635 
 
 X^3" 
 
 155 
 
 A 
 
 LIFE'S LESSON. 
 
 A Play in Five Acts. 
 
 By p. L. W. JANSON and H. S. WHEELER. 
 
 CHICAGO : 
 Dunn Bros. & Heggie, Printers. 
 
A 
 
 LIFE'S LESSON 
 
 A Play in Five Acts. 
 
 By K L. W. JANSON and H^ S. WHEELER. 
 
 ^^ co^^^>G^:^\ 
 
 
 >'■ -* 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 Dunn Bros. & Heggie, Printers. 
 
 t 
 

 r 
 
 Copyright, 
 By P. L. W. Janson and H. S. Wheeler. 
 
CAST. 
 
 MALCOLM LESLIE, Uon of Leslie Thornton. 
 
 GILBERT AINSWORTH, ) 
 
 KENNETH GWINETTE, a Vagabond. 
 
 SIR GEOFFREY STONINGTON, Capitalist. 
 
 THORTON LESLIE, Banker. 
 
 MADGE HAZELTON, a Gypsy. 
 
 ADLINE HARCOURT, } 
 LADY STONINGTON, f 
 
 LAURA, Daughter of Thornton Leslie and Adline Harcourt. 
 
 ANNA, Wife of Malcolm Leslie. 
 
 FARMER MAXWELL. 
 
 JEANETTE, his Wife. ^ 
 
 WIGGINS, a Detective. 
 
 DICK ROLLINS, f rj... 
 
 Ihieves. 
 
 4 
 
 JUMPER, 
 
 Gypsies, Officers, Servants, Farmers, People. 
 
 COSTUMES MODERN. 
 
A LIFE'S LESSON 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene L — Interior of a Gypsy hut^ 2 g. — Table on which 
 stands a globe ^ and an owl is perched on it. — Practical 
 window in rear — two chairs. — Raining and blowing out- 
 side. — Flashes of lightning seen through window. — Dark 
 stage. — Ca?tdle burning on table. — Practical door rear 
 centre. — Curtains on window., made of white muslin., dirty. 
 — Madge, dis.., seated at table looking over papers. 
 
 Madge. By the serpent's tooth, 'tis blowing. How 
 the windows rattle. Ha! ha! {Goes to the wiitdow and 
 looks out ; as soon as she opens zuiitdow, curtains must 
 move as if by zvind. Thunder and flash of lightning^) 
 The thunder and lightning is grand. The old hut shakes 
 as if Nick down there were uneasy, {points down.) The 
 curtains flap like bats' wings. The rain is pouring down 
 in torrents. I wonder where Malcolm is ? I dare say 
 he's gone to the cave. [Fills her pipe and smokes ; takes 
 her staff and ivalks slowly tozvard table, theri passes to 
 front of stage.) A thousand pounds ! A handsome 
 sum for a life. That will fix us nicely. She will pay at 
 once. Somehow I pity the babe, only twenty days old, 
 that it should leave the world so soon, ere the sun has 
 kissed its countenance. Illegitimate birdie, thou must 
 die! The grand pale lady says so, and pays for it. Your 
 doom is sealed. Your mother dare not return home 
 with you — the secret must remain with us. Thornton 
 
6 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act i. 
 
 Leslie, thou art a villain ! Your own son shall be the 
 murderer of his sister ! Gold ! oh, gold ! thy power is 
 terrible. (A heavy clap of thunder.) Ha ! ha ! This is 
 grand ; it makes me feel young again. The lightning's 
 flash, the thunder's roar, are my companions. It is a 
 voice from the great unknown, {^points up, aiid returns 
 to table?) 
 
 Enter Malcolm Leslie, c. d., enveloped in a cloak. Goes to 
 table., takes off his cloak and hat and places on table. 
 
 Mal. Hello, old woman, what now ? Your owl looks 
 sleepy. What part of the world have you been riding in 
 to-night on your broom, {points to globe.) Methinks this 
 weather makes you merry. Your smiling countenance 
 has driven the wrinkles from your face. Your eyes shine 
 like two balls of livid fire — does the lightning harbor its 
 lurid flashes there ? Or, has some grand scheme lit up 
 those dormant orbs? Speak! you look unnatural. Has 
 love, perchance, tinged those cheeks in crimson hue? 
 Open thy mouth, I pray thee. Talk ! 
 
 Madge. Unruly boy, sit down ; let me tell you, that 
 you may understand. [Seats himself.) One thousand 
 pounds of shining gold are at your service, to do a deed. 
 Ten minutes work, and the deed is done. 
 
 Mal. Old snake, keep me not in suspense; out with 
 it. [Looks at Madge anxiously.) 
 
 Madge. You remember her whom you saw at early 
 morn this day, leaving this hut with stealthy step. 'Tis 
 she that has the deed to do. A child of twenty days is 
 hers — an illegitimate waif — a dishonorable speck — to be 
 removed from earth, brushed out from the path of virtue. 
 For this she oflers one thousand pounds in gold. 
 
 Mal. Old hag, you are jesting, and taking advantage 
 of my greed for money. 
 
 Madge. No, 'tis true. I told her I would send a 
 
SCENE I.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 7 
 
 trusty soul, and you I have selected. I know in your 
 hands the deed will be well done, and the secret safe. 
 
 Mal. You have made no miscalculation. I'm the 
 man that will do it slick, and silently too. 
 
 Madge. Of course I'm to share one-half. 
 
 Mal. One-half shall be your part, old blossom. Upon 
 my soul five hundred pounds shall be your share. When 
 shall the deed be done ? 
 
 Thunder and lightning. 
 
 Madge. This very night — 'tis auspicious for it. 
 
 Mal. What mode of death has been reserved for the 
 httle twig ? 
 
 Madge. (Points rear left.) Methinks 't were well to 
 cast it in yonder roaring stream, that is swollen by the 
 rain, anid seethes and hisses — maddened rushes on. A 
 stone tied to its frail neck would soon send it to the 
 river's' bed, and the gurgling waters close the chasm 
 where rest the dead. 
 
 Mal. Woman (rises) thou art a devil ; thy plans are 
 infernal, yet complete. 'Tis a horrible job to rob one so 
 young of its existence. Yet, gold ! thou canst do won- 
 ders. I'll do it. Name the spot, so that I may finish it 
 before the break of day — and the five hundred shall be 
 yours. 
 
 Madge takes him by the arm and points l. c. through window. 
 
 Madge. Two miles from here — you know well the 
 spot. 'Tis at the inn. The Wolf, so-called. There she 
 has resided for tv/o months. She's unknown there — 
 when she disappears all traces of her will be lost. She 
 is passing herself off as a married wife whose husband 
 is in the Indies. Any time after midnight, with this key, 
 you can reach her room. Speak my name and all is 
 well, {Hands him key — both return to C,) 
 
8 A LIFE'S LESSON, [act i. 
 
 Mal. [Resumes his cloak and hat.) The night is 
 good for deeds as dark as this. 1 am anxious to see the 
 babe, 'tis long since these sinful hands have clutched a 
 thing so pure. The rain has ceased, and I will wend my 
 way to earn the money — and when I have it, your share 
 I'll bring to you. Farwell, old hawk; I shall soon return. 
 
 Exit through door. 
 
 Madge. ( Walking slowly across to left.) My palms 
 itch for the money. I can hardly bide the time till I 
 have it within my grasp. Ho, ho ! I'll follow him, and 
 see that the work shall be complete. Five hundred 
 pounds! Ha! ha! {Puts 07t cloak and hat, i.., goes to 
 owl.) Come my pet, you must lead the way. Your 
 eyes are sharper than mine. You will soon find him. 
 {Owl raises its ztdngs — takes ozul on left arm.) Come 
 on ! CLOSED IN. 
 
 Scene II. — Exterior of hut in ist g — door c. — window left. 
 Enter Madge, d., — goes down c. to l. — in her left arm 
 she carries owl — staff in right hand. Music. 
 
 Madge:. I'll have my revenge now. Malcolm Leslie ! 
 the little lump of animated clay whom you are going to 
 cast into the turbulent stream, for one thousand pounds, 
 is your half sister. Your mother is dead. She was a 
 noble creature, and as fair as the lily that floats on the 
 surface of the smiling stream. {Goes slowly to right — 
 pauses C.) Many times she entered my abode, when in 
 this part of the country. Often did I lay the cards for 
 her, and reveal to her the future. Poor thing, beautiful 
 and frail, she died in Paris ; and you, Malcolm, were sent 
 to me to get you out of the way. Thornton Leslie, 
 your father is now a banker in the new world, a success- 
 
SCENE III.] A LIFE'S LESSON, 9 
 
 ful one. I have no complaints to make — he remits regu- 
 lar — but I hate your race, and 111 have my revenge. I 
 must go, or I might miss him. • Exit L. i E. 
 
 Scene III. — Private room at The Wolf, neatly furnished — 
 table — two chairs — door centre — cradle containing child 
 rear right — sofa rear left. Light stage. 
 
 Adline discovered seated on sofa. 
 
