Eliza. No, not exactly. Catharine. Not exactly! but you don't pretend that anybody can ever know anything about religion, any more than to do good, and be honest, and treat everybody as you'd be done by ? Eliza. Why, Catharine Smith! How you do talk! Then you envy everybody else because they know the sciences that you don't, and think there's no religion but being honest and good! Strange mixture, this, of envy and self-righteousness! Catharine. But what do you mean? What do you call me envious for? I guess I know as much about Astronomy as Martha Peabody does; and what I know, I know it better, too! What does she know about a thousand stars? No, I'm not envious; but it is so plaguey silly to pretend such awful learning, when they don't know the common rules of genteel breeding, nor how to act in company! And what better religion can you have than honesty and goodness? Now, the fact is, if you want to go with Charlotte Hapgood, and Martha Peabody, and all them, you can go! I don't envy any of 'em! Then you can have Theology, and Astronomy, and everything else! But, for my part, I like to see folks appear well and honest, and do all the good they can; and that's my opinion of matters! Eliza. But how can a person appear well without knowledge? Catharine. But I s'pose you've read somewhere, “that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing"? Eliza. And so you mean to keep on the safe side? Catharine. And is n't virtue religion? Eliza. Yes, in one sense; but what can your virtue avail, without a knowledge of God, and an attachment to him? Catharine. Well-to be sure, I acknowledge that. Eliza. Well, that is what I advocate the sciences for. Catharine. What! get religion out of the sciences? Eliza. To be sure. Catharine. Well, so far, I agree with you. I thought you was talking about what nobody can understand or describe. Eliza. No, not I. Catharine. You speak, then, of natural religion? Eliza. Yes, and revealed, too. In my view, the Bible is quite as much a help to nature, as nature to the Bible. That very Young, that you've been despising here to-night, says somewhere in his Night Thoughts, "Devotion! daughter of astronomy ! Catharine. Well, now you talk with some sense and reason. Eliza. That is what I always meant to talk. Catharine. Then you would study the sciences to know the source of the sciences; or study nature to know the God of nature? Eliza. That's it, exactly. Catharine. But that is n't Charlotte Hapgood's and Martha Peabody's notion. Eliza. No matter what their notion is. They are foolish girls, I know, in some respects. But my idea is, that knowledge is a ministry to religion, and all religion to virtue; and that a truly religious and virtuous person will always appear well, even if they are not skilled in all senseless accomplishments of the day. They will always be loved, and always respected. Catharine. But then you do think that we ought to know a little about the world? Eliza. What do you mean by the world? Catharine. Why, its fashion and appearances. Eliza. O, yes; but then we should remember that "the fashion of this world passeth away," and that one ounce of sterling piety and virtue is worth a ton of moonshine, empty gentility. Catharine. Well-I declare, I have n't argued this matter in vain. Hapgood and Peabody will say? We agree with you. Eliza. No matter what they say. I have learnt somewhat to despise the opinions of the world; and feel that if we make the best of our own intelligence and virtue, it matters but little what others think. Be this thy care," says the poet, "to stand approved in the sight of God, though worlds judge thee perverse." Catharine. Now let me quote another passage from Shakspeare. "Oh, momentary grace of mortal men ! Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! Who builds himself in air of your fair looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast; Ready, with every nod, to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep." Eliza. Good! And Young says "Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? Catharine. Excellent! Thank Heaven for this meeting! We have arrived at the true philosophy of life. Let us abide by it, and trust all its consequences. Eliza. So shall we spend our lives in peace. Catharine. And go down to the grave in triumph. Eliza. And rise to a world of infinite knowledge and virtue. Catharine. Where the follies of this world never come. THE HATTER AND THE PRINTER. J. M. MORTON. JOHN BOXER, a journeyman printer. SCENE-A room, having several doors opening out of it, and furnished with a side-board, a table, stove, and chairs. [Enter Felter.] attention to a fact Felter. Mr. Bouncer, I wish to call your that has been evident to me for some time past—and that is, my coals go remarkably fast. Mr. Bouncer. Why, Mr. Felter ! Felt. It is not only the case with the coals, Mr. Bouncer, but I have lately observed a gradual and steady increase of evaporation among my candles, wood, sugar, and lucifer matches. Mr. B. Now, Felter! you surely don't suspect me? Mr. Felt. I don't say I do, Mr. B'; only I wish