Home > Authors Index > Browse all available works of Maria Edgeworth > Text of Eton Montem
A short story by Maria Edgeworth |
||
Eton Montem |
||
|
________________________________________________
Title: Eton Montem Author: Maria Edgeworth [More Titles by Edgeworth] [Extracted from the "Courier" of May, 1799.] "Yesterday this triennial ceremony took place, with which the public are too well acquainted to require a particular description. A collection, called Salt, is taken from the public, which forms a purse, to support the Captain of the School in his studies at Cambridge. This collection is made by the Scholars, dressed in fancy dresses, all round the country. "At eleven o'clock, the youths being assembled in their habiliments at the College, the Royal Family set off from the Castle to see them, and, after walking round the Courtyard, they proceeded to Salt Hill in the following order:-- "His Majesty, his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and the Earl of Uxbridge. "Their Royal Highnesses the Dukes of Kent and Cumberland, Earl Morton, and General Gwynne, all on horseback, dressed in the Windsor uniform, except the Prince of Wales, who wore a suit of dark blue, and a brown surtout over. "Then followed the Scholars, preceded by the Marechal Serjeant, the Musicians of the Staffordshire Band, and Mr. Ford, Captain of the Seminary, the Serjeant Major, Serjeants, Colonels, Corporals, Musicians, Ensign, Lieutenant, Steward, Salt Bearers, Polemen, and Runners. "The cavalcade was brought up by her Majesty and her amiable daughters in two carriages, and a numerous company of equestrians and pedestrians, all eager to behold their Sovereign and his family. Among the former, Lady Lade was foremost in the throng; only two others dared venture their persons on horseback in such a multitude. "The King and Royal Family were stopped on Eton Bridge by Messrs. Young and Mansfield, the Salt Bearers, to whom their Majesties delivered their customary donation of fifty guineas each. "At Salt Hill, his Majesty, with his usual affability, took upon himself to arrange the procession round the Royal carriages; and even when the horses were taken off, with the assistance of the Duke of Kent, fastened the traces round the pole of the coaches, to prevent any inconvenience. "An exceeding heavy shower of rain coming on, the Prince took leave, and went to the 'Windmill Inn,' till it subsided. The King and his attendants weathered it out in their great-coats. "After the young gentlemen walked round the carriage, Ensign Vince and the Salt Bearers proceeded to the summit of the hill; but the wind being boisterous, he could not exhibit his dexterity in displaying his flag, and the space being too small before the carriages, from the concourse of spectators, the King kindly acquiesced in not having it displayed under such inconvenience. "Their Majesties and the Princesses then returned home, the King occasionally stopping to converse with the Dean of Windsor, the Earl of Harrington, and other noblemen. "The Scholars partook of an elegant dinner at the 'Windmill Inn,' and in the evening walked on Windsor Terrace. "Their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and Duke of Cumberland, after taking leave of their Majesties, set off for town, and honoured the Opera House with their presence in the evening. "The profit arising from the Salt collected, according to account, amounted to 8OO pounds. "The Stadtholder, the Duke of Gordon, Lord and Lady Melbourne, Viscount Brome, and a numerous train of fashionable nobility, were present. "The following is an account of their dresses, made as usual, very handsomely, by Mrs. Snow, milliner, of Windsor:--
"The day concluded by a brilliant promenade of beauty, rank, and fashion, on Windsor Terrace, enlivened by the performance of several bands of music. "The origin of the procession is from the custom by which the Manor was held. "The custom of hunting the Ram belonged to Eton College, as well as the custom of Salt; but it was discontinued by Dr. Cook, late Dean of Ely. Now this custom we know to have been entered on the register of the Royal Abbey of Bec, in Normandy, as one belonging to the Manor of East or Great Wrotham, in Norfolk, given by Ralph de Toni to the Abbey of Bec, and was as follows:--When the harvest was finished the tenants were to have half an acre of barley, and a ram let loose; and if they caught him he was their own to make merry with; but if he escaped from them he was the Lord's. The Etonians, in order to secure the ram, houghed him in the Irish fashion, and then attacked him with great clubs. The cruelty of this proceeding brought it into disuse, and now it exists no longer.--See Register of the Royal Abbey of Bec, folio 58. "After the dissolution of the alien priories, in 1414, by the Parliament of Leicester, they remained in the Crown till Henry VI., who gave Wrotham Manor to Eton College; and if the Eton Fellows would search, they would perhaps find the Manor in their possession, that was held by the custom of Salt."
SCENE I. The Bar of the "Windmill Inn" at Salt Hill. Landlady. 'Tis an unpossibility, Mr. Newington; and that's enough. Say no more about it; 'tis an unpossibility in the natur of things. (She ranges jellies, etc., in the Bar.) And pray, do you take your great old fashioned tankard, Mr. Newington, from among my jellies and confectioneries. Landlord (takes his tankard and drinks). Anything for a quiet life. If it is an impossibility, I've no more to say; only, for the soul of me, I can't see the great unpossibility, wife. Landlady. Wife, indeed!--wife!--wife! wife every minute. Landlord. Heyday! Why, what a plague would you have me call you? The other day you quarrelled with me for calling you Mrs. Landlady. Landlady. To be sure I did, and very proper in me I should. I've turned off three waiters and five chambermaids already, for screaming after me Mrs. Landlady! Mrs. Landlady! But 'tis all your ill manners. Landlord. Ill manners! Why, if I may be so bold, if you are not Mrs. Landlady, in the name of wonder what are you? Landlady. Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington. Landlord (drinks). Mrs. Newington, Mr. Newington drinks your health; for I suppose I must not be landlord any more in my own house (shrugs). Landlady. Oh, as to that, I have no objections nor impediments to your being called LANDLORD. You look it, and become it very proper. Landlord. Why, yes, indeed, thank my tankard, I do look it, and become it, and am nowise ashamed of it; but everyone to their mind, as you, wife, don't fancy the being called Mrs. Landlady. Landlady. To be sure I don't. Why, when folks hear the old fashioned cry of Mrs. Landlady! Mrs. Landlady! who do they expect, think you, to see, but an overgrown, fat, featherbed of a woman, coming waddling along with her thumbs sticking on each side of her apron, o' this fashion? Now, to see me coming, nobody would take me to be a landlady. Landlord. Very true, indeed, wife--Mrs. Newington, I mean--I ask pardon; but now to go on with what we were saying about the unpossibility of letting that old lady, and the civil-spoken young lady there above, have them there rooms for another day. Landlady. Now, Mr. Newington, let me hear no more about that old gentlewoman, and that civil-spoken young lady. Fair words cost nothing; and I've a notion that's the cause they are so plenty with the young lady. Neither o' them, I take it, by what they've ordered since their coming into the house, are such grand folk, that one need be so petticular about them. Landlord. Why, they came only in a chaise and pair, to be sure; I can't deny that. Landlady. But, bless my stars! what signifies talking? Don't you know, as well as I do, Mr. Newington, that to-morrow is Eton Montem, and that if we had twenty times as many rooms and as many more to the back of them, it would not be one too many for all the company we've a right to expect, and those the highest quality of the land? Nay, what do I talk of to-morrow? isn't my Lady Piercefield and suite expected? and, moreover, Mr. and Miss Bursal's to be here, and will call for as much in an hour as your civil-spoken young lady in a twelvemonth, I reckon. So, Mr. Newington, if you don't think proper to go up and inform the ladies above, that the Dolphin rooms are not for them, I must SPEAK myself, though 'tis a thing I never do when I can help it. Landlord (aside). She not like to speak! (Aloud.) My dear, you can speak a power better than I can; so take it all upon yourself, if you please; for, old-fashioned as I and my tankard here be, I can't make a speech that borders on the uncivil order, to a lady like, for the life and lungs of me. So, in the name of goodness, do you go up, Mrs. Newington. Landlady. And so I will, Mr. Newington. Help ye! Civilities and rarities are out o' season for them that can't pay for them in this world; and very proper. [Exit Landlady.] Landlord. And very proper! Ha! who comes yonder? The Eton chap who wheedled me into lending him my best hunter last year, and was the ruination of him; but that must be paid for, wheedle or no wheedle; and, for the matter of wheedling, I'd stake this here Mr. Wheeler, that is making up to me, do you see, against e'er a boy, or hobbledehoy, in all Eton, London, or Christendom, let the other be who he will. Enter WHEELER. Wheeler. A fine day, Mr. Newington. Landlord. A fine day, Mr. Wheeler. Wheel. And I hope, for YOUR sake, we may have as fine a day for the Montem to-morrow. It will be a pretty penny in your pocket! Why, all the world will be here; and (looking round at the jellies, etc.) so much the better for them; for here are good things enough, and enough for them. And here's the best thing of all, the good old tankard still; not empty, I hope. Landlord. Not empty, I hope. Here's to you, Mr. Wheeler. Wheel. Mr. Wheeler!