 Ad. My head whirls with excitement, I must nerve 
 myself for the ordeal. The black hand has guided me, 
 and I obey. 'Tis better she dies now, an innocent lamb, 
 than to live and see the disgrace of her mother. At 
 least one life shall be saved — and may Heaven's most 
 terrible curse fall upon her father, who so basely betrayed 
 me! Yet, the curse of gold did it all. No one knows 
 who I am — rno one knows where I am. The deed must 
 be done ! She must die ! {Goes to the cradle and gazes 
 07t child.) Beautiful darling ! Innocent girl ! You are 
 too good for this world — your lamp is flickering. I love 
 you, yet I hate you for your father's sake. Yes, you are 
 an obstacle in my path, and must be removed therefrom. 
 I am a changed woman ! My future life will be one of 
 gaiety — my wealth will enable me to live like a princess, 
 and I'll do it. I wonder if old Madge will keep her 
 promise, and send the man who will rid me of this 
 burden, {points to child in cradle^ The night is terrible ; 
 the wind is howling without, and the rain is dashing 
 furiously against the window panes. Oh God ! what a 
 night ! Thornton Leslie ! you have made me what I 
 am, a murderess ! Your money bought my soul. A 
 toy in your hands, I am now a demolished wreath. I'll 
 remember you ; your perfidy shall be repaid, yes, a thou- 
 
10 A LIFE'S LESSON, [act i. 
 
 sand fold. ( Walks slowly to sofa.) O God ! I feel the 
 Scarlet letter on my brow. Has it come to this? I am 
 prepared for the worst. {Lies down on sofa. Music?) 
 
 Enter Malcolm 2t'////^ stealthy step — Kvi\A^^ jumps up — Mal. 
 hands key, and whispers in her ear. 
 
 Ad. You ! are the one selected for such a duty — a 
 beardless youth ! {Botli c.) 
 
 Mal. I've been selected for the work, and none can 
 do it better. 
 
 Ad. You understand your mission — the child there 
 sleeping in its cradle must be stolen from me — but it 
 must not live; its little spark of life must be extinguished 
 and here are one thousand pounds for the work — {hands 
 money) — take it quick ! it is reeking with blood. Let 
 no one see you take the child — do not let it suffer long. 
 Can you keep the secret ? 
 
 Mal. {Goes rear right.) The secret dies with me. 
 I shall shield you as long as life lasts. Your secret is 
 safe — I'll never betray a woman. I swear by that inno- 
 cent bud to keep your shame hidden — it goes to the 
 grave with me. 
 
 Ad. You are not the monster that I had pictured. 
 
 Mal. {Goes to cradle and gazing on child}) I can- 
 not do the work unless you give me the name of its 
 father. 
 
 Ad. I hate him, {pause,) I abhor him. His name is 
 Thornton Leslie. 
 
 Mal. Then to business. The Httle waif must be 
 stolen from you— but never to be found to tell the tale. 
 
 Ad. You understand it perfectly. 
 
 Mal. Had n't you better remove these costly ha- 
 biliments ? 
 
SCENE IV.] J LIFE'S LESSON. 11 
 
 Ad. {Goes to cradle.) No, take it just as it is — they 
 belong to it. [Kisses the child.) Darling, you shall be 
 better off. God will take care of you better than I can. 
 
 Malcolm takes the child out of ci'adle tenderly. 
 
 Mal. Farewell, my lady. Your secret is safe — give 
 yourself no uneasiness— you Ve paid for the work, and 
 that's the end of it. {Going to the door. Music.) 
 
 Ad. {Holding him back — kisses child.) Before you 
 go, I beseech you do not let it suffer long. {Gazes upon 
 it.) It is the image of her father. Away ! Let it perish. 
 
 Malcolm exits slowly, d. Adline stands in centre of room, 
 one hand clasped on her for he ad, with the other she points 
 to the door. — Dark stage — Thunder , flash of lightning. — 
 Adline falls on sofa as soon as Mal. exits. 
 
 CLOSED IN. 
 
 Scene IV. — Woods ist g — half dark stage. Enter Mal., l., 
 bearing child in his arms, under cape of cloak — looking 
 arou?id. 
 
 Mal. It will soon be over. I can feel the beating of 
 its little heart. This is the most terrible job of my 
 life; I wish I hadn't undertaken it, but it's too late 
 now. The mother does not care for it, why should 
 I ? {Looks up off R.) The storm clouds are chasing 
 each other with terrible velocity. I am not supersti- 
 tiousT— yet something powerful seems to hold me 
 back from the deed. Am I losing my courage? 
 No one sees me. I must be near the spot — I can 
 hear the rushing of water. The little thing will soon be 
 a mangled corpse beyond the possibility of identification 
 should it ever be found. Onward ! Malcolm ! be no 
 
12 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act i. 
 
 coward. You have been paid for it, and it must be done. 
 Madge Hazelton, you are a fiend ! Exit R. 
 
 Enter Madge, l., goes to c. — looks on ground as if for 
 footsteps in sand. 
 
 Madge. He's passed through this gap — here are his 
 footsteps — I know them — the heel on the left boot is 
 missing. I must haste away. I dare not lose sight of 
 Malcolm Leslie until the little brat is beyond the dark 
 river, and the five hundred pounds in my hands. {Looks 
 on ground as if she had lost footsteps — finding them she 
 keeps eyes on ground and exits R.) 
 
 Scene V. — Half dark stage — rocks and trees in fore and back 
 — a turbulent stream of water supposed to be rushing fro??i 
 right to left between rocks — a wild^ weird scene — rushing 
 of water heard — music till Mal. well on. Enter Mal. r., 
 7vith child in his arms, slowly. As soon as Mal. lays 
 down child, music ceases — crosses over to right and gazes 
 at water behind rocks. 
 
 Mal. This is the first time in my life that awe has 
 overtaken me. {Lays doivn the child.) What ails me? 
 I have the money for the work, and yet I hesitate. 
 {contemplates, — looking at child.) 
 
 Enter Madge left 2 e. — stands on rock at wing., looking 
 at Mal., who is unaware of her presence. 
 
 Madge. I knew I would find him. Why does he 
 stand there like a mummy ? 
 
 A flash of lightning. 
 
 Mal. Great God ! {Looks at child^ What eyes — 
 how imploringly they look at me and beg for mercy. 
 
SCENE v.] .J L/FF'S LFSSON. 13 
 
 God's image is there. I cannot do it. But I must, I 
 have the money — she must die! There is the water 
 rushing and gurgling, roaring and spouting over the rocks 
 waiting for its victim. It will soon be over. [Takes a 
 rope from his pocket, ties a stone to one end, and is about 
 to fasten the other end aroitnd the child's body.) 
 
 Madge. Ha ! ha ! I knew it. [Exultant,) Did you 
 but know that Thornton Leslie was also your father you 
 would never do it. 
 
 Malcolm rises, — casts rope and stone into the water. 
 
 Mal. No, I will not kill the innocent being — it must 
 live, and I will see that it lives ! 
 
 Madge. [Points her finger at Malcolm^ May the 
 curse of Jehovah blast you ! 
 
 Dark sta^e — a flash of lightning and heavy peal of thunder. 
 — Madge disappears as if killed by the flash- -the awl 
 appears in her place, facing audience. 
 
 Mal. [Picks up child.) That was terrible. We must 
 leave here now little one. You shall be spared — I will 
 protect you — I have saved your life and you have saved 
 mine. I will henceforth be an honest man. I will dis- 
 card my evil companions, and endeavor to make them 
 honest men; and here, upon my bended knee, for the 
 first time in my life, [kneels down), I promise to be a 
 brother to you, and shield you from all harm; and ask 
 strength from Him on high to do my mission well ! 
 [Points up.) Red light — Curtain. 
 
14 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act ii. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Wood scene front — light stage — Gypsies — chorus — 
 Men playing cards. When Mal. enters., women exit., left. 
 
 Ken. The devil must have run away with Malcolm, 
 this is the first time I can remember that he has 
 disappointed us. He went to Madge's, and promised to 
 be back in time to crack the job to-night. 
 
 1st Gypsy. He may have been captured. 
 
 Ken. No danger of that, his disguise is too complete, 
 and one man can't take him — or two either. {A whistle. 
 Enter Malcolm i E. right}) He's coming now. We have 
 waited for you a long time — it is now near the break of 
 day, and the job should have been completed ere this 
 time, {(^oes left.) 
 
 Mal. It will not be done to-night. They are ap- 
 prised of the fact. Twenty men, armed to the teeth, 
 would give you a warm reception. [Gypsies C, Mal. R. C, 
 Kei'i. L. C.) 
 
 Ken. Then we have been betrayed. Who is the 
 traitor among us ? 
 
 Mal. You have among you a man who has changed 
 his life, one who never again will touch anything dishon- 
 orable. 
 
 All. Who is that ? 
 
 Mal. It is I ! [Points to himself.) 
 
 Ken. You have betrayed us ? 
 
 Mal. I have done my duty. The first dishonorable 
 
SCENE I.J A LIFE'S LESSON. 15 
 
 act that is ever again done by this hand, may it fall 
 lifeless ! (Raises his rig-ht hand and lets it falL) 
 
 Ken. Will you leave us. 
 
 Mal. My plan is this; All that I have accumulated 
 since this mode of life shall be divided equally among 
 you all — it will be sufficient to start you in an honorable 
 sphere. All I ask is that you become good men hence- 
 forth, as I shall strive to do. No one will molest you ; 
 my path of life will be different than it has been, and my 
 mission will be that of hunting down for punishment all 
 criminals. 
 
 Ken. a detective? [Crosses to right^ 
 
 Mal. If you choose to call it so. 
 
 Ken. And will you hunt us down ? 
 
 Mal. Were he my brother I would bring him to jus- 
 tice. My eyes have been opened to this horrid life, and 
 I swear here before you all that I will hunt down sin 
 wherever I find it. 
 
