TS 6 3 5 
 
 SAVED BY LOVE, 
 
 -AND THE- 
 
 By J. EDWARD EARLE. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE CENTRAL REFORM CLUB, GRAND 
 RAPIDS, MICHIGAN, 1877. 
 
 GRAND RAPIDS, iMICHIGAN: 
 
 DEMOCHAT BOOK AND JOB PRINTING HOUSE. 
 
 1877. 
 
SAVED BY LOVE, 
 
 AND THE- 
 
 lasD MasB®^^' 
 
 A l@difi Bi 
 
 mt mm. 
 
 / 
 
 By J. EDWARD EARLE. 
 
 "^ 
 
 H 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE CENTRAL REFORM CLUB, GRAND 
 RAPIDS, MICHIGAN, 1877. 
 
 - u.SosZ 
 
 GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN: 
 
 DEMOCRAT BOOK AND JOB PBINTING HOTJSK. 
 1877. 
 
 r 
 
\ A/ 
 
 PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. 
 
 :0: 
 
 SjR Arhur Woodville, of Linden Copm Hall. 
 
 Harry Woodville, Brother of Sir Arthur. 
 
 Sir James MoKensey, of Yorkshire. 
 
 Amos Trucksberry, ] 
 
 Blakesley, . I Three Gambler.^. 
 
 Stonecastle, I 
 
 Old Adam, Gardener. 
 
 ASHFORD, \ Farmers. 
 
 John. [ 
 
 Two Police Officers, Gamblers, Farm Handy and other.^. 
 Mary Woodville, Wife of Sir Arthur. 
 Kitty Sunbeam, Daughter of Old Adam. 
 Miss Stockbridge, A New York Belle. 
 
 :0:- 
 
 COSTUMES MODERN. 
 
 Entered According to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by J. Edwrad 
 Earle, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
Saved by Love, and the Red Ribbon. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene 1. — An Elegant Gambling Parlor in London, Truchsberry 
 discovered seated behind a faro table,. C. dealing. At L. of 
 table is seated Sir James McKensey disguised as a huckster, 
 he is placing ivory chij)s on the table. At R. of table^ sits 
 the croupier, and behind table stands Blakesly and Stone- 
 castle, eagerly watching the game. Gentlemen at sideboard 
 dunking, and others lounging about. 
 
 Blak. (Aside to Stone ) Stoney, if we did trap a green 
 one, he's got the pluck. Fates ! he is risking the whole of his 
 ten thousand pounds ! 
 
 Stone — Rather more avarice than pluck, since he won his 
 whole stake from the bank. 
 
 rwcyL-.s— (Dealing)— Play. Deuce— King— Que 
 
 ^cZ— Hauld on, mun. For shame o' thysel ? Would thee 
 cheat a poor man like I ? Sure, and didn't I won ? 
 
 TucU—{To croupier)— Hand him his five thousand pounds, 
 
 Tom. _ . , 
 
 ^torie- (Aside)— The devil ! Won again ! 
 
 McK—l'W take it in thy doomed pratty ivory zights. 
 (The croupier hands him chips for the amount.) 
 
 . 7Vcy[;—( Dealing) --Queen . Be so kind, sir, as to pass 
 
 the bank chips for two hundred pounds. 
 , ilfcX— Ees, bless thee, wi' pleasure. 
 
 [McKensey passes chips to the croupier.] 
 
 Stone— {To Blak)— Zounds 1 Blakesley, but luck shifts to our 
 side at last ! 
 
 T'^/Z-s— (Dealing)— Jack , , ^ , ^ 
 
 Blak— {To Stone)— And leaves it with the deal of the first 
 card. See ! the lad has won another five thousand pounds. 
 
 McK—Zoa, be quiet, will thee, and hauld thy tongue. It 
 bees I that plays this game. 
 
/;/aA;— (Aside)— Yes, I'll be quiet! 
 
 Mc K— {To croupier) — Dang it, mun ! I never z^ed thee so 
 slow. 
 
 T^i/c^s— Pass him chips for five thousand, Tom. 
 [Croupier passes McK chips in settlement.] 
 
 J/cjST— Thaukye, zur. [McKensey places his chips about the 
 table.] 
 
 Blak— {To Stone) — The fool risks his whole twenty thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 Stone — And loses it, hey? 
 
 Tucks— { Dealing) --Five spot— Ace 
 
 Blak — (Aside) — The devil ! lie's bled us again ! 
 [Croupier hands McKensey chips.] 
 
 ifc/sT— Thankye, zur. 
 
 Stone — (To Blak)— Twelve thousand pounds! Jupiter! 
 
 Tucks— {Dealing) — Nine spot -ace 
 
 Stone ~{ Aside) —Bf our patron saint! There goes four 
 thousand more ! 
 
 Jic^— Zure, men, but I bees in luck. 
 
 Tucks —GertSiin, niv fine gentleman, you never played this 
 game before ? 
 
 il/cA"— Thou wold fool, didn't 1 tell thee zoa? Zure, und a 
 bigger dunce nor I could aizely put these ivories on the 
 pratty cards. 
 
 Tucks — (Dealing) — Four spot— Deuce — King — Ace 
 
 ifc.^— Hauld on ! 
 
 Stone — (To Blak)— Four thousand more against the bank. 
 
 Blak — It don't matter. Dead men carry nothing away. 
 [Croupier passes McKensey chips.] 
 
 McK— Zure, und I bees as lucky as auld farmer Ainsley, 
 whose zows 'ave a dozen wee ones in avery litter. But zome- 
 how my pocket craves the gingle of gauld; zo, mun, just 'and 
 I along the reality for the part on these. 
 
 [Croupier gives him gold in exchange for part of the 
 chips, and notes for a quantity more.] 
 . J/c A"— (Letting the gold slide down in his pants pocket, and 
 crowding in the bil s.j Dang it! I do feel so 'appy. 
 
 Stone — (To Blak) — There goes twenty thousand pounds in 
 hard cash and bank notes. 
 
 ifcAT— 'Urry up, now; und I'll put my wole remaining 
 twenty thousand pounds of ivories on the Jack ! Zoa. [Plac- 
 ing all his chips on one card.] 
 
 Stone — (Aside) — If he wins he has cleaned us out of sixty 
 thousand pounds. 
 
 Blak — And bought him a pass to eternity. 
 
 Tucks. — (Dealing)-— Seven spot— Five — King— Jack 
 
 All — Won again ! 
 
 Blak — The devil on luck, I swear ! 
 
McK—Usiuld on! liauld on! drabbit it, bat ees make me 
 crazy wi' zich noyse. Casn't thee be quiet? Thqze chips be 
 thine, eh, boss ? 
 
 Tucks— Yea. 
 
 McK—Ess. WuU, a man always wunts his own; zo, it must 
 be thee wunts to pay I thee gould, und get thie doomed ivories 
 backs; ees? 
 
 Blak — You Yorkshire fool, would you decamp with sixty 
 thousand pounds, witliout giving the bank a chance for a change 
 of luck ? 
 
 McK— You doomed ass, hauld thy tongue, az I told thee 
 before. 
 
 Blak — Insulted by a country boor ! a huckster! cabbage ven- 
 dor ! You villain ! You — you 
 
 Stone — (To Blak) — Quiet, quiet, Blakey. Let the lad liave 
 his will for a time. When he rises to go, we will settle all 
 accounts in full. 
 
 McK— Huxild ; I'll 'ave the hul sixty thousand pounds in 
 Bank o' England notes. Drabbit, it, rnun, I cu' never make 
 off wi' such a weight ov 'ard cash. 
 
 [The croupier counts McKensey out the bank notes for 
 the gold McKensey placing the money in his 
 pocket rises. The gamblers spring to their feet.} 
 
 Tuck— Thief I 
 
 Blak — Say thy prayers, man, for you've but a minute to live. 
 
 Jfc^A"- (Drawing a pistol, and covering the gamblers, who 
 stand in a group) — Hold! If I see a hand move from the 
 present posit. on, the owner falls a corpse ! 
 
 Stone — Sold ! by Jove ! 
 
 McK Yes, gentlemen, sold, and I have got the money. Six- 
 ty thousand pounds in good currency, i^tand ! move not! or 
 by the Eternal, my pistol will speed you to your last account. 
 You must recollect my son, young Edwin McKensey, of York- 
 shire. He wa« spending last winter in this great city of Lon- 
 don. You met him at the Opera, ensnared him in your hellifeh 
 toils, drew him to this palace of the demons of Rum and 
 Cards, and here stole — yes, stole — from him sixty thousand 
 pounds 1 made a vow to regain that sixty thousand pounds or 
 lose my entire estate in the attempt, and I have won. Villaine ! 
 I leave you with the funds sately secured in my pocket, and so 
 far is atonement made. But, mark, for introducing my son to 
 the habit of gambling, and, more than that, to the passion for 
 strong drink, — that ruinous habit whose iron grip seldom leaves 
 go its victim until pinched by the coffin's lid, — for all this you 
 owe me a debt that I will foreclose upon you with merciless 
 rigor You will lose sight of me for the present, but I will 
 watch you with the eagle's eye. Go on in your road to ruin ; 
 you have stumbled upon me once, — you will be brought face 
 to face with me before you reach the end. [Exit L. 
 
Tucks— Sold, and to the tune of sixty thousand pounds. 
 
 ^Stme—Uow about the revenge, eh, Blakfey? 
 
 J5/a/^— Revenge I By the saints of every church in Christen- 
 dom, but I will have it yet ; and that, too, in such meed as 
 will clean the slate. 
 
 Tucks— It seems to me the court has lost the case, and has 
 got to compound its chagrin and its failure by settling ixs own 
 costs. 
 
 Blak — Confound it, Tuck sherry, because you were bred an 
 attorney, you imagine every case receives its quietus with the 
 judgment. No decision is final with me until I reach the pin- 
 nacle of my aim. 
 
 Stone— By the way, Tuckesberry, have you kept track of 
 that profligate son of your old client ? You remember you 
 took it upon yourself to watch Sir Arthur, after his reforma- 
 tion, aijid his escape from our clutches. 
 
 Blah — A happy idea, by Jove! Now that the funds in the 
 bank are at extreme low water mark, it behooves us to look 
 About us for 11 raise. 
 
 Stone — Have you kept the promised sharp eye upon him ? 
 
 Tuch~l never lost him for a minute until he buried himself 
 in Linden Copse Hall, the old family castle in Kent. 
 
 .Blak — What ! you don't mean to say he is dead? 
 
 Tucks — Not exactly that, but married, which is much the 
 same thing, so far as rea' life is concerned. Reformation has 
 worked such a cure in him, 1 reckon our game is up in that 
 direction. 
 
 Blak—^o, no, not up ; only beyond our reach for the time 
 being. I believe you was commissioned to rope him in again; 
 so, out with it, man ; what has been your success ? 
 
 T'wc^-.s— Only this: (seating themselves about the i>iro table) 
 1 have watched the game light in its cover; and it only re- 
 mains for us to make it rise But that cannot be so easily 
 accomplished. You well know the old-fogyism, and the 
 domestic characteristics of my old client. Sir Ralph, lately de- 
 ceased. Well, his mantle, through a miracle, has fallen upon 
 the shoulders of his son, who seems to' wear it with an honeet 
 love and pride. But coupled with this, he is fortified behind 
 the defense of a pious bride. , 
 ' Stone — A woman and piety to confront us ! Tucksberry, I 
 agree with you ; we have lost the game. 
 
 Tucks— I am informed Sir Arthur perfectly worships hi8 
 youthful bride, who devotes her hours between sermonizing 
 and advising her husband, and visiting the poor of his tenanK' 
 , ^taX;— Then you think she would not look upon us as fit 
 objects of -her charity ? , 
 
 , Stone — We must not introduce ourselves to her. Strike 
 straight home to the object itself. 
 
Tucks— Bui that you can't do. She takes most precious 
 care that no strangers shall visit the Hall, and that only those 
 companions shall surround her husband whose influence will 
 assist to mould him to virtue. The first point to be gained, — 
 the* only key that will unlock the fortress, — is to draw Sir 
 Arthur away from the influence of his wife. 
 
 Blak — You was the sole attorney and advisor of Sir Ralph, 
 his father, for many years. Think you ! with your minute 
 knowledg:e of his affairs, do you not know of some lien, some 
 hold, by which wo can overturn this virtuous felicity of our 
 dear iTiend, and bring him within our power? 
 
 Stoiie — Sure, Tucksberry, such a sharp limb of the law as 
 you were reputed to be, did not manage the affairs of Sir 
 Ralph to no purpose? 
 
 Tuch — I did think my client had once placed within my 
 grasp a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds ; but it 
 escaped me. 
 
 Stone and Blak — How was that? 
 
 Tucks In one of Sir Ralph's drinking bouts,— like all noble- 
 men he was a little fast at times, — I persuaded him in sport to 
 make a will leaving his estate in Kent, including Linden 
 Copse Hall, altogether valued at one hundred thousand 
 pounds, to me This was subsequent to a will in which he 
 bequeathed all his properties,- part of them his real estate in 
 the city of New York, America, — worth some half a million 
 pounds', to his eldest son, now Sir Arthur, Bat unfortunateiy 
 my client did not die in convenient season. 
 
 Stone — What an unobliging disposition. 
 
 Tucks— FoT he lived to make another will, — the one by 
 whioh Sir Arthur now holds the entire estate, dated in t-he 
 year 1865 My will bore date Feb'y 10th, 1860. 
 
 Blak—Where is your paper V Can not its date be altered 
 m as to make it available ? 
 
 Tucks— Here it is, in my hat, under the table. (Reaching 
 it.) It i^ the only valuable paper I ever possessed, so for 
 years I have carried it in rav hat, 
 
 . Blak — (Taking the paper and carefully examining it)~ 
 Duly signed and witnessed, 
 
 Tuck^ — Yes, by two of my confidants. 
 
 JSlak— Look here ! The date of this will can be so altered as 
 to make it a^b8equent to the one by which Sir Arthur came 
 to the estate- 
 
 Sio7ie and Tucks — How is that ? 
 
