t f-,'^l>^y^^}^7' '' r } M M^A THE JAMES D. PHELAN CELTIC COLLECTION COMIC DRAMAS, IN THREE ACTS. Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2008 witii funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.arcli ive.org/details/comicdramasintlirOOedgericli COMIC DRAMAS IN THREE ACTS. By MARIA EDGEWORTH, AUTHOR OF ** TALES OF FASHIONABLE LIFE/ " HARRINGTON AND ORMOND," &C. &C. SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED. LONDON: PRINTED FOR R. HUNTER, SUCCESSOR TO MR. JOHNSON, 73, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARTX, AND BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY, 'J7, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1817. 1 e" S '^neuM J. M'Creery, Printer, Black-Hone-Couit, LondoBr PREFACE. Several of Miss Edgeworth's friends have, at various times, urged her to write for the stage. Among the rest, Mr. Thomas Sheridan invited her, at his fa- ther's desire, to write for Drury-Lane. He accompanied this invitation with such excellent advice and criticism upon theatrical compositions, upon the present taste of the public, and upon the powers of the principal actors, as would have been of the highest use to her, had she complied with his invitation. This application was renewed in Lon- don, by the late Mr. Sheridan himself, in 810274 VI PREFACE. such a manner, as nearly to overcome the distrust which Miss Edgeworth felt of her talents for such an attempt. She was, however, aware of the wide difference that there is between the exhibition of charac- ter in a Tale and in a Comedy. In the one, there is room for that detail of small cir- cumstances, and for that gradual deve- lopement of sentiments and incident, which make us acquainted with the persons whose adventures are related, and which insensibly interest us in the fable. On the contrary, in the Comedy, the characters must be shewn by strong and sudden lights, the sentiments must be condensed ; and nothing that requires slow reflection can be admitted. — The audience must see, hear, feel, and un- derstand at once. Overawed by these PREFACE. Vll considerations. Miss Edgeworth has de- clined to risk a bolder flight. But en- couraged by her father, without venturing on the stage, she publishes the following little Comic Dramas, to feel her way in this new career. Her failure in such an humble attempt cannot be attended with much disgrace, as it is made with real humility. RICHARD LOVELL EDGEWORTH. EdgeworthstOTvn, First of May, 1817. LOVE AND LAW; a Drania, IN THREE ACTS. B DRAMATIS PERSONiE. MEN. Ma.C.nvB«.ofBob>sFort [^ I'^^nt "" ^"^ Old Matthew M'Bride . A rich Farmer, Philip M'Bride .... His Son. C Son of the Widow Cathe- Randal Rooney . . . < rine Rooney — a Lover (^ of Honor M' Bride. Mr. Gerald O'Blaney . . A Distiller, Patrick Coke . . . . . Clerk to Ger, CyBlaney. f WOMEN. Mrs. Carver Wife of Mr. Carver. CA fine London Waiting- Miss Bloomsbury . . . < maid of Mrs. Car- (^ ver^s. Mrs. Catherine Rooney, ") . „.. , t,^ ^, ^ 7 11 J n \ A Widow — Mother of commonly called Catty > -d j i t> Rooney ) Randal Rooney. (Daughter of Matthew Honor M'Bride . . . ^ M'Bride, and Sister I of Philip M' Bride. A Justice's Clerk — a Constable — Witnesses — and two Footmen, b2 ACT I. SCENE I. A Cottage. — Honor M'Bride, alone. A Table — Breakfast. Honor. Phil \—Ccalls)~?\\\\ ! dear ! come out. Phil. (Anszvers from within.) Wait till I draw on my boots ! Honor. Oh, I may give it up 1 He's full of his new boots — and singing, see J 6 LOVE AND LAW; ' Enier Phil M^Bride f dressed in the height h I :; ' ^ ^^^ /rit^ huck-'farmer fashion — singing) " Oh the boy of Bairnavogue ! " Oh the dasher ! oh the rogue ! " He's the thing ! and he*s the pride " Of town and country, Phil M*Bride — " All the talk of shoe and brogue ! " Oh the boy of Ball'navogue !" There^s a song to the praise and glory of your — of your brother. Honor — and who made it, do you think, girl ? Honor. Miss Caroline Flaherty, no doubt. — But, dear Phil, I've a favor to ask of you. Fhil And welcome! What ?— But first, see! isn't there an elegant pair of boots, that fits a leg like wax ? — There's what'll plase Car'line Flaherty, I'll en- gage. — But what ails you. Honor ? — you look as if your own heart was like to break. — Are not you for the fair to-day ? — and why not ? Honor, Ohrasons! — (Aside), Now I can't speak. A DRAMA. r),i PhiL Speak on, for I'm dumb and all ear — speak up, dear — no fear of the fa^ therms coming out, for he's leaving his bird (i. e. beard) in the bason, and that's a work of time with him.— Tell all to your own Phil. Honor, Why then I won't go to the fair — because — better keep myself to myself, out of the way of meeting them that might n't be too plasing to my father. 'K> - PhiL And might be too plasing to somebody else — Honor M'Bride. Honor. Oh Phil, dear ! — But only — promise me, brother, dearest — if you would this day meet any of the Rooneys — Phil. That means Randal Rooney. Honor. No, it was his mother Catty was in my head. Phil. A bitterer scould never was ! — nor a bigger lawyer in petticoats, which is an abomination. Honor. 'Tis not pritty, I grant ; but her heart's good, if her temper would give it fair play. — But will you promise 8 LOVE AND LAW; me, Phil, whatever she says — you won't let her provoke you this day. PhiL How in the name of wonder will I hinder her to give me provocation ; and when the spirit of the M'Brides is up Honor, But don't lift a hand. PhiL Against a woman ? — no fear — not a finger against a woman. Honor. But I say not against any Rooney, man or woman. — Oh Phil ! dear, don't let there be any fighting betwixt the M*Bride and Rooney factions. PhiL And how could I hinder if I would ? — the boys will be having a row, especially when they get the spirits — and all the better. Honor, To be drinking ! — Oh ! Phil, the mischief that drinking does ! PhiL Mischief! — Quite and clane the contrary — when the shillelah's up, the pike's down. — 'Tis when there'd be no fights at fairs, and all sober, then there's rason to dread mischief — No man. Honor, dare be letting the whiskey into A DRAMA. 9 his head, was there any mischief in his heart. Honor, Well, Phil, you've made it out now cliverly. — So there's most danger of mischief when men's sober. — Is that it? Phil. Irishmen? — aye. — For sobriety is not the nat'ral state of the craturs^ and what's not nat'ral is hypocritical, and a hypocrite is, and was, and ever will be my contempt. Honor, And mine too. — But Phil, But here's my hand for you. Honor. — They call me a beau and a buck, a slasher and dasher, and flourishing Phil. — All that I am — maybe — but there's one thing I am not, and will never be — and that's a bad brother to you. — So you have my honor, and here's my oath to the back of it. By all the pride of man, and all the consate of woman — where will you find a bigger oath ? — happen what will, this day, I'll not lift my hand against Randal Rooney. Honor, Oh thanks ! warm from the B3 lO LOVE AND LAW; heart.- — But here's my father — and whereas breakfast ? PhiL Oh I must be at him for a horse — youy Honor, mind and back me. Enter Old M'Bride. Old M^B, Late I am this fair day all ialong with my beard, that was thicker than a hedgehog's. — Breakfast, where? — Honor, Here, father dear — all ready. ,Old M'B. There's a jewel 1 always supple o' foot. — Phil, call to them to bring out the horse bastes, while I swal- low my breakfast — and a good one too. Phil, Your horse is all ready standing, sir. — But that's what I wanted to ax you, father— will you be kind enough, sir, to shell out for me the price of a deecent horse, fit to mount a man like me? Old M'B. What ails the baste you have under you always. Phil. Fit only for the hounds : — not to follow, but to feed 'em. Old M'B. Hounds ! I don't want you, Phil, to be following the hounds at-all- at-all. A DRAMA. 1| Honor. But let alone the hounds. If you sell your bullocks well in the fair to day, father dear, 1 think you'll be so kind to spare Phil the price of a horse. Old M'B. Stand out of o' my way. Honor, with that wheedling voice o* your own — I won't. — Mind your own af- fairs — ^your leaguing again me, and I'll engage Randal Rooney's at the bottom of all — and the cement that sticks you and Phil so close together. But mind, madam Honor, if you give him the meeting at the fair the day — Honor. Dear father, I'm not going — I give up the fair o* purpose, for fear I'd see him. Old M'B. f Kissing her. J Why then you're a piece of an angel. Honor. And you'll give my brother the horse. Old M'B. I won't — when I've said I won't — I won't. (Buttons his coat, and Exit,) Phil. Now tbere's a sample of a fa- ther for ye 1 — 12 LOVE AND LAW; OldM'B' [Returning.) — And, mistress Honor, may be you*d be staying at home to Where's Randal Rooney to be, pray, while Td be from home ? Honor. Oh father, would you sus- pect OldM^B. (Catching her in his arms, and kissing her again and again.) Then you are a true angel, every inch of you. But not a word more in favour of the horse — ^sure the money for the bullocks shall go to your portion, every farthing. Honor. There's the thing I — (Holding her father.) I don't wish that. Phil. (Stopping her mouth.) Say no more, Honor — I'm best pleased so. Old M'B. (Aside.) I'll give him the horse, but he shan't know it. (Aloud.) I won't. — When I say I won't, did I ever ? (Exit Old M*Bride.) Phil. Never since the world stud — to do you justice, you are as obstinate as a mule. Not all the bullocks he's carrying to the fair the day, nor all the bullocks in Ballynavogue joined to 'em, in one A DRAMA. 13 team, would draw that father o* mine one inch out of his way. Honor. (Asidcy zvith a deep sigh.) Oh, then what will I do about Randal ever 1 PhiL As close a fisted father as ever had the grip of a guinea ! If the guineas was all for you — wilcome. Honor ! But that's not it. — Pity of a lad o' spirit like me to be cramped by such a hunx of a father. Honor. Oh don't be calling him names, Phil — stiff he is, more than close — and any way, Phil dear, he's the father still — and ould consider ! Phil. He is — and I'm fond enough of him too, would he only give me the price of a horse. But no matter — spite of him I'll have my swing the day, and it's I that will tear away with a good horse under me and a good whip over him in a capital style, up and down the street of Ballynavogue, for you. Miss Car'line Flaherty ! — I know who I'll go to, this minute — a man I'll engage will 14 LOVE AND LAW; lend me the loan of his bay gelding ; — and that's Counshillor Gerald O'BIaney.i no (Going, Honor stops him,) Honor, Gerald 0*Blaney ! Oh bro- ther ! — Mercy ! — Don't ! — any thing ra- ther than that — PhiL (Impatiently.) Why then, Honor? Honor. (Aside.) If I'd tell him, there'd be mischief. (Aloud,) Only — I wouldn't wish you under a compliment to one I've no opinion of. .Phil, Phoo ! — you've taken a pre- judice — what is there again Counshillor O'BIaney ? Honor, Counshillor I First place, why do you call him counshillor — he never was a raal counshillor sure — nor jan- tleman at all. Phil. Oh counshillor by courtesy ! He was an attorney once — just as we doctor the apotecary. Honor, But, Phil, was not there some- thing of this man's being dismissed the courts for too sharp practice ? ■ A DRAMA. l6 Phil. But that was long ago, if it ever was. — There's sacrets in all famihes, to be forgotten — bad to be raking the past. — I never knew you so sharp on a neighbor, Honor, before : — What ails ye ? Honor, [Sighing.) I can't tell ye. — (Still holdijig him.) Phil, Let me go then ! — Nonsense ! — the boys of Ballynavogue will be won- dering, and Miss Caroline most. (Exity si7iging,) Oh the boys of Bairnavogue." Honor, alo?ie. Honor, O Phil ! I could not tell it you ; but did you but know how that Gerald O'Blaney insulted your shister with his vile proposhals, you'd no more ask the loan of his horse ! — and I in dread when- ever I'd be left in the house alone — that that bad man would boult in upon me — and Randal to find him ! and Randal's like gunpowder when his heart's touched ! — and if Randal should come by himself, worse again ! Honor, where would be 16 LOVE AND LAW; your resolution to forbid him your pre- sence ? Then there's but one way to be right — ril lave home entirely. Down, proud stomach ! You must go to service. Honor M'Bride ! — There's Mrs. Carver, kind-hearted lady, is wanting a girl — she's English, and nice ; may be I'd not be good enough ; — but I can but try, and do my best ; any thing to plase the fa- ther. (Exit Honor.) SCENE n. O^Blaney's Counting- House. Gerald O'BIaney (alone at a Desk cohered zvith Papers J. j O^Bla, Of all the employments in life, this eternal balancing of accounts, see- saw, is the most sickening of all things, ex- cept it would be the taking the inventory of your stock, when you're reduced to invent the stock itself; — then that's the most lowering to a man of all things ! But there's one comfort in this distillery A DRAMA. 17 business — come what will, a man has al ways proof spirits. Enter Pat Coxe. Pat, The whole tribe of Connaught men come, craving to be ped for the oats, counsellor, due since last Serapht* fair. O^Bla. Can't be ped to day, let 'em crave never so. — Tell 'em Monday ; and give 'em a glass of whiskey round, and that will send 'em off contint, in a jerry. Pat, I shall — I will — I see. Sir. (Exit Pat Coxe.) O'Bla, Asy settled that !— but I hope many more duns for oats won't be call- ing on me this day, for cash is not to be had : — here's bills plinty — long bills, and short bills — but even the kites, which I can fly as well as any man, won't raise the wind for me now. . Re-enter Pat. Pat. Tim M*Gudriken, Sir, for his * Shrovetide. 18 LOVE AND LAW; debt — and talks of the sub-sherifF, and can't wait. — 7*x^. ? O'Bla. I don't ax him to wait — but he must take in payment, since he's in such a hurry, this bill at thirty-one days, tell him. Pat, I shall tell him so, plase your Honor. (Exit Pat.) O'Bla. They have all rendezvoused to drive me mad this day ; but the only thing is to keep the head cool. — What I'm dreading beyant all, is, if that ould Matthew M'Bride, who is as restless as a ferret when he has lodged money with any one, should come this day to take out of my hands the two hundred pounds I've got of his — Oh then I might shut up. But stay, I'll match him — and I'll match myself too — that daughter Honor of his is a mighty pretty girl to look at, and since I can't get her any other way, why not ax her in marriage. Her portion is to be — — Re- enter Pat. Pat, The protested note. Sir — with A DRAMA. 19 the charge of the protest to the back of it, from Mrs. Lorigan ; and her compli- ments, and to know what will she do ? O'Bla, What will /do, fitter to ax.— My kind compliments to Mrs. Lorigan, and I'll call upon her in the course of the day, to settle it all. Pat, I understand. Sir. (Exit Pat.) O'Bla. Honor M'Bride*s portion will be five hundred pounds on the nail — that would be no bad hit, and she a good clever likely girl. — I'll pop the question this day. Re-enter Pat. Pat, Corkeran the cooper's bill, as long as my arm, O'Bla. Oh ! don't be bothering me any more. — Have you no sinse ? — Can't you get shut of Corkeran the cooper without me ? — Can't ye quarrel with the items — tear the bill down the middle if necessary, and sind him away with a flay (flea) in his ear to make out a proper 20 LOVE AND LAW; bill — which I can't see till to-morrow, mind. 1 never pay any man on fair-day. Pat. [Aside.) Nor on any other day. [Aloud.) — Corkeran*s my cousin, coun- sellor, and if convanient, I'd be glad you'd advance him a pound or two on account ? O'Bla, *Tis not convanient, was he twenty times your cousin, Pat.— I can't be paying in bits, nor on account — all or none. Pat, None, then, I may tell him. Sir? O'Bla. You may — you must; and don't come up for any of em any more. — It's hard if I can't have a minute to talk to myself. Pat, And its hard if I can't have a minute to eat my breakfast too, which I have not. [Exit Pat.) O'Bla. Where was I — I was popping the question to Honor M'Bride.— The only thing is, whether the girl herself wouldn't have an objection: — there's that Randal Rooney is a great bachelor of her's, and I doubt she'd be apt to prefac A DRAMA. 21 him before me, even when I'd purpose marriage. — But the families of the Roo- neys and M'Brides is at vareance — then I must keep *em so. — 1*11 keep Catty Rooney's spirit up, niver to consent to that match. — Oh ! if them Rooneys and M*Brides were by any chance to make it up, I'd be undone — but against that catastrophe, I've a preventative. — Pat Coxe ! — Pat Coxe ! where are you, my young man ? Enter Pat (iviping his mouth). Pat. Just swallowing my breakfast. O'Bla, Mighty long swallowing you are.- — Here — don't be two minutes, till you're at Catty Rooney's, and let me see how cliverly you'll execute that confiden- tial embassy I trusted you with. — Touch Catty up about her ould antient family, and all the kings of Ireland she comes from. — Blarnay her cliverly, and work her to a foam against the M*Brides. Pat, Never fear, your honor. — I'll tell her the story we agreed on, of Honor 22 LOVE AND LAW; M'Bride meeting of Randal Rooney be- hind the chapel. O'Bla, That will do — don't forget the ring : — for I mane to put another on the girl's finger if she's agreeable, and knows her own interest. — But that last's a pri- vate article. — Not a word of that to Cat- ty? yo^ understands . M)-l .i/ri if Pat. Oil ! I understand — and I'll en- gage I'll compass Catty, tho' she's a cunning shaver. O'Bla. Cunning ? — No, — she's only hot tempered, and asy managed. F^t. Whatever she is, I'll do ray best to plase you.— And I expict your honor, counsellor, won't forget the promise you made me, to ask Mr. Carver for that lit- tle place — that sitiation that would just shute me. O'Bla. Never fear, never fear. — Time enough to think of shuting you, when you've done my business. (Exit Pat.) That will work like barm, and ould Mat- thew, the father, I'll speak to myself gen- teelly. — He will be proud, I warrant, to A t)RAMA. fS match his daughter with a g^fitleman like me : — but what if he should smell a rat, and want to be looking into my af- fairs. — Oh ! I must get it sartified pro- perly to him before all things, that I'm as safe as the bank, and I know who shall do that for me — my worthy frind, that most consequential magistrate, Mr. Carver, of Bob*s Fort, who loves to be advising and managing of all men, wo- men, and children, for their good; the most tiresome vain proser on earth !-^ *Tis he shall advise ould Matthew for my good.— Now Carver thinks he lades the whole county, and ten miles round — but who is it lades him I want to know? Why, Gerald 0*Blaney. — And how? — Why, by a spoonful of the univarsal pa- nacea, flattery — in the vulgar tongue, flummery, (A knock at the door heard,) Who's rapping at the street ? — Carver of Bob's Fort himself, in all his glory this fair day. — See then how he struts and swells. — Did ever man, but a pacock, look so fond of himself with less rason ? — 24 LOVE AND LAW; But I must be caught deep in accounts, and a balance of thousands to credit. {Sits down to his desk, to account hooks). Seven thousand ! three hundred, and two pence. (Starting and rising.) Do I see Mr. Carver of Bob's Fort?— Oh! the honor — Mr. Carv. Don't stir, pray — I beg — I request — I insist. — I am by no means ceremonious. Sir. O'Bla. (Bustling and setting two chairs.) No, but I'd wish to shew respect proper to him I consider the first man in the county. Mr, Carv. [Aside.) Man I gentleman, he might have said. (Mr. Carver sits down and j^ests himself consequentially,) O'Bla. Now, Mr. "Carver of Bob^s Fort, you've been over fartiguing your- self.— Mr. Carv, For the public good. I can't help it, really. A DRAMA. ^ O^Bla, Oh; but, upon my word and honor, it's too much — there's rason in all things. — A man of Mr. Carver's fortin to be slaving ! — If you vt^ere a man in business, like me, it w^ould be another thing. — I must slave at the desk to keep all round. — See, Mr. Carver, see! — Ever sincfe the day you advised me to be as particular as yourself in keeping accounts to a farthing, I do, to a fraction, even like state accounts, see ! — Mr. Carv. And I trust you find your advantage in it. Sir. — Pray how does the distillery business go on ? — fi 1 — A^f^'i^^ O'Bla. Swimmingly ! ever since that time, Mr. Carver, your interest at the Castle helped me at the dead lift, and got that fine took off. — 'Tis to your purtic- tion, encouragement, and advice entirely, I owe my present unexampled prosperity, which you prophesied ; and Mr. Carver's prophecies seldom, I may say never, fail to be accomplished. Mr. Carv, I own there is some truth in your observation. — I confess I have seldom c 26 LOVE AND LAW; been mistaken or deceived in my judg* ment of man, woman, or child. 0*Bla, Who can say so much ? — Mr. Carv, For what reason I don't pretend to say ; but the fact ostensibly w, that the few persons I direct with my advice, are unquestionably apt to prosper in this world. O'Bla, Mighty apt !— for which ra- son I would vvrish to trouble you for your unprecedently good advice on another pint; if it would not be too great a liberty. Mr. Carv. No liberty at all, my good Gerald — I am always ready to advise — only to day certainly, the fair-day of Ballynavogue, there are so many calls upon me, both in a public and private capacity,— so much business of vital im- portance ! O'Bla. [Aside.) Vital importance ! — that is his word, on all occasions. — (Aloud.) May be then (oh ! where was my head ?) may be you would not have break- fasted all this time, and we've the kittle down always in this house [rising). Pat ! A DRAMA. 27 —Jack ! — Mick ! — Jenny ! put the kittle down. Mr, Carv. Sit down, — sit still, my wor- thy fellow. Breakfasted at Bob's Fort, as I always do. O'Bla. But a bit of cake — a glass of wine, to refrish and replinish nature. Mr. Carv. Too early — spoil my din- ner. — But what was I going to say ? — O'Bla, (Aside.) Burn me if I know ; and I pray all the saints you may never recollect. . Mr. Carv. I recollect ! — how many times do you think I was stopped on horseback coming up the street of Bally- navogue ? — Five times by weights and measures, imperiously calling for reforma- tion, Sir, Thirteen times, upon my vera- city, by booths, apple-stalls, nuisances, vagabonds, and drunken women. Pigs without end. Sir — wanting ringing, and all squealing in my ears, while I was settling sixteen disputes about tolls and customs. Add to this, my regular battle every fair- day with the crane, which ought to be c S 28 LOVE AND LAW; any where but where it is; and my per- petual discoveries of fraudulent kegs, and stones in the butter ! — Now, Sir, I only ask, can you wonder that I wipe my forehead — (imping his forehead.) O'Bla, In troth, Mr. Carver, I can- not ! — But these are the pains and penal- ties of being such a man of consequence as you evidently are ;-^and I that am now going to add to your troubles too by consulting you about my little pint. Mr. Carv. A point of law, I dare to say ; for people somehow or other have got such a prodigious opinion of my law. (Takes snuff.) O'Bla. [Aside.) No coming to the pint till he has finished his own pany- geric. -^^t* uojuj .i/iiii) n Mr, Carv. And I own I cannot abso- lutely turn my back on people. — Yet as to jDO(?r people, I always settle them by telling them, it is my principle that law is too expensive for the poor. — I tell them, the poor have nothing to do with the laws. — O'Bla. Except the penal. '^A DRAMA. 129 Mr. Carv. True, the civil is for us, men of property, — and no man should think of going to law without he's qualified. — There should be licenses. ) .w ^ O'Bla. No doubt. — Pinalties there are in plinty; still those who can afford, should indulge. — In Ireland it would as ill become a gentleman to be any way shy of a law-shute, as of a duel. Mr, Carv. Yet law is expensive. Sir, even to me. O'Bla, But *tis the best economy in the end ; for when once you have cast or nonshuted your man in the courts, 'tis as good as winged him in the field. — And suppose you don't get sixpence costs, and lose your cool hundred by it, still it's a great advantage ; for you are let alone to enjoy your own in pace and quiet ever after, which you could not do in this county without it. — But the love of the law has carried me away from my business. — The pint I wanted to consult you about is not a pint of law ; 'tis another matter. Mr, Carv, (Looking at his watch,) I v30 LOVE AND LAW; must be at Bob*s Fort, to seal my de- spatches for the Castle. — And there's another thing I say of myself. O'Bla. [Aside,) Remorseless agotist. Mr, Carv, I don't know how, the people all have got such an idea of my connexions at the CastJe, and my influ- ence with his Excellency, that I am wor- ried with eternal applications. — They expect I can make them guagers, or at- torney-generals, I believe. — How do they know I write to the Castle ? O'Bla. Oh ! the post-office tells asy by the big sales (seals) to your despatches. (Aside) Which 1*11 engage is all the Cas- tle ever rades of them, tho* Carver has his Excellency always in his mouth, God help him ! Mr. Carv. Well, you wanted to consult me, Gerald ? O'Bla, And you'll give me your ad- vice, which will be conclusive, law, and every thing to me. — You know the M*Brides — would they be safe ? Mr. Carv, Very safe, substantial people. V A DRAMA. V dl O'Bla. Then here's the thing, Mr. Carver: as you recommend them, and as they are friends of your*s — I will confess to you that, though it might not in pint of interest be a very prudent match, I am thinking that Honor M*Bride is such a prudent girl, and Mrs. Carver has taken her by the hand, so I'd vi^ish to follow Mrs. Carver's example for life, in taking Honor by the hand for better or worse. Mr. Carv, In my humble opinion you cannot do better; and I can tell you a secret — Honor will have no contempt- ible fortune in that rank of life. O'Bla, Oh, fortune's always con- temptible in marriage. Mr. Carv. Fortune 1 Sir ? — O'Bla. [Aside.) Overshot. — [Aloud.) In comparison with the patronage and protection or countenance she'd have from you and your family. Sir. Mr. Carv. That you may depend upon, my good Gerald, as far as we can go; but you know we are nothing. Q'Bla. Oh, I know you're every 32 LOVE AND LAW; thing — every thing on earth — particu- larly with ould M'Bride ; — and you know how to speak so well and iloquent, and I*m so tongue-tied and baashful on such an occasion. Mr, Carv. Well, well. Til speak for you. O'Bla, A thousand thanks down to the ground. J»f< il ^*a Mr, Carv. [Patting him 07i the back as he rises.) My poor Gerald. O'Bla, Then I am poor Gerald in point of wit, I know; but you are too good a friend to be calling me poor to ould M'Bride — you can say what I can't say. Mr, Carv. Certainly, certainly; and you may depend on me. — I shall speak my decided opinion; and I fancy M*Bride has sense enough to be ruled by you. O'Bla. Vm sure he has — only there's a Randal Rooney, a wild young man, in the case. — I'd be sorry the girl was thrown away upon Randal. Mr. Carv. She has too much sense — the father will settle that, and I'll settle the father. [Mr, Carver going.) '% A DRAMA. SS O'Bla. f Following, aside. J And who has settled you ? Mj'. Carv. Don't stir— don't stir — men of business must be nailed to a spot — and I'm not ceremonious. [Exit Mr. Carver.) O'Bla. Pinned him, by all that's Gliver ! — [Exit O'Blaney.) SCENE iir. Mrs. Carver's Dressing Room. Mrs. Carver sitting at work. — Bloomsbury standing. Bloom. Certainly, Ma'am, what I always said was, that for the commonalty there's no getting out of an Irish cabin a girl fit to be about a lady such as you, Mrs. Carver, in the shape of a waiting maid or waiting maid's assistant, on account they smell so of smoke, which is very distress- ing 5 but this Honor M'Bride seems a C3 54 LOVE AND LAW; bettermost sort of girl, Ma'am; if you can make up your mind to her vice. M?-s. Carv, Vice? — . Bloom. That is, vicious pronouncidL" tions in regard to their Irish brogues. Mrs. Carv. Is that all ? — I am quite accustomed to the accent. Bloom. Then, Ma*am, I declare now, I've been forced to stuff my hears with cotton wool hever since I oomed to Ire- land. — But this here Honor M'Bride has a mighty pretty vice, if you don't take exceptions to a little nationality ; — nor she is not so smoke-dried — she's really a nice tidy looking-like girl considering. — I've taken tea with the family often, and they live quite snug for Hirish. — I'll assure you. Ma'am, quite bettermost people for Hibernians, as you always said. Ma'am. Mrs. Call). I have a regard for old Matthew, tho' he is something of a miser, I fear. Bloom. So, Ma'am, shall I call the A DRAMA. 35 girl up, that we may see and talk to her? — I think, Ma*am, you'll find she will do ; and I reckon to keep her under my owa eye and advice from morning till night ' — for when I seed the girl so willing to larn, I quite tooked a fancy to her, I owa — as it were. Mrs. Carv. Well, Bloomsbury, let me see this Honor M'Bride. Bloom. (Calling.) One of you there ! please call up Honor M'Bride. Mrs. Carv. She has been waiting a great while, I fear ; I don't like to keep people waiting. Bloom. (Watching for Honor as she speaks. J Dear heart. Ma'am, in this here country, people does love waiting for waiting's sake, that's sure — ^they got no- thing else to do. — Here, Honor — walk in^ Honor — rub your shoes always. Eriter Honor, iimidhf. Mrs. Carv. (In an eficouraging voice.) Come in,^ my good girh Bloom. Oh childa, the door ! — the peo* 36 LOVE AND LAW ; pies never shut a door in Ireland ! — Did not I warn you ? — says I, '* come when " you're called — do as you're bid — shut " the door after you, and you'll never be '' chid." — Now what did I tell you, child ? Honor, To shut the door after me when I'd come into a room. Bloom. When Fd come — now that's not dic'snary English. Mrs. Carv, Good Bloomsbury, let that pass for the present — come a little nearer to me, my good girl. Honor, Yes, Ma'am. Bloom. Take care of the china pyra- mint with your cloak — walk on to Mrs. Carver — no need to be afraid — I'll stand your friend. , my:\\ Mrs. Carv. I should haVe thought Honor M'Bride, you were in too com- fortable a way at home to think of going into service. Honor. fSigJis.J No better father, nor brother, nor (than) I have. Ma'am, I thank your Ladyship j but some things come across. A DRAMA. 37 Mrs, Carv. f Aside. J Oh it is a blush- ing case I see — I must talk to her alone by and by. (Aloud.) I don't mean, my good girl, to pry into your family affairs. Honor. Oh Ma*am, you're too good. — (^^zV/e.)The kind- hearted lady — how Hove her already. (She wipes the tears from her eyes.) Bloom. Take care of the bow-pot at your elbow, child -, for if you break the necks of them moss roses — Honor. 