by one
Barnabas Bidwell, is
said to have been performed by
the students at Yale College, under the
auspices of the
Rev. Dr. Ezra Styles, President of the College.
Dun-
lap speaks of having heard it
read, but does not men-
tion whether it was from a manuscript or
printed
copy. It was printed at New Haven in 1785.
The 'Contrast,'
however, was the first to meet suc-
cessfully the critical judgment and
approval of a pro-
fessional manager. This fact alone
should redeem it
from the neglect and inattention it has heretofore
met
with. Besides, it possesses considerable intrinsic merit,
and as
an acting play will compare favorably with
many of the English comedies
of the period; and
though, perhaps, meager in plot and incident, it
is
bright, humorous, and natural; the dialogue is sparkling
with
genuine wit; and its satire aimed at the evils and
follies of
the time is keen and incisive. The contrast
between the plain and
simple honesty of purpose and
breeding of our American home life and
the tinseled
though polished hypocrisy and knavery of
foreign
fashionable society is finely delineated, and no doubt
suggested the name of the play. Thoroughly
natural
in its plan and characters, it was a bold venture of a
young writer
in a new literary domain.
The character of Jonathan is a thoroughly
original
conception; nothing of the typical Yankee, since
so
familiar and popular, had as yet appeared, either on
the stage or
in print.
The 'Contrast' was first performed<2> at the John
Street
Theater, New-York City, on the 16th of April,
1787, and undoubtedly met
with the approval of the
public, as it was repeated on the 18th of
April, the 2d
and 12th of May the same season, and was
reproduced
with success later at Philadelphia, Baltimore,
and
Boston. It was, as far as can be learned, the first lit-
erary
effort of its author, a most remarkable genius,
and one of the pioneers
in several branches of our lit-
erature, who, up to within a few weeks
of its produc-
tion, had never attended a theatrical performance.
Royall Tyler, the author of the 'Contrast,' was
born at Boston,
Mass., July 18, 1758, and belonged to
one of the wealthiest and most influential families of
New England. He received his
early education at
the Latin School, in his native city, graduated
at
Harvard, and during the Revolutionary War, and
afterward in
Shay's Rebellion, acted as aid-de-camp
with the rank of Major on the
staff of General Benja-
min Lincoln. It was owing to the latter event
that he
came to New-York, being sent
here by Governor Bow-
doin on a diplomatic mission with reference to
the
capture of Shay, who had crossed the border line
from
Massachusetts into this State. This was the first time
that
Tyler had left his native New England, and the
first time he could have
seen
the inside of a regular
theater, thus confirming the statements made in
the
preface of the play as to the author's inexperience in
the rules
of the drama, and as to the short time within
which it was written, as
his arrival in New-York was
within but a few weeks of its first
performance.
Tyler was apparently immediately attracted to the
theater, for he
became a constant visitor before and
behind the curtain, and rapidly
gained the friendship
of all the performers, particularly that of
Wignell, the
low comedian of the company. He gave Wignell
the
manuscript of the 'Contrast,' and on the 19th of May,
the same
year, produced for that actor's benefit his
second play, 'May-day in
Town, or New-York in an
Uproar,' a comic opera in two acts. He shortly
after-
ward returned to his home at Boston, where, several
years
later (1797) another play from his pen, called 'A
Good Spec,
or Land in the Moon,' was produced. I
have been unable to ascertain
whether either 'May-
day' or 'A Good Spec'
was ever printed or not.
Tyler's modesty or indifference as to his literary rep-
utation, as
evidenced in his treatment of his plays,
characterized his conduct throughout life with
respect
to his other works; so that, of the many productions of
his
pen that have been printed, the only one that bears
his name upon the
title-page is a set of Vermont Law
Reports. And though early in life he
acquired among
literary circles a reputation as a witty and
graceful
writer of poetry and prose, it is doubtful
whether he
benefited much by his writings, either pecuniarily or
in
popularity, as an author. They were undoubtedly
the recreation of his
leisure moments, and though
they were thrown off from time to time
without ap-
parent effort, they bear internal evidence of being
the
result of deep reflection and much reading.<3>
Tyler adopted the legal profession, married, settled
in Vermont,
became celebrated as a successful advo-
cate, was elected a Judge, and
later, Chief Justice of
the Supreme Court of Vermont, and died at
Brattle-
boro, in that State, August 16, 1826.
The success of the 'Contrast' was one of the pow-
erful influences
which aided in bringing about in this
country a complete revolution of
sentiment with re-
spect to the drama and theatrical amusements. Up
to
the time it first appeared, the drama here had met with
few
friends, and but little favor.
A single company of English players, the so-called
first "American
Company," after a long and bitter
struggle with the intolerance and prejudices
of the Puri-
tan and Quakers, had attained
some slight favor in New-
York, Philadelphia, and some of the Southern
cities;
but in New England the prohibitory laws against all
the-
atrical amusements were still in force and were
rigidly
executed. The Continental Congress, while not abso-
lutely
suppressing,<4> had set its seal of condemnation
against the
theater, so that the most reputable and law-
abiding of our people were
kept away from all theatrical
amusements, if not from inclination, at
least by the fear
of deviating from the plain path of their duty.
But
immediately after the production of the 'Contrast,' a
radical
change of opinion in respect to the drama is
apparent.
Plays by American authors followed in rapid succes-
sion, the stigma
against the theater gradually and com-
pletely faded away; and when the
first citizen of the
United States, the immortal Washington, attended
in
state as President to witness a first-night
performance
of an American play, the revolution was complete.
At
Boston a number of the most prominent, intelligent,
and influential citizens assembled in town meetings,
and
passed resolutions instructing their representatives to
demand
of the Legislature an immediate repeal of the
laws against theatrical
amusements, and upon such
repeal being
refused, they subscribed the necessary
funds to erect a theater and
invited the American Com-
pany to visit Boston to give a series of
performances
there, which invitation was accepted.
There was some
interference on the part of the authorities, but the
new
theater was erected and performances publicly given
there, while
the prohibitory law became a dead letter.
It will be noticed that the frontispiece is from a
drawing by
Dunlap, which must have been done by
him shortly after his return from
England, where he
had been studying art as a pupil under Benjamin
West.
It was evidently intended to represent the portraits of
Mr.
and Mrs. Morris, Mr. Henry, Mr. Wignell, and
Mr. Harper, in their
respective characters in this play,
with the scenery as given in
the last act at the John
Street Theater, the first season, but the
inferior work
of the engraver had made it of little value as
likenesses.
The illustration to the song of Alknomook is from
music published
contemporaneously with the play.
This song had long the popularity of a
national air and
was familiar in every drawing-room in the early
part
of the century. Its authorship has been accredited
both to
Philip Freneau and to Mrs. Hunter, the wife
of the celebrated English
physician, John Hunter. It
was published as by Freneau in the American
Museum,
where it appears (with slight changes from the version
in
the 'Contrast') in vol. I., page 77. But Freneau
never claimed to have
written it, and never placed it
among his own collections of his poems,
several editions
of which he made long after the 'Contrast' was
pub-
lished. Mrs. Hunter's poems were not printed till
1806, and the
version of the song there printed is an
exact copy as given in the
play. This song also ap-
peared in a play, entitled, 'New Spain, or
Love in
Mexico,' published at Dublin in 1740. After consider-
able
research, I have become convinced that Alkno-
mook is the offspring of
Tyler's genius.
THOMAS J. MCKEE
THE
CONTRAST
A COMEDY;
IN FIVE ACTS:
WRITTEN BY A
CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES;
Primus ego in patriam
Aonio--deduxi vertice Musas.
VIRGIL
(Imitated)
First on our shores I try THALIA'S powers,
And bid the laughing,
useful Maid be ours.
THE CONTRAST
(BEING THE FIRST ESSAY OF *AMERICAN* GENIUS IN DRAMATIC
ART)
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
TO
THE PRESIDENT AND MEMBERS OF THE
Dramatic Association,
BY
THEIR MOST OBLIGED
AND
MOST GRATEFUL SERVANT,
THOMAS WIGNELL
PHILADELPHIA,
1 January, 1790
PROLOGUE
WRITTEN BY A YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF NEW-YORK,
AND SPOKEN BY MR.
WIGNELL
EXULT, each patriot heart!--this night is shewn
A piece, which we
may fairly call our own;
Where the proud titles of "My Lord! Your
Grace!"
To humble Mr. and plain Sir give place.
Our Author pictures
not from foreign climes
The fashions or the follies of the
times;
But has confin'd the subject of his work
To the gay
scenes--the circles of New-York.
On native themes his Muse displays her
pow'rs;
If ours the faults, the virtues
too are ours.
Why should our thoughts
to distant countries roam,
When each refinement may be found at
home?
Who travels now to ape the rich or great,
To deck an equipage
and roll in state;
To court the graces, or to dance with
ease,
Or by hypocrisy to strive to please?
Our free-born ancestors
such arts despis'd;
Genuine sincerity alone they
pris'd;
Their minds, with honest emulation fir'd;
To solid
good--not ornament--aspir'd;
Or, if ambition rous'd a bolder
flame,
Stern virtue throve, where indolence was shame.
But modern youths, with imitative sense,
Deem taste in
dress the proof of excellence;
And spurn the meanness of your homespun
arts,
Since homespun habits would obscure their parts;
Whilst all,
which aims at splendour and parade,
Must come from Europe, and be ready
made.
Strange! We should thus our native worth disclaim,
And check
the progress of our rising fame.
Yet one, whilst imitation bears the
sway,
Aspires to nobler heights, and points the way.
Be rous'd, my
friends! his bold example view;
Let your own Bards be proud to copy
you!
Should rigid critics reprobate our play,
At least the patriotic
heart will say,
"Glorious our fall, since in a noble
cause.
"The bold attempt alone
demands applause."
Still may the wisdom of
the Comic Muse
Exalt your merits, or your faults accuse.
But think
not, tis her aim to be severe;--
We all are mortals, and as
mortals err.
If candour pleases,
we are truly blest;
Vice trembles, when compell'd to stand
confess'd.
Let not light Censure on your faults offend,
Which aims
not to expose them, but amend.
Thus does our Author to your candour
trust;
Conscious, the free are generous,
as just.
Characters
New-York Maryland
Col. MANLY, Mr
Henry. Mr
Hallam.
DIMPLE,
Mr Hallam. Mr
Harper.
VANROUGH, Mr
Morris. Mr
Morris.
JESSAMY, Mr
Harper. Mr
Biddle.
JONATHAN, Mr
Wignell. Mr Wignell.
CHARLOTTE, Mrs
Morris. Mrs
Morris.
MARIA, Mrs
Harper. Mrs
Harper.
LETITIA, Mrs
Kenna. Mrs
Williamson.
JENNY, Miss
Tuke. Miss W. Tuke.
SERVANTS
SCENE, NEW-YORK.
The Contrast.
----------
ACT I.
Scene, an Apartment at CHARLOTTE'S.
CHARLOTTE and LETITIA discovered.
LETITIA
AND so, Charlotte, you really think the pocket-
hoop unbecoming.
CHARLOTTE
No, I don't say so. It may be very becoming to
saunter round the
house of a rainy day; to visit my
grand-mamma, or to go to Quakers'
meeting: but to
swim in a minuet, with the eyes of fifty
well-dressed
beaux upon me, to trip it in the Mall, or walk on
the
battery, give me the luxurious, jaunty, flowing, bell-
hoop. It
would have delighted you to have seen
me
the last evening, my charming girl! I was dangling
o'er the
battery with Billy Dimple; a knot of young
fellows were upon the
platform; as I passed them I
faultered with one of the most bewitching
false steps
you ever saw, and then recovered myself
with such a
pretty confusion, flirting my hoop to discover a jet
black
shoe and brilliant buckle. Gad! how my little
heart thrilled to hear the
confused raptures of--
"Demme, Jack, what a delicate
foot!" "Ha! Gen-
eral, what a well-turned--"
LETITIA
Fie! fie! Charlotte [stopping her mouth], I protest
you are quite a
libertine.
CHARLOTTE
Why, my dear little prude, are we not all such
libertines? Do you think,
when I sat tortured two
hours under the hands of my friseur, and an
hour
more at my toilet, that I had any thoughts
of my aunt
Susan, or my cousin Betsey? though they are both
allowed
to be critical judges of dress.
LETITIA
Why, who should we dress to please, but those
are judges of its
merit?
CHARLOTTE
Why, a creature who does not know
Buffon from
Souflee--Man!--my Letitia--Man! for whom we
dress, walk,
dance, talk, lisp, languish, and smile.
Does not the grave Spectator
assure us that even our
much bepraised diffidence, modesty, and blushes
are
all directed to make ourselves
good
wives and mothers
as fast as we can? Why, I'll undertake with one
flirt
of this hoop to bring more beaux to my feet in one
week than
the grave Maria, and her sentimental
circle, can do, by sighing
sentiment till their hairs
are grey.
LETITIA
Well, I won't argue with you; you always out-talk
me; let us change
the subject. I hear that Mr. Dim-
ple and Maria are soon to be
married.
CHARLOTTE
You hear true. I was consulted in the choice
of the wedding
clothes. She is to be married in a
delicate white sattin, and has a
monstrous pretty
brocaded lutestring for the second day. It
would
have done you good to have seen with
what an
affected indifference the dear sentimentalist turned
over a
thousand pretty things, just as if her heart
did not palpitate with her
approaching happiness,
and at last made her choice and arranged
her dress
with such apathy as if she did not know that
plain
white sattin and a simple blond lace would shew her
clear skin
and dark hair to the greatest advantage.
LETITIA
But they say her indifference to dress, and even to
the gentleman himself,
is not entirely affected.
CHARLOTTE
How?
LETITIA
It is whispered that if Maria gives her hand to Mr.
Dimple, it will
be without her heart.
CHARLOTTE
Though the giving the heart is one of the last of all
laughable
considerations in the marriage of a girl of
spirit,
yet I should like to hear what antiquated notions
the dear little piece of
old-fashioned prudery has got
in her head.
LETITIA
Why, you know that old Mr.
John-Richard-Robert-
Jacob-Isaac-Abraham-Cornelius Van Dumpling,
Billy
Dimple's father (for he has thought
fit to soften his
name, as well as manners, during his English
tour),
was the most intimate friend of Maria's father. The
old
folks, about a year before Mr. Van Dumpling's
death, proposed this
match: the young folks were
accordingly introduced, and told they must
love one
another. Billy was then a good-natured, decent-dress-
ing young fellow, with a
little dash of the coxcomb,
such as our young fellows of fortune
usually have. At
this time, I really
believe she thought she loved him;
and had they been married, I
doubt
not they
might have jogged on, to the end of the chapter, a
good kind
of a sing-song lack-a-daysaical life, as other
honest married folks
do.
