NO PLAYS EXCHANGED. 
 
 AN AUTOGRAPH 
 LETTER 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 
 
Baker's Edition of Plays 
 
 ARRANGED BY NUMBER OF CHARACTERS, MALE AND FEMALE. 
 FURTHER PARTICULARS IN REGULAR LIST- 
 PRICE GIVEN AFTER EACH PLAY. 
 ff here a play is known under two titles, both are given as separate play*. i» 
 "V this list only. 
 
 Two Characters. — One Male, one Female. 
 An Original Idea . . 15 
 
 Three Characters. — Two Males, One Female. 
 Box and Cox .... 15 I Mary Moo : .... 15 I Silent Woman ... 19 
 Unprotected Female . 15 | I Which Shall 1 Marry? 15 
 
 One Male, Two Females. 
 ....'■ 15 | Two Flats and a Sharp 15 | Which will Have Him? 15 
 Four Characters. — Two Males, Two Females. 
 
 Apples 
 
 Bouquet ..... 15 
 
 Gi ve a Hog, etc. 
 Match Makers . 
 Personal Matter 
 
 Bomhastes Furioso 
 
 15 
 
 Census Taker . . . 
 
 Mr. Joffin's Latchkey 
 
 None so Deaf as those 
 
 who Won't Hear . 
 
 15 
 
 Three Males, One Female. 
 | The Tempter .... 15. | 
 
 Fairy's Father 
 Madam is Abed , 
 Putkins . . , 
 
 Sailor's Return 
 
 Five Characters. — Three Males, Two Females. 
 
 Anonymous Kiss . 
 Cousin Tom . . . 
 Done on Both Sides 
 Sylvia's Soldier . . 
 Ugly Customer . . 
 Blue and Cherry . 
 
 Kiss in the Dark . 
 
 Only a Clod 
 
 Doubtful Victory • . 15 
 My Son Diana . . 15 
 Two Buzzards ... 15 
 Appearances are De- 
 ceitful 15 
 
 Don't Judge by Ap- 
 pearances .... 15 
 
 15 
 
 1- 
 
 Under a Veil . . 
 Nature and Philosophy 15 
 To Oblige Benson . . 15 
 Welsh Girl .... 15 
 The Youth who Never 
 Saw a Woman . . 15 
 
 Two Males, Three Females. 
 15 | My Husband's Secret 15 I Poor Pillicoddy . 
 
 Phantom Breakfast 
 
 15 
 
 Four Males, One Female. 
 15 I Two Heads are Better I Trumpeter's Daughter 15 
 | than One .... 15 | 
 
 Six Characters.— One Male, Five Females. 
 
 The Only Young Man in Town 30 
 
 Three Males, Three Females. 
 
 Aunt Charlotte's Maid 15 
 Always Intended . . 15 
 
 Dandelion's Dodges . 15 
 Drop Too Much . . 15 
 From Information I Re- 
 ceived 15 
 
 I've Written to Brown 15 
 
 Advice to Husbands . 15 | 
 
 My Sister's Husband . 15 
 Never Say Die . . . 15 
 Your Life's in Danger 15 
 Four Males, Two Fema'es 
 John Wopps .... 1" 
 Nursey Chiekweed . 15 
 Needless Stratagem (A) 15 
 Once on a Time . . . 15 
 Slice of Luck (A) . . 15 
 Sullivan, The Slugger 15 
 Five Males, One Female, 
 
 Sarah's Young Man 
 Two Puddifoots 
 
 Sunshine through the 
 Clouds ..... 15 
 
 Soldier, Sailor, Tinker. 
 nndTai'or .... 15 
 
 We're All Teetotallers 15 
 
 ] Diamond Cut Diamond 15 
 
 WALTER H. BAKER &;CO., PUBLISHERS 
 23 WINTER ST., BOSTON, MASS. 
 
AN 
 
 AUTOGRAPH LETTER 
 
 & ©jomjexlij itt Qhxzz Jkxis 
 
 BY ; 
 
 ESTHER B. TIFFANY, 
 
 author of " anita's trial," "a rice pudding," "the way 
 
 to his pocket," "young ms. pritchard," 
 
 "that patrick," etc. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 1889. 
 
 )N G*. 
 
 * 'RIGHT ^ 
 
 *& 
 
 NOV S 1889,,, 
 
 ■ 
 
P5 30i 
 
 CHA-RAC T ERS. 
 
 JOHN MASTERS. 
 
 HAL MASTERS, nephevj to John Masters. 
 
 PHILIP STAUNTON. 
 
 DR. PROCTER. 
 
 SHERIFF. 
 
 PRISCILLA MAY. 
 
 HELEN STAUNTON, daughter to Staunton, 
 
 LIBBY MASTERS, sister to John Masters, 
 
 MRS. GRIGGS. 
 
 MAID. 
 
 Copyright, 18S9, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 
 
 if/ 1 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene. — Staunton's room in a lodging-house, meagrely 
 furnished. Door, l., in flat ; door, R. ; window, R., in 
 flat ; table, R. ; easy-chair, L. ; secretary, to lock, at back. 
 Helen and Dr. Procter discovered. 
 
 Dr. Procter (c, pompously). As I before elucidated to 
 you, my dear young lady, skilled competence and proficiency 
 
 — in other words, a trained nurse. 
 
 Helen {down R. at table). But I love nursing. 
 
 Dr. Proct. You are — permit the personality — exces- 
 sively youthful, absolutely inexperienced. 
 
 Hel. Why, I'm almost eighteen. 
 
 Dr. Proct. And your father's condition necessitates 
 unceasing supervision. These — er- — drops at intervals of 
 
 — um — half an hour. 
 Hel. Yes, sir. 
 
 Dr. Proct. And two-thirds of a wine-glass of old port 
 every two hours. 
 
 Hel. Yes, sir. 
 
 Dr. Proct. Exercise great discretion concerning the 
 port. Gross & Paige keep the only port in the city in the 
 least suitable for a refined and delicate palate. Then, any 
 trifle that might tempt the capricious appetite of a convales- 
 cent. Er — um — Hamburg grapes — er — peaches — the 
 breast of a partridge — er — er — dairy cream — in short, any 
 little trifle of that character. 
 
 Hel. Yes, sir. {Aside.) And only ten dollars in the 
 house ! 
 
 Dr. Proct. Following which treatment, a trip to the 
 South as soon as locomotion appears desirable. Above all, 
 
4 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 no undue excitement. In other words, no cerebral per- 
 turbation. You — eh — comprehend? I make myself — eh 
 — lucid ? 
 
 Hel. Yes, sir. I think I understand. {Aside.) Though, 
 where the money is to come from I do not understand. 
 
 Dr. Proct. You may expect me in the morning. Er — 
 good-day — Miss — er — er — Staunton. 
 
 Hel. Good-morning, Dr. Procter. {Exit Dr. Procter 
 d. L. in F.) Wine! Hamburg grapes ! A journey to the 
 South ! Poor father ! And our purse growing lighter every 
 hour. How much have I ? {Counts her money.} Ten dol- 
 lars and forty cents — and after that is gone! Ten dollars 
 all that is left from the sale of that valuable autograph letter 
 of Washington's ! It brought us one hundred dollars, but 
 how quickly one hundred dollars go ! Could I borrow from 
 Hal? {Goes L.) No, no ; from him least of all He must 
 not even suspect our strait. He sees me well dressed — he 
 does not fancy that these are the last of all my pretty clothes. 
 Father always would give me such lovelv tilings, even when 
 he couldn't afford it. {A knock at D. in F.) Come in. 
 {Enter Mrs. Griggs, d. in f.) 
 
 Mrs G. {at door). The young feller that's keepin' com- 
 pany with \ou 's ringin' at the front-door bell. 
 
 Hel. Mrs. Griggs, if you please, there is no young man 
 keeping company with me. 
 
 Mrs. G. Oil, they ain't ! Well, then, if they ain't — if he 
 ain't — and he's quite easy in his pocket, I should say — I'll 
 just trouble you for that rent ; that's all. 
 
 Hel. Mrs. Griggs, I must ask you to wait a little longer. 
 
 Mrs. G. Wait? And haven't I been waitin'. patient as 
 a lamb, bein' convinced that young feller meant business, 
 and would hand over so'thin' handsome soon as you was 
 engaged ? 
 
 Hel. Mrs. Griggs, if ever — (Hal appears at D. in f.) 
 
 Hal Good-morning, Mis_s Helen. Oh, Mrs. Griggs, 
 good-morning. 
 
 Hel. Good-morning, Mr. Masters. 
 
 Mrs. G. We was just talkin' about you. 
 
 Hal. That's what made my ear burn so. 
 
 Hel. Come in, Mr. Masters. {Goes tip.) 
 
 Mrs. G. I'd like to have a few words with you in private, 
 Mr. Masters, when you're through here. 
 
 Hal. Oh, certainly, 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 5 
 
 Hel. {drawing him in and shutting the door on Mrs. G.). 
 Promise me you won't let her speak to you. 
 
 Hal. I can't say I'm very anxious for an interview, but 
 why — 
 
 Hel. Because I — well, because — 
 
 Hal. That's quite sufficient reason. I'll avoid Mrs. 
 Griggs. I'll sneak out and in the back way. I'll — but I 
 beg your pardon, how's your father ? {Comes down to C.) 
 
 Hel. About the same. {Down to R.) 
 
 Hal. In bed still ? 
 
 Hel. No, up and around, but feverish and restless. 
 Something seems preying on his mind. He wakes and 
 calls out at night in such an agonized way — 
 
 Hal. Can I see him ? 
 
 Hel. No, he's asleep now. 
 
 Hal. Isn't there anything I can do ? What has Old Port 
 ordered for him ? 
 
 Hel. Old Port ? 
 
 Hal. I beg his pardon, Dr. Procter. Old Port is what 
 we call him at,the Medical School, because he cures every- 
 thing, from a sprained finger to lockjaw, with a glass of old 
 port. I'm sure, now, he's ordered your father some old 
 port. 
 
 Hel. Yes, he has. 
 
 Hal. I thought so. Now, I've got in the cellar at home 
 — that is, we've got — my Uncle John, you know ; I say we 
 because he goes shares with everything — 
 
 Hel. What a dear old gentleman your uncle must be. 
 
 Hal. Old gentleman ! Why, Uncle John is barely forty, 
 and hasn't a gray hair. 
 
 Hel. Except what you have caused him. 
 
 Hal. Oh, that kind doesn't count ! But this old port of 
 his — I'll bring you round a half a dozen bottles. 
 
 Hel. Oh, no. 
 
 Hal. Oh, yes. Good-by. I'll run round now. {Goes 
 up to door and comes back.) Oh, by the way — 
 
 Hel. Yes, 
 
 Hal. There are some things we don't go shares in — 
 Uncle John and I. 
 
 Hel. Debts? 
 
 Hal. Debts ? No, bless him, if I had any, he'd insist on 
 taking them all himself. No — secrets ! 
 
 Hel. So he has a cellar full of secrets as well as of port ? 
 
6 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Hal. Uncle John, secrets ? What an idea ! You ought 
 to see him ! He's a complete book-worm, except when he's 
 oft" fishing and tramping ; and then he's the jolliest, drollest 
 — but secrets, the kind of secrets I mean — why, do you 
 know, he can't endure women. 
 
 Hel. Why. I thought you said he was nice ! 
 
 Hal. But, then, perhaps Aunt Libby — that's his only 
 sister — has something to do with his opinion of women. 
 (Goes up to door and returns.) You — you haven't asked 
 me what my secret is. 
 
 Hel. It wouldn't be a secret if you told me, would it? 
 
 Hal. There's nothing cosier than a secret just for two; 
 is there, now ? (Takes her hand.) 
 
 Hel. It depends on the two. (Draws away.) 
 
 Hal. Yes, of course ; and then, when one of the two 
 is dependent on (aside) Uncle John, who holds the purse- 
 strings. (Aloud.) But I must go. I'll be right back with 
 the port. I'll bring it round in six trips, a bottle at a time. 
 Goocl-by. 
 
 Hel. Good-by. 
 
 Hal. Good-by. (Aside.) I'll have to bottle myself up, 
 or — (Exit D. L. in F. ) 
 
 Hel. That dreadful Mrs. Griggs. (Up c.) If she 
 should speak to him ! (Looking out of door.) There she 
 is now; he sees her — he's running. He pretends not to 
 notice her. She's calling after him. He won t hear. There, 
 he's out of sight. (Down R.) 
 
 (Mrs. G. appears at door.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Rather hard of hearin', that young feller, ain't 
 he? 
 
 Hel. Oh, Mrs. Griggs, I must just step out for a moment 
 to the druggist. Father is asleep, but if he should wake and 
 call, will vou come in ? 
 
 Mrs. G. Yes, I'll be round. (Exit.) 
 
 Hel. (looking in at chainber door, R.). Yes, he's fast 
 asleep still. I'll only be gone -a moment. I would have 
 asked Mr. Masters to get the medicine for me, but that nice 
 old druggist is so kind, and calls me "my child," and gives 
 me the drugs cheaper than to anybody else, and a few cents 
 mean so much just now. Hark ! (Distant thunder.) I 
 must make haste before the storm is here. (Exit D. in F.) 
 
 Staunton (calling from within). Helen! Helen! It's 
 here again. Priscilla, why will you torment me so! (He 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 7 
 
 enters, R., half awake, supporting himself feebly on chairs 
 and tables as he moves .) Helen! Helen! Priscilla ! 
 (Enter Priscilla, d. in f.) 
 
 Pris. Who calls ? What is it ? 
 
 Staunt. {starting as he sees her). Priscilla! 
 
 Pris. How do you know me by name? 
 
 Staunt. {trembling, r.). Priscilla ! 
 
 Pr'S. Why, is it, can it be, Philip Staunton ? (Down c.) 
 
 Staunt. (gazing at her wildly'). Why do you haunt me 
 so, Priscilla? I cannot drop off to sleep but I dream of you. 
 I wake, and you are by my pillow. Is it because you know 
 I am dying that you dog my steps ? 
 
 Pris. {aside). Ill — aged — wandering in mind ! Can this 
 be Philip Staunton ? {Aloud.) Why, Philip, we have not 
 met these twenty years, you. and I. 
 
 Staunt. Do you think to draw it out of me with those 
 eves of yours, Priscilla ? Why will you not let me die in 
 peace ? 
 
 Pris. (soothingly). Sit down, Philip. Come, let me make 
 you comfortable in this big ciiair. There. And where shall 
 I find a pillow for 'your back? In the next room ? (Exit 
 into .bed-chamber, r.) 
 
