Part 8
From ten years old till now near fifty-six, Of all I've gained, the _origin_ I fix _Here on this fav'rite spot_; when first I came A trembling candidate for scenic fame, In numbers _lisping, here_ that course began Which, through your early aid, has smoothly ran; Here too, returning from your sister land, Oft have I met your smile, your lib'ral hand: Oft as I came Hibernia still has shown That hospitality so much her own. But _now_ the prompter, _Time_, with warning bell, Reminds me that I come to bid farewell! With usual joy this visit I should pay, But _here_, adieu is very hard to say. Yet take my thanks for thousand favours past-- My wishes that your welfare long may last-- My promise that, though Time upon this face May make his annual marks, no time can chase Your memory here, while memory here has place. My meaning is sincere, though plainly spoke-- My heart, like yours, I hope, is heart of oak; And that although the bark, through years, may fail ye, The trunk was, is, and will be true shillaly.
* * * * *
MAN AND WIFE.
_The Comedy annexed to this number._
The favourable reception which this comedy met in London, will no doubt induce the managers of America to produce it on their boards. For _this reason_ it has been selected by the editors.
In the general reception of this comedy on the stage, the author has been more successful than in the judgment it has received from the press. Of the criticisms which have appeared in the London publications, we have seen two, which disagree with each other on its merits. That the reception by a large audience and the opinion of a critic should differ, is not at all surprising. In the present instance one of those critics is at complete variance with the audience, and says "it is as dull as the ministerial benches, and yet as patriotic as the opposition." The editors reserve their opinion till they see it acted.
* * * * *
CORRESPONDENCE.
The conductors thank "DRAMATICUS" for his communications, to which they will pay the proper attention. Though the series for the month of February is complete, they have made room for four of the articles with which he has favoured them.
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Errors and Inconsistencies: The Mirror of Taste
Spellings were changed only when there was an unambiguous error, or the word occurred elsewhere with the expected spelling. Omitted closing quotation marks are as in the original text. [oe] indicates an oe ligature.
_Unchanged:_ chaunted [chanted] cotemporary/ies [contemporary/ies] descendent [descendant] devest [divest] monkies [monkeys] mystries [mysteries] pedler [pedlar] surprize [surprise] wo [woe] wonderous [wondrous] then "hear him, hear him," loudly rings, [final comma is unclear] assuage their wrath or heal the wound, [comma is unclear]
_Corrected:_ From the circumstances of her father's situation [farther's] Though the trepidation inseparable from such an effort [inseperable] Each secret image that my fancy formed [Eech] Quin decidedly gave judgment against her [decidely] is rather a paraphrase than a translation [pharaphrase] the season which succeeded Mrs. Merry's arrival [whith] vainglory [occurs with and without hyphenation] signifying--roundly nothing [signifyng] the dog-star of favouritism [favourite-ism] don't [occurs with and without apostrophe] strength as to their vocal abilities [abilites] a wedding-party in that neighbourhood [neigbourhood]
* * * * * * * * *
MAN AND WIFE;
OR,
MORE SECRETS THAN ONE:
A COMEDY.
By SAMUEL JAMES ARNOLD, Esq.
Published by Bradford and Inskeep, Philadelphia; Inskeep and Bradford, New-York; and William M'Ilhenny, Boston.
Smith and Maxwell, Printers.
1810.
MAN AND WIFE;
OR,
MORE SECRETS THAN ONE.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Lord Austencourt. Sir Rowland Austencourt. Charles Austencourt. Sir Willoughby Worret. Falkner. Abel Grouse. Mr. Cornelius O'Dedimus. Ponder. William. Servant. Countryman. Sailor. Game-Keeper. Parish Officer. Lady Worret. Helen Worret. Fanny. Tiffany.
## ACT I.
## SCENE I.--_Abel Grouse's cottage. Enter_ Abel Grouse _and_ Fanny.
_Ab. Gr._ Don't tell me of your sorrow and repentance girl. You've broke my heart. Married hey? and privately too--and to a lord into the bargain! So, when you can hide it no longer, you condescend to tell me. Think you that the wealth and title of lord Austencourt can silence the fears of a fond father's heart? Why should a lord marry a poor girl like you in private, if his intentions were honourable? Who should restrain him from publicly avowing his wife?
