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THE MAGIETISEE 
 
 THE PHODI&AL 
 
 COMEDIES IN PROSE 
 
 LAUGHTON OSBOEN 
 
 NEW YOEK 
 JAMES MILLER, 647 BEOADWAT 
 
 MDCCCLXIX 
 
75 2,4-14- 
 .04-1*"=- 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
 
 LAUGH TON OSBORN, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 The New York Printing Company, 
 
 8i, 83, and 85 Centre St., 
 
 New York. 
 
THE MAGl^ETISEK 
 
 OR 
 
 READY FOR ANYBODY 
 
 MDCCCXLII 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Clairvoir, a wealthy widower. 
 
 Racy, his half-brother. 
 
 Schuyler Walton, engaged to Clairvoir s daughter. 
 
 Frank Randolph, a young Virginian, nephew to Racy through 
 
 his wife, and his son and heir by adoption. 
 Arnold Dulruse, engaged to Clairvoirs niece. 
 Sanzacarlini, a needy Neapolitan. 
 Gtantelet, French servant to Randolph. 
 
 Catharine, Clairvoirs daughter. 
 
 Mary Mildmay, his niece. 
 
 Mrs. Dulruse, his housekeeper, — Arnold's mother. 
 
 Letty, Catharine' } s maid. 
 
 Scene. New York. 
 Time. That occupied by the action. 
 
THE MAGNETISEE 
 
 Act the First 
 
 Scene I. In Clairvoir's house. — A drawingroom, with three 
 windows, having Venetian blinds on the outside. The sashes 
 of the windows are raised, and the blinds of one of them 
 bowed, with the laths inclining downward. At this latter 
 window, Mary Mildmay is seen sitting, in a listless attitude, 
 as though she was looking idly into the street; her cheek 
 rests upon one hand, while the other holds some needlework 
 negligently upon her lap. 
 
 Enter 
 
 Catharine, gaily. She runs up to Mary, 
 
 clapping her hands together. 
 
 Cath. They 're at it ! they 're at it ! Coz ! cousin Mary ! 
 Why, what the deuse is in the girl ? [shaking her.] Here is 
 the greatest sport in the world going on, and all within doors ; 
 yet you sit there moping, gazing through the blinds at ash- 
 carts and omnibuses, as if there was poetry in dust and music 
 
 in wagon-wheels. * Come along, there 's a dear ! Have you 
 Yol. V.— 2 
 
6 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 no respect for science ? no regard [pompously.] for the exalta- 
 tion of human nature by the demonstration of magnetical 
 affinities ? ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Mary. I am not in spirits, Kate. 
 
 Cath. [Mimicking.] Not in spirits, Kate ! Not in liquor, I 
 suppose. Now, if you were a man, I should verily believe 
 you were. But I '11 tell you what you are in, Mary ; you 're 
 in love ; and that 's the most spiritless thing in the world, 
 I 'm sure. 
 
 Mary. [Rising.] I should hope not, cousin ; for then, poor 
 Mr. Walton ! 
 
 Cath. Well, that sounds somewhat like life. And now, 
 since you are fairly roused, let us off to the library. [Brings 
 her forward.] Come, instead of watching for Mr. Arnold 
 Dulruse, let us see what Mr. Arnold's mother is doing to my 
 papa and your uncle. 
 
 Mary. But, Kate dear, how can you tease one so ? You 
 know I never — that is — I mean — I never now like to 
 talk of Arnold. 
 
 Cath. No, but — that is — I mean — you love to think 
 on him. Ha, ha ! my gentle,' and most constant, and grave, 
 and pensive Mary, how you blush ! 
 
 Mary. You have bad eyes, cousin. 
 
 Cath. Then Schuyler tells me very great fibs. The dear, 
 
 good-for-nothing, rhyming ! Did n't he say, that — 
 
 Let me see, what was it ? — ! [Declaiming.] u Oh, by 
 those eyes, whose rays are like " — are like — ! " are like 
 
 the stars, That through the blue of heaven their " and so 
 
 on. There ! you malicious little devil, you see that I am 
 
ACT I. SC. 1. 
 
 greater than Atlas ; I bear a firmament between my eyelids, 
 and am a sort of peripatetic animated universe, or at least 
 a circumambulatory supercelestial ! Bad eyes, you envious 
 creature ? Stars ! stars ! and of the first magnitude. When 
 did your dull prosaic lover ever say anything half so fine to you ? 
 
 Mary. Why, in truth, never. And I am much obliged to 
 him ; for, had he likened my eyes to stars, I should have 
 thought that he felt himself in the dark when under their 
 beams, and that a release to the streets was a welcome escape 
 into daylight, or a waking from the night into morning. Ot 
 trite similes, the sun is rather more cheerful and vivifying, if 
 one must have such celestial nonsense. 
 
 Cath. I vow, I '11 pinch you to death. But come, coz. 
 
 Mary. Where ? 
 
 Cath. To see papa play blindman's-buff with Mrs. Dulruse 
 in the library. 2 Letty saw them go there a minute ago. By 
 this time, the curtain must be up, and the farce will want 
 spectators. Come, Mary darling, I wouldn't miss the scene 
 for worlds. 
 
 Mary. But cannot you go alone, Kate ? I would rather — 
 I would rather not go ; because — because 
 
 Cath. Because you would rather stay here, to look from the 
 window, and fancy that every orangeman you see is about to 
 be metamorphosed into sober Mr. Dulruse, with his arm full 
 of golden compliments and fragrant suavities, just imported 
 from Cyprus, and to wish that the next image-vender were 
 your solemn beau, with all his little plaster Cupids turned into 
 spiritual, ardent, real Loves, and nestling in his head, instead 
 of spreading their squab wings on the boarded top of it. 
 
8 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Mary, Indeed, indeed, Catharine, you mistake me : I was 
 not — - not looking for Arnold. [Bursts into tears. 
 
 Oath. [Kissing and embracing her affectionately.] And suppose 
 that you were, dear, good Mary ! Now, do forgive me : in- 
 deed, indeed I did not mean to vex you ; and I cannot see 
 any harm in one's wishing for one's sweetheart. There ! kiss, 
 to show that you forgive me. 
 
 Mary. But there is no harm done, Kate ; and I am not 
 angry. 
 
 Oath. No, you dear soul, you are too sweet-tempered ever 
 for that. [Kissing her again and embracing. 
 
 Mary. Come, cousin ; don't mistake me for yourself, and 
 yourself for Mr. Walton. 
 
 Oath. Not quite, or you would not have had that kiss. 
 
 Mary. Hum ! 
 
 Oath. Now, I will pinch you. You 're a naughty, mali- 
 cious 
 
 Mary. Oh yes ! an old receipt to hide confusion. Whose 
 turn is it now, Kate ? [Ringing within.] Ah ! 
 
 Cath. Why, yours again ; and to lose color, too. I told 
 you, you expected 
 
 Mary. No, Kate upon my word ! Indeed ! I am sure it is 
 not he. That is Mr. Walton. 
 
 Cath. A dozen pairs of gloves, it is not ! Run to the win- 
 dow; you can't be seen. Psha ! you're a snail! Let me. 
 [Looks through the blinds for a second, and comes back blushing 
 and confused. 
 
 Mary. You 've lost! I knew it. And you never lost a 
 wager more willingly. 
 
ACT I. SC. 1. 9 
 
 Cath. Not since it gives you pain, believe me, dear Mary. 
 But where is the girl going? Mr. Walton wont eat you up. 
 
 Mary. No, but he would be cross enough to snap at me, if 
 I staid. There 's the door shut ! Three spoils company. 
 [ Going. 
 
 Cath. And one should do, as one would be done by, ah, 
 coz ! [Running after and hugging her. Exit Mary.'] The dear, 
 sweet girl ! What a pity she should have such a lover ! 
 
 Enter Walton. 
 
 Walt. What lover is that, Catharine, that is so happy as to 
 be the object of your pity ? 
 
 Cath. Not you, Schuyler ; or I should wish you far 
 enough. 
 
 Walt. Why, yes ; for Pity, if akin to Love, is one of that sort 
 of poor relations we are seldom proud to acknowledge. 
 
 Cath. True ; for, nine times out of ten, Contempt is in the 
 family. 
 
 Walt. And the tenth time, she may be found to be a twin- 
 sister. Happy fellow ! if such is the lineage of the gentleman 
 in question. 
 
 Cath. Why, whom are you talking of now ? 
 
 Walt The lover, surely, whom you named as I entered. 
 
 Cath. It would fit him well, in that case. But my pity was 
 not bestowed upon the lover, but the lady. Poor Mary ! 
 
 Walt, Your cousin, Miss Mildmay ? 
 
 Cath. Yes ; and I wonder more and more, every day, what 
 a girl of her good taste could have seen in that sour Mr. 
 
10 THE MA.GNETTSER 
 
 Dulruse to bewitch her. 3 He is quite unworthy of so good 
 a girl, I am sure ; and some other man might one day make 
 her far happier, than her tender nature could ever hope to be 
 with a person of his character. 
 
 Walt. G-enerous creature ! I do love you so, for that very 
 love you bear your orphan cousin ! 
 
 Cath. What ! more than for my eyes ? the stars, you know. 
 Take care, Mr. Poet ; I shall be jealous. 
 
 Walt. And you will have cause, Catharine, whenever your 
 virtues shall seem inferior to Miss Mildmay's. 
 
 Cath. And are my eyes then to count for nothing ? sac- 
 rilegious and rebellious subject ! I must have you to your 
 rhymes again. When did I give you leave to forget my beauty 
 in the catalogue of my numerous qualifications ? 
 
 Walt. When you taught me that your heart outshone it, and 
 that your mind was its divines t essence. [Kissing her hand. 
 
 Cath. Well, pretty well, that : your disloyalty is atoned for. 
 And now, let go my fingers, and I will tell you a secret. 
 First, what do you think of Mrs. Dulruse ? 
 
 Walt. If my position will excuse my speaking ^ so plain- 
 ly Yet, I would rather not. 
 
 4 Cath. Fy ! what scrupulosity ! Why, she is but our house- 
 keeper — as yet, thank Heaven ! — and you know I do not 
 like her. 
 
 Walt. Yet, she is a lady, — at least, she has been so ac- 
 counted ; and, at all events, she is a woman. 
 
 Cath. Well then, since you are so delicate, I will be your 
 mouthpiece. 5 I will speak for you; and you shall see how 
 well I can read your thought. 
 
ACT I. SC. 1. 11 
 
 Walt. Take care you don't misspell. 
 
 Cath. You shall ferule my hand, if I do. Nay, don't take 
 hold of it, already ; I have not yet missed. — You think her, 
 Schuyler, an artful, heartless, and mercenary woman, whose 
 will, were it but assisted by her intellect, would render her 
 dangerous ; but her ignorance makes her blunder, and her 
 scheming degenerates, through her fatuity, into mere cunning. 
 
 Walt. Which is the intelligence of vulgar minds. You have 
 read me well. Now, what follows ? 
 
 Cath. How would you like her for a mother-in-law ? 
 
 Walt. Like her ? But that is impossible ! 
 
 Cath. Indeed ! What then, if she become my mother ? 
 
 Walt. G-ood Heaven ! your father — Mr. Clairvoir cannot 
 be so blind ? 
 
 Cath. Indeed, but lie is : the deluded are always so. And 
 they are this very moment about it. 
 
 Walt. Surely, it cannot be ; there is some mistake ; you are 
 not so unhappy. G-one to be married ! 
 
 Cath. I did not say so. But they are going through the 
 preliminaries ; courtship and infatuation. 
 
 Walt. I do not understand you. You talk, Catharine, of 
 what should be a misery to you, yet there is a lurking humor 
 in those darling eyes, and a smile about those beautiful lips, 
 that 
 
 Cath. I had better tell you at once, I see ; for you are 
 lapsing into poetry and flattery. — Did you ever hear of 
 Animal Magnetism, or Mesmerism, or whatever other isrrij 
 except skepticism, you may choose to name it. 
 
 Walt. Surely. Who has not? 
 
12 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Cath. And do you believe in it ? 
 
 Walt. Do I believe that I can see without eyes, hear with- 
 out ears, smell without a nose, taste without a tongue, and 
 feel without either feet or hands ? 
 
 Cath. Well, my father does ; and some books that he has 
 lately been reading have carried his credulity to a pitch that 
 is absolute fanaticism. Kow, Mrs. Dulruse has for a long time 
 been making love to him. 
 
 Walt. Nothing uncommon in the housekeeper of a wealthy 
 widower. 
 
 Cath. So I suppose ; but it is not the more agreeable for all 
 that. Well, what does the cunning creature do, but gradu- 
 ally, after a little w^ ell-managed resistance, become a convert 
 to these fantastical doctrines. My father, of course, was vastly 
 delighted ; 6 the more so that I had made free to ridicule their 
 nonsense ; and conceiving there might be some undiscovered 
 magnetic affinities between himself and the amiable Dulruse, 
 he yesterday set. himself to explore the localities, doubtless 
 with the full consent of the proprietress. My Letty took the 
 liberty of listening and peeping at the keyhole of the library, 
 7 where the experiments were performed. I have repri- 
 manded her : but I could not prevent myself from hearing 
 what she came in all haste to tell me. You look grave, 
 Schuyler. Was I wrong ? 
 
 Walt. I think you were ; you should have stopped her at 
 once, my dear girl. 
 
 Cath. And I believe I should ; but Letty took me quite by sur- 
 prise, and, before I knew what I was about, had emptied her 
 budget for my benefit. And what do you think it amounted to ? 
 
ACT I. SC, 1. 13 
 
 Walt. I do not like to guess. 
 
 Cath. Why, that Mrs. Dulruse has a design to entrap my 
 father into a speedy, if not immediate marriage. 
 
 Walt. But the girl may have deceived herself. 
 
 Cath. No, no ; she is the cleverest maid ever lady was blest 
 with. 8 Besides, my dear Schuyler, I drew the same conclu- 
 sion from what she told me, as she herself had done. Now, 
 have you a desire to observe this folly ? 
 
 Walt. How? 
 
 Cath. Just before you came in, papa led his innamorata to 
 the library, Letty tells me ; and there is no doubt he is now 
 manipulating on her wrinkled sinciput, and making, as he 
 supposes, ( I should blush to say it of my father to anybody 
 but you, ) his spirit pass into hers over the very ethereal 
 bridge of his thumbs. I wanted Mary to go in with me ; but 
 she refused, poor thing, I suspect, because of late — from — 
 from — for a certain reason I cannot name to you now, Mrs. 
 Dulruse has treated her with no little insolence. 
 
 Walt. But how will your father relish our intrusion ? 
 
 Cath. Be delighted with it. He will glory in the demon- 
 stration of his fancied science. Come. 9 But first, we'll en- 
 deavor to persuade Mary to join us. I long to open her eyes 
 to the character of the Dulruses, mother and son. She should 
 not marry that man. 
 
 Walt. You are very right : she were better dead. I will 
 go with you. 
 
 Cath. Mary is in the next room. Before we go to the librae, 
 Letty shall repeat to you all she knows of this intrigue, as I 
 
 fear it to be on one side. Do not hesitate ; the girl is not 
 
 2* 
 
14 THE MAGNETISEK 
 
 an ordinary servant. And besides, Schuyler, nothing, that is 
 not dishonorable, should stand in our way, to prevent a con- 
 summation as melancholy almost for you as it would be for me. 
 
 Walt. Sensible girl ! [Kissing her hand. 
 
 Cath. Fy ! you are as bad as my father. Does good sense 
 lie in the fingers ? 
 
 Walt. No, Kate, but a most delicate sensation does. [Exeunt, 
 at the side. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A room of smaller dimensions, surrounded with shelves of boohs. 
 Globes, maps, and the various other articles usual in a pri- 
 vate library. — Mrs. Dulruse is discovered seated in a 
 high-bached arm-chair, in the position and with the appear- 
 ance proper to the magnetic slumber. Clairvoir seated be- 
 fore her in another chair. Just as the scene opens, he throws 
 himself bach in his seat, and gazes with a show of admira- 
 tion on his patient. 
 
 Clair. Wonderful, celestial science ! 10 Where now are the 
 primordial bounds which would-be philosophers have pre- 
 tended were set by Nature to human action and to human 
 thought? "Man, no longer a creature of the elements, no 
 more a slave to the narrow powers exerted by mere blood, and 
 bones, and muscle, man, the spirit not the carcase, shall not 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 15 
 
 say unto the worm, " Thou art my mother and my sister ", 
 but unto the angels, Ye are my brethren: for he is, now, all- 
 seeiug, ubiquitous, — ah ! he may be omniscient. Not now 
 he needs to pass at peril of his life to foreign countries. 
 Seated in his chair, he wills himself into the mind of another 
 and congenial spirit, who, at his direction travels in thought 
 to all quarters of the world, without moving an inch, — 12 sees 
 now the British massacre in China, now counts the Arabs 
 slaughtered at Algiers, now prognosticates the sex of the 
 forthcoming issue of Victoria ; and the tardy conveyance and 
 uncertain news, of mails and steamboats, are entirely super- 
 seded. Hail mysterious source What am I doing ? I, 
 
 who till now have ridiculed soliloquies, am in my rapture 
 guilty of that folly ! Yet no ; I do not speak alone and to 
 myself; there sits my coadjutor, my sympathetic Dolly; and 
 doubtless, at this moment, though locked, by the semi-gyra- 
 tion of my thumbs in a slumber which a park of artillery 
 could not disturb, she hears all, and sees all, as though she 
 was awake. Do you not, madam ? 
 
 Mrs. D. As clear as starch. 
 
 Clair. I thought so ! I thought so ! Wonderful ! — A few 
 more experiments, and I will release you from this fatiguing, 
 though ecstatic trance. Let us mount into the moon : I want 
 to know what the people there are doing. Here, give me 
 your hands. 
 
 Mrs. D. But you must n't let me fall. 
 
 Clair. Never fear, madam. Are you ready ? Let us fly 
 then ? [He lifts her hands up and down, to imitate the motion of 
 wings. 
 
16 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Mrs. D. O, what a wondersome height ! But I shall fall ! 
 Mercy on me ! my head goes round like a top. 
 
 Clair. Hold fast then. And, faith, you do ! you squeeze 
 like the devil. Not quite so hard. There ; are you there ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, I am in a wonderful place. It does n't look 
 at all like green cheese : that must be a fib. 
 
 Clair. No doubt; no doubt. Do you see any mountains, 
 madam, and valleys ? 
 
 Mrs. I). Yes, a great many of 'em ; one ever so high ! six 
 times as high as the Katskills — and with trees growing on 
 the top of it. Lor' ! it 's shaped like a man's nose ! It must 
 be part of the face we see in the full moon. 
 
 Clair. Very likely. But they must have a peculiar cli- 
 mate there, for trees to grow at such a height. 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes ; but then, there are none in the valleys. 
 
 Clair. Ah ! I see ! I see. That explains it. Everything is 
 just the reverse of what it is here on earth. Wonderful ! 
 
 Mrs. D. yes ; there goes a man, walking as fast as ever 
 he can, on his head. Good gracious ! 
 
 Clair. Are you sure ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes ; for he meets a lady, and they touch heels 
 together. 
 
 Clair. Toes, you mean. 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, toes, to salute one another. 
 
 Clair. How are they dressed ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Spare my blushes. I do declare — I Don't 
 
 ask me ; but I don't think they have anything on them ; not 
 a rag. The indecent creatures ! 
 
 Clair. A state of innocence and unsophisticated nature. 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 17 
 
 No stocks there fluctuate with the rise and fall of cotton ; no 
 quarrels threaten from an agitated tariff on silks. 13 Do you 
 see any water ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Oceans full ; and, my stars ! there is a man on the 
 shore, milking a whale ! Did you ever ? 
 
 Clair. The very thing the moon-hoax said ! I never cculd 
 have believed it. Does he do it standing ? 
 
 Mrs. D. No, he 's lying on his face, feet foremost. 
 
 Clair. And draws the udder with his toes ! A strange 
 variety of the genus Homo. u Are you tired, my dear ? Shall 
 we descend ? 
 
 Mrs. D. If you please ; it feels so cold here, [she shudders 
 and makes her teeth chatter, .] But don't let me fall. 
 
 Clair. Never fear. [She puts her arm about his neck.] That 's 
 right. But, the deuse ! don't hug so hard ; or you'll strangle 
 me. There ! are you home ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes. me ! I'mso tired ! 
 
 Clair. And what do you see here ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Mr. Walton 's in the drawingroom, courting Miss 
 Clairvoir. 
 
 Clair. Like enough ; the bell rung a little while ago. Well, 
 that is all right. 
 
 Mrs. D. Ah, I 'm afeard not ! 
 
 Clair. No ? Why not ? 
 
 Mrs. D. She never will marry him. 
 
 Clair. The deuse she wont! This is bad news. Are you 
 very sure ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, another match is laid out for her, that will 
 make her ever so much happier. He will be the richest 
 
18 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 man in town, twice as rich as John Jacob 15 Astor ; and they 
 will have lots of children. 
 
 Clair. But who is he ? who is he ? 
 
 Mrs. D. I blush to say. 16 Do not ask me. 
 
 Clair. Nay, dear madam, speak out ; nobody hears you. 
 
 Mrs. D. But will you forgive me ? 
 
 Clair. Surely ; I cannot help fate ; you see but what will 
 happen. 
 
 Mrs. D> And what ought to happen ; for shockin' things 
 'li take place if it don't. It is 
 
 Clair. Who? 
 
 Mrs. D. His name begins with A, and ends with E. 
 
 Clair. A? And ends with E? Who can that be? [to 
 himself. 
 
 Mrs. D. Now I see him clearly. What a handsome young 
 man ! He kneels to ask my blessing ; and his wife kneels to 
 ask her father's. What a lovely couple ! It is my son ! my 
 Arnold ! Did I ever ! 
 
 Clair. Why no, I never ! This I don't like. 
 
 Airs. D. But it 's writ in Heaven, and must be. 
 
 Clair. Bat perhaps we may avoid it ; for I tell you, widow, 
 she is promised to Schuyler Walton, as fine a fellow as ever 
 darkened a house-door : — and there are other reasons 
 besides. 
 
 Mrs. D. But what must be will be ; and Mr. Walton laughs 
 at the science, and mocks at you. 
 
 Clair. How do you know that ? Did you ever hear him ? 
 
 Mrs. D. No, but I see it as plain as I see the whales, and 
 everything in this sumnamberlism. 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 19 
 
 Clair. Somnambulism, my dear. If I thought so But 
 
 what else do you see ? What is my dearest wish at this 
 moment ? Come, tell me that ; it is my last experiment for 
 to-day. 
 
 Mrs. D. It is Spare my blushes. 
 
 Clair. Pshaw ! my dear ; no one sees you, but me. 
 
 Mrs. D. That 's true. And then I'm forced to speak ; or I 
 would n't. Your dearest wish is — 
 
 Clair. To ? — 
 
 Mrs. D. Consermate our union. [Clair voir starts back, and 
 Mrs. D. covers her face as if ashamed. 
 
 Clair. The devil it is ! Why, I never thought of it ! Are 
 you very sure, Mrs. Dulruse ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Posertive, Mr. Clairvoir. 
 
 Clair. Then I don't know my own mind. 
 
 Mrs. D. How should you as well as I ? Did n't you give 
 me the power to enter it ? I can't help it, if you willed it so. 
 And you might have a thought, you know, which was kind o' 
 dim to yourself, but which I could see ever so plain. 
 
 Clair. And that is 'true; for you are fast asleep. 
 
 Mrs. D. Besides, what was you just talking of? Wasn't it 
 of Mr. Walton and Miss Catharine ? 
 
 Clair. True. 
 
 Mrs. D. Well, what so near to a father as his daughter ? 
 So, thinking of her, you must have thought of yourself, you 
 know, and, thinking of her marriage, your own must have 
 occurred to you, don't you see, and, having occurred to you, 
 why, you must have wished it at this moment. 
 
 Clair. Why, that I am not so sure of. But in all the rest 
 
20 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 you reason like a philosopher ; and the science cannot be mis- 
 taken. 
 
 Mrs. D. Nor can I resist your will, Mr. Clairvoir. If you 
 was to send me to the Bad Place, I must go there ; and if you 
 willed me to look into your mind, I had to do it : your power 
 is omipertent. 
 
 Clair. Angelic creature ! [Throws his arm in ecstacy about 
 her neck.] What a union of congenial spirits will ours be ! 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, what a union of convenience ! Dear Mr. 
 Clairvoir ! [throwing her arms in turn about him.] Oh, dear me ! 
 I shall die of shame ! 
 
 Clair. Poor soul ! She cannot help betraying her love in 
 this magnetic condition ! 
 
 Mrs. D. No, in this pathetic position I cannot indeed help 
 displaying it. [kisses him. 
 
 Enter 
 
 Walton and Catharine, 
 
 who stop, confused, and gaze at one another. 
 
 Clair. What a life of immateriality will ours be ! 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, pure materiality I [kissing him. 
 
 Clair. No corporeity to obfuscate our intellectual enjoy- 
 ments. 
 
 Mrs. B. No, no paupereity to fuzzball our effectual enjoy- 
 ments ! Oh, my love ! [hugging him. 
 
 Clair. We shall see with magnetic vision, feel by magnetic 
 affinity, 17 get our children by magnetic conjunction 
 
 Mrs. D. 0, Mr. Clairvoir ! spare my blushes ! 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 21 
 
 Clair. — Do all things by magnetic, somnambulistic, sym- 
 pathetic correspondence. A life of unsensuality, without ad- 
 mixture ! {flagging. 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, a life of sensuality, without fixtures ! Let us 
 begin it at once. 0, 0, 0, dear, darling, apathetic magnetiser ! 
 [hugging. 
 
 Cath. [recovering. Aside to Walton^] What say you now ? 
 my father ! Let us go. 
 
 Walt, [aside to Cath.] Eight. A child should never be the 
 willing observer of a parent's follies. 
 
 Clair, [standing up and disengaging himself.] Eh ! what 's 
 that? Cod fusion! 
 
 Mrs. D. [pretending to he still fast asleep.] Clairvoir, don't 
 leave me. 
 
 Clair. Hush, Mrs. D. ! there are persons present. Poor 
 thing! she can see and hear only me. "Wonderful! — Mr. 
 Walton — Catharine — don't go. Mrs. Dulruse has been so 
 kind as to permit me to manipulate her. I have made some 
 wonderful experiments. Would you like to see them continued ? 
 
 Cath. No, no, papa; we will go. Come; [aside to Walton] 
 don't stay. 
 
 Clair. But Mr. Walton [detaining Walt] would perhaps like 
 to see them, Kate. And my wish was, just this moment, ( at 
 least, I thought so ; though Mrs. Dulruse says it was not,) to 
 have spectators of my great discoveries. Come, Walton, my 
 boy ; I will put her into communication with you. Take her 
 hand. 
 
 Mrs. D. no, Mr. Clairvoir, don't! I don't want to have 
 18 evil communication with anybody but you. 
 
22 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Walt. You had better wake her up, sir, — if she is not so 
 already. 
 
 Clair. So already ! Walton ! Schuyler Walton ! Are you 
 stupid ? Why, sir — look at that excellent woman. Not a 
 park of artillery exploding in her ears would wake her ; not 
 the thunder of heaven, sir ; yet I, I, sir, poor human being as I 
 am, I, Harry Clairvoir, can rouse her by the will, by the mere 
 energy of my spirit ! Behold ! 
 
 Cath. dear ! my father is stark mad. [aside. 
 
 Clair. Awake, Mrs- Dulruse ! awake to this grosser exist- 
 ence ! [waving his hand magnetically over her forehead.] I will 
 it. 
 
 Mrs. D. [startiiig and opening her eyes.] Where ? — What 's 
 the matter? [Rubbing her eyes, and staring round in seeming 
 confusion.] Who ? — ! I see! I am dead with shame. 
 
 Clair. You should be alive with glory, Mrs. Dulruse ! 
 [Taking her hand.] It is the victory of science ; the triumph 
 of immortal mind over corrupt matter; the exaltation of spirit- 
 uality over corporality ! Walton, study magnetism ; I will 
 lend you 19 Townshend, Hartshorne, all of them ; your sons 
 shall be magnetisers, and your daughters 
 
 Walt, [aside to Cath.] Dulruses, I suppose. — I thank you, 
 sir ; I am quite contented that they should have their simple 
 senses like their father, and their every-day virtues like their 
 lovely mother. [Exeunt Walt, and Cath. 
 
 Clair. Sir! no respect for your immortal nature? no belief 
 in the mind's independence of the corporeal faculties ? [Turn- 
 ing before Walt, and Cath. are quite gone.] Did you ever, Mrs. 
 Dulruse ? 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 23 
 
 Mrs. D. Why no, I never! And I must say, Mr. Clair- 
 voir — 
 
 Clair. That Walton treats rne most shabbily. Look you, 
 sir! Eh! gone? In my own house ? 20 He, I see plainly, has 
 no sympathy with science, no congeniality of feeling. 
 
 Mrs. D. I told you so : no conveniality for feeling at all. 
 
 Clair. But I '11 settle him ! 
 
 Mrs. D. You'd best let Miss Catharine. 
 
 Clair. Perhaps I may. The disrespectful ! Simple 
 
 senses, indeed ! The sense for simply stale precedents. Mere 
 corporality ; no ethereality of sentiment ; no power of pro- 
 spective ratiocination! Come, my better half. 
 
 Mrs. D. [affecting coyness.] I am not so yet, sir. 
 
 Clair. Yes, in your spirit. 
 
 Mrs. D. But my body ? — 
 
 Clair. I'll magnetise that to-morrow. [ Going. 
 
 Mrs. D. But the ring will be well to keep it fast, Mr. Clair- 
 voir. [Lagging behind. 
 
 Clair, Time enough for that, 21 my congenial spirit. — Mere 
 corporality ! no ethereality ! no reverence for this mystic 
 agent ! [Exit, shutting the door after him in his abstraction. 
 
 Mrs. D. Time enough, you old fool, you ? Let me get it 
 once, and I '11 make my body fast enough to you. That [snap- 
 ping her finger s^\ for your G-eneva spirits and queer realities ! 
 that for your pauperalities and Fiscal Agents ! [Exit 
 
24 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 Act the Second 
 
 Scene I. The Drawingroom, as in Act I. Sc. I. — Enter 
 Catharine, followed by Dulruse. 
 
 Cath. You carry your presumption, sir, rather too far for a 
 gentleman. Or, are you so dull that you cannot take a hint ? 
 
 Dulr. So devoted that I will not take it. You have left the 
 other room, Miss Clairvoir, to avoid me ; and I have followed, 
 because I will not be avoided. 
 
 Cath. Sir ! sir ! 
 
 Dulr. I say so, Miss Catharine. Love is not so easily re- 
 pulsed. 
 
 Cath. This is too insolent! Leave me, this instant: and, 
 for your odious pretensions — 
 
 Dulr. But — 
 
 Cath. — Odious pretensions, — if you dare repeat them, 
 my father shall forbid you the house. G-o, sir. 
 
 Dulr. Madam, I cannot see what you mean by odious. If a 
 sincere, and respectful adoration — 
 
 Cath. — Of fifty thousand dollars and large expectations 
 
 Dulr. You mistake, you mistake. It is yourself, your be- 
 witching person, your exalted character, that I adore ; money 
 is no consideration, where — 
 
 Cath. — It is so inconsiderable as with Miss Mildmay. 
 
ACT II. sc. 1. 25 
 
 Her poor ten thousand are quite beneath the regards of an 
 aspirer like Mr. Arnold Dulruse. 
 
 Dulr. [muttered and aside.] D — nation ! 22 
 
 Cath. You might as well swear louder, Mr. Dulruse. If 
 you are ashamed that your meanness is detected, go and re- 
 pent it. 
 
 Dulr. Miss Clairvoir, do not be so hasty ! Hear me. I did 
 indeed once love your cousin — 
 
 Cath. Oh sir ! 
 
 Dulr. — But was it possible, when you were present — 
 
 Cath. — To adore her longer ? No ! [Affecting pompous - 
 ness.] Who sees the stars when the moon is in her glory ? 
 and when the golden sun arises in the orient, is not her silver 
 round unnoticed in the west ? Is that the style, sir ? Gold 
 and silver, you see : a great difference. There ; you now per- 
 ceive that you are laughed at, and you turn pale with rage. 
 To be serious : have you forgotten that there is a person in 
 the world by the name of Walton? 
 
 Dulr. But my mother — 
 
 Cath. Your mother ? 
 
 Dulr. Don't speak so scornfully, Miss Clairvoir ; that mother 
 may be yours before long; yes, will be. Who is pale, now? 
 Come, Miss Catharine, let us talk reason. I have not only my 
 mother's assurance — 
 
 Cath. — But also your own ; which is fully equal. 
 
 Dulr, — But also your father approves of my passion. You 
 may look incredulous. And what is more, he has not only 
 taken me into favor, but Mr. Walton, he declares, shall never 
 have you. 
 
26 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Cath. It is false ; false as your pretended passion. I shall 
 ask him this instant. [As she is going to the door, Dulruse puts 
 himself in the way.] Stand out of my way, sir. 
 
 Dulr. But hear me. 
 
 Cath. Let me pass, this instant, as you value your safety. 
 I have been, I see, too backward, too forbearing. I wished 
 to spare Miss Mildmay's feelings, and I was silent ; I did not 
 care to involve Mr. Walton in a quarrel, and I forbore to tell 
 him ; and, for the sake of all concerned, I have withheld 
 your preposterous and insulting declarations from Mr. Clair- 
 voir : but, since this is misunderstood, my patience is at an 
 end ; and the next word that you dare address me on this 
 subject, you shall hear your answer from one that will make 
 more impression on you. Let me pass, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Dulr. [between his teeth.] And the devil go with you, for a 
 pert, insolent, purse-proud ! Death and furies ! [Exit 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The Dining-room at Mr. Clairvoir's. Enter 
 Letty, looking for something. 
 
 Letty. [singing. 
 
 " Still so gently o'er me stealing, 
 Memory will bring back the feeling " ■ 
 
ACT IT. SC. 2. 27 
 
 Enter Dulrttse. 
 
 He starts , looks pleased, then goes hehind her 
 
 cautiously, and, as she concludes the second verse, puts his hand 
 
 about her waist 
 
 Dulr. [Mimicking.] Fee-e-ling ! 
 
 Lett. With a vengeance ! [Extricating herself, with a show 
 of anger.] You are very free, Mr. Dulruse. 
 
 Dulr. I always am, my dear ; quite at home with such pretty 
 rogues as you. Delicious song, that, — must have left quite a 
 bouquet on your lips : let me taste it. [Attempting to kiss her. 
 
 Lett. [Boxing his ears violently.] There ; take that ! And if 
 you 're so fond of bouquets, sir, you 'd better let Miss Mildmay 
 furnish you : you '11 find too many thorns about my posy. 
 
 Dulr. Hark you, child! you may think yourself vastly 
 witty ; but, let me tell you, you are devilish saucy. 
 
 Lett. I came to look for Miss Clairvoir's fan, not to meet 
 you. And now I 've found it, I wish you more manners, and a 
 good afternoon. [Curtsies contemptuously, and is about to leave 
 the room. Dulr. lays hold of her arm, and, in their struggles, he 
 comes with his back against the door and closes it] Let me go, 
 sir : you 'd better, for your own reputation. 
 
 Dulr. Yours, you mean. The door is now shut, hussy ; 
 and, if you 'd have me forgive that blow, you '11 leave these 
 airs for your betters. 
 
 Lett My betters, sir ! And who are they ? Not you, nor 
 your mother, I can tell you. Let me go. 
 
 Dulr. You are very pert. 
 
 Lett. You are very impertinent. 
 
28 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Dulr. For a chambermaid, my little blackeyed vixen, you 
 have — 
 
 Lett. — Too much penetration, not to see through such a 
 shallow ditch as you. 
 
 Dulr. Come, come ! my angel of the bedquilts ; though your 
 eyes do flash fire — 
 
 Lett. — They would find it hard to inflame such a mouldy 
 bit of tinder, as you are. And so — [struggling. 
 
 Dulr. — Take that, Miss Impudence. [Trying to hiss her. 
 
 Lett. No; that, Mr. Fool! [Thrusting the fan in his face. 
 
 Dulr. Curse it, you minx ; this is carrying the joke too far. 
 
 Lett. No farther, sir, than Miss Clair voir did for you a min- 
 ute ago. [Dulr. in confusion, lets go her arm. Lett, opens the 
 door.] — You have a high notion of your own capacity, Mr. 
 Dulruse ; three women at once. And yet, let me tell you, 
 you have n't heart enough for one of them, though you have 
 effrontery enough for all three. [He springs at her. She darts 
 through the doorway. Then, seeing him pause, Lett, puts back 
 her head into the room.] And now, hear a last word, sir, — 
 which, for your sake, more than my own, I wont speak as 
 loud as you obliged Miss Clairvoir to do : — He that has n't 
 wit enough to make the mistress listen, need not think to come 
 over the maid ; and the man that is so base as to cheat one lady, 
 and lie to another, is just worthy to attempt the honor of a 
 poor servingmaid, but is too contemptible to put it ever in peril. 
 Good day, sir. [Curtsies low, and Exit, singing significantly, — 
 while he stands unable to move, from confusion and rage : ] 
 
 " but my feelings I smother : 
 
 thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my Mother I" 
 
ACT II. sc. 3. 29 
 
 Bulr. [After a moment] Bit on every side, by Heaven.! 
 [Exit, clenching his hands. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 23 St Joints Square. The enclosure is seen. 
 
 Enter, 
 
 on the outside, Walton, ivalking leisurely, and, 
 
 in the opposite direction, G-antelet. 
 
 Gantelet, as he comes in front of Walton, touches 
 
 his hat respectfully ; Walton returns the 
 
 salute, and is about to pass, but checks himself suddenly. 
 
 Walt. So, G-antelet ; is that you ? 
 
 Gant. Aat Monsieur Waltone sareveece. {Bowing. 
 
 Walt Your master has returned then ? 
 
 Gant No, sare ; Monsieur Rantolph haav stop aat Philadel- 
 phie. 
 
 Walt And sent you on. I should not have thought, my 
 good G antelet, that he could have spared you. 
 
 Gant. [Bowing humbly.] Monsieur is ver' comparison' : de 
 pauvre Gantelet is note really wort' not ting. 
 
 Walt. When does he return ? 
 
 Gant. Dis eveneeng, sare : he stay aat Philadelphie for soam 
 Yol. V.~ 3 
 
30 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 leetel affaire, soam bagatelle, and senda me on, in de morning, 
 wid all hees effaics — hees baags, hees portmanteau, hees fusil, 
 hees every ting. 
 
 Walt. Did you leave Mr. Racy at his lodgings? 
 
 Gant Non, monsieur. Ah! I me recall indis moment, Mon- 
 sieur Eaacie waas gone out, all expres for to saw Monsieur 
 Waltone. 
 
 Walt. To see me ? When ? how long ago ? 
 
 Gant. Wan, two, tree minoot; ver' leetel vile. 
 
 Walt. How unfortunate ! I was just going to him. Well, 
 if you should meet him, G-antelet, tell Mr. Eacy, that he will 
 find me at his lodgings. 
 
 Gant. Oui, monsieur. [He touches his hat respectfully, as 
 Walton moves on, and is about to depart in the opposite direc- 
 tion, when 
 
 Enter Letty, 
 
 in great haste, from the side at ivhich Gantelet first 
 
 appeared, i.e., facing Walton. She 
 
 moves directly up to the latter ; and Gantelet 
 
 stops to watch the meeting. 
 
 Lett. 0, Mr. Walton ; I am so rejoiced to meet you, sir ! 
 
 Walt. Well, Letty; what is the matter ? Take breath. You 
 need not wait, G-antelet. [Gant., behind Walton's back, shakes 
 his fist at Letty, who smiles in return maliciously. Exit Gant. 
 
 Lett Oh, sir, I have just been, as fast as I could go, to Mr. 
 Eacy's, and not finding him at home, I thought I would take 
 the liberty to go to you ; and I am so glad I have met you, 
 
ACT II. SC. 3. 
 
 31 
 
 sir! There have been such doings at our house! [Fans her- 
 self with her apron. 
 
 Walt. What? Quick! 
 
 Lett. Why, sir, there is Miss Mildmay, all in tears, poor 
 thing ! and Miss Catharine — [Fanning. 
 
 Walt. For Heaven 's sake ! 
 
 Lett. — So distressed ! I beg pardon. You must know, 
 
 Mr. Walton, that Mr. Clair voir I really don't know how 
 
 to tell you, sir. 
 
 Walt. Letty ! this is worse than murder : speak out, at 
 once. 
 
 Lett. Then, sir, the truth is, the devil is in the matter. [ Un- 
 tying the strings of her honnet, and fanning violently.'] Mr. 
 Clairvoir has actually forbid Miss Cathar'ne to think any more 
 about you. 
 
 Walt. You dream. 
 
 Lett. I wish I did, sir ; and that we all did ; but the only 
 dreamers are Miss Catharine's father and Mrs. Dulruse; and 
 that wretch, Mrs. Dulruse, is at the bottom of the whole business. 
 
 Walt. G-o on, go on ; though I scarcely can believe you. 
 