1 ax their pardon. Mrs. Carv. Better take the flower-pot out of her way, Bloomsbury. Bloom. ( Moving the Jlower-pot.) There now— but. Honor, keep your eyes on my lady — never turn your head, and keep your hands always afore you, as I shew you. — Ma'am, she'll larn manners in time — Lon'on was not built in a day. — It i'n't to be expected of she ! — Mrs. Carv. It is not to be expected indeed that she should learn every thing at once — so one thing at a time, good S$ LOVE AND LAW; Bloomsbury — and one person at a time. — Leave Honor to me for the present. Bloom. Certainly, Ma*am ^ I beg par- don — I was only saying — Mrs. Cart). Since it is, it seems, neces- sary, my good girl, that you should leave home ; I am glad that you are not too proud to go into service. Honor. Oh into your service. Ma'am ! — I*d be too proud if you*d be kind enough to accept me. Mrs. Carv, Then as to wages ; what do you expect I Honor. Any thing at all you please. Ma'am. Bloom. (Pressing dozen her shoulder. J My lady, always — and where's your curtsy? — we shall bring these Irish knees into training by and by, I hopes. Honor. I'm awk'ard and straw ge,^ Ma'am — I never was from home afore. M7^s. Carv. Poor girl — we shall agree very well, I hope. Honor. Oh yes, any thing at all. • A DRAMA. J 39 Ma'am — my lady, I'm not greedy — nor needy — thanks above 1 — but it's what I'd wish to be under your protection if it was plasing, and I'll do my very best. Madam. (Curtsies.) Mrs. Carv, Nobody can expect more, and I hope and trust you'll find mine an easy place — Bloomsbury, you will tell her what will be required of her — (Mrs, Carv. looks at her watch.) At twelve o'clock I shall be returned from my walk, and then,. Honor, you will come into my cabinet here, I want to say a few words to you. [Exit Mrs, Carver.) Honor, Yes, Ma'am, — thank you. Ma'am. (Honor ^o Bloomsbury.) Wowwill I know. Miss Bloomsbury, when it will be twelve o'clock ? Bloom, You'll hear the clock strike — but I suspect you'se don't understand the clock yet — well, you'll hear the work- men's bell. Honor, I know, Ma'am^ oh I know, true — only I was flurried, so I forgot. Bloom, Flurried ! but never be flur- 40 LOVE AND LAW ried< — now mind and keep your head upon your shoulders, while I tell you all your duty — you*ll just ready this here room, your lady*s dressing-room ; not a particflf/ of dust let me never find, patti- clarly behind the vindor shuts. Honor, Vindor shuts ! — where, Ma*am ? Bloom. The shuts of the vindors — did you never hear of a vindor, child ? Honor, Never, Ma*am. Bloom. (Pointing to a window.) Don't tell me ! — why, your head is a wool-ga- thering I — now mind me, pray — see here, always you put that there, — and this here, and that upon that, — and this upon this, and this under that, — and that under this — you can remember that much, child, I supposes ? Honor. 1*11 do my endeavour. Ma'am, to remember all. Bloom. But, mind now 1 my good girl, you takes petticlar care of this here pyramint of japanned china— and very petticlar care of that there great joss — and the very most patticidarest A DRAMA. 41 care of this here right reverend Mando- lene. (Pointing to and touching a Manda- rin, so as to make it shake. Honor starts back.) Bloom. It i*n't alive. Silly child, to start at a Mandolin shaking his head and beard at you. — But, oh ! mercy, if there i'n't enough to make him shake his head. — Stand there 1 — stand here I — now don't you see ? J? -.-^7j)/ii \w ' Honor, Which, Ma'am ? Bloom. " Which, Ma'am P' you're no zcitchy indeed, if you don't see a cobweb as long as my arm. Run, run, child, for the Pope's head. ff^iu eisfl Honor. Pope's head. Ma'am? Bloom. Ay, the Pope's head, w'ich you'll find under the stairs. — Well, a'n't you gone } what do you stand there, like a stuck pig, for?— Never see a Pope's head ? — never 'ear of a Pope's head ? Honor. I've heard of one. Ma'am — with the priest — but we are protestants. Bloom. Protestants ! what's that to do ?— I do protest, I believe, that little 42 LOVE AND LAW J head of yours is someway got wrong on your shoulders to day. (The clock strikes — Honor, who is close to ity starts. J Bloom. Start again ! — why, you're all starts and fits. Never start, child ! so ig- noramus like ! *tis only the clock in your ear, — twelve o'clock, hark! — The bell will ring now in a hurry. — Then you goes in there to my lady — stay, you'll never be able, I dare for to say, for to open the door without me ; for I opine, you are not much usen'd to brass locks in Hirish cabins — can't be expected. — See here then ! You turns the lock in your hand this'n ways — the lock, mind now ; not the kei/ nor the bolt for your life, child, else you'd bolt your lady in, and there'd be my lady in Lob's pound, and there'd be a pretty kettle of fish ! — So you keep, if you can, all I said to you in your head if possible — and you goes in there — and I goes out here. {Exit Bloomshury.) Honor, {Curtsying.) Thank ye. Ma'am. A DRAMA. 43 Then all this time I'm sensible I've been behaving and looking little better than like a fool, or an innocent, — But I hope I won't be so bad when the lady shall speak to me. (The bell rijigs.) Oh, the bell summons me in here. — [Speaks with her hand on the lock of the door,) The lock's asy enough — I hope I'll take cou- rage — (sighs.) — Asier to spake before one nor two, any way — and asier tin times to the mistress than the maid. [Exit Honor.) SCENE IV. The Highroad — A Cottage in view — Turf" stack y Hay -rick y 8(c. Catty Rooney aloney walking backwards and forwards. Catty. 'Tis but a stone's throw to Ballynavogue. But I don't like to be 44 LOVE AND LAW; going into the fair a'-fut^ when I been always used to go in upon my pillion behind my husband when living, and my son Randal, after his death. — Wait, who comes here? — 'Tis Gerald O'Blaney's, the distiller's, young man, Pat Coxe: now we'll larn all — and whether 0*Blaney can lend me the loan of a horse, or no. — A good morrow to you kindly, Mr^ Pat Coxe. Enter Pat Coxe. Fat, And you the same, Mrs. Roo- ney, tinfold. — Mr. O'Blaney has his sar- vices to you. Ma'am. — No not his sar- vices, but his compliments, that was the word, — his kind compliments, that was the very word. Catty. The counshillor's always very kind to me, and genteel. Pat. And was up till past two in the morning, last night, Madam, he bid me say, looking over them papers you left with him for yoiir shuit. Ma'am, with A DRAMA. 45 the M^Brides, about the bit of Ballyna- scraw bog; and if you call upon the counshillor in the course of the morning, he'll find, or make, a minute, for a con- sultation, he says. — But mane time, to take no step to compromise, or make it \y^^ for your life y Ma*am.. Catty. No fear, I'll not give up at law, or any way, to a M*Bride, while I've a drop of blood in my veins — and its good thick Irish blood runs in these veins. Fat. No doubt. Ma'am— from the kings of Ireland, as all the world knows, Mrs. Rooney. tuo er f^^liov/ Catty. And the M'Brides have no blood at-all-at^all. Fat. Not a drop. Ma'am — so they can't stand before you. Catty. They ought not, any way 1 — What are they ?-— Cromwellians at the best. — Mac Brides ! — Macks — Scotch! — not Irish native, at-all-at-all. — People of yesterday, graziers and mushrooms — which tho' they've made the money, can't 46 LOVE AND LAW; buy the blood. — My anshestors sat on a throne, when the M'Brides had only their hunkers* to sit upon ; and if I walk now when they ride, they can't look down upon me — for every body knows who I am — and what they are. Fat. To be sure, Ma'am, they do — the whole country talks of nothing else but the shame when you'd be walking and they riding. Catty. Then could the counshillor lend me the horse ? Pat. With all the pleasure in life. Ma'am, only every horse he has in the world, is out o' messages, and draw- ing turf, and one thing or another to day — and he is very sorry, Ma'am. / Catti/. So am I then-^I'm unlucky the day. — But I won't be saying so, for fear of spreading ill luck on my faction. — Pray now what kind of a fair is it ? Would there be any good signs of a fight, Mr. Pat Coxe ? * Their hunkers, i. e. their hams. • v./ A DRAMA. ' 47 Pat. None in life as yet, Ma'am, — only just buying and selling. The horse- bastes, and horned-cattle, and pigs squeak- ing, has it all to themselves. — But it's early times yet, — it won't be long so. Catty, No M'Brides, no Ballynavogue boys gathering yet ? Pat, None to signify of the M^Brides, Ma'am, at all. Catty. Then it's plain them M'Brides dare not be shewing their faces, or even their backs, in Ballynavogue. — But sure all our Ballynascraw-boys, the Roonies, are in it as usual, I hope ? Pat. Oh, Ma'am, there is plinty of Roonies. — I marked Big Briny of Cloon, and Ulick of Eliogarty, and little Char- ley of Killaspugbrone. Catty. All good men* — no better. — Praise be where due. Pat. And scarce a Mac Bride I no- ticed. — But the father and son — ouldMat- Good men — ^men who fight well. 48 LOVE AND LAW; thew, and flourishing Phil, was in it, with a new pair of boots and the silver- hilted whip. Catty. The spalpeen ! turned into a buckeen, that would be a squireen,— but can*t» Pat. No, for the father pinches him. Catty, That's well — and that ould Matthew is as obstinate a neger as ever famished his stomach. — What's he doing in Ballynavogue the day ? Pat, Standing he is there, in the fair- green, with his score of fat bullocks, that he has got to sell. uMi ji Catty. Fat bullocks ! Them, I reckon, will go towards Honor M'Bride's por- tion, and a great fortin she'll be for a poor man — but I covet none of it for me or mine. Pat. I'm sure of that. Ma'am, — you would not demane yourself to the likes. Catty. Mark me, Pat Coxe, now — with all them fat bullocks at herback, and with all them fresh roses in her cheeks — and I don't say but she's a likely girl, if %^ 7/ A DRAMA. 49 she wa'nt a Mac Bride. — But with all that, and if she was the best spinner in the three counties, and I don't say but she's good, if she wa'nt a Mac Bride, — but was she the best of the best, and the fairest of the fairest, and had she to boot, the two stockings full of gould. Honor M'Bride shall never be brought home, a daughter-in-law to me. — My pride's up ! Pat. [Aside,) And I'm instructed to keep it up. (Aloud.) True, for ye. Ma'am, and I wish that all had as much proper pride, as ought to be hav- ing it. .,'!.. Catty. There's maning in your eye, Pat — give it tongue. Pat. If you did not hear it, I suppose there's no truth in it. Catty. What ?— which ?— Pat. That your son Randal, Mrs. Rooney, is not of your way of thinking about Honor M'Bride, may -he's. Catty. Tut I — No matter what way of thinking he is — A young slip of a boy D 50 LOVE AND LAW; like him does not know what he'll think to-morrow. — He's a good son to me, and in regard to a wife, one girl will do him as well as another, if he has any sinse — and I'll find him a girl that will plase him, I'll engage. Pat. May be so. Ma'am — no fear — only boys do like to be plasing them- selves, by times — and I noticed some- thing. Ca%. What did you notice ? — till me, Pat, dear, quick. Fat. No — 'tis bad to be meddling and remarking to get myself ill-will — so I'll keep myself to myself; — for Randal's ready enough with his hand, as you with the tongue, — no offence, Mrs. Rooney, Ma'am. Catty, Niver fear — only till me the truth, Pat, dear. Pat, Why then, to the best of my opinion, I seen Honor M^Bride just now, giving Randal Rooney the meeting be- hind the chapel ; and I seen him putting a ring on her finger. A drama:' ' 51 Catty. (Clasping her hands,) — Oh, murder ! — Oh ! the unnatVal monsters that love makes of these young men; and the traitor, to use me so, when he pro- mised he'd never make a stol'n match unknown*st to me. Pat. Oh, Ma'am, I don't say — I wouldn 't swear it's a match — yet. Catty. Then I'll run down and stop it — and catch 'em. Pat. You haven't your jock on. Ma'am — [she turns towards the house) — and it's no use — for you won't catch 'em — I seen them after, turning the back way into Nick Flaherty's. Catty. Nick Flaherty's, the publi- can's ? — oh, the sinners ! — and this is the saint, that Honor M^Bride would be pass- ing herself upon us for. — And all the edication she got at Mrs. Carver's Sun- day school. — Oh, this comes of being better than one's neighbors — a fine thing to tell Mrs. Carver, the English lady, that's so nice, and so partial to Miss D 2 52 LOVE AND LAW ; Honor M'Bride.^ Oh, I'll expose her. Fat, Oh sure, Mrs. Rooney, you promised you'd not tell. — (Standing so as to stop Catty^) Catty. Is it who told me — no — I won't mintion a sintence of your name. — But \et me by — I won't be put off now I've got the scent. — I'll hunt 'em out, and drag her to shame if they're above ground 5 or my name's not Catty Rooney. — Mick — Mick ! little Mick — [calling at the cottage door) — Bring my h\\xe jock up the road after -me to Ballynavogue. — Don't let me count three till you're after me, or I'll bleed ye ! [Exit Catty, shaking her closed hand^ and repeating) I'll expose Honor M'Bride — I'll expose Honor ! I will, by the blessing ! P Old M'B, Slow and sure — love and all— fast bind, fast find— three and two^ what does that make ? A DRAMA. 61 O'Bla. It used to make five before I was in love. y^OldM'B, And will the same after you*re married and dead — what am I thinking of? — a score of bullocks I had in the fair — half a score sold in my pocket, and owing half— that^s John Do- lan, twelve pound,^ tin — and Charly Duffy nine guineas, and thirteen tin pinnies^, and a five-penny bit — stay then, put that to the hundred guineas in the stocking at home. &Bla. {Aside.) How he makes my mouth water. (Aloud.) May be, Matthew, I could, that am used to it, save you the trouble of counting ? Old M'B, No trouble in life to me ever to count my money — only Til trou- ble you. Sir, if you plase, to lock that door; bad to be chinking and spreading money with doors open, far walls has ears and eyes. O'Bia, True for you. (Rising, and ga- ing to lock the doors,) 62 LOVE AND LAW; (Old Mac Bride with great difficulty ^ and very slowly, draws out of his pocket his bag of money — looking first at one door, and then at the other, and going to try zvhether they are locked, before he unties his bag,) Old M'B, [Spreads and counts his money and notes.) See me now, I wrote on some scrap somewhere 59/. in notes — then hard cash, twinty pounds — rolled up silver and gould, which is scarce — but of a hundred pounds, there's wanting fourteen pounds odd, I think, or some- thing that way — -for Phil and I had our breakfast out of a one pound note of Finlay*s, and I put the change some- where — besides a ribbon for Honor,, which makes a deficiency of fourteen pounds, seven shillings and two pence — that's what's deficient— count it which way you will. O'Bla. [Going to sweep the money off the table,) Oh never mind the deficiency — I'll take it for a hundred plump. A DRAMA. 63 Old M*B, [Stopping him.) Plump me, no plumps — I'll have it exact, or not at all — I'll not part it, so let me see it again. O'Bla, [Aside, with a deep sigh, almost a groan.) Oh ! when I had had it in my fist — almost — but 'tis as hard to get mo- ney out of this man, as blood out of a turnips and Til be lost to-night without it. Old M'B. 'Tis not exact — and I'm exact — I'll put it all up again — [he puts it deliberately into the hag again, thrusting the bag into his pocket) — I'll make it up at home my own way, and send it in to you by Phil in an hour's time, for I could not sleep sound with so much in my house — bad people about — safer with you in town — Mr. Carver says, you are as good as the Bank of Ireland — there's no going beyond that. [Buttojiing up his pockets) — So you may unlock the doors and let me out now — I'll send Phil with all to you, and you'll give him a bit of a receipt, or a token that would do. O'Bla, I shall give a receipt by all 64 LOVE AND LAW; ^ means- — all regular; — short accounts make long friends. [Unlocks the door.) Old M^B. True Sir, and I'll come in and see about the settlements in the morning, if Honor is agreeable. O'Bla. I shall make it my business to wait upon the young lady myself on the wings of love ; — and I trust Til not find any remains of Randal Eooney in her head. Old M'B. Not if I can help it, depend on that. (They shake hands,) O'Bla. Then fare ye well, father-in- hiw — that^^s meat and drink to me — would not ye take a glass of wine then ^ Old M^B: Not a drop — not a drop at all — with money about me, I must be in a hurry home. O'Bla, That*^ true — so best^ — recom- mind me kindly to Miss Honor, and say a great dale about my impatience — and ril be expicting Phil, and won't shut up till he comes the night. Old M'B. No don't— for he'll be with you before night-falK {Exit M'Bride.) A DRAMA. 65 O'Bla. {Calling,) Dan \ open the door there — Dan ! Joe ! open the door smart for Mr. M*Bride. (O'Blaney rubbing his hands.) Now I think I may pronounce myself made for life — success to my parts I — and here's Pat too I — well Pat Coxe, what news of the thing in hand I Enter Pat Coxe. Pat. Out of hand clane ! — that job*^s nately done — the turf-rick Sir's built up Oliver, with the malt snug in the mid- dle of its stomach — so were the shuper- vishor a conjurer even, barring he'd dale with the ould one, he'd never suspict a sentence of it. O^Bla. Not he — he's no conjurer — - many's the dozen tricks I played him afore now. Pat. But, Counshillor, there's the big veshel in the little passage — I got a hint from a friend, that the shuper got infor- mation of the spirits in th^t from some villain. 66 LOVE AND LAW; O'Bla. And do you think I don't know a trick for that too ? Pat. No doubt — still, Counshillor, I*m in dread of mj life that that great big veshel won't be imptied in a hurry. O'Bla, Won't it? — but you'll see it will tho' 5 and what's more, them spirits will turn into water for the shupervishor. Pat. Water ! how ? O'Bla, Asy— the ould tan-pit that's at the back of the distillery. Pat. I know — what of it ? O'Bla. A sacret pipe I've got fixed to the big veshel, and the pipe goes under the wall for me into the tan-pit, aud a sucker I have in the big veshel, which I pull open by a string in a crack, and lets all oiT all clane into the tan-pit. Pat. That's capital — but the water ? O'Bla, From the pump, another pipe — and the girl's pumping asy, for she's to wash to-morrow, and knows nothing about it ; and so the big veshel she fills with water, wondering what ails the I A DRAMA. 67 water that it don't come — and I set one boy and another to help her-— and the pump's bewitched, and that's all — so that's settled. Fat, And cleverly. Oh counshillor, we are a match for the shuper any day, or night. O'Bla. For him and all his tribe, cours^ ing officers and all. I'd desire no better sport, than to hear the whole pack in full cry after me, and I doubling, and doub- ling, and safe at my form at last. With you, Pat, my precious, to drag the herring over the ground previous to the hunt, to distract the scent, and defy the nose of the dogs. Pat, Then I'm proud to sarve you, Counshillor. O'Bla, I know you are, and a very honest boy. And what did you do for me, with Catty Rooney ? Pat, The best.— Oh ! it's I hlarny'd Catty to the skies, and then egged her on, and aggravated her against the M'Brides, till I left her as mad as e'er a one in Bed- 68 LOVE AND LAW; lam — up to anj thing f and full tilt she^s off to Flaherty*Sy the publican, in her blue jock — where she'll not be long afore she kicks up a quarrel, I*ll engage — for sh^'s sarching the house for Honor M*Bride, who is not in it — and giving bad language, I warrant, to all the M'Bride faction^, who 2> in it, drinking. Oh \ trust Catty's tongue for breeding a riot 1 In half an hour, ril warrant, youll have as fine a fight in town as ever ye seen or hard. O'Bla. That's iligantly done, Pat. But I hope Randal Rooney is in it ? Pat, In the thick of it he is, or will be.— -So I hope your honor did not for- git to spake to Mr, Carver about that lit- tle place for me ? O'Bla, Forgit ! — Do I forgit my own name, do you think ? Sooner forgit that ^/2^w my promises. . >tl,;-v. i Pat, Oh! I beg your honor's par- don — I would not doubt your word ; and to. make matters sure, and to make Catty cockahoopy I tould her, and swore to her, there was not a M'Bride in the town A DRAMA. 69 but two, and there's twinty, more or less. O'Bla, And when she sees them twinty, more or less, what will she think ? — Why would you say that — she might find you out in a lie next minute, Mr. Overdo ? 'Tis dangerous for a young man to be telling more lies than is absolutely re- quisite. The lie superfluous brings many an honest man, and, what's more, many a diver fellow, into a scrape — and that's your great fau't, Pat. FaL Which, Sir? O'Bla. That, Sir. I don't see you often now take a glass too much. — But, Pat, I hear you often still are too apt to indulge in a lie too much, Pat. Lie ! Is it I ? — Whin upon my conscience, I niver lo my knowledge, tould a lie in my life, since I was born, excipt it would be just to skreen a man, which is charity, sure, — or to skreen my- self, which is self-defence, sure — and that's lawful ; or to oblige your honor, by par- 70 LOVE AND LAW; ticular desire, and that can't be helped, I suppose. O'Bla. I am not saying again all that —only (laying his hand on PatV shoulder as he is going out J against another time, all I'm warning you, young man, is, you're too apt to think there never can be lying enough. — Now too much of a good thing is good for nothing. [Exit O'BIaney.) Pat, alone. Pat, There's what you may call the divil rebuking sin — and now we talk of the like as, I've hard my mudther say, that he had need of a long spoon that ates wid the divil — so I'll look to that in time. But who's voice is that I hear coming up stairs ? — I don't believe but it's Mr. Carver — only what should bring him back again, I wonder now ? — Here he is, all out of breath, coming. Enter Mr. Carver. Mr, Carv, Pray, young man, did you happen to see — (panting for breath,) Bless A DRAMA. 71 i me, I've ridden so fast back from Bob's Fort. Fat. My master. Sir, Mr. 0*Blaney, is it ?— Will I run ? Mr. Carv, No, no^ — stand still till I have breath. What I want is, a copy of a letter I dropped some where or other — here I think it must have been, when I took out my handkerchief — a copy of a letter to his Excellency — of great conse- quence. [Mr, Carver ^27^ down, and takes breath.) Pat, [Searching about xvith officious haste.) If it's above ground I'll find it. What's this ? — an old bill. That is not it — would it be this, crumpled up ? — " To his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland." Mr. Carv. [Snatching.) No further, for your life ! Pat. Well then I was lucky I found it, and proud. Mr. Carv. And well you may be, young man 5 for I caa assure you, on this 72 LOVE AND LAW; letter the fate of Ireland may depend. (Smoothing the letter on his knee,) Pat, I wouldn't doubt it — when it's a letter of your honor's — I know your ho- nor's a great man at the Castle. And plase your honour, I take this opportunity of tanking your honor, for the encourage- ment I got about that little clerk's place — and here's a copy of my hand- writing, I'd wish to shew your honor, to see I'm capable — and a scholard. Mr, Cart), Hand- writing ! Bless me, young man, I have no time to look at your hand-writing. Sir. With the affairs of the nation on my shoulders — can you possibly think? — ^is the boy mad? — that I've time to revise every poor scholar's*, copy-book ? Pat, I humbly beg your honor's par- don, but it was only becaase I'd wish to shew I was not quite so unworthy to be under (whin you've time,) your honor's protection, as promised. Mr, Carv, My protection ? — you are I A DRAMA. 7S not under my protection. Sir — ^promised clerk's place — I do not conceive what you are aiming at. Sir. Pat, The little clerk's place, plase your honor — that my master, Counshellor O'Blaney, tould me he spoke ahout to your honor, and was recommending me for to your honor. Mr, Carv, Never — never heard one syllable about it, till this moment. Pat. Oh murder ! — but I expect your honor's goodness will. — Mr, Carv, To make your mind easy, I promised to appoint a young man to that place, a week ago, by Counsellor 0*Blaney's special recommendation. — So there must be some mistake. {Exit Mr. Carver.) Pat, alone, Pat, Mistake ? aye, mistake on pur- pose — so he never spoke ! so he lied ! — my master that was praching me ! — And oh, the dirty lie he tould me ! Now I can't put up with that, when I was al- £ 74 LOVE AND LAW;- most perjuring myself for him at the time. Oh if I don't fit him for this! And he got the place given to another ! — then I'll get him as well sarved, and out of this place too — seen-if-I-don't ! He is cunning enough, but I'm cuter nor he — I have him in my power, so I have: and I'll give the shupervizor a scent of the malt in the turf-stack — and a hint of the spirits in the tan-pit — and it's I, that will like to stand by innocent, and see how shrunk O'Blaney's double face will look forenent the shupervizor, when all's found out, and not a word left to say, but to pay — ruined hand and foot ! Then that shall be, and before nightfall. — Oh ! one good turn deserves another — in revenge, prompt payment while you live ! [Exit,) (liiw t}:s ia.( i'(iK A DRAMA* 15 SCENE II. M'Bride's Cottage, Matthew M^Bride and Honor, (Matthew with a little Table before him, at Dinner,) Old M^B, [Ptishing his plate from him.) I'll take no more — Vm done — [he sighs.) Honor, Then you made but a poor dinner, father, after 'being at the fair, and up early, and all ! — Take this bit from my hands, father dear. Old M'B. (Turning away sullenly.) I'll take nothing from you. Honor, but what I got already enough and— too much of — and that's ungratitude. Honor, Ungratitude I Father ! then you don't see my heart ! Old M'B, I lave that to whoever has it. Honor — 'tis enough for me, I see what you do — and that's what I go by. Honor. Oh me ! and what did I do to displase you, father }--^fHe is obsti- 7iately silent ; after xvaiting in vain for an S2 76 LOVE AND LAW; answer, she continues) — 1 that was think- ing to make all happy, [aside] but myself, [aloud] by settling to keep out of the way of — all that could vex you — and to go to sarvice, to Mrs. Carver's. I thought that would plase you, father. Old M^B. Is it to lave me. Honor ? Is it thaty you thought would plase me. Honor ? — To lave your father alone in his ould age, after all the slaving he got and was willing to undergo, whilst ever he had strength, early and late to make a little portion for you. Honor, — you that I reckoned upon for the prop and pride of my ould age — and you ex- pect you*d plase me by laving me. Honor, Hear me just if, pray then, father. Old M^B. f Shaking her of as she tries to caress him. J — Go then, go where you will, and demane yourself going into sarvice, rather than stay with me — go. Honor. No, I'll not go. — Pll stay then with you, father dear, — say that will plase you. A DRAMA. 77/ Old M'B. (Going on without listening to her,) — And all for the love of this Randal Rooney ! Aye, you may well put your two hands before your face ; if you'd any touch of natural affection at all, that young man would have been the last of all others you'd ever have thought of loving, or liking any way. ^ Honor, Oh ! if I could help it ! Old M'B. There it is.— This is the way the poor fathers is always to be trated. — They to give all, daughter and all, and get nothing at all, not their choice even of the man, the villain that's to rob 'em of all — without thanks even ; and of all the plinty of bachelors there are in the parish for the girl that has money, that daughter will go and pick and chuse out the very man the father mislikes beyond all others, and then it's '^ Oh if I could help it /"— Asy talking ! Honor, But, dear father, wasn't it more than talk, what I did ? — Oh, won't you listen to me ? Old M'B. I'll not hear ye; for if you'd 78 LOVE AND LAW; a grain o* spirit in your mane composi- tion. Honor, you would take your father's part, and not be putting yourself under Catty's feet— the bad-tongued woman, that hates you. Honor, like poison. Honor. If she does hate me, it*s all through love of her own- Old M^B, Son — aye — that she thinks too good for you — for yoUy Honor ; you, the lily of Lismore — that might command the pride of the country. Oh, Honor dear, don't be lessening yourself, but be a proud girl as you ought, and my own Honor. Honor. Oh, when you speak so kind ! Old M^B. And I beg your pardon, if I said a cross word, for I know you'll never think of him more, and no need to lave home at all for his sake. It would be a shame in the country, and what would Mrs. Carver herself think ? Honor. She thinks well of it, then. Old M^B. Then whatever she thinks, she shan't have my child from me ! — iho* she is a very good lady, and a very kind A DRAMA. '^'"'^ 79 lady, too. — But see now, Honor — have done with love, for it*s all foolishness ; and when you come to be as ould as I am, you'll think so too. The shadows goes all one way, till the middle of the day, and when that is past, then all the t'other way; and so it is, with love, in life- — stay till the sun is going down with you. Honor, Then it would be too late to be thinking of love. Old M'B, And too airly now, and there's no good time, for it's all folly. I'll ax you, will love set the potatoes ? — will love make the rent ? — or, will love give you a jaunting-car ? — as to my know- ledge another of your bachelors would. Honor, Oh, don't name him, father. OldM'B, Why not— when it's his name that would make a lady of you, and there'd be a rise in life, and an ho- nor to your family. Honor. Recollect it was he that would have dishonored my family, in me, if he could. Old M'B. But he repints now, and 80 LOVE AND LAW; what can a man do, but repint, and offer to make honorable restitution, and think- ing of marrying, as now. Honor dear; — is not that a condescension of he, who's a sort of a jantleman ? v.m^ • Honor, A sort indeed — a bad sort. Old M'B. Why, not jantleman 6orw, to be sure. Honor. Nor bred. i Old M'B. Well, there's many that way, neither born nor bred, but that does very well in the world ; and think what it would be to live in the big shin- gled house, in Ballynavogue, with him ! Honor. I'd rather live here, with you, father. Old M'B. Then I thank you kindly, daughter, for that, but so would not / for you,— and then the jaunting-car, or a coach, in time, if he could ! He has made the proposhal for you in form this day. Honor. And what answer from you, father ? Old M'B. Don't be looking so pale, — I A DRAMA. 81 tould him he had my consint, if he could get yours. — And, oh ! before you speak. Honor dear, think what it would be up and down in Bally navogue, and every other place in the county, assizes days and all, to be mistress Gerald 0*Blaney ! Honor. I couldn't but think very ill of it, father ; thinking ill, as I do, of him. — Father dear, say no more, don't be breaking my heart, — I'll never have that man — but I'll stay happy with you. Old M'B. Why, then, I'll be contint with that same ; and who wouldn't ?-— If it's what you'd rather stay, and can stay contint. Honor dear, I'm only too happy. — [Embracing her, — then pausingA But for Randal Honor. In what can you fau't him , only his being a Rooney ? Old M'B. That's all — but that's enough. — I'd sooner see you in your cof- fin, — sooner be at your wake to-night, than your wedding with a Rooney.