No More Learning

Sure, Jarvis, you dream. No, no; her intimacy with me
never amounted to more than friendship—mere friendship. That she is the
most lovely woman that ever warmed the human heart with desire, I own.
But never let me harbour a thought of making her unhappy, by a
connection with one so unworthy her merits, as I am. No, Jarvis, it
shall be my study to serve her, even in spite of my wishes; and to
secure her happiness, though it destroys my own.

JARVIS. Was ever the like? I want patience.

HONEYW. Besides, Jarvis, though I could obtain Miss Richland's consent,
do you think I could succeed with her guardian, or Mrs. Croaker, his
wife; who, though both very fine in their way, are yet a little
opposite in their dispositions, you know?

JARVIS. Opposite enough, Heaven knows; the very reverse of each other;
she all laugh and no joke, he always complaining and never sorrowful; a
fretful poor soul, that has a new distress for every hour in the
four-and-twenty—

HONEYW. Hush, hush, he's coming up! he'll hear you.

JARVIS. One whose voice is a passing bell—

HONEYW. Well, well, go do.

JARVIS. A raven that bodes nothing but mischief; a coffin and cross
bones; a bundle of rue; a sprig of deadly nightshade; a—(HONEYWOOD,
_stopping his mouth, at last pushes him off_. )

_Exit_ JARVIS.

HONEYW. I must own, my old monitor is not entirely wrong. There is
something in my friend Croaker's conversation that quite depresses me.
His very mirth is an antidote to all gaiety, and his appearance has a
stronger effect on my spirits than an undertaker's shop. —Mr. Croaker,
this is such a satisfaction—

_Enter_ CROAKER.

CROAKER. A pleasant morning to Mr. Honeywood, and many of them. How is
this? You look most shockingly to-day, my dear friend. I hope this
weather does not affect your spirits. To be sure, if this weather
continues—I say nothing—but God send we be all better this day three
months.

[Illustration:

"CROAKER. —_A pleasant morning to Mr. Honeywood. _"—_p. _ 272.
]


HONEYW. I heartily concur in the wish, though, I own, not in your
apprehensions.

CROAKER. May be not. Indeed, what signifies what weather we have, in a
country going to ruin like ours? Taxes rising and trade falling. Money
flying out of the kingdom, and Jesuits swarming into it. I know at this
time no less than a hundred and twenty-seven Jesuits between
Charing-cross and Temple-bar.

HONEYW. The Jesuits will scarce pervert you or me, I should hope?

CROAKER. May be not. Indeed what signifies whom they pervert in a
country that has scarce any religion to lose? I'm only afraid for our
wives and daughters.

HONEYW. I have no apprehensions for the ladies, I assure you.

CROAKER. May be not. Indeed what signifies whether they be perverted or
not? The women in my time were good for something. I have seen a lady
dressed from top to toe in her own manufactures formerly. But
now-a-days the devil a thing of their own manufacture about them,
except their faces.

HONEYW. But, however these faults may be practised abroad, you don't
find them at home, either with Mrs. Croaker, Olivia, or Miss Richland.

CROAKER. The best of them will never be canonised for a saint when
she's dead. By the by, my dear friend, I don't find this match between
Miss Richland and my son much relished, either by one side or t'other.

HONEYW. I thought otherwise.

CROAKER. Ah, Mr. Honeywood, a little of your fine serious advice to the
young lady might go far: I know she has a very exalted opinion of your
understanding.

HONEYW. But would not that be usurping an authority that more properly
belongs to yourself?

CROAKER. My dear friend, you know but little of my authority at home.
People think, indeed, because they see me come out in a morning thus,
with a pleasant face, and to make my friends merry, that all's well
within. But I have cares that would break a heart of stone. My wife has
so encroached upon every one of my privileges, that I'm now no more
than a mere lodger in my own house.

HONEYW. But a little spirit exerted on your side might perhaps restore
your authority.