 Lett. Yet it is true, sir. It seems that you have said some- 
 thing about their silly magnetism that lias displeased the old 
 gentleman. 24 He and the housekeeper have been talking 
 about it over and over again this afternoon. What was said, 
 I don't know; but suddenly Mr. Clairvoir comes out of the 
 room, crying out, in a very determined tone, "I'll do it" : he 
 sees me on the stairs, tells me to call Miss Catharine : they 
 had a conversation together; I felt uneasy ; I could n't resist 
 entering the room : and I heard Mr. Clairvoir tell Miss Cath- 
 
32 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 arine " that she was not to think of you any more, but he 
 would provide a husband that had more brains, and was more 
 worthy of her." Excuse me, sir; they are his words, no ideas 
 of mine. 
 
 Walt. Never mind ; go on. 
 
 Lett. The rest, sir, is very little. The old gentleman leaves 
 the room, and I went out too ; and before I got up stairs, I 
 saw Mr. Dulruse go in. Now you must know, sir — But 
 
 No, it's right that I should tell you. — Mr. Dulruse, 
 
 sir, has been making love to Miss Clair voir for more than a 
 week past. 0, dear Mr. Walton ! don't look so pale about it : 
 do you think Miss Catharine would think of such a thing as 
 he ! Lor', sir, he is beneath my contempt, let alone such a lady 
 as Miss Clairvoir's. 
 
 Walt. But Catharine never told me ! 
 
 Lett. No indeed ; she is not one of those ladies that love to 
 have gentlemen fight about them. Had you heard what she 
 said to Mr. Dulruse, at this last interview, like a high-spirited 
 lady as she is, you would not feel concern on that score. 
 
 Walt. True, true indeed: I don't know how I could be so 
 
 weak, as to think for a moment 
 
 Lett. Lord, sir ! there he is ! [ While Walton and Letty have 
 been talking, two or three persons have crossed the scene, and, at 
 last, Dulruse. He looks at the party suspiciously, and passes on, 
 just as Letty notices him. 
 
 Walt. Where ? who ? Ah ! [About to spring after Dulr. 
 Letty stops him. 
 
 Lett. For Heaven's sake, Mr. Walton ! Think of Miss Cath- 
 arine. And for such a man ! 
 
ACT II. SC. 3. 33 
 
 Walt You are right ; let him go. You are a good and sen- 
 sible girl, Letty. What next ? 
 
 25 Lett sir, don't natter me, or I shall begin to think all 
 men alike. Mr. Dulruse has been complimenting me at a pro- 
 digious rate, I can tell you, sir, — and I mean to tell somebody 
 else too. 
 
 Walt What ! a general lover ? But that is none of my 
 business. 
 
 Lett No, sir ? I should have thought it was. But you and 
 Miss Catharine have such high notions of delicacy, you never 
 will listen to other people's secrets. 
 
 Walt Nor should you either, Letty. But you are a good 
 girl, [Offering her money.] A shawl, or a ring or two. 
 
 Lett. No, sir; thank you ; I have my pride, as well as my 
 betters. Wait till your wedding-day. Come, you are going to 
 flatter me again, Mr. Walton : don't turn my head. — Well, 
 sir, to finish my story, and quickly ; for people are beginning 
 to look at us : — When Mr. Dulruse had done with the mis- 
 tress, he comes to make love to the maid, though I believe he 
 was in search of his mother. I gave him his dismissal, as 
 quickly as Miss Catharine had done, (you need not smile ; I 
 did, sir,) and then, without saying a word to anybody, I put 
 on my things, and ran all the way to Miss Catharine's uncle's; 
 for I knew, if anybody could help her, it was Mr. Eacy ; and 
 I think it high time he should interfere. Speak of the — old 
 boy ! — I do declare, here he is. 
 
 Enter Eacy. 
 
 Racy. Eh, what the devil, Schuyler ! Making love to my 
 
34 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 little Letty ? Too bad that ! Hark you, child ; don't you let 
 him teach you nonsense. 
 
 Lett. Not such a child as you take me for, Mr. Eacy ; and 
 if I was, I would n't come to an old widower for instruction, 
 [ Curtsies coquettislily . 
 
 Racy, You imp ! [Drives her off. 
 
 Lett. [Coming bach.] Oh, Mr. Walton, please tell this old 
 gentleman what I told you ; but, pray, for Miss Catharine's 
 sake, — don't let him teach you wickedness. [Exit. 
 
 Racy. Ha, ha, ha ! give an inch, you know. 0, the devil ! 
 I forget we 're in the street. I wonder what makes all the 
 girls so free with me, Schuyler ; eh, boy ? From the mistress 
 to the maid, they say just what they please to old Frank Racy. 
 
 Walt. They know his good-nature. 
 
 Racy. What, what ! Now that 's but half what you mean ; 
 there is something more in the corners of your mouth. No 
 matter. I say, Walt ; do you know I was seeking you ? 
 
 Walt. And I was in search of you. 
 
 Racy. Well, that 's odd ; but, I '11 bet you a supper, I 've 
 the best news. Frank Randolph 's got back from Richmond ! 
 he will be here in an hour, you dog : his Parlez-vous came on 
 this morning with all his luggage. There 's news for you, 
 Long-legs ! G-ad ! we '11 have a night of it. Why, how dev- 
 ilish grave you look ! What is in the wind, now ? 
 
 Walt. Let us walk on, and I '11 tell you. Your niece — — 
 
 Racy. What, what ! I might have looked for some cursed 
 catastrophe, when a waitingmaid was in the plot. [Puts Ms 
 arm through Walton's.] Well, well, my niece ? [Exeunt. 
 
ACT III. SC. 1. 35 
 
 Act the Third 
 
 Scene I. The housekeeper's apartment at Mr. Clairvoir's. 
 
 Dulruse walking up and down in great heat ; Mrs. D. 
 following, and expostulating with him,. 
 
 Mrs. D. But, Arnold, — Arnold dear 
 
 Dulr. Mother, you talk like a fool. I tell you, your fine 
 schemes will amount to nothing. Do you think you can keep 
 up such a paltry farce as your magnetism much longer ? Even 
 if you could hope to always humbug the old man, there 's his 
 half-brother Racy, ( whom I hate as I do poison ! ) and that 
 proud puppy, Walton, and that madcap nephew of Racy's 
 wife, his adopted son, Frank Randolph I mean, who, coxcomb 
 though he is, is as shrewd as his uncle, and quite as fearless, 
 folk say, — how the devil are you to manage all these ? Are 
 you going to blind them f and do you think that they wont 
 open Clairvoir's eyes? I tell you, you '11 be blown up ; and I 
 may get a bullet through my gizzard, for listening to your 
 deused nonsense. I wish, old woman, 26 you had left me con- 
 tented with the ten-thousand, and the pretty thing that was 
 willing to bestow it upon me. You have made me go further, 
 and you '11 find I shall fare worse. The devil take your ma- 
 nceuvering ! 
 
36 THE MAGXETISER 
 
 Mrs. D. But my darling, my baby ! 
 
 Dulr. Yes, you have made a baby of me. I wish, you 
 had been gagged with, the clout, 27 before you had sung to 
 sleep my reason. Huffed by the mistress, laughed-at by the 
 
 maid! Look you, mother, I haven't yet told you: I 
 
 met that impertinent vixen, Letty, not half-an-hour ago, in 
 close parley with Walton ; and, as I passed them, I heard my 
 name mentioned. Now, what do you say ? Walton would 
 never stand talking in the street with a maidservant, unless 
 there was something of moment. What do you say to that, 
 my cunning mamma ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Why, I '11 get before them, that 's all. 
 
 Dulr. That *s all ! Hum ! that 's a good deal, you will find. 
 And, pray, how do you mean to do that ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Don't talk so loud. By making you marry Miss 
 Clairvoir at once. There ! 
 
 Dulr. There ? There ? Why, you 're crazy, old woman. 
 
 Mrs. D. Am I, you undutiful wretch ? Am I ? Then 
 manage your business yourself. 
 
 Dulr. [Looking at her with surprise.'] Why, you don't mean 
 
 to tell me You 've some scheme in your head, I see ; a 
 
 deused foolish one, I dare say ; but let us hear it. 
 
 Mrs. D. It would serve you right 
 
 Dulr. Come, don't palaver. 
 
 Mrs. D. Could }-ou run away with Catharine ? 
 
 Dulr. Ha, ha \ I have legs ; and so has she : but how are 
 you going to make her use them for my benefit ? You 're a 
 wise one ! 
 
 Mrs. D. This way. Just have a little patience. Suppose 
 
ACT III. SC. 1. 37 
 
 she made a mistake, and took you for "Walton ; you 're pretty 
 much of a size ; and in the dark, you know ? 
 
 Dulr. Why, you 're mad ; you 've got this scheme out of 
 some silly storybook. Do girls go off in the dark now-a-days, 
 and marry a fellow without looking at him ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, when they 're in a hurry, and can't help 
 themselves. 
 
 Dulr. [Turning iv ith great quickness.'] Eh! what? {Looking 
 at her sharply.] Speak out. 
 
 Mrs. D. Why, look here. I Ve so worked upon old Clair- 
 voir that he has actually forbid his daughter to speak of 
 Walton, and swears she shall have you. — 
 
 Dulr. Yes, yes, I know that already : but she wont have 
 me, I tell you; and by and by, old Clairvoir comes to his 
 senses. 
 
 Mrs. D. [chuckling, ,] When it 's too late. Look here, my 
 darling: suppose I go to Miss Catharine, and make b'lieve 
 side with her, and persuade her to run off with Walton ? 
 
 Dulr. Ah ! G-o on, go on. - 
 
 Mrs. D. She consents ; you manage to take Walton's 
 place 
 
 Dulr. Very easy that, to be sure! And suppose I could, 
 do you think, when she came to find me out, she would 
 
 But stop ! stop ; a light breaks in upon me. Don't interrupt 
 
 me. [Stamps on the floor ', and makes his mother fall hack. He 
 
 meditates.'] By the gods ! I have it ; I 've finished your 
 
 plot ; 2e I have it. Look here, mother. I will pretend to give 
 
 up my pretensions to Catharine, and make my peace with 
 
 Mary, which is easily done. You tell Catharine that I have 
 3* 
 
38 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 done so, and that I will run off with Mary, at the same time 
 that she does with Walton, but in a different carriage. No, 
 no! curse it! that wont do either. Stay! [Thinks again.'] 0! 
 You shall let Miss Clairvoir know that I have not given up 
 my pretensions, — not, remember; bat you will say that you 
 pity Mary, and are resolved that I shall not be so false — Yes, 
 that 's what fools call it; never mind abusing me. Tell her 
 that if she will change dresses with Mary, who, you know, is 
 just her height, that I shall take Mary for her, and run off 
 with her, while she in Mary's dress is really gone off with 
 Walton. 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, but what good will that do you ? 
 
 Dulr. Are you such a fool? Why I sha'n't do any such 
 thing, to be sure, but take the real fifty -thousand, and, when 
 we are in the carriage — I 'll 29 personate her lover without 
 talking, and make her glad enough to have me, or anybody 
 else, before we get to the parson. 
 
 Mrs. D. But, Arny dear, that will be too wicked. — 
 
 Dulr. Scruples? and from you, mother? Your tricks are 
 not so bold, to be sure, but they 're quite as bad. . 
 
 Mrs. D. No ; they 're not. Besides, why can't you tell her 
 that her lover is false, and gone off knowingly with Mary; 
 then she '11 marry you, you know, out of revenge. 
 
 Dulr. No doubt [sneeringly .]. Well, well, mother ; I '11 do 
 so. We '11 trot off to Harlem; and before we 're halfway to 
 the parsonage, 1 '11 be bound that I convince her. 
 
 Mrs. D. And to-morrow, I '11 persuade old Clairvoir to have 
 me without running away. Buss me, Arny : we '11 fix 'em. 
 
 Dulr. Pshaw ! there, [giving her his cheek, disdainfully.'] 
 
ACT III. SC. 2. 39 
 
 Now, be off, and ply Miss Clairvoir well. I '11 stay here till 
 
 you come back. Don't forget now, she is to dress like Mary, 
 
 to deceive me : remember, don't spare me. 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, yes ; leave me alone ; I 'm a wise one. [Exit 
 Dulr. [Closing the door.] Ay, ay. My father must have 
 
 been a wiser, or I don't know where I came from. [As the 
 
 door shuts, the scene changes to 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The Drawing-room , as in Act I. Scene I, 
 
 Catharine, seated in a thought/id attitude, Enter Letty. 
 
 Lett. Miss Catharine. 
 
 Oath. Well, Letty. 
 
 Lett. Mrs. Dulruse begs permission to speak a few words 
 to you. 
 
 Cath. To me ? Let her come in. 
 
 Lett. Yes, ma'am. But — [Going up to Oath., and lower- 
 ering her voice.] Miss Catharine — a horrible plot — but don't 
 let her know you see into it. Listen to her, dear Miss Catha- 
 rine — and, if you can, pretend to consent — but don't believe 
 a word she says. 
 
 Cath. What is this? I hope, Letty, you have not been 
 listening again. 
 
 Lett. ma'am, I cannot tell you all now ; never mind how 
 
40 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 I know. If I stay longer, she '11 suspect. Only promise me, 
 that you '11 not be too candid: you know I do all for the best. 
 
 Cath. Well, well, Letty ; we '11 talk of this again. I '11 be 
 careful. 
 
 Lett. Thank you, Miss Catharine. Don't look at her too 
 sharply ! [Exit. 
 
 Cath. Plot ! [She becomes again thoughtful After a few 
 minutes. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Dulruse. 
 
 Mrs. D. Miss Clair voir — 
 
 Cath. Oh! Sit down, madam. Is there anything particular? 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, I But let me shut the door. Now, Miss 
 
 Clairvoir — I — really — I hope, ma'am, you don't believe I 
 have a bad heart ? 
 
 Cath. If I do believe so, Mrs. Dulruse, it will be easy for 
 you to prove I am in the wrong. 
 
 Mrs. B. That 's the very thing I came for, Miss Catharine. 
 Now — let me see — now, you know, Miss Catharine, your 
 
 father has been pleased to favor certain If you look so 
 
 cold at me, I can't go on. 
 
 Cath. I see no reason, ma'am, why I should look otherwise. 
 
 Mrs. D. [From this moment, she talks without turning her 
 face to Cath.] Well, I 11 tell you then, why you should. I 'm 
 your friend, Miss Catharine ; and I don't like it at all, that 
 your father has chose to favor my Arnold's pertensions. 
 
 Cath. Indeed, 
 
 &£rs. x D. Yes ; and I so pity your poor cousin. 
 
ACT III. SC. 2. 41 
 
 Cath. Miss Mildmay, ma'am, needs not your pity. 
 
 Mrs. D. 0, Miss Clairvoir, but she does • for I know she 
 loves my Arnold ; and Arnold I know might have loved her ; 
 but, now he has his head turned by higher notions 
 
 Oath. Mrs. Dulruse ! 
 
 30 Mrs. D. Do let me finish, Miss Catharine. I was coming 
 to tell you that I don't approve my boy's falsehood. He is a 
 base, wicked, unnatural wretch ! Yes, that he is ! and I don't 
 want to draw down the judgment of Providence by aidin' and 
 abettin' him. So, Miss Clairvoir, if you want to cheat your 
 papa, and marry Mr. Walton after all, I '11 help you. 
 
 Cath. I don't know what ideas you have of me, Mrs. Dul- 
 ruse ; but I am not in the habit of cheating my father in any- 
 thing; and, as for my marriage, I do not see that you have 
 anything to do with it. 
 
 Mrs. D. Lord ! you take a body's words up so ! I was 
 only going to say, if you would listen, ma'am, that I know a 
 way, you could put a stop to Arnold 's persumption, make Miss 
 Mary happy, and yourself, and — and — everybody. 
 
 Cath. Indeed? Well. 
 
 Mrs. D. You see, nothing can be done openly, while the old 
 man — 
 
 Cath. Mr. Clairvoir, — if you mean my father. 
 
 Mrs. D. Excuse me — yes — while Mr. Clairvoir is so vio- 
 lent against Mr. Walton. But if you would run away with 
 Mr. Walton, you know — [ Cath. looks at her with surprise and 
 attention; Mrs. D., however, still keeping her head turned 
 away.] why then it would be too late. Now I have such a 
 darling little plot, 3l which my Arn — I mean, which '11 make 
 
42 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Arnold behave himself. You engage your cousin to run off 
 with Arnold; Arnold '11 be ready, and Mr. Walton will be 
 ready too ; but you put on your cousin's dress, and make her 
 put on yours. Then Amy, you know, will think that she is 
 you, and take her off, and marry her out of hand, as he ought, 
 shame on him ! while you and Mr. Walton '11 go another way. 
 [Ringing within.'] There's somebody : will you think of my 
 little plan, Miss Clairvoir, and tell me, by 'n 'by ? 
 
 Oath. Yes, yes, I '11 think on it. 
 
 Mrs. D. It '11 be just like a play. Everybody '11 be so happy. 
 [Oath, ivalks.away. Mrs. D. bridles, turns up her nose, curtsies, 
 looks maliciously at her.] Hum ! [Exit, strutting. — Oath, 
 stands thoughtful, for a few moments. Then 
 
 Enter 
 Racy, preceded by Letty running. 
 
 Lett. Here's Mr. Racy, Miss Catharine. I 've told him all. 
 ! I'mso delighted ! 
 
 Racy. Out, slyboots ! mind your place. [Driving her off. 
 Exit Letty.] Well, Kate, here's been rare plotting, eh! But 
 we '11 outplot them ; we '11 countermine their mine, my 
 beauty ! 
 
 Oath. I think I guess what you mean, uncle, from Letty's 
 hints, and that foolish woman's awkwardness. 
 
 Racy. Foolish enough ; but not the less rogue, for all that. 
 But we '11 match them ! I wish the hour were only come : I 
 long to be at it. 
 
 Oath. At what, uncle ? There's a plot, I see : but I am not 
 
ACT III. SC. 2. 43 
 
 so silly as to fall into the snare. You need not fear me ; I shall 
 not run off. 
 
 Racy. Yes, but you will though; and Walton shall run off 
 too ; and so shall Mary, and that scamp, Dulruse ; ay, and his 
 precious mother after him. Gad ! 3 ou wench, there shall be 
 such a carrying-off, as has never been heard of since the rape 
 of Proserpine. 
 
 Cath. But, uncle 
 
 Racy. Don't butt at me, niece, or you '11 hurt that little head 
 of yours. What, what ! here have I the rarest counterplot in 
 the world, and was going to make you and Schuyler happy, 
 and Mary happy, and those two devils unhappy — as they 
 
 ought to be, and your father a wise man, and — and 
 
 Damn it ! I '11 do it — wont hear scruples — not a word, not 
 a word. 
 
 Cath. I dare not deceive my father, uncle. 
 
 Racy. But I dare, and will undeceive him afterwards. And 
 there 's that puss, Mary ; I mean to undeceive her too. 
 
 Cath. Yet you would have her run off with — 
 
 Racy. — That rascal Arnold ? Sure, sure ; nothing so effec- 
 tual to undeceive her ; nothing. Dont you see it, you hussy ? 
 You used to have so bright a wit ; but you and Walton are 
 grown the stupidest people, since yoa have taken to cooing! 
 Well, that blush is a rare embellisher, — sha'n't quarrel with 
 you. But hark you, Kate ; do you think that if Arnold find 
 he has carried off the ten-thousand, when he thought he had 
 the fifty, he Will be in any hurry to conclude the bargain? 
 By the Lord, no ! And he never shall, at any rate. How 
 would you like your cousin to be disgusted with the traitor ? 
 
44 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 Cath. Nothing could render me happier. 
 
 Racy. There you — You make a mistake there, you slut ; 
 but I know it will render you very happy. And how would 
 you like a fine, hearty, whole-souled fellow for Mary's hus- 
 band; just such another as myself, only a little handsomer, and 
 a good deal younger, eh ? 
 
 Cath. I should be delighted, indeed; for she deserves one. 
 
 Racy, And she shall have one ; and money in his purse, into 
 the bargain. There ; that will do : I must now go and arrange 
 matters with Walton. You '11 be ready to-night, about ten 
 o'clock ? 
 
 Cath. But uncle, dear uncle 
 
 Racy. Not one word — not one syllable. I '11 send Schuyler 
 to you, with arguments in plenty. Settle it between you. I 
 believe the devil is in me, when I get a plot in my head ; for 
 
 I'mas happy as 0, by the by, Letty made me promise her 
 
 your forgiveness. She 'sbeen eavesdropping, the wench; but 
 it was all for your good. What, what! displeased? Wont 
 have it — too scrupulous — circumstances alter cases — go to 
 your cousin — there — there [Pushing her out of the door, 
 while she endeavors vainly to speak.'] — there! Out with you; 
 talk to Mary : I '11 after Schuyler. [Exeunt. 
 
ACT IV. sc. 1. 45 
 
 Act the Fourth 
 
 Scene I. Racy's lodgings. 
 
 Randolph's dressing-room. — A couch, wardrobe, and dressing- 
 table. A magnificent cheval-glass. Other 
 mirrors, and articles of the toilet of a costly and elegant 
 description. Ga.ntelet, arranging the things on 
 the dressingtable, occasionally smelling affectedly at the essence- 
 bottles, and admiring himself in the glass. 
 
 Gant [Singing, in a subdued voice. 
 
 "Allons, enfans de la patrie! 
 Le jour de gloire est arrive '" 
 
 Enter Racy. 
 
 Racy. It is, eh ? So I should think. And you are keeping 
 it very mellifluously, you jackdaw. 
 
 Gant. [ivho, ivhile Racy is speaking, has been making several 
 humble bows, by way of apology 7\ Pardon, Monsieur Raacie ; 
 your pauvre serviteur note know dat you waas present. 
 
 Racy. And where 's your master ? Not come yet ? 
 
 Gant. Ah, oui, yase — dat is, no ; he come all de hour. 
 [Noise ivithin, as of a carriage stopping^ Ah, le voild ! dere 
 he is ! [noise, as of the steps let down. 
 
46 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Racy. G-ad ! my hoy! [These two words in a tone of deep 
 emotion, while he looks eagerly at the open door. 
 
 Some one is heard approaching, singing gaily : 
 
 " Amici, il ciel pietoso 
 Le vostre preci accolga ! 3S 
 
 Enter Randolph. 
 
 Racy. You have your wish for once, you dog ; for I have 
 been praying, for this hour, to see that impudent face of yours ; 
 and maybe some other fools have been equally pious. 
 
 Rand. Ah, nuncle ! Kiss me, old boy ! [Kisses Racy on one 
 cheek.'] Now, t' other ; a la Frangaise. [Kisses him on the other, 
 while Racy pishes and pshaws, and endeavors to escape.] But 
 where the devil did you learn Italian ? 
 
 Racy. There 's a rascal for you ! Why, you unnatural cur ! 
 where did you learn it ? Did n't you have your first lesson 
 from me ? the original taste, you coxcomb ? 
 
 Rand. Yes, and the draught was so oddly qualified, that I 
 never knew whether it was of the real Tuscan grape, or 
 downright Hollands, — till a prima donna taught me the dif- 
 ference. 
 
 Racy. By a very moral intoxication, doubtless. Mere de- 
 traction ! Prima donna, indeed, you affected fop ! And what 
 might your erudition have gained by her sol/egging ? 
 
 Rand. A pleasant piece of knowledge, most usually learned 
 from such maestre : that the diminuendo of my pocket needed 
 no straining, while the crescendo of my conscience — 
 
 Racy. Was always an effort. 
 
ACT IV. SC. 1. 47 
 
 Rand. A very natural progression, on mi sol ! M 
 
 Racy. base pun ! If the tenor of your wisdom must run 
 off into this falsetto, your years will find their treble a choice 
 part in the opera of folly. 
 
 Rand. Bravo, uncle ! you run counter to your own instruc- 
 tions, like many other preachers. 
 
 Racy. Ay, the dogs are sadly fond of ad libitum passages. 
 
 Rand. But to leave these sharps, and come to the flats at 
 home — 
 
 Racy. Videlicet, my half-brother, and Madam Dulruse. Ah ! 
 you young hound, I have the rarest sport in cover for you ! 
 and a bit of special game besides, that will make your mouth 
 water : such a doe ! But first, how did you find the folk in 
 the Old Dominion ? 
 
 Rand. Tough as ever, and transported of course to see your 
 humble servant. Such a round of feasting ! And that infernal 
 Barbecue-Club ! I have nearly drunk my liver into a hepa- 
 ti'tis. Aunt Peggy, though, was very rabid about these inno- 
 cents [coaxing his mustaches.], and vowed I looked more like a 
 ramcat than a human being : think of the savage of the Blue 
 Bidge ! But I 'm revenged on her atrocity : the old panther 
 would have me bring you a spongecake of her own composi- 
 tion, enveloped in a ream of letter-paper : I pitched it to a 
 beggar on the road, — the fellow looked so devilish hungry. 
 It would have done your heart good to see his astonishment : 
 I thought, nunc', he would never have shut his mouth. 
 
 Racy. Out, you crackbrain ! was that the way to treat your 
 aunt ? my property too ! [Shaking him, but with a look of fond- 
 ness and, admiration. 
 
48 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Rand. Pshaw ! what the deuse do you want of sponge- 
 cake ? No matter, mio caro ; I 've something better for you : 
 Aunt Sally has sent you a flannel nightcap to keep your head 
 warm, and sister Betsy has knit you six pairs of woolen 
 stockings, against the winter ; the dear souls say you will be 
 wanting them, for the rheumatism. 
 
 Racy. What, what ! You lie, you lie. But what detained 
 you in Philadelphia ? Fanny Ellsler ? 
 
 Rand. Fanny — Ell — sler ! Che questidne curio' sa ! 35 
 She never shows her legs, you know, till evening. And then, 
 have I not seen Taglioni's toes ? Pote'r di soc'co ! you might 
 as well tell me of some simple tenor of Bergamo, when I have 
 been rapt into the seventh heaven of ecstacy on the breath of 
 Rubin i. 
 
 Racy. Or of old Frank Racy, when you have been drinking 
 Tuscan from the enchanted cup of some Circe of the opera. 
 
 Rand. [In a natural manner.'] No, dear uncle, now you 
 wrong me ! [Putting his arm affectionately about Racy's waist, 
 and gently hugging him.] Do I not owe everything to you ? 
 Though there is not a drop of your blood in my veins ( as, on 
 my soul, I wish it was all yours ! ) have you not been my in- 
 structor, friend, uncle, father, all to me ? You dear, good soul, 
 you ! you are worth a thousand primadonnas, though Malibran 
 herself was of them ! 
 
 Racy. [Turning aside, with emotion, and wiping his eyes : 
 while Gantelet takes snuff.] Plague on your nonsense ! Can't 
 you keep your collar out of my eye ? 
 
 Rand. [Going to the cheval-glass.] Now tell me, nunc', what 
 is all this game you have on foot for me ? [Takes a small mir- 
 
act rv. sc. 1. 49 
 
 ror in his hand — brushes carefully and slowly his mustaches and 
 whiskers — then lays down the mirror and parts his long curled 
 hair 20 with his fingers, &c. &c. 
 
 Racy. [After watching his movements, for a moment, with a 
 droll expression of mingled wonder, humor, and vexation.'] Was 
 there ever such a puppy ! — Would any one believe that this 
 fellow could back a horse with the best man in Virginia, fence 
 like a Neapolitan, put a pistol-bullet through a card-spot at 
 thirty paces, and shoot flying with Leatherstocking ? Come 
 away from that glass ! I 've no patience. 
 
 Rand. [Singing falsetto. With affected melancholy and anxiety.] 
 11 Deh ! ti calma ! " 37 
 
 Racy. Calm myself! you Miss-Nancy! I '11 have you mar- 
 ried ; I will : your wife shall singe your smellers, and * 8 Del- 
 ilize your locks to make frizettes. 
 
 Rand. [Still before the glass.] They are no longer in fashion, 
 uncle. 
 
 Racy. No, the women have resigned their frivolities to the 
 men : they dress their brainpans classically, and 't is you, the 
 breeches-wearers, that have turned G-oths. Is this the fruit 
 of your three years' travel in the old world? to wear long 
 
 ringlets like a girl, and Confound you, sir ! you left us 
 
 a fellow of some sense : what have you returned ? An Ado- 
 nis, a Narcissus, an Hermaphrodi'tus. 
 
 Rand. [Bowing to his uncle, in the glass.] Ella mi va lusin- 
 gdndo 39 : they were beauties. But your story, zio mio, your 
 story. 
 
 Racy. Hum ! I scarcely know whether such a thing, as you, 
 is worth trusting with it. But we are not alone. 
 
50 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Rand. Grant, leave us. [Gant. boivs and is going off.] The 
 fellow, though, is trustworthy. 
 
 Racy. I have heard you say so before. And we may want 
 him. Come back, you Gantelet. 
 
 Gant. A Monsieur Raacie's sareveece. 
 
 Racy. Can you keep a secret for three whole hours ? 
 
 Gant. [Putting his hand on his heart, and bowing.] Monsieur 
 does me too mush honneur : trya me. 
 
 Racy. Well, stand aside. Now, Frank, do you know what 
 Animal Magnetism is ? 
 
 Rand. [Throwing himself at full length on the couch.] 0, a 
 sensible doctrine, that teaches us that a blind woman, or an 
 idiot, has more brains than Benjamin Franklin, and that a 
 twopenny quack, with a trick of his thumbs, can do what 
 G-eorge the Third with all his armies could not, — control the 
 will in others, and give a forcible direction to thought. 
 
 Racy. My brother, Hal Clairvoir, has become a convert. 
 
 Rand. You don't say so ? 
 
 Racy. And in order to have a race of magnetic children, 
 whose eyes shall be where their mouths should^ and who shall 
 talk with their stomachs, he is going to marry Mother Dulruse 
 himself, and force Kate to pig with the son. 
 
 Rand. [Springing to his feet] The devil ! And what be- 
 comes of Schuyler Walton ? 
 
 Racy. He 's to be dismissed, because he will not dismiss his 
 senses. Now, the Dulruses, 40 fearing that their influence will 
 not last many days, have got up a fine scheme for a runaway 
 marriage, by which that rascal Arnold is to get Kate, and 
 Schuyler to be turned over to Mary, under pretence of doing 
 
ACT IV. SC. 1. 51 
 
 just the contrary. But I We reversed the tables: we are going 
 to have the frolic ; but the biter is to be bitten. 
 
 Rand. How ? And leave that sweet girl Mary to that art- 
 ful villain ? 
 
 Racy. No, no ; not quite, not quite : I 've another partner 
 preparing for her. 
 
 Rand. Ha, ha ! 
 
 [Singing.'] " Unisco le famiglie, 
 
 Le liti io rendo nulle, 
 E spesso alle fanciulle 
 Marito soglio dar. 11 
 
 y ttcice.* 1 
 
 Racy. Do leave Eossini for a moment, will you? She 's a 
 capital wench, eh Frank ? 
 
 Rand. Who ? Kossini ? Never tried her. 
 
 Racy. Can't you be quiet ? Mary, Mary. 
 
 Rand. Mary ? Oh yes ; a devilish good girl ; but rather tame. 
 
 Racy. No, no ; you mistake her character : she 's not so 
 volatile as her cousin, but she has mind and soul as well as 
 beauty. You must have seen her often since your return from 
 Europe: — does she please you? 
 
 Rand. Ecome!^ 
 
 Racy. Then you shall have her, with my blessing, and — 
 something else. 
 
 Rand. Pian, piano ! I 'm in no hurry for a wife. 
 
 Racy. Well, well. — Must have you, at any rate, to help 
 us in this affair. Can you play Jar vie ? 
 
 Rand. Anything to pleasure you. Which number, if your 
 honor plases? The white house is it, sir? All right, yer honor. 
 Tuck ! tuck ! git up, ye blind deevil ! 
 
52 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 Racy. Pshaw, pshaw ! you 're not to be the whip. You 
 shall mount the box merely for precaution : for when that 
 rogue, Dulruse, shall find he is sailing off with the wrong prize, 
 he '11 be apt to turn pirate in earnest, and show all his bru- 
 tality. 
 
 Rand. Let him : I '11 whip him ! 
 
 Racy. No, no; I wont have that. Interfere to protect 
 Mary ; but let us have no whipping. 
 
 Rand. That 's a pity. But I 'il find a way to When is 
 
 this rape to begin ? 
 
 Racy. By ten to-night, at furthest. 
 
 Rand. To-night? Avete serri pre furia.** It cannot be. 
 
 Racy. But it must; for the chief object is to undeceive 
 Mary ; and that never will be, till we throw Arnold off his 
 guard. 
 
 Rand. Amen, then. But let us hear your plan in full. 
 
 Racy. By and by ; no time, now. Oh ! there is another 
 part of the play not yet allotted. I should like to open Hal 's 
 eyes so wide, that they will never close again on this impos- 
 ture ; but I don't want to run away with Mother Dulruse my- 
 self. 
 
 Rand. Ha, ha, ha ! I should like to see you. 
 
 Racy. You would, would you ? I think not. Now, could 
 I find somebody that would get ' the start of brother Clair- 
 voir 
 
 Rand. Well, what ? 
 
 Racy. The old f ?ol is so eager, I believe she could be per- 
 suaded to give him the slip, rather than wait. 
 
 Rand. What a pity she cannot serve herself, as authors now- 
 
ACT IV. SC. 1. 53 
 
 a-days manage a dull novel, divide her unity into numbers, eh ? 
 She might pass with some eclat, where, taken in the volume, 
 the composition is insufferable. 
 
 Racy. Wei!, well; but we caunot make a polypus of her ; 
 one head must answer. I could do the job myself; for the 
 tender creature 's Ready for Anybody, and has made love to me 
 furiously for a long time ; but I would rather find a substitute. 
 
 Rand. Stay ! I know one. 
 
 Racy. The deuse you do ! Where ? Who ? 
 
 Rand. There is a Neapolitan that came over in the same ves- 
 sel with me. I know him to be needy, and unscrupulous. 
 What is more, he makes no ceremony of acknowledging it. 
 He is cold, resolute, intelligent, an open scoffer at everything 
 divine and human, and all with the gravest face in the world. 
 He is genteel enough looking, 44 has been an officer of Napo- 
 leon's, and wears the red ribbon, — and sports mustaches a 
 yard long. A sum of money would make him pass himself off, 
 on the old dame, for a count or marquis, or fur the Pasha of 
 Egypt, if you prefer ; and 
 
 Racy. Bravo ! the brightest scheme. 
 
 Rand. But it will take time. 
 
 Racy. No, no ; it shall be done at once. A count could per- 
 suade the old fool in ten minutes. Where is this desperado ? 
 But. I hope, my boy, you don't associate with him ? [seriously. 
 
 Rand. G-od forbid ! I know, though, where to find him. 
 Here, G-antelet ; do you recollect the Italian gentleman ? 
 
 Gant. The monsieur wid de grand moustache f Qui, mon- 
 sieur, ver' veil: belle figure, teint basane. 
 
 Rand. Yes, — good looking, — swarthy complexion. You '11 
 y 0L . V.—i 
 
54 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 find him at Palmo's 45 always at this hour. G-o there, and tell 
 him that Mr. Kandolph would see him on business of impor- 
 tance without delay. Run all the way ; or jump into a 'bus. 
 
 Gant. [Going, ,] Oui, monsieur. 
 
 Racy. Stop ! Can't we have a supper here, Frank, in an 
 hour ? 
 
 Rand. Why yes, if you want it. What for ? 
 
 Racy. To bring Dulruse to the point I wish. The rogue is 
 passionate : he shall have just wine enough to put him off his 
 guard. 
 
 Rand. G-ood ! G-antelet, stop at Windust's 46 on your way, 
 and tell him to send down, within an hour, supper for — how 
 many, uncle ? 
 
 Racy. We '11 have Walton and the Count: five. 
 
 Rand. Supper for five ; an elegant one. What wines ? 
 
 Racy. Never mind tbem. There 's the old stock ; and I have 
 some dozens of that Hiedsieck left, thanks to your absence. 
 
 Rand. ! I thought I had been longer away. 
 
 Racy. You rascal ! [Beating Mm. 
 ' Rand. Off, Gant. Be back immediately — shall want to 
 send you with a letter to Mrs. Dulruse. 
 
 Gant. Oui, monsieur : I flies. [Exit Gant 
 
 Racy, What 's that ? what letter ? 
 
 Rand. From the Count, to be sure, declaring his passion, 
 and supplicating for an instant interview. 
 
 Racy. What, what ! Why, you 're unmatchable at an 
 intrigue. You have had other lessons abroad besides musical 
 ones, you dog. Does your count talk good English ? 
 
 Rand. Uncommonly good ; rather elegant, though with a 
 
ACT IV. sc. 1. 55 
 
 foreign accent. He '11 fit her, I warrant you : only do you 
 fit him. 
 
 Racy. Never fear. — Must now find Walton, to prepare 
 him. Had great difficulty to bring him to reason. Indeed 
 but to disenchant Mary, he never would have consented to 
 this decption. 
 
 Rand. Ay 7 ay ; he 's as open as the day, and the very soul 
 of honor. 
 
 Racy. And the model of a fine gentleman. He wears 
 47 his hair short, and eschews mustaches. [ Going. 
 
 Rand. Ha, ha ! [Follovnng to the door. 
 
 [Sings.'] " E spesso alle fanciulle 
 Marito soglio dar. 1 ' 
 
 Au revoir, uncle Hymen. [Exit Racy, shaking his fist at him.] 
 A dear, good soul, if there ever was one. — And now, 
 Madam Dorothy Dulruse, I '11 write you such a letter. [Going 
 to another door. 
 
 [Sings.] " E spesso alle fanciulle 
 
 Marito soglio dar. [Exit, singing. 
 
 48 In me ciascun si pud Mar." [heard tcithin. 
 Scene closes. 
 
56 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 49 Scene II. 
 The Housekeeper 's rooms at Mr. Clair voir' s. 
 
 DtTLRUSE, 
 
 walking up and down in a brown study. 
 Enter, Mrs. Dulruse, gaily. 
 
 Mrs. D. She 's coming, Amy : now, do speak her kind. 
 
 Dulr. Anything, so I am revenged upon Miss Clairvoir. 
 Once my wife ! Does the girl come willingly ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Mary ? 
 
 Dulr. Yes, Mary. How stupid you are ! Whom else did 
 you mean ? 
 
 Mrs. D. That 's true : but you are so impatient, my dear. 
 
 Dulr. Well, well ; answer me, mother. 
 
 Mrs. D. Does she come willing? No; we have had rare 
 work to persuade her ; she 's just such another stickler as her 
 cou-in. 
 
 Dulr. Curse her ! But I '11 humble her ; I will, by Heaven ! 
 [In a lower tone, and clenching his fist. 
 
 Mrs. D. Not Mary, poor thing ! She \s humble enough. 
 
 Dulr. Who 's talking about Mary ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Why, I was ; and so was you. Lor' ! there 's her 
 steps. Now, do smooth your brow, my baby ; for I 've told 
 
ACT IV. SC. 2. 57 
 
 the child you was kind o' struck with remorse, and going to 
 be very fond of her agin. 
 
 Dulr. Perhaps I may — when Walton gets her. 
 
 Mrs. D. Hush ! 
 
 Enter Mary. 
 
 Dulr. [Taking her hand.]. Mary clear, will you forgive me ? 
 
 Mary. Arnold, I have never borne you malice. 50 1 've been 
 very, very sorry — yes, unhappy, ( for I will not be ashamed 
 to own it, ) — very unhappy, while I thought you were wil- 
 fully untrue to me ; but your mother — has — has 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, I told her it was all of the old man's doin', 
 and 
 
 Dulr. Don 't interrupt us, my dear mother, [frowns at her, 
 aside.} Gro on, Mary. 
 
 f Mary. I was only going to say, Arnold, that as your mother 
 has explained every thing, and you yourself, she tells me, are 
 — are 
 
 Dulr. Returned to a sense of my duty, my affection, Mary. 
 Yes, Heaven was pleased for a time to dazzle my senses with 
 your cousin's fortune 
 
 Mary. [Faintly, and with dismay.] Indeed ? I did not 
 know 
 
 Dulr. Mother did not tell you all, through a wish to spare 
 me : but I have been very bad, my dear. I was seduced 
 by misrepresentations to think that Mr. Clairvoir preferred a 
 
 union between me and But I hurt you by this confession. 
 
 It was a short struggle, my angel ; my better nature has tri- 
 
58 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 umphed, and I am — all I was before, [with a bitter smile at 
 Mrs D. — Mary having her eyes cast down. 
 
 Mary. Then, what need of this clandestine step, Arnold ; 
 why should we 
 
 Dulr. Kun away, my dear ? Because we cannot stay. Have 
 you not had it all explained ? It is the only way to put an 
 end to our novel difficulties ; and it will make your cousin 
 happy equally with yourself. Hush ! here 's your uncle. 
 
 Enter Olairvoir. 
 
 Clair. Mrs. D., I am waiting for you, my dear. What are 
 you doing there with Mary, Arnold ? 
 
 Dulr. sir, I am only persuading her to — to be reconciled : 
 and she is, sir. Hush ! [aside to Mary. 
 
 Mary. [Aside to Dulr.] 0, I cannot bear this ! Let me go, 
 Arnold. 
 
