i 
 
 i 
 
 i>j ! i 
 
 mniwmiiiil 
 
 lia 
 
 flT' III!! 
 
 Ill lllllllllllllflllllnHltlllillliMlli 
 
 ■ii.iinil
 
 No 
 
 V^ 
 
 1.— 5 
 
 2.— I 
 
 4.— ( 
 5.—] 
 
 6.—. 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT 
 
 l^d. each ; 
 
 
 OLD. 
 
 EATHER; 
 
 Price 4*. 
 
 'OMPLETE 
 
 tl. Price 4*. 
 
 RONICLES 
 
 7.-PLAYS-VIZ. : TIME WORKS WONDERS -BUBEr F^J 
 
 Now in Progress. 
 THE MINOR DRAMAS. Fencing the Eighth and concluding Volu^e. 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVERIE STREEl
 
 ^.^2i^>-;-^ 
 
 Works by Gilbert A. A'Beckett. 
 
 THE COMIC HISTORY OF ROME, illustrated with Ten large 
 coloured Engravings and numerous Woodcuts by John Leech. In one 
 volume, 8vo. Price lis. 
 
 THE COMIC HISTORY OF ENGLAND. lUustrated by John 
 Leech, with Two Hundred Woodcuts, and Twenty large Coloured Steel 
 Engravings. In Two Volumes. 8vo. Price 21s. 
 
 THE COMIC BLACKSTONE. Prices*. 
 
 THE QUIZZIOLOGY OF THE BRITISH DRAMA. Price 2s. 
 
 Works by W. M. Thackeray. 
 
 PENDENNIS ; with Illustrations on Steel and Wood by the Author. In Two 
 Vols. 8vo. Price 26s. in cloth. 
 
 VANITY FAIR, a New Edition. Small 8vo, price 6s. in cloth. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF SAMUEL TITMARSH AND THE 
 
 GREAT HOGGARTY DIAMOND. In One Volume. Small 8vo. Price 43., 
 with Ten Illustrations on Steel. A New Edition. 
 
 Works by Mark Lemon. 
 
 PROSE AND VERSE, reap. Svo. Price 4s. cloth. 
 
 THE ENCHANTED DOLL. A Fairy Tale for Young People. 
 Illustrated by Richard Dovle. Price 3s. Gd. in boards. 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVBRIE STREET. 
 
 Bradbury & Evans, Printers, Whitefriars.
 
 r
 
 •A*
 
 Works by Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 ST. GILES AND ST. JAMES. Price 4s. in cloth. 
 MEN OF CIIAEACTER. Price 4s. in cloth. 
 
 MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURES; THE 
 STORY OF A FEATHER ; and THE SICK GIANT 
 
 AND THE DOCTOR DWARF. Price 4s. in cloth. 
 CAKES AND ALE. Price 4s. in doth. 
 
 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON; PUNCH'S 
 COMPLETE LETTER WRITER ; and SKETCHES 
 OF THE ENGLISH. Price 4s. m cloth. 
 
 A MAN MADE OF MONEY and THE CHRONICLES 
 
 OF CLOVERNOOK. price 4s. in cloth. 
 
 COMEDIES. Price is. in cloth. 
 
 *,* Thfse form the First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth Sixth and Seventh 
 VoJumes of a Collected Edition of Mr. Jerrold's Writings, now 
 publishing in Weekly Numbers, price lid. ; in Monthly Parts, price Id. ; 
 and in Volumes, price 4s. in cloth. 
 
 THE MAN MADE OF MONEY. Plates by John Leech. Price 7s. 
 MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURES. Price 2».6d. 
 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 50 Plates. as.6rf. 
 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 24 Plates. Price 5s. 
 THE STORY OF A FEATHER. Price 5s. 
 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. Price 4».6rf. 
 
 — ♦ — 
 
 COMEDIES BY DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. Is. I THE CATSPAW. Is. 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. Is. | RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 1.-:. 
 ST. CUPID; OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. Is. 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVERIB STREET.
 
 THE 
 
 WRITINGS OF DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 COLLECTED EDITION. 
 
 VOLUME VII.— COMEDIES. 
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY, 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS, 
 
 THE CATSPAW, 
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR, 
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS, 
 
 ST CUPID ; OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE.
 
 COMEDIES. 
 
 BT 
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVERIE STREET. 
 
 1853.
 
 LONDON : 
 BKADSURV AND EVANS, PRIN'TERi", WHITEPRIAR.S.
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 -*- 
 
 \ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bubbles of the Dat ......••• 1 
 
 Time Works Wonders '3 
 
 The Catspaw 1^7 
 
 The Prisoner of War 207 ] 
 
 Retired from Business 247 
 
 St. Cupid ; or, Dorothy's Fortuns 307 i 

 
 COMEDIES AND DRAMAS. 
 
 BUBBLES OP THE DAY. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene. — A Library in the Manision of Lord Skindeep. 
 
 Kimho discovered {reading). " Our currency is nothing but a 
 system of fictitious credit, expanding and conti'acting with our 
 stock of gold." 'Tis certainly easier to get money than to know 
 anything about it. " Expanding and contracting with our stock 
 of gold." 
 
 Enter Guinea. 
 
 Guinea. His lordship not yet up, Mr. Kimbo 1 
 
 Kimho. No. The house did not adjourn till thi'ee. 
 
 Guinea. Poor gentleman ! That parliament must kill him with 
 fatigiie. 
 
 Kimho. By no means ; for he always takes his first rest before 
 he comes away. Habit's everything : his lordship sleeps sounder 
 in parliament than in his own bed. 
 
 Guinea. But what have you there, Mr. Kimbo ; not a novel ? 
 
 Kimho. A novel ! Guinea. A novel, and consols in their 
 present state ! No, my thoughts • 
 
 Guinea. Yea, your thoughts are like the omnibuses ; there's 
 hardly one of 'em that doesn't go to the Bank 
 
 Kimbo. And that's why my thoughts and yours so often run 
 together. {Aside: I know she dabbles : if I could be sure of her 
 securities, I'd risk an offer.) 
 
 Guinea. La, what's a lone woman to do with money — even if 
 she had it ?
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Kimho. Why, take a prudent partner, and so divide the 
 responsibility. Eh, Guinea 1 
 
 Guinea. {Aside : He's in the railways, I know : if I could only 
 be certain that his shares had gone up !) 
 
 Kimho. Now, with such a wife, in the soft, feathery ties of 
 ■wedlock 
 
 Guinea. Talking of ties, what's your opinion of Timbuctoo 
 
 bonds ? 
 
 Kimho. You hav'n't touch'd 'em 1 
 
 Guinea. No. 
 
 Kimho. {Aside: Then I'll go on with my love.) My angel, don't 
 lay your snowy finger on 'em. Captain Smoke says 
 
 Guinea. Captain' Smoke ! Ha, he is a clever man ! 
 
 Kimbo. Clever ! He's a pyramid of talent. Well, Captain 
 Smoke says — hush ! here's Corks. 
 
 Enter Corks. 
 
 Guinea. Bless me, Mr. Corks ! anything happened ? Your 
 face is as mottled as 
 
 Corks. Mottled, ma'am ! There's enough to mottle Gog and 
 Magog. {To Kimbo.) Have you seen the debate of last night ? 
 
 Kimbo. No ; but I hear that Lord Skindeep, our excellent 
 master, made a speech. 
 
 Corks. A speech ! A scream, you mean. He knows no more 
 of politics than a monkey knows of a steam-engine. 
 
 Guinea. And what of it ? Although you're his butler, why 
 should you take his ignorance so much to heart ? 
 
 Corks. Why ? Haven't I a little freehold in my native town, 
 and did'nt I vote for him ? I feel myself compromised. He never 
 opens his mouth that I don't perspire for the borough. 
 
 Kimbo. I suppose they laughed at him last night, as usual ;— 
 poor devil ! 
 
 Corks. Laughed ! If it was only known when he'd speak, 
 he'd empty the playhouses. That a man who would have been 
 so capital in a pantomime should ever have been sent to parlia- 
 ment ! And yet to this man I gave my valuable vote ! Mind, I 
 say, — gave it. 
 
 Guinea. Then I don't wonder at your being vexed ; for when 
 one does give a valuable thing, one naturally expects something 
 
 for it. 
 
 Kimbo. I suppose, poor wretch ! they'll skewer him in the 
 weekly papers again ? 
 
 Corks. I hope so. {Aside : He shall have it in one ; I'll give 
 it him as I've given it him before, or my name is not " Brutus 
 the Elder.")
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Guinea. I hope so too ; 'tis so delightful to read abuse of one's 
 master. Now there's " The Sunday Rattlesnake :" I couldn't 
 get through Sundays without it. 'Tis so delicious to see great 
 people picked to pieces, and made nobodies of! It brings 'em 
 down so to one's self you know. 
 
 Corks. "When you're not an elector. But to have one's repre- 
 sentative continually roasted — it's like being burnt in effigy. 
 
 Eimho. And his lordship's speech is devilish foolish, is it ? 
 
 Corks. I blush for the town of Muffborough — the speech is 
 contemptible. Here, Guinea, put this book on the third shelf, 
 there to the right. I smuggled it away on Friday. {Aside: for my 
 last letter of "Brutus the Elder.") 
 
 Guinea. By-the-by, Mi*. Corks, did Mr. Chatham Brown speak 
 last night ? 
 
 Corks. He's not reported. 'Twas enough for our master to 
 make a fool of himself, 
 
 Kimho. No doubt. 
 
 Corks. They've flayed him alive, though. Oh ! ha ! ha ! — 
 given him. such a scourging. {Takes newspapers from his 
 pocket) 
 
 Kimho. Is it very cruel ? Pray read it. 
 
 Corks. No — no ; here's the papers — there's the speech. {Gives a 
 newspaper to each) Bead for yourselves. And yet, here is a little 
 bit of abuse in the leader, that does one's heart good. 
 
 Guinea. Abuse of his lordship ? Oh ! read — read ! 
 
 Corks. A staring likeness of him. Listen. {Reads) " As for 
 the member for jMuffborough, he is one of those wise philanthro- 
 pists who, in a time of famine, would vote for nothing but a supply 
 of toothpicks." 
 
 Kimho. The very man. 
 
 Corks. {Reads) " He ventures on a state benevolence as a 
 limid spinster ventures on sea-bathing. He stands shiverintT on 
 the brink of good intentions ; dabbles, splashes a little ; and, 
 making noise enough to bring all the world about him, never has 
 the heart to plunge right in." 
 
 Guinea. Beautiful bitters ! 
 
 Corks. {Reads) " In a word, Lord Skindeep may be called 
 the Punch of Parliament ! " 
 
 All. Ha ! ha ! ha ! The Punch of Parliament ! — the Punch 
 of 
 
 E7Uer Lord Skindeep, down the stage. Guinea and Corks 
 drop papers and run off. 
 
 Skindeep. The Punch of Parliament ! Now, although I know 
 every member of the house, who can those menials mean ? Kimbo, 
 
 B 2
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 is my library turned to a debating-room ? Ha ! the 
 papers ! (Aside : I stand in the midst of 'em like a conjuror in 
 a circle of snakes.) (Kimbo picks up the papers and presents them) 
 Go. I can see by the scoundrel's look of satisfaction, some- 
 body has abused me. [Exit Kimbo. 
 
 Enter Chatham 'B^ows,folloioed hy Brown, sen., who 
 has a newspaper. 
 
 Brown. Never tell me sir ! — never tell me ! Pardon me, my 
 lord, for this abrupt descent upon you ; but 
 
 Chatham. Sir, if you will only listen 
 
 Brown. Again I ask you, where were you on Thursday 1 
 There's the division, sir, — the printed list ! Now find me the 
 name you're making worthless, sir — the name of Chatham 
 Brown ! 
 
 Ghat. The truth is, sir, I was — shut out. 
 
 Broion. Shut out ! And do you think, sir, when your friends 
 get in, they'll remember those who were always shut out ? You 
 were not in the house the whole night, sir ! 
 
 SMnd. Upon my honour, yes ; for I woke him three times 
 myself. My dear Brown, be indulgent. 
 
 Brown. My lord, you know from his christening upwards, I've 
 dreamt of nothing but getting him into parliament. The oxen 
 I've roasted for that young man — the ale that has flowed — the 
 blankets given at Christmas — the handsome organ to the church 
 of Mufiborough j and all these for nothing — all to be continually 
 shut out ! 
 
 Chat. My dear father, why persist in trying to make me a 
 politician ? 
 
 Brown. As the world runs, what else remains ? Zounds, sir ! 
 discover another continent — make out the North-west Passage — 
 find a specific for the plague — the philosophex''s stone — and the 
 fountain of youth — write an Iliad, and build a St. Peter's ; and 
 when you've done your work, the world shall ask you, who are 
 you ? 
 
 Chat. My dear sir 
 
 Brown. Sir, there is but one path to substantial greatness — the 
 path of statesmanship. For, though you set out in a threadbare 
 coat, and a hole in either shoe, if you walk with a cautious eye to 
 the sides, you'U one day find yourself in velvet and gold, with 
 music in your name and money in your pocket. 
 
 Skind. This is Chatham's first session. He'll come on by and 
 by ; Cicero had his beginnings. 
 
 Brawn. On Thursday, if he was in the house, why didn't he 
 speak 1
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Chat. Because I was totally ignorant of the question. 
 
 Brown. And what of that, sir ? Ignorant ! The great art of 
 life is t6 pass off our ignorance with such a confident grace, that 
 people shall take tlie counterfeit for the true thing. 
 
 Skind. I have had* personal experience of the beauty of that 
 truth. Now, there's Captain Smoke ; he says young politicians 
 are like parrots — they learn to speak best in the dark. 
 
 Brown. No doubt of it. 'Sdeath, sir ! if you have no regard for 
 me, have some for the memory of your poor mother ; and, right 
 or wrong, talk on every occasion. 
 
 Chat. In time, sir, I hope to prove a most filial senator. 
 
 Brown. Well, you promise to speak on this grand question — 
 the tax on umbrellas 1 
 
 Chat. I promise — I'll try something. 
 
 Brown. And a long speech — a long speech ! If I could but 
 once see you reeled out into five columns, I should die happy. 
 
 i Enter Footman. 
 
 I Footman.i.S\Y Phenix Clearcake. 
 
 Skind. Admit him. {Exit Footman.) Now, Chatham, if you 
 want a model for your eloquence, Clearcake's the man. 
 
 Brown. Has he so fine a gift ? 
 
 Skind. He's stuffed with the sublime and beautiful. You'd 
 think he'd been bit by a poet's mad dog. The truth is, he huddled 
 together a stock of fine phi-ases as a matter of trade, and some of 
 the stock still remains on hand. 
 
 Brown. Trade, my lord — trade ? 
 
 Skind. Yes . by knocking down the estates of others, he has 
 obtained a tolerable one for himself Late auctioneer, now knight 
 and alderman. 
 
 Enter Sir Phenix Clearcake. 
 
 Sir Phen. My dear lord, I cannot restrain a feeling that propels 
 me into a belief that you're in roseate health ; for you look a 
 nature's illustration of the best Vandyke. 
 
 Skind. Thank you, Sir Phenix, I am alive. Sir Phenix, Mr. 
 Brown — Mr. Chatham Brown, my new colleague for Muffborough. 
 
 Sir Ph. {To Chatham.) Sir, permit me to congratulate you on 
 your consistency — I mean, on your constituency. I know Muff- 
 borough well, sir. Flourishing place, sir ! There, every land- 
 lord has a happy and contented tenantry, and the word arrear is 
 not to be found in their vocabulary. 
 
 Chat. Why, Sir Plienix, we have not the most to complain of. 
 
 Sir Ph. You of course reside in Elysium House 1 No ! That's 
 odd ; for all the world used to poicit out that house as inevitably
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 the future residence of one of the members for the borough. A 
 magnificent mansion ! If I recollect right, it has windows of 
 plate-glass — hot and cold baths — with every essential to happiness. 
 
 Chat. Possibly ; I know nothing of its hospitalities. 
 
 Sir Ph. But the scenery, sir ! The more than fairy-ground of 
 that more than earthly paradise ! The river which good-naturedly 
 encircles the park — the Druid wood, when the setting sun con- 
 descendingly makes orient all the leaves — the ruins of the distant 
 castle in a perfect state of repair — the cataracts, with their 
 terrific thunder, softened to the nerves of the most timid lady — 
 while the golden moon, which in that favoured region is nearly 
 always at the full 
 
 Chat. Spare me. Sir Phenix. You really make me feel 
 unworthy to represent 
 
 Sir Ph. Not at all, sir. Though such voters of such a borough 
 might have sent Apollo to parliament. 
 
 Chat. And I have no doubt would — {Aside : if Apollo, instead 
 of piping to his sheep, had killed his mutton for 'em.) 
 
 Sir Ph. My lord, I come with a petition to you — a petition not 
 parliamentary, but charitable. "We propose, my lord, a fancy fair 
 in Guildhall : its object so benevolent, and more than that, so 
 respectable ! 
 
 SMnd. Benevolence and respectability ! of course, I'm with 
 you. Well, — the precise object 1 
 
 Sir Ph. It is to remove a stain — a very great stain from the 
 city ; to give an air of maiden beauty to a most venerable institu- 
 tion ; to exercise a renovating taste at a most inconsiderable out- 
 lay ; to call up as it were the snowy purity of Greece in the 
 coal-smoke atmosphere of London ; in a word, my lord — but as 
 yet 'tis a profound secret — it is to paint St. Paul's ! 
 
 Chat. Paint St. Paul's ! 
 
 Sir Ph. To give it a virgin outside — to make it so truly 
 respectable ! 
 
 Skind. A gigantic effort ! 
 
 Sir Ph. The fancy fair will be on a most comprehensive and 
 philanthropic scale. Every alderman takes a stall ; — and, to 
 give you an idea of the enthusiasm in the city — but this is also a 
 secret — the Lady Mayoress has been iip three nights making 
 pincushions. 
 
 Skind. But you don't want me to take a stall — to sell pin- 
 cushions 1 
 
 Sir Ph. Certainly not, my lord. And yet your philanthropic 
 speeches in the house, ray lord, convince me that to obtain a 
 certain good you would sell anything. 
 
 Skind. Well, well ; command me in any way ; benevolence is
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 my foible. I tell you what ; I've some splendid Chinese paintings 
 on rice-paper. They're not of the least use to me, so you may 
 have tliem for the charity. 
 
 Sir Ph. Ha, Lord Skindeep ! that's so like yourself ! And if 
 you would only enrich them with your autograph 
 
 Skind. Of course ; anything I can do for my fellow-creatures, 
 anythiug — dear me, I quite foi'got ; I promised those very 
 pictures to Lady Hum, for her album : so you can't have 'em. 
 But anything I can do for my species 
 
 Sir Ph. Your lordship has influence with your gifted relative ? 
 
 Skind. What, Mrs. Quarto 1 Nay, as you are so shortly to 
 marry her niece — by-the-by, I believe you dine with U3 to-day 1 
 
 Sir Ph. I have that promised felicity. But Mrs. Quarto, if 
 you would only i^nduce her to preside at a stall, and sell her own 
 stupendous volumes. That's my petition. 
 
 Skind. I don't think the lady understands the commercial 
 principles ^of a fancy fair. 
 
 Sir Ph. There is nothing so easy. It is simply this, — to ask 
 six times tke worth of an article, and never to give change. 
 
 Enter Footman. 
 
 Footman. Captain Smoke. 
 
 Skind. Very well. {Exit Yooimsjn.) I've promised («o Cto/iawi) 
 to make you known to the Captain. He is a devilish clever fellow. 
 
 Sir Ph. So speculative, so prosperous in all he does ; in short, 
 so very respectable. 
 
 Enter Captain Smoke. 
 
 Smoke. To find you so early stirring, my lord, is past my hopes. 
 After the oration of last night, too ! Why, there are certain 
 friends of mine, who having delivered such a speech, would have 
 had the knocker tied up, and straw in the road for a fortnight. 
 
 Skind. These are not times for such men. Allow me, Captain 
 Smoke, to introduce my friends and guests ; IVIr. Brown — Mr. 
 Chatham Brown, now my fellow-labourer for Muffborough. 
 Swopley, you remember, accepted the Chiltern Hundreds. 
 
 Smoke. Aye, there was a talk of his accejating some hundreds, 
 but I forget the whole of the story. Sir, I congratulate you. In 
 these days of intellectual enterprise, yours is, indeed, a glorious 
 vocation ! {Aside : I'll fix him to take the chair at our meeting 
 — get his name as a director.) It is with you, sir, as only the 
 six hundred and fifty-eighth part of the delegated wisdom of the 
 empire, to 
 
 Chat. Really, Captain 
 
 Smoke. Captain no longer, sir. I have quitted the service
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 and turned my thoughts to commerce and the improvement of 
 mankind. 
 
 SHiid. The captain was in a foreign force. 
 
 Smoke. The Madagascar Fusileers. Myself and three brothers- 
 Ha ! poor Hannibal ! Excuse this tear to his memory. All of 
 us in that war, like hospital doctors, bled gratis. But our family 
 was alwaj'S military — always distinguished. Look through all 
 the last campaigns, and in the thickest of the fight you'll be sure 
 to find a Smoke. 
 
 Chat. {Aside : This fellow's as transparent as a lanthorn.) 
 
 Smoke. Now I've cut up my sword into steel pens, and flourish 
 the weapons in the cause of commerce. "We are about to start a 
 company to take on lease Mount Vesuvius for the manufactory 
 of lucifer-matches. 
 
 Sir Ph. A stupendous speculation ! I should say, that when 
 its countless advantages are duly numbered, it will be found a 
 certain wheel of forttme to the enlightened capitalist. 
 
 Smoke. Now, sir, if you would but take the chair at the first 
 meeting — {Aside to Chatham : "We shall make it all right about 
 the shares ;) — if you would but speak for two or three hours on 
 the social improvement conferred by the lucifer-match, with the 
 monopoly of sulj^hur secured to the company — a monopoly which 
 will sufl"er no man, woman, or child to strike a light without our 
 permission 
 
 Broion. He'll do it, of course he'll do it. 
 
 Chat. Truly, sir, in such a cause, to such an auditory — I fear 
 my eloquence. 
 
 Smoke. Sir, if you would speak well anywhere, there's nothing 
 like first grinding your eloquence on a mixed meeting. Depend 
 on't, if you can only manage a little humbug with a mob, it gives 
 you great confidence for another place. 
 
 Skind. Smoke, never say humbug ; it's coarse. 
 
 Sir Ph. And not respectable. 
 
 Smoke. Pardon me, my lord : it was coarse. But the fact is, 
 humbug has received such high patronage, that now it's quite 
 classic. 
 
 Chat. But why not embark his lordship in the lucifer question? 
 
 Smoke. I can't : I have his lordship in three companies already. 
 Three. "First, there's a company — half a million capital — for 
 extracting civet from assafostida. The second is a company for a 
 trip all round the world. "We propose to hire a three-decker of 
 the Lords of the Admiralty, and fit her up Avith every accommo- 
 dation for families. "We've already advertised for wet nurses 
 and maids-of- all-work. 
 
 Sir Ph. A magnificent project ! And then the fittings-up will
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 be so respectable. A delightful billiard-table in the ward-room ; 
 with, for the humbler classes, skittles on the orlop-deck. Swings 
 and archery for the ladies, trap-ball and cricket for the children, 
 whilst the marine sportsman will find the stock of gulls unlimited. 
 Weippert's quadrille band is engaged, and 
 
 Smoke. For the convenience of lovers, the ship will cany a 
 parson. 
 
 Chat. And the object ? 
 
 Smoke. Pleasure and education. At every new country we 
 shall drop anchor for at least a week, that the children may go to 
 school and learn the language. The trip must answer : 'twill 
 occupy only three years, and we've forgotten nothing to make it 
 deliglitful — nothing, from hot rolls to cork jackets. 
 
 Brown. And now, sir, the third venture 1 
 
 Smoke. That, sir, is a company to buy the Serpentine Eiver 
 for a Grand Junction Temperance Cemetery. 
 
 Brown. "What ! so many watery graves 1 
 
 Smoke. Yes, sir, with floating tombstones. Here's the pro- 
 spectus. -Look here ; surmounted by a hyacinth — the very 
 emblem of temperance — a hyacinth flowering in the limpid flood. 
 Now, if you don't feel equal to the lucifers — I know his lordship's 
 goodness, — he'll give you up the cemetery. {Aside to Chatham : 
 A family vault as a bonus to the chairman.) 
 
 Sir Ph. What a beautiful subject for a speech ! Water-lilies 
 and aquatic plants gemming the translucent crystal, shells of 
 rainbow brightness, a constant supply of gold and silver fish, 
 with the right of angling secured to shareholders. The extent 
 of the river being necessarily limited, will render lying there so 
 select, so very respectable. 
 
 Chat. I would not rob his lordship of so captivating a theme. 
 And luckily. Sir Phenix {aside: and luckily for myself), here 
 comes Mrs. Quarto. 
 
 Smoke. An extraordinary woman ! Have you read her last 
 book, sir 1 
 
 Skind. {Aside : I should like to read her last book with all 
 my soul.) 
 
 Smoke. She's a travelling college, and civilises wherever she 
 goes. Send her among the Hottentots, and in a week she'd 
 write 'em into to]>boots. She spent only three days with the 
 Esquimaux Indians ; wrote a book upon their manners ; and, 
 by the very force of her satire, shamed 'em out of whale-oil into 
 soda-water. 
 
 Enter the Hon. Mrs. Quarto. 
 Mrs. Quarto. Good morning, Chatham. Ha ! Sir Phenix,
 
 10 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 stands Temple Bar where it did '? aud have you brouglit me 
 Wliittiiigton's autograph, as you promised ? Captain Smoke, 
 does commerce flourish ? and — ha ! ha ! — do you still raise as 
 many companies as when you were in the army 1 Oh, my 
 lord ! your oration of last night was delicious ! I haven't 
 laughed so much since the new tragedy. 
 
 Skind. And yet the subject, madam, scarcely verged upon the 
 humorous. Though I blush to say it, there were two or tkree 
 who tittered. 
 
 Mrs. Q. Tittered ! haven't you seen the papers 1 The reporters 
 say — roars of laughter. 
 
 Skind. Tlie reporters, madam, have long ears. I heard 
 nothing of the sort. But I am a fool, madam, to have a heart in 
 my bosom. This is not an age of sympathy, but of selfishness ; 
 an age of tadpole philosophers, who consider their fellow-man as 
 no more than an eight-day clock. 
 
 Mrs. Q. An instrument made to work, but not to feel — to be 
 wound up and set going for the convenience of the purchaser. 
 The sentiment, you will remember, is in my work, " Politics 
 of the Patagonians." 
 
 Skind. Upon my life, I didn't recollect it. But if the book 
 has hung on hand, Sir Phenix has a scheme by which you may 
 scatter it. 
 
 Sir Ph. A fancy fair in Guildhall — so very respectable. Lady 
 Amazon will sell proof impressions of her own portrait. Now, 
 if you would but preside at a stand, where your golden 
 volumes 
 
 Mrs. Q. Impossible ! I haven't a minute that hasn't twenty 
 different claimants. First, there's my article, " Conic Sections," 
 for the new cyclopaedia ; then there's my two novels in 
 numbers, "The Ambitious Footman," and "The Filial Climbing 
 Boy ; " next my " Turkey and the Turks ; " then a new tragedy, 
 and an " Essay on Backgammon ; " then my splendid annual, 
 " The Book of Blushes." 
 
 Skind. {Aside : With portraits of the criminals ; ladies in 
 sugar, with cobweb wardrobes.) 
 
 3Irs. Q. And finally, my " History of Mount Strombolo," and 
 my new set of songs, " The Lays of the Lancers." 
 
 Brown. And employed upon 'em all at once ? Why, madam, 
 to write in this fashion, you ought to be a Briareus, with a goose- 
 quill in each of your hundred hands. 
 
 Sir Ph. And if you were, would, madam, that I could be an 
 Argus, with a hundred eyes to read the hundred things you 
 wrote ! 
 
 Mrs. Q. {Aside : For an Alderman, that's really not so bad.)
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY 11 
 
 "Well, Sir Phenix, if I can spare an hour, and you assure me the 
 object is charitable 
 
 Sir Ph. The object, madam, is charity, taste, and above all — 
 respectability. 
 
 Smoke. And now, madam, follows my petition. You'll take 
 this trip with us round the world 1 At all events, you'll not 
 refuse your name. {Aside to her : If it ever come to anything, 
 you can be taken dangerously ill, and go ashore at Portsmouth;) 
 your name alone will fill the ship. And then the benefit to 
 literature ! You can write the history of every country — for we 
 shall stop at least six days — on the spot. What a gift to the 
 world of letters ! Already I see, in starry type — " Otaheite and 
 the Otaheitans ! " 
 
 Mrs. Q. The world's ungrateful, captain ; I shall travel no 
 more. There, don't speak. The world's an old wicked world, 
 and not worth the mending. {Turns up the s'age) 
 
 Sir Phi {Aside : Lady Amazon and IS/Ixs. Quarto ! If we had 
 but a countess !) Madam, I take my leave with a load of 
 gratitude. 
 
 Mrs. Q. Sir Phenix, you'll find Florentia in the drawing-room. 
 
 Sir Ph. I fly there. {Aaide : If I can but catch a countess, 
 St. Paul's is made !) {Exit. 
 
 Skind. {about to follow him) Sir Phenix ! Sir Phenix ! 
 
 Smoke. {Aside to Skindeep : We meet on the civet to-morrow, 
 at two. We want a short, flowery speech, fuU of hope.) 
 
 Skind, And my shares ? 
 
 Smoke. As I said, are snug. 
 
 Skind. Because, if ever the shares go up, 'twill be all the 
 better for the charity I intend to give them to, [^Exit. 
 
 Smoke. Madam, in the hope that you'll relent, and bring the 
 world once more at your feet, I depart. 
 
 Brown. Captain Smoke, a word. {Aside : Chatham shall be 
 chairman of one of these things, I'm determined.) If you will 
 allow me one of your valuable minutes 
 
 Smoke. Sir, you shall have any number — {Aside — in the hope 
 that I may make 'em valuable.) [^Exit with Erown. 
 
 Mrs. Q. Well, Chatham : seriously, how do you like parliament? 
 
 Chat, iyauming) Wonderfully well — past my hopes. 
 
 Mrs. Q. The excitement of your election must have been 
 delightful 1 
 
 Chat. 'Twas a hard contest. As sportsmen say, quite neck and 
 neck. 
 
 Mrs. Q. As scandal says, quite pocket and pocket. But the 
 canvass must have had its charms 1 
 
 Chat. Madam !
 
 12 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Mrs. Q. The exhibition of character : the sturdy patriotism of 
 some — the timid support of others ; — the hearty welcome, and 
 the gruff denial ; — the insolence of the party foe — and the worse 
 familiarity of the party friend. Ha ! ha ! I'm told you shook 
 hands with all the butchers — called their wives angels, and 
 kissed their darling babes for cherubs ! 
 
 Chat. Yes, madam, I have had my trials. 
 
 3Irs. Q. And let us hope the reward wiU come ; for instance, 
 the support at Cowslijj Lodge 1 
 
 Chat. Cowslip Lodge ! 
 
 Mrs. Q. Where a certain young lady — a visitor — a sylph, 
 beautiful as day 
 
 Chat. Oh, madam ! you know her— ;can you tell me whither 
 
 I she is fled ? ^ 
 
 : Mrs. Q. All I know is, that when the constituents, drawn up | 
 
 \ before the Dolphin, awaited a grateful speech from the man of 
 
 I their choice, he, their absent member, like knight of old — 
 
 I " Was seeking over hill and dale, 
 
 \ A lady bright and fair." 
 
 \ Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 : Chat. You will — you must — reveal her hiding-place ! At the 
 
 first glance, I felt she was my fate — my destiny ! Oh ! madam, 
 I can't talk — can't feel like a man of this dull world, when I 
 think of her. 
 
 I Mrs. Q. Then, as I'm no company for superhuman natures, I'll 
 
 I begone. Poor fellow ! Begs for a vote, and finds a mistress ! 
 
 I Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 i Chat. Find her ! Where, madam ? Where ? 
 
 I Mrs. Q. Where? Ha! ha! ha! "And echo answers wAere.?" 
 
 j Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Chat. Madam — madam ! I will not quit you till 
 
 i Mrs. Q. No ? then follow me, if you dare ; for I am going to 
 
 I my lawyer. [£!xit Mrs. Quarto, Cea.th.am. following her.
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 13 
 
 ACT II, 
 
 — t — 
 
 Scene. — Melon's Cfiamhers, Inner Temple. 
 
 Melon discovered writing ; Miffin in attendance. Knocking 
 
 at door. 
 
 Melon. MiiSn, I'm still out of town. 
 
 [Exit Miffin at chamber door. 
 
 Voice without.' Mr. Melon ■within ? 
 
 Mijjin without. Gone to Guernsey. 
 
 Voice without. Tliis is the tenth time I've called for my bill. 
 I shall not call again. 
 
 Mel. Benevolent creature ! Would all my creditors had his 
 humanity ! 
 
 Re-enter Miffin. 
 
 Mifln. That's Simpkins, sir ; the mealy-mouthed Simpkins. 
 Certainly the best way to make a man speak oift is to get into 
 his debt. 
 
 Mel. Take this letter to Malmsey Shark, and — what's the 
 matter 1 
 
 Miffin. Malmsey Shark again ! Oh, sir ! he 's a hyena that 
 laughs with men, and then picks their bones. 
 
 Mel. Malmsey Sharp is a money-lender, a wine-merchant, and 
 a vendor of coals. Know you anything worse of the poor man ? 
 
 Miffin. I know this : I wish he'd nothing to drink but his own 
 port ; and in the hardest frost, nothing to warm him but his 
 own Wallsend. Don't send the letter, sir. 
 
 Mel. What remains for me, when my means are not equal to a 
 gentleman ? 
 
 Miffin. This remains, sir — make the gentleman equal to the 
 means. 
 
 Mel. Money I must have ! Another year and I shall be free 
 — discharged from the tribe of sharks. 
 
 Miffin. Yes ; as my grandfather was discharged from the 
 army, — to go upon crutches for the rest of your life. Only 
 another year, and so study out the time, sir. Stay at home, 
 study the law, and live on sandwiches. Only a year, sir ! 
 
 Mel. And then, Mifl&n, my own master ; with my own 
 fortune
 
 14 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Mifln. And your own wife ; for without Miss Spreadweasel 
 you get no fortune. 
 
 Mel. And thus money is to bribe me to a nauseous marriage ; 
 as they give children sweetmeats to make 'em swallow rhubarb. 
 
 Mijin. Ehubarb ! Well, to me the young lady has the face of 
 an angel. 
 
 Mel. But her mind, Miffin, her mind ! Ugh, a female miser ! 
 To me she's like a child's money-box — very pretty outside, but 
 within, a miserable hoard of miserable savings. Marry such a 
 woman ! For the rest of my life I should have no richer hopes 
 than water-gruel suppers and one blanket. 
 
 Mifin. But this Malmsey Shark — this merry man-eater ; don't 
 deal with him, sir. Only look, now 
 
 Mel. Only look. {Sfiowing empty purse) Had you the words 
 of Solomon, the hollow voice of this would prevail against you. 
 No other syllable, but go ! I am dead till you return : for in 
 this world purses are the arteries of life ; as they are full or 
 empty, we are men or carcases. Go ! 
 
 Miffin. I'll go, sir. {Aside : I see the end : the money-lender 
 will eat him to his skeleton, and then carefully lock it up.) [Exit. 
 
 Mel. {ap2)roaching book-shelves.) Study — study the law ! How 
 invitingly yon row of sages smile upon me ! With what a 
 dulcet note doth wisdom, clad in sober calf, invoke me to her 
 banquet and her shows ! There may he who feeds grow great 
 on dead men's brains ; there may he trace a web of hubbub 
 words wliich craft may turn into a net of steel. There learn, 
 when Justice weighs poor bleeding Truth, to make her mount by 
 flaw and doubt, and see recorded, aye, ten thousand times, how 
 Quibble, with his varnished cheek, hath laughed defrauded Justice 
 out of court ! Study the law — study — {Knocking at door) 
 Another creditor ! My heart falls at the knocker. {Knocking) 
 No, 't is surely Shark. {Opens door) 
 
 Enter Smoke. 
 
 Smoke. I have the honour to address !Mi-. Melon ? 
 
 Mel. Sii-,I— I 
 
 Smoke. {Aside: The man who stammers at his name 's in 
 debt ; a certain symptom.) Don't be alarmed, sir ; I am the 
 friend of your friend. Malmsey Shark. 
 
 Mel. Alarmed ! I hope, sir, I — {Knocking at door) Who the 
 devil 's that 1 {Aside) 
 
 Smoke. Knockers, sir — knockers are a damned invention. I 
 can sympathise with any man who suflfers from 'em. 
 
 MtL Here, sir, your sympathy is as unexpected as it is unre- 
 quired, '
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 15 
 
 Smoke. They play the devil with the nerves. Sometimes bring 
 on a confinement that lasts for many months. The best thing to 
 fight th€ disease with is, early — very early exercise out of doors. 
 {Knoching repeated) And then the variety of knocks ! {Knocking 
 repeated very violently.) That's Malmsey Shark. 
 
 Mel. How do you know ? 
 
 Smoke. From this fact : no metal ever falls into his hands that 
 he does n't make the most of it. 
 
 Melon opens door. Enter Malmsey Shark. 
 
 Shark. Mr. IMelon, ha ! ha ! "What, Captain Smoke, too ? 
 "Well, ha ! ha ! — my dear heart ! ha I ha ! — I did n't know you 
 were friends. 
 
 Smoke. The truth is, Shark, I called at your laboratory, and 
 finding you were come hither, followed you : for which freedom 
 business will, I hope, be my apology to Mr. Melon, 
 
 Shark. Gentlemen, any way — ha ! ha ! — I'm happy you have 
 met. {Aside to Melon : Make him your bosom friend, 'twill he 
 money in .your pocket.) {Aside to Smoke : He 's a wonderful 
 young barrister ; he 's safe at last to sit upon the woolsack.) 
 ' Smoke. {Half aside to Shark : I 'm glad he 's safe at last to sit 
 somewhere ; for if he's long in your hands, he'll not long have a 
 leg to stand upon.) 
 
 Shark. Ha ! ha ! you did n't hear the captain ? Never mind ; 
 ha ! ha ! he's such a man for jokes ; but then there's no malice 
 in 'em — ha ! ha I — none. I call his jokes glow-worms ; ha ! ha ! 
 they shine so, an4 never scorch — ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mel. The true benevolence of wit. 
 
 Smoke. Oh, sir ! our fi-ieud has so sweet a nature ! who could 
 have the heart to blister him 1 So good in all things ! his very 
 wine is medicine. 
 
 2Iel. {Aside : A patent medicine ; for he parts with it only by 
 virtue of a stamp.) 
 
 Shark. Talking of wine — ha ! ha ! — this is a secret : I have 
 six cases of such exquisite Burgundy ! 
 
 Smoke. The secret 's quite safe — nobody will believe it. 
 
 Mel. Six cases ! I'll have 'em — not another word — I'll have 
 'em. {Aside to Shark : I understand ; the old tei-ms.) 
 
 Shark. As for money, ha ! ha ! that 's the last thing I think of. 
 
 Smoke. And will be the last, no doubt. The best fellow in the 
 world, sir, to get money of ; for as he sends you half cash, half 
 wine, why, if you can't take up his bill, you 've always poison at 
 hand for a remedy. 
 
 Shark. Ha ! ha ! now anybody else would ofifend me. Some 
 people's jokes ai-e like thistles ; but the captain's put one in a
 
 16 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 glow ; ha ! ha ! good as a flesh-brush — ha ! ha ! But good 
 morning ; I could n't pass the door, though I 'd nothing to say. 
 (Aside to Melon : You '11 have the Burgundy 1 I 'm at home at 
 four.) 
 
 3Iel. (Aside to Shark : At four then !) — (knocking at door.) 
 Diogenes was a happy fellow ; his house had no knocker. 
 
 Smoke. (Aside to Melon : Will you pardon me ?) I know 
 what it is to be disturbed this way in one's studies by monotonous 
 folks, who only come to call out what they 've called a hundred 
 times before. In brief, sir, if you 're not in town, I '11 say as 
 much — and swear to it — with pleasure. 
 
 Mel. Nay, sir, the truth is, I rather expect a near and dear 
 friend of mine, Mr. Spreadweasel. 
 
 Shark. (Aside : Spreadweasel ! If he sees me here, there 's 
 an end to our dealings.) Captain, I have a word to say in the 
 next room. 
 
 Smoke. (Going, returns, to Melon.) If it should not be Spread- 
 weasel, remember, I'll find a housekeeper. 
 
 [^Exit with Shabk into inner room. 
 
 Mel. A most unceremonious, yet most timely friend ! (Knock- 
 ing. Opens door.) 
 
 (Enter Mrs. Quarto and Chatham Brown.) 
 
 Madam ! (Aside : My widow plague again.) 
 
 Mrs. Quarto. I hope I mar no consultation ; but 'tis the 
 privilege of my sex to teaze. 
 
 Mel. A privilege Mrs. Quarto can never exercise. 
 
 Mrs. Q. I have a friend to introduce, — Mr. Chatham Brown. 
 
 Chatham. (Recognising him). What ! Harry Melon ! 
 
 Mel. Fellow student ! The wildest — the merriest of Oxonians ! 
 For which of your virtues, for what capacity, for I see the deed 
 is done, have they turned you into member of parliament 1 
 
 Chat. I suppose, my capacity for late hours ; for I know no 
 other. 
 
 Mrs. Q. Mr. Brown's obligations to your support in the late 
 contest, demand his special thanks. 
 
 3fel. My support 1 Madam, I'm a poor barrister, with no 
 voice. 
 
 3/rs. Q. Nay, but our friend would acknowledge the solicitude 
 of those, with many tender ties upon you. 
 
 Mel. They must be very tender, for I don't feel 'em. 
 
 Mrs. Q. Oh ! the friends at Cowslip Lodge — the fair and 
 beautiful advocates of the purity of election ! 
 
 Chat. My dear Melon, you are free — your heart is untouched ? 
 
 Mel. To be sure it is.
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 17 
 
 Mrs. Q. {Aside. Hypocrite !) Is it so ? 
 
 Mel. I stay at home, and study the gravities of life. Here I 
 sit, waiting for briefs, anxious as a spider in his first web. Ha ! 
 ha ! you 're in love : take my advice — as you 're in parliament, 
 go upon committees, and forget it. 
 
 Chat. The lady visitor at Cowslip Lodge — ^j'ou know her ? 
 
 Mel. Not I : did she wear your colours, and with her cherry 
 lips steal plumpers from the enemy ? 
 
 Mrs. Q. She was the very soul of the contest. They say she 
 wrote election madrigals and party epigrams. Then such 
 eloquence ! The very attorney of the borough, whose boast it 
 was that he was born a blue, with a look and a laugh, she turned 
 into a yellow. 
 
 Mel. Yellow ? ha ! with his profession 'tis a seductive colour. 
 And pray who is this Circe 1 
 
 Chat. That, siiice the lady here is obdurate, I must know of 
 you : speak but two words — her name, and her abiding-place. 
 
 Mrs. Q. Aye ; he knows, and will divulge. 
 
 Mel. {Aside to Chatham. My dear fellow, beware of that 
 widow. For myself, I sometimes tremble to think I 'm a 
 bachelor.) 
 
 Chat. But this girl — this sprite of loveliness and mystery ? 
 
 Mel. Well, sketch me the beauties of your unknown fair, and 
 if I can complete the picture, tell me if 'tis like. Begin, — her 
 eyes? 
 
 Chat. Bright as sajDphires ! 
 
 Mel. Granted. As bright and as passionless : an eye without 
 a soul. 
 
 Chat. Oh ! who can paint their depth — ^their joy — their sudden 
 gladness — and their instant thought ? 
 
 Mel. Then 'tis not she. Proceed ; her lips ? 
 
 Chat. The mouth of Hebe ! 
 
 Mel. A mouth promising nectar ? 
 
 Chat. Ay! 
 
 Mel. Yet talking poor small beer. 
 
 Chat. A flood of richest thoughts — of happiest fancies, poured 
 from the heart, and vocal with its truth. Then her laugh ! 
 
 Mel. What ! does she laugh 1 
 
 Chat. The magic of her laugh would charm a hermit from his 
 cell — a miser from his heaps. 
 
 Mel. That's enough ; my lady never laughs. Her wildest 
 mirth's a smile, and that seems no part of her, but lies upon her 
 cheek like moonlight on a statue. 
 
 Mrs. Q. You hear, Chatham, he would turn his Helen to a 
 housemaid, to secure her from another Paris. 
 
 O
 
 18 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Mel. 'Tis true I am bound to the lady — bound by wicked 
 parchment. Yet, if you can, marry her — marry, and be frost-bit 
 for life. 
 
 MiFFiN runs in. 
 
 Miffin. Sir — sir, Mr. Spreadweasel ! 
 
 Mrs. Q. {Aside : Most happy chance !) 
 
 Miffin. He didn't see me ; but I know he's coming here, so ran 
 before to give you word. 
 
 Mrs. Q. {Aside to Chatham : 'Tis the lady's father.) 
 
 Chat. {Aside to her. Her father ! What ! can her name be 
 Spreadweasel V) 
 
 Mrs. Q. {Aside to him : An ugly name, isn't it ? All the better 
 — you may sooner change it.) Make no ceremony with us ; we'll 
 wait any time anywhere. {Aside to Chatham : You must see 
 him.) So, until your visitor be gone, we'll wait in this room. 
 
 Mel. Not there : I have two clients closeted already. {Aside to 
 MiFFiN : Shark and a gentleman.) This way. {Asid£ to Chat- 
 ham : That woman's invincible. I verily believe she has made 
 a vow to marry me whether I will or not ; and, what's worse, 
 I'm afraid she'll keep her oath.) 
 
 [Exit, shoiving Chatham and Mrs. Quarto into inner room. 
 
 Miffin. Malmsey Shark ! I would he was hooped in one of his 
 own casks, and nobody but me to let in air upon him. {Knock 
 at door.) That's old Spi'eadweasel. I don't know how it is, I 
 never talk to him but I feel shabby for an hour afterwards. 
 {Opens door.) 
 
 Enter Spreadweasel. 
 
 Spreadweasel. Ha ! humph ! ( Walks about, narrowly surveying 
 appointments of the room) These are Mr. Melon's chambers, eh 1 
 Law must be very profitable. 
 
 Miffin. It is, sir, very — to those who sell it. Now, we've 
 plenty of law on hand, and only want customers. 
 
 Spreadw. Gay as a Chinese temple ; too fine for business. 
 Clients will only spoil your carpets. 
 
 Miffin. Oh, sir ! clients always pay for what they have ; and 
 quite as often for what they haven't. 
 
 Spreadto. And the briefs, the briefs, do they drop in ? 
 
 Miffin. Our bag has been ready this fortnight, yet, 'tis very 
 odd, they do not. We have everything sir, but causes. Such a 
 gown — such a wig ! The barber swears 'tis a lord chief justice 
 in the bud. 
 
 Spreadw. Fine chambers, fine books, fine wig, fine gown ; but 
 no briefs. Humph ! Fine rods, fine hooks, fine lines, fine flies, 
 but no fish !
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 19 
 
 Mifin. {Aside : I must make a little business here.) Still, sir, 
 our prospect of chamber practice is immense. 
 
 Spreadw. Well, well, so you only catch 'em, it matters not 
 whether you hook or tickle. Where is Melon now ? 
 
 3IiJln. Consulting with a lady and — a gentleman. A very 
 rich woman, sir. (Aside : The only way to dazzle him is to well 
 gild 'em.) They say the widow has half a million of money. 
 
 Spreadro. (Aside : Half a million and a widow ! Even now, 
 my dear Pamela needs the tenderness of a mother.) 
 
 Miffin. They 're in that room ; they can't be long. 
 
 Spreadw. I can wait ; besides, I'll look into the other apart- 
 ments, the — (going) 
 
 Miffin. That room's occupied too. As I said, sir, chamber 
 practice. In that room is Malmsey Shark and 
 
 Spreadw. Maltnsey Shark ! 
 
 Miffin. (Asido: What have I done ?) 
 
 Spreadw. ]\Ialmsey Shark ! Pray, sir, does your master drink 
 his wine at a long or a short date ? 
 
 Miffin. At neither, sir ; but invariably at sight. (Aside : I 
 must mend this.) 
 
 Spreadw. To know Malmsey Shark ! A man whose every step 
 through the day may be traced by a five-shilling stamp ! 
 
 Miffin. Ha, sir ! if we were to follow folks' footsteps in that 
 way, who knows where we should be led to ? Mr. Shark is 
 Mr. Melon's client. 
 
 Spreadw. Oh ! Then he doesn't take Shark's wine 1 
 
 Miffin. Certainly not ; and if he did, as Shark takes his law, 
 'twould be hard to say who had the best of the bargain. 
 
 Spreadw. His client 1 On what business 1 
 
 Miffin. There 's now a gentleman with him : a man of immense 
 landed property. 
 
 Spreadw. Go on — I smell it ; wants money — go on. 
 
 Miffin. That's it, sir. Mr. Shark wants an opinion on the 
 title-deeds — the — you know. 
 
 Spreadw. To be sure. (Aside : I know Shark's tight just 
 now — can't do it all himself. Landed property ! Nothing like 
 a slice of the fat soil !) 
 
 Re-enter Melon. Spreadweasel runs to him. 
 
 How d 'ye do, Henry, how d 'ye do ? Promised I'd come and see 
 your chambers. Glad the rooms are full. What age is the 
 widow ? How is the half million left ? And the man of lands 
 with Shark ? Very rich, eh ? Attach yourself to 'em — fix 
 yourself upon the wealthy. In a word, take this for a golden 
 
 c2
 
 20 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 rule through life — never, never have a friend that's poorer than 
 yourself. 
 
 Melon. {Aside : " True to this scoundrel maxim keepeth he.") 
 
 Miffin. (Aside : As I have given away money and lands, like 
 the fairy in the story-books, I'll vanish.) [Exit. 
 
 Spreadw. Should like a word with Shark. He's here with— 
 with landed property : know all about it. And the widow, — is 
 it a sure half million 1 
 
 Melon. {Aside : Landed property ! A sure half million ! 
 What Mammon's dream is this 1) You wish to see Mr, Shark 1 
 The truth is, he came here merely 
 
 Spreadw. I know ; your client. "We're old friends : should 
 like one word. {Aside. Should like a slice of land.) 
 
 Melon brings Shark /ro?» inner room. 
 
 Melon. {Aside to Shark : He insists on seeing you.) 
 
 Spreadw. Malmsey, — how d 'ye do. Malmsey % 
 
 Sharh. Ha ! ha ! friend Spreadweasel ! I just called on Mr. 
 Melon to 
 
 Spreadw. Very kind of you — encourage young beginnei's. 
 There isn't a quicker eye for a flaw in the whole Temple. Lack- 
 aday, Harry ! I'd forgot. Pamela's below, waitiug in a coach. 
 Ha ! there's a wife you'll have ! She wanted to walk — to walk 
 all the way through the showers ; but when we came to Cheap- 
 side, I would have a coach ! Go to her, and bring her up. I 
 promised she should see the chambers — go. 
 
 Melon. I go sir, — {aside — to keep her where she is.) \_Exit. 
 
 Spreadio. Well, old friend, how rubs the world ? 
 
 Shark. Ha ! ha ! dull, dull, dull. I do nothing. Ha ! ha ! I 
 make no money — sell no wine. 
 
 Spreadio. That is, you sell no money, and you make no wine. 
 
 Sharh. Ha ! ha ! now anybody else would offend me, ha ! ha ! 
 
 Spreadw. TeU me, is this estate extensive— will the mortgage 
 be large % Don't stare — Melon's told me all about it. 
 
 aharh. {Aside: Some flam to account for my being here.) 
 The estate is enormous. 
 
 Spreadw. And the spendthrift owner of this princedom— 
 
 the 
 
 (Smoke comes frmn room in scene.) 
 
 Hush ! here he comes. 
 
 Shark Where 1 {Aside, seeing Smoke : Ha ! ha ! Captain 
 Smoke, a landowner ! — with all my heart !) 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside to Shark : Pray— pray— pray introduce me.)
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 21 
 
 Shark. Captain Smoke, — ha ! ha ! — Mr. Spreadweasel ; a man, 
 captain, whose pocket's a mine, and whose heart is a well. 
 
 Smoke. Happy, sir, to know so rich and deep a gentleman. 
 
 Spreadio. Rich, sir, not I ! But you know our friend — he's 
 called the satirical Shark. 
 
 Smoke. Oh, yes ! the verjuice Bacchus. 
 
 Shark. Ha ! ha ! now anybody else would really offend me. 
 
 Good day, captain ; we'll talk of that matter by-and-by. {Aside : 
 
 He mortgage lands ! ha ! ha ! I could, if I would, show him some 
 
 _ odd title-deeds. [Exit. 
 
 Spreadw. A good man, that ; not so wealthy, perhaps, as the 
 world thinks ; — who is ? Ha, sir ! the only safe wealth is that 
 we tread upon. You gentlemen of solid — solid acres 
 
 Smoke. {Aside :, What's this 1) 
 
 Spreadw. Shark was obser\dng that your estate in — I think he 
 said in — Northamptonshire 
 
 Smoke. Do you like Northamptonshire 1 
 
 Spreadw. My favourite count3\ 
 
 Smoke. That's curious ; it is Northamptonshire. {Aside : He 
 had only to choose ; he might have had Peru.) 
 
 Spreadw. Shark was observing that — I think the name of your 
 estate is 
 
 Smoke. Known in the county as the great Smoke property. In 
 a word, I shall be haj^py to see you there. There are marks in 
 your face — {Aside : £ s. d.) marks I admire. You shall see the 
 property : hill, dale, wood, and stream ; every nook of it you 
 shall know quite as well as I do. 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside : There's no mistaking the aii* of a man 
 born to wealth.) Sir, this is condescension. 
 
 Smoke. Not at all ; you shall be as welcome as myself. 
 
 {Re-enter Mrs. Quarto and Chatham Brown.) 
 
 Ha ! Mrs. Qaarto ! what brings the muses to the abode of law, 
 
 — a case of trespass on Parnassus, — trespass or robbery ? 
 Spreadw. {Aside : He knows the widow, too !) 
 3frs. Q. Robbery ! Oh, we of Parnassus defy law, and boldly 
 
 pillage one another. 
 Spreadw. {Aside to Smoke : Do — do introduce me !) 
 Smoke. Suffer me to make known Mr. Spreadweasel, a man 
 
 whose pocket is the Indies, and whose heart is the ocean. 
 3frs. Q. {Aside to Chatham : Well, how do you like him ?) 
 Ghat. {Aside to her : He her father ! Impossible !) 
 Mrs Q. {Aside : Hush !) Fortune, sir, is falsely painted 
 
 blind ; for surely, as with Mi*. Spi'eadweasel, she gives the most 
 
 only where the most's deserved.
 
 22 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Spread w. {Aside : What a charming womau ! How unlike 
 my first wife ! ) 
 
 MiFFiN shoiDs in Brown, Sen., and Lord Skindeep. 
 
 Broion. I knew he was here ! Mrs. Quai'to, a thousand par- 
 dons for following you ! I learnt from Guinea you were come 
 here, and — oh, Chatham ! — such a conspiracy ! 
 
 Smoke. A cons])iracy, my lord ! 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside to Smoke : A lord ! Is that really a lord 1 
 — and do you know him 1 Oh ! could you introduce me 1) 
 
 Smoke. With pleasure. Mr. Spreadweasel, my Lord Skin- 
 deep — Mr. Brown, father of the eloquent member for Muff- 
 borough. 
 
 Skindeep and Brown coldly how to Spreadw&asel, and 
 turn from him. 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside: 1 wish he'd say something about my 
 pocket.) 
 
 Brown. Yes, a plot : I discovered it only an hour ago. 
 
 Skindeep. And would force me into the carriage, and in the 
 hubbub, nearly committed murder. 
 
 Mrs. Q. Murder, my lord ! 
 
 Skind. Knocked down an inoffensive passenger. I don't know 
 what may be the consequence. 
 
 Brown. Nothing but his lordship's sensibility. The fact is, 
 one of the horses started at a lawyer's bag. 
 
 Smoke. And a very sensible horse, too. 
 
 Brown. The lawyer started who carried it — slipt — fell — and 
 got up again ; while his lordship 
 
 Skind. Alarmed as I was, had still presence of mind to bid the 
 coachman gallop on. 
 
 Smoke. I see the upshot — an action for damages. 
 
 Skind. That was my fear. The horses plunged, and the 
 people screamed. I, who have the nerves of gossamer — indeed, 
 with my feelings, I don't know what I do in this world at all — 
 I loving all the world, and therefore, hating litigation, I thi'ust 
 my fingers in my ears ; and thinking the poor man killed, or 
 at least maimed for life, roared, as I say, to the coachman to 
 gallop on. 
 
 Smoke. And so, for a time, you escaped the police. 
 
 Skind. Now, Smoke, don't distress me. The man is not 
 killed ; indeed, the man, Brown assures me, is not hurt. If he 
 had been killed, I — I — yes, nothing on earth should ever have 
 induced me to enter that vehicle again. No ! no ! if he had
 
 j BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 23 
 
 i 
 
 i been killed, I'd have put down my carriage, sold off my horses, 
 
 i and for the rest of my natural life, I would have 
 
 ! 3Irs. Q. Gone on foot, my lord ? 
 
 ! Skind. Hired a job. 
 
 i Brown. But, my lord, this is a waste of feeling ; the man is 
 
 ' not hurt. 
 
 j Skind. Nevertheless, I have often intended it, and I won't 
 
 I sleep without doing it. I will subscribe to some hospital: I 
 
 ; should have done it before, only for theii- number, and the 
 
 j equality of their merits ; but to-day has determined me ; I will 
 
 • ' make myself a life-governor, and then, whatever accident occurs 
 I — for Robert's a headstrong driver — I shall at least protect my 
 « feelings, and keep my conscience comfortable. 
 
 i Mrs. Q. But the cause of this speed — the origin of this homi- 
 
 j cide that might have been ? 
 
 ! Brown. That, indeed, is the business. I tell you, Chatham, 
 
 I they inteucl to petition against your return. Why, you're not 
 ! surjjrised ? 
 
 Chat. Not at all, sir : I expected it. 
 
 Brown. Expected it ! Do you hear that, my lord ? Expected 
 
 such ingratitude ! Then what is human nature ? 
 I Skind. Don't ask me. I know the people of Muffborough ; 
 
 ! philanthropy is thrown away upon 'em. And yet one can't help 
 i having a heart in one's bosom — one can't help lo-ving the species, 
 j In the last time of scarcity, didn't I— with a foolish sympathy 
 I for human suffering — didn't I, at my own expense, illuminate the 
 i market clock 1 Yet how did they abuse me ? 
 
 Mrs. Q. I recollect some lines {aside: for I wrote 'em) 
 
 that appeared in the county paper. Yes ; " On the market clock. 
 
 illuminated hy our member " — 
 
 " Lord Skindeep, when commercial woe 
 Our luckless town oppresses, 
 Illuminates our clock, and so 
 ' Uoth lighten our distresses." 
 
 • I believe, my lord, that's correct ? 
 
 i Skind. I should be sorry, madam, for my nature, to remember 
 
 I a syllable of such ingratitude ; but some memories, like worm- 
 
 i wood, only flourish upon bitterness. 
 
 I Brown. Illuminate a clock ! Didn't I give away at least 
 
 I twenty watches to twenty people,— and now, would you believe it, 
 
 I Chatham, the voters misrepresent your motives ? 
 
 i Smoke. The honourable member has his satisfaction in his own 
 
 j hands ; let him misrepresent them. 
 
 Brown. Such uncharitable creatures ! They'd make a gi-eat
 
 24 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 deal now about a poor ten guineas laid out upon a cottager's 
 kitten. 
 
 Skind. Yes ; as if, when the other party fell in love with all 
 the canary-birds of the borough, we were not to take a fancy 
 to a few of the kittens. Do they think nobody but themselves 
 has a heart for the dumb creation ? • 
 
 Brown. But the fellow at the bottom of this — the fellow who's 
 collecting evidence — is one Hamjaden Griggs, a sturdy mischief- 
 maker. 
 
 Spread w. What ! Hampden Griggs, of Muff borough ? 
 
 Brown. That — tliat is the incendiary. 
 
 Spreadw. And he, to dare to meddle ! — why, any day I can 
 ruin him ! 
 
 Brown. You can ] Sir, I am most happy to make your 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Spreadw. If a beggar can be ruined. — And he to annoy 
 excellent men ! — He ! why I can destroy him — wipe him out of 
 the world. 
 
 Skind. Now this is delightful ! These are the sentiments of 
 public spirit, that repay one for the ingratitude of one's species. 
 I shall be glad, Mr. Deadweasel 
 
 Spreadw. Spread — Spreadweasel, my lord. 
 
 Skind. To enlist you on the side of ray friend and colleague, 
 Mr. Chatham Brown. {Aside to Chatham : Bamboozle him.) 
 
 Chat. I shall be too proud, sir, to place myself in your hands. 
 
 Spreadw. As for Hampden Griggs, — I say it, if he stirs, he's 
 crushed. 
 
 Skind. You must dine with me — you must. 
 
 Brown. Mr. Spreadweasel must dine with us. 
 
 Spreadio. (Aside : I am much obliged to Hampden Griggs, 
 whoever he is. Why, my lord, the fact is, I have my daughter 
 with me, and ) » 
 
 Chat. Your daughter ! 
 
 Skind. She shall dine with us, too. 
 
 Chat. Your daughter, sir — where, where is she? 
 
 Spreadw. Why I sent her husband who is to be, to bring her 
 here, and — here she is. 
 
 Melon leads on Pamela Spreadweasel : she is dressed in the 
 extreme of plainness, and her manner is bashful and rustic. 
 
 Skind. {Aside : What a lovely piece of still-life !) 
 
 3Irs. Q. {Aside to Chatham : Well, is't she 1) 
 
 Chat. No — yes — no ! The same face— the same divine features, 
 
 and yet 
 
 Brown. (Aside to Chatham : That's right ; you do this very
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 25 
 
 well. Continue to be struck with the girl : 'twill flatter the 
 father.) 
 
 Pamela. {Aside : 'Twas well I was half prepared for this. He's* 
 delicious!}' bewildered.) 
 
 Slind. Beautiful lady , may your father's friend — {about to kiss 
 her /tand.) 
 
 Pain. Oh, sir ! you musn't. 
 
 Spreadio. {Aside to her : Yes he may — he's a lord.) 
 
 Broion. {Aside to him : Chatham, don't you vote on the 
 same side 1) 
 
 Chat. {TaHng her hand.) Madam — {aside : her hand beats not, 
 trembles not.) Madam — {about to kiss her hand.) 
 
 Pani. Oh, sir ! but you mus'n't 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside to her : Yes he may ; he's a member of 
 parliament.) 
 
 Smoke. {Aside': I must assert myself here.) Angelic lady — 
 {about to tdke her hand) 
 
 Pam. No sir ; indeed, no more. Isn't there my husband that 
 is to be ? ,* w 
 
 Melon. {Aside : Her husband ! Can't she conceal my misery 
 till the time comes 1) 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside to her : Prudent girl! and yet you might, — 
 he's a great landed proprietor.) 
 
 Skind. {Aside to Brown : We'll have some sport with them.) 
 Miss Spreadweasel must go with us to dinner. 
 
 Pam. Oh, my lord ! 
 
 Skind. Come, the carriage waits for us. Your hand — your 
 beauteous hand. {Kissing her hand.) Ha ! these are the things 
 that make one love one's species. 
 
 Chat. {A.iide : His lordship is more than usually philan- 
 thropic.) Have you not a hand for me. Miss Spreadweasel ? 
 {Aside : Still, still her look perplexes, baffles me !) 
 
 Pam. {Aside : His eyes, I feel it, devour my face ; no matter, 
 as yet it shall betray nothing.) Come, father : mind, I paid the 
 coachman. He wanted two shillings, but I knew his fare was 
 eighteen-pence. 
 
 Spreadw. {To Lord Skindeep.) You see, my lord, quite a 
 child of nature ? 
 
 Skind. Quitte — {aside : at sixpences.) Mr. Spreadweasel, will 
 you lead Mrs. Quarto 1 
 
 Spreadw. Madam, I — I {Aside : I have now half a 
 
 million at the tip of my fingers.) 
 
 Mrs. Q. Captain Smoke, we shall not lose you, and 
 
 Skind. Oh, no ! nor Mr. Spreadweasel's son-in-law that will be. 
 
 Chat. Certainly not. Harry, you'll join us 1
 
 26 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Melon. We'll follow in goo d time. {Aside to Smoke : Sir, a 
 word.) 
 
 LoTiD Skindeep nnd Chatham lead off Pamela, Spread- 
 weasel /o//o?«m(/ with Mrs. Quarto. Melon and Smoke 
 exeunt into inner chamber. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene. — An apartment in the house of Lord Skindeep. 
 Enter Florentia and Pamela. 
 
 Florentia. Never asrain will I call fortune an ill name. To 
 bring yon to this house ! Delightful ! And the wise member 
 not to know you ! Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Pamela. Nay, I'm sure he's puzzled. I verily believe he at 
 times takes me for a sort of wax-work cousin to my real self. 
 
 Flor. Ha, Pamela ! The same madcap as ever. "Whether at 
 a school frolic or at an election — whether the sport be breaking 
 bounds or breaking heai'ts ■ 
 
 Pam. Breaking hearts ! Men's hearts ! Do what you will, 
 the things won't break. I doubt if even they'll chip. 
 
 Flor. And you'll tell me you don't love that grave senator, 
 Chatham Brown 1 Neither do you love the young barrister, 
 Mr. Melon. 
 
 Pain. I hate him, my dear ; and for the best of reasons — I was 
 brought up to dote upon him. They'd settled about my wedding- 
 ring, I believe, before I'd done with my coral. His father and 
 mine thought the best way to couple their guineas was to couple 
 us. As very children we seemed to understand our wedded 
 destiny, for we never met that we didn't fight and scratch. Oh ! 
 I am sure of it ; with all his civility he has a charming, substan- 
 tial aversion for me. 
 
 Flor. I think so {aside : and I hope so too.) 
 
 Pam. Tlien I've made the man — poor innocent ! — think me a 
 miser ; and so he'd shun marriage with me, as he'd shun famine. 
 
 Flor. You have yet another unexpected hope — a rival. 
 
 Pam. Delicious ! "Who is the lady ? 
 
 Flor. What think you of my aunt 1 
 
 Pam. Mrs. Quarto ? Now I remember what pains she took to 
 tell me that she consulted Melon professionally.
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 27 
 
 Flor. Yes : she wants his advice in the disposal of all the 
 property left by her late husband. I believe her. 
 
 Pam. Ha ! ha ! And where did these halcyons first pair ? 
 
 Flor. Where halcyons mostly jjair — on the sea-coast. Since 
 then she has persecuted poor Mr. Melon, thinking, too, that I — 
 that I, forsooth, have no eyes, 
 
 Pam. And Llr. Melon, as I now perceive, being vehemently of 
 a contrary opinion. Marry him, mai-ry him, Floi-entia. 
 
 Flor. My profound service to you ! So I may wed, where you 
 despise. 
 
 Pam. Nay, had the man come in the ordinary course of human 
 accidents, I might, perhaps have loved him well enough ; but to 
 grow up with your aj^pointed husband, to know the worst and the 
 best that can befall you, — 'tis to take from woman's life the 
 sweets of hope. _ A legacy's very well, but not at the hands of 
 the parso^. But now that I'm assured of Melon's aversion — 
 assured of his love for you — nay, I'm certain 'tis so — farewell at 
 once my sober, simple seeming. Poor innocent ! You shall see 
 this very day how I'll bewilder liim. 
 
 Filter Guinea, icith packet of letters. 
 
 Guinea. Here, madam ; here are all his perjuries — every one. 
 
 Flor. There, Pamela, behold the falsehoods of my future lord. 
 Yes, my aunt has resolved it ; and how can I, a poor dependent 
 niece, refuse Sir Phenix Cleareake, knight aud alderman ? But, 
 Guinea, once more tell the story of your wrongs. 
 
 Guinea. With pleasure, ma'am. My father, who was a dis- 
 tinguished officer in the service of the sheriif, sent me to Brixton. 
 
 Pam. What for ? 
 
 Guinea. To be finished at Minerva House. That was five years 
 aso ; I was then sixteen. 
 
 Flor. Five years ! Guinea, the more I look at you, the more 
 I'm convinced that some years are twice as long as others. 
 
 Guinea. I was then sixteen ; an innocent thing, knowing 
 nothincr of life but the bread-and-butter side. There I met and 
 corresponded with Major Loo. We made a pastry-cook's our 
 two-penny-post, and what these cost in almond cakes there's 
 nobody knows. {Giving letters to Florentia.) 
 
 Flor. Wliy, these are directed — " Miss Clotilda Montmorency." 
 
 Guinea. I took the name from a book : our teaclier — she was 
 my friend — advised me ; as she said my father aud the major 
 might some time have met. 
 
 Pam. And did your lover offer marririge ? 
 
 Guinea. He talked of a chaiso-aud-four ; which I thought was 
 coming to it by natural degrees.
 
 28 BUBBLES OF THE DAY, 
 
 Po.m. But did he never talk of the church ? 
 
 Guinea. He never got nearer than the chapel — Balaam chapel, 
 that a friend of his was building ; and as I'd had three quarters' 
 music, he said he'd settle me, and make me organist for life — 
 'twas so respectable. 
 
 Flor. And now, Pamela, mark the wickedness of man. Guinea 
 here — good creature ! — sternly resolved on marriage, her guileful 
 lover 
 
 Guinea. Dropt the correspondence, leaving a little bill at the 
 pastry-cook's, which for fear of governess I was obliged to 23ay. 
 
 Pam. But what has this to do with Sir Phenix Cleareake 1 
 
 Guinea, That, madam, is the blackest spot of the romance. 
 Last Lord Mayor's day, thinking of nothing, I was seeing the 
 show. I thought I should have fainted ; for there, among the 
 skinners, there was Major Loo ! 
 
 Flor. The major and the alderman being one and the same 
 deceiver — Vieing, in truth, my aunt-appointed spouse. 
 
 Pam. I'd often seen him here, though he's never seen me. 
 When I heard he was to marry my lady, this day I told her all. 
 Luckily, I've kept his letters, and 
 
 Flor. Most luckily ; for they shall do me good service, eh, 
 Pamela ? Do you spy no sport in them ? 
 
 Pam. A whole comedy : come, and I'll tell you the j^arts 
 we'll play in it. \_Exeunt Pamela and Florentia. 
 
 Guinea. I thought those letters would be worth money some 
 day : I've kept copies, and whenever he's made lord mayor, 
 won't I print 'em ! \^E.vit. 
 
 Enter Lord Skindeep and Spreadweasel. 
 
 Skindeep. Mr. Spreadweasel, my heart has a knack of always 
 bubbling to my mouth, and I say it — at length I've found the 
 man I've hungered for through life. By the way, your's is an 
 odd name — Spreadweasel ! 
 
 Spreadweasel. Shall I tell your lordship a secret ? It isn't my 
 name. The truth is, an early disgrace of my family 
 
 Skind. I see — a piece of mud upon the ermine. Was it treason, 
 or 
 
 Sprcadw. It was poverty, my lord ; grim, hungry, hideous 
 poverty. Ugh, poverty ! As a boy, I vowed the warfare of a life 
 against it. 
 
 Skind. My own emotions to a spasm — go on. 
 
 Spreadw. There were eight of us when I turned from home to 
 fight the world. Then I swore I would be rich. 
 
 Skind. And heaven has blessed your good intentions ? 
 
 Spreadic. I prospered from the first jienny ; and then fears
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 29 
 
 came upon me, that as I throve, the needy ones I left at home 
 would pluck, and pull, and be a fatal weight upon their rising 
 brother. 
 
 Skind. It happens so — I know it. What I myself have done 
 for younger branches, will, pei'haps, never be acknowledged. 
 
 Spreadw. And so 1 gave it out that I had gone abroad, and 
 shortly after that I was dead ; and then — ha ! ha ! — then 
 became I Spreadweasel — then I changed my name. And this, 
 my lord, was prudence — nothing more. 
 
 Skind. The sagacity of benevolence : for I know my own heart, 
 and I' 11 be sworn you promised to yourself the sweet delight, 
 when you were rich enough, to go back and scatter wealth about 
 your early home. 
 
 Spreadw. I did — I did. 
 
 Skind. How delicious to one who loves his species, to return 
 among the creatures of his blood, and, like a good genius risen 
 from the grave, to bless their hearts with plenty and with joy ! 
 
 Spreadw. Don't — don't ! 
 
 Skind. To. press a long-lost brother's hand — a sister's lip ; to 
 embrace a nephew here, and here a niece, and rain a shower of 
 gold upon their hearths and heads ! 
 
 Spreadw. Delicious ! 
 
 Skind. But you hav'n't done it yet 1 
 
 Spreadw. No. 
 
 Skind. No. But you will — you will — you will ? 
 
 Spreadtp. Some day, I think I shall. 
 
 Skind. My dear friend, repress this amiable agitation. Here 
 comes Smoke. 
 
 Spreadw. What I've said is secret. 
 
 Skind. Treasured in the recesses of my soul : for well I know, 
 how few like me can judge the motives of a heart like yours. The 
 world ! Ha ! if my constitution would only have stood it, I had 
 left the world years ago and turned hermit. (Spreadweasel ^oes 
 up stage.) 
 
 Enter Smoke. 
 
 Smoke. My lord, you cannot imagine the pressing need I have 
 of a thousand pounds. 
 
 Skind. Don't wrong my imagination. I can perfectly. 
 
 Smoke. I think old Plutus, there, will lend me the money. 
 
 Skind, And won't you take it 1 
 
 Smoke. Decidedly. You see a sudden chance has turned, which 
 will enable me in four-and-twenty houi^s to make one thousand six. 
 
 Skind. Ha ! you are fortune's cliild, captain. 
 
 Smoke. It's plain, then, the lady's ashamed of her son ; for as
 
 30 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 yet she's never owned me. However, I'm serious. One thousand 
 I'll make six. 
 
 Skind. In four-and-twenty hours 1 All I can say is, I wish you 
 a day older. 
 
 Smoke. I knew the kindness of your heart ; you '11 assist me ? 
 
 Skind. Anything I can do for my fellow-man ; but for you, 
 Smoke, heart and pocket, both are open to you. For your sake 
 alone, I wish both were equally full. 
 
 Smoke. My lord, I wouldn't touch your pocket for the world ; 
 I reverence your heart; and all I want is, one half-minute's use 
 of your right hand. 
 
 'Ski7id. {Grasping his hand.) You have it, Smoke, — you have 
 it ; and my best wishes with it. 
 
 Smoke. I knew you'd not refuse me. Here's the bill. {Pre- 
 senting it) 
 
 Skind. {Taking paper, looking at it, and, affecting a hurst oj 
 emotion, returning it to Smoke.) You didn't mean it, but you've 
 
 struck me to the soul. 
 
 Smoke. What 's the matter ? This emotion at the sight of a 
 mere bill is — {aside: just three months too soon. It's like 
 weeping at an onion — in the seed.) 
 
 Skind. You have opened an old wound. My dear father, on his 
 death-bed, — ha ! what a father he was ! — my dear father said 
 "Barnaby, my dear Barnaby, never while you live refuse an 
 honest man your hand ; but, my beloved boy, be sure of oue 
 thing ; when you give your hand, oh ! never, never have a pen 
 in it. I know you didn 't mean it, but you 've called my father 
 up before me. Turning to Spreadweasel : Will you walk into 
 the library ? Fond of books ? 
 
 Spreadio. Very fond. There 's in the very air of a library 
 something that's delicious. 
 
 Skind. There is— there is. {Aside : He means the Eussia 
 biudincfs.) {Exeunt Skindeep and Spreadweasel. 
 
 Sm(^e. He 's a noble fellow, that Melon ; and I'm resolved 
 upon it, shall not be swallowed by that crocodile wine-merchant. 
 One thousand pounds: his lord.ship refuses. No matter: the 
 money must be had, and so I'll follow Spreadweasel to the 
 library, and talk to him about philosophy. It sha'n't be my fault 
 if he don't need it. \_Exit. 
 
 Enter Melon and Guinea. 
 
 Melon. Fly, or we shall have that terrible widow spoiling all. 
 
 Guinea. First, sir, could you tell me what sort of a man the 
 Emperor of Eussia is 1 He has advertised for some money, and 
 — I only ask for a friend — do you think he's safe ?
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY 31 
 
 Melon. Unquestionably. You wouldn't doubt an emperor 1 
 
 Guinea. Why, when emperors want money, they're very like 
 common folks after all. And now, sir,— yes, I'm going directly 
 — I want your legal opinion. {Aside : As he seldom pays me 
 for Miss Florentia's letters, I 've a right to his law for nothing.) 
 This it is, sir : if a woman marries — I only ask for a friend — 
 can't she settle every farthing of her money fast upon her own 
 self? 
 
 Melon. Certainly. 
 
 Guinea. She can 1 That gives great strength to the weaker sex. 
 
 Melon. And yet when a woman bestows her heart and hand 
 
 Guinea. But women ar'n't all hearts and hands ; pockets go 
 for something. And she can settle all her money on herself? 
 That takes much risk from the holy state. {Aside : Mr. Kimbo's 
 getting tenderer and tenderer ; if his shares continue to go up, I 
 think I shall bloSs him.) [Exit. 
 
 Melon. How, how to break off this miserable match, yet avoid 
 the penalty ? If Chatham would but run away with Pamela, 
 marry her,, and so save my fortune ? But no : to make my 
 misery complete, the wench is fond of me. I never thought to 
 break a woman's heart ; and yet, self-preservation is a powerful 
 law : it must be done. 
 
 Enter Florentia. 
 
 Florentia. At last, you 're in this house ! My aunt must now, 
 indeed, be happy. 
 
 Melon. Nay, Florentia, why this temper ? If I endure your 
 aunt's civility 
 
 Flor. Civility! 
 
 Melon. Is it not my love for you that- 
 
 Flor. Makes you play the hypocrite to an unsophisticated 
 widow? 'Twas for me you walked and talked to her for hours upon 
 the sands, whilst I was bid to pick up shells and star-fish, and sea- 
 weed, my aunt had such a sudden love for all marine productions. 
 Many a time would I have changed condition with a mermaid. 
 
 Melon. Once I thought you had. 
 
 Flor. Sir ! 
 
 Melon. It was that delicious hour, when seated on the cliff, you 
 poured your voice uj^on the breathless night. 
 
 Flor. Oh ! 
 
 Melon. And though I was fathoms deep in love before, at every 
 note I went still deeper down, deeper than where old Neptune 
 sat, and all the syrens, envious, wept with rage to listen to you. 
 
 Flor. So deep as that 1 And pray when did you come up 
 again ? But, sir, these rhapsodies must end. I shall no longer
 
 32 BUBBLES OF THE DAY 
 
 be a — a particcps criminis, I believe you call it, to your duplicity 
 towards my excellent aunt. This day — within an hour — I must 
 receive my husband. 
 
 Melon. Be it so. I think I have money enough for the ring 
 and wedding-fees ; and then, come poverty, come and hallow a 
 back parlour ! 
 
 Flor. Poverty, sir ! No, sir ; no. 
 
 Melon. She has a haggard face and evil eye ; and, what is 
 worse, a reputation that in this world makes her the very vilest 
 company. Yet, if she bring you, Florentia, poverty herself shall 
 learn the smiling of content ; and though all the world shim us 
 for our wicked guest, she shall sit at our hearth, nor hear from 
 us a word to wound her. 
 
 Flor. {Aside : Now, wouldn't any woman love him 1) Our 
 hearth, sir ! Know, when I named a husband, I spoke of Sir 
 Phenix Clearcake. 
 
 Melon. Ah, Florentia ! I'm not to be frightened from such 
 fruit by such a scarecrow. Have done with teazing ; and, like 
 a good girl, plot with me to save ten thousand pounds. If Pamela, 
 refusing me, wed first, my father's will gives me my money, with 
 ten thousand more on old Spreadweasel's bond. If I refuse the 
 lady, my fortune goes to swell her dower, and I am penniless. 
 Now, are there no means of finding the girl a good husband 1 
 
 Flor. I can't tell ; 'tis said the creature every day becomes a 
 greater scarcity. My aunt declares 'twill soon be an extinct 
 species. Talking of my aunt, that lady, knowing the contract 
 that holds you and Miss Spreadweasel, has, for reasons which she 
 best can tell, already introduced a rival, Mr. Chatham Brown. 
 
 Melon. Yes ; he has seen or dreamt of some goddess, and, poor 
 fellow ! thinks 'tis she. Pamela a goddess ! I never knew one 
 of her sex so serious a common-place. 
 
 Flor. She 's a delightful creature. I find we're early friends 
 — schoolfellows ; and when I think of all our school-girl vows of 
 love and amity, I feel 'twould be very, very wicked to deprive her 
 of you. 
 
 Melon. I'll take the sin upon myself. 
 
 Flor. Her fondness, too, for you is so intense — poor thing, 
 'twould kill her. 
 
 Melon. You think so 1 {Aside : Now, to turn this tide of early 
 friendship.) Then honour, manhood, mere humanity forbids 
 it. And then she is so very delightful, you say ? Didn't you say 
 she was very delightful ? 
 
 Flor. I said — that is, I think I said — delightful. 
 Melon. And I, dazzled, fascinated by some errant ray — some 
 meteor of the fancy — have overlooked the priceless gem that
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 33 
 
 Flor. Excellent ; your wit improves, sir. Give you a fitting 
 theme, and 
 
 Melon. Ha, madam ! the indissoluble tie of school-eirl love ! 
 Isn't that a theme % Oh, from what a precii^ice have you 
 snatched me — snatched yourself ! 
 
 Flor. I ! — I, sir ! 
 
 Melon. In what appalling colours have you shown the falsehood 
 of the act ! 
 
 Flor. I said, sir — I merely said 
 
 Melon. Beautifully, indeed, you said, — no blessing could light 
 upon a union bought with a broken heart. Sorrow — as you said 
 — would fill our days, remorse our nights ; whilst — as you touch- 
 ingly observed — our children, 
 
 Flor. I beg, sir, I — I — I merely passingly observed, that Miss 
 Spreadweasel was a — a — rather a nice sort of person, and that — 
 that you 're a false*, unfeeling man. 
 
 Melon, (jtside: School-girl vows of love !) Nay, Florentia, there 
 shall be no treason in our marriage. You and the poet shall still 
 be right — at lovers' perjuries Jove shall still laugh. 
 
 Flor. And you, I feai-, still find him matter for his mirth. 
 
 Melon. Never ! by this {Laughter without.) What's that 1 
 
 Flor. Oh, nothing. 
 
 Melon. Surely that wasn't Pamela 1 
 
 Flor. Why not 1 (Lauffliter repeated.) 
 
 Melon. It is her voice ; — and yet so sweet, so hearty ! I never 
 heard her laugh so joyously before. 
 
 Flor. Perhaps not. (Aside: I don't like this. If, now, she 
 should really love him ! But I '11 watch them both.) 
 
 Enter Pamela, Brown, and Chatham Brown'. 
 
 Brown. Charming Miss Spreadweasel ! How fortunate that my 
 son's principles 
 
 Pamela. Principles ! What are they ? — vow — ha ! Harry, dear, 
 how d'ye do ? 
 
 Melon. {Aside : What transformation's this 1) 
 
 Pam. Don't stare, good folks : you know, he's to be my 
 husband ; he was left me by his excellent father : wer'n't you, 
 Harry 1 
 
 Brown. An admirable legacy. 
 
 Fam. It miglit have been worse ; and then it's so kind of 
 people before they're buried, to settle how the world shall go on 
 when they have done with it. 
 
 Enter Lord Skindeep. 
 Skindeep. {Aside : Smoke has fastened upon my vulgar friend,
 
 34 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 and)— ha! ladies, ladies ! Ha ! Miss Spreadweasel ! {Aside: 
 She is effulgently handsome.) 
 
 Brown. Oh, my lord, you know not what our cause owes to 
 this lady ! You admired my son's principles, didn't ye ? 
 
 Pam. To say the truth, of the two sets they best suited my 
 complexion. 
 
 Chat. Your complexion, fair lady ? 
 
 Pam. Yes : your coloui's were yellow, the other party's blue ; 
 and, as it was the fashion to wear a ribbon of some sort, 'twas 
 lucky that I found your principles the most becoming. I'm sure 
 there were many who couldn't give a better reason for 'em. 
 
 Mel. {Aside to Florentia : I'm confounded. Such sudden 
 animation !) 
 
 Flor. Very sudden. {Aside : How his eyes glisten as she 
 talks !) 
 
 Chat. Nay, I am sure you were instigated by a spirit the 
 finest 
 
 Pam. And the strongest in the world, — the spirit of contra- 
 diction. I'll tell you how it was. There was a strange man^ 
 dropt from the moon— a man named Waller — bless me, my 
 lord ! do you know him 1 
 
 SHnd. Waller — Waller ! Never heard the name — never. 
 
 Pam. He used to haunt Cowslip Lodge ; such a monster ! He 
 stormed at the parrots — abused the macaws— and, more than 
 all, found fault with my whist. This man was a blue. 
 
 Chat. Of course. Find fault with your whist ! He could be 
 nothing else. 
 
 Pam. I had never thought of the election ; and as I was only 
 a guest, I endured the monster as best I could. But when, 
 adding outrage to outrage, he emptied his snuff-box in the face 
 of the dear unoffending little monkey, on that instant, and for 
 ever, I became a yellow. 
 
 Skind. I shall think with gratitude upon monkeys for the rest 
 of my days. 
 
 Pam. You ought ; for you can't tell how much we owe 'em. 
 Luckily, as the election drew near, the savage was laid up with 
 the gout. Then I travelled over every step of his groimd, and 
 out of fifty of his votes — yes, out of fifty blues — he couldn't 
 boast of ten that were fast colours. 
 
 Skind. Never — never was cruelty to animals so magnificently 
 avenged. 
 
 Mel. And you, Pamela — you canvassed ! {Aside to Florentia : 
 'Tis plain ; I have been dreaming — fast asleep.) 
 
 Flor. No doubt. {Aside : And I begin to tremble that you 
 ever waked.)
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 35 
 
 Cliat. How — how shall we ever repay — {Tahing Pamela's 
 hand.) 
 
 Slind. Exactly ; how shall we ever repay — {Taking her other 
 hand) 
 
 Chat. The gratitude of a life 
 
 Skind. The devotion of my whole existence 
 
 Chat. I beg your pardon, my lord ; but 'twas for me the lady 
 canvassed. 
 
 Skind. UnqTiestionably ; but you and I, holding the same 
 principles, must in this case feel precisely alike. Therefore, our 
 thanks — my thanks 
 
 Pam. I don't ask them, the enjoyment of the fun was reward 
 enough ; for I never talked so much in all my life — never was so 
 droUy catechised. What will ]Mi\ Brown promise 1 He'll 
 promise everything. "What will he oppose ? Anything. What 
 will he really do ? Xothing. 
 
 Brown. (Aside to Skindeep : She has a fine intuitive knowledge 
 of things.) 
 
 Skind. Wonderful ! I couldn't have answered better myself. 
 
 Pam. At last I struck upon their sympathies. " Men of 
 Mufiborough," said I, " are you to be intimidated 1 " and the 
 men silently glanced at their wives, and there was no doubt of 
 the fact. " Men of Muflfborough," said I, " are you husbands 1 " 
 "We are," said two or three of the boldest, "and sorry for it." 
 " Men of Muffborough, are you fathers, are you men 1 In a word, 
 will you sell your voices ] " I had touched the chord ; there 
 was a shout ; and one honest creature answered, " That's 
 business, my lady ; what will you give us for 'em 1 " 
 
 All Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Skind. Yet how can I laugh 1 
 
 Brown. And then you spoke of the — the liberty of the subject 1 
 
 Pam. I did, and with such triumphant effect, that a worthy 
 gi'een-gi'ocer, for only five pounds ten, gave freedom to his jack- 
 daw. Such sport ! ha ! ha ! And then {to Ciiathah) your 
 speeches from the Dolphin window ! 
 
 Brown. And all made without effort — cost him nothins: : 
 positively nothing. 
 
 Pam. No ! then how generous of the people to give him such 
 showers of eggs and apples for 'em. 
 
 Chat. Apples ! Nay, I protest, I saw no 
 
 Skind. No, you were too excited for the good of your country ; 
 out there were apples : I blush for those I represent to say it ; 
 apples, the growth of the neighbourhood. I have stood tlirice 
 fur JMufi'ljorough, and should know the fruit anywhere. Tliere 
 were apples, and — eggs. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Pam. Yes — you promised to iraiarove the trade of the place, 
 and this spring, they say, chickens will be worth any money. 
 
 Brown. But the magnificence of the chairing ! That was a sight. 
 Tlie trinmplial car, and the milk-white horses, and the member 
 himself, with his sword by his side, looking as 
 
 Pam. As if he Avere afraid to draw it ! And the huzzas of the 
 crowd — and the trumpets — and the member's cocked-hat — and 
 the banners — and the nosegays flung from first and second pairs 
 — and the voters on horseback crushing the voters on foot — and 
 the cheers of the incorruptible, and the smiles of the fair ! Whilst 
 fathers show the patriot to their sons, and mothers bless the 
 gentleman so affable and kind, who kissed their little girl, then 
 left ten pounds to buy the dear a doll ! 
 
 Skind. Even gratitude has its inconvenience. One can't do 
 these things, but foolish people will talk of 'em. {Retires up 
 stage witli Pamela and others.) 
 
 Mel. {Aside : Wherefore has she thus cozened me ? — where- 
 fore disguised this buoyant, bounding mirth, in straightdaced 
 homeliness ?) 
 
 Flor. {Aside. : Now, I'm sure of it, he dwells upon each new- 
 found excellence. What mischief brought her here to-day !) 
 {ApproacJiing Melon.) Henry. 
 
 Mel. Florentia ! — {Retires up stage with Florentia.) 
 
 Skind. {Coming down.) Two minutes have decided it : Miss 
 Spreadweasel becomes Lady Skindeep. Her f;xmily is vulgar ; 
 but to a man of enlarged feelings, who loves his species — and 
 they say she has twenty thousand pounds — there's no vulgarity 
 but in the mind. 
 
 Enter Smoke {from Library). 
 
 Smoke. My dear lord, — do i/ou want a thousand pounds ? 
 
 Skind. My dear Smoke, take this for an axiom ; every man, 
 whoever he may be, always wants a thousand j^ounds. 
 
 Smoke. Hear a brief tale. Old Spreadweasel insists upon 
 giving me landed property in — here he comes. 
 
 Enter Spreadweasel. 
 
 Spreadw. Beautiful books ! Some of them charmingly gilt, too. 
 
 Skiiid. Ha ! 'tis the inside — 'tis the soul of the book, as of the 
 man, friend Spreadweasel ; 'tis that alone I regard. 
 
 Spreadw. Certainly. Still, the covers are handsome. 
 
 Skind. {Aaide : He is vulgar, — looks vulgar ; but his looks 
 may be mended. When I have made him my father, I shall show 
 my filial love and i^ut him under a tailor.)
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 37 
 
 Enter Servaut. 
 
 Servant. Sir Plienix Clearcake. YExit. 
 
 Flor. {Aside to Pamela : Here's the deceiver.) 
 
 Enter Sir Phenix Clearcake. 
 
 Sir Phenix. My lord, I would faiu venture a hoi^e that I have 
 not delayed the well-kiiowu hospitalities of this festive mansion; 
 but, thou^rh I have flown on the wina^s of Icarus, I 
 
 Skind. If Florentia can foi'give, we must not complain. 
 
 Sir Ph. Forgiveness is the beauty, the flower of her sex ;. a 
 flower, first raised as it were, in Paradise, and now the dis- 
 tinguishing ornament of every lady of distinction. 
 
 Skind. Sir Phenix — my friend Spi'eadweasel, of Mouse-traj^ 
 Hall, Bow. 
 
 Sir Ph. Mouse-trap Hall ! Do I see the favoured resident of 
 that truly English home, — known in the neighbourhood as the 
 cottage of cordiality ? It has two stories, with parlour bow- 
 windows — is surrounded by railings of perennial green, and for 
 the consolation of the serious, has a backward look upon die 
 churchyard ; a churchyard, that only needs another Hervey, for 
 the world to weep over other Meditations. Hard and soft water 
 on the i^remises. 
 
 Spreadw. A perfect picture of my humble roof. Sir Phenix, 
 {bringing down Pajiela), sufier me to introduce my daughter. 
 Pamela, my dear, this is 
 
 Pam. Major Loo ! 
 
 Spreadio. No ; Sir Phenix Clearcake. 
 
 Pam. Major Loo ! 
 
 Skind. Nay, Miss Spreadweasel, 'tis Sir Phenix : the accepted 
 suitor of Florentia, your friend, and 
 
 Pam. What ! Floi'eutia ! you another victim ! 
 
 Flor. Victim ! Oh, tell me ! what misery menaces my peace ? 
 j Your heart — I see it — struggles witli some secret grief. A 
 victim — his victim ! 
 
 Skind. (T'o Sir Phenix.) "What is this? Are you, or were 
 you eA'er Major Loo 1 
 
 Sir Ph. My dear lord, if nature has cast me in a military 
 mould — if I have the look of the line, — if— I say if 
 
 Pam. Look, Florentia, look : see how conscience blushes in the 
 major's cheek ! 
 
 Sir Ph. Not conscience, madam — not conscience : but the 
 timidity of innocence. 
 
 Skind. Innocence ! There must be something in it if you cry 
 innocence so soon. Tell all, sweet lady — tell all. 
 
 Pam. The major there
 
 38 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Sir Ph. {Aside : If I m not loud, I'm lost.) I — I at once 
 repudiate the major. Though, madam, I may possibly i-esemble 
 somebody on the Ai-my List, I am not military but civic. Know, 
 madam, I am an alderman — of the skinners' company, madam — 
 an alderman, and hold the scales of justice. 
 
 Pam. The more your wickedness to give short weight. Clotilda 
 Montmorency ! 
 
 Flor. Ila ! I divine my wretchedness. I read it in the culprit's 
 cowering eye — his ashy cheek — his purple lip. 
 
 Sir Ph. {Aside : It can't be true ; but I'd give ten pounds to 
 look in a glass.) 
 
 Skind. For a guiltless man, Sir Phenix, your innocence is of a 
 timid, gentle sort. 
 
 Smoke. Yes, apparently so gentle, a lady may drive it. 
 
 Sir Ph. The truth is, dear Florentia, this is a mistake — a 
 
 Pam. Florentia ! Clotilda ! A double friendship makes me 
 doubly bold. Man, — do you know Brixton 1 
 
 Sir Ph. No ! That is, yes ; by tradition. 
 
 Pam. And know you not Minerva House 1 
 
 Sliiid. And know you not Minerva House 1 
 
 Flor. And know you not Minerva House % 
 
 Sir Ph. I — I think I do, yes : 'tis in a row of uniform 
 mansions, the middle one greatly preponderating. There are 
 grass-plots in front, with well-stocked gardens behind. Omni- 
 buses pass the door every five minutes. 
 
 Pam. Attend, Florentia ; and you, my lord, whose heart beats 
 only for your species, judge that naughty man. Clotilda Montmo- 
 rency — alas, sweet girl ! — little thought she when she listened to 
 his tales of glory, that the maj or's only company was of the skinners ! 
 
 Spreadio. Perhaps, Pamela, this history had better be deferred. 
 
 Pam. Father, I have a vow to my early friend. My lord, 
 fancy a lovely innocent creature, in the blush and bloom of artless 
 sixteen. I say, fancy her. 
 
 Skind. I can fjxncy her perfectly. 
 
 Pam,. With a soul of romance, caught by the honeyed words 
 of middle-aged deceit ! Imagine that, Florentia ! 
 
 Flor. I do — I see it. 
 
 Pam. My lord, Clotilda loved, and was deserted. She still 
 was beautiful ; but the canker was in the rose — the lute was 
 shattered — the dove was stricken — and Clotilda died. 
 
 Sir Ph. {Aside : Then I'm comfortable.) 
 
 Skind. And this monster 
 
 Pam. There he stands, stained with a broken heart ! 
 
 FT,or. Oh, Pamela ! And this man was to have led me to the 
 church !
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 39 
 
 Pam. And if he had, the ghost of Clotilda — ^he knows she 
 knew music — would have jslayed the Dead March in the organ- 
 loft. 
 
 Sir Ph. (Aside : As she's dead, there's no proof) I protest 
 this is altogether a mistake. There's no proof that 
 
 Pam. Before she died, she placed the monster's letters in my 
 hand. I vowed to carry them ever about me, and (j)roducing 
 them) here they are. 
 
 SHnd. His letters ! 
 
 Sir Ph. Not mine — not mine ! And even if they were, 
 they're follies of youth — wild oats — mere — ha ! ha ! — mere wild 
 oats ! 
 
 Skind. Is this your reverence for human nature 1 Wild oats ! 
 Nightshade ! Hemlock ! "Wild oats ? Every letter here's a 
 dagger to the trusting bosom of devoted woman. 
 
 Flor. Oh, my lord ! 
 
 Spreadw. What lovely language ! 
 
 Skind. Every flourish a mortal serpent to a woman's heart. 
 The whole al]ihabet is here no less than six-and-twenty black 
 assassins, marshalled to stab a woman's peace ! 
 
 Sir Ph. The alphabet has, I know, much stabbing to answer 
 for ; but I never employed it in those letters. 
 
 Pam. Read them, my lord. 
 
 Smoke and others. Read — read ! 
 
 Sir Ph. I protest against that, though I know nothing of 'em ; 
 but to read the letters of a gentleman — to go over the whole 
 premises of his heart, without i^ermission — I — do as you please — 
 I'll not stay — I'll be no party to [Going. 
 
 Flor. Plain — plain ! Conscience-stricken, he would fly 
 exposure. My dear, dear friend, what do I owe you for my 
 preservation ! And Clotilda — she is dead ! I'm very ill. Call 
 my maid. 
 
 Pam. Clotilda's dead. Nor is there monument or stone to 
 mark the spot where lie her cold remains ! 
 
 Skind. No monument ! Sir Phenix, this is worse than all. 
 Broken hearts, with the best intentions, will happen ; but to raise 
 no stone to your victim's memory — to write no epitaph — I put it 
 to you as a man, have you no love for your species 1 
 
 Sir Ph. As far as a small monument, or a tombstone goes, I'll 
 give that, but 
 
 Skind. No man can do more ; you've said enough. Erect a 
 handsome tombstone, and so silence the world with the beauty 
 of remorse. 
 
 Sir Ph. But still I know nothing of the lady ; and even if I 
 did — suppose it was all true — I say, suppose it was — if a man's
 
 40 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 to be crushed by a few things of this sort, what's the use of his 
 respectability ? I ask again — what's the use of 
 
 Enter Guinea. 
 
 Guinea. {Running to Florentia.) Oh ! my lady ill ! 
 
 Guinea looks significantly/ at Sir Phenix, loJio recognises her. 
 
 Pam. No wonder that she's ill. What she has heard would 
 call tears from a stone. 
 
 Sir Ph. {Aside : It has done more than that : I think it has 
 called the dead from the grave. The slut ! Though 'tis ten 
 years past, I'll swear 'tis she.) Will not sweet Morentia be 
 comforted 1 
 
 Flor. Accost me not ! Methinks I see the spectre of your 
 victim at your side. 
 