--CAPTAIN Wheeler, if you please. Landlord. YOU, Captain Wheeler! Why, I thought in former times it was always the oldest scholar at Eton that was Captain at the Montems; and didn't Mr. Talbot come afore you? Wheel. Not at all; we came on the same day. Some say I came first; some say Talbot. So the choice of which of us is to be captain is to be put to the vote amongst the lads--most votes carry it; and I have most votes, I fancy; so I shall be captain, to-morrow, and a pretty deal of salt* I reckon I shall pocket. Why, the collection at the last Montem, they say, came to a plump thousand! No bad thing for a young fellow to set out with for Oxford or Cambridge--hey? *Salt, the cant name given by the Eton lads to the money collected at Montem. Landlord. And no bad thing, before he sets out for Cambridge or Oxford, 'twould be for a young gentleman to pay his debts. Wheel. Debts! Oh, time enough for that. I've a little account with you in horses, I know; but that's between you and me, you know--mum. Landlord. Mum me no mums, Mr. Wheeler. Between you and me, my best hunter has been ruinationed; and I can't afford to be mum. So you'll take no offence if I speak; and as you'll set off to-morrow, as soon as the Montem's over, you'll be pleased to settle with me some way or other to-day, as we've no other time. Wheel. No time so proper, certainly. Where's the little account?--I have money sent me for my Montem dress, and I can squeeze that much out of it. I came home from Eton on purpose to settle with you. But as to the hunter, you must call upon Talbot--do you understand? to pay for him; for though Talbot and I had him the same day, 'twas Talbot did for him, and Talbot must pay. I spoke to him about it, and charged him to remember you; for I never forget to speak a good word for my friends. Landlord. So I perceive. Wheel. I'll make bold just to give you my opinion of these jellies whilst you are getting my account, Mr. Newington. (He swallows down a jelly or two--Landlord is going.) Enter TALBOT. Talbot. Hallo, Landlord! where are making off so fast? Here, your jellies are all going as fast as yourself. Wheel. (aside). Talbot!--I wish I was a hundred miles off. Landlord. You are heartily welcome, Mr. Talbot. A good morning to you, sir; I'm glad to see you--very glad to see you, Mr. Talbot. Talb. Then shake hands, my honest landlord. (Talbot, in shaking hands with him, puts a purse into the landlord's hands.) Landlord. What's here? Guineas? Talb. The hunter, you know; since Wheeler won't pay, I must--that's all. Good morning. Wheel. (aside). What a fool! (Landlord, as Talbot is going, catches hold of his coat.) Landlord. Hold, Mr. Talbot, this won't do! Talb. Won't it? Well, then, my watch must go. Landlord. Nay, nay! but you are in such a hurry to pay--you won't hear a man. Half this is enough for your share o' the mischief, in all conscience. Mr. Wheeler, there, had the horse on the same day. Wheel. But Bursal's my witness-- Talb. Oh, say no more about witnesses; a man's conscience is always his best witness, or his worst. Landlord, take your money, and no more words. Wheel. This is very genteel of you, Talbot. I always thought you would do the genteel thing as I knew you to be so generous and considerate. Talb. Don't waste your fine speeches, Wheeler, I advise you, this election time. Keep them for Bursal or Lord John, or some of those who like them. They won't go down with me. Good morning to you. I give you notice, I'm going back to Eton as fast as I can gallop; and who knows what plain speaking may do with the Eton lads? I may be captain yet, Wheeler. Have a care! Is my horse ready there? Landlord. Mr. Talbot's horse, there! Mr. Talbot's horse, I say.
"He carries weight--he rides a race--
(Exit Wheeler.) Landlord (calls very loud). Mr. Talbot's horse! Hang the hostler! I'll saddle him myself. (Exit Landlord.)
SCENE II. A Dining room in the Inn at Salt Hill. MRS. TALBOT and LOUISA. Louisa (laughing). With what an air Mrs. Landlady made her exit! Mrs. Talbot. When I was young, they say, I was proud; but I am humble enough now: these petty mortifications do not vex me. Louisa. It is well my brother was gone before Mrs. Landlady made her entree; for if he had heard her rude speech, he would at least have given her the retort courteous. Mrs. Talb. Now tell me honestly, my Louisa--You were, a few days ago, at Bursal House. Since you have left it and have felt something of the difference that is made in this world between splendour and no splendour, you have never regretted that you did not stay there, and that you did not bear more patiently with Miss Bursal's little airs? Louisa. Never for a moment. At first Miss Bursal paid me a vast deal of attention; but, for what reason I know not, she suddenly changed her manner, grew first strangely cold, then condescendingly familiar, and at last downright rude. I could not guess the cause of these variations. Mrs. Talb. (aside) I guess the cause too well. Louisa. But as I perceived the lady was out of tune, I was in haste to leave her. I should make a very bad, and, I am sure, a miserable toad eater. I had much rather, if I were obliged to choose, earn my own bread, than live as toad eater with anybody. Mrs. Talb. Fine talking, dear Louisa! Louisa. Don't you believe me to be in earnest, mother! To be sure, you cannot know what I would do, unless I were put to the trial. Mrs. Talb. Nor you either, my dear. (She sighs, and is silent.) Louisa (takes her mother's hand). What is the matter, dear mother? You used to say, that seeing my brother always made you feel ten years younger; yet even while he was here, you had, in spite of all your efforts to conceal them, those sudden fits of sadness. Mrs. Talb. The Montem--is not it to-morrow? Ay, but my boy is not sure of being captain. Louisa. No; there is one Wheeler, who, as he says, is most likely to be chosen captain. He has taken prodigious pains to flatter and win over many to his interest. My brother does not so much care about it; he is not avaricious. Mrs. Talb. I love your generous spirit and his! but, alas! my dear, people may live to want, and wish for money, without being avaricious. I would not say a word to Talbot; full of spirits as he was this morning, I would not say a word to him, till after the Montem, of what has happened. Louisa. And what has happened, dear mother? Sit down,--you tremble. Mrs. Talb. (sits down and puts a letter into Louisa's hand.) Read that, love. A messenger brought me that from town a few hours ago. Louisa (reads). "By an express from Portsmouth, we hear the Bombay Castle East Indiaman is lost, with all your fortune on board." ALL! I hope there is something left for you to live upon. Mrs. Talb. About 15O pounds a year for us all. Louisa. That is enough, is it not, for YOU? Mrs. Talb. For me, love? I am an old woman, and want but little in this world, and shall be soon out of it. Louisa (kneels down beside her). Do not speak so, dearest mother. Mrs. Talb. Enough for me, love! Yes, enough, and too much for me. I am not thinking of myself. Louisa. Then, as to my brother, he has such abilities, and such industry, he will make a fortune at the bar for himself, most certainly. Mrs. Talb. But his education is not completed. How shall we provide him with money at Cambridge? Louisa. This Montem. The last time the captain had eight hundred, the time before a thousand, pounds. Oh, I hope--I fear! Now, indeed, I know that, without being avaricious, we may want, and wish for money. (Landlady's voice heard behind the scenes.) Landlady. Waiter!--Miss Bursal's curricle, and Mr. Bursal's vis-a-vis. Run! see that the Dolphin's empty. I say run!--run! Mrs. Talb. I will rest for a few moments upon the sofa, in this bedchamber, before we set off. Louisa (goes to open the door). They have bolted or locked it. How unlucky! (She turns the key, and tries to unlock the door.) Enter WAITER. Waiter. Ladies, I'm sorry--Miss Bursal and Mr. Bursal are come--just coming upstairs. Mrs. Talb. Then, will you be so good, sir, as to unlock this door? (Waiter tries to unlock the door.) Waiter. It must be bolted on the inside. Chambermaid! Sally! Are you within there? Unbolt this door. Mr. Bursal's voice behind the scenes. Mr. Burs. Let me have a basin of good soup directly. Waiter. I'll go round and have the door unbolted immediately, ladies. Enter MISS BURSAL, in a riding dress, and with a long whip. Miss Bursal. Those creatures, the ponies, have a'most pulled my 'and off. Who 'ave we 'ere? Ha! Mrs. Talbot! Louisa, 'ow are ye? I'm so vastly glad to see you; but I'm so shocked to 'ear of the loss of the Bombay Castle. Mrs. Talbot, you look but poorly; but this Montem will put everybody in spirits. I 'ear everybody's to be 'ere; and my brother tells me, 'twill be the finest ever seen at HEton. Louisa, my dear, I'm sorry I've not a seat for you in my curricle for to-morrow; but I've promised Lady Betty; so, you know, 'tis impossible for me. Louisa. Certainly; and it would be impossible for me to leave my mother at present. Chambermaid (opens the bedchamber door). The room's ready now, ladies. Mrs. Talb. Miss Bursal, we intrude upon you no longer. Miss Burs. Nay, why do you decamp, Mrs. Talbot? I 'ad a thousand things to say to you, Louisa; but am so tired and so annoyed-- (Seats herself. Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa and Chambermaid.) Enter MR. BURSAL, with a basin of soup in his hand. Mr. Burs. Well, thank my stars the Airly Castle is safe in the Downs. Miss Burs. Mr. Bursal, can you inform me why Joe, my groom, does not make his appearance? Mr. Burs. (eating and speaking). Yes, that I can, child; because he is with his 'orses, where he ought to be. 'Tis fit they should be looked after well; for they cost me a pretty penny--more than their heads are worth, and yours into the bargain; but I was resolved, as we were to come to this Montem, to come in style. Miss Burs. In style, to be sure; for all the world's to be here--the King, the Prince of WHales, and Duke o' York, and all the first people; and we shall cut a dash! Dash! dash! will be the word to-morrow!