 Staunt. (going l.). Die in peace. If only she would let 
 me die in peace ! (Sits L.) 
 
 (Enter Pris. r.) 
 
 Pris. (to l., arranging the pillow). There. And now let 
 me fan you. Your head is hot. Feel how cool my hands 
 are. 
 
 Staunt. Is it really you, Priscilla ? 
 
 Pris. Really I. {Sits near him.) 
 
 Staunt. (coming to himself). I am afraid I was only half 
 awake when I first came in. I had been dreaming. Do you 
 ever dream, Priscilla ? 
 
 Pris. (sighing). Yes, Philip. 
 
 Staunt. They are ugly things, these dreams, and when 
 you are ill and weak, Priscilla, how all the faces of those you 
 have injured in your life rise up before you. 
 
 Pris. I don't know, Philip. I never wilfully injured any 
 living being; nor you either, I trust. 
 
 Staunt. (roused). Wilfully ? Who said anything about 
 wilfully ? Of course no one injures a friend wilfully; it's 
 because one is tempted ; because one's blood is hot; because 
 to cwn anything so sweet and bewildering as a young girl 
 
8 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 one is willing to go through — Why do you listen to me so 
 intently, Priscilla ? Don't mind what I say. I'm ill. I'm 
 an old man, Priscilla, an old man. 
 
 Pris. Only sixty, Philip. 
 
 Staunt. Two and twenty years between us. I left you 
 a girl of eighteen. 
 
 Pris. The girl of eighteen is now a woman of eight and 
 thirty. 
 
 Staunt. No, no, Priscilla, don't ask me to believe that ; 
 and why do you wear black ? I always think of you in 
 white, with a spray of lilacs in your belt. Where are your 
 sisters ? 
 
 Pris. Dead. 
 
 Staunt. And the old place ? 
 
 Pris. Gone. Everything is gone. I am a poor woman 
 now. 
 
 Staunt. I might have known you were poor to come 
 here. When did you come ? 
 
 Pris. Last evening. 
 
 Staunt. And you — you never married ? 
 
 Pris. I never married. 
 
 Staunt. And — John Masters ? 
 
 Pris. John Masters and I have not met for twenty years. 
 
 Staunt. Not since the night — 
 
 Pris. {rising and going to R., agitated}. Not since the 
 night — 
 
 Staunt. {hastily). You mustn't mind anything you have 
 heard me say, Priscilla. I'm ill. I'm not long for this 
 world. I want Helen to love her father's memory, and if 
 she should fancy — 
 
 Pris. Helen ? 
 
 Staunt. My daughter. I married soon after you sent 
 me away, Priscilla. She's dead now, Beatrice, my wife ; but 
 Helen — Ah, there she is now ! 
 
 {Enter Hel., d. l. in F.) 
 
 Hel. Why, father ! {Down L. to him.) 
 
 Pris. {to a). An old friend of your father's. I heard 
 him calling, and stepped in. I am lodging here now. My 
 room is just next. 
 
 Hel. Oh. how can I thank you ! Did you want me, 
 father? I was longer than I meant to be. 
 
 Staunt. Oh, I was well cared for, Helen, well cared for. 
 
 Pris. She does not look like you, Philip. 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 9 
 
 Staunt. No, thank fortune, there's not much of me in her. 
 
 Pris. We must learn to know each other. I knew your 
 father when I was a girl of eighteen and he the most fearless 
 rider and best dancer in the county. 
 
 Staunt. Ar.d now look at us. I gray and broken, and 
 you slight and graceful still as a girl. Well, well. 
 
 Pris. (to Helen). Why do you look at me so wistfully? 
 {She takes Helen's hand.) 
 
 Hel. Your eyes make me think of mamma's. I have no 
 mother, you know. 
 
 Pris. (putting her arm arottnd Helen). Poor child. 
 
 Staunt. (aside). So Helen notices it. too. It was Bea- 
 trice's likeness to Priscilla that drew me to her. 
 
 Hel. May I bring my work sometimes and sit with you? 
 
 Pris. (kissing he r). The oftener the better, dear. 
 
 Hel. And you will tell me all about father when you used 
 to know him. Did you know mamma, too ? 
 
 Pris. No, I never saw your mother. But now I must go. 
 I shall expect you at my door very soon. Good-morning, 
 Philip. Your little Helen and I are going to be fast friends. 
 
 Staunt. Good-morning. 
 
 Hel. Good-morning, and thank you so much. {Exit 
 Pris. d. l. in f.) Father, who is she ? What lovely eyes • 
 and hair, and hasn't she a sweet voice ? But why does she 
 look so sad ? I think I never saw so sad a face. 
 
 Staunt. (irritated). No sadder than most faces ; and 
 when a woman has lost her parejits and brothers and sisters 
 and — and a handsome fortune, she has a right to look sad, 
 hasn't she ? 
 
 Hel. What ! is she poor too? (c ) 
 
 Staunt. Do you think she would come and lodge here 
 if she were not? But there, there, my little girl, don't 
 indulge in foolish fancies about people's being sad. Come 
 here and tell your old dad you love him. 
 
 Hel. Dearest, dearest father. 
 
 Staunt. A disreputable, battered old hulk, but you cher- 
 ish a lingering fondness for him? Eh>? 
 
 Hel. I wouldn't have you a bit different for all the world. 
 
 Staunt. {caressing her). Your mother wanted a boy, 
 but from the first moment you were put into my arms I 
 knew you were to be the blessing of my life. A man doesn't 
 often love two women as passionately as I have loved you 
 and — and — 
 
10 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Hel. And mamma. 
 
 Staunt. {changing his tone). Of course — your — mother, 
 Heien. 
 
 Hel. Father, dear — (She feels in his vest pocket.} 
 
 Staunt. What are you fumbling for in my pocket? 
 
 Hel. The key of the secretary. 
 
 Staunt. What do you want out of the secretary? 
 
 Hel. Just a little money, dearest. 
 
 Staunt. There's no money there. . 
 
 Hel. I know it, but there's one more letter still of your 
 autograph collection. 
 
 Staunt. You don't mean to say the one hundred we 
 raised on the last is all gone ! 
 
 Hel. Oh, no — not all gone yet. (Aside.') He must not 
 suspect how nearly. 
 
 Staunt. There are no more letters. That was the last. 
 Valuable autographs of Clay, Hamilton, Washington, Macau- 
 lay — all gone to pay for board and lodging in this vile rat- 
 hole ! Pah ! 
 
 Hel. Oh, but there is one more letter. 
 
 Staunt. Whose ? 
 
 Hel. It had slipped down behind a drawer. It's not 
 mounted like the others. It was signed Priscilla. 
 
 Staunt. (starting). Priscilla! 
 
 Hel. Is it from Priscilla, the Puritan maiden, father, to 
 John Alden? 
 
 Staunt. Open the window. This room is stifling. Give 
 me a glass of water. (Hele'n does so.) There, there ! 
 
 Hel. It's the thunder in the air. A storm is brewing. 
 
 Staunt. (aside). Fool that I have been not to destroy it 
 years ago. (Aloud.) Helen, how often must I tell you that 
 my private papers are not to be disturbed ? 
 
 Hel. But, father, your autograph letters — you always let 
 me read your autograph letters. 
 
 Staunt. (agitated). What? You read this — 
 
 Hel. No, I didn't happen to, father, but I might have. 
 
 Staunt. It's a most dangerous habit, this reading other 
 people's letters. 
 
 Hel. But an autograph letter — 
 
 Staunt. A valuable autograph letter especially. It wears 
 them out. Helen, I am very much displeased with you. 
 
 Hel. I am very sorry, father. I suppose it is exceed- 
 ingly valuable. From Priscilla, you said. To John Alden ? 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. I I 
 
 Staunt. Of course. What other Priscilla could there 
 be, whose autograph letter I should be likely to have. Cer- 
 tainly — Priscilla to John Alden. {Aside.) I'll destroy it 
 this very day. 
 
 Hel. {to table, R. ; aside). How disturbed he looks ! The 
 slightest tiling puts him into a fever. Poor father ! {Mixes 
 drops) Here, father, it's time for your drops. {To L.) 
 
 Staunt. Remember, Helen, that my private papers are 
 not to be interfered with. 
 
 Hel. No, father. {Aside.) Oh, dear ! Dr. Procter 
 warned me he was not to be disturbed or excited. If only 
 he can sleep now ! 
 
 Staunt. Drugs. Why do you give drugs to a dying man ? 
 
 Hel. You are better, father, — oh, so much stronger and 
 better. And now won't you try and sleep? 
 
 Staunt. I hate sleep ! Sleep is well enough for young 
 things like you, Helen, but for us ! Why, when we give our- 
 selves up to sleep, it's like going bound into a tiger's cage, 
 and all the jeering, snarling faces press close about, and one 
 so powerless to lift a finger ! Sleep ! I hate sleep ! 
 
 Hel. Oh, poor father ! is it so bad as that ! {Aside.) 
 He's worse. I must quiet him. {Aloud.) Come, clear ; the 
 other room is cooler. 
 
 Staunt. Why are you always shifting me about ? Well, 
 well ! I spoiled you ; I always did. {She helps him to rise.) 
 But you love your old dad? There, there — {Exeunt D. 
 r., Helen supporting Staunton. A knock. Enter Hal 
 d. in F., with wine, fruit, and /lowers.) 
 
 Hal. Did some one say come in ? No, no one did. 
 Well, I'll just leave this wine {to table, R. Pulls out two 
 bottles of wine and puts them on table) and this fruit and 
 these white lilacs. I wonder if she'll think the lilacs are for 
 her father ? 
 
 {Enter Mrs. G., d. in F.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Oh, there you are. {Aside.) Fruit and flowers. 
 Hm — and she said he wasn't keepin' company. {Aloud.) 
 You're just the person I wanted to see. {Down c.) 
 
 Hal. {aside). I promised I wouldn't. {Aloud.) Oh, 
 certainly, Mrs. Griggs. Quite at your service. You don't 
 mind scarlet fever, of course. 
 
 Mrs. G. Scarlet fever ! 
 
 Hal. Seventeen cases at the hospital — but, as I said 
 before — 
 
12 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Mrs. G. Out of this house, sir. {Draws back skirts.~) 
 
 Hal. But you wished to see me. 
 
 Mrs. G. Do you want to scare all my lodgers away ? 
 The sooner you leave these premises — 
 
 Hal. Oh, very well. Good-morning. {Exit D. in f.) 
 
 Hel. {enters R.). I thought 1 heard talking — Oh, Mrs. 
 Griggs — 
 
 Mrs. G. Of all rash, reckless — Well, Miss Helen, how 
 about the rent ? 
 
 Hel. Please, speak softly. My father is just falling 
 asleep — 
 
 Mrs. G. Haven't I been speakin' softly for five months ? 
 
 Hel. I know we are behindhand, but my father's illness 
 — all the necessary expenses — 
 
 Mrs. G. {going to door, speaks to Sheriff outside). Just 
 step this way, will you? 
 
 {Enter Sheriff, d. in f.) 
 
 Sheriff (l.). This is a disagreeable duty, miss. 
 
 Hel. What do you mean ? 
 
 Mrs. G. Oh, yes. I wonder what he can mean ? 
 
 Sheriff. I am ordered to eject you. 
 
 Hel. Eject us ! 
 
 Mrs. G. In plain English, you are to pack — bag and 
 baggage. 
 
 Hel. But we can't — My father is ill — 
 
 Mrs. G. That's your lookout. 
 
 Hel. It would kill him to move. 
 
 Mrs. G. Then pay up. 
 
 Sheriff {to Mrs. G.). Come now, I wouldn't be too hard 
 on her. 
 
 Mrs. G. That's none of your business. Go ahead, go 
 ahead. The furniture in this room is mine, but their things 
 is in the next room. That door there. 
 
 Sheriff {moving towards door, R.). Very sorry, miss. 
 
 Hel. {barring the door). You sha'n't go in. 
 
 Sheriff. Oh, come now. 
 
 Mrs. G. Go ahead. It's only a trick. 
 
 Hel. My father is ill — it may be dying. The physician 
 said any excitement would be fatal. We have no money — 
 here — take all we have — {Opens purse?) A few dollars — 
 the rest went this morning for medicine. If you have a heart 
 in your bosom, take pity on us. 
 
 Sheriff. I don't like this business. 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 13 
 
 Mrs. G. (to Sheriff). She's rich friends. She could get 
 the money easy as nothing. Go ahead. 
 
 Sheriff (pushing Helen aside, and taking hold of the 
 handle of the chamber door). Law's law, miss. (A peal of 
 thunder.') 
 
 Hel. (seizing his, arm). Hear that crash ! You cannot 
 be so cruel as to thrust us out into the storm. (It grows 
 darker.) Oh. if you have wife or children at home, have 
 mercy on us. 
 
 Sheriff. 'Tain't me ; it's the law. 
 
 Hel. Stand back ! 
 
 Sheriff. The law. 
 
 Hel. Stand back, I say ! She shall be paid, that harpy 
 there. Leave the room, both of you ! Don't you hear me 
 say she shall be paid ? 
 
 Sheriff. Well, now, that sounds like business. 
 
 Mrs. G. Didn't I tell you she could if she'd a mind to ! 
 
 Hel. Give me one hour and you shall have your money. 
 
 Mrs. G. Nothin' like a. good scare to — 
 
 Hel. Not another word. Leave the room, both of you. 
 In an hour you shall be paid. 
 
 Sheriff. I'm just as well pleased to be out of this. 
 
 MRS. G. Don't you budge out of the house till I get my 
 grip on my rent. Come into the settin'-room and have a cup 
 
 of tea. 
 
 (Exeunt Sheriff and Mrs. G., d. in f.) 
 Hel. That valuable autograph letter. I can raise some- 
 thin^ on that ; or, if that fails, my pride to the winds, and I 
 will borrow of Hal. But how to get the key of the secretary 
 without waking father! (Opens chamber door, R., and looks 
 in.) Fast asleep. He must be fast asleep not to have heard 
 their hateful voices. (Exit into bed-chamber. Returns with 
 key.) Poor father, he did not feel me take the key from his 
 pocket. (Goes to secretary and unlocks it. Takes out 
 papers.) Ah, here it is, yellow with age. Priscilla. That's 
 it. Now I'll ask that old friend of father's it she will be 
 within call in case he wakes. I wonder what her name is. 
 Thunder again ! I must hurry into my dress. Poor father ! 
 (Exit, D. in F., as curtain falls.) 
 
