University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I. CHARLOTTE'S Apartment.

CHARLOTTE leading in MARIA.

CHARLOTTE.

THIS is so kind, my sweet friend, to come to see me at this moment. I declare, if I were going to be married in a few days, as you are, I should scarce have found time to visit my friends.

MARIA.

Do you think, then, that there is an impropriety in it?—How should you dispose of your time?

CHARLOTTE.

Why, I should be shut up in my chamber; and my head would so run upon—upon—upon the solemn ceremony that I was to pass through!—I declare, it would take me above two hours merely to learn that little monosyllable—Yes. Ah! my dear, your sentimental imagination does not conceive what that little tiny word implies.

MARIA.

Spare me your raillery, my sweet friend; I should love your agreeable vivacity at any other time.

CHARLOTTE.

Why, this is the very time to amuse you. You grieve me to see you look so unhappy.

MARIA.

Have I not reason to look so?

CHARLOTTE.

What new grief distresses you?

MARIA.

Oh! how sweet it is, when the heart is borne down with misfortune, to recline and repose on the bosom of friendship! Heaven knows that, although it is improper for a young lady to praise a gentleman, yet I have ever concealed Mr. Dimple's foibles, and spoke of him as of one whose reputation I expected would be linked with mine; but his late conduct towards me has turned my coolness into contempt. He behaves as if he meant to insult and disgust me; whilst my father, in the last conversation on the subject of our marriage, spoke of it as a matter which lay near his heart, and in which he would not bear contradiction.

CHARLOTTE.

This works well; oh! the generous Dimple. I'll endeavour to excite her to discharge him. [Aside.]
But, my dear friend, your happiness depends on yourself. Why don't you discard him? Though the match has been of long standing, I would not be forced

to make myself miserable: no parent in the world should oblige me to marry the man I did not like.

MARIA.

Oh! my dear, you never lived with your parents, and do not know what influence a father's frowns have upon a daughter's heart. Besides, what have I to alledge against Mr. Dimple, to justify myself to the world? He carries himself so smoothly, that every one would impute the blame to me, and call me capricious.

CHARLOTTE.

And call her capricious! Did ever such an objection start into the heart of woman? For my part, I wish I had fifty lovers to discard, for no other reason than because I did not fancy them. My dear Maria, you will forgive me; I know your candour and confidence in me; but I have at times, I confess, been led to suppose that some other gentleman was the cause of your aversion to Mr. Dimple.

MARIA.

No, my sweet friend, you may be assured, that though I have seen many gentlemen I could prefer to Mr. Dimple, yet I never saw one that I thought I could give my hand to, until this morning.

CHARLOTTE.

This morning!

MARIA.

Yes; one of the strangest accidents in the world. The odious Dimple, after disgusting me with his conversation,

had just left me, when a gentleman, who, it seems, boards in the same house with him, saw him coming out of our door, and, the houses looking very much alike, he came into our house instead of his lodgings; nor did he discover his mistake until he got into the parlour, where I was; he then bowed so gracefully, made such a genteel apology, and looked so manly and noble!—

CHARLOTTE.

I see some folks, though it is so great an impropriety, can praise a gentleman, when he happens to be the man of their fancy. [Aside.]

MARIA.

I don't know how it was,—I hope he did not think me indelicate,—but I asked him, I believe, to sit down, or pointed to a chair. He sat down, and, instead of having recourse to observations upon the weather, or hackneyed criticisms upon the theatre, he entered readily into a conversation worthy a man of sense to speak, and a lady of delicacy and sentiment to hear. He was not strictly handsome, but he spoke the language of sentiment, and his eyes looked tenderness and honour.

CHARLOTTE.

Oh! [eagerly]
you sentimental, grave girls, when your hearts are once touched, beat us rattles a bar's length. And so you are quite in love with this he-angel?

MARIA.

