Lord Derby. Do you find my house pleasant? Yes. Lord Derby. bread. Huntingdon. Behind your back, out of res pect for you, I would say nothing. Lord Derby. I have often been complimented Willingly, if I can earn my in London, on account of my taste for paintings. Huntingdon. It is very possible that you Lord Derby. You might do that very easily { may have been complimented. if you were not so obstinate. Lord Derby. My park does not please you? Lord Derby. are silent? Huntingdon. Lord Derby. my park. I have not said so. But it is so, nevertheless? You Yes, my lord. I wish to hear your opinion of Huntingdon. It is quite pretty. Lord Derby. Quite pretty? Do you call rugged rocks on the sea shore, pretty! Huntingdon. Nature in this island, is majestical; but you have crowded upon it so many Huntingdon. Should I dare to make any pretensions to the name of an artist if I were in-embellishments, in the way of little houses and different about what I painted? Lord Derby. An artist must frequently accommodate himself to the tastes of people, who can pay. Huntingdon. ger of starving. You are proud. No, my lord. temples, that it reminds me of the pillars of St. Peter's church, which lose their quiet sublimity in consequence of the petty decorations by which they are covered. Lord Derby. (Aside.) Spoken from his soul. Or else he stands in great dan- (Aloud.) "But a desire to embellish is natural to Better starve. men. Huntingdon. The desire, but rarely the art; Bravo! (Aloud.) and those often excel most, in this respect, who make as few additions, as possible to nature. Yes, my lord. Huntingdon. The place upon which we stand is often more worthy than that we struggle to attain. Lord Derby. (Aside.) Right! (Aloud.) I perceive, very plainly, that I have not succeeded in gaining your esteem. Huntingdon. O, yes, my lord, fully. How unjust should I be, if my respect were to depend upon the degree of taste you display for my art. It is only necessary to visit your villages, to see Lord Derby. It is said that a little pliancy the prosperity of your tenants, and to hear your becomes your condition. name blessed by a thousand tongues, to esteem Huntingdon. Rectitude most becomes an artist. and honor you as you deserve. Lord Derby. And your youth. We will no longer dispute about the matter. You will, perhaps, discover in the You find my gallery of paint-end that I understand something about it. At Yes, my lord. Not an original in the collec present I wish to keep you here. I want a landscape by you, painted from nature. Huntingdon. An employment which I will undertake with pleasure. The island is full of fine views. I have already sketched several, amongst which you may take your choice. Lord Derby. No, no. There is a particular view I have a great desire to possess--it is above us there, on the hill, where the pyramid stands. Huntingdon. I have often gone by the spot. but never perceived any striking beauty about the place. Lord Derby. (Aside.) I am very well satis. fied of that. Huntingdon. But I will go there immediately. Lord Derby. There is no hurry; I wish you, first, to copy the portrait of my daughter. Huntingdon. (Starting.) Are you not satisfied with the original? Lord Derby. Oh, yes, perfectly; and it is just for that reason I wish to keep it. (Observing { Huntingdon, sharply.) My daughter will soon marry, and her bridegroom would, doubtless, like to possess a copy. Huntingdon. I beg that you will excuse me, for declining to perform this task, Why then will you not copy into his daughter's heart. Huntingdon. to him too often. Huntingdon. Pardon me, my lord. I hasten to the pyramid. Lord Derby. (Aside.) Many a father would wish, at such a moment as this, to be able to see I do not. I know, however, that she will open it to me.-Well, Evelina, what is the result of your self-examination? Evelina. I am not able to decide at once, fully--but it seems to me as if I should not marry. willingly. Evelina. When another comes I will examine myself, again. Lord Derby. Perhaps, when in Edinburgh. Well, as you please--but I beg you made a choice yourself. that you will paint con amore, only. ⚫ Huntingdon. (Sighing in spite of himself.) Evelina. If I had done so, I should have told you of it at once. Lord Derby. Or, you may have seen, somewhere, a man who appears to you worthy of your preference? to me more worthy than all others. The Evelina. Oh, no--that is not becoming. Lord Derby. How do you feel when he ap- taken, is a very unfavorable one. pears? Evelina. Very well. Lord Derby. Does your heart throb? Lord Derby. Evelina. Yes, at first. I cannot understand why it should have been selected. Evelina. That is possible, for you see every thing with the eye of art, only, and ask nothing farther than: "How will this look on canvas ?" And when he looks you in the Who knows what reminiscence attaches my father face, do you blush? Evelina. Almost, I believe. Lord Derby. Does he look tenderly at you? Evelina. I do not know. I always cast down my eyes? Lord Derby. trait? Evelina. But when he painted your por Yes, then I certainly could not cast my eyes down. Lord Derby. Evelina. Lord