Q. E. D.; 
 
 ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 ORIGINAL COMEDIETTA, 
 
 In One Act, 
 
 By FLANK A. MARSHALL, 
 
 Author of 
 
 ‘ Mad as a Hatter“ Corrupt Practices“False Shame 
 
 “ Family Honour,” etc. 
 
 And Part Author of “Brighton,” and “Cora.” 
 
 London: 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH; 
 
 PUBLISHER, 
 
 89, STRAND. 
 
 New York : 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH & SON, 
 
 PUBLISHERS, 
 
 38, EAST 14th STREET. 
 
First produced at the Royal Court Theatre, January 
 
 25th, 1871. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS (Original Cast). 
 
 Dr. Quintus Epicurus Donne (Professor 
 of Moral Philosophy—writing under 
 initials Q. E. 1) . Mr. E. Righton 
 
 Major Adolphus Spangle (fate of the 
 
 Royal Greenshire Yeomanry ) ... Mr. W. Belford 
 
 Mademoiselle Celestine Eugenie De La 
 
 Mayonnaise .Miss Kate Bishop 
 
 Miss Bridget O’Shagnessy {advertising 
 in the “Domestic Sentinel ” under 
 the name of “Amaryllis'') . Miss M. Brennan 
 
 Mrs. Primer .Miss Kate Manor 
 
 I 
 
 SCENE.—Donne’s Chambers in London. 
 
 TIME—Present Day, 
 
Q. E. T).; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 Scene. —Da. Donne’s sitting-room ; doors r. and l. ; window 
 c.; writing table, littered with papers, (be. , c.; sofa, L., covered 
 with books, clothes, an unopened brown paper parcel, (be.; 
 chair, e.; tables.—The whole room is Jilled with litter.—On 
 table, c., bg 'window, lies a brush and comb, a)idhandlooking- 
 glass, clothes brush, (be. — Books are strewed on floor, large 
 table in c., with coffee pot on. — Cupboard, r.—Donne dis¬ 
 covered seated at writing table, r. c. , his dress very untidy, 
 his hair all awry and uncombed ; a mass of MS. before him; 
 books leaning against his chair, on the floor, &c .; with pen 
 in his hand, thinking. 
 
 Don. Yes, I think I have demolished them this time. 
 ( flourishing his pen) They shall see Q. E. D. has not forgotten 
 liow to use his weapon for attack as well as defence, (sees 
 letter) Why, there’s a letter for me ! Dear me, it must have 
 been here some time, {reading direction) “Q. E. D., Professor 
 of the Philosophy Moral. ” I see it’s from the French Pro¬ 
 fessor. What has he got to say ? ( reading) “ Dear and 
 learned sir,—Although we shall not have done ourselves the 
 pleasure to rencontre when you was in La France, I feel all 
 the same as a friend towards you, so much have we to one 
 another written on the Grand Philosophy. There shall 
 arrive at your city of London, a young lady, ‘ tres belle et 
 gentile ,’ she will be with you on the Tuesday prochain, and 
 will stay with you for a day or two. (Donne, vdio has read 
 the latter part of the letter with increasing astonishment is 
 here fairly dumbfoundred ; he remains sitting, gazing with a 
 perplexed air, on the letter) A young lady, all alone, coming 
 to stay with me for two days ! Does he think I keep a 
 nunnery ? What shall I do ? (getting up and walking about, 
 the letter still in lvis hand) How can I tell Mrs. Primer and 
 that horrid inquisitive fellow Spangle, too \ (looking again at 
 letter) &When is she coming 'l Tuesday, why that’s to-day ! 
 She may bo here at any moment, was there ever such a 
 dilemma ] (biting his finger, looking at letter) Oh ! there’s a 
 postcript—perhaps that’s to say he has changed his mind. 
 “ I know, mon cher Professor, you are like myself, an old 
 man, so shall not my friend have any fear to confide his 
 daughter to you, nor the world shall it be able to make the 
 wicked pleasantries. ” I see, the old story; he knows mo 
 only by my writings, and takes me for a venerable old book¬ 
 worm. Well, there’s no help for it, I must tell Mrs. Primer. 
 (rings bell) I’d rather meet all of the professors in Germany 
 in solemn conclave, than face that respectable old lady. 
 
4 
 
 Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Primer, l.h. 
 
 Mrs. P. You rung, Dr. Donne, I believe. 
 
 Don. ( seated , r. c.) Oh ! is that you, Mrs. Primer? Yes, 
 
 I wanted to speak to you ; won’t you take a chair ? 
 
 Mrs. P. Thank you, Dr. Donne, I prefer standing. 
 
 Don. Just as you like, my dear Mrs. Primer. 
 
 Mrs. P. I am not your dear, or anyone else’s, Dr. Donne; 
 I am dedicated to my late husband. 
 
 Don. Yes, quite so. ( hesitates) The fact is, Mrs. Primer, 
 you see I’ve had a letter. 
 
 Mrs. P. Yes, Dr. Donne, I am aware of the fact; I brought 
 it to you, myself, yesterday. 
 
 Don. Ah ! yes, you did, thank you. I am much obliged ; 
 then it’s all light, Mrs. Primer. ( resuming work) 
 
 Mrs. P. What’s all right, Dr. Donne ? 
 
 Don. ( nervously ) Dear me, did not I explain it all, about 
 the young lady ? 
 
 Mrs. P. What young lady ? 
 
 Don. A young French lady coming to stay with me for two 
 days. 
 
 Mrs. P. ( bridling up) A young French lady! ( with a smile ) 
 I did not know your family was French, Dr. Donne. 
 
 Don. What do you mean, Mrs. Primer? my family French! 
 Why should they be ? 
 
 Mrs. P. {with a scornful laugh) Oh ! simply, sir, because I 
 do not for one moment suppose you would have any young 
 lady staying with you, under my roof, unless she were a 
 sister, or a niece. 
 
 Don. I tell you she’s no earthly relation to me. I no 
 more know who she is than you do yourself, my good Mrs. 
 Primer. 
 
