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!«B!:*<!?»^^ 
 
 SERQEL'S 
 
 Dramatic Dialogues 
 
 sJ CM lCf\GOG ^^ 
 
 THEDRAMATIC PUBLISHING -COMPANY. 
 
PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS 
 
 FOR 
 
 PRIVATE THEATRICALS 
 
 By W. D. EMERSON. 
 
 Author of "A',Country Romance," **The Unknown Rival.*' "Hujo 
 blePie/\etc, 
 
 Price, 25 cents. 
 
 Here is a practical hand-book, describing in detail all the ao» 
 
 eessories, properties, scenes and apparatus necessary for an ama- 
 teur production. In addition to the descriptions in words, every- 
 thing is clearly shown in the numerous pictures, more than one- 
 hundred being inserted in the book. No such useful book haa 
 ever been offered to the amateur players of any country. 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 Chapter I. Introductory Remarks. 
 
 Chapter II. Stage, How to Make, etc. xn drawing-roomi 
 Dr parlors, with sliding or hinged doors. In a single large roonu 
 The Curtain; how to attach it, and raise it, etc. 
 
 Chapter III. Arrangement of Scenery. How to hangifc 
 Drapery, tormentors, wings, borders, drops. 
 
 Chapter IV. Box Scenes. Center door pieces, plain wings, 
 door wings, return pieces, etc. 
 
 Chapter V. How to Light the Stage. Oil, gas and electric 
 lights. Footlights, Sidelights, Eeflectors. How to darken the 
 Dtage, etc. 
 
 <;hapter VI. Stage Effects. Wind, Kain, Thunder, Break- 
 big Glass, Falling Buildings, Snow, Water, Waves, Cascadea^ 
 Passing Trains, Lightning, Chimes, Sound of Horses' Hoofs, Shots, 
 
 Chapter VII. Scene Painting. 
 
 Chapter VIII. A Word to the Property Man. 
 
 Chapter IX. To the Stage Manager. 
 
 Chaj»ter X. The Business Manager. 
 
 Address Orders to 
 
 THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANV. 
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
Sergel's 
 Dramatic Dialogues 
 
 SELECTIONS FOR AMATEUR AND 
 
 PARLOR THEATRICALS AND 
 
 SCHOOL EXHIBITIONS 
 
 Copyright, igo^, by The Dramatic Publishing Company. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
 
UBFxAf^Yof COiMQRcSS 
 Two Copies i-lcceivea 
 
 DEC 30 t3U4 
 
 Copyrieni tntrif 
 
 CUSS CK XXc. Noi i 
 
 COPY B. 
 t^--"^^ ^ 
 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 SERGEUS DRAMATIC DIALOGUES 
 
 PAGE, 
 
 i'aming a Tiger Adapted from the French. 5 
 
 (Three Male Characters.) 
 If I Had a Thousand a Year J. M. Morton. IS 
 
 (Four Male and three Female Characters.) 
 A Model of a Wife Alfred Wiegan. 13 
 
 (Three Male and four Female Characters.) 
 Flowery Signals J. P. Wooler. 54 
 
 l^Two Female Characters.) 
 The Schoolmates J. M. Morton. 56 
 
 (Two Female Characters.) 
 A Spy upon a Spy Wilkie Collins. 61 
 
 (Two Female Characters.) 
 
 An Artful Dodge Felix Dale. 63 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 Snapping Turtles J. B. Buckstone. 63 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 A Lady s Wager J. M. Morton. '. 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 A Bargee's Murder T. W. Robertson. 72 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 The Pretty Horse-Breaker William Brough. T ; 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 The Jewess's Curse G. 8. Gheltnam. S i 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A Slight Mistake .' ' J. S. Coyne 85 
 
 (One Male and one Female Cliaracter.) 
 A Happy Pair S. T. Smith. 89 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 Catherine Howard Alexander Dumas. 94 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 A Model Policeman Fred. Hay. 98 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 Tn a Tight Place J. M. Morton. 102 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 
 Locked in With a Lady H. R. Addison. 107 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 Sir Simon Simple H. J. Byron. 112 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character ) 
 A Household Fairy. . . -. Francis Talfourd. 115 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 The Hour Come. Palgrave Simpson. 119 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 
 A Rebel's Wife Tom Taylor. 122 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 
 Birds in a Cage • J. P. Wooler. 125 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 Which of the Two ? J. M. Morton. 130 
 
 (One Male and one Female Character.) 
 
 The Story of a Life Lord Lytton. 133 
 
 (One Male and Two Female Characters.) 
 
 A Business Man H. J. Byron. 130 
 
 (Two Male and one Female Characters.) 
 
 Misery Loves Company J. S. Coyne. 140 
 
 (Seven Female Characters,) 
 
TAMING A TIGEE, 
 
 SCENE. — An apartment in the house of Mr. Chutnee, <foor« r. and L. 2 
 E., door c. ; window c. L., to open, overlookimj a garden with gate, C. 
 Tables R. and L. ; on table r. h., a gun, shot-belt, powder-horn, etc. 
 Writing materials, check book, etc. The furniture good but old-fashioned. 
 
 Jacob discovered dusting, etc., humming an air, A loud laugh heard by 
 workmen at back. 
 
 Jacob. Good gracious ! I thought it was master ! though there's little 
 danger of being troubled with him before nine o'clock, as lies fast asleep 
 — with one eye open — like all wild beasts. He certainly belongs to that 
 class oi animals, and no mistake. He's a brute, a perfect tiger ; but 
 that's not very surprisiug, when we recollect that he was born, bred, 
 and brought up in Bengal; which countiy I've heard say, produces the 
 finest tigers in tiie world. What can make him so savage? His love of 
 solitude, perhaps. I declare it's horrid to see a person shunning all 
 mankind in such a way ; and when I leflect that I've been here for six 
 months, in this animal's cage — although it certainly is a cage in which 
 one gets some nice pickings, still I'm tired of it. 1 am only allowed out 
 once a fortnight, and all the rest of the time cooped up within four walls. 
 It's horrible! I won't stand it any longer, I'm resolved I'll give him 
 warning ! Ill do it, the very first time I catch him in a good humor j al- 
 though he is a tiger on two legs, Tm not afraid of him. 
 
 Chutnee {callimg without, R. d.). Jacob! 
 
 Jacob (trembling). Eh ! here he comes. Now for it! 
 
 Hitter Chutxee, r. h. door. 
 
 Chut, {ahoays brusquely and sharply). Jacob ! 
 
 Jacob. Here, sir. 
 
 Chut. What does all this sinning and laughing mean *? «, 
 
 Jacob Laughing, sir! (.smotts/y) There's nobody laughing here, sir. 
 
 Chut. Where then 1 {loud laughing and singing heard at a short distance) 
 Do you hear that '? 
 
 Jacob. Oh, I see ! Don't you know, sir 1 
 
 Chut. Know what? 
 
 Jacob. Old Mr. Tomkins, your landlord, has sent a lot of men to white- 
 wash the ceilings. 
 
 Chut. Whaf? 
 
 Jacob. And new paper the rooms. 
 
 Chut. Whati ,_, . 
 
 Jacob. And repair the roof. 
 
6 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Chut. What 7 
 
 Jacob. And paint the house. 
 
 Chut. What! — whitewash, paint, paper! I won't have it. I didn't 
 ask him to do it. It shatft be done ! I'll remain as I am. 
 
 Jacob. But, sir, for all the nine years you have been here it has never 
 been touched, and — 
 
 Chut. Hold your tongue (crosses to l.). The animal! to dare to white- 
 wash, paper, and paint me 1 Suppose the rooms are a little brown. I like 
 'em ! Go to old Tomkins, tell him to take all his workmen away, in- 
 stantly. I give him till ten o'clock ; if they are not gone by that time, 
 I'll pitch the first one I meet into the fish-pond that stands at the bottom 
 of my garden ! Well, why don't you go 1 
 
 Jacob. Hem ! — the fact is, sir, I only wanted to say — 
 
 CnuT. What 7 
 
 Jacob. Prav don't be angry, sir, I only wish — 
 
 Chut. What 7 
 
 IJacoe. To — to^to quit your service, sir. 
 
 Chut. Quit my service 1 
 
 Jacob. And if you will have the kindness to discharge me, and get rid 
 of me as soon as possible — I should forever be obliged to you, sir. 
 
 Chut. Quit my service 1 Never! never! not tliat lean possibly be 
 worse oft"; for a more idle vagabond never existed, and I ve a horror of 
 you, but still greater horror of fresh faces. I hate 'em, as cordially as I 
 hate fresh paint, fresh paper, fresh whitewash, so you will live and die in 
 my service. 
 
 Jacob. Well, sir, I have no fault to find, I'm sure, only you make a 
 regular jail of the house. 
 
 Chut, {aside, taking him to r.). And you want to change it to another 
 jail. 
 
 Jacob {astonished). Eh 1 
 
 Chut. Close by the Town Hall there's one, where they receive and 
 provide board and lodgings for servants who steal their master's wine, 
 
 Jacob {aside). How the devil did he know that ? 
 
 Chut. If you prefer it, I'll have a room prepared for you there. 
 
 Jacob. Oh, lord ! No, no, sir. {goes up.) 
 
 Chut. Well, well, say no more about it. You are sorry for what you've 
 said, so there let the matter end. Is my daughter awake 1 
 
 Jacob. Yes, sir, Miss Arabella is in the drawing-room. 
 
 Chut, {aside, his whole manner changing to one of affection). Bless her 
 dear heart, I'll go and give her t. kiss, {gruffly) Mind, I'm at home to no 
 body, {going r. h.) 
 
 Jacob. I know, sir, I'll take care. 
 
 Chut. What ! whether I will or not! Paper, paint, whitewash me ! 
 [Thrusting open E. H. door, exits grumbling, 
 
 Jacob. As the garden gate is open, I'll lock this door to make all sure. 
 {locks doorinff,at) There, that'll do. {a knock at the door c.) Eh 1 some one 
 kiocks. {knock again) Whocanitbel {knock again) One of the workmen, 
 pe; haps, {knock again — approaching door) Who's there % 
 
 Beeswing {outside). This is Mr. Chutnee's 1 
 
 Jacob. He's not at home! 
 
 Bees, {outside), I know it. 
 
 Jacob. He never is ! 
 
 Bees. I know it; I wish to speak to his wifeb 
 
 Jacob. He's a widower ! "^ 
 
 Bees. To his mother. 
 
 Jacob. She's dead, too ! 
 
 Bees. To his housekeeper, then. . 
 
 i! 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 7 
 
 Jacob. His housekeeper ! What the deuce can he want with a house- 
 keeper 1 
 
 Bees, Open the door, it is of great consequence. 
 
 Jacob. He seems a civil spoicen person, I'll risk it, for once, {opens door.') 
 
 Enter Beeswing. 
 
 Bees, {gayly). So here I am, then, in the Tiger's lair. This is his den. 
 
 Jacob (r. h.)- Why, bless me, if it isn t Mr. Beeswing. 
 
 Bees. Eh ? what, Jacob 1 
 
 Jacob. The wine merchant's traveller ! 
 
 Bees. Our lively waiter of the Commercial at Cheltenham, {aside) 
 Tills is lucky ! 
 
 Jacob. Good gracious, Mr. Beeswing, what on earth brings you here 1 
 
 Bees Business, Jacob ! I have come to tickle your master's liquid 
 sensibilities ! Do you take ? 
 
 Jacob. Oh, yes ! But do you know him 7 
 
 Bees. By reputation only ; a queer fish, they say. 
 
 Jacob. Fish! He's a heast^ Mr. Beeswing, a regular ferocious wild 
 beast! 
 
 Bees. Never mind, I'll stir him up with a long pole. 
 
 Jacob. If you take my advice, you'll make your way out of his house 
 as soon as possible! 
 
 Bees. Never ! my honor's engaged in the affair! 
 
 Jacob. How 7 
 
 Bees. Well, a party of sixteen of us, all good men and true, some or 
 the choicest spirits on tlie road, were dining together j-esterday, at the 
 Lamb ! I needn't tell you we were all well primed. 
 
 Jacob. No, you needn't tell me that. 
 
 Bees. And when Aurora with her rosy fingers was opening her shut- 
 ters 
 
 Jacob. Aurora ! Have they got a new chambermaid, then — has Betty 
 left. 
 
 Bees. Bless your unsophisticated innocence ! you are not mythologi* 
 cal, Jacob. 
 
 Jacob. No, sir, but you said Aurora— so I thought — 
 
 Bees. Of course you did. But Aurora, at this period of the year, 
 means half-past three o'clock in the morning, Jacob. 
 
 Jacob {trying to comprehend, in vain). Oh! Ah ! Yes! 
 
 Eees. Weil, about half-past three this morning, while we were mutu- 
 ally recounting our exploits and successes, some, while confessing their 
 defeats, mentioned a certain Mr. Chili Chutnee, to whom no one has ever 
 been able to make a sale, and, from whom more than one has had some 
 difficulty in escaping with a whole skin, {imitating) "And I'll bet a case 
 of champagne," said old Jack Barker — you recollect old Jack, with his 
 muibeny cheeks, and his raspberry nose, and his gooseberry eyes, his 
 comedy face, and his tragedy voice 1 
 
 Jacob {laughing). Oh, don't I ! 
 
 Bees, {continuing his imitation). '' I'll bet a case of champagne," said 
 I old Jack, " that even Charley Beeswing, clever as he is — the flower of 
 the vast flock of commercial travellers, as we all allow him to be — I'll bet 
 a case of champagne that even he makes a failure with old (Tliutnee ; and 
 if anybody will bet me two cases to one, I'll take it, that he gets his bones 
 broken into the bargain." " Done," said I, "on both events," — and the 
 wager was noted down amid hurrahs of enthusiasm — and here I am. 
 
 Jacob. I shouldn't like to be in your place, I tell you, he is a perfeci 
 wild beast 
 
8 AIMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Bees. I've travelled all over the world in ray time, and cut wild beasts* 
 claws of all sorts and sizes. I'll tame him. 
 
 Jacob. I don t tliink it. 
 
 Bees. We shall see. After all, what do I risk 1 My corpus — my edi- 
 fice. Well, it is mine! I don't hire it ; I hold the fee simple of it; 
 I have a right to dispose of it as I please. I have relations, it is true, 
 scattered here and there about the world, like dandelions in a hayfield ; 
 but there isn't one of 'em, if my nose was bleeding, would lend 
 me a key to put down my back to stop it, I have a rich old bachelor un- 
 cle in this very town, and yet the animal would never even give me an 
 order for a dozen of port, although he diinks three bottles every day of 
 his life ; so if I choose to run a hazard, what is it to any body 1 
 
 Jacob. Oh, if you don't care about it. 
 
 Bees. You are wrong, I do care to a certain extent. But what I care 
 for infinitely more, is to preserve my reputation as the first man, the 
 cleverest fellow in my profession. Where is this Bengal Tiger 1 
 
 Jacob. With his daughter in the next room. 
 
 Bees. Oh, he has a daughter, has he 1 The Mohican ! Well, I'll wait 
 here till he comes, {sits k. h. table) Jacob, you haven't got a long pole, 
 have you 1 
 
 Jacob. No, sir, but here's this morning's paper. 
 
 Chutnee. {without). Where's to-day's Times, Jacob *? 
 
 Jacob. Oh, mercy there he is I 
 
 Bees. Bravo ! the overture has struck up — the opera is about to begin. 
 It opens with a duet between the trombone and the first fiddle, so you 
 may take your flute out of the orchestra, Jacob. 
 
 Jacob. I will. [Exit Jacob l. d. 
 
 Chutnee enters, (m.grily, r. p. 
 
 Chut. (r. h.). Don't you hear me, you lazy humbug 1 where's my to- 
 day's Times \ 
 
 Bees. (c. presenting it). There it is. 
 
 Chut, {astounded). A stranger here 7 
 
 Bees, {calmhj). Some very interesting news this morning, {introducing 
 a line or tico about whatever happens to be the news of the day.) 
 
 Chut, {always brusquely). Where do you come from ? Who do you 
 want ? 
 
 Bees. I want Mr. Chili Chutnee. 
 
 Chut. Well, my name is Chutnee — well 1 
 
 Bees. I come to propose a matter of business to you. 
 
 Chut. I have left ofi^ business these ten years. . 
 
 Bees, {aside). I'll smooth the animal down a little, {aloud) I am per- 
 fectly aware of that, sir; so brilliant a star as the house of Chutnee and 
 Co. could not disappear from the commercial firmament without it's being 
 remarked at the observatoiy. 
 
 Chut, {aside). That's flattery ! This fellow is a humbug. 
 
 Bees, (aside). He don't bite — he looks as if he could. 
 
 Chut. I'm not easily deceived — I'm up to snufF, sir. 
 
 Bees, {producing snuff-box). Try that, you'll find it good. 
 
 Chut, (pushing it away). No, thank you; be so good as to let mo 
 know plainly, what you want 7 
 
 Bees, {aside). Don't like flattery, eh 7 {aloud) Well, then, I'll tell you 
 plainlv, I want to make a plant on you. 
 
 Chut. Whatl 
 
 Bees. You asked me to speal< plainly — I want to sell you six dozen of 
 champagne, which a customer has returned on my bands, because, he 
 says it is manufactured from gooseberries. 
 
 I 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 9 
 
 Chut. What! Another of the infernal travelling wine merchants. Hark 
 ye, you're a new hand, I fancy, or you must have heard of the sort of 
 treatment you gentry usually meet with from me. 
 
 Bkes. May I inquire ils nature'? 
 
 Chut. I'll set my dogs at you ! 
 
 Bees. (coo%). Oh, indeed! Have you any good ones ? I should like 
 to see them. 1 have dealt in dogs; in fact, I have dealt in almost every- 
 thing in my time. What breed are they 1 
 
 Chut. Bull dogs, sir ! 
 
 Bees. And I'm sure well-bred with so well-bred a master. 
 
 Chut. Death and the devil ! 
 
 Bees. The bull dog is a most interesting animal ; what a mouth he 
 has — what a jaw — what .strength ! I knew one, sir, who would have lifted 
 you off the ground by the hair of your head, in this way. {extends his arm 
 as if to catch Chutnee bi/ the hair, he retreats to r. h. corner.^ 
 
 Chut. Hands off, if you expect to leave this room alive. 
 
 Bees. Leave this room alive ! of course I do. 
 
 Chut. You had better make haste, then. 
 
 Bees. Why so 1 do you suppose I credit all the queer stories they tell 
 about you 1 I don't believe you're a bit more ferocious than other people ; 
 they were afraid of you — I'm not ; that's all the difference. 
 
 Chut. In a word, sir, I believe I am master in my own house ; you 
 have thrust yourself in, unasked, and I have a perfect right to 
 
 Bees. Tell me to leave it; so you have, with politeness. 
 
 Chut. Politeness to a . But so be it. Sir, I have not the honor to 
 
 know you — I have no wish to make your acquaintance. You come to 
 offer to sell me bad champagne ; I don't want any champagne. I hope 
 that is polite 1 so, now be kind enough to quit my premises. 
 
 Bees. Sir, I can refuse nothing to so well-bred a bull-dog — gentleman 
 I mean — and have the honor to wish you a very good morning. 
 
 Chut, (aside). A good riddance. The impudent villain ! 
 
 Bees, {aside, as he goes). If you think you have got rid of me, you old 
 rhinoceros, you are vastly mistaken. Good morning, Chutnee; pray don't 
 trouble yourself to come to the door. You are a good-hearted fellow, 
 I'm sure, Chili ! only a little too warm, Chili, — Ta, ta ! Ta, ta ! 
 
 [Exit Beeswing, d. in p. 
 
 Chut. That is certainly the most impudent fellow I ever met with. I 
 could scarcely keep myself from strangling him — I hate such impudent 
 puppies ! I hate everybody — everybody except my daughter, my dar- 
 ling Arabella, and her I'll lock up — I'll never let her leave the house again. 
 What a fool I was to be prevailed on to let her go on a visit to her old 
 idiot of an aunt at Eastbourne — I knew something would happen — I was 
 sure of it, and so it did, ?' ^ must go and bathe in the sea — all alone — 
 and ventured out too far — slie would have been drowned, if it had not 
 been for a young man, who fished her out and brought her ashore ; there's 
 one comfort, she don't know the fellow who saved her, or else — (o 
 knock at door, c.) Eh 1 Who is that 1 One of those confounded workmen, 
 I suppose, {knock again, much louder.) 
 \ Chut, {brusquely). Coming — coming ! {opens the door, c.) 
 
 Beeswino ejiters rapidly. 
 
 Bees. Ten thousand apologies for disturbing you I 
 Chut. What ! you again 1 
 
 Bees. Don't get out of temper. I was wrong, I confess It, I own It, 
 and I have come to make the amende houomble. 
 Chut. Make the devil I 
 
10 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Bebs. It was an insult to offer you champagne, and more especially 
 such champagne as that. You were very right to have nothing to do 
 with it. 
 
 Chut. And I was very right to show you the door. 
 
 Bees. Perfectly ! Unquestionably ! 
 
 Chut. Ihen Avhy liave you come back again 7 
 
 Bees. Cliampagne for you ! — a woman's wine. No ! The stuff to suit 
 you, my dear Chutnee, is a very fine, dry old Madeira, and as 1 have 
 some magnificent — 
 
 Chut. Sir ! This time I shan't shouj you out at the door — I shall throw 
 you out. 
 
 Bees, {coolly). What! you, yourself 1 
 
 Chut. Why not 1 
 
 Bees. With those two little thin arms % 
 
 Chut. Yes, sir! 
 
 Bees. Weil, you may be strong. I don't say you are not^ — you are 
 wiry, perhaps, but I haven't fed lately with a pap-spoon. I'm firmly 
 built — healthy biceps ! 
 
 Chut. Do you threaten me 1 Ten thousand devils ! will you get out ? 
 
 Bees. Immediately, if you'll prove to me that you have in your wine 
 cellar any Madeira as good as mine, (rmgs a hell.) 
 
 Chut. What are j^ou doing, there 1 
 
 Bees. Ringing for a bottle of yours, {takes a small table, and places in 
 centre of stage). It is a tournament — a passage of arms between your 
 cellar and my pocket. I open the list, {he takes a pint bottle of Madeira 
 from his pocket, puts it on table, c.) And there's my champion I 
 
 Chut, {seizing the bottle, and about to strike Beeswixo on the head with 
 it). Villain! 
 
 Bees, {seizing, and elevating the table, with which he menaces Ghutjj^e). 
 Ah! 
 
 Enter Jacob, l. 
 
 Jacob. Did you ring, sir! ' 
 
 Chut. No! | 
 
 Jacob. Why surely it is ! this is the gentleman — were you not at 
 Eastbourne 1 
 Bees. I was ! a month ago. 
 
 Jacob. And saved a young lady's life, by jumping into the water. i 
 
 Bees. And what's rather strange, I got very wet on the occasion. fl 
 
 Chut. What, was it this person, who — a ' 
 
 Jacob. Saved your daughter's life 7 Yes, sir, it was, I'm sure of it. 
 Chut. Enough ! {going to Beeswing) Sir! (Beeswing seeing Chutnee 
 approach, raises table as if to defend himself.) 
 
 Chut. You have saved my daughter's life, it appears ! 
 Bees, {aside) The devil's in it, if I haven't got him safe now. / 
 
 Chut. If I had been there such an accident would lie ver have hap- 
 pened •, but no matter for i hat. 
 
 Bees. Turn me out of the house, now, do ! 
 
 Chut. Jacob ! get out. [Exit Jacob, door in flat. 
 
 Chut. Praj^, sir, what commission do you get on your sales 7 
 Bees. Five per cent. net. 
 
 Chut. You will be so good as to send me in five and twenty pounds* 
 worth of Madeira. 
 
 Bees. Certainly! Allow me to make a memorandum of the order. 
 Chut. That will be five and twenty shillings for yourself, which, I be- 
 lieve, is a half-a-crown more than the cost of the Humane Society's gol^ 
 medal. {£&et to k. talk.) 
 
 i 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. U 
 
 Bess, (astounded). Eh 7 
 
 Chut. I'll give you ray check for the amonnt at once, \wrliei check.) 
 
 B££S. {aside). What a queer old crocodile ! I hardly expected that. 
 
 Chut, {comes down). There, sir, is a check for the twenty-five pounds, 
 and now we are quits — good day, sir. 
 
 Bees. That's the way you pay one for saving your daughter's life, is 
 it 1 very well, now then mark my words, I'd lost all traces of your daugh- 
 ter, but now I've found her, I'll marry her; do you hear, old Tiger — I'll 
 be your son-in-law, I ve iuade up my mind. Thank you for your order, 
 Chutnee. (going) The last time I said " Good-bye, Chili," I thought you 
 were confoundedly warm, but now I think you are unnaturally cold. Chili. 
 Ta, ta ! Ta, ta ! [Exit Beeswing, d f , Chutnee holts it. 
 
 Chut, {solus)). I was very right to get rid of him as I did ! There al- 
 ways are crowds of young humbugs saving young girls' lives, just to 
 gain a footing in their father's houses, {knocking at d. f., seizing guny rushes 
 to the table, R. H.) Who's there 1 
 
 Jacob {without). It's I, master, Jacob. 
 
 Chutnee opens the door^ and pulls Jabob in — again fastening the door, 
 
 Jacob. I have been to the landlord, sir. 
 
 Chut. Well 1 
 
 jJacob. And it is impossible to have an answer, sir. 
 
 Chut. Ah ! He does that on purpose to put me in a rage, and to 
 drive me to extremities. 
 
 Jacob. No, sir, nothing of the sort. The poor man is dead. 
 
 Chut. Dead! 
 
 Jacob. Yes, sir, of a perplexity, in the middle of the night — last night. 
 He had a very short neck, just like yours, sir ! 
 
 Chut. I'll — {restraining himself ) But no matter — The point is, how to 
 get rid of these workmen. 
 
 Jacob. You can't, sir ! They mustn't go ! 
 
 Chut. Whati 
 
 Jacob. I've seen the lawyer, who has charge of everything ; he says 
 that the house is being put in order, because the last instructions he re- 
 ceived from Mr. Tomkins were that it was to be sold ; and he can"t stop 
 the repairs without the permission of the heir-at-law. 
 
 Chut. Who is the heir-at-law 1 
 
 Jacob {giving a card). That's his address, sir. 
 
 Chut, {snatching it). Give it to me, fool 1 Donkey, get out — ^leave moi 
 
 [Kicks Mm o/, exit Jacob, R. 
 
 Beeswing appears at window in flat, with a earpenter^s rule in his hand, 
 
 measuring. 
 
 Bees. Three, six, seven feet nine, {takes long strides across the stage.) 
 
 Chut, {nghast). Here again? 
 
 Bees. Ah ! excuse me, don't disturb yourself, merely taking some 
 measures, {coming down) Have you lived in this house long"? 
 
 Chut, {furious). Sir ! this 
 
 Bees. I'm rather afraid its damp, eh 1 
 
 Chut, {restraining himself). Sir, you have saved my daughter'.s life, it is 
 true, but that is no reason why 
 
 Bees. That I should come into your house through the window, I con- 
 fess it ! but I felt ti)at you had most probable locked all the doors. Now 
 tell me upon yonr honor I Is it damp % . 
 
 C2trT.(i»»rt«ft^), Is what danipl 
 
12 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 I Bees, {bawling). This house ! 
 
 Chut, {calling off). Jacob, go and fetch the police. 
 
 Bees, {calling). Jacob ! Your man seems to have got a fit of the 
 Bloes ! 
 
 Chut. What do you mean by that 1 
 
 Bees. What, don't you know what the sloes are 7 Ah, you are no wine 
 merchant. 
 
 Chut. Jacob, Jacob ! {calling.) 
 
 Bees. Why, what's the matter'? When a house is for sale, I believe 
 people hare a right to look through it 1 I'm looking through this. 
 
 Chut. What] 
 
 Bees, {taking a printed hill out of his pochet). Here's the printed bill, 
 *' This House to be Sold," and I think I shall buy it. 
 V Chut. I shall murder this man, 1 know I shall, {calling) Jacob ! 
 
 Miter Jacob, b. 
 
 Bees. Bring coals and wood, Jacob ! 
 
 Jacob {astonished). Coals and wood ! 
 
 Bees. And light a fire ; I want to see if the chimneys smoke. 
 
 Chut, {is furious ; Jacob laughs, Chutnee j»MsAe« him off, r. h. d.) Get 
 out — get out of my sigiit ; I shall kill somebody, shortly. 
 
 Bees. Oh ! I forgot the doors ! are they in good order 1 how do they 
 hang 1 {swinging c. door, backwards and forwards.) 
 
 Chut. I should like to see you hang ! 
 
 Bees. Pretty well — pretty well ! that will do. Now let's try this. 
 {crossing to r. h. door, Chutnee rushes tip, seizes the gun fr •■ the table.) 
 
 Chdt. The villain ! That s my daughter's room ! 
 
 Bees, {as he crosses). It is as well to make certain. 
 
 Chut, {presenting gun). One step further and you are a dead man. 
 
 Bees. {cooUg). Very well, fire away! Commit murder ; but recollect 
 all I want to know from you is, how they hang. 
 
 Chut, {sinks into chair, R. h.). This is some horrid dream, it cannot be 
 reality; such prodigious audacity, {jumps up) That's my daughter's 
 chamber, sir. 
 
 Bees. Is it, though % I have something to say to her. {trying to pas9 
 him.) 
 
 Chut. What about 1 
 
 Bees. A private matter ; nothing that concerns you. 
 
 Chut. But, sir 
 
 Bees. Well, well, I've no particular objection to tell you. I'm in love 
 with your daughter. 
 
 Chut, {aside, in despair). I knew it — I was sure of it. 
 
 Bees. And I even flatter myself that she 
 
 Chut, {interrupting). She 
 
 Bees. Ah, she will not be quite so unmindful of what ii due to the 
 man who saved her life, as her father. And, as you are going to marry 
 us 
 
 Chut. Marry you T 
 
 Bebs. Why not 1 I'm poor, I confess, but 
 
 Chut. It makes no difference with me, if you were as rich as Croesus. 
 Moreover, there is a singular, dare-devil coolness about you, which I can't 
 help admiring. But I have made up my mind, that as long as I live, 
 my daughter shall remain single. 
 
 Bees. Then yon must be killed.. 
 
 Chut. What! _.^ ■ '• ' 
 
 . Besjs. I sliian't like the task, fJr to say the tnit/h, tlaers's a Btraugo od- 
 
 i 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 13 
 
 dity about you which I cannot help liking. You're not an every-day 
 failier-iu-lavv ; you are not a common- place, tasteless, boiled-veal sort of 
 a father-in-law. I sliould have liked you amazingly. But no matter, you 
 must quit this world, Chili. 
 
 Chct. {ironically). Must I, indeed ? 
 
 Bees. Yes, I have made up my mind, and when Charley Beeswing 
 makes up liis mind 
 
 Chut, {eagcrhj interrupting). What did you say, Charles Beeswing, {takez 
 card from his pocket Jacob gave him). 
 
 Bees. Yes, that is my name. 
 
 Chut. Then you are the nephew of Mr. Peter Tomkins 1 
 
 Bees. Inasmuch as he is my uncle, I believe I am. 
 
 Chut. My landlord ! 
 
 Bees. Eh 1 
 
 Chut. I'm delighted. His agent has just referred me to you. 
 
 Bees. What about 7 
 
 Chut. About tlie purchase of this house. I hare lived in it nine years, 
 sir, and I am so attached to the old place, that it would break my heart 
 to part with it. The dearest wish i have on garth, is, to spend the rest 
 of my days and die beneath this roof. It is folly, perhaps it is a mania, 
 you will say, still 
 
 Bees. But why do you address yourself to rael Go to my uncle. 
 
 Chut. Your uncle is dead. 
 
 Bees. Dead ! 
 
 Chut. Last night — did you not know it? 
 
 Bees. Not I. 
 
 Chut. And as you are his heir-at-law 
 
 Bees, {aside). Oho ! I'm your landlord, am I 7 
 
 Chut. What is you price for it, sir 1 I pay down on the nail. 
 
 Bees, {walking up and down, and echoing CavTVEE's former speech). It 
 makes no ddference with me. 
 
 Chut, {fo.loicing him). A check for the whole amount before you leave 
 the 
 
 Bees, (as before). If you were as rich as Croesus 
 
 Chut, {as before). I don't want to haggle about terms. 
 
 Bees, {as before). It makes no difference with me. 
 
 Chut. But, sir- 
 
 Bees, {stopping suddenly). Sir, I adore this house. Like you, I am so 
 attached to the old place, that it will break ray heart to part with it ; and 
 I said to myself, long ago, whenever I came into possession of it, I'll 
 give my tenant notice to quit, and take up my abode within it's venerable 
 walls. 
 
 Chut. What 1 
 
 Bees. Sir, the dearest wish I have on earth is to spend the rest of my 
 daj-s and die beneath this roof It is a folly, perhaps it is a mania, yoM, 
 will say ; but manias are respectable things, when indulged in by respect- 
 able people, so I give you notice to quit. 
 
 Chut. Notice to quit! to me, a tenant of nine years' standing ! after t 
 have made such improvements — rebuiltthe stables, laid down fresh drains 
 — made a beautiful new kitchen gavden 
 
 Bees, {interrupting). And I am so doatingly fond of vegetables. Thank 
 you ! {shaking him warmly by the hand) thank you I I declare I am very 
 sorry to turn you out ; but! have made up my mind, my determinatioa 
 is irrevocabFe, that as long as I Tive 
 
 CnuT. {enraged).. Then you shan't live long I 
 
 Bees. We shall see. {going) I'm off to my lawyer, to tell him to gp7e 
 
Ui, AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICAL^. - 
 
 Chut. (hatoUng), I won't take notice ; you . shan't go I {ieizing Bees* 
 
 WIUG, who is close to the door) 1 won't go. 
 Bees. Let go ; this is a go ! 
 Chdt. Villain ! I'll strangle you ! 
 Bees. You are not strong enough in the biceps! 
 Chut. Til kill you— I'll 
 
 During the foregoing they have disappeared through door in flat into garden. 
 Beeswing striving to get away, Chutnee vainly endeavoring to detain 
 him. Voices still heard disputing t7i the distance. Jacob enters has? 
 tUy, R. 
 
 Jacob. Good gracious me, how dreadfully they are quarrelling. I 
 knew how it would end — there they go, and bawling and pitching into 
 one another, terrible. I'm sure something horrible will come of it — what 
 u desperate i ow. There's the gent trying to get away, and master trying 
 lo hold him fast— my eyes, and there's the gent's coat-tail come slap off in 
 master's hand, and bang he's gone into the fish pond ! and it's sixteen 
 feet deep. 
 
 Enter Chutnee with coat-tail in his hand, door c. 
 
 Chut, (to himself). This is a dreadful affair ! He went down like a 
 stone, and never rose again. What is to be done 1 
 
 Jacob. Oh, sir, what have you done 1 You'll be hang'd, sir ! 
 
 Chut. It was pure accident, Jacob. He was obstiiiate — I was obsti- 
 nate—— 
 
 Jacob. I'm sure you'll be hang'd, sir! 
 
 Chut. I declare I would have sacrificed all I possess in the world, and 
 given him my daughter into the bargain, rather than this should have hap- 
 pened. But when we quarrelled, he didn't give way — I didn't give way, 
 but his coat-tail did give way. 
 
 Beeswing advances from door c, dripping wet, minus one coat-taU* 
 
 Chut. Why, how did you come here X 
 
 Bees, {shaking his hat). By water. 
 
 Chut. Alive ! 
 
 Bees. And merry! after what you have just said — I'm not going to 
 plague you any more, you said you would give me your daughter^ . 
 
 Chut. Ah ! but I said that when I thought you were dead. 
 
 Bees. So I was ; you don't want to kill me again— twice in one day j 
 you don't want to pull my other coat-tail off, {turning round) after the 
 diveis feats I have performed for her 1 
 
 Chut. Why, you only jumped into a fish-pond ! 
 
 Bees. Well, wasn't that a diver's feat? But come, you'll consent to 
 our union ; I know you will, for, bless you, you cau't deceive me. I've 
 seen through you all long. 
 
 Chdt. Seen through me 1 
 
 Bees. Yes, as clear as a claret glass. I said to myself, " there's a 
 world of good in that dry old husk ;' but the difficulty was to crack you 
 —to get at the kernel. Why, bless you ! kind feelings, like champagne, 
 no matter how yon cork, tie, wire it lo keep it down, it will come up—it 
 will effervesce. Now, you effe- vesced ! 
 
 CuuT. Diil I ? {softened) Did I efiervesce 1 
 
 Bees. Of cours.^ you did ; didn t you pull my coat-tail off'? what was 
 that 1 why, kind feeling to bo suvo. I cut the string, and pop— you 
 efifervescod. 
 
 I 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 15 
 
 CaiTT. Well, I believe I did ; and if I thought you wouldn't turn uie 
 out ot the old house 
 
 Bees. Turn out! not exactly; I mean to lurn in directly, I'll come 
 an I live with you and marry your daughter, that is, wiien I'm dry. 
 
 Chut. But have a care, if ever you take her away from this houso 
 while I live 
 
 Bees. I'll give you leave to burn it down to the ground, {aside). I'll 
 have it insured to-morrow. 
 
 Chut. But how and when did you get out of the water 1 I saw noth- 
 ing of you after you disappeared. 
 
 Bees I never intended you should. I dived down under the boat, on 
 the opposite side, among the weeds, and squatted down behind it, till I 
 saw you enter the house. 
 
 Jacob. You must be a famous swimmer, sir 1 
 
 Bees. It's only a mere wet before dinner. Well, after all, I have made 
 a tolerable good day's work. 1 think, even old Jack Barker will confess, 
 I haven't done badly. I won a wager and a wife ; found a house and a 
 home; dropped into a fortune and a fish-pond ; bought a two foot-rule 
 and tamed a tiger, and all within the short space of twenty minutes, by 
 the best stop watch 1 And now, ladies and gentlemen, if any of you 
 have at home, a tiger or a tartar, bring 'em here, an I'll cut their claws 
 — you have seen my method, (brings Chutnee forward). Here's my 
 specimen card ! You all know how savage he was, look at him now ! 
 why, he'll hop upon my finger, follow me about like a dog, and all by 
 the force of kind feeling. And, if at any time you feel uncomfortable, 
 and want a little relaxation, I hope you'll come here and see me perform 
 the operation of— 
 
 Taming a Tigbk. 
 
 Jacob. Beeswing. Chutnbb. 
 
 B. is. t.. B. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 COSTUMES. 
 
 Beeswing. —Dark shooting coat, black trousers and vest, white hat. Second Dress.— 
 Shiney coat, with patches of green worsted, to imitate weeds, &c. ; to represent 
 the first saturated with -water. 
 
 Me. Chutnee. — Nankeen dressing gown, trousers and cap, white vest, &c. 
 
 Jacob.— Nankeen short-tailed coat, white vest, black trousers. 
 
 PEOJ^EETIES. 
 
 Gun, shot-belt, powder-horn, writing materials, cheok-book, Times aewspapei^ 
 l^t wind-bottle, oaid, printed bill, oMt-tail. 
 
16 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 SYNOPSIS. 
 
 Mk. Chili Chutsee, a retired Bengal merchant, dwells, with his daughter, in a 
 dilapidated house, attended by an only servant. Chutnke lives at perpetual war 
 with his landlord and neighbors, who designate him as the •' Tiger." Bseswikg, a 
 travelling agent for a wine merchant, wagers a case of champagne that he will ob' 
 tain an order from the irate Bengalee, who has driven all his fellow agents from the 
 premises. The commercial traveller ventures into the Tiger's den and pesters the 
 obstinate man with his audacity and coolness. Chutnek learns that Beeswing has 
 Baved his daughter from drowning, and gives him an order in gratitude for the act. 
 This does not satisfy the Tiger-tamer, who is resolved to man-y the East Indian's 
 daughter. Beeswing, leaving the house, returns disguised as a carpenter, and 
 learns that he has inherited it through the death of his uncle, the landlord. The 
 heir-at-law gives notice to Chutnee to quit, as he is determined to live in the house 
 himself. A quarrel and a struggle ensues between the two men, during the course 
 of which Beeswing throws himself into a fish pond. The hasty East Indian, con- 
 ceiving himself to have been the cause of the young man's death, declares that he 
 would have given all he possessed in the world, his daughter included, rather than 
 have had the accident occur. Beeswing, returning dripping wet, takes him at 
 his word, and concludes his task of ♦•Taming a Tiger" through winning a wager 
 and a wife, a house and a home. The piece is, at times, played beneath the title of 
 " Taming a Taxtai," 
 
 I 
 
 TIME m EEPEESENTATION-TEIETY MINUTES. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 CAST OF CHAUACTEBS. 
 
 Charles Beeswing, traveller in wines. 
 
 Mr. Chili Chutnee, a retired Bengal merchant. J 
 
 Jacob Mutter, his servant. 
 
 17 
 
 SCENERY. 
 
 SCENE.— An apartment in the house of Mr. Chutnee. — Furniture grood, but old 
 
 fashioned. 
 
 OTerlooking a garden gate, c. 
 
 I "Window I I Door. 
 
 I to open, j 
 
 _L— f Table. 1 
 
 ; E. Door. 
 
 On Table, 
 Gun, &c, 
 
 
 
 Door, 2 E. 
 
 EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 The Actor is supposed to face the Audience. 
 
 S.2B. 
 
 S.U.8. 
 
 / 
 
 SCENE 
 
 B.13. 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 ATTDIENCE. 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 L. 8 b. 
 
 X.1: 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 i^. c. 
 
 L. Left. 
 
 c. 
 
 Centre. 
 
 I., c. Left Centre. 
 
 E. 
 
 Eight. 
 
 L. 1 E. Left First Entrance. 
 
 R. Is. 
 
 Bight First Entrance. 
 
 L. 2 E. Left Second Entrance. 
 
 E. 2e. 
 
 Right Second Entrance, 
 
 , I.. 3 E. Left Third Entrance. 
 
 n. 3e. 
 
 Eight Third Entrance. 
 
 i X.. tJ. E. Left Upper Entrance 
 
 R. U. E. 
 
 Eight Upper Entrance, ( 
 
 (wherever tins Scone may be.) 
 
 p. n. c. 
 
 Door Eisiht Centre. 
 
 ». L. c. Door Left Centra. 
 
 
 
IF I HAD A THOTJSAOT) A TEAE 
 
 SCENE. — Breakfast room in Greux's Villa, in St. Johi's Wood, nicely fur" 
 nishcd ; doors, r., l. and c. ; window, L. c. ; pianoforte, sofa, chairs, ^c. 
 1\Ir. and Mrs. Paddingtox Greex, seated at hreaJcfast — Mr. Green 
 in morjiwff gown. 
 
 Mrs. G. (r., looldng at watcJi). A quarter-past ten. You'll be late at 
 your office again, my dear. 
 
 Mr. Green (l., eating). Then, my love, you shouldn't give me muffins 
 for breakfast. Muffins take a deal of swallowing; besides there's lots of 
 time, I've only got to slip on my coat. 
 
 Mrs. G. Then do make haste. 
 
 Green. Let me finish my tea, don't deprive a poor man of his tea. (^just 
 previous to //«s, Green's littie boy has run on at back, and suddenly leaps on 
 Green's back) Holloa! ah, it's you, you young monkey! {taking Child 
 on his knee) Have a bit of sugar 1 
 
 Mrs. G. {impatiently looking at her watch again). Never mind the child, 
 Mr. Green. 
 
 Green. Not mind my child — my only offspring — my solitary son and 
 heir 1 {kissing Child, then wiping his own mouth) I say, my love, if you 
 allow tills child the run of the treacle, he'll do himself a serious mischief. 
 i A bit of hardbake now and then, or an occasional bull's eye won't hurt 
 
 him ; but '^; 
 
 • Mrs. G. Pshaw ! I tell you once more, Mr. Green, you haven't a mo- 
 ment to lose. 
 
 Green. I'm going. Depend upon it there's nothing so injurious to 
 children as sweets ! {to Child) A bit more sugar ? There 1 {cramming a 
 very large lump into Child's mouth) Now I'm off", {runs into room, l.. Lit- 
 tle Boy hanging on to the skirts of his dressing gotvn.) 
 
 Mrs. G. I fully expect to hear, every day, that Paddington has been 
 reprimanded for neglect of duty. To be sure he's now an assistant sen- 
 ior clerk in Somerset House, and perhaps he's entitled to take these littla 
 liberties, at least, I hope so. I dont know why, but 1 'm afraid he has lately 
 Jt)ecome dissatisfied. I often hear him when he little suspects it, mum- 
 bling to Inmself about the insufferable monotony of his e.xistenee — the 
 intolerable routine of his office — that a man might as well be a mill 
 horse 
 
 Green {without). Where the deuce is my hat 7 What's become of my 
 umbrella'? (Little Boy runs in with Green's hat on, and riding the um- 
 brcUri) Stoj) liini ! (Ghkrn runs on, Mrs. Green catcher ths Child, and 
 snatches the hat and umbrella from him,) 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. ^ 19 
 
 MrS,:0. Go to the nursery directly, you naughty boy 1 (Cuild beffint 
 to crt/. and runs to Green.) 
 
 Green. Correct your son, my dear, but don't bully him; reason with 
 him, but don't roar at him! There, {kisses Child) and don t mind what 
 your mother says — I mean, do mind what she says. There's a bit more 
 sugar. (Child runs out, l.) 
 
 Mrs. G. {giving him his hat and umbrella). There, my dear, and now you 
 really must go. 
 
 Green. I know I must go, Mrs. Green, without your laying such a 
 pointed emphasis on the must. It's the " must " that annoys me — 
 irritates me — humiliates me ! (banging hat and umbrella on table.) 
 
 Mits. G. Nay, Paddington dear 
 
 Green. I must be at ray desk at ten — I must \e^\e it at four. I must 
 take my month's holiday. I must pocket my quarter's salary. A pleasant 
 existence, isn't itl I shan't be able to stand it much longer, 
 
 Mrs. G. Paddington dear 
 
 Green. And yet there are people who will tell me to my face that 
 I'm a free-born Briton! Humbug I Pm a slave---a nigger ! Ah, if I 
 were only my r wn master ! If I were only independent ! If Id only got 
 a thousand a year ! 
 
 Mrs. G. {smiling). Well, well; we'll discuss that matter another time, 
 when you get home from your office. 
 
 Green (jnaking a wry J ace). Yes! 
 
 Mrs. G. By-the-by, don't be late ; you know we dine at Putney to-day, 
 with Mr. Burley, your chief clerk. 
 
 Green. Of course — of course. I must dine with the chief clerk, whea 
 the chief clerk condescends to ask me. 
 
 Mrs. G. I'm sure he's a very kind man. 
 
 Green. Yes ! he's tolerably indulgent to his niggers. 
 
 Mrs. G. Besides, you say he gives such good dinners. 
 
 Green. Of course, I must praise the chief clerk's dinners ! If the chief 
 clerk only gave me a bit of bread and a pickel, I should be expected to 
 go into ecstacies about the chief clerk's dinners ! 
 
 Mrs. G. Ha, ha ! and when you do come home, it's just possible you 
 may find my dear sister Julia here ; the recent death of our Aunt Sarah 
 having deprived her of a home. 
 
 Green. Eh ? Oh! Then you've quite made up your mind that Miss 
 Somerton is to live with us % 
 
 Mrs. G. 1 1 You proposed it yourself. 
 
 Green. Did 1 1 Yes, because 1 couldn't help it^— I mean because I saw 
 you wished it. 
 
 Mrs. G. Naturally ! Still, if you object 
 
 Greejt. Not at all ! I certainly should like her better if she wasnH ■ 
 quite so independent. She used to talk such a parcel of nonsense about 
 the blessing of liberty, and being her own mistress, and 
 
 Mrs. G. Why, my dear, those are the very sentiments, you so much 
 admire. 
 
 Green. Yes, in a man, but not in a women. Olt, xJear, no ! For this 
 reason a man — I say man — is a man ; but on tlie other hand a woman — • 
 is — a woman. You see the distinction 1 
 
 Mrs. G. {smiling^. Clearly I But surely if Julia thinks to secure her 
 independence by remaining single, she may indulge her fanc}\ 
 
 Green. Of course, this is a land of liberty. (Mrs. Green smiles) For 
 a woman — not a man! Oh, dear, no, for tins reason; a woman — I say 
 a woman is — a {clock strikes eleven) Whereas a man— ^never mind— — 
 
 Mrs. G. Hark! {listening) E'-eyen 2]:)ck. and you're not gone yet. 
 
 Greex. You «>t'2ki36!p tallying CO, 11,/ d<?ar. (Mkb. Grkfn mv^t //i^i his 
 
20 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 hat and umhrella f, om table) Of course, if 3-011 will keep talking — "Where's 
 my mubrella 1 
 
 Mrs. G. Under your arm. You'd better take a cab. 
 
 Green. 1 will ! Wait a minute, 1 don't think I ve got any change — 
 yes 1 have, {taking out silver) two half crowns — no, one's a florin, a fcliil- 
 ling, three sixpences, and a fourpenuy piece — no, it's a threepenny bit, 
 smooth edge — try it ! 
 
 Mrs. G. I m out of all patience. 
 
 Green. You will keep talking so, my dear. Well, good-bye. Halloa! 
 Where's my hat 1 
 
 Mrs. G. On your head. 
 
 Greex. So it is ! What a queer place for a fellow's hat to be. Now 
 I'm off I {kissing Mrs. Green, then turning round, and seeing Feucy Chaf- 
 FiNGTON, who inters, c.) Eh i No — Yes — Percy Chaffingtcn ! 
 
 Chaffington {advancing). My dear Green! 
 
