No More Learning

O, Jarvis, are you come at last? We have been ready this half
hour. Now let's be going—Let us fly!

JARVIS. Ay, to Jericho; for we shall have no going to Scotland this
bout, I fancy.

OLIVIA. How! What's the matter?

JARVIS. Money, money, is the matter, madam. We have got no money. What
the plague do you send me of your fool's errand for? My master's bill
upon the city is not worth a rush. Here it is; Mrs. Garnet may pin up
her hair with it.

OLIVIA. Undone! How could Honeywood serve us so! What shall we do?
Can't we go without it?

JARVIS. Go to Scotland without money! To Scotland without money! Lord,
how some people understand geography! We might as well set sail for
Patagonia upon a cork jacket.

OLIVIA. Such a disappointment! What a base insincere man was your
master, to serve us in this manner! Is this his good-nature?

JARVIS. Nay, don't talk ill of my master, madam: I won't bear to hear
any body talk ill of him but myself.

GARNET. Bless us! now I think on't, madam, you need not be under any
uneasiness: I saw Mr. Leontine receive forty guineas from his father
just before he set out, and he can't yet have left the inn. A short
letter will reach him there.

OLIVIA. Well remembered, Garnet; I'll write immediately. How's this?
Bless me, my hand trembles so I can't write a word. Do you write,
Garnet; and, upon second thought, it will be better from you.

GARNET. Truly, madam, I write and indite but poorly: I never was cute
at my larning. But I'll do what I can to please you. Let me see. All
out of my own head, I suppose?

OLIVIA. Whatever you please.

GARNET (_writing_). Muster Croaker—Twenty guineas, madam?

OLIVIA. Ay, twenty will do.

GARNET. At the bar of the Talbot till called for. Expedition—will be
blown up—All of a flame—Quick, dispatch—Cupid, the little God of Love—I
conclude it, madam, with Cupid; I love to see a love-letter end like
poetry.

OLIVIA. Well, well, what you please, anything. But how shall we send
it? I can trust none of the servants of this family.

GARNET. Odso, Madam, Mr. Honeywood's butler is in the next room; he's a
dear, sweet man; he'll do anything for me.

JARVIS. He! the dog, he'll certainly commit some blunder. He's drunk
and sober ten times a day.

OLIVIA. No matter. Fly, Garnet; any body we can trust will do. _Exit_
GARNET. Well, Jarvis, now we can have nothing more to interrupt us. You
may take up the things, and carry them on to the inn. Have you no
hands, Jarvis?

JARVIS. Soft and fair, young lady. You, that are going to be married,
think things can never be done too fast: but we that are old, and know
what we are about must elope methodically, madam.

OLIVIA. Well, sure, if my indiscretions were to be done over again—

JARVIS. My life for it you would do them ten times over.

OLIVIA. Why will you talk so? If you knew how unhappy they make me—

JARVIS. Very unhappy, no doubt: I was once just as unhappy when I was
going to be married myself. I'll tell you a story about that—

OLIVIA. A story! when I'm all impatient to be away. Was there ever such
a dilatory creature? —

JARVIS. Well, madam, if we must march, why we will march; that's all.
Though, odds-bobs we have still forgot one thing we should never travel
without—a case of good razors, and a box of shaving-powder. But no
matter, I believe we shall be pretty well shaved by the way.

[_Going_

_Enter_ GARNET.

GARNET. Undone, undone, madam. Ah, Mr. Jarvis, you said right enough.
As sure as death, Mr. Honeywood's rogue of a drunken butler dropped the
letter before he went ten yards from the door. 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.