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.
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?
PAGE.--Think it's in Milliken's room.
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.
PAGE.--Well! I didn't know. YOU call him Milliken.
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.]
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.]
JOHN.--It IS like it. [He slaps the book, and seeing MISS PRIOR who
enters, then jumps up from sofa, saying very respectfully,]
JOHN.--I beg your pardon, Miss.
MISS P.--[sarcastically.] Do I disturb you, Howell?
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.
MISS P.--You are very fortunate in finding anything to interest you in
the paper, I'm sure.
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.]
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.]
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.
Enter MARY.
You have a good heart, Mary!