 Mrs. P. None of your blandishments, if you please, Dr. 
 Donne ; if you think you will flatter me into allowing you to 
 harbour a young foreign baggage- 
 
 Don. {interrupting her) Oh, you need not trouble yourself 
 about that, she won’t have much luggage, she’s too poor ; 
 just make the spare bedroom ready for her, and get her 
 something nice for dinner ; some boiled chicken and some 
 tarts. Thank you, Mrs. Primer, that will do. {turning to his 
 work) 
 
 Mrs. P. No, it will not do, Dr. Donne. I am not going 
 to allow this house, which my husband, who is now a cherubim*, 
 left me in his last wi'l and testament, to have its reputation 
 tainted by a creature. 
 
 Don. {occupied with his papers) That’s exactly what I said 
 to myself, I knew you’d take care of her ; she is coming to¬ 
 day, so there is no time to be lost, {rising) I’ll just run out 
 and get one or two little things. 
 
Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 5 
 
 Mrs. P. {very formally) Sir, you will not expect me to 
 wait on you and the young lady ; my domestic will attend to 
 your wants— {going) —and I must ask you, Dr. Donne to 
 accommodate yourself as soon as possible with some other 
 domicile, for as the widow of the sainted Primer, I cannot 
 allow reprobates to lodge beneath my roof. ( Exit) 
 
 Don. {bewildered) I’n sure I don’t know what she said • 
 she’s a terrible old lady. I suppose I did not explain 
 matters very clearly, {he looks about for his hat , dec.) I am so 
 afraid of women ; certainly, I don’t know much about them 
 1 wonder whether this girl will be anything like Celestine. 
 Ah ! never shall I forget her face, I think I see her now 
 clasping my great dirty hand with her little white ones, looking 
 up into my face, her eyes swimming with tears, and thankin? 
 me, in her pretty broken English, for saving her “dear 3 
 dear papa s life. -Ah! if I had not been so shy and awk¬ 
 ward, I often fancy-but I have given my heart to these. 
 
 {pointing to the books) Where can my hat be ? {finds it at last, 
 under writing-table, full of tvastc paper) Dear me, there it is ! 
 
 1 £ mistook it for the waste paper basket; now then my umbrella.* 
 I hope she won’t come before I get back. {Exit, l.) 
 
 {After he has gone, enter Bridget, l. , with her band-boxes 
 and pai cels, d-c ., a large umbrella, and a gigantic nose¬ 
 gay ; she opens the door cautiously and comes in slowly 
 after speaking outside) 
 
 a 
 
 Bhid. {outside) I tell you, you murtherin’ villain, that I 
 shan t give you a farthing more. Do you think I’ve been 
 driving about Dublin all my life, and don’t know what 
 London carman’s fare is ] 
 
 Cab. {outside) I tell you, ma’am, I must have a shilling 
 more ; this am t my fare. 
 
 Brid. {outside) It’s mighty littD of the fair I see about 
 you at all, you great u^ly, blacc, mahogany whiskered spal- 
 peen you !—not a penny more will you get out of me • so be 
 off with you. ’ 
 
 Cab. {outside, grumbling) Stingy old cat; she arn’t mven 
 me more than twice my fare. & 
 
 Brid. {entering) The idea of his thinking he was <r 0 ina- to 
 desave a virgin from the Emerald Isle, (looking round) I 
 
 r 18 5 all right, they told me it was 
 
 MisterQ. E. D. lived here; a mighty reading sort of agentleman 
 lie d seem to be, too —{loo.cmg u.t books) —but sorra a bit does he 
 mow how to tidy his room. It’s as plain as the nose on St. 
 Patrick s face that he never knew what it was to be married. 
 
 111 be after setting them to rights a bit when we’re made one 
 oy the blessed church. 1 wonder who this Q. E D is ? 
 However, it’s plain enough my advertisement has roused tho 
 
6 
 
 Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 demon of love within his breast. I must read it again my¬ 
 self to make sure the lies in it are all true, (reads) “A young 
 female, over whose blooming cheek the breath of tweuty 
 summers have swept their wings, desires to unite herself 
 in the sweet hymeneal state with an eligible young man of 
 good birth, and undeniable character ; she has weaned her 
 soul from the giddiness of early childhood, and can keep 
 accounts : gay, subdued, impulsive and fervently religious, 
 she possesses a lofty figure, instinct with the classic graces. 
 Long silken eye lashes veil the brightness of her ebon eyes, 
 while wavy tresses kiss the cheek to which the blush of 
 innocence has never bent its festive charm in vain ; she is 
 a foreigner.” So I am, bedad ! I am Irish to the backbone. 
 {reads) “And speaks English with a slight accent; has a 
 small hand, and £10,000 in Bombay 5 per cents, in her own 
 right. —Address (confidentially) Post Office,Liverpool. N. B. — ’ 
 No Irish need apply. ” (looking round the room) Well, I dare 
 say I shall make myself very comfortable here (seating herself 
 in armchair , it.) only I wish the gentleman would be at 
 home quick. Oh! here comes someone, (she rises and goes, r.c.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Primer, she curtseys with great stiffness. 
 
 Mrs. P. I presume tbat I have the honour of addressing 
 the hem ! —young person- 
 
 Brid. No person, if you please ! I am Bridget O’Shag- 
 nessey, at your service, old lady. Tell me, where is Q.E.D. ? 
 
 Mrs. P. (aside) It’s only by his soberkay that the poor 
 creature knows him. (aloud) Mr. Q. E. D., as you call him, 
 madam, is just gone out to make some preparations for your 
 entertainment. 
 
 Brid. And a broth of a boy he must be, then ! shure it’s a 
 Punch and Judy, or a barrel organ or two he’s after getting 
 for me, just to aise the way a little. Well (seating herself in 
 armchair, r.) I’ll wait here till he conies. Good-bye, 
 old lady ! 
 
 Mrs. P. (aside) Old lady, indeed ! She’s no chicken ; she 
 might have looked after herself better. 
 
 Brid. Why, you talk to yourself more than the boy in the 
 play that lost his father and was always calling up his ghost 
 to make sure he was dead. 
 
