OUR CATALOGUE FREE TO ANY OXE PS 635 AMES' SERIES OF STANDARD AND MINOR DRAMA NO. 162. if j Copy 1 a/35 2. 5£ t jc; FIELDING MANOR. WITH OAST OF CHARACTERS, ENTRANCKS, AND EXITS, RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PERFORMERS ON THE STAGE, DESCRIPTION OF COS- TUMES, AND THE WHOLE OP THE STAGE BUSINESS, CAREFULLY MARKED FROM THE MOST APPROVKI) ACT- IXC COPY. PRICE 15 ce:nts. CLYDE, OHIO: A. D. AMES, PUBLISHER. Hints to Amateurs.— Xow ready. A liook of useful aTid imictieal inforuiation for aiii.-ifeurs. in whifli iilj manner of (lucstions )i(>rtaiiiint; to .«lJi^e work jjud effe<-f.< jijc jilaiiil.v nnswered. Price ]•') f<'nt^. Ames' Edition of Plays. FIFTEEN CENTS EACH UNLESS OTHERWISE MARKED. 1G4 After Ten Years 7 3 166 A Texan Mother-in-Law 4 2 168 A Pleasure Trip 7 '■'> 169 A Regular Fix .0 4 129 Aar-u-ag-oos 2 1 132 Actor and Servant 2 12 A Capital Match ?. 2 30 A Day Well Spent 7 ^ 2 A Desperate Game , 3 2 7:> Ayj:}LcJll -* CLYDE, OHIO, J- A. D. AMES, PUBLISHER. ^.^ .^ FIELDING MANOR. Original Cast of charactors as produced at the Opera House, Chardon Ohio, Sep- tember 13th., 1882. Lucian Glyre [an AnKrican Adventurer] Dr. M. L. Wright Cuthbert Fielding [An Englishman] Dr. A. L. Bennett Cyril (xarland, [A SiihaUern] Dr. Chas. A. Wihon Abercrombie Courtwell, [in love with Jiehecca] Mr. lorn Durban General Stanley Mr. Wm.H. Oshorne Andrew, [anoldliei-vant'] Mr. C. W. Osborne Martin, Mr. P.P. Stone Bayard Mr. Will Barrows Bailiff, Mr. J. J. Quiggle Edith Fielding, [betrothed to Cyril] Mrs. F.P.Arnold Sina, Chaunccy, [divorced wife of Olyre] Mrs. Je^inie Charters Rebecca Stanley, [in dread of a Step-mother] Miss Lizzie Marsh Eugenia Maitland, [oneoftheBon Ton] '...Miss CoraTucker Margaretta Maitland, [her echo] Miss Joe Bartlett Lady Ogden, [anutto Edith] Miss Ella Osbottie SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY. PROLOGUE.— A rocky pass in fourth grooves. Set water R. 2 e. and e.3e. Ground piece s. 1 k. Becliniug rock, c. Set rocks l. 2 e. and I.. 3 e. ACT FIRST.— Liiwa and grounds of Fielding Manor. Cut wood r. 3 e.; rustic bench R. 3 E., and rustic bench r. 2 e. Statue c. at back. Set house L. 2 E., with steps lead- ing down to the stage. A ru.stic bench l. 1 e. in front of steps. ACT SECOND. — Library at Fielding Manor. Set door r. 3 e.; set fire-place r. 2e. Centre door, [open], backed by garden flats; chair k. 3e., chair e. 2k.; table L.c. with a chair right of it. Chair e. 3 e.; sofa l. 2 e. ACT THIRD. — Drawing-room at Fielding Manor. Door c; set door E. 3 E.; chair R. 2 E.; two chairs r. c. and L. c; table l. 3 e.; chair l. 2 e. ACT FOUBTH.— Same as act third. PROPERTIES. PROLOGUE. — Iv^o g;uns, 2 cups, a pail of water behind the set water, haversack with letters, pocket bible, a bound volume, a ring for Cuthbert, brandy flask. A CT FIRST. — Two garden benches, invalid chair, spectacles, telegram, satchel and and strap, bible, ring, staff. ACT SECOND.— Two chairs, 2 arm chairs, table, sofa, fire in fire-place, moonlight, thunder and lightning, 2 blank papers, writing materials, books on table, 2 da- guerreotypes, a sure-fire pistol, journal. ACT THIRD. — Stand, table, writing material, books, blank paper, bell pull, 4 chairs, cane. A CT FO UBTH.—S&e act third. Brown patch, wig, hand-cuffs. TIME OF PEKFOKMANCE— TWO HOUKS. TMP92-007632 FIELDING MANOR, PROLOGUE. SCENE IN AUSTRALIA. A liochj Pass in foxirih groovca — fiurr. music at rise of curtain. Enter Ccthbekt and LuciEN, L. 2 e., with guns — the.!/ are looking off h. Cuthhert. (l. c.) They have gone ! Glyre. (r. c.) I shouhi not be surprised; they must have been smaller in number thaif I supposed. They have carried away the man I shot — though I am afraid, Stanley, they have gone only to return with reinforce- ments. Cicth. Most probably, though they may be hidden somewhere near at hand, and mean to spring on us from some ambuscade. • Glyre. No, I think now that, we are safe. But you seem tired, Stanley, you can usually out-walk me. Cuth. I am not tired Glvre. I nm— ill. Glyre. Ill ? Cuth. Yes, beyond question. I tried to shake off the feeling when it first came upon me about two hours ago, but it will not be shaken olT. I have a dull pain in my limbs, and a sensation of giddiness — I have never before felt 60 strangely. Glyre. You have over exerted yourself, we must rest awhile. Cuth. {faintly) Yes, I think we'd better. (noise outside l. h. Glyre. (lookivg l. k.) Goodhenvens! those cut-throats are really after us. It is as we feared — the}' have reinlorced themselves, and gone back to the cave and have discovered our departure with the booty they came to seek. The damp clnyey ronds we at first were compelled to take, have shown them our loot-[)riuts. It's lucky we heard them, while here in this ■gulch. They'll think we have made for the great main road to the city, which lies just beyond. Cuth. What's to be done? my head aches frightfully, Glyre. I fear I am going to have an attack of real illness. Glyre. Nonsense, old fellow, don't give way to it. Crouch down just here; let them pass — they'll never find us among these rocks, Stanley, mind that. Quick, see there are several of them now. This way. Music. They secret themselves, l. Enter several Robbers, r. 2 e., they look cautiously around, and exit l. 2 e. After pause, Glyre and Cuthbert come down, Cuthbert falls wearily on rock, c. Glyre. There, I think we've escaped those devils. They'll acknowledge we have given them the slip, and go back baffled to the diggins. Cuth. {hoarsely) Glyre — Glyre — I must sjieak with you. Glyre. What is it? Do you think those fellows are near us'/ Cuth. {with efort) No, but Bomething else ia near me. ^ FIELDING MANOR. Glyre, Something else ! What do you mean? Cuth. I mean death, Glyre — I mean, I am dying! Glyre. {springing up) Good heavens man, what are you saying T Cuth. The truth, yes, Glyre the truth ; feel how cold my hands are. Glyre. Nonsense, they're chilly — there can't be anything serious the matter with you, it's only a passing indisposition — in the mean time I'll prospect a little. By jove, Stanley, I never saw a more promising spot in which to pick up a little more gold. Cuth. {wearily) Gold ! I never saw a less promising spot for it, Glyre. Glyre. No, indeed, my boy, you're wrong there. You may have mined in Mexico — but recollect I have washed in Cnlifornia. What a magnificent ■ region this is. What a glorious river this must have been — many is the ounce, aj'e many's the pound of g!)ld. I believe that has washed down from those barren crags. Only notice theends of the rocks, their angles reveal their original size ; what sort of a torrent must it have been that washed them from up there, perhaps ages before any living thing ever trod or crept • upon the surface of this world. Cuth. You may be riglit — but I am too weak to share your enthusiasm, my friend. 'Glyre. You're tired, Stanley, that's all. Sleeping in the dark hole yon- der, has chilled you. Cuth. Glyre, I have never asked your confidence, and believe me it is no idle curiosity that prompts me to do so now. Will you tell me your his- tory •? , Gli/re. Willingly, though I fear it will weary you. I was the only son of a wealthy planter, reared in luxury, petted and spoiled and accustomed from boyhood, to rule as my least whim directed — a hord of cringing negroes. Educated at a Northern College, I acquired no Northern sympathies. Re- turning to my father's plantation, I had for a few years held there the posi- tion of a young despot; when the war broke out, I joined the Rebel forces under the r.\nk of Captain, eagerly taking the first plnce assigned me. At the end of the war, I was unharmed and fit liberty, with the hollow title of Colonel, and the dread uncertainty of finding a shattered heritage when I returned home, which I did after the hopeless disbanding of the Confeder- ate troops. I arrived home just in time to receive my father's last kiss and blessing. Well, after the funeral, I turned my back forever upon what had once been Myrllewood. I was not entirely penniless, and after gathering what I could, 1 started for California ; arrived at San Francisco, and after being there a short time with the usual ups and downs, I became acquaint- ed with a rich banker's daughter, and after a short courtship we were mar- ried. Our married life was anythmg but harmonious, my wife was untrue to me — and perhaps I was not the best husband in the world — the end of it was, that the San Francisco Courts gave nie a divorce, and possession of our only child — a boy — after that I went to Mexico where I met you, and you know the rest. Cuth. Yes, I remember how we met in Alexico, and after fruitless labors we sailed together for Australia ; how after we arrived I fell from the gang plank into the bay, and would have drowned but for your aid. Glyre. There! There old fellow ! Say no more about it — we have been brothers ever since. Cuth. Yes brothers ! {aside) I must trust him. {aloud) Glyre, I may as well tell you everything, I don't know whnt has kept me silent so long Glyre. I do, Stanley. You're an Englishman. Cuth. I believe you are riirhl— you are nearly always right, Glyre, in all your judgments! have found. You saved my life, perhaps it has been almost churlish to withold any confiilen(;e from one whom I so honor and respect. But you don't know what British pride of blood is. I have never yet had it quite knocked out of me — I hated to pronounce our family name amid such surroundings as you and I have seen; but let me hesitate no lonfer mv friend, that name is Fielding — mine Cuthbert Fielding. FIELDING MANOR. 