m PLAYS EXCHANGED, PS 1378 .C69 U3 1 [15 CENTS. > I Copy 1 g 2. 2 IJrLH. AUiiJNUr UJrtAiViA. No. 132. (3 1 2. IS THE WANDERER'S RETUIIN. TO •-» i! o m P Fl «< 5 P " p- p p. a H 1 ►1 • NEW YORK: o 3 _Pi p S. HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, i No. 5 BEEKMAN STREET. i o Arnold's Dutch Recitations and Readings. Price, 15 Cents. The Amateur's Guide to Home Theatricals. Trice, 25 Cents. Arnold's Dialogues, Plays and Speeches. Price, 30 Cents. How we Managed our Private Theatricals; or, A Guide to the Amateur Stage. Price, 25 Cents. Parlor Tableaux; or, Animated Pictures. Price, 25 Cents. Shadow Pantomimes; or, Harlequin in The Shade. Price, 25 Cents. REGIMS, GUIDE BOOKS, ETC. Actor's Art, The, Price 15cts. Amateur's Guide, The, Price 25 cts. Arnold's Dialogues, Plays and Speeches, Price . 30 cts. Arnold's Dutch Recitations and Readings, Price 15 cts. Art of Public Speaking, The, Price 25 cts, Darkey Plays, six parts, Price, per part 30 cts. Drawing Room Magic, Price 30 cts. 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BY S . N . COOK, AUTHOa OF "out IN THE STREETS," " BKOKEN PBOMISES," " UNCLS JACK," ETC., ETC. CORBECTLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPT, WITH THE CAST OF CHAUACTICUS, COSTUMES. SCENE AND PROPEUTY PLOTS, RELA- XIVK POSITIONS or THE DRAMATIS PKRSON.B, SlUES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, DISPOSITIONS OF CHARACTERS, ETC., ETC. il >i i|.kiS:.itV NEW Y O K K f Copyright secured 1379, by II A P P Y II O U R S COMPANY, No. 6 BEKKMAN STREET. Ml T> THE WAIsTDEEEE'S EETURN DEAMATIS PEHSONJE. Enoch Arden Philip Ray Peter Lane Dr. Winthrop A Sailor Annie Arden Miriam Lane Nappy Ralston- Boy, (in Second Act, four years old ; Fourth Act, fifteen years old) 1 p.„_f.„._ rhiU-t-^t, Girl, (in Second Act. five years old; ^- S" Enochs Children Fourth Act, sixteen years old) COSTUMES.— MODERN. From the commencement of the Drama to the end, eighteen years are supposed to elapse — Costumes and make-ups to be arranged accordingly. PROPERTIES. ACT I. Plain carpet down. Chintz curtains on each side of bay window, r.f. Fireplace set complete, with mantel, s.e.r. Round table, with cover, R.C. Four old-fashioned chairs. Work-box and needlework on table for Miriam. ACT II. Scene I. — Curtains to window, t.e.r. Fireplace set, with mantel, t.e.l. Rug and arm-chair before the fire. Sofa, i«.c., at back of stage. Table, R., before the window Work-basket, and work materials in it, on table for Annie. Joys for the two children to play with at back of stage. Pipe and tobacco for Enoch. Foot- StOCll. SCENK IL— Nil. Scene 111 --Plain garden seat, T.E.R. Table, i..c. Three garden chairs. Rustic garden arm-chair near table. Small profile full-rigged ship discovered at back ot scene, u.E.R. Boat-truck and oars. Laurels, &c. Flowers in tubs round cottage. IV THE WANDKiaaVS BETUKN. Cradlfi up stage, i,.c. Water pump fixed K.c, opposite second entrance. Large water-tub. painted green, on stand at back of cotiai^e, I,. Signal-gun, to fire from the profile ship. Lock of hair fi.xed up iu a small piece of paper. A large brown paper bundle, corded, behind cottage, l. ACT III. Scene L— Two tables, r c. and L.C. Six chairs. Feather duster. An old and large umbrella for I^appy Rai.stu.s, bCENK II. — Nil Scene III. — Curtains drawn apart to c. window. Round table, with cover on it, R.C. Lamp burning on table. Four chairs. Family liible on table. Blue lire for two visions. • ACT IV. Scene L— Broken pump fixed s.e.r. Shutters up to cottage window, i.. Sign- board hanging out, in bold letters, " FOR SALE." A short and old form, L.C. A broken stool, k.c. Broken paling, u.E R. A bundle of straw strewed over the stage in front of paling. Broken implements, &c., in various parts of stage, betokening wreck and ruin. Scene II.— Nil. Scene IIL — Table and cover. Four chairs. Work-box and needle-work on table for Miriam. Scene IV. — Set quickly behind the gauze scene on its discovery. Large round table with cover on it. Lamp burnin^j. Four chairs round table. I'ooks for four in the circle to read. White curtains wide enough and long enough to open in centre, fixed bahind window. Scene V.— Nil. Scene VI. — Cot with coverings, for Enoch Arden to die upon, placed r.c. Table with cover, on the right of the cot. Large Bible upon it. Medicine bottles, basiu and spoon, jug of water, gUs.s, &c., on table. Chairs. Scene. — SCENERY ACT I. Horizon Backing. Set Water. Set Water. I Bay Window I Ch°air ^V y-^ o Oo Chau- Table Chair O. Claair L_J l>uur O Chair THE WANDEBEU H EETURN. Interior of Lane's Tnn. Large bay window, rf. Door, i..f. Fireplace set s.e.r. T:il>lo and two chairs, i?.c.. before window. Three other chairs. Set waters and horizon backing seen behind the window. ACT II. SCRXK I.— Interior Backing. n> L 1 i i>our -"' Oo Chair Table Chair O o Chair Chair Dooi- Arm-chair Vj d\ L 1 Sofa A Chamber at E.noch Akden's. Doors r.f. and l.f. Window u.e.r. Fireplace setu.E.L. Scene IL — ■WgotTFIatT Cut Wood Wood and Cut Woods, in first and second grooves. vi Scene IIL— THE WANDEEEr's EETTJRl Horizon Backing. O O . o Profile Ship. Set Water. Set Water. Rope Boat \_ Ground Row Tub & bland Rustic seat Cradle Stool o ^ Oo Rustic chair Table Stool o Cottage and porch, l. Shutters to close at windows of cottage. Arbor u.e.r. Ground row, from third or fourth entrances, running across stage. Set waters be- hind ground row. Horizon backing at back of stage. Scene I. — ACT III. Interior Backing. O Chair 1 J o Centre buor Chair oO o Oo Chair Table Ch lir Chair Table Chair THE WANDERER S RETURN. Vii A Centre Door Chamber at Lane's Inn— Second grooves Tables and chairs, R.C. and I..C. Scene II.— Interior Backing. A Chamber at Dr. Winthrop's— First grooves. Doors in R. and L. flats. Scene III. — Horizon Backing. Set Water. Set Water. Chair 0.0 o Chair Table Chair Wniuuw O Chair LJ Door Chair ° A Chamber at En'Och Akden's. A wide latticed window, to open, in C. Door L.F. Set waters behind window. Horizon back of waters. Third grooves. TabU and two chairs, R.C. ^ viii THE WANDERER S BETUB!?. Thk Visions im Sceiie HI — fiecond Vision Badcincr— ^en nnd Ror1<. First Vision liackins:— -rropical, with Palm Tree. Gauze let from top of flat to Rostrum f ~| Kostru behiii L.^ I flat ostrum d ' Scene to be set from the beginning of the Act " 1 Chair „ 1 ° L 1 Chair Door VVinaov>r Chair ° oOo Chair Table Chair As seen through a gauze let in at the top of R. flat. Rostrum to reach the bottom of gauze. The first vision— at the beginning of Scene — tropical scenery to be used —a palm tree necessary. The second vision — at the end of act— marine and rocky scenery required. ACT IV. Scene I.—- Horizon Backing. Set Water. Set Water. Ground Row Stand Straw 1 — 1 Stool o O ^ ■t Broken paling o Form Q- r.roken Pump 'JHK \YANJ)Ki:iKS RKTUIlN. ix Cottage and porch, i,. Shutters to windows closed. Signboard hnnging over door with the words 'FOR SALE" Broken paling, u e.r. Ground rows from third or fonith entrances running across stage. Set waters behind ground row. Horizon backind at back of stage. Scene II. — A P'ront Wood — First grooves. Scene HI.— MiRi.\M Lane's Inn in Third Grooves. Door.T.H.L. SCENa IV.— Chamber Backing. Table and chairs. O ^ ^ O •o- Phii.ip Ray's Cottage on the Outskirts (G.arden Surroundings) in First Grooves. A large bay window with white curtains down. Behind the window a chamber backing. Scene V. — A Front Street — in First Grooves. THK WANDKHKUS llETUKN'. SCEXE VI. Horiro-i Riicklncr. Set Water. Q Latciced window o I Chair 1 Chair V y Cliair Cot ( ] Chair O \ / Chair iauie D^<>i c. Miriam Lane's Inn. Wide latticed window, R.F., through which is seen the sea and horizon beyond. Door in flat, l. EXPLANATION OF THK STAGE DIRECTIONS. R., means first entrance right, and right. L , first entrance left, and left. S E.R., second entrance right. S.E.L., second entrance left. T.E.K.., third entrance right. T.E.L.. third entrance left. F.E.R., fourtli entrance right. F E L., lourth entrance left. UE.R., upper entrance right. U.EL., upper entrance left. l^.F., right fiat, I..F.. left flat. R C.riglit of centre. L.C., left of centre. C, centre. CD., centre doors. C.R.. centre towards right. C.L., centre towards left. Observing you are supposed to face the audience. The Wai^deree's RETUim. ACT I. Scene. — Peteu Lane's Ihu. An upartmcid xc'dh a larrje bay loindoio, C.J ovniookiuij a rock;/ .sen-coast, loiik liorizon beyond. JJoor in i^. flat. Ftrfplace, t.e.u. Old-fashioned 2)laln iavernjui-nUure. Music «.