SCENE I.An Apartment atSir GeorgeSplendorville's.EnterSir George,followed byBluntly.SIR GEORGE.What's o'clock?[Rubbing his eyes.BLUNTLY.Just noon, sir.SIR GEORGE.Why was I waked so early?BLUNTLY.You were not waked, sir—You rung.SIR GEORGE.Then it was in my sleep—and could not yousuppose so?——After going to bed at five, tomake me rise at noon! (in a violent passion) Whatam I to do with myself, sir, till it is time to goout for the evening?BLUNTLY.You have company to dinner you know, sir.SIR GEORGE.No, it is to supper—and what am I to do withmyself till that time?BLUNTLY.Company again to supper, Sir?SIR GEORGE.Yes, and the self-same company I had lastnight—I invited them upon Lady Caroline'saccount—to give her an opportunity of revenge,for the money she lost here yesterday evening—and I am all weariness—I am all lassitude andfretfulness till the time arrives.—But now I callto mind, I have an affair that may engage myattention a few hours. You were giving meanaccount, Bluntly, of that beautiful girl I sawenter at Blackman's?BLUNTLY.Yes, sir, I saw her late last night in Mr.Blackman's house—she lodges there.SIR GEORGE.Indeed? In Blackman's house? I am glad tohear it.BLUNTLY.And he has assured me, sir, that she and herfamily are in the greatest poverty imaginable.SIR GEORGE.I am glad to hear it.BLUNTLY.They have been it seems above a twelvemonthin London, in search of some rich relations; butinstead of meeting with them, the father wasseen and remembered by an old creditor whohas thrown him into prison.SIR GEORGE.I am very glad to hear it.BLUNTLY.But the young woman, Sir, has been so shorta time in town, she has, seemingly, a great dealof modesty and virtue.SIR GEORGE.And I am very glad to hear of that too—I like her the better—you know I do—for I amweary of that ready compliance I meet withfrom the sex.BLUNTLY.But if I might presume to advise, sir—as youare so soon to be married to her ladyship, whomyou love with sincere affection, you should giveup this pursuit.SIR GEORGE.And Ishallgive it up, Bluntly, before mymarriage takes place—for, short as that time maybe, I expect this passion will be over and forgotten,long before the interval has passed away.—But that brother you were mentioning——BLUNTLY.I have some reason to think, that with all hispoverty, he has a notion of honour.SIR GEORGE.[Laughing.Oh! I have often tried the effect of a purse ofgold with people of honour.—Have you desiredthem to be sent for as I ordered.BLUNTLY.I have, Sir.SIR GEORGE.See if they are come. [ExitBluntly.] Ah!my dear Lady Caroline, it is you, and only you,whom I love with a sincere passion! but in waitingthis long expected event of our marriage,permit me to indulge some less exaltedwishes.EnterBluntly.SIR GEORGE.Are they come?BLUNTLY.The young man is in the anti-chamber, sir,but his sister is not with him. (Speaking toHenrywho is without) Please to walk this way—my master desires to see you.SIR GEORGE.No, no, no—I do not desire to see him, ifhis sister is not there.—Zounds you scoundrelwhat did you call him in for?EnterHenry,and bows.[Sir Georgelooks at him with a careless familiarity—Bluntlyleaves the room.]SIR GEORGE.Young man, I am told you are very poor—you may have heard that I am very rich—and Isuppose you are acquainted with the extensivemeaning of the word—generosity.HENRY.[After an hesitation.] Perhaps not, sir.SIR GEORGE.The meaning of it, as I comprehend, is, forthe rich to give to the poor.—Have you anything to ask of me in which I can serve you?HENRY.Your proposal is so general, I am at a losswhat to answer—but you are no doubt acquaintedwith the extensive meaning of the word,pride,—and that will apologize for the seeming indifferencewith which I receive your offer.SIR GEORGE.Your pride seems extensive indeed.—I heardyour father was in prison, and I pitied him.HENRY.Did you, Sir?—Did you pity my father:—I beg your pardon—if I have said any thing tooffend you pray forgive it—nor let my rudenessturn your companion away from him, to anyother object.SIR GEORGE.Would a small sum release him from confinement?Would about a hundred pounds——HENRY.I have no doubt but it would.SIR GEORGE.Then take that note.——Be not surprised—I mean to dispose of a thousand guineas this way,instead of fitting up a theatre in my own house.—That (giving him the note) is a mere trifle; mybox at the opera, or my dinner; I mean to dinealone to morrow, instead of inviting company.HENRY.Sir George, I spoke so rudely to you at first,that I know no other way to shew my humility,thanto accept your present without reluctance.—I do therefore, as the gift of benevolence,not as the insult of better fortune.SIR GEORGE.You have a brother, have not you?HENRY.No, Sir—and only one sister.SIR GEORGE.A sister is it? well, let me see your father andyour brother—your sister I mean—did not yousay?—you said a sister, did not you?HENRY.Yes, Sir.SIR GEORGE.Well, let me see your father and her; theywill rejoice at their good fortune I imagine, andI wish to be a witness of their joy.HENRY.I will this moment go to our lawyer, extricatemy father, and we will all return and make youthe spectator of the happiness you have bestowed.Forgive my eagerness to disclose your bounty,sir, if, before I have said half I feel, I fly toreveal it to my father; to whom I can more powerfullyexpress my sensations—than in your presence.[Exit.SIR GEORGE.That bait has taken—and now, if the sisterwill only be as grateful.EnterBluntly.BLUNTLY.Dear sir, what can you have said to the youngman? I never saw a person so much affected!SIR GEORGE.In what manner?BLUNTLY.The tears ran down his cheeks as he passedalong, and he held something in his hand whichhe pressed to his lips, and then to his heart,as if it was a treasure.SIR GEORGE.It is a treasure, Bluntly—a hundred Guineas.BLUNTLY.But for which, I believe, you expect a greatertreasure in return.SIR GEORGE.Dost think so Bluntly?—dost think the girl isworth a hundred pounds?BLUNTLY.If she refuses, she is worth a thousand—but ifshe complies, you have thrown away your money.SIR GEORGE.Just the reverse.BLUNTLY.But I hope, sir, you do not mean to throwaway any more thus—for although this sum, byway of charity, may be well applied, yet indeed,sir, I know some of your creditors as much inwant as this poor family.SIR GEORGE.How!—You are in pay by some of my creditorsI suppose?BLUNTLY.No, Sir, you must pay them, before they canpay any body.SIR GEORGE.You are impertinent—leave the room instantly,and go in search of this sister; now, whilethe son is gone to release his father.—Tell her,her brother is here, and bring her hither immediately.BLUNTLY.But, sir, if you will only give me leave tospeak one word—SIR GEORGE.Do, speak; [Goes to the chimney-piece and takesdown a pistol] only speak a single syllable, andI'll send a ball instantly through your head.BLUNTLY.I am dumb, Sir—I don't speak indeed, Sir—upon my life I don't. I wish I may die if I speak a word.SIR GEORGE.Go on the errand I told you; and if you dareto return without the girl this is your fate.[Holding up the pistol.BLUNTLY.Yes, Sir.[Exit.SIR GEORGE.[Laying the pistol on the table.Impertinent puppy; to ruffle the temper of aman of fashion with hints of prudence and morality,and paying his debts—all this from a servanttoo. The insolent, chattering——EnterBluntly.BLUNTLY.May I speak now, sir?SIR GEORGE.What have you to say?BLUNTLY.Mr. Blackman, sir.SIR GEORGE.Bid him come in.EnterBlackman.ExitBluntly.SIR GEORGE.Good morning, Mr. Blackman; come, sitdown.BLACKMAN.[Bowing respectfully.I am glad, Sir George, I have found youalone, for I come to speak to you on importantbusiness.SIR GEORGE.Business!——no—not now if you please.BLACKMAN.But I must, sir—I have been here ten timesbefore, and have been put off, but now youmust hear what I have to say.SIR GEORGE.Don't be long then—don't be tedious, Mr.Blackman—for I expect a, a—in short, I expecta pretty woman.BLACKMAN.When she comes, I will go.SIR GEORGE.Very well, speak quickly then. What haveyou to say?BLACKMAN.I come to speak upon the subject of your father'swill; by which you know, you run thehazard of losing great part of what he left behind.SIR GEORGE.But what am I to do?BLACKMAN.There is no time to be lost. Consider, thatMr. Manly, the lawyer, whom your father employed,is a man who pretends to a great dealof morality; and it was he who, when your fatherfound himself dying, alarmed his conscience,and persuaded him to make this Will in favourof a second person. Now, I think that you andI both together, ought to have a meeting withthis conscientious lawyer.SIR GEORGE.But I should imagine, Mr. Blackman, that ifhe is really a conscientious man, you and he willnot be upon good terms.BLACKMAN.Oh! people of our avocation differ in respectto conscience. Puzzle, confound, and abuseeach other, and yet are upon good terms.SIR GEORGE.But I fear——BLACKMAN.Fear nothing.—There are a vast number ofresources in our art.—It is so spacious, and yetso confined—so sublime, and yet so profound—so distinct, and yet so complicated—that if everthis person with whom your fortune is dividedshould be found, I know how to envelope herin a labyrinth, where she shall be lost again ina hurry.——But your father's lawyer being avery honest—I mean a very particular man inhis profession,—I have reason to fear we cannotgain him over to our purpose.—If, therefore,—EnterBluntly.SIR GEORGE.My visitor is come, as I told you.BLACKMAN.[Rising.And I am gone, as I told you.[Going.EnterEleanor.BLACKMAN.[Aside.My lodger! ah! ah! (To her in a whisper)You may stay another quarter.[Exit.SIR GEORGE.(ToEleanor) I am glad to see you.—Bluntly—[Makes a sign to him to leave the room.BLUNTLY.Sir?