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Gousin Margaret 
 
 A DI^AMA IN FOUI^ AGTS. 
 
 By E. F. BALDWIN. 
 
 ,_ rj_^/w~|— 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 Margaret Irvington, afterwards MHle Averni. 
 Kate Irvington, Cousin of Margaret. 
 Mrs. Irvington, Mother of Kate. 
 Charles Ellsworth, a Philanthropist. 
 Philip Walling, a Philosopher. 
 Clarence Fitz Clarence, a Society Man. 
 Moses, a Colored Servant. 
 Spike, a JS T eivsboi/. 
 
 The Second Act follows immediately after the First. 
 
 Between the Second and Third Acts there is an interval of several years. 
 The Fourth Act takes place a few days after the Third. 
 

 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1883, by 
 
 E. F. BALDWIN, 
 in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 TMP92-008594 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 [Scene, in the parlor of the Irvington mansion. Enter* Kate in full dress* 
 followed by her mother.] 
 
 Kate. — Oh, dear! Where is my glove buttoner? There never is anything in 
 
 this house! 
 Mother — Why don't you take care of your things? You drop 'em just where- 
 
 ever you happen to be, and then there is a fuss. 
 Kate — I don't suppose I look fit to be seen. Where is my fan? 
 Mother— It is probably with the glove buttoner. 
 Kate — I declare I won't go. It's more bother than it's worth. 
 Mother — Stay at home, then, do. I am tired being dragged around every night. 
 
 Your father ought to go with you once in a while. 
 Kate — Father! There is no more style to him than there is to a stick. I'm 
 
 ashamed of him anyway. When he does go he pokes about, yawns all the 
 
 evening and tells those disgusting stories about how we used to live when 
 
 we were poor. Now where is that glove buttoner? 
 Mother — Here, use this hair-pin, but give it back to me when you are through 
 
 with it. You have lost all of your own and borrowed all of mine. 
 Kate — Plague take the thing! If I had not promised Clarence I wouldn't go 
 
 a step. 
 Mother — I hope his attentions will amount to something. It is time you were 
 
 beginning to think of getting married anyway. 
 Kate — Mother, you talk like a fool. How can we marry when Clarence is 
 
 only in the threads department and don't get enough to buy his own 
 
 clothes. If it wasn't for his uncle and his expectations I wouldn't look 
 
 at him. 
 Mother — I suppose he's better than nothing, and I know I always have to pay 
 
 for the carriage. 
 Kate— Where's Screech Owl? 
 Mother — I hear her down below. 
 Kate — Call her up. 
 
 Mother — [Going to the door] Oh Peg! 
 
 Margaret — [Sings outside] Way down upon the Swanee River 
 Mother — Pe-e-g ! 
 Margaret — [Sings] Far, far away. 
 Mother — Oh, Peg! I say! 
 
 Margaret — There's where my heart is turning ever. 
 Mother — Pe — egy ! 
 
 Margaret — There's where the old folks stay. 
 Kate — Screech Owl! Scre-e-ech Owl!! 
 Margaret — Hello ! 
 Kate — Come up here! 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 Margaret — [Enters] What's wanted now? 
 
 Kate — I wish you would stop your everlasting noise. We've fairly yelled 
 
 ourselves hoarse. 
 Margaret — Yes'm. 
 Kate. — Where's my fan? 
 Margaret — Up stairs, where you left it. 
 Kate— Shut up, I didn't leave it. 
 Margaret — Its on the dresser in your room. You slammed a novel on it when 
 
 you read yourself to sleep this afternoon, and broke one of the sticks. 
 Mother — There, what did I tell you? 
 
 Kate — You lie, you baggage! If its broke, you broke it yourself. 
 Margaret — Yes' m . 
 Mother — Go and get it Peg. 
 
 [Exit Margaret, singing.] 
 Kate — [Runs after her] Shut your mouth! I declare that girl's yawp is 
 
 going from morning till night. It's hideous! 
 Margaret — [Enters with fan] Here it is. 
 Kate — [Takes fan] Jt is broke. Now what am I to do. [Looks at it.] What's 
 
 this on the side-stick? 
 Margaret — That is a wad of gum. 
 Kate — [Picks it off and puts it in her mouth and begins to chew, takes it out 
 
 and makes a face.] What is on it? 
 Margaret — I expect some powder got on it; there's a lot spilled over the dresser. 
 Kate — You put some on it on purpose. You are a mean, horrid little wretch. 
 
 [Catches Margeret and shakes her.] You are an ugly, little screech-owl. 
 Margeret — [Breaking away] Look out, you'll make your face red. 
 
 [Bell rings.] 
 Mother — Go and see who is there. 
 Margaret — [Goes out and ushers in Fitz Clarence.] 
 Clarence — Good evening, ladies. 
 Mother — Good evening, Mr. Fitz Clarence. 
 Kate — You are early, are you not Clarence? 
 Clarence — We have plenty of time ladies. 
 Kate — My maid was just fastening my bracelet when you came in. Margaret 
 
 dear, please clasp it on my arm. [She holds out her arm. Margaret bends 
 
 over it;] Kate (aside) If you hurt me, you little wretch, I'll pinch you good 
 
 when I get home. 
 Margaret — [Aside] Waou! Waou! old Vinegar! 
 Mother — Margaret has been so long in the family that she is almost like my 
 
 own daughter. In fact, we make very little difference between them in 
 
 our treatment. She has every advantage we accord to Kate. 
 Margaret — [Aside] Oh, what a whopper! 
 
 Kate — Indeed I do not know what I would do without my dear Margaret. 
 Margaret — [Aside to Kate] I don't either. 
 Kate — [Aside to Margaret] Shut your mouth, you minx! You are treated 
 
 better than you deserve. 
 Clarence — Is - ah - Miss Margaret a relative of the family? 
 Margaret — [Aside] I am only Kate's cousin. 
 
 Mother — Not at all, but she has been with us ever since she was a little girl. 
 Clarence — Ah, Madam, what nobleness of soul! How few people unite beauty 
 
 of face with the exercise of the greater virtues. 
 Kate — Oh Clarence, what a flatterer you are! 
 Clarence — No, upon my soul and honor, I had always supposed that Miss 
 
 Margeret was a relative. 
 Mother and Kate — Not at all. 
 Margaret — [Aside] They can't be any more ashamed of the relationship than 
 
 I am. 
 Clarence — Ah, Miss Kate, with such a home as this, I wonder you ever care to 
 
 go to parties. 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 Mother — [Affectionately] Kate is indeed a home-body. If left to her own 
 
 desires, I think really she never would go; but my dear Mr. Fitz Clarence, 
 
 society has claims and we must obey them. 
 Kate — I do enjoy being in my own home. Dear papa is the most indulgent of 
 
 men, and few girls have such a mother as mine. [Kisses the old lady. 
 
 Margaret makes up a face.] With my books and art I am perfectly 
 
 contented. 
 Margaret — [Aside] The art consists in painting her own face, and she never 
 
 looks in a book unless it is a French novel. 
 Clarence — [Picks up her fan.] Why Miss Kate, you have broken your fan! 
 Kate — Yes, I gave it to a little beggar girl to hold to-day, while I was getting a 
 
 coin out of ray purse, and she dropped it on the walk and broke it. Poor 
 
 little thing! "How she cried with sorrow at the accident. 
 Clarence — Noble soul! Ah, Miss Kate, it is a pity more of our society ladies 
 
 are not like you. 
 Margaret — [Aside.] Its lucky they aren't. Society would go to smash in a week. 
 Kate — What are you sniffling at Screech Owl? 
 Clarence — W h a-at ! 
 Mother — Oh, that's only a pet name that Kate's papa has for Margaret. He is 
 
 the funniest man, and has the oddest ways. 
 Clarence— I had always supposed that Mr. Irvington was the most practical 
 
 of men. 
 Kate— -Oh, in the office I suppose he is, but here in his own family he is the 
 
 soul of mirth. Indeed when you come to know papa, you will like him 
 
 ever so much. I think he is the kindest, dearest man in the world. 
 Margaret. — I'll go and call him in. Perhaps Mr. Clarence would like to see uncle. 
 Clarence — Uncle ! 
 
