Chapter 6

portmanteau._

_Ponder._ I've heard that intense thinking has driven some philosophers mad!--now if this should happen to _me_, 'twill never be the fate of my young patron, Mr. Charles Austencourt, whom I have suddenly met on his sudden return from sea, and who never thinks at all. Poor gentleman, he little thinks what--

_Enter_ Charles Austencourt.

_Charles._ Not gone yet? How comes it you are not on the road to my father? Is the fellow deaf or dumb. Ponder! are ye asleep?

_Pon._ I'm thinking, whether I am or not.

_Charles._ And what wise scheme now occupies your thoughts?

_Pon._ Sir, I confess the subject is beneath me (_pointing to the portmanteau._)

_Char._ The weight of the portmanteau, I suppose, alarms you.

_Pon._ If that was my heaviest misfortune, sir, I could carry double with all my heart. No, sir, I was thinking that as your father, sir Rowland, sent you on a cruize, for some cause best known to himself; and as you have thought proper to return for some cause best known to _yourself_, the chances of war, if I may be allowed the expression, are, that the contents of that trunk will be your only inheritance, or, in other words, that your father will cut you off with a shilling--and now I'm thinking--

_Char._ No doubt--thinking takes up so many of your waking hours, that you seldom find time for _doing_. And so you have, since my departure, turned your thinking faculties to the law.

_Pon._ Yes, sir; when you gave me notice to quit, I found it so hard to live honestly, that lest the law should take to me, I took to the law: and so articled my self to Mr. O'Dedimus, the attorney in our town: but there is a thought unconnected with law that has occupied my head every moment since we met.

_Char._ Pr'ythee dismiss your thought, and get your legs in motion.

_Pon._ Then, sir, I have really been thinking, ever since I saw you, that you are a little--(_going off to a distance_) a little _odd_ hereabouts, sir; (_pointing to his head_) a little damned mad, if I may be allowed the expression!

_Char._ Ha! ha! very probably. My sudden return, without a motive, as you suppose, has put that wise notion in your head.

_Pon._ Without a motive! No, sir, I believe I know tolerably well the motive--the old story, sir, ha! love!

_Char._ Love! And pray, sirrah, how do you dare to presume to suppose, that I--that I can be guilty of such a folly--I should be glad to know how you dare venture to think that I----

_Pon._ Lord bless you, sir, I discovered it before you left the country.

_Char._ Indeed! and by what symptoms, pray?

_Pon._ The old symptoms, sir--in the first place, frequent fits of my complaint.

_Char._ _Your_ complaint?

_Pon._ Yes, thinking, long reveries, sudden starts, sentimental sighs, fits of unobserving absence, fidgets and fevers, orders and counter orders, loss of memory, loss of appetite, loss of rest, and loss of your senses, if I may be allowed the expression.

_Char._ No, sir, you may not be allowed the expression--'tis impertinent, 'tis false. I never was unobserving or absent; I never had the fidgets; I never once mentioned the name of my adored Helen; and, heigho! I never sighed for her in my life!

_Pon._ Nor I, sir; though I've been married these three years, I never once sighed for my dear wife in all that time--heigho!

_Char._ I mustn't be angry with the fellow. Why, I took you for an unobserving blockhead, or I would never have trusted you so near me.

_Pon._ Then, sir, you _mis_-took me. I fancy it was in one of your most decided unobserving fits that you took _me_ for a blockhead.

_Char._ Well, sir; I see you have discovered my secret. Act wisely, and it may be of service to you.

_Pon._ Sir, I haven't studied the law for nothing. I'm no fool, if I may be allowed the expression.

_Char._ I begin to suspect you have penetration enough to be useful to me.

_Pon._ And craving your pardon, sir, I begin to suspect your want of that faculty, from your not having found out that before.

_Char._ I will now trust you, although once my servant, with the state of my heart.

_Pon._ Sir, that's very kind of you, to trust your humble servant with a _secret_ he had himself discovered ten months ago.