[Sir Georgewaves his hand and nodshis head a second time.BLUNTLY.Sir?——[Still affecting not to understand him.SIR GEORGE.I bid you go.[Angrily.BLUNTLY.You bid me go, sir?—Oh yes, sir.—Verywell, sir.—But indeed, sir, I did not hear youbefore, sir.—Indeed I did not.[Bows, and exit with reluctance,whichEleanorobserves.ELEANOR.Pardon me, sir.—I understood my brotherwas here, but I find he is not.SIR GEORGE.He is but this instant gone, and will returnimmediately.—Stay then with me till he comes.(Takes her hand.) Surely you cannot refuse toremain with me a few moments; especially as Ihave a great deal to say to you that may tendto your advantage.Why do you cast your eyes with such impatienceon that door? (Goes and locks it.)There, now you may look at it in vain.ELEANOR.For heaven sake, why am I locked in?SIR GEORGE.Because you should not escape.ELEANOR.That makes me resolve I will—Open thedoor, sir.[Going to it.SIR GEORGE.Nay, listen to me. Your sentiments, I makeno doubt, are formed from books.ELEANOR.No, from misfortunes—yet more instructive.SIR GEORGE.You shall never know misfortune more—you,nor your relations.—But this moment I presentedyour brother with a sum of money, and he leftme with professions of the deepest gratitude.ELEANOR.My brother!—Has he received money fromyou? Ah! he promised me he'd not disgracehis family.SIR GEORGE.How! Family, indeed!ELEANOR.I cannot remain here a moment longer. Openthe door, sir—open it immediately.[Raising her voice.BLUNTLY.[Without.Sir, sir, sir,—open the door, if you please—you are wanted, sir.SIR GEORGE.S'death! who can want me in such haste?[Opens the door, and appears confounded.EnterBluntly.SIR GEORGE.Well, sir!BLUNTLY.——Did you call, sir?SIR GEORGE.It wasyouwho called, sir.BLUNTLY.Who, I, sir?SIR GEORGE.Yes, sir, you—Who wants me?BLUNTLY.[Looking atEleanor.Perhaps it wasyouthat called, Ma'am.ELEANOR.ItwasI that called: and pray be so kind asto conduct me to my own lodgings.[Bluntlyoffers her his hand.SIR GEORGE.Dare not to touch her—or to stay anothermoment in the room.—Begone.[Bluntlylooks atEleanoraside, andpoints to the pistol; then bows humbly, andretires.SIR GEORGE.And now, my fair Lucretia——[He is going to seize her—she takes upthe pistol and presents it.ELEANOR.No, it's notmyselfI'll kill—'Tis you.SIR GEORGE.[Starting.Nay, nay, nay, lay it down.—Lay that foolishthing down; I beg you will. (Trembling.) Itis charged—it may go off.ELEANOR.I mean it to go off.SIR GEORGE.But no jesting—I never liked jesting in mylife.ELEANOR.Nor I—but am always serious.—Dare not,therefore, insult me again, but let me go to mywretched apartments.[Passes by him, presenting the pistol.SIR GEORGE.Go to the——[She turns short at the door, and presents it again.SIR GEORGE.What would you do?—Here Bluntly! Bluntly![ExitEleanor.EnterBluntly.BLUNTLY.Did you call or no, sir?SIR GEORGE.Yes, sir, I did call now. (In a threateningaccent.) Don't you think you have behaved verywell this morning?BLUNTLY.Yes, sir, I think I have.SIR GEORGE.I am not joking.BLUNTLY.Nor am I, sir.SIR GEORGE.And do not you think I should behave verywell, if I was to discharge you my service?BLUNTLY.As well as can be expected, sir.SIR GEORGE.Why did you break in upon me just now?Did you think I was going to murder the girl?BLUNTLY.No, sir, I suspected neither love nor murder.SIR GEORGE.What then did you suspect?BLUNTLY.Why, sir, if I may make bold to speak—Iwas afraid the poor girl might be robbed: andof all she is worth in the world.SIR GEORGE.Blockhead! I suppose you mean her virtue?[Smiling with contempt.BLUNTLY.Why, to say the truth, sir, virtue is a currencythat grows scarce in the world now-a-days—and some men are so much in need of it, thatthey think nothing of stopping a harmless femalepassenger in her road through life, and plunderingher of it without remorse, though its loss, embittersevery hour she must afterwards pass in herjourney.EnterHenry.HENRY.Sir George, my father, liberated from prisonby your bounty, is come gratefully to offer——EnterWillfordandEleanor.ELEANOR.[Holding her father by the hand, to prevent hisgoing forward.Oh, my father! whither are you going? Turnback—turn back.HENRY.[To his father.This is your benefactor—the man whose benevolencehas put an end to your sufferings.[Eleanorbursts into tears and retires up the stage.WILLFORD.How, sir, can I ever repay what I owe to you?—or how describe those emotions, which yourgoodness at this moment makes me feel?SIR GEORGE.[In confusion.Very well—very well—'tis all very well.(Aside) I wish it was.—(To him) I am glad Ihave been of service to you.WILLFORD.You have been like mercy to us all. Mydaughter's gratitude overflows in tears.—But why,my child, do you keep apart from us? Can yoube too timid to confess your obligation?SIR GEORGE.Let her alone—let her indulge her humour.WILLFORD.Speak, Eleanor.SIR GEORGE.No, I had rather she would be silent.WILLFORD.You offend me by this obstinacy.ELEANOR.[Going toWillfordand taking his hand.Oh, my father!—Oh! I cannot——I cannotspeak.WILLFORD.Wherefore?—Explain this moment, whatagitates you thus.ELEANOR.You must return to confinement again.WILLFORD.How?ELEANOR.The money that has set you free, was givenfor the basest purposes—and by a man as far beneathyou in principle, as you are beneath himin fortune. Disdain the obligation—and comemy father, return to prison.WILLFORD.Yes.—And with more joy than I left it. (ToSir George) Joy, in my daughter's virtuouscontempt of thee. (To his children) Leave thehouse instantly.[ExitHenryandEleanor.WILLFORD.[Addressing himself toSir George.Your present is but deposited in a lawyer'shands, whose word gained me my liberty—he shall immediately return it to you, while I returnto imprisonment.SIR GEORGE.If the money is in a lawyer's hands, my goodfriend, it may be some time before you get itreturned.[Going.WILLFORD.Stay, Sir George—(he returns) And look mein the face while you insult me. (Sir Georgelooks on the floor.) You cannot.—I therefore triumph,while you stand before me abashed likea culprit.—Yet be assured, unthinking, dissipatedman, that with all your insolence andcruelty towards me and mine, I have still thecharity to rejoice, even for your sake, at seeingyou thus confounded. This shame is at least onetrait in your favour; and while it revenges mywrongs, gives me joy to find, you are not ahardenedlibertine.[Exeunt.END OF THE SECOND ACT.
SCENE I.An Apartment atSir GeorgeSplendorville's.EnterSir George,followed byBluntly.
What's o'clock?[Rubbing his eyes.
Just noon, sir.
Why was I waked so early?
You were not waked, sir—You rung.
Then it was in my sleep—and could not yousuppose so?——After going to bed at five, tomake me rise at noon! (in a violent passion) Whatam I to do with myself, sir, till it is time to goout for the evening?
You have company to dinner you know, sir.
No, it is to supper—and what am I to do withmyself till that time?
Company again to supper, Sir?
Yes, and the self-same company I had lastnight—I invited them upon Lady Caroline'saccount—to give her an opportunity of revenge,for the money she lost here yesterday evening—and I am all weariness—I am all lassitude andfretfulness till the time arrives.—But now I callto mind, I have an affair that may engage myattention a few hours. You were giving meanaccount, Bluntly, of that beautiful girl I sawenter at Blackman's?
Yes, sir, I saw her late last night in Mr.Blackman's house—she lodges there.
Indeed? In Blackman's house? I am glad tohear it.
And he has assured me, sir, that she and herfamily are in the greatest poverty imaginable.
I am glad to hear it.
They have been it seems above a twelvemonthin London, in search of some rich relations; butinstead of meeting with them, the father wasseen and remembered by an old creditor whohas thrown him into prison.
I am very glad to hear it.
But the young woman, Sir, has been so shorta time in town, she has, seemingly, a great dealof modesty and virtue.
And I am very glad to hear of that too—I like her the better—you know I do—for I amweary of that ready compliance I meet withfrom the sex.
But if I might presume to advise, sir—as youare so soon to be married to her ladyship, whomyou love with sincere affection, you should giveup this pursuit.
And Ishallgive it up, Bluntly, before mymarriage takes place—for, short as that time maybe, I expect this passion will be over and forgotten,long before the interval has passed away.—But that brother you were mentioning——
I have some reason to think, that with all hispoverty, he has a notion of honour.
Oh! I have often tried the effect of a purse ofgold with people of honour.—Have you desiredthem to be sent for as I ordered.
I have, Sir.
See if they are come. [ExitBluntly.] Ah!my dear Lady Caroline, it is you, and only you,whom I love with a sincere passion! but in waitingthis long expected event of our marriage,permit me to indulge some less exaltedwishes.
Are they come?
The young man is in the anti-chamber, sir,but his sister is not with him. (Speaking toHenrywho is without) Please to walk this way—my master desires to see you.
No, no, no—I do not desire to see him, ifhis sister is not there.—Zounds you scoundrelwhat did you call him in for?
Young man, I am told you are very poor—you may have heard that I am very rich—and Isuppose you are acquainted with the extensivemeaning of the word—generosity.
[After an hesitation.] Perhaps not, sir.
The meaning of it, as I comprehend, is, forthe rich to give to the poor.—Have you anything to ask of me in which I can serve you?
Your proposal is so general, I am at a losswhat to answer—but you are no doubt acquaintedwith the extensive meaning of the word,pride,—and that will apologize for the seeming indifferencewith which I receive your offer.