« CHit an rises. ]\IiRiAM Lane discovered icorklng at R. of b.c. table. Dr. "Winthbop pusses wiuduwfrovi it. Elder Db. "Wintkkop, door i..r., and attracts Mikiam'.s attention by coxujhiufj — .s//t?, hdherto absorbed in thoiajlU, starts. Dr. W. (r-.c.) Miuliini Liuse, excuse me for troubliug you ; but c;ui vou tell jut) where ill liiul your liu.sbiuid ? Miriam. (R.c. ) Oli, Doctor deiir, how you made lue jump! I thouglit, pwrliiips, it xuiglit linve been my biLsbaud ( iSiyhs. J J3ut no .such yjH)i{ I'ortutie. I think by tliis tiuie you would liuvu kuowu that iu somti rdehouKe haiuly by you'd iind old Peter L:u\e. Dr. ]y. U_;h ! Tlie roL'iie ! ' lit', well deserves tiie h:iuguiau's ropy for tre.iiiuiij .such ii wii'o us ]).Iiruiin L.uie is known to be, wuh suoh yreat disre.-,pect. iliriuiii. Oh, Dr. AVuithrop, you know not what it is to possess a Avife'H anxieties, her cares. ( !Si/i Iter fiirefie'id, slaves vacantly, hfcomes dazed Ho)iles.s, until Esoun h.as finished speaking.) The ship did lack a boatswain, and 1 have iiired, Auuie. For tlie sake of yon and tht-so I'll go. I'll go on tiiis one trip, and if successthl, go one other one ; wlieu I cau come home to you a rich man, Anuie. Think of that! Then cau we educate our childieu as they ought to be, and give them a better bringing up than your parents children or mine hiive ever been, dear Annie! (AxNiE /(dcs at Enoch.) What do you thiuk of that? There's torture for you? Well, do you promise? Enoch. No ! I inust keej) faith, having pledged my word, Pder. That's nothing ! I've often wanted to pledge my word to my old wou)au, but she won't take it ! Slie says I've pledged it so often that it's completely worn out, and that if I want to sell it for whiit it is worth, I must go to the jimk market! But this won't do! I can't stop talking to you all day— I'm going to stop you from going to China ! Enoch. No, no ! Peter. Yes, yes ! I'll go and tell the captain you've got the small- pox. That'll frighten him ! ( Going— is pulled back by 'Kaocu.) I'll THE WANDERJUiS KETURN.' 23 tell bim j'ou've got varicose veins in your bead — tbat you're troubled witb a swimming tbere — and tbat you can't go up aloft for fear of tumbling down into tbe bold ! (Breaks away, and exit door i,.f., leaving coat-tail. Enoch turns at door l.f., and contemplates Annie for a moment — site is weeping, xoith her head buried in her hands, resting on the iahle — then crosses over to, and sits hy her side — takes her hand. Enoch. Annie, dear Annie, don't talce on so. Tbe darkest bour is always tbe one before tbe dawn. Only a little patience, and tbe sua will sbine fortb gloriously for all of us ! Annie. (Looking up.) Euocb, tbere is no sun bere in my borne for me. Yo^i were my snu, my ligbt, my life ! And you want to leave me alone in darkness, and our poor dear cbildren ! ( Weeps silently. Enoch. (Distressed and rising.) Ob, Annie, cbild, you imuiaii — unnerve — me, and unfit me for tbe duties of tbe bour ! All will bappen for tbe best ! Wby will you tbwart my wisbes, oppose my views ? Annie. (Rises.) Never since tbe bour we were wed, Euocb, bave I ever opposed one act of yours ; but now, for tbe first time, you'll bave to listen to your wife's tbwartiugs, and bear witb ber if sbe op- poses you, for never, never will you ever get consent of mine to leave your borne and cbildren, and go ou sncb a trip. Enoch. Consider, my word, my pledge is given, and tbe captain, knowing me, bas paid me au advance, wbicb will enable me to pro- vide for you till my return, by fitting up your store. I- Annie. You can give tbat money back. ¥ Enoch. Not now, it is too late. ' A7inie. It is never too late to do good. Ob, Enocb, give tbat money back. Enoch. (Turns away.) I cannot, my word is pledged. Annie. (Pulling him to her— face to face. ) Perisb your word! Would you keep tbat, wbicb in tbe keeping would cause your cbil- dren and your wife to perisb ? "Wbat is your word given 7ww to tbe oatb M'bicb you gave me at tbe altar ? "Wbicb would you ratber keep, tbe oatb given to your Maker, or your bare word given to tbe captain of yonder sbip? ( Poi)ds to lo indow. ) Oh, untie tbe knot, Enocb, undo tbat fatid word ; think of your long absence, and remain witb us — your children, and your wife ! ( Clasps her arms around his neck, and lays her head -upon his breast. Enoch. I bave thought of all that, Annie, often and often since I first set my mind to improve our fortunes by the taking of this trip ; and, oh, bow bitter is the paiu that fills my heart when I think of loaviyi"' >'on. mv child, you, my loving wife- - >• 24 THE WANDEREU's llETUBN. Avnie. (Pkadmgly — looJcbig i(p into his face, icilh her hands clasped round his neck.,) Then don't go, Enoch ! Enoch. (TJnclaspbig her hands, and cusUng her from him. ) Dou't teuipt me, moujuu! (She turns aside, silenllij weeping, burying her face in her }iands — Enoch relents, gently takes her hands, and draws her to his embrace. ) Forgive me, wife, for Kpeakiug thus to you ; but your pleadiug with me tempts me so to bteuk my word. For well you kuow I AvouUi not leiive you if it were not for our future good. Come, cheer up ; think not so much of all the lonesome days you'll Liivewhen I tua gone, but rather think instead of all the brighter oues iu store for you wlien I come back a richer man. Annie. (Propheliadly.) Enoch, you never will come back ! Enoch. (Shuddering.) Don't, dou't, lass! ( Picdlying. ) Whj', Annie, girl, I'm afraid that grief has turned your bram. It's wrong to talk and go on so, for well you know that He who watchelh o'er us all, can keep me just as safe and sound on you great rolling sea, us in this little anchorage at home, with you as pilot. Annie. But there's storm and shipwreck on the rolling deep, dear Enoch, which wo never fear iu this little anchorage at home. (Lays Iter head iipon liis bosom. Enoch. You're calmer now, dear wife! (Looks into her face. ) And, ah, you smile! (Kisses her forehead.) God bless you and our little ones. (Embrace. ) Yon spoke about the long years tliat I'll be gone ; your thoughts were gloomy then. Just months, dear wife. The lad and you will count those months at first, and think them long, and then you'll count the weeks, and soou the days ; and before you know it, the brave old ship "Good Fortune" will come sailing up the bay, and like euotigh I'll find our dear ones playing iu the sands ou the beach, just like you and I were wont to play when we were boy and girl together. Annie. Ah, Enoch, well I know you are talking only now to cheer nie, and well I know you think it for the good of us and ours, that you shoultl go ou this long, perilous trip, but every hour till that one fixed lor sailing I shall i>riiy unceasingly that some gooil fortune may yet betide ns, and you still be spared to slay with us at this our little anchorage at home I Enoch. Pray rather for a speedy trip across the seas, dear wife, and my safe return to thee and thine, at this our little anchorage at home. (Music — "Home, Sweet Home" — T.he children come rnnning in frotn door kf. ^Enoch enibr(U'.es Annie — S!ie resis her head upon his breast ~'Es(>cii looks npicards us if invoking a sileid blessing upon, his xoife — The boy sla)ids by Ids father's side, tookinij up hdo his f tee — The girt sits on a stool l>y her mother's feet, and sympatlieticaliy and siltidly iceeps with Jiei: Tableau. Cloned in. THE wandebeb's eetubn. 