 Mrs. P. I will not trouble you any more, miss. I have 
 the honour to wish you a good-day. (Exit very stiffly) 
 
 Brid. She’s gone. I am sure she must have her dresses 
 made like the new ships sides—all of iron-plates with the 
 rivets drove right into her spine. I think I’ll have just a 
 wink of sleep, for I’m mighty tired with that botherin’ rail¬ 
 way. Ya ! ha ! (yawns) Good-night, everybody, (composes 
 herself to sleep) 
 
Q. E. If. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 7 
 
 Enter Donne, l. , with some small''parcels in his hand; he does 
 
 not perceive Bridget. 
 
 Don. Well, I think I have not done badly. Let’s see: two 
 boxes of chocolate drops, ( putting parcels down) sixpenny- 
 worth of pink rock, a fan, a bottle of capillaire—I know the 
 French girls like capillaire—half apound of best brown sugar, 
 to eat at night if she feels hungry—I know the French girls 
 like sugar—two pounds of mixed biscuits and a box of figs. 
 (sees bandbox on chair) Good gracious ! What’s this 2 (takes 
 up bandbox. Bridget wattes, turns round and, sees him at 
 bandbox) 
 
 Brid. I’ll thank you, my boy, to drop that. (Donne, at 
 sound of voice, starts suddenly cowl drops bandbox, smashing it) 
 Dhivil take the fool, it’s my best bonnet. (running at band~ 
 box and rescues it from under the table) 
 
 Don. (aside) Can this be she ? 
 
 Brid. May I ask, sir, where Q. E. D. is ? 
 
 Don. (aside) It is she. (aloud) I am Q. E. D., madam. 
 
 Brid. And I am Amaryllis, (aside) Well, he does not look 
 much like a Major, I must say. (curtseying to him profoundly; 
 he bows awkwardly) 
 
 Don. A very classical name, mademoiselle. 
 
 Brid. (modestly) Oh, sir ! you’re pleased, to say so. (aside) 
 Well, he’s not very old after all. 
 
 Don. (aside) What very odd notions the Professor must 
 have of beauty, (aloud) I hope you will pardon me, 
 mademoiselle, for not being at home to receive you, but the 
 fact is your arrival was rather unexpected. 
 
 Brid. (to Donne, who is still standing very confused, with 
 come of the parcels in his hand) Why don’t you sit down l 
 
 Don. Oh ! thanks, I’d rather stand ; I’ve been walking 
 about all day, and it rests me. 
 
 Brid. He’s quite crazed with delight, that’s clear 
 enough, (sits r. of table, c.) You are not afraid of me? 
 
 Don. Not at all. (aside) She’s not very like a French 
 woman. Ah ! I suppose I don’t know the world ; nations 
 have altered. 
 
 Brid. He’s very cold for a major ; he must have been 
 quartered in the North Pole, (aloud) Hem ! do sit down, 
 dear. 
 
 Don. (aside) I always heard Frenchwomen invented the 
 fashions ; I suppose that accounts for her wonderful dress. 
 
 Brid. Won’t you sit down, dear ? 
 
 Don. (vacantly) Do you like chocolate ? 
 
 Brid. Don’t know the gentleman, dear. 
 
 Don. What does she call me “ dear ” for ? Oh ! a French 
 custom. Do you like tapioca 2 
 
8 
 
 Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 Brid. Do you take me for a toothless infant ? get along 
 with you; you’re playful. (Donne sits in a state of vacant 
 stupefaction. Bridget slides her chair up to him and lays het 
 hand on his, yetting closer to him. Donne takes her hand up, 
 still vacantly, and raises it to his mouth) 
 
 Brid. ( affecting coyness) He is going to kiss my hand. 
 (Donne, absently, bites her finger; Bridget screams ; Donne 
 drops her hand and starts up) Oh ! you cannibal, you ! You’d 
 be after biting my finger off. 
 
 Don. I beg your pardon, madam ; I really thought it was 
 mine. I hope I didn’t hurt you ? 
 
 Brid. Well, I forgive you ; I daresay you were hungry. 
 {coyly) I should like something to eat, dear. 
 
 Don. Certainly ; have some mixed biscuits, or figs ? ( jump - 
 ing up to get parcel) 
 
 Brid. Figs and biscuits ! Don’t you know I’ve come all 
 the way from Liverpool, and dhivil a dhrop to eat I’ve had 
 on the way, bating the smoke I swallowed against my will ? 
 Get me something substantial. (Donne goes mechanically to 
 cupboard and brings out some cold meat and bread, sets it on 
 table, c.) That’s right, my darling. (Donne arranges things 
 awkwardly, and she begins to eat ravenously) 
 
 Don. (aside) What an appetite ! She must have been 
 fasting for a week. 
 
 Brid. I say, Q. E. D., my jewel. 
 
 Don. Well, mademoiselle. 
 
 Brid. Could you give us a drop of the craythur ? 
 
 Don. What can she mean ? 
 
 Brid. A drop of spirits. 
 
 Don. Good gracious ! she actually drinks spirits. ( goes to 
 cupboard) I don’t know whether I’ve got any. Yes, here it 
 is. (returns with bottle) 
 
 Brid. Ah ! that’s right, my boy. ( pours out glass ; several 
 large lizards come into the glass; Bridget screams) Holy St. 
 Patrick ! what have we here ? Take ’em away, man—take 
 ’em away ! Oh ! you wretch, you ! how could you play such 
 a trick on an innocent creature ?—I’m going off. 
 
 Don. I wish you were quite. 
 
 Brid. (kicking) Oh ! I’m insensible ; can’t you do some¬ 
 thing \ (Donne sprinkles her from the milk jug, and fans her 
 with, the tray ; knock at door heard) 
 
 Don. Madam, pray come to ! (knocking goes on, then the 
 Major peeps in) 
 
 Major. May I come in? (Donne drops tray and turns 
 round hastily. Major enters cautiously. Donne gets between 
 Major and Bridget) Oh ! I beg pardon ; I hope I did not 
 interrupt you, but I expected a little parcel from the country; 
 you have not seen anything of it, eh ? 
 
Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 9 
 
 Don. ( nervously ) No, nothing. 
 
 Major. ( trying to look at Bridget) By Jove ! a woman 
 with the professor. 
 
 Don. Good-clay, sir. (shewing him the door ) 
 
 Major, (aside) It must be his mother. ( aloud ) You have 
 not seen it, then ? 
 
