MO PLAY 
 
 XCHANGED 
 
 STAR 
 
 SERIES 
 
 •CHICAGO- 
 
 I S DENISON PUBLISHER 
 

 Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
 FEB 1 7 1991 
 MAR 2 6 }59j 
 
 L161—H41 
 
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 MONEY 
 
 .A. COMEDY X2ST FIVE ACTS 
 
 By Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, 
 
 Author of “Lady of Lyons," Richelieu, etc. 
 
 ITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, CAST OF CHARACTERS, COS 
 TUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC. 
 
 
 I 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 T. S. DENISON, Publisher 
 163 Randolph St. 
 
/ 
 
 CAST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 Ilaymarket, 1&40. 
 
 Alfred Evelyn. ...Mr. Macrea oy 
 
 Sir John Vesev. Mr. Strickla: n - d 
 
 Lord Glossmore. Mr. Vin% g 
 
 Sir Frederick Blount. Mr. Lacy 
 
 Stout. .Mr. 1). REgg 
 
 Graves. Mr. Websti 5r 
 
 Captain Dudley Smooth. Mr. Wreni :h 
 
 Sharp 
 
 Old Member.* 
 
 Sir John’s Servant.’ 
 
 Toke... 
 
 appear are usually omitted. 
 
 Time of playing, three hours. 
 
 STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 
 
 
 (2) 
 
 
 
 
 • JEi. •• 
 
 
 Evelyn's Servant. 
 
 First and Second Members.. t ' 
 
 Crimson, a portrait painter. ) 
 
 Patent, a coachmaker. | In the representation the pt is . 
 
 Frantz, a tailor. J- sage in which these characters 
 
 Tabouret, an Upholsterer. 
 
 Grab, a Publisher. 
 
 Clara Douglas.. * s 
 
 Lady Franklin. Mrs. GlovF r 
 
 Georgina..... 
 
 Officer, Club Members, Flat, Green, etc., Waiters at the Club, 
 
 Servants. 
 
 R means right of the stage; C centre; R G right centre; L left; 
 R D right door; L D left door, etc.; 1 E first entrance: U E up{ ie r 
 entrance, etc.; D F door in fiat (back of the stage): 1 G first groo ve> 
 etc. The actor is supposed to be facing the audience. 
 
 
 
 . 
 

 COSTUMES. 
 
 }Jj 
 
 lit- 
 
 
 Alfred Evelyn. — First Dress: Black frock coat and vest, Oxford 
 gray trousers, cloth-top shoes, and black neckerchief.— Second 
 Dress: Fashionable blue frock coat with velvet collar, buff vest with 
 rolling collar, kerseymere trousers tightly strapped down, polished 
 leather boots, black satin scarf, white riding gloves and black hat. — 
 Fourth Act, Scene I: Brocade dressing gown.— For Dinner: Black 
 dress coat lined with black silk, white vest with rolling collar, 
 black kerseymere trousers, black satin cravat embroidered with 
 gold.— Fifth Act: Dress of second act. 
 
 Stout. —Green cut-off coat with broad tails, striped vest, white 
 cravat with large tie, nankeen trousers without straps, cloth top 
 shoes, large red pocket handkerchief, white hat with black crape 
 around it, which is removed after the first act. 
 
 Sir John Vesey. — Black dress coat and trousers, white vest and 
 cravat, white hair, with double eye-glasses hanging by chain round 
 neck. 
 
 Glossmore. — Black frock coat and trousers, polished leather boots, 
 black vest, white cravat and light kid gloves.— Second Act: Colored 
 vest.— Fourth Act: Full dinner costume. 
 
 Graves. —Body coat and full black suit, black gloves. In third 
 act,' a gay colored silk handkerchief. 
 
 Blount. —Fashionable black suit in first act, which is afterward 
 changed for one of a gay character. 
 
 Dudley Smooth. —Fashionable morning costume.— Second Dress: 
 Frock coat, light colored pantaloons, glazed leather boots.— Fourth 
 Act: Very fashionable dinner dress. 
 
 Clara Douglas. — First Dress: Black barege walking dress, high 
 neck and long sleeves, slightly trimmed with black lace, hair plain, 
 black shoes and stockings, black satin apron.— Second Dress: White 
 muslin demi-toilet, pink ribbons, gold bracelets and ornaments.— 
 Last Dress: Black velvet walking dress, with ornaments of malakite 
 and gold. 
 
 Lady Franklin. — Three First Acts: A gay-colored silk dress.— 
 Fourth Act: Evening dress, with short sleeves and low body.— Fifth 
 Act: Morning costume. 
 
 Georgina. — First Dress: White muslin, cut high, and long sleeves 
 
 trimmed with black ribbons and jet ornaments.- Second Act: Col- 
 
 lored ribbons.— Fourth Act: Dinner dress.— Fifth Act: Colored silk 
 walking dress and fashionable bonnet. 
 
EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The comedy of “Money” was originally produced the 8th ( 
 December, 1810, at the Haymarket Theatre, London. The critic d ,f 
 tin? Literary Gazette says of its performance: “A better acting cl f 
 better acted play has not been brought out in our day, and we r >r 
 member ‘John Bull.’ It often, by its sparkling allusions, recallo e - 
 the ‘School for Scandal’ to our minds; and the drop-scene ce .g 
 tainly fell upon every act amid bursts of applause at the skill di( r . 
 played in the construction of these pauses, giving each a scenic effei^ s . 
 and interest which could not be improved. The strength of tnj«£ 
 play is not in plot—it is meagre; nor in actual and consequentis. e 
 circumstances, for there are some errors and improbabilities. Bilj 
 the genuine power of this performance belongs to an ancient, recog t 
 nized, and high order of the comic—the power of seizing the char¬ 
 acters and manners of the age, and holding the mirror up to societT. 
 and that, too, after it has so long been asserted that the progress q. 
 civilization had destroyed the materials for such a purpose. Tl|,f 
 characters all stand out well from the mass. Dudley , alias Deacl\ e 
 Smooth (Wrench), the cool, calculating gambler, who, when askecr'y 
 ‘Can you keep a secret?’ happily replies, ‘I have kept myself,’Ip 
 one instance; Graves (Webster), ever lamenting his lost shrew of j s 
 wife, and betrayed into laughable extravagances by his very grieft a 
 winding up the whole by the witty hit as he goes off with the widoj^ 
 (Mrs. Glover), ‘Sainted Maria! thank Heaven you are spared th w 
 affliction!’ is another. Stout (D. Ilees), a radical M. P., all for tbj s 
 enlightenment of the nation, is a third original and striking par e 
 In Sir John Vesey (Strickland), also, there are several traits of muct,, 
 originality; and Sir Frederick Blount (Lacy), a fashionable coxcomlp 
 is nearly as good; Lord Glossmore (Mining), as an aristocratic contra^ 
 to Stout, is well imagined; and the principal character, that 
 Evelyn (Macready), extremely forcible, both in the feeling and a 
 parently reckless and bitterly satirical situations in which he spea 
 and acts.’’ 
 
 The present edition of “ Money ” conforms to the acting copy pr-. 
 pared for the Park theatre. It was found impossible to adlie.r 
 rigidly to the text of the closet edition, and at the same time adal* 
 it to the wants of the actor. The alterations are not, however, of , 
 character to mar the effect of the piece in the reading, while tin a 
 are calculated to improve it in the acting. y 
 
 (4) 
 
MONEY. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I.— A drawing-room in Sir John Yesey’s house; folding doors 
 
 at the hack , which open on another drawing-room. To the right a 
 
 table with newspapers, books, etc.; to the left a sofa writing-table. 
 
 Sin JonN, Georgina, R. C. 
 
 Sir J. {Reading a letter edged with black.) Yes, he saj T s at two 
 precisely. “Dear Sir John—As since the death of my sainted 
 Maria,”—hum—that’s his wife; she made him a martyr, and now 
 he makes her a saint. 
 
 Geo. Well, as since her death? 
 
 Sir J. (Reading.) “I have been living in chambers, where I can¬ 
 not so well invite ladies, you will allow me to bring Mr. Sharp, the 
 lawyer, to read the will of the late Mr. Mordaunt (to which I am 
 appointed executor), at your house, your daughter being the nearest 
 relation. I shall be with you at two precisely. 
 
 Henry Graves.” 
 
 Geo. And you really feel sure that poor Mr. Mordaunt has made 
 me his heiress? 
 
 Sir J. Av, the richest heiress in England. Can you doubt it? 
 Are you not his nearest relation? Niece by your poor mother, his 
 own sister. I feel that I may trust you with a secret. You see this 
 fine house—our fine servants—our fine plate—our fine dinners; every 
 one thinks Sir John Yesey a rich man. 
 
 Geo. And are you not, papa? 
 
 Sir J. Not a bit of it—all humbug, child—all humbug, upon my 
 soul; there are two rules in life: First, men are valued not for what 
 they are , but what they seem to be. Secondly, if you have no merit 
 or money of your own, you must trade on the merits and money of 
 other people. My father got the title by services in the army, and 
 died penniless. On the strength of his services I got a pension of 
 £400 a year; on the strength of £400 a year I took credit for £800; on 
 the strength of £800 a year I married your mother with £10,000; on 
 the strength of £10,001) I took credit for £40,000, and paid Dickey 
 Gossip three guineas a week to go about everywhere calling me 
 “Stingy Jack.” 
 
 Geo. Ha, ha! A disagreeable nickname. 
 
 Sir J. But a valuable reputation. When a man*is called stingy, it 
 is as much as calling him rich; and when a man’s called rich, why 
 he’s a man universally respected. On the strength of my respecta¬ 
 bility I wheedled a constituency, changed my politics, resigned my 
 
 (5) 
 
6 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 seat to a minister, who, to a man of such stake in the country, coulc! 
 offer nothing less in return than a patent oflice of £2,000 a year 
 That’s the way to succeed in life. Humbug, my dear—all humbug, 
 upon my soul. 
 
 Geo. I must say that you— 
 
 Sir J. Know the world; to be sure. Now, for your fortune, as jl 
 spend all that 1 have, I can have nothing to leave you; yet evep 
 without counting your uncle, you have always passed for an heiresjs 
 on the credit of your expectations from the savings of “Stingy 
 •Tack.’’ The same with your education. I never grudged anything; 
 to make a show—never stuffed your head with histories and horn if 
 lies; but you draw, you sing, you dance, you walk well into a room'*, 
 and that’s the way young ladies are educated now-a-days, in ordejr 
 to become a pride to their parents and a blessing to their husband—V 
 that is, when they have caught him. Apropos of a husband, you 
 know we thought of Sir Frederick Blount. 
 
 Geo. Ah, papa, he is charming. 
 
 Sin J. He was so, my dear, before we knew your poor uncle was 
 dead; but an heiress, such as you will be, should look out for a duke. 
 Where the deuce is Evelyn this morning? 
 
 Geo. I’ve not seen him, papa. What a strange character he is? 
 So sarcastic; and yet he can be agreeable. 
 
 Sin J. A humorist—a cynic. One never knows how to take him. 
 My private secretary, a poor cousin, has not got a shilling, and yet, 
 hang me if he does not keep us all at a sort of a distance. 
 
 Geo. But why do you take him to live with us, papa, since there’s 
 no good to be got by it? 
 
 Sin J. There you are wrong. He has a great deal of talent; pre¬ 
 pares my speeches, writes my pamphlets, looks up my calculations. 
 Besides, he is our cousin. He has no salary. Kindness to a poor re¬ 
 lation always tells well in the world, and benevolence is a useful 
 virtue, particularly when you can have it for nothing. With our 
 other cousin, Clara, it was different. Her father thought fit to leave 
 me her guardian, though she had not a penny—a mere useless in¬ 
 cumbrance; so, you sec, I got my half sister, Lady Franklin, to take 
 her off my hands. 
 
 Geo. How much longer is Lady Franklin’s visit to be? 
 
 Sm J. I don’t know, my dear; the longer the better, for her hus¬ 
 band left her a good deal of money at her own disposal. Ah, here 
 she comes. 
 
 Enter Lady Franklin and Clara, It. 
 
 Sir J. My dear sister, we were just loud in your praise. But 
 how’s this? Not in mourning? 
 
 Lady F. Why should I go into mourning for a man I never saw? 
 
 Sir ,T. Still there may be a legacy. 
 
 Lady F. Then there’ll be less cause for affliction. ( Retires up a 
 little.) 
 
 Sir J. (Aside.) Very silly woman. But, Clara, I see you are more 
 attentive to the proper decorum; yet you are very, very very dis¬ 
 tantly connected with the deceased—a third cousin. I think. 
 
MONEY. 
 
 7 
 
 Clara. Mr. Mordaunt once assisted m 3 7 father, and these poor 
 robes are all the gratitude I can show him. 
 
 Sir J. Gratitude! humph! I’m afraid the minx has got ex¬ 
 pectations. 
 
 Lady F. So Mr. Graves is the executor—the will is addressed to 
 him?. The same Mr. Graves who is always in black—always la¬ 
 menting his ill fortune and his sainted Maria, who led him the life 
 of a dog? 
 
 Sir J. The very same. His liveries are black; his carriage is 
 black; he always rides a black galloway, and, faith, if he ever marry 
 again, I think he will show his respect to the sainted Maria by mar¬ 
 rying a black woman. 
 
 Lady F. Ha! ha! we shall see. (Aside.) Poor Graves; I always 
 liked him. He made an excellent husband. 
 
 Enter Evelyn, seats himself R. C., and takes up a book unobserved. 
 
 Sir J. What a crowd of relations this will brings to light. Mr. 
 Stout, the political economist, Lord Glossmore— 
 
 Lady F. Whose grandfather kept a pawnbroker’s shop, and who, 
 accordingly, entertains the profoundest contempt for everything 
 popular, parvenu and plebeian. 
 