 Ken. a sudden change has come over you. There 
 must be something in it. (L. C.) 
 
 Mal. More than you can fathom. I tell you all, 
 beware ! Mend your ways, do right hereafter, and I will 
 be your friend ; and if you do wrong, I will be your foe. 
 Meet me at the well at noon to-day, and all I have will 
 be yours, if you promise to be honest. Will you do it? 
 {.All say yes, except Kenneth.) You alone refuse, (points 
 to Ken,) 
 
 Ken. The die for me is cast. My mode of life is 
 this, and shall be continued. I defy your art in catching 
 thieves, (sneering.) 
 
 Mal. You've had your choice — refused a generous 
 offer to be good. Pursue your way, but keep from my 
 path. 
 
16 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act il 
 
 Ken. Ha ! ha ! {Laughs.) Sir detective, I'll keep 
 my tracks well hidden. But remember this, you'll have 
 a hard job of it. As for these cowards, I spit upon 
 them, whining whelps, who dare not say their life's their 
 own. 
 
 They are about to rush upon Kenneth. — Malcolm rushes 
 between them and holds them back. 
 
 Mal. Spare his life — his brain is heated — he'll soon 
 repent and become an honest man. 
 
 Ken. Never ! 
 
 Mal. Then go thy way. Remember what I say, 
 or the gallows will give you its embrace. 
 
 Ken. I will now retire. Good day ! my honest men. 
 You will hear from me again. Good day ! Sir Malcolm, 
 we will have a reckoning some day. 
 
 Mal. At the gallows. 
 
 Ken. Be it there. {Exit L. i 'E., smiling — walks slow.) 
 Good day ! Ha ! ha ! Good day ! {Laughs.) 
 
 Mal. Now, my friends, meet me at the well, and 
 every farthing that I have shall be divided among you. 
 Go to your homes, or wherever you choose, be honest 
 and upright, and God will take care of you. I will leave 
 you now ; I have other work to do. Farewell ! 
 
 Exit R. I e. All exit L. i E. 
 
 Scene II. — Same as scene first of act first. — Light stage. — 
 Enter Malcolm, c. d. — Goes to owl. 
 
 Mal. I find thee all alone, where's thy good mistress? 
 About the hut somewhere, I presume. I'll wait a while. 
 She must have been corresponding— the letters lie around 
 
f 
 
 SCENE il] a LIFE'S lesson. 11 
 
 in profusion — she is a mysterious being — perchance I 
 might find something of interest, [takes up a letter). 
 Egyptian hieroglyphics as sure as I'm alive. She seems 
 to be an adept in its tongue. Hello ! what's this under- 
 lined with red ink? Where's the beginning? Ah, here 
 it is, {reads)'. 
 
 New York, Sept. 9th, 1850. 
 Dear Madge : 
 
 Malcolm is nineteen years old to-day. In two years more 
 I shall send for him. Enclosed find regular remittance and twenty 
 pounds for the boy. I arrived here four months ago, have opened a 
 bank, and doing well. Keep me well shielded. Has the women given 
 birth to a child? Keep my son away from her. Will send fifty pounds 
 by next steamer. Yours truly, 
 
 THORNTON LESLIE. 
 <^/ Wall Street. 
 
 P. S. — Destroy this. 
 
 Great God ! is he also my father, by a different mother? 
 It cannot be possible. I will hunt him up. I shall go 
 to America and take my sister with me. This letter I 
 shall certainly keep, {puts it in his pocket). There is 
 some one coming. A lady ! I'll seem unconcerned. 
 {Seats himself?) 
 
 Enter Adline, d., not recognizing Malcolm. 
 
 Ad. Excuse me, sir, I expected to meet the aged 
 Gypsy here. 
 
 Mal. She must be about the house somewhere. 
 Anything of importance that I might communicate ? 
 
 Ad. No, nothing ; I wished to see her privately — on 
 business connected with {confused) a son of hers named 
 Malcolm. 
 
 Mal. I'm {rises) reputed to be her son, and last night 
 I did a service for you, for which you paid me well. 
 {Goes L.) 
 
18 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act ii. 
 
 Ad. Are you the one? In my excitement I failed to 
 study your features, so that I might recognize you again. 
 Was the work well done, and complete ? 
 
 Mal., (c.) It was m)/ lady. The Httle thing was as 
 quiet as death — I carried it gently to the river bank, and 
 laid it down upon the wet grass, securely wrapped in 
 the shawls, and prepared the stone — was about fasten- 
 ing the rope to it's neck, when a flash of lightning Ht up 
 its face — an angel's face — I could not murder it. I 
 clasped it in rny arms, kissed its brow, and swore to 
 protect it. 
 
 Au. And she lives ? 
 
 Mal. She lives. 
 
 Head of Kenneth peering- through window. 
 
 Ad. Where is she ? O tell me where ? (Goes to him.) 
 
 Mal. That's my secret; you have yours. [Up stage.) 
 
 Ad. Great God ! I shall find her this very day. 
 
 Mal. Give yourself no trouble, Madame, she is be- 
 yond your reach. But the time will come when you will 
 be glad that she lives. Give yourself no uneasiness, 
 she will have a brother, though she is forsaken by her 
 parents. 
 
 Knock at the door — Malcolm opens it. Enter Kenneth and 
 a farmer., bearing the dead body of Madge Hazelton. 
 
 Ken. Ah ! Good evening. 
 
 Mal. What have you there ? 
 
 Ken. Old Madge, as dead as a stone. We found 
 her at the foot of the cliff, a mile from here. 
 
 Mal. What could have brought her there ? 
 
 Ken. And near her I also found this handkerchief of 
 
SCENE II.] • A LIFE'S LESSQA^. 19 
 
 blue silk, with A. H. neatly embroidered in the corner, 
 {^produces a blue silk handkerchiefs wJiite border) 
 
 Mal. This is truly a mysterious affair. 
 
 Ken. And beside the handkerchief lay, like a serpent 
 shining amongst the grass, this knife that once belonged 
 to you, {to Malcolm — produces it.) 
 
 Mal. Yes, the knife is mine. How came it there ? 
 
 Ken. You can answer that better than myself. It 
 could not have walked there, that is certain. {Goes i..) 
 
 Mal. {Going to Madge — examines her) There is 
 no wound visible, except a slight contusion on the right 
 temple. She must have wandered on the cliff and fallen 
 down. 
 
 Ken. Or she may have been pushed over. {^Attitude) 
 
 Mal. {Rushes tozvards Ken.) Miserable wretch ! do 
 not make me forget my honest intentions, or I will rush 
 upon you and strangle the breath out of your body. 
 Get out of here at once ! {Points to door.) 
 
 Ken. Good day, {sneering), Mr. Malcolm. Good day, 
 my lady, we will meet again. Good by. Old Pard ! 
 
 Exit L. I R. Shakes his finger at Mal. and points to the Iiody 
 of Madge. Exit farmer, following Kenneth. 
 
 Mal. Madame, that man was once my companion in 
 crime. Last night God opened my eyes, and your little 
 child with its loving, innocent face completed the work. 
 To-day I am an honorable man ; I shall earn my living 
 by the sweat of my brow. Last night, amid the turbu- 
 lence of nature, when the crags trembled beneath the 
 thunder of heaven, and made weird by flashes of light- 
 ning, the mark of Cain was washed from my forehead. 
 I swore to Him on high never again to do a dishonest 
 act. I'll be a brother to the little one, and seek its father. 
 
20 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act ii. 
 
 Its mother, forgetful of her duty, consigned it to death, 
 (Adline shrinks back.) I saved it, and it saved me. 
 Madame, in the future your hfe must be blameless for 
 the sake of her ; I will keep my eye on you. Remember 
 me, I am Malcolm Leslie ! Exit D., quick. 
 
 Ad. Great God! {surprised^ I cannot stay here; I'll 
 leave this country at once, and seek to drown these 
 dreadful scenes in pleasure, cost what it may. 
 
 Enter Kenneth, cautiously^ through window. Adline startled. 
 
 Ken. He is gone, my lady ; he's the murderer of Madge 
 Hazelton. He killed her, and threw her body over the 
 cliff — then he ransacked the house ; see everything scat- 
 tered about. My lady, excuse me, if you please, but I 
 overheard a conversation about^a child that belongs to 
 you. Do you want it? {smiles^ 
 
 Ad. I will give one hundred pounds for its return 
 to me, dead or alive. Do you understand ? 
 
 Ken. Perfectly. I know where the child is concealed, 
 and it shall be in your hands, dead or alive, in forty-eight 
 hours. I have a score to settle with Malcolm, and I 
 might as well begin now. 
 
 Ad. Bring her to the Wolf, and your money is ready. 
 Farewell, for the present, sir. {Haughty^ Exit D. 
 
 Ken. {Looks after her.) Ah, farewell, my lady; we 
 will get better acquainted. I'll weave a web around 
 you that will keep you safe and me in money, never fear, 
 my pale beauty. You'll have your child and I will have 
 your secret, and when I've have got it, you will be in my 
 power. I'll go nov/ and make sure of my game — then, 
 plan a campaign for the future. Farewell, my lady, 
 farewell ! Exit^ slowly. 
 
SCENE III.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 21 
 
 Scene III. — Plain farmer s room, jd g. Table — -four chairs 
 — Cradle containing child in front of door on left — Door 
 on right — Maxwell and Jeanette seated at table. 
 
 Max. Yes, wife, we are well fixed now. That five 
 hundred pounds will be a great help to us, and I can 
 now pay off that dreadful mortgage, and we can again 
 live contented. But I wish we could keep the darling, 
 she is so beautiful. 
 