-- (playing with her whip). Mr. Burs. (aside). Dash! dash! ay, just like her brother. He'll pay away finely, I warrant, by the time he's her age. Well, well, he can afford it; and I do love to see my children make a figure for their money. As Jack Bursal says, what's money for, if it e'nt to make a figure. (Aloud). There's your, brother Jack, now. The extravagant dog! he'll have such a dress as never was seen, I suppose, at this here Montem. Why, now, Jack Bursal spends more money at Eton, and has more to spend, than my Lord John, though my Lord John's the son of a marchioness. Miss Burs. Oh, that makes no difference nowadays. I wonder whether her ladyship is to be at this Montem. The only good I ever got out of these stupid Talbots was an introduction to their friend Lady Piercefield. What she could find to like in the Talbots, heaven knows. I've a notion she'll drop them, when she hears of the loss of the Bombay Castle. Enter a WAITER, with a note. Waiter. A note from my Lady Piercefield, sir. Miss B. Charming woman! Is she here, pray, sir? Waiter. Just come. Yes, ma'am. (Exit Waiter.) Miss B. Well, Mr. Bursal, what is it? Mr. B. (reads). "Business of importance to communicate--" Hum! what can it be?--(going). Miss B. (aside). Perhaps some match to propose for me! (Aloud). Mr. Bursal, pray before you go to her ladyship, do send my OOMAN to me to make me presentable. (Exit Miss Bursal at one door.) Mr. B. (at the opposite door). "Business of importance!" Hum! I'm glad I'm prepared with a good basin of soup. There's no doing business well upon an empty stomach. Perhaps the business is to lend cash; and I've no great stomach for that. But it will be an honour, to be sure. (Exit.)
SCENE III. Landlady's Parlour. LANDLADY--MR. FINSBURY, a man-milliner, with bandboxes--a fancy cap, or helmet, with feathers, in the Landlady's hand--a satin bag, covered with gold netting, in the man-milliner's hand--a mantle hanging over his arm. A rough looking Farmer is sitting with his back towards them, eating bread and cheese, and reading a newspaper. Landlady. Well, this, to be sure, will be the best dressed Montem that ever was seen at Eton; and you Lon'on gentlemen have the most fashionablest notions; and this is the most elegantest fancy cap-- Finsbury. Why, as you observe, ma'm, that is the most elegant fancy cap of them all. That is Mr. Hector Hogmorton's fancy cap, ma'm; and here, ma'm, is Mr. Saul's rich satin bag, covered with gold net. He is college salt bearer, I understand, and has a prodigious superb white and gold dress. But, in my humble opinion, ma'm, the marshal's white and purple and orange fancy dress, trimmed with silver, will bear the bell; though, indeed, I shouldn't say that,--for the colonel's and lieutenant's, and ensign's, are beautiful in the extreme. And, to be sure, nothing could be better imagined than Mr. Marlborough's lilac and silver, with a Roman cap. And it must be allowed that nothing in nature can have a better effect than Mr. Drake's flesh-colour and blue, with this Spanish hat, ma'm, you see. (The farmer looks over his shoulder from time to time during this speech, with contempt.) Farmer (reads the newspaper). French fleet at sea--Hum! Landlady. O gemini: Mr. Drake's Spanish hat is the sweetest, tastiest thing! Mr. Finsbury, I protest-- Finsb. Why, ma'm, I knew a lady of your taste couldn't but approve of it. My own invention entirely, ma'm. But it's nothing to the captain's cap, ma'm. Indeed, ma'm, Mr. Wheeler, the captain that is to be, has the prettiest taste in dress. To be sure, his sandals were my suggestion; but the mantle he has the entire credit of, to do him justice; and when you see it, ma'm, you will be really surprised; for (for contrast, and elegance, and richness, and lightness, and propriety, and effect, and costume) you've never yet seen anything at all to be compared to Captain Wheeler's mantle, ma'm. Farmer (to the Landlady). Why, now, pray, Mrs. Landlady, how long may it have been the fashion for milliners to go about in men's clothes? Landlady (aside to Farmer). Lord, Mr. Hearty, hush! This is Mr. Finsbury, the great man-milliner. Farm. The great man-milliner! This is a sight I never thought to see in Old England. Finsb. (packing up band boxes). Well, ma'm, I'm glad I have your approbation. It has ever been my study to please the ladies. Farm. (throws a fancy mantle over his frieze coat). And is this the way to please the ladies, Mrs. Landlady, nowadays? Finsb. (taking off the mantle). Sir, with your leave--I ask pardon--but the least thing detriments these tender colours; and as you have just been eating cheese with your hands-- Farm. 'Tis my way to eat cheese with my mouth, man. Finsb. MAN! Farm. I ask pardon--man-milliner, I mean. Enter LANDLORD. Landlord. Why, wife! Landlady. Wife! Landlord. I ask pardon--Mrs. Newington, I mean. Do you know who them ladies are that you have been and turned out of the Dolphin? Landlady (alarmed). Not I, indeed. Who are they, pray? Why, if they are quality it's no fault of mine. It is their own fault for coming, like scrubs, without four horses. Why, if quality will travel the road this way, incognito, how can they expect to be known and treated as quality? 'Tis no fault of mine. Why didn't you find out sooner who they were, Mr. Newington? What else, in the 'versal world have you to do, but to go basking about in the yards and places with your tankard in your hand, from morning till night? What have you else to ruminate, all day long, but to find out who's who, I say? Farm. Clapper! clapper! clapper! like my mill in a high wind, landlord. Clapper! clapper! clapper!--enough to stun a body. Landlord. That is not used to it; but use is all, they say. Landlady. Will you answer me, Mr. Newington? Who are the grandees that were in the Dolphin?--and what's become on them? Landlord. Grandees was your own word, wife. They be not to call grandees; but I reckon you'd be sorry not to treat 'em civil, when I tell you their name is Talbot, mother and sister to our young Talbot, of Eton; he that paid me so handsome for the hunter this very morning. Landlady. Mercy! is that all? What a combustion for nothing in life! Finsb. For nothing in life, as you say, ma'm; that is, nothing in high life, I'm sure, ma'm; nay, I dare a'most venture to swear. Would you believe it, Mr. Talbot is one of the few young gentlemen of Eton that has not bespoke from me a fancy dress for this grand Montem? Landlady. There, Mr. Newington; there's your Talbot for you! and there's your grandees! O trust me, I know your scrubs at first sight. Landlord. Scrubs, I don't, nor can't, nor won't call them that pay their debts honestly. Scrubs, I don't, nor won't, nor can't, call them that behave as handsome as young Mr. Talbot did here to me this morning about the hunter. A scrub he is not, wife. Fancy-dress or no fancy-dress, Mr. Finsbury, this young gentleman is no scrub. Finsb. Dear me! 'Twas not I said SCRUB. Did I say scrub? Farm. No matter if you did. Finsb. No matter, certainly; and yet it is a matter; for I'm confident I wouldn't for the world leave it in anyone's power to say that I said-- that I called--any young gentleman of Eton a SCRUB! Why, you know, sir, it might breed a riot! Farm. And a pretty figure you'd make in a riot! Landlady. Pray let me hear nothing about riots in my house. Farm. Nor about scrubs. Finsb. But I beg leave to explain, gentlemen. All I ventured to remark or suggest was, that as there was some talk of Mr. Talbot's being captain to-morrow, I didn't conceive how he could well appear without any dress. That was all, upon my word and honour. A good morning to you, gentlemen; it is time for me to be off. Mrs. Newington, you were so obliging as to promise to accommodate me with a return chaise as far as Eton. (Finsbury bows and exit.) Farm. A good day to you and your bandboxes. There's a fellow for you now! Ha! ha! ha!--A man-milliner, forsooth! Landlord. Mrs. Talbot's coming--stand back. Landlady. Lord! why does Bob show them through this way? Enter MRS. TALBOT, leaning on LOUISA; Waiter showing the way. Landlady. You are going on, I suppose, ma'am? Waiter (aside to Landlord). Not if she could help it; but there's no beds, since Mr. Bursal and Miss Bursal's come. Landlord. I say nothing, for it is vain to say more. But isn't it a pity she can't stay for the Montem, poor old lady! Her son--as good and fine a lad as ever you saw--they say, has a chance, too, of being captain. She may never live to see another such a sight. (As Mrs. Talbot walks slowly on, the Farmer puts himself across her way, so as to stop her short.) Farm. No offence, madam, I hope; but I have a good snug farm house, not far off hand; and if so be you'd be so good to take a night's lodging, you and the young lady with you, you'd have a hearty welcome. That's all I can say and you'd make my wife very happy; for she's a good woman, to say nothing of myself. Landlord. If I may be so bold to put in my word, madam, you'd have as good beds, and be as well lodged, with Farmer Hearty, as in e'er a house at Salt Hill. Mrs. Talb. I am very much obliged-- Farm. O, say nothing o' that, madam. I am sure I shall be as much obliged if you do come. Do, miss, speak for me. Louisa. Pray, dear mother-- Farm. She will. (Calls behind the scenes.) Here, waiter! hostler! driver! what's your name? drive the chaise up here to the door, smart, close. Lean on my arm, madam, and we'll have you in and home in a whiff. (Exeunt Mrs. Talbot, Louisa, Farmer, Landlord and Waiter.) Landlady (sola). What a noise and a rout this farmer man makes! and my husband, with his great broad face, bowing, as great a nincompoop as t'other. The folks are all bewitched with the old woman, I verily believe. (Aloud.) A good morning to you, ladies. END OF THE FIRST ACT.