Your pride seems extensive indeed.—I heardyour father was in prison, and I pitied him.
Did you, Sir?—Did you pity my father:—I beg your pardon—if I have said any thing tooffend you pray forgive it—nor let my rudenessturn your companion away from him, to anyother object.
Would a small sum release him from confinement?Would about a hundred pounds——
I have no doubt but it would.
Then take that note.——Be not surprised—I mean to dispose of a thousand guineas this way,instead of fitting up a theatre in my own house.—That (giving him the note) is a mere trifle; mybox at the opera, or my dinner; I mean to dinealone to morrow, instead of inviting company.
Sir George, I spoke so rudely to you at first,that I know no other way to shew my humility,thanto accept your present without reluctance.—I do therefore, as the gift of benevolence,not as the insult of better fortune.
You have a brother, have not you?
No, Sir—and only one sister.
A sister is it? well, let me see your father andyour brother—your sister I mean—did not yousay?—you said a sister, did not you?
Yes, Sir.
Well, let me see your father and her; theywill rejoice at their good fortune I imagine, andI wish to be a witness of their joy.
I will this moment go to our lawyer, extricatemy father, and we will all return and make youthe spectator of the happiness you have bestowed.
Forgive my eagerness to disclose your bounty,sir, if, before I have said half I feel, I fly toreveal it to my father; to whom I can more powerfullyexpress my sensations—than in your presence.
That bait has taken—and now, if the sisterwill only be as grateful.
Dear sir, what can you have said to the youngman? I never saw a person so much affected!
In what manner?
The tears ran down his cheeks as he passedalong, and he held something in his hand whichhe pressed to his lips, and then to his heart,as if it was a treasure.
It is a treasure, Bluntly—a hundred Guineas.
But for which, I believe, you expect a greatertreasure in return.
Dost think so Bluntly?—dost think the girl isworth a hundred pounds?
If she refuses, she is worth a thousand—but ifshe complies, you have thrown away your money.
Just the reverse.
But I hope, sir, you do not mean to throwaway any more thus—for although this sum, byway of charity, may be well applied, yet indeed,sir, I know some of your creditors as much inwant as this poor family.
How!—You are in pay by some of my creditorsI suppose?
No, Sir, you must pay them, before they canpay any body.
You are impertinent—leave the room instantly,and go in search of this sister; now, whilethe son is gone to release his father.—Tell her,her brother is here, and bring her hither immediately.
But, sir, if you will only give me leave tospeak one word—
Do, speak; [Goes to the chimney-piece and takesdown a pistol] only speak a single syllable, andI'll send a ball instantly through your head.
I am dumb, Sir—I don't speak indeed, Sir—upon my life I don't. I wish I may die if I speak a word.
Go on the errand I told you; and if you dareto return without the girl this is your fate.
Impertinent puppy; to ruffle the temper of aman of fashion with hints of prudence and morality,and paying his debts—all this from a servanttoo. The insolent, chattering——
May I speak now, sir?
What have you to say?
Mr. Blackman, sir.
Bid him come in.
Good morning, Mr. Blackman; come, sitdown.
I am glad, Sir George, I have found youalone, for I come to speak to you on importantbusiness.
Business!——no—not now if you please.
But I must, sir—I have been here ten timesbefore, and have been put off, but now youmust hear what I have to say.
Don't be long then—don't be tedious, Mr.Blackman—for I expect a, a—in short, I expecta pretty woman.
When she comes, I will go.
Very well, speak quickly then. What haveyou to say?
I come to speak upon the subject of your father'swill; by which you know, you run thehazard of losing great part of what he left behind.
But what am I to do?
There is no time to be lost. Consider, thatMr. Manly, the lawyer, whom your father employed,is a man who pretends to a great dealof morality; and it was he who, when your fatherfound himself dying, alarmed his conscience,and persuaded him to make this Will in favourof a second person. Now, I think that you andI both together, ought to have a meeting withthis conscientious lawyer.
But I should imagine, Mr. Blackman, that ifhe is really a conscientious man, you and he willnot be upon good terms.
Oh! people of our avocation differ in respectto conscience. Puzzle, confound, and abuseeach other, and yet are upon good terms.
But I fear——
Fear nothing.—There are a vast number ofresources in our art.—It is so spacious, and yetso confined—so sublime, and yet so profound—so distinct, and yet so complicated—that if everthis person with whom your fortune is dividedshould be found, I know how to envelope herin a labyrinth, where she shall be lost again ina hurry.——But your father's lawyer being avery honest—I mean a very particular man inhis profession,—I have reason to fear we cannotgain him over to our purpose.—If, therefore,—
My visitor is come, as I told you.
And I am gone, as I told you.
My lodger! ah! ah! (To her in a whisper)You may stay another quarter.
(ToEleanor) I am glad to see you.—Bluntly—
Sir?
Sir?——
I bid you go.[Angrily.
You bid me go, sir?—Oh yes, sir.—Verywell, sir.—But indeed, sir, I did not hear youbefore, sir.—Indeed I did not.
Pardon me, sir.—I understood my brotherwas here, but I find he is not.
He is but this instant gone, and will returnimmediately.—Stay then with me till he comes.(Takes her hand.) Surely you cannot refuse toremain with me a few moments; especially as Ihave a great deal to say to you that may tendto your advantage.
Why do you cast your eyes with such impatienceon that door? (Goes and locks it.)There, now you may look at it in vain.
For heaven sake, why am I locked in?
Because you should not escape.
That makes me resolve I will—Open thedoor, sir.
Nay, listen to me. Your sentiments, I makeno doubt, are formed from books.
No, from misfortunes—yet more instructive.
You shall never know misfortune more—you,nor your relations.—But this moment I presentedyour brother with a sum of money, and he leftme with professions of the deepest gratitude.
My brother!—Has he received money fromyou? Ah! he promised me he'd not disgracehis family.
How! Family, indeed!
I cannot remain here a moment longer. Openthe door, sir—open it immediately.
Sir, sir, sir,—open the door, if you please—you are wanted, sir.
S'death! who can want me in such haste?
Well, sir!
——Did you call, sir?
It wasyouwho called, sir.
Who, I, sir?
Yes, sir, you—Who wants me?
Perhaps it wasyouthat called, Ma'am.
ItwasI that called: and pray be so kind asto conduct me to my own lodgings.
Dare not to touch her—or to stay anothermoment in the room.—Begone.
And now, my fair Lucretia——
No, it's notmyselfI'll kill—'Tis you.
Nay, nay, nay, lay it down.—Lay that foolishthing down; I beg you will. (Trembling.) Itis charged—it may go off.
I mean it to go off.
But no jesting—I never liked jesting in mylife.
Nor I—but am always serious.—Dare not,therefore, insult me again, but let me go to mywretched apartments.
Go to the——
What would you do?—Here Bluntly! Bluntly!
Did you call or no, sir?
Yes, sir, I did call now. (In a threateningaccent.) Don't you think you have behaved verywell this morning?
Yes, sir, I think I have.
I am not joking.
Nor am I, sir.
And do not you think I should behave verywell, if I was to discharge you my service?
As well as can be expected, sir.
Why did you break in upon me just now?Did you think I was going to murder the girl?
No, sir, I suspected neither love nor murder.
What then did you suspect?
Why, sir, if I may make bold to speak—Iwas afraid the poor girl might be robbed: andof all she is worth in the world.
Blockhead! I suppose you mean her virtue?
Why, to say the truth, sir, virtue is a currencythat grows scarce in the world now-a-days—and some men are so much in need of it, thatthey think nothing of stopping a harmless femalepassenger in her road through life, and plunderingher of it without remorse, though its loss, embittersevery hour she must afterwards pass in herjourney.
Sir George, my father, liberated from prisonby your bounty, is come gratefully to offer——
Oh, my father! whither are you going? Turnback—turn back.
This is your benefactor—the man whose benevolencehas put an end to your sufferings.
How, sir, can I ever repay what I owe to you?—or how describe those emotions, which yourgoodness at this moment makes me feel?
Very well—very well—'tis all very well.(Aside) I wish it was.—(To him) I am glad Ihave been of service to you.
You have been like mercy to us all. Mydaughter's gratitude overflows in tears.—But why,my child, do you keep apart from us? Can yoube too timid to confess your obligation?
Let her alone—let her indulge her humour.
Speak, Eleanor.
No, I had rather she would be silent.
You offend me by this obstinacy.
Oh, my father!—Oh! I cannot——I cannotspeak.
Wherefore?—Explain this moment, whatagitates you thus.
You must return to confinement again.
How?
The money that has set you free, was givenfor the basest purposes—and by a man as far beneathyou in principle, as you are beneath himin fortune. Disdain the obligation—and comemy father, return to prison.
Yes.—And with more joy than I left it. (ToSir George) Joy, in my daughter's virtuouscontempt of thee. (To his children) Leave thehouse instantly.
Your present is but deposited in a lawyer'shands, whose word gained me my liberty—he shall immediately return it to you, while I returnto imprisonment.
If the money is in a lawyer's hands, my goodfriend, it may be some time before you get itreturned.
Stay, Sir George—(he returns) And look mein the face while you insult me. (Sir Georgelooks on the floor.) You cannot.—I therefore triumph,while you stand before me abashed likea culprit.—Yet be assured, unthinking, dissipatedman, that with all your insolence andcruelty towards me and mine, I have still thecharity to rejoice, even for your sake, at seeingyou thus confounded. This shame is at least onetrait in your favour; and while it revenges mywrongs, gives me joy to find, you are not ahardenedlibertine.