 Don. No ! I have not. (pushing him out) 
 
 Major. Oh! thank you; I am much obliged; good-day. 
 (Donne shuts door in his face) 
 
 Brid. What a pretty boy ; who is he l 
 
 Don. A troublesome inquisitive fellow, who lives up¬ 
 stairs. 
 
 Brid. (affectionatelg) You’re not afraid, dear, of being 
 found here with me. 
 
 Don. Not in the least, (aside) I must get her away. 
 
 Brid. (coaxingly) You are not ashamed of your little 
 Amaryllis. 
 
 Don. Not in the le:»st. 
 
 Brid. That’s a darling ; what did you say your name was ? 
 
 Don. Donne, ma’am. 
 
 Brid. Don ! Why, that’s a dog’s name. 
 
 Don. Yes. You know the proverb, “Give a dog a bad name 
 and hang him.” 
 
 Brid. But they are not going to hang you, Donny, my 
 dear, (hangs round his neck. Bridget is trying to get Donne 
 to kiss her. Knock at door ; he starts at knock) Don’t be after 
 frightening yourself, clarlint; I’ll protect you. 
 
 Enter Major, l. 
 
 Major, Hem ! I beg your pardon. 
 
 Don’, (shakes Bridget off and gets between them) What do 
 you want, now ] 
 
 Major. Oh! I merely wanted to ask you—you have not 
 seen that little parcel, have you 1 
 
 Don. (angrily) N o ! hang your parcel. 
 
 Major. Oh ! I am sure I am very sorry. If I had known 
 
 you had got company- (Bridget is standing hiding her 
 
 face coyly , r.) 
 
 Don. I can dispense with yours, (pushes him out, l.) I 
 shall go mad ! (walks up and down agitated) What am I to do 
 with her ? (Bridget following him) 
 
 Brid. Be aisy, dear ; we’ll go out for a walk. Won’t you 
 take your Amaryllis to see some of the pretty sights] (trying 
 to soothe him) 
 
 Don. (aside) Ah ! a capital idea. I’ll take her out and 
 lose her somewhere, (aloud) Certainly, the College of 
 Surgeons is open to-day—they’ve splendid preparations there; 
 v there’s th§ Geological Museum, 
 
10 
 
 Q. E. D. ; on, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 Brid. Bother your museum ! I want to go to a theaytre. 
 
 Bon. They’re only open at night. 
 
 Brid. Then we’ll go to-night, won’t we dear l 
 
 Don. Yes, we’ll go to-night, but now- 
 
 Brid. Could we not go to a casino ? 
 
 Don. A casino ! Good gracious, madam ! do you want to 
 ruin my character ? 
 
 Brid. I only want a bit of a dance. 
 
 Don. (aside) I’ll lead her a pretty one if I can. (aloud) 
 Well, if you’ll get ready, I’ll see, madam, what we can do. 
 
 Brid. (skipping about) There’s a broth of a boy. Come, 
 there’s a kiss for you. (kisses him and goes up to get her 
 bonnet) 
 
 Don. I shall do something desperate ! Fancy this creature 
 stopping here all night. Why she’ll marry me before I know 
 where I am ! I know what I’ll do—I’ll take her to the 
 British Museum and lose her amongst the mummies.. (laughs 
 to himself. He pmts his gloves and hat on during this speech) 
 
 Brid. That’s right, honey, laugh away. Oh ! you’re a 
 dhivil among the girls, I’ll swear ; you gay desaver, you. 
 (chucks him under the chin, singing — 
 
 ‘ ‘ Oh ! sure and there’s no place 
 Like London’s darlint city, 
 
 Where the boys they are so free 
 And the girls they are so pretty. 
 
 Oh ! whack folloldilay,” &c., &c. 
 
 tabes Donne’s arm under her's ; he is speechless ivith horror ; 
 she drags him off dancing and singing the chorus) 
 
 Enter Major, cautiously . 
 
 Major. Oh ! they’re gone ; well, this is a rum start. I 
 wonder who that hilarious party is. I thought it was his 
 mother, but she is not quite old enough for that. It must 
 be his wife ; these literary men always marry such rummy 
 people. I wish “ Amaryllis ” would come, I’ve been expect¬ 
 ing her the last hour or so. Ah ! Spangle, you dog, you’ve 
 done it now, £10,000, 5 per cents., and a beautiful creature ! 
 It was my answer to her advertisement—let me look at it 
 once more ; I could read it for ever, (reads advertisement) 
 ‘‘ To Amaryllis.—A young person, inclining to middle age, 
 but not to obesity, has perused the efflux of your honeyed 
 pen ; he need not say where, he need not say when.” That’s 
 poetry. £ Anchored to his domestic hearth, he wanders no 
 more through the mazy channels of dissipation.” Oh! I’m 
 devilish steady. “He seeks with panting breast the stream 
 whence true joys flow, and wants but little here in this wide 
 world below.” Poetry again ! in prose, it means I’m cheap to 
 
11 
 
 Q. 
 
 E * D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 Le e p. Say, angel from beyond the seas, wilt thou be mine. 
 
 nlV.1 \° U plea S e % address Q- E- D., 139, Berners-street, 
 axtoid-streeL—PA military major and has seen service. ” 
 
 nothino- w iff k lf * lat d ° 6S not fetcl1 lier vir » in Sections, 
 
 way did you say ? Merci —tanks, 
 
 Cel. ( outside ) This 
 many tanks, madam. 
 
 Aw11° R f A T° ice Witl1 a forei o n accent, (looks through door) 
 Another female coming this way, too. By Jove ! Donne’s a 
 
 rU jUSt ^ beW tMs sc-- feoe. 
 
 Celestkste, in plain travelling dress, with bag. 
 
 Cel. (speaking outside) I will wait till he comes back. 
 (entering) Ah !_ this must be the room ; they tell me how he 
 was a great writer. Mon Dieu ! what a mess! He must be 
 wnmga pot pourri.” (sits down in chair as if wearied) 
 1 am fatigued ; these steamboats shake you up one way 
 ana then the railway trains they shake you up another way, 
 till you shall not know whore you are. 
 
