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DENISON, Publisher, 163 Randolph St., Chicago. T T BEGGAR VENUS A ROMANTIC DRSMIl IN THREE ACTS BV A. L. WRIGHT. CHICAGO: Ptinted fo7' the use of Actors and Managers, ^4 M COPYRIGHT, iSSS, BY T. S. DENISON. -/^3ty RIGHT OF PERFORMAICCE RESERVED. The Beggar Venus is printed for the convenience of actors and managers who wish to represent the play. The right of performance is reserved by the author and the publisher. Managers and clubs wishing to present this play must first obtain permission to do so from T. S. Denison. The charge for each performance is ten dollars. \ THE BEGGAR VENUS. CHAKACTERS. Psyche, The Beggar Venus. . Roger Buckingham. Baron Wilanski. Ivan. Felix. Viscount St. Aubrey. Father Alphonse (a Priest.) Lady Shirley. Leila St. Aubrey. RoMELDA Shirley. PROPERTIES. Portrait, veil, money in notes, violin, tambourine, coin, bottle, knife, locket and chain, telegraph message, note, sketch book and pencil, revolver, easel, brushes, palette, unfinished portrait, bouquet, very short pencil, a scrap of paper, pitcher of water, and glass. BILL OF THE PLAY. Act L London; the portrait; the waif ; rescued. Act IL Shirley Castle ; the disdain of Lady Shirley and her daughter for the Beggar Venus ; persecution. THE BEGGAR VENUS. Act III. The wandering baron seeking his lost child. The Beggar Venus discovered in Roger's masterpiece ; con- fession and death of Ivan ; happy termination. Time of action during the reign of King George III. Scene, England. Costumes to suit that period. For gentlemen, embroid- ered waistcoats, cocked hats, knee breeches, powdered wigs, etc. Peasantry, coarse, ill-fitting garments, heavy, hob-nail shoes. For ladies, full skirts, sharp waist, very high collars, baggy sleeves, hair puffed at sides with combs. See illustrated histories of the period. STAGE DIRECTIONS. Ji. means right of the stage ; C, center ; R. C, right center; Z., left; i?. Z)., right door; L. D., left door, etc.; I E., first entrance; U. E., upper entrance, etc.; D. E., door in flat or back of the stage ; i G., first groove, etc. The actor is supposed to be facing the audience. Time of performance about two hours and forty minutes. THE BEGGAR VENUS. ACT I. Scene First, i?^'^?;;/! /// ///(^w^/;;^/.^ //<'{/ Viscount St. Aubrey. A veiled portrait of an old geiitlci/ia/i on sofa in corner L. Furniture of elegant design. Roger Buckingham discovered as curtain rises. St. Aubrey. [Entering from R.) The servant announced to me as I was strolling through the corridor that a young artist awaited me in these apartments, that we might have a conver- sation. Roger. I am he. Do I have the honor of addressing the Viscount St. i\ubrey ? St. a. Yes ; I am he. But I am puzzled to know what brings you hither. Rog. There is nothing strange about that, for I am un- known to you and the city. St. a. N^ver in London before ? Rog. Never before. St. a. And from whence, may I ask, did you come ? RoG. From Northumberland. St. a. Then, no doubt you are a descendant of some titled family which for long years has made historic that charming locality of England ? Rog. Not so, my noble lord ; I am plain Roger Bucking- ham. However, my uncle was an Earl. St. a. And he is no longer living? Rog. No. Lord Shirley died ten years ago, and I, having been made a member of his household previous to his death, 6 THE BEGGAR VENUS. remained under the matronly care of Lady Shirley, his wife ; that is, when my inherited proneness to roam did not lead me astray. St. a. Your nature, then, is that of a wanderer. RoG. I must confess that I find delight in recreation and travel. St. a. You are in the halls of St. Aubrey mansion, then, merely to gratify your love of adventure ; nothing more ! RoG. You are wrong, my lord. Listen, and I will reveal to you the object of my mission here. Knowing you to be a connoisseur of art, I have come to London with the sole ob- ject of interviewing you, and at the same time, to display before your eyes the evidence of my talents (Aside), if such they may be called. Ever since the love of nature made me an artist, my powers have been greeted with naught but ill luck. It seemed as if the fame I had fancied in my dreams was destined there forever to remain. But a year ago while idly rummaging through the chambers of Shirley Castle, I chanced to discover the faded miniature of an old gentleman, whose intelligent brow and beaming eye inspired me with a longing to make them the subject of my brush. From this ancient portrait I have painted one, and I have brought it to London {advaticing to portrait) that you may pass judgment upon its effects and defects. The servant has placed it in this room, and I will now unveil it to you. ( Takes the veil off the portrait.) St. A. [Surprised.) My father ! RoG. {In excitement }j What is that you say? St. a. Did you know. Sir Buckingham, that you had painted the portrait of my noble sire ? RoG. (With delight.) No, my lord ; you give me a sur- prise. Little did I think that this painting brought here for your scrutiny was the likeness of any one in the St. Aubrey line. St. a. {Nearing the picture.) How perfect ! THE BEGGAR VENUS. 7 RoG. (Aside.) Can it be true that this work of mine is the portrait of his father ? At first I thought him jesting, but see ! [Casting a glance at St. Aubrey.) He nears the picture, and his eyes are riveted upon the features ! Oh ! it must be true. It makes me feel so strange, and yet I'm happy, and I — St. a. [Inter n/pting.) Sir Buckingham ! ROG. [Boiui/ig to7v.) My lord. St. a. You are an artist. RoG. Only a student. St. a. But there is evidence of your becoming a master. RoG. [Doiibtingly.') I fear you do but flatter My antici- pations, I am sure, will never be crowned by equal attainments. St. a. But you have painted the only perfect portrait of my father ! RoG. Does it please your highness? St. a I am extremely delighted with it, Sir Buckingham, and I will now summon my daughter to the drawing room [Going J?.), that she, too, may stimulate your ambition with her praise. [Exit R.) RoG. Was I born to be forever the child of misfortune, or has some lucky star shot into the firmament of my existence ? I was left alone in this great world, an orphan, to the mercy of those who had not the kindest regard for my well being. But the Viscount says I am an artist, and his compliments seem to infuse into my soul a sense of something more exalted. It gives me a better opinion of myself, and I am anxious for the coming of his daughter. [Listens.) Ah ! Do I hear them coming? [Listens again.) No; it is music. From