In love with him! How can you rattle so, Charlotte? am I not going to be miserable? [Sighs.]
In love with a gentleman I never saw but one hour in my life, and don't know his name! No; I only wished that the man I shall marry may look, and talk, and act, just like him. Besides, my dear, he is a married man.

CHARLOTTE.

Why, that was good-natured—he told you so, I suppose, in mere charity, to prevent you falling in love with him?

MARIA.

He didn't tell me so; [peevishly]
he looked as if he was married.

CHARLOTTE.

How, my dear; did he look sheepish?

MARIA.

I am sure he has a susceptible heart, and the ladies of his acquaintance must be very stupid not to—

CHARLOTTE.

Hush! I hear some person coming. Enter LETITIA.

LETITIA.

My dear Maria, I am happy to see you. Lud! what a pity it is that you have purchased your wedding clothes.

MARIA.

I think so. [Sighing.]

LETITIA.

Why, my dear, there is the sweetest parcel of silks come over you ever saw! Nancy Brilliant has a full suit come; she sent over her measure, and it fits her to a hair; it is immensely dressy, and made for a court-hoop. I thought they said the large hoops were going out of fashion.

CHARLOTTE.

Did you see the hat? Is it a fact that the deep laces round the border is still the fashion?

DIMPLE
within.

Upon my honour, Sir.

MARIA.

Ha! Dimple's voice! My dear, I must take leave of you. There are some things necessary to be done at our house. Can't I go through the other room? Enter DIMPLE and MANLY.

DIMPLE.

Ladies, your most obedient.

CHARLOTTE.

Miss Van Rough, shall I present my brother Henry to you? Colonel Manly, Maria,—Miss Van Rough, brother.

MARIA.

Her brother! [turns and sees Manly.]
Oh! my heart! the very gentleman I have been praising.

MANLY.

The same amiable girl I saw this morning!

CHARLOTTE.

Why, you look as if you were acquainted.

MANLY.

I unintentionally intruded into this lady's presence this morning, for which she was so good as to promise me her forgiveness.

CHARLOTTE.

Oh! ho! is that the case! Have these two penserosos been together? Were they Henry's eyes that looked so tenderly? [Aside.]
And so you promised to pardon him? and could you be so good-natured? have you really forgiven him? I beg you would do it for my sake [whispering loud to Maria].
But, my dear, as you are in such haste, it would be cruel to detain you; I can show you the way through the other room.

MARIA.

Spare me, my sprightly friend.

MANLY.

The lady does not, I hope, intend to deprive us of the pleasure of her company so soon.

CHARLOTTE.

She has only a mantua-maker who waits for her at home. But, as I am to give my opinion of the dress, I think she cannot go yet. We were talking of the fashions when you came in, but I suppose the subject must be changed to something of more importance now. Mr. Dimple, will you favour us with an account of the public entertainments?

DIMPLE.

Why, really, Miss Manly, you could not have asked me a question more mal-apropos. For my part, I must confess that, to a man who has travelled, there is nothing that is worthy the name of amusement to be found in this city.

CHARLOTTE.

Except visiting the ladies.

DIMPLE.

Pardon me, Madam; that is the avocation of a man of taste. But for amusement, I positively know of nothing that can be called so, unless you dignify with that title the hopping once a fortnight to the sound of two or three squeaking fiddles, and the clattering of the old tavern windows, or sitting to see the miserable mummers, whom you call actors, murder comedy and make a farce of tragedy.

MANLY.

Do you never attend the theatre, Sir?

DIMPLE.

I was tortured there once.

CHARLOTTE.

Pray, Mr. Dimple, was it a tragedy or a comedy?

DIMPLE.

Faith, Madam, I cannot tell; for I sat with my back to the stage all the time, admiring a much better actress than any there—a lady who played the fine woman to perfection; though, by the laugh of the horrid creatures round me, I suppose it was comedy. Yet, on second thoughts, it might be some hero in a tragedy, dying so comically as to set the whole house in an uproar. Colonel, I presume you have been in Europe?