 Green, {shaking his hand xoarmly). Delighted to see you. Why, I don't 
 bel.eve I've seen you — no, I'm sure I haven't — not since I saw you last. 
 {to Mrs. G.) My dear Mary, my old friend and schoolfellow, Percy Chaf- 
 fington. (^0 Chaffington) By-ihe by, you mayn't have heard that I'm 
 married. I'm liap])y to say I am. ]\Irs. Paddington Green, the best 
 ■wife I have in the world— I mean the best of wives. Sit down, my dear 
 fellow — had your breakfast] 
 
 Chaff. An hour ago. 
 
 Grekn. Never mind; have another. Make 3-ou rome tea in a minute. 
 The muffins aie all gone, but there's plenty of mustard and cress iu the 
 garden : at least, there will be, when it comes up. 
 
 Mrs. G. {aside). There'll be no office to-day, I fear, {showing her watch 
 aside to Green.) 
 
 Green {aside to her'). Yes, my dear ; but really, an old friend like Chaf- 
 fington, I can't say, "How are you," "Delighted to see you," "Good- 
 bye, ' in the same breath ; besides, tuey're not so particular afc the office 
 as all that. 
 
 Mrs. G. {smil ng). Not even your tyrant of a chief clerk 7 
 
 Green. Old Burley 1 Not he ; he's the best natured fellow in the 
 world. 
 
 Mrs. Well, you're the best judge of your duties, my dear, but I'm 
 sure Mr. Chaffington will not wish me to neglect mine. [cu7'tsa}js and exits, l. 
 
 Chaff. I say, old fellow, I hope I m not in the way here % 
 
 Green. Nonsense ! 
 
 Chaff. I'm afiaid I'm detaining you from your official duties. 
 
 Green. Bother my official duties ! 
 
 Chaff. Ha, ha ! So you still go pottering on in the old jog-trot way, 
 ehl 
 
 Green. Yes, pottering on ; the expression is humiliating but appro- 
 priate. 
 
 Chaff. How you can stand it I can't imagine. It would kill me in a 
 month. 
 
 Green. That's just what I've been saying to myself for the last fifteen 
 years. 
 
 Chaff. For my part, I'd rather be independent on seven-and-sixpence 
 a week than earn a thousand a year in business ; however, it you're 
 satisfied 
 
 Green. But I'm wo^ satisfied. I admit I've a comfortable income, a 
 capital wife, first-rate health, I eat well and drink well, in short, I don't 
 know that 1 ve anything -to complain of, but that's a very different thing 
 from beins satisfied. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 21 
 
 Chapp. Very ! J wasn't satisfied till I found myself a forty-thousand 
 pounds' man. 
 
 Grekx. Goodness gracious ! How did you do it 1 
 
 Chaff. Sini[)ly enough. 
 
 Green. So much the better. 
 
 Chaff. Tou remember my old uncle Simmons, the confectioner ? 
 
 Green. I can't say I do, but I've a vivid recollection of his brandy- 
 bails. 
 
 Chaff. Well, at his death, he left me all he had. 
 
 Green. All his brandy-balls 1 
 
 Chaff. Everythmg! Well, having no taste for trade, even if I were 
 lucky, I cut it. 
 
 Green. You cut your lucky i 
 
 Chaff. Sold the business, and went on the Stock Exchange. 
 
 Green {very quickly). I'll go there to-morrow! What did you do 
 when you got there 1 Only tell me what you did when you got there, 
 and ru do it when 1 get there. 
 
 Chaff. Ha. ha ! Suffice it that in three years I realized a handsome 
 independence; but, that's not all — {taking a cai d from his case and gtving 
 it to Green) Read tliat. 
 
 CrJiEEN {reading). Mr. Percy Chaffington, M. P. ! M. P.— M. P. Any- 
 thing to do with the police 1 
 
 Chaff. Member of Parliament. 
 
 Green. You"? How odd I never should have seen yourname in the 
 debates ; to be sure I never look at 'em. 
 
 Chaff. I nevei speak, I only vote. 
 
 Green. Which side, ehl 
 
 Chaff. Always with the noes. 
 
 Green. With your nose 1 
 ■ Chaff. With the opposition. Elected on independent principles- 
 pledged to no party, free to take my own views, and act upon them, I op- 
 pose everyiliing, approve of nothing, and never agree with the opinions 
 of others, not even when they agree with my own. That's what I call 
 freedom of thought, liberty 5f opinion, and independence of action, eh % 
 
 Green. What's the use of talking of liberty and independence to me 1 
 a poor devil chained to his desk like a galley-slave, from ten — {looking at 
 his watch, aside) past twelve, by Jove! {aloud) till four — {aside) I may as 
 well not go at all now. {aloud) Obliged to account for every moment of 
 my time — {aside) I can say I had the rheumatism — no, the toothache — I 
 had the rheumatism last week, {aloud) Subject to the arbitrary caprices 
 of one's superiors — {aside) Luckily I can humbug old Burley to any 
 extent, {aloud) Whilst you, happy, enviable fellow, are independent of 
 everybody. 
 
 Chaff. Of everybody! and that reminds me that I've a favor to ask of 
 you. 
 
 Green. I'm delighted to hear it. 
 
 Chaff. I said to myself, I'm sure if there's anything that Paddington 
 Green can do 
 
 Green. Anytiiing I can do ! Pooh ! any fellow can do what he can 
 do. I was in hopes you were going to ask me to do something I can't do. 
 
 Chaff. Ha, ha, ha ! Listen. I have a nephew. 
 
 Green. 1 at once cheerfully, I may say cordially, admit the fact. Well % 
 
 Chaff. I think 1 may venture to say that a smarter young fellow 
 doesn't exist than Paul Chesterton. In fact, it was only yesterday that 
 he p-tstseU the Colleg*^ ot Surgeons. 
 
 Grlek. So did I, if you come to that. Oh, I see, you mean he passed 
 hiS CAauiinafcion. Well \ 
 
23' - AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 '" Chaff. His ambition is to enter tlie naval service. Now, being, as T 
 saiii before, a member of the independent part", of course J can't 6olicit 
 an appomtraent for him from the Admiraity ; it wouldn't do. 
 
 Green. No, I don t think it would ; because you wouldn't, get it if you 
 did. 
 
 Chaff. Ha, ha! Now, my dear fellow, I thought, that iu your official 
 capacity, you might, perhaps, find an opportunity to 
 
 Green. Say no more ! I'll put every iron I've got in the fire for you^-^ 
 1 haven t got many j but every iron 1 have got, mto the fire I'll put. 
 
 Chaff. Thanks ! By-the-by, of course, my name must not appear in 
 the matter, because, as 1 said before 
 
 Green. 1 know ! Because, being perfectly independent of everybody, 
 you can't do as you like. 
 
 Chaff. Ha, ha ! And now, my dear fellow, as one good turn deserves 
 another, is tliere anything I can do for j/ou ? 
 
 Green. Yes. Show me the shortest possible way of making the largest 
 possible fortune in the shortest possible time, and I'll bless you; you 
 can't have the faintest idea how I'll bless you. 
 
 Chaff. I suppose you've got a little money 1 
 
 Green. I have ; indeed, I may say, very little. 
 
 Chaff. Unluckily, there's not much doing in the City just now. 
 
 Green. Perhaps not now ; but I'm told there's been a deal of dotnff 
 there lately. 
 
 Chaff. I mean things are not brisk; for instance, mines are down. 
 
 Green. Of course they are ; a very long way down, some of em. 
 
 Chaff. Canals are stationary ; Gas, by no means brilliant. 
 
 Green. Ours is shocking bad up here ! 
 
 Chaff. The only things at all lively now are cemeteries. Suppose I 
 buy you five hundred. 
 
 Green. Five hundred cemeteries 1 I shouldn't know where to put 
 'em! 
 L Chaff. I mean shares. 
 
 Green. Well, but I haven't got the money. , 
 
 Chaff. My dear fellow, I don't want your money! Look here, you 
 buy for the account ! 
 
 Green (bothered). Oh, I buy for the account! 
 
 Chaff. Yes, well ! Up go the shares ! 
 
 Green (bothered). Up go the shares ! 
 
 Chaff. Y'ou sell again 1 
 
 Green. You sell again ! 
 
 Chaff. No !^oM sell again ! 
 
 Green. I said i/oio sell again ! Oh, I see, of course, T sell again! 
 
 Chaff. And you pocket the difference 7 That's all. 
 
 Green. Well, if that's all, I confess there's a simplicity about it that 
 tickles me. 
 
 Chaff. I'm going into the City, and you shall Imve your cemeteries in 
 the Cf>urse of the day. 
 
 Gkben. Well, but, suppose — I say suppose, instead of " i^ip go the 
 shares," it sliould be '^ down go the. s hares '?" 
 
 Chaff. Pshaw ! no chance of that. 
 
 Pacl Chesterton (without, l. c). Mr, Green within? 
 
 Chaff. Hey day ! that's Paul's voice ! 1 dare say he has been to 
 your office. 
 
 Green (aside). Everybody aeeros to have been to my office to-day, ex- 
 cept uae. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. ^, gS 
 
 Jinter Paul Chestertos. 
 
 Paul (to Green). Mr Green, I beheve. (Green hows) I have to apol- 
 ogize {seeii/ff Chaffington) You here, uncle? 
 
 Chaff, i'es, Paui '. i've been beloiehand with you, and explained 
 yout wishes to my friend, Green , bm, egad, I must runaway. 
 
 Green (aside to Cuaffivg'hoih). I ^ay 
 
 Chaff, (aside), lour blares i All right, yoa shall have them, old fel- 
 low ! Good-bye. (hurries out at c.) 
 
 Enitr Mrs. Green, l. 
 
 Mrs. G. You re still here, 1 see, Mr. Greer ! 
 
 Green, Am I 'f Yes, my dear j here's another gentleman I must pre- 
 sent to you 
 
 Mrs. G. (seeing Paul;. Mr. Chesterton ? 
 
 Paul (seeing Mrs. G.) Can it be possible % 
 
 Green (observing them, aside). Holloa ! I say, Mary, this young chap 
 fieems to know you. 
 
 Mrs. G (aloud). Yes, Mr. Chesterton used Irequeiitly to come to poor 
 Aunt Sarah's ! 
 
 Green. Not sweetheai-ting you, 1 hope ! (Paul sirUlea ind shaket Ait 
 head.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Oh, no ^ Julia was the attraction ! 
 
 Green \,io Paul). Oh ; and she snubbed you, of course? ^ 
 
 Paul [^smiling) Very decidedly, indeed. 
 
 Green Just like her — the very image of her' 
 
 Paul ijo Mrs. Green). Your sister is well, I hope "? 
 
 Mrs G. Yes. 
 
 Paul (crossing to her). And probably married ! (with hesitation.) 
 
 Green. Not she 1 Shed better make haste, or uobody'U have her; 
 she's gettmg on 
 
 Mrs. G. (reproachfully) Mr. Green ! 
 
 Green. However, if you like to try your luck again 
 
 Paul (smiling). No, I am perlectly satisfied with one repulse; bosidoj/ 
 my Uncle Chaflfington, who is proverbially fortunate in his specuia^ioui, 
 has, I believe, another alliance in view for me. 
 
 Green. Well 1 only mentioned it because the lady will be here to-day 
 
 Paul (with a slight emotion). Indeed ' 
 
 Mrs. G. Yes. (noise of carriage) Hark ! (running to window) Yes, 'tis 
 she! 
 
 Paul. In that case, I'll retire. 
 
 Green. So will I. We'll run away together — come along, (hurries 
 Paul out, r., at the same time Julia enters, c, In travelling dress — Julia 
 owrf Mrs. Green fw5;-ff<?e.) 
 
 Mrs. G. D. ar, dear Julia ! Three long years since we have met. 
 
 Julia How well you look, Mary. 
 
 Mrs. G. Of course I do ; with the best husband in the world, the 
 sweetest little darling pet of a child, a comfortable homo, friends few but 
 true, how can I look otherwi.se but well < how can 1 be otherwise than 
 happy V Confess. Julia, don't you feel tempted to profit by my exam- 
 ple ^ 
 
 Julia. No, indeed, Mary ; I set too high a value on my independence 
 to lake myself a lord and master. 
 
 Mrs. G. Ha, ha ! Only fancy my good dear hubby styling himself my 
 lord and master ; why, my dear, I believe I could twist him rouad this 
 
24 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 little finger of niino lo any extent I ihought proper — ha, ha ! Well, as I 
 perceive your aiiti-inatriuionial opinions are still unchanfjed, it is fortu- 
 nate you wore not liere jiibt now, or our discussion on the subject with 
 your old acquaintance, Mr. Paul Chesterton, would have broken out 
 afresh. 
 
 Julia {with a start'). Mr. Chesterton here % 
 
 Mrs. G. Yes. {they sit.) 
 
 Julia. And {assuminfj a careless manner) acting upon the principles ho 
 so olocpicntly advocated, he has doubtless — married'? 
 
 Mr?. G. Not yet! 
 
 Julia (raijcrbj). Not yet 1 
 
 Mits, G. {observing Julia). No i but he speaks of such an event as 
 liiphly probable. 
 
 Julia {impatiently). Indeed, I shall be happy to congratulate him! very 
 happy, indeed ! 
 
 Mrs. G. Of course you will ! {aside) She's vexed ! my life on it, sho 
 regrets having rejected him ! {aloud) Here comes my lord and master, and 
 very formidable he looks, doesn't he 1 lla, ha, ha ! 
 
 Unter Greex, b. 
 
 Obeen {to Julia). Delighted to see you ! {aside to Mrs. G.) How 
 precious old she looks ! {aloud) I needn't say I hope you'll make our 
 house your home till we've had enough of you! I mean till you've had 
 enough o( us. (Mrs. Green and Julia go up stage, aside) I've just heard 
 from Chaffington. {taking letter out of his pocket, and looking at it) He says 
 h3 couldn't got m?* any cemeteries, so he has bought me 250 '* Buffaloes." 
 and 250 " Hong Kongs '" I know what buffaloes are, but I never heard 
 ct Hong Kongs ! I'd better tell Mary — I ought to tell Mary! I'm not 
 justified in carrying a lot of buffaloes about me without telling Mary ! 
 {aloud) Mary, my dear ! 
 
 Mrs. G. {coming down). Yes. 
 
 Grfen. I — {aside) I'm half afraid ; she's sucli a horror of anything in 
 the sliape of speculation, {aloud) You know my friend Chaffington was 
 hero just novv' 1 
 
 Julia {overhearing, and advancing). Mr. Percy Chaffington 1 
 
 Mrs. G. Do you know him 1 
 
 Julia By name only. I believe he had the mangement of poor Aunt 
 Sarah's affairs. 
 
 Green. Oh, well, he was telling me how easy it was for a fellow to 
 put no end of money in his pocket. Yes, all you have lo do is to go 
 into the city, buy a lot of something or other — '■ Buffaloes " for instance, 
 or ' Hons Kongs," or something of the sort — which don't cost you any- 
 thing soil 'em again, and walk off with several miUions of money : and 
 the best of it is, any fool can do it. 
 
 Mrs. G. (quietly). Then there's no credit in it, dear. 
 
 Green. No ; but sui)pose, just for the fun of the thing, suppose he W3^ 
 tr offer to let me into a good thing or two— eh ] 
 
 Mrs. G. {very quietly). You will say no. 
 
 Green. How can I % 
 
 Mrs. G. {pointedly). Very well ; then tell him J say no. 
 
 Green. Certainly, my dear , of course. (ast</e) I must keep my " BuflS^• 
 loes " dark till another opportunity. 
 
 Julia {to Mrs. Green, as they go up). How strange ; I couldn't have 
 believed it ! Such docility — such submission in a husband. (Mrs. Greek 
 smiles, and imitates the action of twisting something round her little finger ^ 
 M they exeunt, l.) 
 
 I 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 25 
 
 Green. It's rather an awkard thing to do, but I suppose I'd bettei 
 ask Chaflington to take his " Bufialoes" back again. Oh, luckily, here he 
 comes. 
 
 Enter Chapfixgton, c. from b. 
 
 My dear fellow, you've just come in time. 
 
 Chaff. Yes, yes — one moment. I've a mattter of the utmost impor 
 tance 
 
 Gr>:b?' {clui^h'-nff Chapfington's arm eagerly). Nothing wrong with my 
 "BuUaloGsr' 
 
 Chaff, y^ry rapidly). Pshaw ! I've just heard that your wife's maid- 
 on )ia:n..' was 8oraerton ! 
 
 Gu^^EN {diW-). Yes! 
 
 Chaff (41110) Has she a sister 1 
 
 GuiCEN (ditto). Yes, Julia Somerton \ 
 
 Chaff, {ditto). Who resided in Lincolnshire with an aunt, a Mrs, 
 Ro'vdy ] 
 
 Gfken {ditto). Yes? 
 
 Chaff (ditto). Where is she living 1 
 
 Green (ditto). She isn't living at all ! 
 
 Chaff, (impatiently). I mean Miss Somerton; I must write to her at 
 once. 
 
 Greex. You can if you like ; but ifs hardly worth while, because she'3 
 here, arrived half an hour ago. 
 
 Chaff. I have news for her — she inherits the entire fortune of her 
 aunt. 1 must find her ! {going.) 
 
 Green (stopping him). Don't be in such a confounded hurry! I say, my 
 dear friend, touching my " Buffaloes " and " Hong Kongs " — By-the-by, 
 what ore " Hong Kongs T' 
 
 Chaff. Railway shares ! 
 
 Green. Oh. Well, somehow or other, Mrs. Green shakes her head at 
 them — and 
 
 Chaff. Ha, ha ; that's capital — that's perfectly delicious ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Green. Isn't it 7 Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Chaff. So, my poor frienfi, you're under petticoat government, ehl 
 
 Green. Me 1 no such thing. 
 
 Chaff. It looks uncommonly like it. However, if you prefer being 
 under your wife's thumb 
 
 Green. But I'm not. I deny the thumb in toto. 
 
 Chaff. Then show a proper spirit. You're the head of the family — 
 the chief of the commonwealth — zounds ! 
 
 Green. Of course I am, zouiids ! 
 
 Chaff. Then assume your position — assert the dignity of a husband ! 
 
 Green, (in a determin'd manner). 1 will. Hi keep ray " Buffaloes." 
 
 Chaff. They rose an eighth five minutes after you bought them, so 
 you've cleared five hundred half crowns already. 
 
 Green. Five hundred half crowns ! Let me see — a hundred shillings, 
 five pounds. Five times five — (suddenly) Are there anymore " Buffaloes'' 
 to be had 1 I'll have every " Hong Kong" I can get. 
 
 Chaff. Ha, ha! By-the-by, I give a dinner to half a dozen influen- 
 tial city men to day, suppose you join us; Til introduce you. 
 
 Green (sh-king Chaffington's hand). Will you, though 1 that's like 
 you — that's like you all over. 
 
 Enter Servant Maid, l. 
 
 Servant (fo Green). Please, sir, missis wants to know at what o'clock 
 you mean to start for Putney 1 
 
26 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Gkseit. Oil, lor'! I quite forgot, (to Ceaffington) You see my chief 
 clerk has asked ns to dine with him to-day— It isn't that I care for Lis 
 dinner; but — but 
 
 Chaff, {smilmg satiricalhj). But your wife insists on your going, eh 1 
 
 Green. No, she- doesn't insist. 
 
 Chaff. At any rate it is quite clear you can't dine with an old friend 
 that you haven't seen for years, without her permission. 
 
 Green. Yes, I can if I choose, {very qxacldy) I said if. 
 
 Chaff. But you do not choose. Good little boy to do as he's told. 
 {^patting Green's head.^ 
 
 Green. Chafiington, I see what you're at ; you wan't to demoralize 
 me ! you want me to become a shocking, good-for-nothing rascal. 
 
 Chaff. Nonsense, man ! I onl)' wish you to assert your independence ; 
 besides, for once in a way, surely Mrs. Green can go and dine with your 
 old humdrum of a chief clerk without pinning you to her apron string. 
 
 Greten. Eh "? Of course she can. I never thought of that. 
 
 Servant {comi^ig down). What shall I oa>' to missus, :.ir ? 
 
 Green. Tell your missis that — that — (ca;;^/^^^ Chaffinoton's eyp, wJio 
 sJiriigs his shoulders m vrctended commisse''at:on, iher> in dignified manner) 
 Inform your missus that sudden ind important business — nevermind, I'll 
 teli her myself. \Erit Servant, l. 
 
 (aside) Tlf get up some excuse or other. I'm i dab at that sort of thing, 
 (/o Chaff.) I won't go to Putney. I don't know how I shall manage it, 
 but to Putney, go I won't. [Ijx t l. 
 
 Chaff. Ha, ha ! But uow to a more serious matter. Miss Julia Som- 
 erton, with £30,000 to gild the matrimonial pill, would be a decidedly de- 
 sirable speculation, and well worth the investment of a little of my spare 
 time and trouble. Green will stand my friend, of that I'm sure ; and Paul 
 can be easily persuaded to use his influence with Mrs. Green — oh, he's 
 here. 
 
 ^nter Padl, r. 
 
 Paul, one word ; I presume you'll admit that one good turn deserves 
 another 1 
 
 Paul. Certainly. 
 
 Chaff. Very well ; then having found you a rich wife ' 
 
 Paul. Stop a bit, uncle ! You mean, having found a rich woman you 
 wish me to make my wife 
 
 Chaff. It's the same thing. Well, having airanged that little affair 
 for gou, I ask you, in return, to arrange a similar l.ttle affair for me ; in a 
 word, Mrs. Paddington Green has a sister whom I propose to convert into 
 Mrs. Percy Chaffington, with as little delay as possible. 
 
 Paul. Miss Julia Somerton 1 
 
 Chaff. The same. 
 
 Paul (recovering himself). You surprise me; I thought your axiom 
 was, a rich wife or none. And Miss Somerton 
 
 Chaff. Has just stepped into £30,000. 
 
 Paul. Indeed ! Tell me — have you 
 
 Chaff. Broken the ice 1 No j that's exactly what I want you bo do 
 for me. 
 
 Paul (starting). 11 
 
 Chaff. Don't be alarmed, it's a very simple matter; in short, fancy 
 you are making love on your own account instead of mine, that's all. I'll 
 be back in half an hour, that's allowing you ample time, ta, ta ! 
 
 [Exit c. and r; 
 
 Paul. Julia rich ! Was there ever anything so provoking 1 Just as I 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 27 
 
 was about to make another effort to gain her love. Of course there's aa 
 end of that. I must think of her no more. 
 
 Bnter Mrs. Geeen, l. 
 
 Mrs. G. {speaJcinff of as she enters). Never mind, my dear, if you can't 
 help it, there's an end of it. {coming down) Poor dear Paddington, to be 
 obh'ged to stop at home with Mr. Chalfington to talk over this sudden and 
 unexpected cliange in Juha's afiairs. {seeing Paul) Ah ! Mr. Chesterton ! 
 
 Paul. Yes, madam, I — {aside) It's very awkward, why the deuce can't 
 my uncle speak for himself, {aloud) The fact is, my dear madam, that I— 
 {aside) It's uncommonly awkward, {aloud) It's rather a singular question 
 perhaps, but, have Miss Somerton's prejudices — I mean opinions, on the 
 subject of— marriage — undergone any change since I — you know wliat I 
 mean by " since I" 
 
 Mrs. G. {smiling). I think they are somewhat modified, {aside) I do 
 "believe he's going to propose to her again. 
 
 Paul. In that case, I venture to — to — (aside) It's infernally awkward ; 
 (aloud) to solicit her hand in marriage {ver^ quickly) for my uncle, {aside) 
 \VJieugh, I've done it ! 
 
 Mrs. G. {with the greatest astonishment). For Mr. Chaffington 1 You 
 can't be serious ; unless, having been unsuccessful in wooing Julia for a 
 wife, you are anxious to secure her for an aunt! ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Paul {confused). Madam, I 
 
 Mrs. G. Mr. Chesterton ! Paul, deal with me honestly ; no man can 
 wish to see the woman he has loved, perhaps loves still, the wife of an- 
 other. Confess that your pride was hurt by Julia's rejection of your 
 suit. 
 
 Paul {aside). Oh, that confounded £30,000! {aloud) I could never 
 hope to overcome Miss Somerton's indifference. 
 
 Mrs. G. {quickly). But what if I had reason to hope, I mean believe, 
 that indifference no longer existed ! {anxiously.) 
 
 Paul {joyfully). Ah! {aside) That infernal £30,000. {then in his pre- 
 vious cold manner) It would be too late, madam! 
 
 Mrs. G. {indignantlxj). Sir! 
 
 Paul {with an evident effort^. Be kind enough, madam, so far to advo- 
 cate my uncle's cause as to obtain for him Miss Somerton's permission to 
 plead his suit in person. Madam, I have the honor. 
 
 {Bows and exit, c. and l. 
 
 At the same moment Julia appears at l., she i$ pale and leans for support 
 against the door, 
 
 Mrs. G. {running to her). Julia ! (Julia, with a loud sob, throws herself 
 into Mrs. Green's arms) Julia, you have been listening. 
 
 Julia {speaking through her sobs). Q — uite unintentionally. I saw you 
 Were not alone, and 
 
 Mrs. G. And you overheard 
 
 Julia. His triumph, and my humiliation ! Yes, sister ! {suddenly sup- 
 presses her emotion and gets up an air of indifference) Not that it matters to 
 me. Why should it 1 
 
 Mrs. G. Of course not. Then why this agitation — this emotion *? 
 
 Julia. Emotion'? Ha, ha! you're quite mistaken. I'll never think, 
 I'll never speak of him again— never, never, never 1 I thought the crea- 
 ture was looking handsomer than ever, not that it matters to me. 
 
 Mrs. G. Of course not, as it you could possibly feel any interest iii 
 Uie fellow! 
 
28 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 ■ 
 
 Julia, {indignantly). Fellow, indeed ! You needn't abuse the young 
 man ! I'm sure he's the kindest, the best, the — the 
 
 Mrs. G. In short, a paragon of peri'ection. Then why did you reject 
 hira ] 
 
 Julia. BecJiuse I 
 
 Mrs. G Didn't like him 7 
 
 Julia {sharphj). I'm .sure I did! (looking down) a little, a very little ! 
 but now tiiat he has ceased to care for me, of course i — 1 
 
 Mrs. G. Well 1 
 
 Julia {making a wry face, and sobbing). I — I — think I like him better 
 than ever ! 
 
 Mrs. G. Nonsense ! there are plenty of other young men in the world. 
 
 .Julia (sh^/rplg). I hate young men. 
 
 Mrs. G. Then, what do you say to a middle-aged admirer, Mr. Chaf- 
 fini^ton, for instance 1 
 
 Julia. Who is he 7 
 
 Mrs. G. Mr. Chesterton's uncle ; he's very anxious to have you for aa 
 aunt, 1 assure you. 
 
 Julia {spitefully). Is he, indeed 7 Well, if I do become his aunt, I 
 shall be able to lead him a dreadful life ! that'll be some comfort ! Then 
 you really think, Mary, that Paul, I mean Mr. Chesterton — no, I don't — • 
 i do mean Paul, has no longer any affection for me ? not the least little 
 tiny bit 
 
 Mrs. G. The best proof is that he tells me himself that he loves an- 
 otlier, and is about to marry her. 
 
 Julia. No, no, don't say that! He may marry Whoever he chooses! 
 He may l^ate, detest, abominate me if he thinks proper, but he shan't 
 love anybody else ! I'm determined he shan't ! He'll come back to me, 
 I'm sure he will, {n knock) There's a knock ; I said he would ! 
 
 Servant {announces, c). Mr. Percy Chaffington ! 
 
 Julia. You must see the man, Mary. J can't ! 
 
 Mrs. G. Nonsense! he's not going to propose to me! Besides, how 
 can you refuse the man, unless you do see the mau7 {to Servant) Siiow 
 Mr. Chaffington in. [Exit Servant, c. 
 
 Enter Chaffington, c. 
 
 Mrs. G. Julia dear, permit me to present to you Mr. Percy Chaffing- 
 ton, an old and valued friend of my husband's. (Chaffington botes pro- 
 foundly two or three times to Julia, w'io curtseys very stiffly.) 
 
 Chaff, {aside). A tine woman ! decidedly a very fine woman ! {aloud) 
 I am afraid, Miss Somerton, that in my official capacity of executor, 1 
 shall be compelled to intrude somewhat frequently upon your time and 
 patience — {Julia takes no notice) too frequendy ])erhaps for t/o;^. {bowing 
 again, Juhix takes no notice — aside) She hasn't much to say for herself! 
 (aloud) I presume my nephew has in some degree prepared you for the 
 immediate motive of my present visit— the hopes, the fears, the ardent 
 aspirations that— that— (Julia takes no notice— aside) She can't be a 
 dummy ! 
 
 Mrs. G. Mr. Chesterton was not very communicative, his time being 
 probably so much engaged by his own wooing. 
 
 Chaff. On the contrary madam, to m.y utt"er astonishment, he told me 
 that lie renounces the verv de.sirable alliance I had contemplated for hiia 
 1 can't imagine what his motive can be. 
 
 Julia (aside to Mrs Green). I can—Fm his motive! I know 1 am! 
 I m sure I am ! (joyfuly.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Hush ! {aloud io Q-aLTTnsGTOv) My sister will require a little 
 timrf to consider. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 29 
 
 Julia {aside to her). Not I ; I'm quite ready to say " No " to the man 
 at once. 
 
 Chapp. {to Julia). I will endeavor to resign myself to the delay. (Jo«j- 
 wff, aside) it's very odd she dosen't say someihiug. (aloud) But, pray re- 
 member, thai until 1 learn your decision, I shall hve on thurns, I repeat, I 
 shsih— (aside) It's no use ! I give it up. 
 
 Mrs. G. You must excuse us now, Mr. Chaffington, we must start for 
 Putney immediately. Come, Julia, the cab will be at the door in a mo- 
 ment, {curtseying to Chaffington.) 
 
 Julia {nftcr another formal curtsey to Chaffington, aside to Mrs. 
 Green). DonH you think. I'm his motive'? If I'm not, I shall break my 
 heart — I know I shall. [Exit u-ith Mrs. Green, l. 
 
 Chaff. Well, if silence give consent, I've every reason to be perfectly 
 satisfied. Still, it is certainly very odd she didn't say something. If 
 she's hard of hearing, why don't they provide her with a trumpet 1 
 
 Green {/-peaks outside). I'll tell the man where to drive to, my dear. 
 Mind how you get in ; you're holding the child upside down; m:nd you 
 tell old Burley how distressed I am I can't come. Good-bye. Mind j^ou 
 enjoy yourselves, {in louder voice) Waterloo Station ! Windsor line ! And 
 drive fast. 
 
 Enter Green, l., in fashionable costume, Jloivcr in his coat, etc* 
 
 Chaff. Oh, here you are. 
 
 Green. Yes, I've just started my wife and her sister and the young 
 'un oft" to Putney, and now I'm 5"ours, my dear boy, for the rest of the 
 day. As this is my first oiU for a long time, I'm determined to have aa 
 out-2ind-outer. 
 
 Chaff. That's right. By-the-by, I find ray city friends can't dine with 
 us ; so what say you to a dinner at Long's ] 
 
 Green. Well, I've often tried Short's, so Long's will be a change, 
 won't it 1 
 
 Chaff. And in the evening we'll go to the opera ; and I'll take you 
 behind the scenes during the ballet. {nudgi}ig Green.) 
 
 Green. Go along ! as I said before, you want me to become a shoe- 
 ing good-for-nothing rascal ! I know you do. 
 
 Chaff. Then you won't go 7 
 
 Gkeen {very qwckly). Yes, I will! But don't tell my wife, she might 
 think I went there to look at the — at the — *' contoiu's." (imitating dancing.) 
 
 Chaff. Then, let's be off! 
 
 Enter Servant, c. 
 
 Servant (^0 Chaffington). Your servant, sir, is inquiring for youj 
 he says on particular business. 
 Chaff. Oh, true ! {to Green) I took the liberty— 
 Gbeeii. Of coiu'se show him in. [Exit Seevant. 
 
 Enter Clerk, c. 
 
 Clerk {to Chaffington). These letters, if you please, sir, very par- 
 v!i5ular ! {gives three letters^ and share itst.) 
 
 Chaff. What's this 7 
 
 Clerk The share list you asked for. [Exit Clerk, c. 
 
 Chaff. Oh, very good. ( puts list in his pocket.) 
 
 Green {to Chaffington, who opens a letter). Never mind, you can read 
 '«m as we go along. 
 
30 AMATEUK A^'D PAKLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Chaff, {reading letter) " Urn Amelia Fitz-Perkins ! " 
 
 Gkeen. Who's she? 
 
 Chaff. A young person of very considerable musical promise. She 
 wants me to take lier to a concert this afternoon. How unfortunate. 
 
 Green. Fur her ! I'm sorry for Fitz-Perkins — very ! {to Cuaffing- 
 TON, xcho has opened another letter^ and crumbles xt in his hand angrily') "What's 
 the matter now ] 
 
 Chaff, {angrily). Matter! the new French dancer, Mademoiselle 
 Zephyrine — you know 
 
 Green. No, 1 don't. 
 
 Chaff. She's too unwell to dance to-night, and wants me to give her 
 a whitebait dinner at Blackwell. I suppose I must go ! 
 
 Green. Go ! Come, I say, you're a fine fellow to swagger about lib- 
 erty and independence — you are ! You bully me for being tied to one 
 woman's apron, and you're tied to two. You are. 
 
 Chaff. Don't be angry. I'll be back in time for the opera, {looking at 
 third letter) There's no getting out of this ! 
 
 GuEEN. {shouting). What's the matter now 1 
 
 Chaff. A most important meeting of the Independent Party this after- 
 noon, which I must attend ! 
 
 Green. Hi, hi! you're a pretty specimen of the Independent Party — 
 you ai-e ! I tell you what it is, if I'm a nigger, you're a bigger. 
 
 Chaff. I'm very sorry — quite annoyed, 1 assure you. However, bet- 
 ter luck next time. By Jove, I must be off ! [Suns out c. 
 
 Green {after a short pause). Well, 'pon my life this is a pleasant state 
 of things ! I've lost my dinner at Putney — Ive lost my dinner at Long's, 
 I can t have my dinner at home because the cook's got a holiday. What 
 on earth shall 1 do with myself all day 1 {suddoihj and very loud) What a 
 jolly fool I was not to go to Putney instead of telling a parcel of cock-and- 
 bull stories just to get a day's liberty, and now I've got it I don't know 
 what to do with it. {very loud) Will anybody tell me what to do with my 
 day's holiday? {pause, then shouting very loud) How infernally quiet 
 everything is ! I'll go out, but where? {suddenly) Why shouldn't I go to 
 Putney now 1 I shan't get any dinner, but I shall be with Mary and the 
 young 'un. I will go to Putney, if I have to walk every inch of the way ! 
 if I had one of my buffaloes I could ride down there in no time. Holloa ! 
 ah, here comes an empty hansom, {running to tvindoio) Engaged ] No, 
 that's 'ucky. {looking at watch) But zounds, I shall never catch the train! 
 {shouting out of window again) How much to Putney? All right! 
 {rushes out, then runs in again) My hat! Where's my hat? {hunts about, 
 finds ti, rushes out again, runs back again) My umbrella! {hunting about 
 again) Here it is. Holloa ! Confound it ! the fellow's driven oflfl Here, 
 Stop ! stop ! stop I {runs out waving umbrella and calling out.) 
 
 Re-enter Clerk, hurriedly, at c, rubbing his arm. 
 
 Clerk. What a hurry the gentleman's in, he almost knocked me over. 
 Where's my master ? not gone, I hope. Oh, here he comes. 
 
 He-enter Chaffington, at c. 
 
 Chaff. Well? I saw you running back towards the house. 
 
 Clerk. Yes, sir; this letter I forgot to deliver with the others, {giving 
 Chaffington a letter.) 
 
 Chaff, {opening it and reading). Ah, this is important, indeed! Every 
 other engagement must be given up, and I can dine with Green at Looig'-i 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 31 
 
 aa settled. That'll do. (to Clerk, who rum out, c.) But where is Green 1 
 (rings bell.) 
 
 Enter Servant Maid, l. 
 
 Where's you master *? 
 
 Serv. In the street, sir. Rim out of the house like mad, and is now 
 talking to a gentleman at the door. Here he is ! 
 
 Enter Green, c. — Exit Servant Maid, l. 
 
 Green. By Jove, here's a pretty business ! Holloa, Chaffington! are 
 you here ] The very man I want to see. 
 
 Chaff. Oh, 1 see! You are eager to learn the result of the meeting 
 ol our party "? That^s kmd of you— very kind, indeed, (shaking Green's 
 hand. ) 
 
 Green. Pooh — bother your party ! I've come to tell you something 
 I've heard. 
 
 Chaff. Eh ? Can it then have transpired already. 
 
 Green. Ehl Whaf? 
 
 Chaff. Why, (in a mysterious tone) that overtures have been secretly 
 made to one or two of our party by the Government. 
 
 Gree2j. Bother the Government! Do you know whats hkely to 
 happen ] 
 
 Chaff. I do. In a word, but this is in confidence, the strictest confi- 
 dence, this very day — nay, this very hour, I may become a member of 
 the Ministry. 
 
 Green (impatiently). Bother the Ministry I 
 
 Chaff. No wonder, then, you see me in this fever of anxiety and per- 
 plexity. 
 
 Green. So am I, if you come to that. 
 
 Chaff, (seizing and shaking Green's hands). How kind, how good of 
 you, to take such an interest in my affairs ! 
 
 Green. Bother your afiairs ! I'm thinking about my affairs — I'V9 made 
 such a discovery ! 
 
 Chaff. A discovery 1 
 
 Green. My Buffaloes and Hong Kon^s ! 
 
 Chaff. Pshaw ! whats the matter with them % 
 
 Green. I'll tell you. As I was rushing off to Putney, who should I 
 meet at the door but Bob Shillito — you know he's a stockbroker, and 
 mixed up with sometiiing or other — well, he said he was quite sure there'd 
 very soon be a smash in tlie city. I didn't know what he meant at first, 
 there are so many kinds of smashes, if a horse bolts with a cab into 
 a shop window, that a- a smash ! if a chimney pot falls, that's another 
 smash ! 
 
 Chaff. I suppose he meant a panic, ha, ha, ha I 
 
 Green. That's it. Well, I said to him, in a joking sort of way, as if I 
 didn't care two-pence about it — " Suppose," said I, '' you had a few 
 hundred something or other, say Buffaloes or Hong Kongs, what would 
 vou do with them 1 " " Sell them at once, get rid of them at any sacri- 
 fice/' saj's he. I thought I should have stood where I dropped — I mean 
 dropped wiiere I stood ! So I told him all about it, and then he said he'd 
 sell 'em for me at once. 
 
 Chaff, {takis list out of his pocket). What! sell in a falling market 7 
 madness ! (looking at list) Here is the share list, let's see. By Jove ! it is 
 so ! Buffaloes and Hong Kongs, both down one per cent. So you've sold, 
 have you 1 then my dear friend, by this very clever proceeding of yours, 
 you've lost exactly five hundred pounds. 
 
83 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS- 
 
 Green. Five hundred pounds 1 Mercy on us ! I've ruined myself ! I've 
 ruined the wife of my bosom! I've beggared my only offsprmg — poor 
 little beggar; in sliort. 1 ve cooked the whole buticli ot Gveeiis. Tliis is 
 all your doing, (/o Chaffington) 1 iiadn't seen you lor years! I nevar 
 wished to see you again. Why tiie devil couldn't you leave me alone 1 
 
 Chaff. Now, that's ungratctul ot you ! Didn't you tell me that you 
 wanted to make a fortune ? 
 
 Green. Confound it, dash it ! You don't call losing fiee hundred ponnd.s 
 at the first go off making a fortune, do you 1 1 call it losing one. What a 
 to be done ] I have it — of course — you'll lend me the money, won't 
 you ? {shaking Chaffington's hand violently) You're a trump ! {slapping 
 him on the shoulders.) 
 
 Chafv. I'm very sorry, my dear fellow, but really I have no available 
 funds just at present. 
 
 3Irs. G. {tvitJiout). Mr. Green still here, do you say 1 
 
 Green {who has fjone up, looks off c.) Good gracious! it's my wife ! 
 {running down to Chaffington) Not a word about my Hong Kongs. Keep 
 ray Buffaloes dark, {aside) If she sees me here she'll be sure to suspect 
 something, {hiding behind Chaffington.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Green and Julia, c. — Chaffington advances towards tJbein^ 
 Green sticking close behind him. 
 
 Mrs. G. Mr. Chaffington here 1 This is lucky, my sister having some 
 important matters to consult you upon. 
 
 Chaff. I understand, (f^o Julia) As Miss Somerton's executor — I say 
 as her executor, I'm too happy. {ivuiA. bows aside) I'd give a trifle if she'd 
 say something, {turning away.) 
 
 Mrs. G. {seeing G-r^-es). Eh, you here, Mr. Gieenl 
 
 Green. No, my dear. Yes, of course I am here ; in fact, it must be 
 obvious to the meanest capacity that I am here. 
 
 Mrs. G. I thought you were dining with Mr. Chaffington. 
 
 Green. So I am, but not now; not till six o'clock, and now it's just 
 after three. But if you come to that, I thought you were dining at Put- 
 ney. 
 
 Mrs. G. My dear, we were too late for the train, so we had nothing to 
 do but come back again. But what have you been about 7 
 
 Green. I're been about half an hour. I have been congratulating my 
 friend Chaffington — yes, I thought I'd be the first to offer our friend 
 Chaffington my sincere Buffaloes — I mean my Hong Kongs — no, my con- 
 gratulations on 
 
 Chaff. Nay, {interposing) ladies take no interest in politics ; besides, 
 my dear Green, your congratulations are premature, {aside) It's strange 
 I liear nothing, there can be no mistake, no misunderstanding, the terms, 
 on which we consented to support the Government were clear, palpable — ■ 
 p.shaw ! the alarm is groundless — unreasonable, {aloud) Miss Somertou, 
 1 am at 5'our orders, {going towards l., tvitk JuLiA.) 
 
 Mrs. G. You had better adjom-n to the library. 
 
 Julia, {turning round). Come, Mary. 
 
 Mrs, G. I'll follow you in a moment 
 
 [Exit Chaffington and JtJLlA, 
 I have a few words to say to Mr. Green, (looking at Green.) 
 
 Green {aside). She said that as if she meant something. 
 
 Mrs. G. Paddington ! 
 
 Green. Yes, my dear, {putting on an air of unconcern and trying to 
 thistle.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Look at me I Full in the face.' 
 
AJVIATEUK AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 33 
 
 Green (^forcing a laugli). Ha, ha ! You're up to some of your fun 
 again j there never was such a woman for beini; u{) to some ol her fun 
 again. There, {looking full vi Mrs. Green's face and trijing to imet her 
 look) You ve got a smudge on your nose. 
 
 Mrs. G. Never mind my nose ! {putting her hand mider hh cJiin and 
 raising his head slowly up) Paddmgtoii Green, you have something on 
 your mind ! 
 
 Green {with pretended joculartfy). Have 1 1 Then suppose you tak9 it 
 oflf. iia, ha, ha ! I'm uf) to some of my fun now. 
 
 Mrs. G. You cannot deceive me, Paddmgton, dear. Yon are nervous, 
 uneasy, restless, even m your sleep. Indeed, last night you 
 
 Gki':en {ve y eagerly), I haven't been talking have II I haven't said 
 anything about 
 
 Mrs. G. About what ? If you have any sorrow, any vexation, any 
 trouble, I demand to share it ; the burden will be less heavy if we bear 
 it between us, husband dear! 
 
 Green {aside). Bless her ! I've half a mind to try the Buffaloes on 
 again. I will, {aloud) Well, then, Mary, 1 conl-ss that ever since my 
 friend Chaffington told me how easy it was to make a lot of money 
 
 Mrs. G. {impatiently). Pshaw! 
 
 Green. Now, don't " pshaw" what I've got to say, before I've said, 
 what I ve got to sav. 
 
 Mrs. G. {quietly). Well % 
 
 Green. Weii. 1 iliought if by one lucky venture we could only realize 
 an independe.,.^ 
 
 Mrs. G. There is no such thing as independence ! We are all depen- 
 dent on one another in this world, high and low, rich and poor, and with- 
 out this mutual dependence society could not exist ; and, after all, {affec- 
 tionately, ami taking his arm) what have you to com.plain of in your lot ? 
 
 Green. My dear, I haven't got a lot; I've only got a little. 
 
 Mrs. G. What is there in your position so hard to bear 1 Tell me, 
 dear ! You won't. Then Til tell you. In the morning you have to leave 
 home, after a comfortable breakfast ; undergo the fatigue of riding all thu 
 way to Somerset House ; there, after warming your feet by the lire, you 
 have to chat with your fellow clerks, read the papers, eat your lunch, do 
 a little work if you can find time •, then, at four o'clock you have to turn 
 out again, and without a care for to-day, or an anxious thought for to- 
 morrow, with head erect and buoyant step, you stroll up Regent-street, 
 nod to your friends, look at the shops ; at length, with the appetite of an 
 alderman, you reach home, and after a good dinner you fall asleep in 
 your cosy arm-chair, and wake up to find your wife at your side and 
 your child on your knee ! And ail this tod and drudgery for a paltry four 
 hundred a year! Poor dear! {with pretended commiseratiou) Y'ou are 
 very much to be pitied indeed. 
 
 Green {ashamed). Well 
 
 Mrs. G. But, cheer up ! resign yourself to j'our happiness like a man ; 
 for yon know you c/j-e the hayjplest man in England ! {tenderly.) 
 
 Green. I am ! I am ! Thanks to you, my own Mary. Y^'ou're an 
 angel, and I'm an ungrateful Buffalo. I mean Butler ! no, brute ! that's 
 it ! (about to embrace her.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Hush ! {seeing Chaffington, u-ho enttrs hurriedly at c.) Well, 
 Mr. Chaffington. is your conference over already ? 
 
 Chaff. Not yet, but I'm obliiied to absent myself for a short time. 
 {aside) No intelligence yet 1 Can any obstacles have arisen 7 This sus- 
 pense is intolerable. Ah ! (seeing Paul, who enters at c, hurries to hitn 
 anxiously, and aside to him) Well, your news 1 
 
 Paul. Is unfavorable. It is believed that Ministers have reconsidered 
 
34 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 the overtures they made to your party, and have resolved to w^ithdraw 
 them. 
 
 Chaff. Ah, but this may be idle rumor — not that it matters to mo. 
 Of course not, my independent principles are too well known, (aside) If 
 they play me false, {walkmg to and fro) let them look to it — I'll oppose 
 Ihera tooth and nail ! Ill — 1 11 expose ihem as the most corrupt, the 
 most imbecile, liie most 
 
 Greej! {ivho has leen following him about trying to get in a word). I say, 
 what am I to do about my Buffaloes \ 
 
 Chaff, {impatiently). Damn your Buffaloes ! iHurries out c. 
 
 Gkeen (m amaze, then aside). He damns my Buffaloes. 
 
 Paul {who has noticed the above). My dear Mr. Green, allow me to as- 
 sure you that my uncle, proverbially the most patient and gentle of men, 
 is smarting under very serious annoyance. 
 
 Green. That's all very well, {aside) But he needn't have damned my 
 Buffaloes. 
 
 Mrs. G. {to Paul). I hope that no unfortunate speculation on Mr. 
 Chaffington's part 
 
 Paul. No, madam ; my uncle, I believe, will not suffer by the present 
 panic. 
 
 Green {tvith pretended indifference and unconcern) Oh ! there's a panic, 
 is there — not much of a one, I suppose! Umph! 
 
 Paul. On the contrary, there's a serious smash — in railways espe- 
 cially ! 
 
 Green {staggers against Paul, then recovers himself). Is there, though 1 
 You don't say so ! {^forces a whistle, ^-c.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Luckily, that is a matter of no consequence to you, Padding- 
 ton dear. 
 
 Green {trying to look cheerful). None in the world — of course not. 
 Tra, la,, la, la ! {aside) I must know the worst, {aloud to Paul) The fact 
 is, I happen to know that a friend of mine — Smith — you have heard the 
 name before — has just bought five hundred shares — I forget exactly 
 what he called them — BuiT— Buff— something or other. 
 
 Paul. Not Buffaloes, I hope. 
 
 Green {with a slight stagger, then recovers himself). Yes, that's it ; but 
 why — why do you hope not Buffaloes 7 
 
 Paul. Because if he were to sell them now, your friend Smith would 
 lose about two thousand poimds. (Green fails heavily against him) Why, 
 what's the matter 1 
 
 Green. N — othing ; I'rn all right, {ivith a ghastly smile,) 
 
 Paul. Oh, I see, you feel for poor Smith. 
 
 Green. Yes, that's it ; I'm feeling for poor Smith. 
 
 Mrs G. {to Green). You see, my dear, but for me you might perhaps 
 have been tempted to invest your little savings in these ruinous specula- 
 tions. 
 
 Green {trying to smile). Yes, I might 
 
 Mrs. G. And then you never tottld have looked your poor child in the 
 face again. 
 
 Green {in agony). Don't ! 
 
 Mrs, G. {alarmed). What is the matter 1 
 
 Green {almost choking with excitement). No — thing. I'm only feeling 
 for poor Smith. (Mrs. Green and Paul talk apart) I must get tiie money 
 somehow or other. I don't know who to ask. If I had only got two or 
 three rich old aunts now — but I haven't — I've only one, and 1 have to al- 
 low her seven-and-sispence a week, {sttddenly) Perhaps ray '' Buffaloes" 
 ain't 6old after all ; if I was fool enough to buy flicm, that's no reason 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 35 
 
 another fool should. I'll run at once and ascertain, {taking his hat and 
 about to nm off.) 
 
 Mrs. G. Where are you going, my dear? 
 