14 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene. — Library at John Masters's. Doors R., L., and c. 
 Books and pictures ad libitum. Enter, as curtain rises, 
 Hal, c, with a bottle of wine under each arm, followed 
 
 by Aunt Libby. 
 
 Aunt L. It's not the port I object to, Hal; it's your 
 principles. {Down L.) 
 
 Hal. Oil, my principles are quite as excellent as the port, 
 Aunt Libby. (c.) 
 
 Aunt L. This is the second pair of bottles I've seen you 
 carrying up the cellar stairs to-day, as carefully as if they 
 were twins. 
 
 Hal. Rather ancient, cobwebby twins. What's their 
 age? {Examines label.) 1840 seems to be the date of 
 birth. 
 
 Aunt L. With all your faults, Hal, I never expected to 
 see you fill a drunkard's grave. 
 
 Hal. Gracious, Aunt Libby! you don't expect I'm going 
 to drink all this myself, do you ? 
 
 Aunt L. Who is to drink it, I should like to know ? 
 
 Hal. A friend. 
 
 Aunt L. A pretty kind of friend indeed. 
 
 Hal. You are right there, Aunt Libby. 
 
 Aunt L. I can fancy just what kind of a friend it is. 
 
 Hal. I doubt it. (Goes R.) 
 
 Aunt L. And how your friend will look when you appear 
 laden with this intoxicating gift. ( To c.) 
 
 Hal. So can I. (Pursuing his own train of thought.) 
 
 Aunt L. (paying no attention to him). It must be that 
 red-nosed young man called Sparks. 
 
 Hal. How her eyes will shine — but she'll shake her 
 head and look reproachful. 
 
 Aunt L. (paying no attention to Hal). I can picture 
 his trembling hand, his blood-shot eyes — 
 
 Hal. (pursuing his own reflections). The pretty flush on 
 her cheeks — 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 1 5 
 
 Aunt L. The almost purple hue of his nose. Hal, can 
 you justify it to your conscience to make your friend's nose 
 any redder than it already is ? 
 
 Hal. Helen's nose red? Aunt Libby, what are you — 
 
 Aunt L. Helen ? Who is Helen? 
 
 Hal. Oh ! I did rather let the cat out of the bag that 
 time, didn't I ? 
 
 Aunt L. I insist on knowing who Helen is. 
 
 Hal. Well, then, Aunt Libby, it's to Helen I'm carrying 
 this wine. 
 
 Aunt L. Goodness gracious ! What would your Uncle 
 John say ? 
 
 Hal. If he could once see her, he'd be doing it himself. 
 
 Aunt L. Your Uncle John going about carrying bottles 
 of wine to women called Helen ! If she drinks all this, she 
 will develop as red a nose as yeur friend Sparks. {To L.) 
 
 Hal {hotly, to a). Excuse me, Aunt Libby, but it seems 
 to me you are taking unwarrantable liberties with the noses 
 of my friends. I — 
 
 Aunt L. A nose is a surer index of character than an 
 eye, except, indeed, a black eye, which tells its own tale, and 
 which your friend Sparksalso possesses. 
 
 Hal. As for Miss Helen Staunton's nose, I cannot allow 
 any one to mention it except in terms of the highest respect; 
 and Sparks, poor Sparks ; considering he is the one Prohibi- 
 tionist of our set, I think it's rather hard you should be 
 designing him for a drunkard's grave. 
 
 Aunt L. Don't try to make me believe Mr. Sparks is a 
 teetotaler. 
 
 Hal. He plays on the eleven. It's all sunburn. But 
 where's Uncle John ? 
 
 Aunt L. I want you first to tell me about the young 
 woman. 
 
 Hal. Well, Aunt Libby, it's a case of illness. The 
 young lady's father is a convalescent. The port is for him. 
 
 Aunt L. {to him, C.). Why didn't you say so before, 
 Henry ? Convalescent ? Now wouldn't he enjoy a little 
 blanc-mange or calves'-foot jelly or — 
 
 Hal. I'm sure he would. 
 
 Aunt L. None of your skim-milk blanc-mange, but made 
 with real cream and blanched almonds, according to my 
 grandmother's recipe. 
 
 Hal. Aunt Libby, you are a jewel! 
 
l6 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Aunt L. And some calves'-foot jelly. The young people 
 of the present day have not the first notion of genuine calves'- 
 foot jelly. And how about a little delicate sponge cake to 
 go with it ? What do the physicians nowadays say about 
 sponge cake? In my day they used to recommend it. 
 
 HaL {aside). It won't do not to appear to know. {Aloud) 
 Well, Aunt Libby. physicians differ as to sponge cake. As 
 the celebrated Dr. Rosicrucius says, " Sponge cake, like other 
 porous and vascular bodies, is prone, when infiltrated with 
 aqueous or other fluids, to take on a certain turgescent, 
 bulbous, hypertrophied form, often oppressive to other organs 
 contiguous to the digestive system." 
 
 Aunt L. You don't say ! Then you wouldn't advise my 
 sending any ? 
 
 Hal. On the contrary, I should advise sending one of 
 your largest loaves. {Aside.) Helen can eat it, if her father 
 can't. 
 
 Aunt L. Well, I'll go and start things. Just run down 
 to the cellar, Hal, and bring up a bottle of Sicily Madeira. 
 Here are the keys. 
 
 Hal. All right. {Exeunt Hal, r., and Aunt L., c.) 
 {Enter, l , John Masters. He wears a shade over his eyes) 
 
 Mast. Another day of this and I shall go wild. A deaf 
 man at a concert derives as much pleasure from the music 
 as I in my library from my books. Here I am surrounded 
 by them — good friends, the best of friends ever a man could 
 have, his books — and not a word can I get out of one of them. 
 
 {Enter Aunt Libby, c.) 
 
 Aunt L. (r.). Oh, John dear, here you are. I was just 
 setting about my blanc-mange when I remembered this was 
 the time for your drops. 
 
 Mast. (a). Confound the drops ! 
 
 Aunt L. Where's the bottle? Oi, here. {Table, R.) 
 How are your eyes ? 
 
 Mast. Worse every time you put that nasty fluid into 
 them. {Sits, L.) 
 
 Aunt L. Oh, no, my clear, oh, no! Don't be childish, 
 John, and peevish. {Goes to him.) Come, let me put the 
 drops in, and then I'll read the morning news. Let me take 
 the shade off. Now, put your head back. 
 
 Mast, {submitting resignedly). Where's Hal? 
 
 Aunt L. In the cellar. Now, my dear John, considering 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. \J 
 
 you yourself, by disobeying orders and not following my 
 advice, have brought this trouble on — 
 
 Mast. Augh ! 
 
 Aunt L. What's the matter ? 
 
 Mast. It went into my ear. 
 
 Aunt L. For you cannot deny that, if I warned you once, 
 1 warned you fifty — 
 
 Mast. My nose ! 
 
 Aunt L. — times, but you would pay no attention, and 
 consequently — 
 
 Mast. I won't have the blinder on again. 
 
 Aunt L. But, my dear John ! 
 
 Mast. Through ? 
 
 Aunt L. With the drops, yes — 
 
 Mast. And the advice too ? 
 
 Aunt L. No, indeed; I've only just begun. (Masters 
 sighs.) That fine print — those horrid, old foreign books you 
 pore over, and those letters in such disagreeable crabbed 
 handwritings — if only you would confine yourself to large 
 print now for the future, I am sure you would have no more 
 trouble with your eyes. Why, for the whole winter I've been 
 going through all of Buckminster's sermons merely because 
 they happen to be in such beautiful large print. Why don't 
 you say anything? You haven't gone to sleep, have you ? 
 
 Mast. As if it were possible, Libby, to go to sleep while 
 you are talking. I thought you said something about the 
 newspaper. 
 
 Aunt L. Oh, yes, — the paper. {To c, sits.) Now, 
 here's the advertising column. Letters one quarter of an 
 inch long, and really quite interesting and improving to the 
 mind too. " Whole chamber sets for thirty to forty dollars 
 upwards, of choice workmanship, elegant in designs and 
 dainty in details, fitted to adorn " — 
 
 Mast. Good heavens, Libby! I'm not a young sprig 
 about to get married and set up housekeeping. 
 
 Aunt '"L. Well. well. What do you want ? {Looks 
 through paper.) President's message — hrri — m — foreign 
 news — Inn — m — elcpement — tck-tck-tck — a war some- 
 where in Africa — but those names are so very queer — bill 
 passed the legislature — that doesn't look interesting — a fire 
 — there's always a fire — man murders his wife— I can't 
 endure murders — such bad taste. I don't see what you 
 men find in the newspaper anyway. 
 
I 8 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Mast, {with closed eyes). What's Hal doing in the cellar? 
 
 Aunt L. Oh, here's something interesting — 
 
 Mast, (sitting up). What? 
 
 Aunt L. Black satin coming into ,fashion again, so my 
 old satin gown — 
 
 Mast, {relapsing). It seems to me Hal's a precious long 
 time in the cellar. 
 
 Aunt L. Oh, here's something else. John, isn't it 
 dreadful ? 
 
 Mast. What? 
 
 Aunt L. Large district devoted to buckwheat flooded — 
 and Hal is so fond of buckwheat cakes for breakfast, though 
 the amount of maple syrup he pours over them is enough to 
 ruin his digestion, for — 
 
 Mast. What's Hal doing in the cellar anyway? 
 
 Aunt L. Oh, getting me some Sicily Madeira. Hm — m 
 {looking through paper') — nothing else — really nothing. 
 Bv the way. Walsingham — Walsingham — Let me see, 
 that's the name of that queer man in baggy trousers and 
 green spectacles, isn't it, that comes and brings you those 
 dreadful old books ? 
 
 Mast. I don't remember about his grousers, but he owns 
 the rarest Alcline Aristotle in the country. What does it say 
 about Walsingham ? 
 
 Aunt L. Oh. nothing — merely that since acquiring the 
 Brenton collection of autograph letters — 
 
 M-AST. {starting up). The Brenton collection ! Walsing- 
 ham acquired the Brenton collection ! 
 
 Aunt L. {reading). '• Mr. Walsingham has now probably 
 the most valuable collection of autograph letters in private 
 hands." 
 
 Mast. How did he come by them ? Where did he run 
 across them ? What did he pay ? What else does it say ? 
 
 Aunt L. Why, how excited you get over trifles, John ; 
 and black satin might go in and Out of fashion twenty times 
 a year, and you wouldn't wink. ' That's all about Mr. Wal- 
 singham. 
 
 Mast. Walsingham's a lucky fellow. 
 {Enter Hal, r.) 
 
 Hal. I put your wine in the pantry, Aunt Libby. 
 
 Aunt L. {rising). Hal, I'll leave you to entertain your 
 uncle now. I've read all there was of any interest in the 
 newspaper. On the pantry shelf, you said ? (Exit C. D.) 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. ig 
 
 Hal (to a). Well, Uncle John, how goes it? 
 
 Mast. Oh, tolerably, except for the eye water. It puts 
 me back every time. 
 
 Hal. Where women and medicine are concerned, Uncle 
 John, you are a perfect old cynic. 
 
 Mast. I've tried both — 
 
 Hal. And survived both, so you see neither is fatal. 
 {Hesitatingly.') Uncle John — 
 
 Mast. Yes. 
 
 Hal (taking another chair, R.). Uncle John — 
 
 Mast. Well. 
 
 H a-l {rising' again j toe). Uncle John — 
 
 Mast. Good Lord, Hal ! has it come to this ? 
 
 Hal. To what ? 
 
 Mast. Doesn't the mere fact that you are incapable of 
 looking me in the eye prove to you that you are doing some- 
 thing you ought to be ashamed of? 
 
 Hal. I'm not ashamed of it. 
 
 Mast. Then out with it. After all, you are more to be 
 pitied than blamed. First mumps — then measles — then 
 scarlet fever — then hobbledehoyism — then — out with it, 
 Hal. Who is she? (Rises.) 
 
 Hal. It's impossible to talk to you, Uncle John, after 
 this. You — you — take all the poetry out of it. 
 
 Mast. I've only been doing what Father Time will sooner 
 or later. ( To R.) 
 
 Hal. Not in my case. (Sits, C.) 
 
 Mast. It's all very pretty, Hal, at your age, I know. It's 
 like looking at the dew on the meadow grass in the morning 
 from the vantage ground of the gravel path ; but leave the 
 gravel path and brush through the dew, and you find it 
 mighty nasty walking. 
 
 Hal. I knew your opinion of women, Uncle John, but I 
 did not think you'd make it so hard for me. 
 
 Mast. Hard! 1 wish some one had tried to make it 
 hard for me. It would have been easier afterwards. But 
 there, my boy, sit down. I'll listen to you. Only don't 
 dwell too rapturously on her perfections — I'll listen to 
 you. 
 
 Hal. Uncle John, I know I owe you everything from the 
 time I was so high, but a word of sympathy at this crisis 
 would be worth all you have done for me twice over. 
 
 Mast, (aside). Poor boy! (Aloud.) Sympathize? I 
 
20 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 do sympathize with you profoundly, Hal. You are a case 
 for sympathy. 
 
 Hal {starting up). No, I'm 'not a case for sympathy. 
 You ought to wish me joy! It's the highest, most over- 
 whelming thing that could come to a man — to love any one 
 as pure and sweet and beautiful as Helen ! But why do I 
 talk? You don't know anything about it ! {To L.) 
 
 Mast, {taking out a cigarette). So her name is Helen ! 
 {Aside.) Poor boy ! The greater the rapture now, the 
 deeper the after disappointment. {Sits, R.) 
 
 Hal {to c). I was coming to you with a plan. I had 
 meant to say, " Uncle John, you have done everything for 
 me" — • 
 
 Mast. That's not worth talking about. Got a match ? 
 
 Hal {giving him one). You have put me through Exe- 
 ter and Harvard, you are footing my bills at the Medical 
 School — 
 
 Mast. Well, sir, if I cl oose to, what concern is it of 
 yours ? 
 
 Hal. You even intended sending me to Vienna for two 
 years, to finish my medical course. 
 
 Mast. Say intend, not intended. 
 
 Hal. No, intended. Uncle John, for that's all past. What 
 I meant to ask was that you would lend me half the sum all 
 this would cost, and let me leave my profession and take a 
 clerkship. In a year I should be earning enough to sup- 
 port — 
 
 Mast. A wife and family. Oh, you young fools, you 
 young fools ! 
 