 Clair. She looks very uneasy. No matter, Mary child ; 
 uncle will provide you another husband, and soon. Come, my 
 dear. [To Mrs. D. 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, but we a 'n't a-going to experiment now, 
 Mr. Clairvoir ? 
 
 Clair. No, not quite yet. Have a good heart, Mary. [Exit 
 with Mrs. D. 
 
 Dulr. There, take your uncle's advice, Mary. And don't 
 think any more about it. You see, it is the only way ; he is 
 resolute. 
 
 Mary. Well, Arnold, I will not oppose you. But I wish it 
 was over. Will you join us in the parlor ? [Going. 
 
ACT IV. SC. 3. 59 
 
 Dulr. Yes, yes. [Exit Mary, Arnold^ shutting the door on 
 her.'] Scrupulous fool ! Over ? Hum ! [Looking at his watch.'] 
 
 Two hours more : — and then, Miss Catharine [compress- 
 
 ing his lips, and clenching his hands. — Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The drawingroom. — as in Act I. Scene I. 
 
 Walton and Catharine, conversing. Then, Enter Mary, sloivly, 
 
 Cath. [Running to her, and taking her affectionately round the 
 waist.] Come, coz., you sha 'n't look so sentimental. Mr. 
 Walton has seen Uncle Eacy, and is now convinced that the 
 affair is not only justifiable, but is the very best thing we can 
 do. 
 
 Walt. Yes, Miss Mary. On one account, I am still reluc- 
 tant ; but I can assure you sincerely, that I believe this little 
 frolic will eventuate most happily, and particularly so for 
 yourself. 
 
 Enter Eacy. 
 
 Racy, [to Mary.] What, what ! Coying it yet, my little 
 violet"? Come, come, all 's well that ends well. Walton, 
 
60 THE MAGNETISE R 
 
 I 
 
 Bub's still in the dark, eh ? But I 'm going to make him play 
 off the last of his experiments on the Dulruse, for my particu- 
 lar edification, presently. What 's that ? [shuffling of feet wUh- 
 in.] Heyday ! what rat 's in the other room ? 
 
 Letty. [Within, and very loud.] Let me go, sir! You had 
 better. 
 
 Dalr. [Within, hut lower.] Come, come, don't be a fool. 
 [Noise as of a door pushed violently and suddenly open ; and 
 
 Enter 
 
 Letty, staggering backward, from the side of the 
 
 scene opposite the windows, — Dulruse, having hold of her arms, 
 
 dragged after her. 
 
 Racy. Here 's a catastrophe ! Why, what the devil are you 
 doing, Mr. Dulruse? 
 
 Dulr. Hum ! hum ! — I — I was trying to persuade her to 
 intercede for me — wi>h her mistress — whose displeasure 
 [bowing low to Cath.] I fear I have too justly incurred. 
 
 Letty. [eagerly.] A great ! [Racy checks her by a sign. 
 
 Racy, [aside to Walton.] I b.lieve he lies like the devil. 
 [Aloud.] yes! that's all right enough. G-et you gone, 
 Letty, for an ill-natured puss, [making another sign to her to be 
 silent. 
 
 Letty. [going.] Mr. Dulruse, sir, will never take ~No for an 
 answer. [Exit. 
 
 Racy. That looks very like understanding the sex, they say, 
 eh Dulruse ? But your pardon is made, sir, with the ladies. 
 Oh, child, [to Mary.] you must n't look scared ; Mr. Dulruse is 
 not deserving of your jealousy, I assure you. And now we 're 
 
ACT IV. SC. 4. 61 
 
 all here, let us make our final arrangements : and then, boys, 
 have with you both to my lodgings ! Somebody there will 
 make you right welcome and merry for an hour. 
 
 Cath. Who is it, uncle. Not cousin Fran 
 
 Racy, [clapping his hand on her mouthy Hold your tongue, 
 hussy; don't spoil sport. — Let us adjourn to the other 
 room — Mr. Dulruse's council-chamber, [aside to Cath. — 
 
 Exeunt Omnes. 
 
 Scene IY. 
 
 The Diningroom, — as in Act II Scene II 
 
 Enter Letty, leading in G-antelet. She shuts the door. 
 
 letty. And now, Monsieur Jackanapes, tell us all about it. 
 So, you are in the plot, eh ? They must have been sadly in 
 want of conspirators. 
 
 Gant. Oh ver' veil, if you waas so saacy, Mees Laytie, you 
 sha 'n't know notting at all. 
 
 Lett. But I will, though : so let me see that letter that you 
 hold behind you. [struggling to get it from him.] Hum ! here 
 comes the old woman. I '11 punish you for this. [Going. 
 
 Gant. Yell, can't you- a hide behind de door, ma chere f you 
 shaal dare hear all, and see all too, if you likes. 
 4* 
 
62 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 Lett. Talk loud, then. Hush ! here she is. 
 Enter Mrs. Dulruse. 
 
 Mrs. D. [to Letty.] What are you doing here ? 
 
 Lett. No harm, ma'am, I 'm sure. But I can go out, if 
 you want to be alone with the man. [Exit, bridling. She 
 draws the door ajar, and stands behind it. 
 
 Mrs. D. Saucy creature ! Did you want to speak to me ? 
 
 Gant. Old, madame. I haave de honneur to bring-a you 
 one leetel billet-doux from Monsieur le Comte de Sanscarlin. 
 
 Mrs. D. Who ? I never heard the name before. 
 
 Gant. Ah no, madame ; but de Count he often hear of you ; 
 he see you ; he sigh for you ; he die for you : he take-a no 
 rest at all, notting to eat, notting to drink, since he love — 
 pardon, madame 
 
 Mrs. D. Sure, here 's some mistake, [looking pleased.'] Count ! 
 A foreign gentleman ? 
 
 Gant. Braave foreign gentilhomme ; great frent of Monsieur 
 Rantolph. He see madame a — a — I nevare knows where, 
 mon dieu — but ver* frakontly. He beg Monsieur Rantolph 
 to maak him acquaint : Monsieur Rantolph say no. 
 
 Mrs. D. Why so ? That was very ungentlemanly in Mr. 
 Randolph. I should have been happy, extremely happy to 
 see the count — What is his name, monsheer ? 
 
 Gant. Sanzacarlini, madame ; Comte Sanzacarlini ; one 
 Italien ; fine gentilhomme ; reesh, ver' reesh. Yel, Monsieur 
 Rantolph, mon jeune maitre, he say to de count: li Yj you 
 no introduce-a yourself? Write her one billet-doux — filled 
 with fire and flams; tell her how you die for her; and ran 
 
ACT IV. SC. 4. 63 
 
 your own reesk. I vont interferes," says Monsieur Kantolph, 
 " vid Meester Clair war." 
 
 Mrs. D. Ah, I see now. Well, I 'm sure, the count is a 
 gentleman. Let me see his letter. [Gant. bows and hands it 
 with great ceremony. Mrs. D. opens it, reads, shows great de- 
 light, while Gant. takes the opportunity, her back being turned, 
 to act a little amorous bye-play with Letty, in dumb show.] — 
 Tell the Count that I will see him — his lordship, as soon as he 
 pleases. Mr. Clairvoir has just stepped out to take his evening- 
 walk, and if he will come now, we sha 'n't be interrupted. 
 
 Gant. He vill come on de vings of Love, madame ; he vill 
 fly like one grand turkey. [Exit } snatching a kiss from Letty, 
 as he brushes by her. Letty pushes him off. 
 
 Mrs. D. Heh, heh ! What 's that? Letty ! 
 
 Enter Letty, 
 leaving the door ajar. G-antelet is seen to take his place behind it. 
 
 Was that you, Letty ? 
 
 Lett. Yes, ma'am. That was a very impudent man, madam : 
 he actually kissed me. 
 
 Mrs. D. Well, never mind, child. Noblemen's servants will 
 be free. He did n't harm you, I dare say. 
 
 Lett. No, ma'am; but I should like to see him do it again. 
 Nobleman, did you say, ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, nobleman, Letty : the Count — Count [read- 
 ing the letter^ Sansercarlini. Grand name ! 
 
 Lett. Oh dear! Well, I declare, Mrs. Dalruse ; you are the 
 happiest lady ; everbody falls in love with you. And did he 
 really write that letter to you ? 
 
64 THE MAGNETTSER 
 
 Mrs, D. To me : see ; Mrs. Dulruse at Mr. Clairvoir's, Broad- 
 way. 51 [Showing the superscription.'] If I thought, Letty, that 
 you would n't tell 
 
 Lett. I tell, ma'am? Lor' ma'am, what do you take me for? 
 
 Mrs. D. Well then, shut the door, child. 
 
 Lett. Oh ma'am, there 's nobody can hear. However — 
 [Pushes it a little closer, hut still leaves room for Gant. to put his 
 nose through. Mrs. D., the ivhile, gazing with satisfaction on 
 the hack of her letter. 
 
 Mrs. D>. Now then, you must know, that this great noble- 
 man is a. friend of Mr. Francis Racy Randolph's, and 
 
 Iieft. No matter, ma'am ; I am so impatient to hear the letter. 
 
 Mrs. D. [Reading.} Adorable angel ! Hem ! Men will write 
 such foolish things ! Do you think I look like an angel, Letty ? 
 
 Lett. Why, now I look at yon, ma'am, I don't know but 
 that you do look a little like one of the three angels I saw in a 
 play once, called Macbeth. 
 
 Mrs. D. Indeed! Well, that 's odd. [Reads,] Adorable 
 angel/ Flatterer I [Reads.] Persumption though this may be, 
 yours, your beautxfs, only, is the fault. I have seen you. Hav- 
 ing seen you, I adore you. Adoring you, I must enjoy you.™ 
 That 's rather free, Letty. 
 
 Lett. Noblemen will be free, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. D. True. [Reads.] I know I have a rival ; and that 
 makes me desperate to take these means, instead of waiting for 
 the formality of an introduction. Curse on formality ! How 
 spirited ! He's been an orficer. [Reads.] Curse on formal- 
 ity ! What is it to the flames with which I burn? Will it put 
 them out? Poor fellow ! 
 
ACT IV. SC. 4. 65 
 
 Lett. Yes, he's all afire. 
 
 Mrs. D. [Beading.] No, nothing but your sweet presence, 
 your divine language, your super — su — su — superce — les 
 — 3 r es — super celestial condescension will bring about so desirable 
 a consermation. Kill me at once — There's passion for you, 
 Letty ! [Reads.] Kill me at once, or let me see you. Dying, 
 till I receive your answer ; perliaps to die when I do receive it; 
 if not, to live — oh in ecstacy, ecstali — c, a, 1, eal, — yes — ec- 
 statically ecstatic/ I remain, madam, on my bended knees, your 
 afflicted, inconsolable, but not tee-totally — Oh, he 's heard of the 
 Temperance Society, Letty. But that 's a queer phrase, 
 though. 
 
 Lett. You know he 's a foreigner, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. D. So he is. — Not tee-totally despairing adorer, Count 
 Sanzacarlini, Officer of the Legion of Honor. Then, in the cor- 
 ner, To Mrs. Dorothea Dulruse. 
 
 Lett. Well, noblemen really have a delightful style. 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, something so grand, so superlestial. Orficer 
 of a legion of honors ! But here 's a mem., Letty. [Beads.] 
 Mem. Perhaps, when you hear me, you may change your inten- 
 tions, and my rival in his turn may be taught to despair. If he 
 is rich, I am richer — Think of that, Letty ! — if he is 
 gentle, I am noble; if he loves you, I — do I not adore you? 
 53 And being younger than he, may I not hope to prove it? 
 prepare to receive me, divine enchantress ! — Lor' s' us ! — as 
 I should be received by one so beautiful and so engaging ! Dear 
 Count ! What would you do, Letty, if you was me ? 
 
 Lett. Why, I would n't tell a soul about it, but keep it all 
 to myself till I had seen the dear man and married him. 
 
66 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Mrs. D. And would you see him, and marry him ? 
 
 Lett. Yes, if he would have me, marry him at once, run 
 away with him, anything! But take care, ma'am, don't let 
 Mr. Arnold see that ! He won't like it, on account of Mr. 
 Clairvoir. 
 
 Mi s. D. You 're right, Letty. Well, he sha' n't. You are a 
 good-natured thing, I do declare, Letty ; and you and I will 
 be very good friends. 
 
 Lett. Thank your ladyship, humbly, [curtsying. 
 
 Mrs D. now! don't ladyship me yet, Letty; wait till 
 I 'm the Countess, Letty dear. Don't say a word. Countess 
 Sansyleeny, Orficer of a legion of honors! [Exit, strutting. 
 
 Lett. Ha, ha, ha ! Your legionship's humble servant, [curt- 
 sying.] What an old fool ! 
 
 Enter Gtantelet. 
 
 Gant. Mon dieu/ I vaas nearly run ofer by Madame de 
 Coiatesse. 
 
 Lett. Be off now, quick, and tell the impatient Legion to 
 make haste to come and expire at his angel's feet. 
 
 Gant. Ma foi, oui, or his flams will make hast to expire 
 before him. [Going. 
 
 Lett. Stop ! Do you value my favor, Mr. G-antelet ? [He 
 puts his hand on his heart, and looks sentimental.] Well, when 
 the party goes off to-night, do you manage to get on the foot- 
 board behind the Countess's carriage, and tell me all that hap- 
 pens. 
 
 Gant. Dat I did intend to do already. My master play de 
 
ACT IV. SC. 5. 67 
 
 cocker ; I mount- a behind : I tell you all : you give me oder 
 kiss. 
 
 Lett. Devil take me, if I do. G-et out, you scaramouch. 
 [driving him off.] Take care you don't stumble on the Legion 
 of Honors; don't run against Macbeth's angel! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 At Racy's Lodgings. 
 A room elegantly furnished. Italian vases, marble 
 
 busts, statuettes, &c, &c. 
 
 Randolph, 
 running about the room with an Italian greyhound. 
 
 Rand. There, Tiz, that '11 do; you put me quite out of 
 breath. 
 
 Enter Sanzacarlini. 
 
 Sanz. I come unannounced, Mr. Randolph. 
 
 Rand. Not the less welcome, signor ; my servant has gone 
 on a business of importance. Pray, be seated. You found me, 
 I hope, without difficulty ? 
 
 Sanz. Thank you. Yes, I took the direction from your man. 
 You wished to see me on a matter of importance, 
 
68 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 Rand. Why, yes ; but really — Be quiet, Tiz — I scarce 
 know how to break it to you. 
 
 Sanz. It is a matter then of some delicacy. I am not par- 
 ticular. 
 
 Band. So I have heard you say. And it is on that accounc 
 I have ventured to send for you. In few word-, sir : there is 
 a certain gentlewoman whom certain parties find it necessary 
 to overreach, she having endeavored to overreach them. 
 
 Sanz. I understand, sir : what I believe is called, in vulgar 
 English, Tit for tat: natural equity. 
 
 Hand. You have heard, doubtless, of Animal Magnetism 
 
 Sanz. As I have of a thousand other bubbles which men 
 blow up one after another, and believe they are solid, though 
 they have made them, themselves, of soap and water. 
 
 Band. Then you have no faith in it. 54 
 
 Sanz. I cannot have faith in that which is founded on what 
 I have no faith in. 
 
 Rand. And that ? 
 
 Sanz. The immateriality of the soul. I believe my senses ; 
 but I have no faith in the invisible, the inaudible, the impal- 
 pable, what I cannot taste, and what I cannot smell. 
 
 Rand. Then you have no belief in your own thoughts ? 
 
 Sanz. In their permanency, no; in their existence, yes. 
 Where they come from, I know not ; where they go to, I care 
 as little. 
 
 Rand. Yet they are invisible, inaudible, impalpable ; you 
 taste them not, neither can you smell them. 
 
 Sanz. [hesitating, but showing no confusion.] But Mr. Ran- 
 dolph did not send for me to dispute on metaphysics. 
 
ACT IV. SC. 5. 69 
 
 Band. Hardly: it was a digression of 3 our own making. I 
 knew beforehand, that, with all your intelligence, your 
 shrewdness, your vast knowledge of mankind, you lay no 
 claim to the possession of a soul, nor will allow any other man 
 to have one. 
 
 Sanz. [with the same coldness.] What convinces Mr. Ean- 
 dolph that he has one ? 
 
 Band. That which should make you feel it, who were born 
 an Italian. 
 
 Sanz. And what is that? Seeing my country in bondage 
 to foreign tyrants, and its native masters but the overseers 
 the whippers-in of the miserable, half-starved, ignorant slaves? 
 
 Band. No, no. 
 
 Sanz. [still, in appearance, cold and calm, and speaking in the 
 same grave tone, hut with rather more quickness.] Superstition 
 then ? the yoke of a priesthood, who are worse, if possible, than 
 they were, in the days when the great John Boccacci made 
 them the sink of every vice, as you call it, or the personifica- 
 tion of every passion, as I would say, — of every dirty passion, 
 that controls this beautiful nature which the world calls 
 human? the paganism of the old time under a new name, and 
 its pollutions no more public ? the last link, the rivet, of the 
 chain of mental servitude? Is it this, that should ? 
 
 Band, [impatiently.] No, no ! Bio bitono ! you will not 
 listen. 
 
 Sanz. [still imperturbably .] 0, perhaps then, it is the monu- 
 ments of past greatness, as men call it, which have come down 
 to us, a vile posterity, to demonstrate, that as now Italia is but 
 the subject, so once she was the tyrant of nations, that in 
 
70 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 other times she swept together, from all parts of the depopu- 
 lated and wasted earth, the means of embellishing her scanty 
 corner, and that the gold, the ivory, and the marble, that de- 
 corated the very baths of her emperors, were transmutations 
 from the bones and flesh of myriads of their fellow-creatures, 
 and the milk in which an imperial wanton steeped her cor- 
 rupting body was the drainings, the conversion of the essence, 
 of their blood. Or is it these toys [pointing to the vases, dec], 
 the reproductions of her ancient genius, the ten-thousand- 
 times-repeated certificates of her greatest dishonor, " il disdoro 
 di noverare avi famosi ", the dishonor of counting famous an- 
 cestors f Soul ? Soul ? An Italian have a soul ? You have 
 lost your recollection in America. 
 
 Rand. No, sir ; but you have exploded, and shot so far into 
 the clouds that you cannot wonder if I am a little bewildered. 
 Who the devil expected to fire such a rocket by such a boute- 
 feu as I applied to it ! Cristo benedetto ! I was alluding to 
 music. 
 
 Sanz. Music ! You really make me laugh, [without moving 
 a muscle of his face.] Music! [caressing his long mustaches.] 
 
 Band. Yes, sir. I say, that if I did not have a thousand 
 other proofs, what I feel here [stinking his heart\ and the 
 moisture that gathers in my eyes But I talk to an infi- 
 del ; and with that cold unaccommodating humor of yours 
 there is no reasoning. Let us drop the subject, [gravely. 
 
 Sanz. [Bowing sarcastically ', but without smiling.] Yes, one 
 cannot long carry a dead weight, and keep floating in the 
 clouds 
 
ACT IV. SC. 5. 71 
 
 Enter Racy. 
 
 Rand. Uncle ! A la bonne heure. You come to remind me of 
 our business. This, uncle, is the Signor Sanzacarlini. 
 
 Racy. Am pleased to see you, sir. Be seated. — Ah, my 
 little Tiz! [Taking the dog on his lap and caressing it] Mr. 
 Randolph has informed you, I presume 
 
 Sanz. But little as yet, sir. 55 
 
 Rand. Your own fault. You would go off in a tangent — 
 to prove you had a soul, while affecting to disbelieve it. 
 
 Sanz. I have reached my secant : pray dismiss the problem. 
 This gentlewoman ? 
 
 Rand. [Recovering himself at once.] Well, this gentlewoman 
 I alluded to has, through this notion of magnetism, persuaded 
 a man of property and a father, that he has so close affinity 
 with her that their natures must mingle. It is our wish to 
 undeceive him. 
 
 Racy. And, for that purpose, we desire to introduce a rival 
 to her good graces, that shall cut him out. 
 
 Sanz. Is the lady amorous ? 
 
 Racy. Faith ! I don't know. — ■ There, go ; [setting the dog 
 down.] — She has made love to two men at once ; and a third 
 might easily bear her off, that should propose boldly. 
 
 Sanz. I see. You would not have me marry her ? 
 
 Racy. Not unless you are particularly fond of old mutton. 
 
 Sanz. My teeth are tender, sir. Has the sheep a golden 
 fleece ? 
 
 Racy. No ; but he who shears her for us will find the wool 
 profitable. 
 
12 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Sanz. I understand. I am at your service. 
 
 Rand. Bat you must commence the attack at once. 
 
 Racy. And carry the fort by assault. 
 
 Sanz. If not impregnable, and you furnish the fascines and 
 ladders. 
 
 Rand. The place is weak, and I have already made a practi- 
 cable breach for you, I imagine. Here comes the engineer. 
 
 Enter G-antelet. 
 
 Well, what from the enemy ? 
 
 Gant. Mon Dieu^ monsieur, she is one de most Christian 
 enemy dat I haav ever see : she hold up bot cheek ; she die 
 wid impationce for to saw Monsieur le Comte 1 and sigh like de 
 vind to be made an qfflcier of de legion oVhonneur. 
 
 Rand, [to Racy ] The result of the letter I took the liberty 
 to send in the Count's behalf. 
 
 Racy. Ha, ha ! know all about that. Gant., leave us. [Exit. 
 Gant.] Signor Cdnte, the breach is open ; are you ready to 
 mount ? 
 
 Sanz. An officer of the Legion of Honor should be always 
 ready. [Bowing to Randolph. 
 
 Racy. Come, you mistake my nephew, sir. That addition 
 to the title was to render the billet more effective, I dare 
 say. 
 
 Rand. Nothing more : a lodgement on the crest of the cov- 
 ered-way. 
 
 Racy. Without which, his breaching-batteries could not 
 have been constructed. 
 
ACT IV. SC. 5. 73 
 
 * Sanz. I never get angry, gentlemen ; least of all with my 
 employers. 
 
 Racy. And now, signor, as a soldier never fights better than 
 
 when he is well provisioned, will you permit me the 
 
 [Taking out his pocketbook and speaking in an embarrassed 
 manner. 
 
 Sanz. Sir, a truce to ceremony. I have come hither with 
 the hope of selling you my services. I find they are wanted. 
 They are my commodity : if you bid me fairly for it, it is 
 yours. 
 
 Racy. Then, as a fair dealer, I offer you this note of a hun- 
 dred dollars. It is for what we have already received, and 
 shall receive, on the invoice. When the goods are fully de- 
 livered, you shall have another of the same amount. 
 
 Sanz. You are a liberal purchaser, sir : I trust we shall often 
 have dealings together. [Puts the note deliberately in his 
 purse.'] You see, I have not the scruples of other men, as 
 doubtless [looking steadily at Rand.] Mr. Randolph has already 
 informed you. What I do, I do not shut my eyes in doing. 
 I look upon all mankind as governed by one principle, which, 
 though called by a thousand convenient names, is yet the 
 same ; self-interest. Your soldier sells his blood, your states- 
 man his policy, your merchant his cotton, and your priest his 
 exhortations: I sell my talents. Those who pay fcr them, as 
 you have done, shall find me true to the bargain. What can 
 any man more ? But you will say that theirs are honorable 
 employments, and, if you should speak what is now passing in 
 your minds, you would call mine dishonorable. Yet you have 
 employed me, and if the work is not fit to be done, yours is 
 
74 THE MAGNETISEK 
 
 an equal impropriety. But are not thousands doing daily, in 
 your republic, things that are many times more exceptionable 
 than this act of mine ? You see men selling their conscience to 
 party, and their honor to office. These would be their terms ; 
 honor, conscience : yet they would scorn to say that they have 
 violated them. I openly barter my abilities, and I do not 
 fear to call the exchange a traffic. If passion, or ambition, 
 buys them, they have their price; mine is money, which is 
 my necessity. What else, sir, am I to do for this sum ? In 
 plain words. 
 
 Racy. You will go to a house that will be shown to you, 
 and ask to see a Mrs. Dulruse, the housekeeper. You will 
 
 persuade her, in your own way, to run off with you, at 
 
 What time did you order the carriages ? [To Rand. 
 
 Rand. At half-past nine. [Touches a silver hell on the table. 
 
 Enter G-antelet. 
 
 Gant Monsieur. 
 
 Rand. How came you to know the signature of that letter? 
 Answer, sir. 
 
 Oant Pardon, monsieur. Me and Laytie — de door vaas 
 demi-ouverte. 
 
 Rand. Never do so again. Now take this gentleman to Mr. 
 Clairvoir's, and, on the way, tell him all that was in the letter, 
 and every thing else you know of this business. Then return to me. 
 
 Gant. Oui, monsieur. 
 
 Racy. You will return, signor, and sup with us. We shall 
 sit down in half an hour. 
 
ACT IV. SC. 5. 75 
 
 Sanz. With pleasure. A woman that has a will is soon per- 
 suaded. [Bowing, Exit followed by Gant. 
 
 Racy. Confound it, Frank, you have a bad acquaintance there. 
 
 Rand. I told you so : but he is one that will never intrude 
 himself. If you wanted to fight, and could not summon cour- 
 age, he would do your business for you, murder his man, take 
 his pay, and you would hear no more of him, till your next 
 occasion. Is all right at the Upper House ? 
 
 Racy. Yes, but we had like to have an explosion before the 
 match was lighted. Dulruse, it seems, has had a fancy for 
 Letty, — no sneaking one either; and lo, just as we were all 
 in train in the front parlor, we heard an amorous scuffle, and 
 Letty rolls in stern foremost through the folding-doors, with 
 the blackguard fastened to her bowsprit. 
 
 Rand. Vedi combinazione ! 56 — How did Mary bear this ? 
 
 Racy. 0, I jumped upon the accidental firebrand, and put it 
 out. We made the struggle pass off as mere earnestness on 
 the innamorato's part and ill-nature upon Letty's. 
 
 Rand. And Mary is a creature of such good faith herself, 
 that she believes anything you tell her. 
 
 Racy. Ay, she 's a jewel, eh, Frank ! But that villain, Letty, 
 confessed to me she backed her hull into the room on purpose. 
 So I let her into our plot, lest she should spoil sport; and the 
 jade, in return, told me all about the letter. Adorable angel ! 
 You 're a rare one. 
 
 Rand. Ay, fruit of your own grafting. [Romping with the 
 greyhound^ Well, nunc', that incident of the foldingdoors 
 will not be amiss, when we come to let Mary know the truth 
 about it." 
 
76 THE MAGNETTSER 
 
 Racy. True, we can add it to the other evidence ; or you 
 can do that yourself, at the proper moment. 
 
 Rand. In the coach ? Perhaps so. But how are the opera- 
 tions to be conducted ? 
 
 Racy. 0, both the coaches, you say, are to be here at half 
 past nine. Walton must take one, and carry off Kate before 
 we let Dulruse know of it. That will prevent collision and ex- 
 plosion. Then we all start. You take the box with coachy — 
 Take care Dul does not see you, though. 
 
 Rand. Never fear. I 've my disguise all ready. 
 
 Racy. — And off we drive to Hal's. There the Count and I 
 are to see Bub magnetise the widow, till it is time to start. 
 While that foolery is going on, Letty will manage to detain 
 Mary Mildmay, and Dulruse must kick his heels in the street, 
 or in the carriage as he chooses. 
 
 Rand. And I on the box. Don't keep us too long, though ; 
 or the devil might tempt me to horsewhip the gentleman for 
 pastime. 
 
 Racy. Take care of that, you hound. If you open before 
 your time, I '11 hang you up by the heels. — G-antelet is to watch 
 at the library door ( he has taken lessons in peeping, ) and 
 when he sees I 'm ready, he telegraphs Letty. Down she goes 
 with Mary, wrapped in a thick veil : off starts the Count with 
 Mother Dulrusa; I hold fast to brother Hal — if I shall be able 
 for laughing ; and the rest I leave to you and Providence. 
 Rand. Ha, ha ! 
 
 Sings.'] " Veuves et demoiselles, 
 
 Dans vos peines cruelles, 
 Venez a moi, mes belles ; " — 
 
ACT IV. SC. 5. 77 
 
 I told you so, — 
 
 Sings.] " Obliger est si doux ! " 58 
 But where 's Walton ? 
 
 Racy. He ? Off to the parson's ; and Dulruse stayed to 
 gabble with his mamma. But they '11 both be here. I '11 fetch 
 Schuyler myself; for I must post back again to Hal's — 
 
 Rand. To see that Letty understands her part. 
 
 Racy. What, what ! jackanapes. She needs no prompting, 
 I assure you. [ Going. 
 
 Rand. [Singing. 
 
 M Yenez a moi, mes belles ; 
 Obliger " — 
 
 [Exit Racy, shaking his cane at him. The dog flies 
 
 at Racy, bailing. 
 
 Ha, ha ! That 's right, Tiz. 
 
 Sings.] — est si doux ! " 
 [Exit Rand, at the other door, the dog following him, 
 
 Yol. Y.— 5 
 
78 THE MAG^ETISER 
 
 Act the Fifth 
 
 Scene I. A room at Racy's lodgings. 
 
 Kaoy, Kandolph, Walton, Sanzacarlini, and Dclruse, around 
 
 a table with fruits, ices, wines, &c, lighted by candelabra. 
 
 Enter G-antelet. 
 
 G-ant. On demande Monsieur Walton. [Exit Gant. 
 
 Racy, [to Walt., who rises.] Not going, Schuyler ? 
 
 Walt. You must excuse me, gentlemen. [Bows and Exit. 
 
 Racy, [to Dulr. who looks uneasy and seems inclined to follow.] 
 But that is nothing to you, Dulruse. You need not fear ; he '11 
 not carry off Mary. Besides, our time is not come. Frank, 
 can't you give us a song ? 
 
 Rand. With all my heart. Of what sort? 
 
 Racy. Jolly of course, and none of your outlandish Italian. 
 Your pardon, signor. [To Sanz. 
 
 Rand. [Starting a bottle of champagne.] Fill then : I '11 give 
 you one I made myself. 
 
 Dulr. What 's the subject ? [Drinks. 
 
 Rand. Temperance. You '11 take your part, uncle ? 
 
 Racy. Ay, I 'm of the Committee. Gentlemen [to Sanz. and 
 Dulr.] you 're the converts ; you '11 sign the pledge ? 
 
 Rand. That is, join us in the chorus ? 
 
ACT Y. SC. 1. 79 
 
 Dulr. Ay j teetotal; all together. Go ahead. [Drinks and 
 fills. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Band. To the brim ! to the brim ! Let the bead sparkle high, 
 "While your voices keep chorus, and eye answers eye. 
 Give the pledge. 
 
 Racy. Not to water. 
 
 Band. No ; drink me, each man, 
 Confusion to Matthew, and Charles Delavan ! 
 
 All. Drink, drink ? Ay, drink ! hip ! drink, while we can, 
 . Confusion to Matthew, and Charles Delavan ! 
 
 Rand. By the goblet of water pale Eeason may sit ; 
 
 Racy. But Mirth grasps the winecup, — Mirth, Fancy, and Wit. 
 
 Rand. Bright trio, we pledge ye ! 
 
 Both. And, as we began, 
 Confusion to Matthew, and Charles Delavan ! 
 
 All. Pledge, pledge? Ay, pledge! hip! pledge, while we can, 
 Confusion to Matthew, and Charles Delavan ! 
 
 Rand. Love — Water and Love? Ha, ha, ha ! Fy, no more ! 
 Good night, Mother Eeason : 
 
 Racy. And welcome, bright four ! 
 Rand. Eoar in volleys their names ; 
 
 Racy. And, no flash in the pan, 
 Confusion to Matthew, and Charles Delavan ! , 
 
 All. Eoar, roar ? Ay, roar ! hip ! roar, while we can, 
 Confusion to Matthew, and Charles Delavan ! 59 
 
80 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Racy. [Whose voice has been loudest in the chorus.] "Hip! 
 roar while we can — Confusion to Matthew and Charles Dela- 
 van ! " [singing.] A fair song, and a jolly, Frank. 
 
 Dulr. [speaking thick.] Most delicious ; and a deused fine 
 sentiment. [Drinks. 
 
 Rand. [Ironically.] No body can dispute that. 
 
 Racy. I can. It 's a deused coarse sentiment. Bad there, 
 altogether. 
 
 Dulr. I maintain the contrary ; [Striking his fist on the 
 table.] and he that speaks up for water is a cursed canter, and 
 a white-livered fool. 
 
 Sanz. Come, come, sir; you are wrong. You don't mean 
 to quarrel here ? 
 
 Dulr. You wont prevent me, will you ? 
 
 Racy. ) Fy, fy, gentlemen! no jarring. 
 
 Rand. ) Colle buone, signori, colle buone. m 
 
 Enter G-antelet. 
 
 Gant. De fiacre — de carriaage haas come, gentlemens. 
 [All rise. 
 
 Rand, [aside to Racy.] In good time : I 'm afraid Dulruse 
 has got too much. 
 
 Racy, [aside to Rand.] Yes, he may be too brutal. 
 
 Rand, [aside to Racy.] If he be, he shall pay for it. [A- 
 loud.] Another glass, Count ? Another glass, Mr. Dulruse ? 
 
 Sanz. | Thank you. 
 
 Dulr. ) No more. 
 
 Rand. Uncle, you 're not taking the Count with you ? 
 
ACT V. SO. 1. 81 
 
 Racy. Going to introduce him to Clairvoir : there 's sport 
 forward ; magnetism. Good night. 
 
 Rand, [to Racy.] Sans adieu. Good night, gentlemen. 
 Take care of the steps, uncle, [following him to the door. 
 Exeunt Racy, Sanz., and Dulr., latter two bowing.] Orsu, alle 
 mani: 61 Grant., you rascal, where 's the coat ? Vite, vite done! 
 [Exit G-ANT. by the other door. Randolph pulls off his coat, 
 
 " Bmlant d'amour, et partant pour la guerre," — 
 
 Re-enter Gantelet, carrying a coarse overcoat 
 
 and a tarpaulin hat. Continuing to sing, as Gant. helps him 
 
 with the overcoat : 
 
 " Un troubadour, ennemi du chagrin, 
 Dans son delire," [puts on the tarpaulin. 
 
 " a sa jeune bergere," [dratcs the collar up 
 over the lower part of his face. 
 " Allait partout, en chantant son refrain " : — 
 
 Now, Gant., see that Coachy don't start without me, while I 
 take the back stairs. Prenez garde. 
 
 Singing."] " Mon bras a ma patrie," — 
 Gant. Oui, monsieur. [Exeunt, — Rand, still singing : 
 
 " Mon coeur a mon amie," — [and Ms voice is heard oehind 
 the scene : 
 " Mourir gaiement pour la gloire et Tamour, 
 C'est le devoir d'un vail* 6 * [Voice dies off in the distance, 
 
 and Scene closes, 
 
82 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The housekeeper" 's rooms at Clairvoirs, as in Act III. Sc. I. 
 
 Mrs. Dulruse, dressed off preposterously , and like 
 
 a bride, ivith white roses in her head, and 
 
 rouged to the eyes, attitudinizing 
 
 before a pier glass. 
 
 Mrs. D. [curtsying.] Countess Sansyleeny, Orficer of a 
 legion of honors. [Curtsying.'] G-ood day, your ladyship. 
 [Curtsying.] How well your ladyship looks this morning; 
 charming ! [Simpering.] Oh sir ! you natter. Ha ! really 
 [fanning herself affectedly.] — my dear Countess — you have 
 such a glow of health! [curtsying.] 
 
 Enter Letty. 
 
 Lett. And so you have, ma'am : you look like Tisiphone. 
 
 Mrs. D. And who was she, Letty ? a countess ? 
 
 Lett. No, your ladyship ; but one of the three Graces I read 
 about in the Classical Dictionary. She has her head all filled 
 with roses just like you, and very red cheeks. 
 
 Mrs. D. And does Pipsiffery wear such a dress, Letty 
 dear ? 
 
ACT V. sc. 2. 83 
 
 Lett. No, I am sorry to say, ma'am, that the Graces are re- 
 presented naked, as they live in a warm climate ; but she has 
 a fan in her hand. Is n't that dress too tight for you, my 
 lady? 
 
 Mrs. D. Eather, Letty : it was made in the year 1810, 63 
 when I was married to Mr. Dulruse, poor dear man ; but I 
 have left the back open, as you see : a shawl '11 hide that. 
 
 Lett. And my lord won't want to look at your back, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. D. No ; and I thought it was better to put on this than 
 a common muslin, as I had n't time to get a proper dress made. 
 
 Lett. Your ladyship is perfectly right. That short waist is 
 so becoming ! But when is the Count coming, ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. D. very soon, Letty. [Playing bashfully with her 
 fan.] I wanted you here, to tell you what he said to me. 
 
 Lett. But your ladyship must make haste ; for Miss Catha- 
 rine will be wanting me. 
 
 Mrs. D. Lor', do you know, Letty, I begin to think it won't 
 do for my boy to stoop so low as Kate Clairvoir. I think he 
 might make a more intelligible match among the mobility in 
 Europe. 
 
 Lett. No doubt, Countess ; but then — 
 
 Mrs. D. Countess! Lor', don't be so free, child. [Going 
 before the glass. 
 
 Lett. Pardon, your ladyship. — But then, Mr. Walton is 
 already gone off. 
 
 Mrs. D. With that poor little Mildmay, I suppose so. 
 [Attitudinizing in the glass.] But my Arnold must n't follow 
 with Kate, I think. 
 
 Lett. Well, I don't know, madam ; but, if I was your lady- 
 
84 THE MAGNETTSER 
 
 ship, I would let him go along with me, just for the fun of 
 it ; and you can stop the match, you know, when you please. 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, and it would mortify the purseproud hussy so, 
 to find herself not good enough for the man she turned up her 
 nose at. It '11 be delightful. But, Letty, I must tell you 
 what the Count said. Said he, falling on his knees, just in this 
 here way — I '11 show you how : sit down in that chair. 
 Now. [Tucking up her dress, and kneeling, in her petticoats, at 
 Letty' s feet. 
 
 Lett. What, my lady ! did he pull up his petticoats ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Psha, you foolish child ; what should he wear them 
 for ? is n't he a man ? I only do it, not to dirty my dress. — 
 He kneeled so, and, taking my hand, said he, " Charming 
 04 Pisserea ! " — 
 
 Enter Clairvoir. 
 Mrs. D., being before Letty, does not see him. 
 
 Lett. Pisserea, ma'am ! who was she ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Another of the Graces, surely. " Charming Pis- 
 serea ! " — 
 
 Clair. [Coming forward] The devil! madam, are you act- 
 ing tragedy ? [Mrs. D. rises in confusion, still keeping her frock 
 gathered up in her hands.] And dressed off in this extraordi- 
 nary way ! What does all this mean ? 
 
 Mrs. D. I — I was showing Pisserea — Letty, I mean — 
 how the Count — how the counts act to their ladies, my 
 dear. 
 
 Clair. And was it necessary to put on this finery, for that 
 purpose ? 
 
ACT V. SC. 2. 85 
 
 Mrs. D. no ! that was to render me agreeable in the 
 Count's — I mean in your eyes, my dear. 
 
 Clair. You have greatly mistaken it, madam. But it is time 
 to be in the library ; my brother will be here directly. Do 
 throw off some of that stuff; and for God's sake rub off that 
 rouge! [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. D. To act farce. I shall do no such thing. [Struts out 
 of the room, still holding up her dress in her hands. 
 
 Lett. [Falls bach into the chair, convulsed with laughter.] Ha, 
 ha, ha ! ! oh ! oh ! I shall die ! [ Goes before the glass, and 
 mimics Mrs. D. in manner as well as words.] " My dear Coun- 
 tess ! you have such a glow of health ! " — " Lor' ! do you 
 know, Letty, I begin to think it won't do for my boy to stoop 
 so low as Kate Clairvoir. I think he might make a more in- 
 telligible match among the mobility of Europe." Ha, ha, ha ! 
 " He kneeled to me, and, taking my hand, said he, c Charming 
 Pisserea! ' " [Tucking up her frock, and strutting to the door, like 
 Mrs. D.] Ha, ha, ha! — ! oh! oh ! [Lets her frock fall] 
 Pisserea ! Ha, ha, ha ! [Exit. 
 5* 
 
86 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The Library, as in Act I. Sc. IL 
 
 Enter Clatrvoir. He sits down. Enter Mrs. Dulruse. 
 
 She takes her seat opposite him, pouting. Clairvoir stares at 
 
 her for some time in silent astonishment : 
 
 Mrs. D. still pouting. 
 
 Clair. Keally, madam, it is the most extraordinary freak ! I 
 cannot account for such a metamorphosis. 
 
 Mrs. D. And I can't see how you can snub a body so. Freaks 
 and porpoises ! . Yery pretty ! 
 
 Clair. Porpoises ? I never said any such thing. You look, 
 let me tell you, a devilish deal more like a flounder, belly up- 
 " wards, with its gills open. 
 
 Mrs. D. [Rising in a rage.] Flounder! Belly upwards! 
 I could tear your eyes out ! You 're a nasty, fractious, dis- 
 agreeable, bad-tasteful man, Mr. Clairvoir! that 's what you 
 
 are ! And I won't stay in your ! if I was only sure 
 
 that my Count ! 
 