 Blak-^SiT Ralph died in 1866, I belieye ? 
 
 Tucks— Yes, in March, 1866. 
 ' Blak— ContT^iy to the usual custom, you made the date of 
 the year in figures. Now the cypher in 1860, following th« 
 «ixj is small, scarcely above half the size of the preceding 
 
figures. A single upward stroke of t-he pen converts your 
 cipher into a six, the perfect fac-simile of the six just before 
 it, and there stands the date,— Feb'y 15th, 1866. 
 
 Tucks— A fortnight before the death of Sir Ralph! 
 
 5^tone— Bravo! bravo! Blakesiey. Your penetration- is 
 superb! 
 
 j'ucks — The devil ! Why did I not think of that years ago ? 
 
 Blak-TlLe old story of Columbus and the egg, Now, Tucks- 
 berry, that you are the heir to Linden Copse Hall, what ad- 
 vantage do you propose taking of the situation ? 
 
 Stone— K^iok the tresspassers out immediately, and make the 
 old castle shake with our carousings, of course. 
 
 Tucks— ^o ; I think we can make this lucky paper of greater 
 advantage than that. We will use it as a lever to move the 
 virtuous bulwarks that surround our victim, and then we will 
 fascinate him again. Mark me ! as sure as day succeeds night, 
 we will not only possess Linden Copse Hall, but the great 
 New York estate as well. 
 
 Stone — When will you put your plan in movement? 
 
 Tucks — To-morrow morning. Bright and early we will off 
 to Linden Copse Hall, and challenge our luck. Now let us to 
 the adjoining room, where are pen and ink, and in less than 
 five minutes we will be metamorphosed from bankrupt gam- 
 blers to landed gentlemen. [Exeunt R. 
 
 iSCKNE W^—The Gate Keeper'' s Lodge, and great gate to Linden 
 Copse Hall. Beyond the I^odge and, gate passes 
 the road The background is a wood. A i"ustit 
 bench is moved out R. 1st E, beneath a great tree. 
 Old Adam, Harry, Kittie, Ashford, John, and a 
 number of young farmers and girls, are dkcovered 
 back near the Lodge. All come down front. 
 
 Harry — Well, friends, the sun is far upon his way, and if 
 we're to have our dance without infringing upon the time for 
 labor, we had best begin. 
 
 Adam — Yes, master Harry, Sir Arthur loves to see everyone 
 about him as happy as the summer day^ but it would pain 
 him to have the work neglected. 
 
 ■ Harry — You, Ashford, are superintendent of the field work, 
 while I am master of the revels ; so I will discharge my duties 
 without tresspassing upon your hours, and look you well to it 
 you don't lop ofi* a minute of mine. 
 
 Ash — There is a time for work and a time for play, our rec- 
 tor says, Mr. H arry, and though you have given us a deal of 
 Bport, I know there was never so much work done upon the 
 farm as now. 
 
 ^rfam— Light hearts make swift hands; and while we can 
 
9 
 
 thank Sir Arthur for our smiling faces, he can thank us for his 
 smiling fields. 
 
 Harry — And I can vouch for it he does, old Adam. 
 
 Ash — And we can all testify t9 it that we bless Sir Arthur 
 for the joy he has given us ; can't we boys? 
 
 All — That we can. 
 
 Adam — And how is it about the girls? I warrant my old 
 bones, they have some one to bless, too, for their tidy looks 
 and laughing eyes. 
 
 Kitty— Oh, yes, father, we have a mistress who is as dear to 
 us as though she were an ange) sent from heaven. 
 
 Adam — Thank Heaven, child, I verily believe she is. I have 
 been, boy and man together, now on this place almost seventy 
 years, opening yon old gate for the carriage of Sir Arthur's 
 father, and for the old lord, his grandfather, too, and never 
 has everything about the place seemed so blessed by the Al- 
 mighty's hand, nor the people so happy as now. 
 
 Harry — Friends, it makes me prouder than would the crown 
 of England, to be the brother of a master and mistress so loved 
 by their people. 
 
 Adam — Master Harry, in truth, here we can show a patch of 
 merry England. 
 
 Harry — Come, come ; you will be praising my brother and 
 his bride till the hour of work has arrived, if we do not have a 
 care, and then we will be cheated out of our customary dance. 
 Where's John and his fiddle? 
 
 John — (Stepping forward) — Here, your Honor. 
 
 Harry — All right. Play your prettiest tune. Pretty Kitty, 
 may I claim you for my partner ? 
 
 Kitty — Mister Harry, I am only too proud of the honor. 
 
 Harry — I hope I am making none of these worthy boys jeal- 
 ous by my choice ? 
 
 Kitty— Oh, no, sir. I am sure no one can be jealous, for you 
 know poor I can have no lover. 
 
 Harry— Bui this pretty little body is certainly worthy of 
 one, and a bonnie one, too. Now take your places. 
 [They form on for a dance.] 
 
 Ash — (Looking off L) — Here come our master and mistress. 
 
 All — Hurrah! hurrah! 
 
 [Enter L, Sir Arthur and Mary.] 
 
 Sir ^— Good morning, friends. 
 
 Mary— Goodi morning. You seem all ready tor your dance, 
 so do not stop your sport for us. 
 
 Kitty— We only wish it were the first of May,*'for then, 
 sweet mistress, you should be our queen, and we would dance 
 about you with the flowers of spring. 
 
 ^^^— Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Sir A — We will dispense with the May Queen now, for I am 
 jealous of a share of the honors. 
 
10 
 
 All — Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Harry — Well, brother, make that bench your throne, and 
 you will receive homage sufficient to satisfy the most exacting 
 monarch. 
 
 [Sir Arthur and Mary sit on bench, R. 1st E.] 
 
 Mary— Goodi morning, old Adam. And are you not to take 
 a partner in the dance ? 
 
 Adam—Oh., no, Heaven bles3 you ; these old bones have 
 grown too stiff to play the part of youth ; and then, beside, 
 the partner I was wont to dance with upon this green, I have 
 found no more these fifteen years. 
 
 Manj — Keep a pure heart, venerable sir, and you will find 
 lier in Heaven's time. 
 
 Adam — Oh, I pray so, my lady. 
 
 JSir A — Well, John, strike up the music. 
 
 . (They dance. As the couples pass Sir Arthur and Mary, 
 at the completion of the figures, they make a cour- 
 tesy, then pass up stage.] 
 
 Ash — Long life and happiness to our lord and lady ! 
 
 All — Hurrah! hurrali ! 
 
 [Exit Ashford, John, farmers and girls L. Harry, 
 Adam and Kittie enter the Lodge. Sir Arthur and 
 Mary remain seated on the bench at R.] 
 
 Mary — Arthur, are you not far happier here upon your old 
 family estate, with your wife, your brother, and these loving 
 servants and tenants, than you were when surrounded by 
 your wicked associates in the profligate London life ? 
 
 Sir A — Yes, Mary, by resigning myself entirely to your 
 •sway, and embarking ujjon a plan of life mapped out by your 
 good judgment, I have arrived at greater bliss thaji falls to the 
 lot of many mortals. In London, that great city of sin, which 
 I hope I have seen for the last time, I knew no happiness. All 
 there was drunkenness, debauchery, gaming, loss, degradation, 
 remorse. 
 
 Mary—A.\i, Arthur, you must not thank your little wife 
 alone for bringing you out of such pitchy darkness into such 
 glorious light. The hand of Omnipotence did most of the 
 lifting. 
 
 Sir ^—Well, Mary, resolve it as you will, I must stick to it 
 that it was this pretty hand which you gave to me for life, 
 that has drawn me into this blissful existence. When on the 
 full career of folly, plunged in the night of London dissapa- 
 tion, you crossed my track with all your beauty, your youth 
 and purity, you- appeared to me an angel sent by heaven to 
 assure the misreable profligate that there was yet a world of 
 loveliness and goodness somewhere beyond the darkness of my 
 veil, and that by the path you threaded there still remained a 
 way to reacli that better land. Love, as strong and eternal as 
 the starry dome, drew me to your side. You would not con- 
 
11 
 
 •sent to be my guide unless I at once and forever turned my 
 back upon my wild associates and my wilder life. Receiving 
 strength from your purity, I did so. We were one. Return- 
 ing to my father's home, I had the sorrow to find my venerable 
 parent lying upon a bed of death ; but all my sobs were hush- 
 ed when I saw the joy that sparkled in his fading eyes when 
 he heard the story of the prodigal's return. I stepped in all 
 my titles, wealth and honors, — a brand snatched from the fire ; 
 and I hope, so long as these fields endure, I shall be their vir- 
 tuous master, and till death us do part, your cherished hus- 
 band. 
 
 [Harry enters from the Lodge.] 
 
 Harry — Come, Arthur, what do you say to a mount and a 
 dash across the country in the good old style? 
 
 Sir A — I am agreed ; that is, if Mary can spare me so long ? 
 
 Mary — Go, of course. You silly fellow, don't I always wish 
 you to enjoy yourself? (Sir Arthur and Mary rise.) Which 
 way do you ride ? 
 
 Harry— Oh., we'll circle about the park, and around by the 
 old log bridge in the gorge, and then out on the large meadow, 
 where we have had so many wild dashes. 
 
 Mary — (Aside) — All within the grounds. (Aloud.) Go, Ar- 
 thur, Harry, mount your steeds, and off as swift as the wind. 
 [Exit Sir Arthur and Harry, E.] 
 
 Mary—^l so fear if he is eVer beyond my sight some of the 
 old influences will reach him and draw him again into the 
 whirlpool of gaming and dissipation, that I am never at rest 
 unless he is in my company. He has not been long enough 
 away from his old friends and habits as yet to be thoroughly 
 weaned from them, and to return to their embrace would be 
 far worse than death to both of us 
 
 [Kittie enters from the Lodge.] 
 
 Mary— Ah, here is my pretty Kittie,— Kittie Sunbeam, as 
 you are calted, because your bright face dispels all darkness 
 and sorrow. 
 
 Kittie— My lady, there is no darkness hereabouts to dispel. 
 
 Mary — True, child, it is all happiness here ; but even if our 
 immediate world does appear so fair and bright, we can 
 always find not far distant enough of misery and want that 
 needs relief, if we have only the mind to hunt it out. 
 
 Zi«ie— True, and it shall be my mission to seek it, to dispel 
 the darkness. Oh, yes, I'll be a sunbeam ! 1 never felt what 
 it was to be a sunbeam before ; and now I see ray mission. I 
 am always to have a smiling face, a kind heart, a gentle word, 
 and an extended hand ; and I'm ever to be looking around for 
 little crevices in the abodes of sorrow and want, and to be 
 squeezing myself through them, lighting and warming the 
 places of darkness and poverty. I must shine on haggard 
 faces, and dry the tears upon their cheeks ; and prove myself 
 
12 
 
 a true sunbeam from the centre of charity and love. Oh, yes;: 
 I'll be a sunbeam ! , . 
 
 2Ianj—Uea,\en grant you may worthily fulfill your mission. 
 Now, go and visit the poor woman down near the parsonage. 
 
 _^iffic — I will. Now, I'm Sunbeam ! I'm a sunbeam ! 
 [Exit Kittie, tripping off K.] 
 
 ]\fa)'i/ — If a few more such beams found their way on earth, 
 what a light and happy world this would be. But thtn, there 
 would be no night here, and that is contrary to the All-wise 
 
 [During this speech, Tuctsberry, Blakesley and Stone- 
 castle appear in the road, back of the gate, at R.U.E.] 
 Tucks— There she is! and alone ! Fortune favors us. 
 gtone — You may take the initiative, for I am content in- 
 this encounter to be one of the humble rank-and-file. 
 j'i/cZ-s— (Aloud)— My Lady Woodville? 
 il/ary— (Starting)— What! Strangers! 
 Tucks — My lady, I believe you are the wife of Sir Arthur 
 Woodville, of this estate ? 
 
 Mary— Yes, sir ; such is ray happy fortune. What would 
 you with him ? 
 
 TwcyLs— Nothing nothing, my lady. We merely came to 
 speak with you upon a little matter of business. 
 
 3fary — Business ? Gentlemen, I never met you before, as I 
 remember, and c^ertainly know of no matters of business be- 
 tween us. 
 
 Tucks— It is a secret matter, — a little affair we would ar- 
 range privately between your ladyship and your humble ser- 
 vants. 
 
 Mary — All matters of business, gentlemen, I refer to Church 
 & Gray, Lincoln's Inn, London. 
 
 Tuclcs— Yes, my lady ; but we left London this morning, as 
 we have to see you personally. My name is Tucksberry, — 
 Amos Tucksberry, Esq., lawyer, of Lincoln's Inn myself, — 
 formerly attorney for Sir Arthur's father. Sir Ralph. 
 
 Mary— Oh, excuse me, gentlemen. If you were friends of 
 my husband's father, you aye welcome. I will have the gate 
 opened. 
 
 Blak — Yes, my lady; and we have the honor of being 
 friends of your husband also. 
 Tucks— {To Blak)— Silence. 
 
 Mary — (Aside) — Friends of my husband? Perhaps some 
 of his evil associates! I am half afraid of them. However, 
 I will keep old Adam -within hearing distance, and so be as- 
 sured of safety. (Aloud.) Gentlemen, I will call the gate 
 keeper. (Knocks at the Lodge door.) Adam ! Adam ! 
 [Old Adam enters from the Lodge.] 
 Mary — These gentlemen are waiting admittance. 
 
13 
 
 Adam— Yes, my lady. [He opens the gate. The three gam- 
 blers come forward.] . , , , , . a 
 
 j^fary— Adam, you have left the Lodge door open, and lav- 
 age may scent these strangers, and come out in one of his 
 quarrelsome moods. 
 
 Adam—1 will close the door. 
 
 ]^farij—^o, no. The noble fellow has not had. his customary 
 exercise to-day, and it would do' you both good to take a short 
 
 stroll. , X 1 111 
 
 Adam— Yes, my lady. [He goes to the Lodge and leads 
 forth a large dog by a leather thong ] 
 
 gtone—{To his friends.) You see she has a strong ally, so 
 we had best be a little subdued in our attack. 
 