 Kate — Peg, come here and pick up my handkerchief. 
 Mother — Oh, all the servants call him uncle. [Aside to Margaret.] Miss 
 
 Pertness, attend to your own business. 
 Kate — [Aside] I'll settle your hash, my lady, when we get back home. 
 Clarence — There is something noble in character. I declare that I do so 
 
 admire true character that when I see a man of character, I always say, 
 
 there's a man whose character will be a study to those who desire to study 
 
 true character. [Looks at Mother and Kate, and smiles with an idiotic air.] 
 Mother — How very true, Mr. Fitz Clarence; and now we must be going. 
 Clarence — I know who will be the belle this evening. 
 Kate — [Tapping him on the shoulder.] Artful flatterer. 
 
 [Exit Mother, Clarence and Kate.] 
 Margaret — [Looks at them as they leave. Turns and sings:] 
 One of the very best matches, 
 Both are well mated in life; 
 She'll get a fool for a husband, 
 And he'll get a fool for a wife. 
 
 And so aunt and Miss Kate do not intend to recognize me as a relative. 
 
 I am to be let down from Kate's cousin to become her maid, and then I 
 
 suppose I shall drop through the degrees of chambermaid and kitchen girl 
 
 to graduate as scullion. I'm every bit as good as Kate, and if I didn't 
 
 know more [Sings] 
 
 "I'd buy a robe and drown myself. 
 
 But that wouldn't make her mad I know" — 
 
 Humph ! 
 
 [She occupies herself in putting the room to rights. While she is doing 
 
 this Moses slowly puts his head into the room and rolls his eyes around. 
 
 Her back is turned and he gesticulates. Finally he says in a whisper:] 
 Moses — Miss Margaret. 
 
 Margaret — Why Moses, is that you. Come in. 
 Moses — [Enters the room a little farther, holding two banjos in his hand.] Is 
 
 dey done gone? 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 Margaret— Yes, they have left the house. Come in. 
 
 Moses — Bress de Lawd! Hi yah, Ise got 'em. Yere dey is. [Brings the 
 banjos in sight.] Now we's gwine to hab a rewival. Hi yah, Miss 
 Margaret. A rewival of music. An' we'll be de 'postles and de 
 preachers. 
 
 [Sits down, throws his head back, opens his mouth, and laughs silently. 
 Brings his banjo in front of him and begins to thrum on the strings.] Yere 
 it is, and yere is yourn. [Hands her her banjo.] Now we's gwine in for 
 a carnival; "a carvin' ob de possum an' a roastin' ob de coon." 
 
 Oh, when de coon is roastin, 
 
 Away, boys away; 
 Oh, when de coon is roastin', 
 
 Away, boys away ; 
 Oh, when de coon is roastin', 
 An' de possum is a toastin', 
 An' all de boys is boastin', 
 
 Away, boys away. 
 
 When de chicken is a fryin', 
 
 Away, boys away; 
 When de chicken is a fryin', 
 
 Away, boys away; 
 When de chicken is a fryin', 
 An' de babies is a cryin', 
 An' de ole man is lyin', 
 
 Away, boys away. 
 Take yer banjo chile, an' we'll hab some music. 
 [They play an accompaniment.] 
 
 Now chile, les hab a song. Les hab de ole plantation song, always ole but 
 eber new; dat touches a chord in ebery heart, brack and white, an' shows 
 us dat befo' de Lawd we is all equal. 
 
 [They sing "Suwanee River" as a duett. Moses rises to his feet.] 
 Dar, chile, dat's as far as de ole man can teach ye. When ye fust come to 
 dis house I tole ye dat de ole man would show ye a frien' dat would lighten 
 yer lonely hours, an' make de time pass pleasant an' quick. De dear, ole 
 banjo! I fust lamed it on de banks ob ole Marssip', when I was a slave. 
 Many an' many's a time it smoothed out a passage fer me ober de rough 
 waters ob life; an' when de war set us free, de ole banjo changed it's tune ob 
 sufferin' an' sorrow to a hebenly song ob triumph. Music is de language 
 ob de angels an' I's glad to know dat ye hab larned all dat de ole man can 
 teach ye. Les hab ole Kaintuck. 
 [They sing "Old Kentucky Home."] 
 
 Yah! dat's troo, ebery word ob it. Some day I 'lows to see ye, . Miss 
 Margaret, afore a house full of people, dressed in dere good clothes, an' all 
 clappin dere hands an' laffin' to hear you sing dat song. 
 Margaret — What do you mean, Moses? 
 Moses — In de teater. 
 Margaret — The theater! 
 
 Moses — Yes, de teater. Dat was de fust place to open de doo' to freedom, befo' 
 de churches de Lawd knows. It war de play ob "Uncle Tom" dat did 
 more fer de brack man dan de synods. Poor, ole uncle Tom! I seen him 
 de odder day wid his donkeys an' dogs, his two Markses an' two Topseys. 
 He aint what he used to be afore de country troupes got hole ob him; but 
 I respec' dat play fer de good it has done. 
 Margaret — But, you wouldn't have me go on the stage! 
 
 Moses — Ob course, Miss Margaret. What I been trainin' ye fer all dese years? 
 What ole Mose been a doin' wid de banjo? De banjo used to be no account; 
 

 COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 now all de nice ladies larn to pick de string, ha, ha! You can do it same 
 
 as de rest. 
 Margaret — But I don't want to go on the stage. 
 Moses — Wah! How you talk, chile! Wat ye gwine to do? Stay here and 
 
 scour de knives? Comb Miss Kate's hair an' black de ole man's boots? 
 
 Foo! I seen wat's coinin'. I said de ole woman don't get ahead ob Mose; 
 
 so I urged ye to read de books in de library an' I taught ye all I knowed 
 
 myself, and between us, ye's pretty well educated. 
 Margaret — Moses, is it possible that this has been your idea all of this time? 
 Moses — De game is up! De secret is tole! So long as ye needed any more 
 
 teachin', ole Mose kep' his mouf shut. Now, Miss Margaret, ye is ready. 
 Margaret— Dear old friend! The only soul in the wide world that I can call by 
 
 that name! While I have been thoughtlessly living on from day to day, 
 
 this old man, an alien, and himself a menial, has been trying to raise me 
 
 from that menial position into which he saw meiiast sinking. But how am 
 
 I to get upon the stage? 
 Moses — De opportunity always comes when we is ready fer it. It'll come to 
 
 ye, Miss Margaret, bye and bye, sure, I tell ye. 
 
 [Margaret leans her head upon her hand and looks absently off into 
 
 futurity. Moses picks up the banjo and sings: "In the Morning by the 
 
 Bright Light."] . 
 Moses — I see you bye an' bye, Miss Margaret. De house is full ob people an' all 
 
 de gen'lmen has on spike-tail coats, an' all de ladies white kid gloves an' 
 
 bokays. You come down to de lights, an' de music strikes up, an' after de 
 
 obutmv is played you sing; an' ebery body claps dere han's an' shouts an' 
 
 flings de bokays, an I stan' outside an' gather 'em in; an armful, so high. 
 Margaret — [Smiles] It is a long, hard journey, Moses; and a weary one. 
 Moses — You is boun' to git dar! 
 
 [Enter Mrs. Irvington and Kate.] 
 Kate — Well, if this isn't a little too much! When did you get permission, 
 
 Miss Screech Owl, to turn our parlor into a nigger concert room?. 
 Moses — [Picks up his banjos.] 'Clare to goodness, Miss Kate! 
 Kate — Shut your mouth, you black fool! Don't you dare to speak to me. 
 Mrs. Irvington— -It is high time, Miss Peg, that you were taught your station. 
 