— 'Twould kill me. — Come, promise me,— I'd trust your word — and 'twould make e3 '82 LOVE AND LAW 5 uie asy for life, and Vd die asy, if you*d promise never to have him. Honor. Never till you would consent, — that's all I can promise. Old M'B. Well, that same is a great ase to my heart. Honor. And to give a little ase to mine^ father, perhaps you could pro- mise OldM'B. What?— I'll promise no- thing at all — I'll promise nothing at all — ril promise nothing 1 couldn't per- form. Honor. But this you could perform asy, dear father ^ — just hear your own Honor. Old M'B. {Aside.) That voice would wheedle the bird otY the bush — and when she'd prefar me to the jaunting-car, can I but listen to her? — [Aloud.) Well, what ?' — if it's any thing at all in rason. Honor. It is in rason entirely. — It's only, that if Catty Rooney's Old M'B. [Stopping Ids ears.) Don't name her. A DRAMA. .T 83 Honor, But she might be brought to rason, father^ and if she should be brought to give up that claim to the bit o'bog of yours, and when all differs betwix* the families be made up, then you would consent Old M'B. When Catty Rooney's brought to rason ! Oh ! go shoe the gos- lings, dear, — aye, you'll get my consint then. — There's my hand, I promise you, I'll never be called on to perform that. Honor, jewel. Honor, (Kissing his hand.) Then that's all I'd ask — nor will I say one word more, but, thank you, father. Old M'B. [Putting on his coat.) She's a good cratur — sorrow better ! sister or ■ Jul, A sinner, indeed ! — and here am I Beau, A saint, I suppose ! Jul. A martyr at all events. — You have no notion what I have been going through all this time here at home in this course of education — a master for every hour, and sometimes two in one hour. 152 THE TWO GUARDIANS 5 Bean. Faith, that's too bad ! — to set *em riding double on your hours ! — But why didn't ye kick, or take a sulk, or grow rusty y as Blagrave says ? Jul. No use in kicking. — Sulky I was, as ever I could be, but then some- how they coaxed and flattered me out of it. Beau. Aye, flattery ! — not a woman or a girl that ever was born can stand flat- tery, so they had you there, Ju ! — Hey ? — and the bear that has danced, is in chains for ever. Jul, That is the misery ! Oh, if it had not been for Popkin, who taught me to slip out of my chains, I must have died of the confinement. Beau. Famous wife you'll make, Ju 1 — Capital hand you'll be at bamboozling a husband, when you've had such prac- tice. JiiL La I now don't you say that, Beauchamp — don't you say that, or you'll make the young men afraid of me. Beau. Well, I won't tell St. Albans. \ A DRAMA. ratiT 153 Jul. [Speaking rapidly,) And upon my word and honor, now, brother, I do exactly what I know mamma in her heart wishes; for you don*t think mamma cares one straw, in the bot- tom of her heart, about chemistry, and botany, and mineralogy, and all that sort of stuff; only because 'tis fa- shionable I must have masters, just as for Italian, and French, and drawing, and music, and dancing — and, except dancing, what woman but lays it all aside as soon as ever she is married ? — (Beau- champ nods.) — And mamma knows that, in her conscience, as well as you and I do. — {Beauchamp nods again.) — But in the mean time mamma, (who is the best of mothers) Beau. In a parenthesis — ^take breath, Ju. Jul, No occasion — mamma, I say, wishes me of course to have the name of knowing every thing that's fashionable ; so I must have all the expensive masters, which I'm very sorry for — and they must H3 154 THE TWO GUARDIANS; be paid, which she is verj sorry for^—and at which papa is very angry. Beau. I don*t doubt him— fathers aU ways are horrid, when it comes to money.' Jul. But after all, where is St. Al- bans ? \U)Beau. Faith ! — I don't know — I want him about a horse. Jul, And we shall want him here immediately, as soon as M. le Grand comes, to practise the ballet and quadrille with me. > Beau. Quadrille ! — Aye, that's like you girls, who always think a young man has got nothing to do, but to dance his legs off with you. Jul. And full as agreeable, I should think, as drinking his head off with you, gentlemen, or risking his neck riding wicked horses. I declare, brother — {in a sentimental /owe)— it makes mei quite ner- vous to see St. Albans mount that horrid Cacafogo of yours. .'4 Beau. Jul I bar sentiment about Cacafogo* — Not a word at your peril A DRAMA. II J 155 against Cacafogo — don't you spoil my market, or Til spoil yours. JuL That yon might not find quite so easy, brother. — Recollect that St. Albans is passionately fond of dancing, and al- ways dances with me. Beau. Don't be cock-a-hoop, my an- gel. — Passionately fond of dancing — don't trust to that, Ju. — St. Albans is passion- ately fond pf every thing by turns : — on horseback^ passionately fond of horses — with the dogs, you'd think he'd go mad: — oa the box, Biagrave's his king : — driv- ing ! you'd think he'd drive to the d 1. — No such thing; next hour, down on the floor in the study, passionately fond of a book — mad about the classics. { JuL The classics ! Beau, Aye, not having been flogged and drummed into him, the fellow falls into transports with Homer and Ho- race, and all the old school-books, wher- ever he meets with them. And while that fit's on, he'd fall down and worship apy old rum- tutor, that came in his way. 156 THE TWO GUARDIANS i — 'tis then those Onslows are all the dandies. Jul What can he find to like in the Onslows? — for tho' of a good family, they are seldom in town, mamma says. Beau, And in the country they don't keep hounds even — and as to Arthur Onslow, the son, he's an odd fish, tho' he sits a horse well enough — but I do believe the father and son have but one horse between them, and that no great shakes, — and young Onslow don't drive, — to say, driven — and he won't play bil- liards, tho' I know he can, — and he don't bet — and he's never in a row : — so what the fun of him is, I can't for the soul or blood of me see or say. Enter Popkin. Pop, Mr. St. Albans is just come in. Jul, Oh, then, if M. le Grand would come, we could have a waltz before the Miss Minchins come. Beau, And then for Cacafogo ! [Exit Beauchamp.) A DRAMA. 157 '' Pop, Miss Courtington ! one word, if you please. Jul, (Turning back ivith a look of vexation.) Well ! — don't stop me now, Popkin. Pop. Only, Ma'am, to know what I shall do with that Widow Beauchamp, Miss ? — She was here half an hour ago, with the lessons for the harp. JiiL Why, couldn't you tell her the harp is so out of tune, and the strings so broke, I couldn't possibly take a lesson ? Pop, So I did. Ma'am — but she said she had strings with her o' purpose, and she offered to tune it, but JuL But in short you sent her away 5 and what signifies keeping me now, -Popkin ? Pop, Only, Ma'am, that she'll call again in half an hour, and I must re'lly know what to say, for she's so difficult to deal with ; being a sort of relation of my lady's, she has such a manner with her — I can't so well shut the door in her face. 158 THE TWO GUARDIANS; JuL But civilly to be sure, you can give her a ticket. — She is no relation of ours, only a connexion or god-daughter of mamma's or somebody's — but that wouldn't prevent her from taking a ticket like other people. Pop. Indeed, Ma'am, whatever ailed her, she would not touch the ticket, with- out giving the lesson, she said. ////. Then she may let it alone, that's all. [Going angrily.) Pop. [Following) Yes, Ma'am, if that was all — but she is always talking about all my lady's owing her for them years* lessons on the harp. Jul. Well, you must speak to mamma about that. Pop. My lady won't hear of it. Ma'am. Jul. And how can I help that? — Pray don't keep me any longer, listening to what I can't possibly help. [Going hastily) v i^i<- .Pop. [Folloiving.) That's what I saj^. Ma'am, — but — but she says she must. see A DRAMA. 159 and speak to you. Miss, about the music she copied for you, as she never has been paid for. JuL Dear, how shabby ! to speak of such a trifle. Pop. So I tell her. Ma'am — and she a gentlewoman born, it's quite a shaime. — But distress does bring people so low. JuL Lai how disagreeable. Pop, And she says her children's istarving. Jul. Starving ! — nonsense — that's the old story, like any common beggar- woman. — I'm sure Mrs. Beauchamp ought to be ashamed. — I can't stay any longer now — Is St. Albans in the dancing- room ? [Exit Juliana.) Pop. [Alone.) So much for the Widow Beauchamp ! — If ever I patronise a widow again ! [Exit Popkin.) vm I'Wf 160 THE TWO GUARDIANS; SCENE III. Hall — Lord Courtington's, Enter St. AXhdias^ followed by Quaco, St, Alb. Well, Quaco, how do you like England ? — How do you like London ? 2uaco. London very fine, Massa ! — Quaco like England very much, Massa. — ^Very good country, England. — No whip for de slave, — nor no slave no where. St, Alb. True. — No slaves in England. From the moment that you touched English ground, Quaco, you ceased to be a slave. ^iiaco. Me ! — Cluaco ? St. Alb. You, Quaco — ^you are as free this moment as I am. Quaco. (Clapping his hands and caper-- ing.) Free ! free ! ftuaco ? — But no, Massa ■ — [Chajiging his tojie, and kneeling to his master^ — me will be Massa*s slave alway. St. Alb. My servant, henceforward — not my slave. Now if you stay with me, A DRAMA. 161 it is from choice. You may go when, and where you please — you may chuse another master. Quaco. Quaco never have no other massa. — Good massa — love him — kind to Ciuaco, from time leetle piccinini boy. — Oh, let Quaco stay wid massa. St, Alb. Stay, and welcome, my faith- ful fellow, — ^but remember you are at liberty. And here, Quaco, look at this little scarlet purse — it has my name marked on it — your mother marked it for me. — It cotitains, — what do you think it contains ? 2uaco, Gold guinea, Massa, me tink me see peeping. St. Alb. All the money you have earned, Qiiaco, — the price of that pro- vision ground, at which you used to work so hard, in every hour you had to your- self. — I told you, that if you trusted to me, and if you would come to England with me, you should not lose the value of your former labor. 162 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Quaco. Oh, Massa ! how good you reaiember ! St. Alb, Here is all the money you have earned^ and something more.— Now do»*t Jet it spoil you. — Don't spend this money in drinking. Quaco. (Very seriously.) Massa, no -—me promise you— -no rum — nodriaky for drinky — but drinky for dry. St. Alb, And don*t throw away your money. Quaco. Throw !— Oh, Quaco never throw it away. St. Alb. Shew me, Quaco, that you are a reasonable being, and fit to be free — But I hear M. le Grand's violin. — Now for the waltz and charming Juliana. [Exit St. Albans.) Quaco. (Alone.) Shew you Q,uaco fit to be free. — Yes, Quaco shalK [He sings.) *' Freedom ! freedom ! happy sound, " Magic land this British ground ; *' Touch it slave, and slave be free, " 'lis the Land of Liberty/' A DRAMA. 163 *' Indian Obee*s wicked art, " Sicken slow poor negro's heart ; *' English Obee makes the slave " Twice be young, and twice be brave. " Quick the magic, strong the pow'r; — " See man changing in an hour 1 " For the day that makes him free, " Double worth that man shall be. '* Massa, grateful Quaco do ^' Twice the work of slave for you ; " Fight for Massa twice as long 5 *' Love for Massa twice as strong." — -■ Love massa ! yes — Quaco never forget how he look when he say Quaco free — and here — oh-- good massa — (pulling his little purse from his boso7n.) — his owii little scarlet purse-^all for Quaco ! — all Quaco's own ! — Quaco earn all this I — fhe opens the purse, and begins to count the money,) One, two, — dear massa ! — three, four, five, six, seven— no, me never throw away dese, massa. [A call behind the scenes of Quaco, Quaco!) — Quaco coming. — (Quaco gathers his money together.) 164 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Ejiter Popkin. Pop. Hey, Quaco. — What ar't about ? —Gold !— what's all this ? 2uaco, Little purse — little money good massa give Quaco. {Puts the purse hastily in his bosom,) Pop, (Aside,) More fool he ! (Aloud.) Well — massa, as you style him, desires you'll take yourself and your tambarine in to the ladies, to play for them — they're dancing. 2uaco, Tambarine I — me run, — me play for massa. (Exit Quaco.) Pop. And I've a mind to take a lesson from M. le Grand myself. (Exit Popkin, practising steps.) END OF ACT L A DRAMA. 165 ACT II SCENE I. Lady Courtington' s Drawing Room. Xa(5^2/Courtington — Juliana — Beauchamp — St. Albans — M. le Grand, the dan- cing-master — Dancers — Quaco playing ^** on the tambarine. The young people are dancing, M. le Gr. (Beating time,) Allons ! Eh ! Ah !— Bah I Bon 1— C'a va bien !— a merveille ! Lady C. [Looking on through her glass ^ and at convenient pauses exclaiming) Very well, St Albans ! — Vastly well ! tho* you don't think so. — Charming, Miss Min- chin ! — Quite a sylph. Miss Cat'rin ! — (The dance finishes. — St. Albans and Juli- '165 THE TWO GUARDIANS s ana come forward towards Lady Court- ington.) Not amiss, I declare, Juliana! St. Alb. Not amiss ! — ^Oh, Lady Cour- tington, how cold i — Juliana dances di- vinely ; but you are her mother, and can't say so. Lady C. I protest I say all I think.-— Juliana certainly did better just now than usual. — There is a great deal in having a good partner, when she is pleased with her partner, I have observed she has more spring.- — Miss Minchin, won't you take some refreshments. — I fancy you will find something here. — Miss Cat'rin - — Captain Mardyke, you always take luncheon.^ — ^Juliana, my dear, you know what the Miss Minchins like. [Looking to a table where refreshments are laid out,) JuL Dear mamma, the Miss Min- chins are quite at home here, you know ; and I am so dying with heat — I hope there's ice ? — (St. Albans goes eagerly for refreshments for Juliana, while Lady Cour- tington speaks to the dancing-mastery and A t)RAMA. 167 leads him bowing to the table — Lady Court- ington returnis xvliile St. Albans is setting a chair for Juliana, and presenting ice to her. Beau champ standing by, devouring sa?idwiches — Juliana sinks on her seat.) Jul, So fatiguied I am ! quite fagged ! Lady C. So attentive, so polite, so gallant as St. Albans always is — I own I do like that. Bean, Confoundedly unfashionable ! But he*ll be cured of all that by the time he has run a season in Lon'on. Jul, Yes, young men of the ton, brother, are such absolute bears, thinking of nothing from morning till night but themselves ; one could no more think of falling in love with such selfish crea- tures Beau. And who wants them to fall in love, Ju ? Or who's ever thinking of fal- ling in love, now- a days ? St, Alb, Who ? — Every man who has any feeling or sense. How can he help it? 168 THE TWO GUARDIANS 5 Jul. This ice is so refreshing ! Lady C. Ice ! — My love ! — Is it pos- sible you are taking ice after dancing ? Jul. When Mr. St. Albans brought it to me, how could I refuse it ? Lady C. Oh ] St* Albans ! would you kill her ? St. Alb. ( With eager and tender alarm.) — Juliana, don*t touch any more, I beseech you ! — let me take it from you. — > (Taking the glass from J u]\?ina, and giving it to Beauchamp.) — Beauchamp ! willyou take this glass, while I fan Juliana? Beau. [Takes the glass ungraciously — reluctantly moves to set it down on a table ^ and says, — aside.) *' While you fan Ju- liana," — say rather, while you make a fool of yourself ! Lady C, St. Albans, I am so much obliged to you for desiring your little Quaco, who is really a favourite of mine, to play on the tambarine; — you think of every thing, St. Albans — senti- ment always has a good memory — the A DRAMA. I6f memory of the hearty as somebody said. {While St. Albans yi/wj Juliana^ Ladt; Courtington looks back to the table of refreshments, where the Miss Min- chins are standing,) Lady C. Beauchamp !— the Miss Min- chins, my dear. Beau. The Miss Minchins, Ma*am ? — I'm quite done up, I hope you've taken care of yourselves, Mardyke — Cartaret, there's champagne. Lady C I hope you've every thing ? Just give a look, Beauchamp. Beau, {To Lady C) Where's Popkin, I wonder?— Why don't you make him wait on these occasions, Ma'am ? Lady C. Here is Popkin — one would think he had iieard you. Enter Popkin. Beau. Popkin, do wait: — see if those ladies want any thing, do. Pop. [Without stirring.) Yes, Sir, im- mediately ; but if I could speak a word to Miss Courtington— — 170 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Lady C, To Juliana ? — Mademoiselle le Blanc, the dress-maker, maybe — I know l^er time's precious — but for me, tell her I know she'll be so very kind to wait, — shew her into my dressing-room. Pop. 'Tis not the dress-maker. Ma'am, it is one who wants to speak a word with Miss Courtington in private. Beau. In private, Ju ! — St. Albans I — it's your cue to look jealous, and faith I think he's up to that already. St, Alb. Pshaw ! — Beauchamp. (St. Alb^nsretires to the Miss Minchins.) Jul. Nonsense, brother ! — [rising.) Oh ! mamma, I know who it is, — I dare say that odious eternal widow Beau- champ. Quaco. [Advances without being no- ticedy and listens) Ah, me I poor widow I Lady C. Mercy ! Popkin, why did you let her in } — Well, Juliana is dan^ cing you see, and cannot possibly take a lesson on the harp now.^ — Mrs. Beau- champ, [looking at her zoatch) is half an hour beyond her time> full! — she should A DRAMA. 171 be more punctual, — that's all you have to say, Popkin. Pop, (Going close up to Juliana, and whispering,) But, Miss, I can't get her out of the house ; she won't go without, at least, the money from you for the music. Lady C, What's all that, Juliana ? — What is all this, Popkin ? Jul. Nothing, mamma — nothing at all, but that Mrs. Beauchamp is the most troublesome creature about the least trifle. — \iyou could settle with her, mam- ma, about the two years' lessons on the harp. Lady C, Impossible now — when my lord comes to town, — she may call again next week J — Monday, tell her ; — give her this answer, and send her away, Popkin. — Troublesome ! ungrateful woman ! — When I recommended her to Lady Min- chin, and the Duchess of Beltravers. — Wdl, Popkin !— What is he waiting for, Juliana ? I 2 172 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Jul, Dear Ma*am, nothing, only the music she copied for me, ages ago — La I Popkin, do get rid of her without my seeing her. Pop, I declare to goodness. Ma'am, I've done my best. — But, Ma*am, she's taking on so, and Lady Minchin's ser- vants within hearing, and that black, — (Quaco turns away^ appears not to he lis- tening^ that there black even, who was below, was ready to cry like a fool, as he is, when she talked of her children starving, — so all the scandal being fall- ing on me, I was put to a non -plush. Ma'am. JuL Her children starving ! Oh, that's shocking if it's true — you never told me a word of that before, Popkin ? ! Fop. I did, indeed. Miss — this morn- ing. ^uaco, [Aside.) Ha ! Miss ! — ^you hear dat? Jul. If you did, 1 forgot it. — Popkin, tell Clarke to send me my ridicule-^ I've A DRAMA. I7S a notion Tve notes there that will do. — Stay, Popkin — Mademoiselle Le Blanc promised ~ Lady C. Never mind. — Go, Popkin>' tell Clarke to bring the ridicule — pay- Mrs. Beauchamp, Juliana, and have done with her. — (Exit Popkin, with his usual pirouette. — Lady Courtington turning to the rest of the company) — M. Le Grand, you were talking of some charming French artificial flowers— do let the Miss Minchins have a look at ihem.-^ {Return- ing to Juliana, and speaking in a lozo voice.) I am sure I thought, Juliana, you had paid Mrs. Beauchamp long ago. Jid. And I thought, mamma, that you had settled with her for the harp- lessons, — so that made my conscience quite easy. Lady C. Well ! say no more about it now— all this whispering will seem odd. There are the Miss Minchins, and Cap- tain Mardyke standing up, wondering — and Beauchamp is so impatient, hell blurt o^t something. 174 THE TWO GUARDIANS i Jul, He knows nothing- — that's one comfort. Lady C. And here comes St. Albans himself, — leav« the ridicule to me, I'll settle it all. St. Alb, [Coming between them.) Do I interrupt? Lady C, Interrupt ! Jul, You ! — Oh, no. — 'Twas only Lady C, Only about a poor widow — a sort of protegee of ours. St, Alb, (Looking tenderly at Juliana.) —Aye, so I thought — some charitable secret. — Dear, amiable Juliana, how it confuses her. — [Kisses her hand.) [Aside.) How I wish Arthur Onslow could see her at this moment 1 2uaco. [Aside.) Ah, Massa ! — Love blind ! — Love deaf too ! {The three Miss Minchins, crowned with artificial flowers^ advance^ led forward by M. le Grand ) M. leGr, Voila, qui est charmante ! — Behole what is charming ! — [After placing the young ladies^ M. le Grand passes be» A DRAMA. 17^ hind them^ and pointing with his Jiddkstick to each of their crowns of flowers) Le Jon^ quille ! — Le Jacinte 1 — Le Chevrefeuille De Jonquil ! — DeHyacint — de what you call, hoiiee-sockel. [The three Miss Minchins titter in three different tones — He ! He ! He I — ^ Ha I Ha I Ha l-^Ho ! Ho ! Ho I) Lady C. Charming ! — quite charm- ing ! — really charming ! jkf. le Gr. Eh pour mademoiselle, Voilal and for Meess, (Turni?ig to Juliana, a?id displaying a croxvn of roses and hawthorn, ap- proaches her—St, Albans eagerly tak- ing it from his hands.) St, Alb, Allow me, M. le Grand-^ you know it w^as my choice. M, le Gr, Ah, Oui — de taste of mon- sieur, for mademoiselle. St, Alb, (Kneeling, presents the crown to Juliana.) Queen of the May ! M. le Gr. Belle attitude, 9a !— Fine attitude, dat I — And mademoiselle 1— she retire one step — -modeste Anglaise !— 176 THE TWO GUARDIANS; English modesty ! — but accept always, Meess, and relieve Monsieur — Relevez Monsieur. [The Miss Minchins.^^e* / He I He !— Ha ! Ha ! Ha I— Ho ! Ho I Ho !) Lady C. [To the Miss Minchins.) He is so engaging, St. Albans, — I protest I could not tell how to refuse him — Could you ? Beau. Good question— Cool, faith ! — very fair ! (St. Albans places the crown on Juliana'^* heady who looks very modest) M. le Gr. [Throwing himself into an attitude of admiration and ecstacy.) Su- perbe ! et simple ! Lady C. So French ! — so elegant I — so becoming I M. le Gr. Si interessante ! — so in- teresting ! Enter Popkin, with a Work-bag. Pop. Mrs. Clarke could not find Miss Juliana's ridicule^ till now, my lady. Lady C. Give it to me, Popkin. — Five A DRAMA. 177 pound, my love, did not you bid me give this poor woman ? Jill Yes, mamma — Poor creature! s St. Alb, (Aside.) *^ A heart open as day, to melting charity." {Aloud — lo the Miss Minchins.)— But we distress her. {Offers his arm to one of the young ladies, and walks away with them to the far^ thest end of the room,) Lady C. Popkin, lake these notes to Mrs. Beauchamp. J^f. le Gr. {To Juliana.) De accom- panements de trim of de robe of de queers of de May wid de crown, — you take dem. Mademoiselle ?— or Meess Cat'rin will take all, she say. (Popkin retires to a table, and seems ex- amining the notes.) Jul Miss Cat'rin ! — not at all, Mon^ sieur — I take them of course. Stay> Popkin ! M. le Gr, Ah, bon !— Very good. — Only four pound— — Jul. Which I'll call and pay Ma^lame le Grand, on Monday. 13 178 THE TWO GUARDIANS; M. le Gr. Ah ! dat would be same ting to me. Mademoiselle, but 'tis leetle protegee of hers, who cannot part with de flower dis saison, but for argent comp- tant — de ready money. Jul La! how provoking ! usllv M, le Gr, Pardon — but de Miss Min- chin have pay, and offer me, four guinee for dese. Jid, Dear mamma ! What can I do? Lady C You must have the crown St. Albans has chosen for you, and that he put on your head. M, le Gr. And de crown and de robe accompanement, cannot be separate. Jul, Then I must take them all, and M. le Grand must have the four pounds. — So, Popkin, fgoes to the table at which Popkin is examining the notes, and snatches up four of them), I must have these — Mrs. Beauchamp can have but one, and there it is for her — and she's very well off. Lady C, The rest on Monday— say, Popkin. A DRAMA. 179^ Pop, Of course, my lady. (Exit Popkin.) (Juliana puts the notes into the hands of M. le Grand — at this moment St. Albans comes behind her, and she starts.) St. Alb. Caught you ! — found you out again. I do believe, M. le Grand, your little protegee will be made quite happy, — you applied well, I see. M. le Gr, {Bowing,) Ah, heureuse- ment ! Huaco. [Aside.) Ah, Massa! too good I — blind good ! Lady C. Why, I make it a principle to encourage ingenuity ; such elegant in- genuity 1 Jid. An emigrant countess's daugh- ter too, in distress — 'tis quite a oharity. . 2uaco. [Aside.) All talkee ! — talkee ! Lady C (Looking back,) But what's become of the Miss Minchins, Beau- champ, and Captain Mardyke? Beau, Mardyke ! he was off the mi- nute he'd done eating, to relieve guard. 180 THE TWO GUARDIANS; and the Miss Minchins the minute they'd done, — as soon as the coronation was over, they made their exits ; and their He! He! He !_Ha ! Ha! Ha!— Ho! Ho ! Ho ! Jul Oh, ^le^ brother, to mimic them, when they are my friends. They were vastly obliging to come for this practice to-day. Lady, C. But now that they are gone, between ourselves, candidly, M. le Grand, the quadrille will be quite ano- ther thing when we have, instead of that youngest Minchin, my sweet little Lady Mary Manby, M. le Gr, Dat go without contradick, my lady. Jul, [Aside.) And when instead of M. le Grand's standing up with his kit, we have the young duke of Beltravers. M, le Gr, [Making several dancings master's bows.) Most humble — most obe- dient — most devoted .f^f^^ [Exit MAe Gra,nd.) Beau. (Stretching long, and yawning A DRAMA. 181 loud.) Thank you all for going at last, for I'm done up. What a bore — ^is in*t, St. Albans ? St. Alb, Bore /— ^I thought the qua* drille charming. Beau, That's good, faith ! — ^^But, my good fellow, I forgot you're from the other world — and I sha'n't be long for thi& world if I don't get a gallop; — that Quaco of yours ought to be broken on the wheel — Cydoppedr/y as Blagrave calls him, won't be shod these two hours — try Cacafogo, and I'll take Potatoes y — come. Lady C, No, my dear Beauchamp ; I must detain St, Albans, this guardian- ship business must be settled to day.^ — • Mr. Onslow may call--^it would not look well for St. Albans to be out of the way^ so, positively, I can't part with him. Beau, Well, good morning to you. St. Albans, you are a lucky fellow at all events, not to be a ward in chancery, tied neck and heels. — Better be a ward of my father's. [Exit Beauchamp.) Lady C My lord certainly would be 182 THE TWO GUARDIANS; a most indulgent guardian to you, St. Albans. JuL And we should all be so happy, never to be separated. St. Alb. Oh 1 Juliana, that would be happiness indeed. Lady C. St Albans, we shall have our fancy-concert for you this evening, as full as possible. — (Ciuaco is employed in clearing the table at the farther end of the room.) I've scarcely one apology — in- deed, people are curious ; for you know 'tis something new. — A fancy-concert — all the performers in fancy dresses, — Ju- liana, my love, positively you shall be queen of the May, since St. Albans struck out that character for you, — so appropriate; — and you must give him his favourite songs. St. Alb. Oh ! Juliana, zoill you ? Jul. [With a sweet smile.) If I possi- bly ca?i, but I know I shall be so horridly frightened, — *tis such a shocking thing to sing in public; but since mamma makes it a point 1 A DRAMA. ^ 183 A^^ Alb, {Aside.) How she conquers her own feelings. 2uaco. {Following y aside.) Ah, Massa, Massa ! Pray you no fall in love wid dat Miss— poor Quaco no can love. {Exeunt.) SCENE II. Ladi^ CoiirtingtorC s Housekeeper's Room. The Widozo Beauchamp and Popkin. Pop. {Adjusting his cravat.) I don't know. — Nothing more, upon my veracity, Ma*am. — I can't pretend to say, upon my honor, Mrs. Beauchamp. — I only knows as my lady said, she'd call on you to-morrow if possible, or if you'd call again o' Monday Mrs. Beau. {Aside.) To-morrow. — Monday ! — how often have I been put off in the same way, with the same words ! Pop. {Holding a bank-note carelessly to her.) And here's the note, M'em, Miss 184 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Courtington sent, if you please to lake it or not. ' Mrs, Beau. {Taking the note.) And is this all ? when so much is due to me — so long due ! — so hardly earned ! — my chil- dren I— Did you tell Lady Courtington ? Did you tell Miss Courtington that ? Pop, Oh, of course I told *em all that, M'em, Enter Quaco, zvith a tray of refreshments, Quaco. Mr. Popkey, me bring all des down — save you de trouble. Pop. Eh, Quaco.— Luncheon bring- ing down — hey — rstay, [IJelps himself as Quaco passes — swallows ice behind Mrs, Beauchamp. — Quaca busies himself in arra?2ging dishes y but from time to time tur?2s, and shews that he is attending to ivhat is going on.) Mrs, Beau. (Still looking at the note.) This is cruel I-- this is hard I — this is shameful, indeed ! , Pop, [Szoalloiving biscuits while he speaks,) Hard ! cruel ! — why no more A DRAMA. 185 hard nor cruel, begging your pardon, Mrs. Beauchamp, M*em, on you than another; and 1*11 engage there's hun- dreds and hundreds as good, and as much in need of their money as yourself, M*em ; that's at this present speaking in London, just being put off in the same way, and must be every hour and day o* the year, in the metropolis. — Thousands in the same predicament and jeopardy, M'em, for these small debts, on account the quality can't coin. — So where's the petikler hardship to you, or cruelty, or shame — when there's no help ? 'Mrs. Beau, No help, indeed! [She sinks on a chair,) Pop, But you can call again on Mon- day, Ma'am, as my lady mentioned ; — and mean time you can sit, and may wait there till the rain's over, if you thinks proper, a iew minutes. [Aside,) Now she's out o' sight o' people, I don't care how long she sits. [Exit Popkin.) Mrs. Beau, I may wait. — I may sit a few minutes in this house, where 186 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Even this insolence I must endure. — But oh, my children 1 my poor children ! (She covers her eyes with her handy and does not see Quaco, ucho advances on tiptoe — a glass of water in his hand. Quaco sighs — she turns her head, sees himy and starts.) Quaco. Only me, lady I — Quaco — poor negro — don't stir, pray lady ! — poor negro, he feel sorrow — he knowpity, lady.^ Mrs. Beau. (Bursting into tears.) He pities me \ this poor negro ! and my own relations ! — (She zveeps bitterly — Quaco stands back respectfully.) Quaco, Lady, me no look ! — me no mind. [Aside) Cry hard — yes — tear much good do heart — heart no burst den — me know dat. (Quaco advancing, pre- sents water to Mrs. Beauchamp.) Take, lady, drink — fresh water — God give — pray, lady, drink — else faint. (She takes the water, bows her head in silent thanks — drinks — then rises.) Mrs, Beau. Now I feel quite strong again, quite refreshed. — Thank you, kind- A DRAMA. 