CHARLOTTE
Why did they not then marry?
LETITIA
Upon the death of his father, Billy went to England
to see the
world and rub off a little of the patroon
rust. During his absence,
Maria, like a good girl, to
keep herself
constant to her nown true-love, avoided
company, and betook herself,
for her amusement, to
her books, and her dear Billy's letters. But,
alas!
how many ways has the mischievous demon of incon-
stancy of
stealing into a woman's heart! Her love was
destroyed by the very means
she took to support it.
CHARLOTTE
How?--Oh! I have it--some likely young beau
found the way to her
study.
LETITIA
Be patient, Charlotte; your head so runs upon
beaux.
Why, she read Sir Charles Grandison, Clarissa
Harlow, Shenstone, and
the Sentimental Journey; and
between whiles, as I said, Billy's
letters. But, as her
taste improved, her love declined. The contrast
was
so striking betwixt the good sense
of her books and
the flimsiness of her love-letters, that she
discovered
she had unthinkingly engaged her hand without her
heart;
and then the whole transaction, managed by
the old folks, now appeared
so unsentimental, and
looked so like bargaining for a bale of goods,
that she
found she ought to have rejected, according to every
rule
of romance, even the man of her choice, if im-
posed upon her in that
manner. Clary Harlow
would have scorned such a match.
CHARLOTTE
Well, how was it on Mr. Dimple's return? Did he
meet a more
favourable reception than his letters?
LETITIA
Much the same. She spoke of him with respect
abroad, and with
contempt in her closet. She watched
his conduct and conversation, and
found that he had
by travelling, acquired the wickedness of
Lovelace
without his wit, and the politeness of Sir Charles Gran-
dison
without his generosity. The ruddy youth, who
washed his face at
the cistern every morning, and
swore and looked eternal love and
constancy, was now
metamorphosed into a flippant, palid, polite beau,
who
devotes the morning to his toilet, reads a few pages
of
Chesterfield's letters, and then minces out, to put the
infamous
principles in practice upon every woman he
meets.
CHARLOTTE
But, if she is so apt at conjuring up these senti-
mental bugbears,
why does she not discard him at
once?
LETITIA
Why, she thinks her word too sacred to be trifled
with.
Besides, her father, who has a great respect
for the memory of
his deceased friend, is ever tell-
ing her how he shall renew his years
in their union,
and repeating the dying injunctions of old
Van
Dumpling.
CHARLOTTE
A mighty pretty story! And so you would make
me believe that the
sensible Maria would give up
Dumpling manor, and the all-accomplished
Dimple as
a husband, for the absurd, ridiculous reason,
forsooth,
because she despises and abhors him. Just as if a
lady
could not be privileged to spend a man's fortune,
ride in his carriage,
be called after his name, and call
him her nown dear lovee when she
wants money, with-
out loving and respecting the great he-creature.
Oh!
my dear girl, you are a monstrous prude.
LETITIA
I don't say what I would do; I only intimate how
I suppose she
wishes to act.
CHARLOTTE
No, no, no! A fig for sentiment. If she breaks, or
wishes to break,
with Mr. Dimple, depend upon it, she
has some other man in her eye. A
woman rarely dis-
cards one lover until she is sure of another.
Letitia
little thinks what a clue I have to Dimple's conduct.
The generous
man submits to render himself disgust-
ing to Maria, in order that she may
leave him at lib-
erty to address me. I must change the
subject.
[Aside, and rings a bell.
Enter SERVANT.
Frank, order the horses to.--Talking of marriage,
did you hear that
Sally Bloomsbury is going to be
married next week to Mr. Indigo, the
rich Carolinian?
LETITIA
Sally Bloomsbury married!--why, she is not yet in
her teens.
CHARLOTTE
I do not know how that is, but you may depend
upon it, 'tis a
done affair. I have it from the best au-
thority. There is my aunt
Wyerly's Hannah. You
know Hannah; though a black, she is a wench that
was
never caught in a lie in her life. Now, Hannah
has a brother who courts
Sarah, Mrs. Catgut the mil-
liner's girl, and she told Hannah's
brother, and Han-
nah, who, as I said before, is a girl of
undoubted
veracity, told it directly to me, that Mrs. Catgut
was
making a new cap for Miss Bloomsbury, which, as it
was very
dressy, it is very probable is designed for a
wedding cap. Now, as she
is to be married, who can
it be to but to Mr. Indigo? Why, there is no
other
gentleman that visits at her papa's.
LETITIA
Say not a word more, Charlotte. Your intelligence
is so direct and
well grounded, it is almost a pity
that
it is not a piece of scandal.
CHARLOTTE
Oh! I am the pink of prudence.
Though I cannot
charge myself with ever having discredited a tea-party
by my
silence, yet I take care never to report any
thing of my acquaintance,
especially if it is to their
credit,--discredit, I mean,--until I have
searched to
the bottom of it. It is true,
there is infinite pleasure
in this charitable pursuit. Oh! how
delicious to go
and condole with the friends of some
backsliding
sister, or to retire with some old dowager or
maiden
aunt of the family, who love scandal so well that they
cannot
forbear
gratifying their appetite at the expense
of the reputation of their
nearest relations! And then
to return full fraught with a
rich collection of circum-
stances, to retail to the next circle of our
acquaintance
under the strongest injunctions of secrecy,--ha,
ha,
ha!--interlarding the melancholy tale with so many
doleful
shakes of the head, and more doleful "Ah!
who would have thought
it! so amiable, so prudent
a young lady, as we all thought
her, what a mon-
strous pity!
well, I have nothing to charge myself
with; I acted the part of a friend, I warned
her of
the principles of that rake, I told her what would be
the
consequence; I told her so, I told her so."--Ha,
ha, ha!
LETITIA
Ha, ha, ha! Well, but, Charlotte, you don't tell
me what you think of
Miss Bloomsbury's match.
CHARLOTTE
Think! why I think it
is probable she cried for a
plaything, and they have given her a
husband. Well,
well, well, the puling chit shall not be deprived of
her
plaything: 'tis only exchanging London dolls for
American
babies.--Apropos, of babies, have you
heard what
Mrs. Affable's high-flying notions of deli-
cacy have come to?
LETITIA
Who, she that was Miss Lovely?
CHARLOTTE
The same; she married Bob Affable of Schenectady.
Don't you remember?
Enter SERVANT.
SERVANT.
Madam, the carriage is ready.
LETITIA
Shall we go to the stores first, or visiting?
CHARLOTTE
I should think it rather too early to visit, especially
Mrs.
Prim; you know she is so particular.
LETITIA
Well, but what of Mrs. Affable?
CHARLOTTE
Oh, I'll tell you as we go; come, come, let us
hasten. I hear Mrs.
Catgut has some of the prettiest
caps arrived you ever saw. I
shall die if I have not
the first sight of
them.
[Exeunt.
[page intentionally blank]
[illustration omitted]
SCENE II.
A Room in VAN ROUGH'S House
MARIA sitting disconsolate at a Table, with Books, &c.
SONG.
I.
The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day;
But glory remains
when their lights fade away!
Begin, ye tormentors! your threats are in
vain,
For the son of Alknomook shall never complain.
II.
Remember the arrows he shot from his bow;
Remember
your chiefs by his hatchet laid low:
Why so slow?--do you wait till I
shrink from the pain?
No--the son of Alknomook will never
complain.
III.
Remember the wood where in ambush we lay,
And the
scalps which we bore from your nation away:
Now the flame rises fast,
you exult in my pain;
But the son of Alknomook can never
complain.
IV.
I go to the land where my father is gone;
His ghost shall rejoice in
the fame of his son:
Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain;
And thy son, Oh Alknomook! has scorn'd to
complain.
There is something in this song which ever calls
forth my
affections. The manly virtue of courage,
that fortitude
which steels the heart against the keenest
misfortunes, which
interweaves the laurel of glory
amidst the instruments of torture and
death, displays
something so noble, so
exalted, that in despite of the
prejudices of education I cannot but
admire it, even
in a savage. The prepossession which our sex
is
supposed to entertain for the character
of a soldier is,
I know, a standing piece of raillery among the wits.
A cockade, a lapell'd coat, and a feather, they
will
tell you, are irresistible by a female heart. Let it be
so. Who
is it that considers the helpless situation of
our sex, that does not
see
that we each moment stand
in need of a protector, and that a brave one
too?
Formed of the more delicate materials of nature,
endowed only
with the softer passions, incapable,
from our ignorance of the world,
to guard against the
wiles of mankind, our security for happiness
often
depends upon their generosity
and courage. Alas!
how little of the former do we find! How
inconsis-
tent! that man should be leagued to destroy that
honour
upon which solely rests his respect and
esteem. Ten thousand
temptations allure us, ten
thousand passions betray us; yet the
smallest deviation
from the path of rectitude is followed by the
contempt
and insult of man, and the more remorseless pity
of
woman; years of penitence and tears cannot wash
away the stain,
nor a life of virtue obliterate its
remembrance. Reputation is the life of woman;
yet
courage to protect it is masculine and disgusting;
and the only
safe asylum a woman of delicacy can
find is in the arms of a man of
honour. How
naturally, then, should we love the brave and the
generous;
how gratefully should we bless the arm
raised for our protection, when
nerv'd by virtue and
directed by honour! Heaven grant that the
man
with whom I may be connected--may be connected!
Whither has my
imagination transported me--whither
does it now lead me? Am I not
indissolubly
engaged, "by every obligation of honour which my
own
consent and my father's approbation can give,"
to a man who can never
share my affections, and
whom a few days hence it will be criminal for
me to
disapprove--to disapprove! would to heaven that
were all--to
despise. For, can the most frivolous
manners, actuated by the most
depraved heart, meet,
or merit, anything but contempt from every
woman
of delicacy and sentiment?
[VAN ROUGH without. Mary!]
Ha! my father's voice--Sir!--
[Enter VAN ROUGH.
VAN ROUGH
What, Mary, always singing doleful ditties, and
moping over these
plaguy books.
MARIA
I hope, Sir, that it is not criminal to improve my
mind with
books, or to divert my melancholy with
singing, at my leisure
hours.
VAN ROUGH
Why, I don't know that, child; I don't know
that.
They us'd to say, when I was a young man, that if a
woman knew how
to make a pudding, and to keep
herself
out of fire and water, she knew
enough for a
wife. Now, what good have
these books done you?
have they not made you melancholy? as you call
it.
Pray, what right has a girl of your age to be in the
dumps?
haven't you everything your heart can wish;
an't you going to be
married to a young man of great
fortune; an't you going to have the
quit-rent of twenty
miles square?
MARIA
One-hundredth part of the land, and a lease for life
of the heart of
a man I could love, would satisfy me.
VAN ROUGH
Pho, pho, pho! child; nonsense, downright non-
sense, child. This
comes of your reading your story-
books; your Charles Grandisons, your
Sentimental
Journals, and your Robinson Crusoes, and such
other
trumpery. No, no, no! child; it is money makes the
mare go;
keep your eye upon the main chance, Mary.
MARIA
Marriage, Sir, is, indeed, a very serious affair.
VAN ROUGH
You are right, child; you are right. I am sure
I
found it so, to my cost.
MARIA
I mean, Sir, that as marriage is a portion for life,
and so
intimately involves our happiness, we cannot
be too considerate in the choice
of our companion.
VAN ROUGH
Right, child; very right. A young woman should
be very sober when
she is making her choice, but
when she has once made it, as you have
done, I don't
see why she should not be as merry as a grig; I am
sure
she has reason enough to be so. Solomon says
that "there is a time to
laugh, and a time to weep."
Now, a time for a young woman to laugh is
when she
has made sure of a good rich
husband. Now, a time
to cry, according to you, Mary, is when she is
making
choice of him; but I should think that
a young
woman's time to cry was when she despaired
of
getting one. Why, there was your mother, now: to be
sure, when I
popp'd the question to her she did look
a little silly; but when she
had once looked down on
her apron-strings, as all modest young women
us'd to
do, and drawled out ye-s, she was as brisk and as
merry as a
bee.
MARIA
My honoured mother, Sir, had no motive to mel-
ancholy; she married
the man of her choice.
VAN ROUGH
The man of her choice! And pray, Mary, an't you
going to marry the
man of your choice--what trum-
pery notion is this? It is these vile
books [throwing
them away]. I'd have you to know,
Mary, if you
won't make young Van Dumpling the man of your
choice,
you shall marry him as the man of my choice.
MARIA
You terrify me, Sir. Indeed, Sir, I am all
submission.
My will is yours.
VAN ROUGH
Why, that is the way your mother us'd to talk.
"My will is yours, my
dear Mr. Van Rough, my will
is yours"; but she took special care to
have her
own way, though, for all that.
MARIA
Do not reflect upon my mother's memory,
Sir--
VAN ROUGH
Why not, Mary, why not? She kept me from speak-
ing my mind all
her life, and do you think she shall
henpeck me now she is dead too? Come,
come;
don't go to sniveling; be a good girl,
and mind the
main chance. I'll see you
well settled in the world.
MARIA
I do not doubt your love, Sir, and it is my duty to
obey you.
I will endeavour to make my duty and
inclination go hand in hand.
VAN ROUGH
Well, Well, Mary; do you be a good girl,
mind
the
main chance, and never mind
inclination. Why, do
you know that
I have been down in the cellar this
very morning to examine a pipe of
Madeira which I
purchased the week you were born, and mean to tap
on
your wedding day?--That pipe cost me fifty pounds
sterling. It
was well worth sixty pounds; but I over-
reach'd Ben Bulkhead, the
supercargo. I'll tell you
the whole story. You must know
that--
Enter SERVANT.
SERVANT.
Sir, Mr. Transfer, the broker is below.
[Exit.
VAN ROUGH
Well, Mary, I must go. Remember, and be a good
girl, and mind the
main chance.
[Exit.
MARIA, alone.
How deplorable is my situation! How distressing
for a daughter to
find her heart militating with her
filial duty! I know my
father loves me tenderly; why
then do I reluctantly obey him? Heaven knows!
with what reluctance I should oppose the will
of a
parent, or set an example of filial disobedience; at a
parent's
command, I could wed awkwardness and
deformity. Were the heart of my
husband good, I
would so magnify his good
qualities with the eye
of conjugal affection, that the defects of his
person
and manners should be lost in the emanation of his
virtues.