SCENE I.The apartment atSir GeorgeSplendorville's,where the night hasbeen passed at play—Several card-tableswith company playing—Sir GeorgeandLady Carolineat the same table.SirGeorgerises furiously.SIR GEORGE.Never was the whole train of misfortunesso united to undo a man, as this night toruin me. The most obstinate round of illluck——MR. LUCRE.[Waking from a sleep.What is all that? You have lost a great dealof money, I suppose?SIR GEORGE.Every guinea I had about me, and fifteenthousand besides, for which I have given myword.MR. LUCRE.Fifteen thousand guineas! and I have notwon one of them.—Oh, confusion upon everything that has prevented me.SIR GEORGE.[TakingLady Carolineaside.Lady Caroline, you are the sole person whohas profited by my loss.—Prove to me that yourdesign was not to ruin me; to sink me into theabyss of misfortune,—prove to me, you love mein return for all my tender love to you. And(taking up the cards) give me my revenge in onesingle cut.LADY CAROLINE.If this is the proof you require, I consent.SIR GEORGE.Thank you.—And it is for double or quit.—Thank you.[She shuffles and cuts.SIR GEORGE.Ay, it will be mine—thank you.—I shall bethe winner—thank you. (He cuts—then tears thecards and throws them on the floor.) Destraction!—Furies of the blackest kind conspire againstme, and all their serpents are in my heart.—Cruel, yet beloved woman! Could you thusabuse and take advantage of the madness of mysituation?LADY CAROLINE.Your misfortunes, my dear Sir George—makeyou blind.SIR GEORGE.[Taking her again aside.No, they have rather opened my eyes, andhave shown me what you are.—Still an object Iadore; but I now perceiveyouare one to myruin devoted.—If any other intention had directedyou, would you have thus decoyed meto my folly?—You know my proneness to play,your own likelihood of success, and have palpablyallured me to my destruction. Ungratefulwoman, you never loved me, but taught me tobelieve so, in order to partake of myprodigality.—Do not be suspicious, madam; the debtshall be discharged within a week.LADY CAROLINE.[With the utmost indifference.That will do, sir—I depend upon your word;and that will do.[Exit curtsying.SIR GEORGE.Ungrateful—cruel—she is gone without givingme one hope.—She even insults—despisesme.MR. LUCRE.[Coming forward.Indeed, my dear friend, I compassionate yourill luck most feelingly; and yet I am nearly asgreat an object of compassion on this occasion asyourself; for I have not won a single guinea ofall your losses: if I had, why I could have borneyour misfortune with some sort of patience.LADY BRIDGET.My dear Sir George, your situation affects meso extremely, I cannot stay a moment longer inyour presence. [Goes to the door, and returns.]But you may depend upon my prayers.[Exit.LORD HAZARD.Sir George, if I had any consolation to offer,it should be at your service—but you know—youare convinced—I have merely a sufficiencyof consolation—that is, of friends and of moneyto support myself in the rank of life I hold in theworld. For without that—without that rank—I sincerely wish you a good morning.[ExitLord Hazard.SIR GEORGE.Good morning.[The company by degrees all steal out of the room,exceptMr.Lucre.SIR GEORGE.[Looking around.Where are all my guests?—the greatest partgone without a word in condolence, and the resttorturing me with insulting wishes. Here! behold!here is the sole reliance which I have preparedfor the hour of misfortune; and what is it?—words—compliments—desertion—andfrom those, whose ingratitude makes their neglect stillmore poignant. [Turns and perceivesMr.Lucre.]Lucre, my dear Lucre, are not you amazedatwhat you see?MR. LUCRE.No, not at all—'tis the way of the world—we caress our acquaintances whilst they are happyand in power, but if they fall into misfortune,we think we do enough if we have the good natureto pity them.SIR GEORGE.And are you, one of these friends?MR. LUCRE.I am like the rest of the world.—I was in thenumber of your flatterers; but at present youhave none—for you may already perceive, we aregrown sincere.SIR GEORGE.But have not you a thousand times desired me,in any distress, to prove you?MR. LUCRE.And you do prove me now, do you not?—Heaven bless you. [Shaking hands with him] Ishall always have a regard for you—but for anything farther—I scorn professions which I do notmean to keep.[Going.SIR GEORGE.Nay, but Lucre! consider the anguish inwhich you leave me!—consider, that to be forsakenby my friends is more affecting than theloss of all my fortune. Though you have nothingelse to give me, yet give me your company.MR. LUCRE.My dear friend Icannot. Reflect that I amunder obligations to you—so many indeed thatI am ashamed to see you.——I am naturally bashful;and do not be surprised if I should neverhave the confidence to look you in the faceagain.[Exit.SIR GEORGE.This is the world, such as I have heard itdescribed, but not such as I could ever believeit to be.—But I forgive—I forget all the worldexcept Lady Caroline—her ingratitude fastensto my heart and drives me to despair. She, onwhom I have squandered so much—she, whom Iloved—and whom I still love, spite of her perfidy!(EnterBluntly.)Well, Bluntly—behold the friendship of thefriends I loved! This morning I was in prosperityand had many—this night I am ruined,and I have not one.BLUNTLY.Ruined, sir?SIR GEORGE.Totally: and shall be forced to part with everything I possess to pay the sums I owe.——Ofcourse, I shall part with all my servants—anddo you endeavour to find some other place.BLUNTLY.But first, sir,—permit me to ask a favour ofyou?SIR GEORGE.A favour of me? I have no favours nowto grant.BLUNTLY.I beg your pardon, sir—you have one—andI entreat it on my knees.SIR GEORGE.What would you ask of me?BLUNTLY.To remain along with you still.—I will neverquit you; but serve you for nothing, to the lastmoment of my life.SIR GEORGE.I have then one friend left. (Embracing him.)And never will I forget to acknowledge theobligation.EnterBlackman.BLACKMAN.Pardon me—sir—I beg ten thousand pardons—pray excuse me, (In the most servile manner,)for entering before I sent to know if you wereat leisure—but your attendants are all fast asleepon the chairs of your antichamber.—I couldnot wake a soul—and I imagined you yourselfwere not yet up.SIR GEORGE.On the contrary, I have not yet been in bed.And when I do go there, I wish never to risefrom it again.BLACKMAN.Has any thing unexpected happened?SIR GEORGE.Yes.—That I am ruined—inevitably ruined—Behold (Shewing the cards) the only wreckof my fortune.BLACKMAN.(Starting.) Lost all your fortune?SIR GEORGE.All I am worth—and as much more as I amworth.[Blackmandraws a chair, sits down withgreat familiarity, and staresSir Georgerudely in the face.BLACKMAN.Lost all you are worth? He, he, he, he!(Laughs maliciously.) Pretty news, truly! Whythen I suppose I have lost great part of what Iam worth? all which you are indebted to me?—However there is a way yet to retrieve you.But—please to desire your servant to leave theroom.SIR GEORGE.Bluntly, leave us a moment. (ExitBluntly.)Well, Mr. Blackman, what is this grand secret?BLACKMAN.Why, in the state to which you have reducedyourself, there is certainly no one hopefor you, but in that portion, that half of yourfortune, which the will of your father keepsyou out of.SIR GEORGE.But how am I to obtain it? The lawyer inwhose hands it is placed, will not give it up,without being insured from any futuredemandby some certain proofs.BLACKMAN.And suppose I should search, and find proofs?Suppose I have them already by me?—But uponthis occasion, you must not only rely implicitlyon what I say, but it is necessary you should saythe same yourself.SIR GEORGE.If you advance no falsehood, I cannot haveany objection.BLACKMAN.Falsehood!—falsehood!—I apprehend, SirGeorge, you do not consider, that there is aparticular construction put upon words andphrases in the practice of the law, which therest of the world, out of that study, are notclearly acquainted with. For instance,falsehoodwithus, is notexactlywhat it is with otherpeople.SIR GEORGE.How! Is truth, immutable truth, to be corruptedand confounded by men of the law?BLACKMAN.I was not speaking of truth—that, we havenothing to do with.SIR GEORGE.I, must not say so, however, sir.—And in thiscrisis of my sufferings, it is the only comfort,the only consolatory reflection left me, thattruth and I, will never separate.BLACKMAN.Stick to your truth—but confide in me asusual.—You will go with me, then, to Mr.Manly, your father's lawyer, and corroborateall that I shall say?SIR GEORGE.Tell me, but what you intend to say?BLACKMAN.I can't do that. In the practice of the law,we never know what we intend to say—andtherefore our blunders, when we make them,are in some measure excusable—and if I shouldchance to make a blunder or two, I mean anytrivial mistake, when we come before this lawyer,you must promise not to interfere, or in anyshape contradict me.SIR GEORGE.A mere lapse of memory, I have nothing todo with.BLACKMAN.And my memory grows very bad; thereforeyou must not disconcert me.SIR GEORGE.Come, let us begone—I am ready to go withyou this moment.BLACKMAN.I must first go home, and prepare a fewwritings.SIR GEORGE.But call to mind that I rely upon your honour.BLACKMAN.Do you think Bluntly, your servant, is anhonest man?SIR GEORGE.I am sure he is.BLACKMAN.Then, to quiet your fears, I will take himalong with us; and you will depend on whathe shall say, I make no doubt?SIR GEORGE.I would stake my being upon his veracity.BLACKMAN.Call him in, then, and bid him do as I commandhim.SIR GEORGE.Here, Bluntly. (EnterBluntly.) Mr.Blackman has some business with you—listen tohim with attention, and follow his directions.[Exit.BLACKMAN.You know, I suppose, the perilous situationof your master?[Bluntlyshakes his head, and wipes his eyes.BLACKMAN.Good fellow! good fellow!—and you would,I dare say, do any thing to rescue him from themisery with which he is surrounded?BLUNTLY.I would lay down my life.BLACKMAN.You can do it for less. Only put on a blackcoat, and the business is done.BLUNTLY.What's that all? Oh! if I can save him byputting on a black coat, I'll go buy mourning,and wear it all my life.BLACKMAN.There's a good fellow. I sincerely thankyou for this attachment to your master.