187 hearted 1 can walk. — Where is the straw basket I had ? Quaco. Here, safe — here, lady, it hang en hack of chair, Mrs. Beau. [Putting on her gloves,) I had better go now. 2uaco. Better not — ^yot yet — rain pour still, lady — I go see. — Stay, lady, here. (Quaco takes up a bank-note which had fallen as Mrs. Beau champ rose, and gives it to her — goes away, but turns back, and looks at her xvith compassion^ while she speaks to herself) Mrs. Beau. (Fixing her eyes upon the bank-note.) One pound — but one pound ! and this is all I — To-morrow ! oh, vain words ! — Call again on Monday ! — vain hope ! — no hope left ! 2uaco. (Aside — taking a little purse from his bosom.) Could me dare — she no see — she never know who — she never know how. [Slips the purse into Mrs, BeauchampV basket, without her perceiving it.) [Exit Quaco.) 188 THE TWO GUARDIANS i Mrs. Beau. That poor negro touched me more than all the rest. (Takes her basket. J There's good in the world still ; and kindness where one least expects it. I will not despair, but trust, {Looks up to heaven J — and hope humbly. {Exit Mrs. Beauchamp.) Re-enter Quaco, peeping. Quaco. Safe I safe ! - She has got it— r she not know till she get home — then great joy — children not starve. (Rubs his hands with delight.) Happy Quacol good massa ! — He tell Cluaco no throw away de money in de little purse — no, massa -.— no. He tell Quaco no buy rum — no, massa — Quaco no drinky for drinky, but drinky for dry.^ — No buy rum-^no throw away money — ^no throw-^give away, massa, like your own self. — Give, massa 5 give well-r-make happy, massa. Efiter Popkin. Pop. Massa ! massa [ massa l-^-Wha^ the d-— 1, Quaco, are you always talk^ A DRAMA. 189 ing nonsense, stuff to yourself about massa ? 2uaco. No nonsense stuff, Mr. Popkey. Q.uaco no fool. Pop, [Aside) Now whether this fellow is more knave or fool, confound me, if I can tell. {Jloud.) My little man, I like your spirit. — Do you know you are a favorite of mine ? — do you know that, I ask you ? Quaco. No, Mr. Popkey — me no know that. Pop. [Aside.) Now was he a white man, I'd set him down for a knave; but being he's a black, I can't doubt but he's a fooK— I hear he has got some money tho', and I'll be civil to the little black gem'man. [Rapping heard at the door.) Oh, rap, rap, rap I — and James and all the rest of 'em, is always out of the way. — My legs is tired o' them double raps — so you'll run, my little black gentleman, won't ye ? — and answer the door, and I'll thank you. 2uaco, Ha ! if you tank me, Mr. 190 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Popkey — me go — me run twice so fast — me run, now Quaco be free man — and Mr. Popkey be civil man, civil gentle- man. (Exit Quaco.) Pop. Aye, gentleman, if you please, — ^but harkee, f calling after him. J Quaco — you Mr. freeman — a word. — Not at home to walkers, mind. Quaco. Me understand. Pop. Never saw a fellow so bright- ened and sharpened in an hour in my life as this little black boy. — I suppose it's the money has done it. — More fool his master to give it to him ! — and greater fool I, if I don't get some of it from him, in some shape or another. *Twould be odd enough, if I, John Popkin the white, weren't a match any way for Quaco the black. Re-enter Quaco. Pop. Well ! delight o' my eyes ! what art grinning for, from year to year ? 2uaco. Massa's friend ! — Massa's good' friend, he coming up. A DRAMA. 191 Pop, He ! — Who is coming up ? 2uaco. [Rubbing his hands.) Massa Onslow. Pop. Dunce ! didn*t I tell you, not at home to walkers. 2uaco, Well, he no Walker — no Mr. Walker, he Mr. Onslow. Pop, (Aside,) Blundering blackamoor blockhead ! [Aloud.) Well, off with you down to the hall, and get your luncheon now, while I settle this Onslow. [Exeunt Quaco and Popkin.) SCENE III. Changes to another Apartment. Mr. Onslow, alo?ie, Mr. 0ns, At last I have got in — and at last I hope I shall see Mrs. St. Albans. (To Popkin, who enters.) Will you be so good. Sir, as to let Mrs. St. Albans know that I am here, and 192 THE TWO GUARDIANS i Pop, {Inferruptifig,) Mrs. St. Albans, Sir ? — Mrs. St. Albans not at home. Sir. Mr, 0ns. 1 fancy. Sir, you are mis- taken. Pop, Mistaken I — no. Sir, 'tis morally impossible I should be mistaken. * Mr, Ons, ( JVi'tfi an air of authority. ) You will please. Sir, to go aud inquire. Pop, (Sub miff ingy and obeying for a moment s but after moving a few steps, re- turns y and resuming his saucy air and tone,) What name shall I sav. Sir ? Mr, Ons, Do not you know who I am. Sir ? Pop, I beg pardon, Sir — I may have happened to see you before, but we see so many gentlemen here. 1 partly recollect your face now. Sir, — but. Sir, candidly, I have the most treacherous memory now in life for some physio- gnomies. Mr, Ons, [Haughtily.) Take your phy- siognomy out of my presence. Sir, and give this card to Mrs. St. Albans. A DRAMA. 193 Pop, [Holds the card up to the light y and reads the name.) Oh, I see — Onslow, Sir. — I beg pardon, but Tm unfortinately a little near-sighted sometimes, [Turns on his heel, and Exit,) Mr. 0ns. And very impertinent aU ways, — There*s a puppy now. — One of those nuisances, called a fine footman, which some foolish fine people are pleas- ed to keep in their houses to insult their guests, waste their fortunes, debase the manners, and corrupt the morals of their children ! But such a fellow as that now, would not be suffered in any family, sure of its claim to just hereditary sway, or conscious of the true dignity of personal merit. — No, no, — 'tis only among these new-made honors. Ha ! who comes here ? — My lady herself, who is as much too civil as her people are too rude. — Now for her superfluity of breeding, and her airs of protection. — Grant me patience, heaven 1 K 194 THE TWO GUARDIANS i Enter Lady Courtington. Lady C. My dear Mr. Onslow, Vm so vastly glad, quite delighted to see you, — and Tm so sorry my lord*s out of town, he would be so charmed to cultivate your acquaintance. Mr, 0ns, Your ladyship does me honor. Lady C, Oh, now don't talk of honor — there's no honor between friends. — So we must get you to come some day, and eat a bit of mutton with us in a family way, — and your son, Mr. Arthur Onslow, that was at Eton with my son, and that is so clever, my Beauchamp tells me — you must present him to me, or rather to my lord -, for my lord I'm sure, would be happy to speak of him to our friends 5 and you know it's advantageous to a young man, to be spoken of in certain circles. Mr, 0ns. No doubt — your ladyship is very good. — But may I ask, Madam, A DRAMA. 194» at what hour you think I have the best chance of finding Mrs. St. Albans at home, that we may settle about the guardianship ? Lady C. [With affected simplicity) Guardianship ! — Oh aye, I did hear something, but I know nothing of busi- ness of any kind. — Only now I recollect 1 did hear Mrs. St. Albans this morning, I think, say that she would write to you to-day about it: I conclude she did not wish to trouble you to come. Mr, 0ns, Write ! — but I came to town for the express purpose of seeing her; and this is the second time I have waited upon her by her particular desire, and punctually at the hour she did me the honor to name. Lady C, Yet you have missed each other. — ^Now that is so provoking. — But this is always the way in Lon*on. There was 1 and the Duchess of Beltravers, running after one another all last week ; and my poor friend, Mrs. St. Albans, who is not used to London, is always en- k2 196 THE TWO GUARDIANS; tangling herself in crossing engagements. —Shall I tell you the truth ? Mr, 0ns. If your ladyship pleases. Lady C. Mrs. St. Albans is this mo- ment at a china-auction. Mr, 0ns. {With indignant astonishment.) At a china-auction ! Lady C. And to be quite candid with you, I am morally certain she will not be at home till dinner-time. Mr. 0ns. Then my presence might have been spared. — Madam, you will do me the favor to let Mrs. St. Albans know that I shall leave town early to-morrow morning. Lady C. I certainly will. — Adieu then, my good Mr. Onslow, since it must be so, — and Mrs. St. Albans shall write. — Tm so sorry my lord's not at home. [Lady Courtington watches Mr. Onslow, as in much perturbation he is looking for his hat and cane- — she presents the cane to kirn — he bows, and is going.) [Asidd.) Fairly got rid of him. Now I may give myself credit. A DRAMA. 197 Enter Mrs. St. Albans, {^oho has a very softy languid West Indian manner,) at the side opposite to that^ at which Mr, Onslow is going out. Lady Courtington and Mr. Onslow, who are standi?ig with their backs to Mrs. St. Albans, start on hear- ing her voice. Mrs. St. Alb. . Quaco tells me Mr. 0ns. My dear Madam, I am glad to see you returned from the china auction. Lady C. My dear creature, I thought you would be detained at that china auction till dinner-time. (Lady Courtington makes a sign to Mrs. St. Albans ; but without noticing it, Mrs. St. Albans replies.) Mrs. St. Jib. China auction ! — re- turned — detained — [rubbing her eyes) am I awake, or am I in a dream ? — I think I have been in a dream since I came to London, and any thing is possible in dreams. — Forgive me, my dear 'Lady Courtington, if I am blundering. — But as 198 THE TWO GUARDIANS; you truly told me yesterday, I am not yet half wp to a London life. Lady C, (Aside.) Nor ever will be, most stupid of dawdlers ! Mr. 0ns. [Aside.) So much the better. Mrs. St, Alb. So the sooner I leave town the better. Lady C. Leave it ! — Oh, heaven for- bid ! — I yfOYit hear of that — and you are absolutely bound in duty, and by your maternal tenderness, to live in town for your son's sake, to give him all the- ad- vantage of the best masters. Mr. Ons. [Smiling.) Coachmen, grooms, and footmen, inclusive ; who, if not the best, are, it must be allowed, the most successful, and " the most approved good masters" of our young nobility and gentry. Lady C. Shocking satirical creature ! — But all that depends on the tutor, if you have but a tutor you can rely upon; and my lord and I have twenty in our eye for St. Albans, the one better than the other. — There's Mr. Wiiat's-his- A DRAMA. 199 name, my dear — a famous man, who was with the young Duke of Beltravers abroad. — There's no going beyond him. Mrs, St. Alb. I do not know. — I am not quite satisfied. Lady C Well then, my dear, satisfy yourself by all means. — You shall see them all. — We'll have a bevy — a levee of tutors for you. — I'll write notes directly. Popkin ! Mrs, St. Alb, I beseech you, my dear Lj^dy Courtington, give me time to breathe — to think. Enter Popkin. Lady Courtington nods — Popkin makes a pirouette, and Exit, saying — " I wish people would know " their own minds." V Lady C, [To Mrs, St. Albans.) Time to breathe and welcome, my dear. All I know is^ I expect my lord in town every hour, and I am sure my lord will think nothing of the trouble of being acting guardian. Mrs. St. Alb. Lord Courtington is very 200 THE TWO GUARDIANS J good. — You are very kind, my dear Lady Courtington. — I have not heard Mr. Onslow say one word yet. Mr. Ons. I trusted that words were unnecessary, to convince Mrs. St. Albans that she may command any services in my power. Mrs, St. Alb. Then in the first place, my good Sir, I am anxious to know what you think of my son. — Pray tell me freely all his faults. Lady C. And has St, Albans any faults ? Mrs. St. Alb. Have you seen any thing wrong in his disposition ? Mr. Ons. Nothing — he is candid, ge- nerous, and full of noble ambition. Mrs. St. Alb. True — true — most true ! — thank you — thank you, Mr. Onslow. Lady C. [Aside.) I have praised St. Albans a hundred times more, yet this foolish mother never thanked me half as much. [Aloud.) How well Mr. Onslow has seized our dear St. Albans*s cha- racter. A DRAMA. 201 Mr. Oris, Character I Madam, I said not one word of his character — I spoke only of his disposition. — His character is not yet formed ; that will depend Mrs. St. Alb. [Eagerly.) On what? Oh, tell me ! Mr. 0ns. On the friendships he forms, the company he keeps, and the manner in which he spends his time, during the next few years of his life. Lady C. The company is the grand thing. — It is so essential. — It is the ruin of young men of fortune, not to keep the best company early. Mr. 0ns. Certainly. — By the best com- pany I do not, however, mean the most fashionable. Lady C. {Aside.) Then he is a bear. Mr. 0ns. And at St. Albans's age, and with his ardent imagination, I should fear for him the temptations, \he facilities, of a fashionable life in a capital city. Lady C. Excuse me, Mr. Onslow. — ■ 'Tis certainly very presumptuous in me to speak, who am only a woman. — But K3 202 THE TWO GUARDIANS; you know, my dear Mrs. St. Albans, the cleverest men may be sometimes a little prejudiced ; and gentlemen, who have lived much in retirement, let them be ever so liberal, when they come to town are apt, I observe, to see every thing en noir. Now what I say is, that town 's town, and the world 's the world ; and for young men of fortune, who are born to live in the world, the sooner they see something of it the better. Mr, 0ns, Young men ! — but are not we at present speaking of boys ? Mrs, St. Alb. Certainly, St. Albans is still but a boy. Lady C. Oh, my dear Sir — [To Mrs, St. Albans.) Oh, my dear Madam, if you love me, if you love St. ' Albans, don't call him u hoy. — Boys are in my opinion the most horrid animals in na- ture; and one charming thing in London is, you never see boys. Mr. 0ns. That is the very thing of which I complain. — ^'hey are all men before their time. — Men when they A DRAMA. 203 should be boys, and boys when they should be men. , Lady C Well, my dear Mrs. St. AU bans, leave your son with me and my lord ; and I'll engage that he shall never be at any time of his life, that odious creature, A DRAMA. 209 seen or known any thing of her since we were children and school-fellows — but she was then so open-hearted ! Mr, 0ns, Possibly then, Mrs. St. Alb, And she is at all events our relation — near relation. So I must wish to keep well with her 5 and you see, she will be offended for ever, if I do not let St. Albans spend at least half the year with her. I know my son would be better far with you, but Mr. 0ns. But you would sacrifice the good of your child to the hysteric fit of an affected fine lady. Forgive me if I seem harsh : — but. Madam, you must — (as an old friend, permit me to speak plainly) — You must have the strength of mind to prefer the right to the expedient, or you ruin your son. I am obliged to leave town early to-mot-row. This night I shall expect your decision. Madam — not with- out anxiety. [Exit Mr, Onslow.) Mrs, St. Alb. Ruin my son ! — terrible thought I — but has he any particular reasons for objecting to this family, I SIIO THE TWO GUAKDIANS; should have asked. I should have urged him more on that pomt 5 and I should have inquired about Newmarket. — Oh ! I always think of what I ought to have said and done, when the time for speaks ing and acting is over. [Exit Mrs, St. Albans.) SCENE IV. Lady CoxirtingtovL s Hall, Beau champ and Blagrave, Beau, The rain's over — Blag, con- found it, bring the horses to the door. Bla, Why !— -how can I bring the horses to the door. Sir, when they ha/p't brought back Cycloppedy, which that confounded black Quaco forgot to be took to be shod ? *^ Beau, Curse him ! he ought to be flogged. Bla, He ought so, for there's no ma- A DRAMA. ^11 naging them blacks, nor breeding 'em to have the sense or memory of a Christian, without flogging of it into them, they say ; on account they've not the feeling we have. Beau, {JValking up and dowuy fretting and swearing,) C ^se it ! — Confound 'em all in one bag; — so I'm to lose my gal- lop ! — and between blacks, and guar- dians, and quadrilles, and hysterics, we sha'n't get St. Albans out this day ! — and may be, he's such a weathercock, he may change his mind about Cacafogo> after all. Bla. Why that's the point, your ho- nor, — that's what I be afear'd o' my life of; and of his smelling out some'at about them white hairs at the knees, \^ere he's marked by the fall. BeaiL But, luckily, St. Albans is no great jockey. Bla. No, — as to jockey, he is no match for your honor, that is, when our two heads be together. — But I hope your 212 THE TWO GUARDIANS i honor won't forget the five guineas you was promising. Beau. Mum — here's my sister, — step off yourself, Blagrave, do, to the forge, and try and get Cycloppedy back, and I'll get St. Albans out yet before dinner. BLa. So best — to strike while iron's hot, your honor. [Exit Blagrave.) Enter Juliana/ro?7^ the opposite side. Jul. Well, brother, do you know what is to he now ? Beau. Not I, — more hysterics, may be. Jul. No, no, — that's all over; and mamma's herself again. Mrs. St. Albans has just been with her, and they are all upon velvet; for it is agreed that St. Al- bans is to decide entirely for himself which of the guardians he is to live with; and which ever he chuses, will be the acting guardian as they call it, and the other is not to act at all; — and you may be sure papa will be the man, — I'd lay my life upon it, St. Albans will stay with A DRAMA. 215 US; for between you and I, you never saw a man so much, so seriously in love in your life. Beau, Much in love, — aye, but much and serioush/ are two things ^ and, Ju, he's a great way to run to twenty-one. Jul, To twenty-one ! as if a man couldn't be seriously in love, and seriously married too, before he's twenty-one, with consent of course, when papa's guardian, you know. Beau, I know. — I'm not so sanguine as you are, Ju — and I must go and see about Cacafogo, {Exit Beauchamp.) Juliana, alone. Cacafogo ! — selfish animal ! that bro- ther of mine is — thinks of nothing but himself and Cacafogo. — Now would not it, after all, be an odd thing, if I was to be married before I am out P — not so odd neither — stranger things have happened. There was Lady Gould married quite out of the nursery, and pretty little Mrs. what's-her-name, married, to my certain 2114 THE TWO GUARDIANS; knowledge, before she had ever sat up to supper. — I own I'm a friend to early marriages " The Hon. Mrs. St. Al- bans's carriage stops the way !'* — how delightful that would be! tvouldhe} — loill be, you'll see, in spite of my bro- ther's incredulity. END OF ACT II. A DRAMA. 215 ACT IIL SCENE I. Lord Courtington's Hall Enter Popkin, sijiging. Not a man in the square, Witli me can compare. For a shape, and a face, and a leg, and an air. ru venture to swear. Not a man of 'em dare Give an answer so tart. Then turn off so smart. But, bark!— here's Blagrave singing his own praises too,-— like to be a Dutch concert. E?iter Blagrave, singing. " Here's long-trotting Tom to Finger-the-feins, " And tip all the go by, from Lon'on to Staines." 216 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Pop. Bravo, Blag ! Bla. Well, now, what I was saying, is, if so be I was born a gentleman, or the son of the likes, I'd never of all things be stingy in the article of horse- flesh. And, hang me, but Fd cut such a dash upon the road ! — odds dickens — Then, mark me, my grooms and out-riders should be the best appointed d'ye see, and as to my coachman, by the blessing, I'd gi' him what they call cart-blanch, to keep up my name, — for the coachman's the great point at the last ; and if a gentle- man's close there, why there's no hope of him. Fop, No hope of him, if he's not gen- teel to his own man, and footman too. Bla. Belike — for sartin, o' course.—- Now what I say, is, my lord 's free enough betting, and that on the turf, — and for he a nobleman, to be sure, very proper. But then see, his coachman is not magnified proportionably ! — and again even Mr. Beauchamp, see he's fond enough of cutting a dash — spares nothing A DRAMA. 217 for that— but then, not the true thing neither -, I scarce knows the chink of his gold, nor the crumple of his paper. — Too close about his purse-strings ! — St. Albans for my money. Fop. 'Tis he that's open-handed, and plays away with the cash, — gave him back a ten pound note I found in his "waistcoat pocket last night, he know'd nothing of, and he made me, slap -dash, a present of it, and we'll tip it off in champagne. Bla. Then I declare it's a shame for me and master, what we are at, but I'll make it up to St. Albans. I'll teach him to drive as well as any young man in all England, and that's what old Onslow would never do till doomsday, though his groom was shewing o' me he has good horses too. Pop. Ay, give the devil his due. Blag. Bla. And for master St. Albans, if *I ha' the training o' him,, he shall by and by, give the go-by to Mr. Beau- L 218 THE TWO GUARDIANS; champ his self, on the box^ and who could do as much for him as that, I want to know ? But if my lord should not come up in time, and there should be a huff. — Bobs 1 here's master Beauchamp, and St. Albans to boot. Enter Beauchamp and St. Albans. Beau, Come, St. Albans — come along —here's the horses — here's Cacafogo. — [aside to Blagrave.) Blag, throw in your good word for Cacafogo. St. Alb. Now for a fine gallop in the park, before dinner. {Popkin presents his whip, haty and gloves, officiously to St. Albans.) Bla. And 111 be bound your honor will like Cacafogo better than any horse you ever crossed. St. Alb, We shall have time for a good ride,— we shall not dine till eight, shall we ? ^ A DRAMA. 219 Pop. Nine, more likely. Sir, — Wait- ing for my lord. Bla. So light in hand ! — no daisy cut- ter ! — up to the hounds ! — near thorough bred — sound as a roach! — Worth any money to a gentleman. {Exit St. Albans and Beauchamp, fol- lowed hy Blagrave.) Popkin, alone, " Wine, water, women, " Are men's ruin, " Says wise Professor Vander Bruin." But he said nothing of horses, nor coachmen, nor grooms ; and there your Mr. Vander Bruin, wise as he was — was out — or I'm wrong. Never saw one now much more like than young Mr. St. Al- bans, to run, what the wise ones call, the road to ruin, — ^with my lord for his guar- dian, and my lady for his guide. Why, he*s as easy led, I can turn him with my finger and thumb ; and Blag the same^ who is rather awkward too. — Then Mr. Beauchamp, how he has him!~^and for 220 THE TWO GUARDIANS 5 Miss Courtington! she'll not be Miss Courtington long, or my name's not Popkin. {Exit,) SCENE II. Lad]/ Courtington' s Drawing-Room. Lady Courtington and Juliana. Lady C. So far, so good. — Indeed, my Juliana, I am quite of your opinion, — I have the utmost dependance upon the amiability of our young friend's disposi- tion, and I have no doubt that things vi^ill every vs^ay turn out as we wish. Jul. If papa were but come. — But 'tis so awkward, his not being here to day. Lady C. My dear, he will certainly be here to day. Jul. And when we have a dinner- party too ! Lady C. But, my dear, don't I tell you, I expect him every minute. A DRAMA. 221 Jul, Yes, mamma, I know you ex- pect him — but I know that when once papa gets to Newmarket don*t you recollect how he disappointed you last year, when the Burrells were asked, and I*m shockingly afraid Lady C. The gentlemen won't come from the House till very late ; I hear they expect a long debate. — My lord will certainly be here before dinner. Jul. La I we shall have to wait a pro- digious time. — If the gentlemen don't come, I'm sure I hope the ladies will be so kind to stay away too. Lady C. Yes, I do hope my friend Lady Minchin won't have the awkward- ness to be coming so early as she did on Tuesday, — she should know better, sure- Jul. 'Twas not awkwardness, she does know better. I know very well why she does it — the Miss Minchins like to come early, to have a chance of seeing more of somebody. But they are my 222 THE TWO GUARDIANS; friends, and I say nothing — only one can't help having eyes. Lady C. And very fine ones, too. — Let me look at you, my dear — let me see how you are dressed. — Not ill — pretty Vi^ell — stay — here ! — there I — that's right, now it will all do; — but sitting up dancing so late since the St. Albans's have been with us, has certainly, my dear Juliana, lowered your natural colour shockingly, and I must have you look in bloom to- night.— -( Unlocks a cabinet, takes out rouge^ and rouges 5 n\\diX\2iy saying, yHheve — a little, a very little just to give your natural colour — that is quite fair, you know. Jul, Oh dear, yes, — and indeed €very body does it now ; so it would be very unfair if I had not the same advan- tage. Lady C. That is the thing, when every body does it, — really one is forced, if one lives in the world — (and who could live out of it ?) — to do so many things, and submit to so many things one does not A DRAMA. 21^3 like or approve. But if the principles are pure, that is the grand thing — and the taste unsophistieated. — My dear, I hope you have practised for to night, that lovely Httle song — that nevi^ air of *^ Sim- ^^ plicityy Jul. Yes, dear Mamma, I have it quite perfect, and I have put new words to it of my own; but perhaps you mean " Sympathy,''^ for it was that if you recol- lect, St. Albans liked so particularly. Lady C. Was it ? I forgot.— Well let us hear them both, and then I can tell which will do best. Jul. Dear Mamma, shall I begin with " Sympathy'* or with " Simplicity.^'* Lady C. " Simplicity.**— Begin with " Simplicity ** of course, and end with " Sympathy.** — Be quick, be quick, before Mrs. St. Albans comes down from her toilette. Jul. [Placing her harp.) Time enough. Ma'am, for Mrs. St. Albans is always the slowest creature at her toilette, as at every thing else. 224 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Lady C, True, my dear. — But recol- lect she is the mother of St. Albans. — Come, pray now, let us have '' Simplicity'' before any body comes in. (Juliana seat- ing herself at the harp in a fine attitude.) No, no, that won't do. — Juliana, that looks, my love, too studied for simplicity. Jul. (Changing her attitude.) Well this. Ma'am ? Lady C. Nor that. — There's too much of the old St. Cecilia in that. — Ah ! now if you please — that's charmingly natural. — Simplicity herself! — Begin. Juliana sings. No 'tis not Beauty's idol pow'r. No 'tis not Beauty's blazing hour ; 'Tis not the fascinating face, Th' ideal form of floating grace. 'Tis the wild charm of nascent youth. The halcyon pledge of love and truth, Th' insidious blush, the tell-tale eyes Of sweet SimpUcity, I prize \ Lady C. So simple! begin with that A DRAMA. 225 by all means. — And now for ^' Sym- pathy,*' before the Minchins come. Jul, [Clearing her throat.) '^Sympathy'' is very trying, it goes so high and so low. Lady C. True, my dear; but nothing is too high or too low for you. Juliana sings. Beyond the voice of high control. Still ebbing, flowing tide of soul ; Magnetic power, ethereal dart. That wounds, and warms, and sooths the heart. Extatic anguish ! — mystic sway. Thy moonlight bliss, thy mournful day,^ Thy tear, thy smile, thy touch divine. Oh, heav'n-born Sympathy be mine 1 Lady C. A touch divine indeed, Ju- liana ! — Quite beyond the Miss Minchins. — St. Albans will be enchanted. — Encore — " Oh, heaven-born Sympathy.*' Juliana sings again. Thy tear, thy smile, thy touch divine, Ob, heav*n-born Sympathy be mine i l3 226 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Enter Mrs, Clarke precipitateli/, with a look and voice caladated to raise great alarm, Clarke. Oh, my lady !-~Oh, Miss Juliana ! — here's a catastrophe ! Ladi^ C. Catastrophe ! what do you mean, Clarke ? JuL Catastrophe ! speak, Clarke, can*t you? Clarke. Oh dear me ! stars above ! — I*m sent to break it to my lady — but Tm so nervous ! — and yet I can't bear another should have the telling it. — Mr. St. Al- bans, Ma'am, that has got such a fall from his horse. Ladi/ C, Heavens !-^and before the guardian is named. Jid, Mercy ! — I told Beauchamp it would be so. Enter Popkin. Pop, Cacafogo, my lady, that fell with Mr. St. Albans on the stones. A DRAMA. 2217 Clarke, And left him lying for sense- less and speechless. Pop, Senseless, Mrs. Clarke ? not at all, nor speechless — quite the contrary — for His his shoulder is out, and he was l^ft screeching with the pain — you might hear him, they say, the length of the street. Jul, I don't beheve one word of it- — else I should faint, certainly. Clarke, 'Tis certain, sure as I stand here, my lady, that he had a confusion on his skull. Jul, Contusion do say at any rate, Clarke, and I don*t believe it — or it would kill me. Lady C. Call Quaco to me, Popkin, this instant. Fop, My lady, he's not within call. — He just darted in and out like an arrow, with a bottle of opodeldoc under his arm. Ma'am. — But what matter, when I saw Blagrave himself. Lady C. Call Blagrave ! you distract me, — Call Blagrave, Popkin. 228 THE TWO OUARDIANS ; Pop. [Calling behind the scenes,) Some- body there ! call Blagrave up to my lady. La^y C. Clarke, run and stop Mrs. St. Albans from coming down, and don't let her hear any thing. Clarke, La, my lady, she has heard all — every sentence — from her own mil- letto woman, who run up like crazed, before I could lay down my cup of tea out of my hand. Lady C. Heavens ! I must go to Mrs. St. Albans — no, I must stay — I must hear — Jul, Blagrave's coming !—- Now we shall have it all, and I dare say it is all lies. E7ife?^ Blagrave. Clai^ke, Very well, Miss Juliana, you'll find his shoulder is out. — Blagrave, didn't Quaco tell me Mr. St. Albans's shoulder's out ? Bla, No. — He told you, he didn't know but the shoulder was out. A DRAMA. 229 Pop. There ! Mrs Clarke. Lady C. Silence ! — speak, Blagrave. — How was it ? — Where is St. Albans ? — . and where is my son ? Bla. Mr. Beauchamp*s below, my lady, with my lord — who's just returned from Newmarket. Lady C. My lord arrived ! that's for- tunate ! — Popkin, go and tell my lord I beg to see him immediately. Bla, My lady, my lord's dressing — I seed his own man. Clarke. But I say, Blagrave, did not Mr. St. Albans get a fall that left him senseless on the stones, from Cacafogo ? Bla. Why, my lady, (turning from Clarke to Lady Courtington) it was not the horse's fau't. It was Master St. Albans that threw Cacafogo down. He could not pull him in coming through the park-gate, so when the horse come on the stones, he tripped, and threwed the young gem'man — and this here, my lady, is the real state o' the case.- — As for Cacafogo > 230 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Lady C [Interrupting,) Cacafogo !— let me hear no more about Cacafogo 1 — Where is Mr. St. Albans hurt ? Bla, As to that. Ma'am, I can't say —he was carried into a house, and they sent off for a surgeon. — So I do suppose he was hurted somewhere, my lady. — But it wa'n't Cacafogo's fau*t, that's all I sartify* [Exit Blagrave.) Clarke. Here's Quaco back again, I declare ! — Now we shall hear who is right and who is wrong. Enter Quaco. 2tiaco, [Presents a note.) My lady — note from Mrs. St. Albans. Lady C. A note from Mrs. Why ! Is not Mrs. St. Albans above stairs ? Quaco. My lady, no — she wid massa. Lady C. How's this, Clarke ? — Pop- kin ! why was not I told ? — How's this ? (Lady Courtington tears open the note, and reads.) (Juliana retires, and rubs the rouge from A DRAMA. 