_Char._ Keep it with honour and prudence.

_Pon._ Sir, I _have_ kept it. Nobody knows of it, that I know of, except a few of your friends, many of your enemies, most travelling strangers, and all your neighbours.

_Char._ Why, zounds! you don't mean to say that any body, except yourself, suspects me to be in love.

_Pon._ Suspects! no, sir; _suspicion_ is out of the question; it is taken as a proved fact in all society, a bill found by every grand jury in the county.

_Char._ The devil it is! Zounds! I shall never be able to show my face--this will never do--my boasted disdain of ever bowing to the power of love--how ridiculous will it now render me--while the mystery and sacred secrecy of this attachment constituted the chief delight it gave to the refinement of my feelings--O! I'll off to sea again--I won't stay here--order a post-chaise--no--yes--a chaise and four, d'ye hear?

_Pon._ Yes, sir; but I'm thinking--

_Char._ What?

_Pon._ That it is possible you may alter your mind.

_Char._ No such thing, sir; I'll set off this moment; order the chaise, I say.

_Pon._ Think of it again, sir.

_Char._ Will you obey my orders, or not?

_Pon._ I think I will. (_aside_) Poor gentleman! now could I blow him up into a blaze in a minute, by telling him that his mistress is just on the point of marriage with his cousin, but though they say "ill news travels apace," they shall never say that I rode postillion on the occasion. [_Exit into inn._

_Char._ Here's a discovery! all my delicate management destroyed! known all over the country! I'm off! and yet to have travelled so far, and not to have one glimpse of her! but then to be pointed at as a poor devil in love, a silly inconsistent boaster! no, that wont do--but then I may see her--yes, I'll see her once--just once--for three minutes, or three minutes and a half at most--no longer positively--Ponder, Ponder! (_enter Ponder_) Ponder, I say--

_Pon._ I wish you wouldn't interrupt me, for I'm thinking--

_Char._ Damn your thinking, sir!

_Pon._ I was only thinking that you may have altered your mind already.

_Char._ I have not altered my mind: but since I _am_ here, I should be wanting in duty not to pay my respects to my father; so march on with the trunk, sir.

_Pon._ Yes, sir: but if that's all you want to do, sir, you may spare yourself the trouble of going further, for, most fortunately, here he comes; and your noble cousin, lord Austencourt, with him--

_Char._ The devil!

_Pon._ Yes, sir; the devil, and his uncle, your father, if I may be allowed the expression. [_Exit._

_Enter_ sir Rowland _and_ lord Austencourt.

_Char._ My dear father, I am heartily glad to see you--

_Sir R._ How is this, Charles! returned thus unexpectedly?

_Char._ Unexpected pleasure, they say, sir, is always most welcome--I hope you find it so.

_Sir R._ This conduct, youngster, requires explanation.

_Char._ Sir, I have it ready at my tongue's end--My lord, I ask your pardon--I'm glad to see you too.

_Lord A._ I wish, sir, I could return the compliment; but this extraordinary conduct--

_Char._ No apologies, my lord, for your civil speech--you might easily have returned the compliment in the same words, and, believe me, with as much sincerity as it was offered.

_Sir R._ This is no time for dissention, sir--

_Lord A._ My cousin forgets, sir Rowland, that although united by ties of consanguinity, _birth_ and _fortune_ have placed me in a station which commands some respect.

_Char._ No, my lord, for I also am in a station where I _too_ command respect, where I respect and am respected. I therefore well know what is due to my superiors; and this duty I never forget, till those above me forget what they owe to themselves.

_Lord A._ I am not aware, good cousin, that I have ever yet forfeited my title to the respect I claim.

_Char._ You have, my lord: for high rank forfeits every claim to distinction when it exacts submissive humility from those beneath it, while at the same time it refuses a graceful condescension in exchange.

_Sir R._ Charles, Charles, these sentiments but ill become the dependent state in which Fortune has placed you.