At a father's command, I could embrace
poverty. Were the poor man my
husband, I would
learn resignation to my lot; I would enliven our
frugal
meal with good humour, and chase away misfortune
from our
cottage with a smile. At a father's command,
I could almost submit to
what every female heart
knows to
be the most mortifying, to marry a weak
man, and blush at my husband's
folly in every com-
pany I visited. But to marry a depraved
wretch,
whose only virtue is a polished exterior; who is
actuated by the
unmanly ambition of conquering the
defenceless; whose heart, insensible
to the emotions
of patriotism, dilates at the plaudits of
every unthink-
ing girl; whose laurels are the sighs and tears of
the
miserable victims of his specious behaviour,--can he,
who has no regard for the peace
and happiness of
other families, ever have a due regard
for the peace
and happiness of his own? Would to heaven that
my father
were not so hasty in his temper? Surely,
if I were to state my
reasons for declining this match,
he would not compel me to marry a
man, whom,
though my lips may solemnly promise to honour, I
find my
heart must ever despise.
[Exit.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Enter CHARLOTTE and LETITIA.
CHARLOTTE [at entering].
BETTY, take those things out of the carriage and
carry them to my
chamber; see that you don't tumble
them. My dear, I protest, I
think
it was the home-
liest of the whole. I declare I was almost tempted
to
return and change it.
LETITIA
Why would you take it?
CHARLOTTE
Didn't Mrs. Catgut say it was the most fashionable?
LETITIA
But, my dear, it will never fit becomingly on you.
CHARLOTTE
I know that; but did you not hear Mrs.
Catgut
say it was fashionable?
LETITIA
Did you see that sweet airy cap with the white
sprig?
CHARLOTTE
Yes, and I longed to take it; but, my dear, what
could I do? Did not
Mrs. Catgut say it was the
most fashionable; and if I had not taken it,
was not
that awkward, gawky, Sally Slender, ready to purchase
it
immediately?
LETITIA
Did you observe how she tumbled over the things
at the next shop,
and then went off without purchasing
anything, nor even thanking the
poor man for his
trouble? But, of all the awkward creatures, did
you
see Miss Blouze endeavouring to thrust her
unmerciful
arm into those small kid gloves?
CHARLOTTE
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
LETITIA
Then did you take notice with what an affected
warmth of friendship
she and Miss Wasp met? when
all their acquaintance know how
much pleasure they
take in abusing each other in every
company.
CHARLOTTE
Lud! Letitia, is that so extraordinary? Why, my
dear, I hope you are
not going to turn sentimentalist.
Scandal, you know, is
but amusing ourselves with the
faults, foibles, follies, and
reputations of our friends;
indeed, I don't know why
we should have friends, if
we are not at liberty to make use of them.
But no
person is so ignorant of the world as to suppose, be-
cause I
amuse myself with a lady's faults, that I am
obliged to quarrel with her person every time
we
meet: believe me, my dear, we should have very few
acquaintance
at that rate.
SERVANT enters and delivers a letter to
CHAR-
LOTTE,
and--[Exit.
CHARLOTTE
You'll excuse me, my dear.
[Opens and reads to herself.
LETITIA
Oh, quite excusable.
CHARLOTTE
As I hope to be married, my brother Henry is in
the city.
LETITIA
What, your brother, Colonel Manly?
CHARLOTTE
Yes, my dear; the only brother I have in the world.
LETITIA
Was he never in this city?
CHARLOTTE
Never nearer than Harlem Heights, where he lay
with his
regiment.
LETITIA
What sort of a being is this brother of yours? If
he is as chatty,
as pretty, as sprightly as you, half the
belles in the city will be
pulling caps for him.
CHARLOTTE
My brother is the very counterpart and reverse of
me: I am gay, he
is grave; I am airy, he is solid; I
am ever selecting the most pleasing
objects
for my
laughter, he has a tear for every pitiful one. And
thus,
whilst he is plucking the briars and thorns from
the path of the
unfortunate, I am strewing my own
path with roses.
LETITIA
My sweet friend, not quite so poetical, and a little
more
particular.
CHARLOTTE
Hands off, Letitia. I feel the rage of simile upon
me; I can't talk to you
in any other way. My brother
has a heart replete with the noblest
sentiments, but
then, it is like--it is like--Oh! you provoking
girl,
you have deranged all my ideas--it is like--Oh! I
have it--his
heart is like an old maiden lady's band-
box; it contains many costly
things, arranged with
the most scrupulous nicety, yet the misfortune is
that
they are too delicate, costly, and antiquated for com-
mon
use.
LETITIA
By what I can pick out of your flowery description,
your brother is
no beau.
CHARLOTTE
No, indeed; he makes no pretension to the char-
acter. He'd ride, or
rather fly, an hundred miles to
relieve a distressed object, or
to do a gallant act in the
service of his country; but should you drop
your fan
or bouquet in his presence, it is ten to one that some
beau
at the farther end of the room would have the
honour of presenting it
to you before he had observed
that it fell. I'll tell you one of his
antiquated, anti-
gallant notions. He said once in my presence, in
a
room full of company,--would you believe it?--in a
large circle of
ladies, that the best evidence a gentle-
man could give a young lady of
his respect and affec-
tion was to endeavour in a friendly manner to
rectify
her foibles. I protest I was crimson to the eyes,
upon
reflecting that I was known as
his sister.
LETITIA
Insupportable creature! tell a lady of her faults! if
he is so
grave, I fear I have no chance of captivating
him.
CHARLOTTE
His conversation is like a rich, old-fashioned bro-
cade,--it will
stand alone; every sentence is a sen-
timent. Now you may
judge what a time I had
with him, in my twelve months' visit to my
father.
He read me such lectures, out of pure brotherly affec-
tion,
against the extremes of fashion, dress, flirting, and
coquetry, and all
the other dear things which he knows
I
doat upon, that I protest his conversation made me
as melancholy as if
I had been at church; and heaven
knows,
though I never prayed to go there but on one
occasion, yet I would have
exchanged his conversa-
tion for a psalm and a sermon. Church is
rather
melancholy, to be sure; but then I can ogle the beaux,
and be
regaled with "here endeth the first lesson," but
his brotherly here,
you would think had no end. You
captivate him! Why, my dear, he
would as soon fall
in love with a box of Italian flowers. There is
Maria,
now, if she were not engaged, she might do something.
Oh! how
I should like to see that pair of pensorosos
together, looking as
grave as two sailors' wives of a
stormy night, with a flow of sentiment
meandering
through their conversation like purling streams in
modern
poetry.
LETITIA
Oh! my dear fanciful--
CHARLOTTE
Hush! I hear some person coming through the entry.
Enter SERVANT.
SERVANT.
Madam, there's a gentleman below who calls him-
self
Colonel Manly; do you chuse to be at home?
CHARLOTTE
Shew him in. [Exit Servant.] Now for a
sober
face.
Enter Colonel MANLY.
MANLY
My dear Charlotte, I am happy that I once more
enfold you within the arms of
fraternal affection. I
know you are going to ask (amiable impatience!)
how
our parents do,--the venerable pair transmit you
their blessing by me.
They totter on the verge of a
well-spent life, and wish only to see their
children
settled in the world, to depart in peace.
CHARLOTTE
I am very happy to
hear
that they are well. [Coolly.]
Brother, will you give me leave to
introduce you to our
uncle's ward, one of my most intimate friends?
MANLY [saluting Letitia].
I ought to regard your friends as my own.
CHARLOTTE
Come, Letitia, do give us a little dash of your
vivacity; my brother
is so sentimental and so grave,
that I protest he'll give us the
vapours.
MANLY
Though sentiment and gravity, I know, are
ban-
ished the polite world, yet I hoped they might find
some
countenance in the meeting of such near con-
nections as brother and
sister.
CHARLOTTE
Positively, brother, if you go one step further in this
strain, you
will set me crying, and that, you know,
would spoil my eyes; and then I should never
get the
husband which our good papa
and mamma have so
kindly wished me--never be established in the
world.
MANLY
Forgive me, my sister,--I am no enemy to mirth;
I
love your sprightliness; and I hope it will one day
enliven the hours
of some worthy man; but when I
mention the respectable authors of my existence,--
the cherishers and protectors of my
helpless infancy,
whose hearts glow with such fondness and
attachment
that they would willingly lay down their lives for
my
welfare,--you will excuse me if I am so
unfashionable
as to speak of them with some degree of respect
and
reverence.
CHARLOTTE
Well, well, brother; if you won't be gay, we'll not
differ; I will
be as grave as you wish. [Affects gravity.]
And so, brother, you have
come to the city to ex-
change some of your commutation notes for a
little
pleasure?
MANLY
Indeed you are mistaken; my errand is not of
amusement, but
business; and as I neither drink nor
game, my expenses will be so
trivial, I shall have no
occasion to sell my notes.
CHARLOTTE
Then you won't have occasion to do a very good
thing. Why, here was the Vermont
General--he
came down some time since, sold all his musty notes
at
one stroke, and then laid the cash out in trinkets
for his dear Fanny.
I want a dozen pretty things my-
self; have
you got the notes with you?
MANLY
I shall be ever willing to contribute, as far as it is in
my power,
to adorn or in any way to please my sis-
ter; yet I hope I shall never
be obliged for this to sell
my notes. I may be romantic, but I preserve
them
as a sacred deposit. Their full amount is justly due
to me, but
as embarrassments, the natural consequen-
ces of a long war, disable my
country from supporting
its credit, I shall wait with patience
until it is rich
enough to discharge them. If that is not in my
day,
they shall be transmitted as an honourable certificate
to
posterity, that I have humbly imitated our illustri-
ous WASHINGTON, in
having exposed my health and
life in the service of my country, without
reaping any
other reward than the glory of conquering in so
ardu-
ous a contest.
CHARLOTTE
Well said heroics. Why, my dear Henry, you have
such a lofty way of
saying things, that I protest I
almost tremble at the thought of
introducing you to
the polite circles in the city. The belles would think
you were a player run mad, with your head
filled with
old scraps of tragedy; and as to the beaux, they
might
admire, because they would not understand
you. But, however, I must, I believe,
introduce you
to two or three ladies of my acquaintance.
LETITIA
And that will make him acquainted with thirty or
forty beaux.
CHARLOTTE
Oh! brother, you don't know what a fund of happi-
ness you have in
store.
MANLY
I fear, sister, I have not refinement sufficient to
enjoy
it.
CHARLOTTE
Oh! you cannot fail being pleased.
LETITIA
Our ladies are so delicate and dressy.
CHARLOTTE
And our beaux so dressy and delicate.
LETITIA
Our ladies chat and flirt so agreeably.
CHARLOTTE
And our beaux simper and bow so gracefully.
LETITIA
With their hair so trim and neat.
CHARLOTTE
And their faces so soft and sleek.
LETITIA
Their buckles so tonish and bright.
CHARLOTTE
And their hands so slender and white.
LETITIA
I vow, Charlotte, we are quite poetical.
CHARLOTTE
And then, brother, the faces of the beaux are of
such a lily-white
hue! None of that horrid robustness
of constitution, that vulgar
corn-fed glow of health,
which can only serve to alarm an unmarried
lady with
apprehension, and prove a melancholy memento to a
married
one, that she can never hope for the happiness
of being a
widow. I will say this to the credit of our
city beaux, that such is
the delicacy of their complex-
ion, dress, and address, that, even had
I no reliance
upon the honour of the dear Adonises, I would trust
myself in
any possible situation with them, without
the least apprehensions of
rudeness.
MANLY
Sister Charlotte!
CHARLOTTE
Now, now, now, brother [interrupting him], now
don't go to spoil my
mirth with a dash of your grav-
ity; I am so glad
to see
you, I
am in
tiptop spirits.
Oh! that you could be with us at a little
snug party.
There is Billy Simper, Jack Chaffe, and Colonel
Van
Titter, Miss Promonade, and the two Miss Tambours,
sometimes
make a party, with some other ladies, in a
side-box at the play.
Everything is conducted with
such decorum. First we bow round to the
company
in general, then to each one in particular, then we
have so
many inquiries after each other's health, and
we are so happy to
meet each other, and it is so many
ages since we last had that pleasure,
and if a married
lady is in company, we have such a sweet
dissertation
upon her son Bobby's chin-cough; then the
curtain
rises, then our sensibility is all awake, and
then, by the
mere force of apprehension, we torture some
harmless
expression into a double meaning, which the poor au-
thor
never dreamt of, and then we have recourse to
our fans, and
then we blush, and then the gentlemen
jog one another, peep under the
fan, and make the
prettiest remarks; and then we giggle and they
simper,
and they giggle and we simper, and then the curtain
drops,
and then for nuts and oranges, and then we
bow, and it's pray, Ma'am,
take it, and pray, Sir, keep
it, and oh! not for the world, Sir; and
then the curtain
rises again, and then we blush and giggle and
simper
and bow all over again. Oh! the sentimental charms
of a
side-box conversation! [All laugh.]
MANLY
Well, sister, I join heartily with you in the laugh;
for, in my
opinion, it is as justifiable to laugh at folly
as it is reprehensible
to ridicule misfortune.
CHARLOTTE
Well, but, brother, positively I can't introduce you
in these
clothes: why, your coat looks as if it were
calculated for the vulgar
purpose of keeping yourself
comfortable.
MANLY
This coat was my regimental coat in the late war.
The public tumults
of our state have induced me to
buckle on the sword in
support of that government
which I once fought to establish. I can only
say,
sister, that there was a time when this coat was re-
spectable,
and some people even thought that those
men who had endured so many winter
campaigns in
the service of their country, without bread,
clothing,
or pay, at least deserved that the poverty of
their
appearance should not be ridiculed.
CHARLOTTE
We agree in opinion entirely, brother, though it
would not have done
for me to have said it: it is the
coat makes the man respectable. In
the time of the
war, when we were almost frightened to death,
why,
your coat was respectable, that is, fashionable; now
another
kind of coat is fashionable, that is, respectable.
And pray direct the
taylor to make yours the height
of the fashion.
MANLY
Though it is of little consequence to me of what
shape my coat is,
yet, as to the height of the fashion,
there you will please to excuse
me, sister. You know
my sentiments on that subject. I have often
lamented
the advantage which the French have over us in
that
particular. In Paris, the fashions have their dawnings,
their
routine, and declensions, and depend as much
upon the caprice of the
day as in other countries; but
there every lady assumes a right to
deviate from the
general ton as far as will be of advantage to her
own
appearance. In America, the cry is, what is the
fashion? and we
follow it indiscriminately, because
it is so.
CHARLOTTE
Therefore it is, that when large hoops are in
fashion,
we often see many a plump girl lost in the immensity
of a
hoop-petticoat, whose want of height and en-bon-
point would never have
been remarked in any other
dress. When the high head-dress is the mode,
how
then do we see a lofty cushion, with a profusion of
gauze,
feathers, and ribband, supported by a face no
bigger than an apple!
whilst a broad full-faced lady,
who really
would have appeared tolerably handsome
in a large head-dress, looks
with her smart chapeau as
masculine as a soldier.