5 Glr/re. Cuthbert Fielding ! And some title attached lo it. Eh, Stanley ? Cuth, No, we Fieldings have never had a title, three times in past nine hundred years we have refused one ; that is one of our boasts — Fielding Manor — our home, is in Derbyshire, it is the noblest estate for many miles about. There has been plenty of Cuthbert Fieldings before me, but they all sleep now in the old family vault. I have one sister as you know--her name is Edith. My aunt Catherine however rules the household as she al- ways did even in my mother's life time. Aunt Catherine i^ a woman of great ability — she has immense pride — she believes that a Fif-lding can do no wrong — she thinks doubtless thai an alliance with royalty itself could not honor us. She is now in her eightieth year, and the letter she last wrote me was sent from a. sick bed, but Edith tells me that her indomitable will and fine clear mind, are both as strong as ever. I believe it is the first that keeps her alive. She was my father's sister, and married at an early age, Lord. Ogden, a baron of historic descent. He died while she was still a young ■woman leaving her childless and possessed of a very large property. She has made Edith her heiress ; her great jointure not being entailed upon her husband's kindred. Glyre. Then your sister is what one would call a remarkable match, Cuih. Yes — but she tells me in her last letter, that she is betrothed to a cousin of ours, Cyril Garland, {mith great difficulty) whom she has known since childhood, they were playmates together. {faintly) Glyre — I've — I've caught the bush-plague. Glyre. How absurd! Your feelings will pass away in an hour or so. {lookinq around) This conversation has tired you; lend me that cup there and I'll try my luck alone. {takes cup and exits e. 2 e. Re-enters u. 3 b., in stream and proceeds to turn loatcr from one cup to the other. Cuth. {feebly) Glyre, will you do me a favor? Glyre. {in stream) A favor, Stanley, certainly. Cuth. You saved my life not long ago ; your friendship has been very dear to me ever since. Glyre. Don't be morbid and make so much of what in this wild life is so common, {examininij contents of cup) Not yet ! Not yet! {continues loork) Well, what is this favor, Stanley ? Cuth. I have caught the plague, Glyre. I feared it before — now I am sure of it. GJyre. {laughing — still busy) Why man, if it were the plague, your skin would now be the color of this cup ; you would reek with perspiration, and your feet would be as cold as ice. But again, I ask what is this favor you speak of — {breaking off joyfully) I knew it! I said it! Hurrah ! Hur- rah ! Gold ! Gold ! Rushes off ^. 3 e., and re-enters a. 2 k. Rushes to Cuthbert toith wild delight. Glyre. See! See! Look how the sediment in this cup shines. I was right after all — we shall both be rich men — millions on millions are locked up in these bleak hills, and we, we alone, have found them, {look at Cuthbeet) Why, what's the matter man? You actually turn away Cuth. {faintly) It comes too late for me — too lata — too late ! Glyre. {aside) What if he should die and leave me alone in this terrible wilderness. Without his help I shall get but little of this gold — ah ! how infernal 6uch a stroke of ill luck would be. There is no one for miles and miles to whom I would dare trust such a secret; if I breathed it to any living person, the place in a few days time would swarm with gold hunters. {taking flask and handing it to Cvthkert) Here, drink some of this. Cuih. Glyre, when you have heard what this favor is, I know you'll do it foi- me. 'Tis a hard death to die — name, fortune, family, home, all wait- ing for me, and I fall on the way. England has been but little to me in •6 FIELDING MANOR. life, but I wished I could have lain on his bosom in death. Get my bag, Glyre, it is somewhere here beside me on the rock ; I unslung it only a moment ago. Glyre. (gettin'g it) Here it is. Cuth. Get the packet o{ letters from it. Have you found it? Glyre. Yes, here they are. [ivhittlc ouUide l. h. Glyre ■•springs up and siezcs gun looks off l. h.) What was that? CuiTi. (family) What? I heard nothing ? (pause. Glyre. (reseating himself) I thought I heard a whistle, but it must have been a fancy. Cuth. (in a half whi.'spcr) You don't think those cut-throats, are still on our track do you ? Glyre. Oh, surely not. Come, come ! have courage, you will get over this, you must. Cuth. (weakly) Take those papers ; with them you will find a journal of my life, up to the time we left the diggings. Glyre. (looking at journal) This is not a journal, it looks more like a record of the anecdotes of your past lile. Cuth. (very weak) It is. Amid the frequent calms on shipboard, I used to find strange pleasure during my sailor days in recording thus the most trivial occurances of my boyhood. Gli/re. Why, I never knew you were a poet, Stanley. (reads. "But truth were falsehood; honor, shame. And right on earth would end If he that bears the Fioldinjr name Should once betray a friend." Cuth. I did not write those verses : they are in a manner, the motto of our house — they were written by some ancestor of ours long ago, in the reign of Charles the First. Glyre. Do you feel better, old fellow? Cuth. Worse if anything. There is a pocket bible there in the bag also Glyre, the gift of my aunt, you will see her name and mine on the fly leaf, and the same motto written there as well. If I die — or — or if those devils should overtake us and you only should escape, carry all these things to Fielding Manor, Derbyshire, England. And take also thi> little ring — unknot it from iuy waist-coat please, my own lingers are too weak for even that tiisk nou'. My sister Edith — poor little darling, gave it to me on her seventh birth-day, in exchange for a watch I gave her. Tell them where I died, and how I died. Then, Glyre return here if you will, and wring from them the millions that you say are in these barren hills. OuTHEERT falls back fainting, a whistle heard without l. h. GhXRy, starts up wildly. Music Tremolo pp till end of act. Glyre. Those whistles are disguised signals. Stanley! Stanley! They are after us, make one more eflbrt to get back to the cave. Cuth. (partly recovering) It may — be — the note of some stray leather- head, (vihistlc outside L. H. Glyre. No! They are after us, they have discovered our trick in eludin_ them. Stanley won't you try to let rae support you back to the caveo Tries to hclp^CvTRHERT, but after raising him to sitting posture he falls back. Cuth. (gasping) It's no use — save yourself; leave rae here — [iromise to tell them at home, (whistle again l. h.) They're whistling again, you hear it? Glyre. I do, but it may come from miles away : these hills are perfect whispering galleries. If I could only get you back to that masked cliff, we might escape them yet. CutJv (I'jith difficulty) I — could not — live there — five — minutes, that tole — would stifle me. Now the papers — the books — the money — hide them FIELDING MANOR. 7 — and hide yonrself— ray poor sister — poor Aunt Catherine, {to GlykeI I hs7Q your word. Falls back faint hi<], c. Glyre goes to hvn and a.isures himself that he m dead. Noise outside has been increasing, is now very plain. Glyre. He is dead ! I can do him no good and I must save myself, {takes bag and vioncij belt) Now for the masked oliti'. £.Tit L. H., hurriedly as curtain descends. Music changes to ff, CUBTAIX. END OF PROLOGUE. ACT I. SCENE I. — Lawn and grounds of Fielding Manor. Cat wood r. 3 e. ; rustic bench r. 3 e., and rustic tiench r. 2 e. Statue c, at back. Set house l. 2 e., with steps leading down to the stage. A rustic bench l. 1 e., infront of steps. Edith and Nina, discovered seated k. 2 e. Music at rise of curtain. Edith. And so Nina, it is true that you have never seen your child since the hour your heartless husband stole him from you? Nina. Never. After the San Francisco courts decided against me, I found that a slight wreck still remained from poor father's fortune. I knew that I could never see my child again except at bis bidding, and I had not the s'ightest idea whither he had fled. People turned from me in cold avoidance. I longed to come where I was not known, where this undeserv- ed stigma might not rest upon me, so I started for England and finally drifted to this part of it, renting the modest little cottage down in the vil- lage. Edith. Poor Nina, how you must have suffered. But it relieves me to have you tell us your story at last ; we have been friends for so many months, and you have kept silent regarding the past — of course you hated to stir up bitter memories — [ understand that {noise and laughter outside r. 2 e. Voices, {outside) Bayard! Bayard I Nina. Who is Bayard? Edith. Oh ! he's a famous orator among our people, he monopolizes all the speech-making at every harvest home. Nina. Will they speak of your brother's expected return? Edith. They have already discussed it at great length. {lazighinQ. Nina, {taking her hand) And you— are you not intensely happy at the thought of this return ? Edith, {joyfully) Happy! Oh, I can hardly wait for the moment, when dear Cuthbert will arrive. I am prepared to love him so. He is the head of our family — the heir of our name. I have seen his face in my dreams for weeks past, ever since we received that last letter from him, dated at Melbourne, telling of his illness in Australia, and his subsequent recovery. Bayard, {outside) Well, lads, I'm not much at speech making as you all know, but I could talk about Miss Edith Fielding from sowin' to reapin' time — the kind mistress who neverjdisirained a tenant, the angel who's visits to our households are neither few nor far between, the hope and pride of the Fielding name. Here's three cheers and a good husband for her. Voices, {outside R. 2 E.) Hip, hip. Hurrah ! Hurrah! Hurrah! Bayard, {outside R. 2 e.) And a small one in. Voices, {outside e. 2 e.) Hurrah 1 5 FIELDING MANOR. 