_Char._ Dependent state! Dependent upon whom! What, on _him_! my titled, tawdry cousin there? What are his pretensions, that he shall presume to brand me as a poor dependent!--What are _his_ claims to independence? How does he spend the income Fortune has allotted to him? Does he rejoice to revive in the mansion of his ancestors the spirit of old English hospitality? Do the eyes of aged tenants twinkle with joy when they hope his coming? do the poor bless his arrival? I say no. He is the lord of land--and is also, what he seems still more proud of, a lord of parliament; but I will front him in both capacities, and frankly tell him, that in the first he is a burthen to his own estate, and not a benefactor; and in the second, a peer but not a prop.

_Sir R._ Charles, how dare you thus persevere! You cannot deny, rash and foolish boy, that you are in a dependant state. Your very profession proves it.

_Char._ O, father, spare that insult! The profession I glory to belong to, is above dependence--yes! while we live and fight, we feel, and gratefully acknowledge, that our pay depends on our king and country, and therefore you _may_ style us dependant; but in the hour of battle we wish for nothing more than to show that the glory and safety of the nation _depends on us_; and by our death or blood to repay all previous obligation.

_Sir R._ Dismiss this subject.

_Char._ With all my heart--My cousin was the subject, and he's a fatiguing one.

_Sir R._ Though you do not love your cousin, you ought to pay that deference to his rank which you refuse to his person.

_Char._ Sir, I do; like a fine mansion in the hands of a bad inhabitant. I admire the building, but despise the tenant.

_Lord A._ This insolence is intolerable, and will not be forgotten. You may find, hot sir, that Where my friendship is despised, my resentment may be feared. I well know the latent motives for this insult. It is the language of a losing gamester, and is treated with deserved contempt by a _successful rival_. [_Exit._

_Char._ Ha! a _successful rival_! Is this possible?

_Sir. R._ It is. The treaty of marriage between lord Austencourt and Helen is this morning concluded.

_Char._ And does she consent?

_Sir R._ There can be little doubt of that.

_Char._ But _little_ doubt! False Helen! Come, come, I know my Helen better.

_Sir R._ I repeat my words, sir. It is not the curse of every parent to have a disobedient child.

_Char._ By Heaven, sir, that reflection cuts me to the heart. You have ever found in me the obedience, nay more, the affection of a son, till circumstance on circumstance convinced me, I no longer possessed the affection of a father.

_Sir R._ Charles, we are too warm. I feel that I have in some degree merited your severe reproof--give me your hand, and to convince you that you undervalue my feelings towards you, I will now confess that I have been employed during your absence, in planning an arrangement which will place you above the malice of fortune--you know our neighbour, Mrs. Richland--

_Char._ What, the gay widow with a fat jointure? What of her?

_Sir R._ She will make not only a rich, but a good wife. I know she likes you--I'm sure of it.

_Char._ Likes _me_!

_Sir R._ I am convinced she does.

_Char._ But--what the devil--she doesn't mean to marry me surely!

_Sir R._ That will, I am convinced, depend upon yourself.

_Char._ Will it? then by the Lord, though I sincerely esteem her, I shall make my bow, and decline the honour at once. No, sir; the heart is _my_ aim, and all the gold I care for in the hand that gives it, is the modest ring that encompasses the finger, and marks that hand as mine forever.

_Sir R._ Thus I see another of my prospects blighted! Undutiful, degenerate boy! your folly and obstinacy will punish themselves. Answer me not; think of the proposal I have made you; obey your father's will, or forever I renounce you! [_Exit._

_Char._ Whoo! here's a whirligig! I've drifted on to a pleasant lee shore here! Helen betrothed to another! Impossible.--Oh Helen! Helen! Zounds! I'm going to make a soliloquy! this will never do! no, I'll see Helen; upbraid her falsehood; drop one tear to her memory; regain my frigate; seek the enemy; fight like a true sailor; die like a Briton; and leave my character and memory to my friends--and my blessing and forgiveness to Helen. [_Exit._

_End of act II._