 Hal. Uncle John — 
 
 Mast. And to think I pulled you through the scarlet 
 fever for this ! 
 
 Hal. I say I did intend asking you this, but now — now 
 that you have said such things of Helen — 
 
 Mast. What in the devil's, name have I said against 
 Helen ? 
 
 Hal. You insisted that she was not worth the paltry sac- 
 rifice of my profession. 
 
 Mast. O Hal, Hal ! As if there were a woman in the 
 world worth the sacrifice of a cigarette. 
 
 Hal. You never saw Helen. 
 
 Mast. 1 never want to. 
 
 Hal. So gentle, so sweet, so noble — 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 21 
 
 Mast. Spare me, Hal. {Rising.) 
 
 Hal. If I spare you Helen, I'll spare you my sett Do 
 you think I can go on taking your money while you insult 
 the woman I love ! I'll go "this instant and look up some 
 employment — I'll — j 
 
 Mast, {to c, taking him by the arm). Hal, Hal ! don t 
 let a woman come between us. They are not worth it, my 
 bov, thev are not worth it. 
 
 Hal. One could see you had never been in love. 
 
 Mast. Never been in love ! Never been in love ! {He 
 moves away to L., and seats himself.) Hal, come here. 
 {He speaks with an effort.) Would my words come to you 
 with more weight if '1 told you that I — Sit down, Hal. 
 {Pause; Hal sits, l.) Hal, there was a woman once — 
 there are none quite like her now. The rosebud freshness 
 seems lacking in the young girls of nowadays. 
 
 Hal. Wait till you see Helen ! 
 
 Mast. Such a voice, Hal — so gentle and caressing — 
 and her eves — you never dreamed of such _ eyes —and_ the 
 proud, womanly' curves of her lips, and then her hair — 
 {Laughs cynically.) I beg your pardon, Hal ; I did not 
 mean to inflict all this on you 
 
 Hal. Oh, go on. Everything you say just describes 
 Helen. . _ . 
 
 Mast. Helen? Helen could no more compare with Fris- 
 cilla than — there, there. I beg your pardon. I will stick to 
 facts merely. 
 
 Hal. So her name was Priscilla ? 
 
 Mast. Who told you that? 
 
 Hal. Why, you yourself, just now. Priscilla— I like the 
 name. . 
 
 Mast. I used to think it the divinest melody in the 
 world ; though, for the matter of that, I remember fancying 
 that when she said '-John," which is certainly not a remark- 
 ably euphonious name, that too was pure music. 
 
 Hal. I know just how it sounded. You ought to hear 
 Helen say Hal. I made her one day. 
 
 Mast. Well, Hal, Priscilla and I were engaged. 
 
 Hal. You engaged ! 
 
 Mast. Nine happy months we were engaged. 1 believed 
 she loved me. She made me think so. Then came a lovers' 
 quarrel. 
 
 Hal. Yes — 
 
22 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Mast. It happened at a country ball. I was jealous of 
 the attentions of another man. I left her in anger. She was 
 proud, and my last words were, let it all be over between us 
 {rises and moves R.) — over between us. 
 
 Hal. Poor Uncle John. 
 
 Mast, {returning to a). That night, after I had galloped 
 home under the stars, I wrote her a wild letter. I reproached 
 her for my wasted love, but I implored her, if she ever had 
 cared for me, to ssnd me a word, a flower — the slightest 
 token. I waited in feverish pain. Hours passed — clays. 
 Not a word. The next thing I heard was that she was to be 
 married to my rival. 
 
 Hal. Heartless jilt ! 
 
 Mast. Let her rest in peace. 
 
 Hal. And you — what did you do ? 
 
 Mast. I took the next steamer for Germany. Life 
 abroad suited me. I sta\ed ten years. Then my sister 
 Mary, your mother, died, and I came back and took you. 
 
 Hal. And Priscilla ? 
 
 Mast. For years, I never let any one mention her name 
 to me. All I know is that the man she chose is now a wid- 
 ower. When or where she died I never heard. I have lived 
 buried in my books, as you know. 
 
 Hal {aside). Poor Uncle John ! 
 
 Mast. Now, Hal, take the word of a man who has been 
 through this fever in the blood — who has lived it down and 
 come out sane and safe. You don't want to marry a pretty 
 fool ; you don't want to marry a sage in petticoats. Woman 
 is too light weight to carry both heart and head. Your Aunt 
 Libby has heart. Priscilla had head, and i give her credit for 
 that. 
 
 Hal. Helen has both heart and head. 
 
 Mast. Look at me. What more should I want? I have 
 my books, my pipe, my fire, your Aunt Libby to order my 
 meals, and you to turn of! my .superfluous advice upon. 
 Slick to your profession, Hal ; and if, as you grow gray, 
 you crave young blood about you, take to your heart some 
 young rascal as I took you, through with his teething and 
 squalling, and unencumbered by a mother ; and may he turn 
 out a comfortable nuisance to you as you were to me, before 
 this Helen of Troy lit the torches of war in our peaceful 
 citadel. 
 
 Hal {rises). Uncle John, if you could but see her! 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 23 
 
 {Enter Aunt Libby, c. d.) 
 
 Aunt L. John, come — change your coat — quick! 
 
 Mast. Why, in Heaven's name ? 
 
 Aunt L. {down R.) There's a young girl asking to see 
 you. 
 
 Mast. This coat is quite good enough for any young girl 
 in creation. 
 
 Aunt L. I insist, John, on your changing your coat. 
 This is frayed around the button-holes; and what reports 
 would be carried abroad if I let you appear like this, I can- 
 not say. Come ! She's taking off her waterproof in the 
 passage. Come ! 
 
 Mast, {going r.). If you only realized, Libby, how much 
 more comfortable a frayed coat was than a whole one. 
 
 {Exeunt Aunt L. and Mast., r. Enter Maid, c. d.) 
 
 Maid. This way, miss. Mr. Masters will be right in. 
 
 {Eiiter Helen, c. d. ; exit Maid.) 
 
 Hel. {aside). What a delightful house ! {Perceives Hal.) 
 Oh, Mr. Masters ! 
 
 Hal {rising, l.). Helen ! Miss Staunton ! 
 
 Hel. {aside, a). Oh, dear! I hoped he would be at the 
 Medical School. 
 
 Hal {to c, ecstatically). You needed something? You 
 came to see me ? 
 
 Hel. I came to see your uncle. 
 
 Hal {taken aback). Uncle John ! But I thought you 
 didn't know him. 
 
 Hel. Would you mind, please — I — I — should like to 
 see him alone. 
 
 Hal. Alone ! 
 
 Hel. Yes, alone. 
 
 Hal {aside). What can she want to see him alone for? 
 
 Hel. I think I hear him coming. 
 
 Hal {aside). She seems very anxious to get rid of me. 
 She doesn't mention the lilacs I left for her. {Stiffly.) Oh, 
 certainly ; I'll not force myself upon you. Good-morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Hel. Good-morning. {Exit Hal, l.) Foolish boy ! 
 {Enter Masters, r. ; aside.) So this is Hal's Uncle John. 
 
 Mast. (r.). Oh, good-morning. You wanted to see me? 
 
 Hel. I came here from Mr. Walsingham's. 
 
 Mast. Ah ! 
 
24 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Hel. I went there to show him a valuable autograph 
 letter. His son told me his father was away, but spoke of 
 you as also being interested in such matters. 
 
 Mast. Yes. 
 
 Hel. (aside). How stiff and ungetatable Hal's Uncle John 
 is. {Aloud.) Mr. Walsingham has, at different times, pur- 
 chased autograph letters from my father. My father owned 
 part of the celebrated Brenton collection. 
 
 Mast, {interested). The Brenton collection? Indeed! 
 So it was of your father Mr. Walsingham purchased the 
 Brenton collection ? 
 
 Hel. I have here the last letter of that collection. 
 
 Mast, {to a). Oh, indeed! indeed! Where is it? 
 Allow me to look at it. Ah — my eyes — that confounded 
 — I beg your pardon — that unfortunate eye-wash. It makes 
 everything a blur. 
 
 Hel. The letter is one from PrisciUa to John Alden. 
 
 Mast, {excited). No, really ! That is indeed a priceless 
 autograph! Let me see it. (Helen hands letter.) But 
 what a careless way to treat so valuable a document ! 
 
 Hel. Most of the letters were mounted, of course; but 
 this one never was. 
 
 Mast, {aside). That confounded eye-wash! I can 
 make out nothing but yellow note-paper and a faint scrawl. 
 {Aloud.) Of course, belonging to the Brenton collection, 
 the genuineness of this autograph cannot be questioned. 
 Might I trouble you to read it to me? 
 
 Hel. Oh, certainly, if I can. The handwriting is faint. 
 {Opens letter.) Ah ! 
 
 Mast. What is it ? 
 
 Hel. {stooping). Why, this fell out. Look ! A pressed 
 flower — a white lilac ! 
 
 Mast. Let me see. 
 
 Hel. To think of its lying all these years in this letter. 
 It's still sweet. 
 
 Mast. What is the date ? 
 
 Hel. It's not dated at all. 
 
 Mast, {impatiently). Just like a woman ! 
 
 Hel. There's no heading either. (Reading.) ''You beg 
 me for the slightest token — a flower, a word — to tell you 1 
 once loved you. Here is a sprig of white lilac. I reach 
 from my window to pull it, all dewy wet. I have kissed it a 
 hundred times, but the word — O John, John, an ocean of 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 25 
 
 words could not bear you my love, my longing, my agony of 
 soul ! " 
 
 Mast. That's no language of two hundred years ago ! 
 
 Hel. Did Puritan maidens write like this? 
 
 Mast. You say the letter belonged to the Brenton collec- 
 tion. This is no Puritan maiden. But go on — go on. 
 
 Hel. {reading). '• All night I have sat at my window, 
 and now the sun is rising behind the pines on Randolph 
 Hill— " 
 
 Mast: (starting). Randolph Hill! (To L.) 
 
 Hel. Yes, Randolph Hill. I'm sure it's Randolph Hill. 
 
 Mast. Go on. 
 
 Hel. " It strikes the elm at the foot of the lawn, where 
 you and I have sat every day together hand in hand." 
 
 Mast, (dreamily). '' Where you and I have sat every 
 day together hand in hand." (Aside.) The old, old 
 story. 
 
 Hel. (reading). "O John, the torture of this night has 
 changed me from the shy girl who trembled at your passion- 
 ate kisses to a woman conscious that without you life would 
 be as day without its sun, as night without its 'stars ! Time 
 after time since we pirtel have I cone over the terrible 
 night: the glitter, the whirl of the ball-room — your jealous 
 eyes — Philip's unsought attentions — " 
 
 Mast, (starting). Philip? Not Philip! It cannot be 
 Philip ! 
 
 Hel. But it is. Look for yourself. Oh. I forgot. 
 
 Mast, (sitting down, l.). Of course ; why mightn't it be 
 Philip? But Randolph Hill, and the elm at the foot of the 
 lawn, and Philip. Go on, go on. 
 
 Hel. (reading). "Then the hurried parting on the porch 
 — your words, 'Let all be over between us.' Your, riding 
 away under the stars — my bursting heart — the hateful 
 mockery of the gay music within — " 
 
 Mast, (rising and striding to Helen, a). What, in 
 Heaven's name, are you inventing there ? 
 
 Hel. It's all as I read it — 
 
 Mast, {looking over). Go on — where are you ? " Mock- 
 ery of the gay music — " Oh, to be able to see! Go on, I 
 say, 
 
 Hel. (reading). " I look at the little ring you gave me, 
 and it whispers hope — the little ring with the motto that 
 only you and I know — " 
 
26 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Mast, {violently agitated). " That only you and I know." 
 Go on, child, go on. 
 
 Hel. It's blurred here — perhaps by a tear. 
 
 Mast. For God's sake, go on ! 
 
 Hel. It's in quotation marks. It is the motto itself. It 
 looks like, " To love — is — to love is — 
 
 Mast. " To love is to trust." 
 
 Hel. That's it — "To love is to trust." How did you 
 know ? 
 
 Mast, {seizing the letter). To love is to trust — and 
 signed, you say — how is it signed ? 
 
 Hel. Prisciila. 
 
 Mast. How, in Heaven's name, did you come by this? 
 
 Hel. It was among my father's papers. 
 
 Mast. Your fither's name ? 
 
 Hel. Philip Staunton. 
 
 Mast. Philip Staunton ! Philip Staunton ! How came 
 he by the letter? Why did I never receive it? What 
 treachery! O Prisciila! Prisciila! My lost love! God 
 help us ! Prisciila ! 
 
 Hel. {aside). What can it all mean ? What have I done ? 
 
 Mast. Take me to your father — Philip Staunton, you 
 say. Oh, my lost love ! Prisciila ! Prisciila ! 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 2J 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene. — Staunton's ?w?;? «^/«. Same as before. Hal's 
 lilacs on window-sill, up R. 
 
 Staunt. {appearing from chamber, R.) Now to destroy- 
 that letter. Madness to have kept it all these years! Mad- 
 ness to have tried to make myself believe I would ever deliver 
 it ! And now 1 am dying. Too late, too late! and I cannot 
 leave it to fall into Helen's hands. (Up r.) Why, how 
 heavy the air is. (At window.) I could swear 1 smelt 
 white lilacs. No, no ; it was seeing Priscilla that made me 
 think of white lilacs. But yet — ah! I was not mistaken — 
 there are white lilacs. Who could have brought them ? 
 ( Takes up spray and smells it.) How pale she was that 
 morning-, and her eves like a wild thing, and all about us the 
 still morning air heavy with the scent of white lilacs 1 hate 
 the flower. (Throws down the spray.) But the letter — 
 the letter. (To secretary.) Where is my key? I had it 
 this morning. Helen asked me for it, but 1 refused. I 
 refused, I remember. She had seen the letter. If she knew 
 what it contained ! Why, where can the key be ? Perhaps 
 I can force the lock. (Tries to pry open the secretary.) 
 Alas ! my feeble hands ! Oh, the misery of being old and 
 ill! 
 
 (Enter Mrs. G., D. L. in v., peering in.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Oh, I thought he was asleep. (Rejfres and 
 knocks loudly.) 
 
 Staunt. (starting). Come in. 
 
 Mas. G. Well, has your daughter brought the money 
 yet ? (Down L.) 
 
 Staunt. What money? 
 
 Mrs. G. What money indeed ! The rent. 
 
 Staunt. You dare to ask rent for this miserable rat- 
 hole ! (Down c.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Oh, very well. March out of the old rat-hole if 
 you don't like it. 
 