 Gkeen. Eh ? Oil, 1 thought I'd just run down to the office and tell 
 them I'm r.ot well enough to go out. 
 
 Mils. G. You had uiuch beUer send a note. 
 
 Greex. Yes. (as/dc) 1 wonder when 1 shall see my poor office again. 
 How the deuce shall I get away 1 {suddettly) By-the-by, I viust go ; 
 there's that lltLle affair ot yours, (to Paul) You know — that your uncle 
 spoke to uie about to-day. 
 
 Paul. Circumstances liave occurred to change my determination. I 
 am about, to leave England, perhaps for years. 
 
 Mrs. G. {lo Paul). Leave England! (Paul bows — aside) Poor Julia! 
 {looks again at Paul, then smiling — aside) I'^ou may, perhaps, change your 
 determhiatlon again, sir. [Exit l. door. 
 
 Green. I said «o Chaffington — I've a perfect recollection of saying to 
 CliafSiigton, " Ciiaffington," said I, " suppose, instead of u2J go the shares, 
 it should be dozcvi go the shares," and down they have goed ! It serve3 
 me rigliL for jiot being sntiisfied as I was. Wiiat the devil did I want to 
 be independent for 1 Hadn't I a comfortable income, a happy home, 
 sound health, lots of mustard and cress when it comes up, and a 
 quiet conscience, but that wouldn't do 1 Oh, of course not ! 1 must 
 needs try and butter myself — I mean better myself, and a pretty mess 
 I've made of it! A smash comes — nobody knows why — but it does; 
 iliere's a panic among my Buffaloes, and 1 lose all the money I've got, 
 besides a lot more that I havcti't got ! that I don't care so much about, 
 because I can afford it. If I could only find anybody to lend it to me, I 
 wouldn't mhid entering into a solemn engagement to borrow it directly ! 
 I can't say fairer, {iooking aside at Paul, who has seated himself at table, 
 and is looking at newspaper) There's my young friend now, he, somehow 
 or other, gives me the idea of a man with a few hundreds to spare. He 
 has t!ie look of a man with a few hundreds to sp'are ! I declare I've half 
 a mind— and as I've half a mind, I may just as well make it a whole one! 
 (aloud) Ahem : Mr. Chesterton 
 
 Paul {rising and coming down). Mr. Green. 
 
 Green {taking Ms arm familiarly). Do you know Pm one of those chaps 
 wlio can't bear to keep a good thing to themselves 1 I say it again, on© 
 of them chaps am I. 
 
 Paul {smiling). Indeed. 
 
 Green. Yes ; now there's a good thing you're not at all aware of that 
 I think it my duty to let you into, namely, that it is in your power to do 
 me a very great service. 
 
 Paul, I'm very much obliged to you for mentioning it, I'm sure. 
 
 Green. Say no more, you're quite welcome. You heard what I was 
 sav;r,.Tf just now about — Smith 1 
 
 Paul. Smith 1 Smith? 
 
 Green. Yes. Buffialo Smith. You know 1 
 
 Paul. Oh, yes j your friend who made such an unlucky speculation, 
 poor devil ! 
 
 Green. Yes, well — {looking about him, then in an undertone) I'm Buffalo 
 Smith— I'm the ])Oor devil '. 
 
 Paul {grasjjing Green's har/d). Believe me, I'm very sorry for it. 
 
 Green {f/r^.spmg Paul's hand). And believe me, so am I. Its all your 
 uncle's fault, he thinks himself a precious long-headed fellow, but be- 
 tween you and me, it's my belief he isn't half so long in the head as ho 
 thinks he is — in this way ; if he'd stuck to his original idea of buying 
 
36 AMATEUH AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 me a lot of Cemeteries, I should have been all right ; nobody ever heard 
 
 of a panic among Cemeteries, but Buffaloes are such timid things. 
 
 Paul. My uncle's advice may have been unfortunate, but you may be 
 sure lie acted for the best in giving it. 
 
 GiiEEN. At any raie, I'm quite sure I acted for the worst in taking it. 
 
 Paul. But after all, you may be alarming yourself unnecessarily. 
 Shares may go up again. 
 
 Green. You mean there may be a m in Buffaloes 1 Nothing mcfe 
 lilcely, because I've sold mine ! 
 
 Paul. Indeed ! At a considerable sacrifice, Pra afraid. 
 
 Green. So am I, horribly afraid! I don't exactly know yet to what 
 extent I am in the hole ; but I don't see the shghiest chance of getting out^ 
 of the hole, unless — I say unless — (looks 'pathetically in Paul's face,) 
 
 Paul. Unless a friendly hand comes to your rescue. 
 
 Green {eagerly). That's it ! You see a thing at a glance, you do. 
 The rapidity with wliich you see a thing at a glance is quite extraordinary, 
 
 Paul. Tell me, is Mrs. Green aware? 
 
 Green {alarmed). Hush ! no ! She hasn't the faintest idea that I'm 
 in any hole whatever, and that's v;liat I m afraid of. I dcii't mean to 
 say slie'd bully me. No ! she'd do worse than that — she'd begin to 
 blubber. I could stand any amount of bullying, but the least bit of blub- 
 ber would unman me quite. 
 
 Paul. My dear Mr. Green, I will not affect to misunder.stand the nature 
 of the service you require of me; you wish me to lend you money 1 
 
 Green. Or I'll borrow it of you, whichever you prefer ; 'pon my life, 
 as I said before, your style of seeing a thing at a glance is marvellous ! — 
 it is indeed. 
 
 Paul. I feel, my dear sir, you have conferred a favor upon me. I 
 know no greater pleasure in life than that of serving a friend. 
 
 Green {grasping his hand). You're a noble young man — you're anorca- 
 ment to your sex. (looking admiringly at Paul.) 
 
 Paul. But it unfortun'ately happens 
 
 Green {gradually becoming less energetic in shaking Paul's hand). 
 Humph ! 
 
 Paul. In a word, it grieves me to say 
 
 Green {drop^nng "Bavl's hand). That's enough ! Ilcnow Avhat's coming, 
 you haven't any " available funds Just at present," that's what your uncle 
 said, and I suppose it runs in the family. 
 
 Paul. Your words imply a reproach which I do not deserve. The 
 litt e property 1 possessed has passed from me. 
 
 Green. You haven't been buying Buflialoes have you? 
 
 Paul. Hear me ! I learnt but yesterday that my good old tutor, whom 
 I loved and honored as a father, had become hopelessly mvolved by the 
 reckless profligacy of a reprobate son. Could I better repay the debt 
 of aratitude I owed him than by saving him from ruin ? 
 
 Green. You known best •, all I can say is, that if my old tutor had got 
 into the hole I should have let him stop there. 
 
 Paul. I can therefore on'y hope you will accept the will for the deed. 
 
 Green. I suppose I must; though of the two I should have preferred 
 tlio deed, {seeing Paul about to go) Holloa! don't go without seeing 
 Mary and Julia ; they shall both know how generously you have behaved 
 to the aged being who fir.st taught you how to shoot. 
 
 Paul." Not for the world.' Let it be a secret, I beg ! 
 
 Green. Very well; but of course you won't leave England without 
 saying good-bye % 
 
 Paul. I promise you I will not. {going, stops) Remember, Mr. Green, 
 yen have my secret ! pray respect it. [Extt c.^ 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 3^7 
 
 ' Green. Well, I am in a fix and no mistake ! I don't know who to ap- 
 ply to for a loan. There's a fellow in the office I really think would oblige 
 me, but as I lent him half a crown last Christmas, and he hasn't paid me 
 yet, I don t think it would be much use in asking him. {looking/ off, h.) By 
 Jove! liere's my wife's sister; I never thouglit of her, she's just had a 
 heap of money left her ! It's very true 1 don't much like her ; nevertheless 
 I feel that to deprive her of the gratification of placing her fortune at my 
 disposal would be ungenerous of me. I know she would jump at the 
 opportunity of getting me out of the hole ; what right then have I to say 
 to her, " No, jump at it you shall nof? " 
 
 Enter Julia, l., she appears thoughtful. 
 
 Julia. Leave England, perhaps for years ! poor Paul — or rather poor 
 me. I wouldn't have him when I could, and now that I am about to 
 lose him I could almost ask him to have me, heigho ! 
 
 Green. Ahem ! 
 
 Julia {seeing him). Oh, my dear brother-in-law ! 
 
 Green {aside). Her dear broLher-iii-law. That sounds well; she's in 
 the vein, {aloud) My dear Miss Somerton 
 
 Julia. Miss Somerton, fie ! Call me Julia. 
 
 Green {aside). She says, "Call me Julia;" she's decidedly in the 
 vein, {aloui) My dear Julia, you'll hardly believe it, but candor compels 
 me to confess that I've been making a very considerable ass of myself. 
 
 Julia {smiling). Indev^d ! How 1 
 
 Green. By taking it into my head that my worldly prosperity would 
 be materially increased by the possession of 500 Buffaloes. 
 
 Julia {quietly). So Mr, Chaffington has informed me. 
 
 Green. Oh ! Then you know all about it 1 {aside) That will save me 
 a deal of trouble. 
 
 Julia. Yes. {aside) And, moreover. I have arranged with Mr. Chaffing- 
 ton that you shall not suffer by you imprudence, my good, silly brother- 
 in-law. {aloud) And the investment 1 am told, has not been a profitable 
 one. 
 
 Green. Not exactly, in fact, instead of making a little, I've lost a lot ! 
 Not that I should mind the loss of the money a bit, if I hadn't got to pay 
 it ! and then I don't wan't Mary to know anything about it — she would 
 grizzle so ! and I can't conceive anything more painful to a husband than 
 to see the wife of his bosom a-grizzling ! Besides, she thinks me a deuced 
 clever fellow, and I don t want her to find out that I'm a jolly fool ! 
 
 Julia. Well, surely there can be no great difficulty in your borrowing 
 the money ? 
 
 Green. Not the slightest — if I could find anybody to lend it to me! 
 I asked Mr. Chesterton, just now 
 
 Julia {ivith a movement of indignation). And he refused 1 — — 
 
 GaEEN. No ! not exactly refused 
 
 Julia {aside). And I, who thought him so generous, so liberal, {alottd) 
 So he i)leaded his inabdity to serve you 1 And yet it was always thought 
 that his means, if net ample, were far from limited ! 
 
 Green. Oh, dear, no! No such thing! he's regularly cleaned out- 
 like me. 
 
 Julia. Indeed ! 
 
 Green. Yes. {suddenly) No ! Wheugh ! I've gone and let it out. It*s 
 a secret, I promised him I wouldnt tell anybody. No more I have ex- 
 cept you ; to be sure I haven't seen anybody else. 
 
 Julia (eagerly), I will not betray you; indeed I will not. But pray 
 leU me all 
 
88 ASLVTEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. _ 
 
 Green. Well, then, it was only yesterday that he lent every shilling 
 he bad in the world to his old noodle of a tutor, who had got into some 
 hole or hobble, and 
 
 JoLiA. Ah! {aside) Yes, I now understand his words to Mary; words 
 that, so pained, so humihated me. He knew that he was penniless, that 
 [ was rich ; and his love which was once mine — nay, perhaps was mine 
 5till, was sacrificed to his sense of pride and delicacy. Dear, dear Paul ! 
 
 Green {observing her — aside). She's evidently thinking to herself withii^a , 
 herself, " I wonder how much money he wants." ^Hl 
 
 Julia. My dear brother-in-law, you have made me very, very happy. ' 
 
 Gbken {aside). It's all right ! I'll name a good stiff sum now I'm about 
 It. 
 
 Julia. But you are sure you are not deceiving mel ^m\ 
 
 Green. No; its a melancholy fact. Hi 
 
 Julia. Melancholy 1 on the contrary 
 
 Green, Well, if you don't mind it, I don't see why /should, {aside) I 
 hke her a deal better than I did. ■ i 
 
 Julia. And depend upon it, I'll keep your secret. flj 
 
 Green. Do, especially from poor Mary. Don't set her a-grizzling. ■ 
 
 Enter Paul, c, hut seeing Julia, stops. 
 
 Julia {seeing him — aside). There's Paul. Now I'll know the truth. 
 
 Green. Of course I can't say to a pound or two what the damage will 
 be, but I should think 
 
 Julia. Nay, what matters the amount 7 
 
 Green. As you very properly observe, " what matters the amount." 
 {aside) I like her immensely better than I did. 
 
 Julia. For after all, the only real enjoyment we can derive from wealth 
 Is the power of conferring happiness on others. 
 
 Green {enthusiastic). That's fine, that is. You're an ornament to your 
 sex, you are. {grasping her hand and shaking it.) 
 
 Julia. Therefore, feeling as I do, 1 leave you to imagine how deeply I 
 regret my inability to serve you. {looking aside at VxvLfWho overhears and 
 appears surprised.) 
 
 Green. Oh ! {letting her hand drop). No no ; that's coming it rather too 
 strong, that is ; you're joking — ha, ha! You can't have got through Aunt 
 Sarah's £30,000 yet — you couldn't have done it in the time. No, not you 
 nor any other man I 
 
 Julia {icith pretended surprise). Oh, then you haven't heard 1 
 
 Green. Heard what % 
 
 Julia. That a more recent will has been discovered, revoking the for- 
 mer one, and leaving poor me nothing but her wardrobe and her silver 
 tea-pot— it's too bad, isn't if? {pretending to pout) By-the-by, if they'd 
 be of any use to you 
 
 Green. Don't be absurd ! What could I do with a tea-pot 7 And as 
 for her wardrobe it wouldn't fit me. It's a very remarkable thing, but 
 the moment I want anything of anybody, that anybody is sure to be ruin- 
 ed ! As for there being a single individual who has got any available funds 
 just at present I don't believe it. 1 must have another try. And all this 
 fuss and bother for a few paltiy hundred pounds. Why, I'd give a thousand 
 myself not to owe them ! [Hurries out c. 
 
 Paul {coming down hurriedly). Miss Somerton I 
 
 Julia {pretending surp-ise). You here, Mr. Chesterton*? 
 
 Paul. Julia, I have heard all ! Whilst wealth was yours I dared not 
 Bpeak, its loss has unsealed my lips, and I now dare tell you that neither 
 time nor absence, not even your indifference, Julia, have had power to 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 89 
 
 change me. I have no riches to offer you, but I will work, labor, toil 
 for you ! Say, Julia — dear Julia, may I hope, or must I still love in vaiu 1 
 
 Julia. I am afraid you are very fickle, sir ; you forget that you reject- 
 ed my hand yesterday. 
 
 Paul. Because you were rich. 
 
 Julia. You would have me give it to you to-day 
 
 Paul. Because you are poor. 
 
 Julia {(shakes her head icith pretended seriousness"). You may change 
 again to-morrow. 
 
 Paul. Never ! Never again. 
 
 Julia (smiling). What security can you give me, sirl 
 
 Paul. The pledge of love— a devotion that will cease only with life. 
 
 Julia. I'm afraid you're a very rash young man! remember, sir, you 
 take me " for better for worse." 
 
 Paul (repeating). " For better for worse," 
 
 Julia {smiling). Without knowing how bad that worse may be — " For 
 richer tor poorer." 
 
 Paul (repeating). " For richer for poorer." 
 
 Julia. You promise this, Paul I 
 
 Paul. 1 swear it! (kneels — Julia holds her hand to him — he takes it and 
 kisses it.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Green, l. Mr. Chaffington, c. 
 
 Mrs. G. What do I see 7 
 
 Paul. My dear Mrs. Green, give me joy. Julia is mine, (to Chaf- 
 fington) Ah ! my dear uncJe I 
 
 Chaff. " Dear uncle/' indeed ! You're a pretty fellow. Master Paul, 
 to undertake to ])lead your uncle's suit, and marry the lady yourself. 
 
 Paul. Nay ! (aside to him) You ought to be very much obliged to me 
 for taking the lady off your hands — you confessed that her fortune was 
 her chief attraction. 
 
 Chaff. And you seem to have come to the same opinion. 
 
 Paul. I i Then you haven't heard 1 
 
 Chaff. Heard what 1 
 
 Paul. That a more recent will has been discovered. 
 
 Chaff. A more recent will % (Julia makes signs to him to be silent, which 
 he does not observe.) 
 
 Paul. Yes, in short, that Miss Somerton'.s £30,000 have dwindled 
 down to an antiquated wardrobe and a silver tea-pot. 
 
 Chaff. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Paul (suddenly turning and seeing Julia, who is repeating s^gns to Chaf- 
 fington — Julia stops and puts en a very penitent look). Julia, you have 
 deceived me. 
 
 Julia (tuith pretended confusion), I'm sorry you should be disappointed 
 about the tea-pot, Paul. But what's to be done 1 You were rash enough 
 to promise that you'd take me for " richer for poorer." So you had bet- 
 ter submit with becoming resignation. (Paul takes her hand) That's 
 right ; and as for these unlucky thirty thousand pounds of mii)e, if j'ou 
 so very much object to them, I'll do as my brother-in-law did, I'll invest 
 them in Buffaloes. 
 
 Mrs. G. (overhearing). What's that 1 
 
 Green (sings xvithout, c). " Tol de rol lol ! Tol de rol lol I " 
 
 Enter Green, c, dancing and skipping about, 
 
 (sings) " I'm out of the bole, I'm out of the hole ! Tol de rol lol ! ♦♦ 
 {»mng Mrs. Gbeen) Come to my anus, Mary ! (throwing his arms 
 
40 AMATEUR AND iPARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 her) Come td my arms, everybody ; one at a time or altogether, I dotft 
 care which. " Tol de rol lol ! " {dances about again and flings his hat in 
 the air.) 
 
 Mrs. G. My dear Paddington, what is the matter 1 
 
 Greex. Buffaloes are up again. Three cheers for Buffaloes ! 
 
 Mus. G. Butialoes^ 
 
 Gheex. Yes, and I've got out of mine just as I got into them, {to 
 Chaffington) Your clerk has just told nie so. Some prec ous noodle 
 or other has bought them at something about pa; not that 1 know what 
 he means by pa, and what's more, I don't care a damn. 
 
 Chaff. Very true, my dear fellow, and I can tell you, moreover, that 
 " precious noodle " is no other than — {about to point io Julia.) 
 
 Mits. G. {looking at Green and shaking Iter head). So Mr. Green 
 
 Green. That's right, Mary. Don't spare me, bully me, there's a dear; 
 but don't blubber, there's a darling. I've had a lesson that'll last me as 
 long as I live, and longer too, if t live as long, {to Ciiaffington) My 
 dear Chaffington, I'll give you a bit of advice ; mind — mind what you re 
 about, for depend upon it, you're not half so long in the head as you 
 think you are. But, I say, how about your little affair 7 What have 
 they made you, eh '? Board of Guardians — Commissioner of Paving 
 
 Chaff. Pshaw ! The sweets of office have no charms for me. No ; I 
 am resolved to maintain my present unfettered position, which secures to 
 me the proudest privilege of a Britishrepresentative — freedom of thought, 
 liberty of opinion, and independence of action, {during this Chaffinq- 
 ton's Clerk has hurried in at c.) 
 
 Clerk .{to Chaffington) A messenger from the Home Office! 
 i Chaff. Ah! (hurries out c, followed hg C'lbrk.) 
 
 Green. Ha, ha! there goes another of the independent lot. 
 
 Mrs. G. Then you don't envy him his wealth, and you'll never long for 
 independence again 1 
 
 Green. Never ! There are two words I shall forthwith discard from 
 my vocabulary, Independence and Buffaloes. No, Mary, I'll stick to my 
 office like a brick. 1 11 be satisfied with what I've got, and eat my mus- 
 tard and cress in thankfulness, when it comes up. 
 
 Mrs. G. And never sigh for "A Thousand a Year?" (^seeing QRESh 
 hesitate, holds up her finger,) 
 
 Green {quicklg), Never, never 1 
 
 CUETJIN. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 41 
 
 CAST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 Royal Olympic Tlieatre, 
 October 21, 1867. 
 
 Mr. Paddington Green Mr. Chakles Mathews. 
 
 Mr. Percy Chaiiington Mr. H. Wigan. 
 
 Mr. Paul Chesterton Mr. H. Fabbeix. 
 
 Clerk to Chaiiington . 
 
 Mrs. Paddington Green Mrs. St. Henky. 
 
 Julia, her sister Miss Louisa Moobs. 
 
 Maid Servant .....—— — — , j 
 
 COSTUMES OF THE DAT. 
 TIME IN PEEFOEMANCE-ONE HOUR AND FIFTEEN MINUTES. 
 
 Properties.— Breakfast things, lumps of sugar; umbrella, card-case and card; 
 H^^are-list, newspaper. 
 
 EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 The Actor is supposed to face the Audience. 
 
 8.SB. ' 
 
 / 
 
 B. 13. ' 
 
 / 
 
 gCENE. 
 
 Z..U.S* 
 
 \ 
 
 r.8: 
 
 B.2Z. 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 Z..2B. 
 z.. i& 
 
 8. B. a c. Xu a !<. 
 
 AUDIENCE. 
 
 L. Left. 
 
 L. c. Left Centre. 
 
 L. 1 E. Left First Entrance. 
 
 L. 2 E. Left Second Entrance. 
 
 L. 3 E. Left Third Entrance. 
 
 h. V. E. Left Upper Entrance 
 
 (wherever this Scene may be.) 
 
 X>. L. c. Door Left Centre. 
 
 c. Centre. 
 
 E. Eight. 
 
 K. 1 E. Eight First Entrance. 
 
 R. 2 E. Eight Second Entrance. 
 
 R. 3 E. Eight Third Entrance. 
 
 B. TT. E. Eight Upper Entrance. 
 
 ». c. c. Door ELight Centre. 
 
A MODEL OF A WIFE. 
 
 SCENE. — An Artist's Studio ; writirtg materials ; near the table nn easel. 
 At the back a slab and muJer fur grinding colors ; C , before the window, 
 a lay figure, dressed as a bride, with bouquet, wreath, and veil, sealed on 
 an arm chair with caUors. A guitar on the stage. 
 
 Stump is discovered in dressing gown, finishing a portrait, r. ; Clara and^ 
 the two Pupils are drawing from the lay figure, l., Tom at the back 
 grinding colors on the slab. Mrs. Stump at needlework. 
 
 Stump {goes over to table, l.). Now, youns: ladies, how do you get on 1 
 Miss Biggs, that is very clever, but I must beg you to observe that both 
 eyes are never seen in a profile. Miss Smith, my love, that ear is large 
 enough for a bonnet. Well, well, you're tired I dare say, I'm sure I am ; 
 I won't detain you any longer ; good morning, my dears, good morning. 
 Tom, rub out the youna hidi^^s. I mean, let out the young ladies, ygoes 
 back to easel— Tom shows off the Pupils, l., and re-enfrs) Now, Tom, put 
 away tlie lay figure. 
 
 Tom. Come, my beauty, your day's work is over. So move on with 
 your barrow while your wheel's good, {wheels oat lay figure, c. door, and 
 re-enters.) 
 
 Stump {goes to portrait). Now, my lady, when I've starched your col- 
 lar and brushed your dress a little, you'll do. 
 
 Clara. Finished already, uncle 1 {goes up to window at back.) 
 
 Mrs. S. 1 should think so by this time. I'm sure he's been so busy 
 the young lady pupils had no lesson this morning at all. 
 
 Stump. Betsy ! Mrs. Stump ! The needle, my love, is your depart- 
 ment, not the pencil. I set ray pupils an example of industry, and that 
 alone is worth a guinea a quarter. But what do you think of my pic- 
 ture, eh 1 
 
 ClTra^' \ ^^'' charming indeed. 
 
 Stump. No ! do you think so really ? Now, without flattery? J 
 
 Tom Weil, without flattery, it's devilish good. r 
 
 Stump. Who asked \'our opinion, sirrah ? Mind your own business. I 
 
 Tom. Mind my business? Grind my business, you mean. 
 
 Mrs. S. Really tiie lady is so charming, I should be quite uneasy if I 
 bad a jealous temper like yours, 
 
 .Stump. I jealous; absurd ! what, a month after marriage? 
 
 Mus. S. A fortnight only, if you please. 
 
 Stump. So it is; besides, you need not be jealous of the picture, for 
 it is not a bit like — my dear, between you and me. the original of that 
 sylph is a fat pork butcher's wife, with beefy hands and a gold chain 
 round hei- neck like a string of sausages round a collar of brawn; we 
 artists are obliged to draw on our imagination a little. 
 
 Tom. Ah ! tliat's cheaper than drawing on canvas. 
 
 Stump. And as to my being of a jealous temper, there yon are quite 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 43 
 
 wrong. I have perfect confidence in my darling Betsy ! Not a word 
 though of that young French monkey, who is always watching at the 
 opposite window. Perhaps she has not seen him. (aside.) 
 
 Clara {lookwg from the window, l.). No — he is nol there now. {aside.) 
 
 Stump. Bless me ! why it's three o'clock ; I must dress and be oflf— to 
 deliver this portrait ; hut I shan't be long — ihe pork butcher lives only 
 at the corner. Tom, while Tm out, call at Nathan's masquerade ware- 
 house and get me a dress for a Bayadere. 
 
 Tom. a baby's ear, sir? 
 
 Stump. A Bayadere, idiot ! No, stay ! a dress for an Arab chief. 
 
 Tom. a Harab chief? worry good. sir. [£xtt, L. 
 
 Mrs. S. An Arab chief! What for 1 
 
 Stump. Only for the lay figure. The pupils are getting tired of bridal 
 array, orange flowers, and sentiment. I must give 'em a touch of the 
 Oriental. Good-by, my love, for the present. There's that puppy at Ihe 
 window again; but she shan't see that I am uneasy. Good-by, my love, 
 1 11 go and dress. If I had the painting of his portrait, his own mother 
 should not know him again. [Stump exits, r. door, 
 
 Clara (looking from window). No ! he comes no more, 
 
 Mrs. S. What, again at that window, child'? 
 
 Claka. 1 was only looking if our neighbor was looking. 
 
 Mrs. S. My dear Clara, you are very wrong. 
 
 Clara. 1 know it, but I can't help it. 
 
 Mrs. S. You don't know him ? 
 
 Clara. No— he has the charm of mystery. I only know he is of 
 foreign family, his name Bonnefoi, and that he is independent ; and then 
 how he dresses. 
 
 Mrs. S. Rather eccentrically, I think. 
 
 Clara. If by eccentric you mean away from the herd, yes. Then his 
 pale face and his dear melancholy moustache, something between the 
 Corsair and the Wandering Jew. 
 
 Mrs. S. Silly child. 
 
 Clara. And then, how charmingly he passes his time ; he reads, ho 
 smokes, he plays his guitar all day, and then at night he opens his win- 
 dow and looks at the moon, and sighs. 
 
 Mrs. S. Sneezes, I should think. And how, pray, do you know all 
 this? 
 
 Clara. Tom chats a great deal with the servant-of-all-work at his 
 lodgings. She says he uses such high-flown language that it's quite im- 
 possible to understand him. 
 
 Mrs. S. And pray of what use is this valuable information ? 
 
 Clara. Oh ! I don't know. At all events it can do no harm. 
 
 Mrs. S. I am not sure of that. Pray, are you silly enough to fancy 
 he's in love with you 1 
 
 Clara. I shouldn't wonder. 
 
 Mrs. S. Nor be much displeased,! suppose. 
 
 Clara. He's very handsome. 
 
 Mrs. S Handsome ! Well there's no accounting for taste. 
 
 Clara. There's one thing I cannot make out. He never looks here 
 except during the hour of the lesson. Then he stands flattening his 
 dear nose against the glass all the the time, but the moment the young 
 ladies are gone he disappears, 
 
 Mrs. S. What, are you jealous of one of the pupils? 
 
 Claba. Jealous ! how ridiculous ! 
 
 Enter Tom> Ii. 
 
44 AMAt:eiUR AT^D PARLOR f HEATtllCALS. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 Tom. Please ma'am, there's a gent wants master. 
 
 Mrs. S. Turn, if you say gent again, I'l! di.scharge you. 
 
 Tom. Beg pardon, mem. There's a cove, that is, a person, wants mas- 
 ter. A young man. 
 
 Mrs. S. Who is it? 
 
 Tom. The eccentric gent — that is the queer foreigneerin gentleman 
 from over the way. 
 
 Clara. Ahl Bonnefoi! 
 
 Tom. Yes, miss, Mounseer Bonfire, that's the name. 
 
 Mrs. S. What can he want 1 
 
 Clara. I Tnink 1 can guess, (aside.) 
 
 Mrs. S. Yes, ask him to wait; Mr. Stump will be with him in a mo- 
 toent. Come. Clara ! come with me. 
 
 Clara. Oh ! what a flutter I'm in. 
 
 [Bxeunt Mrs. S. and Clara, R. 1 B. 
 
 Tom (calling). You're to come up, Mounseer Bonfire ! 
 
 Enter Bonnefoi, l. 
 
 Bonne. Not here ! Helas ! she is not here ! {ci-of.ses r.) B 
 
 Tom. Master will be with you sir, as soon as he has cleaned hisself. ■ 
 We are all in a mess, sir. I've not had lime to set things to rights since 
 the pupils went away. Why, one on 'ems forgot her 'ankerchief— Miss 
 Biggs, 1 suppose — I wonder she did not come back for ii, for she had a 
 precious bad cold, {takes handkerchief from take) No ! there's a hess in 
 the corner — it's my new married missus's ! 
 
 Bonne. Her handkerchief ! {snatches it from Jiim) Give me ! <»ive me ! 
 
 Tom. Come ! I say — — 
 
 Bonne. Hold, domestic. 
 
 Tom. Drumstick ! What do you mean ? 
 
 Bonne. There is gold to pay thy silence. 
 
 Tom. .^".tsir. Masler— — 
 
 B -. Va-t-en— Animal ! 
 
 Tom. •I'wo half crowns ! well that's a good price— if he has a taste for 
 'an kerchiefs. I wonder what he'd give for my bandanna, {showing his 
 own.) [Exit, L. 
 
 Bonne. He's gone ! now charming handkerchief, come at my burning 
 lips. As de divine Shakespeare say, what a piece of work is a man ! 
 But what a piece of work is a woman ! Since that fatal day peace has 
 fled my soul. I sit one day to smoke my pipes and dream of love, when 
 at the opposite window, the window of this very room, I saw a young 
 lady, and one of such a beautiful I My dream of the ideal was realized, 
 and for a few short hours I dream of happiness. B liter nonsense ! Tlie 
 next evening, about the hour of the moffeen and de postman's bell, I saw 
 her again. Mais quel horreur! her brow was decked with the wreath 
 of marriage, her face was veiled, and in her iiand the fatal bouquet. I 
 scream, I knock my fist at, my head, and rush along Oxford-street, round 
 Hyde-park without a hat. I returned wet troo my skin, but the fire 
 within was unquenched ! She is married, consequently if daf she is mar- 
 ried it must dat she has got a husband. Bah ! I mock myself to him ! 
 Sans doute, it is her fader. Her fader has sacrificed her. I also have a 
 fader ; 'tis one of the teiribie necessities of our life that we must have a 
 fader. Ah ! if one could come into the world alone — alone like the sim- 
 ple mushroom, and den struggle boldly with de life ! She comes ! I think 
 I hear the rustle of the gown ! No ! How shall I give her this note 7 
 Ah ! 'lis she. No. 'Tis an old man — her fader, perliaps ; or her grand* 
 fader. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 45 
 
 Enter Stomp, r. door. 
 
 Stottp. Where is the gentleman ? Ah I 'tis that fellow from the win- 
 dow. What can he want ? 
 Bonne. Perliaps slie will follow him. 
 Stump. Pray, sir, may I ask your business ? 
 Bonne. Certainly, sir. (aside) She comes not. 
 Stump. Do you wish me to take your portrait, sir ? 
 Bonne. Not any porter, sir, I thauk you. 
 Stump. Sir ! 
 
 Bonne. Pardon! I'm rather absent. 
 
 Stump {aside). I wisli you were quite absent. Sir, I'm in a hurry to 
 go out, what can I do for you ? 
 Bonne. I believe, sir, you are a jsilazier. 
 Stump. Do you mean to insult me, sir ? 
 
 Bonne. I beg pardon; I mean a painter. You know it is sometimes 
 painter, glazier, glazier, painter; en fin the profes.sions are sometimes 
 united, and my ideas are so mixed up. Enfin, Monsieur. I wish to 
 profit by tlie great genius of meestare, and lake a few lessons of draws. 
 Stump. I am sorry to refuse you, but I teach none but ladies. 
 Bonne. How shall I give her the letter? {aside) I believe, sir, you 
 made an observation. 
 
 Stump. I say, sir, I don't teach gentlemen, and that I wouldn't give 
 you lessons even at a guinea each. 
 
 Bonne. Sir I am rich ; I will pive j-on nil the guineas, dat nevare you 
 can want, {a^tde) Ah ! I know what I do ! 
 
 Stump. He must have some base motive, or he wouldn't be so liberal. 
 Sir, 1 can't break through my rule on any terms. 
 
 Bonne. Har handkerchief shall convey my love, {he couceah the note in 
 the handkerchipf. ) 
 
 Stump. He doesn't hear me. The fellow's mad I think. 
 Bonne. 1 think you made an observation. 
 
 Stump. Sir, I can only repeat to yon 
 
 Bonne. Tlien don't take de trouble. I understand you perfectly. 
 {places the kerchief carefully on the table.) 
 Stump. No, sir, you don't understand. 
 
 Bonne. But you are in a hurry to go out. I will not detain you — in 
 an hour she will have read it. In an hour I will return and fetch my 
 first lesson 
 
 Stump. But, sir, we are not agreed. 
 
 Bonne Da terms makes nothing — name them yourself. In an hour I 
 return. Meestare, I ave de honor to wish you a very good how doo you 
 do. How do you do ? [Exits boioing, l. 
 
 Stump. Thank goodness the fellow is gone at last. 
 
 Re-enter Mrs Stump with Clara, r. 1 e. 
 
 Mrs. S. What! alone, my dear! 
 
 Stump. Yes, he's gone, I'm happy to say, but he'll soon be back, he 
 eays, if you're so anxious to see him. 
 
 Mrs. S. I anxious to see him '? 
 
 Stump. Yes ! he says he wants to take drawing lessons, but rraafrai<3 
 he wants to tike something else. 
 
 Mrs. S. Why, what are you afraid of? 
 
 Stump. D'» you suppose 1 havent seen that young puppy's kit-eat 
 stuck at the window opposite for days together motiQnle.ss as a port^a!^^ 
 in this style, two guineas. 
 
49 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Mrs. S. I have often observed him rayself. 
 
 Stump. You confess it — an.l now tliat the fellow has had the assur- 
 ance to intrude his full leusth into my house, you expect me take it cool- 
 ly. No, madam, 1 see his motives, and so no doubt do you. 
 
 Mrs S. Mr. Stump can you suppose 
 
 Stump. Yes, madam, I can stippose. You and Clara behave most 
 improperly. You are always staring at the wmdow of that mealy-faced 
 moustachioed puppy. He rolls his eyes at you, and though you don't 
 perhaps roil yours in return, yet your manner is sufficient to encourage 
 his infamous designs. 
 
 Mrs. S. Mr. Stump! For shame 1 Clara, do you hear him? Oh! 
 that I should come to this ! That I can't even look out of the window ! 
 Oh I oh 1 oh! (sits in chair.) 
 
 Clara. Never mind, dear. He's a brute ! Oh ! Mr. Stump, behold 
 these tears — only a fortnight married too ! 
 
 Stump. I can't bear to see her cry — I'm afraid I've been too hasty. 
 {aside) There ! there my love, don't ciy, I was wrong ; you know it is 
 only the excess of ray aflfection makes ma so hasty. Tliere ! there I 
 don't cry. 
 
 Mrs. S. I will — it does me good. 
 
 Stump. Kiss your own dear SLum|)y ! dry your eyes — here's your 
 handkerchief, (gives her handkerchief — the note falls out of it) Ha! what's 
 thatl 
 
 Stump. A letter ! " To the charming bride." So ! so ! this is for you, 
 madam ! 
 
 Mrs. S. (l. c). Indeed, Mr. Stump, I know nothing of it. 
 
 Stump. OIi ! of coarse not (rending) " Um ! — yours till death, Pyg ! 
 what's this, Pysr, Pyg, Pygmalion Bounefoi." By Heavens! a passionate 
 declaration! (takes stage.) 
 
 Clara. Can it be possible ? 
 
 Mrs. S. What does this mean 1 
 
 Stump, How dare you ask me, madam ? 
 
 Enter Tom, l., and crosses behind to r. 
 
 SxtTMP. Tom, pack up that picture, I must go out directly ! The air 
 will do me good — I shall burst! 
 
 Tom (packing up picture in green baize). Oh! you've got your 'anker^ 
 chief, mum ; tlie gentlemen has give it back again. 
 
 Stump. Who! What? 
 
 Tom. The gentleman that was here just now. He saw it in my hana 
 and snatched it from me and when I told him it was missus's, he says, 
 says he, " Drumstick ! be gone j there's gold to pay thy silence.* 
 
 Stump He gave you gold 1 
 
 Tom. Yes ! two half-crowns. 
 
 Stump You hear, madam ! 
 
 Mrs. S Mister Stump, will yoa listen to reason? 
 
 Stump. No, rn;7rlam, this is too barefaced ! 
 
 Mrs. S. Oh, yoa cruel, Ijarbarous man ! you'll be sorry for this some 
 day. Oil ! oh ! I'll go arid take to my bed and I won't get up for a 
 month. [Exit, r. 
 
 Tom Shall I bring you up a basin of gruel, mum? 
 
 Stump. I can't hear to hear her ciy. I'm glad she's gone, or I would 
 have been softened ai,'ain. That's my failing, I can get in a j>as.sioo quite 
 easily, bat I can licvcr k^^p in one lonrr eiwngii If) <lo any g'o^v}. 
 
AAIATEUB AND PABLOR THEATRICALS. 47 
 
 Tom. Shall I go with you, sir f 
 
 Stomp. Go to to the devil. [Exit, l. 
 
 Tom. Well, he keeps in pretty well this time, any how. {getting at back 
 
 to L.) 
 
 CiiARA (r). Oh, dear! oh, dear! It's ray aunt he loves after all, in- 
 stead of nie. 
 
 Tom. Poor old governor. It's really too bad of the young gentleman. 
 
 Clara. A married woman ! Shameful. 
 
 Tom. So it is, miss— specially wiiea he ought to be going to be mar- 
 ried liimself. 
 
 Claka. What do yon meanl 
 
 Tom. Why, miss, the young lady as cleans the steps over the way has 
 told me all about Mr. Bonlires father. 
 
 Clara. Wliat is he 1 
 
 Tom. He's a foreigner, miss. A Hitalian or a Frenchman, or a Hirish- 
 man, or a something ; it's all the same. Well, his father has mnde a 
 good bit o' money by keepin' a heverythink shop in the Lowlher Arcade, 
 where they sells sizpenny razors and twopenny diamond rings, bong 
 bongs and boot-jacks. All these articles at three-half-pence, you know. 
 Weil, he sent his son, young Mounseer Bonfire, to a gent in the Temple, 
 to larn him to be a lawyer, but he didn't take to it no how. 
 
 Clara. What then 1 All the world can't be lawyers. 
 
 Tom. No, ri.iss, that's a blessin', ain't it 1 You see the young gent 
 thought he'd rather learn to do nothing ut all, and he pursued his studies 
 with such wigor that he has already finished his education. So his old 
 governor has just wrote to him to come back and be married, to punish 
 him like. 
 
 Clara. Very right, too, he ought to be punished ; he ought to have a 
 nice good little wife to take care of him, and lead him from all his bad 
 ways, if indeed he has any. 
 
 Tom. But I'm forgetting the Harab chief. Excuse me, miss, I can't 
 entertain you with my conversation any longer, l must be off to the 
 masquerade warehouse, and on the way I'll have my hair cut. [Exit, l. 
 
 Clara. He is about to leave us then ; I shall perhaps never see his 
 dear pale face again. How can he be so very wicked as to love my aunt. 
 I don't believe he can ; there's some mistake. Ha! some one is on the 
 stairs. 'Tis he ! what's to be done ? If he sees me here he will question 
 me, and what can I answer. Ah ! I'll hide and observe him. {hides be- 
 hind picture on the easel.) 
 
 Enter Bonnepoi, l. 
 
 BoNKE. Not here, again ! Malediction! 
 Clara. He's looking for my aunt. 
 
 Bonne. She must be here somewhere ; she has not left the house,! 
 know. But she shall not escape me ; I will seek her through de world ! 
 I'll begin through this door, {peeps in ot door, r.). My eyes are weak with 
 watches. It is hardly if 1 can penetrate this chamber. Not there ! not 
 there I Echo replies " somewhere else ! " Ha I another door, {looks 
 through the keyhole) Ciel 1 'tis she ! I'm near her, she's near me ! My 
 heart will burst with joy I I shall press him against the door, [learn 
 against door m flat.) 
 
 Clara. What is he talking about 1 There's nothing there but the lay 
 figure, 
 
 Bonne. Her back is turned from me. But oh I f recognize the fatal 
 bouquet and the veil of marriage. 'Tis she ! the idol of my heart. 
 
 Clara. Upon my word a very flattering preference. 
 
 BoKNB. No dorubt she'tt reading my note. Shall I go in 1 No, I shonld 
 
48 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 too much shock her. I shall captivate her wis a melodie. Ah ! a gui- 
 tar ! Apollo is send him. (stnt/t through keyhole a French sovg, accompU' 
 nying hvimelf on the guitar) No answer! {peeps) She hasn't moved a fin- 
 ger ! It is no doiibc she waits for the .second verse — ijere goes again. 
 {sings again) Not a word ! Oh ! 'tis loo much. I'll thiow myself at her 
 feet. The old man comes back. Perdition ! 
 
 Enter Stump. 
 
 Clara. Mr. Stump 1 My aunt must know of this mistake, {steals off, 
 
 R.) 
 
 Stump. So, sir, you're here again I 
 
 BoN^•E. 1 see my ardor surprises you. 
 
 Stump. By no means, sir ! 
 
 BoxNE. You come, I presume, to give me a lesson. 
 
 Stump. I do so. and a most severe one you shall find it. Do you see 
 this writing 1 
 
 Bonne. Ciel I My letter in your hands. 
 
 Stump. You confess that it is yours ? 
 
 Bonne. I do ; I confess some more, I adore that woman. Tell me, 
 am she, am she married ? 
 
 Stump. She is, sir, and to a most respectable man. 
 
 Bonne. Tell me not so, old man. It is a hombog ! I see by your 
 agitation she is in some way connect with you. Listen ! I do not ask 
 you to help me to ray love; no ! a man of your sort are always full up 
 of absurd prejudices, but beware, old man ! Try not to stop my pas- 
 sion 1 Stand not between the lion and his prey, (crosses l.) 
 
 Stump (goes to him). Upon my soul ! You make love to my wife, and 
 you tell me not to interfere. 
 
 Bonne. Your wife ! Oh ! (sinks on Stump's shoulder.) 
 
 Stump. Don't be a fool ! get off, or I'll diop you. 
 
 Bonne. Ah' scel^rat ! Oli ! you old hoiubogs! She's mine; give 
 her to me or I'll pulveiize you. 
 
 Stump (retreats). Zounds, sir! are you mad ! give you my Betsy 1 
 
 Bonne, (retreats). Your Betsy I She is my Betsy ! Listen, old man ! 
 we are both mixed up together in a labryinlii to wiiich there is but one 
 door. 
 
 Stump. There it is, sir, get out of it. 
 
 Bonne. That door is a horrible catastrophe ! 
 
 Stump. Nothing of the kind, its common deal ! 
 
 Bonne. Painter! (cGliaring him) One word for all! vour Betsy OP 
 your life ! 
 
 Stump. Let go ray coat. 
 
 Bonne. Compose yourself ! we shall meet asain. 
 
 Stump. If you dare to show your face, I'll have you taken up. 
 
 Bonne. Yoiu- Betsy or your life. [Exit, l: 
 
 Re-enter Mbs. Stump, with Clara, r. 
 
 Mrs. S. Good heavens ! What is all this noise ? 
 Stump. Ncise, Mrs. Stump! Burglary, Mrs. Stump! Murder, Mrs, 
 Stump ! (crosses r.) 
 
 Bonne, (nppcars at the door). Your Betsy or your life. [Exit, L. 
 
 Stump. You see your work, madam I My life is in danger. 
 Mrs. S. My dear Stump, it's all a mistake! 
 
 Stump. For shame, madam ! A husband's blood! (crosses B. andh.) 
 .Mrs. S. Ciai'a can explain! 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 49 
 
 Stcmp Explanation is needless ; I know how to deal with the felloWi 
 
 Mrs. S. Where are you going'? 
 
 Stomp. To take out a warrant for your lover, madam 
 
 Mns. S. But listen a moment. 
 
 SSrrMP. Silence, madam. Bow-streel and several severe magistrates 
 for me. [HxU, l. 
 
 Mrs. S. Wh'- ever such provoking obstinacy! Though h?id lie lisiened 
 he would scarcely have believed so monstrous a mistake. Make love to 
 a lay ti;Zure ! ha ! ha! ha ! 
 
 Clara. I assure you iie did, and said the sweetest things you ever 
 heard- But lor the sudden arrival of Mr. StuQip, he would have burst 
 into i!ie room and discovered iiis error. 
 
 Mrs. S His coiiduct is most unpardonable; to expose me to such 
 impuialions is shameful. Tliat foolish jealous-pated husband of mine 
 will go tattling about it all over the neighborhood, and in a couple of 
 hours every color-grinder in Nev/man-slreet will know the story by 
 heart. 
 
 Clara. What is to be done? 
 
 Mrs. S. I have it. (ffoes to table l. ant^ writes ) 
 
 Clara {overlooking). You will drive iiim mad. 
 
 Mrs. S. impo.ssibie, my love, he's mad already. Ah! here's Tom 
 just in time. 
 
 Enter Tom with dress over his arm and turban on his head, L., crosses to r. 
 
 What liave you there ? 
 
 Tom. it's the new suit of clothes for the dummy, mum ! it's a going 
 to make it's fiist appeai-ance in the character of a Harab chief. 
 
 Mrs. S. You can attend to that by-and-by — fiist deliver this letter. 
 (^>-tses and crosses to u.) 
 
 Tom. No. 5! Why that's — oh ! my eye ! 
 
 Mrs. S. To the gentleman at No. 5. 
 • Tom. What, the young gent ! Take this to — oh ray ! 
 
 Clara. Why don't you go, sir 7 
 
 Tom. The gent at No. 5— Mounseer Bonfire. All riglit, mum ! Oh 
 my ! My poor old gov'nor. [Exit Tom l. and Mrs. Stump r. 
 
 Clara. The letter is gone. What will he tiiink ? He will be in de- 
 spair, poor fellow. I pity him, and yet I'm not sorry he should be un- 
 deceived, for though his love had found rather a singular object of de- 
 votion, still it was love, and if properly directed, who knows! Heigho! 
 A little romance is very delightful, but leally he goes too far. If he 
 were my hu.><band I'm sure I could manage him capitally. I wonder 
 what he'll do when he gets the letter. I'll take a peep. There be is ! 
 he has read the letter ; how agitated he appears ! He rushes from the 
 room— he is in the street, without his hat, too ! He is coming here, I'm 
 sure -his looks are quite terrible I I'll watch him from the closet, {goes 
 into the room where the lay figure is.) 
 
 Enter Bonnefoi with -the letier, i.. 
 
 Bonne. A lay figure! a doll ! a d — d mummy ! The fellow hasdared 
 to insult me with these words : '' Sir, the object of your passion is as 
 Wooden-headed as yourself, being neither more nor less than a lay 
 figure ! " This calls for blood ! 
 
 Clara. He's quite furious, I declare. 
 
 Bonne. Yet, if it should be true. Mon Dieu ! if it shall be true^ 
 Ah ! de dam littJe boy ! dey shall point at me de Angara to his nose and 
 
50 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 say, " Dere go a dummy lovare," ah 1 How I shall be tremendously 
 
 ridiculous. 
 
 Claka. I thoufjht he would not believe it. 
 
 Bonne. But this doubt shall be resolved. She is perhaps still there; 
 if she's alive I'll cany her away, if not {takes out pistols) adieu to life; 
 I shall myself be a dummy. 
 
 Clara. Ah ! {screams and shuts door.) 
 
 Bonne. Who spoke 1 No oue — 'twas but imagination; 
 
 Unter Tom, l. 
 
 Tom. Now, then, I'll tittivate the dummy a bit. 
 
 BuNNE. Who mocks himself to my love ] Who said dummy ? (seizing 
 him. ) 
 
 Tom. Take care ! Yes, sir ; I beg your pardon, I won't say it again. 
 
 Bonne. What is there in that room 1 
 
 Tom. Why, sir, there's the coal-scuttle, two or three old pair of boots, 
 and a great variety of articles. 
 
 Bonne. Is there a Mannequin ? 
 
 Tom. No, sir, not many cans, there's one or two pint pots. 
 
 Bonne. Ah ! bah ! is there a doll, a dummy, a lay figure ? The truth, 
 or you die ! ( presenting a p'stol at him.) 
 
 Tom. Yes, there is ! (crosses to r.) 
 
 Bonne. Produce him ! drag him out ! Show my eyes and grieve my 
 heart. 
 
 Tom. Oh, certainly! Fm just going to dress it; you promise not to 
 do it any harm tliouijh, nor me neither, mind. 
 
 Bonne. No ! I am compose, quite calm now. 
 
 Tom. Suppose I was just to take your pistol, sir. 
 
 Bonne. Begone ! [Exit Tom, c. door. 
 
 ( places pistol on the table) The dreadful moment approaches. I must be 
 firm ! resolved as a rock. 
 
