Charlotte.Therefore it is, that when large hoops are in fashion, we often see many a plump girl lost in the immensity of a hoop-petticoat, whose want of height anden-bon-pointwould never have been remarked in any other dress. When the high head-dress is the mode, how then do we see a lofty cushion, with a profusion of gauze, feathers, and ribband, supported by a face no bigger than an apple; whilst a broad, full-faced lady, who really would have appeared tolerably handsome in a large head-dress, looks with her smart chapeau as masculine as a soldier.
Manly.But remember, my dear sister, and I wish all my fair countrywomen would recollect, that the only excuse a young lady can have for going extravagantly into a fashion is because it makes her look extravagantly handsome.—Ladies, I must wish you a good morning.
Charlotte.But, brother, you are going to make home with us.
Manly.Indeed I cannot. I have seen my uncle and explained that matter.
Charlotte.Come and dine with us, then. We have a family dinner about half-past four o'clock.
Manly.I am engaged to dine with the Spanish ambassador. I was introduced to him by an old brother officer; and instead of freezing me with a cold card of compliment to dine with him ten days hence, he, with the true old Castilian frankness, in a friendly manner, asked me to dine with him to-day—an honour I could not refuse. Sister, adieu—madam, your most obedient—
[Exit.
Charlotte.I will wait upon you to the door, brother; I have something particular to say to you.
[Exit.
Letitia[alone]. What a pair!—She the pink of flirtation, he the essence of everything that isoutréand gloomy.—I think I have completely deceived Charlotte by my manner of speaking of Mr. Dimple; she's too much the friend of Maria to be confidedin. He is certainly rendering himself disagreeable to Maria, in order to break with her and proffer his hand to me. This is what the delicate fellow hinted in our last conversation.
[Exit.
SceneII.The Mall.
EnterJessamy.
Positively this Mall is a very pretty place. I hope the cits won't ruin it by repairs. To be sure, it won't do to speak of in the same day with Ranelagh or Vauxhall; however, it's a fine place for a young fellow to display his person to advantage. Indeed, nothing is lost here; the girls have taste, and I am very happy to find they have adopted the elegant London fashion of looking back, after a genteel fellow like me has passed them.—Ah! who comes here? This, by his awkwardness, must be the Yankee colonel's servant. I'll accost him.
EnterJonathan.
Jessamy.Votre très-humble serviteur, Monsieur.I understand Colonel Manly, the Yankee officer, has the honour of your services.
Jonathan.Sir!—
Jessamy.I say, sir, I understand that Colonel Manly has the honour of having you for a servant.
Jonathan.Servant! Sir, do you take me for a neger,—I am Colonel Manly's waiter.
Jessamy.A true Yankee distinction, egad, without a difference. Why, sir, do you not perform all the offices of a servant? do you not even blacken his boots?
Jonathan.Yes; I do grease them a bit sometimes; but I am a true blue son of liberty, for all that. Father said I should come as Colonel Manly's waiter, to see the world, and all that: but no man shall master me: my father has as good a farm as the Colonel.
Jessamy.Well, sir, we will not quarrel about terms upon the eve of an acquaintance from which I promise myself so much satisfaction;—therefore,sans cérémonie—
Jonathan.What?—
Jessamy.I say I am extremely happy to see Colonel Manly's waiter.
Jonathan.Well, and I vow, too, I am pretty considerably glad to see you; but what the dogs need of all this outlandish lingo? Who may you be, sir, if I may be so bold?
Jessamy.I have the honour to be Mr. Dimple's servant, or, if you please, waiter. We lodge under the same roof, and should be glad of the honour of your acquaintance.
Jonathan.You a waiter! by the living jingo, you look so topping, I took you for one of the agents to Congress.
Jessamy.The brute has discernment, notwithstanding his appearance.—Give me leave to say I wonder then at your familiarity.
Jonathan.Why, as to the matter of that, Mr.——; pray, what's your name?
Jessamy.Jessamy, at your service.
Jonathan.Why, I swear we don't make any great matter of distinction in our state between quality and other folks.
Jessamy.This is, indeed, a levelling principle.—I hope, Mr. Jonathan, you have not taken part with the insurgents.
Jonathan.Why, since General Shays has sneaked off and given us the bag to hold, I don't care to give my opinion; but you'll promise not to tell—put your ear this way—you won't tell?—I vow I did think the sturgeons were right.
Jessamy.I thought, Mr. Jonathan, you Massachusetts-men always argued with a gun in your hand. Why didn't you join them?