SCENE I. A field near Eton College;--several boys crossing backwards and forwards in the back-ground. In front, TALBOT, WHEELER, LORD JOHN and BURSAL. Talbot. Fair play, Wheeler! Have at 'em, my boy! There they stand, fair game! There's Bursal there, with his dead forty-five votes at command; and Lord John with his--how many live friends? Lord John (coolly). Sir, I have fifty-six friends, I believe. Talb. Fifty-six friends, his lordship believes--Wheeler inclusive, no doubt. Lord J. That's as hereafter may be. Wheeler. Hereafter! Oh, fie, my LUD! You know your own Wheeler has, from the first minute he ever saw you, been your fast friend. Talb. Your fast friend from the first minute he ever saw you, my lord! That's well hit, Wheeler; stick to that; stick fast. Fifty-six friends, Wheeler INclusive, hey, my lord! hey, my LUD! Lord J. Talbot EXclusive, I find, contrary to my expectations. Talb. Ay, contrary to your expectations, you find that Talbot is not a dog that will lick the dust: but then there's enough of the true spaniel breed to be had for whistling for; hey, Wheeler? Bursal (aside to Wheeler). A pretty electioneerer. So much the better for you, Wheeler. Why, unless he bought a vote, he'd never win one, if he talked from this to the day of judgment. Wheeler (aside to Bursal). And as he has no money to buy votes--he! he! he!--we are safe enough. Talb. That's well done, Wheeler; fight the by-battle there with Bursal. Now you are sure of the main with Lord John. Lord J. Sure! I never made Mr. Wheeler any promise yet. Wheel. O; I ask no promise from his lordship; we are upon honour: I trust entirely to his lordship's good nature and generosity, and to his regard for his own family; I having the honour, though distantly, to be related. Lord J. Related! How, Wheeler? Wheel. Connected, I mean, which is next door, as I may say, to being related. Related slipped out by mistake; I beg pardon, my Lord John. Lord J. Related!--a strange mistake, Wheeler. Talb. Overshot yourself, Wheeler; overshot yourself, by all that's awkward. And yet, till now, I always took you for "a dead-shot at a yellow-hammer."* *Young noblemen at Oxford wear yellow tufts at the tops of their caps. Hence their flatterers are said to be dead-shots at yellow-hammers. Wheel. (taking Bursal by the arm). Bursal, a word with you. (Aside to Bursal.) What a lump of family pride that Lord John is. Talb. Keep out of my hearing, Wheeler, lest I should spoil sport. But never fear: you'll please Bursal sooner than I shall. I can't, for the soul of me, bring myself to say that Bursal's not purse-proud, and you can. Give you joy. Burs. A choice electioneerer!--ha! ha! ha! Wheel. (faintly). He! he! he!--a choice electioneerer, as you say. (Exeunt Wheeler and Bursal; manent Lord J. and Talbot.) Lord J. There was a time, Talbot-- Talb. There was a time, my lord--to save trouble and a long explanation- -there was a time when you liked Talbots better than spaniels; you understand me? Lord J. I have found it very difficult to understand you of late, Mr. Talbot. Talb. Yes, because you have used other people's understandings instead of your own. Be yourself, my lord. See with your own eyes, and hear with your own ears, and then you'll find me still, what I've been these seven years; not your understrapper, your hanger-on, your flatterer, but your friend! If you choose to have me for a friend, here's my hand. I am your friend, and you'll not find a better. Lord J. (giving his hand). You are a strange fellow, Talbot; I thought I never could have forgiven you for what you said last night. Talb. What? for I don't keep a register of my sayings. Oh, it was something about gaming--Wheeler was flattering your taste for it, and he put me into a passion--I forget what I said. But, whatever it was, I'm sure it was well meant, and I believe it was well said. Lord J. But you laugh at me sometimes to my face. Talb. Would you rather I should laugh at you behind your back? Lord. J. But of all things in the world I hate to be laughed at. Listen to me, and don't fumble in your pockets while I'm talking to you. Talb. I'm fumbling for--oh, here it is. Now, Lord John, I once did laugh at you behind your back, and what's droll enough, it was at your back I laughed. Here's a caricature I drew of you--I really am sorry I did it; but 'tis best to show it to you myself. Lord J. (aside). It is all I can do to forgive this. (After a pause, he tears the paper.) I have heard of this caricature before; but I did not expect, Talbot, that you would come and show it to me, yourself, Talbot, so handsomely, especially at such a time as this. Wheeler might well say you are a bad electioneerer. Talb. Oh, hang it! I forgot my election, and your fifty-six friends. Enter RORY O'RYAN. Rory (claps Talbot on the back). Fifty-six friends, have you, Talbot? Say seven--fifty-seven, I mean; for I'll lay you a wager, you've forget me; and that's a shame for you, too; for out of the whole posse-comitatus entirely now, you have not a stauncher friend than Poor little Rory O'Ryan. And a good right he has to befriend you; for you stood by him when many who ought to have known better were hunting him down for a wild Irishman. Now that same wild Irishman has as much gratitude in him as any tame Englishman of them all. But don't let's be talking sintimint; for, for my share I'd not give a bogberry a bushel for sintimint, when I could get anything better. Lord J. And pray, sir, what may a bogberry be? Rory. Phoo! don't be playing the innocent, now. Where have you lived all your life (I ask pardon, my LARD) not to know a bogberry when you see or hear of it? (Turns to Talbot.) But what are ye standing idling here for? Sure, there's Wheeler, and Bursal along with him, canvassing out yonder at a terrible fine rate. And haven't I been huzzaing for you there till I'm hoarse? So I am, and just stepped away to suck an orange for my voice--(sucks an orange.) I am a THOROUGH GOING friend, at anyrate. Talb. Now, Rory, you are the best fellow in the world, and a THOROUGH GOING friend; but have a care, or you'll get yourself and me into some scrape, before you have done with this violent THOROUGH GOING work. Rory. Never fear! never fear, man!--a warm frind and a bitter enemy, that's my maxim. Talb. Yes, but too warm a friend is as bad as a bitter enemy. Rory. Oh, never fear me! I'm as cool as a cucumber all the time; and whilst they tink I'm tinking of nothing in life but making a noise, I make my own snug little remarks in prose and verse, as--now my voice is after coming back to me, you shall hear, if you plase. Talb. I do please. Rory. I call it Rory's song. Now, mind, I have a verse for everybody-- o' the leading lads, I mean; and I shall put 'em in or lave 'em out, according to their inclinations and deserts, wise-a-wee to you, my little frind. So you comprehend it will be Rory's song, with variations. Talbot and Lord John. Let's have it; let's have it without further preface. Rory sings. "I'm true game to the last, and no WHEELER for me." Rory. There's a stroke, in the first place, for Wheeler,--you take it? Talb. O yes, yes, we take it; go on.
"I'm true game to the last, and no Wheeler for me.