whence, I wonder, does it come? Rapturous melody! It must be some of the servants playing in the attic, it seems so distant- like. [Going up and down stage, at tlie same time listening.) They are playing the " Rakes of Mallow," that old, old air that I have ofttimes heard my dear friend Richard play in his lowly cottage up in Northumberland. But how strangely sweet it sounds to me now that I'm all alone in this great city. 8 THE RECxGAR VENUS. [Listens.) Ah ! The music comes from yonder [Goitig Z.), and I verily beheve I can see the players down upon the street. [Putting /lis hand to his forehead, looks out window L.) Yes, 'tis them ! A beautiful girl, and a miserable old cripple with a violin. They look so cold and lonesome-like out upon the pavement, and a chilling rain is beginning to fall, and a dark, cold night is coming on. [The music, which has been behind the scenes during the last lines, ceases.) But hark ! The music stops. [Looking out upon the street?) The players move along. They are turning the corner. How sad and sweet the girl's face looks in the glow of the street lamp ! But they are out of sight. Gone ; and again I am left alone in my solitude. ( Viscount and daughter heard coming R) Ah ! They come. Enter St. Aubrey and Leila, R. St. a. Sir Buckingham! RoG. My lord. St. a. This is my daughter, Leila St. Aubrey. Leila. I am pleased to meet you. Sir Pluckingham. RoG. And I am honored by meeting you. Leila. My father tells me you have painted the portrait of my paternal grandsire, and I suppose it is the one I see yonder. RoG. Thus it happens to be, though when I painted it I knew not the name or lineage of the subject. Leila. A strange coincidence. RoG. Singular indeed. I merely brought the painting to London with an idea of submitting it to the criticism of your father, and now L submit to yours. [Beckoning her to near the picture?) Leila. [Going toward painting.) My grandfather died long before my remembrance, and all there remains by which I can fancy his appearance is his portrait on the walls of an ancient castle in Shottery. Though it has been years since I saw this likeness a look at the one you have painted brings its appearance back to me. THE BEGGAR VENUS. 9 St. a. My daughter, there is not a portrait of my father extant, so perfect as the one yonder. [Foiiiti/ig.) RoG. [Aside.) Is it possible that the nobility of England are beginning to recognize my powers ? Leila. {Softly to St. Aubrey.) Papa, will you purchase the portrait ? RoG. {In delight) What is that I hear her say ? Purchase the portrait ? St. a. Sir Buckingham ! RoG. My lord. St. a. How much will you take for this picture ? RoG. Do you want to buy it ? St. a. I must have it. It is the only true representation of my deceased father, and money is no sacrifice when love or patriotism are at stake. How much will you take for the picture ? RoG. What will you give for it ? St. a. Sir Buckingham, for that portrait I will give you ;^200. RoG. My lord, the picture is yours. St. a. [Going H.) Excuse me, then, one moment while I retire to the library. Presently I will return. {Exit i?.) Leila. How glad I am that my papa has purchased the portrait — glad because I know it pleases him — glad because I trust it pleases you. RoG. My actions, I k-now, do not betray my feelings, for I am indeed happy. Enter St. Aubrey R. St. a. {Handing money to Roger.) Sir Buckingham, here is p{^20o, and with it I make the payment for yonder portrait of my father. RoG. ( With respeet.) My lord, I shall ever remember this hour. You have paid me the first shilling my brush ever earned. My career, it seems, has begun by chance, and by lO THE BEGGAR VENUS. chance I pray it may be led through fields of everlasting glory and that the sun of my existence may go down in a cloudless sky. (St. Aubrey and Leila R., Roger L. Scene closed in by street in 2d grooves.) Scene Second. A street in London in i G. Time, late at night. Lights down. RoG. {^Entering from L.) How queer it makes me feel ; ^200 in my pockets, and too, the Viscount says I am the possessor of talents ! Oh, fame ! How high up thou art ! But step by step I'll climb the rugged ascent. But it's getting late and I must back to the inn. [Looks down, the street.) Ah, the patrolman is on his beat. Enter Officer K., passes slozvly to L., and exits. But what is that I see coming up the street ? The figures of two human beings ? [Looks off R.) An old man— a girl ! That face ! The very one I saw an hour ago through the window at the Viscount St. Aubrey's. [Looks intently.) How divine that person's soul must be whose face so vividly por- trays sadness, sweetness, purity. [Excited.) They turn down the alley. I must know more of these people. I will follow them. [Exit R.) Officer crosses from L. to R. slozvly. Officer. Twelve o'clock, and all is well ! [Exit, repeating the above lines.) E NTER Ivan atid Psyche, Z. Ivan. [Gruffly.') Come along, girl, come along! What makes thee creep along in that snail-like pace ? Psyche, ( Wearily.) I am tired, so tired. Ivan. Tired, eh ? Thou hast no right to get tired. I do not support thee to be forever petted and fondled. Thou must dance for me ! PsY. But, Ivan — THE BEGGAR VENUS. II Ivan. Father, child. Why don't you say father? PsY. [Aside.) Father ? He makes me call him that. (^Turning to Ivan.) I have danced all day long, and you have given me but one little bun to eat, and I'm so tired and cold, and hungry, that I cannot dance any more to-night. Ivan. Nonsense ! Dance, I tell thee, dance ! PsY. {Fitifi/ily.) Oh sir ! Have you no mercy ? Ivan. (/// a stern /iia/iiicr.) Child, dost thou obey, or dost thou not? [Adva/iccs toward Psyche and raises cane as if to strike /ler.) PsY. {Aside.) O God ! Friendless and helpless that I am, is it possible that Thou in thy providence can look down upon me and suffer me to be thus in misery and torture ? Ivan. {More enraged.) Will you dance ? PsY. {Pleading.) O sir, no people are on the street at this late hour. The lights are going out, and it's only some filthy grog shop or gambler's den where the lighted windows are. Oh ! let's go along ! . Ivan. Not until thou hast danced for me. Dance, or thou shalt have no supper to-night ! (Ivan places /lis violin, to his neck and begins a polka?) PsY. Weary and sick, and yet he takes advantage of my weakness and makes me dance when my limbs ache so I can hardly stand. Ivan. Dance ! Psyche begins a dance to polka movement, during wJiich time Roger enters from L. unobserved. RoG. {During the dance.) Oh ! What mystic beauty lies buried in the depths of her expression. Stranger