MANLY
But remember, my dear sister, and I wish all my
fair
country-women would recollect, that the only ex-
cuse a young lady can
have for going extravagantly
into a fashion is because it makes her
look extrava-
gantly handsome.--Ladies, I must wish you a good
morning.
CHARLOTTE
But, brother, you are going to make home with us.
MANLY
Indeed I cannot. I have seen my
uncle and
explained that matter.
CHARLOTTE
Come and dine with us, then. We have a family
dinner about half-past
four o'clock.
MANLY
I am engaged
to dine with the Spanish ambassador.
I was introduced to him by an old
brother officer; and
instead of freezing me with a cold card of
compliment
to dine with him ten days hence, he, with the true
old
Castilian frankness, in a friendly manner, asked me to
dine with
him to-day--an honour I could not refuse.
Sister, adieu--Madam, your
most obedient--[Exit.
CHARLOTTE
I will wait upon you to the door, brother; I have
something
particular to say to you.
[Exit.
LETITIA, alone.
What a pair!--She the pink of flirtation, he the
essence of
everything that is outre and gloomy.--I
think I
have completely deceived Charlotte by my
manner of speaking of Mr.
Dimple; she's too much
the friend of Maria to be confided in. He is
certainly
rendering himself disagreeable to Maria, in order to
break with
her and proffer his hand to me. This is
what the delicate fellow hinted
in our last conversation.
[Exit.
SCENE II. The Mall.
Enter
JESSAMY.
Positively this Mall is a very pretty place. I hope
the cits won't
ruin it by repairs. To be sure, it won't
do to speak of in the same day
with Ranelagh or
Vauxhall; however, it's a fine place for a young
fellow
to display his person to advantage. Indeed, nothing
is lost
here; the girls have taste, and I am very happy
to find they have adopted the elegant London
fashion
of looking back, after a genteel fellow like me has
passed
them.--Ah! who comes here? This, by his
awkwardness, must be the Yankee
colonel's servant.
I'll accost him.
Enter JONATHAN.
JESSAMY
Votre tres-humble serviteur, Monsieur. I under-
stand Colonel Manly,
the Yankee officer, has the
honour of your services.
JONATHAN
Sir!--
JESSAMY
I say, Sir, I understand that Colonel Manly has the
honour of
having you for a servant.
JONATHAN
Servant! Sir, do you take me for a neger,--I am
Colonel Manly's
waiter.
JESSAMY
A true Yankee distinction, egad, without a
differ-
ence. Why, Sir, do you not perform all the offices of
a
servant? do you not even blacken his boots?
JONATHAN
Yes; I do grease them a bit sometimes; but I am a
true blue
son of liberty, for all that. Father said I
should come as Colonel
Manly's waiter, to see the
world, and all that; but no man shall master
me. My
father has as good a farm as the colonel.
JESSAMY
Well, Sir, we will not quarrel about terms upon the
eve of an
acquaintance from which I promise myself
so much satisfaction;--therefore, sans ceremonie--
JONATHAN
What?--
JESSAMY
I say I am extremely happy to
see
Colonel Manly's
waiter.
JONATHAN
Well, and I vow, too, I am pretty considerably glad
to see you;
but what the dogs need of all this out-
landish lingo? Who may you be,
Sir, if I may be so
bold?
JESSAMY
I have the honour to be Mr. Dimple's servant, or,
if you please,
waiter. We lodge under the same roof,
and should be glad of the honour
of your acquaintance.
JONATHAN
You a waiter! by the living jingo, you look so top-
ping, I took you
for one of the agents to Congress.
JESSAMY
The brute has discernment, notwithstanding his
appearance.--Give me
leave to say I wonder then at
your familiarity.
JONATHAN
Why, as to the matter of that, Mr.--; pray,
what's your name?
JESSAMY
Jessamy, at your service.
JONATHAN
Why, I swear we don't make any great matter of
distinction in our state
between quality and other
folks.
JESSAMY
This is, indeed, a levelling principle.--I hope, Mr.
Jonathan, you
have not taken part with the insurgents.
JONATHAN
Why, since General Shays has sneaked off and
given us the bag to
hold, I don't care to give my
opinion; but you'll promise not to
tell--put your ear
this way--you won't tell?--I vow I did think
the
sturgeons were right.
JESSAMY
I thought, Mr. Jonathan, you Massachusetts men
always
argued with a gun in your hand. Why didn't
you join them?
JONATHAN
Why, the colonel is one of those folks called the
Shin--Shin--dang
it all, I can't speak them lignum
vitae words--you know who I
mean--there is a com-
pany of them--they wear a china goose at
their
button-hole--a kind of gilt thing.--Now the colonel
told
father and brother,--you must know there
are,
let me see--there is Elnathan, Silas, and
Barnabas,
Tabitha--no, no, she's a she--tarnation, now I
have
it--there's Elnathan, Silas, Barnabas, Jonathan,
that's
I--seven of us, six went into the wars, and I staid at
home
to take care of mother. Colonel said that it was
a burning shame for
the true blue Bunker Hill sons of
liberty, who had fought
Governor Hutchinson, Lord
North, and the Devil, to have any hand in
kicking up
a cursed dust against a government which we had,
every
mother's son of us, a hand in making.
JESSAMY
Bravo!--Well, have you been abroad in the city
since your arrival?
What have you seen that is
curious and entertaining?
JONATHAN
Oh! I have seen a power of fine sights. I
went to
see two marble-stone men and a leaden horse
that
stands out in doors in all weathers; and when I came
where they
was, one had got no head, and t'other
wern't there. They said as how
the leaden man was
a damn'd tory, and that he took wit in
his anger and
rode off in the time of the troubles.
JESSAMY
But this was not the end of your excursion?
JONATHAN
Oh, no; I went to a place they call Holy Ground.
Now I counted this
was a place where folks go to
meeting; so I put my hymn-book in my
pocket, and
walked softly and grave as a minister; and when I
came
there, the dogs a bit of a meeting-house could I
see. At
last I spied a young gentlewoman standing
by one of the seats which
they have here at the
doors. I took her to be the deacon's daughter,
and
she looked so kind, and so obliging, that I thought
I
would go and ask her the way to lecture, and--would
you think
it?--she called me dear, and sweeting, and
honey, just as if we were
married: by the living jingo,
I had a month's mind to
buss her.
JESSAMY
Well, but how did it end?
JONATHAN
Why, as I was standing talking with her, a parcel
of sailor men and
boys got round me, the snarl-headed
curs fell a-kicking and cursing of
me at such a tarnal
rate, that I vow I was glad to take to my heels
and
split home, right off, tail on end, like a stream of chalk.
JESSAMY
Why, my dear friend, you are not acquainted with
the city; that girl
you saw
was a--[whispers.]
JONATHAN
Mercy on my soul! was
that young woman a
harlot!--Well! if this is New-York Holy
Ground,
what must the Holy-day Ground be!
JESSAMY
Well, you should not judge of the city too rashly.
We have a number
of elegant, fine girls here that make
a man's leisure hours pass very
agreeably. I would
esteem it an honour to announce you to some
of
them.--Gad! that announce is a select word; I won-
der where I
picked it up.
JONATHAN
I don't want to know them.
JESSAMY
Come, come, my dear friend, I see that I
must
assume the honour of being the
director of your amuse-
ments. Nature has given us passions, and youth
and
opportunity stimulate to gratify them. It is no shame,
my dear
Blueskin, for a man to amuse himself
with a
little gallantry.
JONATHAN
Girl huntry! I don't altogether understand. I
never played at that game. I know how
to play
hunt the squirrel, but I can't play anything with the
girls;
I am as good as
married.
JESSAMY
Vulgar, horrid brute! Married, and above a hun-
dred miles from his
wife, and thinks that an objection
to his making love to every
woman he meets! He
never can have read, no, he never can have been in
a
room with a volume of the divine Chesterfield.--So
you are
married?
JONATHAN
No, I don't say so; I said I was as good as
mar-
ried, a kind of promise.
JESSAMY
As good as married!--
JONATHAN
Why, yes; there's Tabitha Wymen, the deacon's
daughter, at home; she
and I have been courting a
great while, and folks say as how we are to
be married;
and so I broke a piece of money with her when we
parted,
and she promised not to spark it with Solomon
Dyer while I am gone.
You wouldn't have me false
to my true-love, would you?
JESSAMY
May be you have another reason for constancy;
possibly the young
lady has a fortune? Ha! Mr.
Jonathan, the solid charms: the chains of
love are
never so binding as when the links are made of gold.
JONATHAN
Why, as to fortune, I must needs say her father is
pretty dumb rich;
he went representative for our town
last year. He will give her--let me
see--four times
seven is--seven times four--nought and carry
one,--
he will give her twenty acres of land--somewhat
rocky
though--a Bible, and a cow.
JESSAMY
Twenty acres of rock, a Bible, and a cow! Why, my
dear Mr. Jonathan,
we have servant-maids, or, as you
would more elegantly express it,
waitresses, in this
city, who collect more in one year from their
mistresses'
cast clothes.
JONATHAN
You don't say so!--
JESSAMY
Yes, and I'll introduce to one of them. There
is a little lump of
flesh and delicacy that lives at next
door, waitress to Miss Maria; we
often see her on the
stoop.
JONATHAN
But are you sure she would be courted by me?
JESSAMY
Never doubt it; remember a
faint heart never--
blisters on my tongue--I was going to be guilty of
a
vile proverb; flat against the authority of Chester-
field. I say
there can be no doubt that the brilliancy
of your merit will secure
you a favourable reception.
JONATHAN
Well, but what must I say to her?
JESSAMY
Say to her! why, my dear friend, though I admire
your profound knowledge
on every other subject, yet,
you will pardon my saying that your want
of oppor-
tunity has made the female heart escape the poignancy
of
your penetration. Say to her! Why, when a man
goes a-courting, and
hopes for success, he must begin
with doing, and not saying.
JONATHAN
Well, what must I do?
JESSAMY
Why, when you are introduced you must make five
or six elegant
bows.
JONATHAN
Six elegant bows! I understand that; six, you say?
Well--
JESSAMY
Then you must press and kiss her hand; then press
and kiss, and so
on to her lips and cheeks; then talk
as much as you can about hearts,
darts, flames, nectar,
and ambrosia--the more incoherent the
better.
JONATHAN
Well, but suppose she should be angry with
I?
JESSAMY
Why, if she should pretend--please to observe, Mr.
Jonathan--if she
should pretend to be offended, you
must-- But I'll tell you
how my master acted in
such a case: He was seated by a young lady of
eighteen
upon a sofa, plucking with a wanton hand the
blooming
sweets of youth and beauty. When the lady thought
it
necessary to check his ardour, she called up a frown
upon her
lovely face, so irresistibly alluring, that it
would have warmed the
frozen bosom of age; remem-
ber, said she, putting her delicate arm
upon his, re-
member your character
and my honour. My master
instantly dropped upon his knees, with eyes
swimming
with love, cheeks glowing with desire,
and in the gen-
tlest modulation of voice he said: My dear Caroline,
in
a few months our hands will be indissolubly united at
the altar;
our hearts I feel are already so; the favours
you now grant as
evidence of your affection are
favours indeed; yet, when the ceremony
is once past,
what will now be received with rapture will then
be
attributed to duty.
JONATHAN
Well, and what was the consequence?
JESSAMY
The consequence!--Ah! forgive me, my dear friend,
but you New England
gentlemen have such a laud-
able curiosity of seeing the
bottom of everything;--
why, to be honest, I confess I saw the
blooming
cherub of a consequence smiling in its angelic
mother's
arms, about ten months afterwards.
JONATHAN
Well, if I follow all your plans, make them six bows,
and all that,
shall I have such little cherubim conse-
quences?
JESSAMY
Undoubtedly.--What are you musing upon?
JONATHAN
You say you'll certainly make me acquainted?--
Why, I was thinking
then how I should contrive to
pass this broken piece of silver--won't
it buy a sugar-
dram?
JESSAMY
What is that, the love-token from the deacon's
daughter?--You come
on bravely. But I must hasten
to my master. Adieu, my dear friend.
JONATHAN
Stay, Mr. Jessamy--must I buss her when I am
introduced to her?
JESSAMY
I told you, you must kiss her.
JONATHAN
Well, but must I buss her?
JESSAMY
Why, kiss and buss, and buss and kiss, is all one.
JONATHAN
Oh! my dear friend, though you have a profound
knowledge
of all, a pugnency of tribulation, you don't
know
everything.
[Exit.
JESSAMY, alone.
Well, certainly I improve; my master could not
have insinuated himself
with more address into the
heart of a man he despised. Now will this
blundering
dog sicken Jenny with his nauseous pawings, until
she
flies into my arms for very ease. How sweet will the
contrast be
between the blundering Jonathan and
the courtly and accomplished
Jessamy!
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
ACT III. SCENE I.
DIMPLE'S Room.
DIMPLE discovered at a Toilet, Reading.
"WOMEN have in general but one object,
which is
their beauty." Very true, my
lord; positively very
true. "Nature has hardly formed a woman ugly
enough
to be insensible to flattery upon her person."
Extremely just, my lord;
every day's delightful ex-
perience confirms this. "If her face is so
shocking
that she must, in some degree, be conscious
of it, her
figure and air, she thinks,
make ample amends for it."
The sallow Miss Wan is a proof of this. Upon
my
telling the distasteful wretch, the other day, that
her
countenance spoke the pensive language of sentiment,
and that
Lady Wortley Montague declared that if the
ladies were arrayed in the
garb of innocence, the face
would be the last part which would be
admired, as
Monsieur Milton expresses it; she grinn'd horribly,
a
ghastly smile. "If her figure is deformed, she thinks
her face counterbalances it."
Enter JESSAMY with letters.
DIMPLE
Where got you these, Jessamy?
JESSAMY
Sir, the English packet is arrived.
DIMPLE opens and reads a letter enclosing notes.
"Sir,
"I have drawn bills on you in favour of Messrs.
Van Cash
and Co. as per margin. I have taken up
your note to Col. Piquet, and
discharged your debts
to my Lord Lurcher and Sir Harry Rook. I
here-
with enclose you copies of the bills, which I have no
doubt will
be immediately honoured. On failure, I
shall empower some lawyer in
your country to recover
the amounts.
"I am,
Sir,
"Your most humble servant,
"JOHN HAZARD."
Now, did not my lord expressly say that it was un-
becoming a
well-bred man to be in a passion, I confess
I should be ruffled.
[Reads.] "There is no accident
so unfortunate, which a wise man
may not turn to his
advantage; nor any accident so fortunate, which
a
fool will not turn to his disadvantage." True,
my
lord; but how advantage can be derived from this I
can't see.