_Fanny._ My dearest father, have but a little patience, and I'll explain all.
_Ab. Gr._ Who was present, besides the parson, at your wedding?
_Fanny._ There was our neighbour, the attorney, sir, and one of his clerks, and they were all--
_Ab. Gr._ My heart sinks within me--but mark me. You may remember I was not always what now I seem to be. I yesterday received intelligence which, but for this discovery, had shed a gleam of joy over my remaining days. As it is, should your husband prove the villain I suspect him, that intelligence will afford me an opportunity to resume a character in life which shall make this monster lord tremble. The wrongs of Abel Grouse, the poor but upright man, might have been pleaded in vain to him, but as I shall soon appear, it shall go hard but I will make the great man shrink before me, even in his plenitude of pride and power.
_Fanny._ You terrify me, sir, indeed you do.
_Ab. Gr._ And so I would. I would prepare you for the worst that may befal us: for should this man, this lord, who calls himself your husband--
_Fanny._ Dearest father, what can you mean? Who _calls_ himself my husband! He _is_ my husband.
_Ab. Gr._ If he _is_ your husband, how does he dare to pay his addresses, as he now publicly does, to the daughter of sir Willoughby Worret, our neighbour. I may be mistaken. I'm in the midst here of old acquaintances, though in this guise they know me not. They shall soon see me amongst them. Not a word of this, I charge you. Come girl, this lord shall own you. If he does not, we will seek a remedy in those laws which are at once the best guardians of our rights and the surest avengers of our wrongs. [_Exeunt._
## SCENE II.--_A parlour in_ sir W. Worret's _house. The breakfast
prepared, urn, &c._ Sir Willoughby _reading the newspaper. He rises and rings the bell; then pulls out his watch._
_Sir W._ Three quarters of an hour since breakfast was first announced to my wife. My patience is exhausted. Oh wedlock, wedlock! why did I ever venture again into thy holy state--of misery! Of all the taxes laid on mankind by respect to society and the influence of example, no one is so burthensome as that which obliges a man to submit to a thousand ills at home, rather than be suspected of being a bad husband abroad. (_enter servant_) Go to your lady.
_Serv._ I told her ladyship five times before, sir Willoughby, that breakfast was waiting.
_Sir W._ Then tell her once more, and that will make six, and say I earnestly request the favour she will hasten to breakfast, as while she stays I starve.
_Serv._ Yes, sir Willoughby, but she'll stop the longer for the message. (_Aside going out._) [_Exit._
_Sir W._ My wife is the very devil. It seems that she'd be miserable if she did not think me happy; yet her tenderness is my eternal torment; her affection puts me in a fidget, and her fondness in a fever.
_Enter servant._
_Serv._ My lady says she wont detain you a moment, sir Willoughby. [_Exit._
_Sir W._ The old answer. Then she's so nervous. A nervous wife is worse than a perpetual blister; and then, as the man says in the play, your nervous patients are always ailing, but _never die_. Zounds! why do I bear it? 'tis my folly, my weakness, to dread the censure of the world, and to sacrifice every comfort of my fire side to the ideal advantage of being esteemed a _good husband_. (_Lady Worret is heard speaking behind_) Hark! now she begins her morning work, giving more orders in a minute than can be executed in a month, and teasing my daughter to death to teach her to keep her temper; yet every body congratulates me on having so good a wife; every body envies me so excellent an economist; every body thinks me the happiest man alive; and nobody knows what a miserable mortal I am.
_Lady W._ (_behind_) And harkye, William, (_entering with servant_) tell the coachman to bring the chariot in a quarter of an hour: and William, run with these books immediately to the rector's; and William, bring up breakfast this moment.
_Will._ Yes, my lady: (_aside_) Lord have mercy upon us! [_Exit._
_Lady W._ My dear sir Willoughby, I beg a thousand pardons; but you are always so indulgent that you really spoil me. I'm sure you think me a tiresome creature.
_Sir W._ No, no, my life, not at all. I should be very ungrateful if I didn't value you _just exactly as highly_ as you deserve.
_Lady W._ I certainly _deserve_ a good scolding: I do indeed. I think if you scolded me a little I should behave better.
_Sir W._ Well, then, as you encourage me, my love, I must own that a little more punctuality would greatly heighten the zest of your society.