CROAKER. No, though I had the spirit of a lion. I do rouse sometimes.
But what then? always haggling and haggling. A man is tired of getting
the better, before his wife is tired of losing the victory.

HONEYW. It's a melancholy consideration indeed, that our chief comforts
often produce our greatest anxieties, and that an increase of our
possessions is but an inlet to new disquietudes.

CROAKER. Ah, my dear friend, these were the very words of poor Dick
Doleful to me not a week before he made away with himself. Indeed, Mr.
Honeywood, I never see you but you put me in mind of poor Dick. Ah,
there was merit neglected for you! and so true a friend; we loved each
other for thirty years, and yet he never asked me to lend him a single
farthing.

HONEYW. Pray what could induce him to commit so rash an action at last?

CROAKER. I don't know, some people were malicious enough to say it was
keeping company with me; because we used to meet now and then, and open
our hearts to each other. To be sure I loved to hear him talk, and he
loved to hear me talk; poor dear Dick! He used to say, that Croaker
rhymed to joker; and so we used to laugh—Poor Dick!

[_Going to cry. _

HONEYW. His fate affects me.

CROAKER. Ay, he grew sick of this miserable life, where we do nothing
but eat and grow hungry, dress and undress, get up and lie down; while
reason, that should watch like a nurse by our side, falls as fast
asleep as we do.

HONEYW. To say truth, if we compare that part of life which is to come,
by that which we have passed, the prospect is hideous.

CROAKER. Life at the greatest and best is but a froward child, that
must be humoured and coaxed a little till it falls asleep, and then all
the care is over.

HONEYW. Very true, sir; nothing can exceed the vanity of our existence,
but the folly of our pursuits. We wept when we came into the world, and
every day tells us why.

CROAKER. Ah, my dear friend, it is a perfect satisfaction to be
miserable with you. My son Leontine shan't lose the benefit of such
fine conversation. I'll just step home for him. I am willing to show
him so much seriousness in one scarce older than himself—And what if I
bring my last letter to the Gazetteer on the increase and progress of
earthquakes? It will amuse us, I promise you. I there prove how the
late earthquake is coming round to pay us another visit from London to
Lisbon, from Lisbon to the Canary Islands, from the Canary Islands to
Palmyra, from Palmyra to Constantinople, and so from Constantinople
back to London again.

_Exit. _

HONEYW. Poor Croaker! His situation deserves the utmost pity. I shall
scarce recover my spirits these three days. Sure, to live upon such
terms is worse than death itself. And yet, when I consider my own
situation, a broken fortune, a hopeless passion, friends in distress;
the wish but not the power to serve them—(_pausing and sighing. _)

_Enter_ BUTLER.

BUTLER. More company below, sir; Mrs. Croaker and Miss Richland; shall
I show them up? But they're showing up themselves.

_Exit. _

_Enter_ MRS. CROAKER _and_ MISS RICHLAND.

MISS RICH. You're always in such spirits.

MRS. CROAKER. We have just come, my dear Honeywood, from the auction.
There was the old deaf dowager, as usual, bidding like a fury against
herself. And then so curious in antiques! herself the most genuine
piece of antiquity in the whole collection.

HONEYW. Excuse me, ladies, if some uneasiness from friendship makes me
unfit to share in this good humour: I know you'll pardon me.

MRS. CROAKER. I vow, he seems as melancholy as if he had taken a dose
of my husband this morning. Well, if Richland here can pardon you, I
must.

MISS RICH. You would seem to insinuate, madam, that I have particular
reasons for being disposed to refuse it.

MRS. CROAKER. Whatever I insinuate, my dear, don't be so ready to wish
an explanation.

MISS RICH. I own I should be sorry Mr. Honeywood's long friendship and
mine should be misunderstood.

HONEYW. There's no answering for others, madam; but I hope you'll never
find me presuming to offer more than the most delicate friendship may
readily allow.