Chesterfield himself, who made, however,
the worst practice of the
most excellent precepts, was
never in so embarrassing a situation. I
love the per-
son of Charlotte, and it is necessary I should
com-
mand the fortune of Letitia. As to Maria!--I doubt
not by my sang-froid behaviour I
shall compel her to
decline the match; but the blame must not fall
upon
me. A prudent man, as my lord says, should take all
the
credit of a good action to himself,
and throw the
discredit of a bad one upon others. I must break
with
Maria, marry Letitia, and as for Charlotte--why,
Charlotte must be a
companion to my wife.--Here,
Jessamy!
Enter JESSAMY.
DIMPLE folds and seals two letters.
DIMPLE
Here, Jessamy, take this letter to my love.
[Gives one.
JESSAMY
To which of your honour's loves?--Oh! [reading]
to Miss Letitia,
your honour's rich love.
DIMPLE
And this [delivers another] to Miss Charlotte Manly.
See that
you deliver them privately.
JESSAMY
Yes, your honour.
[Going.
DIMPLE
Jessamy, who are these strange lodgers that came
to the house last
night?
JESSAMY
Why, the master is a Yankee colonel; I have not
seen much
of him; but the man is the most unpol-
ished animal your honour ever
disgraced your eyes by
looking upon. I have had one of the most outre
con-
versations with him!--He really has
a most prodig-
ious effect upon my risibility.
DIMPLE
I ought, according to every rule of Chesterfield, to
wait on him and
insinuate myself into his good
graces.--Jessamy, wait on the colonel with my
com-
pliments, and if he is disengaged I will do myself
the
honour of paying him my respects.--Some ignorant,
unpolished
boor--
JESSAMY goes off and returns.
JESSAMY
Sir, the colonel is gone out, and Jonathan his ser-
vant says that
he is gone to stretch his legs upon the
Mall.--Stretch his legs! what
an indelicacy of diction!
DIMPLE
Very well. Reach me my hat and sword. I'll ac-
cost him there, in my
way to Letitia's, as by accident;
pretend to be struck by his person
and address, and
endeavour to steal into his confidence. Jessamy,
I
have no business for you at present.
[Exit.
JESSAMY [taking up the book].
My master and I obtain our knowledge
from the
same source;--though, gad! I think myself
much
the prettier fellow of the two. [Surveying himself in
the
glass.] That was a brilliant thought,
to insinuate that
I folded my master's letters for him; the folding is
so
neat, that it does honour to the operator. I once in-
tended to
have insinuated that I wrote his letters too;
but that was before I saw them;
it won't do now;
no honour there, positively.--"Nothing looks
more
vulgar, [reading affectedly] ordinary, and illiberal than
ugly,
uneven, and ragged nails; the ends of which
should be kept even and
clean, not tipped with black,
and cut in small segments of
circles."--Segments of
circles! surely my lord did not consider that he
wrote
for the beaux. Segments of circles; what a crabbed
term! Now I
dare answer that my master, with all
his learning, does not know that
this means, according
to the present mode, let the nails grow long,
and then
cut them off even at top. [Laughing without.] Ha!
that's
Jenny's titter. I protest I despair of
ever teaching
that girl to laugh; she has something so
execrably
natural in her laugh, that I declare it absolutely
dis-
composes my nerves. How came she into our
house!
[Calls.] Jenny!
Enter JENNY.
JESSAMY
Prythee, Jenny, don't spoil your fine face with
laughing.
JENNY
Why, mustn't I laugh, Mr. Jessamy?
JESSAMY
You may smile, but, as my lord says, nothing can
authorise a
laugh.
JENNY
Well, but I can't help laughing.--Have you seen
him, Mr. Jessamy? ha, ha, ha!
JESSAMY
Seen
whom?
JENNY
Why, Jonathan, the New England colonel's servant.
Do you know he
was at the play last night, and the
stupid creature don't know where
he has been. He
would not go to a play for the world; he thinks
it
was a show, as he calls it.
JESSAMY
As ignorant and unpolished as he is, do you know,
Miss Jenny, that I propose to introduce him to
the
honour of your acquaintance?
JENNY
Introduce him to me! for what?
JESSAMY
Why, my lovely girl, that you may take him under
your protection, as
Madame Ramboulliet did young
Stanhope; that you may, by your plastic
hand, mould
this uncouth cub into a gentleman. He is to make
love to
you.
JENNY
Make love to me!--
JESSAMY
Yes, Mistress Jenny, make love to you; and, I doubt
not, when he shall become domesticated in your
kitchen,
that this boor, under your auspices, will soon become
un
amiable petit Jonathan.
JENNY
I must say, Mr. Jessamy, if he copies after me, he
will be vastly,
monstrously polite.
JESSAMY
Stay here one moment, and I will call him.--Jona-
than!--Mr.
Jonathan!--[Calls.]
JONATHAN [within]
Holla! there.--[Enters.] You promise to stand
by me--six
bows you say. [Bows.]
JESSAMY
Mrs. Jenny, I have the honour of presenting Mr.
Jonathan, Colonel
Manly's waiter, to you. I am ex-
tremely happy that
I have it in my power to make
two worthy people acquainted with each
other's merits.
JENNY
So, Mr. Jonathan, I hear you were at the play last
night.
JONATHAN
At the play! why, did you think I
went to the
devil's drawing-room?
JENNY
The devil's drawing-room!
JONATHAN
Yes; why an't cards and dice the devil's device,
and the play-house
the shop where the devil hangs
out the vanities of the world upon the
tenter-hooks of
temptation? I believe you have not heard how
they
were acting the old boy one night, and the wicked one
came
among them sure enough, and went right off
in a storm, and carried one
quarter of the play-house
with him. Oh! no, no, no! you won't catch me
at a
play-house, I warrant you.
JENNY
Well, Mr. Jonathan, though I don't scruple your
veracity, I have
some reasons for believing you were
there: pray, where were you about
six o'clock?
JONATHAN
Why, I went to see one Mr. Morrison, the hocus
pocus man; they said
as how he could eat a case knife.
JENNY
Well, and how did you find the place?
JONATHAN
As I was going about here and there, to and again,
to find it, I saw a
great crowd of folks going into a
long entry that had lantherns over
the door; so I
asked a man whether that was not the place where
they
played hocus pocus? He was a very civil, kind
man, though he did speak
like the Hessians; he lifted
up his eyes and said, "They play hocus
pocus tricks
enough there, Got knows,
mine friend."
JENNY
Well--
JONATHAN
So I went right in, and they shewed me away, clean
up to the garret,
just like meeting-house gallery.
And so I saw a
bower of topping folks, all sitting
round in little cabbins, "just like
father's corn-cribs";
and then there was such a squeaking with the
fiddles,
and such a tarnal blaze with the lights, my head was
near
turned. At last the people that sat near me set
up such a
hissing--hiss--like so many mad cats;
and then they went thump, thump,
thump, just like
our Peleg threshing wheat, and stampt away, just
like
the nation; and called out for one Mr. Langolee,--I
suppose he
helps
act the tricks.
JENNY
Well, and what did you do all this time?
JONATHAN
Gor, I--I liked the fun, and so I thumpt away,
and hiss'd as lustily
as the best of 'em. One sailor-
looking man that sat by me, seeing me
stamp, and
knowing I was a cute fellow, because I could make
a
roaring noise, clapt me on the shoulder and said, "You
are a d---d
hearty cock, smite my timbers!" I told
him so I was, but I
thought
he need not swear so,
and make use of such naughty words.
JESSAMY
The savage!--Well, and did you see the
man with
his tricks?
JONATHAN
Why, I vow, as I was looking out for him, they
lifted up a great
green cloth and let us look right into
the next neighbor's house. Have
you a good many
houses in New-York made so in that 'ere
way?
JENNY
Not many; but did you see the family?
JONATHAN
Yes, swamp it; I see'd the family.
JENNY
Well, and how did you like them?
JONATHAN
Why, I vow they were pretty much like other
families;--there was a
poor, good-natured, curse of a
husband, and a sad rantipole
of a wife.
JENNY
But did you see no other folks?
JONATHAN
Yes. There was one youngster; they called him
Mr. Joseph; he talked
as sober and as pious as a
minister; but, like some ministers that I know, he
was
a sly tike in his heart for all that. He was going to ask
a
young woman to spark it with him, and--the Lord
have mercy on
my soul!--she was another man's wife.
JESSAMY
The Wabash!
JENNY
And did you see any more folks?
JONATHAN
Why, they came on as thick as mustard. For my
part, I thought
the house was haunted. There was
a soldier fellow, who talked about his
row de dow,
dow, and courted a young woman; but, of all the
cute
folk I saw, I liked one little fellow--
JENNY
Aye! who was he?
JONATHAN
Why, he had red hair, and a little round plump face
like mine, only
not altogether so handsome. His
name was--Darby;--that was his
baptizing name;
his other name I forgot. Oh! it was
Wig--Wag--
Wag-all, Darby Wag-all,--pray, do you know
him?--
I should like to take a sling with him, or a drap of
cyder
with a pepper-pod in it, to make it warm and
comfortable.
JENNY
I can't say I have that pleasure.
JONATHAN
I wish you did; he is a cute fellow. But there was
one thing I
didn't like in that Mr. Darby; and that
was, he was afraid of some of
them 'ere shooting
irons, such as your troopers wear on training
days.
Now, I'm a true born Yankee American son of
liberty, and I never
was afraid of a gun yet in all my
life.
JENNY
Well, Mr. Jonathan, you were certainly at the play-
house.
JONATHAN
I at the play-house!--Why didn't I see the
play
then?
JENNY
Why, the people you saw were players.
JONATHAN
Mercy on my soul! did
I see
the wicked players?--
Mayhap that 'ere Darby that I liked so was the
old
serpent himself, and had his cloven foot in his pocket.
Why,
I vow, now I come to think on't, the candles
seemed to burn blue, and I am sure
where I sat it
smelt tarnally of brimstone.
JESSAMY
Well, Mr. Jonathan, from your account, which I
confess is very
accurate, you must have been at the
play-house.
JONATHAN
Why, I vow, I began to smell a rat. When I
came away, I went to the man for
my money
again; you want your money? says he; yes, says
I; for what?
says he; why, says I, no man shall
jocky me out of my money; I paid my
money to see
sights, and the dogs a bit of a sight have
I seen,
unless
you call listening to people's private business a sight.
Why, says he, it is the School for
Scandalization.--
The School for Scandalization!--Oh! ho! no
wonder
you New-York folks are so cute at it, when you go to
school
to learn it; and so I jogged off.
JESSAMY
My dear Jenny, my master's business drags me from
you; would to
heaven I knew no other servitude than
to your charms.
JONATHAN
Well, but don't go; you won't leave me so--
JESSAMY
Excuse me.--Remember the cash.
[Aside to him,
and--Exit.]
JENNY
Mr. Jonathan, won't you please to sit down? Mr.
Jessamy tells me you
wanted to have some conversa-
tion with me. [Having brought forward two
chairs,
they sit.]
JONATHAN
Ma'am!--
JENNY
Sir!--
JONATHAN
Ma'am!--
JENNY
Pray, how do you like the city, Sir?
JONATHAN
Ma'am!--
JENNY
I say, Sir, how do you like New-York?
JONATHAN
Ma'am!--
JENNY
The stupid creature! but I must pass some little time
with him, if
it is only to endeavour to learn whether it
was his master that made
such an abrupt entrance into
our house, and my young mistress's heart,
this morn-
ing. [Aside.] As you don't seem to like to talk,
Mr.
Jonathan--do you sing?
JONATHAN
Gor, I--I am glad she asked that, for I forgot what
Mr.
Jessamy bid me say, and I dare as well be hanged
as act what he bid me
do, I'm
so ashamed. [Aside.]
Yes, Ma'am, I can sing--I can sing Mear,
Old
Hundred, and Bangor.
JENNY
Oh! I don't mean psalm tunes. Have you no little
song to please the
ladies, such as Roslin Castle, or the
Maid of the Mill?
JONATHAN
Why, all my tunes go to meeting tunes, save one,
and I count you
won't altogether like that 'ere.
JENNY
What is it called?
JONATHAN
I am sure you
have heard folks talk about it; it is
called Yankee
Doodle.
JENNY
Oh! it is the tune I am fond of; and if I know
any-
thing of my mistress, she would be glad to dance to
it. Pray,
sing!
JONATHAN [Sings.]
Father and I went up to camp,
Along with Captain Goodwin;
And
there we saw the men and boys,
As thick as
hasty-pudding.
Yankee doodle do, etc.
And there we saw a swamping gun,
Big as log of maple,
On a
little deuced cars,
A load for father's cattle.
Yankee doodle do,
etc.
And every time they fired it off
It took a horn of
powder,
It made a noise--like father's gun,
Only a nation
louder.
Yankee doodle do, etc.
There was a man in our town,
His name was--
No, no, that won't do. Now, if I was with Tabitha
Wymen and Jemima
Cawley down at father Chase's,
I shouldn't mind
singing this all out before them--
you would be affronted if I was to
sing that, though
that's a lucky thought;
if you should be affronted,
I have something dang'd cute, which Jessamy
told
me to say to you.
JENNY
Is that all! I assure you I like it of all things.
JONATHAN
No, no; I can sing more; some other time, when
you and I are better
acquainted, I'll sing the whole
of it--no, no--that's a fib--I can't
sing but a hun-
dred and ninety verses; our Tabitha at home can
sing
it all.--[Sings.]
Marblehead's a rocky place,
And Cape-Cod is sandy;
Charlestown is
burnt down,
Boston is the dandy.
Yankee doodle, doodle do, etc.
I vow, my own town song has put me into such top-
ping spirits
that I believe I'll begin to do a little, as
Jessamy says we must when
we go a-courting.--
[Runs and kisses her.] Burning rivers!
cooling flames!
red-hot roses! pig-nuts! hasty-pudding and
ambrosia!
JENNY
What means this freedom? you insulting wretch.
[Strikes him.]
JONATHAN
Are you affronted?
JENNY
Affronted! with what looks shall I express my
anger?
JONATHAN
Looks! why as to the matter of looks, you look as
cross as a
witch.
JENNY
Have you no feeling for the delicacy of my sex?
JONATHAN
Feeling! Gor, I--I feel the
delicacy of your sex
pretty smartly [rubbing his cheek], though, I vow,
I
thought when you city ladies courted and married,
and
all that, you put feeling out of the question. But I
want to know
whether you are really affronted, or only
pretend to be so? 'Cause,
if you are certainly right
down affronted, I am at the
end of my tether; Jessamy
didn't tell me what to say to you.
JENNY
Pretend to be affronted!
