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THE CONTRAST 
 
/ 
 
 THE 
 
 CONTRAST 
 
 A Comedy 
 In Five ^Bs te? 
 
 By RoYALL Tyler 
 
 With a History of George Washington s Copy by 
 James Benjamin Wilbur 
 
 BOSTON ^ NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 M D C C C^ X X 
 
 Co^ 
 

 COPYKIGHT, 1920, BY JAMKS B, WILBUR 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 1 6^^0 O 
 
 JAN 12 1921 ^ 
 ©CLA604933 ^' 
 
PREFACE 
 
 IN reproducing in a separate volume a play of 
 the eighteenth, in this the twentieth century, 
 the writer feels certain of interesting all students 
 of early American drama and literature, and es- 
 pecially so, since it has been possible to present 
 for the first time, in the Introduction by the 
 granddaughter of Royall Tyler, new and inter- 
 esting information about the author, the play, 
 and the times in which it was written. 
 
 Montrose J. Moses, in his '* Representative 
 Plays,'' says: *' Whether the intrinsic merits of 
 the play would contribute to the amusement of 
 audiences to-day is to be doubted, although it is 
 a striking dramatic curio. The play in the read- 
 ing is scarcely exciting. It is surprisingly devoid 
 of situation. Its chief characteristic is * talk,' but 
 that talk, reflective in its spirit of * The School 
 for Scandal,' is interesting to the social student." 
 
 In those days the reading of the play, if we 
 can judge by the newspapers of the time, proved 
 highly interesting to a large audience in Phila- 
 delphia, where Wignell was unable to give the 
 play on the stage owing to a disagreement with 
 
yi PREFACE 
 
 the principal actors, though we can hardly im- 
 agine many to-day paying for the privilege of 
 hearing a play read, especially one with very lit- 
 tle plot, and little if any dramatic denouement. 
 
 As "The School for Scandal" was in some 
 sense a product of its time, so " The Contrast,'' if 
 read discerningly, throws a very interesting side 
 light on the taste and manners of American soci- 
 ety in 1 787, long before modern plays with their 
 quick action and dialogue and their artistic scen- 
 ery, to say nothing of the breath-taking real- 
 ism of the moving-pictures, had worked their 
 changes in the American theatre. There is no 
 doubt it was a successful play at the time. It is 
 difficult to visualize New York with a popula- 
 tion of about thirty thousand people, yet it was 
 then, as it ever has been, the first city of the North 
 American continent, and to fill its principal 
 theatre with the best people of the city more 
 than once was a strong endorsement for any pro- 
 duction. 
 
 It is said that men of action have always been 
 fond of the theatre ; we know that Washington 
 was, as was Lincoln. And now we approach the 
 second reason for the present reprint of Royall 
 Tyler's play **The Contrast." George Wash- 
 ington, the President of the United States, was 
 
 1 
 
[Facsimile y slightly reduced'^ 
 
 THE 
 
 CONTRAST, 
 
 COMEDY; 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS: 
 WRITTEN BY A 
 
 CITIZEN OF THE l/JV/r£i) STATES; 
 
 Performed with Applaufe at the Theatres in New-York. 
 PiULADELPiiiA, and Maryland; 
 
 AND PUBLISHED ^ under an AJpgHtnent of the Ctpj'.Rig/jtJ b y 
 
 THOMAS WIGNELL. 
 
 ViRCIt. 
 
 Primus ego in patriam 
 Aonio— -deduxi verticc Mufas. 
 
 ffmltated.) 
 
 Firft on our fliores I try Thalia's powers, 
 And bid the laughing, ufeful Maid be ours. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA; 
 
 rgOM TBI rREst Of PRICHARD & HALL, in maikit yTRCtr» 
 
 BtTWCIN tCCOND AND rRONT CTKltTS. 
 N. OfC. XC. 
 
PREFACE vii 
 
 among the first subscribers for the published 
 play, of which he received two copies. He wrote 
 his name in one and placed it in his library. ^ 
 
 Pursuing the further fortunes of this copy of 
 *' The Contrast,'' I begin by quoting from L. E. 
 Chittenden's " Personal Reminiscences, 1840— 
 1890." 
 
 " Many years ago," says Mr. Chittenden, "I 
 began to collect books relating to Vermont 
 printed before 1850. . . . Omitting the pursuit 
 of the numerous pamphlets touching the con- 
 troversy between New York and Vermont, re- 
 lating to the New Hampshire grants, which are 
 now worth more than their weight in silver, as 
 shown by the prices paid for them at the Brin- 
 ley sale, I will come at once to a legend which 
 has ripened into a fact, in the history of the 
 American theatre. The legend was that the first 
 play written by an American author ever rep- 
 resented upon the American stage was written 
 by a Vermonter, named Royal Tyler. He was 
 known to have been a lawyer, a justice of the 
 Vermont Supreme Court, a celebrated wit, a 
 well-known contributor to the * Farmer's Mu- 
 seum,' published at Walpole, New Hampshire, 
 by Isaiah Thomas. Tyler had made an acciden- 
 
 1 See Note on page xviii. 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 tal visit to New York City, where he had formed 
 the acquaintance of Thomas Wignell, a leading 
 comedian, who wished to introduce to the stage 
 the character of Brother Jonathan. Judge Tyler 
 had accordingly written the comedy of ' The 
 Contrast,' in which Brother Jonathan was a 
 principal character. It had been performed with 
 great eclat in New York, Philadelphia, Balti- 
 more, and Washington to crowded houses. It 
 was a part of the legend that the play, under the 
 name of * The Contrast,' had been printed and 
 published in New York City about the year 
 1790. 
 
 '*A play with such a history, written by a 
 Vermonter, would be a veritable nugget in the 
 literature of the Green Mountain State. The 
 title stood at the head of my list of * wants ' for 
 almost twice fifteen years. But the chase for it 
 was never hopeful. No copy of it was ever dis- 
 covered, nor any evidence, except the legend 
 that it had been printed. If it had ever been pub- 
 lished, it must have been in a pamphlet form. 
 Pamphlets are invariably short lived. The re- 
 spect which insures preservation cannot be se- 
 cured without covers. Put covers upon any pam- 
 phlet and it becomes a book, to be protected 
 against the waste basket and the rag bag ; it se- 
 
PREFACE ix 
 
 cures the respect of the house wife and the serv- 
 ant, those peripatetic and most dangerous ene- 
 mies of the treasures of the book collector. 
 
 "In the chase for *The Contrast/ I had em- 
 ployed all the recognized means of getting upon 
 the track of a rare book. I had patiently exam- 
 ined all the auction and sale catalogues for years. 
 I had standing orders for * The Contrast ' with 
 all the booksellers. I had handled many, possi- 
 bly hundreds of cords of the trash in Gowan's 
 and other second-hand dealers, and the result 
 had been nil. Not only had no copy of the play 
 been discovered, but I had not found a particle 
 of evidence that it had ever been printed. 
 
 "The play could scarcely be a century old. 
 If printed, its date could not have been earlier 
 than 1790. Surely a book of a date so recent 
 could not have wholly ceased to exist. I was fi- 
 nally forced to the conclusion that the legend 
 was erroneous, that *The Contrast' had never 
 been printed. 
 
 "This decision of mine was published in some 
 newspapers and came to the knowledge of a lin- 
 eal descendant of Judge Tyler, a reputable citi- 
 zen of Boston. To convince me of my error, he 
 sent me one printedleaf of the play, comprising 
 pages 45 and 46. At the top of each page was 
 
X PREFACE 
 
 the title ' The Contrast/ In the dialogue were 
 the characters * Brother Jonathan ' and ' Jenny ' 
 and the former sang the song ' Yankee Doodle/ 
 These pages settled the fact that the play had 
 been printed. The printing was proved; the dis- 
 appearance of the last printed copy I was com- 
 pelled to regard as impossible to be accounted 
 for by the rules which commonly determine the 
 life of a book. 
 
 "The wheels of time rolled on to the year 
 1876. I had given up all hope of ' The Contrast ' ; 
 the mystery continued unexplained and grew 
 darker with age. One day I received a catalogue 
 entitled * Washingtoniana. Books, rare plans and 
 maps, a part of the library of General George 
 Washington. Many of the books contain his 
 autograph. To be sold in Philadelphia on Tues- 
 day afternoon, November 26th, 1876, by 
 Thomas and Sons, auctioneers.' No. 35 of this 
 catalogue contained this title, *The Contrast, a 
 comedy in 5 acts. Frontispiece. 8vo. Morocco. 
 Philadelphia, 1790. Has autograph.' 
 
 " Was this the ' Contrast ' which I had hunted 
 so long, or some other? It was printed in Phila- 
 delphia, the genuine was supposed to have been 
 printed in New York. Yet the date 1790 was 
 about correct. But why was it in the library of 
 
PREFACE XI 
 
 General George Washington ? This was a very 
 suspicious circumstance, after the forgery of his 
 motto ' Exitus acta probat/ and his book plate, 
 which was imposed upon so many collectors. 
 But it was unsafe to attract attention to the title 
 by correspondence. Slight as the chance was, I 
 determined not to lose it. I employed a well- 
 known bookseller and bibliophile of New York 
 City to attend the sale, and if this was the gen- 
 uine * Contrast' to buy it without limit of price. 
 I was very confident that, after so long a chase, 
 the genuine comedy was worth as much to me 
 as to any other collector.' . . . 
 
 ^ '* Yesterday afternoon at the Thomas auction rooms the last vol- 
 umes of the Library of General George Washington were scattered to 
 the winds by the last heir of the family, Lawrence Washington. This 
 young man, who was present at the sale, is a great-grandson of General 
 Washington's brother and a son of the late Jno. A. Washington. Mr. 
 Washington is a dark-complexioned young man, of medium height 
 and size, who only recently came into possession of the property. Be- 
 fore the sale began Mr. Jennings of the firm of Thomas & Sons ex- 
 plained the reason for it. The books were stored in a room of a house 
 belonging to the family, which was rented to a Pennsylvanian, who 
 promised that it should be kept constantly locked. When Mr. Wash- 
 ington examined the Hbrary, he found that the promise had not been 
 kept; that volumes had disappeared, the autographs had been clipped 
 from others, and that there was danger thatthe whole collection would 
 be scattered in a few years. There was no doubt whatever of the 
 authenticity of the volumes at this time. The sale then proceeded, 
 there being a large number of literary men, librarians, booksellers, and 
 private collectors present. 
 
 **In the Washington Collection there were 138 lots and in all 
 about 250 volumes. The total amount realized was ^1933.00, with 
 which price the auctioneer expressed himself entirely satisfied, saying 
 
xii PREFACE 
 
 " My order proved a success. It secured the 
 genuine * Contrast/ which was purchased for a 
 few dollars, and my agent returned with it in 
 his possession. Its inspection showed that it 
 formed no exception to the rule that every pub- 
 lished book appears in commerce once in i 5 
 years ; for this play had never been published. 
 It was printed for a list of subscribers, which 
 appeared with the comedy. * The President of 
 the United States' was the first subscriber. This 
 copy had been bound in red and green morocco, 
 tooled and ornamented in the highest style of 
 the bibliopegistic art of the time, for General 
 Washington, who then filled the exalted posi- 
 tion of Chief Magistrate of the Republic. The 
 title page was adorned by his well-known auto- 
 graph. The volume now lies before me, perfect 
 in every particular : with a frontispiece engraved 
 by Maverick, one of our earliest engravers on 
 metal, from a painting by Dunlap, containing 
 the portraits ad vivum of Wignell as Brother 
 Jonathan, Mrs. Morris as Charlotte, and three 
 of the other principal characters in the play as 
 
 it was more than he had expected to receive. Few of the books had 
 any value except that which had been conferred upon them by their 
 distinguished ownership. Many were public documents of which there 
 are numerous copies in existence and none of them were rare." 
 
 From the Philadelphia ** Times," November 29, 1876. 
 
PREFACE xiii 
 
 represented. It would be difficult to imagine a 
 volume possessing more elements of attraction 
 to a collector than the first play written by an 
 American, which created the stage character of 
 Brother Jonathan,was once owned by the Father 
 of his Country, who had written his own name 
 upon the title, and which was withal of such 
 excessive rarity. 
 
 "One would suppose that a volume which 
 had so long evaded the most exhaustive and 
 comprehensive search would be properly called 
 unique. And yet it was not. Collectors know 
 that it is a rule to which exceptions seldom oc- 
 cur, that the discovery of one very rare volume 
 is followed by the discovery of its duplicate. I 
 was not therefore much surprised when, a few 
 weeks after this volume came into my hands I 
 was informed by that careful and intelligent col- 
 lector of portraits of actors and other material 
 connected with the stage, Mr. Thomas J. 
 McKee, that he, too, had just secured a copy of 
 "The Contrast,'* at the end of a search which 
 for length and thoroughness almost rivalled my 
 own. He had secured it by the merest acci- 
 dent. A catalogue to him from some small Eng- 
 lish city, Bristol, I believe, contained its title 
 priced at a few shillings. He ordered it, and in 
 
xiv PREFACE 
 
 due course of mail received a copy of this rare and 
 long hunted play. From his copy * The Con- 
 trast ' has recently been reprinted. That copy 
 and the one above described are the only copies 
 so far known of the original edition.'' 
 
 Forty-four years after the sale just described 
 I purchased a priced copy of the catalogue, a 
 facsimile of the fifth page of v^hich is here re- 
 produced. 
 
 From Mr. Chittenden this copy of "The Con- 
 trast'' passed into the hands of Mr. Samuel P. 
 Avery, who had been on the hunt for the book for 
 years. Unfortunately neither of the parties to the 
 transfer left any record of ho w it came about. We 
 may assume, however, that only a very liberal 
 offer could have persuaded Mr. Chittenden to 
 part with the cherished volume, though it is 
 possible that it may have come to Mr. Avery 
 indirectly. 
 
 In an endeavor to trace the history of the copy 
 at this point, I applied to the librarian of the 
 University of Vermont, to which Mr. Chitten- 
 den had given his collection of books and pam- 
 phlets relating to Vermont, which included 
 many rare items, but could learn nothing from 
 that source, the librarian having no information 
 as to this copy of "The Contrast." 
 
[Facsimile of priced catalogue page, 1876J 
 
 5 
 
 Political Pamphlets, containing — Dissertation /J, o^ 
 on the Political Union of the Thirteen United 
 States, Phila., 1783; Sketches of American 
 Policy, by Noah Webster, Hartford, 1785; 
 Observations on the American Revolution, 
 Phila., 1789; Rights of Man, by Tom Paine, 
 Phila., 1 79 1, and several other pamphlets, 2 
 vols. 8vo, calf. 
 
 jg^^'Each volume has Autograph. 
 
 BoRDLEY. J. B. — On Husbandry and Rural <r^ ^O 
 Affairs, 8vo, calf. Phila , 1 799 
 
 OCT' Has Autograph. 
 
 Buffon's Natural History, abridged, numerous J". Cr~0 
 illustrations, 2 vols. 8vo, calf. London, 1792 
 
 Jl^* Each volume has Autograph. 
 
 Belknap. Jeremy — History of New-Hampshire, //. <f^ 
 with Map, 3 vols. 8vo, sheep. Phila., 1 784 
 
 JBi^» Each volume has Autograph. 
 
 Contrast. The — A Comedy in Five Acts, frontis- ^ Cry-O 
 piece, 8vo, morocco. Phila., 1790 
 
 jg]^°* Has Autograph. 
 
 Moore. John — View of Society and Manners in (^ (to 
 Italy, 2 vols. 8vo, sheep. London, 1 783 
 
 fii^ Each volume has Autograph and Coat-of- Arms. 
 
 MooRE. John — View of Society and Manners in cP ^<^ 
 France, Switzerland and Germany, 2 vols. 
 8vo, sheep. London, 1 783 
 
 OZT* Each volume has Autograph and Coat-of- Arms. 
 
 Swift. Zephaniah — System of the Laws of the // ^^ 
 State of Connecticut, 2 vols. 8vo, sheep. 
 
 Windham, 1795 
 DC7* Each volume has Autograph. 
 
 Jefferson. Thos. — Notes on the State of Vir- /<^. <^0 
 ginia, second edition, 8vo, shp. Phila., 1 794 
 
 (H/* Has Autograph. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 XV 
 
 It was known, however, that Mr. Avery had 
 obtained the book, and as it was reported that 
 he had given it to Columbia University, I who 
 had myself long sought to add this item to my 
 collection of Vermontiana, had almost given up 
 hope, when — with what joy you who are col- 
 lectors can imagine — I received Anderson's 
 catalogue listing the prize. But alas ! would my 
 bank balance hold out when it was put up for 
 sale ? Just at that time a spectacular purchase in 
 London by one of our well-known booksellers 
 brought out the following on the editorial page 
 of the New York Times : 
 
 "THAT PRICE WAS NOT FOR 
 A BOOK 
 
 "Lovers of books for what is in them rather 
 than for what they are feel a sort of irritation 
 when they read, as they did yesterday, about the 
 payment of what, when exchange was normal, 
 would have been $75,000 for a little volume the 
 only merit of which is that no other copy of the 
 same edition is known to be in existence. There 
 are nobody knows how many thousand other edi- 
 tions of the same work, all of them as good or 
 better than this one, in the eyes of the reader as 
 distinguished from the collector, and most of 
 
xvi PREFACE 
 
 them can be bought any day and anywhere for 
 a dollar or two. 
 
 *' The collector, however, has a reason for be- 
 ing, and he serves several innocent and even use- 
 ful purposes. His only, or chief, fault is that he 
 claims — and too often the claim is admitted — 
 to be a lover of books and to have a relation to 
 literature. In reality, it is not books that interest 
 him, but irrelevant things like dates and bind- 
 ings and associations with departed greatness. In 
 other words, he is a curio hunter, and what he 
 calls his * library' is a museum where the read- 
 ing man finds next to nothing that he wants — 
 nothing at all that he must have.'' 
 
 I knew that if the same dealer started after 
 my heart's desire it would go hard with me. I 
 had been in contests with him before and had oc- 
 casionally come out with the prize, but I hoped 
 he would not get any unlimited orders for this 
 item or want it for himself. I could not attend 
 the sale, being at that time indisposed, but I was 
 immediately made well by the receipt of a tele- 
 gram announcing that the prize was won. 
 
 The priced page of the Anderson catalogue 
 is reproduced here, that collectors may see what 
 opportunities our older friends had in the seven- 
 ties. Will our books increase in value in the same 
 
[JFacsimile of priced catalogue page, 1919] 
 
 cover serving for both volumes. **Tlie Complete Angler" is bound in 
 green levant morocco, with emblematic tooling of fishes in border,- and 
 red moire silk doublures; ** Walton *s Lives" is bound in brown levant 
 morocco, gilt border, with rosettes at corners and sides, blue gros-grain 
 silk doublures and flys. Pickering's Diamond Edition. 
 
 S^^"* 970. WALTONIANA. Inedited Remains in Verse and Prose of 
 Izaak Walton, Author of the Complete Angler. With notes and 
 Preface by Richard H. Shepherd. 8vo, full green levant morocco, 
 gilt back, gilt inside borders, gilt edges, by F. Bedford. 
 
 Scarce. London: Pickering and Co., 1878 
 
 (^ 971. WARREN (HON. J. LEICESTER). A Guide to the 
 Study of Book-Plates (Ex-Libris). First Edition. Illustrated. 
 8vo, cloth. London, 1880 
 
 WITH GEORGE WASHINGTON'S AUTOGRAPH AND 
 BOOKPLATE 
 
 £0 972. [WASHINGTON (GEORGE).] An History of the Earth, 
 
 the Animated Nature. By Oliver Goldsmith. The Second Edition. 
 
 Illustrations. In 8 vols. Vol. VIII. 8vo, original polished calf. 
 
 In a polished calf slip-case. London: J. Nourse, 1779 
 
 From the library of George Washington, with his autograph on 
 
 the title-page, and his bookplate on inside of front cover. tms 
 
 book was inherited by Laurence Washington and was sold by him at 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 28, 1876. The set of 8 vols, was purchased by John R. 
 
 Baker, who resold it in 1891. The volumes were subsequently spld 
 
 separately. 
 
 WITH GEORGE WASHINGTON'S AUTOGRAPH 
 
 ?^ 973. [WASHINGTON (GEORGE).] The Contrast, A Comedy; 
 in Five Acts: Written by a Citizen of the United States; Per- 
 formed with Applause at the Theatres in New- York, Philadelphia, 
 and Maryland; and published by Thomas Wignell, Frontispiece 
 designed by Wm, Dunlap amd engraved by Maverick. 8vo, contem- 
 porary American red morocco, borders and center-piece inlaid in 
 green morocco, with conventional floriated tooling in gilt. In a 
 maroon levant slip-case. Philadelphia: Prichard & Hall, 1790 
 
 George Washington's copy, with his autograph on the tttlb-page. 
 Heading the list of. Subscribers is ''The President of the United States.'* 
 The play was written by Royal Tyler of Vermont and is said to have been 
 the first play represented by a regular company on the American stage 
 written by a native American. Laid in is a sheet of paper with the 
 Washington mark, a facsimile of his bookplate and a facsimile of Wig- 
 nell's letter presenting Washington with two copies of this book. 
 
 oo 
 
 974. WASHINGTON (GEORGE). George Washington to the 
 People of the United States announcing his intention of retiring 
 from Public Life. With a brilliant impression of the very ra^re 
 portrait by Edwin, in First State. Hart 360. Small folio, full 
 old red morocco, broad gilt border surrounding an inner panel of 
 
 164 
 
PREFACE 
 
 xvu 
 
 ratio ? It hardly seems possible, but Mr. George 
 D. Smith, who was the premier book-buyer of 
 the world, believed they would. Some of us have 
 felt that if he could have lived twenty years 
 longer he would have justified his opinion. 
 
 William Loring Andrews, in " Bibliopegy in 
 the United States,'' speaking of the fine mo- 
 rocco binding on *' Brown's Illustrated Family 
 Bible," 1792, says, 
 
 " Quite as creditable to its author, and be- 
 longing to the same period as the binding above 
 mentioned, is the one upon Washington's own 
 copy of 'The Contrast' (Philadelphia, mdccxc) 
 a comedy written by Royal Tyler of Vermont 
 for Thomas Wignell, Comedian, now in the 
 possession of Mr. S. P. Avery, a book made 
 doubly valuable by having the great chieftain's 
 bold, clear signature upon the title-page. It is 
 a royal octavo, bound in a hard, close-textured, 
 highly polished dark red morocco, the sides in- 
 laid with green borders, with ornamental gilt 
 scroll tooling. The back of the volume is elab- 
 orately gilt-tooled with small stamps, one of 
 which is the acorn, a tool so frequently used by 
 the Mearnes (the distinguished English biblio- 
 pegist predecessors of Roger Payne), as to have 
 become considered as reliable an indication of 
 
xviii PREFACE 
 
 their work, as is the * sausage' pattern which 
 appears upon so many of the bindings attributed 
 to them. . . . 
 
 " Positive proof that this binding was exe- 
 cuted in this country is lacking, but appearances 
 and the circumstantial evidence in the case, 
 point to that conclusion." 
 
 The editor of this little volume publishes it, 
 as William Loring Andrews did his produc- 
 tions, largely for the pleasure it gives him, and 
 with some hope that others may share that 
 pleasure. 
 
 James Benjamin Wilbur 
 
 November y 1920 
 
 Note: — With his two copies of The Contrast Washington re- 
 ceived the following letter: — 
 
 ** Mr. Wignell, with the utmost respect and deference, has the 
 honor of transmitting to the President of the United States two 
 copies of The Contrast. 
 '* Philadelphia May 22nd 1790." 
 
 I wrote to the Library of Congress to see if the other copy was 
 there and received the following reply : — 
 
 **The Library of Congress has two copies of ' The Contrast,' 
 but, according to reports from our Division of Manucripts and from 
 the Superintendent of the Reading Room, neither of them was 
 Washington's. Moreover, the Union Catalogue of books in certain 
 large libraries in this country contains no entry of any copy ap- 
 parently." 
 
 A later letter states that only one of the copies in the Library of 
 Congress is of the original edition, the other being the Dunlap 
 Society reprint of 1887. 
 
FACSIMILE OF BINDING OF WASHINGTON S COPY 
 (^Original 3% h '^/i inches) 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction, by Helen Tyler Brown 
 
 xxiii 
 
 Dedication 
 
 
 3 
 
 Advertisement 
 
 
 5 
 
 List of Subscribers 
 
 
 7 
 
 Prologue 
 
 
 20 
 
 Characters 
 
 
 . 22 
 
 The Contrast 
 
 
 23 
 
 Appendix, by Helen Tyler Brown 
 
 
 revivals of " THE 
 
 contrast " 
 
 117 
 
 list of works of 
 
 ROYALL TYLER 
 
 118 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Facsimile of Title-page with Washington's 
 
 Autograph vi 
 
 The paper page of the original is 4! inches wide by 8 is inches long, 
 and the type page, 3/5 by 6i inches. 
 