MANLY.

Indeed, Sir, I was never ten leagues from the continent.

DIMPLE.

Believe me, Colonel, you have an immense pleasure to come; and when you shall have seen the brilliant exhibitions of Europe, you will learn to despise the amusements of this country as much as I do.

MANLY.

Therefore I do not wish to see them; for I can never esteem that knowledge valuable which tends to give me a distaste for my native country.

DIMPLE.

Well, Colonel, though you have not travelled, you have read.

MANLY.

I have, a little; and by it have discovered that there is a laudable partiality which ignorant, untravelled men entertain for everything that belongs to their native country. I call it laudable; it injures no one; adds to their own happiness; and, when extended, becomes the noble principle of patriotism. Travelled gentlemen rise superior, in their own opinion, to this; but if the contempt which they contract for their country is the most valuable acquisition of their travels, I am far from thinking that their time and money are well spent.

MARIA.

What noble sentiments!

CHARLOTTE.

Let my brother set out where he will in the fields of conversation, he is sure to end his tour in the temple of gravity.

MANLY.

Forgive me, my sister. I love my country; it has its foibles undoubtedly;—some foreigners will with pleasure remark them—but such remarks fall very ungracefully from the lips of her citizens.

DIMPLE.

You are perfectly in the right, Colonel—America has her faults.

MANLY.

Yes, Sir; and we, her children, should blush for them in private, and endeavour, as individuals, to reform them. But, if our country has its errors in common with other countries, I am proud to say America—I mean the United States—has displayed virtues and achievements which modern nations may admire, but of which they have seldom set us the example.

CHARLOTTE.

But, brother, we must introduce you to some of our gay folks, and let you see the city, such as it is. Mr. Dimple is known to almost every family in town; he will doubtless take a pleasure in introducing you.

DIMPLE.

I shall esteem every service I can render your brother an honour.

MANLY.

I fear the business I am upon will take up all my time, and my family will be anxious to hear from me.

MARIA.

His family! but what is it to me that he is married! [Aside.]
Pray, how did you leave your lady, Sir?

CHARLOTTE.

My brother is not married [observing her anxiety]
; it is only an odd way he has of expressing himself. Pray, brother, is this business, which you make your continual excuse, a secret?

MANLY.

No, sister; I came hither to solicit the honourable Congress, that a number of my brave old soldiers may be put upon the pension-list, who were, at first, not judged to be so materially wounded as to need the public assistance. My sister says true [to Maria]
: I call my late soldiers my family. Those who were not in the field in the late glorious contest, and those who were, have their respective merits; but, I confess, my old brother-soldiers are dearer to me than the former description. Friendships made in adversity are lasting; our countrymen may forget us, but that is no reason why we should forget one another. But I must leave you; my time of engagement approaches.

CHARLOTTE.

Well, but, brother, if you will go, will you please to conduct my fair friend home? You live in the same street—I was to have gone with her myself— [Aside].
A lucky thought.

MARIA.

I am obliged to your sister, Sir, and was just intending to go. [Going.]

MANLY.

I shall attend her with pleasure. [Exit with Maria, followed by Dimple and Charlotte.]

MARIA.

Now, pray, don't betray me to your brother.

CHARLOTTE.
[Just as she sees him make a motion to take his leave.]

One word with you, brother, if you please. [Follows them out.
Manent, DIMPLE and LETITIA.

DIMPLE.

You received the billet I sent you, I presume?

LETITIA.

Hush!—Yes.

DIMPLE.

When shall I pay my respects to you?

LETITIA.

At eight I shall be unengaged. Reënter CHARLOTTE.

DIMPLE.

Did my lovely angel receive my billet? [to Charlotte.]

CHARLOTTE.

Yes.

DIMPLE.

At eight I shall be at home unengaged.

DIMPLE.

Unfortunate! I have a horrid engagement of business at that hour. Can't you finish your visit earlier and let six be the happy hour?

