No More Learning

There's old Croaker has
just picked it up, and is this moment reading it to himself in the
hall.

OLIVIA. Unfortunate! we shall be discovered.

GARNET. No, madam, don't be uneasy, he can make neither head nor tail
of it. To be sure, he looks as if he was broke loose from Bedlam about
it, but he can't find what it means for all that. O Lud, he is coming
this way all in the horrors!

OLIVIA. Then let us leave the house this instant, for fear he should
ask farther questions. In the mean time, Garnet, do you write and send
off just such another.

[_Exeunt. _

_Enter_ CROAKER.

CROAKER. Death and destruction! Are all the horrors of air, fire, and
water, to be levelled only at me? Am I only to be singled out for
gunpowder-plots, combustibles and conflagration? Here it is—An
incendiary letter dropped at my door. 'To Muster Croaker, these, with
speed. ' Ay, ay, plain enough the direction: all in the genuine
incendiary spelling, and as cramp as the devil, 'With speed! ' O,
confound your speed. But let me read it once more. (_Reads_). 'Muster
Croakar as sone as yoew see this leve twenty gunnes at the bar of the
Talboot tell caled for or yowe and yower experetion will be al blown
up. ' Ah, but too plain. Blood and gunpowder in every line of it. Blown
up! murderous dog! All blown up! Heavens! what have I and my poor
family done, to be all blown up! (_Reads_). 'Our pockets are low, and
money we must have. ' Ay, there's the reason; they'll blow us up,
because they have got low pockets. (_Reads_). 'It is but a short time
you have to consider; for if it takes wind, the house will quickly be
all of a flame. ' Inhuman monsters! blow us up, and then burn us. The
earthquake at Lisbon was but a bonfire to it. (_Reads_). 'Make quick
dispatch, and so no more at present. But may cupid, the little God of
Love, go with you wherever you go. ' The little God of Love! Cupid, the
little God of Love go with me! Go you to the devil, you and your little
Cupid together; I'm so frightened, I scarce know whether I sit, stand,
or go. Perhaps this moment I'm treading on lighted matches, blazing
brimstone, and barrels of gunpowder. They are preparing to blow me up
into the clouds. Murder! We shall be all burnt in our beds; we shall be
all burnt in our beds.

_Enter_ MISS RICHLAND

MISS RICH. Lord, sir, what's the matter?

CROAKER. Murder's the matter. We shall be all blown up in our beds
before morning.

MISS RICH. I hope not, sir.

CROAKER. What signifies what you hope, madam, when I have a certificate
of it here in my hand? Will nothing alarm my family? Sleeping and
eating, sleeping and eating, is the only work from morning till night
in my house. My insensible crew could sleep, though rocked by an
earthquake; and fry beef-steaks at a volcano.

MISS RICH. But, sir, you have alarmed them so often already, we have
nothing but earthquakes, famines, plagues, and mad dogs, from year's
end to years' end. You remember, sir, it is not above a month ago you
assured us of a conspiracy among the bakers, to poison us in our bread;
and so kept the whole family a week upon potatoes.

CROAKER. And potatoes were too good for them. But why do I stand
talking here with a girl, when I should be facing the enemy without?
Here, John, Nicodemus, search the house. Look into the cellars, to see
if there be any combustibles below; and above, in the apartments, that
no matches be thrown in at the windows. Let all the fires be put out,
and let the engine be drawn out in the yard, to play upon the house in
case of necessity.

[_Exit. _

MISS RICHLAND _alone_.

MISS RICH. What can he mean by all this? Yet, why should I inquire,
when he alarms us in this manner almost every day? But Honeywood has
desired an interview with me in private. What can he mean? or, rather,
what means this palpitation at his approach? It is the first time he
ever showed anything in his conduct that seemed particular. Sure he
cannot mean to——but he's here.

_Enter_ HONEYWOOD.

HONEYW. I presumed to solicit this interview, madam, before I left
town, to be permitted—

MISS RICH. Indeed! Leaving town, sir? —

HONEYW. Yes, madam; perhaps the kingdom. I have presumed, I say, to
desire the favour of this interview—in order to disclose something
which our long friendship prompts. And yet my fears—

[Illustration:

CROAKER. —"_It's your supreme pleasure
to give me no better consolation? _"—_p. _ 307.
]


MISS RICH. His fears! what are his fears to mine? _Aside. _—We have
indeed been long acquainted, sir; very long. If I remember, our first
meeting was at the French ambassador's. —Do you recollect how you were
pleased to rally me upon my complexion there?