Lord J. But if I have any ear, one of your lines is a foot too long, Mr. O'Ryan. Rory. Phoo, put the best foot foremost for a frind. Slur it in the singing, and don't be quarrelling, anyhow, for a foot more or less. The more feet the better it will stand, you know. Only let me go on, and you'll come to something that will plase you. Rory sings. "Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm." Rory. That's Bursal, mind now, whom I mean to allude to in this verse. Lord J. If the allusion's good, we shall probably find out your meaning. Talb. On with you, Rory, and don't read us notes on a song. Lord J. Go on, and let us hear what you say of Bursal.
"Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm;
Rory. Sure 'twas none of I made it--'twas Talbot here. Talb. I! Rory. (aside). Not a word: I'll make you a present of it: sure, then, it's your own. Talb. I never wrote a word of it. Rory. (to Lord J.). Phoo, Phoo! he's only denying it out of false modesty. Lord. J. Well, no matter who wrote it,--sing it again. Rory. Be easy; so I will, and as many more verses as you will to the back of it. (Winking at Talbot aside.) You shall have the credit of all. (Aloud.) Put me in when I'm out, Talbot, and you (to Lord John) join--join.
"Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm;
Rory. Join, join, both of ye--why don't you join? (Sings.)
Talb. You have spoiled all, indeed. Lord J. (making a formal low bow). Mr. Talbot, Lord John thanks you. Rory. Lord John! blood and thunder! I forgot you were by--quite and clean. Lord J. (puts him aside and continues speaking to Talbot). Lord John thanks you, Mr. Talbot: this is the second part of the caricature. Lord John thanks you for these proofs of friendship--Lord John has reason to thank you, Mr. Talbot. Rory. No reason in life now. Don't be thanking so much for nothing in life; or if you must be thanking of somebody, it's me you ought to thank. Lord J. I ought and do, sir, for unmasking one who-- Talb. (warmly). Unmasking, my lord-- Rory (holding them asunder). Phoo! phoo! phoo! be easy, can't ye?-- there's no unmasking at all in the case. My Lord John, Talbot's writing the song was all a mistake. Lord J. As much a mistake as your singing it, sir, I presume-- Rory. Just as much. 'Twas all a mistake. So now don't you go and make a mistake into a misunderstanding. It was I made every word of the song out o' the face*--that about the back that never was bent, and the ancestors of the oyster, and all. He did not waste a word of it; upon my conscience, I wrote it all--though I'll engage you didn't think I could write a good thing. (Lord John turns away.) I'm telling you the truth, and not a word of a lie, and yet you won't believe me. *From beginning to end. Lord J. You will excuse me, sir, if I cannot believe two contradictory assertions within two minutes. Mr. Talbot, I thank you (going). (Rory tries to stop Lord John from going, but cannot.--Exit Lord John.) Rory. Well, if he WILL go, let him go then, and much good may it do him. Nay, but don't you go too. Talb. O Rory, what have you done?--(Talbot runs after Lord J.) Hear me, my lord. (Exit Talbot.) Rory. Hear him! hear him! hear him!--Well, I'm point blank mad with myself for making this blunder; but how could I help it? As sure as ever I am meaning to do the best thing on earth, it turns out the worst. Enter a party of lads, huzzaing. Rory (joins.) Huzza! huzza!--Who, pray, are ye huzzaing for? 1st Boy. Wheeler! Wheeler for ever! huzza! Rory. Talbot! Talbot for ever! huzza! Captain Talbot for ever! huzza! 2nd Boy. CAPTAIN he'll never be,--at least not to-morrow; for Lord John has just declared for Wheeler. lst Boy. And that turns the scale. Rory. Oh, the scale may turn back again. 3rd Boy. Impossible! Lord John has just given his promise to Wheeler. I heard him with my own ears. (Several speak at once.) And I heard him; and I! and I! and I!--Huzza! Wheeler for ever! Rory. Oh, murder! murder! murder! (Aside.) This goes to my heart! it's all my doing. O, my poor Talbot!-- murder! murder! murder! But I won't let them see me cast down, and it is good to be huzzaing at all events. Huzza for Talbot! Talbot for ever! huzza! (Exit.) Enter WHEELER and BURSAL. Wheel. Who was that huzzaing for Talbot? (Rory behind the scenes, "Huzza for Talbot! Talbot for ever! huzza!") Burs. Pooh, it is only Rory O'Ryan, or the roaring lion as I call him. Ha! ha! ha! Rory O'Ryan, alias O'Ryan, the roaring lion; that's a good one; put it about--Rory O'Ryan, the roaring lion, ha! ha! ha! but you don't take it--you don't laugh, Wheeler. Wheeler. Ha! ha! ha! O, upon my honour I do laugh; ha! ha! ha! (Aside). It is the hardest work to laugh at his wit. (Aloud.) Rory O'Ryan, the roaring lion--ha! ha! ha! You know I always laugh, Bursal, at your jokes--he! he! he!--ready to kill myself. Burs. (sullenly). You are easily killed, then, if that much laughing will do the business. Wheel. (coughing). Just then--something stuck in my throat; I beg your pardon. Burs. (still sullen). Oh, you need not beg my pardon about the matter. I don't care whether you laugh or no--not I. Now you have got Lord John to declare for you, you are above laughing at my jokes, I suppose. Wheel. No, upon my word and honour, I DID laugh. Burs. (aside). A fig for your word and honour. (Aloud.) I know I'm of no consequence now; but you'll remember, that if his lordship has the honour of making you captain, he must have the honour to pay for your captain's accoutrements; for I sha'n't pay the piper, I promise you, since I'm of no consequence. Wheel. Of no consequence! But, my dear Bursal, what could put that into your head? that's the strangest, oddest fancy. Of no consequence! Bursal, of no consequence! Why, everybody that knows anything--everybody that has seen Bursal House--knows that you are of the greatest consequence, my dear Bursal. Burs. (taking out his watch, and opening it, looks at it). No, I'm of no consequence. I wonder that rascal Finsbury is not come yet with the dresses (still looking at his watch). Wheel. (aside). If Bursal takes it into his head not to lend me the money to pay for my captain's dress, what will become of me? for I have not a shilling--and Lord John won't pay for me--and Finsbury has orders not to leave the house till he is paid by everybody. What will become of me?--(bites his nails). Burs. (aside). How I love to make him bite his nails! (Aloud.) I know I'm of no consequence. (Strikes his repeater.) Wheel. What a fine repeater that is of yours, Bursal! It is the best I ever heard. Burs. So it well may be; for it cost a mint of money. Wheel. No matter to you what anything costs. Happy dog as you are! You roll in money; and yet you talk of being of no consequence. Burs. But I am not of half so much consequence as Lord John--am I? Wheel. Are you? Why, aren't you twice as rich as he! Burs. Very true, but I'm not purse-proud. Wheel. You purse-proud! I should never have thought of such a thing. Burs. Nor I, if Talbot had not used the word. Wheel. But Talbot thinks everybody purse-proud that has a purse. Burs. (aside). Well, this Wheeler does put one into a good humour with one's self in spite of one's teeth. (Aloud.) Talbot says blunt things; but I don't think he's what you can call clever--hey, Wheeler? Wheel. Clever? Oh, not he. Burs. I think I could walk round him. Wheel. To be sure you could. Why, do you know, I've quizzed him famously myself within this quarter of an hour! Burs. Indeed! I wish I had been by. Wheel. So do I, 'faith! It was the best thing. I wanted, you see, to get him out of my way, that I might have the field clear for electioneering to-day. So I bowls up to him with a long face--such a face as this. Mr. Talbot, do you know--I'm sorry to tell you, here's Jack Smith has just brought the news from Salt Hill. Your mother, in getting into the carriage, slipped, and has BROKE her leg, and there she's lying at a farmhouse, two miles off. Is not it true, Jack? said I. I saw the farmer helping her in with my own eyes, cries Jack. Off goes Talbot like an arrow. Quizzed him, quizzed him! said I. Burs. Ha! ha! ha! quizzed him indeed, with all his cleverness; that was famously done. Wheel. Ha! ha! ha! With all his cleverness he will be all the evening hunting for the farmhouse and the mother that has broke her leg; so he is out of our way. Burs. But what need have you to want him out of your way, now Lord John has come over to your side? You have the thing at a dead beat. Wheel. Not so dead either; for there's a great independent party, you know; and if YOU don't help me, Bursal, to canvass them, I shall be no captain. It is you I depend upon after all. Will you come and canvass them with me? Dear Bursal, pray--all depends upon you. (Pulls him by the arm--Bursal follows.) Burs. Well, if all depends upon me, I'll see what I can do for you. (Aside.) Then I am of some consequence! Money makes a man of some consequence, I see; at least with some folks.
