BETTER NEVER THAN LATE:

A DRAMATIC SKETCH.

OLD HUNKSLEY.

Characters.

MRS. WHIMPERLY,his Housekeeper.

AUGUSTUS GRIPPER, his Nephew. GABBLEBORE, an Attorney.

Scene: MR. HUNKSLEY'S Bed-room. HUNKSLEY in bed, and sleeping. GRIPPER and MRS. WHIMPERLY seated at the bedside. They come forward.

Grip. What think you of my poor dear uncle now, Mrs. Whimperly?

Mrs. W. That he'll not live through the night, Mr. Gripper, notwithstanding all Mr. Humbugpuff, whom you called in to attend him, says to the contrary.

Grip. Dr. Homeopath, you would say, Mrs. Whimperly.

Mrs. W. Well, well, Sir; Humbugpuff or Homopuff, 'tis all one: you know who it is I mean. I'm sure that what he prescribes for poor Mr. Hunksley is enough to kill a horse.

Grip. How, Mrs. Whimperly!

Mrs. W. Why, by starvation, Sir. A tea-cup full of chicken-broth, made of the leg of a chicken boiled in three gallons of water till it is reduced to a quart! Pretty nourishment, truly! And, then, for medicine! The three-million-two-hundred-and-thirteen-thousandth part of a grain of magnesia perfectly dissolved in two gallons of distilled water-one pint of that to be boiled down to a quarter-and five drops of that to be given to the patient in a tea spoonfull of skimmed milk! Why, Sir, you couldn't cure a giant with such stuff as that; much less your poor uncle, who, to my humble thinking, wants something a leetle strong at least, only just to keep soul and body together.

Grip. You don't understand the principle of the system: like a pretty woman, its strength is in its weakness.

Mrs. W. That may be all very fine, Sir; but I can tell Dr. Humbugpuff

Grip. Homeopath, if you please, Mrs. Whimperly.

Mrs. W. Well; Homopuff, since you are so particular about it. I say, I can tell him I have tried his system, and it won't do. After sitting up three nights together, I thought a glass of good comfortable punch would do me good. So I took a large rummer of water, put into it one tiny lump of sugar, a slight idea of lemon, six drops of rum and six of brandy. But, Lord! it wasn't fit to drink; so I threw it away and tried again-still keeping to his system. Now, as I hope to be saved, Sir, what I tell you is true: the less rum and brandy I put into it, the weaker was the punch! So I made a good jorum, just as my poor, dear, departed husband used to make it for me, and I was all the better for it.

Grip. As to punch, Mrs. Whimperly, why-that is neither here nor there. But the basis of the doctor's system, which is-in short-a system-is that the less you

Mrs. W. I wish from the bottom of my soul, then, the doctor had

regulated his visits according to his system; for certain I am that the less my poor master had seen of him the better he would have been for it.

Grip. Well, well, my good Mrs. Whimperly; I'm sure you will bear witness that, in dismissing the hum-drum, old-routine doctor, Doctor Steadyman, and calling in the ingenious and fashionable Doctor Homeopath, I did what I thought was best for my poor uncle.

Mrs. W. I'll bear witness I have often heard you say so, Mr. Gripper. But Doctor Steadyman was curing him, and

Grip. Aye; but too fast, Mrs. Whimperly as Doctor Homeopath says, faster than his constitution could bear it.

Mrs. W. May be, Sir, may be: but I'm certain his constitution doesn't bear killing half so well.

Grip. Ah! I wish his undutiful son, my cousin, had been where he ought to have been; and then this painful responsibility had not devolved upon me.

Mrs. W. Poor young master! poor Captain Hunksley! To be sure it was very wrong of him to go into the army against his father's commands. Being an only child, too! his father a widower, and

Grip. And I his nearest living relative. I-I say, my dear Mrs. Whimperly; you have often heard the poor old gentleman declare his determination to disinherit the captain-to cut him off with a shilling. Mrs. W. In his anger, Sir, often.

Grip. And-and-yes, I am sure, too, you have as often heard him say that he intended to give me the bulk of his property-that is to say, reserving a portion for you, whose attention to him, for so many years, well deserves such a reward.

Mrs. W. Often, aye, very often

Grip, Good Mrs. Whimperly.

Mrs. W. Very often indeed, I may say, when he has lamented that his son was not at his bedside, where you were, he has said that he should remember you for all your goodness to him. As for myself, Sir, what I have done I have been paid for; and should I be considered worthy of any little remembrance beyond that, his son, the dear, dear captain, will not be unmindful of me.

Grip. "Tis strange that, till last night, the old gentleman could never be prevailed upon to make a will.