 Sir J. Sir Frederick Blount— 
 
 Lady F. Sir Fwedewick Blount, you mean, who objects to the 
 letter R as being too trough, and therefore d'trops its acquaintance; 
 one of the new class of prudent young gentlemen, who, not having 
 spirits and constitution for the hardy excesses of their predecessors, 
 entrench themselves in the dignity of a lady-like languor. A man 
 of fashion in the last century was riotous and thoughtless; in this he 
 is tranquil and egotistical. He never does anything that is silly, or 
 says anything that is wise. I beg your pardon, my dear; I believe 
 Sir Frederick is an admirer of yours. Then, too, out* poor cousin, 
 the scholar—oh; Mr. Evelyn, there you are! (Crosses to L. corner.) 
 
 Sir J. Evelyn. The very person 1 wanted. Where have you 
 been all day? Have you seen to those papers?—have you written my 
 epitaph on poor Mordaunt—Latin, you know?—have .you reported 
 my speech at Exeter Hall?—have you looked out the debates on the 
 customs?—and, oh, have you mended up all the old pens in the study? 
 
 Geo. And have you brought me the black lloss silk?—have you 
 been to Storr’s for my ring?—and, as we cannot go out on this mel¬ 
 ancholy occasion, did you call at Hookham’s for the last II. B. and 
 the Comic Annual? 
 
 Eve. (Always reading.) Certainly, Paley is right upon that point; 
 for, put the syllogism thus— (looking up) Ma’am—Sir—Miss Vesey— 
 you want something of me? Paley observes, that to assist even the 
 undeserving tends to the better regulation of our charitable feelings 
 —no apologies—I am quite at your service. 
 
 Sir J. Now, he’s in one of his humors. 
 
 Lady F. You allow him strange liberties, Sir John. 
 
 Eve. You will be the less surprised at that, madam, when I in¬ 
 form you that Sir John allows me nothing else. I am now about to 
 draw on his benevolence. 
 
8 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Lady P. I bog your pardon, sir, and like your spirit. Sir John, 
 I’m in the way, I see; for I know your benevolence is so delicate that 
 you never allow any one to detect it. {Walks aside a little , L.) 
 
 Eve. I could not do your commissions to-day. I have been to 
 visit a poor woman who was my nurse and mother’s last friend. 
 She is very poor, very sick — dying—and she owes six months'! 
 rent. \ 
 
 Sir J. You know I should be most happy to do .anything for 
 yourself. But the nurse — (aside) some people’s nurses are always ill,j 
 There are so many impostors about—we’ll talk of it to-morrow.j 
 This most mournful occasion takes up all my attention. (Looking 
 at his watch.) Bless me, so late! I’ve letters to write, and—none of' 
 the pens are mended. ( Exit 11.) 
 
 Geo. ( Taking out her purse.) I think I will give it to him. t 
 And yet, if I don’t get the fortune after all. Papa allows me so; 
 little. Then I must have those ear-rings. (Puts up the purse.) Mr.' 
 Evelyn, what is the address of your nurse? 
 
 Eve. ( Writes and gives it.) She has a good heart, with all her 
 foibles. Ah, Miss Yesey, if that poor woman had not closed the 
 eyes of my lost mother, Alfred Evelyn had not been this beggar to 
 your father. (Clara looks over the address.) 
 
 Geo. I will certainly attend to it (aside) if I get the fortune. 
 
 Sir J. (Calling without.) Georgy, I say. 
 
 Geo. Yes, papa. (Exit R.) 
 
 Evelyn has seated himself again at the table li. and leans his face on 
 
 his hands. 
 
 Clara. His noble spirit bowed to this! Ah, at least here I may 
 give him comfort. (Sits down to write.) But he will recognize my 
 hand. 
 
 Lady F. (Looking over her shoulder.) What bill are paying, Clara? 
 Putting up a bank note? 
 
 Clara. Hush! Oh, Lady Franklin, you are the kindest of human 
 beings. This is for a poor person. I would not have her know 
 whence it came, or she would refuse it. Would you?—No, he knows 
 her handwriting also. 
 
 Lady F. Will I — what? give the money myself? With pleasure. 
 Poor Clara—why this covers all your savings. And I am so rich. 
 
 Clara. Nay, I would wish to do all myself. It is a pride—a 
 duty—it is a joy. And I have so few joys. But hush!—this way. 
 
 (They retire into the inner room and converse in dumb show.) 
 
 Eve. And thus must I grind out my life forever. I am ambitious, 
 and poverty drags me down. I have learning, and poverty makes 
 me the drudge of fools. I love, and poverty stands like a specter 
 before the altar. But, no — if, as I believe, I am but loved again, I 
 will — will — what? Turn opium eater, and dream of the Eden I may 
 never enter! 
 
 Lady F. (To Clara.) Yes, 1 will get my maid to copy and direct 
 this. She writes well, and her hand will never be discovered. I will 
 have it done and sent instantly. (Exit li.) 
 
MONEY. 
 
 9 
 
 Clara, advances to the front of the stage and seats herself; Evelyn 
 reading. Enter Sir Frederick Blount, R . G. 
 
 Blount. No one in the woom—oh, Miss Douglas! Pway, don’t 
 let me disturb you. Where is Miss Vesey—Georgina. ( Taking 
 Clara’s chair as she rises.) 
 
 Eve. (Looking up, gives Clara a chair and re seats himself—aside.) 
 
 Insolent puppy! 
 
 Clara. Shall I tell her you are here, Sir Frederick? 
 
 Blount Not for the world. Yewy pwetty girl this companion. 
 Clara. What did you think of the panorama the other day, 
 Cousin Evelyn ? 
 
 Eve. {Heading.) 
 
 “I cannot talk with civet in the room, 
 
 A fine puss gentleman that’s all perfume.” 
 
 Rather good lines these. 
 
 Blount. Sir! 
 
 Eve. (Offering the book.) Don’t you think so? Cowper. 
 
 Blount. (Declining the book.) Cowper! 
 
 Eve. Cowper. 
 
 Blount. ( Shrugging his shoulders—to Clara.) Stwange person, 
 Mr. Evelyn—quite a chawacter. Indeed, the Panowama gives you 
 no idea of Naples. A delightful place. I make it a wule to go there 
 evewy second year. I’m vewy fond of twaveling. You’d like 
 Wome (Rome). Bad inns, vewy fine wuins; gives you quite a taste 
 for that sort of thing. 
 
 Eve. (Heading.) 
 
 ‘‘How much a dunce that has been sent to Rome 
 Excels a dunce that has been kept at home.” 
 
 Blount. (Aside.) That fellow Cowper says vewy odd things. 
 Humph! It is beneath me to quawwel. (Aloud.) It will not take 
 long to wead the will, I suppose. Poor old Mordaunt! I am his near¬ 
 est male welation. He was vewy eccentwic. (Draws his chair nearer.) 
 By the way, Miss Douglas, did you wemark my cuwicle (curricle)? 
 It is bwinging cuwicles into fashion. I should be most happy if 
 you would allow me to dwive you out. Nay, nay; I should, upon my 
 word. (Trying to take her hand.) 
 
 Eve. (Starting up.) A wasp! a wasp! Just going to settle. Take 
 care of the wasp, Miss Douglas. 
 
 Blount. A wasp! Where? Don’t bwing it this way. Some people 
 don’t fhind them. I’ve a particular dislike to wasps. They sting 
 
 damnably. 
 
 Eve. I beg pardon! it’s only a gad-fly. 
 
 Enter Servant R. 
 
 Serv. Sir John will be happy to see you in his study, Sir Fred¬ 
 erick. (Exit servant.) 
 
 Blount. Yewy well. Upon my word, there is something vewy 
 nice about this girl. To be sure, I love Georgina; but if this one 
 
IO 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 would take a fancy to me ( thoughtfully) —well, I don’t see what harm 
 it could do me. Au plaisir! (Exit R.) 
 
 Eye. Clara? y 
 
 Clara. Cousin? 
 
 Eve. And you, too, are a dependent! 
 
 Clara. But on Lady Franklin, who seeks to make me forget it. 
 
 Eve. Ay, but can the world forget it? This insolent condescen¬ 
 sion; this coxcombry of admiration, more galling than the arrogance 
 of contempt. Look you now. Robe Beauty in silk and cachemirie, 
 hand Virtue into her chariot, lackey their caprices, wrap them from 
 the winds, fence them round with a golden circle, and Virtue and 
 Beauty are as goddesses, both to peasant and to prince, Strip them 
 of the adjuncts, see Beauty and Virtue poor, dependent, solitary, 
 walking the world defenceless; oh, then the devotion changes its 
 character; the same crowd gather eagerly around—fools, fops, lib¬ 
 ertines—not to worship at the shrine, but to sacrifice the victim. 
 
 Clara. My cousin, you are cruel. 
 
 Eve. Forgive me. There is something when a man’s heart is 
 better than his fortunes that makes even affection bitter. 
 
 Clara. I can smile at the pointless innocence— 
 
 Eve. Smile—and he took your hand. Oh, Clara, you know not 
 the tortures that I suffer hourly! When others approach 3 'ou, young, 
 fair, rich—the sleek darlings of the world—I accuse you of your very 
 beauty; I writhe beneath every smile that you bestow. (Clara 
 about to speak.) No, speak not. My heart has broken its silence, 
 and you shall hear the rest. For you I have endured the weary 
 bondage of this house—the fool’s gibe, the hireling’s sneer, the 
 bread, purchased by toils, that should have led to loftier ends. Yes, 
 to see you, hear you; for this — for this I have lingered, suffered 
 and forborne. Oh, Clara, we are orphans both—friendless both; you 
 are all in the world to me. (She turns away.) Turn not away. My 
 very soul speaks in these words — I love you! 
 
 Clara. No, Evelyn — Alfred — no! Say it not—think it not. It 
 were madness. 
 
 Eve. Madness! Nay, hear me yet. I am poor, penniless, a beg¬ 
 gar for bread to a dying servant. True. But I have a heart of iron; 
 1 have knowledge, patience, health, and my love for you gives me at 
 last ambition. 1 have trilled with my own energies -till now, for I 
 despised all things till I loved thee. With you to toil for, your step 
 to support, your path to smooth, and I—I, poor Alfred Evelyn, 
 promise at last to win for you even fame and fortune. I)o not with¬ 
 draw your hand; this hand, shall it not be mine? (Kneels.) 
 
 Clara. Ah, Evelyn! Never — never! 
 
 Eve. Never! (Rises.) 
 
 Clara. Forget this folly. Our union is impossible, and to talk 
 of love were to deceive both. 
 
 Eve. (Bitterly .) Because I am poor! 
 
 Claha. And 1 too! A marriage of privation, of penury, of days 
 that dread the morrow. I have seen such a lot. Never return to 
 this again. (Crosses to R.) 
 
 Eve. Enough. You are obeyed. I deceived myself. II a ! ha! I 
 
MONEY. 
 
 11 
 
 fancied that I too was loved. I whose youth is already half gone 
 with care and toil; whose mind is soured, whom nobody can love, 
 who ought to have loved no one. 
 
 Clara. {Aside.) And jf it were only I to suffer, or perhaps to 
 starve. Oh, what shall I say? Evelyn—cousin! 
 
 Eye. Madam. 
 
 Clara. Alfred—I—I— 
 
 Eve. Reject me! 
 
 Clara. Yes—it is past. ( Exit R.) 
 
 Eve. Let me think. It was yesterday her hand trembled when 
 mine touched it. And the rose I gave her. Yes, she pressed her 
 lips to it once when she seemed as if she saw me not. But it was a 
 trap —a trick—for I was as poor then as now. This will be a jest 
 for them all. Well, courage. It is but a poor heart that a coquet’s 
 contempt can break. And now that I care for no one, the world is 
 but a great chess-board, and I will sit down in earnest and play with 
 fortune. ( Retires up to the table R.) 
 
 Enter Lord Glossmore, preceded by servant R. 
 
 Serv. I will tell Sir John, my lord. {Exit R.) 
 
 Evelyn takes up the newspaper. 
 
 Gloss. The Secretary. Hum! Fine day, sir. Any news from 
 the east? {To Evelyn.) 
 
 Eve. (R.) Yes; all the wise men have gone back there. 
 
 Gloss. Ha, ha! Not all, for here comes Mr. Stout, the great polit¬ 
 ical economist. 
 
 Enter Stout R. 
 
 Stout. (R. C.) Good morning, Glossmore. 
 
 Gloss; (L.) Glossmore! —the parvenu. 
 
 Stout. Afraid I might be late — been detained at the Vestry. 
 Astonishing how ignorant the English poor are! took me an hour and 
 a half to beat it into the head of a stupid old widow with nine chil¬ 
 dren that to allow her three shillings a week was against all the 
 rules of public morality... 
 
 Eve. (R.) Excellent! admirable! Your hand, sir. 
 
 Gloss. What! You approve such doctrines, Mr. Evelyn? Are old 
 women only fit to be starved? 
 
 Eve. Starved! Popular delusion! Observe, my Lord, to squander 
 money upon those who starve is only to afford encouragement to 
 
 starvation. 
 
 Stout. A very superior person that. 
 
 Gloss. Atrocious principles! Give me the good old times, when 
 it was the duty of the rich to succor the distressed. 
 
 Eve. On second thoughts, you are right, my Lord. I, too, know 
 a poor woman, ill, dying, in want. Shall she, too, perish? 
 
 Gloss. Perish! horrible! In a Christian country. Perish! heaven 
 forbid! • 
 
 Eve. {Holding out his hand.) What, then, will you give her ? 
 
 Y'Y -y y, OF iLL LiB. 
 
12 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Gloss. Ehem! Sir—the parish ought to give. 
 
 Stout. No— no—no! Certainly not! (With vehemence.) 
 
 Enter Sir John, Blount, Lady Franklin, and Georgina, R. 
 