 Clair. If, by your account, you mean your salary, Mrs. Dul- 
 ruse, you need not let that keep you : I will pay you this mo- 
 ment, [Taking out his pocketbook.] and a sum besides that shall 
 
ACT V. sc. 3. 87 
 
 cover any little extra items, and save you the trouble of 
 counting. 
 
 Mrs. D. [Sitting down again.] Was there ever such a man ! 
 [Affecting to cry.] I was never — so — treated — in — my — 
 born — days ! never, Mr. Clairvoir ! Was all our 'finities to 
 come to this ? 
 
 Clair. But, madam 
 
 Mrs. D. You never will understand me. Who was talking 
 of pay and salaries ? You never had any 'finity, nor affection 
 for me neither, Mr. Clairvoir ; no, you had n't. 
 
 Clair. [Softening a little.] Now you are unjust, madam. 
 Was I to blame for your taking into your head such a mon- 
 strous conceit as this ? that too on this evening, when 
 
 Mrs. D. But if I did it to please you, Mr. Clairvoir? 
 
 Clair. Why then, my dear, you have mistaken my taste 
 most sadly. 65 If it had been any other evening, I should not 
 have minded it so much ; but to-night, when I expect my 
 brother, who is such an unmerciful laugher ! — Now do, my 
 dear, be persuaded; go and root up that flowergarden, and 
 
 wash off your war-paint You 're too late ! devil take it ! 
 
 here 's Frank right upon us. 
 
 Enter Racy and Sanzacarlini. 
 
 Racy. Brother, I have the pleasure to present to you the 
 Count Sanzacarlini. — 
 Mrs. D. Ah, my lord ! 
 Clair. Eh! 
 Sanz. [Making a sign to Mrs. D. } and bowing.] Mrs. Dulruse 
 
THE MAGNETISER 
 
 and myself have had the pleasure of meeting once before : I 
 did myself the honor to call to-day at Mr. Clairvoir's when he 
 was not at home. 
 
 Clair. Oh ! [Sanz. again makes signs to Mrs. D. to be quiet 
 
 Racy. I have brought the Count, brother, to be a witness of 
 your experiments. If you can make him a believer, you will 
 do more than the G-ospel — [Aside to Sanz.] and I '11 forswear 
 my five senses for ever afterwards. 
 
 Clair. If the Count wants faith, I must despair : for this 
 wondrous science is one of those demonstrations of divine 
 agency, — of a direct though unaccountable spiritual inter- 
 action between the sympathetic atoms of beings similarly con- 
 stituted in their internal and intellectual natures, though differ- 
 ing somewhat in their outward organization, — that do not 
 appeal to the material and vulgar sense, but to a higher and 
 immaterial, an ethereal — 
 
 Racy. [Touching Sanz. with his elbow.] — Supercelestial — 
 
 Clair. Yes, almost — tribunal of mental, abstract, andintro- 
 susceptive cognizance of remote and infinitesimal causalities. 
 
 Racy. A most transcenden tally diaphanous dilucidation of an 
 extra-problematical irrationality. 
 
 Clair. Brother, I am sure of your jest. But I may convince 
 you. We '11 proceed to facts. 
 
 Racy. With all my heart ; and make haste ; for we are 
 pressed for time, and Airs. Dulruse appears in a similar pre- 
 dicament. 
 
 Clair. In this lady, Count, I have discovered the happiest 
 disposition I have yet known for the development of these sub- 
 lime arcana. With your leave, I will proceed to manipulation. 
 
ACT v. sc. 3. 89 
 
 Racy, [as Clair, puts his fingers to Mrs. D's. forehead.] Don't 
 let your fingers fall too low, Hal — [Aside to Sanz., while 
 Clairvoir continues his manipulations] or he '11 take the color 
 off. Signor, let me congratulate you on the charms of your 
 future Countess ; she is the very facsimile of the old gentle- 
 woman of Babylon in the dress of a vestal. What a luscious 
 object! Gods! look at her! a boiled lobster immersed in 
 sillabub. 
 
 Sanz. [aside to Racy.] You seem to have an appetite. What 
 if I pass her over to you; I am not hungry ? 
 
 Racy, [aside to Sanz.] But she is only to be eaten with 
 bank-sauce. Will you dish her ? 
 
 Sanz. [aside to Racy.] Not with that condiment. How- 
 ever, sir, I shall take her out in a minute ; and you may pick 
 what meat you choose, white, red, or green ; or I '11 give you 
 the whole, claws and all, if you '11 do without the dressing. 
 
 Racy, [aside to Sanz.] You are generous ; but I should go 
 to such a monster with long teeth ; for I fear there is nothing 
 of the lady in her head. 
 
 Clair. It 's done, gentlemen. Look at that woman : she is 
 now in that state, which, should I not will it otherwise, would 
 be eternal. 
 
 Racy. Lord ! don't disturb her, Hal. 
 
 Clair. Brother ! — Yet, from that state, the expression of 
 a wish shall rouse her into complete physical ability. 66 That 
 state, that state, gentlemen, is the perfection of humanity. 
 Hitherto, philosophers have supposed that man, made in the 
 likeness of his Maker, needed his senses to minister unto his 
 mind ; that his immortal faculties were knit up with his mor- 
 
90 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 tal, and that their separation could take place only on the dis- 
 solution of the body ; that, as in his waking moments he sees 
 but with his eyes, feels but with his hands, smells but with his 
 nose, tastes but with his mouth, and hears but with his ears, 
 that therefore, when these corporeal agents were locked up in 
 slumber, the faculties which they put in exercise must be 
 locked up also. Absurd prejudice! relic of a barbarous age ! 
 I, I will show you, gentlemen, that man may see as well from 
 the top of his head as from the middle of it ; that his soul can 
 wander from his body as well in his lifetime as after death j 
 and that the mind has no need whatever of the senses to teach 
 it the distinctions set on matter. The ethereal molecules of 
 this microcosm, my immortal mind, being under the domina- 
 tion of my will, pass at its direction, as its plenipotentiaries, 
 among the molecules of Mrs. Dulruse's microcosm, mix with 
 them, incorporate with them, communicate and receive intel- 
 ligence, and by this reciprocal introsusception the double in- 
 tellect becomes as one, yet remains distinct, is itself yet is not 
 itself, another yet the self-same thing. 
 
 Racy. Exactly: as the letter A may visit, with plenary 
 powers the letter H, and, mixing with it, make Ah!, or Ha ! 
 yet A is still itself, and H is still itself, yet neither is itself, but 
 itself is the other self, and the two selves make a single self, 
 which is to each other's self as each other's self is to itself, — 
 which is the ratiocination of an exclamation. 
 
 Clair. Francis Racy, facts shall convince you. What shall 
 that lady answer ? Where shall her mind wander at my sug- 
 gestion and command ? Be it in Madagascar or in the Hebrides, 
 in the sun or in the moon, in Heaven or in Hell, it is all one. 
 
ACT V. SC. 3. 91 
 
 Racy, No doubt; but I shall be more modest. Let the 
 lady's microcosm be commanded by your plenipotentiary mole- 
 cules to tell me where Schuyler Walton is now, and what he 
 is doing. 
 
 Clair, Dorothy, I have willed you to hear : answer my 
 brother. 
 
 Mrs. D. At the altar of a church, and has just passed the 
 ring on Miss Mildmay's finger. 
 
 Racy. Ha, ha, ha!- No doubt. 
 
 Clair. The devil he has ! Are you sure ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Why need you ask ? Or what need you care ? 
 
 Clair. True ; it 's a good match. 
 
 Racy. And where is Miss Clair voir ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Waiting to marry Arnold ; which she will do this 
 very evening. 
 
 Clair. Ah! 
 
 Racy. Ha ! There are our letters magnetised. — Why, 
 brother, the lady is wide awake. 
 
 Clair. Incredulous man ! Try her. Not, if you should tear 
 every hair from her head, would you force her to open her 
 eyes. 
 
 Racy. No, for her scalp has no feeling for its adopted off- 
 spring. But let the Count try her ; he has a charm worth two 
 of that. [Sanz. whispers Mrs. D. She opens her eyes, and 
 springs up. 
 
 Racy, [seizing Clairvoir's arm.] There ! I told you. 
 
 Mrs. D. My lord, I 'm yours. 
 
 Sanz. [Mimicking, but with perfect gravity.] Gentlemen, I 'm 
 yours. [Exeunt Sanz. and Mrs. D. 
 
92 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Racy. Why, Bub, you 're speechless. 
 Clair, [Struggling.] Let me go ! 
 
 Racy. [Holding him.] What for ? Don't let your microcosm 
 get topsy-turvy, or we shall have another deluge. 
 Clair, Damn it ! have I been bamboozled ? 
 Racy. Now you talk sensibly : no molecules in that at all. 
 Clair. The viper ! 
 Racy. Pshaw ! only a lobster. What now ? 
 
 Enter Letty, out of breath. 
 
 Lett. gentlemen, Mr. Racy, here are Mr. Walton and 
 Miss Catharine come back ; and I really don't believe they 're 
 married after all ! 
 
 Clair. What 's all this ? Frank, let go of me : I am not 
 mad ; but you '11 drive me so. 
 
 Racy. There then, [unhanding him.] Where are they, 
 Letty ? 
 
 Lett. In the parlor, sir. 
 
 Racy. We '11 be there in a minute. [Exit Letty.] Come, 
 Hal; all 's as well as it can be. Let us go isee Kate and 
 Schuyler. I '11 explain all on the way ; and you shall laugh as 
 heartily as anybody. 
 
 Clair. The ! 
 
 Racy [ Clapping his hand on his mouth.] No bad words. 
 
 " Look at that woman ! She is now in a state " Ha, ha, 
 
 ha! How beautifully her microcosm took in the Count's 
 molecules! " My lord, I'm yours." Artful Dodger! Then 
 the Count : [Bowing gravely to the house.] " G-entlemen, I 'm 
 yours." [Exeunt Clair and Racy. 
 
ACT V. sc. 4. 93 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 The Drawingroom as in Act I. Scene I. 
 
 Walton and Catharine. 
 Enter Letty. 
 
 Lett. Such a scene, Miss Catharine ! Excuse me, but I 
 should die if I did not laugh. 
 
 Cath. Why, what 's the matter? 
 
 Lett Oh, the Count has walked off with the Legion of 
 
 Honors, and Mr. Eacy is ha, ha, ha! — Excuse me, 
 
 ma'am — I never saw such a burlesque in my life. Had you 
 seen the Countess hanging on the arm of her gallant Orficer, 
 but begging him to let her " only get a shawl ", and the gravity 
 with which he marched her to the door, whispering soft, yet 
 nothing fearing , — ha, ha, ha! Forgive me; I must laugh or 
 suffocate. 
 
 Walt. The plot I told you of, Catharine. Your father is, by 
 this time, himself again, I am sure. 
 
 Enter Eacy and Clairvoir. 
 
 Clair. [Taking Cath.'s hand.] So, Kate, Walton has got 
 you in spite of me. Well, I 'm glad of it. 
 
94 
 
 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 Oath. No, sir, I am still a spinster. 
 
 Racy. Then your web is longer than I thought it, that is all. 
 Clair. How is this ? 
 
 Racy. G-ot into a snarl, I suppose. A plot is seldom wove 
 without one. 
 
 Walt. No, sir, the thread is as clear as need be. Ask Miss 
 Clair voir. 
 
 Oath. The truth is, papa, — Schuyler would not have me. 
 Clair. The devil he would not! Sir! Why, this beats 
 magnetism. 
 
 Oath. — Without your consent, sir. 
 
 Racy. Was ever such a scrupulous ass ! [Shaking Walton's 
 hand, heartily.] Eun away with a girl, and then not have her ! 
 Why, Hal, do you hear ? 
 
 Walt. It was not my fault, sir : Catharine is to blame. 
 Oath. No, papa ; Schuyler was to blame. 
 Clair. Come, come; no more mystifications: let them 
 vanish with Mother Dulruse. Mr. Walton, how is this ? Speak 
 plainly. 
 
 Walt. Catharine, sir, was too good a daughter, as she has 
 always been, to take that, without your consent, which, though 
 you had once given it, it was your pleasure lately to revoke. 
 
 Racy. [Turning aside and wiping his eyes.] Deuse take such 
 comments on the decalogue ! 
 Clair, [to Oath.] Is that true ? 
 
 Oath. Yes, sir ; but Schuyler might have persuaded me to 
 have him, if he had chosen ; but he proposed to me to turn 
 back. 
 
 Clair, [to Walt] Is that true ? 
 
ACT V. SC. 4. 95 
 
 Walt I cannot deny it : but it was only after Catharine had 
 opened her heart to me, and showed me what was too beauti- 
 ful and bright to spoil. 
 
 Racy. [ Wiping his eyes again.] Curse your poetry ! 
 
 Clair. But you did then ? 
 
 Cath. He did, father ! I should never have been so good a 
 daughter but for him. 
 
 Clair. Then he shall keep you so still. Here. [Taking Wal- 
 ton's hand and joining Cath.'s with it.] Schuyler Walton, 
 [speaking thick with emotion.] you are — the noblest of men 
 that I have ever known — and Catharine — is the most vir- 
 tuous of women. A momentary error made me lose sight of 
 your joint merits ; but, from this time, they shall never be 
 out of my sight, nor of that of each other. To-morrow morn- 
 ing, Walton, you shall marry her ; and the fifty thousand which 
 she has from her mother I will make a hundred. 
 
 Racy. [Dashing his hands across his eyes, and rushing up to 
 them.] Hurrah! [Throws his arms around all three, and hugs 
 them together. 
 
 Enter at this instant, 
 
 Eandolph, in his coachman 's coat, but without the hat, Mary, 
 
 and Sanzacarlini ; G-antelet following. 
 
 Lett. Lord ! will nobody hug me ? 
 
 Cant. [Running up to her, and endeavoring to embrace her.] 
 Oui, ma chere ; I vill. 
 
 Lett. [Recoiling. He stumbles, and falls upon the floor.] 
 Manners ! 
 
96 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Rand. [To Racy, as the group now breaks.] Ha! old Ursa 
 Major! strangling the whole company? 
 
 Racy. Hold your tongue, Canis Minor : they 've almost 
 strangled me with delight. I 've made three of the happiest 
 people in the world, Frank, that were, before, the best, and all 
 by my plot. 
 
 Rand. Which is not yet over. Here are three more of the 
 pieces. 
 
 Racy. That 's true ! Eh ! what have you done with the 
 two others ? Signor, where 's your Countess ? Mary, where 's 
 your groom ? How came you all back so soon ? Speak ! 
 
 Clair. | Ay, let us hear it ! [Cath. takes Mary by the hand, 
 Walt. ) Come, Frank. and places her beside her. 
 
 Racy. Form a semicircle, good people. So. Now, Mr. 
 Spokesman. 
 
 Rand. There are two : put the Signor at the other horn of 
 the crescent Well: 68 so soon as Miss Mildmay appeared, 
 Dulruse took her out of Letty's hand, placed her very civilly 
 in the carriage, and jumped in himself. Scarcely had he got 
 seated, before the Signor squeezed the Countess on the front 
 seat, and sprung in after her. Gantelet put up the steps as 
 quick as lightning, and, before Arnold had quite recovered from 
 his surprise, the carriage was off at a rattling rate up Broad- 
 way. Then began the war. I had taken care to have the 
 window next the driver's box down ; and I could hear Dulruse, 
 for a moment, storming like a devil, roaring to the driver to 
 stop, and ordering the intruders out. Suddenly there was a 
 calm, the Signor having said something that effectually laid the 
 tempest. On we drove, — the driver, treble-feed, lashing his 
 
ACT V. SC. 4. 97 
 
 horses very much to my satisfaction, — shot by Union-place, 
 and turned up the old Bloomingdale road, when, all at once, 
 there was another hurricane. I could hear now distinctly, as 
 we moved over the softer ground, Arnold make love to Miss 
 Mildmay for cousin Catharine, adjuring her to forgive him, 
 pleading passion, etc. etc., — then Mary, who had at first been 
 speechless with surprise, discovering his mistake, — then Dul- 
 ruse swear, — then Miss Mildmay burst into tears, then faintly 
 scream ( for her brutal partner, it seems, shook her violently, ) 
 then Dulruse swear again, and the Signor sternly order him to 
 be silent and to behave himself. Dulruse now sprang up in 
 the carriage, Mary — Miss Mildmay crying all the while, and 
 ordered us with a horrid oath to stop. So we did. Animo, 
 signor e ; it is now your turn. 
 
 Sanz. The carriage stopped, Mr. Dulruse forced open the 
 door, and told the young lady to get out, or he would fling her 
 out. [Here the company use various exclamations of horror and 
 disgust.'] Before I could interfere, Mr. Eandolph had sprung 
 down, seized him by the collar, hurled him into a puddle of 
 mud and water that was in the road, and taken his place in the 
 carriage. It would have been a pity, ladies and gentlemen, to 
 separate mother and son, so I tenderly placed the Countess 
 beside him [the company smile ] ; and we drove back, and left 
 them. 
 
 Racy. Alone in their glory. Ha, ha, ha ! But how did the 
 old lady take this specimen of pious consideration ? 
 
 Sanz. Not like a lamb. You see, she has torn the ribbon 
 from my buttonhole. 
 
 Racy. And made herself, without you, an Orficer of a legion 
 
THE MAGNETISEE, 
 
 of honors, [the company, with exception of Sanz., laugh.] Signor, 
 the merchandise is delivered : here is the balance of the ac- 
 count, with my thanks for the good order in which I have re- 
 ceived it, and my acknowledgment that it corresponds exactly 
 with the invoice. 
 
 Sanz. [Depositing, with his customary gravity, the note in his 
 purse.] We are now, sir, quits. Let me say I have never 
 performed any obligation so much to my satisfaction ; 69 and I 
 feel a sensation, almost of pleasure, here [putting his hand to 
 his heart.], that I never thought I was capable of enjoying. If 
 this is a good action, and I should have the good fortune to 
 perform many more, I may come in time to believe in con- 
 science, and have respect for my fellow-creatures. As a proof 
 of my sincerity, I would ask permission of this company to see 
 the end of so pleasing a drama. 
 
 Racy. With all our hearts. [The rest how.] And it is coming 
 soon enough : look there ! 
 
 Enter 
 
 Arnold Dulruse and Mrs. Dulruse ; 
 
 the latter with her dress disordered, torn, and 
 
 spotted with dirt, her roses drooping, and her rouge 
 
 in streaks ; the former, without his hat, and covered, from head 
 
 to foot, with mud. Both in a rage. 
 
 Mary, in terror, takes Kandolph by the sleeve of his 
 
 coat, and presses close to him. 
 
 Dulr. [To Racy.] Mr. Eacy ! — 
 
 Mrs. D. [To Sanz.] You villain! — 
 
 Dulr. [To Mrs. D., stamping passionately.] Madam, will you 
 
ACT v, sc. 4. 99 
 
 be silent ? Sir, [to Racy.] what the devil do you mean by this 
 dirty trick ? It is of your contriving, I know ; that jacka- 
 napes, your nephew, would not have brains for it. 
 
 Hand. [Shrugging his shoulders.'] Che scioc'co insolen'te! 70 
 Racy. As for the trick, sir, that is your own ; and it has 
 been a dirty one, I see. [pointing to Dulr!s clothes^] I hope 
 you have no bones broken ? 
 
 Dulr. [Striding up to Rand.] For you, sir ! 
 
 Rand. [Gently shaking off Mary 7 and going close to Dulr. 
 
 Sings.] "TV E tant' osi? [with affected energy. 1 Va, spergiuro ! " n 
 
 [with affected scorn. 
 
 [The company laugh, with the exception of Sanz., 
 
 who looks on coldly. 
 
 Dulr. [to Rand.] Coxcomb I [To the rest.] You are very 
 pleasant, ladies and gentlemen, [smiling with affected sarcasm. 
 
 Rand, [to Dulr. Singing. 
 
 " Deli ! non voler costringere 
 A finta gioja il viso : 
 Bella e la tua mestizia 
 Siccome il tuo sorriso. 11 72 
 
 Racy. ) 
 
 }■ Ha, ha, ha ! 
 Clair. ) 
 
 [Walt, and Cath. smile. Alary looks frightened, and 
 
 Sanz. cold. Letty and Cant, enjoy the scene in a 
 
 suppressed manner, at a distance, and mocking 
 
 Mrs. D., who stands fixed, with a ludicrous 
 
 expression of mingled rage, irresolution, 
 
 and fear. 
 
 Dulr. [Furiously, — shaking his fist at Rand.] Puppy ! 
 
100 THE HAGNETISER 
 
 Rand. Come, come, this is going too far. [Taking him aside 
 and speaking in a lower key.] You know where to find me, if 
 you please, to-morrow. Leave the house, now, before you 
 make me forget where you are, — as you have forgotten it, 
 yourself, too much. 
 
 Sanz. [To Rand., and drawing JDulr. from him.] Pardon. 
 Allow me, Mr. Kandolph. [Bowing to the rest] Will the 
 company permit me? [Leads JDulr. to the front of the stage, — 
 Didr. following reluctantly and uneasily, yet angrily.] Mr. 
 Eandolph bas given you a hint, I presume. Do you mean to 
 call him out ? 
 
 Dulr. What business is that of yours ? 
 
 Sanz. [ With same coldness.] This much. Perhaps you do 
 not know what is known to every gentleman in this city, — 
 that Mr. Randolph is the first shot in the country : that he 
 fences like a master, I can assure you from my own experi- 
 ence ; and the vigor of his arm you have felt too recently to 
 have forgotten. [Dulr. shows signs of impatience^] Be very 
 quiet, sir ; you had better. — If you meet Mr. Randolph, and 
 survive it, that same hour you shall have to do with me. If 
 you will inquire of Mr. Randolph's servant, he will tell you 
 that he has seen me, on shipboard, repeatedly split his master's 
 bullet, and disarm him twice when we played with foils ; and 
 /tell you, I do not value the life of a man a fig: if you escape 
 him, therefore, you die by my hand. No words, sir. [sternly, 
 yet coldly.] G-o, and disgrace yourself and this house no 
 more. 
 
 Dulr. [In a subdued, but sullen tone. To Mrs. D.] Come, 
 madam. 
 
ACT V. SC. 4. 101 
 
 Mrs. D. [To Clair.] I suppose, you '11 let me have my 
 clothes, you old fool ! 
 
 Dulr. [stamping violently.] Will you be silent ? 
 
 Clair. [To Mrs. D.] Send for them when you please, with 
 what is owing to you. 
 
 Lett. I '11 hand them to your ladyship [curtsying.] when 
 your ladyship pleases, [curtsying. 
 
 Cath. [severely.] Letty ! 
 
 • Mrs. D. [Shaking her fist, in a rage, at Lett] Hussy ! 
 
 Dulr. [Dragging Mrs. D. off.] Will you come, I say, 
 woman ? [Exeunt D. and Mrs. D. 
 
 Rand. [As they retreat, and ivith his eyes upon them. Sing- 
 ing with affected melancholy and hitterness. 
 
 " Pasci il guardo, e appaga Talma, 
 DelF eccesso de' miei mali ; 
 II piu tristo de 1 mortali 
 Sono, o cruda, e il son per te." 73 
 
 Clair. So ends my folly as The Magnetiser. But I do not 
 regret it ; for it has made me the proudest of fathers. [Look- 
 ing at Cath. affectionately. 
 
 Cath. Me, the happiest of daughters. [Returning the look. 
 
 Walt. And me, both the happiest and the proudest of hus- 
 bands. [Pressing Cath.'s hand. 
 
 Racy. — That is to be. And it has saved an angel from a 
 hell upon earth. Yon do not repent it, do you, Mary ? 
 
 Mary. [Pressing Racy's hands affectionately, then smiling.] 
 My preserver ! 
 
 Racy. No, not quite ; don't you make love to me, you puss : 
 there he is. [Pointing to Rand. Mary Hushes, and casts doivn 
 Yol. Y.— 6 
 
102 THE MAGNETISES 
 
 her eyes.] Did you explain the little interlude of the drawing- 
 room, Frank? 
 
 Rand. Yes, uncle; in the coach. Did you not tell me to ? 
 ' Racy. Ah, rogue ! you have used your time well in the 
 coach, I suspect. [Looking with satisfaction at Mary, who 
 grows still more confused. 
 
 Rand. So well, uncle, that with Mary's permission, and 
 your approbation, I mean to devote as much more as possible 
 to the same employment. 
 
 Racy. Mine, you dog ? You know it is my dearest wish. 
 Take Lim, Mary, and ninety thousand dollars which I give 
 you with him. 
 
 Rand. Uncle, I will cut off these curls, and present them to 
 you to-morrow, with my moustache. 
 
 Racy. Will you ? That insures you ten thousand more. 
 And what will you do with your d — d opera-tunes ? 
 
 Rand. I will not sell them, lest I should strip you naked. 
 I will teach them to Mary; and she shall sing them for me, 
 with such an angel's voice, they will be damned no longer. 
 
 Racy. [His eyes moistening with delight.] That 's my boy ! 
 Is n't he a pretty fellow, Mary, when he talks sense ? Once 
 off with his coxcombry, and I '11 match him with any other he 
 in the Union. You rascal ! [pidling him affectionately hy his 
 long hair.] marry her soon, [Lowering his voice a little.] 1 ' 1 and 
 get your old uncle a boy. What will you call him ? 
 
 Rand, [cdoud and mischievously.] But is it to be a boy ? It 
 may be a girl, uncle. 
 
 Racy. Eot your girl ! Don't plague me, Frank. What will 
 you call him ? 
 
ACT V. SC. 4. 103 
 
 Rand. Francis Kacy, uncle. 
 
 Racy. Will you ? [seizing his hand.'] But — suppose there 
 should be twins ? 
 
 Rand. Then I '11 call them both, Francis : Francis the First, 
 and Francis the Second. 
 
 Racy. Hurrah ! Gods ! are there no more people to be 
 made happy ? 
 
 Lett. [Coming forward with Gant. by the hand; she curtsy- 
 ing, he bowing.] Yes, if you please, sir. I have taken it into 
 my head to civilize this French frog ; and, if you like to en- 
 courage the Home Mission 
 
 Racy. What then?- 
 
 Gant. Why then, sare, ve vill do our best posseeble to raise 
 you up a leetel communaute of Christians. [Letty pinches his 
 ear.] Ouf ! 
 
 Racy. Ha, ha, ha ! so I will. I will make a collection for 
 you, my pious couple. 
 
 Clair. Walt. Rand. 
 
 , We '11 all contribute. 
 Cath. & Mary. 
 
 [Letty curtsies, 
 Gant. bows, with his hand on his breast. 
 Sanz. Nothing so likely to render them zealous in the dis- 
 charge of their functious. 
 
 Rand. [To Racy.] Still another pair, old Hymen! 
 
 Singing.'] " Unisco le famiglie, 
 Le liti io rendo nulle, 
 E spesso alle fancmlle 
 Marito soglio dar." 75 
 
104 THE MAGNETISER 
 
 Racy. At your opera snatches, again, puppy ? Is this your 
 promise ? 
 
 Rand. To-morrow, you know, to-morrow : we 're through 
 the catastrophe, but our play is not yet done. 
 
 Racy. We '11 stop it then immediately ; for the actors have 
 performed enough for one night. 
 
 Clair, [smiling and talcing Racy's hand.] But the audience, 
 I trust, has too much affinity to be tired. 
 
 Curtain falls. 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES TO THE MAGNETISES, 
 
 1. — p. 5. Gome along, there \s a dear ! etc.] For the Stage, omit 
 to the close of the paragraph, and, previously, "through the 
 blinds." 
 
 2. — P. 7. Letty saw them, etc. ] Omit this sentence ; also the 
 last, commencing, "Come, Mary darling." 
 
 3. — P. 10. He is quite univorthy, etc. ] Omit to the close of the 
 paragraph. 
 
 4. — P. 10. Fy ! what scrupulosity ! etc.] Omit to " Cath. Well 
 then, since you are so delicate." 
 
 5. — P. 10. I will speak for you, etc.] Omit to "You think her, 
 Schuyler " — on p. 11. 
 
 6. — P. 12. — the more so, etc. ] Omit this clause. 
 
 7. — P. 12. — where the experiments, etc.] Omit to — "and be- 
 fore I knew " — 7th line below. The Stage cares nothing for these 
 moralities. 
 
108 NOTES TO 
 
 8.— P. 13. Besides, my dear Schuyler, etc. ] Omit this sentence. 
 Then, changing Now, have you a desire, etc. to " Now, I want you 
 to observe this folly," omit again down to " Walt. But how will your 
 father, etc." 11th line below. 
 
 9.— P. 13. But first, etc.] Omit to — u nothing that is not dis- 
 honorable," on the next page. 
 
 10.— P. 14. Where now are, etc. etc. ] Recite instead : " Where 
 now the primordial bounds set by Nature to human action and to 
 human thought ? " 
 
 11. — P. 14. Man, no longer a creature, etc. ] Recite: "Man no 
 longer shall say unto the worm, Thou art, etc." 
 
 12.— P. 15. — sees now, etc. etc. ] This is one of those ad cap- 
 tandum passages which are meant to vary with the date and place 
 of the performance. Local and temporal allusions become, in a dif- 
 ferent locality and at a different epoch, pithless, if not partially un- 
 intelligible. The reading therefore has varied with various occa- 
 sions on which I had hoped for the performance of TJie Magneiiser. 
 For example, in 1860, it stood: — "now scents the issue of the 
 Italian struggle, now tramps before the G-eneral in San Juan [the 
 issue of the China [ Russian] war, now tramps before the Colonel 
 in Mosquitia], now prognosticates the sex of the forthcoming pro- 
 geny of Eugenie, etc." 
 
 Aud for this reason, I restore the original one, which would have 
 been more than intelligible at the time of its composition, in February, 
 1842. To-day, recite: — "sees now the issue of the Cuban strug- 
 gle, now prognosticates the settlement of the Alabama question ; 
 and the tardy conveyance and uncertain news of steamships and 
 telegraphs are entirely superseded." 
 
 13. — P. It. — "on silks.] To-day: — " on crinoline." 
 
THE MAG^ETISER 109 
 
 14. — P. 17. — of the genus Homo.] After this insert, for the 
 present year: "Do you see any horses? Mrs. D. No, but a sight 
 of velocipedes ; some with two wheels, some with four, and — I do 
 declare I there goes one like lightning, with a little wheel besides, 
 like a knife-grinder's, only it is at bottom instead of atop. Clair. 
 They must have a genius for mechanics. And do they ride these 
 stall-less steeds- head downward? Mrs. D. Yes, and move the tred- 
 dles with their hands. Clair. While their toes ply the steering- 
 bar ! Head downward ! Why, it is a moral photograph of what 
 goes on with us below ! The moon perhaps is a caricatura of our 
 earth ; or a real Umbo of vanity. Are you tired, etc" — But the 
 whole of this talk promotes in nowise the action, has in fact nothing 
 to do with it. It is therefore contrary to my own rules of writing. 
 Omit then from " Mrs. JD. yes, there goes a man," on p. 16, to 
 "Are you tired", p. 17, — throwing out previously, on p. 15, "I 
 want to know what the people there are doing." 
 
 15.— P. 18. — John Jacob — ] To-day: — " William B." — 
 
 16.— P. 18. Do not ask me.] Omit to "His name begins with 
 A." Or, throw out all between "much happier," at foot of p. 17, to 
 "It is— " on p. 18. 
 
 17. — P. 20. — get our children by magnetic conjunction — ] Omit. 
 
 18. — P. 21. — evil — ] The Stage can omit this epithet, if it 
 likes. 
 
 19. — P. 22. — Townshend, Hartshorne, all of them.] As originally 
 written, u Townshend, Hartshorne, Stone." These were writers, 
 expounders or witnesses of the absurd doctrine or its imagined 
 illustrations, that were in vogue in 1842. The lapse of time has de- 
 prived the subject itself of part of its zest. Seven and twenty years 
 6* 
 
110 NOTES TO 
 
 ago, Animal Magnetism, revived in the New "World, was in its glory- 
 in Manhattan, and had drawn into its fanciful superstition as many 
 educated persons as the still greater frenzy of spiritualism does now. 
 Both are bubbles which break not by the breath of the comic and 
 satiric writer, but by coming in contact with some newer and larger 
 bubble, which in its turn will float iu the atmosphere of public favor, 
 till broken in like manner or resolved into nothing by the mere fra- 
 gility of its existence. 
 
 20.— P. 23. He, I see plainly, etc.] Omit to " The disrespect- 
 ful ! »— 5th line below. 
 
 21. — P. 23. — my congenial spirit, etc.] This allusion to the 
 government's " Fiscal agents " would in that day have brought down 
 the house. There is no young person that would now understand 
 it. Next, the passage read: li Glair. — "no ideality ! no prospec- 
 tive ratiocination! no sense but the dull stale sense of prece- 
 dents. . . Mrs. D. — " That for your Hyder- Alities ! that for your 
 respected rotten Austrian nation ! that for your blood-stained French 
 Presidents ! " Allusions, which would have taken happily enough 
 some twenty years ago. 
 
 For to-day, recite : " Clair. Time enough for that, my congenial 
 spirit ! — Mere corporality ! no sense but that dull stale sense 
 the body ministers, or of staler precedents. [Exit, etc.] Mrs. D. 
 Time enough, you old fool, you ? Let me, etc. That for your Geneva 
 spirits ! that for your pauperalities ! that for your toady Ministers 
 and tailor Presidents 1 " 
 
 22. — P. 25. D — nation ! ] The Stage can substitute, if it choose, 
 " Perdition! " But the exclamation in the text is the one that 
 would be used, under the circumstances, by the character, who, I 
 beg to premise, in view of Act II. Sc. I. ( where, consistently with 
 his general turpitude, he is made to appear as a bad and impious 
 
THE MAGNETISER 111 
 
 son, ) must be sometimes coarse in his violent and unrestrained im- 
 pulses. Dulruse was meant to be totally without self-control, blas- 
 phemous, licentious, treacherous. This for the closet, that is, for 
 the reading of literary men. In acting, however, the case is differ- 
 ent, and his vehemence and virulence may, as in the present 
 instance, be toned down to suit the requirements of the Theatre. 
 
 23.— P. 29. St. John's Square.] This locality, like the allusions 
 noticed in Act I., is of course alterable according to the occasions 
 and proprieties of the time. St John's, or Hudson, Square was in 
 1842 a fashionable neighborhood. At the present day, we should 
 read Union Square. Some year or two hence, eveu tbis will be un- 
 suitable ; and the time is not far distant, when, if the Magnetlser 
 should be performed, the meeting between Walton and others of 
 the Scene must occur outside the Central Park. 
 
 24. — P. 31. He and the housekeeper, etc.] Omit to — "he sees 
 me on the stairs." 
 
 25.— P. 33. Lett. sir, don't flatter me, etc.] Omit to " When 
 Mr. Dulruse had done " — 
 
 26. — P. 35. — old woman — ] See, above, note 22. 
 
 27.— P. 36. — clout — ] — " bib " — if the Stage elect. 
 
 28.— P. 37. — I have it, etc.] Omit to "You shall let Miss 
 Clairvoir" — on p. 38. 
 
 29. — P. 38. — personate her lover, without talking — ] Omit this 
 clause ; also, " or anybody else," in the next line. 
 
 BO.— P. 41. Mrs. D. Do let me, etc.] Omit to "Mrs. D, Lord ! 
 etc." ten lines. 
 
112 NOTES TO 
 
 81. — ?. 41. — which my Am — ] Omit to the end of the sen- 
 tence. Then, in the next sentence, omit between the two semi- 
 colons. 
 
 32. — P. 45. " Allons, enfans, etc."] The commencement of the 
 Marseilles Hymn : — 
 
 IUse, children of the fatherland I 
 
 The glorious day at length has come ; 
 
 83. — P. 46. " A'mic% etc."] Prom Rossini's opera ; II Conte 
 Ory : the opening of the cavatina: 
 
 " Amici, il Ciel pietoso 
 Le vostre preci accolga, 
 TJn rio destin non tolga 
 La pace a voi del cor." 
 
 Friends, may a Heaven of mercy 
 To your prayerful requests give reception, 
 Nor ill fortune nor cruel deception 
 Tlie peace of your hearts take away. 
 
 34. — P. 47. — on mi sol!] Pronounce full, as soul: the quib- 
 ble, of these two notes of music, being in fact for my soul 
 
 35.— P. 48. Che questione curiosa ! ] What an odd question! 
 Below: " Poter di socco ! " an untranslatable Tuscan exclamation, 
 meaning literally Power of [the] sock ! as if we should swear By 
 the Muse of Comedy! Pronounce: Kay quays-te-o'na coo-re-o' sah ! 
 and Po-tair'. 
 
 Panny Ellsler, Taglioni, Rubini are of a past day. Recite there- 
 fore the whole passage thus : 
 
 u Bacy. What, what! You he, you lie. But what detained you 
 in Philadelphia? The new opera-dancer? 
 
 Band. The new — opera - dancer ! Che questione curiosa ! She 
 
THE MAGNETISES 113 
 
 never shows her legs, you know, till evening. And then, have I 
 not seen the ancles of the best in Paris? Poter di socco ! you 
 might as well tell me of some second-rate tenor of the Academy, 
 when I have been rapt into the seventh heaven of ecstasy on the 
 breath of the foremost at the Italians" 
 
 As to the expression in the text, — "of Bergamo," I should ob- 
 serve perhaps, that T was told by an Italian composer that the tenors 
 of the opera have almost all come from that place : a curious fact, if 
 it is one; and as such he regarded it himself. Rubini was, I think, 
 a native of Bergamo. 
 
 36. — P. 49. — his long curled hair — ] This was the fashion 
 of the day. Omit, now, " long" 
 
 '61.— P. 49. "Deh! ti calma!"] Ah! calm thyself [be calm]. 
 From La Sonnambula : Atto 2°. 
 
 38. — P. 49. — and Delilize your locks, etc. etc.] Recite at 
 present: "and Delilize your whiskers, to stuff her chignon. 
 Hand, [still, Sec] A "rat" were better, uncle. Racy. Confound 
 you, sir! is this the fruit of your three years' tour in Europe? 
 You left us, a fellow of some sense : what, &c." 
 
 39. — P. 49. Ella mi va lusingando : ] You flatter me. And be- 
 low: "ziomio", vncle. 
 
 40. — P. 50. — fearing that, etc.] Omit this clause. 
 
 41. — P. 51. " Unisco le famiglie, ec." ] From the Conte Ory : 
 the cavatina, as at the commencement of the Scene : — 
 
 I vnite again friends that are severed, 
 Their bitter contentions I soften, 
 And to the young damsels often 
 A husband am wonted, to give. 
 
114 NOTES TO 
 
 42. — P. 51. E come ! ] How could it be otherwise f Row can you 
 ask ? The Stage may substitute " How else ? " 
 
 43. — P. 52. Avete sempre furia!] You are always in such hot 
 haste! Pronounce: Avay'ta sem'pra foo'reah. 
 
 44. — P. 53. — has "been an officer of Napoleon's — To-day : 
 — " has served with the French at Magenta." 
 
 45.— P. 54. — Palmer's — ] To-day — " Taylor's." 
 
 46.— P. 54. — Windusfs — ] To-day : — " Delmonico's." 
 
 47. — P. 55. — his hair short — ] To-day : — " short whiskers." 
 
 48. — P. 55. " In me ciascun si pud fidar." ] In me everybody 
 Quay confide. A continuation of the arietta above : — 
 
 And to the young damsels often 
 A husband am wonted to give. 
 All men may in me believe. 
 
 49. — P. 56. Scene II.] For brevity's sake, this entire Scene 
 may be omitted. 
 
 50. — P. 57. I've been, etc.] Recite: "I was very unhappy, 
 while I thought," etc. 
 
 51.—P. 64. — Broadway.'] To-day : — " Fifth Avenue." 
 
 52. — P. 64. — enjoy you.'] For the Stage, — " possess you." 
 
 53. — P. 65. And being younger, etc.] Omit, in recitation, this 
 clause. 
 
THE MAGNETISES 115 
 
 54. — P. 68. Then you have no faith in it.~\ After this, omit to 
 the Entry of Racy, on p. 70 : " Uncle, d la bonne heure 11 The 
 greater part of what is thns included, namely, commencing with the 
 words " I knew beforehand " ( p. 59, ) was never meant to be re- 
 cited. But, more fortunate than my comedy, Italy has improved in 
 the long interval, and the sarcastic description put into the mouth of 
 one of her children has happily ceased to be even an outline 
 portrait. 
 
 55. — P. 71. But little as yet, sir.] After this, omit to u This 
 gentlewoman? 11 and, throwing out the stage-direction {Recovering 
 himself at once.) make Randolph's part read, " Has persuaded a 
 man, etc.," excluding the clauses previous. 
 
 56. — P. 75. Yedi combinazione !] There's a scrape ! — What a di- 
 lemma ! — What a jumble ! Some such phrase. Literally : Behold 
 combination [of circumstances.] Pronounce: Vay'de cohm-be-natz- 
 
 57. — P. 75. — the truth about it] After this, omit to " But how 
 are the operations to be conducted? " then all after that to — " the 
 Count and I " — in Racy's part. 
 