 Jean. Yes, John, and so quiet. I'm afraid w^e wont 
 be able to raise it, she is so delicate. 
 
 Max. Pshaw, she will come out all right. We've 
 raised six of them, and we'll raise her. Aint there some 
 one coming? I thought I heard footsteps. 
 
 Enter Malcolm, quickly. 
 
 Mal. Why, yes, 'tis me. How's the babe ? [Goes to 
 cradle.) 
 
 Jean. As quiet as a little mouse — most always asleep. 
 
 Mal. Take good care of her, you wont be sorry. 
 Has any one been here lately, looking for a lost child ? 
 
 Max. a man came here on horseback, this morning, 
 for a drink of water. He saw the Httle thing, but made 
 no remark. He said he was on his way to Crampton to 
 purchase sheep, and would call again on his way back 
 this eve and bring us a treat, 
 
 Mal. How did he look? 
 
 Max. Clean shaven face, rather good looking — I 
 didn't like his eyes much, and one thing I noticed par- 
 ticular, was a red wart on his right ear. 
 
 Mal. {Aside.) 'Tis him. 
 
22 A LIFE'S LESSON, [act ii. 
 
 Max. And as he passed out through the path, one 
 of the thorns of the rose bush must have caught this 
 pocket handkerchief, and pulled it out of his pocket. 
 ^Produces it.) 
 
 Mal. That's fine silk — A. H. embroidered on the 
 corner. {Aside,) he's after the child. {Aloud) I'll re- 
 main here until he returns. 
 
 Jean. Why, there is some one galloping up the road, 
 who can it be? 
 
 Max goes to the window. 
 
 Max. The very man is coming back. What can be 
 the matter? 
 
 Mal. Can I step into that room behind the crib ? 
 
 Max. You can. 
 
 Mal. Keep my presence a secret. I'll explain after. 
 
 Exit into room. 
 
 Knock at the door — Maxwell opens it. Enter Kenneth 
 
 smilins:. 
 
 % 
 
 Ken. I beg your pardon, Mr. Maxwell, for disturbing 
 you again ; I've changed my mind ; I'll not go into the 
 country till to-morrow. It looks like rain, and I am 
 chilled through. I'll just step out and get a bottle of 
 good stuff I have in my saddle bags, and we will all 
 drink to better acquaintance. {Aside) I'll have the 
 young one soon. Exit. 
 
 Malcolm sticks his head out of door. 
 
 Mal. Don't betray me. 
 
 Enter Kenneth with flat white bottle containing yellow fluid. 
 
 Ken. So now, a few glasses, and we will test this old 
 prime whisky — the genuine old mountain dew. 
 
SCENE III.] A LIFE'S LESSOA. 28 
 
 Jeanette produces them — Kenneth fills them — the Max- 
 well's drink. Kenneth pours the conte^its of his glass 
 in his hat, so that the audience may see it. 
 
 Max. That is excellent, 'tis many a year since I've 
 drank the like — a trifle fiery. Wife, get us some refresh- 
 ments; I dare say the gentleman would relish a little 
 home-made bread and cheese. 
 
 Ken. Yes, yes, I would enjoy it. 
 
 Exit Jeanette. 
 
 Max. I'm getting old — I feel it. When I was young 
 I could drink five or six glasses without trouble, but now, 
 I declare. I feel this little glass in my head already. 
 
 Ken. (Aside,) you are gone, old fellow. {Aloud^ 'tis 
 strong, but it invigorates the system. 
 
 Max, I never felt so sleepy in my whole life ; excuse 
 me, sir. {Lays his head on table and is asleep}) 
 
 Ken. Ha ! ha ! old codger, you did well ; and the old 
 woman is gone up by this time. I havn't much time to 
 lose, I'll rifle his pockets first, then I'll trundle up the 
 young one and get my hundred pounds. Music. 
 
 Robs Maxwell, then goes to cradle and gazes on child. 
 
 Asleep; I hope she won't awake and make a noise. If 
 she does, I'll choke her. The lady said dead or alive, 
 that's my look out. 
 
 Is about to take child out of cradle, door opens, Malcolm 
 appears, covering Kenneth with pistol. 
 
 Ken. {Starts back) Malcolm ! 
 
 Mal. Yes, this is the first time, beware ! 
 
 Kenneth cowers to r. c. and stands. — Red light. 
 
 DOWN curtain. 
 
24 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act iv. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A lapse of four years. A well furnished rootn^ 
 G. 3 — Cushioned furniture — Practical door rear centre — 
 Window) each side — Balcony outside of left window — Left 
 wittdow open — Sofa left 2 e. — Sir Geoffrey Stonington 
 and Lady Stonington seated at table — Geoffrey read- 
 ing paper. 
 
 Geof. Yes, dear, as I said this morning, I am much 
 opposed to having that fellow hanging around the grounds 
 any longer, and you will certainly do me a favor to forbid 
 his being found here again. {Puts down paper and rises, 
 crosses R.) 
 
 L. S. I shall positively forbid it, my dear husband, 
 and you may rely on me that your wish will be carried 
 out to the very letter. [Rises, goes C.) 
 
 Geof. I am sure I am thankful to you, Adline. I 
 hate to be annoyed, and did I not have implicit confi- 
 dence in you I might be a little jealous. ( Touches her 
 chin.) 
 
 L. S. You need not be, Geoffrey, and your wish shall 
 be obeyed, and I shall see that it is. 
 
 Geof. Many thanks, Adline dear. [Looks at his 
 tvatch.) I shall run up to London on the nine o'clock, 
 and return on the seven-thirty to-night. [Goes C, takes 
 her hand.) 
 
 L. S. Shall I send the carriage to the depot this eve ? 
 
 Geof. O, no. FU just walk home through the httle 
 belt of forest, it is but a ten minute's tramp — so farewell. 
 [Kisses her, and exit D. off left.) 
 
SCENE I.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 25 
 
 L. S. Great God ! what a terrible lot is mine — these 
 four years flit before me like a phantom. I have been 
 followed like a shadow by that wretch, Kenneth Gwin- 
 nette. My money has kept him, and his appetite is not 
 yet appeased. He follows me night and day like an evil 
 spirit, and asks for money — hush money. I might be 
 happy now were it not for that demon of torture. I 
 have a good and indulgent husband, am mistress of one 
 of the finest places on the Thames, and yet I am un- 
 happy — miserable — haunted, as it were, by that villain. 
 Four long years ! I wish I could recall them. I wish I 
 could get one more loving glance at that darling child, 
 the beautiful angel whom I in my wicked heart consigned 
 to death. My brain reels. Oh God ! thy wrath has 
 overtaken me, and I am receiving the punishment I so 
 justly merit. I will not complain, I am the guilty one. 
 [Seats herself on sofa.) 
 
 Enter servant. 
 
 Servant. My lady, a gentlemen wishes to see your 
 ladyship at once. 
 
 L. S. Show him in, (servant exit) Who can it be ? 
 not Kenneth again, I hope. I gave him twenty pounds 
 only yesterday. Who can it possibly be ? 
 
 Servant showing i?i Malcolm, who is disguised with chin 
 whisker and moustache. 
 
 Mal. I {bows) did not desire to disturb you, my lady, 
 I had hoped to find Sir Geoffrey at home, but I have 
 learned that he has gone to London. 
 
 L. S. I am sorry, sir; my husband runs to the city 
 almost daily. Pray be seated. (Seats hunself) 
 
 Mal. Then I shall not be able to see him ? 
 
 L. S. Not till evening. 
 
 Mal. I would be pleased to see him, as I am about 
 
'26 , A LIFE'S LESSON. [act m. 
 
 to embark for America, and cannot leave old England 
 without bidding him adieu. 
 
 L. S. I am sure he would be glad to see you. I 
 would be pleased to have you remain until he returns. 
 
 Mal. It would give me great pleasure. Does Sir 
 Geoffrey travel much now? 
 
 L. S. Very little. We were on the Continent last 
 year, and he has planned a trip to Paris for this winter ; 
 then, he says, he will settle down. 
 
 Mal. He used to be very fond of our mountains in 
 Scotland, and spent a large portion of his time with us, 
 but that was before he committed matrimony. 
 
 L. S. I dare say ; single men roam around considera- 
 ble, and have many an adventure. He has related to me 
 many incidents of his travels, and they are quite interest- 
 ing I can assure you, sir. 
 
 Mal. Did he ever mention a place called Langholm ? 
 
 Lady Stonington starts. 
 
 L. S. I first met him there, at the^foot of the Cheviot 
 mountains. 
 
 Malcolm rises and goes left., takes whiskers and moustache off., 
 turns suddenly to Lady S., and goes to her. 
 
 Mal. And I first met you there, too, Adline Har- 
 court. 
 
 l^.S.,{startled — takes Mal. by the arm.) Great heavens ! 
 Malcolm Leslie ! God has not forgotten me — he has 
 sent you as an angel of mercy. 
 
 Mal. Be calm, don't betray yourself. I am your 
 friend, and will be. 
 
 L. S. Where is she? does she live? O tell me quick! 
 
SCENE I.] A LIFK'S LESSON. 27 
 
 Mal. Yes, {calmlr.) she lives, and is as beautiful as a 
 cherub, and I have taught her to call you Aunt Adline. 
 
 Lady S. takes both of Malcolm's hands. 
 
