No More Learning

MISS NEV. Mr. Hastings, Mr. Marlow, why will you increase my distress
by this groundless dispute? I implore, I entreat you—

_Enter_ SERVANT.

SERV. Your cloak, madam. My mistress is impatient.

MISS NEV. I come. Pray be pacified. If I leave you thus, I shall die
with apprehension.

_Enter_ SERVANT.

SERV. Your fan, muff, and gloves, madam. The horses are waiting.

MISS NEV. O, Mr. Marlow! if you knew what a scene of constraint and
ill-nature lies before me, I'm sure it would convert your resentment
into pity.

MARL. I'm so distracted with a variety of passions, that I don't know
what I do. Forgive me, madam. George, forgive me. You know my hasty
temper, and should not exasperate it.

HAST. The torture of my situation is my only excuse.

MISS NEV. Well, my dear Hastings, if you have that esteem for me that I
think, that I am sure you have, your constancy for three years will but
increase the happiness of our future connexion. If—

MRS. HARD. (_Within. _) Miss Neville—Constance, why Constance, I say.

MISS NEV. I'm coming. Well, constancy. Remember, constancy is the word.

_Exit. _

HAST. My heart, how can I support this! To be so near happiness, and
such happiness.

MARL. (_To_ TONY. ) You see now, young gentleman, the effects of your
folly. What might be amusement to you, is here disappointment, and even
distress.

TONY. (_From a reverie. _) Ecod, I have hit it. It's here. Your hands.
Yours and yours, my poor sulky. My boots there, ho! Meet me two hours
hence at the bottom of the garden; and if you don't find Tony Lumpkin a
more good-natured fellow than you thought for, I'll give you leave to
take my best horse, and Bet Bouncer into the bargain. Come along. My
boots, ho!

_Exeunt. _




ACT V.


_Scene continues. _

_Enter_ HASTINGS _and_ SERVANT.

HAST. You saw the old lady and Miss Neville drive off, you say?

SERV. Yes, your honour; they went off in a post-coach, and the young
'squire went on horseback. They're thirty miles off by this time.

HAST. Then all my hopes are over.

SERV. Yes, sir. Old Sir Charles is arrived. He and the old gentleman of
the house have been laughing at Mr. Marlow's mistake this half-hour.
They are coming this way.

HAST. Then I must not be seen. So, now to my fruitless appointment, at
the bottom of the garden. This is about the time.

_Exit. _

_Enter_ SIR CHARLES _and_ HARDCASTLE.

HARD. Ha! ha! ha! The peremptory tone in which he sent forth his
sublime commands!

SIR CHARLES. And the reserve with which I suppose he treated all your
advances!

HARD. And yet he might have seen something in me above a common
inn-keeper too.

SIR CHARLES. Yes, Dick, but he mistook you for an uncommon inn-keeper,
ha! ha! ha!

HARD. Well, I'm in too good spirits to think of anything but joy. Yes,
my dear friend, this union of our families will make our personal
friendships hereditary; and though my daughter's fortune is but small——

SIR CHARLES. Why, Dick, will you talk of fortune to _me_? My son is
possessed of more than a competence already, and can want nothing but a
good and virtuous girl to share his happiness and increase it. If they
like each other, as you say they do——

HARD. _If_, man! I tell you they _do_ like each other. My daughter as
good as told me so.

SIR CHARLES. But girls are apt to flatter themselves, you know.

HARD. I saw him grasp her hand in the warmest manner myself; and here
he comes to put you out of your _ifs_, I warrant you.

_Enter_ MARLOW.

MARL. I come, sir, once more, to ask pardon for my strange conduct. I
can scarce reflect on my insolence without confusion.

HARD. Tut, boy, a trifle. You take it too gravely. An hour or two's
laughing with my daughter will set all to rights again. —She'll never
like you the worse for it.

MARL. Sir, I shall be always proud of her approbation.

HARD. Approbation is but a cold word, Mr. Marlow: if I am not deceived,
you have something more than approbation thereabouts. You take me.

MARL. Really, sir, I have not that happiness.

HARD. Come boy, I'm an old fellow, and know what's what, as well as you
that are younger. I know what has passed between you; but mum.

MARL. Sure, sir, nothing has passed between us, but the most profound
respect on my side, and the most distant reserve on hers. You don't
think, sir, that my impudence has been passed upon all the rest of the
family.