 Sir Ph. {Aside: Methinks so, too.) Perhaps, Miss Spread- 
 weasel 
 
 Pam. Go, Sir Phenix, go : and if Balaam Chapel yet be built, 
 ])vay there to be made better. Come, Florentia. 
 
 Florentia is led of by Pamela and Guinea : the latter continuing 
 
 to eye Sir Phenix. 
 Chat. Oh, Sir Phenix ! \Exit. 
 
 Mel. {To Sir Phenix) An alderman, too ! 
 
 {Exit, following Florentia. 
 
 Smoke. And of the skinners' company — fie, fie ! [Exit. 
 
 Brown. Never mind ; for all her pouts, she'll like you the 
 
 oetter for it. [Exit. 
 
 Slind. How can any man, let him love his species as he may, 
 
 be such a fool as to put his heart upon paper ? 
 
 Sprcadw. I know, when I courted, I took lawyer's advice, and 
 signed every letter to my love,—" yours without prejudioe." 
 
 [Ezeunt Skindeep and Spreadweasel. 
 Sir Ph. It is she — I'll swear 'tis 
 
 (Guinea runs in.) 
 Guinea. My mistress has left her salts, and- 
 
 Sir Ph. {Brings Guinea down.) Now, stare well in my face— 
 I know you can ; and give me your opinion. 
 
 Guinea. My opinion, Sir Phenix ? 
 
 Sir Ph. I am about to erect a little monument to a broken- 
 hearted woman, and I wish to consult you on the epitaph. Don't 
 you think this — it has just popped into my brain — this will tell 
 the tale 1 Hem ! 
 
 " Beneath this weeping willow's shade, 
 Here, reader, lies a lady's maid." 
 
 Will that serve 1
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 41 
 
 Guinea. Beautifully, with this addition : — 
 
 " All killed she was by Major Loo, 
 The only thing he ever slew ! " 
 
 Ha! ha! ha! 
 Sir Ph. Slut ! baggage ! 
 
 [Guinea runs off, laughing, followed hj/ Sir Phenix. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 — ♦ — 
 
 Scene. — Lord Skindeep's Library. 
 
 » 
 
 ^nter Lord Skindeep and Spreadweasel. 
 
 Spreadweasel [who is muddled with wine). My lord, would you 
 not have nae rest quietly in my grave "? 
 
 Skindeep. Most certainly. 
 
 Spreadw. Then I appeal to your humanity. 
 
 Skind. Don't. Anybody who does that makes an infant of me. 
 I can refuse 'em nothing. 
 
 Spreadw. Marry her ; and save my child from a profligate. 
 
 Skind. But Mr. Melon may amend — may recover himself. 
 
 Sp-eadw. He can't. So I shall sleep in peace. You'll wed 
 Pamela ? 
 
 Skind. To show you what I'll do for my species — I — I'll marry 
 your sweet child. You appeal to my hiimanity, and — ha ! friend 
 Spreadweasel, the hunian heart is a great mystery. 
 
 Spreadw. So they say. 
 
 Skind. It has chords — chords — chords. I never thought to 
 marry ; for in very early life, death cut my atfections to the 
 quick. 
 
 Spreadw. "Well, give 'em time, and they often grow the better 
 for the cutting. 
 
 Skind. That's a beautiful — a philosophical thought. I feel 'em 
 shooting now. 
 
 Spreadw. And so you'll marry Pamela ? 
 
 Skind. I can't say much ; former years rush back — the 
 grave opens — I — 'tis over. {Siizing his hand.) Consider me 
 your son. 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside : That I, who have sold shoestrings, should be 
 father to a lord !) But this spendthrift, Melon, — he must be 
 tricked, cheated, gulled.
 
 42 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Skind. "Well, anything I can do for my — ^tliat is — gulled ? 
 How — what ? 
 
 Spreadw. "We must make him marry somebody first : thus he 
 forfeits his fortune, I save my ten thousand pounds, and Pamela, 
 your wife, gets all. So when we have put him in fetters, you 
 and Pam may be bound in roses. 
 
 Skind. Having deprived him of one wife, humanity counsels 
 that we should find him another. {Aside • Mrs. Quarto — I saw 
 her at dinner — looked the whole marriage service at him. Leave 
 the matter to me.) 
 
 Spreadw. (Aside : And now to get his interest for the widow.) 
 My lord — my — my son ! I — I have something in my bosom. 
 
 Skind. In your bosom 1 Break the ice, then — out with it ! 
 
 Spreadio. Mrs. Quarto is, I believe, a relation, or 
 
 Skind, There is a sort of shadowy cousinship between us. 
 
 Spreadw. "Well, then, my lord, I 
 
 Enter 'B^ows, followed hy Smoke, who lounges in. 
 
 Brown. My lord ! my lord ! A quarter to nine ! The house, 
 my lord ! 
 
 Skind. I shall be quite in time to vote. Drumbleby isn't off 
 his legs yet, I know ; and though he thinks he's dropping 
 diamonds, he always talks tapeworms. I beg your pardon for 
 quitting you, but Mr. Spreadweasel and I 
 
 Brown. And Chatham, too, on such a night — when he has 
 promised me to speak — to waste his time with foolish girls ! 
 
 Skind. Well, tear Chatham from the ladies, and since my 
 country calls me, I obey. (Brown hurries off.) I'm distressed 
 to leave you ; but this it is to represent one's fellow-creatures. 
 My dear Spreadweasel, make my house your own. I'll say fare- 
 well to the ladies — {aside) — coax the girl to give me a meeting, 
 and carry off my prize this very night. \^Exit. 
 
 Spreadw. Captain, his lordship must be very rich ? 
 
 Smoke. Rich ! His heart alone is worth a million. 
 
 Spreadio. Yes, but sinking the heart 
 
 Smoke. Sinking his heart, even then nobody knows his wealth. 
 How now, why do you look at me and sigh 1 "Why so sad 1 
 
 Spreadw. "Well, I am sad, to think that you will cut down 
 your timber. 
 
 Smoke. Oh, ha ! in Northamptonshire 1 Yes ; oak, elm, maple, 
 all shall go. In fact, I'll cut every twig I have. 
 
 Spreadw. Oh, consider ; the trees that have shaded your 
 grandfather— that you have climbed as a boy — that — that — but 
 if you will sacrifice, don't go to Shark, come to me, I'll be your 
 friend : as you've exposed that prodigal Melon, I'll
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 43 
 
 Enter Skindeep and Chatham. 
 
 Slind. Once more, farewell — we're off — inexorable duty — amor 
 vatriw will have it so. (Amlc : Pamela consents to give me a 
 meeting ; so I'll set my colleague to watch the interests of the 
 counti-y, and then fly back to conquest.) 
 
 Chat. Farewell, sir,— farewell. (Aside : I'll see my excellent 
 father safe in the gallery, my fellow member in his seat, and then 
 back again to Pamela.) 
 
 Skind. Smoke, I charge you, amuse my dear friend here. 
 . {Aside to Smoke : He's muddled already ; drench him, and let 
 'em put him to bed.) 
 
 Brown, sen., appears at the door. 
 
 Brown. My lord— my lord — Chatham, for shame ! You'll not 
 hear a word of this debate ! 
 
 Skind. All the better : for as we've made up our opinions on 
 the question, nobody can say we're prejudiced by the arguments 
 of either party. Farewell — tarewell. 
 
 {Exeunt all hut Spread weasel a7id Smoke. 
 
 Spreadw. Now, they mayn't be in their quiet beds till four or 
 five o'clock ; and all for theii- country. Ha ! such men make us 
 deeply indebted. 
 
 Smoke. Such men do. 
 
 Enter Corks. 
 
 Corks. {To Smoke.) Mr. Malmsey Shark, sir: he apologises 
 for the hour, but business of importance 
 
 Smoke. Though -he visits with the owl, he's welcome as the 
 lark. 
 
 Spreadw. Nothing could be luckier. We'll make him drink — 
 he loves wine. 
 
 Smoke. If he's sure 'tis not his own. 
 
 Spreadw. Learn all his dealings with Melon, and engage him 
 to lock him up as he leaves the house. Then — for his lordship 
 has a wife for him — when the screw is turned tighter than he can 
 bear it, he'll come at our own terms into oui- own trajs ; he'll 
 marry — ha ! ha ! 
 
 Smoke. {Aside : Now, isn't it a moral obligation on a man to 
 cheat such a rascal ? I acknowledge the force of the appeal, 
 and will respond to it.) An excellent plot ! Come, sir — come. 
 
 [Exeimt. 
 
 Corks. I took the message from John that I might get to the 
 shelves. {Sits : takes MS. from his pocket.) 1 think I've prettily 
 flogged his lordship on his last night's speech. He'll not forget
 
 44 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 "Brutus the Elder" while he lives. Every word's a thistle. 
 Hov/ I'll double down the j^aper for him at the place on Sunday ! 
 ( Taking bottle of wine out of hisjyocket, and placwg it on table.) I'll 
 take my glass of burgundy here, for his lordship will not be 
 home till four or five ; and I like to write with my books about 
 me. {Rises ; leaves 3IS. in chair ^ and airproaclies hook-shelves?) 
 Let me see ; I'm sure I put " Junius " here. Lord Skindeep 
 can't have removed it. I want the book just for a shake or so 
 of pepper, 
 
 Florentia and Pamela run in : Florentia throws herself in 
 chair in which is MS. 
 
 Flor. Oh, Pamela ! what an escape ! Here, here we can 
 breathe ; here we can — {sees Corks.) — Well ? 
 
 Corks. Did j'ou call, madam 1 
 
 Flor. No. You hear 1 No. 
 
 Corks. {Aside. They'll soon go ; I'll watch 'em out, and come 
 again.) \^Exit. 
 
 Pani. Ha ! ha ! Was ever anything like the alderman's 
 penitence ? • 
 
 Flor. Don't name him, dear Pamela ! What's to be the end 
 of this ? 
 
 Pam. Nay, you know the sentence — matrimony. 
 
 Flor. With Sir Phenix ? No ! I'll change my religion first, 
 and die a nun. 
 
 Pam. Die a nun ! Don't talk in that wicked way, or some- i 
 thing will happen to you. I have it. The surest way to prevent j 
 the alderman's becoming your husband is 
 
 Flor. Yes ? 
 
 Pam. To get somebody in his place. 
 
 Flor. I have thought of that myself. 
 
 Pam. Consider. Among your acquaintance is thei'e no well- 
 spoken, good-looking young man, of an obliging disposition ? 
 I'm sure there must be hundreds. 
 
 Flor. Yes ; but j'ou know when one's in a hurry, there's no 
 finding what one seeks. Oh, Pamela ! did you observe my aunt ? 
 How she sat with her eyes fixed on poor Mr. Melon ? I'm sure 
 I quite felt for him. 
 
 Pam. Your compassion was evident enough. By the way, 
 don't you think Melon himself would pay you the compliment of 
 ■wedlock ? 
 
 Flor. La, Pamela ! Do you supisose I'd steal my friend's 
 lover ? 
 
 Pam. I do, and more, — believe you'd exult in the felony.
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 45 
 
 "With women as with warriors, there's no robbery— ail's con- 
 quest. 
 
 Flor. And finally, you're resolved never to marry Melon ? 
 
 Pam. Never ; though he were the last man left us who could 
 walk without a crutch. 
 
 Fhr. You're a good creature, and I'll ti'ust you. "We've 
 settled it all — he runs away with me. 
 
 Pam. My service to your women's conscience. And how for 
 his fortune ? If he marry first, the man I wed obtains his 
 wealth. 
 
 Flor. For all that, he vows he'll snatch me from the alderman, 
 and — bless his heart — live in a back Ix^rlour. 
 
 Pam. Melon must not lose his fortune. To prove to you my 
 regard — to show to the unbelieving world the sacrifice one 
 woman will make for another — I'll — I'll marry first ! 
 
 Flor. {Embracing her.) "Was there ever such a friend ? "Where, 
 now, to find' your husband ? 
 
 Pam. Oh, fortune's very good. I've one, and one to spare. 
 
 Flor. Nay, I can guess one — the member, Mr. Chatham 
 Brown. 
 
 Pam. Muflfborough — elysian spot ! — has two members : in 
 love and politics alike unanimous. Therefore, if to-night I 
 should rashly start for the church ■ 
 
 Flor. Depend upou't, I follow in the morning. 
 
 Enter Melon, who feigns intoxication, speaking as he enters and 
 followed by Sir Phenix. 
 
 Melon. Go home in your chariot \ Not were it an Indian 
 king's, flaming with carbuncles. 
 
 Flor. {Aside. Melon ! and so suddenly thus !) 
 
 Sir Phenix. My dear Mr. Melon, have you no regard for 
 respectability 1 
 
 Melon. I despise it : it has spoilt so many noble fellows. 
 
 Pam. "Why, Harry, what has brought you to this ? 
 
 Melon. Desjiair ! I was left with nothing but the alderman 
 and the bottle ; who can blame me for the choice I've made ? 
 And now he wants me to go home. 
 
 Sir. Ph. I'll set you down in my carriage. 
 
 Melon. Your carriage ! There's no room iia it ! 'tis full oi 
 fiends. 
 
 Sir Ph. My can-iage ! A thing built, as the swan of Avon 
 would say, by fairy's coachmaker for — {significantly to Florentia : 
 — for the queen of fairy.) Fiends ! 
 
 Mel. Pride, arrogance, covetousness, hardness of heart — all
 
 46 EUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 the tribe of imps — ^I've seen 'em leering out of the windows — 
 take a daily airing with you. 
 
 Enter Smoke, folloiced htf Spreadweasel. 
 
 Smoke (Aside to Melon : Keep very drunk ; if you quit the 
 house, you're lost.) 
 
 Mel. Ha ! my honoured father ! 
 
 Bpreadw. Father — father to a wine-bottle ! 
 
 Mel. Then be proud of your son. Ha ! sweet little Pam, — my 
 bride, by right of sheepskin ! 
 
 SpreadiD. {Aside to Pamela : Isn't this horrible 1) 
 
 Pam. Shocking. {Aside to Florentia : What can he mean 1 
 He does but feign, I'm sure.) 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside to Pamela : He's so every night. What an 
 escape you'll have ! not a sot's wife, but a lord's lady.) Now, 
 Harry — my good Harry — go home. 
 
 Mel. Home ! such a dreadful night ! 
 
 Sir Ph. 'Tis a lovely night : the very fellow to that on which 
 the youthful Hero swam the Hellespont. The moon must remind 
 the traveller of Italy ; the stars have the most rcchercM twinkle 
 — whilst scented zephyrs 
 
 Mel. Agues — agvies are about to night. Colds, catarrhs that 
 Avaylay honest diners-out, and make wives widows, babies father- 
 less, and break the plighted hearts of doating maidens. Now, as 
 it's on my conscience to marry, I'll take care of myself, and sleep 
 here. 
 
 Smoke. {Aside to Melon : Be sure you hold to that.) 
 
 Enter Malmsey Shark. 
 
 Shark. {Aside to Spreadweasel : They're ready on the watch. 
 Ha ! ha ! Only get him to leave the house, since you won't have 
 him taken here.) 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside to Mm: His lordship mightn't like it.) 
 
 Shark. And then — ha! ha! — they pounce upon him. {To 
 Melon : Ha ! ha ! Mr. Melon ; what's the news, sir 1) 
 
 Mel. Haven't you heard ? Bacchus is dead. 
 
 Smoke. But that can't affect you. Shark ; as wine-merchant 
 you've always done without him. 
 
 Shark. Dead, eh 1 Ha ! ha ! Poor Bacchus ! how did he 
 die? 
 
 Mel. Wliy, he turned money-lender, and made of glorious wine 
 a rascal subterfuge to drive a scoundrel trade ; with usury 
 drugged the heart-delighting cu}} — and what before was nectar 
 for the gods, became slow poison to the lip of man.
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 47 
 
 SliarJc. Ha ! ha ! Bacchus dead ! I shouldn't wonder if the 
 trade go into mourning. But how did he die ? 
 
 Mel. His own tigers — honest brutes — ashamed of their master's 
 doings, tore him to pieces. 
 
 Sharl. Ha ! ha ! {Aside to Spreadweasel : My tigers in the 
 street will tear somebody else.) But Mr. Melon 
 
 Mel. Hence ! thou canker of the vine ! 
 
 Shark. If 'twere anybody else now, I should really be offended. 
 Mr. Melon, 1 go your way. 
 
 Mel. And for that reason I'll not travel the road until 'tis 
 purified by the morning air ! 
 
 Shark. {Aside to Spreadweasel : Turn him into the street. 
 Ha! ha! we'll find him a lodging.) {To Melon; Bacchus is 
 dead, eh ? Ha ! ha ! His debtors needn't rejoice — he has left 
 executors.) [Exit. 
 
 Pam. Now, Harry, like a good boy let Sir Phenix set you 
 down. Go.' 
 
 3Iel. Go ! Oh, Cupid, was such a mouth made for such a 
 word ? Go ! Then hospitality — maid of the desert — take me to 
 your tent, and let me end my life on milk and dates, 
 
 Flor. Mr. Melon, be advised — pray go. 
 
 Mel. You, too ! You, with your loadstar eyes, cry go ! Thus, 
 thus cries the magnet to the needle, — go ; and thus it is obeyed. 
 {Is about to embrace her : Sir Phenix interposes.) 
 
 Sir Ph. ]\Ir. Melon — that lady, sir, is within a very close 
 proximity to the altar — with me, sir, with me. I can pardon the 
 exuberance of wine — but even wine, though of a very favourite 
 vintage 
 
 Mel. Sir, you're a man of spirit : I'll give you satisfaction 
 directly. 
 
 Spreadw. That's right — immediately ; now, while your blood's 
 warm. {Aside : Anything to get him into the street.) 
 
 Sir Ph. Satisfaction ! {Aside to Smoke : You hear ? he calls me 
 out!) 
 
 Smoke. Never mind : you're a magistrate — bind yourself over 
 to keep the peace. 
 
 Hir Ph. We shall meet, sir, — when you're cool. Then, sir, you 
 shall find 
 
 3Iel. What shall I find, sir ? 
 
 Sir Ph. That I'm open to an apology. [Hurries off. 
 
 Smoke. {Aside to Spreadweasel : Leave him to me — I'll cajole 
 him.) {Aside to Melon : Feign to go ; then throw yourself upon a 
 couch, and resolutely fall asleep.) Come, Melon, you'd better go 
 — you alarm the ladies. 
 
 Mel. That's enough. But will the ladies see me down stairs ?
 
 48 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Flor. and P am. Yes — yes : certainly. 
 
 Mel. Will they curtsey me out of Paradise ? Then good night, 
 fathei--in-law, good night. May your bed be roses, and your bolster 
 bank-notes. 
 
 Melon is taJcen off by Smoke, Pamela, and Florentia. 
 
 Spreadw. With such a bolster never mind the bed. He's 
 gone ; in a few minutes she's caught, and I shall be father 
 to a lord. That I, Jonas Waller, the pauper, should be father to 
 a lord ! What's here ! Something to assist his lordship's 
 studies. {Helps himself to wine.) And this mansion will be to me 
 as my own ! These books — these statues. Somehow I feel 
 taller— bigger. What's this 1 {Takes MS. left hy Corks.) One 
 of his lordship's speeches ? {Drinks and reads, gradually falltng 
 asleep) Excellent v.'ine. " Mr. Editor, — When I consider " — it 
 is very fine wine — " the — the British lion has been " — twenty 
 years in bottle, — "like the air we breathe — have it not — we — we 
 — die — die." {Falls asleep.) 
 
 Enter Corks {cautiously.) 
 
 Corks. I've forgotten " Brutus the Elder." What ! Old 
 Spreadweasel reading ? No — asleep ! If his lordship sees it I'm 
 undone. I don't mind serving my country, but I can't lose 
 my place. (Corks is advancing towards Spreadweasel, as Lord 
 Skindeep enters.) 
 
 Skind. Corks here ! 
 
 Corks. Now — {about to take paper from Spreadweasel.) — now 
 for a light finger. 
 
 Skind. Corks ! 
 
 Corks. My lord ! 
 
 Skind. What do you here ? 
 
 Corks. Mr. Spreadweasel, my lord — I — I set wine before him 
 as he ordered, and I thought he might want something. 
 
 Skind, Don't disturb him — he has read himself asleep. 
 
 Corks. {Aside : Asleep, and over such a piece of writing !) 
 
 Spreadweasel lets paper fall ; Corks hastily picks it up. 
 
 Skind. Give it me : you hear % I'll preserve it till he wakes. 
 {Puts MS. in his pocket) Corks, attend to me : be quick and 
 secret. Within ten minutes let the carriage with four horses — 
 yovi hear, four horses — be at the corner of the street. Not a 
 word that I am at home : not a syllable. 
 
 Corks. {Aside : My only hope is, that somebody may pick his 
 pocket.) [Exit. 
 
 Skind. (^^;i/>roac7n'j?<7 Spreadweasel.) His senses are soddened
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 49 
 
 — he's fast as his own iron chest. Hm ! and this is the sordid 
 lump that fortune fell in love with 1 What a wicked face he has ! 
 Marked and lined as with an usurer's pen. What blank, bare 
 ugliness has sleep in a rogue's countenance ! Here there's 
 no heart — no love for human nature — no benevolence ! By- 
 carrying off the girl I shall prevent inquiry into my means — all 
 babble about jointure, and such impertinence. And she's caught 
 — caught ! Hark ! true to her appointment — 'tis she ! 
 
 Unter Pamela. 
 
 Pamela. My lord ! My father here ! 
 
 Skind. He sleeps the sweet and tranquil sleep of the virtuous 
 and the good. 
 
 Pam. He's sound, indeed. 
 
 Skind. I was contemplating his noble — ^his benignant character, 
 marked in his pfacid face. I am the prouder that he calls me 
 friend — will' call me son. His heart is set upon it. 
 
 Spreadw. {Asleep. I'm — I'm father to a lord.) 
 
 Skind. You hear : in sleep I bless even the good man's dreams ! 
 
 Spreadw. {Asleep. Grandfather to lords !) 
 
 Skind. And he blesses me — us — with sweetest blessings. 
 Pamela, you hear his words ? 
 
 Pam. It's the nightmare ; he's very subject to it. I'll wake 
 him. 
 
 Skind. Not for the world ! At this moment he may be circled 
 with his children's children— a rosy, laughing band, plucking his 
 skirts — climbing his knees ! Let us haste — let us fly, that the 
 visions of a good man's sleep, in time may be a sweet reality. 
 
 Pam. And have you torn yourself from parliament — given up 
 the debate, and all for me ? What a sacrifice ! 
 
 Skind. Don't name it. My love 
 
 Pam. Love ! After all, I've known your lordship but a few 
 hours : are you sure 'tis love 1 
 
 Skind. Sure ! at this moment feel I not its pangs 1 Here, 
 sweet maiden, here ! If it be not love, what is it ? 
 
 Pam. Perhaps it's the rheumatism. Did you ever feel it 
 before ? 
 
 Skind. Never ! 
 
 Pam. What a slanderous world it is ! People say you once 
 loved your cousin, Mrs. Quarto. How know I that something ot 
 that love may not survive 1 
 
 Skind. Love Mrs. Quarto ! Even if there had been a boyish 
 passion, now 'twould be absurd. A man may be very fond of 
 grapes, who sha'n't abide the fruit when dried into raisins. 
 
 Pam. {Aside : A pretty code of constancy !) 
 
 E
 
 50 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 SHnd. But when it hangs, as how I see it, the untouched 
 bloom upon it — rich and full in promise of delight — then — then — 
 {about to embrace her.) 
 
 Pam. Even then, the grapes, to some folks, may be sour — sour. 
 
 Skind. Pamela, would you see me die 1 
 
 Pam. Not by myself : so, if you're in any danger, I'll wake 
 my father. 
 
 Skind. {Dropping on his knee.) Wild and beautiful creature, 
 see me at your feet. Here do I offer my fortune, my title — I 
 say. my title — wealth — all ! 
 
 Pam. I don't know what to say. 
 
 Skind. {Aside : The surest way to hit a woman's heart is to 
 take aim kneeling.) 
 
 Pam. To deceive poor Melon ! If, now, I could only satisfy 
 my bleeding conscience 
 
 Skind. I'll satisfy it. You are too young to know what con- 
 science really is. 
 
 Pam. If I should break his heart 1 
 
 Skind. I'll take all the damage on myself. 
 
 Pam. Or if, dying, his spirit siiould haunt me ? 
 
 Skind. Ghosts never appear to two at a time, and I'll never 
 quit you. 
 
 Pam. Or if, worse than all, his mind should sink beneath 
 the blow. Oh, my lord ! what, as a lover of your species, what 
 would you do ? 
 
 Skind. Everything that humanity could dictate : get him the 
 best advice, and hope for his recovery. 
 
 Pam. My lover has at least this consolation, he could not be 
 robbed with greater benevolence. 
 
 Skind. True — true. 
 
 Pam. And to cheat the simple, what is it since the world 
 began, but the privilege of the wise ? 
 
 Skind. In this case, 'tis justice — justice to the beautiful and 
 good. Let me snatch you from a prodigal 
 
 Pam. {Aside : Where can Chatliam linger 1) 
 
 Skind. Let us fly with wings of doves • 
 
 Pam. No ; I'll not stir. Let go my hand, my lord, or I'll 
 scream and wake papa. 
 
 Skind. Why thus perverse, when all things are prepared ? 
 
 Pam. All my lord ? 
 
 Skind. All : at this moment the carriage waits. 
 
 Pam. And my companion 1 
 
 Skind. Who? 
 
 Pam. Is she not ready ? 
 
 Skind. Oh ! some female friend or — but what need of a third ?
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 51 
 
 Pam. What need 1 'Tis -well, in such a grave design, I have 
 more foresight than your lordship. 
 
 Skind. Foresight '] What means my love ? 
 
 Pam. It means, that I must think for both. The truth is I 
 believe I have a friend. 
 
 Skind. You have ? 
 
 Pamela goes to door, and brings down Florentia. 
 
 Pam. And here she is. 
 
 Skind. Florentia ! 
 
 Florentia. Lud ! How you stare at one another ! Well, who's 
 to speak ? 
 
 Skind. Florentia, I have always said — that is, said it to myself, 
 M'hat an excellent, good-tempered, prudent girl you were. 
 
 Flor. I am sure, my lord, I've always felt particularly delighted 
 with what you'v6 said — to yourself. 
 
 Skind. That's a girl, I've said, a girl — I — a — Pamela will tell 
 you the rest. 
 
 Pam. Must I speak 1 Then, my dear Florentia, his lordship 
 has prevailed. I — I am about to become Lady Skindeep. 
 
 Flor. Elope ! run away together ! Pamela, you've taken away 
 my breath ; but in a minute I shall be able to scream and alarm 
 the house. 
 
 Ski)id. Is the girl mad 1 
 
 Pam. This your prudence — this your friendship ? 
 
 Flor. I will. What ! deceive so good, so kind a gentleman as 
 Mr. Melon % And you, my lord, at your age to marry a young 
 and simple creature, — call you that love for your species ? 
 
 Pam. But, Florentia, my dear friend 
 
 Flor. Call me not friend, unless you break this wicked match. 
 Think you his lordship loves you ? — not he ! 'Tis but for your 
 fortune ; he'd love a mummy twice as much with twice the gold. 
 
 Skind. I'm confounded. So young and so uncharitable ! 
 
 Pam. {Aside to Skindeep : Leave us together — I'll convince 
 hei'. Though her reproof is just — my feelings tell me so.) 
 
 Skind. {Aside to her : Don't believe your feelings: there are 
 moments in life — and this is one — when they're not to be 
 believed. I'll see that all's prepared : meanwhile, persuade her. 
 She's an excellent creature, and will see the wrong her hasty 
 passion's done me. The perroquet !) \^Exit. 
 
 Pam. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Flor. Ha ! ha ! And so that satin-tongued benevolence haa 
 made you consent to play the runaway 1 
 
 Pam. I tell you, coach and all's ready. 
 
 Flor. But having gone so far — how recede ? 
 
 £ 2
 
 52 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Pain. Look there — my father. His lordship — I marked him — 
 has for his own purpose been most hospitable. Now I'll lead my 
 lord almost to the very carriage-step — then rouse my papa — 
 curtsey, and go home. 
 
 Flor. But what a pity, since all is ready, that the horses should 
 return to the stable ! If Mr. Chatham, now, would run away with 
 you- 
 
 Pam. You and Melon might keep me company. He promised 
 to return ; but it seems parliament has too attractive charms. 
 
 Enter Chatham Brown. 
 
 Flor. He's here. {Runs up to him. Aside : Not a word, but 
 listen. His lordship hopes to carry off Pamela this very night.) 
 
 Chatham. Lord Skindeep ! 
 
 Flor. Even he ; but, resolved to save hei-, I have taken means 
 to defeat him. At this moment a carriage awaits the gallant 
 knight who'll snatch my friend from selfishness and age. 
 
 Chat. A million — million thanks. 
 
 Flor. But not a word that I have planned this 
 
 Chat. Though such service be to me reproach, I bless it. 
 
 Flor. Then plead and pray ; and if in live minutes you win not 
 a wife, despair and die a bachelor. {Ruiis off.) 
 
 Chat. Dear, dear Pamela, time that might admit of ceremony, 
 now rejects such vain delay as treachery to love. You have con- 
 fessed your confidence in my heart — in a passion that, since first 
 our eyes encountered, has been the master feeling of my life, 
 shaping every hope and painting life with hues and beauties it 
 wore not until then. The step I urge is sudden ; but 'tis the 
 tyranny of circumstance that makes it so : admit that tyranny, 
 and with a word turn it into blessings. 
 
 Pam. I — what — you're so impetuous — what would you have 
 me say ? 
 
 Chat. Say ! With that sweet, sunny look and cordial voice, 
 say — there is my hand ; take it. 
 
 Pam. There is my hand, and — I won't say another word. 
 
 Chat. And is — is the treasure mine ? 
 
 Pam. You had best secure it, for there are suspicious people 
 about. Lord Skindeep's in the house. 
 
 Chat. I have the carriage ready. 
 
 Pam. {Aside : Another carriage !) 
 
 Chat. Will seek Florentia, and instantly return. [Exit. 
 
 Pam. 'Tis done ; and now, I know not how it is, all my good 
 spirits are gone, and I feel as if I could cry heartily. Tliere is 
 my father ; I didn't think 'twould cost me such a pang to 
 deceive him.
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 63 
 
 Enter Skindeep. 
 
 Skindeep. Has Florentia consented 1 Then what is to alarm 
 my precious dove ? 
 
 Pam. The step I am about to take, my lord 
 
 Skind. Will lead to life-long hajipiness. 
 
 Pam, I hope so. Nobody but must approve my choice. 
 
 Skind. Sweet flatterer. 
 
 Pam. So noble — so generous — so gentle. 
 
 Skind. Cease — cease ; or I shall expire with rapture. 
 
 Spreadw. {Half-ivaking, and looking dreamily about kim) Some- 
 body's talking. 
 
 Pam. Yet, when the suitor becomes the husband 
 
 Skind. Your suitor will ever be the wedded lover. Come. 
 
 Pam. My father ! Let me first kiss his hand, and 
 
 Skind. By all tneans — but don't w^ke him. 
 
 Patn. {She kneels to /ler father.) Dear father, may you forgive 
 my disobedience, and bless me. 
 
 Skind. {Aside : As it's the last time, I'll kneel too.) {Kneels.) 
 Bless her — bless us. 
 
 Spreadw. {Aroused hij them, lays his hand upon their heads) 
 Bless ye both ! 
 
 Skind. Awake ! 
 
 Brown, Sen., rtms on. 
 
 Brown. My lord ! my lord ! this is abominable ! 
 
 Skind. Oh ! oh ! A chair — a chair — {Falls upon a couch) 
 
 Broion. To quit the house on such a night ! 
 
 Skind. My dear friend, speak low ; for jierhaps you speak to a 
 dying man. 
 
 Brown. My lord ! dying ! {Rings the hell.) 
 
 Spreadw. Bless me ! This is very sudden. 
 
 Brown. Were you ill before you left the house ? 
 
 Skind. Or should I have come away ? dreadful ill. I think 
 — in fact, I'm sure, — an affection of the heart. You heard Sir 
 William Dingdong's speech : before he had half finished, my head 
 began to turn violently. 
 
 Brown. But your vote didn't 1 
 
 Slcind. No — no. Well, when he painted the dreadful famine in 
 Crim Tartary, 'twas too much for my feelings. 
 
 Brown. What, when the famine was in Crim Tartary — so 
 far off? 
 
 Skind. My dear Brown, that is the certain proof of an 
 enlarged benevolence ; the farther a calamity is off the more 
 I feel it.
 
 64 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Broicn. But you'll return 1 If you're away, they'll not believe 
 you're ill. That " Brutus the Elder " will be at you again ; and 
 his taunts sting like scorpions. 
 
 Skind. Do they ? I don't feel 'em. (Adde to Pamela : Steal 
 to the carriage, — I'll give 'em the slip and join you.) Yes, I'll 
 return to the house, though I die in my seat. 
 
 Brown. You'll not die so — but if you should, what a thing for 
 your monument ! 
 
 Bnter Cbatb. am foUoived by Corks. 
 
 Chatham. Now then for, — my father ! 
 
 Brown. What ! you left the house, too ! when I came to seek 
 his lordship, and was hastening back to hear you speak ! XAHiat, 
 sir, in the name of ti-easou brings you here 1 
 
 Chat. I — I'd forgot my notes, sir ; I had made some very 
 abstruse calculations, and I think I left them here. I'm 
 sure I 
 
 (Florentia and Melon appear at door and beckon Pamela, 
 who cautiously joins them, and exit.) 
 
 SHnd. Here they are. {Giving him Corks' MS. from his pocket.) 
 {Aside : Anything to get rid of him !) 
 
 Corks. {Aside : My paper ! Oh, fortune !) 
 
 Skind. Now, fly — fly to your duty, Chatham ; consider what 
 'tis that calls you, and 
 
 Chat. 1 do, my lord, and haste to answer it. 
 
 [Exit followed by Corks. 
 
 Broicn. There — you're better now ? 
 
 Spreadw. You look better, my lord. You should fight against 
 this weakness. 
 
 Skind. It is weak — I confess it ; but I can't help having a 
 heai't. T have said it again and again, I am not fit for this 
 world — this vale of tears and misery. Often to myself do I exclaim 
 with the poet — • 
 
 " Oh ! for a lodge in some vast wilderness ! 
 Some boundless contiguity of shade, 
 Where 
 
 {Aside to Spreadweasel : Where's your beauteous daughter ?) 
 
 E7iter Guinea. 
 
 Spreadw. Ha ! where is my daughter — where is Pamela ? 
 Guinea. Gone away in a carriage-and-four, sir. 
 Skind. {Jumping upfront couch.) What ! In my carriage, and 
 • — gone 1
 
 BUBBLES OP THE DAY. 55 
 
 Guinea. Yes, sir ; gone with Mr. Chatham Brown. 
 Brown. With Chatham !— What for 1 
 
 Guinea. Why, sir, if you'll take a woman's guess — I think, to 
 be married. 
 
 Brown. Married ! I'll — I'll disinherit my son ! 
 Spreadw. Married ! I'll disown my daughter ! 
 Skind. Married ! I'll renounce my species ! {Sinks on cotich.) 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 Scene. — Loro Skindeep's Library. 
 Enter Malmsey Shark and Waller shown in hy Kimbo. 
 
 Shark, Mr. Spreadweasel not yet visible ? Ha ! ha ! such an 
 early man, too. 
 
 Kimbo. Yes, sir ; but like myself, perhaps he bears trouble 
 better in bed ; and he was carried to his room quite iu a fit of 
 grief. {Aside to Shark : His daughter ran off last night with 
 our young member.) 
 
 Shark. Ha ! ha ! So I have heard. 
 
 Kimbo. His lordship, too — he's very ill, I never knew him 
 swear so at his species. 
 
 Shark. For Mr. Spreadweasel, I nave news that may revive him 
 — say as much. He's very ill, eh ? 
 
 Kimbo. Altogether, the house is a hospital. {Aside : 1 shall 
 steal a lounge to the railway market to recover myself) [Exit. 
 
 Shark. And now, Mr. Waller, as I've said, 'twas hard upon me 
 to keep the poor thing ; very hard, indeed, to pay her funeral ; 
 but my wife would have it so. 
 
 Waller. I accompany you hither that you may be rewarded. 
 How long did the miserable ci'eature burthen you 1 
 
 Shark. Two years, and ill all the time ; and when people are ill, 
 they're dull and moping, and — ha ! ha ! — to a man of my spirits, 
 not pleasant. 
 
 Waller. At length she died ? 
 
 Shark. Yes — she relieved us all. And what did I get for lodging 
 and handsomely burying her ? — slander. They vowed she 
 was a cousin of my own, oi" — a something that was a flaw in 
 the family. 
 
 Waller. Hm ! Now I see the obloquy.
 
 66 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Shark. Then I was beginning the world, and a good name wa3 
 worth double to me. Character's like money : when you've a 
 great deal, you may risk some ; for if you lose it, folks still 
 believe you've plenty to spare. 
 
 Waller. And no one visited the dying woman — not even his 
 lordship 1 
 
 Shark. Lord Skindeep ! He — a lord ! He visit ! 
 
 Waller. Oh ! under a humbler title ; for his pride has stooped 
 to such humility. Otherwise, since my return to England, I had 
 not sought him in vain. I owe to an accident of yesterday my 
 knowledge of his lordship's rank. A crowd, clamouring around 
 a carriage, made me pause. A passenger had been struck down, 
 but was found unliurt. 
 
 Shark. By his lordship's carriage ? 
 
 Waller. Aye ; and there was his lordship, loud and angry. 
 'Twas then I recognised an old acquaintance. And no one 
 visited your dying tenant 1 
 
 Shark. No one. The letters that the poor thing left are, as 
 you see, signed Howard — Lawrence Howard. 'Twas her name ; 
 at least, so she said. 
 
 Waller. And the child — the boy left by this broken-hearted 
 woman — he you say, still exists ? 
 
 Shark. Ha ! ha ! flourishes. My wife died when he was still 
 a babe, so somehow he found his way to the workhouse. 
 
 Waller. And his lordsliip never crossed your threshold — never 
 in your house, saw the boy's mother ? 
 
 Shark. His lordship again ! Why his lordship — why — eh ? 
 What ! It can't be ! 
 
 Waller. Indeed, it is. Lawrence Howard — I knew his lord- 
 ship only under that name — is Lord Skindeep. 'Twas he who 
 betrayed, and then at her worst need, deserted that noble, gentle 
 ci-eature. 
 
 Shark. Lord Skindeep ! Then— ha ! ha ! wonderful ! Ha ! 
 ha ! Captain Smoke's his son ! 
 
 Waller. You are sure 
 
 Shark. Oh, I have watched him through life. 
 
 Waller. 'Twas kind. 
 
 Shark. Watched him without his knowing it. I've marked 
 him, now news-boy — now copying-clerk to a small attorney — now 
 agent for the sale of patent mouse-traps — now dealer in foreign 
 stock, — and now, company-monger and — ha ! ha ! — Madagascar 
 captain ! 
 
 Waller. I see his character. The bandit of society — the 
 brigand of a city. 
 
 Shark. Why — ha ! ha ! — when children are left alone to make
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 57 
 
 their bread of London dirt, we mus'n't judge 'em as if they were 
 born to pine-apples. 
 
 Waller. You see him often ? 
 
 Shark. See him ? We're close friends. 
 
 Waller. Then he knows the history of his birth ? 
 
 S/iarL Not a syllable. I have kept it — kept it with his 
 mother's letters, to surprise him some time or othei- — {Aside : 
 when I might make a good bargain of the commodity.) But he 
 has the deepest regard for me. Indeed — ha ! ha ! — 'twould 
 almost seem he iiad an instinct that I'd dandled him when a 
 babe, he's so respectful — so deferential — so — as I live — ha ! ha ! 
 — here he comes. 
 
 Enter Smoke. 
 
 Smoke. ( Walking up to Shark.) Scoundrel ! 
 
 Shark. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Smoke. Man-eater ! 
 
 Shark. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Smoke. Wine-merchant, by authority, to Beelzebub. Melon ! 
 
 Waller. {Aside to Shark : His instinctive knowledge of your 
 goodness is extraordinary.) 
 
 Shark. Now, anybody else — ha! ha! — would offend me. 
 Before strangers, too, your jokes are a little too acid. Indeed, 
 your great mistake through life has been not to have dipped 
 your tongue in oil instead of vinegar. 
 
 Smoke. And your mistake to have dipped your heart in usurer's 
 ink ; and so dipped it that not the smallest vein's escaped the 
 poison of the dye. 
 
 Shark. Vinegar again. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Smoke. You merry rufSau ! You never laugh but I think I 
 hear the barking of Cerberus. 
 
 Shark. You think you hear 1 Some day you may come to a 
 closer judgment on the matter. Ha ! ha ! ha ! {Aside to Waller : 
 Hush ! As yet not a word.) Ha ! ha ! ha ! \_Exit. 
 
 Waller. A blithe, light-hearted man, sir ! 
 
 Sm,oke. Oh ! jocund as a jackal. Heaven save you from his 
 meiriment ! {Going.) 
 
 Waller. I wished to see Lord Skindeep. Probably you, sir, as 
 one of his lordship's family 
 
 Smoke. Indeed, sir, I am enriched with no such honour. 
 Waller. No ! Are you nut his son ? 
 
 Smoke. His son ! 
 
 Waller. 'Tis six-and-twenty years since I last communed with 
 his lordship, and — the likeness is most wonderful ! — you seem 
 to me in every feature what then he was. And he is not your 
 father ?
 
 58 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Smoke. Father ! {Aside : The word makes me sick at heart.) 
 
 Waller. You are not his son ? 
 
 Smoke. No, sir, — no. "Will that reply suffice ; or shall I send 
 you my ancestral tree to satisfy you 1 An idle man — I'll answer 
 for it — might find employment in it. 
 
 Waller. Is its root so old ? 
 
 Smoke. None older : for of this, and this only, I am sui-e, — it 
 struck in Paradise. 
 
 Waller. {Aside : He has spirit — ^manhood.) 
 
 Smoke. As for ancestry, truth to speak, I am one of those who 
 may take the cuckoo for their crest, and for their motto — 
 "Nothing." 
 
 Waller. {Aside : My heart grows towards him.) I — we are 
 interrupted — will you give me some few minutes of your time ? 
 
 Smoke. Sir, they are yours. {Aside : And the gift is not less 
 liberal, seeing 'tis all I have to give.) 
 
 Enter Pamela, Floeentia, and Guinea. 
 
 Guinea, How delicious ! Married ! 
 
 Pamela. Hush ! The girl will spoil all. 
 
 Guinea. To think that here you are just blushing from the 
 parson ! Well, marriage is certainly becoming ; for you never 
 looked more beautiful in all your days. 
 
 Pam. Will you be silent 1 If my ftither — if his lordship 
 
 Guinea. I'm dumb. But have you taken off your ring, and — 
 you have ? Well, I don't know — perhaps, I'm superstitious : but 
 when one has such a deal of trouble to get it on, I should like to 
 keep it there. 
 
 Florentia. Where is my aunt ? 
 
 Guinea. In her chamber ; ill, and will see nobody. When she 
 heard of your going off with Mr. Melon, she took to her bed, and 
 there's been such fainting — such hysterics ! I wonder you didn't 
 smell the hartshorn at the door. 
 
 Pam. Come, Florentia ; we have no time to lose. Quick, 
 Guinea ; quick. [Exeunt Pamela and Florentia, 
 
 Guinea. Married, this morning, and by licence ! How lucky 
 she was of age ! A licence — ha ! that's the way — the banns are 
 low and dilatory — whilst a proctor's licence — oh ! it's marriage 
 made easy ! Lud ! his lordship. 
 
 Enter Skiubeef, followed hy Brown, Sen. Guinea curtsies 
 
 and runs off. 
 
 Brown. Consider, my lord, should Chatham lose his seat^— 
 
 Shind. Well ? 
 
 Brown. Well ! My lord, you're strangely lukewarm.
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Skind. Lukewarm ! Mr. Brown, I'm a mau, and not a steam- 
 engine. I needn't boil before I stir. 
 
 Brown. But my feelings as a father — my feelings as 
 
 Skind. And my feelings as a host. 
 
 Brown. I'm as much astonished as you. But certainly, the 
 gii-1 has spirit ; is beautiful, and very rich ; so we must excuse 
 Chatham. 
 
 Skind. Eich ! Gracious powers ! And you'd palliate a robbery 
 by the greatness of the spoil. Your son — my own colleague, too 
 — has insulted me. 
 
 Brown. Insulted you ? 
 
 Skind. Desecrated my household gods. Miss Spreadweasel 
 was in my charge — I thought the sanctity of my roof was about 
 her ; your son, too, sat at my hearth, and reckless of her father 
 — reckless of the feelings of his host, — stole her ! 
 
 Brown. Stole ! Nay, 'tis plain the girl was willing enough 
 to go. 
 
 Skind. That doubles the enormity. To take a cowardly advan- 
 tage of a poor girl's ignorance ! To whirl her oif, ere reflection 
 could warn her ? To — had heaven made me a father, my son 
 had acted veiy differently. 
 
 Brown. However, in this matter, you'll sink all private feeling 
 and 
 
 Skind. Sir, there are feelings that wont sink. {Aside : And, 
 the feeling of losing twenty thousand pounds is one.) 
 
 Brown. At all events, Spreadweasel must be propitiated. He 
 says he can ruin Hampden Griggs, and — though you are angry 
 with Chatham, he mus'n't lose his seat. Consider youi- party, my 
 lord. 
 
 Skind. Sir, humanity has no party : and I forget my colleague 
 in the ingi-atitude of my guest. 
 
 Brown. {Aside: Then I'll attack Spreadweasel myself; for 
 at any price Griggs must be silenced.) [Exit. 
 
 Skind. Twenty thousand pounds ! Not a wink have I slept 
 this night ! And still before me I have seen the laughing mouth 
 — the eyes swimming in triumphant mischief of that jilt. She 
 was very beautiful, and — twenty thousand pounds ! 
 
 Enter Spreadwe^vsel. 
 
 Spreadw. Ha ! ha ! my lord ! I know what you're thinking of. 
 
 <S'Hw(/. 'Twenty thousand — eh? Mr. Spreadweasel ! {Aside: 
 The daughter gone, I care not how soon the father follows,). 
 
 Spreadw. I've news — delicious news of the runaways. 
 
 Skind. Hm ! under the benign aspect of a lump of wedding- 
 cake ?
 
 60 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Spreadw. Would you think it 1 Pamela's come back. 
 
 Skind. Oh ! I never doubted the young lady's return. 
 
 Spreadw. Indeed, she — poor thing ! never ran away. 
 
 Skind. What ! I see it — dear creature .'—basely, violently 
 carried off? 
 
 Spreadw. Listen. To my surprise. Melon, who had drunk too 
 much to think of the penalty, was for running away with 
 Florentia ; she tempted my simple girl to bear her company. 
 Well, on their way to the carriage Melon was caught by Shark's 
 otRcers, Shark has just now told me as much, and locked up for 
 a thousand pounds. 
 
 Skind. But Chatham Brown, how did he 
 
 Spreadw. He was returning to the house, whsn he was stopt 
 by the squabble in the street. The girls were afraid or ashamed 
 to come back, and he, in the handsomest manner accompanied 
 them to my dwelling — left them within an hour at Mousetrap 
 Hall. 
 
 Skind. And who tells you this ? 
 
 Spreadw. Pamela. 
 
 Skind. Pamela ! and where is she ? 
 
 Sjyread. Here — under this roof Ha ! ha ! I knew you'd feel 
 a delight to 
 
 Skind. A delight ! I don't exaggerate, when I say twenty 
 thousand. 
 
 Spreadw. Now Melon's fixed — now to strike a bargain with 
 him : get him married, and Pamela's your own. 
 
 Skind. Ha ! I've a thought worth a gold-mine. If he marry 
 before Pamela, his fortune 
 
 Spreadw. I have said it — falls to Pamela's dower. If Pamela 
 marry first, I forfeit to him ten thousand i^ounds. 
 
 Skind. But where 's your lovely child ? 
 
 Spreadw. I'll fetch her instantly — instantly. [Exit. 
 
 Skind. Chatham run away with her ! I thought it impossible 
 — I knew I couldn't be so gulled — so blind — so^- — 
 
 n^ 
 
 {Enter Pamela.) 
 
 Ha ! thou lovely runaway. 
 
 Pam. Oh, my lord ! How was it you missed the carriage ? 
 
 Skind. Missed ! 
 
 Pam. There I sat in trembling suspense, awaiting you ; when 
 to my amazement, Florentia and Melon presented themselves, 
 and 
 
 Skind. Your father, sweet one, has told me all. Melon was 
 carried ofi", and
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 61 
 
 Pam. I begged of Mr. Brown to take me home. Naughty 
 mau ! How could you disappoint me ? 
 
 Skind. All lias happened for the best. Now, my loved one, 
 you see the profligate you've escaped ; to be flying off with 
 Florentia, — and she to wrong you ! She who was your friend ! 
 
 Pam. Ha, my lord, how is it that woman's friendship is so 
 weak to woman ? 
 
 Skind. As an observer of my species, I should say, because a 
 greater feeling comes and swallows up the less. Does Florentia 
 know that by marrying Melon before you marry, he is penniless ? 
 
 Pam. No — else I'm sure, she'd never consent. 
 
 Skind. Then she mus'n't know it. Let them marry. 
 
 Pam. Poor things ! to be beggars.' 
 
 Skind. Oh, not beggars. Melon's fortune coming to us, we 
 can be their bankers. 
 
 Pam. I'd forgotten that. 
 
 Skind. Then how beautiful the feeling ! Wliat an every-day 
 expansion of benevolence — what a growing of the human heart ! 
 — to provide for their wants ■ 
 
 Pam. Out of their own money ! What a delightful picture of 
 humanity on our side, and gratitude on theirs ! 
 
 Enter SprEadweasel. 
 
 Spreadw. Well, what have you decided ? 
 
 Pam. Nothing : as yet we have only imagined a beautiful 
 vision. 
 
 Skind. A vision already realised — Listen. Pamela, you are 
 married ! 
 
 Pam. My lord ! 
 
 Skind. Nay, 'tis certain ; fast — fast married. 
 
 Spreadw. What ! Married ! 
 
 Pam. {Aside : He's found it out ? Has Guinea told him ?) 
 
 Skind. Irrevocably bound in the holy ties of — ha ! ha ! ha ! — 
 why are you both turned to stone 1 How you stare ! I mean, 
 Pamela, you must consider yourself man-ied — that is, you must 
 write as such to Melon. 
 
 Spreadw. Oh ! is that all ? 
 
 Pam. Lud ! my Lord ! I — I — you spoke so seriously that — 
 ha ! ha ! ha i — for a moment I hardly knew whether I was mar- 
 ried or not ! 
 
 Spreadw. Go on, my lord — I guess the plot. 
 
 Skind. Write to him that you are married. He '11 believe you, 
 but not your father or 
 
 Spreadw. Or his lordship.
 
 62 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Skiiid. Knowing that you've a husband, he '11 think his 
 fortune safe, and instantly marry Florentia. 
 
 Spreadw. Ha ! ha ! ha ! In the meantime, I '11 instruct Shark 
 to let Melon out on easy terms, and 
 
 S'kind. Ha ! but for Shark's interference, Melon had carried 
 oif the girl, and all had been well. Now he 's sad and sober, he 
 may hesitate. 
 
 Pam. Impossible, with the letter I'll send him. And here 
 comes Florentia, who shall bear the missive. But, father, you 
 must not be here. 
 
 Spreadw. I 'm gone : but mind, my dear girl, a strong letter — 
 ha ! ha ! — an affectionate farewell for ever ; ha ! ha ! and then 
 — {Aside : then am I father to a lord !) {Retires, and subsequently 
 goes off.) 
 
 Enter Florentia. 
 
 Pam. {Aside to Skindeep; She 's here.) {Aside to Florentia; 
 All goes well.) My dear friend, I have pleaded your suit with 
 Ms lordship : and — and — I can say no more : he has a heart. 
 
 Skind. {Aside : What does she mean 1) Yes, — I have a heart. 
 
 Flor. I was sure that his lordship's benevolence — ^his charity 
 towards human weakness ■ 
 
 Pam. All this his lordship has beautifully shown ; and the 
 end is, he blesses you, and bids you be happy. 
 
 Flor. Oh, my lord ! 
 
 Skind. Bless you, and be happy ! 
 
 Flor. The world may censure me for breaking with Sir Phenix, 
 but 
 
 Skind. The world ! "What we call the world, is but a place 
 of dreams, inhabited by shadows. This — {striking his heart) — 
 this is the world. Does this approve your conduct 1 
 
 Flor. It does — it does ! 
 
 Skind. Then you 're right. That 's the only world I 've ever 
 considered, and it never yet reproved me. 
 
 Flor, And — I'd fain hope — Sir Phenix won't be very wretched 1 
 
 Skind. Make yourself comfortable about him ; he hasn't the 
 sensibility to be miserable. I sometimes euvy such people— 
 they 're greatly privileged. 
 
 Flo}\ Then — you — you think I'd better marry 1 
 
 Skind. I'm sure of it. 
 
 Flor. And you, Pamela, can forgive my passion for one who 
 was to have blessed you 1 ' 
 
 Pam. Oh, I can well afford such forgiveness, for I myself am 
 blessed beyond all liope of blessing. 
 
 Skind. {Aside : Fascinating creature !) {Aside to her : Make 
 the poor thing hajipy outright — tell her all.)
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 63 
 
 Pam. And now, Florentia, will you bear a letter to your 
 future helpmate ? 
 
 Flor. A letter — from you % 
 
 Pam. Oh, I'll not upbraid him ; for why should I reprove 
 him for taking another wife, when I — when I havo chosen 
 another husband ? 
 
 Flor. A husband ! 
 
 Skind. She speaks a lovely truth — another husbiind. 
 
 Flor. And you are married ? 
 
 SUnd. Blush not ; but with that rose-bud mouth, say — yes. 
 
 Pam. Yes. 
 
 Flor. Such duplicity is impossible. 
 
 Skind. Florentia, I know the human heart ; and in such 
 matters no duplicity is impossible. Your friend is married ! 
 You behold a doating wife. 
 
 Pam. Oh, my lord ! Yet why should I blush to confess it ? 
 His lordship has said it. Melon never loved me ; and now he 
 is fi-ee. Go — go and be happy. 
 
 Skind. Fortunately, IMi-s. Quarto is very ill ; that is — she is ill 
 —so go and be happy. Stay, the letter. Now, sweet Pamela, 
 write, write. Give him assurance of his liberty. 
 
 Filter Spkeadweasel. He watches from the side. 
 Pamela sits at table to write. 
 
 Flor. By all means : under your own hand. 
 
 Spreadweasel. {Aside : She's making out his death-warrant.) 
 
 Pam, Now, to begin. ( Writes) " My own loved, dearest 
 Henry." 
 
 Flor. and Skind. What ! 
 
 Pam. Lud ! See the eifect of habit. I mean, " Sir." 
 
 Skind. No : too hot and too cold. Address him with a tepid 
 politeness : " My dear Mr. Melon." 
 
 Pam. " My dear Mr. Melon." Oh ! my fingers shake, and — 
 pi'a3', my lord, give me words, for I hav'n't a syllable of my o-mi. 
 
 Skind. Write thus : — " Feeling that the human heart has 
 chords " 
 
 Pam. Chords with an A ? 
 
 Skind. Certainly : " and feeling that mine cannot respond to 
 yours, I, as a lover of my species " 
 
 Flor. Does your lordship mean species or specie ? 
 
 Skind. " Species ; " with the final s of course. 
 
 Pam. ( Writing.) " As a lover of my species " — with the s. 
 
 Skind. " Herewith release you from your vows. That the 
 release may prove effectual, I have married a Imsband whom I 
 love dearly — dearly."
 
 64 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Pam. ( Writing). " Dearly, dearly." Let me write " dearly " 
 three times. 
 
 Skind. Three thousand. Now fold it. Stop ; humanity sug- 
 gests a postscript : " If out of gaol by the time, I shall be happy 
 to see you at our first party." {Aside to Pamela : It's so cool 
 and straightforward, he must believe it.) 
 
 Pam. ( Unseen hy Skindeep, enclosing a paper in letter^ Oh ! 
 there's that within it — (Aside : — my marriage certificate) — he 
 can't doubt. There, Florentia ; take it, and with it a husband, 
 
 Shind. And with it, once more, our blessing. 
 
 Flor. Poor Sir Phenix ! If this step should make him miser- 
 able for life ! 
 
 Skind. Well, if it do make him moderately wretched, he' 11 
 deserve it. Since your story of the hapless Clotilda, my faith is 
 shaken in the alderman. I believe Sir Phenix to be rather a 
 profligate person ; and were it not for his respectability, I 
 
 Enter Servant, showing in Sir Phenix Clearcake. 
 
 Servant. Sir Phenix Clearcake. 
 
 Sir Ph. Ladies, your devoted ; my lord, your servant. 
 
 Skind. Sir Phenix, you come, as you ever come, most oppor- 
 tunely. 
 
 Sir Ph. I ventured to call, in the fervent hope that I might 
 woo Florentia to the Park. The air to-day is so delicious, 'twould 
 put Montpelier to the blush ; the sky asserts a peculiar claim to 
 the term cerulean, and 
 
 Skind. Florentia has a letter of the utmost consequence to 
 deliver to a friend of Miss Spreadweasel's. 
 
 Sir Ph. Miss Spreadweasel's friend ? he is happy in that title 
 — happy, though in Siberia'. 
 
 Skind. He 's not so far, but perhaps not more comfortable. Do 
 you know Newman-street 1 
 
 Sir Ph. From here 'tis on the left of that great commercial 
 artery, Oxford-street. In that favoured locale is a mansion 
 wholly dedicated to the hospitalities of the sheriff of Middlesex. 
 
 Skind. Exactly. 
 
 Sir Ph. It has three stories, with picturesque iron gratings at 
 upper windows. In the interior, extreme luxury may be said to 
 yield the palm to extreme security. As for household economy 
 — sheet of paper, sixpence — pen-and-ink, a shilling. 
 
 Skind. Before you drive in the Park, will you accompany 
 Florentia to — to Newman-street 1 
 
 Flor. {Aside to him : Oh, my lord ! what would you do ?) 
 
 Sir Ph. Will 1 1 With inexhaustible pleasure. 
 
 Skind. {Aside to Florentia ; 'Tis the most humane way to get
 
 BUBBLES or THE DAY, 65 
 
 rid of him. The explanation must come ; and Melon himself 
 will then be on the spot, and is the best person to give it him.) 
 Then, farewell ; a pleasant drive. 
 
 Sir Ph. A farewell — a short farewell. 
 
 Pain. Florentia, be sure you deliver my letter. 
 
 Flor. Oh, fear me not ! — into the gentleman's own hand, be 
 sure of it. Come, Sir Phenix, I fear me I'm a sad plague to you. 
 
 Sir Ph. A delight — a rapture. 
 
 Flor. But this is the last— the very last time. I'll teaze you. 
 Farewell. [Exeunt Sir Phenix and Florentia. 
 
 SMnd. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Spreadw. {Coming forward) Ha ! ha ! ha ! Caught— tricked ! 
 You are your father's own daughter ; for you 've cheated him 
 beautifully. 
 
 Skind. I'm thinking, when they 're married, where they "11 go 
 to spend the honeymoon. 
 
 Spreadw.' Vev\ia.^s, to Captain Smoke's estate, in Northampton- 
 shire, 
 
 Skind. Captain Smoke's estate would be the fittest place for 
 such a couple. 
 
 Enter Brown sen., with Chatham Brown. 
 
 Brown. Now, sir — now, answer for yourself. Did you not 
 return to this house last night 1 
 
 Chat. As certainly as I again quitted it this morning. 
 
 Brown. And there, too, is Miss Spreadweasel, and — elopement, 
 my lord ! — what tale is all this ? 
 
 Skind. A jest, a harmless jest of mine — no more. 
 
 Brown. Is this a time to jest, when you know the petition is 
 —Now, Mr. Spreadweasel, this Hampden Griggs— he must be 
 silenced — you say you can ruin him ? 
 
 Spreadw. Leave him to me : I say no more — ^leave him to me. 
 {Aside to Skindeep : My lord— ha ! ha ! — would you think it 1 
 I owe all my present happiness to this Hampden Griggs ; and 
 yet — ha ! ha ! — 'twas all a white lie of mine ; I know him no 
 more than Nebuchadnezzar — ha ! ha !) 
 
 {Enter Melon and Y'lq-kestia, followed hy Sir Phenix.) 
 
 Eh ! Melon ! 
 
 Sir Ph. We were about to enter the vehicle, when the gentle- 
 man alighted at this hospitable door. 
 
 Flor. Nevertheless, Pamela, I have given him the letter. 
 
 Mel. For the which I thank you, and congratulate you 
 heartily, 
 
 Spreadw. But who — who released you 1 Not Shark ? ^,
 
 66 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 Mel. Oh, no ! a newer and nobler acquaintance ; although it 
 seems my need was not so great. For this paper not only gives 
 me possession of my fortune ; but — you recollect the bond, sir — 
 ten thousand pounds. {Gives Spreadweasel the paper.) 
 
 SpreadiD. Paper ! What ! A — a marriage certificate 1 
 
 Skind. {Takes paper and reads it.) " Solemnised between Chat- 
 ham Brown, bachelor, and Pamela Spreadweasel, spinster ! " 
 
 Brown. Married ! Then, my lord, you did n't jest after all ? 
 
 Skind. Jest, ,sir ? Truth's a joke — honour's a juggle — and 
 sincerity a sound. 
 
 Spreadw. Married ! But it can't be ! — it musn't be ! Wench 
 — Pamela — speak ! 
 
 Pam. La, father ! you knew you told me to say I was married, 
 and could you think I'd wish to tell an untruth ? Florentia, 
 dear, I give you joy. 
 
 Sir Ph. Allow me to respond to that hymeneal aspiration 
 with — 
 
 Mel. Nay, Sir Phenix, I must relieve you of that task. 
 
 Flor. Quite true, Sir Phenix. I discovered that 'twas impos- 
 sible I could marry you. 
 
 Sir Ph. Impossible ! 
 
 Flor. Yes : for I found that — that Clotilda was still alive. 
 
 Sir Ph. My lord, you hear this — will not your humanity 
 advise me ? Eejected ! What shall I do 1 — how exist — with 
 my heart shivered to atoms 1 
 
 Skind. Do ! Pshaw ! live upon the pieces. 
 
 Mel. But where 's my friend — where 's Captain Smoke ? 
 
 Spreadw. Your friend ! Was it the captain who released you 1 
 
 Skind. {Aside: Smoke!) {To Spreadweasel aside: Have 
 you lent Smoke money ?) 
 
 Spreadw. A thousand pounds, I couldn't refuse — 'twas such 
 good security. 
 
 Skind. Not his own, then 1 
 
 Spreadw. Yes : has he not the great Smoke property ? I 
 thought your lordship's countenance was a guarantee. 
 
 Skind. You'll never get a penny. 
 
 Spreadw. What ! 
 
 Skind. You 've lost your daughter — you 've lost your money, 
 and 
 
 Brown. Now, Mr. Spreadweasel, as Chatham's your son-in-law 
 • — this Hampden Griggs 
 
 Spreadw. Curse Hampden Griggs ! 'tis he has done it all. 
 
 Chat. Nay, father, spare your pains ; I 've done with parlia- 
 ment, and shall yield my seat to some one worthier of its duties.
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 67 
 
 Pam, Quite true. He 's married now, and must keep early 
 hours. 
 
 Enter Smoke, followed hy Shark. 
 
 SHnd. {Going up to Smoke.) You — you have been in this con- 
 spiracy against me. Now, sir, look in my face and answer, are 
 you not a worthless fellow ? 
 
 Smoke. It is most true, sir. 
 
 Skind. A scheming, plotting fellow ? 
 
 Smoke. Even so, sir. 
 
 Skind. One of those 
 
 Smoke. One of those luckless creatures — the waifs and strays 
 of the world — to whom life has been hallowed by no tie ; to 
 whom youth has been uutliaiiked drudgery, and childhood at the 
 best a blank. One of those who — never taught the creed of self- 
 respect — just value men as gamesters value dice, mere instru- 
 ments to juggle with and win. 
 
 Skind. The trickster's apology, to whom the dignity of life 
 
 Smoke. The dignity of life ! Fine words, easily uttered, but 
 hard to estimate by those who know life only by its meanness 
 and its wants. 
 
 Skind. Well, sir, you have owned yourself a schemer — a 
 gambler with the feelings and interests of your fellow-creatures. 
 What more ? 
 
 Smoke. Something in extenuation. {Gives him packet of letters.) 
 
 Skind. What are these ? 
 
 Sir Ph. {Aside: Letters for his lordship, too. He's on a 
 sudden very white. Can he have a Clotilda also ?) 
 
 Smoke. They were written to my mother. 
 
 Skind. Your — your mother ! 
 
 Smoke. Betrayed — neglected — left with her child to want — she 
 died. 
 
 Sir Ph. {Aside to Skindeep : Neglected ! Doubtless buried 
 without the humanity of a tombstone.) 
 
 Skind. {Aside : They are my letters. Poor Kate ! What 
 devil is it makes men write their follies dowii, to rise against 
 them when the living themselves are dead ?) 
 
 Sir Ph. {Aside: His lordship has sown what he, too, thought 
 wild oats, but they 've come up thistles.) 
 
 Skind. You Katherine Waller's son 1 
 
 Spreadw. Katherine Waller ! 
 
 Shark, Quite true, my lord — she died my tenant. I've 
 dodged the captain from the cradle upwards, and can bring 
 twenty to swear to him. 
 
 Skind. {Aside: He's handsome — clever — all the world, too
 
 68 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 
 
 must know the story — I — nature's wonderful ! — I feel a sudden 
 gush of affection— a torrent of parental love— a,— (throwing him- 
 self into Smoke's arms) — my son — my son ! 
 
 All except Smoke, — Eiiter "Waller at lack. 
 
 Son! 
 
 Skind. My darling boy ! Whom I have sought for years and 
 years! Who has been to me a day-dream — whose vision at 
 night — whose, whose — but I can't speak — I — you can imagine 
 my feelings — for the human heart has chords — chords — 
 
 Spreadw. But, my lord, you spoke of one Katheriue Waller — 
 
 Waller. {Coming down) Katherine Waller, your youngest 
 
 sister. 
 
 Skind. Arthur ! you here 1 
 
 Waller, Fear not. You have acknowledged your son ; and 
 my resentment's buried in my sister's grave. 
 
 Spreadw. Sister ! And you— you are little Arthur ? My 
 brother ! 
 
 Waller. One of those whom poverty made hateful to you. I 
 have travelled, toiled, and prospered. For some time I have 
 known your sordid history. When you shall again assume your 
 father's name, and with it somewhat of his plain-dealing, your 
 good, glad-hearted daughter here shall join our hands, and we '11 
 again be brothers. 
 
 Spreadw. {Aside : And he 's come back rich !) Nephew — I 
 give you joy — I give you my blessing — I give you — I give you 
 your bill ! 
 
 Mel. Nay, for that amount I am your debtor. Still, be gene- 
 rous to your nephew, and think the bond I might exact, is paid. 
 
 Skind. Tliis is delightful ! All are recompensed— all 
 
 Chat. Your pardon, my lord ; there is still one person in your 
 house not yet rewarded. Suffer me to introduce him. — {Brings 
 doion Corks, who from time to time has been watching at back.)— 
 Brutus the Eldei- ! 
 
 Skind. What ! 
 
 Chat. His anxiety to obtain the paper you placed in my hands 
 whetted my curiosity. In your own butler I found your weekly 
 censor. {Giving paper to Skindeep.) You know the hand 1 
 
 Skind. Tt is so 1 And I have warmed a serpent in my owm 
 wine-cellar ! Here, Kimbo, kick out Brutus the Elder.— (Corks 
 
 runs off.) 
 
 Pam. {TuMng paper from Skisdeef.) But what can he have 
 
 said of your lordship ? 
 Flor. Yes, what can the wicked creature have said 1
 
 BUBBLES OF THE DAY. 69 
 
 Pam. Hear the last paragraph. (Reads.) " When the race of 
 Skindeeps shall practise all they talk, then will they become a 
 social treasure — the very jewels of their kind. But when the 
 goodness is a sound, and their benevolence mere breath, what 
 are they but — but " — {Forces the paper upon Skindeep.) 
 
 Skind. Hm ! {Reads.) " Bubbles of a day ? " 
 
 END OF BUBBLES OF THE DAY.
 
 CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 — ♦ 
 
 Sir Gilbert Norman Mr. Stxtart. 
 
 Clarence Norman Mr. H. Holl. 
 
 Goldthumh Mr. W. Farren. 
 
 Felix Goldthumb Mr. C. Mathews. 
 
 Professor Truffles Mr. Strickland. 
 
 Bantam ........ Mr. Buckstoxe. 
 
 Olive Mr. Tilbury. 
 
 Jugby Mr. Bland. 
 
 Postboy Mr. Clark.. 
 
 Robert Mr. Carle. 
 
 Florentine Miss Fortescje. 
 
 Bessy Tulip Madame Vestris. 
 
 Miss Tucker Mrs. Glover. 
 
 Mrs. Goldthumb . .... Mrs. W. Clifford. 
 
 Chicken I.Irs. Humby. 
 
 This Comedy wasjfirst represented at the Haymc.rket Theatre, 
 April lUh, 1845.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene, iioom in a cormtry Inn looMng into the road. Trutfles 
 and Felix Goldthumb at a table, dining. 
 
 Truffles. The trout is somewhat dry alone. What money have 
 you, my young friend ? 
 
 Felix. Fifteen and sixpence. 
 Truff. Landlord. 
 
 {Enter Jugbt.) 
 
 —A bottle of sherry. \Exit Jugbt. 
 
 Felix. This is the fourth day I've played truant. TVTien I 
 started, I had in my pocket — 
 
 Truff. It is no matter. Our jireseut business is only with the 
 balance. 
 
 {Enter Jugbt with wine) 
 
 So ! the grape. {Drinks) 
 
 Felix. Will it do ? 
 
 Truff. Oh, highway tipple. Drink it from a vinegar-cruet, and 
 'twould pass without suspicion. 
 
 Jug. Oh, sir, oh ! The heads of nobility stop here for that 
 sherry. 
 
 Felix. 'Twill do for me : good or bad, I know little of wine. 
 
 Truff. Sir, it pains me to hear that any man's education has 
 been so neglected. Well, what follows the trout % Any hashed 
 venison ? 
 
 Jug. No venison, sir ; none nearer than the park, and that's 
 alive. 
 
 Felix. Oh, a rump-steak.
 
 74 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Jug. Only one butcher, sir ; and he doesn't kill till Saturday. 
 
 Truff. Well, broil a fowl. You've plenty of fowls ? 
 
 Ju<j. Dozens, sir : but just now they're all sitting. 
 
 Felix. Pshaw ! Can't have a fowl % 
 
 Jug. You may if you please, sir; but if you take the parent, 
 I must charge you for the chickens. 
 
 Truff. We left the banquet, sir, to you ; and we're to have 
 nothing but trout, and trout, too, caught by my friend » Fel- 
 low, do you think a gentleman is to be indebted only to his own 
 exertions for his own dinner ? 
 
 Jug. I've some beautiful bacon, sir. Such pink and white ! 
 Streaked, sir, like a carnation. 
 
 Truff. Bacon ! • _ 
 
 Jug. Ladies of title come here to eat our bacon. Now, sir, if 
 you'd like some eggs and bacon — 
 
 Felix. Delicious ! let's have it. 
 
 Truff. Eggs and bacon ! Is there such a dish ? Well, for once, 
 I'll submit to the experiment. And landlord, I stay here to-night. 
 Good beds, I hope : eh ? Eeal goose ? 
 
 Jug. Oh, sir ! People, sir, who can't get any rest at home, 
 come here only to sleep with us. \_Exit Jugby. 
 
 Felix. Well, I thank my stars, I can eat anything. 
 
 Truff. I am shocked to hear it, sir ; for in that case half the 
 beauties of creation are lost upon you. 
 
 Felix. Are they so 1 Then why have I stolen from Oxford ? 
 Why, this morning, heard the lark's first song — saw the first red 
 light 01 day, — and as I gulped the morning air, sweetened from 
 blade and bush, felt drunk — 
 
 Truff. Drunk, sir ? 
 
 Felix. With happiness, that with such a world about us, poor 
 men, despite of all, have rich estates, and nature's truest tille to 
 enjoy them. 
 
 Triff. Yet= ; the luxury of staring. Nevertheless, sir, wax and 
 parchment are pretty things. {Aside : This is an eccentric young 
 nobleman, who'd pass for a pauper.) 
 
 Felix. {Aside : Four days' holiday ; and now must I turn 
 homeward. Leave the green turf for the dust of a shop — the 
 skylark's song for the chaffering of trade.) 
 
 Truff. {Aside: I see the coronet mark upon his forehead. 
 Poor lad ! Perhaps smitten with nature in the shape of some 
 dairyman's daughter. I may snatch him from wedlock ; and so 
 get a pension and the prayers of his family.) 
 
 Felix. {Aside: Four days and— I scent the eggs and bacon.) 
 I — I don't know your name, sir, but — 
 Truff: Truffles. Professor Truffles.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 75 
 
 Felix. Mine is GoUlthumb — Felir Goldtliumb. But I was 
 about to ask, were you ever in Arabia — odoriferous Arabia ? 
 
 Triiff. I've travelled much ; but not — I — I think not in Arabia. 
 
 Felix. Nor I ; but from what I've read, this must be very 
 like it. 
 
 Tniff. This ? What ? 
 
 Felix. This perfume, stealing from the kitchen. 
 
 Truff. Though 'tis a dish I never heard of, it promises well. It 
 really — 
 
 Felix. {Looking towards imndoiv) Eh ! what's this 1 A post- 
 chaise and— yes — one of our Oxford men. Petticoats, too ! 
 Professor Truffles, you have seen the world. Is that really a 
 postboy, or Cupid ? 
 
 Truff. (Risi/iff from table, and approaching window.) Worst, 
 sir, — worse — H)'men. Yes : if I know anything of horseflesh, 
 those chestnuts are bound for the cliurch. {Returns to table.) 
 
 Felix. Poor beasts ! 'Twould almost appear they knew as 
 much ; for they seem resolved not to budge another foot. Oh, 
 Professor ! See you that lovely girl ? 
 
 Truff. Sir, I am now nine-and-forty ; and 'tis at least twenty 
 years since I saw any girl answering that description. 
 
 Felix. What eyes — what lips ! What — why it's the baker's 
 daughter ! 
 
 Truff. That any man can think of such trifles before his 
 dinner ! 
 
 Felix. It seems but a few weeks since she was a wild thing, 
 running about in a pinafore, and eating bread-and-butter. 
 
 Truff. Yes ; and you'll think the innocent creatures will go on 
 eating it for years to come, when somebody whispers " bride- 
 cake," — and down drops the bread-and-butter. 
 
 Felix. {Aside : Eh, — Clarence Norman, the proud baronet's 
 nephew ! He the swain ! He marry ! 1 hope he means fairly 
 now. I trust it is the cliurch. Beautiful creature ! Yet, 
 looking at her with a doubt, a fear, her beauty falls like a 
 shadow on me.) 
 
 Tnff. Where, sir, where is this Araby you spoke of 1 
 
 Felix. {Aside : Stay, is she the bride 1 Is it she or her com- 
 panion ?) Now, Professor, your judgment on these girls. 
 
 Truff. 1 tell you, sir, I am nine-and-forty, and have outlived 
 my judgment. 
 
 Felix. Come, come ; you have read women's faces in your 
 time. 
 
 Truff. Sir, I've cast tliem aside with tlie fairy-books of my 
 youth, and — where is the bacon ? — for the same reason, — there 
 isn't a bit of real truth in 'em.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Felix. Unbeliever as you are, you must judge these two 
 {Forcing him to the window!) Now, if marriage be the present 
 fate of one, which one is it ? Tell me that. 
 
 Truff. Really, they both look so full of mischief, I can't decide. 
 Eh ! that's the landlord's foot ! 
 
 Felix. Nay, you eat no morsel till you name the bride. 
 
 Truff. I only hope 'tis not that giggling creature to the left. 
 For if it be, she seems shockingly callous to the impending 
 calamity. 
 
 Felix. No, 'tis not she ; though she has a sparkle in her eye, 
 a laughter at her lip — • 
 
 Truff. Will they never serve this dish ? 
 
 Felix. Might give a man a pleasant heart-ache. Now, sir, tell 
 me ; in all the world — 
 
 Truff. Sir, just now, I hate the world ; and with reason. Atlas 
 himself couldn't have borne the world with half a dinner. 
 
 Felix. Was there ever such beauty in one post-chaise ? 
 Beauty, that might lead a man to death ? 
 
 Truff. {Aside : That's the kitchen.) Be you led by beauty ; 
 I'll be led by the nose. [Exit. 
 
 Felix. The gentleman — in a high passion, too, — comes this way. 
 With the thought that's fallen upon me, I'm right glad — though 
 my dear old father will rate me soundly for it — glad I've strolled 
 thus far from Oxford. 
 
 {Enter Clarence, /o/Zo wee? ht/ Postboy.) 
 
 Post. It's always so. If a poor man ttdks reason, you gentle- 
 men call it impertinence. 
 
 Clarence. Scoundrel ! I'll — I'll drive the horses myself. 
 
 Post. No, you won't, sir. Though they're dumb creatures, 
 they know their rights ; and won't stir these two hours. 
 
 Clarence. Two hours ! I'll not give 'em ten minutes. 
 
 Post. And you call yourself a humanity man, I suppose ? 
 When four times the poor things have gone down upon their 
 knees, as if to beg you to take pity on 'em. 
 
 Clarence. Why was I plagued with such a ruffian ? 
 
 Post. And why was I plagued with such a job 1 But it's like 
 my luck. Had I been one of the other boys, I should have 
 driven real gentlemen to the fight to-day, and had some pleasure 
 myself : not have carried, I don't know where, innocent little 
 gii-ls stole from a boarding-school. 
 
 Ciarence. Rascal ! Another word — 
 
 Post. Well, I'll say it. I don't like the business. As father 
 of a family, I don't know whether I oughtn't to take out the 
 linch-pins.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 77 
 
 Felix. {Coming down. Aside to Postboy : Sam, your scruples 
 do honour to your buckskin.) 
 Post. What ! Master Felix ! 
 
 Felix. {Aside to him : Nevertheless, leave the gentleman to 
 me. I'll teach him to respect the wants of brutes, and the 
 virtues of postillions.) 
 
 Post. Well, you always could talk ! So, while I take the 
 
 lining out of a mug of ale, you'll let him know I won't take them 
 
 little girls another step without, you understand me, without 
 
 feeling better reasons for it. \^Exit. 
 
 Felix. Pardon, sir, a traveller's bluntness. You want horses ? 
 
 Clarence. At any cost — at any sacrifice. 
 
 Felix. There is a farm some three fields oflf, where I think — 
 you're not particular in your cattle 1 
 Clarence. Anything. 
 
 Felix. The farmer's my friend ; we fish together. Now, he 
 has a couple of piebalds, — you wouldn't object to piebalds % 
 Clarence. Anything with four legs, so it can move 'em. 
 Felix. Then, sii*, any way you're suited ; for there's the sorrel 
 mare — 
 
 Clarence. Sir, were it a hippogriff — 
 
 Felix. She's blind, to be sure ; and having for years been kept 
 only to go to church, — but that, perhaps, just now, might be a 
 recommendation ? 
 
 Clarence. Sir, if in my present need you can assist me, hold 
 me your debtor for life — long thanks. But if this be travellers' 
 sport — 
 
 Felix. Indeed, sir, I'm in solemn earnest : would only know if 
 'tis not you who sport. 
 Clarence. I ! 
 
 Felix. The young gentlewoman outside — Florentine, the — 
 ha ! I see 'tis she. The — it must be said, sir, — the baker's 
 daughter 1 
 
 Clarence. Aye, sir, the baker's daughter. Well, what would 
 you say of her ? 
 
 Felix. A short and simple tale. She and I, sir, learned our 
 letters together. As girl and boy and neighbours' children, have 
 played together, and grown up with recollections that as men 
 grow old, I take it, make not the worst part of life. Until some 
 minutes past, 'tis three years since I've seen her ; and when I 
 looked upon her happy, cordial face — would you believe it, sir ? — 
 I felt a sort of spasm of the heart, to think that what seemed 
 made to live in peace and sweetness at some poor man's home, 
 might perhaps be gathered for some wanton holiday, and so be 
 flung aside, the holiday once past.
 
 78 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Clarence. I like you for your fears. Yet why — why fear this ? 
 
 Felix. Because I knew you, — hear me out. I knew you for 
 Sir Gilbert Norman's nephew ; and the baronet's a man who 
 throughout this world sees but two objects — rank and wealth. 
 They are to him the only rightful presences of this earth ; all 
 things else mere things of sufferance. You are the baronet's 
 relative,— his heir ; may have been nurtured in this goodly 
 faith. 
 
 Clarence. Allow it : still may not rank and wealth have their 
 enthusiast apostates ? 
 
 Felix. Humph ! at two or three and twenty. But as the blood 
 cools, and the judgment ripens, there are few who fall not back 
 to the old religion. But you really love Florentine ? 
 
 Clarence. I like your honesty so well, I'll bear this catechism. 
 Love her as man should love the tenderness and innocence that 
 trust him. 
 
 Felix. With no mother, her father old, decrepit, Florentine is 
 almost orphan ; yet deceive her, and the memory of her child- 
 hood days shall make me brother to her ; and though great the 
 gap that fortune makes between us, as I've a soul to answer for 
 its doings, you shall answer me. 
 
 Clarence. Be such the compact. You believe me 1 Well ! I 
 shall have the horses ? 
 
 Felix. Honesty looks from your eyes — truth rings in your 
 words. I do believe you, and you shall have the horses. [Exit. 
 
 Clarence. Stay ! I'm with you. 
 
 {Enter Jugbt.) 
 
 Landlord, let the ladies be attended. And something to eat 
 but — you hear — nothing that takes time. 
 
 Jug. My wife, sii-, has seen the ladies into the house. As for 
 eating, sir, we 've had a heavy sprinkling of travellers lately. If, 
 sir, some bread and cheese — 
 
 Clarence. Bread and cheese ! 
 
 Jug. People, sir, Come twenty miles round for our bread and 
 cheese. 
 
 Clarence. Get whatever the ladies desire, and quickly, too ; 
 for, like swallows, we must eat flying. [Exi'. 
 
 Jug. Sam has told me all. By this time the boarding-school's 
 in a kaze ; their friends, no doubt, after 'em. Now, which shall 
 I get most by— helping 'em off, or keeping 'em here ? When 
 business will allow it, 'tis so sweet to satisfy one's conscience anl 
 one's pocket together.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Enter Florentine and Bessy, both drest as school-girls. 
 
 Bessy. Oh, I am so hungry ! 
 
 Florentine. La, Bessy ! How can you think of eating ? 
 
 Bessy. It 's mighty well for you, who 've been whispering, and 
 smiling, and sighing all the way with Mr. Clarence ; but I've 
 had nothing else to think of. When I consented to run away 
 with you, I thought I should be somebody ; but no ; I 've been 
 left in a corner, all by myself, to count the milestones, and look 
 at the blossoms in the hedges, and — and wish they were black- 
 berries. 
 
 Jug. {Aside : Yes, I '11 clip their wings. I shall get more by it.) 
 
 Floren. {Aside to Besst : Hush ! here's the landlord.) My good 
 man, some — some refreshment. 
 
 Jug. Certainly, young ladies. Would you like some cake 1 
 
 Floren. Cake ! 
 
 Jug. Cake, with plums in it ? 
 
 Bessy. {Aside to Florentia : He 's laughing at us ; but I wish 
 he 'd bring it.) 
 
 Jug. Countesses from London stop here for our cake. 
 
 Floren. We 're not from London ; so, if we stop, must stop for 
 something better. 
 
 Jug. {Aside: Here's a pullet for you !) We 've a great name 
 here for our tea. 
 
 Floren. Well, I should like a cup of tea. 
 
 Bessy. So should I for one thing. 
 
 Jug. But the Bishop of Kilcoberry put up here yesterday, and 
 the — the canister is out. If, however, you could be content with 
 bread and milk — 'tis an excellent thing to travel on — 
 
 Bessy. I 'm very fond of it : let's have it directly. 
 
 Jug. We milk again in two hours, and then — 
 
 Floren. My good man {Aside to Bessy : Where can Clarence 
 be ?) — if )'0u think we cannot pay for what we have — 
 
 Bessy. Yes, if you think this lady's husband — 
 
 Jug. Husband ! 
 
 Floren. {Aside to Bessy : Bessy !) 
 
 Bessy. {Aside to Florentia : La ! It's only putting the 
 church clock on an liour or two, and what's that '0 If you 
 think he is n't rich as any prince — 
 
 Jug. {Aside: I've changed my mind — I was wrong.) lam 
 sure, ladies, you may command whatever my poor house contains. 
 
 Bessy. May we ? Then there 's something that way. — {Aside 
 to Florentia : Don't you smell it ?) 
 
 Floren. La, Bessy.
 
 80 TIME WORKS WONDERS, 
 
 Bessy. (Aside to her : Eggs and bacon, I'm sure of it.) Some- 
 thing we command here directly. 
 
 Jttg. There is a slight repast preparing for two gentlemen ; 
 but I know 'em ; they 'li both be happy to wait. 
 
 Bessy. Then we shaU be happy to make 'em happy. So bring 
 it directly. 
 
 Jug. {Aside : My customer in the kitchen I '11 send into the 
 garden to choose his own salad, and then bring away the dish.) 
 Directly, ladies ; directly. \_Exit. 
 
 Floren. Where can Clarence be ? 
 
 Bessy. Xever mind him. I 'm quite hungiy for a bit of talk, 
 I say, Flory, — ha ! ha ! — I wonder what Miss Tucker 's thinking 
 of? 
 
 Floren. Ha ! ha ! When she came down this morning, to find 
 two of her lambs — as she loves to call us — carried away ! 
 
 Bessy. Ha ! ha ! How the house will smell of hartshorn ! 
 
 Floren. The girls ought to pray for us, for there '11 be no 
 school to-day. Yet, heigho ! What excuse shall I have for 
 what I 've done ] 
 
 Bessy. Whj'^, a husband ; and can you have a better — and one 
 that will last longer ? But it's what I have done, with no hopes 
 of an excuse at all ! 
 
 Floren. Yes, Bessy ; your friendship for me. For I think, not 
 even Clarence had persuaded me to run away alone. 
 
 Bessy. And only to think, you '11 soon be a baronet's wife ; for 
 Sir Gilbert, they say, though not forty, is always iU. 
 
 Floren. Oh, Bessy, can you imagine I — 
 
 Bessy. Don't tell me. Let people be as good as they will, they 
 can't be so near to titles without thinking when they shall have 
 'em. A baronet's wife, and go to court, and wear ostrich 
 feathers ! Well, I wonder what my husband will be ! 
 
 Floren. Your husband ! Oh, some Indian prince, in a gold 
 coat and diamond sli23pers. 
 
 Bessy. No, I 'U never go back to Trincomalee, that I 'm deter- 
 mined. I was sent here fx-om India for education, and 'twould 
 be ungrateful to take it out of the country. When I first came 
 to Miss Tucker's — la ! I can't name her without thinking what 
 a fidget she 's in ! You know how she abuses marriage ? 
 
 Floren. And praises the Amazons, and such wicked people, 
 
 Bessy. I '11 tell you why. Three years ago — just before you 
 came to us — there was a sort of wandering professor — 
 
 Floren. A professor ! 
 
 Bessy. Yes ; he travelled with the solar system in a deal box. 
 He gave her Juba, that nasty little pug. Well, he read the girls 
 lectures, and taught 'em acids, and gases, and eccentricity, — ^no
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 81 
 
 — ulectricity. "Well, as sure as you have two eyes, Miss Tucker 
 fell in love with Professor Truffles. One of the girls caught her 
 marking his handkerchief with what the poor deceived man 
 thought her own hair. 
 
 Floren. A professor ! Was he very clever ? 
 
 Bessy. Clever ! 'Twould have done your heart good to see 
 him exhaust a mouse in an air-pump. "Well, once I heard him 
 admire her gold repeater. All I know is, after the professor 
 went away, she never again wore that repeater. 
 
 (Enter Jugbt, carri/ing dish.) 
 Oh ! the bacon ! 
 
 Jucf. Here it is, ladies. Here it is, hot, and singing like twenty 
 throstles. {Aside : I 've tricked my traveller.) [Exit. 
 
 [Bessy and Florentine sit at table. 
 Bessy. Oh, what a nosegay ! 
 
 Floren. My dear Bessy, if Clarence — where can he be now 1 — 
 if he should see us, wouldn't he think it very vulgar ? 
 
 Bessy. Then don't you eat. As he's not going to marry me, I 
 don't risk anything. Come, you must be hungry. Do you like 
 the eggs 1 Delicious colour, ar'n't they ? Just like so many 
 marigolds and lilies. Bit of bacon and — 
 
 [Bessy is about to help Florextine, wAcm Miss Tucker appears a< the 
 door ; Bessy, dropping Icnife andforh, screams. 
 Ha! Miss Tucker! 
 Floren. Miss Tucker ! \_They both run off into side-room. 
 
 [Miss Tucker comes down, followed by Olive and GoLDTHUiiB. 
 
 Miss Tucker. Pursue them ! Bind them hand and foot ! 
 
 Olive. Miss Tucker, remember your promise : I must have no 
 violence. The birds are caught, safely caged, and — 
 
 3fiss T. But they may escape ! 
 
 Olive. As I'll answer for it they've no appetite, eat you 
 their dinners, while I talk to Florentine. 
 
 Miss T. You're her father s friend, so tell her, the wicked 
 creature, that he's dying. 
 
 Olive. Not a word. Her reason, and not her feelings, shall 
 send her home again. [^Exit into side-room. 
 
 Miss T. Keason with a girl ! But he never kept a ladies' 
 seminary ! 
 
 Gold. {Seating himself at table.) Do, Miss Tucker — do sit 
 down and eat. 
 
 Miss T. Eat, IVIr. Goldthumb ! {Seating herself.) Eat in my 
 state of mind ! 
 
 {Enter Jugbt.) 
 So, Mr. Landlord, you must harbour runaway children ?
 
 82 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Jug. Yes, my lady. If I hadn't you wouldn't have caught 'em. 
 But I'm a parent myself, my lady ; and know what the feelings 
 of a mother must be. 
 
 Gold. {Eating.) A worthy soul. A jug of ale ; you can recom- 
 mend it ? 
 
 Jug. Becommend it ! The mail-cart comes six mile out of its 
 way for our ale. \Exit, after pouring out a glass of ale. 
 
 Gold. Now, Miss Tucker, a little bit will do you good. For I 
 recollect reading that when, through mental anxiety, the nervous 
 membrane that lines the oesophagus — 
 
 Miss T. There, — a little bit. I declare, Mr. Goldthumb, it 
 seems you have read everything. 
 
 Gold. Why, ma'am, after working thirty years as trunkmaker, 
 'twould be to my shame if I didn't know something of the litera- 
 ture of my country. 
 
 Miss T. Doubtless. You 've had great opportunities. 
 
 Gold. So, I've picked up a little poetry — a little romance — a 
 little law — a little physic — of course a little everything. 
 
 Miss T. And you find the fragments serviceable 1 
 
 Gold. Oh, they work up very nicely in common talk. Ha ! I 
 never was set down to learning : but I 've given a hearty meal 
 of it to my boy Felix. He knows everything in the regular way. 
 
 Miss T. And must be a great comfort to you. 
 
 Gold. Not a bit of iise in the shop : but a wonderful lad. He 
 hasn't been home these four days, but he's an extraordinary boy. 
 
 Miss T. A genius — a genius, no doubt. 
 
 Gold. Quite — quite a genius. How he'll ever get his bread 
 and pay his way, heaven knows ! 
 
 Miss T. Ha, Mr. Goldthumb ! To have a parent's fears is 
 bad enough — but what are they to mine ? Look at me with my 
 twenty girls. I have all the anxiety of a mother — • 
 
 Gold. Without a morsel of the credit. 
 
 Miss T. And then the black ingratitude of the little wretches ! 
 There's Miss Bessy Tulip, the little conspirator in that room, 
 she who was brought to me I may say a baby — 'orought by 
 Colonel Mandragon, with a jar of pickles, from Trincomalee. 
 Would you think it ? I 've discovered that she 's not only brought 
 away all her clothes, but with a precocious depravity that makes 
 one shudder, has absolutely packed up her own silver spoon and 
 fork. 
 
 Gold. But how lucky that I should have found out that 'twas 
 for your girls the new trunks were ordered at my shop ; and so 
 gave the alarm in time. 
 
 Miss T. Yes ; and how good of you to come with us ! 
 
 Gold, Why, as I 'd sold the trunks, I felt in a way concerned
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 83 
 
 in the matter ; and then, when I heard that Florentine's father, 
 my old neighbour, had fallen so dangerously sick, and that so 
 suddenly, — but I say. Miss Tucker, I wonder where the lover — 
 hush ! — this can't be he coming here ? 
 Miss T. Here ! AVhere 1 
 
 {Enter Truffles : Miss Tucker and he recognise each other) 
 
 Ha ! 'Tis he ! 
 
 Gold. {Aside to her : What ? Is that the vulture that has 
 clutched your doves ?) 
 
 Miss T. {Aside : Though he has shaved his upper lip, whis- 
 kers and all, my heart tells me it is he.) 
 
 Truff. {Aside : Miss Tucker ! Blessings upon razors ! she 
 does n't know me. But, alas ! if she should, and were to ask me 
 " What 's o'clock ? " how — how should I answer her ? I will 
 not peril that painful interrogative.) {Turns up the stage, care- 
 lessly singing) " Time has not thinn'd my flowing haii\" 
 
 [Saunters off througli centre doorway. 
 
 Miss T. And he can sing ! But I 'U follow him ! 
 
 Gold. Why should you, when you 've got back what he ran 
 away with ? 
 
 Miss T. Got -back ! You little know what's struggling here ! 
 
 {Enter Olive, bringing in Bessy /rom room, weeping.) 
 
 Oh, you shameful — treasonous — 
 
 Olive. Now, no scolding. She's a good girl, and sees her folly. 
 Don't you — don't you see your folly ? 
 
 Bessy. I can't yet for crying. But I'll — I'll — try. 
 
 Olive. There ; take her to the chaise. I'll straightway brinw 
 Florentine. [Exit. 
 
 Miss T. You wicked, ungrateful creature ! You, who for ten 
 years have eaten my bread, and drunk my milk — 
 
 Bessy. And water. 
 
 Miss T. You to think of helping in a marriage ! JMarriage ! 
 Haven't I always said that for anybody 'twas at best a fool's 
 paradise ? 
 
 Bessy. That's only because the Professor wouldn't make a 
 fool of you. 
 
 Miss T. Oh, Mr. Goldthumb ! Take her to the carriage ! 
 {Aside : At such a time to wriggle tlie arrow in the wound !) 
 Take her from me ; or I '11 not answer for her life ! 
 
 Bessy. Now I know how to run away, I '11 never stop. I 
 won't. 
 
 Gold. Come, come ; in ten years' time you '11 worship us for 
 this. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Bessi/. I won't — I won't. [^Exit, sobbing ; led off by Goldthumb. 
 
 Miss T. Take her from my sight. He's gone. The serpent 
 has, at least, some small remorse ; he does not dare to look upon 
 the ruin he has accomplished. \^Exit. 
 
 Enter OiAYEfrom room, bringing in Florentine. 
 
 Floren. {Aside. Not here ! Not here !) 
 
 Olive. I read your looks, Florentine ; you seek him. You 
 want the courage to be wise — nay, honest. 
 
 Floren. Oh, sir ! To leave him without one word ! You ask 
 too much. Indeed, indeed, I cannot. 
 
 Olive. You must. You think me cruel; think I look upon 
 your tears as sorrows of an April hour. Poor child ! I know 
 their source is misery. Still, your duty must be done ; you must 
 leave him. 
 
 Floren. I — I — Oh, sir — you know not how I love him ! 
 
 Olive. 'Tis from your love I hope the sacrifice ; 'tis from your 
 suffering I expect your justice. 
 
 Floren. Justice ! 
 
 Olire. Towards him you say you love. I will suppose you 
 wedded : you, a poor man's child — a girl of homely thoughts and 
 homely teaching — brought by your husband to his noble friends. 
 They look upon you as the blot upon their name : the vulgar, bold 
 inti-uder on their rank and wealth ; the " baker's daughter," 
 whose pretty, fatal face, lias snared a strijaling in his schoolboy 
 days. A few years pass — a very few — your husband feels his 
 friends are just ; and with them owns his boyish match a folly 
 and a shame. What hope would then be yours ? 
 
 Floren. To die, 
 
 Olive. Or say, in silence he endures his fate ? Is such a 
 marriage wedlock '\ No : it is but decent resignation at the 
 best. 
 
 Floren. But I love him ; and may not love do all things 1 
 
 Olive. Florentine, when minds are not in unison, the words of 
 love itself are but the rattling of the chain that tells the victim it 
 is bound. Come. 
 
 Floren. I cannot — will not ; no, will not. Clarence ! 
 
 Olive. Is this your promise ? 
 
 Floren. Do not ask it : I cannot — will not leave him — I wiU 
 die first. Let his fine friends hate me, he will love me still. I 
 know I am not taught like him — am ignorant of all his wife 
 should know ; but I will labour, study — for love I'm sure can do 
 it, — till I make his mind almost my own. No, sir ; come what 
 ma.y, I will not leave him. 
 
 Olive. Then I'll tell you what will come — ruin, beggary.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 85 
 
 Floren. To Clarence ? 
 
 Olive. To Clarence Norman. Hear me. He lias been prodigal, 
 extravagant — his debts beset him. Once let Clarence call you 
 wife, and — this I know — his uncle leaves him to the mercy of the 
 world ; and that I tell you is hopeless beggary. 
 
 Floren. Is this truth ? Foi'eive me. 
 
 Olive. Answer, — shall I leave you 1 
 
 Floren. No, The thoughts you make me think, make me 
 better — older : take me from girlhood — show me my folly, more, 
 my selfishness. I will go home with you ; for what a wicked 
 thing should I be so to destroy him ! 
 
 Olive. Good, brave girl ! {Sees portrait at her neck.) What's 
 this — his i^icture 1 It must be rendered back. 
 
 Floren. Oh, sir ! leave me that. 
 
 > 
 
 ^ Enter Jttgbt at hack. 
 
 Olive. For what ? To be a thing for daily tears. Landlord, 
 the young lady wishes to restore a gift to the gentleman who 
 brought her here. You will deliver it ? 
 
 Jug. Punctually — anything. 
 
 Olive. {Aside to Mm — giving monej/ : This for our entertain- 
 ment.) {To Florentine.) Come: the picture. And having 
 restored it, promise to forget — 
 
 Floren. Clarence ? I should hate myself; you, too, would hate 
 me could I promise that. ( With great effort, talcing the picture 
 from her neck. To Jugby.) You will give it to the gentleman, 
 and tell him that I have returned home — at my own wish returned. 
 
 [Gives him picture. 
 
 Olive. Noble gii-1 ! So, the sacrifice completed, you will be happy. 
 
 Floren. Happy — very happy ! {Throwing herself into his arms.) 
 My heart is broken ! [Olive leads her off at centre door. 
 