231 her face — Quaco observes her, but seems to take no notice ») Pop. It must have been while we was all standing here, that Mrs. St. Albans set oiF with herself. Clarke, True, for I seed her with my own eyes, when the milletto woman opened her door. Well, I own I couldn't have believed Mrs. St. Albans could have been so quick in her motions. Pop, The last person in Christendom, next to a snail, Fd ha* suspected of steal- ing a march on one. Jul, [Advancing and sighing.) Clarke, I was so terrified ! — didn't I grow strik- ingly pale ? Clarke, Pale as a sheet. Ma'am, on a sudden ! Lady C. No place — no date to this note ! (Lady Courtington puts Mrs. St. Al- bans V note into Juliana'^ hand — Juli- ana reads it, tohile Lady Courtington goes on speaking to Quaco — Popkin meanwhile tries to peep at the note 232 THE TWO GUARDIANS; over Juliana'^- shoulder — Clarke ea- gerly listens to Quaco'^ answers.) Lady C. In her hurry, dear soul ! Mrs. St. Albans has forgot to say where she is. — Pray, Quaco, where is your poor master ? Quaco, My lady, he lie on one sofa in one house — Park lane. .Ladj/ C. Who took him there ? Quaco » Me — Quaco, my lady, and de groom of Mr. Onslow. Ladi/ C How came Mr. Onslow's groom to have any thing to do with the business ? Quaco. Me no know, my lady — he riding — leading master's horse in street — me no see — ne no know. Jul. He knows nothing ever [ Ladi/ C. But you were there yourself I Quaco. My lady, yes. — Me was went wid message for Mr. Popkey. — Me going thro' Park-lane — just me den see massa gallop — massa fall — me run up — me help lift — me help carry massa into house — one house of very good lady. A DRAMA. 233 Lady C. Order the carriage to the door, Popkin. Pop, {Calling.) Somebody there ! — order the carriage to the door for my lady. Lady C. You need not wait here, Popkin. Fop. {Aside.) Need not I? {Exit Popkin, after making a pirouette.) Jid. Nor you need not wait, Clarke. Clarke. Come away, Quaco. — I was right, *tis clear, about the shoulder — but nobody never even inquired. {Exit Mrs. Clarke, with a toss — QLuaco following.) Lady C. Stay, Quaco. — About the shoulder ? — your master's shoulder. — I was afraid to inquire. Jtd. And I was so afraid to hear the answer. — I knew I could not stand it — but I hope — I hope, Quaco? Quaco. f Aside.) Me see you no hope — you no fear — you no care — me tell you noting. Jul. {Aside to her mother.) Make him speak. Mamma, for heisas stupid as a post. Lady C. My good little fellow, don't 234 THE TWO GUARDIANS, you comprehend the question we ask you ? 2uaco. Quaco no tell, my lady. Ladj/ C. We ask whether your master's shoulder w^as put out by the fall ? — Surely you can tell that. 2uaco, Quaco no tell. Ladi/ C. Then I conclude there is no- thing in it. Jul. So I said from the first. — Did they really send for a surgeon, pray ? Quaco. Quaco no tell. Jul. {To La di/ Courtingtony aside.) Did you ever hear any thing like him. Mam- ma ? He provokes me more than I can express. [Aloud.) That's all. — You need not wait, Quaco. Quaco, Tank ye. Miss. [Aside.) Glad! get back to massa quick. [Exit Quaco.) JuL Stupid black ! — they may say what they will, but I am clear. Mamma, those negroes are all naturally inferior. Lady C. Y^vy true. — But my comfort is, my lord's arrived. — I wish they'd make haste with the carriage. — But I don't understand about that groom. — A DRAMA. 235 Was it old Onslow's, or young Onslow's groom and horses ? JuL Vm sure I can't guess. — But of course the father and son have but one groom, as my brother says they have but one horse between them. Lady C. May be — probably. — All I know is, that this old Onslow is always crossing me every where, like my evil genius. Jul. And that Arthur Onslow sticks to St. Albans on every occasion like a bur — there's no shaking him off. Lady C, Ring again for the carriage, — 'Tis the most nervous thing waiting. — Blagrave's the slowest creature I JuL Such a coxcomb too ! {Ringing.) Yet one likes to have a coachman a bit of a coxcomb, and all one's people indeed. Enter Popkin. Fop. Carriage at the door, my lady. Lady C. Juliana, throw a veil over your head, and send Clarke vi^ith a shawl for me to my lord's room. (Going J ^36 THE TWO GUARDIANS; JuL Yes, Mamma. — But, Mamma, you forget weVe company to dinner. Ladi^ C, I'll settle all that with my lord. JuL Then I'll get my veil — my Mech- lin veil. [Exit Juliana.) Lady C. And, Popkin, order Quaco to go with the carriage. [Lady Courtington going, turns hack when Popkin speaks,) Pop, Quaco, my lady! — he was off again the minute ever he was let out o' your sight, my lady. — Since his master give him his liberty, there's no holding that black boy — I do verily b'lieve he's new made o' quicksilver. Lady C. Very likely. — Then tell James to go with us — and you'll be in attend- ance here. [Exit Lady Courtington.) Pop. Attendance I now that's what I hate — 'specially, when I'm so cur'ous to see the windings-up and end of all things. Be in attendance 1 — That's cool ! — Con- found attendance, say I. [Exit Popkin.) A DRAMA. 237 SCENE III. Lady Courtington' s Hall, Enter Blagrave followed by Popkin. Bla, A word with you. Pop, afore my lady comes down — I've left James on the box. I'll tell ye a piece of my mind, — harkee I Hang it ! I'm off, about this here horse — this Cacafogo. Pop, Aye, aye, you got a tumble there. Blag. Bla. That's not it, I knew how that would be, man alive ! — but after all I did and said, and swore for him, here's mas- ter Beauchamp wants to jockey me out of the five guineas he promised. I won't stay wi' he — I won't — I gi' him warning, I did ! — All too close-fisted, one and all, for me. — I don't like a bone in any of their bodies, I don't. Pop, Like I — who does ? But what of that. Not for love, but for money's our 238 THE TWO GUARDIANS; maxim, en't it. Blag ? And it's not what they give, but what we get, I reckon on. Bla. Why, Pop, I'm not clear we ben*t in the wrong box there again, ac- cording to Onslow's groom. Pop. Hey, how's that ?— What of Onslow's groom ? Bla, I been having a word o' talk wi* he, and what do you think, but them Onslows has the finest place and house he tells, in all Buckinghamshire, and the most looked up to in the county. Pop. Tale of a cock and a bull, and a roasted soldier ! what's that to you and I, Blag? Bla. Why this, — their sarvants has the finest time on't by all accounts — fine wages, punctual paid, good living, good usage, the best of masters and mistresses ! Pop. The best of flummery I — fudge > — country fudge. — Pm supprised. Blag, a man like you, that knows the town Bla. Knows the town, — so I does, — but, harkee now. Pop. — What d'ye think A DRAMA. 239 of their footman that ris to be butler, and come'd last year, to get from the master a farm of his own ^ and what's more, in 7?»y opinion, the old coachman, in the face o' the country, settled up in a neat box of his own ; with a green gate. Think o* that ! — Curse me if I didn't begin to set you and I down for a couple of fools, in ca-parison. Pop. Pshaw ! There's picking every where for them that knows how,— but ^' town's the go for men of five feet ten." Bla, Confound me ! tho*, if I shouldn't like a house with a green gate, when I come'd to be foundered. Pop. Foundered ! Long till then, with me at least, — good legs these to stand upon, yet, I trust Bla. You knows best. — I've taken my- self off in time. Pop. I'll not make my bow. Blag, till I see how the guardianship goes. Bla. Why, then, I can tell you about that. Pop. What! Hey I— Howl tell? 240 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Bla, All I say is, — Onslow's groom shewed tbe young gentleman, St. Albans, the white hairs on Cacafogo's knees, and I take it there's a break-up. The On- slows has him — mark vou. Pop. Hal — That's another case. — Thank ye. Blag, for the hint, — now I know who's in and who's out, I'll rat in time Here's my lady. i Bla, Dang it! I'm off. (Exit Blagrave.) Enter Lady Courtington, and Juliana. Lady C. Come, come, Juliana, my lord kept me unconscionably. — Where's my shawl ? JuL Here, mamma. Pop. {^Stepping forward ready to botv.) My lady, if you please, I'd a word of con- sequence to say — {Exit Lady Courting- ton, without listening.) Miss Courtington, you please to tell my Lady — [Exit Juli- ana, without listening.) Popkin, alone. Confound my lady and her shawl, and A DRAMA. 241 Miss and her veil — so full of themselves, I could not make neither my speech nor my bow. Confound it ! suppose I, John Popkin, was to end by being one of the wants a sitiation scrubs, myself I [Exit Popkin, without a pirouette.) SCENE IV. A Poor Lodging, Mrs, St. Albans — St. Albans is lying on an old Sofa. St. Alb. Yes, I was stunned by the fall at first, — but I assure you, my dear mother, 1 am perfectly well again now, and you must not keep me here on a sofa. [Rising.) Mrs. St, Alb. But your shoulder, Quaco told me, is terribly hurt. St. Alb. Never mind what Quaco told you,^ — he was so frightened, poor fel- low, he did not know what he saw or said. *Tis only a cut, and a bruise, M 24^ THE TWO GUARDIANS; Mrs. St, Jib, The surgeon said you should be kept quiet. St, Alb, Surgeons always say so. — But, dear mother, what signifies the pain of body compared with the pain of mind I have felt, and must feel, — Beauchamp, whom I thought my friend I Mrs, St, Alb. To hazard my son's life for the sake of a few guineas ! St, Alb, Then he would laugh it off, and tell me, that gentlemen in England call this only jockeying.^ — I can't, I won't believe it. Mrs. St, Alb, Believe it, no !— Who could believe that any gentleman in Eng- land would conspire with his coachman or his- groom, to cheat his friend ? St. Alb, Blagrave's a rogue; but there is a footman too, at Lady Courtington's, who has done infinite mischief. — Did Mr. Onslow tell you about Popkin, and the tickets ? Mrs. St, Alb, Yes, all that he heard this morning in the bookseller's shop, from A DRAMA. 243 poor professor Lichenschwartz, about Ju- liana. — She has paid dearly for her ac- complishments. — Accomplishments ! — What are they, if truth, if principle have been sacrificed ? St, Alb. But her mother is more to blame than Juliana. Enter Mr, Beauchamp Courtington, on the opposite side. Beau. So, St. Albans ! glad to see you alive, and a foot again — ugly tumble. — But don't take it to heart, man — come, shake hands, and be friends. St, Alb, Excuse me, Mr. Courtington : once I thought you my friend, but that time is past — for ever past ! Beau. [With a forced laugh,) Why, man, this is only what we call jockeying in England — fair between friends as well as foes, — follow my advice — take your revenge. — Jockey the first fresh fellow you meet, — me^ if you are up to it:— Till then, fare you well. [Exit Beauchamp Courtington.) M 2 ^44 THE TWO GUARDIANS; SL Alb. <^ Till theuy farewell.** Arthur Onslow, you were right — he never was, never could be my friend. — But his sister — oh, Juliana ! still I cannot but think she has a disposition as amiable as her countenance is beautiful. Mrs, St. Alb. She is beautiful, I grant, but St. Alb. She has been much to blame, but still her heart, I hope Mrs. St. Alb. Her heart, you hope, is yours. St. Alb. Ha ! here comes Quaco with an answer to your note. Enter Quaco. 2uaco. Massa, my lady and Miss come soon, and see how you do do ; — (aside) but dey no care for you, Massa. 4^/. Alb. Juliana herself coming !— There, mother ! there ! is not this a proof? — Quaco, was she very much alarmed when she heard of my fall ?— Did she grow pale ? Quaco. Massa, yes, — Miss grow pale A DRAMA. 245 —-very white. — (St. Albans turns to his mother with a look of triumph, — Quaco continues,) Very white! — cause Miss take rub de red off her two cheek — dis way — when she tink Quaco no see. — {Mrs, St. Albans laughs, — St. Albans turns his hack on Quaco, and walks away from him,) Massa, no you be an- gry wid your own Quaco. — Oh, Massa, she want gometing here ! — (striking his breast,) St, Alb, Here comes Mr. Onslow at last. Enter Mr, Onslow. Mr, Ons, My dear St. Albans, I'm rejoiced to see you safe.— I first heard your neck was broke. Then your neck was not broke, but your skull was fractured — then your skull was not fractured, but your arm and your leg were broke, — and till I came to this house, I could get no account of your accident that could in the least be depended upon. I know at present that you have escaped with very 246 THE TWO GUARDIANS; little damage, from the danger of a foun- dered horse and a false friend. St, Alb, A false friend ! — Aye, there's the worst of it. Mr. 0ns. My groom saw this famous Cacafogo after the fall : his knees were cut, where they had been injured before, and where the white hairs had been stained over, as a noble piece of jockey- ship, by Mr. Beauchamp Courtington. St, Alb, Oh, Sir, as to Beauchamp, I have done with him for ever. Mr, 0ns, And Juliana ? — " your heart still hovering round about her ?" St, Alb, Heavens ! She 's come — I'll meet her. (Exit hastily,) 2uaco. [Aside,) Oh, Massa! Massa* take you care ! take you care ! — she no love, she never, no never, love like Massa ! (Lady Courtington'^ voice heard behind the scenes.) Well I'm so relieved ! — I'm so rejoiced ! Enter Lady Courtington, speaking. Lady C, I was so frightened, Mrs. St. A DRAMA. 247 Albans! — so shocked, my dear creature. — [Puts one hand upon her hearty leans the other on Mrs. St. Albans'^ arm.) Enter Juliana and St. Albans. — St. Al- bans supports Juliana, who seems to he in great agitation, Jul. I know it is so foolish to be so nervous but I cannot help it some- times. So you really are safe, St. Albans ? (Juliana and St. Albans retire a little, and talk apart,) Lady C, And was not it a most pro- vidential thing, now, since he was to meet with such a horrid accident, that it was so within reach of immediate assist- ance ? Mrs, St, Alb. I am sure we are ex- ceedingly obliged to the good people of this house. Mr, 0ns, But where is the kind- hearted lady of it, who has taken you into her lodgings? — The people of the house just told me that she is ill, and in distress. 248 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Mrs. St. Jib. Perhaps she might be able to see us, and I should so like to thank her. Mr. 0ns. I will go and ask whether she can he seen. {Exit Mr. Onslow.) Lady C. I am sure we should all be de- lighted to see her ! — one to whom we are so much obliged — should not we, Juliana ? — the kind-hearted lady, as Mr. Onslow says, who received our St. Albans at his utmost need ? Jul. [Advancing, and clasping her hands.) Oh, how much obliged I — How I shall love her ! Enter Mr. Onslow with Mrs. Beauchamp. Lady Courtington and Juliana start, and exclaim, Mrs. Beauchamp ! Quaco. (7b St. Albans.) Massa 1 — de poor lady, — see now hear de truth, — now hear ! St. Alb. Hush !— Quaco. Jid. [Running up affectionately to Mrs. A DRAMA. 2149 Beauchamp.) My dear Mrs. Beauchamp, is it really you ? Lady C. Now this is really quite ro- mantic. Jul When I said. How I shall love her, I little thought it was our own old friend, Mrs. Beauchamp. — Our own re- lation. Lady C. My own god- daughter — let me present you to Mrs. St. Albans. Mrs, St. Alb, Madam, we return you our most sincere thanks for your kindness to my son. Mrs. Beau. Oh, Madam, those who have suffered -evil themselves are perhaps the most ready to relieve it in others; — but there is so little in my power, — I hope the young gentkman is not much hurt. St. Jib. Never was better in my life — accept my grateful thanks. — {In a low voice.) Can I speak one word ? — I know I am — I must be, abrupt. (St, Albans takes her aside ^ while Lady Courtington and Juliana, in anxiety^ appear to speak to Mrs. St. Albans, M 3 250 THE TWO GUARDIANS J but watch from time to time, St. Al- bans and Mrs. Beauchamp. — Quaco stands still — his eyes moving quickly^ and watching all that passes, Q^uaco. Now, how dey look, how dey fear ! — Now, Massa, you hear de truth — poor lady ! hope tell out all ! all 1 Mrs. Beau. [Going up to Juliana.) I must now, Miss Courtington, return you my acknowledgements. When your foot- man, this morning, brought me down a one pound note, I little knew that in my basket you had deposited — by what means I know not — a sum far beyond the debt you owed me, — a present beyond my ut- most hopes ! — kind and generous ! even at the time I unjustly reproached you. Jul. Me ! — [aside.) What can she mean ? (Quaco neither moves nor speaks.) Mrs. Beau. [After wiping tears from her eyes, continues.) Not till after I re- turned home, did I discover — not till within these few minutes did I find the treasure you have given to me, to my chil- 43ren, — ^the treasure that is in this purse. A DRAMA. 251 Jul, Treasure ! — oh, don't mention such a trifle — say no more, — another time- Lady C Yes, yes, another time, Mrs. Beauchamp, pray ! — a trifle not worth mentioning ! Mrs, Beau. You cannot call this a trifle ! — [Producing the purse which Quaco had put into her basket, and holding it up to view.) 2uaco. [Aside.) Quaco no speak, Jul. Oh dear ! don't mention it, I in- sist. Ladi/ C. [Aside.) What can it all mean — St. Albans looks between life and death. (St Albans advancing eagerly tg^ look at the purse.) Jul. [Covering it with her hands.) Oh, don*t ! don't shew ! — of all things, I so hate ostentation. St. Alb. Mrs. Beauchamp ! — I must beg — allow me for one moment to look at that purse. [Mrs. Beauchamp puts it into his hands.) 2tf2 THE TWO GUARDIANS; Aft. Alb. It is ! — Heavens ! it certainly is Quaco's ! This is the purse I gave him this morning. Mrs, Beau, Quaco I 2>uaco, Massa,— Quaco could not help give — Massa no ask Quaco more. Mrs, Beau, Excellent creature, and I owe this to you. St. Alb. And not to Juliana j (St. Albans puts his hands before his face, and leans on Mr, OnslowV shoulder,) Mr, 0ns, {Aside,) Poor fellow ! — and there she stands in contrast with this negro boy! Mrs, St. Alb. (Aside,) Oh, shame! — I dare not raise my eyes. Jul. (Aside.) So I make a pretty fi- gure. (Aloud.) Mamma ! I don't feel very well — I think you had better take me into the air. — (Mrs, Beauchamp goes to support Juliana.) Lad]/ C, Since you are so kind, Mr>s. BeauchampT-rif you will take her into the air;— Juliana is subject to these things. A DRAMA. 25S Mrs. Beau, [Leading Juliana off.) I am sincerely sorry for it. (Exeunt, J (St. Albans sighs deeply, — They all stand silent for a moment) Mr, 0ns, [Aside,) How conscience- struck Lady Courtington stands. — All her fashionable fluency gone. Mrs, St. Alb. [Aside.) 'Twould be but charity to speak, — ^but what to say ! — Who will speak next ? Lady C. [Aside.) The game's up, I fear, but I'll not throw down my cards, — [Aloud.) In the midst of all this, — to me incomprehensible, and, at all events, in- consequential demele, or misunderstand- ing about I don't know what, we have actually forgotten, my dear Mrs. St. Al- bans — and St. Albans, my dear — and Mr. Onslow, to tell you that my lord is ar- rived, and so impatient, my beloved St. Albans St, Alb, Beloved I — Spare me. Lady Courtington. — Decided as I am, I will not keep you. Madam, one moment in suspense. 254 THE TWO GUARDIANS. [He walks zvith a firm step across from Lady Courtington to Mr. Onslow. — As he goes. Lady Courtington ex- claims,) Lady C. The most ungrateful man on earth I — man ! no ! a mere boy ! {turn- ing to Mrs. St. Albans.) And you ! — Oh, how I have been mistaken ! — what I have w^asted on you ! [Aside.) " Sympathy'^ and " Simplicity,'' both wasted ! [Exit Lady Courtington.) St. Alb. [To Mr. Onslow.) You see, my dear Sir, how much I want a guide, a friend. — Will you accept the charge, or will you, to punish my indecision and follies, reject me ? Mr. 0ns. [Embracing him.) Reject ! next to my own son, there is not a be- ing I love so well, — I may say it now. St. Alb. My friend ! — my guide ! — my guardian ! — [Mrs. St. Albans looks up thankfnlly to heaven — Quaco clasps his hands. — The curtain falls.) THE ROSE, THISTLE, AND SHAMROCK ; IN THREE ACTS. DRAMATIS PERSON.^ MEN. C An elderly English Gen- Sm William Hamden . | tleman. ^Landlord of an Irish Christy Gallagher . . | ^m^g^ j„„ i A Drum-major in a Mr. Andrew Hope . . | Scotch regiment. C The Sm of the Widow OwenLarken . . . . < Larken—a Boy of a- (^ hout fifteen. {An English Servant of Sir William Hamden, WOMEN. ^ A young Heiress — Niece Miss O'Hara ....-? of Sir William Ham- (^ den. ,, ^ ^ ( Daughter of Christy Gal- Miss Florinda Gallagher | lagher. _ „^ _ C Mother of Owen and of The Widow Larken . . -J Mabel. C Daughter of the Widow Mabel Larken. • • • | Larken. Biddy Doyle .... Maid of the Inn. Band of a Regiments SCENE.— 7%c Village ofBannow, in Ireland. %fit Eo0e. Sec, ACT !• SCENE I. A Dressing-Room in Bannow-Castle, in Ireland, Enter Sir William Hamden, in his Morn- ing Gown. Sir W. Every thing precisely in or- der, even in Ireland ! — laid, I do believe, at the very same angle at which they used to be placed on my own dressing- table, at Hamden-place, in Kent. Ex- act Gilbert ! most punctual of valet de chambres ! — and a young fellow as he is too ! It is admirable ! — Aye, though he looks as if he was made of wood, and 260 THE ROSE, Re- moves like an automaton, he has a warm heart, and a true English spirit — true born English every inch of him. Never was man more prepossessed y perhaps pre- judiced^ in favor of his own country, and his own county. I remember him, when first I saw him ten years ago at his fa- ther's, farmer Ashfield*s, at the harvest- home ; there was Gilbert in all his glory, seated on the top of a hay-rick, singing, " Then sing in praise of men of Kent, " So loyal, brave, and free; " Of Britain's race, if one surpass, " A man of Kent is he !" How he brought himself to quit the men of Kent to come to Ireland with me, is wonderful. However, now he is here, I hope he is tolerably happy : I must ask the question in direct terms, for Gilbert would never speak till spoken to, let him feel what he might. Sir W. (Calls.) Gilbert !— Gilbert ! Enter Gilbert. Gilh, Here, Sir. 4S'2r W. Gilbert, now you have been A DRAMA. 261 in Ireland some weeks, I hope you are not unhappy. Gilb, No, Sir, thank you, Sir. Sir W, But are you happy, man ? Gilb. Yes, Sir, thank you. Sir. (Gilbert retires^ and seems busy arrang- ing his master's clothes^ — Sir William continues dressing.) Sir W. [Aside,) Yes, Sir, thank you. Sir, — As dry as a chip — sparing of his words, as if they were his last. Some masters complain that their servants will talk too much, but Gilbert's only fault is, his taciturnity. And the fellow can talk if he would — has humour too, if one could get it out; and eloquence, could I but touch the right string, the heart- string, — 111 try again. (Aloud.) Gilbert ! Gilb. Yes, Sir. {comes forward respect- fully.) Sir W. Pray what regiment was it that was passing yesterday, through the village of Bannow ? Gilb, I do not know, indeed. Sir. Sir W, That is to say, you saw they 262 THE ROSE, &C. were Highlanders, and that was enough for you — You are not fond of the Scotch, Gilbert ? Glib, No, Sir, I can't say as I be. Sir W. But, Gilbert, for my sake you must conquer this prejudice. I have many Scotch friends whom I shall go to visit one of these days, — excellent friends they are ! Gilb, Are they. Sir. — If so be you found them so, I will do my best, I'm sure. Sir W. Then pray go down to the inn here, and inquire if any of the Scotch officers are there. Gilb, I will. Sir. I heard say the officers went off this morning. Sir W. Then you need not go to in- quire for them. Gilb. No, Sir. Only as I heard say, the drum-major and band is to stay a iew days in Bannow, on account of their wanting to enlist a new bugle-boy. I was a thinking, if so be, Sir, you thought well of it, on account you like these Scotch, { A DRAMA. , 263 I *d better to step down and see how the men be as to being comfortable. Sir W. That's right, do. Pray have they tolerable accommodations at the inn in this village? Gilb, [Smiling,) I can't say much for that, Sir. Sir W. [Aside) Now I shall set him going. [Alo2id,) What ! the inn here is not like one of our English inns on the Bath road. Gilb. [Suppressing a laugh,) Bath road ! — bless you. Sir, it's no more like an inn on the Bath road, nor on any road, cross or bye road whatsomdever, as ever I seed in England. — No more like — no more like than nothing at all. Sir ! Sir W, What sort of a place is it then ? Gilb. Why, Sir, I'd be ashamed almost to tell you. — Why, Sir, I never seed such a place to call an inn, in all my born days afore. — First and foremost. Sir, there's the pig is in and out of the kitchen all day long, and next the calf has what they call the run of the kitchen -y 264 THE ROSE, &C. SO what with them brute beasts, and the poultry that has no coop, and is always under one's feet, or over one*s head, — the kitchen is no place for a christian, even to eat his bread and cheese in. Sir W, Well, so much for the kitchen, — But the parlor — they have a parlor, I suppose ? Gilh. Yes, Sir, they have a parlor, as they may call it, if they think proper. Sir. — But then again, an honest English farmer would be afeard on his life to stay in it, on account of the ceiling just a coming down a' top of his head. — And if he should go up stairs. Sir, why that's as bad again, and worse. — For the half of them there stairs is rotten, and ever so many pulled down and burnt. Sir- W, Burnt ! — the stairs ? Gilb. Burnt, Sir, as sure as I'm standing here ! — burnt. Sir, for fuel one scarce year, as they says, Sir. — Moreover, when a man does get up the stairs. Sir, why he is as bad off again, and worse; for the floor of the place, they calls the A DRAMA. 265 bedchamber^ shakes at every step, as if it was a coming down with one ; and the walls has all cracks, from top to toe — and there's rat-holes, or holes o* some sort or t'other, all in the floor ; so that if a man don't pick his steps curiously his leg must go down through the ceiling below. — And moreover, there's holes over head through the roof, Sir, so that if it rains> it can't but pour on the bed. — They tell me, they used for to shift the bed from one place to another, to find, as they say, the dry corner ; but now the floor is grown so crazy, they dare not stir the bed for their lives. Sir W. Worse and worse. Gilb. And moreover, they have it now in the worst place in the whole rooni, Sir. — Close at the head of the bed where there is a window, with every pane broke, and some out entirely, and the women's petticoats and the men's hats just stuck in to stop all for the night, as they say. Sir. (Gilbert tries to stifle his laughter) Sir W. Laugh out, honest Gilbert.—r N 266 THE ROSE, &C. In spite of your gravity and your civility, laugh. — There is no harm, but sometimes a great deal of good done by laughing, especially in Ireland. — Laughing has mended, or caused to be mended, many things that never would have been mended otherwise. Gilb. (Recovering his gravity,) That's true, I dare to say. Sir. Sir W. Now, Gilbert, if you were to keep an inn, it would be a very different sort of inn from what you have been de- scribing, — would not it ? Gilb. I hope so. Sir. Sir W. I remember when we were talking of establishing you in England, that your father told me you would like to set up an inn. Gilb. [His face brightening.) For sar- tain. Sir, 'tis the thing in the whole world I should like the best, and be the proudest on, if so be it was in my power, and if so be, Sir, you could spare me. {Holding his master's coat for him to put on,) A DRAMA. 267 Sir W. Could spare you, Gilbert ! — I will spare you, whether I can con- veniently or not. If I had an oppor- tunity of establishing advantageously a man who has served me faithfully for ten years, do you think I would not put myself to a little inconvenience to do it ? — Gilbert, you do not know Sir William Hamden. Glib, Thank you, Sir, but I do — and I should be main sorry to leave you, that's sartain, if it was even to be land- lord of the best inn in all England. — I know I should. Sir W, I believe it. — But, stay — let us understand one another — I am not talking of England, and perhaps you are not thinking of Ireland. Gilb, Yes, Sir, but I am. Sir W. You are ! I am heartily glad to hear it, for then I can serve you di- rectly. This young heiress, my niece, to whom this town belongs, has a new inn ready built. N 2 ^68 THE ROSE, &C. GUb. I know. Sir. Sir W, Then, Gilbert, write a pro- posal for this inn, if you wish for it, and I will speak to my niece. Gilb. (Bozoing.) I thank you. Sir — only I hope I shall not stand in any honest man's light. As to a dishonest man, I can't say I value standing in his light, being that he has no right to have any, as I can see. Si?' W. So, Gilbert, you will settle in Ireland at last ? — I am heartily glad to see you have overcome your prejudices against this country. — How has this been brought about ? Gilb, Why, Sir, the thing was, I didn't know nothing about it, and there was a many lies told backwards and for- vi^ards of Ireland, by a many that ought to have known better. Sir W. And now that you have seen with your own eyes, you are happily convinced, that in Ireland the men are not all savages. A DRAMA. 269 Gilb, No, Sir, no ways savage, except in the article of some of them going bare- footed ; but the men is good men, most of them. Sir W, And the women ? — You find that they have not wings on their shoulders. Gilb, No, Sir. [Smiling.) And I'm glad they have not got wings, else they might fly away from us, which I'd be sorry for — some of them. {After making this speech^ Gilbert steps back, and brushes his master*s hat diligently. Sir W, [Aside) Ha ! is that the case ? Now I understand it all. — *Tis fair, that Cupid, who blinds so many, should open the eyes of some of his votaries. [Aloud.) When you set up as landlord in your new inn, Gilbert, (Gilbert comes for^ ward) you will want a landlady, shall not you ? Gilb, (Falls back, and answers.) I shall. Sir, I suppose. Sir W. Miss — what's her name ? the 270 THE ROSE, &C. daughter of the landlord of the present inn. Miss — what's her name ? GUb, (Answers without coming forward,) Miss Gallagher, Sir. Sir W. Miss Gallagher ? — A very ugly name ! — I think it would be charity to change it, Gilbert. Gilb, [Bashfully,) It would, no doubt. Sir. Sir W. She is a very pretty girl. Gilb, She is. Sir, no doubt. (Cleaning the brush with his hand, bows, and is retiring.) Sir W. Gilbert, stay. (Gilbert returns,) I say, Gilbert, I took particular notice of this Miss Gallagher, as she was speak- ing to you last Sunday. — I thought she seemed to smile upon you, Gilbert. Gilb. (Very bashfully.) I can't say indeed. Sir. Sir W. I don't mean, my good Gil- bert, to press you to say any thing that you don't chuse to say. — It was not from idle curiosity that I asked any questions, but from a sincere desire to A DRAMA. 