Page:Representative American plays.pdf/149

132 And were my heart strings fasten'd to the spot,

I 'd with you, tho' they sunder'd. But you spoke

A moment since, of some discovery

You were near making: what discovery *? ISA. It was an inadvertence — Charles. Must I never

Hope to enjoy your confidence'? ISA. Not now —

Another time, my son. Charles. Another time —

'T is ever thus you put my questions by.

Rather forbid me e'er again to ask

Of what so much concerns me, and I promise

However hard the task, I will obey you.

I trust you have ne'er found me disobedi- ent! ISA. You have been all a mother's heart could wish.

You ask but what you have a right to ask,

And I have always purposed a fit time —

When that your age were ripe enough — Charles. Well, mother,

Has not that time arrived? ISA. Your age, dear Charles,

Has scarce reach'd manhood yet. 'T is true, your courage,

Your conduct amidst danger — manly vir- tues, —

Are well approv'd. Your judgment too — so much,

A mother may believe and say — is far

Beyond the years you count. But there 's a quality;

A virtue it may be, which is the growth

Only of minds well disciplin'd; which looks

On human actions with a liberal eye.

That knows the weakness of the human heart.

Because it feels it; and will not con- demn

In others, what itself is conscious of —

That will not with the tyrant prejudice.

Without allowance or extenuation,

Yea, without hearing pass its dreadful sentence. Charles. And am I such a one'?^ thanks to my nature.

Which I feel is not quite so vile. My breeding,

1 This passage is confused. It should probably read: Thanks to my nature,

Which I feel is not so vile, and to my breeding Which has been liberal, nay, thanks to those Who daily here exhibit its deformity, I scorn this monster prejudice.

Which has been liberal. Nay thanks to

those Who daily here exhibit its deformity, I scorn this monster prejudice. ISA. And yet—

Should you — I could not live if you

should hate me. Charles. Hate you, my mother'? Had

not all your actions Been, as I 've seen them, noble ; all your

precepts As I have ever found them, full of good- ness. Could I recall the tenderness you 've

shewn Towards me, and cease to love you. —

Never, never! All crimes however great, dwindle to

atoms Near filial ingratitude; the heart That is that monster's throne, ne'er knew

a virtue. IsA. Ah! how shall I commence! — What

would you know. Charles. Why you left England? Why

in this wilderness. Amidst a race that scorn, that shun and

loathe us,

You linger mother ;

Who is my father"? ISA. Ah !

Charles.

out existence "? Chiefly,

{Taking her hand.)

{Turning awag.)

In our own England,

At school, among my frank and laugh- ing mates.

When they have put this question, it was done

In merry mood, and I could bear it — well —

Although I could not answer it ; but here,

mother — to these cold and selfish be- ings,

Their smooth tongues dipp'd in bitter- ness, their eyes

Scowling suspicion — what can I reply? IsA. Poor boy, poor boy! Well, Charles, the time is come

And if my spirits fail not — you shall know all.

Your father — but I cannot, no, I cannot

Commence my story there. — I was left, Charles,

W^ithout a parent's care, just at that age

That needs it most. I had ne'er known my mother.

And was scarce fifteen when my father's fate

Forc'd him to abandon child and home and country;