Jonathan.Why, the Colonel is one of those folks called the Shin—Shin—dang it all, I can't speak themlignum vitæwords—you know who I mean—there is a company of them—they wear a China goose at their button-hole—a kind of gilt thing.—Now the Colonel told father and brother,—you must know there are, let me see—there is Elnathan, Silas, and Barnabas, Tabitha—no, no, she's a she—tarnation, now I have it—there's Elnathan, Silas, Barnabas, Jonathan, that's I—seven of us, six went into the wars, and I stayed at home to take care of mother. Colonel said that it was a burning shame for the true blue Bunker-Hill sons of liberty, who had fought Governor Hutchinson, Lord North, and the Devil, to have any hand in kicking up a cursed dust against a government which we had, every mother's son of us, a hand in making.
Jessamy.Bravo!—Well, have you been abroad in the city since your arrival? What have you seen that is curious and entertaining?
Jonathan.Oh! I have seen a power of fine sights. I went to see two marble-stone men and a leaden horse that stands out in doors in all weathers; and when I came where they was, one had got no head, and t' other wer'n't there. They said as how the leaden man was a damn'd tory, and that he took wit in his anger and rode off in the time of the troubles.
Jessamy.But this was not the end of your excursion.
Jonathan.Oh, no; I went to a place they call Holy Ground. Now I counted this was a place where folks go to meeting; so I put my hymn-book in my pocket, and walked softly and grave as a minister; and when I came there, the dogs a bit of a meeting-house could I see. At last I spied a young gentlewoman standing by one of the seats which they have here at the doors. I took her to be the deacon's daughter, and she looked so kind, and so obliging, that I thought I would go and ask her the way to lecture, and—would you think it?—she called me dear, and sweeting, and honey, just as if we were married: by the living jingo, I had a month's mind to buss her.
Jessamy.Well, but how did it end?
Jonathan.Why, as I was standing talking with her, a parcel of sailor men and boys got round me, the snarl-headed curs fell a-kicking and cursing of me at such a tarnal rate, that I vow I was glad to take to my heels and split home, right off, tail on end, like a stream of chalk.
Jessamy.Why, my dear friend, you are not acquainted with the city; that girl you saw was a—[Whispers.]
Jonathan.Mercy on my soul! was that young woman a harlot!—Well! if this is New-York Holy Ground, what must the Holy-day Ground be!
Jessamy.Well, you should not judge of the city too rashly. We have a number of elegant fine girls here that make a man's leisure hours pass very agreeably. I would esteem it an honour to announce you to some of them.—Gad! that announce is a select word; I wonder where I picked it up.
Jonathan.I don't want to know them.
Jessamy.Come, come, my dear friend, I see that I must assume the honour of being the director of your amusements. Nature has given us passions, and youth and opportunity stimulate to gratify them. It is no shame, my dear Blueskin, for a man to amuse himself with a little gallantry.
Jonathan.Girl huntry! I don't altogether understand. I never played at that game. I know how to play hunt the squirrel, but I can't play anything with the girls; I am as good as married.
Jessamy.Vulgar, horrid brute! Married, and above a hundred miles from his wife, and think that an objection to his making love to every woman he meets! He never can have read, no, he never can have been in a room with a volume of the divine Chesterfield.—So you are married?
Jonathan.No, I don't say so; I said I was as good as married, a kind of promise.
Jessamy.As good as married!—
Jonathan.Why, yes; there's Tabitha Wymen, the deacon's daughter, at home; she and I have been courting a great while, and folks say as how we are to be married; and so I broke a piece of money with her when we parted, and she promised not to spark it with Solomon Dyer while I am gone. You wou'dn't have me false to my true-love, would you?
Jessamy.Maybe you have another reason for constancy; possibly the young lady has a fortune? Ha! Mr. Jonathan, the solid charms: the chains of love are never so binding as when the links are made of gold.
Jonathan.Why, as to fortune, I must needs say her father is pretty dumb rich; he went representative for our town last year. He will give her—let me see—four times seven is—seven times four—nought and carry one,—he will give her twenty acres of land—somewhat rocky though—a Bible, and a cow.
Jessamy.Twenty acres of rock, a Bible, and a cow! Why, my dear Mr. Jonathan, we have servant-maids, or, as you would more elegantly express it, waitresses, in this city, who collect more in one year from their mistresses' cast clothes.
Jonathan.You don't say so!—
Jessamy.Yes, and I'll introduce you to one of them. There is a little lump of flesh and delicacy that lives at next door, waitress to Miss Maria; we often see her on the stoop.
Jonathan.But are you sure she would be courted by me?
Jessamy.Never doubt it; remember a faint heart never—blisters on my tongue—I was going to be guilty of a vile proverb; flat against the authority of Chesterfield. I say there can be nodoubt that the brilliancy of your merit will secure you a favourable reception.