[Shaking him by the hand.BLUNTLY.My dear Blackman, I beg your pardon forwhat I am going to say; but as you behavethus friendly on this unfortunate occasion, Imust confess to you—that till now I always hatedyou.—I could not bear the sight of you.—ForI thought you (I wish I may die if I did not)one of the greatest rogues in the world. I fanciedyou only waited on, and advised my masterto make your market of him.—But now yourattention to him in his distress, when all hisfriends have forsaken him, is so kind—Heavenbless you—Heaven bless you—I'll go buy ablack coat.[Going.BLACKMAN.I have something more to say to you.—Whenyou have put on this coat, you must meet yourmaster and me at Mr. Manly's, the lawyer; andwhen we are all there, you must mind and say,exactly what I say.BLUNTLY.And what will that be?BLACKMAN.Oh! something.BLUNTLY.I have no objection to say something—but Ihope you won't make me say any thing.BLACKMAN.You seem to doubt me once more, sir?BLUNTLY.No, I am doubting you now for the first time;for I always thought I wascertainbefore.BLACKMAN.And will you not venture to say yes, and no,to what I shall advance?BLUNTLY.Why—I think I may venture to say yes toyour no, and no to your yes, with a safe conscience.BLACKMAN.If you do not instantly follow me and doall that I shall propose, your master is ruined.—Would you see him dragged to prison?BLUNTLY.No, I would sooner go myself.BLACKMAN.Then why do you stand talking about a safeconscience. Half my clients would have beenruined if I had shewn my zeal as you do.Conscience indeed! Why, this is a matter of law,to serve your master in his necessity.BLUNTLY.I have heard necessity has no law—but if ithas no conscience, it is a much worse thing thanI took it for.—No matter for that—come along.—Oh my poor master!—I would even tell alieto save him.[Exeunt.SCENE II.A lawyer's study.Mr. Manlydiscovered at his writing-desk—aServant attending.MANLY.Who do you say wants to speak with me?SERVANT.Mr. Lucre, sir.MANLY.And who else?SERVANT.A person who says his name is Willford, helooks as if he came from the country, and seemsin mean circumstances.MANLY.Show him to me directly. And take Mr.Lucre, or any other person of fashion that maycall, to my clerks. [Exit Servant.] But for thepoor, let them be undermyprotection.EnterWillfordandEleanor.MANLY.Come in—walk in, and let me know what Ican do to serve you.WILLFORD.I deposited, sir, in your clerk's hands, a sumof money to set me free from confinement for debt.—On his word, I was discharged—he owns he hasnot yet paid away this money, still he refuses torestore it to me, though in return I again renderup my person.MANLY.And why would you do this?WILLFORD.Because my honour—I mean my conscience—for that's the poor man's honour—is concerned.MANLY.Explain yourself.WILLFORD.A son of mine, received this sum I speak of,and thought itgivenhim; while it was onlymeant as a purchase—a purchase of what wehad no right to sell—and therefore it must berestored to the owner.MANLY.And who is he?WILLFORD.Sir George Splendorville—I suppose you haveheard of him?MANLY.He, you mean, who by the desire of his father'swill, lately changed his name from Blandford?WILLFORD.Sir!MANLY.The name, which some part of the family,while reduced, had taken.WILLFORD.Good Heaven! Is there such a circumstancein his story?MANLY.Why do you ask with such emotion?WILLFORD.Because he is the man, in search of whom Ileft my habitation in the country, to present beforehim a destitute young woman, a near relation.MANLY.What relation?—Be particular in your answer.WILLFORD.A sister.MANLY.I thank you for your intelligence. You havenamed a person who for these three years past, Ihave in vain endeavoured to find.—But did yousay she was in poverty?WILLFORD.I did.MANLY.I give you joy then—for I have in my possessiona deed which conveys to a lost daughter of SirGeorge's father, the other half of the fortune hebequeathed his son—but as yet, all my endeavourshave been in vain to find where she, andan uncle, to whose care she was entrusted in herinfancy, are retired.WILLFORD.[Turning toEleanor.Now, Eleanor, arm yourself with fortitude—with fortitude to bear not the frowns, but thesmiles of fortune. Be humble, collected, andthe same you have ever been, while I for thefirst time inform you—you are not my daughter.—And from this gentleman's intelligenceadd, you are rich—you are the deceased Blandford'schild, and Splendorville's sister.ELEANOR.Oh! Heavens! Do I lose a father such as you,to gain a brother such as he is?MANLY.[ToWillford.There can be no mistake on this occasion—And you, if I am not deceived, are the brotherof the late Mr. Blandford. Your looks, yourperson, your very voice confirms it.WILLFORD.I have writings in my care, shall prove it beyonda doubt; with the whole narrative of ourseparation when he with his son, then a youth,embarked for India; where I suppose, riches, soonsucceeded poverty.EnterServant.SERVANT.Lady Caroline Seymour, sir, is at the door inher carriage, and will not be denied admittance.She says she must see you upon some very urgentbusiness.MANLY.[ToWillfordandEleanor.Will you do me the favour to step for a momentinto this room? Lady Caroline will notstay long. I'll not detain you.[ExitWillfordandEleanor.EnterLady Caroline.LADY CAROLINE.Dear Mr. Manly, I have a thousand apologiesto make—And yet I am sure you will excusethe subject of my visit, when you consider——MANLY.Your ladyship will please to sit down.[He draws chairs and they sit.LADY CAROLINE.You cannot be ignorant, Mr. Manly—youmust know, the terms of acquaintance on whichSir George Splendorville and I have been, forsome time past?—you were his father's agent;his chief solicitor; and although you are notemployed by Sir George, yet the state of hisaffairs cannot be concealed from you—Has he,or has he not, any inheritance yet to come?MANLY.Pardon me, madam—though not entrusted bySir George, I will, nevertheless, keep his secrets.LADY CAROLINE.That is plainly telling me he is worth nothing.MANLY.By no means—Sir George, in spite of hisprofusion, must still be rich. He has preservedhis large estate in Wales; and as to money, Ido not doubt but he has a considerable sum.LADY CAROLINE.Not a guinea. I won it all from him lastnight.MANLY.You? You, who are to become his wife?LADY CAROLINE.I might, had I not been thus fortunate. Butwhy should I marry him, when his riches aremine, without that ceremony.MANLY.Inconsiderate man!—what will be the endof his imprudence! Yet, Heaven be praised!he has still that fine estate, I just now mentioned.LADY CAROLINE.Indeed he has not—that has belonged to methese three months.MANLY.To you!LADY CAROLINE.Yes—Bought for me under another name byagents; and for half its value.MANLY.Madman!—Yet your ladyship must excuseme. I know your income stinted, and till thedeath of the Earl, your father, where could youraise sufficient to make even half the purchase.LADY CAROLINE.From Splendorville's own prodigality—fromlavish presents made to me by him.EnterServant.SERVANT.Sir George Splendorville, sir, desires to speakwith you—he is at the door with Mr. Blackman.LADY CAROLINE.Oh Heavens! do not let him see me here.[She is hastening to the room whereWillfordand his daughter are.MANLY.I have company there—walk in here, if youPlease.[Shows her another door and she enters.MANLY.[To the servant.Desire Sir George to walk in.EnterSir GeorgeandBlackman.MANLY.Sir George, do me the favour to sit down.[He looks coolly onBlackman,and pointing toa chair saysGood morning.They sit.SIR GEORGE.Mr. Manly, my attorney will let you knowthe business on which I am come.BLACKMAN.Why yes, Mr. Manly, it is extremely hardthat Sir George has for so long a time been keptout of a very large part of his fortune; particularly,as he has had occasion for it.SIR GEORGE.I have had occasion for it I assure you Mr.Manly; and I have occasion for it at this verytime.MR. MANLY.But so may the person, sir, from whom youwould take it. In a word, Sir George, neitheryour lawyer nor you, shall prevail on me to giveup the trust reposed in me by your father, withoutcertain evidence, that your sister will nevercome to make her claim.BLACKMAN.You are not afraid of ghosts, are you?MANLY.No, nor of robbers either:——you cannotfrighten me, Mr. Blackman.BLACKMAN.Then depend upon it, the sister of Sir Georgecan never appear in any other manner than as aspirit. For, here, sir, (taking from his pocket aparcel of papers) here are authentic letters to proveher death. (Sir Georgelooks confused.)MANLY.Her death!BLACKMAN.Yes, her death. Here is a certificate fromthe curate of the parish in which she was buried.MANLY.Buried too!BLACKMAN.Yes, sir, buried. Here is also an affidavitfrom the sexton of the said village, signed bythe overseer and churchwardens, testifying thesame.—You see, (shewing him the paper, and readingat the same time) "Died Anno Domini, onethousand seven hundred and eighty nine, theseventeenth of June——"[Mr.Manlytakes the paper, and while he isreading,Sir Georgesays apart——SIR GEORGE.How near to the brink of infamy has myimprudence led me! And s'death, myconfusion takes from me the power to explain, andexpose the scoundrel.Mr. Manly, I will leave you for the present;but you shall hear from me shortly,—when thismatter shall be accounted for clearly—perfectlyto your satisfaction, you may depend upon it.—(Going.)MANLY.Stay, Sir George, and——BLACKMAN.Aye, Sir George, stay and see Mr. Manly'sobjections wholly removed. He seems to doubtthe evidence of paper; I must, therefore, begleave to produce a living witness—the gentlemanwhom I appointed to meet me here.MANLY.And who is he?BLACKMAN.The apothecary, who attended Sir George'ssister in her dying illness.[Sir Georgestarts.MANLY.Desire him to walk in by all means. What isthe matter, Sir George, you look discomposed?BLACKMAN.Sir George is something nervous, Mr. Manly;and you know the very name of a medical gentleman,will affect the nerves of some people.