CHARLOTTE.

You know your influence over me.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II. VAN ROUGH'S House.

VAN ROUGH,
alone.

IT cannot possibly be true! The son of my old friend can't have acted so unadvisedly. Seventeen thousand pounds! in bills! Mr. Transfer must have been mistaken. He always appeared so prudent, and talked so well upon money matters, and even assured me that he intended to change his dress for a suit of clothes which would not cost so much, and look more substantial, as soon as he married. No, no, no! it can't be; it cannot be. But, however, I must look out sharp. I did not care what his principles or his actions were, so long as he minded the main chance. Seventeen thousand pounds! If he had lost it in trade, why the best men may have ill-luck; but to game it away, as Transfer says—why, at this rate, his whole estate may go in one night, and, what is ten times worse, mine into the

bargain. No, no; Mary is right. Leave women to look out in these matters; for all they look as if they didn't know a journal from a ledger, when their interest is concerned they know what's what; they mind the main chance as well as the best of us. I wonder Mary did not tell me she knew of his spending his money so foolishly. Seventeen thousand pounds! Why, if my daughter was standing up to be married, I would forbid the banns, if I found it was to a man who did not mind the main chance.—Hush! I hear somebody coming. 'Tis Mary's voice; a man with her too! I shouldn't be surprised if this should be the other string to her bow. Aye, aye, let them alone; women understand the main chance.—Though, I' faith, I'll listen a little. [Retires into a closet.
MANLY leading in MARIA.

MANLY.

I hope you will excuse my speaking upon so important a subject so abruptly; but, the moment I entered your room, you struck me as the lady whom I had long loved in imagination, and never hoped to see.

MARIA.

Indeed, Sir, I have been led to hear more upon this subject than I ought.

MANLY.

Do you, then, disapprove my suit, Madam, or the abruptness of my introducing it? If the latter, my

peculiar situation, being obliged to leave the city in a few days, will, I hope, be my excuse; if the former, I will retire, for I am sure I would not give a moment's inquietude to her whom I could devote my life to please. I am not so indelicate as to seek your immediate approbation; permit me only to be near you, and by a thousand tender assiduities to endeavour to excite a grateful return.

MARIA.

I have a father, whom I would die to make happy; he will disapprove—

MANLY.

Do you think me so ungenerous as to seek a place in your esteem without his consent? You must—you ever ought to consider that man as unworthy of you who seeks an interest in your heart contrary to a father's approbation. A young lady should reflect that the loss of a lover may be supplied, but nothing can compensate for the loss of a parent's affection. Yet, why do you suppose your father would disapprove? In our country, the affections are not sacrificed to riches or family aggrandizement: should you approve, my family is decent, and my rank honourable.

MARIA.

You distress me, Sir.

MANLY.

Then I will sincerely beg your excuse for obtruding so disagreeable a subject, and retire. [Going.

MARIA.

Stay, Sir! your generosity and good opinion of me deserve a return; but why must I declare what, for these few hours, I have scarce suffered myself to think?—I am—

MANLY.

What?

MARIA.

Engaged, Sir; and, in a few days, to be married to the gentleman you saw at your sister's.

MANLY.

Engaged to be married! And have I been basely invading the rights of another? Why have you permitted this? Is this the return for the partiality I declared for you?

MARIA.

You distress me, Sir. What would you have me say? You are too generous to wish the truth. Ought I to say that I dared not suffer myself to think of my engagement, and that I am going to give my hand without my heart? Would you have me confess a partiality for you? If so, your triumph is compleat, and can be only more so when days of misery with the man I cannot love will make me think of him whom I could prefer.

MANLY
[after a pause].

We are both unhappy; but it is your duty to obey your parent—mine to obey my honour. Let us, therefore, both follow the path of rectitude; and of this we may be assured, that if we are not happy, we shall, at least, deserve to be so. Adieu! I dare not trust myself longer with you.

[Exeunt severally.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.