 Staunt. Where is my daughter ? 
 
28 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Mrs. G. Gone to beg money of the young man that's 
 keepin' company with her. 
 
 S taunt. What do you mean ? 
 
 Mrs. G. I've been inquirin' about him. He's the nephew 
 of that rich Mr. John Masters that lives in the old Masters 
 house, on Chatterton Place. 
 
 Staunt. Nephew of John Masters ! Old Masters house, 
 on Chatterton Place ! Say that again — say that again. 
 
 Mrs. G. No occasion. You repeated it all right. Now 
 what 1 want to know is, does your daughter mean business, 
 or don't she? The young man does, and if he marries her, 
 he's only got to say to his uncle, "Give me another house 
 as big as yours, and servants and horses and all," and his 
 uncle'll do it. He just sets everything by that nephew. 
 
 Staunt. {aside, going r.). Nephew to John Masters ! 
 Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't any one tell me ? But 
 I've been ill so long — I remember it was the day I fainted 
 in the street, we first met the young man. He helped me 
 home. I thought the name was Marston. not Masters. I 
 liked the boy — a fine, manly fellow. And it was his photo- 
 graph I caught Helen blushing over one day ' So my little 
 giri has found some one she loves belter even than her 
 father ! 
 
 MRS. G. Muttering to himself as usual. Deeded] v off. 
 Well — I'll give her half an hour more. {Exit, D L in v.) 
 
 Staunt. Well, well, it's best so ; and I can die knowing 
 she will be cared for. John Masters's nephew in love with 
 my little girl! But .the letter — the letter! It must be 
 destroyed this instant. If it should fall into his hands. If 
 he should discover that Helen's father was the man who — 
 Oh, where is the key? {Paces np and down.) The key — ■ 
 the key! Oh, my head! The room swims! The window 
 — air — air — the white lilacs — {Falls fainting on a chair, l.) 
 {Enter Pris., d. l. in F.) 
 
 Pris. Who called ? Ah ! {Runs to Staunton, gives 
 him water, etc.) Poor Philip! poor Philip! and the air 
 so close and sweet. Ah ! white lilacs. {Up R. ; opens 
 window.) But where can his daughter be this long time? 
 She should not leave him like this. There. Philip, you are 
 better now. {Down L.) 
 
 Staunt. {opening his eyes). Priscilla! 
 
 Puis. Why, of course it's Priscilla. 
 
 Staunt. Take them away. {Pointing to lilacs.') 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 2Q 
 
 Pris. I'll set them on the sill. They are too sweet for 
 the house. (She sets them outside the window.) 
 
 Staunt. Don't ask me, Priscilla — I can't tell you — I 
 can't. It's all past and gone. Let bygones be bygones. 
 Let me die in peace, Priscilla ! 
 
 Pris. {stroking his hand). Such a nice hand as you have, 
 Philip. I always remembered your hand, so well formed and 
 knit — 
 
 Staunt. It's no use. Your eyes drag it nut of me. It 
 will not let me rest. Priscilla, I loved you as never man 
 loved a woman. To the destruction of my own soul I loved 
 you. You must hear me before I die. 
 
 Pris. Come, come, Philip; these are sickly fancies — 
 feverish dreams. Calm yourself, old friend. 
 
 Staunt. That night twenty years ago, when John Mas- 
 ters and you parted in anger — 
 
 Pr.s. Don't, Philip ! 
 
 Staunt. That early morning after the ball, when my 
 restless love drove me wandering by your windows — 
 
 Pius. For Heaven's sake, Philip, let the old times rest ! 
 
 Staunt. There you sat, pale as the white lilacs that 
 scented the air all about. I can never smell white lilacs 
 without picturing it. And when you saw me, "Philip," you 
 cried, "oh, Philip," and I drew near, and stood beneath 
 your window. 
 
 Pris. {covering her face). Spare me. Philip. 
 
 Staunt. Your eyes were wild with pain, Priscilla. I see 
 them now. I have seen them ever since. "Philip," you 
 cried, "for the love of God, carry this for me to — you know 
 whom." 
 
 Pris. {rising and moving to R.). " To you know whom." 
 
 Staunt. Why did you choose me, Priscilla, to carry that 
 fatal letter ? 
 
 Pris. I could not wait. The sun was barely risen — -all 
 the world was asleep but you and I. I fancied John too must 
 be keeping watch. 
 
 Staunt. Priscilla — that letter you gave me — that 
 letter — 
 
 Pris. O Philip, peace ! 
 
 Staunt. (rising). Can you not see — can you not read in 
 mv face, Priscilla, that the letter — 
 
 Pris. (coming near and seizing his ar?n). Yes — Philip 
 - — the ]etter — 
 
30 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Staunt. Never — reached (his voice sinks) — John — 
 Masters's — hands. (Pris. stands a moment -motionless 
 gazing at hitn ; then stretches ont her arms with a wild 
 gesture, turns and buries her face in her hands.) I was 
 wild for you, Priscilla. I worshipped your very shadow. 
 How could I sit calmly by and let another win you ! I 
 knew you had quarrelled. I k..ew John's proud spirit. The 
 devil in me whispered, " It lies in your hands to keep them 
 apart. You loved her first. She would have learned to love 
 vou if lie had not come between." I read the letter; I never' 
 delivered it. I lied when I told you that same day that I 
 had. 1 lied when I let it come to John Masters's ears that 
 M/ii were to marry me! He left without seeing vou again. 
 Why don't you speak to me, Priscilla ? Priscilla, I loved 
 you so! Speak to me, Priscilla. 
 
 PR'S, (shuddering). Be silent ! 
 
 Staunt. I loved you, Priscilla. 
 
 Pius, {starting up fiercely). Don't speak to me of love ! 
 
 Staunt. Do you think I did not repent what I had 
 done ? In sackcloth and ashes repent it? 
 
 Pr s. He must be told. 
 
 Staunt. Who ? 
 
 Pius. John Masters. 
 
 Staunt. (startled '). To what end? What could you 
 gain ? He- has grown warped and hard, they say ; bitter, 
 and hates all women. What would you gain by making him 
 curse my memory ? 
 
 Pris. Warped and hard ? John, my John, warped and 
 hard? And who brought this about? You! You, who 
 made him believe I had forsaken him ! You, who taught 
 him to look upon woman's love as but a passing breath ! 
 (Toe.) 
 
 Staunt. You will not tell him ! 
 
 Pris. (turning). And all his life he has thought — yes, 
 this very moment, while here I stand yearning, panting for a 
 word from his lips, a touch of, his hand — this very moment 
 thinks of me as false ! 
 
 Staunt. Priscilla ! 
 
 Pris. But he shall know. O John ! John ! wherever you 
 are, I shall find yon. I — 
 
 Staunt. Priscilla, listen ! 
 
 Pris. Oh, the bitter joy of it ! Not scorned, not wilfully 
 forsaken, as you led me to believe ; trapped, deluded, treach- 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 31 
 
 erously torn from him. But he was true to me — oh, the 
 bitter joy of it ! — true, true, true ! {She buries her face in 
 her hands.) 
 
 Staunt. {aside, l). And this is what my coward con- 
 science has led me into ! Fool ! Could I not have kept silent 
 to the last? Could i not have remembered my child? My 
 little Helen! What can she hope from John Masters now? 
 John Masters permit his nephew to marry the daughter of 
 tiie man who — {Aloud.') Where are you going, Priscilla? 
 Don't leave me like this ! 
 
 PPvis. What can you further want of me ? *"" 
 
 Staunt Priscilla, I have not long to live — 
 
 Puis. Then make your peace with your God, if you can. 
 
 Staunt. Kow hard at times even the »entlest woman 
 can be ! I go empty-handed, as I came into the world. I 
 leave Helen penniless — 
 
 Pris. She will marry. 
 
 Staunt. She would have married the man she loves but 
 for you. 
 
 Pris. For me! 
 
 Staunt. She loves John Masters "s nephew. 
 
 Pris. Mary's son ? 
 
 Staunt. Mary's son once ; John's now. He adopted 
 the boy. Will he be likely to give his consent to the mar- 
 riage of his nephew to the child of one — who — 
 
 Pris. And you dare ask me for this sacrifice? Me, 
 whom you have so irreparably wronged ! 
 
 Staunt. But for a time, Priscilla — but for a time. Can 
 you not wait till the sod is over my grave ? When the young 
 people are married, then go to him, if you will: Tell my 
 daughter her father was a reprobate. Tell John Masters the 
 father of his nephew's wife wrecked his life, John has 
 grown bitter, they say, but he will not think it is because you 
 are penniless that you come to him, and he a rich man ; he 
 will not think — ■ 
 
 Pris. Philip Staunton, beware! 
 
 Staunt. Forgive me. Priscilla, but you will wait ? Look 
 at my shaking hand; it will not be for long. You will not 
 wreck the happiness of a young girl who has never injured 
 you, and whose only fault is in being of my blood. 
 
 Pris. {aside). He is right. How could I go to John and 
 say, "John, I was true to you — I am true to you. You are 
 the only man I ever loved ! " Oh, Heaven help me ! 
 
32 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Staunt. Listen, Priscilla. I will write a letter to John, 
 I will tell him everything as it happened ; and after I am 
 dead and Helen is married, she shall give it to him. 
 
 Pris. You will do this ? 
 
 Staunt. I will, 1 swear I will ; but there is one condi- 
 tion. Helen must never know. She loves me — my little 
 Helen — strange as it may seem to you. You will not break 
 her heart by telling her that her father — 
 
 Pris. Never, Philip ! believe me. Helen's love for you 
 shall not be disturbed by word of mine. 
 
 Staunt. Ah, that is the old Priscilla. (To c.) Now 
 give me your hand on our compact. You shrink back ! It 
 is a dying man implores you, Priscilla. 
 
 Pris. (taking his hand}. There, Philip. 
 
 Staunt. I do not ask your forgiveness, merely your 
 promise. You promise. 
 
 (d. l. in f. is opened by Helen. Masters stands behind 
 her.) 
 
 Puis. I promise, Philip. 
 
 Mast. That voice ' Am I dreaming ! 
 
 Hel. Father, I've brought a guest. 
 
 (Pris. turns and sees Masters.) 
 
 Pris. John! 
 
 Mast. My God ! Priscilla 1 (Bownc.) ' 
 
 Pris. John! (She [ays her hand in his, then glides out 
 of the room, D. in F.) 
 
 Hel. (following her). Oh, I want to ask you— (She 
 joins Pris. in the passage ; and, taking Iter hand, appears 
 to be talking earnestly with her. Masters stands C, gaz- 
 ing at them half dazed.) 
 
 "Staunt. (l.) Masters. 
 
 Mast, (turning on him fiercely). Staunton ! 
 
 Staunt. Sit down, Masters, sit clown. 
 
 Mast. In your house! 'And you dare — (Checking 
 himself ; aside.) Gray and broken ! I came to fling his 
 treachery in his face, but it is the face of a dead man! And 
 Priscilla alive ' 
 
 Staunt. You find me changed, Masters. 
 
 Mast, (gazing at Priscilla, who has put her arm about 
 Helen ; aside). Priscilla alive ! 
 
 Staunt But it matters less when we have young shoots 
 about us. A fine boy, your nephew, Masters. 
 
 Mast. What! You know Hal ? 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 33 
 
 Staunt. Has he never spoken to you of us ? 
 
 Mast. Never. 
 
 Staunt. Never of Helen? 
 
 Mast. What is Helen to you ? 
 
 Staunt. My daughter, Masters. 
 
 Mast. Your daughter ! So that is Hal's Helen. Your 
 daughter! Priscilla's daughter ! And Priscilla alive ! How 
 did it come to my ears that you were a widower, Staunton ? 
 Priscilla's daughter ! 
 
 Staunt. (amazed}. Priscilla's daughter'! Then you 
 never heard — (Checks himself; aside.) So he fancies 
 Priscilla my wife ! He never heard of my marriage to Bea- 
 trice. Fancied the report of my wife's death referred to 
 Priscilla! I have said nothing, nothing. It's all his own 
 fancy. If he chooses to think Priscilla Helen's mother, am 
 I responsible? He loved Priscilla; he would be drawn to 
 Priscilla's daughter. He will find out his mistake soon 
 enough without my telling him, but if before he finds it out 
 I could gain his consent to the match ! He always had 
 Quixotic notions of honor. He would keep to his word even 
 after ne discovered he had been deceived — 
 
 Mast, (aside). Priscilla's daughter! and she did love me 
 once. It was through treachery he won her. My Hal in 
 love with Priscilla's daughter ! But how came the girl with 
 her mother's letter? And not knowing it was her mother's! 
 
 Staunt. You are no friend to marriage, I know, Masters ; 
 but it makes a difference who a girl's mother is. 
 
 Mast. Yes, yes. (Aside _, going R ) Let me think. 
 Could it have been that the girl found the letter among her 
 father's papers, had heard of our broken* engagement, knew 
 through Hal how averse I was to marriage, strove through 
 subterfuge to soften me towards her mother, and through that 
 towards herself? 
 
 (Priscilla and Helen inove out of sight.) 
 
 Staunt. (to a). You see, I speak of the girl's mother, 
 not her father. There never was much love lost between 
 you and me, John Masters. (Goes slowly up and closes 
 door) 
 
 Mast. Little enough, Heaven knows ; and but for your 
 wife's sake you should this moment answer for — (Aside.) 
 I cannot strike a dying man, and her husband ! 
 
 Staunt. (down a). For my wife's sake, then, Masters, 
 think of my child. She loves your boy. She has been a 
 
34 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 devoted daughter to me. She will make him happy, as her 
 "mother has made me. Do not be hard on them. Promise 
 me you will not stand in their way. {Aside.) I have said 
 nothing, nothing. If he draws his own conclusions from my 
 words, am I to blame ? 
 
 Mast This very morning I told Hal he was a young fool 
 to think of marriage. 
 
 Staunt. But you did not then know who Helen was. 
 
 Mast. No, I did not know who Helen was, nor did I 
 know that her. father — {Checks himself,- aside.) Silence, 
 for the sake of Priscilla, who loves him ! 
 
 Staunt. But now you do know, Masters, you will not 
 oppose them? Promise me, Masters — promise — us — 
 
 Mast. What is a promise to you? 
 
 Staunt. You will help them ? 
 
 Mast. Help a child of yours ? Tell me how much of 
 your false blood runs in her veins! 
 