HONEYW. Perfectly, madam; I presumed to reprove you for painting: but
your warmer blushes soon convinced the company that the colouring was
all from nature.

MISS RICH. And yet you only meant it, in your good-natured way, to make
me pay a compliment to myself. In the same manner you danced the same
night with the most awkward woman in company, because you saw nobody
else would take her out.

HONEYW. Yes; and was rewarded the next night, by dancing with the
finest woman in company, whom every body wished to take out.

MISS RICH. Well, sir, if you thought so then, I fear your judgment has
since corrected the errors of a first impression. We generally show to
most advantage at first. Our sex are like poor tradesmen, that put all
their best goods to be seen at the windows.

HONEYW. The first impression, madam, did, indeed, deceive me. I
expected to find a woman with all the faults of conscious flattered
beauty. I expected to find her vain and insolent. But every day has
since taught me that it is possible to possess sense without pride, and
beauty without affectation.

MISS RICH. This, sir, is a style very unusual with Mr. Honeywood; and I
should be glad to know why he thus attempts to increase that vanity,
which his own lesson hath taught me to despise.

HONEYW. I ask pardon, madam, Yet, from our long friendship, I presumed
I might have some right to offer, without offence, what you may refuse
without offending.

MISS RICH. Sir! I beg you'd reflect; though, I fear, I shall scarce
have any power to refuse a request of yours; yet, you may be
precipitate: consider, sir.

HONEYW. I own my rashness; but, as I plead the cause of friendship, of
one who loves—Don't be alarmed, madam—Who loves you with the most
ardent passion; whose whole happiness is placed in you—

MISS RICH. I fear, sir, I shall never find whom you mean, by this
description of him.

HONEYW. Ah, madam, it but too plainly points him out; though he should
be too humble himself to urge his pretensions, or you too modest to
understand them.

MISS RICH. Well; it would be affectation any longer to pretend
ignorance; and, I will own, sir, I have long been prejudiced in his
favour. It was but natural to wish to make his heart mine, as he seemed
himself ignorant of its value.

HONEYW. I see she always loved him (_aside_). I find, madam, you're
already sensible of his worth, his passion. How happy is my friend, to
be the favourite of one with such sense to distinguish merit, and such
beauty to reward it!

MISS RICH. Your friend, sir! What friend?

HONEYW. My best friend—my friend Mr. Lofty, madam.

MISS RICH. He, sir!

HONEYW. Yes, he, madam. He is, indeed, what your warmest wishes might
have formed him. And to his other qualities, he adds that of the most
passionate regard for you.

MISS RICH. Amazement! —No more of this, I beg you, sir.

HONEYW. I see your confusion, madam, and know how to interpret it. And
since I so plainly read the language of your heart, shall I make my
friend happy, by communicating your sentiments?

MISS RICH. By no means.

HONEYW. Excuse me; I must—I know you desire it.

MISS RICH. Mr. Honeywood, let me tell you, that you wrong my sentiments
and yourself. When I first applied to your friendship, I expected
advice and assistance; but now, sir, I see that it is vain to expect
happiness from him who has been so bad an economist of his own; and
that I must disclaim his friendship who ceases to be a friend to
himself.

[_Exit. _

HONEYW. How is this? she has confessed she loved him, and yet she
seemed to part in displeasure. Can I have done anything to reproach
myself with? No, I believe not; yet, after all, these things should not
be done by a third person; I should have spared her confusion. My
friendship carried me a little too far.

_Enter_ CROAKER, _with the letter in his hand, and_ MRS. CROAKER.

MRS. CROAKER. Ha, ha, ha! And so my dear, it's your supreme wish that I
should be quite wretched upon this occasion? Ha, ha!

CROAKER (_mimicking_). Ha, ha, ha! and so, my dear, it's your supreme
pleasure to give me no better consolation?

MRS. CROAKER. Positively, my dear, what is this incendiary stuff and
trumpery to me? Our house may travel through the air like the house of
Loretto, for aught I care, if I'm to be miserable in it.