Derby. love? Evelina. you, if he had. Lord Derby. to this place? What would you say, I wonder, if I were to beg you to paint my favorite spot? Huntingdon. (Hastily.) Where is it? Evelina. Ha ha ha! In our poultry yard, under the locust bushes. Huntingdon. I have never seen you there. Evelina. I go there very rarely, now; but, when I do go, I experience half joyful half sorrowful feelings, for, as a child, I loved it better That caused you to feel agitated. than any other place. Heaven knows why! Huntingdon. Are you less happy, now, than Has he never spoken to you of formerly? Certainly not-I should have told Listen, Evelina; I will disclose You love the young painter. Really! That would be dread a secret to you: Evelina. ful. Lord Derby. It may possibly pass away. At present receive baronet Oldcastle. He pleased you in Edinburgh and you may still find him agreeable. He belongs to one of the first families, and it would not be unpleasant to play a first part in the Capitol. Think of this-we will talk more about it hereafter. (Exit.) Evelina. So, it was love? Was I not a child to be so much frightened at it-it is a pleasant peaceful feeling. My father thinks it will soon pass away?—I should be sorry for that. Can the baronet please me, again? possibly--but I doubt it. And what he said of the part which I should play in the Capitol, cannot be, I know; for I was there a few weeks, only, and the people laughed in my face, and called me the queer little islander, because I spoke out all I thought;-how then could I play a part there, my life long? There comes Mr. Huntingdon. Now will I observe, closely, whether or not I love him. Heart throbs? Yes, there they are again. (Enter HUNTINGDON.) Huntingdon. Pardon me, miss, I expected to find your father, here. Evelina. For what shall I pardon you? Huntingdon. For my hasty entrance. disturbed your reflections. Evelina. Perhaps so. I had then a mother -a very good mother. Huntingdon. It seems to me that the unbounded love of your father is a substitute for her loss. Evelina. A mother can never be replaced. I love my father, unspeakably, yet he is a being out of me. My mother did not seem to be so. I have often contended with her that she has heard me say what, upon reflection, I remembered to have passed in the stillness of my mind. only. But she was ever present in my thoughts. Huntingdon. (Aside.) What childlike purity! Evelina. (Drying a tear.) But she died two years ago. Huntingdon, Banish this sad reminiscence. Evelina. Oh, no, I do not wish that--I love to speak of her, and I cannot mention her to my father. Huntingdon. The name escaped me, una wares. Evelina. My name is Evelina. Huntingdon. But it is not proper that I should so call you. Evelina. You did not mean any harm. Huntingdon. I would shed my blood for you! Evelina. I wish you were my brother. Huntingdon. (Aside.) Where shall I look for strength I forget myself-I must remain here no longer. Evelina. There comes some one up the avenue. It must certainly be the baronet, who desires to become my husband.-Yes, yes, it is he. Huntingdon. Your husband? Evelina. That is, if he pleases me. Huntingdon. Do you already know him? Evelina. Oh, yes; I danced with him in Edinburgh. Huntingdon. him? Evelina. of Albemarle would give me no peace I must dance. I was dragged unwillingly upon the floor. But I danced, no longer, with those lightly tripping feet, which had the good fortune to excite your admiration, and into which, when I had your lovely hand, my whole soul appeared to have descended; they were heavy machines, no longer blessed by your heavenly glances. Evelina. Ha ha ha ha! ha! Baronet Oldcastle. You laugh? A happy omen. Yes, fair lady, I have come in order to find, again, my lost happiness. I have torn the And were you pleased with flowery fetters of our ladies, dashed into the Tolerably well. Huntingdon. Then there is no doubtEvelina. With your permission, there is, still, great doubt. Huntingdon. (Aside.) Fool that I am; how does it concern me. (Aloud.) Oh, may you be happy! waves, clambered over the rocks, and here I am. Evelina. I fear that you will find no indemnification, here. Baronet Oldcastle. Fear nothing-love can accomplish much. We will pluck flowers, gather herbs, tend sheep-yes, we will transplant Arcadia to this island, until winter shakes his snowcovered head-then will we repair to the proud Edinburgh, which has lost, in you, its most pre Evelina. Do you wish so? my own happiness. Evelina. Pardon the poor islander, baronet Evelina. (Tenderly.) Thank you, dear Hun- Oldcastle, who knows not how to reply to all tingdon. these beautiful things. We live here in perfect no longer simplicity of word and action Huntingdon. (Aside.) I am master of myself. (Enter BARONET OLDCASTLE and HANNAH.) Baronet Oldcastle. There she is, the beautiful creature, about whom the whole town of Edinburgh is talking and dreaming. I come, miss, to bring you the homage of the whole Capitol, and, above all, my own. My Evelina. You are welcome, baronet. father will be here, presently--he bade me receive you. Baronet Oldcastle. He has done well, very well. This paradise