[Blackmangoes to the door, and leads onBluntly,dressed in mourning.SIR GEORGE.[Aside.Bluntly!—But I will see the end of this.MANLY.(Bowing to him). You are an apothecary, Ithink, sir?[Bluntlylooks atBlackman]BLACKMAN.Yes, sir.BLUNTLY.(After seeming inclined to say, No). Yes, sir.MANLY.Pray sir, what disorder took the young lady,on whose account you have been brought hither,out of the world?[Bluntlylooks atBlackman.]BLACKMAN.Oh! the old disorder, I suppose.BLUNTLY.The old disorder.MANLY.And pray what may that be, sir? (Blackmanoffers to reply). Mr. Blackman, Please to let thisgentleman speak for himself.—What is it youmean, pray sir, by the old disorder?BLUNTLY.I—I—mean—Love, sir.MANLY.You will not pretend to say, that love, was thecause of her death?BLUNTLY.(Confused and hesitating). That—and a few fitsof the gout.MANLY.I fear, sir, you are not in perfect health yourself—you tremble and look very pale.BLACKMAN.That is because the subject affects him.MANLY.Do you then never mention the young ladywithout being affected?BLUNTLY.Never, sir—for had you seen her as I did—um—Had you seen her.——She was in verygreat danger from the first; but after I attendedher, she was in greater danger still.—Iadvised a physician to be called in; on which shegrew worse.—We had next a consultation ofphysicians; and then it was all over with her.SIR GEORGE.(Rising from his chair). Blackman, this is toomuch—all my calamities are inferior to this—Desist, therefore, or——BLACKMAN.(ToBluntly.) Desist—He cannot bear to hearthe pathetic description. Consider the lady washis sister—and though he had not the pleasure ofknowing her—yet, poor thing—(affecting toweep)—poor young woman! he cannot help lamentingher loss.BLUNTLY.No more can I—for though she was not myrelation—yet she was my Patient. (pretending toweep also).SIR GEORGE.I can bear no more.—Mr. Manly, you are imposedupon. But think not, however appearancesmay be against me, that I came here as thetool of so infamous a deceit.—Thoughtlessness,Mr. Manly, has embarrassed my circumstances;and thoughtlessness alone, has made me employ avillain to retrieve them.BLACKMAN.Mighty fine!SIR GEORGE.I have no authority, sir, to affirm, that mysister is not alive; and I am confident the accountyou have just now heard, of her death, isbut an artifice. My indiscretions have reducedme nearly to beggary; but I will perish in confinement—cheerfully perish—rather than owemy affluence to one dishonourable action.BLACKMAN.Grief has turned his brain.MANLY.Sir George, I honour your feelings; and as forthe feelings of these gentlemen, I am extremelyhappy, that it is in my power to dry up theirtears, and calm all their sorrows.SIR GEORGE.Sir!BLACKMAN.How? In what way?MANLY.(Going to the door whereWillfordand hisniece are.) Come forth, young lady, to the armsof a brother, and relieve the anguish of thesemourners, who are lamenting your decease.(EleanorandWillfordenter)—Yes, SirGeorge, here is that sister, whom those gentlemenassure us, is dead;—and this is the brotherof your father.—These are proofs, as convincing,I hope, as any Mr. Blackman can produce.SIR GEORGE.She, my sister! Her pretended father myuncle too! (Aside) Blackman, you would haveplunged me into an anguish I never knew before;you would have plunged me into shame.BLUNTLY.And so youhaveme.BLACKMAN.Pshaw.—Mr. Manly, notwithstanding youare these people's voucher, this appears but ascheme.—These persons are but adventurers,and may possibly have about them forgeries, suchas an honest man, like myself, would shudder at.MANLY.[Going to the door.Who's there? [Enter Servant.] Shew that—that Mr. Blackman, out of my house instantly;and take care you never admit him again.BLACKMAN.Sir George, will you suffer this?SIR GEORGE.Aye, and a great deal more.BLUNTLY.Look'ee Blackman.—If you don't falldown upon your knees, and beg my pardon atthe street door, for the trick you have put uponme, in assuring me my master's sister was reallydead, and that I could do her no injury, by doinghim a service—if you don't beg my pardonfor this, I'll give you such an assault and batteryas you never had to do with in your life.BLACKMAN.Beat me—do, beat me—I'll thank you forbeating me—I'd be beat every hour of the day,to recover damages.[Exit withBluntly.SIR GEORGE.My sister—with the sincerest joy I call youby that name—and while I thus embrace you,offer you a heart, that beats with all the pureand tender affection, which our kindred toeach other claims.—In you (embracing his uncle)I behold my father; and experience an awfulfear, mingled with my regard.WILLFORD.Continue still that regard, and even that fear—these filial sentiments may prove important;and they shall ever be repaid with my paternalwatchings, friendship, and love.ELEANOR.My brother——SIR GEORGE.I have been unworthy of you—I will be sono more, but imitate your excellence. Yet,when I reflect——[Lady Carolinecomes softly from theinner apartment, and attends to the discourse.ELEANOR.My brother, do not imagine——SIR GEORGE.Leave me, leave me to all the agonies of mymisconduct.—Where is my fortune? Nowallirrecoverably gone—My last, my only resourceis now to be paid to another—I have lost everything.LADY CAROLINE.[Coming forward.No, Sir George,nothing—since I possess allthat was yours.SIR GEORGE.How!LADY CAROLINE.Behold a friend in your necessities—a mistresswhom your misfortunes cannot drive away—but who, experiencing much of your unkindness,still loves you; and knowing your every folly,will still submit to honour, and obey you.I received your lavish presents, but to hoardthem for you—made myself mistress of yourfortune, but to return it to you—and with it,all my own.SIR GEORGE.Can this be real? Can I be raised in onemoment, from the depths of misery to unboundedhappiness?EnterServant.SERVANT.A young man, who says he is Mr. Willford'sson, is called to enquire for him.MANLY.Shew him in.[Sir GeorgeandLady Carolineretire to the back part of the stage.EnterHenry.WILLFORD.Come, Henry, and take leave of your sisterfor ever.HENRY.How so, sir?—What do you mean? To beparted from her, would be the utmost rigour offortune.MANLY.The affection with which you speak, younggentleman, seems to convey something beyondmere brotherly love.WILLFORD.I some years since revealed to him she wasnothis sister.ELEANOR.And he, some years since, implied it to me.Yet, in such doubtful terms, I knew not whichof us had the sorrow not to be your child.—I now find it is myself—and I aver it to be asorrow, for which, all the fortune I am goingto possess will not repay me.SIR GEORGE.Then, my dearest sister, indulge the hope youmay yet be his daughter. This young man'smerit deserves a reward, and intimehe maylearn to love you by a still nearer tie than that,you have so long known to exist between you;nay, even by a nearer tie than that of brother.HENRY.I am in doubt of what I hear—Eleanor, sinceour short separation, there cannot surely havebeen any important discovery—MANLY.Be not surprised—great discoveries, which welabour in vain for years to make, are frequentlybrought about in one lucky moment, withoutany labour at all.SIR GEORGE.True—for till this day arose, I had passedevery hour since my birth, without making onediscovery to my advantage—while this short,but propitious morning, has discovered to meall my former folly—and discovered to me—how to be in future happy.THE END.
SCENE I.The apartment atSir GeorgeSplendorville's,where the night hasbeen passed at play—Several card-tableswith company playing—Sir GeorgeandLady Carolineat the same table.SirGeorgerises furiously.
Never was the whole train of misfortunesso united to undo a man, as this night toruin me. The most obstinate round of illluck——
What is all that? You have lost a great dealof money, I suppose?
Every guinea I had about me, and fifteenthousand besides, for which I have given myword.
Fifteen thousand guineas! and I have notwon one of them.—Oh, confusion upon everything that has prevented me.
Lady Caroline, you are the sole person whohas profited by my loss.—Prove to me that yourdesign was not to ruin me; to sink me into theabyss of misfortune,—prove to me, you love mein return for all my tender love to you. And(taking up the cards) give me my revenge in onesingle cut.
If this is the proof you require, I consent.
Thank you.—And it is for double or quit.—Thank you.
Ay, it will be mine—thank you.—I shall bethe winner—thank you. (He cuts—then tears thecards and throws them on the floor.) Destraction!—Furies of the blackest kind conspire againstme, and all their serpents are in my heart.—Cruel, yet beloved woman! Could you thusabuse and take advantage of the madness of mysituation?
Your misfortunes, my dear Sir George—makeyou blind.
No, they have rather opened my eyes, andhave shown me what you are.—Still an object Iadore; but I now perceiveyouare one to myruin devoted.—If any other intention had directedyou, would you have thus decoyed meto my folly?—You know my proneness to play,your own likelihood of success, and have palpablyallured me to my destruction. Ungratefulwoman, you never loved me, but taught me tobelieve so, in order to partake of myprodigality.—Do not be suspicious, madam; the debtshall be discharged within a week.
That will do, sir—I depend upon your word;and that will do.
Ungrateful—cruel—she is gone without givingme one hope.—She even insults—despisesme.
Indeed, my dear friend, I compassionate yourill luck most feelingly; and yet I am nearly asgreat an object of compassion on this occasion asyourself; for I have not won a single guinea ofall your losses: if I had, why I could have borneyour misfortune with some sort of patience.
My dear Sir George, your situation affects meso extremely, I cannot stay a moment longer inyour presence. [Goes to the door, and returns.]But you may depend upon my prayers.
Sir George, if I had any consolation to offer,it should be at your service—but you know—youare convinced—I have merely a sufficiencyof consolation—that is, of friends and of moneyto support myself in the rank of life I hold in theworld. For without that—without that rank—I sincerely wish you a good morning.
Good morning.
