fn f Pena Publishing Q>mpan& * Philadelphia SHOEMAKER'S Best Selections FOR READINGS AND RECITATIONS Numbers 1 to 22 Now Issued Paper Binding, each number, - v 30 cents Cloth, " " " .... 50 " This series was formerly called "The Elocutionist's Annual," the first 17 numbers being published under tiiai. title. The change in name is made because it is believed a more appropriate title is thus secured. Teachers, Readers, Students, and all persons who have occasion to use books of this kind, concede this to be the best series of speakers published. The differ- ent numbers' are compiled by leading elocutionists of the country, who have exceptional facilities for securing selections, and whose judgment as to their merits is in- valuable. No trouble or expense is spared to obtain the very best readings and recitations, and much material is used by special arrangement with other publishers^ thus securing the best selections from such American authors as Longfellow, Holmes, Whittier, Lowell, Em^rsptr,y Alice and Phoebe Cary, Mrs. Stowe, and many of ters. The formost English authors are also represented, as well as the leading French and German writers. Sold by all Booksellers and Newsdealers; or -nailed upon receipt of price. THE PENN PUBLISHING COJIPAjiv ; 1020 Arch Street \ Philadelphia EAST LYNNE A Drama in Five Acts ADAPTED FROM THE FAMOUS NOVEL OF THAT NAME BY MRS. HENRY WOOD SPECIALLY PREPARED EDITION, WITH CAST OF CHARACTERS, SY*. OPSIS OF INCIDENTS, TlME OF REPRESENTATION, DESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUMES, SCENE AND PROPERTY PLOTS, DIAGRAMS OF SCENES, SIDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PERFORMERS, EXPLANATION OF the Stage Directions and all of the Stage Business u 'se COPYRIGHT 1894 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY i Philadelphia The Perm Publishing Company 1894 -* *"* EAST LYNNE CAST OF CHARACTERS Sir Francis Levison, a fashionable roue, Gentlemanly Villain. Archibald Carlyle, .... Leading Man. Lord Mount Severn, .... First Old A/an* Justice Hare, . . . . . Second Old Man. Mr. Dill, . . . . . Second Low Comedy. Officer, ........ Utility Man. \ Little Willie, .... A Small Child's Part.i Lady Isabel, j dual ^ ^ ^ ^ Leading Lady?!: Madam Vine, ) \ Barbara Hare Juve?iile Lady. Miss Carlyle, . . . Eccentric Character Part. Joyce, r Uility. Wilson, . Same. Susanne, Same. Time of representation, two hours and a half. Time, the present. ; > Locality — All the Acts except Scene 2 in Act III occur at East Lynne in rural England. Scene 2 in Act III occurs in London. SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS Sir Francis Levison, a blase man of fashion, commits a murder, for which an innocent man, Richard Hare, is sus- pected and arrested. Richard retains as counsel Archibald Carlyle, a rising young lawyer. Mr. Carlyle has just married Lady Isabel, the daughter of an Earl, who is in impoverished circumstances. After the marriage Lady Isabel's jealousy is wrought upon by the clandestine interviews between Barbara Hare, Richard's sister, and her husband, Archibald Carlyle. The interviews are merely concerning the de- fense of Richard in the murder trial ; but Lady Isabel in ignorance of this, misconstrues their purpose, and being goaded on by her lover, Sir Francis Levison, consents to an elopement with the latter. o -, A few years pass, and Archibald Carlyle haj secured ^ divorce from his wife and marries Barbara Hare. In the ' meantime Lady Isabel, being badly treated by Sir Francis, leaves him (he having neglected to keep his promise and • "make her his wife). She learns of the serious illness of her j 'little son, who is at the home of his father, Archibald Car- lyle, and the latter's new wife, and determines to apply for the position of nurse for the little one that has been adver- tised for, so she can be by the bedside of her boy in his last hours. Disguising herself as " Madam Vine," she secures . the position, but overcome by the death-bed scene of her boy, she throws off her disguise and reveals herself to him as his mother. She is discovered by Joyce, a former lady- maid of hers, but Joyce consents to keep her secret. It- leaks out, however. Miss Corney, the quaint spinster sister of Archibald Carlyle, gets to know it, and through the t- instrumentality of the latter, who, although odd and eccen- tric, has an excellent heart, a reconciliation is brought [7 about at the death-bed of Lady Isabel. The plot also I shows how Sir Francis Levison meets his deserts by being 1 brought to justice as the real murderer, thus securing the \ acquittal of Richard Hare. The part of Lady Isabel abounds . in strong dramatic passages and thrilling scenes, and the Mate Lucille Western, one of the very best actresses America ever produced, made it the strongest part in her . repertoire. Sir Francis Levison and Archibald Carlyle are also strong parts, while Miss Corney Carlyle, in the ; hands of a capable actress, will keep an audience convulsed f with laughter at her eccentricities. \ iii /S^Ss* COSTUMES Sir Francis Levison. Age, thirty. Act II. — Full even- ing dress ; eye-glasses ; aristocratic make-up. Act III. — Fashionable dress ; silk hat ; light overcoat ; gloves ; walk- ing cane. Act V. — Same attire as Act III. Archibald Carlyle. Age, twenty-five.' Fashionable black suit. Lord Mount Severn. Age, sixty. Gray wig ; white whiskers and mustache. Dignified-looking old gentleman. Traveling suit. Justice Hare. Plain, respectable suit, such as would be worn by a country justice of the peace. acHARD Hare. Age, twenty-five. First dress, plow- man suit, smock frock, corduroy pants ; heavy black whis- kers. Second dress, business suit ; smooth face. Mr. Dill. Age, sixty. Gray wig ; smooth face ; plaii suit ; old-fashioned stock collar and white neckerchief. Officer. English policeman's suit. Lady Isabel. Age, twenty. Act I. — Rich traveling dress and hat. Act II. — Ball-room dress. Act III. —White dress- ing gown. Madam Vine. Age, forty. Plain black dress, white cap and apron ;" gray wig ; blue spectacles. Barbara Hare. Age, twenty. First dress — Light sum- mer dress. Second dress — Black hat and black dress. Third dress — Light house dress. Corney Carlyle. Age, sixty. First dress — Eccentrij loose dress ; blonde wig with grotesque corkscrew curls Second dress — Night-robe, very short, with red petticoc tied around her head. Third dress — Drab out-door dress with big old-fashioned bonnet, trimmed with flowers ; bij red shawl. Joyce. Housemaid's dress, cap, and apron. PROPERTY PLOT Act I Scene i. — Sheets of music on piano ; stands of flowers for conservatory. Scene 2. — Cart whip for Richard Hare. iv EAST LYNNE V Act II Scene 3. — Call-bell on table ; letter on table for Joyce to find. Act III Scene i. — Letter for Archibald. Act IV Scene i. — Embroidery work and knitting-needles for Madame Vine, which she uses during her conversation with Barbara. Letter for Joyce to give to Barbara. Scene 2. — Warrant for Levison's arrest and handcuffs for Officer. SCENE PLOT " Act I 1 ijgScENE i. — Parlor in Archibald Carlyle's house at East •nne. It is a box scene in 3 g., backed by conservatory nl 4 g. Open double doors c, leading to conservatory. Practical doors r. and l., second entrance. Piano and stool ^fp l. c. Tete-a-tete down c. Chairs r. and l., arranged according to diagram. Medallion carpet. The draperies and surroundings must suggest a well-furnished Tiome of an English gentleman. Lights up. Time, afternoon. 4-G. 4G. VIEW 0? CONSERVATORY. DIAGRAM OF SCENE I, ACT I VI EAST LYNNE Scene 2. — Landscape view in 1 g. Scene 3. — Same as Scene 1, Act I. Act II Scene i. — Same as Scene i, Act I. Scene. 2. — Landscape view in 1 g. Scene 3. — Same as Scene 1, Act I. Act III Scene i. — Chamber scene in 1 g. Practical doors r. and L., first entrance. ^^— jfENE 2. — Lady Isabel's apartments in London. Cham- ber in 3 g. (boxed) backed by hallway in 4 g. Double door- way c. hung with curtains. Fireplace R. 2 E. with large -isas chair in front of it. Cradle L. of c. with chair R. of it. 5ofa down 1^. h. Chairs arranged about the room accord- ing to diagram. Medallion carpet down. Table and two chairs c, with lamp on table. Time, night. Lights in har- mony with the scene. *G. 4C, HALLWAY DIAGRAM OF SCENE 2, ACT III Act IV Scene i. — Same as Scene 2, Act I. Scene 2. — Landscape in 1 g. Scene 3. — Chamber in 3 g. backed by landscape in 4 G. r seen through open window c. Curtains at window. Couch L. of C. Large easy-chair beside couch, chair foot of couch ; EAST LYNNE Vll small table holding bottles of medicines, lamp (not lighted), etc. Fireplace r. 2 e. Practical door r. i e. Practical door L. 2 e. Chairs arranged about room. Carpet down. Time, afternoon. Lights up. LANDSCAPE. BACKING IN 4-G. O CHAIR OPEN WINDOW WITH CURTAINS 1 \ \ C TABIC O WITH MEDICINE BOTTLES ECT. DIAGRAM OF SCENE 3, ACT IV Act V Scene i. — -Landscape in i g. Scene 2. — Chamber in 2 g. Scene 3. — Same as Scene 3, Act IV. STAGE DIRECTIONS The player is supposed to face the audience. R. means right; L., left; c, centre; r. c, right of centre; L. c, left of centre ; d. f., door in the flat or scene running across the back of the stage ; r. f., right side of the flat ; l. f., left side of the flat ; r. d., right door ; l. d., left door ; '1 e., first en- trance ; 2 E., second entrance; u. E., upper entrance; 1, 2, or 3 g., first, second, or third grooves ; up stage, toward the back ; down stage, toward the footlights. R. R. C. C. L. C L. Note. — The text of this play is correctly reprinted from the original authorized acting