 Sir ,T. How d’ye do? Ah! how d’ye do, gentlemen? This is a 
 most melancholy meeting. The poor deceased—what a man he was! 
 
 Blount. I was chwistened Fwedewick after him. tie was my 
 first cousin. 
 
 Sir J. And Georgina his own niece— next of kin. An excellent 
 man, though odd; a kind heart, but no liver. I sent him twice a 
 year thirty dozen of the Cheltenham waters. It’s a comfort to re¬ 
 flect on these little attentions at such a time. 
 
 Stout. And I, too, sent him the Parliamentary debates regularly, 
 bound in calf. He was my second cousin—sensible man— and a fol¬ 
 lower of Malthus; never married to increase the surplus population 
 and fritter away his money on his own children. And now — 
 
 Eye. He reaps the benefit of celibacy in the prospective grati¬ 
 tude of every cousin he has in the world. 
 
 Lady F. Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Sir J. Hush! hush! decency, Lady Franklin; decency. 
 
 Enter Servant R. 
 
 Serv. Mr. Graves — Mr. Sharp. 
 
 SirJ. Oh, here’s Mr. Graves; that’s Sharp, the lawyer, who 
 brought the will from Calcutta. 
 
 Enter Graves and Siiarp R. 
 
 (Chorus of Sir John, Glossmore, Blount, Stout.) Ah, sir—ah, 
 Mr. Graves! (Georgina holds her handkerchief to her eyes.) 
 
 Sir J. A sad occasion. 
 
 Graves. But everything in life is sad. Be comforted, Miss 
 Vesey. True, you have lost an uncle; but I—I have lost a wife. 
 Such a wife—the first of her sex—and the second cousin of the 
 defunct. Excuse me, Sir John; at the sight of your mourning my 
 wounds bleed afresh. ( Servants hand rouiid wine and sandieiches.) 
 
 Sir ,T. Take some refreshment—a glass of wine. 
 
 Graves. Thank you. Very fine sherry. My poor sainted Maria! 
 Sherry was her wine. Everything reminds me of Maria. Ah, Lady 
 Franklin, you knew her. Nothing in life can charm me now. 
 (Aside.) # A monstrous fine woman that. 
 
 Sir J. And now to business. Evelyn, you may retire. 
 
 Sharp. (Looking at his notes.) Evelyn—any relation to Alfred 
 Evelyn? 
 
 Eve. The same. 
 
 Sharp. Cousin to the deceased, seven times removed. Be seated, 
 sir. There may be some legacy, though trifling. All the relations, 
 however distant, should be present. 
 
 Lady F. Then Clara is related; I will go for her. (Exit R.) 
 
 Geor. Ah, Mr. Evelyn, I hope you will come in for something— a 
 few hundreds, or even more. 
 
MONEY. 
 
 13 
 
 Sir J. Silence! Hush! Wugh! ugli! Attention. 
 
 While the lawyer opens the will, re-enter Lady Franklin and Clara. 
 
 Sharp. The will is very short, being all personal property. He 
 was a man that always came to the point. 
 
 Sir J. I wish there were more like him. ( Groans and shakes his 
 head. Chorud groans and shake their heads.) 
 
 Sharp. {Reading .) “I, Frederick James Mordaunt, of Calcutta, 
 
 being at the present date of sound mind, though infirm body, do 
 hereby give, will and bequeath—imprimis, to my second cousin, 
 Benjamin Stout, Esq., of Pall Mall, London {chorus exhibit lively emo¬ 
 tion) being the value of the Parliamentary debates, with which he 
 has been pleased to trouble me for some time past—deducting the 
 carriage thereof, which he always forgot to pay—the sum of 14?. 
 2s. 4 d. {Chorus breathe more 'freely.) 
 
 Stout. Eh! what! 14?.? Oh, hang the old miser! 
 
 Sir J. Decency—decency! Proceed, sir. 
 
 Sharp. “Item—To Sir Frederick Blount, Baronet, my nearest 
 male relative— {chorus exhibit lively emotion )— 
 
 Blount. Poor old boy! (Georgina puts her arm over Blount’s 
 chair.) 
 
 Sharp. “Being, as I am informed, the best dressed young gen¬ 
 tleman in London, and in testimony to the only merit I ever heard 
 he possessed, the sum of 500?. to buy a dressing-case. {Chorus 
 breathe more freely; Georgina catches her father's eye and removes 
 
 her arm.) 
 
 Blount. {Laughing confusedly.) Ha! ha! ha! Yewy poor wit— 
 low—vewy—vewy low. 
 
 Sir J. Silence, now, will you? 
 
 Sharp. “Item—To Charles Lord Glossmore—who asserts that he 
 is my relation—my collection of dried butterflies, and the pedigree 
 of the Mordaunts from the reign of King John.” {Chorus as before.) 
 
 Gloss. Butterflies!—pedigree!— I disown the plebeian! 
 
 Sir J. {Angrily.) Upon my word, this is too revolting! Decency 
 —go on. 
 
 Sharp. “Item—To Sir John Vesey, Baron, Knight of the Guelph, 
 F. R. S., F. S. A., etc.”— {Chorus as before.) 
 
 Sir J. Hush! Now it is really interesting! 
 
 Sharp. “Who married my sister, and who sends me every year 
 the Cheltenham waters, which nearly gave me my death, I bequeath 
 the empty bottles.” 
 
 Sir J. Why, the ungrateful, rascally, old— 
 
 Chorus. Decency, Sir John—decency! 
 
 Sharp. “Item—To Henry Graves, Esq., of the Albany”— {Chorus 
 as before.) 
 
 Graves. Pooh, gentlemen—my usual luck—not even a ring, I 
 dare swear! 
 
 Sharp. “The sum of £5,000 in the three per cents.” 
 
 Lady F. I wish you joy. 
 
 Graves. Joy—pooh! three per cents! Funds sure to go! Had it 
 been land now—though only an acre—just like my luck. 
 
14 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 • ; 1 
 ■ I 
 
 SnARP. “Item—To my niece, Georgina Vesey”—( Chorus as before.) 
 
 Sir J. Ah, now it comes.! 
 
 Sharp. “The sum of £10,000 India stock, being, with her father’s 
 reputed savings, as much as a single woman ought to possess. 
 
 Sir J. And what the devil, then, does the old fool do with all his 
 money ? 
 
 Chorus. Really, Sir John, this is too revolting. Decency! hush! 
 
 Sharp. “And, with the aforesaid legacies and exceptions, I do 
 will and bequeath the whole of my fortune, in India stock, bonds, 
 exchequer bills, three per cents., consols, and in the bank of Cal¬ 
 cutta (constituting him hereby sole residuary legatee and joint exec¬ 
 utor with the aforesaid Henry Graves, Esq.), to Alfred Evelyn, now 
 or formerly of Trinity College, Cambridge—( universal excitement )— 
 being, I am told, an oddity like myself—the only one of my relations 
 who never fawned on me, and who, having known privation, may the 
 better employ wealth.” ( All rise.) And now, sir, I have only to 
 wish you joy, and give you this letter from the deceased. I believe 
 it is important. (Gives letter to Evelyn.) 
 
 Eve. (Crossing over to Clara.) Ah, Clara, if you had but loved 
 me! 
 
 Clara. (Turning away.) And his wealth, even more than pov¬ 
 erty, separates us forever. (All surround Evelyn with congrat¬ 
 ulations.) 
 
 Sir J. (To Georgina.) Go, child—put a good face on it—he’s an 
 immense match. My dear fellow, I wish you joy. You are a great 
 man now—a very great man! 
 
 Eve. (Aside.) And her voice alone is silent. 
 
 Gloss. If I can be of any use to you— 
 
 Stout. Or I, sir — 
 
 Blount. Or I? Shall I put you up at the clubs? 
 
 Sharp. You will want a man of business. I transacted all Mr. 
 Mordaunt’s atfairs. 
 
 Sir J. Tush, tush! Mr. Evelyn is at home here. Always looked 
 on him as a son. Nothing in the world we would not do for him— 
 nothing. 
 
 Eve. Lend me £10 for my old nurse. (Chorus jput their hands into 
 their pockets.) 
 
MONEY. 
 
 15 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I.— An ante-room in Evelyn’s new house; at one corner , behind 
 a large screen , Mr. Siiarp, writing at a desk , books and 'parchments 
 before him. Mr. Crtmson, the portrait painter; Mr. Grab, the pub¬ 
 lisher; Mr. Tabouret, the upholsterer; Mr. Patent, the coach- 
 maker, and Mr. Frantz, the tailor. Servants in livery cross to and 
 fro the stage. 
 
 *Pat. (To Frantz, showing a draicing.) Yes, sir! this is the Eve¬ 
 lyn vis-a-vis. No one more the fashion than Mr. Evelyn. Money 
 makes the man, sir. 
 
 *Frantz. But de tailor, de schneider, make de gentleman; where 
 de faders and de mutters make only de ugly little naked boys. 
 
 Door at the back thrown open. Eater Evelyn. 
 
 Eve. A levee, as usual. Good day. Ah, Tabouret, your designs 
 for the draperies; very well. And what do you want, Mr. Crimson? 
 
 *Crim. Sir, if you’d let me take your portrait it would make my 
 fortune. Every one says you’re the finest judge of paintings. 
 
 Eve. Of paintings! paintings! Are you sure I’m a judge of 
 paintings? 
 
 *Crim. Oh, sir, didn’t you buy the great Corregio for ,£4,000? 
 Eve. True—I see. So ^4,000 makes me an excellent judge of 
 paintings. I’ll call on you, Mr. Crimson. Good day. Mr. Grab— 
 oh, you’re the publisher who once refused me £5 for my poem. You 
 are right; it was sad doggerel. 
 
 *Grab. Doggerel! Mr. Evelyn, it was sublime! But times were 
 bad, then. 
 
 Eve. Very bad times with me. 
 
 *Grab. But now, sir, if you give me the preference I’ll push it, 
 sir—I’ll push it. I only publish for poets in high life, sir; and a 
 gentleman of your station ought to be pushed—50(V. for the poem, 
 
 sir. 
 
 Eve. 500£. when I don’t \vant it, where 51. once would have 
 seemed a fortune. 
 
 “Now I am rich what value in the lines; 
 
 How the wit brightens—how the sense refines!” 
 
 Turns to the rest , who surround him. 
 
 *Pat. ( Shoicing drawing .) The Evelyn vis-a-vis! 
 
 * Frantz. ( Opening his bundle and with dignity.) Sare, I have 
 brought de coat —de great Evelyn coat. 
 
 Eve. Oh, go to—that is, go home! Make me as celebrated for vis- 
 a-vis, salvers, furniture, and coats, as I already am for painting, 
 and shortly shall be for poetry. I resign myself to you—go! ( Exeunt 
 Patent and others.) 
 
 ♦Scenes containing these characters are usually omitted in representation. 
 
1 6 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Enter Stout II. 
 
 Eve. Stout, you look heated. 
 
 Stout. I hear you have just bought the great Groginhole 
 property. 
 
 Eye. It is true. Sharp says it’s a bargain. 
 
 Stout. Well, my dear friend Hopkins, member for Groginhole, 
 can’t live another month. But the interests of mankind forbid re¬ 
 gret for individuals. The patriot Popkins intends to start for the 
 boro’ the instant Hopkins is dead. Your interest will secure his 
 election. Now is your time. Put yourself forward in the march of 
 enlightenment. By all that is bigoted, here tomes Glossmore! 
 (Crosses to L.) 
 
 Enter Glossmore R.; Sharp still at his desk. 
 
 Gloss. So lucky to find you at home. Hopkins, of Groginhole, 
 is not long for this world. Popkins, the brewer, is already canvass¬ 
 ing underhand—so very ungentlemanly like. Keep your interest 
 for young Lord Cipher, a valuable candidate. This is an awful mo¬ 
 ment. The constitution depends on his return. Vote for Cipher. 
 
 Stout. Popkins is your man. 
 
 Eve. (Musingly.) Cipher and Popkins—Popkins ’ and Cipher. 
 Enlightenment and Popkins—Cipher and the constitution. I am 
 puzzled. Stout, 1 am not known at Groginhole. 
 
 Stout. Your property's known there. 
 
 Eve. But purity of election—independence of votes— 
 
 Stout. To be sure. Cipher bribes abominably. Frustrate his 
 schemes, preserve the liberties of the borough—turn every man out 
 of his house who votes against enlightenment and Popkins. 
 
 Eve. Right! Down with those who take the liberty to admire 
 any liberty except our liberty. That is liberty. 
 
 Gloss. Cipher has a stake in the country—will have 50,000?. a 
 year. Cipher will never give a vote without considering beforehand 
 how people of 50,000?. a year will be affected by the motion. 
 
 Eye. Right, for as without law there would be no property, so to 
 be the law for property is the only property of law. That is law. 
 
 Stout. Popkins is all for economy. There’s a sad waste of the 
 public money. They give the Speaker 5,000?. a year, when I’ve a 
 brother-in-law who takes the chair at the vestry, and who assures 
 me confidentially he’d consent to be Speaker for half the money. 
 
 Gloss. Enough, Mr. Stout. Mr. Evelyn has too much at stake 
 for a leveler. 
 
 Stout. And too much sense for a bigot. 
 
 Eve. Mr. Evelyn has no politics at all. Did you ever play at 
 battledore! 
 
 Both. Battledore? 
 
 Eve. Battledore. That is, a contest between two parties. Both 
 parties knock about something with singular skill; something is 
 kept up—high —Jow—here — there — everywhere — nowhere. How 
 grave are the players! how anxious the bystanders! how noisy the 
 battledores! But when this something falls to the ground, only fancy 
 
MONEY. 17 
 
 —it’s nothing but cork and feather! Go, and play by yourselves; 
 I’m no hand at it. ( Grosses L.) 
 