SCENE II. In the back scene a flock of sheep are seen penned. In front, a party of country lads and lasses, gaily dressed, as in sheep-shearing time, with ribands and garlands of flowers, etc., are dancing and singing. Enter PATTY, dressed as the Queen of the Festival, with a lamb in her arms. The dancers break off when she comes in, and direct their attention towards her. 1st Peasant. Oh, here comes Patty! Here comes the Queen o' the day. What has kept you from us so long, Patty? 2nd Peasant. "Please your Majesty," you should say. Patty. This poor little lamb of mine was what kept me so long. It strayed away from the rest; and I should have lost him, so I should, for ever, if it had not been for a good young gentleman. Yonder he is, talking to Farmer Hearty. That's the young gentleman who pulled my lamb out of the ditch for me, into which he had fallen--pretty creature! 1st Peasant. Pretty creature--or, your Majesty, whichever you choose to be called--come and dance with them, and I'll carry your lamb. (Exeunt, singing and dancing.) Enter FARMER HEARTY and TALBOT. Farmer. Why, young gentleman, I'm glad I happened to light upon you here, and so to hinder you from going farther astray, and set your heart at ease like. Talb. Thanks, good farmer, you have set my heart at ease, indeed. But the truth is, they did frighten me confoundedly--more fool I. Farm. No fool at all, to my notion. I should, at your age, ay, or at my age, just the self-same way have been frightened myself, if so be that mention had been made to me, that way, of my own mother's having broke her leg or so. And greater, by a great deal, the shame for them that frighted you, than for you to be frighted. How young gentlemen, now, can bring themselves for to tell such lies, is to me, now, a matter of amazement, like, that I can't noways get over. Talb. Oh, farmer, such lies are very witty, though you and I don't just now like the wit of them. This is fun, this is quizzing; but you don't know what we young gentlemen mean by quizzing. Farm. Ay, but I do though, to my cost, ever since last year. Look you, now, at yon fine field of wheat. Well, it was just as fine, and finer, last year, till a young Eton jackanapes-- Talb. Take care what you say, farmer; for I am a young Eton jackanapes. Farm. No; but you be not the young Eton jackanapes that I'm a-thinking on. I tell you it was this time last year, man; he was a-horseback, I tell ye, mounted upon a fine bay hunter, out a-hunting, like. Talb. I tell you it was this time last year, man, that I was mounted upon a fine bay hunter, out a-hunting. Farm. Zooks! would you argufy a man out of his wits? You won't go for to tell me that you are that impertinent little jackanapes! Talb. No! no! I'll not tell you that I am an impertinent little jackanapes! Farm (wiping his forehead). Well, don't then, for I can't believe it; and you put me out. Where was I? Talb. Mounted upon a fine bay hunter. Farm. Ay, so he was. "Here, YOU," says he, meaning me--"open this gate for me." Now, if he had but a-spoke me fair, I would not have gainsaid him: but he falls to swearing, so I bid him open the gate for himself. "There's a bull behind you, farmer," says he. I turns. "Quizzed him!" cries my jackanapes, and off he gallops him, through the very thick of my corn; but he got a fall, leaping the ditch out yonder, which pacified me, like, at the minute. So I goes up to see whether he was killed; but he was not a whit the worse for his tumble. So I should ha' fell into a passion with him then, to be sure, about my corn; but his horse had got such a terrible sprain, I couldn't say anything to him; for I was a- pitying the poor animal. As fine a hunter as ever you saw! I am sartain sure he could never come to good after. Talb. (aside). I do think, from the description, that this was Wheeler; and I have paid for the horse which he spoiled! (Aloud.) Should you know either the man or the horse again, if you were to see them? Farm. Ay, that I should, to my dying day. Talb. Will you come with me, then, and you'll do me some guineas' worth of service? Farm. Ay, that I will, with a deal of pleasure; for you be a civil spoken young gentleman; and, besides, I don't think the worse on you for being FRIGHTED a little about your mother; being what I might ha' been, at your age, myself; for I had a mother myself once. So lead on, master. (Exeunt.)
SCENE I. The garden of the "Windmill Inn," at Salt Hill. MISS BURSAL, MRS. NEWINGTON, SALLY, the Chambermaid. (Miss Bursal, in a fainting state, is sitting on a garden stool, and leaning her head against the Landlady. Sally is holding a glass of water and a smelling bottle.) Miss Bursal. Where am I? Where am I? Landlady. At the "Windmill," at Salt Hill, young lady; and ill or well, you can't be better. Sally. Do you find yourself better since coming into the air, miss? Miss B. Better! Oh, I shall never be better! (Leans her head on hand, and rocks herself backwards and forwards.) Landlady. My dear young lady, don't take on so. (Aside.) Now would I give something to know what it was my Lady Piercefield said to the father, and what the father said to this one, and what's the matter at the bottom of affairs. Sally, did you hear anything at the doors? Sally (aside). No, indeed, ma'am; I never BE'S at the doors. Landlady (aside). Simpleton! (Aloud.) But, my dear Miss Bursal, if I may be so bold--if you'd only disembosom your mind of what's on it-- Miss B. Disembosom my mind! Nonsense! I've nothing on my mind. Pray leave me, madam. Landlady (aside). Madam, indeed! madam, forsooth! Oh, I'll make her pay for that! That MADAM shall go down in the bill, as sure as my name's Newington. (Landlady, in a higher tone.) Well, I wish you better, ma'am. I suppose I'd best send your own servant? Miss B. (sullenly). Yes, I suppose so. (To Sally.) You need not wait, child, nor look so curious. Sally. CUR'OUS! Indeed, miss, if I look a little CUR'OUS, or so (looking at her dress), 'tis only because I was FRIGHTED to see you take on, which made me forget my clean apron, when I came out; and this apron- - Miss B. Hush! Hush! child. Don't tell me about clean aprons, nor run on with your vulgar talk. Is there ever a seat one can set on in that Harbour yonder? Sally. O dear 'ART, yes, miss; 'tis the pleasantest Harbour on Hearth. Be pleased to lean on my Harm, and you'll soon be there. Miss B. (going). Then tell my woman she need not come to me, and let nobody INTERUDE on me--do you 'EAR? (Aside.) Oh, what will become of me? and the Talbots will soon know it! And the ponies, and the curricle, and the vis-a-vis--what will become of them? and how shall I make my appearance at the Montem, or any WARE else?