Jonathan.Well, but what must I say to her?
Jessamy.Say to her! why, my dear friend, though I admire your profound knowledge on every other subject, yet, you will pardon my saying that your want of opportunity has made the female heart escape the poignancy of your penetration. Say to her! Why, when a man goes a-courting, and hopes for success, he must begin with doing, and not saying.
Jonathan.Well, what must I do?
Jessamy.Why, when you are introduced you must make five or six elegant bows.
Jonathan.Six elegant bows! I understand that; six, you say? Well—
Jessamy.Then you must press and kiss her hand; then press and kiss, and so on to her lips and cheeks: then talk as much as you can about hearts, darts, flames, nectar, and ambrosia—the more incoherent the better.
Jonathan.Well, but suppose she should be angry with I?
Jessamy.Why, if she should pretend—please to observe, Mr. Jonathan—if she should pretend to be offended, you must—But I'll tell you how my master acted in such a case: He was seated by a young lady of eighteen upon a sofa, plucking with a wanton hand the blooming sweets of youth and beauty. When the lady thought it necessary to check his ardour, she called up a frown upon her lovely face, so irresistibly alluring, that it would have warmed the frozen bosom of age; remember, said she, putting her delicate arm upon his, remember your character and my honour. My master instantly dropped upon his knees, with eyes swimming with love, cheeks glowing with desire, and in the gentlest modulation of voice he said: My dear Caroline, in a few months our hands will be indissolubly united at the altar; our hearts I feel are already so; the favours you now grant as evidence of your affection are favours indeed; yet, when the ceremony is once past, what will now be received with rapture will then be attributed to duty.
Jonathan.Well, and what was the consequence?
Jessamy.The consequence!—Ah! forgive me, my dear friend, but you New-England gentlemen have such a laudable curiosity of seeing the bottom of everything;—why, to be honest, I confess I saw the blooming cherub of a consequence smiling in its angelic mother's arms, about ten months afterwards.
Jonathan.Well, if I follow all your plans, make them six bows, and all that, shall I have such little cherubim consequences?
Jessamy.Undoubtedly.—What are you musing upon?
Jonathan.You say you'll certainly make me acquainted?—Why, I was thinking then how I should contrive to pass this broken piece of silver—won't it buy a sugar-dram?
Jessamy.What is that, the love-token from the deacon's daughter?—You come on bravely. But I must hasten to my master. Adieu, my dear friend.
Jonathan.Stay, Mr. Jessamy—must I buss her when I am introduced to her?
Jessamy.I told you, you must kiss her.
Jonathan.Well, but must I buss her?
Jessamy.Why kiss and buss, and buss and kiss, is all one.
Jonathan.Oh! my dear friend, though you have a profound knowledge of all, a pugnency of tribulation, you don't know everything.
[Exit.
Jessamy[alone].
Well, certainly I improve; my master could not have insinuated himself with more address into the heart of a man he despised. Now will this blundering dog sicken Jenny with his nauseous pawings, until she flies into my arms for very ease. How sweet will the contrast be between the blundering Jonathan and the courtly and accomplished Jessamy!
End of the Second Act.
SceneI.Dimple'sRoom.
Dimple[discovered at a toilet, reading].
"Women have in general but one object, which is their beauty." Very true, my lord; positively very true. "Nature has hardly formed a woman ugly enough to be insensible to flattery upon her person." Extremely just, my lord; every day's delightful experience confirms this. "If her face is so shocking that she must, in some degree, be conscious of it, her figure and air,she thinks, make ample amends for it." The sallow Miss Wan is a proof of this. Upon my telling the distasteful wretch, the other day, that her countenance spoke the pensive language of sentiment, and that Lady Wortley Montague declared that, if the ladies were arrayed in the garb of innocence, the face would be the last part which would be admired, as Monsieur Milton expresses it, she grin'd horribly a ghastly smile. "If her figure is deformed, she thinks her face counterbalances it."
EnterJessamywith letters.
Dimple.Where got you these, Jessamy?
Jessamy.Sir, the English packet is arrived.
Dimple[opens and reads a letter enclosing notes].
"Sir,"I have drawn bills on you in favour of Messrs. Van Cash and Co. as per margin. I have taken up your note to Col. Piquet, and discharged your debts to my Lord Lurcher and Sir Harry Rook. I herewith enclose you copies of the bills, which I have no doubt will be immediately honoured. On failure, I shall empower some lawyer in your country to recover the amounts."I am, sir,"Your most humble servant,"John Hazard."