edition, without change. Tlje introductory matter has been carefully prepared by an ex- pert, and is the only part of this book protected by copy- right. I EAST LYNNE ACT I SCENE I. — enrrChamber in 4. Table and 2 chairs, R. h. Set door, r. h. 2 e. Enter, c. d., Miss Cornelia and Dill. Dill. -4pH*$* And so, Miss Corney, Mr. Carlyle will be here to-day, and bring home his bride. Miss C. (r. h.) His bride, indeed ! A pretty bride for him to take, an Earl's daughter ! And I've no doubt she'll prove as idle and extravagant as her worthless father. She'll waste his means and bring him to beggary. " Dill. I trust not, Miss Corney. But do you know I had a notion when Mr. Carlyle left home he went to be married. Miss C. You did, eh ? And Archibald never to tell me ! I who have been like a mother to him ! But I always thought he loved that girl a great deal better than he should ; for when he first took possession of East Lynne, she left some gold-fish in his care, and when they died he made such a fuss about them— oh ! I was so disgusted with such silly nonsense ! However, I am glad that silly Barbara Hare 1 Bn't got him — after all the years she's been fishing for him. A woman has no business to be always running after a man— it aint decent. But I've made up my mind to make East Lynne my home for the future. There's no use of keeping up the expense of two establishments. Besides, here I can watch over his interests, for I know she'll bring him to beggary. Dill. Well, I must go now, and prepare myself to meet Mr. Carlyle and his lovely £>ride. Exit c. d. Miss C. Lovely indeed ! Beauty is but skin deep. Here, Joyce — Joyce ! Enter Joyce, r . i e . — Joyce, is everything prepared in Mr. Carlyle's apartment? Joyce. Yes, ma'am, we've made everything look as tidy and as cheerful as possible. 5 EAST LYNNE Miss C. Cheerful indeed ! and for her ? Well, s get along about your business, for I expect them here every minute now. I'm sure I'd as soon see Archibald hano- e d as married. {Enter Dill, c. d. r.) What an old fool ! Why what on earth has taken you ? Why, you are decked out like a young buck ! Dill. I hope I'm not too fine, Miss Corney ? Miss C. Fine ? I don't know what you call it but I wouldn't make such a spectacle of myself for untold gold Why, all the boys in the street will be taking you for the bridegroom. Dill. Well, now, really, Miss Corney, I thought this coat quite plain. Miss C. Plain! and what would you have it, I should like to know? Perhaps you'd like a wreath of embroidery around it— gold leaves and scarlet flowers, and a swan's down collar. Pray, do you know your age ? Dill. I do ; and I'm just turned sixty. Miss C. You just one ! And do you consider it decent for an old man of sixty to be decked out as you are now ? Take care the boys don't tie a tin kettle to your coat-tails. ^ Dill. Well, now, Miss Corney, pray don't get excited aoout the matter. I'll go and change it to please you. Hush ! I hear the carriage wheels now. {Goes up c. and looks 'offi* ) And here come Mr. Carlyle and his bride. Miss C. Well, I know one thing certain, I never will for- give him or tolerate her. Gets in r. h. corner. Enter, c. l., Archibald Carlyle and Isabel. Archibald comes down c. to front. Arch, (c.) Welcome to East Lynne— to your childhood's home, Isabel ! ( To Dill, who is on his r.) Ah ! Dill, my old mend, I hope you are well. {Shakes hands with him and crosses to Miss Corney.) Ah ! Cornelia, my dear sister, this is kind in you to meet me here. {Shakes ha?ids with her and returns to c.) This is my wife— the Lady Isabel. Isabel, this is my sister Cornelia. (Isabel bows) Miss C. {snappishly) 1 hope you are well, madam. Arch. This is my old friend and confidential clerk, Mr. John Dill. Isabel. I hope I see you well, sir. Miss C. Would you like to go up-stairs and take off your things, before supper ? Isabel. I will go to my room, if you please, but Archi- bald and I have dined. I don't require anything, thank you. EAST LYNNE Hi Isabel, I have ^J^^^tT' "tSSt SlTesftobe'sureTX I will remain here an ARCH. t0 D y o U s r o!ihe e n, if you like. I'll not be long absent. Come, Dill. ExituM VB^c». * Mils C Tea ! so late as this ? You'd never sleep a wink aU IsS. Oh! well ^^^ffl^o- 1 ^ feel certain I shall like you d t East Lyn ne. S£ Co^entld! ^0^1 shah. The dear here that poor papa died too. Ana _™ e j and bought the place, and he ««^ "^ t0 love him ! CS nr^Cand.plrsuad hi m t • t d ,o S^^SKSSfiS S? Don't you think he will let me ? - ■ , , -Zi C C° R iP^s7ei "irShe'l really a most extraord Isabel Why, she acts very strangely. I hope I haven* done anything "wrong (Re-enter Archtbald^ c. oO O Archibald! I'm so glad you've cornel lam ^»| fore. EAST LYNNE ' m Arch. My sister is not over-pleasant in her manner, but she is a very upright and just person. You'll like her better when you come to know her. Now, Isabel, if you like, I'll walk with you through the grounds. Exeunt, l. i e. Scene II. — Landscape m i. Enter Richard Hare, l. i e., disguised in a ploughman's suit, with heavy black whiskers, carrying a large whip in one hand. Rich. Here I am at length, after jify absence of nearly two years, once more in sight of my dear old home. But, alas ! I dare not enter even for a moment. I am a fugitive from justice, and even now the lynx-eyed officers of the law may be on my track, and discover me in spite of my dis- guise. Would I could see my dear mother, if only for a moment! {Goes to r. h.) Ah ! the garden gate is open, and I see my sister Barbara standing in the door. I'll venture to speak and call her out. Hist, Barbara! Barbara, come out ! Don't you know me ?— it is I — Richard ! Enter Barbara, r. i e. Barb. O Richard ! my dear brother — is it indeed y What brings you here ? How could you run such a ri If you are discovered, it is certain death upon — you krtcM Richard. Upon the gibbet — I do know, Barbara. Barb. Then why risk it by coming here ? Should mamma see you, it would kill her outright. Rich. I can't live as I am living. I have been working in London ever since. Barb. In London, Richard ? How are you working — what at ? Rich. In a stable-yard. Barb. In a stable-yard ! O Richard ! you — Rich. Did you expect it would be as a merchant or a banker ? or that I was a gentleman living at large on my fortune ? I get twelve shillings a week, Barbara, and that has to find me in everything. Barb. O Richard ! my poor brother ! Rich. I could do no better. I was brought up to no kind of labor, and I did understand about horses. Besides, a man that the police-runners were after would be more safe in such obscurity than if he were a gentleman in fine clothes. Barb. Poor Richard ! what a miserable night that was i EAST LYNNE 9 u, and for all of us ! Our only comfort is, Richard, that you must have committed the deed in madness. Rich. I did not commit the deed at all, Barbara. I swear to you that I am innocent of the crime. I was not even in the cottage at the time of the murder. The man who really did the deed was Thorn. Barb. Thorn ! Who was Thorn ? Rich. I don't know. I wish I did. I wish I could unearth him. He was a friend of Afy's. Barb. Richard, you forget yourself when you mention her name in my presence. Rich. Well, it was not to discuss such topics as these that I have put my life in jeopardy by coming here to-night ; and to assert my innocence can do no good. It cannot set aside the coroner's verdict of willful murder against Ricnard Hare the younger. If I had not fled like a coward, I might have stood some chance ; but that flight, you know, looked like guilt. Is my father as bitter as ever against me ? Barb. Quite ; he never mentions your name, or even suffers it to be spoken by the servants in his presence. After the delivery of the verdict, he took an oath in the justice's room, in the presence of his brother magistrates, th at if h e could find you, though it might not be for ten .■Would deliver you up to justice. You know his i > ipn ; therefore you may be sure he will keep his word. ■K I know he never treated me as he ought. Had . home been made happier for me, I should not have sought the society I did elsewhere. Barbara, I must be allowed an interview with my mother. Barb. It is impossible to think of that to-night. Papa has only gone of an errand, and may return at any moment. I don't see how it can be managed. Rich. Why can she not come out to me as you have done ? Barb. Because she is ill, and has retired for the night. This separation from you has nearly killed her. Rich. It is hard, after so long an absence, to go back without seeing her. What I want, Barbara, is a hundred pounds ; and I think she can let me have it. If I can get that sum, I have an opportunity for doing better for myself than I have done. That was what I came to ask for. Do you think she can let me have it ? I Barb. You must be here to-morrow night again. The iyiioney can no doubt be yours. But if, as you say, you are nocfcqt, why not try and prove it? IO EAST LYNNE Rich. Who is to prove it ? The evidence was stro against me ; besides, no one at West Lynne knew anything about Thorn but myself. He only came over on certain nights to see Afy, and he took precious good care to keep out of the way in the daytime. Barb. Richard, why not tell the whole truth to Archi- * bald Carlyle ? If any one can help you, or take measures to establish your innocence, he can ; and you know he is true as steel. Rich. Well, perhaps you are right. He is the only per- son who ought to be entrusted with the secret of my being here. Where is it generally supposed that I am ? Barb. Some