SCENE II. LORD JOHN--WHEELER--BURSAL. Wheeler. Well, but my lord--Well, but Bursal--though my Lady Piercefield--though Miss Bursal is come to Salt Hill, you won't leave us all at sixes and sevens. What can we do without you? Lord J. You can do very well without me. Bursal. You can do very well without me. Wheel. (to Burs.). Impossible!--impossible! You know Mr. Finsbury will be here just now, with the dresses; and we have to try them on. Burs. And to pay for them. Wheel. And to settle about the procession. And then, my lord, the election is to come on this evening. You won't go till that's over, as your lordship has PROMISED me your lordship's vote and interest. Lord J. My vote I promised you, Mr. Wheeler; but I said not a syllable about my INTEREST. My friends, perhaps, have not been offended, though I have, by Mr. Talbot. I shall leave them to their own inclinations. Burs. (whistling). Wheugh! wheugh! wheugh! Wheeler, the principal's nothing without the interest. Wheel. Oh, the interest will go along with the principal, of course; for I'm persuaded, if my lord leaves his friends to their inclinations, it will be the inclination of my lord's friends to vote as he does, if he says nothing to them to the contrary. Lord J. I told you, Mr. Wheeler, that I should leave them to themselves. Burs. (still whistling). Well, I'll do my best to make that father of mine send me off to Oxford. I'm sure I'm fit to go--along with Wheeler. Why, you'd best be my tutor, Wheeler!--a devilish good thought. Wheel. An excellent thought. Burs. And a cursed fine dust we should kick up at Oxford, with your Montem money and all!--Money's THE GO after all. I wish it was come to my making you my last bow, "ye distant spires, ye ANTIC towers!" Wheel. (aside to Lord J.). Ye ANTIC towers!--fit for Oxford, my lord! Lord J. Antique towers, I suppose Mr. Bursal means. Burs. Antique, to be sure!--I said antique, did not I, Wheeler? Wheel. O, yes. Lord J. (aside). What a mean animal is this! Enter RORY O'RYAN. Rory. Why, now, what's become of Talbot, I want to know? There he is not to be found anywhere in the wide world; and there's a hullabaloo amongst his friends for him. (Wheeler and Bursal wink at one another.) Wheel. We know nothing of him. Lord J. I have not the honour, sir, to be one of Mr. Talbot's friends. It is his own fault, and I am sorry for it. Rory. 'Faith, so am I, especially as it is mine--fault I mean; and especially as the election is just going to come on. Enter a party of boys, who cry, Finsbury's come!--Finsbury's come with the dresses! Wheel. Finsbury's come? Oh, let us see the dresses, and let us try 'em on to-night. Burs. (pushing the crowd). On with ye--on with ye, there!--Let's try 'em on!--Try 'em on--I'm to be colonel. lst Boy. And I lieutenant. 2nd Boy. And I ensign. 3rd Boy. And I college salt-bearer. 4th Boy. And I oppidan. 5th Boy. Oh, what a pity I'm in mourning. Several speak at once. And we are servitors. We are to be the eight servitors. Wheel. And I am to be your Captain, I hope. Come on, my Colonel. (To Bursal). My lord, you are coming? Rory. By-and-by--I've a word in his ear, by your LAVE and his. Burs. Why, what the devil stops the way, there?--Push on--on with them. 6th Boy. I'm marshal. Burs. On with you--on with you--who cares what you are? Wheel. (to Bursal, aside). You'll pay Finsbury for me, you rich Jew? (To Lord John.) Your lordship will remember your lordship's promise. Lord J. I do not usually forget my promises, sir; and therefore need not to be reminded of them. Wheel. I beg pardon--I beg ten thousand pardons, my lord. Burs. (taking him by the arm). Come on, man, and don't stand begging pardon there, or I'll leave you. Wheel. (to Burs.) I beg pardon, Bursal--I beg pardon, ten thousand times. (Exeunt.) Manent LORD JOHN and RORY O'RYAN. Rory. Wheugh!--Now put the case. If I was going to be hanged, for the life of me I couldn't be after begging so many pardons for nothing at all. But many men, many minds--(Hums.) True game to the last! No Wheeler for me. Oh, murder! I forgot, I was nigh letting the cat out o' the bag again. Lord J. You had something to say to me, sir? I wait till your recollection returns. Rory. 'Faith, and that's very kind of you; and if you had always done so, you would never have been offended with me, my lord. Lord J. You are mistaken, Mr. O'Ryan, if you think that you did or could offend me. Rory. Mistaken was I, then, sure enough; but we are all liable to mistakes, and should forget and forgive one another; that's the way to go through. Lord J. You will go through the world your own way, Mr. O'Ryan, and allow me to go through it my way. Rory. Very fair--fair enough--then we shan't cross. But now, to come to the point. I don't like to be making disagreeable retrospects, if I could any way avoid it; nor to be going about the bush, especially at this time o' day; when, as Mr. Finsbury's come, we've not so much time to lose as we had. Is there any truth, then, my lord, in the report that is going about this hour past, that you have gone in a huff, and given your promise there to that sneaking Wheeler to vote for him now? Lord J. In answer to your question, sir, I am to inform you that I HAVE promised Mr. Wheeler to vote for him. Rory. In a huff?--Ay, now, there it is!--Well, when a man's MAD, to be sure, he's mad--and that's all that can be said about it. And I know, if I had been MAD myself, I might have done a foolish thing as well as another. But now, my lord, that you are not mad-- Lord J. I protest, sir, I cannot understand you. In one word, sir, I'm neither mad nor a fool!--Your most obedient (going, angrily). Rory (holding him). Take care now; you are going mad with me again. But phoo! I like you the better for being mad. I'm very often mad myself, and I would not give a potato for one that had never been mad in his life. Lord J. (aside). He'll not be quiet, till he makes me knock him down. Rory. Agh! agh! agh!--I begin to guess whereabouts I am at last. MAD, in your country, I take it, means fit for Bedlam; but with us in Ireland, now, 'tis no such thing; it mean's nothing in life but the being in a passion. Well, one comfort is, my lord, as you're a bit of a scholar, we have the Latin proverb in our favour--"Ira furor brevis est" (Anger is short madness). The shorter the better, I think. So, my lord, to put an end to whatever of the kind you may have felt against poor Talbot, I'll assure you he's as innocent o' that unfortunate song as the babe unborn. Lord J. It is rather late for Mr. Talbot to make apologies to me. Rory. He make apologies! Not he, 'faith; he'd send me to Coventry, or, maybe, to a worse place, did he but know I was condescending to make this bit of explanation, unknown to him. But, upon my conscience, I've a regard for you both, and don't like to see you go together by the ears. Now, look you, my lord. By this book, and all the books that were ever shut and opened, he never saw or heard of that unlucky song of mine till I came out with it this morning. Lord J. But you told me this morning that it was he who wrote it. Rory. For that I take shame to myself, as it turned out; but it was only a WHITE lie to SARVE a friend, and make him cut a dash with a new song at election time. But I've done for ever with white lies. Lord J. (walking about as if agitated). I wish you had never begun with them, Mr. O'Ryan. This may be a good joke to you; but it is none to me or Talbot. So Talbot never wrote a word of the song? Rory. Not a word or syllable, good or bad. Lord J. And I have given my promise to vote against him. He'll lose his election. Rory. Not if you'll give me leave to speak to your friends in your name. Lord J. I have promised to leave them to themselves; and Wheeler, I am sure, has engaged them by this time. Rory. Bless my body! I'll not stay prating here then. (Exit Rory.) Lord J. (follows). But what can have become of Talbot? I have been too hasty for once in my life. Well, I shall suffer for it more than anybody else; for I love Talbot, since he did not make the song, of which I hate to think. (Exit.)
SCENE III. A large hall in Eton College--A staircase at the end--Eton lads, dressed in their Montem Dresses in the Scene--In front, WHEELER (dressed as Captain), BURSAL and FINSBURY. Fins. I give you infinite credit, Mr. Wheeler, for this dress. Burs. INFINITE CREDIT! Why, he'll have no objection to that--hey, Wheeler? But I thought Finsbury knew you too well to give you credit for anything. Fins. You are pleased to be pleasant, sir. Mr. Wheeler knows, in that sense of the word, it is out of my power to give him credit, and I'm sure he would not ask it. Wheel. (aside). O, Bursal, pay him, and I'll pay you tomorrow. Burs. Now, if you weren't to be captain after all, Wheeler, what a pretty figure you'd cut. Ha! ha! ha!--Hey? Wheel. Oh, I am as sure of being captain as of being alive. (Aside.) Do pay for me, now, there's a good, dear fellow, before THEY (looking back) come up. Burs. (aside). I love to make him lick the dust. (Aloud.) Hollo! here's Finsbury waiting to be paid, lads. (To the lads who are in the back scene.) Who has paid, and who has not paid, I say? (The lads come forward, and several exclaim at once,) I've paid! I've paid! Enter LORD JOHN and RORY O'RYAN. Rory. Oh, King of Fashion, how fine we are! Why, now, to look at ye all one might fancy one's self at the playhouse at once, or at a fancy ball in dear little Dublin. Come, strike up a dance. Burs. Pshaw! Wherever you come, Rory O'Ryan, no one else can be heard. Who has paid, and who has not paid, I say? Several Boys exclaim. We've all paid. 1st Boy. I've not paid, but here's my money. Several Boys. We have not paid, but here's our money. 6th Boy. Order there, I am marshal. All that have paid march off to the staircase, and take your seats there, one by one. March! (As they march by, one by one, so as to display their dresses, Mr. Finsbury bows, and says,) A thousand thanks, gentlemen. Thank you, gentlemen. Thanks, gentlemen. The finest sight ever I saw out of Lon'on. Rory, as each lad passes, catches his arm, Are you a TalbotITE or a WheelerITE? To each who answers "A Wheelerite," Rory replies, "Phoo! dance off, then. Go to the devil and shake yourself."