 Staunt. Go on; abuse a dying man. Masters ; it's gen- 
 erous. {Aside.) What does he suspect? {Aloud.) But 
 I'll bear it in silence As for Helen, she is all her mother. 
 
 Mast. Well for her that she is. 
 
 Staunt. You'll stand by her, Masters, for her mother's 
 sake. Forget who her father was. You'll not break her 
 heart and your boy's ? Your promise. {'To R.) Your hand. 
 
 Mast, {starting back). No, not my hand in the treacher- 
 ous palm that — 
 
 {Enter Helen, d. in f.) 
 
 Hel. Father! 
 
 Staunt. {aside). Who has told him ? {Aloud?) Helen 
 ■ — the key of my secretary. Where is it ? {To L.) 
 
 Hel. Here, father. I took it. Can I get anything for 
 you? {Ate.) 
 
 Staunt. No, no, give it to me. {Aside, taking key.) 
 I'll destroy it this moment. {Aloud.) Run away now, 
 Helen, run away. {He goes up to the desk.) 
 
 Mast. (r.). Come here, child. 
 
 Staunt {fumbling among his papers). Run away, 
 Helen, run away. 
 
 Mast, {turning up her face between his hands). A frank 
 smile ; but not hers. Sweet eyes ; but not hers. Pure lips ; 
 but not hers. 
 
 Hel. You mean my mother ? 
 
 Mast. Yes. I knew her at your age. 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 35 
 
 Staunt. {turning round, aghast). Gone ! Robbed ! 
 Who has been at my papers ? {Down c.) 
 
 Hel. {to, a). What is it, father? 
 
 Staunt. {drawing her toward him and speaking in a 
 hoarse whisper). That letter — that valuable autograph 
 letter ! 
 
 Hel. {soothingly). The autograph letter is quite safe. 
 Father dear, it is — 
 
 M \st. {drawing out letter). In the hands of its owner. 
 
 Staunt. {covering his face). My God ! 
 
 Hel. What does it all mean? What is the letter? 
 What — 
 
 Mast, {to Staunton). Then she knows nothing? 
 
 Staunt. {groaning). Nothing. 
 
 Mast, {taking Helen's hand, r. a). The letter was 
 mine. It was — lost. It came into your father's hands. 
 Your father was keeping it — to return to me. 
 
 Staunt. {faintly). Wine, Helen, wine ! {Sits L ) 
 
 Hel. Yes, dearest. {She gives him a glass of wine.) 
 
 Staunt. Now run into my room and pour out my drops. 
 But carefully, Helen — take time, take time. 
 
 Hel. Yes, father. {She runs into the bed-chamber, R.) 
 
 Staunt. Saved ! In her eyes. 
 
 Mast, {to C.). For her own sake, not yours, I lied. 
 
 Staunt. I . know it, I know it. You would spurn my 
 thanks. I offer none. I ask for no mercy. 
 
 Mast. How came it she did not recognize her own 
 mother's writing ? 
 
 Staunt. Her mother's ? — Ah, that pain ! Her 
 mother's — More wine, Masters. (Masters gives him 
 wine.) Then you still fancy — Go call Priscilla. I'll tell 
 you all. All — ah! that pain! I must rest first — a short 
 respite — then come — you and Priscilla, and all shall be 
 explained. As you have shown mercy, Masters, so may 
 God himself be merciful ! 
 
 {Enter Helen, r.) 
 
 Hel. Here are your drops, father. And now come and 
 rest. Lean on me, dearest. Why, how you tremble ! {Help- 
 ing him to rise.) 
 
 Staunt. Softly, now. There, there. This sudden weak- 
 ness. What! your ann too, Masters? Well, well; you 
 may come to it yourself — come to it yourself. 
 
2,6 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 {Exeunt, r., Staunton, Helen, and Masters. A 
 knock. Enter Masters again from bed-chamber, R.) 
 
 Mast. Come in. 
 
 (Enter Aunt Libby, Hal, and Maid with basket, D. L. 
 in f.) 
 
 Aunt L. No, don't set the basket down, Lizzie. That's 
 for the next place — Well, John, of all persons ! {Down c.) 
 
 Hal (l.). Uncle John, you here ! 
 . Mast. (r.). Hal, why did you never tell me before about 
 these friends of yours ? 
 
 Hal. Why, I tried to this morning, but you were not 
 particularly receptive. 
 
 Aunt L. Where is she, Hal? 
 
 Hal. Oh, ask Uncle John. He seems to know all about 
 her. 
 
 Mast. If you mean Helen, Hal, she just helped her 
 father into his room. (Retires tip and seems absorbed in 
 thought.) 
 
 Aunt L. Oh, then I won't wait. I only came to find out 
 from Hal where the house was, and to tell her the blanc- 
 mange and some calf 's-foot jelly, and a loaf of sponge cake, 
 and a partridge which I shall broil myself, because I never 
 can trust the broiling of a partridge to anybody else, and an 
 air-pillow, which, considering the looks of the room, I doubt 
 if she possesses, together with one or two other little things, 
 would be round at four precisely, and also — 
 
 Maid (up a). Please, ma'am, may I set the basket 
 down ? 
 
 Aunt L. By no means. I'm going this very moment. 
 John, there's a most interesting case of destitution next door. 
 Six children down with typhoid fever, and their father a good- 
 for-nothing. I declare, if I hadn t you to look after, and Hal, 
 I'd devote my whole time to charity and — but you are not 
 paying the least attention. No, don't set the basket down, 
 Lizzie. Didn't you hear me say I was coming this very 
 minute ? 
 
 Maid. Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Aunt L. And so you may tell the young lady you call 
 Helen, Hal, — and what her last name is I really haven't had 
 time to inquire, though in illness last names or Christian 
 names either, for the matter of that, make very little differ- 
 ence — that — 
 
 Hal (taking basket from Maid). Here, set that down. 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. ^J 
 
 Aunt L. Why, but, ray dear Hal, I'm just on the wing, 
 and I told her distinctly not to set it down. There's noth- 
 ing so bad as giving servants contradictory orders. It 
 always — come, Lizzie — confuses and upsets them even 
 more than unexpected company to dinner ; and that you 
 know, Hal, is a habit I have tried in vain to break your 
 uncle of for years, though to be sure it matters less with 
 these literary men in blue glasses, who might be eating shoe- 
 leather for all they appreciate the — but wiiat I started to say 
 was — however, never mind now, because those six children 
 down with typhoid — I really have no time for idle conversa- 
 tion, and — good gracious, Lizzie! do be quick. Go on — 
 go first, for I wish to walk behind and pick up what you are 
 sure to spill. Girls are so careless ! Go on now. (Exeunt 
 Aunt L. and Maid, d. l. in f.) 
 
 Hal (up r., looking out of window). I wouldn't have 
 believed it of her. And I trudged two miles out into the 
 country to get them for her ! 
 
 Mast. (l.). What's wrong, Hal? 
 
 Hal. Oh, nothing. Merely when you send some one 
 flowers, and she just sticks them out on the window-sill to 
 wilt — but you're not listening. (Down R.) 
 
 Mast, (absorbed). The same sweet face, but how 
 changed ! 
 
 Hal. Uncle John, she was anything but pleased to see 
 me this morning. It was you she wanted to see, and now I 
 .meet you here, and — 
 
 Mast. Stop there, you young idiot ! Not a word more. 
 Jealous ? Distrustful? Do you wish to end where I did? 
 
 Hal. I am not distrustful — only — 
 
 Mast. It's men's distrust of women that plays the devil 
 with their lives. O Hal ! Hal ! the best of us are not worthy 
 to unloose the latchet of their shoes. (To c.) 
 
 Hal. Uncle John ! This from you ! 
 
 Mast. See here, Hal ; if when that sweet young thing 
 conies out again, you do not take her to your heart, and 
 swear to love and cherish her all your life — I'll disown 
 you. 
 
 Hal. Are you really in earnest. Uncle John ? 
 
 Mast. There she comes now. Remember ! you have 
 your orders. (Exit D. in F.) 
 
 Hal. (to L.). What has happened to Uncle John ? 
 (Enter Helen, r.) 
 
2)8 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Hel. Oh, Mr. Masters ! 
 
 Hal. What have you done to Uncle John ? 
 
 Hel. (c). Oh. I like him so much. How gentle he is 
 underneath ! At first, I was afraid of him. 
 
 Hal. Who could help being gentle to you ? 
 
 Hel. He used to know my mother. 
 
 Hal. Ah! that explains — 
 
 Hel. But he says I'm not like her. 
 
 Hal. Of course you are not. (To c.) You are not like 
 anybody in the world. 
 
 (Enter Mrs. G., d. in f.) 
 
 Mrs; G. Oh, sorry to interrupt, but the sheriff is in my 
 sittin'-room drinkin' his sixth cup of tea to keep him patient. 
 
 Hal. What sheriff? 
 
 Hel. Oh, dear! 
 
 Mrs. G. Well, you see, these fine people not being 
 inclined to pay the rent of this rat-hola, I had to call in — 
 
 Hal. Rent? Sheriff? How much do you want ? ((/ft C.) 
 
 Hel. Oh, Mr. Masters! 
 
 Mrs. G. Oh, well ; it" you'll see to things — 
 
 Hal. (taking out purse). There — if ever — 
 
 Mrs. G No fear of infection in these notes ? 
 
 Hal. ' Perhaps you had best fumigate them. 
 
 Mrs. G. I will this minute. (Exit D. in F.) 
 
 Hel. Oh. Mr. Masters ! 
 
 Hal. Why didn't you tell me be r ore? (Down c.) 
 Uncle John was right. He alw.iys used to sav women 
 were little hypocrites. 
 
 Hel. Indeed — I — 
 
 Hal. Don't tell me you are not a hypocrite, for vou have 
 held me off so at arms' length lately that I cannot help hop- 
 ing you did it because you — cared for me just a little. Why, 
 you are not crying ! (Puts his arm about tier.) 
 
 Hel. I tried to hide it. 
 
 Hal. What ! that you cared for me ? 
 
 Hel. We are beggars, Hal — and I — did not want you 
 to know how poor we were. I could not take anything from 
 you. and — 
 
 Hal. And now you won't have to take anything from me, 
 because it will be all yours to start with, my darling. 
 
 Hel. Oh, have you suspected long? 
 
 Hal. I suspected I cared for you almost as soon as I 
 saw you. 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 39 
 
 Hel. And you'll help me get father well, won't you? 
 
 Hal. Yes, dear. {Aside.) Poor little girl ! 
 
 Hel. He's worse again. He's taken such a strange 
 fancy that I mustn't talk to your Uncle John. 
 
 Hal. How odd ! 
 
 Hel. And he wants to see you — but that's not odd. 
 
 Hal. You didn't like the flowers I sent you ? 
 
 Hel. What flowers, Hal? 
 
 Hal. Those white lilacs there on the window-sill. 
 
 Hel. {running to window). Oh, what lovely lilacs ! 
 Why did you put them out there without water, to wilt ? 
 
 Hal {up R.). I didn't. I left them on the table. 
 
 Hel. I do remember now smelling something sweet, but 
 I was so frightened, so disturbed, I didn't realize who had 
 brought them. Father must have put them there. Isn't it 
 strange ? he can't endure the scent ! But there is nothing I 
 love so well. 
 
 Hal. Forgive me, darling. 
 
 Hel. What for ? 
 
 Hal. For distrusting you just a moment. I thought you 
 had flung them away. 
 
 Hel. O Hal ! when people love each other there ought 
 not to be any room for distrust. 
 
 Hal. I never will distrust you again. 
 
 Hel. I read something to-day out of an old letter. It 
 was all so sad and strange. I don't understand it. It was 
 what brought your uncle here. I went to him to try and 
 raise some money on an autograph letter. 
 
 Hal. Don't think you must explain anything to me. 
 Whatever you do is sure to be right. 
 
 Hel. Dearest! But this letter spoke of a ring, and the 
 motto on the ring was " To love is to trust." Let that be 
 ours, Hal. 
 
 Hal. "To love is to trust." 
 
 Hel. I mustn't wear these lilacs, on father's account ; but 
 I'll just break off a tiny spray — No, you do it for me. 
 
 Hal. There, sweet. {He breaks off a sprig, kisses it, 
 and gives it to her.) 
 
 Hel. And lay it in my prayer-book, and on the fly-leaf I 
 will write, " To love is to trust," and the scent of white lilacs 
 will always bring back to me the sweetest hour of my life. 
 (Staunton's voice heard within, r.) 
 
 Staunt. Helen ! Helen ! 
 
4-0 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Hel. Yes, father, 
 
 Hal. Oh, don't be long. 
 
 Hel. O Hal ! with father so ill ! 
 
 Hal. Forgive me. I am a selfish brute where your 
 absence is concerned. {Exit Helen, r ) Now to tell 
 Uncle John. There he is in the passage. Uncle John! 
 (Enter Masters, D. in f.) Wish me joy, Uncle John. 
 
 Mast. Is it all right? (Dojw'n C, taking his hand.) 
 
 Hal. Most supremely right. 
 
 Mast. How would next week suit you ? 
 
 Hal. What for? 
 
 Mast. The wedding. 
 
 Hal. To-day would suit me better, but women, you 
 know — ■ 
 
 Mast. Well, take your own time. I'll make all my 
 arrangements, what I shall settle on you, before I go. 
 
 Hal. Before you go where ? 
 
 Mast. To the East, I'm going to travel for a year or 
 two. 
 
 Hal. Why, isn't this awfully sudden ? 
 
 Hel. {calling outside). O Hal ! will you come in here a 
 moment ? 
 
 Hal (rapturously). Just hear her! Did you hear her 
 say Hal ? 
 
 Mast. I heard her. {Exit Hal, r.) It's no use. All 
 these years my love was a smouldering fire. Now it flames 
 up with twice its old fierceness. How can I stay on and be 
 thrown with her and keep silent? How can I sit in my 
 lonely house and picture her wifely devotion to that dying 
 wretch whose treachery it would be barbarism to reveal since 
 he is her husband, the father of her child ! Dying ! Hush ! 
 I must not let myself think of that ! And if ever she were 
 free, could I ever forget that she had been his wife ! (Up c.) 
 I must see her once more before I go. (Looking out of door.) 
 There she is now ! Priscilla! 
 
 Pris. (coming to door). You spoke, John ? 
 
 Mast. I called you to say good-by, Priscilla. I leave 
 shortly for the East. We may not meet again. 
 
 Pris. For the East ! (Down c. together.*) 
 
 Mast. And now that all is so happily arranged — 
 
 Pris. So happily — arranged. (Aside.) Great Heavens ! 
 