JONATHAN
Aye, aye, if you only pretend, you shall hear
how
I'll go to work to make cherubim consequences.
[Runs up to
her.]
JENNY
Begone, you brute!
JONATHAN
That looks like mad; but I won't lose my speech.
My dearest
Jenny--your name is Jenny, I think?--
My dearest Jenny, though I have the highest
esteem
for the sweet favours you have just now granted me--
Gor,
that's a fib, though; but Jessamy says it is not
wicked to tell lies to
the women. [Aside.] I say,
though I have the highest esteem
for the favours you
have just now granted me, yet you will consider
that,
as soon as the dissolvable knot is tied, they will no
longer
be favours, but only matters of duty and mat-
ters of course.
JENNY
Marry you! you audacious monster! get out of my
sight, or,
rather, let me fly from you.
[Exit hastily.]
JONATHAN
Gor! she's gone off in a swinging passion, before I
had time to think of
consequences. If this is the way
with your city ladies, give me the
twenty acres of rock,
the Bible, the cow, and Tabitha, and a little
peaceable
bundling.
SCENE II. The Mall.
Enter MANLY.
It must be so, Montague! and it is not all the tribe
of Mandevilles
that shall convince me that a nation,
to become great, must first
become dissipated. Lux-
ury is surely the bane of a nation: Luxury!
which
enervates both soul and body, by opening a thousand
new sources of
enjoyment, opens, also, a thousand new
sources of
contention and want: Luxury! which ren-
ders a people weak at home, and
accessible to bribery,
corruption, and force from abroad. When the
Grecian
states knew no other tools than the axe and the saw,
the Grecians were a great, a free, and a happy
people.
The kings of Greece devoted their lives to the service
of
their country, and her senators knew no
other
superiority over their fellow-citizens than a
glorious
pre-eminence in danger and virtue.
They exhibited
to the world a noble
spectacle,--a number of inde-
pendent states
united by a similarity of language,
sentiment, manners, common
interest, and common
consent, in one grand mutual league of
protection.
And, thus united, long might they have continued
the
cherishers of arts and sciences, the protectors of
the
oppressed, the scourge of tyrants, and the safe asylum
of
liberty. But when foreign gold, and still more per-
nicious foreign
luxury, had crept among them, they
sapped the vitals of their virtue.
The virtues of their
ancestors were only found in their
writings. Envy
and suspicion, the vices of little minds,
possessed them.
The various states
engendered jealousies of each other;
and, more unfortunately, growing jealous of
their
great federal council, the Amphictyons, they forgot
that their
common safety had existed, and would exist,
in giving them an honourable extensive
prerogative.
The common good was
lost in the pursuit of private
interest; and that people who, by
uniting, might have
stood against the world in arms, by dividing,
crum-
bled into ruin;--their name is now only known in
the
page of the historian, and what they once were is all
we have
left to admire. Oh! that America! Oh!
that my country, would, in this
her day, learn the
things which belong to her peace!
Enter
DIMPLE.
DIMPLE
You are Colonel Manly, I presume?
MANLY
At your service, Sir.
DIMPLE
My name is Dimple, Sir. I have the honour to be
a lodger in the same
house with you, and, hearing you
were in the Mall, came hither to take the
liberty of
joining you.
MANLY
You are very obliging, Sir.
DIMPLE
As I understand you are a stranger here, Sir, I have
taken
the liberty to introduce myself to your acquaint-
ance, as possibly I may have
it in my power to point
out some things in this city worthy your
notice.
MANLY
An attention to strangers is worthy a liberal mind,
and must ever be gratefully received. But to a
sol-
dier, who has no fixed abode, such attentions are
particularly
pleasing.
DIMPLE
Sir, there is no character so respectable as that of a
soldier. And,
indeed, when we reflect how much we
owe to those brave men who have
suffered so much in
the service of their country, and secured to us
those
inestimable blessings that we now enjoy, our
liberty
and independence, they demand every attention
which
gratitude can pay. For my own part, I never meet
an officer,
but I embrace him as my friend, nor a pri-
vate in distress, but I
insensibly extend my charity to
him.--I have hit the Bumkin off very
tolerably.
[Aside.
MANLY
Give me your hand, Sir! I do not proffer this hand
to everybody; but
you steal into my heart. I hope I
am as insensible to flattery as most
men; but I declare
(it may be my weak side) that I never hear the
name
of soldier mentioned with respect, but I experience
a
thrill of pleasure which I never feel on
any other
occasion.
DIMPLE
Will you give me leave, my dear Colonel, to confer
an obligation on
myself,
by shewing you some civilities
during your stay here, and giving a
similar oppor-
tunity to some of my friends?
MANLY
Sir, I thank you; but I believe my stay in this city
will be very
short.
DIMPLE
I can introduce you to some men of excellent sense,
in whose company
you will esteem yourself happy;
and, by way of amusement, to some fine girls,
who
will listen to your soft things with pleasure.
MANLY
Sir, I should be proud of the honour of being
acquainted with those gentlemen;--but, as for
the
ladies, I don't understand you.
DIMPLE
Why, Sir, I need not tell you, that when a young
gentleman is alone with
a young lady he must say
some soft things to her fair cheek--indeed,
the lady
will expect it. To be sure, there is not much pleasure
when a man of the world and a finished
coquette
meet, who perfectly know each
other; but how deli-
cious is it to excite the emotions
of joy,
hope, expecta-
tion, and delight in the bosom of a lovely girl
who
believes every tittle of what you say to be serious!
MANLY
Serious, Sir! In my opinion, the man who, under
pretensions of
marriage, can plant thorns in the bosom
of an innocent, unsuspecting
girl is more detestable
than a common robber, in the same proportion
as
private violence is more despicable than open force,
and money of
less value than happiness.
DIMPLE
How he awes me by the superiority of his senti-
ments.
[Aside.] As you say, Sir, a gentleman should
be cautious how
he mentions marriage.
MANLY
Cautious, Sir! No person more approves of an inter-
course between
the sexes than I do. Female conver-
sation softens our manners, whilst
our discourse, from
the superiority of our literary advantages,
improves
their minds. But, in our young country, where there
is no
such thing as gallantry, when a gentleman speaks
of love to a lady,
whether he mentions marriage or
not, she ought to conclude either that
he meant to in-
sult her or that his intentions are the most serious
and
honourable. How mean, how cruel, is it, by a thou-
sand tender
assiduities, to win the affections of an ami-
able girl, and, though
you leave her virtue unspotted,
to betray her into the appearance
of so many tender
partialities, that every man of delicacy would
suppress
his inclination towards her, by supposing her
heart
engaged! Can any man, for the trivial gratification of
his
leisure hours, affect the happiness of a whole life!
His not having spoken of
marriage may add to his
perfidy, but can be no excuse for his
conduct.
DIMPLE
Sir, I admire your sentiments;--they are mine.
The light
observations that fell from me were only a
principle of the tongue;
they came not from the heart;
my practice has ever disapproved these
principles.
MANLY
I believe you, Sir. I should with reluctance sup-
pose that those
pernicious sentiments could find ad-
mittance into the heart of a
gentleman.
DIMPLE
I am now,
Sir, going to visit a family, where, if you
please, I will have the
honour of introducing you.
Mr. Manly's ward, Miss Letitia, is a young
lady of
immense fortune; and his niece, Miss Charlotte
Manly, is a
young lady of great sprightliness and
beauty.
MANLY
That gentleman, Sir, is my uncle, and Miss Manly
my sister.
DIMPLE
The devil she is! [Aside.] Miss Manly your sister,
Sir? I
rejoice to hear it, and feel a
double pleasure in
being known to
you.--Plague on him! I wish he
was at Boston again, with all my soul.
[Aside.]
MANLY
Come, Sir, will you go?
DIMPLE
I will follow you in a moment, Sir. [Exit Manly.]
Plague on it! this
is unlucky. A fighting brother is
a cursed appendage to a fine girl.
Egad! I just
stopped in time; had he not discovered himself,
in
two minutes more I should have told him how well I
was with his
sister. Indeed, I cannot see the satisfac-
tion of an intrigue, if one can't
have the pleasure of
communicating it to our friends.
[Exit.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
CHARLOTTE'S Apartment.
CHARLOTTE leading in MARIA.
CHARLOTTE
THIS is so kind, my sweet friend, to come to see
me
at this moment. I declare, if I were going to be
married in a few days,
as you are, I should scarce
have found time to visit my friends.
MARIA
Do you think, then, that there is an impropriety in
it?--How
should you dispose of your time?
CHARLOTTE
Why, I should be shut up in my chamber; and my
head would so run
upon--upon--upon the solemn
ceremony that I was to pass through!--I
declare, it
would take me above two hours merely to learn
that
little monosyllable--Yes. Ah! my dear, your senti-
mental
imagination does not conceive what that little
tiny word implies.
MARIA
Spare me your raillery, my sweet friend; I should
love your
agreeable vivacity at any other time.
CHARLOTTE
Why, this is the very time to amuse you. You
grieve me to see you
look so unhappy.
MARIA
Have I not reason to look so?
CHARLOTTE
What new grief distresses you?
MARIA
Oh! how sweet it is, when the heart is borne down
with misfortune,
to recline and repose on the bosom
of friendship! Heaven knows
that, although it is im-
proper for a young lady to praise a gentleman,
yet I
have ever concealed Mr. Dimple's foibles, and spoke
of him as
of one whose reputation I expected would
be linked with mine; but his
late conduct towards me
has turned my coolness into contempt. He behaves
as if he meant to insult and disgust me;
whilst my
father, in the last conversation on the subject of
our
marriage, spoke of it as a matter which lay near his
heart, and
in which he would not bear contradiction.
CHARLOTTE
This works well; oh! the generous
Dimple. I'll
endeavour to excite her to discharge him. [Aside.]
But,
my dear friend, your happiness depends on your-
self. Why
don't you discard him? Though the match
has been of long standing, I
would not be forced
to make myself
miserable: no parent in the world
should oblige me to marry the man I
did not like.
MARIA
Oh! my dear, you never lived with your parents,
and do not know what
influence a father's frowns have
upon a daughter's
heart. Besides, what have I to
alledge against Mr. Dimple, to justify
myself
to the
world? He carries himself so
smoothly, that every
one would impute the blame to me, and call me
capri-
cious.
CHARLOTTE
And call her capricious! Did ever such an objection
start into the
heart of woman? For my part, I wish I
had fifty lovers to discard, for
no other reason than
because I did not fancy them. My dear Maria,
you
will forgive me; I know your
candour and confidence
in me; but I have at times, I confess, been led
to sup-
pose that some other gentleman was the cause of
your
aversion to Mr. Dimple.
MARIA
No, my sweet friend, you may be assured, that
though I have seen many
gentlemen I could prefer to
Mr. Dimple, yet I never saw one
that I thought I
could give my hand to, until this
morning.
CHARLOTTE
This morning!
MARIA
Yes; one of the strangest accidents in the world.
The odious Dimple,
after disgusting me with his con-
versation, had just left me, when a
gentleman, who, it
seems, boards in the same house with him, saw
him
coming out of our door, and, the houses looking very
much alike,
he came into our house instead of his
lodgings; nor did he discover his
mistake until he got
into the parlour, where I was; he then bowed
so
gracefully, made such a genteel apology, and looked
so manly and
noble!--
CHARLOTTE
I see some folks, though it is so great an
impropri-
ety, can praise a gentleman, when he happens to be
the man
of their fancy. [Aside.]
MARIA
I don't know how it was,--I hope he did not think
me indelicate,--but I asked him, I believe, to
sit
down, or pointed to a chair. He sat down, and, in-
stead of
having recourse to observations upon the
weather, or hackneyed
criticisms upon the theatre, he
entered readily into a conversation
worthy a man of
sense to speak, and a lady of delicacy and
sentiment
to hear. He was not strictly handsome, but he spoke
the
language of sentiment, and his eyes looked tender-
ness and honour.
CHARLOTTE
Oh! [eagerly] you sentimental, grave girls, when
your hearts are
once touched, beat us rattles a bar's
length. And so you
are quite in love with this he-angel?
MARIA
In love with him! How can you rattle so, Char-
lotte? am I not going
to be miserable? [Sighs.] In
love with a gentleman I never
saw but
one hour in my
life, and don't know his
name! No; I only wished
that the man I shall marry may look, and talk,
and
act, just like him. Besides, my dear, he is a married
man.
CHARLOTTE
Why, that was good-natured--he told you so, I sup-
pose, in mere
charity, to prevent you falling in love
with him?
MARIA
He didn't tell me so; [peevishly] he looked as if he
was
married.
CHARLOTTE
How, my dear; did he look sheepish?
MARIA
I am sure he
has a susceptible heart, and the ladies
of his acquaintance must be
very stupid not to--
CHARLOTTE
Hush! I hear some person coming.
Enter LETITIA.
LETITIA
My dear Maria, I am happy to see you.
Lud!
what a pity it is that you have purchased your wed-
ding
clothes.
MARIA
I think so. [Sighing.]
LETITIA
Why, my dear, there is the sweetest parcel of silks
come over you
ever saw! Nancy Brilliant has a full
suit come; she sent
over her measure, and it fits her
to a hair; it is immensely dressy,
and made for a
court-hoop. I thought
they said the large hoops were
going out of fashion.
CHARLOTTE
Did you see the hat? Is it a fact that the deep laces
round
the border is still the fashion?
DIMPLE within. Upon my honour, Sir.
MARIA
Ha! Dimple's voice! My dear, I must take leave
of you. There are
some things necessary to be done
at our house. Can't I go through the
other room?
Enter DIMPLE and MANLY.
DIMPLE
Ladies, your most obedient.
CHARLOTTE
Miss Van Rough, shall I present my brother Henry
to you? Colonel
Manly, Maria,--Miss Van Rough, brother.
MARIA
Her brother! [turns and sees
Manly.] Oh! my
heart! the very gentleman I have been
praising.
MANLY
The same amiable girl I saw this
morning!
CHARLOTTE
Why, you look as if you were acquainted.
MANLY
I unintentionally intruded into this lady's presence
this morning,
for which she was so good as to promise
me her forgiveness.
CHARLOTTE
Oh! ho! is that the case! Have these two pense-
rosos been together?
Were they Henry's eyes that
looked so tenderly? [Aside.] And
so you promised to
pardon him? and could you be so good-natured?
have you really forgiven
him? I beg you would do
it for my sake [whispering loud to Maria]. But,
my
dear, as you are in such haste, it would be cruel to
detain you;
I can show you the way through the other
room.
MARIA
Spare me, my sprightly friend.
MANLY
The lady does not, I hope, intend to deprive us of
the pleasure
of her company so soon.