2\ina. How they love you. I should so like to see them, ithey both rise. Edith, (r. c.) So you can — their tables extend just beyond there under the largest trees. It is not etliquette for itio to appear until evening, then I must open the dance. Oh, if brother Cuthbert were only here to open it with me ! Nina, {smiling) I am afraid your popularity would be eclipsed in that case. Edith. All the better if it is. He is the real master — I am only the regent, who reigns in his absence. Nina, [kissing her) I so liope that he may arrive to-day. And now I suppose you are going in to Lady Ogden, your aunt — she must be in a very anxious state. Edith. She is, indeed. I fear that the excitement of awaiting Cuthbert, has already told upon her. You know her convalescence alter that long ill- ness has only just begun. But you will not go yet, Nina? I shall see you again presently ? Nina. (r. c.) Yes, I will return soon ; I will join you in doors. I wish to see Lady Ogden, and pay her my respects and congratulations — dear old lady. She and you have been such good friends to me, Eililh — without your recoj;nition and wnrm-heartedness how lonely would my lot have been here in this strange land. Edith. Now, that I have heard your story, Nina, I feel that we are only drawn closer together. Aunt and I were sure of you from the first — wc believed in you, trusted you before knowing a word of the truth — always remember that. (i^^'cy embrace — Xw.v each other, exit Nina e. u. e. Enter Cyril with telegraph diipatch, l. h., from house, comes down l. c. Edith, {coming dcnon c.) Ah, Cyril, is that you ? Cyril, (l. c, handing dispatch) Here is a telegratn, Edith. (Edith takes itoyens it, and reads. Bayard, {ouffide) Here's three cheers lads, for Miss Ediih's intended husband, Mr. Cyril Garland, and may he prove as kind a master as she has been mistress. Voices:, {outside) Hip-hip — hurrah, hurrah, hurrah I Bayard, {outside) Aud a small one 'in. Voices {outside) Hurrah ! Edith, {after reading it) Oh, Cyril, it is from Cuthbert, my brother Cuth- bert. He will be with us by the next train. Cyril, {taking telegram and looking at it) I suppose you are delighted, indeed. Edith, {saucily) Well, have you any objections, sir ? Cyril, {laur/hivg) No end of them — I am prepared to be very jealous. {changing tone, .seriously) Edith, I can't help wondering now and then whether your brother, will be willing to give the lady of Fielding Manor, to a poor subaltern like me. Edith, {laughing) Of course he will not. If you say such foolish things, Cyril, you must expect to be answered according to your folly. Come now, let us go in and show this telegram to Aunt Catherine. It will overwhelm her with joy — she will want us to wheel her out here upon the lawn in her invalid chair; you know she has an idea that the heir of Fielding Manor, should be welcomed home under these ancestral poplars. (exit Edith a7id Cyril, arm in arminto house, h, h. . .Enier General Stanley, Efbscca and Abercrombie l. u. e. Enter Andrew from house l. h. General, {to Andrew) Present our compliments to Lady Ogden, and Miss Edith Fielding, and say that we have called to offer congratulations in the expected return of Mr. Cuthbert Fielding. Andrew, Yes, sir. {bows and exit- slowly into house, Ij. b. FIELUmG MANOR. 9 Rebecca, (l. c.) Oh, nonsense pa! they'd have used that form a hundred years ago. {looking about to Abeb) What a lovely place this is ? So much finer than the grange, (misclncvousli/) The woman who marries Mr. Cuthbert Fielding, will be lucky indeed. I've always had a presentiment that I should fall in love with him at first sight. Aber. {worried) Now don't, Rebecca, I can't stand it — you know I can't. Rebecca, {quickly in tragical voice] Abercrombie! you know that matri- mony is not for me. Wliflt is the woman who now stands before you ? Aber. What is she ? Oh, I know Rebecca — it's a rebus isn't it. Yor guess yourself into a headache one week and then, buy next week's an- swer to cure it. Rebecca, {angrily tosxing her head) Abby, I sometimes think, that you have the intellect of a gnat. I repeat, sir, what is the woman who stands before you? One who for years past has been haunted by a ghost, {tragically) And what is that ghost ? A step-mother I Ever siuee poor ma died, pa has been perpetually threatenini,' me with a step-mother, old and young, pretty and ugly — they are all trying to inveigle him and I regret to say {with -melanrholly) that pa shows a very marked desire fo be inveigled, {looking around at the General-i«Ao has fallen into a doze on garden bench c-, his head bobbin. i from side to side) You'd never think he was such a flirt to look at him now, would you ? He's fallen asleep. I suppose he's dreaming of her. Aber. Of her ? whom ? Rebecca. Of a step-mother ! Aber. Perhaps he's dreaming of a son-in-law — perhaps he's dreaming of me. Rebecca, {curtly) Oh, no — pa's never troubled with nightmare. {look- ing L. 1 E.) Ah! there comes those old maids, the Misses Mailland. "They have a dreadful fascination over pa. I don't know Abby, which he prefers best — I think he likes them both equally. The General has awakened and comes doion r. c, as the Misses Maitland enter R. 1 E. Eurjenia. {entering) Ah! Good morning. General. Maraaretta. {entering) Yes! Good morning. General, {rapidly crossing to Generai, and shaking hands extravagantly. General. Ladies, your most obedient. {gives arm to each of the ladies, and they go up c, talking. Rebecca, (l. c., looking savagely at them — to Abby) Just look at pa — he seems perfectly intoxicated. 'This well never do — we must get him away from thoes two harpies. Aber. He needs a good muscular, determined son-in-law to control him. Ke has reached that desperate stage of gallantry, where nothing but brute force can have any effect on him, Abercrombie and Rebecca talk together l. h. General and the Misses Maitland come down c. Eugenia, (r. c.) Ah, General! you say the most charming things, no wonder you used to be such a great London beau. Margaretta. (r. c.) Yes — such a great London beau. The General has been paying marked attention to both of them until Nina enters r. u. e., when he leaves them, and goes up and greets her with great show of courtesy. Eugenia a7id Margaretta are both very much shocked. Eugenia, (r. h.) Margaretta, it is that objectionable Mrs. Chauncy who rented the Morrison Cottage and whom nobody but Edith Fielding and her aunt, has ever visited. Margardta. (r, c.) Yes — ever visited. How can Edith and her auut> iiady Ogdea visit a person of whom they know actually nothing ? W FIELDING MANOR. Eugenia, {with a sigh) To think of such raw democracy, in one vrhos© mother was a MaitlanJ ? Margardta. Yes — a Maitlaml. {t^ey go up stage r. h. Rebecca, (k. c, to Aber) How on earth, did pa ever fall in with that woman? He's scarcelv beon out of my sight for weeks, except when I let him go to the village last Thursday to buy a mowing machine. Aber. (r, /ooA-m-; a?! jSixa) She's awfully handsome. I've seen her walk- ing along the road several liines lately ; goes in for the melancboUy style. Persons! with a past — heart that breaks and brokenly lives on — perpetually dressed in mourning for heaven knows whom, and all that sort of thing. {both crossing to i.. H. General, {coming doxon with IN'ina l, c, and infroducinq her to others) Mrs. Chauncy,'allovv me to make you acquainted with the Misses Maitland, Eugenia and Margaretta, My daughter Miss Rebecca Stanley, and Mr. Abercrombie Courtwell. NiSA acknowledges the introductions then talks to Gexbrai, jro-in^ jtp c._ Position at iyitrodve'ion.* Eugenia, (to Margaretta) These adventuresses are sO'Cunning,of course she is trying lo entrap the poor General — we must save him, Tlicy both start to go up to Gesekau who has gone up c, with "Sii-sx. Rebecca intercepts them and lat/n her hand upon, the General's arm. Rebecca. ' (c.) There's a strong breeze just here dear pa, you must move away— remember your Rheumatism, (turns to Nina) I have to be so care- ful of him, Mrs. Chauncey, he suflers so dreadfuily from Rheumatism, {she discovers that IjE'serai, has gone to the MissKS Maitland and hurries to him) No— rno — not there either pa dear; it's just as dangerous there. {pushes htm up to garden bench r. c. Evgenia. (r. c, to General) You have a cliarraing thoughtful daughter, Margaretta. (r. C.) Yes — thoughtful daughter. General, {coughing; on bench) Ahem I Yes, but — ahem I there's such a thing something as being too careful. Eugenia, {with a spiteful laugh) Oh, my dear General, I quite agree with yon. Margaretta. Yes — quite agree with you. Nina, {a.^ide l. c.) JThe situation is getting too warm for me, I had best stroll back to the Manor ; if the General speaks to me again, I suppose I am not safe from personal violence- on his daughter's part. iS'iNA, goes up and stands u. c. Lady Ogden is loheeled in iinth invalid chair from L. V. K., to r. c, by Cyril and Andrew — Ei>ith following, all gather round Lady Ogden-I General, (c.) Are you not imprudent thas to brave the coming night dews, in your feeble condition of health? Lady 0. I have not been for a twelve month upon the lawn of Fielding Manor, nor for longer than that time have I stood erect. But it is on the lawn of Fielding Manor, and in no other attitude that I will receive Cuth- bert Fielding our returned heir, the last of our^ine; we are nine centuries old — think of that — nine centuries — and now that Cuthbert comes back to us, there shall be — please God — a Fielding in the Manor for as many cen- turies to come. ■ (Music pp. ■■■R. Eugenia. Margaretta. Nina. General. Rebecca, Abercrombie. l. fNiNA. Cyril. General. Andrew. Lady Ogden. Edith. Rebecca. Eugenia. Margaretta. Abercrombik. FIELDIKG MANOR. '' Edith, {near porch looking off h. n.) Oh, aunt, aunt! He is here! He ie here 1 Lady Ogben grasps her siaff which Andrew hands her, and totters to her feet LuciAN Gi.TRE enters from house l. h. Stands an inst-ant. Picture — chord. Edith, (l. <;.) Oh ! Cuthbert 1 I am so glad you have come back. (she fall into his arms as he gets on last step. , Glyrc. (aside) How beautiful she is. Edith, (looking at htm) You are changed — changed ! (she leads him to Lady Ogden', r. c. Lady O. {putting both her hnnd^ on his shoulders) Oh, my boy! My boy ! These eyes are so — so dim with tears that — that 1 4I> n't see you. Andrew, my spectacles, get them for nie — jiut them on, I can't find them. She fumbles on watch cham for thevi^ Andkew takes them and puts them on her. 