 Martj— {Aside to Adam)— Keep beyond cover, but ^yhere 
 you can reach me at a moment's notice. 
 
 ^4<^a^/^_Yes, my lady. I see. Some of those London chaps. 
 You mav rely on old Adam and noble Savage, can't she, my 
 brave fellow? [Patting the dog as he leads him off R.] 
 
 Manj— Gentlemen, you see 1 am alone, and ready to attend 
 vour secret business. , rr. , 
 
 • ]^lal:—{ \Qide to Tucksberry)— Jump it right to her, lucks- 
 berry. Don't be afraid. ^ 
 
 j\icIcs—\Ye\\, then, my lady, at your request, we will skip 
 over all introduction, and at once to the cream of the article. 
 You see, we are from London, old friends of Sir Arthur's, 
 boon companions of his city life. 
 J/a?'?/—( Aside)— Ah ! as 1 feared ! 
 Tucks— We are professional gentlemen. 
 iV/ar?/— Gamblers, I suppose ? Proceed. 
 Tucks — Yes, my lady. That is the correct rendering of the 
 phrase. During your husband's association with us, we were 
 in funds ; but, someway, since his withdrawal from our society, 
 luck has gone against us, — our bank is depleted. In other 
 words, w^e are hard up. Now, you know, my lady, it is pre- 
 posterous for one to think of living in London without plenty 
 of funds, so w^e have taken this little trip through Kent to 
 see if you would not honor our drafts to a limited amount? 
 i¥ari/— Sir, I do not understand you. 
 
 T^lcks — Ah, yes, my lady; but your banker, Sir Arthur, 
 would comprehend us. He would undoubeedly make us a 
 small advance. We will be honorable and liberal with him, if 
 you will give us his company. 
 
 j\Jary — What ! would you draw him again to London, — to 
 your hells, — gambling,— dissipation, — drunkenness, — ruin ! 
 Are you very fiends from the lowest depths of sin, that you 
 dare approach, with your devilish overtures, a woman and a 
 wife ? 
 
 Stone — (Aside)— I told you so ! Give me Satan himself for 
 an opponent, rather than a woman 1 
 
14 
 
 Blak — My ludy, really you do us an injustice. 
 
 Tucks— Tt\\\y you do. You wrong us. AVe would not in- 
 jure Sir Arthur. No, not for the world. 
 
 Mary — Well, sir, if this is all your business, you may take 
 to the road, by the way of that gate, and so back to London. 
 
 Tucks — My lady, I repeat we are out of funds ! We must 
 make a raise. If you decline allowing Sir Arthur to return 
 with us to London and face his luck, we will be compelled to 
 take up our abode here in Linden Copse Hall. 
 
 Mary — Villains ! if you do not at once betake yourselves off, 
 I will call for help ! 
 
 Tucks — My lady, you know it is neither proper nor safe to 
 eject one from his own premises. It is by our sufferance that 
 you live and have lived as the mistress of yonder mansion, 
 [pointing off' L] and I greatly fear It has come to that point 
 when we shall have to perform the unpleasant duty of order- 
 ing you into the road. 
 
 Mary — What ! what ! Would you assert that Sir Arthur 
 is not master here ? 
 
 Tucks — Calmly, calmly, my lad}'. Sir Arthur derives his 
 claim to this estate by a deed dated — when ? 
 
 Mary — September 1st, 1865. 
 
 Tucks — True. Now, if I could produce a will bequeathing 
 this estate to me, dated February loth, — 1866, five and a half 
 months later, you see, — would you not admit that I was the 
 rightful heir ? 
 
 Mary — Certainly. But there is no such will. 
 
 Tucks — My lady, be not so hasty in your assertions. Figures 
 don't lie, they say ; and a paper duly signed, sealed, and at- 
 tested, is pretty sound evidence. You are familiar with the 
 handwriting and signature of the deceased Sir Ealph, I pre- 
 sume ? 
 
 Mary — I think I could recognize it? 
 
 Tucks — Then please do me the favor of glancing at this 
 document. [Hands her the will.] Notice the date, just above 
 the signature. 
 
 i/ar?/— February 15th, 1866! Great heavens! what is the 
 meaning of this ? The signature ? Sir Ralph's, surely ! 
 
 Tacks— It means, my lady, that I am the rightful heir to 
 Linden Copse Hall. 
 
 Mary — It is a forgery ! You are knaves ! villains ! No court 
 in England but what would set this aside. 
 
 Tucks— ^0, no, my lady. It is quite probable that the 
 signer would have given his faithful attorney this compensa- 
 tion for bis most valuable services. And the will can be 
 readily proven genuine by the witnesses— both living. 
 
 Mary—Tm a villainous scheme to compel a feeble woman 
 into giving over her husband to your murderous arts 
 
 Blak— Yow do us wrong. We are no murderers. 
 
15 
 
 3/ary— You are too great coward.s to kill the body of your 
 victims, for then you would have to face the scafiold ; but you 
 murder their souls, for you fear not the power of the eternal 
 judge, who is invisible ! Fiends ! You little reckon the spirit 
 and determination of a true woman, for you have never known 
 one. You have never learned that a wonva.u,-^a. wonian, I say, 
 — will stand by her husband, her virtue, her God, so long a.s 
 her heart can throb with a kindly sentiment, an,d her existence 
 hold on by the slightest thread to life ! But take your first 
 lesson from me ! I defy your power, — your claim ! You can 
 do your worst ! You can not only strip me of this estate,, but 
 you can snatch from me the last penny that stands between us 
 and poverty, and I will not surrender vou my husband ! You 
 would have his soul with his birthright, but I will save it if 
 there is a mite of power in Heaven to aid my resolve. Go .' 
 go! Hurry to London ! present your will ! claim your rights ; 
 You cannot remove me so much as an inch from my purpose I 
 I defend Sir Arthur with my love ; and about us both great 
 Heaven rears a wall whose holy face is proof against all your 
 aims, though Satan be your leader, and all his host your allies ! 
 [She stands L. C, pointing with her right hand to the 
 gate, near which the gamblers have retreated. Tableau., 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
16 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene 1, — An elegant Parlor in Sir Arthur^ s mansion, New 
 York. The furniture is in confusion, boquets, pa- 
 pers; etc., laying on the floor, and everything dis- 
 ordered. Old Adam and Kittie are discovered 
 dusting and arranging the room. 
 
 JTi^^ie— Father, clear, sit down, and leave me to finish slick- 
 ing things up. It is not your place to assist the house maid. 
 
 Adam — No; but it is always a father's place to assist his 
 children. 
 
 Xittie—l^ot when he is your age ; his children then should 
 work for him. 80, sit down, and I will have things all right 
 in a trice. 
 
 Adam — Well, well; horn, a lad I have obeyed orders, so I 
 suppose I must now. [Sits in a large chair, 11 C] Ah, Kit- 
 tie, dear, I must confess the chair is very comfortable — very. 
 I am not so young as I was once. 
 
 Kittie — No, father; not by seventy years. 
 
 Adam — Who would have dreamed that these old bones would 
 eyer have migrated from England to ilmerica ; from Linden 
 Copse Hall, Kent, to this mansion on Murray Hill, New York? 
 
 Kittie — And to think that while we are forced to dwell in 
 this barbarous city, among strangers, our dear old home in 
 England is desecrated by those drunken London gamblers. I 
 always had a good opinion of my lord's father, Sir Kalph, but 
 I have mightily changed it since that unfortunate will turned 
 up. I tell you he was a hard-hearted old villain. He wasn't 
 worthy of being a father, and that's sure ! Only to think of 
 his willing the old family estate, where every generation of 
 the Woodvilles have lived since the reign of Charles II, to a 
 lawyer, and a thief and gambler, of course. 
 
 Adam — Devlish rogues ! rogues! I am glad the broad At- 
 lantic rolls between them and Sir Arthur. 
 
 Kittie — Yes, that is the only thought that reconciles me to 
 being here. Oh, dear ! how 1 do wish we were back in sweet 
 old England! 
 
 Adam — It seems, child, you are not reconciled so perfectly 
 after all. 
 
 Kittie — No ; and I never can be. Every time I think of the 
 rich pastures, the ancient parks, all the old scenes of England, 
 and the rosy cheeks and noble hearts one meets there, and 
 then look about me on the thin, pale faces, the shallowness, 
 the gilt and the show of our neAV home, all strength to work 
 leaves me, and I only want to sit down and cry uctil I grow 
 so tired and fall asleep, and then I dream sweet dreams of the 
 home we have left forever. 
 
 Adam—W^e can still serve Sir Arthur. 
 
17 
 
 Kittie — And our lovely mistress. 
 
 Adam—KnA Mister Harry, — a noble fellow. 
 
 ^^«^e— (Excitedly)— What of him? 
 
 Adam — J list see how these American ladies run after him! 
 Poor fellow ! And he is likely to be captured too, for I have 
 learned that a Miss Stockbridge has thrown the lance that bids 
 fair to prove mortal. 
 
 A'i%— (Aside) — Poor me ! Oh ! that we had all perished 
 in the deep ocean! 
 
 Adam — Child, what moves you so ?. You look pale. 
 
 Kithj—To think, father, that Mister Harry is not going to 
 wed a daughter of his native land. 
 
 Adam—Too bad, too bad, my child, but it is our fate, and 
 we should not complain. [Rising.] I must to my duties, and 
 you must to yours, or, I see, you will never get the room slick 
 ed up. To work, child ; if you keep your hands busy, you 
 will have no time for these sorrowiul thoughts. [Exit L. 
 
 Jj;^^i€~Oh, dear ! I can't work! there is no use in trying! 
 The room looks good enough as it is. But why should I re- 
 pine that Harry is going to w^d another ? Ever since I first 
 felt that I loved him, and that was -long, long ago, almost 
 when I was a child, I knew that the time must surely come 
 when from some hidden corner of the church I would weep to 
 see him lead his bride to the altar. What is this ? [Picking 
 up a folded note from the floor.] A note dropped last night 
 during the reception in the crowd and confusion. Directed to 
 Mr. Harry Woodville ! In a female hand ! and from appear- 
 ances never received by him ! I ought not to read this ; I 
 really ought not. But, Harry, you will pardon the girl who 
 loves you so much, just for this once, won't you? [Opens the 
 note and read^] : 
 
 " Mr. Harry Woodville : la the greatest haste I write 
 you. I have an engagement with my Lady Woodville in this 
 house to-morrow morning. If you have anything further to 
 say upon the subject you mentioned during the waltz, that 
 will be the earliest opportunity you will have for a meeting. 
 Good-bye. Excuse haste, as Capt. Hardgrave is awaiting my 
 hand for the german. MiNKiE Stockbridge." 
 
 A bold, brazen, and shallow attempt of a false woman to 
 allure her victim to her grasp, and to make her beauty the 
 means of winning fortune and position, ^he seizes a word, 
 probably spoken m jest, to twist it in the cable of matrimony. 
 Oh, Harry ! you are too good, too noble, to be cast away iipon 
 so worthless a creat^ire. I will keep you from the desired in- 
 terview, and from this woman's power, even though I may 
 never call you husband ! [A bell rings.] There is the street- 
 bell. Probably the writer of this note is here already. I will 
 hide the billet in this book. [Placing it in a book on table, 
 C] Tb,ere. [Exit K. Enter Miss Stockbridge, L. 
 
■ ]8 
 
 Stock — (Looking aroiuid) — An elegant house. Magnifieent 
 iurniture. Everything betokens enormous wealth. By care- 
 fully interviewing Sir Arthurs bankers, I have learned he is 
 the possessor of some three millions of dollars. Oh, in what 
 an enviable sphere I will float when I become the wife of the 
 brother of an English lord. I have an appointment with my 
 lady to call with her upon some degrading missions of charity, 
 and I suppose I must oifend my delicate senses with the horrid 
 sights and smells I am likely to meet with. However, I will 
 sulDmit to anything to find favor in this house. Ah, here she is. 
 [Enter Mary Woodville, R ] 
 
 Stoch—Goo^ morning, my lady. 
 
 Mary — Ah, Miss Stockbridge, I am delighted to see you 
 looking so chgrming after last night's dissipation. 
 
 Stock — 'ifiij lady, it always sends new life through my veins 
 and a fresh bloom to my cheeks to anticipate a mission of 
 charity to the poor and needy. 
 
 Mary — Miss Stockbridge,.! thought last night how charming 
 you were. You looked as handsome as Cleopatra as you stood 
 surrounded by an array of admirers, but now as I see you 
 surrounded by your virtues and goodness, you look more 
 beautiful far than the Egyptian Queen in her brightest mo- 
 ment. But a t?nce to this. 
 
 Stock — Yes, we are spending valuable time. I am so eager 
 to visit with you the proposed subjects of your charity. Per- 
 haps at this moment some poor creature is suffering that our 
 presence and assistance would relieve. 
 
 Mary — I will hasten to my room, get my hat and bonnet, 
 and then we will off to the hidden places of misery. Make 
 yourself comfortable dear; I will be back shortly. What! 
 [Taking up the book in which Kittie had placed the note from 
 the table.] Here is that wicked, infidel book upon my table ! 
 I have put it in the library out of sight a dozen times, at 
 least, but curiosity continually brings it from its hiding place. 
 I will burn it, and then no one can say I read or ever furnish- 
 ed mv guests with such literature as this. I will be back 
 ^presently, dear. [Exit with the book, R. 
 
 ^, [Miss Stockbridge sits at table, R. C, looking over an 
 
 album. Enter Harry Woodville, L. U. E., unob- 
 served ] 
 
 i/arry— (Aside)— Miss Stockbridge! How she fascinated 
 ^me last evening with her rapturous beauty ; and when I clasp- 
 ed her in the waltz, it seemed as though my heart would burst 
 its bonds to be companion to hers. I must tell her all. Miss 
 Stockbridge. [Coming forward, L. C] 
 
 /SYofZ; — (Aside) — Harry Woodville! Then he received my 
 note. (Aloud.) Ah, sir, really {I can scarcely speak ; you 
 startled me so with your sudden entrance. [She remains seat- 
 
19 
 
 ed with the fingers of one hand shut in the albnm, which she 
 holds in her lap.] 
 