 Stout. (Aside.) Sad ignorance—aristocrat! 
 
 Gloss. Heartless principles—parvenu! 
 
 Stout. Then you don’t go against us? I’ll bring Popkins to¬ 
 morrow. 
 
 Gloss. Keep yourself free till I present Cipher to you. 
 
 Stout. I must go to inquire after Hopkins. The return of Hop¬ 
 kins will be an era in history. (Exit R.) 
 
 Gloss. I must be off to the club. The eyes of the country are 
 upon Groginhole. If Cipher fail, the constitution is gone. (Exit R ) 
 
 Eve. (At table R.) Sharp, come here. (Sharp advances.) Let 
 me look at 3 r ou. You are my agent, my lawyer, my man of business. 
 I believe you honest; but what is honesty? Where does it exist? In 
 what part of us? 
 
 Sharp. In the heart, I suppose. 
 
 Eve. Mr. Sharp, it exists in the pocket. Observe, I lay this 
 piece of yellow earth on the table. I contemplate you both—the 
 man there, the gold here. Now there is many a man in yonder 
 streets, honest as you are, who moves, thinks, feels and reasons as 
 well as we do; excellent in form, imperishable in soul, who, if his 
 pockets were three days empty, would sell thought, reason, body, 
 and soul, too, for that little coin. Is that the fault of the man? No; 
 it is the fault of mankind. God made man. Sir, behold what man¬ 
 kind have made a god. When I was poor I hated the world. Now 
 I am rich I despise it. (Rises.) Fools—knaves—hypocrites! By the 
 by, Sharp, send 100£. to the poor bricklayer whose house was burnt 
 down yesterday. 
 
 Enter Graves R. 
 
 Ah, Graves, my dear friend, what a world this is! 
 
 Graves. It is an atrocious world. It will be set on fire one day 
 —and that’s some comfort. 
 
 Eve. Every hour brings its gloomy lesson—the temper sours— 
 the affections wither—the heart hardens into stone! Zounds! Sharp, 
 what do you stand gaping there for? Have you no bowels? Why 
 don’t you go and see to the bricklayer? (Exit Sharp R.) 
 
 Eve. Graves, of all my new friends—and their name is legion— 
 you are the only one I esteem. There is sympathy between us; we 
 take the same views of life. I am cordially glad to see you. 
 
 Graves. (Groaning.) Ah, why should you be glad to see a man 
 so miserable? 
 
 Eve. (Sighs.) Because I am miserable myself. 
 
 Graves. You? Pshaw! You have not been condemned to lose a 
 
 wife. 
 
 Eve. But, plague on if, man, I may be condemned to take one. 
 Sit down and listen. (They seat themselves.) I want a confidant. 
 Left fatherless when yet a boy, my poor mother grudged herself food 
 to give me education. Some one had told her that learning was bet¬ 
 ter than house and land—that’s a lie, Graves. 
 
 Graves. A scandalous lie, Evelyn. 
 
18 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 
 Eye. On the strength of that lie I was put to school—sent to a 
 college, a sizar. Do you know what a sizar is? In pride he is a gen¬ 
 tleman, in knowledge a scholar, and he crawls about, amidst gen¬ 
 tlemen and scholars, with the liver}' of a pauper on his back. I 
 carried oiF the great prizes, I became distinguished; I looked to a 
 high degree, leading to a fellowship—that is, an independence for 
 myself, a home for my mother. One day a young lord insulted me 
 —I retorted—he struck me—refused apology—refused redress. I 
 was a sizar—a Pariah—a thing to be struck. Sir, I was at least a 
 man, and I horsewhipped him in the hall before the eyes of the 
 whole college. A few days, and the lord’s chastisement was for¬ 
 gotten. The next da}' the sizar was expelled—the career of a life 
 blasted. That is the dilference between rich and poor; it takes a 
 whirlwind to move the one—a breath may uproot the other. I came 
 to London. As long as my mother lived I had one to toil for; and I 
 did toil—did hope—did struggle to be something yet. She died, and 
 then, somehow, my spirit broke—I resigned my spirit to my fate—I 
 ceased to care what became of me. At last I submitted to be the 
 poor relation—the hanger-on and gentleman lackey of Sir John 
 Yesey. But I had an object in that; there was one in that house 
 whom I had loved at the first sight. 
 
 Grates. And were you loved again? 
 
 Eve. I fancied it, and was deceived. Not an hour before I inher¬ 
 ited this mighty wealth I confessed my love and was rejected because 
 I was poor. Now, mark; you remember the letter which Sharp 
 gave me when the will was read? 
 
 Graves. Perfectly. What were the contents? 
 
 Eve. After hints, cautions and admonitions—half in irony, 
 half in earnest — (ah, poor Mordaunt had known the world) — it 
 proceeded—but I’ll read it to you: “Having selected you as my 
 heir, because I think money a trust to be placed where it seems 
 likely to be best employed, I now—not impose a condition, but 
 ask a favor. If you had formed no other and insuperable attach¬ 
 ment, I could wish to suggest your choice. My two nearest relations 
 are my niece, Georgina, and my third cousin, Clara Douglas, the 
 daughter of a once dear friend. If you could see in either of these 
 one whom you could make your wife, such would be a marriage 
 that if I lived long enough to return to England I would seek to 
 bring about before I die.” My friend, this is not a legal condition; 
 the fortune does not rest on it; yet, need I say that my gratitude 
 considers it a moral obligation? Several months have elapsed since 
 thus called upon. I ought now to decide. You hear the names; 
 Clara Douglas is the woman who rejected me. 
 
 Graves. But now she would accept you. 
 
 Eve. And do you think I am so base a slave to passion that 1 
 would owe to my gold what was denied to my alfection ? 
 
 Graves. But you must choose one in common gratitude. You 
 ought to do so—yes, there you are right. 
 
 Eve. Of the two, then, I would rather marry where I should 
 exact the least. A marriage to which each can bring sober esteem 
 and calm regard may not be happiness, but it may be content. But 
 
MONEY. 
 
 *9 
 
 • 
 
 to marry one whom you could adore, and whose heart is closed to 
 you; to yearn for the treasure, and only to claim the casket—to 
 worship the statue that you may never warm to life—oh! such a 
 marriage would be a hell the more terrible because paradise was in 
 sight. 
 
 Graves. Georgina is pretty, but vain and frivolous. {Aside.) 
 But he has no right to be fastidious; he has never known Maria. 
 {Aloud.) Yes, m} r dear friend, now I think on it, you will be as 
 wretched as myself. When you are married we will mingle our 
 groans together. 
 
 Eye. You may misjudge Georgina. She may have a nobler 
 nature than appears on the surface. On the day, but before the 
 hour, in which the will was read, a letter in a strange or disguised 
 hand, “from an unknown friend to Alfred Evelyn,’’ and inclosing 
 what to a girl would have been a considerable sum, was sent to a 
 poor vyoman for whom I had implored charity, and whose address I 
 had given only to Georgina. 
 
 Graves. Why not assure yourself? 
 
 Eve. Because I have not dared. For sometimes, against my 
 reason, I have hoped that it might be Clara. {Taking a letter from 
 his bosom and looking at it.) No, I can’t recognize the hand. Graves, 
 I detest that girl. {Rises.) 
 
 Graves. Who? Georgina? 
 
 Eve. No; but I’ve already, thank heaven, taken some revenge 
 upon her. Come nearer. ( Whispers:) I’ve bribed Sharp to say that 
 Mordaunt’s letter to me contained a codicil leaving Clara Douglas 
 20 , 000 £. 
 
 Graves. And didn’t he? 
 
 Eve. Not a farthing. But I’m glad of it. I’ve paid the money; 
 she’s no more a dependent. No one can insult her now. She owes 
 it all to me, and does not guess it, man, does not guess. Owes it to 
 me, whom she rejected; me, the poor scholar. Ha! ha! there’s 
 some spite in that, eh? 
 
 Graves. You’re a fine fellow, Evelyn, and we understand each 
 other. Perhaps Clara may have seen the address, and dictated this 
 letter after all. 
 
 Eve. Do you think so? I’ll go to the house this instant. {R.) 
 
 Craves. Eh? Humph! Then I’ll go with you. That Lady 
 Franklin is a fine woman. If she were not so gay, I think—I could — 
 
 Eve. No, no; don’t think any such thing. Women are even 
 worse than men. 
 
 Graves. True; to love is a boy’s madness. 
 
 Eve. To feel is to suffer. 
 
 Graves. To hope is to be deceived. 
 
 Eve. I have done with romance. 
 
 Graves. Mine is buried with Maria. 
 
 Eve. If Clara did but write this! 
 
 Graves. Make haste, or Lady Franklin will be out! A vale of 
 tears— a vale of tears! 
 
 Eve. A vale of tears, indeed! {Exeunt R.) 
 
20 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Re-enter Graves for his hat. 
 
 Graves. And I left my hat behind me. Just like my luck. If I 
 had been bred a hatter, little boys would have come into the world 
 without heads. ( Exit R .) 
 
 Scene II.— Drawing-rooms at Sir John Vesey’s, as in Scene I, Act I. 
 
 Enter Lady Franklin and Clara, R. G., laughing. 
 
 Clara. Dear Lady Franklin, you really have the sweetest temper. 
 
 Lady F. ( R .) I hope so, for it’s the most becoming thing a 
 woman can wear. Think of that when you marry. Oh, talking of 
 marriage, I’ve certainly made a conquest of Mr. Graves. 
 
 Clara. Mr. (Graves! I thought he was inconsolable. 
 
 Lady F. For his sainted Maria. Poor man! not contented with 
 plaguing him while shelved, she must needs haunt him now she is 
 dead. 
 
 Clara. But why does he regret her? 
 
 Lady F. Why? Because he has everything to make him happy. 
 Easy fortune, good health, respectable character. And since it is 
 his delight to be miserable, he takes the only excuse the world will 
 allow him. For the rest, it’s the way with widowers; that is, when¬ 
 ever they mean to marry again. But, my dear Clara, you seem 
 absent—pale—unhappy — tears, too. 
 
 Clara. No, no — not tears. No! 
 
 Lady F. Ever since Mr. Mordaunt left }'ou 20,000£. every one 
 admires you. Sir Frederick is desperately smitten. 
 
 Clara. ( With disdain. ) Sir Frederick. 
 
 Lady F. Ah! Clara, be comforted. I know your secret. I am 
 certain that Evelyn loves you. 
 
 Clara. He did—it is past now. He misconceived me when he 
 was poor; and now he is rich, it is not for me to explain. 
 
 Lady F. My dear child, happiness is too rare to be sacrificed to a 
 scruple. Why does he come here so often? 
 
 Clara. Perhaps for Georgina. 
 
 Enter Sir John R. C., and turns over the books, etc., on the table, as if 
 
 to look for the newspaper. 
 
 Lady F. Pooh! Georgina is my niece; she is handsome and ac¬ 
 complished, but her father’s worldliness has spoilt her nature. She 
 is not worthy of Evelyn. Let me only tell him that you dictated 
 that letter—that you sent that money to his old nurse. Poor Clara! 
 It was 3 r our little all. He will then know, at least, if avarice be 
 your sin. 
 
 Clara. He would have guessed it, had his love been like mine. 
 
 Lady S. Guessed it. Nonsense! The handwriting unknown to 
 him; every reason to think it came from Georgina. 
 
 Sir J. (Aside R — at table.) Hum! came from Georgina. 
 
 Lady F. Come, let me tell him this . I know the effect it would 
 have on his choice 
 
MONEY. 
 
 21 
 
 Clara. Choice! Oh, that humiliating word. No, Lady Franklin, 
 
 no. Promise me. 
 
 Lady F. But— 
 
 Clara. No! Promise—faithfully—sacredly, I have refused to 
 share his poverty, and I should die with shame if he thought I had 
 now grown enamored of his wealth. My kind friend, you will keep 
 your promise? 
 
 Lady F. Yes, since it must be so. 
 
 Clara. Thanks. I—I—forgive me, I am not well. {Exit R.) 
 
 Lady F. What fools these girls are. They take as much pains to 
 lose a husband as a poor widow does to get one. 
 
 Sir J. Have you seen the Times newspaper? Where the deuce is 
 the newspaper? I can’t find the Times newspaper. 
 
 Lady F. I think it is in my room. Shall I fetch it? 
 
 Sir J. My dear sister, you’re the best creature. Do. {Exit Lady 
 Frank. R .) Ugh! You unnatural conspirator against your own fam¬ 
 ily. What can this letter be? Ah! I recollect something. 
 
 Enter Georgina R. C. 
 
 Geo. (L .) Papa, I want— 
 
 Sir J. Yes, I know what you want, well enough. Tell me—were 
 you aware that Clara had sent money to that old nurse Evelyn bored 
 us about the day of the will? 
 
 Geo. No. He gave me the address, and I promised, if— 
 
 Sir J. Gave you the address? That's lucky. Hush! 
 
 Enter Graves, Evelyn and Servant R. 
 
 Serv. Mr. Graves—Mr. Evelyn. ( Exit Servant R.) 
 
 Lady F. {Returning .) Here is the newspaper. 
 
 Graves. Aye; read the newspapers. They’ll tell you what this 
 world is made of. Daily calendars of roguer} T and woe. Advertise¬ 
 ments from quacks, money lenders, cheap warehouses, and spotted 
 boys with two heads. Turn to the other column—police reports, 
 bankruptcies, swindling, forgery. Turn to the leading article* and 
 your hair will stand on end at the horrible wickedness or melan¬ 
 choly idiotism of that half of the population who think differently 
 from yourself. In my day I have seen already eighteen criseses, six 
 annihilations of agriculture and commerce, four overthrows of the 
 church, and three last, final, awful, and irremediable destructions of 
 the entire constitution. And that’s a newspaper—a newspaper—a 
 newspaper! 
 