25 Scene IL — Wood and Cut Woods in First and Second Grooves. Music. Enter Philip Kat, l. Pldlip. Another year has gone it's course, while still increasing piOHperitj' has fallen to my lot. Some men are inciiistrious and sober, work hard aud with a will, 3'et fail in adding to their store of worldly wealth. Others, equally praiseworthy, yet without Jibing superhuman efforts, aud ail they lay their hands on turns to grist. (Smiles. ) I am one of the lucky latter ones— still, for all that, I am not happy! ( Sighs. ) Man requires some incentive to exertion — some oueto work, to live for — to build a home for himself, with one of the other sex to Buiile upon him in that home, to help him onwards with her silent ap- probation, and cheer him by her actions to accomplish greater aims ! And yet, I am alone I Ob, Annie Lee, An — but no, it is not right to think of her. She is another's, and that other is my friend ! Poor Enoch ! He struggles hard, works early and late, still, withal, re- mains unfortunate ! The grinding wheel of fate favors some, dis- favors others ! He shall let me assist him. Three times hath he re- fused my proffered aid, but the next effort and I will force my good offices upon him. Enter Peteb Lane, b., wiping his eyes, Philip. "Why, how now, old friend, are your water works rolling? You are looking sad. (Laughs. Peter. Yes, and I don't belie my looks. I'm an undone Peter ! Philip. I never saw you look so bad before in all my life. Peter. I never felt so bad before in all my life. Philip. Been a drinking, Peter? Peter, No, I ain't been a drinking, Peter ! I'm a weepin', Peter, and I think I ought to baptize the ewent wi' beer. Philip. What ! has the patience of the good wife given out at last? Ho, ho, ho ! Peter. "The patience of the good wife — ho, ho, ho!" What do you mean ? Philip. Why, lias she been flogging her Peter like a mother would whip her disobedient little boy ? Peter. Philip Kay, do I look like a baby as would stand the like o' that ? Ugh ! Piiilip. Ho, ho, ho! Peter. I see you are joking ! But jokes are out of place at this sad time. (Sighs. Philip. "At this sad time?" Speak out, old man, tell me what you mean. 26 THE WANBEREn's KETDEN. Peler. Why, he's goiii' off, aucl she's grieviug out lier life u'most, ftu' Kiiys be'll never come back. Fldlip. Who is going off, unci who is grieving out her life? Feler. Well, Philip Kay, ye'r clumber and blinder now than when you were a hid. To think you didn't know that your old playmate, iEuoch Ardeu, has hired as a boatswain on the ship " Good Fortune," and she Bails from out this port this very day. Philip. (Surprised.) What! Enoch leaves to-da)'. Parts from his wife, home, children, and again to follow the treacherous life at sea ? But whither is he bound ? Peter. Aye, that's the trouble, man. That's just what makes me •weep. Enoch^s weuturesonie, and he's weuturing on his fate. He's goin' to China, among the pig-tails ! Philip. To China ? Well that's not a dangerous place or trip. Peler, It's not the place or trip that's going to kill him, man, but the pigtails when he gets there. Philip. You are talking nonsense, Peter. Peler. No, I'm not. They'll gobble him first, and bury him arter in a tea-chest. Philip, Gobble and bury a man in a tea-chest? Ha, ha, ha! Now I'm sure you have been drinking ! Peler. There yo»i go I I can't give information to anybody, but what they say I have been drinking. Nappy Ralston told niy old woman — I mean my wife— that the pig-tails are all Carnibblers ! Philip. Carnibblers! What's a Carnibbler? Peter. Wh)', a gobbler! The pigtails eat a poor devil in China just like we would swallow an oyster on the half shell. {Sometimes they eat bits on 'em fried and stewed, but generally as a rule they smack their lips over 'em raw. Oh, I'd hate to die and then be eaten by a Carnibbler ! Ugh ! ( Shudders. Philip. (Lauqhs.) Cannibals, you mean — man-eaters! Well, Peter, be fiure of one thing, that if ever yon should get so far from home, there'd toe no fear of the savages in their right minds trying to feast on you. Peler. No, I'd be a little tough, I know ; but then I'd do, (sighing and half crying) and I'd go down easy with AVorcestershire Sauce ! Philip. But if «ver any Cannibals did eat you, Peter, they'd gorge over you in vour raw state, depend upon it ! Peter. AVould they ? Why ? Philip. There's so much liquor in your body, that if they tried to cook you you'd flare up, burn to as from boat and exits into cottage, L. Tlie children follow }iim off, staring xmlh. wonder. Annie. Oh, don't, don't leave me, husband, it will hill me ! Enoch. Couie, Annie, wife, be cheerful, and go pacic my little bundle, which 1 nnist lake with me, and, mind ye, in that bundle put some little treasure owned by each of you, which I will keep ever on my breiist, locked there as a remembrance of my wife, my home, and little ones. Not that I can ever forget thee, lass — no, no! Not one hour of (he time that I'll be gone — let it be months, or even years — but what I'll think of you and home, or of some blessed memory of our married life! But the little keepsake that ye are going to give me, will bring ye nearer like to me when I am lar away on the bright blue sea ! (Embrace. Enter the two Children, runnhig, from cottage. Boy. (R. r)f Enoch.) Oh. papa, papa, that naughty big man with the black whiskers, who came in the boat and is drinking ale like old Peter Lane, says he's going to take you away ever so far, and that you will live in that big ship yonder. You're not going to leave mother and the baby, are you, papa ? Girl (L. of Annie.) Don't let him, mamma, don't ! Oh, I shall cry so ! Annie. (l.c.) You hear them, husband? Even our children plead to you for their mother. Enoch.. ( Looking }ip. ) What is to be, will be ! (Moved.) Go, go, rock the babj', children, an —and kiss it for your papa ! (Chil- dreii go up and do so. Wipes away a tear. ) They make me lone- some lilce. (Tarns, sees Annie crying.) Don't, don't cry, my dar- ling, for that will make me truly wretched. (Kisses her.) Oh, once on the deep, great sea, when for days and weeks, and months, per- haps, I shall be away, I shall miss my little darling's pretty little THE wanderer's RETURN. 29 prattle. And, little do they heed the thought now that when I'm goue the sweetest music of all the world will be the riugiu' o' their voices iu luy ear, or tlie luemories of the times when they put their little arms around luy neck and kissed lue, and told uie o' their troubles or your joys ! But let me not think of it. I am talkin' sorry like when I wouia fain be cheerful and be glad. This voyage, by the will of Heaven, will bring fair wenther yet to all of us ; so keep a clean hearth, dear wife, a clear fire, and I'll be back— to your sur- prise, dear pirl— long before you know it. A}i}iie. Oh, Enoch, you are wise, and j'ou are good ; yet for all your wisdom — all you goodness — well I know it, that when you part from me, when you leave this beach for yonder ship, I shall look upon you for the last time on earth — you will see my face uo more. Enoch. (Shivers.) 0-h1 You chill me to the bone! Come, Annie, cheer up before I go, and don't take this little trip of mine so much to heart, (She smiles sadly.) That's right, smile as you did use to smile, nor ever again allow that lovely face of thine so much to resemble woe ! Annie. (Points to rustic arm-chair, c.) Sit there, Enoch, in that rustic chair — sit there once more— which you so nobly fill, and take our children upon your knee. ( Music— 'E^ocu sits — Annie goes up and hri)igs the children down — Enoch takes the boy upon his right knee — Annie places the girl upon Jus left — Enoch dazed. ) 1 want to see you sit and hold the babes once more, to look into their innocent faces once again, to clasp their little hands, and feel the youthful throbbings and beatings of their little hearts. Pray, pray, my little ones. (She joins the girl's hands — the boy, looking at his sister, clasps his.) For, oh, the thought is killing me, of this solemn parting they will ever think of in after days. Enoch, What mean you, wife? Annie. 