 Jug. Poor little girl ! I haven't felt in such a flutter since they 
 threatened to take away my license. I was just, too, making up 
 my mind that he shouldn't take her back, when he pulled out his 
 purse. Certainly, man's wicked angel is in money. I often catch 
 myself vidth something bold as a lion bouncing from my heart, 
 when the .shilling rattles, and the lion as small as any weasel 
 slinks back again. 
 
 Filter Clarence and Felix. 
 
 Felix. Huzza ! we have the horses ! 
 Clarence. Now, landlord— the ladies ! 
 Jug. Gone, sir. 
 Clarence. Gone !
 
 86 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Enter Truffles, speaking as he enters. 
 
 Truff. I am delighted to say, gone. I have watched the dust 
 of their carriage-wheels. 
 
 Jug. Gone home, sir : and the young lady told me to say, of 
 her own accord. Moreover, sir, she told me to give you this. 
 
 [Criving Jam pictwe. 
 
 Clarence. This ! 
 
 Truff. And now, landlord, for the bacon 1 
 
 Jug. {To Clarence.) She was carried off, sir, by an elderly 
 person. (To Truffles.) Your bacon was eaten by another. 
 Clarence. Carried off ! ]My curses follow him. 
 
 [Rashes off at door. 
 Truff. Eaten our bacon ! May he live on periwinkles ! 
 
 [Truffles throics Imnsclf in chair at table. Felix holes out upon 
 the road from the door ; arid Jugby counts his monty- 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 [A period of five years is supposed to take place between this and 
 the previous Act.] 
 
 Scene I. — A Lodge, with view of Sir Gilbert Norman's Mansion 
 in the distance. Bantam discovered ringing the bell. Enter 
 Egbert /rom Lodge. 
 
 Robert. Ha'n't I answered you twice ? Drop the bell. 
 
 Ba7i. I shan't. Bells are public property, and I won't give up 
 my rights. Drop the bell ! Oh, yes, try next and whistle off the 
 Queen's taxes. 
 
 Robert. I've told you, Sir Gilbert Norman's not at home. 
 
 Ban. Not at home ! I say, I've heard people say, truth lives 
 in a well ; if so, I'd advise you to take an early dip in the bucket. 
 That's my name. {Aside : And he grins at my grief ! A lump 
 of sponge-cake, soaked in port wine.) That's my card, I say. 
 
 Robert. {Reads ticket.) "Nicholas Bantam, Trumpet-lane, 
 Oxford." 
 
 Ban. Ha ! that was a home ! Once love and comfort used to 
 nestle there like the sparrows. 
 
 Robert. Indeed ! And what may have scared them ? 
 
 Ban. Mr. Clarence Norman ; 'tisn't his fault if people don't 
 make me a bankrupt — they can. 
 
 Robert. But you know he isn't in England.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 87 
 
 Ban. I know ; sent abroad by his nucle to be cured of love by 
 a change of air. But since Sir Gilbert's paid his debts, all 
 Oxford rings like a bell with the baronet's goodness. You may 
 hear the babies in the streets a blessing him. And though I've 
 not seen his money yet, I know 1 risked nothing by blessing him 
 on credit. As for Miss Florentine — 
 
 Bobert. And what of her ? 
 
 Ban. She left Oxford after her father's death. There's all 
 sorts of stories about ; but as we know nothing certain of her, it's 
 only nat'ral to think the worst. 
 
 Robert. And Clarence Norman owes you money ? Come, 
 Mr. Bantam, you know before he left England, five years ago, all 
 his creditors were satisfied. 
 
 Ban. All but me. 
 
 Robert. And when others pressed, where were you ? 
 
 Ban, I'm a tradesman as never could press. Besides, INIr. 
 Clarence put it to my feelings to be quiet. Bantam, says he to me, 
 my dear Bantam, if my uncle knows anything about the birds I'm 
 ruined. So, keep all close — wait a little, — and I'll send you a 
 lump of gold from foi-eign parts, besides a emerald brooch for 
 Sundays. They've never come. Five years I've waited — five 
 years ! — they've never come, and so I am. 
 
 Robert. Birds ! The gentleman had hounds and horses ; but 
 birds ! what bu-ds ? 
 
 Ban. Cocks. 
 
 Robert. Impossible. 
 
 Ban. Cocks, as was the envy of the country round. And I sold 
 him the lovely creturs ; sold 'em, lodged, boarded, trimmed 'em 
 like my own babies ; and if ever I had the price of a barleycorn 
 for 'em, why I'm a sinner, that's all. 
 
 Robert. Do you know Sir Gilbert ? 
 
 Ban. Not a atom of him — nothin' but his goodness. 
 
 RobeH. Nicholas Bantam, with you lying must be an old habit; 
 it sits so easily upon you. 
 
 Ban. Lying ! I'll answer for Sir Gilbert — 
 
 Robert. I'll answer for him too ; this much — he gives no ear to 
 your story — gives no penny. [Exit into Lodge. 
 
 Ban. Now when that man wakes in his bed o'uights, I wonder 
 what he thinks of himself 1 
 
 Enter Truffles. 
 
 Truff. The coachman told me, I couldn't miss it. Fellow, 
 where is Parsnip Hall ? 
 
 Ban. When I've lost my way, I always show myself a gentle- 
 man, and ask at a public-house. {Aside : It must be himself —
 
 88 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 but what a change !) {To Truffles who is going) Sir, — sir, — 
 {Aside : When I kuowed liim, he was rusty and ragged as a 
 cuckoo ; now he's as black as a crow at a weddin'.) 
 
 Truff. Well, man— well ? 
 
 Ban. I haven't been nulucky all my life, sir, have I ? — you 
 and me have met afore ? 
 
 Truff. Met ! {Aside : I have seen the ruffian somewhere.) Met ! 
 no.! {^Flourishing Ms handkerchief, and about to exit. 
 
 Ban. Oh, yes, sir — we have. {Aside : This is what the world 
 calls principle ! Owed me half-a-crown for seven years, and wears 
 lavender water !) Don't you know Oxford — don't you know 
 Trumpet-lane ? because — 
 
 Truff. Very well ; you're a very honest man — good morning. 
 
 {Going. 
 
 Ban. Ha, sir ! if I am an honest man, don't turn your back so 
 soon upon a rarity. You're going to Parsnip Hall ? Perhaps 
 you can help me 1 
 
 Truff'. Have you business there 1 
 
 Ban. I hope to have a good deal. See, sir. {Gives him newspaper. 
 
 Truff. {Reads.) " Wanted a valet. He must dress hair ; speak 
 French, and have no objection to travel. Apply personally at 
 Parsnip Hall, Hampton Village." And you want the place ? Can 
 1/ou dress hair, speak French, and — 
 
 Ban. Why, what I'm back'ard in as a valet, I can make up 
 for in the stable. Now, as we've met in this lucky manner, all I 
 want of you is to give me a character. 
 
 Truff I ! 
 
 Ban. I'm sure I could give i/ou one, 
 
 Truff. {Aside : The varlet may be mischievous.) A character ! 
 Have you none 1 
 
 Ban. I had a beauty ; but, somehow, I lost it on the road. 
 
 Truff. {Aside : I should feel serenely happy were he at the 
 bottom of the Thames.) Well, if Mr. Goldthumb will accept — 
 
 Ba7i. Goldthumb ! What ! It is true ? The trunkmaker of 
 Oxford ? Well, I heard he was somewhere here about. 
 
 Truff. I have not yet seen the gentleman ; but his lady informed 
 me he was of Oxford. But trunkmaker 1 
 
 Ban. Two years ago a mountain of money fell upon him. 
 
 Truff. {Aside: The miscreant becomes interesting.) Then 
 Goldthumb is rich — very rich ? 
 
 Ban. He could buy the Bank of England for a tea-parlour. And 
 so you see, sir — ha ! ha ! well, it does my heart good to see you 
 look so blooming ! 
 
 Truff. I look well, eh ? Eeally well ? But hasn't time a little 
 — just a little — played upon me 1
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 89 
 
 Ban. To be sure it has. But then, like a fiddle, sii-, you're all 
 the better for bei ug played upon. 
 
 Truf. {Aside : Eeally, now, if I can help this poor devil with 
 a good word, — ) 
 
 Ban. You look like a rose in June — you do. And so, if you 
 can give me a help with Mi*. Goldthuiub ! — Ha ! I knowed you 
 would. You're a real geutlenian, you arc. You don't rub an 
 old acquaintance ofi" your mind like an old memorandum off a 
 piece of ass's skin. 
 
 Truff. That will do. I — I — {Aside : There is a kind of com- 
 pliment that comes ujjon a man like a cannon-ball : it leaves him 
 no head to acknowledge it.) I will do for your character all that 
 is possible — {Aside : for the sake of my own.) One word : you're 
 from Oxford. Do you recollect a lady who kept a school ? a Miss 
 — humph ! — \\€y name begins with a T 1 Miss — Miss — 
 
 Ban. Tuckei- 1 Ha ! poor soul ! 
 
 Tniff.^liioi dead ] 
 
 Ban. Dead 1 Schoolmisses never die. Not dead ; but quite 
 ruined, 
 
 Truff. By what extraordinary accident ? 
 
 Ban. 'Bout five year ago two of her girls run away to get 
 married ; and thovigh the mischief was stopt, all the parents 
 thought their giils double hazardous. So one by one they all 
 dropt ofi", and Miss Tucker was left with nothing to teach but her 
 pug-dog. 
 
 Triiff. {Aside : My own gift, when quite a pup.) 
 
 Ban. She's left Oxford, aiid that's all I know of Miss Tucker. 
 Now, sir, shall we trudge 1 Bless me ! How dusty your shoes 
 are ! { With his handherchief officiously dusts Truffles' .^hoes, his 
 coat, and hat.) Your coat, too ; and how you've rumpled your 
 beaver ! Now, sir, for if the place should be gone, I haven't a 
 friend to throw myself upon but you. 
 
 Truff. {Aside : I must give him a chai'acter to get rid of 
 him.) Follow me, then ; but, really, what — what am I to say 
 about you ? 
 
 Ban. You can say I was your valet once. Brushed your 
 shoes — dusted your coat, and all tliat. 
 
 Truff. What ! Pass you off for my servant 1 Consider 
 the ri«k. 
 
 Ban. Don't we share it, when I pass you off for my master 1 
 
 Truff. Nicliolas Bantam, your impudence is — is — I can only 
 say I never felt the passion of envy so strong on me before. \_Exit. 
 
 Enter Egbert from Lodge., as BanTxVM is about to go off. 
 Robert. So, you are here still ?
 
 90 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Ban. What am I to do ? After walking all the way from 
 London — in weather, too, that makes a man feel what good ale 
 really is — and when the money's honestly mine ; as Mi". Clarence, 
 if he was really here — 
 
 Rohert. I give you joy of your luck ; he is here. 
 
 Ban. Here ! Mr. Clarence ! 
 
 Robert. Or will be in half-an-hour. A letter has arrived — 
 he is now on his way. So wait a little, and then dun your 
 creditor. [^Exit. 
 
 Ban. Wait ! No, I've a spirit above it ; so now for the trunk- 
 maker. [Exit. 
 
 Enter rLORENTiNE {she carries a portfolio), «ji^Miss Tucker. 
 
 Floren. Ha ! ha ! How often have I heard you wish you had 
 been born a huntress ! And now — in this blessed month of 
 Jvme — you'd sit by the fireside, and do nothing but grow roses 
 in worsted. Keep house such an hour as this ! Why, 'tis 
 treason to nature. 
 
 Miss T. Allow me to observe — though, as I'm a dependant, I 
 know I have no right to speak — that your frequent allusions to 
 nature are not decorous. With young women of my time, nature 
 was the last thing thought of. I know I'm only a dependant ; 
 and people who live in other people's houses should have no 
 tongues, — no eyes — no — 
 
 Floren. I cannot bear this — I will not bear it. You hurt me 
 — wound me deeply. If it irk you to dwell beneath the same 
 roof — if it constrain you in the least, though why it should I 
 know not — choose your own abode ; share my little fortune how 
 and where you will. But I cannot have my friendship taken 
 as alms ; my love thus ever chilled with the cold sense of 
 obligation. You have at length forced me to speak. Il is 
 unkind of you — indelicate. 
 
 Miss T. Indelicate ! Such a word to me— to me, who have 
 kept parlour-boarders. I know I'm only an interloper ; but can 
 gratitude be indelicate 1 
 
 Floren. It may be mean. True gratitude, in very fulness of 
 its soul, knows not the limits of its debt : but when it weighs 
 each little gift — ^books down each passing courtesy, — it ceases to 
 be gratitude, and sinks to calculation. Why, I hope I am grate- 
 ful for the flowers at my feet, but I were most unworthy of their 
 sweetness, could I coldly sit me down to count them. I entreat 
 you, no more of this. 
 
 Miss T. You know I love you — always loved you more than 
 the other girls : for when they were all at their romps, didn't I 
 always lock you up that you might be safe 1 And I'm su^'e
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 91 
 
 you're very kind now. I have, I know, the best bedroom — 
 thoiif^h voin-s, no donbt, will be the warmest in -winter. I have 
 the best side of the fireplace, but then it's not my own fireplace. 
 And as for gifts, it was very kind of you a week ago to give me 
 this gown ; though if I'd gone to the mercer's with my own 
 money, 'tis the very last colour I should have thought of. 
 
 Floren. The fault was in my eyes ; next week you shall choose 
 for yourself. 
 
 Miss T. I dreamt on Friday of a black satin ; but Friday's 
 di'eams seldom come true ; and then 'tis impertinent in poor 
 people to dream at any time beyond their means. 
 
 Floren. Nay, it shall be your privilege to dream, and mine to 
 turn your visions to realities. Now, like my dear, good 
 governess, for still you are so — come with me, that I may finish 
 my sketch of that beautiful oak. 
 
 Miss T. Why, look at the clouds — I'm sure there'll be a storm, 
 and you might have finished it on Tuesday. 
 
 Floren. You know we were interrupted. 
 
 Miss T. Interrupted ! What, because a gentleman stood to 
 stare at you ? You should have let him stare — have never seen 
 him — but have gone on the harder showing your accomplish- 
 ments. When a young woman can't do this, the blessings ot 
 education are lost upon her. 
 
 Floren. Never fear ; I shall be hardened in time. Now, only 
 half-an-hour ; this is the jjath. 
 
 Miss T. Ha ! the last time we trod that path, he was with us ; 
 and where — where is he now ? 
 
 Floren. In a beautiful glass-case — yes, shrined in crystal, as 
 such a creature ought to be. 
 
 Miss T. He was the pearl of pugs. But it has ever been my 
 fate ! As the sweetest of poets sings — 
 
 " I never rear'd a young gazelle 
 
 To glad me with its soft black eye, 
 
 But when it came to know me well,-^ 
 
 And love me, it was sure to die ! " 
 
 Floren. There certainly was a sentiment about that dog ! 
 
 Miss T. He couldn't move for sentiment. I see him now — 
 with his beautiful face, so black, yet so benignant ! Now 
 ci'opping a daisy with his lily-white teeth ; and now, looking up 
 and bai'king at me, as if he knew my inmost thoughts — 
 
 Floren. And quite agreed with them. 
 
 Miss T. But he is dead — murdered ! 
 
 Floren. Compose yourself : I'll buy you a parrot, warranted
 
 92 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 to live a hundred years ; so that you may both desceud to your 
 
 peaceful graves together. 
 
 Miss T. Florentine, the human heart is not a peg, now to 
 
 haug one thing upon, and now another. And people who live in 
 
 other people's houses have no right to the use of their own 
 
 atfections : though to be sure, but for the conduct of some people, 
 
 I might still have had a house of my own. Oh, I forgive you : 
 j but that bold minx. Miss Bessy Tulip — 
 
 Florcn. Dear, dear Bessy ! And she is now in India ! 
 Miss T. I hope they'll carry her a million miles up the country, 
 ' and marry her to a blackamoor. 
 ; Floren. She ought to marry an Indian king. 
 
 i Miss T. A king ! a king with a ring in his nose. Ugh ! you 
 ! never knew her arts : a little lapwing ! I've caught her with — 
 1 ha ! — I forget his name ; but I've seen her leering and looking, 
 , and sidling round him, like a kitten round a cream-jug. 
 i Floren. Ha ! ha ! Bless her merry heart ! And she was 
 : good as she was merry : for she hadn't a thought but she 
 >, spoke it. 
 ' Miss T. The more shame for her ! In my time, girls would 
 
 have blushed to do such a thing. But for her boldness, you'd 
 ; never have run away with the baronet's nephew, 
 ; Floren. Nay, we shall lose this most delicious light. 
 
 I Miss T. But you have very properly picked him from your 
 
 ( heart, like a crooked letter from a sampler. 
 
 \ Floren. Sure 'twas an easy task for five long years ; and 
 \ there's not a day I haven't worked at it. Come. 
 I Aliss T. {Embracing her.) Tlius, my dear gii-1, like two roses 
 
 \ on an uninhabited island, we'll live and die a death of natural 
 I sweetness. And for Clarence Norman — 
 i Floren. And for Juba, the ]3ug ! 
 
 ! Miss T. Florentine, this is cruel. I — positively I cannot 
 
 ! follow you : I see him move in every shadow, hear him bark in 
 
 every bush. 
 
 Floren. Then I'll go alone. 
 
 Miss T. Impossible. Whatever be my feelings, I'll struggle 
 
 as I walk ; and you said something about a j^arrot 1 I think I 
 
 could love — but then it must be a grey parrot. 
 Floren. It shall be grey as old Time. 
 Miss T. For I've nobodv but vou in the world, and the heart, 
 
 the heart — must love something. \^Exeunt.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 93 
 
 Scene II. — Library in Mansion, of Sir Gilbert Norman. View 
 of Park scenery through windows. Sir Gilbert Normax 
 discovered, looking from window. 
 
 Sir Gilbert. A beautiful oak — most beautiful ! I must have 
 passed it a thousand and a thousand times — passed it like a 
 blind man : and now, I never looked upon a nobler tree. Now 
 would I give ten times the value of the timber, could I draw 
 that oak upon paper. I could as soon draw it up by the roots. 
 {Sits : takes letter from table.) Humph ! Clarence's letter. At 
 least I have succeeded there ; have saved a boy from the 
 ignominy of vulgar wedlock, and the man comes back to thank 
 me. {Enter Servant, gives card) " Mr. Goldthumb." Tlie 
 name is new to me ; show in the gentleman. {Exit Servant) 
 Poor Clarence.! He writes me quite cured. Ha ! ha ! Cupid's 
 a sorry U'avelling-companion. I've known him leave a lover at 
 the first post. 
 
 Enter Sbuvant and Goldthumb. Servant places chairs, and exit. 
 
 Gold. Your servant. Sir Gilbert. I take the freedom of a 
 neighbour to wait upon you. Perhaps you didn't know that I'd 
 hired Parsnip Hall ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. The glad intelligence is only now revealed to me. 
 Parsnip Hall is, doubtless, greatly honoured. (Aside: My ear 
 never yet deceived me ; he has the true counter-ring of a 
 shopkeeper.) 
 
 Gold. As I'm now pretty rich, my wife declares I must keep a 
 valet ; and you know what a wife is, Sir Gilbert. 
 
 Sir Gilb. I can guess — by vulgar report. 
 
 Gold. Women are all alike. When they're maids, they're mild 
 as rtilk : once make 'em wives, and they lean their backs against 
 their marriage certificates, and defy you. 
 
 Sir Gilh. And Mrs. Goldthumb illustrates this marriage truth 1 
 
 Gold. Never was woman fuller of illustrations. Not that she 
 always has her way ; for example, now, she'd drag me into 
 foreign parts, if I would. Bless you ! she talks as coolly of blue 
 Italy as of a blue teapot. 
 
 Sir Gilb. And she is not equally familiar with both ? 
 
 Gold. Heaven love you, no ! So, for a time, I'm come here to 
 Hampton ; as I'm determined, before we travel, to see everything 
 at home, — everything, from the top of Snowdon to the bottom of 
 a coal-pit. For, as the poet says, — 
 
 Sir Gilb. Poetry ! And does the master of Parsnip Hall 
 entertain the divine art 1
 
 94 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Gold. For more than thirty years I was np to my elbows in it. 
 (Aside : He hasn't heard that I was a truukmaker ?) And the 
 poet, speaking of wives, says — he says — ha ! I forget the lines, 
 but I remember the paper j^erfectly. 
 
 iS'ir Gilb. The frequent fate of poetry with some people : insen- 
 sible to its inspiration, they only dwell upon its rags. 
 
 Gold. Rags ! Oh, ha ! the paper. Yes, it can't be otherwise, 
 you know. {Aside : A very nice gentleman this.) Well, I was 
 going to say, before I quit England — 
 
 Sir Gilb. {Aside : I would he'd quit England first.) 
 
 Gold. I want to see all to be seen. For as you say in one of 
 your beautiful Parliament speeches — 
 
 Sir Gilb. My speeches ! 
 
 Gold. Ha ! Sir Gilbert ! they don't make such speeches now. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Is it possible 1 Have you met with my speeches ? 
 
 Gold. Upon my honour, you never published one that it didn't 
 somehow fall into my hands. 
 
 Sir Gilb. {Aside : This is strange — yet gratifying. Here have 
 I quitted Parliament in despair — valued my efforts as at best 
 painstaking failures, and still to find them touching the public 
 heart and — well, I feel 'tis not vanity to say, this is gratifying.) 
 
 Gold. Once a Parliament speech used to be like a beautiful 
 court suit ; with flowers at the skirts, flowers at the cuffs, and 
 flowers at the pocket-holes : now, it's a bit of Quaker's drab, not 
 fit for a gentleman to stand upright in. 
 
 Sir Gilb. The grace of ornament has, perhaps, given way to 
 what is called utility. Speeches now — 
 
 Gold. Oh, there's no life in 'em ; nothing stirring. You never 
 meet with a thunderbolt, or an eagle, or anything of that sort. 
 And then they're all so dry — at last, I wouldn't have 'em in the 
 house at any money, they — ha ! ha ! — they set all my people 
 drinking. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Ha ! ha I Mr. Goklthumb — I see you're a luimourist. 
 And you really have dipped into my little orations ? 
 
 Gold. Dipped in 'em ! I've hammered over 'em for hours. 
 And so, I think I know whole sentences of 'em. 
 
 Sir Gilb. {Aside : Now this might be a lesson to the impatience 
 of fame. Here is a man — uncultivated, perhaps, but of strong 
 natural powers — elevated, dignified, by what I have uttered ! 
 Truths, like seed, find their way into sti-ange places. There may 
 be thousands like this honest man, and I know nothing of 'em.) 
 
 Gold. Don't you recollect that speech of yours, with that 
 beautiful thing, where you speak of — Britannia majestically 
 sitting on her polished trident ?
 
 TIME WORKS "WONDERS. 95 
 
 Sir Gilb. Panlcn me : although I have been iu Parliament, I 
 hope I have never placed my country in so painful a position. 
 
 Gold Oh, I'll swear to Britannia and the trident too ; though, 
 perhaps, T may have put 'em wrong together. Ha ! yours were 
 beautiful speeches ! I've always said it ; 'twas a disgrace upon 
 the country you sold so few. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Sir ! 
 
 Gold. But you've one comfort — they've travelled, I can tell 
 you. Ha ! ha ! You may thank me for that. 
 
 Sir Gilb. (A.mle : An odd, familiar person.) Sir, whilst I 
 acknowledge your past patronage, may I know your present 
 business ? My time is seriously occupied. Every moment I 
 expect my nephew from abroad, and — 
 
 Gold. What ! Mr. Clarence, who ran away with the baker's 
 daughter ? Well, that was a close brush to the parson, wasn't 
 it ? I — without knowing it, to be sure — I had a finger in that 
 business. ^ 
 
 Sir Gilb. You ! How ? 
 
 Gold. 1 sold the girl the very trunks she went off with. 
 
 Sir Gilb. The trunks ! 
 
 Gold. The trunks. Best black leather, with brass nails. Ha ! 
 ha ! How oddly things come about ! Shall I tell you what 
 speeches they were lined with ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. Certainly not — I am not curious. (Aside : A trunk- 
 maker — the sexton of letters ! And I have travelled under his 
 auspices ! I cannot but laugh at myself finding such a patron !) 
 Pray, sir — not that I contemplate any new book — are you still in 
 the trade ? 
 
 Gold. Oh, no. Three years ago, some distant relation died — so 
 distant, I'd never heard of him — and one morning, I don't know 
 how it was, I woke, and, as I may say, found myself rolled up in 
 all his property. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Yes: fortune likes a jest. 
 
 Gold. Ecod ! fortune's made worse jokes iu her time, I can tell 
 you. And so — 
 
 Sir Gilb. And so, your business, sir, with me ? 
 
 Gold. That's it. My wife says I must, if only for ornament, 
 keep a valet. Now, there's a young man named Bantam, who 
 says he's lived with you. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Bantam ! 
 
 Gold. Nicholas Bantam : and tho' my wife insists I may 
 take Professor Ti-uifles' word for him, still I've come to you, to 
 ask if —
 
 TIME AVORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Enter Servant shou-ing in Clarence Norman, who 
 runs to Sir Gilbert. 
 
 Servant. LIr. Clarence Norman. [Exit. 
 
 Clarence. My dear, dear sir I 
 
 Sir Gilh. Clarence, welcome ; most heartily welcome ! So, five 
 years Lave left good gifts behind them : trust me, yes — for they 
 have made you still more like your father. 
 
 Clarence. Oh, sir ! I am so happy. I haven't been myself since 
 I jumped to land. I could have hugged everything English, even 
 the custom-house. 
 
 Gold. A noble sentiment, and worthy of a Briton ! I'm glad 
 to see you well, sir. Ha ! my dear boy, Felix used to talk a good 
 deal of you. 
 
 Clarence. Felix ! 
 
 Sir Gilb. {coldly) This is Mr. Goldthumb, the trunk-maker of 
 Oxford. 
 
 Clarence. I remember. And your son — a frank, noble, gene- 
 rous — 
 
 Gold. Don't, don't ! Praise him after that fashion, and you'll 
 
 kill me. 
 
 Sir Gilb. In your absence, Mr. Goldthumb has been afflicted 
 with a sudden fortune. 
 
 Gold. And Felix — dear boy ! — flung it about him as if he'd 
 been hand-iu-hand with luck all his life. He'd have made a beg- 
 gar of me, if he'd stayed here, but he's a wonderful young man ! 
 So I sent him— like a brute, an ogre as J am — my one boy ! my 
 only child ! — I sent him to Batavia to turn merchant ; for here 
 he found fine companions, got into high company, where young 
 men are eaten alive in a night, and their fathers lunched upon 
 in the morning. And so I sent him away, and — I — I haven't 
 slept well since ; and — another time, if you please. Sir Gilbert, 
 I'll call and — I ask your pardon, but seeing your nephew come 
 home, it's brought thoughts that — dear Felix ! your father's a 
 brute — yes Felix — a brute, a brute ! {Exit. 
 
 Sir Gilb. So, Clarence, this is the way you keep your 
 promise 1 
 
 Clarence. My promise, sir 1 
 
 Sir Gilh. That you would die — die in a week ? At Dover you 
 were fast sinking — at Paris lower still — at Geneva, the doctors 
 left you, and — 
 
 Clarence. I recovered from that moment. At Eome, my nerves 
 were quite restored. 
 
 Sir Gilh. Oh, your letter for new supplies convinced me of thai
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 97 
 
 f;ict — I never saw a bolder hand. Clarence, from twenty to five- 
 and-twenty, is often the seed-time of our future life : 'tis from 
 ■what ~fe scatter then, we gather to the last corn or thistles. 
 
 Clarence. Then, sir, as my corn-sowing is just over, I hope I 
 may expect, even at fourscore, what farmers call an average crop. 
 There may be a few wild oats, perhaps, but — 
 
 Si}- Gilb. But not the multiplying miseries of a boy's marriage 
 — of unequal wedlock. 
 
 Clarence. True, sii\ I thank you for my deliverance. 
 
 Sir Gilb. At this moment, had you lost yourself by that squalid 
 match, what might have been your condition ? 
 
 Clarence, Oh, sir ! I 've never looked upon cherubs in a picture 
 gallery without thinking of my escape. Dreadful thought ! I 
 might have been called grandfather at forty. Since you have 
 spoken of the wench — and I can now laugh heartily at the 
 delusion — you must own, sir, she was pretty ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. It is possible. I never saw her. 
 
 Clarence. Never saw her ! Yes — she was pretty. Pretty ! 
 Raphael — Titian — Guido — I have seen their best handiwork ! 
 Daubs, sir — daubs, to that heaven's painting, — the baker's 
 daughter. 
 
 Sir Gilb. You are enthusiastic. 
 
 Clarence. Oh, pardon me, sii- ! Enthusiasm may be necessary 
 to people who drudge for bread, but 'tis much too strong an 
 emotion for a gentleman. I believe, sir, such was your precept ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. I — I forget : perhaps it was. . 
 
 Clarence. I suppose the wench has found a husband 1 
 
 Sir Gilb. I think I have heard as much. Man-ied, I believe to 
 one of her father's journeymen. 
 
 Clarence. Married ! And, doubtless, serves hot rolls at eight in 
 the morning ! Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Gilb. Your first danger past, I hope you are now armed 
 for life ? 
 
 Clarence. With the best coat of mail — indifference. 
 
 Sir Gilb. You must marry. 
 
 Clarence. I return home prepared for whatever may befall me. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Lady Elizabeth, whom you slighted, still remains 
 constant. She has, you know, bii'th and wealth. 
 
 Clarence. Very well, sir. Make an early apjiointment with the 
 lady, and I'll meet her at the church. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Come Clarence, this apathy is a little feigned. 
 
 Clarence. By no means, sir : only let the lady be rich and well- 
 born, and my faith in the equity of nature is such, that one 
 woman must be quite as good as another. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Then you think nothing of the heart ? 
 
 H
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Clarence. Pardon me, sir, a great deal. I have seen many speci- 
 mens of it beautifully prepared in the museum at Padua ; and I 
 think the heart rather an extraordinary organ. 
 
 Sir Gilb. {Aside : Is this real, or only satire on my past 
 counsels V) Nay, I've just heai"d yovx acknowledge something more 
 of the heart than its anatomy. For instance, its love of country ; 
 even towards its native custom-house. 
 
 Clarence. Oh, I confess to all the public virtues — they are gen- 
 tlemanly, and leave one plenty of leisure. I was a rash enthu- 
 siastic boy, all for love in a chimney-corner : but you have taught 
 me the better dignity of life. Enthusiasm is a mountebank, and 
 mere love, a very paujier. 
 
 Sir Gilb. I was assured, Clarence, I should earn your thanks. 
 Yet, from unbelief you must not rush to bigotry. Had you 
 married where you j^urposed, I had disowned you as a traitor both 
 to rank and fortune. {Here Florentine and Miss Tucker are 
 see7i through the window to enter the Park. Florentine sits 
 and prepares to sketch.) Nevertheless, nature has her holiest 
 claims. You have misjudged me, sadly misjudged me, if you 
 have ever thought I meant otherwise. No ; nature — {Turns 
 towards xvindow and sees Florentine.) — By heaven's she's there 
 again ! 
 
 Clarence. Who, sir ? Nature ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. Yes — yes ; Nature — beautiful Nature, with face and 
 form, and motion. — {Aside: This time I am resolved — I will 
 accost her ?) And with a smile would melt a hermit's frost and — 
 
 Clarence. Hermits may safely melt. They've rarely rank or 
 fortune. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Tnie, Clarence ; very true. {Aside : Why did he 
 not arrive an hour hence 1) Why — your pardon, Clarence ; I 
 blush for my inhospitality. You must be fatigued — must need 
 refreshment 1 
 
 Clarence. Oh, sir ! the dinner hour is near, I take it — I can 
 wait till then. 
 
 Sir Gilb. I wiU not have it so. Nay, I am despotic ; you must 
 eat. {Aside : A storm threatens ; and still she lingers.) {Rings 
 bell — Enter Servant.) Let refreshment be served and instantly, 
 for Mr. Norman. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Clarence. In truth, sir, I have no appetite. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Never tell me — I can see you are fatigued — ^you must 
 go and eat. {Urging him off.) You need it. 
 
 Clarence. If you think it — 
 
 Sir Gilb. Think it ! I am sure of it. Nature requires it. 
 
 Clarence. Then I obey : for you, sir, have painted nature in 
 such radiant colours, who — who should resist her ? [Exit.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 99 
 
 Sir Gilb. I am determined once more to look at her, for merest 
 curiosity. Still the sky blackens — still she stays. No — she rises : 
 she :' J '^one ! I cannot — must not follow her. ( Thunder 
 and storm without.) Thank heaven for that ! {Storm increases 
 violentli/) Again ! {Thunder.) Now, I were a savage not to fly 
 to her. \_Exit through folding glass doors in centre. 
 
 Enter Clarence {speaking as he enters.) 
 
 Sir Gilbert, does the house stand yet ? Gone ! {Approachei 
 windoiv.) Of a sudden, a most poetic tempest ! The sheeted rain 
 rebounds and steams from the earth. How the trees toss their 
 huge arms, as though rejoicing in the storm ! 'Tis well I was 
 housed ere this ! How terrible the lightning, yet how beautiful ! 
 With what serenity a man looks at a tempest from his fire-side ! 
 The hospitality of a hawthorn hedge alters his philosophy. 
 What ! My uncle ! bearing a lady, — another following ? 
 
 Enter Sir Gilbert, carrying Florentine — Miss Tucker 
 following. 
 
 Sir Gilb. A chaii- ! [Places Florentine in chair. 
 
 Miss T. She's killed— she's killed ! 
 
 Sir Gilb. No— it is but terror at the lightning — nothing more. 
 
 Clarence. {Aside : What miracle is this ! 'Tis she— 'tis Iloren- 
 tine ! Coidd dreams have shown her half so beautiful !) 
 
 Sir Gilb. She stirs ! (^sic^e ; What more than loveliness !) She 
 recovers. 
 
 Miss T. My dear, dear child ! 
 
 Floren. I am well — quite well. It was but the flash that 
 frightened me. Now, I recollect all. {Rises with difficulty : to 
 Sir Gilbert.) I thank you, sir — greatly thank you. 
 
 [Turns ; recognises Clarence ; after an effort to speak, falls in chair. 
 
 Miss T. She's dying ! 
 
 Sir Gilb. All will be well. Seek assistance— fly— fly ! 
 
 [Sir Gilbert supports Florentine — iliss Tdcker and Clarence 
 stand on the other side. 
 
 n ^
 
 100 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene — Apartment in Florentine's Cottage. {Garden seen through 
 window?) The scene furnished with elegant simplicity. Pictures 
 on walls — loith statues, harp, &c. Sc, variously disposed. Dis- 
 covered, Bantam looking at pictures, dc. Geick^^ folhiving him. 
 
 Chicken. If my mistress, or Miss Tucker should come now, — 
 if you won't go away, do come down stairs. 
 
 Ban. Oh, Chicken ! This your thanks ! Without me, what 
 would you have done with the thunder 1 
 
 Chich. Only come out of this room ! Miss Florentine is so 
 particular ! And oh, dear ! where she can have been all this 
 dreadful storm ! 
 
 Ban. Pictures and statues ! Pretty nicknacks for a baker's 
 daughter ! 
 
 Chick. Bantam, do come. 
 
 Ban. Well, I will ; and I say, — I saw a lobster as big as a life- 
 guardsman in the larder : we'll have that for supper. 
 
 Chick. That lobster ! Miss Tucker's lobster ! Brought from 
 London for her by the cai-rier ? 
 
 Ban. Hav'n't you got a cat in the house ? 
 
 Chick. To be sure we have. 
 
 Ban. Well, — can't she have stole it ? What's the use of cats 
 to poor servants, if they ar'n't to bear a trifle of that sort ? 
 
 Chick. Go away: you're just the wicked creature people 
 warned me of. 
 
 Ban. You don't deserve a sweetheart. You little thought, 
 when you was looking out of the window an hour ago, to see 
 me in the road ; as if I'd tumbled right out of the skies afore 
 you. 
 
 Chick. Well, I leas startled. We're so dull here — so any- 
 body's welcome. When the school broke, I should have lost my 
 place if Miss Florentine, when she came to her money on her 
 father's death, hadn't taken care of me, — and so we've been in 
 Wales, and Devonshire, and I don't know where. Now I hope 
 we're settled ; though we've only been here a fortnight. 
 
 Ban. And what luck, that I should get a place near you ! so 
 that now, we can take up the love where we left it off five years 
 ago.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 101 
 
 Chick. As for love, Mr. Bantam, isn't it a lot of nonsense, 
 after all ? 
 
 Bon. To think how wicked people get when they live alone ! 
 Nonsense, Chicken ! Let's walk and talk among the lilies and 
 jessamy there. The sky's blue again ; blue as your precious 
 eyes : and the rain-drops hang upon the leaves, as bright as the 
 diamonds I wish I was rich enough to give you — 
 
 Chick. {Aside : Well, if he hasn't a tongue like any mermaid !) 
 Ban. And the roses as red as any lobster, and as sweet as — 
 
 [ Violent hnocLing without. 
 Chick. My mistress ! my mistress ! If she should see you — 
 Ban. Lay it on the thunder. [Retires. 
 
 Enter Felix Goldthdmb and Bessy, in travelling costume. 
 
 Felix. {Speaking as he etiters.) Your lady not at home, eh ? 
 Nevermind. {Throws himself into a chair^ lam. 
 
 Bessy. {Sinking in chair.) Now I do feel I'm really in England. 
 Oh, I'm in such raptures ! Felix, dear, why don't you speak 
 to me ] 
 
 Felix. I can't, dearest ; I'm in such raptures too. 
 
 Chick. {Approaching Bessy.) It's impossible it should be, and 
 yet if it isn't ! 
 
 Bessy. Chicken, my dear, good Chicken ! 
 
 Chick. Miss Bessy Tulip ! And come back from Indy ! 
 
 Bessy. Chicken, I'll tell you two secrets. I haven't been to 
 Indy, and I'm no longer Miss Tulip ! 
 
 Chick, La ! what has happened, then ? 
 
 Bessy. You see. Chicken, we both touched at the Cape of Good 
 Hope ; and, — and — 
 
 Felix. "Where we touched, we married. 
 
 Ban. {Coming down) I'll run and tell this news at Parsnip 
 Hall. How your old father — 
 
 Felix. {Seizing him.) Scoundrel ! 
 
 Ban. Scoundrel ! La, Mr. Felix, don't you know me ? 
 
 Felix. Don't you hear, I do 1 What's this of my father ? 
 
 Ban. He's hard by ; just took Parsnip Hall. He's hearty and 
 happy as a king ; and what's more, I'm his valet. 
 
 Felix. And if you'd hold your place, you'll hold your tongue. 
 Let my fother know that I'm in England, and he shall know 
 something of the life, character, and behaviour of — 
 
 Ban. I'll know nothing of you, sir ; and all I ask of you is, — 
 do me the same kindness. 
 
 Felix. You couldn't make a wiser bargain. But my mother — 
 tell me — is .she well 1 
 
 Ban. Well ! If she isn't well, who ought to be well ] There
 
 102 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 never was so dear a woman. You see, I just stept in here out of 
 the way of the thunder. Good evening, ma'am ; good evening, 
 Mr. Felix ; and now you're well on dry land again, a happy 
 honeymoon to both of you. [Exit. 
 
 Felix. Ha ! ha ! A little past the time, eh, Bessy ? 
 
 Bessj/. Well, I don't know. I'm sure a honeymoon at sea 
 should go for nothing. But where — where can Florentine be 1 
 
 Chick. I begin to be frightened. She and Miss Tucker went 
 out — 
 
 Felix. Miss Tucker ! She's never here 1 
 
 Chick. Yes, indeed, she is. 
 
 Bessj/. Miss Tucker ! "Well, though I'm a woman grown, 
 married and all, I do shiver at her name. And her temper, 
 Chicken 1 
 
 Chick. Once, I said it couldn't be worse : but now, I answer 
 for nothing. {Knocking without.) Here they are ! And, oh ! 
 lud ! come home in such a beautiful carriage. 
 
 Besnj/. My dear, dear Flory ! 
 
 Felix. Stay : as Miss Tucker's in the house, caution is neces- 
 sary. She may visit at Parsnip Hall, and might, perhaps, 
 betray us. 
 
 Bessy. Perhaps ! 'Twould add ten years to her life to do it. 
 So, Chicken, put us somewhere. 
 
 Chick. Here, in this room. 
 
 Bessy. Then whisper to your mistress we are here : and quickly, 
 too, or I shall break from my hiding-place. 
 
 [Chicken shows Bessy and Felix into side room. 
 
 Enter Florentine and Miss Tucker. 
 
 Floren. At last, we are at home. 
 
 Miss T. Home ! Well to be sure it isn't for me to speak ; but 
 what a dungeon the house looks after that palace of a place ! 
 
 Floren. A palace of enchantment, I began to think — 'twas so 
 difficult to move you. 
 
 Miss T. All anxiety for your condition : but such is always 
 my reward. 
 
 Floren. Forgive me ; doubtless, it was so. 'Twas weak and 
 foolish in me. I would I had your nerves in a thunder-storm. 
 
 MissT. Don't mistake me. I was quite as terrified as you ; 
 but then, I know my condition. People who have no home, no 
 fireside of their own, have no business to keep anything like 
 nei-ves. People so placed, should never think of themselves, 
 never. — {Aside to Chicken : Did Higgins bring the lobster 1) 
 
 Chick. Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Miss T. {Still aside : And the cura§oa 1)
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 103 
 
 Chick. In a bottle ? — Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Miss T. They should think themselves quite out of the world, 
 or or ly so much in it, as other people choose to let 'em. They 
 should never presume to give advice, either ; else you'd have 
 taken mine and staid longer at the baronet's. (Chicken whispers 
 to Florentine 05 the speech is continued.) And only to think it 
 should be Sir Gilbert Norman himself ! What a prince of a man ! 
 And then the young gentleman — I wonder who he was ! How 
 he stared at you, and how polite he was to me ; and then how he 
 ran away from both of us ! And then what a paradise of a 
 carriage to send us home in ! Well, I declare I might as well 
 speak to — but I beg your pardon; people who live in other 
 people's houses have no right to speak at all. 
 
 Floren. {Aside to CmcK^Tn) There, you say 1 What unhoped 
 delifht ! [Exit into room to Bessy and Felix. 
 
 Miss T. Come here, girl. Don't you think I'm in your way 
 in this house ? 
 
 Chick. Mustn't always say what one thinks, ma'am. 
 
 Miss T. Yes I am. Oh ! I heard you, hissing your whispers 
 into Miss Florentine's ear ; hissing like a domestic cockatrice. 
 
 Chick. I'm nothing of the sort, ma'am ; and I don't know what 
 you mean. \Exit. 
 
 Miss T. That I can't even abuse a servant without being 
 answered ! I never felt what poverty really was before. 
 
 {Re-enter Chicken.) 
 
 Well, — what more impudence ? 
 
 Chick. A gentleman. 
 
 Miss T. Who did he ask for ? 
 
 Chick. He asked for the young lady, ma'am. 
 
 Miss T. Show him in. Do you hear 1 
 
 Chick. Very well, ma'am. Only don't say it's my mistake, 
 that's all. [Exit. 
 
 Miss T. Now that's a creature I took from the poor-house ; 
 snatched her, I may say, from oakum, and she — Is it a vision, or 
 the baronet himself ? He changed white and red, when Floren- 
 tine fainted. Men — I know 'em — men don't turn all colours for 
 nothing. 
 
 Enter Sir Gilbert {carrying portfolio). 
 
 Sir Gilb. I am an intruder, madam, though I — {Aside: I 
 don't see her)— though I — 
 
 Miss T. {Aside : He stammers. Then he must mean some- 
 thing.) 
 
 Sir Gilb. I trust, I bear my apology. How charming this
 
 104 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 retreat ! Pardou me ; but I cannot repress what I feel to be 
 a rightful homage to the beautiful. 
 
 Miss T. Yes, Sir Gilbert ; it is a pretty little cage enough. 
 But plain, — very plain. 
 
 Sir Gilb. To me, more beautiful. I am not the votary of taste, 
 when, queenly and magnificent, she sits in perfumed state — a 
 Cleopatra at a revel ; but when, as here, like an Arcadian 
 shepherdess, she looks and breathes a natural sweetness : her 
 fairest beauty, form — her bi^ightest jewels, flowers. 
 
 Miss T. (Aside : What a charming man ! I've heard nothing 
 like him since TruflJes.) 
 
 Sir Gilb. Your fair young friend — (Aside : where can she be 1) 
 I mark the rich, yet simple wisdom of her mind in all around me. 
 
 Miss T. Why, the dear girl was lucky in her governess. — I 
 knew the lady. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Yet, madam, education could not of itself bestow — 
 
 3fiss T. Your pai'don, Sir Gilbert — the lady taught every- 
 thing, and my young friend learut all the extras. True humility, 
 for instance, and how to step into a carriage. (Aside : That's a 
 hint.) 
 
 Sir Gilb. A wise governess, to educate for all accidents. For 
 if, in this vale of tribulation, a young lady should miss the 
 carriage, why true humility may shed a grace even about — 
 
 a gig. 
 
 3Iiss T. I vow, you deserve to be rewarded with daughters, if 
 only — 
 
 Sir Gilb. Madam, I am content with deserving, and ask for no 
 reward. Pardon me ; you are not related to the young lady ? 
 
 Miss T. I can't say — quite related. 
 
 Sir Gilb. ( Unconsciously) Thank heaven ! 
 
 Miss T. Sir ! 
 
 Sir GiJh. Ha ! ha ! I was about to say, thank heaven ! though 
 you were not related, I owe myself a debtor — a debtor to thunder. 
 (Aside : I don't see the logic of my apology, but 'twill pass.) 
 
 Miss T. For myself, I vow I shall never again hear thunder 
 without blessing it ; and then dear Florentine — sweet, unprotected 
 girl ! — will never forget it. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Unprotected ! Such beauty — such gentleness — such 
 sensibility ! 
 
 Miss T. Ha, Sir Gilbert ! That's it— that's where we feel 
 our danger. 
 
 Sir Gilb. And one whose right and pride of birth — I say, 
 whose bii'th — 
 
 Miss T. Just so. (Aside : Not a syllable from me about the 
 baker.)
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 105 
 
 Sir Gilh. By the way, I bave au odd smattering of the genea- 
 logies of my country. Only give me the father of the lady, and I 
 doubt not — if they go so far — I'll name her ancestors, aye to 
 the Conquest. 
 
 3[iss T. To be sure you would. Her father ! Well, he was a 
 man ! The poor who came to him for bread is unknown. 
 
 Sir Gilh. Ha ! The lordly hospitality of an ancient pedigree. 
 
 Miss T. Yes, 'twas just the same with his father and his grand- 
 father befoi'e him. (Aside: For they were both in the business.) 
 
 Sir Gilb. Oh, who could mistake her inborn dignity — the 
 unacquired grace — the gentleness, so cordial, yet refined ! That 
 harmony of manner — the natural music of high-born loveliness ! 
 
 Miss T. (Aside : If that doesn't sound like marriage -bells, I 
 never heard the ringers. In the garden he may speak out.) 
 Excuse me, Sii' Gilbert, I have to feed my little family. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Madam ! 
 
 3/iss T. Gold fish. Sir Gilbert ; gold fish. Pretty things ! So 
 tame and so intelligent ! You should see 'em swallow a live fly 
 from my fingers ! 'Tis, I may say, quite a treat ! 
 
 Sir Gilb. For the fly, madam, or the fish 1 But with your 
 leave, I'll see this banquet. (Aside : And so learn more of my 
 fair mystery.) 
 
 Miss T. Beautiful creatures ! Florentine doats on 'em. But 
 the female heart must love something. 'Tis the hard penalty of 
 woman. 
 
 Sir Gilb. True : yet as woman mostly puts half the penalty 
 upon us, her sentence can't be so hard to bear after all. 
 
 Miss T. Why, people do live under it. Come, Sir Gilbert. 
 You'll see the pretty creatures flash and dart in the pond, like — 
 like bright hopes in a lover's brain. Ha ! you should see 
 Florentine feed 'em. 
 
 Sir Gilb. With flies, ma'am 1 
 
 Miss T. No — with crumbs. They come at her sweet voice, 
 and then, before she feeds 'em, she does coax 'em so. Sweet girl ! 
 I've made her promise herself a day's angling. 
 
 Sir Gilb. What ! After the coaxing and the crumbs ? 
 
 Miss T. Why not ? Somebody must catch 'em. 
 
 \Ex\t into garden. 
 
 Sir Gilb. (Going — pauses) There's a cold, mortal purpose 
 about this woman I don't like. Why did I come ? Why do I 
 stay ? I half begin to feel common cause with the gold fish. 
 Humph ! To be coaxed awhile, and then caught ! There's a 
 serious history veiled in this ; but man is proud, and will not be 
 warned by little fishes. 'Tis well I feel nothing more than 
 curious in the girl. Sweet Florentine — poor gold fish ! I see it
 
 lOG TIME WORKS WONDEES. 
 
 all, and can apply the practice. First the coaxing — then the 
 crumbs — and then — the hook ! [Exit into garden. 
 
 Enter Chicken and Clarence. 
 
 Clarence. "Wrong to admit me ! My old confederate, who 
 would di'op a letter — 
 
 Chick. Don't if you please, sir : that's five years ago — a sin 
 I'd quite forgotten. And to quite forget a wickedness, seems 
 almost as good as if we'd never done it. 
 
 Clarence. But say ; shall I be really so unwelcome to the lady 
 of the house 1 
 
 Chick. Why, she sees nobody. 
 
 Clarence. (Looking off.) Wlio's that ? That man, passing to 
 the next room 1 Sees nobody ! 
 
 Chick. Nobody but that gentleman. 
 
 Clarence. Tliat gentleman % 
 
 Chick. (Aside : Now he 's in a pucker : that's his business.) 
 
 Clarence. And who is that gentleman % Why do you shake 
 your head ? Come, sweet Chicken ; once you'd tell me every- 
 thing. 
 
 Chick. Five years ago, sir. I 'm changed, like my mistress. 
 Bless you, we're not the same thing. 
 
 Clarence. Indeed % 
 
 Chick. True. Miss Florentine has lived upon books and pic- 
 tures, and studied so, that, for all her good-nature, now and then 
 there's something awful about her. Lud ! I hear her step ! 
 You must say you broke into the house, if you please, sir ; for 
 if— 
 
 Clarence. Certainly ; since my fate's so desperate, felony can't 
 hurt me. (Exit Chicken.) Why, what a temple of taste is 
 here ! And is this the school-girl — the homely prettiness that 
 caught my school-boy heart 1 Yes {takes out portrait), here she 
 is ; with her dove-eyes and cherry lips ! She comes I and did 
 she bring the ague with her, I could not tremble more. [Retires. 
 
 Enter Florentine. 
 
 Floren. Dear Bessy ! A wife ! How strangely wedded, too ! 
 — and still the same blithe, merry creature ! And now her very 
 happiness makes me sad. (Pauses.) No — he never loved me. 
 Truly was I warned — 'twas a boy's folly, and the man would 
 scoff at it. My five years' dream is ended — life is hopeless, real. 
 Yet was it blissful even so to dream ! To follow him through 
 all his wanderings — to look upon the same sweet scenes — to feel 
 with him the grand, the beautiful — to seem in all his steps an 
 unseen spirit at his side, fancy lending pinions to the heart. The
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 107 
 
 dream is past, I saw it in his glance — his cold and courteous 
 look. 
 
 Clar:nce. (Aside, coming down : My lips seem turned to ice.) 
 Madam. 
 
 Floren. (Surprised, yet with self-control.) Mr. Norman. 
 
 Clarence. (Aside : So ceremonious ! But I have neglected— 
 ■wronged her ; and her proud eye tells me so.) It seems we 
 meet much changed. 
 
 Floren. Oh, sir ! the magic of five long years ! "We paint 
 Time with glass and scythe — should he not carry Harlequin's 
 own wand 1 for oh, indeed, Time's changes ! 
 
 Clarence. Are they, in truth, so very great ? 
 
 Floren. Greater than Harlequin's ; but then Time works them 
 with so grave a face, that even the hearts he alters doubt the 
 change, though often turned from flesh to very stone. 
 
 Clarence. Time has his bounteous changes too ; and sometimes 
 to the sweetest bud will give an unimagined beauty in the 
 flower. Judge me, madam, by this and by your mirror, is't 
 not so ? [Showing her portrait. 
 
 Floren. (Taking it.) What — who is this ? 
 
 Clarence. The lady's name was Florentine. 
 
 Floren. Now I look again, I think I remember her. A silly 
 school-girl — yes, I know those giddy eyes, and bread-and-butter 
 lips ; a foolish child, that had the side-ache once, and thought it 
 love. 
 
 Clarence. "Has time, then, taught a truer knowledge of the 
 symptoms 1 
 
 Floren. Why, sir, we women live and learn. 
 
 Clarence. (Aside : Her frozen speech — her cold, keen look — 
 the scorn that creeps about her lip — all assure me I am remem- 
 bered only to be spurned.) 
 
 Floren. And, sir, for this I thank you. 
 
 ClareiKC. For this ? 
 
 Floren. This painted memory of an idle child. I have long 
 expected its return. Still, sir, I thank you. 
 
 Clarence. (Aside : She keeps it ! Plain — plain ! Each word 
 —each glance declares her heart irrevocably gone. Passion 
 tears me — yet I '11 be calm — calm as apathy.) For the picture, 
 madam, I have in truth been too loug its unwortliy possessor. 
 Be my apology the hurry — the distraction of foreign travel. I 
 have — 
 
 Floren. Never name it. Delicious Italy ! all recollection — all 
 sense of the poor vulgarities of life — its cold and commonplace 
 observances — all, I know, is forgotten — lost in the sweet oblivion 
 of its very air ! There, indeed, the soul feeds upon the beautiful
 
 108 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 — loveliness encoinposses it — unknown melodies breathe into it 
 — it mounts, expands ; and all the coarser ties that trammelled, 
 it are lost — consumed in the awakened flame tha|, pui-ifies it. 
 
 Clarence. Florentine ! Madam ! 
 
 Floren. And for the heart, however out of tune — wearied and 
 sick — love-woiinded past all hope — 'tis very, very strange how 
 soon it gains its health, and beats an instrument of happiest 
 harmony. I 'm sure you found it so ; and thus, how could you 
 think of school-boy follies — idle bits of ivory and paint % 
 
 Clarence. {A side : What spirit is awakened in her ?) Is it 
 possible — have you, since we parted, been in Italy ? 
 
 Floren. I think I know its every city, every statue, every 
 picture. 
 
 Clarence. Wlien — how did you travel ? 
 
 Floren. Fancy — fancy is a good broomstick, and will carry a 
 bold rider to the moon. Oh, since last we met, I 've had the 
 strangest flights ! But they are past — I am now on earth again ; 
 for my remaining days, a sad and sober huswife. Lud ! that 
 word rebukes me for my idleness. {Showing picture.) This 
 delivered, have you any further business ? 
 
 Clarence. No — yes — no ! {Aside : She looks me to the door !) 
 Madam, your pardon for this long intrusion. {Going.) I fear 
 I have trespassed on the privilege of the gentleman, who — 
 
 Floren. Gentleman ! gentleman ! 
 
 Miss Tucker runs on from Garden. . 
 
 Miss T. He's here— he's here! {To Clarence: Ten thou- 
 sand pardons, sir — I didn't see you.) 
 
 Clarence. Nay, madam, 'tis I should ask forgiveness. Five 
 years since — 'twas a boy's prank — I spirited this fair lady, then 
 a thoughtless school-girl, from your roof. 
 
 Miss T. You ! And it is you, sir '] {Aside : When his uncle's 
 all but spoken out, was there ever such ill-luck !) You, who are 
 the person who ruined my school — who destroyed my pai'lour- 
 boarders — who demolished my fireside — who would have mar- 
 ried this imsuspecting lamb ? 
 
 Clarence. For which error accept my deepest penitence. 
 
 Floren. Yes ; for your sake we are both sorry for it, but 
 must even laugh heartily at the folly now. Eh, sir ? Ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! 
 
 Clarence. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Floren. Ha ! ha ! ha ! The gentleman has returned me what 
 I 've so long wished for — see, my school-girl picture. 
 
 Miss T. {Taking it) It is ! {Aside : And this milk-and-water 
 face could plan an elopement ! After all, at every time of life
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 109 
 
 we are wonderful creatures !) Well, 'twas silly — foolish — like 
 boy and girl : but you both really laugh at it now 1 
 
 Flore. i. Most heartily. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Miss T. Tliat 's right ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 {They continue laughing — Clarence vnth great effort laughs too. 
 
 Clarence. {Aside : I shall choke !) Ladies, fare ye well. 
 
 [Hm-ries off. Florentine sinJcs into a chair. 
 
 Miss T. Bless me ! why, you 're pale as parchment ! 
 
 Floren. I do believe I suffer more from laughter than others 
 do from grief. And then I have laughed so vehemently ! In a 
 moment I shall be quite well. But 'twas so ridiculous ! As he 
 stood here, my thoughts went five years back ; and I saw 
 myself a forward, unreflecting chit — a baby runaway, going — 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! — to the chui'ch to be married. Ha ! ha ! and he, 
 too, was so di^erent ! Ha ! ha ! Then a passionate, love- 
 begone boy, and' to-day, so self-sustained, so calm, so very — XQvy 
 gentlemanly. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Miss T. Well enough. (Florentine laughs hysterically) There 
 — there — you '11 kill yourself with mirth. {Aside : I do n't much 
 like that laugh. It sounds no more like the true thing, than a 
 bad half-crown rings like a good one.) Now, I do insist — that 
 is, I beg — for people who live in other people's houses should 
 never insist on anything — I beg you '11 listen to me. 
 
 Floren. Go on. I — I will be grave — ha ! ha ! ha ! — quite 
 grave — quite. 
 
 Miss T. Sir Gilbert Norman's here. 
 
 Floren. Here ! 
 
 Miss T. He brought home your portfolio left in the park. 
 Poor man ! he had no servant to send it by, of course. Floren- 
 tine, sweet girl, can you see nothing in that portfolio 1 
 
 Floren. What should I see ? 
 
 Miss T. Three things most precious to the heart of woman : 
 a fortune — a title — and a husband. There's all human bhss in 
 a few syllables. 
 
 Floren. Fortune — title — husband ! 
 
 Miss T. He's now in the garden. When I told him how you 
 loved the gold fish, the dear man caught flies for 'em directly. 
 And there was nothing in that % Oh, no ! I tell you the 
 matter's as plain as a wedding-ring ; you may be Lady Norman 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Floren. Lady Norman ! 
 
 Miss T. The man doats upon you : I know it — for when he 
 talks about you, he looks so sweetly stupid. Lady Norman ! 
 Now, if you'd married his nephew, after all you might never 
 have had fortune or title. In his old age, the uncle might have
 
 110 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 taken a young wife, and then the title and all gone to some 
 wi-etched little interloper in long clothes. And even if it hadn't 
 it's never comfortable waiting for dead men's shoes— they so 
 often pinch one when one gets 'em. But at once, and without any 
 doubt at all, to be Lady Norman ! 
 
 Moren. {Aside : It would be great revenge.) 
 
 Miss T. And then that carriage ! A perfect heaven. 
 
 Floren. {Aside : Sweet revenge.) 
 
 Miss T. Not that I should ever think of riding in it. No : 
 it 's enough for people who live upon other people, to be allowed 
 to walk, 
 
 Floren. And Sir Gilbert 's here ? 
 
 Miss T. Under the great acacia, I promised to send you to 
 him, 
 
 Floren. Send me ! 
 
 Miss T. All for your good. I 've heard that Cupid 's bolder in 
 the open air. So, if he should speak out, you '11 say yes ? So 
 sweet a man ! and did you see the gold upon his liveries 1 And 
 when you marry, I've but one prayer— let me be bridesmaid, 
 and I die content. 
 
 Floren. I changed that promise with dear Bessy ; and she's 
 come as though to claim it. 
 
 Miss T. Come ! 
 
 Floren. She's now in the house— come from India. But never 
 fear ; I 've lost my bridesmaid— she's already married ! 
 
 Miss T. To whom 1 
 
 Floren. You shall know that secret by-and-by : married to a 
 husband, rich as the sea. 
 
 Miss T. Eich ! Well, there was always something about that 
 little girl I loved dearly. 
 
 Bessy runs in. 
 
 Bessy. My dear Flory ! where do you hide yourself ? {Curtsey- 
 ing gravely) Miss Tucker ! 
 
 Miss T. {Embracing her). Darling Bessy ! It brings the tears 
 to my eyes to see you. 
 
 Bessy. {Aside : That's nothing but right. It used to be my 
 
 fate.) 
 
 Miss T. And you, the little thing I taught to stitch— cross- 
 stitch and herring-bone ! You to be married ! But you were 
 always a wonderful child for learning ! Come, you must teU 
 
 me all, 
 
 I7oren. Yes, all. {Aside to Bessy : Eemember your story. In 
 
 the meantime, I '11 — ) 
 Miss T. Go— go and feed the gold-fish. They want you—
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. Ill 
 
 they're dying for you. The darling creatures ! One of 'em 
 especially be tender to— you know the one ? He 's such a gold- 
 fish ! 
 
 Floren. But, after all, only for sport — ha ! ha ! only for sport. 
 
 [Exit into garden, 
 
 Bessy. Sport ! Why she's never so cruel as to catch 'em with 
 hooks? 
 
 Miss T. Oh, for such fish it's no matter how, so they are 
 caught. And as for cruelty, the fish I mean is of a sort that 
 rather likes it. But, my sweet lamb, you're married ] And 
 your husband's rich ? 
 
 Bessy. Kich ! you can hardly see him for his money. 
 
 Miss T. What a blessing ! And who, and where is he ? 
 
 Bessy. That's a secret, but you shall know it ; for when did I 
 ever keep anything from you 1 And then what do you think 
 I've brought you ? So superb ! Only guess. 
 
 Miss T. You were always a dear babe. Is it diamonds ? 
 
 Bessy. Better than diamonds. Something to love. 
 
 Miss T. I think, if I was tried, I could love diamonds. But 
 what is it i 
 
 Bessy. Such a parrot ! A gi-ey one— as sensible as any 
 Christian. It swears a little, to be sure — 
 
 Miss T. Swears ! 
 
 Bessy. But then it's omy m Portuguese ; oh, you '11 be such 
 company together ! 
 
 Enter Felix. 
 
 Felix. Madam, your servant. 
 
 Bessy. {Aside to him : If, now, she snould know you !) 
 
 Felix. {Aside to her : Stick to your story, she '11 not know me. 
 She hasn't seen me thrice siuce I was breeched.) 
 
 Bessy. {Aside to him : La, Felix.) 
 
 Miss T. Do I behold your husband — that happy man ? 
 
 Bessy. Oh, dear no. He belongs to the ship. 
 
 Miss T. Ha ! the ship that brought you over. What was it 
 called ? 
 
 Bessy. The — the Honeymoon. The gentleman was the mate. 
 
 Felix. Yes, madam ; in the Honeymoon I was only the mate : 
 from the Honeymoon I hope some day to get first in command. 
 
 Miss T. It's only natural, sir, to expect it. 
 
 Bessy. He was kind enough to see me here ; for my dear hus- 
 band, directly he landed, was obliged to go to York. {Aside to 
 her : You shall know all about it.) {To him : And, sir, as to our 
 luggage at the docks, and that dear parrot, when can we get 'em ?) 
 
 Felix. Doubtless, to-morrow. Ha ma'am ! such a parrot ! No
 
 112 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 single woman with that parrot need marry. The bird has all the 
 talk of a husband — 
 
 3Iiss T. But doesn't it swear at one % 
 
 Felix. I said, madam, has all the talk of a husband, with no 
 other fault. Oh, you'd dote upon him I 
 
 Miss T. I can't tell. Bessy, 'twas only last week they butchered 
 my pug. The wretches said he was mad, when he was only in 
 high spirits. 
 
 Felix. And so they knocked out his brains ? 
 
 Miss T. The monsters ! when he'd only bitten three people, 
 and two of them nothing but charity children. Ha, sir ! such a 
 dog ! Had you but seen him at a gooseberry bush ! How he'd 
 walk upon his tip-toes round and round, and eat the fruit and 
 never prick his nose ! 
 
 Felix. Ha, madam ! That man — proud man — could compass 
 such philosophy ! To pick the gooseberries of life, and never 
 prick his nose ! 
 
 GoLDTHUMB speahs without. 
 
 What does the woman stay for ? Come along. 
 
 Felix. {Aside to Bessy : My father ! That rascal Bantam's 
 blown all.) I'll just take a turn in the garden — 
 
 Miss T. Not in the garden. You'll — you'll frighten the 
 fish. 
 
 Felix. By no means. I'm a sailor, and they're used to me. 
 {Aside to Bessy : We're an undone man and wife.) 
 
 \_Exit into garden — Besst retires, watching him. 
 
 Enter Goldthumb and Mrs. Goldthumb. 
 
 Mrs. Oold. {Speaking as she enters.) And let the carriage wait : 
 you hear, let the carriage — 
 
 Gold. Carriage ! I'm tired of hearing of it. Ha, Miss Tucker, 
 when we were first married, we used to lie awake half the night, 
 thinking how we should buy a mangle — and now, it's always 
 carriage, carriage. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. IMr. Goldthumb, you don't deserve the good that 
 fortune's done you. 
 
 Oold. Ha ! that's because I take the good quietly. While you, 
 like a vaiu old peacock, go screaming about that all the world 
 may stare at your fine feathers. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Ugh ! such vulgarity ! If you was born with a 
 silver spoon in your mouth — 
 
 Gold. Well, if I was ? Is that any reason I should never open 
 my mouth but the spoon should come out of it 1 Be quiet, do. 
 I'm thinking of our dear boy, and you —
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 113 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Dear boy, indeed ! Very dear ; or you'd never 
 have sent him to an outlandish place, where tigers run about the 
 streets like cats at midnight. 
 
 Gold, Will the woman drive me mad ? I sent him there for 
 Lis o-God. I'd have killed him — yes, killed him for his good. 
 Didn't Brutus kill his son ? 
 
 Mrs. Gold. So you say. But if he did, he never thought him 
 his own child. 
 
 Gold. My dear Miss Tucker, — is that the lady ? Don't say a 
 word, but Bantam's told me all about it. 
 
 Miss T. All about it ! 
 
 Gold. Bantam — he's my new valet — begged me to be secret, 
 but he said there was a lady here who'd tell me news of dear Felix, 
 {Bessy comes down.) Yes, this is she — I know it is. How d'ye 
 do, ma'am — welcome to England, ma'am ! And my darling son, 
 — you've seen him abroad, eh ? 
 
 Bessy. Mr. Felix Goldthumb ? 
 
 Gold. That's he. And you have seen him ? I — I don't know 
 why I don't take you to my arms and hug you. 
 
 Bessy. La, sir ! 
 
 Gold. Bless you ! you must have a pretty face at any time, — 
 but having seen my dear Felix, you look to me ten thousand times 
 prettier. And he was quite well ? I knew it. And steady 
 — and prosperous — and happy ? There — I knew it — I was sure 
 of it. And the fevers they talk of^ — and the snakes and wild 
 beasts — and hurricanes, — nothing hurt him, eh ? I knew it. And 
 yet this woman — my wife, ma'am, and after all not so bad as 
 she looks — this woman, all the while my dear boy's been away, 
 she's been in my ears like a death-watch. The wind never 
 roared of a night that she didn't nudge me to listen to it — never 
 a shipwreck in the paper, that she didn't double down the 
 place for me — never heard of a tiger eating a man, that she didn't 
 leer at me like a raven, and wonder where her dear boy was ! 
 
 Mrs. Gold. And if he is well, it's more than you deserve. 
 But the yomig lady will come with us — our carriage is at the 
 door. 
 
 Gold. To be sure she will, and Miss Tucker too : and we'll 
 talk about Felix till midnight. 
 
 Miss T. I — I can't leave just now ; and then there's the gentle- 
 man, — the mate of the Honeymoon. 
 
 Gold. The mate ! He may have seen Felix too. Where 
 is he 1 
 
 Miss T. I'll fetch him — he's in the garden. 
 
 Gold. No— no— I'll find him— I'll— 
 
 Bessy. {Stopping him.) Indeed, sir, he knows nothing. 
 
 I
 
 lU TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Gold. Never mind, I must see him — I will see him — 
 
 {Is about to pass Bessy, when enter from garden Sir Gilbert and 
 
 Florentine.) 
 
 Sir Gilbert ! Why, you're not the mate of the Honeymoon, eh ? 
 
 Sir Oilb. Mr. Goldthumb ! {Aside : This is somewhat per- 
 plexing.) Mr. Goldthumb, we were this morning interrupted. 
 To-morrow it will afford me much pleasure to renew our conver- 
 sation. In the mean time, I cannot but congratulate myself that 
 I have so cordial a neighbour in the worthy master of Parsnip 
 Hall. \^Bov:s ceremoniously, and exit. 
 
 Miss T. {Aside : He looks flustered — like a man who's put the 
 question.) 
 
 Gold. Very civil, and very odd. But what have you done with 
 the mate 1 I must see the mate. 
 
 Floren. Oh, the gentleman ? He's gone — gone to the Docks. 
 He'll be here, he told me, to-morrow. 
 
 Bessy. And I know he can't teU you half so much of your son 
 as I can. 
 
 Gold. No ? "Well then, come along. "Won't you come too 1 
 (To Florentine) No 1 Very well. {To Bessy.) You must come. 
 And you shall tell me all about my Felix. How he looked — what 
 he said — what he thought. The scapegrace ! He'd have been 
 hanged, I do think, if he'd staid here, but he's a wonderful boy ! 
 And he often talked of his father 1 — I knew he did. If he'd 
 Btopt he'd have broken my heart, but then how full of talent ! 
 Talk of genius, as 1 have read somewhere in some of my trunks, 
 " the genius of his imagination came like the lightning, and his 
 meaning, like the thunder, followed after it." Oh, a wonderful 
 boy ! A terrible dog ! But a wonderful — wonderful boy ! 
 
 Goldthumb, Mrs. G., Besst, and Miss Tucker exeunt. Florentine 
 retreats towards the garden, standing before Felix, loho watches 
 from the hack. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Florentine's House. Enter Bessy and Miss Tucker. 
 
 Bessy. "Well, if you hadn't such a strong mind, and hated 
 all such nonsense, I vow I should think you in love. 
 
 Miss T. I in love ! 
 
 Bessy. Yes, for they say love's like the measles ; all the worse 
 when it comes late in life.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 115 
 
 Miss T. Late in life ! child ! 
 
 BessTj. Oh, didn't I see you last niglit 1 "When Professor 
 Trufflfs came suddenly before you, didn't you turn red and 
 white, and white and red ! I couldn't have done it better myself 
 at sixteen. 
 
 Miss T. Don't confound emotions, girl. You don't know what 
 I'd suffered from the thunder. It's well enough for you with 
 nerves like fiddle-strings ; but you don't know my fragility. I 
 hav'n't winked an eye this blessed night. 
 
 Bessy. Well, you do look a little foggy, that's the truth. 
 
 Miss T. Foggy, IVIiss ! I beg your pardon, — Mistress, and 
 Mistress what ? I suppose youi- husband gave you a name. 
 
 Bessy. Oh ! you shall hear that when my husband comes. 
 Call me Bessy ; it takes me back to that blissful time when you 
 used to carve thin slices for us. But what can make Flory so 
 late? 
 
 Miss T. Dear girl ! her sensibility. The baronet has offered 
 her his heai-t, and — 
 
 Bessy. And what of that ? 
 
 Miss T. She's flurried, of course, as a gentlewoman ought to 
 be. "Would you have a woman take a man's heart as though it 
 was a sandwich ? 
 
 Bessy. Why that's quite according to the appetite she may 
 have for it. 
 
 Miss T. Appetite ! Was there ever such an expression ? 
 Positively you make me quite shudder. 
 
 Bessy. Offered his heart ! And Flory is at once to be Lady 
 Norman % Umph ! And I suppose you'll live with her at the 
 fine mansion % 
 
 Miss T. If she forcibly insists upon it — not but what it's very 
 miserable living in other people's houses. {Aside : There's a 
 crimson and gold room with a southern look, that I already see 
 my tambour-frame in.) 
 
 Bessy. Marry the baronet ! And she's quite forgotten his 
 poor nephew ? 
 
 Miss T. They've forgotten one another ; and now laugh at 
 their love with a common sense that's quite delightful. 
 
 Bessy. (Aside : I'm not so sure of that.) 
 
 Enter Chicken, 
 Chick. Professor Truffles, ma'am. 
 Miss T. Who ? 
 
 Chick. Professor Truffles. I didn't know him at first. He 
 used to be as rusty as old ii'on. and now. la ! he's as fine as ii 
 he'd been black-leadttl 
 
 1 2
 
 116 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Miss T. Show him in — no — yes. {To Bessy.) You'll not 
 leave me 1 
 
 Bessy. Never. (Aside : I'll stop and see the fun.) 
 
 Chick. I left him looking at the pug in the glass-case ; the pug 
 he gave- you. He seemed quite affected. [Exit. 
 
 Miss T. (Aside : Thank heaven he has some fellow-feeling left !) 
 (To Bessy.) You're sure you'll not leave me 1 
 
 Bessy. Never — never. Dear me ! how you tremble ; why, it's 
 only the professor. There's no thunder in him you know. 
 
 Enter Truffles. 
 
 Truff. Madam, — Miss Tucker. — (Aside : My tongue tastes like 
 brass in my mouth ; and for the first time, brass I can make 
 little of) Madam, seven variegated years have passed since in 
 friendly conference we met. 
 
 Miss T. Is it so long, sir ? 
 
 Truff. Yes, madam, I can look at you, and say full seven 
 years. You may remember this watch 1 (Producing it.) 
 
 Bessy. Oh, as a child I've seen the inside of it a thousand 
 times. It's jewelled, and goes iipon what they call a — a dupli- 
 cate movement. 
 
 Truff. (Aside : It has gone so once or twice.) 
 
 Miss T. Well, sir ? 
 
 Truff'. 1 have in vain, madam, sought you to return it to you. 
 Every year I have hoarded this repeater with — I may say — 
 growing interest. 
 
 Miss T. (Aside : Ha ! the same honey in his syllables.) 
 
 Truff'. It brought you hourly to ray mind. 
 
 Miss T. (Aside : I shall forgive him all.) 
 
 Truff'. For like you it was of precious workmanship — 
 
 Bessy. (Aside : And like her, as I remember, striking every 
 quarter.) [Retires. 
 
 Truff. And like you it — it — (Aside : It bore the marks of time 
 upon its face.) Take it, madam, and if it went upon a thousand 
 jewels, let it go upon a thousand and one, and hang it at your 
 heart. 
 
 Miss T. Oh ! sir, I — I feel I ought not to take it. 
 
 Truf. (Aside : 1 feel so too, but I know you will, (She takes 
 it.) I said so.) 
 
 Miss T. Seven years ! Can it be seven years 1 
 
 Truff. Every miimte of it : you may trust the watch — it keeps 
 time like a tax-gatherer. (Aside : That ugly business well off 
 my hands, and luckily before a witness, too, I feel so honest that 
 I'll swagger.)
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 117 
 
 Miss T. Seven years ! Both our hearts have had many 
 thoughts since then. "When we last met, professor — 
 
 Tn-ff. When we last met, ma'am, my heart was like a summer 
 walnut, green and tender ; now I can tell you it's plaguy hard 
 in the shell. 
 
 Miss T. {Aside : Hard in the shell ! Would he freeze my 
 tenderness ? Oh, that I could laugh like Florentine !) Ha ! ha ! 
 no doubt. Hard, shrivelled, mouldy, and not worth the cracking, 
 — I've known 'em so. 
 
 Tntff. Very true, ma'am ; not to be eaten by any woman, — 
 with salt or without it. A glorious safety ! 
 
 Miss T. {Aside : His every word's a Wliitechapel needle to 
 my soul, — but he shall not see it.) Ha ! ha ! ha ! to be sure. 
 We do change ! What we rather hke one time, we abominate 
 another. 
 
 Truff. Yes ; for the things themselves change so too. Now, 
 I'm fond, very fond of nice, plump, ripe grapes ; but I can't abide 
 'em when they're shrivelled into raisins. 
 
 3Iiss T. Raisins ! {Aside : He means me.) Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 {Aside : I shall end in a spasm.) Bessy, — {she runs doivn,) 
 nothing. You should only hear the professor — so droll — ha ! ha ! 
 so very, very droll. 
 
 Bessy. {Aside to her : Don't laugh in that way : it's cruel. 
 It's punishing nature, and only for wanting to cry.) 
 
 3Iiss T. Cry ! I shall expire with enjoyment. Oh, you — you 
 witty man ! No — not another word. Thank you, sir, for my 
 repeater. 'Tis at your hands an unlooked for blessing ! Not a 
 word, I pray. luaisins ! ha ! ha ! ha ! {Aside : The walnut- 
 hearted liarbarian. Kaisins !) [^Exit with Bessy into garden. 
 Truff. Hm ! Strange is the love of woman : it's like one's 
 beard ; the closer one cuts it, the stronger it grows : and both a 
 plague. She has no money, and I can't afford to go gratis. 
 Well, if she should break her heart, I think I could survive the 
 calamity. That watch has been ticking seven years at my con- 
 science. 'Tis gone : I can now without qualms look at a church 
 clock and a policeman. 
 
 Enter Felix. 
 
 Felix. I dodge about like any tliief. I — Professor Truffles ! 
 
 Truff. What ! It can't be Mr. Felix Goldthumb ! No : that 
 magnificent young man is surely at Batavia ! 
 
 Felix. I should feel for that magnificent man if he were. No : 
 he's in a better place. 
 
 Ti-uff. Why, your honoured father — 
 
 Felix. Thiidcs me deep in the mace and cinnamon market.
 
 118 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 And, hark ye, till I am sure of his forgiveness, he must still 
 believe it. He thought my morals were fast going in London, 
 so, I suppose, to preserve 'em, sent me a wild-goose chase abroad, 
 that I might be stuffed with spice. 
 
 Trvff. {Aside : Geese are better for stuffing.) 
 
 Felix. So ! I've heard it all from my dear — I mean, I've 
 heard that you're in high favom- at Parsnip Hall. 
 
 Truff. I had the happiness to meet your mother — admirable 
 woman ! — at a scientific exhibition. 
 
 Felix. Bless her dear soul ! what could she do there ? 
 
 Tmff. Oh ! She's a woman remarkable for her taste. 
 
 Felix. She used to be remarkable for her pickled cabbage. 
 
 Tmff. Pardon me, a woman of great latent talent. I have, 
 however, other professional business in the neighbourhood. 
 To-day I give a lesson in Chinese to — 
 
 Felix. "What ! do you know Chinese ? 
 
 Truff. That, sir, is not the matter. I teach it. Indeed, there 
 are few things, from Chinese to backgammon, of which I am not 
 professor. I dabble, too, a good deal in bar and pulpit eloquence. 
 
 Felix. Indeed ! 
 
 Truff. Ha, sir ! the barristers I've fitted for the woolsack — 
 the heads I've patted into shape for mitres ! Even the stuttering 
 parish clerk of Tithepig-cum-Pottlepot— he took only three 
 lessons, and nobody knew his " Amen" for the same thing. 
 
 Felix. Is it possible 1 
 
 Truff. A stem reality, sir. And then I have a great name for 
 knife-and-fbrk eloquence. Yes,— I teach people after-dinner- 
 thanks. I don't brag ; but show me the man who, like me, can 
 bring in the happiest moment of a gentleman's life, at only a 
 crown a lesson. 
 
 Felix. And the world has, I perceive, been grateful. Now tell 
 me, — where did you leave my father ? 
 
 Truff'. Coming here, as he says, to find the mate of the Honey- 
 moon. 
 
 Felix. Professor Truffles, I am that mate. 
 
 Truff'. You ? And that young lady — 
 
 Felix. What of her 1 
 
 Truff. Nothing. Your father and mother already dote upon her. 
 
 Felix, (Aside : As I would wish.) 
 
 Truf. She said she had a letter for your father, but — 
 
 Felix. Here it is, — I've just written it. A marvellous letter, 
 crammed with travellers' truths. 
 
 Triff. And may I ask for what mysterious pur]50se 1 
 
 Felix. This. If I can but melt my father— can but hear him 
 wish me home attain —
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 119 
 
 Tniff. Melt him ! There never was a softer — that is, never 
 was so sweet a minded gentleman. 
 
 Felix. But his pocket has suffered so many gashes at my 
 hands, and then it is his vanity to think himself firm ! Seven 
 years ago he lined his trunks with Koman history, and he's 
 believed himself Cato ever since. 
 
 Truff. True. 'Twas but last night your mother, speaking of 
 you, told your father he hadn't flesh and blood. 
 
 Felix. And what said he ? 
 
 Truff. He struck his heart, and talked of Eoman bricks, and 
 Koman cement. 
 
 Felix. Dear soul ! he thinks himself marble, when in truth 
 he's the very best fresh butter. Nevertheless, this heroic whim 
 I have to combat, and — 
 
 Truff. To your heels, your father's here ! 
 
 Felix. The devil ! (Enter Goldthumb and Mrs. Golbthumb. 
 T'elix is running to the centre door, when enter from the garden^ 
 Miss Tucker, who confronts him) The devil again ! (Bessy 
 enters a 'moment afterwards.) 
 
 Miss T. Welcome, ]\Ir. Goldthumb ! How lucky, too, for 
 here's the mate of the Honeymoon. 
 
 Gold. Where — where ? He must have seen my dear boy, and 
 he can tell me — 
 
 Bessy. {Coming down between Felix and Goldthumb.) Not a 
 word, sir — not a syllable. 
 
 Gold. Why not ? 
 
 Bessy. The poor gentleman's got the tooth-ache. 
 
 Miss T. The tooth-ache ! 
 
 Bessy. Poor creature ! {Significantly to Felix.) He's obliged to 
 cover his face with his handkerchief to the very top of his nose, 
 and to pull his cap quite over his suffering eyes. 
 
 (Felix does this, wholly covering his face) 
 
 Gold. Wliy, — why his eyes ? 
 
 Bessy. The pain's in his eye teeth, sir. 
 
 Miss T. A most sudden tooth-ache ! The gentleman was well 
 a moment since. 
 
 Bessy. He'd been to the dentist's, and — and — 
 
 Truff. Tooth-ache often leaves us at the dentist's door. 
 
 Bessy. And then comes again. 
 
 Miss T. All I say is this, — it's very strange. 
 
 Bessy. Strange, Miss Tucker ! If you only knew the middle 
 watches this gentleman has kept, you'd not think it strange. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Yes, blowing about between the skies and seas ! 
 And my dear Felix has been blown about too. {Crosses to 
 Felix.) Is the pain so very bad, sir V I've a medicine at home
 
 120 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 that's done me a world of good. Let me loot at ^'our eyes— pray 
 let me look at— (Lifts his cap; recognises Mm, and screams violentlj/.) 
 
 Gold. {Siqyporting her.) Why, what's the matter, woman ? 
 
 Mrs. Gold. {Aside: Itismy child— my darling FeHx) Oh ! oh! 
 
 Gold. Is it catching? Have you got the tooth-ache too? 
 Speak. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. His eyes — ^his eyes ' 
 
 Gold. AVhat of 'em ? 
 
 Mrs. Gold. What of 'em ! Goldthumb, as I'm a mother, I 
 never saw such eyes in all my life. 
 
 Gold. Well, don't cry ; but stamp upon your feelings, as the 
 Romans did. Tooth-ache ! We never read of it in ancient his- 
 tory. The Cfesars had teeth for anythmg. {To Felix.) I'm 
 sorry, sir, for the pain you're in ; for I thought to hear some 
 news of my boy. Very sorry, but— (To Bessy)- I'd nigh forgot 
 you. Where's the letter ? 
 
 Bes.^t/. Letter, sir I 
 
 Gold. The letter that Felix sent by you— the letter that you 
 last night told me was in your baggage. 
 
 [Felix, unobserved, places letter in her hands. 
 
 Bessy. Oh, that letter ! Here it is, sir. 
 
 Gold. It is his fine, bold, manly hand. Ha ! foreign paper, too. 
 There's always something romantic in foreign paper. It feels a 
 magnificent letter ! ( To Felix.) You mayn't have known 
 much of my boy, but he's a wonderful fellow. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. And when at home— dear child!— you always 
 snubbed him. 
 
 Gold. And now, when I think of the many thousand miles 
 he's away, it seems to me that he never had a favilt. 
 
 Truff. Whv, 'tis odd how time and distance take out the blots. 
 {Aside : I've tried it.) 
 
 Gold. {To Bessy.) And you are the pretty carrier-pigeon 
 that has brought this letter? How did Felix look when he 
 gave it you 1 But I can see him : I can see his happy, open 
 countenance. 
 
 3Irs. Gold. Where, ]Mr. Goldthumb ? 
 
 Gold. Where 1 Here! {Touching his forehead.) And people 
 who can see here, cover it up as you will, never want spectacles 
 to see the truth. But I'll read the letter. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Not now — let's go home : for I've medicine there 
 will soothe this dear gentleman in his torment. 
 
 Gold. Pooh ! Nothing so soothing for a proper mind as a 
 piece of fine wi-iting. I know it. Many a time when my brain's 
 been torn to bits, I've gone and buried myself in my trunks.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 121 
 
 3Iiss T. Perhaps a little oijium would relieve the gentleman ? 
 
 Gold. Pooh ! There's a sort of writing that's better than all 
 
 the opiam in the world. {To Felix.) You shall judge, sir, by 
 
 this. I'm sure it's beautifully done ; for when Felix liked, he 
 
 could pull out poetry like twine from a reel. Here it is. 
 
 \Opens Utter. 
 Mrs. Gold. {LooMng over him.) Why, all the lines are written 
 like steps. 
 
 Gold. Steps ! Foolish woman, it's blank verse : steps that 
 lead to the temple of Fame. Don't they, professor ? 
 
 Trujf. They do. But the flight's so devilish high, that a good 
 many sit down and go to sleep half-way. 
 
 Gold. He knew I loved all sorts of verse, and — dear boy ! — 
 here's a feast ! 
 
 {Reads.) " 3Iost honourable, best beloved sire, — 
 
 Here, toith the sun of Afric o'er 7ny head, 
 Here, whilst tcild elephants at distance sport, 
 And stately ostrich waves her snowy tail, — 
 Here do I lie — 
 
 Truff. {Aside : That's true.) 
 
 Gold. 
 
 " He^-e do I he, and think of Marylebone." 
 
 ( To Felix.) Isn't that beautiful, sir ? 
 
 Felix {mutters). Wonderful. 
 
 Gold. And here's his journal. I always told him to keep a 
 journal. If we only put down our dinners, they all go to make 
 a book. Now, listen to two or three bits : — 
 
 {Reads.) " West of Madeira heard three mermaids sing . 
 They dived ; but much applauded by the crew, 
 They rose and sang again." 
 
 Miss T. Just as they do at the opera. 
 Gold. { To Felix.) Curious, sir, isn't it ? 
 Folix {mutters). Very — very curious. 
 Gold. 
 {Reads.) " The twelfth. In sight of Cape, a deinon craft, 
 With spectral studding-sails and shadowy jib, 
 Bore on our larboard beam " — 
 
 Ha ! he knows this is a bit after my own heart — not that I'm 
 
 superstitious. 
 
 {Reads.) " '^I'e captain ghost, 
 
 For captain seemed he, clad in sulph'7-otis blue, 
 Thro' red-hot speaking trumpet hailed our ship." 
 
 Miss T. Can it be possible 1 
 
 Gold. Possible ! Can there be a doubt 1 It's quite true.
 
 122 TIME WORKS WO]SrDERS. 
 
 Ti-uff. Quite. {Aside : I've seen it all at the playhouse.) 
 Aliss T. Well, but when the ghost hailed them — what did 
 the}^ answer % 
 Gold. {Reading.) 
 
 " We answered not : but prayed and hauled our wind." 
 
 " Hauled our wind ! " Professor, you know everything : what's 
 
 that ? 
 
 Triiff. Hauled our wind ! Humph ! Why — when a ship 
 
 hauls her wind, it means that she takes breath to recover 
 
 herself. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. {Aside : He does know everything.) 
 Gold. Here's " Postscript : business." Listen. 
 
 {Reads.) " So many phoenixes have died of late, 
 
 That nutmegs will be worth their loeight in pearls. 
 Cloves, cinnamon, and pepper, things to dream of." 
 
 {To Felix.) Now, sir, putting aside your pain, what do you 
 think of that 1 
 
 Felix. {Muttering) Amazing ! 
 
 Bessy. Oh, Mr. Goklthumb, how could you ever send so won- 
 derful a youth among the blackamoors ? 
 
 Gold. That's it : he was too great a creature to stop here. 
 He hadn't room to turn in England. He was like a giant in a 
 sentry-box. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. And that's the reason you ought to have kept him. 
 Giants are not so plentiful among us, I'm sure. 
 
 Gold. Pshaw ! I tell you Felix was born to be where he is. 
 Hei*e he'd have been nobody ; aud now, I'm sure of it, he'll go 
 down to posterity on a white elephant. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Fiddlestick ! Let posterity find its own elephants. 
 I never knew anybody the better for posterity in all my life. 
 
 Miss T. But you never intend to keep him among the bar- 
 barians ? 
 
 Bessy. La, his heart would break at the thought. {Coaxing 
 him) Now, confess, wouldn't you jump with joy to see Felix 
 before you ? 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Your only child ! 
 
 Miss T. So dutiful a son ! 
 
 Truff. So excellent a youth ! 
 
 Felix. (Speaking as with pain) Such a clever creature ! 
 
 Bessy. Now, what would you do, what would you say, if sud- 
 denly your own Felix stood before you ? 
 
 Gold. Do and say 1 
 
 All. Yes.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 123 
 
 Gold. I'd scratch him out of my will like an ugly blot of ink . 
 I'd bid him go and starve as daily clerk ; yes, I'd see him on 
 forty pounds per annum — see him with a pen behind his ear till 
 his head grew goosequills. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Tigers love their little ones. Mr. Goldthumb, you 
 are below a tiger. 
 
 Gold. And I should be right. Nature intended him for a 
 great man, and I'll not stand in her way — Nature shall have her 
 fling. ( To Felix. Am I not right, sir 1) 
 
 Mrs. Gold. {Coming between them.) There, don't shock the 
 gentleman with your barbarity — he's asleep. 
 
 Gold. Asleep ! 
 
 Bessy. Yes — fast asleep. It's the letter, sir, that's done it. 
 
 Gold. Sleep over such a letter ! He's fit for nothing but the 
 tooth-ache. That's not the blank verse to sleep over, and I've 
 been too long a trunkmaker not to know. But I haven't read it 
 all. Miss Tucker, take my arm. Professor, come with us. Both 
 of you shall hear every syllable of it ; for both of you have 
 feeling hearts, and know what poetry is. 
 
 Miss T. Oh, Mr. Goldthumb ! 
 
 Gold. Hearts that, as somebody says, might vibrate one to 
 another, just like two harps, or two lyres. 
 
 Truff. The simile is flattering. 
 
 Gold. My wife hasn't a soul for anything of the sort. She's 
 only fit to cure the tooth-ache. So we'U leave her. Dear 
 Felix ! He's a wonderful boy ! I won't see him for these ten 
 years — ten years at least — but he's a mighty fellow ! Yes — a 
 wonderful boy ! 
 
 \_Exeunt Goldthumb, Truffles, and Miss Tucker. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Felix ! 
 
 Felix. {Jumping up and emlracing her.) Mother ! 
 
 Mrs. Gold. You dear, darling, disobedient child ! Tell me all 
 — tell me all. 
 
 Felix. This way, then, for safety. {Embracing her) My dear 
 mother ! 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Oh, you — you — ^you — ^your father's a savage, but 
 you're an angel of a boy. 
 
 \They go off, embracing — Bessy following. 
 
 Enter Florentine. {Reading letter) 
 
 " My mature life, my character, may plead my earnestness — m^ty 
 avouch the constancy of my affection. Dearest, tenderest of women," 
 — and can this be the marble baronet ? — "my true heart throbs in 
 this letter. I beseech you, let me attend, and hear from your lips 
 my sentence. It \oill somexchat siveeten the bitterness even to hear
 
 12i TIME "WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 the music that condemns me. Thine, in joy or sadness, Gilbert 
 Norman." Oue little word, and I'm a lady ! and pride swells 
 in my heart and bids me speak it. Alas ! is it a word for 
 pride to utter ? If love be dumb, should pride assume its 
 voice, and so make holy marriage mere imposture ? Oh, 
 Clarence ! 
 
 Enter Chicken. 
 
 Chick. Madam, if you please. Sir Gilbert Norman. 
 
 Floren. {Aside : So soon !) 
 
 Chick. (Aside : How she trembles ! If it is love, it certainly 
 is love with the ague. Now she looks as though she was 
 reckoning something. No, it can't be love ! True love never 
 reckons, but jumps at once at the sum total.) Sir Gilbert 
 Norman, ma'am. 
 
 Floren. Oh ! I had forgotten. 
 
 Chick. (Aside : Then it's clear it isn't love.) 
 
 Floren. I will see him. (Exit Chicken.) Yes, he shall have 
 my answer. The idle vanity that fluttered in my heart, I have 
 crushed it — it is dead. He shall be answered, cheerfully, but 
 firmly. 
 
 Enter SiB Gilbert. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Dearest madam, — I — I — 
 
 Floren. Nay, Sir Gilbert. You come to know my answer ? 
 Sir Gilb. You smile ! 'Tis yes — yes ! You could not have 
 the heart to look, to smile thus, and say no. 
 
 Floren. Oh ! Sir Gilbert, our sex is sometimes barbarous. 
 But are you not quick upon your letter 1 You ask a woman 
 to choose a husband in less time than she would choose a 
 riband. 
 I S'ir Gilb. With some reason. In the weighty matter of 
 
 I ribands, their number often perplexes the choice. 
 I Floren. And surely that may hold with husbands ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. If, indeed, a lady have a box of 'em to pick from. 
 I Floren. And, if not, she should take the one — the very one — 
 
 I that offers % Is such your meaning, — am I so forlorn ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. Sweet lady, I meant not that. I meant, — Madam, I 
 1 am five-and-forty, and I have just discovered that I never meant 
 I so much with power to say so little. Yet, I can conjure three 
 i words, — three precious syllables — from my heart, that with a 
 S voice as true as truth, will tell it all — I love you ! 
 
 Floren, And you are forty-five ? How very foolish ! 
 j Sir Gilb. Forty-five, madam. Still 'tis I who should complain 
 
 of the tardiness of time, 
 Floren. You !
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 125 
 
 Sir Gilb, Yes, that he did not send you twenty years ago to 
 bless me. 
 
 Flonn. If that be time's only fault, I can forgive him. But, 
 Sir Gilbeit, you are become quite impetuous, — I have heard you 
 called a man of ice. 
 
 Sir Gilb. And so I was : but then, madam, then the sun had 
 not risen on me. 
 
 Floren. Ha ! And is it possible that you, in all the graAdty of 
 forty-five, can seek to wed me 1 
 
 Sir Gilb. Such is the audacity of love and hope. 
 
 Floren. Why, what know you of me 1 
 
 Sir Gilb. Do I not listen to you 1 See I not a loveliness 
 breathing with purity and truth ? A casket, filled with worth 
 unspeakable to man ? What should I know more ? 
 
 Floren. My family. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Trust me, I could know nothing half so good of it, 
 as that I now behold. No patent of nobility, though old as 
 sheepskin, could add a lustre to your mind ; and, for your face, 
 — it beats all heralds' painting. 
 
 Floren. But say I were of mean — of vulgar parentage ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. It ceases to be mean or vulgar. It is ennobled, pro- 
 ducing you. 
 
 Floren. For aught you know, I may be gipsy-born. 
 
 Sir Gilb. With all my heart. I doubt not, could we come at 
 it, there's very good blood among the gipsies. 
 
 Floren. And did you always think thus, Sir Gilbert ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. Why, no. I have had my prejudices — most men 
 have. Some men they wear out ; some men wear out them. 
 Beyond the force of circumstance, you are here enshrined ; here, 
 and for ever. 
 
 Floren. It must not be. Sir Gilbert. 
 
 Sir Gilb. No ! 
 
 Floren. Gravely and truly, no. I will save you from future 
 self-reproach ; from the reproaches of your family. 
 
 Sir Gilb. My family ? 
 
 Floren. Your nephew. You have a nephew. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Why should he bar my happiness 1 He will shortly 
 marry — 
 
 Floren. Marry ! Whom ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. A lady, rich and beautiful. Indeed so rich, he would 
 be avarice itself to lament my fortune. 
 
 Floren. Has lie known tlie lady long ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. Tliey have met before he travelled. 'Tis half-arranged 
 between her father and myself. 
 
 Floren. And Clareuce, — your nephew consents ?
 
 126 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Oh, yes. In his own words, granting certain requi- 
 sites of birth and fortune, to him one woman is quite as good as 
 another. 
 
 Floren. Truly, — love made easy. I have heard he was not 
 always so indifferent ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. Oh, a college absurdity, he now laughs at : now he 
 pictures his first love serving hot rolls at eight in the morning. 
 
 Floren. {Aside : Can he be so mean of heart ?) 
 
 Sir Gilb, T never saw the girl. I believe she had one of those 
 sweetmeat faces, that catch boys as treacle catches flies. 
 
 Floren. But not a man at five-and-forty ? And he will marry ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. To wealth and beauty. Why should I expect or fear, 
 then, his reproach 1 Dismiss that troubled, hesitating look : 
 smile, as even now you smiled. In the fervour of an honest soul, 
 I swear to you a life-long truth and adoration. 
 
 Floren. Thus, all unknown — unknown whence I comej or who 
 I am — thus would you take my hand 1 
 
 Sir Gilb. I would. 
 
 Floren. Take it. 
 
 Sir Gilb. My heart's best life ! And now, so pale ! 
 
 Floren. 'Tis nothing. Leave me, — a little time. Not now 
 another word of love. You have my promise. Not another word. 
 I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Witness my first obedience. 
 
 [Kisses her hand, botvs and exit. 
 
 Floren. And now, now I am above his scorn ! I could have 
 borne all else — was prepared to bear it ! But to have my name 
 — my girlish, yet true-hearted love, made the plaything of his 
 hollow heart ! I have triumphed. The jest — is mine ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 ScE^K-^Apartment in Florentine's Iiouse. Enter Besst and 
 
 Miss Tucker. 
 
 Bessi/. No, we don't want you either to plot or conspire. All 
 we want is, your silence. 
 
 Miss T. My silence ! That one woman should ask such a 
 thing of another ! 
 
 Bess^. His mother knows we are married, and is glad oi it. 
 
 Miss T. His mother's a weak person. When his father knows
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 127 
 
 it, he'll cut off his own flesh and blood with a shilling, and smile 
 at the operation. 
 
 Besst/. ^ot he. Mrs. Goldthumb says she knows he's to be 
 wheedled. 
 
 Miss T. Wheedled ! Wheedle a husband ! You bring pretty 
 principles into the marriage state. Where did you pick 'em up \ 
 
 Bessy. In the marriage-state, of course, like every other wife. 
 Bless you ! when you're married, you'll wheedle too. You can't 
 help it. 
 
 Miss T. I should despise myself. No. I should trust to pure 
 reason. Wlieedle a husband ! Why, what is it but to pick the 
 lock of a man's heart with a false key ] 
 
 Bessy. Well, — and if the heart's your own property, there's no 
 felony in that. I'm certain papa Goldthumb will forgive us, if 
 you'll only hold your tongue. 
 