think that you are dead ; others that you are in America or Australia. This very uncertainty has nearly killed mamma. But come again to-morrow night, at this same hour, and, meanwile, I'll see what can be done about the money. Justice Hare, {outside, r. h.) Barbara! Barbara! Barb. Hark ! there's papa returned. I dare not remain another instant. You must go now, Richard. Good-night. Rich, {going l.) Barbara, you did not seem to believe my assertion of innocence ; but we are standing here alone in the still night, with Him above us, and as truly as that I must one day meet Him face to face, I have told you the truth. It was not I who committed the murder. I swear it — there — {points to heaven). Good-night, sister. Exit hastily, l. i e. -*■ -* i Enter Justice Hare, r. i e. Justice H. {speaking \s enteri?ig) Barbara ! Barbara ! I say — Hello ! young lady, what brings you here this time of night ? \ Barb. I went down to the gate to meet you, and had strolled over the side path, and so I suppose that was how I missed you. Justice H. Come into the house then. You ought to have been in bed an hour ago. Both exit, r. i e. Scene III. — Same as Scene I. Enter Joyce, l. h., meeting Wilson, from r. h. Wilson. O Joyce ! did you see who is come ? A whole carriage-load of visitors, and she among them. I watched her get out. l EAST LYNNE II Enter Isabel, c. l., and listens. Joyce. Watched her? Who? Wilson. Why, Miss Barbara Hare, to be sure. Only fancy her coming to pay a wedding visit here ! My lady had better take care she don't get a bowl of poison mixed for her. Master's out, or else I'd have given a shilling to have seen the interview between them. Joyce. Wilson, you had better take care what you say here. Go and attend to the company. Exit Wilson, r. i e. Isabel, {advancing r.) Joyce, what was that I overheard you and Wilson gossiping -about just now ? — about Miss Hare giving me a bowl of poison ? Something in the dra- matic line, I should fancy. Please tell her to keep her whispers to herself in future. Joyce, (l.) It was merely a bit of nonsense, my lady. These stupid, ignorant servants will talk ; and every one in West Lynne knew that Miss Barbara was in love with Mr. Carlyle ; but I do not think she was the one to make him happy with all her love. Isabel. Joyce, how would you like the situation of lady's maid ? that is, if Miss Carlyle will consent to the transfer. Joyce. O my lady ! you are very kind. I should so like it, and I would serve you faithfully to the best of my ability. Isabel. Well, then, if Miss Carlyle consents, you shall have it. I'll speak to her about it to-day. Now leave me, Joyce. {Exit Joyce, l. i e.) Who is this Barbara Hare of whom I hear so much, and whom East and West Lynne are busy associating with the name of my husband ? Oh ! I remember now : I noticed her at the church door the first day we came to East Lynne ; and Mr. Carlyle said, as he pointed her out, " That is Miss Barbara Hare. Don't you think her a very pretty girl ?" Perhaps he has loved her ; perhaps he loves her still, and only married me out of sym- pathy. Oh ! if I only thought that, it would drive me fran- tic ! But no — no — no ! I will not harbor a thought so foolish as that. Mr. Carlyle is an honorable man ; 'he loves me truly — he has told me so, and he would not deceive me. Enter Miss Corney, r. i e. Miss C. Lady Isabel, they are waiting for the order for nner. 12 EAST LYNNE Isabel. Order a dinner, Miss Corney ? {Aside) What shall I say ? I never ordered a dinner in all my life. I must say something. She's evidently waiting for an answer. Well, then, Miss Corney, you may tell them we'll have something to roast and something to boil. Miss C. Something to roast and something to boil ! Are you aware that such an order would puzzle the butcher to know whether you desired a few pounds of meat or a whole cow? Isabel. A whole cow ! Oh ! bless me, Miss Corney, we never could eat a whole cow. (Aside) I've evidently made a mistake this time. I'll try again. What shall I say? I wish I dared to ask her ; but she looks so cross and severe, and she would despise me for my ignorance. I'll venture again. Well, then, Miss Corney, order as much meat as you think Archibald and yourself will require. I don't want any. Miss C. Lady Isabel, if you desire it, I will give the necessary orders myself. Isabel. Oh I do, if you please, Miss Corney. I wanted to ask you to do it all the while, but I didn't want to trouble you. I don't think I know much about housekeeping. Miss C. I don't think you do. Poor Archibald ! so much for marrying against my will. Exit R. I E. Isabel. I wish Archibald would come. The time hangs heavily when he is from my side. Enter Lord Mount Severn, c. d. l., advances l. h., and bows stiffly. Lord M. What is the meaning of this, Isabel ? You are married, it seems. Isabel. Yes ; some days ago. Lord M. And to Mr. Carlyle, the lawyer. How did this come about ? And why was I kept in ignorance of the affair ? Isabel. I did not know you were kept in ignorance of it. Mr. Carlyle wrote to you at the time, as also did Lady Mount Severn. Lord M. I suppose this comes of your father having allowed him to visit daily at East Lynne, and so you fell in love with him. Isabel. Oh ! no, indeed ! I never thought of such a thing j as falling in love with Mr. Carlyle ; but he came to Castle Marling at Easter ; he proposed to me, and I accepted him. I like him very well, he is so good to me. EAST LYNNE 13 Lord M. How comes it you are so nice in your dis- tinctions between liking and loving ? It cannot be that you love any one else. Who has been staying at Castle Marling during my absence ? Isabel, {confused) Only Francis Levison. Lord M. Francis Levison ! You surely have not been foolish enough to fall in love with him ! Isabel, Francis Levison is not a good man. If ever you were inclined to think him one, dispossess your mind of that idea, drop his acquaintance, encourage no intimacy. Isabel. I have dropped it already, sir. But, Lady Mount Severn must think well of him, or she would not have him there so often. Lord M. {surprised) She thinks none too well of him. None can of Francis Levison. Enter Archibald, l. i e. Offers his hand to Lord Mount Severn, who refuses it. Lord M. Isabel, I am sorry to turn you out of the room, but I must say a few words to Mr. Carlyle. Isabel. Oh ! certainly sir, I'll retire. Exit door r. 2 e. Lord M. (l. h. severely) Mr. Carlyle, sir, do you possess sojittle honor that, taking advantage of my absence, you must intrude yourself upon my family and clandestinely espouse Lady Isabel Vane, my ward? Arch. (l. h.) Sir, there has been nothing clandestine in my conduct toward Lady Isabel Vane, nor shall there be anything but honor in my conduct toward Lady Isabel Carlyle, my wife. Your lordship has been misinformed. Lord M. I have not been informed at all. I was allowed i to learn this through the public journal — /, the only relative of Lady Isabel ! Arch. My first action after Isabel accepted me was to ite to your lordship asking your consent. Lord M. And pray, sir, where did you direct your letter ? Arch. Lady Mount Severn could not give me your address, as you were then traveling ; but she said if I would entrust my letter to her care she would forward it to you with others she was then writing. I did so, and in a few days received a message from her ladyship, that, as you had returned no answer, you of course approved of the » d M. Mr. Carlyle, is that a fact ? ch. My lord, whatever may be my defects in your 14 EAST LYNNE eyes, I am at least a man of truth. Until this moment the thought that you were ignorant of this transaction never occurred to me. Lord M. So far then, I ask your pardon. But how came the ceremony to be hurried on in this unseemly fashion ? You made the offer at Easter, and were married three weeks after. Arch. Business took me to Castle Marling on Good Friday. I called at your house. I found Lady Isabel ill- treated and miserable, far from enjoying a home at your house. Lord M. What, sir ? Ill-treated and miserable ? Arch. Ill-treated even to blows, my lord. I learned all this through the chattering revelations of your little son. Isabel, of course, would not have told me ; but when he had spoken she could not deny it. In short, she was too completely bowed in spirit to deny it. It aroused all my feelings of indignation ; it excited in me an irresistible desire to release her from the thraldom that this cruel life had thrown around her, and take her where she would find affection and, I hope, happiness. There was only way in which I could do so. I risked all and asked her to become my wife, and return with me to East Lynne. Lord M. Then I am to understand that when you called at my house you had no intention of proposing^ Isabel ? Arch. Not any. It was an impromptu step, the circum- stances under which I found her calling it forth. Lord M. May I inquire if you love her, sir ? Arch. I do love her passionately and sincerely. I learned to love her at East Lynne, but I could have carried my love silently within me to the end of my life, and never have betrayed it ; and probably should have done so, had it not been for that unexpected visit to Castle Marling. If th( idea of making her my wife had even previously enterec my mind, the reason why I did not urge my suit was th; I deemed her rank incompatible with my own. Lord M. And so it was. Arch. Country solicitors have married peers' daughters before to-day. I only add another to the list. Lord M. But you cannot keep her as a peer's daughter, I presume. Arch. East Lynne