 Harry— I am deeply sorry to have caused you an unpleasant 
 moment. I might have passed through the room without at- 
 tracting your notice ; hut it would have required a struggle. 
 
 iS^oc/;— A struggle? How so? 
 
 Harry— k\ Miss Stockbridge, can you not read the human 
 heart? ' There are characters on my heart so plainly written I 
 fear a child could decipher them. 
 
 Stock— ^U. Woodville, I beg of you do not speak further of 
 the language of the heart. You men have such an advantage 
 over us. You stand so in the dark, where you cannot be read, 
 while we, poor things, have no dissimulation, and our hearts 
 are so plain and open. Ah, Mr. Woodville, they can be un- 
 derstood as clearly as the faces in this album. 
 
 Harry — Faces prove often deceptive. 
 
 /SSot— That is not my experience, sir. The face whose fea- 
 tures I was reading on your entrance confirms my opinion of 
 their faithfulness. 
 
 Harry— ^.nA, pray, whose photograph was so honored by 
 your bright eyes ? 
 
 Stoch—Ah, Mr. Woodville, it is not quite fair to press that 
 question. 
 
 Harry— kWs fair in war, they say. Come, Miss 
 
 Stockbridge, show me the fortunate theme of your study. 
 
 Stock— Oh, no; I can't. Don't press me, Mr. Woodville. 
 Really, I can't. . . 
 
 Harry— 1hi% obstinate refusal only increases my curiosity. 
 Come, come ; I insist on it ; you must show me the picture. 
 
 Stock— I can't, Mr. Woodville. I won't ! 
 
 Harry— But you must. [He takes hold of the album and 
 opens It where she held her fingers. Miss S. resists him, but 
 he succeeds in getting the book from her.] 
 
 AStoc/t— (Crying)— You are cruel. You have not the least 
 regard fop my feelings. 
 
 Harry— {Looking eagerly at the album)— Which picture is 
 it ? This one to the right— Colonel Belgrade ? 
 
 /S^ocyfc— (Sobbing)— It is a shame ! No, no ; the picture to 
 the left ! 
 
 Harry— What ! That is a picture of myself! 
 
 Stock— I won't tell you which one. You are a hard-hearted 
 man to wrest a secret from a weak woman. It is a shame, 
 that it is ! 
 
 _Harry—(Aside)-^She studies, when alone, my picture! re- 
 sists a disclosure of her secret, as she calls it ! She is so shamed 
 that she hides her face with tears ! She must love me ! No 
 other inference were possible. (Aloud, taking her hand.) My 
 dear, my angel, do not cry. I crave your pardon. Oh, I am 
 
20 
 
 indeed a villain to bring tears to your sweet face Forgive- 
 me,— I did not intend this. 
 Stock— 1 am mad at myself! I am so v/eak ! 
 
 Harry — Nay, darling, you are so natural, so charming. 
 
 Stock— 1 should think you would scorn a woman who has so 
 little power to hide herself ; so little of the art of dissimula- 
 tion. I never was an adept in the tricks of fashionable women. 
 
 Ilarrij — And I worship you for that very reason. liere, be- 
 fore you, I lay my heart, my name, my fortune, and all I have 
 or ever will have on earth. In exchange I ask your own sweet 
 self; but that is a possession against which all I can offer you 
 is worthless. 
 
 Stock— Ah, Harry, you have so cruelly unbosomed my se- 
 cret ; why should I deny what you have so ruthlessly read ? 
 What you offer me is not vforthless. If you had but your 
 hand and heart to exchange for mine, I would be the richest 
 and happiest woman in existence. It is your love upon which 
 I could glory and live, not your rank and wealth 
 
 Harry — Those are precious words. 
 
 Stock — So you received the note I sent you last eyening by 
 my friend ? 
 
 Harry— ^oie ? What note ? 
 
 Stock— You did not get it then ? 
 
 Harry— I received no note. 
 
 Stock — A few lines I wrote you last evening. Oh, if any one 
 has seen it, — read it, — I shall fly the city. I will die with 
 shame. 
 
 Harry — It must have been dropped in the crowd. 
 
 Stock — And some inquisitive, gossipy, trouble-making per- 
 son has picked it up, — read it ! Oh, I will die ! 
 
 Harry — I will have the house searched. Perhaps Kitty, my 
 sister's maid, who cleaned the parlors this morning, has found it. 
 
 Stock — Go ! quick ! search the hou^ ! And the note ! 
 
 Harry— Be calm, love ; I will sift the matter to the bottom. 
 
 [Exit, L. Enter Kittie R. 
 
 Kittle— {Aside) — So, she has not gained the desired inter- 
 view. (Aloud.) Miss Stockbridge, my lady regrets having 
 kept you waiting, but it was unavoidable, as Sir Arthur de- 
 tained her with some matters of importance. She desired me 
 to say she will be ready to go with you presently. 
 
 Stock — Yoiir name is Kitty ? 
 
 Kittie — Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Stock — You swept these parlors this morning ? 
 
 Kittle — Yes, m^'am. 
 
 Stock— Did you find a note directed to Mr. Harry Wood- 
 ville? 
 
 [Enter Harry, L.] ' 
 
 iTan-y— Kittie! Kittie! (Calling.) Oh, here she is. Kittie.' 
 this lady wrote a note last evening, which she informs me was 
 
21 
 
 loBt somewhere about these rooms. She is greatly worried lest 
 some person with more inquistiveness and ill-manners than a 
 sense of honor has read it. Did you find such a note ? 
 
 Kittie — (Aside) — How his words torture me! 
 
 Stock — Miss, you falter. Did you find the note ? 
 
 Harry — Speak. 
 
 Kittie— {kA^^) — What shall I say ? I cannot lie. (Aloud.) 
 Yes, Mr. Harry, I found the note. 
 
 Harry — Where isit?« 
 
 Kittie — (Glances at the books on the table ; aside) — The book 
 in which I placed the note is gone ! Oh, I am lost ! If I tell 
 them that I hid the note, and that some one has carried it off) 
 they will not believe me. I can only keep siletit, and trust to 
 heaven for a vindication and acquittal. 
 
 Stock — Why this silence? You found the note; produce it. 
 
 Harry — Where is it ? 
 
 Stock — Did you read it ? 
 
 Harry — I cannot believt4 my Kittie Sunbeam would be guilty 
 of such an act,— so degrading. 
 
 Stock— Then let her speak,— produce the note, — tell us she 
 does not know its* contents. 
 
 Harry— Oh, Kittie, say but a word that wall prove this all a 
 slander. 
 
 Stock— Yon see, Mr. Woodville, she stands condemned. Uer 
 silence condemns her. She found the note, — read it,— knows 
 all! The whisperings of my heart are the property of the 
 world ! Sir, if you have any regard for me, you will immedi- 
 ately dismiss this thing from the house. 
 
 Mary~lOQ L]— Miss Stockbridge, I am ready. The car- 
 riage is at the door. , 
 
 Stock— I am coming. Now, Mr. AVoodville, I put you to the 
 test. [Exit. 
 
 ^a,T?/— [Falling in a chair, L. C. Kittie to R. C.]-Oh, 
 Kittie, as you love sweet England, and all the fond memories 
 of the dear old home, tell me if you read this unfortunate 
 note, and what you did with it. Still silent? Kittie, instead 
 of proving a sunbeam to our hearts and home, you have thrown 
 over all a shade that time can never dispel. 
 
 Kittie— Oh, sir, God is just. He will yet vindicate my char- 
 acter, and show me before all the world a sunbeam as bright 
 as the glorious light of midday. 
 
 Harry— Oh, Kittie, though it cuts my heart to the core, I 
 must say — leave this house ! 
 
 Kittie— Oh, sir, not so cruel ! 
 
 Harry —Justice is never cruelty. 
 
 [Enter Adam L. Kittie crosses to him, weeping. Harry 
 R.C.] ... 
 
 Adam — Oh, sir, I know not the meaning of this, but I hear 
 you send my child out into the streets of a strange city with- 
 
22 
 
 out a friend. Thank God ! she has still a father, still an arm, 
 such as the ravages of seventy years have left it, to work for 
 bread and life. Come, Kittie, the world is wide, and the 
 bounty of Providence is measureless. We will accept our fate, 
 trusting that somewhere we will find a place of shelter, and 
 someway we shall receive the food that nature requires. Come, 
 child, perhaps we have far to go, and time is precious. Come, 
 come. [Exit Adam and Kittie L. 
 
 Harry— Oh, my betrothed ! how bouhdless should be your 
 love for me after all this sacrifice ! 
 
 [Exit Herry by door in centre of flat. Enter Sir Ar- 
 thur, K., at the same time Tticksberry and Blakesly, 
 disguised as reverend gentlemen, enter from L.] 
 
 Blah — May I take the liberty of inquiring if this is Sir 
 Arthur? 
 
 Sir A — Your servant, sirs. 
 
 Tucks — Oh, sir, you are the noble-hearted and philanthropic 
 English lord who uses his vast wealth and influence, seconded 
 by the exertions of his most estimable lady, for the ameliora- 
 tion of the condition of suffering humanity. 
 
 Sir A — My time and fortune is ever at the command of the 
 unfortunate. But, gentlemen, I have not discovered as yet 
 unusual misery in America. 
 
 Blak — Ah, my lord, you are too recently arrived in this 
 country to be aware of the wickedness that is afloat. Oh, it is 
 terrible ! 
 
 Tucks — Here, as elsewhere in the world, the most powerful 
 ravishers of public virtue are the terrible vices of drinking 
 and gambling. Drinking and gambling, sir, those great wiles 
 of Satan that rob the young and the old of their fortunes, 
 their happiness, and their souls. 
 
 Sir ^— True, true. 
 
 Tucks— ThiQ great city of New York is dotted over its entire 
 surface vvith drinking palaces and gambling hells. Yearly 
 thousands of deluded victims are sacrificed to their support. 
 Sir, the bulwark of Christianity is imperiled ; society floats 
 with the scuttling ax uplifted which if not stayed will send 
 her to the bottom. We have imposed upon ourselves the task 
 of warding off the danger. Sir Arthur, we call upon you, with 
 your great influence, your boundless wealth, to help us. 
 
 Sir A — I heartily sympathize with you. But what is your 
 mode of procedure ? 
 
 Tucks— ^Nq visit the places of abomination, raise our voices 
 in warning and admonition, and by dexterously appealing to 
 the hearts of those present, rarely fail in inducing some to 
 return to their homes, and, we may hope, to a better and hap- 
 pier life. 
 
 Sir ^—Gentlemen, I am at your service. 
 
 Blak— Oh, sir, you will prove the salvation of our mission. 
 
Sir .4— When do you make your next attack? 
 
 Tucks— To night. 
 
 Sir A—1 am with you. Gentlemen, I thank you for throw- 
 ing me in the way of doing so great a good 
 
 Tucks — Ah, Sir Arthur, do not thank us. Above above, 
 
 you know. [Sanctimoniously.] 
 
 Sir A — True, sir: Gentlemen, in this parlor we may be in- 
 terrupted. We will rppai^'to my room for a moment, and then 
 we will start upon our glorious cause. 
 
 Tuchs— -Oh, yes, sir, a glorious cause I 
 
 JBlak— Most glorious ! [Exeunt R. 
 
 Scene 11. — A brilUant cjamhUng room in New York uncovered. 
 if All the furniture and fixtures of the most show// 
 character. A faro table L C. A roulette table 
 at R. C. A bar at the bcwk. Stonecastle and 
 (/amblers discovered, loungimj about drinking, 
 smoking, talking, etc. Stonecastle disguised. 
 
 Stone — Be on your guard, boys, and ready with your part?^, 
 or we may be surprised. Tueksberry and Blakey promised to 
 be on hand with the chicken by eleven o'clock, and the hour 
 has just struck. 
 
 1st Ga7nbler—We won't be caught napping. 
 
 2d G — The game is too great for that. 
 
 Stone — Right, boys. We don't often get a live lord, with 
 three millions in his purse inside our trap. 
 
 Others— That's so ! that's so ! 
 
 ;S'i^o/ie— Hush ! hush! silence I To your posts! I hear them 
 on the landing. Play your parts well, boys! To work, — work 
 — hush ! 
 
 [Stonecastle and some of the gamblers go to the roulette 
 table ; others play at faro. Enter L, Sir Arthur, 
 Tueksberry and Blakesley ; they remain L. The 
 gamblers noisily playing, appear not to notice them 
 Tueksberry and Blakesley disguised as in previou> 
 scene.] 
 
 1st (r— (At faro table)— I've won ! I've won! Thirty thou 
 sand dollars ahead ! 
 
 3ealer—You.'U. break the bank ! 
 
 Stone— {To 2d gambler)— Sir, your run of luck is extraordi- 
 nary ; never saw its equal. 
 
 2d G — My lucky night, you see 
 
 Stone — (Jumping up from roulette, and speaking to the 
 dealer at faro) — Tom, I cry quits! Shut up the bank! shut 
 up! We'll have no more of this! Gentlemen, the bank is 
 broken. Lost one hundred thousand dollars. The unluckiest 
 run on record. [Noticing the three strangers.] Who's this? 
 Spiea? Informers? eh? 
 
Gamb /er.s— Ministers ! Preachers ! 
 
 TucJcs — Ah, my dear brother, it is well you stop in your 
 headlong career of vice to notice the finger of warning. 
 
 Blak — And to hearken unto the voice of virtue. 
 
 Sir A — (Aside)— I know not what to say! A passion for 
 play and the demon of the cup creeps over me as I breathe 
 the air of this infernal place ! 
 
 Blak—SiT Arthur, we call upon you to prea(;h from the text 
 — " Those who play at games of chance shall go down into the 
 pit." 
 