 58. — P. 77. " Veuves et demoiselles, etc. 11 ] The French para- 
 phrase of " Taccia di tanti mali, ecj 1 in the cavatina of the Gonte 
 Ory, before cited : 
 
 Widows and bashful young maidens. 
 In the sweet troubles that grieve you. 
 Come unto me ; to relieve you, 
 Is always of duties most dear. 
 
 59. — P. 79. Confusion to Matthew and Charles Delavanl] Although 
 Father Matthew is not forgotten, yet the name of the zealous and 
 
116 NOTES TO 
 
 persistent advocate of temperance in this country, before the advent 
 of its u Apostle," will hardly convey an impression to the present 
 generation. Substitute therefore, for Charles Delavan, " all of that 
 clan " ; which is an insipidity, and clumsy, but intelligible. 
 
 60. — P. 80. Collebuone, signori, colle buone.] Soft words, gentle- 
 men, soft words. 
 
 61. — P. 81. Orsu, alle mani :] Now for action. 
 
 62. — P. 81. "Brulant d' amour, etc"] The commencement of a 
 well-known French ballad : — 
 
 Burning with love, and parting for the war, 
 A troubadour, a foe to sorrow's pain, 
 In the wild love he to his fair one bore 
 Went everywhere thus singing his refrain : 
 
 My arm for native land, 
 
 My heart at love's command ; 
 Gaily for them both to fight and death endure 
 Is the duty of a valiant troubadour. 
 
 The actor may give but a verse or two of the stanza, at his option. 
 
 63.— P. 83. —1810—] To-day: — " 1850." 
 
 64. — P. 84. ■ — Pissereaf] Recite: — " Cisserea I " 
 
 65. — P. 81. If it had been, etc.] Omit to — to-night : which 
 read "To-night too" — Then omit, below, "be persuaded." 
 
 66. — P. 89. That state — ] Prom here, may ( at the discretion 
 of the Theatre ) be omitted down to the last sentence : u The ethe- 
 real molecules, etc." 
 
 67. — P. 96. — Well :] After this word, read the paragraph as 
 follows: "Scarcely were Miss Mildmay and Dulruse seated in the 
 
THE MAGNETISER 117 
 
 carriage, before the Signor squeezed his Countess on the front seat, 
 and sprung in after her ; and away we went at a rattling rate up 
 the Avenue. Then began the war. I could hear Dulruse, etc. etc. 
 On we drove, shot by Union-place, and turned up 1he old Blooming- 
 dale road, when, all at once, there was another hurricane. Dulruse, 
 discovering his mistake, sprang up, etc. etc." 
 
 68. — P. 97. Animo, signore:] Come, sir. 
 
 69. — P. 98. — and I feel — ] Omit, to " As a proof of my sin- 
 cerity." 
 
 70. — P. 99. Che sciocco insolente !] What an insolent blockhead ! 
 Pronounce: shocco. 
 
 71.— P. 99. "Tu E tant' osi ? ec."] Prom the Sonnam- 
 
 bula, Atto 2 C . ( changing the gender : ) — 
 
 Thou And thus dar'st thou ? Go, thou perjur' d I 
 
 72. — P. 99. "Deh! non voler, ec. n ] From Anna Bolena, 
 Atto V : 
 
 Ah ! seek not with feign* d joy to hide 
 That broic's expressive sadness; 
 Beautiful is thy sorrow's frown 
 As is thy smile of gladness. 
 
 73. — P. 101. " Pasci il guardo, ec."] From La Sonnambula, 
 
 Atto 2°. : 
 
 Feed thy looks, and let thy spirit 
 With the excess of my ills be sated; 
 The saddest of all men created 
 Am i", cruel, and am for thee. 
 
 74. — P. 102. — and get your old uncle, etc. etc.] Substitute : 
 — " and make me a grand-uncle. "What will you call your boy ? " 
 
 75.— P. 103. " Unisco le famiglie, ec."J See Note 41. 
 
THE PBODIGAL 
 
 OR 
 
 A VICE AND VIRTUE 
 
 MDCCOXLV 
 
CHARACTERS., Etc. 
 
 Stockton, a rich India merchant. 
 
 Staunton, a ivealthy Englishman, also an India merchant. 
 
 Buzz Pickins, an English author of note, on a tour in 
 
 America. 
 Revise Proofsheet, an u enterprising" publisher. 
 Heiliger Schurk, Stockton's bookkeeper, a German by birth. 
 Arthur, Stockton's son. 
 Henry Ledger, Stockton's second clerk. 
 
 John Doughty, an American, confidential servant to Staunton. 
 Hans G-uterknecht, a German, servant to Stockton. 
 
 Mrs. Stockton. 
 Theresa, Arthur's ivife. 
 Clara, Arthur's sister. 
 
 Two Burglars ; a German tavernkeeper ; 
 Francis, a shop boy ; Peter, servant in Stockton's household. 
 
 Scene. Philadelphia. 
 
 Time. That occupied by the action. 
 
THE PRODIGAL 
 
 OR 
 
 A VICE AND VIRTUE x 
 
 Act the First 
 
 Scene I. A parlor in Stockton's house. 
 
 Stockton, in a high passion, dragging 
 
 himself into the room with difficulty, owing to the efforts 
 
 of his wife, ivho is clinging to him, while he endeavors to 
 
 loose her hands and shake her off. 
 
 Stock. Speak no more ! not a word ! not one syllable ! I tell 
 you, for the thousandth time, my resolution is fixed ; and, so 
 help me G-od ! from this moment 
 
 Mrs. S. [pictting her hand over his mouth.] no, no, no, no ! 
 not that! for your own sake, Stockton! 2 for your peace of 
 
122 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 mind here, and your hopes of peace hereafter, do nob swear ! 
 do not ! [sobbing and letting go her hold of Stockton, who for 
 the moment appears shaken.] Think, he is your only son, 
 our first-born, whose birth we looked for so fondly, Arthur, 
 when our love — our love, do you hear me, Arthur ! — was 
 yet new, whom you called after your own name 
 
 Stock. That he might disgrace it. Woman, you do well to 
 remind me. Is it the babe, the child, the boy even, the good 
 and dutiful boy 
 
 Mrs. S. yes, remember that ; he was always good and 
 dutiful 
 
 Stock, [stamping passionately.'] Will you have done? Does 
 not the dutifulness and goodness of his early years make the 
 disobedience and misconduct of his confirmed manhood more 
 striking, and more intolerable ? How do I know ? perhaps 
 his docility was fear, pure animal fear of a father that 3 — that 
 loved him [with emotion.] — as only a father, such as I am, 
 loves an only son that is such as he appeared to be then. — 
 Be quiet, Sarah ! — But when he is too old to feel this fear, — 
 when, I say, he has reached that age that I should have looked 
 to reap the fruits of the good seed I had planted, what then 
 does this good and dutiful son ? Buined by your indulgence 
 and flatteries 
 
 Mrs. S. My husband ! Arthur ! 
 
 Stock. I say it, by your and Clara's flatteries. Will you 
 deny it ? Did you not encourage in him, you, you two 
 women, his love of letters, as he would call it ; weep at his 
 tragedy and laugh over his comedy, till the youth believed 
 himself a new Shakspeare in the drama, and born to supplant 
 
ACT I. SC. 1. 123 
 
 Joan Milton, or John Milton's devil for aught that I know, 
 in the Pandemonium of epic foolery 
 
 Mrs. S. But ; husband, you took delight yourself in his 
 talents 
 
 Stock. In" his talents ? Surely ; as I did in his manly 
 beauty, and, as I fondly believed them — oh my G-od ! [strik- 
 ing his forehead.] what idiots fathers are ! — in his virtues. 
 But was it that he might forget everything else for these dar- 
 ling talents f was it, I ask you, as the pauper of a garret, the 
 threadbare associate of starveling poets, sneaking painters, 
 and strolling playactors, or as the heir of five millions, the 
 honored companion and ally of princely merchants, the rival 
 of the best of them, and to take the lead of most ? Talents ! 
 I meant that they should make his fortune, not mar it ! Yes, 
 fool, fool, fool that I was, I dreamed — Did you ever have a 
 dream, madam ? [turning abruptly to his wife, who only iveeps.] 
 Well, I was boy enough — yet you see my hairs are gray, quite 
 gray — I was boy enough, this grayhaired man that speaks 
 to you, to dream that by these very talents, and by that for- 
 tune, the name of Arthur Stockton might be a watchword of 
 true, of rational liberty, in the citadel of the nation ; nay, per- 
 haps I went further in my waking visions, and saw his hon- 
 ored head Derision ! curses and derision ! [walking up 
 
 and down, impetuously. 
 
 Mrs. S. And why should it be a dream ? 
 
 Stock. Why ? Sarah, are you turned a fool ? quite a fool ? 
 [taking her hand, with a cold gravity, and looking in her face, 
 tuhile she manifests fright] Did you ever hear, woman [fiercely.] 
 of 2, poet, a moneyless one at least, in the senate of a nation ? 
 
124 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 of a painter guiding with his twopenny maulstick the destinies 
 of a great people ? [with increasing passion.] of a damned mer- 
 ryandrew of a playactor signing vetoes in the seat of Wash- 
 ington ? — With money indeed \bitterly and ironically.] it 
 might be feasible, for we are getting, like wiser ' nations, to 
 make a merchandise of our country's interests, and a million 
 votes would cost but little more in our land than in our grand- 
 dame's ; but I have cut him off — I have and will ! — with a 
 single shilling, with the half of a shilling. Begone ! [waving 
 her off. 
 
 Mrs. S. Mercy ! You will not be so obdurate ! Mr. Stock- 
 ton — husband — Arthur ; they will starve, they 
 
 Stock, [with new fury,] They? It is well reminded. 4 
 [Bitterly.] Ha, ha! they! This is another fruit of talent, 
 and of association with talented people and paupers. But for 
 this, this marriage. — this accursed buckling with a nameless 
 brat 
 
 Mrs. S. no! don't say so! don't abuse her: she is our 
 daughter's friend* 
 
 Stock. Not the less nameless, not the less a brat for all that. 
 Who was her father ? Was he ever seen or heard of? Did 
 not this Mrs. Ellison, 5 with her thin, melancholy, hypocritical 
 face come over here all alone, husbandless, all but pennyless, 
 from England, with her little child, and was there ever word 
 said of its father — by her at least ? She had good reasons 
 doubtless ; for, when others asked about him, she would blush 
 and tremble, or look pale and haughty, but never answer a 
 syllable. Then comes the school-intimacy of the brat Theresa 
 and our little Clara 
 
ACT I. sc. 1. 125 
 
 Mrs. S. You never opposed it, Mr. Stockton ; you — you 
 [hesitating.] seemed to encourage it. 
 
 Stock. Don't interrupt me. So I did. What would you 
 have ? I was not qaite a brute : 6 and the good manners of 
 the little girl, her beauty perhaps — malediction on it ! — 
 made me forget the distance fortune ha 1 placed between her 
 and Clara ; indee 1 I was proud, like an ass that I was, to 
 think that Clara should have no pride. — 
 
 Mrs. S. Like a Christian, like an angel that you were, say. 
 
 Stock, [stamping impatiently.] Again ! L ; ke an ass J I say, 
 that I was. Yet how was I to foresee the consequencss ? or 
 did I, because I looked with pie is ire on the chil lish attach- 
 ment of two little schoolgirls, suppose that it was to increase 
 with their growth, expand into a vigorous friendship, and 
 twine its abominable limbs about the brother also? But when 
 I did, did I not endeavor to prevent it? did I not? Answer 
 me that ! 
 
 Mrs. S. Alas ! 
 
 Stock, [with bitter mockery.] Alas! You cannot answer: 
 7 you know. that I not only did all I could to break up this ill- 
 omened attachment between the boy and girl — which I sus- 
 pect that you and Clara privily encouraged — don't interrupt 
 me! — if you are innocent of the charge, so much the better 
 for your conscience — I not only did that, but I absolutely for- 
 bid his further association with her, when he had arrived to 
 puberty ; and when afterwards I discovered, too late, that their 
 friendship had grown to love, and that Arthur made his very 
 poetry and pencil minister to the flames of his passion, did I 
 not gravely take him to task as a father should, unfold to him, 
 Yol. V.— 7 
 
126 . THE PRODIGAL 
 
 as if he was a friend and equal, my expectations, and show 
 him the impossibility of fulfilling them, unless he broke off all 
 connection with a person, for him so dangerous ? What did 
 he reply ? What, this dutiful, this good son, this man of talent 
 answer to his father, and his sober and friendly adviser ? An- 
 swer me now ; — what, I ask you, did your poet, your play- 
 writing, player-consorting son, the companion of drunken 
 artists and lewd opera-singers, what did that pretty gentle- 
 man — what did the villain answer ? [shaking her by the 
 arm. 
 
 Mrs. S. Oh, Mr. Stockton ! 
 
 Stock, [with a cynical smile.'] Oh no, he did not answ r er that, 
 not quite that, Sarah Stockton : he told me [flinging her arm 
 off.], me, his father : " That till now it had been an honor as a 
 pleasure to obey me" — you know he was always a dutiful 
 boy — "but that honor was superior to filial duty, and that 
 plighted affection no parent had a right to violate.' 7 So much 
 for Milton and the devil! Did he not talk like a Eoman ? 
 [with bitter energy, and a sardonic smile] Was he not worthy, 
 this honorable and unbending young man, to be dreamed of as 
 a successor of Washington ? 
 
 Mrs. S. my husband ! why repeat all this, when I know 
 it so well ? why aggravate 
 
 Stock. Because I wish to impress it upon your memory, 8 — 
 not in fear that you may have more sons — thank God, we 
 are past that ! but lest Clara should be tempted to imitate her 
 pattern of a brother [Mrs. S. seems ready to sink, from confu- 
 sion.], and I may have two children [looking sharply into her 
 face.} to turn out of doors, instead of one. 
 
ACT I. SC. 1. 127 
 
 Mrs. S. Grod help us both ! you are wild with passion. 
 
 Stock. Am I ? You shall see that my memory at least is 
 sane, and that I can reason well for the future. I answered 
 him, this good and dutiful and talented son, I answered him 
 [raising his voice almost to a scream or yell] : " Then marry — 
 and make your bridal-bed in a garret ; for the day that you do 
 so, Arthur Stockton, you are no son of mine. G-o ! " And he 
 did go — I helped him from the room with my arm — and he 
 did marry ! he did [with the same terrible vehemence of tone.] — 
 he married — he, the heir of millions and my only son, and 
 namesake, my hope [with emotion.], he married a girl without 
 a cent, and without a name, [recovering his energy and passion.] 
 He did, curse 
 
 Mrs. S. [eagerly 1 placing her hand again before his mouth] 
 no, don't curse him ! remember, Stockton, he is our son, our 
 only son ! oh, oh, oh ! [lueeping. 
 
 Stock. Well, I will not curse him. But, from this day, 9 that 
 I have first learned the extremity of his folly and his ingrati- 
 tude — an ingratitude he did not dare with all his effrontery, 
 to make known to me himself — I cast him off forever ! There 
 [significantly .], tell that to Clara — as a lesson. [He is about to 
 rush out from the scene, when 
 
 Enter, Clara. 
 
 Mrs. S. Clara ! your father — 
 
 Stock, [looking back.] Has just confirmed his sentence 
 against the Prodigal ; nor are you the governor that shall re- 
 prieve him, let me tell you, whatever your sympathy with 
 
128 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 evil-doers. You are the child however that may yet be able 
 to take a lesson. Teach it to her, madam. [Exit Re-enters 
 directly.'] I shall not return to the office. Let some one be 
 sent to Mr. Ledger, to tell him that I want to see him immedi- 
 ately. Don't make a mistake, Miss Stockton, and go your- 
 self. [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. S. [throwing herself on Clara's neck.] Clara ! my 
 son ! your poor brother ! 
 
 Clara. Mother, do not despond ! papa's nature is too good 
 to suffer him to keep this mind long; and then Arthui's char- 
 acter is so exalted; there is so much in him to love and 
 to admire ! 
 
 10 Mrs. S. Ah, my dear ; there is the danger : parents natu- 
 rally expect more from good children than from bad; and, 
 where they have almost everything as they wish, to be disap- 
 pointed in one or two things comes with a greater shock than 
 a hundred crosses where they look for nothing else. Arthurs 
 disobedience is the one spot upon the sun — 
 
 Clara. That will soon have passed, and leave us once more 
 happy in its warm and beautiful beams. 
 
 Mrs. S. You are always looking at the bright side of events, 
 Clara. 
 
 Clara. And wisely, mother; for thus I have always some 
 share of light ; while you, with that dear, sad brow forever 
 toward the dark, are constantly in the shadow of either an- 
 ticipated or actual evil. Yet I could be gloomy too, just now ; 
 not merely for Arthur's sake, but for my own. What was 
 that " lesson " ? what meant that allusion to Mr. Ledger? 
 
 Mrs. S. my Clara, I fear I have been criminal where I 
 
ACT I. sc. 1. 129 
 
 thought only to be just, and have unintentionally encouraged 
 attachments that may end in depriving me of both my 
 children. 
 
 Clara, Never, mother ! even if one be lost to you — which 
 I do not believe. Whatever my feelings, I certainly shall not 
 prepare myself for the duties of a wife by becoming a disobe- 
 dient daughter. 
 
 Mrs. S. My good Clara! so like your brother! yet without 
 
 his self-dependence, and too lofty pride of character. But 
 
 Mercy ! what is that ? [A crashing noise within, as of furniture 
 smashed, u mixed with a sound as of the violent and sud- 
 den vibration of the strings of some musical instrument ; 
 then a window is heard to be thrown up violently. 
 
 Enter Hans. 
 
 He has a small cabinet-picture in his hand, and his 
 
 looks evince great perturbation. 
 
 Hans. madam ! Miss Clara ! mein Gott ! de mashter has 
 broken every ting in Mr. Artur's sh'tudy ! For dis twenty 
 year I haave nefer seen him in so mushe passio'n. 
 
 Clara. The pictures ! the pictures ! speak, Hans. 
 
 Hans. GJ-one. I did n't get in de room till Mr. Shtockton 
 haadt jumped on de beautiful new piano, ant was smashing 
 him in widt his feet as if it vas one paltry oldt bench, and I 
 saw de two pictures Mr. Artur value so much, 12 vich just come 
 from de great shale of de Cardinal Fish in Italy, and stoodt 
 upon de floor, one kicked clean out of de frame and de oter 
 wit a big ole in his middle, and de floor all trodt ofer wit 
 blatters of paints, and broken brushes out of Mr. Artur's box. 
 
130 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Mr. Shtockton nefer looksh at me, he seem so blindt, and 
 shpringing off de piano, throwsh up de vinder, and fling out 
 bot' de guitar. Vile he do dis, I take de chance, snatch de 
 little pictur vich Mr. Artur paint himself two year ago from 
 Miss Therese, and comes here. 13 
 
 Clara. Thanks, thanks, [taking the picture.] How fortunate 
 [to Mrs. S.] : had he seen this ! — 
 
 Mrs. S. It had driven him mad. But the books, the papers ? 
 
 Clara, [eagerly.] Yes, yes, my brother's manuscripts ? 
 
 Hans, [sadly.] I forgot to say, Miss Clara; when Mr. 
 Shtockton jump from de piano before he seize de guitars, he 
 caught up from a table de book dat Mr. Artur was reading 
 from lasht night — 
 
 Clara. His comedy, his new comedy ! 
 
 Hans. Yes, dat please Mr. Ledger so mush, — and crying 
 out in a vay dat make me feels badt, fery badt, Miss Clara, 
 " Talents ! " flings it right into de fire. [ Clara wrings her hands.] 
 But dere 's de bell : the ladies perhaps vould not vish to see 
 nobody ? 
 
 Mrs. S. No, no ; bid the porter make our excuses. And, 
 stay, send somebody to the countinghouse ; Mr. Stockton 
 desires to see Mr. Ledger immediately. 
 
 Hans. Yes, madam. [Exit. 
 
 Clara. What a misfortune! an hour longer, and Arthur 
 would have had all the little furniture he needs, sent him. 14 
 His manuscript too, his play — that he had just finished ! I 
 could almost cry. 
 
 Mrs. S. And those paintings, that cost him so much money ! 
 perhaps ruined forever. 
 
ACT I. SC. 1. 131 
 
 Clara. Yet I think, mother, that this little picture saved 
 will make him forget all the rest. 
 
 Mrs. S. True. But make haste and conceal it. [Exit Clara 
 at one side ) while on the other 
 
 Re-enter Hans. 
 
 What is the matter ? 
 
 Hans. madam — it is Mr. Schurk — he has just gone up 
 to de mashter's room. 
 
 Mrs. S. Well? 
 
 Hans. Yes, but — pardon me, madam — it is n't veil ; it ist 
 ill. If you knew — 
 
 Mrs. S. [gravely, yet mildly.'] If I knew ? You forget your 
 place, Hans, and presume perhaps too much on your long ser- 
 vices. This is the second time to-day, about Mr. Schurk. If 
 you have anything to tell of him that concerns your master, 
 or us, take it to the master only. 
 
 Hans. Ah, but to-day, now ! how vould I dare ? he vould 
 not listen 
 
 Mrs. S. Did you send to Mr. Ledger ? 
 
 Hans. Yes, madam ; Peter has gone. [Retiring] Mein 
 
 Gott ! dey are blindt — dey vill not let me open deir eyes. 
 
 [Exit j — Mrs. S. looking after him with surprise; 
 
 and the scene closes. 
 
132 THE PKODIGAL 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Stockton's private parlor. In the middle, an oblong 
 ebony writing-table, with a massive bronze standisli. 
 A letter lying open on the table. — Stockton is seen strid- 
 ing vp and down the room in great agitation ; while near 
 the door, in a respectful attitude, stands 
 Schurk, apparently unnoticed. 
 
 Stock, [muttering to himself, by starts.] Dreams, dream?, 
 dreams ! — and how miserable has been my waking ! — In- 
 fatuated ! I should have known what would result. — But 
 there shall be no spread of these liberal principles — one pau- 
 per mairiage shall content even Mrs. Stockton. But, to lose 
 all my hopes, all ! — [Raising his head in a sort of despair, he 
 sees Schurk.] Oh, Schurk! my son is gore, my only son, my 
 Arthur ! 
 
 Sch. 15 Heaven! Mr. Arthur dead? The Lord giveth 
 
 [throwing up his eyes. 
 
 Stock. No, no ! but lost, — lost to me, lost to society, to the 
 world. He is married, sir. 
 
 Sch. Oh, well, is that all ? there is nothing — pardon me, 
 Mr. Stockton — so very extraordinary in all that. 
 
 Stock, [impatiently.] But there is though. He has married 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 133 
 
 a pauper, a nameless Eead that, sir. [snatching up the 
 
 letter , and flinging it to Schurk. 
 
 Sch. [taking out from his pocket, with great deliberation, a 
 pair of spectacles, and adjusting them on his nose ; then reading 
 slowly, while Stock, seems devoured by impatience. 
 
 11 Sir, — It is my duty to inform you that your son has been 
 married for more than six weeks to the illegitimate daughter 
 of Kate Ellison." Illegitimate? bastard, ha! das ist argerlich. 16 
 
 Stock, [stamping.] Sir ! — it is death ! How can you be so 
 cold ? But go on, go on, sir! [beating the palms of his hands 
 together. 
 
 Sch. " This evil is too late to remedy, but the knowledge 
 of it may serve to prevent another of a like kind. It begiRS to 
 be noticed that Miss Stockton and Mr. Ledger are more tender 
 in their manner to each other than is common between mere 
 friends, or is likely to please you." Ach, ja! " The brother's 
 
 example But you need no more ; this hint will be 
 
 enough, and the fact that it comes from one who, though he 
 does not wish to be known in such a matter " — in der That ! 
 man kann Sie wohl glaaben — " is yet religiously bound to com- 
 municate it, being one whom you have a thousand times 
 obliged." Stuff! stuff! it is all one lie [crumpling up the letter, 
 with a show of contemptuous indignation. — Stock, looks at him 
 with surprise.] Pardon me, my much honored patron, but do 
 you not see this letter is anonymous ? The man is afraid to 
 tell his name ; he is therefore either liar or coward. 
 
 Stock. Coward he may be, [Sch. luinces, twitching his specs.] 
 but liar he is not. Arthur is married, I have told you already, 
 and married to Theresa Ellison. He acknowledged it this 
 
134 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 afternoon ; and this afternoon [with an effort] I turned him 
 out of my doors. 
 
 Sch. Grocd God ! you don't mean it. Poor Mr. Arthur ! 
 
 Stock. What, sir, you too ! will no one think that I am 
 right ? 17 has a father then nothing to expect from his children, 
 but that they should not kick him or pilfer his money ? has he 
 no right to demand in return for birth and education and patri- 
 mony, that they should not dishonor his name and enrich 
 beggars with his affluence ? 
 
 Sch. My good patron, and kind master I you know I can 
 have no wish to justify Mr. Arthur for any wickedness, 18 
 for often have I risked the favor you have honored me with 
 by daring to remonstrate with you on many of Mr. Arthur's 
 little faults and neglects of duty, and revealing to you his bad 
 associations, in hopes that you might reform him [Stockton 
 shows impatience, and even resentment] — pardon me ; but for 
 one serious disobedience to take such severe measures ! Ah, 
 think how much in the sight of G-od we are all evil creatures, 
 and that, if we do not forgive in this world 
 
 Stock. The devil take your piety, if I must say so ! do you 
 call this a simple disobedience, to 
 
 Sch. Serious, Mr. Stockton ; I said, serious, very serious. 
 
 Stock. Well, serious ; don't interrupt me, sir. Is this all 
 then I have to complain of? Did I not, when you first 
 showed me, as you were bound, 19 being in my confidence, and 
 in the important place you hold [Sch. bows humbly. \ how 
 constantly he neglected his duties, that presumptuous Henry 
 Ledger making up his deficits in secret for him, did I not, 
 when I ascertained the cause to be his passion [bitterly em- 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 135 
 
 phasizing the loord] for poetry and the arts, did I not indulge 
 him to his heart's content, only exacting of him to be present 
 two hours every day in the countingroom ? Has he not had 
 thousands on thousands to expend upon pictures and pianos, 
 indecent statues, wormeaten books and rusty medals? and 
 when I found he would be nothing but a student, and he -had 
 the effrontery to tell me so, did I not forgive him this too, and 
 allow him to withdraw entirely from commercial life ? — but 
 not that he should spend his hours in the greenroom and the 
 music-halls, not to be hand and glove with fiddlers and moun- 
 tebanks, not to be a Prodigal in his misprized genius as well 
 as with his money. No ! Yet when I pardoned this too, had 
 I any reason to expect that he would marry without my 
 knowledge, and in the very face of my expressed wishes and 
 intentions ? Answer me that, Mr. Heiliger Schurk. You 
 cannot, any more than Mrs. Stockton or Clara can. But even 
 this disappointment, this crushing of all my ambitious hopes 
 as a father, even this I should have felt with less anguish, had 
 the blow come less sudden and rude, had I learned this 
 dishonor in fact from his lips, and not from that letter. 
 Six weeks! who had a right to know that before his 
 father ? 
 
 Sch. Why, that is true ! and who could be so insolent as to 
 inflict this blow on a father, [opening and smoothing the letter, ,] 
 Let me see. Why, this is singular ! I never saw any hand 
 so like my own. Look here, Mr. Stockton. 
 
 Stock. I cannot see it at all, — not the least resemblance. 
 
 Sch. No ? that is strange. My very A* s and /' s ! Mr. 
 Ledger would say so at once. 
 
136 THE PEODIGAL 
 
 Stock. Ah, you remind me. I have just sent for him, to 
 show him this very letter. 
 
 Sch. [startled] Show it to him ? But you don't believe the 
 insinuation : it is a mere calumny — only fit to burn, [fling- 
 ing it j as if from an indignant impulse, into the grate. 
 
 Stock, [snatching it, before it has kindled.'] Why, sir, Mr. 
 Schurk, what do you mean ? Ah, pardon me, my old friend ; 
 I understand your feelings. But for this letter, it can do no 
 more harm ; that is too late ; and it may do good. It has 
 proved but too true in one part ; why should it not be so in 
 another ? 
 
 Sch. But how will you discover that, by showing it to Mr. 
 Ledger ? He will deny it, true or false. 
 
 Stock. No, he will not. 20 You do him wrong, sir. To give 
 the young man his due, he is like my unhappy son, one of the 
 very few men in this world that would not tell a falsehood, 
 though perhaps their life depended on it. It has been one 
 source of the strong friendship between him and Arthur, this 
 very point of honor, and in turn this friendship has nursed 
 their mutual pride and spirit. If Mr. Ledger deny the pre- 
 sumptuousness here charged to him [striking the letter.] I shall 
 believe him without further question. 
 
 Sch. And if he own it ? 
 
 Stock. Or do not own it ; if he merely refuse to deny it — 
 he shall seek employment elsewhere: I could not bear him 
 any longer in my sight, — though I should lose his services 
 with regret. 
 
 Sch. Not with so much regret, perhaps, did you know 
 all. 
 
ACT I. sc. 2. 137 
 
 Stock. Ah ! what do you mean to insinuate ? But you are 
 no friend of Ledger's, I have seen that long. 
 
 Sch. Heaven forbid ! I am not the young man's enemy 
 because I do not like his ways. 
 
 Stock. But he is regular in his duties. 
 
 Sch. Yes, and in his attendance upon theatres and operas. 
 His friends are not such as a young merchant ought to have. 
 
 Stock, [violently.] The curse of evil communication. You 
 goad me. No matter ; he will be here presently, and we 
 shall see. 
 
 Sch. [hastily.] Well sir, I must hurry home : we have 
 closed later than usual on account of the specie you expected, 
 which has just arrived. In waiting bank-hours to-morrow, I 
 have locked it up in the double safe. 
 
 Stock. It is a large amount, Mr. Schurk; but it will be se- 
 cure there, at least for one night. You could not have done 
 better. 
 
 Sch. There are the keys, sir. Good evening, Mr. Stockton. 
 [going.] But — pardon me — I should not think it safe to 
 trust too much to Mr. Ledger's honor, in the matter of that 
 letter. We used to say in my country : " Das ist eine 
 schlechte Maus. die nur ein Loch weis " : 'Tis a sorry mouse 
 that has but one hole to run to. 
 
 Stock. Well, well ; be easy ; I have a trap to catch him, 
 though he had fifty : he must be an old villain indeed that can 
 look me in the face, and mean such a wrong. 
 
 Sch. [abruptly.] G-ood evening, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Stock. Eh ! Everybody seems to be as mad as myself, this 
 evening. This evening — [dropping into his chair, by the 
 
138 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 table.] Oh, Arthur! Arthur! [covering his face with his hands.] 
 my son, my son, Arthur ! [Scene closes. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Same as Scene I. 
 
 Enter Clara. 
 
 Clara, [pensively.] I must contrive to intercept Henry 
 before he sees my father; there is some mischief brewing. 
 That letter which revealed poor Arthur's marriage — may it 
 not have told another secret ? 21 Papa's insinuation, and threat, 
 which make me blush to think upon, though I have not indeed 
 deserved them — what else could they imply ! Yet who 
 could be so wise ? who but my mother, or Theresa, or at most 
 Arthur, could even suspect what has surely never passed my 
 lips to anybody, and which I have endeavored to keep even 
 these tell-tale eyes from revealing ? But I must not be down- 
 hearted ; no, nor frightened : either would be something new 
 for Clara Stockton. [Recovering her full spirits as she speaks, 
 tvord by word.] All will yet be well — I am sure of it — I 
 am determined it shall ! — yes, it shall be, with papa, and 
 Arthur, and Henry, and me, and everybody. Yet I would 
 give sixpence now to set my eyes upon the he or she, that 
 
ACT I. sc. 3. 139 
 
 could be wicked enough to send such a mischief-making 
 letter. 
 
 Enter Schurk. 
 
 Sch. [aside, delightedly .] Welch ein Glitch/ 22 — [Coming 
 forward.] Miss Stockton, I am delighted to meet you at this 
 moment. — 
 
 Clara, [coldly.] If you knew what I was wishing, you would 
 scarcely think it such happiness — supposing I had my wish. 
 
 Sch. And what was that ? 
 
 Clara. I was wishing, sir, to see the face of the — the 
 devil — 
 
 Sch. Hey ! 
 
 Clara. — For it could only be such — that could find the 
 heart to send such a letter to my father. 
 
 Sch. [with some confusion.] As what ? Letter ? 
 
 Clara. Yes, letter. I thought you had just left Mr. Stock- 
 ton : surely, he showed you a letter ? 
 
 Sch. yes, yes : a poor, miserable, cowardly, anonymous 
 bit of stuff, such as I would have thrown into the fire. I did 
 indeed ; but your father rescued it. 
 
 Clara. No doubt to find out its author, — as he will one of 
 these days. G-ood evening, [going. 
 
 Sch. Ah, Miss Stockton, always my foe ? 
 
 Clara. Always my own friend, Mr. Schurk. If I do not 
 find it particularly agreeable to entertain you, of late, I need 
 not repeat the reason why. 
 
 Sch. Ah, Miss Stockton, would you but see w r ith your 
 mother's eyes or your father's ! — 
 
140 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Clara. They would be rather old eyes, be it said with rev- 
 erence ; and I should not think that such a medium would be 
 favorable to the views with which it has pleased you of late 
 
 to honor me : but I see with my own, and they tell me 
 
 [looking full at him : he casts down his eyes.] No matter what 
 they tell me. Enough that if you can talk piety with my 
 mother, and commerce with my father, you have not yet 
 learned the subject that most interests their daughter ; and so 
 she leaves you. [Curtsying and going. 
 
 Sch. [maliciously.] Perhaps I have ; but I do not usually 
 make my ca^ulat'ons for any other ledger than my own. 
 
 Clara, [with spirit, and turning full on him.] For Mr. 
 Stockton's clerk, sir, you give your wit too much margin; 
 nor will you find that such false entries [he starts, and looks at 
 her suspiciously.] will count up much to your profit in the 
 journal of my favor. I beg you will leave the room. And, 
 mark ! never again touch upon this subject ; or I may forget 
 that you are useful — in the countingroom. 
 
 Sch. [quite beside himself] When the merchant's daughter 
 lends her eyes to her father s second-clerk, she cannot blame 
 the head-clerk if he puts in a bid for her ears. 
 
 Clara, [a moment confounded, but directly recovering, and 
 drawing herself up with quiet dignity] Since you will not, sir, 
 / go, — never from this day to exchange a word with you 
 again. [Exit. 
 
 Sch. [fiercely — between his teeth.] G-o, in the name of all 
 the devils ! — It was my last throw there, and it has turned 
 up blank. Remains now but the last desperate one. Should 
 that fail ! accursed spirit of gaming ! [Exit. 
 
ACT I. SC. 4. 141 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 The hall of the house, leading to the street-door. 
 
 The lamp from the ceiling is not yet lighted, and the scene is 
 
 demi- obscure, as at the coming-on of 
 
 twilight — Hans standing in the passage. — 
 
 Enter, Schurk. 
 
 Sch. [in a soft voice, and looking anxiously about him.] Hans ! 
 [Hans endeavors to avoid him.] Ey, Hans, lieber ! — Was ficht 
 Sie an f 23 [seizing him by the arm. 
 
 Hans. Ye musbt spreak English in tis house, mein Herr. 
 
 Sch. [looking again on every side of the passage.] Wohlan ! 24 
 Will you do that ? Frisch ! quick ! shall I see you — down 
 there ? — soon ? 
 
 Hans, [hesitating.] Yes — perhaps so. Y — es ; I '11 come. 
 
 Sch. [still in a low voice.] Kemember I five hundred ! 
 
 Hans. Yes, I '11 see you. [Exit Schurk.] But first, I '11 see Mr. 
 Artur. — Ob, dat my faterlandt should send ofer such mer*, 
 to dishgrace her and all honest Germans ! [Exit. 
 
 Drop falls. 
 
142 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Act the Second 
 
 Scene I. A street, with shops and dwellings intermixed. On 
 the left is seen a bookseller's shop with its appropriate sign, 
 and showbills of new publications attached to the posts of the 
 door and frame of the window. The perspective of the 
 street runs diagonally from corner to corner of the scene, 
 appearing to wind to the right above, and to turn off to the 
 left in the foreground. The lamps of the street are lighted, 
 but not of the shops ; and during the acting of the scene a 
 shopboy comes out of the bookseller's and takes in the show- 
 bills : — which indicates twilight. 
 
 Enter 
 
 Staunton, and Doughty, looking about them curiously : 
 
 Doughty plainly dressed, as a gentleman' 's 
 
 servant out of livery. 
 
 Staun. Well, Jack, here we are ; safe in port, as you would 
 say. 
 
 By. Yes sir, snugly moored ; out at present on a pleasure- 
 excursion in the captain's gig. Which way do you steer, sir ? 
 
 Staun. Faith, my boy, I cannot tell you. Everywhere this 
 is a new country to me, and yet, 25 strange as it may seem, I 
 am here on one of the most important occasions of my life, 
 though there is not a single place marked out on my chart to 
 
ACT II. SC. 1. 143 
 
 guide me, save this solitary port of Philadelphia. And now 
 that I am here, I scarcely know where to begin my explora- 
 tion. The place however is well known to you, I suppose. 
 
 Dy. Ay, ay, sir. I have shipped at this port, many 's the 
 time and oft, though I hail from Maine — down- east, as we 
 Yankees say. The last voyage I made, howsomever, was 
 from Bosting. 
 
 Staun. When you were wrecked, you mean. 
 
 Dy. Ay, sir, in the China seas, when all on board save me 
 were murdered by the dam 
 
 Staun. [holding up his finger,] Jack ! 
 
 Dy. Pardon, sir. I shall get broke in time. But we 
 Yankees take a kind o' naterally to swearing, ever since the 
 Blue Laws went out. — 
 
 Staun. " Blue Laws " ? what are they ? Yet I think I 
 have heard of them too. 
 
 Dy. No doubt you must, sir. Why you see, Mr. Staunton, 
 they were just a set of regulations made by a kind of people, 
 that had very good intentions, but did n't know how to give 
 'em effect. So they laid a fine on a man for kissing his wife 
 on Sundays, and had him up to the gangway for chewing a 
 quid amidships, and gave him a round dozen for squirting an 
 oath or two it mought be in the eye of the wind ; which was 
 about as unseamanlike a manoeuvre against the breakers of 
 immorality, as if I were to attempt to clew up the mainsail in 
 a stiff breeze with a bit of common seizing. Them were the 
 Blue Laws, Mr. Staunton. 
 
 Staun. A Nautical Ephemeris and Practical Navigator 
 compiled by landlubbers and quack astrologers, eh ? I think, 
 
144 THE TKODIGAL 
 
 my boy, my forefinger will be quite as effectual to keep you 
 in the course. 
 
 Dy. Yes sir, I shall steer close, I hope ; but I shall occa- 
 sionally need to hear my captain's : Steady ! Nothing off! 
 Don't shake her ! ; for, as I said, swearing comes nateral to 
 me as a Yankee ; and besides, if I fall off a point or two as 
 yet, I am but a raw hand at the wheel, you know, sir ; it 's 
 not a twelve-month since you took me up starvin', and all but 
 naked, and reproachin' Providence that it had not let me per- 
 ish with my shipmates, — not knowing that the darkest hour 
 of my life was but the dirty morning of my breeziest and 
 fairest-weather day. 
 
 Statin. How should you? you are not a barometer. But 
 come, John Doughty, shut up the logbook. We are both well 
 quits, I believe ; for if I have done you any kindness, have 
 you not repaid it, you silly dog, by sacrificing for me your 
 independence ? 
 
 Dy. Not so much sacrifice after all, sir : for, in the first 
 place, I 'm not so much scared at the name of servant as my 
 countrymen usually are ; we 're all servants, when obliged to 
 haul taut and belay at another's bidding ; and then, I would 
 rather be first-officer of such a crack ship as I now sail in, 
 though her capting is an Englisher, than to be the second- 
 mate, as I was, of a bias 
 
 Staun. [holding up his finger.'] Jack ! — And in the third 
 place 26 — for you 've sailed long enough on this tack, and 
 must now about ship — you are no servant at all, but rather 
 my traveling companion ; an humble one, if you will, but not 
 less a companion ; and one, I trust, to keep with me, until I 
 
ACT II. SC. 1. 145 
 
 can pat him into a situation where his true and stout heart 
 shall have a wider and more proper field of action — a better 
 berth, in short. But come, we have been gazing long enough 
 about us. " E. Proofsheet " [reading the sign on the opposite 
 side of the street.'], " Publisher, Book- Seller and Importer." 
 That stationer's will be as good a shop as any for the inquiries 
 I have to make ; and I am partial to the trade. — Hush ! 
 [putting his hand suddenly on Dy.'s arm, and arresting his 
 movement and his own. They have both for the last few min- 
 utes been standing under the windows of a simple dwell- 
 ing, nearly opposite the book-seller's. Just as they iv ere 
 about to cross the street, a female voice was heard sing- 
 ing softly, approaching nearer and nearer to one of 
 the windows, which was seen open, and is now 
 shut down, cutting off the sound at once. 
 Dy. A sweet pipe, sir. 
 