will be our home. Our establish- ment will be small and quiet to what it was in her fatl time. I explained all this to Isabel at the first, so that might have retracted had she chosen to have done EAST LYNNE 1 5 Your lordship now perceives, I hope, that there has been nothing clandestine in my conduct toward Lady Isabel. Lord M. Sir, I refused you my hand when you came in ; perhaps you will refuse me yours now, though I should be proud to take it. When I find myself in the wrong I'm not above acknowledging my fault, and I must say that, in my opinion, you have acted most kindly and honorably. ( They shake hands) Of course, I cannot be ignorant that in speaking of Isabel's ill-treatment you allude to my wife. Has this trans- pired beyond yourselves ? Arch. Sir, you may be sure that neither Isabel nor my- self will ever mention it. Let it be as though you never heard it ; it is past and gone. Re-enter Isabel, r. 2 E. Lord M. Isabel, I came here to-day almost prepared to strike your husband. I go away honoring him. Be a good, faithful wife to him, for he deserves it. Isabel. Oh ! of course I shall, never fear. Lord M. And now, with your permission, I'll take a look about the grounds. Crosses to L. H. Isabel. We will accompany you. All exeunt, l. i e. Enter Miss Corney and Barbara Hare, r. i e. Barb, (l.) Papa was out on business ; mamma was too ill to come ; so I have ventured here alone. Miss C. (r.) I am glad you have come. I thought per- laps you would not be pleased with Archibald's selection of a wife. Barb. Not pleased, Miss Corney ? Why, what have I to do with his choice of a wife ? "Miss C. Gh ! nothing ; only there are so many ladies in 1 |^^nd West Lynne that seemed to take such an interest in Archibald's welfare that I thought they might be dis- appointed in his marriage — that's all. Barb. On the contrary, I wish him all the happiness possible. He has ever treated me most kindly, and I sin- I* { hope he has found a wife worthy of him. 3S C. Well, I like her better; than I thought I should, ected to find her full of airs and graces, but I must say s perfectly free from them, and she seems quite 1 6 EAST LYNNE wrapped up in Archibald ; she watches for his coming as a cat would watch for a mouse. Barb. That is quite natural, I suppose. Miss C. I suppose it is very absurd. I give them very little of my company ; they go strolling out together, or she sings to him, while he hangs over her as if she were made of gold. O dear ! I have no patience with such silly non- sense. Barb. You must make some allowance for the fervor of youth. Miss C. Fervor of fiddlesticks ! Shall I tell you what I saw last night ? Well, Archibald had a severe headache after dinner, and went into the next room and lay upon the sofa. She took him in a cup of tea, and never came back again, leaving her own until it was perfectly cold. I went to say so to her, and there was my lady's fine cambric hand- kerchief soaked in cologne lying on his face, and she kneel- ing beside him. Now, Miss Barbara, don't you regard that as the height of nonsense ? Barb. I must say that I cannot agree with you in that respect. Miss C. Well, I know this much. If he had a headache before he was married, I gave him a good dose of senna and salts, and sent him to bed to sleep the pain off. Exit, R. I E. Barb. And she is happy with him — the only man I ever loved, or ever can love. Why did he pass rpe by for a baby-faced girl like that ? It cannot be that she is capable of loving him with the deep affection I might have bestowed on him. Ah ! they are coming this way. I'll retire into the conservatory. I could not endure a meeting now. Retires, r. 3 E. Re-enter Archibald and Isabel, l. i e. Arch. You are fatigued — are you not? Isabel. Oh ! no, not in the least ! You say you have beerf' intimate with this Hare family for a long time. Arch. Quite so. Cornelia, my half-sister, is related to them. Isabel. Don't you think Miss Barbara is very pretty ? Arch. Yes, very pretty. Isabel. Then, intimate as you are, I wonder you never fell in love with her. Did you, Archibald — oh ! did yc Arch. Did I what, Isabel ? Isabel. You never loved Barbara Hare — did you ? EAST LYNNE J 7 Arch Loved her ? Why, Isabel, what is your mind running on ? I never loved but one— and that one I have made my own, my cherished wife. Isabel. Oh ! I believe you, my dear husband Arch. Well, now, you must sing to me, and then 1 11 pay you with a kiss. . Isabel. With all my heart. What shall it be I Arch. Oh ! you know my favorite song. Isabel. Yes. Alas ! that was poor papa's favorite too. (She sings song, " You'll Remember Me." Archibald gets chair and places it c. ; gets on left hand of her; taking one hand in his leans tenderly over her. At end of song kisses her on the forehead. Barbara at back listening. Picture) CURTAIN Act II SCENE I. — Chamber in 4. Table and 2 chairs, r. h. Books on table, vases, etc., etc. Enter Lady Isabel and Levison, c. r. Levison. (l.) Do you remember the evening, Lady- Isabel, such a one as this, we all passed at Richmond — your father, Mrs. Vane, you, I, and the others ? Isabel, (r.) Yes, I remember it well. We passed a very pleasant day. The two Miss Challoners were with us. You drove Mrs. Vane home, and I went with poor papa. You drove recklessly, I recollect, and Mrs. Vane declared you should never drive her again. Levison. Which meant, not till next time. Of all capricious, vain, exacting women, Emma Vane was the worst. She was a systematic flirt, nothing better. I~ drove her recklessly on purpose to put her in a fright and pay her off. Isabel. Pay her off! Why, what had she done ? Levison. Put me in a rage ; saddled herself on me when she knew I desired another companion. Isabel. Oh, yes ! I know — Blanche Challoner. Levison. Blanche Challoner ! What did I care for her ? No, Lady Isabel, it was not Blanche ; you might have made a better guess at that time. Isabel. I do not understand you, sir. Levison. The past is gone, and cannot be recalled. We have both played our cards like simpletons. If ever two beings were formed to love each other, you and I were. I sometimes thought you. read my feelings. Isabel. Francis Levison — sir ! Levison. I must speak, Lady Isabel ; but a few words, and then I am silent forever. I would have declared myself then; but my debts, my uncertain position, my inability to keep a wife, as your taste and style demanded, crushed my hopes, and so I suffered you to escape me. Isabel. I will not listen to this language, sir. {Crosses l.) Levison. One single moment yet, I pray you. I have long wished you to know why I lost you — a loss that tells upon me yet ; but I knew not how passionately I loved you until you becfjne the wife of another. Isabel, I love yoi still. 18 u 1 EAST LYNNE ig Isabel. How dare you presume to address me thus ? Levison. What I have said can do no harm now ; the time has gone by. We have each chosen our parts in life and must abide by them. The gulf between us is impassable, but the fault was mine. I ought to have avowed my affec- tion for you, and not to have suffered you to throw yourself away on Mr. Carlyle. Isabel. Do I hear aright ? Throw myself away on Mr. Carlyle, my husband — beloved, honored, and esteemed by- all who know him ! Why, I married him of my own choice,, and have never since regretted it. Look at his manly bearing, his noble mind, his generous nature ! What are; you in comparison ? You forget yourself, Francis Levison. (Crosses, R.) Levison. No, I do not. I pray you forget and forgive 'what has escaped me, and suffer me to be as heretofore, the kind friend, the anxious brother, endeavoring to be of serv- ice to you in the absence of Mr. Carlyle. Isabel. It is what I have suffered you to be, looking upon^ou in the light of a friend, I might say relative; not otherwise would I have permitted your incessant compan- ionship ; and thus it is you have repaid me. My husband, and whom you would depreciate in my eyes, has sheltered you, and screened you from the law. He has thanked you for your attention to me. Could he have read what was in your false heart, he would have offered you thanks of a dif- ferent sort, I fancy. Levison. I ask your pardon, Lady Isabel. I have ac- knowledged my fault ; I can do no more. I shall not offend you again. But there are moments when our hearts' dear- est feelings break through the conventionalities of life, and betray themselves in spite of our sober judgment. But I see that I must leave you now ; so adieu — not adieu, but au revoir. Exit, c. L. Isabel. Oh I how can I ever tell my husband that this man, whom he has befriended and sheltered from the law, has thus dared to speak to me of love ! Heaven only knows what the consequences would be — a duel, perhaps. No, no, I cannot tell him ; yet I feel I ought to tell him all. I will seek him instantly, my kind, my good, my noble husband. Exit, c. R. E?iter Joyce, l. i e., meeting Wilson from r. i e. Wilson, (r.) I say, Joyce, don't you think she looks very 1 ? — my lady, I mean. She looks just as if she'd never get !