MISS RICH. And, I shall be prouder of such a tribute from you, than the
most passionate professions from others.

HONEYW. My own sentiments, madam: friendship is a disinterested
commerce between equals; love, an abject intercourse between tyrants
and slaves.

MISS RICH. And, without a compliment, I know none more disinterested or
more capable of friendship than Mr. Honeywood.

MRS. CROAKER. And indeed I know nobody that has more friends, at least
among the ladies. Miss Fruzz, Miss Odbody, and Miss Winterbottom,
praise him in all companies. As for Miss Biddy Bundle, she's his
professed admirer.

MISS RICH. Indeed! an admirer! I did not know, sir, you were such a
favourite there. But is she seriously so handsome? Is she the mighty
thing talked of?

HONEYW. The town, madam, seldom begins to praise a lady's beauty, till
she's beginning to lose it.

[_Smiling. _

MRS. CROAKER. But she's resolved never to lose it, it seems; for as her
natural face decays, her skill improves in making the artificial one.
Well, nothing diverts me more than one of those fine old dressy things,
who thinks to conceal her age by everywhere exposing her person;
sticking herself up in the front of a side-box; trailing through a
minuet at Almack's; and then, in the public gardens, looking for all
the world like one of the painted ruins of the place.

HONEYW. Every age has its admirers, ladies. While you, perhaps, are
trading among the warmer climates of youth, there ought to be some to
carry on a useful commerce in the frozen latitudes beyond fifty.

MISS RICH. But then the mortifications they must suffer before they can
be fitted out for traffic! I have seen one of them fret a whole morning
at her hair-dresser, when all the fault was her face.

HONEYW. And yet I'll engage, has carried that face at last to a very
good market. This good-natured town, madam, has husbands, like
spectacles, to fit every age, from fifteen to four-score.

MRS. CROAKER. Well, you're a dear good-natured creature. But you know
you're engaged with us this morning upon a strolling party. I want to
show Olivia the town and the things; I believe I shall have business
for you for the whole day.

HONEYW. I am sorry, madam, I have an appointment with Mr.
Croaker,
which it is impossible to put off.

MRS. CROAKER. What! with my husband? Then I'm resolved to take no
refusal. Nay, I protest you must. You know I never laugh so much as
with you.

HONEYW. Why, if I must, I must, I'll swear, you have put me into such
spirits. Well, do you find jest, and I'll find laugh, I promise you.
We'll wait for the chariot in the next room.

[_Exeunt. _

_Enter_ LEONTINE _and_ OLIVIA.

LEONT. There they go, thoughtless and happy. My dearest Olivia, what
would I give to see you capable of sharing in their amusements, and as
cheerful as they are!

OLIVIA. How, my Leontine, how can I be cheerful, when I have so many
terrors to oppress me? The fear of being detected by this family, and
the apprehensions of a censuring world, when I must be detected——

LEONT. The world! my love, what can it say? At worst, it can only say
that, being compelled by a mercenary guardian to embrace a life you
disliked, you formed a resolution of flying with the man of your
choice; that you confided in his honour, and took refuge in my father's
house; the only one where yours could remain without censure.

[Illustration:

"CROAKER. —_Well, and you have both of
you a mutual choice. _"—_p. _ 279.
]


OLIVIA. But consider, Leontine, your disobedience and my indiscretion:
your being sent to France to bring home a sister; and, instead of a
sister, bringing home——

LEONT. One dearer than a thousand sisters; one that I am convinced will
be equally dear to the rest of the family, when she comes to be known.

OLIVIA. And that I fear, will shortly be.

LEONT. Impossible till we ourselves think proper to make the discovery.
My sister, you know, has been with her aunt, at Lyons, since she was a
child; and you find every creature in the family takes you for her.

OLIVIA. But mayn't she write? mayn't her aunt write?

LEONT. Her aunt scarce ever writes, and all my sister's letters are
directed to me.