 Staun. Yes ; but the words ! Ah, you do not know. " Ye 
 streams that round my prison creep ". . . Strange that the 
 first thing almost to greet me in this strange city should be 
 that simple and too well known air ! [Musing!] — I will 
 accept it as an omen ; and a good one it must be. Come on ; 
 there is a man in the shop-door, a jolly-looking fellow too, as 
 
 if to encourage my search; cheerly. "Ye streams" 
 
 'T is very odd. [As they cross over, Proof, who has his hat on, 
 walks down, and they meet in the foreground. 
 
 Staun. Pray sir, may I be permitted to trouble you 
 
 Proof With pleasure. Excuse me. [suddenly.] G-ood even- 
 ing, sir, [to Arthur, who has just come out from the very house 
 where the singing was heard, and, moving down the scene, passes 
 
146 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 close to the group, bowing mutely to Proof., and Exit to the left.] 
 Mr. Stockton ! [calling after him.] Pray, sir ! — He is wrapt 
 up, I suppose, in some new poem, and does not hear me. 
 
 Staun. Mr. Stockton, did you say ? 
 
 Proof Yes, sir, Mr. Arthur Stockton, one of our most con- 
 siderable 
 
 Staun. Arthur ! — what ! — No, that is impossible ; he is 
 ten years older than myself. A son, probably. 
 
 Proof Yes, son of the old man; only son; has but one 
 sister; of course, large fortunes, both. The son 's a very liter- 
 ary man — a poet, sir, — and painter too, by the by, — has a 
 play to be performed this very night at the Chestnut. 27 
 
 Staun. [with evident satisfaction.'] You don't say so ? Excuse 
 me, — but I have a singular predilection for men of genius, 
 and Where does Mr. Stockton reside ? 
 
 Proof Can give you his address in a minute, if you '11 step 
 
 to my place. Indeed I have a parcel [As they move off. 
 
 Re-enter Arthur. 
 Oh, Mr. Stockton, the books you sent for 
 
 Arth. I have just turned back to ask you about them. 
 Have they come, did you say ? [Staun. draws back a little, yet 
 
 keeps his eyes on Arth., who does not observe him. Dy. turns 
 round, and walking off a step or two, looks curiously up at 
 the house where the voice had been heard. 
 
 Proof. Yes, sir. [Rapidly.] Boettiger, Bosse, Bottari, Bos- 
 chini, D'Hancarville, Felibien, Hamilton, Mengs, Millingen, 
 Millizia, Stuart and Revett, Yisconti 
 
 Arth. [sadly, not testily.] have done, have done, my good 
 sir. The bill [anxiously^] is rather large ? 
 
ACT II. sc. l. 147 
 
 Proof, Would be to some — but to you a mere trifle : some 
 six hundred ; 637 dollars, 50 cents ; — that is, for the works 
 on painting and antiquities alone. You know there is the 
 Etruscan Remains — 4 volumes, magnificent copy, in perfect 
 order — cost a hundred by itself; and the Athens, and the 
 Herculaneum — 
 
 Arth. [interrupting Mm,.] It is much more than I had hoped. 
 However, I came back to tell you, that you are not to send 
 them to my father's, but over the way — there, [indicating the 
 house he had come out of.~\ No. 92. Good night. [Exit, hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 Proof. There ? Why And so gloomy ! Sir, [to 
 
 Staun.] I have not now the opportunity I expected; a parcel, 
 or rather a cartload, I was to send to Mr. Stockton's is not to 
 
 go there But stay ! do me the favor to come into my 
 
 place ; I recollect now — there are some books to go to Miss 
 Stockton. If you will wait till they can be got ready, one of 
 my boys will show you the house at once. 
 
 Staun. Eeally, youare very obliging : I '11 Doughty, 
 
 you may amuse yourself as you please ; I shall easily find my 
 way back to the hotel. [ Going off with Proof 
 
 Dy. Thank you, sir ; I '11 just cruise about here, and keep 
 within hail. [Saunters slowly up the scene, looking carelessly 
 
 about him, but throtuing a glance up at the window of 92, 
 while Staun. and Proof enter the shop, and 
 
 Scene closes. 
 
148 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 28 Scene II. 
 
 The publisher's private room, commanding, through 
 
 a door in the bach of the Scene, a perspective view of the entire 
 
 shop, lighted by lamps. The room is surrounded by 
 
 shelves having some choice boohs in costly 
 
 bindings. Busts of eminent poets, on pedestals. 
 
 A round table with various new boohs, pamphlets, etc. 
 
 upon it, and an astral lamp, which 
 
 lights the room. 
 
 Enter, from the shop, Proofsheet, bowing 
 the way to Staunton. 
 
 Proof. Take this chair, sir • [rolling a heavy, leather-covered, 
 great chair nearer Staun.] you will find it more comfortable. 
 
 Staun. Thank you. [Seats himself Proof tahes a smaller 
 chair on the other side of the table.] You are doing me more of 
 a favor, in more ways perhaps than one, than you can readily 
 imagine ; and I foresee that this, though the first, will not be 
 the last day of our acquaintance. 
 
 Proof, [bowing very low.] Sir, I am infinitely indebted — 
 shall feel honored by your good opinion and custom — all the 
 
 new works By the by, there are some on this very 
 
 table, my own publications. Perhaps you would like 
 
 Staun. That is not exactly what I meant, though undoubt- 
 edly I shall be a large customer. [Proof again bows.] And, 
 
ACT II. sc. 2. 149 
 
 by the by, since we speak of it, what volume is this now, with 
 the antique masque on the cover ? Something quizzical, I 
 dare say. [ Opening it.] American, eh ? 
 
 Proof. Bless you, sir, yes ; and by the very gentleman we 
 have just parted with. 
 
 Staun. Eh, what ! [delighted.'] Let me see : [Reading the 
 title.] " The New Book of Metamorphoses : Cantos 1. and 
 2." — This by Stockton's son ? I must put this at least 
 aside, to take home with me. 
 
 Proof. Thank you. Yes, that book is more like what we 
 are accustomed to receive from the Old World than any of its 
 kind that has ever been written in America. Hence, and as 
 it dares to tell the truth, it has made more enemies than per- 
 haps any other book of home-production. 
 
 Staun, Ah, I see [glancing over it.] : satire. The author sets 
 up for a wit. 
 
 Proof. Sets up ? No, that is his chief offence — that he 
 does not set up for anything, like everybody else around him. 
 He is in fact a wit : they dare not deny it ; so they call him 
 coarse : a poet, beyond peradventure ; so he has a knack at 
 rhyming : a scholar, very evidently ; therefore, a mere pedant : 
 a man of taste ; and consequently, he is behind the age. In 
 fine, being liberal, he has got it up in superb style, as you see : 
 so, to give an edge to their insolence, his enemies, — which is, 
 almost all the Philadelphia of little authors and vulgar journal- 
 ists, proclaim him a rich coxcomb, who has paid me, the 
 worthy publisher, a handsome pri.ce to make myself ridiculous ; 
 for, as you see, the book is anonymous, and I, the godfather, 
 suffer for its sins. 
 Vol. V.— 8 
 
150 THE PKODIGAL 
 
 Statin. It is damned then ? 
 
 Proof. Most effectually ! simply because it is the only book 
 of poems ever published in America, with but few exceptions, 
 that did not deserve to be damned at its birth, and irredeem- 
 ably. Indeed, sir, Stockton is not even counted among our 
 poets, although no one could be able to prove he is not one of 
 our best. There they are, in that large volume, big and 
 little, poets and poetasters, yet nowhere the author of the 
 New Metamorphoses, — not one line ! 
 
 Staun. You astonish me and pain me. 
 
 Proof. Why so ? To read Mr. Stockton's books we should 
 be a polished nation, with at least a fair proportion of wits, 
 scholars, and true critics, to the merchants and shopkeepers : 
 and yet we are not. Mr. Stockton is in fact in advance of his 
 age. 
 
 Statin. You do not know what delight you give me. Is 
 there anything else of this young man's writing ? 
 
 Proof Yes, half a dozen volumes of novels, and sundry 
 plays and poems. 
 
 Staun. You shall put them all up for me. But what was 
 their fate ? 
 
 Proof. The same bottomless pit. All damned, sir, — just 
 as easily as heretics were formerly roasted, and are now — in 
 flames typical, — for the mere fact that they durst follow prin- 
 ciple instead of fashion, and worship the true divinity of 
 nature and beauty, instead of worthless idols made up of 
 wood and red rags. 
 
 Staun. Why, you almost give the lie to your own condem- 
 nation of the incompetence of your countrymen. [Proof 
 
ACT II. SC. 2. 151 
 
 boivs.] You have quite excited me. Did you not say a play 
 is to be performed this evening, of this poet Stockton's? 
 
 Proof. Yes, " the Last Farquharson " ; a tragedy. They 
 are to attempt it ; but it has been rejected by every theatre 
 in the country save Burton's. Burton has had more discern- 
 ment ; though I fear there will be a packed house of hissers 
 and groaners. 
 
 Staun. Shame ! shame ! 
 
 Proof. No sir, it is right. Did I not say, he is a wit? 
 What right has he to be so, when there is no wit in the country ? 
 It is un-national, sir, unpatriotic, aristocratic in fact. Were 
 he to perpetrate the Punchinello buffoonery of the Slicks and 
 Suggses, or even the Tom-of-Bedlam extravagance of the 
 Carly lists, — the low, miscalled " Yankee ", slang, seasoned 
 with blasphemy and redolent of scoundrelism, which is chris- 
 tened " humor" in a thousand books and papers in the Union, 
 and, going abroad, degrades our character as a nation, as it 
 most certainly and most vilely caricatures it, even its vulgarest 
 part, — or were he, as a dramatist, to make a Wilton carpet 
 pass for wit, and pulling-off of doorplates and knockers a mark 
 of humor, were his male characters in fact all rogues or profli- 
 gates, and his female, amazons or flirts and fools, he would be 
 one of the fiaternity of American popular authors, and perhaps 
 might be stereotyped in England ; but he writes English, 
 and the men he holds up to imitation are men of honor as 
 well as wit, and his women virtuous as well as vivacious, and 
 for thus making us a race of civilized and honest and educated 
 beings, as we are, instead of boors and blackguards, as we are 
 not, and for attempting to improve the morals and amend the 
 
152 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 heart, instead of holding the mirror up to only the meanest 
 part of nature, he deserves to be excommunicated ; therefore 
 he has been and is excommunicated ; and the consequent and 
 attendant step is damnation. 
 
 Staun. Well done, sir : you at least are not of his enemies, 
 nor of the foes of wit. 
 
 Proof, [sarcastically.] Oh sir, what interest should I have ; 
 I am his publisher. Yet perhaps, you may praise me too, for 
 [lowering his voice.], if the report is true, that his own father 
 hates him for differing from common men, I certainly deserve 
 some credit. 
 
 Staun. What is that you say ? his own father ? But that 
 reminds me, that I have much to ask you about him, and others 
 in this city. In the first place tell me, however, what made you 
 show so much surprise, when this young gentleman ordered 
 his books to be sent over the way ? 
 
 Proof. His books, sir? Why, did you hear the names! 
 They are all on painting, and the arts connected, and mostly 
 rare and recondite books too. Why the deuse should they be 
 sent to that house, where — hum ! [stopping short. 
 
 Staun. Because, perhaps, he has found it a better situation 
 for his paint-room — for his study. 
 
 Proof. For his study ! [chuckling.] — booh ! Do you know 
 what my gentleman goes there for, sir ? [Lowering his voice.] 
 He keeps a — 
 
 Staun. Model. It is essential to an artist. 
 
 Proof 0, very ! But he does not want to teach her paint- 
 ing, — or, at any rate, to teach her its abstruser principles out 
 of Italian, French, and G-erman authors. But that is not all, 
 
act ii. sc. 2. 153 
 
 sir. You noticed his gloomy abstraction, as he went up the 
 street. Then he seemed disconcerted at the amount of his 
 
 purchase. I am afraid something is going wrong with 
 
 [checking himself, cautiously .] You are a stranger ; pardon me. 
 
 Staun. Going wrong with the family, you meant to say. 
 never mind me ; I am no gossip. But I think you are over- 
 fanciful. This, depend upon it, is some whim of the son's. It 
 is nothing strange that an independent young man should 
 prefer to have his rooms separate from his father's household. 
 But what is this girl you speak of? I thought I heard her 
 sing ; and there was something in the song that woke response 
 from an old note in my heart long out of tune ; and I had 
 meant to ask you about your neighbor, No. 92. But I tres- 
 pass on your time, [seeing Proof, waiting an opportunity to rise. 
 
 Proof No sir, no sir. I was only about to tell the boy, 
 who was signaling to me that he was ready, to wait a mo- 
 ment. With your permission, [rising. 
 
 Staun. Certainly : but there is no need of detaining him. 
 Have the goodness to have put up all the volumes we were 
 speaking of. I will go into the shop and pay you for them ; 
 and while they are getting ready, we can finish our conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Proof. Much obliged to you, sir. The boy shall take your 
 parcel likewise, first leaving that for Miss Stockton, that you 
 may see the house as you desire. [They leave their seats 
 together. 
 
 Staun. One moment, [stopping Proof] Have you no more 
 knowledge of this girl ? 
 
 Proof. none whatever. In fact I have never seen her : 
 
154 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 I but repeat a rumor I heard for the first time from old 
 Stockton's bookkeeper ; and certainly young Mr. Stockton is 
 over the way constantly. 
 
 Staun. That will do. My other inquiries can be made as 
 well in the shop. [They pass into the shop ; and the scene 
 closes. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The parlor — as in Act I. Sc. I. 
 
 Clara is seen, with her 
 
 eyes fixed upon the door, as if expecting somebody. 
 
 Enter Ledger. 
 
 He hows respectfully, and with timidity {Clara returning his 
 
 courtesy with eyes cast down ) and approaches in 
 
 the same manner, yet with a look of 
 
 marked tenderness. 
 
 Ledg. [with embarrassment] Miss Stockton — I understood 
 — desired to see me — before I should wait upon Mr. 
 Stockton. 
 
 Clara. Mr. Ledger ! there is some dreadful mischief plot- 
 ting against my father's peace and — and the peace of others 
 connected with him. A letter it seems, from some unknown 
 quarter, has disclosed to him my brother's hasty marriage, 
 
ACT II. sc. 3. 155 
 
 and, at the same time, lias — has [Throwing off all em- 
 
 barrassment by a sudden effort.'] Why should I not be can- 
 did ? — and the time presses. Mr. Ledger, it couples — your 
 name and my own [Ledg. betrays an emotion "of pleasure : 
 Clara looks confused and turns aside her head.] in some way — 
 I know not what : but in short, my father is in great dis- 
 pleasure ; and it was in the heat of this passion that he sent 
 
 for you. Be on your guard, then. Be Gro now ; do 
 
 not stay to thank me. 
 
 Ledg. One moment, Miss Stockton. That any accident 
 should couple my humble name 
 
 Clara. this unmeaning gallantry ! which, too, I ought not 
 
 to permit from you, and which you have never yet But 
 
 go ; my father expects you. 
 
 Ledg. One word. — Fear not [as she is going.] — I will not 
 presume even to thank you for this kind caution. — There is, 
 Miss Stockton, a viler plot still than any that can concern 
 your brother or even — or even me. I have come, deter- 
 mined to reveal it to Mr. Stockton in time to save him from 
 great loss ; but as he perhaps will refuse to listen to me, now 
 especially, and to the prejudice of Mr. Schurk 
 
 Clara. Schurk ? He is ! G-o od, go on ; for Heaven's 
 
 sake I I hear my mother's step, [hi her anxiety, she presses 
 close Up to Ledger. 
 
 Ledg. I have discovered that false entries 
 
 Enter Mrs. Stockton. 
 She looks surprised, and grieved, — but not angry. 
 
 Mrs. S. [gravely, but not unkindly.] Mr. Ledger, you 
 
156 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 forget that Mr. Stockton wants you immediately. Come, 
 Clara. 
 
 Ledg. madam, do you hear me : a serious discovery — 
 Mr. Schurk — 
 
 Mrs. S. [with displeasure.] Mr. Ledger ! 
 Clara. O hear him, mother ! 
 
 Mrs. 8. No, Mr. Stockton will hear him. Come, my 
 daughter. 
 
 [Exeunt Clara and Mrs. S. at one side, while Ledger watches 
 them luith an air of affliction. As they are about to dis- 
 appear from the scene, Clara turns her head round, for 
 the first time, and for a single instant, as if by an 
 uncontrollable impulse, and meets the eyes of 
 Ledger. He manifests a silent transport. 
 
 Ledg. [going, at the opposite side.] The first time O 
 
 never to be forgotten ecstasy ! Now, come what will from 
 her father, God be thanked I [Exit 
 
ACT II. SC. 4. 157 
 
 29 Scene IV. 
 
 The room, as in Act I. Sc. II. — Stockton discovered 
 
 sitting before the fire, with his back to the table, his feet on the 
 
 pan of the grate, his arms folded, and his head 
 
 bent down on his breast ; his whole attitude indicating 
 
 a gloomy abstraction, 
 
 Enter, 
 Ledger preceded by Hans. 
 
 Hans. Mr. Ledger, sir. [Exit. He closes the door firmly to, 
 yet Stockton does not move. Ledger stands, hat in hand, half- 
 way between the door and the table. After waiting some mo- 
 ments : 
 
 Ledg. [respectfully, yet firmly ; at the same time, placing the 
 large keys of the countinghouse on the table.] Mr. Stockton ; I 
 have brought the keys with me, and await your commands. 
 [Stock, turns round, and looks at Ledg. for a moment steadily. 
 Ledg. returns the look with like steadiness, yet deferentially. 
 
 Stock. Oh ! Mr. Ledger. — Sit down, sir. Draw your 
 chair to the table. [Stock, drawing his own to the table in like 
 manner, so that they now are seated facing one another.] Mr. 
 Ledger [in a mild, but very grave tone, and very slowly.] — You 
 have been now five years, I think, in my employ. 
 
 Ledg. Yes, sir. 
 
 Stock, [in same tone, and with like steadiness, his eyes all the 
 8* 
 
158 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 while fixed steadily on Ledger's, and his hands clasped together, 
 his arms being stretched at length on the table, toward Ledg.~] 
 In all that time, have you ever had to complain of me, in any 
 one respect as regards my duty as your principal ? No pro- 
 testations ! Answer me simply, Yes or No. 
 
 Ledg. No, sir. 
 
 Stock, [still same manner.] Have I not been more to you 
 than a conscientious and kind principal ? Have I not, for the 
 last two years, encouraged your intimacy with my only son, 
 and made you welcome at all times, and on all occasions, in 
 my family, as a favored visitor and friend ? 
 
 Ledg. [greatly moved.] Mr. Stockton ! for God's sake 
 
 Stock, [same mild and sad tone.] Answer me simply, Henry : 
 is this true, or is it not ? 
 
 Ledg. It is true. 
 
 Stock, [still same manner.] You are a man honorable and 
 good ; you have too much sense not to understand that this 
 unusual favor, this free admittance to my household, implied 
 certain tacit conditions, and too much virtue not to have ob- 
 served them as faithfully as if they had been written out and 
 subscribed to. [Ledg. bends his head over upon his hand, his 
 elbow on the table.] Be so good as to read that letter, [in a 
 rather higher tone, but still ivithout severity, 
 
 Ledg. [indignantly, after perusing it] It is the handwriting 
 of Schurk ! 
 
 Stock. Sir, sir ! — But there is no love lost between you. 
 He said that you would say so, and found, himself, a strange 
 resemblance in some of the characters. 
 
 Ledg. no, Mr. Stockton ; it is not that, for the hand 
 
ACT II. sc. 4. 1^9 
 
 is disguised : it is the style, the general manner of the 
 writing. 
 
 Stock. Enough. You have read it, I presume : [ With the 
 sarcastic tone of smothered indignation, .] will you do me the 
 honor to say, if the news it imparts is correct ? 
 
 Ledg. [with embarrassment] Mr. Stockton, it is impossible 
 for me to say what may be the malice of society, or to answer 
 the mean insinuations of a cowardly 
 
 Stock, [giving way to his indignation.'] Don't talk of mean- 
 ness, sir; what is this evasion of your own? this con- 
 temp 
 
 Ledg. [hastily, yet with much dignity.] There is no evasion. 
 I am as open, Mr. Stockton, as yourself, or even, I am proud 
 to say it, as your son. 
 
 Stock. Don't name him, sir; you are paired together in 
 this — this accursed letter ! [crushing it violently together, and 
 throwing it fiercely to the floor. Rising quickly, and speaking 
 with a fierce determination, that is moreover evident in his com- 
 pressed lips, his dilated nostrils and flashing eyes.] You are 
 open, you say. Yery good: will you answer me a plain 
 
 question ? Do you [ With an effort] Have you, sir, 
 
 an affection for my daughter ? 
 
 Ledg. [who has also risen.] Mr. Stockton, I will convince 
 you of my openness. I might evade your question by the 
 expression of an ordinary gallantry ; but I answer you — I 
 have. 
 
 Stock, [in a fury.] you have, sir ? And have you ever 
 acknowledged it to her ? 
 
 Ledg. Never. 
 
160 THE PKODIGAL 
 
 Stock, [eagerly; with surprise, and ivith manifestly abated 
 passion.] On your honor, young man ? 
 
 Ledg. On my honor, — nor have ever dreamed to. Why 
 needs that, Mr. Stockton ? I am known no liar. 
 
 Stock. I know it ; but I am a father. [His passion is entirely 
 gone ; but he speaks with much agitation.] And there has — 
 you must pardon me, Henry, it is my daughter, my only 
 daughter, mind you — there has nothing ever passed between 
 you that excited hopes in your breast ? 
 
 Ledg. [casting down his eyes and hesitating.] You should not 
 have asked me what to answer must either make me appear 
 a coxcomb, or make of me an actual betrayer of more than 
 my own secrets. 
 
 Stock. It is then true ! my G-od, my G-od ! [beating his 
 forehead. He walks to and fro in the front of the scene for a 
 minute or two / then, turning back to Ledg.] Once more ; and 
 with the same frankness. Has this been often ? I mean, 
 that your presumptuous hopes have been flattered. 
 
 Ledg. [offended.] Presumption, sir, is not what any man can 
 accuse me of, with justice. [Stock, stamps impatiently.] How- 
 ever, to relieve your feelings as a father, Mr. Stockton, I 
 assure you on my honor that I never have had hopes at all. 
 Were indeed Miss Stockton not too noble to forget her duties, 
 Henry Ledger has not forgotten his place, or the debt of grati- 
 tude he owes her father. 
 
 Stock, [grasping his hand.] Now Glod reward you ! you are 
 a noble fellow, Henry. 
 
 Ledg. [coldly, and withdrawing his hand.] Stop, Mr. Stock- 
 ton ; one word more, and then you know all ; understand me, 
 
ACT II. SC. 4. 161 
 
 all. What was in my mind, when just now I hesitated to 
 answer you, is this : — I, sir — [greatly embarrassed] — It is 
 very hard ! — but I must speak, to prevent all misconstruction 
 when you come hereafter to recall this scene. — 
 
 Stock. Right; go on, go on. 
 
 Ledg. I have never had hopes ; there has nothing ever 
 passed between Miss Stockton and — her father's clerk [with 
 slight asperity.], that that father might not have witnessed, or 
 the world at large could have put the least construction on as 
 more than mere friendship. But once, and once only, and 
 very recently, for one brief instant, — a single instant sir, and 
 we parted, — did I fancy — a show of interest in Miss 
 Stockton's manner towards me. 
 
 Stock. Enough. Sit down, Mr. Ledger. [They both resume 
 their seats at the table, and Stockton looks earnestly in Ledger's 
 face, ivho meets his look with calmness and a modest dignity.] 
 Mr. Ledger — Let me call you Henry, and my friend — You 
 must be aware, Henry, that it will be proper for all parties 
 that your intimacy in my family should cease [Ledg. drawing 
 himself up with a slight emotion of pride.] — do not be 
 offended ; it is for your good, as for — that of others. Mr. 
 Schurk and you do not well agree ; and after what has just 
 now passed between us, it will be long before I can feel other- 
 wise than unpleasant, perhaps embarrassed at your presence 
 in the countingroom. Messieurs Cabot & Herbert, kind and 
 very liberal men, are in want of a bookkeeper ; and if you 
 say so, I will make arrangements with them to-morrow for 
 you, with a considerable increase of salary. I was prepared 
 to take this step before your manly acknowledgments — which, 
 
162 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 young man, I never shall forget, or cease to honor you for — 
 and therefore made out this check for $3000. As it is not of 
 your own motion, but mine, that you leave me before the 
 completion of the year, it is simple justice, Henry, that I pay 
 you for the entire term, [extending the check. 
 
 Ledg. [drawing back, proudly, yet respectfully.'] The offer of 
 your interest with Messieurs Cabot & Herbert I am not too 
 proud to accept, Mr. Stockton ; and I do it gratefully. As for 
 the check, the sixth part of the amount I believe I am entitled 
 to, and will therefore take as my right; but I can accept 
 nothing as a gratuity. — If however you would make a 
 return for my open dealing, I pray you, Mr. Stockton, to hear 
 what I have to disclose of Mr. Schurk. 
 
 Stock. No, no, not a word. — It is time indeed, that one 
 of you left me ! this mysterious quarrel 
 
 Ledg. Excuse me for interrupting you, but there is no quar- 
 rel, and no ill-feeling, at least on my part: but I have discov- 
 ered, in the actual discharge of my duties, that this very bad 
 man 
 
 Stock, [angrily.'] Silence, sir, and if you have nothing more 
 to say than to abuse that excellent and pious gentleman, I 
 must wish you good evening, [bowing. 
 
 Ledg. [retiring.] GJ-ood evening, and farewell, Mr. Stockton. 
 You will repent of this. [ Coming quickly back.] Yet once , 
 more — I cannot see you in this danger without urging you, 
 if you will not listen to me, to ask 
 
 Stock, [ivho has appeared much irritated all the while.] sir, 
 I am not used to take counsel of my clerks. Good night. 
 [turning his back on Ledg. 
 
ACT II. sc. 4. 163 
 
 Ledg. Ah, this is ! Well sir, you will yet learn. Good 
 
 night. [Exit 
 
 Stock. Why my whole family is mad, including myself and 
 my two head-clerks. But yet [musing. \ this young man is 
 too conscientious and honorable to make a false accusation 
 and too high-spirited to bear malice. There may be some- 
 thing. — I must read that letter again. [Going hastily to 
 lift it ; andj 
 
 while he is making this movement, 
 
 the Drop falls. 
 
164 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Act the Third 
 
 , 30 Scene I. In the house " No. 92 ". — A plainly, 
 
 yet not meanly, furnished parlor. A slender easel, with a small 
 
 canvas on it is seen at one side, as if put out 
 
 of the way. A guitar case. 
 
 An old fashioned pianoforte, &c. &c. 
 
 Theresa, 
 
 seated at a writing-table, on which is seen a 
 
 small inlaid desk, is rolling up what appears to be a Ms. 
 
 Enter Clara, 
 cloaked, &c, as coming from the street. 
 
 Clara, [running up and kissing Ther. fondly.} What, always 
 scribble, scribble, scribble ! Weil, that is better than stitch, 
 stitch, stitch, — though, by and by, when you get a little 
 household, my girl, you '11 have enough of that too. But 
 what is that you have there ? have not taken to book-making, 
 Therry ? Have a care ! you must not trespass on the preroga- 
 tive of your lord and master, my poet and painter brother. 
 
 Ther. [putting the roll into a drawer of the tabled] Not for 
 the world. But don't ask me any questions, now, Clara dear ; 
 you shall know all in time ; and do not say anything to 
 Arthur about this. 
 
 Clara. No? secrets already ? Well I won't; for one thing 
 
ACT III. sc. 1. 165 
 
 I am sure of, whatever you are about is not, and never can be, 
 anything naughty. There ! am I not a good soul, and a most 
 caressing sister ? 
 
 Ther. Good you always have been [kissing her.], and caress- 
 ing you must be, Clara, more than ever, both to Arthur and 
 to me, to make him forget the evil I have brought upon him 
 without my will, and me that I shall see it. But let me take 
 off your things, [offering to untie Clara's bonnet 
 
 Clar. No, I have but a minute to stay ; S1 Peter waits me 
 below. I have come expressly to keep up my brother's 
 spirits ; all I know will be right again very soon : papa is too 
 good, and this gust of passion too sudden and too violent not 
 to soon blow over; and then, Therry dear, we shall have you, 
 
 and Arthur [suddenly confused and blushing^ There is 
 
 somebody coming up the stairs, 
 
 Ther. Arthur : — but no, it is not his step. 
 
 Clar. no, it is 
 
 Enter Ledger. 
 
 He looks at first delighted, but directly recovers 
 
 himself, and bows distantly to Clara, ivho, on her part y at first 
 
 equally moved ivith himself, seems surprised at this 
 
 change of mood and returns his 
 
 courtesy slightly and stiffly. 
 
 Ledg. I was in hopes, Mrs. Stockton, to have found your 
 husband with you. Do you know where he is? I must see 
 him within the hour on a matter of the utmost importance. 
 
 Ther. I don't know where he is, Mr. Ledger ; but he can- 
 
166 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 not be out long. If you will but sit down Ah, that 
 
 is he, now ! [moving delightedly to the door. Ledg. hurries to 
 open it ; and 
 
 Enter Arthur. 
 
 Arth. My dear Ledger ! Ah, sister ! [taking their hands in 
 turn.] Theresa. — This looks pleasant for the evening of so 
 stormy a day to me. 
 
 Ledg. A storm, however, that has blown its worst, and 
 that is about to be succeeded, I am almost sure, by a season 
 of perfect happiness. Stockton, I am certain I know the 
 author of that letter : it is 
 
 Clara, [eagerly.] Mr. Schurk. 
 
 Ledg. Beyond a doubt, Miss Stockton. It has effected his 
 purpose against me, as against your brother ; but it will not 
 avail him now. 
 
 Arth. What is this ? How are you involved ? 
 
 Ledg. Your father has but this moment dismissed me from 
 his employ. 
 
 Clara. Ah, I did not know you had such good cause to 
 be — unfriendly. [She has moved near to him on the impulse 
 communicated "by his last tuords, while Arth. simultaneously has 
 grasped his hand. 
 
 Ledg. Cause ? and unfriendly ? It is now only that you do 
 me wrong, Miss Stockton. If, on seeing you, I checked my- 
 self, and bowed with restraint, it is, because Mr. Stockton — 
 because your father — [embarrassed. 
 
 Arth. [while Clara looks confused, and seems fearful of 
 Ledger's reply.] Has what ? 
 
ACT III. sc. i. 167 
 
 Ledg. In very plain words, he has forbid me his house. 
 [ Arih. in the extremity of his surprise seems incapable of speech, 
 and Clara's embarrassment increases. Ledg. continues hastily, 
 as if afraid to be interrupted, ,] Under these circumstances, of 
 course, the friendly address I had hitherto been permitted to 
 adopt towards Miss Stockton — 
 
 Arth. Was not in the least to be modified — not here, if in 
 my father's house. As my sister, Clara must still welcome 
 the friend of her brother ; as my father's daughter, she will 
 perform her duties as her own conscience and her knowledge 
 of those duties may dictate. But proceed, dear Ledger; let 
 us to the bottom of this mystery at once. Schurk is a vil- 
 lain ; that is taken for granted by every one here : well ? 
 
 Ledg. And will be acknowledged by your father before 
 midnight. — But Miss Stockton must forgive me [to Clara.] : 
 I was about, but a minute or two ago, to reveal to her what 
 now, for the very same reason, her father's interest, I must 
 conceal. Mr. Stockton, after the hints I have vainly thrown 
 out to him to-night, can not remain easy, he will seek for 
 information from Mrs. Stockton and yourself: to know any- 
 thing more than you now know would defeat our plans, and 
 you must have ignorance, dear Miss Stockton, to be able to 
 plead it. 
 
 Arth. Yes, go, Clara; Ledger is right, we may be sure, 
 whatever his reason. 
 
 Clara, [gayly.] 32 never fear, brother ; I have no pride to 
 be shocked : you gentlemen may be as close as you please. 
 Come Therry, let us leave the owls to their own tu-whooing ; 
 we have secrets of our own, my girl, quite as interesting, — 
 
168 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 at least, one of us has. [looking significantly at Ther. and then 
 at the drawer , — Ther, returning the look by one of entreaty, — 
 Arth. not observing.'] Come, now, light me carefully down 
 these dark stairs of yours : it is to be for the last time I hope. 
 [as they move off.] You see I was sure all would go well. Au 
 revoir, brother. G-ood night, [more gravely, and diffidently.] 
 Mr. Ledger. [Exeunt Clar. and Ther., the gentlemen bowing 
 them to the door in silence, — Ledg. with his eyes bent down, as 
 if afraid to trust himself 
 
 Arth. And now, Ledger ? [taking both his hands in his. 
 
 83 Ledg. Through circumstances there is no time now to 
 relate, I became possessed of one fact which obliged me to 
 examine privately Mr. Schurk's accounts, when I discovered 
 that for some time past he has, by means of false entries, ab- 
 stracted large sums from your father, amounting now to no 
 less than $138,000. 
 
 Arth. Ah ! And so trusted by my father ! G-o on. 
 
 Ledg. u My manner, since this discovery, must have been 
 sufficiently suspicious to a guilty man like Schurk, not to say 
 that every new hour he was more and more in danger of 
 detection by his master. Of course, to get rid of me was 
 essential for immediate safety ; but that would avail him little 
 unless you were also removed. Hence the letter, which I re- 
 cognized immediately for his German hand, and perhaps Mr. 
 Stockton might have also, had he not been partially blinded 
 by his passionate resentment of your marriage, Arthur, and 
 been put off the scent by Schurk himself, who it seems had 
 pointed out the resemblance himself to your father, and 
 warned him that I would perceive it. 
 
ACT III. sc. 1. 169 
 
 Arth. Well done, Heiliger ! 
 
 Ledg. Yes, hypocrite as well as knave. Well, to-day there 
 arrived $11,000 in specie from China, consigned to your father 
 in behalf of a Mr. Staunton, who came on, I understand, in the 
 same ship with it to New York. Schurk has resolved des- 
 perately to carry it off, and this very night. 
 
 Arih. [in extreme surprise.'] Impossible ! 
 
 Ledg, It does indeed seem a gratuitous hardihood. There 
 may be some other villany meditated besides the robbery; 
 
 and there may be causes However^ he has actually 
 
 tampered with honest G-uterknecht, who, by my advice, half 
 promised to assist him, by procuring the keys of the counting-* 
 house. But I hear the good old German's steps, now. As I 
 passed him in the hall, I gave him a hint to meet us both here* 
 
 Enter Hans. 
 
 Arth. Well, my good Hans. So you are preparing for the 
 state-prison ? 
 
 Hans, Ah, my dear Mr. Artur; dis ist no matter for jesting* 
 
 Ledg. Not to your countryman, Hans ; but to Us it is : we 
 had never cause to be more pleasant. Your master will be 
 rid of a great rogue, Mr. Arthur will be restored to favor - 
 
 Arth. Do not be too sure of that ; there is more than the let* 
 ter between my father and me. However, 35 let us see what is 
 now to be done. You are to get the keys for Schurk, I un- 
 derstand, [to Hans.] They of course let others in, besides the 
 robbers. Thence defeat to their plans, and Schurk revealed 
 in his true character. What more ? 
 
170 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Hans. I 'm to meet Mr. Schurk dis fery minute in a little 
 out of the way tavern, where nobody but Germans, and fery 
 poor Germans, goes. If you could go dere too, I could 
 make him talk English — you might hear more dan you 
 tink for. 
 
 Arth. Excellent ! Ledger ? But you shake the head. 36 I 
 see, my dear fellow, you would object to this eavesdropping ; 
 and who can detest it more than I ? but remember the emer- 
 gency. 
 
 Ledg. Yes, but there is more than my natural reluctance. 
 Consider, Stockton, you want a better witness of Schurk's 
 villany than one like myself who have lost place through 
 him. You yourself are partly unfitted for the business; I 
 should be still worse. I am ready for the surprise of the rob- 
 bers ; but you had better — must indeed, get some impartial 
 person to take my place in this affair. 
 
 Arth, Yery true. Let me see. Oh, there is Buzz, the great 
 author that is making such a stir among us. He, you know, 
 dived into the Coalholes of the Five Points in New York, and 
 found himself quite in his element : he '11 be perfectly enrap- 
 tured to make one on this occasion. 
 
 Ledg* 1 It will serve him too to enliven his " American 
 Notes ", which he is to get out in imitation of the still more 
 famous Bozz. But where to find him on the instant ? 
 
 Arth. He was to accompany my publisher to hear my 
 tragedy hissed to-night. He will probably be at his shop 
 now. Let us off. Hans, you shall tell us on the way where 
 we are to find this tavern of yours, and all else we need to 
 know and be prepared for. Come, Ledger; my father, 
 
ACT III. SC. 2. 171 
 
 prodigal as he thinks me in my own affairs, shall find that I 
 am not negligent or slothful in his. {Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II, 
 
 Same as in Act II. Sc, II 
 
 Staunton, Buzz } and Proofsheet. 
 
 Buzz. What ! will you deny me the use of my own eyes ? 
 [to Staun. 
 
 Staun. No ; but I say you use them badly, and your pen 
 still worse. 
 
 Buzz. How, the devil ! did n't I see the pig myself, and the 
 little fellow on top of him, both as large as life, and in the very 
 heart of Broadway ? 
 
 Staun. Possibly; but how have you set it down ? 
 
 Proof, [to Staun. j while Buzz is lugging out an enormous 
 memorandum-book, and hunting up the passage.] Just as any 
 other traveling Englishman would do. 
 
 Staun. [to Proof.] I forgive you that hit, for the sake of its 
 present applicability. 
 
 Buzz. You shall see. Here it is : I '11 be judged by the 
 Americans themselves [looking to the audience.] of the truth of 
 the picture. " In New York, the little boys, of all classes, are 
 
172 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 taught pork-riding, as their sisters are pork-feeding. Is a little 
 shaver sent by his mamma to buy a stick of molasses-candy, — 
 called there, by the old-fashioned, cockeenia, and affectionately, 
 cocky ninny , — for the baby or for company, his sister holds a 
 turnip-top, or the like, over the kennel before the house-door: 
 up come a herd of grunters at once ; the rider gives a twist in 
 the tail of the one that suits him, swings himself on its back, 
 then lays fast hold by the ears, and off they go, the boy's legs 
 banging his bristly charger all the way, till the end of the 
 journey, when the express is dismissed and another taken for 
 the return. There can be no question, I think, that in the 
 event of another war these youthful riders, brought up thus 
 early to porcination, will become formidable cavalry-officers." 
 
 Staun, And you put that down for fact ? 
 
 Buzz, No-, for conclusions. I don't make my fact: the pig 
 was there — 
 
 Staan, With his tail all curled. 
 
 Buzz, Sir ! With the boy on top of him. And I make my 
 conclusions that porcination takes the place, in republican 
 America, of equitation. 
 
 Staun, As more natural, and saving a great expense in 
 saddlery. 
 
 Buzz. All philosophers, sir, draw conclusions. There is 
 Lyell, the great geologist : he puts it down in his book that 
 the pigs in the streets of Cincinnati are public property ; and, 
 When anybody wants a roaster, he sallies out, knife in 
 hand — — - 
 
 Staun, And his wife with a bucket of hot water ; and the 
 throat is cut, and the hide is scalded — 
 
ACT III. sc. 2. 173 
 
 Proof. In the presence of the Mayor and Common Council. . 
 
 Enter 
 
 Arthur, followed by Hans. 
 
 Mr. Stockton, you 're just in time for the tail. Will you 
 have it soused ? 
 
 Arth. Souse? and tails? and Pickins seems quite in a 
 pickle ! — But I cannot wait an explanation. Buzz, if you 
 will off with me, I '11 show } r ou a scene that will fit your 
 drama of the Five Points. 
 
 Buzz. What, another break-down? [Dances, heel and toe, 
 a double- shuffle, and sings, " jump, Jim Crow, jump, 
 Jim Crow I" or whistles the tune, as an accompaniment.'] But 
 I 'm one with Proof, here, for your new tragedy. 
 
 Arth. Never mind that ; it will keep, if it live at all, for 
 another night ; and if not, there is no need of you at the exe- 
 cution. I want you, to help ensnare one of the greatest ras- 
 cals in Philadelphia. 
 
 Buzz. Ah ! a personification of Repudiation. 
 
 Arth. [coolly.'] No, nor of the opponents of copyright 
 either. Yet it might well be of both ; for it is one of the Old 
 Country I mean, that has settled among us for the benefit of 
 the lawyers. We are about to track him to a sort of den. 
 
 Buzz. A lion, eh ! I must get my pistols. 
 
 Proof Allow me to suggest, your " American Notes " will 
 answer — if the beast has brains. 
 
 Arth. We don't want either, but only your ears. It is a 
 fox, or a wolf at worst, no lion, not at least this hunt. 
 Vol. V.— 9 
 
174 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Buzz. Well, I 'm with yon. It may give me a fresh villain 
 for my portfolio. [Exeunt Arth. and Buzz, followed by Hans. 
 Buzz heard singing, as he passes through the shop, " jump, 
 Jim Crow, &c." 
 