 Sir A — (Aside) — Oh, Mary, why are you not at my side ! I 
 must leave this place or I am lost! (Aloud) My reverend 
 fdends you must excuse me from assisting you this cA'Cning. 
 I cannot stay with you any longer ! I really cannot ! 
 
 Blak—Hes^r, Sir Arthur ; the voice of Heaven calls upon 
 you to stand by us. 
 
 Sir A — But the voice of my conscience tells" me I must fly 
 thisplace, or I am lost forever. 
 
 Tucks — My lord, the arm of holy streHgili throughout all 
 the world is by your side in ourselves. We will protect you. 
 
 Stone — Gentlemen, I thought you would have been to the 
 thirteenthly by this time. Proceed. Eeally, a sermon would 
 be a novelty quite agreeable. Anything for a change. 
 
 Sir yl— ( Aside)— I hang in such a balance that I fear a glass 
 of champagne or a game proposed, old habits would prove 
 weightier than new resolves I must fly ! I will ! [He at- 
 tempts to rush off L, but is held back by Tucksberry and 
 Blakesley.] 
 
 Tuch—Stoi)l stop! 
 
 Blak — Why, Sir Arthur, this will not do ! 
 
 Tucls — A backslider is worse than he who never puts his 
 shoulder to the wheel. 
 
 Blak — If you desert us the whole stiucture of our mission 
 will be overthrown. 
 
 Sir A—Oh, sirs, if you knew the fascinations of this place 
 which are swiftly weaving their threads about me, and will 
 soon become so strong I cannot burst them if I would, you 
 would not detain me ! To be thrown in the midst of the 
 scenes and associations of former evil habits, is to be held in 
 the very mouth of death and hell ! ^ 
 
 }st 6'— Suppose we have just one more chance at the bank ! 
 
 Stone — The bank is broken, sir 
 
 1st G—l will loan you my winnings for a start. Come, 
 come. 
 
 Stone— Luck h against us. A baby could win the stakes 
 every time. Even these reverend chaps, stupid as they are, 
 would not fiiil to come ont ahead. However, I'll take another 
 chance. Loan us the notes. 
 
25 
 
 1st (t— Here they are.' 
 
 Sto7ie— {Taking the bills)— And they'll be yours agaiu.ip,.Ax 
 trice. [The gamblers gather about the roulette table, playing. 
 ^'Tuch — What say you, my lord? Surely, we need not eat 
 of- the abomination because we bold our nqstrils over the dish 
 and scent the smell thereof. , \ ' .' v . 
 
 Sir A— 'No; I suppose a merely looking on y^ill not result 
 in evil. Only for a moment, though^ my friends. 
 Mlak — Yes, sir; only for a moment. ■ /,.•;"■ ■ ') v'' 
 
 [Sir Arthur, I'licksherry and Blakesly lean over the " 
 shoulders of those about the roulette table, looking 
 at the game. Sir Arthur presses a little in advance 
 of his two companions.] 
 Stone— Didn't I tell you luck was against the bank ? There 
 goes five thousand ! Ecod ! Who'll make me another loan ? 
 Tucks— Siv Arthur, I suppose you could satisfy the request 
 for a few minutes? 
 
 Sir .4— Yes, sir; I can accommodate you. [Sir Arthur 
 presses further in the crowd, and hands Stonecastle a roll of 
 bills.] 
 
 1st G — By Jove I I'm in luck ! Two thousand more ahead ! 
 [Sir Arthur appears excited, and pushes himself up to 
 •the table, Tucksberry and Blafcesley on either side 
 of him.] 
 Sir .4— (Holding aloft a handful of bills.)— Hold ! hold! ' 
 Giye me a chance ! J'U stake a thousand dollars ! and, wait- 
 ers, bring me a glass of gin ! Quick ! sirs. 
 
 ^4Z;— Yes, bring us some gin ! wine! champagne! drinks! 
 Tucks— {Aside: turning to front) — Ha! ha! ha! He ha* 
 put down his fiist stake! He has ordered his first drink; he 
 will never stop now until the owners of Linden Copse are the 
 owners of all ! 
 
 .^Za^— (Aside: turning to front) — The game is run down at 
 last ! 
 
 [The curtain falls as Tucksberry and Blakesley are 
 gloating over their success, and Sir Arthur in great 
 excitement is watching the roulette table. The 
 w^aiters rush forward with glasses of wine on sal- 
 vers. Sir Arthur takes a glass and raises it to his 
 lips. Tableau.'] 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
26 
 
 ACT III. 
 SbKSE 1 — ^ fniserable garret. At L. U. E. a bed made on the 
 floor, of strmv and blankets. In C. of flat an open 
 flre-plaoe, in which burns a low vjood fire. In C. of 
 room, old table. Old chairs. Sir Arthur is discov- 
 ered lying on the bed. Mary leaning on the table as 
 though dreaming. Both are dressed very jworly. 
 
 Sir y1— (Dreamily, from bed)-T-Thomas! Thomas! throw 
 more wood on the fire ! It is terribly cold this morning ! ter- 
 ribly cold ! [Shudders, and rolls over in the bed.] 
 
 Alary — Poor Arthur! he dreams, he is at home,— the dear, 
 comfortable, old English home, — and thinks Thomas, his valet, 
 has neglected the fire. To arouse trom his uneasy slumber, 
 and find himself in this squalid garret, not a mouthful to eat, 
 not a stick of wood to throw upon the fire to keep out the 
 freezing cold ; bereft of wealth, friends, the luxuries of life, 
 to which he has been accustomed from his earliest life, — 
 doomed to awake from bis dreams and find himself alone with 
 death and me, is terrible ! terrible ! 
 
 Sir ^-7-Cold ! fearful cold ! Thomas ! you lazy dog ! you — 
 
 3Iary — Oh, that I had anything to cast upon the fire ! It is 
 almost out ; and the wind whistles through this dilapidated 
 garret so piercing cold. Harry went forth in the early morn- 
 ing in quest of a job, that he might earn a shilling to buy us 
 something to eat, and it is high time he returned. Oh, that 
 he would come back with a little food and a little fuel ! [She 
 goes to the fire and blows it.] It is hard to make a fire with- 
 out fuel, — almost as hard as living without food, I would 
 burn the wretched furniture to keep warm, if I did not know 
 our hard hearted landlord would set us out in the street to 
 die if I did so. [Goes to the bed and looks at Sir Arthur as 
 he sleeps.] He is sleeping calmly now. He has forgotten the 
 cold, the hunger, the misery of this garret. He has forgotten 
 the comforts of his English home, the ease and luxury of his 
 New York mansion. He remembers no more the three friends 
 who ruined Lira over the water ; the terrible relapse into 
 drunkenness, gambling, dissipation, and all the evil habits of 
 his London life, that ruined him efl'ectually, utterly, in this 
 ill-starred city. He has forgotten all, — the love, the joy, the 
 ruin, the degradation of his eventful life . Oh heaven ! give me 
 strength to be to my husband all that the wife should be,— a 
 comfort, a cheer when fortune frowns, a finger pointing on- 
 v/ard, upward, when the clouds are the darkest, and ruin and 
 death settle down the heaviest. I would kiss him, but that 
 might cause him to awake. No ; sleep on, Arthur, I will try 
 also to forget my misery. If I could only catch a few minutes 
 sleep. [She sits at table, C, and leans her face on her arms.] 
 
 Sir A — (Awaking)™Thomas must have left the windows 
 
open. Careless dog! Oh, dear ! [He yawns and sits up.J 
 What! what! I must have been dr<2aming! I recollect soiuer 
 thing about Linden Copse Hall,— scolding Thomas,— Thomas ! 
 But I'm not in England! No, no! I am not Sir Arthur! I 
 awake to misery and want; to lind myself a ruined man, — 
 starving, dying, and alone! No, no! not yet alone! There 
 sits, bending over that rough table, Mary, my wile, the only 
 joy of my being. Poor, suffering, aftectionate creature ! There 
 she sits, hungry, cold, and with her pillow an unplaned board! 
 And who brought her down from the sunshine, the warmth, 
 the luxury and the pleasure of life? Who dragged her from 
 the hearts of loving kinsmen and friends, and from the com- 
 forts and happiness of a titled English home? VVho brought 
 her from downy beds and velvet carpets, to the wretchedness 
 and starvation'of this miserable garret? I— 1— I did it! It 
 is I, myself, alone, who is accountable for all ! I, the worst 
 villain on the face of the earth, — a creature so base as not to be 
 classed among the race of men! Oh, that I had rushed from 
 the drunkard's toils, from the gambler's snare, when I lirst 
 felt myself becoming entangled in their meshes ! But I falter- 
 ed, procrastinated, halted ; from that moment I yvas lost ! 
 Tr.en Rum, the demon of my former lite, rose up before me, 
 grasped me by the throat, and drew me on, on, until here I 
 find myself a curse to my own being, and, Avorse than that, a 
 curse to those I love! [Goes to the lire.] What! the h re 
 almost out ? Harry not yet returned ? and no fuel ? Oh, 
 Mary ! Mary ! What a wretch I am ! 
 
 Mary — (Starting up) — Who called? Arthur, you up? How 
 haggard you look ! We cannot stand this a great while longer. 
 
 Sir A — What ! Mary, love, you are not beginning to stagger 
 beneath the pressure of adversity? Oh, if your strength fails 
 you ! if you fall ! ' 
 
 Mary— 1^0, Arthur; I am your wife, and 1 will never fail 
 you. I am she who first saved you ; 1 will save you again. 
 The storm may sweep down as it will, the waters of the world's 
 neglect, and the f^urges of misery may pour over us, but wo 
 will stand folded in each other's arms, and, remembering the 
 deeds of mercy we have accomplished in happier days, Ave will 
 gaze with hopeful eyes into the face of heaven, where is writ- 
 ten the blessed assurance to those who have cast their bread 
 upon the waters: " Thou shalt find it after many days." 
 
 [Enter Harry L. He carries a bundle of sticks and a 
 package of food.] 
 
 Mary — There, Arthur, we already behold the first streaks of 
 the breaking dawn. Well, Harry, throw some wood \i\>on the 
 fire, and then tell us the history of the day. 
 
 Harry — Only, dear sister, the history of another struggle. 
 [He places part of the wood upon the fire.] 
 
 Sir A — Come, Harry ; if you have brought aught to stop 
 
the knawings of hunger, spread it out. 
 
 ^^/.;.y_(Opemng the bundle on the table, C)— It is ii(H 
 much of a treat ; only some bread and cheese dearly earned b^ 
 carrying coal up three flights of rickety stairs, ' ' . ' !^ 
 
 Mary — Poor Harry 1 alas that our pitiablie sitilatidn has' 
 called on you to perform such menial service ! ' ''' 
 
 [All sit around the table, eating.] ' 
 
 Mary—ThQ fire burns cherrily, and starvation is driven from 
 our door. So, you see, Arthur, hope still claims her realm, 
 for life has a longer lease. ^ ' , ' 
 
 Sir A—1 don't see how you keep up -mm^Ax a smiling heart. 
 I can't do it, though I am a man. 
 
 Mary — It is in times of adversity that, woman shows her 
 strength. Moral forces, when the test comes, prove them- 
 selves more powerful than the physical. 
 
 Sir y1— Brave hearts! brave hearts! You are both brave 
 hearts ! But, Mary, there is no use in trying. I am sinking 
 dov;n, down, and 1 knoAV it. The straw you throvv' me floats 
 on the water, but I have not the faith to believe it can save 
 me It is hut a straAV, — a little, virtueless straw. 
 
 3Iary — What, Arthur? Faith virtueless? No, no. Faith 
 is the only ladder that reaches from earth to heaven, and 
 every round possesses the virtue of sa'vation. 
 
 /S'i> ^—Then mount, Mary, mount. 1 have not the strength 
 to accompany you, but I may sit in my misery and gaze up- 
 ward as you rise into the glory and the gates of that joy your 
 faith creates. 
 
 Mary — Arthur! 
 
 i/arry— (Places more wood on the fire)~See, brother, how 
 brightly the fire burns. You are cold and hungry no longer. 
 Cheer up ! Brighter times may be nearing fast, and perhaps 
 we will see old England again before we die. 
 
 Sir A — England ! England ! Oh, that I had never left thy 
 shores! This cursed America has been my ruin! and my ruin 
 is the ruin of those I love! 1 am way in the gloom — lost! 
 lost ! [He throws himself down on the cot. Mary and Harry 
 move to L.] 
 
 il/ari/— Cheer him up, brother. I am afraid that relief will 
 be so slow that it will arrive too late. But ive must hold him 
 on to life, for he has not the heart to struggle for himself. 
 
 Harry — And I, too, am half unnerved for the fight. 
 
 Mary — Your strength is not failing you ? 
 
 Harry — No, not failing; but my heart received such a shock 
 this morning as brought it to a halt for a time. 
 
 Miry— Some unfeeling brute insulted you when you applied 
 to him for work or help V 
 
 Harry — No ; the blow did not fall from the hands of a man, 
 but it was struck by a woman. 
 
 Mary — A woman ? 
 
19 
 
 Harry — Listen. You kaow I loved, ardently loved, my alii- 
 anced, Mis3 Stockbi'idge, and I honestly believed my aftection 
 was returned in even a greater degree. How often did she' 
 tell me that she loved me for myself alone; that ray wealth, 
 connections, position, were no spurs to her attachment- Since 
 the cloud has covered our house, I had not met her until this 
 morning. Hurrying along the street in quest of work, I sav/ 
 her approaching, fehame whispered me to turn away^ that she 
 might not discover me ; desire bid rne meet her to the face 
 and brave my unknown fate. I neared her; brushed her side; 
 she glanced across my face as over the features of a stranger, 
 hurried on, passed iuto the crowd, and was gone. Oh, shame 
 upon me, that for so false a creature, I turned our Kittie Sun- 
 beam and her venerable father out in the pitiless world ! 
 
 il/c/;-?/— Weep not over this last blow. Rather should you 
 rejoice that you have discovered in time the falsehood and m- 
 lidelity that might have made your life bitter and burdensome 
 to the lost. 
 
