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diff --git a/2797-h/2797-h.htm b/2797-h/2797-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..517e546 --- /dev/null +++ b/2797-h/2797-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3571 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Wolves and the Lamb, by William Makepeace Thackeray + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's The Wolves and the Lamb, by William Makepeace Thackeray + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Wolves and the Lamb + +Author: William Makepeace Thackeray + +Release Date: May 27, 2006 [EBook #2797] +Last Updated: December 17, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By William Makepeace Thackeray + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> DRAMATIS PERSONAE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <big><b>THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB.</b></big> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT II. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MR. HORACE MILLIKEN, a Widower, a wealthy City Merchant. + GEORGE MILLIKEN, a Child, his Son. + CAPTAIN TOUCHIT, his Friend. + CLARENCE KICKLEBURY, brother to Milliken's late Wife. + JOHN HOWELL, M's Butler and confidential Servant. + CHARLES PAGE, Foot-boy. + BULKELEY, Lady Kicklebury's Servant. + MR. BONNINGTON. + Coachman, Cabman; a Bluecoat Boy, another Boy (Mrs. Prior's Sons). + + LADY KICKLEBURY, Mother-in-law to Milliken. + MRS. BONNINGTON, Milliken's Mother (married again). + MRS. PRIOR. + MISS PRIOR, her Daughter, Governess to Milliken's Children. + ARABELLA MILLIKEN, a Child. + MARY BARLOW, School-room Maid. + A grown-up Girl and Child of Mrs. Prior's, Lady K.'s Maid, Cook. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I. + </h2> + <p> + Scene.—MILLIKEN'S villa at Richmond; two drawing-rooms opening into + one another. The late MRS. MILLIKEN'S portrait over the mantel-piece; + bookcases, writing-tables, piano, newspapers, a handsomely furnished + saloon. The back-room opens, with very large windows, on the lawn and + pleasure-ground; gate, and wall—over which the heads of a cab and a + carriage are seen, as persons arrive. Fruit, and a ladder on the walls. A + door to the dining-room, another to the sleeping-apartments, &c. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Everybody out; governor in the city; governess (heigh-ho!) + walking in the Park with the children; ladyship gone out in the carriage. + Let's sit down and have a look at the papers. Buttons fetch the Morning + Post out of Lady Kicklebury's room. Where's the Daily News, sir? + </p> + <p> + PAGE.—Think it's in Milliken's room. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Milliken! you scoundrel! What do you mean by Milliken? Speak + of your employer as your governor if you like; but not as simple Milliken. + Confound your impudence! you'll be calling me Howell next. + </p> + <p> + PAGE.—Well! I didn't know. YOU call him Milliken. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Because I know him, because I'm intimate with him, because + there's not a secret he has but I may have it for the asking; because the + letters addressed to Horace Milliken, Esq., might as well be addressed + John Howell, Esq., for I read 'em, I put 'em away and docket 'em, and + remember 'em. I know his affairs better than he does: his income to a + shilling, pay his tradesmen, wear his coats if I like. I may call Mr. + Milliken what I please; but not YOU, you little scamp of a clod-hopping + ploughboy. Know your station and do your business, or you don't wear THEM + buttons long, I promise you. [Exit Page.] + </p> + <p> + Let me go on with the paper [reads]. How brilliant this writing is! Times, + Chronicle, Daily News, they're all good, blest if they ain't. How much + better the nine leaders in them three daily papers is, than nine speeches + in the House of Commons! Take a very best speech in the 'Ouse now, and + compare it with an article in The Times! I say, the newspaper has the best + of it for philosophy, for wit, novelty, good sense too. And the party that + writes the leading article is nobody, and the chap that speaks in the + House of Commons is a hero. Lord, Lord, how the world is 'umbugged! + Pop'lar representation! what IS pop'lar representation? Dammy, it's a + farce. Hallo! this article is stole! I remember a passage in Montesquieu + uncommonly like it. [Goes and gets the book. As he is standing upon sofa + to get it, and sitting down to read it, MISS PRIOR and the Children have + come in at the garden. Children pass across stage. MISS PRIOR enters by + open window, bringing flowers into the room.] + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—It IS like it. [He slaps the book, and seeing MISS PRIOR who + enters, then jumps up from sofa, saying very respectfully,] + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I beg your pardon, Miss. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—[sarcastically.] Do I disturb you, Howell? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Disturb! I have no right to say—a servant has no right + to be disturbed, but I hope I may be pardoned for venturing to look at a + volume in the libery, Miss, just in reference to a newspaper harticle—that's + all, Miss. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—You are very fortunate in finding anything to interest you + in the paper, I'm sure. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Perhaps, Miss, you are not accustomed to political discussion, + and ignorant of—ah—I beg your pardon: a servant, I know, has + no right to speak. [Exit into dining-room, making a low bow.] + </p> + <p> + MISS PRIOR.—The coolness of some people is really quite + extraordinary! the airs they give themselves, the way in which they answer + one, the books they read! Montesquieu: "Esprit des Lois!" [takes book up + which J. has left on sofa.] I believe the man has actually taken this from + the shelf. I am sure Mr. Milliken, or her ladyship, never would. The other + day "Helvetius" was found in Mr. Howell's pantry, forsooth! It is + wonderful how he picked up French whilst we were abroad. "Esprit des + Lois!" what is it? it must be dreadfully stupid. And as for reading + "Helvetius" (who, I suppose, was a Roman general), I really can't + understand how—Dear, dear! what airs these persons give themselves! + What will come next? A footman—I beg Mr. Howell's pardon—a + butler and confidential valet lolls on the drawing-room sofa, and reads + Montesquieu! Impudence! And add to this, he follows me for the last two or + three months with eyes that are quite horrid. What can the creature mean? + But I forgot—I am only a governess. A governess is not a lady—a + governess is but a servant—a governess is to work and walk all day + with the children, dine in the school-room, and come to the drawing-room + to play the man of the house to sleep. A governess is a domestic, only her + place is not the servants' hall, and she is paid not quite so well as the + butler who serves her her glass of wine. Odious! George! Arabella! there + are those little wretches quarrelling again! [Exit. Children are heard + calling out, and seen quarrelling in garden.] + </p> + <p> + JOHN [re-entering].—See where she moves! grace is in all her steps. + 'Eaven in her high—no—a-heaven in her heye, in every gesture + dignity and love—ah, I wish I could say it! I wish you may procure + it, poor fool! She passes by me—she tr-r-amples on me. Here's the + chair she sets in [kisses it.] Here's the piano she plays on. Pretty keys, + them fingers out-hivories you! When she plays on it, I stand and listen at + the drawing-room door, and my heart thr-obs in time! Fool, fool, fool! why + did you look on her, John Howell! why did you beat for her, busy heart! + You were tranquil till you knew her! I thought I could have been a-happy + with Mary till then. That girl's affection soothed me. Her conversation + didn't amuse me much, her ideers ain't exactly elevated, but they are just + and proper. Her attentions pleased me. She ever kep' the best cup of tea + for me. She crisped my buttered toast, or mixed my quiet tumbler for me, + as I sat of hevenings and read my newspaper in the kitching. She respected + the sanctaty of my pantry. When I was a-studying there, she never + interrupted me. She darned my stockings for me, she starched and folded my + chokers, and she sowed on the habsent buttons of which time and chance had + bereft my linning. She has a good heart, Mary has. I know she'd get up and + black the boots for me of the coldest winter mornings. She did when we was + in humbler life, she did. + </p> + <p> + Enter MARY. + </p> + <p> + You have a good heart, Mary! + </p> + <p> + MARY.—Have I, dear John? [sadly.] + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Yes, child—yes. I think a better never beat in woman's + bosom. You're good to everybody—good to your parents whom you send + half your wages to: good to your employers whom you never robbed of a + halfpenny. + </p> + <p> + MARY [whimpering].—Yes, I did, John. I took the jelly when you were + in bed with the influenza; and brought you the pork-wine negus. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Port, not pork, child. Pork is the hanimal which Jews ab'or. + Port is from Oporto in Portugal. + </p> + <p> + MARY [still crying].—Yes, John; you know everything a'most, John. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—And you, poor child, but little! It's not heart you want, you + little trump, it's education, Mary: it's information: it's head, head, + head! You can't learn. You never can learn. Your ideers ain't no good. You + never can hinterchange em with mine. Conversation between us is + impossible. It's not your fault. Some people are born clever; some are + born tall, I ain't tall. + </p> + <p> + MARY.—Ho! you're big enough for me, John. [Offers to take his hand.] + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Let go my 'and—my a-hand, Mary! I say, some people are + born with brains, and some with big figures. Look at that great ass, + Bulkeley, Lady K.'s man—the besotted, stupid beast! He's as big as a + life-guardsman, but he ain't no more education nor ideers than the ox he + feeds on. + </p> + <p> + MARY.—Law, John, whatever do you mean? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Hm! you know not, little one! you never can know. Have YOU + ever felt the pangs of imprisoned genius? have YOU ever felt what 'tis to + be a slave? + </p> + <p> + MARY.—Not in a free country, I should hope, John Howell—no + such a thing. A place is a place, and I know mine, and am content with the + spear of life in which it pleases heaven to place me, John: and I wish you + were, and remembered what we learned from our parson when we went to + school together in dear old Pigeoncot, John—when you used to help + little Mary with her lessons, John, and fought Bob Brown, the big + butcher's boy, because he was rude to me, John, and he gave you that black + hi. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Say eye, Mary, not heye [gently]. + </p> + <p> + MARY.—Eye; and I thought you never looked better in all your life + than you did then: and we both took service at Squire Milliken's—me + as dairy-girl, and you as knife-boy; and good masters have they been to us + from our youth hup: both old Squire Milliken and Mr. Charles as is master + now, and poor Mrs. as is dead, though she had her tantrums—and I + thought we should save up and take the "Milliken Arms"—and now we + have saved up—and now, now, now—oh, you are a stone, a stone, + a stone! and I wish you were hung round my neck, and I were put down the + well! There's the hup-stairs bell. [She starts, changing her manner as she + hears the bell, and exit.] + </p> + <p> + JOHN [looking after her].—It's all true. Gospel-true. We were + children in the same village—sat on the same form at school. And it + was for her sake that Bob Brown the butcher's boy whopped me. A black eye! + I'm not handsome. But if I were ugly, ugly as the Saracen's 'Ead, ugly as + that beast Bulkeley, I know it would be all the same to Mary. SHE has + never forgot the boy she loved, that brought birds'-nests for her, and + spent his halfpenny on cherries, and bought a fairing with his first + half-crown—a brooch it was, I remember, of two billing doves + a-hopping on one twig, and brought it home for little yellow-haired, + blue-eyed, red-cheeked Mary. Lord, Lord! I don't like to think how I've + kissed 'em, the pretty cheeks! they've got quite pale now with crying—and + she has never once reproached me, not once, the trump, the little tr-rump! + </p> + <p> + Is it my fault [stamping] that Fate has separated us? Why did my young + master take me up to Oxford, and give me the run of his libery and the + society of the best scouts in the University? Why did he take me abroad? + Why have I been to Italy, France, Jummany with him—their manners + noted and their realms surveyed, by jingo! I've improved myself, and Mary + has remained as you was. I try a conversation, and she can't respond. + She's never got a word of poetry beyond Watt's Ims, and if I talk of Byron + or Moore to her, I'm blest if she knows anything more about 'em than the + cook, who is as hignorant as a pig, or that beast Bulkeley, Lady Kick's + footman. Above all, why, why did I see the woman upon whom my wretched + heart is fixed for ever, and who carries away my soul with her—prostrate, + I say, prostrate, through the mud at the skirts of her gownd! Enslaver! + why did I ever come near you? O enchantress Kelipso! how you have got hold + of me! It was Fate, Fate, Fate. When Mrs. Milliken fell ill of scarlet + fever at Naples, Milliken was away at Petersborough, Rooshia, looking + after his property. Her foring woman fled. Me and the governess remained + and nursed her and the children. We nursed the little ones out of the + fever. We buried their mother. We brought the children home over Halp and + Happenine. I nursed 'em all three. I tended 'em all three, the orphans, + and the lovely gu-gu-governess. At Rome, where she took ill, I waited on + her; as we went to Florence, had we been attacked by twenty thousand + brigands, this little arm had courage for them all! And if I loved thee, + Julia, was I wrong? and if I basked in thy beauty day and night, Julia, am + I not a man? and if, before this Peri, this enchantress, this gazelle, I + forgot poor little Mary Barlow, how could I help it? I say, how the doose + could I help it? + </p> + <p> + Enter Lady KICKLEBURY, BULKELEY following with parcels and a spaniel. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Are the children and the governess come home? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Yes, my lady [in a perfectly altered tone]. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Bulkeley, take those parcels to my sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Get up, old stoopid. Push along, old daddylonglegs [aside to + BULKELEY]. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Does any one dine here to-day, Howell? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Captain Touchit, my lady. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—He's always dining here. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—My master's oldest friend. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Don't tell me. He comes from his club. He smells of smoke; + he is a low, vulgar person. Send Pinhorn up to me when you go down stairs. + [Exit Lady K.] + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I know. Send Pinhorn to me, means, Send my bonny brown hair, + and send my beautiful complexion, and send my figure—and, O Lord! O + Lord! what an old tigress that is! What an old Hector! How she do twist + Milliken round her thumb! He's born to be bullied by women: and I remember + him henpecked—let's see, ever since—ever since the time of + that little gloveress at Woodstock, whose picter poor Mrs. M. made such a + noise about when she found it in the lumber-room. Heh! HER picture will be + going into the lumber-room some day. M. must marry to get rid of his + mother-in-law and mother over him: no man can stand it, not M. himself, + who's a Job of a man. Isn't he, look at him! [As he has been speaking, the + bell has rung, the Page has run to the garden-door, and MILLIKEN enters + through the garden, laden with a hamper, band-box, and cricket-bat.] + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Why was the carriage not sent for me, Howell? There was no + cab at the station, and I have had to toil all the way up the hill with + these confounded parcels of my lady's. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I suppose the shower took off all the cabs, sir. When DID a + man ever git a cab in a shower?—or a policeman at a pinch—or a + friend when you wanted him—or anything at the right time, sir? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—But, sir, why didn't the carriage come, I say? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—YOU know. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—How do you mean I know? confound your impudence! + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Lady Kicklebury took it—your mother-in-law took it—went + out a-visiting—Ham Common, Petersham, Twick'nam—doose knows + where. She, and her footman, and her span'l dog. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Well, sir, suppose her ladyship DID take the carriage? + Hasn't she a perfect right? And if the carriage was gone, I want to know, + John, why the devil the pony-chaise wasn't sent with the groom? Am I to + bring a bonnet-box and a hamper of fish in my own hands, I should like to + know? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Heh! [laughs.] + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Why do you grin, you Cheshire cat? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Your mother-in-law had the carriage; and your mother sent for + the pony-chaise. Your Pa wanted to go and see the Wicar of Putney. Mr. + Bonnington don't like walking when he can ride. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—And why shouldn't Mr. Bonnington ride, sir, as long as + there's a carriage in my stable? Mr. Bonnington has had the gout, sir! Mr. + Bonnington is a clergyman, and married to my mother. He has EVERY title to + my respect. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—And to your pony-chaise—yes, sir. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—And to everything he likes in this house, sir. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—What a good fellow you are, sir! You'd give your head off your + shoulders, that you would. Is the fish for dinner to-day? Band-box for my + lady, I suppose, sir? [Looks in]—Turban, feathers, bugles, + marabouts, spangles—doose knows what. Yes, it's for her ladyship. + [To Page.] Charles, take this band-box to her ladyship's maid. [To his + master.] What sauce would you like with the turbot? Lobster sauce or + Hollandaise? Hollandaise is best—most wholesome for you. Anybody + besides Captain Touchit coming to dinner? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—No one that I know of. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Very good. Bring up a bottle of the brown hock? He likes the + brown hock, Touchit does. [Exit JOHN.] + </p> + <p> + Enter Children. They run to MILLIKEN. + </p> + <p> + BOTH.—How d'you do, Papa! How do you do, Papa! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Kiss your old father, Arabella. Come here, George—What? + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Don't care for kissing—kissing's for gals. Have you + brought me that bat from London? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Yes. Here's the bat; and here's the ball [takes one from + pocket]—and— + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Where's the wickets, Papa. O-o-o—where's the wickets? + [howls.] + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—My dear, darling boy! I left them at the office. What a + silly papa I was to forget them! Parkins forgot them. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Then turn him away, I say! Turn him away! [He stamps.] + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—What! an old, faithful clerk and servant of your father + and grandfather for thirty years past? An old man, who loves us all, and + has nothing but our pay to live on? + </p> + <p> + ARABELLA.—Oh, you naughty boy! + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—I ain't a naughty boy. + </p> + <p> + ARABELLA.—You are a naughty boy. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—He! he! he! he! [Grins at her.] + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Hush, children! Here, Arabella darling, here is a book for + you. Look—aren't they pretty pictures? + </p> + <p> + ARABELLA.—Is it a story, Papa? I don't care for stories in general. + I like something instructive and serious. Grandmamma Bonnington and + grandpapa say— + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—He's NOT your grandpapa. + </p> + <p> + ARABELLA.—He IS my grandpapa. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Oh, you great story! Look! look! there's a cab. [Runs out. + The head of a Hansom cab is seen over the garden-gate. Bell rings. Page + comes. Altercation between Cabman and Captain TOUCHIT appears to go on, + during which] + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Come and kiss your old father, Arabella. He's hungry for + kisses. + </p> + <p> + ARABELLA.—Don't. I want to go and look at the cab; and to tell + Captain Touchit that he mustn't use naughty words. [Runs towards garden. + Page is seen carrying a carpet-bag.] + </p> + <p> + Enter TOUCHIT through the open window smoking a cigar. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—How d'ye do, Milliken? How are tallows, hey, my noble + merchant? I have brought my bag, and intend to sleep— + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—I say, godpapa— + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Well, godson! + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Give us a cigar! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Oh, you enfant terrible! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN [wheezily].—Ah—ahem—George Touchit! you + wouldn't mind—a—smoking that cigar in the garden, would you? + Ah—ah! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Hullo! What's in the wind now? You used to be a most + inveterate smoker, Horace. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—The fact is—my mother-in-law—Lady Kicklebury—doesn't + like it, and while she's with us, you know— + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Of course, of course [throws away cigar]. I beg her + ladyship's pardon. I remember when you were courting her daughter she used + not to mind it. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Don't—don't allude to those times. [He looks up at + his wife's picture.] + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—My mamma was a Kicklebury. The Kickleburys are the oldest + family in all the world. My name is George Kicklebury Milliken, of + Pigeoncot, Hants; the Grove, Richmond, Surrey; and Portland Place, London, + Esquire—my name is. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—You have forgotten Billiter Street, hemp and tallow + merchant. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Oh, bother! I don't care about that. I shall leave that when + I'm a man: when I'm a man and come into my property. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—You come into your property? + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—I shall, you know, when you're dead, Papa. I shall have this + house, and Pigeoncot; and the house in town—no, I don't mind about + the house in town—and I shan't let Bella live with me—no, I + won't. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—No; I won't live with YOU. And I'LL have Pigeoncot. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—You shan't have Pigeoncot. I'll have it: and the ponies: and + I won't let you ride them—and the dogs, and you shan't have even a + puppy to play with and the dairy and won't I have as much cream as I like—that's + all! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—What a darling boy! Your children are brought up + beautifully, Milliken. It's quite delightful to see them together. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—And I shall sink the name of Milliken, I shall. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Sink the name? why, George? + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Because the Millikens are nobodies—grandmamma says + they are nobodies. The Kickleburys are gentlemen, and came over with + William the Conqueror. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—I know when that was. One thousand one hundred and one + thousand one hundred and onety-one! + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Bother when they came over! But I know this, when I come + into the property I shall sink the name of Milliken. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—So you are ashamed of your father's name, are you, George, + my boy? + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Ashamed! No, I ain't ashamed. Only Kicklebury is sweller. I + know it is. Grandmamma says so. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—MY grandmamma does not say so. MY dear grandmamma says that + family pride is sinful, and all belongs to this wicked world; and that in + a very few years what our names are will not matter. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Yes, she says so because her father kept a shop; and so did + Pa's father keep a sort of shop—only Pa's a gentleman now. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Darling child! How I wish I were married! If I had such a + dear boy as you, George, do you know what I would give him? + </p> + <p> + GEORGE [quite pleased].—What would you give him, god-papa? + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—I would give him as sound a flogging as ever boy had, my + darling. I would whip this nonsense out of him. I would send him to + school, where I would pray that he might be well thrashed: and if when he + came home he was still ashamed of his father, I would put him apprentice + to a chimney-sweep—that's what I would do. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—I'm glad you're not my father, that's all. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—And I'M glad you're not my father, because you are a wicked + man! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Arabella! + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—Grandmamma says so. He is a worldly man, and the world is + wicked. And he goes to the play: and he smokes, and he says— + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Bella, what do I say? + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—Oh, something dreadful! You know you do! I heard you say it + to the cabman. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—So I did, so I did! He asked me fifteen shillings from + Piccadilly, and I told him to go to—to somebody whose name begins + with a D. + </p> + <p> + CHILDREN.—Here's another carriage passing. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—The Lady Rumble's carriage. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—No, it ain't: it's Captain Boxer's carriage [they run into + the garden]. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—And this is the pass to which you have brought yourself, + Horace Milliken! Why, in your wife's time, it was better than this, my + poor fellow! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Don't speak of her in THAT way, George Touchit! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—What have I said? I am only regretting her loss for our + sake. She tyrannized over you; turned your friends out of doors; took your + name out of your clubs; dragged you about from party to party, though you + can no more dance than a bear, and from opera to opera, though you don't + know "God Save the Queen" from "Rule Britannia." You don't, sir; you know + you don't. But Arabella was better than her mother, who has taken + possession of you since your widowhood. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—My dear fellow! no, she hasn't. There's MY mother. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Yes, to be sure, there's Mrs. Bonnington, and they quarrel + over you like the two ladies over the baby before King Solomon. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Play the satirist, my good friend! laugh at my weakness! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—I know you to be as plucky a fellow as ever stepped, + Milliken, when a man's in the case. I know you and I stood up to each + other for an hour and a half at Westminster. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Thank you! We were both dragons of war! tremendous + champions! Perhaps I am a little soft as regards women. I know my weakness + well enough; but in my case what is my remedy? Put yourself in my + position. Be a widower with two young children. What is more natural than + that the mother of my poor wife should come and superintend my family? My + own mother can't. She has a half-dozen of little half brothers and + sisters, and a husband of her own to attend to. I dare say Mr. Bonnington + and my mother will come to dinner to-day. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Of course they will, my poor old Milliken, you don't dare + to dine without them. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Don't go on in that manner, George Touchit! Why should not + my step-father and my mother dine with me? I can afford it. I am a + domestic man and like to see my relations about me. I am in the city all + day. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Luckily for you. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—And my pleasure of an evening is to sit under my own vine + and under my own fig-tree with my own olive-branches round about me; to + sit by my fire with my children at my knees: to coze over a snug bottle of + claret after dinner with a friend like you to share it; to see the young + folks at the breakfast-table of a morning, and to kiss them and so off to + business with a cheerful heart. This was my scheme in marrying, had it + pleased heaven to prosper my plan. When I was a boy and came from school + and college, I used to see Mr. Bonnington, my father-in-law, with HIS + young ones clustering round about him, so happy to be with him! so eager + to wait on him! all down on their little knees round my mother before + breakfast or jumping up on his after dinner. It was who should reach his + hat, and who should bring his coat, and who should fetch his umbrella, and + who should get the last kiss. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—What? didn't he kiss YOU? Oh, the hard-hearted old ogre! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—DON'T, Touchit! Don't laugh at Mr. Bonnington! he is as + good a fellow as ever breathed. Between you and me, as my half brothers + and sisters increased and multiplied year after year, I used to feel + rather lonely, rather bowled out, you understand. But I saw them so happy + that I longed to have a home of my own. When my mother proposed Arabella + for me (for she and Lady Kicklebury were immense friends at one time), I + was glad enough to give up clubs and bachelorhood, and to settle down as a + married man. My mother acted for the best. My poor wife's character, my + mother used to say, changed after marriage. I was not as happy as I hoped + to be; but I tried for it. George, I am not so comfortable now as I might + be. A house without a mistress, with two mothers-in-law reigning over it—one + worldly and aristocratic, another what you call serious, though she don't + mind a rubber of whist: I give you my honor my mother plays a game at + whist, and an uncommonly good game too—each woman dragging over a + child to her side: of course such a family cannot be comfortable. [Bell + rings.] There's the first dinner-bell. Go and dress, for heaven's sake. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Why dress? There is no company! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Why? ah! her ladyship likes it, you see. And it costs + nothing to humor her. Quick, for she don't like to be kept waiting. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Horace Milliken! what a pity it is the law declares a + widower shall not marry his wife's mother! She would marry you else,—she + would, on my word. + </p> + <p> + Enter JOHN. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I have took the Captain's things in the blue room, sir. + [Exeunt gentlemen, JOHN arranges tables, &c.] + </p> + <p> + Ha! Mrs. Prior! I ain't partial to Mrs. Prior. I think she's an artful old + dodger, Mrs. Prior. I think there's mystery in her unfathomable pockets, + and schemes in the folds of her umbrella. But—but she's Julia's + mother, and for the beloved one's sake I am civil to her. + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Thank you Charles [to the Page, who has been seen to let + her in at the garden-gate], I am so much obliged to you! Good afternoon, + Mr. Howell. Is my daughter—are the darling children well? Oh, I am + quite tired and weary! Three horrid omnibuses were full, and I have had to + walk the whole weary long way. Ah, times are changed with me, Mr. Howell. + Once when I was young and strong, I had my husband's carriage to ride in. + </p> + <p> + JOHN [aside].—His carriage! his coal-wagon! I know well enough who + old Prior was. A merchant? yes, a pretty merchant! kep' a lodging-house, + share in a barge, touting for orders, and at last a snug little place in + the Gazette. + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—How is your cough, Mr. Howell? I have brought you some + lozenges for it [takes numberless articles from her pocket], and if you + would take them of a night and morning—oh, indeed, you would get + better! The late Sir Henry Halford recommended them to Mr. Prior. He was + his late Majesty's physician and ours. You know we have seen happier + times, Mr. Howell. Oh, I am quite tired and faint. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Will you take anything before the school-room tea, ma'am? You + will stop to tea, I hope, with Miss Prior, and our young folks? + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Thank you: a little glass of wine when one is so faint—a + little crumb of biscuit when one is so old and tired! I have not been + accustomed to want, you know; and in my poor dear Mr. Prior's time— + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I'll fetch some wine, ma'am. [Exit to the dining-room.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Bless the man, how abrupt he is in his manner! He quite + shocks a poor lady who has been used to better days. What's here? + Invitations—ho! Bills for Lady Kicklebury! THEY are not paid. Where + is Mr. M. going to dine, I wonder? Captain and Mrs. Hopkinson, Sir John + and Lady Tomkinson, request the pleasure. Request the pleasure! Of course + they do. They are always asking Mr. M. to dinner. They have daughters to + marry, and Mr. M. is a widower with three thousand a year, every shilling + of it. I must tell Lady Kicklebury. He must never go to these places—never, + never—mustn't be allowed. [While talking, she opens all the letters + on the table, rummages the portfolio and writing-box, looks at cards on + mantelpiece, work in work-basket, tries tea-box, and shows the greatest + activity and curiosity.] + </p> + <p> + Re-enter John, bearing a tray with cakes, a decanter, &c. + </p> + <p> + Thank you, thank you, Mr. Howell! Oh, oh, dear me, not so much as that! + Half a glass, and ONE biscuit, please. What elegant sherry! [sips a + little, and puts down glass on tray]. Do you know, I remember in better + days, Mr. Howell, when my poor dear husband— + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Beg your pardon. There's Milliken's bell, going like mad. + [Exit John.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—What an abrupt person! Oh, but it's comfortable, this + wine is! And—and I think how my poor Charlotte would like a little—she + so weak, and ordered wine by the medical man! And when dear Adolphus comes + home from Christ's Hospital, quite tired, poor boy, and hungry, wouldn't a + bit of nice cake do him good! Adolphus is so fond of plum-cake, the + darling child! And so is Frederick, little saucy rogue; and I'll give them + MY piece, and keep my glass of wine for my dear delicate angel Shatty! + [Takes bottle and paper out of her pocket, cuts off a great slice of cake, + and pours wine from wine-glass and decanter into bottle.] + </p> + <p> + Enter PAGE. + </p> + <p> + PAGE.—Master George and Miss Bella is going to have their teas down + here with Miss Prior, Mrs. Prior, and she's up in the school-room, and my + lady says you may stay to tea. + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Thank you, Charles! How tall you grow! Those trousers + would fit my darling Frederick to a nicety. Thank you, Charles. I know the + way to the nursery. [Exit Mrs. P.] + </p> + <p> + PAGE.—Know the way! I believe she DO know the way. Been a having + cake and wine. Howell always gives her cake and wine—jolly cake, + ain't it! and wine, oh, my! + </p> + <p> + Re-enter John. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—You young gormandizing cormorant! What! five meals a day ain't + enough for you! What? beer ain't good enough for you, hey? [Pulls boy's + ears.] + </p> + <p> + PAGE [crying].—Oh, oh, do-o-n't, Mr. Howell. I only took half a + glass, upon my honor. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Your a-honor, you lying young vagabond! I wonder the ground + don't open and swallow you. Half a glass! [holds up decanter.] You've took + half a bottle, you young Ananias! Mark this, sir! When I was a boy, a boy + on my promotion, a child kindly took in from charity-school, a horphan in + buttons like you, I never lied; no, nor never stole, and you've done both, + you little scoundrel. Don't tell ME, sir! there's plums on your coat, + crumbs on your cheek, and you smell sherry, sir! I ain't time to whop you + now, but come to my pantry to-night after you've took the tray down. Come + without your jacket on, sir, and then I'll teach you what it is to lie and + steal. There's the outer bell. Scud, you vagabond! + </p> + <p> + Enter LADY K. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—What was that noise, pray? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—A difference between me and young Page, my lady. I was + instructing him to keep his hands from picking and stealing. I was + learning him his lesson, my lady, and he was a-crying it out. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—It seems to me you are most unkind to that boy, Howell. He + is my boy, sir. He comes from my estate. I will not have him ill-used. I + think you presume on your long services. I shall speak to my son-in-law + about you. ["Yes, my lady; no, my lady; very good, my lady." John has + answered each sentence as she is speaking, and exit gravely bowing.] That + man must quit the house. Horace says he can't do without him, but he must + do without him. My poor dear Arabella was fond of him, but he presumes on + that defunct angel's partiality. Horace says this person keeps all his + accounts, sorts all his letters, manages all his affairs, may be trusted + with untold gold, and rescued little George out of the fire. Now I have + come to live with my son-in-law, I will keep his accounts, sort his + letters, and take charge of his money: and if little Georgy gets into the + grate, I will take him out of the fire. What is here? Invitation from + Captain and Mrs. Hopkinson. Invitation from Sir John and Lady Tomkinson, + who don't even ask me! Monstrous! he never shall go—he shall not go! + [MRS. PRIOR has re-entered, she drops a very low curtsy to Lady K., as the + latter, perceiving her, lays the cards down.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Ah, dear madam! how kind your ladyship's message was to + the poor lonely widow woman! Oh, how thoughtful it was of your ladyship to + ask me to stay to tea! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—With your daughter and the children? Indeed, my good Mrs. + Prior, you are very welcome! + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Ah! but isn't it a cause of thankfulness to be MADE + welcome? Oughtn't I to be grateful for these blessings?—yes, I say + BLESSINGS. And I am—I am, Lady Kicklebury—to the mother—of—that + angel who is gone [points to the picture]. It was your sainted daughter + left us—left my child to the care of Mr. Milliken, and—and + you, who are now his guardian angel I may say. You ARE, Lady Kicklebury—you + are. I say to my girl, Julia, Lady Kicklebury is Mr. Milliken's guardian + angel, is YOUR guardian angel—for without you could she keep her + place as governess to these darling children? It would tear her heart in + two to leave them, and yet she would be forced to do so. You know that + some one—shall I hesitate to say whom I MEAN—that Mr. + Milliken's mother, excellent lady though she is, does not love my child + because YOU love her. You DO love her, Lady Kicklebury, and oh! a mother's + fond heart pays you back! But for you, my poor Julia must go—go, and + leave the children whom a dying angel confided to her! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Go! no, never! not whilst I am in this house, Mrs. Prior. + Your daughter is a well-behaved young woman: you have confided to me her + long engagement to Lieutenant—Lieutenant What-d'you-call'im, in the + Indian service. She has been very, very good to my grandchildren—she + brought them over from Naples when my—my angel of an Arabella died + there, and I will protect Miss Prior. + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Bless you, bless you, noble, admirable woman! Don't take + it away! I must, I WILL kiss your dear, generous hand! Take a mother's, a + widow's blessings, Lady Kicklebury—the blessings of one who has + known misfortune and seen better days, and thanks heaven—yes, + heaven!—for the protectors she has found! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—You said—you had—several children, I think, my + good Mrs. Prior? + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Three boys—one, my eldest blessing, is in a + wine-merchant's office—ah, if Mr. Milliken WOULD but give him an + order! an order from THIS house! an order from Lady Kicklebury's + son-in-law!— + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—It shall be done, my good Prior—we will see. + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Another, Adolphus, dear fellow! is in Christ's Hospital. + It was dear, good Mr. Milliken's nomination. Frederick is at Merchant + Taylor's: my darling Julia pays his schooling. Besides, I have two girls—Amelia, + quite a little toddles, just the size, though not so beautiful—but + in a mother's eyes all children are lovely, dear Lady Kicklebury—just + the size of your dear granddaughter, whose clothes would fit her, I am + sure. And my second, Charlotte, a girl as tall as your ladyship, though + not with so fine a figure. "Ah, no, Shatty!" I say to her, "you are as + tall as our dear patroness, Lady Kicklebury, whom you long so to see; but + you have not got her ladyship's carriage and figure, child." Five children + have I, left fatherless and penniless by my poor dear husband—but + heaven takes care of the widow and orphan, madam—and heaven's BEST + CREATURES feed them!—YOU know whom I mean. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Should you not like, would you object to take—a frock + or two of little Arabella's to your child? and if Pinhorn, my maid, will + let me, Mrs. Prior, I will see if I cannot find something against winter + for your second daughter, as you say we are of a size. + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—The widow's and orphans' blessings upon you! I said my + Charlotte was as tall, but I never said she had such a figure as yours—who + has? + </p> + <p> + CHARLES announces— + </p> + <p> + CHARLES.—Mrs. Bonnington! [Enter MRS. BONNINGTON.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—How do you do, Lady Kicklebury? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—My dear Mrs. Bonnington! and you come to dinner of course? + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—To dine with my own son, I may take the liberty. How are my + grandchildren? my darling little Emily, is she well, Mrs. Prior? + </p> + <p> + LADY K. [aside].—Emily? why does she not call the child by her + blessed mother's name of Arabella? [To MRS. B.] ARABELLA is quite well, + Mrs. Bonnington. Mr. Squillings said it was nothing; only her grandmamma + Bonnington spoiling her, as usual. Mr. Bonnington and all your numerous + young folk are well, I hope? + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—My family are all in perfect health, I thank you. Is Horace + come home from the city? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Goodness! there's the dinner-bell,—I must run to + dress. + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Shall I come with you, dear Lady Kicklebury? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Not for worlds, my good Mrs. Prior. [Exit Lady K.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—How do you do, my DEAR madam? Is dear Mr. Bonnington + QUITE well? What a sweet, sweet sermon he gave us last Sunday. I often say + to my girl, I must not go to hear Mr. Bonnington, I really must not, he + makes me cry so. Oh! he is a great and gifted man, and shall I not have + one glimpse of him? + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Saturday evening, my good Mrs. Prior. Don't you know that my + husband never goes out on Saturday, having his sermon to compose? + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Oh, those dear, dear sermons! Do you know, madam, that my + little Adolphus, for whom your son's bounty procured his place at Christ's + Hospital, was very much touched indeed, the dear child, with Mr. + Bonnington's discourse last Sunday three weeks, and refused to play + marbles afterwards at school? The wicked, naughty boys beat the poor + child; but Adolphus has his consolation! Is Master Edward well, ma'am, and + Master Robert, and Master Frederick, and dear little funny Master William? + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Thank you, Mrs. Prior; you have a good heart, indeed! + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Ah, what blessings those dears are to you! I wish your + dearest little GRANDSON—- + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—The little naughty wretch! Do you know, Mrs. Prior, my + grandson, George Milliken, spilt the ink over my dear husband's bands, + which he keeps in his great dictionary; and fought with my child, + Frederick, who is three years older than George—actually beat his + own uncle! + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Gracious mercy! Master Frederick was not hurt, I hope? + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—No; he cried a great deal; and then Robert came up, and that + graceless little George took a stick; and then my husband came out, and do + you know George Milliken actually kicked Mr. Bonnington on his shins, and + butted him like a little naughty ram? + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Mercy! mercy! what a little rebel! He is spoiled, dear + madam, and you know by WHOM. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—By his grandmamma Kicklebury. I know it. I want my son to + whip that child, but he refuses. He will come to no good; that child. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Ah, madam, don't say so! Let us hope for the best. Master + George's high temper will subside when certain persons who pet him are + gone away. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Gone away! they never will go away! No, mark my words, Mrs. + Prior, that woman will never go away. She has made the house her own: she + commands everything and everybody in it. She has driven me—me—Mr. + Milliken's own mother—almost out of it. She has so annoyed my dear + husband, that Mr. Bonnington will scarcely come here. Is she not always + sneering at private tutors, because Mr. Bonnington was my son's private + tutor, and greatly valued by the late Mr. Milliken? Is she not making + constant allusions to old women marrying young men, because Mr. Bonnington + happens to be younger than me? I have no words to express my indignation + respecting Lady Kicklebury. She never pays any one, and runs up debts in + the whole town. Her man Bulkeley's conduct in the neighborhood is quite—quite— + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Gracious goodness, ma'am, you don't say so! And then what an + appetite the gormandizing monster has! Mary tells me that what he eats in + the servants' hall is something perfectly frightful. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Everybody feeds on my poor son! You are looking at my cap, + Mrs. Prior? [During this time MRS. PRIOR has been peering into a parcel + which MRS. BONNINGTON brought in her hand.] I brought it with me across + the Park. I could not walk through the Park in my cap. Isn't it a pretty + ribbon, Mrs. Prior? + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Beautiful! beautiful? How blue becomes you! Who would think + you were the mother of Mr. Milliken and seven other darling children? You + can afford what Lady Kicklebury cannot. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—And what is that, Prior? A poor clergyman's wife, with a + large family, cannot afford much. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—He! he! You can afford to be seen as you are, which Lady K. + cannot. Did you not remark how afraid she seemed lest I should enter her + dressing-room? Only Pinhorn, her maid, goes there, to arrange the roses, + and the lilies, and the figure—he! he! Oh, what a sweet, sweet + cap-ribbon! When you have worn it, and are tired of it, you will give it + me, won't you? It will be good enough for poor old Martha Prior! + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Do you really like it? Call at Greenwood Place, Mrs. Prior, + the next time you pay Richmond a visit, and bring your little girl with + you, and we will see. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Oh, thank you! thank you! Nay, don't be offended! I must! I + must! [Kisses MRS. BONNINGTON.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—There, there! We must not stay chattering! The bell has + rung. I must go and put the cap on, Mrs. Prior. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—And I may come too? YOU are not afraid of my seeing your + hair, dear Mrs. Bonnington! Mr. Bonnington too young for YOU! Why, you + don't look twenty! + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Oh, Mrs. Prior! + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Well, five-and-twenty, upon my word—not more than + five-and-twenty—and that is the very prime of life. [Exeunt Mrs. B. + and Mrs. P., hand in hand. As Captain TOUCHIT enters, dressed for dinner, + he bows and passes on.] + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—So, we are to wear our white cravats, and our varnished + boots, and dine in ceremony. What is the use of a man being a widower, if + he can't dine in his shooting-jacket? Poor Mill! He has the slavery now + without the wife. [He speaks sarcastically to the picture.] Well, well! + Mrs. Milliken! YOU, at any rate, are gone; and with the utmost respect for + you, I like your picture even better than the original. Miss Prior! + </p> + <p> + Enter Miss PRIOR. + </p> + <p> + MISS PRIOR.—I beg pardon. I thought you were gone to dinner. I heard + the second bell some time since. [She is drawing back.] + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Stop! I say, Julia! [She returns, he looks at her, takes + her hand.] Why do you dress yourself in this odd poky way? You used to be + a very smartly dressed girl. Why do you hide your hair, and wear such a + dowdy, high gown, Julia? + </p> + <p> + JULIA.—You mustn't call me Julia, Captain Touchit. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Why? when I lived in your mother's lodging, I called you + Julia. When you brought up the tea, you didn't mind being called Julia. + When we used to go to the play with the tickets the Editor gave us, who + lived on the second floor— + </p> + <p> + JULIA.—The wretch!—don't speak of him! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Ah! I am afraid he was a sad deceiver, that Editor. He was + a very clever fellow. What droll songs he used to sing! What a heap of + play-tickets, diorama-tickets, concert-tickets, he used to give you! Did + he touch your heart, Julia? + </p> + <p> + JULIA.—Fiddlededee! No man ever touched my heart, Captain Touchit. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—What! not even Tom Flight, who had the second floor after + the Editor left it—and who cried so bitterly at the idea of going + out to India without you? You had a tendre for him—a little passion—you + know you had. Why, even the ladies here know it. Mrs. Bonnington told me + that you were waiting for a sweetheart in India to whom you were engaged; + and Lady Kicklebury thinks you are dying in love for the absent swain. + </p> + <p> + JULIA.—I hope—I hope—you did not contradict them, + Captain Touchit. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Why not, my dear? + </p> + <p> + JULIA.—May I be frank with you? You were a kind, very kind friend to + us—to me, in my youth. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—I paid my lodgings regularly, and my bills without asking + questions. I never weighed the tea in the caddy, or counted the lumps of + sugar, or heeded the rapid consumption of my liqueur— + </p> + <p> + JULIA.—Hush, hush! I know they were taken. I know you were very good + to us. You helped my poor papa out of many a difficulty. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT [aside].—Tipsy old coal-merchant! I did, and he helped + himself too. + </p> + <p> + JULIA.—And you were always our best friend, Captain Touchit. When + our misfortunes came, you got me this situation with Mrs. Milliken—and, + and—don't you see?— + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Well—what? + </p> + <p> + JULIA [laughing].—I think it is best, under the circumstances, that + the ladies here should suppose I am engaged to be married—or or, + they might be—might be jealous, you understand. Women are sometimes + jealous of others,—especially mothers and mothers-in-law. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Oh, you arch schemer! And it is for that you cover up that + beautiful hair of yours, and wear that demure cap? + </p> + <p> + JULIA [slyly].—I am subject to rheumatism in the head, Captain + Touchit. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—It is for that you put on the spectacles, and make yourself + look a hundred years old? + </p> + <p> + JULIA.—My eyes are weak, Captain Touchit. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Weak with weeping for Tom Flight. You hypocrite! Show me + your eyes! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Nonsense! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Show me your eyes, I say, or I'll tell about Tom Flight and + that he has been married at Madras these two years. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Oh, you horrid man! [takes glasses off.] There. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Translucent orbs! beams of flashing light! lovely lashes + veiling celestial brightness! No, they haven't cried much for Tom Flight, + that faithless captain! nor for Lawrence O'Reilly, that killing Editor. It + is lucky you keep the glasses on them, or they would transfix Horace + Milliken, my friend the widower here. DO you always wear them when you are + alone with him? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—I never AM alone with him. Bless me! If Lady Kicklebury + thought my eyes were—well, well—you know what I mean,—if + she thought her son-in-law looked at me, I should be turned out of doors + the next day, I am sure I should. And then, poor Mr. Milliken! he never + looks at ME—heaven help him! Why, he can't see me for her ladyship's + nose and awful caps and ribbons! He sits and looks at the portrait yonder, + and sighs so. He thinks that he is lost in grief for his wife at this very + moment. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—What a woman that was—eh, Julia—that departed + angel! What a temper she had before her departure! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—But the wind was tempered to the lamb. If she was angry—the + lamb was so very lamblike, and meek, and fleecy. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—And what a desperate flirt the departed angel was! I knew + half a dozen fellows, before her marriage, whom she threw over, because + Milliken was so rich. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—She was consistent at least, and did not change after + marriage, as some ladies do; but flirted, as you call it, just as much as + before. At Paris, young Mr. Verney, the attache, was never out of the + house: at Rome, Mr. Beard, the artist, was always drawing pictures of her: + at Naples, when poor Mr. M. went away to look after his affairs at St. + Petersburg, little Count Posilippo was for ever coming to learn English + and practise duets. She scarcely ever saw the poor children—[changing + her manner as Lady KICKLEBURY enters] Hush—my lady! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—You may well say, "poor children," deprived of such a + woman! Miss Prior, whom I knew in very early days—as your ladyship + knows—was speaking—was speaking of the loss our poor friend + sustained. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Ah, sir, what a loss! [looking at the picture.] + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—What a woman she was—what a superior creature! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—A creature—an angel! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Mercy upon us! how she and my lady used to quarrel! + [aside.] What a temper! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Hm—oh, yes—what a temper [rather doubtfully at + first]. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—What a loss to Milliken and the darling children! + </p> + <p> + MISS PRIOR.—Luckily they have YOU with them madam. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—And I will stay with them, Miss Prior; I will stay with + them! I will never part from Horace, I am determined. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Ah! I am very glad you stay, for if I had not YOU for a + protector, I think you know I must go, Lady Kicklebury. I think you know + there are those who would forget my attachment to these darling children, + my services to—to her—and dismiss the poor governess. But + while you stay I can stay, dear Lady Kicklebury! With you to defend me + from jealousy I need not QUITE be afraid. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Of Mrs. Bonnington? Of Mr. Milliken's mother; of the + parson's wife who writes out his stupid sermons, and has half a dozen + children of her own? I should think NOT indeed! I am the natural protector + of these children. I am their mother. I have no husband! You STAY in this + house, Miss Prior. You are a faithful, attached creature—though you + were sent in by somebody I don't like very much [pointing to TOUCHIT, who + went off laughing when JULIA began her speech, and is now looking at + prints, &c., in next room]. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Captain Touchit may not be in all things what one could + wish. But his kindness has formed the happiness of my life in making me + acquainted with YOU, ma'am: and I am sure you would not have me be + ungrateful to him. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—A most highly principled young woman. [Goes out in garden + and walks up and down with Captain TOUCHIT.] + </p> + <p> + Enter Mrs. BONNINGTON. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Oh, how glad I am you are come, Mrs. Bonnington. Have you + brought me that pretty hymn you promised me? You always keep your + promises, even to poor governesses. I read dear Mr. Bonnington's sermon! + It was so interesting that I really could not think of going to sleep + until I had read it all through; it was delightful, but oh! it's still + better when he preaches it! I hope I did not do wrong in copying a part of + it? I wish to impress it on the children. There are some worldly + influences at work with them, dear madam [looking at Lady K. in the + garden], which I do my feeble effort to—to modify. I wish YOU could + come oftener. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—I will try, my dear—I will try. Emily has sweet + dispositions. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Ah, she takes after her grandmamma Bonnington! + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—But George was sadly fractious just now in the school-room + because I tried him with a tract. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Let us hope for better times! Do be with your children, dear + Mrs. Bonnington, as constantly as ever you can, for MY sake as well as + theirs! I want protection and advice as well as they do. The GOVERNESS, + dear lady, looks up to you as well as the pupils; SHE wants the teaching + which you and dear Mr. Bonnington can give her! Ah, why could not Mr. and + Mrs. Bonnington come and live here, I often think? The children would have + companions in their dear young uncles and aunts; so pleasant it would be. + The house is quite large enough; that is, if her ladyship did not occupy + the three south rooms in the left wing. Ah, why, WHY couldn't you come? + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—You are a kind, affectionate creature, Miss Prior. I do not + very much like the gentleman who recommended you to Arabella, you know. + But I do think he sent my son a good governess for his children. + </p> + <p> + Two Ladies walk up and down in front garden. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT enters. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Miss Julia Prior, you are a wonder! I watch you with + respect and surprise. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Me! what have I done? a poor friendless governess—respect + ME? + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—I have a mind to tell those two ladies what I think of Miss + Julia Prior. If they knew you as I know you, O Julia Prior, what a short + reign yours would be! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—I have to manage them a little. Each separately it is not so + difficult. But when they are together, oh, it is very hard sometimes. + </p> + <p> + Enter MILLIKEN dressed, shakes hands with Miss P. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Miss Prior! are you well? Have the children been good? and + learned all their lessons? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—The children are pretty good, sir. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Well, that's a great deal as times go. Do not bother them + with too much learning, Miss Prior. Let them have an easy life. Time + enough for trouble when age comes. + </p> + <p> + Enter John. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Dinner, sir. [And exit.] + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Dinner, ladies. My Lady Kicklebury (gives arm to Lady K). + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—My dear Horace, you SHOULDN'T shake hands with Miss Prior. + You should keep people of that class at a distance, my dear creature. + [They go in to dinner, Captain TOUCHIT following with Mrs. BONNINGTON. As + they go out, enter MARY with children's tea-tray, &c., children + following, and after them Mrs. PRIOR. MARY gives her tea.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Thank you, Mary! You are so very kind! Oh, what + delicious tea! + </p> + <p> + GEORGY.—I say, Mrs. Prior, I dare say you would like to dine best, + wouldn't you? + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Bless you, my darling love, I had my dinner at one o'clock + with my children at home. + </p> + <p> + GEORGY.—So had we: but we go in to dessert very often; and then + don't we have cakes and oranges and candied-peel and macaroons and things! + We are not to go in to-day; because Bella ate so many strawberries she + made herself ill. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—So did you. + </p> + <p> + GEORGY.—I'm a man, and men eat more than women, twice as much as + women. When I'm a man I'll eat as much cake as ever I like. I say, Mary, + give us the marmalade. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Oh, what nice marmalade! I know of some poor children— + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Mamma! don't, mamma [in an imploring tone]. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—I know of two poor children at home, who have very seldom + nice marmalade and cake, young people. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—You mean Adolphus and Frederick and Amelia, your children. + Well, they shall have marmalade and cake. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—Oh, yes! I'll give them mine. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Darling, dearest child! + </p> + <p> + GEORGE [his mouth full].—I won't give 'em mine: but they can have + another pot, you know. You have always got a basket with you, Mrs. Prior. + I know you have. You had it that day you took the cold fowl. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—For the poor blind black man! oh, how thankful he was! + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—I don't know whether it was for a black man. Mary, get us + another pot of marmalade. + </p> + <p> + MARY.—I don't know, Master George. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—I WILL have another pot of marmalade. If you don't, I'll—I'll + smash everything—I will. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—Oh, you naughty, rude boy! + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Hold YOUR tongue! I WILL have it. Mary shall go and get it. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Do humor him, Mary; and I'm sure my poor children at home + will be the better for it. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—There's your basket! now put this cake in, and this pat of + butter, and this sugar. Hurray, hurray! Oh, what jolly fun! Tell Adolphus + and Amelia I sent it to them—tell 'em they shall never want for + anything as long as George Kicklebury Milliken, Esq., can give it 'em. Did + Adolphus like my gray coat that I didn't want? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—You did not give him your new gray coat? + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Don't you speak to me; I'm going to school—I'm not + going to have no more governesses soon. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Oh, my dear Master George, what a nice coat it is, and how + well my poor boy looked in it! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Don't, mamma! I pray and entreat you not to take the things! + </p> + <p> + Enter JOHN from dining-room with a tray. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Some cream, some jelly, a little champagne, Miss Prior; I + thought you might like some. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Oh, jolly! give us hold of the jelly! give us a glass of + champagne. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I will not give you any. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—I'll smash every glass in the room if you don't; I'll cut my + fingers; I'll poison myself—there! I'll eat all this sealing-wax if + you don't, and it's rank poison, you know it is. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—My dear Master George! [Exit JOHN.] + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—Ha, ha! I knew you'd give it me; another boy taught me that. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—And a very naughty, rude boy. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE.—He, he, he! hold your tongue Miss! And said he always got + wine so; and so I used to do it to my poor mamma, Mrs. Prior. Usedn't to + like mamma much. + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—Oh, you wicked boy! + </p> + <p> + GEORGY.—She usedn't to see us much. She used to say I tried her + nerves: what's nerves, Mrs. Prior? Give us some more champagne! Will have + it. Ha, ha, ha! ain't it jolly? Now I'll go out and have a run in the + garden. [Runs into garden]. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—And you, my dear? + </p> + <p> + BELLA.—I shall go and resume the perusal of the "Pilgrim's + Progress," which my grandpapa, Mr. Bonnington, sent me. [Exit ARABELLA.] + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—How those children are spoilt! Goodness; what can I do? If I + correct one, he flies to grandmamma Kicklebury; if I speak to another, she + appeals to grandmamma Bonnington. When I was alone with them, I had them + in something like order. Now, between the one grandmother and the other, + the children are going to ruin, and so would the house too, but that + Howell—that odd, rude, but honest and intelligent creature, I must + say—keeps it up. It is wonderful how a person in his rank of life + should have instructed himself so. He really knows—I really think he + knows more than I do myself. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Julia dear! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—What is it, mamma? + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Your little sister wants some underclothing sadly, Julia + dear, and poor Adolphus's shoes are quite worn out. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—I thought so; I have given you all I could, mamma. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Yes, my love! you are a good love, and generous, heaven + knows, to your poor old mother who has seen better days. If we had not + wanted, would I have ever allowed you to be a governess—a poor + degraded governess? If that brute O'Reilly who lived on our second floor + had not behaved so shamefully wicked to you, and married Miss Flack, the + singer, might you not have been Editress of the Champion of Liberty at + this very moment, and had your Opera box every night? [She drinks + champagne while talking, and excites herself.] + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Don't take that, mamma. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Don't take it? why, it costs nothing; Milliken can afford + it. Do you suppose I get champagne every day? I might have had it as a + girl when I first married your father, and we kep' our gig and horse, and + lived at Clapham, and had the best of everything. But the coal-trade is + not what it was, Julia. We met with misfortunes, Julia, and we went into + poverty: and your poor father went into the Bench for twenty-three months—two + year all but a month he did—and my poor girl was obliged to dance at + the "Coburg Theatre"—yes you were, at ten shillings a week, in the + Oriental ballet of "The Bulbul and the Rose:" you were, my poor darling + child. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Hush, hush, mamma! + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—And we kep' a lodging-house in Bury Street, St. James's, + which your father's brother furnished for us, who was an extensive + oil-merchant. He brought you up; and afterwards he quarrelled with my poor + James, Robert Prior did, and he died, not leaving us a shilling. And my + dear eldest boy went into a wine-merchant's office: and my poor darling + Julia became a governess, when you had had the best of education at + Clapham; you had, Julia. And to think that you were obliged, my blessed + thing, to go on in the Oriental ballet of "The Rose and the Bul—" + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Mamma, hush, hush! forget that story. + </p> + <p> + Enter Page from dining-room. + </p> + <p> + PAGE.—Miss Prior! please, the ladies are coming from the + dining-room. Mrs. B. have had her two glasses of port, and her ladyship is + now a-telling the story about the Prince of Wales when she danced with him + at Canton House. [Exit Page.] + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Quick, quick! There, take your basket! Put on your bonnet, + and good-night, mamma. Here, here is a half sovereign and three shillings; + it is all the money I have in the world; take it, and buy the shoes for + Adolphus. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—And the underclothing, my love—little Amelia's + underclothing? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—We will see about it. Good-night [kisses her]. Don't be seen + here,—Lady K. doesn't like it. + </p> + <p> + Enter Gentlemen and Ladies from dining-room. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—We follow the Continental fashion. We don't sit after + dinner, Captain Touchit. + </p> + <p> + CAPTAIN T.—Confound the Continental fashion! I like to sit a little + while after dinner [aside]. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—So does my dear Mr. Bonnington, Captain Touchit. He likes a + little port-wine after dinner. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—I'm not surprised at it, ma am. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—When did you say your son was coming, Lady Kicklebury? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—My Clarence! He will be here immediately, I hope, the dear + boy. You know my Clarence? + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Yes, ma'am. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—And like him, I'm sure, Captain Touchit! Everybody does like + Clarence Kicklebury. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—The confounded young scamp! I say, Horace, do you like your + brother-in-law? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Well—I—I can't say—I—like him—in + fact, I don't. But that's no reason why his mother shouldn't. [During + this, HOWELL, preceded by BULKELEY, hands round coffee. The garden without + has darkened, as if evening. BULKELEY is going away without offering + coffee to Miss PRIOR. JOHN stamps on his foot, and points to her. Captain + TOUCHIT, laughing, goes up and talks to her now the servants are gone.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Horace! I must tell you that the waste at your table is + shocking. What is the need of opening all this wine? You and Lady + Kicklebury were the only persons who took champagne. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—I never drink it—never touch the rubbish! Too old a + stager! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Port, I think, is your favorite, Mrs. Bonnington? + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—My dear lady, I do not mean that you should not have + champagne, if you like. Pray, pray, don't be angry! But why on earth, for + you, who take so little, and Horace, who only drinks it to keep you + company, should not Howell open a pint instead of a great large bottle? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Oh, Howell! Howell! We must not mention Howell, my dear Mrs. + Bonnington. Howell is faultless! Howell has the keys of everything! Howell + is not to be controlled in anything! Howell is to be at liberty to be rude + to my servant! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Is that all? I am sure I should have thought your man was + big enough to resent any rudeness from poor little Howell. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Horace! Excuse me for saying that you don't know—the—the + class of servant to whom Bulkeley belongs. I had him, as a great favor, + from Lord Toddleby. That class of servant is accustomed generally not to + go out single. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Unless they are two behind a carriage-perch they pine + away, as one love-bird does without his mate! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—No doubt! no doubt! I only say you are not accustomed here—in + this kind of establishment, you understand—to that class of— + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Lady Kicklebury! is my son's establishment not good enough + for any powdered monster in England? Is the house of a British merchant—? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—My dear creature! my dear creature! it IS the house of a + British merchant, and a very comfortable house. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Yes, as you find it. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Yes, as I find it, when I come to take care of my departed, + angel's children, Mrs. Bonnington—[pointing to picture]—of + THAT dear seraph's orphans, Mrs. Bonnington. YOU cannot. You have other + duties—other children—a husband at home in delicate health, + who— + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Lady Kicklebury, no one shall say I don't take care of my + dear husband! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—My dear mother! My dear Lady Kicklebury! [To T., who has + come forward.] They spar so every night they meet, Touchit. Ain't it hard? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—I say you DO take care of Mr. Bonnington, Mrs. Bonnington, + my dear creature! and that is why you can't attend to Horace. And as he is + of a very easy temper—except sometimes with his poor Arabella's + mother—he allows all his tradesmen to cheat him, all his servants to + cheat him, Howell to be rude to everybody—to me amongst other + people, and why not to my servant Bulkeley, with whom Lord Toddleby's + groom of the chambers gave me the very highest character. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—I'm surprised that noblemen HAVE grooms in their chambers. I + should think they were much better in the stables. I am sure I always + think so when we dine with Doctor Clinker. His man does bring such a smell + of the stable with him. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—He! he! you mistake, my dearest creature! Your poor mother + mistakes, my good Horace. You have lived in a quiet and most respectable + sphere—but not—not— + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Not what, Lady Kicklebury? We have lived at Richmond twenty + years—in my late husband's time—when we saw a great deal of + company, and when this dear Horace was a dear boy at Westminster School. + And we have PAID for everything we have had for twenty years, and we have + owed not a penny to any TRADESMAN, though we mayn't have had POWDERED + FOOTMEN SIX FEET HIGH, who were impertinent to all the maids in the place—Don't! + I WILL speak, Horace—but servants who loved us, and who lived in our + families. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Mamma, now, my dear, good old mother! I am sure Lady + Kicklebury meant no harm. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Me! my dear Horace! harm! What harm could I mean? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Come! let us have a game at whist. Touchit, will you make + a fourth? They go on so every night almost. Ain't it a pity, now? + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Miss Prior generally plays, doesn't she? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—And a very good player, too. But I thought you might like + it. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Well, not exactly. I don't like sixpenny points, Horace, or + quarrelling with old dragons about the odd trick. I will go and smoke a + cigar on the terrace, and contemplate the silver Thames, the darkling + woods, the starry hosts of heaven. I—I like smoking better than + playing whist. [MILLIKEN rings bell.] + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Ah, George! you're not fit for domestic felicity. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—No, not exactly. + </p> + <p> + HOWELL enters. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Lights and a whist-table. Oh, I see you bring 'em. You + know everything I want. He knows everything I want, Howell does. Let us + cut. Miss Prior, you and I are partners! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II. + </h2> + <p> + SCENE.—As before. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Don't smoke, you naughty boy. I don't like it. Besides, it + will encourage your brother-in-law to smoke. + </p> + <p> + CLARENCE K.—Anything to oblige you, I'm sure. But can't do without + it, mother; it's good for my health. When I was in the Plungers, our + doctor used to say, "You ought never to smoke more than eight cigars a + day"—an order, you know, to do it—don't you see? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Ah, my child! I am very glad you are not with those + unfortunate people in the East. + </p> + <p> + K.