CHARLOTTE
She has only a mantua-maker who waits for her at
home. But, as I am to give
my opinion of the dress,
I think she
cannot go yet. We were talking of the
fashions when you came in, but I
suppose the subject
must be changed to something of more
importance
now. Mr. Dimple, will you favour us with an account
of
the public entertainments?
DIMPLE
Why, really, Miss Manly, you could not have asked
me a
question more mal-apropos. For my part, I must
confess that, to a man
who has travelled, there is noth-
ping that is worthy the name of
amusement to be found
in this city.
CHARLOTTE
Except visiting the ladies.
DIMPLE
Pardon me, Madam; that is the avocation of a man
of taste. But
for amusement, I positively know
of
nothing that can be called so, unless you dignify with
that title
the hopping once a fortnight to the sound of
two or three squeaking
fiddles, and the clattering of
the old tavern windows, or sitting to see the
miserable
mummers, whom you call actors, murder comedy and
make a
farce of tragedy.
MANLY
Do you never attend the theatre, Sir?
DIMPLE
I was tortured there once.
CHARLOTTE
Pray, Mr. Dimple, was it a tragedy or a comedy?
DIMPLE
Faith, Madam, I cannot tell; for I sat with my
back
to the stage all the time, admiring a much better
actress than any
there--a lady who played the fine
woman to perfection; though, by the
laugh of the
horrid creatures round me, I suppose it was
comedy.
Yet, on second thoughts, it might be some hero in a
tragedy, dying
so comically as to set the whole house
in an uproar. Colonel, I presume
you have been in
Europe?
MANLY
Indeed, Sir, I was never ten leagues from the conti-
nent.
DIMPLE
Believe me, Colonel, you have an immense pleasure
to come; and when you shall have seen the
brilliant
exhibitions of Europe, you will learn to despise
the
amusements of this country as much as I do.
MANLY
Therefore I do not wish to see them;
for I can
never esteem that knowledge
valuable which tends to
give me a distaste for my native country.
DIMPLE
Well, Colonel, though you have not travelled, you
have read.
MANLY
I have, a little; and by it have discovered that
there is a laudable
partiality which ignorant, untrav-
elled men entertain for everything
that belongs to their
native country. I call it laudable; it injures no
one;
adds to their own happiness; and, when extended, be-
comes the noble
principle of patriotism. Travelled
gentlemen rise superior, in their
own opinion, to this;
but if the contempt which they contract for their
coun-
try is the most valuable acquisition of their travels, I
am
far from thinking that their time and money are
well
spent.
MARIA
What noble sentiments!
CHARLOTTE
Let my brother set out where he will in the fields of
conversation,
he is sure to end his tour in the temple
of gravity.
MANLY
Forgive me, my sister. I love my country; it has
its
foibles undoubtedly;--some foreigners will with
pleasure
remark them--but such remarks fall very
ungracefully from the lips of
her citizens.
DIMPLE
You are perfectly in the right, Colonel--America
has her faults.
MANLY
Yes, Sir; and we, her children, should blush for
them in private,
and endeavour, as individuals, to re-
form them.
But, if our country has its errors in com-
mon with other countries, I am proud to
say America--
I mean the United States--has displayed virtues
and
achievements which modern nations may admire, but
of which they
have seldom set us the example.
CHARLOTTE
But, brother, we must introduce you to some of our
gay folks, and
let you see the city, such as it is. Mr.
Dimple is known to
almost every family in town; he
will doubtless take a pleasure
in introducing you.
DIMPLE
I shall esteem every service I can render your
brother an
honour.
MANLY
I fear the business I am upon
will take up all my
time, and my family will be anxious to hear from
me.
MARIA
His family! but what is it to me that he is
married!
[Aside.] Pray, how did you leave your lady,
Sir?
CHARLOTTE
My brother is not married [observing her anxiety];
it is only an odd
way he has of expressing himself.
Pray, brother, is this business, which you
make your
continual excuse, a secret?
MANLY
No, sister; I came hither to solicit the honourable
Congress, that a
number of my brave old soldiers may
be put upon the pension-list, who
were, at first, not
judged to be so materially wounded as to need
the
public assistance. My sister says true [to
Maria]: I
call my late soldiers my family. Those who were not
in the
field in the late glorious contest, and those who
were, have their
respective merits; but, I confess, my
old brother-soldiers are dearer
to me than the former
description. Friendships made in adversity are
last-
ping; our countrymen may forget us, but that is no
reason why
we should forget one another. But I must
leave you; my time of
engagement approaches.
CHARLOTTE
Well, but, brother, if you will go, will you please
to conduct my
fair friend home? You live in the
same street--I was to have gone with
her myself--
[Aside]. A lucky thought.
MARIA
I am obliged to your sister, Sir, and was just
intend-
ping to go. [Going.]
MANLY
I shall attend her with pleasure.
[Exit with Maria,
followed by Dimple and Charlotte.]
MARIA
Now, pray, don't betray me to your brother.
CHARLOTTE
[Just as she sees him make a motion to take
his
leave.] One word with you, brother, if you
please.
[Follows them out.
Manent, DIMPLE and LETITIA.
DIMPLE
You received the billet I sent you, I presume?
LETITIA
Hush!--Yes.
DIMPLE
When shall I pay my respects to you?
LETITIA
At eight I shall be unengaged.
Reenter CHARLOTTE.
DIMPLE
Did my lovely angel receive my billet? [to Char-
lotte.]
CHARLOTTE
Yes.
DIMPLE
At eight I shall be at home unengaged.
DIMPLE
Unfortunate! I have a horrid engagement of busi-
ness at that hour.
Can't you finish your visit earlier
and let six be the happy
hour?
CHARLOTTE
You know your influence
over me.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.
VAN ROUGH'S House.
VAN ROUGH, alone.
IT cannot possibly be true! The son of my old
friend can't have acted so
unadvisedly. Seventeen
thousand pounds! in bills! Mr. Transfer must
have
been mistaken. He always appeared so prudent,
and
talked so well upon money matters, and even assured
me that he
intended to change his dress for a suit of
clothes which would not cost
so much, and look more
substantial, as soon as he married. No, no, no!
it can't
be; it cannot be. But, however, I must look out sharp.
I
did not care what his principles or his actions were,
so long as he minded the
main chance. Seventeen thou-
sand pounds! If he had lost it in trade,
why the best
men may have ill-luck; but to game it away, as
Trans-
fer says--why, at this rate, his whole estate may go in
one
night, and, what is ten times worse, mine into the
bargain. No, no;
Mary is right. Leave women to
look out in these matters; for all they
look as if they
didn't know a journal from a ledger, when their inter-
est
is concerned they know what's what; they mind
the main chance as well as the best of us. I
wonder
Mary did not tell me she knew of
his spending his
money so foolishly. Seventeen thousand pounds!
Why,
if my daughter was standing up to be married,
I would forbid the banns,
if I found it was to a man
who did not mind the
main chance.--Hush! I hear
somebody coming. 'Tis Mary's voice; a man
with
her too! I shouldn't be surprised if this should be the
other
string to her bow. Aye, aye, let them alone;
women understand the main chance.--Though, I' faith,
I'll listen a little. [Retires into a
closet.
MANLY leading in MARIA.
MANLY
I hope you will excuse my speaking upon so impor-
tant a subject so
abruptly; but, the moment I entered
your room, you struck me as the
lady whom I had
long loved in imagination, and never hoped to see.
MARIA
Indeed, Sir, I have been led to hear more
upon
this subject than I ought.
MANLY
Do you, then, disapprove my suit, Madam, or the
abruptness of my
introducing it? If the latter, my
peculiar situation, being
obliged to leave the city in a
few days, will, I hope, be my excuse; if
the former, I
will retire, for I am sure I
would not give a moment's
inquietude to her whom I could devote my life
to
please. I am not so indelicate as to seek your imme-
diate
approbation; permit me only to be near you,
and by a thousand tender
assiduities to endeavour to
excite a grateful return.
MARIA
I have a father, whom I would die to make happy;
he will disapprove--
MANLY
Do you think me so ungenerous as to seek a place
in your
esteem without his consent? You must--you
ever ought to consider that
man as unworthy of you
who seeks an interest in your heart contrary to
a
father's approbation. A young lady should reflect
that the loss of
a lover may be supplied, but nothing
can compensate for the loss of a
parent's affection.
Yet, why do you suppose your father would
disap-
prove? In our country, the affections are not sacri-
ficed to
riches or family aggrandizement: should you
approve, my family is
decent, and my rank honourable.
MARIA
You distress me, Sir.
MANLY
Then I will sincerely beg your excuse for obtruding
so disagreeable
a subject, and retire. [Going.
MARIA
Stay, Sir! your generosity and good
opinion of me
deserve a return; but why must I declare what,
for
these few hours, I have scarce suffered myself
to
think?--I am--
MANLY
What?
MARIA
Engaged, Sir; and, in a few days, to be married to
the gentleman you
saw at
your sister's.
MANLY
Engaged to be married! And have I been basely
invading the rights of
another? Why have you per-
mitted this? Is this the return for the
partiality I
declared for you?
MARIA
You distress me, Sir. What would you have me
say? You are too generous
to wish the truth. Ought
I to say that I dared not suffer myself to
think
of my
engagement, and that I am going to
give my hand
without my heart? Would you have me confess a
par-
tiality for you? If so, your triumph is compleat, and
can be
only more so when days of misery with the
man I cannot love will make
me think of him whom
I could prefer.
MANLY [after a pause].
We are both unhappy; but it is your duty to obey
your
parent--mine to obey my honour. Let us,
therefore, both follow the path
of rectitude; and of
this we may be assured, that if we are not happy,
we
shall, at least, deserve to be so. Adieu! I dare not
trust myself
longer with you. [Exeunt
severally.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
ACT V. SCENE I.
DIMPLE'S Lodgings.
JESSAMY meeting JONATHAN.
JESSAMY
WELL, Mr. Jonathan, what success with the fair?
JONATHAN
Why, such a tarnal cross tike you never saw!
You
would have counted she had lived upon crab-apples
and vinegar
for a fortnight. But what the rattle
makes you look so tarnation
glum?
JESSAMY
I was thinking, Mr. Jonathan, what could be the
reason of
her carrying herself so coolly to you.
JONATHAN
Coolly, do you call it? Why, I vow, she was fire-
hot angry: may
be it was because I buss'd her.
JESSAMY
No, no, Mr. Jonathan; there must be some other
cause; I never yet knew a
lady angry at being kissed.
JONATHAN
Well, if it is not the young woman's bashfulness, I
vow I can't
conceive why she shouldn't like me.
JESSAMY
May be it is because you have not the Graces, Mr.
Jonathan.
JONATHAN
Grace! Why, does the young woman expect I must
be converted before I
court her?
JESSAMY
I mean graces of person: for instance, my lord tells
us that we must
cut off our nails even at top, in small
segments of circles--though you
won't understand
that; in the next place, you must regulate
your laugh.
JONATHAN
Maple-log seize it! don't I laugh natural?
JESSAMY
That's the very fault, Mr. Jonathan. Besides, you
absolutely
misplace it. I was told by a friend of mine
that you laughed outright
at the play the other night,
when you ought only to have tittered.
JONATHAN
Gor! I--what does one go to see fun
for if they
can't laugh?
JESSAMY
You may laugh; but you must laugh by rule.
JONATHAN
Swamp it--laugh by rule! Well, I should like that
tarnally.
JESSAMY
Why, you know, Mr. Jonathan, that to dance, a
lady to play
with her fan, or a gentleman with his cane,
and all other natural
motions, are regulated by art.
My master has composed an immensely
pretty gamut,
by which any lady or gentleman, with a few
years'
close application, may learn to laugh as gracefully as
if
they were born and bred to it.
JONATHAN
Mercy on my soul! A
gamut for laughing--just
like fa, la, sol?
JEREMY
Yes. It comprises every possible display of jocu-
larity, from an
affettuoso smile to a piano titter, or full
chorus fortissimo ha, ha,
ha! My master employs his
leisure hours in marking out the plays, like
a cathedral
chanting-book, that the ignorant may know where
to
laugh; and that pit, box, and gallery may keep time
together, and
not have a snigger in one part of the
house, a broad grin in the other,
and a d---d grum
look in the third. How delightful to see the
audience
all smile together, then look on their books, then
twist
their mouths into an agreeable simper, then altogether
shake
the house with a general ha, ha, ha! loud as a
full chorus of Handel's
at an Abbey commemoration.
JONATHAN
Ha, ha, ha! that's dang'd cute, I swear.
JESSAMY
The gentlemen, you see, will laugh the tenor; the
ladies will play the
counter-tenor; the beaux will
squeak the treble; and our jolly friends
in the gallery
a thorough base, ho, ho, ho!
JONATHAN
Well, can't you let me see that gamut?
JESSAMY
Oh! yes, Mr. Jonathan; here it is. [Takes out
a
book.] Oh! no, this is only a titter with its
variations.
Ah, here it is. [Takes out another.] Now, you
must
know, Mr. Jonathan, this is a piece written by
Ben
Johnson, which I have set to my master's gamut. The
places where
you must smile, look grave, or laugh out-
right, are marked below the
line. Now look over me.
"There was a certain man"--now you must
smile.
JONATHAN
Well, read it again; I warrant I'll mind my
eye.
JESSAMY
"There was a certain man, who had a sad scolding
wife,"--now you
must laugh.
JONATHAN
Tarnation! That's no laughing matter though.
JESSAMY
"And she lay sick a-dying";--now you must titter.
JONATHAN
What, snigger when the good woman's a-dying!
Gor, I--
JESSAMY
Yes, the notes say you must--"and she asked her
husband leave to
make a will,"--now you must begin
to look grave;--"and her husband
said"--
JONATHAN
Ay, what did her husband say? Something dang'd
cute, I reckon.
JESSAMY
"And her husband said, you have had your will all
your life-time,
and would you have it after you are
dead, too?"
JONATHAN
Ho, ho, ho! There the old man was even with
her; he was up to the
notch--ha, ha, ha!
JESSAMY
But, Mr. Jonathan, you must not laugh so. Why
you ought to have
tittered piano, and you have
laughed fortissimo. Look here; you see these
marks,
A, B, C, and so on; these are the references to
the other
part of the book. Let us turn to it, and you
will see the
directions how to manage the muscles.
This [turns over] was note D you
blundered at.--You
must purse the mouth into a smile, then titter,
discov-
ering the lower part of the three front upper teeth.
JONATHAN
How? read it again.
JESSAMY
"There was a certain man"--very well!--"who
had a sad scolding
wife,"--why don't you laugh?
JONATHAN
Now, that scolding wife sticks in my gizzard so
pluckily that I
can't laugh for the blood and nowns of
me. Let me look grave here, and
I'll laugh your
belly full, where the old creature's a-dying.
