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_ ACT I - SCENE I
Scene, an Apartment at CHARLOTTE'S.
[CHARLOTTE and LETITIA discovered.]
LETITIA.
AND so, Charlotte, you really think the pocket-hoop unbecoming.
CHARLOTTE.
No, I don't say so. It may be very becoming to saunter round the house
of a rainy day; to visit my grand-mamma, or to go to Quakers' meeting:
but to swim in a minuet, with the eyes of fifty well-dressed beaux upon
me, to trip it in the Mall, or walk on the battery, give me the
luxurious, jaunty, flowing, bell-hoop. It would have delighted you to
have seen me the last evening, my charming girl! I was dangling o'er
the battery with Billy Dimple; a knot of young fellows were upon the
platform; as I passed them I faultered with one of the most bewitching
false steps you ever saw, and then recovered myself with such a pretty
confusion, flirting my hoop to discover a jet black shoe and brilliant
buckle. Gad! how my little heart thrilled to hear the confused
raptures of--"Demme, Jack, what a delicate foot!" "Ha! General, what
a well-turned--"
LETITIA.
Fie! fie! Charlotte [stopping her mouth], I protest you are quite a
libertine.
CHARLOTTE.
Why, my dear little prude, are we not all such libertines? Do you
think, when I sat tortured two hours under the hands of my friseur, and
an hour more at my toilet, that I had any thoughts of my aunt Susan, or
my cousin Betsey? though they are both allowed to be critical judges of
dress.
LETITIA.
Why, who should we dress to please, but those are judges of its merit?
CHARLOTTE.
Why, a creature who does not know Buffon from Souflee--Man!--my
Letitia--Man! for whom we dress, walk, dance, talk, lisp, languish, and
smile. Does not the grave Spectator assure us that even our much
bepraised diffidence, modesty, and blushes are all directed to make
ourselves good wives and mothers as fast as we can? Why, I'll
undertake with one flirt of this hoop to bring more beaux to my feet in
one week than the grave Maria, and her sentimental circle, can do, by
sighing sentiment till their hairs are grey.
LETITIA.
Well, I won't argue with you; you always out-talk me; let us change the
subject. I hear that Mr. Dimple and Maria are soon to be married.
CHARLOTTE.
You hear true. I was consulted in the choice of the wedding clothes.
She is to be married in a delicate white sattin, and has a monstrous
pretty brocaded lutestring for the second day. It would have done you
good to have seen with what an affected indifference the dear
sentimentalist turned over a thousand pretty things, just as if her
heart did not palpitate with her approaching happiness, and at last
made her choice and arranged her dress with such apathy as if she did
not know that plain white sattin and a simple blond lace would shew her
clear skin and dark hair to the greatest advantage.
LETITIA.
But they say her indifference to dress, and even to the gentleman
himself, is not entirely affected.
CHARLOTTE.
How?
LETITIA.
It is whispered that if Maria gives her hand to Mr. Dimple, it will be
without her heart.
CHARLOTTE.
Though the giving the heart is one of the last of all laughable
considerations in the marriage of a girl of spirit, yet I should like
to hear what antiquated notions the dear little piece of old-fashioned
prudery has got in her head.
LETITIA.
Why, you know that old Mr.
John-Richard-Robert-Jacob-Isaac-Abraham-Cornelius Van Dumpling, Billy
Dimple's father (for he has thought fit to soften his name, as well as
manners, during his English tour), was the most intimate friend of
Maria's father. The old folks, about a year before Mr. Van Dumpling's
death, proposed this match: the young folks were accordingly
introduced, and told they must love one another. Billy was then a
good-natured, decent-dressing young fellow, with a little dash of the
coxcomb, such as our young fellows of fortune usually have. At this
time, I really believe she thought she loved him; and had they been
married, I doubt not they might have jogged on, to the end of the
chapter, a good kind of a sing-song lack-a-daysaical life, as other
honest married folks do.
CHARLOTTE.
Why did they not then marry?
LETITIA.
Upon the death of his father, Billy went to England to see the world
and rub off a little of the patroon rust. During his absence, Maria,
like a good girl, to keep herself constant to her nown true-love,
avoided company, and betook herself, for her amusement, to her books,
and her dear Billy's letters. But, alas! how many ways has the
mischievous demon of inconstancy of stealing into a woman's heart! Her
love was destroyed by the very means she took to support it.
CHARLOTTE.
How?--Oh! I have it--some likely young beau found the way to her study.
LETITIA.
Be patient, Charlotte; your head so runs upon beaux. Why, she read Sir
Charles Grandison, Clarissa Harlow, Shenstone, and the Sentimental
Journey; and between whiles, as I said, Billy's letters. But, as her
taste improved, her love declined. The contrast was so striking
betwixt the good sense of her books and the flimsiness of her
love-letters, that she discovered she had unthinkingly engaged her hand
without her heart; and then the whole transaction, managed by the old
folks, now appeared so unsentimental, and looked so like bargaining for
a bale of goods, that she found she ought to have rejected, according
to every rule of romance, even the man of her choice, if imposed upon
her in that manner. Clary Harlow would have scorned such a match.
CHARLOTTE.
Well, how was it on Mr. Dimple's return? Did he meet a more favourable
reception than his letters?
