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_ ACT II - SCENE II
An Apartment in Bannote Castle.
Footmen bringing in Baskets of Flowers.
Miss O'HARA and Sir WILLIAM HAMDEN.
Clara.
Now, my dear uncle, I want to consult you.
Sir W.
And welcome, my child. But if it is about flowers, you could not consult a worse person, for I scarcely know a rose from a ----. What is this you have here--a thistle?
Clara.
Yes, sir; and that is the very thing I want your opinion about.
Sir W.
Well, my dear, all I know about thistles, I think, is, that asses love thistles--will that do?
Clara.
Oh, no, sir--pray be serious, for I am in the greatest hurry to settle how it is all to be. You know it is St. Patrick's day.
Sir W.
Yes, and here is plenty of shamrock, I see.
Clara.
Yes, here is the shamrock--the rose, the ever blowing rose--and the thistle. And as we are to have Scotch, English, and Irish at our little fete champetre this evening, don't you think it would be pretty to have the tents hung with the rose, thistle, and shamrock joined?
Sir W.
Very pretty, my dear: and I am glad there are to be tents, otherwise a fete champetre in the month of March would give me the rheumatism even to think of.
Clara.
Oh, my dear sir, not at all. You will be snug and warm in the green-house.
Sir W.
Well, Clara, dispose of me as you please--I am entirely at your service for the rest of my days.
Clara.
Thank you, sir--you are the best of uncles, guardians, and friends.
[Miss O'HARA goes back and appears to be giving directions to the servants.]
Sir W.
Uncle, nature made me--guardian, your father made me--friend, you made me yourself, Clara. (Sir WILLIAM comes forward, and speaks as if in a reverie.) And ever more my friendship for her shall continue, though my guardianship is over. I am glad I conquered my indolence, and came to Ireland with her; for a cool English head will be wanting to guide that warm Irish heart.--And here I stand counsel for prudence against generosity!
Clara.
(advancing to him playfully)
A silver penny for your thoughts, uncle.
Sir W.
Shall I never teach you economy?
--such extravagance! to give a penny, and a silver penny,
for what you may have for nothing.
Clara.
Nothing can come of nothing--speak again.
Sir W.
I was thinking of you, my--ward no longer.
Clara.
Ward always, pray, sir. Whatever I may be in the eye of the law,
I am not arrived at years of discretion yet, in my own opinion,
nor in yours, I suspect. So I pray you, uncle, let me still have
the advantage of your counsel and guidance.
Sir W.
You ask for my advice, Clara. Now let me see whether you will take it.
Clara.
I am all attention.
Sir W.
You know you must allow me a little prosing. You are an heiress,
Clara--a rich heiress--an Irish heiress. You desire to do good, don't you?
Clara.
(with eagerness)
With all my heart!--With all my soul!
Sir W.
That is not enough, Clara.
You must not only desire to do good, you must know how to do it.
Clara.
Since you, uncle, know that so well, you will teach it to me.
Sir W.
Dear, flattering girl--but you shall not flatter me out of the piece of advice I have ready for you. Promise me two things.
Clara.
And first, for your first.
Sir W.
Finish whatever you begin.--Good beginnings, it is said, make good endings, but great beginnings often make little endings, or, in this country, no endings at all. Finis coronat opta--and that crown is wanting wherever I turn my eyes. Of the hundred magnificent things your munificent father began--
Clara.
(interrupting)
Oh, sir, spare my father!
--I promise you that I will finish whatever I begin.
What's your next command?
Sir W.
Promise me that you will never make a promise to a tenant, nor any agreement about business, but in writing--and empower me to say that you will never keep any verbal promise about business--then, none such will ever be claimed.
Clara.
I promise you--Stay!--this is a promise about business:
I must give it to you in writing.
[Miss O'HARA sits down to a writing-table, and writes.]
Sir W.
(looking out of the window)
I hope I have been early enough in giving this my second piece of advice, worth a hundred sequins--for I see the yard is crowded with gray-coated suitors, and the table here is already covered with letters and petitions.
Clara.
Yes, uncle, but I have not read half of them yet.
[Presents the written promise to Sir WILLIAM.]
Sir W.
Thank you, my dear;
and you will be thankful to me for this when I am dead and gone.
Clara.
