The Contrast | Page 8

hope, Sir, that it is not criminal to improve my?mind with books, or to divert my melancholy with?singing, at my leisure hours.
VAN ROUGH
Why, I don't know that, child; I don't know that.?They us'd to say, when I was a young man, that if a?woman knew how to make a pudding, and to keep?herself out of fire and water, she knew enough for a?wife. Now, what good have these books done you??have they not made you melancholy? as you call it.?Pray, what right has a girl of your age to be in the?dumps? haven't you everything your heart can wish;?an't you going to be married to a young man of great?fortune; an't you going to have the quit-rent of twenty?miles square?
MARIA
One-hundredth part of the land, and a lease for life?of the heart of a man I could love, would satisfy me.
VAN ROUGH
Pho, pho, pho! child; nonsense, downright nonsense,?child. This comes of your reading your storybooks;?your Charles Grandisons, your Sentimental?Journals, and your Robinson Crusoes, and such other?trumpery. No, no, no! child; it is money makes the?mare go; keep your eye upon the main chance, Mary.
MARIA
Marriage, Sir, is, indeed, a very serious affair.
VAN ROUGH
You are right, child; you are right. I am sure I?found it so, to my cost.
MARIA
I mean, Sir, that as marriage is a portion for life,?and so intimately involves our happiness, we cannot?be too considerate in the choice of our companion.
VAN ROUGH
Right, child; very right. A young woman should?be very sober when she is making her choice, but?when she has once made it, as you have done, I don't?see why she should not be as merry as a grig; I am?sure she has reason enough to be so. Solomon says?that "there is a time to laugh, and a time to weep."?Now, a time for a young woman to laugh is when she?has made sure of a good rich husband. Now, a time?to cry, according to you, Mary, is when she is making?choice of him; but I should think that a young?woman's time to cry was when she despaired of?getting one. Why, there was your mother, now: to be?sure, when I popp'd the question to her she did look?a little silly; but when she had once looked down on?her apron-strings, as all modest young women us'd to?do, and drawled out ye-s, she was as brisk and as?merry as a bee.
MARIA
My honoured mother, Sir, had no motive to melancholy;?she married the man of her choice.
VAN ROUGH
The man of her choice! And pray, Mary, an't you?going to marry the man of your choice--what trumpery?notion is this? It is these vile books [throwing?them away]. I'd have you to know, Mary, if you?won't make young Van Dumpling the man of your?choice, you shall marry him as the man of my choice.
MARIA
You terrify me, Sir. Indeed, Sir, I am all submission.?My will is yours.
VAN ROUGH
Why, that is the way your mother us'd to talk.?"My will is yours, my dear Mr. Van Rough, my will?is yours"; but she took special care to have her?own way, though, for all that.
MARIA
Do not reflect upon my mother's memory, Sir--
VAN ROUGH
Why not, Mary, why not? She kept me from speaking?my mind all her life, and do you think she shall?henpeck me now she is dead too? Come, come;?don't go to sniveling; be a good girl, and mind the?main chance. I'll see you well settled in the world.
MARIA
I do not doubt your love, Sir, and it is my duty to?obey you. I will endeavour to make my duty and?inclination go hand in hand.
VAN ROUGH
Well, Well, Mary; do you be a good girl, mind the?main chance, and never mind inclination. Why, do?you know that I have been down in the cellar this?very morning to examine a pipe of Madeira which I?purchased the week you were born, and mean to tap on?your wedding day?--That pipe cost me fifty pounds?sterling. It was well worth sixty pounds; but I overreach'?d Ben Bulkhead, the supercargo. I'll tell you?the whole story. You must know that--
Enter SERVANT.
SERVANT.
Sir, Mr. Transfer, the broker is below. [Exit.
VAN ROUGH
Well, Mary, I must go. Remember, and be a good?girl, and mind the main chance. [Exit.
MARIA, alone.
How deplorable is my situation! How distressing?for a daughter to find her heart militating with her?filial duty! I know my father loves me tenderly; why?then do I reluctantly obey him? Heaven knows!?with what reluctance I should oppose the will of a?parent, or set an example of filial disobedience; at a?parent's command, I could wed awkwardness and?deformity. Were the heart of my husband good, I?would so magnify his good qualities with the eye?of conjugal affection, that the defects of his person?and manners should be lost in the emanation of his?virtues. At a father's command, I could embrace?poverty. Were the poor man my husband, I would?learn resignation to my lot; I would enliven our frugal?meal with good humour, and chase away