'NiVA cojncsdown R. H~ Nina. (r. h., bewildered) Am I dreaming? Lady 0. Now, I can see you. Glyke kisses her forehead, Lady Ogdex looking intentlt/ some time, she starts back shuddering. Glyre. (frightened) What is it, Aunt Catherine? (very kindly) Ah, you aro still weak and ill. Let me help you back into your chair. Lady O. (gasping) No, no — Andrew will. (Andrew helps her to chair r. c, she falls into it shuddering) I do not recognize a feature of tlie Fieldings in his lace. Edith, (bending over Lady Ogdex, fondly) Why 1 What is the matter aunt? Are you not well? Has the meeting with dear Cuthbert, been too much for you? (stroking her hand. General, (t.. c, to Glyke) Mr. Fielding, let me welcome you back to your old homo. (shaking hands. Glyre. (c."i Thanks, thanks ! Ge'ierat. And now let me present the Misses Maitland, whom you per- haps remember. My daughu-r, Miss Rebecca Stanley. Your sister's affi- anced husband, Mr. Cyril Garland, and tuy near kinsman, Mr. Abercrom- bie Couilwell. («/'/ acknowledge introduction. Glyre. What does this extraordinnry behavior niean ; why am I subject- ed to it from one who should be the wannest in weiccming me home ? Eugenia. You must recollect Mr, Fielding, that Lady Ogden is very old. Margaretta. Yes — very old. Rebecca, (coqucttislily smiling at Glyre) Lady Ogden'a memory must be nearly gone you know. Aber. (ivith a knowing nod) Remember she ia over eighty. Lady O. (still sLaring at Glyre) Aud you are Cuthbert Fielding. Cap it be possible ? Glyre. (laughing) I suppose I have changed a good deal in fifteen years. But I am Cuthbert, there's no mistake about that Aunt Catherine — the scnmp of the family as you used to call me. Lady 0. So I did — so 1 did. Edith, (reproachfully) Oh, aunt, your greeting is colder than I expected it Would be, but you are unstrung, e.xcited ; you had best let Cyril and An- drew wheel you back into the house, and in a little while I am sure that my dear brother, will have convinced you very thoroughly that he is Cuth- bert Fielding. Nina, (coming R. c.) He ie not Cuthbert Fielding.* (Chord — Picture. "' *Andrew. Cyril. Glyre. General. Maegaretxa. Lady Ogden. Edith. EuQEKiA.. I^iNA. Eebecca. Abebcsohbib. IS FIELDING MANOR. Ediih. (c.) Nina I What do you mean? Nina, {pointing at Glyre) I mean that this man's name is Lucian Glyre, that he is an American, and was my husband. Omnes. Lucian Glyre! An Americaul Her husband I Nina, {still pointing) Ask him I Gltke token first accused is very much frightened, but by this time has fully re- covered himself and stands motionless, c. Edith. Surely, Nina — you must be mad ! Nina. Not so, Edith, what I sny is the truth — nothing but the truth, and I now repeat it in the presence of all these people, {poijiting again) That man is named, Lucian Glyre. He is an American, and was ray husband, Edith, {alarmed) Your husband ? Nina. Ask him ! bold and bad ns he .is, he dare not deny it! Glyre. (c, with folded arms, calmly) What that lady speaks is false in fact, though true in her belief. Edith, {quickly) Are you not my brother ? Glyre. I am. Edith, {pointing to 'N IS X.) Were you this lady's husband ? Glyre. {with 7nelancholly) I ivas. Edith, {eagerly) You were I Then that at least is true. But — but she says your name is Glyre. Glyre. (the same) It was. Edith, {bewildered) Oh, I do not understand. How can what you say b© possible — if yet Glyre. I will explain, {everybody listen.^ eagerly) Not wishing to drag the name of Fielding through the paths which I have been obliged to tread, I assumed that of Lucian Glyre ; under that name and in all honor I mar- ried that lady in San Francisco — but she proved a faithless wile and I ob- tained a divorce from her under the name she had disgraced, {looking sharply at Nixa) Is not this true ? Nina, {in agony) I — I was innocent "of all wrong! Glyre. {shaking his head) I wish I could have believed you innocent. {with rebuke) But the court of your native city, awarding me the divorce sharetl with me my in credulity. Is not this true? (Nina stands with droophig head) I ask again — is not what I have said true. Madam? Nina, {bursting in to tears) It is! Glyre. {turnin'j from her) That is all. Nina, {dashing tears from her face — unth head erect) That is noi all. This man's real name is, Lucian Glyre — Ediih, Lady Ogden, General Stanley — he told me all his life. Ob, Edith — oh, Lady Ogden — let me save you both from this terrible imposture; even if I lose my good name, as I have already lost my child. Glyre. {to 'EoiT^ taking ring from watch-chain) Sister, do you recollect this? {taking ring) Have you kept the pledge in return for which you gave me this ? Edith. I have. Glyre. By the words of brotherly and sisterly love, that then passed be- tween us, I ask you — do you believe what yonder woman says? For an instant 'Edith stands irresolute then throws herself in his arms. Edith. Oh, Cuthbert, brother how could I ? Nina, {appealing) Oh, Edith! Stop, stop ! He is Lucian Glyre! Edith, {ivithdratoing from Glyre — to Kisa) How can you persist? Lady O. {fixing her eyes on Glyke) One moment Edith ; this is a strange accusation, and tjie circumstances seem to demand a fuller explanatioa than that already given. Glyre. {crossing to her) You are right my dear aunt. But for such ex- planation, this is neither the time nor place ; it is not proper that in the presence of so many etrangers, Cuthbert Fielding, on his return home should FIELDING MANOR. '13 be thus catechized, (fakinfj out pocket bible, and handing it to Lady Ogden) Thi3 should bring me back to your memory. Lady 0. (taking it) The bible I gave Culhbert. (then suddenly) Tell me, do you recollect the motto I taught you when I gave you this bible? Glyrc. (hesitates — after a flight pamc) The motto ! What true Field- ing ever forgot it? Lady 0. {sha.rply) Repeat it then ! Glyrc. (smiling and turnvnj looking at Manor house) That I will. I could make no fitter salulation to the home of my fathers. (repeats the following vctses. His steed in captive stall should pine. His blade in sloth should rust, If ever knight of Fiolilinsr's lino Betrayed a woman's trust." But truth were falsehood; honor, shame, And right on earth would end If he who bears the Fielding name Should once betray a friend." (Music Tremolo till end of act. During the recitation, EniTH sieils her hand into his : everbody seems per- fectly satisfied except Nina and Lady Ogdkn, who still keeps her eyes fixed on Glyre. Nina. (r. c.) Oh, Edith ! Will you not hear me? I- Edith. (with flashing eyes c) Ilerxr you! Never again! You have al- most made me turn away from my brother. Gol Never enter Fielding Manor again 1 Ladt Or.nEN, Glyre. Andrew. Nina. Edith. Cyeii,. Eugenia. Margaretta. Generai,. Rebecca. Abercromeik. FICTUIi E— C UR TA IN, ACTIL SCENE I. — Library at Fichlim Manor. Set door r. 3 e. : set fire-place p.. 2 E. Centre door, (oven) backed by garden flats ; chair u. 3 e., table L. c. , v}ith a chair right of it. Chair k. 3 E. ; sofa L. 2 e. Glyre discovered, seated at table l. c, reading letter. Glyre. (reading) "Lucian Glyre : — You have conquered me for a time, "but your infamous imposture shall not go unpunished, be sure of that, '*I have no fears of you, and I will leave no plan untried to expose your "new villiany. You have robbed me of all I hold dear in life — you "have made that life a ruin, almost a mockery ; but I will not tamely "see you wrong Edith Fielding, whom I have learned to love tenderly "as a friend. To-night at eleven o'clock, I will be at the large west "window of the Mnnor Library — taking the path which leads there "through the shrubbery. I shall expect you to open the window and "admit me. In the interview which shall then take place between us^ "I can say more than I now have the time or the wish to write. Nina Chauncey." So, so! She threatens me— umph. I'll try it — I will see her to-night, it may fail, but it may not. I wonder if the dead ever do walk abroad on this earth, whether visible or invisible? Ah I What a rage the ghost i'^ FIELDING MANOR. ' of these defunct Fieldings would fly into if that were the case, and they saw me now. {falls into deep thought. Enter Edith, r. 3 e. She -softly touches him — he starts. Edith, (c.) Did I startle you, Culhbert ? I have been looking for you some time ; I did not know where 3'ou had fled. Glyre. {recovers himself) I — I thought you were with Aunt Catherine. (tenderly taking her hand. Edith, {on stool at his feet) Oh, Cuthbert, it makes me so happy to have you back with us again. I am prepared to love you so dearly — you don't know how I have been yearning to see you home here once more in your rightful place, and now I shall abdicate completely in your favor ; your word is to be law. You know you are the master of Fielding now, you are to reign here, and to reign by love I'm sure. Glyre. {kissing her forehead) Yes, to reign by love. Edith, {drawing away) Why Outhbert, how cold your lips are ! Glyre. Are they ? It is from standing so long on the porch, the evening is rather chilly you know, Edith ; perhaps I was imprudent to remain there, I am not wholly recovered from that obstinate Australian fever. Edith. I cannot stay with you more than a few minutes longer this evening ; .'Vunt Catherine, I fear will need my services, {pause, then softly) Cuthbert I have a favor to ask of you, it is not a rery great one — you'll grant it I know. You have been cold to Cyril — my affiancred husband; he teffels your coldness I nm sure of that, though he said nothing to me — that is why he went. I saw him a little while after you had gone to your chamber — I read him so well alwaj's; I guessed his secret at once, 1 could not help but guess it. Cyril is poor but proud — I think bis poverty makes him proud- er — his race is equal with our own you know ; a Fielding does not stoop in marrying a Garland — you will be kinder to him won't you, when you see him again? promise me this; you are above him remember, and should snake the first advances — I so want you to be friends to each other, the firm- est and best of Iriends. Come now, Cuthbert, give me your promise, and I will say good-night. Glyre. Certainly, I will promise you anything, I will repair my faults if I have really committed any, but you should allow for the natural effect of my return with all its attendant excitement. I think Mr. Garland does me injustice, however I will try when next we meet to alter his mistaken impression. Edith. Thanks, {going and returning) I hope I have not offended you, Cuthbert? Glyre. (quickly) No, no ! far from that. Edith. Good-night, (pausing at door) I am sorry you are to have so dull an evening. Glyre. {laughing) Oh, I shall manage to enjoy myself very well, good- night. " {Exit Edith r. 3 e. Glyre looks around. Glyre. What quiet grandeur, and all this is to be mine — mine unless — unless — {looking towards windoiu c.) Well, let her come ; I will meet her. (taking hound volume from pocket, and laying it on table L. c. Scats himself and turns over leaves slowly) What trivial things memory made important to this man, but these trivialities are each one a certificate of identity to me. I am playing for a great stake, and if my nerves remain firm, I will play the game out and win it. (takes 2}cn and ivrites) Surely no expert could question this writing. Yes, I have mastered his signature perfectly, but for the difference in colors of ink and paper Enter Andrew r. 3 e. Ayidrcw. (k, c.) Have you any further orders for the evening, Mr. Field- ing? FIELDING MANOR. 