 Mast. She is a sweet girl, Priscilla. 
 
 Pris. Yes, John. 
 
AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 41 
 
 Mast. But not as sweet a woman as her mother. 
 
 Pris. You remember her mother ? 
 
 Mast. Remember her ! 
 
 Pris. Is she like her mother ? 
 
 Mast. Not to my eyes. 
 
 Pris. I never — saw — Helen's — mother! 
 
 Mast. Never — saw — Helen's — mother! 
 
 Pris. No. Why do you look at me so strangely, 
 John? 
 
 Mast. My God, Priscilla ! Are you not Helen's mother? 
 
 Pris. I Helen's mother ! Are you dreaming ? 
 
 Mast. But you are Philip's wife? 
 
 Pris. I am no man's wife. 
 
 Mast, {taking out letter). Then this letter — this letter 
 you wrote me so long ago — 
 
 Pris. {taking letter-). What! my letter! And Philip 
 accused himself falsely when he declared but now that he 
 had" never delivered it ! 
 
 Mast. He never did deliver it. 
 
 Pris. How did you come by it ? 
 
 Mast. Through a Heaven-sent mistake ! 
 
 Pris. Then I may speak! 1 may tell you— O John! 
 why did you lose faith in me ? 
 
 Mast. Priscilla, it was all a horrible piece of treachery. 
 But you are free? Not Philip's wife ? 
 
 Pris. I am no man's wife. 
 
 Mast. And he lied to me then, and even now, with 
 death in his face, tried to work on my feelings by added 
 perfidy ! 
 
 Pris. God forgive him ! 
 
 Mast, {taking her hand). Oh, if I dared hope ! 
 
 Pris. What, John? 
 
 Mast. If the words of that letter were true as when 
 they were written. Priscilla, I have never loved any woman 
 but vou. 
 
 Pris. John, the words of that letter mean as much now 
 as ever they did. 
 
 Mast, {taking her in his arms). O Priscilla, my love! 
 after all these years ! 
 
 Pris. At last! at last! 
 
 Mast. There, weep it out on my breast. Mine — my 
 own ! 
 
 Pris. Oh, the wonder of it ! 
 
42 AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. 
 
 Mast. And as for that unhappy wretch who tried to part 
 us — 
 
 (Helen's voice within, sobbing?) 
 
 Hel. Father! Speak to me ! 
 
 (Hal appears at door, R., and holds up a warning hand?) 
 Pris. {pointing to Hal). Hush, John ; he has gone to 
 his last account ! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
SELECTED LIST OF STANDARD PLAYS. 
 
 Price, 15 Cents each. 
 
 THE ADOPTED CHILD. A Musical Drama in Two Acts. By Samuel Birch, 
 Esq. Seven male, four iemale characters. Scenes, exteriors and interiors. Cos- 
 tumes : doublets, trunks, etc. This is a very effective play, the principal char- 
 acter being an "old salt." Time in representation, one hour fifteen minutes. 
 
 fi OVICE TO HUSBANDS. A Comedietta in One Act. By C. S. Lancasi^k. 
 
 Five male, one female characters. Scene, landscape. Costume modern. Time 
 in representation, forty minutes. 
 
 ALADD'N ; or, The Wonderful Lamp. A Drama in Three Acts. Ten male, 
 six female characters. Aladdin usually assumed by a lady. Costumes jf the 
 fairy and burlesque type. Scenery of the well-known fairy tale. 
 
 CENTENNIAL. A Charade in Three Acts. Seven ladies and six gentlemen. 
 Scene, interior of a country grocery store. Very easy to get up. 
 
 CAPTA2N KYO; or, The Wizard of the Sea. A Drama in Four Acts. By 
 J. S. Jones. Fourteen male, five female characters. Scenery difficult. Cos- 
 tumes of 1694-1699. Time in representation, about two hours. 
 
 CRINOLINE. A Farce in One Act. By Robert Brough. Four male, four 
 female characters. Scene, interior. Costumes, English modern. Time in repre- 
 sentation, forty-eight minutes. 
 
 THE FREE WARD. A Farce in One Act. Six male, two female characters. 
 Scene, hospital office. Irish and Dutch characters. Time in representation, forty 
 minutes. This piece makes a very effective dialect reading. 
 
 THE DON'S STRATAGEM. A Parlor Play in Three Scenes. Four male, 
 three female characters. Has Scotch dialect parts. 
 
 •%LLA ROSENBERG. A Melodrama in Two Acts. By James Kenney. Seven 
 male, three female characters. Scenery, elaborate. Costumes: Huzzar dress, 
 trunks, tights, etc. Time in representation, about two hours. 
 
 A FAIVS1LY FAILING. A Farce in One Act. By John Oxenford. Six male, 
 one female character. Scene, elegant interior ; time of Charles II. Costumes of 
 that period. Time in representation, one hour. 
 
 A PRETTY PIECE OF PROPERTY. A Farce. Two male, four female 
 characters. A very easy parlor piece. 
 
 FIGHTING BY PROXY. A Burletta in One Act. By James Kenney. Six 
 male, two female characters. Scene, interior. Costumes modern, if desired. A 
 fine piece. Time in representation, one hour. 
 
 THE GROTTO NY5VIPH J or, Fairy Favor. A Fantastic Musical Moreeaa 
 of absurdity in One Act. By A Wallace Thaxter. Three male, seven female 
 characters. Costumes, fairies and princes of the burlesque school. Scenes, fairy 
 lakes, etc. Time in representation, one hour. 
 
 OSWALD A ; or, The Miller's Wife. A Comic Drama in Three Acts. By Ben- 
 jamin Webster. Six male, five female characters. Scenes, exterior and in- 
 terior, numerous and important. Costumes, trunks, shapes, etc. Time in repre- 
 sentation, one hour and fifty minutes. 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. A Melodramatic Romance in Two Acts. By 
 Thomas Dibdin, from Sir Walter Scott's poem. Thirteen male, three female 
 characters, and a number of supernumeraries. Scenery, elaborate. Costumes- 
 Highlanders, etc. Time in representation, about two hours. A good play to take 
 selections from. 
 
THE LAST MAN " or, The Miser of Elthan Green. A Drama in Two Acts. 
 By Geo. Dibdin Pitt. Eleven male, three female characters. Scenery, interiors 
 and exteriors. Costumes, time of George the Second. Time in representation, 
 one hour and a half. 
 
 A LUCKY H IT. A Petit Comedy in One Act. By Haward Paul. Three male, 
 one female characters. Scene, elegant apartment. Costumes, square-cut coats, 
 wigs, etc. Time in representation, forty-five minutes. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT BANQUET; or, The Castle of : Cabaldo. Melodrama 
 in Two Acts. Six male, three female characters Costumes, bandits, etc. Seen, 
 ery easy. Time in representation, one hour and forty m.nutes. 
 
 THE MILLER AND HBS MEN. A Melodrama in Two Acts. By L. Pi 
 COCK. Seven male, three female speaking characters. Robbers, millers' men, an 
 hussars. Scenery, very elaborate; costumes, ditto. This is one of the best piece 
 of its class ever produced. Time in representation, one hour and a half. 
 
 MY SON DSANA. A Farce in One Act. By A. Harris. Three male, two 
 female characters. Scene, interior. Costumes modern. Time in representation, 
 forty minutes. 
 
 NATURE AND PHILOSOPHY; or, The Youth who never saw a 
 Woman. A Farce in One Act. Three male (one usually performed by a woman), 
 two female characters. Scenes, wood and garden. Costumes, shape and tights. 
 Time in representation, fifty minutes. 
 
 OLD AND YOUNG" OR , Both Alike. A Comedy in Two Acts. By John 
 Salmon. Five male? five female characters. Scenery, interiors. Costumes of 
 1750. An easy, effective piece. Time in representation, one hour and a quarter. 
 
 ELIZABETH GARISBROOKE WITH A " P." A Parlor Play ir 
 Three Acts. Two male, four female characters. A very amusing piece. 
 
 POOR PETER. A Farce in One Act. Five male, two female characteri. Lead 
 ing lady part, a ballet-girl, with dance if desired. 
 
 MY SISTER'S HUSBAND. A Drawing-room Piece in Two Scenes. Three 
 male, three female characters. 
 
 THE REVIEW. A Musical Farce in Two Acts. By George Coleman. Eight 
 male, four female characters. Time in representation, about one hour. 
 
 THE SHAKER LOVERS. A Drama in One Act. By S. D. Johnson. Sever. 
 ™ male, three female characters. Scenes, landscapes and woods. Costumes modern. 
 Time in representation, thirty minutes. 
 
 THE TRUMPETER'S DAUGHTER. A Farce in One Act. By j. Ster- 
 ling Coyne. Four male, one female characters. Scene, artist's studio. Cos- 
 tumes, square-cut coats, breeches, etc. Time in representation, forty minutes. 
 
 WALLACE: The Hero of Scotland. An Historical Drama in Three Acts 
 Appropriate costumes. Time in representation, about two hours. 
 
 ZELINA " 0R > The Triumph of the Greeks. A Warlike Grecian Drama in Three 
 Acts. By C. A. Somerset. Eleven male, two female characters, soldiers, e'> 
 Scenery elaborate. Costumes, Grecian and Turkish. Two splendid Yankee ai.J 
 Irish sailor parts. Time in representation, one hour and fifty minutes. 
 
 NAAMAN THE SYRiAN. A Drama in Four Acts. By Rev. James Boxer 
 Ten male, seven female characters. A Scriptural play, adapted for church reprc 
 sentation. 
 
 THE REGISTER. A Comedy in One Act. By W. D. Howells. Two male, 
 two female characters. Price, 25 cents. 
 
Grand Dickens Cosmorama, 
 
 Comprising several unique entertainments, capable of 
 being used separately or in combination. For school, 
 home, and hall. 
 
 By GEORGE B. BARTLETT. 
 Paper, 23 cents. 
 
 DICKENS'S READINGS. 
 
 (Selected by Himself.) Expressly prepared for the Use of Schools, 
 Reading Clubs, and Public Readers, and for Classes in Transla- 
 tion. Each ReacUng in neat paper covers, 15 cents. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. In four staves, as read in America. 
 
 BARDELL AND PICKWICK. Containing the remarkable Speech of Ser- 
 geant Buzfuz, the Testament of Sam Weller, and the Perplexities of the Little 
 Judge. 
 
 DAVID COPPERFSELD. Condensed by the author to embrace the story oi 
 Little Emily, the villany of Uriah Heep, and the eccentricities of Micawber. 
 
 WIR. BOB SAWYER'S PARTY. One of the best creations of the greai 
 master ot fiction. 
 
 LITTLE. DOM BEY. From the well-known novel of Dombey and Son, intro 
 ducing some of the best characters. 
 
 NICHOLAS N1CKLEBY. {Long Reading. In the Yorkshire school.) In- 
 troducing Mr. and Mrs. Squeers, Nicholas, Newman, Noggs, and Smike, with 
 the stirring scenes in the school-room. 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. {Short Reading. Introducing many favorite char- 
 acters and scenes in this great novel. 
 
 BOOTS AT THE HOLLY TREE INN. This humorous sketch was 
 
 always a great favorite with Mr. Dickens's audiences. 
 
 1 DR. MARIGOLD. This is a story complete in itself, and one of the most enter- 
 taining of the shorter sketches. 
 
 MRS. CAMP. This sketch introduces Sairy Gamp, Mrs. Prig, and the invisible 
 friend of the former, "Mrs. Harris." 
 
 DICKENS'S READINGS. Complete in 1 vol. i6mo. Cloth. Containing 
 the above. Handsomely illustrated. Price, $1.50. 
 
MEYER'S CELEBRATED GREASE PAINTS. 
 
 We are now prepared to furnish a full line of Grease Paints of the celebtated make 
 of Charles Meyer, at the manufacturer's price. These paints are acknowledged by 
 professionals to be the best, and are in general use in our theatres. Compared to the 
 old method of using powders, these paints are far superior, as they impart, a clearer 
 and more life-like appearance to the skin, and, being of a greasy nature, cannot easily 
 be affected by perspiration. We can supply the following necessary colors, put up 
 in a neat box, with full directions for use, viz. : Light Flesh, Dark Flesh, Brown, 
 Black, Lake, White, Carmine, and Slate. Price, $1.00. 
 
 We have also the following extra colors : — 
 
 NO. NO. NO. 
 
 1. Very pale Flesh Color. 6. Healthy Sunburned, for n. Ruddy, for old age. 
 
 2. Light Flesh, deeper tint. juvenile heroes. 12. Olive, heaitny. 
 
 3. Natural Flesh Color, for 7. Healthy Sunb'ned, deep- 13. Olive, lighter shade. 
 
 iuvenile heroes. er shade. 14. Gypsy rlesh color. 
 
 4. Rosy Tint, for juvenile S. Sallow, for young men. 15. Othello. 
 
 heroes. 9. Healthy Color, for mid- 16. Chinese. 
 
 5. Deeper shade, for juve- die ages. 17. Indian. 
 
 nile heroes. 10. Sallow, for old age. 18. East Indian. 
 
 Done up in sticks of four inches in length, at 25 cents each. An v other colot 
 made to order. 
 LINING COLORS; Brown, Black, Lake, and White. 15 cents each. Carmine 
 
 and White, large sticks, 25 cents each. 
 
 justly recommended by the piofession as being the best. 
 
 CREAM EXORA. — In large china pots. A very fine preparation for beauti- 
 fying the complexion, in different shades, as follows: No. 1, White; No 2, Tint 
 of Hose; No. 3, Darker Shade (brunette). 50 and 75 cents per cox, 
 
 ADHESIVE POWDER. — For sticking on Mustaches, Whiskers, etc. 
 Price, 25 cents per box. 
 
 COCOA BUTTER. —For removing grease paint. Large pieces, 25 cents. 
 
 DORIN'S { IS £* ™Jg£ } PHce, 3 S cents each. 
 
 MAKER'S SMOKE POTS. — Having considerable call for an article for 
 making smoke for fire scenes, etc., we have made arrangements with the pyro- 
 technist of the Boston Theatre to supply us with the best article for that purpose; 
 we can now furnish smoke pots, entirely free from stencn and producing a thick 
 white smoke, in two sizes, at 35 and 50 cents each. 
 
 BAKER'S BLACK OPERA CORK. -For Ethiopian Singers and Actors. 
 40 cents per box. 
 
 BAKER'S TABLEAU LIGHTS. -Red, Green, and White. Price, zj 
 cents each. 
 