 Facsimile of Priced Page of the Catalogue 
 OF THE Thomas Auction Sale of 1876 xiv 
 
 Facsimile of Priced Page of the Catalogue 
 of the Anderson Sale of 19 19 xvi 
 
 Colored Facsimile of Binding of Washing- 
 ton's Copy xviii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 HE Drama sought for a place in 
 America from early Qolonial days. 
 Fostered in some sections ^frowned 
 upon in others^ housed appropriate- 
 ly in some cities^ elsewhere denied 
 footholdorrooftree^the year 1787 
 found the American public divid- 
 ed for and against it^ with theatres 
 established in a few of the principal cities. Farces^ satires ^ 
 tragedies^ written and printed but not acted, and the same 
 acted but not printed, had sprung up in increasing numbers. 
 8ven in ^J^w Sngland, where prejudice was deep-rooted 
 against all forms of ^^play-acting" collegians had written^ 
 spoken, and acted dramatic pieces at Qollege exhibitions. 
 During the 'British occupancy of 'Boston, ^I^w Tork, 
 and Philadelphia, plays were often given by them, a few 
 of which were composed by officers. T^lay bills of these per- 
 formances were sent to (general Washington and members 
 of his armies, ^lays by writers of ^American birth had 
 been published and acted in I^ondon before the ^R^volution. 
 'The honor of having written the first tragedy to be per- 
 formed on an ^American stage by professionals, belongs to 
 Thomas (^odfrey ofF^hiladelphia. His The Prince of Par- 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 thia was played, once, in ^Philadelphia, zApril, 1767, <^/ 
 theU^^Qw Southwark theatre by the^American Qompany, 
 The theme of the tragedy had nothing to do with ^America, 
 
 ^A comic opera, dealing with local life and incidents, en- 
 ////d"^ Disappointment, or the Force of Credulity, 'K;r//- 
 ten by ^Andrew "barton — supposed pseudonym ofQolonel 
 Forrest, of Qermantown — was rehearsed by the zAmer- 
 ican (Company, but never performed. This play was pub- 
 lished twice, in 1767 and 1797. "Before 1787 there had 
 been no play written epitomizing the opposing characteris- 
 tics of the young United States ofzAmerica — Originality 
 versus Imitation, zAmericanism versus Curopeanism, 
 
 The Contrast was the first comedy, written by an 
 ^American, to be performed in an <iAmerican theatre, by a 
 company of professional actors. 
 
 The author of The Contrast was Roy all Tyler, patri- 
 ot, poet, wit, dramatist, jurist, born in "Boston, oJM^assa- 
 chusetts, July 18, 1757, son of Roy all Tyler and zM'ary 
 {Steele), his wife. His father was a wealthy merchant, a 
 Representative of Boston four years, a King's (Councillor 
 from 1765 until his death in 1771,^ member of the J^ong 
 %opm Qlub and Sons ofJ^berty, and a lover of religion and 
 literature, 
 
 aAmong the memories of Roy all Tyler s boyhood were 
 those of the black slaves about the town, and once of a ru- 
 mor that they would "rise''; of tales told to him of his 
 great-grandfather, the sea-captain, Thomas Tyler, who 
 sailed out ofBudleigh, Devonshire, and was lost at sea; 
 
INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 of the great-uncle 'Thomas Tyler ^captured by zAlgerine pi- 
 rates and never heard of against hough large ransom was 
 offered for him; andof the taking of J^ouisburg by Sir Wil- 
 liam T*epperell, whose sister Jane was the second wife of 
 his grandfather y the rich merchant^ William Tyler; of his 
 father talking about the <iM^other (Country's injustice to- 
 wards the Qolonies; of seeing, as he went to and from the 
 J^atin School, handbills posted up warning per sons not to 
 use stamped papers; of the cQiberty Tree, with effigies hang- 
 ing on it, and of the bonfires when news of the repeal of the 
 Stamp <iAct arrived; of 'British troops landing, marching 
 through the streets and thereafter patrollingthem; of hear- 
 ing shots, bells ringing, the noise of people rushing by the 
 house, shouts, and a hurried call to his father to meet the 
 governor and (Council, the evening of the Boston ^^M^assa- 
 cre, in <:^arch, 1 7 70 ; and of the sudden ending of his hap- 
 py home life by the deaths of his father and his eldest sister 
 infj)[tay, 1771. 
 
 Royall Tyler entered college in July, i']']i,oneofa class 
 many of whom afterwards distinguished themselves. The 
 excitement of the times was reflected in the College Hall, 
 where there was a fracas, one breakfast hour, over the 
 drinking of tea by some of the students, and its non-use 
 was agreed upon. The dispersion of the collegians after 
 the Battle of J^exington until the following October gave 
 Royall Tyler opportunities of association with the officers 
 of the 'R^olutionary ^rmy, and he may well have seen 
 Washington take command of the <zArmy in (Cambridge, 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 His only brother was chosen by Washington for haz- 
 ardous enterprises, Their mother s need of having one son 
 near, in her second widowhood, prevented Roy all from 
 entering military service. He graduated from Harvard, 
 July, 1776, with degree of^fB., Yale giving him S.<vf . 
 in October of the same year;"^ studied law and was one of 
 the group of brilliant young men who met in Qolonel John 
 'Trumbull's rooms, where " they regaled themselves with 
 a cup of tea, instead of wine, and discussed subjects of lit er- 
 ature, politics, and WarT Joining the Independent Qom- 
 pany of 'Boston in 1776, ^f served, as aide with rank of 
 major, under general Sullivan in the campaign against 
 ^?s(ewport in 1778. 
 
 Admitted to the bar ^August 19, 1780, he first prac- 
 tised in Falmouth {now Portland), zJ^aine, later settling 
 in Braintree (now ^incy). Very handsome, with a mu- 
 sical voice, fond of social intercourse, devoted to kindred 
 and friends, fond of children and always ready to amuse 
 them, bubbling over with gaiety and humorous speech, 
 with a keen eye for foibles and a ready tongue for satiriz- 
 ing them, a boyish liking for playing jokes on people, open- 
 hearted and generous, he was admired by many and hated 
 by a few. His reputation for wit, scholarship, legal and 
 literary genius was widely extended. 
 
 Soon he became the ardent lover and accepted suitor of 
 beautiful 't^iss <iAbby <iAdams. When he was on the eve 
 of crossing the seas to wed his betrothed — then in Cur ope 
 
 » He recei'ved the degree of A. M. from Harvard im-]^^, and the Uninjer- 
 sity of Vermont ga<ve him an honorary degree of A. M. in iSii. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 with her parents — his letters and gifts to her were re- 
 turned to him J with a verbal message of dismissal. 
 
 "Being of a sensitive temperament and deep affections ^ 
 this disappointment was a crushing blow. He shut up his 
 law office J and for several months secluded himself from all 
 his friends in his mother s home in Jamaica Tlain ; but his 
 character was too vigorous to permit melancholy long to 
 hold him in thrall. ^K^suming his law practice in "Boston 
 in ijS^y he boarded with the Honorable Joseph "hearse 
 Talmer and his family. J^ittle " "^olly " (<iJ^^ry) Talmer, 
 an unusually intelligent and lovely child, was a great fa- 
 vorite of his y and, playfully, he used to call her his ^Uittle 
 wife. 
 
 T)uring Shays' s T{ebellion, 1786-87,^^ served as aide 
 to (general J^ncoln, with rank of major; actively, in the 
 field with a troop of cavalry, and diplomatically, on a 
 mission to the government of Vermont. 
 
 From Bennington, under date of February 17, 1787, 
 (J^itajor "Tyler wrote a hasty note to his friends the "Fal- 
 mers, in Boston, concluding with the words ^^J^ve to my 
 little wife.'' This message was to the child who after- 
 wards became his wife, whose single-hearted affection for 
 Roy all Tyler, from the day of their first meeting when she 
 was a very little girl to the end of a long life, has been en- 
 shrined in the memories of five generations of descendants. 
 
 Sent to thQw York on a similar mission from governor 
 Bowdoin to (governor Qinton, he reached there on <J)fCarch 
 11, 1787, and was immediately introduced to the society 
 and pleasures of the city. He became a constant attendant 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 at the John Street theatre, and intimate with the actors^ 
 especially with TVignell, the comedian of the ^American 
 Qompany, 
 
 If<J)(Cajor 'Tyler went to the theatre the evening that 
 he arrived, he witnessed the performance of Addison s 
 Cato, and through the month Richard III, School for 
 Scandal, Jane Shore, Cymbeline, Alexander the Great, , 
 and The True-Born Irishman. 
 
 Whether the statement of a ^T^w York correspond- 
 ent to a 'Boston paper under date of <iApril 1 6, 1 8 87 {the 
 centennial anniversary of the first performance of The 
 Contrast), that " Roy all 'Tyler arrived in J^Qw York 
 from Boston, bringing with him the unfinished play y' is 
 truCy I cannot prove. zAt that date there were persons 
 living who had been acquainted with Mrs. Roy all 'Tyler , 
 and who might have known her husband, and it is possible 
 that the correspondent was transmitting to the public in- 
 formation that he had verbally received. It is certainly 
 to be inferred from a perusal of the unpublished <^Memoirs 
 of Roy all Tyler that, prior to 1787, i?^ had been urged by 
 those who believed in his literary powers to try his hand 
 at writing drama, and that, if he did not carry to ^J\(ew 
 York the unfinished play in his pocket, he may have carried 
 the idea in his mind. 
 
 It is told in family annals that Roy all Tyler wrote verse 
 and prose from his college days, but unless the four manu- 
 script poems in the Boston 'Public Jj-brary were written 
 prior to The Contrast, this comedy is the earliest of his 
 writings to be preserved. JVe can imagine the eagerness 
 
INTRODUCTION xxix 
 
 with which the manager of the American Qompany read 
 the manuscript ^The Contrast, accepted it ^ and prepared 
 for its production, ^A newspaper writer^ ^April 1 4, 1 7 8 7, 
 said^ "/ wait with impatience for the new comedy^ for I 
 believe it will supply a great deal of game^ 
 
 THEATRE — ON THIS EVENING 
 
 Ne<ver performed 
 
 (being the i6th of April) 
 
 will be performed a Comedy of Five Acts, 
 written by a citizen of the United States, 
 
 CALLED 
 
 THE CONTRAST 
 
 To ivhich ivill be added the English Burletto 
 called MIDAS 
 
 runs the advertisement of the first performance of Roy all 
 Tylers comedy in the U\(ew York newspapers of <iApril 
 16,1787. 
 
 'The little John Street Theatre was crowded, ^pril 1 6, 
 ijSjyWe can he sure, with rank and fashion, The theatre 
 was of wood, painted red, back some sixty feet from the 
 street, and entered by a rough covered passageway , from 
 street to doors. The performances were arranged so as not 
 to interfere with the evening Assemblies, and were given 
 only two or three times a week. T)oors opened at 5.30 and 
 the performance began at 6.15. The duties of the candle- 
 
XXX INTRODUCTION 
 
 snuffer were no sinecure^ as candles gave the only light and 
 needed continual attention, Prices werCy for a seat in a 
 box, eight shillings (|i.oo); in the pit ^ six shillings ; and 
 in the gallery , four shillings. ^ full house would total 
 eight hundred dollars, ^he writer who hoped for " a great 
 deal of game'' from the ^^ new comedy ,' complains in the 
 same article of the scenery and that ^^ the musicians , in- 
 stead of performing between the play and farce ^ are suf- 
 fered to leave the theatre to pay a visit to the tippling 
 houses y and the ladies y in the meantime y must amuse them- 
 selves by looking at the candles and the empty benches'' Is 
 the inference to be drawn that the gentlemen in the house 
 followed the example of the musicians? 
 
 The Contrast was repeat edy ^pril iS, with altera- 
 tions ; <:J)^ay 2 , " ^/ the particular request of his excellency , 
 <J)(Cr. Hancock " ; and'iM'ay 1 2, "/^r the benefit of the un- 
 happy sufferers by the late fire at "Boston {at the particular 
 request of the <iAuthor)." 
 
 <J)fCay 1 9, on cJKr. Wignell's nighty after the play The 
 Recruiting Officer, there was given ^^zA (^omic Opera in 
 1 zActs [never performed) written by the author ^The 
 Contrast, r^//^^ May DayinTown,or New York in an 
 Uproar. I' he music compiled from the most eminent mas- 
 ters with an overture and accompaniments." The songs of 
 the opera were sold on the evening of the performance. 'The 
 farce was a skit on (JJ)fCay T>ay as moving-day . 
 
 William (^r ay son (<J^. Q) writing to <J)fCadisony <May 
 24, i^'^^y from ^A(ew Tork, said: '^T>ear Siry We have 
 lately had a new farce wrote by T*oet Tyler y called May 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxi 
 
 Day : // has plot t and incident and is as good as several of 
 ye Snglish farces; It has however not succeeded well, ow- 
 ing I believe to ye author s making his principal character 
 a scold. Some of the J^^w York ladies were alarmed for 
 fear strangers should look upon ^Mrs. Sanders as the mod- 
 el of the gentlewomen of this place. William (^rayson" ^ 
 
 zA composite of quotations from the long critical reviews 
 in the contemporary newspapers shows the public estimate 
 of play and author : " l^he production of a man of genius 
 . . . nothing can be more praiseworthy than the sentiments 
 
 of the play They are the effusions of an honest, patriot 
 
 heart expressed with energy and eloquence, . . . ^y}fCaria^s 
 song and her reflections after it, are pretty but certainly 
 misplaced. . . the many beauties of the play . . . the unceasing 
 plaudits of the audience did them ample justice. . . . Upon the 
 whole the defects of the play are much overbalanced by its 
 merits^ 
 
 " z^ttany of the first characters of the United States 
 
 were also present 'The repeated bursts of applause ...is 
 
 the most unequivocal proof of its possessing the true re- 
 quisites of comedy in a very great degree.'' It ^'■was per- 
 formed amid continued roars of applause ,..an American 
 comic production is a novelty, therefore it was pleasing . . . 
 the piece had merit., . merit, with novelty, forces applause.'' 
 
 " 'That lively effort of American T)ramatic (genius, the 
 Qomedy <?/The Contrast was represented., .to a numerous 
 and brilliant ^Audience, with reiterated 'bursts of ap- 
 plause, giving a convincing T^roof to liberal minds, that 
 
 " Madison Paper Sy Library of Congress. 
 
xxxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 the Stage may justly be styled a School for rational In- 
 struction and innocent Recreation." 
 
 Once more it was given inJ^Qw York — June i o, 1 7 8 9. 
 ^y)((^ary Talmer was then living in the family of the Hon- 
 orable Slbridge Qerry. She has recorded^ in an unpublished 
 autobiography^ the delight she experienced in hearing zM'r, 
 Qerry and his family talking of the success of The Con- 
 trast, enactingparts ofit, and praising the genius of its au- 
 thor in " writing of the Yankee in such a masterly way,'' 
 and how keenly she disliked their criticisms. She understood 
 " that Qharlotte and Jonathan were the favorites'' of the 
 public. 
 
 Philadelphia heard JVignellrt^id. The Contrast in T>e- 
 cember, 1787, and it was twice performed there , in July, 
 1790. 'Baltimore saw The Contra,st,J^vember, 1787, 
 and <L/fugust, 1788. z^ ^^ pirated performance " was given 
 in Williamsburg in ij^i. In October, 1792, The Con- 
 trast was brought out in Boston at an experimental the- 
 atre recently built, but called an Exhibition Room, the 
 plays being called M oral Lectures,/^ deference to the State 
 law against theatrical representations and the weight of 
 prejudice against play-acting " still existent among the peo- 
 ple." 'The last performance of The Contrast in the life- 
 time of its author was in Boston, ^J)(Cay, 1 795. 
 
 / wish I could record that Washington witnessed a 
 performance o/The Contrast, but he did not. He was not 
 in ^^(ew York in 1787, was ill at the time of its revival 
 in 1789, and was not in Baltimore, Philadelphia, or Wil- 
 liamsburg when it was given in those cities. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxiii 
 
 Roy all 'Tyler was so delighted with Wigneir s acting 
 of Jonathan that he gave him the copyright of the play^ 
 insisting that his own name should not appear on the title- 
 page, January^ 179O) Wignell published The Contrast 
 in 'Philadelphia^ by subscription. 'The list of subscribers 
 was headed by ^^'The T^resident of the United States J^ 
 Wignell gave two beautifully bound copies to theT'resident 
 and received his acknowledgment of the gift. One of 
 Washington s copies of The Contrast is owned by <iMr. 
 James's. Wilbur, of'^M'anchester, Vermont. It is consid- 
 ered one of the best examples of American bookbinding. 
 'The authorship of the song sung by z^aria, called " very 
 pretty '* by a contemporary reviewer, has been in dispute. 
 cy}ffr. <iM^cK^e, in the Introduction to the T)unlap, 1887, 
 edition <?/The Contrast, expressed the belief that Roy all 
 Tyler wrote it. 
 
 The Death Song of a Cherokee Indian was published 
 in January, 1787, in The American Museum, or Re- 
 pository of Ancient and Modern Fugitives, (vol. \,p, 
 90,) unsigned. In an edition of The M-useum, ly^o, the 
 song is placed under T*. Freneaus name. T^hilip Freneau, 
 jealous as he was of his literary reputation, never included 
 this song in his printed collections of his works. 
 
 New Spain, or. Love in Mexico, <2« op era, acted and 
 published in J^ondon, 1 790, contained the song, with omis- 
 sions and additions, and it appeared (/ am told) in the li- 
 bretto i^/'Tammany, by oJ^rs. Hatton in 1794. 
 
 zAn anthropologist says that the name " Alknomook,'* 
 with its variations, ^^Alknomoc\L,'' as in The American 
 
xxxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 Museum version of The Death Song of a Cherokee 
 Indian, and ^^<tAlknomo2^^,'' as in the same song in the op- 
 era of New Spain, or Love in New Mexico, is of Algon- 
 quin origin. zA U^Qw-Englander^ writing an Indian song, 
 would naturally use an ^Algonquin name, as zAlgonquin 
 Indians inhabited that section of the United States, Roy all 
 'Tyler published dozens of songs , and his almost invariable 
 custom was to conceal his identity when his writings were 
 printed, 
 
 cJ^r. (iMcK^e said that ^Uhe music was published con- 
 temporaneously with the play,** zA copy of the original 
 sheet music in the JA(Vw Tork T'ublic J^brary, headed 
 Alknomook, The Death Song of the Cherokee In- 
 dians, New York, Printed & sold by G. Gilfert, No 
 177 Broadway. Likewise to be had of P. A. Van Ha- 
 gens, Music store, No 3 Cornhill, Boston, has, in the 
 margin, by the ^'' library ^Authorities** the date, 1 800, 
 with a question-mark, and also the manuscript note, " The 
 ^J^w Tork Directories give Qeorge Qilfert*s address at 
 177 'Broadway from 179 8-1 801/' 
 
 cJ^rj. Anne (Home) Hunter, the wife of a celebrated 
 English physician, included Alknomook, version as in 
 The Contrast, in a volume of Voems published in J^n- 
 don by T, Z^ayne in 1 802 and 1 803 . There is a review of 
 these Poems mentioning The Death Song of the Indian, 
 the son of Alknomook, in the British Critic, October y 
 1802, vol. 20, p. 409. In an obituary notice of z^YCrs, 
 Hunter occurs this sentence, " The death song of Alkno- 
 mook, the Indian warrior, was written before many of 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxv 
 
 those who sing it now were born. . . /' (The Gentleman's 
 Magazine, vol, 91, pt. i, January, iS2i,p. 90.) 
 
 Q^n Snglish writer says, referring to c^yCrs, Hunter s 
 Poems, " The ' Death-Song of Alknomook ' is there, 
 such a popular song in its day, written for the gentleman 
 who had resided amongst the Qherokee Indians and had 
 sung their wild music in the drawing room at J^eicester 
 Squared {From article by Flora ^y)fCason in Blackwood's 
 ^?ig2i7AnQ,February, 1 90^, pp. 2 1 7-233, " <LMrs. John 
 Hunter the Surgeon s Wife.'') 
 
 'These are the chief facts that I have been able to dis- 
 cover in regard to <:JJ)(Caria' s song, 
 
 'That The Contrast largely aided in dissolving the pre- 
 judice against the theatre cannot be gainsaid. 
 
 Sheridan s School for Scandal no doubt served as a 
 model for the inexperienced dramatist, who had not been 
 inside a regular theatre before coming to J^w York, but 
 The Contrast ^^i^j truly an American comedy, a crystal- 
 lization, clothed and endowed with life, oft\\t contrasts 
 of the tastes and fashions, the manners and morals, of the 
 period. 
 
 'The play was an illustrated less on in patriotism needed, 
 because, mingling with stanch patriots, were those who 
 aped foreign modes and felt, or feigned to feel, disdain for 
 the new Republic and distrust of its (government. 
 
 The creation ^p/* Jonathan was a stroke of genius — no- 
 thing else — a real Yankee, true to type in each word and 
 act, the original of the stage Yankee seen from that day to 
 this. Jonathan s use of the words (j/' Yankee Doodle is 
 
xxxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 the first instance of their appearance in a play, though I 
 believe the air is used in'Barton s Disappointment (1767, 
 not acted), Jonathans reference to ^^ bundling,'' then a 
 well-known country custom, was a skilful touch of truthful 
 delineation. ^^ 'Brother Jonathan *' has long stood, in pic- 
 tures, songs, and stories, as the impersonation of^^ Uncle 
 Sam," invariably garbed and delineated as a typical Yan- 
 kee, It seems to me probable that this characterization 
 of ^^ 'Brother Jonathan " arose from the fusing in the pub- 
 lic mind of the popular Yankee Jonathan in The Contrast 
 and the general knowledge that Washington often said, 
 when perplexed, " J^t us consult Brother Jonathan,'' 
 meaning the stanch Yankee patriot Jonathan 'Trumbull, 
 governor of (Connecticut, 
 
 Roy all 'Yyler was preeminently a patriot in his senti- 
 ments, and I believe that in Manly*s character he ex- 
 pressed himself, disguised by some characteristics not 
 his own. 
 
 The Contrast was widely read, copies finding their 
 way into remote country districts, <iAn illustration of this is 
 the fact that the author, when on a horseback trip into the 
 State of^T^w York in \^^i, found that his host in ^J^w 
 J^banon possessed a well-worn copy and, moreover, knew 
 the play almost by heart, 
 
 William T)unlap, called " the father of American dra- 
 ma," returning to ^h(ew York while the success ^The 
 Contrast was still the talk of the town, was stimulated to 
 emulation and at once began his career, remarkably re- 
 warded, as an American dramatist. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxvii 
 
 Removing to Vermont in 1790, Roy all Tyler became 
 a successful advocate and jurist — Staters Attorney for 
 Windham County^ 1 794-1 801 ; Side- Judge, i^oi-i'^o^ ; 
 C^ief Justice of the Supreme Qourt of Vermont y 1 8o7- 
 I 8 1 3 ; 'Trustee (1802- 1813) and T^rofessor of Jurispru- 
 dence {\%\\-\%\A^ of the University of Vermont ; after 
 leaving the "Bench, Register of T'robate for Windham 
 Qounty for six years. He died in 'Brattleboro, Vermont, 
 after Jive years of severe disease, nobly endured, zAugust 
 26, 1826. 
 
 He was noted throughout the State for his strict integ- 
 rity, his breadth of sympathy, his learning and depth of 
 knowledge of the J^w, His personality so stamped itself 
 on the State that, to this day, lawyers know of his ability 
 and genius, and anecdotes of his proceedings in courts and 
 his witty conversation have been handed down among 
 them. His charges were especially valued by the barris- 
 ters of the day. He was largely instrumental in stabiliz- 
 ing law proceedings and public sentiment in the days when 
 many minds were unsettled and inclined to countenance 
 lawlessness. 
 
