Clara. Ward always, pray, sir. Whatever I may be in the eye of the law, I am not arrived at years of discretion yet, in my own opinion, nor in yours, I suspect. So I pray you, uncle, let me still have the advantage of your counsel and guidance.
Sir W. You ask for my advice, Clara. Now let me see whether you will take it.
Clara. I am all attention.
Sir W. You know you must allow me a little prosing. You are an heiress, Clara—a rich heiress—an Irish heiress. You desire to do good, don’t you?
Clara. (with eagerness) With all my heart!—With all my soul!
Sir W. That is not enough, Clara. You must not only desire to do good, you must know how to do it.
Clara. Since you, uncle, know that so well, you will teach it to me.
Sir W. Dear, flattering girl—but you shall not flatter me out of the piece of advice I have ready for you. Promise me two things.
Clara. And first, for your first.
Sir W. Finish whatever you begin.—Good beginnings, it is said, make good endings, but great beginnings often make little endings, or, in this country, no endings at all. Finis coronat opta—and that crown is wanting wherever I turn my eyes. Of the hundred magnificent things your munificent father began—