HARD. Impudence! No, I don't say that—Not quite impudence—Though girls
like to be played with, and rumpled a little too sometimes. But she has
told no tales I assure you.

MARL. I never gave her the slightest cause.

HARD. Well, well, I like modesty in its place well enough. But this is
over-acting, young gentleman. You _may_ be open. Your father and I will
like you the better for it.

MARL. May I die, sir, if I ever——

HARD. I tell you, she don't dislike you; and as I'm sure you like her——

MARL. Dear sir—I protest, sir——

HARD. I see no reason why you should not be joined as fast as the
parson can tie you.

MARL. But hear me, sir——

HARD. Your father approves the match, I admire it, every moment's delay
will be doing mischief, so——

MARL. But why won't you hear me? By all that's just and true, I never
gave Miss Hardcastle the slightest mark of my attachment, or even the
most distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but one interview,
and that was formal, modest and uninteresting.

HARD. (_Aside. _). This fellow's formal modest impudence is beyond
bearing.

SIR CHARLES. And you never grasped her hand, or made any protestations?

MARL. As Heaven is my witness, I came down in obedience to your
commands. I saw the lady without emotion, and parted without
reluctance. I hope you'll exact no further proofs of my duty, nor
prevent me from leaving a house in which I suffer so many
mortifications.

_Exit. _

SIR CHARLES. I'm astonished at the air of sincerity with which he
parted.

HARD. And I'm astonished at the deliberate intrepidity of his
assurance.

SIR CHARLES. I dare pledge my life and honour upon his truth.

HARD. Here comes my daughter, and I would stake my happiness upon her
veracity.

_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE.

HARD. Kate, come hither, child. Answer us sincerely, and without
reserve: has Mr. Marlow made you any professions of love and affection?

MISS HARD. The question is very abrupt, sir! But since you require
unreserved sincerity, I think he has.

HARD. (_To_ SIR CHARLES. ) You see.

SIR CHARLES. And pray, madam, have you and my son had more than one
interview?

MISS HARD. Yes, sir, several.

HARD. (_To_ SIR CHARLES. ) You see.

SIR CHARLES. But did he profess any attachment?

MISS HARD. A lasting one.

SIR CHARLES. Did he talk of love?

MISS HARD. Much, sir.

SIR CHARLES. Amazing! and all this formally?

MISS HARD. Formally.

HARD.
Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied?

SIR CHARLES. And how did he behave, madam?

MISS HARD. As most professed admirers do. Said some civil things of my
face: talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine;
mentioned his heart; gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with
pretended rapture.

SIR CHARLES. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indeed. I know his
conversation among women to be modest and submissive. This forward,
canting, ranting manner by no means describes him, and I am confident
he never sat for the picture.

MISS HARD. Then what, sir, if I should convince you to your face of my
sincerity? If you and my papa, in about half-an-hour, will place
yourselves behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his passion
to me in person.

SIR CHARLES. Agreed. And if I find him what you describe, all my
happiness in him must have an end.

_Exit. _

MISS HARD. And if you don't find him what I describe—I fear my
happiness must never have a beginning.

_Exeunt. _

_Scene changes to the back of the garden. _

_Enter_ HASTINGS.

HAST. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow who probably takes
a delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual, and I'll
wait no longer. What do I see? It is he, and perhaps with news of my
Constance.

_Enter_ TONY, _booted and spattered_.

HAST. My honest 'squire! I now find you a man of your word. This looks
like friendship.

TONY. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best friend you have in the world,
if you knew but all. This riding by night, by-the-by, is cursedly
tiresome. It has shook me worse than the basket of a stage-coach.

HAST. But how? Where did you leave your fellow travellers? Are they in
safety! Are they housed?

TONY. Five-and-twenty miles in two hours and a half is no such bad
driving. The poor beasts have smoked for it. Rabbet me, but I'd rather
ride forty miles after a fox, than ten with such _varment_.

HAST. Well, but where have you left the ladies? I die with impatience.

TONY. Left them? Why where should I leave them but where I found them.

HAST. This is a riddle.

TONY. Riddle me this, then. What's that goes round the house, and round
the house and never touches the house?

HAST. I'm still astray.

TONY. Why that's it, mon. I have led them astray. By jingo, there's not
a pond or slough within five miles of the place, but they can tell the
taste of.