and wanderer though she be, I cannot help but pity her. Ivan. {Ceasing the music.) Now, Psyche, ask for alms ! RoG. {Taking a gold coin from his pocket.) I will give her this coin. It will keep her from starving, perhaps. PsY. {Holding out tambourine}) Thank you, sir. {Looking 12 THE BEGGAR VENUS. at the money.') That is more money than I have seen to-day. (Aside.) Perhaps he will not beat me now. Ivan. [Goi/ig R.) Come Psyche, v/e'U now go home. PsY. [Aside.) Home ! Is that what he calls it? Must I follow ? Yes ; I am the serf, he the lord. Ivan. (At 7aing 7?.) Come, Psyche, come. PsY, Oh, heavens ! Will the chains that bind my soul in this misery ever be broken ? [Exit after Ivan, i?.) RoG. Gone ! And before I could speak with her, and per- haps I shall never see her again. But I must. [Pro7>ipted by a sudden thought}^ There was something strangely divine about her, and her beauty transferred to canvas might win laurels for me among the crowned heads of the Continent. [Going J?.) I will pursue her. Oh, could I but make her the subject of my masterpiece. [Exit R. Scenes draw back disclosing the habitation ows.) Baron. Good-evening, sir. 38 THE BEGGAR VENUS. Felix. (Aside.) He's a good-looking old feller. I believe he'd make a good father-in-law. Baron. Stranger, could I ask a favor of you ? Felix. To be sure. Baron. Will you kindly inform me where I can find a quiet inn ? Felix. Yes, my lord. {Beckons Baron to him.') Come here. (Baron goes to Felix who turns him about, 7i'hen he points 7c>ith his right hand over Baron's shoulder.) Felix. Do you see that large brown-colored building standing on the left hand side of the street, way down beyond where that feller's hitching that horse to that lamp post? Baron. Yes. Felix. My girl lives there. Baron. But kind sir, you would confer upon me a greater favor by directing me to a place where I could get some sup- per, and where I could retire for the night. Felix. Well, you wait. I was jest coming to it. [Stations Baron as be/ore.) You turn the first corner beyond that place where you see a big medicine sign, and go up that road till you come to an old church with ivy growing all over it. Then you turn down a lane that's there, and if you don't come to a quiet inn, it's because the feller that keeps it has closed for the season. Baron. [Puzzled.) My friend, I fear you will have to accompany me thither if I find the place. Felix. Were you never there ? Baron. No ; nor was I ever in this place before. Felix. [Standing back.) Oh, oh I a traveler, hey ? Baron. Yes. Felix. Where do you come from ? Baron. I hardly know. My home is in Bohemia. Felix. In Bohemia ? Then you must be a Bohemian. Baron. I am proud to own that nationaht)\ Felix. [Aside.) And Fm proud myself. You wouldn't THE BEGGAR VENUS. 39 believe it. i^To Baron.) Well, my lord, I will accompany you to the inn, but I shall take you by another road. By the way, did you ever hear of Shirley Castle ? Baron. {Reflecting.) Shirley Castle ? Why — yes — it seems as though I have read of it. O yes ! {Rei/ieinbering.) It is there where the vast collection of relics and ancient armor is kept, is it not ? Felix. Yes. Baron. I have always had a longing to visit that armory. Felix. I belong there. Baron. You ? Felix. Yes. Baron. In what capacity, may I ask ? Felix. I'm the gardener ; and if you are really so anxious to pay a visit to this historic place, I don't know but what I'd give myself the authority to show you through, seeing you're a stranger in these parts, and might never have the opportunity to visit the castle again. But before we go let me inquire of you your name. Baron. My name is Wilanski. I am a Baron in Bohemia. Felix. [Afotioning L.) All is well, my lord. Baron AVilan- ski, follow me. {Exeunt Baron and Felix, L.) Scene shifted, disclosing Roger's studio. Scene Third. Studio of Roger Buckingham /// Shirley Castle. The completed portrait of Psyche on an easel in the rear. Discovered., Lady Shirley and Roger /// conversation. Lady S. [Dignified.) Perhaps you may be able to guess why I have sent for you to come hither. Rog. No, I must confess that I am ignorant of your inten- tion. Lady S. Then I will tell you. It is that I may have the opportunity of once again reasoning with you ; and if possible, to convince you of the debasing influence you are exerting upon our honored name by your persistent infatuation for that 40 THE BEGGAR VENUS. girl you call "Psyche." Will nothing prove to you that you are wrong in having so kind a regard for one so far beneath you ? RoG. Not until the girl's own acts belie her fidelity. Ladv S. {Becoming excited.) Her fidelity ? Do you dare talk of fidelity ? RoG. I am not ashamed of it if I do ! Lady S. Roger Buckingham, you do not mean to say that you love that girl ? RoG. I suppose j'ou may as well know the truth first as last. Yes, with all my soul I love that girl ! Lady S. It is foolish for you to love that poor Bohemian girl ; for never, never, never will you be permitted to make her your wife ! RoG. [Going to her in a rage.) Who will hinder me ? Lady S. I will hinder you. You have drops of the Shirley blood in your veins, and rather than see one of our family wedded to a girl without distinction, without even womanhood (Roger becoming angry), I would see him in the tomb ! Roger Buckingham, as long as I live to tell it, you shall never become the husband of that lowly creature ! RoG. I would like to ask you what control you have over me. I am twenty-three ! Lady S. I care not for your age. Until you are old enough to reason for yourself, somebody will have to reason for you ; and there is no one left save me to interest themselves in your welfare ! Rog. ( Wildly.) I think there is one other. Lady S. And now you show your weakness again. Roger, do you think I am jesting when I talk to you upon this subject ? Rog. No ; but instead, I think you do us both an injustice by treating us as you do. Lady S. Ha ! ha! Then you think I ought to pet you and humor you as though you were children of royal parentage ? Rog. No. I only ask you to treat us as one human being should treat another. THE BEGGAR VENUS. 