 Sir A — (Springing up) — Yes, yes ; rejoice ! laugh ! dance ! 
 For heaven's sake, let some mirth come into our miserable 
 abode, or I will go crazy with grief! 
 
 Harry — Calm yourself; you will truly unsettle your uiind if 
 you give up to your misery. 
 
 Sir yl— Give up to my misery ? Give up? What else can 
 I do but give up, when I am deserted by fortune, — deserted by 
 society,— deserted bv all the world, — deserted by God ! 
 [Mary at C. ^Sir Arthur, R. 0. Harry, L. C] 
 
 il/«/7/— (Falling on her knees) — Stay! stay! thou record i no- 
 angel on high ! On my knees I implore thee not to write that 
 fearful sentence in thy book ! My husband spake the cruel 
 words,— it was the raving of despair. Oh, Arthur, [rising] 
 deserted by all the world,— deserted by all its comforts, — but. 
 not deserted by our Father who art ia Heaven! He will 
 never forsake us.. 
 
 [A knock is heard at the door, L] 
 
 Harry— Some one knocks ! Who can it be ? 
 
 Mary — I know not who could seek us in so wretched a place 
 but the angel of death. 
 
 [The knock is repeated.] 
 
 Harry — Come in. Nothing is barred from entering here but 
 happiness. 
 
 [Enter L.' old Adam and Kittie. They look about the 
 room in horror.] 
 
 Mary — Kittie ! old Adam ! 
 
 Harry— How !| 
 
 Mary — Thank CJod! He has heard our desiros^ and sends 
 our long lost Sunbeam to dispel the darkness. 
 
 Harry — (Aside) — How can I look them in the face ? 
 
 Sir J:— (Coming forward) — My dear friends, servants no 
 
30 
 
 longer, wLy, why are you here? Is it as w'itiiesses of the pun- 
 ishment of those who have done you a foul injustice? 
 
 Achjn— Oh, master, master ! Alas that I have lived to Sfce 
 the downfall of the family I have served for well nigh sixty 
 years ! This wretched scene will break my heart ! 
 
 A'i'ftle—iSweeU darling mistress ! 
 
 Alan/ — Kittie ; wronged, but loving us yet ! [Mary and 
 Kittie foil in each other's arms.] 
 
 Harry — How great is the mercy of Ueaven, that to the 
 wicked' as well as to. the good, is sent the angel of light ! 
 
 Kittie — Mister Harry, I beg you not to class yourself with 
 the wicked. 
 
 //rt/'H/— Not after the commital of that act I blush to ac- 
 knowledge ?j 
 
 JvUtie—^o ; for my ambiguous conduct was sufficient excuse 
 for all you did. 
 
 //am/— Nothing, can extenuate my error. You could no'^ 
 have committed a wrong, even though I cannot fathom 
 your strange action, for if you had shame would have kept 
 you far from here. 
 
 Kittle — Mistcu* Harry, — really — I 
 
 Harnj — l wish no explanation now. At some future time, 
 when misery presses more leniently upon us, you may give it 
 it you see fit. All I ask now is pardon for my deed. 
 
 )uUie — It is yours as freely as I hope heaven forgives me. 
 
 Mary — All is forgiven and forgotten. 
 
 Adam — AVe have come, dear master and mistress, to serve 
 you as we were wont to do of old. 
 
 Mary— Yon are faithful servants ; but I fear your hearts 
 will fail you when you have to partake of our fare. 
 
 Kittie —Oh, no, dear mistress; we are neither afraid or 
 ashamed to accept the same fate prepared for you. Beside, 
 father, though aged, is strong and healthy, and can assist in 
 earning a betteT livelihood for all. Then, too, a little sun- 
 beam entering in is sure to dispel a deal of gloom and sad- 
 ness. 
 
 M-dni — Kittie, you are a true sunbeam ; your presence is so 
 warm, so cheering. Novv' I know why it was all the poor of 
 our parish so loved you. 
 
 Kittie — Sir Arthur, [offering him a purse] here is a hundred 
 dollars, the savings from the wages you gave me. So you see 
 we will not suiter starvation just yet; and as to despair, that 
 is a feeling we will never know so long as life beats in our 
 hearts and heaven is spread above our heads. 
 
 Sir A — Mary, when I see your faith so speedily followed by- 
 help of money and able hands, I begin to believe that Provi- 
 dence does answer the petitions of the trustful: 
 
 Mary— Oh, Arthur, if you arrive at full faith, then will the 
 loss of our property be far more a boon than a misfortune. 
 
in 
 
 Adam—l will commence my dutie.-? by piling more wood 
 npon the fire, for it is almost as cold here in the dove-cote of 
 Linden Copse Hall. 
 
 Harriz—Thh is the dove-cote, old Adam ; and Kittle Sun- 
 beam is the dove. 
 
 [A loud knock on door L.] 
 
 Sir A — Come in! Perhaps another invoice of good fortune 
 has arrived. 
 
 [Enter L, Tucksberfy, Klakesley and SLonccasUe, dis- 
 ) guised as in Act II.] 
 
 7\ic/:8 — (Aside to his friends)— It is all true! Just as we 
 were told I Here really i>. my lord of V\'oodville and Us 
 charming family ! ' ' 
 
 Sir A — What! my two clerical acquaintances and the gam- 
 bler who proved my ruin ! 
 
 3fari/ — What brings them here ? 
 
 Harry — Shall we put them out? 
 
 Adavi—\t?^, master Harry, let's at 'em! My British blood 
 boils over at prospect of thrashing the rogues ! Ah — h— h you 
 villains ! 
 
 Sir A — Have a care old Adam ! Keep cool till we learn 
 their business. i*- 
 
 Tucks — (Aside to his friends) — Ila! ha! this is pleasant! 
 delightful ! A fitting abode for my lord! We have him caged 
 at last where he will trouble us no more. And now that our 
 eyes have assured us we can return to England with no fears 
 for the future. 
 
 xS'/^o/ie —There's tliat devlisli woman again! I'm afraid of 
 her ! A perfect tigress v.'hen you get her at bay ! 
 
 Blah — This is quite a pleasant resort for my lord of \\\>od- 
 ville. A little cool, however, for this winter weather. 
 
 Tuchs—dwii right) to keep Ids temper low. 
 
 Sir A — Well, have you yet taken in all the misery and 
 squalidness ol my abode ? A fev/ second's gaze I should think 
 sufficient to master the situation. 
 
 Tachs — Ah, my lord, this is misery indeed; misery of the 
 deepest character. What an impressive lesson to all Ikose in- 
 fatuated wretches Avho dally with the cup and meddle with 
 cards and dic«. 
 
 Blah — What a commentary on tlic fearful habits of gambling 
 and drinking. 
 
 Mir?/— Hard-hearted strangers, you speak those words which 
 even I, his wife, refrain from uttering. Shame upon you, for 
 so goading a fallen brother. If all you bring here are upbraid- 
 ings, the sooner you betake yourselves to the street, the better 
 for us all. 
 
 Adam—Yiis, you preacher:;! you thieving gamblers! if you 
 have come here to insult our dear master, you hare got to 
 brave British hearts, and encounter British fists ! 
 
7\ich— Vance, peace, you hoary man of wnw We come 
 here on no mission of battle. Our errand 
 
 Manj -l^, to render my opinion, 
 
 ^S'?:onc— No, don't do it! We don't care to hear your opinion ! 
 
 Manj—l cannot be mistaken ! I am not ! Ah, no ; I recol- 
 lect too vividly the three evil spirits who in the caloi and 
 beautiful English morning appeared at Linden Copse, rising 
 upon the scene like thunder clouds, spreading broader an(i 
 blacker over the earth, encroaching upon the light, ri.*ing 
 higher and higher in the sky, hiding the sun, shutting out at 
 last all the view, and leaving me, my' husband, all my dear 
 Aiies, enshrouded in the blackest night. 
 ^aS'/o?^-?— Discovered, by Jupiter I 
 
 jMaru — And now, when the storm is at its height. Avhen tlie 
 darkness is terrible, like bolts of lightning you flash upon us, 
 making still deeper the vroe that wraps us all about. 
 
 Sir yl~( Aside) — Was I such a fool ! Are these men • 
 
 No, I could never have been so bliinl : -What does Mary 
 
 mean 
 
 Marij — I see tliose three strangers from i.ondoit, an it were, 
 coming through the gate at Lintlen Copse. The three lawyer^-, 
 — the will of old Sir Ralph in their -hands. Those three men 
 were you! Yes, j^ou! I know your faces, recognize' your 
 build, your manners! I am not mlstakeu I You are the 
 tliree gamblers from London, who ruined my husband, drove 
 him from his estates; followed hiin to this city, — ensnared 
 him the second time, — aroused all his okl passions for drink 
 and play. Pushed him on; followed him up, -until at last, 
 liere you have him, in the bottomless pit, — bankrupt, crushed, 
 "utterly ruined, — yes, dead ! 
 
 Tucks — My lady, your penetration is superb ! We have the 
 honor to present ourselves before you in proper person, bid- 
 ding you farewell [The three gamblers throw oti' their dis- 
 guise.] 
 
 Sir A — TueksbeiTY ! Llakesley ! Stonecastie ! T;;e three 
 fiends who have tormented me through life ! 
 
 Mary — Oh, Heaven help us ! 
 
 Ifarry — What ? The three London gamblers ! 
 
 Adam — (Aside) — Now, the Lord give me strength, antl I will 
 rout them, — Jack, Queen and King, — Horse, guards and foot. 
 
 Kittic~The three villains who came with the sherifl'and the 
 writ of ejectment, and put us out of Linden Copse Hall! 
 
 Tucl:s—ThQ same, my pretty lassie. I did not doubt but 
 you, my lord and lady, would recognize us so soon as you 
 should look us square in the face. I assure you, we will often, 
 with joy, call to mind this happy parting as we enjoy the lux- 
 uries of our Kentish mansion. Farewell, my lord ; we hope 
 your health and happiness Vvill sutler no abatement. 
 
83 
 
 Sir A — Villains! you have ruined me across the water, 
 tracked me to Araeaica, where I thought at least, 1 should be 
 beyond your reach, and here with remorseless hand have thrust 
 me down, down into this bottomless pit of woe ! Is not that 
 enough, without this visit, these taunts! Oh, this is dreadful! 
 dreadful ! [He reels up stage and falls on the cot.] 
 
 Adam — Poor Sir Arthur! 
 
 Tucks— iStoney, where is that bottle of whisky? Put some 
 of it to Sir Arthur's lips. It will do him good. [Said aside.] 
 
 Stone— {Taiking a bottle from his pocket unseen by the others) 
 —Here it is. [He goes up to the cot and hands the bottle to 
 Sir Arthur, who looks at it with a vacant stare. This is only 
 seen by the gamblers.] 
 
 Blak—^ily lady, pardon us; really we did not intend this 
 deplorable scene. 
 
 Tucls — In truth, my lady, we did not anticipate 
 
 3/rtry— Ko, of course you did not dream of such a conse- 
 quence following your course ! You did not anticipate this 
 living death, as the result of your hellish machinations ! I 
 believe you once slunk from the gate of Linden Copse Hall at 
 my bidding ! then betake yourselves from here, for though 
 you are the wealthy, and I am as poor as the lowest beggar in 
 the s'reet, still this is my castle, and the outraged soul of a 
 true and virtuous woman burns within me! Begone! Seek 
 your Englisti home ! Enjoy, if you can, the riches you have 
 stolen fro'm my husband ! But I assure you that amid all 
 your seeming comforts and luxuries, conscience will gnaw 
 every grain of happiness from your lives, and night and day, 
 asleep or awake, pictures of this squallid garret, of that 
 wretched man on yonder cot, of all this loss, ruin and misery, 
 will continually present themselves before you, making your 
 Uvea miserable, your deaths wretched. Begone ! Enjoy your 
 ill-gotten gains ! But leave us here alone ! We do not want 
 your presence, — no, not for an instant ! You pollute this gar- 
 ret, miserable as it is ! We cannot breathe while you are 
 here. Begone! begone! [The three gamblers skulk out 
 through door, L ] 
 
 Adam — Ah, master Harry! the tongue is mightier than the 
 fist. May the Atlantic roll over them mountains high! 
 
 [Sir Arthur has been gazing at the bottle, which he 
 turns in his hands. The backs of all the charac- 
 ters are turned to him.] 
 
 Sir A - (To himself) — They are gone ! Thank God they are 
 gone I All are gone, — riches, life, hope, are gone! No one is 
 with me but you, my old companion, [to the bottle] the friend 
 of my London days ! You used to help me then to throw 
 aside the hand of the demon of despair. Oh, help me now, 
 for I need help— need it terribly ! 
 
34 
 
 [He raises the bottle to his lips and is just in the act of 
 drinking, when AJary turns and perceives him. She 
 springs and grasps the bottle from him.] 
 
 Mary — Arthur, would you ruin your soul, lose all your 
 prospect of heaven, as well as be ruined for this life ? Is not 
 your misery great enough as it is, without draining that terri- 
 ble woe that lays at the bottom of the cup ? Oh, Arthur, 
 would you irretrievably tie me to the disgrace of being a 
 drunkard's wife, and bring upon yourself the shame of a 
 drunkard's grave? Oh, be a true, brave, honorable man I 
 Dare to do right! Fling away the cup, w^ork hard for an hon- 
 est livelihood, and all will yet be well. But never touch the 
 bottle again, unless you desire to see the wife who loves, who 
 adores you, fade and fall into the grave. From liquor you 
 <;an gain no strength to nerve you against this fearful woe ; 
 but only fire that will destroy both body and soul. 
 