271 serve you in whatever viray you like best, Gilbert. Glib, Oh, dear master! — I can't speak, you are so good to ine, and always was — too good ! — so I say nothing. — Only I*m not ungrateful — I know I*m not ungrate- ful, that I am not ! And as to the rest, there's not a thought I have you'd con- descend for to know — but you should know it as soon as my mother — that's to say, as soon as ever I knowed it myself. — But, Sir, the thing is this, since you're so good to let me speak to you, Sir. Sir JV, Speak on, pray, my good fellow. Glib, Then, Sir, the thing is this. — There's one girl, they say, has set her thoughts upon me — now I don't like she, because why I loves another; but I should not chuse to say so, on account of it's not being over and above civil, and on account of my not knowing yet for sartin whether or not the girl I loves, loves me, being I never yet could bring myself to ask her the question — I'd rather 272 THE ROSE, &C. not mention her name neither, till I be more at a sartinty. — But since you be so kind. Sir, if you be so good to give me till this evening, Sir, as I have now, with the hopes of the new inn, an indepen- dency to offer her, I will take courage, and I shall have her answer soon. Sir — and I will let you know with many thanks. Sir, whether — whether my heart's broke or not. [Exit Gilbert, hastily) Sir W. (Alone.) Good, affectionate creature ! — But who would have thought, that out of that piece of wood a lover could be made ? — This is Cupid's de- light ! [Exit Sir William.) A DRAMA. 273 SCENE II. Parlor of the Inn at Bannoio, Miss Florinda Gallagher, sola. Various articles of dress on the floor — a looking-glass propped up on a chest — Miss Gallagher is kneeling before the glass y dressing her long hair, which hangs over her shoulders. Miss G. I don't know what's come to this glass, that it is not flattering at all the day. — The spots and cracks in it is making me look so full of freckles and crow's feet — and my hair too that's such a figure, as straight and as stitY, and as stubborn as a presby terian. — See ! it won't curl for me — so it is in the papillotes it must be; and that's most genteel. [Sound of a drum at a distance — Miss Gallagher starts up and listens.) Miss G. Hark till I hear I-— Is not that a drum I hear ? — Aye, I had always N 3 274 THE ROSE, &C. a quick ear for the drum from my cradle. — And there's the whole band — but it's only at the turn of the avenue. — It's on parade they are. — So I'll be dressed and dacent before they are here, I'll engage. And it's my plaid scarf I'll throw over all, elegant for the Highlanders, and I don't doubt but the drum-major will be conquist to it at my feet afore night — and what will Mr. Gilbert say to that ? and what matter what he says ? — I'm not bound to him, especially as he never popped me the question, being so pre- posterously bashful, as them Englishmen have the misfortune to be. — But that's not my fault any way. — And if I happen to find a more shutable match, while he's turning the words in his mouth, who's to blame me ? — My father, sup- pose ! — And what matter ? — Have not I two hundred pounds of my own down on the nail if the worst come to the worst, and why need I be a slave to any man, father or other ? — But he'll kill himself soon with the whiskey, poor man, at the A DRAMA. 275 Fate he's going. — Two glasses now for his mornings, and his mornings are going on all day. There he is, roaring. [Mr, Gallagher heard singing.) You can't come in here. Sir. (She bolts the door) Enter Christy Gallagher, kicking the door open. Ghinsty, Can't I, dear ? — what will binder me? — Give me the kay of the spirits, if you plase. Miss G. Oh, Sir ! sees how you are walking through all my things. Christy. And they on the floor ! — where else should I walk, but on the floor, pray. Miss Gallagher ? — Is it, like a fly, on the ceiling you'd have me be, walking with my head upside down, to plase you ? Miss G. Indeed, Sir, whatever way you're walking, it's with your head up- side down, as any body may notice, and that don't plase me at all — isn't it a shame, in a morning ? Christy. Phoo ! don't be talking of shame, you that knows nothing about it. 276 THE ROSE, &C. But lend me the kay of the spirits, Florry. Miss G. Sir, my name's Florinda — and Tve not the kay of the spirits at all, nor any such vulgar thing. Chris ty. Vulgar ! is it the kay ? Miss G, Yes, Sir, it's very vulgar to be keeping of kays. Christy, That's lucky, for I've lost all mine now. Every single kay I have in the wide world now I lost, barring this kay of the spirits, and that must be gone after the rest too, I b'lieve, since you know nothing of it, unless it be in this here chist. (Christy goes to the chest,) Miss G, Oh mercy. Sir I — Take care of the looking-glass, which is broke al- ready. Oh then, father, 'tis not in the chist, 'pon my word and honor now, if you'll b'lieve : so don't be rummaging of all my things. (Christy persists in opening the chest,) Christy, It don't signify, Florry ^ I've granted myself a gineral sarch- warrant, dear, for tbe kay; and, by the blessing, A DRAMA. Q77 1*11 go clane to the bottom o* this chist. {Miss Gallagher writhes in agony.) Why what makes you stand twisting there like an eel or an ape, child ? — What, in the name of the ould one, is it you're afeard on ? — Was the chist full now of love- letter scrawls from the Grand Signior or the Pope itself, you could not be more tinder of them. Miss G. Tinder, Sir ! — to be sure, when it's my best bonnet I'm thinking on, which you are mashing entirely. Christy. Never fear, dear I I won't mash an atom of the bonnet, provided always, you'll mash these apples for me, jewel. [He takes apples out of the chest.) And wasn't I lucky to find them in it ? Ob, I knew I'd not sarch this chist for nothing. — See how they'll make an iligant apple-pie for Mr. Gilbert now, who Joves an iligant apple-pie above all things — your iligant self always excipted, dear. IMiss Gallagher makes a slight curtsy^ but motions the apples from her.) 278 THE ROSE, &C. Miss G. Give the apples then to the girl. Sir, and she*ll make you the pie, for I suppose she knows how. Christy. And don't you then, Florry ? Miss G, And how should I, Sir? — You didn't send me to the dancing- school of Ferrinafad to larn me to make apple-pies, I conclude. Christy. Troth, Florry, 'twas not I sint you there, sorrow fiit but your mo- ther ; only she's in her grave, and it'& bad to be talking ill of the dead any way. But be that how it will, Mr. Gilbert must get the apple-pie, for rasons of my own that need not be mintioned. So, Biddy ! Biddy, girl I Biddy Doyle ! Enter Biddy, running with a ladle in her hand, Christy. Drop whatever you have in your hand, and come here, and be hanged to you. And had you no ears to your head, Biddy ? Biddy. Sure I have. Sir — ears enough. Only they are bothering me so without^. A DRAMA. 27^ that pig and the dog fighting, that I could not hear ye calling at- all- at- all.— What is it ? — For I*m skimming the pot, and can't lave it. {Miss Gallagher goes on dressing.) Christy. It's only, these apples, see ! — You'll make me an apple-pie, Biddy, smart. Biddy. Save us. Sir ! — And how will I ever get time, when I've the hash to make for them Scotch yet ? Nor can I tell, for the life of me, what it was I did with the onions and scallions nei- ther, barring by great luck they'd be in and under the press here, — [Running to look under the press) — which they are, praised be God ! in the far corner. ( Biddy stretches her arm under the press.) Christy, There's a nice girl, and a 'cute cliver girl, worth a dQzen of your Ferrinafads. , (Biddy throws the onions out from tinder the press, while he speaks.) Miss G. Then she's as idle a girl as treads the earth, in or out of shoe-leather. 2180 THE ROSE, &C. for there's my bed that she has not made yet, and the stairs with a month's dust al- ways ! and never ready by any chance to do a pin's worth for one, when one's dressing. [A drum heard j the soimd seems to be approaching near.) Christy. Blood! the- last rowl of the drum, and I not got the kay of the spirits. Miss G. Oh, saints above ! what's gone with my plaid scarf? — and my hair behind, see ! Miss Gallagher twists up her hair be- hind — ^\dAy gathers up the onions into her apron, and exit hastily. — Christy runs about the room in a distracted maimer, looking under and over every thing, repeating — The kay ! the kay ! the kay ! Christy. For the whiskey must be had for them Scotch, and the bottled beer too for them English -, and how will I get all or any without the kay ? Bones, and dis- traction ! Miss G. And my plaid hanke'cher > A DRAMA. 281 that must be had, and where will I find it, in the name of all the demons, in this chaos you've made me out of the chist, father ? And how will I git all in again, before the drum-major's in it? Christy. [Sweeping up a heap of things in his arms, and throwing them into the chest.) Very asy, sure ! this ways. Miss G, {Darting forward.) There's the plaid hanke'cher. — {She draws it out from the heap under her father^ s arm, and smooths it on her knee,) But, oh ! father, how you are making hay of my things ! Christy. Then I wish I could make hay of them, for hay is much wanting for the horses that's in it. Miss G, (Putting on her plaid scarf) Weary on these pins ! that I can't stick any way at all, my hands all trimble so. —Biddy! Biddy! Biddy I Biddy, can't ye? — (i^^-ew^dT Biddy, looking bewildered.) Just pin me behind, girl — smart. Christy, Biddy, is it? — Biddy, girl, come over and help me tramp down this hay. — {(^\-\v\%iy jumps into the chest.) 282 THE ROSE, &C. Miss G. Oh, Biddy, run and stop him, for the love of God ! with his brogues and big feet. Biddy, Oh, marcy ! that's too bad, Sir 5 get out o' that if you please, or Miss Florry will go mad, sure ! and the major that's coming up the street, — Oh, Sir, if you plase, in the name of mercy ! Christy, [Jumping out.) Wh}^ then, sittle it all yourself, Biddy, and success to you; but you'll no naore get all in again afore Christmas, to the best of my opinion, no more, see I than you'd get bottled porter, froth and all, into the bot- tle again, once it was out. Miss G, Such comparisons ! — {tossing hack her head) Christy, And caparisons ! — (pointing to the finery on the floor,) But in the mid- dle of it all, lend me the poker, which will answer for the master-kay, sure ! — that poker that is houlding up the win- dow — can't ye, Biddy ? (Biddy runs and pulls the poker hastily from under the sash, xvhich suddenly t A J)RAMA. S83 falls, and every pane of glass falls out and breaks.) Christy, Murder ! and no glazier ! Miss G, Then, Biddy, of all girls, alive or dead, you're the awk'ardest, vul- garest, unluckiest to touch any thing at all! Biddy, [Picking up the glass,) I can't think what's come to the glass, that makes it break so asy the day ! sure I done it a hundred times the same, and it never broke v^id me afore. Christy. Well ! stick up a petticoat, or something of the kind, and any way lend me hould of the poker, for in lieu of a kay, that's the only frind in need ! [Exit Christy with the poker.) Miss G, There, Biddy, that will do' — any how. Just shut down the lid, can't ye ? and find me my other shoe. Biddy — then, lave that, — come out o' that, do girl, and see the bed !•— run there, turn it up just an}'^ way ; — and, Biddy, run here, — stick me this tortoise comb in the back of my head oh ! [screams aiid starts 284 THE ROSE, &C. away from Biddy.) You ran it fairly into my brain, you did ! you're the grossest 1 heavy handiest ! — fit only to wait on Sheelah na Ghirah, or the like. — [Turns away from Biddy with an air of utter con* tempt.) But ril go and resave the major properly. — ( Turns back as she is goings and says /f? Biddy.) Biddy, settle all here, can't ye ? — Turn up the bed, and sweep the glass and dust in the dust corner, for it's here I'm bringing him to dinner, — so settle up all in a minute, do you mind me, Biddy ! for your life ! [Exit Miss Gallagher.) Biddy, alone, — [Speaking while she puts things in the room in order.) Settle up all in a minute ! — asy said ! — and for my life too ! — Why, then, there's not a greater slave than myself in all Con- naught, or the three kingdoms, — from the time I get up in the morning, and that's afore the flight of night, till I get to my bed again at night, and that's nev^r afore gne in the morning. — But I A DRAMA. ^S5 wouldn't value all one pin's point, if it was kind and shivil she was to me. But after I strive, and strive to the utmost and bey and, — {sighs deeply) and when I found the innions, and took the apple- pie off her hands, and settled her behind, and all to the best of my poor ability for her, after, to go and call me Sheelah na Ghirah ! though I don't rightly know who that Sheelah na Ghirah was, from Adam ! — But still it's the bad language I get, goes to my heart. — Oh, if it had but plased heaven to have cast me my lot in the sarvice of a raal jantleman or lady, instead of the likes of these ! Now, I'd rather be a dog in his honor's or her honor's house, than lie under the tongue of Miss Gallagher, as I do, — to say no- thing of ould Christy. Miss Gallagher'^" voice heard, calling, Biddy! Biddy Doyle! Biddy, can't ye? Biddy. Here, Miss, in the room, readying it, I am. 286 THE ROSE, &C. Christy Gallagher*^ voice heard, calling, Biddy !— Biddy Doyle !— Biddy, girl! What's come o* that girl, that's always out o' the way idling, when wanted ? — Plague take her ! Biddy, Saints above! hear him now! — But I scorn to answer. Screaming louder in mingled voices — Christy*^ and Miss Gallagher V. Biddy !— Biddy Doyle !— Biddy, girl 1 Christy. [Putting in his head.) Biddy ! sorrow take ye! are ye in it? — And you are, and we cracking our vitals calling you. — What is it you're dallying here for. — Stir I stir ! dinner ! Hanna- mun-duowl.* [He draivs back his head, and Exit,) Biddy, alone. Coming then I — Sure it's making up the room, I am with all speed, and the bed not made after all ! — [Throws up the press-bed.) — But to live in this here * An Irish oath, spelled here as pronounced. A DRAMA. 287 house, girl or boy, one had need have the lives of nine cats itself, and the legs of forty. (Exit,) SCENE III. The Kitchen of the Inn. Miss Florinda Gallagher and Christy Gallagher. BoTjs and Men belonging to the Band, in the back Scene, Christ]/, (To the band.) The girl's com- ing as fast as possible to get yees your dinners, jantlemen, and sorrow better dinner than she'll give you ; you'll get all instantly. — [To Miss Gallagher.) And am not I telling you, Florry, that the Drum- major did not come in yet at all, but vi^ent out through the town, to see and get a billet and bed for the sick man they've got. Enter Biddy, stops and listens. Miss G. I wonder the major didn't S8S THE ROSE, &C. have the manners to step in, and spake to the lady first, — was he an Irishman, he would. Biddy. Then it's my wonder he wouldn't step in to take his dinner first — was he an Englishman, he would. — But it's lucky for me and for him he didn't, becaase he couldn't, for it won't be ready this three-quarters of an hour — only the Scotch broth, which boiled over. (Biddy retires, and goes on cooking. — Christy Jills out a glass of spirits to each of the hand.) Miss G. Since the major's not in it, I'll not be staying here — for here's only riff-raff triangle and gridiron boys, and a black-a-moor, and that I never could stand, so I'll back into the room. — Shew the major up, do you mind, father, as soon as ever he'd come. Christy. Jantlemen all ! here's the king's health, and confusion worse con- founded to his enemies, foryees; or, if ye like it better, here's the plaid tartan and fillibeg for yees, and that's a comprehen- A DRAMA. S89 give toast — will give ye an appetite for your dinners.— (T%^3/ drink in silence.) Miss G, Did ye hear me, father ? Christy, Aye, aye. — Off with ye J {Exit Miss Gallagher, tossing back her head, — Christy pours out a gtass of whiskey for himself and with apprO" priate graces of the elbow and little finger^ swallows it, making faces of delight.) Christy, Biddy I Biddy, girl, ye ! — See the pig putting in his nose — keep him out — can't ye ? Biddy. Hurrush ! hurrush ! — [Shaking her apron,) Then that pig's as sinsible as any Christian, for he'd run away the mi- nute he'd see me. Christy, That's manners o' the pig.— Put down a power more turf, Biddy : — see the jantlemen's gathering round the fire, and has a right to be could in their knees this St. Patrick's day in the morn- ing — ^for it's March, that comes in like a lion. o 290 THE ROSE, &C. { The bafid during this speech appear to be speaking to Biddy. — She comes for ^ ward to Christy.) Christ]/. What is it they are whisper- ing and conjuring, Biddy ? Biddy, *Twas only axing me they were, could they all get beds the night in it. Christ}/, Beds ! aye can yees, and for a dozen more — only the room above is tinder in the joists, and I would not chuse to put more on the floor than two beds, and one shake-down, which will answer for five i for it's a folly to talk,— I'll tell you the truth, and not a word of lie. — Wouldn't it be idle to put more of yees in the room than it could hold, and to have the floor be coming through the parlor ceiling, and so spoil two good rooms for one night's bad rest, jantlemen ? — Well, Biddy, what is it they're saying ? Biddy, They say they don't under- stand — can they have beds or not ? Christy. Why, body and bones ! — No, A DRAMA. 291 —then, since nothing else will they eom- prehend, — no, — only five, say, — five can sleep in it. (The band divide into two parties, — Five remain, and the others walk off in si- lence.) Biddy. And it's into the room you'd best walk up, had not yees, five jantle- men, that sleep ? [The jive walk into the parlor — Christy preparing to folloWy carrying whiskey bottle and jug — -turns back, and says to Biddy,) Is it dumb they are all ? or innocents? Biddy. Not at all innocents! no more than myself nor yourself. — Nor dumb neither, only that the Scotch tongue can't spake English as we do. Christy. Oh I if that's all, after dinner the whiskey punch will make 'em spake, I'll engage. [Exit Christy.) Biddy. 'Tis I that am glad they've taken themselves away, for there's no cooking with all the men in the fire, O 2 292 THE ROSE, &C. Enter Mr. Andrew Hope, Drum-Aiajor. Mr. H, A gude day to you, my gude I assy. Biddy. The same to you, Sir, and kindly. I beg your pardon for not know- ing — would it be the Drum-Major, Sir ? Mr. H, No offence, my gude lass, — I am Andrew Hope, and Drum-Major. — I met some of my men in the street com- ing down, and they told me they could not have beds here. Biddy, No, Sir, plase your honor, only five that's in the room yonder, — if you'd be plased to walk up, and youll get your dinner immediately, your honor, as fast as can be dished, your honor. Mr. H. No hurry, my gude lass. — But I would willingly see the beds for my poor fellows, that has had a sair march. Biddy. Why, then, if your honor would take a fool's advice, you'd not be looking at them beds, to be spoiling your dinner — since good or bad all the looking at 'em in the wide world, won't mend 'em one feather, sure. A DRAMA. 293 Mr. H, My gude girl, that's true.— Still rd like ever to face the worst. Biddy, Then it's up that ladder you'll go- Mr. H. No stairs ? Biddy, Oh, there are stairs — but they are burnt and coming down, and you'll find the ladder safest and best; — only mind the little holes in the floor, if you plase, your honor. \Mr. Hope ascends the ladder^ ivhile she speaks, and goes into the bed- chamber above.) Biddy, sola. Well, I'm ashamed of my life, when a stranger and foreigner's reviewing our house, though I'm only the girl in it, and no ways answerable. It frets me for my country forenent them Scotch and Eng- lish. — fMr. Hope descends the ladder. J Then I'm sorry it's not better for your honor's self, and men. — But there's anew inn to be opened the 25th, in this town ; and if you return this way, I hope things 294 THE ROSE, &C. mil be more agreeable and proper. — But you'll have no bad dinner, your honor, any way; — There's Scotch broth, and Scotch hash, and colcannon, and fried eggs and bacon, and a turkey, and a boiled leg of mutton and turnips, and pratees the best, and well boiled, and I hope, your honor, that's enough for a sol- dier's dinner, that's not nice. Mr. H, Enough for a soldier's dinner 1 aye, gude truth, my lass; and more than enough for Andrew Hope, who is no ways nice. — But, tell me, have you no one to help you here, to dress all this ? Biddy. Sorrow one ! to do a hand's turn for me, but myself, plase your ho- nor ; for the daughter of the house is too fine to put her hand to any thing in life: - — but she's in the room there within, be- yond, if you would like to see her — a fine lady she is ! Mr. H. A fine lady, is she ? — Weel ! Fine or coarse, 1 shall like to see her, — and weel I may and must, for I had a brother once I luved as my life ; and four A DRAMA. 295 years back that brother fell sick here, on his road to the north, and was kindly tended here at the inn at Bannow; and he charged me, puir lad, on his death- bed, if ever fate should quarter me in Bannow, to inquire for his gude friends at the inn, and to return them his thanks ; and so I'm fain to do, and will not sleep till I've done so. — But tell me first, my kind lassy, for I see you are a kind lassy, — tell me, has not this house had a change of fortune, and fallen to decay of late ? for the inn at Bannow was pictured to me as a bra' neat place, Biddy. Ah! that was, may-be, the time the Larkens had it ? Mr. H. The Larkens ! — that was the very name, — it warms my heart to hear the sound of it. Biddy. Aye, and quite another sort of an inn this was, I hear talk, in their time, — and quite another guess sort, the Lar- kens from these Gallaghers. Mr. H. And what has become of the Larkens, I pray ? ^90 THE ROSE, &C. Biddy. They are still living up yon- dfer, by the bush of Bannow, in a snug little place of a cabin, — that is the wi- dow Kelly. Mr, H. Kelly 1— but I am looking for Larken. Biddy, Ob, Larken! that's Kelly.— Tis all one — she was a Kelly before she was married, and in this country we stick to the maiden's name throughout. Mr» H, The same in our country — often. Biddy, Indeed ! and her daughter's name is Mabel, after the Kelly s; for you might have noticed, if it ever happened your honor to hear it, an ould song of Mabel Y^^Wy—Flanxty Kelly. Then the present Mabel is as sweet a cratur as ever the ould Mabel Kelly was but I must mind the colcannon. — [She goes to lift a pot off the ^re.) Mr, H, Hold ! my gude girl, let me do that for you, mine is a strong haund. Biddy. I thank your honor, — it's too much trouble entirely for a jantleman A DRAMA. 297 like you, — but it*s always the best jantle- man has the lasts pride. — Then them Kellys is a good race, ould and young, and I love *em, root and branch. Be- sides Mabel the daughter, there's Owen the son, and as good a son he is — no better I He got an edication in the be- ginning, till the troubles come across his family, and the boy, the child, for it's bare fifteen he is this minute, give up all his hopes and prospects, the cratur ! to come home and slave for his mother. Mi\ H. Ah, that's weel ! that's weel ! I luve the lad that makes a gude son. — And is the father deedP Biddy, Aye, dead and deceased he is, long since, and was buried just upon that time that ould Sir Cormac, father of the young heiress that is now at the castle above, — the former landlord that was over us, died, see ! — Then there was new times and new takes, and the widow was turned out of the inn, and these Gallaghers got it, and all wint wrong and to rack ; for Mrs. Gallagher, that was, drank herself 03 298 THE ROSE, &C. . into ber grave unknown*s't, for it was by berself in private she took it j and Christy Gallagher, the present man, i& doing the same, only publicly, and running through all, and the house is tumbling over our ears,— but he hapes to get the new inn, and if he does, why, he'll be lucky— and that*s all I know, for the dinner is done now, and I'm going in with it — and won't your honor walk up to the room now? M?\ H. [Going to the ladder,) Up here ? Biddy, Oh, it*s not up at all your ho- nor, sure ! but down here, — tlirough this ways. Mr. H, One word more, my gude lassy. As soon as we shall have all dined, and you shall have ta'en your ane din-^ ner, I shall beg of you, if you be not then too much tired, to shew me the way to that bush of Bannow, whereat this widow Larken*s cottage is. Biddy, With all the pleasure in life, if I had not a f ut to stand upon. [Exit Mr. Hope. — Biddy follows tvith a dish smoking hot.) A DRAMA. 299 Biddy, And I hope youMl find it an iligant Scotch hash, and there's innions plinty, — sure the best I had I'd give you, for Tm confident now he*s the true thing, — and tho' he is Scotch, he desarves to be Irish, every inch of hioi, — I seen that with half an eye. [Exit Biddy Doyle.) END OF ACT I. SOO THE ROSE, &C. ACT IL SCENE I. An Irish Cabin. — The Kitchen. Widow Larken — on one side of her, Mabel at needle-work — on the other side, Owen her son enters, bringing in a spinning' wheel, which he places before his mother, Owen. There, mother, is your wheel mended for you. Mabel Oh, as good as new, Owen has made it for you. Widow. Well, whatever troubles come upon me in this world, have not I a right to be thankful, that has such good childer left me ? — Still it grieves me, and goes to the quick of my heart, Mabel, A DRAMA. 301 dear, that your brother here should be sldving for me, a boy that is qualified for better. Ozven. And what better can I be, than working for my mother — man or boy? Mabel. And if he thinks it no slavery, what slavery is it, mother ? Owen. Mother, to-day is the day to propose for the new inn — 1 saw several with the school- master, who was as busy as a bee, penning proposals for them, according as they dictated, and framing letters and petitions for Sir William Hamden and Miss O'Hara. Will you go up to the castle and speak, mother? Widow. No, no— -I can't speak, Owen. Owen. Here's the pen and ink-horn, and I'll sit me down, if you'd sooner write than speak. Widow. See, Owen, to settle your mind, 1 would not wish to get that inn. Owen. Not wish to get it ! — The new inn, mother — but if you had gone over it, as I have. 'Tis the very thing for 302 THE ROSE, &C. you.—- Neat and compact as a nutshell^ not one of them grand inns, too great foir the place, that never answers no more than the hat that's too big for the head, and that always blows off. Widow. No, dear, not the thing for me, now a widow, and your sister Mabel, tbo' 'tis not for me to say-^such a likely fine girl — I'd not be happy to have her in a public house — so many of all sorts that would be in it, and drinking, may be, at fairs and funerals, and no maa of the house, nor master, nor father for her. Owen, Sure, mother, I'm next to a father for her. — Am n't I a brother, and no brother ever loved a sister better, or was more jealous of respect for her; and if you'd be pleasing, I could be man and master enough. Widow. [Laughing) You, ye dear slip of a boy ! Oiven, [Proudly y and raising his head high.) Slip of a boy as I am then, and little as you thiak of me A DRAMA. 303. Widow, Oh, I think a great deal of you ! only I can't think you big nor old, Owen, can I ? Owen, No — nor any need to be big or old, to keep people of all sorts in re- spect, mother. Widoiv. Then he looked like his fa- ther, — did not he, Mabel ? M ibel. He did — God bless him ! Owen, Now hear me, mother, fur Via going to speak sense. — You need not listen, Mabel. Mabel. But it's what I like to listen to sense, especially yours, Owen. Owen. Then I can't help it, — You must hear, even if you blush for it. Mabel. Why would 1 blush ? Owe?i. Because you won't be able to help it, when I say Mr. Gilbert. — Seel Mabel. Oh, dear Owen I that's not fair. [She falls back a little.) Owen. Well, mother, it's with you I'm reasoning. If he was your son-in- law- — - Widoiv. Hush ! that he'll never be. 304 THE ROSE, &C. Now, Owen, IMl grow angry if you put nonsense in the girl's head. Owen, But if it's in the man's head, it'^s not a bit nonsense. Mabel. Owen, you might well say I shouldn't listen to you. (Exit Mabel.) Widoiv. There now, you've drive your sister off. Oxoen. Well, Gilbert will bring her on again, may be. Widow, May be — but that may he of yours might lead us all wrong. (She lays her hand on Owen'^ armi ^^^ speaks in a serious tone,) Widow, Now, dear, don't be saying one word more to her, lest it should end in a disappointment. Owen. Still it is my notion, 'tis Mabel he loves. Widow, Oh ! what should you know, dear, o' the matter ? Owen, Only having eyes and ears like adother. Widow. Then what hinders him to speak ? A DRAMA. M6 Owen, It's bashfulness only, mother. Don't you know what that is ? Widow, I do, son, — It's a woman should know that best. — ^^And it is not Mabel, nor a daughter of mine, nor a sister of yours, Owen, should be more forward to understjind, than the man is to speak, — was the man a prince. Owen, Mother, you are right; but I'm not wrong neither. — And since I'm to say no more, I'm gone, mother. {Exit Owen.) Widow, (Alone,) >Jow who could blame that boy, whatever he does or says ? It's all heart he is, and wouldn't hurt a fly, except from want of thought. But, slay now, I'm thinking of them soldiers that is in town. [Sighs.) Then I didn't sleep since ever they come ; but whenever I'd, be sinking to rest, starting, and fancying I heard the drum for Owen to go. [A deep groaning sigh,) Och ! and then the apparition of Owen in regimentals Was afore me! S06 THE ROSE, &C. Enter Owen, dancing and singing. " Success to my brains, and success to my tongue ! " Success to myself, that never was wrong !" Widow, What is it? — what ails the boy ? — Are ye mad, Owen ? Owen, [Capering, and snapping hisjin- gers.) Aye, mad ! mad with joy I am. And it*s joy I give you, and joy you'll give me, mother darling. The new inn's your's, and no other's, and Gilbert is your own too, and no other's — but Mabel's for life.-— And is not there joy enough for you, mother ? Widow, Joy ! — Oh, too much ! [She sinks on a seat.) Ozoen, I've been too sudden for her ! Widow, No dear, — not a bit — ^only just give me time — to feel it. — And is it true?-— And am I in no dream now? — And Where's Mabel, dear ? Owen, Gone to the well, and Gilbert with her. — We met her, and he turned A DRAMA. 307 ofF with her, and I come on to tell you, mother dear. Widow, Make me clear and certain ; for I'm slow and weak, dear. — Who told you all this good ? — and is it true ? — And my child Mabel mavourneen I — Oh, tell me again it's true. Ozven. True as life. But your lips is pale still, and you all in a tremble. So lean on me, mother dear, and come out into God's open air, till 1 see your spirit come back — and here's your bonnet, and we'll meet Mabel and Gilbert, and we'll all go up to the castle to give thanks to the lady. Widow, {Looking up to heaven,) Thanks ! Oh, haven't I great reason to be thank- fill, if ever widow had I [Exeunt, Widow leaning on Owen.) 308 THE ROSE, &C. SCENE II. A7i Apartment in Bannow Castle, Footmen bringing in Baskets of Flowers, Miss O'Hara and Sir William Hamden. Clara, Now, my dear uncle, I want to consult you. Sir W, And welcome, my child. — But if it is about flowers you could not consult a worse person, for I scarcely know a rose from a . What is this you have here — a thistle ? Clara. Yes, Sir — and that is the very thing I want your opinion about. Sir TV, Well, my dear, all I know about thistles, I think, is, that asses love thistles — will that do ? Clara. Oh no. Sir — pray be serious, for I am in the greatest hurry to settle how it is all to be. — ^You know it is St. Patrick*s day. A DRAMA. 