"Sir,
"I have drawn bills on you in favour of Messrs. Van Cash and Co. as per margin. I have taken up your note to Col. Piquet, and discharged your debts to my Lord Lurcher and Sir Harry Rook. I herewith enclose you copies of the bills, which I have no doubt will be immediately honoured. On failure, I shall empower some lawyer in your country to recover the amounts.
"I am, sir,
"Your most humble servant,
"John Hazard."
Now, did not my lord expressly say that it was unbecoming a well-bred man to be in a passion, I confess I should be ruffled. [Reads.] "There is no accident so unfortunate, which a wise man may not turn to his advantage; nor any accident so fortunate, which a fool will not turn to his disadvantage." True, my lord; but how advantage can be derived from this I can't see. Chesterfield himself, who made, however, the worst practice of the most excellent precepts, was never in so embarrassing a situation. I love the person of Charlotte, and it is necessary I should command the fortune of Letitia. As to Maria!—I doubt not by mysang-froidbehaviour I shall compel her to decline the match; but the blame must not fall upon me. A prudent man, as my lord says, should take all the credit of a good action to himself, and throw the discredit of a bad one upon others. I must break with Maria, marry Letitia, and as for Charlotte—why, Charlotte must be a companion to my wife.—Here, Jessamy!
EnterJessamy.
Dimplefolds and seals two letters.
Dimple.Here, Jessamy, take this letter to my love.
[Gives one.
Jessamy.To which of your honour's loves?—Oh! [Reading.] to Miss Letitia, your honour's rich love.
Dimple.And this [Delivers another.] to Miss Charlotte Manly. See that you deliver them privately.
Jessamy.Yes, your honour.
[Going.
Dimple.Jessamy, who are these strange lodgers that came to the house last night?
Jessamy.Why, the master is a Yankee colonel; I have not seen much of him; but the man is the most unpolished animal your honour ever disgraced your eyes by looking upon. I have had one of the mostoutréconversations with him!—He really has a most prodigious effect upon my risibility.
Dimple.I ought, according to every rule of Chesterfield, to wait on him and insinuate myself into his good graces.—Jessamy, wait on the Colonel with my compliments, and if he is disengaged I will do myself the honour of paying him my respects.—Some ignorant, unpolished boor—
Jessamygoes off and returns.
Jessamy.Sir, the Colonel is gone out, and Jonathan his servant says that he is gone to stretch his legs upon the Mall.—Stretch his legs! what an indelicacy of diction!
Dimple.Very well. Reach me my hat and sword. I'll accost him there, in my way to Letitia's, as by accident; pretend to be struck with his person and address, and endeavour to steal into his confidence. Jessamy, I have no business for you at present.
[Exit.
Jessamy[taking up the book].
My master and I obtain our knowledge from the same source;—though, gad! I think myself much the prettier fellow of the two. [Surveying himself in the glass.] That was a brilliant thought, to insinuate that I folded my master's letters for him; the folding is so neat, that it does honour to the operator. I once intended to have insinuated that I wrote his letters too; but that was before I saw them; it won't do now: no honour there, positively.—"Nothing looks more vulgar [Readingaffectedly.], ordinary, and illiberal than ugly, uneven, and ragged nails; the ends of which should be kept even and clean, not tipped with black, and cut in small segments of circles."—Segments of circles! surely my lord did not consider that he wrote for the beaux. Segments of circles! what a crabbed term! Now I dare answer that my master, with all his learning, does not know that this means, according to the present mode, to let the nails grow long, and then cut them off even at top. [Laughing without.] Ha! that's Jenny's titter. I protest I despair of ever teaching that girl to laugh; she has something so execrably natural in her laugh, that I declare it absolutely discomposes my nerves. How came she into our house! [Calls.] Jenny!
EnterJenny.
Jessamy.Prythee, Jenny, don't spoil your fine face with laughing.
Jenny.Why, mustn't I laugh, Mr. Jessamy?
Jessamy.You may smile; but, as my lord says, nothing can authorize a laugh.
Jenny.Well, but I can't help laughing.—Have you seen him, Mr. Jessamy? ha, ha, ha!
Jessamy.Seen whom?
Jenny.Why Jonathan, the New-England colonel's servant. Do you know he was at the play last night, and the stupid creature don't know where he has been. He would not go to a play for the world; he thinks it was a show, as he calls it.
Jessamy.As ignorant and unpolished as he is, do you know, Miss Jenny, that I propose to introduce him to the honour of your acquaintance?
Jenny.Introduce him to me! for what?
Jessamy.Why, my lovely girl, that you may take him under your protection, as Madame Ramboulliet did young Stanhope; that you may, by your plastic hand, mould this uncouth cub into a gentleman. He is to make love to you.