 He was a prolific writer, but his verse and prose, with 
 a few exceptions, were written hastily, as relaxation from 
 the serious business of life, and he rarely polished and 
 pruned his work. His writings in magazines and news- 
 papers deal with contemporary drama and theatrical 
 representations, with the whole range of literature, and 
 with the topics of the day, its shifting fashions , its poli- 
 tics, and its manners and morals. <iA Federalist in poli- 
 
xxxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 ticSy he had^ at times ^ a breadth of vision in advance of 
 his age, zA ^Vermont newspaper article printed shortly 
 after his death spoke of him as " one of our most distin- 
 guished advocates'' and of ^'' that classical eloquence which 
 has given great celebrity to his name,'' and closed with 
 the following appreciation : ^^zAs a man of genius, a poet, 
 an orator, a civilian and erudite and accomplished scholar, 
 and a gentleman of the most elegant and endearing man- 
 ners in social and domestic life, his memory will long be 
 cherished with affection and respect, by the companions of 
 his youth in z^assachusetts, and those of his mature and 
 declining years in Vermont, The Algerine Captive, un- 
 questionably one of the most original and brilliant pro- 
 ductions of this generation, will forever secure him a high 
 rank among American writers, and the future admirers 
 of his beautiful poems will ^give his name in charge to the 
 sweet lyre'" (Northern 'Si^ntmtX, September 8, 1826.) 
 zA glance through the remains of Roy all Tyler's wide 
 correspondence affords interesting glimpses of the appre- 
 ciation of his character felt by the writers. Jitters and 
 Journals of himself, wife, and kindred reveal the nobility 
 of spirit, the lovingkindness of heart, the courage of soul 
 that knit him to them in ties of devotion and admiration, 
 
 HELEN TYLER BROWN 
 
 Brattleboroy Vermont t September f 1920 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 <i.^ Comedy in Five ^Acts 
 
As a just acknowledgment of the liberal 
 exertions by which the stage has been 
 rescued from an ignominious proscription 
 
 THE CONTRAST 
 (being the first essay of American Qenius 
 in the dramatic art) is most respectfully 
 dedicated to the T^resident and c^^^Cembers 
 oftheT^ramatic<iAssociation by their most 
 obliged and most grateful servant 
 Thomas Wignell 
 
 Philadelphia 
 I January y 1790 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 TH E Subscribers {to whom the Sditor thankfully pro- 
 fesses his obligations) may reasonably expect an apo- 
 logy for the delay which has attended the appearance of 
 The Contrast ; but^ as the true cause cannot be declared 
 without leading to a discussion^ which the Editor wishes 
 to avoids he hopes that the care and expense which have 
 been bestowed upon this work will be accepted^ without 
 further scrutiny^ as an atonement for his seeming negligence. 
 
 In justice to the zAuthor^ however, it may be proper 
 to observe that this Qomedy has many claims to the pub- 
 lic indulgence, independent of its intrinsic merits : It is 
 the first essay of ^American genius in a difficult species of 
 composition ; it was written by one who never critically 
 studied the rules of the drama, and, indeed, had seen but 
 few of the exhibitions of the stage ; it was undertaken 
 and finished in the course of three weeks; and the profits 
 of one night* s performance were appropriated to the bene- 
 fit of the sufferers by the fire at "Boston, 
 
 These considerations will, therefore, it is hoped, supply 
 in the closet the advantages that are derived from repre- 
 sentation, and dispose the reader to join in the applause 
 which has been bestowed upon this Qomedy by numerous 
 and judicious audiences, in the 'Theatres ofT*hiladelphia, 
 ^]\(ew-Tork, and <J)((^aryland. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 The President of the United States. 
 
 A 
 
 Roger Alden, Esq. , New-York, 2 copies. 
 Samuel Anderson, Esq. 
 Mr. Henry Anderson. 
 Mr. George Arnold. 
 
 Mr. W. Alexander, Philadelphia. 
 Mr. Joseph Anthony. 
 Mr. Thomas P. Anthony. 
 
 Alexander Aikman, Esq., Island of Jamaica, 20 copies. 
 
 J. Barrell, Esq., Boston. 
 
 Dr. Richard Bayley, New-York. 
 William Banyer, Esq. 
 Mr. George N. Bleecker. 
 George Bond, Esq. 
 Mr. Samuel Bowne. 
 Mr. Michael Boyle. 
 Mr. Laban Bronson. 
 Aaron Burr, Esq. 
 
 William Bingham, Esq., Philadelphia, 2 copies. 
 
 John Bernard, Esq. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Bell. 
 
 Mr. Joseph Bell. 
 
 Mr. Charles Biddle. 
 
 Mr. William Blake. 
 
8 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 Mr. Nathan Boys, Philadelphia. 
 
 Mr. Hugh Boyle. 
 
 Daniel Broadhead, Esq. 
 
 James Bryson, Esq. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Bradford, 12 copies. 
 
 Mr. John Brown. 
 
 Mr. William Brown. 
 
 Mr. William Brown. 
 
 Mr. Richard Brown. 
 
 William- Ward Burrows, Esq. 
 
 Honorable James Brice, Maryland, 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. Mathew Beard. 
 
 Mr. John Beard. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Bicknell. 
 
 Fielder Bowie, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Captain Bright. 
 
 Major William Brogden, 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. Arthur Bryan. 
 
 Mr. Nicholas Brewer. 
 
 John Bullen, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 P. Bowdoin, Esq., Virginia. 
 Mr. John Brooks. 
 Mr. Daniel Broadhead. 
 
 John Beard, Esq., London. 
 
 C 
 
 Charles Van Cortlant, Esq., New- York. 
 
 Mr. David C. Claypoole, Philadelphia. 
 Mr. Richard Moses Clegg. 
 Tench Coxe, Esq. 
 Mr. James Crawford. 
 
 Honorable Charles Carroll, Maryland, 6 copies. 
 Nicholas Carroll, Esq., 6 copies. 
 James Carroll, Esq., 6 copies. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 John Callahan, Esq., Maryland, 3 copies. 
 
 William Campbell, Esq., 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. Walter Chandler. 
 
 Mr. Joseph Clark, 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. Stephen Clark (bookseller), 7 copies. 
 
 Mr. Abraham Claude. 
 
 Mr. James Cowan. 
 
 Miss Mary Cummins. 
 
 Paul Carrington, Esq., Virginia. 
 
 Mr. Roger Chew. 
 
 Mr. George Coryell. 
 
 Mr. Richard Conway. 
 
 Mr. Samuel Craig. 
 
 Mr. James Craik. 
 
 Mathew Coulthurst, Esq., Barbadoes. 
 
 D 
 
 Mr. William Dunlap, New-York. 
 
 A. J. Dallas, Esq., Philadelphia. 
 
 Mrs. Dallas. 
 
 Mr. James Davidson, jun. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Dobson, 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. John Dorsey. 
 
 Capt. Patrick DufFey. 
 
 Mr. John Dankin. 
 
 Mr. John Dunlap. 
 
 A Friend to the Drama. 
 
 A Friend to the Drama. 
 
 Honorable Major Davidson, Maryland, 4 copies. 
 
 John Davidson, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Mrs. Eleanor Davidson, 3 copies. 
 
 Capt. Robert Denny, 2 copies. 
 
 George Dent, Esq. 
 
 George Digges, Esq., 6 copies. 
 
lo LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 Mr. Isaac Dorsey, Maryland. 
 Gabriel Duvall, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. John B. Dabney, Virginia. 
 Mr. Robert Donaldson. 
 
 P. M. Drummond, Esq., Madeira. 
 
 E 
 
 W. Edgar, Esq., New- York. 
 John Charles Evans, Esq. 
 
 Marcus Elean, Esq., Virginia. 
 
 F 
 
 Mr. George Fox, Philadelphia. 
 William-Temple Franklin, Esq. 
 William Fousher, Esq. 
 Mr. Alexander Fullerton. 
 
 William Fitzhugh, jun., Esq., Maryland, 2 copies. 
 Mr. Ralph Forster, 2 copies. 
 Mr. William Foxcroft, 2 copies. 
 Alexander Frazier, Esq., 3 copies. 
 
 Mr. William Faulkener, Virginia. 
 Colonel John Fitzgerald. 
 
 Peter Freneau, Esq., Charleston, South Carolina. 
 
 G 
 Mr. Hugh Gaine, New- York, 1 2 copies. 
 Mr. A. Gilet. 
 Mr. Isaac Gomez, jun. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Giese, Philadelphia. 
 Mr. Charles Gilchrist. 
 Mr. John Gordon. 
 
 John Gale, Esq., Maryland, 2 copies. 
 Mr. David Geddis. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS n 
 
 Capt. John Gassaway, Maryland. 
 
 Mr. Charles Grahame, 2 copies. 
 
 John Grahame, Esq., 4 copies. 
 
 Messrs. Frederick and Samuel Green, 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. John Guyer. 
 
 William S. Grayson, Esq., Virginia. 
 Mr. Joseph Greenway. 
 Mr, Job Greene. 
 
 H 
 David Van Home, Esq., New- York. 
 Colonel David Humphreys. 
 
 Mr. Parry Hall, Philadelphia. 
 William Hamilton, Esq. 
 Mr. Joseph Harper. 
 Mr. James Hawthorne. 
 Mr. R. Hiltzheimer. 
 Samuel Hodgdon, Esq. 
 Mr. John Hubley. 
 George Hughes, Esq. 
 Asheton Humphreys, Esq. 
 Mr. Pearson Hunt. 
 
 Benjamin Hall, Esq., Maryland, 3 copies. 
 
 Capt. John Hamilton, 4 copies. 
 
 Mrs. Rebecca Hanson. 
 
 William Harwood, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Honorable Robert-Hanson Harrison, 2 copies. 
 
 Nicholas Harwood, Esq. 
 
 Thomas Harwood, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Benjamin Harwood, Esq., 6 copies. 
 
 Richard Harwood, jun., Esq. 
 
 Mrs. Rachel Harwood. 
 
 Mr. Osborn Harwood. 
 
 Mr. George R. Hay ward, 3 copies. 
 
 William Hay ward, jun., Esq. 
 
12 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 Honorable William Hemsley, Maryland, 2 copies. 
 
 Rev. Ralph Higginbotham, 3 copies. 
 
 Capt. Philip Hill. 
 
 James Hindman, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. Benjamin Howard. 
 
 Mr. Samuel -Harvey Howard, 3 copies. 
 
 Mrs. Mary Howard. 
 
 Mr. Benjamin A. Hamp, Virginia. 
 
 Mr. Nicholas Hannah. 
 
 Mr. S. Hanson, of Samuel. 
 
 Benjamin Harrison, jun., Esq. 
 
 Mr. Gilbert Harrow. 
 
 Mr. W. Hodson. 
 
 Mr. Charles P. Howard. 
 
 Mr. William Hunter, sen. 
 
 Mr. William Hunter, jun., Esq. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Hall, Charleston, 2 copies. 
 
 Thomas Hull, Esq., London. 
 
 I 
 Honorable H. Izard, New- York. 
 Mr. John Johnson. 
 
 Major W. Jackson, Philadelphia. 
 Jeremiah Jackson, Esq. 
 
 Thomas Jennings, Esq. , Maryland, 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Jennings, jun. 
 
 Mr. George Jennings. 
 
 Thomas Johnson, jun., Esq., 3 copies. 
 
 Mr. Robert Johnson. 
 
 Mr. John Johnson. 
 
 Mr. Robert Isabel. 
 
 Mr. Crawford Jenckes, Virginia. 
 Mr. C. Jones. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 13 
 
 K 
 H. Knox, Esq., Secretary of War for the United States, New- York. 
 
 Capt. Francis Knox, Philadelphia. 
 Mr. William Kidd. 
 
 Honorable John Kilty, Maryland, 3 copies. ^ 
 William Kilty, Esq., 3 copies. /^ 
 
 Mr. William King. 
 Miss Eliza Knapp. 
 Miss Anne Knapp. 
 
 Messrs. Warington and Keen, Virginia. 
 Mr. James Kennedy. 
 
 L 
 
 Tobias Lear, Esq., New- York. 
 William S. Livingston, Esq. 
 Mr. Samuel Low, 
 
 Mr. Thomas Lea, Philadelphia. 
 William Lewis, Esq., 3 copies. 
 Mr. William Levis. 
 Mr. H. L Lombart. 
 
 Honble. Randolph B. Latimer, Maryland, 4 copies. 
 Benjamin Lowndes, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. John Lester, Virginia. 
 Mr. W. Lowrey. 
 
 M 
 
 Mr. A. Marshall, New- York. 
 Mr. Patrick M*Davitt. 
 Mr. Peter Maverick. 
 Mr. John Miller. 
 Jacob Morton, Esq. 
 
 His Excellency Thomas Mifflin, President of the State of Pennsyl- 
 vania, Philadelphia. 
 
14 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 Honorable Thomas M*Kean, Chief Justice, Philadelphia. 
 
 Honorable Robert Morris. 
 
 Stephen Moylan, Esq. 
 
 Major Thomas L. Moore. 
 
 Mr. William Moore. 
 
 Major Mathew M*Connell. 
 
 Mr. Owen Morris. 
 
 Mr. Peter Markoe. 
 
 Mr. John M*Cree. 
 
 Mr. James Muir. 
 
 Mr. Charles Maccubbin, Maryland, 3 copies. 
 
 Mr. James Maccubbin. 
 
 Mr. Samuel Maccubbin. 
 
 William H. M*Pherson, Esq. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth M'Pherson. 
 
 Mr. Cornelius Mills, 3 copies. 
 
 Mr. Robert Miller, 2 copies. 
 
 Addison Murdock, Esq., 3 copies. 
 
 Dr. James Murray, 2 copies. 
 
 John Muir, Esq., 8 copies. 
 
 Mr. James M'CuUoch. 
 
 Mr. Walker Muse. 
 
 Mr. P. Marsteller, Virginia. 
 Mr. John. M«Clenachan. 
 Mr. Evan M 'Clean. 
 Mr. Joshua Merryman. 
 Mr. William Miller. 
 Mr. William M'Whir. 
 Mr. John Murray. 
 Mr. Patrick Murray. 
 
 Alexander M'Kinnon, Esq., London. 
 
 N 
 Captain Robert North, Poughkeepsie. 
 
 Mr. William Nixon, New- York. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 15 
 
 O 
 
 Abraham Ogden, Esq., New-York. 
 Abraham Osgood, Esq. 
 Mr. Henry Oudenarde. 
 
 Mr. Benjamin Oden, Maryland. 
 Mrs. B. Ogle, 2 copies. 
 Mr. Thomas Orrick. 
 Mr. Richard Owens. 
 
 Richard Piatt, Esq., New- York, 10 copies. 
 G. Pintard, Esq., 4 copies. 
 Mr. George Pollock. 
 Mr. J. W. Prevost. 
 William Popham, Esq. 
 
 Robert Patton, Esq., Philadelphia. 
 
 Charles Pettit, Esq. 
 
 Frederick Phile, Esq. 
 
 Samuel Powell, Esq. 
 
 Mr. William Prichard, 6 copies. 
 
 Mrs. Prichard. 
 
 Honorable William Paca, Maryland, 6 copies. 
 
 Archibald Patison, Esq., 6 copies. 
 
 Honorable George Plater, 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. John Petty. 
 
 Miss Ann Pinckney. 
 
 Jonathan Pinckney, jun. 
 
 Mr. John R. Plater, 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Pryse. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Purdy. 
 
 Mr. William Page, Virginia, 2 copies. 
 Mr. Henry Peterson. 
 Mr. John S. Pleasants. 
 
i6 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 Mr. Thomas Porter, Virginia. 
 Mr. R. Pracott. 
 
 Q 
 
 Allen Quynn, Esq., Maryland, 4 copies. 
 Mr. Allen Quynn, jun. 
 
 R 
 Messrs. Berry and Rogers, New- York, 1 2 copies. 
 Nicholas G. Rutgers, Esq. 
 
 Dr. Joseph Redman, Philadelphia. 
 
 Mr. James Rees. 
 
 Mr. A. Reinagle. 
 
 Mr. John Reed. 
 
 Messrs. H. Rice and Co., 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. Cropley Rose. 
 
 Mr. John Randall, Maryland. 
 
 Capt. Philip Reed. 
 
 Mr. Simon Retalick. 
 
 Christopher Richmond, Esq., 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. Paul Richards. 
 
 Mr. Samuel Ridout. 
 
 Mr. James Ringold. 
 
 Mrs. Ringold. 
 
 Honorable John Rogers, Esq. 
 
 Edmund Randolph, Esq., Attorney -General to the United States^ 
 
 Virginia. 
 Mr. George Richards, 6 copies. 
 Mr. A. Robb. 
 Mr. J. Roberdeau. 
 
 John Richards, Esq., R.A., London. 
 Mr. John Robinson. 
 
 S 
 Major General Baron Stuben, New-York. 
 Mr. Joseph Sands. 
 
 I 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 17 
 
 Mr. Henry Saidler, New-York. 
 Mr. John Sherred. 
 William S. Smith, Esq. 
 Mr. George Storer. 
 
 General Walter Stewart, Philadelphia. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Seddon, 6 copies. 
 
 Doctor William Shippen, jun. 
 
 William S. Smith, Esq. 
 
 Mr. William Spots wood, 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. Andrew Spence. 
 
 William Steinsen, Esq. 
 
 Major Jonathan Sellman, Maryland, 2 copies. 
 
 Hugh Sherwood, Esq. , 2 copies. 
 
 James Shaw, Esq., 4 copies. 
 
 Mr. John Shaw, 2 copies. 
 
 Doctor John T. Shaaf. 
 
 Doctor Clement Smith. 
 
 William Smallwood, Esq. , late Governor of Maryland, 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. Richard Sprigg, jun. 
 
 Michael Stone, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Captain John Stewart. 
 
 Doctor James Stewart, 4 copies. 
 
 Mr. David Stewart, 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. David Stewart, of Doden. 
 
 Mr. Robert Sanford, Virginia. 
 Mr. Charles Simms. 
 Mr. P. Southall. 
 
 T 
 
 Isaiah Thomas, Esq., Massachusetts, 12 copies. 
 
 Jonathan Trumbull, Esq., New- York. 
 
 Mr. Henry Toland, Philadelphia. 
 Mr. James Thompson, 2 copies. 
 
 John Taylor, Esq., Maryland. 
 
i8 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 Mr. Benjamin Taylor, Maryland. 
 John Allen Thomas, Esq., 6 copies. 
 Mr. Jasper E. Tilley. 
 Mr. Richard Tootel. 
 Captain John Trueman. 
 
 Mr. Jonah Thompson, Virginia. 
 St. George Tucker, Esq. 
 
 W 
 
 Mr. Richard Ward, New- York. 
 
 Honorable Jeremiah Wadsworth, Esq., 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. John Wallace. 
 
 Mr. Prosper Wetmore. 
 
 General S. B. Webb. 
 
 Charles Wilkes, Esq. 
 
 Mr. George Westcott, Philadelphia. 
 
 Honorable James Wilson, Esq. 
 
 Mr. Seth Willis. 
 
 Mr. William Woodhouse, 6 copies. 
 
 Mr. Balthazer Wouters. 
 
 Mr. James Withy. 
 
 Mr. Nicholas Watkins, Maryland. 
 
 Mrs. Catharine Wallace. 
 
 Mr. Richard Wells. 
 
 Mr. William Wells. 
 
 Mr. Joseph Williams. 
 
 Mr. William Whetcroft. 
 
 Mr. Burton Whetcroft. 
 
 Mrs. Rebecca White. 
 
 Miss Letitia Whetcroft. 
 
 John White, Esq., 4 copies. 
 
 Mrs. Frances Whetcroft. 
 
 Mr. Brice I. Worthington. 
 
 Mr. John G. Worthington, 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. Henry Woodcock, 2 copies. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 19 
 
 Mr. John Wright, Maryland, 3 copies. 
 
 Mr. William Ward, Virginia. 
 Mr. George A. Washington. 
 Joseph Westmore, Esq. 
 Mr. Roger West. 
 
 Y 
 
 Hamilton Young, Esq., New- York. 
 
 Mr. John Young, Philadelphia. 
 Mr. Vachel Yates, Maryland. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 WRITTEN BY A YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF NEW-YORK, AND SPOKEN BY 
 MR. WIGNELL 
 
 EXULT, each patriot heart ! — this night is shewn 
 
 A piece, which we may fairly call our own ; 
 
 Where the proud titles of ** My Lord ! Your Grace! " 
 
 To humble Mr. and plain Sir give place. 
 
 Our Author pictures not from foreign climes 
 
 The fashions or the follies of the times; 
 
 But has confin'd the subject of his work 
 
 To the gay scenes — the circles of New-York. 
 
 On native themes his Muse displays her pow'rs; 
 
 If ours the faults, the virtues too are ours. 
 
 Why should our thoughts to distant countries roam. 
 
 When each refinement may be found at home ? 
 
 Who travels now to ape the rich or great. 
 
 To deck an equipage and roll in state; 
 
 To court the graces, or to dance with ease. 
 
 Or by hypocrisy to strive to please ? 
 
 Our free-born ancestors such arts despisM ; 
 
 Genuine sincerity alone they priz'd ; 
 
 Their minds, with honest emulation fir'd; 
 
 To solid good — not ornament — aspir'd; 
 
 Or, if ambition rous'd a bolder flame. 
 
 Stern virtue throve, where indolence was shame. 
 
 But modern youths, with imitative sense. 
 Deem taste in dress the proof of excellence ; 
 And spurn the meanness of your homespun arts. 
 Since homespun habits would obscure their parts ; 
 Whilst all, which aims at splendour and parade. 
 Must come from Europe, and be ready made. 
 
PROLOGUE 21 
 
 Strange! we should thus our native worth disclaim. 
 And check the progress of our rising fame. 
 Yet oney whilst imitation bears the sway. 
 Aspires to nobler heights, and points the way. 
 Be rous*d, my friends ! his bold example view ; 
 Let your own Bards be proud to copy you ! 
 Should rigid critics reprobate our play. 
 At least the patriotic heart will say, 
 ** Glorious our fall, since in a noble cause. 
 ** The bold attempt alone demands applause.*' 
 Still may the wisdom of the Comic Muse 
 Exalt your merits, or your faults accuse. 
 
 But think not, ' t is her aim to be severe ; 
 
 We all are mortals, and as mortals err. 
 
 If candour pleases, we are truly blest ; 
 
 Vice trembles, when compell'd to stand confess' d. 
 
 Let not light Censure on your faults oiFend, 
 
 Which aims not to expose them, but amend. 
 
 Thus does our Author to your candour trust ; 
 
 Conscious, the free are generous, as just. 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 
 
 New-York 
 
 Maryland 
 
 /' 
 
 Col. Manly 
 
 Mr. Henry 
 
 Mr. Hallam 
 
 
 Dimple 
 
 Mr. Ha Ham 
 
 Mr. Harper 
 
 
 Van Rough 
 
 Mr. Morris 
 
 Mr. Morris 
 
 
 Jessamy 
 
 Mr. Harper 
 
 Mr. Biddle 
 
 (/ 
 
 Jonathan 
 
 Mr. Wignell 
 
 Mr, Wignell 
 
 
 Charlotte 
 
 Mrs. Morris 
 
 Mrs. Morris 
 
 
 Maria 
 
 Mrs. Harper 
 
 Mrs. Harper 
 
 
 Letitia 
 
 Mrs. Kenna 
 
 Mrs. Williamson 
 
 y 
 
 Jenny 
 
 Miss Tuke 
 Servants 
 
 Miss W. Tuke 
 
 Scene, NEW-YORK 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene^ an <iApartment at Charlotte's 
 Charlotte and Letitia discovered 
 
 LETITIA. And so, Charlotte, you really think the 
 / pocket^hoop unbecoming. 
 Charlotte. No, I don't say so. It may be very 
 becoming to saunter round the house of a rainy day; 
 to visit my grand^mamma, or to go to Quakers' meet/ 
 ing : but to swim in a minuet, with the eyes of fifty 
 well/dressed beaux upon me, to trip it in the Mall, 
 or walk on the battery, give me the luxurious, jaunty, 
 flowing, bell^hoop. It would have delighted you to 
 have seen me the last evening, my charming girl ! 
 I was dangling o'er the battery with Billy Dimple ; a 
 knot of young fellows were upon the platform ; as I 
 passed them I faultered with one of the most bewitch^ 
 ing false steps you ever saw, and then recovered my/ 
 self with such a pretty confusion, flirting my hoop to 
 discover a jet black shoe and brilliant buckle. Gad ! 
 how my little heart thrilled to hear the confused rap/ 
 tures of — " T>emme, yack, what a delicate foot T' 
 ''Ha! (jeneral^ what a well-turned " 
 
24 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Letitia. Fie! fie! Charlotte [stopping her mouth], 
 I protest you are quite a libertine. 
 
 Charlotte. Why, my dear little prude, are we 
 not all such libertines ? Do you think, when I sat tor/ 
 tured two hours under the hands of my friseur, and 
 an hour more at my toilet, that I had any thoughts 
 of my aunt Susan, or my cousin Betsey? though 
 they are both allowed to be critical judges of dress. 
 
 Letitia. Why, who should we dress to please, 
 but those who are judges of its merit? 
 