is rendered doubly charming, since the door is opened by an angel. How have you been, fair miss, since you tore your charms from the great world, and buried yourself in this melancholy desert? Evelina. I thought you just now called this melancholy desert a paradise. Huntingdon. But this simplicity is so noble, so charming. Baronet Oldcastle. (Who, for the first time, becomes aware of HUNTINGDON's presence.) Who is this individual? Evelina. It is Mr. Huntingdon, a painter, from London. Baronet Oldcastle. Ah, indeed! I am delighted to hear it. I am, myself, a connoisseur. In Edinburgh, I sometimes invite artists to dine with me- —(with a patrontzing air.) When you come there (HUNTINGDON bows.) Hannah. (Pulling the BARONET's sleeve and drawing him aside.) Will your honor permit me to have a word with you? Baronet Oldcastle. What do you wish, my child? Baronet Oldcastle. By your presence it has been changed to one; as Titania created a charming valley between two naked rocks. But the capi-with this eccentric being. tol, miss, the court, the world, have claims upon you. Hannah. I see the old lord coming-has Ralph told you how you must conduct yourself Evelina. Of what nature? Baronet Oldcastle. Such claims as a crown has upon the most precious jewels. You fled, and our brilliant circle became sad,—particularly your slave whom you left fettered behind you. Would you believe it? Since that time, I have danced but twice-but twice, upon my soul; and both times against my will. The young duchess Baronet Oldcastle. Yes--he has said something about a number of peculiarities. Hannah. No flattery, for heaven's sake. Baronet Oldcastle. I thank you, my good child, for your advice, but you know nothing about the matter. There is no man living, upon earth, who, at heart, hates flattery, if it is only accommodated to his taste; and I understand how to dish it up for this occasion. Hannah. He is crafty. I am afraid I Baronet Oldcastle. I should not feel disposed to thank my friends, if they have flattered me. present myself as I am-I do not desire to appear better than I am,-here, least of all. Lord Derby. No where, no where, baronet. Baronet Oldcastle. You are perfectly right, sir-no where should we attempt to appear better than we are. No man on earth is free from faults, and yet we would all like to appear spotless in the eyes of those whose love we are seeking. Lord Derby. True. Baronet Oldcastle. But we should, immediately, set about unveiling ourselves. Lord Derby. We should never be veiled. Baronet Oldcastle. Perfectly right, your lord- } ship-and no where is deception more criminal than in love and friendship. Lord Derby. (Asile.) He pleases me. Baronet Oldcastle. Therefore, my lord, permit me to begin our intercourse in a strange manner-by making known to you, immediately, my faults. Lord Derby. O, yes, I know that such shameless things are common. ears. Baronet Oldcastle. Think, my lord, of what an effect such a state of things must produce upon an honorable minded man. Wherever he turns he sees people standing with their fingers in their He may scream but the world is deaf. Lord Derby. (Aside.) He does please me! Baronet Oldcastle. I might, long ago, have been minister. A sinecure of three thousand pounds was offered me if I would leave parliament; but, curse me, if I would do it. Lord Derby. That was very worthy. Baronet Oldcastle. I know very well that a man makes enemies, and does not increase his prosperity by such a course of conduct. Lord Derby. Not? Baronet Oldcastle. A man quarrels with nous. Lord Derby. Would you like to take a walk, in the park, before dinner? Baronet Oldcastle. I am at your disposal. the truth Yes, my lord; but to confess Oh, let us, by all means, visit the place. I have a taste for landscape; with regard either to nature or art, indeed, I am perfectly at home. Lord Derby. Ah! I will show you my galof paintings, then. Baronet Oldcastle. Paintings? Bravo! I know how to prize them. But I forewarn you, sir, that I am a severe critic. Lord Derby. He who knows and acknow-lery ledges his faults, is in a fair way of correcting them. Baronet Oldcastle. There is one amongst them, however, with which I am daily reproached, and which I find it difficult, heaven knows, to subdue my cursed frankness. : Lord Derby. Cursed frankness? He does not please me. Lord Derby. So much the better. Baronet Oldcastle. (To EVELINA.) Charm(Aside.) ing lady, I must take my eyes away, but my heart I leave with you. Baronet Oldcastle Oh, my lord, if you only knew how much I have suffered on account of it! la these times no one will hear the truth. One calls it foolishness; another, criminal; this one thinks it unseasonable, because it does not pro-with the heart which is left behind? mise to fill his purse; that one, regards it as insolence, and becomes angry; a third pronounces it falsehool. Lord Derby. Let us have the pleasure of your company, Mr. Huntingdon. (Exit LORD DERBY, BARONET OLDCASTLE and HUNTINGDON.) Hannah. Well, fair lady, what will you do Evelina. I do not know. Hannah. I think, we will take it in good keeping, and order the wedding clothes. |