 L. S. You are a noble man ; let me see her, 
 
 Mal. Not now ; sometime in the future you shall 
 again press her to your bosom. 
 
 L. S. Thanks ! thanks ! {submissively,) 
 
 Mal., (C.) And now to other business. I have kept 
 watch over you for four long years, and the injunction to 
 be good you have obeyed ; and now I want to rid you 
 of the last terror — the man Kenneth. He must leave 
 this country, so that you may live in peace. 
 
 L. S. O, dear sir, I cannot repay you, 
 
 Mal. There is nothing to repay — when did you see 
 him last ? 
 
 L. S. Yesterday he entered the house and demanded 
 fifty pounds. I gave him twenty, all I had, and he said 
 he was coming for more to-day. 
 
 Mal. Good, I'll attend to him. Where does this 
 window lead to? {Goes up left and points left zvindow.) 
 
 L. S. On the portico, from there to the conservatory. 
 
 Mal. I'll make my exit through it, and enter at the 
 proper time. When he comes refuse to give him a far- 
 thing, and defy him to expose you. I will be on hand 
 in time. Exit through window left. 
 
 L. S. At last happiness is about to dawn upon me. 
 She lives — and speaks my name ; could I but see her 
 once more I would never part with her again. I'll tell 
 my husband all, and I am sure he will forgive me. I'll 
 be so happy then— so happy. 
 
 Ken. {Enters d.) And so will I. 
 
28 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act hi. 
 
 L. S. iyS tar tied?) You here again ? 
 
 Ken. Yes, my lady; I met his lordship going to the 
 city, and it is a most opportune time for a raise. I've 
 come for more lucre — ■I've made up my mind to go to 
 America, and need five hundred pounds. 
 
 L. S. Not another farthing will you get from me. 
 
 Ken. You are joking. {Laughs,) 
 
 L. S. Not a farthing. {Earnestly}) 
 
 Ken. Ha ! ha ! {Laughs scornfully.) I'll open my 
 mouth. 
 
 L. S. For four years you have clung to me like a 
 leech, and drew the blood-money from me ; but now 'tis 
 over. My husband shall know all this very night, and 
 then I defy you — I defy you ! 
 
 Malcolm is discovered on balcony outside of window. 
 
 Ken. So ! so ! my lady ! Give me what money you 
 may have about you, and those rings and watch and 
 chain. 
 
 L. S. Never ! I will call for help. {Goes in front of 
 left window.) 
 
 Ken. Without avail. {Goes between her and window^ 
 
 Kenneth is about to take hold of Lady S. — she pushes him 
 back, and he falls in the arms of Malcolm, who emerges 
 from the recesses of the window — Mal. seizes Ken. by the 
 throat and throws him on the floor. 
 
 Ken. Malcolm ! 
 
 Mal. This is the second time. The third time you 
 go the gallows. Arise now, go your way, miserable man, 
 and remember I'm on your track. {Exit Ke?ineth.) 
 Now, Lady Stonington, I'll leave you again. He will 
 trouble you no further. 
 
 \ 
 
SCENE II.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 29 
 
 L. S. You have saved my life, generous sir. Surely 
 the hand of God has guided you here. When can I see 
 my little one ? 
 
 Mal. She is beyond the sea. Some day, if God 
 spares us all, you will see her. Farewell. Exit D. 
 
 L. S. /alls upon her knees as if in prayer, closed in. 
 
 Scene II. — Woods., front. Half dark stage. Enter Kenneth 
 partly disguised, and Pal.., left ist e. 
 
 Ken. It's growing dark; he must be along here 
 pretty soon. When it comes to work, handle him care- 
 fully ; he's old and feeble, and will not offer much resist- 
 ance. He's a good-hearted old chap, but we must have 
 money. You hide now, and the moment I drop my 
 handkerchief, you grab him from behind — that will com- 
 pletely surprise him, and the rest will be easy. [Pal hides 
 behind tree^ left.) I'm going to leave this blarsted coun- 
 try, it is growing too monotonous, but before I go I'll 
 pipe on the beauty — I'll have my revenge. [Looks left.) 
 Aha ! here he comes ; he seems as merry as a lark. 
 
 Kenneth goes right to meet Sir Geoffrey in centre of stage. 
 
 Enter Geoffrey, left. 
 
 Geof. Good evening, sir, A fine day. (Is about to 
 pass on, R.) 
 
 Ken. [Grasps hifn by the arm.) Don't be in a hurry. 
 Kenneth drops handkerchief. 
 
30 
 
 A LIFE'S LESSON. 
 
 [act III 
 
 Geof. Unhand me, sir, or I'll — " 
 
 Pal seizes Geof. from behind. 
 
 Ken. Take it easy, old fellow ; we wont hurt you. 
 We want what little money you have about you, and 
 that watch and chain, so don't make any noise, and all 
 will be right. {Music. They rob him. Ken. counts 
 bank notes hands checks back to him) Six hundred 
 pounds — these checks we can't use, so I'll return them. 
 Here {to Pal) are two hundred pounds for you — now tra- 
 vel, and make the necessary arrangements. Exit Pal. 
 
 Now, Sir Geoffrey Stonington, we are alone. Have no 
 fear, you are just as safe as if you were in your own 
 house. I want to disclose to you a secret well worth 
 the money we took from you. 
 
 Geof. A secret of whom ? 
 
 Ken. Your wife, Lady Adline. 
 
 Geof. Great God ! Out with it. {Crosses to right) 
 
 Ken. About four or five years ago, your present wife 
 was a single beauty. She gave birth to a child, the fath- 
 er of whom is now a banker in New York. He left the 
 mother with quite a fortune, and skipped off for America 
 before the illegitimate waif was born. After the mother 
 recovered from her illness, she paid one thousand pounds 
 to have the little thing removed — murdered. 
 
 Geof. My wife did that ? {Both c) 
 
 Ken. Yes, but the villain that consented to do the 
 job, pocketed the money, and the child lives. 
 
 Geof. She lives ? {Starts back.) 
 
 Ken. Yes, but all traces of her have been lost. 
 
 Geof. This is terrible ! I loved my wife — but now 
 I hate her. I shall discard her this very night. 
 
SCENE III.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 31 
 
 Ken. {Sneering-.) She is unworthy to be the wife of 
 an honorable man. I'll now take my leave, sir; it will 
 be useless for you to pursue me. In two hours I shall be 
 out of your reach. Remember Kenneth Gwinnette to 
 Adline Harcourt. Exit left \st Y.. 
 
 Geof. Great God ! Can it be possible that such a 
 fiend is my wife — a murderess — a former mistress? I 
 was certain she had a secret — she hid it well — but mur- 
 der will out. She must leave my roof this very night. 
 I have nursed a scorpion who would have stung me to 
 death — I have lavished my love and affections on a 
 hideous monster. Under the guise of an angel, she 
 played her part well. I'll trudge along, now, and pass 
 into the house unnoticed, and prepare myself for the 
 most terrible ordeal of my life. Exit right. 
 
 Scene III. — Scene same as Scene first Act third. — Lady 
 Stonington lying on sofa. — Music. — She awakes and 
 seems bewildered — gazes around — as soon as she rises 
 music ceases. 
 
 L. S. {Rises— consults her watch.) Is it possible 
 that I have slept so long? It was a terrible sleep — I'm 
 glad I am awake. That horrible dream — it changed its 
 aspects thousands of times — yet was continuous. I saw 
 paraded before me the entire past — not an iota was mis- 
 sing. I saw myself pure — then the greed for money — 
 then the abyss down which I plunged headlong — then 
 the darling child — my hands reeking in blood. Oh ! it 
 seems as if my brain was ablaze. Then again, amidst 
 all my tribulations, Sir Geoffrey ejected me from my home. 
 Houseless and homeless I wandered— crossed a mighty 
 sea — in the dim distance, on the other shore, stood she 
 to whom I gave life. She beckoned — I reached for- 
 
32 A LIFE'S LESSOxV. [act hi 
 
 ward — Great God ! I began to sink — the black waters 
 closed over my head — down, down, I went. A choking 
 sensation came over me — I knew I was dying. At last 
 it became brighter and brighter. I stood upon the bot- 
 tom alone. Shining skeletons grinned at me and swayed 
 too and fro in the upheaval — huge monsters of the deep 
 swam leisurely by me, and gazed at me with infernal 
 grandeur — mammoth creatures with jaws distended en- 
 circled me, and seemed to be ready to devour me as soon 
 as' the breath left my body. I became resigned and 
 wanted to die. When at last above me was a ripple, a 
 tiny hand was stretched forth, and the word Adline fell 
 on my ears. I began to ascend. As I arose to the sur- 
 face, I awoke. Oh ! it was terrible, and full of signifi- 
 cance. I must yet go through darkness before I come 
 to light. My husband is late — I hope nothing has hap- 
 pened him — he is so good, and were it not for that black 
 secret, I would be happy. But I shall no longer be tor- 
 mented. I will confess all to him this very night. I 
 want to tear myself loose from the dark fetters. Yes, 
 111 tell him all — then he will either be my friend or my 
 foe. 
 
 Enter Geof. d. — L. S. meets him and is about to take his hand 
 — he motions her off. 
 
 Geof. Sit down ; Kenneth Gwinnette sends greeting 
 to Adline Harcourt. 
 
 L. S. sinks into a chair. 
 
 L. S. How dare the villain mention my name in 
 connection with his ? 
 
 Geof. He told me all — he exposed your infamy. 
 Instead of being the husband of a true, honest woman, 
 I am the husband of a hypocrite. 
 