 Lady F. {R. G ’.) Ha, ha! Your usual vein. Always so amusing 
 and good humored. 
 
 Graves. {Frowning and very angry.) Ma’am—good humored! 
 
 Lady F. Ah! you should always wear that agreeable smile. You 
 look so much younger—so much handsomer, when you smile. 
 
 Graves. {Softened.) Ma’am—a charming creature, upon my 
 word. {Aside.) 
 
 Lady F. You have not seen the last H. B.? It is excellent. I 
 think it might make you laugh. But, by-the-by, I don’t think you 
 
 can laugh. 
 
22 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Grave *9 Ma’am, I have not laughed since the death of my 
 sainted Mu- 
 
 Lady F. Ah! and that spiteful Sir Frederick says you never 
 laugh because—but you’ll be angry? 
 
 Graves. Angry. Pooh! I despise Sir Frederick too much to let 
 anything he says have the smallest influence over me. He says I 
 don’t laugh, because— 
 
 Lady F. You have lost your front teeth. 
 
 Graves. Lost my front teeth. Upon my word! Ha! ha! ha! 
 That’s too good—capital! Ha! ha! ha! ( Laughing from ear to 
 ear.) 
 
 Lady F. Ha! ha! ha! {They retire to the table in the inner clraicing- 
 room.) 
 
 Eve. ( Aside at II. table.) Of course Clara will not appear. Avoids 
 me as usual. But what do I care? What is she to me? Nothing. 
 I’ll swear this is her glove. No one else has so small a hand. She’ll 
 miss it—so—so. Nobody’s looking; I’ll keep it just to vex her. 
 
 Sir J. ( To Georgina.) Yes, yes; leave me to manage. You 
 took his portrait, as I told you. 
 
 Geo. Yes, but I could not catch the expression. I got Clara to 
 touch it up. 
 
 Sir J. That girl’s always in the way. 
 
 Enter Captain Dudley Smooth II. 
 
 Smooth. Good morning, dear John. ‘Ah, Miss Vesey, you have 
 no idea of the conquests you made at Almack’s last night 
 
 Eve. ( Examining him curiously while Smooth is talking to Geor¬ 
 gina, R. at table.) And that’s the celebrated Dudley Smooth. 
 
 Sir J. (R.) More commonly called Deadly Smooth. The finest 
 player at whist, ecarte, billiards, chess, and piquet, between this 
 and the pyramids. The sweetest manners. Always calls you by 
 your Christian name. But take care how you play cards with 
 him. * 
 
 Eve. He does not cheat, 1 suppose? 
 
 Sir J. No. But he always wins. He’s an uncommonly clever 
 fellow. 
 
 Eve. Clever? Yes. When a man steals a loaf, we cry down the 
 knavery. When a man diverts his neighbor’s mill-stream to grind 
 his own corn, we cry up the cleverness. And every one courts Cap¬ 
 tain Dudley Smooth. 
 
 SirJ. Why, who could offend him? The best bred, civilest 
 creature—and a dead shot. There is not a cleverer man in the three 
 kingdoms. 
 
 Eve. A study—a study. Let me examine him. Such men are 
 living satires on the world. 
 
 Smooth. ( Passing his arm caressingly over Sir John’s shoulder.) 
 My dear John, how well you are looking. A new lease of life. In¬ 
 troduce me to Mr. Evelyn. 
 
 Eve. Sir, it’s an honor I’ve long ardently desired. ( Crosses to him. 
 They bow and shake Jiands.) 
 
MONEY. 
 
 2 3 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick Blount E. 
 
 Blount. How d’ye do, Sir John. Ah, Evelyn, I wished so much 
 to see you. 
 
 Eye. Ah! 
 
 Blount. A little this way. You know, perhaps, that I once paid 
 my addwesses to Miss Yesey. But since that vewy eccentwic will 
 Sir John has shuffled me off, and hints at a pwior attachment (aside) 
 which I know to be false. 
 
 Eye. (Seeing Clara.) A prior attachment! Ha! Clara. Well, 
 well, another time, my dear Blount. 
 
 Enter Clara E. 
 
 Blount. Stay a moment. I want you to do me a favor with re¬ 
 gard to Miss Douglas. 
 
 Eye. Miss Douglas! 
 
 Blount.' Clawa has20,00(Y., and I think Clawa always liked me a 
 
 little. 
 
 Eve. You! I dare say she did. 
 
 Blount. It is whispered about that you mean to pwopose to 
 Georgina. Nay, Sir John more than hinted that was her pwior at¬ 
 tachment. 
 
 Eve. Indeed! 
 
 Blount. Now, as you are all in all with the family, if you could 
 say a word for me to Miss Douglas, I don’t see what harm it could 
 do me. ( Aside ) I will punish Georgina for her pwerfidy. 
 
 Eve. ’Sdeath, man! Speak for yourself. You are just the sort of 
 man for young ladies to like. They understand you. You’re of 
 their own level. Pshaw! you’re too modest; you want no mediator. 
 
 Blount. My dear fellow, you Hatter me. I’m well enough in my 
 way. But you, you know, would cawwv evewything before you— 
 you’re so confoundedly wich. 
 
 Eve. ( Turning to Clara.) Miss Douglas, what do you think of 
 Sir Frederick Blount? Observe him. He is well dressed, young, 
 tolerably handsome (Blount boioing)- bows with an air; has plenty 
 of small talk—everything to captivate. Yet he thinks that if he 
 and I were suitors to the same lady, I should be more successful 
 because I am richer. What say you? Is love an auction, and do 
 women’s hearts go to the highest bidder? 
 
 Clara. Their hearts? No. 
 
 Eve. But their hands — yes. (She turns away .) You turn away. 
 Ah, you dare not answer that question. 
 
 Geo. (Aside.) Sir Frederick flirting with Clara? I’ll punish him 
 for his perfidy, You are the last person to talk so, Mr. Evelyn — 
 you, whose wealth is your smallest attraction—you, whom every one 
 admires; so witty, such taste; such talent. Ah, I am very foolish! 
 
 Sir J. (Clapping him on the shoulder.) You must not turn my 
 little girl’s head. Oh, you’re a sad fellow! Apropos, 1 must show 
 you Georgina’s last drawings. She has wonderfully improved since 
 you gave her lessons in perspective. 
 
 Geo. No, papa—no. Pray, no! Nay, don’t! 
 
24 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Sir J. Nonsense, child. It’s very odd, but she’s more afraid of 
 you than of any one. 
 
 Smooth. (T 7 # Blount, taking snuff.) He’s an excellent father, 
 our dear John, and supplies the place of a mother to her. ( Turns 
 away to Lady Franklin and Graves.) 
 
 Evelyn and Georgina seat themselves and look over the drawings; Sir 
 
 John leans over them; Sir Frederick converses with Clara; Eve¬ 
 lyn watching them. 
 
 Eve. Beautiful! A view from Tivoli. (Death! She looks down 
 while he speaks to her!) Is there not a little fault in that coloring? 
 (She positively blushes.) This Jupiter is superb. (What a d—d 
 coxcomb it is!) {Rising.) Oh, she certainly loves him—T, too, can 
 be loved elsewhere—I, too, can see smiles and blushes on the face of 
 another. 
 
 Geo. Are you not well? 
 
 Eve. I beg pardon. Yes, you are indeed improved. Ah, who so 
 accomplished as Miss Vesey? ( Takes up the drawings; pays her 
 marked attention in dumb shoic.) 
 
 Clara. Yes, Sir Frederick, the concert was very crowded. (Ah, I 
 see that Georgina consoles him for the past. He has only praises for 
 her, nothing but taunts for me.) 
 
 Blount. I wish you would take my opewa box next Saturday; 
 ’tis the best in the house. I’m not wich, but I spend what I have 
 on myself. I make a point to have evewything the best in a quiet 
 way. Best opewa box, best dogs, best horses, best house of its 
 kind. I want nothing to complete my establishment but the best 
 wife. 
 
 Clara. {Abstractedly .) That will come in good time, Sir Frederick. 
 
 Eve. Georgina refused the tritier— she courts him. {Taking up a 
 portrait.) Why, what is this? My own— 
 
 Geo. You must not look at that — you must not, indeed. I did 
 not know it was there. 
 
 Sir J. Your own portrait, Evelyn! Why, child, I was not aware 
 you took likenesses! That’s something new. Upon my word it’s a 
 strong resemblance. 
 
 Geo. Oh, no, it does not do him justice. Give it to me. I will 
 tear it. {Aside.) That odious Sir Frederick! 
 
 Eve. Nay, you shall not. 
 
 Clara. (So —so— he loves her then! Misery—misery! But he shall 
 not perceive it. No — no - I can be proud, too.) Ha! ha! Sir Fred¬ 
 erick — excellent — excellent — you are so entertaining. Ha! ha! 
 {Laughs hysterically.) 
 
 Eve. Oh, the affectation of coquettes! They cannot even laugh nat¬ 
 urally. (Clara looks at him reproachfully and walks aside with Sir 
 Frederick.) But where is the new guitar you meant to buy Miss 
 Yesey — the one inlaid with tortoise shell? 
 
 Sir J. {Taking him aside confidentially.) The guitar— oh, to tell 
 you a secret. She applied the money I gave her for it to a case of 
 charity several months ago — the very day the will was read. I saw 
 
MONEY. 25 
 
 the letter lying on the table, with the money in it. Mind, not a word 
 to her—she’d never forgive me. 
 
 Eye. Letter—mone} 7 ! What was the name of the person she re¬ 
 lieved? Not Stanton? 
 
 Sib J. I don’t remember, indeed. 
 
 Eve. ( Taking out the letter .) This is not her hand. 
 
 Sir J. No. I observed at the time it was not her hand, but I 
 got out from her that she did not wish the thing to be known, and 
 had employed some one else to copy it. May I see the letter? Yes, 1 
 think this is the wording. Still, how did she know Mrs. Stanton’s 
 address? You never gave it to me. 
 
 Eye. I gave it her. Sir John, to a man like me this simple act of 
 unostentatious generosity is worth all the accomplishments in the 
 world. Miss Yesey, I will be honest. (Clara advances L.) Isay 
 then frankly (as Clara approaches raising his voice and looking fixedly 
 at her), I have loved another—deeply—truly—bitterly— vainly. I 
 cannot offer to you, as I did to her, the fair first love of the human 
 heart —rich with all its blossoms and its verdure. But if esteeem, if 
 gratitude, if an earnest resolve to conquer every recollection that 
 would wander from your image; if these can tempt you to accept 
 my hand and fortune, my life shall be a study to deserve your con¬ 
 fidence. (Clara stands motionless , clasping her hands, and then sloicly 
 seats herself.) 
 
 Sir J. The happiest day of m} r life! (Clara falls back in her chair.) 
 
 Eve. (Darting forward — aside.) She is pale—she faints! What 
 have I done? Clara! 
 
 Clara. (Rising with a smile.) Be happy, my cousin; be happy. 
 YSs, with my whole heart, I say it—be happy, Alfred Evelyn! 
 
 End of Act II. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — The drawing-rooms of Sir John Vesey’s house. 
 
 Enter Sir John and Georgina. 
 
 Sir J. And he has not pressed you to fix the wedding day? 
 
 Geo. No; and since he proposed he comes here so seldom, and 
 seems so gloomy. Heigho! Poor Sir Frederick was twenty times 
 more amusing. 
 
 Sir J. But Evelyn is fifty” times as rich. 
 
 Geo. Sir Frederick dresses so well. 
 
 Sir J. You’ll have magnificent diamonds. 
 
 Geo. My own kind papa, you always put things so pleasantly. 
 Do you not fear lest he discover that Clara wrote the letter to his old 
 nurse? 
 
 Sir J. No; and I shall get Clara out of the house. But there is 
 something else that makes me ver} 7 uneasy. You know that no 
 sooner did Evelyn come into possession of his fortune than he 
 launched out in the style of a prince. 
 
26 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Geo. But if he can afford it— 
 
 Sir J. Oh, so long as he stopped there I had no apprehension. 
 But they say he has taken to gambling, and he is always with Cap¬ 
 tain Smooth. No fortune can stand Deadly Smooth. We must press 
 the marriage at once. 
 
 Geo. Heigho! Poor Frederick! You don’t think he is really at¬ 
 tached to Clara? 
 
 Sir J. Upon my word, I can’t say. Put on your bonnet and come 
 to Storr and Mortimer’s to choose the jewels. 
 
 Geo. The jewels. Yes, the drive will do me good. So you’ll 
 send away Clara? She’s so very deceitful. 
 
 Sir J. Never fear. Yes, tell her to come to me. (Exit Georgina 
 R.) Yes, I must press on this marriage. Georgina has not wit 
 enough to manage him—at least till he’s her husband, and then all 
 women find it smooth sailing. But I can’t think of his taking to 
 gambling, for I love him as a son, and I look to his money as my own. 
 
 Enter Clara R. 
 
 Sir J. Clara, my love. 
 
 Clara. Sir. 
 
 Sir J. My dear, what I am going to say may appear a little rude 
 and unkind, but you know my character is frankness. To the point, 
 then. My poor child, I am aware of your attachment to Mr. Evelyn. 
 
 Clara. Sir! My attachmentf 
 
 Sir J. It is generally remarked. Lady Kind says you are falling 
 away. Poorgrirl, I pity you; Ido, indeed. 
 
 Ci.ara. I—I— (weeps.) 
 
 Sir J. My dear Clara, don’t take on. I would not have said tliis 
 for the world, if I was not a little anxious about my own girl. 
 Georgina is so unhappy at what every one says of your attachment. 
 
 Clara. Every one? Oh, torture! 
 
 Sir J. That it preys on her spirits; it even irritates her temper. 
 In a word, I fear these little jealousies and suspicions will tend to 
 embitter their future union. I’m a father; forgive me. 
 