309 Sir W, Yes, and here is plenty of shamrock, I see. Clara, Yes, here is the shamrock — the rose, the ever blowing rose — and the thistle. — And as we are to have Scotch, English, and Irish at our little fete champetre this evening, don't you think it would be pretty to have the tents hung with the rose, thistle, and shamrock joined ? Sir W. Very pretty, my dear ; and I am glad there are to be tents, otherwise a fete champetre in the month of March, would give me the rheumatism, even to think of. Clara, Oh, my dear Sir, not at all. — You will be snug and warm in the green- house. Sir IV. Well, Clara, dispose of me as you please,'— I am entirely at your ser- vice for the rest of my days. Clara, Thank you, Sir — you are the best of uncles, guardians, and friends. [Miss O'Hara goes back, and appears to he giving directions to the servants,) 310 THE ROSE, &C. Sh^ W. Uncle, nature made me — guardian, your father made me — friend, you made me yourself, Clara. [Sir Wil- liam comes forwardy and speaks as if in reverie.) And evermore my friendship for her shall continue, though my guardian- ship is over. I am glad I conquered my indolence, and came to Ireland with her; for a cool English head will be wanting to guide that warm Irish heart. — And here I stand counsel for prudence against generosity I Clara, [Advaiicing to him playfully) A silver penny for your thoughts, uncle. Sir W. Shall I never teach you eco- nomy ? — such extravagance, to give a penny, and a silver penny, for what you may have for nothing. Clara. Nothing can come of nothing — speak again. Sir W. I was thinking of you, my — tcard no longer. Clara. Ward, always, pray, Sir. — Whatever I may be in the eye of the law, I am not arrived at years of discretion A DRAMA. 311 yet, in my own opinion, nor in yours, I suspect. — So I pray you, uncle, let me still have the advantage of your counsel and guidance. Sir W. You ask for my advice, Clara. ■ — Now let me see whether you will take it. Clara, I am all attention. Sir W. You know you must allow me a little prosing. You are an heiress, Clara — a rich heiress — an Irish heiress. You desire to do good, don*t you ? Clara. [With eagerness,) With all my heart ! — with all my soul ! Sir W, That is not enough, Clara. — You must not only desire to do good, you must know how to do it. Clara, Since you, uncle, know that so well, you will teach it to me. Sir W. Dear, flattering girl — but you shall not flatter me out of the piece of advice I have ready for you. — Promise me two things. Clara. And first, for your first. Sir W, Finish whatever you begin, — 519 TH^ ROSE, &C. Good beginnings, it is said, make good endings, but great beginnitigs often make little endings, or, in tbis country, no end- ings at all. Finis coronal opus — and that crown is wanting wherever I turn my eyes. Of the hundred magnificent things your munificent father began — r- Clara, [Interrupting,) Oh, Sir, spare my father ! — I promise you th^t / will finish whatever I begin. What's your next command ? Sir W. Promise me that you w^ill never make a promise to a tenant, nor any agreement about business, but in writing — and empower me to .Say that you will never keep any verbal promise about business—then, none such will ever be claimed. Clara, I promise you Stay ! — This is a promise about business, I must give it to you in writing. (Mm O'Hara sits down to a writing- table ^ and writes,) Sir W, [Looking out of the window.) I hope I have been early enough in giving A DRAMA. 313 this my second piece of advice, worth a hundred sequins — for I see the yard is crowded with grey- coated suitors, and the table here is already covered with letters and petitions. Clara. Yes, uncle, but I have not read half of them yet. {Presents the written promise to Sir William.) Sir W, Thank you, my dear -, and you will be thankful to me for this, when I am dead and gone. Clara, And whilst you are alive and here, if you please, uncle. Now, Sir, since you are so kind to say that your time is at my disposal, will you have the goodness to come with me to these grey- coated suitors, and let us give answers to these poor petitioners, who, " as in duty bound, will ever pray/' [Takes up a bundle of papers.) Sir W, (Taking a letter from his pocket.) First, my dear niece, I must add to the number. I have a little busi- P 314 ^ THE ROSE, &C. ness. — A petition to present from a pro- tege of mine. Clara. A protege of yours! — Then it is granted, whatever it be. Sir JV. (Smiling,) Recollect your pro- mise, Clara. Clara. Oh, true — it must be in writing. [She goes hastily to the writing-table, and takes up a pen.) Sir W. Read before you write, my dear — I insist upon it. Clara. Oh, Sir, when it is a request of yours, how can I grant it soon enough? But it shall be done in the way you like best — slowly — deliberately — [opening the letter) — in minuet time. — And I will look before I leap — and I'll read before I write. [She reads the sig- nature.) Gilbert. Honest Gilbert, how glad I shall be to do any thing for you, independently of your roaster. [Reads on, suddenly lets the letter drop, and clasps her hands. ) Clara. Sir. — Uncle, my dear uncle, A DRAMA.? 315 how unfortunate I am ! Why did not you ask me an hour ago ? — Within this hour I have promised the new inn to another person. Sir W, Indeed! — That is unfortunate. My poor Gilbert will be sadly disap- pointed. Clara. How vexed I am ! — But I never should have thought of Gilbert for the inn, — I fancied he disliked Ireland so much, that he would never have settled here. Sir W, So thought I till this morning — But love, my dear — love is lord of all. Poor Gilbert ! Clara. Poor Gilbert ! — I am so sorry I did not know this sooner. — Of all people, I should for my own part have preferred Gilbert for the inn, he would have kept it so well. Sir W, He would so. (Sighs.) Clara, I do so blame myself — I have been so precipitate, so foolish, so wrong — without consulting you even. Sir W. Nay, my dear, I have been P 2 ^16 THE ROSE, &C» as wrong, as foolish, as precipitate as you, — for before I consulted you, I told Gilbert that I could almost promise that he should have the inn in consequence of my recommendation. — And upon the strength of that almost he is gone a courting. My dear, we are both a couple of fools j but I am an old — you are a young one. There is a wide difference. — Let that comfort you. Clara. Oh, Sir, nothing comforts me, I am so provoked with myself, — and you will be so provoked with me, when I tell you how silly I have been. Sir W, Pray tell me. Clara, Would you believe that I have literally given it for a song. — A man sent tne this morning a copy of verses to the heiress of Bannow. The verses struck my fancy — I suppose because they flat- tered me. — And with the verses came a petition setting forth claims, and a te- nant's right, and fair promises, and a proposal for the new inn ; and at the bottom of the paper I rashly wrote A DRAMA. 317 these words — " The poet's petition is gr anted,'' Sir \V. A promise in writing too !— My dear Clara, I cannot flatter you — this certainly is not a wise transaction. So, to reward a poet, you made him an inn- keeper. — Well, I have known wiser heads, to reward a poet, make him an exciseman. rK\ hni: oqoiJ Clara. But, Sir, I am not quite so silly as they were, for I did not make the poet an inn-keeper, — he is one al- ready. Sir W. An inn- keeper already ! — Who do you mean ? ,; Clara. A man with a strange name -. — or a name that will sound strange to your English ears — Christy Gallagher. Sir W. A rogue and a drunken dog, I understand — but he is a poet, and knows how to flatter the heiress of Ban- now. Clara, (Striking her forehead.) Silly, silly Clara I 91S THE ROSE, &C. Sir W. (Changing his tone from irony to kindness,) Come, my dear Clara, I will not torment you any more. — You deserve to have done a great deal of mischief by your precipitation ; but I believe this time you have done little or none, at least none that is irremediable ; and you have made Gilbert happy, I hope and believe, tho* without intend- ing it. Clara. My dear uncle, you set my heart at ease — but explain. Sir W, Then, my dear, I shrewdly suspect that the daughter of this Christy What'do-you-call'himy is the lady of Gilbert's thoughts. Clara. I see it all in an instant. — That's delightful. We can pension off the drunken old father, and Gilbert and the daughter will keep the inn.—Gilbert is in the green-house, preparing the co- lored lamps — let us go and speak to him this minute, and settle it all. Sir W, Speak to him of his loves ? — A DRAMA. 319, Gh, my dear, you'd kill him on the spot. — He is so bashful, he*d blush to death. Clara, Well, Sir, do you go alone, and I will keep far, far aloof. {Exeunt at opposite sides) SCENE III. Parlor of the Inn, Christy and Miss Gallagher. Christy. [To Miss Gallagher, slapping her on her hack.) Hould up your head, child, there's money bid for you. Miss G. Lord, father, what a thump on the back to salute one with. Well, Sir, and if money is bid for me, no won- der. — I suppose it's because I have money. Christy, That's all the rason — ^you've hit it, Florry. It's money that love al- ways looks for now. — So you may be proud to larn the news I have for you. 320 THE ROSE, &C. which will fix Mr. Gilbert, your bachelor, for life, 1*11 engage — and make him speak out you'll see, afore night-fall. We have the new inn, dear ! — Fve got the pro- mise here under her own hand-writing. Miss G. Indeed ! — Well, I'm sure I shall be glad to get out of this hole, which is not fit for a rat or a christian to live in— and I'll have my music and my piano in the back parlor, genteel. Christy. Oh, Ferrinafad, are you there? — It's your husband must go to that expinse, my precious, if he chuses iwingling and (weedling, instead of the puddings and apple pies — that you'll settle betwix yees^ and in the honey- moon, no doubt, you've cunning enough to compass that, and more. Miss G. To be sure. Sir, and before I come to the honey-moon, I promise you; for I won't become part or parcel of any man that ever wore a head, except he's music in his soul enough to allow me my piano in the back parlor. Christy. Asy ! asy ! Ferrinafad — don't A DRAMA; ' 321 be talking about the piano-forte, till you are married. — Don't be shewing the halter too soon to the shy horse — it's with the sieve of oats you'll catch him ; and his head once in the sieve, you have the halter on Lim clane. Pray, after all, tell me, Florry, the truth — did Mr. Gilbert ever ax you ? Miss G. La, Sir, what a coarse ques- tion. — His eyes have said as much a million of times. Christy, That's good — but not in law, dear. — For see you could not shue a man in the four courts for a breach of promise made only with the eyes, jewel. It must be with the tongue afore witness, mind, or under the hand, sale, or mark. — Look to that. Miss G, But, dear Sir, Mr. Gilbert is so tongue-tied with that English bash- fulness. Christy, Then L'ish impudence must cut the string of that tongue, Florry. — Lave that to me, unless you'd rather yourself. Miss G. Lord, Sir — what a rout about P3 S22 THE ROSE, &C. one man, when, if I please, I might have a dozen lovers. Christy, Be the same more or less. — But one rich bachelor's worth a dozen poor, that is, for the article of a husband. Miss G, And I dare say the drum- major is rich enough. Sir — for all Scotch- men, they say, is fond of money and aconomie^ and I'd rather after all be the lady of a military man. (Sings.) " ril live no more at home, " But ril follow with the drum, " And ril be the captaiq's lady, oh !" Christy, Florry ! Florry 1 mind you would not fall between two stools, and nobody to pity you. Enter Biddy. Miss G, Well, what is it ? Biddy. The bed. — I was seeing was the room empty, that I might make it j for it's only turned up it is, when I was called off to send in dinner. — So I believe I'd best make it now, for the room will u A DRAMA. 323 be wanting for the tea-drinking, and what not. Miss G. Aye, make the bed do, sure it's asy, and no more about it ; — youVe talked enough about it to make twenty beds, one harder nor the other, — if talk would do. (Biddy goes to make the bed.) And Tm sure there's not a girl in the parish does less in the day, for all the talk you keep. Now Til just tell all you didn't do, that you ought this day, Biddy, (While Miss Gallagher is speaking to Biddy, Mr. Gallagher opens a press^ pours oiity and sivallows a dram,) Christy, Oh, that would be too long telling, Florry — and that'll keep cool. — Lave her now, and you may take your scold out another time. — I want to spake to you. — What's this I wanted to say ? — My memory's confusing itself. — Oh, this was it, — I didn't till you how I got this promise of the inn. — I did it nately, — I got it for a song. Miss G, You're joking, — and I be- lieve. Sir, you're not over and above so- 324 THE ROSE, &c. ber. — There's a terrible strong smell of the whiskey. Christy. No, the whiskey's not strong dear, at-all-at-all ! — You may keep smell- ing what way you plase, but I'm as sober as a judge, still, — and, drunk or sober, always knows and knewed on which side my bread was buttered : — got it for a song, I tell you, — a bit of a com- plimentary, adulatory scroll, that the young Tady fancied — and she, slap-dash. Lord love her, and keep her always so ! writes at the bottom, granted the poet's petition. Miss G. And where on earth, then, did you get that song ? Christy. Where but in my brains should I get it ? — I could do that much any way, I suppose, though it was not my luck to be edicated at Ferrinafad. {Miss Gallagher looks hack and sees Biddy behind her, — Miss Gallagher gives her a box on the ear,) Miss G. Manners ! — That's to teach yc. A DRAMA. ■■'>' 3^5 Biddy, Manners! — ^Where would I larn them — when I was only waiting the right time to ax you what I'd do for a clane pillow-case. Miss G, Why turn that you have in- side out, and no more about it. Christy, And turn yourself out of this, if you plase. — (He turns Biddy out by the shoulders.) Let me hear you singing Bal- tiorum in the kitchen, for security that you*re not hearing my sacrets. — There she's singing it now, and we're snug ; — tell me when she stops, and 1*11 stop my- self. Miss Gi Then there's the girl has ceased singing. — There's somebody's come in, into the kitchen, may be it's the drum-major. — I'll go see. [Exit Miss Gallagher.) Christy, solus. There she's off now ! And I must after her, else she'll spoil her market, and my own. — But look ye, now — if I shouldn't find her agreeable to marry this Mr. Gil- 326 THE ROSE, &C. bert, the man I've laid out for her, why here's a good stick that will bring her to rason in the last resort. For there's no other way of rasoning with Ferrinafad. > mni (Exit Christy.) SCENE IV. The Garden of the Widow Larken's Cot- tage. Owen and Mabel. Ozven. How does my mother bear the disappointment, Mabel, about the inn ? Mabel, Then to outward appearance, she did not take it so much to heart, as I expected she would. But I'm sure she frets inwardly — because she had been in such hopes, and in such spirits, and so proud to think how well her children would all be settled, Owen, Oh, how sorry I am I told her in that hurry, the good news I heard, and A DRAMA. 327 ail to disappoint her afterwards, and break her heart with it. Mabel. No, sh6 has too good a heart to break for the hkes. — ^She'JI hold up again after the first disappointment — she*il struggle on for our sakes, Owen. Owen, She will, — but Mabel dearest, what do you think of Gilbert? MaheL (Turnmg aivay.) I strive not to think of him at all. Oicen, But sure I was not wrong there — he told me as much as that he loved you. MabeL Then he never told me that much. Owen. No 1 What, not when he walked with you to the well ? MabeL No. — What made you think he did ? Owen. Why, the words he said about you when he met me, was — where*s your sister Mabel? — Gone to th€ well, Gilbert, says I : — and do you think a man that has a question to ask her, might make bold to step after her, says he. Such a 3^8 THE ROSE, &c. man as you — why not, says I. — -Then he stood still, and twirled a rose he held in his hand, and he said nothing, and I no more, till he stooped down, and from the grass where we stood, pulled a sprig of clover : — is not this what t/ou call sham- rock ? says he, — It is, says I. Then he puts the shamrock along with the rose — How would that do ? says he. Mabel, Did he say that, Owen ? Owen. Yes, or, how would they look together ? — Or, would they do together ? — Or some words that way ^ I can't be particular to the word, — you know he speaks different from us, but that surely was the sense; and I minded too, he blushed up to the roots, and I pitied him, and answered Mabel. Oh, what did you answer ? Ozven. I answered and said, I thought they'd do very well together, — and that it was good when the Irish Shamrock and the English Rose was united. Mabel. [Hiding her face zvith her hands.) Oh, Owen, that was too plain. A DRAMA. 3^9 Owen, Plain ! — not at all, — it was not. — It*s only your tenderness makes you feel it too plain, — for listen to me, Mabel. — [Taking her hand from her face.) Sure, if it had any meaning particular, it's as strong for Miss Gallagher, as for any body else. MabeL That's true : — and may be it was that way he took it, — and may be it is her he was thinking of Ow€7u When he asked me for you ? — But I'll not mislead you, I'll say nothing, — for it was a shame he did not speak out, after all the encouragement he got from me. MabeL Then he did get encourage- ment from you ? Owen, That is — [smiling) taking it the other way, he might understand it so, if he had any conscience. — Come now, Mabel, when he went to the well, what did he say to you ? For I am sure he said something. MabeL Then he said nothing, — but 330 THE ROSE, &C. just put the rose and shamrock into my hand. Owen. O \ did he ? — And what did you say ? Mabel. I said nothing. — What could I say ? Owen. I wish Td been with you, Ma- beL Mabel. Vm glad you were not, Owen. Owen. Well, what did he say next ? Mabel. I tell you he said nothing, but cleared his throat and hemmed, as he "does often. Owen. What, all the way to the well and back, nothing but hem, and clear his throat ? Mabel. Nothing in life. Oiven. Why, then, the man's a fool or a rogue. Mabel. Oh, don't say that any way, — but there's my mother coming in from the field. — How weak she walks — I must go in to bear her company spinning. Oweti. And I'll be in by the time I've settled all here. [Exit Mabel.) A DRAMA. 331 Owen, solus. Oh ! I know how keenly Mabel feels all, tho' she speaks so mild. — Then I*m cut to the-heart by this behaviour of Gil- bert's ; — sure he could not be so cruel to be jesting with her ! — he's an English- man, and may be he thinks no harm to jilt an Irishwoman. — But I'll shew him, — but then if he never asked her the ques- tion, how can we say any thing ? — Oh ! the thing is, he's a snug man, and mo- ney's at the bottom of all, — and since Christy's to have the new inn, and Miss Gallagher has the money ! — Well, it's all over, and I don't know what will become of me. Enter Mr, Andrew Hope. Mr, H. My gude lad, may your name be Larken ? Ozven. It is, Sir. — Owen Larken, at your service — the son of the widow Lar- ken. Mr. H, Then I have to thank your S32 THE ROSE, kc. family for their goodness to my piiir bro- ther, years ago. — And for yourself, your friend, Mr. Christy Gallagher, has been telling me you can play the bugle ? Ozven. I can. Sir. Mr, H. And we want a bugle, and the pay's fifteen guineas, and I'd sooner give it to you than three others that has applied, if you'll list. Owen. Fifteen guineas ! — Oh ! if I could send that money home to my mother, — but I must ask her consent. — Sir, she lives convetrent, just in tnis cabin here, would you be pleased to step in with me, and I'll ask her consent. Mr, H, That's right, lead on, my douce lad, you ken the way. [Exeunt.) A DRAMA. 383 SCENE V. Kitchen of the Widow LarkerHs Cottage. A Door is seen open, into an inner Room, k *y Mabel, alone, k {Sitting near the door of the inner room, spinning and singing *) Sleep, mother, sleep ! in slumber blest. It joys my heart to see thee rest. Unfelt in sleep, thy load of sorrow. Breathe free and thoughtless of to-morrow ; And long, and light, thy slumbers last. In happy dreams forget the past. Sleep, mother, sleep ! thy slumber's blest, ' It joys my heart to see thee rest. Many^s the night she wak'd for me. To nurse my helpless infancy : While cradled on her patient arm. She hushM me with the mother's charm. Sleep, mother, sleep ! thy slumber's blest> It joys my heart to see thee rest. , And be it mine to sooth thy age. With tender care thy grief assuage. * This song is set to music by Mr. Webbe. 334 THE ROSE, &C. This hope is left to poorest poor. And richest child can do no more. Sleep, mother, sleep ! thy slumber's blest. It joys my heart to see thee rest. {While Mabel is singing the second stan- za, Owen and Andrew Hope enter. — Mr, Hope stops short and listens — he makes a sign to Owen to stand stilly and not to interrupt Mabel — while Owen approaches her on tiptoe!) Mr, H, [Says aside.) She taks my fancy back to dear Scotland, to my ane hame, and my ane mither, and my ane Kate. Owen. So, Mabel ! I thought you never sung for strangers ? (Mabel turns and sees Mr. Hope. — She rises and curtsies.) Mr. H. [Advancing softly.) I fear to disturb the mother, whose slumbers are so blest, and I'd fain hear that lullaby again. — If the voice stop, the mother may miss it, and wake. Mabel. [Looking in to the room in which her mother sleeps, then closing the A DRAMA. 335 door gently) No, Sir, — she'll not miss my voice now, I thank you, she is quite sound asleep. ^ Owen. This is Mr. Andrew Hope, Mabel — you might remember one of his name, a serjeant Hope. Mabel Ah ! I mind ! he that was sick with us, some time back. M7\ H. Aye, my brother that's dead, and that your gude mither was so tender of, when sick, charged me to thank you all, and so from my soul, I do. Mabel. *Twas little my poor mother could do, nor any of us for him, even then, tho' we could do more then than we could now, and I'm glad he chanced to be with us in our better days. Mr. H. And I'm sorry you ever fell upon worse days, for you deserve the best ; and will have such again, I trust. — All I can say is this — that gif your brother here gangs with me, he shall find a brother's care through life, fra' me. * Oxoen. I wouldn't doubt you, — and that you know, Mabel, would be a great 336 THE ROSE, &c. point, to have a friend secure in the regi- ment, if I thought of going. Mabel. If I — Oh ! what are you think- ing of, Owen ? What is it your talking of going ? — [Turnifig towards the door of her mother* s room suddenly.) Take care, but she'd wake and hear you, and she*d never sleep easy again. Owen. And do you think so ? Mabel. Do I think so ? — Am not I sure of it? and you too, Owen, if you*d take time to think and feel. Owen. Why, there's no doubt but it's hard, when the mother has reared the son, for him to quit her as soon as he can go alone. — But it is what I was thinking, — it is only the militia you know, and I'd not be going out of the three kingdoms, ever at all ; and I could be sending mo- ney home to my mother, like Johnny Reel did to his. Mabel. Money is it? — Then there's no money you could send her — -not the full of Lough Erne itself, in golden guineas, could make her amends for the A DRAMA. 337 loss of yourself, Owen, and you know that. Mr, H. And I am not the man that would entice you to list, or gang with me, in contradiction to your duty at home, or 3'^our interest abroad. — So (turn- ing to Mabel), do not look on me, as the tempter to evil, nor with distrust, as you do, kind sister, as you are, and like my own Kate. — But hear me coolly, and without prejudice, for it is his gude I wish. Mabel, I am listening then, and 1 ask your pardon if I looked a doubt. Mr, H. The gude mother must wish above all things here below, the weal and advancement, and the honor of her bairns; and she would not let the son be tied to her apron-strings, for any use or profit to herself, but ever wish him to do the best in life for his seF. — Is not this truth, gude friends, plain truth ? Mabel, It is then, — I own that. — Truth and sense too. , Ozven. Now, see there, Mabel, Q 338 THE ROSE, &C. Mr. H, And better for him to do something abroad, than digging at home; and in the army he might get on, — and here's the bugle-boy*s pay. Mabel. Is it a bugle-boy you are thinking of making him ? Mr. H. That's the only thing I could make him. — I wish I could offer better. Mabel. Then, I thank you. Sir, and I wouldn't doubt ye — and it would be very well for a common boy that could only dig ; but my brother's no common boy. Sir. Owen. Oh, Mabel ! Mabel. Hush, Owen! for it's the truth I'm telling, and if to your face, I can't help it. You may hide the face, but I won't hide the truth. Mr. H. Then speak on, my warm- hearted lassy, speak on. Mabel. Then, Sir, he got an edication while ever my poor father lived, and no better scholar, they said, for the teaching he got : — but all was given over when the father died, and the troubles came, and A DRAMA. 339 Ovveiii as he ought, give himself up in- tirely for my mother, to help her, a wi- dow. But it's not digging and slaving he is to be always: — it's with the head, as my father used to say, he'll make more than the hands ; and we hope to get a clerk's place for him sometime, or there will be a schoolmaster wanting in this town, and that will be what he would be fit for, and not but it's not civil, be- fore you, a soldier. Sir, to say the rest. Mr. H. Fear not, you will not give offence. Mabel. And not to be spending his breath, blowing through a horn all his days, for the sake of wearing a fine red coat. — I beg your pardon again. Sir, if I say too much, — but it's to save my bro- ther, and my mother. Mr, H. I like you the better for all you've said for both. Owen. And I'm off entirely. — I'll not list, I thank you. Sir. (Mabel clasps her hands joyfully, then em- braces her brother.) Q 2 340 THE ROSE, &C. Mr. H. And I'll not ask you to list,— and I would not have asked it at all ^ — but that a friend of yours told me it would be the greatest service I could do you, and that it was the thing of all others you wished. Owen. That friend was Christy Gal- lagher, — but he was mistaken — that's all. Mabel I hope that's all.— But I've no dependence on him for a friend, nor has my mother. Owen. Why, he was saying to me, and I could not say against it, that he had a right to propose for the Inn, if he could, tho' Gilbert and we wanted to get it. Mabel. Then I Jwonder why Christy should be preferred rather than my mo- ther. Owen. Then that's a wonder, — and I can't understand how that was. Mr. H. I have one more thing to say, or to do, which I should like better if you'll give me leave. If there*s a diffi- culty aboot the rent of this new inn that A DRAMA. 341 you are talking of, I have a little spare money, and you*re welcome to it; — I consider it as a debt of my brother's, which I am bound to pay — so no obliga- tion in life, — tell me how much will do. [Takes out his purse,) Owen and MabeL You are very kind, you are very good. Mr. H. No, I am not, — I am only just.^ — Say only how much will do. Owen, Alas ! money won't do now. Sir. — It's all settled, and Christy says he has a promise of it in writing from the lady. Mr, H, May be this Christy might sell his interest, and we will see, — I will not say till I find I can do. — Fare ye weel till we meet, as I hope we shall, at the dance that's to be at the castle. — The band is to be there, and I with them, and I shall hope for this lassy's hand in the dance. Mabel. [Aside,) And Gilbert that never asked me ! — [aloud,) I thank you kindly. Sir, I shan't go to the dance at 342 THE ROSE, &C. all-at-all, I believe, — my mother had bet- ter take her rest, and I must stay with her •r— a good night to you kindly. {Exit Ma- bel into her mother's room.) Mr. H. This sister of yours would leave me no heart to carry back to Scot- land, I fear, but that Tm a married man already, and have my own luve, — a Kate of my own, that's as fair as she, and as gude, and that's saying much. Owen. [Aside.) Much more than Flo- rinda Gallagher will like to hear. Mr. H. I shall thank you if you will teach me, for my Kate, the words of that song your sister was singing when we came in. Owen. I believe it's to flatter me, you say this, for that song is my writing. Mr. H. Yours ? Owen. Mine, such as it is. Mr. 11. Sic a 'an as you are then, I'm glad you are not to be a bugle-boy. — Your sister is right. Owen. I'll teach you the w^ords as we go along. A DRAMA. 343 Mr H, Do so ; — but mind now this song-writing do not lead you to idleness. We must see to turn your edication to good account. — (Aside,) Oh I will never rest till I pay my brother's debt, some way or other, to this gude family. {Exeunt,) END OF ACT II. 344 THE ROSE, &C, ACT III. SCENE I. Christy^ alone. So this Scotchman could not list Owen. — Couldn't nor wouldn't, that's what he says. — And the Scotchman looked very hard at me as he spoke; — moreover I seen Mr. Gilbert and him with their two heads close together, and that's a M^onder, for I know Gilbert's not nat'rally fond of any sort of Scotchman. — There's something brewing, — I must have my wits about me, and see and keep sober this night, if I can, any way. — From the first I suspicted Mr. Gilbert had his heart on Mabel. — (Biddy Doyle puts her head A DRAMA. 345 in,) Biddy Doyle ! What the mischief does that head of yours do there? Biddy, Nothing in life. Sir. — Only just to see who was in it, along with your- self, because I thought I hard talking enough for two. Christy, You, girl, have curiosity enough for two, and two dozen, and too much ! — So plase take your head and yourself out of that, and don't be over- haring. my private thoughts, for that was all the talking ye hard, and my thoughts can't abide listeners. Biddy, I'm no listener. — I ax your pardon, Sir. — I scorn to listen to your thoughts, or your words even. [Exit Biddy.) Christy, That girl has set me topsy- turvy. — Where was I? — Oh I this was it. — Suppose even, I say, suppose this Gil- bert's fancy should stick to Mabel, I might manage him, nevertheless. — I've a great advantage and prerogative over this Englishman, in his having never been dipped in the Shannon. — He is so under Q 3 346 THE ROSE, &C. COW, with bashfulness now, that I don't doubt, but what in one of his confusions I could asy bring him to say Yes, in the wrong place. — And sooner than come to a perplexing refusal of a young lady, he might, I'll engage, be brought about to marry the girl he didn't like, in lieu of the girl he did. — We shall see, but hark I I hear Ferrinafad's voice, singing, and I must join, and see how the thing's going on, or going off. [Exit.) SCENE II. Miss Gallagher and Gilbert at a Tea- Table. Gilb. (Aside.) Now would I give five golden guineas this minute, that her fa- ther or any mortal man, woman, or child in the varsal world, would come in and say something ; for 'tis so awk'ard for I to be sitting here, and I nothing to say to she. A DRAMA. 