Jenny.Make love to me!—
Jessamy.Yes, Mistress Jenny, make love to you; and, I doubt not, when he shall becomedomesticatedin your kitchen, that this boor, under your auspices, will soon becomeun amiable petit Jonathan.
Jenny.I must say, Mr. Jessamy, if he copies after me, he will be vastly, monstrously polite.
Jessamy.Stay here one moment, and I will call him.—Jonathan!—Mr. Jonathan! [Calls.]
Jonathan[Within.]. Holla! there.—[Enters.] You promise to stand by me—six bows you say. [Bows.]
Jessamy.Mrs. Jenny, I have the honour of presenting Mr. Jonathan, Colonel Manly's waiter, to you. I am extremely happy that I have it in my power to make two worthy people acquainted with each other's merits.
Jenny.So, Mr. Jonathan, I hear you were at the play last night.
Jonathan.At the play! why, did you think I went to the devil's drawing-room?
Jenny.The devil's drawing-room!
Jonathan.Yes; why an't cards and dice the devil's device, and the play-house the shop where the devil hangs out the vanities of the world upon the tenter-hooks of temptation. I believe you have not heard how they were acting the old boy one night, and the wicked one came among them sure enough, and went right off in a storm, and carried one quarter of the play-house with him. Oh! no, no, no! you won't catch me at a play-house, I warrant you.
Jenny.Well, Mr. Jonathan, though I don't scruple your veracity, I have some reasons for believing you were there; pray, where were you about six o'clock?
Jonathan.Why, I went to see one Mr. Morrison, thehocus-pocusman; they said as how he could eat a case knife.
Jenny.Well, and how did you find the place?
Jonathan.As I was going about here and there, to and again, to find it, I saw a great crowd of folks going into a long entry that had lantherns over the door; so I asked a man whether that was not the place where they playedhocus-pocus? He was a very civil, kind man, though he did speak like the Hessians; he lifted up his eyes and said, "They playhocus-pocustricks enough there, Got knows, mine friend."
Jenny.Well—
Jonathan.So I went right in, and they shewed me away, clean up to the garret, just like meeting-house gallery. And so I saw a power of topping folks, all sitting round in little cabins, "just like father's corn-cribs;" and then there was such a squeaking with the fiddles, and such a tarnal blaze with the lights, my head was near turned. At last the people that sat near me set up sucha hissing—hiss—like so many mad cats; and then they went thump, thump, thump, just like our Peleg threshing wheat and stampt away, just like the nation; and called out for one Mr. Langolee,—I suppose he helps act[s] the tricks.
Jenny.Well, and what did you do all this time?
Jonathan.Gor, I—I liked the fun, and so I thumpt away, and hiss'd as lustily as the best of 'em. One sailor-looking man that sat by me, seeing me stamp, and knowing I was a cute fellow, because I could make a roaring noise, clapt me on the shoulder and said, "You are a d——d hearty cock, smite my timbers!" I told him so I was, but I thought he need not swear so, and make use of such naughty words.
Jessamy.The savage!—Well, and did you see the man with his tricks?
Jonathan.Why, I vow, as I was looking out for him, they lifted up a great green cloth and let us look right into the next neighbour's house. Have you a good many houses in New-York made so in that 'ere way?
Jenny.Not many; but did you see the family?
Jonathan.Yes, swamp it; I see'd the family.
Jenny.Well, and how did you like them?
Jonathan.Why, I vow they were pretty much like other families;—there was a poor, good-natured curse of a husband, and a sad rantipole of a wife.
Jenny.But did you see no other folks?
Jonathan.Yes. There was one youngster; they called him Mr. Joseph; he talked as sober and as pious as a minister; but, like some ministers that I know, he was a sly tike in his heart for all that: He was going to ask a young woman to spark it with him, and—the Lord have mercy on my soul!—she was another man's wife.
Jessamy.The Wabash!
Jenny.And did you see any more folks?
Jonathan.Why, they came on as thick as mustard. For my part, I thought the house was haunted. There was a soldier fellow, who talked about his row de dow, dow, and courted a young woman; but, of all the cute folk I saw, I liked one little fellow—
Jenny.Aye! who was he?
Jonathan.Why, he had red hair, and a little round plump face like mine, only not altogether so handsome. His name was—Darby;—that was his baptizing name; his other name I forgot. Oh! it was Wig—Wag—Wag-all, Darby Wag-all,—pray, do you know him?—I should like to take a sling with him, or a drap of cyder with a pepper-pod in it, to make it warm and comfortable.
Jenny.I can't say I have that pleasure.
Jonathan.I wish you did; he is a cute fellow. But there was one thing I didn't like in that Mr. Darby; and that was, he was afraid of some of them 'ere shooting irons, such as your troopers wear on training days. Now, I'm a true born Yankee American son of liberty, and I never was afraid of a gun yet in all my life.