OLIVIA. But won't your refusing Miss Richland, for whom you know the
old gentleman intends you, create a suspicion?

LEONT. There, there's my masterstroke. I have resolved not to refuse
her; nay, an hour hence I have consented to go with my father, to make
her an offer of my heart and fortune.

OLIVIA. Your heart and fortune!

LEONT. Don't be alarmed, my dearest. Can Olivia think so meanly of my
honour, or my love, as to suppose I could ever hope for happiness from
any but her? No, my Olivia, neither the force, nor permit me to add,
the delicacy of my passion, leave any room to suspect me. I only offer
Miss Richland a heart, I am convinced she will refuse; as I am
confident, that without knowing it, her affections are fixed upon Mr.
Honeywood.

OLIVIA. Mr. Honeywood! You'll excuse my apprehensions; but when your
merits come to be put in the balance—

LEONT. You view them with too much partiality. However, by making this
offer, I show a seeming compliance with my father's commands; and
perhaps, upon her refusal, I may have his consent to choose for myself.

OLIVIA. Well, I submit. And, yet my Leontine, I own, I shall envy her,
even your pretended addresses. I consider every look, every expression
of your esteem, as due only to me. This is folly, perhaps: I allow it;
but it is natural to suppose, that merit which has made an impression
on one's own heart, may be powerful over that of another.

LEONT. Don't, my life's treasure, don't let us make imaginary evils,
when you know we have so many real ones to encounter. At worst, you
know, if Miss Richland should consent, or my father refuse his pardon,
it can but end in a trip to Scotland; and——

_Enter_ CROAKER.

CROAKER. Where have you been, boy? I have been seeking you. My friend
Honeywood here has been saying such comfortable things. Ah! he's an
example indeed. Where is he? I left him here.

LEONT. Sir, I believe you may see him, and hear him too, in the next
room: he's preparing to go out with the ladies.

CROAKER. Good gracious, can I believe my eyes or my ears? I'm struck
dumb with his vivacity, and stunned with the loudness of his laugh. Was
there ever such a transformation? (_A laugh behind the scenes_; CROAKER
_mimics it_. ) Ha! ha! ha! there it goes: a plague take their
balderdash; yet I could expect nothing less, when my precious wife was
of the party. On my conscience, I believe she could spread a
horse-laugh through the pews of a tabernacle.

LEONT. Since you find so many objections to a wife, sir, how can you be
so earnest in recommending one to me?

CROAKER. I have told you, and tell you again, boy, that Miss Richland's
fortune must not go out of the family; one may find comfort in the
money, whatever one does in the wife.

LEONT. But, sir, though in obedience to your desire, I am ready to
marry her; it may be possible, she has no inclination to me.

CROAKER. I'll tell you once for all how it stands. A good part of Miss
Richland's large fortune consists in a claim upon government, which my
good friend, Mr. Lofty, assures me the treasury will allow. One half of
this she is to forfeit, by her father's will, in case she refuses to
marry you. So if she rejects you, we seize half her fortune; if she
accepts you, we seize the whole, and a fine girl into the bargain.

LEONT. But, sir, if you will but listen to reason—

CROAKER. Come, then produce your reasons. I tell you I'm fixed,
determined, so now produce your reasons. When I'm determined I always
listen to reason, because it can then do no harm.

LEONT. You have alleged that a mutual choice was the first requisite in
matrimonial happiness—

CROAKER. Well, and you have both of you a mutual choice. She has her
choice—to marry you, or lose half her fortune; and you have your
choice—to marry her, or pack out of doors without any fortune at all.

LEONT. An only son, sir, might expect more indulgence.

CROAKER. An only father, sir, might expect more obedience; besides, has
not your sister here, that never disobliged me in her life, as good a
right as you? He's a sad dog, Livy my dear, and would take all from
you. But he shan't, I tell you he shan't, for you shall have your
share.