CROAKER. Would to heaven it were converted into a house of correction
for your benefit! Have we not everything to alarm us? Perhaps, this
very moment the tragedy is beginning.

MRS. CROAKER. Then let us reserve our distress till the rising of the
curtain, or give them the money they want, and have done with them.

CROAKER. Give them my money! —and pray what right have they to my money?

MRS. CROAKER. And pray what right then have you to my good humour?

CROAKER. And so your good humour advises me to part with my money? Why,
then, to tell your good humour a piece of my mind, I'd sooner part with
my wife. Here's Mr. Honeywood, see what he'll say to it.
My dear
Honeywood, look at this incendiary letter dropped at my door. It will
freeze you with terror; and yet lovey here can read it—can read it, and
laugh.

MRS. CROAKER. Yes, and so will Mr. Honeywood.

CROAKER. If he does, I'll suffer to be hanged the next minute in the
rogue's place, that's all.

MRS. CROAKER. Speak, Mr. Honeywood; is there anything more foolish than
my husband's fright upon this occasion?

HONEYW. It would not become me to decide, madam; but, doubtless, the
greatness of his terrors now will but invite them to renew their
villainy another time.

MRS. CROAKER. I told you he'd be of my opinion.

CROAKER. How, sir! do you maintain that I should lie down under such an
injury, and show, neither by my tears nor complaints, that I have
something of the spirit of a man in me?

HONEYW. Pardon me, sir. You ought to make the loudest complaints if you
desire redress. The surest way to have redress, is to be earnest in the
pursuit of it.

CROAKER. Ay, whose opinion is he of now?

MRS. CROAKER. But don't you think that laughing off our fears is the
best way?

HONEYW. What is the best, madam, few can say; but I'll maintain it to
be a very wise way.

CROAKER. But we're talking of the best. Surely the best way is to face
the enemy in the field, and not wait till he plunders us in our very
bed-chamber.

HONEYW. Why, sir, as to the best, that—that's a very wise way too.

MRS. CROAKER. But can anything be more absurd than to double our
distresses by our apprehensions, and put it in the power of every low
fellow, that can scrawl ten words of wretched spelling, to torment us?

HONEYW. Without doubt, nothing more absurd.

CROAKER. How! would it not be more absurd to despise the rattle till we
are bit by the snake?

HONEYW. Without doubt, perfectly absurd.

CROAKER. Then you are of my opinion?

HONEYW. Entirely.

MRS. CROAKER. And you reject mine?

HONEYW. Heavens forbid, madam. No; sure no reasoning can be more just
than yours. We ought certainly to despise malice, if we cannot oppose
it, and not make the incendiary's pen as fatal to our repose as the
highwayman's pistol.

MRS. CROAKER. O! then you think I'm quite right?

HONEYW. Perfectly right.

CROAKER. A plague of plagues, we can't both be right. I ought to be
sorry, or I ought to be glad. My hat must be on my head, or my hat must
be off.

MRS. CROAKER. Certainly; in two opposite opinions, if one be perfectly
reasonable, the other can't be perfectly right.

HONEYW. And why may not both be right, madam; Mr. Croaker in earnestly
seeking redress, and you in waiting the event with good humour? Pray
let me see the letter again. I have it. This letter requires twenty
guineas to be left at the bar of the Talbot inn. If it be indeed an
incendiary letter, what if you and I, sir, go there; and when the
writer comes to be paid his expected booty, seize him?

CROAKER. My dear friend, it's the very thing; the very thing. While I
walk by the door, you shall plant yourself in ambush near the bar;
burst out upon the miscreant like a masqued battery; extort a
confession at once, and so hang him up by surprise.

HONEYW. Yes; but I would not choose to exercise too much severity. It
is my maxim, sir, that crimes generally punish themselves.

CROAKER. Well, but we may upbraid him a little, I suppose?
(_Ironically. _)

HONEYW. Ay, but not punish him too rigidly.

CROAKER. Well, well, leave that to my own benevolence.

HONEYW. Well, I do; but remember that universal benevolence is the
first law of nature.

[_Exeunt_ HONEYWOOD _and_ MRS. CROAKER.

CROAKER. Yes; and my universal benevolence will hang the dog if he had
as many necks as a hydra.

ACT V.