LETITIA.
Much the same. She spoke of him with respect abroad, and with contempt
in her closet. She watched his conduct and conversation, and found
that he had by travelling, acquired the wickedness of Lovelace without
his wit, and the politeness of Sir Charles Grandison without his
generosity. The ruddy youth, who washed his face at the cistern every
morning, and swore and looked eternal love and constancy, was now
metamorphosed into a flippant, palid, polite beau, who devotes the
morning to his toilet, reads a few pages of Chesterfield's letters, and
then minces out, to put the infamous principles in practice upon every
woman he meets.
CHARLOTTE.
But, if she is so apt at conjuring up these sentimental bugbears, why
does she not discard him at once?
LETITIA.
Why, she thinks her word too sacred to be trifled with. Besides, her
father, who has a great respect for the memory of his deceased friend,
is ever telling her how he shall renew his years in their union, and
repeating the dying injunctions of old Van Dumpling.
CHARLOTTE.
A mighty pretty story! And so you would make me believe that the
sensible Maria would give up Dumpling manor, and the all-accomplished
Dimple as a husband, for the absurd, ridiculous reason, forsooth,
because she despises and abhors him. Just as if a lady could not be
privileged to spend a man's fortune, ride in his carriage, be called
after his name, and call him her nown dear lovee when she wants money,
without loving and respecting the great he-creature. Oh! my dear
girl, you are a monstrous prude.
LETITIA.
I don't say what I would do; I only intimate how I suppose she wishes
to act.
CHARLOTTE.
No, no, no! A fig for sentiment. If she breaks, or wishes to break,
with Mr. Dimple, depend upon it, she has some other man in her eye. A
woman rarely discards one lover until she is sure of another. Letitia
little thinks what a clue I have to Dimple's conduct. The generous man
submits to render himself disgusting to Maria, in order that she may
leave him at liberty to address me. I must change the subject.
[Aside, and rings a bell.
[Enter SERVANT.]
Frank, order the horses to.--Talking of marriage, did you hear that
Sally Bloomsbury is going to be married next week to Mr. Indigo, the
rich Carolinian?
LETITIA.
Sally Bloomsbury married!--why, she is not yet in her teens.
CHARLOTTE.
I do not know how that is, but you may depend upon it, 'tis a done
affair. I have it from the best authority. There is my aunt Wyerly's
Hannah. You know Hannah; though a black, she is a wench that was never
caught in a lie in her life. Now, Hannah has a brother who courts
Sarah, Mrs. Catgut the milliner's girl, and she told Hannah's brother,
and Hannah, who, as I said before, is a girl of undoubted veracity,
told it directly to me, that Mrs. Catgut was making a new cap for Miss
Bloomsbury, which, as it was very dressy, it is very probable is
designed for a wedding cap. Now, as she is to be married, who can it
be to but to Mr. Indigo? Why, there is no other gentleman that visits
at her papa's.
LETITIA.
Say not a word more, Charlotte. Your intelligence is so direct and
well grounded, it is almost a pity that it is not a piece of scandal.
CHARLOTTE.
Oh! I am the pink of prudence. Though I cannot charge myself with
ever having discredited a tea-party by my silence, yet I take care
never to report any thing of my acquaintance, especially if it is to
their credit,--discredit, I mean,--until I have searched to the bottom
of it. It is true, there is infinite pleasure in this charitable
pursuit. Oh! how delicious to go and condole with the friends of some
backsliding sister, or to retire with some old dowager or maiden aunt
of the family, who love scandal so well that they cannot forbear
gratifying their appetite at the expense of the reputation of their
nearest relations! And then to return full fraught with a rich
collection of circumstances, to retail to the next circle of our
acquaintance under the strongest injunctions of secrecy,--ha, ha,
ha!--interlarding the melancholy tale with so many doleful shakes of
the head, and more doleful "Ah! who would have thought it! so amiable,
so prudent a young lady, as we all thought her, what a monstrous pity!
well, I have nothing to charge myself with; I acted the part of a
friend, I warned her of the principles of that rake, I told her what
would be the consequence; I told her so, I told her so."--Ha, ha, ha!
LETITIA.
Ha, ha, ha! Well, but, Charlotte, you don't tell me what you think of
Miss Bloomsbury's match.
CHARLOTTE.
Think! why I think it is probable she cried for a plaything, and they
have given her a husband. Well, well, well, the puling chit shall not
be deprived of her plaything: 'tis only exchanging London dolls for
American babies.--Apropos, of babies, have you heard what Mrs.
Affable's high-flying notions of delicacy have come to?
LETITIA.
Who, she that was Miss Lovely?
CHARLOTTE.
The same; she married Bob Affable of Schenectady. Don't you remember?
[Enter SERVANT.]
SERVANT.
Madam, the carriage is ready.
LETITIA.
Shall we go to the stores first, or visiting?
CHARLOTTE.
I should think it rather too early to visit, especially Mrs. Prim; you
know she is so particular.
LETITIA.
Well, but what of Mrs. Affable?
CHARLOTTE.
Oh, I'll tell you as we go; come, come, let us hasten. I hear Mrs.
Catgut has some of the prettiest caps arrived you ever saw. I shall
die if I have not the first sight of them.
[Exeunt.] _
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