 Clara. Embitter their union! Oh, never! what would you have 
 me do, sir? 
 
 SirJ. Why, you’re now independent. Lady Franklin seems 
 resolved to stay in town. You are your own mistress. Mrs. Carlton, 
 aunt to my late wife, is going abroad for a short time, and would be 
 delighted if you would accompany her. 
 
 Clara. It is the very favor I would have asked of you. (Aside.) 
 I shall escape, at least, the struggle and the shame. When does 
 she go? 
 
 Sir J. In five days—next Monday. You forgive me? 
 
 Clara. Sir, thank you. 
 
 Sir J. (Drawing the table R.) Suppose, then, you write a line to 
 her yourself and settle jt at once. 
 
 Enter Servant R. C. 
 
 Serv. The carriage, Sir John. Miss Vesey is quite ready. 
 
 Sir J. James, if Mr. Serious, the clergyman, calls, say I am gone 
 
MONEY. 
 
 27 
 
 to the great meeting at Exeter Hall; if Lord Spruce calls, say you 
 believe I’m gone to the rehearsal of Cinderella. Oh! and if Mac- 
 Finch should come—MacFinch, who duns me three times a week— 
 say I’ve hurried off to Garroway’s to bid for the great Bulstrode 
 estate. Just put the Duke of Lofty’s card carelessly on the hall table. 
 
 (Exit Servant R. C.) One must have a little management in this 
 world. All humbug! all humbug, upon my soul. ( Exit C. D.) 
 
 Clara. ( Folding the letter.) There—it is decided. A few days, 
 and we are parted forever. A few weeks, and another will bear his 
 name—his wife. Oh, happy fate! She will have the right to say to 
 him—though the whole world should hear her—“I am thine!” And 
 I embitter their lot—I am the cloud upon their joyous sunshine! 
 And yet, oh, Alfred! if she loves thee—if she knows thee—if she 
 values thee—and, when thou wrong’st her, if she can forgive thee, as 
 I do—I can bless her when far away, and join her name in my 
 prayers for thee! 
 
 Enter Evelyn R. C. 
 
 Eve. ( Speaking as he enters.) Miss Vesey out? Well, I will write 
 a line. Clara! (Aside.) Do not let me disturb you, Miss Douglas. 
 
 Clara. Nay, I have done. ( Going R.) 
 
 Eve., I see that m 3 ' presence is always odious to you. It is a 
 reason why I come so seldom. But be cheered, madam. I am here 
 but to fix the day of my marriage, and I shall then go into the 
 country—till—till—in short, this is the last time my visit will ban¬ 
 ish you from the room I enter. 
 
 Clara. (Aside.) The last time, and we shall then meet no more! 
 And to part thus forever—in scorn—in anger—I cannot bear it! 
 (Approaching him.) Alfred, my cousin, it is true this may be tin; 
 last time we shall meet. I have made m 3 ' arrangements to quit 
 
 England. 
 
 Eve. To quit England? 
 
 Clara. But, before I go, let me thank you for many a past kind¬ 
 ness, which it is not for an orphan easity to forget. 
 
 Eve. (Mechanically.) To quit England. 
 
 Clara. Evelyn, now that you are betrothed to another — now, 
 without recurring to the past—something of our old friendship may 
 at least return to us. And if, too, I dared, I have that on my mind 
 which onlv 7 a friend—a sister—might presume to sa}’ to you. 
 
 Eve. (Moved.) Miss Douglas—Clara—if there is aught that I 
 could do—df, while hundreds—strangers—beggars—tell me that I 
 have the power, by opening or shutting this worthless hand, to bid 
 sorrow rejoice or poverty despair—if—if my life—m\ r heart’s blood— 
 could render to you one such service as my gold can give to others— 
 why, speak; and the past you allude to—yes, even that bitter past— 
 I will cancel and forget. 
 
 Clara. (Holding out her hand.) We are friends, then. You are 
 again my cousin—m 3 ' brother. 
 
 Eve. (Dropping her hand.) Ah! say on! 
 
 Clara. I speak, then, as a sister. Oh, Evelyn! when you inher¬ 
 ited this vast wealth I pleased myself with imagining how you 
 
28 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 would wield the power delegated to your hands. I knew j r our 
 benevolence, your intellect, your genius, and I often thought that, in 
 after years, when far away, I should hear your name identified with 
 deeds and ends to which, for the great, fortune is but the instru¬ 
 ment; I often thought that I should say to my own heart—weeping 
 proud and delicious tears—“And once this man loved me.” 
 
 Eye. No more, Clara! oh, heavens, no more! 
 
 Clara. But has it been so? Have you been true to your own self? 
 Pomp, parade, luxuries, follies—all these might distinguish others; 
 they do but belie the ambition and the soul of Alfred Evelyn! Oh, 
 pardon me—I am too bold—I pain—I offend you. Ah, I should not 
 have dared thus much, had 1 not thought at times, that—that— 
 
 Eve. That these follies, these vanities, this dalliance with a 
 loftier fat*e, were your own work! You thought that, and you were 
 right. But you—did not you reject me because I was poor? Despise 
 me if you please. My revenge might be unworthy. I wished to show 
 you the luxuries, the gaud, the splendor I thought you prized; to 
 surround with the attributes 3 r our sex seems most to value—the sta¬ 
 tion that, had you loved me, it would have been yours to command. 
 But vain—vain alike my poverty and my wealth. You loved me not 
 in either, and my fate is sealed. 
 
 Clara. A happy fate, Evelyn. You love. 
 
 Eve. And at last I am beloved. (After a pause, and turning to 
 her abruptly.) Do you doubt it? 
 
 Clara. No, I believe it firmly. (Aside.) Were it possible for her 
 not to love him? 
 
 Eve. Georgina, perhaps, is vain, and light—and— 
 
 Clara. No, think it not. And now, there is nothing unkind 
 between us—not even regret—and surely (with a smile) not revenge, 
 my cousin, you will rise to your nobler self; and so, farewell. 
 
 Eve. No; stay one moment. You still feel an interest in my fate. 
 Have I been deceived? Oh, why, why did you spurn the heart whose 
 offerings were lavished at your feet? 
 
 Clara. We part as friends. 
 
 Eve. Friends. And is that all? Look you, this is life. The eyes 
 that charmed away every sorrow, the hand whose lightest touch 
 thrilled to the very core, a little while—a year, a month, a day—all 
 the sweet enchantment, known but once, never to return again, van¬ 
 ished from the world. And the one who forgets the soonest, the one 
 who robs your earth forever of its summer, comes to you with a 
 careless lip and says, “Let us part friends!” Go, go, Clara; go—and 
 be happy if you can. 
 
 Clara. ( Weeping.) Cruel, cruel, to the last. Heaven forgive 
 you, Alfred. (Exit li.) 
 
 Eve. Soft! Let me recall her words, her tones, her looks. Does 
 she lore me? Have I been the rash slave of a jealous anger? But I 
 have made my choice; I must abide the issue. 
 
 Enter Graves preceded by Servant R. G. 
 
 Serv. Lady Franklin is dressing, sir. 
 
 Graves. Well, I’ll wait. (Exit Servant R.) She was worthy to 
 
MONEY 
 
 2 9 
 
 have known the lost Maria. So considerate to ask me hither. Not 
 to console me— that is impossible—but to indulge the luxury of woe. 
 It will be a mournful scene. (Seeing Evelyn.) Is that you, Evelyn? 
 I have just heard that the borough of Groginhole is vacant at last. 
 Why not stand yourself? With your property you might come in 
 without even a personal canvass. 
 
 Eve. I who despise these contests for the color of a straw—I to 
 be one of the wranglers? Never! (Aside.) And yet Clara spoke of 
 ambition. She would regret me if I could be distinguished. (Aloud.) 
 To be sure, after all, Graves, corrupt as mankind are, it is our duty 
 'to try at least to make them a little better. An Englishman owes 
 .something to his country. 
 
 Graves. He does indeed. (Counting on his fingers.) East winds, 
 fogs, rheumatism, pulmonary complaints, and taxes. (Evelyn 
 walks about in disorder.) You seem agitated. A quarrel with your 
 intended? Oh, when you’ve been married a month you won’t know 
 what to do with one. 
 
 Eve. You are a.pleasant comforter. (Crosses L.) 
 
 Graves. Do you deserve a comforter? One morning you tell me 
 you love Clara, or at least detest her, which is the same thing (poor 
 Maria often said she detested me), and that very afternoon you pro¬ 
 pose to Georgina. 
 
 Eve. Clara will easily console herself, thanks to Sir Frederick. 
 (Crosses li.) 
 
 Graves. Nevertheless, Clara has had the bad taste to refuse him. 
 I have it from Lady Franklin. 
 
 Eve. My dear friend, is it possible? 
 
 Graves. But what then? You must marry Georgina, who, to be¬ 
 lieve Lady Franklin, is sincerely attached to—your fortune. Go and 
 hang yourself, Evelyn. You have been duped by them. 
 
 Eve. By them—bah! If deceived, I have been my own dupe. 
 Duped! If I thought it! 
 
 Graves. To be sure. You tried Clara in your poverty . It was a 
 safe experiment to try Georgina in your wealth. 
 
 Eve. Ha! that is true, very true. Goon. 
 
 Graves. You’ll have an excellent father-in-law. Sir John posi¬ 
 tively w r eeps when he talks of your income. 
 
 - Eve. Sir John, possibly. But Georgina? 
 
 Graves. Plays affection to you in the afternoon, after practicing 
 'first with Sir Frederick in the morning. 
 
 Eve. On your life, sir, be serious. What do you mean? 
 
 ' Graves. That in passing this way I see her very often walking 
 in the square with Sir Frederick. 
 
 Eve. Ha! say you so? 
 
 Graves. What then? Man is born to be deceived. You look 
 nervous. Your hand trembles. That comes of gaming. They say 
 at the clubs that you play deeply. 
 
 Eve. Ha! ha! Do they say that? A few hundreds lost or won; 
 a cheap opiate—anything that can lay the memory to sleep. The 
 poor man drinks, and the rich man gambles—the same motive to 
 both. But you are right. It is a base recourse. I will play no 
 more. 
 
30 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Graves. I am delighted to hear it, for your friend Captain 
 Smooth has ruined half the young heirs in London. Even Sir John 
 is alarmed. By-the-bye, I forgot. Do you bank with Flash, Brisk, 
 Credit & Co. ? 
 
 Eve. So Sir John is alarmed? {Aside.) Gulled by this cfoggin 
 charlatan? I may beat him yet ai his own weapons. Humph! Bank 
 with Flash. Why do you ask? 
 
 Graves. Because Sir John has just heard that they are in a very 
 bad way, and begs you to withdraw anything you have in their 
 hands. 
 
 Eve. I’ll see to it. So Sir John is alarmed at my gambling? 
 
 Graves. Terribly. He even told me he should go himself to the 
 club this evening to watch you. 
 
 Eve. To watch me! Good. I will be there. 
 
 Graves. But you will promise not to play? 
 
 Eve. Yes—to play. I feel It is impossible to give it up. 
 
 Graves. No, no! ’Sdeath, man! Be as wretched as you please; 
 break your heart, that’s nothing; but damme, take care of your 
 pockets. 
 
 Eve. I will be there. I will play with Captain Smooth. I will 
 lose as much money as I please—thousands, millions, billions—and if 
 he presume to spy on my losses, hang me if I don’t lose Sir John 
 himself in the bargain. {Going out and returning.) I am so absent. 
 What was the bank you mentioned? Flash, Brisk & Credit. Bless 
 me, how unlucky, and it’s too late to draw out to-day. Tell Sir 
 John I’m very much obliged to him, and he’ll find me at the club 
 any time before daybreak hard at work with my friend Smooth. 
 {Exit II.) 
 
 Graves. He’s certainly crazy; but I don’t wonder at it. What 
 the approach of the dog-days is to the canine species, the approach 
 of the honeymoon is to the human race. 
 
 Enter Servant R. 
 
 Serv. Lady Franklin’s compliments. She will see you in the 
 boudoir, sir. 
 
 Graves. In the boudoir—go, go — I’ll come directly. {Exit 
 Servant.) My heart beats—it must be for grief. Poor Maria! 
 {Searching his pocket for his handkerchief.) Not a white one. Just 
 like my luck. I call on a lady to talk of the dear departed, and I’ve 
 nothing about me but a cursed gaudy, haunting, red, yellow and blue 
 abomination from India. {Exit R.) 
 
 Scene II.— A boudoir in the same house. Tiro chairs on. 
 
 Lady F. {R.) I take so much compassion on this poor man, who 
 is determined to make himself wretched, that I am equally deter¬ 
 mined to make him happy. Well, if my scheme does but succeed he 
 shall laugh, he shall sing, he shall—mum; here he comes. 
 
 Enter Graves R. 
 
 Graves. {Sighing.) Ah, Lady Franklin. 
 
MONEY. 
 
 3 1 
 
 Lady F. (Sighing.) Ah, Mr. Graves. (They seat themselves.) Pray 
 excuse me for having kept you so long. Is it not a charming day. 
 
 Graves. An east wind, ma’am. But nothing comes amiss to 
 you. It’s a happy disposition. Poor Maria! she, too, was naturally 
 gay. 
 
 Lady F. (Aside.) Yes, she was gay. So much life, and a great 
 deal of spirit. 
 
 Graves. Spirit? Yes; nothing could master it. She icould have 
 her own way. Ah, there was nobody like her. 
 
 Lady F. And then, when her spirit was up, she looked so hand¬ 
 some. Her eyes grew so brilliant. 
 
 Graves. Did not they? Ah! ah! ha! ha! ha! And do you remem¬ 
 ber her pretty trick of stamping her foot. The tiniest little foot; I 
 think I see her now. Ah! this conversation is very soothing. 
 