_Lady W._ And yet, sir Willoughby, you _must_ acknowledge that my time is ever dedicated to that proper vigilance which the superintendance of so large an establishment undoubtedly requires.
_Sir W._ Why, true, my love; but somehow I can't help thinking, that, as my fortune is so ample, it is quite unnecessary that you should undergo so much fatigue: for instance, I _do_ think that the wife of a baronet of 12,000l. a year owes it to her rank to be otherwise employed than in hunting after the housemaid, or sacrificing her time in the storeroom in counting candles, or weighing out soap, starch, powder-blue, and brown sugar.
_Lady W. (in tears)_ This is unkind, sir Willoughby, this is very unkind.
_Sir W._ So! as usual, here's a breeze springing up. What the devil shall I say to sooth her? Wife, wife! you drive me mad. You first beg me to scold you, and then are offended because I obligingly comply with your request.
_Lady W._ No, sir Willoughby, I am only _surprised_ that you should so little know the value of a wife who daily degrades herself for your advantage.
_Sir W._ That's the very thing I complain of. You _do_ degrade yourself. Your economy, my life, is downright parsimony: your vigilance is suspicion; your management is meanness; and you fidget your servants till you make them fretful, and then prudently discharge them because they will live with you no longer. Hey! ods life, I must sooth her: for if company comes, and finds her in this humour, my dear-bought reputation as a good husband is lost forever. _(Enter servant with breakfast.)_ Come, come, my dear lady Worret, let us go to breakfast, come _(sitting down to breakfast)_ let us talk of something else. Come, take your tea.
_Lady W. (to servant)_ Send William to speak to me. [_Exit servant._
_Sir W._ Where's Helen?
_Lady W._ I have desired her to copy a few articles into the family receipt book before breakfast; for as her marriage will so shortly take place, it is necessary she should complete her studies.
_Sir W._ What, she's at work, I suppose, on the third folio volume.
_Lady W._ The _fifth_, I believe.
_Sir W._ Heaven defend us! I don't blame it; I don't censure it at all: but I believe the case is _rather_ unprecedented for an heiress of 12,000l. a year to leave to posterity, in her own hand writing, five folio volumes of recipes, for pickling, preserving, potting, and pastry, for stewing and larding, making ketchup and sour krout, oyster patties, barbacued pies, jellies, jams, soups, sour sauce, and sweetmeats.
_Lady W._ Oh, sir Willoughby! if young ladies of the present day paid more attention to such substantial acquirements, we should have better wives and better husbands.
_Sir W._ Why that is singularly just.
_Lady W._ Yes, if women were taught to find amusement in domestic duties, instead of seeking it at a circulating library, assemblies, and balls, we should hear of fewer appeals to Doctor's Commons and the court of King's Bench.
_Sir W._ Why that is undeniably true _(aside)_ and now, as we have a moment uninterrupted by family affairs--
_Enter_ William.
_Lady W._ Is the carriage come?
_Will._ No, my lady.
_Lady W._ Have you carried the books?
_Will._ No, my lady.
_Lady W._ Then go and hasten the coachman.
_Will._ No, my lady--_yes_, my lady.
_Lady W._ And William, send up Tiffany to Miss Helen's room, and bid her say we expect her at breakfast.
_Will._ Miss Helen has been in the park these two hours.
_Sir W. (Laughs aside.)_
_Lady W._ How! in the park these two hours? Impossible. Send Tiffany to seek her.
_Will._ Yes, my lady. [_Exit._
_Sir W._ So, as usual, risen with the lark, I suppose.
_Lady W._ Her disobedience will break my heart.
_Sir W._ Zounds! I shall go mad. Here's a mother-in-law going to break her heart, because my daughter prefers a walk in the morning to writing culinary secrets in a fat folio family receipt book!
_Lady W._ Sir Willoughby, sir Willoughby, it is you who encourage her in disregarding my orders.
_Sir W._ No such thing, lady Worret, no such thing: but if the girl likes to bring home a pair of ruddy cheeks from a morning walk, I don't see why she is to be balked of her fancy.
_Lady W._ Ruddy cheeks, indeed! Such robust health is becoming only in dairy maids.