 Charlotte. Why, a creature who does not know 
 Buff on from Soufee — Man ! — my Letitia — Man ! 
 for whom we dress, walk, dance, talk, lisp, languish, 
 and smile. Does not the grave Spectator assure us that 
 even our much bepraised diffidence, modesty, and 
 blushes are all directed to make ourselves good wives^ 
 and mothers as fast as we can ? Why, Pll undertake 
 with one flirt of this hoop to bring more beaux to 
 my feet in one week than the grave Maria, and her 
 sentimental circle, can do, by sighing sentiment till 
 their hairs are grey. 
 
 Letitia. Well, I won't argue with you ; you al/ 
 ways out-talk me ; let us change the subject. I hear 
 that Mr. Dimple and Maria are soon to be married. 
 
 Charlotte. You hear true. I was consulted in 
 the choice of the wedding clothes. She is to be mar/ 
 ried in a delicate white sattin, and has a monstrous 
 
 J 
 
THE CONTRAST 25 
 
 pretty brocaded lutestring for the second day. It would 
 have done you good to have seen with what an affected 
 indifference the dear sentimentalist turned over a 
 thousand pretty things, just as if her heart did not 
 palpitate with her approaching happiness, and at 
 last made her choice and arranged her dress with such 
 apathy as if she did not know that plain white sattin 
 and a simple blond lace would shew her clear skin 
 and dark hair to the greatest advantage. 
 
 Letitia. But they say her indifference to dress, 
 and even to the gentleman himself, is not entirely 
 affected. 
 
 Charlotte. How? 
 
 Letitia. It is whispered that if Maria gives her 
 hand to Mr. Dimple, it will be without her heart. 
 
 Charlotte. Though the giving the heart is one 
 of the last of all laughable considerations in the mar/ 
 riage of a girl of spirit, yet I should like to hear what 
 antiquated notions the dear little piece of old/fash/ 
 ioned prudery has got in her head. 
 
 Letitia. Why, you know that old Mr. John/ 
 Richard/ Robert /Jacob/Isaac/ Abraham/Cornelius Van 
 Dumpling, Billy Dimple's father (for he has thought 
 fit to soften his name, as well as manners, during his 
 English tour), was the most intimate friend of Maria's 
 father. The old folks, about a year before Mr. Van 
 Dumpling's death, proposed this match : the young 
 
26 THE CONTRAST 
 
 folks were accordingly introduced, and told they 
 must love one another. Billy was then a goodma/ 
 tured, decent^dressing young fellow, with a little 
 dash of the coxcomb, such as our young fellows of 
 fortune usually have. At this time, I really believe 
 she thought she loved him ; and had they then been 
 married, I doubt not they might have jogged on, to 
 the end of the chapter, a good kind of a sing/song 
 lack^a^daysaical life, as other honest married folks do. 
 
 Charlotte. Why did they not then marry ? 
 
 Letitia. Upon the death of his father, Billy went 
 to England to seethe world and rub off a little of the 
 patroonrust. During his absence, Maria, like a good 
 girl, to keep herself constant to her nown truedove, 
 avoided company, and betook herself, for her amuse/ 
 ment, to her books, and her dear Billy's letters. But, 
 alas ! how many ways has the mischievous demon of 
 inconstancy of stealing into a woman's heart ! Her 
 love was destroyed by the very means she took to sup/ 
 port it. 
 
 Charlotte . How ? — Oh ! I have it — some 
 likely young beau found the way to her study. 
 
 Letitia. Be patient, Charlotte ; your head so runs 
 upon beaux. Why, she read Sir Charles Grandison, 
 Clarissa Harlow, Shenstone, and the Sentimental 
 Journey ; and between whiles, as I said, Billy's let/ 
 ters. But, as her taste improved, her love declined. 
 
THE CONTRAST 27 
 
 The contrast was so striking betwixt the good sense 
 of her books and the flimsiness of her love/letters, 
 that she discovered she had unthinkingly engaged 
 her hand without her heart ; and then the whole 
 transaction, managed by the old folks, now appeared 
 so unsentimental, and looked so like bargaining for 
 a bale of goods, that she found she ought to have 
 rejected, according to every rule of romance, even 
 the man of her choice, if imposed upon her in that 
 manner. Clary Harlow would have scorned such a 
 match. 
 
 Charlotte. Well, how was it on Mr. Dimple's 
 return ? Did he meet a more favourable reception than 
 his letters ? 
 
 Letitia. Much the same. She spoke of him with 
 respect abroad, and with contempt in her closet. She 
 watched his conduct and conversation, and found 
 that he had by travelling acquired the wickedness of 
 Lovelace without his wit, and the politeness of Sir 
 Charles Grandison without his generosity. The ruddy 
 youth, who washed his face at the cistern e very morn^ 
 ing, and swore and looked eternal love and constancy, 
 was now metamorphosed into a flippant, palid, polite 
 beau, who devotes the morning to his toilet, reads a 
 few pages of Chesterfield's letters, and then minces 
 out, to put the infamous principles in practice upon 
 every woman he meets. 
 
28 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Charlotte. But, if she is so apt at conjuring up 
 these sentimental bugbears, why does she not discard 
 him at once ? 
 
 Letitia. Why, she thinks her word too sacred to 
 be trifled with. Besides, her father, who has a great 
 respect for the memory of his deceased friend, is ever 
 telling her how he shall renew his years in their 
 union, and repeating the dying injunctions of old 
 Van Dumpling. 
 
 Charlotte. A mighty pretty story! And so you 
 would make me believe that the sensible Maria would 
 give up Dumpling manor, and the all/accomplished 
 Dimple as a husband, for the absurd, ridiculous rea/ 
 son, forsooth, because she despises and abhors him. 
 Just as if a lady could not be privileged to spend a 
 man's fortune, ride in his carriage, be called after his 
 name, and call him her nown dear lovee when she 
 wants money, without loving and respecting the great 
 he^creature. Oh ! my dear girl, you are a monstrous 
 prude. 
 
 Letitia. I don't say what I would do ; I only inti/ 
 mate how I suppose she wishes to act. 
 
 Charlotte. No, no, no! A fig for sentiment. If 
 she breaks, or wishes to break, with Mr. Dimple, de^ 
 pend upon it, she has some other man in her eye. A 
 woman rarely discards one lover until she is sure of 
 another. Letitia little thinks what a clue I have to 
 
THE CONTRAST 29 
 
 Dimple's conduct. The generous man submits to ren/ 
 der himself disgusting to Maria, in order that she may- 
 leave him at liberty to address me. I must change the 
 subject. [jtAside^ and rings a bell, 
 
 Cnter Servant 
 
 Frank, order the horses to. Talking of mar^ 
 
 riage, did you hear that Sally Bloomsbury is going to 
 be married next week to Mr. Indigo, the rich Caro" 
 linian ? 
 
 Letitia. Sally Bloomsbury married! — why, she 
 is not yet in her teens. 
 
 Charlotte. I do not know how that is, but you 
 may depend upon it, 'tis a done affair. I have it from 
 the best authority. There is my aunt Wyerly's Han/ 
 nah. You know Hannah ; though a black, she is a 
 wench that was never caught in a lie in her life. Now, 
 Hannah has a brother who courts Sarah, Mrs. Catgut 
 the milliner's girl, and she told Hannah's brother, and 
 Hannah, who, as I said before, is a girl of undoubted 
 veracity, told it directly to me, that Mrs. Catgut was 
 making a new cap for Miss Bloomsbury, which, as it 
 was very dressy, it is very probable is designed for a 
 wedding cap. Now, as she is to be married, who can 
 it be but to Mr. Indigo? Why, there is no other 
 gentleman that visits at her papa's. 
 
 Letitia. Say not a word more, Charlotte. Your 
 
30 THE CONTRAST 
 
 intelligence is so direct and well grounded, it is al/ 
 most a pity that it is not a piece of scandal. 
 
 Charlotte. Oh! I am the pink of prudence. 
 Though I cannot charge myself with ever having 
 discredited a tea-party by my silence, yet I take care 
 never to report anything of my acquaintance, espe/ 
 cially if it is to their credit, — discredit, I mean, — 
 until I have searched to the bottom of it. It is true, 
 there is infinite pleasure in this charitable pursuit. 
 Oh! how delicious to go and condole with the friends 
 of some backsliding sister, or to retire with some old 
 dowager or maiden aunt of the family, who love scan/ 
 dal so well that they cannot forbear gratifying their 
 appetite at the expense of the reputation of their near/ 
 est relations ! And then to return full fraught with a 
 rich collection of circumstances, to retail to the next 
 circle of our acquaintance under the strongest injunc/ 
 tions of secrecy, — ha, ha, ha! — interlarding the 
 melancholy tale with so many doleful shakes of the 
 head, and more doleful ' ' Ah! who would have thought 
 it! so amiable, so prudent a young lady, as we all 
 thought her , what a monstrous pity! well, I have noth/ 
 ing to charge myself with ; I acted the part of a friend, 
 I warned her of the principles of that rake, I told her 
 what would be the consequence ; I told her so, I told 
 her so." — Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Letitia. Ha, ha, ha! Well, but, Charlotte, you 
 
THE CONTRAST 31 
 
 don't tell me what you think of Miss Bloomsbuiy's 
 match. 
 
 Charlotte. Think! why I think it is probable 
 she cried for a plaything, and they have given her a 
 husband. Well, well, well, the puling chit shall not 
 be deprived of her plaything : 'tis only exchanging 
 London dolls for American babies. — Apropos, of 
 babies, have you heard what Mrs. Affable's high^ 
 flying notions of delicacy have come to ? 
 
 Letitia. Who, she that was Miss Lovely ? 
 
 Charlotte. The same ; she married Bob Affable 
 of Schenectady. Don't you remember ? 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Servant. Madam, the carriage is ready. 
 
 Letitia. Shall we go to the stores first, or visit/ 
 ing? 
 
 Charlotte. I should think it rather too early to 
 visit, especially Mrs. Prim ; you know she is so par/ 
 ticular. 
 
 Letitia. Well, but what of Mrs. Affable ? 
 
 Charlotte. Oh, I'll tell you as we go; come, 
 come, let us hasten. I hear Mrs. Catgut has some of 
 the prettiest caps arrived you ever saw. I shall die if I 
 have not the first sight of them. \Exeunt, 
 
32 THE CONTRAST 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 ^%opm inN K^ Rough's House 
 
 Maria sitting disconsolate at a 'Table, with Books, ^c. 
 
 SONG 
 
 I 
 
 The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day; 
 But glory remains when their lights fade away ! 
 Begin, ye tormentors ! your threats are in vain. 
 For the son of Alknomook shall never complain. 
 
 II 
 
 Remember the arrows he shot from his bow ; 
 Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low : 
 Why so slow ? — do you wait till I shrink from the pain? 
 No — the son of Alknomook will never complain. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Remember the wood where in ambush we lay. 
 And the scalps which we bore from your nation away : 
 Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain ; 
 But the son of Alknomook can never complain. 
 
 IV 
 
 I go to the land where my father is gone; 
 
 His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son : 
 
 Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain ; 
 
 And thy son. Oh Alknomook! has scorn' d to complain. 
 
 There is something in this song which ever calls 
 forth my affections. The manly virtue of courage, 
 that fortitude which steels the heart against the keen/ 
 est misfortunes, which interweaves the laurel of glory 
 amidst the instruments of torture and death, displays 
 
 S 
 
THE CONTRAST ^3 
 
 something so noble, so exalted, that in despite of the 
 prejudices of education I cannot but admire it, even 
 in a savage. The prepossession which our sex is sup/ 
 posed to entertain for the character of a soldier is, I 
 know, a standing piece of raillery among the wits. A 
 cockade, a lapell'd coat, and a feather, they will tell 
 you, are irresistible by a female heart. Let it be so. 
 Who is it that considers the helpless situation of our 
 sex, that does not see that we each moment stand in 
 need of a protector, and that a brave one too ? Formed 
 of the more delicate materials of nature, endowed 
 only with the softer passions, incapable, from our 
 ignorance of the world, to guard against the wiles of 
 mankind, our security for happiness often depends 
 upon their generosity and courage. Alas! how little 
 of the former do we find! How inconsistent! that 
 man should be leagued to destroy that honour upon 
 which solely rests his respect and esteem. Ten thou/ 
 sand temptations allure us, ten thousand passions be/ 
 tray us; yet the smallest deviation from the path of 
 rectitude is followed by the contempt and insult of 
 man, and the more 'remorseless pity of woman ; years 
 of penitence and tears cannot wash away the stain, 
 nor a life of virtue obliterate its remembrance. Repu/ 
 tation is the life of woman; yet courage to protect 
 it is masculine and disgusting ; and the only safe asy/ 
 lum a woman of delicacy can find is in the arms of a 
 
34 THE CONTRAST 
 
 man of honour. How naturally, then, should we love 
 the brave and the generous; how gratefully should we 
 bless the arm raised for our protection, when nerv'd 
 by virtue and directed by honour! Heaven grant that 
 the man with whom I may be connected — may be 
 connected ! Whither has my imagination transported 
 me — whither does it now lead me? Am I not in/ 
 dissolubly engaged, "by every obligation of honour 
 which my own consent and my father's approbation 
 can give,'' to a man who can never share my affect 
 tions, and whom a few days hence it will be criminal for 
 me to disapprove — to disapprove! would to heaven 
 that were all — to despise. For, can the most frivo/ 
 lous manners, actuated by the most depraved heart, 
 meet, or merit, anything but contempt from every 
 woman of delicacy and sentiment ? 
 
 [Van Rough without, Mary!] 
 Ha I my father's voice — Sir ! 
 
 Enter Van Rough 
 
 Van Rough. What, Mary, always singing doleful 
 ditties, and moping over these plaguy books. 
 
 Maria. I hope. Sir, that it is not criminal to im/ 
 prove my mind with books, or to divert my melan/ 
 choly with singing, at my leisure hours. 
 
 Van Rough. Why, I don't know that, child ; I 
 don't know that. They us'd to say, when I was a 
 
THE CONTRAST 35 
 
 young man, that if a woman knew how to make a 
 pudding, and to keepjherself out of fire and water, 
 she knew enough for a wife. Now, what good have 
 these books done you ? have they not made you mel^ 
 ancholy ? as you call it. Pray, what right has a girl 
 of your age to be in the dumps? haven't you every^ 
 thing your heart can wish ; an't you going to be mar/ 
 ried to a young man of great fortune ; an't you going 
 to have the quit^rent of twenty miles square? 
 
 Maria. One^hundredth part of the land, and a 
 lease for life of the heart of a man I could love, would 
 satisfy me. 
 
 Van Rough. Pho, pho, pho! child; nonsense, 
 downright nonsense, child. This comes of your read/ 
 ing your story /books ; your Charles Grandisons, your 
 Sentimental Journals, and your Robinson Crusoes, 
 and such other trumpery. No, no, no ! child ; it is 
 money makes the mare go ; keep your eye upon the 
 main chance, Mary. 
 
 Maria. Marriage, Sir, is, indeed, a very serious 
 affair. 
 
 Van Rough. You are right, child ; you are right. 
 I am sure I found it so, to my cost. 
 
 Maria. I mean. Sir, that as marriage is a portion 
 for life, and so intimately involves our happiness, we 
 cannot be too considerate in the choice of our com/ 
 panion. 
 
26 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Van Rough. Right, child ; very right. A young 
 woman should be very sober when she is making her 
 choice, but when she has once made it, as you have 
 done, I don't see why she should not be as merry as 
 a grig ; I am sure she has reason enough to be so. 
 Solomon says that *' there is a time to laugh, and a 
 time to weep.'' Now, a time for a young woman to 
 laugh is when she has made sure of a good rich hus^ 
 band. Now, a time to cry, according to you, Mary, 
 is when she is making choice of him ; but I should 
 think that a young woman's time to cry was when 
 she despaired of getting one. Why, there was your 
 mother, now: to be sure, whenlpopp'd the question 
 to her she did look a little silly ; but when she had 
 once looked down on her apron-strings, as all modest 
 young women us'd to do, and drawled out ye-s, she 
 was as brisk and as merry as a bee. 
 
 Maria. My honoured mother, Sir, had no mo^ 
 tive to melancholy; she married the man of her 
 choice. 
 
 Van Rough. The man of her choice! And pray, 
 Mary, an't you going to m.arry the man of your 
 choice — what trumpery notion is this ? It is these 
 vile books \t browing them away], I'd have you to 
 know, Mary, if you won't make young Van Dump^ 
 ling the man of your choice, you shall marry him as 
 the man of my choice. 
 
THE CONTRAST 37 
 
 Maria. You terrify me, Sir. Indeed, Sir, I am all 
 submission. My will is yours. 
 
 Van Rough. Why, that is the way your mother 
 us'd to talk. **My will is yours, my dear Mr. Van 
 Rough, my will is yours '' ; but she took special care 
 to have her own way, though, for all that. 
 
 Maria. Do not reflect upon my mother's mem/ 
 ory. Sir 
 
 Van Rough. Why not, Mary, why not? She kept 
 me from speaking my mind all her life, and do you 
 think she shall henpeck me now she is dead too ? 
 Come, come ; don't go to sniveling ; be a good girl, 
 and mind the main chance. Til see you well settled 
 in the world. 
 
 Maria. I do not doubt your love. Sir, and it is my 
 duty to obey you. I will endeavour to make my duty 
 and inclination go hand in hand. 
 
 Van Rough. Well, well, Mary ; do you be a good 
 girl, mind the main chance, and never mind inclina/ 
 tion. Why, do you know that I have been down in 
 the cellar this very morning to examine a pipe of 
 Madeira which I purchased the week you were born, 
 and mean to tap on your wedding day ? — That pipe 
 cost me fifty pounds sterling. It was well worth sixty 
 pounds ; but I overreach'd Ben Bulkhead, the super/ 
 cargo. I'll tell you the whole story. You must know 
 that 
 
38 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Cnter Servant 
 
 Servant. Sir, Mr. Transfer, the broker, is below. 
 
 \8xit. 
 
 Van Rough. Well, Mary, I must go. Remember, 
 and be a good girl, and mind the main chance. 
 
 [6!v//. 
 
 Maria [alone]. How deplorable is my situation! 
 How distressing for a daughter to find her heart 
 militating with her filial duty ! I know my father 
 loves me tenderly ; why then do I reluctantly obey 
 him ? Heaven knows ! with what reluctance I should 
 oppose the will of a parent, or set an example of filial 
 disobedience ; at a parent's command, I could wed 
 awkwardness and deformity. Were the heart of my 
 husband good, I would so magnify his good qual/ 
 ities with the eye of conjugal aflfection, that the de/ 
 fects of his person and manners should be lost in the 
 emanation of his virtues. At a father's command, I 
 could embrace poverty. Were the poor man my hus^ 
 band, I would learn resignation to my lot ; I would 
 enliven our frugal meal with good humour, and 
 chase away misfortune from our cottage with a 
 smile. At a father's command, I could almost sub^ 
 mit to what every female heart knows to be the most 
 mortifying, to marry a weak man, and blush at my 
 husband's folly in every company I visited. But to 
 marry a depraved wretch, whose only virtue is a 
 
THE CONTRAST 39 
 
 polished exterior ; who is actuated by the unmanly 
 ambition of conquering the defenceless ; whose heart, 
 insensible to the emotions of patriotism, dilates at the 
 plaudits of every unthinking girl ; whose laurels are 
 the sighs and tears of the miserable victims of his 
 specious behaviour, — can he, who has no regard 
 for the peace and happiness of other families, ever 
 have a due regard for the peace and happiness of 
 his own ? Would to heaven that my father were not 
 so hasty in his temper ? Surely, if 1 were to state my 
 reasons for declining this match, he would not compel 
 me to marry a man, whom, though my lips may sol/ 
 emnly promise to honour, I find my heart must ever 
 despise. [8xit, 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT 
 
ACT II. SCENE I 
 Snter Charlotte and Letitia 
 
 Charlotte [at entering], Betty, take those things 
 out of the carriage and carry them to my chamber ; 
 see that you don't tumble them. My dear, I protest, 
 I think it was the homeliest of the whole. I declare 
 I was almost tempted to return and change it. 
 
 Letitia. Why would you take it ? 
 
 Charlotte. Didn't Mrs. Catgut say it was the 
 most fashionable? 
 
 Letitia. But, my dear, it will never fit becom/ 
 ingly on you. 
 
 Charlotte. I know that ; but did not you hear 
 Mrs. Catgut say it was fashionable ? 
 
 Letitia. Did you see that sweet airy cap with 
 the white sprig ? 
 
 Charlotte. Yes, and I longed to take it ; but, my 
 dear, what could I do ? Did not Mrs. Catgut say it 
 was the most fashionable ; and if I had not taken it, 
 was not that awkward gawky, Sally Slender, ready 
 to purchase it immediately ? 
 
 Letitia. Did you observe how she tumbled over 
 the things at the next shop, and then went off with-' 
 out purchasing anything, nor even thanking the poor 
 man for his trouble ? But, of all the awkward crea/ 
 
THE CONTRAST 41 
 
 tures, did you see Miss Blouze endeavouring to thrust 
 her unmerciful arm into those small kid gloves ? 
 
 Charlotte. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Letitia. Then did you take notice with what an 
 affected warmth of friendship she and Miss Wasp 
 met ? when all their acquaintance know how much 
 pleasure they take in abusing each other in every 
 company. 
 
 Charlotte. Lud! Letitia, is that so extraordi/ 
 nary ? Why, my dear, I hope you are not going to turn 
 sentimentalist. Scandal, you know, is but amusing 
 ourselves with the faults, foibles, follies, and reputa/ 
 tions of our friends ; indeed, I don t know why we 
 should have friends, if we are not at liberty to make 
 use of them. But no person is so ignorant of the 
 world as to suppose, because I amuse myself with a 
 lady's faults, that I am obliged to quarrel with her 
 person every time we meet : believe me, my dear, we 
 should have very few acquaintance at that rate. 
 
 Servant enters and delivers a letter to Charlotte, 
 and \£xit. 
 
 Charlotte. You'll excuse me, my dear. 
 
 \Opens and reads to herself. 
 Letitia. Oh, quite excusable. 
 Charlotte. As I hope to be married, my brother 
 Henry is in the city. 
 
42 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Letitia. What, your brother, Colonel Manly ? 
 
 Charlotte. Yes, my dear ; the only brother I have 
 in the world. 
 
 Letitia. Was he never in this city ? 
 
 Charlotte. Never nearer than Harlem Heights, 
 where he lay with his regiment. 
 
 Letitia. What sort of a being is this brother of 
 yours ? If he is as chatty, as pretty, as sprightly as you, 
 half the belles in the city will be pulling caps for 
 him. 
 
 Charlotte. My brother is the very counterpart 
 and reverse of me : I am gay, he is grave ; I am airy, 
 he is solid ; I am ever selecting the most pleasing ob/ 
 jects for my laughter, he has a tear for every pitifU 
 one. And thus, whilst he is plucking the briars and 
 thorns from the path of the unfortunate, I am strew/ 
 ing my own path with roses. 
 
 Letitia. My sweet friend, not quite so poetical, 
 and a little more particular. 
 
 Charlotte. Hands off, Letitia. I feel the rage of 
 simile upon me ; I can't talk to you in any other way. 
 My brother has a heart replete with the noblest sen/ 
 timents, but then, it is like — it is like — Oh! you 
 provoking girl, you have deranged all my ideas — 
 it is like — Oh! I have it — his heart is like an old 
 maiden lady's bandbox ; it contains many costly things, 
 arranged with the most scrupulous nicety, yet the 
 
THE CONTRAST /^^^ 43 
 
 misfortune is that they are too delicate, costly, and 
 antiquated for common use. 
 
 Letitia. By what I can pick out of your flowery 
 description, your brother is no beau. 
 
 Charlotte. No, indeed; he makes no pretension 
 to the character. He'd ride, or rather fly, an hundred 
 miles to relieve a distressed object, or to do a gallant 
 act in the service of his country ; but should you drop 
 your fan or bouquet in his presence, it is ten to one 
 that some beau at the farther end of the room would 
 have the honour of presenting it to you before he 
 had observed that it fell. TU tell you one of his anti/ 
 quated, anti/gallant notions. He said once in mypres/ 
 ence, in a room full of company, — would you be/ 
 lieve it ? — in a large circle of ladies, that the best evu 
 dence a gentleman could give a young lady of his re/ 
 spect and aflfection was to endeavour in a friendly man/ 
 ner to rectify her foibles. I protest I was crimson to 
 the eyes, upon reflecting that I was known as his sis/ 
 ter. 
 
 Letitia. Insupportable creature ! tell a lady of her 
 faults ! if he is so grave, I fear I have no chance of 
 captivating him. 
 