 Proof. For the world are pretty well sick of the old, re- 
 vamped Ralph-Ticklemies, and Chucklewits. 
 
 Statin. Or should be. — And it is such fellows as this, Mr. 
 Proofsheet, that keep my country and yours perpetually in 
 hot water! 
 
 Proof Why not, sir ? They say your bulldog must be fed 
 with offal, to keep him in a righting humor. 
 
 Staun. Or a growling one. That 's because his feeders have 
 accustomed him to nothing wholesome. 38 However, Mr. 
 Stockton seems to have very little of the anxiety about his 
 piece that authors usually display. 
 
 Proof he is above all that, sir ; and if his piece were 
 damned to-night, I am sure he would not even shrug his 
 shoulders, but merely set to work to write another. Yet 
 he is a man of very ardent feelings too. But in the present 
 case, you may depend upon it, there is something very 
 serious. 
 
 Staun. True, he seemed very earnest and grave when he 
 lugged off the admirer of Jim-Crow. And the old Dutchman 
 behind him — 
 
 Proof Who is his father's body-servant, a man of great 
 trust, and besides not given to trifling — 
 
 Staun, Yes, this old fellow's brows were as gloomy and his 
 
 whole face as sad as a mute's at a funeral. But Ah ! 
 
 here is a brighter vision. 
 
ACT in. sc. 2. 175 
 
 Enter 
 from the shop, timidly and hesitatingly, preceded by a shopboy, 
 
 Theeesa. 
 The boy points to Proofsheet, bows, and retires. 
 
 Staunton takes up his hat, keeping his eyes the ivhole time 
 
 fixed upon Theresa, and appears to be about moving, but 
 
 hesitates, and remains, simply drawing back a little. 
 
 Ther. [ivith distressing diffidence, scarcely able to speak.] A 
 little manuscript, sir, [offering a roll to Proof.] which, if it suit 
 you, I should be glad to — to dispose of. 
 
 Proof [taking it carelessly.] Sorry ma'am — but really — 
 we are so overrun with engagements of this nature. A story 
 is it ? [beginning to unroll it. 
 
 Ther. Yes, a simple narrative — for children. 
 
 Proof Hum ! am afraid — been so much lately of the sort 
 
 in the market We might publish it indeed for you, if you 
 
 thought it worth while. 
 
 Ther. [anxiously.] Do you mean 
 
 Proof In the usual manner. You print it ; we sell it for 
 you on the customary terms of thirty-three and a third per 
 cent. [Ther. extends her hand faintly for the roll, appearing 
 
 much distressed. Staun. brushes forward, and, with the 
 greatest deference bowing to Ther., intercepts it. 
 
 Staun. If you will permit me, young lady : I might per- 
 haps [beginning to unroll it. 
 
 Ther. Are you a publisher, sir ? 
 
 Slaun. No, not exactly a publisher ; but I 
 
176 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Proof. 0, he is a Maecenas — a patron of letters. You 
 could not do better, madam — 
 
 Staan, [looking severely at Proof.] Perhaps not — - than en- 
 trust it to my hands. But will you not be seated ? [extending, 
 with marked respect, a chair to Ther., ivho declines it timidly.] 
 No ? Well, I will detain you but a minute, [reading the title.] 
 11 The Schoolmistress and her Pupils." Ah ! I think I should 
 like this [pretending to look over some of the leaves.] — am very 
 sure I should. Will you leave it with me for an hour or two ? 
 I am almost certain I can find you a liberal purchaser for the 
 manuscript, if I do not undertake its publication myself. 
 
 Ther. sir, how shall I ? [but she looks at Proof, who 
 
 is eying Staun. with an expression of droll surprise, as 'if he sus- 
 pected him of a joke, and her voice falls.] but I fear, sir, — 
 that — 
 
 Staun. [looking up, and catching the glance of Ther. and the 
 expression of Proof] That I am bantering you. Young lady, 
 I have not been long enough in the trade for that, [ivith a 
 severe glance at Proof, ivho shrugs his shoidders, and composes 
 his countenance directly.] If you will leave me your address, 
 you shall be convinced of that by to-morrow. 
 
 Ther. [embarrassed.] I — I thank you, sir — but — I would 
 prefer to send for your decision, if you will say when. 
 
 Staun. As early then to-morrow, as may suit yourself. 
 Allow me. [handing her politely through the door of the room 
 leading into the shop. Proof, puts himself fomvard, as if 
 ashamed to be outdone.] No sir, this is now my office. [Exeunt , 
 through the shop, Staun. and Ther. 
 
 Proof, [after following them with his eyes a few moments.] 
 
ACT III. sc. 2. 177 
 
 My gentleman is either a very great fool, or a very great . 
 rogue. These Englishmen are certainly odd fish. — But it 
 is time to be off. [looking at his ivatch.] Francis [calling into the 
 shop.], is Mr. Copy gone ? Yes ? You may begin to fasten 
 up then. 
 
 Re-enter Staunton. 
 
 Staun. How could you be so cruel to that young creature ? 
 
 Proof. Cruel ? I acted but in my trade, Mr. Staunton. 
 
 Staun. Trade ? And does that forbid you bowels ? 
 
 Proof. Yery generally, for any other books than our own, 
 which are — our daybooks. But what is your compassion, 
 sir ? Will this young woman be any better for it to-morrow ? 
 
 Staun. I think she will. — What is usually given for a 
 manuscript of this character, supposing it of course to be 
 respectable as a composition ? 
 
 Proof, [looking over it.] Forty pages — a juvenile. Twenty- 
 five dollars. If something very extraordinary, it might be 
 fifty. 
 
 Staun. I shall give her one hundred and fifty ; and if I find 
 it readable, you shall publish it besides at my expense ; so 
 that her need, as I think it, and her pride will both be sat- 
 isfied. 
 
 Proof I think not. If she has pride, you will revolt it 
 directly, by such an enormous offer, — perhaps make her sus- 
 pect you besides. [looking at him scrutinizingjy. 
 
 Staun. [Indignant.] Good God, sir ! — But have a care ! 
 If you knew what feeling that timid girl has excited in me by 
 
178 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 a fancied resemblance — you would not dare [checking 
 
 himself.'] I am wrong. 
 
 Proof. Whether wrong or not, Mr. Staunton, it is none of 
 my business. But if you are serious, you would do well not 
 to give this sum, but to act as a publisher would under like 
 circumstances. Tell this lady, that you would gladly give her 
 $100, but that there is really so much competition, and the 
 risk is so considerable, and the remuneration so trifling — 
 
 Staun. In short, any other of the — cant of the trade — 
 
 Proof. The lies, I think you meant to say. [bowing] But 
 we will not quarrel — I really am ready to serve you in this 
 matter, which you seem to have at heart. — That you can 
 only afford, at present, $75. You can then print it, if you 
 will; the expense will be in all about $50; and giving her 
 the remaining twenty-five, as her share of the profits, you 
 have your one hundred and fifty disposed of, without leading 
 the authoress to suspect that she is dealing with any but a man 
 of business. 
 
 Staun. You are very right. I will do so. You shall write 
 in my name just such a note as you think proper and have it 
 ready for the lady when she sends for it to-morrow. 
 
 Proof, [who has had his eye musingly fixed upon the Ms., 
 ivhich lies upon the table.'] And have you any idea, sir, who is 
 this lady ? 
 
 Staun. Idea ? Surely not ! [Eagerly.] Have you ? 
 
 Proof I have very little doubt, it is the very person we 
 were speaking of. You see, by this title, that the work pur- 
 ports to be a record of the proper experience of a young 
 schoolmistress with her pupils. Well, it is only six weeks 
 
ACT III. SC. 2. 119 
 
 since the little sign of " Day school for Young Ladies " was 
 taken down from 92, opposite ; and there has been, I am 
 pretty sure, no change of tenants there. 
 
 Statin. And this was the reason why, when she left me at 
 the shopdoor, she made, at first, a step or two. as if to cross 
 the street, then came back, and hesitatingly turned down the 
 street, as if she wanted to conceal from me where she was 
 going. I took it indeed for a hint to that effect, and came in. 
 Well, if this is so, you must acknowledge that this young- 
 girl — besides that it would be sin to suspect her of impurity 
 — can not be the mistress of young Stockton, or what could 
 she need to sell her labor for ? 
 
 Proof. True, and ladies of that class are not apt to be lit- 
 erary. But you seem to be particularly interested, Mr. 
 Staunton ? [inquisitively. 
 
 Staun. I am: I might pretend, because I am about to 
 make a literary -protegee of her: but I confess to you, there is 
 something in this young girl's look, and mien, which, with a 
 peculiar incident of a well-known song that I have little doubt 
 I heard her sing this very evening — a song I have but too 
 good cause to remember, seems to connect her, in spite of my- 
 self, with the secret object of my visit to this country. [Proof, 
 looks astonished'] It is a matter altogether of a private na- 
 ture ; 39 but I tell you thus much, — which will convince you, 
 that if you can ascertain to-morrow anything about her you 
 will oblige me, — that it was in the endeavor to discover the 
 fair singer of ISTo. 92, that I did not go with your boy to Mr. 
 Stockton's just now. I happened to see, at the time, a lady, 
 followed by a servant, go into the house opposite. She left 
 
ISO THE PRODIGAL 
 
 her attendant at the door ; and I waited, only to be disap- 
 pointed ; for after a while she came out again : so that it was 
 but a visitor. Besides, my man ascertained from her servant, 
 that the lady was no other than Miss Stockton. 
 
 Proof, [astonished.] Indeed ! Then there is hardly a mis- 
 tress in the case. I do not understand this. 
 
 Staun. [changing his manner to a cold gravity.'] I don't see 
 why you need. It is all simple. Mr. Stockton visits there as 
 a friend, and his sister likewise. — Still you may put some 
 inquiries, if you like, to-morrow. I must now make my visit 
 to Mr. Stockton's father. 
 
 Proof. Visit ? You know him then. 
 
 Staun. I think I do, though I have no knowledge of his 
 family. Will you let one of your boys call a carriage and 
 direct it to the house ? 
 
 Proof. Readily. But you had better walk, sir ; the dis- 
 tance is very trifling : he shall show you the way. You 
 would not like then to see the first performance of Mr. Arthur 
 Stockton's play ? Mr. Pickins' not going leaves me a seat 
 to spare. 40 We shall be just at the opening of the first act. 
 It is now half past eight; and a little musical piece was to 
 precede the tragedy ; for the author so stipulated, in order that 
 the effect of the drama might not be annulled by the usual 
 sequel of a farce. 
 
 Staun. Thank you ; but I shall be in better mood another 
 night. Is your boy ready ? [Putting on his hat and going to 
 the shop. 
 
 Proof. Yes, he only waits for us to leave, to put out the 
 lights. Francis [folloiving Staun. through the door.] : you will 
 show this gentleman to Mr. Stockton's. [Scene closes. 
 
ACT III. SC. 3. 181 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 A vulgar tavern, half refectory, half tippling -shop, whose Ger- 
 man character is indicated to the spectators by a scrawl in 
 charcoal over the fireplace, as if done by some bacchanal, of 
 " Bureaus" in German letters over a rude sketch of a mug and 
 iivo crossed tobaccopipes : elsewhere, " SSHrtSsfjaius", and other 
 significant inscriptions. The foreground is divided into boxes, 
 back to back of one another, and separated by a partition so 
 that both sides are seen from the house at once. 
 
 At a table on the right hand of the spectators Arthur and 
 Pickins are discovered sitting ; a stone beer-bottle and pewter 
 mugs before them ; but they do not drink. In the contiguous 
 box, on the other side, by a similar table, Schurk and Hans ; 
 the former so placed thai his back is against the partition, 
 while Hans sits opposite, on the other side of the table. Schurk 
 is smoking furiously from a long pipe, ivhih a man is just 
 arranging before them beer and mugs. 
 
 Sch. [noisily.] 41 Bier? Neinl nein ! Branntwein — Wein- 
 branntwein ! [Man leaves them. 
 
 Hans. So sei es. But you must talk English, or I vont sit 
 here a moment :- you vill ruin us bot'. [smoking. 
 
 Sch. Tdndeleif but have it your own way. How do you 
 
 know but some damned Yankee may hear us ? And that will be 
 
 as bad as ten Germans, I think. 
 
 Bans. Pah ! Here ? Yankees here ? Vy, none but de 
 9* 
 
182 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 most ignorant even of our countryman? come in tiis place. 
 Frenchmen perhaps — but none dat shpreak English. And 
 s'pose dey do ; de chance ist less. 
 
 Sch. Schon gut ! schon gut ! [The man returns, sets a bottle 
 on the table and two glasses, and a ivaterpitcher.] Dank! [man 
 retires. — Sch. pours out a glass, and offers to fill another for 
 Hans, who shakes his head, holding up his mug to intimate his 
 preference of beer.] No? Well, brandy for me. [Drinking 
 down his portion at a breath.'] I took a tremendous horn be- 
 fore I came here ; for this business makes me cold. 
 
 Hans. Yy do you engage in it, den ? 't is n't too late to 
 back out. 
 
 Sch. [violently, and striking his hand on the table.] No ? 
 And to-morrow morning have my accounts examined by old 
 Stockton, and all found out ! To-night, to-night hides or dis- 
 covers all. Drink ! beer or brandy, as you please ; but drink, 
 I say, — or you '11 make me suspect you. 
 
 Hans. Me ? but I nefer do trink ; and vat I come here for, 
 if you sushpect me ? 
 
 ScJt. Because I cannot do without you. But forgive me ; 
 you are my countryman, you will do what I want. Will you 
 get the keys, Hans ? 
 
 Hans. De keys, [hesitating.] y — es. But five-hundred 
 thaler ist very little money — for such a risk. 
 
 Sch. Say then one thousand. Will that do-? 
 
 Hans. One tousendt. Ach, ja ! I vill — I vill do it; but 
 remember, one tousendt ! 
 
 Sch. Yes, yes. [drinking.] I wish to God it was over. 
 
 Hans. Vhen you vant de keys ? 
 
ACT III. SC. 3. 183 
 
 Sch. Very soon — in one hour — half after nine or ten — 
 say ten o'clock ; the street is dark and deserted, and we are 
 as safe then as at midnight. 
 
 Hans. Besides, if we 're seen, nobody vill sushpect us two ; 
 we 've but to make known who w^e are. 
 
 Sch. So much for a good name. [laughing coarsely, with an 
 affected ruffianism. 
 
 Hans. No, for a goodt place. But Mr. Schurk, dis is a boldt 
 scheme. Vhy you not get de money elseway — write Mr. 
 Shtockton's name for example ? 
 
 Sch. Forge, eh ! Very good ! but that will not save my 
 reputation. I had one other game yet, but I could make 
 nothing of it, and I played my last hand an hour ago. Could 
 I have gained a wife, I might have had a father to wink at 
 the errors in my bookkeeping, but — class sie der Donner und 
 das Wetter erschlage ! 42 Miss Clara preferred another man. 
 [Arth. unable to restrain himself, half-rises from the table, Buzz 
 holding him down, and a slight noise is thus occasioned.] What's 
 that? [makes a movement to rise.] I will see who 's there. 
 
 Hans, [retaining him by the sleeve.] Pah! it ist nobody, or 
 nobody but a couple of stupid Frenchmans I heardt jabbering 
 vhen we came in. Sit down ; do you see how de host is 
 vatching us ? ve shall be sushpected. 
 
 Sch. Well, but this is a life and death matter ; for I mean — 
 [Suddenly and with great earnestness and very quickly.] 43 Aber 
 
 wenn du dann but if you should betray me ! — Sieh da ! 
 
 [opening his vest and pointing significantly to the stock of a 
 pistol. 
 
 Hans. G-o on ! haave I come here to trifle ! Hide dat, and 
 
184 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 don't let your badt temper betray you agin into sphreaking 
 Deutsch, or I '11 give up, and leaf you to get de keys where 
 you can. 
 
 Sch. Well, don't be angry, my good Hans ; I can't but be 
 fearful : this is a terrible affair. Hark ! [taking Hans by the lapel 
 of the coat, and drawing him close to him, so that their faces 
 almost touch.] do you think me such a fool as for a paltry 
 $11,000 to risk all, when I could make fifty times as much, as 
 you say, by a dash of the pen ? [Loosing his hold, yet speaking 
 with the same smothered earnestness, almost between his teeth.'] 
 
 When I go to rob [beating his brow suddenly, — then in a 
 
 tone of despair.] this cursed gaming ! to what it has sunk 
 me ! [buries his face in his hands. Then 
 
 drinking fiercely, and bursting out into the noisy hunting-song 
 of Der Freischutz, as if to drown his thoughts, or to give 
 him spirits : 
 
 " Was gleicht wohl auf Erden dem Jager-Yergnugen, 
 Wem sprudelt der Becker des Lebens so reich ? 
 Beim" — 44 
 
 Hans. Why what ails you ? 
 
 Sch. Not wine — nor beer — nor brandy ; it is vice — 
 dishonor — death ! 
 
 [Singing with renewed burst of desperate gayety, and 
 
 smashing his pipe on the table.] " Joho, trallala ! " &c. 
 
 [as in the well-known chorus. 
 
 But how sad you look \ one might think jom pitied me ; 
 
 but you are deep in, yourself. Perhaps you don't like my 
 
 song. Let 's try one more wicked, but less noisy : 
 
ACT III. sc. 3. .185 
 
 [Singing.] " Kartenspiel und Wiirfellust, 
 
 Und ein Kind mit runder Brust, 
 Hilft zum frohem Leben ! " « 
 
 No, no, no — cards and dice, if not the girls, have been 
 too much for me already. I '11 drink no more, [brushing bot- 
 tles and glasses off the table] or I shan't be fit for business. 
 
 Hans. But vhat is dat ? You have n't saidt, and I must 
 know vhat you vill do. 
 
 Sch. Fire [in an audible whisper.] : there, do you under- 
 stand that? the ashes, if we do the job well, will tell no tales. 
 
 Buzz, [from the other side of the partition.] A precious 
 ras — [Arth. claps his hand on his mouth. Buzz struggles and 
 draws out his memorandum-booh to make a note. 
 
 Sch. [springing up, and attempting to run down the scene to 
 get to the other side of the partition.'] Strafe mich Gott ! 46 There 
 is some one there. I heard voices. 
 
 Hans, [holding him back.] De Frenchmans I tell you. 
 You '11 ruin all. 
 
 Sch. [Turning round and grasping Ha as by the collar.] French- 
 men ? Have you dared ? — But I '11 see that quickly. Herr 
 Wirthf 41 [calling to the landlord The latter enters from with- 
 in and goes up. Schurk tedks earnestly with him in a low voice, 
 appears at length to be satisfied, and landlord retires to the 
 right. 
 
 Hans. Dere ! I toldt you so ; two paltry Frenchmans. But 
 we haad better shtay here no longer — or we may shtay too 
 long, [rising. 
 
 Sch. Ganz recht ! But remember the keys ; ten o'clock pre- 
 cisely — mit dem Schlag. 
 
186 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Hans. And de tousendt. Not one tollar less. 
 
 Sch. Ganz gewiss. Auf ! auf! Mit dem Schlag zehn TJlir. 
 " Joho, trail ala, &c." [They retire down the scene. 
 
 For a moment, Schurh appears to struggle with Hans and en- 
 deavor to get round the partition. Hans seems to remon- 
 strate earnestly, and at last drags him off to the right. 
 Exeunt. — Arth. and Buzz come down. 
 
 Arth. G-ood G-od ! what a spectacle ! [in a tone of sadness 
 and compassion. 
 
 Buzz, [joyously^] Yes, the finest in the world. I must have 
 it set down — wait a moment [ivriting in his note-book.] : 
 " Not wine — nor beer — nor brandy [repeating energetically 
 Schurh 's ivords.] ; it is vice — dishonor — death ! " Were n't 
 those the words ? 
 
 Arth. Yes, but had you known this man, you would see 
 nothing but matter of grief in all this. His drinking — sing- 
 ing — all was novel, — the effect of mere desperation. 
 
 Buzz. That is what makes the spectacle. [Continuing to 
 write.] u Fire ! Do you hear that ? the ashes will cover up 
 our tale ! " Was that it ? 
 
 Arth. No, there was nothing about covering up tales. 
 Your head seems to be always running upon such 
 things. 
 
 Buzz. And with good reason ; they have made my head 
 what it is, the most conspicuous, with the Dake of Welling- 
 ton's 48 and one or two others, in the nation. But, I say, 
 Stockton, the old fellow, your Hans, did his part bravely too, 
 with his tousendt. u One tousendt ! Ach, ja ! I vill — I vill 
 do it ; but remember, one tousendt ! " I never played Captain 
 Bobadil better. 49 Quite to the life ! 
 
ACT III. sc. 3. 187 
 
 Arth. Yes, and you had like to cost him his life too. Come 
 now, the way must be clear by this time ; let us go. 
 
 Buzz. There — I 'm ready, [returning his hook to his pocket] 
 Ah ; if you could have seen my Eobadil ! " It is the most 
 fortunate weapon, [repeating after the character.] that ever rid 
 on a poor gentleman's thigh. Shall I tell you, sir ? You talk 
 of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindina, or so! Tut, I lend no 
 credit to that is fabled of 'em ; I know the virtue of mine 
 owd, and therefore I dare the boldlier maintain it." 
 
 Arth. It is very well, no doubt ; but, Pickins, this is not 
 the proper stage. 
 
 Buzz. Well, I 'm ready. That was a good villain too ! 
 " Why, what ails you ? — Not wine — nor beer — nor 
 brandy ; it is vice — dishonor — death ! " A genteel villain, 
 ruined by cards and dicing ; the world shall hear of him yet. 
 Yet I could wish you had seen my Bobadil. A capital villain ! 
 " Joho, trallala " — [singing as Schurh. 
 
 Exit with Arth.j arm in arm, to the right. 
 
188 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Act the Fourth 
 
 Scene I. Stockton's private room, as in Act I. Sc. II. 
 
 Stockton and Staunton. 
 The former impatiently walking up and down. 
 
 Staun. Patience. Do sit down, Stockton. [Stock, sits.] — 
 Do you remember when you first saw me in India ? 
 
 Stock. Yery well : it is just twelve years ago. 
 
 Staun. Just so ; and I seemed to you ? — 
 
 Stock. The saddest man I ever looked upon.- There was 
 nothing that could make you smile. 
 
 Staun. And do you know why ? My heart was breaking. 50 
 You look surprised. Listen : my story is .a brief one, and 
 could never be told to you at a better time than now. [Stock, 
 looks incredulous and impatient'] I am serious. — My father 
 was the youngest son of a family of rank, and his destiny, in 
 the aristocratic order of things, was the army or the church ; 
 but he had a mind of his own, a very republican one too, took 
 a wife from the city, very rich and very beautiful, and em- 
 barked with his father-in-law in commerce. The inheritor of my 
 father's liberal notions as well as of his fortune, I too married, 
 not to please the Stauntons, but myself; and my wife too was 
 beautiful — very beautiful, Stockton, and very accomplished, 
 though indifferently off in worldly effects. As I was an only 
 
ACT IV. SC. 1. 189 
 
 child, so one alone, a girl, was the fruit of my own marriage; 
 yet I believed myself the happiest of men. I was so. What 
 has made you unhappy this day, made me superlatively 
 wretched for years. 
 
 Stock, [with awakened attention, .] Ah ? 
 
 Staun. Yet in directly bringing about this evil, ourselves, 
 we were governed by opposite motives ; for what to you is 
 A Vice was to me then, and is again, A Virtue. 
 
 Stock. Your daughter then? — [eagerly. 
 
 Staun. No ; she was but five years old. It was my wife. 
 In few words, Stockton. I took pleasure in gathering about 
 me men of talent : poets, artists of all kinds, all found my 
 house a home, 51 at which the worthier among them were more 
 than welcome, — at which they were, as they deserve to be, 
 caressed ; and I loved to see their society elicit the fine facul- 
 ties and noble tastes with which nature and education had 
 both liberally endowed my wife. Among the rest, was one 
 especially honored. The intimacy between him and Catharine 
 became closer than that of brother and sister. At first I felt 
 no alarm, though I knew they corresponded. But it came at 
 last. Marston had no outward attraction superior to my own, 
 nay, he squinted and stooped, but his voice was beyond all 
 comparison the most perfect I have ever heard ; the mellowest 
 tones of the softest flute, when best played, were no extrava- 
 gant parallel. With my new feelings, to find day after day, 
 when I came home, my wife listening a3 if intoxicated, while 
 Marston read aloud some poem, either his own or the compo- 
 sition of some greater man, became to me a perfect torment : 
 the voice of the man himself sounded in my ears as the hiss 
 
190 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 of a cobra. Why need I go through all the phases of my 
 passion ? it is the old story ; jealousy, hatred, then — the 
 thirst to kill. One evening, I found on entering the room my 
 wife seated at the piano, singing in her touching tones a sim- 
 ple air of Lodoiska then popular — " Ye streams that round 
 my prison creep." Marston stood at her right hand, looking 
 delight. I took my place directly behind her. The music 
 went on ; yet I fancied there was some embarrassment in 
 both, as if I had surprised them unpleasantly. I was all but 
 mad : I stretched out my right hand, and bringing the middle 
 finger and thumb together, struck him sharply with the nail 
 of the former, as if in sport, upon the lobe of the ear. 
 Catharine, if she observed it, might have thought it jest ; but 
 Marston, turning round, encountered my burning eyes, and 
 my insulting grin. 5 ' 2 He was a man of quick perception, and 
 understood me directly ; but he was also a man of courage, 
 and made no observation there. The next morning in Old 
 Bond-street, a man passed me, then, turning short about, came 
 toward me. It was Marston. Lifting suddenly his hand, he 
 struck me heavily with the palm of it on my shoulder. Any- 
 body passing might have thought it a boisterous or vulgar 
 mark of good-fellowship : but I understood him, the more so 
 that he pointed with the tip of his finger to his ear, and his 
 eyes seemed, as mine felt, as if they blazed. " Where shall I 
 hear from you ? " I said; " and when?" "Be at the Athe- 
 naeum," he answered, " in an hour, or an hour and a half at 
 most, with any friend ; Captain Hazard of the Engineers will 
 call on you in my behalf." The next day, Marston lay at my 
 feet in a pool of his own blood. [Gasping. 
 
ACT IV. SC. 1. 191 
 
 Stock. G-ood G-od ! take breath, Staunton. 
 
 Staun. [recovering.'] It is over now. — I started for the 
 Continent. My wife had been ordered, by a letter through 
 my second, to meet me at Dover with our child. She was not 
 told the cause. She came. What ensued I need not describe ; 
 but the next morning I found my wife and child had fled in 
 the night, in the same postchaise that had brought them. A 
 packet of letters lay on the table in their chamber. The 
 address was to Catharine, the handwriting Marston's. With- 
 out a wish to open one of them, I enveloped and sealed them 
 and sent them on to London, to the care of the banker who 
 managed her little property. They reached her. Marston, I 
 heard, was expected hourly to die. I durst not return to 
 England ; and I had no desire to ; — for even my child was 
 lost to me, for ever. 
 
 Stock. Merciful Heaven ! — How was that ? 
 
 Staun. Catharine was high-spirited, and romantic ; perhaps 
 vindictive. When I endeavored to ascertain her movements, I 
 found no trace of them. Her little funds had been taken from 
 the hands of her banker, who could give me no information. 
 I went to India, where I had a partner actually resident. My 
 presence there enabled him to return to England, and I re- 
 mained, to lead — what life, you, Stockton, who became 
 there my chief intimate and friend, well know. 
 
 Stock. True, Staunton, and it was my sole grief at leaving 
 India that I left you no happier. But did you never hear 
 again of your wife and child ? 
 
 Staun. Never any but the vaguest tidings till last year, 
 when there reached me from America, forwarded by my 
 
192 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 partner in London — what think you ? The packet of letters 
 I had found at Dover. They were in two envelopes ; the 
 outer sealed with a black seal, altogether strange to me, and 
 addressed in a strange hand, but the inner endorsed sim- 
 ply with my name in Catharine's own hand and sealed with 
 her usual device. 
 
 Stock. And there was nothing written by her ? 
 
 Staun. Not one word. If she was dead, she had carried 
 her resentment with her to the grave. But the letters, 
 Marston's letters, Stockton 
 
 Stock. You read them, then ? 
 
 Staun. I did ; to mourn my own delicacy, that I had not done 
 so before. They established the innocence of the poor fellow 
 completely ; for even the last one, written within two days of 
 the duel, was purely literary. Their friendship, in fact, was 
 imprudent, my encouragement unwise ; but there was no guilt. 
 
 Stock. And did Marston die ? 
 
 53 Staun. Strangely enough, I could never ascertain ; but I 
 think that had such been his fate, I must have learned it. For 
 myself, I had gathered one fact, that the packet was originally 
 from Philadelphia ; and I am here in consequence, to find at 
 least my child. 
 
 Stock. And to-morrow we will, together, take the most 
 effectual measures for that purpose. 
 
 Staun. And to-morrow, Stockton, you will receive back 
 your child — your son ? [laying his hand on Stock. 1 s shoulder 
 imploringly. 
 
 Stock. Ino, no! [impatiently.'] Once more, do not urge me: 
 our cases have nothing in common. 
 
ACT IV. SC. 1. 193 
 
 Stock. Pardon me, they have much in common ; and I have 
 seen your son, and heard that of him that makes me think, 
 that, were he mine, I should be the proudest father on 
 earth. 
 
 Stock, [half -maliciously.] Because you are a patron of letters 
 as well as merchant. [Staun. looks at him reproachfully.] 
 — Forgive me ; but you- don't know how you gall me. Tell 
 me, [quickly.] — were you to find your daughter, would you 
 give her to such a man as my son, — her an heiress, as she 
 then must be, to one who has nothing but his brains to call 
 his owm ? 
 
 Staun. Give her! Ay, and my heart with her: 54 I should 
 hold it the happiest day of my life. Nay, listen, Stockton ; 
 though I never will seek to control the affections of my daugh- 
 ter, should I find her, and — G-od help me! [sighing.] find her 
 all that I luould find her — yet, if she will be guided by my 
 preferences, she never will marry any but a man of letters. 
 
 Stock, [with slight sarcasm.] Because this Vice, as I hold it 
 in my only son, is to you, who have no son, a Virtue. Well 
 then, I have not told you all : if I -have cast off the Prodigal, 
 it is not because he would be an idler, or the associate of idlers : 
 that I had already pardoned; but because he has dared to 
 marry [fiercely.], and, do you hear, in the very face of my 
 express prohibition. 
 
 Staun. [astonished.] Married ? 
 
 Stock. Yes, a beggar. Don't ask me more now ; you shall 
 hear all — all to-morrow. I am too much worried now — 
 you will forgive this inhospitality. To-morrow, remember, 
 you have promised to make your home here. 
 
194 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Staun. [ Going.] Well, good night, Stockton. Married ! 
 [musing. ~\ — 't is strange ! A beggar ? [to himself, while mov- 
 ing to the door. 
 
 Stock. Yes, [ringing the bell for the porter to attend on Staun.] 
 a beggar — a pitiful schoolmistress, [opening the door. 
 
 Staun. [eagerly.] Do you say so? My God ! if G-ood 
 
 night, good night ! [Exit, precipitately. 
 
 Stock. [Looking after him ivith surprise, then closing the door.] 
 Why he is mad too ! There must be something in the moon. 
 [Takes up the keys from the table.] I imagine if Staunton's 
 cash were not safe under these keys [putting the smaller ones 
 into his pocket^], and these to boot [hanging the large ones up, 
 in a closet^] he would not be so generous with his lost heiress. 
 [Rings a silver handbell. — Enter Peter at the door.] Why 
 do you come ? Where is Hans ? Send him here. 
 
 Peter. He has this very instant, sir, gone out with a parcel, 
 for Miss Stockton. 
 
 Stock. That will do. [Exit Peter.] I '11 be bound, to that 
 
 ungrateful Hans is mad too, I forgot that. My house 
 
 is nothing but a Bedlam, since Arthur ! Arthur ! 
 
 [sinking down in a chair, ivith his head in his hands. — Scene 
 closes. 
 
ACT IV. SC. 2. 195 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The Street, as in Act II. Sc. I. 
 
 The bookseller' s shop is closed, but there is a 
 
 brilliant light in the window of a shop on the opposite 
 
 side, near the front of the scene. 
 
 Enter slowly ) Staunton. 
 
 He moves towards the door of u No. 92 " — hesitates — then 
 
 turns bach to the forepart of the stage. 
 
 Staun. There is surely a magic about this house, or I am 
 a bolder castle-builder at five aud forty than while I was 
 young. My head is quite bewildered. Let me see what 
 grounds have I to be so fanciful, except the maddest of hopes. 
 That song ! Why hundreds may sing it. Yet it was strange 
 too, Then the likeness in the fair author, a something that 
 struck at first, but was lost as I looked at her nearer ; and 
 she was a schoolmistress, it appeared probable. Why should 
 
 she not be this young Stockton's wife ? — And then if 
 
 G-od help me ! the thought will make me crazy : I must — I 
 must get somehow into that house. Who is this ? — 
 
 Enter Hans, 
 
 bearing a cabinet-picture covered over with a white cloth. He 
 
 touches his hat, and is about to pass Staunton, 
 
 who arrests him. 
 
 Why Hans, is this you? We shall have to be better ac- 
 
196 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 quaintecl, my good friend, now that I 'm to trouble your mas- 
 ter for a day or two. [Hans hows.'] What have you there ? 
 
 Hans. A picture, Mr. Artur's — must go to him directly. 
 [going. 
 
 Statin, [stopping him.] Mr. Arthur's ? What ! of him ? 
 
 Hans. no, sir, of hish vife. 
 
 Staun. [eagerly.] His wife ? Quick ! I must see it. [Seizing 
 it, begins to unpin the cover. 
 
 Hans. Mein Herr, loas ivollen Sie f 55 Pardon me, but, — 
 sir — Mr. Shtaunton ! — 
 
 Staun. [ivho has drawn the picture from the cover and con- 
 templated it, by the light of the shop window,. with marked emo- 
 tion.] She ! the very same ! the fair authoress, but less pale 
 and more cheerful. Now, if the rest of my conjecture prove 
 but true ! Here, thank you, my man. [giving the picture, and 
 with it a piece of money.] And there, I have put you to some 
 trouble, 
 
 Hans. Tausend Dank! much obleegclt. Can you findt- your 
 way home alone, Mr. Shtaunton? [arranging the cover again 
 on the picture. 
 
 Staun. yes : cler Weg dahin ist nicht iveit, as you would 
 say, my honest fellow ; and before I get half through the dis- 
 tance I expect to meet my man, who was to come for me. 
 Good night. 
 
 Hans. G-oodt night, sir. [Exit, entering " 92 " after the usual 
 delay at the door, which is opened to him, during the following 
 soliloquy of Staun.'' s. 
 
 Staun. [pulling out his watch, and going again to the shop- 
 window to look at it] It is but a minute or two after nine. 
 
ACT IV. sc. 2. 197 
 
 I will venture to call there on the strength of her manuscript. 
 What a pity I left it yonder ! [looking toward the 'bookseller's.'] 
 But if it is she, I can make • good my excuse : and if it is 
 
 my! Heavens] what excuse shall I need? — Jack 
 
 Doughty shall take me a note to prepare the way. Theresa ! 
 [with a tender, yet rapturous tone.] — Heaven grant it ! [Exit 
 up the perspective of the street 
 
 Enter, from 92, 
 
 Buzz. 
 
 He appears to be a little gay. 
 
 Buzz. " Joho, trallala, &c." Devil, if I can get that fellow's 
 song out of my head! wish I was on the lark with Stockton 
 about it. But here comes some other Yankee. 
 
 Enter, from the left, 
 Ledger. 
 
 Ledger — a little stupid — but better than none. How are 
 you, old hoss f as you say here in America. Let 's have a 
 spree ! Oysters and fire-punch — or champagne and billiards 
 — whatever you like. 
 
 Ledg. Nothing. You must excuse me altogether to-night. 
 
 Buzz. A row then with the Charlies, or a lark with the 
 girls, or a roll into one of your coalholes among the niggers ? 
 I like your niggers ; they 're the only wits, poets, and mimics 
 you have in America. Come, [dancing and singing, negro- 
 fashion : 
 
 " We '11 dance all night till de broad daylight, 
 " And go hum wid do gals in de mornin 1 ."' 
 
 Vol. V.— 10 
 
THE PKODIGAL 
 
 I 'm your man for anything, Ledge : I 've got the devil in me ; 
 it can't be that poor half-bottle of claret I have just swigged 
 at Stockton's ; but damme, I 'm up for something ! 
 
 Ledg. And you may go down for something, if you don't 
 take care. 
 
 Buzz, [swaggering.'] I down ? If Did you never see me 
 play Bobadil ? But how could you ? it was at little Kelley's 
 Theatre. But, I say, Ledge, if you '11 come to some nice 
 place — or, faith, to my rooms if you like — only there 's 
 Mrs. Pickins might not like it so well — no matter, if you '11 
 come I '11 give you a touch of real amateur-acting. " By 
 Pharaoh's foot ! " [imitating Bobadil] I '11 do it ! — Come, 
 don't be ill-natured ; you shall play Cob, 
 
 Ledg. Thank you ; somebody else must grace your cudgel. 
 It 's past nine ; and you know what work I have ahead. 
 
 Enter, from 92, 
 Hans, and passes rapidly. 
 
 Ah, Hans ! after the keys ? But you must hurry. Stay, — 
 what if your master be in his room? 
 
 Hans. I must den efen tell all to Miss Clara, and get her to 
 call him out. 
 
 Ledg. Do so, in Heaven's name. Quick. [Exit Hans, run- 
 ning to the right.] Good night, sir. [to Buzz. 
 
 Buzz. You won't then. Well, you 're a [Exit Ledg., enter- 
 ing 92.] d d surly Yankee ; and " Body o' Caesar ! [after 
 
 Bobadil.] but that I scorn to let forth so mean a spirit, I 'd 
 have stabbed him to the earth.'' 
 
ACT IV. sc. 2. 199 
 
 Enter Doughty, 
 
 who comes in contact ivith his stick, as he flourishes it, 
 
 and knocks it angrily aside. 
 
 By. The devil you would ! You '11 have to aim lower then, 
 with your handspike. 
 
 Buzz, [still as Bobadil,] " Do you prate ? Do you mur- 
 mur ? " [offering to beat him, as Bobadil would Cob. 
 
 By. [knocking the stick out of his hand.] Prate, and murmur? 
 Why what craft are you, that are so saucy with your hail ? 
 Yes, pick it up, my rover [as Buzz takes up his stick.], but hark 
 you, don't you be running aboard of me again with it, or we '11 
 get foul in earnest, and if we do — 
 
 Buzz. Why what then, you Yankee skipper ? 
 
 By. Not quite so good as that, — only a second-mate, my 
 little Capting. But if we do get foul, as I say, can you tell 
 me how much of your running-geer will be left? [pointing 
 contemptuously to Buzz's long hair, extravagantly long and 
 numerous luatchchains, trinkets, &c] or whether 1 don't brino- 
 down all by the board and make a mere wreck of you ? 
 
 Buzz. Do you know whom you are talking to, you saucy 
 pirate ? 
 
 By. Soft words, soft words, my land rat ! we have steel 
 traps in this here country, we have, that '11 take such vermin 
 as you between the teeth in less than no time. Talking to ? 
 I '11 tell you. I take you for one of those traveling Englishers 
 that come out of their own holes, because they are starved out 
 of 'em, or mayhap because a running-noose is not the kind of 
 granny's-knot they 're fondest of having tied in their cravats ; 
 
200 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 and so they come over here, "where they meet with whole-souled 
 fellows, that ask no questions, but feed all the mouths that 
 open for them, and then, when their bellies are full, and they 
 get resty, they kick out their heels as if they were blood- 
 horses, and not old spavined jades after all, or vermin as afore- 
 said. And what do you take me for, my poop-frigate that 
 would be, but cock-boat that are ? 
 
 Buzz. [Looking at him very superciliously, and drawling. 
 Why, as you have that letter in your hand, you may be some 
 Yankee upstart's mongrel valet, half land-lubber — in your 
 own cant — and half- water-rat. — 
 
 Dy. G-o on ; take it easy, [moving quietly a little nearer. 
 
 Buzz. But as Yankees are too proud to be servants, or too 
 mean to have them, I take you for one of those barking curs 
 that never bite, one of those bragging — 
 
 Dy. Take it comfortable ; don't hurry, [getting a little nearer, 
 hut still very quietly, and carelessly picking his teeth. 
 
 Buzz. Bragging Jack-tars, that having seen a Yankee sev- 
 enty-four sink an English gunboat, got vast notions of their 
 own powers, and began to think of — 
 
 Dy. Licking the British; and did it. But don't you mis- 
 take the gunboat for a Chinese junk and the seventy-four for 
 your own steamfrigates ? I only ask for information : go on ; 
 I 'm in no manner of haste, and am fond of news, [still nearer, 
 and still quietly, hut now stowing away in his pockets his tooth- 
 pick and the letter he carries. 
 