'Tis the last time, husband, that you will ever hold your kith and kin ! Enoch. Don't, wife, don't ! You make my heart ache. Do not drive me mad ! , , , .. (He starts from his chair, putting the children aside, and beating Ills forehead. Annie. Enoch, I do not want to make your burthen heavier than it is, for 'lis liard enough at best— but truth is truth ! If I could only drive such thoughts away, if I could only feel that you were coniing back— though it were years from now— I would not grieve so, but I cannot, cannot (breaking down) feel that way. (Crosses to cnlliKje, L. — Tarns to liim at door. ) I'll go and get your little bundle now, though all the time I'll feel as if it were your shroud that you have bid me nov/ get ready ! (Music e/t(i.s-— Annie exits into cottage, lu—The Children have gone to the cradle. Enoch. The good wife has given me quite a turn. A clammy 30 I'HE WANDEREB« RKTUUN. cleatb-like colduess is Btamped iu beads of sweat upon my brow. (Shakes his hind from foiektad. _) There! I'm better now! Ah! bere comes old Peter Lane — the kind old soul — and Doctor Wiutbrop, too ! They've come to see me ofi' aud cheer me up a bit. (Music. Elder Peteu Lane and Dr. Winthrop, s.e.r. Enoch. Aye, welcome, friends ! You've come to cheer my girl — I tbauk yon— (Shakes hands with the Docxok) — she's well nigh broken- hearted !iud low-spirited. Dr. W. We've come to say God speed to you, good friend, and speak a cheeriug word of comfort to your wife. Entei' Annie Akden, with bundle, from cottage, l. ; she places the bun- dle on table, l. Dr. W. And here she is! (Crosses to l.c.) We've come to in- voke Heaven's blessings on you and yours, to wish you well, aud see all faces blithe and gay on the departure of your husband from our bay. Come, come, my lass, don't look so cast down — think better of this sacrifice your husband makes ; 'tis to benefit you and yours ! It vill not be long 'ere he returns, and then the joy of seeing him come Lome with the fortune he going to work for will well repay the pungs of separation now, (Leads her up, they talk aside, l. The Sailor enters from cottage, l., takes the bundle from table and oiters boat. Peter, (r.c.) Enoch, let me take your hand, good lad, and say God speed you among the rest, for there's none of all this world have I to love but Miriam, and although she's hasty and angered like some- times, she's true to the core for all that, ( They sliake hands heartily. ) So, if the love of one frail old bark that's almost wrecked will be of any value to you on your onward course, take it, lad, it's yours ! May Heaven bless yoti, boy, and prosper you iu all your ways. I'm grow- in' old and shaky, and my beacon lights are nigh played out, and when I see your form a fadin' out o' sight down yonder bay, (shakes Ills head) I'll never set my eyes on your manly face again. So, you will take my last advice, and blessing wi' it. Be a good man all your ]iie—(}chispers )— don't take to drinkin', Enoch, as is the way with sailors, for it often makes a sea o' trouble twixt yourself and (winks) your old 'oonian — that is, your wife. Enoch. (L.c.) Thanks, old friend, I'll heed your words— and what ye said about your love for me I'll carry with me to the grave, for ye have a kindly heart, old man! (Shake hands again. ) Now he whom ye have treated worse than all the restive know well whom I mean — old Peter Lane himself, will soon lie down and rest for good. And if of that good advice you gave to me you'd only take a part it would be a drop of joy iu a cup nigh filled with sorrow. TB£ WAND£BBR S BETUBN. 31 Peter. I'll heed your words, lad, 'deed I will, even on great occasions and (winks) celebrated ewents. (Another gun is fired from profile ship. Sailor. (In boat, c.) That's the Kecoud signal from the ship, Mr. Anlen ! Enoch. One moment more for leave-taking, and I'll be ready. ^//.^e7- Philip Ray, linrrledhj, s.e.u. Philip. Enoch, 1 but lately heard of your intended jouruej'. If not too late, auci money can straighten you iu your diflficuUies, bind you to your home, your children, and your wife, why, I've been thrifty, and I'm rich, command my purse, 'tis yours ! Annie. (Comes down, L..C.) Thanks, Philip, 'tis a noble act, and we are spared the pain of parting. You are indeed a friend iu need. Enoch, (c.) But it is too late, dear wife, my word is equal to my bond : I thank yon, Pliilip, notwithstanding, and never shall I forget you for your pioterred aid. Sailor. (Inbow)i on tiptoe, sils in chair l. of r.c. table. J And I've been worked to death almost since that time, for that old man of mine won't help me work a leetle bit, for I tell you, Nappy Ealston, one THE wanderer's RETURN. 33 had better have no man at all than have such an apolog}' of a thing like — (Discovers Peter — screams) — Ugh ! you brute ! Peter. (Sneers.) Miriam Luue, do I resemble Nappy Ralston ? Miriam. One way you do, and that's in coming here when you are not wanted ! Peter. Ha, ha, ha! How Nappy would enjoy that joke if she heard it. But as fur poor me, the time you'll want me most will be when you're getting me measured for a coffin ! 0-h ! ( Twinge of the gmd. Miriam. (Rises, icilh arms n-kimbo.) Now ain't you 'smamed of yourself to talk like that to your loving wife ? Ptler. No, I am not ! Look at me ! I'm like a ship that has weathered many a storm, and made the owner's fortuu'. You're my owner! But now that I'm getting old and there's no more work to be had out o' me, and the dry rot's set in, why, you lay me up in or- dinary, and let me go to pieces ! 3Uri(tm. Dry rot indeed, and go to pieces ! Bah ! No wonder, for a man to drink as much as you have done. Peter. Don't a man get dry 'fore he drinks, else why would he drink ? Aud ain't I like a ship— for haven't I niade your fortune —I'd like to know? (llnimps the tahle.) I say ain't I like a ship that's carried many a cargo ? Miriam. Yes, of rum ! Ugh ! Peter. I say I am like a ship (ihumps table) with a copper bottom ! Miriam. And I say you're like an old simpleton (ihumps table) with an emptv head ! Peter. Bah ! (They nig-nag and quarrel, one each side o/r.c. table. Miriam. Sliut up ! Peter. Hold your tongue ! . Miriam. I won't ! Peter. I'll make you ! Miriam. You're a monster ! Peter. You're a Miriam. What, what, what ? (Jumping up from table. Peter. An old mermaid ! (Miriam screams, ami makes for him across the table. Peter protects his head with his arms ichiie .she claics at him. Nappy Rdsion. ( Speaking outside, c. ) Drat you, you young scal- awag. If you laugh at me, I'll Enter Nappy B.m.ston, c. door, followed by a boy, icho laughs at her— she hits Iiim over the head with her large umhrella and drives him off door, and comes down to k. table. Wappy. Here I am. my dearee ! Lor' bless yer, give us a kiss ! (Kisses Miriam— Peter coughs and turns aside, l. 34 THE WANDEUEB's KETUBN, Miriam. Peter! { 7o Nappy.) Sit dowu, Nappy, my love, you are looking weary-like aiul care-worn. Nappy. Miirry coiiie up, mid so I ain, which the only wonder is that I've been able to ff their neifj;hbors, and troublfS of ever\hody else and where they couldn't find 'em, they made 'em up on their own account, which they did ; and the Wards and the "Wares won't speak, and the Smiihses and tiie Joneses have hiid a fij.ht, and Jones Ims blackened Smith s eyes, anil Smith lias battered Jones' nose. (Laughs.) And Smith's dau<^hter was a-goin' to be married to Jones' son, which mar- riage is a broken off in consequence, which it is ! And at each place I'd have to sit and listeu to their stories of their tightin', and their fnssin', and their fmnin', and their a-flurin' up — which they allara are ! Oh, it's shockiu', which it is ! (Fans herself wildli/ with her handkerchief. Feier. And you didn't get a chance to say a word ? What a pity ! (Laughs aside. Nappy. As a general thing, Mr. Peter Lane, I'm a woman as talks but little, which 1 does; (to Miriam) which you know, mydearee! Don't you, my love ? 