OLIVIA. Dear sir, I wish you'd be convinced that I can never be happy
in any addition to my fortune, which is taken from his.

CROAKER. Well, well, it's a good child; so say no more, but come with
me, and we shall see something that will give us a great deal of
pleasure, I promise you; old Ruggins, the currycomb maker, lying in
state: I'm told he makes a very handsome corpse, and becomes his coffin
prodigiously. He was an intimate friend of mine, and these are friendly
things we ought to do for each other.

[_Exeunt. _

ACT II.


SCENE. —CROAKER'S _house_.

MISS RICHLAND, GARNET.

MISS RICH. Olivia not his sister? Olivia not Leontine's sister? You
amaze me!

GARNET. No more his sister than I am; I had it all from his own
servant; I can get anything from that quarter.

MISS RICH. But how? Tell me again, Garnet.

GARNET. Why madam, as I told you before, instead of going to Lyons to
bring home his sister, who has been there with her aunt these ten years
he never went further than Paris; there he saw and fell in love with
this young lady: by the bye, of a prodigious family.

MISS RICH. And brought her home to my guardian, as his daughter.

GARNET. Yes, and daughter she will be. If he don't consent to their
marriage, they talk of trying what a Scotch parson can do.

MISS RICH. Well, I own they have deceived me—And so demurely as Olivia
carried it too! —Would you believe it, Garnet, I told her all my
secrets; and yet the sly cheat concealed all this from me?

GARNET. And, upon my word, madam, I don't much blame her; she was loth
to trust one with her secrets, that was so very bad at keeping her own.

MISS RICH. But, to add to their deceit, the young gentleman, it seems,
pretends to make me serious proposals. My guardian and he are to be
here presently, to open the affair in form. You know I am to lose half
my fortune if I refuse him.

GARNET. Yet what can you do? for being, as you are, in love with Mr.
Honeywood, madam—

MISS RICH. How, idiot! what do you mean? In love with Mr. Honeywood! Is
this to provoke me?

GARNET. That is, madam, in friendship with him; I meant nothing more
than friendship, as I hope to be married; nothing more.

MISS RICH. Well, no more of this. As to my guardian and his son, they
shall find me prepared to receive them; I'm resolved to accept their
proposal with seeming pleasure, to mortify them by compliance, and so
throw the refusal at last upon them.

GARNET. Delicious! and that will secure your whole fortune to yourself.
Well, who could have thought so innocent a face could cover so much
cuteness?

MISS RICH. Why, girl, I only oppose my prudence to their cunning, and
practise a lesson they have taught me against themselves.

GARNET. Then you're likely not long to want employment; for here they
come, and in close conference.

_Enter_ CROAKER, LEONTINE.

LEONT. Excuse me, sir, if I seem to hesitate upon the point of putting
to the lady so important a question.

CROAKER. Lord, good sir! moderate your fears; you're so plaguy shy,
that one would think you had changed sexes. I tell you, we must have
the half or the whole. Come, let me see with what spirit you begin.
Well, why don't you? Eh? What? Well then—I must, it seems. Miss
Richland, my dear, I believe you guess at our business; an affair which
my son here comes to open, that nearly concerns your happiness.

MISS RICH. Sir, I should be ungrateful not to be pleased with anything
that comes recommended by you.

CROAKER. How, boy, could you desire a finer opportunity? Why don't you
begin, I say?

[_To_ LEONT.

LEONT. 'Tis true, madam, my father, madam, has some intentions—hem—of
explaining an affair—which—himself—can best explain, madam.

CROAKER. Yes, my dear; it comes entirely from my son; it's all a
request of his own, madam. And I will permit him to make the best of
it.

LEONT. The whole affair is only this, madam; my father has a proposal
to make, which he insists none but himself shall deliver.

CROAKER. My mind misgives me, the fellow will never be brought on.
(_Aside. _) In short, madam, you see before you one that loves you; one
whose whole happiness is all in you.