15 Glyre, Andrew, why do you not call me "Master Cuthbert," as you used to do in the old days? Andrew, {embarrassed) Why, sir, you're a grown gentleman now. Qliyre. But the difference between our ages is the same, Andrew. Don't you remember Andrew, the day you saved me from a whipfdng for playing truant? How you warned me that my father was coming towards the river. It was "Master Cuthbert," then. Do you not recollect how it was always, "Master Cuthbert" when you taught me to ride, and told me stories of Gen- eral Fielding's valorous doings in the Peninsula? Ah! Andrew, we were friends then. I want to feel that the only servant in the house who knevt me in my boyhood is still a friend to me. Andrew. Master Cuthbert ! Yes, Master Cuthbert — I remember. Glyre. There, there, Andrew, you may go, I will close the library my- self. Exit An'drew r. 3 E., muttering "Master Cuthbei-t" very much pleased, Glyre. What an easy victory that was ! A few more such remember- ances, and he will be willing to swear that I am the only "Master Cuth- bert." {goes to rovidow c, opens it. Enter Ni.va c. — she is very pale. Nina, [looking at him steadily) So you agreed to see me? Glyre. {ivitha shrug) Why not? you have already sought to expose me, and tailed. But you are not satisfied — you threaten to take other measures. Nina. I do, and I shall take them. Glyre. (rabnly) I think you will not take them. Nina. WJiy not pray ? Glyre. (jjointing to chair i,. c.) Be seated if you please, and I will te!" you. (NixA scats herself he remains standirig c.) The fate that brings us to gether is certainly a strange one — you must admit that. Nina. Str;inge, indeed, yes — some people might call it so; I had hope that we would never meet on enrth again, Lucian Glyre. God knows that 1 di. not want ever to see you again— but now I am not sorry that we have met since 1 shall be the means of saving two good and noble women from that villainy which has wronged me as it would wrong them. Glyre. {smiling) And so you still persist in believing that I am Lucian Glyre, and not Cuthbert Fielding? Nina, {springing up) Come, this audacity of defiance verges on the ab- surd. I am no longer the weak trusting child, whom you once could de- ceive as your vile duplicity chose ; the very anguish that you have made me suffer, has given me a wisdom your own guile did not count upon that guile now overreaches itself. Be careful how you persist in this role, — once for all, I know that your name is and always has been Lucian Glyre. Be care- ful how you push me to extremes ; I came here to accept no terms from you — I came to dictate them. Glyre. {calmly) Ah, indeed, and those terms, madam, are Nina. That you shall have quitted this house before to-morrow mornino' leaving behind you a written statement to Miss Edith Fielding, that you are not her brother. Glyre. {hoarsely) I simply laugh at your words ; you have threatened to expose me — what can you do? Nina, {scornfully) Do? I can go back to California, and collect the writ- ten evidences of those to whom you have repeatedly told the story of your past life. 1 can find your fellow officers in the American war, and procure their testimony — more than that, I can visit those who knew"you upon your father's southern plantation, and secure alBdavits from them which will place your origin beyond a shadow of a doubt. Glyre. {after pause) You are right ; time has made you wise — it has al- 16 FIELDING MANOR. BO made you singularly cruel. You forget that however you may despise and hate me, I am still the father of your child. , Nina. (tcarfiilLu) Yes, the child who was all I had left to comfort me; yet whom you tore from my devoted arms. Glyre. You love him still ? Nina, (choking with tears) Do I love him? Bad as your are, Lucian Glyre, how can you ever ask me that question ? Glyre. {carelessly) Oh, I merely thought that if you still loved your child it might be the means of showing you how imprudent is your present course. Nina, {frightened) No, no! you can't mean that — yo'u can't mean I Glyre, 'folding his arms) I mean simply this, your son lives — where ? I know — you do not. He is mine— given to me by the law — mine to eiiucate as I please — mine to mould, influence, control ! You know what power I possess over adults — how easily I can bend most people to my will. Now fight me with these weapons you have just boasted of — fight tne as you pro- pose to do ; eject me as an impostor from Fielding Manor. I have but one means of revenge — I will take that means, as surely as that I now speak and you listen. It is this; by every resource in my power I will train your son to hate you and to curse )'our name. Next I will instil into his heart and mind the most sordid and corrupt views of life, I will teach him to steal, to lie, to cheat, to recognize one God — himself ; one code of honor — expediency, one monitor of conscience — opportunity for wrong — he shall grow up a cal- lous, merciless villian — drenched with all the baleful advice I can give him — embittered to the core of his being — a finished knave before he is twenty, and ready perhaps at thirty for the jailor or the hangman. This I swear to you, and you know me well enough, Nina Chauucey, to know that I will keep my word. » Nina. You, you will do this, unless — I consent to let you remain here as — as the master of Fielding Manor? Glyre. I will do it. Nina. You — you wish me to — to keep silent ? Glyre. More than that ; I wish you to go away from here, to go back to America, to leave me in peace. You think me cruel as ice — I will show you that I can be merciful. Nina, {sneering) You merciful ? Glyre. Yes, merciful — or something like it. You can return to your child ; I will tell you where he is. You can repossess him again, but it must be only after giving me your solemn written promise, that you will never molest me hereafter and reveal to no one in America where 1 am or in what position ; the instant you do this, I will reclaim the child. Nina, {after struggle) 1 consent. Glyre. {handing paper) Sign this paper, {she does so) and now, {hand- ing another) you will find here full directions regarding where you are to find your child, besides an order on those who now have him in their pos- session, demanding that they shall restore him to your care, {looking nt '■lock) Our interview has !ilre;i(ly been loo long; remember, I require you to start to-morrow and as quietly as possible — now good- night. Nina, {going sloirly to window) Lucian Glyre, 1 came here thinking to conquer you, but you have conquered me — so be it — mine is the defeat, yours the triumph. But I now warn you — beware how long that triumph shall last ; there are some acts of such outrage and injustice, that Heaven must not and will not permit to prosper, and though your victory now looks sure yet I know the hour of your overthrow, cannot be far distant — I know that you have set your foot upon your own rain, and now walk to its fulfil- ment, (exiY through c, window. Glyre .stands looking after her, exultingly. Enter Cyril, r. 3 e. Cyril, (r. c.) Mr. Fielding, your sister informed me, that ycm would see me; I have for sometime felt the necessity of speaking to you, regarding my own and Edith's engagement. You are the head of the house now, and FIELDING MA NOB. 17 it is of course my duty to ad'Iross you on that subject; if I have hesitated in seeking such an interview, it has been only through a fear of awkwardly thrusting myself upon your courtesy when other pressing affairs engaged you. Gb/re. (h. c, howinp coldly) And what have you to say, Mr. Garland? Cyril. Only this, Edith and I were p'ayniatos together as boy and girl; she used to call nie, "Cuthbert's substitute" in our earlier days — we have grown up togetlicr, and somehow or another, stronger love thnn friendship has gradually become natural to us. I am only a poor subaltern as you know, but my family is as good as Edith's as you must be aware. Lady Ogden, has already given her consent to our marriage, but I ieel in honor bound to request yours also, as I would certainly do even if no disparity existed be- tween my own and your sister's position. [silighf pause. Git/re. You will perhips Hijree with me, Mr. Garland, when I tell you that to a man of the world like myself, this disparity of whi>:;h you speak, is striking — you have nearly nothing, Edith is an heiress of a very large property. Ci/ril. But she loves me devotedly. Gb/re. As for her loving you devotedly my dear Mr. Garland, very young men are apt to believe themselves inspirers of eternal passion. . Cyril, {aside, biting his I