And whilst you are alive and here, if you please, uncle. Now, sir, since you are so kind to say that your time is at my disposal, will you have the goodness to come with me to these gray-coated suitors, and let us give answers to these poor petitioners, who, "as in duty bound, will ever pray."
[Takes up a bundle of papers.]
Sir W.
(taking a letter from his pocket)
First, my dear niece, I must add to the number.
I have a little business.
A petition to present from a protege of mine.
Clara.
A protege of yours!--Then it is granted, whatever it be.
Sir W.
(smiling)
Recollect your promise, Clara.
Clara.
Oh, true--it must be in writing.
[She goes hastily to the writing-table, and takes up a pen.]
Sir W.
Read before you write, my dear--I insist upon it.
Clara.
Oh, sir, when it is a request of yours, how can I grant it soon enough? But it shall be done in the way you like best--slowly--deliberately
--(opening the letter)
--in minuet time. And I will look before I leap--and I'll read before I write.
(She reads the signature.)
Gilbert! Honest Gilbert, how glad I shall be to do any thing for you, independently of your master!
(Reads on, suddenly lets the letter drop, and clasps her hands.)
Sir--Uncle, my dear uncle, how unfortunate I am! Why did, not you ask me an hour ago?--Within this hour I have promised the new inn to another person.
Sir W.
Indeed!--that is unfortunate. My poor Gilbert will be sadly disappointed.
Clara.
How vexed I am! But I never should have thought of Gilbert for the inn: I fancied he disliked Ireland so much that he would never have settled here.
Sir W.
So thought I till this morning. But love, my dear
--love is lord of all. Poor Gilbert!
Clara.
Poor Gilbert!--I am so sorry I did not know this sooner. Of all people, I should for my own part have preferred Gilbert for the inn, he would have kept it so well.
Sir W.
He would so.
(Sighs.)
Clara.
I do so blame myself
--I have been so precipitate, so foolish, so wrong
--without consulting you even.
Sir W.
Nay, my dear, I have been as wrong, as foolish, as precipitate as you; for before I consulted you, I told Gilbert that I could almost promise that he should have the inn in consequence of my recommendation. And upon the strength of that almost he is gone a courting. My dear, we are both a couple of fools; but I am an old--you are a young one. There is a wide difference--let that comfort you.
Clara.
Oh, sir, nothing comforts me, I am so provoked with myself; and you will be so provoked with me, when I tell you how silly I have been.
Sir W.
Pray tell me.
Clara.
Would you believe that I have literally given it for a song? A man sent me this morning a copy of verses to the heiress of Bannow. The verses struck my fancy--I suppose because they flattered me; and with the verses came a petition setting forth claims, and a tenant's right, and fair promises, and a proposal for the new inn; and at the bottom of the paper I rashly wrote these words--"The poet's petition is granted."
Sir W.
A promise in writing, too!
--My dear Clara, I cannot flatter you
--this certainly is not a wise transaction.
So, to reward a poet, you made him an innkeeper.
Well, I have known wiser heads, to reward a poet, make him an exciseman.
Clara.
But, sir, I am not quite so silly as they were,
for I did not make the poet an innkeeper--he is one already.
Sir W.
An innkeeper already!--Whom do you mean?
Clara.
A man with a strange name
--or a name that will sound strange to your English ears--Christy Gallagher.
Sir W.
A rogue and a drunken dog, I understand:
but he is a poet, and knows how to flatter the heiress of Bannow.
Clara.
(striking her forehead)
Silly, silly Clara!
Sir W.
(changing his tone from irony to kindness)
Come, my dear Clara, I will not torment you any more. You deserve to have done a great deal of mischief by your precipitation; but I believe this time you have done little or none, at least none that is irremediable; and you have made Gilbert happy, I hope and believe, though without intending it.
Clara.
My dear uncle--you set my heart at ease--but explain.
Sir W.
Then, my dear, I shrewdly suspect that the daughter of this
Christy What-do-you-call-him is the lady of Gilbert's thoughts.
Clara.
I see it all in an instant. That's delightful! We can pension off the drunken old father, and Gilbert and the daughter will keep the inn. Gilbert is in the green-house, preparing the coloured lamps--let us go and speak to him this minute, and settle it all.
Sir W.
Speak to him of his loves?
Oh, my dear, you'd kill him on the spot! He is so bashful, he'd blush to death.
Clara.
Well, sir, do you go alone, and I will keep far, far aloof.
[Exeunt at opposite sides.] _
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