4I Lady S. And I suppose you think these words of yours will melt my heart, and I will permit you to marry the girl. RoG. [Stepping forward, with a wave of the ha?id.) Your permission is not necessary. Lady S. Do you have the courage to tell me that you ivill marry this beggar against my wishes, against my commands ? RoG. I have the courage to tell you that in this transaction there are but two parties concerned — the girl and I ! Lady S. [Retreating.') Then, if you will be so thought- less, go ahead. But see how soon the day will come when you will regret your obstinacy ! Enter Felix, L. Felix. Sir Roger, there's a stranger waiting in the corridor who would like to gain admittance to the studio. RoG. A stranger, hey? Man or woman ? Felix. Man. RoG. Well, escort him hither. Exit Felix. Lady S. [Going R.) I will retire to the drawing-room, as doubtless this gentleman wishes to interview you on topics pertaining to your profession. But once for all let me tell you, you shall not marry the Bohemian girl ! [Exit R.) RoG. [After a long pause?) Oh, cruel fate ! That I should be obliged to live here. She thinks I'm in her power. Poor woman! She may be convinced otherwise sometime. [Begins to arrange the fitrtiiture in the studio.) But I wonder who it can be that seeks an entrance to these apartments. Perhaps some one in quest of a painting to adorn his walls. [Voices outside.) Ah, they come. Enter Felix L., followed iy Baron Wilanski. Felix. [Pointing to Roger.) That is the artist, my lord. [Exit.) Baron. Good-evening, sir. 42 THE BEGGAR VENUS. RoG. Good-evening. Baron. To relieve you of the query why I should come to this castle, I will explain. I am a stranger in Northumberland, and having read of the ancient armor kept in these halls, I was anxious to behold it ; and by chance I fell into .the com- pany of your old servant and gardener, who kindly consented to show me about this historic place. {His gaze first rests upon the picture of Psyche.) RoG. You are at liberty to behold the relics, and also to view my works of art. {Pointing to the portrait of Psyche.) Baron. {Starting hack, looks ^vild and beivildered.) Did you pamt that picture ? RoG. {Surprised at 'Q\RO^''~> actions.) Yes. Baron. {Aside.) How much as~ her mother used to look. O great God ! Can it be possible that I'm on the right track at last ? {To Roger.) From what copy did you paint that portrait ? RoG. From the original itself. Baron. {Starts bac/c.) From the original ? RoG. Yes. Baron. {Aside.) Then he has seen the original — seen her! Can it be ? Oh, this must be a dream ! Am I really in the presence of one who has painted her face upon canvas ? {Doubtfully.) But then, it may not be she. {To Roger.) Where did )'0u paint that picture ? RoG. In this very room. Baron. In this room ? RoG. Yes. Baron. {Aside.) I almost fear it is not the one. {Looks at the portrait.) But then, those eyes ! That brow ! Those lips so like the ones now hushed in death. O can there be another with her features ? {Shakes his head doubtingly.) There may be. How shall I ever know ? RoG. {Going to Baron, laying his hand on Baron's shoul- der.) JNIy friend, you seem interested in this picture. It is my masterpiece. THE BEGGAR VENUS 43 Baron. And the subject was — RoG. [Intcrn/p/ing.) A girl just as beautiful as she. {Pointing to the portrait^ Baron. Forgive me, sir, if I ask you where she is ? RoG. She is in this castle. Baron. In tliis castle, do you say ? RoG. {^Becoming more alarmed at Baron's actions) Yes. Baron. [Entreatingiy.) Then may I be permitted to see her ? RoG. {Aside.) I cannot understand why this man, stranger as he is, should be so anxious to see Psyche. But I apprehend no evil in his seeing her. {To Baron.) Sit down and wait. I will call her. {Starts to go P., when Psyche is heard singing to herself outside. Orchestra in soft strains.) Hark ! I hear her singing. {Looks off R.) She is coming. Enter Psyche fro7n R. quickly., and throws herself into Rog- er's arms., before she discovers Baron. Baron. {Loiu to himself^ zvhile Psyche is talking to Roger.) Oh, Jaqueline, my child ! No, it cannot be she 1 PsY. ( With arms around Roger's 7ieck.) O Roger, dear ! Have you been lonesome without me ? (Baron's previous ex- clamation causes her to notice him, when, she springs back fright- ened.) Rog. This old gentleman, Psyche, has been admiring the masterpiece, and his interest in it for some reason, has devel- oped into a desire to see the subject. I was about to call you when I heard you coming. Psv. {To Baron, bonnng loiu.) Indeed. {To Roger.) Who is he ? Rog. I do not know. He is a stranger in England. Baron. {To himself .) O how like the one that now lies cold and silent in Bohemia ! The very face of her I once called wife. {Placing his hand over his heart, looking toward heaven.) O God ! is this my child ? Answer me while I yet live to tell her who I am. 44 THE BEGGAR VENUS. PsY. (J"^ Roger.) Poor old man. I believe he has had grief in Jiis life. RoG. And by reason of your own I suppose you have sym- pathy for any that are afflicted, though they may be strangers ? PsY. [Notfcfing.) Yes, Roger dear, and he looks so sad and careworn that I cannot help but feel sorry for him. (Baron sits in easy chair R., crying.') RoG. But you know not whether he is deserving of your pity or not. Perhaps his own sins have bowed him down. PsY. No ; I cannot think thus of him. {^Discovers Baron's grief.) See ! he weeps I O Roger, may I not inquire if there is not something I can do for him ? RoG. You know, dearest, I would not prevent any act of kindness j'^// could perform. PsY. {Going tip to Baron, puts licr hand upon his shoulder.) Are you sick, sir ? Baron. {Sfili looking down.) Only sick of living — that's all. PsY. You should not feel that way. Cheer up, do, and tell us why you mourn. (Baron looks up, his eyes meeting those of Psyche. He rises suddenly and putting his hand to his head, 7valks a^uay. ) Baron. [Aside.) O, it must be true ! The very eyes, and just as bright as hers ! [Sees the locket about Psyche's neck?) And — and — great GocV ! The locket I O, my God ! {Be- comes frantic.) My God ! RoG. {Quickly leading Psyche to extreme Z.) Come away. Psyche ; the man is crazy. Enter Romelda Z., unobserved. She hides behind a large screen in corner, L. Baron. {Aside.) What is that they call her? Psyche — Psyche? O then, 'tis not she! Her name was )iot Psyche. O I thought I had found her ! {Shaking his head.) But no ; her name was Jaqueline. It is not she. {Looks again at Psyche.) But the locket — so like the one she wore when she THE BEGGAR VENUS. 