SCENE. —_An Inn. _

_Enter_ OLIVIA, JARVIS.

OLIVIA. Well, we have got safe to the inn, however. Now, if the
post-chaise were ready—

JARVIS. The horses are just finishing their oats; and, as they are not
going to be married, they choose to take their own time.

OLIVIA. You are for ever giving wrong motives to my impatience.

JARVIS. Be as impatient as you will, the horses must take their own
time; besides, you don't consider we have got no answer from our
fellow-traveller yet. If we hear nothing from Mr. Leontine, we have
only one way left us.

OLIVIA. What way?

JARVIS. The way home again.

OLIVIA. Not so. I have made a resolution to go, and nothing shall
induce me to break it.

JARVIS. Ay; resolutions are well kept when they jump with inclination.
However, I'll go hasten things without. And I'll call too at the bar to
see if anything should be left for us there. Don't be in such a plaguy
hurry, madam, and we shall go the faster, I promise you.

[_Exit_ JARVIS.

_Enter_ LANDLADY.

LANDLADY. What! Solomon; why don't you move? Pipes and tobacco for the
Lamb there. Will nobody answer? To the Dolphin; quick. The Angel has
been outrageous this half-hour. Did your ladyship call, madam?

OLIVIA. No, madam.

LANDLADY. I find, as you're for Scotland, madam—but that's no business
of mine; married or not married, I ask no questions. To be sure, we had
a sweet little couple set off from this two days ago for the same
place. The gentleman, for a tailor, was, to be sure, as fine a spoken
tailor as ever blew froth from a full pot. And the young lady so
bashful, it was near half an hour before we could get her to finish a
pint of raspberry between us.

OLIVIA. But this gentleman and I are not going to be married, I assure
you

LANDLADY. May be not. That's no business of mine; for certain, Scotch
marriages seldom turn out. There was, of my own knowledge, Miss Macfag,
that married her father's footman. Alack-a-day! she and her husband
soon parted, and now keep separate cellars in Hedge-lane.

OLIVIA. A very pretty picture of what lies before me.

_Aside. _

_Enter_ LEONTINE.

LEONT. My dear Olivia, my anxiety till you were out of danger, was too
great to be resisted. I could not help coming to see you set out,
though it exposes us to a discovery.

OLIVIA. May everything you do prove as fortunate. Indeed, Leontine, we
have been most cruelly disappointed. Mr. Honeywood's bill upon the city
has, it seems, been protested; and we have been utterly at a loss how
to proceed.

LEONT. How! An offer of his own too. Sure, he could not mean to deceive
us.

OLIVIA. Depend upon his sincerity; he only mistook the desire for the
power of serving us. But let us think no more of it. I believe the
post-chaise is ready by this.

LANDLADY. Not quite yet; and, begging your ladyship's pardon, I don't
think your ladyship quite ready for the post-chaise. The north road is
a cold place, madam. I have a drop in the house of as pretty raspberry
as ever was tipt over tongue. Just a thimblefull, to keep the wind off
your stomach. To be sure, the last couple we had here, they said it was
a perfect nosegay. Ecod, I sent them both away as good-natured—Up went
the blinds, round went the wheels, and, Drive away, postboy! was the
word.

_Enter_ CROAKER.

CROAKER. Well, while my friend Honeywood is upon the post of danger at
the bar, it must be my business to have an eye about me here. I think I
know an incendiary's look; for, wherever the devil makes a purchase, he
never fails to set his mark. Ha! who have we here? My son and daughter!
What can they be doing here?

LANDLADY. I tell you, madam, it will do you good; I think I know by
this time what's good for the north road. It's a raw night, madam. —Sir—

LEONT. Not a drop more, good madam. I should now take it as a greater
favour if you hasten the horses; for I am afraid to be seen myself.

LANDLADY. That shall be done. Wha, Solomon! are you all dead there?
Wha, Solomon, I say.

[_Exit bawling. _

OLIVIA. Well; I dread, lest an expedition begun in fear should end in
repentance. —Every moment we stay increases our danger, and adds to my
apprehensions.

LEONT. There's no danger, trust me, my dear; there can be none. If
Honeywood has acted with honour, and kept my father, as he promised, in
employment, till we are out of danger, nothing can interrupt our
journey.

OLIVIA.