ip-f) Is he sneering at mo ? (aloud) Mr. Field- ing, I am no less certain of Edith's love, than I am certain of the disinter- ested motives which fill ray own heart. Ghjrc. {laughing, iritk a shrug)' Oh, I cast no doubt upon your motives, but when an almost penniless man seeks the hand of a great heiress, you know how the world is apt to regard such matters. Cyril, {starting) Do I understand you aright? Do you mean to imply that my ain\ is that of a fortune-hunter ? Glyre. {laucihijtg) Oh, the word is your own, Mr. Garland. I should be very sorry to say anything so— so uncivil. Cyril, {hotly) It would be more than uncivil, air! It would be grossly false ! Gli/re. {shrugging) I am my sister's sole protector, you cannot blame me for wishing to guard her interest. Cyril. Mr. Fielding, do you then refuse your consent that I shall marry your sister ? Glyre. {haughtily) I withold my consent. Cyril, {walking to d. e. 3 e. — turns pausing on threshold) Be it as you choose, judge my actions by the coldest rules — since such is your wish. The severity cuts deep, but it wounds unfairly. If I loved Edith less, I might ask her to renounce her own inheritance, and share with me the uncertain chances of a poor subaltern's career. Oh, do not look surprised Mr. Field- ing, she would not refuse— it is I who shall however, proud and glad as I W0UI4 be to work for hei throuj^h the future. Perhaps you may hereafter regret your present conduct, unless your are so much "a nian<)f the world'' that my delicacy of feeling is lost upon you and my quickness to resent a covert insult is coarsely misunderstood — good-night, Mr. Fielding. {exit Cyril, r. 3 e. Glyre. {throioing himself into chair h. c.) Gone, gone! And he is too proud even to return. I love her — and what a love that is, and whither might such a passion lead me? to the depths of ruin and disgrace. No, no ! I will be sure on that point ; what if it bursts all bonds and — no, no, that is merely a morbid lear. I cannot fling these all away for a dream — a fancy. Enter Edith, unobserved, r. 3 e. Site touches him — he starts. Edith, {choked toith tears) Oh, Cuthbert! what have you been saying to Cyril ? He has just bid me farewell — as he says, forever — this must not be. It will kill me to lose him, I — I cannot give him up. Glyre. {rising, not looking at her) Edith, I am your brother, and much 18 FIELDING MAN OB. older than you ; I have seen the world — I know men. If Mr. Garland is worthy of your love, let him show it. Elith. How, brother, how ? Gli/re. By waiting for j'ou. Edith. Waiting ? But he has wjtited — he Glyre. Let him wait longer. Let him give you a chance to mingle in society. If your iove is as strong as you both profess it, time will do it no damage — I am not a believer in early marriages, perhaps you know why? Eddh. But Cyril, is so proud ; he says you have insulted him. Gli/re. {bifterly) If the truth be an insult, then he is right. I have sim- ply shown him the truth, I wished his frequent visits to the Manor postpon- ed for the present — that is all. Edith. He will never consent to that. Oh I I am sure of it. Gb/re. Then he is unworthy of becoming your husband. Edith. Oh, no, no! you wrong him — you wrong us both ! Glyre. {turning to her) Edith, you must choose between your duty to me and your love for him. You said not long ago that I should be your ad- viser and counselor in everything. Prove now that you are willing to hold me so, and jirove it by trusting me. {taking both her hands and kissing them) Leave me now, leave me I beg of you! I will see you again to-morrow on this subject, I — I want to think it over. Remember, that I am acting wholly for your good or striving to do 30. Perhaps some more lenient course may suggest itself. Edith, {eagerly) You will see, Cyril? You will explain to him by let- ter ? [going B. 3 e. Glyre. Perhaps. Edith, {standing in doorway) Oh, if you only will Glyre. {turning away) Good-night. Edith, (brokenly) Good-night. {exit slowly R. 3 E. During last dialogue, distant thtmder has been heard with flashes of lightning, Glyre. {pacing stage) I did not send him away, the fellow went of hig own aceortl. Let him remain ; if he chooses to make his own pride an im- pediment to his marriage with Edith, all the better. Since Edith is forever lost to me in a dearer wifely waj', which my great love makes me desire — at least it will be sweet to have her near me in future years. During .speech he has gone 'r., in front of fire-place facing windoio c. — a bright flash of lightning reveals the face of Cuthbeut Fielding, looking in c. Chord. Glyre. {terribly frightened) Great heaven! The face of Cuthhert Field- ing, {rushes to window and looks out then comes down l. c., and falls i>ito chair) What did I see, a ghost? Pshaw — the very idea is absurd, preposterous. Beyond doubt the face was that of a passing servant; the lightning, and my own tr9.ubled fancy done the rest. No, no, there is no such thing as ghosts. Dead men never rise up — I will go to bed. Goes to put out light, when he sees Ladt Ogde\ slotvly entering l. 1 e. He hur- ries to her and helps her to a chair e. c. Glyre. Why, aunt, I am glad to see that you can leave your apartment. 1 have heard that you were very ill and feeble. Lady 0. {aside) How glibly the word "aunt" drops from his lips. He lioes not dream that I still suspect him, that I have come here to put de- ceit against deceit, and make him expose himself as the impostor that I so firmly believe him to be. {aloud) Yes, Cuthhert, I am very feeble, I am only able to totter about a little as you see. {looking vj^ into his face) I — I (iid' not wish, Cuthhert, that another night should pass uncleared of aU doubt between us, and eo I have brought you a peace offerin?. FIELDING MANOR. lo GhjTc. (i.. c.) A peace oflering, aunt? v,'hy, that was indeed needless between you and me. Ltuhj 0. {.thakinff her head) No, no, I did not think it so— here it is, [takes from her pocket ttoo pictures and hands one to him. A Jla.sk of lightning and thunder) a likeness ot your dead mother. Glyre. {taking it to lamp) A picture of my poor dead mother? {thunder and lighinivg) This must have been taken a shoi-t time previous to my mother's death. The face in it's emaciation shows deonv. Lady 0. {-standing up triiimphantli/, then says) Do you think it look like your mother? "' {pau-se. Glyre. [looks intently at picture) Wonderfully liice ! There is the same old familiar expression. [rioid inhtnivg a/id thunder. Music p]/. Lady 0. {getting to c, dropping other picture &. c.) .And so the mask falls from your face. Who are you, sir? Glyre. {frightened) What do vou mean ? Lady 0. {with chilh/ lauglt) What do I mean ? I mein that the picture I showed you is not that of the woman whose son you piofess to be, b\it that of John FieldinG^'s sister, Helen Fielding. {thunder and lif/titiiing. Glyre. [starts) A trap ! La'dy 0. Yes, a trap, into which you have fallen. I.doubted 3'ou, sir ' the moment I clearly saw your lace. I doubted you when your cold kiss first touched my forehead, and instinctively shrank from it. 'l doubted j'ou when the woman who had been your wife denounced you— I doubt you no longer. Yonder on the floor lies the picture of her whom you would call mother; now, sir, who are you, and why have you dared to eater this house? Will you not speak? Lady OaoEN takes a step towards him. Glyre has at fir.st beeii very much friglitcned, hut by this time has fully recovered himself, and stands with folded arms c, with look of melancholy on his face. Glyre. [calmly) I was prepared for something of the sort, fully prepar- ed. Ladv 0. [taken hack) Whnt do you mean ? Glyre. I mean that from the first moment I met you, I read in vour face the ungenerous doubt you now avow. I came back yenrning to find a home and a welcome to it, wearied to the heart with struggles, perplexities, and defects of past years, I met you at the very threshold of that home only to read insulting distrust in the face of her who should have best remembered me. Lady 0. You are a great actor, I see that — but you are nothing more. Were you really Cuthbert Fielding, you would have known that that pic- ture does not reflect a feature of his mother's face. Glyre. I do know it does not, I feel that you showed it to me because it was not hers. Pshaw 1 the trick would not have deceived a child. Lady 0. Then why did you encourage the trick ? Glyre. [rcbukingly) To learn the sad truth — to learn that my own flesh and blood doubted and repudiated me, was laying traps for my'detection in a fraud. Why, you ask did I encourage it? To tear aside the veil, to stan/ 0. {xpcal-iiig in tears) I am but a foolish old woman, I — I am full of fnucifes and apprebeiisions ; the effort to see you had weakened me so. Let it be all forgotten between us, Cuthbert, I — I have no doubt left now, not one. Gh/re. (aside) Thank heaven for that, (he picks vp the other picture and iakcK it to the light) Ah! here is my poor motber^here is the expression of quiet appeal, that so often stood between me and my father's hard anger. Lady Ogden has stood where she can .see picture over his shouldei — she niters triumphant cry. Music — chord and tremolo. Lady 0. (recoiling c.) Heaven succeeds, waere I have failed. Gli/re. (terrified) What are you saying? Lady 0. What I said before, you are not, Cuthbert Fielding, but a mis- erable impostor, and as snoh I denounce you. Glyre. (folding his arms) You must be insane! Lady 0. That will not do. Nervous, anxious and with dim sight I select- ed those pictures, I did think one of thera was Mrs. Fielding ; I now see it is that of a distimt relntive — it bears not the slightest resemblance to the mother of Cuthbert Fielding, my mistake not my wisdom detects you. Do you dare still to assert that you are Cuthbert Fielding? Gh/re. (doggedly after pause) You are right, I am not Cuthbert Fielding. Lady 0. At last! (tltimder and lightning) Now tell me, tell me, for you must know — where is Cuthbert Fielding? Gil/re. Fielding is dead. Lady 0. Dead ? Ido