3Hriam. Certainly, my dear! Peter. (To Nappy.) Oh, then this call o' your'u aiu't "a gene7-al Hung," as you call it? (Sneers. Nappy. You know, Miriam, my pet, how tiresome it is, and how provoking, to listen to the talkin', and the fnssin', and the funiin' of such a lot o' gossipin' chatterboxes, which they are. The Tompkins' and the Simpson's couldn't say a word but some kind of a sort o' slander about Piiilip Ray ; and you know, Peter Lane, that he's as goodish a kind of a sort of man (turns up her nose) as is to be found iu this 'ere wicked world of our'n, now-a-days, as far as one can find by looking hard for. Now don't ye ? Peter. ( Uneasy. ) Come, I say Nappy. (Goes on.) Although, perhaps, he is a-trifling with the heart of Annie Lee — but he don't know for sartin that she's a widow yet, which I don't think she are, which I don't ! Peter. (Rising.) Now, lookee here! Nappy. Oil, yes, I Icnow ther's many o' our neighbors censure our dear darling Annie. The Simpsons do, and the Joneses, and the Tompkins ; they all think she's too soon forgot poor Enoch, and she knows not whether he is dead or not, an' she ought not to be a' look- ing at anybody else, mnch less a-thinkin' on 'em. It's shocking, which it is! Ah, poor man! It would be a bit o' fun it he would only a come back suddenly, an' could be a fly ou the wall, an' look at all their little mancBuvormgs, and astonish 'em all I He'd better a THE -VrANDEREU's KKTURN. 35 stayed at home than ha' gone to sea, unless it's true what I have heard, that she berated tlie poor man iiutil lie couldu't staud it, be- cause he wasn't rich and couldn't keep her condortable. Feter. (Stopping Jiei- gabbling. ) Hold on, lor heaven's sake. Nuppy. (Apologetically. ) Oh, mind you, I don't say that it'n true myself, lu tact, I don't believe it, for you know 1 am one as never talks about my neighbors, for 'tis not the way to do, for one as is a cLristain, which it ain't. I'ni only tellin' word for word what peoi)le say to me, the backbiters ! ( Fiuis herself loUh h.andkerddef. Peter. AVell, well, old lass, let up, can't ye? Jabbei", jabber, jabber ! Now ye've got to stop for breath. You're not tlie fust that's come here gossiping about yonx betters ; but I've heard enough of it. There's some o' ye as talks o' Peter Lane in some such strain, and calls him "that old drunken scamp." (Nappy denies in (hunb skoio. ) Oil, yes you do ; I know it ! And as for being a sot, I'm nothiu' o' the sort. I never drink except ou great occasions and to celebrate ewents, and that will never be again unless it is when Philip marries Annie. And if he never does marry her, why the business is their own— it's none o' mine or your'n, 3Uss Nappy Ralston ! Niippy. (Jumping up cuid tucking mnbrella binder arm. ) Jus' so, 3Ir, Peter Lane. But I must go ! I never like to stay» and feel that I'm pertrudiu', an' if I do stay I shall mortify. ( Goes up c. ) I know I shalh Miriam. (Stops Iter.) Don't take offence. Miss Nappy, and never mind what Peter says. It's the beer as talks, not Peter ! He likes to hear the sound o' his own voice when he's that way, that's why he provokes folks as he does. Peter. (Laughs heartily.) Lord help the man as tries to bolxJ his own with you two blabs. Miriam. There are lies a-flyin' round this place in plenty ; lies hatched out by them as has nothing else to do but hatch "em. And then they're peddled round by them as has nothiu' else to do but peddle 'em, drat 'em ! Nappy. (Bristling up.) Yer meaning me, I suppose!' Do you, mum? Miriam. I said there were people here as did the like o' that, but I didn't say you. Peter. But that shoe fits like a glove for all that. Nappij. I thought you couldn't blame the likes o' me ! Peter. (Aside.) No more nor a fish would swim. Miriam. Why, the Ardens and the Hays are friends of ours ; and didn't Annie mourn for Enoch in the past? And she mourns him now, poor girl ; and he, good man, he must be dead, for had he been living, long, long a^'o you'd a seen him back, you would. Nappy. Well, I'm the last person in the world to say one word of harm of any one, or breathe the nasty tittle-tattle that I hear ; much less against a friend like Annie Ardeu. Why, we were little girls to- gether ! ( Crosses to w 36 THE wandekek'h eettjun. Pder. (Laxighs boisterously.) Ila, Ija, ha! "Little gals to- p;etberl" That's the strongest thing in jolies I've heard lor years. AVh}', Miss Nappy, you must have heeu bora twice. Ho, ho, ho! (Nappt iudl(j)iu)it. ) You and my ok] woman here (Miriam looks hi- dignaiit) vere little chicks as growed up side by side together, but that's many years ago, and Anuie Lee was born the year when we were wed. Ho, ho, ho ! (The two loomen walk up mid down the stage, e. and l., furious — Peter, c, holding his sides. Peter. (T To Miriam. ) Walk, Miriam, walk! (Miriam stamps her foot, and goes up and down the stage at a more rapid gait. Peter. Nappy, walk ! "Walk, Nappy, walk ! (Same husi>iess with Nappy— Peter roars afresh, c. Kappy. (Down l., turns Peter round to her.) Brute ! Miriam. (Same business ou b.) Monster I Nappy. (As before. ) You're a heathen ! Miriam. ( The same. ) A Hottentot ! (Peter bursts into another Jit of laughter, which starts them up and down stage again. Nappy. To dare to" talk to me ! A woman at my time of life ! ( Checks herself. Peter. Yes, I know your age, for I had a notion once of marryiu' you myself. Nappy. Oh, indeed ! I'ou're the only one of us two as hed the notion then. Peter. Yes, but 'twas only a notion, for I kept it to myself ! Nappy, Oh, I understand that fling ! But many a better man than Peter Lane have /refused. ( Tosses her head. Peter, No ! I didn't think you ever had the chance ! (Laughs and crosses to l. — Nappy cries inc. Miriam, (e.) Don^t mind this man of mine, Miss Nappy, for he's never content unless he's guzzlin' somewhere with men, or wrangling elsewhere with women ! Nappy, Oil, bless you, I don't mind him, Mrs. Lane. No, no, I — I r — a — ther like it I (Bursts oid crying.) The neighbors all say he's getting childish like and is in his dotage, Peter. Hear the clackin' o' her tongue, now ! Clack, clack, claclr, quack, quack, qua — qua — qua — qua — quack, quack, quack ! (Nappy makes a blow at him witli her umbrella — Peteu laughs, and gets away from her. Nappy. Never mind, it'll keep ! Good-bye, dear Mrs. Lane, and when I come to see you another time, I hope you'll be alone. Away — from — your — sweet Peter ! (Peter lauglis — s/te holds tip umbrella. ) But I don't bear malice ! Y'ou only come my way, Mr. Lane, and have a social cup of tea all alone with me, and I'll make it strong, and sweet, and hot. (Aside.) I'd like to scald him ! (Aloud.) With plenty of cream— the cream of human kindness ! Ugh I (She grins THE wanderer's RETURN. 