 Charlotte. His conversation is like a rich, old/ 
 fashioned brocade, — it will stand alone ; every sen/ 
 tence is a sentiment. Now you may judge what a time 
 I had with him, in my twelve months' visit to my 
 
44 THE CONTRAST 
 
 father. He read me such lectures, out of pure broth/ 
 erly affection, against the extremes of fashion, dress, 
 flirting, and coquetry, and all the other dear things 
 which he knows I doat upon, that I protest his con/ 
 versation made me as melancholy as if I had been at 
 church ; and heaven knows, though I never prayed 
 to go there but on one occasion, yet I would have ex/ 
 changed his conversation for a psalm and a sermon. 
 Church is rather melancholy, to be sure ; but then I 
 can ogle the beaux, and be regaled with '' here end/ 
 eth the first lesson," but his brotherly here, you would 
 think had no end. You captivate him ! Why, my dear, 
 he would as soon fall in love with a box of Italian flow/ 
 ers. There is Maria, now, if she were not engaged, 
 she might do something. Oh ! how I should like to 
 see that pair of pensorosos together, looking as grave 
 as two sailors' wives of a stormy night, with a flow of 
 sentiment meandering through their conversation 
 like purling streams in modern poetry. 
 
 Letitia. Oh ! my dear fanciful 
 
 Charlotte. Hush! I hear some person coming 
 through the entry. 
 
 Snter Servant 
 
 Servant. Madam, there's a gentleman below who 
 calls himself Colonel Manly ; do you chuse to be at 
 home ? 
 
THE CONTRAST 45 
 
 Charlotte. Shew him in. [£xii Servant.] Now 
 for a sober face. 
 
 6^nUr Colonel Manly 
 
 Manly. My dear Charlotte, I am happy that I 
 once more enfold you within the arms of fraternal 
 affection. I know you are going to ask (amiable im/ 
 patience !) how our parents do, — the venerable pair 
 transmit you their blessing by me. They totter on 
 the verge of a wel^spent life, and wish only to see 
 their children settled in the world, to depart in 
 peace. 
 
 Charlotte. I am very happy to hear that they are 
 weJl. [Cool/y.] Brother, will you give me leave to in-' 
 troduce you to our uncle's ward, one of my most in/ 
 timate friends? 
 
 Manly \saluting Letitia]. I ought to regard your 
 friends as my own. 
 
 Charlotte. Come, Letitia, do give us a little dash 
 of your vivacity ; my brother is so sentimental and 
 so grave, that I protest he'll give us the vapours. 
 
 Manly. Though sentiment and gravity, 1 know, 
 are banished the polite world, yet I hoped they might 
 find some countenance in the meeting of such near 
 connections as brother and sister. 
 , Charlotte . Positively, brother, if you go one step 
 further in this strain, you will set me crying, and that, 
 
46 THE CONTRAST 
 
 you know, would spoil my eyes; and then I should 
 never get the husband which our good papa and mam/ 
 ma have so kindly wished me — never be established 
 in the world. 
 
 Manly. Forgive me, my sister, — I am no enemy 
 to mirth ; I love your sprightliness ; and I hope it will 
 one day enliven the hours of some worthy man ; but 
 when I mention the respectable authors of my ex/ 
 istence, — the cherishers and protectors of my help/ 
 less infancy, whose heartsglow with such fondness and 
 attachment that they would willingly lay down their 
 lives for my welfare, — you will excuse me if I am 
 so unfashionable as to speak of them with some de/ 
 gree of respect and reverence. 
 
 Charlotte. Well, well, brother; if you won t be 
 gay, we'll not dijffer ; I will be as grave as you wish. 
 [(Effects gravity,] And so, brother, you have come 
 to the city to exchange some of your commutation 
 notes for a little pleasure? 
 
 Manly. Indeed you are mistaken; my errand is 
 not of amusement, but business; and as I neither drink 
 nor game, my expenses will be so trivial, I shall have 
 no occasion to sell my notes. 
 
 Charlotte. Then you won t have occasion to 
 do a very good thing. Why, here was the Vermont 
 General — he came down some time since, sold all his 
 musty notes at one stroke, and then laid the cash out 
 
THE CONTRAST 47 
 
 in trinkets for his dear Fanny. I want a dozen pretty 
 things myself; have you got the notes with you? 
 
 Manly. I shall be ever willing to contribute, as far 
 as it is in my power, to adorn or in any way to please 
 my sister ; yet I hope I shall never be obliged for this 
 to sell my notes. I may be romantic, but I preserve 
 them as a sacred deposit. Their full amount is justly 
 due to me, but as embarrassments, the natural con/ 
 sequences of a long war, disable my country from 
 supporting its credit, I shall wait with patience until 
 it is rich enough to discharge them. If that is not in 
 my day, they shall be transmitted as an honourable 
 certificate to posterity, that I have humbly imitated 
 our illustrious Washington, in having exposed my 
 health and life in the service of my country, without 
 reaping any other reward than the glory of conquer^ 
 ing in so arduous a contest. 
 
 Charlotte. Well said heroics. Why, my dear 
 Henry, you have such a lofty way of saying things, 
 that I protest I almost tremble at the thought of in^ 
 troducing you to the polite circles in the city. The 
 belles would think you were a player run mad, with 
 your head filled with old scraps of tragedy; and as to 
 the beaux, they might admire, because they would 
 not understand you. But, however, I must, I believe, 
 introduce you to two or three ladies of my acquaint^ 
 ance. 
 
48 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Letitia. And that will make him acquainted with 
 thirty or forty beaux. 
 
 Charlotte. Oh! brother, you don't know what 
 a fond of happiness you have in store. 
 
 Manly. I fear, sister, I have not refinement suf' 
 ficient to enjoy it. 
 
 Charlotte. Oh! you cannot fail being pleased. 
 
 Letitia. Our ladies are so delicate and dressy. 
 
 Charlotte. And our beaux so dressyanddelicate. 
 
 Letitia. Our ladies chat and flirt so agreeably. 
 
 Charlotte. And our beaux simper and bow so 
 gracefoUy. 
 
 Letitia. With their hair so trim and neat. 
 
 Charlotte. And their faces so soft and sleek. 
 
 Letitia. Their buckles so tonish and bright. 
 
 Charlotte. And their hands so slender and 
 white. 
 
 Letitia. I vow, Charlotte, we are quite poetical. 
 
 Charlotte. And then, brother, the faces of the 
 beaux are of such a lily /white hue ! None of that.hor^ 
 rid robustness of constitution, that vulgar cornfed 
 glow of health, which can only serve to alarm an un/ 
 married lady with apprehension, and prove a melan^ 
 choly memento to a married one, that she can never 
 hope for the happiness of being a widow. I will say 
 this to the credit of our city beaux, that such is the 
 delicacy of their complexion, dress, and address, that, 
 
THE CONTRAST 49 
 
 even had I no reliance upon the honour of the dear 
 Adonises, I would trust myself in any possible situa/ 
 tion with them, without the least apprehensions of 
 rudeness. 
 
 Manly. Sister Charlotte ! 
 
 Charlotte. Now, now, now, brother [interrupt^ 
 ing him\, now don't go to spoil my mirth with a dash 
 of your gravity; I am so glad to see you, I am in tip/ 
 top spirits. Oh ! that you could be with us at a little 
 snug party. There is Billy Simper, Jack Chaffe, and 
 Colonel Van Titter, Miss Promonade, and the two 
 Miss Tambours, sometimes make a party, with some 
 other ladies, in a side/box at the play. Everything is 
 conducted with such decorum. First we bow round 
 to the company in general, then to each one in par/ 
 ticular, then we have so many inquiries after each 
 other's health, and we are so happy to meet each 
 other, and it is so many ages since we last had that 
 pleasure, -and if a married lady is in company, we 
 have such a sweet dissertation upon her son Bobby's 
 chin/cough ; then the curtain rises, then our sensi/ 
 bility is all awake, and then, by the mere force of 
 apprehension, we torture some harmless expression 
 into a double meaning, which the poor author never 
 dreamt of, and then we have recourse to our fans, 
 and then we blush, and then the gentlemen jog one 
 another, peep under the fan, and make the prettiest 
 
50 THE CONTRAST 
 
 remarks ; and then we giggle and they simper, and 
 they giggle and we simper, and then the curtain 
 drops, and then for nuts and oranges, and then we 
 bow, and it's pray. Ma am, take it, and pray. Sir, keep 
 it, and oh ! not for the world. Sir ; and then the cur^ 
 tain rises again, and then we blush and giggle and 
 simper and bow all over again. Oh ! the sentimental 
 charms of a side/box conversation ! [_^ll laugh. 
 
 Manly. Well, sister, I join heartily with you in 
 the laugh ; for, in my opinion, it is as justifiable to 
 laugh at folly as it is reprehensible to ridicule mis/ 
 fortune. 
 
 Charlotte. Well, but, brother, positively I can't 
 introduce you in these clothes : why, your coat looks 
 as if it were calculated for the vulgar purpose of keep/ 
 ing yourself comfortable. 
 
 Manly. This coat was my regimental coat in the 
 late war. The public tumults of our state have in/ 
 duced me to buckle on the sword in support of that 
 government which I once fought to establish. I can 
 only say, sister, that there was a time when this coat 
 was respectable, and some people even thought that 
 those men who had endured so many winter cam/ 
 paigns in the service of their country, without bread, 
 clothing, or pay, at least deserved that the poverty of 
 their appearance should not be ridiculed. 
 
 Charlotte. We agree in opinion entirely, bro/ 
 
THE CONTRAST 51 
 
 ther, though it would not have done for me to have 
 said it : it is the coat makes the man respectable. In 
 the time of the war, when we were almost fright/ 
 ened to death, why, your coat was respectable, that 
 is, fashionable ; now another kind of coat is fashion/ 
 able, that is, respectable. And pray direct the taylor to 
 make yours the height of the fashion. 
 
 Manly. Though it is of little consequence to me 
 of what shape my coat is, yet, as to the height of the 
 fashion, there you will please to excuse me, sister. 
 You know my sentiments on that subject. I have of/ 
 ten lamented the advantage which the French have 
 over us in that particular. In Paris, the fashions have 
 their dawnings, their routine, and declensions, and 
 depend as much upon the caprice of the day as in 
 other countries ; but there every lady assumes a right 
 to deviate from the general ton as far as will be of 
 advantage to her own appearance. In America, the 
 cry is, what is the fashion ? and we follow it indis/ 
 criminately, because it is so. 
 
 Charlotte. Therefore it is, that when large hoops 
 are in fashion, we often see many a plump girl lost m 
 the immensity of a hoop/petticoat, whose want of 
 height and en^bon^point would never have been re/ 
 marked in any other dress. When the high head/ 
 dress is the mode, how then do we see a lofty cush/ 
 ion, with a profusion of gauze, feathers, and ribband, 
 
52 THE CONTRAST 
 
 supported by a face no bigger than an apple ! whilst 
 a broad full-'faced lady, who really would have ap/ 
 peared tolerably handsome in a large head-dress, looks 
 with her smart chapeau as masculine as a soldier. 
 
 Manly. But remember, my dear sister, and I wish 
 all my fair country /women would recollect, that the 
 only excuse a young lady can have for going extrav/ 
 agantly into a fashion is because it makes her look 
 extravagantly handsome. — Ladies, I must wish you 
 a good morning. 
 
 Charlotte. But, brother, you are going to make 
 home with us. 
 
 Manly. Indeed I cannot. I have seen my uncle 
 and explained that matter. 
 
 Charlotte. Come and dine with us, then. We 
 have a family dinner about half/past four o'clock. 
 
 Manly. I am engaged to dine with the Spanish 
 ambassador. I was introduced to him by an old brother 
 officer ; and instead of freezing me with a cold card 
 of compliment to dine with him ten days hence, he, 
 with the true old Castilian frankness, in a friendly 
 manner, asked me to dine with him to-day — an 
 honour I could not refuse. Sister, adieu — Madam, 
 your most obedient [6!v//. 
 
 Charlotte. I will wait upon you to the door, 
 brother ; I have something particular to say to you. 
 
 [exiL 
 
THE CONTRAST S3 
 
 Letitia [a/one]. What a pair! — She the pink of 
 flirtation, he the essence of everything that is outre 
 and gloomy. — I think I have completely deceived 
 Charlotte by my manner of speaking of Mr. Dimple ; 
 she's too much the friend of Maria to be confided 
 in. He is certainly rendering himself disagreeable to 
 Maria, in order to break with her and proffer his 
 hand to me. This is what the delicate fellow hinted 
 in our last conversation. [6jv//. 
 
 SCENE II. The dMall 
 8nter Jessamy 
 Jessamy. Positively this Mall is a very pretty place. 
 I hope the cits won t ruin it by repairs. To be sure, it 
 won't do to speak of in the same day with Ranelegh or 
 Vauxhall; however, it's a fine place for a young fel/ 
 low to display his person to advantage. Indeed, noth/ 
 ing is lost here ; the girls have taste, and I am very 
 happy to find they have adopted the elegant London 
 fashion of looking back, after a genteel fellow like 
 me has passed them. — Ah ! who comes here ? This, 
 by his awkwardness, must be the Yankee colonel's 
 servant. I'll accost him. 
 
 Snter Jonathan 
 
 Votre tres/humble serviteur. Monsieur. I under/ 
 stand Colonel Manly, the Yankee officer, has the hon/ 
 our of your services. 
 
54 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Jonathan. Sir ! 
 
 Jessamy. I say, Sir, I understand that Colonel Man^ 
 ly has the honour of having you for a servant. 
 
 Jonathan. Servant ! Sir, do you take me for a ne/ 
 ger, — 1 am Colonel Manly's waiter. 
 
 Jessamy. A true Yankee distinction, egad, v^ith/ 
 out a difference. Why, Sir, do you not perform all 
 the offices of a servant? do you not even blacken his 
 boots? ' 
 
 Jonathan. Yes ; I do grease them a bit sometimes ; 
 but I am a true blue son of liberty, for all that. Father 
 said I should come as Colonel Manly's waiter, to see 
 the world, and all that ; but no man shall master me. 
 My father has as good a farm as the colonel. 
 
 Jessamy. Well, Sir, we will not quarrel about 
 terms upon the eve of an acquaintance from which 
 I promise myself so much satisfaction ; — therefore, 
 sans ceremonie 
 
 Jonathan. What? 
 
 Jessamy. I say I am extremely happy to see Colo^ 
 nel Manly's waiter. 
 
 Jonathan. Well, and I vow, too, I am pretty con-' 
 siderably glad to see you ; but what the dogs need of 
 all this outlandish lingo ? Who may you be. Sir, if 1 
 may be so bold ? 
 
 Jessamy. 1 have the honour to be Mr. Dimple's 
 servant, or, if you please, waiter. We lodge under the 
 
THE CONTRAST 55 
 
 same roof, and should be glad of the honour of your 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Jonathan. You a waiter! by the living jingo, you 
 look so topping, I took you for one of the agents to 
 Congress. 
 
 Jessamy. The brute has discernment, notwith^ 
 standing his appearance. — Give me leave to say I 
 wonder then at your familiarity. 
 
 Jonathan. Why, as to the matter of that, Mr. 
 ; pray, what's your name? 
 
 Jessamy. Jessamy, at your service. 
 
 Jonathan. Why, I swear we don't make any great 
 matter of distinction in our state between quality and 
 other folks. 
 
 Jessamy. This is, indeed, a levelling principle. — 
 I hope, Mr. Jonathan, you have not taken part with 
 the insurgents. 
 
 Jonathan. Why, since General Shays has sneaked 
 off and given us the bag to hold, I don't care to give 
 my opinion; but you'll promise not to tell — put 
 your ear this way — you won't tell ? — I vow I did 
 think the sturgeons were right. 
 
 Jessamy. I thought, Mr. Jonathan, you Massa/ 
 chusetts men always argued with a gun in your hand. 
 Why didn't you join them? 
 
 Jonathan. Why, the colonel is one of those folks 
 called the Shin — Shin — dang it all, I can't speak 
 
56 THE CONTRAST 
 
 them lignum vitae words — you know who I mean 
 — there is a company of them — they wear a china 
 goose at their button^hole — a kind of gilt thing. — 
 Now the colonel told father and brother, — you must 
 know there are, let me see — there is Elnathan, Si/ 
 las, and Barnabas, Tabitha — no, no, she's a she — 
 tarnation, now I have it — there's Elnathan, Silas, 
 Barnabas, Jonathan, that's I — seven of us, six went 
 into the wars, and I staid at home to take care of 
 mother. Colonel said that it was a burning shame for 
 the true blue Bunker Hill sons of liberty, who had 
 fought Governor Hutchinson, Lord North, and the 
 Devil, to have any hand in kicking up a cursed dust 
 against a government which we had, every mother's 
 son of us, a hand in making. 
 
 Jessamy. Bravo! — Well, have you been abroad 
 in the city since your arrival ? What have you seen 
 that is curious and entertaining ? 
 
 Jonathan. Oh ! I have seen a power of fine sights. 
 I went to see two marble/stone men and a leaden 
 horse that stands out in doors in all weathers ; and 
 when I came where they was, one had got no head, 
 and t'other wern't there. They said as how the leaden 
 man was a damn'd tory, and that he took wit in his 
 anger and rode off in the time of the troubles. 
 
 Jessamy. But this was not the end of your excur/ 
 sion ? 
 
THE CONTRAST 57 
 
 Jonathan. Oh, no ; I went to a place they call 
 Holy Ground. Now I counted this was a place where 
 folks go to meeting ; so I put my hymn-book in my 
 pocket, and walked softly and grave as a minister ; 
 and when I came there, the dogs a bit of a meetings 
 house could I see. At last I spied a young gentle / 
 woman standing by one of the seats which they have 
 here at the doors. I took her to be the deacon's daugh^ 
 ter, and she looked so kind, and so obliging, that I 
 thought I would go and ask her the way to lecture, 
 and — would you think it ? — she called me dear, and 
 sweeting, and honey, just as if we were married : by 
 the living jingo, I had a month's mind to buss her. 
 
 Jessamy. Well, but how did it end? 
 
 Jonathan. Why, as I was standing talking with 
 her, a parcel of sailor men and boys got round me, 
 the snarl^headed curs fell a/kicking and cursing of 
 me at such a tarnal rate, that I vow I was glad to take 
 to my heels and split home, right off, tail on end, like 
 a stream of chalk. 
 
 Jessamy. Why, my dear friend, you are not ac^ 
 
 quainted with the city ; that girl you saw was a 
 
 \JVbispers. 
 
 Jonathan. Mercy on my soul ! was that young 
 woman a harlot ! — Well ! if this is New/York Holy 
 Ground, what must the Holy/day Ground be ! 
 
 Jessamy. Well, you should not judge of the city 
 
58 THE CONTRAST 
 
 too rashly. We have a number of elegant, fine girls 
 here that make a man's leisure hours pass very agree/ 
 ably. I would esteem it an honour to announce you 
 to some of them. — Gad ! that announce is a select 
 word ; I wonder where I picked it up. 
 
 Jonathan. I don't want to know them. 
 
 Jess AMY. Come, come, my dear friend, I see that 
 I must assume the honour of being the director of 
 your amusements. Nature has given us passions, and 
 youth and opportunity stimulate to gratify them. It 
 is no shame, my dear Blueskin, for a man to amuse 
 himself with a little gallantry. 
 
 Jonathan. Girl huntry ! I don't altogether under/ 
 stand. I never played at that game. I know how to play 
 hunt the squirrel, but I can't play anything with the 
 girls ; I am as good as married. 
 
 Jessamy. Vulgar, horrid brute! Married, and above 
 a hundred miles from his wife, and thinks that an ob/ 
 jection to his making love to every woman he meets ! 
 He never can have read, no, he never can have been 
 in a room with a volume of the divine Chesterfield. 
 — So you are married ? 
 
 Jonathan. No, I don't say so ; I said I was as good 
 as married, a kind of promise. 
 
 Jessamy. As good as married ! 
 
 Jonathan. Why, yes; there's Tabitha Wymen, 
 the deacon's daughter, at home ; she and I have been 
 
 ^1 
 
THE CONTRAST 59 
 
 courting a great while, and folks say as how we are 
 to be married ; and so I broke a piece of money with 
 her when we parted, and she promised not to spark 
 it with Solomon Dyer while I am gone. You wouldn't 
 have me false to my true/love, would you? 
 
 Jessamy. May be you have another reason for. 
 constancy ; possibly the young lady has a fortune ? 
 Ha ! Mr. Jonathan, the solid charms : the chains of 
 love are never so binding as when the links are made 
 of gold. 
 
 Jonathan. Why, as to fortune, I must needs say 
 her father is pretty dumb rich ; he went representa^ 
 tive for our town last year. He will give her — let 
 me see — four times seven is — seven times four— 
 nought and carry one, — he will give her twenty acres 
 of land — somewhat rocky though — a Bible, and a 
 cow. 
 
 Jessamy. Twenty acres of rock, a Bible, and a 
 cow ! Why, my dear Mr. Jonathan, we have servant/ 
 maids, or, as you would more elegantly express it, 
 waitresses, in this city, who collect more in one year 
 from their mistresses' cast clothes. 
 
 Jonathan. You don't say so ! 
 
 Jessamy. Yes, and Til introduce you to one of 
 them. There is a little lump of flesh and delicacy that 
 lives at next door, waitress to Miss Maria ; we often 
 see her on the stoop. 
 
6o THE CONTRAST 
 
 Jonathan. But are you sure she would be courted 
 by me ? 
 
 Jessamy. Never doubt it ; remember a faint heart 
 never — blisters on my tongue — I was going to be 
 guilty of a vile proverb ; flat against the authority of 
 Chesterfield. I say there can be no doubt that the bril/ 
 liancy of your merit will secure you a favourable re^ 
 ception. 
 
 Jonathan. Well, but what must I say to her ? 
 
 Jessamy. Say to her ! why, my dear friend, though 
 I admire your profound knowledge on every other 
 subject, yet, you will pardon my saying that your 
 want of opportunity has made the female heart es'' 
 cape the poignancy of your penetration. Say to her ! 
 Why, when a man goes a/courting, and hopes for 
 success, he must begin with doing, and not say/ 
 ing. 
 
 Jonathan. Well, what must I do ? 
 
 Jessamy. Why, when you are introduced you 
 must make five or six elegant bows. 
 
 Jonathan. Six elegant bows ! I understand that ; 
 six, you say? Well 
 
 Jessamy. Then you must press and kiss her hand ; 
 then press and kiss, and so on to her lips and cheeks ; 
 then talk as much as you can about hearts, darts, 
 flames, nectar and ambrosia — the more incoherent 
 the better. 
 
THE CONTRAST 6i 
 
 Jonathan. Well, but suppose she should be an/ 
 gry with I ? 
 
 Jessamy. Why, if she should pretend — please to 
 observe, Mr. Jonathan — if she should pretend to be 
 
 offended, you must But Til tell you how my mas/ 
 
 ter acted in such a case : He was seated by a young 
 lady of eighteen upon a sofa, plucking with a wanton 
 hand the blooming sweets of youth and beauty. When 
 the lady thought it necessary to check his ardour, she 
 called up a frown upon her lovely face, so irresisti/ 
 bly alluring, that it would have warmed the frozen 
 bosom of age ; remember, said she, putting her deli/ 
 cate arm upon his, remember your character and my 
 honour. My master instantly dropped upon his knees, 
 with eyes swimming with love, cheeks glowing with 
 desire, and in the gentlest modulation of voice he 
 said: My dear Caroline, in a few months our hands 
 will be indissolubly united at the altar ; our hearts I 
 feel are already so ; the favours you now grant as evi/ 
 dence of your affection are favours indeed ; yet, when 
 the ceremony is once past, what will now be received 
 with rapture will then be attributed to duty. 
 
 Jonathan. Well, and what was the consequence ? 
 
 Jessamy. The consequence! — Ah! forgive me, 
 my dear friend, but you New England gentlemen 
 have such a laudable curiosity of seeing the bottom 
 of everything ; — why, to be honest, I confess I saw 
 
62 THE CONTRAST 
 
 the blooming cherub of a consequence smiling in its 
 angelic mother's arms, about ten months afterwards. 
 
 Jonathan. Well, if I follow all your plans, make 
 them six bows, and all that, shall I have such little 
 cherubim consequences ? 
 
 Jessamy. Undoubtedly. — What are you musing 
 upon? 
 
 Jonathan. You say you'll certainly make me ac/ 
 quainted? — Why, I was thinking then howl should 
 contrive to pass this broken piece of silver — won't 
 it buy a sugar/dram ? 
 
 Jessamy. What is that, the love/token from the 
 deacon's daughter? — You come on bravely. But I 
 must hasten to my master. Adieu, my dear friend. 
 
 Jonathan. Stay, Mr. Jessamy — must I buss her 
 when I am introduced to her ? 
 