• 20 EAST LYNNE over it. My goodness ! wouldn't somebody's hopes be rai.:ed again if anything was to happen ? Re-enter Isabel, c. r., and listens, Joyce, (l.) Oh! nonsense! what stuff! Wilson. You may cry out nonsense as much as you like, but they would ; she'd snap him up to a dead certainty ; she'd never let him escape her a second time ; she is just as much in love with him as ever. Joyce. That's all rubbish — all talk and fancy ! Mr. Car- lyle never cared for her, at all events. Wilson. That's more than you know. I've seen him kiss her ; and he gave her that locket and chain which she wears about her neck ; she hardly lets it off" either ; and I do believe she sleeps with it. Joyce. How thoroughly stupid she must be ! Wilson. And that's not all. I saw them one evening, many months ago, when I lived at Miss Hare's house. She always steals out to the gate when she thinks it is about time for Mr. Carlyle to pass on his way from his office, on purpose to have a sly chat with him. Well, this evening I crept down behind the hedges, and then I heard all they were saying ; she was crying bitterly, and then I heard Mr. Carlyle tell her that in future he could only be a dear brother to her ; and then I saw him kiss her. Joyce. Then she's a downright fool to go on crying for a man that never cared for her. Wilson. But she does do it yet ; and so I say if any- thing was to happen now, Miss Barbara, as sure as fate, would step into her shoes. I mean if Mr. Carlyle should ever get tired of my lady. Joyce. Wilson, have the goodness to recollect yourself. Wilson. Well, what have I said now ? Nothing but the truth. Men are shamefully fickle ; husbands are worse than sweethearts too, and if anything was to happen now — Joyce. I tell you what it is, Wilson, if you think to pur- sue this sort of topic at East Lynne, I shall inform my lady that you are not fit for the situation. Wilson. Oh ! you were always one of the straight-laced sort ; but I've had my say, and now I'm satisfied. Exit Wilson, r. ie, and Joyce, l. i e. Isabel, {advancing, c.) O misery, misery ! O how palpa- ble to all eyes must be that woman's love for my husband ! Palpable indeed when all East and West Lynne are talking of it ; and even my servants daily gossip over it, and ex- EAST LYNNE 21 tend their pity to me. Oh ! I cannot bear it — the thought will drive me frantic. {Sees Archibald e?itering, c. ; rushes to him and in afra?itic ma?iner) [Q Archibald ! do not marry her ! I could not rest in my grave if you did. She would draw your love from our children and from my memory. Archibald, you must not marry her. Arch. (l. h.) Why, Isabel ! you must be speaking under the influence of some terrible dream, and you are not awake. Be still awhile, and recollection will return to you. There, love, rest on me. {Folds her to his breast) Isabel, (r. h.) Oh ! no ; I know perfectly well what I am saying. To think of her as your wife brings pain enough to kill me. Promise me you will not marry her. Arch. I will promise anything in reason, my dear wife. But I do not know what you mean. There is no possibility of my marrying any one. You are my wife, are you not ? Isabel. I know I am now, but I might die. Indeed, I think I shall die. Oh ! do not let her usurp my place. Arch. Why, Isabel, what is your mind running on ? Who is it that is thus troubling you ? Of whom are you speaking ? Isabel. Of Barbara Hare. Arch. Isabel, what notion you can possibly have picked up concerning Barbara Hare and myself, I am unable to conceive. I never loved her either before marriage or since. Isabel. But she loved you. Arch. If this was so, she was more weak, reprehensibly foolish than I could have thought her. I had given her credit for having better sense. A woman may almost as well love herself as suffer herself to love unsought. If, however, she did give her love to me, I can only say that I was entirely unconscious of it. Believe me, Isabel, you have as much cause to be jealous of my sister Cornelia as of Barbara Hare. Isabel. Oh ! I will believe you, Archibald ; it was only a foolish thought. I will banish it forever from my mind. {Aside) I cannot tell him I was foolish enough to listen to the gossip of my servants ; he would despise me for it. {Aloud) I. will leave you now. I am fatigued, I will retire to my own room. {Going, r.) Yes, I will trust him; if not, in whom can I trust ? Exit, R. 2 E. Sch. What can have put this by-gone nonsense into ■fife's head ? 22 EAST LYNNS Enter Miss Corney, r. i e . Miss C. Archibald, I wish to speak to you in reg-ard to Sf^nefs.^" 8011 - l d ° n,t Hke dther hlS a P™e or trett^ithXtt. 116 " Wgu^«Hl as such must be Miss C. {crossing, l.) With respect, indeed » He's a good-for-nothing villain, if Fm any judge of character and I don't care how soon you tell him so. cnaiacter > and Exit, L. I E. Arch. Poor Cornelia! she's hard to please- she's evi- dently annoyed at some trifling matter. ' £>zter Barbara, r. h. Ah! good-morning, Barbara. I am glad to see vou at my house. Did you come by yourself? Y Barb, (r h.) Yes, Archibald. You must pardon mv in- trusion at this hour, and regard me as a client. I cam e on some business for mamma, but it's of a private nature Mamma was too ill to come out herself, so she ha sent me' • Can we converse without being overheard ? Arch. Be at ease, Barbara, this room is free from the Barbara C ""T* (( ** '***> P 4 be seated! BARB.* S t r^" SeCrCtS '^ y ° U to disd0Se ? Arch. Richard at East Lynne ! ; Barb. He appeared near the house last night and made on TnSnTit'rbe'T?^ Y °V^ ™^ne ^su^risl on nnding it to be Richard in disguise. He has been in ash n ame n d a to tell ™ V?^ haIf " sta ™ng. I am almos" ArchTb^h. Z ' bu \ workin 2 ln a stable-yard; and O b m ;r'„ b a u ^'oV"n:or o reallydid the ^—p^s, Arch. Thorn? What Thorn can it be > Bare. I don't know ; some friend of Afy's who used to ride over to the cottage in secret visits to hen ArchTblid he swears to me in the most solemn manner ; and I believe hun as truly as that I am now speaking to you I a m you to see h.m yourself. He is coming to the grove again to night He will tell you all the circumstances*? AeTm£ night, and perhaps you can find out a way in which Mi innocence can be made manifest. You are so clever y can do anything. VCI ' 'ilS EAST LYNNE 23 Arch. < Not quite everything, Barbara. But was this the purport of Richard's visit — to tell you this ? Barb. Oh ! no ; he thinks it would be of no use to assert his innocence, for nobody would believe him against the evidence already given. He came to ask for a hundred pounds. He says if he can get that sum he has an oppor- tunity of doing better for himself than he has hitherto done. So mamma has sent me to you. She has not that sum by her at present, and as it is for Richard, she dare not ask papa for it. She says, if you can oblige her with the money, she will arrange with you about the repayment. Arch. Do you want it now ? If so, I must send Dill to the office. I have not that sum by me in the house. Barb. Can you not bring it with you, and see Richard at the^same time ? Arch. It is hazardous, for him I mean. Still, as he is to be in the grove, I may as well see him. What disguise is he in ? Barb. That of a farm laborer — the best he could adopt in these parts — also a heavy pair of black whiskers. He is to be there at ten precisely. Arch. Well, then, I think I can come ; but in order to do so I must disappoint a supper-party to which we have been invited. However, my wife won't mind that when I tell her the business is so urgent. Yes, you can tell your mother I'll come. Barb. O Archibald! you are very kind to us! You have ever treated me like a dear sister, and mamma is grateful to you for all your attention to her. I fear we can never repay you sufficiently. Rises to go, r. 1 e. Arch, {rising) I have only done what I felt to be my duty in the matter. {Crosses r. h.) Let me escort you to the gate. Exit with Barbara, arm-in- arm, r. i e., at same time e?iter Lady Isabel, r. 2 e., and Levison, c. l., in time to see them off. Isabel, (r. h. looking after them) That woman here — in privacy with my husband — under, my very roof, too ! — Ah ! then, it is too true. My husband no longer loves me ! ( Tur?is and sees Levison.) You here, sir ? {Sits at table, R.) T evison. (l. h.) Who the deuce is that Barbara Hare ? s a very pretty girl. She seems to have a very good erstand; ig with your husband. Several times I've en- : 24 EAST LYNNE countered them too-erher nn th* i~ . . walks, and private S, W " 6nj ° ylng moonlight Isabel, (coldly) What did you say sir ? Retires up, l. h. Enter Joyce, l. i e. tirefor'the'nLTt^nd 6 ^^' ** Isabd wishes going to sleep Wa " tS you t0 kiss her before andleave £***» ** the " UrSe to ^ ** <*ild to bed, sayn^goShf h rL PU ' * e Chi L d t0 bed with -t even here. g ^ Theres sc ™ething strange going on Exit, l. i e. terming SeffoVL^l'^t" the ' iberty o( c0 »n- she has qnite enongh Iheady S3bel S " ew fr ° Ck - J thil * cafe <&#£} bSffl^X'SKl^J?- I will be mistress in my own house. UtUre -£W7 future life be peaceful, for happy it can never be. ( Taking her ha?id, kindly) Farewell, Isabel. Exit, c. L. Isabel, (rises and crosses to left of table) And now I am alone forever ! Why don't I die ! — why don't I die ! (Falls in chair — bows head on table, sobbing bitterly.) CURTAIN ACT IV . SCENE I. — Chambering Enter Archibald and Dill, c. r. i Dill. (r. h.) Mr. Carlyle, who do you think has had the audacity to come to West.Lynne, and set himself up as a candidate in opposition to you ? Arch, (l.h.) A second man? Let him come on; we shall have the satisfaction of knowing who wins in the end. Well, who is this formidable opponent ? Di^l. Mr. Francis Levison. But you won't let that beast frighten you from the contest, will you ? Enter Barbara Hare, now Mrs. Carlyle, c. r. Barb, (c.) Archibald, you will not suffer this insolent man's doings to deter you from your plans ? You will not withdraw ? Arch. Certainly not, Barbara. He has thrust himself offensively upon me in this measure, and I think my better plan will be to take no more notice of him than if he were, the dirt under my feet. \ Barb. Quite right, quite right, my husband. Enter Miss Corney, l. h. Miss C. Archibald, have you heard this Disgraceful news ? Arch. I have heard it, Cornelia, and had I not, the very walls would have enlightened me. Miss C. You will carry on the contest now ? I was averse to it before ; but now I withdraw all my objections. You will be no brother of mine if you yield the field to him. Arch. I do not intend to yield it. Miss C. Good ! You will bear on upon your course, and let him crawl on his. Take no more notice of him than if he were a viper. Archibald, you must canvass now. Arch. No, I shall be elected without canvassing. You'll see, Cornelia. Miss C. I'll give you a thousand pounds myself Tor all of the electors. 