Where are all my guests?—the greatest partgone without a word in condolence, and the resttorturing me with insulting wishes. Here! behold!here is the sole reliance which I have preparedfor the hour of misfortune; and what is it?—words—compliments—desertion—andfrom those, whose ingratitude makes their neglect stillmore poignant. [Turns and perceivesMr.Lucre.]Lucre, my dear Lucre, are not you amazedatwhat you see?
No, not at all—'tis the way of the world—we caress our acquaintances whilst they are happyand in power, but if they fall into misfortune,we think we do enough if we have the good natureto pity them.
And are you, one of these friends?
I am like the rest of the world.—I was in thenumber of your flatterers; but at present youhave none—for you may already perceive, we aregrown sincere.
But have not you a thousand times desired me,in any distress, to prove you?
And you do prove me now, do you not?—Heaven bless you. [Shaking hands with him] Ishall always have a regard for you—but for anything farther—I scorn professions which I do notmean to keep.
Nay, but Lucre! consider the anguish inwhich you leave me!—consider, that to be forsakenby my friends is more affecting than theloss of all my fortune. Though you have nothingelse to give me, yet give me your company.
My dear friend Icannot. Reflect that I amunder obligations to you—so many indeed thatI am ashamed to see you.——I am naturally bashful;and do not be surprised if I should neverhave the confidence to look you in the faceagain.
This is the world, such as I have heard itdescribed, but not such as I could ever believeit to be.—But I forgive—I forget all the worldexcept Lady Caroline—her ingratitude fastensto my heart and drives me to despair. She, onwhom I have squandered so much—she, whom Iloved—and whom I still love, spite of her perfidy!
Well, Bluntly—behold the friendship of thefriends I loved! This morning I was in prosperityand had many—this night I am ruined,and I have not one.
Ruined, sir?
Totally: and shall be forced to part with everything I possess to pay the sums I owe.——Ofcourse, I shall part with all my servants—anddo you endeavour to find some other place.
But first, sir,—permit me to ask a favour ofyou?
A favour of me? I have no favours nowto grant.
I beg your pardon, sir—you have one—andI entreat it on my knees.
What would you ask of me?
To remain along with you still.—I will neverquit you; but serve you for nothing, to the lastmoment of my life.
I have then one friend left. (Embracing him.)And never will I forget to acknowledge theobligation.
Pardon me—sir—I beg ten thousand pardons—pray excuse me, (In the most servile manner,)for entering before I sent to know if you wereat leisure—but your attendants are all fast asleepon the chairs of your antichamber.—I couldnot wake a soul—and I imagined you yourselfwere not yet up.
On the contrary, I have not yet been in bed.And when I do go there, I wish never to risefrom it again.
Has any thing unexpected happened?
Yes.—That I am ruined—inevitably ruined—Behold (Shewing the cards) the only wreckof my fortune.
(Starting.) Lost all your fortune?
All I am worth—and as much more as I amworth.
Lost all you are worth? He, he, he, he!(Laughs maliciously.) Pretty news, truly! Whythen I suppose I have lost great part of what Iam worth? all which you are indebted to me?—However there is a way yet to retrieve you.But—please to desire your servant to leave theroom.
Bluntly, leave us a moment. (ExitBluntly.)Well, Mr. Blackman, what is this grand secret?
Why, in the state to which you have reducedyourself, there is certainly no one hopefor you, but in that portion, that half of yourfortune, which the will of your father keepsyou out of.
But how am I to obtain it? The lawyer inwhose hands it is placed, will not give it up,without being insured from any futuredemandby some certain proofs.
And suppose I should search, and find proofs?Suppose I have them already by me?—But uponthis occasion, you must not only rely implicitlyon what I say, but it is necessary you should saythe same yourself.
If you advance no falsehood, I cannot haveany objection.
Falsehood!—falsehood!—I apprehend, SirGeorge, you do not consider, that there is aparticular construction put upon words andphrases in the practice of the law, which therest of the world, out of that study, are notclearly acquainted with. For instance,falsehoodwithus, is notexactlywhat it is with otherpeople.
How! Is truth, immutable truth, to be corruptedand confounded by men of the law?
I was not speaking of truth—that, we havenothing to do with.
I, must not say so, however, sir.—And in thiscrisis of my sufferings, it is the only comfort,the only consolatory reflection left me, thattruth and I, will never separate.
Stick to your truth—but confide in me asusual.—You will go with me, then, to Mr.Manly, your father's lawyer, and corroborateall that I shall say?
Tell me, but what you intend to say?
I can't do that. In the practice of the law,we never know what we intend to say—andtherefore our blunders, when we make them,are in some measure excusable—and if I shouldchance to make a blunder or two, I mean anytrivial mistake, when we come before this lawyer,you must promise not to interfere, or in anyshape contradict me.
A mere lapse of memory, I have nothing todo with.
And my memory grows very bad; thereforeyou must not disconcert me.
Come, let us begone—I am ready to go withyou this moment.
I must first go home, and prepare a fewwritings.
But call to mind that I rely upon your honour.
Do you think Bluntly, your servant, is anhonest man?
I am sure he is.
Then, to quiet your fears, I will take himalong with us; and you will depend on whathe shall say, I make no doubt?
I would stake my being upon his veracity.
Call him in, then, and bid him do as I commandhim.
Here, Bluntly. (EnterBluntly.) Mr.Blackman has some business with you—listen tohim with attention, and follow his directions.
You know, I suppose, the perilous situationof your master?
Good fellow! good fellow!—and you would,I dare say, do any thing to rescue him from themisery with which he is surrounded?
I would lay down my life.
You can do it for less. Only put on a blackcoat, and the business is done.
What's that all? Oh! if I can save him byputting on a black coat, I'll go buy mourning,and wear it all my life.
There's a good fellow. I sincerely thankyou for this attachment to your master.
My dear Blackman, I beg your pardon forwhat I am going to say; but as you behavethus friendly on this unfortunate occasion, Imust confess to you—that till now I always hatedyou.—I could not bear the sight of you.—ForI thought you (I wish I may die if I did not)one of the greatest rogues in the world. I fanciedyou only waited on, and advised my masterto make your market of him.—But now yourattention to him in his distress, when all hisfriends have forsaken him, is so kind—Heavenbless you—Heaven bless you—I'll go buy ablack coat.
I have something more to say to you.—Whenyou have put on this coat, you must meet yourmaster and me at Mr. Manly's, the lawyer; andwhen we are all there, you must mind and say,exactly what I say.
And what will that be?
Oh! something.
I have no objection to say something—but Ihope you won't make me say any thing.
You seem to doubt me once more, sir?
No, I am doubting you now for the first time;for I always thought I wascertainbefore.
And will you not venture to say yes, and no,to what I shall advance?
Why—I think I may venture to say yes toyour no, and no to your yes, with a safe conscience.
If you do not instantly follow me and doall that I shall propose, your master is ruined.—Would you see him dragged to prison?
No, I would sooner go myself.
Then why do you stand talking about a safeconscience. Half my clients would have beenruined if I had shewn my zeal as you do.Conscience indeed! Why, this is a matter of law,to serve your master in his necessity.
I have heard necessity has no law—but if ithas no conscience, it is a much worse thing thanI took it for.—No matter for that—come along.—Oh my poor master!—I would even tell alieto save him.
Who do you say wants to speak with me?
Mr. Lucre, sir.
And who else?
A person who says his name is Willford, helooks as if he came from the country, and seemsin mean circumstances.
Show him to me directly. And take Mr.Lucre, or any other person of fashion that maycall, to my clerks. [Exit Servant.] But for thepoor, let them be undermyprotection.
Come in—walk in, and let me know what Ican do to serve you.
I deposited, sir, in your clerk's hands, a sumof money to set me free from confinement for debt.—On his word, I was discharged—he owns he hasnot yet paid away this money, still he refuses torestore it to me, though in return I again renderup my person.
And why would you do this?
Because my honour—I mean my conscience—for that's the poor man's honour—is concerned.
Explain yourself.
A son of mine, received this sum I speak of,and thought itgivenhim; while it was onlymeant as a purchase—a purchase of what wehad no right to sell—and therefore it must berestored to the owner.
And who is he?
Sir George Splendorville—I suppose you haveheard of him?
He, you mean, who by the desire of his father'swill, lately changed his name from Blandford?
Sir!
The name, which some part of the family,while reduced, had taken.
Good Heaven! Is there such a circumstancein his story?
Why do you ask with such emotion?
Because he is the man, in search of whom Ileft my habitation in the country, to present beforehim a destitute young woman, a near relation.
What relation?—Be particular in your answer.
A sister.
I thank you for your intelligence. You havenamed a person who for these three years past, Ihave in vain endeavoured to find.—But did yousay she was in poverty?
I did.
I give you joy then—for I have in my possessiona deed which conveys to a lost daughter of SirGeorge's father, the other half of the fortune hebequeathed his son—but as yet, all my endeavourshave been in vain to find where she, andan uncle, to whose care she was entrusted in herinfancy, are retired.
Now, Eleanor, arm yourself with fortitude—with fortitude to bear not the frowns, but thesmiles of fortune. Be humble, collected, andthe same you have ever been, while I for thefirst time inform you—you are not my daughter.—And from this gentleman's intelligenceadd, you are rich—you are the deceased Blandford'schild, and Splendorville's sister.
Oh! Heavens! Do I lose a father such as you,to gain a brother such as he is?
There can be no mistake on this occasion—And you, if I am not deceived, are the brotherof the late Mr. Blandford. Your looks, yourperson, your very voice confirms it.
I have writings in my care, shall prove it beyonda doubt; with the whole narrative of ourseparation when he with his son, then a youth,embarked for India; where I suppose, riches, soonsucceeded poverty.
Lady Caroline Seymour, sir, is at the door inher carriage, and will not be denied admittance.She says she must see you upon some very urgentbusiness.