 Major, (from behind the screen) She’s a screamer. (Celes- 
 itne mores her bonnet) What hair ! the Doctor has got taste. 
 (Ce l.estine leans her head on her hand thoughtfully) 
 
 torn LpToM make ^ ^re. It is hard, waiment, 
 
 ioi a De La Mayonnaise to go for a gouvernate; to be a servant. 
 
 MmnW 6at my r ^ ? f ° r my P ° 0r clear P a P a ’ s sake. 
 Major, (comes from behind screen) She is lovely ! I must 
 
 S s . 2 e L ( “ AJ0B covghs ■ Ceies ™ looh and «• 
 
 anyone Pard ° n ’ 1 did not 
 
 Major, (boieing ridiculously) Oh! don’t mention it, 
 mademoiselle ; it s for me to apologise, (aside) What stunning 
 eyes ! (he goes on bowing, and she curtseying ) 
 
 Major. Won’t you sit down ? 
 
 1 Cel \ Thanks, much thanks, monsieur. Can you tell me 
 
 W mTtop^V 1816 ? 1 ’ n' E ' D 'A ( s P eakin 9 the Alters like French) 
 Major, You don t mean Q. E. D. 1 
 
 n C R L 'tj^ / S ' v f aiment L tliat is llow y° u speak him in English, 
 (™ a king an effort to speak them properly) 
 
 tJZZi cSr % Oh°! Q S pm; g ?e ^ ^ ^ ** 
 
 Cel. Is it that you know him 1 
 Major. Know him ! 
 y el. Will he soon make to his home ? 
 he^AJOR ( strihing attitude ) He is at home, he is here, I am 
 
 Cel. You Q. E. D. ? (taking his hand) Oh ! why keep poor 
 
12 
 
 Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 me so long in suspense ? (shaking hands ) I am so glad 
 
 to see you. I do feel so strange in this land though I can 
 speak your language, they say, well. 
 
 Majok. Oh ! mademoiselle, you speak it deliciously. 
 
 Cel. Ah! but you do not sit down, you are so gallant. 
 
 Major. No ! I am a very steady old boy. 
 
 Cel. Old ! You shall not call vourself old. 
 
 Major. But I shall ; at least, compared with you. 
 
 Cel. Now you would make compliments. ( they sit ; 
 Major, l., Celestine, r.) 
 
 Major. I cannot compliment you, you are so beautiful; 
 and so this is Amaryllis ! 
 
 Cel. No ; you deceive yourself, I am Celestine. 
 
 Major, (aside) What a lovely name !—Celestine. 
 
 Cel. Ah ! that is right, call me by my name. How much 
 I am obliged to Monsieur Lamporte for recommending me to 
 you. 
 
 Major. ( puzzled ) Yes, exactly so. 
 
 Cel. How kind ! how gracious of you ! a philosopher, a 
 great writer ! 
 
 Major, (aside) That’s the poetry; she takes me for a 
 great writer. 
 
 Cel. Your room, too, so full of books, (gets up and looks 
 round) Ah ! I never did see so many. 
 
 Major, (aside) She thinks it’s my room. Well, Donne 
 has gone out, so I’ll encourage the delusion ; after all books 
 are very respectable, (aloud) Yes, there are a good many of 
 them. 
 
 Cel. But why not arrange them ? 
 
 Major. Oh ! don’t touch them, for heaven’s sake! 
 
 Cel. (returning to chair-) I see, they are sacred. What a 
 thing it is to be learned ! 
 
 Major. Yes, it is a good thing in its way ; but let’s talk 
 about yourself, (drawing nearer her) What a sweet face you 
 have ! 
 
 Cel. You think so—you authors are so polite 
 
 Major, (aside) She can’t forget my poetry, (aloud) How 
 do you like me ? (with great affectation) 
 
 Cel. Oh ! very much ; you are not so old as I expected. 
 
 Major, (aside) That’s good. Bravo Spangle ! your hair- 
 dye was not used for nothing, (aloud) No ! I do look young. 
 
 Cel. It is j our heart is so young. 
 
 Major. Yes, yes ! (chuckling, getting nearer her ) How well 
 you look ! 
 
 Cel. Oh ! monsieur, (aside) That he is droll ! 
 
 Major. How could you say your eyes were black? 
 (enthusiastically) Why, they’re blue ! blue as the empyrean 
 vaults of heaven. 
 
Q. E. D. j OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 l3 
 
 Cel. (astonished) Sir !—Ah ! you are droll, you English. 
 Major, (getting closer to her, talcing her hand) This hand, 
 too, small! I should think it was, exquisitely small. Happy 
 the man on whom it is bestowed ! 
 
 Cel. Monsieur ! (aside) I get quite afraid. He is wild. 
 Major, (excitedly) Lovely Amaryllis, or Celestine, or 
 whatever your name is, behold your Q. E. H. ! behold your 
 Adolphus ! Embrace me ! (tries to embrace her) 
 
 Cel. (angrily) Release me, sir ! stand off! You do not 
 know the blood that is in my veins, (proudly) Though I be 
 brought so low to advertise me in your journals, no man, 
 whoever he be, shall dare to put on me the insult! (Major 
 tries to soothe her) Stand off, sir ! ( retreating to door r. ; Major 
 still advances idiotically) Sir, you’re a wretch ! 
 
 (Exit r. , crying with rage and shame) 
 Major Pheugh ! I went a little too far. Who the deuce 
 would have thought she could have been so touchy? Adolphus, 
 you were in too great a hurry. It’s only her coyness ; I’ll 
 just go upstairs and give my moustache another extra curl, 
 and then I’ll come and sing to her. No woman can resist 
 • (Exit, in a great state of self-satisfaction) 
 
 Enter Donne, l., hurriedly 
 
 Don. Thank heaven, I’ve lost her ! 1 took her down in 
 the cellars among the mummies and scarcophagi, and whilst 
 she was sitting on a tomb, eating a ham sandwich, I took the 
 opportunity of running away. I hope she’ll fall into an 
 empty scarcophagus and sleep till I come and look for her— 
 (rubbing his hands together)— she’ll have a quiet time of it. 
 I think that rascal of a French professor has been playing 
 some joke on me : wait till his next book comes out, that”s 
 all. (sits down at writimg table, r.) Well, thank heaven I am 
 quiet now ; 111 get to work again, (sobs heard from room, r.) 
 What s that? (listening; sobs heard again) What on earth’s 
 that ? it sounds like somebody crying. Oh ! pooh ! it’s my 
 imagination, (goes on writing) I shall go into a monastery, 
 then I shall be safe, (sobs heard again) It is somebody crying 
 in my spare room, (goes to door, r.) A woman, too, by all that’s 
 horrible . Oh ! this is too bad. (goes into room and returns 
 with Celestine, who hides her face, sobbing) Really, madam, I 
 am very sorry if anything’s the matter with you, but I can’t 
 have you crying about my room. 
 