_Sir W._ Yes, I know your taste to a T. A consumption is always a key to your tender heart; and an interesting pallid countenance will at any time unlock the door to your best affections: but I must be excused if I prefer seeing my daughter with the rosy glow of health upon her cheek, rather than the sickly imitations of art, which bloom on the surface alone, while the fruit withers and decays beneath--but zounds! don't speak so loud, here's somebody coming, and they'll think we are quarrelling. _(Helen sings behind)_ So here comes our madcap.
_Enter_ Helen.
_Helen._ Good morning, good morning. Here, papa, look what a beautiful posy of wild flowers I have gathered. See, the dew is still upon them. How lovely they are! To my fancy, now, these uncultivated productions of nature have more charms than the whole garden can equal. Why can we not all be like these flowers, simple and inartificial, with the stamp of nature and truth upon us?
_Lady W._ Romantic stuff! But how comes it, Miss Helen, that my orders are thus disobeyed?
_Helen._ Why lord, mamma, I'll tell you how it was; but first I must eat my breakfast; so I'll sit down and tell you all about it. _(sits down.)_ In the first place, I rose at six, and remembering I was to copy out the whole catalogue of sweetmeats, and as I hate all sweet things, (some sugar, if you please, papa) I determined to take one run round the park before I sat down to my morning's work: so taking a crust of bread and a glass of cold water, which I love better than (some tea, if you please, mamma) any thing in the world, out I flew like a lapwing; stopped at the dairy; and (some cream, if you please, papa) down to the meadows and gathered my nosegay; and then bounded home, with a heart full of gayety, and a rare appetite for--some roll and butter, if you please, mamma.
_Lady W._ Daughter, this levity of character is unbecoming your sex, and even your age. You see none of this offensive flightiness in me.
_Sir W._ Come, come, my dear lady Worret. Helen's gayety is natural. Helen, my love, I have charming news for you. Every thing is at last arranged between lord Austencourt and me respecting your marriage.
_Helen._ Why now, if mamma-in-law had said this, I should have thought she meant to make me as grave as herself.
_Lady W._ In expectation that Helen will behave as becomes her in this most important affair of her life, I consent to pass over her negligence this morning in regard to my favourite receipts.
_Helen._ I hate all receipts, sweet, bitter, and sour.
_Lady W._ Then we will now talk of a husband.
_Helen._ I hate all husbands, sweet, bitter, and sour.
_Sir W._ Whoo! Helen, my love, you should not contradict your mamma.
_Helen._ My dear papa, I don't contradict her; but I will not marry lord Austencourt.
_Lady W._ This is too much for my weak nerves. I leave you, sir Willoughby, to arrange this affair, while I hasten to attend to my domestic duties.
_Sir W._ (_aside to lady W._) That's right; you'd better leave her to me. I'll manage her, I warrant. Let me assist you--there--I'll soon settle this business. (_Hands lady Worret off._)
_Helen._ Now, my dear papa, are you really of the same opinion as her ladyship?
_Sir W._ Exactly.
_Helen._ Ha! ha! lud! but that's comical. What! both think alike?
_Sir W._ Precisely.
_Helen._ That's very odd. I believe it's the first time you've agreed in opinion since you were made one: but I'm quite sure you never can wish me to marry a man I do not love.
_Sir W._ Why no, certainly not; but you _will_ love him; indeed you _must_. It's my wife's wish, you know, and so I wish it of course. Come, come, in this one trifling matter you must oblige us.
_Helen._ Well, as _you_ think it only a trifling matter, and as I think it of importance enough to make me miserable, I'm sure _you'll_ give up the point.
_Sir W._ Why no, you are mistaken. To be sure I _might_ have given it up; but my lady Worret, you know--but that's no matter. Marriage is a duty, and tis incumbent on parents to see their children settled in that _happy_ state.
_Helen._ Have _you_ found that state _so happy_, sir?
_Sir W._ Why--yes--that is--hey? happy! certainly. Doesn't every body say so? and what every body says _must_ be true. However, that's not to the purpose. A connexion with the family of lord Austencourt is
## particularly desirable.
_Helen._ Not to _me_, I assure you, papa.
_Sir W._ Our estates join so charmingly to one another.
_Helen._ But sure that's no reason _we_ should be joined to one another.
_Sir W._ But their contiguity seems to invite a union by a marriage between you.
_Helen._ Then pray, papa, let the stewards marry the estates and give me a separate maintenance.