 You were forward enough to claim relationship with us before Mr. Fitz 
 
 Clarence. 
 Kate — And the moment our backs are turned, you associate with niggers; not 
 
 contented with staying with them in the kitchen, you must bring them 
 
 into the parlor. 
 Margaret — Stop! You shall not talk to me in that way! 
 Kate — Oh, ho, Miss Screech Owl! We are on pur dignity are we. I suppose 
 
 the next thing, you will want Mose introduced as your friend to Mr. Fitz 
 
 Clarence. 
 Margaret — If such a thing should tajte place, Moses would not be the one who 
 
 would suffer from the contrast. 
 Kate — This is too much, Miss Minx! [Rushes upon Margaret, takes her by 
 
 the hair and shakes her.] 
 Moses — For Heben's sake, Miss Kate, don't! 
 Kate — [Turns and says:] Get out of the way! [Drags Margaret about the 
 
 room, shaking her. Margaret takes her arms, and forcing her back, 
 
 compels Kate to release her.] 
 Margaret — Don't you dare to lay your hands on me, Kate Irvingtonl You are 
 
 my cousin, but if you touch me again, I will do that to you that you will 
 
 carry to your grave. 
 Kate — Get out of the house! Leave here at once! I will not have you living 
 
 under this roof. 
 Margaret — Aunt, do you hear this? 
 Mrs. J. —Yes. I do hear it; and I repeat Kate's commands. You are an 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 insolent, disobedient girl. We have tried to do something for yon, but it 
 is useless. 
 
 Margaret — I will go to uncle. He, at least, will do me justice. 
 
 Mrs. I. — You shall do no such thing! I am, at least, mistress of the house, 
 and I order you to leave. Go at once, and forever! Take your banjo 
 and be gone! 
 
 Margaret — [Picks up the instrument] I will go. To stay here longer is 
 contamination! I despise you both! You have been hard and cruel to 
 me ever since, a friendless orphan, I was committed to your care. I would 
 rather risk the indifference of the world, rather than the cold and cruel 
 charity of relatives. Since I have been here I have led a slave's life, and 
 I can do that anywhere. Farewell to both of you. I leave you my hate! 
 May the time come when you will seek and ask my sympathy! When 
 that time does come, I will show you that I can be as pitiless and merciless 
 as you. 
 [Kate laughs scornfully.] 
 
 Margaret — Upon you both I invoke an orphan's curse and an outcast's hate! 
 
 Curtain Falls. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 [Street Scene.] 
 
 Margaret — [Enters with banjo. She sits down on the corner and cries.] 
 
 Alone, alone! The cruel world before me; hateful relatives behind. Not 
 a friend, not a single friend; only God and the silent stars! Oh, why did I 
 not die with my mother! [Sobs] In all this great city there is not a 
 single person that I can go to for comfort. Comfort! I have not even 
 money for a night's lodging. I shall be forced to go to the armory and ask 
 the charity of the city, to be shared with tramps and outcasts; but who so 
 great an outcast in all this world as I? [Sobs.] 
 
 News-boy — [W T alks along and tumbles over banjo] Oh, cracky! I've broke 
 my shin! Hello! It's a gal; and blow me, if this aint a banjo! Say, sis, 
 give us a song. Can you play? I'll go pardners with ye. You sing, and 
 I'll stan' here and pass the hat. Any noise '11 do. We'll rope in the 
 public. You are the singer, an' I'll take up a collection. 
 
 Margaret — Sure enough ! This may be the means of purchasing at least a meal. 
 [She covers up her face and sings.] 
 
 Boy — There's a feller! [Rushes off and comes back.] I've got two nickels. 
 Say, you fellow, give us a dime. [Rushes off. Comes back.] I struck a 
 crowd and got a quarter. Say, sis; how is this, anyhow? We'll start a 
 national bank if this keeps up. 
 
 Policeman — [Outside.] Here, what's all of this noise? I'll run you in, if you 
 don't stop this racket. 
 
 Boy — Oh, say, Cop. This is all right. We belong to the News-boy's Associa- 
 tion, and we're havin' a benefit. 
 
 Policeman — Oh, that's it. Well, so long as the people don't complain, you 
 can go on. 
 
 Boy — Give us another now, Miss. This is better 'n sellin' papers. 
 
 Margaret — [Sings.] 
 
 [Enter Charley and Philip.] 
 
 Charley — Stop! Listen to that. By George, there's a voice for you! 
 
 Philip — Oh, come along! A man who loves to listen to a barrel-organ is no 
 judge of music. 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 Charley — Wait a moment. We've nothing else to do. 
 Boy — Here, you chaps; give us something. 
 
 [Charley gives him a dollar.] 
 Boy — A dollar! Here's fatness! Hold on, I'll give ye a song. [To Margaret.] 
 
 Say, that feller has give us a dollar. Sing him something nice. 
 
 [She sings.] 
 Charley — It's positively wonderful! That girl ought to do something better 
 
 than sing on a street corner. That voice ought to be trained. 
 Philip — [Ironically.] There's a speculation for you Charley. Take her and 
 
 train her. She may be another Rachael. You're rich and can afford it. 
 Charley — I'm going to talk to her. 
 Philip — Nonsense, man ! She is probably sent out by these Italians to rope in 
 
 soft fellows like you Let her alone. 
 Charley — I'll talk with her anyway. [Goes up to her, and in a careless tone 
 
 says:] Say, little one; where did you learn to sing? [Margaret covers up 
 
 her face in her shawl and turns her back on him.] Little girl, is this 
 
 your brother? 
 Boy— No, I aint no brother o' hern. 
 Philip — What did I tell you? Now come along. I wont stay any longer with 
 
 such foolishness. 
 Charley — All right. You go ahead; I'll overtake you in a few minutes. 
 
 [Exit Philip.] 
 Charley — [To boy.] Come here. [They walk off to another side of the stage.] 
 
 Now who is she? 
 Boy — I dunno. I seen her there awhile ago, and I asked her to sing and I'd 
 
 pass the hat. We've made 'bout a dollar 'n a half. 
 Charley — Don't you know who she is? 
 Boy — No, I never seen her afore. 
 Charley — Here's a quarter. You skip! 
 Boy — Shan't I whack up with her? 
 Charley — No, take it all. 
 
 [Exit boy.] 
 Charley — Miss, surely, this no place for you. Pardon me if I ask ; but is this 
 
 a-a lark? 
 
 [Margaret shakes her head.] 
 Charley — Indeed, I do not ask from vulgar curiosity. I would be of service to 
 
 you. Do your parents know of this? 
 Margaret — I have no parents. 
 Charley — But your dress is not that of a mendicant. Believe me, Miss, I am 
 
 certain that — that - if you have friends — if they were informed — 
 Margaret — Friends! I have no friends. No one in all the wide world is so 
 
 desolate, so forsaken as I. [Sobs.] 
 Charley — Good Heavens! Alone, and at this hour of the night; exposed to 
 
 all the perils of this wicked city! This must not be. 
 Philip — [Enters.] Well, are you coming? 
 Charley — No, not until I provide a place for this lady. 
 Philip — Lady! A street beggar ! [Margaret covers up her face.] Why, man, 
 
 are you mad? She is playing a confidence game on you. It's the old story. 
 
 The papers are full of them every day. 
 Charley — Confidence game! [He pauses irresolutely. Margaret turns an 
 
 imploring look on him and clasps her hands.] No, that can never be. 
 
 That pure face may have some domestic tragedy behind it; but I'll stake 
 
 my life on its honesty and innocence. This much I will do. I will pro- 
 vide for her present wants and see that she is safely taken care of. 
 Philip — Are you a fool? Will you take her to your home and introduce her 
 
 to your mother and sisters? 
 Charley — Can't a man do an act of common humanity without having his 
 
 motives misconstrued? Look you, Philip; suppose by some freak of 
 
 fortune your sister was turned out into the world to make her own living, 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 how would you like to have her discussed to her face in this way? It 
 makes my blood boil to see the meanness of the average man. 
 