45 was taken from us. This torture of mind is killing- me. My soul fairly aches and throbs and burns with grief. [Ach>anccs toward V.OGE'R. rt;;/*^/ Psyche.) I cannot endure this any longer. O girl, I will trouble you to look at that locket about your neck ! PsY. ( To Roger.) Why does he ask this ? RoG. I am sure I cannot tell. If he is really insane it would be best to humor his request by letting him see the locket. (Psyche takes tlic locket from her neck and gives it to Baron to examine.) Baron. {^Looking very carefully at the locket. Aside.) They called me crazy ; but if I am, reason enough remains to recog- nize this piece of jewelry. [Examines the locket still closer. To Roger and Psyche.) Where is the rest of this ? PsY. I have always supposed it was complete as it is. Baron. {Having discovered the plate missing.) But it is not so. There is a portion of it gone. RoG. [Looks at Psyche.) How does he know? {To Baron.) Why sir, you must be possessed of supernatural knowledge to know so much about people and things you never saw before. Baron. [Confidently.) I have seen that locket before. (Roger and Psyche exhibit surprise., and spring back speechless.) And there is an important plate belonging to it missing. [Aside.) O God, tell me how I can break the news ! [A pause.) Woman, would you call me crazy if I should — tell you [voice falters) who — I — am ? [Begins to cry.) Rog. Don't be afraid of him, Psyche. He shall not harm you. Baron. [Repeating softly to himself.) Psyche ! I wonder why he calls her that ? [Rises and goes suddenly to them.) O friend, listen to me ! I — am— Enter Felix in great haste, L. Felix. [Excited.) Attention, Sir Roger, while I speak ! A man lies dying at the lodge ! He says he cannot quit this life 46 THE BEGGAR VENUS. without seeing you and a girl called " Psyche." I have come in haste to summon you thither ; and now I must go for a priest to pardon his sins. [Exit L.) RoG. {To Psyche.) We must make haste, Psyche, to the lodge. This is a strange mission we're about to set out upon ; but come, we'll away. {Crossing to L. Baron keeps his eyes on Roger and Psyche.) PsY. {At tJie zving.) O the locket, he has it ! [Advancing to Baron, holding out her hand.) Old man, will you return the locket ? Baron. {Giving her the locket.) Yes ; I would not keep it, for the sight of it only makes me wretched. {Grasps Psyche by the hand.) O girl, look at me ! I am not crazy. I am bur- dened with grief. {Aside.) Oh, if I could only prove it to her! PsY. {Endeavoring to release herself.) Sir, please let me go. {To Roger.) Roger, see ; he will not let me go. Rog. {Coming down C.) Release that girl, man. Such conduct is out of place. {To Psyche, after Baron has let her go.) Come, we'll away. (Baron follows them to the wing where he stands wistfully gazing toward the direction in which they departed.) Baron. Gone? And she knows not who I am ? Oh, will I never see her again ? {Resolved.) Yes, I must, I must ! I will follow her. {Exit L. After Baron exits, Romelda looks from behind the screen and then comes upon the stage, C. ) Rom. {Looking arotmd her as if in fear of being watched.) Are they all gone ? I wonder what is going to happen. There is a storm gathering, I fear. I must hasten to tell my mother what I have listened to, and we too will pursue them to the lodge. {Exit R.) Scene closed in by street, the same as Scene Second. Scene Fourth. A village street. Felix. {Enteritig from L., talking to himself.) O I wish I THE BEGGAR VENUS. 47 was a married man ! They say married men liave more trouble than bachelors, which I can't believe. Well, I'm a widow — er, and catch all the trouble for both. Sometimes I don't know whether I'm myself pr a man down in London. I wonder how the feller's a making it that's a dying at the lodge ? Poor fel- ler ! That was a hard blow he got. Just to think that I should live to see a man murdered right on the manor. O, I wish I was a married man. Any man that don't get married in this world aint a man — he's a fool! Aint that right? [Looks ckncn the street.) Jehu ! There's a man a coming now that looks as though he might be after somebody ! Oh ! what shall I do ? I didn't murder the old man — I only took him into the lodge. Oh, they'll kill me, I know they will ! {Looks again in the same direction.) That feller's turned the corner. I'm safe for a little while, any how. But how can I ever prove that I didn't murder the old man ? May be I can get the right side of the jury and they'll let me off for a couple of hundred pounds. If they should arrest me and try me I would rise up before the jury and say: ( Takes off his hat in. the aet of rehears- ing luhat he would say.) Gentlemen of the jury: I didn't kill that feller. I heard a big racket out by the gate — should think about 14)^ minutes past ten on the third Wednesday in Sep- tember. Went out to see what was going on, and found the old feller about dead. I picked him up. He was lying, I should think, about two rods, four feet, three inches and three- fourths from the northwest corner of the east gate post. I carried him into the lodge. He called for some people at the castle, and a priest to hold the torch till he got through purga- tory. I done as he told me, and I'm not ashamed of it. Now have mercy on me, for I'm a poor old man without money, without friends and with only one shirt to my back. (Puts on his hat and bows ^ I mistrust they'll let me go if they hear my speech. I'm great on a speech. I wonder they've not had me in parliament ere this. I'd speak a whole hour for my life. So if they should really catch me {struck by a sudden though}), but by 48 THE BEGGAR VENUS. golly they don't catch me ! I'll flee. (Goi//g J?.) But the blue- eyed widder, poor thing ! What'll she say when the silent gloaming comes (affcctcd\ and there's no one by her side to call her his rosebud, his sunshine, his expectation. Aint that right ? [Puts his hands in his pocJict?) I wonder if I've got a piece of paper in my pocket? [Finds a very small piece.) Golly, there's a piece. Now I must write a few farewell lines to my darling. Aint that right ? Let me see if I've got a pencil. {Fifids a very small piece in one of his pockets.) O yes. Now to say a few parting words of — of — of love. I guess that's what they call it. (Puts the paper on his knee and begins to write. Writing.) " I am going away." (^Spells the 7Liords out, and nearly every one tarotig.) " They think I murdered a man at the lodge. I didn't, but I'm going to leave. Meet me Tuesday night in Windom after the moon goes down. You will find me in an old barn on the left hand side of the road about a mile and a quarter north of the village. I'll be watch- ing for you. Good-bye. In haste, your devoted " Felix." Now I must fold this all up in the fashion. [Folding.) Now, I'll go around to the back of the house and whistle three times like this: ( Whistles three times) She knows what that means. Then I'll throw the note on the back stairs and I'll away. [Going P.) Good-bye, fair maiden ; good-bye, Shirley manor ; good-bye, Northumberland ! [Exit Felix, /// haste.) Scene shifts, disclosing a room at the lodge. Scene Fifth. A room at the lodge. O'LVilvh.