 L. S. falls on her hiees before Geof. — Geof. r. 
 
SCENE III.] A LIFE'S LESSOA. 33 
 
 L. S. Have mercy! Let me tell you my side. 
 
 Geof. Some invention of your fertile brain to help 
 you out. 
 
 L. S. rises. 
 
 L. S. God in heaven is my witness, I shall speak 
 only the truth. I had made up my mind to confess all 
 to you to-night, but fate decreed that you should hear it 
 otherwise. Since I have been your wife, Sir Geoffrey, I 
 have been a true woman to you. I have loved you. 
 'Tis true I have a secret, of which you would have heard 
 to-night. Five years ago, by the allurements and bland- 
 ishments of a monster in human form, I was betrayed. 
 After having accompHshed my ruin he cast me off. I 
 became a mother — the father had disappeared. In the 
 wild delerium of events, I hated the child, and paid one 
 thousand pounds to have it removed from my path. 
 The man who consented to do the deed relented, and 
 she lives. Since that fatal hour I have been a good wo- 
 man, and will remain so till he calls me home. 
 [Points up.) 
 
 Geof. You have basely deceived me, and I shall no 
 longer look upon you as my wife — this roof shall not 
 shelter one so vile ; leave it at once. Call at my 
 office to-morrow in London — I will give you a check, 
 large enough that it will carry you far away from him 
 whom you have disgraced. 
 
 L. S. Sir Geoffrey Stonington, I go — but I do not 
 want your money nor anything you gave. me. [She 
 takes off watch, jewelry and rings, and lays them on 
 table) These are yours — I leave with nothing but my 
 honor as a true woman and faithful wife — God and the 
 future will vindicate me. Farewell ! {Goes to door.) 
 
 Geof. rises. 
 
34 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act hi. 
 
 Geof. Stay ! 
 
 L. S. Too late. {She stops and turns to Geof.- — 
 raises her hand.) 
 
 Green light should be thrown on Lady Stonington's face. 
 
 CURTAIN SLOWLY. 
 
SCENE 1.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 35 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A lapse of fourteen years. — Street scene in winter^ 
 in 2. — Front of house with massive steps covered with 
 snow and ice, right, moonlight — half dark stage. — Enter 
 Adline l. 2d E. with a bundle tmder her arm. — Poorly 
 dressed, shawl over her head. — She looks at lighted win- 
 dows and goes to steps as if to ascend — hesitates, and 
 turns toward front — Goes c. 
 
 Ad. Oh, God ! my punishment is terrible. Will I 
 never be able to atone? Must I freeze here? The 
 streets are deserted, I cannot find my way, my limbs are 
 tottering beneath me — I'm sure I am lost. This is a fine 
 residence in the wealthy part of the city — I must turn in 
 the opposite direction, i^goes right) I feel sleepy — I wish I 
 could sleep my last sleep — next month {oji steps) will be 
 fourteen years since I was Lady Stonington, Eighteen 
 years since I was Adline Harcourt. Heavens what an 
 age. To-day I am an out-cast and freezing to death. 
 Eighteen years I have been looking for her and him and 
 now I am dying — alone — alone ! My punishment is just. 
 {Exhausted}) Father take me home. {She covers her 
 face with her hands and rests her head on her knee.) 
 
 Enter Mal. through door of house, speaking to some one inside 
 
 of door. 
 
 Mal. Yes, love, it is dreadful cold — I'll return soon. 
 ( Walks down steps and discovers Adline.) My good 
 woman, what's the trouble ? 
 
 Ad. {Slowly.) O, sir, I've lost my way and I am al- 
 most frozen. 
 
36 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act iv 
 
 Mal. {Aside.) Good God ! The voice — 'tis her ! 
 {Aloud.) Where do you live? 
 
 Ad. On Mulberry Street. 
 
 Mal. May I ask your name ? 
 
 Ad. My name is Harcourt, Adline Harcourt. 
 
 Mal. {Aside.) 'Tis her. Providence, thy ways are 
 inscrutable, she must not know me at present. {Aloud.) 
 Madame, you are a great ways from home — step in the 
 house until you have recovered, then you shall be taken 
 home. 
 
 Ad. Oh, kind sir, how can I thank you ? 
 
 Mal. Never mind that now. {Goes to the door and 
 calls?) Laura ! {Laura, the daughter of Adline Har- 
 court appears at D.) Take this lady into the house, care 
 for her until she has recovered, then let John take her 
 home in the carriage. I found her, almost frozen, lying 
 upon the steps. 
 
 Laura. Yes, dear cousin, I shall do my utmost to 
 revive the poor creature. {Helps her up steps into the 
 house)) 
 
 Mal. What a wreck! {Looks after Adline ; folds 
 his hands.) She lives in a hovel in Mulberry street. At 
 last the beautiful dawn brightens into day. For four- 
 teen years all traces of her had been lost. At last comes 
 the reunion of mysterious characters, guided by the All- 
 seeing Eye. A little while longer, and then, Adline, your 
 old days will be happy ones. You are now being kindly 
 treated by your own daughter, whose life was spared. 
 To-morrow is Thanksgiving Day — have we not reason 
 to give thanks ? We have. Exit up stage off L. 
 
 Enter Kenneth, Rollins and Jumper — l. ist e. 
 
 Ken. Well, boys, its devilish cold to-night. That's the 
 house, {points to it) where the old man and the young 
 
SCENE II.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 37' 
 
 fellow live. To-morrow night we will get into the vault, 
 while they are enjoying a Thanksgiving supper. 
 
 Roll. By Jove, I spent my last Thanksgiving in 
 Sing Sing. 
 
 Jump. So did I. 
 
 Roll. And we may spend the next one there. 
 
 Jump. Just as like as not. 
 
 Ken. Never mind jesting — how is the work pro- 
 gressing? 
 
 Roll. We are up to the wall — two hours' more work 
 and in the vault we are. Once the safe-door opened, 
 and we'll be well fixed. 
 
 Jump. In the Tombs. 
 
 Ken. Come, boys, lets get along, and commence 
 again at the work — I am going over to Jersey City to- 
 night, and I'll return to-morrow morning with a raise. 
 
 All exit l. 2<3f e. 
 
 Scene II. — Dilapidated room — Front ist G., practical door in 
 c — One chair and table l — Basket filled near table — Rags 
 stuffed in windows — mattress on floor — Old wood stove 
 with fire^ rights at wing — Chime bells heard. 
 
 Ad. Thanksgiving morning — how beautiful the bells 
 sound. I did not think I would be here to-day. I was 
 almost dead when that kind gentleman came to my 
 assistance. What a beautiful house inside. I almost 
 fek like Lady Stonington again. They were very kind 
 to me — and one young lady was so generous as to give 
 me this well-filled basket of edibles. I shall never forget 
 them. {Knock at the door, Adline startled) Some one 
 at the door — who can it be ? Oh, how happy I am to- 
 
38 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act iv 
 
 day — some of my poor neighbors, I presume; I shall 
 share with them the contents of my basket. {Goes to 
 door a?id opens it,) 
 
 Enter Malcolm — Adline startled. 
 
 Mal. Don't be startled, madame — I found you at 
 last — these five flights of stairs have almost taken the 
 breath out of me — but here I am. {Breathing hard.) 
 Did you lose anything, last night, while you were at my 
 house ? 
 
 Ad. (C.) No, sir; I have nothing to lose. [Looks at 
 her hand.) Hold — yes, sir, a ring; one which I prize 
 ever so much — it was a gift many years ago. One by 
 one every piece of my jewelry went except that ring — 
 and I would rather starve than part with it. 
 
 Mal. Can you describe it ? 
 
 Ad. It was an amethyst with the monogram of T. L. 
 engraved on the stone. 
 
 Mal. {Hands her ring.) Here it is, and I am glad 
 you have it back. It may be useful to you some day. 
 [Goes left.) 
 
 Ad. I hope it may — many thanks, kind sir. This 
 ring was the pivot upon which my hfe turned. A great 
 many recollections are connected with it — I am unhappy 
 — unfortunate. {Weeps.) 
 
 Mal. Don't weep you may be happy yet. 
 
 Ad. I fear not, dear sir, my time will soon be over, 
 and a pauper's grave will be my lot. 
 
 Mal. Have you been in the city long? 
 
 Ad. Six weeks ago I arrived from Liverpool. I have 
 been to Calcutta, Melbourne, and the Lord knows where, 
 in search — a vain search — of my daughter, whom I lost 
 eighteen years ago. I have exhausted all my means, and 
 
SCENE II.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 39 
 
 I find myself to-day penniless — friendless — in a strange 
 land. Oh, God ! it is terrible. 
 
 Mal. Calm yourself, madame — I will assist you all 
 in my power. 
 
 Ad. Many thanks, sir, but I shall never be able to re- 
 pay you. 
 
 Mal. (r. C.) You have nothing to repay ; you have 
 learned a terrible lesson, but your Christian fortitude has 
 borne you through, and you will soon see him whom you 
 seek — Thornton Leslie ! 
 
 Ad. Great heavens ! who are you ? 
 
 Mal. I am Malcolm Leslie, the son of him whom 
 you seek. [Pulls out blue handkerchief)) Do you re- 
 member this ? (Adline takes it and kisses it.) 
 
 Ad. 'Tis indeed you. Is Mr. Leslie married? 
 
 Mal. He is not. I am the son of his first wife — he 
 is living under my roof — I am his junior partner in busi- 
 ness. He does not suspect I am his son. I have kept 
 the terrible secret so long — and now, thank heaven, it will 
 soon come to an end. 
 