 Philip— [Laughs scornfully.] A case of love at first sight; keep it up. It's as 
 good as a dime noMel. 
 
 Charley — No it's not a case of love at first sight It's a case of standing by the 
 orphan and helping the weak. May my right hand forget its cunning and 
 my left its strength before I become so cold, hard and cynical as to refuse 
 to aid one of these needy souls. 
 
 Philip — To be continued in our next. Seethe "New York Ledger." Now, 
 Charley, it's all nonesense! Let her take care of herself. I believe in the 
 Darwin theory of "The Survival of the Fittest." 
 
 Charley — I believe in a nobler doctrine. "The Fatherhood of God and the 
 Brotherhood of Man." 
 
 Philip — Oh, if you strike your 2:40 Sunday school gait, I weaken. You can 
 distance me at the half-mile post. Well, what will you do with your 
 charge ? 
 
 Charley — I'll take her down to where my foreman lives. He is an old man, and 
 his wife is one of the most charitable souls that I ever saw. She can stay 
 there until I get something for her to do. 
 
 Philip — Educate her, Charley. Put her in the conservatory of music and 
 when she comes out, marry her. She will probably run away with the 
 first fiddler she meets; if her own pal don't drop around in the course of a 
 week and strike you for a loan 
 
 Charley — Now see here, Philip, I won't have any more of this slang. The 
 young lady has done nothing to forfeit our respect, and she shall be treated 
 in my presence, at least, like a lady. 
 
 Philip — All right, my dear fellow. When you put on your Sir Charles Grandi- 
 son manner, there is nothing to be done but to leave you. Good evening; 
 and to the future prima donna of America, I make my everlasting compli- 
 ments. Au revoir Ma'amselle. On the night of your debut I shall be in 
 the box and fling the first boquet at your imperial "feet. [Takes off his hat, 
 and makes her a sweeping bow. She gives him an angry look.] Lord, 
 Charley, look at her eyes snap! Don't let her turn that temper against you. 
 [Exit Philip.] 
 
 Charley — Miss, I hope that you will not allow any things that he has said to 
 annoy you in the least. He is a good fellow in the main, but he think, 
 that to show that he is a man of the world, he must be cynical and hard, 
 If you will so far trust - me, I can give you a home for the night, at least, 
 and to-morrow, if you so desire it, I will make further provision for you, 
 
 Margaret — Something tells me that I can trust you. If you are deceiving me, 
 oh, let it end here! It can be no satisfaction to you to wrong a young girl, 
 who by cruel fortune is set adrift, without money or prospects or home 
 If there be within your heart any thought of harm, I ask you to go on your 
 way and leave me in peace. I am no beggar. I am no impostor. I am 
 unfortunate and sorrowful. If you can assist me, do so, but as you would 
 your own sister if she stood in my place and asked for aid. 
 
 Charley — Miss, upon my honor as a man, I will faithfully perform all that I 
 have promised. Trust me, and I will show you that I am worthy 
 Whatever I have said I will do, and more; and while you are under my 
 protection not a hair of your head shall be harmed. Nor will I surrender 
 you until those the law has given the right to demand it, shall establish 
 their claim. What to you may seem a burdensome sum, is to me but the idle 
 expenditure of the moment. The act may seem romantic, but I will make it 
 a reality. 
 
 Curtain Falls. 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 11 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 An interval of six years is supposed to have elapsed. 
 
 [Scene, opens in drawing room of the Irvington mansion. Everyone in full 
 
 dress. Curtain rises, and discovers Mrs. Irvington, Philip, Charley, and 
 
 Fitz.] 
 Kate — Oh, Mr. Ellsworth, have you seen the new singer, M'lle Averni? She's 
 
 perfectly splendid. 
 Philip — Has Charley seen her? Well, that's good! Why, Miss Irvington, 
 
 don't you know that she is a protege of Charley's? He found her on the 
 
 street, took her, educated her, sent her to Italy. She had a grand debut 
 
 in Paris, and has taken the world by storm. 
 Kate — How romantic! I did not think it of you, Charley. 
 Charley — This is only one of Philip's jokes. 
 Philip — Joke! Indeed it is nothing of the kind. I was with him when he 
 
 found her. 
 Mrs. I. — But tell me; Is Averni her real name? 
 Charley — No, it's her stage name. 
 
 Fitz — Why do all artists insist upon having two sets of names? Very awk- 
 ward, I should say; no particular use in it. 
 Charley — Perhaps in this case the young lady may have reasons for the course 
 
 she pursues. Her relatives may not wish it known that she is on the stage. 
 Kate — What old fogies! Now, I so admire genius, that if I had a relative on 
 
 the stage, I should be as proud as anyone could be; that is, if they were 
 
 great artists. Of course I wouldn't recognize a supe or a ballet girl. 
 Fitz — Kate, you would draw the line at the wooden spear and tin helmet. 
 
 He, he! 
 Kate — Clarence, what a wicked, satirical man you are! 
 Charley — Mrs. Irvington, at your request, I invited M'lle Averni to come here 
 
 this evening. So you will all have "an opportunity to see her, for she 
 
 expressly promised that she would; and she is one of the few great singers 
 
 who always keeps her word. 
 Kate — Oh, isn't that too sweet for any use? I'm just delighted! I have seen 
 
 her several times at the matinees and I think she is just lovely, and what 
 
 a voice! 
 Fitz — Yaas, and what eyes! By George! I'm quite gone on her myself. 
 
 She's magnificent! 
 Philip — [To Charley.] So, she's coming. It will be a good chance to study 
 
 the snobbish side of these people. 
 Mose — [Enters and announces:] "M'lle Averni." 
 
 Margaret enters. Charley goes forward and conducts her to a seat. 
 Kate — [Comes up behind and says:] Introduce me. 
 Charley — Mam'selle Averni, permit me to introduce you to Miss Kate 
 
 Irvington. 
 Kate — Oh, Mam'selle Averni! I'm almost ashamed to tell you, but I have 
 
 been just dying to know you. 
 Margaret — Indeed ! 
 Kate — I declare! When you sang the other night, I felt as if I should fly. I 
 
 have heard Patti, and Nillson, and Lucca, and Gerster, and all of them ; but 
 
 I never heard a voice that went to my very soul as does yours. I simply 
 
 sat and drank in every sound. It was perfectly magnificent. I never 
 
 enjoyed myself so much in the world before; never! 
 Philip — [To Charley.] Hear the old thing gush! If Fitz Clarence don't 
 
 marry her pretty soon, she will run to oil, or vinegar. 
 Charley — I thought they were to marry years ago. 
 
12 COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 Philip — Oh, they have been engaged ever since the year one; but Fitz has 
 never had money enough to set up an establishment. His uncle died 
 lately, and now the thing is to come off if he don't fly the track. 
 
 Charley — Isn't his heart true to Poll? 
 
 Philip — Why, man, havn't you heard? He's dead gone on the Averni. 
 
 Charley — What! [Siezes Philip by the arm.] 
 
 Philip — Don't pinch my arm so. Yes, it's a fact. He's the duck that has been 
 lavishing such boquets on her. Leaves 'em at the box office, and hires 
 bell-boys to carry them to her hotel. Look out, old man, or Fitz will 
 knock your speculation in the head. Now watch, and I'll introduce him 
 and we'll see him perform. It will be better than a raenagarie. [Philip 
 goes off and takes Fitz by the arm up to Maragret] Mam'selle Averni, 
 permit me to introduce to you one of our merchant princes, Mr. Fitz 
 Clarence. He has long been a devoted admirer of yours at a distance. 
 
 Fitz — Ah, Miss Averni, permit an humble admirer of the muses to — ah — lay 
 at your feet the tribute of his- — his emotions. To have the honor of your 
 acquaintance is a pleasure that I did not dare to hope would be mine. 
 