38 - EAST LYNNE 39 Arch. Keep your money, sister, it will not be needed. . ► . Miss C. Weil, I've heard of a Lady Somebody that kissed a blacksmith to insure her husband's election. Now, I'm sure I'd kiss every man in East and West Lynne, black- smiths included, to insure your election. |, Exit l. H. Dill. And I'm sure I'd kiss every woman. • • . -V Exit l. h. %sTk Barb. Archibald, I wish to say something to you. I fear I've done a foolish thing. Arch. I fear we all do sometimes. Well, what is it ? Barb. It is something that I've had on my mind for months. You remember that night three years ago that Richard came to us in the grove. I mean that— that night that Lady Isabel quitted East Lynne. Richard came back to me again after he had left us in the grove. I was stand- ing at the open window. He saw me, and motioned me out. to him. He declared to me that he had just met the real Thorn in the lane. He described a peculiar motion of the hand as he constantly threw back the hair from his brow, and also spoke of the diamond ring, how it glittered in the moonbeams. Since that time I have had a firm belief that k Thorn and Levison are one and the same person. f Arch. Indeed! Why did you not mention this before ? Barb. I did not like to remind you of that night before ; but to-day I saw Sir Francis Levison in the street, address- ing a crowd of people who had assembled to hear him speak, and there was the old action of the hand that my brother had before described. I have therefore written to Richard to steal down here, and try, if possible, to discover the identity. The letter has gone. Arch. Well, we must shelter him as best we can. I, myself, feel convinced that Thorn and Levison are one. Barb. Indeed! How long have you thought so ? Arch. Not until to-day. I never suspected it before ; but from many circumstances that I can now call to mind I am almost certain of it. Barb. Archibald, dear husband, what can be done to clear him ? Arch. Being Levison, I cannot act. Barb. Not act ? — not act for Richard Arch*"* My dearest, how can I ? You have not considered, Barbara — any one in the world but Levison. It would seem like my own revenge. 40 EAST LYNNE Barb. Forgive me. I did not think of it in that light. You are right, my husband, as you always are. Let us wait till Richard comes. Arch. Spoken like my own wife. Now, Barbara, you must sing to me. {She sings song " You'll remember me." Archibald in sa?ne situation with Barbara as with Isabel, , at e?id of Act I) Enter Lady Isabel as Madam Vine during song, at c. d. l. . it end of song she sighs deeply. Archibald and Bar- bara tnrn and see her. Barb. Ah ! This is Madam Vine, I believe, our new governess. Please to step this way, Madam Vine. I hope you are not overfaligued by your journey. Why, how pale you look ! You are ill, are you not ? Mad. V. (c.) No, not ill, r&adam, only a little fatigued. Arch. (l. h.) Barbara, you had better ring for a glass of wine and some lunch. I am sure Madam Vine must re- quire some refreshment after her tiresome journey. And now I'll leave you to arrange matters between yourselves. {Looks closely at Madam Vine as he goes out) I've seen those features before, I'm certain of it ; but where can it have been? Exit l. h., slowly, as if'.in deep study. Barb, (r.) Madam Vine, will you allow me to ring for some wine and a lunch ? Mad. V. (l.) Oh ! no, madam, don't trouble yourself. I can't take anything »just now. TBarb. You looked so pale I feared you might be ill. Mad. V. I am generally pale, sometimes remarkably so, but my health is good. - Barb. Mrs. Latimer wrote us that you were a very estimable and worthy person, and that you would be sure to suit us. I hope you may, and that you may find your residence here agreeable. Have you lived much in Eng- land ? Mad. V. In the early portion of my life. Barb. And you have lost your husband and your chil- dren:"' I think Mrs. Latimer mentioned children. , Mad. V. Madam, I've lost all— all ! Barb. Oh ! it must be a terrible grief when our little ones die. I could not lose my babe for the world ; it would kill me to part with him. \ « Mad. V. Terrible grief indeed, and hard to bear ; but it does not always kill. EAST LYNNE 4 1 Bar's. You are no doubt aware that these children you will have charge of are not mine ; they are the children of Mr. Carlyle's first wife. Mad. V. And Mr. Carlyle's ; yes, madam, I have heard so. She is dead, is she not ? Barb. Yes, she was killed by a railway accident in France some two years ago. She was the only daughter .of the late Lord Mount Severn. She was very attractive and beautiful ; but I do not think she cared much for her husband. Be that as it may, she ran away with Sir Francis Levison. Mad. V. I have heard so, madam ; it was very sad. Barb. Sad ; it was very wicked — it was infamous. Of all husbands in the world, of all men living, Mr. Carlyle least deserved such a requital ; but the affair was a mystery throughout. Sir Francis Levison had been staying some time at East Lynne, but no one had ever detected any undue intimacy between them, not even Mr. Carlyle. To him, as to others, the cause must remain a mystery. But of course the disgrace is inflicted on the childr%% and always will be — -the shame of having a divorced mother. Mad. V. But you say she is dead, madam. Barb. Yes, true ; they will not be the less pointed at; -tmriiule' *g1rt especially. They allude to their mother now- and then in conversation, Joyce tells me ; but I would recommend you not to encourage them in that. They had better forget her altogether, if possible. Mr. Carlyle would naturally wish th^m to do so. I trust you may be able to insiik-such principles into the mind of the little girl, as shall keep her from a like fate. | .» yV Mad. V. I will, madam. But do they enjoy good' health ? Barb. Quite so, all except the oldest boy,, William. He has a slight cough, and the doctors think his lungs are affected. Mr. Carlyle also fears that he is not long for this world. Mad. V. And how does Mr. Carlyle bear the thought of parting with him ? Barb. Bravely, madam. Mr. Carlyle is not the man to betray emotion, whatever his feelings may be. Even when Lady Isabel left him he made no outward sign of grief, al- though it must have wrung his very heartstrings. Mad. V. Ay, madam, because he did not love her truly; s best lo^e was given to another. Barb, sou are mistaken. She was his heart's sole idol. Carlyle is a man who always speaks the truth, and he 42 EAST LYNNE told me, in his confidence, that he would never have mar- ried again during Lady Isabel's lifetime. 4 Mad. V. But is it sure that she is dead ? Barb. Oh ! yes, beyond all doubt. She was journeying with her nurse and infant child at the time of the shocking accident. Her uncle, the present Lord Mount Severn, wrote to the authorities of the little town where it happened, and they sent him word that the nurse and child were killed on the spot, and that the two ladies occupying the same compartment of the carriage had since died of their injuries, and that one of them was certainly the mother of the child. Besides, Lord Mount Severn had placed an annuity in the bank, to be drawn by her quarterly, that has never been touched ; so that proves, beyond all doubt, that she no longer lives. Mad. V. Quite true, madam. Barb. It was a shocking affair all through. Poor Lady Isabel ! Could she have foreseen her fate, she never would have taken such a rash step ; -or had she known what a vil- lain Levison was. He was not only a bad man in principle, but he was a murderer ! Mad. V. Oh ! no — no ; not a murderer, a bad man, a very- bad man ; but not a murderer. Barb. Oh ! did you know him,, then ? • Mad. V. Oh ! no ; I did not know him, madam ; but I have heard the story. Barb. It has not been proved , but I feel confident, in my own mind, that it soon will be. E?iter William, followed by Joyce, r. i e. Joyce goes up to the table. Barb. This is the little sick boy I spoke of, Madam Vine — little William. Mad. V. {rushes to him and clasps him in her arms) Oh ! my boy, my boy ! Are you ill, my darling? Are you sick, William ? ( To Barbara) I beg your pardon, madam ; but I have lately lost a little boy of his age, and when we have lost children of our own, we are apt to love fondly all we come near. William, (with Madam V., r. h.) Mamma, may I ride to town with you to-day ? Barb. My dear, I shall not go to town to-day ; besides, you are not yet strong enough ; you did wrong tajeave the^ nursery to-day ; this air is too chilly for you. Talte him imv Joyce. EAST LYNNE 43 Toyce ( 2ives Barbara letter) My lady, here's a letter the pitman has just brought; I forgot it till now. Come, W B\r!b ' Madam Vine, this is Joyce, who has had charge of the children ever since their mother left them. Joyce goes to r. h., to take William from Mad. Vine ; rec- J agnizes her as Lady Isabel; makes a movement of sur- prise as if to scream.