 ( 
 ^e-enter Tom, c, pushing Clara before him seated on a chaU\ in the dre»t I 
 
 of the lay figure. 
 
 Tom (r.). Mind what you're at, mis«. He's precious wild. 
 
 Clara (c). Never fear I I'll quiet him. {asid'e.) 
 
 Tom. Here you are, sir ! it's a beautiful article ; and while yoa inspect 
 it I'll just go and clean my knives, (going, l.) 
 
 Bonne. Stay ! take off his clothes before me. 
 
 Tom. Sir! (laughs.) 
 
 Bonne. Ondress him before my eye ! 
 
 Tom Ohmyej'e! (laughs.) 
 
 Clara. Oli ! good gracious, (aside.) 
 
 Bonne. Tear off those rags that deceived my eye; let me see his 
 head of a wood, his eyes of a glass, his ribs of a basket. 
 
 Tom. Yes, sir, I will ! I've left the gownd outside on the stairs, I'll 
 fetch it directly, (aside) I wonder how she'll get out o' this. [Exit, l. 
 
 Bonne. AH is over. The fatal machine is before me. The detestable 
 pasteboard dat have make beat my heart. I could tear him wis my nail. 
 (as he approaches ChAHA moves) Can it^ be I he move himself. No! my 
 brain i.s turned upside down. 
 
 Clara. If I speak he will go mad ! 
 
 Bonne. No ! there is no movement ; he is noting but a bundle of tick 
 —yet I almost fear to approach him. (he uncovers her face) Heavens I 
 'tis magic I 'tis life himself. Yet no — Uiere is a glassy cold look io do 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 51 
 
 «yaf —a nasty waxy, sticky look upon the cheek That hair is a wi?, V 
 can *rell see; the eye-lashes have been poke in wid a needle; and, of 
 cour&e, there is not a toof in its head. (Clara smiles) Ah! can I believe 
 my eyes ! As fine a toofs as I never see ! Ah ! Dieu 1 what is in my 
 inside 1 Fear! Love! Despair! 
 
 Clara. I'm quite alarnied. 
 
 Bonne, {takes pistols). Fatal object ! Dummy of the devil I First I 
 shatter thy accursed form, and \\ien— {presents pistol — Claba rises and 
 screams — Bonnbfoi falls hack alarmed) Is this a phantom of the too hot 
 brain ! A dummy of the imagination. 
 
 Clara. Pray, sir, don't be violent I 
 
 Bonne, He move ! he speak ! be is a woman ! Is it not ? 
 
 Clara. What do you think ? 
 
 Bonne. I have my doubts ! yet you do look very like a woman, {takei 
 her hand) 'Tis warm and soft. It is a hand, {kisses her hand violently) 
 but have you a heart? 
 
 Clara. What, not convinced yet 1 
 
 Bonne. Yes, yes ! 1 am ; I never should have doubt but for that dam 
 tief painter, who deceive me. {kissta her, than starts back) Yet perhaps 
 he was right after all ; you are his Betsy ! you are his wife. 
 
 Clara, Oh dear no ! That's my cousin. 
 
 Bonne. What, another dummy 1 
 
 Clara. What 1 
 
 Bonne. No, no ! parbon ; I mean another woman, not you ; you're 
 not married, you are free like myself j you will be mine, mine for never 
 no more, always. 
 
 Clara. Really, sir, I know not how to answer. 
 
 Bonne. Do not refuse me ! If you do, I shall do everything in de 
 vorld. 
 
 Clara. Sir! you alarm me. {going towards door.) 
 
 Bonne. Fly me not, blest machine ! dearest dummy, fly not away. 
 
 Clara. Oh ! somebody's comuig. {she re-seats herself and drams the 
 veil down — Bonnefoi kneels. 
 
 Enter Stump vni Tom at hack, l. ; Mrs. Stump, r. 
 
 Bonne. At your foot ! {kneels.) 
 
 Mrs. S. Are you convinced now 7 {aside to Stump.) 
 
 Stump. Yes ! Poor creature ! who'd have thought it. {aside to her.) 
 
 Bonne. I shall not get out of dis pot till you grant my request. 
 
 MnrsJHa,ha,ha! 
 
 -^ Bonne, {starts up). Ha! interrupted. 
 
 Stump. So, that's the object of your passion, is it? 
 
 BoNKK. It is, my dear Stump. I love her at a distraction. And 
 more, I flatter myself, she loves me ; congratulate me. {going to take his 
 hand-SrvuT retreats.) 
 
 Stump. Keep off ! I've a straight waistcoat at hand. Oh dear ! I can't 
 help laujihins;. Had not you better swear eternal fidelity ! 
 
 Bonne. I had! I will ! I do ! (takes rh/a from hisf.nger and places it on 
 Clara's) Beautiful machine ! dummy of heaven ! Thus I pledge my 
 faith to you for never. 
 
 Clara. Oli I you hurt me ! {throws off veil and rises.) 
 
 All. CJara ! 
 
 Stui.ip. What is the meaning of this ? 
 
 Bon*b It. means, sir, tliat you ave tink mc mad ; mad I am almost 
 wflh joy. I find this really ie a wonian, and if I aiii rcari IrvT ero. oire 
 
53 
 
 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS, 
 
 after my own heart. I have a Utile more money than I don't knowwhafe 
 I shall do vviLli, and if you are disposed to sell your lay figure, I'll take 
 hiai otf your Hands. Is lie a bargain ? 
 
 Tom. ^,L.). If 1 was you, governor, I'd say done at once. 
 
 Stump, bilence, sir ! you are too precipitate, my young friend ; I will 
 consider your offer. 
 
 Bonne. Piay do, sare ; and if all our friends heie shall be so kind to 
 me as you ave bin, 1 ptomise 1 shall always endeavor to make aPaUern 
 of a Husband to de Model of a Wife. 
 
 Clara. 
 
 Mbs. Stump. 
 s. 
 
 BONNEFOI. 
 
 CURTAIK 
 
 SXDMP. 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Xi. 
 
 JEXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 The Actor is supposed to face the Audience. 
 
 % 
 
 D. B. C. C, D. 
 
 B.Q.&. 
 
 6CENI1 
 
 B.8a. 
 
 &.2S. 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 ArDl'ENCE. 
 
 X..V, 
 
 \ 
 
 L. SS.- 
 
 x-o. 
 
 \ 
 
 X..2S 
 
 L.1J 
 
 •L, Left. 
 
 li. c. Left Centre. 
 
 L. 1 E. Lett First Entrance. 
 
 I.. 2 E. Left Second Entrance. 
 
 L. 3 E. Left Third Entrance. 
 
 Xt. u. E. Left Upper Entrance 
 
 (wherever this Scene may be.) 
 
 D. L. c. Door Left Centre. 
 
 c. Centre. 
 
 B. Eight. 
 
 B. 1 E. Eight First Entrance. 
 
 It. 2 E. Eight Second Entrance. 
 
 B. 3 E. Eight Third Entrance. 
 
 B. n. E. Eight Upper Entrance, 
 
 p. B. c. Door Ei{jht CentriB. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 53 
 
 CAST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 Theatre Royal, Lycetmhy January 27, 1845. 
 
 Mr. Stump (a painter and teacher of drawing) Mr. F. Matthews. 
 
 Tom .....Mr. Meadows. 
 
 Pygmalion Bonnefoi (an enthusiastic Frenchman) Mr. A. Wigan. 
 
 Mrs. Stump Miss Walcott. 
 
 Clara (her uiece) Miss FAiiiBBOxaEB. 
 
 Two young ladies, Stump's pupils. 
 
 SCENERY. 
 
 SCENE— An artist's studio {2d grooves). 
 1 Window, i •«..< 
 
 
 
 Slab. 
 • ! lEasel. 
 Table. Lay figure in arm-chair. 
 
 * * 
 
 Chairs. 
 
 Writing materials on table ; near the table an easel ; at the bact a slab and mul- 
 ler for grinding colors ; c, before the window, a lay figure dressed as a bride, with 
 bouquet, wreath and vail, seated on an arm-chair, with castors; a guitar on the 
 
 COSTUMES. 
 
 Pygmalion Bonnefoi.— Modenl Freneh suit complete ; large hat; 
 
 Mb. Stump.— Morning gown, then plain blue coat, trousers, etc. ; gray hair. 
 
 Tom.— Jacket, apron, corduroy trousers, white stockings and shoes, red wig. 
 
 Mrs. Stump.— Elc^gant muslin morning gown, cap, etc. 
 
 Clara.— White muslin morning dress; a bridal veil covering the whole figure;, 
 
 bridal wreath and bouquet of orange flowers. 
 Two Pupils.— Plain morning dresses, shawls and bonnets. 
 
 PROPERTIES. 
 
 Many pictures placed about the stage ; pallet, brush and mahl stick ; paints ; por* 
 trait of a lady on easel ; picture leaning against wing, k. , two chairs by table, chair 
 by easel ; large arm-chair in middle, on castors ; lay figure, elegantly dressed in 
 white, seated in chair, with a large white veil over the head, falling to the feet all 
 round, a wreath of orange flowers round the head and a bouquet in hand ; table, l., 
 with four chairs ; dravring sketches and peneilsfor pupils, and writing materials if 
 an Arab dress tor Toia to take on. 
 
54 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 FLOWEEY SIGNALS. 
 
 From J. P. Wooler's Comedietta of " Orange Blossom*.** 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Mrs. Violet Hope. 
 
 Mrs. Isabella Clarence. 
 
 Scene. — A Garden attached to a Summer House. 
 
 [ Mrs. Hope, having encountered Mrs. Clarence at the house of Mr. Sep- 
 timus Symmetry, a mutual friend of their husbands, learns with astonish- 
 ment, that each of these married men had previously been suitors for the 
 hands of the wives of one another. Both husbands having memorials of 
 their prior loves in their possession, the wives conspire for recovery of the evi- 
 dences of their former attachments.] 
 
 Enter Isabella and Violet. 
 
 ISA. Believe me, my dear Mrs. Hope, I am delighted, as Mr. Sym- 
 metry's cousin, to receive you in this house, and shall do my best 
 to entertain you. 
 
 Vio. Believe me, ray dear madam, I am equally delighted with 
 the fact of becoming your guest. 
 
 IsA. I intend that you and I shall be very intimate friends. 
 
 Vio. An intention I shall only be too happy to second. 
 
 ISA. And to show you how sincere I am, I am about to take the 
 privilege of an old friend thus early, by asking you a favor. 
 
 Vio. Dear me how remarkable— do you know, I was about to 
 ask one of you. 
 
 IsA. No ! [aside) What can she mean ? 
 
 Vio. No ! [aside] What can she want '? 
 
 IsA. The fact is {aside) This is a ridiculous position — it isn't 
 
 likely nhe over heard of Iter husband's attentions to me. 
 
 Vio. My object [aside) This is extremely erabarrassiiig— of 
 
 course she knows nothing of Clarence's attentions to me. 
 
 IsA You said you wished to ask a favor — pray speak. 
 
 Vio. Pray let me have the pleasure of obliging you first. 
 
 I3A. This will never do— let us be frank—I will set the examplov 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 55 
 
 I am perfectly aware that previous to my marriage Clarence bad 
 the cTood taste to make pro[)Os.ils to you. 
 
 Vio. Yon knew it 1 {aside} What a relief ! 
 
 I SA. Yes, and I know somethinjr else, of which you may be prob- 
 ably ignorant, namely, th;it before your marriage, Mr. Hope had 
 the bad taste to do me tha same honor. 
 
 Vio {coolly). I was certainly quite ignorant of that, Mrs Clarence. 
 
 IsA Oh, be very easy, my dear— if I had liked him 1 should 
 have married him — as I didn't 1 married somebody else. Now, Me 
 are both sensible women and perfectly contented with the husbands 
 we have — is it not so ? 
 
 Vio. On my side, undoubtedly. 
 
 IsA. {holding out her hand). And no worse friends for having chang- 
 ed partners in the fantastic dance of matrimony, eh 1 
 
 Vio. {talcing her hand). Oh, no, no, my dear Mrs. Clarence. I was 
 only a little fool for a moment — forgive me — it is a frequent occur- 
 rence. 
 
 IsA. Now that we understand each other, let us to the business, 
 or rather pleasure of a mutual obligation — will you commence % 
 
 Vio. No — do you. 
 
 Is A. Very well -you must promise not to be angry. 
 
 Vio. Gladly, fori shall have to exact the same promise from you. 
 
 Is A. That's agreed, then, on either side. Well, you must know 
 that during the trifling intercourse between Mr. Hope and my- 
 self 
 
 Vio. That is exactly as I should begin — substituting Colonel 
 Clarence, 
 
 Is A I was indiscreet enough 
 
 Vio. The very word— our stories commence quite harmoniously. 
 
 IsA. Indiscreet enough to 
 
 Vio. Enter into a correspondence ; go on. 
 
 IsA. Not at all, I never wrote the man a line in my life. 
 
 Vio. Good gracious ! then what were you indiscreet enough to 
 do? 
 
 IsA. I was miserably weak enough to give him my portrait. 
 
 Vio. Oh ! {aside) and I daren't say any thing about it. 
 
 IsA. Now, my dear Mrs. Hope, only get me back that stupid por- 
 trait, and I will do anything in the wide world for you in return. 
 
 Vio. I must be frank, also ; I will take up your story at the 
 word "indiscreet," I was indiscreet enough to 
 
 isA. To give Clarence your likeness ? 
 
 Vio. Never ; not even a black profile. 
 
 Is A. Then what in mercy's name were you indiscreet enough to 
 do. 
 
 Vio To write him certain ridiculous, unmeaning letters. Oh ! 
 Mrs. Clarence, only get me back those letters 
 
 IsA. Hi ! ha ! your letters for my portrait — a bargain ! Now, 
 it's just poasible Mr. Hope may have that portrait with him. 
 
Sa AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 
 
 Vio. Oh, dear no, I am quite sure he couldn't do that. 
 
 IsA. liJess you, men do those things! Clarence carries one oi- 
 two about with him wherever he goes ; but he knows I am noii 
 jealous, ko pray d*>n't you be so. 
 
 Vio Oh ! bless you, not the least in the world, {aside) If he has ! 
 
 IsA Now, look here, I have the privilege of all my dear hus- 
 band s desks, &c. — I'll tell you what we'll do — can you overlook 
 Mr. Ho;)e's dressing-case and trunks ? 
 
 Vio. T have the keys of everything. 
 
 IsA. Good, then we 11 not lose a moment, you go and search for 
 my portrait, whilst i run home and search for your letters. 
 
 Vio. Agreed. 
 
 IsA. And as we may have no other opportunity of a private con- 
 versation, we may as well fix u[)oii some signal of success or fail- 
 ure in our search — I shall be in agony till 1 know. 
 
 Vio. And 1, in absolute despair! 
 
 IsA. Let me see, 1 have it— a red rose shall be the signal of suc- 
 cess, a white one of failure. 
 
 Vio. Agreed ; but if I meet Falcon first, and he sees me with a 
 flower, it's in his coat the next moment. 
 
 JsA. I'm full of ideas this morning, I have another, we'll make 
 ray cousin Symmetry our signal po^t — we will each, when we meet 
 him, present him with a rose, white or red, as it may be. 
 
 Vio But he will never receive a flower from a lady. 
 
 Is A. Bless you, he couldn't in common courtesy refuse one from 
 you, and I'll make him take mine. 
 
 Vio. So be it, tlien ; had we not better proceed to work at once 1 
 
 IsA. The sooner the better ; stay, to guard against contingencies, 
 it will be as well if we succeed to deposit our spoil in the summer 
 house there — no one ever enters it — you can put the picture in at 
 tha little Avindow, as I will the letters ; so we can take possession, 
 without suspicion, at any time. 
 
 Vio. I shall remember, and fortune grant us success. 
 
 ISA. Amen to that sweet prayer. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMATES. 
 
 From John M. Morton's Drama of " The Midnight Watch." 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Pauline, Countess of Mcrville, a Frisoner. 
 NmETTH, the Jailer s Niece. 
 
 Scene. — The Platform of a Prison Fortress at Marseilles. 
 
 [During the Reisn of Terror in France all presumed aristocra,ts were im- 
 prisoned, wiifther male or female, as commou feloas. The following scene 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 67 
 
 occnrs on the battlements of the military prison at Marseilles on the eve of 
 the anticipated arrival i f tlie Citizen IJarra.s, the most bloodtliirsty of the 
 Conveniion. Out of compassion for the young- jirisoner tlie j uler has allow- 
 ed her, notwithstanding especial orders to tiie contrary, to promenade on the 
 platfoim until the last irossibe moment.] 
 
 Tavli^b [tvalkinff to ami fro\ A month ago! cnly a month! To 
 me it has seemed a life ! Twice only have 1 been suffered to 
 leave my dunojeon — and even f lien I have been alone. Had I been 
 permitted even to mingle with my companions in misfortune, a 
 friendly hand mi<iht have pressed mine— a word of pity or of con- 
 solation mi^lit have reached ray ear— but no, alone -ever alone I 
 my fate is unknown — unpitied — uncaied for. And yet once I 
 Jtave dared to hope that I am not utterly forsaken That letter, 
 which reached me in so strange, so mysterious a manner — it spoke 
 of liberty — bade me to take courage — to live in hope, till 1 heard 
 again. I have done so. But now, alas ! more than a week has 
 elapsed wiuhout another word, and 1 again despair! ((/oes t<2J.) 
 
 Ninette {tvithout >. Well, Tra sure ! This is a pretty time of night 
 to come upon business ! You can't see my uncle — he's busy — -so 
 I'll take it to the prisoner myself ! 
 
 Enter Ninette. 
 
 {seeing Pauline) There she is I I wonder what the young woman 
 can have done to get herself into prison y She dosen't look like a 
 conspirator, or a royalist nobleman in disguise, {reading addr ess on 
 parcel) " For the Citizen Pauline— Prisoner in the Fortress." 
 What's this in the corner 1 " Worsteds for tapestry work." Is that 
 all ] 111 give it her at once. Stay, though— Uncle Labarre won't 
 allow anything to be delivered to a prisoner, without being first 
 examined— so I'll just — {ahoid to open parcel) No, I won't— I scorn 
 the action — so I'll put it in ray pocket till uncle comes back. I 
 wonder if she'd like a little of my conversation ? I'll try. {aloud) 
 Citizen I 
 
 Paul, (loithout seeing Ninette). Yes — I am ready to return to 
 my dungeon. 
 
 Ni.\. Are you 1 Well, that's more than I ever heard a prisoner 
 say l)efore However, I don't happen to be either a jailer or a 
 turnkey. 1 leave all that sort of work to uncle. 
 
 Paul. Your unc'e I 
 
 NiN Yes— Citizen Jean Jacques Labarre — who, on his appoint- 
 ment as head jailer to this important establishment, paid me tlie 
 compliment of reque.'-ting mo to do the honors of his new abode — 
 and a pretty abode it is. 
 
 Paul. The daily sight of so many of your suffering fellow-crea- 
 tures, must indeed distress you. 
 
 NiN. Bless you, I've nothing to do with my suffering fellow- 
 creatuies. This fortress— as perhaps you know — answers the dou- 
 
58 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 ble purpose of a prison and a barrack, and I keep the canteen. 
 {pointing) Such a time 1 have of it. too 1 Artillery, Eiisineers Sap- 
 pers, and Miners. Grenadiers, and IMen of the Line, all plaafumg 
 and worrying me at the same time — and, to make it stdl m.»re 
 agreeable, the day before yesterday, in came a score or two of con- 
 scripts and volunteers, besides a detachment of invalids, from the 
 army of the Republic in Holland. Such melancholy looking <b- 
 jects ! not half a doze.i out of ihe lot with the regulation number 
 of arras and legs. And they didn't seem to care about it either — 
 but talked of the glory of suffering for their country. Glory, in- 
 deed I catch me losing a leg in defence of my country ! 
 
 Paul. And yet what woman wouldn't be the wife of a hero 7 
 
 NiN. Ah, but consider the advantages ! Look at the chances in 
 favor of her becoming a widow ! Really, citizen, to one with your 
 martial ideas, I should think that tapestry work must be rather an 
 insipid sort of employment. 
 
 Paul, [t is the only one I have, 
 
 NiN. Ah, I used to be a dab at it myself once ! There wasn't a 
 girl in the whole school could turn oul sncli poodle dogs and bri- 
 gands — at least, so my old governess, Madame Dumont, used to 
 say. 
 
 Paul, (starting). Madame Dumont! 
 
 Niif. Yes, the proprietress of one the most respectable semina- 
 ries for young ladies hi all Paris. 
 
 Paul. Can it be possible"? Then we may have been schoolfel- 
 lows — we may, perhaps, have shared the same games, the same 
 studies 
 
 Nm. The same bread and butter. 
 
 Paul. And now that I look upon those features again — [hurriedly 
 seizing Ninette's hand) Your name — your name ! 
 
 NiN. Ninette Leblanc ! 
 
 Paul. Ninette ! And have you forgotten your old playmate — 
 your earliest, your best friend * 
 
 NiN. {^eagerly looking in Pauline's face and putting the hair from 
 her forehead). Pauline! (Pauline opens her arms — Ninette rushes 
 into them) Oil, can it be \ Yes — yes, it is ! Pauline — dear, dear 
 Pauline ! (embracing her again) Oh, I feel so happy— 1 mean, 1 feel 
 so miserable — 1 don't exactly know how I feel, (sobbing and laugli- 
 ing.) 
 
 Paul. Ah, Ninette— those were happy days— all joy and happi- 
 ness — no care, no yjain 
 
 NiN. Except an occasional rap from Madame Dumont' s knuc- 
 kles. How hard they were, to be sure. But, Pauline — poor, dear 
 Pauline— what can you have done to get into this dreadful place ? 
 How could you contrive to put your foot in it '? 
 
 Paul. Ah, Ninette, mine is a sad, melancholy story 
 
 NiN. I'm delighted to hear it! 1 doat upon sad, melancholy 
 stories— so begin, I'm all impatience. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Paul. Then listen. I am the daughter of a soldier 
 
 NiN. An officer of course. 
 
 Paul. No, a simple private soldier— by name Pierre Dubois. 
 When ray father, now ten years since, received orders to join his 
 regiment, then serving abroad, he placed me under the care of 
 Madame Duraont, to whom, it appears, he was distantly related. 
 How she fulfilled her charge I need not tell you, who, during some 
 portion of the period that I was domesticated with her, were a daily 
 witness of her love for me, her affectionate anXiCty, her tender- 
 ness 
 
 Nix. {aside). Knuckles excepted. 
 
 Paul, Ninette, she was my second mother, and how did I repay 
 her love 1 By cruel, heartless ingratitude ! 
 
 NiN. I won't believe it ! 
 
 Paul. Alas, 'tis too true. Shortly after you left the roof of 
 Madame Diimont, the sister of the young Count de Merville was 
 placed under her care. The visits of the Count to his sister were 
 most frequent — almost daily, and as we were rarely apart, I soon 
 discovered a kindnes, a tenderness in his manner towards me, that 
 I at once ascribed to gratitude for the love I bore his sister, but it 
 soon became too marked to be mistaken. Oh Ninette 
 
 NiN. That'll do— I see it all. Oh that love— that love ! There 
 never was a bit of mischief yet, that that good-for-nothing little ras- 
 cal wasn't at the bottom of it. 
 
 Paul. I could not remain insensible to his passion, and I returned 
 it with all the strength of my young heart's first affection, but my 
 dream of happiness was soon dispelled. The horrors of the revo- 
 lution had already commenced, and the very night on which 1 pledg- 
 ed my faith to him I loved, ushered in the fatal 10th of August. 
 De Merville, a devoted royalists, was one of the faithful few who, on 
 that fearful day, rallied for the last time round their sovereign; 
 but their efforts were vain — the doom of royalty was sealed, and its 
 brave defenders fell victims to the infuriated rabble. De Merville, 
 by a miracle, escaped, and sought refuge under our roof 1 en- 
 treated, implored him to fly, while there was yet time, for T knew 
 the bloodhounds would soon be on his track — he refused, unless I 
 consented to accompany him. Oh, the fearful struggle of that mo- 
 ment ! I could not see him die, and we fled together. 
 
 Nrx. Well, it may be a shocking thing to say, but I think the 
 chances are I should have done exactly the same thing. 
 
 Paul Yes, Ninette, I forsook all— I forgot all — even my poor 
 dear father ! 
 
 NiN. Ah, that was the worst part of the business. Have you had 
 no tidings of him 1 
 
 Paul. Yes — I learnt that a few months afterwards he returned 
 with his regiment to France, and I also learnt that in the agony of 
 bis despair, the blessing he had reserved for his child was turned 
 into a curse ! {shuddering.) 
 
60 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 NiN. Don't believe it, Pauline— a father can't do it— 1 defy him ! 
 And you did not see him 1 
 
 Paul. No— for they toid me that, weighed down by grief and 
 cihanie, he attain lefi France, and joined the Republican troops in 
 Holland, under another name. 
 
 Nm Holland ! Then perhaps some of the invalids who have- 
 just been sent home from the army, will be able to give us tidings 
 of him. I'll inquire. 
 
 Paul. Tlianks, dear Ninette ! 
 
 Nix. But now you haven't told me how it happens that you are 
 a prisonei-. 
 
 Paul. A few words will ex[)lain. After our flight from Paris, 
 we remained for some time concealed in the neighborhood — at 
 length we set out for the frontier, but ere we could reach it, De 
 Moi'v.lle was recogin'zad, arrested and condemned to death. I sav- 
 ed his life by giving him liberty at the sacrifice of my own. 
 
 Nm. Then if he's anything of a gentleman, he"ll lose no time in 
 returning the compliment. 
 
 Paul. No, Ninette— I have now lost all hope, and care not how 
 soon death ends my suffering, 
 
 Nm. Death indeed ! Nonsense ! Friends often spring up when 
 we least expect them, and see, some one has been gallant enough 
 to send you a quantity of skeins of worsted for your tapestry. 
 There — all the colors of the rainbow — look ! {sJiowing parcel.) 
 
 Paul. Ha! Give it to me. {matching tt eagerly from Ninette's 
 hand —aside) "Twas by this means that letter came to me. Oh, 
 should there he— {opening the zvorsted) Yes — a paper ! [greatly agitat- 
 ed.) 
 
 Nm. Why, what's the matter 1 
 
 Paul. Nothing. I feared we might be observed— that's all. 
 
 NiN. True. I'll just look out if Uncle Labarre is coming. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Paul. Ah, there are hopes of saving me ! (reading, with difii(ulty) 
 " At midnisht an effort will be made to save you — [she raises her 
 hands in thankfulness) — but in older to ensure success, it will be 
 necessary that the sentinel entrusted with the midnight watch 
 should be " whol 
 
 I 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 61 
 
 A SPY UPO^Sr A SPY. 
 
 From Wilkie Collins' Dnimn of " No Nfime," 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Magdalen Vanstone, a Dlsinheriiecl Heiress. 
 Madame Lecompte, a Designing Woman. 
 
 Scene. — The Parlors of a London House, with an aquarium in one of 
 them. 
 [Andrew Vanstone, Imving' married in Canada a woman of great beauty 
 but nttei'ly devoid of moral prindrjle, returned to England, where lie became, 
 by will, the heir of his father to the exclusion of liis elder brother. During 
 the life time of his American wife, Mr. Vanstone formed the acquaintance of 
 a lady who bore him two cliildren, and whom he married openh- on receipt 
 of intelligence that his lirst wife had died in Canada, but previously to so do* 
 ing he executed a will leaving all his property to his daughters. As by the 
 English law marriage sets aside the will of a single man without legitimizing 
 natural children, Magdalen finds herself disinherited by Noel Vanstone, Avho 
 Is under the guardianship of a Madame Lecompte, a designing Fiencli woman. 
 Disguised as a Miss Garth, her governess, the young lady seeks an inter- 
 view with her cousin, when the following scene occurs.] 
 
 Magdalen [lifts up her vail, shoiving her further disguise of false 
 hair, ^c). So far, then, I have succeeded ; I am under his roof, and 
 am about to see his housekeeper — this woman who I am told exer- 
 cises so great an influence over him. In this disguise 1 liavo little 
 iear of being known, or even suspected ; no one would detect me 
 now, not even those who know me best. These rooms are poorly 
 furnished, they confirm the report that he is a miser ; and what 
 have we here ] {approaches the aquarium and recoils.) 
 
 Enter Madame Lecompte. 
 Good heavens ! 
 
 Madame. Don't be alarmed ; my pets hurt nobody. 
 
 Mag. {turns, dropping her vail, and spcaJcing in a feigned voice). Mad- 
 ame Lecompte 1 
 
 Madame I have the pleasure of addressing the lady who called 
 here this morning — Miss Gaith. 
 
 Mag The same. 
 
 Madame. Accept my excuses for the state of these rooms. We 
 only came for a few days, and leave to-morrow for the sea side, for 
 Aldborough, on the coast of Norfolk ; so we didn't think it worth 
 while to put them in order. Will you take a seat, and oblige me 
 by mentioninij; the object of your visit 1 ( places a chair for Magda- 
 len, then takes one herself.) 
 
 Mag. Certainly. 1 am suffering, as you may perceive, from an 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 affection of the eyes ; I must heg your permission, therefore, to 
 wear my veil down, and to sit away from the light. 
 
 Madame. Oh, you can't bear the li^ht ; I'm really very sorry. 
 
 Mag My errand is as follows : T lived many years as governess 
 In the family of the late Mr. Andrew Vaiistone, and 1 am come 
 here in the interest of his two orphan daughters. 
 
 Madame. Ahem, i am surprised you can go out of doors with- 
 out using a green shade. 
 
 Mag I Hi id a shade over my eyes keeps them too hot at this 
 time of the year May i ask if you heard what I have just said 
 on the subject of my errand ? 
 
 Madame. May I, on my part, inquire how that errand can possi- 
 bly concern me 1 
 
 Mag. Certainly. I come to you because Mr. Vanstone's inten- 
 tions towards the young ladies were made known in a letter from 
 yourself. 
 
 M.vdame. Pray pardon me, T remember; but you are mistaken 
 in supi)osing I am of any importance ; I am merely ihe mouth- 
 piece of Mr. Noel Vaiistone, the pen he holds, if you will excuse 
 the expression —nothing more. He is an invalid ; he has his good 
 day.s and his bad. It was a bad day when that answer was sent 
 to, shall I say Miss Vanstone ? 1 1 was one of his bad days, and 
 I had to write it, simply as his secretary, for want of a better. 
 
 Mao. I perceive. 
 
 Madame. If you wish to speak to Mr. Vanstone on this subject, 
 I will mention year name to him. He is alone, and very luckily 
 this is one of his good days. I have the influence of an old ser- 
 vant and I will use that influence with pleasure. 
 
 Mag. If you would be so good, and I am not taking an undue 
 advantage of your kindness. 
 
 Mad.ame. 0.1 the contrary, you are laying mo under an obliga- 
 tion ; yoa are permitting me, in my limited way, to assist the per- 
 formanc? of a benevolent action, {she goes off.) 
 
 Mag. [raises her vail). Smooth speaker— hypocrite — do you think 
 I cannot penetrate you ? [turns to the aquarium) I wonder whose 
 blooJ is the coldest — yours, you little monster, or your owner's ? 
 I wonder which is the slimiest — her heart or your back 1 You 
 hateful wretch, do you know what your mistress is 1 She is a 
 devil. 
 
 Madame Lecompte enters. 
 
 M.vdame. Mr. Vanstone will see you in a few minutes. He was 
 ju.5t leaving his room. I must caution you, however, upon one 
 point. You must be careful not to depress his spirits, or to agi- 
 tato him in any way. His heart has been a cause of serious anxi- 
 ety Lo tho.^ie about him. There is no x)os:tivc disease. It is only 
 a chronic feebleness, a want of vital power. 
 
 Mag. 1 regret to hear it, really. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Madame. His medical advisers say it will go on well enough, if 
 vre dou't give it too much to do ; so you will be kind enough to be 
 cautious, and to keep a guard on your conversation. 
 
 Mag. ufside). Oh [ the craft of that. 
 
 Mad.\mb. Talking of medical men, have you ever tried the gold- 
 en ointment lor tlie sad affliction in your eyes ] I have heard it iS 
 an excellent remt^dy. 
 
 Mag {sharply). It has not succeeded with me. Before I see Mr. 
 Vanstone, may I inquire 
 
 Madami3. i beg pardon; if your question refers to these poor 
 girls — tlie Miss Vanstones, 1 mean of course — you must excuse 
 me if I can't discuss it, except in my master's presence, so we'll 
 talk of something else. Have you noticed my glass tank % I have 
 every reason to believe it a perfect novelty in England. 
 
 Mag. Yes, madarne, I have looked at it. 
 
 Madame. But take no interest in it — quite natural. I took none 
 in it myself till was married. My dear husband formed my tastes 
 and elevated me to himself. You have heard of the late Professor 
 Lecompte. the eminent Swiss naturalist ] I am his widow. He 
 permitted me to assist him in his pursuits, and i havv? iiad only one 
 interest since his death— an interest in science. Eminent in many 
 things, the Professor was great in reptiles. He left me his sub- 
 jects and his tank. There is his tank. All the subjects diel but 
 this quiet little fellow, this nice iittle toad. Are you surprised at 
 my bking him? Very possibly; but the Professor lived long 
 enough to elevate me above the common prejudices. Properly un- 
 derstood, the reptile creation is very beautiful; properly dissected, 
 is instructive to the last degree. 
 
 AN AETFUL DODGE. 
 
 From Felix Dale's Farce of "He's a Ij:;2iatic." 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 March Hare, a young Artist. 
 
 Mrs. Arabella Hanwood, a wealthy Widow. 
 
 Scene. — A Drmving Jtoom. 
 
 [March Hare, a young artist, falling iu love with Mrs. Hanwood, a widow 
 devoted to sensational romances, hires an apartment next door to her laan- 
 sion. Upon learning that all her servants are out I'or the eveniny, Hare fol- 
 lows one of the widow's admirers into ilie room, and then drives him out 
 throujjh pretending to be a maniac. Having expelled his rival, Hare contin« 
 nm enacting his assumed part.] 
 
64 AIMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 At the raising of the cirrtam Arabella and Hare are both seated at 
 a distance irom each other. 
 
 Arab. L^ft alone with liim ! {pause, she looks at Hare) He looks 
 very quiet, [ believe I could manage him. A madman ! no won- 
 der that his face attracts me. Anyhow, he's not such a bore as the 
 rest of the world I I wanted a sensation and I've crot one ! 
 
 Hare [rises). Now he's gone, we can be comfortable, {'placing a 
 chiir c'ose to her, she draws back, he ta^^s the chair impatiendij, she sits 
 down, lool'inj at him) Good fellow, but a little — {touches his forehead) 
 Yoa anrlerstand, and as stupid us an owl. Ail I want to say would 
 b3 Hebrew to him, while to vuu— but I forgot — excuse me. [^takes 
 off his co%t. ) 
 
 Arab. What are you going to do now ? {aside) Not to smother 
 me witli his coat I hope. ( goes to the corner of table. ) 
 
 Hare. You look surprised. The fact is, that I make it a rule 
 never t) wear my coat in the presence of ladies. Out of doors I 
 taks off my hat to them ; indoors, 1 take ofFmy coat to them They 
 like these little tokens of respect, you know, and I've always kept 
 the habit. 
 
 Arab. Taken it off, you mean. 
 
 Hk-RJL {laiijhing and sitting on table). Capital! excellent! If there 
 is one thin^ I appreciate more than another it is wit— T adore wits, 
 {counting on his fingers) George Selwyn was a wit ; Sidney Smith 
 was a wit; Darby Griffiths is a wit, so am I — so are you; great 
 wits jump, [jumping up and doicn as he sits on cliair) But women s 
 wit is the best of all. 
 
 "Wit from woman's lovely lips 
 Doth the sternest heart eclipse." 
 
 Refer to Shakespeare and you will not find those lines, because they 
 happen to be my own. 
 
 AiiAB. "Well, 1 don't think much of them. 
 
 Hare. Ah, but you should hear the whole of the poem ! — 
 would you like to hear the whole of the poem 1 {producing manu- 
 script. ) 
 
 Arab. Thank you, another time, {aside) What a remarkably un- 
 pleasant phase of lunacy. 
 
 Hark. Weli, you shall, another time, several other times ; for I 
 intend to devote my life to you. {she di-aivs bach • Oh, don't thank me, 
 I can't help it ! since first I saw your bewitching face I have be- 
 come another creature — till then, I was a votary of dangerous 
 sports — I loved to beard the fiery pheasant in his den— to track 
 the wily partridge athwart the toothsome turnip ! The morning 
 before I beheld you, I had a terrific encounter with a snipe in the 
 Essex marslies, and sot the worst of it ! since that day I snope no 
 more : (passionately) My dreams— my thoughts— my whole existence 
 have been absorbed in you. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 65 
 
 Arab, {aside). Poor fellow ! what a pleasant voice he has. And 
 there is a good deal of method in his madness. 
 
 Hare {half hearing). Methodist, beautiful being'? not at all. I 
 am Church of England, very Church of England, and my habits are 
 like clock-work. 
 
 Arab, {aside). When the mainspring's broke. 
 
 Hare. Let us change the subject. I like your drawing-room, 
 it's in very good taste — so, no doubt, is your bed-room — you have 
 a bed-room '. 
 
 Arab. Sir ! 
 
 Hare. You needn't answer; of course you have a bed-room ! 
 If you hadn't, you could have no bed, if you had no bed you 
 couidn't sleep ! and without sleep you would die ! You are not 
 dead, therefore you sleep — it follows that you own a bed — conse- 
 quently you have a bed-room — Q. E. D. — is it not so ? 
 
 Arab. I can't deny the fact. 
 
 Hare. And lined with blue 1 don't say it's lined with green, or 
 if it is, line it again for my sake. 
 
 Arab, {aside). This is becoming rather unpleasant. 
 
 Hare. Arabella 
 
 Arab. How do you know my Christain name 1 
 
 Hare. You can't have forgotten that I was your god-father ? 
 Arabella, do jou know what it is to love ? 
 
 Arab. Weill 
 
 Hare. I do. I have loved much in my time, and often. Your 
 time is not yet come, and I will be your teacher — say, divine em- 
 anation, when shall I lead you to the altar — name the day. 
 
 Arab, {rises, aside). I wonder if severity would do ! {aloud) You're 
 very presuming, sir ; I shall do nothing of the kind. 
 
 Hare {impatiently). But you must ! don't let us have any more 
 bother about it, but name the day. 
 
 Arab, {aside). Oh, severity won't do, I must humor him. {aloud) 
 Well, we'll say this day six months. 
 
 Hare. We will ; lunar months — and we'll date from last August 
 year. The time is therefore near at hand. 
 
 Arab. 1 1 must be very near indeed. 
 
 Hare. The nearer the better. But do not fear that T shall leave 
 5'ou in the interval. I am an artist and shall devote the time to 
 featuring those lovely limbs. 
 
 Arab. Sir ! 
 
 Hare. I mean limning those lovely features — I shall carry your 
 heart by storm— why shouldn't I begin at once, {jumping up) Light 
 of my eyes, idol of my soul ! {kneeling.) 
 
 Arab, {aside). He frightens me, but I rather like it. 
 
 Hare. Do you mean to become my wife at once, or don't you '? 
 
 Arab, {aside). Oh, he's becoming violent ! I shall never be able 
 to keep him in order till Sir Guy brings help, {crosses) I must get 
 away if I can. {haeks gently towards the door.) 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Hare {following her up). Once more, will you be mine? will you 
 marry me 1 Now or never. Now ? 
 
 Arab. No. 
 
 Hare. Never? 
 
 AiiAB. Never ! {goes quickly through door, and slams door in his face 
 then loeking it from the other side.) 
 
 Hare {quietly). Bet two to one you do. Warm work, very, {talc- 
 ing up coat and putting it on again) I wonder if I went too far 7 I did 
 go a considerable distance, certainly. But they like it ! Won't 
 marry me, won't she 1 well, as I mean to marry her, it comes to 
 much the same thing in the end. Locked me in, haven't you ? lock 
 away. The authorities will be here directly to take me up. It's 
 rather fun acting the madman. 
 
 SNAPPING TURTLES. 
 
 From John B. Buckstone's Farce of the same name. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Mr. Timothy Tantalus Timms. 
 Mrs. Matilda Timms. 
 
 Scene. — A Drawing Moom of the Present Day, 
 
 Mr. Timms (speaks without at hack). Now, Mrs. Timms, I will not 
 have my feelings tortured in such a way ; I can't endure it, and I 
 won't endure it. 
 
 Matilda [without). You are always the first to begin. 
 
 Timms. I am not. 
 
 Matil. You are—you're eternally talking about that Miss Diea- 
 way. 
 
 Timms. I'm sure I can't have a more amiable subject, {a smash 
 of china heard) Very well, Mrs. Timms, perhaps you will try your 
 hand at the windows now ? 
 , Matil. There — there— there ! {loud smashes heard.) 
 
 Enter Mr. Timms, in his morning gown. 
 
 Timms. Mary ! Thomas ! my coat, {calling) my hat ! I'll go out. — 
 I'll leave the house — I'll not be continually annoyed in this man- 
 ner ; her violence is past endurance, and something must be done 
 to put a stop to it— something shall be done, {sits down) But what 
 can be done '? I married Mrs. Timms for love — and a little money ; 
 the love was romantic, burning, and seemed unextinguishable. I 
 thought her an angel. She certainly turned out to be one, only it 
 was one of the wrong color. Two years have we been united, and 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 67 
 
 have crradually arrived at this climax of raatrirnonial misery. Yet 
 how delicious were our first four weeks of wedded life ! Our ho- 
 neymoon — for the first month how fondly we addressed eacli otljer 
 —she used to call me her dearest Timothy — I used to call her my 
 adored Matilda — " My dearest Timothy, come home soon ! " " Yes, 
 tliat I will, my adored Matilda." The second month it changed to 
 dear Tira and dear Til — " I say, dear Tim, when am I to have a 
 new bonnet 7" '' Shall have one next week, dear Til." "Very 
 well, dear Tim." The third month she only called me Tim — I only 
 called her Til. " Tira, ain't you going to get up 1 Breakfast is 
 ready ! ' " Breakfast by yourself, Til, I'm sleepy." The fourth 
 monfh it became Mr. and Mrs. Timms. " Mr. Timras, if you keep 
 such late hours I shall not sit up for you." " Then go to bed, Mrs. 
 Timms." The fifth month it w^as Sir and Madam ! " I shall not 
 enduse this treatment, Sir !" " I don't know what treatment you 
 mean, Madam ! " " I think you might pay a little more attention 
 to me, Sir!^ "I can't, Madam, I'm busy." In the sixth month 
 open war began. 1 don't think she really loved me when she mar- 
 riel me. I can't help thinking that her affections were fixed on her 
 cousin Fipkins, who went abroad, else v/hy does she talk of him so 
 continually 1 To be sure, I retaliate by describing Arabella Diea- 
 way, my first flame ; and so I ought, and so I will — it's the only 
 thins that seems to giutify me, that seems to satisfy 1ih& spite I 
 have when she speaks of that cousin Fipkins ! 
 
 Matil. [sings without). " Oh, where, and oh where is my High- 
 land laddie gone ?" 
 
 Timms Oh, where is her Highland laddie gone — an indirect al- 
 lusion to her cousin. Now, who would suppose that that woman, 
 who is singing apparently with such pathos^ only three miuutes ago 
 kicked over the breakfast table 1 
 
 Enter Matilda. 
 
 Matil. {singing and working with needle), " He's gone to fight the 
 French for King George upon the throne, and it's oh ^' 
 
 Timms. Well, and it's oh 
 
 Matil. It's oh, it's your temper a little cooler grown ! 
 
 Timms. My temper ] Pray put the saddle upon the right horse, 
 madam I 
 
 Matil I don't wish to take it from the inferior animal who now 
 wears it, sir ! 
 
 Timms. Insulting woman ! 
 
 Matil. Heigho ! People ought to think Tery seriously before 
 they marry— ought to be well acquainted with the tempers and fail- 
 ings of each other. But some folks are so hypocritical before mar- 
 riage ; they can pretend to be so perfect, so amiable, so everything 
 that is delightful, till the terrible knot is tied, and then, oh dear J 
 
68 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 
 
 TiMMS. Quite right, Mrs. T., marriage is like the third bottle of 
 wine — a great revealer of secrets ! 
 
 Matil. Then your third bottle has been euipty long ago, Mr. T. 
 Ah ! I wish I was a girl again ! Poor cousin Pip, little did I think 
 when you went on your travels that I should change my name be- 
 fore your return, dear fellow that he was — so much style — such 
 dash — such naivete, and such eyes — oh heavens, such eyes ! 
 
 TiMMS. Now she's got into a rhapsody about her cousin, there 
 will be no stopping her. 
 
 Matil. How we used to romp and play together, so fond of each 
 other — even as children, always used to give me half his apple — 
 always used to be running after me. Ah, poor Pip ! {wiping her 
 eyes.) 
 
 TiMMS. Now for my Arabella ! Such recollections are very 
 pleasing, Mrs. Tirams ; I love to indulge in them myself, and when 
 I think of Arabella Dieaway, my first love, of her charms — of her 
 altogether — oh heavens ! (sigrhs.) 
 
 M ATiL. What a handsome fellow Pip was, such a fine head of 
 hair ! 
 
 TiMMS. Arabella bad a fine head of hair I 
 
 Matil. Pips was as black as the raven's wing ! 
 
 TiMMS. Arabella's was a delicate ginger ! 
 
 Matil. What a splendid set of teeth he had — one used to think 
 it would be delightful to be bit by them. 
 
 TiMMS. Arabella had fine teeth — used to crack all my nuts for 
 me. 
 
 Matil. What a dancer Pip was, a most elegant waltzer. {sinys 
 and waltzes. ) 
 
 TiMMS. Arabella used to dance all day and all night, and always 
 with me. (dances.) 
 
 Matil. Then how sweetly he used to sing *' Be mine, dear maid, 
 this faithful heart shall never prove untrue." Oh, it was beauti- 
 ful ! (sits.) 
 
 TiMMS. Arabella had a sweet voice — such low notes. Shall I 
 ever forget her G in " My friend and pitcher 1 " v.^hat a voice it 
 
 was 
 
 Matil. Dear me, sir, one would think you had never heard a 
 voice since ! 
 
 Tim. Oh dear, yes, often. 
 
 Matil. Though you are no judge of such matters. 
 
 Tim. I'm sure I've had experience enough. 
 
 Matil. Arabella, indeed ! I don't believe such a person ever ex- 
 isted. 
 
 Tim. You don't 1 
 
 Matil. No, I don't. 
 
 Tim. Then I don't believe there was ever such a person as you> 
 cousin Pipkins. 
 
 Matil. You don't believe I ever had a cousin Pipkins 1 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Tim. I don't. 
 
 Matil. Perhaps you don't credit that I ever had a schoolfelloTV, 
 who was so like me people could hardly tell the difference ? 
 
 Tim. What, your Irish friend 1 
 
 Matil. Yes, sir, she that married at the same time I did, and 
 who I expect in England every day to pass a month with me. 
 Dear Mrs. O'Blarney, shell teach you how to treat me ! 
 
 Tim. Is that horrible horsey woman coming to stop here 1 
 
 Matil. Yes, sir. I've sent her an invitation. She has accept- 
 ed it, and should cousin Fip return at the same time, then you'll 
 feel your insignificance. 
 
 Tim. Well, till I see those fine friends of yours, I shall not be- 
 lieve in their existence. 
 
 Matil. Indeed, sir. Then let me tell you, until I've seen your 
 adored Arabella, I shall consider her but a creatnre of your fancy ! 
 
 Tim. I rather think you will see her to-day, as I've received a 
 delicious little pink note, in which she expresses a wish to be intro- 
 duced to you, if she can summon, courage for the event, and 
 should she call, I shall expect you to receive her with politeness 
 at least. 
 
 Matil. Oh, I shall be delighted to see her, and will do every- 
 thing in my power to make her welcome, and I shall expect the 
 same welcome to be given to cousin Fip and Mrs. O'Blarney when 
 they arrive. 
 
 Tim. Yes, when they arrive. 
 
 Matil. {running to window). What a dashing little fellow in a cab 
 with a tiger behind is looking up at the house. It's he ! heavens ! 
 it's he ! He don't see me ! How d'ye do 1 — how d'ye do 1 {kissing 
 her hand) I declare he don't recognize me — he's going away ! 
 Where's the boy y He must run after him— it is cousin Fip ! It is 
 cousin Fip, I should know him from a thousand ! I'll run to the 
 door and point him out to the boy ! This is delicious — I knew he'd 
 come — I knew he'd come ! [She runs off with delight. 
 
 Tim. I think she might keep her delight within moderate bounds, 
 if it is cousin Fip ! Now I suppose my young gentleman will ar- 
 rive, and I shall have to sit twiddling ray thumbs and listening to 
 their youthful reminiscences — pleasant — such as, Oh, Fip, do you 
 recollect such and such a thing 1 and do you remember such and 
 such a person 1 and what has become of Miss so-and-so 7 and Oh, 
 Fip, shall I ever forget the day that you and I— and do you recol- 
 lect — and do you remember — and what has become of John Smith 
 —and all that ! Then they'll laugh and speak in hints and little 
 allusions that no one can understand but themselves. What a hor- 
 rible freemasonry of conversation that is — how I hate it ! 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 A LADY'S WAGEE. 
 
 From John M. Morton's Conxedietta of •• AtchL'* 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Lord Adonis Fickleton, a Metropolitan Exquisite. 
 Lady Mayduke, a Country Gentlewoman, 
 
 Scene. — A Drawing Eoom, 
 
 [Lord Viscount Fickleton, a highly perfumed, superlatively dressed man 
 of fashion, priding himself upon his numerous conquests of the fair sex, while 
 on a visit to Sir Martin Mayduke, an honest country gentleman, whose 
 weakness is a taste for practical botany, encounters Emily Hargrave, hia 
 host's sister-in-law, and becomes enamored of her. His attentions are -pet- 
 ceived by Emily's sister, Lady Mayduke, who resolves to thwart his purposes, 
 whereupon the following dialogue ensues.] 
 