 Jessamy. I told you, you must kiss her. 
 
 Jonathan. Well, but must I buss her ? 
 
 Jessamy. Why kiss and buss, and buss and kiss, is 
 all one. 
 
 Jonathan. Oh ! my dear friend, though you have 
 a profound knowledge of all, a pugnency of tribula/ 
 tion, you don't know everything. [6xif. 
 
 Jessamy [a/one]. Well, certainly I improve; my 
 master could not have insinuated himself with more 
 address into the heart of a man he despised. Now 
 will this blundering dog sicken Jenny with his nau/ 
 
THE CONTRAST 6;^ 
 
 seous pawings, until she flies into my arms for very- 
 ease. How sweet will the contrast be between the 
 blundering Jonathan and the courtly and accom/ 
 plished Jessamy! 
 
 END OF THE SECOND ACT 
 
ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 Dimple's %opm 
 Dimple discovered at a 'Toilet 
 
 Dimple \readin^ : ** Women have in general but 
 one object, which is their beauty." Very true, my 
 lord; positively very true. '' Nature has hardly formed 
 a woman ugly enough to be insensible to flattery upon 
 her person." Extremely just, my lord; every day's de/ 
 lightful experience confirms this. *'If her face is so 
 shocking that she must, in some degree, be conscious 
 of it, her figure and air, she thinks, make ample amends 
 for it." The sallow Miss Wan is a proof of this. Upon 
 my telling the distasteful wretch, the other day, that 
 her countenance spoke the pensive language of senti/ 
 ment, and that Lady Wortley Montagu declared that 
 if the ladies were arrayed in the garb of innocence, 
 the face would be the last part which would be ad/ 
 mired, as Monsieur Milton expresses it, she grinned 
 horribly a ghastly smile. **If her figure is deformed, 
 she thinks her face counterbalances it." 
 
 Enter Jessamy with letters 
 Where got you these, Jessamy? 
 Jessamy. Sir, the English packet is arrived. 
 
THE CONTRAST 65 
 
 Dimple [opens and reads a letter enclosing notes] : 
 
 "I have drawn bills on you in favour of Messrs. 
 Van Cash and Co. as per margin. I have taken up 
 your note to Col. Piquet, and discharged your debts 
 to my Lord Lurcher and Sir Harry Rook. I herewith 
 enclose you copies of the bills, which I have no doubt 
 will be immediately honoured. On failure, I shall em^ 
 power some lawyer in your country to recover the 
 amounts. 
 
 <*Iam, Sir, 
 
 ** Your most humble servant, 
 
 **JoHN Hazard." 
 
 Now, did not my lord expressly say that it was un/ 
 becoming a well/bred man to be in a passion, I con/ 
 fess I should be ruffled, ^^^^ds.] '' There is no acci/ 
 dent so unfortunate, which a wise man may not turn 
 to his advantage ; nor any accident so fortunate, which 
 a fool will not turn to his disadvantage." True, my 
 lord ; but how advantage can be derived from this I 
 can't see. Chesterfield himself, who made, however, 
 the worst practice of the most excellent precepts, was 
 never in so embarrassing a situation. I love the per/ 
 son of Charlotte, and it is necessary I should com/ 
 mand the fortune of Letitia. As to Maria ! — I doubt 
 not by my sang-froid behaviour I shall compel her to 
 
66 THE CONTRAST 
 
 decline the match ; but the blame must not fall upon 
 me. A prudent man, as my lord says, should take all 
 the credit of a good action to himself, and throw the 
 discredit of a bad one upon others. I must break with 
 Maria, marry Letitia, and as for Charlotte — why, 
 Charlotte must be a companion to my wife. — Here, 
 Jessamy ! 
 
 S'nter Jessamy 
 Dimple fo Us and seals two letters 
 
 Dimple. Here, Jessamy, take this letter to my love. 
 
 {Qives one, 
 
 Jessamy. To which of your honour's loves? — 
 Oh! [reading] to Miss Letitia, your honour's rich 
 love. 
 
 Dimple. And this [delivers another]to Miss Char/ 
 lotte Manly. See that you deliver therti privately. 
 
 Jessamy. Yes, your honour. [Qoing. 
 
 Dimple. Jessamy, who are these strange lodgers 
 that came to the house last night ? 
 
 Jessamy. Why, the master is a Yankee colonel ; I 
 have not seen much of him ; but the man is the most 
 unpolished animal your honour ever disgraced your 
 eyes by looking upon. I have had one of the most 
 outre conversations with him ! — He really has a most 
 prodigious effect upon my risibility. 
 
 Dimple. I ought, according to every rule of Ches/ 
 
THE CONTRAST 67 
 
 terfield, to wait on him and insinuate myself into his 
 
 good graces. Jessamy, wait on the colonel with 
 
 my compliments, and if he is disengaged I will do my/ 
 self the honour of paying him my respects. — Some 
 ignorant, unpolished boor 
 
 Jessamy goes off and returns 
 
 Jessamy. Sir, the colonel is gone out, and Jona/ 
 than his servant says that he is gone to stretch his legs 
 upon the Mall. — Stretch his legs ! what an indelicacy 
 of diction ! 
 
 Dimple. Very well. Reach me my hat and sword. 
 rU accost him there, in my way to Letitia's, as by 
 accident; pretend to be struck by his person and 
 address, and endeavour to steal into his confidence. 
 Jessamy, I have no business for you at present. [Cxit, 
 
 Jessamy [taking up the book]. My master and I ob/ 
 tain our knowledge from the same source; — though, 
 gad! I think myself much the prettier fellow of the 
 two. [Surveying himself in the glass.] That was a bril/ 
 liant thought, to insinuate that I folded my master's 
 letters for him ; the folding is so neat, that it does hon/ 
 our to the operator. I once intended to have insinu/ 
 ated that I wrote his letters too ; but that was before 
 I saw them; it won t do now; no honour there, posi/ 
 tively. — ** Nothing looks more vulgar, [reading af^ 
 fectedly] ordinary, and illiberal than ugly, uneven. 
 
68 THE CONTRAST 
 
 and ragged nails ; the ends of which should be kept 
 even and clean, not tipped with black, and cut in small 
 segments of circles." — Segments of circles! surely 
 my lord did not consider that he wrote for the beaux. 
 Segments of circles ; what a crabbed term! Now I dare 
 answer that my master, with all his learning, does 
 not know that this means, according to the present 
 mode, let the nails grow long, and then cut them off 
 even at top. [Laughing without,] Ha ! that's Jenny's 
 titter. I protest I despair of ever teaching that girl 
 to laugh ; she has something so execrably natural in 
 her laugh, that I declare it absolutely discomposes 
 my nerves. How came she into our House ! [Calls,] 
 Jenny ! 
 
 Cnter Jenny 
 
 Prythee, Jenny, don't spoil your fine face with 
 laughing. 
 
 Jenny. Why, mustn't I laugh, Mr. Jessamy? 
 
 Jessamy. You may smile, but, as my lord says, 
 nothing can authorise a laugh. 
 
 Jenny. Well, but I can't help laughing. — Have 
 you seen him, Mr. Jessamy ? ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Jessamy. Seen whom? 
 
 Jenny. Why, Jonathan, the New England colo/ 
 nel's servant. Do you know he was at the play last 
 night, and the stupid creature don't know where he 
 
THE CONTRAST 69 
 
 has been. He would not go to a play for the world ; 
 he thinks it was a show, as he calls it. 
 
 Jessamy. As ignorant and unpolished as he is, do 
 you know, Miss Jenny, that I propose to introduce 
 him to the honour of your acquaintance ? 
 
 Jenny. Introduce him to me ! for what ? 
 
 Jessamy. Why, my lovely girl, that you may take 
 him under your protection, as Madame Rambouillet 
 did young Stanhope ; that you may, by your plastic 
 hand, mould this uncouth cub into a gentleman. He 
 is to make love to you. 
 
 Jenny. Make love to me ! 
 
 Jessamy. Yes, Mistress Jenny, make love to you ; 
 and, I doubt not, when he shall become domesticated 
 in your kitchen, that this boor, under your auspices, 
 will soon become un amiable petit J onathan, 
 
 Jenny. I must say, Mr. Jessamy, if he copies after 
 me, he will be vastly, monstrously polite. 
 
 Jessamy. Stay here one moment, and I will call 
 him. — Jonathan ! — Mr. Jonathan ! — \Qalls. 
 
 Jonathan [within]. Holla ! there. — [Snters,] You 
 promise to stand by me — six bows you say. [Bows, 
 
 Jessamy. Mrs. Jenny, I have the honour of pre/ 
 senting Mr. Jonathan, Colonel Manly *s waiter, to you. 
 I am extremely happy that I have it in my power 
 to make two worthy people acquainted with each 
 other's merits. 
 
70 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Jenny. So, Mr. Jonathan, I hear you were at the 
 play last night. 
 
 Jonathan. At the play! why, did you think I 
 went to the devil's drawing/room ? 
 
 Jenny. The devil's drawing/room ! 
 
 Jonathan. Yes ; why an't cards and dice the dev^ 
 il's device, and the play/house the shop where the 
 devil hangs out the vanities of the world upon the 
 tenter /hooks of temptation ? I believe you have not 
 heard how they were acting the old boy one night, 
 and the wicked one came among them sure enough, 
 and went right off in a storm, and carried one quarter 
 of the play/house with him. Oh ! no, no, no ! you 
 won t catch me at a play-house, I warrant you. 
 
 Jenny. Well, Mr. Jonathan, though I don't scruple 
 your veracity, I have some reasons for believing you 
 were there : pray, where were you about six o'clock ? 
 
 Jonathan. Why, I went to see one Mr. Morri'' 
 son, the hocus pocus man ; they said as how he could 
 eat a case knife. 
 
 Jenny. Well, and how did you find the place ? 
 
 Jonathan. As I was going about here and there, 
 to and again, to find it, I saw a great crowd of folks 
 going into a long entry that had lantherns over the 
 door ; so I asked a man whether that was not the place 
 where they played hocus pocus ? He was a very civil, 
 kind man, though he did speak like the Hessians; he 
 
THE CONTRAST 71 
 
 lifted up his eyes and said, '' They play hocus pocus 
 tricks enough there, Got knows, mine friend." 
 
 Jenny. Well — 
 
 Jonathan. So I went right in, and they shewed 
 me away, clean up to the garret, just like meetings 
 house gallery. And so I saw a power of topping folks, 
 all sitting round in little cabbins, ''just like father's 
 corn/cribs" ; and then there was such a squeaking 
 with the fiddles, and such a tarnal blaze with the 
 lights, my head was near turned. At last the people 
 that sat near me set up such a hissing — hiss — like so 
 many mad cats ; and then they went thump, thump, 
 thump, just like our Peleg threshing wheat, and 
 stampt away, just like the nation ; and called out for 
 one Mr. Langolee, — I suppose he helps act the 
 tricks. 
 
 Jenny. Well, and what did you do all this time ? 
 
 Jonathan. Gor, I — Hiked the fun, andsol thumpt 
 away, and hiss'd as lustily as the best of 'em. One sailor/ 
 looking man that sat by me, seeing me stamp, and 
 knowing I was a cute fellow, because I could make 
 a roaring noise, clapt me on the shoulder and said, 
 
 " You are a d d hearty cock, smite my timbers ! " 
 
 I told him so I was, but I thought he need not swear 
 so, and make use of such naughty words. 
 
 Jessamy. The savage ! — Well, and did you see the 
 man with his tricks ? 
 
72 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Jonathan. Why, I vow, as I was looking out for 
 him, they lifted up a great green cloth and let us look 
 right into the next neighbour's house. Have you a 
 good many houses in New/ York made so in that 'ere 
 way? 
 
 Jenny. Not many ; but did you see the family ? 
 
 Jonathan. Yes, swamp it ; I see'd the family. 
 
 Jenny. Well, and how did you like them ? 
 
 Jonathan. Why, I vow they were pretty much 
 like other families; — there was a poor, good/natured, 
 curse of a husband, and a sad rantipole of a wife. 
 
 Jenny. But did you see no other folks ? 
 
 Jonathan. Yes. There was one youngster ; they 
 called him Mr. Joseph ; he talked as sober and as pious 
 as a minister ; but, like some ministers that I know, he 
 was a sly tike in his heart for all that. He was going to 
 ask a young woman to spark it with him, and — the 
 Lord have mercy on my soul! — she was another 
 man's wife. 
 
 Jessamy. The Wabash! 
 
 Jenny. And did you see any more folks ? 
 
 Jonathan. Why, they came on as thick as mus/ 
 tard. For my part, I thought the house was haunted. 
 There was a soldier fellow, who talked about his row 
 de dow, dow, and courted a young woman ; but, of all 
 the cute folk I saw, I liked one little fellow 
 
 Jenny. Aye ! who was he ? 
 
THE CONTRAST 73 
 
 Jonathan. Why, he had red hair, and a litde 
 round plump face like mine, only not altogether so 
 handsome. His name was — Darby; — that was his 
 baptizing name ; his other name I forgot. Oh ! it was 
 Wig — Wag — Wag/all, Darby Wagtail , — pray, do 
 you know him? — I should like to take a sling with 
 him, or a drap of cyder with a pepper /pod in it, to 
 make it warm and comfortable. 
 
 Jenny. I can't say I have that pleasure. 
 
 Jonathan. I wish you did ; he is a cute fellow. 
 But there was one thing I didn't like in that Mr. 
 Darby ; and that was, he was afraid of some of them 
 'ere shooting irons, such as your troopers wear on 
 training days. Now, I'm a true born Yankee American 
 son of liberty, and I never was afraid of a gun yet in 
 all my life. 
 
 Jenny. Well, Mr. Jonathan, you were certainly 
 at the play/house. 
 
 Jonathan. I at the play/house ! — Why didn't I 
 see the play then ? 
 
 Jenny. Why, the people you saw were players. 
 
 Jonathan. Mercy on my soul! did I see the 
 wicked players ? — Mayhap that 'ere Darby that I 
 liked so was the old serpent himself, and had his clo/ 
 ven foot in his pocket. Why, I vow, now I come to 
 think on't, the candles seemed to burn blue, and I am 
 sure where I sat it smelt tarnally of brimstone. 
 
74 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Jessamy. Well, Mr. Jonathan, from your account, 
 which I confess is very accurate, you must have been 
 at the play/house. 
 
 ^ Jonathan. Why, I vow^, I began to smell a rat. 
 When I came away, I went to the man for my money 
 again ; you want your money ? says he ; yes, says I ; 
 for what ? says he ; why, says I, no man shall jocky me 
 out of my money ; I paid my money to see sights, 
 and the dogs a bit of a sight have I seen, unless you 
 call listening to people's private business a sight. Why, 
 says he, it is the School for Scandalization. — The 
 School for Scandalization! — Oh! ho! no wonder 
 you New/ York folks are so cute at it, when you go 
 to school to learn it ; and so I jogged off. 
 
 Jessamy. My dear Jenny, my master's business 
 drags me from you ; would to heaven I knew no other 
 servitude than to your charms. 
 
 Jonathan. Well, but don't go ; you won't leave 
 me so 
 
 Jessamy. Excuse me. — Remember the cash. 
 
 [i^sUe to him^ and — Sxit, 
 
 Jenny. Mr. Jonathan, won't you please to sit down? 
 Mr. Jessamy tells me you wanted to have some con/ 
 versation with me. 
 
 V 
 
 {Having brought forward two chairs, they sit, 
 
 Jonathan. Ma'am ! 
 
 Jenny. Sir ! 
 
THE CONTRAST 75 
 
 Jonathan. Ma'am ! 
 
 Jenny. Pray, how do you like the city, Sir ? 
 
 Jonathan. Ma'am! 
 
 Jenny. I say, Sir, how do you like New/ York ? 
 
 Jonathan. Ma am ! 
 
 Jenny. The stupid creature ! but I must pass some 
 little time with him, if it is only to endeavour to learn 
 whether it was his master that made such an abrupt 
 entrance into our house, and my young mistress's 
 heart, this morning, [(^side,] As you don't seem to 
 like to talk, Mr. Jonathan — do you sing? 
 
 Jonathan. Gor, I — I am glad she asked that, for 
 I forgot what Mr. Jessamy bid me say, and I dare as 
 well be hanged as act what he bid me do, I'm so 
 ashamed, [d^side.] Yes, Ma'am, I can sing — I can 
 sing Mear, Old Hundred, and Bangor. 
 
 Jenny. Oh ! I don't mean psalm tunes. Have you 
 no little song to please the ladies, such as RosKn Cas/ 
 tie, or the Maid of the Mill ? 
 
 Jonathan. Why, all my tunes go to meeting tunes, 
 save one, andl countyou won't altogether like that 'ere. 
 
 Jenny. What is it called ? 
 
 Jonathan. I am sure you have heard folks talk 
 about it ; it is called Yankee Doodle. 
 
 Jenny. Oh ! it is the tune I am fond of; and if I 
 know anything of my mistress, she would be glad to 
 dance to it. Pray, sing ! 
 
76 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Jonathan [sings]. 
 
 Father and I went up to camp. 
 Along with Captain Goodwin ; 
 And there we saw the men and boys. 
 As thick as hasty-pudding. 
 
 Yankee doodle do, etc. 
 
 And there we saw a swamping gun. 
 Big as log of maple. 
 On a little deuced cart, 
 A load for father's cattle. 
 
 Yankee doodle do, etc. 
 
 And every time they fired it off 
 It took a horn of powder. 
 It made a noise — like father's gun. 
 Only a nation louder. 
 
 Yankee doodle do, etc. 
 
 There was a man in our town. 
 His name was 
 
 No, no, that won't do. Now, if I was with Tabitha 
 Wymen and Jemima Cawley down at father Chase's, 
 I shouldn't mind singing this all out before them — 
 you would be affronted if I was to sing that, though 
 that's a lucky thought ; if you should be affronted, 
 I have something dang'd cute, which Jessamy told 
 me to say to you. 
 
 Jenny. Is that all ! I assure you I like it of all things. 
 
 Jonathan. No, no ; I can sing more ; some other 
 time, when you and I are better acquainted, I'll sing 
 
THE CONTRAST 77 
 
 the whole of it — no, no — that's a fib — I can t sing 
 but a hundred and ninety verses ; our Tabitha at home 
 can sing it all. [Sings, 
 
 Marblehead's a rocky place. 
 And Cape-Cod is sandy; 
 Charlestown is burnt down, 
 Boston is the dandy. 
 
 Yankee doodle, doodle do, etc. 
 
 I VOW, my own town song has put me into such top^ 
 ping spirits that I believe Til begin to do a little, as 
 Jessamy says we must when we go a/courting — 
 ['^^ns and kisses Aer,] Burning rivers! cooling 
 flames 1 red-hot roses ! pig^nuts ! hasty /pudding and 
 ambrosia ! 
 
 Jenny. What means this freedom ? you insulting 
 wretch. [Strikes him, 
 
 Jonathan. Are you aflJonted ? 
 
 Jenny. Aflfronted ! with what looks shall I express 
 my anger ? 
 
 Jonathan. Looks ! why as to the matter of looks, 
 you look as cross as a witch. 
 
 Jenny. Have you no feeling for the delicacy of 
 my sex ? 
 
 Jonathan. Feeling! Gor, I — I feel the delicacy 
 of your sex pretty smartly [rubbing his cheek] , though, 
 I vow, I thought when you city ladies courted and 
 married, and all that, you put feeling out of the ques^ 
 
78 THE CONTRAST 
 
 tion. But I want to know whether you are really af/ 
 fronted, or only pretend to be so? 'Cause, if you are 
 certainly right down af&onted, I am at the end of my 
 tether ; Jessamy didn't tell me what to say to you. 
 
 Jenny. Pretend to be affronted ! 
 
 Jonathan. Aye aye, if you only pretend, you 
 shall hear how Til go to work to make cherubim con/ 
 sequences. [^ns up to her, 
 
 Jenny. Begone, you brute ! 
 
 Jonathan. That looks like mad ; but I won't lose 
 my speech. My dearest Jenny — your name is Jenny, 
 I think? — My dearest Jenny, though I have the 
 highest esteem for the sweet favours you have just 
 now granted me — Gor, that's a fib, though; but 
 Jessamy says it is not wicked to tell lies to the women. 
 [dAside,] I say, though I have the highest esteem for 
 the favours you have just now granted me, yet you 
 will consider that, as soon as the dissolvable knot is 
 tied, they will no longer be favours, but only matters 
 of duty and matters of course. 
 
 Jenny. Marry you ! you audacious monster ! get 
 out of my sight, or, rather, let me fly from you. 
 
 [8xit hastily, 
 
 Jonathan. Gor ! she's gone off in a swinging pas/ 
 sion, before I had time to think of consequences. 
 If this is the way with your city ladies, give me the 
 twenty acres of rock, the Bible, the cow, and Tabi/ 
 tha, and a little peaceable bundling. 
 
THE CONTRAST 79 
 
 SCENE II. The <JMall 
 Enter Manly 
 
 Manly. It must be so, Montague ! and it is not all 
 the tribe of Mandevilles that shall convince me that 
 a nation, to become great, must first become dissi^ 
 pated. Luxury is surely the bane of a nation : Luxury! 
 which enervates both soul and body, by opening a 
 thousand new sources of enjoyment, opens, also, a 
 thousand new sources of contention and want : Lux/ 
 ury ! which renders a people weak at home, and ac/ 
 cessible to bribery, corruption, and force from abroad. 
 When the Grecian states knew no other tools than the 
 axe and the saw, the Grecians were a great, a free, 
 and a happy people. The kings of Greece devoted 
 their lives to the service of their country, and her sen/ 
 ators knew no other superiority over their fellow/ 
 citizens than a glorious pre/eminence in danger and 
 virtue. They exhibited to the world a noble spectacle, 
 — a number of independent states united by a simi/ 
 larity of language, sentiment, manners, common in/ 
 terest, and common consent in one grand mutual 
 league of protection. And, thus united, long might 
 they have continued the cherishers of arts and sci/ 
 ences, the protectors of the oppressed, the scourge of 
 tyrants, and the safe asylum of liberty. But when for/ 
 eign gold, and still more pernicious foreign luxury, 
 
8o THE CONTRAST 
 
 had crept among them, they sapped the vitals of their 
 virtue. The virtues of their ancestors were only found 
 in their writings. Envy and suspicion, the vices of 
 little minds, possessed them. The various states engen/ 
 dered jealousies of each other ; and, more unfortu/ 
 nately, growing jealous of their great federal council, 
 the Amphictyons, they forgot that their common 
 safety had existed, and would exist, in giving them an 
 honourable extensive prerogative. The common good 
 was lost in the pursuit of private interest ; and that 
 people who, by uniting, might have stood against the 
 world in arms, by dividing, crumbled into ruin ; — 
 their name is now only known in the page of the histo/ 
 rian, and what they once were is all we have left to 
 admire. Oh! that America! Oh! that my country, 
 would, in this her day, learn the things which be/ 
 long to her peace ! 
 
 Snter Dimple 
 
 Dimple. You are Colonel Manly, I presume? 
 
 Manly. At your service. Sir. 
 
 Dimple. My name is Dimple, Sir. I have the hon^ 
 our to be a lodger in the same house with you, and, 
 hearing you were in the Mall, came hither to take 
 the liberty of joining you. 
 
 Manly. You are very obliging, Sir. 
 
 Dimple. As I understand you are a stranger here, 
 
THE CONTRAST 8i 
 
 Sir, I have taken the liberty to introduce myself to 
 your acquaintance, as possibly I may have it in my 
 power to point out some things in this city worthy 
 your notice. 
 
 Manly. An attention to strangers is worthy a 
 liberal mind, and must ever be gratefully received. 
 But to a soldier, who has no fixed abode, such atten^ 
 tions are particularly pleasing. 
 
 Dimple. Sir, there is no character so respectable 
 as that of a soldier. And, indeed, when we reflect 
 how much we owe to those brave men who have 
 suffered so much in the service of their country, and 
 secured to us those inestimable blessings that we now 
 enjoy, our liberty and independence, they demand 
 every attention which gratitude can pay. For my 
 own part, I never meet an oflicer, but I embrace him 
 as my friend, nor a private in distress, but I insen/ 
 
 sibly extend my charity to him. 1 have hit the 
 
 Bumkin off very tolerably. [<iAsUe. 
 
 Manly. Give me your hand. Sir ! I do not proffer 
 this hand to everybody ; but you steal into my heart. 
 I hope I am as insensible to flattery as most men ; but 
 I declare (it may be my weak side) that I never hear 
 the name of soldier mentioned with respect, but I ex/ 
 perience a thrill of pleasure which I never feel on 
 any other occasion. 
 