—So am I. Sold out just in time. Much better fun being here, than + having the cholera at Scutari. Nice house, Milliken's. Snob, but good + fellow—good cellar, doosid good cook. Really, that salmi yesterday,—couldn't + have it better done at the "Rag" now. You have got into good quarters + here, mother. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—The meals are very good, and the house is very good; the + manners are not of the first order. But what can you expect of city + people? I always told your poor dear sister, when she married Mr. + Milliken, that she might look for everything substantial,—but not + manners. Poor dear Arabella WOULD marry him. + </p> + <p> + K.—Would! that is a good one, mamma! Why, you made her! It's a dozen + years ago. But I recollect, when I came home from Eton, seeing her crying + because Charley Tufton— + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Mr. Tufton had not a shilling to bless himself with. The + marriage was absurd and impossible. + </p> + <p> + K.—He hadn't a shilling then. I guess he has plenty now. Elder + brother killed, out hunting. Father dead. Tuf a baronet, with four + thousand a year if he's a shilling. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Not so much. + </p> + <p> + K.—Four thousand if it's a shilling. Why, the property adjoins + Kicklebury's—I ought to know. I've shot over it a thousand times. + Heh! I remember, when I was quite a young 'un, how Arabella used to go out + into Tufton Park to meet Charley—and he is a doosid good fellow, and + a gentlemanlike fellow, and a doosid deal better than this city fellow. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—If you don't like this city fellow, Clarence, why do you + come here? why didn't you stop with your elder brother at Kicklebury? + </p> + <p> + K.—Why didn't I? Why didn't YOU stop at Kicklebury, mamma? Because + you had notice to quit. Serious daughter-in-law, quarrels about management + of the house—row in the building. My brother interferes, and + politely requests mamma to shorten her visit. So it is with your other two + daughters; so it was with Arabella when she was alive. What shindies you + used to have with her, Lady Kicklebury! Heh! I had a row with my brother + and sister about a confounded little nursery-maid. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Clarence! + </p> + <p> + K.—And so I had notice to quit too. And I'm in very good quarters + here, and I intend to stay in 'em, mamma. I say— + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—What do you say? + </p> + <p> + K.—Since I sold out, you know, and the regiment went abroad, + confound me, the brutes at the "Rag" will hardly speak to me! I was so + ill, I couldn't go. Who the doose can live the life I've led and keep + health enough for that infernal Crimea? Besides, how could I help it? I + was so cursedly in debt that I was OBLIGED to have the money, you know. + YOU hadn't got any. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Not a halfpenny, my darling. I am dreadfully in debt myself. + </p> + <p> + K.—I know you are. So am I. My brother wouldn't give me any, not a + dump. Hang him! Said he had his children to look to. Milliken wouldn't + advance me any more—said I did him in that horse transaction. He! + he! he! so I did! What had I to do but to sell out? And the fellows cut + me, by Jove. Ain't it too bad? I'll take my name off the "Rag," I will, + though. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—We must sow our wild oats, and we must sober down; and we + must live here, where the living is very good and very cheap, Clarence, + you naughty boy! And we must get you a rich wife. Did you see at church + yesterday that young woman in light green, with rather red hair and a pink + bonnet? + </p> + <p> + K.—I was asleep, ma'am, most of the time, or I was bookin' up the + odds for the Chester Cup. When I'm bookin' up, I think of nothin' else, + ma'am,—nothin'. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—That was Miss Brocksopp—Briggs, Brown and Brocksopp, + the great sugar-bakers. They say she will have eighty thousand pound. We + will ask her to dinner here. + </p> + <p> + K.—I say—why the doose do you have such old women to dinner + here? Why don't you get some pretty girls? Such a set of confounded old + frumps as eat Milliken's mutton I never saw. There's you, and his old + mother Mrs. Bonnington, and old Mrs. Fogram, and old Miss What's-her-name, + the woman with the squint eye, and that immense Mrs. Crowder. It's so + stoopid, that if it weren't for Touchit coming down sometimes, and the + billiards and boatin', I should die here—expire, by gad! Why don't + you have some pretty women into the house, Lady Kicklebury? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Why! Do you think I want that picture taken down: and + another Mrs. Milliken? Wisehead! If Horace married again, would he be your + banker, and keep this house, now that ungrateful son of mine has turned me + out of his? No pretty woman shall come into the house whilst I am here. + </p> + <p> + K.—Governess seems a pretty woman: weak eyes, bad figure, poky, + badly dressed, but doosid pretty woman. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Bah! There is no danger from HER. She is a most faithful + creature, attached to me beyond everything. And her eyes—her eyes + are weak with crying for some young man who is in India. She has his + miniature in her room, locked up in one of her drawers. + </p> + <p> + K.—Then how the doose did you come to see it? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—We see a number of things, Clarence. Will you drive with me? + </p> + <p> + K.—Not as I knows on, thank you. No, Ma; drivin's TOO slow: and + you're goin' to call on two or three old dowagers in the Park? Thank your + ladyship for the delightful offer. + </p> + <p> + Enter JOHN. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Please, sir, here's the man with the bill for the boats; two + pound three. + </p> + <p> + K.—Damn it, pay it—don't bother ME! + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Haven't got the money, sir. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Howell! I saw Mr. Milliken give you a cheque for twenty-five + pounds before he went into town this morning. Look sir [runs, opens + drawer, takes out cheque-book]. There it is, marked, "Howell, 25L." + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Would your ladyship like to step down into my pantry and see + what I've paid with the twenty-five pounds? Did my master leave any orders + that your ladyship was to inspect my accounts? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Step down into the pantry! inspect your accounts? I never + heard such impertinence. What do you mean, sir? + </p> + <p> + K.—Dammy, sir, what do you mean? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I thought as her ladyship kept a heye over my master's private + book, she might like to look at mine too. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Upon my word, this insolence is too much. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I beg your ladyship's pardon. I am sure I have said nothing. + </p> + <p> + K.—Said, sir! your manner is mutinous, by Jove, sir! if I had you in + the regiment!— + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I understood that you had left the regiment, sir, just before + it went on the campaign, sir. + </p> + <p> + K.—Confound you, sir! [Starts up.] + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Clarence, my child, my child! + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Your ladyship needn't be alarmed; I'm a little man, my lady, + but I don't think Mr. Clarence was a-goin' for to hit me, my lady; not + before a lady, I'm sure. I suppose, sir, that you WON'T pay the boatman? + </p> + <p> + K.—No, sir, I won't pay him, nor any man who uses this sort of + damned impertinence! + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I told Rullocks, sir, I thought it was JEST possible you + wouldn't. [Exit.] + </p> + <p> + K.—That's a nice man, that is—an impudent villain! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Ruined by Horace's weakness. He ruins everybody, poor + good-natured Horace! + </p> + <p> + K.—Why don't you get rid of the blackguard? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—There is a time for all things, my dear. This man is very + convenient to Horace. Mr. Milliken is exceedingly lazy, and Howell spares + him a great deal of trouble. Some day or other I shall take all this + domestic trouble off his hands. But not yet: your poor brother-in-law is + restive, like many weak men. He is subjected to other influences: his + odious mother thwarts me a great deal. + </p> + <p> + K.—Why, you used to be the dearest friends in the world. I recollect + when I was at Eton— + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Were; but friendship don't last for ever. Mrs. Bonnington + and I have had serious differences since I came to live here: she has a + natural jealousy, perhaps, at my superintending her son's affairs. When + she ceases to visit at the house, as she very possibly will, things will + go more easily; and Mr. Howell will go too, you may depend upon it. I am + always sorry when my temper breaks out, as it will sometimes. + </p> + <p> + K.—Won't it, that's all! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—At his insolence, my temper is high; so is yours, my dear. + Calm it for the present, especially as regards Howell. + </p> + <p> + K.—Gad! d'you know I was very nearly pitching into him? But once, + one night in the Haymarket, at a lobster-shop, where I was with some + fellows, we chaffed some other fellows, and there was one fellah—quite + a little fellah—and I pitched into him, and he gave me the most + confounded lickin' I ever had in my life, since my brother Kicklebury + licked me when we were at Eton; and that, you see, was a lesson to me, + ma'am. Never trust those little fellows, never chaff 'em: dammy, they may + be boxers. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—You quarrelsome boy! I remember you coming home with your + naughty head SO bruised. [Looks at watch.] I must go now to take my drive. + [Exit LADY K.] + </p> + <p> + K.—I owe a doose of a tick at that billiard-room; I shall have that + boatman dunnin' me. Why hasn't Milliken got any horses to ride? Hang him! + suppose he can't ride—suppose he's a tailor. He ain't MY tailor, + though, though I owe him a doosid deal of money. There goes mamma with + that darling nephew and niece of mine. [Enter BULKELEY]. Why haven't you + gone with my lady, you, sir? [to Bulkeley.] + </p> + <p> + BULKELEY.—My lady have a-took the pony-carriage, sir; Mrs. + Bonnington have a-took the hopen carriage and 'orses, sir, this mornin', + which the Bishop of London is 'olding a confirmation at Teddington, sir, + and Mr. Bonnington is attending the serimony. And I have told Mr. 'Owell, + sir, that my lady would prefer the hopen carriage, sir, which I like the + hexercise myself, sir, and that the pony-carriage was good enough for Mrs. + Bonnington, sir; and Mr. 'Owell was very hinsolent to me, sir; and I don't + think I can stay in the 'ouse with him. + </p> + <p> + K.—Hold your jaw, sir. + </p> + <p> + BULKELEY.—Yes, sir. [Exit BULKELEY.] + </p> + <p> + K.—I wonder who that governess is?—sang rather prettily last + night—wish she'd come and sing now—wish she'd come and amuse + me—I've seen her face before—where have I seen her face?—it + ain't at all a bad one. What shall I do? dammy, I'll read a book: I've not + read a book this ever so long. What's here? [looks amongst books, selects + one, sinks down in easy-chair so as quite to be lost.] + </p> + <p> + Enter Miss PRIOR. + </p> + <p> + MISS PRIOR.—There's peace in the house! those noisy children are + away with their grandmamma. The weather is beautiful, and I hope they will + take a long drive. Now I can have a quiet half-hour, and finish that dear + pretty "Ruth"—oh, how it makes me cry, that pretty story. [Lays down + her bonnet on table—goes to glass—takes off cap and spectacles—arranges + her hair—Clarence has got on chair looking at her.] + </p> + <p> + K.—By Jove! I know who it is now! Remember her as well as possible. + Four years ago, when little Foxbury used to dance in the ballet over the + water. DON'T I remember her! She boxed my ears behind the scenes, by + jingo. [Coming forward]. Miss Pemberton! Star of the ballet! Light of the + harem! Don't you remember the grand Oriental ballet of the "Bulbul and the + Peri?" + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Oh! [screams.] No, n—no, sir. You are mistaken: my + name is Prior. I—never was at the "Coburg Theatre." I— + </p> + <p> + K. [seizing her hand].—No, you don't, though! What! don't you + remember well that little hand slapping this face? which nature hadn't + then adorned with whiskers, by gad! You pretend you have forgotten little + Foxbury, whom Charley Calverley used to come after, and who used to drive + to the "Coburg" every night in her brougham. How did you know it was the + "Coburg?" That IS a good one! HAD you there, I think. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Sir, in the name of heaven, pity me! I have to keep my + mother and my sisters and my brothers. When—when you saw me, we were + in great poverty; and almost all the wretched earnings I made at that time + were given to my poor father then lying in the Queen's Bench hard by. You + know there was nothing against my character—you know there was not. + Ask Captain Touchit whether I was not a good girl. It was he who brought + me to this house. + </p> + <p> + K.—Touchit! the old villain! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—I had your sister's confidence. I tended her abroad on her + death-bed. I have brought up your nephew and niece. Ask any one if I have + not been honest? As a man, as a gentleman, I entreat you to keep my + secret! I implore you for the sake of my poor mother and her children! + [kneeling.] + </p> + <p> + K.—By Jove! how handsome you are! How crying becomes your eyes! Get + up; get up. Of course I'll keep your secret, but— + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Ah! ah! [She screams as he tries to embrace her. HOWELL + rushes in.] + </p> + <p> + HOWELL.—Hands off, you little villain! Stir a step and I'll kill + you, if you were a regiment of captains! What! insult this lady who kept + watch at your sister's death-bed and has took charge of her children! + Don't be frightened, Miss Prior. Julia—dear, dear Julia—I'm by + you. If the scoundrel touches you, I'll kill him. I—I love you—there—it's + here—love you madly—with all my 'art—my a-heart! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Howell—for heaven's sake, Howell! + </p> + <p> + K.—Pooh—ooh! [bursting with laughter]. Here's a novel, by + jingo! Here's John in love with the governess. Fond of plush, Miss + Pemberton—ey? Gad, it's the best thing I ever knew. Saved a good + bit, ey, Jeames? Take a public-house? By Jove! I'll buy my beer there. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Owe for it, you mean. I don't think your tradesmen profit much + by your custom, ex-Cornet Kicklebury. + </p> + <p> + K.—By Jove! I'll do for you, you villain! + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—No, not that way, Captain. [Struggles with and throws him.] + </p> + <p> + K. [screams.]—Hallo, Bulkeley! [Bulkeley is seen strolling in the + garden.] + </p> + <p> + Enter BULKELEY. + </p> + <p> + BULKELEY.—What is it, sir? + </p> + <p> + K.—Take this confounded villain off me, and pitch him into the + Thames—do you hear? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Come here, and I'll break every bone in your hulking body. [To + BULKELEY.] + </p> + <p> + BULKELEY.—Come, come! whathever his hall this year row about? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—For heaven's sake don't strike that poor man. + </p> + <p> + BULKELEY.—YOU be quiet. What's he a-hittin' about my master for? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Take off your hat, sir, when you speak to a lady. [Takes up a + poker.] And now come on, both of you, cowards! [Rushes at BULKELEY and + knocks his hat off his head.] + </p> + <p> + BULKELEY [stepping back].—If you'll put down that there poker, you + know, then I'll pitch into you fast enough. But that there poker ain't + fair, you know. + </p> + <p> + K.—You villain! of course you will leave this house. And, Miss + Prior, I think you understand that you will go too. I don't think my niece + wants to learn DANCIN', you understand. Good-by. Here, Bulkeley! [Gets + behind footman and exit.] + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Do you know the meaning of that threat, Mr. Howell? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Yes, Miss Prior. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—I was a dancer once, for three months, four years ago, when + my poor father was in prison. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Yes, Miss Prior, I knew it. And I saw you a many times. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—And you kept my secret? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Yes, Ju—Jul—Miss Prior. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Thank you, and God bless you, John Howell. There, there. You + mustn't! indeed you mustn't! + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—You don't remember the printer's boy who used to come to Mr. + O'Reilly, and sit in your 'all in Bury Street, Miss Prior? I was that boy. + I was a country-bred boy—that is if you call Putney country, and + Wimbledon Common and that. I served the Milliken family seven year. I went + with Master Horace to college, and then I revolted against service, and I + thought I'd be a man and turn printer like Doctor Frankling. And I got in + an office: and I went with proofs to Mr. O'Reilly, and I saw you. And + though I might have been in love with somebody else before I did—yet + it was all hup when I saw you. + </p> + <p> + MISS P. [kindly.]—YOU must not talk to me in that way, John Howell. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Let's tell the tale out. I couldn't stand the newspaper + night-work. I had a mother and brothers and sisters to keep, as you had. I + went back to Horace Milliken and said, Sir, I've lost my work. I and mine + want bread. Will you take me back again? And he did. He's a kind, kind + soul is my master. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—He IS a kind, kind soul. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—He's good to all the poor. His hand's in his pocket for + everybody. Everybody takes advantage of him. His mother-in-lor rides over + him. So does his Ma. So do I, I may say; but that's over now; and you and + I have had our notice to quit. Miss, I should say. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Yes. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I have saved a bit of money—not much—a hundred + pound. Miss Prior—Julia—here I am—look—I'm a poor + feller—a poor servant—but I've the heart of a man—and—I + love you—oh! I love you! + </p> + <p> + MARY.—Oh ho—ho! [Mary has entered from garden, and bursts out + crying.] + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—It can't be, John Howell—my dear, brave, kind John + Howell. It can't be. I have watched this for some time past, and poor + Mary's despair here. [Kisses Mary, who cries plentifully.] You have the + heart of a true, brave man, and must show it and prove it now. I am not—am + not of your pardon me for saying so—of your class in life. I was + bred by my uncle, away from my poor parents, though I came back to them + after his sudden death; and to poverty, and to this dependent life I am + now leading. I am a servant, like you, John, but in another sphere—have + to seek another place now; and heaven knows if I shall procure one, now + that that unlucky passage in my life is known. Oh, the coward to recall + it! the coward! + </p> + <p> + MARY.—But John whopped him, Miss! that he did. He gave it him well, + John did. [Crying.] + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—You can't—you ought not to forego an attachment like + that, John Howell. A more honest and true-hearted creature never breathed + than Mary Barlow. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—No, indeed. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—She has loved you since she was a little child. And you + loved her once, and do now, John. + </p> + <p> + MARY.—Oh, Miss! you hare a hangel,—I hallways said you were a + hangel. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—You are better than I am, my dear much, much better than I + am, John. The curse of my poverty has been that I have had to flatter and + to dissemble, and hide the faults of those I wanted to help, and to smile + when I was hurt, and laugh when I was sad, and to coax, and to tack, and + to bide my time,—not with Mr. Milliken: he is all honor, and + kindness, and simplicity. Who did HE ever injure, or what unkind word did + HE ever say? But do you think, with the jealousy of those poor ladies over + his house, I could have stayed here without being a hypocrite to both of + them? Go, John. My good, dear friend, John Howell, marry Mary. You'll be + happier with her than with me. There! There! [They embrace.] + </p> + <p> + MARY.—O—o—o! I think I'll go and hiron hout Miss + Harabella's frocks now. [Exit MARY.] + </p> + <p> + Enter MILLIKEN with CLARENCE—who is explaining things to him. + </p> + <p> + CLARENCE.—Here they are, I give you my word of honor. Ask 'em, damn + em. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—What is this I hear? You, John Howell, have dared to + strike a gentleman under my roof! Your master's brother-in-law? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Yes, by Jove! and I'd do it again. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Are you drunk or mad, Howell? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I'm as sober and as sensible as ever I was in my life, sir—I + not only struck the master, but I struck the man, who's twice as big, only + not quite as big a coward, I think. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Hold your scurrilous tongues sir! My good nature ruins + everybody about me. Make up your accounts. Pack your trunks—and + never let me see your face again. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Very good, sir. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—I suppose, Miss Prior, you will also be disposed to—to + follow Mr. Howell? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—To quit you, now you know what has passed? I never supposed + it could be otherwise—I deceived you, Mr. Milliken—as I kept a + secret from you, and must pay the penalty. It is a relief to me, the sword + has been hanging over me. I wish I had told your poor wife, as I was often + minded to do. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Oh, you were minded to do it in Italy, were you? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Captain Touchit knew it, sir, all along: and that my motives + and, thank God, my life were honorable. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Oh, Touchit knew it, did he? and thought it honorable—honorable. + Ha! ha! to marry a footman—and keep a public-house? I—I beg + your pardon, John Howell—I mean nothing against you, you know. + You're an honorable man enough, except that you have been damned insolent + to my brother-in-law. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Oh, heaven! [JOHN strikes his forehead, and walks away.] + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—You mistake me, sir. What I wished to speak of was the fact + which this gentleman has no doubt communicated to you—that I danced + on the stage for three months. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Oh, yes. Oh, damme, yes. I forgot. I wasn't thinking of + that. + </p> + <p> + KICKLEBURY.—You see she owns it. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—We were in the depths of poverty. Our furniture and + lodging-house under execution—from which Captain Touchit, when he + came to know of our difficulties, nobly afterwards released us. My father + was in prison, and wanted shillings for medicine, and I—I went and + danced on the stage. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Well? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—And I kept the secret afterwards; knowing that I could never + hope as governess to obtain a place after having been a stage-dancer. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Of course you couldn't,—it's out of the question; + and may I ask, are you going to resume that delightful profession when you + enter the married state with Mr. Howell? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Poor John! it is not I who am going to—that is, it's + Mary, the school-room maid. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Eternal blazes! Have you turned Mormon, John Howell, and + are you going to marry the whole house? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I made a hass of myself about Miss Prior. I couldn't help her + being l—l—lovely. + </p> + <p> + KICK.—Gad, he proposed to her in my presence. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—What I proposed to her, Cornet Clarence Kicklebury, was my + heart and my honor, and my best, and my everything—and you—you + wanted to take advantage of her secret, and you offered her indignities, + and you laid a cowardly hand on her—a cowardly hand!—and I + struck you, and I'd do it again. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—What? Is this true? [Turning round very fiercely to K.] + </p> + <p> + KICK.—Gad! Well—I only— + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—You only what? You only insulted a lady under my roof—the + friend and nurse of your dead sister—the guardian of my children. + You only took advantage of a defenceless girl, and would have extorted + your infernal pay out of her fear. You miserable sneak and coward! + </p> + <p> + KICK.—Hallo! Come, come! I say I won't stand this sort of chaff. + Dammy, I'll send a friend to you! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Go out of that window, sir. March! or I will tell my + servant, John Howell, to kick you out, you wretched little scamp! Tell + that big brute,—what's-his-name?—Lady Kicklebury's man, to + pack this young man's portmanteau and bear's-grease pots; and if ever you + enter these doors again, Clarence Kicklebury, by the heaven that made me!—by + your sister who is dead!—I will cane your life out of your bones. + Angel in heaven! Shade of my Arabella—to think that your brother in + your house should be found to insult the guardian of your children! + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—By jingo, you're a good-plucked one! I knew he was, Miss,—I + told you he was. [Exit, shaking hands with his master, and with Miss P., + and dancing for joy. Exit CLARENCE, scared, out of window.] + </p> + <p> + JOHN [without].—Bulkeley! pack up the Capting's luggage! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—How can I ask your pardon, Miss Prior? In my wife's name I + ask it—in the name of that angel whose dying-bed you watched and + soothed—of the innocent children whom you have faithfully tended + since. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Ah, sir! it is granted when you speak so to me. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Eh, eh—d—don't call me sir! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—It is for me to ask pardon for hiding what you know now: but + if I had told you—you—you never would have taken me into your + house—your wife never would. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—No, no. [Weeping.] + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—My dear, kind Captain Touchit knows it all. It was by his + counsel I acted. He it was who relieved our distress. Ask him whether my + conduct was not honorable—ask him whether my life was not devoted to + my parents—ask him when—when I am gone. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—When you are gone, Julia! Why are you going? Why should + you go, my love—that is—why need you go, in the devil's name? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Because, when your mother—when your mother-in-law come + to hear that your children's governess has been a dancer on the stage, + they will send me away, and you will not have the power to resist them. + They ought to send me away, sir; but I have acted honestly by the children + and their poor mother, and you'll think of me kindly when—I—am—gone? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Julia, my dearest—dear—noble—dar—the + devil! here's old Kicklebury. + </p> + <p> + Enter Lady K., Children, and CLARENCE. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—So, Miss Prior! this is what I hear, is it? A dancer in my + house! a serpent in my bosom—poisoning—yes, poisoning those + blessed children! occasioning quarrels between my own son and my dearest + son-in-law; flirting with the footman! When do you intend to leave, madam, + the house which you have po—poll—luted? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—I need no hard language, Lady Kicklebury: and I will reply + to none. I have signified to Mr. Milliken my wish to leave his house. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Not, not, if you will stay. [To Miss P.] + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Stay, Horace! she shall NEVER stay as governess in this + house! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Julia! will you stay as mistress? You have known me for a + year alone—before, not so well—when the house had a mistress + that is gone. You know what my temper is, and that my tastes are simple, + and my heart not unkind. I have watched you, and have never seen you out + of temper, though you have been tried. I have long thought you good and + beautiful, but I never thought to ask the question which I put to you now:—come + in, sir! [to CLARENCE at door]:—now that you have been persecuted by + those who ought to have upheld you, and insulted by those who owed you + gratitude and respect. I am tired of their domination, and as weary of a + man's cowardly impertinence [to CLARENCE] as of a woman's jealous tyranny. + They have made what was my Arabella's home miserable by their oppression + and their quarrels. Julia! my wife's friend, my children's friend! be + mine, and make me happy! Don't leave me, Julia! say you won't—say + you won't—dearest—dearest girl! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—I won't—leave—you. + </p> + <p> + GEORGE [without].—Oh, I say! Arabella, look here: here's papa + a-kissing Miss Prior! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Horace—Clarence my son! Shade of my Arabella! can you + behold this horrible scene, and not shudder in heaven! Bulkeley! Clarence! + go for a doctor—go to Doctor Straitwaist at the Asylum—Horace + Milliken, who has married the descendant of the Kickleburys of the + Conqueror, marry a dancing-girl off the stage! Horace Milliken! do you + wish to see me die in convulsions at your feet? I writhe there, I grovel + there. Look! look at me on my knees! your own mother-in-law! drive away + this fiend! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Hem! I ought to thank you, Lady Kicklebury, for it is you + that have given her to me. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—He won't listen! he turns away and kisses her horrible hand. + This will never do: help me up, Clarence, I must go and fetch his mother. + Ah, ah! there she is, there she is! [Lady K. rushes out, as the top of a + barouche, with Mr. and Mrs. BONNINGTON and Coachman, is seen over the + gate.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—What is this I hear, my son, my son? You are going to marry + a—a stage-dancer? you are driving me mad, Horace! + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Give me my second chance, mother, to be happy. You have + had yourself two chances. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Speak to him, Mr. Bonnington. [BONNINGTON makes dumb show.] + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Implore him, Mr. Bonnington. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Pray, pray for him, Mr. Bonnington, my love—my lost, + abandoned boy! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Oh, my poor dear Mrs. Bonnington! + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Oh, my poor dear Lady Kicklebury. [They embrace each other.] + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—I have been down on my knees to him, dearest Mrs. + Bonnington. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Let us both—both go down on our knees—I WILL [to + her husband]. Edward, I will! [Both ladies on their knees. BONNINGTON with + outstretched hands behind them.] Look, unhappy boy! look, Horace! two + mothers on their wretched knees before you, imploring you to send away + this monster! Speak to him, Mr. Bonnington. Edward! use authority with + him, if he will not listen to his mother— + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—To his mothers! + </p> + <p> + Enter TOUCHIT. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—What is this comedy going on, ladies and gentlemen? The + ladies on their elderly knees—Miss Prior with her hair down her + back. Is it tragedy or comedy—is it a rehearsal for a charade, or + are we acting for Horace's birthday? or, oh!—I beg your Reverence's + pardon—you were perhaps going to a professional duty? + </p> + <p> + MR. B.—It's WE who are praying this child, Touchit. This child, with + whom you used to come home from Westminster when you were boys. You have + influence with him; he listens to you. Entreat him to pause in his + madness. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—What madness? + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—That—that woman—that serpent yonder—that—that + dancing-woman, whom you introduced to Arabella Milliken,—ah! and I + rue the day:—Horace is going to mum—mum—marry her! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Well! I always thought he would. Ever since I saw him and + her playing at whist together, when I came down here a month ago, I + thought he would do it. + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Oh, it's the whist, the whist! Why did I ever play at whist, + Edward? My poor Mr. Milliken used to like his rubber. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Since he has been a widower— + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—A widower of that angel! [Points to picture.] + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Pooh, pooh, angel! You two ladies have never given the poor + fellow any peace. You were always quarrelling over him. You took + possession of his house, bullied his servants, spoiled his children; you + did, Lady Kicklebury. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Sir, you are a rude, low, presuming, vulgar man. Clarence! + beat this rude man! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—From what I have heard of your amiable son, he is not in + the warlike line, I think. My dear Julia, I am delighted with all my heart + that my old friend should have found a woman of sense, good conduct, good + temper—a woman who has had many trials, and borne them with great + patience—to take charge of him and make him happy. Horace, give me + your hand! I knew Miss Prior in great poverty. I am sure she will bear as + nobly her present good fortune; for good fortune it is to any woman to + become the wife of such a loyal, honest, kindly gentleman as you are! + </p> + <p> + Enter JOHN. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—If you please, my lady—if you please, sir—Bulkeley— + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—What of Bulkeley, sir? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—He has packed his things, and Cornet Kicklebury's things, my + lady. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Let the fellow go. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—He won't go, sir, till my lady have paid him his book and + wages. Here's the book, sir. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Insolence! quit my presence! And I, Mr. Milliken, will quit + a house— + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Shall I call your ladyship a carriage? + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Where I have met with rudeness, cruelty, and fiendish [to + Miss P., who smiles and curtsies]—yes, fiendish ingratitude. I will + go, I say, as soon as I have made arrangements for taking other lodgings. + You cannot expect a lady of fashion to turn out like a servant. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Hire the "Star and Garter" for her, sir. Send down to the + "Castle;" anything to get rid of her. I'll tell her maid to pack her + traps. Pinhorn! [Beckons maid and gives orders.] + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—You had better go at once, my dear Lady Kicklebury. + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Sir! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—THE OTHER MOTHER-IN-LAW IS COMING! I met her on the road + with all her family. He! he! he! [Screams.] + </p> + <p> + Enter Mrs. PRIOR and Children. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—My lady! I hope your ladyship is quite well! Dear, kind Mrs. + Bonnington! I came to pay my duty to you, ma'am. This is Charlotte, my + lady—the great girl whom your ladyship so kindly promised the gown + for; and this is my little girl, Mrs. Bonnington, ma'am, please; and this + is my Bluecoat boy. Go and speak to dear, kind Mr. Milliken—our best + friend and protector—the son and son-in-law of these dear ladies. + Look, sir! He has brought his copy to show you. [Boy shows copy.] Ain't it + creditable to a boy of his age, Captain Touchit? And my best and most + grateful services to you, sir. Julia, Julia, my dear, where's your cap and + spectacles, you stupid thing? You've let your hair drop down. What! what!—[Begins + to be puzzled.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. B.—Is this collusion, madam? + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Collusion, dear Mrs. Bonnington! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—Or insolence, Mrs. Prior! + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Insolence, your ladyship! What—what is it? what has + happened? What's Julia's hair down for? Ah! you've not sent the poor girl + away? the poor, poor child, and the poor, poor children! + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—That dancing at the "Coburg" has come out, Mrs. Prior. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Not the darling's fault. It was to help her poor father in + prison. It was I who forced her to do it. Oh! don't, don't, dear Lady + Kicklebury, take the bread out of the mouths of these poor orphans! + [Crying.] + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Enough of this, Mrs. Prior: your daughter is not going + away. Julia has promised to stay with me—and—never to leave me—as + governess no longer, but as wife to me. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Is it—is it true, Julia? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Yes, mamma. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Oh! oh! oh! [Flings down her umbrella, kisses JULIA, and + running to MILLIKEN,] My son, my son! Come here, children. Come, Adolphus, + Amelia, Charlotte—kiss your dear brother, children. What, my dears! + How do you do, dears? [to MILLIKEN'S children]. Have they heard the news? + And do you know that my daughter is going to be your mamma? There—there—go + and play with your little uncles and aunts, that's good children! [She + motions off the Children, who retire towards garden. Her manner changes to + one of great patronage and intense satisfaction.] Most hot weather, your + ladyship, I'm sure. Mr. Bonnington, you must find it hot weather for + preachin'! Lor'! there's that little wretch beatin' Adolphus! George, sir! + have done, sir! [Runs to separate them.] How ever shall we make those + children agree, Julia? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—They have been a little spoiled, and I think Mr. Milliken + will send George and Arabella to school, mamma: will you not, Horace? + </p> + <p> + MR. MILLIKEN.—I think school will be the very best thing for them. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—And [Mrs. P. whispers, pointing to her own children] the + blue room, the green room, the rooms old Lady Kick has—plenty of + room for us, my dear! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—No, mamma, I think it will be too large a party,—Mr. + Milliken has often said that he would like to go abroad, and I hope that + now he will be able to make his tour. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—Oh, then! we can live in the house, you know: what's the use + of payin' lodgin', my dear? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—The house is going to be painted. You had best live in your + own house, mamma; and if you want anything, Horace, Mr. Milliken, I am + sure, will make it comfortable for you. He has had too many visitors of + late, and will like a more quiet life, I think. Will you not? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—I shall like a life with YOU, Julia. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Cab, sir, for her ladyship! + </p> + <p> + LADY K.—This instant let me go! Call my people. Clarence, your arm! + Bulkeley, Pinhorn! Mrs. Bonnington, I wish you good-morning! Arabella, + angel! [looks at picture] I leave you. I shall come to you ere long. + [Exit, refusing MILLIKEN's hand, passes up garden, with her servants + following her. MARY and other servants of the house are collected + together, whom Lady K. waves off. Bluecoat boy on wall eating plums. Page, + as she goes, cries, Hurray, hurray! Bluecoat boy cries, Hurray! When Lady + K. is gone, JOHN advances.] + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—I think I heard you say, sir, that it was your intention to go + abroad? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Yes; oh, yes! Are we going abroad, my Julia? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—To settle matters, to have the house painted, and clear + [pointing to children, mother, &c.] Don't you think it is the best + thing that we can do? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Surely, surely: we are going abroad. Howell, you will come + with us of course, and with your experiences you will make a capital + courier. Won't Howell make a capital courier, Julia? Good honest fellow, + John Howell. Beg your pardon for being so rude to you just now. But my + temper is very hot, very. + </p> + <p> + JOHN [laughing].—You are a Tartar, sir. Such a tyrant! isn't he, + ma'am? + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—Well, no; I don't think you have a very bad temper, Mr. + Milliken, a—Horace. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—You must—take care of him—alone, Miss Prior—Julia—I + mean Mrs. Milliken. Man and boy I've waited on him this fifteen year: with + the exception of that trial at the printing-office, which—which I + won't talk of NOW, madam. I never knew him angry; though many a time I + have known him provoked. I never knew him say a hard word, though + sometimes perhaps we've deserved it. Not often—such a good master as + that is pretty sure of getting a good servant—that is, if a man has + a heart in his bosom; and these things are found both in and out of + livery. Yes, I have been a honest servant to him,—haven't I, Mr. + Milliken? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Indeed, yes, John. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—And so has Mary Barlow. Mary, my dear! [Mary comes forward.] + Will you allow me to introduce you, sir, to the futur' Mrs. Howell?—if + Mr. Bonnington does YOUR little business for you, as I dare say [turning + to Mr. B.], hold gov'nor, you will!—Make it up with your poor son, + Mrs. Bonnington, ma'am. You have took a second 'elpmate, why shouldn't + Master Horace? [to Mrs. B.] He—he wants somebody to help him, and + take care of him, more than you do. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—You never spoke a truer word in your life, Howell. + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—It's my general 'abit, Capting, to indulge in them sort of + statements. A true friend I have been to my master, and a true friend I'll + remain when he's my master no more. + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Why, John, you are not going to leave me? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—It's best, sir, I should go. I—I'm not fit to be a + servant in this house any longer. I wish to sit in my own little home, + with my own little wife by my side. Poor dear! you've no conversation, + Mary, but you're a good little soul. We've saved a hundred pound apiece, + and if we want more, I know who won't grudge it us, a good fellow—a + good master—for whom I've saved many a hundred pound myself, and + will take the "Milliken Arms" at old Pigeoncot—and once a year or + so, at this hanniversary, we will pay our respects to you, sir, and madam. + Perhaps we will bring some children with us, perhaps we will find some + more in this villa. Bless 'em beforehand! Good-by, sir, and madam—come + away, Mary! [going]. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P. [entering with clothes, &c.]—She has not left a single + thing in her room. Amelia, come here! this cloak will do capital for you, + and this—this garment is the very thing for Adolphus. Oh, John! eh, + Howell! will you please to see that my children have something to eat, + immediately! The Milliken children, I suppose, have dined already? + </p> + <p> + JOHN.—Yes, ma'am; certainly, ma'am. + </p> + <p> + MRS. P.—I see he is inclined to be civil to me NOW! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—John Howell is about to leave us, mamma. He is engaged to + Mary Barlow, and when we go away, he is going to set up housekeeping for + himself. Good-by, and thank you, John Howell [gives her hand to JOHN, but + with great reserve of manner]. You have been a kind and true friend to us—if + ever we can serve you, count upon us—may he not, Mr. Milliken? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Always, always. + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—But you will still wait upon us—upon Mr. Milliken, for + a day or two, won't you, John, until we—until Mr. Milliken has found + some one to replace you. He will never find any one more honest than you, + and good, kind little Mary. Thank you, Mary, for your goodness to the poor + governess. + </p> + <p> + MARY.—Oh miss! oh mum! [Miss P. kisses Mary patronizingly]. + </p> + <p> + MISS P. [to JOHN].—And after they have had some refreshment, get a + cab for my brothers and sister, if you please, John. Don't you think that + will be best, my—my dear? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Of course, of course, dear Julia! + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—And, Captain Touchit, you will stay, I hope, and dine with + Mr. Milliken? And, Mrs. Bonnington, if you will receive as a daughter one + who has always had a sincere regard for you, I think you will aid in + making your son happy, as I promise you with all my heart and all my life + to endeavor to do. [Miss P. and M. go up to Mrs. BONNINGTON.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. BONNINGTON.—Well, there, then, since it must be so, bless you, + my children. + </p> + <p> + TOUCHIT.—Spoken like a sensible woman! And now, as I do not wish to + interrupt this felicity, I will go and dine at the "Star and Garter." + </p> + <p> + MISS P.—My dear Captain Touchit, not for worlds! Don't you know I + mustn't be alone with Mr. Milliken until—until—? + </p> + <p> + MILLIKEN.—Until I am made the happiest man alive! and you will come + down and see us often, Touchit, won't you? And we hope to see our friends + here often. And we will have a little life and spirit and gayety in the + place. Oh, mother! oh, George! oh, Julia! what a comfort it is to me to + think that I am released from the tyranny of that terrible mother-in-law! + </p> + <p> + MRS. PRIOR.—Come in to your teas, children. Come this moment, I say. + [The Children pass quarrelling behind the characters, Mrs. PRIOR summoning + them; JOHN and MARY standing on each side of the dining-room door, as the + curtain falls.] + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wolves and the Lamb, by +William Makepeace Thackeray + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB *** + +***** This file should be named 2797-h.htm or 2797-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/9/2797/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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