 Lord Fickleton {alone at raising of curtain), A plague on bot- 
 anists in general, and friend Martin in particular. I've allowed 
 him to make a victim of me by trotting me out with him every 
 morning for a whole fortnight, in order that I might have free ac- 
 cess to his house, and the society of his charming sister-in-law, the 
 fascinating Emily Hargave. Really, there is an artless innocence, 
 a rustic simplicity about the dear creature, that is absolutely at- 
 tractive. Yes, I positively must add her to the already somewhat 
 extensive list of my triumphs ; and when I have gained her youth- 
 ful affections, I shall — I shall consider what on earth I shall do 
 with them. (iHses) I wonder where she is this morning '? (looking off) 
 She is generally down by yonder bed of flowers— tulips, I think 
 she called them — no, not tulips, wallflowers— no, sunflowers— no, 
 cauliflowers — ^no— — 
 
 JSnter Lady Mayduke. 
 
 Lady M. {observing him). So, so, on the watch I see. {approaching 
 him) Good morning, my lord. 
 
 Lord. F. Ah, charming Miss Har 1 mean my dear Lady May- 
 duke. laside) Her elder sister, a sort of dragon in petticoats. 
 
 Lady M. But I ought to apologize, you are doubtless expect- 
 ing some one else. 
 
 Lord F. No, not I, I assure you. 
 
 Lady M. {smiling). Indeed. Are you quite sure? 
 
 Lord F. If you do not believe me, I am ready to declare most 
 empathically 
 
 Lady M. Don't do that, or I certainly shall not believe you. 
 
 Lord F. {forcing a laugh). Ha, ha ! you are pleased to be facetious, 
 [aside] She insults me grossly, 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 71 
 
 Lady M. My lord, let us understand each other. I am no longer 
 your dupe. 
 
 Lord F. Madam ! 
 
 Lady M. Nay, I beg you will hear me out, while I tell you by 
 what means I have been enabled to form a more correct estimate 
 of your character. This letter [producing letter) is from a dear and 
 vauled friend of mine, Lady Mary Martindale j I believe you know 
 her. 
 
 Lord F. Yes, that is, by reputation. 
 
 Lady M. That is precisely wiiat she professes to know of you, 
 for she says {reading) " You tell me you have made the acquaintance 
 of Lord Adonis Fickleton. If report does his lordship justice, you 
 could not easily have found a more agreeable companion 
 
 Lord F. Her ladyship flatters me. ijbowing.) 
 
 Lady M. Wait a little, {reading again) " Or a more insincere man 
 — in a word, his sole ambition in life has apparently been to acquire 
 the not very creditable character of a male coquette, whose flirta- 
 tions have only been exceeded in their number by their heartless- 
 ness." Shall I go on ? 
 
 Lord F. Certainly, unless the lady's description of me alarms 
 you. {conceitedly.) 
 
 Lady M. On my own account ? Not the least httle bit in the 
 world, but I have a sister. 
 
 Lord F. Surely, Lady Mayduke, you cannot for one moment 
 imagine 
 
 Lady M. That you love her ? oh, dear no • that you wish her to 
 love you 1 yes; and therefore, my Lord, I am candid enough to tell 
 you that your absence from Mayduke Hall would not be consider- 
 ed a positive calamity by its mistress, {with a low curtsey.) 
 
 Lord F. A civil way of showing me the door, {smiling) And 
 •what if 1 were dull enough not to take the hint 1 
 
 Lady M. That, my lord, would at once amount to a declaration 
 of war between us ; and depend upon it, you would find me a most 
 determined and indefatigable enemy. 
 
 Lord F. While I am only striving to show myself a zealous and 
 sincere friend. 
 
 Lady M. {smiling'). Indeed ! How so 1 
 
 Lord F. By endeavoring to accomplish your slightest wish. {taJc- 
 ing J small morocco case from Ms pochet) The day before yesterday 
 you were pleased to admire my snuff-box ! and regretted that you 
 were not within reach of town in order to purchase a similar one 
 to present to your husband on his birthday — this is his birthday, 
 and here {opening case and showing a Jewelled snuff-hox) is the snuff- 
 box. ( presenting it to Lay Mayduke.) 
 
 Lady M. This is indeed most attentive of you, my lord, and only 
 makes me the more solicitous that you should no longer waste your 
 valuable time here, but return s.t once to the scene of your former 
 triumphs where, doubtless, fresh conquests await yon. 
 
72 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Lord F. What ! Leave my botanical studies 1 run away from 
 school ? no, no ! 
 
 Lady M. {nettled). Your voice is, then, for war ? 
 
 Lord F. (howing). I cannot resist the honor of having you for an 
 antagonist. 
 
 Lady M. Be it so. Before the day is past you shall consider 
 yourself beaten. 
 
 Lord F. {conceitedly). I'll wager to the contrary. 
 
 Lady M. Indeed ! then this snuif-box shall be yours if I fail in 
 compelling you to beat a retreat. 
 
 Lord F. And if you succeed, I place in your fair hands an un- 
 limited order on my jeweller. 
 
 Lady M. Then hostiUties at once begin — there lies my gage. 
 {throwing doion her glove.) 
 
 Lord F. There's mine, {throwing doion his glove.) 
 
 Lady M. And may the best man win. [Exit. 
 
 Lord F. Ha, ha ! now really there is something positively exci- 
 ting about this, it beats botany hollow. I might have been prevail- 
 ed upon to abandon my comtemplated flirtation with the charming 
 Emily, had I been touchingly and pathetically appealed to, but I 
 won't be bullied out of it — no, no ; now let me see, my first move 
 is obviously to divert the enemy's attention — in short, to occupy 
 my Lady Mayduke with; her own affairs instead of mine. But 
 how ? Let me think. [Goes off. 
 
 A BAEGEE'S MUEDEE. 
 
 From T. W. Robertson's Farce of " The young Collegian." J 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Mrs. Boodle, a Magistrate's Wife. 
 Charles Cheddan, her Brother. 
 
 Scene. — A Handsome Apartment set with a Breakfast-tahk. 
 
 [Mrs. Boodle, at the raising of the curtain, is sitting at the table partaking 
 of breakfast, while Charles is concealed beneath the tablecloth.] 
 
 Charles rises from behind the table ^ and seats himself in the chair op- 
 posite Mrs. Boodle. As she Jills her ciip, he takes it from her. 
 She takes the sugar-tongs — he places remains of omelet on table. 
 
 Charles. Sugar, please— two lumps. (Mrs. Boodle rises alarmed 
 at seeing a strange man — Charles's clothes are torn and splashed all 
 over, his boots muddy, his hat smashed, his hair uncombed, and his entire 
 appeaarnce of the most vagabond order. lie follows her «« «A* retreats, 
 trying to embrace her — he takes her m his arms, and kisses her — she is 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 73 
 
 about to scream, ne puts his hand over her mouth) Don't scream, nor 
 pull the bell ! 
 
 Mrs. B. {struggling in his arms). How dare you ! Man ! who are 
 you ] 
 
 Charles. Polly, don't you know Charley '? [letting her go.) 
 
 Mrs. B. {looJctng at him). What! Charles, in such a state ! Oh, 
 Charles ! [they embrace.) 
 
 Charles. My dear sister! I'm so delighted to see you, that 
 with your permission I'll take a cup of cofiee. [sits at table, and be- 
 gins eating and drinking ravenously.) 
 
 Mrs. B. {sitting opposite him). But, Charley, mv own dear, only 
 brother — I didn't see you come in. 
 
 Charles {eating). I didn't come in, I came up ! 
 
 Mrs. B. By rail ? 
 
 Charles. Yes, the rail of the chair ! 
 
 Mrs. B. From Cambridge 1 
 
 Charles. No ! 
 
 Mrs. B. From where then 1 
 
 Charles ( pointing). Under the table ! Bread — thanK you I 
 {faking the omelet.) 
 
 Mrs. B. Under the table 1 
 
 Charles. Yes — ^beeu there these two hours ! 
 
 Mrs. B. And did you like it 1 
 
 Charles {eating). Capital ! always did — take some more— thank 
 you ! {helping himself.) 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh, Charley ! I'm afraid you've been up to some of 
 your tricks again, and have been forced to leave Cambridge. 
 
 Charles {laying down his knife and fork suddenly). Don't ! 
 
 Mrs. B. What '? {pouring out coffee.) 
 
 Charles. Put too much sugar in. {evading her question. ) 
 
 Mrs. B. So you have been under the table the last two hours, 
 have you 1 just like you— always playing tricks; and I suppose 
 you are the ghost that that stupid Hannah has been talking about % 
 
 Charles Precisely ! 
 
 Mrs. B. And you have been conveying all the eatables under the 
 table. 
 
 Charles. And thence under my waistcoat. 
 
 Mrs. B. Your appetite then still continues to be as enormous as 
 ever. 
 
 Charles. Worse, just now ! I've eaten nothing these two days. 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh, Charley ! 
 
 Charles. Fact ! the last meal of which this child partook was 
 breakfast with a St. John's man, the morning before yesterday. 
 
 Mrs B. You must be very hungry ! 
 
 Charles. I ivas — look here ! {pulling tablecloth ttp and showing a 
 picked ham bone, ^c.) There are the dead men— pic/ced men, I should 
 say— like the crew of our four oar. {putting down cup) There I I've 
 done. I nerer made & bttter breakfast ! {he rites.) 
 
74 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Mrs. B. I sbould think not ! but, my dear Charley, what an 
 awful figure you look ! what a dreadful state your clothes are in ! 
 
 CHA.RLES {sinking into his chair). Don't ! 
 
 Mrs. B. Don't what ? 
 
 Charles. Allude to that again ! 
 
 Mrs. B. But i must allude to it ! why, your hair is shockingly 
 untidy ! 
 
 Charles. I dare say it is ! 
 
 Mrs. B. It wants a brush. 
 
 Charles. I should think it did — considering it has never been 
 touched for two days. 
 
 Mrs. B. What ? 
 
 CHAiiLES. Nor my face washed — nor my hands— («7tow?m^ them 
 very dirty) nor my boots blacked — nor my collar changed. 
 
 Mrs. B. What do you mean 1 
 
 Charles. This manly form, and these ungentle^waw/?/ habiliments 
 have been guiltless of toilet since Wednesday last at eight o'clock, 
 
 A. M. 
 
 Mrs. B. I can't understand you ! You have never seen my hus- 
 band — he'll be delighted to be introduced to you. 
 
 Charles. Will he ? then I must deprive him of that pleasure. 
 He mustn't know that I am here. 
 
 Mrs. B. Not know that — do explain, Charley 1 
 
 Charles. Don't ! {with excitement) 
 
 Mrs. B. Don't ! {imitating him) Don't what ? now don't "dont" 
 any more ! what do you mean ? 
 
 Charles. Don't ask me ! 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh, but I must ; what brings you here 1 
 
 CuAnLES. Don't ask me, and I'll tell you. 
 
 Mrs. B. Well, then, be quick about it. What brings you here, 
 and in such a plight ? you're in some scrape, I'm sure ! what is it \ 
 Tell me ; p'raps I may be able to help you. Is it anything about 
 money 1 
 
 Charles. No ! 
 
 Mrs. B. What then ? 
 
 Charles. Murder ! 
 
 Mrs. B. La, Charles ! 
 
 Charles. Or manslaughter ! It depends upon the view the jury 
 take of it ! 
 
 Mrs, B. Now, Charles, don't frighten me ! 
 
 Charles. It's too much to hope they'll bring it in justifiable 
 homicide, [shakes his head dubiously.) 
 
 Mrs. B. You quite alarm me ! do tell me all ! 
 
 Charles. I will ! and you will then understand why I am here, 
 in such a state, and why my presence must be kept secret from 
 everybody ; but most of all, your husband. 
 
 Mrs. B. You terrify me I 
 
 I 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 75 
 
 Charles. Listen! {brings her forward after tlie manner of stmry-td- 
 lers in melo-dramas — she iyitensely anxious.) 
 
 Mrs. B. Yes, Charles ! 
 
 Charles. You haven't a drop of Curacoa or Maraschino, you 
 could give a fellow after breakfast, have you i 
 
 Mrs. B. La! {brings some.) 
 
 Charles. Bless you ! you are a real good sister I {drinks) One 
 more ! 
 
 Mrs. B. Not till you have told your story. 
 
 Charles. Well, then, here goes ! On Wednesday morning I 
 breakfasted with an old pal of mine of the name of Pluxie — we 
 were at Harrow together, and after breakfast we went down the 
 river for an easy row. 
 
 Mrs. B. a noisy row, I think you mean. 
 
 Charles. Don't pun, Polly — it's ungentlemanly ! let me see, 
 where was I '( 
 
 Mrs. B. You were saying 
 
 Charles. Yes, thank you, I remember ! You can recollect that, 
 from a boy, what an enthusiastic admirer I always was of the man- 
 ly and noble art of self-defence. 
 
 Mrs. B. You mean fighting with fists 1 
 
 Charles. Just so ! combined with fencing, single stick, rifle and 
 pistol practice, broadsword, wrestling, Cornish, Cumberland and 
 Lancashire, la Savatte, and other gymnastics ! 
 
 Mus. B. Well, but what has all this to do 
 
 Charles. With my present position and unbrushed trousers 1 
 I'll tell you ! let me see, where was 1 1 
 
 Mrs. B. You were saying 
 
 Charles. If you'd only give me that other drop of liquor I 
 should be able to get on like a greased steam engine, {she gives it 
 him — hs drinks and smacks his lips) Ah, my dear sister, how good 
 you are to me— how true it is that blood is thicker than — Curacoa 
 — let me see, where was 1 ? 
 
 Mrs. B. You were saying; 
 
 Charles. I remember— thank you. I was saying that Pluxie 
 was a first-rate little fellow — not more than five feet four in height, 
 but the spirit of a lion, and 
 
 Mrs. B. No, no, Charles — tell me about yourself — you said you 
 went out vowing. 
 
 Chakles. Oh, ay — so I did. Well, Pluxie and I rowed about for 
 some time, t:ll I got to feel very thirsty — you know I've a singular 
 predisposition that way — so we pulled to shore and went into a 
 pub 
 
 Mrs. B. A What 1 
 
 Charles. A public — a public house, you know, by the river side, 
 just above Chesterton, about four miles from Cambridge. Well, we 
 had some swizzle, and a pipe, and proposed returning — we went 
 down to the boat, and sa.w it in the middle of the river with a bar- 
 gee in it. 
 
76 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Mrs. B. A what ? 
 
 Charles. A bargee — a bargeman, lighterman — a boatman amus- 
 ing himself with our boat, to the intense gratification of some 
 other blackguards, his friends, on the other side the bank. " Hal- 
 lo ! " says Pluxie. " How dare you take that hberty V " Bargee 
 kept on, never minding us. " Come out of that boat this instant ! " 
 shouted Pluxie waxing wroth. Barge looked at him and said, " I'll 
 see you — " But I won't shock your feelings, Polly, by repeating 
 what he said. No ! his language is easier imagined than described. 
 The way in which that bargee swore was worthy of the American 
 Congress. He was— abusive as a patriot, and ten times dirtier. 
 " You come ashore," sings out Pluxie, who stands five feet four, 
 " and I'll give you a good licking." Well, at that the bargee laughs 
 and all his friends — the other blackguards laush too. This, of 
 course, rose Pluxie's dander to boiling point, and at last the bargee 
 pulled to land to fight. Bargee stood six feet two, and was broad 
 out of proportion. We adjourned to a meadow. One of the bargee's 
 friends did the amiable for him — Pluxie was waited on by yours 
 truly, {warming with the description) The men peeled — it was a grand 
 sight to see little Pluxie square up to the giant as cool and as col- 
 lected as a Don during examination. Talk of chivalry — ^but never 
 mind that, I'll come to the point, Polly, directly— don't be afraid. 
 Pluxie was in fine condition, but bargee had too much flesh. After 
 chaflf and little feinting, bargee opened the ball with his left, broke 
 through Pluxie's guard, and Pluxie went grasswards — four to one 
 on bargee— but perhaps you never read BelVs Life ? 
 
 Mrs. B. No — what is it '? A romance ] 
 
 Charles. No, a newspaper, full of fancy, and often dealing in 
 fiction — a modern Homer's Iliad, published in weekly parts, price 
 sixpence — however, as you've not been coached up to be Romany 
 of the King, I'll translate. Pluxie was soon licked — out of time — 
 nowhere — what could a little fellow do against a giant 1 Now I 
 never could see a row without wanting to be in it myself. I had 
 been second — I now offered my services as principal— bargee ac- 
 cepted. We had some grog together — shook hands and toed the 
 scratch. 
 
 Mrs. B. You fought the bargeman "? 
 
 Charles. I did. In the thirteenth round I hit bargee full where 
 he puts his beer, and he fell— time was called, but bargee couldn't 
 come to time. 1 was declared victor. I borrowed a sov, from 
 Pluxie to give to bargee — he was speechless— we poured grog down 
 his throat — useless— {seizing her hand (xcitedly) Polly, bargee was 
 dead 1 
 
 Mrs. B Good Heavens ! And you 
 
 Charles. 1 killed him ! In the eye of the law I was— I am a 
 murderer ! Conceive my feelings ! Bargee's friends behaved like 
 trumps. They said it was in a fair fight — but the question was 
 what was to be done 1 It was agreed that I should boll— Pluxie 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 77 
 
 was to return to college to evade suspicion, and I was to make 
 cross country to the coast, i had presence of mind enough to give 
 Pluxie this address, and he will write to me under cover of you. 
 Bargee's friends picked him up and promised, through they should 
 be compelled to tell the truth to the authorities, to give me all the 
 start they could. I ran as fast as I could eastwards, thinking that 
 your house was not out of my route — and here I am ! 
 
 Mrs. B. My .dear, dear brother ! How shocking ! 
 
 Charles. If you only knew what I felt ! I keep up my spirits 
 by chattering, but — there — we won't talk about it. 
 
 Mrs. B. But it's not much more than twenty miles 
 
 Charles. I had to double and double for fear of the rural police. 
 Imagine my being afraid of a policeman ! As to the rail, that was 
 quite out of the question. I walked across at night — sleeping in 
 the daytime — the first day in a dry ditch — the second by way of 
 a change in a damp dyke. I daren't go near a house to ask or pur- 
 chase anything to eat. I got here last night, or rather this morn- 
 ing about two o'clock — recognized the house by your description 
 — climbed over the garden 
 
 Mrs. B. And how did you manage to get into the house 1 
 
 Charles. I broke into it. After murder, burglary's a trifle. I 
 found I could open a shutter by the aid of a penknife a la Jack 
 Sheppard. I wandered about till somehow — how I don't know — 
 I got into this room. The day broke, but I hadn't broke my fast 
 for two days. I heard somebody coming and crept under the table. 
 When your girl laid breakfast — I couldn't resist the temptation, and 
 when her back was turned I collared what I could. Eggs which I 
 eat, shell and all, without salt, 1 thought them delicious — but mind, 
 I prefer eggs generally minus the shells, and plus the salt. 
 
 Mrs. B. But what am I to do with you? 
 
 Charles. Hide me for a few days till I can get to Yarmouth, 
 and so to France, Holland, anywhere ! Let me see, there is a treaty 
 about criminal extradition, isn't there? 
 
 Mrs. B. But ray husband is a J. P. 
 
 Charles. What's that — Fellow of the Royal Society 1 
 
 Mrs. B. No, stupid — a Justice of the Peace, and a very active 
 country magistrate. 
 
 Charles. Confound it ! Just my luck ! 
 
 Mrs. B. And he has a perfect horror of all fighting with fists. 
 He signahzed himself very lately in preventing a prize fight be- 
 tween the Patagonian Piccaninny and the Rough 'un's Tough 'un, 
 and got the thanks of the Lord Lieutenant. 
 
 Chhrles. What did you go and marry a J. P. for 1 
 
 Mrs. B. I don't know what to do with you, I'm sure. My hus- 
 band mustn't see you. He'd give you up to the police directly, 
 and you can't remain in those filthy clothes. 
 
 Charles. Well, I have felt better dressed ! 
 
 Mrs B. I'll go and lay out some things of my husband's for you. 
 
78 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 You must leave the house, and go down to a little roadside inn, 
 rather more than a mile off, that way—" The Snipe and Snuffer- 
 tray " — till I can think what will be best to be done, {going, returns^ 
 mid embracing him affectionatily) Oh, Charley — Charley ! what would 
 mamma say ? [Exit. 
 
 ChA-bles. What would mamma say % What will everybody say, 
 when I, Charles Cheddar, of Trinity College, Cambridge, am pub- 
 licly denounced as a murderer — arraigned in court, called prisoner 
 at the bar, and have all the newspapers falling foul of me 1 The 
 Illustrated News will send down their special artist to do my head 
 — the Morning Fost will lament my fate, and the want of constitu- 
 tional stamina of my victim. The organs of the people will de- 
 nounce me in alliterative adjectives, twenty-two syllables long, as a 
 bloated oligarch, and swear that the Cambridge men are always 
 kiUing bargees — it s their regular employment. The Saturday Re- 
 view, hearing I came from Cambridge, and not Oxford, will discov- 
 er that in my youth I once hit a little boy ten months my junior, 
 and so, evidenced at an early age, symptoms of the sanguinary dis- 
 position that my manhood has borne the fruits of. I could bear 
 all but one thing. The reporters will describe me as "An interest- 
 ing young man, evidently suffering from the effects of my long 
 confinement," and the judge will say he is sorry to see a person of 
 my station in such a position. There will be a cast taken of my 
 skull, and I shall figure in the " Chamber of Horrors " at Madame 
 Tussaud's. Oh, Comte de Lorge — oh, Marat in the bath! I shall 
 join you. 
 
 THE PEETTY HOESE-BEEAKER. 
 
 From William Brough's Farce of the same name. 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Mr. Upton Spout. 
 Bella Sunnyside. 
 
 Scene. — A Drawing Room in London. 
 
 [Mr. Upton Spout having been introduoed to the family of Lady Stilton, 
 n, widow with an assortment of marriageable daughters, there encounters 
 Bella Sunnyside, a poor relation and dependent, whom he had previously 
 met in the park, riding a vicious horse, which she mastered with grace and 
 skill. Mr. Spout, after having been presented to the females of the Stilton 
 family, invites them to visit a flower-show, and while the ladies are dressing 
 the following dialogue occurs.] 
 
 Spout. So much for that. Doing the swell is fearfully fatiguing. 
 Bother the major, making these appointments for me. I should 
 have liked to go alone to the flower-show, with that pretty horse- 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 79 
 
 breaker, or whatever she is. Two hundred a-year pin-money, 
 house in town, another in the country, carriages, horses, servants, 
 opera boxes — oh, it wouldn't run to it ! 
 
 Bella {singing without). " I love the merry, merry sunshine." 
 Spout. Hollo — that voice — I know that voice — it's my semi- 
 equestrienne, semi-floiicultural divinity. 
 
 Enter Bella, in riding-hahit. 
 
 And, by Jupiter, in the identical blue riding-habit. 
 
 Bella. Hollo— 1 beg your pardon— are you still here 1 I 
 thought you had gone out with the ladies. 
 
 Spout. What young man of spirit and property would so out 
 with ladies, when he can enjoy the society of a pretty horse-break- 
 er, by stopping where he is ? 
 
 Bella. A horse-breaker — what do you mean % 
 
 Spout. A horse-breaker — a heartbreaker — a general smasher up 
 of me and all belonging to me — in that pork-pie hat and blue rid- 
 ing-habit. Oh ! give us a kiss — I should so like one in that dress. 
 
 Bella. Don't be ridiculous, httle man. 
 
 Spout. Little gentleman, if you please — gentleman of property. 
 Well, do give us something — a lock of your hair — {she waives him 
 off) a Uttle bit of the blue riding-habit, as a keepsake — or a quarter 
 of your pork-pie. You won't give me a slice of your pork-pie, and 
 you see the state of starvation 1 am in. 
 
 Bella. Starvation 1 
 
 Spout. Yes ; starving for true love and affection. Give us a kiss, 
 or a box on the ear, or a black eye, or some other mark of your 
 affection. 
 
 Bella. Now, little man 
 
 Spout. Little gentleman — gentleman of property. 
 
 Bella. Well, little gentleman of property, what is your little 
 motive 1 
 
 Spout. Ah, that's the way to talk — that's what I call sense. She 
 meant what was the little gentleman of property's little game 1 
 Yes, that's it — here, take a chair, take a chair, and the little gen- 
 tleman of property will tell you his little game, {they take chairs.) 
 
 Bella. Well, now. 
 
 Spout Well, give us a kiss before we begin. 
 
 Bblda. Sir, you really seem to be strangely ignorant of the 
 usages of respectable society. 
 
 Spout. Respectable society ! Well, if you call this respectable 
 society, I don't think much of it. What do you think of high life 1 
 Don't you think it is rather starched and stilf ? 
 
 Bella. Well, it is rather starched and stifl", as you say. I'm a 
 country girl myself, and you know in the country, folks don't mind 
 a little bit of romping ; but that won't do here — but when people 
 Rre at Rome, they must do as Rome does. 
 
80 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Spout. Yes, but we're not at Rome, and if you could only tell 
 me of any country where folks could enjoy themselves as they 
 please, the sooner we take two flrst-class tickets to the happy spot 
 the better — I'll pay the passage 
 
 Bella. This joking has gone far enough, sir, I'll bid you good 
 day. 
 
 Spout. Don't go for one moment. Just tell me what are your 
 notions about settling down. Settle down and tell me. 
 
 Bella. Notions about settling down 1 
 
 Spout. Yes, in life. Would two hundred a-year pin-money, a 
 house in town, another in the country, two or three carriages, a 
 box at the opera 
 
 Bella. Oh, dear, oh, dear, don't talk of town and country 
 houses. If I ever thought of settling down, the height of my am- 
 bition would be to have a nice little cottage. 
 
 Spout. Near a wood 1 
 
 Bella. Yes, if possible. 
 
 Spout. Within an easy carriage drive of town. 
 
 Bella That I don't care about — so that the folks that I really 
 loved were neir enough for me to drive round and see them in my 
 little pony phaeton — and then I should like a little farm. 
 
 Spout. Yes, when a little farm we keep 
 
 Bella. And a little cow 
 
 Spout, Yes, and a little sheep — — 
 
 Bella. And a little lamb 
 
 Spout. And a little mint sauce 
 
 Bella. And some little cocks and hens 
 
 Spout. Yes, little cocks and hens 
 
 Bella. So as always to have a good supply of fresh egg o 
 
 Spout. And bacon ! so you'd want a Uttle pig 
 
 Bella. Oh, lots of little pigs. 
 
 Spout. Yes, lots of little pigs, and one little pig that goes squeak, 
 squeak, squeak, all the way home 
 
 Bella. And keep ducks and drakes ! 
 
 Spout. Yes, Instead of making ducks and drakes of one's 
 money. Ah ! that's the sort of thing. Better than keeping regi- 
 ments of flunkeys dressed like beadles, carriages, saddle horses 
 
 Bella. Stop, stop ! I must confess a weakness for a saddle 
 horse. 
 
 Spout. By Jove, I should think so— in that blue riding habit, 
 saddle horses I look upon as a necessary of life. 
 
 Bella. Are you so fond of horse riding then 1 
 
 Spout. Oh, mad for it ! {rides in chair.) 
 
 Bella. So am I ! Nothing like a glorious ride across country, 
 over hedges, ditches 
 
 Spout. Stone fences, battlements, turnpike gates 
 
 Bella. Brooks, canals, railway cuttings 
 
 Spout. Electric telegraph wires, church steeples, agricultural 
 laborers — anything that turns up 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 81 
 
 Bella. With the hounds in full cry leading you on 
 
 Spout. Everybody round you shouting lout Hke maniacs. Tally- 
 ho ! yoicks ! yoicks ! tally-ho ! 
 
 Balla. Ah, that's the style! 
 
 Spout. Yes, that's the style — give us a kiss and we'll go out for 
 a ride. 
 
 Bella. Oh, nonsense — ride with you, indeed ! I only put my 
 habit on to 
 
 Spout. Oh, that blue riding-habit ! 
 
 Bella. To go out for a ride while the young ladies are away — 
 you know that you re engaged to take them out. 
 
 Spout. 1 cancel all engagements on the spot. Let us take a ride 
 together instead. 
 
 Bella {laiujMng'). What, in that dress ? 
 
 Spout. You're right! Never shall that blue riding-habit be de- 
 graded by the inappropriate companionship of this viliainous pea- 
 jacket. Wait half a minute, and I'll come back dressed like Nimrod. 
 
 Bella. Nonsense. I tell you I mean to ride alone. 
 
 Spout. You shall — and I'll go with you. Will you wait until E 
 have changed my dress ? 
 
 Bella. Certainly not ! 
 
 THE JEWESS'S CUESE. 
 
 From Charles S. Cheltman's Drama of " Deborah." 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Debobah, a Jewish Maiden. 
 Joseph, the Burgomaster^s Son. 
 
 Scene. — A Square in a Styrian Village. 
 
 [Joseph, the burgomaster's son, having fallen in love -with Deborah, a Jew- 
 ess, and a fugitive from Bohemia during a persecution of her race, is persuad- 
 ed that she has accepted a sum of money to discard him. While laboring un- 
 der this impression he is is induced by liis parents to marry Anne, the pastor's 
 niece. The marriage is being solemnized in the church, when Deborah enters 
 upon the scene.] 
 
 Deborah {coming forward). What do I seek 1 1 know not — I 
 know not ! The arrow whistles through the air — ^but, at what 'tis 
 levelled I know not. I must remain. Seven days have passed — 
 the time we mourn for our dead. By the bier's head we set a 
 lamp, and at the dead one's foot we crouch and weep, {seats herself 
 slowly) Seven days and seven nights have I wept here, my dead 
 love, {with passionate grief ) Heaven — great Heaven! hast thou not 
 made me, even as thou has made my fellow-creatures ? Hast thou 
 not created love, like the air and hght, to be for all thy children's 
 
82 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 good alike ? Thou took'st from me father and mother — thou 
 lefL'st me alone and unfriended in thy great world, with love for 
 my sole possession. Oh, why hast thou made thine own gift a tor- 
 ment ! Even as I now blindly question, I questioned on the nignt 
 when first I saw him ! I cried, " Ah ! wherefore was I created ?" — 
 and on mine eyes his form arose a shape of light, before which 
 my heart bowed in thankfulness to thee that thou hadst made me. 
 (wiih increasing fervor) Tossed, beaten on the rocks of a stormy 
 oeem, I touched the shore — for one moment — one bhssful moment 
 — and the ruthless waves snatched me back into the furious break- 
 ers. No ! I still \WQ— {rises) — the waves have not engulphed me. 
 I live— but {passing her hand over her forehead) broken ! — broken ! 
 Lot m3 be calm. When I saw him yesterday — no, not yesterday — 
 no, a week asfo — a week ! — how passionate were his words. " Let 
 us fle5 together," he cried, and I deserted all who belonged to me 
 —abandoned in the storm the mother, the helpless infant, and the 
 blind old man, to follow him! I fled from all, to throw myself 
 into his arms, and have no other tie on earth but him, and he — ho 
 took back his heart, and oflfered me money in its stead, And my 
 heart still beats — I live still, {with a faltering voice) A fair girl led 
 him away, with smles upon her lips! — he loves her! — he loves 
 her, and the poor Jewess may go forth, with money to pay for her 
 soul's wreck, {darkly) Nat so ! not sol— I will see him, and claim 
 the reckoning, for promises made in Heaven's name. I will see 
 him— the perfidious —{blasting into tears) — Oh, my heart ! dost thou 
 lov3 Still the fo)t that tramples thee 7 {covers her face with her hands, 
 ani ivesps pissionitely — organ in church peals— she listens^ then contin- 
 ues more cahnlj) Perhaps I have been the victim of some error, into 
 which he miy have been led designedly. His mind may have been 
 filled with cruel prejudice. In trath, his looks and voice bespoke 
 moi-e of sorrow than of anger. Why did I not question him ? Proud 
 lip 5, why did you not beg to know the cause of his aversion? Still 
 he may love me, and, even now, his heart, like mine, be weighed 
 down with grief and vain regret, {the organ again peals) My soul is 
 calmed by the holy mystery of those sounds, {the organ ceases — she 
 goes to church window, and listens) There are voices speaking in the 
 church, aj if a marriage were being solemnized. Two hearts, long 
 suffering from the anger of men, perhaps, are being bound with the 
 blessing of the priest. I bless them, too. Let me look upon them 
 — the happy ones, {going to the door and gently opening it) I am alone 
 — ,10 one can see me. {cautiously looking in, then suddenly rushing to 
 the front, uttering a low, loild cry) Where am I ?— do I dream ? 'Tis 
 he ! 'tis he I [raising her hand toward heaven, vehemently) Just Heav- 
 en ' — r call back my benediction ! Let no blessing rest on such a 
 p3:-jiirer's head ! A knife for vengeance I— blood ! blood ! {rushes 
 wildly towards the church door, hut stops suddenly) No ! no 1 " Thou 
 shalt not judge ! " — 'tis the written law I {crosses) I judge him not. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 83 
 
 Deal with this Christian, Heaven, {raising Jier hand, and resting 
 against the column with the other) I accuse, but judge not. 
 
 Enter Joseph /row the church door. 
 
 Jos. One moment alone, or I shall faint. The sight of so many 
 smiling faces about rae is insupportable ! The good priest's words 
 sound like grim mockery ; while through one of the windows of 
 the church 1 seemed to see an angry face looking down on me, and 
 a cry seemed to ring in my ears. 
 
 Debor. {^moving towards him). Seemed ! 
 
 Jos. {shrinking hack — astounded). Deborah I 
 
 Debor. It is I ! 
 
 Jos. {trembling). What would you 1 
 
 Debor. {passionately). What would I % 
 
 Jos. Oh, Deborah ! 
 
 Debor. {indignantly). Silence ! thrice perjured ! Can it be pos- 
 sible that you are he whom I loved 1 You ! — are those blanched 
 features the same that I once gazed on, from their refulgence 
 drinking great draughts of love ? No, no, no ! In these features 
 there is no light, no beauty ! they are vile, distorted — void of 
 Heaven's impress ! You are a clod of earth — a base clod, disgrac- 
 ing the divine form in which you were fashioned. 
 
 Jos. Deborah, you have no right to use such words to me. Re- 
 member who first betrayed 
 
 Debor. Betiayed ] 
 
 Jos. llemember the money I 
 
 Debor. Money '( 
 
 Jos. The money my father sent to you ; and which you accepted. 
 
 Debor. Money sent to me— for what purpose ? 
 
 Jos. To induce you to depart. 
 
 Debor. Ha ! {slowly and with a hitter solemnity) Your father sent 
 me money to induce me to depart — you knew this, and suffered it 
 to be done. 
 
 Jos. I would have pledged my soul that you would have refused. 
 
 Debor. You permitted this thing to be done 1 
 
 Jos. I Avas obliged. 
 
 Debor. {weeping tvith anger). Wretch ! Infamous Christian ! Could 
 the Jewess claim of you no moment's doubt 1 Was she not even 
 worthy of being questioned ? {ivith a choking voice) This is your pure 
 religion ! (throwing herself upon her knees) God of my fathers, for- 
 give me ray transgression ! I had forsaken Thee to worship an idol 
 of love, {rising) A hollow image made of basest earth ! Earthly love 
 is fleeting, faithless, and sinful ! but vengeance is eternal — infinite. 
 {gazing iipwards with a rapt expression.) 
 
 Jos. Rave on ! such wild words shake the last link of your fet- 
 ters from my heart. Yet, Heaven is my witness; if I have done 
 wrong, I would repair my fault. 
 
84 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 
 
 Debor. {fiercely and contempUimishj). With money 1 Do you not 
 know the written law of the forefathers of my race 1 ' " An eye for 
 an eye." For me the law says — a heart for a heart ! 
 
 Jos. Beware ! beware ! 1 may have wronged you — but un- 
 knowino^ly. Beware you wrong me not with wild excess of self- 
 blindiiig hatred. 
 
 Debor. Excess of hatred ! Excess ! (with prophetic fervor) 
 Thou shalt not bear false witness — and thou hast. Thou shalt not 
 break thine oath — and thou hast 1 Thou shalt not steal — and thou 
 hast stolen my heart. Thou shalt do no murder ^ — and thou hast 
 killed my virgin love. It is the law of our life to hate things hate- 
 ful ; say, within what limits shall my hatred of you avoid excess 1 
 
 Jos. [imjilorlngly). Deborah ! 
 
 Debor. (ivith increased vehemence). I suffered your words to be as a 
 spell upon my soul. I turned ray back upon the whole world to 
 follow you. Mark ! The bhnd old man, whose few steps towards 
 the grave were lessened in number by your falsehood — the feeble 
 mother who by your lying words was left untended— the unshelter- 
 ed infant who through your faithlessness, was left to languish — 
 may each waylay your steps by day, and hover about your pillow 
 by night. Like ray race may you be a wanderer upon the face of 
 the earth. 
 . Jos. Have mercy, Deborah. 
 
 Dehor, [taking no heed of the appeal'). May you suffer insult as we 
 suffer it. Accursed be the ground you cultivate ; may it be sterile ; 
 or may it bear, and may its promises be as false as yours have been. 
 If you have children, may they pine before your eyes like the babe 
 of the Jewish woman whom 1 deserted for you. In all things, be 
 you accursed. And, as to Ebal Israel thrice cried, so I cry thrice 
 — Amen! Amen! Amen! (she raises her arms prophetically — Joseph, 
 who has appeared crushed by this terrible malediction, makes an appeal- 
 ing gesture, bid shrinJcs back in terror) I have done, {dropping her arms) 
 Awhile I shall wander a beggar ; but in a few years I shall return 
 to reap the harvest of sorrow I have sown ! {snatchmg the rosary 
 from Joseph) This necklace shall serve to keep the reckoning of my 
 hatred till my return ! Live! and await my coming ! {turns from 
 him and goes out slowly. ) 
 
 Jos. {calling after her). Deborah ! Deborah ! {he staggers a few paces 
 towards her, then falls senseless.) 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 85 
 
 A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 
 
 From J. Sterling Coyne's Farce of " The Little Rebel." 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Stephen Poppincourt, in Love with a School-girl, 
 Mrs. Wingrove. 
 
 Scene. — A neatly-furnished Apartment tcith table, chairs, etc. On one 
 of the chairs is a child's frocJc. 
 
 PoppiNCOURT {alone as the curtain rises). Let me reflect a moment 
 on this critical crisis of my life. I'm in love — in love with a bud- 
 ding angel, whom I singled out from her school companions on the 
 esplanade at Brighton. I looked — she looked — and that was 
 enough. By continually dropping half-crowns into a servant's 
 hard hand, I softened his harder heart, and learned that my Laura 
 was to return home this morning, I followed her in the next train, 
 and I am now in her mother's house. That mother is not at home, 
 so I can see the dear girl herself, and learn from her own lips that 
 Bhe loves me. [rises) Where can she be 1 Laura ! hist ! Laura ! 
 
 Enter Mrs. Wingrove. 
 
 Mrs. W. {speaking as she enters). How provoking ! The dentist 
 not at home, and so I have lost my whole morning, (taking off shawl 
 and hat, and throwing them petiishltj on a chair, looking round and start- 
 ing) A stranger ! 
 
 Pop. {aside). H'm ! this must be the mother. How the devil shall 
 I begin 1 {aloud and botving) H'm 1 ha ! madam — I — a — allow me to 
 — ah— I have taken the liberty to — a — h'm — I believe I have the 
 honor of addressing — h'm — a— Mrs. Wingrove 1 
 
 Mrs. W. {inclining stiffly). At your service. He seems a gentle- 
 manly person. Pray take a seat, sir. 
 
 Pop. Thanks ! Allow me to offer you a chair, {crosses, and places 
 a chair for Mrs. Wingrove, and another for himself ; after some cere- 
 mony, he sits upon the child's frock, and jumps up.) 
 
 Mrs. W. I beg your pardon, it is my work. 
 
 Pop. I perceive it is, madam, your needle work. (Mrs. Win- 
 grove throws the frock on table — they sit again.) 
 
 Pop. {aside). What excuse can [ make ] Hah ! I'll say I've 
 heard she has a horse for sale. H'm ! I sometimes look through 
 the advertising columns of the Times, madam ; and this morning i 
 observed 
 
 Mrs. W. Oh, I beg your pardon, I know your business now. You 
 have seen my advertisement " Y. Z." My object was to procure 
 professors to give instructions in the most fashionable female accom- 
 • plishments. 
 
m AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Pop. (aside). For her daughter — here's a lucky chance ! 
 
 Mrs. W. I have already engaged teachers m French, Italian, ca- 
 listhenics, riding. Am I right in saying you are a professor of the 
 poetry of motion 1 You teach dancing ] 
 
 Pop. {rising, indignantly). A dancing master ! No, madam, I 
 don't dance, {aside) But I must profess something — it will give me 
 an opportunity of meeting Laura. 
 
 Mrs. W. Perhaps you teach singing ? 
 
 Pop. Singing ! ha, you have discovered my forte, {aside) 1 have 
 not yet discovered it myself. 
 
 Mrs. W. And pray what are your terms ? 
 
 Pop, [aside). I must keep up the dignity of the art. A guinea 
 for twenty minutes to ordinary pupils ; hut the honor of Mrs. Win- 
 grove's patronage outweighs all pecuniary considerations. You 
 shall fix the remuneration yourself, madam. 
 
 Mrs. W. {aside), A perfect gentleman ; and I dare say a first-rate 
 artist. We shall have no difference on that point. When would 
 you like to commence ? 
 
 Pop. Immediately — the sooner the hetter {rises, puts his hat on t(»* 
 hie) When shall I see my interesting pupil 1 
 
 Mrs. W. {coquettisMy). Oh, / am to he your interesting pupil. 
 {rises.) 
 
 Pop. Tou ? I thought — [aside) This is awful — caught in my own 
 trap, with a vengeance. 
 
 Mrs. W. {taking mmic out of Canterhury). Will you sit down to the 
 piano and accompany me ? 
 
 Pop. Surely you don't sing to that harharous antediluvian hox 
 of wires ] My instrument is the clarionet ! [aside) I did play a lit- 
 tle on the clarionet. 
 
 Mrs. W, {aside). The very instrument of which my late hushand 
 was so fond, that he not only played it himself, hut actually oblig- 
 ed me to learn it. Well, I have no objection to the clarionet. Shall 
 we commence "? 
 
 Pop. Not to-day, I forgot to bring my instrument with me. 
 
 Mrs. W. Oh, that difficulty is easily removed, I can lend you 
 one. 
 
 Pop. {embarrassed). You can lend me one ! Ha, ha ! then you have 
 a clarionet ! 
 
 Mrs. W. Yes ; it belonged to my late husband. He had a de- 
 cided talent for the clarionet. (Mrs. Wingrove taJces a clarionet from 
 the table.) 
 
 Pop. {aside). I wish he had directed his talent to the kettledrum. 
 
 Mrs. W. Poor Wingrove ! it was his favorite instrument, {sighs) 
 He's gone ! {gives the clario7iet to Poppin court.) 
 
 Pop. [aside). I wish he had taken his clarionet with him. 
 
 Mrs. W. [turning over music). What shall we try ? Here are songs 
 by Meyerbeer, Rosini, Balfe, Wallace. 
 
 Pop. Rubbish, ma'am !— excuse the term— all rubbish I We re- 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 87 
 
 cognize only two styles of composition now ; the music of the past, 
 and the music of the future — the music that everybody under- 
 stands and the music that nobody understands ; the simple, and 
 the inconxprehensible — the former is more in my way. We 11 begin 
 with a lay of the olden time which goes in this way. {sings) 
 
 " Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
 And I will pledge with mine. ' 
 
 (Mrs. Wiis; grove takes up the air and sings.) 
 
 Mrs. W. Why I've known that air since I was a child. 
 Pop. I Bald it belonged to the olden time. 
 Mrs. W. Sir ! 
 
 Pop. It was ancient, raadam, when you were in long clothes. 
 Mrs. W. Now, if you please, {attempts the scale.) 
 Pop. Brava ! Brava ! 
 
 Mrs. W. (sings). " Drink to me only " But you are not ac- 
 companying me. (begins to sing again.) 
 
 PoppiNCOURT plaps on the clarionet and produces a horridly discordant 
 note — Mrs. Wingrove claps her hands on her ears. 
 
 Mrs. W. Mercy ! 
 
 Pop. Hem ! I'm afraid that note wasn't quite in tune — the 
 mouth-piece is not properly fixed, (adjusting the mouthpiece.) 
 
 Mrs. W. Fix your mouth-piece, then, and proceed. Are you 
 ready 7 (begins to sing again — Poppincouut plays worse than bifore^ 
 ending with a false note.) 
 
 Pop. Slips! 
 
 Mrs. W. (enraged). Mr — I don't know what your name is — ^but 
 I'm convinced you are animposter, and have been playing me false. 
 
 Pop. Pardon me — it was the clarionet that played me false. 
 
 Mrs. W. You're only fit for a wandering minstrel. 
 
 Pop. I repeat, madam, it was the fault of this abominable in- 
 strument — this contemptible penny trumpet. 
 
 Mrs. W. [snatching the clarionet from him). Penny trumpet! 
 
 Pop. From Greenwich Fair ! Cracked penny trumpet, ma'am ! 
 
 Mrs. W. Cracked ! You are cracked — and have no more breath 
 in you than a worn-out bellows. Cracked ! {she plays a brilliant 
 ' impromptu on the clarionet) There ! 
 
 Pop. (aside). She plays it tremendously. 
 
 Mrs. W. Now, sir, have the goodness to quit m}'" house — and 
 never let me see you here again.! (puis clarionet on table.) 
 
 Pop. (aside), i shall lose the chance of beholding Laura if I da 
 not stand my ground. 
 
 Mrs. W. Are you going 1 If not I will ring for my servants to 
 turn you out. 
 
 Pop. Stop, madam ! I confess I am an imposter ; but my inten- 
 tions are honorable. 
 
AJyiATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Mrs. W. What do you mean 1 
 
 Pop. T am a man of fortune— not a musician. I don't play the 
 clarionet, or any other public nuisance It was to obtain an intro- 
 duction to you, and make the acquaintance of the most charming 
 of her sex, that I became a professor in spite of myself. 
 
 Mrs. W. {flattered). The poor man has fallen in love with me — 
 I pity him from my heart. Well, sir, sit down and explain, {they 
 sit. ) 
 
 Pop. {embarrassed). When I was a young man — h'm ! a young 
 mail, ma'am — many years ago — that's not so many — I left Eng- 
 land, hem ! went to India — made a fortune — came home and 
 
 Mrs. W. Spent if? 
 
 Pop. No ; kept it, and beheld a lovely being — {appears greatly 
 embarrassed.) 
 
 Mrs. W. {aside). He's coming to a declaration ! 
 
 Pop. I am not quite so young as I was, h'm ! — twenty years 
 ago. 
 
 Mrs. W. Apparently not. 
 
 Pop. But still I possess the fire and passion of youth. 
 
 Mrs. W. I congratulate you, sir. {aside, laughing) I ought to tell 
 him my heart is occupied by another ; but he is so amusing. 
 
 Pop. In shoit, madam, I have I'esolved to marry. 
 
 Mrs. W. I admire your courage ; but who may be the object 
 of your choice ? 
 
 Pop. Can you not guess ? 
 
 Mrs. W. How could I ? {apart) I fear I'm a shocking coquette. 
 
 Pop. Well, then, my dear Mrs. Wingrove, it is your daughter 
 Laura. 
 
 Mrs. W. [rising in a rage). My daughter ? You are a ridiculous 
 old fellow! Marry a girl of her age — scarcely turned thirteen! 
 How dare you insult a mother ? 
 
 Pop. {rising m alarm) Madam, I protest I — a — I thought your 
 daughter was 
 
 Mas. W. {driving him up stage). A child — a mere child — for whom 
 I am embroidering this frock, {shows the small frock she has been etn- 
 braider ing.) 
 
 Pop. It is not that one, but her elder sister, I mean. 
 
 Mrs. W. She has no elder sister ! {bouncing across stage.) 
 
 Pop. Well, then it must be one of the others. 
 
 Mrs. W. The others ! Do you take me, sir, for the old womam 
 who lived in a shoe 1 I have but one daughter. 
 
 Pop. And her name is Laura 1 
 
 Mks. W. That is her name. 
 
 Pop. And she returned home from school this morning % 
 
 Mrs. AV. Not so ; my dauahter is still at school. 
 
 Pop. {aside). Ah! there must be two Wingroves in the street, and 
 Ive mistaken the house, and conducted myself like a lunatic. 
 Madam, I beg your pardon, most humbly. I'm nearly distracted ; 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 but I'll seek her till I find her. Oh, Laura, Laura ! when you gave 
 me your heart why did you not give me your address 1 {snatches 
 Mrs. Wingrove's hat from the chair, puts it on instead of his own, and 
 rushes off.) 
 
 Mrs. W. He certainly must be mad ! to think of marrying ray 
 daughter — though she's not quite the child I say she is. 13ear me ! 
 what a terrible thing it is to have a forward girl growing up in her 
 mother's face, in spite of short frocks and pinafores. I wish that 
 superannuated Adonis had fallen head over ears in the Thames, 
 when he thought of falling in love. He has disturbed me strange- 
 ly by his proposal. I declare, the stupid fellow has left his hat 
 behind him. {taking up Poppincourt's hat from table and dashing it 
 down again.) 
 