Jenny.Well, Mr. Jonathan, you were certainly at the play-house.
Jonathan.I at the play-house!—Why didn't I see the play then?
Jenny.Why, the people you saw were players.
Jonathan.Mercy on my soul! did I see the wicked players?—Mayhap that 'ere Darby that I liked so was the old serpent himself, and had his cloven foot in his pocket. Why, I vow, now I come to think on't, the candles seemed to burn blue, and I am sure where I sat it smelt tarnally of brimstone.
Jessamy.Well, Mr. Jonathan, from your account, which I confess is very accurate, you must have been at the play-house.
Jonathan.Why, I vow, I began to smell a rat. When I came away, I went to the man for my money again; you want your money? says he; yes, says I; for what? says he; why, says I, no man shall jocky me out of my money; I paid my money to see sights, and the dogs a bit of a sight have I seen, unless you call listening to people's private business a sight. Why, says he, it is the School for Scandalization.—The School for Scandalization!—Oh! ho! no wonder you New-York folks are so cute at it, when you go to school to learn it; and so I jogged off.
Jessamy.My dear Jenny, my master's business drags me from you; would to heaven I knew no other servitude than to your charms.
Jonathan.Well, but don't go; you won't leave me so.—
Jessamy.Excuse me.—Remember the cash.
[Aside to him, and—Exit.]
Jenny.Mr. Jonathan, won't you please to sit down. Mr.Jessamy tells me you wanted to have some conversation with me. [Having brought forward two chairs, they sit.]
Jonathan.Ma'am!—
Jenny.Sir!—
Jonathan.Ma'am!—
Jenny.Pray, how do you like the city, sir?
Jonathan.Ma'am!—
Jenny.I say, sir, how do you like New-York?
Jonathan.Ma'am!—
Jenny.The stupid creature! but I must pass some little time with him, if it is only to endeavour to learn whether it was his master that made such an abrupt entrance into our house, and my young mistress' heart, this morning. [Aside.] As you don't seem to like to talk, Mr. Jonathan—do you sing?
Jonathan.Gor, I—I am glad she asked that, for I forgot what Mr. Jessamy bid me say, and I dare as well be hanged as act what he bid me do, I'm so ashamed. [Aside.] Yes, ma'am, I can sing—I can sing Mear, Old Hundred, and Bangor.
Jenny.Oh! I don't mean psalm tunes. Have you no little song to please the ladies, such as Roslin Castle, or the Maid of the Mill?
Jonathan.Why, all my tunes go to meeting tunes, save one, and I count you won't altogether like that 'ere.
Jenny.What is it called?
Jonathan.I am sure you have heard folks talk about it; it is called Yankee Doodle.
Jenny.Oh! it is the tune I am fond of; and, if I know anything of my mistress, she would be glad to dance to it. Pray, sing!
Jonathan[sings].
Father and I went up to camp,Along with Captain Goodwin;And there we saw the men and boys,As thick as hasty-pudding.Yankee doodle do, &c.And there we saw a swamping gun,Big as log of maple,On a little deuced cart,A load for father's cattle.Yankee doodle do,&c.And every time they fired it offIt took a horn of powder,It made a noise—like father's gun,Only a nation louder.Yankee doodle do, &c.There was a man in our town,His name was—
Father and I went up to camp,Along with Captain Goodwin;And there we saw the men and boys,As thick as hasty-pudding.Yankee doodle do, &c.
And there we saw a swamping gun,Big as log of maple,On a little deuced cart,A load for father's cattle.Yankee doodle do,&c.
And every time they fired it offIt took a horn of powder,It made a noise—like father's gun,Only a nation louder.Yankee doodle do, &c.
There was a man in our town,His name was—
No, no, that won't do. Now, if I was with Tabitha Wymen and Jemima Cawley down at father Chase's, I shouldn't mind singing this all out before them—you would be affronted if I was to sing that, though that's a lucky thought; if you should be affronted, I have something dang'd cute, which Jessamy told me to say to you.
Jenny.Is that all! I assure you I like it of all things.
Jonathan.No, no; I can sing more; some other time, when you and I are better acquainted, I'll sing the whole of it—no, no—that's a fib—I can't sing but a hundred and ninety verses: our Tabitha at home can sing it all.—[Sings.]
Marblehead's a rocky place,And Cape-Cod is sandy;Charlestown is burnt down,Boston is the dandy.Yankee doodle, doodle do, &c.
Marblehead's a rocky place,And Cape-Cod is sandy;Charlestown is burnt down,Boston is the dandy.Yankee doodle, doodle do, &c.