^, the violinist, discovered dying on a cot in C. L. A Priest by him. Ivan. ( Turning feebly on his cot.) Wont they come pretty soon ? [Gasps.) Enter Roger and Psyche at door in fat. Priest. They are here. RoG. [To Psyche, zidio has staid in the rear.) Come with me, Psyche, dear. There is nothing here to harm you.. ( Takes her by the hand and leads her to Ivan's cot.) THE BEGGAR VENUS. 49 PsY. [Rccog77izing Ivan.) O Roger ! It is Ivan. Don't you know — the old violinist ? RoG. Can it be true that it is the same ? PsY. [Pointing to Ivan, who has turned his face toward them.) Yes, see ! He recognizes us ! Ivan. ( Very feebly.') O you have come at last ! I thought maybe you wouldn't get the message till it was too late {^gasps), and I could not bear the thought of dying without seeing you. Don't you know who I am? (Roger bows Jiis head. ) PsY. Yes ; you are Ivan— the one who made me dance on the streets of London. Ivan. {Growing weaker.) Yes, and it is of this I wish to speak to you. Draw nearer for my voice is weak, and I've something to tell you before I die. (Roger and Psyche ad- vance nearer to Ivan's bedside.) Hand me a drink of water. My throat seems so parched I can hardly speak. (Roger ^t'd'j to a small table R., upon which is a pitcher and water. Gives Ivan a glass of 7uater.) Enter Lady Shirley and Romelda, R. RoG. [Aside.) My aunt and cousin. (7'(?LadyS.) What prompted you to follow us to the lodge, I would like to know? Lady S. [Importantly.) That is our business. RoG. If you have no regard for the feelings of your kin, have mercy on him who lies dying on that cot. [Pointing.) He has something to tell us — Psyche and me. Please retire, that he may tell us before his power of speech is forever gone. Lady S. [Persistently.) No ; we will remain ! (Ivan gasps short. Puts his hand out to Psyche.) PsY. [To Roger.) Come quick, Roger ! He is breathing very fast. I fear he is dying ; and — and see, he tries to speak. Ivan. [Faintly.) Water. (Roger gives him water as before^ Ivan. Listen now. (Baron Wilanski rt'//ig.) PsY. Yes. Ivan. I shall not be here long, and death don't seem so terrible to me now that I've freed my mind from this horrid sense of guilt. [A long pause. Roger a/id Psyche turn to go.) Don't leave me. There's something else I must tell. [Gasps. Roger and Psyche return.) Do you remember the locket ? PsY. [Pointing to the locket about her neck.) Yes • I have it on. Ivan. [Feebly.) Well, it's not all there. (Roger and Psyche look at each other surprised.) RoG. [To Psyche.) That is what the old man said at the castle. Ivan. I removed the principal part of it for fear they would find you. I have it here [putting his hand doivn on his breast, takes out the plate); but you must have it now, for it is yours. [Gasps.) Oh! I'm going, child ! [Eyes stare wildly?) Forgive me, forgive me ! I shall soon be over the river. Ah, yes ! I hear the waters surging on the beach. They seem to be clos- ing in around me, and I shall soon be drifted out into eternity ! [Gasps.) O child ! take this plate. It will tell you — who — THE BEGGAR VENUS. 51 your — parents — are. {Gasps, eyes close. The Priest bends over the form ^/ Ivan and covers him up tvith a sheet. Psyche takes the plate.) Priest. Life is past. PsY. [Holding the plate in her hand.) Dead ! dead ! Those last words — what do they mean to me? Who my parents are ? God ! Am I in a trance ? Is this truth that the dying man has said? O Roger! {Giving him the plate.) Read, read. My eyes smart so with tears I cannot see. {Orchestra. Baron Wilanski rushes in from door in flat where he has overheard the scene. ) Baron. {Putting out his hand.) Hold one moment before you read ! Look closely at the reading on that plate, and I will tell you word for word the entire inscription ! (Roger and Psyche greatly surprised. Psyche looks over Roger's shoulder and listens.) Baron. The reading on that plate is this: " Jaqueline, daughter of Baron and Baroness Wilanski, born June 22, 1758, at Wilanski Barony, in Bohemia." (Psyche and Roger spring forward?) PsY. {Excited.) O sir ! How do jw/ know so much about this locket ? Baron. {Beginning to cry.) How do I know? Child, it was these hands that first placed that locket about your neck. 1 am Baron Wilanski ! I am — your father ! PsY. {Afore excited.) O God ! Am I wild ? No, no ! It is true ! It is true ! {Rushing into Baron's arms, falls on his breast.) O my father, my father ! Baron. {Weeping.) O Jaqueline, my child ! I have found you. PsY. Then you have been searching for me ? Baron. Year after year have I searched, but in vain ; and I had given you up for dead. PsY. Then my dream icas true — the large house on the hill— 52 THE BEGGAR VENUS. Baron. That was your home — the Barony. PsY. The river — Baron. That is there just the same. PsY. The mound beneath the large tree — Baron. [His voice falte?-s.) Alas, Jaqueline, that is your dear mother's grave ! PsY. My mother dead ? Baron. Yes ; it broke her heart when you were taken from us, and month by month we watched her fade away till at last she died. And she now lies sleeping, as she desired, beneath the spreading boughs of a huge tree in the garden. PsY. And the old gentleman whom I seemed to feel was absent, was— Baron. Was I, my child ; and I thank the God of Heaven that I have lived to behold your face and tell you who 1 am. Jaqueline, you are heir to a vast fortune in Bohemia. You were our only child, and there's no one to inherit our valuable estate save you. I will take you back to Bohemia, and there you may enjoy the scenes of your infancy, with all about you that can render your life peaceful and happy. PsY. O father ! they told me there would be some sun- light for me, and now to reward me for all the sorrow, all the wretchedness I have endured, it has come. Father, this happy hour would never have been, had it not been for Roger. [Pointing to Roger.) To him I owe my life. One cold, stormy night in London, I would have died in my own blood, shed by the hands of him who now himself lies dead upon that cot [pointing); but Roger, good, noble Roger, snatched the up- lifted knife from his hand and saved my life. And not only this ; he parted with his last shilling and ransomed me, that I might not be made to suffer the pangs of woe and the misery of a beggar, but that I might live at Shirley manor and enjoy the same luxury as he. Baron. [Going to 'R.og'E.^, takes him by the hand.) O sir, name what you will as a recompense for this heroic and manly THE BEGGAR VENUS. 