 Kate — Mother, I do believe that Fitz is going to make a fool of himself over 
 that actress. 
 
 Mother — He won't be such a goose. 
 
 Kate — He is just idiot enough to do it. Mr. Fitz Clarence, won't you please 
 bring me that book near you? 
 
 Fitz — [Turns and touches a bell, then resumes a conversation with Margaret. 
 [Moses comes in.] Moses, carry that book to Miss Irvington. 
 Moses does so. Kate turns and dashes the book into the corner. 
 
 Philip — [To Charley.] What did I tell you? Snubs her on the spot. Oh, 
 he's gone. Regularly hooked and fairly landed. Charley, my boy, I feel 
 for you. Your cake is dough. 
 
 Charley — Humph ! 
 
 Mother — You should not have done that. 
 
 Fitz — [To Margaret.] Ah, Miss Averni, may I ask if you would not favor the 
 company with a song? The evening will be illy spent and we shall all 
 feel that — ah — as if we had missed our choicest opportunities if we 
 allowed the evening to pass without hearing your sweet voice. 
 [Margaret looks inquiringly at Charley.] 
 
 Charley— Certainly, if the company wish it. 
 
 Fitz, Phil, and Mrs. J. — Certainly. 
 
 [Kate turns away and begins to fumble over the books on the table.] 
 
 Fitz— Ah, if Miss Averni would deign to accompany herself on the banjo, our 
 happiness would be supreme. 
 
 Charley— I have anticipated that. Mrs. Irvington, will you call Moses? [She 
 does so. Moses comes in.] Moses will vou bring the things I left in the 
 hall? 
 
 [Moses goes out and comes in with the banjo. He handles it with undis- 
 guised admiration, and gives it to her. She adjusts it, and as she draws 
 her hand over the strings, he starts. His face assumes a look of intense 
 [interest. 
 
 Mose — [In a whisper.] Yah— I know dat touch. [Looks at her, steps to the 
 front of the stage.] De same! De same! Why, it's little Margaret. [He 
 approaches her. when she puts her finger on her lips. He bursts out into 
 a long, loud guffaw. 
 
 Philip— [To Charley.] Look at the nigger. Whenever one of his race hears a 
 a banjo, they are all excitement. [Moses is going through the most extra- 
 ordinary contortions.] 
 The whole company laugh. 
 
 Mrs Irvington. — Moses ! 
 
 Moses— [Sobering instantly.] Done forgot myself Ma'am. Done forgot myself. 
 De banjo alius brings ole recolections, Ma'am [Bows himself out.] 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 13 
 
 Margaret— Does Moses play? 
 
 Mrs. J. — He is quite an expert. He often amuses himself in that way. He is 
 an old and faithful servitor of the family, and has his own way to an 
 unreasonable degree. 
 
 Margaret— Do any of the other servants play? 
 
 Mrs. I. — No. We had a kitchen scullion once that Moses taught to sing and 
 play; but it became such a nuisance that I had to stop it. One evening on 
 my return home, I found that they had given a party, and were having a 
 great time in my own parlor. After that I stopped allowing him extem- 
 pore musicales, 
 
 Margaret— And the girl, what became of her? 
 
 Mrs. I— The scullion? Oh, I procured another place for her and she after- 
 wards married a day laborer. I looked after her as I do all of my servants. 
 It was only last week that she was here for some old clothes. 
 
 Fitz— [Impatiently.] Do not keep us waiting for that song. 
 
 Philip— [To Charley.] Good for you, Fitz. When the old lady gets started 
 on the servant-gal question, there is no choking her off. 
 Margaret sings. 
 
 Fitz— Exquisite! Magnificent! Lovely! I declare! I never heard anything 
 so sweet in my whole life. Ah, Miss Averni, what a treasure you possess 
 in such a wonderful voice; and I know that this is not the best of your 
 traits. A voice so perfect, a face so lovely and a form of such perfect grace, 
 must be united to a mind filled with every noble emotion. 
 
 Kate— [To Mrs. I.] Mother, I am not going to stand this in my own house. 
 There is my affianced husband making love to that thing right before my 
 very face. 
 
 Mrs. J. — Hush! She will overhear you. 
 
 Kate— I do not care if she does. 
 
 Margaret— Miss Irvington, perhaps you will favor us with a song. 
 
 Xate— [Sarcastically.] Of course my voice would only suffer when contrasted 
 with a professional. 
 
 Philip-Harkl What is that? 
 
 M oses— [Behind the scenes, strikes up "Old Kentucky Home." As they listen 
 Margaret plays the accompaniment ] Hi, yah ! I knowed it all de time. 
 Soon as I heard her a trum de banjo [He laughs boisterously.] 
 
 Mrs. J.— Moses! 
 
 Moses— [Comes in.] Dar is a slight refraction in de next room, ladies and 
 genl'men. Dat is to say de lunch am spread. [Bows and withdraws.] 
 Charley offers his arm to Kate, Fitz to the old lady. Philip prepares to 
 escort Margaret. The others pass out; as Margaret does the same, Philip 
 detains her.] 
 
 Philip— Asa friend of Charley's, allow me to congratulate you on your escape 
 from the realities of the stage into the tinsel and glare of society. 
 
 Margaret— You are satirical. 
 
 Philip— Indeed, I am not. Talk about the tricks of the stage; there are 
 ten-fold more in society. There is Miss Kate for instance. Her face 
 wears a smile and yet her heart is full of jealousy and hate. Your friend, 
 Fitz, is playing a double part. 
 
 Margaret— A double part? 
 
 Philip— You wouldn't think it was in him would you? He doesn't look as if 
 he had two ideas above a yard-stick. 
 
 Margaret— [Smiles.] No, he certainly doesn't. 
 
 Philip — But now he is meditating how he can jilt one young lady and make 
 love to somebody else. 
 
 Margaret— Philip, you must have studied the science of mind reading. 
 
 Philip— Nothing of the sort. Now there's the old lady. What is uppermost 
 in her thoughts? 
 
 Margaret— The comfort of her guests. 
 
14 COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 Philip — No, her ambition is first to marry her daughter, next to shine in the 
 social world. There are two reporters down stairs and she will shortly 
 convey to them the intelligence that she gave a musicale, and that the 
 popular and talented M'lle Averni was one of the guests and gave the 
 company a treat rarely enjoyed. The whole thing will be blazoned in the 
 morning papers, and the ignorant public will wonder how the reporters 
 got hold of it. It will be called enterprise when it is only a clever stroke 
 of advertising, on her part. 
 
 Margaret — What a cynic you are. 
 
 Philip — Not at all. I'm a philosopher. The stage is not the only place that 
 studies she art of puffing, 
 
 Margaret — Your philosophy is hard and cold, I know, for I was once subjected 
 to it. 
 
 Philip — You, M'lle Averni? Impossible! 
 
 Margaret — Have you forgotten that night on the street corner, when your 
 worldly penetration saw in the poor, friendless little orphan, soliciting 
 alms, only a confidence game intent upon leading your friend to ruin? If 
 you have, I have not. I have listened to many cruel words, but none that 
 went to my heart like a knife as did those. 
 
 Philip — Believe me, M'lle Averni, that I have long since seen my error, and 
 if a life time of devotion could atone for those few words I would gladly 
 lay it at your feet. 
 
 Margaret — You ! 
 
 Philip — This is neither time nor place; but, having been betrayed into saying 
 this much, I will go on. I love you devotedly, madly. 
 
 Margaret — Hush. They will hear you. 
 
 Philip — They are occupied. Let me finish, for I will speak. I repeat it, I 
 love you, I love you. Ask me what you will. I will wait. I will do all 
 that may become a man. Nay, do not be alarmed. The others shall see 
 in me only a man of the world paying you the idle compliments of the 
 hour, but within I am a raging volcano of passion. I repeat it again and 
 again, I love you. 
 