I vow, my own town song has put me into such topping spirits that I believe I'll begin to do a little, as Jessamy says we must when we go a-courting.—[Runs and kisses her.] Burning rivers! cooling flames! red-hot roses! pig-nuts! hasty-pudding and ambrosia!
Jenny.What means this freedom? you insulting wretch. [Strikes him.]
Jonathan.Are you affronted?
Jenny.Affronted! with what looks shall I express my anger?
Jonathan.Looks! why as to the matter of looks, you look as cross as a witch.
Jenny.Have you no feeling for the delicacy of my sex?
Jonathan.Feeling! Gor, I—I feel the delicacy of your sex pretty smartly [Rubbing his cheek.], though, I vow, I thought when you city ladies courted and married, and all that, you put feeling out of the question. But I want to know whether you are reallyaffronted, or only pretend to be so? 'Cause, if you are certainly right down affronted, I am at the end of my tether; Jessamy didn't tell me what to say to you.
Jenny.Pretend to be affronted!
Jonathan.Aye, aye, if you only pretend, you shall hear how I'll go to work to make cherubim consequences. [Runs up to her.]
Jenny.Begone, you brute!
Jonathan.That looks like mad; but I won't lose my speech. My dearest Jenny—your name is Jenny, I think?—My dearest Jenny, though I have the highest esteem for the sweet favours you have just now granted me—Gor, that's a fib, though; but Jessamy says it is not wicked to tell lies to the women. [Aside.] I say, though I have the highest esteem for the favours you have just now granted me, yet you will consider that, as soon as the dissolvable knot is tied, they will no longer be favours, but only matters of duty and matters of course.
Jenny.Marry you! you audacious monster! get out of my sight, or, rather, let me fly from you.
[Exit hastily.
Jonathan.Gor! she's gone off in a swinging passion, before I had time to think of consequences. If this is the way with your city ladies, give me the twenty acres of rock, the bible, the cow, and Tabitha, and a little peaceable bundling.
SceneII.The Mall.
EnterManly.
It must be so, Montague! and it is not all the tribe of Mandevilles that shall convince me that a nation, to become great, must first become dissipated. Luxury is surely the bane of a nation: Luxury! which enervates both soul and body, by opening a thousand new sources of enjoyment, opens, also, a thousand new sources of contention and want: Luxury! which renders a people weak at home, and accessible to bribery, corruption, and force from abroad. When the Grecian states knew no other tools than the axe and the saw, the Grecians were a great, a free, and a happy people. The kings of Greece devoted their lives to the service of their country, and her senators knew no other superiority over their fellow-citizens than a glorious pre-eminence in danger and virtue. They exhibited to the world a noble spectacle,—a number of independent states united by a similarity of language, sentiment, manners, commoninterest, and common consent, in one grand mutual league of protection. And, thus united, long might they have continued the cherishers of arts and sciences, the protectors of the oppressed, the scourge of tyrants, and the safe asylum of liberty. But when foreign gold, and still more pernicious, foreign luxury had crept among them, they sapped the vitals of their virtue. The virtues of their ancestors were only found in their writings. Envy and suspicion, the vices of little minds, possessed them. The various states engendered jealousies of each other; and, more unfortunately, growing jealous of their great federal council, the Amphictyons, they forgot that their common safety had existed, and would exist, in giving them an honourable extensive prerogative. The common good was lost in the pursuit of private interest; and that people who, by uniting, might have stood against the world in arms, by dividing, crumbled into ruin;—their name is now only known in the page of the historian, and what they once were is all we have left to admire. Oh! that America! Oh! that my country, would, in this her day, learn the things which belong to her peace!
EnterDimple.
Dimple.You are Colonel Manly, I presume?
Manly.At your service, sir.
Dimple.My name is Dimple, sir. I have the honour to be a lodger in the same house with you, and, hearing you were in the Mall, came hither to take the liberty of joining you.
Manly.You are very obliging, sir.
Dimple.As I understand you are a stranger here, sir, I have taken the liberty to introduce myself to your acquaintance, as possibly I may have it in my power to point out some things in this city worthy your notice.
Manly.An attention to strangers is worthy a liberal mind, and must ever be gratefully received. But to a soldier, who has no fixed abode, such attentions are particularly pleasing.
Dimple.Sir, there is no character so respectable as that of a soldier. And, indeed, when we reflect how much we owe to those brave men who have suffered so much in the service of their country, and secured to us those inestimable blessings that we now enjoy, our liberty and independence, they demand every attention which gratitude can pay. For my own part, I never meet an officer, but I embrace him as my friend,nor a private in distress, but I insensibly extend my charity to him.—I have hit the Bumkin off very tolerably.