 Lady F. How well she acted in your private theatricals. 
 
 Graves. You remember her Mrs. Oakley, in “The Jealous 
 Wife?” Ha! ha! how good it was—ha! ha! 
 
 Lady F. Ha! ha! Yes, in the very first scene, when she came out 
 with (mimicking). ‘‘Your unkindness and barbarity will be the 
 death of me!” 
 
 p Graves. No, no; that’s not it; more energy. (Mimicking.) “Your 
 unkindness and barbarity will be the death of me!” Ha! ha! I 
 ought to know how she said it, for she used to practice it on me 
 twice a day. Ah! poor, dear lamb. (Wipes his eyes.) 
 
 Lady F. And then she sang so well—was such a composer. 
 v What was the little French air she was so fond of? 
 
 Graves. Ha! hal sprightly, was it not? Let me see—let me see. 
 
 Lady F. (Humming.) Turn ti—ti—turn—ti—ti—ti. No, that’s 
 not it. 
 
 Graves, (Humming.) Turn ti—ti—turn ti—ti—turn turn turn. 
 
 Both. Turn ti—ti—turn ti—ti—turn—turn—turn. Ha! ha! 
 
 Graves. (Throwing himself back.) Ah, what recollections it re¬ 
 vives. It is too affecting. 
 
 Lady F. It is affecting, but we are all mortal. (Sighs.) And at 
 your Christmas party, at Cyprus Lodge, do you remember her danc¬ 
 ing the Scotch reel with Captain Macnaughten? 
 
 Graves. Ha! ha! ha! To be sure — to be sure. 
 
 Lady F. Can you think of the step? Somehow thus, was it not? 
 
 Dancing .) 
 
 Graves. No, no— -quite wrong. Just stand there. Now then. 
 (Humming the tune.) La—la-la-la—la-la, etc. (They dance.) That’s 
 it—excellent—admirable! 
 
 Lady F. (Aside.) Now it’s coming. 
 
 Enter Sir John, Blount, and Georgina R. They stand amazed. 
 
 Lady Franklin continues to dance. 
 
 Graves. Bewitching—irresistible! It’s Maria herself that I see 
 before me! Thus, thus, let me clasp—oh, the devil! just like my 
 luck! (Stopping opposite Sir John. Lady Franklin runs off L.) 
 
 Sir J. Upon my word, Mr. Graves. 
 
32 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Blount f Encore—encore! Bravo—bravo! 
 
 Graves. It’s all a mistake! I — I — Sir John. Lady Franklin, you 
 see— that is to say I. Sainted Maria! you are spared at least this 
 affliction. 
 
 Geo. I Pra.y, pro on. Don’t let us interwupt you. ( Exeunt 
 Blount. J laughing H.) 
 
 Scene HI . —The interior of * * *'s Club; night; lights, etc. Small 
 
 sofa tables , with books, papers, tea, coffee , etc. Several members 
 grouped by the fireplace; one member with his legs over the back of his 
 chair; another with his legs over his table; a third with his legs on the 
 chimney piece. To the left, and in front of the stage, an old, member 
 reading the newspaper, seated by a small round table; to the right a 
 card table, before which Captain Dudley Smooth is seated and sip- 
 ping lemonade; at the bottom of the stage another card table. 
 
 Glossmore and Stout C. 
 
 Gloss. You don’t come often to the club, Stout? 
 
 Stout. No; time is money. An hour spent at a club is unpro¬ 
 ductive capital. 
 
 Old Mem. ( Reading the newspaper.) Waiter! the snuff-box. 
 (Waiter brings it .) 
 
 Gloss. So, Evelyn has taken to play? I see Deadly Smooth, “hushed 
 in grim repose, awaits the evening prey.” Deep work to-night, I 
 suspect, for Smooth is drinking lemonade. Keeps his head clear. 
 Monstrous clever dog. 
 
 Enter Evelyn; salutes and shakes hands with different members in 
 
 passing up the stage C. 
 
 Eve. How do you do, Glossmore? How are you, Stout? You don’t 
 play, I think. Political Economy never plays at cards, eh? Never 
 has time for anything more frivolous than rents and profits, wages 
 and labor, high prices and low, corn laws, poor laws, tithes, cur¬ 
 rency—dot-and-go-one—rates, puzzles, taxes, riddles and bothera¬ 
 tion. Smooth is the man! Aha! Smooth. Piquet, eh? You owe me 
 my revenge! ( Members touch each other significantly. Stout walks 
 away with the snuff-box; Old Member looks at him savagely.) 
 
 Smooth. My dear Alfred, anything to oblige. ( They seat them¬ 
 selves.) 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter! the snuff-box. ( Waiter takes it from Stout 
 and brings it back to Old Member.) 
 
 Enter Blount C. 
 
 Blount. So, so! Evelyn at it again — eh, Glossmore? 
 
 Gloss. Yes, Smooth sticks to him like a leech. Clever fellow, 
 that Smooth. 
 
 Blount. Will you make up a wubber? 
 
 Gloss. Have you got two others? 
 
MONEY. 
 
 33 
 
 Blount. Yes; Flat and Green. 
 
 Gloss. Bad players. 
 
 Blount. I make it a wule to play with bad players. It is five 
 per cent, in one’s favor. I hate grumbling'. But a quiet wubber, if 
 one is the best player out of four, can't do one an} 7 harm. 
 
 Gloss. Clever fellow, that Blount. (Blount takes up the snuff¬ 
 box and walks off with it; Old Member looks at him gravely.) 
 
 Blount, Glossmore, Flat and Green make up a table at the bottom 
 
 of the stage. 
 
 Smooth. A thousand pardons, my dear Alfred—ninety repique— 
 ten cards—game! 
 
 Eye. ( Passing a note to him.) Game! Before we go on one ques¬ 
 tion. This is Thursday. How much do you calculate to win of me 
 before Tuesday next? 
 
 Smooth. Ce cher Alfred! He is so droll! 
 
 Eve. ( Writing in his pocket-book.) Forty games a night—four 
 nights, minus Sunday—our usual stakes—that would be right, I 
 think. 
 
 Smooth. (Glancing over the account.) Quite—if I win all—which 
 is next to impossible. 
 
 Eve. It shall be possible to win twice as much, on one condition. 
 Can you keep a secret? 
 
 Smooth. My dear Alfred, I have kept myself. I never inherited 
 a farthing. I never spent less than 4,000/. a year, and I never told a 
 soul how I managed it. 
 
 Eve. Hark ye, then; a word with you. (They whisper .) 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter! the snuff-box. ( Waiter takes it from Blount, 
 
 etc.) 
 
 Enter Sir John C. 
 
 Eve. You understand? 
 
 Smooth. Perfectly; anything to oblige. 
 
 Eve. (Cutting.) it is for you to deal. (They go on playing.) 
 
 Sir J. (Groaning .) There’s my precious son-in-law, that is to be, 
 spending my consequence and making a fool of himself. (Taking up 
 the snuff-box. Old Member looks at him savagely.) 
 
 Blount. I’m out. Flat, a poney on the odd twick. That’s wight. 
 (Coming up counting his money.) Well, Sir John, you don’t play? 
 
 Sir J. Play, no! (Evelyn passes money to Smooth.) Confound 
 him—lost again! 
 
 Eve. Hang the cards! Double the stakes! 
 
 Smooth. Just as you please—done, Anything to oblige. 
 
 Sir J. Done, indeed! 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter! the snuff-box. (Waiter takes it from Sir 
 
 JonN.) 
 
 Blount. I’ve won eight points and the bets; I never lose. I 
 never play in the Deadly Smooth set. (Takes up the snuff-box. Old 
 Member as before .) 
 
 Sir J. (Looking over Smooth’s hand and fidgeting backward and 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 forward.) Lord have mercy on us! Smooth has seven for his point. 
 What’s the stakes? 
 
 Eve. Don’t disturb us. Stakes, Sir John? Immense! Was ever 
 such luck? Do stand back, Sir John. I’m getting irritable! 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter! the snuff-box. ( Waiter brings it back ) 
 
 Blount. One hundred pounds on the next game, Evelyn? 
 
 . Sir J. Nonsense! nonsense! Don’t disturb him! All the fishes 
 come to the bait. Sharks and minnows all nibbling away at my son- 
 in-law. 
 
 Eve. One hundred pounds, Blount? Ah! the finest gentleman is 
 never too fine a gentleman to pick up a guinea. Done! Treble the 
 stakes, Smooth. 
 
 Sin J. I’m on the rack! {Seizing the snvff-box.) Be cool, Evelyn. 
 Take care, my dear boy. Now don’t ye —now don’t! 
 
 Eve. What—what? You have four queens; five to the king. 
 Confound the cards—a fresh pack. ( Throws the cards behind him over 
 Sin John. Waiter brings a new pack of cards to Evelyn.) 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter! the snuff-box. ( Different members gather 
 
 round.) 
 
 First Mem. {With back to audience.) I never before saw Evelyn 
 out of temper. lie must be losing immensely. 
 
 Second Mem. Yes, this is interesting. 
 
 Sir J. Interesting! there’s a wretch! 
 
 First Mem. Poor fellow! he’ll be ruined in a month. 
 
 Sir J. I’m in a cold sweat. 
 
 Second Mem. Smooth is the very devil. 
 
 Sir J. The devil’s a joke to him. 
 
 Gloss. ( Slapping Sir John on the back.) A clever fellow, that 
 Smooth, Sir John, eh? {Takes up the snuff-box; Old Member as 
 before.) 1CM.on this game, Evelyn? 
 
 Eve. {Half turning round.) You! Well done the constitution! 
 Yes, 1(M. 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter! the snuff-box. 
 
 Stout. I think I'll venture; 2CM. on this game, Evelyn? 
 
 Ene. {Quite turning round.) Ha! ha! ha! Enlightenment and 
 the constitution on the same side of the question at last. Oh, Stout, 
 Stout! Greatest happiness of the greatest number - greatest number, 
 number one. Done, Stout—200 1. Ha! ha! ha! Ideal, Stout. Well 
 done, Political Economy. Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Sir J. Quite hysterical—driveling. Aren’t you ashamed of your¬ 
 selves? Ilis own cousins; all in a conspiracy—a perfect gangof them. 
 {Members indignant .) 
 
 Stout. {To Members.) Hush! he’s to marry Sir John’s daughter. 
 
 First Mem. What, Stingy Jack’s? Oh! 
 
 Chorus of Members. Oh! oh! 
 
 Eve. {Rising in great agitation.) No more! no more! I’ve done! 
 quite enough. Glossmore, Stout, Blount, I’ll pay you to-morrow. I 
 — I —death! this is ruinous! (Seizes the snuff-box; Old Member as 
 before.) 
 
 Sir.T. Ruinous. I dare say it is. What has he lost? What has 
 he lost, Smooth? Not much, eh? eh? {Omnesgather round Smooth.) 
 
MONEY. 
 
 35 
 
 >' 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 Smooth. Oh, a trifle, dear John. Excuse me; we never tell our 
 winnings. ( To Blount.) How d’ye do, Fred. (To Glossmore.) 
 By-the-bye, Charles, don’t you want to sell your house in Grosvenor 
 Square? 13,000?., eh? 
 
 Gloss. Yes, and the furniture at a valuation. About 3,000?. 
 more. 
 
 Smooth. (Looking over his pocket-book.) Um! Well, we’ll talk 
 
 of it. 
 
 Sir J. 13 and 3—15,000?. What a cold-blooded rascal it is! 
 15,000?, Smooth ? 
 
 Smooth. Oh, the house itselt is a trifle, but the establishment; 
 I’m considering whether I have enough to keep it up, my dear John. 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter! the snuff-box. (Scraping it round, and wit/i a 
 wry face.) And it’s all gone. ( Gives it to the waiter)' to fill.) 
 
 Sir J. ( Turning round.) And it’s all gone! 
 
 Eve. (Starting up anil laughing hysterically.) Ha! ha! ha! all 
 gone? Not a bit of it. Smooth, this club is so noisy. Sir John, you 
 are always in the way. Come to my house! Come! Champagne and 
 a broiled bone. Nothing venture, nothing have. The luck must 
 turn, and, by Jupiter, we’ll make a night of it. 
 
 Sir J. A night of it! For heaven’s sake, Evelyn! Evelyn! Think 
 what you are about! Think of Georgina’s feelings! Think of your 
 poor mother! Think of the babes unborn! Think of— 
 
 Eve. I’ll think of nothing! Zounds! you don’t know what I’ve 
 lost, man. It’s all your fault, distracting my attention. Pshaw— 
 pshaw! Out of the way, do. Come, Smooth. Ha! ha! A night of 
 it, my boy —a night of it! (Exeunt Smooth and Evelyn.) 
 
 Sir J. (Following.) You must not, you shall not! Evelyn, my 
 dear Evelyn! He’s drunk—he’s mad! Will no one send for the police? 
 Mem. Ha! ha! ha! Poor old Stingy Jack! 
 
 Old Mem. (Rising for the first time in a great rage.) Waiter! the 
 
 snuff-box. 
 
 End of Act III. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I .—The ante-room in Evelyn’s house , as in Scene I, Act II. 
 Tabouret, Frantz and other tradesmen. * 
 
 Tab. ( Half whispers.) So I hear that Mr. Evelyn is turned game¬ 
 ster. There are strange reports about to-day. I don’t know what to 
 make of it. We must look sharp and make hay while the sun 
 shines. ( Omnes shake their heads approvingly.) 
 
 Enter Smooth R. G. from the inner room with a pocket-book and pencil 
 
 in his hand. 
 
 Smooth. ( Looking round.) Hum! ha! Fine pictures. ( Feeling 
 the curtains.) The new-fashioned velvet, hem! Good proportioned 
 rooms. Yes, this house is better than Glossmore’s. Oh, Mr. Ta- 
 
 *See note page 15. 
 