-lSABELputs a finger on her lips as a signal to be silent and not betray A^.-Joyce takes William and&xits slowly, R. H. Barbara is busy read- ing the letter, and does not see this action. bIrb. (aside) Ah! this is from brother Richard to inform me of his coming. I must go and see my husband at once (To Madam V.) Madam Vine, I must beg you to excuse Trie for the present. I am called away by some most im- portant duties. Make yourself perfectly at home m my absence. East Lynne is small, and I've no doubt you 11 soon become familiar with it, Exit, l. H. |*Mad V. Familiar with East Lynne ! Did she but know how familiar East Lynne is to me ! What will be my trials now! to see him, my husband once, caress the woman 1 hates to be compelled to witness the thousand little proots of affection that were once bestowed upon me ; to see his love for her child, while I must teach my own children- to foro-et my memory. Oh ! why did I come here, why place mylfelf m such daily torments? O Isabe ! patience- patience ! Is it thus you bear your cross in life ? {Retires up stage as closed in) Scene II.— Landscape in i. Enter Sir Francis Levison, r. h., walking hurriedly , ^^^^-..w. about. ' LEVisdN (R. h.) What a confounded fool I was to thnftfc- of tfyingVi on at East Lynne! Carlyle has, no d^ UDt , do'ible the "friends I have ; but since I have entered t££ ffcfo jagai»st4ttmi- I'll not back out. I'm determined to stfand my ground. J Enter Miss Corney, l. i e,— She meets Lkvjson face to face — He lifts his hat and bows. ! Miss C. (l. h.) Did you intend that insult for me, ^Francis Levison? 44 EAST LYNNE Levison. That all depends on how you are pleased to take it. Miss C. You dare lift your hat to me ? Have you for- gotten that I am Miss Carlyle ? Levison. It would be a hard matter to forget the face, having once seen it. Miss C. You contemptible worm, I despise you ! Do you think I am to be insulted with impunity ? Out upon you for a bold, bad man. Enter Officer, r. i e. Taps Levison en the shoulder. Officer. Francis Levison, I arrest you — you are my prisoner. Levison. {pushing Officer's hand off him) Hands off, vermin ! You are too familiar on short acquaintance. Of what crime am I accused ? Officer. That you'll soon learn. You must come with me at once. {Handcuffs Levison.) Levison. Oh ! certainly, sir, if you desire it. This is some ridiculous mistake — it will be set right in the morning. Good-day, angelic Miss Carlyle, loveliest of your sex. 3 m sorry this agreeable little confab was cut so short. I'll come back and renew it in the morning. Take care of your precious self, and look out for the naughty, naughty men — ta-ta — ta-ta. Exit, followed by Officer, r. i e. Miss C. {calls after them) Here, officer! officer! Be sure you get his photograph taken. It will be an excellent picture for the rogues' gallery ! Oh ! dear, he's put me in such a fluster, that I must get home as fast as possible, and get some juniper-berry tea to settle my nerves. Exit, L. H. .» Scene III. — Chamber in 4. William discovered lying on couch y c. — Madam Vine seate behind at head, bending over him. Wil liam. Madam Vine, how 16ng will it be before die? Mad. V ■- What makes you think you will die, William ? Willi a" I am certain of it, Madam Vine; -but it is notbini; to when our Saviour loves us; but why do you grieve SO* for me? I am not your child. 3 Mad. V. 1 knew you are not my child, but I lost a little boy like you. ^ EAST LYNNE 45 v William. It will be so pleasant to go up there, and never be tired or ill any more. Mad. V. Pleasant ! Ay, William, would that time were oome ! ** William. Madam Vine, do you think mamma will be there ? I mean my own mamma that was. Mad. V. Ay, child, ere long, I trust. William. But how can I be sure that she will be there ? You know she was not quite good to papa or to us, and I sometimes think she did not grow good and ask Heaven to forgive her. Mad. V. O William, her whole life after she left you was one long scene of. repentance — of seeking forgiveness ; but her sorrow was greater than she could bear, and her heart broke in its yearning for you. William. What makes you think so ? Mad. V. Child, I know it — I know it. William. Did you ever see her, Madam Vine ? Did you know her abroad ? Mad. V. Yes, child, I knew her abroad. William. Why did you not tell us before ? What did she sa\ to you ? Mad. V. That she was parted from her chila^#« here, v but that she should meet them again in heaven, and be with '/'Afoem forever: there, where all the awful pain and sadness, all the guilt of this world will be washed out, and He will* wipe our tears. William. How shall I know her there ? You see I have nearly forgotten what she was like. Mad. V. You will know her when you see her there, never fear, William. Enter Archibald, r. i e. Sits on foot of couch. Arch. Well, Madam Vine, how is your little patient this evening ? Mad. V. He appears worse — more weak. arch. My little son, Madam Vine is an untiring nurse to ou, is she not ? Williams- Papa, I want to see my sister Lucy, and Joyce too. ' ■ Arch. Very well, my little son. - I'll send them to you presentlv Madam Vine, do you not perceive a change in his countenance ? Mad. V. Yes, he has looked like that since a strange fit of trembling came over him this afternoon. Arch. Oh ! it is hard to lose him thus. a6 east lynne Mad. V. He will be better off. We can bear death ; it is not the worst parting the earth knows. He will be quit of this cruel world and sheltered in heaven. It would be well for all of us if we could go there as pure as he is. Arch. There, William, keep yourself quiet. I'll go and bring your sister Lucy and your mamma to see you. I'll not be gone many minutes. Exit, R. D. Mad. V. {rising') Q_Heaven ! my punishment is more than I can bear. He has gone to bring that woman here that she may mingle her shallow sympathy with his deep grief. Oh ! if ever retribution came to woman, it has come to me now. I can no longer bear it. I shall lose my senses. O William ! in this last, dying hour try to think I am your mother. William. Papa has gone for her now. Mad. V. No, not that woman there, not that woman. ( Throws off cap and spectacles) Look at me, William. I am your mother ! {Catches him in her arms. He says " Moth er" faintly, and falls back dead in her arms.) Oh ! he is dead ! — • he is dead. O William ! wake and call me mother once again ! My child is dead ! — my child is dead ! Enter Joyce, r. h. Joyce, (r. at foot of couch) O my lady ! let me lead you from this room, they will discover you. Mad. V. (l. h.) O Joyce ! leave me to my grief. See here — my child is dead! and never knew that I was his mother. I don't care what I've been, I am his mother still. O my child — my child — my heart will break — my heart will break ! {Falls and sobs convulsively) Curtain ACT V SCENE I. — Landscape in i. Enter Barbara and Joyce, r. h. Joyce, (r.) But, my lady, will not Madam Vine's^ illness prevent you from making your usual trip to the seaside ? Barb, (l.) Oh ! no. Miss Corney will look after the house in my absence, and— Dill will be here to assist her. Rich- ard's trial will be over to-day, and, if he is cleared, I shall prevail upon him to accompany me. I shall start on Mon- day ; this, you know, is Friday ; so you will have ample ■me to get everything in readiness. I Joyce. Very well, my lady. I'll attend to it. Exit, R. H. I Barb. My poor brother ! If he were only free, my hap- l .$i(iness would be complete. {Shouts, l. h.) Hark ! what mean those shouts ? ■ E)iter Miss Corney, l. Miss Corney. (l.) Well, it's all settled at last. Richard's free, at all events. I heard the news as I came along, and the very people who have been abusing him for the last seven years are the very ones who are cheering him. I saw that Afy Hallijohn as I came along — not that I'd con- descend to notice such a creature, but she was decked out. She had on a green and white silk, flounced up to the waist, extended over a crinoline that would reach from here over yonder ; a fancy bonnet stuck on the back part of her head, with a wreath and veil ; delicate kid gloves, and swinging a handkerchief highly perfumed with musk. ~Oh ! it was per- fectly disgusting ! {Retires zip.) Enter Richard Hare — Crosses to Barbara. Rich, (c.) Barbara, my dear sister, I am free at last, ce more I can walk abroad without fear. arb. I thank Heaven my dear brother is restored to at last. ch. Yes, the trial is over. Sir Francis Levison ^has en proved guilty, and he has just received his sentence. Miss C (l.) What was it ? 