 Miss T. It's wrong, — but I'll make the sacrifice — {aside : for 
 I can get nothing by the discovery.) Ha ! had you followed my 
 counsel ! See what Florentine has done ! At once, she will be 
 Lady Norman. 
 
 Bessy. I can't believe it — I won't believe it. She can't love 
 him ; and I'll go myself to the baronet and tell him. I'll tell 
 him who she was — and whom she loved, and — 
 
 Miss T. Look you, Mrs. Felix Goldthumb. If you drop one 
 syllable of the matter, I immediately acquaint your father-in-law 
 of the precious daughter now before me. Then, your husband 
 will be a beggar — and I shall have the sweet satisfaction of 
 seeing you stitch your daily bread out of pincushions and kettle- 
 holders. 
 
 Bessy. {Aside : And she'd do it !) 
 
 Miss T. So let this be our bargain. Hold your tongue, and 
 I'll hold mine. Women can have no stronger bond betweer 
 them. 
 
 Bessy. {Aside : Florentine avoids me. 'Tis plain she has made 
 some rash promise, and will not be turned from it.) Oh, Lud ! 
 Well, be such our compact. 
 
 Miss T. And now I'll reward you with a secret. {Aside: That 
 Florentine will be sure to tell her.) The marriage will take place 
 immediately. 
 
 Bessy. Immediately ? 
 Miss T. The baronet is so ardent. 
 
 Bessy. Well, I should have thought him more grave and sober. 
 An old bachelor, too ! 
 
 Miss T. Ha ! my dear ! 'tis v/ith old bachelors as with old 
 wood, Wlien they do take flame, they burn prodigiously. {Aside : 
 What a log is that Truffles !)
 
 128 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 {Enter Chicken, showing «i Bantam, who bears a bouquet and letter^ 
 
 Chick. Mr. Bantam, ma'am, from Parsnip Hall. {Aside to him : 
 Behave yourself and don't laugh.) 
 
 Ban. {To Bessy.) A letter from Mrs. Goldthumb for you, 
 ma'am, {Aside: I wont laugh if I can help it.) {To Miss T.) 
 A nosegay from Professor Truffles, for you, ma'am. 
 
 Miss T. Impossible ! 
 
 Ban. So I should have thought — but here it is, ma'am, for all 
 that. 
 
 Miss T. Stay without ; there may be an answer. 
 
 Ban. {Aside to Chicken : I say, it's plain that some flowers, 
 like some Christians, come to an untimely end ; else nobody 
 would send a nosegay to Miss Tucker.) 
 
 [Exeunt Bantam and Chicken. 
 
 Besstf. Hear the letter from mother-in-law. {Reads.) " Gold- 
 thumb has had a dreadful di-eam about dear Felix. I've had 
 precisely the same to match it. Ask Miss Tucker to oblige us, 
 and have a dream, too. The Professor has already dreamt beau- 
 tifully — and so your dear father's in a delightful pucker. The 
 Professor says we have only to work upon his superstition, and 
 Felix may soon declare himself." Oh yes, father-in-law will be 
 softened, — I'm sure of it. Why, what a superb bouquet ! 
 
 3fiss T. An odoriferous compliment from the Professor ! 
 There may be a letter in it. No ! {Sighing deeply) No. 
 
 Bessy. Yes, there is — I see it ! 
 
 Mi>:s T. AVhere 1 
 
 Bessy. {Takes bouquet.) See. In the Indies they send love- 
 letters made of nothing but flowers. Now the Professor, who 
 knows everything, knows this ; and this is his letter. 
 Miss T. Oh that I could read it ! 
 
 Bessy. Wlien I was abroad, a Persian lady taught me all about 
 it. Bless you ! I can read this like print. 
 
 3Iiss T. Sweet girl ! Bead, read. 
 
 Bessy. {Aside : I will — and such an epistle !) See. Here's 
 love-lies-a-bleeding ; that's the Professor. And this big cabbage- 
 rose, blushing upon him ; that's you. 
 
 21iss T. Beautiful allegory ! 
 
 Bessy. Here's poppies : they mean he can't sleep without 
 thinking of you. Here's the pervenche — the^the jjeriM-inkle ; 
 that means contentment with a little. Here's a bit of broom ; 
 tliat hints at domestic love. 
 
 Miss T. Broom ! The hint might have been prettier. 
 
 Bessy. Here's the devil-in-a-bush ; that means the cruel fate 
 that has separated you. Here's rosemary ; that's for the dead 
 pug. Here's lilies : that's hope, close to London pride.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 129 
 
 Miss T. And wliat does London pride mean % 
 
 Bessy. That means a house in a square, and the best pew in 
 the chur ;h And here, backing the whole, is dragon's mouth. 
 
 Miss T. And what does that imply ? 
 
 Bessy. Dragon's-mouth has only one meaning, and that is — 
 marriage. 
 
 Miss T. Well, you have read it beautifully ! — Stay — here is a 
 daisy ; a hen-and-chickens daisy. What can that mean ? 
 
 Be?si/. A hen-and-chickens daisy ! Ha ! ha ! I don't know : 
 it doesn't grow in the East, Well, you must answer this letter 
 in its own way. 
 
 Miss T. Impossible. I know nothing of the sweet science. 
 
 Bessy. 'Tis only to send exactly the same flowers back, to show 
 you reciprocate his passion. 
 
 Miss T. But if I don't reciprocate 
 
 Bessy. Keturn him a bunch of bachelor's buttons — and there's 
 an end of it. 
 
 Miss T. No. I'll — ha ! ha ! — I'll have some sport with him. 
 Come into thp garden, and help me gather the letter. What- 
 ever may happen, be can't bring it in evidence against me. 
 
 Bessy. Ha ! if all our sex had your caution — 
 
 Miss T. Oh, I'd never trust my feelings to pen-and-ink. No. 
 Say what you please to faithless man ; but never let him have 
 your heart in black and white. Come, there's a dear child ; and 
 he shall have the same bouquet back. The love-lies-a-bleeding — 
 and the poppies — and the periwinkle — and — alas ! I fear there's 
 not a hen-and-chickens daisy in the whole garden. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Clarence. 
 
 Clarence. I have striven against my heart, yet has it dragged 
 me hither. I wUl see her once again. Again, and for the last 
 time, look upon that form of beauty ; for the last time hear that 
 seeming tender voice. 
 
 Enter Felix (running.) 
 
 Felix. I am safe — safe and — 
 
 Clarence. Felix ! 
 
 Felix. Clarence ! Thank fortune, we have met at last ! I 
 heard you were here — longed to see you ; but ever since I came 
 have been in such a whirl — 
 
 Clarence. Wliy, what ails you, Felix ? 
 
 Felix. My father. He thinks me a bachelor, far abroad ; here 
 I am, a married man, just come home. A moment since, strolling 
 in a meadow, pondering how I could put matrimony on the lowest 
 board-wages, — for it's wonderful what Cupid eats when lie ceases 
 
 E
 
 130 TIME AVORKS WONDERS, 
 
 to be single — turning a corner, I came full upon my venerable 
 sire. Poor dear old man ! His mouth fell like a trap ; and his 
 face turned white as paper. 'Twas plain he took me for my 
 ghost. I didn't think I could do it, — but like a flash of flame I 
 vanished through the hedge. 
 
 Clarence. And your father 1 
 
 Felix. Taking to my heels, T never looked behind me. 
 
 Clarence. So — I have heard it — you are married 1 
 
 Felix. I am. And wherefore is it you are a bachelor ? Where- 
 fore dare you meet me with a single face ? 
 
 Clarence. Mr. Goldthumb ! 
 
 Felix. Is it so ? "Well then, I'll be solemn too. Five years 
 ago, Mr. Clarence Norman, you were a frank, fine-hearted youth. 
 I pray that time, with his other wickednesses, have not spoilt you. 
 Five years, and then I held you answerable for a young maid's 
 heart, and you allowed the comjjact. 
 
 Clarence, Well ! 
 
 Felix. 'V\1iere is that heart 1 How fares it 1 Are you still the 
 fountain of its happiness, — or is the source that fed it turned 
 aside ] Five years ago. What beauty, trustingness, and hope — 
 shrined in a maiden's form and soul — were yours. Now, sir, for 
 your stewardship. What of this treasure 1 How shall I find 
 it ■? Beauty clouded — oh, it is so ; — faith rejected, hope destroyed. 
 Now, sir, is this to render man's account of that which, imder 
 heaven, makes man's rarest wealth ? 
 
 Clarence. In your chivalry — this one thing you forget. The 
 lady quitted me. Almost at the church door cast me off. 
 
 Felix. Poor soul ! with breaking heart she did so. I have 
 heard it all. It was to save you that she seemed light of pur- 
 pose and inconstant. She found, that in wedding her, you'd 
 wed misfortune, — so with her heroic heart resolved to save 
 you. 
 
 Clarence. I think — I am sure — she loved me then. 
 
 Felix. Ever since, her very life has been that love. Would 
 you think it, when you went abroad, and she was left her own 
 mistress — she learned your destined route, and with her books 
 followed you from place to place. Happy fellow ! and you knew 
 it not ; wherever you went, there was a woman's heart fluttering 
 like a bird of paradise about you. 
 
 Clarence. Can it be ? 
 
 Felix. Why, man, have you not seen the change 1 True, she 
 was ever beautiful and sweet of mind. But who, that saw the 
 school-girl five years since — the homely, simple thing — could 
 think that girl the noble creature of to-day ? And love — love 
 for a man of lead has done it all. Oh, love's a wondrous
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. i3l 
 
 schoolmaster ; and women, when they will learn, wondrous 
 scholarf. 
 
 Clarence. I would believe all this was done for me, and yet I 
 cannot. I cannot think I merit her. 
 
 Felix. Why, no : but that's the old generosity of the sex. In 
 love, women commonly bestow most, where most is least de- 
 served. 
 
 Clarence. I came once more to see her ; though not with the 
 hope your words have wakened. 
 
 Felix. You're a little late ; still, I trust, in time. 
 
 Clarence. In time ! 
 
 Felix. Yes. If you won't have eyes, you can't think all the 
 world will go blind in deference to your darkness. It's a secret. 
 but there is a gentleman who has looked at Florentine. 
 
 Clarence. Looked at her ! How 1 
 
 Felix. Why, as a boy looks at a peach. In a word, he is very 
 rich ; and with a little bit of gold wire would convey to her his 
 wealth and honours. 
 
 Clarence. And she \ 
 
 Felix. Why, wealth and honours are very pretty things, and 
 women — bless 'em ! — may be brought to relish 'em. 
 
 Clarence. But how answers this with the constancy of Floren- 
 tine — with the pa.ssion you speak of ? 
 
 Felix. Oh, she might marry him, though she loved you still. 
 
 Clarence. Indeed ? 
 
 Felix. Yes — though she mightn't know it. You see, when 
 love is slighted, pride sometimes borrows his look — his voice — his 
 sweet syllables. And with these the little impostor leads poor 
 maidens to the altar ; and then, and not till then — when the last 
 rivet's driven in the hymeneal manacle, the poor chained creature 
 feels it is not love, but pride alone that's bound her. So it would 
 be with Florentine. 
 
 Clarence. Yet so it must not be. 
 
 Felix. Hm ! And you do not guess your rival ? 
 
 Clarence. No. 
 
 Felix. What think you of that Corinthian pillar of coldness 
 and polish — of that stoic, born like the rhinoceros in a natural 
 suit of mail, — Sir Gilbert Norman ? 
 
 Clarence. My uncle ! 
 
 Felix. {Pointing of) See there. Behold how love has 
 soothed and softened him, and made him smile, and look, and 
 walk, for all the world like one of us poor common mortals. He 
 comes, — obedient as her pet-dog to feed upon her words. I'll 
 leave you with him. Be a dutiful nephew ; wish him joy ; and 
 call sweet Florentine your aunt. \^Exit. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Clarence. And shall I be juggled thus ? No ; fortune has no 
 peril — beggary itself no terrors, to withhold me. 'Tis clear, I 
 have been tricked. My heart swells with its wrongs; and it 
 shall take its worst and fiercest utterance. \Rctires. 
 
 Enter Sir Gilbert. 
 
 Sir Glib. I am again a youth. Youth ! I never felt so light 
 — so joyous ; with such a winged spirit. There seems a new 
 bloom — a brightness upon everything about me. 'Tis odd, too, I 
 feel myself smiling upon all sorts of people, and feeling all the 
 happier for it. 
 
 Clarence. Uncle ! 
 
 Sir Gilb. {Aside. Why, what brings him here 1) How d'ye 
 do, Clarence ? Where do you hide ? What do you stare at ? 
 
 Clarence. Pardon me, sir. By your blithe looks, I may con- 
 gratulate you on some new felicity. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Yes — yes. You shall congratulate me. But as we 
 have met, and in this place, I have a word to say to you ; a 
 serious word : 'tis marriage. 
 
 Clarence. AVell, sir. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Lady Elizabeth — her fether assures me she only waits 
 your offer — will make a charming wife. 
 
 Clarence. How could it be otherwise 1 Consider, sir, her 
 ancestry. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Oh, yes. But I mean her heart. 
 
 Clarence. Oh, sir ; what's a heart to a shield of heraldry 1 
 Every woman has a heart, — but how few has sixteen quar- 
 terings 1 
 
 Sir Gilb. Still, when a man marries, he likes something in a 
 wife — something beyond leopards, cat-o'-mountains, and onicorns. 
 Why, what brings that cloud upon your face ? 
 
 Clarence. A sudden thought, sir. Is there not somewhere in 
 her ladyship's arms a — a bend sinister ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. What of it 1 The highest families have had their 
 bend sinister. Indeed, sometimes the bend has been to them 
 their best support. Just as now and then, carpenters get their 
 gi-eatest strength in crooked timber. Why, Clarence, you are 
 ctrangely nice. 
 
 Clarence. Else, sir, I were your most unworthy pupil. 
 
 *S^y Gilb. {Aiiide : A plague upon my teaching.) 
 
 Clarence. You have ever bid me think myself the depositary of 
 your name and title. And therefore, my anxious care to transmit 
 that title — 
 
 Sir Gilb. Possibly — I say, possibly — I may myself relieve you 
 of that anxiety.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 133 
 
 Clarence. Sir ? 
 
 Sir 6 ilb. I am aware, Clarence, that after these expectations 
 — nurtured in you as they have been by myself — my resolution 
 may disappoint, may wrong you. But, Clarence, you have known 
 what it is to love ? 
 
 Clarence. Then, sir, I was a boy. 
 
 Sir Gilb. I wish I had loved when a boy ; then I might have 
 been free of love the rest of my life ; just as some fevers are never 
 taken twice. 
 
 Clarence. In few words, sir, — you purpose marriage ? And 
 the happy lady, sir ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. Oh, Clarence ! could you but see her. — You shall see 
 her. {Aside : He has seen her.) Her smile — her voice — 
 would animate a thing hewn out of i-ock, and bring it suppliant 
 at her feet. 
 
 Clarence. And does the lady love you, sir 1 
 
 Sir Gilb. Of course. Is that a task, in my case, so difficult ? 
 
 Clarence. No, sir ; no. Do I know the lady's family 1 
 
 Sir Gilb. Really, that's more than I can tell. 
 
 Clarence. You of course know her whole ancestry ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. (Aside : It must out.) I dou't even know wno was 
 her father or mother ; though from deduction, I conclude she had 
 both. 
 
 Clarence. And you would marry an unknown prettiness ? 
 Some creature sprung — 
 
 Sir Gilb. If, like the fighting men of Cadmus, she was sprang 
 from dragon's teeth, I'd marry her. 
 
 Clarence. Now, sir, I see you jest. Come, sir ; tell me her 
 father's arms, and I may guess her family. 
 
 Sir Gilb. {Aside : Hm ! She talked something about the 
 gipsies.) Her father's arms ? What think you of a tinker's 
 kettle in a field proper 1 Mind, I don't know them to be such ; 
 but if they were — 
 
 Clarence. Well, Sir ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. I'd take the kettle for the goddess that came with it. 
 
 Clarence. And your bride has not herself unveiled the mystery ? 
 
 Sir Gilb. No. 
 
 Clarence. {Aside : Neither will I.) 
 
 Sir Gilb. No : it is my pride, my glory, to take her in igno- 
 rance of all save of herself. And she is like some treasure 
 diamond : a thing to give a lustre to a crown ; and yet to lose 
 no flash of her inherent light from aught that's base or mean 
 surrounding her. 
 
 Clarence. The soul of trath is in your words. I bow to it, and 
 must reverence your choice. And now, Sir Gilbert Norman !
 
 134 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Sir Gilh. Clarence ! 
 
 Clarence. Look on me, a disappointed, blighted man ; look, and 
 hear me. Then, ask your own soul, is this wise— just ? 
 
 Sir Gilh. What mean you 1 
 
 Clarence. In the deep feeling of my fervent youth,^ I gave my 
 heart to one whose worth— I can avouch it — was rich as that 
 fair lady's, soon to bless you. My love for her possessed me like 
 my blood. With iron hand you plucked me from her ; bade me 
 know my station- know the world. You said you'd teach me 
 bohh. With stony face and icy sentences you schooled me. My 
 station, you told me, was removed from the broad, vulgar way 
 of human dealing. I might observe the stir and impulse of the 
 common million, but never mingle with or feel it. And then, 
 the world ! My appointed world numbered some thousands or 
 so, no more ; exalted beings, fashioned, stamped, and sent 
 especially by heaven to make this inner paradise — all men 
 without mere tributary creatures, things of unmixed dust. Was 
 not this the creed you taught me 1 
 
 Sir Gilh. Go on. 
 
 Clarence. And I was converted, or deemed so, from the 
 ignorance that blessed me. And so, I soon forgot the humble 
 maid that loved me ; and dead in heart, yet varnished with out- 
 side courtesy, became the pulseless thing you wished me. 
 
 Sir Gilh. I thought you had forgotten— or but remembered it 
 for laughter — the boyish fondness that possessed you. 
 
 Clarence. I thought so, too. And now, there's not a feeling— 
 not a thought— that is not of her ; that does not blight me with 
 the wrong — the mortal wrong you've done me. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Clarence i 
 
 Clarence. I learnt the worldly lesson that you set me — I 
 flung away the treasure of a life ; and now impoverished, 
 broken-hearted, ask of your calculating wisdom counsel and 
 comfort for my bankrupt days. What lesson next, sir, shall 
 I con to please you 1 
 
 Sir Gilb. This lesson — marry her ! 
 
 Clarence. What % 
 
 Sir Gilb. My own awakened heart assures me that I taught 
 you error. I thought it worldly wisdom ; it was, as it almost 
 ever is, refined selfishness. Hear me. If the girl be faithful 
 still ; if the creature, that as a boy you loved, can stand the test 
 of riper judgment— with added grace it may be, more developed 
 -svorth — then Clarence Norman, I say to you, marry her and 
 bless you ! Marry her. [Exit. 
 
 Clarence. Marry her ! He little knows the torture of such 
 coimsel now. And she herself is silent ; has breathed no word
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 135 
 
 to him. Viut seeks in mystery a greater conquest. All's plain. 
 Title— f'oitune ; her woman's vanity is caught, and I'm despised. 
 Yet at aU cost of heart I'll see her ; for the last time see her. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Enter Goldthumb. 
 
 Gold. 'Twas Felix ! Tho' not to a soul I'd own it, yet I am 
 sure 'twas he. Now, plain as my hand before me; and now 
 vanished ! And then my dream — my horrid dream ! And his 
 mother — she dreamt too ! I'm not a superstitious man ; no, I 
 should despise myself to be so— but that two people should 
 dream — two ! three, for there was the Professor — three dream 
 alike !— and then that vision in the meadow ! Still, I'm not 
 superstitious. No : I've read too many romances, not to know 
 how easily ghosts are made. I'm not so weak as — who's there 1 
 
 Enter Bessy and Miss Tucker. 
 
 Bessi/. La, Mr. Goldthumb ! 
 
 Gold. What's the matter 1 
 
 Bessy. Anything happened ? How ill and pale you look ! 
 
 Gold. Ill ! Pale ! Never was better in my life — never more 
 robust. 
 
 Miss T. You i-eally ought to feel ill, for I never saw a man 
 look worse. {Enter Mrs. Goldthumb and Professor Truffles.) 
 Dear Mrs. Goldthumb ! {Aside : The Professor, too !) What's 
 happened to your husband 1 How ill — 
 
 Gold. Ill ! Pooh ! Never so strong. I feel a — a — a Hercules. 
 I didn't sleep well last. night, that's all. I'd an ugly dream about 
 my boy Felix. 
 
 Bessi/. And so had I. 
 
 Miss T. {Solcmnli/) And so had I. 
 
 Gold. Well, that's very odd, very strange ! Ha ! ha ! {Aside : 
 Oh, Lord !) There was a tiger-hunt in my dream. 
 
 Bessy. And in mine ! 
 
 Miss T. And mine ! 
 
 Mrs. Gold and Truff. And mine ! 
 
 Truff. Mr. Goldthumb, no one— not even myself— ever doubted 
 the strength of my intellect. And I say tigers don't run in the 
 sleep of five people for nothing. 
 
 Gold. Pooh ! It's what a novelist would call a romantic coin- 
 cidence. Professor, I thought you had philosophy. 
 
 Truff. So I have : I make my bread of philosophy ; but that's 
 no reason philosophy should make a stone of me. 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Ha ! Some people seem ashamed to be flesh and
 
 136 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 blood. They ought never to have had children ; unless they'd 
 chipped 'era, like churchyard cherubs, out of marble. 
 
 Gold. {Aside : A wife is a comfort, no doubt ; for when a man 
 is torn to bits— when he wants some balm poured into his wouilds, 
 — how often will the sweet creature, loving him dearly all the 
 while, — clap a blister on him ?) 'Sdeath, woman, what am I to 
 do 1 If your son was killed by a thousand tigers — 
 
 Mrs. Gold. Oh ! oh ! oh ! Mr. Goldthumb ! 
 
 3Iiss T. Don't, sir. The spectacle is too appalling. 
 
 [They retire. 
 
 Truff. I know a little about dreams, ]VIr. Goldthumb. I once 
 dreamt I was flayed alive ; and the next morning I was served 
 with the copy of a writ. I now speak as a philosopher. After 
 all these dreams, I would prepare myself for the worst. 
 
 Gold. You don't mean it 1 
 
 Tniff. You know there's nothing thrown away if he's alive. 
 And if not — 
 
 Gold. A word. Think you there are such things as ghosts 1 
 
 Triif. Think? I have seen just one-and-tweuty. 
 
 Gold. Bless me ! But not any in the open day 1 
 
 Truff. I once saw a ghost — my old school-master's, in his 
 Sunday suit and bob-wig— just before he died ; I saw him with 
 the mid-day sun shining thi-ough him. 
 
 Gold. Before he died 1 I've heard such things of ghosts. 
 
 Truff. Yes ; the philosophy of it is this— they come before 
 they go. 
 
 Gold. Professor, I'm not superstitious, but I'm very ill. Tell 
 me this. You talk about a ghost's Sunday suit. I can half 
 understand the ghost of a man, but not the ghost of his clothes. 
 Now, I cannot make out the ghost of a bob- wig. 
 
 Truff'. Oh, the ghost of a tooth-pick, if that's all. It's all in 
 the mind. Another time I'll explain it. Why, you haven't 
 seen — eh 1 
 
 Gold. No — ^no — no ! {Aside : I won't own it.) 
 
 Truff. You relieve me ; for, had you seen anything, I, as a 
 philosopher, would have said — go at once into black. 
 
 Gold. {Aside : I knew it — I was sure of it. I am a childless 
 wicked old man. To send away my only boy— my dear Felix—) 
 
 Bessi/. Dear me ! You are not well, sir. 
 
 Gold. No— yes : it's the heat of the day— give me a chair. 
 
 Truff. And pray, how is the poor gentleman with the 
 tooth-ache 1 
 
 Gold. That's he ! I'd forgot ! My poor head ! I came to 
 see him — I must see him. 
 
 Bessy. He's very ill, sir ; the pain's gone, but he's quite
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 137 
 
 exhausted. He, too, di-eamt of your son last night ; though he 
 won't say "vrhat. I'll fetch him, sir ; though he's weak — very 
 weak. (Exit and re-enters.) The gentleman's coming, but he's 
 very weak — can scarcely speak, sir. 
 
 Eater Felix, in morning gown. His cap over his eyes, and 
 handkerchief round his face. They place him in a chair next to 
 
 GOLDTHUMB. 
 
 Gold. There, you're better — much better, eh ? 
 
 Felix. {In a feeble, disguised voice) "Very little. 
 
 Gold. I want you to tell me about Felix. {Felix sighs deeply) 
 What's the matter 1 
 
 Felix. Nothing. He's the most intimate friend I have ; and 
 last night I dreaint, — but then, what are dreams, sir ? 
 
 Gold. Nothing — nothing. Ha ! ha ! wise men laugh at 'em. 
 How did you leave my Felix 1 He was well — happy. 
 
 Felix. Neither well nor happy. Away from you, his only 
 consolation was tiger-hunting. 
 
 Gold. {Aside : And I have driven him to it !) 
 
 Felix. He repented of all his follies in London ; but said he 
 feared you'd never forgive him. 
 
 Gold. I have forgiven him — I have forgiven him. 
 
 Felix. Said he thought you never loved him, or you wouldn't 
 have sent him from you. 
 
 Gold. It was savage — it was cruel — it was stony-hearted. 
 
 Mis. Gold. It was — it was — it was ! 
 
 Gold. {Aside : Ugh ! Another blister !) 
 
 Felix. {Aside : I can't bear this much longer.) 
 
 Gold. My only child ! The sole blessing sent me by heaven ! 
 The little thing that hour by hour grew up at my knee ! The 
 laughing baby — the frank frolicsome boy — the mettlesome, 
 high-spirited youth — and I forgot all this — I sent him from 
 me ! When I should have treasured him at home — for how 
 loBg have I, a miserable old man, to live ? — When I should 
 have made him my companion — my best friend — my — oh, Felix ! 
 Felix ! 
 
 Felix. {Falling on his hnees and discovering himself.) Father ! 
 
 Gold. Felix ! My sou ! My own boy ! My darling Felix ! 
 
 My Scoundrel ! I see the trick you've played me ; — you've 
 
 juggled me — but you're mistaken — I'll be firm still — I'll — I'll — 
 Oh, Felix ! Felix ! {Throws himself upon Felix's neck.) 
 
 Felix. Am I forgiven, sir 1 
 
 Gold. Yes — all, all your faults. 
 
 Fdix. {Showing Bessy.) Here's a little one, sir ; my wife— am 
 I forgiven this too 2
 
 138 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 Gold. What ? This little sngar-plnm your "wife ? Let me 
 know all. Is there a cradle iu the house ? 
 
 Miss T. Mr. Goldthumb ! 
 
 Gold. Come along^let's go home — don't speak — ^not a word. 
 Let's go to Parsnip Hall ! And — my dear Felix ! My sweet 
 little daughter. Well, now you've come back, you shall never 
 leave me — never — never ! (Aside : I've been prettily tricked 
 and fooled. I ought — I feel I ought to have some Eoman blood 
 in me ; but I haven't ; it's all turned to buttermilk.) Come 
 along. {Aside : I ought to send him packing — to banish him 
 to the world's end : but I can't do it. He's my own son, — 
 and then he's shown himself such a wonderful boy !) Come 
 along. [Exeunt Mr. a7id Mrs. Goldthumb, Bessy and Felix. 
 
 Miss T. (Taking houquet from table.) Professor Truffles, — may 
 1 reciprocate a bouquet 1 
 
 Truff. Beautiful flowers ! So delicate, so bright, so odori- 
 ferous ! — your heart must be among 'em. I'll wear it next 
 my own. 
 
 Miss T. (Aside : Gorgeous man !) 
 
 Trvff, And Florentine marries the baronet 1 
 
 Miss T. She does him that honour. 
 
 T)iiff. Heigho ! And you will reside with her new ladyship 1 
 
 Mi.'ts T. She can't live without me. The whole mansion 
 will be at my disposal. Carriages, servants, everything. But 
 then. Professor, it's not one's own mansion ; not one's own 
 carriage. And people who live in other people's houses — you 
 understand ? 
 
 Truff. Perfectly. {Aside : I've so often tried the experiment. 
 I know the girl will give her something handsome to get rid 
 of her ; so I'll risk the knot.) Ha ! 'tis sweet, indeed, to call a 
 sweet thing one's own. Charming Tucker, may I call you my own. 
 
 Miss T. Truffles ! 
 
 Truff. As we can do nothing else, we'll follow the fashion, and 
 set up a school a-piece. Think of the delight. Our own house — 
 own hearth — own tea-kettle — our own cat ! 
 
 Miss T. Whither would you lead me ? I — I can answer 
 nothing. 
 
 Truff. Then let that r6se — your fittest representative — answer 
 for you. 
 
 Miss T. {Tremulousli/ taking a rose frmn her bouquet, and 
 giving it) Take it — it is myself. 
 
 Truff. {Giving rose from his bouquet) And this is me ! 
 
 Miss T. Is it too late to take it back again ? 
 
 Truff. It is impounded by Hymen ; and again to take it 
 would be to rob the church. \_Exeunt.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 139 
 
 Enter Florentine and Chicken. 
 
 Floren. Prepare what I have told you ; and in half-an-hour 
 let the chaise wait for me at the end of the village. 
 
 Chick. And Miss Tucker — and dear Mrs. Felix, ma'am ? 
 
 Floren. Not a word. When safely distant, I will write to 
 them my determination. And, good girl, think well ere you 
 decide. Where my course lies as yet I know not. But wherever 
 it may be, I remain secret — dead to the world. 
 
 Chick. If it was to go and be a nun with you, ma'am, I do 
 thiak I could do it. {Aside : For there's no trusting to Bantam.) 
 
 Floren. Be quick, then — and be silent. 
 
 Chick. Yes, ma'am. But what of Sir Gilbert, ma'am ? He's 
 been here a long time to see you. 
 
 Floren. Say I await him here. {Exit Chichen.) He may deem 
 me light, capricious, as he will : T will not wed him. Now, a 
 calm is on my heart, — now I see in all its misery, the fate my 
 pride prepared for me. 
 
 Enter Sir Gilbert. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Forgive me, Florentine, that like an unquiet spirit I 
 thus haunt you. You know my errand ? 
 
 Floren. No. 
 
 Sir Gilb. You cannot guess 1 Does no touch of sympathy 
 reveal it 1 
 
 Floren. Even so. Sir Gilbert. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Sweet Florentine, there is now but one wish 
 yearning at my heart. With a frankness that enhanced the 
 prize, you gave your hand. When, say when, at the altar may 
 I claim it 1 
 
 Floren. Sir Gilbert, — 
 
 Sir Gilb. {Aside : So cold !) 
 
 Floren. Sir Gilbert, at your hands I ask — implore forgiveness. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Forgiveness ? Florentine ! 
 
 Floren. For a poor, weak, proud woman. For one, who in 
 her folly mistook vanity for love, confounding worldly triumph 
 with affection. It is from your exalted mind. Sir Gilbert — 
 fi'om the innate nobility of your true heart, I ask compassion 
 and forgiveness. 
 
 Sir Gilb. No : you mean not that. My fears are but the excess 
 of love, that like a miser is made timorous by the very treasure 
 that he holds. 
 
 Floren. Sir Gilbert, true it is I pledged you my hand. In one
 
 HO TIME WORKS WONDERS. 
 
 passiouate moment did I deem myself your wife. I must endure 
 your hardest thoughts ; but it is not in human power — in human 
 argument — to make me wed you. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Is it so '? 
 
 Floren. I will not do you that great — that lasting wi-ong. You 
 shall not endure that life-long weariness, that wretched mockery, 
 that worst of all hypocrisies, a wife without a heart. 
 
 Sir Gilb. What ! can I think a pledge— made with such seem- 
 ing truth, such true simplicity of soul — was but a wayward 
 thought, an act of sudden pride 1 
 
 Floren. Judge me as you will — but pardon, pity me. 
 
 Sir Oilb. You say you cannot bring a heart. It is another's ? 
 
 Floren. In girlhood given, and — I feel it now — for ever. 
 
 Sir Gilb. And is the precious gift treasured and cherished ? 
 Hope you to wed him '? 
 
 Floren. Never. Our fates are separate. He has long outlived 
 the love he thought he bore me — and marries with another. 
 
 Sir Gilb. And you ? 
 
 Floren. I must learn patience. 
 
 Sir Gilb. Nay, confide in my affection— truth. Henceforth, I'll 
 think there is no use in time save what is spent in tenderness, in 
 love for you. 
 
 Floren. And what the reward for this devotion ? Indifference ; 
 or worse still — a smiling, cold similitude of love. Sir Gilbert, you 
 shall not deceive yourself. Each day, each hour would bring to 
 you new weariness. Full soon the colours that your passion 
 paints me with would ftide— full soon would show you the blank, 
 dull, pining creature you were doomed to. No cloud of thought 
 would shade my face — no sigh unconsciously escape me — but 
 that with a pang of heart you'd think was given to another. 
 And would this be life — this marriage ? A thousand times more 
 welcome is the grave than such a daily death of truth — than 
 such a life, masked at the best by smiling falsehood. Yet, hear 
 me, Sir Gilbert ! I have thought of this till thought has 
 been a chaos. I have wronged your noble nature — sported 
 with your best hopes. But pity, pardon, and release me. — 
 
 l^About to kneel. 
 
 Sir Gilb. {Raising her) Eise, madam, you are free. I sought 
 a wife, and not a victim. \Exit. 
 
 Floren. 'Tis jjast — a few moments are now all that remain to 
 me. Through the garden I may pass unobserved, and so in 
 safety seek the carriage. Dear Bessy I Yet 'tis better we 
 should part thus. I should need courage for other leave- 
 taking. (Zs about to Exit. — Enter Clarence from garden) 
 Clarence !
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. lil 
 
 Clarence. Madam ! {Aside : How changed ! Her haughty 
 looks are quenched in tears.) Is such the triumph of a happy 
 bride ? 
 
 Floren. To what accident — to what jest of fortime may I owe 
 this meeting 1 
 
 Clarence. Florentine, let us for the last time commune with 
 open hearts ; let us, if for the last time, remember that blissful 
 season when youth and love made for our souls a paradise of 
 hope. 
 
 Floren. Such hopes are buried : wherefore disturb them ? 
 Maturer days and newer duties bid us both forget them. 
 
 Clarence. Oh, Florentine ! Find you forgetfulness so easy ? 
 
 Floren. Let such be your lesson : you owe it — 'tis a sacred debt 
 — to her you'll call your wife, 
 
 Clarence. My wife ! 
 
 Floren. Sir Gilbert has informed me of the approaching cere- 
 mony. Happiness await you ! 
 
 CTare«ce. Yet a moment. I too have heard of a marriage. Sir 
 Gilbert, exulting in his triumph, has himself informed me. Is it 
 permitted to one, whose greatest human hope it was to make that 
 happiness, to wish you all felicity 1 
 
 Floren. I take this jesting with a broken heart — yes, Clarence, 
 'tis even so, for now I need the pride to mask it — as so much 
 penance for my folly past. 'Tis true. Sir Gilbert sought to wed 
 me. My birth, condition, all unknown to him, he asked my hand 
 — I gave it. Heedless and despei-ate with wounded love, I gave 
 it — for ever pledged my fate with his. 
 
 Clarence. And you will marry him ? 
 
 Floren. Never. 
 
 Clarence. Florentine ! 
 
 Floren. And now, sir, let these be the last words between us — 
 this our last meeting upon earth. 
 
 Clarence. By my soul's hope, no ! 
 
 Floren. You are affianced — newly-bound ; your faith is now 
 another's. Nor am I so poor of heart — so weak — to pay back 
 the generosity of Sir Gilbert with such falsehood. 
 
 Clarence. Hear me ! 'Tis true that, as I thought, indifferent 
 to all, I half-consented to my uncle's wish. la very emptiness of 
 heart I did so ; for, schooled by him, I had learned to look on 
 all things with apathetic eyes ; and for marriage, to think 
 it at the best a wealthy bargain settled by the priest. Such 
 was my miserable faith, when again you beamed upon me; 
 once again touched my frigid heart to life — seemed to bring 
 back to me the pure and happy thoughts of youth, when 
 you were blended with its being ; blessing and refining it.
 
 142 TIME WORKS "WONDERS. 
 
 Thus awakened — thus regenerate — before the world I claim 
 you, — my wife ! 
 
 {Enter Sir Gilbert, Mr. and Mrs. Goldthtjmb, Felix and 
 Bessy, Professor Truffles and Miss Tucker.) 
 
 Sir Gilbert, in good time have you come to bless my choice. 
 
 Sir Oilb. Your clioice ! 
 
 Floren. Clarence ! 
 
 Clarence. Again I say, my wife ! You bade me seek my early 
 love — bade me, if I found her true and trusting, to marry her. 
 And if there be faith in human words, with her mute looks she 
 asks your blessing. 
 
 Sir Gilh. Your early love ! What — Florentine — 
 
 Gold. Quite true. She's the baker's daughter. 
 
 Miss T. My runaway parlour-boarder. 
 
 Bessy. My dear — dear schoolfellow. 
 
 Sir Gilh. {Aside : This is a trial for my heart — my pride. But 
 I will — I must subdue it. He has my word : my promise, 
 gaiued too by no sleight or trick ; and though it wrings me to 
 the soul, as I am a gentleman, I will perform it. It must be 
 done.) Clarence, you have done well — very well. Even I, your 
 old, mistaken tutor, must confess it. Florentine, despite of all, I 
 must have your love : nay, I will force it from you ; for with 
 my heart, though, in truth, the benison costs it a struggle 
 — with my heart, I say, heaven bless you. {Joins their hands.) 
 Be happy. 
 
 Miss T. Lady Norman that will be — a thousand and a thousand 
 joys. 
 
 Felix. Mrs. Professor Truffles, that will be — all joy to you ! 
 
 Sir Gilh. What ! another wedding ? 
 
 Truff. Yes ; we propose at last to set up in life. We intend to 
 marry, and — scholastically — have girls and boys. 
 
 Felix. Well resolved. Clarence, your hand. I was sure of it. 
 Though you were well-nigh spoilt, I had faith in your heart. I 
 knew in time you'd return to the parlour-boarder. 
 
 Gold. Yes, — Time's work ; Time has doue it all ! Time has 
 taught the baronet here that certain lessons — like certain 
 drugs — ar'n't a bit the better swallowed by the apothecary who 
 deals in 'em. Time, too has sent back my Felix — it must 
 be confessed, an extraordinary boy — the wild, green goose, 
 paired and sobered. Time, too, has matched Miss Tucker 
 and the Professor — {Aside : just as after a long hunt, we 
 sometimes match an odd china cup and saucer.) Time, too, 
 has made me the happiest old trunk-maker — yes, I say it.
 
 TIME WORKS WONDERS. 143 
 
 for all my wife's looking at me — the happiest old truuk- 
 maker ib j.i ever buried an author. And thus, however bitter 
 the draught may be — however heavy the load — let's swallow 
 it with patience — let's bear it with a smile — hopeful in 
 the belief, that however dark the present, — Tihe Works 
 Wonders, 
 
 END OF TIME WOEKS W0^'^DER8.
 
 CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Captain Burgonet Mr. How 
 
 Mr. Snowball Mr. Keeley. 
 
 Doctor Petgoose Mr. J. Wallack. 
 
 Applcface Mr. Buckstone. 
 
 Coolcard 
 
 alias 
 
 Bushy Knox, M. A. [ .... Mr. "Webster. 
 
 alias 
 Chevalier Podovy ^ 
 
 Axidley Mr. Selbt 
 
 Dtist Mr. Tilburt. 
 
 Duggins Mr. Ellis. 
 
 Servant Mr. A. Brindal. 
 
 Mrs. Peacfidown Miss Reynolds. 
 
 Cassandra Mrs. S. L. Buckingham. 
 
 Rosemary Mrs. Keeley. 
 
 Scene, London. Date, 1850. 
 
 This Comedy was first represented May 9lh, 1850.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene. — A suite of apartments in Snowball's hovse. Dust dis- 
 covered at table, on which are papers, booh, i^'C. 
 
 Bust. My master's a mean mau. This is his private note- 
 book full of all sorts of odds and ends ; and he's writ 'em down in 
 such a kind of gibberish that, for the life of me, I can't make out 
 one of 'em. I call this mean ; yes, mean and — 
 
 DuoQiNS runs in. 
 
 Duggins. John, John ! 
 
 Dust. John ! When a tail has grown to your jacket, and you've 
 ripened into plush, then, Sam Duggins, you may say John. 'Till 
 then, Mr. Dust if you please. 
 
 Duggins. "Well, then, Mr. Dust, you must run as hard as you 
 can with this paper. — It's for physic. 
 
 Dust. Eun ! I have lived ten years with Mr. Snowball, and 
 -whatever was the hurry, I can lay my hand upon my heart and 
 say, I never run yet. 
 
 Duqgins. But I tell you, master's ill. Shouldn't wonder, 
 Doctor Petgoose says, if he hasn't broke a blood-vessel. 
 
 Dust. Pooh— impossible. 'Tisn't in him. {Takes a chair) 
 
 Duggins. Why, you'll never — master may lose his life ! 
 
 Dust. You've only been a week in this house, Duggins. Not a 
 cat in the parish has lost so many lives as your master, and still 
 has so many to spare. 
 
 Duggins. But Dr. Petgoose — 
 
 Dust. Doctor Petgoose is a quack. 
 
 Duggins. Why, what's a quack ? 
 
 Dust. Ha, Duggins ! You're from the country. Well, it's 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 sweet to meet with the smallest bit of innocence ; it comes upon 
 a town man like new-mown hay. 
 
 Duggins. But what's a quack 1 Is't a regular trade ? 
 
 Dust. No — it's a gift ! 
 
 Duggins. And Doctor Petgoose you say — 
 
 Enter Eosemary. 
 
 Rosemary. This is appalling ! And you can eat your master's 
 bread — yes, Mr. Dust, you can sit in an easy chair, and your 
 master, if I may use the expression, with one leg in the grave. 
 
 Dust. Don't be more afeard for that. He won't put in the other 
 leg, I can promise you. 
 
 Rosem. Mr. Dust, in the nat'ral course of things, that boy will 
 be a brute quite soon enough without your example. 
 
 Dust. Let's hope he may. As for things in their nat'ral 
 course, I'm the last to hurry 'em. Give me this physic-warrant 
 and — and brush my hat, and wait in the hall. {Exit Duggins.) 
 Hra ! And Mr, Snowball is so very bad ? What is it this 
 time ? 
 
 Rosem. Spasms. And Doctor Petgoose says, as a doctor he 
 ■won't answer for him. 
 
 Dust. As a doctor why should he ? That's the patient's 
 business. 
 
 Rosem. Mr. Dust, your ill-nature may be very clever, but I 
 only wished you loved your fellow speeches. 
 
 Dust. I did once : nobody knows that better than you. Now, 
 I'm above loving anything. I despise the world, and lay by my 
 wages So he's bad with spasms, is he ? And how it's going 
 to rain ! Why couldn't the doctor make up the physic from his 
 own box ? 
 
 Rosem. He hadn't all the drugs. — Specially out of laudanum. 
 
 Dust. I don't wonder at that. Folks with the consciences 
 they have in this house must take a good deal to make 'em sleep. 
 
 Rosem. Mr. Dust, what you have to say — say straightfor'ard. 
 No zigzag insinuations for me. People, bold in virtue— 
 
 Dust. Yes, people's virtue may be very bold when they've got 
 the military to take care of it. 
 
 Rosem. Military ! 
 
 Dust. What's that soldier after, always rapping his cane round 
 about the house 1 Cook says he's after the plate-basket or after 
 you. Now my opinion is — 
 
 Rosem. What is your opinion ? 
 
 Dust. That he's got an eye upon both, 
 
 Rosem. Indeed ?
 
 THE CATSPAW. 149 
 
 Dust. In which case — but only for the sake of the spoons — T 
 shall tell master. 
 
 Rosem. {Aside : Demon !) And so hope to double the property 
 LIr. Snowball has left you ? 
 
 Dust. Left me ! Property ! Not but what I'm above it, but 
 •what is it ? 
 
 Rosem. When he made his will — yes, I know it — you'll never 
 pass his monument without once a quarter blessing him. 
 
 Dust. And is he so very ill now 'i 
 
 Rosem. This time quite in earnest. You don't know it, but an 
 annuity may drop upon you every minute. 
 
 Dust. {Folding up prescription, putting it in hit poclet, and 
 resuming his seat) I don't know how it is, but I do begin to 
 think better of mankind. Poor master ! It's sudden, too. 
 What can have done it ? 
 
 Rosem. Listen. Lord Wintercough, Mr. Snowball's great 
 uncle, has died — 
 
 Dust. I know that. 
 
 Rosem. Died in the most unfeeling manner, and never left your 
 master so much as a copper pennypiece. The shock has shivered 
 his system. Ikli's. Peachdown comes into the fortune ready made 
 for her like a bed. 
 
 Dust. Talking of beds, is my annuity enough for two ? Not 
 that I'd have master die to make me comfortable. 
 
 Rosem. Ha, IVIr. Dust, there's no help for it ! He must die 
 and you must be comfortable. 
 
 Dust. If it must be, it doesn't become a worm like me to repine. 
 In which case I'll go for the suiferer's physic. Since if it does 
 him no harm, it can do him no — 
 
 Rosem. No good 1 
 
 Dust. I didn't mean that, but — 
 
 Rosem. I'm sure you didn't ; but feeling's too much for gi'ammar. 
 
 Dust. It is. Poor master ! This morning so well and now — 
 spasms ! Ha, Rosemary — in this world, what's health 1 
 
 Rosem. An annuity 1 
 
 Dust. Or rank — or state ? All nothing — all spasms ! [Exit. 
 
 Rosem. Ha ! ha ! ha ! With this flam of an annuity, I'll lead 
 him like a lap-dog after pound-cake. I cajole him ; but how I 
 hate him, he's such a hypocrite ! Still, till I marry Alexander, 
 I must keep terms with the creature. Sweet Appleface ! he was 
 not made for war's alarms, but for domestic comfort. Not for the 
 trumpet, but the tea-kettle. How very delicious, too, to think 
 that with my little savings, I shall buy his discharge from the 
 Hundred-and- Fourth Foot, dust him from pipe-clay, and make 
 him my own for ever. [Retires.
 
 150 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Enter Snowball atid Dr. Petgoose. 
 
 Snowhall. Doctor Petgoose, you must allow me to know my 
 own constitution ! 
 
 Petgoose. Certainly not. As a doctor, the last liberty I can 
 allow any man. 
 
 Snowb, Not know my own feelings ? 
 
 Petgoose, No ! it's flying in the face of the faculty. 
 
 Snowb. What next 1 I suppose I've no eyes — I can't see ? 
 
 Petgoose. You have no eyes — you can't see. 'Tis science only 
 that can see. Science, Mr. Snowball, that to the eye of the 
 physician turns the whole human animal, I may say, into glass. 
 At this minute I can see your heart in your bosom — see it as 
 plainly as any cucumber in any bottle. 
 
 Snowb. My dear doctor ! 
 
 Petgoose. And I must say this. — It's a blessed thing, my friend, 
 you can't see yourself 
 
 Snowb. But I feel like — like a giant. 
 
 Petgoose. I know that, and there's the danger. If I could only 
 see you prostrate, I should be comfortable. Your strength is your 
 weakness. Passion is a muscular emotion. For surprise, com- 
 municating with the pia-mater, gives morbid activity to the 
 vertebral column. Just as it is the function of the human heart, 
 like the human pocket, to open with expectation, and shut with 
 disappointment. Whereupon, the animal spirits are held in 
 suspense, like — like the bees-wing in port, or a fragment of hop 
 in old October. In which case, it is ten to one that passion, 
 sweeping up and do\vn the internal anatomy, does not suddenly 
 destroy life, going as clean through the nervous machinery, as a 
 house-broom through a cobweb ! 
 
 Snowb. {Drops in chair) My dear Petgoose ! 
 
 EosEMART coming down. 
 
 Rosem. You'll kill the best of masters ! Oh, I've heard what 
 you said, and I defy the looks of science, even if science does make 
 all the world a glass-house, and all the people in it doctor's 
 bottles. 
 
 Snowh. You're a good girl, Rosemary ; but I feel the doctor's 
 right. 
 
 Petgoose. No, sir ; no. If a physician may say as much to 
 his own face, I'm an ass. For what was my public practice ? 
 Were not thousands at my foot ? 
 
 Rosem. {Aside : Yes — and thousands under it.) 
 
 Petgoose. But the friend was stronger than the physician, and
 
 THE CATSPAW, 1.51 
 
 I withheld my genius from the rest of the world, to shower it all 
 upon yourself. 
 
 SnowD. You did. 
 
 Petgoose. And more — my great discovery ; the brain of a life — 
 my Paradise Pill ! A pill I might have stood upon, like Mercury 
 on the globe. A pill that at the present moment is daily bread 
 to thousands. That pill, in the extravagance of friendship, I 
 parted with for ever and for ever. 
 
 Snowb. You did. 
 
 Petgoose. More. To make my return to practice impossible, 
 didn't I write an indignant book ? Didn't I throw in the face of 
 the world my " Pearls to Pigs ? " 
 
 Snowb. You did — you did. 
 
 Petgoose. And this is my reward ! You are to know your con- 
 stitution — to talk of your feelings ? 
 
 Snoich. I beg your pardon. 
 
 Petgoose. Quite sufficient. 
 
 Snowb. I was a fool. 
 
 Petgoose. With that I'm always satisfied. 
 
 Snowb. Yqyj odd. The agitation's given me quite an appetite. 
 Let's have luncheon. I'm so hungry. 
 
 Petgoose. Another delusion. It's your brain that's hungry, 
 not the stomach. 
 
 Snowb. Is it ? 
 
 Petgoose. (Feels Snowball's pulse.) "Well, a cupful of chicken- 
 broth in half-an-hour. And for company, I'll take a mouthful. 
 Rosemary, tell the cook to devil me a nice plump pullet. 
 
 Rosem. Oh ! broth for the patient and pullet for the doctor. 
 
 Petgoose. I lunch, you see, on classical authority ; for the cock 
 was dedicated to Esculapius. Young woman, as you've heard so 
 much, did you ever hear of Esculapius 1 He was the first doctor 
 and — 
 
 Rosem. And lunched off pullets ? "Well, if he'd been the sort 
 of doctor that's common now, instead of dedicating, as you call it, 
 a pullet — I should have cooked him a duck. [Exit. 
 
 Petgoose. (Aside : Some day, I shall prescribe for that young 
 woman.) 
 
 Snowb. Now, hadn't I the best reason for my rage 1 
 
 Petgoose. No — you can't afford it. Some day passion will blow 
 you out like a farthing candle. I know your system. Eeally to 
 enjoy the blessings of life, you should have no more emotion 
 than an oyster. 
 
 Snowh. StUl, to be tricked by his lordship, — and on his death- 
 bed, too ! 
 
 Petgoose. Cowardly, but common.
 
 152 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 S'notob. I who had followed him, — I was going to say, like a dog. 
 
 Fetgoose. You may say it, 
 
 Snowb. And to leave his money to Mrs. Peachdown, — I feel 
 cold all over when I think of her. 
 
 Petgoose. Then you mustn't think of her, I know your system. 
 Think of somebody else. 
 
 Snowb. And yet, to have my hopes break like soap-bubbles — 
 — to — to — 
 
 Petgoose. What 1 More passion ! 
 
 Snowb. I'm tranquil as a toadstool. Still, you will allow me 
 to say it is hard ? 
 
 Petgoose. Certainly. 
 
 Snowb. Pei-haps, my dear flriend, you'll allow me to add — it 
 is damned hard ? 
 
 Petgoose. No objection. 
 
 Snowb. You may even — 
 
 (Enter Cassandra.) 
 
 What do you want 1 
 
 Cassandra. I'm so delighted to see you better ! 
 
 Snowb. Better ! 
 
 Cassan. You seem better. 
 
 Snowb. Seeming may be lying. Did your looking-glass never 
 tell you that ? 
 
 Cassan. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Snowb. (Aside: Will nobody marry her off? Doctor, this 
 girl's furious spirits kill me. I feel it — my tombstone will be 
 upon her head !) 
 
 Petgoose. ( To Cassan.) Mr. Snowball is better — ^but weak. 
 
 Cassan. Everybody must see his weakness. As I feared — not 
 strong enough to bear a lawyer. 
 
 Snowb. Quite strong enough. What lawyer ? 
 
 Cassan. Wliy, sir, Mr. Chumpem. 
 
 Snowb. Chumpem ! Ha ! ha ! I see it — a flaw in the will. 
 Ha ! ha ! I see it ! 
 
 Petgoose. And, unless you're quiet, I see a flaw in the church- 
 yard. Mr. Snowball, if you despise your own life, at least respect 
 ray reputation. 
 
 Snowb. I'm quiet. Feel my pulse — ^like a lamb's, (To Cassan,) 
 Show him in. 
 
 Cassan. Will it be safe — may the lamb meet the lawyer ? 
 
 Petgoose. (Feeling Snowball's pulse.) Fluttering, fluttering. 
 
 Snowb. No, no. Cool and calm as curds and whey. Upon
 
 THE CATSPAW. 153 
 
 my honour, I hav'n't a bit of emotion. Upon my word, I feel 
 quite an oyster. 
 
 Petgoose. In that case, show the lawyer in. [Exit Cassandra. 
 
 Snowb. Dear Doctor, money can never wholly repay you. 
 
 Petgoose. Never. For if I sell the doctor, I present you gratis 
 with the friend. 
 
 {Enter Cassandra with Atjdlet.) 
 
 Oassan. {Aside to Audlet : Mind ; first Chancery, then mar- 
 riage.) 
 
 Axidleif. {Aside : Between the two, depend on't his sagacity 
 shall be rarely tested.) Mr. Snowball — 
 
 Snowb. Why, where 's Chumpem 1 
 
 Cassan. Mr. Chumpem, sir, is in bed. 
 
 Audley. On his back, sir, helpless as a turtle. 
 
 Cassan. And as full of gout, sir. 
 
 Snowb. Gout ! What do you know of — 
 
 Cassan. I know all this gentleman has told me. And fearing 
 you were going to die, and not wishing to interrupt you, I — 
 
 Snowb. Quit the room. Doctor, that girl's tongue ! My hair 
 grows white while she talks. Go. 
 
 Cassan. Very well, sir — I'll go. I came in tenderness, and I 
 leave in terror. (7b Audlet : Good sir, break it gently — kindly 
 to him.) 
 
 Snowb. Go ! 
 
 Cassan. Don't rumple his feelings with your horrid law ; but 
 if it isn't too much to ask, do for once think yourself a zephyr ; 
 and — ha ! ba ! ha ! — your client a rose. [Exit. 
 
 Petgoose. Sit down. 
 
 Snotob. Let me stand. If it's trouble, T can bear it best upon 
 my legs. ( To Audlet.) Now, sir, in this dreadful crisis, what is 
 Mr. Chumpem's remedy 1 
 
 Audley. Chancery. 
 
 Petgoose. {Handing chair to ^inoyrBAiAj, who sinks into it.) And 
 yet yoit will presume upon your little strength ! 
 
 Audley. Chancery is one remedy, but there is another. 
 
 Snowb. {Rising) Another! Chancery is one, you say, and — 
 and — 
 
 Audley. ISIarriage is the other. 
 
 Snowb. Well, I am weak. {Falls in chair.) Marriage the 
 other ! 
 
 Audley. Throw the matter into Chancery, and in time you 
 may set the will aside. 
 
 Snowb. But how, if before, time sets me aside ?
 
 154 THE CATSPAW 
 
 Atidlev. That's it. Whereas marriage stops all anxiety, for 
 you know the worst at once. 
 
 Snowb. Chancery ! Doctor, I should die in no time. 
 
 Petgoose. Chancery ! Gasp and die, like a gudgeon on a hook. 
 
 Snowb. And how — how about marriage 1 
 
 Petgoose. Why, in the matter of marriage, while there's life 
 there's hope. 
 
 Snowb. True. In all the wedding-cake, hope is the sweetest 
 of the plums. And who is it I'm to marry ? 
 
 Audley. Why, the widow, — Mrs. Peachdown, of course. 
 
 Snowb. Marry her ! I'd rather be gnawed to death by law, and 
 buried in a winding-sheet of parchment. 
 
 Audley. If you so decide, sir, I've no doubt our house can 
 accommodate you. Still, if at a blow you made the defendant 
 your wife, — 
 
 Snowb. Well? 
 
 Audley. 'Twould save time and money. 
 
 Snowb. And time makes life, and money gilds it ! No — no ! 
 I'd rather fling myself upon the law. 
 
 Aiidley. Very good. Then we at once throw Mrs. Peachdown 
 into Chancery ? 
 
 Snowb. Stop. Throw her tenderly — amicably. Because — ha ! 
 ha ! — I am so shrewd — if Chancery is going against us, we can 
 but relent and marry the poor thing at last. But that's like me. 
 So deej) ; eh, eh. Doctor ? 
 
 Petgoose. Don't ask me. If you will tamper with your con- 
 stitution, you must bear the jjenalty. 
 
 Audley. Then Mrs. Peachdown must understand that the suit 
 is quite a friendly one ? 
 
 Snowb. Only animated by the warmest friendship. 
 
 Audley. No vindictive feeling ? 
 
 Snowb. No more than if the suit between us was a game at 
 chess. 
 
 Audley. With this advantage. When you find you're losing, 
 you can make it all right by playing a bishop. Upon my life, 
 sir, you are wondrous shrewd. A client Mr, Chumpem must be 
 proud of. 
 
 Snowb. Shrewd ! I believe so. At school, they called me the 
 fox — the little fox. Would you think it ? 
 
 Audley. I should not. {Aside : I should rather think you the 
 other party.) 
 
 Snowb. But not a word to Mrs. Peachdown. With her chival- 
 rous notions, her love of the middle ages, she might arm her 
 resentment in a suit of jDlate-armour, and dare me herself to 
 single combat. So the widow must be lulled.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 1,55 
 
 Audlei/. Sir, she shall be the Sleejjing Beauty of the Coui-t of 
 Chancery. 
 
 Snowb. Capital. By the way, I'm sorry to hear Chumpem's so 
 bad, but you understand my wishes 1 
 
 Audley. Perfectly. Ha, sir ! Mr. Chumpem's a great sufferer. 
 
 Snowh. Poor fellow ! he's a sharp man and a dear lawyer — 
 I mean — you know what I mean. Good bye. You'll serve the 
 widow at once, but don't alarm her ? 
 
 Audley. For your sake, sir, I'll make law like love. The lady 
 sha'u't dream of her loss, till she's called upon for costs. \Exit. 
 
 Snowh. Mark my words. That young man will become one of 
 the ornaments of his profession. 
 
 Petgoose. One of those ornaments that — more's the pity — are 
 seldom properly framed. 
 
 /{Enter Duggins, gives letter to Snowball.) 
 
 What have I said ? Yet you will attend to business 1 
 
 Snowb. But this mayn't be business 1 
 
 Petgoose. Pooh ! It's a letter for money. I've seen so many 
 cases 1 know the internal complaint at a glance. 
 
 Snowb. There. Eead. {Gives letter.) 
 
 Petgoose. {Reading) ^^ Honoured Sir " — I said so. Do you think 
 you're honoui'ed for nothing 1 " Honoured Sir, the death of the 
 sainted Lord Wintercough has left me loithmit a friend. But his 
 lordship loas too good for this world, as I feel Fm not good enough^ 
 Hm ! That strikes the balance. 
 
 Snowb. Go on. 
 
 Petgoose. {Reading) " Nevertheless I throw myself with a cmi- 
 ading heart upon you " — 
 
 Snowb. Confiding heart ! Is it a woman ? 
 
 Duggins. Not in the least, sir. 
 
 Petgoose. {Reading.) ^^ An interview is all I ash, wlien I pledge 
 myself to give you" — 
 
 Snowb. What ? 
 
 Petgoose. {Reading.) " My name in full. Meanwhile, I remain 
 in the instalment of an initial, yours till death, C." 
 
 Snowb. Very odd. What do you think 1 
 
 Petgoose. Pooh! A begging-letter writer. One of the impostors 
 who live on pen and ink, with the further advantage of never 
 printing what they scribble. 
 
 Snowb. Think so ? 
 
 Petgoose. Certain. One of the wretches who not only pillage 
 compassionate people, but what is more atrocious — deft-aud the 
 critics.
 
 156 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Snowb. You're wrong. Duggins, show him iu. {Exit 'DxsQarsfi.) 
 Yea, I'm sure you're wrong, I prophesy a discovery here, and 
 I never was deceived yet. Mai-k my words, there's something 
 in this. 
 
 Petgoose. Pshaw ! Some rascal that lives on simpletons and 
 gulls. {Looking at watch) They'i-e taking their time with this 
 pullet. They're — 
 
 {Enter Coolcard hurriedli/ ; he nms and embraces Snowball.) 
 
 Coolcard. My dear, dear, sir ! 
 
 Snowb. Hallo ! Doctor ! What ! 
 
 Coolc. Pardon me — my feelings ! I had forgotten. We both 
 have lost a friend, and the tears of sorrow wash out all distinc- 
 tions. Oh, sir ! our Wintercough is gone. 
 
 Petgoose. Ha ! Why weren't you with him when he went ? 
 
 Coolc. I was then in — in the Low Countries on an eri'and, but 
 of that anon. His lordship was not himself at last, or I had not 
 been forgotten. But there is one comfort, you are worthy of 
 his princely wealth. 
 
 Snowb. I wish his lordship had thought so. 
 
 Coolc. What ? Why ? How ? 
 
 Petgoose. Then you don't know that Mrs. Peachdown inherits 1 
 
 Coolc. Aye, but that will was revoked. 
 
 Snowb. Ha ! ha ! To be sure ! There was another ? 
 
 Coolc. Has it not been found ? 
 
 Snowb. Not yet — but it must be. For, of coxxrse, you know 
 there is one 1 
 
 Coolc. The oaken cabinet — that carved with Diana and the 
 Stag — has that been searched ? 
 
 Snowb. No — no ! I dare say not. 
 
 Coolc. Then rest you satisfied — you are his lordship's heir. 
 
 Petgoose. Pray — how did you first know Lord Wintercough ? 
 
 Coolc. That is a long story. I was then a rich man — T am now 
 a poor one. Yes, sir, a poor one, and do not blush to own it. 
 
 Petgoose. More shame for you. For as I observe in my " Pearls 
 to Pigs " — you've met the book ? 
 
 Coolc. Not yet. 
 
 Petgoose. You will. As I observe — " Not to blush for poverty 
 is to want a proper respect for wealth." 
 
 Snowb. What may be your name, sir 1 
 
 Coolc. Coolcard. Did you never hear his lordship speak ot 
 Coolcard — Augustus Coolcard ? 
 
 Snowb. Never. 
 
 Coolc, Well, sir, I am that man. I've a thousand of his lord-
 
 THE CATSPAW. 157 
 
 ship's letters will satisfy you. We first met — met romantically — 
 years ago. In Italy — at the Baths of Caracalla. One lovely 
 night — an Italian night ! The moon hung like a golden salver in 
 the dark blue sky, when were seen two men of sinister aspect, 
 muffled in umbrageous cloaks that — 
 
 {Enter Dust, with tray, chicken, wine— soup — medicine^ 
 
 I beg your pardon. {Aside to Snowball : In confidence, I am not 
 ashamed to say that I am a little faint.) 
 
 Snowb. To be sure. !Mr. Coolcard, you'll take a snack with the 
 doctor 1 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside to Snowball : Don't press him — I'd rather not.) 
 
 Snowb. Why not ? I can't be deceived ; and at least, he has 
 the outside of a gentleman. 
 
 Petgoose. Possibly ; but with one pullet 'twixt two, the outside 
 is not the question. (Coolcard has seated himself at table) Why, 
 he's down already. 
 
 Coolc. {Carving.) I am not ashamed to confess it, I am very, 
 very hungry. 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside : He'll cheat the very dog of his bones.) 
 
 (Dust brings soup and medicine to Snowball.) 
 
 Stop. {Feels Snowball's pulse.) Yes, you are better — much 
 better. 
 
 Dust. {Aside: Oh yes — my old luck !) 
 
 Snowb. I felt so. 
 
 Petgoose. So, for your medicine we'll wait a little. Yes — you 
 shall have the chicken. 
 
 Snowb. ShaU I ? 
 
 Petgoose. You shall, and I'll put up with the broth. {Takes 
 broth and seats himself. Snowball stares at Coolcard, voraciously 
 feeding) What's the matter ? Your friend has the outside of a 
 gentleman. 
 
 Snowb. Yes — but the inside of a coalheaver. 
 
 \_Sits stannr) at Coolcard, who eats and drinks. Petgooss 
 takes his broth. Dust waits at back. 
 
 END OF FIRST ACT
 
 158 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 — ♦ — 
 Scene. — As before. Cassandra and Rosemary discovered. 
 
 Rosem. Well, to be sure ! To think that Mi\ Audley — above 
 all people — should be your lover 1 
 
 Cassan. You'll not betray my confidence ? 
 
 Rosem. Certainly not, ma'am. {Aside : as if I didn't know all 
 about it before !) And this Chancery suit is all a pretence ? No 
 real law after all 1 
 
 Cassan. None whatever. Only to test the truth of Mrs. Peach- 
 down's suitor. 
 
 Rosem. Nothing but right ; with a second husband a woman 
 can't be t';o particular. However, Miss, let's hope he'll come 
 out of the trial like a new guinea out of the furnace. And now 
 as you've told me all about Mrs. Peachdown's lover and your 
 own into the bargain, as a recompense I'll tell you all about 
 mine. 
 
 Cassan. You a lover ! 
 
 Rosem. Why not ? Thank goodness ! love's like the flies ; and 
 — drawing-room or garrets — goes all over a house. 
 
 Cassan. Still, it's curious. 
 
 Rosem. Don't see it, ma'am. No curiosity about me. Flesh 
 and blood, ma'am, same as my neighbours. 
 
 Cassan. Any way I'm charmed to hear it. And what is your 
 swain 1 
 
 Rosem. A bulwark of our native isle — a soldier. 
 
 Cassan. A soldier ! Stranger still. And how did he win 
 you ? 
 
 Rosem. I couldn't help it — all at once ; he did look so much 
 like a gentleman when he stood at ease. 
 
 Cassan. Ha ! ha ! And you'll become a soldier's wife ? 
 
 Rosem. Oh no ! I'm going to buy him out of the cannon's 
 mouth. And soon, too. I've already bought him a black coat, 
 and waistcoat, and what he calls his civil garments. For he was 
 very genteel, before trouble drove him to glory. I'm going to 
 ask you something. Should you like to see him ? 
 
 Cassan. 'Twould be delightful — but, I suppose, not possible. 
 
 Rosem. He's in that room. Got him like a tame rabbit.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 159 
 
 Cassan. In that room ! 
 
 Rosem. Now I don't mind telling yon. He's long had the 
 run of tho house. Bless you ! knows the pattern of every dish, 
 and the cut of every decanter in it. 
 
 Cassa7i. Indeed ? And you feel sure of this soldier's heart ? 
 
 Rosem. Every pin's point of it. 
 
 Cassftn. 1 fear you only share it with the dishes and de- 
 canters. 
 
 Roscm. Don't say so — I should dissolve with the idea. Only 
 just to please me, examine his affections. 
 
 Gassan. Willingly. (Aside : Here's sport.) 
 
 Rosem. Tap as if with a drum-stick at that door. He'U unlock 
 it. — And when you look into his eyes, and drink up his voice, 
 won't you envy me ! Stay — I'll tap myself; for how should 
 you know the true movement 1 
 
 (Taps at the doot measuredly, as upon a drum. Boor is opened.) 
 [Rosemary runs off as Appleface, in drummer's uniform, comes out. 
 
 Apple/ace. What ! An ambush ? 
 
 Cassan. Don't be alarmed. Rosemary has told me all. I had 
 my fears for the poor girl — they are gone. I now perceive, she 
 is a happy woman. 
 
 Apple/. Couldn't be otherwise with the Hundi'ed-and-Fourth. 
 Our regiment's made more happy women than any in the line. 
 
 Cassan. I must take care of Rosemary. Your intentions, then, 
 are honourable ? 
 
 Apple/. Not at present. 
 
 Cassan. What 1 
 
 Apple/ Can't afford to be honourable 'till I'm bought out. 
 
 Cassan. I understand — when you are free. 'Twould seem, 
 then, the army is not your choice ? 
 
 Apple/. Never was. I took it as a forlorn hope ; and I will say 
 this of it — I hav'n't been disappointed. 
 
 Cassan. Pray what made you enlist ? 
 
 Apple/ All come of my weak habit. I was a lawyer's clerk, 
 and made a joke. Whereupon my master turned me off. He 
 said law was so big a thing, no man with any other stuff in his 
 head had room for it. So I listed, and being like a nightingale, 
 small and musical, they made me a drummer. 
 
 Cassan. Left the law and became a drummer ! 
 
 Apple/ Yes, ma'am. 'Twas only a move from one parchment 
 to t'other ; and which of the two makes the most row in this 
 world, nobody can tell. 
 
 Cassan. Well, assured of such a wife as Rosemary, you now 
 feel your good-fortune ? 
 
 Apple/ Pretty well — for the Hundred-and-Fourth looks high.
 
 160 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Last week our cymbal-player married three hunared a-year. To 
 be sure, he was black, and some people don't mind paying for 
 colour. 
 
 Cassan. But then consider Rosemary's mind, to say nothing of 
 her beauty ! 
 
 Apple/. As for beauty, she may go yeUow like a November 
 leaf, but this heart will always be as it was. 
 
 Cassan. I'm wholly satisfied. Because, beauty will fade — the 
 loveliest form become a wreck. 
 
 Apple/. Don't you fear. Let her be as great a wreck as she 
 will, I shall never be the man to take to a jolly-boat and leave 
 her. 
 
 Enter Eosemart. 
 
 Rosem. Oh, Miss ! Here's Mrs. Peachdown in such a rage. 
 I don't know what she means, but she says she's come to beard 
 a lion. 
 
 Apple/. A woman in a rage ! Then the lion will have the 
 worst of it. I'll beat a retreat. 
 
 Rosem. Impossible ! Leave the house in your uniform ! 
 
 Apple/. Pulses of my heart, where's the black ? In a difficulty 
 I'm not above a change. 
 
 Rosem. Go back — go ! Alexander, think of my reputation, 
 and fly. 
 
 Afple/. Alexander thinks of it as his own and flies accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 \Jtwfts into apartment in the scene. 
 
 Cassan. The dear daring creature ! 'Tis so like her — I knew 
 she'd come. In five minutes, Mr. Snowball — 
 
 Rosem. Why here he is come up the back-stairs, and the 
 Doctor with him. 
 
 Cassan. The Doctor with him ! He's to meet the widow, and 
 provides for the danger. Let's leave 'em the field. [ExiL 
 
 Rosem. Certainly — leave 'em the field ; but not till I've 
 secured my wounded. 
 
 (Takes the hey from the inside. Locks the dooi- in scene.) {Exit, 
 
 Enter Snowball and Petgoose. 
 
 Snowh. Was ever the like ? Plunge a woman into Chancery, 
 and even then she comes up against you. What could have 
 brought the widow here 1 
 
 Petgoose. Why, it's plain — plain as a pestle. Despair 
 
 Snowb. D'ye think so 1 You make me very happy. 
 
 Petgoose. She feels she is lost, and comes to fascinate you. 
 
 Snowb. A? well fascinate the rock of Gibraltar. No ; if I'm
 
 THE CATSPAW. 161 
 
 proud of anything, it's of my strength against woman. I'll see 
 the widow at my foot, and still stand like a pillar. 
 
 Petgoost- A proud position ; for she's so desperate, even a 
 parson won't stop her. The tender passion — 
 
 Snoicb. The tender passion ! Ha ! ha ! Thus I fold my arms, 
 and set my teeth against it. I'll strain every sinew into iron — 
 every muscle into adamant — 
 
 Petgoose. Iron and adamant ! Pooh-pooh, I deal with mortal 
 flesh. Talk in that way, and you'd better call in a blacksmith. 
 Hm ! You're not well. Pulse, wiry — {feeling pulse) — wiry as a 
 rat-trap. How many pills of Paradise — upon your honour — how 
 many last night ? 
 
 Snoicb. Eight. 
 
 Petgoose. Eight ! I said a dozen. Suppose you now swallow 
 the other four — suppose — 
 
 Enter Mrs. Prachdown and Cassandra. 
 
 Snowb. (Aside to him : Too late — I must first swallow the 
 widow. — She looks in Chancery.) Madam, this visit is as sur- 
 prising as delightful. Quite. 
 
 3frs. Peachdown. {Affecting to suppress her passion) I thought 
 it best to come. Yes, said I — I will myself negotiate a peace. 
 Dear Mr. Snowball, will you accept the olive ? 
 
 Snowb. Why, olives are very well, but I don't see how they're 
 to be taken with law. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Sj^eak of law again, and I shall droji. At the 
 very name of law, I feel thrice a woman's weakness. 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside : Then she's invincible.) 
 
 Snowb. {Aside to Petgoose : Dbctor ?) 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside to him : Mind what you're about. Every 
 time she makes up her mouth, I seem to see a wedding-ring.) 
 
 Gossan. And now I'll leave you. Doctor, they have no need 
 of witnesses ? 
 
 Petgoose. Certainly not. 
 
 Snowb. No — no; don't go. If we're to plant the olive stay and 
 witness the ceremony. 
 
 Cassan, By no means — we should only embarrass. {Aside to 
 Mrs. Peachdown. Depend upon it, the surest way to crush 
 the creature is, ha ! ha ! to marry liim.) 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside to Snowball : Be quiet — talk little, and — 
 I'm at hand — call if there's danger.) {Aside : A fine woman — 
 with a mellow look of money — too good for him.) 
 
 Cassan. Doctor, — 
 
 Petgoose. I attend you. {Aside : And she'll succeed in her 
 
 M
 
 162 THE CATSPAW 
 
 suit — no doubt. And success is charming. Yes, I was always a 
 friend — a great friend to success.) Madam. 
 
 [Leads off Cassandra. 
 
 3frs. Peachd. ( JVith sudden animation.) And now, my dear 
 Mr. Snowball ! Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 Snowh. Madam, I'll be frank. Your tenderness alarms me. 
 I shall sink under it. A soft atmosphere kills me. So if you 
 please — {aside — better stop this at once) — let our conversation be 
 brisk and bracing. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. With all my heart ! I prefer a keen air 
 myself. It best suits my blood, my spirits. But I thought you 
 delicate. 
 
 Snowh. Oh no — not more delicate than becomes a gentleman. 
 Don't spare me. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. To business, then. You dispute his Lordship's 
 will? 
 
 Snowh. Such is my misfortune. {Aside : Though the story of 
 that scoundrel Coolcard, Augustus Coolcard — and I was never 
 before deceived — never — is a flam — all a flam.) I do. 
 
 3Irs. Peachd. And disputing, throw me, an unprotected widow, 
 into Chancery ? 
 
 Snowb. As for your widowhood, I feel for the man who has 
 lost you. Venerable Mr. Peachdown ! Good old gentleman ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. The conversation grows oppressive. A little 
 more brisk and bracing if you please. 
 
 Snowb. Let's return to Chancery. My heart bled to put 
 you there. And the heart, the heart, Mrs. Peachdown, never 
 bleeds more than — than — {aside: than when the pocket bleeds 
 with it.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Oh, I don't upbraid you. I was myself surprised 
 by the will — 'twas so chivalrous. Nevertheless, in these metallic 
 times — in this wretched age of arithmetic — 'tis your duty to 
 deprive me of every shilling 1 
 
 Snowb. How noble of you to think so ! It is my duty. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And mine, not to let go a single sixpence. 
 
 Snowh. Eh ? What ? Oh, very well. Yes, that's the fight— 
 that's the struggle. But then we tight as friends 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And struggle with the best intentions. I'm told, 
 too, our suit may last twenty years. 
 
 Snowb. Twenty 1 Fifty. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Then there's my hand. Nay ; if we're to fight 
 for fifty years, at least shake hands befSre the fight begins. 
 
 [Offeis her hand. 
 
 Snowb. Certainly— only right. {Aside: Now, who'd think 
 there was any danger in such a hand ? Yet how often, like a
 
 THE CATSPAW. 163 
 
 trap, it closes upon au innocent man, and makes him a prisoner 
 for his natural life !) 
 
 Mrs. Pfxchd. Yes— you will shake hands ? {He timidly takes 
 her hand— she continues to hold it.) Now we are friends, and law 
 will be a pleasure. Now I feel I've an employment in life. 
 "We'll watch the vicissitudes of the suit together — watch and 
 morahse. Now, poverty may menace you— now myself— 
 
 Snowb. Charming ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And now, it may be, threaten both together. 
 
 Snowb. Delicious ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. As I say, we'll moralise. And when ruin— 
 
 Snowb. (Aside : I wish she'd drop my hand. Her words go 
 creeping up my arm, and spreading all over my shoulder.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Where was 1 1 
 
 Siiowb. At ruin. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. True. And — 
 
 Snowb. And — {taking away his hand) — there I think we'd 
 better stop. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Not at all. At ruin, begins devotion. Friend- 
 ship having done its worst, we're bound to one another for 
 ever. 
 
 Snowb. Then we'll begin by throwing friendship overboard, 
 and go to law with all our hearts and all our claws. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. What ! you reject the olive ? 
 
 Snowb. Olive ! Fiddiededee ! it won't grow upon sheep- 
 skin. 
 
 3Irs. Peachd. Oh, very well ! Then war to the last farthing. 
 
 Snowb. Nothing but war, with as much horsehair as we can 
 put into it ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Fm glad of this. I now feel the heroism of 
 my nature, and will sacrifice you with laughter. Miserable 
 victim ! 
 
 Snowb. Mrs. Peachdown ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Devoted, doomed one ! You have turned every 
 drop of mercy here to ink — Japan ink. You thought to trade on 
 my timidity — you believed me a weak woman ! 
 
 Snowb. I didn't. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Violently/.) You did ! 
 
 Snowb. I see my mistake, and beg your pardon. 
 Mrrs. Peachd. I entered this house a dove — I will say it, a 
 very dove. 
 
 Snowb. {Aside : Ecod, you've moulted since, and got very 
 ditfereut feathers.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. But even the turtle wUl peck the hand that — 
 no, sir, I will not weep. 
 
 H 2
 
 164 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Snowb. Thank you, ma'am, for all favours. 
 Mrs. Peachd. For I know that woman's tears are the coward's 
 cordial. 
 
 Snowb. Coward ! What do you mean, ma'am ? 
 Mrs. Peachd. Sir, I'll not be insulted. I say, sir — 
 
 Enter Kosemary. 
 
 Eosetn. Anybody call 1 Oh, ma'am, what's the matter ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I only wish my lawyer was come ! 
 
 Rosem. Your lawyer ? {Aside : Here's a bit of luck !) He is 
 come, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Is he 1 
 
 Rosem. Yes, ma'am, come — I showed him into that room. 
 {Aside : This way T can get him out in his new black.) {Aloud?) 
 He left his bag down stairs ; and, now I remember — I'm to take 
 it him. [Exit. 
 
 Snowb. I don't understand this. People brought into my 
 house ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. What ! Deny me every comfort 1 Throw me 
 into Chancery, and then refuse the melancholy satisfaction of a 
 lawyer ? 
 
 Re-enter Rosemary, carrying lawyer''s hag. 
 
 Rosem. Here's Mr. Boggle's papers, ma'am. {Aside to her.) 
 Only own him for your lawyer and he'll beat the best — {aside) — 
 and — with what's in this bag — the blackest of 'em. {Goes to door 
 in scene. Unlocks it) Mr. Boggle, I've brought up your papers. 
 When you've gone over 'em and — {aside — and they've gone over 
 you,) — IVIrs. Peachdown, yoiu* client, wants to see you. 
 
 [Throws bag into the room. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. You saw that bag 1 You know not its contents ! 
 {Aside : I'm sure / don't.) 
 
 Snowb. {Aside : New documents ! More deeds !) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. 1 was prepared to sacrifice 'em on the altar of 
 friendship. 
 
 Rosem. {Aside : And I have offered 'em on the altar of love.) 
 
 Snowb. {Aside : I'm wrong. She's a romantic fool, and after 
 all to be wheedled.) My dear madam, — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. No sir — no. You have hurt my woman's pride, 
 and possibly you may have heard of a wounded lioness. 
 
 Snowb. I woiddn't hurt a lamb : especially if the lamb was a 
 lady. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I confessed my weakness and you despised it. 
 
 Snowb. Quite otherwise. I'm charmed with it.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 165 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I showed you my heart even as — as a looking- 
 glass. 
 
 Snowh. You did ; and I was delighted with what I saw there. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I wish I could think so ! 
 
 Snowb. Why not ? What can't a woman think, if she's only 
 resolute 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. This is too much. Hope and fear, and fear and 
 hope ! Much too much. {Affects violent emotion, laughing hyste- 
 ricallj/) Oh, you have made me so happy ! 
 
 Rosem. A fit — a fit of happiness. Help ! help ! 
 
 Enter Cassandra and Petgoose. 
 
 Cassan. What h^ve you done, sir ? 
 
 Snowb. Nothing. Very odd ; can't make a woman happy, 
 but she goes into a fit. 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside to Snowball : Oh — I see.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I could have borne up against oppression, but 
 his magnanimity is too much. 
 
 Rosem. Quite melting. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Noble creature ! Paragon of bachelors ! 
 
 Petgoose. ( To Snowball : What have you been about I) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. He has withdrawn his suit — 
 
 Snowb. What, — I ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And I feel a bird escaped from the net — a kid 
 from the wolf — a mouse from the cat. 
 
 Snowb. {Aside to Petgoose : Not a word of it true — she's in 
 Chancery still.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I knew it. I had but to find his generous heart 
 — touch it — and — 
 
 Snowb. {Violently) But you hav'n't found it — ^j'ou hav'n't 
 touched it — and more than that, never will, ma'am ! Never 
 will! 
 
 Petgoose. Are you mad ? Your heart, indeed ! Mr. Snowball, 
 do you court dissolution ? 
 
 Snowb. {Aside to him : Anything but court the widow. She's 
 brought her lawyer and I'm stone again. Stone I) 
 
 Petgoose. Stone ! Sand — sand for death's hour-glass. Be 
 quiet, or you hav'n't twenty minutes to run. {Commandingly.) 
 Tranquil ! An oyster if you please ! An oyster ! 
 
 Snowb. I'm getting to it — indeed, I am. 
 
 Petgoose. { To Mrs. Peachdown.) Mr. Snowball has an infirmity 
 that — who has not 1 You, I understand, have an attorney 
 who — 
 
 Rosem. Oh yes ! {Runs and opens door in scene) Mr. Boggle, 
 Ml'. Boggle, if you please.
 
 166 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Enter Appleface, dressed in black, carrying hag, 
 
 Applef. Here I am. {Aside : 'Spose it's all right : but the 
 respectability's so sudden, it has nearly knocked me down.) 
 
 Rosetn. {Aside : Well, if they don't fit him, as if he'd been born 
 for 'em !) 
 
 iSnowb. {Aside to Petgoose : He looks a fool.) 
 
 Petgooae. {Aside to Snowball : He may have his reasons for 
 that, and be a greater rogue accordingly.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {To Appleface.) Mr. Boggle, I've changed my 
 mind — so you'll keep the documents there, safe. 
 
 Applef. Safe. {Aside : Documents ! Yes, — drummer's uniform. 
 Sheepskin deeds.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Mr. Boggle, you know I never wished to make 
 enemies. 
 
 Applef. My own motto, ma'am. Why make enemies, when 
 you're lucky if you don't find 'em ready made \ 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Still, I must protect myself. 
 
 Applef. A kitten, if she could speak, could say no less. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Therefore, I say — treasure the contents of that 
 bag. They may make oppression tremble yet. 
 
 Applef. They may. {Aside : But somebody else must carry 
 'em.) 
 
 Enter Servant. Gives letter to Snowball. 
 
 Servant. Waiting an answer, sir. A friend, sir — he says — a 
 dear friend of the late Lord Wintercough. Said something, too, 
 about life and death. 
 
 Snowb. Life and death ! It's in your way, {Gives letter to 
 Petgoose.) Open it. 
 
 Petgoose. Why, it's Latin, 
 
 Snowb. Latin ! I'd a lot of it once, but I've mislaid it all 
 somewhere. 
 
 Petgoose. {To Appleface.) Of course, as an attorney, you 
 know Latin ? 
 
 Applef. Of course — as an attorney, {Aside : I see, you don't.) 
 Go on ; we'll make it out between us. 
 
 Petgoose. Between us ! {Reads) " Salutem." 
 
 Applef. Much as to say — " I salute you." 
 
 Petgoose, {Reads.) " Infelix harum scriptor — " 
 
 Applef. " I was a harum scarum fellow — " 
 
 Petgoose. {Reads.) " Oli^n societate nomen habebat," 
 
 Applef. " No man inhabiting better society." 
 
 Petgoose. {Reads) ^^ Nunc — "
 
 THE CATSPAW. 167 
 
 Applef. " My uncle — " 
 
 Snowb. WTiat? 
 
 Apple/. All right ; nunc is short for uncle. 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside to Snowball : His impudence is miraculous ; 
 but we'll go on.) (Reads.) ^' Nunc autem annostis — " 
 
 Applef. " My uncle last aixtumn — " 
 
 Petgoose. {Reads) " Imd inopia ohrutus — " 
 
 AppAef. " Lost a fortune in opium — " 
 
 Petgoose. {Reads.) " Sine amico, sine re, male vestitus — " 
 
 Applef. Why, that is — {Taking letter from Petgoose.) I can 
 pick it out better alone. {Affecting surprise as he reads.) Well, 
 I bless my stars I'm an honest man ! 
 
 Snowb. Are you sure ? 
 
 Applef. Othei'wise, what a temptation ! {Half-aside to Mrs. 
 Peachdown : As your attorney, what's here doesn't leave us the 
 spectre of a hope. Therefore, as your attorney, I feel it my duty 
 to destroy the evidence.) ■ 
 
 [Tears the letter to pieces, and throws them, about, 
 
 Snowb. Scoundrel ! 
 
 Applef. Eemember, — you're talking damages. 
 
 Petgoose. Answer me, sir. Whei'efore destroy that letter ? 
 
 Applef. Wherefore ? Self-defence is the clearest of all laws ; 
 and for this reason — the lawyers didn't make it. As for the 
 letter, you can impound the pieces. Sir, you have trampled on 
 this lady, my generous client, and as a gentleman who knows the 
 extent of his profession, I'll stick at nothing. 
 
 Snotvb. Oh, oh ! That's it. {Aside to Servant : Show up, 
 instantly, the man who brought the letter.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside to Eosemary : What a treasure of a crea- 
 ture !) 
 
 Roscm. A treasure indeed ! {A.iide : If she knew all.) 
 
 Applef. We came prepared to give you everything. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Everything. 
 
 Applef. And now, we won't give you even quarter. 
 
 CooLCARD, as BusBT Knox, is shown in. i 
 
 Snowh. Now, sir, you sent a letter — you — 
 Petgoose. Will you leave him to me ? You're name is — 
 Coolc. Busby Knox, M.A. 
 
 Petgoose. There, sir, is your letter. {Pointing to pieces) 
 Coolc. Alas ! even so the heart of genius — tlie feelings of the 
 scholar — are torn and trampled on by the golden vulgar ! 
 Snowb. No — not at all. Mr. Busby Knox, as for your uncle
 
 IGS THE CATSPAW. 
 
 and his losses in opium, I'm sorry. And you being a scholar, it 
 seems — 
 
 Coolc. I wrote — sweet Alma Mater — in my mother tongue, to 
 prove myself. And behold ! Thus is the scholar outraged ! 
 Who — wl)o is the man with the no heart to have done this '\ 
 
 Snowh. You shall be satisfied. I believe every syllable. But 
 to business. You knew Lord Wintercough ? 
 
 Cook. Knew him ! He was the scholar's friend. At College, 
 I wrote for him his prize poem, and he rewarded me — forgive 
 this burst of feeling — with ready money, ready money, sir. 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside : Cries at ready money. Very suspicious, that.) 
 
 Snowb. {Aside : But I'll be cautious here. Not tricked twice.) 
 Pray, Mr. Busby Knox, did you know one Coolcard ? What's 
 the matter 1 
 
 Coolc. Coolcard ! The viper ! 
 
 Fetgoose. {Aside to Snowball : And yet you will go about 
 wrapping np vipers in five pound notes !) 
 
 Coolc. Coolcard ! I trust I'm a man of gentleness — I hope 
 letters have not been lost upon me. Yes, Emollit mores, nee sinit 
 esse feros! I wouldn't hurt a wasp — not even a wasp. But 
 Coolcard — Augustus Coolcard ! Wherever I meet him, I shall 
 feel myself a wretch, indeed, if I don't break every villanous 
 bone in his insuS"erable skin. 
 
 Snowh. He said he was in the confidence of Lord Winter- 
 cough. 
 
 Coolc. He was, and he betrayed it. Wlien I think of his 
 baseness, when I know much that, in private, it is fit you 
 know — 
 
 31rs. Peachd. We'll no longer intrude. Adieu, Mr. Snowball. 
 You've rejected peace, and now — take care of the documents, 
 Mr. Boggle — now, war to the death. 
 
 Snowb. War ! My flag's a black one. 
 
 Applef. Ours black and white. So, a fig for costs, and war to 
 the workhouse ! 
 
 Petgoose. This must not be. This is uncivil — savage. Fitter 
 for Cherokees than — • 
 
 Eosem. 'Tisn't for me to speak, but so it is, doctor. 
 
 Petgoose. Why not go to law politely — pleasantly 1 Why not 
 make the cause an agreeable exercise of the superior feelings ? 
 
 Snowb. (^52«?e.- I see his drift ; very politic.) Mrs. Peachdown, 
 will you take my hand ? 
 
 Apple/. {Interposing.) Stop, It's without prejudice 1 
 
 Snowb. Without pi-ejudice. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Shaking hands and curtseying.) Without pre- 
 judice.
 
 THE CATSPAW. IG9 
 
 Rosem. This is beautiful. Not going to law, and ruining one 
 another like Hottentots, but Christians. 
 
 Petgoose. {To Mrs. Peachdown.) Allow me, for my friend, 
 to see you to the door. {Aside : I won't leave her yet.) This 
 •way — 
 
 (Petgoose gives his arm, to Mrs. Peachdown. Cassandra takes the 
 
 arm oy' Appleface. Appleface and Coolc^rd bow formally to 
 
 each other. Bowing and curtseying on either side as they exeunt.) 
 
 Snowh. {To Coolcard.) Iu this room, my good sir — in this 
 
 room. [^Shows Coolcard into inner room. 
 
 Roscm. {Manet.) Well, I'm sure ! In my own black and 
 
 takes no more notice of me than — I begin to have horrid doubts. 
 
 Like 'em all, I'm afraid he's a wretch, but then he does look so 
 
 much like a gentleman ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene. — Suite of Apartments in Mrs. Peachdows's House. 
 Captain Burgonet and Audlet, shown in hj/ Servant. 
 
 Burgonet. Mrs. Peachdown, gone out 1 
 
 Serv. Yes, Captain. 
 
 Burgon. Very well — I'll wait. 
 
 Audley. And so will I. [Exit Servant.] Out or at home, she's 
 the strangest lady, 
 
 Burgon. There's the bitter and the sweet of it. Heigho ! 
 Once I thought myself parson-proof ; and here I am, liable at 
 any moment to be blown into married blessedness. 
 
 Audley. Then why not conquer the weakness % 
 
 Burgon. Gratitude won't let me — it gives me so much plaguey 
 pleasure. But for this sudden wealth, we might have been 
 man-ied already. 
 
 Audley. I see — with change of fortune comes change of mind. 
 'Tis like the world. 
 
 Burgon. But not like my Harriet. She's as high above the 
 world, ay, as a skylark when it sings the loudest. 
 
 Audley. Hallo, Captain ! You're become quite a poet. 
 
 Burgon. Not so bad as that, I hope. But this suit, Mr. Audley, 
 it may last, you say — 
 
 Audley. Why, I see a compromise, and come about it.
 
 170 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Bjirgon. Compromise ! Let her give up every penny. 
 
 Aiidley. And you would throw away this fortune ? 
 
 Burgon. Why, I'd ratlier have it ; still 'twould convince her 
 of my devotion. You see, she's all for the middle ages. 
 
 Audley. And what she calls the good, extinct old virtues. 
 
 Burgon. Some of 'em like extinct volcanoes, with a strong 
 memory of fire and brimstone. Why with her, the world as it is 
 is a second-hand world — a world all the worse for wear. The 
 sun itself isn't the same sun that illuminated the darling middle 
 ages : but a twinkling end of sun — the sun upon a save-all. And 
 the moon — the moon that shone on Cceur-de-Lion's battle-axe — 
 ha ! that was a moon. Now our moon at the brightest, what 
 is it ? A dim, dull counterfeit moon — a pewter shilling. All vast 
 folly, and yet very delicious when she talks it. 
 
 Audley. Yes. With a man in love 'tisn't the words but the 
 lips. Now, when you're married — 
 
 Burgon. I shall leave the service, and — 
 
 Audley. Leave the service ! The gallant Hundred-and-Fourth 
 will soon be a skeleton. 
 
 Burgon. The Hundred-and-Fourth has suffered by marriage of 
 late ; but what more ? 
 
 Audley. I am concerned for a spinster to purchase her a 
 husband out of your regiment. She's saved the money for her 
 bargain, and I only wait an answer from head-quarters to — 
 
 Enter Mrs. Pkachdown. 
 
 Mrs. Peachdown. Pardon me, Mr. Audley. I've been detained 
 on my way — detained to look at my Stonehenge. 
 
 Audley. Stonehenge, madam ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Yes, such a model — made into a work-table. 
 
 Burgon. Stonehenge a work-table ! We shall next have 
 St. Paul's a money-box. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Gramercy, Caf)tain Burgonet ! Your worship's 
 well, I trow ? 
 
 Burgon. By my fackins, lady, — well as a poor man may be 
 who did not die four hundred years ago. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. By the mass, a grievous pity — you'd been 
 miglitily improved by this. 
 
 Audley. And Stonehenge, madam ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Such a success ! Yet mark the envy of small 
 minds. I no sooner come out with Stonehenge as a work-table, 
 than that horrid Lady Mummypit starts the Sphinx as a what- 
 not. 
 
 Burgon. Thus is genius scandalised by imitation. But take
 
 THE CATSPAW, 171 
 
 comfort, madam, nature herself — whom you must admire, she's 
 so old — riHture meant it from the beginning. Nature made man, 
 and then she made the monkeys. 
 
 3Irs. Peachd. Apropos, have you heard of Lord Fossil ? Next 
 week, he launches such a phaeton ! The model of the war- 
 chariot of Caractacus, with liveries — 
 
 Burgon. After the manner, doubtless, of the ancient Britons. 
 With the genius his Lordship has for going backward, we may 
 yet see him lodging in a cave, and boarding upon acorns. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Picturesque creature ! he's quite equal to it. 
 
 Audley. And now, madam — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And now. This horrid suit ! Why did I live in 
 this drowsy, afternoon time of the world % Why not in the 
 roseate dawn of .chivalry, when my own true knight — kniglits 
 might be had for love, and not for money then — would have 
 carried off my cause upon his lance, and me upon his palfrey 
 afterwards ! 
 
 Atidley. But as the Chancellor won't iight, and as Mr. Snow- 
 ball— 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Mr. Snowball ! Well, if things come to the 
 worst, I shall mend them with a husband. 
 
 Burgon. Mend them ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Mend them — patch them — what you will ? 
 
 Audley. {Aside : Have a care, madam ; the Captain's desperate, 
 and despite of Chancery, will marry you without a shilling.) I 
 come from Mr. Snowball, and — 
 
 Burgon. Pardon me, / am come. And, madam, as I had first 
 possession of the knocker, perhaps, in justice, I may ask first 
 hearing \ 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. What's justice to the picturesque % As Lord 
 Fossil says, justice, reading, and writing have vulgarised man- 
 kind. Still, we must make the best of evil days ; so. Captain, 
 you shall have justice. {To Audley.) We shall not be five 
 minutes. 
 
 Burgon. Say seven, and you shall hold the watch, 
 
 Audley. Take your time, madam — we never fail to charge it. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And now. Captain Burgonet, what do you want ? 
 
 Burgon. Your simplicity's encouraging. Mrs. Peachdown, I 
 want you. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Ha ! ha ! ha ! The fox wanted the grapes. 
 
 Burgon. That fox was a fool. Had he only waited, they'd 
 have fallen into his mouth. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Do you sit up of nights to study compliments 
 for women ?
 
 172 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Burgon. Quite otherwise ; they come in my sleejj, when I've 
 nothing better to do. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Poor clayey creature ! Would Sir Pliilip Sydney 
 have said a thing like that \ But the whole race is degenerate. 
 
 Burgon. The whole — men and women. Ha ! why didn't I 
 live in the time of your great grandmother ? 
 
 3Irs. Peachd. I wish you had, I'm sure. 
 
 Burgon. "Women were women then. But women, now ! Less 
 of heaven and more of earth. Still, from you I can imagine what 
 your great grandmother must have been. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. You can 1 
 
 Burgon. Can manage to make her out, as one guesses at 
 departed perfection from a very weak and somewhat faded copy. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Ha ! ha ! Excellent. And perhaps you wish 
 I had really been my great grandmother ? 
 
 Burgon. To please you, I'll wish further back. I'll wish you 
 had lived maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth, and — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And what, sir 1 
 
 Burgon. And died so. 
 
 3Trs. Peachd. Ha ! ha ! ha ! {Aside : But he sha'n't vex me.) 
 One favour more — think your wishes realised, and so good 
 morning. 
 
 Burgon. Stay. Coming so la te among us, we must still do 
 the best for you. 'Tis a cold world for one, but warms up pi-etty 
 well for a couple. So there's my hand. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Let me cross it with a bit of gold, and I'll tell 
 you your fortirae. 
 
 Burgon. A bit of gold 1 What, now, if I've a wedding-ring 1 
 
 Airs. Peachd. Are w^edding rings the ordinary part of your 
 luggage 1 
 
 Burgon. Not a bachelor of the Hundred-and-Fourth without. 
 'Tis our only defence against the sex. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd, Well, where is it 1 I'll wager my liberty for 
 life, it doesn't fit. Come. {Offering her hajid) 
 
 Burgon. {Affecting to search) Some devil has picked my 
 pocket. But I'll fly and get another. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Too late — time's up — good day ! And, brilliant 
 Captain, when next you think of bird-catching, don't forget the 
 net. {Going.) 
 
 Burgon. This is folly. Now, Harriet — dear Harriet. I'm 
 not impatient, but — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. No ? Very good. I'm not impatient either. 
 So, you see, we both are bound in mutual frost. 
 
 Burgon. Confess. When this fortune was left, had you not 
 half-named the day ?
 
 THE CATSPAW. 173 
 
 Mrs. PencJid. And I'll now name the other half ; and the 
 whole shall be the daj^ after I win my suit. 
 
 Burgon. Your suit ! It may last these ten years. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Well, you are not impatient. 
 
 Burgon. I'll answer for nothing. There are feelings that — in 
 a word, if a capricious, delicious woman, is waylaid, carried off, 
 and bound for life in marriage bonds, all I say is — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. What ? 
 