 Sir —Oh, Mary, with all your pleadings, with all the prompt- 
 ings of my conscience, which ever tell me to turn my back 
 upon the demon of strong drink, and to say to him, " Get thee 
 behind me, Satan," still, at tne slightest temptation, an irre- 
 *5istible impulse within me seizes all my powers, and hurries 
 the cup of death to my lips Great Heaven ! I fear I can 
 never resist the cravings of liquor ! Oh, that I could ! This 
 has gone too far! lis it inevitable that I should fill a drunk- 
 ard's grave? Great God, avert it ! Oh, that I could stop ! 
 
 ilf«?7/— Arthur, you. can. It is not too late. Take a vow 
 now, this minute, before your God, your wife, your fellow men, 
 that you will never again raise the cup to your lips. If my 
 prayers and your own conscience avail not to make you resist 
 temptation, tie this red ribbon in the button hole of your coat, 
 — a badge that you dare acknowledge the glorious cause of 
 temperance, — that you dare be a man, — that you dare attempt 
 a reformation, — and every time the temptation of drink comes 
 upon you, look upon this ribbon, and God will remind you of 
 your vow, and give you strength to resist. 
 
 Sir A ~1 fear, Mary, I should never succeed. 
 
 Mary — Try. That is the germ of success. Make the attempt. 
 We will assist you, — I, your wife, and Kittie 
 
 Harry — Yes, and I, your brother. 
 
 Adam — And faitlifuf old Adam. We will all help you, Sir 
 Arthur. 
 
 Sir A — Oh, Mary, and all my dear ones, and you all will 
 all stand by me? You will all counsel me, cheer me up? 
 With such help he would be a coward ijideed, who recoiled 
 from the attempt. If I should try 
 
 Mary— Yon will win! You will come off victorious. Do 
 not think of i/s. Have no such thing as failure in your 
 thoughts ! Dare to do right! Be a man once again ! Stand 
 
up firmly on your feet ; lift your hands toward Heaven, and 
 implore Him who dwells there, all radiant in love, compass- 
 ion, and tenderness, to stretch down His arms,— those arms so 
 ready to help the penitent, — to your assistance. Try, Arthur, 
 and you will win ! 
 
 Sir ^— Mary, I will I I will struggle,— I will dare,— I will 
 do ! And you will all help nie ? Give me the ribbon. It shall 
 be to me a pledge of reform. I will wear it, Mary, if you 
 wish. Perhaps it Avill be a he' p. 
 
 3fary—And as I place the ribbon upon your breast, may it 
 ever remain there to ward off all evil and temptation, even as 
 the cross upon the bosom of the Knight Templar of olden 
 times. 
 
 Adam— Rmmh. for the red ribbon I God bless us, every one. 
 [Mary ties the red ribbon in the button hole of Sir Ar- 
 thur's coat. 0:d Adam seems very happy. Tne 
 others form a group about Si? Arthur.] 
 
 CURTAIL". 
 
AOT IV^ 
 
 Scene 1 — Time, Nighl. A portion of the roof of the House of 
 Parliament, London. Along the bach of the stage 
 runs a heavy stone balustrade, or coping. To L, 
 beyond the balustrade, and connected with the roof 
 by a flight of stone steps, rises a turret The tops 
 of several church sptires are seen in the bachground^ 
 The whole stage appears to he high above the ground, 
 and it seems as though a stone dropped from the 
 right side of the turret ivouldfall into the street far 
 heloio. The ivhole scene is lit up by a full moon, to 
 R. The light and shadows very distinct. Sir 
 James McKensie appears through a scuttle in the 
 roof, looking heated and excited. 
 
 McKensie — At last I can get some air ! This is fresh, delight- 
 ful, cooliBg, •ttbracing! t^:uite a contrast this,— the roof of 
 the House of Parliament,— from the heated chamber below, 
 and this quiet, only the moon and the stars for my compan- 
 ions, from the exciting debate in which I have been engaged. 
 Stupid! stupid! stupid! not to see that eVery limb strength- 
 ened adds so much to the power of the entire body. But I 
 must think no more of the debate, or I will get in such another 
 passion and heat that it will be necessary for me to climb up 
 still higher into the cool air of heaven. Up on yonder turret^ 
 eh? [Pointing to the turret. He then goes to the balustrade 
 and loois over back] Why, now that I look over this balns- 
 trade, down, down, far down into the street below, my head 
 grows dizzy with the sight. What a fearful altitude ! [He 
 climbs to the top of the turret, and sits down, looking over 
 the E. wall of the turret] What a great distance I am above 
 the earth. If I should drop a pebble from where I sit, it 
 would be gone from sight long ere it reached the pavement in 
 its downward course, and the loudest echo of its striking wonld 
 be lost far down in mid air. [He lays over the R. coping of the 
 tower, looking down over the balustrade. Blakesley appears 
 coming up throuG^h the scuttle in center of the stage. He 
 looks cautiously around, holding a long knife in his hand. Soft 
 music ] 
 
 Blak — I cannot be deceived! that thiel, McKensey, must 
 have climbed to the roof. I followed him from the chamber 
 below, — tracked him to the garret, — saw the scuttle open, — 
 came up here, — and here I must meet him, — he cannot escape 
 me ! [Sees McKensey.] Ha ! I am not deceived ! There 
 lies the thief who robbed our bank of sixty thousand pounds! 
 We are alone! He is unarmed ! No cries for help can reach 
 the distant street ! Shall I creep up and stab him in the dark? 
 AVould it not be best to steal up noiselessly behind him and 
 
37 
 
 push him from the turret to the stony pavement ? A terrible 
 fall! But that would expose the murder, and I would be 
 caught before I could fly the building. No, no ! This weapon 
 must prove the agent of my revenge ! 
 
 ■ [He creeps slowly up the steps leading to the tower, 
 and has just gained the top, vrhen McKensey turns 
 upon him.] 
 j/e^—x\ shadow! a man ! and armed ! 
 Blah—Ye9, a m^in ! Look-, and recognize 3^our murderer! 
 McK~The gambler of my London faro adventure! 
 Blak— The same ! Ha ! ha ! Mckensey, we now will have a 
 reckoning ! . 
 
 [They grapple, and a terrible struggle ensues, during 
 which McKensey gains the knife and hurls it from 
 the wall.] 
 />mi— There goes the knife, and you mu?t, follow it ! Over 
 the wall ! Over the wall ! 
 
 [They stagger nearer the coping at R. wa'l of the turret. 
 They struggle fierce'y. Blakesley tries to trip McKensey,, and 
 cast him over At last McKensey, with a desperate strength, 
 forces Blakesley around against"^ the coping, and pushes him 
 over. In falling, Blakesley^catches hold of the outer edge- of 
 the coping, and^hangs outside the R. wall of the tov/er. He 
 is seen in that perilous situation, struggling to raise his t)ody 
 up over the coping. He cannot succeed, and last hangs quiet- 
 Iv. McKensey has sat down on the opposite side of the tower, 
 resting. Music during the strugg'e.J 
 
 3/cA--Thank heaven ! it is over! What a fearful fiecht for 
 life! Shafil I let my opponent swing there until his fingers 
 grow numb, and the muscles of his arms give up their strength? 
 and then to see the tips of his fingers gradually sliding nearer 
 the outer edge of the coping until of a sudden they are gone, 
 and I rush to where they were, and see a whirling mass flying 
 down, down upon the heads of the people below ! 
 BlaJc—Help ! help ! For God's sake help ! 
 McK— The poor fellow cries for help ! And what will he 
 pay for it ? I have him in my power. His life has been one 
 dark record of deepest crime. Every page contains some 
 dark secret, worth perhaps thousands of pounds, maybe even 
 life itself, to some poor victim. I will wring some of this 
 knowledge from him. Existence, even to such a wretch, is 
 worth its' price : then let him pay me for it. 
 
 i?to;j— Help !' help ! McKensey, help ! .. , 
 
 ' McK— A moment ago he would have tr.ken niy 'ife, c-.nd now 
 he needs me to save his. 
 
 /iM-— McKensey, help ! , . ^ -.t 
 
 J/cA"— (Looking over the coping upon him) -Here. 
 BM—Oh, McKensev, I have been your enemy. \ ou can 
 
38 
 
 save me! Oh, aa you value life and home, dear ones and 
 tieaven, give me your hand, and lift me up on the roof! 
 
 3IcK— Yon are my sworn enemy ! You vowed in your gam- 
 bling hell the night I regained the money you fleeced from my 
 «on, to have my life. 
 
 Blak — Yes, yes; but 
 
 3fcK— Yon have watched me ever since then for an oppor- 
 tunity in which you could come upon me unawares, and 
 «tealthily, without a moment's warning, send me to eternity. 
 
 Blak — True; but — but 
 
 3fcK— Yon followed me here,— murder in vour mind. 
 
 Bilk — All true. Sir James ! But for God's sake draw me up ! 
 I can hold on but a minute longer ! Help ! help ! help ! 
 
 3fcK—A minute longer? That is sufficient. I can learn 
 volumes in that length of time. You will vividly call to mind 
 the last time we met, when I left you petrified that the coun- 
 try boor, — the gambler's dupe, — should so suddenly resolve 
 into Sir James McKensey. I told you then that 1 had regain- 
 ed the money you had robbed of my son. But for introducing 
 liim to habits worse than death, you were still enormously in 
 my debt, and that before you should reach the end of your 
 career, you should be brought face to face with me again, 
 v/hen the last farthing of satisfaction should be exacted. You 
 Tern ember ? 
 
 Blak — Yes, yes ; I remember all ! For God's sake, help 
 me up! 
 
 3foK~Jlo\d on just a little longer ! What will you give m© 
 •for life ? 
 
 Blak— Any ihingl everything! Help! 
 
 3IcK—Bnt, my dear friend, you do not possess everything. 
 Offer me something you own. 
 
 Blak— llel^ ! 
 
 3fcK—l^ life is not worth paying for, it is not worth having. 
 You must reward me for what you have been the cause of my 
 losing. 
 
 Blak—1 haye no money! 
 
 3IgK—1 don't want money; though I know you lie. 
 
 Blak—l have no property ! 
 
 J/cX— Secrets ! secrets ! sir. They are what I want ! 
 
 Blak — Secrets ? What secrets ? 
 
 il/cX-— There ! I see you have them ! Out with them ! — the 
 foulest of the list ! 
 
 Blak — Help ! help ! I'm growing weak ! I'll give you the 
 estate of the Woodville's in Kent, if you will draw me up ! 
 
 3IcK-—Th.& old family estate of the Woodville's! the one 
 they loet ! I have heard of the case. But it is owned, I be- 
 lieve, by one Amos Tucksberry. You can't pay me with what 
 you do not possess. 
 
39 
 
 Blak—YGi, I can. Tucksberry has the estate, but lie came 
 to it by fraud, and I can prove it. 
 
 McK— Go on. 
 
 Blak—Draiw me up, and I will disclose all. 
 
 3/c^— No, no, my dear fellow. When I have learned all 
 you know will be time enough for that. Go on. 
 
 Blak — Tucksberry altered a will,— committed a fraud. The 
 estate rightfully went to Sir Arthur. Help! help! 
 
 3IcK— Where is Sir Arthur now ? 
 
 Blak — In New York, America. 
 
 McK— You. swear to the truth of what you have told me ? 
 
 Blak —Yes, yes ! 
 
 [Three police officers suddenly rush on from L ] 
 
 Officer — What is the meaning of this ? Where is the man ? 
 
 McK— Over the coping. 
 
 Blak-Kelp ! help ! 
 
 Officer — We are in time to save him ! Quick ! draw him up I 
 We saw the poor fellow from the street, dangling in the air. 
 A crowd has collected. We hastened up by the stairway in 
 the wing. We arrest you for an attempt at murder. [To McK. 
 
 ilfc^— Not so fast, my dear friends. I am Sir Jame« Mc- 
 Kensey, of Yorkshire, member of the House. The villain 
 hanging over the wall attempted to kill rae. I foiled his at- 
 tempt, and have him where he is not at all dangerous. 
 
 Blak—He^^l help I 
 
 Officer — The poor fellow will fal'. Draw him up. 
 
 i^c-S"— Not until he swears to what I shall put to him. 
 
 Blak — Oh, good men ! help me up ! 
 
 McK— Before great God and these officers of justice, do you 
 make oath that Amos Tucksberry, your accomplice, together 
 with one Stonecastle and yourself, altered and changed a void- 
 able and worthless wil of Sir Ralph Woodville's, so as to come 
 into fraudulent posses ion of the VVoodville estate in Kent ? 
 
 Blak — I swear it. 
 
 McK— {To officers)— You hear him ? 
 
 Officer — We hear. 
 
 itfcA'— Now you are at liberty to save his life if you think it 
 worth the exertion. 
 
 * [The officers proceed to draw up Blakesley. While res- 
 cuing him, Tucksberry and Stonecastle come up 
 through the scuttle. 
 
 Tucks— 1% it Blakesley ? Have they rescued him -? 
 
 Stoyie — What a lucky rescue 1 
 
 jWcA'— (Aside) — The two men of all others on earth whom it 
 i«« most desirable to see ! 
 
 [Tucksberry and Blakesley rush toward the officers. 
 McKensey springs for the scuttle and shuts it down, 
 standing upon it.] 
 
40 
 Tucks— It is Blakesley ! Good heavens ! old boy- 
 
 McK—Yes, gentlemen, the tnan is Blakesley, — your accom- 
 plice. He is under arrest. 
 Tucks — Sir James McKensey ! 
 Stone— The devil ! 
 
 McX— 'Not the devil, but a person just about as undesirable 
 for you to meet. I have just had your friend in a mighty un- 
 comfortable situation, and now it is your turn. To save his 
 life he has turned state's evidence. He tells me of a forged 
 
 will,— of your fraudulent title to Linden Copse Hall,— of 
 
 Stone— F\j ! fly ! Dash him from the scuttle ! 
 
 [Tucksberry and Stonecastle rush for the scuttle, but 
 McKensey stands firm, confronting them.] 
 3fcK— Bold on a little ! Officers, arre-st these men, Tucks- 
 berry and Stonecastle, charged by yonder half-dead creature 
 with having altered a will, and fraudulenlly gained an estate 
 in Kent. 
 
 Tucks — Two to one! There can be niitinng marie by resist- 
 ance. Stoney, I guess we are in for it. 
 
 Stone— Yes, in for twenty years at hard labor. 
 