 These lights are put up especially for our trade, and cannot be excelled for 
 brilliancy. They burn with as little smoke a& any preparation for likf purpose. 
 The white is especially brilliant, rivalling the magnesium light in intensity. We 
 have the above solidified for mailing purposes, enough for three lights in a pack- 
 age, at the same price. 
 
 The Tableau Lights will be sold in bulk, put up in tin boxes, not less than 
 half a pound of a color, at $1.50 per pound ; sent only by express. 
 
 We can furnish any of the articles advertised in the catalogues of other publishers 
 of plays, at list prices. 
 
PARLOR VARIETIES. 
 
 (PAKT FIRST.) 
 
 PLAYS, PANTOMIMES, AND CHARADES. 
 
 By EMMA E. BREWSTER. i6mo. Bound, 50 cents; paper, 30 cents. 
 
 LIST OF VARIETIES. 
 
 MY SISTER'S HUSBAND. Play, 2 Acts. 3 male, 3 female characters. 
 THE CHRISTMAS BOX. Play, 2 Acts. 4 male, 4 female characters. 
 THE FREE WARD. Play, 1 Act. 5 male, 2 female characters. 
 lANE'S LEGACY. Play, 1 Act. 2 male, 4 female characters. 
 
 A PRETTY PIECE OF PROPERTY. Play, 3 Acts. 3 male, 4 female characters. 
 POOR PETER. Play, 1 Act 5 male, 2 female characters. 
 THE DON'S STRATAGEM. Play, 3 Acts. 4 male, 3 female characters. 
 HOW THE COLONEL PROPOSED. Play, 3 Acts. 2 male, 4 female characters. 
 ELIZABETH CARISBROOKE WITH A " P." Play, 3 Acts. 2 male, 4 female char- 
 acters. 
 ELIZA'S BONA-FIDE OFFER. Play, 1 Act. 4 female characters. 
 ZERUBBABEL'S SECOND WIFE. Play, 1 Act. 2 male, 2 female characters. 
 A DOG THAT WILL FETCH WILL CARRY. Play, 1 Act. 6 female characters. 
 Charade — HOLIDAYS. Masque for Children. 
 Charade — CENT-ANY-ALL — CENTENNIAL. 3 Acts. 
 
 Pantomime — ARABELLA AND LIONEL. 1 Act. 2 male, 2 female characters. 
 A BUNCH OF BUTTERCUPS. 1 Act. 1 male, 5 female characters. 
 
 Any piece on the list sold separately^ price 13 cents each.. 
 
 A New Volume of Plays and Pantomimes. 
 PARLOR VARIETIES. 
 
 (PART SECOND.) 
 
 Being the Second Series of Plays, Pantomimes, and Charades, 
 
 By EMMA E. BREWSTER, Author of " Parlor Varieties," Part I., and 
 LIZZIE B. SCRIBNER. Bound, 50 cents ; paper, 30 cents. 
 
 JUST OUT. 
 
 PARLOR VARIETIES. 
 
 (PART THIRD.) 
 
 The Third of this Popular Series oi Plays, Pantomimes, and Charades. 
 
 By OLIVIA LOVELL WILSON. 
 
 The plays are bright and witty. The variety includes musical pieces, fairy plays, ana 
 laughable farces. Just what is wanted for the winter entertainments at home, ir; the 
 school, and 00 many public occasions. Boards, 50 cents; paper, 3c cents. 
 
NEW ENTERTAIKCDEHTS 
 
 AN EYEMG OF STATUARY AM) TABLEAUX. 
 
 BY GEORGE B. BARTL3TT. 
 
 Mr. Bartlett's skill in arranging entertainments of this character 
 ensures a warm welcome for every new book from his pen. This book 
 comprises twenty-four new tableaux and pantomimes - — a set of in-door 
 entertainments, with simple and effective directi mis bv which thev can 
 be carried out with little trouble and expense. - "Price, 35 tens. 
 
 M Mother Goosb Phrty 
 AND OTHER ENTERTAINMENTS. 
 
 By George B. Birtlett. 
 
 Containing directions for A Mother Goose Party, A Mother Goose 
 Operetta, Dame History's Peep-Sh >w, A Vision of Shakespeare's 
 Heroines, Historical Hints for Tableaux, A Tableau tram blue Beard, 
 Literati, etc. - - - Price, i5 Cents. 
 
 AND OTHER ENTERTAINMENTS. 
 BY GEORGE B. BARTLSTT. 
 
 Containing Mother Goose Pantomimes, a Christmas Pantomime, 
 Dissolving Views, etc. ...... Price, 1J Cents. 
 
 A NEW PLAY BY GEO. 1,1, BAKER. 
 
 Gustave, The Professor. 
 
 A comedy in one act, translated fr<>m t^e French bv Ge^. M. Biker. 
 Four male, two female characters; t..iu in representation, fortv-five 
 minutes. --------- Pric , 25 Coutt. 
 
 UNDER TZ SPELL. 
 
 A comedy in one act, from the French, bv Julia Di-\V. Gttstss. 
 Four male, one female characters; time in representation f-irty-five 
 minutes to an hour. 1 rice, 15 Cents. 
 
 A- FALSE NOTE. 
 
 A comclv in one act, by Jdi.TA DeW. CiKiss. Three male, four 
 female characters. Plays al>otifaii hour. - - Price, 15 Cents. 
 
Baker's Edition of Plays 
 
 Seven Characters. —Four Males, Three Females, 
 
 Boston Dip . . . .15 
 Bowled Out .... 15 
 Bit of Brummagem . 15 
 Brother Bill and Me . 15 
 Class Day 25 
 
 Peace and Quiet . . li 
 Sniashiugton Goit . , i5 
 Silverston's Wager . 15 
 Thirty Minutes for Re- 
 freshments. , . . 15 
 
 Comrades ..'... 25 
 Don's Stratagem . . 15 
 My Turn Next ... 15 
 Mysterious Disappear- 
 ance 15 
 
 Poison 25 
 
 Three Males, Four Females. 
 Cool Collegians (The) ... 25 | Pretty Piece of Property , 
 Six Males, One Female. 
 Look After Brown . 15 | Turkish Bath 
 Five Males, Two Females. 
 Jobn Dobbs .... 15 
 Old Honesty .... 15 
 j Poor Peter . . . .' 15 , 
 Eight Characters. — Four Males, Four Females. 
 Crinoline 15 ! Christmas Box ... 15 I My Precious Betsy 
 
 family Failing 
 
 15 
 
 Dora . . . . . . . 15 
 
 Free Ward (The) . . 15 
 
 15 
 
 Slasher and Crasher 
 Seeing the Elephant 
 
 Blanks and Prizes . . 
 Daughter of Regiment 
 
 | Our Mutual Friend 
 Six Males, Two Females. 
 15 I Fighting by Proxy . 15 
 
 True Unto Death 
 Uncle Robert 
 
 Bread on tbe Waters 
 Flower of tbe Family 
 His Last Legs . . 
 
 15 | Love's Labor Saved . 15 | 
 Five Males, Three Females 
 15 ; Husband to Order . . 15 
 15 j .John Smith .... 15 
 15 | Last Loaf (The) ... 15 
 | Little Brown Jug (The) 15 
 Seven Males, One Female. 
 Payable on Demand . 15 | Sea of Troubles . . . 15 
 Nine Characters. —Six Males, Three Females. 
 
 Little More Cider . , 
 My Brother's Keeper . 
 Nicholas Flam . . 
 
 15 
 
 15 
 
 Midnight Banquet 
 On and Off . . , 
 
 Another Glass ... 15 Dunducketty's Picnic 15 
 Jown by the Sea , . 15 Hit Him. He has no 
 
 Friends ..... 15 
 Five Male, Four Females. 
 25 | Queen's Heart (The) . 15 | Race for a Widow . . 
 Two Males, Seven Females. 
 Thorn among the Roses 15 
 Ten Characters. — Six Males, Four Females. 
 Among the Breakers . 15 I Damon and Pythias . 15 1 Lying will Out . . . 
 15 Game of Dom'inos . . 15 Mrs. Walthrop's Bach- 
 15 I Lost in London . . . 15 | elors ...... 25 
 
 Better than Gold 
 
 Bull in a China Shop 
 Duchess of Dublin 
 
 16 
 
 15 
 
 Coupon Bonds . 
 Enlisted for War 
 Ella Rosenberg . 
 
 Seven Males, Three Females. 
 
 Flowing Bowl (The) 
 Home Guard (The) 
 
 Miller and liis Men . 15 
 Paddle your Own Canoe 15 
 
 Shaker Lovers 
 
 15 
 
 Five Males, Five Females. 
 Both Alike .... 15 I Cleft Stick (The) . . 15 I Lords of Creation 
 
 | Old and Young ... 15 | 
 Eleven Characters. — Six Males, Five Females. 
 Babie ...... 25 I The Miller's Wife . . 15 | The " Tomboy " 
 
 Giralda 15 | Our Folks 15 | 
 
 Eight Males, Three Females. 
 Lost Mine (The) . . 25 ["Nevada" .... 25 I Our Boys of 1776 
 I One Hundred Yt. ars Ago 15 | 
 Seven Males, Fp tir Females. Five Males, Six Females. 
 
 Ateov« the Clouds 15 | The Christening . . ,, . , . , 
 
 Nine Males, Two Females. 
 Don Caesar de Baean . 15 
 
 WALTER H. BAKER & CO., PUBLISHERS 
 23 WINTER ST., BOSTON, MASS. 
 
Baker's Edition ~r Y 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 Twelve Characters. — Nine 
 Ticket of Leave Man 15 | W 
 
 Ten Males, Two Females. 
 Gaspardo, the Gondolier . . . . 15 | Fo 
 Over Twelve Ch 
 Aladdin ..... 15 Jeweller's Apprentice 
 Babes in the Woods . 15 Lady of Lyons 
 Captain Kyd .... 15 
 
 Clari 15 
 
 Dumb Girl of Portici . 15 
 East Lyime .... 15 
 ¥(. reed to the War . 25 
 Hero of Scotland . . 15 
 Hunchback (The) . . 15 
 
 Handet 15 
 
 Hidden Hand ... 15 
 
 Lady of the Lake 
 Monseigneur . . 
 Maid o/ Milan 
 
 015 871 719 
 
 15 : Scarlet Letter ... 15 
 
 15 j School for Scandal . 15 
 
 15 ! StolenWill (The) . . 25 
 
 15 I Golden Butterllv (The) 25 
 
 15 \ Two Orphans (The) . 25 
 
 Masaniello .... 15 "Virginia Veteran 
 Naaman, the Syrian . 25 ! Wallace 
 
 Zelina ...... 
 
 Blue and Gray, or Star 
 of Empire .... 
 
 30 
 
 Poor Gentleman 
 Past Redemption . 
 The Stranger . . . . Vo \ 
 Male Characters Only. 
 Number of Characters given instead of price, which is uniformly 15 cents each 
 
 Coals of Fire .... 6 
 Close Shave .... 6 
 Freedom of the Press. 8 
 Gentlemen of the Jury 12 
 Great Umbrella Case 32 
 Great Elixir .... 
 Humors of the Strike 
 Hypochondriac (The) 
 
 Man with the Demijohn 4 
 My Uncle the Captain 6 
 New Brooms Sweep 
 
 Clean 6 
 
 Public Benefactor . . fi 
 Pedlar of Verymce . 7 
 Rival Poets .... 2 
 
 Runaways 4 
 
 Ready-made Suit . . 35 
 
 Female Characters Only. 
 
 15 cents each, except Rebecca's Triumph, which is 25 cents. 
 
 Stand by the Flag . . 5 
 Shall Our Mothers Vote 11 
 
 Two Gentlemen in a tf'ix 2 
 
 Too Late for the Train 2 
 
 Thief of Time (The) . 6 
 Tender Attachment . 
 
 Very Pleasant Evening 3 
 
 Wanted, a Male Cook 4 
 
 Champion of Her Sex 8 
 
 Greatest Plague in Life 8 Red Chignon . . . 
 The Grecian Bend. . 7 Rebecca's Triumph 
 Love of a Bonnet . . 6 Tipsy Pudding . . 
 No Cure, No Pay . . 7 Using the Weed 
 Precious Pickle ... 7 Voyage of Life . . 
 Musical and Other Plays for Children. 
 Male and Female Characters. 
 
 Accelerate — operatic 
 
 charade' 15 
 
 Bachelor's Christmas 25 
 
 Bunch of Buttercups 15 
 
 Christmas Carol . . 15 
 
 Centennial — charade . 15 
 Conjuration— operatic 
 
 charade 15 
 
 College Ned— operetta 15 
 Dorothy's Birthday — 
 
 operetta 25 
 
 Diamonds and Toads — 
 
 operetta 15 
 
 Fairy of Fountain . . 25 
 
 Holidays ..... 15 
 
 Hunt the Thimble . 50 
 
 | Lost Children ... 15 
 
 Musical Allec.okik's for Ff.male Characters Only. 
 
 Merry Christmas . . 15 
 
 R. E. Porter .... 75 
 
 Santa Claus Fmlies . 15 
 
 Santa Claus First . . 25 
 
 Santa Clans at Home . 20 
 Seven Ages— Tableaux 
 
 eiit lr 
 
 Titania 25 
 
 Lightheart's Pilgrim- 
 age 
 
 15 
 
 15 
 
 Vision of Freedom 
 War of Roses 
 
 Revolt of the Bees . . 
 Tournament of Idyl- 
 court 15 | 
 
 The Pilgrim's Choice, for Male a:>d Females. 
 Musical and Other Entertainments for A> clts. 
 Anastasia, operetta 25 I Driggs and Kis Double, shadow pan- 
 Anonymous, shadow pantomime . . 2ft | roniime 25 
 
 Arabella and Lionel, pantomime . 15 | H. M. S. Pinafore, opera .... 
 A. Ward's Wax Figger Show . . . 25 j In Pawn, shadow pantomime . . . 
 
 Bon Bona, musical and dramatic i Jenny I.ind, operetta 
 
 entertni'iHneirt 25 } Sculptor's Triumph, tableau ent. _. 
 
 Capuletta, operatic burlesque . . To Snow Bound, musical and dramatio 
 
 Cinderella, shadow pantomime . . 25 j entertainment 
 
 Drink, shadow pantomime .... 25 Orpheus, shadow pantomime . . 
 
 WALTER H. BAKER & CO., PUBLISHERS 
 23 WINTER ST., BOSTON, MASS.