37 — Peter laughs — Nappy at c, door, turns. ) Ob, I'd scratch liis eyes out! (ExUsc, Miriam. Peter Laue, I'm nsbanied of you ! You ongbt to know better than to talk iu such a way to a woman — a poor lone wouiau ! Peter. What! (Laughs.) Call that wild cat of a thiu<4 a woman? A creature that comes into your house with slanders ou her tongue, to injure the reputation of honest folk, and blast the hai)pJneKS of one's truest Iriends? You ought to talk with more sense, Miriaiu ! Miriavi. Hold your tongue, Peter ! Feler. I shan't, madam ! A woman is only deserving the name of woman when she knows how to respect herself, and has feeling enough iu her heart to feel for the troubles and the woes of others ! All else is leather aud prunella! (A sudden thought. ) I'll go aud celebrate the eweut ! (Rans aid c. door, hurriedly. Miriam. Come back, you wretch ! I'll tear your wig off for you, when I get near you ! (Follows out c. door. Closed in. Scene II. — A Room at Dr. Winthrop's. Doors r. and l. in flats. First Grooves. Enter Dr. "Winthrop, door r.f. Dr. W. Before I am an hour older I will have a talk with Annie Arden. The little store is running down, and well I know she hath no means of replenishing her stock. There is another little matter, too ! I know I have no business meddling with the love affairs of anyone, but Philip Ray could end this life of struggle aud distress, yet fears to speak to her, as she mourns bo bitterly for Enoch. Poor Philip ! He loves her as ardently now as when they were children, playing ou the waste together ; but Annie loves the memory of the husband dead these long, long years. But she ought to let that go : her present duty is to the living, and I feel it a duty ou my part both to the living and the dead to try and set matters right. Enter Peter Lane, door l.f, Peter, (l.) Well, and you're the man to set matters right. Doctor. And while ye'r iu the business of a rigtin' up o' things, I want a lot o' doctor's stuff to set me right. Dr. W. (Laughs.) Some doctor's stuff to set you right, Peter? Put out your tongue, man, aud let me see the trouble that's on your stomach. Peter. I needn't show my tongue for this affliction. It's tongue that caused it. I kuow ye for a learned man, Doctor, aud if ye cau stop other people's tongues from cackliu' and a-gossipiu* about their 38 THE wanderer's ketubn. betters, you would do a might of good aud cure the feeliu's that's a- tronbliu' o' lue now. Dr. W. Ah, uiuu, I can do no good in such a case, It's only death can stop the clacldiig of the gossips. Peter. But you're the doctor here, and look'ee what a chance you've got to stop tlds brood of cacklers ! If I were the doctor iu this town, see how I'd hurry death along for some on 'eui. Dr. W. You would not do that any more than I. You would not harm a worm, good Pt-ter ! Peter. AVotddn't 1 ? I'd crunch 'em under my big number ten. (Stavips Ills' foot. J But these worms are feminiues, and Ciin cackle as well iis crawl. The parson said the other day that every lie they tell is goin' lo be set down agiu 'em. Now to think o' all the lies they's telliu' round o' Annie Ardeu and her troubles. Oh ! (Strikes tlie top of Ids lud in. Dr. W. Never mind them. There is not throughout all England one of England's daughters that hath been a better wife, or a truer to Enoch Arden, or his memory, than our dear Annie. Y'es, Peter Lane, sometimes I feel a burning and an ugly feeling firing up this heart of mine when I hear some of tlie trash and gossip of the lazy ones, about that friend of ours who is sleeping ueath the waters of some Southern sea, whose head is pillowed, perhaps, ou a little mound of sand at the bottom of the mighty deep. The sand that's ever moving silently, but surely ; that sand that's covered softly o'er Lis body like a funeral shroud. I feel it deeply. (Moved. Peter. Yes, aud the little fishes all a-eatin' ou him up ! J feels it deeply. ( Wipes his eyes. Dr. W. (Crosses ioL,.) I shall go talk to Annie now, and to these gossips I'll drop a hint or two that may blossom and bear fruit. Don't heed their tales, good Peter, nor listen to their talk, for there's a time for righting up the troubles of us all ! (Exit i,. Peter. It would take a long lime to right up my troubles. If m}' old 'ooman would stop her clack, I could make a shorter cut. ( Uses handkerchief. ) But I think I'll go aud celebrate the ewent. (Follows out T,. Scene III. — A Boom at Aeden's. A large open latticed vnndow, in c. (fflfUs, with, curtains draioi apart, through, which is seen the sea be- yond. GoorT.E.L, Miriam Lane (attired in mowning) discovered seated at table k.c, working. Ifiriam. Dearee me, how louely all dotli seem to be, surely» now tbitt iny poor Peter is no more. Ah ! He often said I'd be the death of him with uiy tongue ; but, Lor' bless me, 'twas the nasty liquor he pat down over ]iis tongue tliat quieted him at last ! One cau't celebrate so many ewents, as he used to call 'eiu, wi'out paying sumniat for tlie celeljrations ! Poor Peter! He's in his lone grave, and I'm left all alone to battle with the world as a lone widder ! Hater Dk. Winthrop, door t.e.l. J)r, W. (li.) Well, Widow Lane, you are all alone, I see ! Miridvu (u.c. ) Yes, Doctor, all alone ! Only my needlework to keep me company. ( Sujhs. Dr. W. (Sighs. J It's catching ! CSils uc.) I have been to see the ailing sick, and humoreil all their whims ; and now I have a little time to chat with you, fair widow, for well I know that you are lone- some now that he is gone. Miriim. Lonesome? That I am ! There are not many stopping at Lane's Inn these days, and oh, the time it really seems to \no\e so slow and d rear j'-l ike. Why, the longest days of all my life have been the ones that have passed since Peter Lane was laid away to rest. (Pals doroi her work. Dr. W. I doubt it not ! Your old man— I mean poor Peter— had his failings, as we all know, but then he was a jolly soul and carried round with him, where e'lr he went, as kind a heart as one could find throughout all England. (Moves nearer to her.) But what's the use of mourning or of fretting 'bout him now, dear widow? Grieving never brought a soul back into the world, and the pleasures of life (sighs) are for the living, not the dead. (He twiddles his thumbs. Miriam. I'm not a grievin' or a frettin' ov^er him, Doctor. I was only talkin' of my lonely lot in life ! ( She looks at him, sighs, and then twiddles her thumbs. Dr. W. (Looks round approvingly, and gets nearer to lier.) You keep a nice public house here, Widow. What an obnoxious term that is of widow ? It seems like a cotiuterfeit, and ought to be changed for good ! (Sighs and gd^ closer to Iter — she sighs. ) There ought to be a man in charge of this same house, dear widow ! ( Twiddles his thumbs, Miriam. I know that, dear Doctor. (Looks up at him, and twiddles— they both sigh together. 46 THE wanderee's beturn. 3firiam. 0-h, Doctor! Dr. W. You lire still youug« Mlrbim. 0-h ! Vr. W. Good lookiug ! Miriam. 0-h ! Dr. W. Bnxum! Mirlnn. O-h ! Dr. W. Kipel Jlir'uun. 0-h, Doctor ! Doctor. You \vant pluckiiig, widow ! (Siyhs. 3lirii(m. Doctor, you make me bluish ! Dr. W. BInshiiJg and ripe, red aud rosy, charming widow. Then why don't you marry iigaiu ? (Pals Ids arm round her icaist. Miriam. (Her face close to his.) But who will I marry, Doctor? ( Sighs. Dr. W. Hey ? Why, marry the first good man that asks yf)u, Miriam. I've made up my mind to that, but it has done uo good so far. They're backward in comiug forward, Doctor. Dr. W. Well, then, charmiug aud adorable widow, I've been thiukiug that Mder Enoch Akden, door t.e.l. Dr. W. Bother ! Here's a customer ! (Rises. Miriam. Don't be iu a hurry, Doctor, he may not mean to stay. (Aside.) When he was comiug to the point, too ! How provoking! (Du. WiNTHROp goes np stage' Enoch. Can I find lodging here for the night, good madam ? Miriam. You can. No traveller ever a.sks for shelter or for food at Lane's Inn, but what he gets it, thjit is, if he in looks be decent- like at all. Are you a traveller and a stranger in this port ? Enoch, (c. ) A traveller? Yes! But I am no stranger. I've "been iu this port before. 