Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain;But the son of Alknomook can never complain.
IV.
I go to the land where my father is gone;His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son:
Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain;And thy son, Oh Alknomook! has scorn'd to complain.
There is something in this song which ever calls forth my affections.The manly virtue of courage, that fortitude which steels the heart against the keenest misfortunes, which interweaves the laurel of glory amidst the instruments of torture and death, displays something so noble, so exalted, that in despite of the prejudices of education I cannot but admire it, even in a savage.The prepossession which our sex is supposed to entertain for the character of a soldier is, I know, a standing piece of raillery among the wits.
A cockade, a lapell'd coat, and a feather, they will tell you, are irresistible by a female heart.Let it be so.Who is it that considers the helpless situation of our sex, that does not see that we each moment stand in need of a protector, and that a brave one too?
Formed of the more delicate materials of nature, endowed only with the softer passions, incapable, from our ignorance of the world, to guard against the wiles of mankind, our security for happiness often depends upon their generosity and courage.Alas!
how little of the former do we find! How inconsis-tent! that man should be leagued to destroy that honour upon which solely rests his respect and esteem.Ten thousand temptations allure us, ten thousand passions betray us; yet the smallest deviation from the path of rectitude is followed by the contempt and insult of man, and the more remorseless pity of woman; years of penitence and tears cannot wash away the stain, nor a life of virtue obliterate its remembrance.Reputation is the life of woman; yet courage to protect it is masculine and disgusting;and the only safe asylum a woman of delicacy can find is in the arms of a man of honour.How naturally, then, should we love the brave and the generous; how gratefully should we bless the arm raised for our protection, when nerv'd by virtue and directed by honour! Heaven grant that the man with whom I may be connected--may be connected!
Whither has my imagination transported me--whither does it now lead me? Am I not indissolubly engaged, "by every obligation of honour which my own consent and my father's approbation can give,"to a man who can never share my affections, and whom a few days hence it will be criminal for me to disapprove--to disapprove! would to heaven that were all--to despise.For, can the most frivolous manners, actuated by the most depraved heart, meet, or merit, anything but contempt from every woman of delicacy and sentiment?
[VAN ROUGH without.Mary!]
Ha! my father's voice--Sir!--
[Enter VAN ROUGH.
VAN ROUGH
What, Mary, always singing doleful ditties, and moping over these plaguy books.
MARIA
I hope, Sir, that it is not criminal to improve my mind with books, or to divert my melancholy with singing, at my leisure hours.
VAN ROUGH
Why, I don't know that, child; I don't know that.
They us'd to say, when I was a young man, that if a woman knew how to make a pudding, and to keep herself out of fire and water, she knew enough for a wife.Now, what good have these books done you?
have they not made you melancholy? as you call it.
Pray, what right has a girl of your age to be in the dumps? haven't you everything your heart can wish;an't you going to be married to a young man of great fortune; an't you going to have the quit-rent of twenty miles square?
MARIA
One-hundredth part of the land, and a lease for life of the heart of a man I could love, would satisfy me.
VAN ROUGH
Pho, pho, pho! child; nonsense, downright non-sense, child.This comes of your reading your story-books; your Charles Grandisons, your Sentimental Journals, and your Robinson Crusoes, and such other trumpery.No, no, no! child; it is money makes the mare go; keep your eye upon the main chance, Mary.
MARIA
Marriage, Sir, is, indeed, a very serious affair.
VAN ROUGH
You are right, child; you are right.I am sure Ifound it so, to my cost.
MARIA
I mean, Sir, that as marriage is a portion for life, and so intimately involves our happiness, we cannot be too considerate in the choice of our companion.
VAN ROUGH
Right, child; very right.A young woman should be very sober when she is making her choice, but when she has once made it, as you have done, I don't see why she should not be as merry as a grig; I am sure she has reason enough to be so.Solomon says that "there is a time to laugh, and a time to weep."Now, a time for a young woman to laugh is when she has made sure of a good rich husband.Now, a time to cry, according to you, Mary, is when she is making choice of him; but I should think that a young woman's time to cry was when she despaired of getting one.Why, there was your mother, now: to be sure, when I popp'd the question to her she did look a little silly; but when she had once looked down on her apron-strings, as all modest young women us'd to do, and drawled out ye-s, she was as brisk and as merry as a bee.
MARIA
My honoured mother, Sir, had no motive to mel-ancholy; she married the man of her choice.
VAN ROUGH
The man of her choice! And pray, Mary, an't you going to marry the man of your choice--what trum-pery notion is this? It is these vile books [throwing them away].I'd have you to know, Mary, if you won't make young Van Dumpling the man of your choice, you shall marry him as the man of my choice.
MARIA
You terrify me, Sir.Indeed, Sir, I am all submission.
My will is yours.
VAN ROUGH
Why, that is the way your mother us'd to talk.
"My will is yours, my dear Mr.Van Rough, my will is yours"; but she took special care to have her own way, though, for all that.
MARIA
Do not reflect upon my mother's memory, Sir--VAN ROUGH
Why not, Mary, why not? She kept me from speak-ing my mind all her life, and do you think she shall henpeck me now she is dead too? Come, come;don't go to sniveling; be a good girl, and mind the main chance.I'll see you well settled in the world.
MARIA
