A Rough Diamond

A Rough Diamond
John Buckstone

A Rough Diamond A Comic Drama in One Act

ADVERTISEMENT

THE two little Dramas of A ROUGH DIAMOND and GOOD FOR NOTHING, would not have been published but for the loss to the English Stage of one of its greatest ornaments, – the original representative of Margery and Nan. Whatever of goodness of heart, affection, cheerfulness, honesty, and self-sacrifice may be found in those characters, the truthfulness with which she pourtrayed such qualities may be mainly ascribed to the fact, that they existed in her own genuine and most genial nature.

It was intended by the Author to keep these with other productions unpublished, and solely for the professional use of the late Mrs. Fitzwilliam; but the affliction he has suffered in losing one so dear to him having changed this intention, and prevented him ever again appearing as Cousin Joe or Tom Dibbles, he has been induced to print the Dramas in the hope that the female characters may be found suited to young and rising talent, of which the Stage at the present time unfortunately stands so much in need.

A

ROUGH DIAMOND

SCENE. —A Country Residence – Door C., opening on a lawn with carriage way; on each side of the entrance are Statues – Door L.H.U.E. – An open door, R.H.U.E., leading to a Shrubbery – High flower stands on each side of the Stage, containing flowers – Plain chairs, &c. &c.

SIR WILLIAM EVERGREEN, heard without

SIR WILLIAM. Come in, come in – I’m delighted to see you. Harry, lead the horse to the stable.

Enter SIR WILLIAM and CAPTAIN BLENHEIM from the back, C.D

SIR W. I thought it was a face I knew. I’m very glad to see you – it’s more than two years since we met! Where do you come from? – where are you going to? – and how d’ye do?

BLEN. My regiment is quartered about a mile off – we arrived there but yesterday – I knew you had a country house in the neighbourhood, and I had come in search of you.

SIR W. Excellent! now I have indeed a companion, for I shall expect you to pass all your leisure with me. I thought you were abroad, as I had not heard from you so long.

BLEN. I have been stationed in Ireland.

SIR W. You’re looking in excellent health, and your spirits are as buoyant as ever, I’m sure.

BLEN. I have nothing to complain of as regards my health – my spirits I can’t say much for.

SIR W. What, any old creditors troublesome, or —

BLEN. No, I’ve nothing to fear from them.

SIR W. Some love affair – some tender attachment.

BLEN. Now you’re right; I may as well be candid and tell you so.

SIR W. Jilted, or rejected, or —

BLEN. Shortly after you left me at college, I formed an attachment to a young girl that I idolized with all the enthusiasm of youth.

SIR W. Aye, aye; we generally begin that way.

BLEN. My passion was returned with equal fervor; when it became necessary that I should select my position in life. My friends suggested the army, and my inclination led me to adopt their views. Ireland soon became my destination – a constant correspondence with the object of my passion was my only solace in exile, and for months I almost daily opened a letter written by her dear hand.

SIR W. How delightful! I have often thought how charming it must be to receive an eloquent letter from a much-loved source – to have the colloquial grace of a Sévigné mingled with the fervor of a Heloise, or the moral delicacy of a Chapone. Oh, my dear fellow, I envy you!

BLEN. Have you never experienced that happiness?

SIR W. Never; – but proceed with your history, mine shall follow – you went to Ireland, and there received letters from the lady of your love.

BLEN. A long silence ensued.

SIR W. What anxious hours you must have passed.

BLEN. Till one morning my servant placed a letter on my table – the object of my passion had married during her silence.

SIR W. I guessed as much – always something ominous in a woman’s silence.

BLEN. Her parents had met with misfortunes – a wealthy match presented itself – a match with a title.

SIR W. A match with a title! – ignition at once, of course.

BLEN. The temptation, added to the prayers of her friends, were too much for her. She yielded, but assured me she had done so with a broken heart – implored me to forget her – that her lot in life was cast, that the stern duties of her future existence should be fulfilled if she died in the struggle, yet confessed that I still occupied one little corner in her heart, and concluded with a beautiful quotation from Milton.

SIR W. A refined mind, an educated divinity, no doubt – one formed to adorn the rank she had gained.

BLEN. She was indeed accomplished.

SIR W. I thought so. Spoke Italian, no doubt?

BLEN. Fluently.

SIR W. And French?

BLEN. Better than a native.

SIR W. What a woman! Understood music?

BLEN. An enthusiast in the science.

SIR W. And mineralogy and archæology?

BLEN. Perfectly.

SIR W. And the steam engine?

BLEN. Yes.

SIR W. And the vestiges of creation?

BLEN. Yes, and chaos, and everything.

SIR W. What a woman! I should have adored her. And you lost this professor in petticoats?