 Cel. To insult a poor defenceless girl. Oh ! (he leads her 
 to a chair, r. c.) > 
 
 Don. I’m not insulting you, my dear young lady ; sit down 
 and compose yourself, (she sits ; aside) It seems I’m to be 
 guardian in general to all unprotected females—pleasant! 
 ^he pours out some water and Offers it her) 
 
14 
 
 Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 Cel. ( raising her face) Monsieur, I thank you; I am recovered; 
 I have had a shock, (she turns round and recognises Donne ; 
 starts) Oh ! that face! It is he—it is the same gentleman that 
 saved my papa’s life. Oh ! (throwing herself into his arms) 
 You will protect me ] 
 
 Don. That voice ! That face ! It is Celestine ! How did 
 you come here? 
 
 Cel. (half laughing and crying) Oh i you are like a good 
 angel come to me, I will tell you all. You know my poor 
 father? He has got poorer and poorer since you saved his life. 
 Oh ! how bravely ! (kissing Ids hand) So I determined to go 
 for a governess. 
 
 Don. Ah ! 
 
 Cel. And Monsieur Lamporte, the professor, he got me 
 the engagement with some friends of his, and he tell me to 
 come here to ask for Monsieur Q. E. D. 
 
 Don. I begin to understand now. 
 
 Cel. (very rapidly and excitedly) Well, I come here and I 
 ask for Mr. Q. E. D. ; they shew me this room. A man, an 
 insolent wretch, come in and say he is Q. E. D. ; he begin to 
 make me silly compliments, he talk about my eyes, my hair, 
 and make grimaces at me. I think he is droll, then I think 
 he is mad, till at last he try to kiss me, and then I call him a 
 wretch. I speak to him fierce, and then I withdraw myself 
 into that room. Ah ! I am indeed unhappy ! I stay here. I am 
 alone in a great strange city. Oh ! that I could find that 
 good, dear friend who saved papa’s life ! And then you came 
 in, you speak kind, I know your voice, I look up, and it is 
 yourself, (taking his hand and kissing it) Oh! pardon Celes¬ 
 tine, but she is so grateful, (during this speech Donne mani¬ 
 fests his astonishment and pleasure by every sort of awkward , 
 nervous gesture ; unbuttoning his coat and buttoning it all 
 wrong; rubbing his hair up with his hands) You do not say 
 anything, you are not angry ? 
 
 Don. Angry ! bless you, dear mademoiselle, I’m only 
 puzzled, and I’m so pleased. What between being puzzled 
 and pleased; I really don’t quite know what I am doing. But 
 sit down, you must be tired. 
 
 Cel. Oh ! I have forgot all my fatigue now, I want to 
 know how all this is ? Are you Monsieur Q. E. D., to whom 
 M. Lamporte recommended me ? 
 
 Don, Yes, I am. 
 
 Cel. Ah! how droll ! How came you by so strange a 
 name ? 
 
 Don. Well, you see, my father was a strange man ; he was 
 quite wrapped up in his bo oks, and he christened me 
 “Quintus,” after his favourite hero, and “Epicurus,” after 
 his favourite philosopher. Quintus Epicurus Donne, and as 
 
Q. E. E. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE, 
 
 15 
 
 I have always used my initials only, as a signature to my 
 articles, it was by that name only that M. Lamporte knew 
 me. 
 
 Cel. Ah ! and to think I should find you like this. Ah ! 
 you wicked man ; it was very cruel of you to take from us 
 . the power of thanking you. 
 
 Don. (nervously, hesitating) Yes, I am very shy, and I ran 
 away from you to avoid a formal parting. I never was 
 young; I always was a shabby, withered old bookworm. 
 Nobody cares for such dry sticks as me. (he turns away his 
 face) 
 
 Cel. Oh ! you must not say that, I will soon brighten you 
 up ; let’s begin with the room ; I never did see such a litter. 
 Is it that you .-ire called literary men because you are so un¬ 
 tidy ? (she busies herself tidying the books, dec.) 
 
 Don. (aside) What a sweet little angel she is ; I never 
 knew what a woman was like before. ( looking at her dress) 
 I wish I had brushed my hair. 
 
 Cel. (who has found Bridget’s bandbox) Eh ! what have 
 we here ? 
 
 Don. (aside) That dragon’s bandbox ; what shall I do ? 
 (embarrassed) Eh ! that ? 
 
 Cel. Yes ! I thought you were an old batchelor ; what 
 make you with bandboxes ? 
 
 Don. (as before) Oh! some little things of my landlady’s 
 she left here. I think I’ll put them out of the way. (seizes 
 hold of them and begins to throw them into the corner) 
 
 Cel. Oh ! you barbarous man ! you must not do that. 
 (takes them and puts them quietly down) 
 
 Don. (aside) Confound the griffin, if she were to come 
 back here ! 
 
 Cel. Now let us look at you—yourself, (comes down to him 
 and takes hold of his coat collar and inspects him) 
 
 Don. (aside ; putting his hand up to his head) I wish I’d 
 brushed my hair. 
 
 Cel. Oh ! you naughty boy ! you’ve got your coat buttoned 
 all wrong. (Donne begins to unbutton it all again) Only six 
 buttons out of nine ; it is plain you have no one to look after 
 you, and half the others coming off. 
 
 Don. I’m afraid my coat’s rather untidy ; it’s a little old. 
 
 Cel. You call that a little old ? why it is white and quite 
 venerable, (turning him round) And here are two large holes 
 in the arm. Oh ! we must pension off this coat. 
 