 Ad. And does she live ? 
 
 Mal. She lives — and is a young woman. She also 
 lives with me, under the supposition that she is my cou- 
 sin and an orphan. 
 
 Ad. {Falls on her knees a?id kisses Malcolm's hand.) 
 My savior ! 
 
 Mal. Arise. Father, son and daughter live under 
 the same roof — soon all will be known. The tangled 
 skein is unravelling itself. 
 
 Adline rises. 
 
 Ad. O, Malcolm, let me see my child; let me see her 
 father, he will not spurn me. 
 
40 A LIFE'S LESSOiV. [act iv 
 
 Mal. Not now, but very soon — and all will be right. 
 Promise me to be perfectly calm, and obey my instruc- 
 tions. 
 
 Ad. I will. 
 
 Mal. Ill leave you now — here is some money — you 
 shall no longer suffer the pangs of hunger. Sir Stoning- 
 ton is dead and left one-half of his estate to Adline 
 Stonington. 
 
 Ad. Is this a dream ? 
 
 Mal. 'Tis no dream, 'tis real. Be calm now, I'll come 
 again to-morrow. Exit D. 
 
 Ad. [Looks after him.) At last ! at last ! This 
 terrible life will end with sunshine and gladness. I have 
 indeed learned a life's lesson. O God ! how wondrous 
 and powerful are thy works. I am no longer to endure 
 the pangs of hunger. They both Hve and I shall see 
 them soon. Heaven bless you, Malcolm Leslie. 
 
 Exit slowly I E. L. 
 
 Scene III. — Parlor in Malcolm Leslie's house — Table and 
 chairs — Practical door c — Mal. and T. L. discovered 
 seated — Mal. left and T. L. right. 
 
 Mal. Yes, Mr. Leslie, this is Thanksgiving day, and 
 a happier one I never have had. 
 
 T. L. I am glad to here it. Would that I could say 
 the same. 'Tis many a year since I have had a happy 
 one. 
 
 Mal. You should be contented and happy, since you 
 have everything to make life a pleasure. 
 
 T. L. 'Tis true — but money is the root of all evil. I 
 was happy once, a great many years ago, but alas, like a 
 
SCENE III.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 41 
 
 fleeting cloud, it disappeared. Many years ago, in Eng- 
 land, I had a wife — a good wife she was. She bore me 
 one son, and died. xA^fter a period of mourning I re-en- 
 tered the gayest society of London — I became reckless — 
 squandered my money — and fell in love with a beautiful 
 woman — and to deceive her sent my boy into the Che- 
 voit Mountains to the care of Madge Hazelton, a gypsy. 
 I left him entirely to her charge, and remitted regularly 
 sums of money for his maintenance. The woman that 
 I loved had complete control over me. After having 
 lived with her a few months, I left for parts unknown — 
 wandered about until I reached America. Here fortune 
 smiled on me, and, as you see, I am one of the leading 
 bankers of New York, with you as my junior partner, 
 Mr. Ainsworth. 
 
 Mal. Yes, Mr. Leslie, I shall never be able to thank 
 you sufficiently for the manner in which I rose in your 
 house. I am the happiest man in all the country to-day. 
 
 T. L. I am glad that you are happy. As I was 
 saying/ this boy of mine and the gypsy disappeared 
 eighteen years ago ; also all traces of Adline Harcourt 
 were lost. They are no doubt now drifting around, while 
 I — living in luxury — cannot assist them. 
 
 Mal. Mr. Leslie, the secret is no longer yours. 
 
 T. L. How ? (^Startled, rises and goes to Mal.) 
 
 Mal. I am in possession of it. [Rises.) 
 
 T. L. You ? {Lays his hand on Mal's shoulder) 
 
 Mal. Yes. 
 
 T. L. Explain, for heaven's sake. 
 
 Mal. Your son, Malcolm Leslie, lives. 
 
 T. L. He lives? [Takes Mm:?> hand.) 
 
 Mal. He lives, and I can produce him at once. 
 
42 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act iv. 
 
 y. L. God bless you, Mr. Ainsworth, do so, I be- 
 seech you. 
 
 Mal. Your son shall be produced — I shall send him 
 to you. Exit quickly. 
 
 T. L. (C front ^ My son alive ! Great Heavens ! how 
 happy — how happy. I would Adline and our child 
 were also alive, then I would ask no more. 
 
 Enter Mal disguised — goes to T, L. 
 
 Mal. Father, O father, receive your son. 
 
 T. L. You, my son ? (^Embrace.) Heaven bless you ! 
 
 Malcolm takes of his disguise. 
 
 What, jest Mr. Ainsworth? 
 
 Mal. I am Malcolm Leslie. Here are the papers of 
 identity. {Hands hi^n papers^ I have kept this secret 
 a great many years — but events that have transpired 
 within the last twenty-four hours make it necessary to 
 reveal all, to make you, my dear father, happy. 
 
 T. L. God be praised, I am indeed happy. [Sinks 
 into chair R.) 
 
 Mal. And now, dear father, to make your happiness 
 complete — the wife of Sir Geoffrey Stonington was Ad- 
 line Harcourt. She and her child are also in this city. 
 
 T. L. Impossible. [Jumps up and takes Mal'S hands^ 
 and draws him left,) 
 
 Mal. No, father, they are in this city and you soon 
 shall be as happy as I want you to be. 
 
 T. L. Noble son — the hand of God has guided us all, 
 and these grey hairs shall not go into a dishonored grave. 
 Give me your hand my boy — assist me to my room — 
 that, alone, I may fall on my knees and thank Him for 
 his mercy. 
 
SCENE III.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 43 
 
 Mal. takes his arm and leads him to door — T. L, exit. 
 
 Mal. Everything is working to a charm. The bur- 
 den is off my mind now. {Goes up. Knock at the door?} 
 Come in. 
 
 Enter Wiggins d. 
 
 Wig. Mr. Ainsworth, the job will be done to-night — 
 the kids have been tunneling all day, and Roberts could 
 plainly hear .them digging under the vault. They will 
 be ready to enter to-night. I have made my final dispo- 
 sitions, and we will catch the rats in their own trap. 
 
 Mal. Post the men well inside the vault — I'll be on 
 hand. 
 
 Wig. All right, Sir. Exit D. 
 
 Enter Laura, in walking dress. 
 
 Mal. Ah, Laura — been out already ? I see you have 
 on your walking costume. 
 
 Laura. Yes, cousin Malcolm, I've been down town 
 already. You remember the poor creature that you 
 found on the steps last night? I felt so interested in 
 her, and unknown to any one, I had John take me in the 
 carriage. I really wanted to see her again — how she 
 lived — and who she was. (Seats herself^ 
 
 Mal. And you found her ? 
 
 Laura. I did — and such a home — four bare walls, 
 a few sticks of wood crackling in an old stove, a bed 
 upon the floor — dear me, it must be terrible. But I 
 made her happy. I bought a fine turkey for her, and I 
 divided the money with her that you gave me for that 
 velvet dress. I feel better. The poor woman wept like 
 a child. I cried, too. She took both of my hands in 
 hers, and kissed me repeatedly. I am sure she has not 
 always been poor. {Puts her handkerchief to her eyes) 
 
44 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act iv. 
 
 Mal. {Nervous). Did she say anything. 
 
 Laura. Why, yes. After she got over her crying fit 
 she told me that she never spent a happier Thanksgiving 
 in eighteen years — and I don't believe she did either. 
 
 Mal. Is that all she said ? 
 
 Laura. Lord, I could never tell you all. She spoke 
 so kindly of you, and thought that providence was mak- 
 ing everything ri^ht — what she meant I dorft know — and 
 when I departed she kissed me again and again. 'Tis a 
 horrid place where she lives, and I promised her I would 
 consult with you and have her lodgings changed to a 
 more respectable place. I am sure she deserves help, 
 and we ought to extend it to her. Won't you assist her, 
 Cousin Malcolm ? 
 
 Mal. I will on the morrow. 
 
 Laura Thank you let us be good to the deserving 
 poor and God will be good to us. 
 
 Malcolm brings two chairs close together. 
 
 Mal. Laura, be seated. I want to talk to you. 
 {They seat themselves?) You are eighteen years of age. 
 I have taken care of you since you were but twenty 
 days old. You were brought up under the impression 
 that you were an orphan. You have been a good, duti- 
 ful girl. Can you keep a secret for a short time ? 
 
 Laura. I can, cousin. 
 
 Mal. [Rises.) That poor creature is your mother. 
 I am your brother Malcolm. {Laura rises — Malcohn 
 embraces her and kisses her forhead.) Keep the secret 
 for a few days, and we will all be brought together. 
 
 Laura. O, Malcolm, my brother, what a mystery ! 
 {Takes his hands ^ 
 
SCENE III.] A LIFE'S LESSOA^ 45 
 
 Mal. Be collected, now — go to your room and rest 
 yourself — send my wife to me at once. 
 
 Laura. O, brother ! O, mother ! Exit D. off right. 
 
 Enter Anna — Malcolm meets her and takes her hands. 
 
 Mal. Everything is working to a focus — I've told 
 father about Adline, and he was so overjoyed that he 
 hardly knew what to say ; and to cap the climax, I intro- 
 duced his son Malcolm. He embraced me, and wept 
 hot, scalding tears. I have just told Laura who her 
 mother is, and gave her a brother's kiss. 
 