you distinctly to understand, that I don't believe it's the cat. Mr. B. Is there anything else you 've got to grumble about, sir? Felt. Grumble! Mr. Bouncer, do you possess such a thing as a dictionary? Mr. B. No, sir. Felt. Then I'll lend you one; and if you turn to the letter G, you'll find "Grumble, verb neuter - to complain without a cause." Now that's not my case, Mr. B.; and now that we are upon the subject, I wish to know how it is that I frequently find my apartment full of smoke? Mr. B. Why I suppose the chimney that must be it Felt. The chimney does n't smoke tobacco. I'm speaking of tobacco-smoke, Mr. B. How is it that Mr. B. Why-I suppose yes · Felt. At present I am entirely of your opinion — because I have n't the most distant particle of an idea what you mean. Mr. B. Why, the gentleman who has got the attics is hardly ever without a pipe in his mouth and there he sits, with his feet on the mantel-piece Felt. The mantel-piece! That strikes me as being a considerable stretch, either of your imagination, Mr. B., or the gentleman's legs. I presume you mean the fender, or the hob. Mr. B. Sometimes one, sometimes t'other. Well, there he sits for hours, and puffs away into the fire-place. Felt. Ah, then you mean to say that this gentleman's smoke, instead of emulating the example of all other sorts of smoke, and going up the chimney, thinks proper to affect a singularity by taking a contrary direction? Mr. B. Why Felt. Then, I suppose, the gentleman you were speaking of is the same individual that I invariably meet coming up stairs when I'm going down, and going down stairs when I'm coming up? Mr. B. Why-yes Felt. From the appearance of his outward man, I should unhesitatingly set him down as a gentleman connected with the printing interest. Mr. B. Yes, sir-and a very respectable young gentleman he is. Felt. Well, good-morning, Mr. Bouncer! Mr. B. You'll be back at your usual time, I suppose, sir? Felt. Yes-nine o'clock. You need n't light my fire, in future, Mr. B.-I'll do it myself. [Exit.] Mr. B. He's gone at last! I declare I was afraid Mr. Boxer would come in before Mr. Felter went out. Luckily, they 've never met yet-and what's more, they 're not very likely to do so; for Mr. Boxer is hard at work at a newspaper office all night, and does n't come home till the morning; and Mr. Felter is busy making hats all day long, and does n't come home till night; so that I'm getting double rent for my room, and neither of my lodgers are any the wiser for it. It was a capital idea of mine that it was! But I have n't an instant to lose. First of all, let me put Mr. Felter's things out of Mr. Boxer's way. [He removes a dressing-gown and slippers.] I was so dreadfully puzzled to know what to say when Mr. Felter spoke about it! Boxer. [Without Pooh-pooh! Why don't you keep your own side of the stair-case, sir? [Enters, dressed as a printer. Puts his head out at the door again, shouting.] It was as much your fault as mine, sir! I say, sir- it was as much your fault as mine, sir! Mr. B. [Meeting him.] Why, Mr. Boxer, what is the matter? Box. Just attend to your own business, Bouncer! Mr. B. Ah! ah! Mr. Boxer! what a temper you are in, to be sure! I declare you 're quite pale in the face! Box. What color would you have a man be, who has been setting up long leaders for a daily paper all night? Mr. B. But, then, you've all the day to yourself. Box. [Looking significantly at Bouncer.] So it seems! Far be it from me, Bouncer, to hurry your movements, but IMr. B. Ah, Mr. Boxer! [Going.] Box. Stop! Can you inform me who the individual is that I invariably encounter going down stairs when I'm coming up, and coming up stairs when I'm going down? sir Mr. B. [Confused.] Oh- yes — the gentleman in the attic, Box. Oh! There's nothing particularly remarkable about him, except his hats. I meet him in all sorts of hats, so that I have come to the conclusion that he must be individually and professionally associated with the hatting interest. Mr. B. Yes, sir. And, by the bye, Mr. Boxer, he begged me to request of you, as a particular favor, that you would not smoke quite so much. Box. Did he? Then you may tell the gentle hatter, with my compliments, that if he objects to the effluvia of tobacco, he had better domesticate himself in some adjoining parish. Mr. B. Oh, Mr. Boxer! You surely would n't deprive me of a lodger? [Pathetically.] Box. It would come to precisely the same thing, Bouncer; because if I detect the slightest attempt to put my pipe out, I at once give you warning that I shall give you warning at once. Mr. B. Well, Mr. Boxer-do you want anything more of me? Box. On the contrary-I've had quite enough of you! Mr. B. Well, if ever! What next, I wonder? [Goes out.] Box. Now, let me see shall I take my nap before I kindle my fire, or shall I kindle my fire before I take my nap – I mean, shall I take my nap before no-never mind! Now for lighting the fire. Where are my lucifers? [Looking on mantel-piece, and taking a box, opens it.] Now, 'pon my life! this is too bad of Bouncer- this is by several degrees, too bad! |