not believe you, and yet — oh, heavens ! you may be his murderer. Yon may have murdered him for the purpose of this im- posture. Glyre. (threatening, starting towards her) Silence ! Lady 0. (drawing her.'selfii.p) You knave! how dare you use that tone to me ; every nerve in my old body grieves with indignant desire to deno«nc*5 and expose you. » Glyre. (beticeen his teeth) Do it! do it and I v/ill say that you are mad — yes, and prove it too. Eemember, if 1 have said I am not Cuthbert Field- ing, I have said it to you alone and not before witnesses ; I still stand a strong chance of being believed — I will take that chance. The proofs that I possess will convince any court in England, they -have already satisfied and convinced Edith. Oh, my lady I am no common villian, so beware — beware what you do? Lady 0. Uaughing bitterly) I will put your proofs to the test, sir, and that now. (thunder and lightning as she goes to door n. 3 h.) Help! Help! (Music tremolo till end of act. Glyre. (follmoing, grasping her wrist) Silence ! be silent I say, or you may repent it ! Lady 0. (turning to him) How dare you touch me? (Picture. Glyre. (dropping her hand) You had better hear me ! Lady 0. . (going to door) Help! Ancirew. Martin, help, help ! (Exit Lady Ogden r. 3 e. fistoi shot followed by a loud clap of thunder, Glyre. (starting) The house has been struck. Enter Edith very pale and frightened k. 3 E. Edith, (wildly) Oh, Cuthbert! The house has been struck! Glyre. (embracing her) Thank heaven ! you are safe! Edith. Oh, I am not hurt, hut Aunt Catherine Glyre. (eagerly) What of Aunt Catherine ? Edith. She is at the foot of the stairs, I — I think she has fainted. Glyre. Let us go to her. FIELDING MANOR. ^1 Starts to go as Lady Ogden supported bi/ Andrew and scrvaniSf enters a7id sinks into arm chair r. c. Gb/rc. (l. c, to Andrew) Do you think she is dead ? Andrew, {shuddering) Oh, no, sir, not that — it can't be that. Gtyre. If the lip;htning struck her it must be. Andrew, (c.) The lightning did not strike her, it struck the staircase, much higher up than where my lady stood. The banister is all splintered. Glyre, (biting his lip) You think it is only the shock then ? Edith. Yes, yes, it was only the shock — how strange that she should have been down stairs; I suppose she was alarmed on account of the storm. But why did she not come to my chamber? Oh, I was careless and cruel tc have left her alone, poor Aunt Catherine, ill as she was. (Lady Oguen open, her eyes) See her eyes are open! [delighted) She is better now! Aunt! Aunt! Speak to me. Glyee stands coivcring l. h. — Lady Ogden struggles to speak, but fails and- with servant's aid totters to table l. c, 'points to Gi,YREantZ takes up pen and dips it into ink, tries to write, faila and falls back dead l. c. Gi^yke seems relieved — Edith bends over her. Edith. Oh, aunt! She wanted to tell us something, to tell you sffmething Cuthbert. But see, she has fainted again. Andrew, {troubling) Xot fainted this time — Edith, {wildhj) What do you mean, Andrew? Andrew, {solemnhj) Miss Edith, Lady Ogden is dead! Edith. Dead! {turns to G-lyjs.^) Cuthbert do you hear ? {bewildered) Ghjre, Yes, I hear ! {aside) And it is fate! {Picture — music change to ff. Servant. Andrew. Lady Ogden. iKRVANT. Edith. Glyre. END OF ACT I L ACT III. Drawing-room at Fielding Manor. Door c. ; set door r. 3 E. ; chair r. 2 e. ; two chairs r. c, and L, c. ; table l. .3 e. ; chair l. 2 e. Edith and Rebecca discovered seated. Rebecca, . (l. c.) Well, Edith dear, we all have our troubles, if it aint one thing it's another. {vrith a sigh. Edith, {smiling and taking her hand) Why, Rebecca, what has happened to depress your spirits? Have you quarreled again with poor Abercrombie Courtwell? who adores you and whom I am afraid you don't always treat with too much mercy. Rebecca, {impatiently) Oh, bother Abercrombie, I treat him altogether better than he deserves, {mournfully) No Edith, I allude to pa. Edith, {controlwg her laughter) Why, what has the poor General been doing? Rebecca, {wailing) Doing? The worst thing he could possibly do. {trag- ically) Edith, he has been falling in love! Yes, isn't it horrible ? He is at the house of those two Maitland's, morning, noon, and night. Abercrom- bie cannot keep him at home — I cannot keep him at home. He openly threatens me, Edith, with that horrible curse, a stevmother I n FIELDING MANOR. !E7itcr ABEKCRdiiBiE loarinand excited — Rebecca sees him rushcs'io him and siezes his arm. Sebccca. Abererorabie! you promised me that you would remain at home and restrain pa. Why, have you not done so? Abcr. {ruefully) Restrain him! 'Why, it would take a ball and chain to do that, {heroically) Rebecca can we bridle a hurricane? can we control a cataract ?_ {strikes position. Rebecca..' {loildly to Edith) Just hear! Pa has fled to the Maitlands. {in tears) Oh, Edith isn't it horrible ? iJKXF.RAL enter r. 3 e., with Misses Eugenia and Margaretta Maitland, arm, in arm. JEtiqcnia. {coming to Edith) How is your poor brother's health, Edith dear? Margaretta. {coming to Edith) Yes, Edith dear. Rebecca, {to Eugenia spitefully) I want to thank you for being so kind to pa, taking him about with you, you know like this — but then you always were such benevolent old ladies.^' Eugenia, {straightening up) Old ladies! Margaretta. {same) Old ladies ! Margaretta and Eugenia talk to General, vp c. r. Rerecca and Abercrom- BiK, L. H. Enter Andrew r. 1 e., speaks to Edith and then exits r. 1 e. Edith, (r. h.) I must beg you all to excuse me for a few moments, my brother has sent for me. He is better and when I tell him you are here he will possibly come down and see you ; meanwhile I am sure that you can all spend together a few hours of mutual entertainment, {e.rit Edith r. 1 e. Rebecca, (l. c, aside) Yes, mutual entertainment is precisely what I intend that we shall have, {aloud to 'Evge^hx with pensive smile) My dear Miss Eugenia, in spite of your own and your sister's goodness to pa, I feel — yes really I feel called upon to tvarnyox both. Eugenia, (c, amazed) To warn us Rebecca? Rebecca. Hush! don't speak so loudly— for sometime past Abercrombie and I have noticed marked symptoms of insanity in pa ; they first came on about a year ago, since then he has been gradually growing worse, we are now — I say it with the deepest sorrow, we are seriously thinking of placing poor pa within an insane asylum. Eugenia. {astonifShc leans on Nina and' they slowly exit r. 1 e. Cuthbert and Cyril exit l. h. Enter Rebecca and Abercrombie e. 3 e. Rebecca. I want to have a talk with Edith ; I want to ask her advice about this horrid affair, and then too she is in trouble. That matter of a new claimant to the Fielding property having suddenly arisen is making a, Igreat stir through the country ; my maid Ellen tells me, that everybody 19 discussing it. {leading l. C. Aber. {dryly) Yes, I see — you have two motives for coming over to tho Manor — one is despair — the other is — ahem — curiosity. \S4 FIELDING MANOR. Mcbecca. {snapislih/) Abercrombie, if you mean to indulge in any of yoar languid impudence, I'll send you home. Aber. {innocentlT/) Why, what ou earth do you mean? I hadn't the least idea Rebecca, {breaking in) I didn't say you had — oh, dear, don't think that I ever accused you of anyihing so valuable as an idea in all your lazy life. But you know how to be impertinent — to poke fun at me when I have a — {patlicticly) — a bleeding heiirt. Aber. {draw/i'iir/) Oh, don't mind it, let it bleed — it ■will do you good. I flay Rebecca, if ynur father is to be murried this morning, don't you think that duty coinmnnde you to appear at the ceremony. (EEr.ECCA groa^is) The General wont have any body to give him away, you know. He can't give Jiimftelf away can he? . Hcbccca. No ! But he can ihrorn hiynadf away, and that is precisely ^vhat lie is doing. (Abekcrombie is walking up and down stage) For charity's sake, tend to be a great tyrant, don't you, Miss Margaretta ? JSu^enia. [shorkcd) Mrs. General Stanley — if you please. Margaretta. Yes — Mrs. General Stanley — if you please. General, {to RiCBECCA blandhj) Abercrombie's advice is excellent, my dear, since my action is p:ist recall, why not be philosophic and follow my example? Crown the happiness of your long patient adorer yonder, by con- senting to become his wile — and egad if you do it — I'll — I'll settle as hand- some a duwery on you as any young bride in the country has had for many a year. And be certain of one thing, Rebecca, that you will never regret it if you consent to marry Abercrombie. General turns a7id talks aside xoith the sisters R. c. Abrrcrombie overwhelm- ed with jot/, rushes to Rebecca's side. Abcr. No, Ret)ecca, as your worthy father says, you'll never forget — I mean regret it. I will lulfil toward you, my darling, every possible re- lation. I'll be your father, mother, uncle, aunt, your step-mothei — Rebecca, {frowning) Abercrombie ! {then cries and allows ABERCROMBtE to take her hand) If I do acoept you, it will be as a refuge — an asylum. Aber. {debghtcd) Anasyhiiu! Don't mention it — I'll be a whole pen- itentiary I {goes up L. c, talking with Rebecca ; General and the two sisters down c. Enter Edith r. 1 E. Rebecca see Edith and runs to her — Abercrombie down l. h. Ecbccca. Oh, Edith I Pa's married! Edith. Ah! indeed, ^crosses to sisters) Which am I to congratulate? you Eugenia ? Eugenia, {indiqnantljj) Me ? no indeed! ((/oes wp to General c. Margaretta. {blathinj) Yes — no, indeed! Edith. You Margaretta? {(joes up talking r. c. — General and Eugenia CQ77ie down. Eugenia, (r. l.) A common sailor claim to be the scion of the Fieldings a decendant of the Maitlands — it seems too absurd. Margaretta. {coming down k. h.) Yes — too absurd. Enter Andrew, r. 1 h. Andrew. Miss Edith, your Squire Fielding has returned. Edith, (confused) Very well, Andrew, tell him I will see him here. Andrew. Y'es, Miss Edith. (crit r. 1 e. Eugenia, {to Edith) Edith, we will leave you alone with your dear broth- er, for we must get back to the Grange for dinner— au revoir. Edith. Good-bye. Exit omnes r. 3 e. Enter Glybe, r 1 b. Gli/re. You wished to see me, Edith? Edith, {starts, thei vi eels arm-chair l. c, she gets r. c.) I wondered where you had gone, (softly) You seem unusually worried, Cuthbert. i Glyre. (seated h. c.) Have I not reason to be? this impostor has been released on bail — Cyril Garland hiis helped to get him free. I have been talliing with lawyers, and pocjple of that sort; already the bitter complica- tion have begui], who can tell how much trouble may follow ? Oh, it is a most wretched affair. {pause. Edith. {putti7ig her hand in his) Still Cuthbert, he cannot turn you from your rightful place so long as be fails to prove that you are not my brother, and — am I not by your aide ? Glyre. (passionately) And what sorrow has it not cost you, surrendering 86 FIELDING MANOR. the man you love? For as I told you, it is he, Cyril Garland, who bag pro- cured this impostor's bail. Edith. {Iboklng down, loiih dreamy tome) I supposed so -when I heard this morning that he had been released — but don't think of me. Gli/rc. Not think oi i/ou, Edith ; can I be!p thinlting of the struggle your heart must be enduring between your duty to lue, and your love for him. {pause. Edith.