3firiam. (ii.c.) A traveller by laud or sea ? EiiocJi. I've ji;st come off the sea. (Aside.) Miriam Lane and Doctor "VVinthrop — I know them well, but they know me not. C Sighs. ) Am I then so changed ? ( Crosses to l. Dr. W. ( Listening athackt i,.c.) That voice! I think I've heard it Komewhere before. Miriam. Aye, like enough. He saj-s he has been here to the port before, Dr. W. It seems more like the voice of one I knew iu days gone by, but who or where I cannot tell. I'll come again, good Mistress Lane. Miriam. I'll look for ye. (Ecit Dr. Winthrop, t.e.l. — To Enoch.) You've been a sailor in your day, you say ? That must Lave been many years ago, good friend, for now, I judge, your day is past, you look so old and feeble ! Sit down and rest, old man I THE wanderer's RETURN. 47 Enoch. (Aside. ) Old man, indeed ! (Aloud. ) I've been a sailor in my dn}', good madam, though, as you say, I'm broken down and feeble now. (Sils l.c, and .sighs heavily. Miruim. (Aside.) Poor man! He Buffers much! (AUmd.) '^Vhat a hard and toilsome life that of a sailor is, and full of danger, too. Is it not so ? Enoch. It is, indeed ! A life on the ocean wave, a death under the Kileut deep ! 31iriani. How many poor sailors go to sea that never come back agiiiii, Heaven only knows. Enoch.. Did any from this little port ever go away to sea, and never return, good lady ? Miriam. Yes, indeed, more's the pity, old man ! Enoch. Lately, may I ask ? Miriam. The lu.st was about eleven or twelve years ago. No letter, no tidiugs 1 Ah, well, he must be dead ! Enoch. And his name? It was Miriam. Euoch Arden ! (Enoch s/'gr/is.J He was a fine stalwart 3'oung fellow, strong and heart}'. You've been strong and hearty once, old man, and must know how proud it niust make a body feel. (Enoch sighs.) Well, poor Euoch was a friend of ours, and of my dead and gone husband, Peter Lane. Enoch, Peter Lane — dead ? Miriam. Yes, it was a sad ev/eut. Enoch. And an — Euoch Arden too? Miriam. 13oth dead. Ah ! He was a good husband, a loving father, an industrious lad, and the pride of our little port. Well, things went wrong with him, somehow, so Euoch — who used to have a bout here on the bay — hired as a boatswain on the ship "Good For- tune," bound for China. But the ship foundered, or was burnt, or something dreadful happened, as none of 'em ever come back to tell thetale. Before he left he sold his boat to provide a home and liveli- hood while he was gone for his wife and child ! Enoch. Ah ! (Excited.) He had a wife, then? Miriam. (Surprised.) Why, yes, poor man. Sailors /taue wives sometimes, don't they ? Enoch. Why, yes, yes ! But is she well-to-do — is she alive ? Miriam. Alas ! Poor Annie ! (Enoch much moved — aside — at (he mention of his wife's name. Slighi pause.) She seemed to prosper well at first, but grew low-spirited as month after month went by and no word came from Enoch. Then the youngest child Enoch. Yes, yes, the child ! Mirhtm. A baby ! Enoch. Yes, the little baby I Miriam. In its cradle ! Enoch. (Aside.) God bless it! Mil iam. Well, it always was a weakly one ; and it grew weaker and weaker like day after day, and at last the poor thing died. 48 THE wandereh's retuen. Enoch. ( Screams aloud. ) Oli ! Miriam, What is the matter, my good man ? Enoch. A suddeu paiu here at the heart I (Sighs.) You know I —I am so old and feeble ! Miriam. Ah ! we none of ns ge't younger, do v:e> ? Well, poor Aimie— that was his wife — how I pitied her, her heart was almost broke, and her only cry was Euocb, Enoch — ever the name of her dear husband. Oh, how she yearned for him the day the baby lay a corpse. Old friend, you never saw a creature born of earth so beau- tiful — like a little augel carved from marble — as it lay in its little cot, so white, so cold, so sweet. And Annie sat there tearless with her heart a-breakin', and a-thinkin' of her baby dead, and of her husband dead and gone, and both in heaven ! Why, you are crying, old man I Don't cry ! Enoch. I cannot help it! I've been a husband and a father, (cries) and know full well what it is to be away iu distant climes and lose a cherished little one at home ! Miriam.. Don't weep, good man ! That dead baby's living soul is resting there above ! Don't grieve, old man ! I told Annie not to grieve when her dear baby died, that it was wrong to fly iu the face of Heaven, and that Enoch and his dead haby were there together ! (Enoch unable longer to restrain Jus feelings, weeps aloud, and takes Miriam bij boili hands. Enoch. Excuse these tears ; but that poor dead baby ! Miriam. Why, you feel it as much as Annie did 1 Ah, I see you have been a husband and a lather ! The best men seem to suffer most! Enoch. If that be so, judging by my present sufferings, then I must be good indeed ! (Smiles bitterly. Miriam. Well, Annie waited and she watched, and no tidiuge ever came. Year by year she fretted, and she pined, and wasted, and grew thinner day by day. At last she too was convinced of Enoch's death, and, in answer to the prayer of all of us, to rescue her from poverty, and to save her lite Enoch. Yes, yes, her life, yes Miriam. She married Philip Eay ! Enoch. (Starts up.)- What, married? She married to another while her first husband (Laughs wildly. Miriam. (Frightened. ) What is the matter, my poor man ? Enoch. (Recollecting.) Oh, nothing, nothmg ! (With his hand to his heart. ) Merely a touch of my old complaint. You know, I told you I am so old and feeble ! Miriam. Ah, keep calm ! Excitement is bad in extreme old age ! Well, Annie, dear girl, is happy in her husband's love, and with Enoch's children living with them she is proud as well as happy ! (Enoch groans aside. ) Enoch— poor man — I've often thought about Lim— but, then, I doubt not ho was cast away and lost ! THB wandebeb's betubm. 49 Enoch' (Dazed, crosses loanderingh/ io b.) Cast away and lost! (Aside — solemnly. ) Yes, yes, never to be fotmd ! Miruan. (l. ) He Lath a tender heart, poor man ! I can see the tears now standings in his eyes, as thonj^h he knew and loved all those that I have told him of. (Enoch sinks into a chair u., buries Ids face in his Juuids, and silently weeps at table. ) I'll go and build a fire lu his room, for I noticed "that he shivered so at times as though he had a chill, (Exit Miriam, T.E.ii. Enoch. (Bises.) None of the old folks now know me. It is well for me, and they never shall, for their own peace sakes ! (Cross to c.) I have not loug to live — no — I feel that now — then ^vhy break in upon her peace, only to mar it? She is alive, and happy ! So Miriam said. Poor baby tho' is dead ! I soon shall start upon the isanie long journey after her — the self-same road to follow with one so blest. I've stranded upon this shore for death, but when I land again there'll be a little one a-standiu* on the sands across the river waiting for me, and with her (looks rip) 'twill be for life! But I must once more see the dear ones that are left — my Annie — (Checks himself) — no, no, not mine, not mine —but the boy and girl belong to me. I must gaze on them before my mission ends, then for the veil to all ! (Exit T.E.L. Music—" Home, Sweet Home "—played till Enoch is on Jiis knees in the next scene. Scene IV. — Enierior Flats of Philip Rat's Cottage — A front scene. A large bay roindoio in b. flat, wiUi while curtaiiis down — to open in the centre at the proper time. Door of cottage in t,. flat. The interior of cottage to be backed by a chamber. Lime light on behind flr. W. They just now passed me at the door. I'll call to theiu ! (Exit door L.F. All is sileut Enoch. A sail, a sail ! (Laughs wildly.) I am saved ! ( Fulls hack dead. He-enter Dr. Winthrop, door l.f., xcith Enoch's son and daughter. Miriam. He is gone ! There is yonr father ! Kueel, children, kueel ! ( Children kneel c, hy couch. ) Pray for the peace of the f>ood Enoch Asden ! (Music — •' Home, Sweet Home !" 2'ableau. DisposUion of Characters. , on CHir.DBEN Jcneelinn .c^^'^ r ly couch, c. •" ^^ ^ CUBTAIN. THE A.]>i:^TETJR HT^OE. PRICE 15 CENTS EACH. 1 Aladdin and the Wonder- 21 Harlequin Little Red Rid- 44 Mischievous Bob. ful Lamp. ing Hood. 45 A Pint of Ale. 2 The Loves of Little Bo- 22 Fireside Diplomacy. 