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.
MARY.--Law, John, whatever do you mean?
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?
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.
JOHN.--Say eye, Mary, not heye [gently].
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.]
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!
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?
Enter Lady KICKLEBURY, BULKELEY following with parcels and a spaniel.
LADY K.--Are the children and the governess come home?
JOHN.--Yes, my lady [in a perfectly altered tone].
LADY K.--Bulkeley, take those parcels to my sitting-room.
JOHN.--Get up, old stoopid. Push along, old daddylonglegs [aside to
BULKELEY].
LADY K.--Does any one dine here to-day, Howell?
JOHN.--Captain Touchit, my lady.
LADY K.--He's always dining here.
JOHN.--My master's oldest friend.
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.]
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.]
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.
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?
MILLIKEN.--But, sir, why didn't the carriage come, I say?
JOHN.--YOU know.
MILLIKEN.--How do you mean I know? confound your impudence!
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.
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?