Will you do me the favour to step for a momentinto this room? Lady Caroline will notstay long. I'll not detain you.
Dear Mr. Manly, I have a thousand apologiesto make—And yet I am sure you will excusethe subject of my visit, when you consider——
Your ladyship will please to sit down.
You cannot be ignorant, Mr. Manly—youmust know, the terms of acquaintance on whichSir George Splendorville and I have been, forsome time past?—you were his father's agent;his chief solicitor; and although you are notemployed by Sir George, yet the state of hisaffairs cannot be concealed from you—Has he,or has he not, any inheritance yet to come?
Pardon me, madam—though not entrusted bySir George, I will, nevertheless, keep his secrets.
That is plainly telling me he is worth nothing.
By no means—Sir George, in spite of hisprofusion, must still be rich. He has preservedhis large estate in Wales; and as to money, Ido not doubt but he has a considerable sum.
Not a guinea. I won it all from him lastnight.
You? You, who are to become his wife?
I might, had I not been thus fortunate. Butwhy should I marry him, when his riches aremine, without that ceremony.
Inconsiderate man!—what will be the endof his imprudence! Yet, Heaven be praised!he has still that fine estate, I just now mentioned.
Indeed he has not—that has belonged to methese three months.
To you!
Yes—Bought for me under another name byagents; and for half its value.
Madman!—Yet your ladyship must excuseme. I know your income stinted, and till thedeath of the Earl, your father, where could youraise sufficient to make even half the purchase.
From Splendorville's own prodigality—fromlavish presents made to me by him.
Sir George Splendorville, sir, desires to speakwith you—he is at the door with Mr. Blackman.
Oh Heavens! do not let him see me here.
I have company there—walk in here, if youPlease.
Desire Sir George to walk in.
Sir George, do me the favour to sit down.
Mr. Manly, my attorney will let you knowthe business on which I am come.
Why yes, Mr. Manly, it is extremely hardthat Sir George has for so long a time been keptout of a very large part of his fortune; particularly,as he has had occasion for it.
I have had occasion for it I assure you Mr.Manly; and I have occasion for it at this verytime.
But so may the person, sir, from whom youwould take it. In a word, Sir George, neitheryour lawyer nor you, shall prevail on me to giveup the trust reposed in me by your father, withoutcertain evidence, that your sister will nevercome to make her claim.
You are not afraid of ghosts, are you?
No, nor of robbers either:——you cannotfrighten me, Mr. Blackman.
Then depend upon it, the sister of Sir Georgecan never appear in any other manner than as aspirit. For, here, sir, (taking from his pocket aparcel of papers) here are authentic letters to proveher death. (Sir Georgelooks confused.)
Her death!
Yes, her death. Here is a certificate fromthe curate of the parish in which she was buried.
Buried too!
Yes, sir, buried. Here is also an affidavitfrom the sexton of the said village, signed bythe overseer and churchwardens, testifying thesame.—You see, (shewing him the paper, and readingat the same time) "Died Anno Domini, onethousand seven hundred and eighty nine, theseventeenth of June——"
How near to the brink of infamy has myimprudence led me! And s'death, myconfusion takes from me the power to explain, andexpose the scoundrel.
Mr. Manly, I will leave you for the present;but you shall hear from me shortly,—when thismatter shall be accounted for clearly—perfectlyto your satisfaction, you may depend upon it.—(Going.)
Stay, Sir George, and——
Aye, Sir George, stay and see Mr. Manly'sobjections wholly removed. He seems to doubtthe evidence of paper; I must, therefore, begleave to produce a living witness—the gentlemanwhom I appointed to meet me here.
And who is he?
The apothecary, who attended Sir George'ssister in her dying illness.
Desire him to walk in by all means. What isthe matter, Sir George, you look discomposed?
Sir George is something nervous, Mr. Manly;and you know the very name of a medical gentleman,will affect the nerves of some people.
Bluntly!—But I will see the end of this.
(Bowing to him). You are an apothecary, Ithink, sir?
Yes, sir.
(After seeming inclined to say, No). Yes, sir.
Pray sir, what disorder took the young lady,on whose account you have been brought hither,out of the world?
Oh! the old disorder, I suppose.
The old disorder.
And pray what may that be, sir? (Blackmanoffers to reply). Mr. Blackman, Please to let thisgentleman speak for himself.—What is it youmean, pray sir, by the old disorder?
I—I—mean—Love, sir.
You will not pretend to say, that love, was thecause of her death?
(Confused and hesitating). That—and a few fitsof the gout.
I fear, sir, you are not in perfect health yourself—you tremble and look very pale.
That is because the subject affects him.
Do you then never mention the young ladywithout being affected?
Never, sir—for had you seen her as I did—um—Had you seen her.——She was in verygreat danger from the first; but after I attendedher, she was in greater danger still.—Iadvised a physician to be called in; on which shegrew worse.—We had next a consultation ofphysicians; and then it was all over with her.
(Rising from his chair). Blackman, this is toomuch—all my calamities are inferior to this—Desist, therefore, or——
(ToBluntly.) Desist—He cannot bear to hearthe pathetic description. Consider the lady washis sister—and though he had not the pleasure ofknowing her—yet, poor thing—(affecting toweep)—poor young woman! he cannot help lamentingher loss.
No more can I—for though she was not myrelation—yet she was my Patient. (pretending toweep also).
I can bear no more.—Mr. Manly, you are imposedupon. But think not, however appearancesmay be against me, that I came here as thetool of so infamous a deceit.—Thoughtlessness,Mr. Manly, has embarrassed my circumstances;and thoughtlessness alone, has made me employ avillain to retrieve them.
Mighty fine!
I have no authority, sir, to affirm, that mysister is not alive; and I am confident the accountyou have just now heard, of her death, isbut an artifice. My indiscretions have reducedme nearly to beggary; but I will perish in confinement—cheerfully perish—rather than owemy affluence to one dishonourable action.
Grief has turned his brain.
Sir George, I honour your feelings; and as forthe feelings of these gentlemen, I am extremelyhappy, that it is in my power to dry up theirtears, and calm all their sorrows.
Sir!
How? In what way?
(Going to the door whereWillfordand hisniece are.) Come forth, young lady, to the armsof a brother, and relieve the anguish of thesemourners, who are lamenting your decease.(EleanorandWillfordenter)—Yes, SirGeorge, here is that sister, whom those gentlemenassure us, is dead;—and this is the brotherof your father.—These are proofs, as convincing,I hope, as any Mr. Blackman can produce.
She, my sister! Her pretended father myuncle too! (Aside) Blackman, you would haveplunged me into an anguish I never knew before;you would have plunged me into shame.
And so youhaveme.
Pshaw.—Mr. Manly, notwithstanding youare these people's voucher, this appears but ascheme.—These persons are but adventurers,and may possibly have about them forgeries, suchas an honest man, like myself, would shudder at.
Who's there? [Enter Servant.] Shew that—that Mr. Blackman, out of my house instantly;and take care you never admit him again.
Sir George, will you suffer this?
Aye, and a great deal more.
Look'ee Blackman.—If you don't falldown upon your knees, and beg my pardon atthe street door, for the trick you have put uponme, in assuring me my master's sister was reallydead, and that I could do her no injury, by doinghim a service—if you don't beg my pardonfor this, I'll give you such an assault and batteryas you never had to do with in your life.
Beat me—do, beat me—I'll thank you forbeating me—I'd be beat every hour of the day,to recover damages.
My sister—with the sincerest joy I call youby that name—and while I thus embrace you,offer you a heart, that beats with all the pureand tender affection, which our kindred toeach other claims.—In you (embracing his uncle)I behold my father; and experience an awfulfear, mingled with my regard.
Continue still that regard, and even that fear—these filial sentiments may prove important;and they shall ever be repaid with my paternalwatchings, friendship, and love.
My brother——
I have been unworthy of you—I will be sono more, but imitate your excellence. Yet,when I reflect——
My brother, do not imagine——
Leave me, leave me to all the agonies of mymisconduct.—Where is my fortune? Nowallirrecoverably gone—My last, my only resourceis now to be paid to another—I have lost everything.
No, Sir George,nothing—since I possess allthat was yours.
How!
Behold a friend in your necessities—a mistresswhom your misfortunes cannot drive away—but who, experiencing much of your unkindness,still loves you; and knowing your every folly,will still submit to honour, and obey you.
I received your lavish presents, but to hoardthem for you—made myself mistress of yourfortune, but to return it to you—and with it,all my own.
Can this be real? Can I be raised in onemoment, from the depths of misery to unboundedhappiness?
A young man, who says he is Mr. Willford'sson, is called to enquire for him.
Shew him in.
Come, Henry, and take leave of your sisterfor ever.
How so, sir?—What do you mean? To beparted from her, would be the utmost rigour offortune.
The affection with which you speak, younggentleman, seems to convey something beyondmere brotherly love.
I some years since revealed to him she wasnothis sister.
And he, some years since, implied it to me.Yet, in such doubtful terms, I knew not whichof us had the sorrow not to be your child.—I now find it is myself—and I aver it to be asorrow, for which, all the fortune I am goingto possess will not repay me.
Then, my dearest sister, indulge the hope youmay yet be his daughter. This young man'smerit deserves a reward, and intimehe maylearn to love you by a still nearer tie than that,you have so long known to exist between you;nay, even by a nearer tie than that of brother.
I am in doubt of what I hear—Eleanor, sinceour short separation, there cannot surely havebeen any important discovery—
Be not surprised—great discoveries, which welabour in vain for years to make, are frequentlybrought about in one lucky moment, withoutany labour at all.
True—for till this day arose, I had passedevery hour since my birth, without making onediscovery to my advantage—while this short,but propitious morning, has discovered to meall my former folly—and discovered to me—how to be in future happy.