 Burgon. Don't blame me. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I shouldn't. Carry me off ! And if you'd only 
 don a bridal suit of chain-armour, and in the broad light of Hyde 
 Pai-k, run away with me upon a pillion — your white plume 
 tossing for a marriage favour — the crowd huzzaing with all their 
 strength, and I screaming with aU my weakness, — but no ! you 
 won't do it ! 
 
 Burgon. No 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. No ; it's a pretty thing to talk about — but you'll 
 never do it. Such a deed belongs to the dear middle ages. We 
 live in two-penny times, when chivalry goes to church in the 
 family coach, and the god of marriage bargains for his wedding- 
 breakfast. No ! Nobody's can-ied off now-a-days. 
 
 Burgon. What say you 1 We'll revive the fashion, and have 
 our pictures in the weekly papers. 
 
 Enter Servant ; whispers to Mrs. Peachdown. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Lud, I'd forgot. ISIr. Boggle — such a dear 
 creature ! Don't stare. Show him in. {To Servant, who goes 
 off.) So droll ; yet such a man of business ! He'll so amuse 
 you. Me he has delighted. 
 
 Burgon. Thank you, madam, I'd rather be dull. {Retires. 
 
 Enter Appleface, as Lawyer. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Good Islx. Boggle. 
 
 Appleface. Dear Mrs. Peachdown ! {Aside : When she speaks 
 it's better than the band.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. You must stay to-dinner ? 
 
 Apple/. With all the gloiy in life. {Aside: I'm clean be- 
 witched.) I could refuse you nothing. Did you ever read a 
 magic story, where a young man was changed into a moth, and a 
 beautiful — beautiful woman turned into a wax-candle 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Never. 
 
 Apple/. Ha ! That story wiU be true some day. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside : Why this is exquisite.) Eeally, Mr. 
 Boggle, the interest you've taken in my suit — the documents you 
 say you have discovered —
 
 174 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Apphf. Yes, ma'am. {Aside : What lies I've told her. 
 But now, I'm sure of it ; when a man's really in love, lies go for 
 nothing.) 
 
 Mrs. Peaclid. Remember, — we dine at eight. 
 
 Applef. {Aside : And the roll-call's at nine. Never mind. 
 They may take and shoot me in a hollow square, but they sha'n't 
 shoot me without my dinner.) 
 
 Mrs. Peaclid. {Aside : The captain takes the room like an 
 angry lion. I'll chafe him still.) Mr. Boggle, you must know a 
 friend of mine — a dear friend. Oh, merely a friend. For as I 
 was not too happy in my first match, you'd hardly think I should 
 marry again. 
 
 Applef. Quite the contrary, ma'am. For I've heard say, that 
 •wedlock's like wine — not to be properly judged of till the second 
 glass. 
 
 Mrs. Peaclid. Do you think so ? 
 
 Applef. Try it. 
 
 Mrs. Peaclid. In good time. But you must know the Captain — 
 
 Applef. Captain ! 
 
 3Irs. Peaclid. Captain Burgonet. 
 
 Applef. Of the Hundred-and-Fourth ? {Aside : My own 
 Captain.) (7l> Mrs. Peachdown.) Hush! As he's your friend, 
 I'll wink and let him slip. 
 
 Mrs. Peaclid. Wink ! Let him slip ! 
 
 Applef. You see, as a lawyer I'm concerned against the 
 CajDtain, and it would not be pleasant for us to meet. 
 
 Mrs. Peaclid. Concerned ! How ? 
 
 Applef. How 1 The captain's a soldier. Peace, dull work. 
 Must do something. No towns to take — take credit. No blood 
 to shed — shed shopkeeper's ink. 
 
 Mrs. Peaclid. Mysterious man ! You don't mean — 
 
 Applef. I do. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Debt 1 
 
 Applef. Deep ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside: This surprises me — pains me.) Very 
 deep 1 
 
 Applef. So deep, I can't see the end of it. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside: Foolish creature.) And yet, the Cap- 
 tain's tastes — his habits — are so simple. 
 
 Applef. Yes — his habits. {Aside : Must go through with it, 
 now.) He doesn't wear a diamond necklace. 
 Mrs. Peachd. Diamond necklace ! 
 
 Applef. Nor diamond butterflies perching on diamond sprigs. 
 Nor diamond snakes with green eyes twisted in true lovers' 
 diamond knots — nor diamond —
 
 THE CATSPAW. 175 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Impossible ! 
 
 Afplef. Then you hav'u't seen 'em ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. 1 1 No ! 
 
 Applet'. You 'stouish me ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside : Debt were nothing ; but such debts ! 
 Snakes, indeed. The deceit — the treachery ! How happy am 
 I that I met this man ! No truth — no sincerity. As I thought, 
 it is my fortune, not myself that's sought. But I'll be assured — 
 assured.) 
 
 Apple/. Stop. A thought has struck me like a hammer. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. What is it 1 
 
 Apple/. If you hav'n't seen the diamonds, you may. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Pshaw ! You'll not go ? 
 
 Apple/. I'd rather. As I said, I'm concerned — very much 
 concerned. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I see. Your client is the jeweller ? 
 
 Apple/ Don't say I said so. (Aside : I didn't.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside : His manner shall convince me.) Cap- 
 tain — 
 
 Apple/ {Restraining her.) My dear Mrs. Peachdown ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Bringing down Burgonet.) You must know my 
 friend, Mr. Boggle. 
 
 Burgon. {In astonishment.) Boggle ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside : Confused — astonished ! All's true. Well, 
 at least I am undeceived.) 
 
 Burgon. Boggle ! Why, no — it can't — and yet — Mr. Boggle, 
 have you any i-elation in the army ? 
 
 Apple/. {With handkerchie/ to his /ace) Once had — a twin 
 cousin. Ensign Flambeau — killed in Indy, and buried in laurel 
 leaves like a baby in the wood. 
 
 Burgon. {To Mrs. Peachdown.) Well, I could have sworn 
 your friend was a — a military acquaintance of mine. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside : His duplicity is wondrous !) Yes, like- 
 nesses are so perplexing. But then, what really is, what it 
 seems 1 Who at once has the purity and truth of diamonds 1 
 {Aside : he doesn't blush !) The truth of our day's a butterfly — 
 at best a brilliant butterfly. {Aside: Ha ! he shrinks at that.) 
 An idle thing that — 
 
 Enter Servant, with letter. 
 
 Serv. {Aside to Mrs. Peachdown : From the Chevalier Podovj-.) 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside : The Chevalier Podovy — show liiiu in.) 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Burgon. Now, Harriet — what is all this 1 You speak riddles.
 
 176 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 2frs. Peachd. Yes — riddles. Snakes in knots. 
 
 Burgon. Snakes ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. In true-love knots, sir. 
 
 Burgon. "What do you mean ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And you can ask 1 {Aside : If I stay, my passion 
 will — How very dull !) Well, then, I'll be plain with you. 
 
 Burgon. Tliank you. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Very plain. And my meaning is, diamond snakes 
 with emerald eyes. Yes, Captain — emerald eyes. [Uxit. 
 
 Burgon. Emerald eyes, indeed ! and just now, she seems to 
 look through them. Pray, sir, can you clear this ferment of — 
 
 Apple/. No, sir ; and won't try. Meddle with women in a 
 ferment, and you'll disturb 'em all the more. Leave 'em alone, 
 and it's wonderful how soon they clear themselves. 
 
 Burgon. Come, there's wisdom in that — and wisdom gratis. 
 (Aside : I'll leave her to her fancies. A little wholesome cold- 
 ness may recover her. In the meanwhile, since she dares me to 
 carry her off, let me contrive to give grace to audacity, and make 
 despair deliglitful.) [Exit. 
 
 Applef. Did a beautiful widow with a face like a garden, and a 
 bank of money, ever marry a drummer 1 I think not. There's 
 the greater reason it should happen now. Something's in the 
 corner of her eye that takes my breath away. " You must stay 
 to dinner." My heart went clean into a lump of honey, and 
 I felt all over as sweet as a bee-hive. And at this very time I'm 
 being bought into the marriage-service by Rosemary ! Yes, I've 
 taken that person's shilling, and promised to be sworn in. Now 
 Rosemary's nothing but a maid ; Mrs. Peachdown's a rich lady. 
 I feel it. The star I was born under tells me to look up. If we 
 didn't come into this world to better ourselves, we might as well 
 have staid where we was. \_Retires. 
 
 Enter Coolcard as the Chevalier Podovt. 
 
 Coolc. This is my second character to-day. Roguery ought to 
 be well paid — it gives a plain man a deal of trouble. Sometimes, 
 I half wish I'd put up with honest bi-ead — but my bread was so 
 thinly buttered. Honest bread is very well — it's the butter that 
 makes the temptation. 
 
 Applef. {Aside : Who's this ? Military mustachios, and nothing 
 to match. Shave him, and there's an end of the soldier.) Good 
 day, general. 
 
 Coolc. {Aside : The widow's attorney.) Bon jour, Lord Chan- 
 cellor. 
 
 Applef. How droll we should know one another at once ! 
 
 Coolc. Not at all. Dere is a sort of great man dat vid no
 
 THE CATSPAW 177 
 
 mistake find out de odei- sort of great man. Ha ! ha ! De general 
 cannot miss da chancellor. 
 
 Applef. To be sure. Not that I'm a chancellor. 
 
 Coolc. Certainement. Not dat I'm a general. I am de Chevalier 
 Podovy. 
 
 Applef. Of what country ? 
 
 Coolc. None. 
 
 Applef. None 1 Born in a balloon, perhaps ? 
 
 Coolc. De univez-se is my country — and all mankind my littel 
 broders and sistei-s. 
 
 Applef. Then upon my soul I can't say much for some of your 
 relations. 
 
 Coolc. But I sail make England ! Oh, what I sail make 
 England ! I am a citizen of de world, but — 
 
 Applef. But you prefer to open shop with us ? 
 
 Coolc. But I sail make England so hot, no base foreigner sail 
 come anigh her ! 
 
 Applef. How 1 
 
 Coolc. How ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. {To Coolcard : !Mi-s. Peachdown, sir, will see you.) 
 Coolc. Je vole — I fly. How ? You ask — how ? Bcoutez — De 
 fool ask how, and de wise man hold his tongue. 
 
 [Exit, shown off hy SeiTant. 
 Applef. WeU, I thought I was a sharp one, but he's notched 
 my razor. 
 
 JEnter Snowball. 
 
 Snov:b. My dear sir, ten thousand thousand pardons. 
 
 Applef. Any number — hang arithmetic. 
 
 Snowb. I have followed you even here ; — where is the sweet 
 widow 1 — here, to apologise — I was a little worse this morning. 
 I — Mr. Boggle, are you a bachelor ? 
 
 Applef. Let me see. Yes — I am. 
 
 Snowb. And — I know all beside — ^young in business. A sweet 
 wife with a little money, Mr. Boggle, is a nice thing. 
 
 Applef. Yes ; nice with a little money. Nicer with a good 
 deal. 
 
 Snowb. My ward, Cassandra, has a little money : she also has 
 a heart. She also has — also — 
 
 Applef. If it's an inventory, go on. 
 
 Snowb. Mr. Boggle, as a man of honour, will you dine with me 
 to-morrow 1 Mind this is not to prejudice the suit. I ask the 
 man to dine, and not the lawyer. 
 
 Applef. Sir, I shall be proud to dine upon the difference. 
 
 N
 
 178 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Snowb. For, not even a lovely, sparkling girl with, as times go, 
 not a little money, can win a man like Mi\ Boggle from his line 
 of duty. 
 
 Applef. Couldn't do it. 
 
 Snoiob. No, sir ; as a lawyer, no doubt you'll deserve this 
 epitaph : 
 
 His line of duty 
 
 Was the line of beauty. 
 
 Applef. The very line I'm given to. 
 
 Re-enter Burgonet, 
 
 Burgonet. I've thought better of it. Here I'll stay till all's 
 explaijied. [Seats himself at back. 
 
 Applef. The Captain again! My heart drops like a bullet. 
 {To Snowball.) Do you know him 1 He's after Mrs. Peachdown, 
 
 Snowb. He looks just like it. 
 
 Applef. He's been making love to her like a Saracen. 
 
 Snowb. Monstrous ! 
 
 Applef. Swears he'll marry her before she knows it. 
 
 Snowb. And the suit not decided. What's to be done ? 
 
 Applef. Shoot him. 'Twill make you look all the handsomer 
 in the eyes of the lady. I'm both your friends. The widow 
 really loves you. 
 
 Snowb. She does ? Frankly, I'd made up my mind to offer- 
 had slipt from Petgoose ; and — it's very odd — I never leave him, 
 that I don't feel the better for it. 
 
 Enter Servant at back. 
 
 Burgon. Does your lady know I am here ? 
 
 Serv. Says, sir, she's busy. \Exit. 
 
 Burgon. Busy! {To Appleface.) Perhaps, you, sir, as her 
 lawyer, — 
 
 Applef. {Avoiding him) Very busy. Not allowed to give 
 particulars. 
 
 Snowb. Yes, my dear friend Harriet — 
 
 Burgon. Yonr friend ? Your name 1 
 
 Snowb. Snowball. 
 
 Applef. All right. " Snowball v. Peachdown." Cause with- 
 ^T^^'^- [Runs off. 
 
 Burgon. You don't say withdrawn ! 
 
 Snouib. Why not ? 
 
 ^ Burgon. You are the beat of fellows — have made me the hap- 
 piest. I'll be married this very week, and upon the spot invite 
 you to the wedding.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 179 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Peachdown, 
 
 My dear Harriet, Mr. Snowball — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Mr. Snowball ! this return visit is kind, chival- 
 rous, and so like the middle ages. 
 
 Burgon. But Mr. Snowball is — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. The spur of knighthood, and the plume of grace. 
 
 Burgon. But Mr. Snowball — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Will answer for himself. Talk, Mr. Snowball. 
 
 Snowb. {Aside : She's a sweet woman, after all.) I will talk, 
 give me time and place. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Time and place ? Nothing so willingly. 
 
 Burgon. {Aside : Yes : she thinks to vex me.) Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Snowb. {Aside to her : At a word shall we dismiss the lawyers, 
 and call in the parspn 1) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. We save anxiety. 
 
 Snowb. And pocket costs. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And law's uncertain. 
 
 Snowb. And matrimony sure. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Alotcd :) What, now, were T to prove a wild-goose 
 and say there's my hand 1 
 
 Burgon. Aye, what would Mr. Snowball answer ? 
 
 Enter Coolcard, who remains at back. 
 
 Snowb. Answer ? 
 
 Burgon. There's the lady's hand, with her heart somewhere 
 in it. Well, you won't take it ? 
 
 Snoiob. Why not ? 
 
 Burgon. Why ? {Aside to him : You're a dead man. The 
 lady's hand ! I see your grave already made in it, and at this 
 moment smell the gunpowder that sends you there.) 
 
 Snowb. {Aside: Petgoose was right — I'm not strong. If I 
 could marry her first, she wouldn't let me fight afterwards. 
 Despatch is all.) {Aside to Burgonet : Yery well, sir — very 
 well.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Mr. Snowball, I am going to dinner. 
 
 Burgon. You see — Mr. Snowball has no appetite. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Your pardon. Captain. I never saw a liungrier 
 gentleman. Will you lead me down ? 
 
 Snowb. With rapture. But who could be hungry — vulgarly 
 hungry — before such a feast of roses 1 
 
 Burgon. {Aside to Snowball : You shall hear from me.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I'm sorry, Captain, to appear inhospitable — but 
 it's a business dinner. 
 
 Snowb. Yes, business. {Aside : If I could elope with her 
 to-night !) 
 
 K 2
 
 180 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. A little peace-making banquet. Only three. 
 
 Snowh. Peace, pleasure, and business. Two turtle-doves, and — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And one attorney. 
 [Mrs. Peachdown curtsies to Burgonet, and is led off by Snowball. 
 
 Burgon. This is too absurd. Nevertheless, I'll shoot him 
 like— 
 
 Coolc. {Coraing down: Shoot! As de friend of Madame 
 Pitchdown, I sail be proud to load your pistol.) 
 
 Burgon. You ! 
 
 Coolc. Oui, Capitaine. I am a man of honneur, qui — 
 
 Burgon. That is just possible ; but as I don't even fight upon 
 a hurry, I won't burn priming on a doubt. [Exit. 
 
 Coolc. Indeed ? Nevertheless, and in despite of you, I'll turn 
 the penny on your gunpowder. [Exit. 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 Scene. — Snowball's house, as in Act. I. 
 
 Dust. {Discovered ^vith newspaper^ Ever since Eosemary told 
 me of that annuity, I somehow always read the " Deaths " first. 
 A weakness, I know ; but a nat'ral one. [Bell rings. 
 
 Enter Eosemary. 
 
 Rosrni. Why, John, that's Mr. Snowball's bell. 
 
 Diist. I know that — but 'tisn't Mr. Snowball that's ringing it. 
 
 Rosem. Not Mr. Snowball in his own bed ! 
 
 Dust. No. You see he came home late, and brought along with 
 him — 
 
 Rosem. What am I about to hear ? 
 
 Dust. Nothing— for I sha'n't tell you. [Going. 
 
 Rosem. John — Dust ! {Bell rings.) Never mind the bell. 
 Brought, you say — 
 
 Dtist. Brought Mr. Boggle, his dear friend, as he called him. 
 
 Rosem. (Aside : My own Appleface — and sleeping here !) 
 
 Dust. In my time I've seen a deal of drink — both wine and 
 spirits, but never in such a state before. 
 
 Rosem. Was Mr. Boggle tipsy ? 
 
 Dust. No — drunk. 
 
 Rosem. {Aside : That he should have a vice, and I not know it !)
 
 THE CATSPAW. 181 
 
 Dust. Such doings ! Boggle hugged master, and swore that 
 the hoiise held the jewel of his life ; his diamond, his ruby, and 
 his mother-of-pearls. 
 
 Rosem. {Aside : Sweet, but imprudent.) And what said master ? 
 
 Bust. Master said 'twas a jewel for a king, and the very thing 
 for Boggle. 
 
 Rosem. {Aside : I see it — he has confessed his passion, but said 
 nothing of the drum.) 
 
 Dust. Then, going up stairs. Boggle tumbled into master's 
 room, and master made off and tucked himself up in the Chinese 
 Chamber, whereupon — [Bell rings violently. 
 
 Rosem. Eun ! Mr. Boggle may need something. Let us not 
 forget hospitality^' specially in the houses of other people. 
 
 Dust. Hospitality ! Suppose now he wants more brandy-and- 
 soda ? 
 
 Rosem. Eepentance in any way is a virtue — let him have it. 
 {Exit Dust.) That he should have slept under the same roof — 
 the same roof ! 
 
 Enter Snowball, in morning goxon. 
 
 Snowh. Down before Petgoose, so he won't know where I slept. 
 Droll man that Boggle, but so he marries Cassandra and — what, 
 Eosemary 1 
 
 Rosem. {Aside : He knows my secret — ^he speaks so soft.) 
 
 Snowb. Eosemary, I'll trust you. I think of changing my 
 adviser. 
 
 Rosem. Couldn't do better, sir. That Petgoose ! He rolls you 
 roimd and round like one of his own Paradise Pills. 
 
 Snowb. I mean — I shall marry. 
 
 Rosem. "Why not, sir 1 It's your duty. You know ,slr, we're 
 not like the phoenixes ; we can't live and die single, and leave a 
 son and heir in our cmders. I, sir, intend to marry, too. 
 
 Snowb. And when ? 
 
 Rosem. 'Tisn'tfor me just now to name the tune, but to bow 
 to it when it conies. 
 
 Snoifb. Such resignation is delightful. 
 
 Doctor Petgoose. {Without.) Call immediately — two coaches. 
 Two ! 
 
 Snowb. That's Petgoose. Two coaches ! Never going out in 
 both! 
 
 Rosem. Shouldn't wonder, sir. When he likes, he can make 
 himself big enough for anything. 
 
 Enter Petgoose, drest to go out. 
 
 Snowb. Abroad so early ! What calls you out ?
 
 182 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Petgoose. My reputation. Do you think I'll wait till the 
 hatchment's over the door ? 
 
 Snowh. Hatchment, for what ? Your reputation ? 
 
 Petgoose. No satire, Mr. Snowball. Die you may, as you will, 
 and soon ; but you shall not die to disgrace me. 
 
 Snowb. I'm quite ready to bear all the disgrace myself ; but 
 what have I done ? 
 
 Petgoose. Done ! You dine out. You eat — how do I know 
 what you eat 1 I repeat it — how do I know what you eat ? You 
 drink the night-air ; and that's not all. You sleep out of your 
 own bed ; and to concentrate all the horrors of life in two devas- 
 tating syllables — damp sheets ! 
 
 Snowh. No ! 
 
 Jtosem. No ! 
 
 Petgoose. {To Eosemary.) Silence ! 
 
 Rosen. I sha'n't. I consider damp sheets an aspersion on the 
 female chai'acter, and I won't bear it. 
 
 Petgoose. I say, damp sheets. I give your nerves two hours ; 
 and then, you'll be tied up every bit of you in a million knots. — 
 Yes, an inextricable human bundle ! 
 
 Snowh. {Aside : Can it be V) 
 
 Petgoose. I proceed to your apartment, smelling alcohol — 
 
 Rosem. {Aside : That's genteel for brandy.) 
 
 Petgoose. When I find — 
 
 Snoich. Boggle, the attorney. DroU fellow ! How is he ? 
 
 Petgoose. In the fii'st stage of sobriety, but incoherent. Talks 
 of hollow squares, and deep files — 
 
 Snowh. Thinking of the Inns of Court, no doubt. 
 
 Petgoose. Executions and muffled drums. 
 
 Rosem. {Aside : Oh ! it comes with a crash upon me ! He's slept 
 out of barracks — he's a deserter — he's shot and lost. He shall 
 never leave the house — never leave his room ! Yes, I'm deter- 
 mined, sooner than be killed in that way, I'll call in the doctor, 
 and he shall never — never leave his bed i) [Exit. 
 
 Snowh. And you are really going ? 
 
 Petgoose. {Seating himself and taking off gloves) Inexorably 
 — going. Die in any hands you wUl, you shaU not die in mine. 
 
 Snowh. Pooh-pooh, you mistake. I'm now quite well. And 
 I begin to feel that my weakness has been too much physic. 
 
 Petgoose. You wiU not insult the faculty, Mr. Snowball ? 
 
 Snowh. Oh no. StUl I must say, I've swallowed so many of your 
 Paradise Pills, it's a wonder I hav'n't followed their direction. 
 
 Petgoose. And this is human gratitude ! But as I observe in 
 my " Pearls " — to the ungrateful there is no past. However, I am 
 gone — gone.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 183 
 
 Enter Dust. 
 
 Dust. Both coaches at the door, Doctor. Got 'em myself. 
 
 Petgoose. Very well — ( Violently) Very well. [^Exit Dust. 
 
 Snowb. One I take it, for you — one for your luggage ? We 
 part friends, I hope 1 For though I'm a giant now, you have 
 done me good. 
 
 Petgoose. Oh no ! Not I. 
 
 Snoich. Yes, you have. I was weak, but you have renovated — 
 
 Petgoose. Weak — renovated ! ]SIr. Snowball, I found you a 
 grasshopper — I leave you a rhinoceros. 
 
 Snowb. And I'm thankful — and there's my hand. Good bye. 
 
 Petgoose. {Taking Snowball's hand and graduallg feeling 
 pvJse.) Yes, we shall always be friends — always. How the old 
 pressure of this hand almost softens my resolution ! I who know 
 so well your system, know not the texture of my own heart. 
 Snowball ! 
 
 Snowb. Petgoose ! 
 
 Petgoose. One question. Think you, as a physician and a 
 friend, I'd leave you with a pulse like this ? 
 
 Snowb. Can't say. 
 
 Petgoose. You can't ? Then stiU you have to know me. Never 
 — never ! \_E7nbraces him. 
 
 Re-enter Dust. 
 
 Dust. Got your boxes in, Doctor. What next ? 
 
 Petgoose. What next, fellow ? Get them out again. 
 
 [Dust gives letter to Snowball. 
 
 Snoiob. {Opening letter) " The Chevalier PodoA^." " Important 
 bus'ness." {Aside to Dust : Say I'm out.) 
 
 Dust, {Aside to Snowball : Says he must see you. Comes fi-om 
 Captain Burgonet.) 
 
 Snowb. {Aside : 'Tis a challenge. The Captain ! Why, he'd 
 bring me down like a tumbler pigeon. What's to be done ?) 
 {Stands, as suddenly transfixed by pain.) Oh! oh I 
 
 Petgoose. What's the matter? 
 
 Snoiob. Damp sheets ! Oh ! 
 
 Petgoose. Rheumatism — I knew it. 
 
 Snowb. Discharge every woman in the house ! Oh ! Damp 
 sheets ! 
 
 Petgoose. Hm ! Where's the pain ? 
 
 Snowb. Wliere is it 1 Where isn't it ? Not an inch of nerve 
 that isn't a needle. 
 
 Petgoose. I foretold this — I knew it. Yet, do I boast ? Do 
 I triumph ? 
 
 Snowb. A chair ! If I could only sit down. {To Dust : Don't
 
 184 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 touch me ! A touch of your little finger, and I'm cut in a 
 million pieces.) 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside : He has no more rheumatisna than a cricket. 
 What's in the wind ?) 
 
 Snowh. {Having gradually seated himself.) Roses ! roses ! 
 
 Dust. Is the pain all over you, sir ? 
 
 Snowh. From head to foot. Ha ! we're poor creatures ! To 
 think that two or three yards of damp flax should so knock down 
 the majesty of man ! Oh ! From head to foot ! 
 
 Petgoose. The attack general, the remedy must be general too. 
 My dear friend, I shall steep you in the very purest vinegar — 
 
 Snowb. Vinegar ! 
 
 Petgoose. Diluting the very strongest mustard. I shall. 
 
 Snou'b. The devil you will ? 
 
 Petgoose. And now I hope you'll acknowledge what a blessing 
 it is I didn't leave the house 1 
 
 Dust. What, sir, shall I say to the gentleman 1 
 
 Snowb. Show him in. {Exit Dust.) Must see him. My honour 
 is concerned. A duel. 
 
 Petgoose. A duel ! You fight 1 You can't stand. 
 
 Snotvb. Not a leg. And it has just struck me that you may 
 give the fellow a certificate to that effect. 
 
 Petgoose. A duel ! My dear friend, now I don't wonder you're 
 as bad as you are. 
 
 Ufiter CooLCARD as Podovt. 
 
 Coolcard. Monsieur Snowball, I have de /i07ineur — 
 
 Snowb. Don't come near me. Doctor, tell the Chevalier how 
 bad I am. 
 
 Petgoose. Mr. Snowball is in an alarming condition. The action 
 of his heart is specific. The rate of his pulse terrific. His san- 
 guineous system mephitic — and, in short, not a single symptom 
 that is not morbific. 
 
 Snoivb. You hear, sir ? 
 
 Petgoose. I wouldn't say as much before any patient, but I 
 know Mr. Snowball's moral strength. His body is weak, but his 
 mind tremendous. Yes, a sword — a Damascus blade in a brown 
 paper scabbard. 
 
 Coolc. Cest bien. For de sooner he sail draw de sword — 
 
 Snowb. I draw a sword ! Look at me. Couldn't draw a 
 toothpick. 
 
 Coolc. Cest bien. Den you sail fight with pistolets. 
 
 Snowb. Pistols ! With pleasure, but — look at me ! — couldn't 
 pull a trigger. 
 
 Coolc. Bah ! A leetle new-born babe sail pull a trigger.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 185 
 
 Snowb. Yes, but — look at me ! — I can't stand, 
 
 Coolc. Cest bien — you sail sit. Den if de bullet hit you — tant 
 •mieux — }ou sail not tomher — tumble. 
 
 Snowb. {Forgetting himself.) Zounds, sir — I — ob ! There — 
 you see ! [Drops in chair. 
 
 Petgoose. (To Snohv^all.) You will use the sword — you won't 
 think of the paper ! {To Coolcard.) What is this, sir 1 Why 
 do you break in upon — {to Snowball) — will you allow me the 
 expression 1 — a dying man ? 
 
 Coolc. Dying man no need of wife. Mr. Snowball sail give up 
 Mrs. Pitchdown — 
 
 Snowb. Never ! I'll perish first — that is, when I'm well 
 enough to perish. 
 
 Petgoose. Very right. For to perish in your present state 
 would be no compliment to any woman. 
 
 Snoivh. Sir, — you are Captain Burgonet's friend — ^his bosom 
 friend ? -' 
 
 Coolc. Assurement. I carry him round and round my fjnger, 
 as you carry dat spai'kling ring. 
 
 Snowb. Say, then, when I'm well, I shall be only too happy to 
 fight — describe my condition and — will you do me another favour 
 — accept this ring 1 
 
 Petgoose. IVIi-. Snowball ! 
 
 Snowb. And, however this matter may end, wear it for my sake. 
 Gently. {Offers his finger.) Gently ! 
 
 Coolc. {Tenderly taking off ring.) Monsieur ! Are you better, 
 now ? 
 
 Snowb. I do feel relieved. And I may count upon your friend- 
 ship 1 
 
 Petgoose. Can't do otherwise. Eeal friendship, now — goes upon 
 a diamond. 
 
 Coolc. {Aside : Luck beyond my hopes ! And now to make off 
 while the luck lasts.) Monsieur, I sail tell how sick you are. 
 And I sail come every day to watch your pillow, and say a leetel 
 prayer. And so, courage ! You sail soon be upon your leg — sail 
 soon receive a bullet like a lion, and fall like a man. 
 
 Snowb. Thank you. 
 
 Coolc. Adieu., mon cher ami. [Embracing Snowball. 
 
 Snov:b. Murder ! My nerves ! 
 
 Coolc. Pardon ma sensibility. The capitan sail wait. Pardon 
 — et encore, adieu — adieu. [Exit. 
 
 Petgoose. How are you now ? 
 
 Snowb. Better. 
 
 Petgoose. And you intend to marry the widow ? 
 
 Snowb. I do — rheumatism permitting.
 
 186 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Enter Cassandra. 
 
 Cassan. Rosemary's told me all. Last night — that dreadful 
 bed ! But be comfoi'ted : I'll send away all the maids. 
 
 /Snowb. You're very good — but I'm better. 
 
 Cassan. That you should be ill, now ! {Aside to Snowball.) 
 For who think you is here — comes, she says, to see me ? 
 
 Snowh. Not Mrs. Peachdown ? You didn't say I was ilH 
 
 Cassan. A little ill — delicate. And, you know our sex, she 
 seemed to like you all the more. 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside : The widow here ! I feel an impulse of bold 
 benevolence. She must and shall be saved from this miserable 
 cripple.) ( To Snowball.) My dear friend, I go to provide your 
 comfort. A hot bed — strong vinegar and — 
 
 Snowh. But I'm better. 
 
 Petgoose. Better ! I keep up my spirits but — you were never 
 worse. My dearest friend, the pericardium — the pericardium. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Snoicb. {Leaving chair.) You see I'm well — only weak. And 
 Mrs. Peachdown — 
 
 Cassan. You've quite bewitched her. I was always her con- 
 fidant, though younger than she, before — 
 
 Snowb. By the way, what — exactly — is the widow's age ? 
 
 Cassan. Well, sir, I knew how old she was five years ago, but 
 I can't say how young she is now. But as I was saying, before 
 that foolish quarrel that separated the families, I was always in 
 her confidence, and — yes, you have fixed the butterfly. What a 
 wife she'll make ! 
 
 Snowh. Think so 1 Well, I'll make a husband for you. Will 
 you have him 1 
 
 Cassan. Have him ? Whom ? Happiness is — 
 
 Snotvb. Oh, you must be happy. He'll keep his coach in a 
 twelvemonth. But you've seen him — it's Boggle. A droll fellow, 
 but deep — and loves you with — 
 
 Cassan. Boggle ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Snowb. What ! laugh at an honest man's affection ? 
 
 Cassan. Oh, I only laugh to escape emotion. The louder I 
 laugh, the deeper I feel. Boggle. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Enter Mrs. Peachdown. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Dear Mi\ Snowball ! 
 
 Snowb. Dear Mrs. Peachdown — Harriet ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Why, I thought to find you immovable. A 
 statue — a marble statue. 
 
 Snowb. If I was flint, there are eyes that with a twinkle would 
 make me flesh again.
 
 THE CATSPATV. 187 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I never will forgive that Petgoose. He told me 
 you were bound in rheumatism — motionless as a mummy. That 
 you were only alive in your tongue ; in fact, positively dead to all 
 the world, except the undertaker. 
 
 Snowb. Look at me. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Then it's all untrue 1 You'll not wither in 
 your chair like an over-kept nut in its shell 1 And you'll not sit 
 torpid in the world like a frog in a stone 1 And you are better 
 than clay, and quite as quick as fuller's earth ? 
 
 Snowb. Frogs and fuller's-earth ! What d'ye mean 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I but repeat the doctor. He said, henceforth 
 you'd be a canker and a trouble. A blight to orange-blossoms — 
 a paralysis to love ! And you are not 1 No — you can move ? 
 Move — ^you can walk 1 Walk — you can dance ? 
 
 [Snowball, as she speaks, walks, and dances about. 
 
 Snowb. {Dancing brisklj/.) No blight in this, I think — no 
 paralysis here. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Well, I am disappointed. 
 
 Cassan. Disappointed 1 
 
 Snowb. Would you have preferred the frog, the clay, and — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Selfishly speaking, — yes. For then I had shown 
 the world it was your mind I valued — your mind, sir ; whether 
 blazing in the brightest lamj), or twinkling in the darkest 
 lanthorn. 
 
 Snowb. And the Doctor said I was dying — gone ? 
 
 31rs. Peachd. He said there wasn't in you life enough to orna- 
 ment the earth, or death enough to enrich it. 
 
 Snowb. Damp sheets, nothing more. A stitch in the nerves — 
 just a stitch, that's all. The traitor ! But I've done with him, as 
 I'll prove, done with him and his Pills of Paridise, too. 
 
 [Takes pill-box from, pocket. 
 
 Enter Eosemart. 
 
 Rosem. The Doctor not here, sir ? 
 
 Snowb. Rosemary — take these jdIIIs and — {Offering pill-box.) 
 
 Rosem. Thank you, sir — but I always refused the Doctor 
 himself. 
 
 Snowb. Take 'em, and throw 'em into the street. 
 
 Rosem. Consider, sii". Some unoffending dog may find 'em. 
 
 Snowb. Where is the doctor ? 
 
 Rosem. That's what I want to know, Mr. Boggle's so very ill. 
 {Aside : If Petgoose would only shave his head and put blisters 
 to his feet, I should be a happy woman.) 
 
 Snowb. Ill ! I must see him, for in my pocket here — bless 
 me ! — [seeing morning-gown) — this robe — Mi's. Peachdown, ten
 
 188 THE CATSPA"W. 
 
 thousand pardons — I fly to change. Yes, my dear lady, I fly — and 
 frogs don't fly. The quack, I've done with him for ever. And 
 for the orange-blossoms — you may prepare them — indeed — gar- 
 land them — {sings) " I love her, how I love her ! " — no paralysis 
 here, I think — " Tol lol lol lol lol lol." [Exit singing and dancing. 
 
 3Trs. Peachd. Ha ! ha ! ha ! The dance of dissolution ! 
 
 Cassan. What could make the Doctor so exaggerate ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. You here behold tlie irresistible cause. The 
 Doctor is pleased to save me from his patient. My beauty — thus 
 speaks the Doctor — my beauty, like a wreath of roses, would 
 only crown a death's-head ; my vii-tues — says the Doctor — 
 would only shine, like stars, upon a tomb-stone ; and, finally 
 — and again the Doctor — to go to church with !Mi". Snow- 
 ball, would be to act chief mourner at the funeral of my own 
 felicity. 
 
 Cassan. The insolence of this Petgoosc ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. In his own words, the Doctor would snatch me 
 from imbecility to the very rudest of health. Well, at least there's 
 sport in it — sport that may beguile the heart-ache. 
 
 Cassan. The heai^t-ache ! Harriet 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. My dear, I've been so deceived. Fortunately, 
 Mr. Boggle, as the lawyer of — 
 
 Cassan. You have been deceived. The man is no lawyer ; 
 'twas but the whim of the minute. Would you think it. Boggle 
 is — 
 
 Rosem. Don't, miss. I don't mind your saying what he's not, 
 so that just now you don't say what he is. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Why, what is this ? He professed to tell me of — 
 
 (Captain Burgonet is shown in hy Servant.) 
 
 Captain Burgonet ! 
 
 Burgon. Your pardon, ladies — the man has mistaken. I would 
 see IVIi". Snowball. 
 
 Cassan. I will seek him. {To Mrs. PEACHDOWif.) I'll leave you 
 — indeed, I wiU. Come Rosemary. 
 
 Rosem. {A side to Cassandra : If they discover him, they'll shoot 
 him ! If they shoot him, they kill me ! I feel it — two turtles with 
 one bullet !) [Exeunt Cassandra and Eosemary. 
 
 Burgon. To see you here, madam, is a pleasure I looked 
 not for. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. If there be pleasure in the meeting, you've the 
 best right to enjoy it, since 'tis all your own. 
 
 Burgon. No, Harriet, you can't be bitter if you would. For the 
 little loves sit in your eyes, and laugh every syllable into sweet- 
 ness. Still I am surprised to see you in this house.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 189 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. This house ! "Wait awhile, and even you may 
 own that I have the best, the dearest right to it. 
 
 Burgon. Impossible. Yestei'day I was fool enough, for five 
 minutes, to be jealous. But, jealous of Snowball ! No; even if 
 I could doubt your constancy, I must respect your taste. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Taste ! Mr. Snowball is a man of solid qualities, 
 A man, too, whose delicacy of constitution only harmonises with 
 the refinement of his soul. His health may be weak, but his 
 principles are oak — yes, sir, oak. 
 
 Burgon. Excellent principles, no doubt, to go to sea with. But 
 for matrimony, madam, something more is needed than principles, 
 however close the grain, and however susceptible of polish. 
 Didn't his principles throw you into Chancery % 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Only that his afi"ection — his chivalrous afiection 
 — micjht take me out again. 
 
 Burgon. And now, as he fears the worst, now that all his gvms 
 will be carried by law, he hopes to turn church bells to his best 
 artillery. But I come to have some talk with him. For though 
 I may not marry you — indeed, on second thoughts, I don't think 
 I would marry you — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Sir ! 
 
 Burgon. Nevertheless, you deserve better treatment than 
 Snowball. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Better ! (Aside : But I'll punish him !) With such 
 a husband, life doubles its felicity. The roses are multiplied, and 
 the thorns are nought. With such a man — but here the dear 
 enchanter comes ! 
 
 Enter Snowball, drest. Burgonet retires. 
 
 My dear sh-, why, you look better every minute. 
 
 Snowb. And I feel sparkling. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And you hold your resolution ? You dismiss that 
 dreadful doctor ? 
 
 Snowb. The Doctor ! Like a mouse in a cheese, he has grown 
 fat upon my constitution. I renoiince him. For here's my doctor 
 now. Those eyes, those lips ! The light and balm of life. I grow 
 a giant while I gaze. I driuk elixir vitce while — (Burgonet comes 
 down; Snowball, on seeing him, is again suddenly cri2:>2^Ied) — 
 Oh ! oh ! Rheumatism — a steel lance, clean between my shoulders 
 down — down to my right heel ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. My dear sir — 
 
 Snowb. Don't — there's an angel — don't touch me. A feather — 
 even a feather — laid upon me — you can't think it — but even a 
 feather 1
 
 190 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Burgon. Ehevimatism ? Not the sort of complaint that turns the 
 single roses of life into double ones ? 
 
 Snowb. Sir, the man who jokes with rheumatism is — is — but 
 no, I may be on the rack, but I'll be dignified. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Suffering so endured is quite sublime. 
 
 Snowb. What, though crippled, I have your affection 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Don't mention it. Crippled — affection ! Oh, sir, 
 I care not to confess it, were you immovable, I should quite 
 adore you. 
 
 Snowb. You hear, Captain — touching, delightful ? And, Captain 
 after what your friend witnessed — 
 
 Burgon. My friend ! 
 
 Snowb. I did not expect this visit. And, sir, in my helpless 
 condition T — I^oh — 
 
 Enter Tetgoos^, followed by Cassandra. 
 
 Petgoose. As I expected. You see, madam — ^you see ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside to him : I thought your fears enlarged the 
 danger. He looks ill !) 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside : Looks ! but for his obstinacy of character he 
 ought to look twice as ill.) {To Snowball :) My dear friend, how 
 do you feel ? 
 
 Snov}b. Feel ! I feel as if I was turned into a hedgehog, and the 
 hedgehog turned the wrong way. 
 
 Petgoose. Of course, I knew you did — the pericardium. 
 
 Burgon. And do you mean to certify that the gentleman is in 
 danger ? 
 
 Petgoose. Sir, T am Mr. Snowball's doctor, and therefore know 
 he's in the greatest danger. 
 
 Snowb. {Aside: The scoundrel ! Never better J) 
 
 Petgoose. Repose is his only hope. Yes. Tranquillity and 
 sudorifics. 
 
 Enter Eosemart. 
 
 Rosem. The bed's burning hot, Doctor. And the boiling 
 vinegar and — 
 
 Petgoose. And hold — prepare some hot bricks. 
 
 Rosem. Red hot 1 
 
 Petgoose. Not quite. {Exit Eosemart.) Heat and tranquillity 
 in a few weeks may do much. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. A few weeks ! Say not a few weeks. 
 
 Snowh. No — a few days. {Aside to her : My life, I'm not so 
 bad — but humour the Doctor — let him have his way.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. You'll soon be well
 
 THE CATSPAW. 191 
 
 Snowb. Your wishes will be my best medicine. {Aside to her : 
 Don't say a word — you shall hear from me — I'll be well to- 
 morrow.) 
 
 Petgoose. Where are the servants ? {Enter Servants.) Carry 
 Ml'. Snowball to his room. 
 
 [The Servants are about to lift the chair, 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Gently — gently. Pray take care. 
 
 Snowb. Bless you ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. In a few weeks ? 
 
 Snowb. A few weeks. {Aside to her : To-morrow.) 
 
 Burgon. {Aside to Petgoose : And is he so very ill ?) 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside to Burgonet : Sir, if he isn't, I'll stake my 
 reputation that he will be.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Ha, Doctor! 
 
 Petgoose. Ha, madam ! But restrain your tears, and let us to 
 luncheon. 
 
 [Servants oarry off Snowball in chair, Rosemary attending. Petgoose 
 offers M.^s,. Peachdown his arm; and Burgonet /oZiows with Cas- 
 sandra. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene. — In Snowball's House. The same as in previous Act. 
 
 Enter Eosemart as from the street. 
 
 Rosem. Here it is — {producing it) — the lovely parchment, 
 the Horse Guards instrument, as Mr. Audley calls it, that 
 makes my Appleface my own. He may now sink in his easy 
 chair and put up his drum-sticks for life. Yes — yes — I'Vg 
 bought him from ball-cartridge, and — {kissing parchment) — here's 
 the acknowledgment. When married, I think I shall have it 
 framed, and hang it over our domestic chimney-piece. How he'll 
 doat upon me ! But let me fly to him — for he doesn't know that 
 I've been out. No ; I'll surprise him in his misery, and whilst he 
 lies shaking at the thoughts of mufiied drums, and — why, here 
 he comes, laughing and — and with him Miss Cassandra ! Suspi- 
 cions cut across me, but be still, my heart, although I have paid 
 the money. {^Retires. 
 
 Enter Appleface and Cassandra. 
 Cassan. No — you're safe ; as yet I've kept your secret.
 
 192 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Apple/. And I wish I could pay you as I ought for the trouble. 
 But I've nothing but my hand and my heart, if they're of any 
 service to you. 
 
 Cassan. Service ! to me ! 
 
 Applef. Why, Mr. Snowball thought they might be useful. 
 
 Cassan. But, then, Mr. Snowball thought you a gentleman. 
 
 Apple/. What of that 1 When we're well married, 'twill be 
 time enough to be found out. 
 
 Cassan, {Aside: The fellow's insolence is delicious.) (Seeing 
 EosEMART. What — Eosemary ! Then she shall punish him.) You 
 know, my fortune — 
 
 Apple/. Isn't much ; but contentment makes such a lump of a 
 little. (Aside : If she'd only marry me, and carry me out of the 
 country.) 
 
 Cassan. Again, would you break Eosemary's heart ? 
 
 Apple/. Couldn't do it. Break it ! Couldn't even chip it. 
 
 Cassan. But gratitude ? Isn't the poor thing going to buy you 
 out 1 
 
 Apple/. Yes — out and out. And after all, I don't like it. You 
 see, its being bought by a woman like a fancy poodle. I should 
 always feel as if I'd got a collar about my neck, with my wife's 
 name cut upon it. 
 
 Cassan. Then you're not false, only — 
 
 Apple/. Only independent. (Aside : She softens ! Nothing can 
 resist the Hundred-and-Fourth.) Is it a stolen match — a run- 
 away ring 1 Will you give me your hand ? 
 
 Cassan. Spare my confusion. 
 
 Apple/. 1 will — I won't see it. (Turns atoay his head.) Now 
 then — 
 
 Cassan. (Beckons dmon Eosemary wJio., a/ter a struggle, places her 
 hand in the hand o/ Appleface, as Cassandra speaks.) Now, then 
 — the hand that's given you — don't look yet — 
 
 Apple/. I won't — but I must squeeze. 
 
 Cassan. The hand carries its heart. Honour, deserve, and 
 cherish it. \_Exit. 
 
 Apple/. I must — I do — I will — and now, one kiss. 
 
 Rosem. At your peril. No — never again ; never — if I perish ! 
 
 Apple/. My dearest, only love — my — 
 
 Rosem. No crocodile words for me. Monster ! 
 
 Apple/. Why will you mistake me 1 Don't you see I did it on 
 purpose 1 I knew your hand as if it was my other one. Besides, 
 I heard you before. 
 
 Rosem. Heard me ! 
 
 Apple/. Heard the rustling of your precious gown. I'd pick it 
 out from the Queen's whole drawing-room. Why, my Eosy,
 
 THE CATSPAW. 193 
 
 darling, do you think any woman on this 'versal earth could 
 rustle like you ? Ar'n't you satisfied ? 
 
 Rosem. Satisfied ! You that I was going to buy out — you that, 
 I may say, I scraped together shilling by shilling ! You — but I 
 shall be satisfied ! 
 
 Applef. I hope so. 
 
 Rosem. Sweetly satisfied — for you'll be shot. And do you think 
 I'll grieve — I'll shed a tear ? No — deceiver ; quite the reverse. 
 Now I know my strength. They'll shoot you for a deserter, and 
 in a new white- watered silk, with only a bottle of salts, I'll see 
 the sight ! 
 
 Applef. "What ! The husband you have purchased 1 The man 
 of your heart and cash ? 
 
 Rosem. The fancy poodle with his ready-money collar ? 
 
 Applef. Anything you please ; youi- pet — your slave — your 
 husband — di-ummer — friend ! 
 
 Rosem. (Aside : Hold ! If he knows I've paid the money, he 
 may make the debt a debt of honour, and never marry me !) 
 
 Appelf. See me shot ! As if those cruel eyes had not more 
 power than ball 1 I'm shot already if my Eosy frowns. 
 
 Rosem. Oh, I dare say. Much you care. But it's like the 
 army ! Win a woman's heart, and then break it into little pieces. 
 Break it, did I say ? — chip it ! Alexander, I couldn't have 
 believed it. 
 
 Applef. Then don't. When I'm shot, indeed — as I feel I shall 
 be — I should like to leave you, at leasts 
 
 Rosem. What ? 
 
 Applef. My widow. 
 
 Rosem. Don't — and yet, 'twould be a horrid consolation ! 
 
 Applef. 'Twould give you a right, a license I may say, to weep 
 and be vmhappy. 
 
 Rosem. I feel the dreadful privilege. 
 
 Applef. And will you have it ? {Aside : I know she's saved 
 enough to take us both to America.) Eosy ? 
 
 Rosem. Alexander ! {Aside : And when I've safely married 
 him, I may give him his discharge at the church-door.) 
 
 Applef. For after all that's passed, I shouldn't like to go off a 
 bachelor — to die in my bloom like a single pink. And so^even 
 though shooting should be sure — ^you'll marry me ? 
 
 Rosem. You don't deserve it, but I'll be your widow. 
 
 Applef. You will ? {Aside : We'll have a cabin passage to 
 New York.) My widow ! Then at tlie worst, when all the double 
 flowers of married love are blown and gone — 
 
 Rosem. 'TwiU be at least a comfort to enjoy the weeds. 
 
 [Exeunt.
 
 194 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Peachdown and Cassandra. 
 
 3frs. Peachd. Positively, an invitation to elope ! {Reads letter) 
 "Knowing your heart" — 'tis thus the sick man writes, — 
 " I have made all preparation. Attend, my angel " — meaning 
 me — " and approve. To-night, we'll leave for Dover, cross 
 to France — be married to-morrow and — and " — this I cannot 
 decypher. 
 
 Cassan. ( Tahing letter.) " And be in raptures ever after." 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Ha ! No wonder I stopt at that. 
 
 Cassan. But why steal a match 1 You're both of age. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Purely out of doting love for me. Mr. Snowball 
 would avoid the Captain's wrath — it might be dangerous. 
 Such T know the cause, although the patient's delicacy has 
 suppressed it. 
 
 Cassan. And you come — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. For double sport. To tease the Captain, and to 
 test the sick. Knowing that Burgonet will seek me at home — 
 and since he's innocent, I must forgive him — I left a letter that 
 business called me here, with strict injunction that he should not 
 follow. 
 
 Cassan. Oh ! And Mr. Snowball, the sufferer, above 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I've such a touchstone for his truth ; poverty my 
 dear. For half-an-hour, I propose to be penniless ; my fortune 
 vanished, and my cause without a hope. 
 
 Cassan. Why, do you doubt the result ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Doubt it, no. But 'twill be such pastime to see 
 his change. The creature's passion, like a dolphin, will die all 
 colours. And then — 
 
 Cassan. Hush ! the Doctor — with a face, mischievous as his own 
 physic labels. I'll leave you. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Do. {Exit Cassandra.) I must marry Burgonet 
 — if only to stop the impertinence of others. 
 
 Enter Doctor Petgoose. 
 
 Petgoose. My dear madam, I have sought you at your house. 
 I— 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. You're very kind, I never less needed a doctor. 
 
 Petgoose. My dear madam, as I observe in my " Pearls to 
 Pigs " — but perhaps you have seen the work 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I am unfortunate. Such " Pearls " have never 
 fallen in my way. 
 
 Petgoose. " Man is a creature of externals " — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And woman, sir ?
 
 THE CATSPAW. 195 
 
 Petgoose. "And woman's one physician, her looking-glass." 
 Now you, madam — you look lovely, but alas ! you don't know how 
 you feel. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Yes I do. I feel happy in my ignorance. 
 
 Petgoose. " The bud of the rose " — another of my pearls — 
 " knows not the canker at its heart, but " — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. But as my heart is pretty well half-blown, I 
 know thei-e's not a bit of canker in it. 
 
 Petgoose. Ha ! madam, the eyes of science^ 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. The eyes of science may go to sleep, I shall never 
 care to wake 'em. Tell me, and truly, how is IVIi". Snowball ? 
 
 Petgoose. He's within a month at most of the daisies. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. The daisies ! 
 
 Petgoose. "The daisy" — says one of my pearls — "the daisy is 
 death's forget-me-not." 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. A, flower, possibly, you may have cultivated? 
 Then, Mr. Snowball, — but I may trust you 1 
 
 Petgoose. With your life. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Thank you, I'd rather keep it. !RIr. Snowball is 
 in no state to travel ? 
 
 Petgoose. Travel ! Not quite screwed up for that. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Gives letter) Look here — biit in confidence. 
 
 Petgoose. Now, were there any ground for the disease, I should 
 say brain fever. Why he offers instant marriage ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. It is quite between us. 
 
 [Snowball looks from room at side. 
 
 Petgoose. Ha, madam ! let it be between us. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Sir! 
 
 Petgoose. For this I followed you home. Behold — (fallifig on his 
 knees) — can I go lower ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd, Not unless you prescribe for yourself. Insolent 
 impostor ! 
 
 Petgoose. Impostor ! (Rising.) I am content. For, as I say, 
 in my " Pearls," it was wisely given to woman not to know the 
 counterfeit from the true thing. Farewell, madam, I would have 
 made you happy. 
 
 3Irs. Peachd. Made me happy ! 
 
 Petgoose. Yes, — made. For as I observe to the " Pigs " — 
 "human happiness is a plant that, when it will not grow of itself, 
 may be forced to grow." Farewell, for as I further observe, "there 
 are situations, in which the highest majesty is the profoundest 
 silence." {Aside : I'm aqua-fortis from head to foot.) Snowball 
 travel ! He may ; but it shall not be without feathers. [Exit.
 
 196 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Snowball ricns down from room at side. 
 
 Snowh. The villain ! the traitor ! Only think, the viper that 
 I have nursed in my bosom ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And the viper that made himself so much at 
 home there ! But how are you really ? 
 
 Snowh. How ? A diamond without a flaw. I feel in armour ! 
 No knight of a middle age — I mean of the middle ages — but 
 never mind me. Think of yourself and my letter. Shall we flit 
 — shall we fly 1 Speak. Your heart — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Of my heart, sir, I need not speak. But I have 
 something serious to relate of— 
 
 Snowb. Of what ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Of my pocket. Bless me ! You're very pale. 
 Shall I go on ? 
 
 Snowh. Cei'tainly, — but I am faint. [ Takes a chair. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. My fortune was embarked — 
 
 Snowh. Embarked ! Oh dear ! I thought it safe in dock. — I 
 mean in the Bank ] 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. It was once ; but — 'tis a long story. The advice 
 of foolish friends — and some grains of avarice, I fear, and — and 
 pardon my blushes. 
 
 Snowh. I can't — that is — {Aside : What is she going to say ?) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. In a word, my whole fortune, trusted to foreign 
 venture — I only had the news this morning — is a wreck. 
 
 Snowh. Gone to bits ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Bits, sir ! There's not a bit left. 
 
 Snowb. What an. awful world is this ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Still, sir, I feel grateful — 
 
 Snowb. So do I. (Aside : What an escape !) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. For my many friends. 
 
 Snowh. To be sure. Friends are like money ; it is only our 
 wants that rouse their sleeping value. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Beautiful. 
 
 Snowh. And now, no doubt, they'll all be wide awake to — to 
 your necessities. Dear me ! I feel very ill. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And I am so relieved that I have told you. 
 
 Snowb. {Aside : Without money, she can't go on with the suit. 
 Boggle swears I've the best of it, and) — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. What is the matter, sir ? 
 
 Snowb. Such a singing in my head. I thought myself so strong, 
 and, after all, I'm a poor creature ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. After all, you are. 
 
 Snowb. Yes — I somehow do want bone and fibre. I'm a weak 
 thing.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 197 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. 'Twill be the sweeter duty of a wife to watch and 
 tend the fragile flower. 
 
 Snowb. Do you think me such a selfish wretch that, now I 
 know my weakness, I would be a burthen to you 1 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Oh, sir ! 
 
 JSnowb. A blight upon orange-blossoms ? 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Never name it ! 
 
 Snowb. A paralysis to love ? As the excellent Petgoose says 
 — and here he is ! — 
 
 {Enter Petgoose.) 
 
 — Oh Doctor ! You don't know how ill I am ! 
 Petgoose. Ill ! Why, I left you in bed and — 
 Snowb. Do you know I think I've been wandering 1 
 Petgoose. You have a wandering look. I see — brain gone upon 
 
 a visit. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. I will not hear this. Never believe him ! No — 
 
 my dear sir — your intellect was never brighter, purer ! At this 
 
 moment, it throws quite a blaze about you. 
 
 Snowb. You flatter me — {aside : but it won't do. It's plain 
 
 she's beggared, she's so plaguy civil.) No — no ; I'm quite gone 
 
 — not the remnant of a man. Quite a ruin. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. A ruin that the heart-strings — like the ivy — still 
 
 must cling around and — 
 
 Enter Burgonet, 
 
 Burgon. So, I am in time ! 
 
 Snowb. The Captain ! Sir, will you grant me one favour ? 
 You see my state ? Will you allow me to die in private ? 
 
 Bwrgon, Certainly not. 
 
 Petgoose. No ! Then, sir, permit me to say, you intrude upon 
 the privilege of the faculty. 
 
 Burgon. {To Snowball.) You are the writer of this letter to 
 that lady ? 
 
 Mrs. Peobchd. Doctor ! My letter ! 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside to her: I merely named the contents ; and the 
 Captain would have it.) {Aside : Now for my turn.) 
 
 Snotob. {Having vacantly looked over letter, returns it to BuR- 
 GOXET.) I don't recollect a word of it. 
 
 Mrs Peachd. What ! 
 
 Burgon. That won't serve. A most lucid invitation to elope. 
 Here is the usual outfit for the journey, " Burning hearts " — 
 " unalterable love " — " an angel," and " raptures ever after- 
 wards." 
 
 Snoicb. I must have writ it when light-headed. Let me look
 
 198 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 again. (Burgonet gives letter.) Pooh ! no man in his senses 
 
 could write such stuif ! 
 
 {h about to tear up the letter, when Mrs. Peachdown snatches it fromhim.) 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Stuff! And is your affection — love — idolatry — 
 all your fidelity, and all my hopes, all — all to end in stuff ? 
 
 Snowb. My dear madam, you are no doubt very handsome and 
 very good ; but when a man calls a woman an angel, it's clear 
 he's wandering. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Indeed ! We shall see what a jury will say to 
 that. What twelve immaculate men will give me for my wrongs. 
 Yes, sir, I will take my broken heart into a court of law — 
 
 Snowb. Do. And see what they'll give you for the pieces. 
 
 Petgoose. Madam — Captain — pardon him, he is very ill ! 
 
 Snowb. {Rises.) No I am not ill — I'm very well — never better. 
 Tor I see the snare that's been spread for me — I see my danger 
 — and am shocked into sudden health. 
 
 Petgoose. Don't mind him. He's very bad — ^but in these cases 
 the conceit of health is always strongest. 
 
 Burgon. I rejoice at your recovery. You can now answer me 
 — ^you understand — and immediately. 
 
 Snowb. Your friend the Chevalier Podovy, whom you sent, and 
 to whom I gave a diamond ring — that I should mightily like to 
 have back again — your friend — 
 
 Burgon. My friend ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. A wonderful man, the Chevalier ! Quite a bit of 
 the middle ages. He has invented a defence for England — " The 
 Pocket Earthquake," to protect us from our enemies. A beautiful 
 thing. I've given him money towards it. 
 
 Snowb. Well, this Chevalier, this man with the Pocket Earth- 
 quake, brought me a challenge to fight about that lady. Yes, an 
 immoral duel ! 
 
 Petgoose. But Mr. Snowball knew his social duties better. 
 
 Snowb. I did, that is — I do. So understand, I give up the 
 lady. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside : This is delightful.) Give me up ! And 
 do you hope to sleep of nights ? Renounce, reject me ? 
 
 Snowb. All right, title, property, and interest in you. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. But that is not so easy, sir — not so easy. This 
 letter ? There's not a drop of ink that isn't birdlime — there is not 
 a syllable that isn't a mesh — not a word that isn't a trap — not a 
 sentence that isn't a cage, — and here you are, sir ; here you are, 
 — limed, snared, shut up, locked fast, mine, sir — mine ! 
 
 Snowb. Horrible ! But it can't be. No — I think better of my 
 fellow-creatures. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. What is sweeter, I shall have damages ; your
 
 THE CATSPAW. 199 
 
 money, and not you. Yes, sir, the gold— the gold refined, 
 without the clay. 
 
 Snowb. Now, it's all clear ; you've dropt the mask, and the 
 truth is dreadful. Now you look — 
 
 Burgon. Have a care — think twice. Any insolence to that 
 lady, and fight you shall. 
 
 Snowb. Don't speak to me, sir. In my own house ! I despise 
 fighting ; you shall see, sir, that I can respect tlie morals of my 
 coimtry, and throw myself upon the police. You shall see that — 
 
 Enter Atjvley followed by Cassandra. 
 
 A udley. I am so happy, sir, to hear you're quite recovered. 
 
 Snowb. I am. I was ill — but I'm all the better for it. 
 
 Aiidley. Now strong enough, I hope, to hear the truth. Well, 
 sir — it's all up. The Chancellor wouldn't have a word to say 
 to us. 
 
 Snowb. What! 
 
 Aiidley. We're out of court, sir. Mr. Chumpem is much 
 affected, but — 
 
 Snowb. Damn Mr. Chumpem ! I've been deceived, tricked ! 
 
 Petgoo-e. All in kindness, my good sii\ Had you learned 
 the truth at first, your system must have sunk under it. You 
 have onl}' been kept alive upon the tenderest of falsehoods. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. In all your wanderings — and you have wandered 
 — witness this letter — 
 
 Snowb. {Aside : She may be mine, now.) To be sure — I have 
 wandered, but not there — at least, not there. I know it, my 
 brain has gone to and fro like a bird, — but there, there it 
 settled ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. Did it ? Then take it back again. 
 
 [Returns letter, and retires up the stage, Bcrgo'SET! followiiig. 
 
 Snowb. {Aside : What does she mean ?) Cassandi'a, where is 
 Mr. Boggle ? 
 
 Cassan. Left the house with Kosemary. 
 
 Snowb. With Rosemary ! What for 1 
 
 Cassan. Luckily, here they come, and will inform you. 
 
 \_Retircs. 
 
 Enter Appleface and Eosemary. 
 
 Snowb. There's something in your face that — what have you 
 been about 1 
 
 Applef. Don't ask me. I refer you to the lady. 
 
 Snowb. What is this simpering ? Where have you been — 
 what doing ? 
 
 Rosem. Been ? Been to church, and been doing matrimony.
 
 200 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Snowb. Church ! Matrimony ! 
 
 Applef. Hush ! Not so loud — I haven't quite recovered the 
 ceremony. 
 
 Snowb. Why, fellow, you're an impostor. I took you for an 
 attorney — for Mrs. Peachdown's solicitor and — 
 
 Applef. And I'm happy to say, an impostor I was. 
 
 Snoivb. And no attorney ? 
 
 Applef. When you first had the pleasure of meeting me, I had 
 then only for a time changed red ink into black. 
 
 Rosem. Being a soldier. 
 
 Snowb. A soldier ? 
 
 Burgon. (Coming down) I said so — I knew it. The fellow 
 belongs to — 
 
 Roscm. Belongs to nobody but me. I have bought him out, 
 and — {handing parchment to Captain) — and there is the receipt. 
 
 Audley. Quite correct, Cajitain. I negociated the whole 
 business. 
 
 Burgon. {Returning parchment to Eosemart.) I equally con- 
 gratulate you upon your gain, and the army upon its loss. 
 
 Applef. Thank you for both. And Captain, will you favour 
 an old comrade ? The gentleman who takes my place, may want 
 this. {Gives paper to Burgomet.) Every man in the regiment has 
 a copy. But as I've retired into mai-ried happiness, 'tis only 
 right to my wife that — 
 
 Btirgnn. Why, what is this ? A plan and lines, and — 
 
 Applef. Permit nie. {Takes paper.) Put one leg of your 
 compass here in Bel grave Square, then sweep your other leg one 
 mile round. In this circle, properly numbered, is the ground 
 plan of five hundred diflferent kitchens, with— as you perceive 
 — the proper cupboards to retreat to in case of surprise. As I 
 say, all the regiment have a copy. 
 
 Bthrgon. Eascal ! And forage, I suppose, like fighting-cocks ? 
 
 Applef. Oh, better. Like fighting-cocks that don't fight. 
 
 \_Retifres up stage with Rosemary. 
 
 Snoivb. {To Petgoose.) Doctor, what's to be done ? We're 
 ruined. 
 
 Petgoose. Certainly not. 
 
 Snowb. Not ? 
 
 Petgoose. No — you may be ruined ; but the man of genius, like 
 the eagle, can always renew himself. {Aside: This brain is big, 
 and the world shall see another pill ! I only want a name — only 
 a name !) {Retires. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Serv. The Chevalier Podovy — he asked, sir, if you were alone.
 
 THE CATSPAW. 201 
 
 Audlei/. And you said he was ? Very good. You must see 
 him, sir : and hark you (to Servant,) when you have shown the 
 Chevalier in, send and fetch an officer. \Exit Servant. 
 
 Snowh. An officer ! 
 
 Audley. I'm sure 'tis he — a begging letter-writer of the first 
 quality. I've long been on his track and — hush ! 
 
 \A.ll retire, except Snowball. 
 
 Enter Coolcard, as Podovy. 
 
 Cook. Ha ! mo7i cher ! You are better ? Oui — you are — you 
 are — 
 
 Snowh. {Returning the shake of Coolcard's hand, at the same 
 time pulling the ring from his finger, and putting it on his oivn.) 
 Much better. I may say, quite restored. 
 
 Coolc. Monsieur I ce gage d'amiti4 ! That ring which you have 
 give— 
 
 Snowb. Yes — I was wandering ; but, I'm come back to myself 
 now, and so has my diamond. 
 
 Coolc. {Aside : Has it ? Doesn't know paste from real water.) 
 Cest bien — 'tis ver well. May you wear him a tousand year ; 
 mais monsieur, I am come — 
 
 Snowb. What about ? Your Pocket Earthquake ? 
 
 Coolc. What ! You have heard of him 1 
 
 Burgon. {All coming down) Yes ; we have all heard of the 
 Earthquake. 
 
 Coolc. Ha ! Capitaine and Madame ! Ha ! de ladies for de 
 beaux arts after all ! 
 
 3Irs. Feachd. 'Twere impossible to refuse the Chevalier ; his 
 invention is so wonderful. We may all sleep in our beds, and 
 leave the Earthquake to take cai'e of our enemies. 
 
 Burgon. Pray tell us about it. 
 
 Coolc. Certainement — avec plaisir. You sail understand dat 
 England is so many mile round about. C^est bien. At every 
 quarter mile we bury an Earthquake no bigger — qu'une tabatih'e 
 — den a snuffbox. Ver well. De foreign soldat no sooner put 
 him foot on Breetish soil — ha ! cette belle Angleterre ! 
 
 Burgon. Proceed. The enemy has landed. Well ? 
 
 Coolc. Oui, debarque, — when crack — bang ! de Earthquake 
 open de shore all round and round, like one deep, deep trench 
 — down go tousands and tousands of de ennemi ; when — 
 comme cela — de Earthquake shut himself up again, all is buried, 
 all is quiet, all is swept away, and Breetannia vid a smiling face, 
 rules her waves over and over de beach, while all the vinds, 
 as if nothing had happened, whistle, " Breetons never sail be 
 slaves."
 
 202 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Petgoose. {Aside : And there are people who believe this ! But 
 the quackery of our time is astounding !) 
 
 Burgon. I never dreamt there was such a benefactor among us. 
 I suppose the pocket Earthquake is patronised by 
 
 Cook. Tout le monde — everybody ; sartout, 'specially de lady. 
 Here is a list — no, dat is not it — 
 
 Audley. {Snatching papers from him) Yes, it is. 
 
 Coolc. What ! 
 
 Audley. Begging-letters all, and every one with a separate 
 complaint. So — Mr. Coolcard ! 
 
 Snowb. Eh ? No ! Scoundrel ! 
 
 Audley. Alias Busby Knox, M.A. 
 
 Petgoose. No — yes ; it is — miscreant ! 
 
 Audley. Alias Chevalier Podovy, alias — 
 
 Burgon. Cheat, impostor, knave — "What have you to say ? 
 Confess ! 
 
 Coolc. {In a canting voice) My kind, charitable friends, I am 
 well-nigh ashamed to stand before you ! I was born and bred in 
 a respectable sphere of life, but the vice of the age, the unholy 
 greed of mammon — an unrighteous desire to turn sixpences into 
 sovereigns, has brought me to — 
 
 Burgon. Come, rascal, no canting, but confess. 
 
 Snowb. Yes, confess. What did you know of Lord Winter- 
 cough ? 
 
 Coolc. Only that he was dead. Whereupon, as is my custom, 
 — I sought out his relations. 
 
 Snoivb. Only tell me this, and I'll forgive you. Why, twice — 
 twice did you cheat me of five pounds ? 
 
 Coolc. My very dear sir, how was it possible for me not to 
 cheat you, when you were so willing to be robbed ? 
 
 Petgoose. Scoundrel ! 
 
 Coolc. I assure you, sir, people of my profession are harshly 
 judged. Do as much as we may, still, when you consider the 
 credulity of this town, we ought to have some little praise for 
 what we leave undone. 
 
 Petgoose. The ruffian ! 
 
 Coolc. I hope I have always respected the peace of families, 
 and — 
 
 Petgoose. That's it ! 
 
 Snowb. What's it ? 
 
 Petgoose. Nothing. {Aside : That's it — the very name for my 
 new pill. The Peace of Families ! I see it already in print — 
 The Peace of Families' Pill. Beautiful !) 
 
 Coolc. And as you have nobly pardoned me, I may depart ? 
 Good sir, may 1 ask the return of those letters. {To Audley.)
 
 THE CATSPAW. 203 
 
 Audley. Certainly not. 
 
 Cook. But, exceeding good sir, they are copyi-ight. 
 
 Audley. Impudent scoundrel ! 
 
 Coolc. I have done. Literature is too well used to suffering to 
 complain. She bleeds — bleeds inwardly, and reviles not. Ladies 
 and gentlemen, I wish you one and all a wholesome good morning. 
 {To Snowball.) You, sir, in particular, I wish every joy in life, 
 and joy of your diamond. lExit. 
 
 Audlei/ and Burgon. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Petgoose. How can you laugh ? It's too shocking. {Aside : 
 " The Peace of Families ! " — It quite grows upon me !) 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. The ChevaJier's in custody, sii*, and here's three carriages, 
 with wedding favqurs. 
 
 Burgon. Very good. Have the men in armour arrived ? 
 
 Serv. Not yet, sir. 
 
 Burgon. No ? Nor the archers from Drury Lane — ^nor the 
 crossbow-men from the Opera-house — ^nor the Falconers from the 
 Zoological Gardens 1 
 
 Serv. Not yet, sir. \^Exit. 
 
 Snoivb. "What tomfoolery's this? 
 
 Burgon. Tomfoolery, sir ! A solemn bridal procession from 
 the middle ages, with the dwarf, the fool, and everything of the 
 good old times to match. 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. {Aside : "Was there ever such audacity ? But it's 
 very charming.) 
 
 Rosem. {Aside to Appleface. My love, what is this going for 
 the middle ages ?) 
 
 Applef. "Why, it's trying to make John Bull grow little again 
 into John Calf, — but it won't do. 
 
 Rosem. {Running to window.) And there's such a crowd ! 
 And such beautiful dresses ! "Why, all the street's like a flower- 
 garden ! 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. And you think this will carry me ? And so it 
 shall, with one favour. Let 'em call a coach, so that we may 
 escape, and to-morrow, or next day, or never mind when, we'll 
 say no more of the beautiful past, but be married after the present 
 fashion, like other humdrum and degenerate people. 
 
 Snowb. And you really marry him ? 
 
 Audley. And perhaps. Captain, you'll allow us to join you ? 
 
 Snowh. You — what — and Cassandra ! Matched ? "Why — how 
 — what are you, sir? 
 
 Audley. "Why, sir, I am a gentleman by birth, education, and 
 once of fortune. That's gone — it may come again.
 
 204 THE CATSPAW. 
 
 Snoicb. Why, I never suspected — you've made love very quietly. 
 
 Audley. Ha, sir ! There the sincerity. 'Tia with love, as with 
 water. The deeper it flows, the quieter it is. 
 
 Snowh. "Well, well. {Aside : She's off my hands.) Be happy, 
 and all that. For when all's done, I see in the peace of families — 
 
 Petgoose. And I see in it a carriage, a town and country house, 
 and money in foreign securities. 
 
 Snowh. What do you mean? All in the Peace of Families — 
 
 Petgoose. As with the eyes of science, I see it. {Aside : At 
 two-and-nine per box. Beware of impostors, and mark the 
 government stamp.) 
 
 Snowh. And so, you won't have me, Mrs. Peachdown ? Well, 
 I dare say it's all for the best — 
 
 Mrs. Peachd. It couldn't be better, sir. 
 
 Snowb. I dare say, still it's hard. {Aside : And for me, too — 
 the shrewd, the sharp one. But so it is. What's the strength of 
 man against the wisdom of woman ! Even Hercules becomes a 
 huswife, and Snowball himself a Catspaw.) 
 
 END OF THE CATSPAW.
 
 THE PRISONER OE WAR.
 
 CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 - — ♦ — 
 
 Captain Channel Mr. Phelps, 
 
 Basil Firebrace Mr. Anderson. 
 
 Pallmall Mr. Keeley. 
 
 Tom Heyday Mr. Hudson. 
 
 Beaver Mr. Bennett. 
 
 Boaz Mr. Barnett. 
 
 Chenille Mr. Selbt. 
 
 Nicole Mr. Yarnold. 
 
 Clarina Miss Fortesctje 
 
 Polly Pallmall Mrs. Keeley. 
 
 Madame La Rose Mrs. C. Jones. 
 
 Madame Violette Mrs. Selby. 
 
 Babette Miss Turpin. 
 
 Scene, Verdun in France. Date, 1803. 
 
 This Comedy was first represented February Bth, 1842.
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Verdun. Outside of a Cafe. Parties seated — some drink- 
 ing, some playing at cards and dominos. Nicole playing. 
 
 As the curtain rise^ the discharge of cannon is heard. All except 
 Nicole rise from their seats. Cannon continue firing. 
 
 Enter Babette, /rom Cafe. 
 
 Bab. Eh, Messieurs, the guns ! the guns ! 
 
 Nic They tell nothing new, Babette ; only another English- 
 man escaped. 
 
 \st Frenchman. And that promises a good reward to some of 
 us. I'm for pursuit ! 
 
 2nd Frenchman. And I ! 
 
 Zrd Frenchman. And I ! 
 
 All {except Nicole.) And I ! 
 
 \st Frenchman. Nicole, remember ; the first game is mine. 
 Only let me catch this Englishman, and when I've caught him, 
 m double the stakes. Vixe la France ! down with the English, 
 and the best luck to the lightest heels ! 
 
 [Exeunt all but Nicole and Babette, shouting, gum firing. 
 
 Bab. And for the honour of France, why doesn't Nicole show 
 his heels, too ? 
 
 Nic. I ? If all the English had escaped, I wouldn't bring 'em 
 back to Verdun ; no, not if even whistling would do it. Since 
 these sailor bull-dogs have been prisoners here, Verdun's 
 no place for a Frenchman. Now, Babette, what can you 
 see in these English ? They drink like swine, dance like 
 bears, and — 
 
 Bab. Make love like lions.
 
 20S THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 ve ! Isn't there the greatest reason you should 
 1 1 Ar'n't they your foes 1 Ar'n't you a French- 
 
 Nic. Love ! 
 hate them ^ 
 woman 1 
 
 Bab. I always thought so — but Monsieur Pallmall says, he's 
 sure there's some mistake. 
 
 Nic. Monsieur Pallmall ! And if you might, you'd marry 
 him. ? 
 
 Bab. Delightful ! and go and live in London ! 
 
 Nic. You live in London ! A butterfly in a dark lantern. 
 You in Loudon ! Two Sundays there would kill you : and then 
 the fogs. 
 
 Bab. All scandal. Monsieur Pallmall, who was born and bred 
 in London, says he never saw a fog tUl he came to France. Heai 
 him talk of London. 
 
 Nic. I have heard him. He'll swear that in London it hails 
 lump-sugar, and rains rose-water ; — that violets grow at every 
 door, and nightingales sing from every lamp. As I'm a French- 
 man, I'll have revenge. This English calfj this Monsieur Pallmall, 
 and that Monsieur Heyday, too— ^ — 
 
 Enter BoAZ. 
 
 Boaz. Heyday ! My tear, tell me — he is not escaped — it is 
 not Heyday 1 
 
 Bab. Not he, Boaz, be sure on't. Monsieur Heyday fly from 
 Verdun ! No, no, I'll answer for him. 
 
 Boaz. Veil, veil, ven I heard de guns, I had my fears. Ha ! — 
 de guns, my tear ! de guns ! Every von goes to my heart. 
 
 Nic. To your heart 1 — to your pocket, you mean. 
 
 Boaz. And dat is vorser. Oh, vot I lose by dese English dat 
 run avay ! Vot I lose nobody knows, Friday night, dere vent 
 fifty napoleons vid de rogue dey killed. 
 
 Bab. Poor young fellow ! He was discovered crossing the 
 moat, and shot by the sentinel I'm sure I cried so when I heard 
 of it. 
 
 Boaz. Cried ! Vot, did you lose fifty napoleons ? No ? Oh, 
 my tear, you don't know what crying is. 
 
 Nic. But, good Jew, if you lose so much by them, why do you 
 lend money to these English ? 
 
 Boaz. Must employ my mind, ma tear. 
 
 [Shouting without, and re-enter Feenchmek. 
 
 \st Frenchman. Hurrah ! tlie bird's caught again. 
 
 Boaz. Caught ! Who is he 1 What is he ? 
 
 \st Frenchman. Caught before he was well ofi" the perch. He 
 fought like a devil, but a sabre cut settled him. 
 
 Bab. Killed !
 
 THE PRISONEK OF WAR. 209 
 
 Boaz. Horrible ! shocking ! murder \ {Taking out his memo- 
 randiim bo-^k.) Vot's his name ? 
 
 2nd Frenchman. I think they called him Smith. 
 
 Boaz. Smith ! — catch me ! I am tead ! 
 
 1st Frenchman. Yes, lieutenant Sampson Smith. The Sampson 
 I'll swear to. 
 
 Boaz. {Looking at book) I am better ; my Smith's John. 
 
 Bab. Poor soul ! and is he really killed ? 
 
 1st Frenchman. Killed ! Oh, no, carved a little, nothing more. 
 And now Nicole, for a second game. 
 
 Nic. Not 1 — a plague on these English dogs, say I ! They've 
 spoilt Verdun. 
 
 Enter Pallmall. 
 i 
 
 Palhn. Politeness, Monsieur Nicole, politeness to the captive. 
 If we are do^s, can't you skin us and be civil ? 
 
 Bab. Oh, Monsieur Pallmall, never mind Nicole. Doesn't all 
 Yerdun love the dear prisoners, the charming English ? 
 
 Boaz. Arent all our houses open to you ? 
 
 Palhn. All. In Ireland, the pig pays the rent : in Yerdun the 
 pig's an Englishman. Oh, only to see how your housekeepers 
 squabble for a lodger ! Such hospitality ! I was never so fought 
 for by the women in all my life. 
 
 Boaz. And isn't our pockets open to you, isn't my pocket 
 open 1 
 
 Pallm. Open as a rat-trap : but I sha'n't nibble, Boaz. No, 
 you don't toast cheese for me. As for the innocent sailors — 
 the poor salt-water babes that you swallow like oysters, by the 
 dozen — 
 
 Boaz. Yot vould day do widout me 1 Yen deir allowance is 
 gone, vy den — 
 
 Pallm. Gone ! It never comes : you pounce ujDon it by the 
 way ; like an old hawk on a carriei"-pigeon. 
 
 Boaz. Dey vill drink — dey vill gamble — poor tings — only to 
 lose de time. 
 
 Pallm. And you'll be gambled with for tempting 'em, brave, 
 imsuspecting fellows ! You'll be one of the devil's dice, depend 
 on't. 
 
 Boaz. Mr. Pallmall ! Devil's dice ! 
 
 Pallm. Listen. He'll find two rascally money-lenders — if he 
 can — with as many spots upon them as yourself : and, on nights 
 of chicken hazard, he'll rattle you all three together in a red-hot 
 dice-box. That's your fate. 
 
 Boaz. Ha ! Mister Mallpall ! vot I do ish kindness. I have 
 no profits — de taxes eats up all. 
 
 P
 
 210 THE PRISONER OF "WAR 
 
 Bah. Yes, indeed — sjnce the war, the taxes are dreadful. 
 
 PaUm. All comes of being born in France — should live in 
 Enfjland. 
 
 Bab. What, have you never a tax in England ? 
 
 Pallm. We haven't the word in our language. There are two 
 or three duties, to be sure ; but then, with us, duties are plea- 
 sures. As for taxes, you'd make an Englishman stare only to 
 mention such things. 
 
 Boaz. Indeed 1 ha, ha ! charming place ! Den vidout taxes 
 how do you keep up de government ? 
 
 Pallm. Keep it up 1 Like an hour-glass : when one side's 
 quite run out, we turn up the other and go on again. 
 
 Boaz. And nobody paid for turning, I suppose. Ha, ha ! Veil, 
 veil, good morning, Mr. Mallpall ; and if ever you vant Boaz de 
 Jew — 
 
 Pallm. I want nothing. I'm a philosopher, and can play the 
 flute. \_Exit Boaz into Cafe. 
 
 Bab. That you can. 
 
 Pallm. Or how should I get through my caj^tivity ? Half the 
 morning I devote to " God save the King," while the afternoons 
 I give to " Barney leave the girls alone." 
 
 Bab. And I've remarked you never play anything but those 
 two tunes. 
 
 Pallm. Never ; and that on the finest patriotic principle. — 
 {Aside ; I don't know any other.) [^Exeunt into Cafe, 
 
 Enter Basil Firebrace, followed by Madame La Eose, 
 and Madame Violette. 
 
 Fireh. My dear ladies, may a man be heard ? 
 
 Mad. La R. Brave Captain Firebrace ! 
 
 Mad. V. Sweet admiral ! 
 
 Fireh. Captain ! admiral ! Here ai-e jumps for a poor lieu- 
 tenant. 
 
 Mad. La B. I tell you, madam, the captain promised me ! 
 
 Mad. V. Me, madam, me ! I have the admiral's honourable 
 word. 
 
 Fireh. Sharp fighting, ladies, for so poor a craft. If you think 
 the vessel freighted with gold, you'll be j^laguily disappointed 
 with your prize-money. They've grappled me rarely ! My dears, 
 if you'd only fight for a ship as you do for a lodger, give me, I 
 say, such a boarding-party. 
 
 Mad. V. You promised me, brave captain. 
 
 Mad. La R. The captain promised me, and even though I 
 struggled, would kiss me, as he said to bind the bargain.
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 2il 
 
 Fireh. I kissed and promised. Such beautiful lips ! Man's 
 usual fate. I was lost upon tlie coral reefs. 
 
 Mad. La R. And as you, Madam Violette, can show no such 
 claims — 
 
 Fireh. That's true, and must be remedied. {Kisses Madame 
 Violette.) So now, my dears, you both start fair again. 
 
 Mad. La R. You'll find my house, brave captain, quite 
 Elysium. Such a bed-room — painted with Telemachus, besides 
 Adam and Eve in white china on the mantel-piece. Then, if 
 you've a passion for digging, such a garden ! If you're a sjaorts- 
 man, such sparrows ! And, if you doat on dogs of genius, such a 
 poodle ! 
 
 Fireh. Any children ? 
 
 Mad. La R. Not in the slightest. 
 
 Firth. Sorry foi; that — 1 like children. I'd have four brats on 
 my knees, as many on my back, and a couple on my shoulders. I 
 like their laughter, their noise. 
 
 Mad. V. Unhappily we have only four : but I assure you they 
 make quite as much noise as any ten. As for your bed-room, for 
 a week you'll hardly sleep for admiring it. In a word, our house 
 is furnished to cheat the captive — 
 
 Fireh. I've no doubt of it. 
 
 Mad. V. Of his captivity. We've a cockatoo that talks like any 
 lady — and when you're melancholy, and your thoughts are 
 wandering to your friends, we've a sweet little monkey for you to 
 play with, and so bring you back to yourself again. 
 
 Mad. La R. If the captain loves music. Monsieur La Eose gives 
 lessons on the horn. 
 
 Mad. V. "We rear canary birds, and the admiral may have all 
 the twenty cages in his own apartment. 
 
 Fireh. "Was ever a man so tempted ? On one side Adam and 
 Eve for moral reflections ; tlie free use of a spade and sparrow- 
 shooting ; a poodle of genius and lessons on the horn. On the 
 other, four children, equal to ten ; a bedroom not to be slept in, 
 a talkative cockatoo, the consolations of a monkey, and a whole 
 forest of breeding canaries. Truly, ladies, your offers are so 
 equal, your claims so perplexing — that, how to decide I — yes, 
 I see a way — suppose you play for me 1 
 
 [Goinrf to table, where are cards. 
 
 Both. Play ! 
 
 Fireh. Or as time presses, and I mustn't say much for the 
 stakes, cut a card for me ? Anything. Or shall I deal the cards, 
 and she who has the first knave takes me ? 
 
 Mad. La R. Sweet captain, for your sake alone, if it must be, 
 I'll take a hand at piquet. 
 
 p2
 
 212 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Mad. V. For your sake only, admiral. 
 
 Fireb. Admirably resolved. [Places chairs for them.) Now for 
 piquet ! And fortune, hear a poor lieutenant's invocation ! May 
 the best landlady win ! \_Stands loatching them. 
 
 Enter Tom Hetdat and Polly Pallmall. 
 
 Polli/. Oh, ]VIr. Heyday ! Well, you do talk. If brother Peter 
 was to hear you ! 
 
 Hevd. Hang brother Peter, I say ! Wait, Polly Pallmall, only 
 wait till I am a lieutenant. 
 
 Polli/. Yes, if some French duchess, with her coach and 
 diamonds, doesn't take you off before. Still, you mus'n't scold 
 Peter ; he's a little odd, but so good. Who knows 1 Some day 
 I may be able to persuade him to buy you an admiral's commis- 
 sion. By the way, what's your pay — I mean, what's the pay of a 
 midshipman 1 
 
 Hcyd. The pay ? The pay, Polly, is not enormous ; but the 
 perquisites are extraordinary. Yes, we're always getting some- 
 thing that we don't care to talk about. But ah ! Polly, when you 
 go to London, you'll be marrying some lubberly lord mayor, and 
 forget Tom Heyday. 
 
 Polli/. If ever I do, Tom, throw away the huswife I've 
 made you, and marry the first French duchess that puts the 
 question. 
 
 Heyd. Then you'd like to be a sailor's wife ? You love the sea ? 
 
 Polly. Doat upon it, — from the beach. Oh, dear ! when we 
 came to France, what I did suffer ! I then told Peter, and I stand 
 to it now, whenever we go back to England, if it costs a hundred 
 guineas, I'll ride every step of the way. 
 
 Heyd. And what did Peter say? 
 
 Polly. Like a good kind fellow as he is, he said ; So my dear 
 Polly, you shall. But when shall we go ? Brother says we are 
 to be exchanged. I have no pride : so we only go, I don't care 
 what they take for us. I do nothing but dream of our nice draw- 
 ing-room carpet, our bright stoves, crackling coal fires, and the 
 mufiin bell. 
 
 Heyd. There, Polly — don't cry. 
 
 Polly. I can't help it. When I think of these things, I feel, as 
 Peter says, quite a patriot. 
 
 Enter Pallmall, /rom the Cafe. 
 
 Pallm. (Aside : Sister Polly again with that midshipman.) 
 (Comes down.) Miss Pallmall, you have duties at home. Mr. 
 Heyday, I shall speak to your superior officer. 
 
 Heyd. Here she is, what have you to say to her ? Yes,
 
 THE PRISONER OF AVAR. 213 
 
 we've overhauled the matter, and you're to be my brothex", 
 Peter. 
 
 Pallm. Lrother to a beggar — without a shilling, without a 
 hope ! 
 
 Heyd. Avast, Peter ! I'll not brag about the shUlinga ; but in 
 the cockpit they let us have any allowance of hope. So haven't 
 I hope and a sword \ 
 
 Pallm. I rather you had a goose and a needle. Polly, if you 
 marry there, you many without a penny. In six months a 
 cannon-ball may make you a midshiiDman's widow, and then how 
 will you live ? 
 
 Polly. I shall not trouble you, sir. As a midshipman's widow, 
 I shall live upon my pension. 
 
 Pallm. Live uppn your moonshine ! Home with you — 
 home ! 
 
 Polly. Now, Peter. {Running towards Firebrace. 
 
 Fireb. Eh, my pretty countrywoman ! An Englishman ! and 
 — what ! — my old shipmate, Tom Heyday ? 
 
 Heyd. Basil Firebrace — no, damn it ! — I'm not glad to see you 
 here. Well ! how are you ? Caught like the rest of us by Jean 
 Crapaud ? Tell me — no — it can't be. — They've never had the 
 impudence to take the old Invincible ? 
 
 Fireb. No, no, I left her, obtained my commission only six 
 weeks since. 'Tis a long story, and will serve with our grog ; but 
 the short of it is, a heavy gale and a lee-shore. We ran hai'd 
 aground ; the Frenchmen came down upon us, we made fight, 
 but 'twas hard work, fifty to one ; the end was, we were caught, 
 and in a few days began our march to Verdun. I arrived this 
 afternoon, showed to the commandant, obtained parole, and here, 
 with heavy heart, though laughing face, Tom, here I am, prisoner 
 of war. 
 
 Heyd. And here are three hundred of us, of no more sei-vice 
 to Old England than a dead marine. Still things might have 
 been worse ; for brandy's cheap, and the wfemen doat upon us. 
 So Basil, my boy, you shall laugh and drink, and — eh ! avast 
 — you're lieutenant now, and Tom Heyday's but a reefer still. 
 
 Fireb. My friend, Tom, my old, yoimg friend, whatever I may 
 be. A prisoner of war. Ha ! Tom, I've something at my heart, 
 something that makes captivity bitter indeed. 
 
 Heyd. Captivity ! Humph ! 'tisn't a sweet draught, drink it 
 from as fine a cup as we may ; but wry faces don't help it 
 down; so laugh and swallow. Here's an Englishman — a — a 
 philosopher. 
 
 Fireb. Of what ship, sir ? 
 
 Pallm. What ship ? Of the London, sir ; an excellent ship ;
 
 2U THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 fool that I was to quit her. I'd no watch to keep, feai-ed no 
 weather, ate wlien I liked, drank when I chose, took my own 
 liberty days ; and, more than all, was my own purser. 
 
 Fireb. I might have discovered as much — a sleek citizen caught 
 on the wing by Buonaparte. 
 
 Polly. And very shameful conduct of him. They said peace 
 was made, and all was comfortable, and so brother Peter and I 
 thought we'd go to Paris for a week, just to learn the language 
 and look at the new bonnets. 
 
 Fireh. A most commendable purpose. 
 
 Palhn. She says nothing of the smuggling ; but with her 'twas 
 lace, not language. The peace of Amiens ! If ever I trust to 
 any other peace of Buonaparte's making — 
 
 Polly. All your own fault — for still they might have let us 
 live in Paris, but for that shocking habit of yours. 
 
 Palhn. Patriotism, Polly, patriotism. 
 
 Polly. Patriotism % Would you think it, sir % he quarrelled 
 with some French dragoons, because he would insist, that the best 
 cocoa-nuts grew on Primrose-hill, and that birds of paradise flew 
 about St. James's. 
 
 Pallni. And wasn't that patriotism 1 They abused the British 
 climate, and I championed my native air. Asa sailor isn't it 
 your duty to die for your country ? 
 
 Fireb. Most certainly. 
 
 Pallm. As a civilian, 'tis mine to lie for her. Courage isn't 
 confined to fighting. No, no — whenever a Frenchman throws me 
 down a lie — far the honour of England, I always trump it. 
 
 Polly. Yes, brother ; but recollect, how very often you i:)lay 
 the first card. 
 
 Pallm. And if I do colour England up a little for these French- 
 men, after all, 'tis but a little ; just a touch here, and a touch 
 there. 
 
 Fireb. Take a sailor's advice, sir; don't colour at all. 
 Where nature has done so well, there's little need of paint 
 or patches. 
 
 Polly. What a lovely sentiment ! Why couldn't I think of it 
 when Ma'amselle La Nymphe wanted me to wear rouge 1 
 
 Madame La Eose runs doion the stage, followed by 
 IvIadame Violette. 
 
 Mad. La R. Victoire ! Victoire ! Dear captain, victoire. 
 Fireb. What! am I to consider myself disposed of? And 
 Madame La Rose, are you the fortunate possessor 1 
 Mad. La R. I am that happy woman.
 
 THE PRISONER OF AVAR. 
 
 Polly. Well, if ever ! And has our landlady been playing cards 
 for a lodger ? 
 
 Pallm. "W'liy not? Though, considering the worth of an 
 Englishman in this town, 'tis very high gambling. 
 
 Polly. Well, I'm glad she has won, however. 
 
 Mad. La R. {Giving card to Firebrace.) Our address, sir, — 
 we sup at nine ; we shall be so happy — you'll so dote on Psyche. 
 
 Fireb. Psyche ! Is she handsome ? 
 
 3Iad. La R. Beautiful — and can do everything but speak. 
 
 Fireb. The perfection of a woman. Eh ! — oh ! I see — ha, ha ! 
 the poodle. 
 
 3Iad. La R. The poodle. To say nothing of your next door 
 neighboui', such a nice old Englishman ! And he has a daughter 
 who slugs — 
 
 Fireb. Sings? Humph ! and plays the piano with the window 
 up, no doubt^? (Aside: 1 wish I had known that.) 
 
 Polly. Oh she plays beautiful ! The trebles, and the tenors, and 
 the basses, all mixed up together, with such shaking ! 
 
 Fireb. I know ; musketry, swivels, and heav}' guns. (Aside : I'd 
 rather hav^e fallen to the cockatoo and monkey.) 
 
 Heyd. And Basil, you must keep a good look-out — all here 
 English and French, give chase to her. Sach eyes for killing. 
 Small-arms in the tops are as nothing to 'em. 
 
 Fireb. (Aside to him. Ha, Tom ! Ill tell you a secret. 'Tis 
 my faith, and I shall die in it, there is but one pair of eyes in all 
 the world.) 
 
 Heyd. What ! captured, and taken in tow already ? Then old 
 Channel's girl — ■ 
 
 Fireb. Who 1 Channel ? Captain Channel ! The— the— don't 
 speak — not a word — the Channel of — the Temeraire ? 
 
 Heyd. Old Channel of the Temeraire. 
 
 Fireh. He is not here ! 
 
 Heyd. He was, half an hour since ; for I saw him. He and 
 his daughter are here. The old tar went to Paris, like other 
 fools, in the peace. He made a run for it, but was taken with the 
 girl on the coast. Here he is on parole, and here is Miss Clarina 
 with him. What, Basil ! why you're as white as a purser's clerk 
 at the first broadside. 
 
 Fireb. Not so, Tom. I — I — was but startled at the trick of 
 fortune, the — ha, ha ! — the chance of war, to bring us here — hei'e 
 together. (A.'side : My wife ! my blessed one !) 
 
 Heyd. Why, man, you tremble, and — 
 
 Fireb. Tremble ? — tut ! I own I am astonished — delighted ; 
 ha ! ha ! yes, delighted ; for I know old Channel — an excellent 
 fellow. I must see him, and immediately.
 
 216 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Ueyd. He is now at the Cafi^ Imperial, here to the larboard. 
 I'll take you there. 
 
 Ftreb. ( To Madame La E,ose.) And the captain is your neigh- 
 bour — your next-door neighbour 1 And your house — it is'ntfar? 
 No ? I thought not. Bear up then ! 
 
 Heyd. But larboard lies the captain. 
 
 Fireb. Starboard the lodging. I must, you know, look at my 
 lodging, must look at my berth, and after pay my respects to the 
 captain. In this case, comfort first, and then duty. And so, in 
 my eyas thou most lovely of landladies, having such a neighbour, 
 — out reefs, and crowd sails for the harbour ! 
 
 \_Exit with Madame La Rose. 
 
 Mad, V, His arm about her waist ! I have had a most fortunate 
 deliverance. [Exit Madame Violette. 
 
 PoUi/. Ha, ha ! how the lieutenant flies — and how he makes 
 our little landlady fly too ! 
 
 Pallm. And now they stop at Madame La Hose's door — 
 and now — 
 
 Polly. The lieutenant runs to the next house ! Now he 
 knocks, I'd swear it, a true lover's knock — and now — 
 
 Pallm. He's vanished, and the Frenchwoman twirls round and 
 round, and lifts up her hands for her lodger. So, so ; I think 
 Captain Channel had better hasten home. If I see him 'twill be 
 neighbourly to hint as much. 
 
 Polly. There again ! Because you haven't the heart to fall in 
 love yourself, you must spoil the little love of everybody else ; 
 just like the boy who blabbed about the stolen apples, only 
 because he hadn't the courage to go into the orchard. 
 
 Heyd. Not so, Polly. Peter want courage ! only ask Babette — 
 ask her — 
 
 Pallm. Nothing impertinent. If I do prattle with Babette 
 'tis only for the sake of her French. 
 
 Polly. Her French ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Pallm. I'm sure she has a delicious accent. 
 
 Polly. No doubt. I caught you taking it from her very lips 
 only yesterday. 
 
 Pallm. Polly Pallmall, I am your elder brother — and — and 
 in a word, no man makes a fool of himself, who is not justified 
 by such folly, in preventing the rest of his family from following 
 his example. So take my fraternal arm — come home ; and to 
 employ your mind, translate " Pamela, or Virtue Eewarded." 
 As for this love nonsense, my friend, we shall be exchanged soon 
 and go to London. 
 
 Heyd. Go to London ! Then I wish you would do me this 
 little favour ; just call upon the lords of the admiralty, and tell
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 217 
 
 'em after fourteen years' service — for it must have slipped their 
 memories- -that Tom Heyday's only a midshipman still. 
 
 Pallm. VVith pleasure ; I promise it. And should their lord- 
 ships condescend to take the hint, I shall be happy to see you — 
 when they've made you rear-admiral. \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Captain ChanneVs Lodgings. 
 Clarina and Firebrace discovered. 
 
 Fireh. Clarina, dear Clai'ina ! your voice — oh, it has been 
 with me in battle and in tempest I — let me hear it now — sweet 
 love — dear wife ! 
 
 Clar. I did not think joy had so fierce a moment. Basil ! — 
 husband ! 
 
 Fireh. That woa>d ! husband ! It fills my heart with bliss — my 
 eyes with tears. There — so — we must laugh now — laugh, love — 
 laugh ! Hang it ! no — my heart's too full for laughter yet ! 
 
 Clar. This sudden happiness ! It makes me childish. I almost 
 fear to quit your hand lest I should wake — as I have waked — 
 from dreams, to find you gone. 
 
 Fireh. 1 have had my dreams too — dreamt with open eyes. 
 Ha ! many a time have you walked the middle watch with me. 
 When the sky was pitch, the wind a gale, and the sea mountains 
 — then have you paced the deck with me — then have I felt you 
 nestling at my arm — then have I looked into your loving eyes, 
 and my heart has melted at your gentle voice. 
 
 Clar. Was I so often with you 1 Had you indeed such 
 visions ? 
 
 Fireh. Or I had died of melancholy. If fancy did not some- 
 times cheat the sailor's heart with sounds and faces brought from 
 home, the heart must break, be sure on't. 
 
 Clar. I li.-ive so much to tell you ! 
 
 Fireh. And you shall tell it — tell it again and again, and I'll 
 listen as though I heard a mermaid sing. I will, by this kiss ! 
 Ha, wife, now I look into your eyes, taste the sweetness of j'our 
 lip, I know this is no shipboard fancy, no fading vision of the 
 middle watch. 
 
 Clar. And my own history told — all the hopes — the cares that 
 —Hark ! 
 
 Fireh. What alarms you, wife 1 
 
 Clar. Oh that name ! — so dear, and yet so terrible ! 
 