 A HAPPY PAIE. 
 
 From S. Thsyre Smith's Comedietta of the same name. 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Mr. HoNEYTOIf. 
 
 Mrs. Honeyton, 
 Scene. — A Breakfast Eomn with table and chairs • «^ table breakfast 
 
 Honeyton {discovered seated at table). Ah ! now, that was hardly 
 fair, {rises) She does the love-and-obey part to perfection. The 
 love ! It's too much, it's positively sickening ! Yes, it sickens 
 m.e—{goes to table lounging) Hullo! what have we here 7 Eh? 
 {spoon m hand) A fly in the honey-pot. You've got yourself into a 
 pretty mess. How do you like it, old fellow ? Poor devil ! all 
 glued together, leg and leg, wing and wing, trying to walk along 
 naturally. By Jove ! it's just like the married man. Ah ! I fully 
 appreciate your struggles in the sweets, my friend. What am I 
 but a fly in the matrimonial honey-pot 1 No constitution can 
 stand so much treacle ! I can't. I feel that I am sinking slowly 
 but surely into a premature grave. It's undermining my health 
 —it's laying the train — some of these days there'll be an explosion, 
 and I shall go off in the smoke, {pause) Where's my cigar'? {feels 
 his pockets) It's the most extraordinary thing I never can find my 
 weeds. Where are my weeds % Where are my weeds ? {wandering 
 about and up) If this goes on much longer, the next question will 
 be " where are her weeds 1" Whiffins, where are my cigars 1 
 
 Enter Mrs. HoNBYTOil, pteasantly, 
 
 Mrs. Honeyton. On the mantelpiece, dear ! {very affectionately) 
 
90 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Shall I light the cigar for my own darling Nandy 1 {brings cigar-case 
 
 to HONEYTON.) 
 
 Hex ^in disgust). Nandy! There's a name! {lights cigar) My 
 name is Ferdinand ! 
 
 Mrs. H. As if I did not know it, Ferdy ! 
 
 Hon. Ferdy ! Madam, my proper name is Ferdinand. What 
 has it done that it should come hopping mto the world without a 
 tail, like a tadpole ; or bringing aJl its members, but without a 
 bead like a decapitated traitor .' 
 
 Mrs. H. Can my Ferdy speak so harshly to his 
 
 Hon. " My Ferdy," " my Ferdy ! " Zoimds ! Do you mean to 
 insult me by continually speaking of me as if i were a long way 
 off — a sort of cutting me in my own house % I can't endure it, and 
 I wont, by Jove ! 
 
 Mrs. H. {very mildly). I will try, my love, to never do it again. 
 {crosses. ) 
 
 Hon [aside). More tvesicle I " Linked sweetness long drawn out." 
 [takes seat, smoking.) 
 
 Mrs. H. Ferdinand ! Ferdinand ! [cwnes to beside his chair) Fer- 
 dinand I 
 
 Hon. Do you know that I am rather curious to know how long 
 you are going to go on calling me by my name — like a confounded 
 ghost in a haunted house ! That's three times you said it ! Go on 
 again, though, if it will be any relief to you. In time I might 
 rather like it. 
 
 Mrs. H. I want to ask you a question. (Honey nods) Why did 
 you marry me 1 
 
 Hon. Eh 1 Why 
 
 Mrs. Why did you marry me 1 
 
 Hon. Why — why ] Because you showed so plainly that you 
 very much wanted it ! I did it {rising) simply to oblige you, by 
 Jove ! [^it 
 
 Mrs, H. Oh! {tearfully) It's a dreadful story! It's a dreadful 
 story ! When he prayed me to take pity on him ! " To oblige 
 me ! " Said his death would lie at my door — said his hopes would 
 ba blighted, his— oh ! what a dreadful story : Oh, if I thought — 
 (letter in hand) — yes, here is the means worth trying, at least. Oh, 
 I will bear it no more. I will try false coldness to his real loss of 
 affection, I will be trodden on no more. The worm will turn at 
 last ! {reads letter) " By all your hopes and fears, don't be bullied ! " 
 I won't ! {pause) If this should not succeed 1 Nay, I will wait till 
 it fails. I am but an actress, playing a part ! {seated) It will all 
 have been for love. 
 
 Voice of HoNEYTON {off). Whiffin ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Here he comes. Can I do it 7 I can — I will go on in 
 my task, [pretends to read book.) 
 
 Enter Honeyton, excited. 
 
 I 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 91 
 
 Hon. Whiffin, Whiffin! Confound the fellow! The gray mare 
 
 has broken loose, and Where's Whiffin 1 He's always out of 
 
 the way when wanted. 
 
 Mrs. H. {calmly). It is not my place to look after the groom. 
 
 Hon. By Jove, it is, madam. 
 
 Mrs. H. These are your manners, sir. [rises. ) 
 
 Hon. What's the meaning of that, madam 1 
 
 Mrs. H. {fiercely). How dare you come into an apartment where 
 your wife is, with your hat on 7 
 
 Hon. [amazed, aside). By Jove ! the gray mare has got loose with 
 a vengeance, [hat off.) 
 
 Mrs. H. Ah ! it seems that you are surprised 
 
 Hon. {sarcastically). Well, there is certainly some difference in 
 your sudden change of conduct and that which is prescribed by 
 the marriage contract. 
 
 Mrs. H. When you speak of the marriage contract, remember 
 there are two parties to the agreement. 
 
 Hon. One was to love and obey — obey, madam ! 
 
 Mrs. H. When you speak in that tone 
 
 Hon. [quickly). When I speak in any tone you should hold your 
 tongue ! 
 
 Mrs. H. That is not in the contract. 
 
 Hon. Madam ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Don't apologize I In apologies you are too far in arrears 
 to pay up at once. 
 
 Hon. {aside). Confound it! {aloud) Constance! 
 
 Mrs. H. {coldly). Mr. Honeyton 1 
 
 Hon. I have some difficulty in understanding this alteration in 
 your demeanor 
 
 Mrs. H. If your gain in perception equalled your loss in affec- 
 tion, you would have had no difficulty so to do. 
 
 Hon. Madam, I will not hear 
 
 Mrs. H. Hold your tongue, sir ! I had not finished ! I won't be 
 bullied ! I am tired of your fondlings, eternal billings and cooings 1 
 Figeoning me as if I was a tea-trader in a China port. 
 
 Hon. You never loved me ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Who says so 1 
 
 Hon. Your actions show it. 
 
 Mbs. H. I am but following your example. 
 
 Hon. You flatter me. 
 
 Mrs. H. Impossible 1 I never expected such a compliment from 
 you. 
 
 Hon. {aside). How sharp she is ! {aloud) Then, you were pretend- 
 ing affection'? 
 
 Mrs. H Were not you ? 
 
 Hon. No, no ! that was all a joke, 
 
 Mbs, H. What, our marriage ? 
 
93 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Hon. No, no ! by Jove, that was no joke ; there was nothing t4 
 laugh at there. 
 
 Mrs. H. But it does not follow that yon intended no ^dke, he* 
 cause there was nothhig to laugh at. 
 
 Hox. {aside). How confoundedly sharp she is, too, {aloud) How 
 changed. Are you she who used to boast of her affection — as I 
 did of my love. 
 
 Mrs. H. Affection— love ! the money paid to buy the wedding- 
 ring. 
 
 Hojf. I paid with true love. 
 
 Mas. H. True love ! Was there one single note that would pass 
 counter 1 Oq3 single coin that did not ring false ! fair to the look, 
 fii-m to the touch, but tried in the steady fire of united life, cast 
 out — deserving to be nailed to the counter as base. 
 
 Hon. (aside). It strikes me I'm getting the worst of this! 
 
 Mrs. H Can I wrong you 1 I came from my home to yours, ex- 
 pecting that whatever I might lose by the exchange, you would 
 make up with ever thoughtful care. How have I been deceived. 
 In six months , you give more time to your cigar than to my so- 
 ciety ! It may be some other attraction in true love. 
 
 Hox. {feelingly). Oh, Constance, when you know I love and adore 
 you {checks himself.) 
 
 Mrs. H. [turns). I beg your pardon, I did not catch the end of 
 your remark. 
 
 Hon. {coldbjj. Perhaps for the very suflBcient reason that it has 
 no end ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Unlike this' conversation, which has it here. I am go- 
 ing out for a drive. 
 
 Hon. Not in my carriage. 
 
 Mrs. H. This is rank tyranny ! 
 
 Hon. Tyranny ! I never thought my Constance would use that 
 word. 
 
 Mrs. H (quickly). I never thought "my husband " would give 
 me occasion to use it ! 
 
 HoiJ. (enraged). Madam, I cannot permit this resistance. You 
 shall not go out. 
 
 Mrs. H. Hush ! do not make a scene before the servants. If you 
 must give way to your violence, choose a fitter place for the airing 
 of your language — fit, indeed, only for Billingsgate and St. Giles' ! 
 
 Hon. (aside). Confound it! I'm on a perfect pavement of shells. 
 (aloud) Luckily, madam, there is no need of my speech. Man's 
 wit cannot stoop to bandy words ^vith woman's presumption. 
 Against a woman, a man's arguments would be useless, (takes seat 
 in front ayid reads newspaper.) 
 
 Mrs. H. (goes up). So it seems, (takes seat up and reads newspaper — 
 in drawing out her handkerchief, etc., she is to let fall the letter before 
 read from ) What have we here 1 Oh, no news, 
 
 Hon. (reading). Ah ! " Another squabble between man and wife." 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 93 
 
 Mrs. H. {reading). " Shocking brutality to a wife." {they look «k 
 one another during readings.) 
 
 Woisi. " The martyrdom of modern life." 
 
 Mrs. H. Poor thing ! 
 
 Hon. " The evidence revealed a series of relentless persecutions 
 upon the unfortunate husband ! " Ah, the old story. 
 
 Mrs. H. '' The poor victim was struck on the head with a 
 poker." 
 
 Hon. Ah, this is interesting. " The worthy magistrate sentenced 
 the female fiend to forty shillings fine, or one month's imprison- 
 ment." 1 hope they gave her the month. By Jove !- {chueJding) They 
 did. Oh, happy man, for one month. 
 
 Mrs. H. {triumphantly). *' Fourteen years penal servitude." And 
 serve him right. 
 
 Hon. Were it not for the disgrace to the wife, I almost think I 
 could envy that man. ( throws down paper.) 
 
 Mrs. H. {rises). In the case of some wives, a residence in a prison 
 might be for the better, [throivs down pa2)er.) 
 
 Hon. If anybody had ' told me that my Constance could utter 
 such an atrocious sentiment, I would have crammed the he down 
 his throat. 
 
 Mrs. H. {aside). I don't like it ! I surely must unmask, {coming 
 iown.) 
 
 Hon. That she could forget her love and her duty 
 
 Mrs. H. It is false, fase ! a lie ! Oh, I deny it ! 
 
 Hon. What's the use of denying it ? Where is your debt of 
 love 
 
 Mrs. H. I have paid it — aye, ten times over. 
 
 Hon. Do you take it as a mere printed agreement, weighed in de- 
 ceptive scales, like at some grocers 1 or worse, by Jove ! money 
 down and have to pay your own carriage, like at a co-operative 
 store, {crosses.) 
 
 Mrs. H, [crosses). You must be sadly off for similes, when you 
 have to choose them so far-fetched, and so inapropos to your pre- 
 sent state as the Civil Service ! {contemptuously crosses.) 
 
 Hon. Mrs. Honey ton, since love and duty have lost their sway 
 over you, I will use them no more, but, madam, I will stand on my 
 authority. 
 
 Mrs. H. Your authority ! — {approaches him) That for your author- 
 ity, {stiaps fingers in his face) That for j'our authority, {same action) 
 Your authority ! Thus do I trample on it! {stamps her foot, and 
 HoNEYTON goes as if trodden upon ) 
 
 Hon. Oh, ah ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Poor fellow ! 
 
 Hon. Madam, do you think I keep my authority in my feet ? {at 
 front. ) 
 
 Mrs. H. Somewhere thereabouts. You said you took your 
 stand upon it. You— Blue Beard ! 
 
94 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Hon. Blue Beard ! Ha, ha !. Do you think to affront me by 
 hurling that old hero— I beg your pardon — Nero in my face ! On 
 the contrary, I admire that ill-used man I He was the only one 
 who ever found a means of making a woman hold her tongue. 
 
 Mrs. H. By cutting oflf her head. A pretty way, truly. 
 
 Hon. {still in pain with his foot). By Jove ! madam, 1 believe it is 
 the only method. 
 
 Mrs. H. For fear that you may be inclined to try it on your 
 wife, I will retire. 
 
 Hon. One moment, if you please. How long is this to go oa 1 
 I should like to know why you married me ? 
 
 Mrs. H. {imitating Honeyton's careless tone, fwegoin^). Why? 
 you showed so plainly that you wanted me to do it. Tou said thai 
 you were dying of love of me. So I did it simply to oblige you — 
 by Jove ! [Exit, imitating Honeyton's exit as before. 
 
 Hon. She had me there ! But what an immense falsehood ! 
 Why she was over head and ears in love with me — over bead and 
 ears ! over botwiet and chignon ! Confound it ! What a fool I have 
 been, to be sure ! She of all mortals, throws her love and duty to 
 the winds. I can't believe it. Fly in the honey-pot, indeed ! There 
 are worse places than the honey-pot ! {at table) Eh, where is he 1 
 Oh ! tumbled into the hot water ! {pause, feelingly) But T love her 
 — I love her as dearly as ever I did ! I'll — no ! I'll go for her and 
 ask her pardon. Eh, what's this 1 {picks tip letter) Something that 
 she dropped. Oh, the letter from Kitty Hayland. {playing with 
 the letter as he speaks) Heigh o ! she is a nice girl ! I always liked nice 
 girls, {reads) " Dearest Cous." So, affectionate too ! Ah, yes! 
 Hullo, hullo ! By Jove ! oh, confound it ! Very well, Kitty Hay- 
 land ! I always detested that girl ! So it was all a sham ! _0U, 
 ril be even with her for it! [Exit, 
 
 CATHEEINE HOWARD. 
 
 From Alexander Dumas' Historical Play of tbe same name. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Catherine Howard, Henry VIIl's fifth Wife. 
 Athelwold, 3uke of Northumberland. 
 
 [Henry VIII,, king of England, having accidentally seen Catheripe Ho^T" 
 ard, who had privately married Athelwold, Duke of Northumberland, and 
 dwelt in seclusion, becomes enamored of her, and resolves to make her hia 
 wife. To avert this calamity the duke procures the services of an alchemist, 
 who gives Catherine a sleeping potion, bestowing upon her the semblance of 
 death. In this condition her funeral publicly takes place, whereupon the 
 king visits the tomb, which has remained open. At the time calculated for 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 95 
 
 her revival, Athelwold enters the vault and drags the king away almost at 
 the moment that Catherine awakes from the death-like slumber. As the 
 scene opens Catherine is discovered lying upon the open tomb.] 
 
 Catherine {raising her arm, it falls again to her side) Oh, Heav- 
 en ! how profound is my sleep ! Meseems that I am fastened to 
 this bed — I have no power to raise myself, [nses on her hands) My 
 eyes will not unclose ! ( pressing her hand over her frnxliead) There is 
 a weight upon my brow. ( touching her white crown) Ah, I have slept 
 with my crown on. Dame ! Dame Kennedy ! Still night ? I 
 thought it had been daylight. I am very cold—and frightened 
 too ! {descends from the tomb, and almost falls iipon the steps) Oh, how 
 my limbs ache ! st.eps ! a lamp ! {touches monument) Marble! [rising 
 terrified) A tomb ! {walking, and dragging wrappings with Iter) A 
 shroud ! Oh, great Heaven ! where am 17 In a fimeral vault, sur- 
 rounded by the dead, {shuddering) Horror — horror ! What lias 
 happened to me 1 Let me reflect ; —all is calm — all tranquil here 
 — why then should 1 fear % Let me think — let me think i Athel- 
 wold, as usual, came yesterday — or the day before— for I no lon- 
 ger know the days ; — then I experienced frightful torture — believed 
 that I should die— then my senses left me — and — then — then — ah ! 
 {stiddenlg and despairingly) I have been thought dead— and was en- 
 tombed here— living — living — and no escape ! This door ! i^oes to 
 door up the steps, puts her hand upon the lock — the key is not there — she 
 tries door) Fast — merciful powers ! [rapidly descends steps, and coming 
 hastily forward falls on her knees) Mercy, Heaven, mercy ! [her figure 
 droops, and she is nearly fainting.) 
 
 Athelwold appears at door, closes it., and coming forward, proceeds di- 
 rect to the t&inb — seeing it empty, Ive calls. 
 
 Athbl. Kate ! 
 
 Cath. {rising on one arm\ Did I not hear my name ? 
 
 Athel. Catherine ! 
 
 Cath. {rising at a bound). Here — here! 
 
 Athel. Ah! {darting towards her.) 
 
 Cath. Athelwold ! I am saved ! Athelwold, can we not leave 
 this place 1 
 
 Athel. Yes, yes— but not till I have held you to my heart, that 
 I may feel assured you live — and live for me alone. 
 
 Cath. Yes, yes — for you alone ! but let us go — let us go ; I need 
 air — air ! 
 
 Athel. Yet a moment — I implore you, Catherine ; in the name 
 of our love— which but now, and narrowly, has escaped a terrible 
 danger. 
 
 Cath. [clinging closer to him). Yes, yes, 'tis well, but tell me — do 
 not quit me — how comes it thas I was here amidst these tombs, 
 *lone, shut in— and one of them my bed ? How is it that I behold 
 
96 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 
 
 you 1 — that like my guardian angel you have hastened to restora 
 me to liie, and to the light of day 1 Speak — tell me, I entreat 
 you ! 
 
 Athel. Yes— for the moment has arrived that you may know 
 tlie secret which has so perplexed you. 
 
 Cath. What, shall I know who thou really art 1 
 
 Athel. Yes, I am Athelwold, Duke of Northumberland. The 
 king alone claims rank above the peers of England. 
 
 Cath. Ah ! and 1 — shall share honors, fortune, position, with 
 you 1 
 
 Athel. In giving you my heart, did I not bestow all these upon 
 you — am I not ready now to yield to you my life ? 
 
 Cath. Then you will conduct me to the court % 
 
 Athel. One word. 
 
 Cath. Yes— say on. 
 
 Athel. You hajve heard of King Henry's amours, always disso- 
 lute — sometimes fatal 1 
 
 Cath. Yes. 
 
 Athel. Well, I thought of him, and dared not introduce you at 
 his court— for royalty has but to breathe upon the honor of a wo- 
 man, and it is tarnished. Hence, I concealed my rank from you, 
 for I trembled lest some indiscretion on your part should destroy 
 the happiness that depended so entirely on my Catherine. A year 
 flew thus — twelve months of felicity, during which I everj' evening 
 came to you, whilst every day I was compelled by my position to 
 be near the king ; and the better to hide my secret, there I feigned 
 that my ambitious desires were for the Princess Margaret. 
 
 Cath. The king's sister ? 
 
 Athel. Yes ; but it was you who held my heart — who inspired 
 my every thought 
 
 Cath. Yes, yes — I know all that ; but — but you have not yet told 
 me why 
 
 Athel. Well, all that I feared has come to pass. Four days ago, 
 the king beheld you 
 
 Cath, The king has seen me — seen nie ? 
 
 Athel. Yes. 
 
 Cath. And 
 
 Athel. And he loves you. 
 
 Cath. Loves me 1 
 
 Athel. Or thinks he loves — he desires you. Now you under- 
 stand, from that moment, unless some preventive were found, we 
 both were lost. A skillful alchemist furnished me, for gold, with 
 a narcotic liquid, whose eflect is rapid and profound — you drank, 
 and when the messengers of the king came to conduct you to 
 court, they found your nurse weeping over my beautiful Catherine, 
 who was but sleeping — while all believed that she was dead. 
 
 Cath. All ! — the king also 1 
 
 Athel. Oh, it was most essential that he, above all, should so 
 believe. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 97 
 
 Cath. And even now, he does no doubt 1 
 
 Athel. No — for that which might have destroyed, has saved ua» 
 
 Cath. What mean you 1 
 
 Athel. While I stood here, beside your tomb, awaiting your 
 first breath — your first sigh, — your first look — the king, suspicious, 
 no doubt — appeared at yonder door. 
 
 Cath. The king ! 
 
 Athel. Descended those steps, and approached this tomb where 
 I, steel in hand, awaited him — for, by the rood, had he shown sus- 
 picion, I would have slain him. 
 
 Cath. My lord — you would have killed your king ? 
 
 Athel. Rather than have lost you, by Heaven — yes ! But every- 
 thing aided us — vainly did he place that ring upon your finger 
 
 Cath. [aside, looking at it). A ring of betrothal ! 
 
 Athel. Your hand remained frozen within his own. Vainly did 
 he call upon your name, you waked not—you did not answer the 
 fatal appeal — ^liis adulterous lips were vainly pressed upon your 
 brow, for that brow continued pale, and still is pure— so that now 
 he cannot doubt — can ne'er suspect, that you are still the prey of 
 death, and of the tomb. 
 
 Cath. Oh, but think — had that beverage proved mortal— if in- 
 stead of a mere narcotic, that man had given thee a poison ? 
 
 Athel. I had foreseen all that 
 
 Cath. And 
 
 Athel. And gave thee but half the vial's contents. 
 
 Cath. Nathless, 'tis most frightful. Living — living! and yet 
 thought dead by all the world. 
 
 Athel. Ah. dear Kate, forget the world that you have quitted, 
 as already it hath forgotten thee. At the earliest possible moment 
 I will quit England — conduct thee to France — there we shall find 
 a court far more magnificent — more mirthful than Henry s. My 
 fortune, too, and ray title will be thine — homage and pleasure will 
 surround thee ; and then thou wilt confess that I have acted well — 
 that thou art happy, happy, happy ! 
 
 Cath. Yes — but until then we shall dwell far from London ? 
 
 Athel. Oh, no — close by. 
 
 Cath. And should I be seen 
 
 Athel. Oh, you will conceal yourself from every eye. 
 
 Cath. [aside). And so have but exchanged my tomb. 
 
 Athel. Catherine, now that you know all — and the king and his 
 train have departed, let us quit this vault. 
 
 Cath. Already ! 
 
 Athel. Come. 
 
 Cath. First, be sure that no one will perceive us — that all ia 
 quiet — and the night fallen dark. 
 
 Athel But you 
 
 Cath. Will remain an instant here — I am not frightened now. 
 
 Athel. 'TIS well. 1 go. [JExit at door. 
 
98 AJMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Cath. 'Tis very strange ! but all seems changed to me since 
 Athelwold's revelation. Henry the Eighth loves me ! The Tudor 
 has descended into this vault once more to behold the humble 
 Howard. How was't I did not suddenly awaken at the echo of his 
 steps — the sound of his voice 1 His feet were, may be, placed 
 upon this spot where now I stand — here towards me he has bowed 
 the head that bears a crown — here he has placed his royal hands ; 
 here is the ring — the betrothal ring which he has slipped upon my 
 finger ! Oh, there cannot be a doubt he loves me truly, ardently 
 —and does he believe me dead ? {leans her head agaimt the toinb.) 
 
 Enter Athelwold, at door. 
 
 Athel. (at door). Kate ! 
 
 Oath, {rising). Ah ! 
 
 Athel. Come, Kate ! all is quiet— let us leave this funeral vault. 
 
 Cath. {goiny to him, aside). I fear, Athelwold, thy most sump- 
 tuous mansion will never so greatly charm me as this gloomy 
 vault, brightemed by the presence of the king {ivith her foot on 
 the bottom step, she turns and looks towards tomb — Athelwold at door.) 
 
 ^1 
 
 A MODEL POLICEMAN. 
 
 From Fred. Hay's Farce of " Caught by the Cuff." 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Beat, a Policeman. 
 
 Mrs. Pryer, a Lodging- house Keeper. 
 
 Scene. — A Kitchen. Table set for supper, tvith everything eaten, 
 empty pewter pot and a lot of oyster shells. 
 
 [Mrs. Pryer, keeping a lodging-house in a district said to be infested by 
 burglars, to keep on good terms with the policeman, invites him to take sup- 
 per with her. Two new lodgers arrive during the evening, and while she in- 
 duces one (who, hearing of the reputation of the neighborhood, acts most 
 strangely) to retire to rest, another (who, as a safeguai"d, has purchased and 
 put on a policeman's coat, devours the supi)er) when hearing Beat approach- 
 ing, imagines him to be the dreaded burglar, and takes refuge in the kitchen 
 cellar.] 
 
 Unter Beat, carrying a buWs-eye lantern. 
 
 Beat. I've had enough of it. I call that a good night's work — 
 been twice into the " Blue Bottle," and moistened my clay, and if 
 I ain't entitled to supper and shelter after that, there's something 
 rotten in the British Constitution. I observe the prudent and pro- 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 99 
 
 vidential Pryer, with that mstinct peculiar to females, has invested 
 in the nourishing native ; and I see by the pewter that the liquor 
 has not been neglected. I suppose she'll be down directly ; but 
 as I don't see the slightest necessity for waiting, here goes, {sits, 
 ayid takes up dish and looks at it — puts it down again and turns the bull's- 
 eye on it) Well, I call that selfish ! — it's mean— it's disgusting — it's 
 irritating ! {takes -wp pewter^ looks in it, then turns bulVseyemtit] And 
 that's selfisher, and meaner, and disgustinger ! {tt/.rm it upeide doicn] 
 Not a drain, not a drop. Eliza Ann, a repetition of this conduct 
 will produce in the protector of Podger's Row feelings of unmiti- 
 gated contempt. She might have removed the sliells — I hate shells 
 —damn the shells, {takes tip dish and comes down stage) I'll fire them 
 in here, {opens coal-cellar door and pitches shdls in — brings hack dish and 
 replaces it) There, now, Beat is avenged but not satisfied, {sits.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Pryer, toith a plate coniaining two cfwps. She sits. 
 
 Mrs. p. Fve locked in that lunertick, and done a couple of chops 
 for my supper ; I knewed you liked oysters best — nice things, ain't 
 they 7 
 
 Beat. Very ; shells ain't though, 
 
 Mrs. p. {aside). He might have had the manners to wait, (she 
 aits. ) 
 
 Beat (aside). I can't stand this much longer, it's too trying. 
 (aloud) You'll burst directly ! 
 
 Mrs. p. (looking wp). Law ! whatever have you done with the 
 shells 1 
 
 Brat. What have you done with the oysters ? 
 
 Mrs. p. Me done with the oysters ! You're trifling with my 
 feelings. 
 
 Beat, I know jolly well you're trifling with mine ; my stom- 
 ach's rumbling like a coach over a wooden pavement. 
 
 Mrs, p. Well, you should have put more pepper with them. 
 
 Beat. Aggravating female, Fve never seen au oyster, not even 
 the ghost of one to put pepper with. 
 
 Mrs. p. [looking into pewter). Oh, this is too much ! 
 
 Beat. I think it's too little, it's a d — d sight too little — there, I 
 feel better now. 
 
 Mrs. p. Many a time I've seen you in liquor, but never seed 
 you in this way — you shouldn't have took the porter if it was too 
 strong. 
 
 Beat. Me took the porter 1 I know I shall do something i-ash 
 directly ! 
 
 Mrs, p. Yes, you — I saw you. 
 
 Beat. Go it, young woman ; stick to that ! 
 
 Mrs. p. I mean to ; perhaps you'll have the meanness to say 
 that you didn't hear me call out to you. 
 
 Beat. Of course I didn't — don't go asking me ridiculous ques- 
 
 LofC. 
 
100 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THExiTRICALS. 
 
 tions ; you've been drinking — you're regular excited, that's what 
 you are — I expect you've eaten the oysters, and forgotten it. 
 
 Mrs. p. I been drinking— I — oh ! you bad man to go and bolt 
 them heavenly victuals like a devouring locust, and then deny it. 
 
 Beat (aside). There she goes again ! I can't stand it much 
 longer ; I shall explode directly, I know I shall, (aloud) Go to bed, 
 I'm ashamed of you. 
 
 Mrs. p. You're a low man ; why don't you say you drank the 
 porter, like a man 1 
 
 Beat. Because if I did I should be telling a whopper, like a 
 woman I know ; I wouldn't have minded if you'd only left me 
 half a dozen oysters, and enough porter to rinse a fellow's mouth 
 out ; but to nail the lot, and then to gorge yourself with chops be- 
 fore my very eyes, without saying, " Beat, will you have a taste 1 " 
 was mean ; gallons of porter won't wash this offence out. 
 
 Mrs. p. To know that I seed you in that chair flopping them 
 oysters down your throat; and then to see you a sitting there 
 looking as innocent as a plaster Samuel, which is sold for one shill- 
 ing and sixpence along with Garibaldi, making the pair, is enough 
 to bring down depredation and vengeance on your head. Do you 
 mean to say you never took them oysters ? 
 
 Brat. Ye«, 
 
 Mrs. p. And do you mean to say that you never took that 
 porter 1 
 
 Beat. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. p. And do you mean to say that you never heard me call 
 out to you 1 
 
 Beat. Yes, 
 
 Mrs. p. Then I mantains there's another policeman in this yer 
 house, and your dooplicate is here. 
 
 Beat. A policeman in this bouse ! {botJi rise) Stop a bit ! a 
 policeman — it's the burglar, {aside) The man I ainH looking for; 
 Jack Sheppard ! {aloml) Was his cuff torn ? 
 
 Mrs. P. Burglar! mercy! I'm going off! {falls into Bext' a 
 arms.) 
 
 Beat {supporting her). Blowed if I don't think Eliza Ann Ukes 
 going off, 'specially undei- these circumstances. 
 
 Mrs. p. {opening her eyes). Have they stole the plate 1 
 
 Beat {reflecting). Eh ? Now unless she alludes to the two tin 
 candlesticks and that pewter, 1 'm done. Oh ! certainly not ; wake 
 up and tell us all about it. 
 
 Mrs. p. {seizing his atnn). Oh, Beat, I'm all of a shiver. 
 
 Beat. Tell us all about it. 
 
 Mrs. p. I'd just laid your supper, the same as I've done for the 
 last nine months. 
 
 Beat {aside). An allusion that she might save spared me. {aloud) 
 Go on. 
 
 Mrs. p. There was a dozen and a half of oysters, and a quart 
 of porter shelled. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 101 
 
 Beat. The porter shelled — you're right, it was. 
 
 Mrs. p. No, the oysters shelled — my head's turning. I just 
 went up stairs to lock in a lunertick lodger, and when 1 came 
 down, 1 looked in and saw you at supper. 
 
 Beat I tell you it wasn't me. 
 
 Mrs. p. Well, he was dressed in a policeman's coat, and as his 
 back was towards — his face looked awful. 
 
 Beat. Horrible, [nervously) Don't you shake so, {aside) I wish I 
 was out of this. 
 
 Mrs. p. It's fearful to think on— he wa^ sitting in that chair. 
 
 Beat. Where 1 
 
 Mrs. p. {pointing to chair). There — I fancy I see him now. 
 
 Beat. You're wandering, there isn't anybody ; don't take on so. 
 
 Mrs. p. Oh ! he's looking at me — take him away — ha ! ha ! [at- 
 titude.) 
 
 Beat [aside). I'll clear out. {aloud) I'll just go down to the yard 
 and get assistance, {attempts to go.) 
 
 Mrs. p. {seizing him). No, Beat, you'll never leave alive, we'll 
 die together. 
 
 Beat {aside). Not if I know it. What a fool I was to come here 
 to night : here's a prospect of a double funeral, on an empty stom- 
 ach too. 
 
 Mrs. p. We'll be buried together, there will be somecoiwolatioix 
 in that. 
 
 Beat. There might be to the London Necropolis Company — 
 there won't be for me. 
 
 . Mrs. p. He'll be down directly — our minutes are numbered^ 
 yours are numbered. 
 
 Beat. Yes, I know, I am numbered X 101 : don't you go allud- 
 ing to a fellow's profession at this awful time, [aside) I wisli I was 
 out of this Kensal Green atmosphere. Better let me go for assist- 
 ance. 
 
 Mrs. p. Never — never ! it will soon be over. We'll meet our 
 fate together. One grave shall holds us both. [Jiolds him.) 
 
 Beat. Then I'm biowed if I stay in it ! I object to itr— here, let 
 me go. 
 ^ Mrs. p. [dinging to him). No, no, no! 
 
 Beat. Here's a pretty go : it's getting serious. 
 
 Mrs. p. [laying her head on his breast). We'll sink into the vault 
 together and become spirits. 
 
 Beat {contemplating her). There's a sleeping beauty ! Hang me 
 If I don't think she's been sinking down the spirit vaults alone, and 
 stayed there too long. Wake up ! 
 
 Mrs. p. Are you prepared ? 
 
 Beat. Yes, I am prepared to resist, do as I tell you. Now shout 
 after me — he's sure to hear us and that'll alarm him. My eye ! if 
 we could only take him % One hundred pounds reward I Now 
 then begin! 
 
102 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Both {together). Come on — death to the burglar— no quarter ! 
 Beat's sworn to take him dead or alire 1 Death to the policeman 
 without a cuff. 
 
 Beat. That will make him tremble, {he flourishes Policeman's 
 staff) Come on, Eliza Ann. {both going) Holloa! here's his trunk— 
 {opens ^>-w/2/c)— revolvers, by jingo ! he's brought his tools. We are 
 in for it ! {takes a pistol) Ehza Ann, help yourself. 
 
 Mrs. p. {takes a pistol). What am I to do 7 
 
 Beat. Why follow me with it. (Mrs. Pryer j9wis it on the dish, 
 and follows Beat who exits, both shouting "lHo quarter! Death to 
 the false Policeman ! ") 
 
 IN A TIGHT PLACE. 
 
 From J. M. Morton's Farce of " Aunt Charlotte's Maid." 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Horatio Thomas Sparkins, Aunt Charlotte's Nephew. 
 Matilda Jones, Aunt Charlottes Maid. 
 
 % 
 
 Scene. — A Drawing Room, with table, chairs, a curtained window and 
 afoot-stool. 
 
 Sparkins. This is a pleasant state of affairs, to be obliged to 
 stop at home with an imaginary toothache. Here am I — Horatio 
 Thomas Sparkins, twenty-five years of age, five hundred pounds a 
 year, with considerable personal attractions, and no profession — 
 consequently people imagine I can do what I like, think what I 
 like, say what I like, eat what I like — deuce a bit ! I'm a sla^'e, a 
 menial, a 5«r/— and why ? I'll tell you why — and let the junior 
 members of the masculine sex present listen to my story, and pro- 
 fit by it. Three months ago, Aunt Charlotte — you've seen her, a 
 tall, elderly female — took it into her venerable head to engage a 
 lady's maid. There are plenty of London ones, but she would have 
 one from the rural districts, all rustic innocence, freckles, and red 
 elbows — and the result was Matilda Jones ! — you've seen her, too. 
 Well, the very first morning she entered upon her duties my tailor 
 happened to send me home a waistcoat, a nice quiet pattern— a 
 mixture of yellow and sky blue — well, in trying the waistcoat on, 
 one of the buttons came off. At the time of the accident, Matilda 
 Jones was present, and in the most interesting manner possible, 
 asked permission to sew the button on again. In doing so she ran 
 the needle into her finger — fainted, and fell into my arms — and 
 when she came to, she found me kissing the place to make it well. 
 Now, I ask you — is it to be wondered at that I, whose experience 
 of female society had hitherto been bounded by Aunt Charlotte on 
 one side, and fat Sarah the cook on the other— I repeat, is it to be 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 103 
 
 ■wondered at that I should have become fascinated with Matilda 
 Jones, from Bury St. Edmund's 1 Of course not — so I at once set 
 her down as essential, to my earthly happiness, and proved it by 
 giving her my portrait — a shilling photograph — and a lock of my 
 hair — in short I was actually seriously thinking of proposing an 
 elopement when I suddenly discovered I didn't care a button about 
 her — or rather that I cared a great many more buttons about 
 somebody else — Miss Fanny Volly — sweet, blooming eighteen, 
 with five thousand pounds in her pocket at her father's death- 
 think of that — and he sixty-three next birthday, with a tendency 
 to gout in the stomach— think of that. I've managed, hitherto, to 
 keep the affair a profound secret from Matilda Jones. I've made 
 love to fanny on the sly — proposed to Fanny on the sly, and I'd 
 get married to Fanny on the sly, if I could. Oh, if I could only 
 get my portrait and the lock of my hair out of Matilda's clutches, 
 I'd snap my fingers in her face. I've rummaged all her boxes, 
 fumbled all her pockets, but deuce a bit can I find them. There's 
 only one thing to be done ; I'll show a proper spirit and throw off 
 this nightmare, this incubus, at once. Here she comes — Horatio 
 Thomas, be firm ! 
 
 Unter Matilda. 
 
 Matilda ! I want you — nay, more, I require you ! 
 
 Matil. {arranging table and taking no notice). 
 Froggy would a wooing go, 
 Hi ho says Roley. 
 
 Spark. Matilda, i say. 
 
 Matil. Froggy would a wooing go, 
 
 Whether his mammy would let him or no, 
 With his Roley poley, &c. 
 
 Spark. She seems in a capital humor — I've half a mind to ac- 
 quaint her with my approaching nuptials. We're alone on the pre- 
 mises—so that if she manifests an intention of scratching my eyes 
 out we shall have all the fun to ourselves, {aloud, and in a coaxing 
 tone) Matilda— Tilda — Tilly— I want to say something to you. 
 Come here ! 
 
 Matil. Here I am — well 1 
 
 Spark. Ahem ! has it ever occurred to you that one of these 
 days I may— I say 1 may — get married. 
 
 Matil. Married"? you? Oh, crimini ! what a lark! Marry 1 a 
 hobble-de-hoy like you ? Oh, fiddle-de-dee ! 
 
 Spark, {aside). No symptoms of scratching eyes out yet. {aloud) 
 A desirable match might — I say might — offer itself. 
 
 Matil. Like "dear Fanny," eh 'J {grasping his arm and looking 
 daggers at him) Now, Horatio Thomas, let's square accounts and 
 come to the sum total, and that's this here — I go to your " dear 
 Fanny " with your portrait in one hand, and the lock of your hair 
 in the other. 
 
104 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Spabk. (aside). The devil! {aloud} But as I said before, I don't 
 know any young lady — except Aunt Charlotte. 
 
 Matil. That won't do, Horatio Thomas ; you talked of marriage 
 — you can't marry your aunt — it isn't allowed, 
 
 Spakk. (aside). What the deuce shall I say 1 {aloud) I merely said 
 so to —to — to 
 
 Matil, Ah, I see ! 
 
 Spark, {aside). Do you 1 that's lucky ! 
 
 Matil. {tenderly). You only invented this to see if Matilda Jones 
 loved her Horatio Thomas as much as ever, {he turns away and 
 makes a wry face) Fie ! fie ! for shame, you naughty, jealous boy. 
 {ploAjfully^ and patting his cheek, much to his disgust.) 
 
 Spark, {aside and suddenly). Jealous! by Jove, that's not a bad 
 idea ! {aloud and suddenly) Tes, Miss Jones, I am jealous ! frightfully 
 jealous ! horribly jealous ! 
 
 Matil. Jealous 1 Who of ? 
 
 Spark. Who of 1 who of 1 {aside) Who of ? I never thought of 
 that! 
 
 Matil. {aside). Can he suspect 1 (aloud) Ob, yes, yes, I see! — 
 you mean that soldier 1 
 
 Spark, (aside). Oh, there's a soldier, is there ? (t%ud) Yes, Miss 
 Jones, I do mean that soldier. Instantly explain that soldier- 
 where did you pick up that heavy dragoon. 
 
 Matil. He's not a dragoon. 
 
 Spark. I didn't say he was a dragoon ! I repeat- "vhere did you 
 pick up that Sapper and Miner. 
 
 Matil. He's a Life Guardsman. 
 
 Spark, I said a Life Guardsman. 
 
 Matil. He don't come here for me — he is fat 9^.'rah's cousin. 
 Cruel Horatio Thomas, to suspect your poor Matilda, {taking out 
 handkerchief and sobbing. ) 
 
 Spark, (aside). Now she's going to blubber, {taki"'.^ handker- 
 chief from her and wiping his eyes) But I don' I suspect you. (aside) 
 One of Aunt Charlotte's best cambric handkerchiefs, (seeing Ma- 
 tilda, who has seated herself in the arm chair before the f.re) Now,, 
 she's making herself comfortable in Aunt Charlotte's arm chair. 
 (looks at watch) Seven o'clock, and I promised to be with Tanny at 
 a quarter past seven — if I could only manage to slip o'\t. (put- 
 ting on his hat and making for door^ l.) 
 
 Matil. Horatio Thomas ! 
 
 Spark. Eh ?- (stopping and taking off his hat, which hs hol^H behind 
 him. ) 
 
 Matil, Put some coals on the fire, there's ^ dear — you"il ^nd 
 the scuttle outside the door, (falling back in the arm chair, and burn- 
 ing over the leaves of a book.) 
 
 Spark, (aside). Was it to hand about coal scuttles that I pv^ on 
 straw colored kids and a white choker — this is the result ot fa- 
 miliarizing one's self with one's servant. Oh, if 1 could only get 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 105 
 
 back my portrait and that lock of ray hair — wouldn't I — (makes a 
 face at her, goes out, then returns with large coal scuttle full of coals, 
 which he dashes down near the fireplace, then takes a shovel and puts 
 some on.) 
 
 Matil. Another shovel full, dear ! 
 
 'Spark. Oh, bother ! {takes up scuttle and empties it on fire, then 
 dashes it down again — aside) Nice sort of work this for a gentleman 
 in straw colored kids, and a white choker, {looking at watch) Quar- 
 ter past seven — I must be off. {puts on his hat and is making for the 
 door.) 
 
 Matil. Where are you going 1 
 
 Spaeks. Why, I just remember, I've important business at the 
 Mansion House with the First Lord of the Admiralty — I mean the 
 Turkish Ambassador. 
 
 Matil. Nonsense — he can wait — give me that footstool, there's 
 a dear. 
 
 Spakk. {dignified). Really, Miss Jones 
 
 Matil. Now look sharp — you're so precious slow. 
 
 Spark, {taking up footstool — aside). As I said before, this comes 
 of familiarizing one's self with one's servant, {aloud, and putting 
 footstool down before her) There's your stool ! 
 
 Matil. Thank'ee, dear, (extending herself in the arm chair) This is 
 what I call comfortable. Horatio Thomas, come and sit by me, 
 there's a dear — you shall have the footstool — there ! 
 
 Spark. I thank you, but having, as I said before, important 
 business at the West India Docks, with the Chancellor of the Ex- 
 chequer — {putting on his hat and going.) 
 
 Matil. {impatien'ly). Do as [ tell you, and sit by me. 
 
 Spark, {banging hat down on table). I'm coming ! {aside) A 
 pretty contemptible figure I must cut with my straw colored kids 
 and white cravat ; but, as I said before, this comes of familiariz- 
 ing one's self with one's servant, {sits on footstool, and looking at his 
 watch) Half past seven. Oh, if I only knew where she keeps that 
 portrait, and that infernal lock of hair. 
 
 Matil. Horatio Thomas, dear. 
 
 Spark. Well ! {sidkily. ) 
 
 Matil. Ain't it prime to sit together and warm our toes by the 
 fire, eh 1 
 
 Spark. Yes, remarkably prime, {aside) I don't know that I ever 
 endured greater muscular agony in all my life, {sitting on footstool, 
 with his knees up to his chin.) 
 
 Matil. Now I tell you what, you shall sing me a song — some- 
 thing tnder and sentimental. 
 
 Spahk. {getting up). You really must excuse me, but having, as 
 I said before, important business at the National Gallery with the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury 
 
 Matil. Do you hear what I say 1 Sing me a song, directly. 
 
 Spark, {going towards piano — aside). As I've observed once or 
 
106 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 twice already, this comes of familarizing one's self with one's 
 servant. Where the devil can she have put that portrait and that 
 lock of hair, I can't imagine, {sitting down — aloud) I'll give you the 
 last new ballad, {striking tip, ad libitum) " We won't go home till 
 morning," &c. 
 
 Matil. {starling, and stopping her ears). That will do — I have had 
 enough of that. 
 
 Spark. Oh, you've had enough, have you 1 but I haven't, so 
 here goes again. " For she's a very good fellow," &c. {banging 
 on the piano and singing at the top of his voice.) 
 
 Matil. Corae away, do ! (^pulling him atvay from piano) Horatio 
 Thomas, dear, I want vou to teach me the last new dance — what 
 do you call it \ '' Tiie' Babel Waltz V 
 
 Spark. Oh, confusion of tongues ! {dance) People would hardly 
 credit the humiliating results of familiarizing ones self with one's 
 servant. Here am 1, Horatio Thomas Sparkins — live hundred 
 pounds a year — no profession — turning dancing master, and teach- 
 ing a servant the " Mabel Waltz." Come along ! {dance. After 
 dance\ Wheugh! " 1 haven't a bit of breath left in my body — this 
 is another of the agreeable results of famiharizing one's self with 
 one's servant. 
 
 Matil. By-the-by, where was you got to last night? 
 
 Spark. Where I was got to ! — I was at the opera. 
 
 Matil. The hopera ! And what did you see ? 
 
 Spark. Oh — I saw Sardanapalus— no— I saw the Dona del 
 Lago. 
 
 Matil Did you 1 Sit down, and tell me all about it. 
 
 Spark, Ail about it -it'd puzzle me to tell her anything about 
 it. (looking at watch) I really can't keep the Chairman of the Mid- 
 dlesex Sessions waiting any longer. 
 
 Matil. Nonsense ! Now begin ! 
 
 Spark. Well, then, after the overture, the curtain rises, and 
 discovers a mountainous country in the Bay of Biscay, with Mount 
 Vesuvius in the distance. Well, a flourish of trumpets is heard, 
 and the King of Prussia, attended by his faithful mandarins, 
 comes ill, and in a very spirited duetto, which he sings with three 
 of his principal Janissaries — you're told that his nephew, the 
 youthful Mazeppa 
 
 Matil. Mazeppa ? law — I saw him last week at Astley's. 
 
 Spark. He may have been at Astley's when you saw him, but 
 he was at the opera last night. Never mind — as I was saying, 
 we're told that the youthful Mazeppa is in love with the daughter 
 of the Chinese ambassador. Prince Poniatowski, and that his pre- 
 sumptuous passion being discovered, he is condemned either to be 
 drowned in a butt of malmsey, or to shoot an apple from the head 
 of his only daughter, the youthful Dona de Lago, so christened 
 after her uncle, a Portuguese nobleman — but at that interesting 
 moment, on rush the Dutch troops, with Columbus at their head — 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 107 
 
 Tableau-— the lovers are united — the curtain descends — and — 
 {dragging out his watch again) Ton my life I shall be too late for 
 the Commander-in-chief! {putting on his hat and going.) 
 
 Matil. Stop — Missus told me to change them there curtains— 
 so before you go, bring us in the steps, will you, dear ? 
 
 Spark, {dignified). Miss Jones ! 
 
 Matil. {impatiently). Bring me the steps, I say ! Come, look 
 alive ! 
 
 Spark, {with a wry face — aside). Considering all things, I have 
 reason to congratulate myself on having put on straw colored kids, 
 and a white choker ! 
 
 Matil. Thankee ! And now, while I go for the other curtains, 
 you'll take down those, won't you, dear 'X 
 
 Spark. Miss Jones ! {dignified.) 
 
 Matil. You will take down those, I say ! \Bxit, 
 
 Spark. This comes, as I've observed before, of familarizing one's 
 self with one's servant. ( hy this time he has climbed to the top of the 
 steps) A pretty state my straw colored kids will be in. [Exit, 
 
 LOCKED IN WITH A LADY. 
 
 From H. R. Addison's Farce of the same name, 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Peter Follet, a Barrister with an imaginary Consumption. 
 Mary Markuam, a Rural Lady arriving at London to be married. 
 
 Scene. — A Bachelor s room, a bed with curtains in one corner. Table, 
 wardrobe, easy chair and other furniture. 
 
 [Miss Maikham, arriving at the lodging-house of Mrs. Briggs, can find no 
 others quarters than a bachelor's room, temporarily vacant through his ab- 
 sence. Having to rise early in the morning she goes to bed without undress- 
 ing.] 
 
 Peter Follet enters cautiously with a latchkey through the door : 
 he has a dark lantern, he carefully shuts the door and tries it ; he 
 has on a Templar's travelling cap under his hat, two great coats, 
 several shawls round his neck, and a pair of lined fur boots and long 
 stockings over his regular boots ; he is muffled up in every way, and 
 walks slowly as an invalid. 
 