 Don. I’ve got another somewhere I know, quite a new 
 one ; I got it about five years ago; I’ve never worn it. (looks 
 about for parcel, which he finds and brings down) Oh ! here it 
 js. (undoing it and pulling out new brown coat) 
 
16 
 
 Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 Cel. Eh ! bien; that is well. Now then, off with the poor 
 old pensioner. 
 
 Don. ( hesitates) Well, I don’t quite like- 
 
 Cel. Ah! you are afraid of me, pretty' chevalier! never 
 mind, I will turn my back. (Donne begins to fumble with his 
 coat , and he can't get it off) 
 
 Cel. ( stamping her foot impatiently) Make haste ! make 
 haste ! or 1 shall turn round. 
 
 Don. It won’t comeotf! 
 
 Cel. Permit me. 
 
 Don. Oh ! you are so kind. (Celestine pidls off the coat 
 turning it inside out; all the lining is in rags) 
 
 Cel. (laughing) Really, it is cruel to use an old servant 
 like this, (holding the coat up) 
 
 Don. (looking at it) I am afraid it is rather torn (aside) 
 and she looks so neat. I wish I’d brushed my hair. 
 
 Cel. (throwing the old coat away and taking up the new one) 
 There it’s best to be off with the old friends before you are 
 on with the new. Do 1 not say it right ? (putting on coat) 
 There, this way, an droit ! Ah ! there it’s a little small, but 
 it looks splendid, at least, from behind ; there hold yourself 
 upright ; now then, how say you in English ?—to the right 
 about face, (turning him round; she retires and looks at him, 
 clapping her hands) Ah ! that’s beautiful, you look quite 
 gallant. 
 
 Don. (who has submitted to all the manoeuvres with an 
 awkward shyness, half-ashamed, half-delighted, draws himself 
 up now, looking at the coat) I never did pay any attention to 
 my dress before ; I had no reason. 
 
 Cel. Oh ! I have not half completed you yet, let’s see, 
 the waistcoat will do, but that cravat. (Donne’s cravat is tied 
 in an untidy bo'iv , which has worked round under the ears) 
 Why where is the knot gone ? It has lost itself. What do 
 you call that l 
 
 Don. Well, I never was good at tying a bow. 
 
 Cel. Come, let me do it. Oh ! you must kneel down, (he 
 kneels down) There ! (tying his cravat) Now then (running 
 round behind him) I feel just as if you were my papa. Come, 
 there’s a brave knot, (having finished it, takes a glass off table 
 behind) Rise and look at yourself. Ah ! it is a stranger, is it 
 not ? (laughing) 
 
 Don. You’re quite a magician ; I never did look so tidy 
 before, (aside) I wish I’d brushed my hair, (tries to arrange 
 it with his hand) 
 
 Cel. Here ! go and set those tangled locks of yours in 
 order, and put on some clean boots, then I think you will 
 look quite en grande tenue ; and you can take Celestine out 
 for a walk, if you are not tired of her. 
 
Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 17 
 
 Don. ( nervously, but with genuine feelings ) Tired of you ! 
 Oh ! mademoiselle, how could I tire of so much joy? Your 
 bright face has made this dingy old room like a summer 
 palace. Excuse me, I know I am very shy and awkward ; I 
 can’t say what I feel ; I have always lived a lonely life ; I 
 can remember no mother’s loving, anxious eyes bent over 
 me ; no sister’s gentle sympathy ever cheered my labour. 
 Celestine, you have brushed the cobwebs off my heart, as 
 easily as you brushed the dust off those books. I feel young 
 and happy as I never felt before. ( takes her hand) I’d like to 
 say much more, but I can’t. ( with intense emotion) Bless you! 
 (kissing her hand) (Exit hurriedly, l. ) 
 
 Cel. (looking after him) Ah ! pauvre homme. How deso¬ 
 late and lonely his life must have been, and j^et he has a 
 fresh warm heart ; I have touched it, I think. Ah ! I could 
 love that man ! he is brave, he is wise, he is noble. Did not 
 he give back to me all that makes my life bright through the 
 dark clouds that have fallen on us, all that makes me forget 
 our poverty and my own exile, the life of my father that I 
 love ? Cannot I give to him the light of merriment, that 
 sunshine of love from which his sad youth has been shut out? 
 I think I can, and I will. But those bonnet boxes ? how he 
 blushed when I found them ; he cannot be married and un¬ 
 happy. Oh ! I hope not. Why, Celestine, what is this ? 
 your heart is beating very fast at the very idea, (noises from 
 outside) What is that ? 
 
 Brid. (outside) Oh ! the dhirty spalpeen, I’ll teach him to 
 desert me ! 
 
 Cel. A woman’s voice, and she is coming here ! (goes r. to 
 chair) 
 
 Enter Bridget very excitedly, her bonnet smashed, (be. 
 
 Brid. Now then, Mister Q. E. D., I’ll be combing your 
 hair for you. Why he’s invisible; I’ll be bound he’s hid some¬ 
 where. (goes up to table and pokes her umbrella under it) Come 
 out of there, you skulking vagabond, you ! 
 
 Cel. Who shall this horrid creature be? 
 
 Brid. (turning and seeing Celestine, stops dead short) 
 Holy St. Patrick ! what’s this? a female? (coming down to 
 her) Who may you be, if you please ? 
 
 Cel. (with digni'y) Mademoiselle Celestine Eugenie DeLa 
 Mayonnaise. 
 
 Brid. Could not you give me the names one at a, time ? 
 I’d find it easier to give them you back again. 
 
 Cel. Oh ciel ! that she is fearful. 
 
 Brid. Now then, I’m listening my jewel, 
 
 Cel. Really, madam-: 
 
18 
 
 Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 Brid. Bridget O’Shagnessy, at your service. There ! 
 my name mayn’t be longer than the tail of yours, but it’s 
 quite as respectajle. (Celestine curtseys) None of your 
 foreign kickshaws ; you can’t get over me. I want to know 
 what you are doing here !■ 
 
 Cel. Madam, I am the guest of the gentleman who owns 
 this room. 
 
 Brid. Oh ! you are ; well, I’m the lawful wife, that is to 
 be, of the gentleman who owns this room ; so perhaps you’ll 
 go. 
 
 Cel. (aside) His wife ! (to Bridget) Madam, pardon, I 
 don’t understand. 
 