 Margaret — Stop! I will not listen. You shall not speak. There is between 
 me and you a gulf you cannot cross; a chasm you cannot bridge. Of 
 all men in the world you are the last one to whom I would turn. The 
 recollection of that night is a memory that you can never efface. When 
 my destiny trembled in the balance you strove with cold and sneering 
 words to turn the scale against me. If we were again in that spot, and if 
 again I stood under the silent stars and cried for mercy and for aid, I never 
 would go to you; for under that smooth, conventional exterior, and that 
 smiling face I know there is a heart as hard as marble and a soul as cold 
 as ice. No, I trusted not to you, but to a more generous nature. I found 
 one who has been to me more than father, or brother, or mother. I found 
 one whom I reverence and whom I adore. 
 
 Philip — and love — Complete the sentence. Charley is the favored one, con- 
 found him. 
 
 Margaret — You are not my father-confessor, and I shall not make you my con- 
 fidant. Now let this end here, and quietly. Until you can obliterate the 
 past you can never be more to me than an acquaintance. Not — even — a 
 — friend. 
 
 Philip — This is the crudest stroke it was ever my lot to bear. 
 Margaret — I hope that it will teach you what everyone else knows, that what 
 vou call philosophy is onlv an excuse for mean and sordid selfishness. 
 [Enter all.] 
 Charley. — Where were you two? What did you find to talk about that was 
 
 more entertaining than lunch? 
 Philip. — M'lle Averni has been giving me a lesson on charity. 
 Margaret. — No, Philip has been giving me a lesson on shams. [Charley takes 
 Philip's arm and they walk away.] 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 15 
 
 Charley. — She's a splendid success isn't she? I was a little afraid of this 
 evening, but she has borne herself charmingly. 
 
 Philip. — Yes. She is a great success — as a crystal. 
 
 Charley. — Crystal? She is as warm-hearted and generous as anyone in the 
 world. 
 
 Philip. — She is a block of ice, man. 
 
 Charley — What's gone wrong now? You were wild over her only a short time 
 ago. 
 
 Philip — (bitterly.) I was fool enough to fall in love with her and ass enough 
 to tell her so. 
 
 Charley — Love! And she; what did she say? 
 
 Philip — She said she loved another. 
 
 Charley — Another! 4 
 
 Philip — [Aside.] (Hello! I've stepped on his toes.) Yes, she has undoubtely 
 fallen in love with Fitz Clarence. These women are all fools, and the big- 
 gest donkey takes the pick of the lot. 
 
 Charley — I wouldn't have believed it. 
 
 Philip — I'll stick a pin into him anyhow. [Aside.] Look at him now, smiling 
 and chatting to her. Fitz Clarence is an idiot. 
 
 Charley — I wouldn't have believed it. 
 
 Philip — Neither would I, but who can tell where her emotions is going to send a 
 woman. Ah well, it serves us right; we lavish our affections on them, 
 surround them with luxuries, and they fall in love with the first drummer 
 •that flirts his handkerchief at them on the street. 
 
 Charley — It is not so. If Margaret has contracted an affection for Fitz Clar- 
 ence it's unfortunate, and I mean to warn her of her danger. He is un- 
 principled and low. The man would break her heart in less than a year. 
 Philip, this makes me uneasy. Fitz is wildly in love but I had hoped that 
 Margaret's good sense that has carried her through the jealousies and an- 
 noyances behind the stage would guide her through those in front. 
 
 Philip — Flattery will turn any woman's head, be she little or big, grave or gay, 
 old or young, handsome or ugly. Margaret is just tasting the sweets of life. 
 By the time the apple turns to ashes in her mouth, her nature will be distort- 
 ed. Let her go. There have been fools before and there will be fools again, 
 and so on to the end of the chapter. 
 
 Charley — I will not do it. I stood between her and starvation once. I rescued 
 her from danger when she had not a friend in the world. I will not desert 
 her now. She shall be told of her danger, but not to-night. Perhaps it is 
 better as it is. I will reflect upon it. [Goes up to Mrs. I.] Madam, I 
 trust you will excuse me, I have an engagement. M'lle Averni, Philip 
 will hand you to your carriage. I will try and see you to-morrow. Good 
 evening. 
 
 [They all rise at this and bid Mrs. Irvington good night. Fitz goes to 
 Margaret, but Philip takes possession of her, Fitz trying to help. Kate 
 looks on sullenly as Philip leads Margaret off, Fitz follows, Kate stands 
 at the door and places a hand on his arm.] 
 
 Kate — I wish to speak with you. [Fitz follows Margaret with his eyes, and 
 stands looking at her. Mrs. Irvington goes out and leaves them alone.] 
 
 Kate — Now, Sir, a word with you. [Fitz turns with a yawn, drops into the 
 sofa, and says:] 
 
 Fitz — I know you dont mind a cigar, my dear; I 'm dying for a smoke. [Lights 
 it and puffs away.] Now, my dear, go ahead. 
 
 Kate — I want to know what this performance of yours means. 
 
 Fitz— Eh? 
 
 Kate — Don't eh, me sir. I have sat all of the evening and seen you pay the 
 most devoted attention to this actress before my very face and eyes. I 
 I will have an answer. 
 
16 COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 Fitz — Only the tribute, my dear, that manly grace pays to womanly beauty. 
 I'm a man of society, and I must act as becomes my station. 
 
 Kate — You a man of society, and who gave you your position? You were 
 nothing but a dry goods clerk when I picked you up, and you never 
 would have been noticed if it had not been for me. Now I will not have 
 you lavishing flowers and gifts on this actress as you are doing. You 
 shall not make me ridiculous. 
 
 Fitz — Now don't get angry my dear, You know what an effect it has upon 
 you. Really, to a society man, nothing is so absolutely disgusting as a 
 woman with a red face. 
 
 Kate — I will not be trifled with. Once for all I ask, will you continue this 
 foolish course? 
 
 Fitz — [Smokes] I think, on reflection, that I shall do as I like. 
 
 Kate — Beware, Mr. Fitz Clarence; I give vou fair warning. 
 
 Fitz — When the blow commences let me know so I can spread my umbrella. 
 
 Kate — I always knew you were a cox-comb, but I supposed you had some heart. 
 
 Fitz — A society man with a heart! This is good: It begins to be amusing. 
 
 Kate — Mr. Fitz Clarence, I am in earnest. 
 
 Fitz — My jewel, so am I. I agreed to marry you. I'm going to do it. It's 
 bad form for a business man who moves in good society to break his word, 
 but I don't love you, never did, and never expect to. Now, see here, I 
 am in love at present with the Averni; I like her style, she likes mine; 
 we are mutually attracted ; I shall make love to her. When she plays 
 out I '11 make love to some one else. When I was poor I was obliged to 
 forego these luxuries. Now I 'm rich enough to buy what I want: a good 
 house, a good horse, a lovely woman, be a member of the club and own a 
 pointer dog. These are the luxuries of life, and I am going to have 
 them all. 
 
 Kate — Mr. Fitz Clarence, I will not allow you to do this. 
 
 Fitz— Eh! 
 
 Kate — Listen to me. For six yeprs I have rejected the attentions of all other 
 gentlemen to devote myself to you. I have forced you upon my set 
 because you were my affianced lover. The cards are out for our wedding, 
 and the ceremony shall come off. I will not be jilted by you. If you 
 refuse, if you flinch, if you make any excuse or seek to evade it, I will 
 kill you and myself, if it is at the church door. « 
 
 Fitz — Confound it! Have n't I said I 'd marry you, and am I not going to, 
 next week? 
 
 Kate — And you have got to pay me the respect that is my right. I will have 
 every thing that belongs to my station, dress, equipage, and all. 
 
 Fitz — Do I deny it? Do I refuse? Have n't I said so? 
 
 Kate — And your love? 
 
 Fitz — [Sullenly] Oh, that's another matter. I don't think any one could 
 love that temper. 
 
 Kate — Once you thought differently. 
 
 Fitz — Yes, I used to be a fool. 
 