 Dimple. Will you give me leave, my dear Colonel, 
 
82 THE CONTRAST 
 
 to confer an obligation on myself, by shewing you 
 some civilities during your stay here, and giving a 
 similar opportunity to some of my friends ? 
 
 Manly. Sir, I thank you ; but I believe my stay 
 in this city will be very short. 
 
 Dimple. I can introduce you to some men of excels 
 lent sense, in whose company you will esteem your/ 
 self happy ; and, by way of amusement, to some fine 
 girls, who will listen to your soft things with pleasure. 
 
 Manly. Sir, I should be proud of the honour of 
 being acquainted with those gentlemen ; — but, as for 
 the ladies, I don't understand you. 
 
 Dimple. Why, Sir, I need not tell you, that when 
 a young gentleman is alone with a young lady he must 
 say some soft things to her fair cheek — indeed, the 
 lady will expect it. To be sure, there is not much 
 pleasure when a man of the world and a finished co/ 
 quette meet, who perfectly know each other; but 
 how delicious is it to excite the emotions of joy, hope, 
 expectation, and dehght in the bosom of a lovely girl 
 who believes every tittle of what you say to be serious ! 
 
 Manly. Serious, Sir! In my opinion, the man 
 who, under pretensions of marriage, can plant thorns 
 in the bosom of an innocent, unsuspecting girl is more 
 detestable than a common robber, in the same pro/ 
 portion as private violence is more despicable than 
 open force, and money of less value than happiness. 
 
 M 
 
THE CONTRAST 83 
 
 Dimple. How he awes me by the superiority of 
 his sentiments. [(^Aside,] As you say, Sir, a gentle/ 
 man should be cautious how he mentions marriage. 
 
 Manly. Cautious, Sir ! No person more approves 
 of an intercourse between the sexes than I do. Fe/ 
 male conversation softens our manners, whilst our 
 discourse, from the superiority of our literary advan/ 
 tages, improves their minds. But, in our young coun/ 
 try, where there is no such thing as gallantry, when 
 a gentleman speaks of love to a lady, whether he men/ 
 tions marriage or not, she ought to conclude either 
 that he meant to insult her or that his intentions are 
 the most serious and honourable. How mean, how 
 cruel, is it, by a thousand tender assiduities, to win 
 the affections of an amiable girl, and, though you 
 leave her virtue unspotted, to betray her into the ap/ 
 pearance of so many tender partialities, that every 
 man of delicacy would suppress his inclination to/ 
 wards her, by supposing her heart engaged ! Can any 
 man, for the trivial gratification of his leisure hours, 
 aflfect the happiness of a whole life ! His not having 
 spoken of marriage may add to his perfidy, but can 
 be no excuse for his conduct. 
 
 Dimple. Sir, I admire your sentiments; — they 
 are mine. The light observations that fell from me 
 were only a principle of the tongue ; they came not 
 from the heart ; my practice has ever disapproved 
 these principles. 
 
84 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Manly. I believe you, sir. I should with reluc/ 
 tance suppose that those pernicious sentiments could 
 find admittance into the heart of a gentleman. 
 
 Dimple. I am now, Sir, going to visit a family, 
 where, if you please, I will have the honour of in/ 
 troducing you. Mr. Manly's ward. Miss Letitia, is a 
 young lady of immense fortune ; and his niece. Miss 
 Charlotte Manly, is a young lady of great sprightli/ 
 ness and beauty. 
 
 Manly. That gentleman. Sir, is my uncle, and 
 Miss Manly my sister. 
 
 Dimple. The devil she is! [(^side.] Miss Manly 
 your sister. Sir ? I rejoice to hear it, and feel a double 
 
 pleasure in being known to you. Plague on him J 
 
 I wish he was at Boston again, with all my soul. 
 
 [zAside, 
 
 Manly. Come, Sir, will you go? 
 
 Dimple. I will follow you in a moment. Sir. [£xit 
 Manly.] Plague on it ! this is unlucky. A fighting 
 brother is a cursed appendage to a fine girl. Egad ! I 
 just stopped in time ; had he not discovered himself, 
 in two minutes more I should have told him how well 
 I was with his sister. Indeed, I cannot see the satis/ 
 faction of an intrigue, if one can t have the pleasure 
 of communicating it to our friends. [€xit. 
 
 END OF THE THIRD ACT 
 
ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Charlotte's ^Apartment 
 Charlotte leading in Maria 
 
 Charlotte. This is so kind, my sweet friend, to 
 come to see me at this moment. I declare, if I were 
 going to be married in a few days, as you are, I should 
 scarce have found time to visit my friends. 
 
 Maria. Do you think, then, that there is an im^ 
 propriety in it? — How should you dispose of your 
 time? 
 
 Charlotte. Why, I should be shut up in my cham/ 
 ber ; and my head would so run upon — upon — upon 
 the solemn ceremony that I was to pass through ! — 
 I declare, it would take me above two hours merely 
 to learn that little monosyllable — Yes, Ah ! my dear, 
 your sentimental imagination does not conceive what 
 that little tiny word implies. 
 
 Maria. Spare me your raillery, my sweet friend ; 
 I should love your agreeable vivacity at any other 
 time. 
 
 Charlotte. Why, this is the very time to amuse 
 you. You grieve me to see you look so unhappy. 
 
 Maria. Have I not reason to look so ? 
 
 Charlotte. What new grief distresses you? 
 
 Maria. Oh ! how sweet it is, when the heart is 
 
86 THE CONTRAST 
 
 borne down with misfortune, to recline and repose 
 on the bosom of friendship ' Heaven knows that, al/ 
 though it is improper for a young lady to praise a gen/ 
 tleman, yet I have ever concealed Mr. Dimple's foi/ 
 bles, and spoke of him as of one whose reputation 
 I expected would be linked with mine ; but his late 
 conduct towards me has turned my coolness into con/ 
 tempt. He behaves as if he meant to insult and dis/ 
 gust me ; whilst my father, in the last conversation 
 on the subject of our marriage, spoke of it as a mat/ 
 ter which lay near his heart, and in which he would 
 not bear contradiction. 
 
 Charlotte. This works well; oh! the generous 
 Dimple. Til endeavour to excite her to discharge him. 
 [(^side.] But, my dear friend, your happiness de/ 
 pends on yourself. Why don't you discard him? 
 Though the match has been of long standing, I would 
 not be forced to make myself miserable : no parent 
 in the world should oblige me to marry the man I 
 did not like. 
 
 Maria. Oh ! my dear, you never lived with your 
 parents, and do not know what influence a father's 
 frowns have upon a daughter's heart. Besides, what 
 have I to alledge against Mr. Dimple, to justify my/ 
 self to the world ? He carries himself so smoothly, 
 that every one would impute the blame to me, and 
 call me capricious. 
 
THE CONTRAST 87 
 
 Charlotte. And call her capricious! Did ever 
 such an objection start into the heart of woman ? For 
 my part, I wish I had fifty lovers to discard, for no 
 other reason than because I did not fancy them. My 
 dear Maria, you will forgive me ; I know your can^ 
 dour and confidence in me ; but I have at times, I con/ 
 fess, been led to suppose that some other gentleman 
 was the cause of your aversion to Mr. Dimple. 
 
 Maria. No, my sweet friend, you may be assured, 
 that though I have seen many gentlemen I could pre/ 
 fer to Mr. Dimple, yet I never saw one that I thought 
 I could give my hand to, until this morning. 
 
 Charlotte. This morning! 
 
 Maria. Yes ; one of the strangest accidents in the 
 world. The odious Dimple, after disgusting me with 
 his conversation, had just left me, when a gentleman, 
 who, it seems, boards in the same house with him, 
 saw him coming out of our door, and, the houses look/ 
 ing very much alike, he came into our house instead 
 of his lodgings ; nor did he discover his mistake until 
 he got into the parlour, where I was ; he then bowed 
 so gracefully, made such a genteel apology, and looked 
 so manly and noble ! 
 
 Charlotte. I see some folks, though it is so great 
 an impropriety, can praise a gentleman, when he hap/ 
 pens to be the man of their fancy. [zAsUe. 
 
 Maria. I don't know how it was, — I hope he did 
 
88 THE CONTRAST 
 
 not think me indelicate, — but I asked him, I be/ 
 lieve, to sit down, or pointed to a chair. He sat down, 
 and, instead of having recourse to observations upon 
 the weather, or hackneyed criticisms upon the the/ 
 atre, he entered readily into a conversation worthy a 
 man of sense to speak, and a lady of delicacy and sen/ 
 timent to hear. He was not strictly handsome, but he 
 spoke the language of sentiment, and his eyes looked 
 tenderness and honour. 
 
 Charlotte. Oh ! [eager/y] you sentimental, grave 
 girls, when your hearts are once touched, beat us rattles 
 a bar's length. And so you are quite in love with this 
 he /angel ? 
 
 Maria. In love with him ! How can you rattle so, 
 Charlotte ? am I not going to be miserable ? [Sigl?s,] 
 In love with a gentleman I never saw but one hour in 
 my life, and don t know his name ! No ; I only wished 
 that the man I shall marry may look, and talk, and 
 act, just like him. Besides, my dear, he is a married 
 man. 
 
 Charlotte. Why, that was good/natured — he 
 told you so, I suppose, in mere charity, to prevent you 
 falling in love with him ? 
 
 Maria. He didn't tell me so ; [peevhMy] he looked 
 as if he was married. 
 
 Charlotte. How, my dear ; did he look sheepish? 
 
 Maria. I am sure he has a susceptible heart, and 
 
THE CONTRAST 89 
 
 the ladies of his acquaintance must be very stupid not 
 
 to 
 
 Charlotte. Hush ! I hear some person coming. 
 
 Enter Letitia 
 
 Letitia. My dear Maria, I am happy to see you. 
 Lud ! what a pity it is that you have purchased your 
 wedding clothes. 
 
 Maria. I think so. \Sighing. 
 
 Letitia. Why, my dear, there is the sweetest par^ 
 eel of silks come over you ever saw ! Nancy Brilliant 
 has a full suit come ; she sent over her measure, and it 
 fits her to a hair ; it is immensely dressy, and made for 
 a court /hoop. I thought they said the large hoops were 
 going out of fashion. 
 
 Charlotte. Did you see the hat ? Is it a fact that 
 the deep laces round the border is still the fashion ? 
 
 Dimple ^ithin\ Upon my honour. Sir. 
 
 Maria. Ha ! Dimple's voice ! My dear, I must 
 take leave of you. There are some things necessary 
 to be done at our house. Can't I go through the other 
 room ? 
 
 (fi^/dT Dimple ^W Manly 
 
 Dimple. Ladies, your most obedient. 
 
 Charlotte. Miss Van Rough, shall I present my 
 brother Henry to you? Colonel Manly, Maria, — 
 Miss Van Rough, brother. 
 
90 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Maria. Her brother! [Turns and sees Manly.] 
 Oh ! my heart ! the very gentleman I have been prais/ 
 ing. 
 
 Manly. The same amiable girl I saw this morning ! 
 
 Charlotte. Why, you look as if you were ac/ 
 quainted. 
 
 > Manly. I unintentionally intruded into this lady's 
 presence this morning, for which she was so good as 
 to promise me her forgiveness. 
 
 Charlotte. Oh ! ho ! is that the case ! Have these 
 two penserosos been together ? Were they Henry's eyes 
 that looked so tenderly ? [ey^^j-/^*?.] And so you prom^ 
 ised to pardon him ? and could you be so good-natured ? 
 have you really forgiven him ? I beg you would do it for 
 my sake [whispering loud to Maria]. But, my dear, as 
 you are in such haste, it would be cruel to detain you; 
 I can show you the way through the other room. 
 
 Maria. Spare me, my sprightly friend. 
 
 Manly. The lady does not, I hope, intend to de/ 
 prive us of the pleasure of her company so soon. 
 
 Charlotte. She has only a mantua^maker who 
 waits for her at home. But, as I am to give my opin/ 
 ion of the dress, I think she cannot go yet. We were 
 talking of the fashions when you came in^ but I sup/ 
 pose the subject must be changed to something of 
 more importance now. Mr. Dimple, will you favour 
 us with an account of the public entertainments ? 
 
THE CONTRAST 91 
 
 Dimple. Why, really, Miss Manly, you could not 
 have asked me a question more maU apropos. For my 
 part, I must confess that, to a man who has travelled, 
 there is nothing that is worthy the name of amuse/ 
 ment to be found in this city. 
 
 Charlotte. Except visiting the ladies. 
 
 Dimple. Pardon me. Madam; that is the avoca/ 
 tion of a man of taste. But for amusement, I posi/ 
 tively know of nothing that can be called so, unless 
 you dignify with that title the hopping once a fort/ 
 night to the sound of two or three squeaking fiddles, 
 and the clattering of the old tavern windows, or sit/ 
 ting to see the miserable mummers, whom you call 
 actors, murder comedy and make a farce of tragedy. 
 
 Manly. Do you never attend the theatre. Sir ? 
 
 Dimple. I was tortured there once. 
 
 Charlotte. Pray, Mr. Dimple, was it a tragedy 
 or a comedy ? 
 
 Dimple. Faith, Madam, I cannot tell ; for I sat with 
 my back to the stage all the time, admiring a much 
 better actress than any there — a lady who played the 
 fine woman to perfection ; though, by the laugh of 
 the horrid creatures round me, I suppose it was com/ 
 edy. Yet, on second thoughts, it might be some hero 
 in a tragedy, dying so comically as to set the whole 
 house in an uproar. Colonel, I presume you have been 
 in Europe ? 
 
92 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Manly. Indeed, Sir, I was never ten leagues from 
 the continent. 
 
 Dimple. Believe me, Colonel, you have an im^ 
 mense pleasure to come ; and when you shall have seen 
 the brilliant exhibitions of Europe, you will learn to 
 despise the amusements of this country as much as I 
 do. 
 
 Manly. Therefore I do not wish to see them ; for 
 I can never esteem that knowledge valuable which 
 tends to give me a distaste for my native country. 
 
 Dimple. Well, Colonel, though you have not trav/ 
 elled, you have read. 
 
 Manly. I have, a little ; and by it have discovered 
 that there is a laudable partiality which ignorant, un/ 
 travelled men entertain for everything that belongs 
 to their native country, I call it laudable ; it injures 
 no one ; adds to their own happiness ; and, when ex/ 
 tended, becomes the noble principle of patriotism. 
 Travelled gentlemen rise superior, in their own opin/ 
 ion, to this ; but if the contempt which they contract 
 for their country is the most valuable acquisition of 
 their travels, I am far from thinking that their time 
 and money are well spent. 
 
 Maria. What noble sentiments ! 
 
 Charlotte . Let my brother set out where he will 
 in the fields of conversation, he is sure to end his tour 
 in the temple of gravity. 
 
THE CONTRAST 93 
 
 Manly. Forgive me, my sister. I love my coun/ 
 try ; it has its foibles undoubtedly ; — some foreigners 
 will with pleasure remark them — but such remarks 
 fall very ungracefully from the lips of her citizens. 
 
 Dimple. You are perfectly in the right, Colonel 
 — America has her faults. 
 
 Manly. Yes, Sir ; and we, her children, should 
 blush for them in private, and endeavour, as individ/ 
 uals, to reform them. But, if our country has its er/ 
 rors in common with other countries, I am proud to 
 say America — I mean the United States — has dis/ 
 played virtues and achievements which modern na/ 
 tions may admire, but of which they have seldom set 
 us the example. 
 
 Charlotte. But, brother, we must introduce you 
 to some of our gay folks, and let you see the city, such 
 as it is. Mr. Dimple is known to almost every family 
 in town ; he will doubtless take a pleasure in intro/ 
 ducing you ? 
 
 Dimple. I shall esteem every service I can render 
 your brother an honour. 
 
 Manly. I fear the business I am upon will take 
 up all my time, and my family will be anxious to hear 
 from me. 
 
 Maria. His family ! but what is it to me that he 
 is married ! [^side.] Pray, how did you leave your 
 lady, Sir? 
 
94 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Charlotte. My brother is not married [observing 
 her anxiety] ; it is only an odd way he has of express/ 
 ing himself. Pray, brother, is this business, which you 
 make your continual excuse, a secret? 
 
 Manly. No, sister ; I came hither to solicit the 
 honourable Congress, that a number of my brave old 
 soldiers may be put upon the pension/list, who were, 
 at first, not judged to be so materially wounded as to 
 need the public assistance. My sister says true [to Ma^ 
 ria] : I call my late soldiers my family. Those who 
 were not in the field in the late glorious contest, and 
 those who were, have their respective merits ; but, I 
 confess, my old brother/soldiers are dearer to me than 
 the former description. Friendships made in advert 
 sity are lasting ; our countrymen may forget us, but 
 that is no reason why we should forget one another. 
 But I must leave you ; my time of engagement ap/ 
 proaches. 
 
 Charlotte. Well, but, brother, if you will go, 
 will you please to conduct my fair friend home ? You 
 
 live in the same street I was to have gone with 
 
 her myself — [(^side.] A lucky thought. 
 
 Maria. I am obliged to your sister. Sir, and was 
 just intending to go. [G^^H- 
 
 Manly. I shall attend her with pleasure. 
 
 [Exit with y[AK\ A, followed by Dimple and 
 . Charlotte. 
 
THE CONTRAST 95 
 
 Maria. Now, pray, don't betray me to your bro/ 
 ther. 
 
 Charlotte, ^ust as she sees him make a motion 
 to take his leave.] One word with you, brother, if you 
 please. [Follows them out. 
 
 Dimple. You received the billet I sent you, I pre/ 
 sume ? 
 
 Letitia. Hush! — Yes. 
 
 Dimple. When shall I pay my respects to you? 
 
 Letitia. At eight I shall be unengaged. 
 
 %eenter Charlotte 
 
 Dimple. Did my lovely angel receive my billet? 
 [Td? Charlotte.] 
 
 Charlotte. Yes. 
 
 Dimple. What hour shall I expect with impa/ 
 tience ? 
 
 Charlotte. At eight I shall be at home unen/ 
 gaged. 
 
 Dimple. Unfortunate! I have a horrid engage/ 
 ment of business at that hour. Can't you finish your 
 visit earlier and let six be the happy hour ? 
 
 Charlotte. You know your influence over me. 
 
 \£xeunt severally. 
 
96 THE CONTRAST 
 
 SCENE II 
 Van Rough^s House 
 
 Van Rough [alone]. It cannot possibly be true ! 
 The son of my old friend can't have acted so unad/ 
 visedly. Seventeen thousand pounds ! in bills ! Mr. 
 Transfer must have been mistaken. He always ap/ 
 peared so prudent, and talked so well upon money 
 matters, and even assured me that he intended to 
 change his dress for a suit of clothes which would 
 not cost so much, and look more substantial, as soon 
 as he married. No, no, no ! it can't be ; it cannot be. 
 But, however, I must look out sharp. I did not care 
 what his principles or his actions were, so long as he 
 minded the main chance. Seventeen thousand pounds! 
 If he had lost it in trade, why the best men may have 
 ill/luck ; but to game it away, as Transfer says — why, 
 at this rate, his whole estate may go in one night, and, 
 what is ten times worse, mine into the bargain. No, 
 no ; Mary is right. Leave women to look out in these 
 matters; for all they look as if they didn't know a 
 journal from a ledger, when their interest is con^ 
 cerned they know what's what ; they mind the main 
 chance as well as the best of us. I wonder Mary did 
 not tell me she knew of his spending his money so 
 foolishly. Seventeen thousand pounds! Why, if my 
 daughter was standing up to be married, I would for^ 
 
THE CONTRAST 97 
 
 bid the banns, if I found it was to a man who did not 
 mind the main chance. — Hush ! I hear somebody 
 coming. 'Tis Marys voice; a man with her too! I 
 shouldn't be surprised if this should be the other string 
 to her bow. Aye, aye, let them alone ; women under/ 
 stand the main chance. — Though, i' faith, TU listen 
 a little. [^//r^j into a closet. 
 
 Manly leading in Maria 
 
 Manly. I hope you will excuse my speaking upon 
 so important a subject so abruptly ; but, the moment 
 I entered your room, you struck me as the lady whom 
 I had long loved in imagination, and never hoped to see. 
 
 Maria. Indeed, Sir, I have been led to hear more 
 upon this subject than I ought. 
 
 Manly. Do you, then, disapprove my suit, Madam, 
 or the abruptness of my introducing it ? If the latter, 
 my peculiar situation, being obliged to leave the city 
 in a few days, will, I hope, be my excuse ; if the for/ 
 mer, I wiU retire, for I am sure I would not give a 
 moment's inquietude to her whom I could devote 
 my life to please. I am not so indelicate as to seek 
 your immediate approbation ; permit me only to be 
 near you, and by a thousand tender assiduities to en/ 
 deavour to excite a grateful return. 
 
 Maria. I have a father, whom I would die to make 
 happy; he will disapprove 
 
98 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Manly. Do you think me so ungenerous as to seek 
 a place in your esteem without his consent ? You must 
 — you ever ought to consider that man as unworthy 
 of you who seeks an interest in your heart contrary to 
 a father's approbation. A young lady should reflect 
 that the loss of a lover may be supplied, but nothing 
 can compensate for the loss of a parent's affection. 
 Yet, why do you suppose your father would disap/ 
 prove ? In our country, the affections are not sacrificed 
 to riches or family aggrandizement : should you ap^ 
 prove, my family is decent, and my rank honourable. 
 
 Maria. You distress me. Sir. 
 
 Manly. Then I will sincerely beg your excuse for 
 obtruding so disagreeable a subject, and retire, [^oing. 
 
 Maria. Stay, Sir ! your generosity and good opin^ 
 ion of me deserve a return ; but why must I declare 
 what, for these few hours, I have scarce suffered my/ 
 self to think? — I am 
 
 Manly. What ? 
 
 Maria. Engaged, Sir ; and, in a few days to be 
 married to the gentleman you saw at your sister's. 
 
 Manly. Engaged to be married ! And I have been 
 basely invading the rights of another ? Why have you 
 permitted this ? Is this the return for the partiality I 
 declared for you? 
 
 Maria. You distress me. Sir. What would you have 
 me say ? you are too generous to wish the truth. Ought 
 
THE CONTRAST 99 
 
 I to say that I dared not suffer myself to think of my 
 engagement, and that I am going to give my hand 
 without my heart ? Would you have me confess a par^ 
 tialityfor you? If so, your triumph is compleat, and 
 can be only more so when days of misery with the man 
 I cannot love will make me think of him whom I 
 could prefer. 
 
 Manly [after a pause\ We are both unhappy ; but 
 it is your duty to obey your parent — mine to obey my 
 honour. Let us, therefore, both follow the path of rec/ 
 titude ; and of this we may be assured, that if we are 
 not happy, we shall, at least, deserve to be so. Adieu I 
 I dare not trust myself longer with you. 
 
 \8xeunt severally. 
 
 END OF THE FOURTH ACT 
 
ACT V. SCENE I 
 
 Dimple's Lodgings 
 Jessamy meeting Jonathan 
 
 Jessamy. Well, Mr. Jonathan, what success with 
 the fair ? 
 
 Jonathan. Why, such a tarnal cross tike you never 
 saw ! You would have counted she had lived upon 
 crab/apples and vinegar for a fortnight. But what the 
 rattle makes you look so tarnation glum ? 
 
 Jessamy. I was thinking, Mr. Jonathan, what could 
 be the reason of her carrying herself so coolly to you. 
 
 Jonathan. Coolly, do you call it ? Why, I vow, she 
 was fire/hot angry : may be it was because I buss'd her. 
 
 Jessamy. No, no, Mr. Jonathan; there must be 
 some other cause ; I never yet knew a lady angry at be/ 
 ing kissed. 
 
 Jonathan. Well, if it is not the young woman's 
 bashfulness, I vow I can't conceive why she shouldn't 
 like me. 
 
 Jessamy. May be it is because you have not the 
 Graces, Mr. Jonathan. 
 
 Jonathan. Grace ! Why, does the young woman 
 expect I must be converted before I court her ? 
 
 Je ssAMY. I mean graces of person : for instance, my 
 
THE CONTRAST loi 
 
 lord tells us that we must cut off our nails even at top, 
 in small segments of circles — though you won't un/ 
 derstand that ; in the next place, you must regulate 
 your laugh. 
 
 Jonathan. Maple/log seize it ! don 1 1 laugh nat/ 
 ural? 
 
 Jessamy. That's the very fault, Mr. Jonathan. Be/ 
 sides, you absolutely misplace it. I was told by a friend 
 of mine that you laughed outright at the play the 
 other night, when you ought only to have tittered. 
 
 Jonathan. Gor ! I — what does one go to see fun 
 for if they can't laugh. 
 
 Jessamy. You may laugh ; but you must laugh by 
 rule. 
 
 Jonathan. Swamp it — laugh by rule ! Well, I 
 should like that tarnally. 
 