_Sir. W._ Helen, Helen, I see you are bent on disobedience to my lady Worret's wishes. Zounds! you don't see me disobedient to her wishes; but I know whereabouts your objection lies. That giddy, dissipated young fellow, his cousin Charles, the son of sir Rowland Austencourt, has filled your head with nonsensical notions and chimeras of happiness. Thank Heaven, however, he's far enough off at sea.
_Helen._ And _I_ think, sir, that because a man is fighting our battles abroad, he ought not to be the less dear to those whom his courage enables to live in tranquillity at home.
_Sir W._ That's very true: (_aside_) but I have an unanswerable objection to all you can say. Lord Austencourt is rich, and Charles is a beggar. Besides sir Rowland himself prefers lord Austencourt.
_Helen._ More shame for him. His partial feelings to his nephew, and unnatural disregard of his son, have long since made me hate him. In short, you are for money, and choose lord Austencourt: I am for love, and prefer his poor cousin.
_Sir W._ Then, once for all, as my lady Worret must be obeyed, I no longer consult you on the subject, and it only remains for you to retain the affection of an indulgent father, by complying with my will (I mean my wife's) or to abandon my protection. [_Exit._
_Helen._ I won't marry him, papa, I won't, nor I won't cry, though I've a great mind. A plague of all money, say I. Oh! what a grievous misfortune it is to be born with 12,000l. a year? but if I can't marry the man I like, I won't marry at all; that's determined: and every body knows the firmness of a woman's resolution, when she resolves on contradiction. [_Exit._
## SCENE III.--O'Dedimus's _office. Boxes round the shelves._ O'Dedimus
_discovered writing at an office table. A few papers and parchments, &c._
_O'Dedimus._ There! I think I've expressed my meaning quite plainly, (_reads_) "Farmer Flail, I'm instructed by lord Austencourt, your landlord, to inform you, by word of letter, that if you can't afford to pay the additional rent for your farm, you must turn out." I think that's clear enough. "As to your putting in the plea of a large family, we cannot allow that as a set off; because, when a man can't afford to support seven children with decency, he ought not to trouble himself to get them." I think that's plain English.
"Your humble servant, "CORNELIUS O'DEDIMUS, "Attorney at law.
"P.S. You may show this letter to his lordship, to convince him I have done my duty; but as I don't mean one word of it, if you'll come to me privately, I'll see what can be done for you, without his knowing any thing of the matter," and I think _that's_ plain English.
_Enter_ gamekeeper _with a_ countryman _in custody._
_O'Ded._ Well, friend, and what are you?
_Countryman._ I be's a poacher: so my lord's gamekeeper here do say.
_O'Ded._ A poacher! Faith that's honest.
_Gamekeeper._ I caught him before day-light on the manor. I took away his gun and shot his dog.
_O'Ded._ That was bravely done. So, you must pamper your long stomach with pheasants and partridges, and be damned to ye! Will you prefer paying five pounds now, or three month's hard labour in the house of correction?
_Countrym._ Thank ye, sir, I don't prefer either, sir.
_O'Ded._ You must go before the justice. He'll exhort you, and commit ye.
_Countrym._ Ees, I do know that _extortion_ and _commission_, and such like, be the office of the justice; but I'll have a bit of law, please punch. He ha' killed my poor dog, that I loved like one o' my own children, and I've gotten six of 'em, Lord bless 'em.
_O'Ded._ Six dogs!
_Countrym._ Dogs! No, children, mun.
_O'Ded._ Six children! Och, the fruitful sinner!
_Countrym._ My wife be a pains-taking woman, sir. We ha' had this poor dog from a puppy.
_O'Ded._ Shut your ugly mouth, you babbler.--Six children! Oh! we must make an example of this fellow. An't I the village lawyer? and an't I the terror of all the rogues of the parish? (_aside to him._) You must plead "not guilty."
_Countrym._ But I tell you, if that be guilt, I _be_ guilty.
_O'Ded._ Why, you blundering booby, if you plead guilty, how will I ever be able to prove you innocent?
_Countrym._ Guilty or innocent, I'll have the law of him, by gum. He has shot my poor old mongrel, and taken away my musket; and I've lost my day's drilling, and I'll make him pay for it.
_O'Ded._ A mongrel and a musket! by St. Patrick, Mr. Gamekeeper, and you have nately set your foot in it.