 [Before this the officers had descended with Blakesley 
 
 from the tower. Handcuffs are now put on the 
 
 three prisoners.] 
 
 McK—Now, gentlemen, march away. I think we will iind 
 
 the stairway in the wing easier of descent. I struck the iron 
 
 when it was hot, and the sparks may light the Woodvilles 
 
 back to England and happiness. March away ! 
 
 [Exit the three prisoners and the officers, follov/ed by 
 McKensey.] 
 
 SCKNK Jl~~ The flat iti fivnt grooocs. A si imletl avenue leading to 
 Linden Co2?sc Hall. Lively dancing rmimc is Jieard 
 ojf L. Enter L. U. E., John, attired in koliday 
 oostume, with an abundance of gay ribbons on his 
 hat and clothes. He is playing a toaltz on his violin, 
 and dancing around to his own music. He appears 
 exceedingly happy, and occasionally sings out Hur- 
 rah ! Lfurrah ! keeping tune with the wal% 
 
 John — (Stopping his dance and taking off his hat, with which 
 he fans himself,) — Oh, I'm so bappy ! happy ! My spirits are 
 as gay as the lark ! And my legs ! Oh, my legs ! I can't keep 
 them still ! They will jump ! they will dance I AVell, legs, 1 
 won't scold you a bit ; dance and be merry as much as you 
 like. ' I will take good eare tp keep the rest of myself above 
 you ; so whirl round and round as you please. We will all 
 dance together, — body, and head, and arms ; yes, and the old 
 fiddle, too, that has not uttered a note before since dear Sir 
 
41 
 
 Arthur, and his sweet lady, and Master Harry, with old Adam 
 and pretty little Kittie Sunbeam lelt here for that unlucky 
 America, — bad fortune to it,— where my lord was swindled 
 out of all his property, and forced to beg his bread. And to- 
 day they all come back ! Hurrah! hurrah! But I must not 
 be fooling away the time, for I am out of practice, and have 
 duties to perform in the festivities, — playing for the dancers, 
 and calling off, too. Let me see: " Salute partners," — now 
 forward all,— form a basket! That ain't right,— not right at 
 all. I'll mix 'em ^all up. Kiss partners!" That's right. I'll 
 keep them doing* that change all the while, and kiss every 
 pretty girl I can get a smack at myself, too. And then we go 
 off, in the waltz, whirling away. [Dances about the stage and 
 plays the violin, as before.] Hurrah! hurrah! 
 
 [Enter Ashford, R, gaily attired, and laughing heartily.] 
 
 Ash. — Ha! ha ! ha ! I do believe, John, you're gone mad, 
 stark mad. I've been watching you from behind the big tree 
 there, and never in all my life did I see a lunatic act worse. 
 
 John — Lunatic? Yes, I confess I am a little soft in the head 
 to-day. It is enough to make us all crazy. 
 
 Ash — I will prove myself as crazy as any of you, when I see 
 Sir Arthur and all his dear people taking possession of his an- 
 ciient hall again. 
 
 Joh?i — The hour is almost at hand ; eh, isn't it Farmer Ash- 
 ford ? 
 
 Ash. — Yes; it only lacks a little while of the time set for 
 their arrival. 
 
 Jo/m — Hurrah! hurrah ! And have you all of the arrange- 
 ments complete. 
 
 Ash. — Yes ; all is ready for their reception. The house 
 trimmed in greens from cellar to gable— a repast spread lavish 
 enough to feed all the poor in London — the tenants on the es- 
 tate all on hand, young and o!d, homely and fair, eyeryone 
 tricked out in his gayest holiday attire. 
 
 John— Oh, won'tTit be jolly ! [Dancing.] 
 
 ^sA.— Happier people were never assembled than the gath- 
 ering on the green yonder w^aiting to receive the wanderers. 
 
 JoAn— (Looking off R.) Look how they skip about like 
 ][)uppets at the fair. Wait till this old violin catches them by 
 the heels. 
 
 ^s/i.— And do you know Sir James McKensey, t)f Yorkshire, 
 the brave gentlgnan who collared the three gamblers of the 
 Parliament House? 
 
 John — And had them arrested 
 
 yls/i— And who found out all about the bogus will 
 
 Joh?i— And had the three devils clapped into jail 
 
 Ash— And who was the means of recovering this property 
 and bringing home the Woodvilles, is coming with Sir Arthur ? 
 
John — Yes, so I have heard. 
 
 Ash. — He will be the lion of the day. 
 
 JoAw— What pleaseg me most of all is, that our three sweet 
 villains are now safely caged in Newgate, and they are going 
 to be transported, too. Oh, Masters Tucksberry, and Stone- 
 castle, and Blakesley, you will never keep me up all night 
 again in yon' hall playing my fiddle at your drunken revels. 
 No, no. Instead of dancing Strauss waltzes, you will be 
 tramping to the beat of the Rogue's March, 
 
 Ash. — Sir James comes down with the party from London 
 They wiU be a happy company on the road". 
 
 JoAw— And a happy company is here to greet them, too. 
 And little Kittie Sumbeam, I warrant, is the merriest one in 
 the party, with her lover ; eh, Ashford ? 
 
 Ash. — Oh, yes, I suppose so. 
 
 John— Eh., what? Why, Farmer Ashford, that takes the 
 gilt edge off, does it ? Ha ! ha ! that string works the Punch 
 and Judy, does it ? You aren't quite as happy as you were. 
 You've lost your pretty lassie now, that's sure. The sun- 
 beam is going to shine for the rest of its life in yon great hall, 
 instead of in the little cottage you had hoped it would; eh, 
 Ashford ? 
 
 Ash. — True, true, John. I confess I had a longing for old 
 Adam's pretty child. But Master Harry has claimed her for 
 his own, and he is far more deserving ot her than I am. 
 
 Johi — That's so- 
 
 Ash.— It was right brave and noble in 'Master Harry to re- 
 ward her so gallantly for all her faithfulness and devotion in 
 the gloomy New York days. 
 
 John — And right kind in him to defer the wedding until his 
 return. Wont w^e ring the chimes for him on his wedding day 
 right merrily — ding, dong — ding, dong — ding — ding — d — d — 
 d ! And then the dance ; and this old fiddle ! Hey, how she 
 w'lW squeak! So, and so. (Playing wildly on his violin) 
 Jupiter, that will only be pianissimo to the reality ! 
 
 Ash. — Hush, John. Hark I Do you hear them ! 
 
 [Shouts from without of ^^ Hurrah ! Hurrah f Lively 
 music off R.] 
 
 ^«A.— They're coming ! Hurrah. 
 
 John — Yes, they're coming! See how the crowd rushes 
 wildly down the green to meet the carriages. (Looking off 
 stage, R.) 
 
 Ash. — Came, John ; let us join in a race to meet them. 
 
 Jc>A7r— Now, ready; one, two, three, and off. Hurrah — hur- 
 rah—rah—rah ! 
 
 [Exunt R., running.] 
 
Scene III. — [The front of Linden Copse Hall. The great stair- 
 way leading tip to the main entrance. Over the door 
 is formed of green tho rnotto '' Welcome Home'' 
 Mudic off R., which gradually grows louder. Cheers 
 outside and other noise of gladness. Enter R. E. 
 Sir Arthur, Mary, Sir James McKensey, Harry, 
 Kittle, Adam, Ashford and John, folloiced by a 
 crowd yf peasant Sf boys and girls, all gaily attired. 
 
 ; Sir .(.—Home again. Mary, bow different is the scene from 
 what it was when last we looked upon this noble mansion. 
 Then tears bedewed the cheeks of all these faithful ones, and 
 our faces were set towards a foreign land. Now, smiles and 
 shouts of joyous welcome fill the air, and we arc back to enjoy 
 our own again. 
 
 3fary — Arthur, the moment is so filled with joy and grati- 
 tude, I scarce can speak the words that overflow my heart. 
 
 Yes, we are home again home from all the misery and 
 
 shame that wrapped about us, like the pitchynight, across the 
 water. I never doubted, even in the darkest hour. I loved, 
 and struggled, and had hope, looking forward to the breaking 
 
 of the day. And how gloriously it has broken a golden 
 
 sun within a golden sky. 
 
 Sir A — You had hope, and abo'^t u^ is the reward. 
 
 MgK. — A bright reward, indeed. In all these loving hearts^ 
 in all this hand of welcome so heartily extended, is reward 
 rich enough to pay for a whole lifetime of care and struggle. 
 
 Sir A — And to you, Sir James, are we indebted for this' 
 emancipation trom a garret, from starvation, and from death, 
 and for this restitution of what was so foully wrung from us. 
 
 Mary — Yes, Sir James ; we owe you a debt of gratitude so 
 vast, I fear we never will be able to repay it. 
 
 McK— Don't mention it, — don't mention it. Perhaps after 
 all w^hat I did had little effect upon the result. Perhaps it is 
 a recompense sent by Heaven to reward you all for the heroic 
 struggles, the brave resolves, the amended lives of the New 
 York garret. 
 
 [John at 11. commences to play upon his fiddle, and dance.] 
 
 Sir A — Why, what's the matter, good old John ? 
 
 Joh7i — Oh, my lord, I'm so happy to see the dear old days 
 returned once more, I can't keep quiet. I can control my 
 tongue, but this old fiddle will speak, and my feet will dance! 
 
 Ash — My lord, he has gone ou this way ever since the glo- 
 rious news came that our dear master and mistress were to be 
 with us again. 
 
 Mary — John, dance and fiddle to your heart's content. We 
 have seen so much of sorrow that we can never know too much 
 of joy. You're not too old to be happy. 
 
4i 
 
 Adani—\h, no my lady. I am far older than John, yet in 
 all my life I never felt so much happiness as now. To have 
 lived to walk again upon that very ground which oftimastook 
 the print of my childhood's feet, and to see my lord and lady 
 with their own again, — oh ! I fear that we do not as we should 
 jeturn thanks where they are due. 
 
 Sir A — And here is our little Sunbeam, too, com6 back as 
 bright and happy as she used to be. 
 
 Kiifie — Gh, sir, I never was so h.appy. I never felt my life 
 so bright. You know the sun always shines brightest after a 
 storm. 
 
 jSir A — I think my brother, who keeps so close beside you, 
 has somewhat to do with your joy. 
 
 John — (Dancing) — Kiss partners ! ^'o, that isn't right ! 
 
 Harry — Brother, I confess I made good use of the voyage 
 homeward by making a certain sweet contract with our little 
 Kittle, and I would be as filled with joy as the best of you but 
 for one small cloud upon my spirits. ►Sunbeam knows what it 
 is, and Sunbeam can disperse it. Conn^ Kittie, I once waived 
 an explaration from you, but now I would ask you to dispel 
 this little doubt that dampens my spirit. Come. 
 
 Kittie — Oh, you silly boy ; about tha' letter ? It is shortly 
 told. You know I loved you long, long before we left these 
 happy shores. I could not bear to see you wed that worthless 
 adventuress. The note I found, — hid it in a book upon the 
 centre-table, not wishing it to reach you, as it ""spoke of love. 
 When you demanded the note of me, I could not find it, as 
 the book was gone. 
 
 Mary — Hid it in a book upon the centre-table ! I remember. 
 I abhored that book, and upon tliat unfortunate morning 
 threw it into the fire. 
 
 Kittle — You did! Y^ou threw it in the fire? That dispels 
 the only shade upon my past. I could not produce the note, 
 and as I thought you would not believe, blinded as you were 
 ' by love, but that I had destroyed it in spite of any explana- 
 tion I could give, I preferred to keep silence, and let you draw 
 what inference you would. 
 
 /Zarr?/— Enough. I wronged you, and brought unhappines» 
 upon myself. But 1 shall try to earn your forgivenness, and 
 in your love will I find all that makes the present joyful, and 
 the future welcome. 
 
 Kittie— 1 hope you will not be disappoidted in your antici- 
 pations. If the joy-giving beam of sunshine does not always 
 dance within your life-mansion, it will be because you yourself 
 have darkened all the windows. I shall do my best to light 
 your home. 
 
 Sir A — And may you succeed, as Mary has with me. How 
 love has made, and cheered, and saved me. In the darkest 
 
45 
 
 hour of my trial, wlien, left to myself, I would have drifted 
 into the whirlpool of destruction, your love, Mary, and the 
 love of all these faithful ones about us, held me back. Yes, 
 saved by love ! and many another erring soul might be brought 
 into the harbor of joy and virtue, if those who by the bonds of 
 nature and society are in duty bound to cast the cable of love 
 about him, should do so before he float too far upon the ocean 
 of death. 
 
 Mary — Yes, saved by love I by the love above us, — by the 
 love around us ! But, truly I know, Arthur, that something 
 else, trivial though it seemed, has earned some share of grati- 
 tude. Look upon your breast, where flutters the badge of 
 temperance and reform ; that badge I placed there when stand- 
 ing down in the depths of despair, you vowed never to look 
 upon the wine when it moveth in the cup. That badge has 
 been your guardian angel,— ever reminding you of duty and 
 virtue. It has been the humble means of warding off tempta- 
 tion, and bringing you from darkness into light. Yes, saved 
 by love and the red ribbon ! 
 
 Sir vl— Small things sometimes are mighty engines of salva- 
 tion to those who dare use them. But, come, let us in. The 
 liiotto in immortal gretn above our doorSays "Welcome Home." 
 John — (Dancing) — Forward all ! 
 ^W— Hurrah! hnrrah ! " , 
 
 Mary — Thank you all lor this sweet chorus of welcome And 
 at last, when we have wandered df>wn to the distant verge of 
 life, may the united voices from the happy other land swell 
 forth to give us each anrl all a welcome to those courts whose 
 sweetest name is Home, which have no place or colfier strange 
 or foreign, but where all is Home, Home forever! 
 
 [Sir Arthur and Mary move towards the great stairway^ to the 
 house, followed by all the characters, farmers, maids, etc.] 
 
 CTXKTAIK — END, 
 
,ciKf-: ;v;A-r.-i 
 
UBBABVOFCONGBESS 
 
 017 401303 2