 Brid. 'I lien look it out in a dictionary, or get an interpreter. 
 Oh ! yes, you mincing Frenchified doll, you ! I did not learn 
 Latin, with Master Molloy, in mistake for French for 
 nothing, (with great scorn) JJomine , Domine, as in presenti 
 salve , salve, propriabus J There now, translate that if you 
 can. (takes stage , l.) 
 
 Cel. (walking up and down agitated) Oh ! que je suis 
 malheureuse ! What shall I do 1 
 
 Brid. (turning round on her) Are you going l 
 
 Cel. No, madam, I cannot ; not at your command. 
 
 Brid. You impudent craythur, you ! (advancing to her) 
 I’ll tache you to try and betray an O’Shagnessy. Come out 
 of this, will you ? (going up to her) >■ 
 
 Cel. An secourl help ! help ! (enter Donne, hurriedly ; 
 Bridget has followed Celestine round stage, l., just as 
 Donne enters ; Celest'ne seeing him rushes into his arms) 
 Oh ! Monsieur Q. E. D., protect me ! protect me ! 
 
 Brid. What! before my very eyes, you big thief, you ! 
 (clutches hold of Donne by the other arm, and drags him do wn 
 stage, he still holding Celestine ; Bridget seizes him by collar 
 of coat and shakes him up and do wn) I’ll teach you to insult a 
 daughter of one of Ireland’skings,leastways, he might havebeen 
 if he’d lived long enough ago, when everybody was a king, 
 barring the pigs. I’ll teach you to leave a tender young 
 virgin among a heap of pickled corpses and coffey busses, 
 ye murtherin white-livered spalpeen, ye ! Why don’t you 
 spake to me? (Bridget shakes him by the throat; Donne 
 choking) 
 
 Cel. (crying and screaming) Oh ! mercy ! leave him ! 
 
 Don. Leave me, you she devil, you, can’t you ? 
 
 Brid. (screaming) Here, murther ! thieves ! police ! 
 
 Cel. Oh ! help, help ! (they drag Donne to and fro) 
 
 Enter Major, l. 
 
 Major. What the deuce is the row ? What do I see, 
 Celestine hanging on the neck of the Professor ? (rushing u,p 
 
Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 19 
 
 to Donne and catching hold of him behind ) Unhand that young 
 woman ! (Bridget and Celestine drag Donne down stage; 
 Major drags him up, and then as he is dragged down again, 
 Bridget let's go, goes bach, into chair. Celestine falls back 
 half-fainting; Major catches her. Donne stands bewildered 
 in the middle) 
 
 Brid. (as she falls) Oh ! my back ! I’ve broke three ribs 
 of my best crinoline. 
 
 Major. Now, sir, explain ! 
 
 Brid. Yes ; explain, ye villain ! 
 
 Don. Explain what ? 
 
 Major \ {together) What ? that won’t do, explain. 
 
 Major. What do you mean by holding this young woman 
 {pointing to Celestine) in your arms ? 
 
 Brid. Yes ! what do you mean by holding that young 
 woman in your arms ? 
 
 Don. What do you mean, sir, by holding that young 
 woman in your arms? {crosses and removes Celestine from 
 Major ; she recovers) 
 
 Major. Give me up my Amaryllis. 
 
 Don. Your what ? 
 
 Major. My Amaryllis. 
 
 Brid. Did you say Amaryllis ? 
 
 Major. Yes, old lady, I did say Amaryllis. 
 
 Brid. By the Lord Harry, I believe I’ve had the wrong 
 sow by the ear all the time. Sir, are you Q. E. D. ? 
 
 Major. Yes, madam, I am. 
 
 Don. You are not ! 
 
 Brid. Be aisy, won’t you, there ain’t two of you. 
 
 Maior. Old woman, don’t interfere. I demand my 
 Amaryllis ! 
 
 Brid. {rushing at him and throwing her arms round his 
 neck) Behold your Amaryllis ! 
 
 Major Take her away ! take her away and bury her ! 
 
 Brid. Oh ! I knew that fuzzy-headed old bookeater could 
 not be my military major. 
 
 Major. What do I hear ? 
 
 Brid. Here! {producing paper from pocket) Here is your 
 answer to my advertisement. 
 
 Major. It is ! it is ! Oh, horror ! ( wildly ) You —3 ou— 
 Amaryllis? Where are your ebon eyes, where are your 
 silken eyelashes and where, oh! where, are the £ 10,000 
 Bombay 5 per cents? 
 
 Brid ! Here ! {producing paper) 
 
 Major, {takespaper) It is genuine, {with affected emotion) 
 
 Oh ! Amaryllis, the cheeks may be painted, the eyes may be 
 
t 
 
 20 Q. E. D. ; OR, ALL A MISTAKE. 
 
 I 
 
 dim, the eyelashes may be imaginary, but the £10,000 5 per 
 cent., are real. Come to my arms, Amaryllis. ( they embrace; 
 the Major iveeps, she dries his eyes with her umbrella) 
 
 Don. Bravo ! bravo ! all is settled at last, bless you 
 Spangle! bless you, respectable old Gorgon 1 (turning to 
 Celestine) If I might only hope that this Q. E. D. has 
 found his Amaryllis, one that could bring him a richer 
 dower than thousands, her own bright face to cheer his 
 lonely hours. 
 
 Cel. Oh! what could a learned professor do with a poor 
 child like me ? 
 
 Don. Nay, I would be the child, and you should teach me. 
 
 Major. Yes, to brush your hair for instance, (all laugh) 
 
 Don. My hair is rather rough, and so is my nature. 
 
 Major. Well, she’ll smooth both. 
 
 Don. (to Celestine) Come, stay, and be my governess. 
 
 Cel. But what will our friends say % 
 
 Brid. They will say that Miss was taking, and he was 
 taken with Miss. 
 
 Major, (u nth absurd affectation ) And if ever he gets in a 
 taking, she’ll silence him—thus—with a kiss. ( kisses Bridget) 
 Poetry again ! 
 
 Cel. I fear they will say, it was all a mistake. 
 
 Don. May they add one that had a pleasant ending. 
 (pausing) Q. E. D. 
 
 l., Celestine. Donne. Bridget. Major, r. 
 
 CURTAIN.