Mrs. W. Why, Sir, 'tis a heart-breaking thing, after all, to disinherit an only child; and since it is his fixed determination to do so as you say he has often declared to you, in private, that it is- -a will he must make, or the captain must inherit. At least so I am told, Sir. Grip. 'Tis but too-I say, that's true, Mrs. Whimperly. (Looking at his watch.) 'Tis past the time I appointed the attorney to be here. Mrs. W. Have you called in an attorney of your own, as well as a doctor, Mr. Gripper?

Grip. No-no; last night, when I succeeded in obtaining from Mr. Hunksley his consent to make his will, he insisted that it should be drawn by none but his own attorney, that chattering old twaddle, Mr. Gabblebore.

Mrs. W. (aside). Well, that's some comfort. He will take care that the captain shall not be left quite destitute, at any rate. Poor dear young gentleman! So good, so kind, so everything which even the hardest father could desire, save that one act of disobedience.

Hunksley. (wakes, and speaks in a faint voice.) My son-Charles -you are there-come to me.

Grip. (approaching the bedside.) My dear uncle-bethink yourself -he is away-far away. 'Tis I who am at your side: your nephew, Augustus Gripper.

Hunks. True, my dear boy-I-I did but dream.-Quick-where is Gabblebore? I feel I am sinking fast.

Grip. (to Mrs. WHIMPERLY.) Haste-haste-not a moment is to be lost-send for him.

Mrs. W. The doctor, Sir?

Grip. Confusion! No! the attorney.-Hark! A knock! (looking out at window.) 'Tis he. (Draws a table to the bedside, and hastily arranges materials for writing.)

Enter GABBLEBORE. Throughout the scene he is exceedingly deliberate both in speech and action.

Gab. Mrs. Whimperly, how do you do? Mr. Gripper, how do you do? And how is my good old friend, Mr. Hunksley?

Grip. At the point of death, I fear. You are much past the time appointed, Sir. You are late-a few minutes longer and you might

have been too late.

Gab. "Better late than never," my young friend; "better late than never." I'll tell you a curious little anecdote in illustration of that fine old proverb. About thirty years ago-ah! me; it is nearer thirty-five! -I was sent for to make the will of old Ozias Bottleby-Ozias? No -let me see it was Humphr-No; it was Ozias; and I recollect it by a curious little circumstance. I

Grip. (impatiently.) Pray, Sir, take your seat and proceed to busi

ness.

Gab. Ah! To draw the will of my poor old friend, (approaches the bedside and takes his seat.) Well, my old friend Hunksley; how do you find yourself?

Hunks. (faintly.) Badly-badly.

Gab. Perhaps you don't feel strong enough to go through this little affair now? I'll come again to-morrow-or next day—when you may be a little better.

Grip. (in a whisper to GABBLEBORE.) Are you mad? To-morrow! Why, he can't live an hour.

Well-now.

Gab. Ah! me!-Ah! me! I fear indeed it is so. (takes out his spectacles and holds them up to the light.) My good Mrs. Whimperly, have you such a thing about you as a little bit of wash-leather, just to wipe my spectacles with? I generally carry a bit in my pocket, about the size of a crown-piece, or so; but to-day I have left it at home. It makes good the old saying, Mrs. Whimperly, that "when the

. Grip. (snatches the spectacles from him, and, having wiped them, returns them.) There, Sir, there. Now for the will, or we may be too late.

. Gab. "Better late than never," as I said before. And that reminds You

me of what I was going to tell you about poor Ozias Bottleby.

must know that

Grip. Will you proceed with your work, Sir, or shall I send for some other attorney?

Gab. Don't be impatient, young gentleman: all in good time. However; business first-pleasure afterwards. (Having carefully mended a pen, and arranged his papers, he turns towards HUNKSLEY.) Now, my good friend, we'll to it. Pity you didn't follow my advice and make your will when you were in health; in which case you wouldn't have been at the trouble of doing it now. But it was so with his father before him, Mr. Gripper: the very thought of will-making would frighten him out of his wits. My poor departed father used to say, "The lawyer before the doctor, or the coffin-maker may take first turn :" meaning thereby, Mr. Gripper, that-(At a sign of impatience from GRIPPER.) Aye-true-to business. (He reads as he writes.)—“I——”

Grip. (aside.) At length he is at his work.

Gab. Plague on it! there's a hair in my pen. Did you ever see such an I as it has made me make, Mr. Gripper?-We'll begin again.—“ I, Timothy." Apropos to that, my dear friend; have you any news lately of your son, Charles ?

Grip. (aside.) Confusion to the old dotard!

Hunks. (faintly.) Don't mention him-don't mention him.

Grip. (to GABBLEBORE.) Mark that, Mr. Gabblebore, mark that. Hunks. My nephew, there he has been as a son to me.

Grip. And mark that too.

