The Contrast | Page 7

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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[illustration omitted]
SCENE II.
A Room in VAN ROUGH'S House
MARIA sitting disconsolate at a Table, with Books, &c.
SONG.
I.
The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day;?But glory remains when their lights fade away!?Begin, ye tormentors! your threats are in vain,?For the son of Alknomook shall never complain.
II.
Remember the arrows he shot from his bow;?Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low:?Why so slow?--do you wait till I shrink from the pain??No--the son of Alknomook will never complain.
III.
Remember the wood where in ambush we lay,?And the scalps which we bore from your nation away:?Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain;?But the son of Alknomook can never complain.
IV.
I go to the land where my father is gone;?His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son:?Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain;?And thy son, Oh Alknomook! has scorn'd to complain.
There is something in this song which ever calls?forth my affections. The manly virtue of courage,?that fortitude which steels the heart against the keenest?misfortunes, which interweaves the laurel of glory?amidst the instruments of torture and death, displays?something so noble, so exalted, that in despite of the?prejudices of education I cannot but admire it, even?in a savage. The prepossession which our sex is?supposed to entertain for the character of a soldier is,?I know, a standing piece of raillery among the wits.?A cockade, a lapell'd coat, and a feather, they will?tell you, are irresistible by a female heart. Let it be?so. Who is it that considers the helpless situation of?our sex, that does not see that we each moment stand?in need of a protector, and that a brave one too??Formed of the more delicate materials of nature,?endowed only with the softer passions, incapable,?from our ignorance of the world, to guard against the?wiles of mankind, our security for happiness often?depends upon their generosity and courage. Alas!?how little of the former do we find! How inconsistent?! that man should be leagued to destroy that?honour upon which solely rests his respect and?esteem. Ten thousand temptations allure us, ten?thousand passions betray us; yet the smallest deviation?from the path of rectitude is followed by the contempt?and insult of man, and the more remorseless pity of?woman; years of penitence and tears cannot wash?away the stain, nor a life of virtue obliterate its?remembrance. Reputation is the life of woman; yet?courage to protect it is masculine and disgusting;?and the only safe asylum a woman of delicacy can?find is in the arms of a man of honour. How?naturally, then, should we love the brave and the?generous; how gratefully should we bless the arm?raised for our protection, when nerv'd by virtue and?directed by honour! Heaven grant that the man?with whom I may be connected--may be connected!?Whither has my imagination transported me--whither?does it now lead me? Am I not indissolubly?engaged, "by every obligation of honour which my?own consent and my father's approbation can give,"?to a man who can never share my affections, and?whom a few days hence it will be criminal for me to?disapprove--to disapprove! would to heaven that?were all--to despise. For, can the most frivolous?manners, actuated by the most depraved heart, meet,?or merit, anything but contempt from every woman?of delicacy and sentiment?
[VAN ROUGH without. Mary!]?Ha! my father's voice--Sir!--
[Enter VAN ROUGH.
VAN ROUGH
What, Mary, always singing doleful ditties, and?moping over these plaguy books.
MARIA
I