JESSAMY
"And she asked her husband"--[Bell rings.] My
master's
bell! he's returned, I fear.--Here, Mr. Jona-
than, take this gamut; and I
make no doubt but with
a few years' close application, you
may be able to
smile
gracefully." [Exeunt
severally.
SCENE II.
CHARLOTTE'S Apartment.
Enter MANLY.
MANLY
WHAT, no one at home? How unfortunate to meet
the only lady my heart
was ever moved by, to find
her engaged to another, and confessing her
partiality
for me! Yet engaged to a man who, by her inti-
mation,
and his libertine conversation with me, I fear,
does not merit her. Aye! there's the sting;
for, were
I assured that Maria was happy, my
heart is not so
selfish but that it would dilate in knowing
it, even
though it were with another. But to know she
is
unhappy!--I must drive these thoughts
from me.
Charlotte has some books; and this is what I believe
she
calls her little library. [Enters a closet.
Enter DIMPLE leading LETITIA.
LETITIA
And will you pretend to say now, Mr. Dimple, that
you propose to
break with Maria? Are not the banns
published? Are not the clothes
purchased? Are not
the friends invited? In short, is it not a done
affair?
DIMPLE
Believe me, my dear Letitia, I would not marry her.
LETITIA
Why have you not broke with her before this, as
you all along
deluded me by saying you would?
DIMPLE
Because I was in hopes she would, ere this, have
broke with me.
LETITIA
You could not expect it.
DIMPLE
Nay, but be calm a moment; 'twas from my regard
to you that I did
not discard her.
LETITIA
Regard to me!
DIMPLE
Yes; I have done everything in my power to break
with her, but the
foolish girl is so fond of me that
nothing can accomplish it. Besides,
how can I offer
her my hand when my heart is indissolubly engaged
to
you?
LETITIA
There may be reason in this; but why so attentive
to Miss Manly?
DIMPLE
Attentive to Miss Manly! For heaven's sake, if you
have no better
opinion of my constancy, pay not so ill
a compliment to my taste.
LETITIA
Did I not see you whisper her to-day?
DIMPLE
Possibly I might--but something of so very trifling
a nature that I
have already forgot what it was.
LETITIA
I believe she has not forgot it.
DIMPLE
My dear creature, how can you for a moment sup-
pose I should have
any serious thoughts of that trifling,
gay, flighty coquette,
that disagreeable--
Enter CHARLOTTE.
DIMPLE
My dear Miss Manly, I rejoice to see you;
there is
a charm in your conversation that always marks
your
entrance into company as fortunate.
LETITIA
Where have you been, my dear?
CHARLOTTE
Why, I have been about to twenty shops, turning
over pretty things,
and so have left twenty visits unpaid.
I wish you would step into the
carriage and whisk
round, make my apology, and leave my cards
where
our friends are not at home; that, you know,
will
serve as a visit. Come, do go.
LETITIA
So anxious to get me out! but I'll watch
you.
[Aside.] Oh! yes, I'll go; I want a little
exercise.
Positively [Dimple offering to accompany her], Mr.
Dimple,
you shall not go; why, half my visits are cake
and caudle visits; it
won't do, you know, for you to
go. [Exit, but returns to the door
in the back scene and
listens.]
DIMPLE
This attachment of your brother to Maria is fortunate.
CHARLOTTE
How did you come to the knowledge
of it?
DIMPLE
I read it in their eyes.
CHARLOTTE
And I had it from her mouth. It would have
amused you
to have seen her! She, that thought it
so
great an impropriety to praise a gentleman that she
could not
bring out one word in your favour, found a
redundancy to praise
him.
DIMPLE
I have done everything in my power to assist his
passion there: your
delicacy, my dearest girl, would
be shocked at half the instances of
neglect and mis-
behaviour.
CHARLOTTE
I don't know how I should bear neglect; but Mr.
Dimple must
misbehave himself indeed, to forfeit my
good
opinion.
DIMPLE
Your good opinion, my angel, is the pride and pleas-
ure
of my heart; and if the most respectful tenderness
for you, and an
utter indifference for all your sex
besides, can make me worthy of your
esteem, I shall
richly merit it.
CHARLOTTE
All my sex besides, Mr. Dimple!--you forgot your
tete-a-tete with
Letitia.
DIMPLE
How can you, my lovely angel, cast a thought
on
that insipid, wry-mouthed, ugly creature!
CHARLOTTE
But her fortune may have charms?
DIMPLE
Not to a heart like mine. The man, who has been
blessed with the good
opinion of my Charlotte, must
despise the allurements of fortune.
CHARLOTTE
I am satisfied.
DIMPLE
Let us think no more on the odious subject, but
devote the
present hour to happiness.
CHARLOTTE
Can I be happy when I see the
man I prefer going
to be married to another?
DIMPLE
Have I not already satisfied my charming angel,
that I can never think of
marrying the puling Maria?
But, even if it were so, could that be any
bar to our
happiness? for, as the poet sings,
"Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in
a moment flies."
Come, then, my charming angel! why delay our bliss?
The present moment is ours; the next is in the
hand
of fate. [Kissing her.]
CHARLOTTE
Begone, Sir! By your delusions you had almost
lulled my honour
asleep.
DIMPLE
Let me lull the demon to sleep again with kisses.
[He struggles with
her; she screams.]
Enter MANLY.
MANLY
Turn, villain! and defend yourself.--[Draws.]
[VAN ROUGH enters and beats down their swords.]
VAN ROUGH
Is the devil in you? are you going to murder one
another? [Holding
Dimple.]
DIMPLE
Hold him, hold him,--I can command my passion.
Enter JONATHAN.
JONATHAN
What the rattle ails you? Is the old one in you?
Let the colonel alone,
can't you? I feel chock-full
of fight,--do you want to kill the
colonel?--
MANLY
Be still, Jonathan; the gentleman does not want to
hurt me.
JONATHAN
Gor! I--I wish he did; I'd shew him Yankee
boys play, pretty
quick.--Don't you see you have
frightened the young woman into the
hystrikes?
VAN ROUGH
Pray, some of you explain this; what has been the
occasion of all
this racket?
MANLY
That gentleman can explain it to you; it will be a
very diverting
story for an intended father-in-law to
hear.
VAN ROUGH
How was this matter, Mr. Van Dumpling?
DIMPLE
Sir,--upon my honour,--all I know is,
that I was
talking to this young lady, and this gentleman broke
in
on us in a very extraordinary manner.
VAN ROUGH
Why, all this is nothing to the purpose; can you
explain it, Miss?
[To Charlotte.]
Enter LETITIA through the back scene.
LETITIA
I can explain it to that gentleman's confusion.
Though long betrothed to your daughter [to
Van
Rough], yet, allured by my fortune, it seems (with
shame do I
speak it) he has privately paid his ad-
dresses to me. I was drawn in
to listen to him by his
assuring me that the match was made by his
father
without his consent, and that he proposed to break
with
Maria, whether he married me or not. But, what-
ever were his
intentions respecting your daughter, Sir,
even to me he was false; for
he has repeated the same
story, with some cruel reflections upon my
person, to
Miss Manly.
JONATHAN
What a tarnal curse!
LETITIA
Nor is this all, Miss Manly. When he was with
me this very morning,
he made the same ungenerous
reflections upon the weakness of your mind as he
has
so recently done upon the defects of my person.
JONATHAN
What a tarnal curse and damn, too!
DIMPLE
Ha! since I have lost Letitia, I believe I had as
good make
it up with Maria. Mr. Van Rough, at
present I cannot enter into
particulars; but, I believe,
I can explain everything to your satisfaction in private.
VAN ROUGH
There is another matter, Mr. Van Dumpling, which
I would have you
explain. Pray, Sir, have Messrs.
Van Cash & Co. presented you those
bills for accept-
ance?
DIMPLE
The deuce! Has he heard of those bills! Nay,
then, all's up with Maria,
too; but an affair of this
sort can never prejudice me among the
ladies; they
will rather long to know what
the dear creature pos-
sesses to make him so agreeable.
[Aside.] Sir, you'll
hear from
me. [To Manly.]
MANLY
And you from me, Sir--
DIMPLE
Sir, you wear a sword--
MANLY
Yes, Sir. This sword was presented to me by that
brave Gallic hero,
the Marquis De la Fayette. I have
drawn it in the service of my
country, and in private
life, on the only occasion where a man is
justified in
drawing his sword, in defence of a lady's honour.
I
have fought too many battles in the service of my
country to dread
the imputation of cowardice. Death
from a man of honour would be a
glory you do not
merit; you shall live to bear the insult of man and
the
contempt of that sex whose general smiles afforded you
all your
happiness.
DIMPLE
You won't meet me, Sir? Then I'll post you for a
coward.
MANLY
I'll venture that, Sir. The reputation of my life
does not
depend upon the breath of a Mr. Dimple. I
would have you to know,
however, Sir, that I have a
cane to chastise the insolence of a
scoundrel, and a
sword and the good laws
of my country to protect me
from the attempts of an assassin--
DIMPLE
Mighty well! Very fine, indeed! Ladies and gen-
tlemen, I take my
leave; and you will please to observe
in the case of my deportment the
contrast between a
gentleman who has read Chesterfield and
received
the polish of Europe and an unpolished,
untravelled
American.
[Exit.
Enter MARIA.
MARIA
Is he indeed gone?--
LETITIA
I hope, never to return.
VAN ROUGH
I am glad I
heard
of those bills; though it's plaguy
unlucky; I hoped to see Mary
married before I died.
MANLY
Will you permit a gentleman, Sir, to offer himself
as
a suitor to your daughter? Though a stranger to you,
he is not
altogether so to her, or unknown in this city.
You may find a
son-in-law of more fortune, but you
can never meet with one who is
richer in love for her,
or respect for you.
VAN ROUGH
Why, Mary, you have not let this gentleman make
love to you without
my leave?
MANLY
I did not say, Sir--
MARIA
Say, Sir!--I--the gentleman, to be sure, met
me accidentally.
VAN ROUGH
Ha, ha, ha! Mark me, Mary; young folks think
old folks to be fools; but old folks know young
folks
to be fools. Why, I knew all
about this affair. This
was only a cunning way I had to bring it
about.
Hark ye! I was in the closet when you and he were
at
our hours. [Turns to the company.] I heard
that
little baggage say she loved her old father, and would
die to
make him happy! Oh! how I loved the little
baggage! And you
talked very prudently, young man.
I have inquired into your character,
and find you to
be a man of punctuality and mind the
main chance.
And so, as you love Mary and Mary loves you, you
shall
have my consent immediately to be married.
I'll settle my fortune on
you, and go and live with
you the remainder of my life.
MANLY
Sir, I hope--
VAN ROUGH
Come, come, no fine speeches; mind the
main
chance, young man, and you and I shall always agree.
LETITIA
I sincerely wish you joy
[advancing to Maria]; and
hope your pardon for my conduct.
MARIA
I thank you for your congratulations, and hope we
shall at once
forget the wretch who has given us so
much disquiet, and the trouble
that he has occasioned.
CHARLOTTE
And I, my dear Maria,--how shall I look up to
you for forgiveness? I, who, in the practice of the
meanest
arts, have violated the most sacred rights of
friendship? I can never
forgive
myself,
or hope
charity from the world; but, I confess, I have much
to hope
from such a brother; and I am happy that I
may soon say, such a sister.
MARIA
My dear, you distress me; you have all my love.
MANLY
And mine.
CHARLOTTE
If repentance can entitle me to forgiveness, I have
already much merit; for I despise
the littleness of my
past conduct. I now find that the heart of any
wor-
thy man cannot be gained by invidious attacks upon
the rights
and characters of others;--by countenan-
cing the
addresses of a thousand;--or that the finest
assemblage of features,
the greatest taste in dress, the
genteelest address, or the most
brilliant wit, cannot
eventually secure a coquette from
contempt and
ridicule.
MANLY
And I have learned that probity, virtue,
honour,
though they should not have received the polish of
Europe,
will secure to an honest American the good
graces of his fair countrywomen, and, I hope,
the
applause of THE PUBLIC.
THE END.
NOTES.
<1> In addition to the 'Prince of Parthia,' the
following plays by
American authors are known to
have been printed:
1. 'The Suspected Daughter, or Jealous
Father,' a Farce in
three acts, both serious and comic, written by T.
T. Bos-
ton, 1751.
2. 'The Disappointment, or The Force of Credulity,' a
new
American Comic Opera of two acts, by Andrew Barton,
Esq.
New-York, 1767.
3. 'The Conquest of Canada, or Siege of Quebec, a
Historic
Tragedy,' by George Cockings. Philadelphia, 1772.
4. 'The Adulateur,' a tragedy; and
5. 'The Group,' a Political Comedy, 1775; both by Mrs. Mercy Warren.
6. 'The Blockheads, or the Affrighted Officers,' a Farce. Boston,
1776.
7. 'The Battle of Bunker Hill,' a dramatic piece, in five
acts.
Philadelphia, 1776; and
8. 'The Death of General Montgomery in storming the City
of
Quebec,' a Tragedy. Philadelphia, 1777; both by H. H.
Brackenridge.
9. 'The Patriot Chief,' a Drama, by Peter Markoe. Philadelphia,
1783.
10. 'Edwin and Angelina, or The Banditti,' an Opera in three
acts,
by Dr. Elihu H. Smith. New-York, 1787.
<2> Dunlap erroneously gives the date of the first
performance
of the 'Contrast' as in 1786, and writers generally
following
him make the same mistake. Ireland in his 'Records'
gives
the date correctly.
<3> Tyler, in addition to the plays and law reports
mentioned,
wrote and published the following works:
1. 'The Algerine Captive, or The Life and Adventures of
Doctor
Updike Underhill, six years a prisoner among the
Algerines.'
2 vols. Walpole, N. H., 1797.
2. 'Moral Tales for American Youths.' Boston,
1800.
3. 'The Yankey in London; a series of Letters written by
an
American Youth during nine months' residence in the City
of
London.' New-York, 1809.
He also contributed to a number of newspapers of his period,
and a
collection of his contributions (with those of Joseph Den-
nie) were
published in a volume, at Walpole, in 1801, entitled
'The Spirit of
the Farmers' Museum and Lay Preachers' Gazette.'
<4> On October
16th, 1778, the Continental Congress passed
the following
resolution:
"Whereas, frequenting play-houses and theatrical entertainments
has
a fatal tendency to divest the minds of
the people from a
due attention to the means necessary to the defence
of their
Country and preservation of their liberties;
"Resolved, That any person holding an office under the United
States
who shall act, promote, encourage or attend such play,
shall be deemed
unworthy to hold such office, and shall be
accordingly dismissed."
T. J. McK.
The
End