 Anna. O, Malcolm ! have it ended soon, so that we 
 may all enjoy the happiness in store for us. 
 
 Mal. Yes, Anna — soon. I have already planned it. 
 The most fitting day will be Christmas. On that holy 
 day, amidst the chimes of the church bells, when we are 
 all assembled with our children around the Christmas 
 tree, I will bring on the proper situation — then we will 
 all be one family. Yes, on Christmas night father will 
 find them all, and we will enjoy the happiness with 
 them. 
 
 Anna. God be praised; we have all had a secret, 
 and soon we will have none. Your secret has been 
 mine and I have kept it faithfully, have I not ? 
 
 Mal. Yes, Anna, you have, and now the time will 
 soon be here when that dreadful phantom will disappear, 
 and we will take good care not to harbour another one. 
 
 Anna. We will never have a secret between {takes 
 his hand) us, will we Malcolm? 
 
 Mal. {Kisses her — takes both of her hands) Never. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
46 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act v. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Bank vault under bank — Stone masonry — Iron 
 spiral stairs leading down from baiik — Safe door rear cen- 
 tre^ with combination lock — Half dark stage — The floor 
 of vault to imitate stone slabs — Enter Wiggins and 
 three officers down stairs — Wiggins places men at 
 different parts of vault — Wiggins lays down on floor as 
 if listening for sounds below — takes piece of chalk and 
 makes a cross on centre slab — Enter Malcolm down 
 stairs cautiously — Mal. and Wig. speak low. 
 
 Mal. Wiggins, are you sure you are right ? 
 
 Wig. Certainly, sir. They are at work under here. 
 This slab will soon disappear, and in they are. They are 
 at work now, and ere long you will see them. 
 
 Mal. {Listening^ They are at it pretty lively, I tell 
 you. Have you the men stationed so as to close up the 
 other end of the tunnel as soon as they are in ? 
 
 Wig. I have, sir. As soon as they are in it will be 
 hermetically sealed, so to speak, and no chance to escape 
 except through here. 
 
 Mal. Very well, then, let's to the work — let no man 
 shoot until they fire first. {Opens the safe door by com- 
 bination}) Let's enter and await results. {Enter and 
 close door after them.) 
 
 Low Music — Noise as if hammering under vault floor — The 
 slab marked with cross disappears — Rollins enters through 
 openings and looks around and listens^ pistol in hand. 
 
 ROL. All right. Jumper, the coast is clear, shove along 
 lively now. 
 
k 
 
 SCENE I.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 47 
 
 Enter Jumper and Kenneth through opening in floor. 
 
 Ken. {Looking around^ Easy now, boys. We are 
 all right. Keep as quiet as you can — and in ten minutes 
 the work will be done. 
 
 Jumper goes to hole and sits down on edge as if afraid. 
 
 RoL. How the devil are you going to get into the 
 safe — blow it open ? 
 
 Ken. No, you fool. I paid $500 for the com- 
 bination, 10, 12, 22 — now keep the passage clear. In 
 case of a surprise, are your pistols all right ? The least 
 resistance offered must be met by pistol. You under- 
 stand ? 
 
 Rollins and Ken. advance to safe door — Ken. tries the lock 
 
 and finds it open. 
 
 By Jove, it's open— that saves time. Now the valise. 
 
 Ken. opens the door and looks in — Jumper brings the valise out 
 of hole — Mal. cries Halt ! — Officers rush out from their 
 hiding places and grab Rol. and Jumper, who shoot — 
 Ken. shoots but pistol fails to discharge — one officer shoots 
 Ken., who falls — Mal. throws light from dark lantern in 
 Ken's/<2^(?. 
 
 Ken. My God ! Malcolm Leslie. 
 
 Mal. Yes, Kenneth Gwinnette. This is the third 
 and last time : you shall now have your desserts. I'll 
 see to it. 
 
 Ken. Malcolm Leslie, you are too late, {points to shot 
 in his breast^ I'm finished, I'm dying — forgive me. 
 
 Mal. Mr. Wiggins, take these men to the station, 
 and send the surgeon as soon as you can, to attend to 
 this dying man. 
 
48 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act v. 
 
 Ken. {Feeble?) It's too late ; I'm bleeding to death. 
 
 Mal. We'll do what we can for you, Kenneth ; the 
 way of the transgressor is hard. 
 
 Ken. Do not mock me; give me your hand. (MAL- 
 COLM takes his hand). CLOSED IN. 
 
 Scene II. — Street scene— ^fronty ist G. — Light Stage — Enter 
 two officers with Rollin and Jumper. 
 
 Jump. Gentlemen, I'm as innocent as a lamb. I 
 crept through the tunnel for curiosity, and couldn't get 
 out again. 
 
 Off. Move along there. 
 
 Jump. Certainly, gents, I'm at your service, I'm go- 
 ing. 
 
 Off. To Sing Sing. 
 
 Jump. You bet. Exit all. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Wiggins — Two officers bearing Ken- 
 neth on stretcher^ bleeding. 
 
 Ken. [Feeble^ Don't carry me any further — let me 
 die here under the canopy of heaven. Malcolm, come 
 here — let me take your hand again. I'm going. Yes, I'm 
 off] Malcolm. (Officers set stretcher on ground^ 
 
 Mal. Don't exert yourself — be calm. God will for- 
 give you. {Takes Kenneth's hands.) 
 
 Ken. Will He ? Oh, if I had only taken your ad- 
 vice I would have died an honest man — I spurned your 
 good counsels, and now I die a criminal. 
 
SCENE III.] A LIFE S LESSON. 49 
 
 Mal. Kenneth, be resigned to your fate — prepare 
 yourself to meet Him on high. He will receive you in 
 His arms. 
 
 Ken. Oh, my breast ! I'm choking. Malcolm, come 
 here. Will you pray for me ? I can't pray. Ask God 
 to forgive me, will you ? Will you ? {Raises himself up 
 on his elbow). 
 
 Mal. I will. 
 
 Ken. Our father in — oh, I'm dying ! Malcolm — 
 Mal — . {Falls back dead. Malcolm feels his pulse}) 
 
 Mal. He's dead, poor fellow— he's better off. I'll 
 call to-morrow and take charge of the body — bear it 
 away gently — he's dead. Exit all except Malcolm. 
 
 Oh, God ! have mercy on his soul, I beseech you. 
 
 Exit l. 
 
 Scene III. — Ch?-istmas night — Parlor in Leslie's house — 
 Crimson furniture and carpet^ crimson and gold decora- 
 tions — Door rear centre — Windows^ lace curtains, table 
 upon which stands Christmas tree trimmed and lighted — 
 three children playing with toys — Thornton Leslie 
 and Anna seated. 
 
 T. L. Yes, another year has passed and Christmas 
 come again. These children are happy; no care mars 
 their life. 
 
 Anna. Now, Mr. LesHe, don't be down-hearted, 
 Malcolm will soon be here, and he told me to tell you 
 that he has a present for you that will make you as 
 happy as the happiest of these children. 
 
 T. L. Would that he could. 
 
50 A LIFE'S LESSON. [act v. 
 
 Anna. Bide your time, dear father. Santa Claus 
 will not forget you, this time. 
 
 Enter Laura, quickly. 
 
 Laura. Cousin Mai. has just returned and brought 
 some one in the carriage. 
 
 Anna. Probably a beau for you, Laura. 
 
 Laura. It was a lady. 
 
 T. L. A lady? 
 
 Anna. A lady ? 
 
 Laura. Why, yes, a lady about forty. 
 
 Enter Mal. rubbing his hands. 
 
 Mal. Well, you all seem contented. [Kisses one of 
 the children^ This is a glorious Christmas. {Ties pack- 
 age on tree.) 
 
 T. L. What's that ? 
 
 Mal. It's a present for some one of you — I'm going 
 to play Santa Claus for a short time this evening, so 
 don't ask any questions, I'll go to my realm now, and 
 you Mr. Leslie will be the first honored. Exit. 
 
 T. L. Malcolm has a peculiar humor this evening. 
 
 Anna. Why, yes, he has. 
 
 E^tter Malcolm leading Adline by the hand — takes her to 
 
 T. L. who rises. 
 
 Mal. Father, this is your Christmas present, Adline 
 Harcourt. 
 
 T. L. At last ! {Embrace,) 
 
 Ad. Merciful Father ! 
 
SCENE 111.] A LIFE'S LESSON. 51 
 
 Malcolm goes to tree mid takes package and gives to Adline. 
 
 Mal. This is your present, Sir Stonington's will. 
 And now jointly, I have the honor of presenting to you 
 your daughter Laura. {Brings her forward.) 
 
 Adline e?nbraces her — T. L. takes Laura's hand. 
 
 T. L. {Takes Mal. by hand.) My son. 
 
 Mal. {Takes Anna by the ha^id.) And your daugh- 
 er and grandchildren {points to thern) and may God 
 never separate us again. He loved us always and to-day 
 brings us together — let us love Him, let us love each other. 
 {All take hands, front stage, children in front?) He 
 has given us all a lesson, " Learn to do good." Then 
 you have not lived in vain — and this has been a Life's 
 Lesson to us all. 
 
 The rear of room opens {stage darkens gradually to half) 
 and discloses Scene fifth. Act. first for vision — they all 
 turn half around to rear. 
 
 Mal. {Pointing to vis.) That was the beginning, 
 Darkness, {light stage) here is the end. Light, {faces 
 to audience.) CURTAIN. 
 
 FINALE. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 III 
 
 017 400 685 4 <f