 Fireb. Terrible ! 
 
 Clar. I thought I heard my father's step : and the sound that 
 should be music to a daughter's ear, struck to my heart reproach 
 and terror.
 
 218 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Fireb. Even yet he knows not of our marriage ? 
 
 Clar. No — though a hundred times I have been tortured to 
 declare it. 
 
 Fireb. Tortured, and for me ! He suspects and jjersecutes you 1 
 
 Clar. No. His love for me — I did not think it jjossible — in- 
 creases with his years. So kind, so generous — to me so gentle ! 
 There's not a day he does not call me his frank — his honest 
 child ! And when he has heard of disobedience such as mine, he 
 has caught me in his arms, and pitying the parent so deceived, 
 with pride has called me his own true-hearted girl — his noble 
 daugliter. Was not this torture ? 
 
 Fireb. It must be ended — shall be. 
 
 Clar. Not yet — I have your promise, Basil 1 
 
 Fireb. Nay, my oath. You asked my promise. 'Twas your 
 first bridal request ; and in the gratitude of an exulting heart, 
 I swore never to divulge our secret — you not consenting. I know 
 the place — the time. Two years since — ■ 
 
 Clar. Two years this very day. Do you not recollect this 
 dress 1 I have worn it only one day since we parted. 
 
 Fireb. I led you from the altar. At the church door took a 
 husband's first, last kiss, and with a mournful, yet a hoping 
 heart, departed for the ocean. I return — return upon my 
 ■wedding day ! a hapj^y omen. So, no tears — no more tears, 
 Clarina. 
 
 Clar. Oh, Basil ! my joy, my gratitude, to meet you still the 
 same — 
 
 Fireb. Stay — I am not the same. 
 
 Clar. No ! 
 
 Fireb. No — love has made me forget my dignity. I left a poor, 
 almost hopeless midshipman — I return lieuteuant. See — here's 
 my commission ; almost the only thing I've kept from French- 
 men's fingers. Here it is ; and say — is't not a pretty present for 
 a wedding day ? Yes — a lieutenant's lady. Fortune means 
 nobly by us, or she had never brought me back at such a moment. 
 I see it all ! I shall soon get exchanged — the war continues — 
 now lieutenant — soon commander — captain — admiral — a knight- 
 hood — an earldom and — yes, I see you at court — and myself, 
 after some fifty years, honourably laid in Westminster Abbey. 
 Ha ! ha ! what say you to the prospect, wife ? 
 
 Clar. Beautiful ! though I hope, Basil, I may never see its 
 termination. 
 
 Fireb. Nay, a sad look is ingratitude to fortune ; so laugh, 
 Clai'iua, laugh ; and remembering that you are now a lieute- 
 nant's wife, you shall tell the story of our disobedience ; or 
 rather, you shall let me tell it to your father, who will swear — ■
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 219 
 
 storm, and then most heartily bless us. So not another tear, no 
 — thougli 'twere worth a diamond. The captain is so noble, so 
 generous — 
 
 Enter Captain Channel and Beaver. 
 
 Chan. What's that of the captain 1 Come, youngster, don't 
 make my girl blush with fine speeches about her father. 
 
 Fireb. Dear sir, I am happy, rejoiced to see you. 
 
 Chan. Then, sir, your happiness is devilish impertinent ; and 
 you rejoice like a traitor. I am not happy to see you. No — it 
 makes me unhappy to see another English face. I would I were 
 the only Englishman here — yes, the Robinson Crusoe among the 
 savages. Well, hqw are you, Basil— how are you, boy 1 Though 
 I would rather you were at the devil than here, for you are a fine 
 fellow : still, how are you 1 
 
 Fireb. Well, sir, well — and as happy as I can be in such a 
 place. 
 
 Chan. So, you ran aground, eh ? Tom Heyday's told me the 
 yarn. Aground ! what a beautiful world this would be, if it was 
 all salt water. Still you had a fight for it — you weren't caught 
 as I was, like an old woman in a shower, without her umbrella. 
 Ugh ! I must go to Paris ! 
 
 Clar. Dear father, why this constant self-reproach ? 
 
 Chan. No reproach at all, girl. I'm glad they caught me. I 
 deserved it. I was an ass — a gull — a green-horn ; yes, green as 
 a leek, at sixty. I now should have been upon my own beauti- 
 ful quarter-deck, treating the i-ascals with grape and canister — 
 and here I am, doomed for my sins, to hear them crow over us, 
 and to gulp their brandy. Wheugh ! But I deserve it — I'm 
 glad I've got it, glad — damned glad. 
 
 Fireb. Why, sir, I take it, time here must move heavily. 
 
 Chan. Not at all, sir. Nothing moves heavily in France. 
 Here, Time himself is a dancing-master. No, never was better 
 occupied — don't stare — never ! 
 
 Fireb. How, sir ? 
 
 Chan. How 1 In the first place, we make paper boats, and 
 swim 'em in the gutter ; then we teach the little boys to sing 
 " Eule Britannia," and pay 'em for doing it ; and then, when we 
 want a long, loud, wholesome laugh, isn't there Buonaparte — 
 good fellow ! who writes his bulletins especially to amuse us ? 
 Besides this, don't they allow us cards and dice, that we may 
 pick pockets without being hanged for it 1 
 
 Fireb. Truly, sir, the recreations are numerous. 
 
 Chan. Yet I'll give you a little bit of advice. As you must
 
 220 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 employ your time, buy a pai'rot, and for the honour of your 
 country, teach her every word of Magna Charta. 
 
 Fireb. I acknowledge the patriotism of the task, but fear my 
 merits as a schoolmaster. 
 
 C/ian. Above all, if you'd keep your parole, keep quiet. Else 
 they've an ugly place they call the Fortress of Btche, and to that 
 they march you off, and when there, stow you in cells no bigger 
 than stone bottles. Yes — Biche is the word of terror here. 
 Biche, Biche — everything Blche. They'll send you there for 
 only looking bilious, sneezing too loud, or even fighting with a 
 handful of Frenchmen. Blche — but I'll not swear. 
 
 Fireb. Thanks for your counsel, sir. I hope to prove a most 
 peaceful, exemplary jirisoner. 
 
 Chan. You always were a sensible, spirited fellow, and so was 
 your father, whom I loved dearly. Yes, Basil, I know you are 
 as incapable of senseless riot, as of the least falsehood, the 
 slightest deceit. I've always said so to Clarina ; hav'n't I girl ? 
 
 Clar. Yes, sir — yes. But, father, you have forgotten Mr. 
 Beaver. 
 
 CIia7i. Your pardon, Beaver — the truth is, I was so glad to see 
 Basil. No, not glad — but you know what I'd say. Here, Basil. 
 Mr. Beaver — an Englishman — a merchant. Beaver, my young 
 friend, Basil Firebrace. (Aside to Basil : An excellent friend 
 is Beaver : none of your fair-weather craft, but taut, trim, and 
 sea-worthy — and — but this is a secret — devilish fond of Clarina.) 
 (Aside to Beaver : A noble lad, that Basil. If bullets spare 
 him, he'll be admiral, depend on it.) 
 
 Beav. (To Basil : Sir, 'twill be to me a happiness to make the 
 friendship of one so honoured by the esteem of Captain Channel.) 
 
 Fireb. Sir — I — I — (Aside : Damn it ! "Why do I stammer at 
 him ?) I — 'twill give me pleasure, sir — to — to — 
 
 Chan. There, that will do — you both know what you both 
 mean. "Well, Basil, only to think that we three should meet 
 here prisoners ! Do you recollect, you dog, two years ago, when 
 you were at my little wigwam, just out of Yarmouth 1 
 
 Fireb. Eecollect, sir ! It has formed the subject of my hap- 
 piest remembrance. 
 
 Beav. (Aside : Has it so ?) 
 
 Chan. "We were merry, to be sure ! I never was such a boy 
 in all my life. Do you remember that evening, when I'd the 
 gout, when you wagered I couldn't go aloft in the apple-tree ? 
 
 Fireb. To be sure, sir — ha ! ha ! 
 
 Chan. I laid I could, and I sent you and Clary round the walk 
 into the paddock to see me come out perched upon the truck ol 
 it ; and, you dog, don't you remember — ha ! ha ! how I pelted
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 221 
 
 you with pippins, that you were both glad to run away, and hide 
 yourselves, eh ? Well, we were merry then. When your leave 
 was up, and you went aboard, I'm sure I missed you : and for 
 Clary here — I don't know how it was, but she was as dull as a 
 dog-fish. 
 
 Beav. {Aside : Indeed ?) 
 
 [Drums heard in the street, Seating a retreat. 
 
 Fireb. What's that ? 
 
 Chan. That ! That means, all of us must go to bed, or seem to 
 go to bed. That's their evening hymn upon parchment. Od's, 
 Basil ! have you secured a berth ? 
 
 Fireb. Yes, sir ; I had forgotten to say, I am your next-door 
 neighbour. 
 
 Chan. What, one of the chickens to be picked by Madame La 
 Eose ? Not that she's the worst of 'em. Next door, eh ? 
 
 Fireb. Yes, sir : my window, as my landlady tells me, is the 
 left one, looking into your garden. 
 
 Chan. Why, you and Beaver will be messmates, then. He's 
 aboard that ship, too. 
 
 Beav. And most happy that it has fallen so. I trust we shall 
 soon be fast friends. 
 
 Fireb. I hope so. 
 
 Chan. There, belay fine speeches, and — but here conies your 
 she-captain, purser, and all. 
 
 Enter Madame La Bose. 
 
 Mad. La R. A million pardons, sweet lieutenant. 
 
 Fireb. {Aside : Lieutenant ! Now she has secured me, she 
 drops the captain.) 
 
 Mad. La R. A million pardons — supper smokes. 
 
 Chan. Then, good night. There, go like good boys — and mind, 
 I shall have an eye upon you both. {Aside to Beaver : When 
 they are all turned iu, come back. I'll have the door left on the 
 latch, and then we'll finish our chess.) Good night. Come, 
 shake hands with Clarina, both of you. 
 
 Beav. {Approaching Clarina.) Fair lady, the sweetest rest 
 attend you. 
 
 Fireb. (7b Clarina.) Goodnight! good — {Aside: the woi-ds 
 choke me.) {Aside to her : The window to the left.) Good 
 niglit, madam : good — 
 
 Chan. There, that will do. Good night, Madame La Eose — 
 good night all. 
 
 IThe drums heat under the window. Channel leads Clabina 
 to her chamber, Madame La Rose awaits Basil and 
 Beaver, who exeunt with ceremony, bowing to Clarina.
 
 222 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Scene III. — A}i apartment in the house of Madame La Rose. 
 Table laid for supper. Folding-doors, and view of garden at 
 back. Moonlight. 
 
 Discovered at table, Madame La Rose, Beaver, Pallmall, Chenille, 
 Polly Pallmall, and others, Monsieur La Rose waiting. 
 
 Mad. La R. Themistocles. 
 
 Mons. La R. Here, wife. 
 
 3fad. La R. Wife ! Some salt. 
 
 Chen. Monsieur La Rose, tliis fricandeau of yours is worthy 
 of a statue, parole d'honneur ! 
 
 Pallm. Delicious, Monsieur La Rose. T shall never look on 
 veal again, dead or alive, without thinking of you. 
 
 Chen. And for the sauce, a man might eat his own death-war- 
 rant with it — Parole dlionnev.r ! 
 
 Polly. Oh, Mr. Rose, I never did taste such rabbits— they are 
 quite ducks. 
 
 Mad. La R. Messieurs — Ma'amselle — don't ; you'll turn the 
 poor man's brain. 
 
 Chen. The fricandeau is divine — the rabbits superb._ But I 
 pity you English ; you never tasted Monsieur's own dish — his 
 consomme de grenouillcs. Once eat it, and you'd make your will, 
 and die hajipy — Parole dlionneur ! 
 
 Pallm. This won't do; must trump him. Pooh! it's nothing: 
 and as for pity — I pity you French. Talk of consomme de gre- 
 nouilles, did you ever taste our habeas corpus ? Nor you % Nor 
 you 1 No ! Ha ! 
 
 Mons. La R. La the first place, there is our beautiful little 
 frog— 
 
 Pallm. Little frog ! Pooh ! In England the frogs are as big 
 as beavers : ar'n't they, sir ] 
 
 Beav. Possibly. I am no naturalist. 
 
 Pallm. Quite as big ; and twice as sagacious. 
 
 Chen. ( To Pallmall, rising) Parole d'honneur ? 
 
 Pallm. {Rising) Parole d'honneur! 
 
 Mad. La B. But where's the lieutenant ? He won't take 
 anything. He can't have gone to bed. Themistocles, run up 
 stairs, and — Oh ! I'm in such raptures ! — Here he comes. 
 
 {Enter Firebrace.) 
 Themistocles, a chair. My dear lieutenant — Themistocles, the 
 fricandeau ! 
 
 Polli/. AVon't the lieutenant try the rabbits ? 
 
 Fireb. Thanks — thanks. I thought I was hungry as an ogre,
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 223 
 
 but have somehow lost all appetite ; 'tis the — the air of Verdun, 
 I believe. 
 
 Cheyi. lieautiful air, Monsieur. No such air in the whole 
 world — Parole d'honneur ! 
 
 Pallm. Pooh ! nothing to the air of England. That goes ten 
 times as far — it must, you know, for it's ten times as thick. 
 
 Fireh. Ha ! ha ! well said, countryman. But, gentlemen, some 
 wine ; a toast with it. Here's a speedy exchange, or a speedy 
 peace ! 
 
 Che)i. Ha, Messieurs, isn't that magnificent Bordeaux ? 
 
 Pallm. Very well for France ; but you should taste our 
 London Bordeaux. 
 
 Firth. {Aside: I have watched — yet no sign — no soimd. 
 There sits my rivf^l ! The thought turns nxy blood to flame.) 
 
 Bkuv. {To Firkbrace.) You have known the captain some 
 years 1 
 
 Fireh. {Aside : Yet he has not dared to speak to her. No ! of 
 that I am assured.) 
 
 Beav. I was observing, sir — 
 
 Fireh. Your pardon : my thoughts were absent. 
 
 Beav. — That the captain was no recent friend. 
 
 Fireh. I have known him, need I say loved him, since my boy- 
 hood. My father died in battle in his arms ; the memory of 
 such events draws hearts together with a triple cord. 
 
 Beav. The — the young lady is handsome 1 
 
 Fireh. It is her least praise. 
 
 Beav. Accomplished, too ? 
 
 Fireh. The world allows it. 
 
 Beav. And her heart, I doubt not, is — 
 
 Fireh. Pure and priceless as a star in heaven. 
 
 Beav. Oh, sir ! I perceive in female excellence you are an 
 enthusiast. 
 
 Fireh. I hope so, for I had a mother. 
 
 Beav. {Aside : Subtly turned — yet I'll tent him further.) The 
 lady will make an admirable wife 1 
 
 Fin h. Sir, there is no man worthy of her. 
 
 Beav. Indeed ? Truly, 'tis pitiful that a young lady, from her 
 very excellence, should live and die unpaired, like phoenix. 
 
 Fireh. {Aaide : There's a damned meaning in his sneer.) 
 
 Beav. Pity that some man, expressly fashioned for the wonder, 
 had not been vouchsafed us, if only for the sake of this dull, 
 wicked world, to multiply examples. 
 
 Fireh. Sir, you have chosen a theme — 
 
 \Tlie sound of a harp is heard, 
 
 Beav. Hush ! the lady plays.
 
 224 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Fireb. {Aside : It is her hand. It plucks my heart-strings.) 
 
 [Clarina is heard to sing without. 
 
 The dove's in the bough, and the lark's in the corn, 
 And folded to rest are the lilies of morn — 
 In balm falls the dew, and the moon's' tender light 
 Robes upland and valley — good night, love, good night ! 
 
 [Madame La Rose, Chenille, and others have in the cowse of the 
 foregoing dialogue gone off.J 
 
 Polly. There ! a love song — moonlight and all ! Isn't it like a 
 novel ? 
 
 [Firebeace, who has during the song retired up the stage, goes oj 
 through the folding doors.} 
 
 Beav. (Aside : He steals to the garden, led by heart and ears. 
 I have no moment to lose ; the father's promise once secured, 
 she's mine irrevocably.) [^Exit. 
 
 Poll I/. Music and moonlight ! They always make me feel 
 quite foolish. 
 
 Pallm. ( Who continues eating^ An excellent fricandeau — for 
 France — to be sure. 
 
 Polly. {In abstraction, Pallmall not attending to her.) Oh, 
 Tom Heyday ! I feel now that I could go and sit in one of those 
 arbours, and looking at the moon, with a white handkerchief in 
 one hand, and a romance under my elbow, weep deliciously. — 
 Ah ! Tom Heyday ! I shall never sleep comfortably if I don't 
 first go and cry a little under that willow-tree. 
 
 IGoing towards garden. 
 
 Pallm. Polly, where are you going ? 
 
 Polly. Going to hear the nightingale. 
 
 Pallm. She's hoarse, and doesn't sing to-night ; so go to bed. 
 
 Polly. Peter, you have no sentiment — no respect for melan- 
 choly. 
 
 Pallm. Respect ! If I was to take off my hat to all your blue 
 devils, I should never be covered. To bed with you — I like to 
 hear the nightingale myself, between the sheets. 
 
 Polly. Stars — flowers — dew-drops — moonlight, and a lover 
 kneeling. Ah, Peter, that's real poetry ! 
 
 Pallm. Real rheumatism, if the gentleman kneels long. Bed, 
 Polly, bed. 
 
 Polly. And then, with faithful ring-doves cooing from a bush 
 — (Screams) — Oh, Peter ! 
 
 Pallm. (Rising.) What's the matter ? 
 
 Folly. It's a — a spasm. (Aside : 'Tis the lieutenant !)
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 225 
 
 Pallm. Spasm ! I knew how 'twould be ; it's those rabbits. 
 
 Poll)/. Rabbits ! Unromantic fellow ! Your vulgarity, Peter, 
 would kill a whole circulating library. Oh ! another stitch ! 
 (Aside : Well, if he isn't trying to climb the wall !) 
 
 Pallm. It's the moon — she plays the devil with stitches ; so, 
 to bed. 
 
 MoNS. La Hose and Servant come on at hack, and close doors and 
 
 windows. 
 
 Polly. (Aside: They're locking the door — shutting the win- 
 dows. If the lieutenant wanted to come in, he'd knock. An 
 appointment ! — that's real love. I sha'n't sleep a wink for think- 
 ing of 'em.) 
 
 Pallm. To bed, |*olly — I say, to bed. 
 
 [^Offering her a light, which he has taken from M. La. Rose. 
 
 Polly. (Aside : How he'll swear, and how she'll believe him !) 
 
 Palhi. Bed— bed— bed ! 
 
 Polly. Bed ! (Snatches candlestick from Mm.) But you'll not 
 be my tyrant always. Bed ! No, I shall be married some day, 
 and when I am once married — I'll never — no, I'll never go to 
 bed. Hark ! (The harp is heard, and Clarina sings without.) 
 
 Thy heart may it waken to peace like the dove ; 
 Like the lark, may it offer its gladness above ; 
 And lilies, that open their treasures of white, 
 Resemble thy fortune — good night, love, good night ! 
 
 [Pallmall and Polly exernit as verse concludes 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Captain Channel's apartments. Garden seen from 
 
 window. 
 Beaver discovered at window. 
 
 Beav. The love-bird has ceased her ditty. I have heard her 
 sing a hundred times — yet never as to-night ; her heart gushed 
 with her voice. 'Twas to him she sang — to him ! What curse 
 of fortune is upon me, to bring them, and so strangely, together ! 
 If she can be mine with peace, with honour, well ; — if not, there's 
 nought that brain can plan, or heart can execute, shall stay me. 
 (Looking from loindow.) Ha ! he's there ! By heavens ! be- 
 neath her window ! The moon streams full upon him. With 
 
 Q
 
 226 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 what assured looks lie gazes upwards ! — her hand ! she leans 
 from out the casement ! She, who seemed the very soul of 
 meekness, she — with frozen, nun-like looks, and lips of virgin 
 wax ! She ! — oh, woman ! 
 
 Enter Channel, carrying a chess-board. 
 
 Chan. Here 'tis, as we left the game last night. 
 
 Beav. (Abstractedly.) Clouds swim before the moon — and 
 now — 
 
 Chan. Swim before the moon ! Beaver, — why, man, are you 
 writing a sonnet i 
 
 Beav. The — the beauty of the night, sir — I — 
 
 Chan. When I was first in love, I tried that sort of jingle 
 myself I got as far as " Oh, moon," and there I let go the 
 anchor. 
 
 Beav. Your first-love, sir 1 (Aside, looking towards window : 
 Now I see him not.) Your first-love, sir ? 
 
 Chan. As I thought it. Ha ! ha ! I was then a midshipman 
 of eighteeen, and when I first left Plymouth Nancy, there was 
 only one thing that kept me from drowning myself, 
 
 Beav. Indeed, sir, and what was that ? 
 
 Chan. I tumbled overboard by accident, and didn't like the 
 sensation. At last I was quite cured of my love for Nancy ; 
 and who do you think cured me 1 Why, a Jew slop-seller, with 
 red hair. 
 
 Beav. How, sir ? 
 
 Chan. How ? he married her ! Ha ! ha ! — Come, Beaver, 
 now for our hard-fought game. (They sit.) Ha ! Mr. Beaver, 
 this is kind of you to humour an old sailor ; it helps me through 
 the night, for I can't sleep. I, who could have snored afloat 
 upon a hen-coop, can't close my eyes in this — but all's one — here 
 am I — there are you. 'Tis your move — play. 
 
 Beav. How exquisitely Clarina sang to-night ! 
 
 Chan. Why, the wench can twitter — but that's not chess. 
 
 Beav. (Plays.) There, sir ! Did you mark the words of the 
 song? 
 
 Chan. Something about good-night, though I doubt if she's in 
 bed yet. I don't know how it is, but for these last two years she 
 sits up reading -half the night. 
 
 Beav. (Plays carelessly.) Beading at this very hour, no doubt. 
 Her health may suffer. 
 
 Chan. Hm ! Ha ! the queen is — hang chess ! a cabin-boy 
 might beat me to-night. Beaver, plain-dealing is my creed ; and 
 I think just now, there's something at both our hearts of greater 
 moment than these bits of ivory.
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 227 
 
 Beav. Eightly divined, sir — at mine, believe me. 
 
 C%a?j. Clarina, eh ? "Well, T have been faithful to you. I've 
 never said a syllable about you ; but you're safe there, depend 
 on't. 
 
 Beav. Forgive my passionate fears ; but if another has 
 awakened in her heart the — 
 
 Chan. Another ! Who could he be ? You are the only man 
 I may say, she has seen. 
 
 Beav. Was not Lieutenant Firebrace once your guest ? 
 
 Chan. What ! Basil ! Ha ! ha ! then a boy — a lad, who I 
 believe thought more of the strawberry-beds than anything be- 
 side. From the hour he left us till this morning, I never heard 
 Clary utter his name — so 'tis plain what she thinks of him. No, 
 Easil has taken my advice, and wiU never many before he's 
 captain. 
 
 Beav. And yet, sir — 
 
 Chan. Yet ! If you were in the church — the ring upon her 
 finger, and the last word said — would you cease your yets then ? 
 
 Beav. Oh, sir ! that moment ! 
 
 Chan. That moment shall come next week. There's my hand 
 upon it. She shall know my wish in the morning, and you shall 
 get her consent in the afternoon. 
 
 Beav. Should she refuse me ? 
 
 Chan. There again ! Clarina refuse when I bid her ! She ! — 
 bless her ! she'd leap from the maintop-gaUant-yard, if I did but 
 raise my finger. Even though she never thought of it, she'd 
 take matrimony as she would take physic, at my simple bidding. 
 Hark ! [^Approachi7ig Clarina's door.l Why, the slut, she's not 
 in bed yet. 
 
 Beav. Sure I heard a voice ! ( Aside : Can it be he ?) 
 
 Chan. (Listening at door.) Eeading — reading, loud as a ship's 
 chaplain. 
 
 Beav. (Aside : Can he be there ? No — impossible.) Are you 
 certain 'tis your daughter ? 
 
 Chan. Certain 1 ha ! ha ! Who should it be ? Beaver, I'll tell 
 you what ; I'll punish her for this ; and more, I'll have this 
 business ofi" my head before I sleep. \_Knocks at chamber door. 
 
 Beav. What would you do, sir ? 
 
 Chan. Do ! take her books from her ; send her to bed, and bid 
 her think of marriage. I say I will. Stand aside ; I'll call you 
 when you're wanted. (Knocks at door.) Clarina ! 
 
 Beav. (Aside : And now all's hushed.) 
 
 Chan. Silent ! Humph ! she thinks to cheat me. Clarina, 
 I must — I will see you. Clarina, I say ! Clarina ! 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Enter Clarina, /rom room. She stands at the door. Beaver 
 retires into the balcony. 
 
 Clar. Father, dear father — 
 Chan. Caught, caiight— so confess. 
 Clar. Confess ! Oh, sir ! 
 
 Chan. Nay, your guilt is plain. In your eyes, your cheeks, 
 I read your disobedience. 
 
 Clar. {Falls at his feet.) Mercy, mercy, and forgive me. 
 " Chan. {Raising her) Why, Clarina, girl ! I am not angry with 
 you,— that is, not vei-y angry. {Aside : What an old sea-dog am 
 1, to scare her thus !)— My child, my dear girl— kiss me, Clarina 
 —you little jade, you've been crying ; don't deny it— you have. 
 There aren't real tears enough in this world — real, scalding, 
 bitter tears from breaking hearts, but we must have a parcel of 
 lying books, to make peopile cry double. 
 
 Clar. {Aside : Books ! my secret then is safe.) Paixlon, dear 
 father, I have indeed been disobedient. 
 
 Chan. Now, what idle novel can have kept you from your bed ? 
 But why do 1 ask 1 when all novels are alike ; made as they mix 
 plum-puddings, only with one you've a little more spice, and with 
 the other a little more brandy. Come, sit and tell me all about 
 it. 'Twas a love-story, of course, that occupied you ? 
 Clar. Yes. 
 
 Chan. Ha ! and the hero ? Was he a cut-throat, or only a 
 pickpocket — an amiable barley-sugar ruffian, or a magnanimous 
 rose-coloured house-breaker % When I was young, girls used to 
 read Pilgrim's Progress, Jeremy Taylor, and such books of 
 innocence ; now, young ladies know the ways of Newgate as well 
 as the turnkeys. Then, books gave girls hearty, healthy food ; 
 now, silly things, like larks in cages, they live upon hemp-seed. 
 Well— the story of the book in that room ] 
 
 Clar. It is a sad one. — The heroine is most unhappy. 
 Chan. That's usual. 
 Clar. For she has been disobedient. 
 
 Chan. That's nothing ; for her father's a tyrant, a brute of course? 
 Clar. The best, the noblest, kindest parent ! 
 Chan. Come, that's civil of the writer ; he's not often so con- 
 siderate. Fathers in novels are generally dragons in white wigs. 
 Well, the girl 1 
 
 Clar. She is married. 
 
 Chan. What ! unknown to her father, and he you say so kind, 
 so good ? 
 
 Clar. Her lover was her father's friend, his youthful friend, 
 loved, assisted by him.
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 229 
 
 Chan. And the young gentleman, out of pure gratitude, makes 
 a fool of the daughter — the scoundrel ! How was the girl 
 smitten ? As they kill partridges, at first sight ? 
 
 Clar. The lover was invited to her father's house. Wlien his 
 duties called him thence, 'twas then she felt the ties that 
 bound her ; 'twas then she felt the sweet and bitter grief of 
 early love — of love nurtured in secret and deceit. In one 
 passionate moment, forgetful of her duty as a daughter, heed- 
 less of him, whose every glance was affection, whose every word 
 was doting, she cast away the memories of her childhood, the 
 gratitude, the respect of youth, and became a wife — a wretched 
 wife. 
 
 Chan. So ! the villain who betrayed her duty, turned her 
 tyrant ? 
 
 Clar. No ; for years she never saw him ; from the day she 
 called him husband. 
 
 Chan. "Why then wretched ? 
 
 Clar. She still dwelt with her father. The sense of her 
 hypocrisy, like a lingering poison, wore her ; and the daily 
 blessing of her father, that should have fallen like balm upon 
 her, self-reproach did turn to blighting and a curse. 
 
 Chan. Poor thing ! but she deserved to sufier. Well, and the 
 husband ? He returned ? 
 
 Clar. He did. 
 
 Chan. And the father of his own sagacity discovered the 
 match ! 
 
 Clar. Once — they were together — such discovery was nearly 
 made. 
 
 Chan. Ha ! and the end of the story ? 
 
 Clar. The end 1 It is not yet accomplished. 
 
 Chan. Yes, I see ; there you turned down the page when 
 I intemipted you. But I can tell the end of it. Oh, yes, the 
 young couple go upon theii* knees, the father swears a little, 
 then takes out his pocket handkerchief, wipes his eyes, and 
 forgives them. 
 
 Clar. Is such the ending ? dear father, can you promise it ? 
 
 Chan, To be sure I can, as well as if I had written it. Don't 
 all novels end so ? But if I were the father — 
 
 Clar. You — the — the — fether 1 Yes, sir ? 
 
 Chan. I would first shoot the scoundrel who had betrayed my 
 confidence, and for the girl — but I can't think of it. What ! 
 a creature, that one's heart is centred in — to think her the 
 dwelling-place of honesty, the very shrine of ti-uth, and then to 
 find a cozening gipsy there, a smiling falsehood, a household 
 wickedness I
 
 230 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Clar. Father, spare her I 
 
 [/« about to sink in cJiair, Channel supports her. 
 
 Chan. Foolish wench ! why, if 'twere yourself you could hardly 
 feel more than for your paper heroine ; a mere thing of goose- 
 quiU and foolscap ; only born in a garret to be buried in a trunk. 
 I'll engage your sympathies for a worthier object. What think 
 you of a real husband 1 
 
 Clar. A husband 1 
 
 Chan. 'Tis a somewhat unseasonable hour to talk for the first 
 time of such a person ; but if young ladies care not to sit up 
 half the night with lovers lent from the library — why, as I say, 
 a real husband can't be an unwelcome intruder among such 
 shadowy company. I say, a husband ? 
 
 Clar. In truth, sir, I — I cannot guess your meaning. 
 
 C7ia}i. No 1 Mr. Beaver's a good-looking fellow, isn't he 1 
 
 Clar. He is your friend, sir. 
 
 Chan. And — what I should think not the worst recommen- 
 dation to a young lady — he loves you very dearly. 
 
 Clar. He ! Oh, impossible ! 
 
 Chan. Clarina, this is unworthy of you. You are no coquet : 
 you have seen, must have marked this. Briefly, Mr. Beaver has 
 my consent to marry you. 
 
 Clar. It cannot be — call it back, sir — I entreat, implore you. — 
 By the deep love you bear me, by all the fondness, the undeserved 
 fondness you have shown me, caU back your word — it cannot, 
 cannot be. 
 
 CJian. Cannot ! Clarina, you know my temper. Though you 
 have felt it not, you know its resolution. Answer me and 
 promise. Stubborn ! silent ! Humph ! Those pestilent books ! 
 'Tis they have turned obedience into folly — ^have changed a kind, 
 complying, duteous child to — but at least I'll stay that mischief 
 —they shall go to the flames. 
 
 [Is proceeding to Clarina's chamber, when she throws herself before him. 
 
 Clar. Father ! You must not — do not — do not ! 
 
 Chan. You j^romise, then ? 
 
 Clar. To-morrow, give me till to-morrow. (Aside: I saw 
 him — still he lingers.) 
 
 Chan. That's reasonable ; be it so, to-morrow. How now, 
 you're pale and 
 
 Clar. The next room, dear father : there the air is freer — the 
 — 'tis nothing, I shall be well and suddenly. 
 
 Chan. Dear girl, my heart is set on this — 'tis now my only 
 care. Think you I could leave you in this rough, this wily 
 world 1 No ; you'll spare my death-bed that pang. I know
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 231 
 
 you -will, and so you'll promise — ^yes, my own good girl, you'll 
 promise ! 
 
 [Exit, leading Claeina. Beaveb has watched part of the scene from the 
 balcony. Firebrace appears at door of Clarina's chamber. He 
 approaches Beaver, who is about to exit.} 
 
 Fireb. Stay. 
 
 Beav. You, sir ! Here ! 
 
 Fireh. The astonishment is poorly counterfeited. You have 
 watched me. 
 
 Beav. "Watched ? 
 
 Fireb. Ay, sir, I marked you, — watched me ! 'Twas a manly 
 office, and must be rewarded. I was about to quit yon chamber. 
 I marked you, crouching like a hound — and your eye flashed 
 with triumph as it^encountered mine : it fixed me here. I wait 
 your questioning. 
 
 Beav. IVIine ? Truly, sir, I have nought to ask — nought to 
 observe. 
 
 Fireh. Then, sir, 'tis you must be the hearer. The morning 
 breaks apace. In one hour my friend shall seek you. 
 
 Beav. What wrong have I to answer 1 
 
 Fireb. You have dared to act the spy upon my doings — you 
 have dared in thought to stain a woman's spotless fame — you 
 would intrude yourself within the very sanctuary of her soul — 
 to make a lie, a scandal on her honour. 
 
 Beav. Wherefore am I censurable ? Blame you the man of 
 gold who guards his chest, the man made princely by some 
 precious gem, who watches with a jealous eye the jewel that 
 enriches him. The lady's father has transferred her, sir, to me. 
 You smile. 
 
 Fireb. I must. Transferred ! It is a jest almost for Plutus. 
 I hear you are a man of commerce. You think a woman's heart 
 a pack of goods, a thing of transfer. See you that star now 
 fading in the light of morning 1 Make that a matter of exchange ; 
 book it in your ledger ; barter it from east to west, from north 
 to south : of heaven's beauty make an earthly bargain, and when 
 you have transferred that star, have given full possesion of its 
 glory, why, then we'll talk of woman's heart, its market price, 
 its rate of change, its rule of barter. 
 
 Beav. A prosperous rival ! Yes, I see my fate. I may hang 
 myself upon the next willow. 
 
 Fireb. Sir, you have my free consent to that immediate 
 operation. 
 
 Beav. Still vanity assist me ! I'll not despair. Here comes 
 the lady's father — wiU you remain and hear the gentleman ?
 
 232 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Firch. (Going towards chamber,) Fear not, sir, I will await him 
 — await you. 
 
 Beav. And in that chamber ? 
 
 Fireh. Even there. \Exit into chamber. 
 
 Beav. At least I may revenge this triumph. 
 
 Enter Chajjnel. 
 
 Chan. Beaver, give me your hand — 'tis certain, fixed. There 
 was a little coyness at first, a few water-drops, but now you're a 
 happy man. 
 
 Beav. Am I indeed, sir ? 
 
 Chan. I tell you so, and — ^why, you hear me talk of your 
 happiness .and yet look as if I preached a funeral sermon. 
 
 Beav. Truly, sir, I fear my happiness at the present moment 
 needs some such sad discourse. I have a friend, a new friend, 
 who has awakened these doubts. He has forbidden me to hope 
 the happiness you promise me. 
 
 Chan. Has he ? Then I should like to look upon your friend's 
 brazen countenance. [Firebrace appears at chamber door. 
 
 Beav. Will you pardon me 1 I have admitted him here to 
 satisfy you. 
 
 Chan. Where ? 
 
 Beav. There. 
 
 Chan. Basil ! Well, sir, what have you to say of my daughter 1 
 What? 
 
 Beav. The gentleman may wish for privacy : I will at hand 
 await you. — {Aside : The storm will burst ; be it my care to 
 profit by the tempest. Chenille's on guard to-night : he shall be 
 at hand to stay, yes, to stay the mischief) [^E.xit. 
 
 Chan. Now, Lieutenant Firebrace — and first let me repair the 
 neglect of last night, and congratulate you upon your promotion. 
 You have climbed early, sir. 
 
 Fireh. Nor may I forget the counsel that taught me best to climb. 
 
 Chan, Well, sir, my friend, my excellent friend, Beaver, tells 
 me you have forbidden him to hope for my daughter. 
 
 Fireh. 'Tis very true, sir. 
 
 Chan. May I, as merely the father of the lady, ask whyl 
 
 Fireb. She cannot wed him. 
 
 Chan. Indeed ! Do you know any reason to foi-bid the banns? 
 
 Fireh. The best — she cannot love him. 
 
 Chan. Lieutenant Firebrace — BasU — I have loved you very 
 dearly — I think I have shown it better than by talking about it. 
 Now, look in my face — look where your father looked for the 
 last time, and tell me, are you a scoundrel ?
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 233 
 
 Fircb. No ! Nor lives there but one man, who with safety, 
 though he were high-admiral, might put such word to me. 
 
 Chan. You are not a scoundrel ? Your hand — forgive me, 
 BasU ; I began to have my doubts. 
 
 Fireh. And wherefore ? 
 
 Chan. No, no, I wronged you. I — no, — 'tis impossible. Ycu 
 could not, with fail* weather looks and lying words, betray an old 
 man's friendship. You are what I have ever thought you, the 
 sou of honour — a frank, noble, generous lad. 
 
 Fireb. Spare your commendation and hear me. I love Clarina. 
 
 Chan. I'm sorry for it. You speak too late. She marries 
 Mr. Beaver. You look incredulous. Who shall prevent Clarina's 
 marriage ? 
 
 Fireb. Clarina's plighted heai't, 
 
 Chan. Plighted — to you ! Is it so ? Basil Firebrace, you have 
 abused my-'coufidence, with basest fraud destroyed my faith in 
 one whose truth was to me as a religion. A smiling thief I 
 welcomed to my hearth has stolen the duty of my child — the 
 quiet of her father. {Enter Clarina. — Channel goes to cabinet, 
 and takes out pistols.) I am an old man, sir, but not too old to 
 chastise ingratitude. Follow me, sir. 
 
 Clar. Father. 
 
 Chan. Clarina ! Yes, the same look of innocence — the same 
 face, and yet a h}'pocrite ! 
 
 Clar. Forgive me ! 
 
 Chan. What a dupe hath my fondness — my unbounded con- 
 fidence — now I read it aU ! the tale you feigned to-night — the 
 story of the book — 'twas your own story ! 
 
 Clar. Mercy ! 
 
 Chan. That man — he was there — in your chamber ? Silence ! 
 Guilty 1 Villain, thus I destroy — 
 
 [Channel presents pistol at Firebrace. Clarina throws herself before 
 
 him. 
 Clar. My husband ! 
 
 Enter Chenille and several Gendarmes. 
 
 Chen. What's this ? Brawling, and it may be, murder 1 
 Soldiers, your duty : conduct these gentlemen to the fortress. 
 {Aside : And thence, or I know little of the governor, to 
 Blche.) 
 
 Clar. Father! 
 
 Chan. Anywhere, so I no longer look on disobedience. 
 
 l^Exit, preceded by two Gendarmes. 
 
 Clar. Basil ! Husband ! They will send you hence, far hence 
 amidst all that makes captivity most terrible.
 
 234 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Fireh. Never think it. The story of this passing quarrel told, 
 we shall be free, be sure of it. So smile, wife. Wife ! how 
 sweeter still the word, since to the world I now may utter it. 
 I will not say farewell ; for soon, my heart assures me, we again 
 shall meet. \^Exit, followed hy two Gendarmes. 
 
 Clar. Oh, sir, on your report depends their liberty. 'Twas but 
 a sudden word — nought else. You would not for so light a cause 
 accuse them ? 
 
 Chen. I was summoned to prevent a duel, and saw enough to 
 know my presence needful. 'Tis the hardest part of duty to 
 speak the truth, when grace and loveliness both bid us hold our 
 tongue. {Bowing to her) Yet, madam, the truth must be said, 
 parole d'hotmeur. So the captain and lieutenant, be sure of it, 
 march hence to Biche. 
 
 Clar. May I not go with them 1 
 
 Chen. If the governor be merciful ; and when a lady pleads, 
 he has his weakness. 
 
 Clar. I will petition him this instant. Will you bear my 
 letter ? 
 
 Chen. Write, madam, and may persuasion guide the crowquill ! 
 The governor shall have the letter from this hand. He sliall, 
 parole dlionneur. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Street. 
 Enter Madame La Eose and Polly Pallmall, 
 
 Polly. Captain Channel taken to the fortress ? 
 
 Mad. La B. And what's worse, my boarder, Lieutenant 
 Fii'ebrace, 
 
 Polly. Lieutenant Firebrace ! Such a noble gentleman. 
 
 Mad. La R. And the smallest eater, my dear, I ever knew. 
 
 Polly. And then my foolish brother, Peter ; instead of going 
 quietly to his bed last night — to think that he should quarrel 
 about English eggs and chickens with a French gendarme, and 
 be locked up, too ! And dear Tom Heyday ! to stop his parole 
 for not answering muster ; and how coixld he, when he was 
 answering me 1 I see my end. Madame La Hose, I shall die. 
 
 Mad. La B. Yes, Ma'am selle ; we all come here on that 
 condition. 
 
 Polly. Ha ! to die a comfortable grandmother in one's own 
 parish is what we must all expect ; but to be transplanted like 
 a polyanthus in the bud — to be nipped off, — and, instead of an 
 epitaph in one's own mother-tongue, to have an outlandish tomb- 
 stone that nobody can read !
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 235 
 
 Mad. La R. Be comforted ; for I promise, whatever they write 
 on one side the stone, shall be faithfully translated on the other. 
 But early as it is, I've news for you from the fortress. 
 
 Polly. The fortress % You go in and out of it as if 'twere your 
 own property. "What sort of interest have you there ? 
 
 Mad. La R. The greatest. My husband, Themistocles, makes 
 the governor's pies. 
 
 Polly. Dear Tom Heyday ! What news ? 
 
 Mad. La R. This from your brother — this from your lover. 
 
 [Giving letters. 
 
 Polly. Now here's a trial for one's feelings ! Brother — lover ! 
 Which shall I open first ? 
 
 3fad. La R. Take 'em as we take roasted chesnuts. Tho 
 coolest first by all* means. 
 
 Polly. Bless me ! how confinement spoils one's hand ! Peter 
 always wrifees like copper-plate, and here all the letters seem in 
 a tangle. (Reads.) " Portress of Verdun, June, 1803. Mij dear 
 Polly, — I scratch you these few lines like a mole under ground. The 
 prison is tolerably strong, hut not to he spoken of after Newgate. As 
 for their locks, they havenH one fit for a tea-caddy. The rats at 
 night come in regiments. We'' re allowed 7io candle; but we can feel, 
 as they run over our faces, that they must he contemptihle in the eyes 
 of Englishmen. 1 am teaching a spider to dance ; hut find the 
 spiders here nothing to the spiders in our su7nmer-house at Hornsey. 
 I will write more at length upon what concerns you in my tiext. 
 Excuse this scrawl : for, having no pens, we have been com- 
 pelled to pluck the magpie. Shmdd you see the Frenchman I 
 quarrelled with, remember your country and don't give up the eggs. 
 Tour affectionate brother, Peter Pallmall. P.S. — Send me my 
 flute." 
 
 Mad. La R. Pray do. 'Twill be such a consolation to him on 
 his long march. 
 
 Polly. Poor Peter ! That's what he calls philosophy : to march 
 to gaol to his own music. 
 
 3Iad. La R. And naw for the other. I do so doat upon a love- 
 letter ! Bead, read. 
 
 Polly. What, my lover's letter? Read that, — to another! 
 Impossible : still, you're such a good creature ! I — I tell you 
 what : I'll run it over first myself, and pick you out two or three 
 of the nice bits. [Retires^, reading letter- 
 
 Mad. La R. Just like these English girls : they've no real 
 pride in the tender passion. I'm sure when Themistocles used 
 to write to me, I lent his letters to every one of my ac- 
 quaintance. [Exit. 
 
 Polly. If ever a sheet of letter-paper broke a woman's heart,
 
 236 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 this will break mine. Oh, Tom Heyday ! He's going to Biche, 
 and takes leave of me for ever. He says he can't expect me to 
 wait for him, wasting my time till the war's over ; so blesses me, 
 sends me a lock of his hair, and tells me to get the best husband 
 I can. [Remains absorbed in letter. 
 
 Enter Beaver. 
 
 Beav. {Aside : Thus far, my plan has prospered to my dearest 
 wish. The father and the lover both removed — patience and 
 cunning, and my suit must thrive.) 
 
 Poll^. The best husband ! Agonising thought ! 
 
 Beav. What new sorrow's this ? 
 
 Polly. But I'll follow him. I'll go to Biche too. If I can't 
 get into the fortress, 'twill be some consolation to look at the 
 prison, and know he's safe there. 
 
 Beav. In tears, my pretty maid ? 
 
 Polly. {Reading letter) " Get the best husband you can.^'' Yes ; 
 it's very easy to say get. 
 
 Beav. I fear, some serious news. 
 
 Polly. {Reading.) " As 'tis the fate of your own Tom to be shut 
 up in a dungeon for life, to grow grey and — and — and mouldy." 
 
 Beav. Tell me, fair mourner, wherefore are you — 
 
 Polly. Mouldy! Cupid, god of love, what a condition ! {Reading.) 
 I send you a lock of my hair." And lovely hair it is too. And this 
 hair to grow grey in a dungeon ! Dear Tom Heyday ! If I'd 
 ray smelling bottle at hand I certainly should faint. 
 
 Beav. Miss Pallmall, as a friend of your brother's, may I be 
 suffered to inquire the source of your affliction 1 
 
 Polly. {Putting the letter in her bosom, and bursting into tears!) 
 Biche ! [Runs off. 
 
 Beav. The governor, it is said, never pardons a duel. Hence, 
 their journey is decided. 
 
 Enter Madame La Eose. 
 
 Mad. La R. Oh, sir ! do come to Miss Clarina. Persuade her 
 to stay in Verdun. 
 
 Beav. To stay in Verdun ! What hope has she of going 
 hence 1 
 
 Mad. La R. She vows she'll follow her father — has written to 
 the governor for his consent. 
 
 Beav. This must not — shall not be. 
 
 Mad. La R. Now, sir, you're her father's friend ; so write and 
 persuade him to command her to stop here. Tell him I'll watch 
 over her.
 
 THE PRISONER OF "WAR. 237 
 
 Beav. Nay, I cau safely promise that you'll be a mother to 
 her. 
 
 Mad. La R. A sister, sir, if you please. And say that she can 
 board with me at the most reasonable charge. Tell her so, sir : 
 appeal to her feelings : and, above all, don't forget to say that 
 she can have the carnation bedroom, and the butterfly -papered 
 parlour. 
 
 Beav. {Aside: Determined to follow him ! My passion rages 
 with opposition. The hopes, the good name of a life, I'll stake 
 upon this cast. I toill have her.) 
 
 Enter Chenille, with two other Gendarmes. 
 
 Chen. Monsieur, the governor wants you. 
 
 Beav. The governor ! 
 
 Chen. Sorry to 'do this office for an acquaintance ; but duty. 
 Monsieur Beaver, duty. So you must come and be locked up. 
 You must, parole dlionneur. 
 
 Beav. Locked up ! In what have I transgressed? 
 
 Chen. The muster-roll. You've been called over thrice this 
 morning, and here you were with — well, it's an honourable weak- 
 ness : but 'twill take you to Biche ; it will, parole d'honnenr. 
 
 Beav. To Btche ? 
 
 Mad. La R. What's this ? Monsieur to be shut up — what 
 for? 
 
 Chen. The muster-roll, madame ; the muster-roll. 
 
 Mad. La R. To lose three boarders in two days. There'll be 
 an earthquake. But you'll never take the gentleman away ? 
 
 Chen. I must — parole d'honneur. [Exeuiit. Beaver guarded. 
 
 Scene III. — Coiirt-j/ard of the Fortress of Verdun. 
 Enter Cmais'sel, followed by Firebrace. 
 
 Chan. Will you not leave me, sir ? Will you not avoid me ? 
 
 Fireh. Though deaf to me, — yet by the love you bear Clarina ! 
 The fault was mine ; 'twas I who tempted her ; 'twas I who 
 forced her from her duty ; 'twas I who day by day, and hour by 
 hour, assailed her with my prayers — invented subterfuge — coined 
 excuse ; with ceaseless persecution of my suit, compelled, 
 betrayed her into disobedience. 
 
 Chan. And at that time, day by day you sat at my hearth; and 
 hour by hour you looked in my face. In truth, sii-, I never knew 
 so young a man so old a scoundrel. 
 
 Fireh. Sir ! But I have schooled myself to bear your hardest 
 words. All I ask is — spare Clarina. Could you but know the
 
 238 THE PRISONER OF WAR, 
 
 struggle of her heart — the pain, the suffering of her soul, ere I 
 won from her a wild consent. 
 
 Chan. And wherefore all this 1 "Wherefore this stolen match 
 — this lying misery 1 
 
 Fireh. Wherefore ? Could I but have hoped your good- 
 ness — 
 
 Chan. Sir, it is the creed of honesty always to hope goodness. 
 But no, sir ; you must be cunning — worldly wise. You must 
 crawl to your purpose like a snake, when you might have won it 
 like a man. 
 Fireh. Oh, sir ! 
 
 Chan. Basil — Lieutenant Firebrace, you will not add to the 
 rigours of this prison — and 'tis said to-morrow we march for one 
 less tolerable by needless persecution. One moment. Your father 
 was shot at my side. His only words were — " My wife — my boy 
 — Dick ! " he could say no more ; but I knew what he meant. I 
 promised. He heard me, for his ftice — I see it now amidst the 
 hell that roared about us — brightened as his spirit fled. I pro- 
 mised — 
 
 Fireh. And nobly, bountifully, fulfilled the pledge. I was a 
 child, but I remember all, sir ; the kindness of your bounty ; 
 your name linked with the widow's blessing ; your name 
 taught me with my daily prayers. BecoUect a hundred gifts 
 that made our home less desolate — that soothed the pathway 
 to a mother's early grave. As at her grave I stood 
 an orphan child, remember how at that dread fall of earth, 
 my young heart sank — remember too the pressure of your 
 hand that told my heart, — " Courage, poor boy, you are not 
 yet alone." 
 
 Cha7i. Enough, sir — enough, 
 
 Fireh. Oh, sir, these memories were precious to me : but now, 
 they pain, they humble me. They make me see my meanness, 
 deceit, ingratitude. They call me villain, that in my selfishness 
 I have given one unquiet thought to goodness such as yours. Oh, 
 sir ! by my father — 
 
 Chan. 'Tis of him I'd speak. He died, but with the effort of a 
 dying man, he took this ring from his hand, and placed it where 
 I have worn it till this hour. I received it as a pledge between 
 us that I should protect his fatherless boy. I have endeavoured 
 to fulfil this pledge ; and now, sir,— 
 
 Fireh. What would you 1 
 
 Chan. I would relieve my eye of all that may remind me of 
 that duty past. Henceforth, sir, we are strangers ; but 'tis fit, 
 sir, you possess your father's ring. 
 
 Fireh. Oh, sir, you will not — cannot —
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR, 239 
 
 Chan. Nay, I am resolute. Here it is, sir — {Attempting to take 
 it from his finger, but cannot for his emotion.) Here, sir — here — 
 plague oii't, it has grown, I think, to me, like other things I fain 
 would cut away — but — you shall have it, sir, you — you shall 
 have it. \_Exit. 
 
 Fireb. Oh, worthy heart ! I have deserved this, that I feared 
 to trust it. 
 
 Enter Heyday. 
 
 Hevd. Now, Basil, the evening watch is hard upon us. "We must 
 to our work. 
 
 Fireb. What work? 
 
 Heyd. What work ? The work of liberty. Why man, have 
 you slept and forgotten all ? Forgotten that, this very night, 
 we're to cut cable'? 
 
 Fireb. To-night — ay, true. 
 
 Enter Beaver at the bad: He pauses on seeing Firebrace 
 and Heyday. 
 
 Het/d. Basil ! Overhaul your spiiits, man ! What's afloat ? 
 What ails you ? 
 
 Fireb. I have pondered on this business, and come what will, 
 I'll not quit France. 
 
 Hei/d. Not quit ! What, when the work's done to your hand ? 
 When fifty brave fellows have tricked their keepers — have toiled 
 this month and more — just, as in the nick of luck, our parole 
 is stopped, and we've nought to hinder us from giving Jean 
 Crapaud the slip ? The excavation's made, one hour more, and 
 we're outside the fortress. 
 
 Beav. {Aside : Is it so ?) 
 
 Heyd. And you'll not quit it ? You'll stay, and to-morrow 
 morning be marched toBiche ? 
 
 Fireb. You forget. I leave Clarina in Yerdun, and with 
 her — • 
 
 Heyd. I understand : you fear that fresh-water pirate, Mr. 
 Beaver. 
 
 Fireb. His insolence — nought else. [Beaver comes down. 
 
 Heyd. Look there. 
 
 Fireb. Why, 'tis he ! 
 
 Heyd. Invited as I have just heard into the fortress, for 
 missing muster-roll. Now, then, will you go to Biche ? 
 
 Fireb. Have with you, Tom — to the work ! to the work ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Heyd. And here comes the Jew Boaz. If anything can sweeten 
 the escape, 'tis the money I owe that, crocodile. [Retires.
 
 240 THE PRISONEE, OF WAR. 
 
 Enter Boaz. 
 
 Beav. Come hitlier. Your losses must be heavy ? 
 
 Boaz. Heavy ! How I stands upright under 'em I don't 
 know. 
 
 Beav. I have a merchant's feelings for your risks. 
 
 Boaz. Oh, sii", you'll make me veep ! T never meets with feel- 
 ings here — I lends and I lends, and I lozes and I lozes 
 — but still I must employ my mind, so I lends and lozes again. 
 
 Beav. Should many escape from this prison, your losses— 
 
 Boaz. Don't speak of it : my heart isn't a stone — it must 
 break. 
 
 Beav. Take this to the governor, {^Having written on a leaf 
 from his pocket hook.) You wlU be secret ? 
 
 Boaz. As a money-bag. 
 
 Beav. Eemember, as yet I must not be known in this. In good 
 time, I may claim consideration of the governor ; but for the 
 present silence. I will pay your prudence ; and more, you hold 
 that which may hold your debtors. 
 
 Boaz. Den de devil shouldn't tear it from me. 
 
 Enter Pallmall. 
 
 Palhn. "What's that about the devil, Boaz ? Gently — don't 
 abuse an old friend. Mr. Beaver ! they told me you'd come. 
 Happy, sir, to see you amongst us. We've all sorts of manly 
 games here, from puss-in-the-corner to push-pin. If you like 
 cricket on a small scale, there's a charming court of twelve yai'ds 
 by ten — or if you have a genius for dominos — 
 
 Beav. Well, sir 1 
 
 Pallm. You may carve a set out of your own beef-bones — when 
 you get 'em. 
 
 Heyd. And to-morrow, 'tis said we start for Blche. 
 
 Boaz. And how am I to be paid my twenty napoleons ? How, 
 Mr. Heyday — how 1 Can you look in my face and — 
 
 Pallm. Face ! Pooh ! Don't call it a face— it's like a bank- 
 note : every line in it means money. 
 
 Boaz. Well, in all my life — 
 
 Pallm. Nonsense ! yours isn't a life : die when you will, 'twill 
 only have been a long sneak. 
 
 Boaz. But I'll have my money, I will ! and if not of you, 
 {Aside : at least I'll make my market- of de governor.) [Exit. 
 
 Pallm. In truth, sir, I'm glad again to see you among us. 
 
 Beav. Sir, I acknowledge your hospitality. May I ask you what 
 rendered you worthy of this sudden distinction 1 
 
 Pallm. Patriotism ; a small trump I played — nothing more.
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 241 
 
 A little altercation at the Cafe Imperial. Tlie talk ran upon 
 omelettes : an impudent Frenchman insisted we couldn't make 
 'em. In the first place, he aspersed our eggs — slandered them 
 as small. I replied, our eggs were big as pumpkins. This 
 failed to silence him ; for he swore that some of the hens in 
 his country laid eggs three times a day. This wouldn't do at 
 all — so for the honour of my native poultry, I made English 
 hens lay four times — with chickens in 'em. That's patriotism, 
 I think ? 
 
 Beav. And was the gentleman convinced ? 
 
 Pallm. No, sir : and that's the strangest part of the story. 
 He immediately cast a very strong reflection upon my 
 veracity, which I instantaneously answered by knocking him 
 do'svn. Now, in Fa'ance, to knock a man down is to knock a 
 gendarme up : thejre was a brief inquiry made, and — here I am. 
 
 Beav. And the further trial for your patriotism, Blche ? 
 
 Pallm. We are promised an early march to that rustic retreat. 
 If you're curious in roads, sir, I am told there's every variety on 
 the way, from tlint to quagmire. Look, — here come our brother 
 lambs, driven by the she^Dherd. 
 
 Bmv. Shepherd ! 
 
 Pallm. The swaiu who folds us for the night. 
 
 Het/d. {Aside to Pallmall : The last night, I hope.) 
 
 Enter various prisoners, followed hy Gaoler. 
 
 Gaoler. To the souterrain, messieurs — to the souterrain. Quick, 
 quick ! 
 
 Pallm. Instantly, good monsieur nightcap. Come along, Tom. 
 (Aside to Heyday : I say, I begin to like you. Stone walls draw 
 out the good qualities of a man. TeU me, have you really fobbed 
 that old Jew of twenty napoleons 1) 
 
 Hej/d. That's true as the north star. 
 
 Pallm. Give me your hand — ^you shall have sister Polly.) 
 
 [All prisoners exeunt, followed by Gaoler. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Souterrain in the Fortress. Prisoners seated at a 
 table. Other prisoners coming in and going off at the side. The 
 scene dimly lighted. 
 
 Channel, Firebeace, Pallmall, c?2(? Beaver ow. All the pri- 
 soners are singing, and Pallmall playing hisflute.^ to drown the 
 noise without ; which, at intervals, is heard through the chorus. 
 
 " Rule Britannia; Britannia, rule the waves ! 
 For Britons never, never shall be slaves." 
 
 Ileyd. {LooJiing in from side.) Another stave — another, and 
 the stars will twinkle on us. (Disajj^^ears.)
 
 242 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Chan. Keep up Britaunia, my hearts, though our throats 
 crack ! {All sing) 
 
 " Rule Britannia ! Britannia, rule the waves ! 
 For Britoiis never, never shall be slaves." 
 
 Re-enter Heyday, Forest, and other prisoners. 
 
 Heyd. The work's done, our cage is open ! 
 
 \st Prisoner. We've had a rare spell of it, but 'tis done at 
 last. 
 
 Heyd. Luckily, the night is black as pitch. When we have swum 
 the moat — 
 
 Pallm. What ! must we swim 1 
 
 Heyd. Ay, or sink. 
 
 Pallm. Oh, I'm enough of a philosopher to know the altei'- 
 uative. 
 
 Chan. Well, lads, what we have groaned, have toiled 
 for, is accomplished. Moments are precious. Are all pre- 
 pared 1 
 
 All. {Except FiREBRACE anc^ Beaver.) All ! all ! 
 
 Fireb. May Freedom shine upon your paths, and light ye scath- 
 less to her home, her old abiding-place, her temple and her rock, 
 — England ! Farewell. 
 
 All. How 1 
 
 Fireb. I do not quit the fortress. 
 
 \st Prisoner. Wherefore, sir ? 
 
 Fireb. It matters not. I am master of my will, accountant 
 solely to myself 
 
 Chan. Not so, sir. This is no private venture. There is no 
 man here— or should be none — who is not inalienably sworn to 
 dare the common peril of this night. 
 
 Fireb. Sworn ? 
 
 Chan. Sir, when men join for freedom, the cause itself does 
 consecrate the act. To fall from it, or half-way halt in it, is 
 treason to the dignity of hiiman life — is perjury to the first truth 
 of man. 
 
 Forest. Lieutenant Firebrace, I am no talker : but this much 
 I'll say. To skulk in an enemy's gaol when the enemy might be 
 fought upon the sea, is hardly the act of a true sailor ; and if you 
 will, I'll add, of an honest man. 
 
 Fireb. Fear not, sir : you shall have another time for these 
 opinions. 
 
 Chan. Lieutenant Firebrace, will you join us 1 Or, failing, 
 with some grace of honour, render back your commission to the 
 kin;:; \
 
 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 243 
 
 Fireb. My life, wrung out by torture first ! {Aside : To be thus 
 stung, humiliated !) On, gentlemen, I'll lead you ! 
 
 Chan. No, sir : as senior officer, that post is mine. Even as 
 runaways we'll keep some discipline. 
 
 Beav. Captain Channel, as a civilian, I am excused this 
 trial. 
 
 Fireb. (To Cuan^el, pointing to Beaver.) If he remain I stir 
 not. 
 
 Chan. None are excused — ^none. It is a common cause, and aU 
 must bear their part in't, 
 
 Fireb. {Aside to Heyday, pointing to Beaver.) Tom, let him 
 not slip. 
 
 Heyd. {Aside to Basil.) Be sm-e on't. 
 
 Chan. And now, gentlemen, a sudden farewell with all. 
 
 Fireb. Captain Channel, — ■ 
 
 Cha7i. Well, sir"? 
 
 Fireb. Will you part my enemy ? 
 
 Chan. {Going.) The time is urgent, sir. 
 
 Fireb. Oh think it so. Heaven knows, we ne'er may meet 
 again ! For the sake of one you love, part not in anger with me! 
 I have been rash and thankless, but say Farewell, Basil ! — let 
 the orphan you nourished and protected once more hear your 
 friendly voice, once more grasp your friendly hand. Say Farewell, 
 Basil — one Farewell ! 
 
 Chan. She has cut me to the soul, and she has deceived 
 her father — but, poor thing ! — do you, sir, love her — do 
 you cherish, doat upon her — do you 1 Farewell, Fii-ebrace, fare- 
 well. On ! {All the prisoners are hurrying off, when a party of 
 soldiers, commanded by officer, appear at the opposite door with pre- 
 sented arras.) 
 
 Officer. Hold! 
 
 Prisoners. Betrayed 1 
 
 Officer. You mistake the route. This way lies the road to 
 Biche. 
 
 Chan. {Aside : Treason ! treason !) 
 
 Officer. You have worked well, gentlemen, but have lost your 
 pains. Fall in and at the word, — march ! 
 
 Enter Chenille. 
 
 Chen. Captain Channel, ere you quit Verdun, the governor 
 would grant a lady's prayer. 
 
 Enter Clarina and Polly Pallmall. 
 
 CTar. Father ! {Throwing herself in his arms.) Leave me not 
 unblest — unpardoned. 
 
 £2
 
 244 THE PRISONER OF WAR. 
 
 Chan. Farewell, wench ! Thou hast my blessing, — my forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 Chen. Stay, Captain ; a letter from the governor. 
 
 Chan. (Reads.) " To Captain Channel. Sir, though I am made 
 the gaoler of brave men, I can yet admire their courage. As 
 a soldier, I am, glad that the scoundrel who has hetrayed ye does 
 not disgrace the uniform of his king. It would, however, have 
 been my duty to consign you and your comrades to the for- 
 tress of Biche. I am happy to be the medium of a better 
 fortune. Enclosed is an order for the exchange of yourself 
 and others therein named, received this morning from the 
 minister. Vaillant, governor of the fortress of Verdun.^'' Here's 
 something more. " Js for the traitor Beaver, his destination 
 is "— 
 
 Chen. {Passing Beaver over to the soldiers) Biche, ■ — parole 
 d'honneur — Biche. (Beaver is immediately marched off.) 
 
 Pallm. Is my name there ? {Taking paper?) It is ! Then I 
 have friends in London still. 
 
 Polli/. Exchanged ! Oh, if I get safe to England, and can 
 only recollect my foreign feelings, won't I write a book ! Pray, 
 Captain, I only ask out of humanity, does Mr. Heyday go with 
 us, too ? 
 
 Chan. Listen. {Reads.) " Thomas Herjday, promoted to 
 lieutenant.'''' So there's a commission to sweeten his voyage 
 with. {To Clarina, who is endeavouring to read the paper) 
 What ! your eyes would devour it ! Do you know that 
 name ? 
 
 Clar. " Basil ! " Oh happiness ! 
 
 Chan. More than he deserves. {Aside : I'm glad he has got it 
 for all that.) Basil, you have saved my daughter from a scoundrel, 
 and though you had no such intention — 
 
 Clar. Nay, father, did he not best prove it, when he married 
 me 1 
 
 Chan. Said like a good wife, and therefore prettUy said. So, 
 Basil, as you're my son, why die an admiral, and I shall be 
 satisfied. 
 
 Polly. And now, we're all to go to England. 
 
 Chan. Not all. Though the list's a long one, many stay 
 behind. Therefore, let not those set free fail in their best 
 wishes for — The Prisoner of War. 
 
 END OF THE PEISONEE OF WAR
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS.
 
 CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Zachary PetmyiCtight 
 
 Mr. Puffins . 
 
 Jubilee 
 
 Mr. Creepmouse . 
 
 Lieut. Tackle, R.N. 
 
 Captain Gunn 
 
 Paul Pvffins . 
 
 Woodhiirn . 
 
 Gibbs . . , . 
 
 Chuff . . . . 
 
 Amy 
 
 Mrs. Pennyweight 
 Kitty Pennyxceight . 
 Miss Narcissa Chipp 
 Mrs. Puffins 
 Susan Hogg 
 
 Mr. Lambert. 
 Mr. Rogers. 
 Mr. C. Selby. 
 Mr. Buckstone. 
 Mr. J. Wallack 
 Mr. B. Webster. 
 Mrs. Fitzwilliam. 
 Me. Howe. 
 Mr. Clarke. 
 Mr. Caulfield. 
 
 Miss Reynolds 
 Mrs. Stanley. 
 Miss A. Romer. 
 Mrs. Laws. 
 Mrs. Caulfield. 
 Miss F. Vining. 
 
 Scene, The Village of Pumpkiiifield. Date, 185 L 
 
 This Comedy wasjirst represented May 3rd, 1851.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 > 
 
 Scene. — A suite of apartments, gaudily furnished. Windows at 
 hack open into a garden. Mrs. Penntti'eight and Susan Hogg 
 discovered arranging the ornaments, S)C. Susan holds, admii'ingli/, 
 a framed coat of arms. 
 
 Susan. What beautiful colours, and what gold ! Won't master 
 be astonished, ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. He ought : but a husband's title most difficult 
 creature to surprise. 
 
 Susajt. And what is it you call it, ma'am 1 
 
 3Irs. Penny. Our family coat-of-arms. You see ; here's your 
 master's arms and mine put together. 
 
 Susan. Well, I only see a cat standing on his hind legs, and n 
 goose picking out her own feathers. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Cat and goose I That, Sl^san, is a tiger — a ramp- 
 ing tiger ; and that is a pelican wet-nursing her little ones. 
 
 Susan. Oh ! and the ramping tiger is master, and the pelican 
 is you, and the little ones is Miss Kitty and 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Ignorant thing ! 
 
 Susan. What, don't people that have got arms take their 
 children in 'em 1 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Susan Hogg, I now see my fault. When we 
 retired from business 
 
 Susan. {Aside : Eetired ! Only just put up the shutters.) 
 
 Mjs. Penny. I ought to have discharged you with the other 
 vassals. 
 
 Susan. (Aside : Vessels ! Well, I'm sure ; couldn't talk less 
 of us if we was crockery.) Aland: Poor souls! There was 
 Sally that chared for us — and Gibbs, dear Gibbs !
 
 ^8 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Susan ! 
 
 Susan. Dear Gibbs, that, for so many years, kept the books of 
 the shop, and 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Shop ! And this is my reward ! "We wash our 
 hands of the dirt of trade — bring you here to PumpkLnfield, a 
 country Paradise, and 
 
 Susan. Paradise ! Compared to London, the country seems to 
 me the world without its clothes on, 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Ha ! such an innocent spot is lost upon you. 
 
 Susan. Innoceuce ! Well, I hope I know a little what London 
 backbiting is ; but, bless you, it's nothing to it here. Come here 
 with a character as sound as a new saucepan, and in no time it's 
 as full of holes as a cullender. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Leave the room. Stay. Is the footman ready 
 in his livery 1 
 
 Susati. {Aside : I suppose life must be put up with — we've got 
 a footman.) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Is the footman ready 1 
 
 Susan. Yes, ma'am ; but not a bit like Gibbs. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Hark ! A carriage ! 
 
 Susan. Master, ma'am — master ! — and — la ! — how she is grown, 
 — dear, dear Miss Kitty ! [^Runs off. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. And if Pennyweight isn't astonished, he can't be 
 mortal. 
 
 Enter Pennyweight, Kitty Pennyweight, and Susan. 
 
 Kitty. {Embracing her mother) Dear — dear — dear mamma ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. My dai'luig Kitty! — and, I declare, almost a 
 woman ! 
 
 Susati. {Aside : I should say nothing wanting but a wedding- 
 ring.) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. There, — go with Susan — I'll follow directly. 
 
 Susan. This way, miss. Such a lovely room you've got — 
 {Aside : If it only looked on Whitechapel.) 
 
 [Exeunt EIittt and Susan. 
 
 Penny. Well, Betsy, I'm glad enough to get home, — ecod, if it 
 is home ! I hardly knew the outside ; but what pranks you've 
 played here ! Scarlet and gold, and — why, it's blaze enough to 
 roast a man. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Eemembei- our bargain. You went to fetch Kitty 
 from school, and go on to Paris, while I was to decorate our new 
 mansion. 
 
 Penny. Decorate ! Betsy, when we married, you know how 
 plainly we started, how plainly we've gone on. My motto has
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 249 
 
 always been — conscious virtue and cold mutton. And I do 
 insist 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Mr. Pennyweight, there must — there shall — be 
 an end of this ! 
 
 Penny. Betsy ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. From the first hour I married you, I have been 
 crushed ! And I'll be crushed no longer. We've retired from 
 business — have settled here with the finest society, if we can only 
 
 screw into it, and 
 
 . Penny. Screw ! All folks retired from business, ar'n't they ?— 
 neither better nor worse, and — {Enter Chuff with letter^ — why, 
 what's this ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. (Aside to Penny : This is Chufi", our footman. 
 Doesn't he look beautiful ? As if he'd broke out of a church- 
 window !) 
 
 Penny. Fpotman ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. (Aside to him: We must do it, dearest. In 
 Pumpkinfield you're out of life, if you're out of livery.) 
 
 Penny. Livery ! Why he looks like a caterpillar on a holiday. 
 
 Chuff. A letter, sir. (Aside : He doesn't know me, but mauy's 
 the red herring I've bought out of his shop.) [Exit. 
 
 Penny. (Looking at letter.) What's here ? " Zachariah Fitz- 
 penny — yes, Fitzpennyweight, Esquire — Torchlight Lodge" — • 
 this is never for me. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Yes, it is. 
 
 Penny. My name is plain Pennyweight ; this house, when I 
 took it, Candlemas Cottage, and 
 
 Mrs. Penny. My love, in Pumpkinfield there's only two sorts 
 of people, the extreme top and the very bottom. Plain Penny- 
 weight and Candlemas would never do. Never should we rise 
 to the head, but go down to the dregs. We must put a little 
 bit of paint on life. Here's a new card I've had done for you, 
 and ■ 
 
 Penny. New card ! Mrs. Pennyweight, have you the face to 
 ask me to change my name ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Why not 1 When we married, didn't I do as 
 much for you ? 
 
 Penny. When we married, we'd another sort of card. I always 
 keep one about me ; just to remind me, when I'm getting grand, 
 ofwhatlwas. (Talcs out pocket-hook., from it a card^ Here it 
 is — dear old fellow. (Reads) " Zachary Pennyweight, Camomile 
 Street, Green-grocer," — 
 
 Mrs. Penny. If you love me ! 
 
 Penny. " Carpets beat " 
 
 Mrs. Penny. I shall drop !
 
 250 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Penni/. "And dinners punctually attended" 
 Mrs- Penny, Oh ! 
 
 Enter Chuff. 
 
 Chuff. {Giving card.) Mr. Puffins, Moscow House. 
 
 3frs. Penny. Mr. Puffins ! Delicious ! The great Eussia 
 merchant as was. (Aside to Pennyweight : If Ae takes us by the 
 hand in Purapkinfield, to tlie top we go. Talk to him while I 
 change my cap ; for if he was only to see me the figure I am, 
 what would be the consequence 1) 
 
 Penny. Your cap ! Why, when you were twenty, you never 
 made such a fuss. And now you're forty 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Very true, my dear. But then twenty can take 
 care of itself ; now forty wants a little looking after. [Exit. 
 
 Penny. Humph ! Mr. Puffins. Show him in. 
 
 Chuff. Yes, Mr. Fitzpenny weight. {Aside : When he sold me 
 small beer, he didn't — but it's no matter.) {Exit. 
 
 Penny. Ecod ! I'll change cards with him, and give him the 
 green-grocer ! 
 
 Enter Puffins, shown in by Chuff, who goes off. 
 
 Puffins. Mr. Filzpennyweight, as an old resident of Purapkin- 
 field, I welcome you to our happy village. We are here, I may 
 say, one family. 
 
 Penny. One rich family, with no poor relations 1 
 
 Puffins. Mr. Fitzpenuyweight, it is' the high privilege of 
 Purapkinfield not to hear of poverty. Ketired from commerce, 
 to enjoy — if I may use the word — the golden fringe of existence, 
 every man reposes here upon his own bed of hard-earned roses. 
 
 Penny. Very pretty bedding it is, too — 'specially when supplied 
 by tlie bank. 
 
 Puffins. Mr. Fitzpenuyweight, you are not what is called a 
 wag ? 
 
 Penny. Bless you ! not I. 
 
 Puffins. Because — you'll pardon me — we encourage nothing of 
 that sort in Pumpkinfield. As much wit as you like, but waggery 
 is low. 
 
 Penny. £h 1 What's the difference 1 
 
 Puffins. The diifereuce ? Why wit, I have heard called a 
 merchant prince trading with the whole world, whilst waggery 
 is a — a — in feet a green-grocer, making up small penn'orths for 
 the local vulgar. 
 
 Re-erder Mrs. Pennyweight. 
 Penny. Talking of green-grocers— oh ! my wife. Betsy ; Mr. 
 Puffins, Moscow House,
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 251 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Curtseying low.) That lovely house ! The palace 
 of Piimpkinfield. 
 
 Puffins. A model of the Kremlin, before blown up by Buona- 
 parte. A brick-aud-mortar compliment to Russia. 
 
 Penny. Russia ! Ha ! you've done a good stroke of business 
 with that place ? 
 
 Puffins. Gigantic operations — colossal dealings, Mr. Fitzpenny- 
 weight. By the way, your commercial transactions 
 
 Penny. That's it. You dropt something about 
 
 ■ Mrs. Penny. {Interposing.) The court of Russia. The house 
 looks a bit of it. 
 
 Penny. I was going to say 
 
 Mrs. Penny. The house has such an emperor look, and — 
 {Aside to Pennyweight : I"I1 not be crushed !) 
 
 [Enter Chuff : presents card to Mrs. Pennyweight, and exit 
 
 {Reads.) " Mr. Jubilee, Lombardy Box, Pumpkiufield." 
 
 Puffins. Jubilee ! That person ! Upon my word ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Mustn't we know him ? 
 
 Puffins. Judge. Mr. Jubilee, of Lombardy Box, when in active 
 life, was a pawnbroker. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. And to call on us ! 
 
 Penny. A pawnbroker ! {Aside to Mks. Pennyweight : Who 
 shall say, Betsy, if iu early times we didn't know him 1) Then 
 the happy family of Pumpkiufield doesn't mix with a pawn- 
 broker ? 
 
 Puffins. Mr. Fitzpennyweight, every family — certainly every 
 numerous family — has its outcasts. Besides, life has its different 
 .shades ; like a tailor's pattern-book, societj' is of all colours. 
 
 Penny. AVhy, yes. And yet, make up the colours as you will, 
 they all cover the same kind of Adam. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Penny — Fitzpennyweight ! 
 
 Puffins. To be plain. In Pumpkintield, the gentry of previous 
 wholesale life do not associate with individuals of former i-etail 
 existence. The counting-house knows not the shop. The whole- 
 sale merchant never crosses the till. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Certainly not. 
 
 Puffins. The till ! That damaging slit — that fatal flaw — makes 
 an impassable gulf between us. Thus, in Pumpkiufield, there is 
 what we call the billers and tiie tillers ; or, in a fuller word, the 
 billocracy and the tiUocracy. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Nothing but right. As I say to Mr. Fitzpenny- 
 weight, society's like ai'ailway; if people don't keep th sir proper 
 lines, what a smash mu.st follow ! 
 
 Puffins. {Aside: A very acute woman.)
 
 252 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Bringing card-tray from table.) Pi'ay, Mr. Puffins, 
 look at these cards, left us. We're in your hands. Do pick us 
 the bills from the tills. 
 
 Puffins. {Taking tray') Humph! They need sorting. [Reads 
 cards.) " Mr. Creepmouse, Trumpet Hall " — a billocrat. Cheiish 
 him. (Mrs. Pennyweight takes card.) " Mr. Snatt, Daisy Cot- 
 tage" — a tillocrat — but decent: retailed butter, cheese, and bacon. 
 
 Penny. I'll take care of him. {Takes card.) 
 
 Puffins. "Mr. Bumpsey, the Tusculum." Grows the finest 
 pine apples, and has— almost the best port in England. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Taking card.) "Well, I do love that nobleman of 
 the garden, a pine-apple. 
 
 Puffins. " Captain Gunn, the Casemate." " Lieut. Tackle, E.N., 
 the Hammock." 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Real officers ! 
 
 Ptifflns. There they are — sorted. {Holds cardts in both hands) 
 The bills. (Mrs. Pennyweight takes them) The tills. (Penny- 
 weight takes them) 
 
 Penny. And wholesales don't mix with retails 1 I think I see. 
 Eaw wool doesn't speak to halfpenny ball of worsted — tallow in 
 the cask looks down upon sixes to the pound, and pig iron turns 
 up its nose at tenpenny nails. 
 
 Puffins. Exactly. And you, Mr. Fitzpennyweight, as a mer- 
 chant oi—{Sees emblazonment on table) — pardon me, is that your 
 emblazonment ? 
 
 Penny. My what % 
 
 Puffins. Your coat of arms % 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Yes, Mr. Puffins, our little coat. {Aside to 
 Penny : It is ours. I've had it found, and paid for it.) 
 
 Penny. {Aside to her : A coat of arms ! You shall see how the 
 green-grocer's card shall smudge out that paint.) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Aside to him : And you, too, with a daughter to 
 marry — you call yourself a father I) 
 
 Piffins. {Looking at arms) A very noble coat ; the motto — 
 
 Mens conscia recti et 
 
 Penny. Ha ! ha ! My motto "when I began life, in plain 
 English was 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Yes, love ; but that's it put in Latin— (Jsi(?e to 
 him : cold mutton and all !) 
 
 Puffins. Supporters— pard and pelican. No doubt, fed on 
 
 ancient glory of 
 
 Penny. Fed, I should say, on greens. 
 
 Puffins. Greens ! Oh, laurels ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Yes, ha ! ha ! that's it, but my husband is such 
 a man !
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 253 
 
 Penny. And, in a word, here is my card that 
 
 \Is about to give card to Mb. Puffins, when Mrs. Penntweight 
 intercepts it, and replaces it by another which, curtseying, she 
 presents.] 
 
 Puffins. Yes — I know. {Reads card.) "Mrs. Fitzpenny- 
 weight, Torchlight Lodge ; " and, sir, you have mine. Moscow 
 House will be happy to receive you. IVIrs. Puffins, and my son, 
 wiU 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Have you a son ? We have a daughter ! 
 
 Puffins. My son Paul ; chi'istened after — in fact, another com- 
 plimeut to Kussia. Paul's an engineer : he was at Calais 
 
 Penny. {Aside : Not much in that. Our Kitty was at Calais, 
 too.) 
 
 Puffins. On the railway. Fathers are partial ; nevertheless, 
 should we ever want to throw a fljTug bridge across the Channel, 
 I think I know "the budding genius that can do it. Dear 
 madam, farewell. My good sir, you will remember 1 The 
 wholesale and retail distinction ? 
 
 Penny. Ail right — hundredweights don't keep company with 
 ounces. 
 
 Puffins. The slit in the counter — ^the impassable guK — avoid 
 that. Beware of the tillocracy. The 
 
 Enter Jubilee, shown in by Chuff. 
 
 Chuff. Mr. Jubilee. [Exit. 
 
 Puffins. The tiUocracy. 
 
 [Exit, haughtily, avoiding Jubilee, and leading off Mrs. Penny- 
 weight.] 
 
 Juhilee. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Mark that man, sir ? Poor fellow ! 
 Thinks he's made of the best china. Try to bow, and he'd crack 
 to pieces. 
 
 Penny. He's one of the folks with too much gold in their back- 
 bone. What I call the bank lumbago. 
 
 Jubilee. Give me your hand, sir — you're of our sort. Another 
 jewel in the crown of Pumpkinfield. Heavenly place, sir ! 
 Finest pasture for sheep, and poors-rates next to nothing. In 
 fact, garden of Eden I Breed our own geese, and smoke our own 
 bacon. Then such a place for invalids ! In all the world, the 
 softest air and sweetest ass's milk ! 
 
 Penny. Ass's milk ! Is that a commodity here ? 
 
 Juhilee. Bless you ! we've earned quite a name for it. 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Pennyweight. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Aside: I've trembled to leave him with this 
 tillocrat !)
 
 254 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Jubilee. Mrs. Fitzpennyweight, happy to welcome you ! 
 Should, certainly, have brought my wife, but have lost her. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Aside : Brute ! Couldn't be cooler, if he'd lost 
 a shirt-button !) You must be very strong, sir. You seem to 
 bear your loss like a dromedary. 
 
 Jubilee. My constitution's very good to me, ma'am. Emma is 
 gone— but— by the way, do you like early green peas ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Idolise 'em. 
 
 Jubilee. Allow me to send you a little dish. They've just 
 come down. This is the first of May. On the first, whatever 
 was the price, Emma and I had always green peas. And now 
 they somehow bring us together again. How I shall think of 
 her at dinner ! 
 
 Penny. Very handsome to her memory, sir. 
 
 Jubilee. Oh, sir, it's just the same with strawberries. When 
 strawberries were half-a-crown an ounce, we always had our 
 little conjugal half-pound. Same, too, with asparagus— same 
 with early white-bait— same with Epsom races— Emma and I 
 were never happy without one another. 
 
 Penny. And now you faithfully eat your white-bait, and pick 
 your strawberry in her absence % 
 
 Enter C^wass— gives card to Mrs. Pennyweight. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. " Miss Narcissa Chipp." 
 
 Jubilee. Who % {Aside : Then the milliner has flounced down, 
 as she threatened.) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Do you know the lady ? 
 
 Jubilee. Did. Friend of my Emma's— fine, solemn woman. 
 (Aside to Penntweight : You've a pretty garden, there ?) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. A friend of your wife's? {Aside: I must be 
 cautious, or, headlong we rush into the till.) 
 
 Jubilee. You may judge how Mrs. Jubilee loved her when— 
 almost her last wish— she recommended Miss Chipp to fill her 
 place. Dear Emma ! she knew not what she asked — I couldn't 
 do it. 
 
 Penny. No — wives ar'n't white-bait. 
 
 Jubilee. Sir, I see we feel alike, and shall be fast friends. 
 (Aside : Miss Chipp here, I must flit awhile.) And, though for 
 a time, I quit Pumi3kiufield 
 
 Penny. Quit Pumpkiufield ! Don't say that. 
 
 Jubilee. Must. In May, Emma and I always went to Paris, 
 Dear thing'! she so loved the little dinners— the lace, and all the 
 tine arts. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {To Chuff.) Show in Miss Chipp. {Exit Chuff.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 255 
 
 Jubilee. We shall disturb the ladies, and — you've a lovely 
 garden. 
 
 Penny. Not wait and see Miss Chipp ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. When she was left you by your wife ? 
 
 Penny. Left you, so to speak, by her will ? 
 
 Jubilee. True, true ; but the heart's a stubborn thing. {Aside 
 to Pexnyweight, /orc2H_^ Mm off). And I can't administer. 
 
 [Exemit Jubilee and Pennyweight into the garden. 
 
 Enter Miss Chipp. 
 
 ' Miss Chipp. Happy, me'm, to meet you. {Aside : He's in the 
 garden.) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. You're very good, ma'am. {Aside : She talks 
 retail ; her mouth looks like a till. But no — trust me ! — she 
 doesn't sit down inmy house.) 
 
 Miss Chipp. Nice place, Pumpkinfield ; the name odd. Might 
 be prettier with another name. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Yes, Miss Chipp ; perhaps some places, like some 
 people, would be very glad to change their names. 
 
 Miss Chipp. He ! he ! Change ? No doubt ; and some people 
 do change — do — do, Mrs. Fitzpenuyweight. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Aside : Oh ! if she's coming to insinuation.s, I 
 should think I could match her there.) The fact is, ma'am- • 
 
 3Iiss Chipp. I ought to apologise. But I thought, as there 
 was a slight tie between us — I may say, a little cobweb tie, 
 that • 
 
 3Irs. Penny. For myself, ma'am, don't encourage cobwebs. 
 
 Miss Chipp. You see, my dear friend, Lady Buckle 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Who ? 
 
 Miss Chipp. Lady Buckle, the cousin of the charming Countess 
 de Crochet, whose niece, the Marchioness of Odonto — the sister- 
 in-law of that sparkling creature, the Duchess of Macassar 
 
 Mrs. Penny. { Who has drawn down a chair.) And I vow, you're 
 standing ! Pray take a chair. Miss Chipp. 
 
 Miss Chipp. You're very good. {They sit.) I was about to 
 say — lud ! where did I begin ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. At the tie between us, at that dear little cobweb. 
 
 Miss Chipp. True. Well, Lady Buckle has a little girl at 
 Calais, at the same school with your Kitty ; and hearing that 
 your daughter was come home, I wished to enquire about tlie 
 child, because I promised to write to poor Lady Buckle, who is 
 anxious that the countess should communicate with the niai*- 
 chioness, in order that her grace the duchess may have the first 
 intelligence. And I thought that — pray pai'don me, the tie — ■ 
 the— he ! he ! — the — excuse me — the cobweb
 
 256 ■ RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. A cobweb, ma'am, I'm proud to be in. 
 
 3Iiss Chipp. Already my friends have heard of your sweet 
 child, Miss Pennyweight — pardon me — Miss Fitzpennyweight : 
 — by the way, you've lately had an increase in your family 
 name 1 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Ye — es. 
 
 3Iiss Chipp. Have you yet been in the Gazette ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Ma'am ! 
 
 Miss Chipp. Always done. To pass a new name without the 
 crown stamp, isn't a bit more reputable than to pass counterfeit 
 money. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Aside : La ! I shall never hear the name with- 
 out thinking myself a pocket-piece. I'll stop this.) Pray, 
 ma'am, do you know a person called Jubilee — a pawnbroker ? 
 
 Miss Chipp. I knew his wife. And though she did marry a 
 tradesman, I must say it, I stood by her to the last. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Eeally ? 
 
 Miss Chipp. For Emma was such a fairy : but, dear Mrs. Fitz- 
 pennyweight, can you imagine a fairy at a pawnbroker's 1 
 
 Mrs. Penny. I shudder at the recoUec — at the idea of it. 
 
 Miss Chipp. (Aside: Indeed!) Aloud: But what a lovely 
 taste is here ! {Seeing frame with tapestry work.) Tapestry, too, I 
 declare ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Our Kitty's : not finished when she went to 
 school. 
 
 3fiss Chipp. Beautiful flowers ! Dear girl ! One can almost 
 smell 'em. {Aside : I won't go !) Aloud: You must let me finish 
 this little bud ? 
 
 JEnter Chuff. 
 Chuff. Mrs. Puffins and Mr. Paul Puflins. {Aside: Well, 
 if she doesn't take high company as if she'd been born to it !) 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Miss Chipp. Don't mind me ; for I vow, I must put a little 
 pink mouth to this opening rose. Now, indeed I must. 
 
 [Carries frame up stage into the hay-window, looking into garden. 
 Sits a/nd works, half-hidden by the curtains. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Mrs. Puffins ! I wonder how I look ? 
 
 Enter Mrs. Puffins and Paul. 
 Mrs. Puffins. Madam, Mr. Puffins having broken the ice — 
 Paul. Mother and I, you see, have tumbled into it. 
 
 [Throivs himself upon a couch, 
 
 Mrs. Ptiffins. {Aside to Mrs. Pennyweight : Excuse him — a 
 child of nature !)
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 257 
 
 Mis. Penny. Oh, ma'am ! Nature must be very proud of 
 him ! 
 
 Mrs. Ptiffins. But he 'will study so ! My only fear as a mother 
 is, he'll be grey before he's thirty. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. All the better. To my mind, a grey young man's 
 an early beauty ; like a rose in March, or a cucumber in 
 November. 
 
 Mrs. Puffins. Oh, ma'am ! {Paul sits, now restless, now brood- 
 ing.) Look at him ! His brain's at work, though we can't see 
 it. He tells me he'll soon make the world one family. Put us 
 within a minute and a half of the Hottentots. 
 
 3frs. Penny. That'^ very close. 
 
 Mrs. Puffins. More than that — without stirring from your fire- 
 side, you shall touph a spring that shall knock at the wall of 
 China, and at any minute ask the jjrice of the best Congou. 
 Quite a child of nature ! 
 
 Kitty sings without. 
 
 J ^' Rendez-moi ma patrie 
 
 Ou laissez-nioi niourir." 
 
 Paul, (starting.) Is that an angel ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Quite the reverse — I mean, it's our Kitty. 
 
 Paul. Kitty ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Kitty. 
 
 Paul. Pshaw! (T/irows himself ujyon coiicli. — Aside: I was 
 ravished into the clouds ; but Kitty — Kitty drops me lump upon 
 the earth again ! That any woman after Virginia should be 
 called Kitty !) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. (Aside : Must be clever — he's so very rude.) 
 
 Paul. Mother! 
 
 Mrs. Puffins. My darling ! 
 
 Paul. This room's covered with poppies — never felt so sleepy 
 since I was wet-nursed. 
 
 Mrs Puffi,ns. My dearest Paul ! (Aside to Mrs. Pennyweight : 
 You don't mind his innocent spirits ? Child of nature !) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Only delighted. Perhaps the young gentleman 
 would like a little repose 1 
 
 Paid. If you've a nightcap in the house, think I should. But, 
 I say, this couch is rather a sentence of hard labour, isn't it ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Hard, sii' 1 There's the very best goose-down 
 in it. 
 
 Paul. Goose-down, is there ? Then I'm hanged if they didn't 
 stuff it witli the geese before plucking 'era. 
 
 Mrs. Puffins. (Aside to Mrs. Pennyweight: Now he means 
 that as a compliment — it's just his way. Nature again !) But 
 
 s
 
 258 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 what a lovely house you have ! And I'm told that your boudoir 
 is 
 
 Mrs. Penny. The gilders ar'n't quite out. Still there's one 
 picture — for I've my misgivings — one picture I should like you 
 to see. It's three goddesses subsci-ibing for a golden pippin. 
 The choice of — of 
 
 Paul. I know. Choice of Paris— allegory— Mount Ida— superb 
 apple-show. 
 
 Mrs. Puffins. Now, Paul ! 
 
 Paul. Good-bye. I'm for the Isle of France. Yes : {arrang- 
 ing himself on couch) that's it. Magnetic nap, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Magnetic, sir 1 
 
 Paul. Magnetic ; and my own discovery. Want to dream of 
 Calcutta, sleep with your toes pointed direct east. Like a trip 
 to Greenland, turn due north. I've slept all round the compass, 
 and it's never failed. I'm now, I tell you, for the Isle of France, 
 and — yes, that's the bearing. {Aside, throwing handkerchief over 
 his face.) Oh, Virginia ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. "Well, he is wonderful ! This way — {Aside : She 
 sha'n't see Miss Chipp.) This way. What a blessing he must be 
 to you ! 
 
 Mrs. Ptffins. Well, he is our little idol. But what a lovely 
 house — not that I can do it justice, for I expect Mr. Puffins to 
 call for me, — and — well, it is beautiful ! Faixy property, quite. 
 Faii'y property, I declare ! 
 
 {Exeunt Mrs. Pennyweight and Mrs. Puffins. 
 
 Paul. {Rising, and hurriedly taking the stage). Snatched away — 
 torn from my trembling grasp ! When I had resolved to marry 
 her — had even made up my mind to ask who she was, and — 
 gone ! And they mocked my agony — knew nothing about her ! 
 A school-mistress in the human form stood upon the door-step and 
 laughed at me ! Said she knew of no Virginias there ! And I 
 am expected to live — to go on eating and drinking with this 
 skeleton of a heart ! 'Tis only when I sleep I know what life is. 
 Tlien I'm in the Isle of France — the native Isle of fair Virginia. 
 Then my dreams are full of yams and sugar canes, cocoa-nuts, 
 and all that makes life happj\ And here's Virginia's gift ! 
 {Kis.fes ring on finger) Her own hair— ^worked into a capital V — 
 worked for ever and for ever with my heart-strings ! {Again 
 throws himself on the couch.) How the flies do bite ! Oh 
 Virginia ! {Throios handkerchief over his face.) 
 
 Miss. Chipp. {Coming cautiously from the window) Mrs. Fitz- 
 pennyweight has not quitted the manners of the green-grocer 
 with the shop. It's no matter ; as I'm forgotten, I'll make the 
 most of the neglect. Hush !
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 2,')9 
 
 Paul. {Aside, and peeping from under the handkerchief : Why 
 what old maid of pi^ey is this ?) 
 
 3fiss Chipp. Hush ! Is he asleep ? Yes. Thus slept the 
 shepherd boy, and thus Diana gazed ! 
 
 Paul. {Looking from under his handkerchief) Then Diana had 
 the best of it ! 
 
 3Iiss Chipp. Oh ! [^Runs precipitately into the garden. 
 
 Paul. Diana gazed ! All very well witli Diaua at the full, 
 but hang Diana in the last quarter. Was just off, when that 
 spinster waked me with her purring. {Covers his face again.) Oh, 
 Vii'ginia ! {Sleeps.) 
 
 Enter Kitty Pennyweight and Susan. 
 
 Susan. I don't want to know, Miss — I'd scorn to meddle — but 
 I've had my feelings myself — for you must remember Gibbs — 
 and I know you're in love. 
 
 Kitty. La,^Susan! how should you know ? 
 
 Susan. How know ? Isn't crying a comfort ? Isn't the world, 
 once so gay, faded all about you like a cotton jirint that won't 
 wash 1 
 
 Kitty. It is, it is ! 
 
 Susan. Then you're in love — in love without hope. I know it ; 
 for how ever can I forget Gibbs ? 
 
 Kitty. What would you say, Susan, if — if I had left my heart 
 in France ! 
 
 Susan. I should say, if it couldn't be brought back, you had 
 better go back after it. 
 
 Kitty. Easy words, go back ; but where and how discover 
 Paul ? 
 
 Susan. Paul ! 
 
 Kitty. And he, too, — thinks he still of poor Virginia 1 
 
 Susan. Virginia ! Oh, I thought you was in love upon your 
 own account. 
 
 Kitty I am — at least to Paul — I am Virginia ! 
 
 Susan. You Virginia ! How did it ha^ripen 1 
 
 Kitty, Listen. At Calais the school was wont to walk upon 
 the ramparts. There — at a certain spot — with one elbow pen- 
 sively leaning upon a cannon gun, his arched forehead resting in 
 his white, expi-essive hand, there — three times — with his chesnut 
 curls flowing to the breezes — there stood Paul ! 
 
 Susan. Lovely ! And quite a picture ! 
 
 Kitty. Each time, his speaking eyes met mine ; and whether 
 they would or no, drew them to the mouth of that cannon. 
 
 Szisan. Bless me ! 
 
 Kitty. There, to be short — though I could talk all day — 
 
 s 2
 
 260 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Susan. Just like me, with Gibbs. 
 
 Kitty. There, one morning, in that gun I found — 
 
 Susan. Yes ? 
 
 Kitty. A letter. 
 
 Susan. Which you answered ? 
 
 Kitty. Inevitably — yes. Still he wrote and wrote, and ever I 
 replied. 
 
 Susan. Making that cannon's mouth the penny-post ? Mercy 
 me ! Well, where, I wonder, will love begin next ? 
 
 Kitty. And then my father came — came like an avalanche ! In 
 half-au-hour with my boxes corded, and my heart-strings breaking, 
 I was whii-led to Paris ; we came home by Brussels, and Paul is 
 lost to me for ever ! 
 
 Susan. Why didn't you write to him at Calais ? 
 
 Kitty. And where direct ? The cannon's mouth 1 
 
 Susan. But what's his name 1 
 
 Kitty. Paul. 'Tis all he gave — I never asked for more. 
 
 Susan. Are you even sure it is Paul ? 
 
 Kitty. I cannot say — he wrote it Paul ; and — 'twas so pretty — 
 could I do less than write myself Virginia ? 
 
 Susan. As you ask — I do think Kitty would have been move 
 straight for'ard. Yet, to be sure, when courting begins in a gun, 
 a woman can't be too particular — la ! (Seeing Paul on couch, 
 Kitty is ahoiit to run off: Susan stops her.) Hush ! 
 
 Kitty. {In a whisper.) Is he asleep ? 
 
 Susan. (Listening.) Fast asleep ; if he isn't, I'll never trust a 
 man again. Do you know who he is ? I saw him from the 
 window, with his mamma. Such a beauty ! 
 
 Kitty. For goodness' sake ! come away. (Aside : And oh, 
 how my heart beats ! If he should hear you !) 
 
 Siisan. I know him again by his dress. He's the son of a rich 
 man, that was once a merchant to the Emperor of all the Bull- 
 rushes. And — I'm blessed out and out — if here he doesn't come ! 
 
 [Emis of. Kitty retires. 
 
 Enter Puffins and Creepmouse, shown in hy Chuff. 
 
 Creepm. Oh, fellow ! tell my groom to walk my horse. 
 
 Ch^lff. Yes, Mr. Creepmouse. (Aside : Now, who'd think he 
 was only an army-tailor, shufSed off the board ? Only a goose 
 retired from sitting ?) {^Exit. 
 
 Puffins. My dear Creepmouse, subdue your feelings. 
 
 Creepm. Any other feelings, I'd put down — down with a hand 
 of iron. But see what's open to Tom — all India ! Had my father 
 only put me in scarlet ! Ha ! ha ! On a base of adamant — my
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 261 
 
 swoi^d — carved the name of Creepmouse ! Yes, tlie army — the 
 army was made for me. 
 
 Puffi,7is. "Well, well, you've done bettei- — you've made for the 
 array instead. 
 
 Creepm. There the wound — ought to have been otherwise ! 
 But my nephew, Tom Woodbum, slips into love — that's not all ; 
 vulgar love ; I may say, as a retii'ed merchant — low love. In a 
 word, love in the mud. 
 Puffins. That's a shock. 
 Creepm. Shock ! Bomb-shell ! 
 " Pu^ns. And the girl ] 
 
 Creepm. Though you're my friend, T blush to speak it ; but 
 the wench is — a — upon my life, she's a governess ! 
 Puffins. It is impossible ! 
 
 Creepm. Upon my anxious honour — a governess ! 
 Puffins. My deai* Creepmouse — this must not, shall not be. 
 Creepm. Thank you — bless you ! {Shaking hands.) Tom goes 
 on a visit to the Babbingtons — 
 Puffins. Babbingtons ? 
 