 Kate — Until you met this actress you worshipped me. 
 
 Fitz — Gimme a match. [She hands him one; he lights his cigar and 
 smokes.] Anything more? 
 
 Kate — And this is happiness! 
 
 Fitz — My dear, you wouldn't have a society man in love with his own wife? 
 We would be the laughing stock of the whole club. Now, I am the most 
 amiable of men; I allow you to have your own way, except in the matter 
 of danglers: That I wont stand. You allow me to do as I please — no 
 exceptions. Then we shall get along. 
 
 Kate — You call this amiability; I call it cruel and heartless. 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 17 
 
 Fitz — Same thing my dear. 
 
 Kate — I had hoped that our marriage would be far otherwise. 
 
 Fitz — Why, see here. You have lived all your life to please yourself. You 
 are not a paragon ; I don't profess to be. I agreed to take you for better 
 or worse, and I'm going to do it; now, you do the same, and don't fret. 
 
 Kate — You have the counter-jumper's idea — so many yards for so much money. 
 
 Fitz — This is the second time you have thrown my business up to me; don't 
 do it again, please — sink the shop. Well, is this all? Can I go now? 
 [Kate sighs and looks down.] Ta ta, old girl; take care of yourself and 
 be good. [Exit Fitz.] 
 
 Kate — And this is the sordid, mean, huckstering wretch that I have trusted 
 and loved. I will make it my study to render him miserable; but to 
 what end? He hasn't soul enough to feel an emotion. I will go to M'lle 
 Averni and warn her against this outlaw, I will — oh — I am 
 the most miserable woman in the world. [Breaks down, covers her face 
 with her hands and cries.] 
 
 Curtain Falls. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 [Curtain rises, and discovers Moses. He draws up a chair in front and sits 
 and laughs. The scene is in Margaret's drawing room.] 
 
 Moses — I knowed it was little Margaret as soon as I heered her a tunin' dat 
 banjo. Yah, ha! I taught her dat touch my own self. Nobody tunes a 
 banjo like old Mose. De fust ting I did next mawnin' was to come down 
 here an' see her. Didn't suppose she'd do mo' 'n give me haaf a dollar 
 an' mebby a good meal. Laws! She jest tuk me by de han' as kind as 
 could be. Moses, says she, you must come an' live here an' be my attend- 
 ant. You shan't go back to dose people any mo' Sure enough, Miss 
 Margaret, says I, dat's what I allows to do. Look at dese close. Don't 
 hab to carry in de coal no mo'. All I hab to do is to stan' at de do', an' 
 see de fellows leave bokays, an' de young gals a sending up dere books for 
 autocrats. Laws, how de dudes is a ruslin' about! Had seventeen bokays 
 left dis mawnin' an' I made four dollars an' a haaf sellin' 'em afterwards. 
 Dis yere chile spent de fust part ob his years workin' fur de white folks 
 at no salary an' take care ob myself. I allows to spen' de rest ob my life 
 in balancing de account. One dude dis mawnin' boned me fur something 
 belongin' to Miss Margaret for a soovenir, something .she has wore. I tuk 
 all de hair-pins from de colored cook an' sold 'em to him for a dollar apiece. 
 Dis is de fattest job I struck yet. If de bokays an' hair-pins hole out I'll 
 retire from de business an' set up a pawn shop. Bress de lawd de crackers 
 what I frowed an de waters has come back to me a hole bakery. [Enter 
 Margaret. She cotnes in humming an air to herself. Bell rings outside. 
 She says:] 
 
 Margaret — Moses, there is a ring at the door. I wish you would go and see 
 who it is. 
 
 Moses — Yes ma'am. Go directly ma'am. [Exit. From outside.] Miss 
 Margaret is busy, ma'am. Can't see nobody, ma'am. Is a restin' before 
 the opera ma'am. 
 
 Kate — [Outside.] Stand aside, for I will see her. 
 
18 COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 [Enter Kate, folowed by her mother.] 
 
 Kate — M'lle Averni, I aught to ask pardon for my intrusion in spite of your 
 orders to your servant. It seems that you are not satisfied with having 
 taken my affianced husband, but you must also carry off Moses too. 
 
 Mrs. I. — Kate, you are rude. 
 
 Margaret — Miss Irvington forgets herself and her position. 
 
 Kate — I forget nothing. I see before me only the woman who has taken from 
 me the man I love. 
 [Margaret surveys her with contempt.] 
 
 Kate — [Hurriedly.] Why must you do this? Why could you not leave me 
 in peace? Why must you step between us? Why amid the crowd of 
 men who throng after you must you single him out? For six years Fitz 
 Clarence has been my affianced husband, and I will not allow any woman, 
 actress or not, to stand between us. I will 
 
 Margaret — Stop! Not another word! You are in my house, although you 
 were not asked to come here. I shall treat you as my guest while you 
 remain ; but you shall not forget that I am a lady. 
 
 Kate — I beg your pardon. I do not know what I am saying. I am wild. I 
 have been beside myself for the last twelve hours; but Heaven help me 
 or I shall go mad. I cannot give him up. Base, and small, and selfish as 
 
 he is, I love him. I have sacrificed all these years for him, and now, 
 
 and now [Falls on her mother's neck and bursts into tears.] 
 
 Margaret — Kate Irvington, I said once that when the time came for you to 
 look to me for sympathy and assistance, you would find a heart as cold 
 and hard as your own. 
 
 Kate — [Turning in surprise.] When did lever do you an injury? 
 
 Margaret — Do you not know me then? Have you not seen that I am Margaret 
 Irvington? 
 
 Kate — Cousin Margaret! . 
 
 Margaret — Cousin no more and never again. The ties of relationship were all 
 sundered when you disowned me and thrust me out that cold night, 
 unknown and friendless, into the heart of a great city. I found the 
 careless charity of strangers far more tender than the claims of relatives. 
 You refused to recognize me then. I will not allow you to do so now. 
 
 Kate — Heaven pity me! 
 
 Margaret — With what measure ye meet, it shall be measured unto you again. 
 [Kate extends her hands, and then covering her face, sits down in an 
 attitude of the deepest dejection.] 
 
 Margaret — But I am not your judge, nor will I pronounce or execute the 
 sentence. Mr. Fitz Clarence is no more to me than any one of the dozens 
 who crowd to the box office for the best seats, and try to outstrip each 
 other in the race for the favors of the latest attraction. If I wished, I 
 could impose upon you no worse lot than to be united to that cold heart, 
 and that cynical face, that under the mask of etiquette hides a sensual soul 
 and a selfish egotism. 
 
 Kate — [Rises to her feet and speaks with difficulty.] I thank you, cousin 
 Margaret. Every word cuts me to the heart; but I feel it is all true. Oh, 
 degradation never comes home to a woman until she finds that her love is 
 unworthy and yet that she still loves. [Sobs.] 
 Mrs. 1. — My dear niece! I am so overjoyed to know that it is really you. Of 
 course, your own sense of family pride will keep this scene from being 
 talked about. Kate, dry your tears and arrange your toilette. We must 
 go home. 
 Moses — A bo k ay for Miss Margaret. 
 
 [She takes it, and in the top she sees a note. She opens it and reads: 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 19 
 
 Mr. Fitz Clarence presents his compliments to M'lle Averni, and requests 
 the pleasure of an interview at once.] 
 
 Margaret — See. Here comes your lover. Now retire into that room, where 
 you can hear all that is said, and I will convince you that you have noth- 
 ing to fear from me. 
 
 [They retire at the side. Enter Fitz Clarence from center. He comes 
 forward and extends both hands. Margaret gives him one coldly.] 
 
 Fitz — And how is my peerless beauty, my radiant queen of roses? 
 
 Margaret — From what dime novel, Mr. Fitz Clarence, do you extract your 
 compliments. 
 
 Fitz — Dime novel! Upon my soul I mean every word of it. What is it the 
 opera says: "She laughs my suit to scorn; but I adore her." 
 