 Buzz. In short, you insolent rascal, who dare thus to inter- 
 rupt me, that have been dragged in a car by all your aldermen, 
 been feted and hailed till I was stunk to death by all your 
 
ACT IV. SC. 2. 201 
 
 ladies, that have paper-painted more rogues and fools in my 
 own country than you ever are like to see in yours, and 
 played Captain Bobadil to the delight of the most critical 
 audience in the world, yon, I say, are one of those broadside 
 fighters that never come to close quarters when they can help 
 it, and, when they do — " Tut ! " [Bobadilizing.] " They 
 have assaulted me some three, four, five, six of them together, 
 as I have walked alone in divers skirts o' the town, where I 
 have driven them before me the whole length of a street, in 
 the open view of all our gallants, pitying to hurt them, believe 
 me. Yet all this lenity will not overcome their spleen ; they 
 will be doing with the pismire, raising a hill a man may spurn 
 abroad with his foot at pleasure. By myself I could have 
 slain 'em all, but I delight not in murder." 
 
 Dy. [losing unconsciously the language of Young Kno\vell in 
 the same play.] Are you so sure of your hand, then, Captain ? 
 
 Buzz, [entering into the spirit of his part, ,] " Tut! never miss 
 thrust, upon my reputation with you." 
 
 Dy. There then, [twisting his stick from him and beating him.] 
 and there. Is that " close quarters" ? — or would you have 
 it closer ? [raising the stick again. 
 
 Buzz, [in the very attitude of Bobadil] " Hold, hold ! under 
 thy favor, forbear ! " 
 
 Dy. That's the first word of sense you have spoke to-night. 
 Yet, but that I am a valet as you say, to a better Englisher 
 than yourself, I would make you talk more, [flinging his stick 
 to him.] But I must do Mr. Staunton's bidding. [Ringing 
 at 92. 
 
 Buzz, [getting up.] Staunton ! The devil ! Like master, 
 
202 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 like man : that 's the rebel Englishman I met to-day, that 
 thinks as well of these pigfeeding Yankees as if they were 
 real men. 'Faith ! they have some muscle too. [rubbing him- 
 self.] . Heaven send he don't tell him ! But if he do, he can't 
 say I did n't play my part to the life. I must make a note of 
 this. [Goes to the window and writes.] "Met a Yankee, and 
 after drubbing him soundly, suffered him in turn to beat me a 
 little, in order to practice Bobadil, which I really flatter my- 
 self I did to the life." There, [shuts up his booh, and Exit as 
 
 92 lets in By. 
 
 Drop falls. 
 
ACT Y. sc. 1. 20 3 
 
 Act the Fifth 
 
 Scese I. The parlor of " 92 " — as in Act III. Sc. I. 
 
 The pianoforte is seen open, 
 
 showing the keyboard and the maker's name in 
 
 front. On the top of the instrument, 
 
 leaning against the wall, is a cabinet picture. 
 
 Theresa, 
 
 seated at the little loriting-table, on which 
 
 is lying an open note. 
 
 Ther. Oh ! it will be charming to acid my little earnings to 
 Arthur's, now too that he has lost all for my sake. 56 How 
 fortunate I was ! — and how fortunate that Arthur should be 
 out now! for he must not know of my industry ; not yet at 
 least. Yet [musing.] it is strange too ; how should this gen- 
 tleman have found me out ? I must read this again. — " Make 
 arrangements for future publications " — That is well ! and 
 it almost turns my little head with delight. But why this 
 haste ? • And — let me see : " Something assures me that on 
 other accounts our interview may be of moment to both of us, 
 as it certainly must be, in any event, of benefit to yourself 
 and Mr. Stockton, of whose father I may boast to be an old 
 friend." This seems to promise much indeed ! — Yet there 
 
204 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 is no name. — ■ It will be well, at all events, to call in old 
 Martha. [She moves to the door, ivhen it opens and 
 
 Miter Staunton. 
 
 He conies forward, at first 
 
 luith precipitation } then checks himself and bows. 
 
 Staun. I should apologize for this sudden and abrupt visit — 
 but — I — I feel — 
 
 Ther. [startled and embarrassed.'] Sir I Be seated. — You 
 
 seem Excuse me a moment ; I but go to call my 
 
 woman. 
 
 Staun. [hastily.] No, no ; do not. In fact, the immediate 
 motive to my calling was that I had seen a picture, in which 
 recognizing the lady I had the pleasure to encounter at the 
 stationer's, I could not doubt that Mrs. Arthur Stockton and 
 yourself were one. 
 
 Ther. Yes sir, it is a picture much treasured by my husband, 
 who took it when I was but fifteen, and on a visit to my 
 friend, his sister. [She turns her head and looks toward the 
 picture. Staun. follows the motion with his eyes, starts, and moves 
 suddenly to the pianoforte. 
 
 Staun. G-ood G-od ! [Turns round, with a look so earnest and 
 tender, to Theresa, that she trembles. 
 
 Ther. Why, what is the matter, sir ? Martha ! [calling, but 
 in a timid and agitated voice. 
 
 Staun. Do not be frightened : I Tell me, was it you 
 
 I heard at twilight, this evening, singing an air of Lodoiska ? 
 
 Ther. [surprised.] Sir ! Yes — a simple song, that has no 
 attraction bat that it was a favorite of my mother's. 
 
ACT V. SC. 1. 205 
 
 Statin, [more and more moved.'] My God ! And that mother ! 
 was that — that her instrument ? 
 
 Ther. [partaking his agitation, but mingled with astonishment 
 and some terror.] Yes sir, — valued by her as being the gift of 
 her mother to her when a child. We brought it with us from 
 England, I have been told. 
 
 Staun. [Supporting himself by a chair.] Only one word 
 more ! Did that mother — bear the name of Staunton ? 
 
 Ther. No, her name was Ellison. Yet, "Staunton" is 
 familiar to me too. [thoughtfully. 
 
 Staun. How? Speak! — This is an awful moment. 
 
 Ther. There was a packet addressed to a Mr. Staunton of 
 London, which, at her death, was found in her writing-desk, 
 and forwarded — 
 
 Staun. To me ! My child ! my child ! [throwing his arms 
 about Ther., and sobbing. 
 
 Ther. [extricating herself] Sir ! I 
 
 Stcmn. Oh Theresa ! — 
 
 Ther. Yes, that is my name. Are you — are you 
 
 my God, speak, sir ! 
 
 Staun. I am — your father, Charles Staunton. That song 
 was Catharine's, that instrument was hers, you are her like- 
 ness, and Theresa was my child, [embracing her again. Theresa 
 sobs.] Yes, my daughter, weep ; but weep for joy ; or weep 
 that your poor mother is not here to share our transport. 
 
 Ther. sir, my father — for I cannot doubt that you are 
 so — why have we been parted ? why do we meet now ? 
 
 Staun. Did then your mother never speak of me ? 
 
 Ther. Never ; and all my questions, when a child, were 
 10* 
 
206 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 silenced severely. It was only when I was sixteen, a year 
 before my mother died, that she showed me a sealed letter 
 which she said was to be kept for my father, should he seek 
 me out ; but if I should attain my twentieth year, and hear 
 nothing of him, I was then to open it. 
 
 Staun. my poor child ! that was your mother's self. Bat 
 where, where is this letter ? [Ther. opens the writing-desk and 
 takes out a letter sealed in black, which she first kisses, then hands 
 to Staun. 
 
 Staun. 57 [reading the superscription.'] " To be delivered, after 
 my death, to Theresa's father, when he shall voluntarily seek 
 her ; but if she attain her twentieth year unacknowledged by 
 him, she is then to open this letter. She will there read her 
 father's name, and know why she is left without a father's 
 protection." my Theresa ! my daughter ! you shall know 
 that too from my lips. Let us break this seal. [He pauses in 
 the act, appearing to be overcome.] I cannot do it : it seems to 
 break my heart. Theresa, do you — But no, no ! [with an 
 effort.] it is fit that I should, and I only. [Presses the seal to his 
 lips, opens the envelope, and takes from it the letter, likewise 
 sealed.] See there, my child : " To Charles Staunton, Es- 
 quire," and, beneath the device, " C. S." Those are the initials 
 of my wife, and your mother. 
 
 Ther. [throwing herself into Staunton 1 s arms, and kissing him 
 fervently on the brow.] yes, you are indeed my father ! My 
 father, bless me, bless your child ! 
 
 Staun. Theresa, G-od in Heaven bless you! bless you 
 for that I find you all a father could desire, — God Almighty 
 bless you, my darling, my fair and virtuous child ! — But 
 
ACT Y. SCr 1. 207 
 
 this letter, Theresa [dwelling on her name with great tenderness 
 of accent.'] — I cannot read it to-night. 
 
 Ther. Do not, father ; leave it till to-morrow : it would be 
 too much for both now. 
 
 Staun. Yes, too much, at least for me. For even I shall 
 have to ask your forgiveness, Theresa, — even your father ask 
 it of his child. 
 
 Ther. No, no, do not talk so. Were you not benevolent to 
 me, ere you knew me, — my friend, before my father ? It 
 was the will of He'aven if we have not met, and not your 
 fault, my father. 
 
 Staun. Dear girl! Let me look at you. [She kneels at his 
 feet. He smooths her hair caressingly from before her forehead, 
 looks on her for a long minute with deep emotion and admira- 
 tion, then kisses passionately her forehead, and she sinks her head 
 on his lap.] My beautiful ! — my child ! my child ! Grod 
 bless you ! [Theresa sobs. — After a moment, gently raising 
 her head, Staun. says :] And now let us at once to your hus- 
 band's father — to your friend's — to my friend's. Theresa! 
 there will be more joyful hearts than one at this discovery. 
 [He throws up the window, and, leaning out, calls.] Jack ! Jack 
 Doughty ! 
 
 Ther. And Arthur, father ? my — 
 
 Staun. Your husband ? Noble fellow ! the man of all 
 others to whom, had I the choice of thousands, I would have 
 given you, my girl. [Ther. throws her arms about him, and with 
 her head on his breast, hugs him in silence. 
 
 Enter Doughty. 
 Come in, Jack ; this is my daughter, — my new-found, long- 
 
208 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 lost child. He cannot speak for surprise. Theresa love, this 
 faithful man has been more your father's companion than his 
 servant ; welcome him for my sake. 
 
 Dy. [who has hem throwing his eyes about the room, and now 
 fixes them on the pianoforte.'] Perhaps, sir, Miss Staunton may 
 welcome me for my own sake. Will she tell me, is she Eng- 
 lish-born ? 
 
 Statin, [smiling.] yes, of the true Bull breed, Jack. 
 
 Ther. I came over with my mother when I was but five 
 years old. 
 
 Dy. And did she bring with her that fortepianner ? 
 
 Ther. yes : but why ? 
 
 Dy. And was her name — let me see — Ellis 
 
 Ther. Ellison, we were called. 
 
 Dy. Hurrah ! [throwing up his hat and catching it.] Forgive 
 me, sir — forgive me, Miss Staunton ; but I am happy too. 
 Your father saved my life, and I saved his daughter's. 
 
 Staun. What is this? Speak! 
 
 Dy. Why sir, in the first place, you see, I knowed that 
 pianner the moment I saw it, because it was hoisted out of 
 hatches and opened for the customhouse lubbers to look at, to 
 see if it was really an old one, and I remember the name, 
 u G-eorge As'or, Wych Street, St. Clement's, London," on the 
 plate there. Perhaps though, I might not have thought on 't 
 again, but for what has turned up. 
 
 Staun. And the life ? my child's ? how was that ? 
 
 Dy. sir, we had a regular Sou'wester and shipped some 
 heavy seas when the lady and her child came over. I was 
 third mate of the packet, and was aft the next morning with 
 
ACT V. sc. 1. 209 
 
 my clasp-knife in my band splicing an end of cable. Tbe bul- 
 warks to-starboard had all been stove-in the night before, and 
 this little young lady, a child then, was looking oat of the 
 companion way-house door, it being fine weather then, but the 
 sea rolling high after the storm, when the vessel gave a lurch, 
 and the child, dashed against the house, was then pitched for- 
 ward and capsized, and, but that I happened to be in the way, 
 would have gone through tbe hole of the bulwarks. [Staun. 
 makes an exclamation of terror.] I caught her, but we came 
 on our beam-ends together, and in the fall the child ran foul 
 of my knife, which made an awful gash in her little white arm. 
 
 Ther. [shoving up her sleeve.] See, father ; see, my preserver, 
 my friend ; [to Dy.] here is the scar still. I am that little girl 
 you saved for my father, as you say he saved you. [she takes 
 his hand a moment. 
 
 Dy. [brushing his hand over his eyes.] Well — damn it! — 
 Pardon — 
 
 Staun. No, Jack, this time, I don't hold my finger up. 
 
 Dy. Well sir, I was only going to say, that — bias — ! — 
 I must swear — it, it is the happiest day of my life. 
 
 Staun. As mine was, my brave fellow, when, without know- 
 ing it, I gave in return a life for the one you had preserved, 
 years before, for me. [Dy. fairly sobs.] Come now, [pushing 
 him out.] go and call a coach ; we must all be off on the 
 instant to Mr. Stockton's. [Exit Dy. 
 
 Solemnly.] Now Theresa, while he is gone, let us pay 
 our first thanks where we first owe them. [The father and 
 daughter take hands, and appear about to kneel, as 
 the scene closes. 
 
210 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The counting-room of Mr. Stockton. 
 
 All but complete darkness. Arthur and Ledger just discovered 
 standing in the foreground. 
 
 58 Arth. How long do you think we have been here ? 
 
 Ledg. I should say it was good ten minutes since Hans 
 locked us in. But time passes slow, when one is waiting. 
 
 Arth. And waiting in the dark. It would hardly do to 
 light a candle though : they would smell the match. 
 
 Ledg. Ten o'clock, was it not ? 
 
 Arth. Yes ; " at the stroke." 
 
 Ledg. And there it goes now. [Clock in the room strikes the 
 hour. 
 
 Arth. And now to hide, [beginning to grope about 
 
 Ledg. Take care : if we were to knock the screen down, it 
 might be difficult to set it up again in this darkness. 
 
 Arth. Yes, in time. And there ! hush ! [lowering his voice.'] 
 the key is turning in the door now. Keep close. [Deep silence, 
 then 
 
 Enter 
 Schurk, and two Burglars, preceded by Hans. 
 
 Sch. Have you the matches ? 
 
ACT v. sc. 2. 211 
 
 Hans. Yes, here ley are on de mantlepiece, mit de candle. 
 Don't shtir, any ones, or you '11 come foul of de screen, [lights 
 the candle, which reveals the scene. 
 
 A timepiece is seen on the mantlepiece ; 
 
 on the left of the fireplace, a huge iron safe ; on the right, 
 
 between a high desk and the fireplace, a frame 
 
 covered with green cloth, behind which are 
 
 Arthur and Ledger. 
 
 Their feet and legs are hidden from the 
 
 other party by a long flat box, or countinghouse 
 
 foot-bench, and all the rest of their bodies by 
 
 the cloth of the screen. 
 
 Sch. [Kneels down before the safe, and applies to it a small 
 chisel. The door opens.'] Sieh da ! Mr. Stockton has the 
 keys : much good may they do him ! It was as easy to make 
 the bolts shoot back again, as to shoot forward. There is the 
 specie : you '11 carry that, [to the burglars, tvho nod.] But first, 
 for the books. [Taking out the journals, legers, &c] Here, hold 
 my cloak, Hans. 
 
 1st Burg, [surlily.] What 's all that for ? 
 
 Sch, That 's my business. But when I set the fire under 
 them, may n't they burn with the house, and hide all, 
 ha? 
 
 2d Burg. Wohlan 53 ; but make haste : we 'm for de shiners, 
 eh Bolton ? 
 
 1st Burg. When we get them, Dutchman. There 's your 
 
212 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 firewood, and be damned, [to Sch., flinging down a bundle of 
 combustibles. 
 
 Schurk proceeds to pile the boohs over them and between 
 
 them, opening the books and turning them 
 
 inside down on the fuel. Hans suddenly throws the 
 
 cloak over him, and turaps him in it, holding him down, and at 
 
 the same instant the screen is thrown down, and 
 
 Arthur and Ledger spring forward over 
 
 the box to the burglars. 
 
 2d. Burg. Wir sind verloren I [making for the door. 
 
 Hans trips him, while the 1st Burglar 
 
 fires a pistol at Arthur. Ledger rushes between the 
 
 iveapon and his friend, and appears to receive the ball in his left 
 
 arm, 'which drops by his side. Arthur knocks 
 
 down the 1st Burglar, and after a brief 
 
 struggle, both are overpowered. 
 
 Arth. Ledger, bring a cord. But you 're wounded ! 
 
 Ledg. nothing at all. Will you hold both these scoun- 
 drels ? 
 
 Arth. Yes. [Ledg. goes up the scene.] Hans, don't you stir : 
 Schurk is armed and desperate. 
 
 Sans. I hafe him safe, Mr. Artur. I remembers his threat 
 fery veil. 
 
 Ledg. [Returning with cords]. These two we '11 commit to 
 the watch. 
 
 Arth. But Schurk must with us. [Sch. groans. 
 
 They begin to bind the prisoners, and Scene closes. 
 
ACT V, SC. 3 2li 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The parlor at Mr. Stockton's — as in Act I. Sc. I. 
 
 Stockton, Mrs. Stockton, Clara, Staunton, and Theresa, — 
 
 the latter between Mrs. S. and Clara, who have 
 
 each one of her hands. 
 
 Clara. My sister ! [putting her arm about Ther.'s waist, and 
 drawing her to her.] What did I say to you, you dear one, not 
 an hour ago ? Did I not tell you all would be well ? You 
 see, even papa looks happy. 
 
 Staun. Yes, he 's forgotten the beggar and schoolmistress, 
 eh Stockton ? 
 
 Stock. Surely, for I see but the acknowledged daughter of 
 my friend. — 
 
 Staun. And his heiress. But forgive me this fling, Stock- 
 ton, [taking his hand.] It were strange indeed, since your life 
 has been wholly commercial, if you did not set more value on 
 wealth than it is worth. 
 
 Stock. But only its due value on good name. You will 
 remember, Theresa's birth was libeled by that villain, Schurk. 
 
 Mrs. S. And it is hard to find one's children disappointing 
 all one's hopes. 
 
 Staun. And oh, such happiness when they fulfil them! [clasp- 
 
214 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 ing Therms hand in both his.] as even Arthur shall now be 
 found to have done, [turning to Stock. 
 
 Enter Buzz. 
 
 Stock. Yes, but where is my boy ? [to Staun. 
 
 Buzz. That is what I have come to tell you. But eh ! this 
 is an unexpected pleasure : you here, Mrs. Stockton ? [to 
 Ther.]. And you all look so happy ! [inquiringly to Stock. 
 
 Staun. For the Vice is now one with Virtue. 
 
 Stock. And the fattecl calf is ready for the ProdigaVs return. 
 Where is my son, sir ? [to Buzz. 
 
 Buzz. I don't know what you mean by your calves and 
 prodigals, nor have I been long enough in America to com- 
 prehend a virtuous vice ; but I see there is something preparing 
 for me to set down. As for your son, [to Stock.] he is about un- 
 masking a villain ; and the story was so good I could not rest 
 until I had come to tell you. 
 
 Clara. It is Mr. Schurk, father; he has been plundering 
 you, as far as I can understand, by false entries in the books — 
 
 Buzz. And to-night meditates burglary and arson. 
 
 Stock. Heavens ! 
 
 , I together. 
 Staun. What 's this ? j 
 
 Buzz, [declaiming.] " Not wine — nor beer — nor brandy ; 
 it is vice — dishonor — death ! " 
 
 Stock. What do you mean ? Are you — 
 
 Buzz. Drunk? no. But 'faith! Stockton, I never 
 saw a better villain in my life. We heard it all, Arthur 
 and I. — 
 
ACT V. SC. 3. 215 
 
 Stock. And Arthur has gone ? — 
 
 Buzz. With Ledger to surprise him. [Staun. rings the hell.] 
 Old Hans was to let the thieves in, with the keys, where 
 they '11 find more than they look for. Is n't it great ? And 
 you should have heard him sing, in his wish to do the gay 
 thing and st ire the devil out of countenance. " Joho, trallala, 
 &c." [singing as Schurh. 
 
 Stock. Since you are so gay, my dear Mr. Pickins, do you 
 go out and meet my son and his friend wherever you can, and 
 bring them here. 
 
 Enter Peter. 
 
 Buzz. "By the foot of Pharaoh!" I'll do it. "Not 
 wine" Ear e villain! [Going. . 
 
 Staun. Permit me, Stockton. [To Peter.'] Be so good as to 
 send my man up here. 
 
 Peter. Yes, sir. [Exit Peter. 
 
 Stock. But stay, Pickins. Not a word to the young men 
 of what awaits them. 
 
 Enter Doughty. 
 
 Buzz. no ! especially as I don't know what it is. Eh, the 
 devil ! [encountering By. on his way out. 
 
 Dij. [to Buzz.] " Hold, hold ! under thy favor, forbear ! " — 
 Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen ; but 
 
 Buzz, [trying to slip money into his hand.] It 's a rehearsal 
 we had together to-night : " Every man in his Humor ". And 
 I played it to the life ; did n't I ? [winking to By. and endeav- 
 oring to force the money on him. 
 
216 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Dy. Faith, you did ; but I 'm not the doorkeeper : I take 
 no fees but from my master. 
 
 Buzz. I must note that down too. [Lugging out his mem. 
 book and writing.] There : " The Americans never take money, 
 as a gift; though they borrow it without scruple, and repu- 
 diate for the interest." [Exit. 
 
 Staun. Ha, ha, ha. It 's enough, Stockton, to drive you 
 Yankees mad with vanity, to see the pains that is taken to 
 traduce you, by men who find all Europe unworthy of a 
 
 single lie. But Oh, Jack, my boy, go down to Mr. 
 
 Arthur Stockton's house, No. 92, you know, and see if 
 you can find him there — or on the way. Send the whole 
 party — 
 
 Stock. Thieves and all. 
 
 Staun. Yes, you '11 find thieves among them — directly 
 hither. [Exit Dy. 
 
 Stock. You will hardly believe it, when I tell you that that 
 man, Pickins, has been more honored among us than anybody 
 since Washington ; and you see the result ! 
 
 Staun. Which is exactly what I should have foretold. You 
 neglect your own authors — I 've been but a few hours 
 among you, Stockton, yet I 've visited a bookseller's already 
 — have I not, my child ? [smiling significantly to Tlier. 
 
 Tlier. Ah, father, do not betray me. 
 
 Staun. Not yet ; we will wait for your lord and master. — 
 Well, I 've heard enough, Stockton, to convince me that, 
 great, and, I have no doubt, from the very malignity with 
 which you are slandered, good people as you are, you still fall 
 into the dangerous error of driving to the woods your own 
 
ACT V. sc. 3. 217 
 
 prophets and honoring wisdom and song only in those of other 
 countries. 
 
 Stock. And they that turn their own children adrift, how 
 shall they expect that strangers will not despise their profes- 
 sions of interest and affection? I have just escaped being 
 taught that lesson, Staunton ; but I see my countrymen learn- 
 ing it at large. They have taken the bread from the mouths 
 of their own offspring, and flung it unto dogs. 
 
 Staun. That fawn awhile, but, on the first occasion, turn 
 and rend them. It is Heaven's own equity. See here ! 
 
 . Enter 
 
 Arthur, — Ledger (Ms arm in a sling) , — 
 
 Hans (ivith the keys of the countinghouse) leading Schurk, 
 
 whose head is sunk on his breast, — Buzz ( who 
 
 stops short, and makes a note in his book, 
 
 looking the while at Schurk,) — 
 
 and Doughty. 
 
 Stock. My son ! Arthur I [ clasping his hands in his t 
 
 Arth. Father ! 
 
 Stock. Will you forgive me ? 
 
 Arth. my father, it is I that need to ask that. 
 
 Stock. Well, we both have sinned. And you were watch- 
 ing over my interests, Arthur, the same day that I had 
 seemed to separate you for ever from them ? 
 
 Arth. I have done but my duty, sir, But there is Ledger : 
 to him you owe it, that you have a son at all. He rushed 
 between me and the pistol of one of the robbers, and received 
 the ball in his arm that must otherwise have pierced my heart. 
 
218 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Stock. Mr. Ledger — Henry — come here. Clara — my 
 daughter. [He takes a hand of each.] You that have saved 
 the life of the brother may well be set over the happiness of 
 the sister ; you, that have shown ever such zeal for the inter- 
 ests of a master, will not be the less careful of them, for 
 sharing them ; nor have I forgotten your spirit, and your 
 honor, sir, in the interview we had tins evening. My son 
 now, and my partner ; let that be the reward of your virtue. 
 [Schurh strikes his hands heavily together. 
 
 Clara, [turning at the sound, and looking with compassion on 
 Sch.] And my father, let it too be the sole punishment for 
 that unhappy man. 
 
 Ledg. sir, pardon him ; for my sake, if I may ask it. 
 
 Stock. I will for his and my own ; for the iron has entered 
 his very soul. My son, [to Arth.] you do not speak. 
 
 Staun. I can explain his silence. He pities, with me, the 
 criminal ; but the law must pronounce upon the crime. 
 Stockton, justice is above generosity ; in its dispensation we 
 imitate the gods : this man must go to prison. 
 
 Arth. [mournfully, but firmly.] It is but too true ; or you 
 do a violence to those arrested with him. 
 
 Stock. You are both right. Clara, do not speak for him. 
 [gently repelling her, as she presses up to interceded] Let me. but 
 ask him, what impelled him to this fatal act? [Sch folds his 
 arms, and looks inflexible, his head still bent down. 
 
 Buzz. I will tell you. " Not wine — nor beer — nor 
 brandy ; it was vice — dishonor — death ! " 
 
 Sch. [starting.] Ah ! Traitor ! [to Hans. 
 
 Stock, [severely.] No, sir ; he who could write that letter 
 
ACT V. sc. 3. 219 
 
 was the traitor ; he who could tempt a poor servant, as I sup- 
 pose you did this faithful fellow [looking at Hans.] 
 
 Hans. If Mr. Shtockton vill permit me to spreak, I vould 
 say dat to tempt me because for I vas his countryman vas 
 vorse dan all. If my faterlandt send out some badt men, she 
 sendt out many goodt men too, and to bring such a shtain on 
 all honest Germans deserves in deir adopted country double 
 punishment. 
 
 Staun. It is well spoken. 
 
 Buzz. I must note that. [ Writing.] " I met but one Ameri- 
 can that had true pride of country, and he was a Dutchman." 
 
 Stock. Yet once more, let me ask you, Schurk, whether my 
 kindness, my unbounded trust, deserved not better at your 
 hands. 
 
 Sch. Ask nothing [fiercely,] ; or put your question to the 
 dicebox. Let me go. 
 
 Buzz. Yes, " Cards and dice, [declaiming after Sch. in Act. Hi. 
 Sc. 3.] if not the girls, have been too much for him. He '11 
 dice no more." 
 
 Artli. For shame, Pickins ! Hans, lead the unhappy man to 
 the carriage — Peter will aid you — and place him with the 
 others ; but do not be rough to him. [Exit Hans with Sch.] 
 And now, father, explain to me : what is all this scene ? why 
 is Theresa here ? 
 
 Staun. Because, sir, her father brought her hither. Yes, my 
 son, in protecting Mr. Staunton's dollars, you have but secured 
 what Theresa brings you towards an outfit in housekeepings 
 Arthur — let me call you so — [taking his hand and that of 
 Ther.] I have found 
 
220 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Buzz. What, my friend of an hour, is that your daughter? 
 And have you never seen her, till now, since you shot Frank 
 Marston ? 
 
 Staun. [severely.'] Sir, sir ! How can you allude to that 
 unfortunate affair, at such a moment! 
 
 Buzz. Because perhaps I nan do you a service you little 
 look for. I have a letter — here, for aught I know, but at 
 any rate in London — from Frank himself, written when he 
 thought he was on his deathbed, showing most conclusively 
 what a fool you were to suspect him, inasmuch 
 
 Staun. [grasping his arm.] And did he recover ? 
 
 Buzz. Recover ? — You hurt ! [rubbing his arm.] — To 
 be sure he did. Then you have n't seen in " Punch " the 
 verses he addressed to me, scarce a month ago, from the Lake 
 of Como, declaring me [declaiming. 
 
 " Unstain'd by avarice, from all malice free, 
 Truth loving- for truth's sake, ordain'd to be 
 New England's "— 
 
 Arth. [to Ledg.] Jest — 
 
 Buzz. " New England's love, the Old's "— 
 
 Arth. Hurabuggery. 
 
 Buzz. No, " idolatry." Eh ! old book-pirate, what now ? [as 
 
 Enter Proofsheet, impetuously. 
 
 Proof, [in a voice of transport.] Come along, Mr. Stockton ! 
 [to Arth.] — Ah! [looking round with amazement.] I beg 
 pardon. 
 
 Arth. But what is the matter? Has my play failed? 
 
ACT V. scv 3. 221 
 
 Proof. Failed ? Triumphant ! The curtain has dropped 
 amidst such roars of applause as I never heard before — 
 
 Buzz. Ah ! you should have heard my Bobadil ! 
 
 Proof. — And I have come to carry the author before the 
 audience, who are yelling for him as if mad. 
 
 Arth. It is well ; but I have a happier drama here. 
 
 Proof But sir, Burton 60 can scarce keep the house quiet. 
 
 Arth. Then he must let it rock. I have won more here to- 
 night than ever a theatre can give me. Look around. 
 
 Staun. Ah sir, [to Proof] I see you recognize the pretty 
 authoress. 
 
 Arth. What ? 
 
 Ther. Forgive me, Arthur. 
 
 Staun. For what, you silly one ? For doing good, as he has 
 done ? You shall know all about this, by and by, Arthur, 
 with other matters. You, Mr. Proofsheet, shall still publish 
 the " Schoolmistress '', and at the " Maecenas " 's expense. 
 This, sir, is my daughter, your neighbor of " 92 ", and your 
 pet author's wife. 
 
 Stock, [to Proof] Come, sir, as you have added to our joy 
 as well as witnessed it, you must make one with us to-night 
 at an impromptu supper — 
 
 Staun. Where I will unfold the whole plot of our domestic 
 drama. 
 
 Stock. Which, Arthur, you shall, when you will, reduce to 
 writing, and we will make a present of it to Burton for his 
 theatres. But Pickins, what are you doing there ? [to Buzz, 
 who has drawn his eternal memorandum-book from his pocket, 
 and commenced writing. 
 
222 THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Buzz. I am setting down the fact, that in America a man 
 may at last write, even for the Stage, without being despised 
 as for a mean action, and made to starve as for a silly one. 
 
 Staun. [aside to Stock.] The first genuine bill in his whole 
 pocketbook of Notes. 
 
 Curtain falls. 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES TO THE PRODIGAL 
 
 1. — P. 121. The Prodigal; or a Vice and Virtue.] This 
 title may bo considered unsuitable, as Arthur is not a Prodigal 
 except in his father's eyes, and that by a passionate malevolence 
 and the rancor of disappointed ambition, which convert in a mo- 
 ment what was once to him a Virtue into a positive Yice. Any of 
 the following names may be substituted, or a combination of any 
 two of them, for the present title, which I retain, myself, only be- 
 cause of the allusions to it here and there in the play : — 
 
 1. The Wilful Heir ; or Money and the Muses [or, A Vice and 
 
 Virtue.] 
 
 2. Money and the Muses. 
 
 3. Wit and Wealth ; or The two Merchants. 
 
 4. The Lost and the Found; or the India Merchants. 
 
 5. The Poet and the Merchant. 
 
 6. Plot and Counterplot. 
 
 *1. The Merchant and the Merchant Maecenas. 
 
 2.— P. 121. — Stockton!] Omit, after this, to "do not swear ! " 
 then, in the same paragraph, all between " first-born" and "whom 
 you called '' 
 
226 NOTES TO 
 
 3. — P. 122. — a father that — ] Omit the rest of the sentence : 
 then, in the next, all between " feel this fear " and " what then 
 does." 
 
 4. — P. 124. — reminded] Omit from here to " But for this." 
 
 5. — P. 124. — Ellison — ] Omit from this name to "come 
 over " ; also the words, " husbandless, all but pennyless : " then 
 the sentence commencing " She had." 
 
 6. — P. 125. — a brute:']. After this omit to "or did I," 8th 
 line below, reading it " But did I. etc." 
 
 7. — P. 125. — You know that — ] Omit to "conscience" (in- 
 clusive. ) Then recite the rest of the part thus: "I not only did 
 that, but, when afterward their friendship had grown to love, did I 
 not gravely take him to task as a father should ? What did he 
 reply? what, this dutiful, this good son, your poet, etc" 
 
 8. — P. 126. — memory — ] Omit from here to — "lest." 
 
 9.— P. 127. — day — ] And from here to " I cast him off." 
 
 10. — P. 128. Mrs. S. Ah, my dear, etc.] Omit this and the 
 next paragraph. 
 
 11. — P. 129. — smashed — ] The rest of the stage-direction 
 to be disregarded. 
 
 12. — P. 129. — much — ] Omit from here to "one." By Fish, 
 Hans means " Pesch " ( as I remember the name ) whose collection 
 in Rome was sold in '44, and was much talked of at the time. 
 Further on in the part, p. 130, omit from " at me " to " I take " ; 
 which read " So I takes." 
 
THE PRODIGAL 227 
 
 13. — P. 130. — comes here.] After this, omit to "But dere 's 
 de bell," 13th line below. 
 
 14. — P. 130. — sent him.] Omit the rest of the paragraph. 
 
 15. — P. 132. Schurk.] His German accent is to be but slightly 
 marked, the chief peculiarity of his English being, as is usual 
 with foreigners, a more deliberate enunciation of the unemphatic 
 syllables, whereby a word gets sometimes a twofold accent. For 
 example, Stock' ton will be pronounced Stock' ton'. 
 
 16. — P. 183. — das ist argerlich.] That is vexatious: which 
 may be substituted if preferred ; for, although Schurk makes the 
 reflectioD to himself, as if impulsively, he is conscious that Stockton 
 hears and understands him, and he means that he shall. So, pres- 
 ently, "Ach, ja!" — Ah, yes! and — "in der That! &c." — in- 
 deed, I believe you ! The German is retained in the text, because it 
 is absolutely more natural, as Schurk affects to speak from impulse 
 and in a quasi-abstraction. 
 
 17.— P. 134. -— right t ] Omit the rest of the part. 
 
 18. — P 134. — loickedness — ] Omit from here to the semi- 
 colon. 
 
 19. — P. 134. — bound — J Omit from here to "how": then 
 the interrogation, " Has he not had, etc." : then, all after the next 
 interrogation to the one commencing " had I any reason " — : 
 then from " disappointment " ( inclusive ) to " I should have felt." 
 
 20.— P. 136. — not] Omit from this period to — " he is 
 like" — : then the whole of the sentence commencing, "It has 
 been." 
 
228 ^OTES TO 
 
 21.— P. 138. — secret f] After this, omit to "But I must " — 
 substituting a brief pause, as of thought. 
 
 22.— P. 139. Welch eiu Gliick ! ] How lucky ! 
 
 23.— P. 141. Ey, Hans, &c] Eh, Hans, dear ! — What ails 
 you? 
 
 24.— P. 141. Wohlan ! ] Well ! — " Frisch ! " Brisk ! 
 
 25. — P. 142. — and yet, — ] Omit from this comma to the 
 next ; and then, the clause commencing with M though " and end- 
 ing with "Philadelphia." 
 
 26. — P. 144. — third j)lace — ] Omit the clause between the 
 two dashes, and after this between the two semicolons. 
 
 27. — P. 146. — at the Chestnut.'] This name will vary with the 
 locality of the representation ; or the three words may be omitted. — 
 The same remark ( as to change of name ) applies to the Scene itself 
 of the play, which ( mutatis mutandis ) may be New York, or Bos- 
 ton, or any other large commercial city of the Union. 
 
 28. — P. 148. Scene IL] This Scene may be entirely omitted, or 
 largely exscinded : for ex., from the stage-direction, Proof, again 
 bows, p. 148, to the words, — " tell me however," on p. 152, reading, 
 in the part where these occur, "young Stockton" for "this young 
 gentleman"; and again, on p. 153, all from " Staun. Certainly" — 
 to " Staun. One moment." 
 
 29. — P. 167. Scene IV.] This Scene too to be omitted, or 
 greatly abridged. 
 
 80. — P. 164. Scene I.] This also maybe thrown out, at the 
 
THE PRODIGAL . 229 
 
 discretion of the manager. If admitted, it will be with the ex- 
 cisions indicated below, — 31-37. 
 
 31. — P. 165. — Peter — ] Omit to the period. Then the word 
 " expressly ", and the clause from " papa " to the semicolon. 
 
 32. — P. 167. never, etc.] Omit this first sentence. 
 
 33. — P. 168. Ledg.] Read the part: "Circumstances obliged 
 me to, etc." 
 
 34.— P. 168. Ledg.] Omit all to — " to-day there arrived" — 
 p. 169. 
 
 35. — P. 169. Hoiuever — ] Omit the rest of the sentence. 
 Then, from " They " to " character " ( inclusive ). 
 
 36.— P. 170. _ head.] After this, omit to ' l I am ready " — 8th 
 line below. 
 
 37.— P. 170. Ledg.] Omit the first sentence. 
 
 38. — P. 174. — wholesome.] From this, omit to ; ' But — Ah! 
 here is " — 14th line below. 
 
 39. — P. 179. — nature — ] After this, omit to "I must now 
 make " — 1 Oth line on the next page. 
 
 40. — P. 180. — to spared] Omit the rest of the part. 
 
 41. — P. 181. Bier? &c] Beer? No / no'! brandy — wine- 
 brandy ! Further on : " So sei es " — Be it so : " Tiindelei! " Non- 
 sense ! : " Schon gut ! schon gut ! " Well ! tuell ! : " Dank ! " Thanks ! 
 
 42. — P. 183. — dass sie, &c] — destruction overtake her I (lit.: 
 may the thunder and the storm, strike her dead! ) 
 
230 NOTES TO 
 
 43. — P. 183. Aber wenn du daiiii ] Bat if thou then 
 
 u Sieh da ! " JSee there ! 
 
 44.— P. 184. "Was gleicht, u. s. toy 
 
 On earth what is like, to the hunter's enjoyment, 
 To whom doth life's beaker give bubbles so bright t 
 
 ( or : To whom is the bead on life's wine-cup so bright ? ) 
 
 45. — P. 185. " Kartenspiel, u, s. w."] From Caspar's drinking- 
 song, in the same opera : — 
 
 Play of cards and sport of dice, 
 And a lass with bosom nice s 
 Help to life that 's joyous I 
 
 46 — P. 185. Strafe mich Gott!] Literally, God punish me! 
 But a rougher phrase would be the analogous one in English. 
 
 4?.— P. 185. HerrWirthl] Landlord! Below: "Ganzrechti" 
 Quite right!: — " mit dem Schlag" (so. zehn Uhr. ) — at the stroke 
 (often.): u Ganz gewiss, &e." Most certainly. Come, come ! At, 
 etc. The English for this last phrase may be substituted: but it is 
 not so natural, for the there and then. 
 
 48.— P. 186. — the Duke of Wellington's — ] To-day: " Glad- 
 stone's " ( or " John Bright's." ) 
 
 49. — P. 186. I never played, etc.] 
 
 "Miss Kelly's Theatre, Soho, London, was, on the morning of Saturday last, 
 the scene of an unique performance, several of the leading dramatists and popu- 
 lar writers of the day having determined to give their friends a ' touch of their 
 quality 1 as amateur actors. The play was Ben Jonson's 'Every Man in his 
 Humor 1 , with the following cast: 
 
 " Kitely... Mr. Foster: Knoicell. . .Mr. May hew : Captain Bobadil.. .Mr. 
 
 C D " : &c. dec. 
 
 "Foreign Miscellany ", in a New York paper of 1845. 
 
THE PRODIGAL 281 
 
 50. — P. 188. — breaking.'] From this word, omit to "My 
 father " — : then, throw out — " in the aristocratic order of things." 
 
 51.— P. 189. — a home — ] From this, omit t3 the end of the 
 sentence: then, after "at last," two sentences, to "Why need," on 
 the next page. 
 
 52. — P 190. He was a man, etc.] Omit all the rest of the part, 
 with the exception of the last simple sentence, reading there " he " 
 for "Mars ton." 
 
 53. — P. 192. Staun.] Read the first sentence, simply, "I could 
 never ascertain." 
 
 54. — P. 193. I should, etc.] Omit this clause: then, in the next 
 sentence, from the semicolon to — " if she — " 
 
 55. — P. 196. Mein Herr, u. s. w.~\ Sir! what would you? And 
 below: " der Weg dahin ist nicht weit " — it is not a great way off. 
 
 56. — P. 203. How fortunate, etc.] Omit this sentence. 
 
 57. — P. 206. Staun. [reading, &c] Read the part thus: 
 " Staun. [after reading silently the superscription.'] Let us break, efc." 
 
 58. — P. 210. Arth.] Omit the three first paragraphs, and com- 
 mence at " Ledg. Ten o'clock, &c." 
 
 59.— P. 211. Wohlan — ] " Well " — And below : " Wir sind 
 verloren ! " We are lost ! 
 
 60. — P. 221. Burton — ] Of course, for this name (both here 
 and below ) will be substituted some other, to suit the time and 
 place of representation. Or, read simply : " the manager." 
 
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