347 Miss G. {Aside,) When will the man pay me the compliment to speak, I won- der, — would'n't any body think he'd no tongue in that mouth of his, screwed up ! and blushing from ear to ear. Enter Christy. Christy, Hoo ! hoo 1 hoo ! — How's this, — both of yees mute as fishes the moment I come in ? — Why, I hard you just now when my back was turned, sing- ing like turtle-doves, — didn't I, Florry ? Miss G, Indeed, Sir, as to turtle- doves, Tm not sinsible. — But Mr. Gil- bert requisted of me to be favouring him with a song, which I was complying with, tho' I*m not used to be singing with- out my piano. Christy, [Aside.) Sorrow take your piano, you're not come there yet. Miss G. I w^onder the drum-maj6r isn't come yet. — Does he expect tea can be keeping hot for him to the end of time. — He'll have nothing but slop-dash, tho' he 's a very genteel man. — I'm par- 348 THE ROSE, &c. tial to the military school, I own, and a Highlander too is always my white-head- ed boy. Gilb. [Astonished) Her white-headed boy ? — Now if I was to be hanged for it, I don't know what that means. Miss G. Now where can you have lived, Mr. Gilbert, not to know that P Christy. [Aside.) By the mass, he*s such a matter-o'-fact-man, I can't get round him with all my wit. Miss G, Here's the drum-major. — Scarlet's asy seen at a distance, — that's one comfort. Enter Mr, Hope. Mr. H. I'm late. Miss Florinda, I fear, for the tea-table — but I had a wee- wee bit of business to do for a young friend, that kept me. Miss G. No matter, major. — My ta- pot defies you. — Take a cup a tea. Are you fond of music, major ? Mr. H, Very fond of music, Ma'am — do you sing or play ? A DRAMA. S4& Miss G. I do play — I plead guilty to that, I own. But in this hole that we are in, there*s no room fitting for my piano. — However, in the new inn which we have got now, Til fix my piano elegant in the back parlor. Mr. 11. In the mean time. Miss Florinda, will you favor us with a song ? Ckrisfy. And IMl be making the punch, for Tm no songstress. — Biddy ! Biddy Doyle 1- — hot water in a jerry. Miss G. Indeed I'm not used to sing without my piano — but to oblige the major — I sing by note. Miss Gallagher sings. Softly breathing through the heart. When lovers meet no more to part 5 That purity of soul be mine. Which speaks in music's sound divine. 'Midst trees and streams of constant love. That's whisper'd by the turtle-dove ; Sweet cooing cushat all my pray'r. Is love in elegance to share, 350 THE ROSE, &C. Mr, H. That's what I call fine, now ! Yery fine that. (Gilbert nods.) MissG, {Aside) Look at that English- man now, that hasn't a word of compli- ment to throw to a dog, but only a nod. (Aloud.) 'Tis the military that has always the souls for music, and for the ladies — and I think, gentlemen, I may step forward, and say I'm entitled to call upon you now. — Mr. Gilbert, if you've ever a love-song in your composition. Gilb. Love-song I can't say. Ma'am, — but such as I have. I'm no great hand at composition. — But I have one song — they call it. Mi/ choice of a wife. Miss G. Pray let's have it. Sir. Christy. Now for it, by Jabus. Mr, H, Give it us, Mr. Gilbert. Enter Biddy with hot zvater, and exit. Gilbert sings. There's none but a fool will wed on a sudden, Or take a fine miss that can't make a pudding ; If he get such a wife, what would a man gain, O ? But a few ballad tunes on a wretched piano. A DRAMA. 351 Some ladies than peacocks are twenty times prouder. Some ladies than thunder are twenty times louder ; But ril have a wife that's obliging and civil. For me, your fine ladies may go to the devil. Miss G. (Tossing hack her head.) Sir, I comprehend your song, coarse as it is,^ and its moral to boot, and I humbly thank ye, Sir. [She curtsies lozv) And if I live a hundred year, and ninety-nine to the back of that. Sir, I will remember it to you. Sir. Christy. [Leaving the punch which he had been making, comes forward with a lemon in his hand.) Wheugh ! wheugh ! wheugh ! Ferrinafad ! Gilb. [Aside,) Ferrinafad ! — the man's mad ! Miss G. Father, go your ways back to your punch. Here stands the only raal gentleman in company, (pointing to the drum-major) if I'm to make the elec- tion. Christy. Major, you can't but drink her health for that compliment. [He presents a glass of punch to Mr. Hope.) 35^ THE ROSE, &C. Mr. H. Miss Gallagher's health, and a gude husband to her, and soon. Miss G. And soon ? — no hurry for them that has choice. Christy. That has money, you mane, jewel. — Mr, Gilbert, you did not give us your toast. Gilb. Your good health. Ma'am — - your good health. Sir — Mr. Hope, your good health, and your fire-side in Scot- land, and in pa*tic*Iar your good wife. Miss G. [Starting.) Your wife. Sir ? ' — Why, Sir, is't possible youVe a married man, after all .? Mr, H, Very possible. Ma'am.— ^ Thank heaven, and my gude Kate. Miss G. His gude Kate /—Well, I hate the Scotch accent of all languages under the sun, Christy, In a married naan,.I suppose you mane, Florry. Miss G, This is the way with officers continually 1 — passing themselves for ba- chelors. Christy, Then, Florry, we'd best re- A DRAMA. 353 commend it to the drum-major the next town he'd go into, to put up an adver- tisement in capitals on his cap, warning all women whom it may consarn, that he is a married man. Mm G. 'Tis no consarn of mine, I'll assure you. Sir, at any rate, for I should scorn to think of a Scotchman any way. — And what's a drum-major, after all ? - [Exit in a passion.) Christy, Bo boo ! bo boo ! bo boo ! — There's a tantarara now, but never mind her, she takes them tantarums by turns. Now depend upon it, Mr. Gilbert, it's love that's at the bottom of it all, clane and clear. Gilb, It's very like. Sir — I can't say. Christy. Oh, but I can say. — I know her, egg and bird. The thing is, she's mad with you, and that has set her all thro* other. — But we'll finish our tumbler of punch. [Draws forward the table, and sets chairs.) Gilb. [Aside.) Egg and bird ! — mad ! All through other ! — Confound me, if I 354 THE ROSE, &C. understand one word the man is sayings but I will make him understand me, if he can understand plain English. Mr. H. {Aside.) I'll stand by and see fair play. — I have my own thought. Gilh. Now, Mr. , to be plain with you at once — here's £\hy guineas in gold, and if you will take them, and give me up the promise you have got of the new inn, you shall be welcome. — That's all I have to say, if I was to talk till Christmas — and fewest words is best in matters of business. Christy. Fifty guineas in gold ! — Don't part with a guinea of them, man. — Put 'em up again. You shall have the new inn without a word more, and into the bargain, my good will and my daughter — and you're a jantleman, and can't say no to that, any w: y. Gilb. Yes, but I can tho' — since you drive me to the wall, I must say no, and I do say no. And, dang it, I would have been hanged almost as soon as say so much to a father. — I beg your pardon. A DRAMA. , 355 Sir, but my heart is given to another. — Good evening to you. Christy, [Holding him as he attempts to go.) Take it coolly, and listen to me, and tell me — was you ever married be- fore, Mr. Gilbert ? Gilb. Never. Christy, Then I was — and I can tell you that I found to my cost, love was all in all with me before I was married, and after I had been married a tweFmonth, money was all in all with me ; for I had the wife, and I had not the money, and without the money, the wife must have starved. Gilb. But I can work, Sir, and will, head, hands, and heart for the woman I love, Christy. Asy said — hard done. Ma- bel Larken is a very pretty girl. — But wait till I tell you what Kit Monaghan said to me yesterday. I'm going to be married. Sir, says he to me. — Aye, so you mintioned to me a fortnight ago. Kit, says I — to Rose Dermod, isn't it ? says I. 356 THE ROSE, &C. Not at all, Sir, says he — it is to Peggy M'Grath, this time. — And what quarrel had you to Rose Dermod ? says I — None in life. Sir, says he; but Peggy M'Grath had two cows, and Rose Dermod had but the one, and in my mind there is not the differ of a cow betwix* one woman and another. Do you understand me now, Mr. Gilbert ? Gilb, Sir, we shall never understand one another— pray let me go, before I get into a passion. (Breaks from Christy, and exit) Christy, Hollo ! Hollo ! Mr. Gilbert ! {Mr» Gilbert returns) one word more about the new inn — IVe done about Florry, and upon my conscience, I believe he's right enough. — Only that I*m her father, and in duty bound to push her as well as I can. Gilb. Well Sir, about the inn — Be at a word with me — for I*m not in a humour to be trifled with. Mr. H, [Aside.) Fire beneath snow^^ wbo*d ha' thought it. A DRAMA. 357 Christy, Then, if it was sixty guineas, instead of fifty, l*d take it, and you should have my bargain of the inn. Mr. H, {Asid€.) 1*11 not say my word until I see what the bottom of the men are. Glib, {Aside.) Why to make up sixty, I must sell my watch even; but I'll do it. Any thing to please Mabel. — (Aloud.) Well, sixty guineas, if you won't give it for less. Christy. Done. [Eagerly.) Mr. H. Stay! stay! Mr. Gilbert, — Have a care, Mr. Gallagher! — The lady might not be well pleased at your handing over her written promise, Mr. Gallagher. — Wait a wee bit. — Don't conclude this bargain till you are before the lady at the castle. Gilb. So best — no doubt. Christy. All one to me^ — so I pocket the sixty. Mr. H. [Aside to Gilbert.) Come off. Gilb, We shall meet then at the castle 358 THE ROSE, &c. to night — till then, a good day to you, Mr. Gallagher. {Exeunt Gilbert and Mr, Hope.) Christ]/, Good night to ye kindly, gentlemen — There's a fool to love for you now ! If l*d ax'd a hundred, I'd ha* got it. — But still there's only one thing, Ferrinafad will go mad when she learns I've sold the new inn, and she to live on in this hole, and no place for the piano. — I hope Biddy did not hear a sentence of it, (Calls,) Biddy 1 Biddy Doyle! Biddyj can't ye ? [Enter Biddy.) Biddy, What is it ? Christy, Did you hear any thing. — Oh, I see ye did by your eyes. — Now hark'ee, my good girl. Don't mention a sentence to Ferrinafad of my settling the new inn, till the bargain's com plate, and money in both pockets — you hear. Biddy, . I do. Sir. But I did not hear afore. Christy, Becaase — see though she's my daughter, she's crass — I'll empty my mind to you, Biddy. A DRAMA. 359 Biddy. [Aside.) He has taken enough to like to be talking to poor Biddy. Christy, Afore Florry was set up on her high horse by that little indepen- dency her doating grandmother left her, and until she got her head turned with that Ferrinafad edication, this Florry was a good girl enough. — But now what is she ? — Given over to vanities of all sorts, and no comfort in life to me, or use at all — not like a daughter at all, nor mistress of the house neither, nor likely to be well-married neither, or a credit to me that way ! — And saucy to me on account of that money of hers I liquidated un- known'st. Biddy. True for ye. Sir. Christy. Then it all comes from the little fingers getting to be the master of me. — For I'm confident that when sober, I was not born to be a rogue naturally — Was not I honest Christy once — [ready to cry). — Oh Tm a great penitent ! But there's no help for it now. Biddy. True for you, Sir. 360 THE ROSE, &C. Christy, Vm an unfortunate cratur, and all the neighbours know it. — So, Biddy dear, IVe nothing for it but to take another glass. Biddy, Oh no, Sir, not when you'll be going up to the castle to the lady — you'll be in no condition. Christy. Tut girl — 'twill give me heart ■ — Let's be merry any way. [Exity singing) " They say it was care kiird the cat, " That starvM her, and causM her to die; " But ril be much wiser than that, " For the devil a care will care I." SCENE III. Widotv Larken's Cottage. Widow Larken, Mabel, and Gilbert. Gith. And could you doubt me, Mabel, after I told you I loved you ? — Mahet, Never would nor could have A DRAMA. 361 doubted, had you once told me as much, Mr. Gilbert. Widow. There was the thing, Mr. Gilbert, — you know it was you that was to speak, if you thought of her. Glib. Do not you remember the rose and the shamrock ? Widow. Oh, she does well enough, and that's what her heart was living upon, till I killed the hope. ^Gilb, You I— killed the hope !— I thought you were my friend. Widow. And so I am, and was, — but when you did not speak. Gilb. If I had not loved her so well, I might have been able, perhaps, to have said more. Widow. Then that's enough. — Mabel mavourneen wear the rose he give you now. — ril let you — and see it's fresh enough. — She put it in water — oh I she had hope still ! Mabel. And was not I right to trust him, mother ? Gilb. Mabel, if I don't do my best R 30^ THE ROSE, &C. to make you happy all my days, I de- serve to be that's all ! — but I'm going to tell you about the new inn. — That's what I have been about ever since, and I'm to have it for sixty guineas. Enter Owen, rubbing his hands. Owen. You see, mother, I was right about Gilbert and Mabel. — But Mr. Hope and the band is gone up to the castle. — Come, come! — time to be off ! ' — no delay ! — Gilbert, Mabel, oif with you. — [He pushes them off.) And glad enough ye are to go together. — Mother, dear, here's your bonnet and the cloak, — here, round ye throw 1 — That's it, take my arm ! — {Widow stumbles as he pulls her on.) Oh, I'm putting you past your speed, mother. Widow, No, no. — No fear in life for the mother that has the support of such a son. A DRAMA. 363 SCENE IV. A large apartment in Bannow-CastUy or- namented with the Rose, Thistle, and Shamrock, — The hall opens into a lawn, where the country-people are seen dan* cing. Enter Clara, Sir William Hamden, and a train of dancers, Clara. Now, Sir, as we have here English, Scotch^ and Irish dancers, we can have the English country-dance, the Scotch reel, and the Irish jig. Sir W. Then to begin with the Irish jig, which I have never seen. Clara. You shall see it in perfection. (An Irish jig is danced, a Scotch reel follows, and an English country- dance. When Clara has danced down the country- dajice, she goes zvith her part- ner to Sir William Hamden.) Clara. We are going out to look at the dancers on the lawn. R 2 364 THE ROSE, &C. Sir W. Take me with you, for I wish to see those merry dancers, — I hear them Jaughing. — I love to hear the country- people laugh. — Their^s is always *' the heart's laugh,'' [Exeunt Sir William and Clara.) (The dancers recommence, and after dancing for a few minutes, they go off just as Sir William and Clara return, entering from the hall- door.) Clara, My dear uncle, thank you for going out among these poor people, and for speaking so kindly to them. One would think that you had lived in Ire- land all your life, you know so well how to go straight to Irish heads and Irish hearts by kindness, and by what they love almost as well, humour, and good humour. — Thank you again, and again. Sir W, My dear niece, you need not thank me, for if you had nothing to do with these people, — if you had never been born, I should have loved the Irish for their own sakes. — How easy it is to A DRAMA. 365 please them. — How easy to make them happy, and how grateful they are, even for a few words of kindness. Clara, Yes. — This I may say with- out partiality; — whatever other faults my countrymen have, they certainly are a grateful people ! — My father, who knew them well, taught me, from my childhood, to trust to Irish gratitude. Sir W. [Changing his tone.) But on the other hand, it is my duty to watch over your Irish generosity, Clara.— Have you made any more promises, my dear, since morning ? Clara, Oh, no. Sir ! and I have heartily repented of that which I made this morning."' — For I find that this man to whom I have promised the new inn, is a sad drunken good-for-nothing per- son; and as for his daughter, whom I have never yet seen Sir W, [Looking towards the entrance from the laxon.) " But who is this ? What thing of sea or land ? " Female of sex it seems — 566 THE ROSE, &C. " That so bedecked, ornate, and gay, " Comes this way sailing. Enter Miss Gallagher. Miss G. Sir, I beg pardon. — But I was told Miss 0*Hara would wish to speak with Christy Gallagher, and I'm his daughter, — he not being very well to night. — He will be up with Miss in the morning, — but is confined to his bed with a pain about his heart, he took, just when I was coming away. (Christy*^ voice heard , singing to the tune qf^^ St. Patrick's day in the morning.") " Full bumpers of whiskey " Will make us all frisky, " On Patrick's day in the morning.** Miss G. (Aside,) Oh! King of glory, if he is not come up after all ! Clara, " What noise is that, unlike the former sound?" Sir W. Only some man, singing in honor of St. Patrick, I suppose. Enter Christy Gallagher, — Biddy trying to hold him back, Christy, Tut ! let me in, I know the A DRAMA. 367 lady is hercj and I must thank her as be- coming (Clara puts her hands before her face^ and retires as he advances.) Miss G, Oh ! father, keep out. — You're not in a condition. Sir W. John ! Thomas I — carry this man off. Christy. Ah, now, just let me remark to his honor. — Did he ever hear this song in England ? — [He struggles, and sings while they are carrying him off) *' O'Rourke's noble feast shall ne'er be forgot, " By those who were there, and by those who were not/' But it was not O'Rourke's noble feast at all, it was O'Hara's noble feast, to the best of my knowledge — I'll take my affidavit, — and am not I here, on the spot, ready and proud to fight any one that denies the contrary. — Let me alone, Flor- ry, for Tm no babi)y to be taken out of the room. — Ready and proud, I say I am, to fight any tin men in the county, or the kingdom itself, or the three kingdoms en- ^QS THE ROSE, &C. tirely, that would go for — to dare for to offer — to articulate the contrary. — So it's Miss O'Hara for ever, huzza! a! a! a! a! Sir W, Carry him off this instant. — Begone ! {The servants carry off Christy Gal- lagher, while he sings to the time of " One bottle more.") " Oh, give me but whiskey, continted Til sing, " Hibernia for ever, and God save the King !" [Miss Gallagher directs, and expedites her father's retreat.) Clara, Shame ! shame ! — Is this the tenant I have chosen ? Miss G. Indeed, and indeed, then. Miss O'Hara, I often preach to him, but there's no use in life, preaching to him, — as good preaching to the winds ! — for, drunk or sober, he has an answer ready at all points. — It is not wit he wants, Sir. Sir W. And he is happy in having a daughter, who knows how to make the best of his faults, I see. — What an excel- lent landlord he will be for this new inn! Miss G. Oh, certainly, Sir, — only it's being St. Patrick's night, he would be A DRAMA. 369 more inexcusable ; and as to the new inn, please heaven, he shall get no pace on earth till he takes an oath afore the priest against spirits, good or bad, for a twil- month to come, before ever I trust a foot of his in the new inn. Clara, But, Ma'am, from your own appearance, I should apprehend that you would not be suited to the business your- self. — I should suppose you would think it beneath you to keep an inn. Miss G. Why, Ma'am — why. Sir, you know when it is called an hotel, it's ano- ther thing, — and I'm sure I've a great re- gard for the family, and there's nothing I wouldn't do to oblige Miss O'Hara. Clara. Miss Gallagher, let me beg that if you wish to oblige me Enter Gilbert. Sir W. Well, Gilbert ? Gilb, Only, Sir, if you and Miss O'Hara were at leisure, Sir, — one Mr. Andrew Hope, the master of the band, would wish to be allowed to come in to r3 370 THE ROSE, &C. sing a sort of a welcome home, they have set to music, Sir, for Miss O'Hara. Clara. I do believe this is the y^xy song which that drunken man gave me this morning, and for which 1 gave him the promise of the inn.-— I shall be ashamed to hear the song. Sir W, Let me hear it at all events. — Desire Mr. Andrew Hope, and his merry- men-all, to walk in. [Exit Gilbert.) Enter Mr, Hope and hand, — Some of the country-people peep in^ as if wishing to epter. Sir W. Come in, my good friends. Enter, among others, the Widow Larken and Mabel, and Owen. — l&xMy follows timidly, — Miss Gallagher takes a con- spicuous place. — Sir William and Clara continue speaking. Sir W, Did Gilbert introduce his bride elect to you, Clara ? Clara. Yes. — Mabel Larken, that girl with the sweet modest countenance, — A DRAMA. 371 and hef ttiOther, that respectable looking woman ; and her brother, I see is here, that boy with the quick, intelligent eyes. I know all the family, — know them all to be good, — and these were the people I might have served. — Oh, fool ! fool ! Sir W. Well ! well ! well \—'T\s over now, my dear Clara, you will be wiser another time. — Come, Mr. Hope, give us a little flattery, to put us in good humour with ourselves. (The band prelude ; hut just as they be- gin. Sir William sees Christy, who is coming in softly^ holding back the skirts of his coat. — Sir William iii a loud voice exclaims.) Sir W. Turn out that man !— How dare you return to interrupt us. Sir ? — Turn out that man. Christy, [Falling on his knees.) Oh ! please your honor, I beg your pardon for one minute; — only just give me lave to insense your honoris honor. — l*m not the same man at all. 2721 THE ROSE, &C. Sir W. Stand up, stand up, — an Eng- lishman cannot bear to see a man kneel to him. — Stand up, pray, if you can. Christy. Then I can, plase your ho- nor, (rises) since I got a shock. Clara, What shock ? — What do you mean ? Christy. Oh, nothing in life. Miss, that need consarn you, — only a fall I got from my horse, which the child they set to lead me, would put me up upon, and it come down and kilt me ; for it was*n't a proper horse for an unfortunate man like me, that was overtaken, as I was then, — and it's well, but I got a kick of the baast. Sir W. Do you say you were kicked by a horse ? Christy, Not at all, plase your honor. — I say it was well hut I got a kick of the baast. — But it's all for the best now — for, see I'm now as sober as a jidge, and quite as any lamb ; and if I'd get lave only just to keep in this here corner. A DRAMA. 373 I would be no let or hindrance to any. — Oh dear. Miss, spake for me ; — Vm an ould man. Miss, that your father's honor was partial to always, and called me honest Christy, which I was once, and till his death too. Sir W, What a strange mixture is this man. Clara, Pray let him stay, uncle — he's sober now. Sir W. Say not one word more then, stand still there in your corner. Christy, And not a word for my life, — not breathe, even — to please you ! be- caase I've a little business to mintion to the lady. — Sixty guineas to resave from Mr. Gilbert, yonder. Long life to you. Miss, — but I'll say no more till this Scotchman has done with his fiddle and his musics. Sir W, I thought. Sir, you were not to have spoken another syllable. (Christy puts his finger on his lips, and bows to Sir William and to Clara.) Sir W. Now, Mr. Hope. 374 THE ROSE, &C. Mr, Hope sings, and the Band join in chorus. Though Bannow's heiress, fair and young. Hears polished praise from ev'ry tongue j Yet good and kind, she'll not disdain The tribute of the lowly swain. The heart's warm welcome, Clara, meets thee ; Thy native land, dear lady, greets thee. Tliat open brow, that courteous grace. Bespeaks thee of thy generous race ; Thy father's soul is in thy smile — Thrice blest his name in Erin's isle. The heart's warm welcome, Clara, meets thee ; Thy native land, dear lady, greets thee. The bright star shining on the night. Betokening good, spreads quick delight ; But quicker far, more glad surprise. Wakes the kind radiance of her eyes. The heart's warm welcome, Clara, meets thee ;. Thy native land, dear lady, greets thee.* Christy, Then I'm not ashamed, any. way, of that song of mine. Sir W, Of yours ? — Is it possible that it is yours ? * Set to music by Mr. Webbe. A DRAMA, 375 Clara. It is indeed. — These are the very lines he gave me this morning. Christy, And I humbly thank you. Madam or Miss, for having got them set to the musics. Clara. I had nothing to do with that. We must thank Mr. Hope for this agree- able surprise. Christy. Why then, I tank you, Mr. Drum. Mr. H. You owe me no thanks, Sir. — I will take none from you. Christy. No — for I didn't remember giving you the copy. — I suppose Florry did. Miss G. Not I, Sir. Christy. Or the schoolmaster's foul copy may be, for it was he was putting the song down for me on paper. — My own hand' writing shaking so bad, I could not make a fair copy fit for the lady. Mr. H. Mr. Gallagher, don't plunge farther in falsehood — you know the truth is, that song's not yours. 376 THE ROSE, &C. Christy, Why then, by all Mr. H. Stop, stop, Mr. Gallagher. — Stop, I advise you. Christy. Why then, I won't stop at any thing — for the song's my own. Mr. H, In one sense of the word, may be, it may be called your own. Sir, for you bought it, I know. Christy. I bought it ? — Oh, who put that in your Scotch brains ? — Whoever it was, was a big liar. Biddy. No liar at all. Sir— I axe your pardon— 'Twas I. Christy. And you overheard my thoughts then, talking to myself — ye traitor ! Biddy. No, Sir — again I ax your pardon. — No listener, Biddy Doyle. But I was at the schoolmaster's, to get him pen a letter for me to my poor father, and there with him I heard how Christy bought the song, and seen the first copy — and the child of the house told me all about it, and how it was lift there by Mr. Owen Larken. A DRAMA. 577 Sir W. and Clara^ [Joyfully.) Owen Larken ! — you ? Christy, All lies — asy talk — asy talk — asy to belie a poor man. Mr, H, If you tell the truth, you can tell us the next verse, for there*s another which we did not yet sing. Christy, Not in my copy, which is the original. Sir W, If you have another verse, let us hear it — and that will decide the bu- siness. Christy, Oh, the devil another line, but what's lame, I'll engage — and forged^i as you'll see. Mr, Hope sings, Quick spring the feelings of the heart. When touched by Clara*s gen'rous art ; Quick as the grateful shamrock springs. In the good fairies' favored rings. Clara. What does Christy say now ? Christy. Why, Miss, I say that's well said for the shamrock any way. — i\nd all that's in it for me is this — the school- 378 THE ROSE, &C. master was a rogue, that did not give me that verse in for my money. Sir W, Then you acknowledge you bought it. Christy, What harm, plase your honor. And would not I have a right to buy what plases me, — and when bought and ped for, isn't it mine in law and right ? But I am mighty unlucky this night.— So, come along, Florry — we are worsted, see ! — No use to be standing here longer, the laughing-stock of all that's in it — Ferrinafad. Miss G, Murder ! — Father, then here's all you done for me, by your lies and your whiskey. I'll go straight from ye, and lodge with Mrs. Mulrooney. — Biddy, what's that you're grinning at? — Please to walk home out of that. Biddy. Miss Florinda, I am partly engaged to dance. — But I won't be laving you in your downfal. — So here's your cloak, — and lane on me. Widow, Why then, Biddy, we'll never forget you in our prosperity. A DRAMA. 379 Mabel and Owen, Never, never. — YouVe a good girl, Biddy. {Exeunt Miss Gallagher, Biddy, and Christy.) Clara, I am glad they are gone. Sir* W, I congratulate you, my dear niece, upon having got rid of tenants who would have disgraced your choice. Clara, These {turning to Owen, Mabel, and her mother,) these will do honor to it. My written promise was to grant the poet's petition. — Owen, you are the poet — what is your petition ? Oiven, May I speak ? — May I say all I wish ? Clara and Sir W, Yes, speak — say all you wish. Owen, I am but a young boy, and not able to keep the new inn — but Mr. Gilbert and Mabel, with my mother*s help, would keep it well, I think; — and it*s they I should wish to have it. Ma'am, if it were pleasing to you. Sir W, And what would become of yourself, my good lad ? 380 THE ROSE, &C. Owen. Time enough. Sir, to think of myself, when I've seen my mother and sister settled. Sir W. Then as you won*t think of yourself, I must think for you. — Your education I find has been well begun, and I will take care it shall not be left half done. Widozv. Oh, I'm too happy this mi- nute ! — But great joy can say little. Mabel, {Aside.) And great love the same. Mr. H, This day is the happiest I have seen since I left the land of cakes. Gilb, Thank you, Mr. Hope. — And when I say thank you — why I feel it. — 'Twas you who helped us at the dead lift. Sir W. You see I was right, Gilbert. The Scotch make good friends. (Gil- bert bows.) And now, Clara, my love, what shall we call the new inn ? — for it must have a name. — Since Ensflish, Scotch, and Irish have united to obtain A DRAMA. 381 it, let the sign be, the Rose, Thistle and Shamrock. Clara, And, may they always be hap- pily united ! THE END. Correct List of Mr. and Miss EdgewortNs Works. Early Lessons for Children, Q, vols. 5s. Continuation of Ditto, 2 vols. 6s. Parent's Assistant; or, Stories for Chil- dren, 6 vols. 12.S. Explanations of Poetry, by Mr. Edge- worth, Ss. Readings on Poetry, by the same, Ss. Essays on Practical Education, by Mr. and Miss Edgeworth, 2 vols. ]/. Is. Professional Education, by Mr. Edge- worth, 1 vol. 12s. Letters for Literary Ladies, 45. Castle List of Mr. and Miss Edgeworth's Works. Castle Rackrent, 4s. Essay on Irish Bulls, by Mr. and Miss Edgeworth, 5s. Moral Tales, 3 vols. lOs. 6d. Belinda, 3 vols 155. Leonora, 2 vols. 105. The Modern Griselda, 45. Popular Tales, 3 vols. 125. Tales of Fashionable Life, vols. 1, 2, 3, 185. Ditto, vols. 4. 5, 6, 21s. Patronage, 4 vols. 285. Comic Dramas, 75. Letter to Lord Charlemont on the Telegraph, by Mr. Edgeworth. Mr. Edgeworth's Speeches in Parlia- ment. Essay on the Construction of Roads and Carriages, by Mr. Edgeworth. Se- cond Edition, with additions and corrections. Harrington and Ormond, Tales in 3 vols. 1/. l5. This This Day is Published hy R, HUNTER, Successor to Mr, Johnson, in St, FauVs Church-yurd- 1. KARAMANIA; OR, A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THE SOUTH COAST OF ASIA MINOR, And of the Remains of Antiquity : with Maps, Plans, Views, &c. Collected during a Survey of that Coast under the orders of the Lords Com- missioners of the Admiralty, in the Years 1811 and 1812. By FRANCIS BEAUFORT, F.R.S. Captain of his Majesty s Ship Frederikssteen, Also, in one Volume, 12mo. price 3s. 6i. in hoards. 2. The Good Grandmother and her Offspring. A Tale. By Mrs. Hofland, Author of A Son of a Genius, &c. &c. 3. SLEEP, S. SLEEP, MOTHER, SLEEP, a Song with an Accompaniment for the Piano-Forte, or Harp, taken from the Rose, Thistle, and Shamrock, and respectfully inscribed to Miss Edgeworth, by the Composer, Samuel Webbe, Junior. ^ 4. BANNOW^S HEIRESS, inscribed to Richard Lovell Edgeworth, Esq. by the same Composer. 5. THERE'S NONE BUT A FOOL WILL WED ON A SUDDEN, a Song, by the same. 6. 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