 Jessamy. Why, you know, Mr. Jonathan, that to 
 dance, a lady to play with her fan, or a gentleman with 
 his cane, and all other natural motions, are regulated 
 by art. My master has composed an immensely pretty 
 gamut, by which any lady or gentleman, with a few 
 years' close application, may learn to laugh as grace/ 
 fully as if they were born and bred to it. 
 
 Jonathan. Mercy on my soul ! A gamut for laugh/ 
 ing — just like fa, la, sol ? 
 
 Jessamy. Yes. It comprises every possible display 
 of jocularity , from an affettuoso smile to 2i piano titter, 
 
I02 THE CONTRAST 
 
 or full chorus Jortissmo ha, ha, ha! My master env 
 ploys his leisure hours in marking out the plays, like a 
 cathedral chanting^book, that the ignorant may know- 
 where to laugh ; and that pit, box, and gallery may 
 keep time together, and not have a snigger in one part 
 
 of the house, abroad grin in the other, and a d d 
 
 grum look in the third. How delightful to see the au/ 
 dience all smile together, then look on their books, 
 then twist their mouths into an agreeable simper, then 
 altogether shake the house with a general ha, ha, ha! 
 loud as a full chorus of Handel's at an Abbey com^ 
 memoration. 
 
 Jonathan. Ha, ha, ha ! that's dang'd cute, I swear. 
 
 Jessamy. The gentlemen, you see, will laugh the 
 tenor ; the ladies will play the counter-tenor ; the beaux 
 will squeak the treble ; and our jolly friends in the gal*' 
 lery a thorough base, ho, ho, ho! 
 
 Jonathan. Well, can't you let me see that gamut ? 
 
 Jessamy. Oh! yes, Mr. Jonathan; here it is [Takes 
 out a booh\ Oh ! no, this is only a titter with its va/ 
 riations. Ah, here it is. \Takes out another, \ Now, you 
 must know, Mr. Jonathan, this is a piece written by 
 Ben Johnson, which I have set to my master's gamut. 
 The places where you must smile, look grave, or laugh 
 outright, are marked below the line. Now look over 
 me. "There was a certain man" — now you must 
 smile. 
 
THE CONTRAST 103 
 
 Jonathan. Well, read it again ; I warrant Til mind 
 my eye. 
 
 Je ssAMY. ' ' There was a certain man, who had a sad 
 scolding wife," — now you must laugh. 
 
 Jonathan. Tarnation ! That's no laughing matter 
 though. 
 
 Je SSAMY. * * And she lay sick a^dying " ; — now you 
 must titter. 
 
 Jonathan. What, snigger when the good woman's 
 a/dying ! Gor, I 
 
 Je SSAMY. Yes, the notes say you must — ' ' and she 
 asked her husband leave to make a will," — now you 
 must begin to look grave ; ' ' and her husband said" 
 
 Jonathan. Ay, what did her husband say? Some^ 
 thing dang d cute, I reckon. 
 
 Je SSAMY. "And her husband said, you have had 
 your will all your life^time, and would you have it 
 after you are dead, too ? " 
 
 Jonathan. Ho, ho, ho ! There the old man was 
 even with her ; he was up to the notch — ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Je SSAMY. But, Mr. Jonathan, you must not laugh 
 so. Why you ought to have tittered piano, and you 
 have laughed fortissimo. Look here ; you see these 
 marks, A, B, C, and so on; these are the references to 
 the other part of the book. Let us turn to it, and you 
 will see the directions how to manage the muscles. 
 This [turns over] was note D you blundered at. — You 
 
I04 THE CONTRAST 
 
 must purse the mouth into a smile, then titter, discov/ 
 ering the lower part of the three front upper teeth. 
 
 Jonathan. How ? read it again. 
 
 Jessamy. ** There was a certain man" — very 
 well ! — ' * who had a sad scolding wife," — why don't 
 you laugh ? 
 
 Jonathan. Now, that scolding wife sticks in my 
 gizzard so pluckily that I can't laugh for the blood 
 and nowns of me. Let me look grave here, and I'll 
 laugh your belly full, where the old creature's a^dy/ 
 ing. 
 
 Jessamy. "And she asked her husband" — [Bell 
 rings,] My master's bell ! he's returned, I fear. — Here, 
 Mr. Jonathan, take this gamut ; and I make no doubt 
 but with a few years' close application, you may be 
 able to smile gracefully. [8xeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Charlotte's ^Apartment 
 
 Enter Manly 
 
 Manly. What, no one at home? How unfortu/ 
 nate to meet the only lady my heart was ever moved 
 by, to find her engaged to another, and confessing her 
 partiality for me ! Yet engaged to a man who, by her 
 intimation, and his libertine conversation with me, I 
 fear, does not merit her. Aye ! there's the sting ; for, 
 
THE CONTRAST 105 
 
 were I assured that Maria was happy, my heart is not 
 so selfish but that it would dilate in knowing it, even 
 though it were with another. But to know she is un^ 
 happy! — I must drive these thoughts from me. 
 Charlotte has some books; and this is what I believe 
 she calls her little library. [SnUrs a closet. 
 
 Enter Dimple leading Letitia 
 
 Letitia. And will you pretend to say now, Mr. 
 Dimple, that you propose to break with Maria ? Are 
 not the banns published ? Are not the clothes pur*' 
 chased ? Are not the friends invited ? In short, is it 
 not a done affair ? 
 
 Dimple. Believe me, my dear Letitia, I would not 
 marry her. 
 
 Letitia. Why have you not broke with her be^ 
 fore this, as you all along deluded me by saying you 
 would ? 
 
 Dimple. Because I was in hopes she would, ere 
 this, have broke with me. 
 
 Letitia. You could not expect it. 
 
 Dimple. Nay, but be calm a moment ; 'twas from 
 my regard to you that I did not discard her. 
 
 Letitia. Regard to me ! 
 
 Dimple. Yes ; I have done everything in my power 
 to break with her, but the foolish girl is so fond of 
 me that nothing can accomplish it. Besides, how can 
 
io6 THE CONTRAST 
 
 I offer her my hand when my heart is indissolubly en-' 
 gaged to you ? 
 
 Letitia. There may be reason in this ; but why so 
 attentive to Miss Manly ? 
 
 Dimple. Attentive to Miss Manly! For heaven s 
 sake, if you have no better opinion of my constancy, 
 pay not so ill a compliment to my taste. 
 
 Letitia. Did I not see you whisper her to/day ? 
 
 Dimple. Possibly I might — but something of so 
 very trifling a nature that I have already forgot what 
 it was. 
 
 Letitia. I believe she has not forgot it. 
 
 Dimple. My dear creature, how can you for a mo-' 
 ment suppose I should have any serious thoughts 
 of that trifling, gay, flighty coquette, that disagree^ 
 able 
 
 Enter Charlotte 
 
 My dear Miss Manly, I rejoice to see you ; there 
 is a charm in your conversation that always marks 
 your entrance into company as fortunate. 
 
 Letitia. Where have you been, my dear ? 
 
 CharlottEo Why, I have been about to twenty 
 shops, turning over pretty things, and so have left 
 twenty visits unpaid. I wish you would step into 
 the carriage and whisk round, make my apology, 
 and leave my cards where our friends are not at 
 
THE CONTRAST 107 
 
 home ; that, you know, will serve as a visit. Come, 
 do go. 
 
 Letitia. So anxious to get me out ! but 111 watch 
 you. [(^side,] Oh ! yes, Til go ; I want a little exer/ 
 cise. Positively [Dimple offering to accompany her\y 
 Mr. Dimple, you shall not go; why, half my visits 
 are cake and candle visits ; it won't do, you know, for 
 you to go. 
 
 \Exit^ but returns to the door in the hack scene and 
 listens. 
 
 Dimple. This attachment of your brother to Maria 
 is fortunate. 
 
 Charlotte . How did you come to the knowledge 
 ofit? 
 
 Dimple. I read it in their eyes. 
 
 Charlotte. And I had it from her mouth. It 
 would have amused you to have seen her ! She, that 
 thought it so great an impropriety to praise a gentle/ 
 man that she could not bring out one word in your 
 favour, found a redundancy to praise him. 
 
 Dimple. I have done everything in my power to 
 assist his passion there: your delicacy, my dearest 
 girl, would be shocked at half the instances of neg/ 
 lect and misbehaviour. 
 
 Charlotte. I don't know how I should bear neg/ 
 lect ; but Mr. Dimple must misbehave himself in/ 
 deed, to forfeit my good opinion. 
 
io8 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Dimple. Your good opinion, my angel, is the pride 
 and pleasure of my heart ; and if the most respectful 
 tenderness for you, and an utter indiflference for all 
 your sex besides, can make me worthy of your esteem, 
 I shall richly merit it. 
 
 Charlotte. All my sex besides, Mr. Dimple! — 
 you forgot your tete-^a/tete with Letitia. 
 
 Dimple. How. can you, my lovely angel, cast a 
 thought on that insipid, wry^mouthed, ugly creature ! 
 
 Charlotte. But her fortune may have charms. 
 
 Dimple. Not to a heart like mine. The man, who 
 has been blessed with the good opinion of my Char^ 
 lotte, must despise the allurements of fortune. 
 
 Charlotte. I am satisfied. 
 
 Dimple. Let us think no more on the odious sub/ 
 ject, but devote the present hour to happiness. 
 
 Charlotte. Can I be happy, when I see the man 
 I prefer going to be married to another ? 
 
 Dimple. Have I not already satisfied my charming 
 angel, that I can never think of marrying the puling 
 Maria? But, even if it were so, could that be any bar 
 to our happiness ? for, as the poet sings, 
 
 ** Love, free as air, at sight of human ties. 
 Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.'* 
 
 Come, then, my charming angel! why delay our 
 bliss ? The present moment is ours ; the next is in the 
 hand of fate. [Kissing her. 
 
THE CONTRAST 109 
 
 Charlotte. Begone, Sir ! By your delusions you 
 had almost lulled my honour asleep. 
 
 Dimple. Let me lull the demon to sleep again 
 with kisses. [He struggles with her ; she screams. 
 
 Enter Manly 
 
 Manly. Turn, villain ! and defend yourself. 
 
 \Praws, 
 
 Van Rough enters and heats down their swords 
 
 Van Rough. Is the devil in you ? are you going to 
 murder one another ? [Holding Dimple. 
 
 Dimple. Hold him, hold him, — I can command 
 my passion. 
 
 6'«/^r Jonathan 
 
 Jonathan. What the rattle ails you ? Is the old 
 one in you? Let the colonel alone, can t you? I feel 
 chock/fuU of fight, — do you want to kill the col/ 
 onel ? 
 
 Manly. Be still, Jonathan ; the gentleman does 
 not want to hurt me. 
 
 Jonathan. Gor ! I — I wish he did ; Td shew him 
 Yankee boys play, pretty quick. — Don't you see you 
 have frightened the young woman into the hy strikes ? 
 
 Van Rough. Pray, some ofyou explain this; what 
 has been the occasion of all this racket ? 
 
 Manly. That gentleman can explain it to you ; it 
 
no THE CONTRAST 
 
 will be a very diverting story for an intended father/ 
 in4aw to hear. 
 
 Van Rough. How was this matter, Mr. Van 
 Dumpling ? 
 
 Dimple. Sir, — upon my honour, — all I know is, 
 that I was talking to this young lady, and this gentle/ 
 man broke in on us in a very extraordinary manner. 
 
 Van Rough. Why, all this is nothing to the pur/ 
 pose; can you explain it. Miss? [I'd Charlotte. 
 
 Snter Letitia through the back scene 
 
 Letitia. I can explain it to that gentleman's con/ 
 fusion. Though long betrothed to your daughter \to 
 Van Rough], yet, allured by my fortune, it seems 
 (with shame do I speak it) he has privately paid his 
 addresses to me. I was drawn in to listen to him by his 
 assuring me that the match was made by his father 
 without his consent, and that he proposed to break 
 with Maria, whether he married me or not. But, 
 whatever were his intentions respecting your daugh/ 
 ter. Sir, even to me he was false ; for he has repeated 
 the same story, with some cruel reflections upon my 
 person, to Miss Manly. 
 
 Jonathan. What a tarnal curse ! 
 
 Letitia. Nor is this all. Miss Manly. When he 
 was with me this very morning, he made the same un/ 
 generous reflections upon the weakness of your mind 
 
THE CONTRAST iii 
 
 as he has so recently done upon the defects of my 
 person. 
 
 Jonathan. What a tarnal curse and damn, too. 
 
 Dimple. Ha! since I have lost Letitia, I believe I 
 had as good make it up with Maria. Mr. Van Rough, 
 at present I cannot enter into particulars ; but, I be/ 
 lieve, I can explain everything to your satisfaction in 
 private. 
 
 Van Rough. There is another matter, Mr. Van 
 Dumpling, which I would have you explain. Pray, 
 Sir, have Messrs. Van Cash& Ck). presented you those 
 bills for acceptance ? 
 
 Dimple. The deuce ! Has he heard of those bills ! 
 Nay, then, all's up with Maria, too ; but an affair of 
 this sort can never prejudice me among the ladies ; 
 they will rather long to know what the dear creature 
 possesses to make him so agreeable, [o^side.] Sir, 
 you'll hear from me. [To Manly. 
 
 Manly. And you from me, Sir 
 
 Dimple. Sir, you wear a sword 
 
 Manly. Yes, Sir. This sword was presented to me 
 by that brave Gallic hero, the Marquis De la Fayette. 
 I have drawn it in the service of my country, and in 
 private life, on the only occasion where a man is jus/ 
 tified in drawing his sword, in defence of a lady's hon/ 
 our. I have fought too many battles in the service of 
 my country to dread the imputation of cowardice. 
 
112 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Death from a man of honour would be a glory you do 
 not merit ; you shall live to bear the insult of man 
 and the contempt of that sex whose general smiles 
 afforded you all your happiness. 
 
 Dimple. You wont meet me, Sir? Then I'll post 
 you for a coward. 
 
 Manly. Til venture that, Sir. The reputation of 
 my life does not depend upon the breath of a Mr. 
 Dimple. I would have you to know, however, Sir, 
 that I have a cane to chastise the insolence of a scoun/ 
 drel, and a sword and the good laws of my country to 
 protect me from the attempts of an assassin 
 
 Dimple. Mighty well ! Very fine, indeed ! Ladies 
 and gentlemen, I take my leave ; and you will please 
 to observe in the case of my deportment the contrast 
 between a gentleman who has read Chesterfield and 
 received the polish of Europe and an unpolished, un/ 
 travelled American. [SxiL 
 
 Cnter Maria 
 Maria. Is he indeed gone? 
 
 Letitia. I hope, never to return. 
 
 Van Rough. I am glad I heard of those bills; 
 though it's plaguy unlucky ; I hoped to see Mary mar/ 
 ried before I died. 
 
 Manly. Will you permit a gentleman, Sir, to offer 
 himself as a suitor to your daughter ? Though a stran/ 
 
 1 
 
THE CONTRAST 113 
 
 ger to you, he is not altogether so to her, or unknown 
 in this city. You may find a son/in^law of more for/ 
 tune, but you can never meet with one who is richer 
 in love for her, or respect for you. 
 
 Van Rough. Why, Mary, you have not let this 
 gentleman make love to you without my leave ? 
 
 Manly. I did not say. Sir 
 
 Maria. Say, Sir! 1 — the gentleman, to be 
 
 sure, met me accidentally. 
 
 Van Rough. Ha, ha, ha ! Mark me, Mary ; young 
 folks think old folks to be fools ; but old folks know 
 young folks to be fools. Why, I knew all about this 
 affair. This was only a cunning way I had to bring it 
 about. Hark ye ! I was in the closet when you and he 
 were at our house. [Turns to the company,] I heard that 
 little baggage say she loved her old father, and would 
 die to make him happy ! Oh ! how I loved the little 
 baggage ! And you talked very prudently, young man. 
 I have inquired into your character, and find you to 
 be a man of punctuality and mind the main chance. 
 And so, as you love Mary and Mary loves you, you shall 
 have my consent immediately to be married. I'll settle 
 my fortune on you, and go and live with you the re/ 
 mainder of my life. 
 
 Manly. Sir, I hope 
 
 Van Rough. Come , come, no fine speeches; mind 
 the main chance, young man, and you and I shall 
 always agree. 
 
114 
 
 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Letitia. I sincerely wish you joy [advancing to 
 Maria] ; and hope your pardon for my conduct. 
 
 Maria. I thank you for your congratulations, and 
 hope we shall at once forget the wretch who has given 
 us so much disquiet, and the trouble that he has oc-' 
 casioned. 
 
 Charlotte. And I, my dear Maria, — how shall I 
 look up to you for forgiveness ? I, who, in the practice 
 of the meanest arts, have violated the most sacred rights 
 of friendship ? I never can forgive myself, or hope 
 charity from the world ; but, I confess, I have much 
 to hope from such a brother ; and I am happy that I 
 may soon say, such a sister. 
 
 Maria. My dear, you distress me ; you have all my 
 love. 
 
 Manly. And mine. 
 
 Charlotte. If repentance can entitle me to for/ 
 giveness, I have already much merit ; for I despise the 
 littleness of my past conduct. I now find that the heart 
 of any worthy man cannot be gained by invidious at/ 
 tacks upon the rights and characters of others ; — by 
 countenancing the addresses of a thousand ; — or that 
 the finest assemblage of features, the greatest taste in 
 dress, the genteelest address, or the most brilliant wit, 
 cannot eventually secure a coquette from contempt 
 and ridicule. 
 
 Manly. And I have learned that probity, virtue, 
 
THE CONTRAST 115 
 
 honour, though they should not have received the 
 polish of Europe, v^ill secure to an honest American 
 the good graces of his fair countrywomen, and I hope, 
 the applause of the Public 
 
 THE END 
 
REVIVALS OF "THE CONTRAST" 
 
 By pupils of the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, New- 
 York, 1894.^ 
 
 By townsmen, in Brattleboro, Vermont, at the Brattleboro Pag- 
 eant, June 6, 7, and 8, 191 2. Beautifully and correctly performed, 
 well acted, accorded an enthusiastic reception. 
 
 By the Play and Players of Philadelphia, of the Drama League of 
 America, in cooperation with the University of Pennsylvania, Janu- 
 ary 16 and 18, 191 7. Full and appreciative audiences found the old 
 comedy interesting. The newspaper comments were favorable as to 
 the permanency of value in the comedy. 
 
 By the American Drama Committee of the Drama League of Amer- 
 ica, New York Centre, January 22 and 23, 1917, the conversation 
 between Jonathan and Jenny. 
 
 By the Drama League of Boston, April 7, 191 7. Reproduced as 
 nearly as possible, designs, costumes, and staging of original period. 
 The audience responded, as of yore,^ ** with applause," and the news- 
 papers published long critical reviews, finding much vitality in the 
 play — as well as many demerits. 
 
 1 Springfield Republican, March l8, 1894. 
 
 2 From criticisms of performances of The Contrast: Daily Advertiser, New York, April 
 18, 1787 : " . . . the unceasing plaudits of the audience"; The Maryland Journal and 
 Baltimore Advertiser, November 16, 1787: "... with reiterated bursts of applause." 
 
LIST OF WORKS OF ROYALL TYLER 
 
 The Contrast. A Comedy. First acted, ^/rz7 1 6, 1787. Published 
 by Thomas Wignell, Philadelphia, 1790. Reprinted by Dunlap 
 Society, New York, 1887. 
 May Day in Town ; or. New York in an Uproar. New York, 
 
 May 19, 1787. 
 The Origin of Evil. An Elegy. 1792. "> 
 Ode to Night. 1792. ) 
 
 In original manuscript, owned by Helen Tyler Brown, Brattle- 
 boro, Vermont. 
 
 The Doctor in Spite of Himself. A Comedy. Date uncertain. 
 The Farm House ; or. The Female Duellists. A Farce. Boston, 
 
 1796. 
 The Georgia Spec ; or. Land in the Moon. A Comedy, ridicul- 
 ing speculations in wild Yazoo lands. Boston and New York, 
 1797-1798. 
 
 Note in Columbian Centinely Boston, October 28, i'J<)'j: 
 **The Georgia, Spec, or Land in the Moon, a Comedy in three 
 acts, is said by judges who have read it in manuscript, to be the best 
 production that has flowed from the ingenious pen of R. Tyler, Esq. 
 It contains a rich diversity of national character and native humour, 
 scarcely to be found in any other drama in the language. In a play, 
 founded on incidents at home, the author deserves great credit for the 
 circumspect candour, with which he has avoided every species of per- 
 sonality. 
 
 *' The characters are all taken from general life, without any appro- 
 priate reference whatever. Replete with incident, enlivened by wit, 
 and amply fraught with harmless mirth, the Comedy is entitled to the 
 applause of all without wounding the feelings of any." 
 The Algerine Captive ; or. The Life and Adventures of Doc- 
 tor Updike Underhill : Six years a Prisoner among the 
 
WORKS OF ROYALL TYLER 119 
 
 Algerines. 2 Vols. Walpole, New Hampshire, Davis Carlisle, 
 1797. 2 Vols, in I. Hartford, Connecticut, Peter B. Gleason 
 Co., 1 816. 2 Vols. London, England, G. and J. Robinson, 
 Paternoster Row, 1802. 
 
 This was one of the first American works to be republished in Eng- 
 land, and completely deceived the public, being considered a genuine 
 
 narrative. 
 
 Moral Tales for American Youth. J. Nancrede, Boston, 1800. 
 
 Reports of Cases in the Supreme Court of Vermont. 2 Vols. 
 1809-10. 
 
 The Yankey in London, being the First Part of a Series of Letters 
 Written by an American Youth, during nine Months Residence 
 in the city of London; Addressed to his Friends in and near Bos- 
 ton, Massachusetts. Volume i. New York, 1809. 
 
 The Shop of Messrs. Colon and Spondee. (In collaboration with 
 Joseph Dennie. ) Political squibs and comments on news of the 
 day, satirizing fashionable follies and manners. The Farmer'* s 
 Weekly Museum, Wdlpole, New Hampshire, 1794—99. Roy all 
 Tyler was ** Spondee." 
 This was a popular paper. Its circulation was extensive, and it was 
 
 in Washington's library at Mount Vernon. 
 
 Oration on the Death of Washington, i 800. (Manuscript copy 
 extant. ) 
 
 The Mantle of Washington. An Address delivered on the Anni- 
 versary of his Birthday. 1800. (Manuscript copy extant.) 
 
 Ode for the Fourth of July. 1799. 
 
 SeeDuyckinck's Cyclopedia of American Literature, Vol. i. 1855. 
 
 The Spirit of The Farmer'* s Museum and Lay Preacher* s Gazette, 
 published by David Carlisle, Walpole, New Hampshire, 1801. 
 A collection of verse and prose taken from the files of The Farm- 
 er's Weekly Museum. Contained many specimens of Royall 
 Tyler's verse and prose; also Joseph Dennie's and others'. 
 
 Occasional contributions in Joseph Dennie's periodical. The Portfolio, 
 under the titles of An Author's Evenings and Original Poetry, 
 Philadelphia, 1 801-12. 
 
I20 WORKS OF ROYALL TYLER 
 
 Trash. A series of articles in J. T. Buckingham's Polyanthos. Bos- 
 ton, 1806. 
 Love and Liberty and The Chestnut Tree have been called his 
 best poems. Dates uncertain. 
 
 For "Love and Liberty'* see Duyckinck's Cyclopedia of Ameri- 
 can Literature^ Vol. i. 1855. For <*The Bookworm," taken 
 from the manuscript copy of **The Chestnut Tree," see Library 
 of American Literature y Stedman and Hutchinson. 
 
 Roy all Tyler contributed other verse and prose in many con- 
 temporary periodicals such as The Federal Orrery, Boston Colum- 
 bian Centinel, Boston Eagle or Dartmouth Centinel, New England 
 Galaxy, and Vermont newspapers. A complete list has not been at- 
 tempted. 
 
 During his long and wasting illness he wrote constantly, leaving 
 unpublished three sacred dramas, ** The Origin of the Feast of 
 Purim, or The Destinies of Ham an and Mordecai," ''Joseph and 
 His Brethren," and "The Judgment of Solomon"; a comedy, 
 "Tantalization, or The Governor of a Day" ; poems, "Fables 
 for Children" and "The Bay Boy, A Tale" (unfinished). He 
 also left manuscript notes of a Comic Grammar and an Opera and 
 outlines of projected works. 
 
TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE COPIES OF THIS BOOK, OF 
 WHICH TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY ARE FOR SALE, WERE 
 PRINTED AT THE RIVERSIDE PRESS IN CAMBRIDGE, MASSA- 
 CHUSETTS. 
 
 THIS IS NUMBER 
 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S . A 
 

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