* Each who answers "A Talbotite," Rory shakes by the hand violently, singing, "Talbot, oh, Talbot's the dog for Rory." *This is the name of a country dance. When they have almost all passed, Lord John says, But where can Mr. Talbot be all this time? Burs. Who knows? Who cares? Wheel. A pretty electioneerer! (Aside to Bursal.) Finsbury's waiting to be paid. Lord J. You don't wait for me, Mr. Finsbury. You know, I have settled with you. Fins. Yes, my lord--yes. Many thanks: and I have left your lordship's dress here, and everybody's dress, I believe, as bespoke. Burs. Here, Finsbury, is the money for Wheeler, who, between you and me, is as poor as a rat. Wheeler (affecting to laugh.). Well, I hope I shall be as rich as a Jew to-morrow. (Bursal counts money, in an ostentatious manner, into Finsbury's hand.) Fins. A thousand thanks for all favours. Rory. You will be kind enough to LAVE Mr. Talbot's dress with me, Mr. Finsbury, for I'm a friend. Fins. Indubitably, sir: but the misfortune is--he! he! he!--Mr. Talbot, sir, has bespoke no dress. Your servant, gentlemen. (Exit Finsbury.) Burs. So your friend Mr. Talbot could not afford to bespeak a dress-- (Bursal and Wheeler laugh insolently.) How comes that, I wonder? Lord J. If I'm not mistaken, here comes Talbot to answer for himself. Rory. But who, in the name of St. Patrick, has he along with him? Enter TALBOT and LANDLORD. Talb. Come in along with us, Farmer Hearty--come in. (Whilst the Farmer comes in, the boys who were sitting on the stairs, rise and exclaim,) Whom have we here? What now? Come down, lads; here's more fun. Rory. What's here, Talbot? Talb. An honest farmer, and a good natured landlord, who would come here along with me to speak-- Farm. (interrupting). To speak the truth--(strikes his stick on the ground). Landlord (unbuttoning his waistcoat). But I am so hot--so short-winded, that (panting and puffing)--that for the soul and body of me, I cannot say what I have got for to say. Rory. 'Faith, now, the more short winded a story, the better, to my fancy. Burs. Wheeler, what's the matter, man? you look as if your under jaw was broke. Farm. The matter is, young gentlemen, that there was once upon a time a fine, bay hunter. Wheel. (squeezing up to Talbot, aside). Don't expose me, don't let him tell. (To the Farmer.) I'll pay for the corn I spoiled. (To the Landlord.) I'll pay for the horse. Farm. I does not want to be paid for my corn. The short of it is, young gentlemen, this 'un here, in the fine thing-em-bobs (pointing to Wheeler), is a shabby fellow; he went and spoiled Master Newington's best hunter. Land. (panting). Ruinationed him! ruinationed him! Rory. But was that all the shabbiness? Now I might, or any of us might, have had such an accident as that. I suppose he paid the gentleman for the horse, or will do so, in good time. Land. (holding his sides). Oh, that I had but a little breath in this body o' mine to speak all--speak on, Farmer. Farm. (striking his stick on the floor). Oons, sir, when a man's put out, he can't go on with his story. Omnes. Be quiet, Rory--hush! (Rory puts his finger on his lips.) Farm. Why, sir, I was a-going to tell you the shabbiness--why, sir, he did not pay the landlord, here, for the horse; but he goes and says to the landlord, here--"Mr. Talbot had your horse on the self-same day; 'twas he did the damage; 'tis from he you must get your money." So Mr. Talbot, here, who is another sort of a gentleman (though he has not so fine a coat) would not see a man at a loss, that could not afford it; and not knowing which of 'em it was that spoiled the horse, goes, when he finds the other would not pay a farthing, and pays all. Rory (rubbing his hands). There's Talbot for ye. And, now, gentlemen (to Wheeler and Bursal), you guess the RASON, as I do, I suppose, why he bespoke no dress; he had not money enough to be fine--and honest, too. You are very fine, Mr. Wheeler, to do you justice. Lord J. Pray, Mr. O'Ryan, let the farmer go on; he has more to say. How did you find out, pray, my good friend, that it was not Talbot who spoiled the horse! Speak loud enough to be heard by everybody. Farm. Ay, that I will--I say (very loudly) I say I saw him there (pointing to Wheeler) take the jump which strained the horse; and I'm ready to swear to it. Yet he let another pay; there's the shabbiness. (A general groan from all the lads. "Oh, shabby Wheeler, shabby! I'll not vote for shabby Wheeler!") Lord J. (aside). Alas! I must vote for him.
"True game to the last; no Wheeler for me;
Wheel. I am as poor as a rat. Rory. Oh, yes! oh yes! hear ye! hear ye, all manner of men--the election is now going to begin forthwith in the big field, and Rory O'Ryan holds the poll for Talbot. Talbot for ever!--huzza! (Exit Rory, followed by the Boys, who exclaim "Talbot for ever!--huzza!" The Landlord and Farmer join them.) Lord J. Talbot, I am glad you are what I always thought you--I'm glad you did not write that odious song. I would not lose such a friend for all the songs in the world. Forgive me for my hastiness this morning. I've punished myself--I've promised to vote for Wheeler. Talb. Oh, no matter whom you vote for, my lord, if you are still my friend, and if you know me to be yours. (They shake hands.) Lord J. I must not say, "Huzza for Talbot!" (Exeunt.)
SCENE IV. WINDSOR TERRACE. LADY PIERCEFIELD, MRS. TALBOT, LOUISA, and a little girl of six years old, LADY VIOLETTA, daughter to LADY PIERCEFIELD. Violetta (looking at a paper which Louisa holds). I like it VERY much. Lady P. What is it that you like VERY much, Violetta? Violet. You are not to know yet, mamma; it is--I may tell her that--it is a little drawing that Louisa is doing for me. Louisa, I wish you would let me show it to mamma. Louisa. And welcome, my dear; it is only a sketch of "The Little Merchants," a story which Violetta was reading, and she asked me to try to draw the pictures of the little merchants for her. (Whilst Lady P. looks at the drawing, Violetta says to Louisa) But are you in earnest, Louisa, about what you were saying to me just now,--quite in earnest? Louisa. Yes, in earnest,--quite in earnest, my dear. Violet. And may I ask mamma, NOW? Louisa. If you please, my dear. Violet. (runs to her mother). Stoop down to me, mamma ; I've something to whisper to you. (Lady Piercefield stoops down; Violetta throws her arms round her mother's neck.) Violet. (aside to her mother). Mamma, do you know--you know you want a governess for me. Lady P. Yes, if I could find a good one. Violet. (aloud). Stoop again, mamma, I've more to whisper. (Aside to her mother). SHE says she will be my governess, if you please. Lady P. SHE!--who is SHE? Violet. Louisa. Lady P. (patting Violetta's cheek). You are a little fool. Miss Talbot is only playing with you. Violet. No, indeed, mamma; she is in earnest; are not you, Louisa?--Oh, say yes! Louisa. Yes. Violet. (claps her hands). YES, mamma; do you hear YES? Louisa. If Lady Piercefield will trust you to my care, I am persuaded that I should be much happier as your governess, my good little Violetta, than as an humble dependent of Miss Bursal's. (Aside to her mother.) You see that, now I am put to the trial, I keep to my resolution, dear mother. Mrs. T. Your ladyship would not be surprised at this offer of my Louisa, if you had heard, as we have done within these few hours, of the loss of the East India ship in which almost our whole property was embarked. Louisa. The Bombay Castle is wrecked. Lady P. The Bombay Castle! I have the pleasure to tell you that you are misinformed--it was the Airly Castle that was wrecked. Louisa and Mrs. T. Indeed! Lady P. Yes; you may depend upon it--it was the Airly Castle that was lost. You know I am just come from Portsmouth, where I went to meet my brother, Governor Morton, who came home with the last India fleet, and from whom I had the intelligence. (Here Violetta interrupts, to ask her mother for her nosegay--Lady P. gives it to her, then goes on speaking.) Lady P. They were in such haste, foolish people! to carry their news to London, that they mistook one castle for another. But do you know that Mr. Bursal loses fifty thousand pounds, it is said, by the Airly Castle! When I told him she was lost, I thought he would have dropped down. However, I found he comforted himself afterwards with a bottle of Burgundy: but poor Miss Bursal has been in hysterics ever since. Mrs. T. Poor girl! My Louisa, YOU did not fall into hysterics, when I told you of the loss of our whole fortune. (Violetta, during this dialogue, has been seated on the ground making up a nosegay.) Violet. (aside). Fall into hysterics! What are hysterics, I wonder. Louisa. Miss Bursal is much to be pitied; for the loss of wealth will be the loss of happiness to her. Lady P. It is to be hoped that the loss may at least check the foolish pride and extravagance of young Bursal, who, as my son tells me-- (A cry of "Huzza! huzza!" behind the scenes.) Enter LORD JOHN. Lord J. (hastily). How d'ye do, mother! Miss Talbot, I give you joy. Lady P. Take breath--take breath. Louisa. It is my brother. Mrs. T. Here he is!--Hark! hark! (A cry behind the scenes of "Talbot and truth for ever! Huzza!") Louisa. They are chairing him. Lord J. Yes, they are chairing him; and he has been chosen for his honourable conduct, not for his electioneering skill; for, to do him justice, Coriolanus himself was not a worse electioneerer. Enter RORY O'RYAN and another Eton lad, carrying TALBOT in a chair, followed by a crowd of Eton lads. Rory. By your LAVE, my lord--by your LAVE, ladies. Omnes. Huzza! Talbot and truth for ever! Huzza! Talb. Set me down! There's my mother! There's my sister! Rory. Easy, easy. Set him down? No such TING! give him t'other huzza! There's nothing like a good loud huzza in this world. Yes, there is! for, as my Lord John said just now, out of some book, or out of his own head,--
[The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |