Olla Podrida Part 23

_Capt. Mer._ I take it for granted, from your report of your father, and my knowledge (_bowing_) of the offspring, that she must be equally amiable.

_Capt. Eth._ Had she been so, I should not have been silent; but as I have no secrets from you, I must say, she is not the--the very paragon of perfection.

_Capt. Mer._ I am sorry for it.

_Capt. Eth._ My father, disgusted with the matrimonial traps that were set for the post-captain, and baronet of ten thousand a year, resolved, as he imagined wisely, to marry a woman in inferior life; who, having no pretensions of her own, would be humble and domestic. He chose one of his tenant's daughters, who was demure to an excess. The soft paw of the cat conceals her talons. My mother turned out the very antipodes of his expectations.

_Capt. Mer._ Hum!

_Capt. Eth._ Without any advantages, excepting her alliance with my father, and a tolerable share of rural beauty, she is as proud as if descended from the house of Hapsburg--insults her equals, tramples on her inferiors, and--what is worse than all--treats my father very ill.

_Capt. Mer._ Treats him ill! what! he that was such a martinet, such a disciplinarian on board! She does not beat him?

_Capt. Eth._ No, not exactly; but so completely has she gained the upper hand, that the Admiral is as subdued as a dancing bear, obeying her orders with a growl, but still obeying them. At her command he goads himself into a pa.s.sion with whomsoever she may point as the object of his violence.

_Capt. Mer._ How completely she must have mastered him! How can he submit to it?

_Capt. Eth._ Habit, my dear Mertoun, reconciles us too much; and he, at whose frown hundreds of gallant fellows trembled, is now afraid to meet the eye of a woman. To avoid anger with her, he affects anger with every one else. This I mention to you, that you may guide your conduct towards her. Aware of your partiality to my sister, it may be as well----

_Capt. Mer._ To hold the candle to the devil, you mean. Your pardon, Etheridge, for the grossness of the proverb.

_Capt. Eth._ No apology, my dear fellow. Hold the candle when you will, it will not burn before a saint, and that's the truth. Follow my advice, and I will insure you success. I only wish that my amatory concerns had so promising an appearance.

_Capt. Mer._ Why, I never knew that you were stricken.

_Capt. Eth._ The fact is, that I am not satisfied with myself; and when I am away from my Circe, I strive all I can to drive her from my memory.

By change of scene, absence, and occupation, I contrive to forget her indifferent well. Add to all this, I have not committed myself by word or deed. I have now been three years in this way; but the moment I find myself within two miles of my fair one, as the towers of my home rise upon my sight, so rises the pa.s.sion in my bosom; and what I supposed I had reasoned away to a mere dwarfish penchant, becomes at once a mighty sentiment.

_Capt. Mer._ That looks very like attachment. Three years, did you say?

My dear brother in affliction, make me your confident.

_Capt. Eth._ I intended to do so, or I should not have originated the subject. My father brought up the daughter of our steward, Bargrove, with my sister Agnes. I have therefore known Lucy from her infancy; and ought I to be ashamed to say, how much I am in love with her?

_Capt. Mer._ Etheridge, this is a point on which, I am afraid, my advice would not be well received.

_Capt. Eth._ Of course you would imply that she must be renounced.

_Capt. Mer._ Most a.s.suredly; that is my opinion on a _prima facie_ view of the case. You have your father's example.

_Capt. Eth._ I have, but still there are many points in my favour.

Bargrove is of a very old, though decayed family. Indeed, much more ancient than our own.

_Capt. Mer._ I grant you, there is one difficulty removed. But still your relative position. He is now your father's steward.

_Capt. Eth._ That is certainly a great obstacle; but on the other hand, she has been really well educated.

_Capt. Mer._ Another point in your favour, I grant.

_Capt. Eth._ With respect to Lucy herself, she is----

_Capt. Mer._ As your father thought your mother--perfection. Recollect, the soft paw of the cat conceals the talons.

_Capt. Eth._ Judge for yourself when you see and converse with her. I presume I am to consider myself blind. At all events, I have decided upon nothing; and have neither, by word or deed, allowed her to suppose an attachment on my part: still it is a source of great anxiety. I almost wish that she were happily married. By-the-bye, my mother hates her.

_Capt. Mer._ That's not in your favour, though it is in hers.

_Capt. Eth._ And my father doats upon her.

_Capt. Mer._ That's in favour of you both.

_Capt. Eth._ Now, you have the whole story, you may advise me as you please: but remember, I still preserve my veto.

_Capt. Mer._ My dear Etheridge, with your permission, I will not advise at all. Your father tried in the same lottery and drew a blank; you may gain the highest prize; but my hopes with your sister render it a most delicate subject for my opinion. Your own sense must guide you.

_Capt. Eth._ Unfortunately it often happens, that when a man takes his feelings for a guide, he walks too fast for good sense to keep pace with him.

_Capt. Mer._ At all events, be not precipitate; and do not advance one step, which, as a man of honour, you may not retrace.

_Capt. Eth._ I will not, if I can help it. But here comes Mr Harness.

_Enter Landlord._

_Land._ The horses are to, Captain Etheridge, and the wheel is in order.

_Capt. Eth._ Come then, Edward, we shall not be long getting over these last eight miles. The boys know me well.

_Capt. Mer._ (_Going out_). Yes, and the length of your purse, I suspect, my dear fellow. (_Exeunt ambo._)

_Scene II._

_A Wood in the back-ground, Gipsies' tents, etc. Gipsies come forward, group themselves, and sing._

The king will have his tax, t.i.thes to parsons fall, For rent the landlord racks, The tenant cheats them all; But the gipsy's claim'd right is more ancient yet, And that right he still gains by the help of his wit.

_Chorus (joining hands)._

Then your hands right and left, see saw,

(_All turn._)

Turn your backs on the church and the law; Search all the world through, From the king on his throne, To the beggar--you'll own There are none like the gipsy crew.

Wherever we rove, We're sure to find home; In field, lane, or grove, Then roam, boys, roam!

'Tis only when walls his poor body surround, That homeless a free roving gipsy is found.

(_Chorus as before._)

[_Exeunt all the gipsies except Nelly, who, with Bill, comes forward; Bill, with a bundle on a pitchfork, over his shoulder. Throws down the bundle, and takes out a turkey._