HAST. Ha, ha, ha! I understand: you took them in a round, while they
supposed themselves going forward. And so you have at last brought them
home again.

TONY. You shall hear. I first took them down Feather-bed-lane, where we
stuck fast in the mud. I then rattled them crack over the stones of
Up-and-down Hill—I then introduced them to the gibbet, on Heavy-tree
Heath; and from that, with a circumbendibus, I fairly lodged them in
the horse-pond at the bottom of the garden.

HAST. But no accident, I hope.

TONY. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly frightened. She thinks
herself forty miles off. She's sick of the journey, and the cattle can
scarce crawl. So if your own horses be ready, you may whip off with
cousin, and I'll be bound that no soul here can budge a foot to follow
you.

HAST. My dear friend, how can I be grateful?

TONY. Ay, now it's dear friend, noble 'squire. Just now, it was all
idiot, cub, and run me through the guts. Damn _your_ way of fighting, I
say. After we take a knock in this part of the country, we kiss and be
friends. But, if you had run me through the guts, then I should be
dead, and you might go kiss the hangman.

HAST. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten to relieve Miss Neville; if
you keep the old lady employed, I promise to take care of the young
one.

_Exit_ HASTINGS.

TONY. Never fear me. Here she comes. Vanish. She's got from the pond,
and draggled up to the waist like a mermaid.

_Enter_ MRS. HARDCASTLE.

MRS. HARD. Oh, Tony, I'm killed. Shook. Battered to death. I shall
never survive it. That last jolt, that laid us against the quickset
hedge, has done my business.

TONY. Alack, mamma, it was all your own fault. You would be for running
away by night, without knowing one inch of the way.

MRS. HARD. I wish we were at home again. I never met so many accidents
in so short a journey. Drenched in the mud, overturned in a ditch,
stuck fast in a slough, jolted to a jelly, and at last to lose our way!
Whereabouts do you think we are, Tony?

TONY. By my guess we should be upon Crackskull Common, about forty
miles from home.

MRS. HARD. O lud! O lud! the most notorious spot in all the country. We
only want a robbery to make a complete night on't.

[Illustration:

TONY. —"_Don't be afraid, mamma. _"—_p. _ 371.
]


TONY. Don't be afraid, mamma, don't be afraid. Two of the five that
kept here are hanged, and the other three may not find us. Don't be
afraid. Is that a man that's galloping behind us? No; it's only a tree.
Don't be afraid.

MRS. HARD. The fright will certainly kill me.

TONY. Do you see anything like a black hat moving behind the thicket?

MRS. HARD. O death!

TONY. No, it's only a cow. Don't be afraid, mamma: don't be afraid.

MRS. HARD. As I'm alive, Tony, I see a man coming towards us. Ah! I'm
sure on't. If he perceives us we are undone.

TONY (_Aside. _) Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky, come to take one
of his night walks. (_To her. _) Ah! it's a highwayman, with pistols as
long as my arm. A damn'd ill looking fellow.

MRS. HARD. Good Heaven defend us! He approaches.

TONY. Do you hide yourself in that thicket, and leave me to manage him.
If there be any danger I'll cough, and cry—hem! When I cough, be sure
to keep close.

MRS. HARDCASTLE _hides behind a tree, in the back scene_.

_Enter_ HARDCASTLE.

HARD. I'm mistaken, or I heard voices of people in want of help. O,
Tony, is that you? I did not expect you so soon back. Are your mother
and her charge in safety?

TONY. Very safe, sir, at my aunt Pedigree's. Hem!

MRS. HARD. (_From behind. _). Ah, death! I find there's danger.

HARD. Forty miles in three hours; sure that's too much, my youngster.

TONY. Stout horses and willing minds make short journeys, as they say.
Hem!

MRS. HARD. (_From behind. _) Sure he'll do the dear boy no harm.

HARD. But I heard a voice here; I should be glad to know from whence it
came.

TONY. It was I, sir; talking to myself, sir. I was saying, that forty
miles in three hours, was very good going—hem! As, to be sure, it
was—hem! I have got a sort of cold by being out in the air. We'll go
in, if you please—hem!

HARD. But if you talked to yourself, you did not answer yourself. I am
certain I heard two voices, and am resolved (_Raising his voice_) to
find the other out.

MRS.