 Margaret — [Laughs.] Upon my word, quoting "Pinafore." This is worse 
 and worse. 
 
 Fitz — Why won't you understand that I am thoroughly in earnest? I mean 
 every word I say. 
 
 Margaret — Let us have the rest of the opera. [Sings.] "Refrain audacious 
 tar, your suit from pressing. Remember who you are, and whom address- 
 ing." [Laughs.] 
 
 Fitz — Why will you misunderstand me? 
 
 Margaret — How many times a week do you go through this ceremony? 
 What a world of sighing it takes to carry a club man over the season. 
 Every woman he meets he fancies he must make love to. 
 
 Fitz — M'lle. Averni, I hope that you think better of me than that. 
 
 Margaret — [Laughs.] Oh, these men! Now Mr. Fitz Clarence, answer me 
 categorically. Haven't you been engaged to Miss Kate Irvington for the 
 last six years? Was not the bargain made when you were only a dry 
 goods clerk, and was it not understood that you were to marry as soon as 
 your uncle died? Are not the cards out for the ceremony next week? 
 
 Fitz — Why recall to me that hateful bond? The thought of that marriage 
 fills me with horror. To think that I must be tied for life to a woman 
 with a temper like a fury, and a soul mean and small fills me with fear. 
 It is even worse, for I must not only wed her, but be condemned to bear 
 the presence of her mother. I hate them both, and if I do marry Kate 
 Irvington, I will make her's the bitterest fortune that ever woman met. 
 [A groan from the other room.] What's that? 
 
 Margaret — It sounds something like my banjo. Perhaps the weather has 
 softened the strings. 
 
 Fitz — No, Mam'selle Averni. Help me to break this cruel tie. Aid me to 
 escape from this terrible bondage. 
 
 Margaret — How can I aid you? 
 
 Fitz — Let us take the next steamer for Europe. I have money enough 
 and to spare. We can live in the land of the palm and the sun ; or we 
 can reside in the proudest capitals. I offer you honorable marriage. I 
 will have the ceremony performed in any way you wish ; nay, I will settle 
 all of my property on you so that there shall not be a pretext for doubt. 
 I ask nothing in return. You may retain your place upon the stage. 
 You may continue to enjoy the triumphs of your profession. All I ask is 
 that you give me a share of your love, and that you save me from a fate 
 as terrible to me as death, from a life of misery and an existence of slavery. 
 Of all persons in the world the one most hateful to me is Kate Irvington. 
 [Another groan.] 
 
 Fitz — [Starts,] Confound that banjo. How it frightened me. 
 
 Margaret — Mr. Fitz Clarence, it cannot be. The man I marry I must love. 
 The man I marry must have a loyal, a generous, and a noble soul. He 
 
20 COUSIN MARGARET. 
 
 must be a man whose instincts are true, whose heart is large, whose 
 friendship is generous and sincere. 
 
 Fitz — Such will I become. Hitherto I have cultivated only the graces of 
 life. I promise now to live up to the higher dictates. 
 
 Margaret — It cannot be. Natures do not suddenly change. Love is a plant 
 that does not suddenly burst into full flower in a woman's heart. It is of 
 slow growth. I never met but one man whom I could thoroughly love, 
 and to him my heart goes out in loyal devotion and obedience. In him I 
 have found a noble nature, manly, honest and sincere. Without affecta- 
 tion and without flattery; and he of all men has never breathed a word 
 of love. 
 
 Fitz — And I am then lost. 
 
 Margaret — Not lost, but awakened to a higher life. You have a duty to 
 fulfill. A woman loves you, and it ought to be the study of your life to 
 awaken in her all the possibilities of her better nature. [Goes to the 
 door, opens it and leads out Kate and Mrs. I. Kate staggers to a chair.] 
 
 Mrs. I. — Mr. Fitz Clarence, you are a brute. A miserable, contemptible 
 puppy. I have listened to your abuse of me, sir. I can tell you that 
 you cannot run over me. If I was a man I'd horsewhip you. 
 
 Fitz — Oh, shut up! Wait until next week, and then you'll have the right 
 to blow me up. 
 
 Mrs. I. — Kate shall not marry you. 
 
 Kate — [Gasping.] I'd marry him now, if it were to kill me the next minute. 
 I'd marry him now, if it is only to make him miserable. You have 
 tortured me in the last hour beyond endurance. I will make it my life's 
 work to repay the debt. 
 
 Fitz — Very well, Madam. We'll make the usual fashionable couple; but I 
 can tell you that if you study to annoy me, I'll start a little hell of my 
 own for you. 
 
 Mose — Mars' Ellsworth and Mars' Walling to see Miss Margaret. 
 [Enter Charley and Philip.] 
 
 Charley — Good morning, ladies. Margaret, Moses told me that you were 
 were busy, but I had something particular that I had to say to you. 
 
 Fitz — You are just in time to witness my betrothal. Congratulate me. I 
 am the happiest man in four kingdoms. 
 
 Philip — Is that so? Permit me to wish you a thousand years of happiness. 
 [Extends his hand. Fitz puts his behind him and scowls and walks away.] 
 
 Charley — [Looking from one to the other in surprise.] Margaret, is this in- 
 deed true? My dear girl, I have watched over you for so long that I feel 
 that I can take a guardian's privilege. Trust me, that what I am about 
 to say is meant for your good. Have you at last met your fate? [Mar- 
 garet sighs, blushes and looks down.] Margaret, forgive me if I trespass 
 upon your rights; but you must remember that you are now in the 
 hey-day of fortune. Flatterers surround you. Look beyond the mo- 
 ment, for rash marriages are seldom happy ones. 
 
 Philip — Miss Margaret's choice is in every way satisfactory. I have known 
 of it for some time. 
 
 Charley — [To Philip.] You know him then? [He looks troubled.] Mar- 
 garet, was it altogether kind to trust others and allow your best friend to 
 remain in ignorance? Mr. Fitz Clarence, if you have won this lady's 
 love I charge you to treasure it as you would your own life. I have 
 known her long and I know her to be one of a thousand. I congratulate 
 you. [Extends his hand.] 
 
 Fitz — Oh, confound you. [Makes off.] 
 
COUSIN MARGARET. 21 
 
 Margaret — I do love a man who is all that you have described. I have loved 
 him long, and I love him still. To him I am willing to trust my all, my 
 life, my love, my soul. 
 
 Charley — I am very glad. [Sighs.] Nothing could give me greater pleasure 
 than to see you happy. [Philip claps him on the shoulder.] Philip, old 
 boy, it is you then; you have won a noble woman. She is — [Stops — 
 chokes], no, let me say it, it is no reproach to a man to acknowledge it, 
 for after I have spoken I must leave you two forever. I, also, love Mar- 
 garet. I have loved her ever since I saw her pure young face upturned 
 to mine in the lonely street, appealing for protection. I have tried to be 
 an unselfish friend. I have done what I could. But I would not be so 
 base as to ask her to marry me from a sense of gratitude, or to look upon 
 me as a lover because I had assisted her. I had hoped to win her in a fair 
 and manly contest when she had all the world before her and could choose. 
 If you have been more successful, Philip, old fellow, I am glad of it, and 
 wish you joy. Good bye. [Holds out his hand to Margaret which she 
 takes, but not daring to look at her.] Good bye, little girl, wherever I 
 may be, on the lonely ocean or in the silent desert, I shall always think of 
 you. 
 
 Margaret — Charley — [He turns around and she puts both arms around his 
 neck.] It is not Fitz Clarence. It is not Philip. It is you, my prince, 
 my king. You have been to me more than father, or brother, or mother. 
 You are my ideal. You are the one I love now. The only one I have 
 ever loved. 
 
 Charley — [Draws her to him.] Ah, Heaven, I thank thee. There can be no 
 greater blessing befall a man than the love of a pure, trusting, noble 
 woman. 
 
 Curtain Falls. * 
 
 THE END. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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