46 The Last Drop. Peep and Little Boy Blue. 23 Ingomar (Burlesque). 47 The Wine Cup. 3 Little Silver Hair and the 24 Money Makes the Man. 48 Out in the Streets. Three-Bears. 25 The Happy Dispatch. 49 Mothers and Fathers. 1 4 Robin Hood; or .the Merry 26 An Eligible Situation. 50 Taken In and Done For. ! Men of Sherwood Forest. 27 The Pet Lamb. 51 All's Fair in Love and War S Little Red Riding Hood. 28 The Last Lily. 52 Dross from Gold. 6 The Fr .g Prince. 29 The Three Temptations. S3 Aunt J erusha's Visit. , 7 Blue r.eard; or. Female 30 Katharine and Petruchio 54 The Village Belle. Curiosity. (Burlesque). 55 Lord Dundreary's Visit. 8 Jack, the Giant Killer. 31 His First Brief. 56 My Peter. 9 Two Gentlemen at Mivarts 32 The Girls of the Period. 57 The Cream of Love. lo Dark Deeds, 33 Matched but not Mated. 58 The Babes in the Wood. II Marry in Haste and Re- 34 Penelope Anne. 59 Closmg of the " Eagle." pent at Leisure. 12 Wearing of the Green. 35 A Woman will be a Wo- 60 Don't Marry a Drunkard man. to Reform Him. 13 The Result of a Nap. 36 Caught in His own Toils. 61 Furnished Apartments. 14 Monsieur Pierre. 37 Cousin Florence. 62 The Harvest Storm. 15 Virtue Victorious. 38 Lucy's Love Lesson. 63 Maud's Command. 16 Love (Burlesque). ^9 A Game of Billiards. 64 Out of the Depths. 65 The Poisoned Darkies. 17 Afloat and Ashore. 40 The Wrong Bottle. 41 A Lyrical Lover. 18 Tragedy Transmogrified. 66 Ralph Coleman's Refor- 19 Fairy Freaks. 42 A Bad Temper. mation. 20 A Medical Man. THE E 43 Women's Rights. 67 Slighted Treasures. Tn:ioi»iA.]V r ) P RICE 15 CENTS EACl a. ;, I Robert Make-Airs. 38 Jack's the Lad. 75 Mysterious Stranger. 2 Box and Cox. 39 Othello. 76 De Debbil and Dr. 3 Mazeppa. 40 Camille. Faustum. 4 Lnited States Mail. 41 Nobody's Son. 77 De Old Gum Game. 5 The Coopers. 42 Sports on a Lark. 78 Hunk's Wedding Day. 6 Old Dad's Cabin. 43 Actor and Singer. 79 De Octoroon. 7 The Rival Lovers. 44 Shylock. 80 De Old' Kentucky Home. 8 The Sham Doctor. 45 Quarrelsome Servants. 81 Lucmda's Weddingf. 9 Jolly Millers. 46 Haunted House. 82 Mumbo Jum. 83 De Creole Ball. 10 Villikins and hisDinah. 47 No Cure, No Pay. 48 Fighting for the Union. II The Quack Doctor. 84 Mishaps of Caesar Crum: 12 The Mystic Spell. 49 Hamlet the Dainty. 85 Pete's Luck. 13 The Black Statue. 50 Corsican Twins. 86 Pete and Ephraim. 14 Uncle Jeff. 51 Deaf — m a Horn. 87 Jube Hawkins. 15 The Mischievous Nigger. 52 Challenge Dance. 88 De Darkey's Dream. 16 The Black Shoemaker. 53 De Trouble begins at Nine 89 Chris Johnson. 17 The Magic Penny. 54 Scenes at Gurney's. 90 Scipio Africanus. 18 The Wreck. 55 16,000 "V'ears Ago. 91 De Ghost ob Bone Squash 19 Oh Hush ; or. The Vir- 56 Stage-struck Darkey. 92 De Darkey Tragedian. ginny Cupids. 57 Black Mail. [Clothes. 93 Possum Fat. 20 The Portrait Painter. 58 Highest Price for Old 94 Dat Same Ole Coon. 21 The Hop of Fashion. 59 Howls from the Owl Train 95 Popsey Dean. 22 Bone Squash, 60 Old Hunks. 96 De Rival Mokes. 23 The Virginia Mummy. 61 The Three Black Smiths. 97 Uncle Tom. 24 Thieves at the Mill. 62 Turkeys in Season. 98 Desdemonum. 25 Comedy of Errors. 63 Juba. 99 Up Head. [puncas. 26 Les Miserables. 64 ANightwidBrudderBones 100 De Maid ob de Hunk- 27 New Year's Calls. 65 Dixie. 101 De Trail ob Blood. 28 Troublesome Servant. 66 King Cuffee. 102 De Debbil and de Maiden 29 Great Arrival. 67 Old Zip Coon. 103 De Cream ob Tenors. 30 Rooms to Let. 68 Cooney in de Hollow. 104 Old Uncle Billy. 31 Black Crook Burlesque. 69 Porgyjoe. 105 An Elephant on Ice. 32 Ticket Taker. 70 Gallusjake. 106 A Manager in a Fix. 33 Hvpochondriac, 71 De Coon Hunt. 107 Bones at a Raffle. 34 William Tell. 72 Don Cato. 108 Aunty Chloe. 35 Rose Dale. 73 Sambo's Return. 109 Dancing Mad. 36 Feast. 74 Under de Kerosene. no J ulianna Johnson. 37 Fenian Spy. Either of the above w ill be sent by mail, on rece ipt of price, by I lAPPY HOURS COMPANY, No. 5 Beekman Street, New York. THE A rf^^T'XTVrrf'^ T ll .A.V> J- Ax^ %jr JLwj:^^^-^ !▼■ ^ \ \\ PRICE 15 cEiJ^ ':i.?!!:l?!?l,2L..SSm I Single Life. 49 Lying in Ordina 50 The Ringdoves. ^^^^^^^^^^^ m^^^ 2 Boarding School. 1 3 The Spitfire. 51 Camille. liili ffiu^^i^^^li 1 4 Irish Dragoon. 52 Lady Clancarty 1 ■ 5 School for Tigers. 53 Ten Nights in a ] illiilw""™^ All 6 Gabrielle de Belle Isle. 7 Tippeiary Legacy. t^?Si:^^^ol Taw 597 031 B ' ,| 8 Deeds of Dreadful Note. ard's Life. 104 Champaigne. i 9 A Peculiar Position. 56 Fruits of the Wine Cup. IDS H. M. S. Pinafore. 1 lo A Private Inquiry. ! It riFTell Your Wife. 57 Aunt Dinah's Pledge. 106 Family Pictures. 58 Yankee Peddler. 107 Prison and Palace. 12 Fast Family. 59 Vermont Wool Dealer. 108 The Bailiff's Daughter. 13 Antony and Cleopatra 60 Persecuted Dutchman. 109 La Cigale. Married and Settled. 61 Stage-Struck Yankee. no Broken Promises. 14 My Friend in the Straps. 62 The Limerick Boy(Paddy Ill The Broken Seal. 15 School for Scheming (Love Miles Boy). 63 Drunkard's Home. 112 Betsy's Profile. 1 1 and Money). 113 Going Through Him. 1 16 Our Mary Anne. 64 Bachelor's Bed-Room. 114 Male and Female. 17 Miseries of Human Life. 65 Perfection(The Cork Leg). 115 Thoughts before Marriage 18 An Irish Engagement. 66 More Blunders Than One. 116 Diplomacy. j 19 How to Settle Accounts 67 Whisky Fiend. 117 Our Professor. With Your Laundress. 68 Quite at Home. 118 Hurrah for Paris. 20 Advice Gratis. 69 Sir Dagobert and the 119 Tittlebat a Father. 21 A Hasty Conclusion. 22 Weak Points. 70 Putting on Airs. [Dragon. 120 Cross Purposes. 71 A Slight Mistake. 121 Love to Music. 23 Grace Darling. 72 Patches and Powder. 122 Carried by Assault. 24 A Gray Mare. 73 To Let, Furnished. 123 The Locked Door. 25 Middle Temple. 74 The Lost Heir. 124 Those "Cussed" Waves. 26 The Original. 75 Is the Man Mad? 125 Masquerading for Two. 126 The Love Flower. 27 'J'he Sentinel. 76 A Trip to Cambridge. 28 Tiger at Large. 77 Twenty and Forty. 78 Hob-Nobbing. 127 Oh, My Uncle! 29 Why Did You Die? 128 The Dawn of Love. 30 Sayings and Doings. 79 The Great Eastern. 129 Juliet's Love Letter. 31 Twin Brothers. 80 Three Guesses. 130 Bric-a-Brac. 32 Ask no Questions. 81 Getting up in the World. 131 A Cousin to Them All. 1 33 Cure for Coquettes. 82 Wardrobe. 132 The Wanderer's Return. 34 Cabin Boy. 83 Generous Jew. 84 A Crumpled Rose Leaf. 133 Unclejack. 35 Who Stole the Spoons ? 134 The Married Widows. 36 Mrs. Gamps Tea and Turn 85 Wild Flowers. [Ladies. 135 Foresight: or. My Daugh- 37 Village Doctor. [Out. 86 Don't AllSpeak At Once, ter's Dowry. 38 Family Pride. 87 Woman Nature Will Out. 136 Muolo the Monkey. 39 Queen Mary. 88 Aunt Betsy's Beaux. 1:57 Too Windy for an Um- 40 Three Grocers. 89 Child of Circumstances. ■ brella. 41 Race Ball. 90 Women's Club. 138 Beauty and the Beast. 42 Presented at Court. 91 Shamrock. 139 Cinderella. 43 A Sign of Affection. 92 The Changelings. 140 Rosebud; or, the Sleeping 44 Dancing Barber. 93 Society for doing good Beauty. 45 Who;s Your Friend ? but Saying Bad. 141 The Princess. 46 Charity. 94 Matrimony. 142 Rumplestiltskin. 47 Wicked World, [ing Well 95 Refinement. 143 Skinflint. 48 Mother and Child are Do- THE 96 Master-piece. 144 One Must Marry. VAPJ^IET"5r ST rj^OE. P RICE 15 CENTS EACH. 1 1 I The Big Banana. 9 Dot Madrimonial Adver- 16 I Love Your Wife. 2 Dot Mad Tog. disement. 17 The Ould Man's Coat tails. 3 A Gay Old Man Am I. 10 Mulcahy's Cat. 18 The Decree of Divorce. 4 The Law Allows it. II Dot Quied Lotgings. 19 Let Those Laugh WhoWin 5 A Leedle Misdake. 12 All in der Family. 20 A Dark Noight's Business. 6 The Spelling Match. 13 Who Got the Pig? 21 The Lonely Polywog of 7 There's Millions In It. 14 A Mad Astronomer. the Mill Pond. 8 Tootle, Tootle, Too ! 15 A Purty Shure Cure. 22 The Dutchman in Ireland. 1 Either of the above w ill be sent by mail, on receipt of price, by ] BAPPY HOURS COMPANY, No. 5 Beekman Street, New York.