 Follet. Ha, ba ! I'm absolutely trembling with cold, although 
 it is in the middle of June, Well might Horace Walpole in writing, 
 declare that summer had set in with its accustomed severity. Oh, 
 yes, the climate of England is frightful— here am I half frozen, 
 though I've been down to Torquay and Cheltenham, as the Mont- 
 
108 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 peliers of England, and go about as well wrapped up as I can. 
 This railway travelling after all is very bad — carriages full of 
 draughts, and occasionally, as it has just happened, two hours too 
 late — detained by the bursting of your boiler. It's now half-past 
 twelve, and 1 should have been here at a quarter-past ten ; I shall 
 write to Tlie Times in the morning. I suppose Mrs. Briggs got 
 tired of waiting for me, but. good soul, I see she has left all ready 
 for me. {lights the candle on the table, and puts out his dark lantern) 
 Well, thank the stars, here I am again at home— no more badly- 
 closing windows and damp sheets, {he begins to take off his wrappers, 
 %c., goes to wardrobe, takes out his dressing gown and slippers, and puts 
 them on) Aye, aye, there's no place like home, all one's little com- 
 forts about one. I'm never so happy as when I'm in this house ; I 
 fear the change of air has not done me much good, {coughs and takes 
 out a lozenge) Ah I Peter, Peter ! it's a sad sound, my cough is evi- 
 dently getting deeper and deeper every day. {throws himself into an 
 easy chair) Heigho ! I watched the foliage as I came along, the 
 leaves are still strong on the trees, and all nature seems in its 
 prime. Poor leaves ! alas, like mj'self, they must soon fall ! Yes ; 
 Edward Brown is a clever young surgeon, and he has pronounced 
 that I shall fall with the leaf. Yes ; when the verdant leaves be- 
 come j'^ellow, my fate is sealed ; with them I shall fall, and never 
 hope again to see them reappear. It's very dreadful — I wish I 
 could doubt it, but Brown is very clever, and seems much attached 
 to me. Let me see, the almanac says the fifteenth of November is 
 the fall of the leaf, and here we are in June, it's truly frightful. 
 According to his advice 1 have quitted London. I've hved in Devon- 
 shire, I've drank the waters of Matlock, Leamington, and Chelten- 
 ham, I've lived strictly according to rule — a dreadful life of pri- 
 vation, yet I feel no better, {coughs) On the contrary, I feel that 
 dreadful appetite — those pulses of seemingly robust health, which 
 he tells me are the very worst symptoms I could have. Yes ; he has 
 given me an invaluable book on this subject, {reads and speaks) 
 " Consumptive persons digest their food easily, nothing seems to 
 disagree with them." My very case, it's really dreadful to think 
 upon it. {reads) " Consumptive persons are generally inclined to 
 melancholy, and give way to violent feelings of admiration of the 
 opposite sex." My very case to the T ! Do I not admire every 
 pretty woman I see 1 Do I not feel emotions ? — but stay, I must 
 not indulge even in the thought— Edward says if I fell in love my 
 life would not be worth nine days purchase, {reads) " They also be- 
 come poets in the last stages of their illness." {shuts the book and 
 puts it doion with horror) The writer must have foreseen my very 
 case ! this evening only, as I came along, I caught myself men- 
 tally writing my own epitaph : — 
 
 " Here lies, most suddenly cast off — 
 By fell consumption and a cough. 
 For which there's no assuagement or relief, 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 109 
 
 A young and very handsome cretur, 
 His name in life was Mister Peter, 
 In spring he lived, and fell with the leaf." 
 
 Heigho ! such thoughts unman me — it's like the swan who sings 
 iu dying, {coughs) Ah ! I think it sounds deeper, — I'll write to 
 Reading to Biown to come up to-morrow. He does not know my 
 London address, {he makes some sugar and water and drinks it — takes 
 a pill and puts on the kettle to boil) It's nothing but extreme care 
 keeps me alive— I'll at once to bed — this sitting up will doubtless- 
 ly rob me of several days of my existence. Let me see— yes — I'll 
 put my latch key and watch in my dispatch box. {does so and pre- 
 pares slightly to go to bed— leaves the box open) Egad ! I was just go- 
 ing to close the lid of my box — if I had I could not have opened 
 it again — it's a spring lock. Bless me ! Mrs. Briggs has forgot- 
 ten to warm my bed. {sees the warming pan) But never mind, care- 
 ful creature, she has left me the warming pan, I'll do it myself. 
 {takes it down and puts coals into it) Heigho ! if I had a vvife now, she 
 would do all this for me. If I had gone down and married my 
 little cousin, Mary Markham, whom I never saw — but stay, I must 
 chase away such ideas, even if 1 dream of matrimony, it may hurt 
 me. Edward Brown declares, if I were to marry, the morrow would 
 see me a corpse. No, no, I must hate the other sex — upon my 
 life I must, {as he Ivas been speaking he has approached the bed and 
 without looking has opened the curtains — as he does so, a scream is heard, 
 Mary starts from the bed, and in so doing, upsets the small table on 
 which is the dispatch box and candle ; the box closes, Peter drops on his 
 knees with fright ; Mary does the same.) 
 
 Mary {calls) Murder, murder! 
 
 Peter {same). Robbers ! help ! 
 
 Mary. Take my money, but spare my life ! 
 
 Peter My watch is on the table. 
 
 Mary. Have mercy ! have mercy i {the oMve passage quick ; they 
 turn round and confront one another.) 
 
 Mary. You're not a robber then, sir 1 
 
 Peter. A woman, as I live ! Oh, that's worse and worse! 
 
 Mary {recovering herself). Leave the room, sir. How dare you 
 come in here \ Leave, sir ! 
 
 Peter. What ! turned out of my own room ? 
 
 Mary. Your room? 
 
 Peter. I should think so indeed. This is my room— that is my 
 bed — everything around me is mine. Now, please to answer me 
 one question. Where the devil did you spring from 1 
 
 Mary {confused). Why, sir —that is, I arrived this evening from 
 Reading, with a letter of introduction to Mrs. Briggs. 
 
 Peter. Oh ! and she lodged you in my room ! 
 
 Mart. She didn't expect you home. 
 
110 
 
 AMATEUR AND PAELOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 say I was coming, (ask 
 
 Peter. Pooh! I wrote to her to 
 Can it be a trap laid to ensnare me ? 
 
 Mart. Doubtlessly she never received your letter, 
 
 Peter. You libel the post-oflace— no— I myself put it in, and I — 
 {feeling about his pockets) I — that is — I — {suddenly pulls it out) Hang 
 me if the letter is not here. 
 
 Mary. Well — now you see^ 
 
 Petbk. Yes — I see I forgot it— it is not mother Briggs's fault, 
 but nevertheless, for the sake of my reputation, for both our sakes, 
 you must quit this. 
 
 Mart. Of course— but where can I go ? 
 
 Peter. Nay, I don't wish to turn you into the street — I'll gd 
 myself and find you an asylum. 
 
 Mary {aside). What a proper young man ! 
 
 Peter. {wJw has put on his hat and loots). Give me the key. 
 
 Mary. I have none. Mrs. Briggs took it away with her. 
 
 Peter. Never mind — T have a duplicate one — I put it in my 
 dispatch box. {takes it off the ground.) 
 
 Mary. Oh, then, give it me. 
 
 Petbr. I can't — it s a spring lock, and it has shut in falling. 
 
 Mary {indignantly). I see through the shallow artifice — I insist, 
 sir, on leaving the room. 
 
 Peter. Artifice indeed ! I like that. Why, it's not you, it is I 
 that am in danger, {aside) Her eyes pierce me through — her teeth 
 are like — Oh, hang it ! I can't stand this — I'm in dreadful danger. 
 
 Mary. What is to be done 1 
 
 Peter. I'll call for assistance. 
 
 Mary. Every one is asleep. 
 
 Peter. I'll call out of the window, {goes and half opens it.) 
 
 Mary {holding him). No, no — don't do that — you will ruin my 
 character. 
 
 Peter. You then think we had better remain here alone by 
 ourselves ? 
 
 Mary. Don't be a monster ! 
 
 Peter. Shall I then call out 1 
 
 Mary. No, I say — noj no— what will they say if they find us al 
 one o'clock in the morning, locked up together. 
 
 Peter. Well!— What! 
 
 Mary. Why, you know very well, I shall be compromised, 
 and 
 
 Peter. Oh, I don't care for public opinion. 
 
 Mary. No more would I, if I were a man. 
 
 Peter [aside]. The little angel ! Aye, if she were a man, and 
 I a pretty girl like her — I think — but stay, I must not indulge in 
 such thoufflits— she's certainly very well-looking— Stop, Peter. 
 [aloud) I must tlien only remain quietly here till morning? 
 
 Mary. I throw myself upon your honor. 
 
 Peter. You may v.ith safety, {aside) My feelings belie my 
 word?. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. Ill 
 
 Mary. We must only amuse ourselves as well as we can till 
 morning. 
 
 Pbter (aside). Oh ! I could — but no — she certainly has the 
 fairest skin I ever saw, but 1 must not look at it or think of it. 
 All ! a bright thought — I have it, art shall rule over nature, (runs 
 and takes dotvn his double bass and speaks) I have it ! 
 
 Mary. Ah ! you are a musician, then 1 
 
 Peter. Slightly so, only slightly — I never indulge in music ex- 
 cept in this house. 
 
 Mary {taking up music). You sing also 7 
 
 Peter. Only occasionally. 
 
 Mary. Here is a sweet duet ; if you will play it, we will try and 
 sing it together. 
 
 Peter. With all my heart, {song introduced ; as the last couplet fin- 
 ishes^ Mary falls fast asleep ; "Peteb, finishes etiergeticaUy, and as he 
 turns to her find her asleep ) 
 
 Peter. What, asleep '\ Poor lamb, and so near a wolf, a dread- 
 ful wolf ! Yes ; I feel like a wolf, I could attack that sleeping 
 lamb and — but, stay— no — alas ! my poor health, a dying man, 
 one who must fall with the leaf should be more discreet, {puts 
 away double bass) What devilish pretty hands she has got ! what 
 arms! and what a foot ! I feel — [coughs) Ah, blessed warning ! I 
 have but one course to pursue — I'll fly, I'll fly ! {opens the window 
 and runs off over the tiles.) 
 
 Mary [awakening from the noise of the window closing). Ah ! what 
 is this ? I dreamed that — no — it is tiue. But where is the gen- 
 tleman ? gone ! vanished ! Ah, the reprobate, he had then a key 
 of the door, {noise. ) 
 
 Peter [outside). Be quiet ! help! brutes! help! {dreadful growl' 
 ing of cats.) 
 
 Mary. Ah ! what's that 1 It comes from the tiles. (Peter 
 throws open the window and leaps in — his coat is torn, and his face and 
 hands scratched.) 
 
 Peter. Ah, cursed libertines ! 
 
 Mary. You are hurt ? 
 
 Peter. Slightly— slightly only. It seems I interrupted a tete-a- 
 tete, and not content with screaming at me, the midnight monsters 
 have left their marks upon me. 
 
 Mary. But what took you on the tiles 1 
 
 Peter. Oh ! that is — 1 mean — I thought I heard the cry of 
 " fire," so 1 went to see. I'm wet through, and tremble in every 
 limb. 
 
 Mary. Come, then, near the fire. I'll blow the flame up for you. 
 
 Peter {aside). That's just what I fear. 
 
 Mauy. It's enough to give you your death of cold. 
 
 Peter {starting up from his chair). You know not what you say, 
 wretched girl 1 and this death brought on in flying from you. 
 
 Maey. Eh 1 What do you say 1 
 
113 AMATEUR AND PARLOH THEATRICALS 
 
 Peter. Anything ! — everything ! — nothing ! Don't mind me— 
 I'm mad ! {throwing Immelf in a chair) I feel the admiration the 
 book speaks of — I'm in the last stage. 
 
 SIE SIMON SIMPLE. 
 
 From Henry J. Byron's Drama of " Not such a Fool as He Looks.'* 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 SiK Smon Simple, a Money Lenderh Ward. 
 Felicia Craven, an Heiress. 
 
 Scene. — A Sitting-room of modern style. 
 
 Felicia {discovered alone). It will he no use my trying gentle 
 means. I must agree to what Fred, proposes. I'll run away first ! 
 {thoughtfully.) 
 
 Voice of Sir Simon Simple {off). Put them down, my man ! 
 
 Simple enters, and slowly imis down his hat and removes his gloves. 
 
 Sim. I told the man to put them down— but he don't understand 
 me. That's the way with the fellow in the flower-shop— when I 
 said he was to put them down, he wanted me to pay for them. 
 {sees Felicia) Ah ! Miss Craven, you left me very suddenly. 
 Shouldn't have left me in a flower-shop— worst place in the world 
 to leave me — I don't know the difference between a rose and a 
 rhododendron, except that I can spell the one, and I can't spell 
 the other. 
 
 Fel. {aside). And it is for this man that Uncle Dan destines me f 
 {contemptuously. ) 
 
 Sim. You walked so fast that I could not keep up with you. It's 
 an odd sort of thing about me, that I never could keep up to any- 
 body. When I was at school, everybody used to get ahead of me. 
 I suppose that's why they used to call me slow. She fact is, 1 am 
 rather slow — that's an odd sort of thing abont me. 
 
 Fel. Yes— that is — 1 beg pardon — 1 really don't know what you 
 said. 
 
 Sim. That I am slow. 
 
 Fel. Yes, you are slow, Sir Simon. 
 
 Sim. But, however slow, I have arrived at my majority, and I 
 am not slow about thinking of settling down. It's not too early to 
 besin that. 
 
 Fel. I wonder that you subscribe to such nonsense. 
 
 Sim. Well, I don't subscribe to anything. Ya-as, I do — I sub- 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 113 
 
 scribe to Madle's Lendincr Library. I get a box of books once a 
 week, but I never open it — I hate reading — that's an odd sort of 
 thing about me. - 
 
 Fel. Now, I should think you were one of the very men for 
 whom the books of the present day are written. 
 
 Sim. I dare say. But what's the use of a fellow reading when 
 you don't understand wliat ths books say. 1 want some one to 
 explain them to me [gors closer to Felicia) I want some sharp, in- 
 telligent companion like you. {aside) Companion! now, that's 
 clever of me ! what I call devilish dehcately put ! 
 
 Fel. How complimentary ! 
 
 Sim. No! I never complimsnt — that's one of the odd sort of 
 tbini>s about me. I never had a father — I never had a mother — 
 that's one of the odd sort of things about me. 
 
 Fel. {dryly \. Such an affliction would indeed be peculiar under 
 any circumstances. 
 
 Sim. You don't tollow me. When I say ! never had any parents, 
 I mean they both died j^ears before I was born — ^no, I don't mean 
 that. 
 
 Fel. I know your personal history, Sir Simon. How Uncle 
 Dan brought you up, and increased tfee value of your property. 
 
 Sim. And I shan't be slow to show that I appreciate his devo- 
 tion. I ain't ungrateful — its one of the sort of things, gratitude 
 I mean, that is strong about me. Why, when T was at school, if 
 one of the boys gave me a punch in the eye, I wasn't easy till I 
 bad given it back. Now, there's one way by wliich I can repay 
 your uncle's trouble. Your uncle has a niece— and — i don't think 
 you quite follow me, Miss Craven. 
 
 Fel. {waking wp frmn inattention). No, not quite. 
 
 Sim. I say, suppose I were to marry you ! 
 
 Fel. (quiclcly). I can't suppose anything of the kind. 
 
 Sim. Well, I don't want you to si^pose it — lei it be a reality, if 
 you prefer it. 
 
 Fel. I don't prefer either side of the case to the other. 
 
 Sim. No 7 Look here, Miss Craven, I know I am a pump — a 
 slow-going ass— but I am awful fond of you ! 
 
 Fel. Impossible ! 
 
 Sim. I never tell a lie — that's one of the odd sort of things about 
 me. 
 
 Fel. Why, you don't know your own mind. 
 
 Sim. I haven't got one ! Oh, I know what the fellows say in 
 the Clubs about me, but I am not such a fool as I look, for all 
 that. 
 
 Fel. Oh ! no. I can't think that yoii love me. 
 
 Sim But you must. If I lived to be as old as Jerusalem — I 
 mean, Methusaleh— I should never cease to love you, Felicia ! I 
 beg to be let to call you Felicia ! I'm going to come into my 
 property and enjoy my baronetcy, and I really should like you to 
 
114 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 share the two. It would be my daily task to see that your every 
 wish was gratified, {aside) I really must have a glass of sherry. 
 {gets a glass of wine and drinks in agitation.) 
 
 Fel. Sir Simon ! 
 
 Sim. Call me Simon — simple Simon ! 
 
 Fel. Simon, I am much honored by your words, and the least I 
 can say is that I believe you really care for me. 
 
 Sim. Yes. 
 
 Fel. But 1 don't love you. 
 
 Sim. I don't care so much for that. That comes with the trous^ 
 seaux. You'll learn to love me. But, I was assured that you did 
 so, already. 
 
 Fel. Who said that I loved you 1 
 
 Sim. Let me see. {pauses) Well, somebody said so. 
 
 Fel. It was not I. 
 
 Sim. No ! it was not you. It was — it was — your uncle. 
 
 Fel. Well, I say I don't love you, 
 
 Sim. But you will. 
 
 Fel. No! 
 
 Sim. Why not? 
 
 Fel Because I love somebody else. 
 
 Sim. You don't say so ! {pause) Yes, of course you do say so, or 
 you wouldn't have said that you said so. 
 
 Fel. {"■gushingly'"). I love him so much! Dear Simon, you 
 wouldn't deprive a worthy rival of his loved one's heart 1 
 
 Sim. I wouldn't care about that ! 
 
 Fel. You wouldn't marry a woman that would despise you"? 
 Oh. I hate you ! 
 
 Sim. I wouldn't altogether care about that ! 
 
 Fel. {feelingly) . You won't seek love where it is not yours. You 
 won't doom two fond young creatures to misery ! No, no ; you 
 will not behave so cruelly. 
 
 Sim. 1 feel ready to burst into tears, {aside) Murgatroyd has 
 taken me in here ! I can't behave like a cad, and 1 won't, {aloud) 
 
 Look here, Felicia, 1 {pause) it's not because I am a fool that 
 
 I can't love you as well as a wise man. It may not be the act of 
 a wise man to resign you to another, but I feel towards you more 
 than I can say, and I can only show you how deep it is by what 1 
 now do. I can't help being a baronet, and your superior. If I 
 was only a blackguard, you might think me your equal, Felicia. 
 Perhaps there is not much worth in a fellow that spends a good 
 deal of his spare time in doing his back hair, {smooths the back of 
 Ills head) and can't live without his eye-glass, but I love you, Fe- 
 licia, as well as the best and bravest. 
 
 Fel. I am sure you do, Simon. 
 
 Sim. Thank you. {they clasp hands) T don't want to keep you in 
 suspense, for, of course, you can't help sticking to the man you 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 115 
 
 want to marry. There'll be no hindrance from me— you may de- 
 pend upon it. 
 
 Fel. You won't betray us 1 Bless you, bless you ! {kiasea Sim- 
 ple) You dear ! 
 
 A HOUSEHOLD FAIRY. 
 
 From Francis Talfourd's Comedietta of the same name. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Julian de Clifford, a Poverty-stricken Artist. 
 Katharine, a Country Maiden. 
 
 Scene. — An Apartment, whose furniture has been reduced to a high' 
 back chair and a small table. 
 
 Julian is pacing the room alone when comes a knock and voice of 
 Katharine outside. 
 
 Katharine {calling). Mr. Julian ! 
 
 Jul. Some one calling me ! 
 
 Kath. {without). Now, don't pretend to be out, because I know 
 you're not. 
 
 Jul. No, bat I'm just going, {aside) It's a woman's voice ! 
 
 Kath. Let me in — I shan't detain you long. 
 
 Jul. [aside). It's a young voice. Oh, one mustn't forget the ameni- 
 ties of life, even in one's last moments ! besides, I can put it off 
 for a little. I can go by the 1. 20. 
 
 Opens the door, and Katharine enters, plainly dressed, with a basket 
 
 and a bundle. 
 A country girl ! 
 
 Kath. Mr. Julian ! oh, it is you yourself. 
 
 Jul. Your discrimination does you credit. It is I ; and it being 
 I, what do you want with me, my dear 1 
 
 Kath. Why, how you've grown in the last few years ! 
 
 Jul. It is a foible incidental to youth ; but, again may I ask 
 what 
 
 Kath. I knew you though, at a glance, for all that. 
 
 Jul, Oh, you know me / [aside] Who can she be ? 
 
 Kath. Perhaps j-^ou'll tellme you're not nephew to your Aunt 
 Jones of Oatlands >. 
 
 Jul. Oh, you came from Oatlands ! [aside) One of the farm peo- 
 ple, I dare say. 
 
 Kath. Yes, forty miles this morning ! Oh, these railways 
 make quick work ; but I've had trouble enough to find you, and 
 
116 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 tired enough I am. {draws the chair doum, and sits, depositing her ba«~ 
 Jcet on the ground.) 
 
 Jul. Ah, doubtless you were present at the death-bed of my 
 poor aunt ! 
 
 Kath. Poor dear aunt ! yes, she called me her little nurse, and 
 would take food from no other hand than mine. 
 
 Jul. I presume, then, it is on her account you have come to see 
 
 Kath. Dear me, no — I came upon my own. 
 
 Jul. Your own ? 
 
 Kath. Of course ! but good gracious, how is this 7 you don't 
 seem to know me ! 
 
 Jul. Well, my dear, mj'' not immediately recognizing you can 
 only be accounted for by the fact that 1 never saw you before. 
 
 Kath. That's good, come ! {rises) Now, sir, look me full in the 
 face. Do you mean to say you don't recollect little Kitty 1 
 
 Jul. Oh, you're little Kitty ! ah, that's very satisfactory, (aside) 
 Now who is little Kitty 1 
 
 Kath. Still in the dark 1 well, sit down, and I'll brighten up 
 your memory. 
 
 Jul. {looking round the room, which contains but the chair on which 
 she is seated). Thank you, I'd sooner stand. 
 
 Kath. Nonsense! sit down, I insist. 
 
 Jul. Why, the fact is, I'm moving my lodgings, and so much of 
 my furniture has already gone, that 
 
 Kath. Oh, I see ! but there's a coal-scuttle^:— that'll do. 
 
 Jul. A coal-scuttle ! 
 
 Kath. Of course — why not 1 however, I'm not so particular. 
 (rising.) 
 
 Jul. By no means. Since it will oblige you — but — good 
 gracious ! shades of my ancestors, look down and witness the last 
 of the De Cliffords seated on a coal-scuttle ! {brings down the coal- 
 scuttle, on which he seats himself at her side.) 
 
 Kath. There — thats cozy, isn't it 1 
 
 Jul. To be sure -exceedingly— rather unsteady, and not par- 
 ticularly dignified, but as you say, cozy. 
 
 Kath. Now, can't you recollect a nice little girl not higher than 
 this, when a correspondingly nice little boy of fourteen found her 
 starving under a hedge ] she had been stolen, despoiled, and de- 
 serted by gipsies, wlien she must have died had not the nice little 
 boy carried her in his arms home to his aunt, saying, " Aunt, you 
 mustn't call me a little boy any more, for I am now a man, and 
 this is to be my little daughter." 
 
 Jul. Ah, I remember now. 
 
 Kath. Then you have no need to be told that the nice little boy 
 was called .Julian de Clifford, and the nice little girl 
 
 Jul. Katharine! my dear little Kitty I why, you've grown to be 
 quite a woiaaan ! 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 117 
 
 Kath. Little girls must expect that, you know. 
 
 Jul. And such a pretty woman ! 
 
 Kath. Great girls always expect that. 
 
 Jul. My familiarity does not offend you ! 
 
 Kath. Why should it 1 who may be familiar if you may not 1 
 are vou not ray father ] 
 
 Jul. Eh? 
 
 Kath. My adopted father 1 
 
 Jul. Certainly — I quite forgot that. I may perhaps, then, in 
 that sacred character, venture so far as to— d — n the coal-scuttle. 
 
 Kath. {presenting her cheek). Of course — it is your right. It 
 might have come rather earlier from a father who hasn't seen hia 
 child for eight years. Are these your rooms 1 {rising.) 
 
 Jul. Yes, dear, for want of better. 
 
 Kath. I'm sure you don't want any better. 
 
 Jul. {gloomily). 1 shall not — long. 
 
 Kath. I'm sure they're very nice, but dreadfully untidy. How- 
 ever, we'll soon put things in order. 
 
 Jul. It is quite unnecessary. 
 
 Kath. I beg youi- pardon — I'm not used to living in a mess. 
 
 Jul. Eh 1 
 
 Kath. And, to begin, E must have all these trunks and lumber 
 out of this closet. 
 
 Jul. Why] 
 
 Kath. Because it's to be my bed-room of course. Dear me, 
 it's in a terrible confusion. 
 
 Jul. {nside). Not more than I am. 
 
 Kath. It must be thoroughly cleaned out. 
 
 Jul. {aside). Not more than I am ! 
 
 Kath. Yes, but I'll soon put matters straight. 
 
 Jul. (aside). I wish she would — they are very complicated at 
 present, (aloud) Am I to understand you mean to stay here 1 
 
 Kath. AVhere else but with my father 1 
 
 Jul. Eh ] 
 
 Kath. My adopted father. 
 
 Jul. True — 1 had forgotten again ; but surely ipy aunt, with 
 whom you were so great a favorite, cannot have forgotten you in 
 her will, as she evidently has me. I can forgive her that, as a 
 just reward of ray ingratitude, follies and extravagance ; but to 
 cast you upon the world, ray poor child, without fortune, friends, 
 or home 
 
 Kath Do you reckon yourself as nothing, then, or think that 
 where a father is, a daughter cannot find or make a home ? Be- 
 sides, I shall be no expense — I can hve on very little. 
 
 Jul. {aside). How shall I break to her that I have not even the 
 little she requiies ] that, but for her, I should have already started 
 on ray cold long journey. 
 
 Kath. {half overhearing). A journey ! did you say a journey 1 
 
118 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Jul. Did I say a journey 1 Well — ^yes — I was about to set oflf 
 when you came in. 
 
 Kath. Well, now I'm here, you'll take me with you, won't you 1 
 
 Jul. Heaven forbid. 
 
 Kath. Is it so very far, then '? 
 
 JuE. Very far. 
 
 Kath. And may I be so bold as to ask where 1 
 
 Jul. You may — but 1 cannot be so bold as answer — that is, it 
 is a secret. 
 
 Kath. And while you are absent, what's to become of me 1 
 
 Jul. Of you ? True — what, indeed ! (aside) How selfish is mis- 
 cry ! I must not leave her friendless and alone ! {aloud) Well, for 
 your sake I'll put it off for a day or two. 
 
 Kath. Oh, how kind ! what a good, dutiful papa I shall have. 
 
 Jul. Ehl 
 
 Kath. Adopted papa. 
 
 Jul. True— I was forgetting again. 
 
 Kath. Meantime, let's get this place into order. Bless me, 
 what a state the carpet is in — and that litter of papers under the 
 writing table— it looks as if it hadn't been swept for a month — but 
 you have a broom, I suppose ! 
 
 Jul. a broom 1 I daresay — I don't know. 
 
 Kath. {takes out a handhroom and dustpan). Of course — here, now, 
 set to work while I put things in their place a little, {thrusts them 
 into his hands.) 
 
 Jul. What am I to do with these ? 
 
 Kath. Only to kneel down and carefully brush that litter into 
 the dustpan. 
 
 Jul. (gravely). I would do much to oblige you, veiy much — but 
 the De Cliffords never swept rooms, or knew anything about dust- 
 pans ! 
 
 Kath. Probably not — but if our ancestors were as wise as we, 
 where would be the advance of the age, you know ? 
 
 Jul. I submit, {kneels down) Only, if the shade of the first De 
 Clifford should be looking down upon me now 
 
 Kath. Well .5 
 
 Jul. The venerable warrior would be rather disgusted, that's all. 
 
 Kath. There — that's better ! {she has put the room in order) Very 
 good — very promising for a beginner ! Empty them into the dust 
 bin. 
 
 Jul. Eh? 
 
 Kath. The dust bin — there ! 
 
 Jul. Oh, I beg pardon! {puts brush, ^c, into cupboard.) 
 
 Kath. And now, let me tell you, I begin to feel rather hungiy ! 
 
 Jfl. {aside). I knew it ! I knew she would ! It is an odd thing, 
 a person can't pass a few days rix agreeable society without feel- 
 ing hungry ! 
 
 Kath. I only took a slice of bread, and a cup of coffee when I 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 119 
 
 left Oatlands this morning— so I may almost say I have not break- 
 fasted. 
 Jul. And, by a singular coincidence, so may L 
 Kath. That's capital — suppose we breakfast together, then. 
 Jul. Exactly — suppose we breakfast together, {aside) Supposi- 
 tion isn't expensive, and it's about all i can afford ! 
 
 THE HOUR COME. 
 
 From Palgrave Simpson's Drama of " Time and the Hour.*' 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Sir Philip Deverell, a Magistrate. 
 Marian Beck, his Discarded Mistress. 
 
 Scene. — An Old English Oaken Chamber. 
 
 [Sir Philip Deverell, in his younger days, had been not only a libertine but 
 a forger. To gain the hand of a lady he issues a warrant for the arrest of 
 George Aylmer, charged with a crime committed by himself.] 
 
 Sir Philip Deverell (pacing the room). I wish he and his war- 
 rant might be served on the devil together. I would spare George 
 Aylmer if 1 could, provided Lucy Avould forget him. If not, there 
 is no help for it, or for hira. The evidence is clear enough to hang 
 him twenty times over ! [shudders — savagely) What then 1 Better 
 that he should face that hideous death than one who has deserved 
 it. There is no proof against me—\ fear nothing, nothing that is 
 — but everything thajb is mt. Would I could fling every thought 
 aside, and cry " I am Percival Dalton, take me and have done with 
 it." (starting) Did any one hear me 1 
 
 Marian Beck has entered at the last words. 
 
 Mar. Yes, I did. Better you should do so, than act out your 
 story to the end. 
 
 DiiVER. Margaret again ? Woman, what do you want with me ? 
 I believed you dead. 
 
 Mar. I know it. Would that I were ! but such misery as mine 
 dies hard. My retribution is to live. I have watched you to save 
 you from yourself, if I could i If I cannot do that, I can save oth- 
 ers from you ! See George Aylmer righted, let Lucy Fairfax be 
 his wife, and you need fear nothing from my revenge. 
 
 Dever. You don't know what you ask ? I 
 
 Mar. I ask you to save yourself one more crime — the worst of 
 all. If you will not — if you have learned no remorse — and I can 
 
130 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 but touch you through your pride ; for fear you never knew, then 
 hear me. Althougli the hour that brmgs your ruin, brings my 
 death — send but George Aylraer to prison — speak to Lucy Fair- 
 fax one more word of love, and I denounce you, Sir PhiUp Dever- 
 ell ! Take care ! 
 
 Dever. You dare not do it ! As you say, I am Sir Philip Dev- 
 erell, spotless in honor and high in place — my name and wealth 
 beyond the reach of any. Woman, it is for you to take care ! {cup 
 proaching her.) 
 
 Mar. Well 1 
 
 Dkver. {drawing back). 1 did not mean to threaten you. Tell 
 me, Margaret, why do you wish to separate Lucy Fairfax and me ? 
 As you have said, our love is of the past. I would redeem my fol- 
 lies by a new life with one whose pure youth might reflect mine 
 in a glass so clear that the image might be taken for the reality — • 
 I love Lucy Fairfax ! 
 
 Mar. {hitterly). You love ! You are like the wild beast, that 
 brings but one end to what it loves and hates ! It tears them both 
 to pieces ! You told me once that you loved me I once, did I say 1 
 you told it me so often and so well, " with words and tones as 
 changing as the variations of a melody, while the tune which 
 sparkled through them was still the same," that you won me to be- 
 lieve you — to change my pure name and peaceful life, for the blot- 
 ted title of your mistress — for a lost existence as your decoy. Ay, 
 and you won me so, that I loved the blotted title and the lost ex- 
 istence best ! God help me ! And you could leave me after all ! 
 
 DEVSii. Margaret, your love is not forgotten. Look in my face 
 and tell me, if you can, the embers of that fire, " the last embers 
 if you will," are not smouldering yet. 
 
 Mar. No ! it was not thus that such love as mine could die ! 
 There was no gradual death for want of fuel— no smoulderinsf em- 
 bars there ! It went out like the flame of a lamp at its brightest, 
 at ona breath more rude than the rest ! My love fell down dead, 
 as suddenly as your victim, before the unutterable baseness of 
 your latest crime. It would have lived forever, had one spark of 
 feeling or of conscience survived in you But it died when I 
 knew that there was none ! and with it would have ended my life, 
 had not retribution risen to keep that hfe alive ! Callous and cru- 
 el, has the devil, who is writing your story, left none of his own 
 slaves to watch you, if he has driven every good angel away? 
 You are dead to repentance— are you lost to horror ? 
 
 Dbver [staggering bach). Every spectre that haunts me, finds a 
 sh'ip? in those awful words. 
 
 Mar. You can face others, Percival Dalton, are you not afraid, 
 alo \e 1 
 
 Devbr {bursting oat \ Afraid? What terror that you can con- 
 jure up, is to be compared to the least of those that torture me % 
 I tell you, Margaret, that my life is hell — not a moment that does 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. m 
 
 not remind me of the past ! not a race that does noj glare a re- 
 proach on me ! The leaves whisper of my life, the storm howls 
 of it ! I read its history in every sight ; hear it read to me in 
 every sound. Not a thought by day that does not threaten ! not a 
 dream by night that does not curse ! You prate of retribution ! 
 what is the worst that you can do to the dumb vengeances of soli- 
 tude 1 {sinks back.) 
 
 Mar. [ivho has listened in wonder). He can feel, then ; he is liv- 
 ing in my heart-pulse still ! The fire was out, but the smoke re- 
 mained ; the wick rekindles when but the breath of the flame 
 touches the living smoke, and at a whisper of good from him, my 
 heart leaps to heat and light again ! Percival Dal ton, why did 
 you leave me so 1 
 
 Dever. Because I loved you ! as never in my wicked life have 
 I loved before or since ! Listen to me, Margaret Babbington ! 
 you were the one good impulse that I ever knew ! but for that 
 alone I shrank from you. The one thing I loved was wrecked 
 through me— it was I who had seared your conscience, as I had 
 darkened your life ! and every line in your face, eveiy tone in your 
 voice, reproached and condemned me ! and when fortune fell to 
 me, and i could resume my name, and I saw in them a chance of 
 retrieving my past, until I learnt, too late, that such a past as mine 
 could never be washed clean — I could not bear it — and 1 left you. 
 
 Mar. To misery ! 
 
 Dever. The conscience which I had stifled here {touching Ms 
 heart) was ever living, in our evil love, to accuse and madden me ! 
 I left you, because I loved you ! 
 
 Mar. Percival ! {he advances to her) No, don't touch me I I 
 thank the Heaven that has once more given me hope for you ! but, 
 to win your pardon there, the gulf between you and me must be 
 as impassable as the years are irrevocable that divide us from the 
 past we shared ! Give up Lucy Fairfax 1 Spare George Aylmer ! 
 and you are safe from me ! 
 
 Dever. Safe ! how, when you hold me in your power still ? 
 Those fatal bills— where are they 1 
 
 Mar. Here ! {produces them as Sir Philip Deverell makes an 
 eager step towards her^ she waves him back) Fear nothing ! I shall not 
 — 1 cannot denounce or betray you 1 But we will never look upon 
 each other again. Percival, farewell 1 {turns back) Tell me you 
 will try to repent. 
 
 Dever. I will, so help me Heaven ! if it is not toolate ! {bell rings) 
 My guests are coming, Sir Phihp Deverell' s guests — I must pre- 
 pare to meet them ! My brain reels — 1 must snatch a few min- 
 utes' sleep I a little rest — a little rest ! [Sir Philip staggers off. 
 
 Mar. They are coming ! I dare not leave him thus ! Yet what 
 can I do — what can I do 1 Ah, Heaven ! what is to be his end ] 
 
 [Exit Marian. 
 
122 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 A REBEL'S WIFE. 
 
 From Tom Taylor's Drama of " A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing.** 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Jasper Carew, a concealed Rebel. 
 Anne Carew, his devoted Wife. 
 
 Scene. —A Chamber in Carew" s House. 
 
 [Ck>l. Percy Kirke, leader of the san^inary regiment known as Earke's 
 Lambs, during the autumn of 1685, caused the execution of an immense num- 
 ber of persons, charged with complicity in the insurrection of the unfortunate 
 Duke of Monmouth. Among the refugees reported slain, but in reality se- 
 creted by his wife, is Jasper Carew, to whose presumptive widow Col. Kirke 
 is paying his court, mainly on account of her wealth, to avert confiscation of 
 which that military despot invents a fiction of Jasper's death before the in- 
 surrection. He has visited Carew's house and pressed his suit in the hearing 
 of Jasper, who is concealed within an old-fashioned cupboard. Upon the de- 
 parture of Kirke Anne Carew is discovered alone.] 
 
 Anne Carew (looking off the stage, exclaims joyously) Safe ! safe ! 
 
 Jasper Carew rushes Jiastily from his eotteealment, and catches her in 
 his arms. 
 
 Jas. My noble Anne ! my long suffering wife ! look up, dear — 
 'tis I — thy husband ! [he leads Anne and places her in a chair, and 
 kneels beside her) There ! the fluttering little heart is quiet now ! 
 The insolent ruffian ! Your ruse ^\'^s well timed, Anne; another 
 minute, and I should have burst out. [rises.) 
 
 Anne. Why are you so headstrong 1 I must find you another hid- 
 ing place, where you will at least be out of earshot of what passes 
 here. 
 
 Jas. To hear his brutal jests— his coarse compliments to thy 
 beauty — know thee exposed to his licentious lips, and not put my 
 rapier through his carrion carcase ! And you — what you must 
 have suffered in cajoling this Tangerine hyena ! 
 
 Anne. And yet I am patient ! You must own I play my part 
 bravely. 
 
 Jas. To a miracle. Did I not know thee for the purest and tru- 
 est of women, I should judge thee a very cockatrice of coquettes. 
 Thou has got thy hook in the brute's snout, and with what a dain- 
 ty hand thou wind'st him. Kiss me, my brave, cunning rogue, 
 my true-hearted, long-suffering wife, [kisses her. ) 
 
 Anne {archly, rising). We poor, weak little women ! There is 
 some strength in us, after all. Were it not for your danger, dear, 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 133 
 
 I could almost enjoy my power over this mass of brute force and 
 evil passions. 1 feel as a girl might, who had tamed a tiger to be 
 ber plaything, half expecting every jnstant that his purr may 
 change to a roar. 
 
 Jas. Foregad, I believe you women could coquette with Jack 
 Ketch — Anne Boleyn did so. Forgive me — I know what it costs 
 thee to keep this ruffian in good humor. But what was that he 
 said of forfeiture ? I caught it imperfectly. 
 
 Anne. The Justices in Eyre have met to receive presentments 
 for forfeiture of lands and goods of all who have fallen in arms 
 against King James. 
 
 Jas. So, as my bones are supposed to be sleeping under the 
 Sedgemoor turf, no doubt my name is on the list. 
 
 Anne. Yes, the presentments are making even now. 
 
 Jas. Good-by to the broad acres that have been the Carews 
 since the Conqueror. Good-by, old house, where I first drew breath 
 — where I played as a boy — whither I brought thee, Anne, ten 
 years ago — where we have been so happy. Let them go. There's 
 a heaven out of Britain ! How will you brook exile, Anne 1 
 
 Anne. We shall be together, dear. Kirke is sorely grieved for 
 this forfeiture — a little for my sake — much for his own. 
 
 Jas. Devil thank him ! If he didn't expect to wed my widow, 
 he'd care little where my lands went. 
 
 Anne. He hinted that if proof of your death could be kept back, 
 this forfeiture might be averted, and pressed me to say I doubted 
 the identity of the body buried for yours. If he guessed with 
 what a clear conscience I could have sworn it was none of my hus- 
 band's 
 
 Jas. Swear it, wife — swear it, by all means. 
 
 Anne. But what perplexes him is, that if you were not killed al 
 Sedgemoor, your disappearance must be otherwise accounted for. 
 You know you must be dead, or I'm no widow. 
 
 Jas. Of course I'm dead— that's admitted on all hands. The 
 question is, where, when, and how did I die 1 If Kirke catches 
 me, that doubt will be resolved in a trice. Meanw^hile — eh ! {burat- 
 ing into a sudden and hearty laugh) Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Anne. For goodness' sake, lower ! What are you laughing at T 
 
 Jas. Ha, ha, ha ! Such a capital conceit ! Oh, if we could but 
 manage it ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Anne. Manage what ? I feel as if I could manage anything after 
 my last two months experience. 
 
 Jas. Would it not be rare to make Kirke the means of saving 
 the estates, and establishing an alihi for me, should I ever be 
 charged with drawing ray sword at Sedgemoor 1 
 
 Anne. Oh, rare. But how is it to be done 1 
 
 Jas. The easiest thing in the world — a trifle of perjury — three 
 false oaths or so ! {placing two chairs near table.) 
 
 Anne. Perjury? 
 
124 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRJCAI^S 
 
 Jas. Not ours, of course— Kirke's and any ofher two rascals he 
 can find ready to damn themselves for him. He has a regiment 
 of such. 
 
 Anxe. Explain. 
 
 Jas. You write as I dictate. 
 
 A^•^'^E [sitting at iaUe). Come, sit here ! I'm ready, {he sits on the 
 other chair beside her, and puts his arm around her waist) No, sir ! I 
 cant write with your arm there. 
 
 Jas. Yes ; 111 be very good. Now begin! "Dear Colonel " 
 
 AyjfE Well 1 
 
 Jas. Bless your little hands ! How they ffy over the paper ! 
 {kisses her hand ) 
 
 AxxB 111 sit farther off. 
 
 Jas. No, please ! This is so pleasant after solitary confinement 
 in the cupboard. You ought to make allowances for a hungry 
 husband, {'putting his arm round her waist) I won't, then. Let's see 
 — where were we ? 
 
 Anxe. Not begun yet — and every moment is precious ! 
 
 Jas. [dictating). " I have been thinking over all you have said of 
 the forfeiture. I am ready to swear as you suggested, that the 
 body buried at Sedgemoor, for my husband's, is none of his. But 
 this done, how are we to account for his disappearance V 
 
 AxxE {throwing down the pen). Oh, Jasper! I cannot write such 
 things ! What must he think me ? 
 
 Jas. The wittiest of women, and the best fitted to be Mrs. Colo- 
 nel Kirke. Harden your heart, nib your pen, and go on. " My 
 husband — " 
 
 Anxe. No, dear. " My late husband—" 
 
 Jas. I beg your pardon. '"' My late husband was in Bristol a 
 fortnight before the landing of the traitor, while your men were 
 quartered there — " The blackguards ! 
 
 Anne [rereading). " While your men were quartered there, the 
 blackguards ! ' He won't like that, will he ? 
 
 Jas. " Blackguards," was an interjectional reflection. " You 
 and your ofiBcers might have seen him there." 
 
 AxxE {writing) But they didn't see you 1 
 
 Jas. I say tliey might. '• If he had embarked aboard the Sheld- 
 rake, which sailed on the 20th of May, for the Low Countries, he 
 would doubtless have perished with the crew and passenger of 
 that ill-fated vessel—" 
 
 AxxE [looking up). Yes — but you didn't. 
 
 Jas. If I had embarked, doubtless " I should have, &c., &c.'* 
 
 AxNK {re-reading). " Ill-fated vessel — " 
 
 Jas. " When she went down, ofif Lundy Island." 
 
 AxxE. " Lundy Island." 
 
 Jas. Now sign — " Anne Carew." {he rises.) 
 
 AxxB {signing). But I don't understand ! 
 
 Jas. Not the least reason that you should, dearest. 
 
AMATEUR AND PAELOR THEATRICALS. 135 
 
 Anne. What is this story to do, Jasper "? {rising ivith the paper in 
 her hand?) 
 
 Jas. " Open your mouth, and shut your eyes, and take what 
 Kirke will send you." No more questions ; dispatch this to him 
 at once, and leave him to act upon it. 
 
 Anne. And now, back to your hiding place. Kester may sus- 
 pect if he finds the door locked. 
 
 Jas. Ten minutes more tete-a-tete ! 
 
 Anne. Oh, it is not that I would shorten the brief time we can 
 pass together, but while we are here, every minute is an a;: ony of 
 apprehension — you don't kaow what I suffer. 
 
 Jas. Do I not know it 7 When I hold you thus in my arms, I 
 say to myself — " Perhaps it is for the last time ! " — and th«:t: I can't 
 let you go. 
 
 Anne. Yes ! when I take your dear head on my breast, X feel so 
 strong — oh, so strons to defend it — with ray life, if need be. {sinks 
 her head upon his shoulder.) 
 
 Jas. Why these tears, dearest ? 
 
 Anne. Because I love you. Oh, how I love you! ( foo^sieps 
 heard) Hark ! some one comes ! To your hiding place .' 
 
 Jas. If it were but anywhere else 1 There's somett) vug so mo« 
 heroic in a cupboard. 
 
 BIEDS IN A CAGE. 
 
 From J. P. Wooler's Comedietta of " Locked In." 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Frank Ringwood, a Country Gentleman. 
 Florence Hartley, an Accomplished Belle. 
 
 Scene. — A Drawing Room, with table, chairs, ^c. On table a decan* 
 ter and glasses. 
 
 [Miss Hartley, being betrothed by her parents to Mr. Ringwood, grows 
 weary of his protracted hesitation in formally paying court to her. She com- 
 plains to Lord and Lady Minever, mutual friends to both parties, who, to 
 wring a declaration from Frank, contrive to lock the couple in a room. 
 
 Feank and Florence are together as the curtain rises. He is looking 
 off the stage. 
 
 Frank {aside). What the deuce do they want to ran off for, both 
 at once ! 
 
 Flo. {aside). This is done on purpose, they mean some mischief. 
 (Florence and Frank look at each other) Now 1 hope to goodness, 
 Frank, you're not going to say it's " heavenly weather " again 1 
 
126 AMATEUR AND PARLOK THEATRICALS. 
 
 Frank. Oh, on, but I thought of just stepping out to see— what 
 sort of an afternoon we were going to have. 
 
 Flo. Do ! [aside] Frank Ringwood, you're a dunce ! 
 
 Frank [aside, looking at her). Delicious figure she has! graceful 
 as the three graces combined — I wish 1 dare tell her so— and what 
 an arm ! 
 
 Flo. {^returning). Well, Frank what has become of all the pretty 
 speeches Lord Minever spoke about ? 
 
 Frank. Why, Florence, as they only existed in Minever's head 
 I suppose they are there now ! 
 
 Flo. Lord Minever s a remarkably fine man, is he not 7 
 
 Frakk [aside). That's encouraging, [aloud) Oh, very, and I think 
 his wife one of the most charming women I know. 
 
 Flo. [aside). That's complimentary [aloud, cootty) I'm glad she suits 
 your taste, sir ? (retires tip) 
 
 Fraxk [aside). Ahem ! wrong again, T shouldn't have said that, 
 I fancy. There's a neat way of getting out of it, I know, but hang 
 rae if I can tell what it is. 
 
 Flo. What can have made them run away just at luncheon time. 
 
 Frank. Can't say, I'm sure, most unaccountable — I'll go and hunt 
 up Minever 
 
 Flo. And 1 11 go and look for Julia. (Frank goes to one door, Flo- 
 rence to the other.) 
 
 Fra-Nk [trying door). Eh ! why this door's locked ! 
 
 Flo. {trying door). So is this ! 
 
 Frank. By the Lord Harry ! we're locked in ! 
 
 Flo. Is this a contrivance of yours, Mr. Ringwood 1 
 
 Frank. No, by all that's virtuous ! [aside) What a horrible posi- 
 tion, locked in a room with a young lady ! 
 
 Flo. If I thought you could be guilty of such a mean — treacher- 
 ous — unmanly 
 
 Frank. Pray don't accuse me — I'm by far the greater sufferer ! 
 
 Flo. {contemptuously). You ! 
 
 Frank. It must be some infernal tomfoolery of" that remarkably 
 fine man," Minever. 
 
 Flo. Could he have locked this door 1 
 
 Frank. Of Lady Minever then. 
 
 Flo. could she have locked that door ? 
 
 Frank. Of both of them together then — damme ! — I beg your 
 pardon — I'll shoot Minever ! 
 
 Flo. I'll never speak to that " charming woman " Julia again if 
 she has played rae this wicked and unpardonable trick, [aside) To 
 be compromised in this way ! [aloud) Break open the door this in- 
 stant, Mr. Ringwood — I insist on it. 
 
 Frank. If I had a sledge hammer, I would — my doors are rath- 
 er too strong. 
 
 Flo. Get out of the window, then, and go round and open it. 
 
 Fkank. My dear Florenc e 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 127 
 
 Flo. If you dare address me otherwise than as Miss Hartley- 
 while we're in this position — get out of tiie window, sir, directly. 
 
 Frank. Well, you see, Miss Hartley, that window, as the stone 
 drops — is, I should say, about twenty feet from the ground, and 
 underneath is a stone terrace which, however handsome it may be 
 in an architectural point of view, is not a pleasant thmg to fall 
 upon. 
 
 Flo. It's the most spiteful — malicious thing — I ask you what ar* 
 ^ve to do 1 
 
 Frank. Upon my word I don't know, unless we have luncheon ! 
 
 Flo. {going to one door and knocking). Julia ! Julia ! let me out, 
 there's a dear I 
 
 Frank [going to other door and knocking). Harry! Harry! open 
 the door, there's an — infernal body ! {approaches Florence serious- 
 ly) Miss Hartley, this is a grave and solemn position \ 
 
 Flo. It is a shameful and scandalous outrage — my good name 
 may be jeopardized. 
 
 Frank {pouring out wine). I drink to that sentiment, with all the 
 solemnity it demands — may I offer you a glass of Madeira i 
 
 Flo Pshaw ! No. 
 
 Frank (pouring out wine again). It is consoling — I'll take anoth- 
 er! 
 
 Flo. I could cry with very shame and vexation ! 
 
 Frank. Well, I couldn't, but I could swear a trifle, if that would 
 help us. 
 
 Flo. If you have one spark of ingenuity about you, suggest 
 something to extricate us from this most ridiculous and detestable 
 dilemma. 
 
 Frank. Let me reflect ! {drinks tvine) Ah ! here are knives on the 
 table, shall we immolate ourselves on the shrine of propriety ] 
 
 Flo. Nonsense ! 
 