53 deed, and it shall be granted you. Although the child is mine by reason of her birth, she is yours first by reason of this noble act. RoG. (G'(?///i,'' /'6' Psyche.) O the barrier is removed. Come here, Psyche. Baron. Why do you call her thus ? Her name is Jaqueline. RoG. Jaqueline? Then those initials //<7^/ a meaning, and now we know what it is. " J. W." — "Jaqueline Wilanski." i^To Psyche.) O Jaqueline ! Is it true we are not to be sep- arated, as I feared we would, when he talked of taking you back to Bohemia ? PsY. No, Roger dear, you will go too. Father and you and I, will go home together — home to Bohemia ! O Roger ! wont it be grand — grand ? (Lady Shirley d-z/f^/RoMELDA, who have been silently engaged in watrhing the scene from /?., advance.') Lady S. i^To Psyche.) Then you are an heiress. [Bows to her.) Oh, forgive me for all the insults and injuries I have done you. I little thought you were the daughter of a Baron. Rom. And pardon me for all the scorn I have shown you. It was only because I thought you were a beggar, and below me. PsY. [Stepping before them proiid/y.) And now tha^. I am an heiress and above you both, you seek to court my favor. I will not treat you as you have treated me. I was poor and friendless, and you flung me away from you as though I were a poisonous serpent. Now I am rich ; but I would not act thus with you. If the day ever comes when you need help, come to me, / will help you. Lady S. [Pleadingly to Roger.) O Roger ! Will you not remain with us ? You and Jaqueline and her father ? RoM. Yes, cousin Roger, do stay. RoG. [Enraged.) O you will only drive me mad with your entreaties. I shall ;/(?/stay. I shall accompany the Baron Wilan- ski and his daughter to their home in Bohemia. Your aim to 54 THE BEGGAR VENUS. keep me from making this girl my wife, has been foiled. {^To Psyche.) You are mine at last. PsY. [Laying her hand upon Roger's shoulder.) O Roger, how blue the sky looks, now that the clouds are broken. RoG. I know you are happy, dearest. The thought of your beautiful home in Bohemia can only make you thus. Now, Jaqueline, will you sing the " Rakes of Mallow " at our wed- ding breakfast ? PsY. Yes, Roger dear ; though the music may bring back to my mind thoughts of the wretchedness in which I once sang it upon the streets of London, the joy of that occasion, I knmv, will be enough to overpower all such sorrow, and I shall feel like singing it all the day long ; for had you never heard me sing it on that cold, stormy night in London, we never would have enjoyed this day together. O Roger ! I have been in duty bound to you, long before this burning love welded our hopes, our joys, our lives together ! {Swgs.) Baron. Now, my children, we'll back to Bohemia. {Starts toward door, C. ) RoG. ( JFi'th his left arm around Psyche's ivaist, his right extended toward heaven.) Thank God that I have lived to hear those words — that I have lived to see two kindred hearts cease aching for each other — that I have lived to claim the subject of my masterpiece. {Slow curtain.) Roger, Psyche, R. Lady S., Rom. Baron. L. NOTHING BEHER than the SCRAP BOOK RECITA. TION SERIES. Now Ready, No. 1. Price, postpaid. Paper, 25 cents. " The selections are choice in quality and in large variety."— Inter-Ocean, Chicago. " It excels anything we have seen for the purpose." — Eclectic 'Teacher. " The latest and best things from our popular writers appear here." — Normal Teacher. CONTENTS OF NO. 1 Keep the Mill A-going. Faces in the Fire. In School Days. The Two Roads. Extreme Unction. Baron Grimalkin's Death. Words and Their Uses. Fritz's Troubles. Two Christmas Eves. An Interview Between the School Directors and the Janitor. To the Memory of the late Brigham Young. Eow Liab and I Parted. Old Grimes' Hen. The Average Modern Traveler. At My Mother's Grave. The Newsboy's Debt. Mrs. Potts' Dissipnted Husband. I See the Point. " The Professor in Shafts. Mr. Sprechelheimer's Mistake. God's Time. The Little Folks. The Old Schoolmaster. The Revolutionary Rising. Pat's Letter. How to Go to Sleep. Nothing. De Pen and De Swoard. A Greyport Legend— 1797. The Life-Boat is a gallant Bark. Birthday Gifts. The Superfluous Man. Sockery Setting a Hen. The Water that Has Passed. Medley— Mary's Little Lamb. The Launch of the Shup. Aunt Kindly. Evening at the Farm. Battle of Bcal An' Duine. Passing Away. Mark Twain and the Interviewer. Daybreak. True Life. Modern Loyalty. Uufluished Still. Allow for the Crawl. The Silent Tower of Bottreaux. Gentility. The Drunkard. The Poetical Patch Quill. What is Life? Art Thou Living Yet? New Year's Chime. Song of the Chimney. A Domestic Tempest. Common Sense. How Mr. Coffin Spelled it. The Old Man in the Palace Car. Ego and Echo. A Night Picture. A Penitent. Rum's Ruin. The Babies. What Is It to Me? Our First Commander. Horseradish. The Doom of Claudius and Cynthia For sale by all booksellers, or sent postp.-iid on receipt of pric4. THAN THE RECITATION SERIES. PRICE POST-PAID. PAPER, 25c. •'Tke selections are fresh, pure, and elevating."— Jifmouri Teacher. CONTENTS OF No. 2. Albert Drecker, Pathetic Thomas J. Hyatt 5 Better in the Morning, Pathetic Eev. Leander S. Coan 6 Blue Sky Somewhere Vera 9 Wounded, Battle Poem J. W. Watson Ig Papa's Letter, Pathetic 14 Grandfather's Reverie, Pathetic Theodore Parker 16 The Old Village Choir Be/ij- F. Taylor 18 At the Party Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 19 Romance at Home, Humorous Fanny Fern 21 The Legend of the Organ Builder Harper's Magazine 22 I Vaeh So Glad I Vash Here, very Humorous 25 Dcr Dogund der Lobster, Humorous Saul Sertrew 26 What VVasHis Creed?... 28 Dedication of Gettysburg Cemetery Abraham Lincoln 29 Time Turns the Table, Excellent 30 The Man Who Hadn't Any Objection, Humorous 32 The Soldier's Mother, Sentimental 33 "De Pervisious, Josiar." Humorous 34 A Response to Beautiful Snow, Sentimental Sallie J. Hancock 35 The Defence of Lucknow, Heroic Tennyson 36 A Model Discourse, Humorous 41 My Darling's Shoes 43 The Volunteer Soldiers of the Union Robert G. IngersoU- 44 Life, Compilation Mrs. H. A. Darning 46 The Old-Fashioned Mother 47 De "Sperience ob de Reb'rend Quacko Strong, Humorous 48 A Heart to Let 50 Jimmy Butler and the Owl, Humorous Anonymous 51 Presentiments, Pathetic T. S. Deinson 54 Eloq^uence or Oratory 56 Baieingthe Flag at Sumter Henry Ward Beecher 57 Parrhasius and the Captive N. P. Willis .59 Portent Celixi Thaxter .62 He Wasn't Read}', Humorous 63 The Old Clock in the Comer Eugene J. Hall 64 An Illustration, Fine Description Hev. Philip Itrohn, D. D. 66 The Seven Stages Anonymous 68 The Bells of Shandon Francis Mahony 69 Circumlocution on The House that Jack Built, Fine 71 The Brakeman goes to Church, Humorous Burdette 73 Address to Class of '7^', Knox College President Bafeman 76 Bay Billy, Battle Incident Frank H. Gassaway 78 The Flood and the Ark, Humorous Darkey Sermon 83 The Steambost Race Mark Twain 85 Battle of Gettysburg Chas. F. Ward 90 A Connubial Eclogue, Humorous J. G. Saxe 93 The Chambered Nautilus Oliver W. Holmes 95 Ascent of Fu-si-Yama Bora Schoonmaker Soper 96 The Musician's Tale, Splendid Sea Tale ■ Longfellow 98 Vera Victoria H. M. Soper 104 Ruining the Minister's Parrot, very Funny 106 The Irish Philosopher, Humorous '.'