- {loith feeling) The struggle has been lesa painful than you think, Cuthbert. Irises. Glyrc. \startiiin v.j> engcrji/) What — what do you mean? Do — do you not love Cyril Garland, siill ? Edith. I — I don't know, Cuthbert — a great change has come over me of late — it seems as if — as if J — I scarcely know myself. Gb/re. (terribly agitated) And — and you can renounce him, without pain? Edith. It — itseemstome — that I — I could do anything for your sake, that I could dispense with any other love, as long as 1 ha'Vie yours. I don't know why, Cuthbert, {clasping her hamh) but yours is the only love my heart seems novv to yearn for — to crave: I want no other love so long as I have yours. Glyre. {going to her, agitated) My love, Edith? Mine? Can my love compensate you for — for ■ Edith, (turning suddenly to him) Yes, and yours only. I can't explain why, but it' you will remain near me in the future, I shall be more than contented, I shall care nothing for Cyril's loss. Glyre. But ibink, you will go into the world— see younger men — be ad- mired — sought after — and in time — you — you will — marry Edith. Never I I will devote myself only to you. Glyre catches her in his arms and kisses her passionately on the lips, he forgets hijnsclf entirely, Glyre. {vAth , fierce joy) And I — Edith — I will be your adorer — your slave, {suddenly remembers himirlf and rele'irve. I will reinstate your brother — give up all — beg hia pardon, if he refuses it, I will wring millions for you from nature's cof- fers in that wild Australian laud. Oh ! how gladly — how proudly I will work fur vou ! (pansing suddenly) But you — you feurn from me, you shud- der, Edith, why — why is this? Enter Cvril, Cuthbekt and Nixa l. h. Rkbecca, Abercrombie, Geserai,' Marc.abetia, Eugenia and OpriCEK, r. 3 e, Akdrkw, b. 1 e. FIELDING MANOR. S7 CyriL At last ! {to Officer) Officer, do your duty. Edith gfoes tain and Lieutenant in the U. S. Ar>ny, and four Confederates, (icnerals Sherman, Stoneman and (rarrard are represented, but may be omitted if desired. There is also an excellent Leading Lady, Old Wo- man and Negro Comedy Woman. Those who order and produce this play will be more thnn pleased. — Price 2.5c. "Suii])/!J Iiiiiiiense.'" w the verdict of ever]/ conipon]/ irhlch producer it, and eiXfi-p one wlio rendu it! Tiro hours of continwtl >icrcaiii>i of /niiuhtcr.'.' The funnient of all modi ri) conicdiis, entitled --t^^AN AFFLICTED FAMILY.i^^.^ OR, A DOCTOR WITHOUT A DIPLOMA. n Y MA L COLM S. TA YL OR. There is always a demand for a Play which is funny, .-ind written in such a way as to be easily represented as rcg.irds scenery, and not to difficult in its icpresentation. This comedy will be found all that is desired. The following is a description of the characters: C. Crotchet, n retired, merchant, si eJc in the spleen B. Frizzy, a barber addicted to pvnnivp and scrapes Dr. (jr. Linton, a practical physician, troubled with patients L. Staple, a young merchant, subject to bashfulness Clarence, o student, inclined to ale •John Henry, a man servant, complaining of nrjtliing to do I. Seizer, a constable, used to take attuiy badeffectg Mrs. Crotchet an invalid, ill with nervousness I)oll.v'nJer neicf^**''^'} '""'' "ff<^ctedwith a disease of tit e heart, called love Dorothy, atnaiden aunt, afflicted irith deafness,\hiittinn, and a poodledog Betty a maidservant, svfj'cring out of sympathy for Frizzy Each one of the above characters is worthy the talent of the best Comedy repre- sentatives, either in or out of the P-ofession. Amateurs especially vyill find the Play eminently suited to their wants. It is in four acts, each act consisting of only one scene. The costumes modern, and scenes all interiors, enabling companies with a limited stock of scenery to produce it ea.'iiy. Nothing like a description of the ludi- crous and laughable situations can be given here — Imt we can truly assure our friends that nearly every speech is the signal Uit roars of laughter and rounds of applause. If you want something pathetic don't send for it, but if you desire fun from the rise of the curtain on the first act, till its fall on the Ins- act, you may be sure of not be- ing disappointed if you order this. Price 1.5 cents per copy. HIIXTS TO AMATEUR.'!*, by A. ». Aincs. A book of useful information for Amateurs and others, written expressly for tho.«e who are giving public entertainments — and who wish to make their efforts successful — containing much information never before given. Mr. Ames has had many years experience, and in this work gives many hints which cannot fail to be of great benefit to all. The following subjects are treated in a clear and concise manner: The effects of the drama on the mind — The dramatic club a means of charity — Use- ftil hints— Necessity of a book of plain instructions— Formation of a dramatic com- pany — Duties of the manager — Assigning parts — Duty of the prompter— Duty of the property man— Music for plays — llehearsals — Hints — Best methods of studying — Stage laughs— Speaking loud — Articulation — How to be prompted — Getting the back to the Audience— Making up — How to burn a colored fire — How to make fuses — To make a rain storm— To make thunder— To make lightning— To make a wind storm — Imitation of clouds — Imitation of waves — How to produce a crash— How to produce snow — Success on the stage — A short history of the drama — Scene painting — The I)aintei' — Difficulties in scene painting— How to act — Macready's Method. Sent by mnl, post-paid, on receipt of 15c per copy. •"-, j^r,,. of ^ijg above, address A. D. AMES, Dramatic Publisher, Clyde, Ohio. "Ames' Plays— Continued. NO. JI. F. sa Out on the World 5 4 5:^ Out in the Streets 6 4 57 Paddy Miles' Boy 5 2 29 Paiurer of Ghent 5 2 114 Passions 8 4 18 Poacher's Doom 8 3 134 Pomp's Pranks 2 165 Persecuted Dutchman 6 3 156 Quiet Family 4 4 51 Rescued 5 3 110 Reverses 12 6 45 Roclc Allen 5 3 96 Rooms to Let 2 1 171 Rough Diamond. 6 3 59 Saved 2 3 4S Schuaps 1 I 107 School 5 133 Seeing Bosting 3 138 Sewina" Circle of Period., 5 115 S. H. A. M. Pinafore 5 3 55 Somebody's Nobodv 3 2 94 16,000 Years Ago .' 3 25 Sport with a Sportsman... 2 79 Spy of Atlanta, 25e 14' 3 92 Stage Struck Darkey 2 1 10 Stocks Up, Stocks Down.. 2 137 Taking the Census 1 1 62 Ten Nights in Bar-Room 7 3 64 That Boy Sam 31 40 That Mysterious B'dle ... 2 2 38 The Bewitched Closet 5 2 87 The Biter Bit 5 2 131 The Cigarette 4 2 144 Thekla 6 7 101 The Coming Man 3 1 NO. M. F. 67 The False Friend 6 1 97 The Fatal Blow 7 1 119 The Fortv-Niners 10 4 167 Turn Him Out 3 3 93 The Gentleman in Black 9 4 112 The New Magdalen 8 3 lis The Popcorn Man 3 1 71 The Reward of Crime 5 3 16 The Serf 6 3 68 The Sham Professor 4 6 The Studio 3 102 Turn of the Tide 7 4 54 TheTwoT. J's 4 2 7 The Vow of the Ornani ..8 1 2S Thirty-three nxtBrithd'y 4 2 108 Those Awful Boys 5 63 Three Glasses a Day 4 2 105 Through Snow and Sun- shine 6 4 142 Tit for Tat 2 1 4 Twain's Dodging 3 1 151 Wanted a Husband 2 1 5 When Women Weep 3 2 121 Will-o'-the-Wisp 9 4 56 Wooing Under Difficulties 4 3 41 Won at Last 7 3 70 Which will he Marry 2 8 135 Widower's Trials 5 4 58 Wrecked 9 3 147 Waking Him Up .. 1 2 155 Why they Joined the Re- beccas 4 156 Wig-Maker and His Ser- vants 3 111 Yankee Duelist 2 2 157 Yankee Peddler 7 3 M^ilkiiis* Aiiiatt'iir Dramas. Designed for the use of schools, amateur entertainments, etc. This volu)iia contains the following plays: Rock Allen the Orphan, or Lost and Found ; Three Glasses a Day, or the Broken Home; Mother's Fool ; The Reward of Crime, or the Love of Gold ; The Coming Man ; The Turn of the Tide, or Wrecked in Port ; Hash. Neatly bound in cloth, price 75 cents. ^^" Please IleinciQl»er that we can fill your orders for any play, dialogue book, speaker, guide book, piece of music, or anything in the line of amateur supplies such as wigs, beards, mustaches, face jiowders, paints, colored tires, lightning — in a word, anything you may find yourself in need of. We shall be ready to answer your letters of inquiry at any time, and invite correspondence. In remitting please send a postal note, or a money order, where they can be obtained, or small amounts may be sent in one or two cent postage stanifis. Address A. D. AMES, Pub., Clyde, Ohio. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS EVERY AM. WANTS A C( 'T015 793 182 9 And Should Order it at Once!! HINTS TO AMATEURS. BY A. D. AMES. A book of u>eful information for Amateurs ano you wish to know A short history of the drania? Do you wish to know All about scene painting? Do you wish to know Macready's method of acting? If you wish to know the above, read Hints to Amateurs, it will bo -lut you for 1.5 cents per co]*}' by Addressing A. D. AMES, Pub'r., Lock Box 102. Clyde. Ohio.