 Frank. No I well, let me think again I {drinks) shall I set the room 
 on fire 1 
 
 Flo Oh — do talk sensibly, (ftote thrust tinder door. ) 
 
 Frank. Hilloa ! some one pushing something under the door. 
 {same at other door.) 
 
 Flo. And under this ! 
 
 Frank {at door). Hi ! your there, the other side the door ! 
 
 Flo. (fli{ door). For mercy's sake open the door, whoever you are ! 
 
 Frank. Not a sound. What's all this about 1 [picks up note, reads) 
 " Dear Frank : Col. Macdonaldhas just called, but I took upon my- 
 self to say you were closeted with Miss Hartley, and it was more 
 than ray life was worth to disturb you — how gets on the wager ? 
 
 " Minever." 
 Cold blooded ruffian ! I am a ruined man ! that chattering old 
 Scotchman will have it all over the neighborhood in a half an hour ! 
 
 Flo. Oh! hear this, {reads) " Dearest Florence : Lady Cavendish 
 and her niece have just called to see you, but I told them it wa-s 
 
128 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 quite impossible as you were privately engaged with Mr. Ring- 
 wood. "Ever thine, Julia." 
 I am lost— scandalized for ever — that gossipu)g woman will spread 
 the horrid story far and near — what will become of me '/ (sits down 
 crying in chair.) 
 
 Frank {aside). She's crying! Now I never could bear to see a 
 woman crjniig. {going to her, aloud) Don't cry, Flor 
 
 Flo. {starting up). Don't come near me, you odious, good-for- 
 nothing creature— it's all your fault ! {cries.) 
 
 Frank {aside). All over again ! I thought my courage was a de- 
 gree or two higher — now I'm down to zero again ! 
 
 Flo. I xvill go out of this room — show me the way ! 
 
 Frank. Ahem ! T have already demonstrated to you the incon- 
 venience of the window— the only other practicable mode of exit 
 appears to me to be by the chimney. 
 
 Flo. Oh, hold you tongue, I shall be ridiculed — defamed — dis- 
 graced — lauglied at I I cannot bear it. Oh, Frank, Frank, tell me 
 what to do {clinging to him.) 
 
 Fra.nk {aside). What have I done to be placed in this really 
 frightful position 7 I — I — ah. (reaches behind, Jills glass and drinks) 
 That s better, why look here, Miss Hartley — Miss Hartley, I say — 
 eh ] She has fainted ! 'Oh, I can't stand this ! {places her in chair 
 by table) Florence ! don't be so ridiculous ! what do they do with 
 women when they faint 11X1 pour anything down her throat I 
 shall choke her ! {Jills glass and drinks) Bless me ! how pretty she 
 is ! I never thought she was half so pretty. It's a most infamous 
 — atrocious — cowardly— impudent — abominable thing to do, but I 
 should uncommonly like to give her a kiss — that's the Madeira ! I 
 should never have dreamt of such a thing b}"^ myself — no one sees 
 me — and she'll never know it — I'll do it ! {kisses her.) 
 
 Flo. {sighing). Ah ! 
 
 Frank. I really think it does her good, and as it hasn't done me 
 much harm, I'll try it again ! {as he is about to kiss her again^ she 
 opens her eyes wide and stares at him.) 
 
 Flo. Frank ! 
 
 Frank. Eh ! Yes, you are very ill — ^been dreaming, eh 1 let 
 me — {rings violently.) 
 
 Flo. Don't make that noise, pray, you'll have some one coming. 
 
 Frank. Eh 1 yes, of course, don't you wish some one would 
 come '\ 
 
 Flo. Certainly — do not you ? 
 
 Frank. Of course — well, it's not quite clear to me that I do just 
 now. 
 
 Flo. Who else is in the room 1 
 
 Frank. Not a soul ! 
 
 Flo. There must be, I could have declared somebody kissed me! 
 
 Frank {aside). Oh ! {aloud) The blackguard ! where is he 1 let 
 me find him ! {pretends to look about.) 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 129 
 
 Flo. Frank I come here ! 
 
 Frank. Yes — ^Florence ! 
 
 Flo, It was you 1 
 
 Frank {aside). Now for it ! she doesn't look very angly, now's 
 the time ! — My name's Madeira ! here goes ! {aloud) I own it, Flo- 
 rence. I was rash, bold, mad enough to take advantage of your 
 helplessness — forgive me — the sun warmth of your lips has set free 
 the sluggish, ice-bound current of my blood — I have found my 
 tongue and my heart, my tongue to tell you how I love, my heart 
 to prove it, until it shall cease to beat ! 
 
 Flo. My gracious, Frank ! 
 
 Frank {aside). It is my gracious ; I didn't think it was in me, 
 but it was, and the Madeira's brought it out ! 
 
 Flo. Do you know 1 ought to be very angry with you ? 
 
 Frank. Yes, yes, you ought, and I dare say you are, but you 
 have charity enough to forego your anger and to pardon the blind 
 stupidity which has rendered me so long indifferent to your per- 
 fections 1 
 
 Flo. Have you been indifferent to them, Frank "? Dear me ! 
 
 Frank. To my shame I admit it, but I am forgiven, am I not 1 
 Say you will be mine, and say it quickly, or in spiie of the stone 
 terrace I shall go headforemost out of that window ! 
 
 Flo. I am so compromised already — and— you would hurt your- 
 self so, that 
 
 Frank. You consent. My darling, I must put a seal on the cas- 
 ket which contains all my treasures, {kisses her) I'll never have any 
 wine it my cellar but Madeira as long as I live. 
 
 Flo. I think I had better ring the bell now, Frank. 
 
 Frank. No — no, they locked us in, I vote now we bar them out ! 
 
 Flo. No — no, it was a mischievous trick to play us. 
 
 Frank. It was and must be atoned for, we must punish theia, 
 although for my part I feel very well inclined to forgive them and 
 thank them into the bargain 
 
 Flo. Well, perhaps I am not so angry as I shall seem bound to 
 appear. What can we do X ah, I have an idea ! 
 
 Frank. So have I — hush ! I hear them coming. 
 
130 AMATEUR AND PAKLOIl THEATEICALS. 
 
 WHICH OF THE TWO ? 
 
 From John M. Morton's Comedietta of the same 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Alexis, na Imperial Fage. 
 Katinka, an Innkeeper's Daughter, 
 
 Scene. — A Room in a Fuhlic Inn. 
 
 [At the imperial court of Eussia were two pages, Paul and Alexis Bettman, 
 twin brothers, so much alike that it was with dif&culty that they could be rec- 
 ognized distinctly. The point of the following scene ia that Katinka, who is 
 beloved by Paul, mistakes Alexis for him. Alexis has escaped from prison 
 in order to keep an appointment with the governor's daughter whom he has 
 recently engaged to marry.] 
 
 Katinka {alone as curtain rises). I'm not at all Tain, but there's 
 no denying that having an imperial page for a sweetheart is an 
 immense feather in a girl's cap ! I know what I'll do ! I'll go 
 and pick out all the nice tid bits for his supper, and bring it in 
 here, (goes off.) 
 
 Alexis enters Imrriedly at door, turns and looks off — he is pale and 
 agitated, and Iiis uniform is in disarder. 
 
 Alexis. I think I have given my pursuers the slip ! Yes, they 
 are evidently at fault ; and see — now they are laying their wise 
 heads together, and the result is — ha, ha, ba ! — that they gallop 
 oflf in the opposite direction! a pleasant ride to you, gentlemen. 
 {advancing and wiping Ms broiv) Wheugh ! now let me quietly re- 
 view my position, past and present. Ten days ago I was intro- 
 duced, with all due respect and ceremony, to the interior of a mil- 
 itary prison, because I refused to account for the expenditure of 
 my last year's pay. How could I, without shame and humiliation, 
 publicly confess that it had been devoted to the support of my aged 
 mother — the widow of a brave and devoted officer, who has been 
 reduced almost to beggary by the neglect and ingratitude of the 
 government. I would have died first. I next learned that Baron 
 Mullendorf, the father of her I adore, has arrived in the neighbor- 
 hood of the military prison, accompanied by tlie lovely Foedora — 
 that alone would have prompted me to attempt an escape ; but 
 when the news reached me that our troops were about to make a 
 night attack on the enemy, I resolved at all risks to join n^y brave 
 comrades. Neither bolts, bars, watchful jailers, vigilant sentinels, 
 no, not even the lynx-eyed commandant, Major Krackwitz him- 
 self, could detain me, and my escape was effected. The sound of 
 musketry soon Ijrought me to the ecene of action, and rushing in- 
 to the battle wbsxe the fire was hottest, a loud che^ from a body 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 131 
 
 of the enemy's cavalry suddenly attracted my attention, and I he- 
 held the Emperor in the midst of them alone and single-handed I 
 know not what 1 did, but his life was saved, for, placing this ring 
 on my finger, and whispering these words in my ear, " To-morrow 
 your Emperor will reward your devotion I " he again dashed into 
 the fight. For the sake of my widowed mother, I have claimed 
 that revvrad, in a letter to the Emperor, which is here in my pock- 
 et book, {feeling the breast of his coat) But how shall I get it convey- 
 ed into his majesty's hands ? and even if I succeed, such is his 
 strict sense of discipline, that it is by no means improbable that he 
 will first send me back to my prison to settle accounts with Major 
 Krackwitz, and reward me afterwards. No, my first efforts must 
 be to see my adored Foedora, and — get something to eat. {crosses to 
 corner.) 
 
 Enter Katinka, cro<ise8 t^ table, with a tray on which supper things are 
 
 laid. 
 
 Kat. {seeing Alexis). Why, he's come back already, I do declare. 
 {mistaking Alexis /or Faul, places tray on table with a slam.) 
 
 Alex, {starting). What's that 1 [iurning and seeing Katinka.) 
 
 Kat. Your supper, of course. 
 
 Alex. My supper ? [aside) Egad, one is really served by enchant- 
 ment inthis inn. (aloud) I'm sure I'm very much obhged to you, 
 but may I ask how you happened to kuow that I wanted my sup- 
 per 1 
 
 Kat. (surprised). Why, didn't you, not five minutes ago — but you 
 know you did. 
 
 Alex, {aside, istonished). She says I know I did ! {aloud) What 1 
 
 Kat. Why, oh, go along, do. 
 
 Alex, {aside). What does she mean by "go along, do '! " 
 
 Kat. But tell me, how did you manage to give them the slip, eh7 
 
 Alex. The slip ? 
 
 Kat. Yes, how did you manage your escape 7 
 
 Alex, {starts). Escape 7 {suddenly grasping her hand, and in a loud, 
 earnest whisper) Hush ! I see you know all. 
 
 Kat. Of course I do. 
 
 Alex, Then swear you'll not betray me — swear it, I say ! {vio- 
 lently.) 
 
 Kat. {alarmed). Oh, lud, I don't think I can swear, but I'll try, if 
 you like. 
 
 Alex. No, no, you'll keep the secret for my sake, won*t you 1 
 
 Kat. You know I will, {taking his arm*) 
 
 Alex, {aside). Rather a familiar young lady, I. must say. {aloud) 
 Then, that being settled, I'll have my supper, (crosses to table and 
 sits.) 
 
 Kat. {following him). And as uncle has gone down to the village, 
 and we have got the house to ourselves, I think I'll pick a bit roo. 
 {sitimg doivn at table.) 
 
133 AMATEUR AND PARLOE THEATRICALS. 
 
 Alex. Do you 1 ha, ha ! {looJcing with astonishment at her, aside) 
 Well, as I said before, she is by many degrees the most familiar 
 young person — but never mind, {beginning to eat eagerly.) 
 
 Kat. {pouting). Ah, one can see with half an eye that you're too 
 hungry to be much in love. 
 
 Alex, [aside). What a very odd remark ! {aloud) There you're 
 "wrong, my dear, for I happen to be desperately in love. 
 
 Kat. [with modesty). Don't. 
 
 Alex. And no wonder, for she that I adore is the most lovely, 
 the most fascinating of her sex. 
 
 Kat. {coquettishly). Be quite, do ! I don't like it. 
 
 Alex, [aside). She says she doesn't like it. What possible differ- 
 ence can it make to her. {aloud) Yes, and what's more, I rather flatter 
 myself that she loves me in return. ^ 
 
 Kat {in a coquettish manner). Do you, indeed ? I'm sure she never 
 told you so. 
 
 Alex. I beg your pardon, she did, the very last time I saw her. 
 
 Kat Oh, oh, how can you tell such a great big fib ? 
 
 Alex. {aside\ What a very extraordinary young woman, [aloud 
 and smiling) Indeed, so convinced am I of her affection, that I'm de- 
 termined to make her my wife. 
 
 Kat. Your wife — oh, oh ! {hysterically.) 
 
 Alex. Zounds, she's going into hysterics, [getting up and going to 
 her) What's the matter ? 
 
 Kat. The surprise — the joy — the — oh, oh ! your wife — it's too 
 much, [throwing herself into his arms — he is perfectly bewildered— then 
 suddenly) But are you really^ truly in earnest ? 
 
 Alex. So much so, that I'll even marry her without her father's 
 consent 
 
 Kat Her father — you mean her uncle ? 
 
 Alex. Pshaw! har father ! but that extremity I trust to avoid, 
 for I hope to make her mine with the full sanction and approba- 
 tion of the Emperor himself. 
 
 Kat. Lor! you don't mean to say you're thinking of asking hia 
 Imperial Majesty the Emperor of all Ihe Kussias to our wedding ! 
 
 Alex. Whose wedding 1 
 
 Kat. Mine I 
 
 Alex. Yours 7 
 
 Kat. Yours I 
 
 Alex. Mine ? 
 
 Kat. Ours ! 
 
 Alex. Ours ? [aside) She's a lunatic. 
 
 Y QIC'S, [without). This way! this way ! 
 
 A\.ws.. ( starting) . That voice 1 
 
 Kat. (looking of). It's the Governor of the Imperial Pages t 
 
 Alex. Baron Mullendorf 1 
 
 Kat. Yes, and who is that with him 1 The Commandant of 
 ihe Military Prison. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 188 
 
 Alex. Major Krackwitz ! the devil ! hide me quick — anywhere 
 —in your room, {going.) 
 
 Kat. My room ! no, no ! we're not married yet, sir ! 
 
 Alex. Don't be absurd ! ah, in here, {going to another door) Con- 
 fusion — it's locked ! 
 
 Kat. Of course, there's a young lady there ! 
 
 Voice [witliout). Now, major, are you coming % 
 
 Kat. Follow me — quick— this way I [Hurries Jmn out. 
 
 THE STOEY OF A LIFE. 
 
 From Lord Lytton's Play of " The Rightful Holr." 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Vyvyan, Captain of a Privateer. 
 Lady Montreville, a Countess. 
 Eveline, her Ward. 
 
 ScEXE. — A Room in an Elizabethian Mansion during the days of thai 
 
 Queen of Ungland. 
 
 JDiscove)' Lady Montreville and Vyvyan seated ai table, and Eve- 
 line standing. 
 
 Vyv. Ha ! ha ! In truth we made a scurvy figure 
 After our shipwreck. 
 
 Lady M. You jest merrily 
 
 On your misfortunes. 
 Vyv. 'Tis the way with sailors : 
 
 Still in extremes. Ah I I can be sad sometimes. 
 
 Lady M. That sigh, in truth, speaks sadness. Sir, if I 
 [n aught could serve you, trust me. 
 
 EvEL. . Trust her, Vyvyan, 
 
 Methink the mournful tale'of thy young years 
 Would raise thee up a friend, wherever pity 
 Lives in the heart of woman. 
 Vyv. Gentle lady, 
 
 The key of some charmed music in your voice 
 Unlocks a haunted chamber in my soul; 
 And — would you listen to an outcast's tale, 
 'Tis briefly told. Until my fifteenth year, 
 Beneath the roof of a poor village priest, 
 Not far from hence, my childhood wore away ; 
 Then stirred within me restless thoughts and deep 
 Throughout the liberal and harmonious nature 
 Something seemed absent,— what, I scarcely knew, 
 
134 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Till one calm night, when over slumbering seas 
 Watched the still heaven, and down on everj' wave 
 Looked some soft InlliDg star — the instinctive want 
 Learned what it pined for ; and I asked the priest 
 With a quick sigh — *' Why I was motherless ? " 
 
 Ladt M. And he 1 — 
 
 Vyv. Replied that — I was nobly born, 
 
 And that the cloud which dimmed a dawning sun 
 Oft but foretold its splendor at the noon. 
 As thus he spoke, faint memories, struggling came — 
 Faint as the thmgs some former life hath known. 
 
 Lady M. Of what ? 
 
 Vyv. {rises, keeps his eyes on Lady M.). A face sweet with a 
 stately sorrow, 
 And lips which breathed the words that mothers murmur. 
 
 Lady M. (aside). Back, tell-tale tears ! {weeping.) 
 
 Vyv. About that time, a stranger 
 
 Came to our hamlet ; rough, yet, some said, well -born ; 
 Roysterer, and comrade, such as youth delights in. 
 Sailor he called himself, and naught belied 
 The sailor's metal ringing in his talk 
 Of Eldorados, and enchanted Isles, 
 Of hardy Raleigh, and of dauntless Drake, 
 And great Columbus with prophetic eyes 
 Fixed on a dawning world. His legends fired me — 
 And, from the deep whose billows washed our walls, 
 The alluring wave called with a Siren's music. 
 And thus I left my home with that wild seaman. 
 
 Lady M. The priest, consenting, still divulged not more 1 
 
 Vyv. No ; nor rebuked mine ardor. " Go," he said, 
 '• The noblest of all nobles are the men 
 In v»iiom their country feels herself ennobled." 
 
 Lady M. {aside). I breathe again, (aloud) Well, thus you left 
 
 these shores 
 
 Vyv. Scarce had the brisker sea-wind filled our sails. 
 When the false traitor who had lured my trust 
 Cast me to chains and darkness. Days went by, 
 At length — one belt of desolate waters round, 
 And OH the decks one scowl of swarthy brows, 
 (A hideous crew, the refuse of all shores) — 
 Under the flapping of his raven flag 
 The pirate stood revealed, and called his captive. 
 Grimly he heard my boyish loud upbraidings, 
 And grimly smiled in answering : " I, like thee, 
 Cast ott', and disinherited, and desperate. 
 Had but one choice, death or the pirate's flag — 
 Choose thou— I am more gracious than thy kindred ; 
 I profler life ; the gold fhr.^f g}{\'o mo paid 
 Thv grave in ocean I ' 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 135 
 
 Lady M. Hold ! The demon lied ! 
 
 Vyv, Swift, as I answeiecl so, his blade flashed forth ; 
 ■ But self-defence is swifter still than slaughter ; 
 I plucked a sword from one who stood beside me, 
 
 {gesture of parrying a thrust and replying hy a down cut) 
 And smote the slanderer to my feet. Then all 
 That human hell broke loose ; oaths rang, steel lightened ; 
 When in the death swoon of the caitiff chief, 
 The pirate next in rank forced back the swarm, 
 And — in that superstition of the sea 
 Which makes the sole religion of its outlaws — 
 Fdrebade my doom by bloodshed — griped and bound me 
 To a slight plank ; spread to the winds the sail, 
 And left me on the waves alone with God. 
 
 EvEL. Pause, (standing beside Vyvyan) Let my hand take thine 
 — feel its warm life, 
 And, shuddering less, thank Him whose eye was o'er thee. 
 Vyv. That day, and all that night, upon the seas 
 
 Tossed the frail barrier between life and death ; 
 Heaven lulled the gales ; and when the stars came forth, 
 All looked so bland and gentle that I wept, 
 Recalled that wretch's words, and murmured, " All, 
 E'en wave and wind, are kinder than my kindred ! " 
 But— nay, sweet lady 
 
 Lady M ( sobbing). Heed me not. (with an effort) Night passed—— 
 
 Vyv. Day dawned; and, glittering in the sun, behold 
 A sail — a flag ! 
 
 EvEL. Well— well ? 
 
 Vyv. Like Hope, it vanished ! 
 
 Noon glaring came — with noon came thirst and famine, 
 
 And with parched lips I called on death, and sought 
 
 To wrench my limbs from the stiff cords that gnawed 
 
 Into the flesh, and drop into the deep: 
 
 And then — the clear wave trembled, and below 
 
 I saw a dark, swift-moving, sliapeless thing. 
 
 With watchful, glassy eyes ; — the ghastly shark 
 
 Swam hungering round its prey — then life once more 
 
 Grew sweet, and n^ith a strained and horrent gaze 
 
 And lifted hair I floated on, till sense 
 
 Grew dim, and dimmer ; and a terrible jjeep 
 
 (In which still — still those livid eyes met mine) 
 
 Fell on me — and — - 
 
 EvEL. Quick — quick ! 
 
 Vyv. I awoke, and heard 
 
 My native tongue! Kind looks were bent upon me. 
 I lay on deck — escaped the ravening death — 
 For God had watched the sleeper. 
 
 EvBL, Oh, such memorie« 
 
136 AMATEUR AND PAP.LOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Make earth, forever after, nearer heaven ; 
 And each new hour an altar for thanksgiving. 
 
 Lady M. Break not the tale— my ear yet strains to listen. 
 
 Vyv. True lion of the ocean was the chief 
 
 Of that good ship. Bsneath his fostering eyes, 
 
 Nor all UDgraced by Drake's illustrious praise, 
 
 And the frank clasp of Raleigh's kingly hand, 
 
 I fought my way to manhood. At his death 
 
 The veteran left me a more absolute throne 
 
 Than Cassar filled — his war-ship ; for my realm 
 
 Add to the ocean, hope— and measure it ! 
 
 Nameless, I took his name. My tale is done — 
 
 And each past sorrow, like a wave on shore, 
 
 Dies on this golden hour, {goes with Eveline, tetiderlyS) 
 
 Lady M. (observing them). He loves my ward, 
 
 Whom Clarence, too — that thought piles fear on fear; 
 
 Yet, hold — that very rivalship gives safety — 
 
 Aifords pi-etext to urge the secret nuptials, 
 
 And the prompt parting, ere he meet with Alton. 
 
 1— but till Nature sobs itself to peace. 
 
 Here's that v/hich chokes all reason. Will ye not 
 
 Taste summer air, cooled through yon shadowy alleys % 
 
 Anon I'll join you. [Exit Lady Montbeville. 
 
 Vyv. We will wait your leisure. 
 
 A most compassionate and courteous lady — 
 How could's thou call her proud '? 
 
 SvTBL. Nay, ever henceforth, 
 
 For the soft pity she has shown to thee, 
 I'll love her as a mother. 
 
 Vyv. Thus I thank thee. (A;iMt«^ A«r A«wdL) 
 
 A BUSINESS MAN. 
 
 Vrom Henry J. Byron's Comedy ot •' War to the Knife." 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 John Blunt, a Bristol Manufacturer. 
 
 Mrs Delacour, a Young Widow. 
 
 Mb. Nubbly, a Coal and Small Stores Vender/- 
 
 Scene. — A Drawing Boom of the modern time 
 
 [Mr. Harcourt, a young married man of extravagant habits, finds his finan- 
 cial matters in dreadful confusion, his wife's cousin, Jolin Blunt, a plain, hon- 
 est manufacturer, undertakes to regulate the accounts while on a visit. At 
 the bouse Blunt meets with Mrs. Delacour, a fashionable lady, whose hui- 
 band died witiiiu a year after marriage.) 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 13^ 
 
 Blunt dhcoverid at a table, tvith account hooka micl Jiles of tradesmen's 
 bilis Oil it — Mrs. Delacour seated at small table. 
 
 Blunt {couniing at a hook). Ninety-two, three, and eight's a hun- 
 dred and one— a hundred and one — our friend has it a hundred 
 and seven. Mr. Snape the butcher makes his bill come to six 
 pounds more than I do Mrs. D. 
 
 Mks. D. A butcher is but mortal, and may make mistakes. 
 
 Blunt. Yes ; takes care to make it in his own favor though. 
 
 Mrs. D. You've undertaken a Herculean task, Mr. Blunt. 
 
 Blunt. Well, it is better that I should look through Harcourt'a 
 affairs than the obliging gentlefolks in Basinghall-street. Having 
 set his domestic matters square, we've only got to settle his pecu- 
 niary difficulties, and then he can start afresh. It was very sensi- 
 ble of you disclosing everything as you did. {crossing to Mrs. D.) 
 You're a clever httle woman, that's what you are. 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh, indeed! praise from Sir Hubert Stanley • {bowing.) 
 
 Blunt Don't know the gentleman ; one of your grand friends, 
 I suppose. Now do you know before 1 saw you I was always 
 afraid of widows. 
 
 Mrs. D. Indeed ! why so 1 
 
 Blunt. Well, you know, they always seem to me to walk about 
 with a pedestal, and whenever they're about to speak to a man 
 they put it down and stand upon it. 
 
 Mrs. D. Preparatory to putting kim down and standing upon 
 him, I suppose. Well, I assure you I haven't a pedestal. Ha, ha ! 
 
 Blunt. No, that's what I say ; you're different from the others ; 
 in fact, you're different from any woman I — {aside/ What the deuce 
 am I saying? {aloud) I mean, you know, that — a — somehow — [ 
 don't exactly — that was an immense butcher's bill for a small fam- 
 ily, wasn't it? {aside) I was obliged to fall back upon the butcher, 
 for I'd come to a regular block. 
 
 Mrs. D. I dont think you're altogether fair to u«, Mr. Blunt. 
 
 Blunt (aside). I hope she's going to argue with me — shut me 
 up in a couple of seconds, and somehow it's quite pleasant to be 
 shut up by her. {aloud) Well, widows — especially widows who've 
 had " brutes of husbands " — when they marry again balance mat- 
 ters by havinij; their own way with number two. 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh, come ! you're a regular confirmed old bachelor, 
 with all a bachelor's prejudices ; you ought to have been married 
 years ago. 
 
 Blunt {sighs). A man can never be fond of more than one wo- 
 man. 
 
 Mrs. D. One at a time, of course. 
 
 Blunt. Eh'? 
 
 Mrs. D. But when that one woman perfers some one else, the 
 rejected one should accept his destiny— and — a— turn his eyes in 
 another directioQ. 
 
13S AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICAI.S. 
 
 ti 
 
 Blunt {looMng half aside at her slyly — aside]. She talks like a 
 book, {aloud) But after all, you must exercise prudence. 
 
 Mrs. D. My dear Mi-. Blunt! don't for goodness' sake attempt 
 to mix up prudence with any matters of the heart— they're like 
 green and yellow in a colored dress ; they don't harmonize. 
 
 Blunt, Now, from experience, do you think that a second love 
 can be a success ? 
 
 Mrs D. And pray wlio told you that I'd ever had a first ? 
 
 Bluxt. Oh, come now ! 
 
 Mas. D. The man / would care to love must be a model. 
 
 Blunt. Hah! we know what women's "model men" are, — long 
 whiskers, a drawl, small talk to any amount; a sneer for every- 
 thincr hearty, and contempt for everything and everybody, {rises.) 
 
 Mrs. D. {ivith enthusiasm, and rising). Not so ; I would have him 
 manly, honest, and true, with an open hand to help his friend ; 
 with a generous honest voice, that told of a warm and kindly heart 
 within. 1 wouldn t have him too young or too oldj but at that ripe 
 age when a man has learnt to know the world, and yet has not 
 been soured by what he's seen. 
 
 Blunt. Yes ; and you have only just said that love and prudence 
 don't assimilate, and here you are settling the exact sort of person 
 you intend to fix your affections on in the most methodical fashion. 
 [sighs] Such a man as j'-ou have pictured doesn't exist. 
 
 Mrs. D. {looking at him straight in the face). Permit me to say, 
 that I think he does, [turns from him slowly, up a little, looking at him. ) 
 
 Blunt {half to himself). And if I had my choice, I'd marry a 
 bright merry-hearted little woman with a sparkling eye, and a 
 cheery laugh — a pleasant, blithesome little woman, that would light 
 up my lonely home like a sunbeam. That's the wife for me 
 
 Mrs. D. {a little nettled, coming down). Is it 1 Then I think you'd 
 find it uncommonly difficult to discover such ^perfect creature. 
 
 Blunt. Ha ! ha ! Permit me to say that I think L shouldn't — 
 [aside) I'd forgotten all about Harcourt and his bills, [goes to table. 
 Mrs. Ddlacour sits as before.) 
 
 Enter Nubbly, he is slightly intoxicated. 
 
 Nub. I hear there's a screw loose, and Pll have my money. 
 \stands swaying unsteadily.) 
 
 Blunt. My dear Mrs. Delacour, hadn't you better 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh! don't mind me. Delacour was generally »m<-A 
 worse at this hour of the day. 
 
 Ndb. I am not aweer as to whom you're 'ludiug to, by the name 
 of Delgore ; I haven't the honor of his acquaintance. 
 
 Blunt. What's your business ■? 
 
 Nub. The greengrocery ; and hevenink parties hattended. 
 
 Blunt. Well, this isn't an evening party. 
 
 Nub. Ha ! ha ! Come, that ain't so bad. Wegetables is dull just 
 now, and coal's with me is slack ; added to which, I'm short. 
 
 Blunt {looking through the books). Nubbly's a character. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 139 
 
 Nub. Yes, he has. Have you got anything to say again' it 1 
 
 Mrs. D. 1 have, Mr. Nubbly. Considered in connection with 
 figures, it's defective. 
 
 Nub. What is there again' my figure 1 I ain't 'ulljing, but I'm 
 compac'. 
 
 Mks. D. You dont add up well. 
 
 Nub. Add up ! I was never add up in my life. I've had 'undreds 
 pass through my hands. 
 
 Mrs. D. Indeed ! 
 
 Blunt. Hundreds of coals. (Nubbly scowls) There, there, Nub- 
 bly, don't look black, man ! 
 
 Nub. Can't help it, when you flings the coals in my face. 
 
 Mas. D. According to your account here, one week when Mr. 
 Harcourt dined out every day, Mrs. Harcourt had twenty-seven 
 bundles of asparagus. That's not correct. 
 
 Nub. Anything but ; she ought to be spoke to. 
 
 Mrs. D. You mistake ; the error lies with you. 
 
 Nub. /han't 'ad 'em. 
 
 Mrs. D. Nor any one else ; and I've made a calculation that if 
 the entire household had eaten new potatoes at every meal they 
 never could have devoured half the quantity you have in your bill. 
 Pensou says they never came at all. 
 
 Nub. {aside). Penson ! a woman as I took to Hepping in a hopen 
 van, and treated with sherry wine and pork pie, like a reg'lar lady, 
 To see her over the cresses at tea, and a bordering of srimps quite 
 reckless, she might have been born a Duchess. Oh, Frailty, thy 
 name is Mrs. Penson ! 
 
 Blunt. In fact, as the bill's all wrong, and we don't intend to 
 pay what you've put down, why, the question is, vhaVll you talcc ? 
 
 Nub. Since you are suppressing, I perfer bitters. 
 
 Blunt [rising). Fellow, be off! Here, here's what I consider 
 far more than you deserve. There's a stamp — receipt it, or go 
 without your bill altogether. 
 
 Nub. {after receipting the bill with great di§imUy, dropping hat and 
 missing the ink, ^-g.). No mistake about this — a stumping up honor- 
 able after all. There must be a mistake ; it's the fault of my boy 
 Gustus. Most proud and 'appy to continue serving of Mr. 'Ar- 
 court, which he's a gent, as I always sed he were, {pockets the mo- 
 ney, and sidles towards door — aside) All my bounce has evaporated 
 witli the sight of the money — you might knock me down with a 
 fi'-pun note. My 'umble dooty, sir. {drops his hat) And my 'urn- 
 ble dooty to you, mum, and I'm sure if there's any hevenink par- 
 ties hon the tappy, [ should be 
 
 Blunt. There, march— march ! 
 
 Nub. March ! which I resembles that particlar month, for I 
 came bin like a lion, and I goes hout like a lamb. [Slinks off. 
 
 Blunt. We're getting on, my dear Mrs. D., getting on. Har- 
 ceurt's seen the errors of his way by this time, and his poor little 
 wife too — a couple of thoughtless doodles. 
 
140 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 
 
 MISEEY LOVES COMPANY. 
 
 From J. Sterling Coyne's Comedietta of " The Broken-Hearted Club.'* 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 A Number of Ladies. 
 
 [This selection is particularly suited for a female school exhibition, as it af- 
 fords scope for a variety of perfonners.] 
 
 Scene. — A Braivmg Room. Mrs. Lovebird discovered reading a 
 newspaper at table ; Araminta Willowby drawing at small table ; 
 Louisa Lipscombb embroidering ; Serena Brook asleep in a 
 rocking-chair, front, a book which she has been reading lies at her 
 feet ; Ida Parke at piano touching the keys abstractedly. ' 
 
 Mrs. Lovebird {putting down the newspaper). There ! I cannot 
 peruse the dreadful details. Po(»r woman ! Another unhappy- 
 victim to marriage. One more proof of the cruelty of husbands to 
 their uncomplaining wives, {the others sigh deeply.) 
 
 Araminta Willowby. They have ray sympathy, poor things ! I 
 pity them from the depths of my sorrowful heart. But, my dear 
 Mrs. Lovebird, what fresh instance of man's barbarity have you 
 been reading ? 
 
 Louisa LiPscoMBE. Uh, prav let us hear it. 
 
 Ida Parke. ) > i v 
 
 Mrs. Love. Well, to gratify yon {takes up the paper) here it is. 
 {reads) " A gentleman of this neighborhood, who has been recent- 
 ly married, discovered, when dressing last Thursday morning, that 
 his shirt had lost a button. Enraged at this neglect of domestic 
 duty, he seized the razor with which he had been shaving, rushed 
 on his trembhng wife, who had fallen on her knees before him, and 
 with one cut severed " {the Ladies start with a thrill of horror.) 
 
 Ara. Wil. Her throat 1 
 
 Mrs. Love {reading). '-Severed her lovely chignon from her 
 head." [the Ladies clap their hands to the back of th£ir heads and ex- 
 claim, "■ Monster ! " Brute ! ") 
 
 Ida Park. If you want another instance of the baibarity of hus- 
 bands I'll read you a passage from my friend Julia Marston's let- 
 ter, {reads) " Could you believe, my dear Ida, that Augustus has al- 
 ready shown himself in his true colors, and from being the hum- 
 blest of my slaves, lias, in six short weeks, become a perfect do- 
 mestic tyrant 1 Imagine him carrying his cruelty to the extent of 
 refusing to take me to the opera last Saturday, because— oh, hea- 
 vens ! that I should live to write it ! because he was going to his 
 club." {the Ladies shudder) " Be warned by the fate of your un- 
 happy friend, and never marry." 
 
 Ladies. Oh, never, never! 
 
 MpvS. Love. Men are all alike — perfidious, base, and treacherous 
 creatures. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 141 
 
 Ara. Wil. Like the celebrated fiddler who destroyed four of his 
 wives in succession, by tickling the soles of tlieir feet. 
 
 Mrs. Love. Ah, my dear girl, there are means quite as effectual 
 for killing a poor wife as tickling her sole — secret persecutions, 
 domestic tortures, neglect, suspicion, tyranny, jealousy. 
 
 Lou. Lips. Jealousy ! like that of Bluebeard, who hung his six 
 wives on six clothes-pegs in a back attic. 
 
 Mrs. Love. Historic doubts have been thrown upon the authen- 
 ticity of that thrilling legend, my love ; but whether it be true or 
 false, it proves that men are capable of treating their wives like 
 their old coats, by hanging them up when they get tired of them. 
 
 Ara. Wil. Ah, you have had experience of the married state, 
 Mrs. Lovebird ; you have suffered as a wife. 
 
 Mrs. Love. Sufiered, my dear ! Martyrdom is a mild word to 
 describe what I endured during the six years of my wedded life 
 with poor Lovebird, who was collector at Dalhootie, in India. 
 
 Ida Parke. Did he tickle the soles of your poor feet 1 
 
 Mrs. Love. No ; I must, in justice to the departed collector, 
 confess that he was kind and affectionate to me when sober ; but 
 being abominably addicted to brandy pawnee, his normal condi- 
 tion was intoxication, and his daily exercise, beating his wife. 
 
 Ara. Wil. How little we know of men. When they kneel at our 
 feet, pleading for the smallest fragment from our heart, they ap- 
 pear so gentle, so loving, so devoted, that we cannot help compas- 
 sionating the poor creatures. It was thus that I learned to love 
 Stanley Graham ; but, alas ! he proved inconstant. 
 
 Lou. Lips. Ah, you have touched a tender chord in my aching 
 bosom. False, false Chomley ! {applies her handJcerchief to her eyes.) 
 
 Ara. Wil. Who was Chomley, dear ? 
 
 Lou. Lips. Arthur Chomley, of the Guards. Splendid man I 
 Such eyes, such teeth, such boots ! 
 
 Ida Parke. I know the fellow. Tawny beard snd whiskers. 
 
 Lou. Lips. And dances like an angel. Heigho ! 'Twas at Lady 
 Pennington's ball we first met, and there, while whirling me in a 
 delicious waltz, he laid his heart at my feet 
 
 Mrs Love. And you, silly girl, stooped to pick it up ? 
 
 Lou. Lips I thought it would make such a pretty toy. 
 
 Mrs. Love. Danderous toys, my dear, for girls to play with. 
 But you say your lover proved false 1 
 
 Lou. Lips. False as Mrs. Smiler's teeth ; for I discovered, a few 
 days after, that he was engaged to be married to to Miss Lombard, 
 80 when he next called, I was " not at home." 
 
 Ida Parke. Acted like a girl of spirit. But my case was still 
 worse. That jealous wretch, Tom Hazleton — I really liked him, 
 and might have been persuaded to marry him, but for his object- 
 ing to my study of botany. 
 
 Ara. Wil. Object to your studying botany 1 
 
 Ida Parke, With Captain Brownhill. 
 
 Ara. Wil. Oh ! (Ladies laugh.) 
 
143 AMATEUR AND PABLOR THEATRICALS. 
 
 Ida Parke. He came to our pic-nic last summer, at Burnhara 
 Beeches. I I'ouud that, like me, he was an enthusiastic lover of 
 botany, and in the ardor of our favorite pursuit, we strolled away 
 to collect ferns. When we returned to the party. Master Tom made 
 himself perfectly ridiculous. Wouldn't speak to me all that even- 
 ing, and on the following morning sent me back my photograph, 
 with a lock of jet black hair, which he had begged from me on his 
 knees. 
 
 Ara. Wil. But, my dear Ida, your hair is not black. 
 
 Ida. Parke. No, no. That was before I went into auburn. 
 
 Ara. Wil. Did he not offer any explanation of his conduct ? 
 
 Ida. Parke. Only a few formal lines, saying he could never trust 
 his happiness to a girl who had such a passion for fern hunting. 
 
 Ladies. Inhuman 1 Barbarous ! Disgraceful ! 
 
 Lou. Lips. How shocked you must have been. Did you faint, 
 or go into hysterics ? 
 
 Ida. Parke. Neither. I Avas never more pleased in ray life—be- 
 cause — I could hate him— and— despise him — and — {struggling 
 with her emotion) and — let everybody— see — how little I cared for a 
 man— I always detested, [bursts into tears and sobs) always, always 
 — {weeps.) 
 
 Lou. Lips. Dear Ida ! My heart bleeds for her. 
 
 Mrs. Love. You have suffered much, poor child ; but your fat« 
 has not been so deplorable as that of Serena Brook, who slumbers 
 there {pointing to Serena Brook, ivho sleeps in a rocking-chair) in 
 happy forgetfulness of her woes. 
 
 Serena B. [asleep). When shall we have dinner 1 
 
 Mrs. Love. Her soul is far away in dreams. 
 
 Ida Parke. How was her heart crushed, Mrs. Lovebird *? 
 
 Mrs Love. Don't you know 1 She was to have been married to 
 Sir Melton Mowbray, a Leicestershire baronet, enormously rich, 
 and proportionately stupid, who, on the day preceding that fixed 
 for the wedding, broke his neck bunting. And to think that the 
 man might have jumped into that quarry quite as well the day 
 after as the day before his wedding. 
 
 Ida Parke. But she bears her misfortune with wonderful com- 
 posure. 
 
 Mrs. Love. Yes, when she's awake she reads novels, and they 
 keep her from thinking. 
 
 Aka. Wil. Ah, it was a happy thought of yours, my dear Mrs. 
 Lovebird, to have instituted the " Broken-Hearted Club," where, in 
 sweet seclusion, we poor blighted ones may pour our sorrows into 
 sympathising bosoms. 
 
 Lou. Lips. Undisturbed by the frivolous gayeties of the unfeel- 
 ing world. (Camilla Spooner and Cissy Maythorne are heard 
 laughing in the garden off. The Ladies appear surprised.) 
 
 Mrs. Love. Laughter ! Oh, 'tis our new companions, Camilla 
 Spooner and Cissy Maythonie. 
 
AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 143 
 
 Enter Camilla Spooler, carrying battledores, and Cissy May- 
 thorn e, with vjhip, laughing. 
 
 Mrs. Love. Young ladies ! Young ladles ! are you aware you 
 are breaking one of the rules of the Broken-IIearted Club 1 We 
 permit a mournful smile when we are in spirits, but laughter, 
 never. 
 
 Cissy May. We know we were very wrong. 
 
 Mrs. Love. You come here, my dears, to be miserable. 
 
 Cam. S. And we are very miserable. 
 
 Cissy May. But it was impossible not to laugh at the droll fig- 
 ure of a man who popped his bald head through the branches oif 
 the cherry-tree that overgrows the garden-wall. 
 
 Ladies {scream and exclaim). A man ! 
 
 Serena. B. {awakening suddenly). Oh, dear ! Ah! what is it 1 
 You have awakened me from a delicious dream of strawberiy ices. 
 
 Mrs. Love Something dreadful, my love, {impatiently) There's 
 a man in my cherry-tree ! {calling) Perkins, Perkins, call the police. 
 
 Cam. S. 6b, there's no need to be alarmed; 'tis only our neigh- 
 bor, the Irish major, who clambered over the garden-wall to fetch 
 our shuttlecock, which we had tossed into the lane. 
 
 Mrs. Love, {with evident agitation). Major MCool! 
 
 Cam S. He that sits in the next pew to ours at church every 
 Sunday. 
 
 Cissy May. And keeps his eyes fixed on you the whole time. 
 
 Mrs. Love, {coquettishly). I certainly have noticed the way in 
 which he stares at me ; but what can you expect from an Irishman 
 on half-pay ' Where did you leave him, ladies 1 
 
 Cam. S. {laughing). Suspended by his coat-tails from a branch 
 of the cherry-tree. 
 
 Mrs. Love [alarmed). Oh, heavens ! what is to be done ? You 
 know that by the rules of our society we are bound to uncompio- 
 niising hostility to the other sex. But humanity teaches us to be 
 generous to a fallen, I should say, a suspended enemy. The Ma- 
 jor Is a stout man. and if we leave him dangling in the cherry- 
 tree he'll have a fit of apoplexy. Shall we suspend our rules and 
 save him ? 
 
 Ara. Wil. Yes, yes, suspend our rules. 
 
 Cam. S \ looking off at hack, utters an exclamation of alarm). You 
 may ^ave yourself the trouble ; he has dropped to the ground like 
 a ripe medlar. Oh 1 if he should be squashed. No, no, be has got 
 to his feet, and is coming this way. 
 
 Mrs. Love. This way ^ My dear girls, you must retire ; I will 
 remain and confront hiiu. One look of mine will petrify the bold 
 intruder. \^AU the Ladies except Mrs. Lo^kbird exmnt. 
 
OEC SO 1904 
 
 SELECTIONS 
 
 FOR 
 
 lllBaM WRITERS. 
 
 l£il& ity¥«s®ti I 
 
 This book contains a greater variety of really choice selections for the 
 above uses than can be found in any similar publication. Under the proper 
 heads will be found I>e<iicatory I*ieces, and brief and beauti- 
 ful extracts suited to every age and condition in life ; dlildtiood | 
 YoTitli; MlanlioodL ; Beaixty; I^ove; Mitirriagej 
 Birthday and other A-nni^^ersai'les, all have their appro- 
 priate sentiments presented in well-chosen pieces, many of which now 
 appear in print for the first time. The entire alphabet of JLcrostics 
 on proper names, male and female, is also given, and such an array of 
 "Valentine "Verses as were never before brought togefozr in one 
 volume. To crown all, a splendid collection of Toasts, tuitable to 
 almost every social event, whether public or private, aro given. The aim 
 of the compiler has been to include only such selections as ai-e most strik- 
 ingly appropriate in each department, and not, as in other timilaj works, to 
 string together by the hundred a mass of poetical extracta^ with little or no 
 arrangement, and less fitness for the purpose intended. 
 
 The book is strongly bound in handsomely illumiaacfed stiff paper cover. 
 
 I*irio© Tx7e'©xi.ty-I*l"v *3 OoxxtiS. 
 
 Single copies mailed, post-paid, to any addrese, on receipt of price. 
 Address 
 
 THE DE ^VITT PUBLISHING HOUSE, 
 
 No. 33 Rose Street, New York. 
 
HAQEMAN'S MAKE=UP BOOK. 
 
 By MAURICE HAGEMAN. 
 
 Author of "What Became of Parker," "Prof. Robinson," •'ITector/* "Mr* 
 Mulcahy," "The First Kiss," "liy Telephone," •'To Rent," etq. 
 
 Price. 25 cents. 
 
 The Importance of an effective raake-up Is becoming more apparent to 
 the profeBsional actor every year, but hitherto there has been no book on the 
 subject describing the modern methods and at the eame time covering all 
 branches of the art. This want has now been filled. Mr. Hageman has had 
 an experience of twenty years as actor and stage-manager.andhis well-known 
 literaryabilityhas enabled him to put the knowledge so gained into shape 
 tobe of use to others. The book is an encyclopcedia of the art of making up. 
 Every branch of the subject is exhaustively treated, and few questions can 
 be asked by professional or amateur that cannot bo answered by this admira^ 
 ble hand-book. It is not only the best make-up book ever pnhllsheA, hut ii 
 is not likely to be superseded by any other. U U absolutely Indlspensabla 
 to every ambitious actor. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. General Remarks. 
 
 Chapter IL Grease-Palnts, their or!s:ln, components and use. 
 
 Chapterlll. The Make-up Box. Grease-Pain ts, Mirrors, Face Powder and 
 puff, Exora Cream, Rouge, Liquid Color, Grenadine, Blue for the Eyelids, 
 Brilliantine for the Hair, Nose Putty, Wig Paste, Mascaro, Crape Hair, 
 Spirit Gum, Scissors, Artists' Stomps, Cold Cream, Cocoa Butter, Recipes for 
 Cold Cream. 
 
 Chapter lY. Preliminaries before Maklns up; the Straight Make-up 
 and how to remove It. 
 
 Chapter V. Remarks to Ladles. Liquid Creams, Rouge, Lips, Eyebrows, 
 Eyelashes, Character Boles, Jewelry, Removing Make-up. 
 
 Chapter VL Juveniles. Straight Juvenile Make-up, Society Men, 
 Young Men in 111 Health, with Red Wigs, Rococo Make-up, Hands, Wrists, 
 Cheeks, etc. 
 
 Chapter VIL Adults, Middle Asred, and Old Men. Ordinary Type of 
 Manhood, Lining Colors, Wrinkles, Rouge, Sickly and Healthy/Old Ag^ 
 Ruddy Complexions. 
 
 Chapter VIII. Comedy and Character Make-ups. ComedJsr Effects, 
 Wigs, Beards, Eyebrows, Noses, Lips, Pallor of Death. - 
 
 Chapter IX. The Human Features. The Mouth and Lips, thQ,Eyes and 
 Eyelids, the Nose, the Chin, the Ear, the Teeth. 
 
 Chapter X. Other Exposed Parts of the Human Anatomy. 
 
 Chapter XI. Wigs, Beards, Moustaches, and Eyebrows. Choosing 
 a Wig, Powdering the Hair, Dimensions for Wigs, Wig Bands, Bald Wigs, 
 Ladles' Wigs, Beards on Wire, on Gauze, Crape Hair, Wool, Beards for 
 Tramps, Moustaches, Eyebrows. 
 
 Chapter XIL Distinctive and Traditional Characteristics. North 
 American Indians, New England Farmers, Hooslers, Southerners, Politicians. 
 Cowboys, Minors, Quakers, Tramps, Creoles, Mulatoes, Quadroons, Octo- 
 roons, Negroes, Soldiers during War, Soldiers during Peace, Scouts, Path- 
 finders, Puritans, Early Dutch Settlers, Englishmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen, 
 Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, Portuguese, South Americans, Scandina- 
 vians, Germans, Hollanders, Hungarians, Gipsies, Russians, Turks, Arabs. 
 Moors, Cafhrs, Abysslnians, Hindoos, Malays, Chinese, Japanese, Clowns and 
 Statuary, Hebrews, Drunkards, Lunatics, Idiots, Misers, Rogues. 
 
 Addreas Orders to 
 THE DRAAIATIC PUBUSHINQ COMPANY, 
 
PLAYS. 
 
 BEING the largest theatrical booksellers in 
 the United States, we keep in stock the most 
 complete and best assorted lines of plays and 
 entertainment books to be found in this country. 
 
 We can supply any play or book pub- 
 lished. We have issued a 144-page catalogue 
 of the best 1500 plays and entertainment books 
 published in the U. S. and England. It con- 
 tains a full description of each play, giving 
 number of characters, time of playing, scenery, 
 costumes, etc. This catalogue will be sent free 
 on application. 
 
 The plays described are suitable for am- 
 ateurs and professionals, and nearly all of them 
 may be performed free of royalty. Persons in- 
 terested in dramatic books should examine our 
 catalogue before ordering elsewhere. 
 
 The Dramatic Publishing Company. 
 
 CHICAGO- 
 
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 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 
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 ro-^' .^^ 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 (^?;;;SJ?-Shlp, PA 16066 
 

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