 Creepm. The Babbingtons — pattern family ; in fact, Mrs. Bab- 
 bington grand-niece of — of a Scotch peer, and — of course — I don't 
 blame the young woman, for Tom's a handsome fellow ; more 
 than that, supposed heir to the great Creepmouse — the iron 
 Creepmouse, as people will call me ; and the girl of course baits 
 for him — angles for him, and — she has to make her way in the 
 world — can't say I blame the young woman. 
 
 Puffins. That's generous, and like you. But it must not be. 
 Creepm. Be ! Bather melt my fortune in gold cannon balls. 
 Be 1 I wrote a letter to the Babbingtons ; and I rather think I 
 wrote a letter to the young woman herself. 
 Puffins. What's her name ? 
 
 Creepm. I never asked — enclosed it to Mrs, Babbington, directed 
 short, "To the Governess," and merely signed, "A Friend." 
 {Seeing Kitty : Who is this ?) 
 
 Puffins. ( To Kitty.) Miss Fitzpennyweight, I believe ? 
 Kittg. Sir — yes, I — that is — {Aside : What does he mean by 
 Fitzpennyweight ?) 
 
 Puffins. {They talk aside : A pretty toy of a girl.) 
 Creepm. What sort of people are these — these Fitztwo- 
 pennies? 
 
 Puffins. Really, I think they'll do. 
 
 Creepm. Because we must be cautious — we have been too easy ; 
 have a little strained our circle ; we must make the line broader; 
 must deepen the trenches. Now, these Fitzfourpences — the 
 woman's vulgar ; very retail, in mannei's, I hear ; eh ?
 
 262 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Kitty. (Aside : I can feel they're talking of us.) I'll go and find 
 mamma, sir. [Exit, 
 
 Creepm. Eh ? Couldn't have heard me 1 humph ? 
 
 PuMns. No : and then — a mere child. I told you Mrs. Puffins 
 is here with Paul. Ha ! Creepmouse — my Paul ! A young 
 eagle ! nothing short of a young eagle ! 
 
 Creepm. Hm ! hasn't the young eagle an eye for some 
 young lamb ? 
 
 Puffins. Oh, a French folly. He scratches Virginia on the 
 windows ; and kisses a ring upon his fingei', but — ha ! ha ! — that's 
 so like what I was. No, Creepmouse ; Paul's wife shall be a 
 lady — a most determined lady. 
 
 Creepm. My Tom marries rank and fortune — or Tool's a 
 beggar. 
 
 Puffins. Paul's wife's a lady — or Paul's an outcast. 
 
 Creepm. Your hand ! Our hearts throb under the same banner 
 — our holy cause, pro aris et focis; namely, rank and fortune. 
 
 Puffins. As I live, here comes that Jubilee. 
 
 Creepm. The pawnbroker ! With the audacity of three cannon- 
 balls. There's no finishing him. I've cut him down twenty 
 times, but he will up and charge again. 
 
 Enter Jubilee, from Garden. 
 
 Juhilee. I've hooked Miss Chipp on to Fitzpennyweight, and 
 now — ha ! Mr. Creepmouse ! What — come to welcome our 
 neighbour ? You'll like Fitz. Nice fellow ; real man. (Puffins 
 a?i(/ Creepmouse aw ic? Jubilee — Puffins hands his smtf-box to 
 Creepmouse.) In fact, a man that — {Looks over Creepmouse : 
 eyes box.) — ^that's very handsome ; of course, Mr. PuflSns, not 
 your own portrait ? 
 
 Puffins. (Stiffiy.) The portrait, sir, of tlie Emperor of all the 
 JRussias, with an inscription to — but it's no matter. 
 
 Jubilee. Real diamonds, I can see. 
 
 Creepm. {Sarcastically.) As a pawnbroker, you know the value 
 of these things ? 
 
 Juhilee. To be sure. {Taking box : looks at it with a business-eye 
 — to Puffins.) How much 1 
 
 Puffins. Sir ! 
 
 Juhilee. Beg pardon, but the shop will rise. Though we are 
 retired from business, business will come back to us. I dare say 
 now, on winter nights, when you're looking at the candles, your 
 thoughts will smell the dear old Russia tallow, eh ? And you, 
 Mr. Creepmouse ; when in your walks you see the bright poppies 
 among the corn, doesn't your heart melt again towards the 
 soldiers' coats — the scarlet cloth you've made your money on ?
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 263 
 
 To be sure ; uature, even in an army-tailor, will work. I know 
 by myself. — For last week, there was a party at the Sycamores. 
 Very line folks. Breaking up — night air cold : a lady — sweet 
 ■woman— gave me her shawl to wrajj about her : such a lovely 
 cachemei-e ! Took my thoughts back in a minute behind the 
 counter. Well, still looking at the shawl, the ladj' still waiting, 
 and never dreaming where I was, would you think it, I asked — 
 " What on this ? " 
 
 Creepm. Monstrous ! 
 
 Jubilee. How the people seemed to enjoy it ! But I do hear — 
 ha ! ha ! — I'm never to be asked again. {Aside: Here comes 
 Miss Chii^p.) 
 
 PvfJins. {Aside to Creepmouse : This is the new-comer at the 
 "Willows I sjioke of.) Do you know that lady ? 
 
 Jubilee. Oh, yes. ' {Aside : I'll give the retired milliner a little 
 lift.) Highly connected. Not much moDey ; but blood A^ery 
 costly. A cbronet. 
 
 Creepm. Are you sure 1 
 
 Jubilee. Sure % Ouce had the family jewels. 
 
 Creepm. You had 1 
 
 Jubilee. Yes ; but you needn't be afi-aid ; you may cultivate 
 her now, because 
 
 Creepm. and Puffins. What ? 
 
 Jubilee. The family took 'em out again. [E.vit. 
 
 Enter ]\Iiss Chipp %uith VKi'ti^YVfYAam! from garden ; and enter 
 from side-room Miss Penntsveight and Mrs. Puffins, 
 Kitty folio w inq. 
 
 Puffins. {Introducing him.) Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpennyweight, 
 Mr. Creepmouse. 
 
 Creepm. {Approaching Kitty.) And this little lily-bud is 
 
 Penny. Our Kitty — come home for good. Been too long away 
 — three years in France, and 
 
 Puffins. (2^0 Mrs. Puffins.) Indeed? In France ? By the way, 
 Maria, where is our Paul 1 
 
 Kitty. {Aside : Paul ! That name ! Paul !) 
 
 Miss Chipp. Is not that your son 1 {Pointing to Paul on sofa.) 
 
 Puffins. Fast asleep. But he needs sleep, for he will overwork 
 his brain. Paul — Paul. Ha ! ha ! You see that little ring 
 upon his finger 1 
 
 Kitty. {Aside : Gracious Heavens ! My heai-t ! Oh — it is my 
 ring !) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Aside to her : Why, Kitty, what's the matter 1) 
 
 Puffins. I warrant me, I've only to give a tug at that ring 
 and •
 
 264 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Kitty. {Aside: That form ! It can't be — andyet, ifit isn't) 
 
 Mrs. Penny. {Aside to her : Why, Kitty, T say) 
 
 Puffins. {Shaking him hy the hand.) Paul — Paul- 
 
 Paul. {Gradually waking.) Nay, never heed the torrent, sweet 
 Virginia — these lusty arms shall — {Throws the handkerchief from 
 his face.) 
 
 Kitty. Paul ! Paul ! 
 
 Paul. Virginia! 
 
 Kitty. Paul ! 
 
 Paul. It is ! {Rushing to her.) Thus let me fold thee to my 
 heart — 
 
 Penny. {Interposing) Certainly not, young man. "What do 
 you mean 1 
 
 Paid. Mean ! Virginia ! 
 
 Penny. Virginia ! fiddle-de-dee ! You've mistaken the person 
 — it's my Kitty. Take her in, wife ; take her in. 
 
 Puffins. {Aside : "Well, this is the most extraordinary !) — Yes, 
 take her in, by all means ; and Paul — we'll take you home. 
 
 Paul. Never ! Here I'm rooted ! I'll never quit this roof- 
 never ! 
 
 Penny. No ! — but I beg you will, and directly. Take him 
 away — and lock him up ! Mind he doesn't cross this threshold. 
 
 Mrs. Puffins. Well, I'm sure ! As if the disgrace wouldn't be 
 on our side ! Come Paul, love. 
 
 Paul. Never ! Virginie, oh tu quifais le honheur de ma vie ' 
 
 Kitty, Paid, cher Paul, nous vivrons ■ 
 
 Penny. Stop their mouths — they're talking French, and who 
 knows what they're saying ? 
 
 Puffins. Creepmouse, your assistance with this frantic boy ! 
 (Creepmouse lays hold of Paul.) 
 
 Paul. TJnhand me, ruffian ! 
 
 Creepm. {Taking Paul's arm) Come, come ; stand at ease ! 
 We've our duty to do, and flourishing speeches out of novels go 
 for nothing. 
 
 Puffins. {To Penny.) You'll be good enough to answer for 
 your girl ; I'll lock up the young gentleman. 
 
 Penny. Mind you do — and I'll double bolt and bar the young 
 lady. 
 
 Paul. Virginia ! 
 
 Kitty. Paul ! My Paul ! 
 
 [Paul is honi^ off hy Puffins and Creepmouse, and I\jtty earned 
 into the opposite room by Mr. and Mrs. Pennyweight, Susan, who 
 has come on, assisting. Miss Chipp looks on, and seals herself at the 
 tapestry-frame as the scene closes.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 265 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 Scene I. — On opposite sides, the "Hammock" the cottage 0/ Tackle ; 
 and the " Casemate,^'' cottage o/Gunn. Country in the background. 
 
 Enter Tackle. He carries a pocket-telescope and basket. Sings. 
 
 " And the devil run away with the little tailor, 
 With the broadcloth under his arm." 
 
 Fm o' the belief the time's coming when mushrooms will be 
 gone dead out — gone with the griffins and the unicorns. From 
 the top of the hill I've swept all round (looks with glass), and, 
 confound 'em, they won't come up ! {Puts glass in pocket. Sings.) 
 " And the devil run away with the little " — hallo ! What, Dan ! 
 Soldier ! Rouse up, rouse up ! {Knocks at Gunn's door.) Hallo ! 
 Dan Gunn ! Come, pipeclay and turn out ! 
 
 (Enter Gunn /rom cottage.) 
 
 Hey, Daniel, if you were your own monument in Westminster 
 Abbey, you couldn't be harder to jog. Why, soldier, I've kept 
 morning-watch. 
 
 Gunn. And, sailor, what good's come of it ? 
 
 Tackle. Good ! I say, you read politics — I don't. What have 
 they been doing in Parliament lately ? 
 
 Gunn. Why, nothing that I know. 
 
 Tackle. They've been up to some mischief — something that's 
 gone and killed all the mushrooms. 
 
 Gunn. Joe Tackle, you don't know 'em, when you see 'em. 
 Isn't your garden, now, the joke of the place 1 Why, it's my 
 belief you don't know what horseradish is, unless it comes upon 
 you with roast beef. 
 
 Tackle. Envy — your envy, Daniel ; and a little of my ill-luck. 
 For I don't know how it is ; even the birds won't believe in my 
 scarecrows like other people's. Never mind ; I shall grow my 
 own tobacco yet. I thought that was gone, too ; when, .last 
 week, what do you think I did ? 
 
 Gunn. To the tobacco ? Why, perhaps you watered it with 
 rum ? 
 
 Tackle. No, I hoisted over it the union-jack, when — never 
 believe me — if the whole bed of 'bacco didn't shoot directly.
 
 266 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Ounn. Well done. You shall be crowned with the leaves, 
 Joe ; and I'll write your garden history for pipelights. 
 
 Tackle. Talking of writing ; I overhauled the post on my road, 
 and here's a letter. 
 
 Gunn. {Taking letter.) Why, it's fi'ora Amy ! 
 
 Tackle. Amy ! 
 
 Ounn. {Aside: And so soon upon the last ! Nothing wrong, 
 I hope.) {^Retires, reading letter. 
 
 Tackle. Ha ! there was a time when I'd flutter at a letter ! A 
 time, when the cry of " laud ahead " only sounded to nie like " a 
 letter for Joe Tackle." A time, when lying in the top, I'd get so 
 sick and dizzied with the thoughts of letters — such a soft fool 
 about 'em — that I'm blessed if even a sea-bird flying towards 
 the ship hasn't seemed to me — I was such a fool ! — seemed 
 notliing but a letter with wings ! That's over ! {Ihims.) " And 
 the devil ran away with the little tail — or," — Hallo ! Dan ! 
 Bad news ? 
 
 Ounn. Yes — no. 
 
 Tackle. Yes — no 1 That's a double-barrelled answer that fires 
 both ways. 
 
 Ounn. Read, and answer yourself. [^Gives letter. 
 
 Tackle. {Reach.) " My dear uncleP Uncle ! This is news to 
 me. However. {Reads.) " I write loith a sad heart. Mrs. Bah — 
 Babhy " 
 
 Gunn. It's clear enough — " Mrs. Babbington." 
 
 Tackle. Babbingtou it is. " Mrs. Bcdjbington who has hitherto 
 been so kind to me " — well, bless Mrs. Babbingtou, whoever she is 
 — "7;«s suddenly become so harsh, and — believe me, dear, dear wncle, 
 so unjust," — hallo ! easy there, Mrs. Babbingtou. 
 
 Ounn. Go on, Joe. 
 
 Tackle. " So unjust, it is impossible that my sense of self-respect 
 can allow me to remain where I am" Well done, lass ! Self- 
 respect ! — why it's the ballast of the ship. Without it, let the 
 craft be what she will, she's but a fine sea-coffin at the best. 
 
 Gunn. We know all that. Go on. 
 
 Tackle. {Reading^ " When we meet I will explain the cause that 
 drives me from this hothse" 
 
 Ounn. That's fi'om the Babbingtons. 
 
 Tackle. Aye, aye — the Babbingtons. {Reads. " I^rom this 
 house to the protection of your roof. Though persecuted, I should 
 still pause, were I not comforted by the thought of the love, the 
 tenderness, you have ever lavished upon the orphan Amy." 
 
 Gunn. Well, Joe Tackle, what say you to that ? 
 
 Tackle. Say ! Why I wish young ladies wouldn't write with 
 their needles ! It's enough to prick a man's eyes out.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 267 
 
 Gwin. And Amy liersecuted ! She — a lamb, with a heart to 
 love all the world. Well, I won't be in a passion. 
 
 Tackle. Won't you ? Well, you know best. 
 
 Gunn. No, I'll be cold ; yes, cold as cold iron. 
 
 Tackle. Just so ; because we know what that means. 
 
 Gunn. I'll hear all the girl's story — hear it, like a stone. And 
 then, what do you think, Joe, I'll do then ? 
 
 Tackle. Do ! Why, clean out of water you'll blow the Babbiug- 
 tons ! And so you've got a niece, and I not to know it 1 
 
 Gvnn. Once or twice I've been about to talk of her, and then 
 old times have come up, and old troubles have opened, and — 
 then I've held my tongue. You understand l 
 
 Tackle. Oh, plainly. 
 
 Gunn. She went into the world, just before I came here — before 
 I took the cottage of Tailor Creepmouse, our landlord — and — 
 that's it. 
 
 Tackle. And the girl is quite an orphan ? 
 
 Gunn. Well, there's nothing in the story — it's as common as 
 daisies. You see, my sister Molly — she and I were left boy and 
 girl. Me, some friends edged into the army ; sent me to India, 
 where, with only my pay, I got broiled into a lieutenancy. 
 
 Tackle. And that's fierce cooking. Well, and Molly ? — 
 
 Gunn. Why, she bivouacked with some very old soldier of a 
 great aunt, and had the run of her cupboard — with plenty of 
 room for running, I've heard — for her needle, reading, and so on. 
 Made herself useful, you see. 
 
 Tackle. I know. I've seen so much of that, I hope I ma}'' never 
 be iiseful in all my life. 
 
 Gunn. Well, when I came back lieutenant, I found Molly 
 married. 
 
 Tackle. Into a better cupboard, I hope 1 Her husband, I trust, 
 was 
 
 Gunn. Her husband ! Joe, there never was a finer fellow than 
 Charley Brand. Nature made him on a field-day. 
 
 Tackle. Hurrah for Molly !. 
 
 Gunn. And yet — poor, dear Charley ! It's my belief he was 
 sent into the world to show how many hard knocks a man could 
 take, and iiow gallantly he could laugh at 'em. 
 
 Tackle. It's sharp service that. No smart-money, and no 
 half-pay. And what's worse, laugh as you will, ill-luck in the 
 end — like the purser — is sure to get the best of it. 
 
 Gunn. And so it was with Charley, He smiled almost to the 
 last, for his heart would hold a drop of hope in it. I did what I 
 could, and that's nearer than next to nothing, for a poor devil ot 
 a lieutenant ; and so Charley, and Molly, and myself, we rubbed
 
 268 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 on ; and, like you sailors, kept oui' hearts up, whistling for a fair 
 wind. ^ 
 
 Tackle. Which always comes, provided you whistle long 
 enough. 
 
 Gunn. It never came to Charley ; and — well, two words tell 
 the tale. He died. His widow — poor Molly ! — fought her 
 sorrow nobly ; with that brave meekness, that silent courage, 
 that often makes the fight of home the sternest fight, and poor, 
 weak women noblest soldiers. And still to comfort her, I looked 
 into the business, and stirred, but to no good ; and the lawyers 
 made me for my pains, a jiartner. 
 
 Taclie. They can make anything they've a mind to — I believe 
 that. 
 
 Gunn. But that's not it. I soon saw how it must go with 
 Molly. Charley was gone, and — well, in two years, wife and 
 husband were laid together. And little Amy was left to me. 
 What a merry little thing it was ! I was thick in troiible, but 
 somehow that little fairy — she wasn't this high when Molly went 
 — she seemed to pull me through. Such a merry heart ! She 
 never left me. I had her taught at home. Determined she 
 never should leave me ; and then, growing old, I thought of Amy 
 left alone in the world, alone, with no habit, no means of self- 
 help ; and so, it was a plaguy wrench to me, but it was my duty, 
 and so I — some two years ago — she — she — 
 
 Tackle. She went to the Babbingtons ? 
 
 Gunn. Bless her ! I see her as she parted from me. So like 
 poor Molly ; with her own good face, so frank — so full of life — 
 so earnest. A face streaming with tears, yet with the true, bold 
 heart beaming through them. And so she went into the world, 
 and so — Amy ! 
 
 Amy runs on, throwing herself into Gunn's arms. Gibbs, carrying 
 portmanteau, follows, and retires. 
 
 Amy. Uncle ! dear uncle ! 
 
 Gunn. {Embracing her.) And so my own bi'ave girl comes back 
 to me ! 
 
 Amy. I knew I should be welcome. 
 
 Gunn. Welcome, you slut ! That face is a ten years' life to 
 me, — but stay, my neighbour and friend. Lieutenant Tackle. 
 
 Tackle. Glad and proud to see you, dear young lady. We're 
 plaguy out of life here, and — and talking of welcome, I only wish 
 ■ndth your bright sunshiny face, you'd come and smile upon my 
 cabbages. 
 
 Gunn. You mus'n't mind him, Amy. But, my lass, you're quick 
 upon your letter.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 269 
 
 Amy. Yes ; I thought I might, at least, remahi a month, — but 
 —but 
 
 Gimn. I see, I apprehend, — go in ; and we'll talk all about it. 
 In with you. {Exit Amy into the " Casemate^) Bless her ! the 
 cottage looks another thing already. 
 
 Tackle. Dan Guun, do you know what I'm thinking of ? 
 
 Giinn. No. Cabbages ? 
 
 Tackle. I'm thinking that now she's come back, if ever you let 
 that dear creature leave you again 
 
 Gunn. She is a darling, isn't she ? 
 
 TacUe. That she is ! None of your fine ladies spun out of 
 moon-beams. "Well, if you ever let her go again 
 
 Gunn. Ha, Joe ! you don't know all my load — all — oh ! {Sees 
 GiBBS.) Take the portmanteau in, my man. {Exit Gibbs with 
 portmanteau. He retutiis.) No, Joe, if I could only — stay, here 
 — {About to give money to Gibbs.) 
 
 Gibhs. Not a penny, sir. 
 
 Gunn. But I insist. 
 
 Gibbs. No offence, I hope, sir ; I insist too. The young lady 
 was all alone, and I was coming part of the way, and — (Gumk 
 presses money) — No, sir, no, I did it for the pleasure of the 
 thing. A poor man, if only for a treat now and then, may like to 
 be of service for nothing. 
 
 Tackle. Well said. Dan, go to Amy, and mind she never again 
 goes from you. 
 
 Gunn. Well, she sha'n't, Joe, she sha'n't. 
 
 Tackle. Hurrah ! 
 
 Gunn. I've said it, and she sha'n't. {Exit into " Caseraate." 
 
 Tackle. Why, what a comfort she'll be to us ! On winter 
 nights, now, singing us a song, and — and I shouldn't wonder if 
 she plays at cribbage. Let me see — my old housekeeper shall 
 shift her flag to Gunn's ; and I'll get a man who — humph — 
 if now he could only know a little gardening ! I say, what's 
 your name ? 
 
 Gibbs. Gibbs. 
 
 Tackle. Gibbs ? 
 
 Gibb.',. Gibbs. 
 
 Tackle. And what are you doing, Gibbs ? 
 
 Gibbs. Nothing. 
 
 Tackle. And some folks do very well upon it, Gibbs. 
 
 Gibbs. They do, sir ; and I have tried hard, — but luck's all — 
 with me it hasn't answered. 
 
 Tackle. Gibbs, reply to me with your heart in your hand. 
 What do you know of gardening, Gibbs ? 
 
 Gibbs. Everything.
 
 270 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 TaclU. What ! vegetables ? 
 
 Gibbs. From sprouts to sea-kale, from sea-kale to sparrow- 
 grass, from sparrowgrass to green peas. Bless you ! I can do all 
 the year round, — I may say, a whole almanack in gi-eens. 
 
 Tackle. Steady now. As a gardener, what's your certificate 1 
 
 Gibbs. Certificate ! Ten long years I kept the books of a green- 
 grocer. 
 
 TacHe. I am in luck ! the very man for me I That's enough. 
 If I like you, and you like me 
 
 Gihbs. Oh, sir ! {Aside : Ha ! ha ! That for the Penny- 
 weights !) 
 
 TacHe. You shall help me to garden. And now — for Gunn's 
 got nobody that'll serve — now to draft Mother Bushell over 
 to the " Casemate." Follow me, Gibbs. " Hammock " ahoy ! 
 Mrs. Bushell ! Tumble up — tumble up, Mrs. Bushell ! 
 
 [Exit into " HammocTc.'" 
 
 Gibbs. What a luck of lump out of that portmanteau ! I 
 came down here, resolving to demean myself; yes, to beg 
 service of my old master, the fine gilt greengrocer ; and now — 
 that for him ! Now I can enjoy my proper pride. Have, 
 besides, a double pleasure : go on courting Susan Hogg, while, 
 at the same time, I look down upon the Pennyweights. 
 
 \_Exit into " Ifammoch.' 
 
 Scene. II. — Interior of Captain Gunn's cottage. Door and 
 window opening on garden. A side window opposite to the 
 " Haminoci." 
 
 Enter Gunn. 
 Gunn. If I can only keep Amy ! If—1 will, and I've said it. 
 Already she has put new life into the place. If I can only keep 
 her with me ! How she'll help the days along ! How — (^-1 
 hurried knocking at the door.) — Plague upon it, who's this 1 
 
 Enter Paul Puffins. 
 Paul. My dear captain, how are you ? I'm broken-hearted. 
 GiLnn. Heyday ! What's happened 1 
 
 Paid. Happened ! That father of mine 
 
 Gunn. Eespect your father in this house, or 
 
 Paul. I do respect him. Indeed, in their proper ^ilace, I think 
 fathers very estimable, and wish to respect 'em. But, captain, 
 when a father forbids you to think of an adored object — when 
 with a breath, he blows out the sun, and puts the world in 
 darkness — for Virginia is my sun, my moon, my stars, — 
 when a ftither does this, I ask you, as an officer and a gen-
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 271 
 
 tleman, don't you think a father takes a mean advantage of 
 his position ? 
 
 Gunii. Oh, that's it ! Love, eh 1 Why, consider, my boy 
 you're very young. 
 
 Paid. I am. So is Apollo. 
 
 Gunn. Yes — but attend to your father ; wait for years of dis- 
 cretion. 
 
 Paul. "What ! Before I marry ? Why, then, I may never do it. 
 Besides, I sha'u't live long. 
 
 Gunn. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 ' Paul. Yes, the hollow, laugh of the hollow world. But I know 
 it ; without Virginia, I shall die. I've said as much to my 
 darling mother, and — bless her ! — she's the only person that 
 believes me. Whilst my father — as my mother says, calling 
 himself my fathei' too — wants to send me to Eussia. A winter 
 there, he says, would freeze up all this love in me. In me .' As 
 well freeze Ahe Greek fire in a wine-cooler ! 
 
 Gunn. {Aside: Poor boy ! This would be droll at another 
 time. I'll hand him over to Tackle. Opens window opposite to 
 "Hammock," and beckons as he tails.) And have you been long in 
 love 1 
 
 Paul. Long ? Centui'ies. Two months. 
 
 Gunn. Long, indeed, at your age. 
 
 Paul. And to lose her, and find her again — why, it's plain 
 we were made to meet ! It's written in the stars, if fathers 
 could only read. But my father shall consent. Yes, my 
 father! I'll teaze him the whole day long: and when the 
 day is done 
 
 Gunn. Well, what then 1 
 
 Paul. Then I'll leave him to my mother. 
 
 Enter Tackle. 
 
 Gunn. (Aside to Tackle : Joe, take this youngster off. He's in 
 love, and I'm busy.) 
 
 Tackle. Hallo, Master Paul, how's aU aboard ? 
 
 Paul. Broken-hearted. 
 
 Tackle. Is that all ? Bless you, when I was your age, I 
 was broken-hearted in every port. Come along with me. I'll 
 mend your heart in such a way, you sha'n't know it again. 
 Poor fellow ! 
 
 Paul. {Aside : He has feeling — he doesn't laugh.) Ha ! 
 Lieutenant Tackle, you don't know how beautiful she is ! 
 
 Tackle. No doubt ; like my i-oses that will be, if the caterpillars 
 will only let 'em. I say — you like a garden ? 
 
 Paul. I'm broken-hearted, and like nothing.
 
 272 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Tachle. You like music i You shall take a turn upon my 
 fiddle. 
 
 Paul. Not even in mnsic is there medicine for me. 
 
 Tackle. Pooh ! the fiddle -will do you a deal of good, besides 
 scare away the sparrows. 
 
 Paul. Ha ! Captain, ray brain ! I lay awake all night finding 
 ugly faces in the curtains, and — my brain is scorched. If I could 
 only weep, I should be better. 
 
 Tackle. Poor dear fellow ! And should you ? 
 
 Paul. I feel it's unmanly. But what I want, what I should like, 
 is the relief of tears. 
 
 Tackle. Should you 1 The relief of tears 1 Then come with 
 me. {Aside : He shall weed the onions.) [Exit with Paul. 
 
 Gunn. Ha ! ha ! Poor lad. I'd be willing to be quite as 
 unhappy to be quite as young. 
 
 Enter Jubilee, with Mrs. Pennyweight and Kitty. 
 
 Jvhilee. Good day, Captain. (7b Mrs. Pennyweight : I told 
 you — door upon the latch — quite a paradise.) {Introducing them.) 
 Mrs. and Miss Fitzpenuyweight, Captain Gunn. 
 
 Gunn. Happy to see you, ladies. You like your quarters, 
 I hope ? 
 
 Mrs. Fenny. Delighted ! 
 
 Jubilee. I've shown them all my improvements — (they've just 
 painted the stocks, I see ; not before they wanted it) — and they 
 confess it is a garden of Eden. Ha ! You'll like our new neigh- 
 bour, Fitzpenuyweight. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. I trust Captain Gunn will honour our humble 
 roof. {Aside to Kitty : Why don't you speak 1 Standing there 
 like a moulting canary.) 
 
 Gunn. When business, madam, will permit me, I — {Aside : 
 Thank heaven ! here's Tackle.) 
 
 Enter Tackle. 
 
 Tackle. {Aside to Gunn : I saw 'em, and have borne down.) 
 Ha ! Master Jubilee, when are we to see that punch-bowl of 
 yours ? 
 
 Jubilee. What, Emma's bowl 1 The bowl she smuggled in our 
 honeymoon ? Ha ! sometimes I sit for hours by that punch-bowl, 
 and think my Emma's with me. Sit, till I see all the little 
 chinamen and women come out from the bowl, and dance round 
 and round upon tho table. Dear Emma — but pardon me. {Intro- 
 ducing them.) Lieutenant Tackle, R.N., — Mrs. Fitzpeimyweight 
 and daughter. The rose and the bud. . 
 
 Tackle. You don't say so ? As a gardener, I shouldn't know 
 one from t'other.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 273 
 
 Mrs. Penny. (Aside: Well, I always preferred the sailors !) 
 
 TacMe. (Aside to Kitty : You must have a nosegay out of my 
 garden. Any flowers you can find, you're welcome to.) 
 
 Kittt/. Thank you, Captain. Once, indeed, I loved flowers — 
 hut — but now — {Sighing.) 
 
 Tackle. {Aside : Phwegh ! Another broken heart ? Two 
 broken hearts — cup and saucer ; both gone.) Come ; every 
 pretty girl loves roses and lilies ; they're so like sisters to herself ; 
 and so, to please an old sailor, you must see his garden. 
 , Kitti/. { Turning, sees Paul in garden) Oh ! 
 
 TacMe. What's the matter ? 
 
 Kitty. {Aside : It's Paul.) A faintness — a 
 
 Tackle. Faintness ! Nothing like a nosegay for faintness. 
 
 Kitty. Thank yovj, I think I will pick a little bouquet — it may 
 revive me. But, dear sir — may I speak ? 
 
 Tackle. To be sure ! {Aside : Bless her ! she talks like a flute 
 by moonlight.) 
 
 Kitty. Don't let mamma venture. After the rain, the garden's 
 very wet, and^-I may tmst you — mamma will wear such thin 
 shoes. 
 
 Tackle. {Aside : Bless her afi'ectionate little heart \ Well, it 
 wouldn't take much to make me kiss her.) Mamma sha'n't come 
 —and bless you. She sha'n't ; and bless you again, I say. {Exit 
 KiTTT into garden.) Ha ! Joe Tackle, why ar'n't you comforted 
 with a daughter ? 
 
 Gunn. {Aside to Tackle : Joe !) 
 
 Tackle. And now you must come and see the "Hammock." 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Shall be delighted. But Mi-. I'itzpennyweight is 
 on the road, and — 
 
 Tackle. I'll look out for him— and you shall see all my shells — 
 and tomahawks — a model pirate junk — and-; — 
 
 Jubilee. And the New Zealand Chief. 
 
 Tackle. Only his head. He was a great man, while he had the 
 use of it. 
 
 Jubilee. A perfect savage, but a real nobleman : all his coat of 
 ai-ms tattooed in his countenance. 
 
 Tackle. Ha ! ha ! This way. Mind, it's wet after the rain. 
 And, Mrs. Fitzpennyweight, don't deny it — you will wear thin 
 shoes ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. La, Lieutenant Tackle ! 
 
 Gunn. Thin shoes. Ha ! ha ! Thin shoes. {Aside to her, 
 earnestly : And more than that, a daughter to be proud of) 
 
 \_Exit Tackle into garden, with Mrs. Pennyweight, 3 ubilts.)^ following. 
 Gunn. And for once, though, as Jubilee says, Pumpkinfield is 
 Eden, I'll fasten the door upon my bit of Paradise. ^
 
 274 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 {Enter Amy.) 
 
 Ha, my own dear Amy ! Tliere, stand a little. Why, you've 
 grown — yes, grown tall, and grown fat. 
 
 Amy. Oh, uncle ! 
 
 Gunn. And you look as fresh and as happy ! 
 
 Ami/. I am happy. Happy with such looks upon me — happy 
 with such words, the old, kind words — happy in your thoughts 
 — indeed, I could cry with happiness, 
 
 Gunn. And what do you think of my hut 1 Eough and ragged, 
 but snug. All it wants is a pair of little hands — and these are 
 the very sort — to spruce it up a bit ; — as Joe Tackle says, just to 
 stick a flower in its button-hole. 
 
 Amt/. To me it seems the home of peace. 
 
 Gunn. Then be it your home, my lass — ^your home. For we 
 don't part again. 
 
 Am;^. Do you indeed promise it ? 
 
 Gunn. "We never part again. "Well, how does the hut look now 1 
 
 Ami/. Now, twice as beautiful. My home — my own, own 
 home ! {Aside : Now, indeed, I know the sweetness of that 
 word.) 
 
 Gunn. There. {Sets her in chair) Mistress of the house. Mis- 
 tress ! "With this kiss, I hail you queen of all. And now, Amy, 
 being a queen, you must have subjects. 
 
 Ami/. Oh, is there not the garden ? I'll have such millions of 
 roses ! 
 
 Gunn. Yes, they're for state ; but I mean, a few chickens, 
 ducks, and doves, and such useful population. And here you 
 shall rule — that is, until some prince shall lead you across 
 the threshold and — you shake your Lead. Why, such things 
 do happen. 
 
 Ami/. Never fear. The chickens will not lose their mistress. 
 
 Chitin. And now we're quiet, tell me about these Babbingtons. 
 
 Ami/. The reason that I quitted them ? 
 
 Gunn. A little sudden, wasn't it ? For a while, they were kind 
 to you, eh ? 
 
 Ami/. Most kind. I loved them ; and still hope that when 
 time has cleared — 
 
 Gunn. Cleared ! Why what has time been doing, that time's 
 got to clear 1 Come, tell me all — all. 
 
 Amy. Until three months past, I was contented — yes, happy. 
 My duties became my best enjoyments. Mi's. Babbington was 
 so gentle — so considerate. 
 
 Gunn. I thought so, or I'd never trust a woman's face — a 
 woman's voice again. And her daughter — I mean the eldest ?
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 275 
 
 Amy. We were like sisters, until 
 
 Gunn. Yes ? 
 
 Ami/. Uutil three months since. 
 
 Gunn. And then 1 
 
 Ami/, Then came visitors. 
 
 Gunn. Visitors ? Young gentlemen, perhaps ? 
 
 Ami/. Yes. 
 
 Gunn. And they ? 
 
 Amy. There was one — a gentleman with very wealthy friends. 
 The heir, they said — for, before he came, they talked, and still 
 talked of him — the heir of thousands. 
 
 Gunn. Oh ! And did Miss Babbington often talk of him ? 
 
 Amy. Very often. 
 
 Ckmn. And, when he came, did he talk to Miss Babbington ? 
 
 Amy. Oh, yes. ' 
 
 Gunn. Answer me, Amy. This rich young man, to whom did 
 he talk most ? To the daughter of the house, or the house 
 governess 1 
 
 Amy. He would have talked to me. 
 
 Gunn. Aye, all's plain. ]SIi-s. Babbington was jealous for her 
 daughter. "Well, now you're at home, and that's all over. As 
 for the gentleman, he may now marry Miss Babbington. Eh ? 
 
 Amy. Yes. 
 
 Gunn. You care nothing for him ? Amy ! why, you don't love 
 him ? You hear I say you don't love him — and you don't 
 answer, no ? 
 
 Amy. I cannot. 
 
 Gunn. Cannot ! And you have told him so ? 
 
 Amy. No ! Under tha.t roof ? I would have died first ! 
 
 Gunn. My heart of diamond — my own good girl. 
 
 Amy. Were he at the altar, with the last blessing said that 
 binds him to another — he and I — oh ! never fear it ! — could not 
 be more apart. 
 
 Gunn. {Aside : And this is my work. I've sent her into the 
 world to bring home a grief that will eat her heart out. This is 
 my work.) 
 
 Amy. And now, dear uncle, that cloud is past. Oh ! yes, past 
 and gone. You know, I am queen — queen of the hearth, and 
 here at least I'll rule fur peace and sunshine. 
 
 Gunn. Yet a minute. Why did you leave so suddenly 1 
 
 Amy. Oh, a foolish letter. 
 
 Gunn. From whom 1 
 
 Amy. I know not. 'Twas signed, "A Friend." In truth, 
 a rough friendship. 
 
 Gunn. Let me see it. 
 
 t2
 
 276 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Am;^. Never heed it. I can smile at it now. 'Twas the manner 
 that hurt me. 'Twas sent to Mrs. Babbiugton to give to the 
 governess ; and she, in anger, cast it at my foot with — 
 
 Gunn. At your foot ? 
 
 Ami/. Oh ! but she was vexed — mistaken — ^is sorry now, I'm 
 sure. 
 
 Gtinn. The letter — let me see it. 
 
 Am,]/. {Oiviug letter.) There it is ; and when read, all must be 
 forgotten. Yes ; that letter shall be my first offering to the 
 tranquillity of this roof : for when you have read it 
 
 Gunn. Well, my love, and then 1 
 
 Amy. Why then — for I'm sure the room is damp — with that 
 letter we'll light a comfortable fire. 
 
 [Amy husies herself about the room. 
 
 Gunn. What's this ? {Reading letter) " " Artifice " " setting 
 a trap" — " /wre" — '• inexperience'''' — " drive a marriage'" — " yours, 
 a friend.'''' — If I could only meet this friend, what a hug I'd give 
 him ! A sneaking anonymous ! As I look upon the shabby 
 lines, the writing almost seems to grow into an old acquaintance. 
 " Yoiirs, a friend.'^ You cowardly knave ! Have I met you 
 hefore 1— (Knocking at door.) Who's that ? Mr. Creepmouse. 
 I thought so — he always knocks like a battering-ram. [Opens door. 
 
 Enter Creepmouse. 
 
 Creepm. How d'ye do, Gunn ? Bless me ! A young lady ! 
 
 Gunn. My niece. 
 
 Creepm. Didn't know you had a niece. 
 
 Gunn. No ! Yes — poor Charley's little daughter. 
 
 Creepm. Dear me ! There was something of that sort. Quite 
 a baby, then. So it is ! A baby yesterday — a girl to-day — 
 woman to-morrow. Bapid promotion — eh, Captain ? 
 
 Gunn. Why, yes. Women, you see, don't go into the army. 
 
 Amy. (Aside to Gunn : I haven't seen the garden yet. — Now I'll 
 leave you.) [Curtsies to Creepmouse, and exit into the garden 
 
 Creepm. And that's your brother's child 1 Ha, Captain Gumi, 
 that was a bad affair. The man himself knew nothing of business 
 — small and retail as it was— and when he died, that you should 
 hamper yourself — I must say, foolish affair. 
 
 Gunn. Well, I did all for the best. 
 
 Creepm. And, for fifteen years, you've had the load upon your 
 shoulders. Luckily your bond— such as it is— fell to our house ; 
 and, though retired from business, I've still held it myself, to 
 protect you. 
 
 Gunn. I know, sir, you've been easy— very easy.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 277 
 
 Creepm. Why, I can feel for a soldier ; you know I adore the 
 cloth. And, as I knew, with your half-pay, you couldn't cancel 
 this bond, why so you've paid the interest 
 
 Gunn. You haven't very often talked to me about it. 
 
 Creepm. Why, no : I consider the principal a forlorn hope, and 
 — Captain Gunn, you behold a disappointed man. 
 
 Gunn. Disappointed ! You ! Wrapt up, as one may say, in 
 the golden fleece ! 
 
 Creepm. Golden ! You see a golden pippin ; you bite it— worm 
 at the core. I'm a man who doesn't talk ; but that's my condition. 
 Pippin is my heart ! 
 
 Gunn. Is it, though ? 
 
 Creepm. And my nephew, Tom Woodburn, the worm, sir ; 
 the worm. 
 
 Gunn. A generous young fellow, sure ? 
 
 Creepm. Generous ! He's in love with a beggar. Now, in love, 
 a man should climb — not stoop. Yes, sir, to a young man like 
 Tom, marriage should be a ladder, not a pit. 
 
 G^nn. For all that, he's tumbled into it, eh ? 
 
 Creepm. And as Tom often comes to you, I want you to advise 
 him — to paint the misery — the disgrace of the match. 
 
 Gunn. Disgrace ! Nothing against the name of the young 
 woman ? 
 
 Creepm. Nothing, and that's it. I mean, nothing at the banker's. 
 Now, if Tom continues mutinous, 1 discard him. So, Gunn, my 
 dear boy, you'll reason with him ; and, my dear Gunn — 
 
 Gunn. {Aside : Hallo !) Mr. Creepmouse — 
 
 Creepm. — As a proof that my heart's in this, that bond of 
 yours — that bond for your late brother 
 
 Gunn. Yes 1 
 
 Creepm. {Aside : It isn't worth a penny.) Bring me the word 
 — stop, the written word of Tom, that he renounces the wench, 
 and I burn that bond before your face. 
 
 Gunn. I want no such bribe to do what I consider 
 
 Creepm. I know life. Captain. No man does anything the 
 worse for being paid for it. Tom's word, and your bond is 
 ashes. I've done — I've said it. Bless me, where's the young 
 lady? 
 
 Gunn. In the garden — all's new to her as yet. 
 
 Creepm. Well, I'd quite forgotten you had a niece. Where all 
 this time has she hidden heraelf ? 
 
 Gunn. She never has been hidden, Mr. Creepmouse. 
 
 Creepm. I mean, what have you done with her ? 
 
 Gunn. She has been with a family ; now, she's with me. 
 
 Creepm. Very good. And how long does she stay with you ?
 
 278 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Gunii. As long as I have a roof to shelter us. 
 Creepm. Indeed ! I thought you couldn't afford- 
 
 Gunn. I can't aiford that so meek — so good a creature, should 
 be made unhappy. 
 
 Creepm. Unhappy ! What do you mean ? Captain Gunn, you 
 are disturbed. 
 
 Gunn. Well, I was : but it's blown over. 
 
 Creepm. I've told you my trouble — tell me yours. As for your 
 niece, I feel, so to speak, taken by her. {Takes chair.) My good 
 friend, what is the matter ? 
 
 Gunn. Never again does Amy leave me — ^never ! To have been 
 scorned — insulted — 
 
 Creepm. Very bad. But, my dear friend, who scorned — who 
 insulted her % 
 
 Gunn. Why, Mrs. Babbington ! 
 
 Creepm. Who ? 
 
 Gunn. The lady ; — and she had been so kind, so good to the 
 girl. 
 
 Creepm. {Aside : Mrs. Babbington ! What a red-hot shot !) 
 
 Gunn. 'Twas all settled. Amy was to quit, when — would you 
 think it ? — some sneaking fellow, signing himself " A Friend" 
 
 Creepm. A friend 1 
 
 Gunn. A friend wrote my niece a cowardly letter. Would you 
 think it ? 
 
 Creepm. Eh ? N — no ! 
 
 Gunn. Mrs. Babbington flung the letter at the girl ; and here 
 it is. {Producing letter.) 
 
 Creepm. {Aside: My own letter !) {Aloud:) Yes, and — there 
 it is. 
 
 Gunn. Listen ! and you'll almost blush for the poltroon that 
 wrote it. 
 
 Creepm. Blush — yes — very likely. (Aside: Caution, Creep- 
 mouse — be cool, damned cool.) 
 
 Gunn. Attention. {Reads.) " Young woman " — 
 
 Creepm. Your niece wouldn't like to prove that a libel, 
 I suppose 1 
 
 Gunn. {Read.'f.) " Your artifice is known. You are setting 
 a trap.'''' Now what does he mean by that ? 
 
 Creepm. Mean ! Why, of course he means that — eh 1 — how the 
 devil should I know 1 
 
 Gunn. {Reads.) " A trap to lure the inexperience of i/outh. You 
 would drive a marriage ; but beware ! for if you caught your 
 victim " — what does he mean by victim ? 
 
 Creepm. Mean ! Why, the husband, of course. 
 
 Gunn. {Reads.) " Don''t be deceived, you'd only catch a beggar.
 
 RETIilED FROM BUSINESS. 279 
 
 Believe yours, A Friend.'''' Now, I ask you, what do you tliiuk of 
 that? 
 
 Creepm. The — the style isn't bad. 
 
 Oun7i. Not bad ? 
 
 Creepm. I mean, it's short and home. 
 
 Gimn. So is a stiletto. And I think the hand that, to deal 
 a slanderous blow, uses a nameless pen, only wants the bad 
 courage to grasp a knife. What do you think 1 
 
 Creepm. Think 1 Captain Gunn, you're a bitter man. For 
 my own pai-t, I like to think as well as I can of my fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 Gimn. Well, look as I will at this, I only think worse and worse 
 of it. Every letter seems to me a crawling insect that, if it 
 could, would be a viper. 
 
 Creepm. {Aside : ' I won't ; but I should like to knock him 
 down.) 
 
 Gutm. And still this writing puzzles me. I say — ^ou don't 
 know it 1 
 
 Creepm. I ! No ! But, I must say, it's a vei-y good hand. 
 
 Gunn. It's a very bad heart. 
 
 Creepm. (Aside . Shall burst like a bomb if I stop !) 
 
 Enter Amy from garden. 
 
 Gunn. And here's Amy again. \Aside : Now, look at her ! 
 What a pitiful fellow, who to such a face could write such 
 a letter ] Eh 1) 
 
 Creepm. Yes. (Aside : He can't mean ) 
 
 Gunn. A hound ! 
 
 Creepm. (Aside : He can't mean me.) 
 
 Gunn. A pitiful, cowardly hound ! 
 
 Creepm. (Aside : No ; he doesn't dare to mean me.) Good 
 day. 
 
 Giinn. Good day. And should your nephew ask my advice, 
 depend upon it — I shall not forget. 
 
 Creepm. Oh, you'll not ? (Aside : He hasn't the audacity to 
 sneer !) You'll give him coimsel, eh 1 
 
 Gunn. For the very best. 
 
 Creepm. Do. (Aside: I'll well mask my batteries, and then 
 blaze away.) Tell him this. If he marries the wench, I'll 
 disinherit him, a beggar ; and more — more ; tlie girl's uncle 
 — for I know him, and have the means — I'll blow him into atoms 
 — into atoms, Captain Gunn. Good morning. Atoms ! \_Exit. 
 
 Ounn. That's my landlord. Amy. You women have a shrewd 
 way of reading off folks at a look. How do you like him 1 
 
 Amy. If you please, I'll look again.
 
 280 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS, 
 
 Ounn. A kind fello-w, but pompous as a turkey-cock ; though 
 he hasn't the same objection to the cloth. No — no. As an old 
 army tailor, I believe he'd think the fields improved, if put into 
 scarlet grass, and turned up with yellow hedges. 
 
 Enter Tackle. 
 
 TacEe. I say, Dan, — Miss Amy — Such an explosion ! 
 
 Ounn. Eh ! What's happened ? 
 
 Tackle. They've uncorked the hartshorn — so you may guess. 
 Mother — Fhwegh ! — now I see why she'd thin shoes — Mother in 
 a rage — daughter in a fit — and poor Paul shaking his fists at the 
 clouds and going to tear out his hair. 
 
 OtLnn. Come, Amy, we may be useful, Joe ? 
 
 Tackle. Aye, aye. (^Exeunt Gunn and Amt.) This comes of 
 putting two broken hearts together ! There they were in the 
 lime-tree bower, happy as linnets, when the dowager bore down 
 upon 'em ! Hm ! All pretty quiet now, 
 i^okes out his pocket telescope, sits across a chair, and looks into the garden.) 
 
 Enter Woodburn. 
 
 Wood. The Captain not within. So, his neighbour, Lieutenant 
 Tackle ! As usual, watching his garden. 
 
 Tackle. (Looking through glass.) Don't catch a stitch of sail. 
 
 Wood, What could my uncle mean 1 His words still sound in 
 my ears. " What, you are going to your oracle ? No doubt 
 Captain Gunn will advise you. No doubt. Sir, under his roof, 
 you'll be wisely counselled — greatly comforted." And then he 
 laughed with bitterness. 
 
 Tackle. ( With glass.) A sail a-head. There goes Mrs. Fitz- 
 pennyweight. Dan on one quarter — the Pawnbroker on the 
 other. Poor soul ! what a passion her ribands are in to be sure ! 
 
 Wood. His look, his speech, but now, convinces me that he 
 knows my secret. Be it so. Though 'twere better he had known 
 it from myself. 
 
 Tackle. {Still looking) Hurrah ! Now Mrs. Fitzpennyweight's 
 laughing as wide as any of 'em. And now — dip under the 
 willow — now they're in the " Hammock." Where's Paul, I won- 
 der? And — my stars ! where'sthe young woman ? (Sings.) "And 
 the devil run away with " — (Looks round.) Hallo ! Master Wood- 
 burn 1 How are you 1 
 
 Wood. Thank you, Lieutenant. I have been better. 
 
 Tackle. (Aside : Another broken heart, I suppose.) Do you 
 know what I'm on the look out for 1 
 Wood. Snails ? 
 
 Tackle. Snails ! No — though they're the plague of my heart.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 281 
 
 Snails ! I don't grudge 'em what they eat, for we all must live — 
 but, damn 'em, it's what they spoil. {Looks through glass, and 
 sings) " And the devil ran away with the little tailor." 
 
 Wood. And how thrives your garden, Lieutenant ? 
 
 Tackle. Capital ! In another year or two I shall eat my own 
 radishes. And what a season we shall have for cherries, to be 
 sure ! 
 
 Wood. Enough, eh ? 
 
 Tackle. Why, in the matter of cherries, plums, apples, and such 
 like, enough isn't enough — if it isn't enough three times over. 
 
 Wood. Three times ? 
 
 Tackle. Yes. Enough for the birds, enough for the boys, and 
 enough for the master. That's what I call an average crop. But 
 what's the matter, -eh ? I'm on the look-out for what I think 
 would put a little light in your eye. 
 
 Wood. Aijd what's that ? 
 
 Tackle. A petticoat. 
 
 Wood. Tut ! 
 
 Tackle. Two petticoats, then. What do you think 1 Captain 
 Gunn's niece has come home. 
 
 Wood. Indeed ? Has he a niece 1 
 
 Tackle. Has had her these twenty years. Beautiful creatui'e ! 
 
 Wood. Aye ? 
 
 Tackle. My boy, I've been all over the world, and seen what 
 the darlings are, bless 'em, in every spot ; but for Dan's niece, 
 you'll quite know what I mean, when I tell you, she's — she's 
 a Lord High Admiral of a woman ! 
 
 Wood. Is she indeed ? 
 
 Tackle. Every bit of it. She'll make us all alive, she will, if 
 we don't lose her. 
 
 Wood. Lose her ? 
 
 Tackle. Yes — lose her. With so many houses wanting such a 
 chimney ornament, how can we expect long to keep Amy ? 
 
 Wood. Amy ! 
 
 Tackle. You seem to like the name. 
 
 Wood. Ye-es. 
 
 Tackle. Ha ! you'll like her, too, when you see her. I say, 
 do you see that white rose-bush ! I've already settled it : 
 next year, at furthest, that very rose-bush — and I shall nurse 
 it like a child accordingly— grows a wedding nosegay for our 
 Amy. 
 
 Wood. With that thought, may no blight come near it, and 
 may it bear a thousandfold ! But, tell me — the young lady — 
 was she expected ? 
 
 Tackle Not at all. You see, she was out in the world — I'm
 
 282 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 afraid, poor thing, making herself useful. Ha ! it's lucky you 
 don't know what that is. 
 
 Wood. Yes. Well ? 
 
 Tackle. And she left suddenly — because — to be short — because 
 of Mrs. Babbington's tantrums. 
 
 Wood. Wlio ? 
 
 Tackle. Mrs. Babbington. Hallo I you know Mrs. Babbington ? 
 
 Wood. Yes. (Aside : And his niece ! And here ! Happiness 
 as strange as bountiful !) 
 
 Tackle. So, this morning, Miss Amy dropt like a skylark down 
 upon us ; and there she is. 
 
 Wood. Where ? 
 
 Tackle. There. (Amy and Kitty cross in the distance.) That's 
 Miss Fitzpennyweight she's comforting ; she, too, will be a nice 
 little thing, when she's seen two or three more strawberry 
 seasons. 
 
 Wood. (Aside : It is she ! Never before so beautiful !) 
 
 Tackle. You may take one peep with my glass. 
 
 Wood. That sweet, calm face — that glance 
 
 Tackle. You don't tell me you can see at this distance ? 
 
 Wood. The smile that suns her lip. The look — the deep, kind, 
 thoughtful look, that fills her eye. Yes, the threads of hair that 
 tremble at her brow. 
 
 Tackle. (Aside : Hallo !) 
 
 Wood. No — she never looked so calmly lovely. Never with 
 such tender grace — such gentle dignity 
 
 Tackle. I say, Master Woodburn ; you've seen our Amy 
 before 1 
 
 Wood. Seen her — ^loved her ! But to find her here, and thus, 
 oh, it exceeds the wonder of a dream ! 
 
 Tackle. Phwegh ! (Hums.) " And the devil ran away with " — 
 Hey ! here they come. 
 
 Wood. Farewell. 
 
 Tackle. No, they've borne up. But with all this love, why run 
 away from her 1 
 
 Wood. I would first meet the Captain — first, and finally, 
 consult my uncle. 
 
 Tackle. All right. As for Amy and yourself, I suppose that's 
 settled long ago. 
 
 Wood. Not so ; I have only hope — sustaining hope. 
 
 Tackle. Hope ! Well, I've seen that lady — seen Hope painted ; 
 and, youngster, I don't believe in women that paint. Seen Hope 
 so often with her elbow on an anchor over my agent's fire-place, 
 when I've gone and gone for prize-money ; and — to this day — 
 there's nothing but hope.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 283 
 
 Wood. I had written to Amy — was on my way to send the 
 letter. Hold ! you shall give it her. 
 
 Tackle. Are you quite sure of that % 
 
 Wood. Nay, before the Captain. {Gives letter) 
 
 Tackle. All right. 
 
 Wood. And then my fate's determined. With Amy's promised 
 faith, I am heedless of all beside. [Exit. 
 
 Tackle. Hurrah, youngster ! (Sings.) " And the devil ran 
 away with the little " — A love-letter, with a heart inside it. 
 Wonder what it weighs ? 
 
 Filter Paul Puffins. 
 
 Paul. My dear Lieutenant ! I'm so happy ! Lend me fifty 
 pounds. 
 
 Tackle. How happy I should be if I could. (Aside : And what 
 a fool I should be if I did !) Fifty pounds ! 
 
 PawZ. I'll pay you in a week. You'll keep our secret? Kitty's 
 consented. 
 
 Tackle. What ? To borrow fifty pounds ? 
 
 Paul. No, — to make me happy — to run away with me. And 
 
 Tackle. Yes ? 
 
 Paul. I want the money to do it. 
 
 Tackle. I have it. Suppose you ask Miss Kitty's father. 
 
 Paul. Her father ! 
 
 Tackle. And what a bit of luck. — Here he comes ! [Opens door. 
 
 (Enter Penntweight.) 
 How d'ye do, again, sir 1 (Aside to Paul : Met him when I was 
 mushrooming this morning.) 
 
 Penny. How d'ye do ? (Aside : Why there's that young 
 Eussian cub.) Eh ! where's Kitty 1 You haven't seen my wife, 
 and Mr. Jubilee, and 
 
 Tackle. Looking at my garden with Captain Gunn. I'll fetch 
 'em. Yes, I wiU go ; because my young friend Puffins there has 
 something nearest his heart 
 
 Pavl. (Aside to him : Don't.) 
 
 Tackle. In fact right aboard of it — to tell you. (Aside to Paul : 
 Who knows 1 he may wink at the match, and lend you the 
 money. Board him — ha ! ha ! — board him.) [Exit into garden. 
 
 Paul. (Aside : I'm desperate, and he looks good-tempered.) 
 (Aloud :) Mr. Fitzpenny weight, your daughter's an angel, and as 
 a man of honour, I adore hei". 
 
 Penny. My daughter's a for'ard kitten, and you're an early 
 little puppy. 
 
 Paid. Mr. Fitzpennyweight
 
 284 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Penny. Hallo ! 
 
 Paul. You may consider yourself fortunate that you are 
 related to your daughter. 
 
 Penny. Why, that's as it turns out. 
 
 Pmd. Of the millions that walk this earth, you are the only 
 man that — but it doesn't matter. 
 
 Penny. Not a bit. 
 
 Paul, It is my intention, sir, to marry your daughter. 
 
 Penny. Really ? 
 
 Paul. It is her determination to marry me. 
 
 Penny. Oh ! 
 
 Paul. Now, sir, it depends upon the folly of our fathers 
 whether we marry quietly or otherwise. In a word, and I wish 
 to be understood, whether we come together as lambs, or marry 
 as lions. 
 
 Penny. Ha ! ha ! Wliich should you prefer ? 
 
 Paul. {Aside : After all, he looks a good fellow.) Why, we 
 would rather marry in the bosoms of our families. We have no 
 wish to be driven to elope. 
 
 Penny. {Aside : This is too good.) Oh, why not ? 
 
 Paid. You see no objection ? 
 
 Penny. Do you 1 
 
 Paid. {Aside : I see it ; he'd like a union of the families ; only 
 afraid of his wife. Same as father at home. Shouldn't wonder 
 if he'd wink, after all.) 
 
 Penny. {Aside : I'll coax the boy, till Kitty's safe.) Between 
 ourselves, if you can run off, why shouldn't you ? 
 
 Paul. Why, there's Kitty's mother, and 
 
 Penny. Ha ! 
 
 Paid. {Aside .• It is just like us : he e'^ afraid of her.) But I see 
 I've your consent — I'll do it — and all I want is — 
 
 Penny. Yes 1 
 
 Paul. Fifty pounds. That with care will carry us over a 
 week ; in that time, you'll reconcile your wife — my mother will 
 convince her husband, and Kitty and I will return to comfort 
 you. {Drops upon his knee.) Father, your blessing and — fifty 
 pounds ! 
 
 Penny. How will you take it ? 
 
 Paul. Short ; or as you have it. 
 
 Penny. Ha ! ha ! There's Kitty and her mother. Not a word 
 to Mrs. Fitzpennyweiglit. I'll stand by you. 
 
 Paul. And the fifty pounds ? 
 
 Penny. As safe as if you had 'em — {Aside: And safer.) 
 
 Paul. Bless you, father. {Following him.) But the fifty 
 pounds —
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 285 
 
 Penny. {Mysteriously) Hush — not a word — Mrs. Fitzpenny- 
 
 weight — depend upon me, and not a word. \_E.vit into garden. 
 
 Pavl. Yes, but — {Following him) — the fifty pounds. [^Exit. 
 
 Enter Gunn. 
 
 Gunn, Our new neighbour, Mr. Fitzpennyweight, T take it. 
 Why, the boy follows him, like 
 
 Enter Tackle. 
 
 Tackle. Follows him, aye, that's the age for a bit of dare-devil. 
 •I say, I've a letter here for your niece. 
 Gunn. For Amy ? 
 
 Enter Amy from garden. 
 
 Tackle. Here sh,e is. I promised the young gentleman to give 
 it you, and as he wished, before your uncle. 
 
 \Gives her the letter. She reads it, as they talk aside. 
 
 Gunn. Young gentleman ? 
 
 Tackle. Yes. Tom AVoodburn. 
 
 Gunn. "Woodburn ? 
 
 Tackle. Aye, who'd have thought it 1 Tom "Woodburn, the 
 nephew to old bomb-shell Creepmouse. Your young friend Tom : 
 he met her at the Babbingtons', but never knew that Amy was 
 your niece. And when he saw her in the garden — you should 
 have seen his looks — have heard iiim talk. 
 
 Gunn. {Aside : Creepmouse ! Why then that — yes, I read him 
 his own letter !) 
 
 Tackle. Dej^end upon't, if ever man loved woman, Tom Wood- 
 burn loves Amy. Why, Daniel, aren't you proud — aren't you 
 happy for the girl's sake 1 
 
 Gunn. Happy ! Joe, I have destroyed her ! 
 
 Tackle. Destroyed 1 Why, I thought you'd be overjoyed — ■ 
 delighted ! 
 
 Gunn. Ruined. 
 
 Amy. {Presenting opened letter to Gunk.) Uncle. 
 
 Gnnn. Amy. {Aside to him, and grasping Tackiue's hand : I tell 
 you, ruined.)
 
 286 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 ACT ni. 
 
 Scene I. — A Rustic View. Swing-gate on one side, opening into 
 
 a lane. 
 
 Enter Creepmouse and Puffins. 
 
 Creepm. Pumpkinfield is threatened with revolution. Eetail 
 marriage menaced at our firesides, and property barricaded with 
 its own hearth-stones ! 
 
 Puffins. That this governess should be Gunn's niece ! It is a 
 surprise ! 
 
 Creepm. Surprise ! Powder-mine laid under my roof-tree ! 
 
 Puffins. What remains to be done 1 
 
 Creepm. Nothing. All is done. {Touching Ms forehead.) Here! 
 — Campaign planned — all but finished. I am called the iron 
 Creepmouse, and the world shall see I am that metal. 
 
 Puffins. And your nephew 1 He won't listen to reason ? 
 
 Creepm. Reason ! Sir, he won't listen to me ! Will seek the 
 bubble love in the cannon's mouth of destitution. 
 
 Puffins. And your determination ? 
 
 Creepm. My old move at a crisis — Up guards and at 'em ! 
 nothing short. 
 
 Puffins. And this you've told him ? 
 
 Creepm. Catch a veteran ! No : I heard him out ; and then 
 said nothing. But it's all here ; and at the proper moment, as I 
 say. Up and at 'em ! 
 
 Puffins. Ha ! I only wish I'd some of your iron. There's my 
 boy, my Paul ; with his brain, to throw it away ! 
 
 Creepm. As for brains, in this world there's more brains 
 thrown away than used. Well 1 
 
 Puffins. And his mother takes his part. 
 
 Cretpm. Very odd, how mothers are given to sons ! No iron 
 in mothers ! 
 
 Pvffi,ns. Paul shall go to Russia. 
 
 Creepm. Russia ! What a flash ! In Russia somebody must 
 want a governess. 
 
 Puffins. Eh ! Two months ago a Moscow friend wrote me — 
 yes, there was the very place ! 
 
 Creepm. And is still. Oh ! Russia, always a place for worth, 
 beauty, and talent. Don't disturb me, while I take an eagle
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 287 
 
 glance. I Lave it ! I'll see the girl : turn her, like a thumb- 
 screw, gently, but firmly. Tell her, if she marries — Tom's a 
 beggar — she's a beggar — and her uncle, as gentleman and soldier, 
 degraded and pauper. That's it, eh ? 
 
 Puffins. Couldn't be improved. 
 
 Creepm. I'll bear all charges ; you shall consign her to your 
 friend, and no doubt in the end she'll many well, have a large 
 family, and live happy ever after. 
 
 Enter Pennyweight down the lane. 
 
 Penny. {Leaning over gate.) Nice day, Mr. Creepmouse. 
 
 Greepm. I — I am no judge. 
 
 Penny. Oh yes ; fields, sharpshooter green ; and sky, hussar 
 blue. 
 
 Creepm. {Half aside to Puffins.) Vulgai' — retail. The till, 
 decidedly the till. \_Exit. 
 
 Penny. -Mr. Pufiins ! Stop ! Business ! 
 
 Puffins. Business ? 
 
 Penny. Isn't your son Paul very fond of poultry 1 
 
 Puffins. Poultry ? 
 
 Penny. Poultry l Because early this morning I found him in 
 my fowl-house. 
 
 Puffins. Oh, some mistake. 
 
 Penny. Very great mistake ; because Kitty doesn't roost with 
 the chickens. 
 
 Puffins. If nobody encouraged my son at your house 
 
 Penny. I don't ; and I'll answer for the dog. 
 
 Puffins. Sii' ! you'd snare my son — my son who is reserved for 
 rank 
 
 Penny. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Puffins. And title. 
 
 Penny. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Puffins. But, of course, such as you traduce rank, and sneer at 
 title. 
 
 Penny. Not at all. I should like a title for my Kitty, if any- 
 thing came with it. But, to my mind, titles, to be the real 
 thing, should be like potatoes, and turn up with a lot of land 
 about 'em. But the dog didn't hurt Paul. Only my little joke. 
 Stop, Here's the key. 
 
 Puffins. Key ! 
 
 Penny. Yes. When I'd your son safe in the hen-roost, I 
 hooked on the ])adlock. Now, if I let the young fox go, will the 
 old one be bail for liim ? 
 
 Puffins. {Aside : Tliis is the most humiliating — and should my 
 wife know it,— I ) Mr. Fitzpenny weight ! Are you a father ?
 
 288 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Penny. I am. That's why I locked up your son. But take 
 the key — (Puffins snatches it) — and take him home. 
 
 P-wffins. I will. And further — I'll have advice on this. 
 
 Penny. Oh ! you'll have advice % Then I'll give you a bit. 
 On your way to the hen-roost, beware of the dog. 
 
 \_Exm,nt severally. 
 
 Enter Amy. 
 
 Amy. I cannot remain at home. Home ! I have none. One 
 moment the word, like a note of music, fell upon my heart, and 
 so it passed away. Here my thoughts are calmer. Here I can 
 best determine. Near my good, my noble uncle, his very tender- 
 ness reproaches me. Then what my path ? Let me consider. 
 Oh, my brain is cloud — my heart a tumult ! (Produces letter.) 
 The letter — his letter ! Even this may soothe — shall discipline 
 me. {As Amy unfolds the letter — 
 
 Enter Woodbtjrn at bacX\) 
 {She reads) "Beloved Amy, — My heart must have utterance. 
 Too long — oh ! far too long — its dearest hope has stammered but in 
 fitful words ; too long, in tame obedience to the sway of circum- 
 stance, has failed to boast a passion that now, in its controlling ful- 
 ness, will be heard. For the last time I have visited the house — to 
 me henceforth a shrine — where first we met. Now my heart in 
 liberty may speak : and in the voice and fervour of exulting freedom, 
 cry, ' / love you — love you.' " Oh, what a blessing might these 
 words have breathed, and now — {TJie letter falls from her hand. 
 WooDBURN comes down.) Here ! 
 
 Woodb. Shall I reclaim the letter ? 
 
 Amy. Reclaim! 
 
 Woodh. One word ! One — and with my hopes, it is scattered 
 to the winds. 
 
 Amy. No ! That is 
 
 Woodb. Amy ! {He offers theletter. She takes it, folds it, and re- 
 places it in her bosom. Wood burn embraces her.) My wife ! My wife ! 
 
 Amy. Oh, Woodburn ! 
 
 Woodb. Heart to heart ! With the world's smile or frown — 
 in sun or shade — my wife, my wife ! 
 
 Amy. Yet a moment — yet a moment. 
 
 Woodb. You would not recal the act ? 
 
 Amy. No — no ! 
 
 Woodb. Then again and again I say — my wife ! And now 
 you sigh, as though the word, so honey-sweet, had bitterness. 
 
 Amy. It is rashly spoken — too early spoken. 
 
 Woodb. Early ! Nay, 'tis the fruit of an affection that
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 289 
 
 Amy. That fruit is yet in blossom. Then who may say what 
 utter blight time's wing may drop upon it ? No, Woodburn ; 
 we have yet to eai'n our happiness. 
 
 Woodb. 'Tis already golden, ripe, and tempts the gathering ! 
 
 Amy. Your uncle ! I have heard his threats — have seen his 
 anger. 
 
 Woodb. Indeed ? 
 Amy. And well I know we may not brave him. 
 
 TVoodb. I renounce all fortune, if it chain my dearest will. 
 What ! we have youth, and youth's inheritance — hope. You 
 ai-e silent. Oh, speak ! What say you 1 
 
 Amy. This, we must part ! 
 
 Woodb. Part ! 
 
 Amy. Yes. Each take a separate waj-, and wait on time. 
 Both with a firm and trusting soul abide our fortune, solaced 
 and strengthened by our daily purpose, and our daily prayer, 
 again to meet. 
 
 Woodb. No, Amy ; no. Whatever be the future, good or iU, 
 we abide the lot together. 
 
 A7ny. Impossible — never. Woodburn, we are not alone in 
 this. ]\Jy uncle's happiness — his honour — is at issue. Know 
 you not he is bound, and his bondholder 
 
 Woodb. I see it all — knew it — yet, in my joy, forgot. Despair ! 
 
 Amy. Hope, hope ! Even now you spoke that better wox-d-^ 
 the only word. Woodburn, for a while we separate. 
 
 Woodb. Not so ! 
 
 Amy. The living and the dead demand it. 
 
 Woodb. The dead ! 
 
 Afuy. My parents have been ever as a baby's di-eam. My 
 father's face the dimmest shadow — my mother's look, a fuller 
 brighter memory, but still a dream. To that good, heroic man, 
 my uncle, I owe my nurture — everything, but merest life. And 
 now I know the weight he has borne — the sordid misery that in 
 his generous, simple heart, he has braved — should I not rather 
 join my parents in the grave, than add one care to him, the 
 struggling, smiling guardian of their orphan child ? 
 
 Woodb. Your noble heart rebukes, instructs me. I vnll hope 
 — I will try to think the flattery truth. 
 
 Amy. And so prepare to say farewell. It must be said — it 
 must be said. And, trust me, time shall be gentle, and the 
 world be kind. [Exeunt together. 
 
 Enter Jubilee, in liaste ; followed by Mrs. Pennyweight and 
 
 Miss Chipp. 
 
 Jubilee. Yery sorry, ladies ; but am in haste.
 
 290 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. But, Mr. Jubilee, as a man of politeness 
 
 Miss Chipp. And a man of gallantry 
 
 Jubilee. Neither one nor 'tother. In all respects retired from 
 business. 
 
 Mrs. Pet-^ny. Now stay, and hear reason. You're the friend 
 of the family — so is Miss Chipp ! You love our Kitty — so does 
 Miss Chipp ! I and Kitty are going to France — so is !Mis3 
 Chipp. 
 
 Miss Chipp. There! And don't you see what a protection 
 you'd be to us ? 
 
 Jubilee. Not at all. Besides, if you will lock up Kitty away 
 from Paul 
 
 Mrs. Penny. My husband — who crushes everybody — insists 
 upon it. 
 
 Jubilee. I don't choose to be one of the turnkeys. 
 
 Miss Chipp. A manly sentiment ! Great honour to your head 
 and heart ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Still the journey may do good to Kitty, and, as 
 I've never seen Paris, can't do any harm to her mother. So we 
 must go ; and, dear Mr. Jubilee, you — who were going to Paris 
 — must go with us. 
 
 Miss Chipp. {Aside to Mrs. Penny.) He begins to soften. 
 Leave him, and he'll dissolve. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. You can't refuse Miss Chipp ; no, not Miss 
 Chipp ; and so, depending upon her, I'll go and order 'em to 
 pack my trunks. \_Exit. 
 
 Jubilee. {Aside : Trunks ! Delightful prospect ! For as 
 one woman goes into seven trunks, so must three women go into 
 one-and-twenty.) {Is running off; Miss Chipp detains him) I 
 can't stop. 
 
 Miss Chipp. Edward ! Why do you shrink ? Emma suffered 
 me to call you Edward % 
 
 Jubilee. True. But then Emma was here to take care of me. 
 
 Miss Chipp. And, talking of Emma, I dreamt of her last 
 night. 
 
 Jubilee. So did I — but I always do. 
 
 Miss Chipp. Yes. I thought you and I were sitting on a bank 
 — a bank of roses. 
 
 Jubilee. My very dream — with this difference. Instead of 
 roses, they were nettles. 
 
 Miss Chipp. There came, I thought, a snow-white dove. 
 
 Jubilee. Exactly so — only my dove was a magpie. 
 
 Miss Cnipp. And then — how odd dreams are ! — I thought the 
 dove changed into Emma — Emma with a garland ! 
 
 Jubilee, Very odd. I dreamt of a garland myself.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 291 
 
 Miss Chipp. More — /smelt the orange-blossoms. 
 
 Jubilee. I smelt blossoms, too ; but mine were flowering hemp. 
 
 Miss Chipp. And we've dreamt the same dream ! How mys- 
 terious : It must be sympathy. Something in the strings of 
 each other's heart — in the web of the brain — in — 
 
 Jubilee. Strings and web ! I have it— it's all clear ! 
 
 Miss Chipp. Is it 1 Oh, reveal ! 
 
 Jubilee. It's sympathy ; and in this way — 
 
 Miss Chipp. Yes. — 
 
 Jubilee. No doubt we both dream alike, because, without 
 knowing it — 
 
 Miss Chipp. Yes ? — 
 
 Jubilee. We both buy our nightcaps at the same shop. 
 
 [Runs off. 
 
 Miss Chipp. May I accept the omen ? \_Exit following. 
 
 Scene II. — Interior of the "Hammock,'" Tackle's Cottage. Door 
 and ioindow at side: door opening into garden at back. On the 
 walls, nautical pictures, with spears, hows and arrows, toma- 
 hawks, &c. Shells upon the mantel-piece, with, on table, a modd 
 of a Chinese junk. A hammock slung at the back. 
 
 Enter Tackle, //om garden. 
 
 (Walks up and doion) All's thick as a fog-bank. (Hums.) 
 " And the devil run away " — no, that won't do ! — (Hums.) " with 
 " the little " — no, no light ahead — (Hums.) " with the broad-cloth 
 under "—no, no, no ! Thicker and thicker still ! Creepmouse 
 has Daniel in his grip— poor Daniel ! Five hundred pounds I 
 It's heartbreaking to think of— but in how many corners o' the 
 world there's five hundred pounds, and liot knowing what to 
 do with themselves, and how beautifully I could work 'em I 
 Five hundred— [Paul runs in at front door. 
 
 Paul. My dear Lieutenant ! 
 
 Tackle. jNI aster Paul ! Why not married already 1 
 
 Paul. Married ! I have been shamefully deceived. 
 
 Tackle. Wliat, then, you are married ? 
 
 Paul. Lieutenant Tackle, you must cari-y me a challenge. 
 
 Tackle. Must I, though % And whom are you going to 
 elaughter ? 
 
 Paid. Fitzpennyweight ! I know lie's not a gei\tlemau ; but 
 I'll waive the retail dealer, and shoot the individual. 
 
 Tackle. {Aside.) What a midshipman her Majesty has missed ! 
 
 Paid. I took your advice ; declared my intentions lionourable, 
 
 v2
 
 292 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 and asked for fifty pounds— only fifty— to carry 'em out. Well, 
 he as good as promised the money. I followed him out, but 
 seeing he was afraid of his wife, didn't enter the house, I— in 
 short, the last two insults are these. I have been nearly torn 
 to pieces by Fitzpennyweight's dog, and for half a day padlocked 
 in Fitzpennyweight's hen-roost. 
 
 Tackle- With nothing to eat ? 
 
 Paul. Can't say that. Perhaps a dozen eggs ; and I must own 
 they couldn't be fresher. But the three insults — 
 
 Tackle. Three, now ? 
 
 Paul. Three. First, the dog — secondly, the padlock — and 
 thirdly, and the deadliest — no fifty pounds. At last I untiled the 
 roof, and, burning for satisfaction, here I am ! 
 
 Tackle. Consider. You wouldn't fight your father-in-law ? 
 
 Paul. Will he make an apology for the dog ? 
 
 Tackle. The father of your wife that will be ? 
 
 Paul. Will he explain away the padlock 1 
 
 Tackle. And the grandfather of your children that's to follow 1 
 
 Paid. Will he give the fifty pounds ? Or — 
 
 Tackle. (Aside: His audaciousness is beautiful — makes me 
 feel quite a boy again.) 
 
 Paul. Or no power on earth shall save Fitzpennyweight from — 
 
 Kitty runs in at front door. 
 
 Kitty. Oh, Lieutenant, and — oh, Paul ! \^Runs to him. 
 
 Paul. Virginia, Kitty ! {Embracing her) {Aside : And now my 
 heart relents, and I forgive him.) 
 
 Kitty. Oh, Lieutenant, we'll cling to you before all the world ! 
 
 Paul. We will ! 
 
 Tackle. Thank you for the preference. 
 
 Kitty. Such a horrid plot ! Half I heard, and the bigger half 
 Susan told me. Paul, you're to be sent to the North Pole, that 
 is Siberia, and I've studied that place upon the globe. It's ten 
 miles below zero, and freezes to death the very bears. 
 
 Tackle. Hoi-rid place ! Even rum won't live there. Go on, 
 my dear ! 
 
 Kitty. Where was I ? Oh, Paul's in Siberia — but where am I 
 to be sent ? To Paris ! 
 
 Tackle. With pocket-money, I don't think Paris so bad a berth. 
 
 Kitty. But Paris isn't all. I'm to be built up in a convent. 
 {Crying) Going to make a nun of me ! 
 
 Paid. Never ! Trust in me and defy them ! And this is the 
 world — the civilised world ! Oh, Kitty, when I look around at 
 these bows and arrows, spears and tomahawks, then I feel our 
 loss ! Then I ask why — why weren't we born savages 1
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 293 
 
 Eittij. On a lovely island, with nothing but nature and truth? 
 With no money 1 
 
 Paul. No respectability ? 
 
 Tackle. And I'm blessed if it isn't very pleasant, for I once 
 tried a bit of it in the South Seas. 
 
 Paul. With bread growing upon every bough ? 
 
 Kitty. Tea and coffee on every bush ? 
 
 Tackle. And sugar-cane in every hedge to sweeten 'em ! Ha ! 
 ha ! But it is luscious, and old as I am, I love to think of it. 
 Why, I can take one of those shells, clap it to my ear, and dream 
 I am eighteen again — eighteen and once more in Banana Bay — 
 once more ashore and — you see that hammock 1 Ha ! It's 
 made of silk-grass. Ha ! And 1 can shut my eyes and see the 
 poor thing that made it. Beautiful creature ! Slim and upright 
 as a topmast, a^d brown as cinnamon. A voice that crept into 
 a man like the west wind ; with eyes that looked through and 
 through-- the heart they set a-beating ! She spun me that 
 hammock ; and I'd lie in it in the shade, and have a fight with 
 myself whether 1 should stop for life in Banana Bay, turn chief 
 and wear cockatoo's feathers, or go back to my ship to be made 
 Lord of the Admrralty. Well, one day bang went the signal-gun 
 for sailing, and blew my day-dreams to the clouds. 
 
 Kitty. And did you never see that dear wild girl again ? 
 
 Tackle. Six months after we returned to the bay. She was 
 dead. They told me — poor souls ! — that that big gun's voice had 
 called away her spirit, and — and poor wench ! — that's it, you see 
 — {Hums) — " With the broad cloth under his arm." 
 
 Paul Oh, Kitty ! that we might anchor in Banana Bay — that 
 in a ship like that we might sit like halcyons on the deep ! 
 
 Tackle. A ship like that 1 Why that's a pirate junk ; one of a 
 fleet I was at the taking of. — Eh, here comes Daniel ! 
 
 Paul. Captain Gunn ! not a word we're here — we'll trust you ! 
 but — you'll find us in the garden — the Captain's cool and stern, 
 and has forgot what true love is. Oh, Kitty ! 
 
 [Exit KiTTT into garden. 
 
 Tackle. I've a thought ! Hurrah ! I won't say a word but — 
 I've a thought ! {Sings) — " And the devil ran away with " — 
 
 Enter Gunn, at side door. 
 
 Gunn. Heyday, Joe ! Well, in these black times, a bright 
 face is a sight to look at. 
 
 Tackle. Bright 1 ay, bright as gold ! And why not, eh, 
 Captain Gunn 1 
 
 Gunn. Joe, I'm no longer Captain Gunn, 
 
 Tackle. What ? They haven't made you a major ?
 
 294 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Gunn. J — ^you see — I've settled it all in my own mind. It's 
 the best way — the only way — and so you see I've determined 
 upon it. 
 
 Tackle. Have you ? 
 
 Gunn. It's hard, devilish hard, and pride rose at the thought; 
 but it wasn't the true pride, Joe : for there's two sorts — I've 
 found that out — two sorts of pride ; and no more like one another 
 than a monkey's like a man. There's the monkey pride, that 
 crawls oftener than it walks, and the pride that's only manly, 
 when it stands erect and faces the thunder. 
 
 Tachle. Hallo ! Monkies and thunder ! What's this about ? 
 
 Gunn. I'll no longer be the debtor of this Creepmouse. I'll 
 tear off the tailor's parchment collar, pay the debt and — 
 
 Tackle. And how ? 
 
 Gunn. There's only one way — I'll sell out. 
 
 Tackle. I see : turn your commission into ready cash, and 
 retire upon full starvation. 
 
 Gunn. No matter. T shall be free. 
 
 Tackle. Free to perish ; and nobody to interfere with you. 
 
 Gunn. Oh, luck may yet — 
 
 Tackle. Luck ! I'd forgot ; you may nail your medal, like a 
 horse-shoe, over the door, and that will keep away hunger, and 
 all the cupboard witches. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Gunn. Glad you can laugh. 
 
 Tackle. Why not ? 'Twouldn't do for both to be hove down. 
 Sell your commission ! And when you've stripped off the glorious 
 bit of red, what a pity you couldn't be dyed black, sent to 
 America, and sell yourself. 
 
 Gunn. Joe, don't auger me. Is there a worse slavery than 
 debt — galling, hopeless debt ? If my bones are free, my spirit's 
 bound. If this hand's unchained, my soul's in thraldom. Debt ! 
 Joe, you know not how I've felt — how, more bitterly still, I feel 
 the slavery of such obligation ! Oh, yes, the body's free ; but 
 there's still the voice of the master— a voice that in the lonely 
 night has made me sick at heart — ay, in the sunny noon has 
 made me shudder. 
 
 Tackle {grasping Gunn's hand) Dan, I was a beast to laugh, 
 and so I beg your pai'don. 
 
 Gunn. All right, Joe ; all right. Yes : I'll— I'll sell out and 
 be a free man. 
 
 Tackle. No, you won't. 
 
 Gunn. But I will ; and so no words upon it. 
 
 Tackle. But you sha'n't, and so as manywords as you like upon it. 
 
 Gunn. Well, we won't quarrel. 
 
 Tackle. To be sure not. For I'll have my way, and you shall
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 295 
 
 do as I tell you. Look here. I've a lot of prize-money that 
 must be paid some day. Well, I shall kill the time 'tween this 
 and thfn, and make that day the day present. 
 
 Gunn. How ? 
 
 Tackle. It's to be done : only in money matters, if you want 
 to kill time, 'ecod you must pay for the licence. I learnt that 
 from the slopsellers. Now, be quiet, Dan, and listen. I've 
 nobody to care for : I'm like Adam, when he was a bachelor. 
 And so, you must have this money. 
 
 Gv,nn. Not a farthing. 
 
 Tackle. Will you be quiet ? I'll ran up to London — turn my 
 share into ready cash — oh, don't you be afraid ! I know 'em ; 
 they don't get a penny more than sixty per cent, out of me — 
 I'll be back by the last train, pay off old Creepmouse, invite 
 Jubilee — 'ecod \ he shall bring Emma's bowl ! — Fitzpennyweight, 
 and a lot more, and — hurrah ! — we'll have a night of it ! 
 
 Gunn. Joe, this sha'n't be ! What ? You ! With nothing 
 but this one store ? And I to take it ? Not a farthing ! 
 
 Tackle. There'll be more than I care for left. All I want is, 
 just enough to run up a little green-house that I may grow my 
 own lemons for my own punch, so, in case of wai', not to depend 
 upon the foreigner. All I want is that, and — 
 
 Gunn. I tell you, Joe, this sha'n't be ! Take from you to pay 
 another ? Only shift the obligation ? Debt's debt ; and why 
 change the creditor ? 
 
 Tackle. Captain Gunn, cast up the time, and it's true we've 
 known one another but two years. But I did think — more ; I 
 felt it, /did — that there might be a friendship that didn't count 
 by the almanack. It seems I'm wrong — wrong. Humph ! 
 Lieutenant Joseph Tackle, E.N., you think yourself a smart 
 seaman and a staunch friend, — let go that conceit, will you ? — let 
 go ! You don't rate a bit higher than a money-grasping, super- 
 annuated, soldiering tailor ! 
 
 Gunn. I beg your pardon — upon my soul, Joe, I beg your 
 pardon ! You're a noble, generous — 
 
 Tackle. I'm your friend ; and when two men can say that of 
 one another, what more need be said ? Well, I won't be hard 
 upon you. Take the money, and I'll forgive you. — You won't 1 
 
 Gunn. I can't ! 
 
 Tackle. You must ! And so I'm off to London ! 
 
 Gunn {holding him). Joe, you don't stir. I honour you — I 
 reverence — but not a foot — not a penny ! — 
 
 Tackle {playfully struggling with Gunn). Heave away boys- 
 heave away ! 
 
 Gunn. Joe Tackle !
 
 29G RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Tackle. Heave away ! 
 \_Brcaks from him, and is making off at garden door, Gunn following, 
 
 when 
 
 Enter Amy, from garden. 
 
 Amy. Oh, sir ; uncle ! Surely, not a quarrel 1 
 
 Gunn. A quarrel, Amy 1 Quarrel, indeed ! Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Tackle. Only a little bout of strength, that's all. We've a 
 wager, too, who can run the fastest ; and I do think of the two 
 I've got the best start. [Runs off at garden door. 
 
 Gunn. Wait here, Amy ; I'll z-eturn — in a miiuite ; I have 
 something to say — in a minute. {Aside: Not for me— noble 
 fellow !— not for me !) [Exitjollotoing Tackle. 
 
 Amy. Some new trouble — some further mystery. Yet am 
 I calmer, happier ; with deeper faith and prouder strength, go 
 back into the world— yes, with dearer feelings — higher hopes. 
 
 Enter Creepmouse at side door. 
 
 Creepm. {Aside: Eh! The young woman herself ; and now, 
 I feel in a bit of a— a flutter.) Good day. Tackle not within ? 
 
 Amy. He has scarcely left — my uncle's with him — I'll follow, 
 and — 
 
 Creepm. Stop — you can't improve the company. I thought 
 first to speak with Tackle as Gunn's friend — but it couldn't be 
 better. {Aside: There's a lofty look about her — that)— Miss 
 Brand, you are a young woman of good sense — I'm sure of it. 
 
 Amy. Sir, I — 
 
 Creepm. I say it — good sense. And I never flatter — as the 
 poet says, never paint the tulip. My nephew Tom thinks you 
 are an angel. Now, as a woman of good sense, you must think 
 Tom mad. I am distinct ? 
 
 Amy. Oh yes. 
 
 Creepm. The lunatic ! — {Aside : I wish she wasn't so calm) — 
 would marry you. I mean Tom. 
 
 Amy. Yes. 
 
 Creepm. But you — as a woman of sense — knowing that we 
 don't live in story-books, but in a world of loaves and butcher's 
 meat, you — as a woman of sense — will stand between the young 
 man and himself? 
 
 Amy. What else, sir ? 
 
 Creepm. {Aside : Almost wish I ha^ln't come.) — Miss Brand, 
 you're a woman of vast mind and considerable ability. {Aside: 
 That doesn't shake her.) Abroad, you might command anything. 
 Now, here, at lionie, intellect's a drug ; ability sweeps a crossing 
 and genius lodges on a door-step. We've no room for you here,
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 297 
 
 Miss Brand. Now — but I'll be direct. Should you, for a large 
 advantage, like to travel 1 
 
 Amy. Oh yes ! 
 
 Creepm. Any choice of country ? 
 
 Aviy. None, so I might earn my uncle's happiness. 
 
 Creepm. Miss Brand, you're a noble woman — (Aside : And she 
 is !) — and shall travel. My interest is to the North, — in fact 
 Eussia. You wouldn't object to Moscow ? 
 
 Amy. No. 
 
 Creepm. (Aside : She is noble !) — Brilliant city f Since it was 
 burned, a — in fact, a phoenix that has moulted. With your 
 beauty — for, I'm sure of it, you'd stand the climate like a snow- 
 di'op — there's a coronet for you ! 
 
 Amy. Thank you, sir, a cap shall still content me. 
 
 Creepm. There was Catherine of Russia — with none of your 
 wit and beauty — became Empress. Empress ! and started in 
 life on bratidy and watercresses. Well, Miss Brand % 
 
 Amy. One word, sir. My uncle is your debtor. To aid my 
 father — to aid the stricken widow and protect the helpless, he 
 undertook a surety that — now I know it all — has worn him many 
 a year. Now, that debt is mine — mine ; the solemn task — at any 
 cost, at any toil — to free my benefactor. 
 
 Creepm. (Aside : I quite wish I hadn't come.) Yery noble — 
 I may say, imperial, and very like an empress. 
 
 Enter Qvtsts from garden. He remains at back. 
 
 Amy. To my uncle's love, his self-privation, I owe what culture 
 I possess. And to his perfect freedom in his failmg years, 
 I dedicate the fruit of his benevolence. 
 
 Creepm. (Aside : Somehow I feel the iron melting — had no 
 idea of this — humph ! Creepmouse, be firm — be yourself.) I 
 happen to have with me the Captain's bond — see. 
 
 [Proditces bond — gives it her. 
 
 Amy. This ! 
 
 Creepm. For five hundred pounds. Now that bond shaR go 
 with you to Russia. 
 
 Gunn. (Aside : Russia !) 
 
 Creepm. Shall be deposited at Moscow. 
 
 Gunn. (Aside : Moscow ! The kidnapper !) 
 
 Creepm. And at the end of three years that bond — over and 
 above a handsome salary — shall be placed in your hands. 
 
 Amy. In three years ? 
 
 Creepm. Only three ; and it's wonderful how time slips away 
 in Russia. 
 
 Amy. (Aside : Yes, they will fleetly pass ; for duty, hope, will
 
 298 RETIRED FRO>I BUSINESS. 
 
 wing them. And then the joy — the happiness — to buy his 
 liberty, his self-i-espect ! 
 
 Creepm. You'll be consigned — intrusted to a noble family and 
 — but you're a woman of energetic intellect — the ship sails next 
 week. 
 
 Amy. Next week ! so soon ? 
 
 Creepm. When the heart's made up, the sooner the better. 
 
 Amy. True. Yet should my uncle object — 
 
 Creepm. Object! Of course he'll object; but, until you've 
 sailed, he musn't know it. 
 
 Gunn {Aside: Oh!) 
 
 Amy. What, leave him in silence — in deceit ? Steal away ? 
 
 Creepm. A letter saves a storm of feelings. Write — I'll give 
 him the letter — soothe and comfort him. 
 
 Amy. I will go ; but not as you advise. 'T would not be 
 grateful — honest. 
 
 Creepmouse. (Aside : Upon my life, I don't think it would. 
 I quite wish I hadn't come.) 
 
 J my. Trust me, I will earn this bond. But could I hope a 
 happy issue to my task, begun in fraud ? I'll leave my country, 
 friends ; but I'll leave them with a blessing on my head — not 
 followed by reproach. 
 
 Creepmouse. {Aside: If she had only been a — a merchant's 
 daughter. It's wrong — it's weak.) Gunn will never permit — 
 
 Amy. Oh yes ; I'll win him to consent. And so, sir, hold you 
 the bond, until my term of duty done, with a happy, a triumphant 
 heart, I claim it. But three years — and it is mine — mine ! 
 
 [Gdnn comes between them, and intercepts bond as Amy passes it. 
 
 Ounn. Hold a minute. 
 
 Amy. Uncle ! 
 
 Creepm. Captain Gunn ! I — that is your bond, and — 
 
 Gunn. Well, I think so. 
 
 Creepm. Think so ? 
 
 Gunn. {^infolding the hond.) Wliat an innocent piece of parch- 
 ment seemed this when I signed it ! and now, to my fancy, it 
 looks like the foul skin of a cannibal that has eaten man for 
 twenty years. 
 
 Creepm. Still, your bond, Captain Gunn. 
 
 Gunn. Still my bond and — {Giving it him) — T am still your 
 thrall. {Going) 
 
 Creepm. A minute — one word, 
 
 Gunn. Not a syllable — not an instant. 'Twere better not, 
 Mr. Creepmouse. Sir, I've heard your offer — your heartless 
 offer — to tt^is noble girl. I've heard it all ; and now knowing 
 you, and knowing myself, you should thank me that I do not
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 299 
 
 stop. Another time, sir. Come, Amy love — Another time 
 sir. [Exit with Amy at garden-door. 
 
 Creep'Ti. Heartless ! Well, I'm glad of this. I was fast melting, 
 but I'm iron again — owes a man money and — heartless ! But 
 I'm very glad — delighted ! For I was yielding — going ; but 
 now, iron — iron — nothing but iron. \_Exit at side-door. 
 
 Enter Paul and 'Kitty from the garden. 
 
 Kitty. Oh, Paul ! Must I go home, and be made a nun ] 
 
 Paxd. Never ! let me think. Our first step, Kitty — 
 
 Kitty. Yes, I'm ready — 
 
 Paul. Is to get safely, substantially married. 
 
 Kitty. No. Our first step's to get the money to be married. 
 
 Paxd. Fifty poimds would more than do. 
 
 Kitty. Oceans 'more. 
 
 Paul. And when married, we could live on next to nothing ? 
 
 Kitty. On less than that. 
 
 Paul. Yes — yes ! Let a calculating world reckon as it will, the 
 heart has its own arithmetic ; and what will do for one, will do 
 for half-a-dozen. 
 
 Kitty. Oh Paul ! I've such a thought ! 
 
 Paul. Beloved angel, breathe it ! 
 
 Kitty. You say it's only two hundred miles to Gretna-Green. 
 Now, as we can't get the money to ride, suppose — 
 
 Paul. Yes? 
 
 Kitty. Suppose we go on foot. 
 
 Paul. Beautiful ! But how live by the way ? Blackberries 
 arn't in, and it's too early for turnips. 
 
 Kitty. Then, after all, I suppose I must go and be shut up. 
 {Clinging to him) Oh Paul ! 
 
 Paid. Kitty! 
 
 Kitty. Mamma ! In the garden ! See ! She's coming 
 
 Paul. This way, then. Distraction ! My father's at the door ! 
 
 Kitty. Both lost ! You're at the North Pole, and I'm a nun 
 for life ! {She sinks despairingly in a chair.) 
 
 Paul. My angel, be a woman ! I'll be a man and— what's to 
 be done 1 £h ! Here ! {Snatches the Union Jack hanging from 
 the wall.) Kitty ! 
 
 Kitty. I can't speak ! Not a word ! Oh Paul, Paul ! Did 
 I ever think that — 
 
 Paul. Look here ! Courage, and don't stir ! 
 
 Kitty. I won't. 
 
 Paul. Think yourself ten thousand miles abroad, and trust to 
 your flag. Givis Romanus sum ! ( Throws the flag over her entirelj/, 
 covering her, in the chair) Kitty, you hear 1
 
 300 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Kitty. {Speaking tJiroucjh tliejlag.) I do — I will. 
 
 Paul. And now, whut's to become of me ? My father and — 
 wliy, now, there's her father. Eh ! Yes — a blessing on the cin- 
 namon girl — the hammock — the hammock. {Gets into the 
 hammock. Sitting up in it.) Kitty ! 
 
 Kiitij. {Peeping through flag.) Paul ! 
 
 Paul. {Throwing her a kiss.) Catch it, love. And Kitty ; be 
 a "woinau, and be silent. 
 
 Kitti/. I will — I'll be a mouse. 
 
 [He lies down in the hammock. Kitty throws the flag over herself. 
 
 Enter at side-door, Puffins and Pennyweight. 
 
 Puffins. But I will follow you ! And I command you to pro- 
 duce my son ! 
 
 Peimi/. I left your son padlocked in my hen-roost. If he's gone 
 through the roof, why, as you say he's such S, genius, perhaps his 
 wings have grown, and he's flown away. 
 
 Enter Mrs. 'Pxj'S'ei^s, followed by Mrs. VEswrwEiGWi from garden. 
 
 Mrs. Penny. Oh, husband ! our Kitty's gone — lost. 
 
 Penny. Kitty gone, — lost ! Now, sir, don't talk to me about 
 
 your Paul, where's my Kitty ? 
 
 Puffins. Your Kitty, sir ! Your Kitty is a forward — 
 Penny. No, sir, no. It's your Paul who's an impertinent — 
 Mrs. Penny. (Tb Puffins.) And you'll speak in that way of 
 
 our dear Kitty ? 
 Mrs. Puffins. { To Penny.) You slander that child of nature — 
 
 that noble boy ? 
 
 Mrs. Penny. But where's our Kitty 1 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Puffins. Kitty ! Where's our Paul ? 
 
 Enter Jubilee and Miss Cbivv, followed by Gibbs and Susan. 
 
 Jubilee. Silence — be quiet — and nobody be frightened ! 
 Miss Chipp. By no means — no alarm ! 
 Penny, and Mrs. Penny. Alarm ! Not our Kitty ! 
 Puffins, and Mrs. Puffins. Not our Paul ! 
 Gibbs. Why, it's only this — 
 Mrs. Penny, {Aside : Oh, that horrid Gibbs !) 
 Susan. Nothing more than this — 
 Gibbs. Susan and me was at the well — 
 Su.ian. That is, me and Gibbs — 
 
 Jubilee. When — now there's nothing to be alarmed at — 
 Miss Chipp. Not in the least. 
 
 Jubilee. When somehow or the other, they picked up this 
 hat. [Producing hat.
 
 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 301 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Puffins. Paul's hat ! 
 
 Miss Chipp. And this handkerchief. [Shoioing handkerchief. 
 Penny, and Mrs. Penny. Kitty's handkerchief ! 
 Jubilee. But they're not drowned ! 
 Miss Chipp. Oh no ! quite the reverse. 
 
 Penny, and Mrs. Penny. Oh, they are drowned ! Gone dovm 
 the well together ! Oh, Kitty, Kitty ! 
 
 Enter Tackle and Creepmouse. 
 
 Tackle. What's this 1 Paul and Kitty drowned ! Ha ! ha ! 
 Why, it can't be. Paul ! [Calling out. 
 
 Paul. {Sittinq up in hammock.) Here ! 
 
 Tackle. And Kitty ! 
 
 Kitty. {DroppinQ flag from hefo-re her) Here ! 
 
 Mrs. Penny. AVhy you, wicked — (Tackle interposes) — playing 
 too at hide and seek ! 
 
 Tackle. Hide and seek ! Bless her, not a bit. Isn't she under 
 her own flag ; and wasn't that made to cover innocence and beauty? 
 
 Puffins. But the hat — 
 
 Penny. And the handkerchief — 
 
 Paul. The hat's my hat ; I dropt it running from the 
 dosr. r Takes hat with an air. 
 
 Kitty. And the handkerchiefs my handkerchief I gave it 
 Paul. 
 
 Paid. {Tying the handkerchief in several knots about his neck) — 
 And Paul, against the world, maintains it ! 
 
 Tackle. Hwvr&h. \ (Sings) " And the devil run away with" 
 — But here is Dan — and here is Amy — yes, and here's Tom — 
 (Enter Gunn, Amy and Woodburn, from garden) I told you, 
 Mr. Creepmouse — we should find him here. 
 
 Creepm. That will do, young man. And now. Lieutenant 
 Tackle, why did you drag me back 1 What is it you have 
 to say / 
 
 Tackle. All right : steady, now. You see I got to the station 
 with time to spare, when I just di'opt into the " Dolphin and 
 Star," aud — ^well, for two years I've been waiting for it, and here 
 it is all in a lump. 
 
 Jubilee. What, money ! Lumps or showers, it can't come 
 badly. 
 
 Tackle. I took up the newspaper, only two days old — (sings) — 
 "And the de.vil run away with " — here it is. Hurrah ! Here 
 it is ! [Gives newspaper to Creepmouse, 
 
 Creepm. (Reading newspaper.) " Prize money. Notice is 
 hereby given to the commanders, ofiicers, and" — 
 
 Tackle. Never mind the flourish ; come to the fact.
 