Gab. Aye; you have been kind to your uncle, Mr. Gripper. That reminds me of poor Munden. You are too young to remember much of him. When he was down in these parts he used to act Nip-NipIt was Nip-something. Let me see-Nipwhistle ?-no-Nipskin ?— No-Nip-Nipperkin? Aye, Nipperkin; that was it. (During this speech GRIPPER walks about the room, and exhibits signs of extreme impatience.) Well; I remember his manner of saying-" Be kind to your uncle, and lend me your coat," used to set the house in a roar of laughter. Since his time I have seen

Grip. Mr. Gabblebore-Mr. Gabblebore-don't you perceive that the old man is sinking fast? Be quick, or all will be over.

Gab. True; true. Now, then.

Grip. (aside.) At last.

Gab. (writes.) "I, Timothy Ephraim-" (To HUNKSLEY.) What are you shaking your head at, my dear friend?

Hunk. (faintly.) Timothy Hezekiah.

Gab. Aye, so it is, so it is. Ephraim was his father's name. I'll begin it all over again. (Takes a fresh sheet of paper and writes ; reading at the same time. I, Timothy Hezekiah Hunksley, being of sound mind, do-" (Turns to GRIPPER.) You can't remember his father. I do. He used to wear a tail-wig, without powder-an uncommon thing in those days. Well; I being a boy at that time, full of fun and frolic," Tim," says I, to my poor friend here (who was a boy too, of about my age, or, it might be, a year older), "Tim," says I, "let us get a bit of packthread and tie it to your father's tail,—whilst he's asleep." For I ought to have told you that he was taking his afternoon's nap in his easy chair.-You ought to remember that chair, Mrs. Whimperly. It was the black leather chair with a high back, which he

Mrs. W. This is no time to think of such trifles, Sir.

Gab. Well, perhaps not; yet one can't control one's memory, you know.

Grip. (aside.) The chattering old blockhead will kill me with impatience and anxiety.

Gab. Now, then, to do it, and have done with it: I can finish my story afterwards. Now, let me see. Aye-here we are―(reads)— "being of sound mind, do-" (Looking at HUNKSLEY.) Bless my soul! As he lies there he looks the very image of poor Ozias Bottleby. I was called in to make his will, too; and he was exactly-that is to say, not exactly, but nearly, pretty nearly, in the same state as my poor friend here. It is a curious little anecdote, Mr. Gripper, and I must tell it you. (He lays down his pen, deliberately takes off his spectacles, and, throwing his arms over the back of the chair, turns towards GRIPPER.) As I was saying, I was called in to make his will. There was no time to spare, for he was in a very bad state-very-bad-indeed. It was his intention, as I had been told by some of his family, to disinherit his only son-listen to this, my dear Hunksley, for it is a very curious little anecdote-and leave the whole of his fortune, Mr. Gripper, amongst nephews, and nieces, and cousins ten times removed. By-the-by, I knew his son quite a boy. I can fancy I see him now, running about in his sky-blue jacket with sugar-loaf buttons, and nankeen trowsers. Years afterwards he went to Barbadoes-Barbadoes? No-no-St. Kitts ?—yes, St. Kitts-where he died of the yellow fever. Grip. (aside, and in an agony of impatience.) May fevers of all the colours of the rainbow scorch him!

Gab. Well;-finding poor Bottleby very low, I thought to raise his spirits for the task-not a very lively one at the best of times-by telling him a droll story about a hard-trotting roan-bay?—bay ?—roan ?— no;-a hard-trotting little bay mare of mine-it was a bay marewhich, as I was riding her over a ploughed field, to visit a client of mine who lived in the next village, somehow or other she got her fore legs into a sort of--Well, Mr. Gripper; I had got just so far in my story when, looking at poor Ozias, what do you think? It was all over with him! He had gone out like the snuff of a candle; and not only did he die intestate, but without hearing the point of my story-the only good thing in it. The consequence was, that his son inherited the whole of his fortune, and the cormorants of relations were all disappointed.-Come-now to business. (He writes.) "Imprimis, I will and bequeath to-" (He waits for a reply.) Well?" I will and bequeath to " Eh!-What!-Hunksley, my dear friend!-Why!— Bless my soul!-Mrs. Whimperly!-Mr. Gripper!

Mrs. W. O dear! O dear! He's gone! My poor old master's gone! Grip. Gone!-Then I am ruined!

Gab. Bless my soul! This is extraordinary! The oddest-coincidence I ever met with in all my life. The case, to a tittle, of poor Ozias Bottleby!

Grip. (rushing off.) I'm ruined, ruined, ruined! Plagues light on him and his "Better late than never."

Mrs. W. (weeping.) Well, well; since the poor old gentleman was to die, 'tis better as it is. Through your delays, Mr. Gabblebore, my dear, good young master will come to his own; so, in this case, BETTER NEVER THAN LATE, say I.

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