........'....'. 109 Confession of a Drunkard - '."..'.. Ill The Fatal Glass ' ....Laura't/."ca's'e 111 The Gambler's Wife R, Coates 112 Dream of the Reveler 114 The Lost Steamer '.'.'.'.'.Eugene J. Hail 116 One Glass More 117 111 take what Father takes *". W.Hoyle 118 A Glass of Cold Water '.'.'j'ohnB. Gough 120 The Glass Railroad.... Qeo. Lippard 121 Signing the Pledge . . i23 The War with Alcohol .. '.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'w. E. 'wil'liarns 126 A Tragedy Talmage 128 THE ETHIOPIAN DRAMA. Price, 15 cts. eachfpoat-paid. These plays are all short, and very funny. Nothing' poor in the list. The-,- serve admirably to give variety to a propT-amme. The female characters may b:. assumed by males in most cases. Where something thoroughly comical, b..'.u unobjectionable is -wanted, they are just the thing. STAGE STRUCK DARKT. A very funny " take-off" on tragedy ; 2 male, i female. Time 10 minutes. STOCKS UF— STOCKS DOWN. a males; a played-out author and his sympathizing friend; very funny and full of " business " and practical jokes. Time 10 minutes. DEAF— IN A MOBN. 2 males; negro musician and a deaf pupil. A very interesting question sudden« ly enables the latter to hear. Full of first-class " business." Time S minutes. HANDT ANOT. 2 males; master and servant. The old man is petulant and L ■; servant makes ill sorts of ludicrous mistakes and misunderstands every order. Very lively in Kction^ Time 10 minutes. TME MISCHIEVOVS NIGGER, A farce; 4 males, 2 females. Characters: The mischievous nigger, old mac, f'rench barber, Irishman, widow, nurse. Time 20 minutes. TSE SHAM DOCTOR. A negro farce ; 4 males, 2 females. This is a tip-top farce. The "sham doctor" estR not fail to bring down the house. Time 15 minutes. NO CURE, NO PAY. 3 males, i female. Doctor Ipecac has a theory that excessive terror will cure people who are deaf and dumb. His daughter's lover is mistaken for the patient to the terror of all. Only one darky. A capital little piece for schools or parlor. Time 10 minutes. TRICKS. 5 males, 2 females. (Only two darkys, i male, i female.) A designing old etep-father wishes to marry his step-daughter for her money. She and her lover plan an elopement. The old man discovers it and has an ingenious counter-plot — ^hich fails completely, to his discomfiture. Time 10 minutes. Suited to parlc performance. HAUNTED HOUSE. 3 males. A white-washer encounters "spirits" in a house he has agreed to white-wash. Plentj- of business. Time 8 minutes. THE TWO POMPEYS. 4 males. A challenge to a duel is worked up in a very funny way. Time S minutes. AM UNHAPPY PAIR. 3 males, and males for a band. Two hungry niggers strike the musician? for a E<\uare meal. Good for school or parlor, and very funny. Time lo minuits. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS Any Play on this List 15 Cts. Postpaid q q^j aqi '™'"l^ll"l Plays by T. S. DENISON. ODDS WITH THE ENEMY. A drai.ia in five acts; 7 male and 4 fe- male charuclors. Time, 2 hours. SETH GREENBACK. A drama in four acts ; 7 male and 3 fe- male. Time, 1 hour 15 m. INITIATING A GRANGER. A ludicrous farce ; S male. Time, 25 m. TWO GHOSTS IN WHITE. A humorous farce based on boarding- school life; 7 female characters. Time, 25 m. THE ASSESSOR, A Ininiorous sketch; 3 male and 2 fc- mnlc;. Time, 15 m. BORROWING TROUBLE. A ludicrous farce; 3 male and J fe- !.jait% Time, 30 m. COUNTRY JUSTICE. A very amusing- country law suit; S male characters. (May admit 14.) Time, 15 m. THE PULL-BACK. A laughable farce; 6 female. Time, 20 min. HANS VON SMASH. A roaring- farce in a prologue and one act; 4 male and 3 female. Time, 30 m. OUR COUNTRY. A patriotic drama in three parts. Re- quire-; 9 male, 3 female, (Admits 9 male It female.) Four fine tableaux. Time, about I hour. THE SCHOOL MA'AM, A briliant comedy in four acts; 6 male, 5 female. Time, 1 hour 45 min. THE IRISH LINEN PEDDLER. A lively farce; 3 male, 3 female. Time, THE KANSAS IMMIGRANTS; Or, the Great Exodus. A roaring farce; 5 male, I female. Time, 30 m. TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. A splendid farce; 3 male, 6 female. Time, 43 m. IS THE EDITOR IN? A farce ; 4 male and 2 female. AN ONLY DAUGHTER. A drama in three acts ; J male and 2 female. Time, i hour 15 m. PETS OF SOCIETY. A firce in high life ; 7 females. Time, 30 m. HARD CIDER. A very amusing temperance sketch ; 4 male, 2 female. Time, 20 m. LOUVA, THE PAUPER. A drama in five acts; 9 male and 4 fe- male characters. Time, i hour 45 m. UNDER THE LAURELS. A drama in five acts; a stirring play, fully equal '.o Lou va the Pauper. Five male, 4 fen-ale. Time, i hour 45 m. THE SPARKLING CUP. A temperance drama in five acts; 12 male and 4 female. Plays hy H. Ellio tt MoBride. ON THE BRINK. A temperance drama in two acts; 12 male, 3 female. Time, i hour 45 in. A BAD JOB. A farce; 3 male, 2 female. Time, 30 m. PLAYED AND LOST. A sketch; 3 male, 2 female. Time, 20 m. MY JEREMIAH. A farce; 3 male, 2 female. Time, 25 m- LUCY'S OLD MAN. A sketch; 2 male, 3 female. Time, 20 m. THE COW THAT KICKED CHICAGO. A farce; 3 male, 2 female. Time, 25 m. I'LL STAY AWHILE. A farce; 4 male. Time, 25 m. THE FRIDAY AFTERNOON DIALOGUES, Short and livelj'. For boys and girls. — Price 26 cts. FRIDAY AFTERNOON SPEAKER* A choice collection. Three parts: for little folks, for older boys and girls, short pithy dialogues. — Pnce 25 cts. SCRAP BOOK READINGS. Latest and best pieces. — Price per No. {paper cover) 25 cts. WORK AND PLAY. BY MARY J. JACqUES. A gem for the little folks. This is a book of both instruction and amusement. Fart I consists of a large v'.riety of very easy progressive exercises in letters, numbers, objects, geogr.aphy, language, animated nature, motion, songs, etc. Part II consists of dialogues, charades, pantomimes, etc. all opaGiNAL. — Price, in Manilla boards, post paid, 50 cts. T. S. DENISON, Publisher, CHICAGO.