[Aside.
Manly.Give me your hand, sir! I do not proffer this hand to everybody; but you steal into my heart. I hope I am as insensible to flattery as most men; but I declare (it may be my weak side) that I never hear the name of soldier mentioned with respect, but I experience a thrill of pleasure which I never feel on any other occasion.
Dimple.Will you give me leave, my dear Colonel, to confer an obligation on myself, by shewing you some civilities during your stay here, and giving a similar opportunity to some of my friends?
Manly.Sir, I thank you; but I believe my stay in this city will be very short.
Dimple.I can introduce you to some men of excellent sense, in whose company you will esteem yourself happy; and, by way of amusement, to some fine girls, who will listen to your soft things with pleasure.
Manly.Sir, I should be proud of the honour of being acquainted with those gentlemen;—but, as for the ladies, I don't understand you.
Dimple.Why, sir, I need not tell you, that when a young gentleman is alone with a young lady he must say some soft things to her fair cheek—indeed, the lady will expect it. To be sure, there is not much pleasure when a man of the world and a finished coquette meet, who perfectly know each other; but how delicious is it to excite the emotions of joy, hope, expectation, and delight in the bosom of a lovely girl who believes every tittle of what you say to be serious!
Manly.Serious, sir! In my opinion, the man who, under pretensions of marriage, can plant thorns in the bosom of an innocent, unsuspecting girl is more detestable than a common robber, in the same proportion as private violence is more despicable than open force, and money of less value than happiness.
Dimple.How he awes me by the superiority of his sentiments. [Aside.] As you say, sir, a gentlemen should be cautious how he mentions marriage.
Manly.Cautious, sir! [No person more approves of an intercourse between the sexes than I do. Female conversation softens our manners, whilst our discourse, from the superiority of our literary advantages, improves their minds. But, in our youngcountry, where there is no such thing as gallantry, when a gentleman speaks of love to a lady, whether he mentions marriage or not, she ought to conclude either that he meant to insult her or that his intentions are the most serious and honourable.] How mean, how cruel, is it, by a thousand tender assiduities, to win the affections of an amiable girl, and, though you leave her virtue unspotted, to betray her into the appearance of so many tender partialities, that every man of delicacy would suppress his inclination towards her, by supposing her heart engaged! Can any man, for the trivial gratification of his leisure-hours, affect the happiness of a whole life! His not having spoken of marriage may add to his perfidy, but can be no excuse for his conduct.
Dimple.Sir, I admire your sentiments;—they are mine. The light observations that fell from me were only a principle of the tongue; they came not from the heart; my practice has ever disapproved these principles.
Manly.I believe you, sir. I should with reluctance suppose that those pernicious sentiments could find admittance into the heart of a gentleman.
Dimple.I am now, sir, going to visit a family, where, if you please, I will have the honour of introducing you. Mr. Manly's ward, Miss Letitia, is a young lady of immense fortune; and his niece, Miss Charlotte Manly, is a young lady of great sprightliness and beauty.
Manly.That gentleman, sir, is my uncle, and Miss Manly my sister.
Dimple.The devil she is! [Aside.] Miss Manly your sister, sir? I rejoice to hear it, and feel a double pleasure in being known to you.—Plague on him! I wish he was at Boston again, with all my soul. [Aside.]
Manly.Come, sir, will you go?
Dimple.I will follow you in a moment, sir.
[ExitManly.]
Plague on it! this is unlucky. A fighting brother is a cursed appendage to a fine girl. Egad! I just stopped in time; had he not discovered himself, in two minutes more I should have told him how well I was with his sister. Indeed, I cannot see the satisfaction of an intrigue, if one can't have the pleasure of communicating it to our friends.
[Exit.
End of the Third Act.
Scene.I.Charlotte'sApartment.
Charlotteleading inMaria.
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 laid 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'sheart. Besides, what have I to allege 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.
[EnterLetitia.
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?
EnterDimpleandManly.
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 seesManly.] 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 pensorosos 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 toMaria.]. 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 moremal-apropos. For my part, I must confess that, to a man who has traveled, 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 ofEurope, 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 from 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—have 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 [ToMaria.]: 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 withMaria, followed byDimpleandCharlotte.]
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.
ManentDimpleandLetitia.
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.
Re-enterCharlotte.
Dimple.Did my lovely angel receive my billet?
[ToCharlotte.
Charlotte.Yes.
Dimple.What hour shall I expect with impatience?
Charlotte.At eight I shall be at home unengaged.
Dimple.Unfortunately! 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.
SceneII.Van Rough'sHouse.
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 shou'dn'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.
Manlyleading inMaria.
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.