47 48 EAST LYNNE Rich. Transportation for life, for the murder of John Ha'flijohn. Miss C. Only for life ? ^ , » Barb. O Miss Corney ! you may depend upon it, his , {punishment is quite sufficient. The lingering torture of ***■ mind he will have to endure in the galleys is a thousand - times worse than death. But see, Richard, here comes .papa to welcome you. Enter Justice Hare, l., crosses to Richard. Justice H. (c.) O Richard ! my dear boy, I am now proud to own you. This is the happiest day of my life. {Shouts and groaiis, L. H.) Hark ! what's all that uproar and confusion ? Oh ! I see ; it's that villain, Levison ; they are taking him to prison, and the mob are after him. They are coming this way, too ; let's be off. I'm so happy that I don't want to encounter that villain, for fear the sight of him would put me in a pas- sion again. Come, my children. All exit, r., except Miss Corney. Miss C. {crosses r.) Well, they may all go ; but I shall remain to have the pleasure of wishing Sir Francis Levison a pleasant journey to prison. Enter, l., Levison, followed by an officer. •Levison. Thank fortune, I have escaped the mob at last. They are on the wrong track, and I can now proceed in quietness. ( Turns and sees Miss Corney.) Oh ! that hag here? Miss C. Good day, Sir Francis Levison ; those bracelets become you exceedingly well. Levison. Yes, as you say, they are of a very choice pattern. The workmanship about them is very elaborate — truly fine. I'm sorry they've got such an affectionate hold on me, else I'd transfer them to you with the greatest pleas- ure. By-the-by, Miss Corney, give my regards to your brother, the pettifogging lawyer at East Lynne, and tell him ' that, should he want a lock of his first wife's hair, I have one, which I, will give him, free gratis. {Crosses, r.) MisS;C. Sir Francis Levison, you are utterly devoid of feeling or honor. But times are changed since last we met:' What will you do for your diamonds, your kid gloves, your perfumed handkerchiefs, in the hulks ? Levison. Do? why I suppose I shall have to do without ' them as many a man has done before me. There's one EAST LYNNE 49 thing I shall have to console me, though — I sha'n't be. bored with youiiugly mug there. {Officer taps him on the shoulder, and pointSt off r.) ^ Yes, I know, directly, sir. Don't interrupt me when you see I'm talking to a lady. ( To Miss Corney.) I hate*"t^ be severe upon you, angelic Miss Corney. Don't forget my advice about the naughty, naughty men; and "take good care of yourself — your precious self; and also of your red flannel petticoat — ta, la — ta, la ! Exit, with officer, R. H. Miss C. Well, I do declare, he's an out-and-out villain, and I do believe he'd try to practice his arts on me, if he thought there was any chance of his succeeding. Exit, L. H. Scene II. — Chamber in i. Enter Archibald, l. h., meeting Joyce from r. h. Arch, (l.) Well, Joyce, how is Madam Vine to-day ? — - no worse, I hope. Joyce, (r.) Oh ! sir, I fear she is dying. Arch. Dying! I'll see her myself. {Attempts to go r.) Joyce, {stopping him) Oh ! no, no, sir, do not go to her room please, sir ; don't think of going to her room. Arch. What ! let a lady die in my house and not look after her ? Enter Miss Corney, l. h. Cornelia, Joyce tells me that she thinks Madam Vine is dying. ■ Miss C. Dying ! I can't think what has come over Joyce. Lately she acts more like a simpleton than anything else. {Crosses r.) Move out of the way, girl. {Going toward door, r.) rgJoYCE. Oh! no, no, ma'am; you must not enter her. room. I Miss C. Well, I declare! What will you do next, I wonder ? Archibald, do you go for 3. physician directly. Exit Archibald, l. Joyce, I think your brain must be softening — move out of the way. Throws Joyce round, a?id exits, R. Joyce. O my poor lady! What will become of you now ? They will discover all. Exit, r. h. nan T 1 on 50 EAST LYNNE Scene III. — Chamber in 4. Isabel discovered in bed, c. Isabel. Oh ! I am dying — dying alone ! with no one to -soothe and comfort me. Oh! if I could but see Archibald and ask his forgiveness, I should die in peace. Enter Miss CornEy, r. h. Miss C. Well, now, if that Joyce was a drinking woman I should certainly say she was frightfully boozy. {Red nizing Isabel.) Mercy be good L How came you here Isabel. Oh ! do not reproach me, Miss Corney. I am my way to Heaven, to 'answer for all my sins and all J sorrows. Miss C. (r. At side of couch}) No, poor child ! I will not reproach you. Isabel. I am glad to go. Our Saviour did not come, you know, to save the good like you, but for the sake of guilty wretches like me. I have tried to take up my cross as He bade me, and bear it bravely for His sake, but its weight has killed me. Miss C. Had I anything to do with sending you from East Lynne ? Isabel. No, I was not very happy here with you ; but that was not the cause of -my going away. Forgive me, Miss Carlyle, but I want to see Archibald and ask him to forgive me before I die. Hiave prayed to Joyce to bring him to -me ; but she said it could not be. O Miss Carlyle ! do let me see him, only, for one little minute, and I will die bless- ing you. Miss C. Poor child ! You shall see him. {Goes to R. door and calls.) Here, Joyce, Joyce ! Enter Joyce, r. h. Goa^Lrequest your master to come up to me. Joyce.£vT naa'-am ! do you think it will do — I mean, would Ltbe^il'?: ' Miss C. Go and do- as I bid you. Are-you the mistress, here, "or -ain I ? . - Go ! »$ . Exit Joyce, r. h. Now, poor child, I will leave you. You shall see Archi- bald alone. Isabel. Oh ! bless you, Miss Corney ; you have taken a load from my soul, you are too kind. (Miss C. kisses her.) And you have kissed me too, and I, thank you for that. EAST LYNNE Miss C. (goi?ig r.) Well, I believe I did kiss her ; but it as all the fault of that Joyce, she h3s flustered me so. Exit, L, H. I Isabel. And I shall see my dear husband once more — ask him to forgive me — and then I shall have done, with life, i Enter Archibald, l. h. -Arch. I am deeply grieved, Madam Vine — {Recognises Isabel.) Great heavens ! Isabel — here ! Isabel. Archibald, I could not die till I had your forgive- ness. Oh ! do not turn away from me — bear with me one little minute — only say that you will forgive me, and I can rest in peace. Arch. (l. h.) Why did you come here ? Isabel. I' could not stay away from you and my children, trhe longing for the sight of them was killing me. I never 'knew one moment's peace after the mad act I was guilt} r of — in quitting you. Not an hour had I departed ere repent- ance set in. Even then I would have come back, but I did not know how. My sin was great, and my punishment has been greater ; it has been one long scene of mental agony. Arch. Why did you go away ? v . Isabel. Did you not know why ? Arch. No ; it was always a mystery to me. Isabel. I went out of love for you. Oh ! do not look at me in that reproachful way ! I loved you dearly, and I grew suspicious of you. I thought you false .and deceitful to me ; that your love was given to her who is now your wife, arid, in my sore jealousy, I listened to the temptings of that bold- bad" man, who whispered of revenge. But it was not so, was it, Archibald ? ^Rrch. Can you ask me that, knowing me as you did then, and .as you must have known me since? I never was false to you in word, in thought, or in deed. . ^Kabel. I know it now, but I was mad. I never could nave committed the act in anything but madness. Oh ! say that you will forget all and forgive me ! Arch. I cannot forget— I have forgiven already. . Isabel. 1*hink what it has been for me to live in the same house with her who is now your wife, to watch the envied caresses which once were mine, to see your great love for her ; think what it was for me to watch by the death- bed of my own child, to see his decaying strengtll^to be alone with him in his dying hour, and not be able to tell EAST LYNNE him /was his mother. And then, to see you soothe her petty grief, and I, his mother, standing by. Oh ! it has 'been to me as the bitterness of death ! Arch. You were wrong to come back. Isabel. I know it was all wrong ; but you were my hus- band once. Oh ! that the fearful pa#t could be^blotfed out, that I could wake up and find this alf a hideous- dream ! Archibald, let your thoughts go back to the time when you first knew me, when I was a happy gi»l here, and my dear old father's petted child ; and after, in the happy days I was your wife, and our little one^ were about us. . Do >ou not wish that all this dark fact had never been ? Do you not wish it, Archibald ? Arch. Yes, Isabel, for your sake, I wish it. Isabel; 3 am going to William, but my other children will be left with you. Do not, in your love for your late children, do not lose your love for them.. Arch. Isabel, they are as dear to me as you once were. Isabel. As I once was, and tnight have been now. Archibald. I am now on the very threshold of the other world ; will you not say one word of love to me before I pass it ? Let what I am be blotted for the moment from $ your memory. Will you not bless me ? Only a word of love — my heart is breaking for it. Arch. You nearly broke mine when you left me, Isabel. {Goes to her and takes her hand) May He so deal with you, as I fully and freefy forgive you.-- May He bless you and take you to His rest in Heaven ! Isabel. To His rest in Heaven! Archibald, you are leaving me. Arch, {gets back at head of couch) You are growing faint, Isabel. Let me call assistance. ( Takes her head in his arms.) Isabel. No, do not stir — it is rfot faintness — it is — death ! Oh ! but it is hard^to part so ! Farewell, my once dear hus- band, until — eternity ! Soft music Arch. Until eternity. She falls back in his arms and dies. — He lews her gently down and stands in attitude of deep grief, as* if invoking the blessing of Heaven for her soul. curtain ' Practical Eloeution By J. ST. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 300 Pages, Cloth, Leather Back, $1.25 This work is the outgrowth of actual class-room ex- )erience, and is a practical, commoivsense treatment >f the whole subject. - It is clear and concise, yet com- rebensive, and is absolutely free from the entangling jchnicalities that are so frequently found in books of jhis class. It advocates .no individual system, but ap- peals to the intelligence of any ordinary mind, and it can therefore be as successfully used by the average teacher of reading, as by the trained elocutionist. 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