 302 RETIRED FROM BUSINESS. 
 
 Creepm. {Reading.) " Her Majesty's sloop Humming Bird's pro- 
 portions — " 
 
 Tackle. No, there : {Putting finger on paper) i\i2it''si\iQ\m.& — my 
 lice. 
 
 Creepm. {Reading) " Commander, seven hundi-ed and seventy- 
 nine pounds, seven shillings and " — 
 
 Tackle. Never mind the sixpence. Ha ! ha ! That's it. Now, 
 Mr. Creepmouse, that, you see, is payable to-morrow week. On 
 which day, if you bring here your bond upon Daniel, we'll just 
 make a battledore of that bit of parchment, and then — hurrah ! 
 think how we shall spend the ditference. 
 
 Gunn. Joe, this sha'n't be. 
 
 Creepm. No, Captain Gunn, it sha'n't ! I've been thinking it 
 shouldn't, and — you musn't suppose I am not adamant, but I can 
 melt on proper occasion. Miss Brand, your goodness — ^your 
 devotion — your magnauim — in a word, Miss Brand, the bond is 
 yours, — for you are noble, you are good — and if you will, my 
 nejihew into the bargain. {Giving hand. 
 
 Amy. Oh, sir, what can I say ? 
 
 Creepm. Say 1 say you found me iron, and left me butter. 
 
 Tackle. Hun-ah ! And now, for I see Jubilee and Miss Chipp 
 are going to make one of it, — 
 
 Jubilee. No— no ; not at all. Emma forbids the banns. 
 
 Tackle. And Gibbs and Susan another one ; what remains for 
 the youngsters 1 
 
 Gunn. Why not bind 'em in com-tship, and let 'em mariT" when 
 their time's out ? 
 
 Mrs. Puffins. My very thought ! 
 
 Penny. And mine ! 
 
 Puffins. "Well, say in six or seven years — eh, Mr. Fitzpenny- 
 weight ? 
 
 Penny. With all my heart ; and there {Giving it) is my card 
 upon it ! 
 
 Puffins. {Reads card) "Zachary Pennyweight, CamomUe-street, 
 Green-grocer," — 
 
 Penny. "Carpets beat — " 
 
 Gibbs. "And dinners jjuuctually attended." 
 
 M7-S. Penny. But, Mr. Puffins — I assure you — upon my word, 
 that's a long time ago. 
 
 Kitty. Oh, very long ! 
 
 Paul. Fifty years ago — isn't it, ma'am ? 
 
 Creepm. { To Puffins) My dear friend — it's destiny — we must 
 ground arms to fate. 
 
 Puffins. Well, if they're in the same mind when they're five- 
 and-twenty —
 
 KETIRED FKOM BUSINESS. 303 
 
 Paul. And if our minds grow stronger and stronger, you'll 
 wink off two or three years, won't you 1 
 
 Tackle. To be sure he will. And Kitty, see what you'll get by 
 waiting I I'll grow you such a garland for your wedding ! 
 
 Kitt)/. A garland, indeed ! A daisy to-day, is worth a rose-bush 
 to-rnorrow. 
 
 Pufflns. But, Mr. Pennjrweight, I trust you are now, in every 
 sense — I say, in every sense — once and for ever retired from 
 business ? 
 
 Gunn. No. 
 
 All. Xo. 
 
 Gunn. No : in every sense, who is ? Life has its duties 
 ever ; none wiser, better, than a manly disregard of false dis- 
 tinctions, made by ignorance, maintained by weakness. Resting 
 from the activities of life, we have yet our daily task — the 
 interchange of simple thoughts, and gentle doings. When, follow- 
 ing those already passed, we rest beneath the shadow of yon 
 distant spire, then, and only then may it be said of us — " Eetired 
 from Business." 
 
 END OF "RETIRED FROM BUSINESS."
 
 ST. CUPID; 
 
 OB, 
 
 DOROTHY'S FORTUNE.
 
 CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Sir Valentine May . 
 Mr. Under-Secretary Zero 
 Eiisign Bellefieur 
 Doctor Budcl. 
 Checker . . . . 
 Haicke . . . • 
 Trundle . . . . 
 
 Mr. "Walter Lact. 
 Mr. James Vixing. 
 Mr. G. Everett. 
 Mr. Has-let. 
 Mr. Ryder. 
 Mr. F. Cooke. 
 Mr. J. Chester. 
 
 Dorothy Budd Mrs. Charles Keak. 
 
 Jtino Mrs. Walter Lacy. 
 
 Queen Bee Mr. Wright. 
 
 Scene, London and Kensington. Date, 1715. 
 
 *^* This comedy was originally acted before her Majesty, at Windsor 
 Castle, on the 2\st of January, 1853 ; atid produced at the Princess's 
 Theatre on the follorcing evening.
 
 ST. CUPID; 
 
 oa. 
 
 DOEOTHY'S FOKTUNE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 'Scene I. — Apartment in the Mansion of Mr. Under- 
 Secretary Zero. 
 
 Enter Trundle, followed by Hawke, who carries an official box. 
 
 Trundle. Mr. Secretary Zero ordered me not to disturb him 
 "before eleven, and if Charles Stuart was at the door ; yes, if the 
 Prince himself — 
 
 Hawke. Prince ! "We of the government call him rebel, 
 pretender. 
 
 Trundle. And a fit name for him too, at a distance ; but 
 depend on't, folks will change it for his highness, if he once gets 
 to London. 
 
 Hawkc. Get to the moon ! Why there's a hundred thousand 
 pounds offered for the madman, dead or alive. 
 
 Trundle. As madmen go, that's a large price. Dead or aliTe ! 
 poor fellow ! 
 
 Hawke. Hark you. In these times there can be but two 
 sides. Now, as the servant of a cabinet minister, your 
 politics — 
 
 Trundle. Cabinet ! My cabinet is my place — my politics, my 
 perquisites — my side, my inside. Therefore I don't call Mr. 
 Secretary until — 
 
 Hawke. You must ! 
 
 Trundle. 1 won't ! 
 
 X 2
 
 308 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Enter Sir Valentine Mat. 
 
 Valentine. How now ? What brawl's here ] 
 
 Hawke. My duty, sir, — 
 
 Trundle. And my duty, sir, — 
 
 Valentine. ( To Hawke.) Speak you. 
 
 Hawke. I come, Sir Valentine, from the office. Bear letters 
 that — 
 
 Valentine. Oh, the old errand, do tell your master— 
 
 Trundle. Sir, my master said eleven, and {Clock strikes) I'm 
 gone, sir ; for now the clock says eleven, too. \_Exit. 
 
 Valentine. Letters, eh ? From the north and — 
 
 Haioke. The north and elsewhere. 
 
 Valentine. We are much beholden to his pretendership. He has 
 shaken London like a feather-bed. The very guards encamped 
 in Hyde Park to face the Stuart and sciatica. 
 
 Re-enter Trundle. 
 Trundle. My master will be here, Sir Valentine j but sends the 
 
 key that, — 
 
 Valentine. Good. {Takes ley. Exit Trundle.) As under-secre- 
 tary's secretary 'tis little enough I do : and luckily my uncle's 
 such a glutton at official fare, he hardly leaves me the crumbs- 
 {Opens box) Why, what a batch is here ! 
 
 Hawke. These the original letters — these the copies we have 
 
 taken. 
 
 Valentine. The true rebels, and their speaking portraits. 
 Undone fools ! Pandora's box without hope of clergy. 
 
 Hawke. Some of 'em droll. Sir Valentine: saving your 
 presence, devilish droll. 
 
 Valentine. Well, that government is still the safest that makes 
 treason laughable. 
 
 Hawke. Oh, Sir Valentine, we all laugh at the rising ; laugh 
 like loyal subjects. Still, there's matter in these letters that— ^ 
 
 Valmti7ie. Mr. Hawke, you are, I believe, the chief hand at this 
 nice surgery ? 
 
 Hawke. Surgery, Sir Valentine ? 
 
 Valentine. You best can operate upon written men, for such are 
 men's letters l Best can open the locked lips of wax— best take 
 out the heart of the secret— the brain of the purpose, and that so 
 tenderly, the patient dealt upon dreams not of the operation 
 until a short way off he sees the hurdle and the axe 1 Eh, good 
 Hawke ? 
 
 Hawke. I hope, sir, I serve my country. 
 
 Valentine. You may wait. (Hawke bom and exit.) The times
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 309 
 
 may justify the betrayal ; yet, dealing with these broken con- 
 fidences — 
 
 {Enter Mr. Under-Secretary Zero, leaning on Trundle. 
 Exit Trundle.) 
 
 Not so well this morning, uncle 1 
 
 Zero. Well, Val 1 How can I be well ? "With me the gout's a 
 state barometer. I knew by my knee that the pretender had 
 landed, and last night I had twinges of all those letters, in every 
 joint of my toes. 
 
 Valentine. {Half-adde. The spirit of the seer prophesying 
 through gout !) 
 
 Zero. Well, what's the worst treason 1 
 
 Valentine. {Ttirning over letters.) I see none — scent none. 
 
 Zero. Ha, Val ; you've no eye for a plot — no nose. Once I was 
 like yourself. 
 
 Valentine. And now you'd see Guy Fawke's tinder in a 
 dowager's snuff-box ; and smell his matches in a spinster's harts- 
 horn. 
 
 Zero. And why not ? But the treason there awaits us. Eead, 
 Val ; read. 
 
 Valentine. {Reads) " From Alexander Macthistle of the Canon- 
 gate to Duncan Haggis, of the Golden Mull, tobacconist. Little 
 Britain." 
 
 Zero. Scot to Scot. Go on. 
 
 Valentine. {Reads.) "Ye shall learn by these, Duncan, that 
 the snuffs are no yet prepared for the London Market. They 
 yet need a little scorching to tak' the noses o' the Southrons." 
 
 Zero. Noses of the Southrons ! Hm ! 
 
 Valentine. {Reads.) "Am glad to ken ye're getting on so 
 brawly. Fergus tells me your Highlander looks bonny in his 
 new paint." 
 
 Zero. Highlander ! New paint ! Hm ! 
 
 Valentine. {Reads.) "And for the glory of puir Scotland, I 
 hope soon to hear of a thousand niair in the streets o' London." 
 
 Zero. Now, Sir Valentine May, for a les.son in state craft. What 
 is really in that letter ? 
 
 Valentine. Why, Scotch snuff in Edinburgh, and wooden 
 Highlanders mounting guard at the doors of snuff-shops in 
 London. 
 
 Zero. And is that all ? Well, another. 
 
 Valentine. {Reads.) "John Ketts, Irongate, to Simon Quick, 
 toyman, Covent Garden. Oar advices inform us that the ship will 
 sail next week with your order. One thousand common dolls ;
 
 310 ST. CUPID; 
 
 with fifty samples, that work their eyes and mouths. With these 
 two huudred I'ocking-horses." 
 
 Zero. Well % 
 
 Valentine. Well'/ 
 
 Zero, k nd you can't see throush this ? Listen and learn. 
 Tlie undried snuff is troops preparing for the pretender. The 
 Highlanders in London, a swarm of kilts with the Stuart. 
 
 Valentine. And the thousand common dolls, sir % 
 
 Zero, Foreign troops. 
 
 Valentine. And the dolls with eyes and mouths ? 
 
 Zero. The officers to command them. 
 
 Valentine. And the rocking-horses ? 
 
 Zero. Cavalry, sir ; cavalry, as I'm a statesman. 
 
 Valentine. Wonderful ! (Aside : Daylight's wasted upon a 
 man who can see so much better in the dark.) Eh 1 {Taling a 
 letter.) Surely a woman's hand ? 
 
 Zero. No doubt. To fan treason into full blaze, always fan with 
 a petticoat. Go on. 
 
 Valentine. {Reading) " To Belinda Icebrook." — 
 
 Zero. {Aside : Icebrook ? At last— at last !) Icebrook ? From 
 whom ? 
 
 Valentine. Dorothy — Dorothy — Budd. 
 
 Zero. Go on. 
 
 Valentine. Sir, it is a woman's letter. 
 
 Zero. Sir, treason is of no sex. The axe — and it could speak — 
 could tell you that. 
 
 Valentine. And when I am worthy of the headsman's trade, 
 then I may stoop to this. 
 
 Zero. A nice chivalry, perhaps : but all too fine for me to see 
 it. {Reads.) "This greeting in the name of St. Cupid." 
 
 Valentitie. St. Cupid ! Ha, ha ! Since Cupid has so many of his 
 old friends in the Calendar, 'tis right, at last, he's canonised him- 
 self. St. Cupid! 
 
 Zero. {Reads.) " Sweet Belinda, fortune has found her eyes, for 
 at last she has found me. And how 1 Guess till your hair grow 
 grey, you'll never know." 
 
 Valentine. And with such a prospect she'll never try. 
 
 Zero. (Reads.) " I'm to have a husband in a week — a diamond 
 of a man dropt from the cloiids." 
 
 Valentine. Only one 1 Why not a shower ? 
 
 Zero. (Reads.) " He who would pluck a violet, must stoop for 
 t — which means, I'm told, that my lover humbles himself to 
 make me my lady. Will you have any more ? Well then, I'm 
 to be grandmother to a duke, to die at fourscore, and be buried 
 in silver gilt and silk velvet."
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 311 
 
 Valentine. Very handsome to the worms. 
 
 Zero. {Reads.) "All this, dear Belinda, a gipsy's sold me for 
 sixpence and a battered thimble. These, wonder at, and bless 
 your Dorothy's fortune." 
 
 Valentine. And is that all 1 
 
 Zero. Here's a postscript. (Reads.) " I'd nigh forgot my pin- 
 money. Five hundred a-year — my own coach — and mind, an 
 army of footmen. Bravo, St. Cupid ! " Well, what's that 2 
 
 Valentine. That 1 Why, petticoats-iu-idleness. Gipsy jargon 
 canted to a silly gii-1 who prattles the folly to her companion. 
 
 Zero. Right. There's no treason here. 
 
 Valentine. Treason in a pincushion ! 
 
 Zero. Ha, Val ; a vile necessity, this suspicion. I would fain 
 trust all the world, 
 
 Valentine. Then why not 1 
 
 Zero. Why ?. With such as me, 'tis learning to swim in deep 
 water : fail, and you may have no second trial. But you're right : 
 this letter's gipsy gossip. (Aside : And now to seek the fortune- 
 teUer.) 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : Dorothy ! I like the name, I marvel 
 where Dorothy dwells ?) 
 
 Zero. (Aside : An army of footmen. No doubt — no — .(Drops 
 the letter) — Valentine — 
 
 Valentine. ( Takes up letter — glancing at it, as he hands it to 
 Zero.) " The Lilacs, Kensington." 
 
 Zero. (Rings bell : enter Trundle ; Zero returns letters to box.) 
 Grandmother to a duke ! St. Cupid, too. (Aside : St. George, 
 rather.) Ha, Val ! Who'd grow old when such a fortune's bought 
 for sixpence 1 Who'd live in brick-and-mortar, with such a 
 golden castle in the clouds? {Aside to Trundle: Send Mr. 
 Hawke to me.) Oh, rare — rare St. Cupid ! 
 
 [Eocit into inner room, followed by Trundle who carries the iox. 
 
 Valentine. Dorothy — The Lilacs ! And now are there half-a- 
 dozen faces nodding at me like roses from a bush ; and which — 
 which is Dorothy's ? Blue eyes, with love's simplicity ; or 
 subtle, tantalising hazel 1 A cheek like a carnation, or face of 
 peach-like brown 1 Tut ! some buxom wench agog for blind- 
 man's-buff or hunt-the-slipper. Dorothy — The Lilacs ! The 
 syllables sound like a story. And her letter ! Why do I 
 remember it 1 I, with no more memory than a fly : and yet 
 my brain, like so much blotting-paper, has drunk up every 
 word. Every word. Dorothy — the Lilacs ! I'll see this linnet 
 in her bush. \_Exit.
 
 312 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Scene II. — " The Lilacs^ A Garden ; Doctor Budd's 
 home at hack. 
 
 Enter Doctor Budd. {He has a newspaper^ 
 
 Budd. In three days the holidays end — the boys will be 
 sprinkling back — and no usher ! What has become of scholar- 
 ship that an offer like this remains unanswered 1 {Reads.) 
 " Wanted, an usher. He must know Greek and Latin ; and be 
 acquainted with Hebrew, conic sections indispensable. All the 
 better, if skilled in the broad-sword. He may have occasionally 
 to assume the duties of dancing master ; and must write a beau- 
 tiful hand. A knowledge of music — especially the fiddle — a 
 further recommendation. Honorarium, ten pounds per annum ; 
 washing not included." Isn't that temptation ? Hasn't it the 
 cadence of the Lydian flute — an odorous whiff from the very 
 groves of the Academy ? And no answer ! Ha, Dorothy 
 disappointed me from the first, or she'd been born a boy. Then 
 she had succeeded her father whilst, like Diocletian, I had abdi- 
 cated for luy flower-beds. Eh ? I seem alone as it is. HaUo ! 
 Where's that wild thing Dolly would hire ? Juno— Juno ! Yes 
 — she must change that name. As a schoolmaster, I can't have 
 Juno for a maid-of-all-work. Juno ! 
 
 Enter Juno. 
 
 Juno. Here she is, sir. Here's Juno. 
 
 Budd. Juno, you've been here a week. What do you think 
 ofusi 
 
 Juno. Might be worse — might as well be better. 
 
 Budd. I believe you're right, 
 
 Juno. Always speaks my mind. It saves trouble ; 'cause one 
 hasn't got to hunt for nothin'. 
 
 Budd. {Aside : She's rough as a sloe ; but I think as natural.) 
 Juno, I believe I shall like you ; and so I shall change your 
 name for you. 
 
 Juno. Change my name ! You know you don't mean it ; and 
 if you did, not if your skin was burstin' with di'monds, 
 
 Budd. What ! why, hussy, you — you — {Aside : — Pooh ! she 
 pretends not to understand, and isn't natural, but a woman, 
 after all.) I mean — 
 
 Juno. Never mind : I won't tell nobody. Only, I say, you've 
 seen a cat with a mouse ? 
 
 Budd. WelU
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 313 
 
 Juno. Well, then, you've seen fine folks making game o' poor 
 ones ; and it isn't right and straight, is it ? 
 
 Budd (Aside : She is natural, I believe.) Juno, where's my 
 daughter ? 
 
 Jufio. Gone out hours ago with the sojer. 
 
 Budd. Soldier ! Dorothy's cousin, Ensign Bellefleur. Poor 
 lad ! he's still unv?ell. 
 
 Juno. In course. Hasn't he got leave to be sick 1 Why should 
 he be well afore his time's up 1 But here he comes, sir, along with 
 the doctor. 
 
 Budd. Doctor ! Why, it's Dorothy ! 
 
 Jtcno. And so it is. Why what a fool I am ! If I didn't take 
 your daughter, that beautiful flower, for that young officer's 
 doctor. If you please, ain't I a fool ? 
 
 Budd. Eh ? Well, I'm not so sure of that. Why, they've 
 turned into the school-room. 
 
 Juno. Poor things ! Just as if they was two scholards come 
 back for the holidays. 
 
 Budd. And the holidays will be over — the boys back — and no 
 usher, no usher ! [Exit. 
 
 Juno. If that sojer was wise he'd get well at once ; for Miss 
 Dorothy don't mind him a bit. No ; she laughs too much to 
 be in love. Quite too full of life for a woman's first care, which 
 is a sweetheart. 
 
 Enter Sir Valentine at lach. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : An odd, silent place. Eh, a woman ? And 
 silent still. Wonders grow !) 
 
 Juno. She's more like a bird than — [Seeitig Valentine.) Law ! 
 A man ! 
 
 Valentine. Even so. Now you know the worst. 
 
 Juno. {Aside : Just like Miss Dorothy !) You found the gate 
 open ? 
 
 Valentine. Open as woman's heart. 
 
 Juno. {Aside : When she always ought to shut it, but never 
 does.) 
 
 Valentine. And this is The Lilacs ? 
 
 Juno. {Aside : A Lunnuner by his talk.) The Lalocs. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : It's plain I'm at school.) There's some- 
 thing for the lesson : something to get your fortune told. You 
 have gipsies here, eh ? 
 
 Juno. Gipsies ? This is a school ich young gentlemen that has 
 notliing to do with rogues and vagabones. {Aside: If Queen Bee 
 only heard me !) But you want Doctor Budd, and — {Aside : If 
 now it should be ?)
 
 314 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : She reads me as I were a fiuger-post.) 
 Juno. I say, you can't be a — a huslier 1 
 Valentine. An usher ! Why not 1 
 
 Juno. Why, you don't look as if you'd lived on scholardship ; 
 but if you have — 
 
 Valentine. If I have 1 
 
 Juno. Well, hasn't it been proper meat and drink to you ! 
 
 [Rum off. 
 
 Valentine. Stay. Oflf like a minnow ! So ; my adventure 
 jjromises. Dorothy ! And when I see her, what story shall I — 
 no ; I'll even take my inspiration from her eyes. To prepare a 
 part were want of faith in beauty, treason to St. Cupid. 
 
 [Sits at garden table, and takes newspaper. 
 
 Enter Doctor Budd. 
 
 Budd. {Aside : An usher that looks like a gentleman ?) 
 
 Valentine. {Aside, reading paper : " Wanted, an iisher." Poor 
 devil !) 
 
 Budd. {Aside : Oh, a perfect gentleman ; and no teacher.) 
 
 Valentine. {Aside, reading : " Greek, Latin, Hebrew, conic 
 sections, broadsword, liddle and — Ten pounds per annum, — ") 
 
 Budd. {Aside : Comes about a pupil, no doubt.) 
 
 Valentine. {Aside, reading : " Washing not included ! " Quite 
 unnecessary. Such a teacher may wash in the well of truth ; for 
 with such a salary he can scarcely have a larger stock of linen.) 
 
 Budd. {Aside : It must be a pupil.) 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : When learning's paid at such a price, who 
 wouldn't cultivate a profitable ignorance 1) {Seeing Budd.) So ; I 
 have the honour to address — 
 
 Budd. Doctor Budd. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : This Dorothy's father ! Well, the blossom 
 grows on a bramble.) 
 
 Budd. Of the Lilacs. A classic spot, sii'. A bit of Attica on 
 the hem of London. 
 
 Valentine. Socrates and Plato within a stride of Bond-street. 
 And Minerva, Doctor ; does Minerva — 
 
 Budd. My daughter, Dorothy Budd, has Greek and to spare 
 for young beginners. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : Greek ! I see her. She takes snuff and 
 wears green spectacles. Yet I'll be satisfied.) Could I see the 
 house ■? 
 
 Budd. Certainly. The paint is not dry, and here and there 
 — for we're repairing — the plaster wet. Otherwise, the bed- 
 rooms —
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 315 
 
 Valentine. Beds of roses, allowing for the paiut, no doubt. 
 (Aside : I will see her.) And the kitchen, Doctor ? 
 
 Budd. The kitchen ! you might roast an ox in it. 
 
 Valentine. Do you often try the experiment ? 
 
 Budd. Often. {Aside : Of course, it's a pupil.) All our boys 
 have as much again as they can eat, and twice as much as they 
 can waste. This way, sir. 
 
 Valentine. For the kitchen is my test of the school-room ; nor 
 can the relationship be too intimate between the teacher and the 
 turnspit. 
 
 Budd. Very just, sir ; this way. {Aside : It must be a pupil. 
 Who knows 1 Two pupils !) 
 
 [Budd hows Valentine off towards the house. 
 
 * 
 
 Enter Dob-Otby followed hy Bellefleur. 
 
 Dorothyf. Another step, and I'll run to my room, and lock, 
 bolt, and bar my door. 
 
 Bellefleur. And then I'll follow, and plead through the key- 
 hole. Now, Dorothy — 
 
 Dorothy. And the day so hot, and you so delicate ! Your 
 walk must have tired you. Now, there's a good boy, go and 
 sleep. 
 
 Bellefleur. Three days, Dorothy ; three days, and then — 
 
 Dorothy. And then, your leave expires — the holidays end — and 
 the house will be comfortable hum-drum again. 
 
 Bellefleur. And you have no ambition 1 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, full as an egg — an eagle's egg. 
 
 Bellefleur. "Would I could think it ! 
 
 Dorothy. Well, it isn't your fault, but — 
 
 Belli fleur. Yes? 
 
 Dorothy. You don't know my dreams. 
 
 Bellefleur. Oh, visions of the Sleeping Beauty. 
 
 Dorothy. And she — yes, she awoke, to marry a prince. Well, 
 that will do. 
 
 Bellefleur. Dorothy, there are times when fortune gives with 
 open hands. Times, when the discreetly bold, and truly loyal — 
 I said truly loyal. 
 
 Dorothy. I heard you. But, my dear cousin, you talk of fortvme 
 ■with a death's-head look ; and speak of loyalty as if loyalty wer j 
 a secret to go no further. 
 
 Bellf fleur. You can keep a secret ! 
 
 Dorothy. Can you ? 
 
 Bellefleur. Yes. 
 
 Dorothy, Then do keep it.
 
 316 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Belleflenr. No : yon must know it. 
 
 Dorothy. Must ! Then I give you warning. What you must 
 pour in at my ears, must run out at my mouth. Keep a secret ! 
 Ask me to keep a jack-o-lantern. 
 
 Bellefleur. But cousin Dorothy— 
 
 Dorothy. But cousin George ; you've been so long in France— 
 in scheming, snaring France — you think all this beautiful world 
 a cobweb, and all the people in it, flies and spiders. 
 
 Bellefleur. And if such I've found the world ? 
 
 Dorothy. Ha, George, we often make the world we find. "Webs 
 and flies ! What, with a blue roof like that above us, and a 
 soaring song of daily happiness ? 
 
 Bellefleur. A soaring song ! You, a house-bird, for cottage 
 eaves ? 
 
 Dorothy. A house-bird 1 I'm content. They don't snare 
 swallows. Let me but twitter round my nest of clay, and sing 
 who will in a cage of gold. But, hark you, George — hush ! my 
 father — a stranger, too. 
 
 Bellefleur. Here we escape then. Come, cousin : nay, your 
 lips were set for pearls and diamonds, and I'll not lose the 
 promised treasure. 
 
 Dorothy. Well, good counsel is a gem. But, George, I fear me 
 you'll never carry the jewel in your ears. \_They retire. 
 
 Enter Sir Valentine and Doctor Budd. 
 
 Budd. I knew, sir, you must like the house. 
 
 Valentine. The house is a temple. {Aside : Still no Dorothy.) 
 
 Budd. And the garden — 
 
 Valentine. The garden is Paradise. (Aside : But where is the 
 woman 1) 
 
 Budd. Greatly honoured by the condescension of your 
 approval. {Aside : I wish he'd speak.) Of your api^roval. 
 
 Valentine. Plainly, the house seems habitable : the garden a 
 very satisfactory green, and — by the way, what sort of air have 
 you ? Dry ? 
 
 Budd. {Aside : 1 wonder how he likes it ?) 
 
 Valentine. Dry, I hope ? 
 
 Budd. Now, that is strange. Though all other stock flourishes 
 wondrously, we are here so dry, ducks won't live with us. 
 
 Valentine. No ducks 1 {Aside : And no petticoats 1) 
 
 Budd. {Aside : He must come to business now.) 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : What next ? For I will see her.) House, 
 grounds, air — good ; very good. And now — now — why, no, — 
 you hav'n't a rookery ?
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 317 
 
 Budd. Well, in the matter of rooks, opinions differ. To some 
 folks rooks are a plague — to some a pleasure. 
 
 Vale3'ti?ie. I pity their taste. 
 
 Budd. {Aside : Hm ! which taste '?) 
 
 Valentine. Fine fellows, rooks ! I like 'em : they suffer an 
 undeserved bad name, yet never do the less good for the scandal. 
 To confound evil tongues, we might take a lesson even of the 
 rooks. 
 
 Budd. And luckily, our rooks are of the finest. Sir, you have 
 studied the youthful mind. And, perhaps, I may now ask — 
 
 DoROTHT appears, followed hy Bellefleur. 
 
 Valentine. Who's that ? 
 
 Budd. That ? {Beckons her to Mm. Formally introducing her) 
 ]My daughter, sir ; Miss Dorothy Budd. 
 
 \_She curtsies ceremoniously ; Budd passes her to Bellefleur, who 
 leads her off. 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : By St. Cupid, she might be Cupid's 
 mother !) 
 
 Budd. (Aside : I don't like these pauses.) Sir, may I now 
 enquire — 
 
 Valentine. Certainly. (Aside : Dorothy's fortune ! 'Twould 
 be sport for a king — and a king of good fellows to boot — to 
 help to make it !) 
 
 Budd. Sir, I await your commands. 
 
 Valmtine. Very good — wait, (Aside : What a look of inno- 
 cence ! Tut ! Natnre's so good to women, and makes innocent 
 looks so very easy.) 
 
 Budd. Sir — I — in fact, my time is valuable. 
 
 Valentine. I am delighted to hear it. To the true teacher, 
 time's hour-glass shoLdd still run gold dust. 
 
 Budd. (Aside : That's handsome.) In which case, sir, in — 
 
 DoROTHT runs in. 
 
 Dorothy. Father, you are wanted within. 
 
 Budd. Dear me ! Who now ? 
 
 Dorothy. A gentleman — that is — 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : And when she speaks, a dove. A fireside 
 dove !) 
 
 Budd. Does he look like an uslier 1 
 
 Valentine. Who ? 
 
 Budd. I expect an usher, and sir— *■ 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : Usher ! The newspaper ! That's it. Yes : 
 I was sent here to make Dorothy's fortune, and destiny, thou 
 shalt be obeyed !) Doctor Budd —
 
 318 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Dorotliy. (Aside: What can he want ? He's Very handsome.) 
 
 Valentine. You have shown me your house — I like it. The 
 school-room lofty — the kitchen capable of good things. A trim 
 garden, and the air, the very climate for a system delicate and 
 susceptible. 
 
 Budd. Dolly, tell the usher to wait. 
 
 Dorothy. He'll wait. (Aside: And so will I.) 
 
 Budd. You approve of us ? 
 
 Valentine. Profoundly. Therefore, as I am first upon the 
 ground, you will doubtless first consider my claims. 
 
 Budd. Your claims, sir 1 
 
 Valentine. Examine me ; I can make 'em good. (Takes news- 
 paper from table — bows, presenting it to Budd.) Greek, Latin, 
 Hebrew, broadsword, music. — 
 
 Budd. And that is all you — 
 
 Valentine. Oh, I've not done. Conic sections, and — washing 
 not included. 
 
 Dorothy. (Aside: An usher ! Poor fellow !) 
 
 Budd. (Aside : An usher ! Impudent puppy !) Hark you ! 
 Where have you been before ? Come : at whose school ? 
 
 Valentine. Adversity's. 
 
 Dorothy. (Aside : Poor soul ! He is very handsome.) 
 
 Budd. Adversity ! Well, she must have given a good salary 
 by your coat. Why did you leave her 1 
 
 Valentine. (Aside to Budd : My coat, sir ! A scholar may 
 confide in a scholar : this coat is not paid for.) 
 
 Budd. Eeally 1 
 
 Valentine. (Aside to him : Nothing is paid for. I stand before 
 3'ou a living monument of human credibility.) 
 
 Budd. And so you run into debt, and — 
 
 Valentine. To the poor, debt is made the homage to the world. 
 Who believes in rags ? Now, fine clothes are the very blossoms 
 of the tree of knowledge. 
 
 Budd. (Aside: There's something in this young man.) 
 
 Dorothy. (Aside to Budd : Shall I see the other person ; and 
 if he be an usher, say you are suited V) 
 
 Budd. (Aside to her : But I'm not suited.) 
 
 Dorothy. (Aside to him : He's first, you know ; and I don't 
 think you could do better.) 
 
 Valentine. (Aside: They talk of me. Her face glows — her 
 eyes kindle. Ten pounds a year ! I'll take half the money.) 
 
 Budd. (Aside to her : But his assurance ! Was ever usher so 
 impudent ?) 
 
 Dorothy. (Aside to him : Aye ; but was ever usher so well 
 dressed ?)
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 319 
 
 Budd. {Abide : Hm ! He'd do us credit — tkrow a bloom upon 
 The Lilacs !) 
 
 Valenfine. And when, sir, do the holidays end 1 
 
 Dorothi/. In three days. 
 
 Valentine. ( To Budd : In three days, then, I'll send my box :) 
 {Aside to him : my bundle.) 
 
 Budd. Oh ! then you really like the house ? 
 
 Valentine. I like the house. 
 
 Budd. And by-and-by, perhaps, you'll like me ? 
 
 Valentine. Sir, I make no desperate promises, but I'U do my 
 best. 
 
 Dorothy. {Aside to Budd : Could any one do better T) 
 
 Valentine. {Aside: So: I'll change my note.) But we needn't 
 close to-day. 
 
 Budd. Certainly not. 
 
 Valentine. I'll call to-morrow — or next day — or next week. 
 
 Budd. Very good. {Aside to her : Eh ! Dorothy 1 next 
 week ?) 
 
 Dorothi/. {Aside to him : Oh, sir, I'll not advise. You sha'n't 
 blame me.) 
 
 Valentine. And then the other gentleman may have stronger 
 claims ? 
 
 Budd. Sir, yoii have a fine sense of justice ; he may. Perhaps, 
 however, you'll wait a little ? 
 
 Valentine. No ; on second thoughts — no. I withdraw. 
 
 Budd. Stay, I beg — I insist. {Aside : He's high-spirited and 
 — and none the worse for that.) Dorothy, talk to the gentleman 
 for five minutes — only five minutes. [Exit. 
 
 Valentine. {After a pause.) Talk to the gentleman. Surely 
 Miss Budd is an obedient child 1 
 
 Dorothi/. No, she isn't. Unless when obedience has its own 
 reward. But I'll be dutiful. What shall I talk about 1 
 
 Valentine. I'll give you a subject. 
 
 Dorothy. A pretty one, I hope ? 
 
 Valentine. Beautiful and good. Yourself. 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, your servant. Myself ! A subject I'm a weary of. 
 
 Valentine. Why not part with it ? 
 
 Dorothy. I'm too merciful, and hate no one well enough 
 to trouble with it. No — now I think of it, I'll even talk of 
 you. 
 
 Valentine. With all my heart. Tell me my fortune. 
 
 Dorothy. Your fortune ? That's irf the stars. 
 
 Valentine. Wh}' that I see — What is it 1 
 
 Dorothy. {A^ide : What shall it be ?) 
 
 Valentine. Nay, take my hand.
 
 320 ST. CUPID ; 
 
 Dorothy. It doesn't ueed. Like fortune's self, I'd tell your 
 fortune blindfold. 
 
 Valentine. Well, pronounce. 
 
 Dorothy. And now, I dare not. Your fortune ! — 'tis too full of 
 folly ; too full of all that's wild, and — 
 
 Valentine. Wild ! Only see me for one winter at the fireside : 
 that's my place. No hotbed for the virtues like the chimney- 
 corner. 
 
 Dorothy. You in the chimney-corner ! An out-door plant, 
 I fear. 
 
 Valentine. You'll judge me otherwise. I could prophesy ! Ere 
 Christmas comes, ere holly sprigs are cut, and the little loves, 
 like bees in blossoms, murmur in the misletoe, — 
 
 Dorothy. Well, go on with the prediction. 
 
 Valentine. Not now. Having got to the misletoe — 
 
 Dorothy. You'll never stop % 
 
 Valentine. Yes — 'tis safest. (Aside : I half repent this frolic. 
 Too wise for sport — too fair for falsehood. And yet her words 
 weave a net about me, and her eye looks fascination.) 
 
 Dorothy. How my father stays ! (Aside : What's the matter 
 with me ? But now, a butterfly — and now, a snail.) 
 
 Valentine. Your father ! Doubtless won by the merits of the 
 other usher. (Aside : That's it ; and so to retreat.) Yes — 'twas 
 not to be. Farewell, chimney-corner — farewell, misletoe. You'll 
 say farewell l 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, you yield the ground so cheerily, I can't refuse. 
 
 Valentine. (Taking her hand.) Farewell, fair lady. (Aside: 
 Am I a coxcomb, or did she really sigh, and did the blood beat in 
 her fingers 1) I am gone, madam ; and — (looking off) — Eh, is this 
 the other usher 1 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, no ! He's nothing — that is, nobody but my 
 cousin. 
 
 Valentine. Faith, that's something to begin with. (Aside : I 
 won't go. He is here.) So — a comely cousin. [ They retire. 
 
 Enter Bellefleub. 
 
 Bellefleur. Where have I seen him? In France — no; not 
 France. But we have met — his face comes to me like an old 
 story. (Seeing them.) Dorothy, and — and — {significantly to her) 
 —Who ? 
 
 Dorothy. The gentleman is — is — 
 
 Valentine. A gentleman ; that may suffice. 
 
 Bellefleur. Gentleman is a wide word ; oft strained to cover 
 mixed conditions —
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : So ! This sparkles of jealousy. I'll stir 
 the fire.) Sir, you are oracular. Has Apollo quitted Delphi ? 
 
 Belleflei(r. A word convenient when no name's inherited, or 
 when a name is lost. And, sir — 
 
 Enter Doctor Budd at lack. Checker lounges on, holing 
 
 about him. 
 
 Budd. George, what's this ? High words, and hot looks ? 
 
 Valentine. A little argument, sir : the subject — gentleman. I 
 am sure that Ensign Bellefleur and myself accord in the same 
 definition. 
 
 Bellefleur. {Aside to Valentine : I understand you.) Very 
 good. 
 
 Checker. {Aside : Yes — Ensign Bellefleur. I knew 'twas he.) 
 
 Budd. I should hope so. 
 
 Checker. {Coming doum :) Ho ! ho ! No doubt — no doubt. 
 
 Bellefleiir. {Aside; seefw,^ Checker : Here still !) Yes; 'twas 
 in France. 
 
 Checker. Ensign Bellefleur — and — 
 
 Bellefleur. {Aside : Familiar hound !) 
 
 Budd. {Pointing to Valentine :) My usher ! 
 
 Bellefleur. Usher ! Pah ! [Exit. 
 
 Checker. {Aside : Usher ! Hm ! A gay and glossy usher.) 
 
 Budd. My usher. {Aside to Valentine : Say no more ; but 
 to-morrow bring your bundle. In a word, you're engaged.) 
 
 Valentine. {Aside to Dorothy : I'm engaged.) 
 
 Dorothy. {Aside : Engaged !) 
 
 Budd. (To Checker.) And, as you admire the house, I may 
 hope for — 
 
 Checker. Oh, for all my boys. {Aside : For all I have.) Still, 
 I must first bring my wife. 
 
 Budd. Their honoured mother 1 Certainly. 
 
 Checker. {Aside : But I must first get her.) And, no doubt, 
 you'll have our olive branches : every twig — every twig. 
 
 Budd. In three days school begins. 
 
 Checker. I shall be here then. {Aside : Be sure of it.) But 
 now, I must away. {Aside : For Mr. Zero waits me.) And that's 
 your usher 1 
 
 Budd. ]My usher. 
 
 Checker. Does honour to the house. Seldom see a school-book 
 in such excellent binding. This way out ? 
 
 Budd. This way, sir. {To Val]j:ntine — Follow me.) This 
 
 way, sir. \_Exit Budd showing out Checker. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside ; His boys 1 He has scarcely the paternal 
 
 look. And that young soldier ! A mist seems rising about me. 
 
 Y
 
 322 ST. CUPID; 
 
 But here's a foce that breaks and brightens it.) {To Dorothy :) 
 Well, I'm of the household : your humble usher, 
 
 Dorothy. Yes — engaged. 
 
 Valentine. Look ; yon holly shoots the higher at the word. 
 "What a merry Christmas we will have ! 
 
 Dorothy. You promise it ? 
 
 Valentine. Promise ! I swear it ! 
 
 Dorothy. Hardly ? 
 
 Valentine. Yes : I swear it by my patron saint. 
 
 Dorothy. And who is he 1 
 
 Valentine. Guess. 
 
 Dorothy. St. Crisj^in 1 
 
 Valetitine. No ; St. Cupid ! [Runs off. 
 
 Dorothy. St. — gone ! St. Cupid ! That's strange. He's very 
 handsome. How noble — frank — liis look. St. — how very 
 strange ! St. Cupid ! 
 
 {^Seats herself on garden-chair ; lapses into tho:tghf. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene. — An Apartment opening upon Garden Grounds in 
 Doctor Budd's House. 
 
 Enter DoROTHy. 
 
 Dorothy. " You'll be my lady," said the gipsy. What folly ! 
 and yet, how folly follows us to sleep ! My head still beats with 
 last night's dream. 
 
 {Enter Juno with letter.) 
 — Ha, a letter ! From Belinda ? 
 
 Juno. I know'd you'd looked for it for some time, and didn't 
 I give it the postman for not bringing it afore ! 
 
 Dorothy. {Aside : Not from lier ! What's here ? {Reads.) 
 " Danger is within your doors : treason wears a mask : but 
 caution, confidence, and — for your sake — the traitor may be 
 saved." No name ! For my sake !) 
 
 Juno. {Aside : Doesn't seem the right letter after all. Wliy 
 didn't the fellar keep it back ?) 
 
 Dorothy. {Aside : That gipsy ! She warned me of a secret foe. 
 Why, what a child am I ! The jargon of her trade. Still she 
 spoke of a stranger, and — there again ! A secret enemy — a 
 journey to go — a dark stranger, and — tut ! the common stock of 
 the craft.)
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 323 
 
 Juno. (Aside: Now what's in that letter that's put such a 
 cloud in her ftice 1) 
 
 Dorothy. Juno, you i-ecollect that gipsy woman ? 
 
 Juno. What ! old Queen Bee, mum ? 
 
 Dorothy. Queen Bee ! Is that her name ? 
 
 Juno. Queen Bee, mum. Not that she's Queen of the Gipsies, 
 mum. Oh, no ; she give herself the name of Queen Bee, and 
 sa)'s she'd only like to look in the eyes of he or she who'd take 
 it from her. 
 
 Dorothy. Juno, you seem to know this gipsy's history'? 
 
 Juno. Why, mum, she's an old 'oman, mum ; and I've heerd 
 when women get old, mum, they will sometimes talk ; and so 
 when she told me my fortiu', she told me all her own, mum. 
 
 Dorothy. Is't likely she'll come again 1 
 
 Juno. After the wittles she had, no doubt on't. She's too good 
 a bee not to know where to settle. 
 
 Dorothy. If she should come — hush ! my father. 
 
 Juno. I know, mum : the summer-house — the evening-star — 
 and not a soul to listen. \^Rnns off. 
 
 Dorothy. I could laugh at myself, and yet — I mayn't deny it— 
 the woman's told some truth. And this strange letter ! 
 
 o 
 
 Enter Budd. 
 
 Biidd. What, Dorothy ! Dull, my darling ? I'm glad of it, I 
 am ; for I've news that will brighten even that face. I have. 
 
 Dorothy. What is it ? Tell me. For just now I could bask in 
 good news, like a kitten in the sun. 
 
 Budd. You see, Doll, it didn't please fate to make you a boy. 
 
 Dorothy. True, sir ; but I hope time and habit have reconciled 
 me to my condition. 
 
 Budd. Otherwise, you might have taken a wife : now, you must 
 have a husband. 
 
 Dorothy. Ha, sir ; I feel what a grievous loss I undergo by the 
 difference. 
 
 Budd. And my news is — a husband has bid for you. 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, my best curtsey for the compliment ! 
 
 Budd. That's right. As I used to tell your dear mother, a 
 woman can't be too grateful. 
 
 Dorothy. Well, father, and who is the happy man I am to 
 bless 1 
 
 ^Mc?i. Who ? Why your cousin. Tes ; George has spoken. 
 
 Dorothy. Has he % Then let him for ever after hold hia 
 peace. 
 
 Budd. Tut ! You must already love him as a distant relation. 
 
 Y 2
 
 824 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Dorothy. Oh yes ! but then it's the distance that makes the 
 love. 
 
 Budd. But his prospects ! Hear him talk : he may be general, 
 field-marshal. 
 
 Dorothy. I care not for laurels. No ; hawthorn and daisies for 
 me. And in a word — oh see, father ; see — the usher. 
 
 Budd, And so it is. And in a soberer suit — that's well. He 
 looks a scholar, eh ? 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, he looks — {Aside : Everything !) 
 
 Btidd. Go in, Dolly ; for I must speak with him ; and for 
 George — 
 
 Dorothy. Yes, father, I'll leave you. (Aside : For I feel my 
 heart is burning in my face, and so I would not he should 
 see it.) [Exit. 
 
 Enter Valentine, plainly drest. He bows deferentially. 
 
 Budd. Oh, you're come ! Brought your luggage ? 
 
 Valentine. Doctor, the smallest of boxes will be here anon. 
 
 Budd. For we must prepare for the boys. Sums to set — copies 
 to write, and — by the bye, what's your name ? 
 
 Valentine. My name, Doctor ? Valentine. {Aside : That's half 
 the truth : and half the truth's a good instalment.) 
 
 Budd. Pray, what made you an usher 1 
 
 Valentine. Ambition ! 
 
 Budd. What? 
 
 Valentine. Call it devotion then. Oh, sir, is it not a task in the 
 boy that is to form the man that shall be ? The hero — statesman 
 — bishop — as the boy may be] 
 
 Budd. It is a task. 
 
 Valentine. To earn the blessings of generations to come — 
 (Aside : — and ten pounds per annum of the generation 
 that is) ? 
 
 Budd. (Aside : Quite an enthusiast !) 
 
 Valentine. For when the world rejoices in its greatest men, 
 owns it not perforce the debt it owes their teachers 1 
 
 Budd. No doubt of it. 
 
 Valentine. And thus, entrusted with your smallest boys, be it 
 my ambition to rear them into Titans ; myself meanwhile calmly 
 crediting the future. 
 
 Budd. Beautiful ! (Aside : How he'll take the rough work 
 off my hands !) A noble zeal ! Usher ! You shall be 
 master ; yes, and just keeping the name, I'll do nothing but 
 admire you. 
 
 Valentine. Oh, Doctor !
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 325 
 
 JJiidd. Admire you ! Yet a word : that young man, Ensign 
 Bellefleur, he's my sister's son — 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : And, I find, a busy traitor.) 
 
 jBudd. A hot soldier, with gunpowder in his blood. 
 
 I'aleniine. Sir, I respect gunpowder, wherever it may be. 
 
 Budd. Years since, my sister went to France — George was 
 born there. This is a secret — but he's to marry Dorothy. As I 
 say, his head's hot. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : He'll be lucky if it isn't colder.) 
 
 Budd. But set in the x-ight place. 
 
 Valentine. No doubt, sir. {Aside: May it remain there !) 
 
 Budd. I must leave you now. They'll show you your room. 
 Have you brought your fiddle and broadsword and — though 
 you'll find 'em here. There, by the way, is a fiddle of mine would 
 make a dying bear dance. As for George, you'll soon know one 
 another. Hot, hot, as I say ; but a fine fellow — with a fine 
 prospect. [Bxit. 
 
 Valentine. Very — the scaffold and the block. And marry 
 Dorothy! What's that to me ? Yet what has drawn me hither ? 
 If I can save his head ! Hm ! To wink at treason is to risk 
 my own. 
 
 Queen Bee looks in at the door. 
 
 Queen Bee. Give the poor gipsy woman a ha'penny, my sir. 
 
 Valentine. Eh ? Why who are you ? 
 
 Queen Bee. Queen Bee, my sir, and may you never want it. A 
 ha'penny, my sir, for a bit of bread. 
 
 Valentine. A bit of bread 1 Come, that's not much. 
 
 Queen Bee. No, my sir. Butter and cheese is in your own 
 nobleman's disposition, my sir. A ha'penny for poor Queen Bee. 
 
 Valentine. A Queen Bee, and beg 1 Why I thought the work- 
 ing bees provided for her majesty. 
 
 Queen Bee. Ha, my sir ; real bees is sensible things. Whereas 
 I'm obligated myself to make my own honey, my sir ; and wery 
 hard work it is. 
 
 Valentine. Come, here's— (Pm^s Ms hand into Ms pocket; pauses.) 
 
 Queen Bee. Never baulk a noble mind, my sir. Pull your hand 
 out, if it's a guinea. Do, my sir, and I'll tell you the church 
 where I shall see you marry the lady that — 
 
 Valenliiie. The churcli ? Do gipsies go tliere 1 
 
 Queen Bee. Why, my sir, there's a saying that the gipsies' 
 church was built of bacon — 
 
 Valentine. Bacon ? A fat church ! 
 
 Queen Bee. And one day the dogs eat it. But, my sir, there's 
 a spark as is worth any di'niond in your eye, that says there's a
 
 326 ST. CUPID ; 
 
 lady tliat's perdictecl by the stars to make your lawful tea and 
 toast. 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : Doubtless, to this hag Dorothy owes her 
 fortune.) Queen Bee. 
 
 Queen Bee. That's my name, my sir ; and what it costs me to 
 keep it up — put your hand in your pocket, my sir — the Bank o' 
 England never knows. 
 
 Valentine. You know this house ? 
 
 Queen Bee. Not so much as the weathercock on the top of it, 
 my sir. {A.nde : Oh, no !) 
 
 Valentine. Nay, you've told a fortune here 1 Have given 
 a husband, riches — 
 
 Queen Bee. For wives, babbies, and husbands, I have 'em bran 
 new from the stars, spick and span ; while the money I gives 
 away, which always comes, nobody can i-eckon. {Curtseys.) A six- 
 pence for the poor gipsy 1 
 
 Valentine. First, let me know your dealings. The young lady 
 of tliis house — 
 
 Queen Bee. And is there a young lady ? 
 
 Valentine. Queen Bee, do you know Bridewell % 
 
 Queen Bee. Not a morsel. Any acquaintance of your honour's ? 
 
 Valentine. Oakum, bread and water 1 
 
 Queen Bee. Bread and water I have heerd on ; but oakum is a 
 stranger. 
 
 Valentine. Trust me, you shall be closely known. Confess your 
 traffic, or hear me prophesy your fortune. 
 
 Quee7i Bee. You ! Well, the stars is come to summut. There's 
 my hand ; and do your worst. What do you see in it ? 
 
 Valentiiie. Broken hedges — plundered linen — and many a stolen 
 goose. 
 
 Queen Bee. As far as a goose goes, I say nothing. You know 
 best. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : The harridan.) That for the past. Now 
 for the future. First, there's the Bridewell beadle and a sound 
 whipping. {She closes her hand.) Open your hand : I have only 
 begun. 
 
 Queen Bee. You're werry kind, my sir : but the beginning is so 
 uncommon bad, I don't see what's to better it. 
 
 Valentine. Courage : we are whipped to begin with, but that's 
 a trifle. 
 
 Queen Bee. In your case, I'm sure I should feel it so. 
 
 Valentine. We then beat oakum for a month. 
 
 Queen Bee. Only a month 1 
 
 Valentine. Here the stars are somewhat misty : it may be two 
 months, and in tlie end we are whipped again.
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 327 
 
 Queen Bee. Well, the end's so like the beginuiug, it leaves 
 nothin' to choose. 
 
 Valertiiie. Still, there's a bright streak of oakum. 
 
 Queen Bee. To come atween the cuts. Aud when, my sir, is 
 this worser than murder to happen 1 
 
 Valentine. Eh ? 
 
 Queen Bee. When is the suffering soul to bite the dust afore 
 the beadle ? 
 
 Valentine. When ? Why — 
 
 Queen Bee. Ha ! You boggle at the stars, that only winks aud 
 laughs at you. Now, I'll tell you — for I know the wery minute 
 — when Queen Bee will fall into the den of the lions. 
 
 Valentine. When ? 
 
 Queeji Bee. When they catches her. 
 
 [Queen Bee is about to run off. Vale]:{tine seizes her. 
 
 Valentine. And she is caught ! 
 . Queen Bee. Let me go — let me go, or — 
 
 Juno runs on. 
 
 Juno. What's the matter ? What do you want 1 
 
 Valentine. Want ! This hag has — 
 
 Juno. {Aside to him, mysteriously : Hush ! Don't — she's a 
 witch.) 
 
 Valentine. Witch ! A harridan that — 
 
 Juno. {Aside to him : I say, if you're the new husliei", just for 
 your master's sake be quiet ; hold your tongue.) 
 
 Valentine. Hold my tongue ! 
 
 Juno. {Aside to him: Or she'll ruin the schooh I tell you, she's 
 a witch ; aud she's only to lift up her little finger to bring the 
 measels down upon us from one end to t'other.) 
 
 Valentine. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Juno. You may laugh — she can do anything. Adairyman set his 
 dog at her ; and from that time to this, that dairyman's milk has 
 been three parts water. 
 
 Valentine. {Asitle : Stay. I may turn her witchcraft to a 
 merciful use. Set her on that desperate boy. A piece of money, 
 a few words — dark to the gipsy, but plain as death-warrant to the 
 youth himself — and so insure his sudden flight, and hold myself 
 aloof) Queen Bee ? 
 
 Queen Bee. Well, my sir. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside to her : A word with you !) 
 
 Queen Bee. Your words, my sir'? I don't like the tasto 
 on 'em. 
 
 Valentine. Look here ! 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside : A bit of gold, as I'm Queen of the Bees !)
 
 d2S ST. CUPID; 
 
 Valentine. (Aside to her : Only a word. Come. I would learn 
 of tlie stars.) 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside to him: Stars, my sir. I can see by your 
 sweet face, you was born to have the pick and choose on 'em.) 
 
 [Exit Valentine at door, followed by Queen Bee. 
 
 Juno. "Wants his fortin' told, I'm bound. And he's a scholard ! 
 I suppose it's only in a different way, and a scholard's as great a 
 fool as other people. 
 
 B7iter Dorothy. 
 
 Dorothy. Juno, where is — 
 
 Juno. He's with Queen Bee, miss. 
 
 Dorothy. He ? Who ? 
 
 Juno. The husher. 
 
 Dorothy. The gipsy here, and — but how knew you I asked for 
 the usher 1 i 
 
 Juno. Can't tell, miss. But don't you sometimes feel your 
 thoughts jump at a thing, for all the world like any tiger ? The 
 husher's with Queen Bee, Miss. Who knows what she may 
 promise him ? They may all be this minute twinkling in the stars 
 above us. 
 
 Dorothy. All — what ? 
 
 Juno. What ? Why, a house, a wife, a school, and forty little 
 boys. \_Exit. 
 
 Dorothy. A wife — a school ! But if the gipsy oracle speak 
 truth, my fortune's wide apart from that. That he too should 
 consult the sibyl ! Oh, a mere frolic ! Yet have we sympathy 
 in sport. Stay, I am to be my lady. If so, how can such as he 
 — fie upon this weakness ! Would I rather now that my fortune 
 were a fiction, and his — as spoken by that foolish girl — a 
 truth ? Why this is folly ! And yet the folly casts a shadow 
 on me. 
 
 Queen Bee. {Looking in at door.) Give the poor gipsy a bit of 
 bread. 
 
 Dorothy. Bread, and honey to sweeten it ! Queen Bee — 
 
 Queen Bee. Yes, my rose-upon-the-bush. 
 
 Dorothy. What do you here to-day ? 
 
 Queen Bee. Do ! Do my living my humming-bird. And, my 
 lily-of-the-walley, I only wish I'd somebody to do it for me. 
 
 Dorothy. You've had your hand crossed, and in this house ? 
 
 Queen Bee. Eh ? You'd coax the poor old Queen 1 What a 
 woioe you have ! And when you was made a 'oman, what a mer- 
 maid was spiled ! 
 
 Dorothy. Come, you have told me my fortune, and — 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside : And any how, I must stick to that.) 
 I have ; and wasn't it a beauty 1
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 329 
 
 Dorothy. I can't wish a better. But you've told another to-day 
 — now, you have 1 
 Que-^n Bee. No. 
 
 Dorothy. You have ; and — why how you wear your kerchief, 
 with never a pin ! There, now ; it's real gold. 
 
 [Dorothy /as<e7M Queen Bee's Icercluef ivith a 'pin, or brooch, from 
 her own dress. 
 
 Qiieen Bee. And there's nothing like gold to keep the cold out. 
 Well ! if you wouldn't coax a eagle ou the wing ! 
 
 Dorothy. That young gentleman ; I mean the usher, the 
 
 Queeii Bee. (Aside : How her eyes strike fire ! That husher ! 
 I'U turn what he told me to tell the sojerupon his own self; for 
 she must be my lady, that is, for a little bit.) (Mysteriously.) The 
 husher ! Ha ! 
 
 Dorothy. "What's the matter ? 
 
 Queen Bee. It's in the stars, and you're to be a lady : and — it 
 won't be my fault if it's otherways — for a hundred years and 
 over, you'll be grandmother to dukes and duchesses. 
 
 Dorothy. Nay, never mind me, but 
 
 Queen Bee, But the husher ! Oh, my chicken, don't be afeard ; 
 but don't be overbould. Well ; I have seen a hand this day, in 
 this house ! 
 
 Dorothy. Yes ! 
 
 Queen Bee. A hand black with bad luck, as any chimbley- 
 sweeper's. 
 
 Dorothy. Indeed ! Ha ! ha ! Well ? go on. 
 
 Qv£en Bee. It's nothin' to you, but don't laugh ; for that hand 
 will be wringing with tears. 
 
 Dorothy. With tears ! 
 
 Queen Bee. Not a line that's in it that doesn't run to ruin. 
 There — that's enough. 
 
 Dorothy. No ; I must know more — ha ! ha ! — alL Quick ! he's 
 crossing the lawn. 
 
 Queen Bee. He'U find me here ! 
 
 Dorothy. No, by that door {pointing to door at side), into the 
 other walk. Now, tell me all, and 
 
 Queen Bee. Here it is then — (Aside : — if I can remember it.) 
 But don't ye be afeard acause 
 
 Dorothy. Never heed me, but speak. 
 
 Queen Bee. Here, then, it is in short, that young man's fortin'. 
 (Aside : Let me see. Yes — that'i it.) (Solemnly.) Tliese are 
 topsy-turvy times ; folks tosses for royal crowns — and some 
 heads loses ! 
 
 Dorothy, Koyal crowns ! Go on.
 
 330 ST. CUPID ; 
 
 Queen Bee. Hide-and-seek's a bad game, 
 
 Dorothy. {Aside : Ha ! that letter !) Hide-and-seek 1 
 
 Queen Bee. But found out's worser. 
 
 Dorothy. Found out ! 
 
 Queen Bee. It's a short cut to Tower-Hill, but 
 
 Dorothy. Tower-Hill ] 
 
 Queen Bee. But a shorter when you get there. That's it ! 
 Shorter when you get there. [Exit by door at side. 
 
 Dorothy. I am cold at heart — terrified ; and that, despite my 
 reason ; for ere now she has told some truth — some truth. That 
 letter, too ! Is it possible ? Can he seek refuge here ? Dis- 
 guised ! And, if discovered, his life — oh, this is foUy : I will 
 conquer it — laugh, at myself, — laugh at the idle picture that — 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 
 Valentine. I'm glad to find you merry. No music like the 
 laughter of young and happy hearts. 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, I am ever merry — ever. I thank my stars for't. 
 
 Valentine. And you believe iu the stars ? 
 
 Dorothy. Do not you 1 
 
 Valentine. Yes ; I believe in their bright side ; when they 
 twinkle promises of love and beauty. 
 
 Dorothy. And when they frown with danger — death 1 
 
 Valentine. Then I whistle, and so ends my faith. Dorothy, 
 your pardon ; but there is that within your face that makes me 
 bold in friendship. Some sudden care ? 
 
 Dorothy. No — that is — Well, I will confess it. I have faith in 
 the stars. 
 
 Valentine. And their aspect threatens you ? 
 
 Dorothy. No, not me. 
 
 Valentine. Some one dear to you ? 
 
 Dorothy. Oh no. 
 
 Valentine. Oh yes ! a brother, perhaps ? 
 
 Dorothy. I have none. 
 
 Valentine. A lover, then 1 
 
 Dorothy. I have — none. 
 
 Valentine. Oh, truth will out. Let the tongue deny it, and how 
 prettily it flies to the cheek ! Happy lover ; to live a moment 
 there in such a blush ! 
 
 Dorotliy. Indeed, no. My fears have no such cause ! But these 
 are times of danger ; when even innocence may be in peril. 
 
 Valentine. Nay, innocence is pretty safe ; but there'll be little 
 mercy for what success calls treason. 
 
 Dorothy. I fear not.
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. S31 
 
 Valentine. You fear it ? 
 
 Dorotht/. I mean, had I a friend weak and rash enough to mix 
 in thej^e designs, 
 
 Valentine. Well ? 
 
 Dorothy. I would supplicate, implore him from his purpose. 
 
 Valentin-'. And so petitioned, could he be obdurate ? The 
 prayer of Dorothy must win an erring subject back to loyalty 
 and Hanover. 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, if I thought so 
 
 Valentine. Well, think you think so. 
 
 Dorothy. (Aside : All's plain : his darkened look — his words so 
 cautious, cold !) 
 
 Valentine. Think, for thought's sake, you have a friend perilled 
 by treason 
 
 Dorothy. A friend, who is not what he seems 1 
 
 Valentine. Certainly ; not what he seems. 
 
 Dorothy. And if discovered, doomed 
 
 Valentine. To death — assured death. The traitor's ghastly fate 
 — Dorothy, you're pale and — why, Dorothy, one would almost 
 think thai traitors thick as sparrows harboured here — here in 
 The Lilacs. But if a friend were really in such jeojjardy, what 
 would you risk to save him ? 
 
 Dorothy. Eisk ? I'd give my life — and were it to give again, 
 again my life ! 
 
 Valentine. Brave Dorothy ! 
 
 Dorothy. (Aside : He will not seem to understand me. Yet he 
 shall not perish — despite himself, I'll save him !) 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : Eh ? Our traitor cousin with the school- 
 master crosses the garden.) And now what I was about to say, 
 I know it not 
 
 Dorothy. Xay, but think 
 
 Valentine. ( Taking violin from the fable.) I sometimes thmk 
 to music. ( Tuning violin.) May I ask a favour ? 
 
 Dorothy. What is it ? 
 
 Valentine. Merely to walk a minuet ! My engagement with 
 your father exacts music and dancing. I'm somewhat out of 
 ])ractice, and would not be found shortcoming. Will you oblige 
 me ? 
 
 Dorothy. Impossible ! (Aside : George ! my father !) I have 
 forgotten, I 
 
 Valentine. And so I fear have I. But a few notes, and 'tis 
 wonderful how one's brain is schodled, and one's feet slide into 
 the measure. (Begins to play Minuet de la Cour.) That's it, 
 I think. (Aside to her: Here's company. They must not find 
 us grave.) Dance.
 
 332 ST. CUPID ; 
 
 Dorothy. Indeed, 1- 
 
 Valentine. {Aside to her : Dance ; in affairs of state much may 
 turn upon a minuet.) (Valentine /»/ays and both begin the minuet.) 
 That's it — excellent. 
 
 Doctor Budd is about to enter. Pauses at, door. 
 
 Budd. ( Talks aside through dancing.) How beautiful ! "Vvliat 
 grace — what harmony ; and for ten pounds per annum ! George, 
 in his sulks, has turned away ; all the better, perhaps. Beautiful 
 — admirable ! {Aloud, applauding) Bravo ! bravo ! Capital — 
 delightful ! 
 
 Valentine. Doctor Budd ! 
 
 Dorothy. Father ! 
 
 Budd. Charming. Costly as I thought that fiddle, you've 
 put fifty guineas more into it. What a tone you have ; a tone of 
 gold ; of virgin gold. {Aside : And for ten pounds per annum.) 
 
 Valentine. {Fingering violin) 'Tisn't bad. 
 
 Budd. Bad ! You play with the bow of Cupid on the heart- 
 strings of the dying swan. 
 
 Valentine. My dear sir, 
 
 Budd. You do ; doesn't he, Doll ? {Aside : And for ten pounds 
 per annum ! Such a treasure ! He's worthy of her ; she won't 
 have George, and— yes, I'll do it, and now : this very minute.) 
 {Aloud:) Dolly, you're wanted in the pantry. {Aside to her: 
 Leave us ; I've something to say.) 
 
 Dorotkj/. {Aside to him : Something) 
 
 Budd. Something to the usher. Something that we are all 
 concerned in. 
 
 Dorothy. May I ask 
 
 Budd. May you ask ? As I used to say to your dear mother — 
 no, you mayn't. "Why, what are you scared at ? 
 
 Dorothy. Nothing. 
 
 Budd. Do you think I'm blind ? Do you suppose I can't see 
 through a man's coat clean into the centre of his heart ; and I've 
 discovered 
 
 Dorothy. Wliati 
 
 Budd. There ! There's your dear mother again, and I won't 
 reply. Now go. 
 
 [QoEEN Bee opens door at side, motions to Dorothy, then disappears. 
 
 Dorothy. {Aside : Queen Bee ! she beckons.) I am gone, sir. 
 
 [Kvif. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside: So ! our interesting rebel holds apart. Hm! 
 The Doctor ; and plainly meditating a piece of ceremony.)
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 333 
 
 Budd. Young man, fortune though blind writes a fine, bold 
 hand. 
 
 Valf'dine. Eeallj, Doctor, I'm sorry to say I don't know her 
 penmanship. 
 
 Budd. I do, especially when I see it on the forehead of a fine 
 young fellow. Don't blush. 
 
 Valentine. I won't. 
 
 Budd. You are set down for a great destiny. You think I little 
 know it, perhaps ; but you really ai'e not what you seem. 
 
 ValetUine. No ? 
 
 Budd. No ! I have found you out. 
 
 Valentine. And the discovery, sir 
 
 Budd. Must delight both of us. I watched you in that 
 minuet ; you are visibly destined to sit in my chair, and — wlien 
 I've quite done with 'em — walk in my shoes. Don't reply, but 
 answer. "What do you think of my Dorothy 1 
 
 Valentine. Think of her ! I — I have not the audacity to think 
 of so beautiful a subject. 
 
 Budd. Then be audacious, and begin to think. Valentine, 
 I have a conscience : and I could not turn in my bed to thiuk 
 I gave you only ten pounds per annum. 
 
 Valentine. No, sirl Then make it twenty, and tm-n to your 
 heart's content, 
 
 Budd. Twenty ! the school's worth — but I won't tell you now ! 
 
 [Bellefleur appears at door. 
 
 And what Dorothy would be worth as a wife 
 
 Bellefleur. {Aside : Dorothy ! Wife !) 
 
 Bud,d. 1 can't tell you, if I would. Ha ! ha ! What a pair 
 you looked in that minuet. (Bellefleur comes down.) What a — 
 George ! {Aside to Valentine : Hush ! not a word — as I said, 
 he's hot — a little hot.) Ha, George ; you've missed a treat. The 
 young man draws such a bow. {To Valentine.) Now just a few 
 bars of the minuet : let him hear 
 
 Bellffleur. Sii', I hate fiddling, and despise fiddlers. 
 
 Budd. Hate music ? Then, sir, you've ears of leather, and 
 a heart of stone ! [Checker ap2)ears at door. 
 
 Valentine. Ensign Bellefleur hates minuets ; but as a soldier 
 martial music must warm and stir him. Something like this, now. 
 
 \_Begins to play a Jacobite air. 
 
 Budd. Silence ! That's a Jacobite march — and just now, may 
 be treason. i 
 
 Checker. {Aside . May be, and is. Patience, and I may take 
 the whole fitmily.) [Disappears. 
 
 Valentine. A Jacobite march ? I had forgotten. So it is. [Plays.
 
 334 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Budd. Hush ! These ar'n't times even to fiddle disaffectiou. 
 
 Vaktitine. "What care we who are loyal subjects ? {To Belle- 
 FLEUR.) Isn't is stirrmg, sir? I don't know how it is : but the 
 worst cause always gets the best airs. Yes. (Plaj/s a few notes.) 
 With such music on the pipes ; music filling a glen with a river 
 of sound, one feels treason to be infectious ; one sees the gather- 
 ing of the clans, and one's foot springs from the heather. 
 
 Bellefleur. You are eloquent, sir ! {Aside : Upon my life, a spy.) 
 
 Valentine. Not a note that isn't a spell for a hundred High- 
 landers. They gather and gather ; and now they form, and now 
 they march — march. 
 
 [Plays the march ; and affecting to be animated by the music, marches 
 to and fro, glancing at Bellefleur. 
 
 Budd. {Following Valentine.) Silence ! Hush ! Have done, 
 I say ; we may all be fiddled to the Tower : give it me. {Snatches 
 violin from Valentine.) And now I'll lock it safely up. You 
 draw a beautiful bow, but just now there may be rope in it. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Bellefleur. Ha ! ha ! I'm no judge ; but I suppose you fiddle 
 well? 
 
 Valentine. The merest scraper. And then, I'm out of practice. 
 
 Bellefleur. That's a pity. {Aside : A spy ; I'll swear it. And 
 he to speak of Dorothy ! but I'll be calm — cold.) 
 
 Valentine. I could play better once. 
 
 Bellefleur. No doubt : well, practice may come again. In these 
 times, fiddlers like yourself are sure of hire. What, now, may 
 you get to buy rosin ? 
 
 Valentine. Oh, enough and to spare. Enough for rosin, and 
 enough for a sword. 
 
 Bellefleur. A sword ! Aye, as usher — ha ! ha ! usher — you 
 teach — 
 
 Valentine. Manners. Be warned. 
 
 Bellefleur. Warned ! Impostor ! 
 
 Valentine. Am I so ? How ? Ensign Bellefleur may be an 
 authority. Young man, I would serve you. 
 
 Bellefleur. Your service ! I know it ; and in my loyalty 
 
 Valentine. What ? 
 
 Bellefleur. Loyalty. Why, do you scan me ? 
 
 Valentine. I look for a blush — it is not there. 
 
 Belhfleur. Despicable hireling ! 
 
 [Casts his glove in Valentine's /ace. 
 
 Valentine. {Seizing sword from table.) Now, sir, to give you a 
 lesson. 
 
 [Bellefleur draws ; they exchange a few passes ; and, as Budd and 
 Dorothy re-enter, Valentine disarms Bellefleur.
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 335 
 
 Dorothy. George ! 
 
 Budd. Valentine ! What's this ? 
 
 Valentine. A friendly bout, sir; nothing more. You know, I'm 
 hired to teach the sword — {To Bellefleur.) You fence well, sir, 
 very well ; a little too hasty, perhaps ; be cooler on your guard — 
 {returning Mm his sword) — and Ensign Bellefleur has condescended 
 to receive a lesson. 
 
 Budd. And is that all ? 
 
 Bellefleur. All — {Aside to Valentine : for the present.) {Exit. 
 
 Budd, {Aside : And for ten pounds per annum !) Why, Dolly, 
 you look scared. 
 
 Dorothy. I, sir ! No, sir ! {Aside : The gipsy's spoken plainly: 
 he perishes if — ) 
 
 Budd. Scared and pale ! But just like your poor mother. She 
 couldn't bear cold iron though but in play. There, go into the 
 garden, get some air ; and Valentine, go walk with her. 
 
 Valentine. If Miss Budd will so far honour me, — 
 
 Dorothy. {Aside : No time is to be lost.) 
 
 [Curtseying, gives him her hand. They exeunt at door into garden. 
 
 Budd. { Watching them.) A beautiful couple ! He a fine, 
 graceful young fellow ! And what a musician ! What a swords- 
 man ! and — and only ten pounds per annum. 
 
 \_Exit slowly as drop falls ; Queen Bee loolcing from side-door. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene. — Another view of the Garden Grounds of " The Lilacs." 
 Summer-House at side. 
 
 Enter Checker and Juno. 
 
 Checker. And all the boys are happy as kings ? 
 
 Juno. If full bellies is happiness, kings with crowns on couldn't 
 be no happier. But you're very partic'lar ? 
 
 Checker. My wife is ; and when you're the mother of beautiful 
 boys— 
 
 Juno. Well, I do hope to better myself some day. 
 
 Checker. Ha ! I'd wager you have a sweetheart already ? 
 
 Juno. One ! ' 
 
 Checker. He ought to be a handsome fellow, or he won't match. 
 
 Juno. But he is — we do; I've taken care of that. {Aside: 
 Leastways, I will.)
 
 336 ST. CUPID ; 
 
 Checker. Then, lieie's a crown towards the wedding-dinner. 
 
 Juno. (Aside: No harm in being ready with the dinner. Lor! 
 I do wonder if that leg o' mutton's yet in the world ?) 
 
 Checker. Now tell me. That young fellow with the fiddle, he — ■ 
 
 Ju7io. What ! the husher 1 
 
 Checker. Who is he ? — where does he come from — what's his 
 name, and — 
 
 Jimo. I say, if you want sich a lot for a ci'Owti, I'm afeard you 
 and me can't deal. 
 
 Checker. Tut ! arn't you servant here, and — 
 
 Juno. And does for forty boys. But I only sells the work of 
 my hands, and — when I like — keeps my tongue to myself. 
 
 [Gate bell is rung. 
 
 Checker. (Aside : No doubt that's he.) 'Tis his time — the 
 friend I spoke of — he wants to see the grounds, and — 
 
 Juno. What, has he got boys too ? 
 
 C/iee/^er. The largest of families. (Aside: Every minister has.) 
 And Doctor Budd — 
 
 Juno. The Doctor's stept into Kensington. [Exit to gate. 
 
 Checker. All the better. Here's a plot should bring me a 
 knighthood. 
 
 (Enter Mr. Secretary Zero, shown on by Juno.) 
 
 You may go now. 
 
 Juno. Thauk'ee. (Aside: To my eye, they lookqueerish; but 
 the crown's a good un.) [Exit. 
 
 Zero. And now, Checker, what new news ? 
 
 Checker. This Doctor Budd's a venomous Jacobite. 
 
 Zero. Well ? 
 
 Checker. And that spark, young Bellefleur — him whom I marked 
 down in Paris, he is here. 
 
 Zero. Ha ! 
 
 Checker. He is called Ensign Bellefleur : gives it out that he has 
 King George's commission, and is away from his regiment — now 
 in country quarters — on sick leave. The traitor's delicate, and 
 Kensington's his native air. 
 
 Zero. Go on. 
 
 Checker. Then there's another spark — I'm a sure a traitor, too. 
 Has a high-born look, but passes for usher. He plays the 
 fiddle and — 
 
 Zero. No treason in a fiddle, eh ? 
 
 Checker. Why, sir, and please you, that depends upon the tune. 
 
 Zero. (Looking off.) Who comes here ? 
 
 Checker. That is — ' [They retire, talking.
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 337 
 
 Enter Queen Bee. 
 
 Quem Bee. Miss Dorothy thinks me a witch outright. How I've 
 flustered her, and somehow, how I do hate that fiddler. Deary me! 
 Well, I am lemancholy ! In that little room where I was hid — 
 I can't bear to think on it — there was silver spoons and silver 
 mugs, and — oh, dear ! — there I've left 'em. And to think that 
 I shall die some day and nobody know how I was tempted ! Well 
 it's in the stars : I come into the world honest, and try as I might 
 I never could help it. [Checker and Zero come down. 
 
 Checker. That's a pity : try again. 
 
 Zero. What are you ? 
 
 Queen Bee. A lone 'oman, my sir, as wouldn't be mislested on 
 the highway. [Going. 
 
 Checker. Come, you trade with the stars ? 
 
 Queen Bee. And if I do, the stars is the only lawful goods of us 
 little folks ; and do you know why % 
 
 Zero. Why ? 
 
 Queen Bee. Cause they're the only goods the big uns can't take 
 from us. Oh, my sir ! To see the sky a twinkling like with 
 millions o' new sixpences — it's a pretty property, for them as has 
 nothing else, isn't it, my sir ? 
 
 Checker. And you've made the most of it in this house. I say 
 that's a fine wench. Miss Dorothy. 
 
 Queen Bee. Is she ? Our sex is no judges of one another. 
 
 Zero. No ! how's that ? 
 
 Queen Bee. Can't say, my sir. But I never know'd a 'oman 
 who could lay her hand on her heart, and say she know'd more 
 than one handsome 'oman in all her days. 
 
 Checker. Well, the young fellows — what say you of them 1 
 
 Queen Bee. Which young fellar ? 'cause there's two ; and when 
 there's two a 'oman's like to be puzzled. 
 
 Checker. Well, I mean the — {Aside to Zero : Here he comes.) 
 
 Zero. He I {Aside: Impossible! Valentine!) (Tb Queen Bee: 
 Who is that young man \) 
 
 Queen Bee. That ? That is ten pounds a-year, and I must say 
 it, werry good-looking for the money. 
 
 Zero. No riddles. Who is he ? 
 
 Queen Bee. Who is he ? For further partic'lars, ax the evening 
 star. (Queen Bee affects to read the ski/, ivhilst she endeavours to 
 evade them ; but is detained.) And there she comes out with that 
 knowin' twinkle of her'n ; and there's that real gentle'oman the 
 moon as looks like her lawful mother ; and by and bye, there'll 
 be the big bear and the little bear which is as good a.s her brother 
 and sister ; together with the two twins and their milk-and-whey, 
 
 z
 
 3.38 ST. CUPID : 
 
 which rises in the head of Satan, saving your presence, which is 
 in the eye of Wenus, which twinkling full on Mars says — 
 Zero. Says what ? 
 (^ueen Bee. Says — 
 
 Checker. {Presenting pistol : Says what ?) 
 
 Quee7i Bee. Says werry proudly, no gentleman would pull out 
 a pistol afore a lady, and if he don't take his fire-arms ofi" her, 
 she will squeal. 
 
 Zero. (Aside : And Val here ! Checker doesn't know him — 
 that's well.) (Takes Queen Bee apart: Tell me: that young 
 man's in peril ?) 
 
 Queen Bee. Werry good. 
 Zero. A plot ? 
 Queen Bee. To be sure. 
 
 Zero. Who knows 1 A plot that may end with — 
 Qiieen Bee. A chopper — a block — and Tower Hill. 
 Zero. Why ? How do you know ? 
 
 Queen Bee. Know ! Well, sometimes you might knock me 
 down with a feather, I knows more than I can stand under. 
 
 Zei-o. But there's a knowledge that's dangerous when kept to 
 ourselves. , 
 
 Qiieen Bee. But T don't keep it. Bless you, I sells mine werry 
 often faster than I gets it. 
 Zero. You do 1 
 
 Queen Bee. Yes : nimble returns and small profits : I've rung 
 the penny on Tower Hill already. 
 
 Zero. Dealt with treason, and so put your head in a rope 1 
 Queen Bee. Don't, my sir. The talk of a rope makes me giddy : 
 seems to take me off my legs : a weakness as is run in the family. 
 Zero. (Aside : They come. This way.) (Aside to Checker : 
 Silence, and for a while secure her.) 
 
 Checker. Else she may blow on us. This way, go there. 
 (Pointing to summer-house : There, and hold your tongue.) 
 Queen Bee. What ! Well if— 
 Checker. In, and hold your tongue. 
 
 Queen Bee. Well, I'm a weak 'oman ; but if I could talk bullets, 
 you'd see if I'd hold my tongue. 
 
 [Threatened by Checker, she enters the summer-house. Zero and 
 Checker retii-e. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Dorothy. 
 
 Valentine. And so — farew.ell ! 
 
 Dorothy. Yes ; the frolic's played ; the jest — what a merry 
 iest — is out, and so — farewell.
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 339 
 
 Valentine. But we'll not part here. 'Tis yet some steps to the 
 gate ; and when that shuts between us — 
 
 Dorothy. You can laugh at leisure. "Well, you have played the 
 character to a marvel ! 
 
 Valentine. Oh ! the bribe was so alluring. 
 
 Dorothy. Truly ? 
 
 Valentine. To look upon your beauty ; to hear the silver of 
 your voice ; to — how now 1 
 
 Dorothy. For shame ! 
 
 Valentine. Lady! 
 
 Dorothy. I blush — could almost weep ; with anger weep — 
 
 Valentine. In pity's name, for what 1 
 
 Dorothy. To think that nature should make such a mask. 
 "Well, poor nature ! In sooth, you look a gentleman. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : I wiU break from this.) But that's where 
 nature plays the counterfeit. I am poor, lady. 
 
 Dorothy. Very poor. Base ! 
 
 Valentine. Madam, I have confessed my indiscretion. I came 
 in jest — have played a part. But the report of your loveliness — 
 the magic of — 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, sir, that's a jargon out of season. I know you ! 
 
 Valentine. Have I not confessed ? 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, a clean confession ! You had heard of us ; had 
 seen, or dreamt you'd seen, my shadow once. And, then, that 
 newspaper — it fell like a sunbeam on your desk — your student's 
 desk — in Gray's Tnn — Lincoln's Inn — or is it, sir, the Inner 
 Temple — where you study law, hoping some good day to hold 
 the scales ? 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : With what an edge of scorn she speaks !) 
 
 Dorothy. And so you'd come and scan us ! Pass yourself — 
 an innocent deceit — for usher ! And the frolic over, empty your 
 heart — brave heart — confess the trick, ask pardon, make your 
 bow, and back again to your student's loft — still to study law, 
 and — ha ! ha ! — still to read the newspapers. 
 
 Zero. {Aside : A worthy girl : a wholesome scorn.) 
 
 Valentine. Do not persecute the penitent. I was led here by 
 vanity : I am rebuked to very humbleness. 
 
 Dorothy. Begone, sir ! 
 
 Valentine. At least, your hand ! 
 
 Dorothy. Touch it not ! Tour touch would blister it ! Again 
 I say, begone. Again I say, I know you. 
 
 Valentine. What you think you*' knowledge, speak. What 
 am I ? 
 
 Dorothy. A spy ! 
 
 Valentine. No ! 
 
 z2
 
 340 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Dorothy. Yes ! That meanest, poorest, and most abject thing 
 — a hireling spy. 
 
 Valentine. Upon my soul — 
 
 Dorothy. In mercy, no. Look here ! [Presenting paper. 
 
 Valentine. How ! 
 
 Dorothy. And not ashamed 1 Not 1 Why, no. The ink shall 
 blush before your cheek. 
 
 Valentine. So ! A copy of the Chevalier's Manifesto. Where 
 was this found 1 
 
 Dorothy. Where you laid it ! 
 
 Valentine. Truly ? And by whom ? 
 
 Dorothy. By loyal hands ; and so you've lost your pains. 
 
 Zero. (Aside: Why this is brave.) (Whispers to Checker: 
 Dispatch !) 
 
 [Exit Checker. Queen Bee is about to creep from, summer-house, 
 when Zero, taking out pistol, threatens her hack again. She, how- 
 ever, from time to time, now appears at the window listening .1 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : I see his purpose. And this was found by 
 Ensign Bellefleur ? He read it you, then asked your judgment 
 of the cause it champions 1 Was it not so 1 
 
 Dorothy. Go on. 
 
 Valentine. And you denounced the madness, treason, here set 
 forth 1. 
 
 Dorothy. How otherwise ? 
 
 Valentine. And then your cousin called me spy ? 
 
 Dorothy. And called not truly ? 
 
 Valentine. Look at me, lady. Fix your eye on mine. I see a 
 soul of tenderness, of truth. What see you ? A trading spy ; a 
 human wolf that feeds at scaffolds ? Am I this ? 
 
 Dorothy. (Having gazed at Valentine.) No ! if what seemed 
 an angel said it — no ! 
 
 Valentine. (Falls upon his knee, and kisses her hand:) My thanks 
 and blessing. Yet must your cousin think me hireling still. 
 
 Dorothy. Wherefore ? 
 
 Valentine. Can you ask ? Otherwise, I am denounced. 
 
 Zero. (Aside : Why this is admirable.) 
 
 Dorothy. Denounced ? 
 
 Valentine. As spy, I may be safe in his contempt ; as the known 
 rebel he declares my treason, and I am lost. 
 
 Dorot^iy. The known rebel ! And you have joined this 
 desperate cause 1 You have perilled fame and life ? Life ! 
 Yes ; that ghastly picture was no fancied terror, but a threatening 
 truth ! 
 
 Valentine. (Aside: How my heart grows at her devotion. 
 And he, too, shall be saved.)
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 341 
 
 Dorothy. What's to be done ? 
 
 Valentine. As yet I may pass freely. 
 
 Bar- thy. You stir not. I have wronged you in my doubts, 
 and owe you recompence. George may leave the house — 
 
 Valentine. He must not — 
 
 Dorothy. He shall not. Pledge me your word to stay, and he's 
 secured. Your word 1 
 
 Valentine. 'Tis given. 
 
 Dorothy. A moment — but a moment. {^Exit 
 
 Valenti7ie. Why what a net I'm caught in ! So : and here's 
 our cousin's credentials. I doubt not he has hundreds of copies. 
 This the Chevalier's Manifesto. 
 
 Zero. {Coming down and twitching it from, his hand.) Good. 
 
 Valentine. Uncle — and here ! 
 
 Zero. Nephew — and here ! 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : He's lost ; past help, destroyed.) 
 
 Qmen Bee. {In summer-house : I'll seem to go to sleep : shut 
 my eyes, that I may open my ears.) 
 
 \_Sils forward, and affects during the following to talk in her sleep. 
 
 Zero. Bravo, Val ! Why, now I've hopes of you. 
 
 Valentine. Sir ! 
 
 Zero. Oh, no modesty, or you'll spoil your part. 
 
 Qiceen Dee. {Aside : And that 'ud be a pity.) 
 
 Zero. I've some conceit myself — 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside : Where did he get it ?) 
 
 Zero. Some conceit of state-craft, yet I couldn't have juggled 
 it better myself. Very good. 
 
 Valentine. It wasn't bad. {Aside : What does he mean ?) 
 
 Zero. Capital ! To be denounced by the wench as a spy, and 
 tlien — so earnestly too — to declare yourself in confidence a real 
 conspirator ! 
 
 Valentine. Then you heard all, sir ? 
 
 Zero. All : and your deceit was so good, it was better than 
 truth. 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside : And that's how pocket-pieces passes in 
 this world ! Well, luck's all !) 
 
 Zero. But, Val, what brought you here 1 
 
 Valentine. What, sii- 1 Why, the— the state, sir. 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside : Oh ! honourable : the holy state, o' course.) 
 
 Valentine. You know you laughed at — at St. Cupid 1 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside : And when he's in earnest, he's no joke.) 
 
 Valentine. Now, I thought there^ was something in the girl's 
 letter— something more than bow and arrows and gipsy-gossip ; 
 and so I came, and — and here I am. 
 
 Zero. King George must know your zeal.
 
 342 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Valmtine. You'd often twitted me with dulness, inactivity ; 
 so I thought I'd hunt this j^lot out upon my own account. And 
 you, sir — how came you here ? 
 
 Zero. That letter. I sought these Icebrooks ; and when, from 
 the name, I looked for a nest of desperadoes, I found a buxom 
 damsel and brace of old-maid aunts. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : Is this true, now 1) And they sent you 
 here 1 
 
 Zero. Not so : I had planted a spy here already. 
 
 Valentine. A spy 1 
 
 Zero. But that lessens not your merit. Ha ! ha ! He didn't 
 know you, and has reported you as one of the conspirators. 
 
 Valentine. As one of them ? 
 
 Zero. Ay ; the other, the manifesto-monger. {Looks at paper ^ 
 — Good bold writing, this : he's from France, and — I find — an old 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Valentine. And he 1 
 
 Zero. Hangs, of course. 
 
 Queen Bee. {Coming down.) {Aside : No objection.) 
 
 Valeiitirie. But — 
 
 Zero. But ! The order's given — that messenger despatched 
 and — 
 
 Queen Bee. {Affecting to read the skies.) There is the little bear, 
 and the big 'un, which — 
 
 Zero. So : now you may go. 
 
 Queen Bee. No, I mayn't. You kept me here agin my will, — 
 and agin yours, I stop. 
 
 Zero. Dispute with me ! You hag, that — 
 
 Queen Bee. Sweet words if you please. You don't know me. 
 Tread upon some worms, and they turns into crocodiles. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : Even she may help us.) {Aside to Queen 
 Bee : Don't go.) 
 
 Qtieen Bee. {Aside : You're werry kind. I won't.) 
 
 Zero. Here's a dollar — tramp. 
 
 Queen Bee. Couldn't do it under a guinea — and that 'ud be 
 cheap at the money. 
 
 Zero. Well, stay, and be otherwise repaid. 
 
 Queen Bee. {Returning towards summer-house.) Who knows ? 
 The price may go up. 
 
 Zero. {Pointing off.) Look, Val : she's here again. In faith she's 
 pretty. 
 
 Valentine. Beautiful, and wise and good ! 
 
 Zero. Hey day ! Val, this is an affair of state, and — 
 
 Valentine. Oh, purely of state, and — 
 
 Zero. And loyalty 1
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 343 
 
 Valentine. And loyalty. So she must tliLnk me still con- 
 spirator ? 
 
 Zet J, For a few minutes. 
 
 Valentine. And then ? 
 
 Zero. The farce is played. Why, Val, you're grave ! 
 
 Valentine. Yes : never so grave. Devotion — innocence and 
 truth ! 
 
 Zero. Tut ! They're well enough in a farce : but we play the 
 play of the real world. Still the girl's a pretty toy — 
 
 Valentine. A jewel, sia-, to place for life about a brave man's 
 heart ! 
 
 Zero. Ha ! ha ! ha ! {Aside : Why, hang him, he's in earnest.) 
 
 [He retires. 
 
 Enter Dorothy. 
 
 Dorothy. All will be well — secure. 
 
 Valentine. Why, how is this ] You tremble — are pale — and 
 tears are — 
 
 Dmothy In sooth, I have not the courage, that to myself I 
 boasted. I shall be calm when — when — 
 
 Valentine. When I am gone % 
 
 Dorothy. Yes : if gone in safety. 
 
 Valentine. And we may never meet again. 
 
 Dorothy. It matters not if you're preserved and — and 
 happy. 
 
 Valentine. Happy ! Ought I to be so ? 
 
 Dorothy. Why not ? 
 
 Valentine. Know you the peril you incur ! Saving a traitor's 
 life, your own is forfeit — 
 
 Dorothy. My life ! I'd cast it from me as I cast this flower ! 
 
 \Throwing a fiotver from her. 
 
 Valentine. And on this flower — this opening rose — this truest 
 symbol of a maiden's spotless life, I vow and devote myself to 
 love, to honour, and protect it. 
 
 Dorothy. Valentine ! 
 
 Queen Bee. ( Who has come down.) (Aside to her : Don't believe 
 him, miss !) 
 
 Dorothy. Begone ! 
 
 Zero. ( Who has come down.) (Aside to Valentine : Valentine 
 you're a fool.) 
 
 Valentine. (Aside to him : At least, I am my own master.) 
 
 Queen Bee. (Aside to her : I say, miss, don't believe him — 
 you'd never think it — but there's sarpints that goes about in eel- 
 skins. Look there !) [Pointing to Zeeo, 
 
 Dorothy. (Aside to her : Ha ! Who's he ?)
 
 344 ST. CUPID; 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside : That's it : who is he 1 You don't know 
 what's a brewin' — even I don't. [Zero passing before Valentine. 
 
 Zero. Miss Budd, I believe 1 Dorothy Budd ? 
 
 Dorothy. Well, sir ? 
 
 Zero. I am the bearer of a letter for you. 
 
 Dorothy. A letter ! [Zero delivers it. 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside to her : Don't touch it ; there's a gunpowder- 
 plot in it.) 
 
 Dorothy. {Opens it) So — from Belinda. 
 
 Zero. Belinda Icebrook. 
 
 Valentine. {Aside : An answer to St. Cupid.) 
 
 Zero, Allow me to hope that the gipsy may prophesy truly. 
 
 Dorothy. Sir ! 
 
 Valetitine. {Aside, beckoning to Queen Bee : One word.) 
 
 [Valentine and Queen Bee talh apart. 
 
 Zero. Oh, Belinda made me her confidant : read me your gipsy 
 letter. 
 
 Dorothy. Indeed, sir ? {Aside : Can it be ?) 
 
 Valentine. {Aside to Queen Bee : Tell him of his peril : in any 
 way preserve him, and there's fifty guineas.) 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside to him : I'll do it, and you're not a sarpint 
 after all ?) 
 
 Valentine. Fail not ! 
 
 Queen Bee. I'll do it. Give him the pass-word to our gipsy- 
 camp, and when once there — hush ! 
 
 Dorothy. {Aside : Read him my letter !) 
 
 Juno runs on. 
 
 Juno. Oh, Miss ! 
 
 Queen Bee. {Intercepting her. Aside to her.) What's the 
 matter 1 
 
 Juno. {Aside to Queen Bee : I inweigled the ensign into the 
 strong-room as Miss desired, locked him up, and here's the key — 
 no, that's the beer-cellar — here it is, and — 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside to her : Give 'em me.) [ Taking both keys. 
 
 Zero. {Crossing to them.) What's this conference 1 What key's 
 that? 
 
 Dorothy. Mine, sir. 
 
 Zero. Pardon me. [Takes key from Queen Bee. 
 
 Queen Bee. {Aside: He's got the beer-cellar.) (Tb Zero.) And 
 now, sir, if you'll give me them five shillings, I'm good to go. 
 
 Zero. Go. 
 
 Queen Bee. Gone, my sir ! \_Exit. 
 
 Zero. You will pardon me, Miss Budd, but — [A ring at Uie bell.
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 345 
 
 Juno. That's the Doctor's own riug. {Runs off. 
 
 Zero. Oh, your father ? 
 
 Enter Doctor Budd. 
 
 Budd. Bless me ! a stranger here ! "Well, I never can step out 
 but — Val — Dolly — why — what's the matter ? Any bad news in 
 your letter ? 
 
 Zero. Not at all, Doctor. 
 
 Budd. Indeed, sir ! (Aside : How does he know ?) And what 
 may be your wishes, sir, with — 
 
 Zei'o. A friend of mine has already seen you. 
 
 Budd. Oh, ha ! About his boys ? 
 
 Zero. About his boys. 
 
 Budd. He promised to be here, and — 
 
 Zero. See. He's a man of his word. 
 
 Enter Checker. 
 
 Valentine. (Aside : He's lost !) 
 
 Budd. Good evening, sir. How are yom* olive branches ? 
 
 UliecJcer. Oh, I have brought the little boys. 
 
 Budd. You have ? 
 
 Checker. Yes, and here they are. 
 
 [^Beclcons, when enter an Officer and file 0/ Soldiers. 
 
 Budd. Soldiers ! 
 
 Ztro. You keep a rare academy, Doctor ; but this (showing 
 Manifesto), this is dangerous teaching. 
 
 Budd. (Taking it.) Manifesto! Chevalier! I see it all. (Ad- 
 vancing to Valentine.) The fiddle ! — Jacobite music ! and — 
 Traitor !— Rebel ! 
 
 Zero. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Budd. Don't laugh, sir ; pray don't laugh. I'm a loyal subject ; 
 and to think that my house should have harboured treason ! 
 Hang him ! Draw and quarter him ! Why, Dorothy, and do you 
 cling to him ? 
 
 Dorothy. Yes — to the death ! 
 
 Valentine. You heai", sir 1 
 
 Budd. And you 1 
 
 Valentine. She has spoken for both ! United ; ay, to the 
 death. 
 
 Zero. (Aside : He never will be such a fool. But, Doctor, there 
 is other treason in your house. This key — 
 
 Budd. The ale-cellar as I'm a doctor — and treason there ! 
 
 Zero. (Giving kej/ to Checker.) That wench will conduct you.
 
 346 ST. CUPID ; 
 
 Juno. "What, me ? 
 Checker. Silence ! 
 [Peremptorily places JuNO between two Soldiers, and with others 
 following, goes off.^ 
 
 Budd. But, Dorothy. {Aside : How she hangs about him ! And 
 to be in love with a man without a head — for it's as good as 
 gone !) 
 
 Valentine. {Aside to Zero : Uncle, but this one grace : with- 
 draw these men — leave the house, and a life of gratitude) — 
 
 Zero. What ! Respect yourself, and know me better, sir. 
 
 Budd. {A side : Wliat is this 1 For true man and traitor, they're 
 mighty intimate.) Who's here 1 
 
 Enter Queen Bee without cloak or bonnet, guarded, with Checker 
 
 and Juno. 
 
 Queen Bee. Well, I'm sure ! half-a-dozen men with drawn 
 bagonets upon one lone 'oman. {Aside to Valentine : All right !) 
 
 Vale7itine. {Aside: Saved?) 
 
 Zero. Checker — 
 
 Checker. We've searched the house and this woman's all we've 
 found. 
 
 Queen Bee. All, and enough too. 
 
 Checker. {Aside: Thebird's flown, sir : has) — [Whispers to Zeuo : 
 
 Qrieen Bee. {Aside to Valentine : Cloak and bonnet and other 
 things — a leg over the wall, and off he was. Once with my 
 people, and as well hunt for sixpence in the uniwersal sea.) 
 
 Zero. {Aside to Checker : He can't be far off — withdraw your 
 men ; then follow me. As for this hag, — ) 
 
 Queen Bee. Do your worst — and they've told me what that is ! 
 Yes, I'm to be tried upon a drum-head, by a court-partial. 
 
 [Checker withdraws the Soldiers, 
 
 Zero. Nephew, — 
 
 Dorothy. Nephew ! 
 
 Budd. His nephew ! 
 
 Zero. Your way is with me. 
 
 Valentine. Not yet, uncle ; and not alone. 
 
 Zero. You forget yourself, Sir Valentine. 
 
 All. Sir Valentine ! 
 
 Valentine. Not so : Sir Valentine but remembers what he is, 
 remembering her who henceforth adds a value to his name by 
 bearing it. [^^lY Zero. 
 
 Dorothy. Father ! 
 
 Budd. Not an usher ! But a knight — perhaps a baronet ? 
 Valentine. Even so. 
 
 Budd. And my Dolly will be a lady ?
 
 OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Ml 
 
 Valeniine. Thus I greet her Lady Yalentine May ! 
 
 Dorothy. Oh, what fairy-woi-ld is this ! 
 
 Yalentine. All's real. Tis you alone that give the hues of faery 
 to the world of truth. 
 
 Juno. La, Lady May ! And all along, Queen Bee here promised 
 it ! What a fortin' ! 
 
 Queen Bee. {To Juno.) Isn't that a husband for sixpence aud 
 an old thimble ? But I always were too cheap. 
 
 Budd. Well, but still I — I — and where's your cousin? — 
 Where's George ? 
 
 Valentine. Hush ! 
 
 Budd. What ? 
 
 Dorothy. Hush ! 
 
 Queen Bee. Hush ! Axe — block — Tower-hill ! 
 
 Budd. What ! George ! A traitor ! a — 
 
 Valentine. Hush ! Thanks to the sibyl here, I hope he's safe : 
 and with that word, forget him. 
 
 Budd. I'm in such a maze, aud — aud — you a baronet — and — 
 what brought you here 1 
 
 Valeniiiie. What brought me here 1 Why Dorothy's fortune. 
 
 Dorothy. {To Queen Bee.) You never told — 
 
 Qu£en Bee. Not a syllable. {Aside : And all for sixpence and 
 a silver thimble !) 
 
 Valentine. No, and yet I conned it. And so, my curiosity 
 awakened, I came in idle sport to find happiness in earnest. 
 
 Dorothy. And do you really think so ? 
 
 Valentine. Think so ! Ay, by St. Cupid ! \_Embraces her. 
 
 END OF "ST. CUPID; OR, DOROTHY'S FORTUNE." 
 
 BaABBDaV AND EVAN3, PRlNTKnn, ■WHITRFtdARBi
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hllgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to tfie library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 S 
 
 PEC'DLD-U^L 
 19 W 
 
 «B?TU 
 
 4 19!I8 
 
 /
 
 / 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILIf 
 
 AA 000 374 115