3^ MONEY. 
 
 . 
 
 bouret, the upholsterer. You furnished these rooms. All of the 
 best, eh ? 
 
 Tab. Oh, the very best. Mr. Evelyn is not a man to grudge 
 expense, sir. 
 
 Smooth He is not, indeed. You’ve been paid, I suppose, 
 Tabouret? 
 
 Tab. No, sir; no. I never send in my bills when a customer is 
 rich. (Aside.) Bills are like trees, and grow by standing. 
 
 Smooth. Humph! Not paid? humph! (0nines gather round.) 
 
 Tab. (To the tradesmen.) It’s the great card player, Captain 
 Smooth. Finest player in Europe. Cleaned out the Duke of Silly 
 Val. Uncommonly clever man. 
 
 Smooth. (Pacing about the room.) Thirty-six feet by twenty* eight; 
 um! I think a bow-window there would be an improvement. Could 
 it be done easily, Tabouret? 
 
 Tab. Have you bought the house, sir? 
 
 Smooth. Bought it. Hum! ha! It depends. So you have not 
 been paid y*et? Um! Nor you—nor you—nor you? Hum, ah! 
 
 Tab. No, sir. What then ? No fear of Mr. Evelyn. Ha! ha! 
 
 Omnes. (Anxiously.) Ha! ha! What then? 
 
 Frantz. Ah, sare, what den? I’m a poor man with a family; dis 
 way, Captain. You’ve a little account in the books, and we’ll e’en 
 wipe it out altogether if you’ll say what you mean by that 
 umph! ha!* 
 
 Smooth. Frantz, my dear fellow, don’t oblige me to cane you. I 
 would not have Mr. Evelyn distressed for the world. Poor fellow! 
 He holds very bad cards. So you’ve not been paid yet? Don’t send 
 in your bills on any account! mind! Yes, I don’t dislike the house 
 with some alteration. Good-day to you; hum! ha! (Exit looking 
 about him , examining the chairs , tables , etc.) 
 
 Tab. Plain as a pikestaff! Staked his very house on an odd trick. 
 
 Enter Sharp C., agitated and in a hurry. 
 
 Sharp. O Lord! O Lord! Who’d have thought it? Cards are the 
 devil’s book! John! Thomas! Harris! (Ringing the bell that icas on the- 
 table.) 
 
 Enter two servants G. 
 
 Tom, take this letter to Sir John Yesey’s. If not at home, find him. 
 He will give you a check. Go to his banker’s and get it cashed 
 instantly. Quick—quick! Off with you! 
 
 Tab. (Seizing Servant.) What’s the matter? what’s the matter? 
 How’s Mr. Evelyn? 
 
 Serv. Bad—very bad. Sat up all night with Captain Smooth. 
 (Runs off R.) 
 
 Sharp. (To the other Servant.) Yes, Harris, your poor master! 
 O dear! O dear! You will take this note to the Belgian minister, 
 Portland Place. Passport for Ostend! Have the traveling carriage 
 ready at a moment’s notice. 
 
 Tab. (Stopping Servant.) Passport! Hark ye, my man; is he 
 going to put the salt seas between us and our money? 
 
MONEY. 37 
 
 Serv. Don’t stop me—something wrong in the chest—change of 
 air—late hours—and Captain Smooth! ( Exit R.) 
 
 Sharp. {Walking about.) And if the bank should break — if the 
 bank is broke, and he can’t draw out—bound to Smooih! 
 
 Tab. Bank! What bank? 
 
 Sharp. Flash’s bank. Flash, brother-in-law to Captain Smooth. 
 What have you heard? eh? eh? 
 
 Tab. That there’s an awful run on it. 
 
 Sharp. I must be off. Go—go! You can’t see Mr. Evelyn to-day. 
 
 Tab. My account, sir. 
 
 Frantz. Oh, sare, de great gentlemen always tink first of the 
 tailor. 
 
 Sharp. Call again. Call again at Christmas. The bank, the 
 cards —the cards, the bank! O dear! O dear! ( Exit C.) 
 
 Tab. The bank! 
 
 Frantz. And all dat vill be seen of de great Evelyn coat is de 
 back of it. Bonner und hagel! I vil arrest him; I vil put de salt on 
 de tail of it! 
 
 Tab. {Aside.) I’ll slip down to the city and see how the bank 
 goes. Ay, ay, stick by each other. Share and share alike; that's 
 my way, sir. 
 
 Omnes. Share and share alike. {Exeunt R.) 
 
 Enter Servant, Glossmore and Blount C. 
 
 Serv. My master is not very well, my lord, but I’ll let him know. 
 {Exit G.) 
 
 Gloss. I’m very curious te learn the result of his gambling tete-a- 
 tete with Deadly Smooth. 
 
 Blount. Oh, he’s so howwidly wich, he can afford even a tete-a- 
 tete with Deadly Smooth. 
 
 Gloss. Poor old Stingy Jack. Why, Georgina was your intended. 
 
 Blount. Yes; and I really liked the girl, though out of pique I 
 pwoposed to her cousin. But what can a man do against money. 
 
 Enter Evelyn C. 
 
 % 
 
 If we could start fair, you’d see whom Georgina would pwefer; but 
 she’s sacwificed by her father. She as much as told me so. 
 {Grosses R.) 
 
 Eve. So, so, gentlemen, we’ve a little account to settle. One 
 hundred each. 
 
 Both. Don’t talk of it. 
 
 Eve. Well, I won’t. {Taking Blount aside.) Ha! ha! you’d 
 hardly believe it, but I’d rather not pay you just at present; my 
 money is locked' up, and I must wait, you know, for the Groginhole 
 rents?- So, instead of owing you one hundred pounds, suppose I owe 
 you five? You can give me a check for the other four. And, hark 
 ye, not a word to Glossmore. 
 
 Blount. Glossmore! the greatest gossip in London! I shall be de¬ 
 lighted. {Aside.) It never does harm to lend to a wich man; one 
 gets it back somehow. By the way, Evelyn, if you want my gwey 
 
cab horse, you may have him for two hundred pounds, and that will 
 make seven. 
 
 Eve. {Aside.) That’s the fashionable usury. Your friend does 
 not take interest; he sells you a horse. {Aloud.) Blount, it’s a 
 bargain. 
 
 Blount. {Writing the check , and musingly.) No; I don’t see what 
 harm it can do me. That off leg must end in a spavin. 
 
 Eve. {To Glossmore.) That hundred pounds I owe you is rather 
 inconvenient at present. I’ve a large sum to make up for the Grog- 
 inhole property. Perhaps you would lend me five or six hundred 
 more, just to go on with? 
 
 Gloss. Certainly, llopkins is dead. Your interest for Cipher 
 would— 
 
 Eve. Why, I can’t promise that at this moment, but as a slight 
 mark of friendship and gratitude I shall be very much flattered if 
 you’ll accept a splendid gray cab horse I bought to-day—cost two 
 hundred pounds. 
 
 Gloss. Bought to-day! Then I’m safe. My dear fellow, you’re ■ 
 always so princely. 
 
 Eve. Nonsense! Just write the check; and, hark ye—not a sylla¬ 
 ble to Blount. 
 
 Gloss. Blount? He’s the town crier. {Goes to write) 
 
 Blount. ( Giving Evelyn the check . ) Wansom’s Pall Mall East.) 
 
 Eve. Thank you. So, you proposed to Miss Douglas. 
 
 Blount. Hang it! yes. I could have sworn that she fancied me. 
 Her manner, for instance, that very day you pwoposed for Miss 
 Vesey— 
 
 Gloss. {Giving the check.) Ransom’s Pall Mall East. Tell me, 
 did you win or lose last night? 
 
 Eve. Win! lose! oh, no more of that, if you love me. I must 
 send off at once to the banker’s. {Looking at the two checks.) 
 
 Gloss. {Aside.) Why, he’s borrowed from Blount, too. 
 
 Blount. {Aside.) That’s a check from Lord Glossmore. 
 
 Eve. Excuse me, I must dress; I have not a moment to lose. 
 You remember you dine with me to-day— seven o’clock. You’ll see 
 Smooth. ( With tears in his eyes.) It may be the last time that 1 
 shall ever welcome you here. What am I saying? Oh, merely a joke. 
 Good-bye—good-bye. {Shaking them heartily by the hand. Exit CA 
 
 Blount. Glossmore! 
 
 Gloss. Blount! 
 
 Blount. I’m afraid all’s not wight. 
 
 Gloss. I incline to your opinion. 
 
 Blount. But I’ve sold my gway cab horse. 
 
 Gloss. Gray cab horse! You? What is he really worth now? 
 
 Blount. Since he’s sold I’ll tell you. Not a sixpence. 
 
 Gloss. Not a sixpence! He gave it to me! 
 
 Blount. That was devilish unhandsome. Do you know, I feel 
 nervous. 
 
 Gloss. Nervous! Let us run and stop payment of our 
 checks. 
 
 Blount. Holloa, John! Where so fast? 
 
 
MONEY. 
 
 39 
 
 Enter Servant C. in great haste. 
 
 Serv. Beg pardon, Sir Frederick, to Pall Mall East—Messrs. 
 Ransom. ( Exit R.) 
 
 Blount. {Solemnly.) Glossmore, we are floored. 
 
 Gloss. Sir, the whole town shall know of it. 
 
 Blount. Vewy scurvy tweatmcnt. {Exeunt R.) 
 
 Scene II.— A splendid salon in Evelyn’s house. 
 
 Enter Evelyn arid Graves. 
 
 Graves. You’ve withdrawn your money from Flash and Brisk? 
 
 Eve. No. 
 
 Graves. No! Then— 
 
 Enter Sir John, Lady Franklin, Georgina and Stout R. 
 
 Sir J. You got the check for 500£. safely? Too happy to— 
 
 Eve. {Interrupting him.) My best thanks! my warmest gratitude! 
 So kind in you! so seasonable—that 500L You don’t know the value 
 of that 500L I shall never forget your nobleness of conduct. 
 
 Sir J. Gratitude! Nobleness! {Aside.) I can’t have been taken 
 in? 
 
 Eve. And in a moment of such distressl 
 
 Sir J. {Aside.) Such distress! He picks out the ugliest words in 
 the whole dictionary. 
 
 Eve. I’ve done with Smooth. But I’m still a little crippled, and 
 you must do me another favor. 
 
 Sir J. What’s coming now, I wonder? 
 
 Eve. Georgina’s fortune is 10,000£. I always meant, my dear 
 John, to present you with that little sum. 
 
 Sir J. Oh, Elvelyn, your generosity is positively touching. ( Wipes 
 his eyes.) 
 
 Eve. But I have so many debts at this moment that—that—but 
 I see Georgina is listening, and I’ll say what I have to say to her. 
 (Crosses to her.) 
 
 Sir J. No, no—no, no! Girls don’t understand business. 
 
 . Eve. The very reason I speak to her. This is an affair, not of 
 business, but of feeling. Stout, show Sir John my Correggio. 
 
 Sir J. {Aside.) Devil take his Correggio. The man is born to 
 torment me. (Stout takes him in.) 
 
 Eve. My dear Georgina, whatever you may hear said of me, I 
 flatter myself that you feel confidence in my honor. 
 
 Geo. Can you doubt it? 
 
 Eve. I confess that lam embarrassed at this moment. I have 
 been weak enough to lose money at play, and there are other de¬ 
 mands on me. I promise you never to gamble again as long as I 
 live. My affairs can be retrieved, but for the first few years of our 
 marriage it may be necessary to retrench. 
 
 Geo. Retrench! 
 
 Eve. To live perhaps altogether in the country. 
 
 Geo. Altogether in the country! 
 
40 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Eye. To confine ourselves to a modest competence. 
 
 Geo. Modest competence! I knew something horrid was coming. 
 
 Enter Sir P. Blount R. 
 
 Eve. And now, Georgina, you may have it in your power at this 
 moment to save me from much anxiety and humiliation. My money 
 is locked up; my debts of honor must be settled; you are of age; 
 your 10,000^. in your own hands— 
 
 Sir J. (Stout listening as well as Sir Joiin.) I’m standing on hot 
 iron. 
 
 Eve. If you could lend it to me for a few weeks. Can you give 
 me this proof of your confidence? Remember, without confidence 
 what is wedlock. 
 
 Sir J. ( Aside to her.) No! (Aloud, pointing his glass at the Cor¬ 
 reggio.) Yes, the picture may be fine. 
 
 Stout. But you don’t like the subject. 
 
 Geo. (Aside.) He may be only trying me. Best leave it to papa. 
 
 Eve. Well— 
 
 Geo. You —you shall hear from me to-morrow. (Aside.) Ah, 
 there’s that dear Sir Frederick. (Goes to Blount.) 
 
 Enter Glossmore and Smooth R. Evelyn salutes them, paying 
 
 Smooth servile respect. 
 
 Lady F. (To Graves. ) Ha! ha! To be so disturbed yesterd'ay— 
 was it not droll? 
 
 Graves. Never recur to that humiliating topic. 
 
 Gloss. ( To Stout.) See how Evelyn fawns upon Smooth. 
 
 Stout. How mean in him. Smooth — a professional gambler — a 
 fellow who lives by his wits. I would not know such a man on any 
 account. 
 
 Smooth. (To Gloss.) So Hopkins is dead. You want Cipher to 
 come in for Groginhole, eh? 
 
 Gloss. What! Could you manage it? 
 
 Smooth. Ce cher Charles. Anything to oblige. 
 
 Stout. Groginhole! What can he have to do with Groginhole? 
 Glossmore, present me to Smooth. 
 
 Gloss. What! the gambler — the fellow who lives by his wits? 
 
 Stout. Why, his wits seem to be an uncommonly productive 
 capital. I’ll introduce myself. How d’ye do, Captain Smooth? We 
 have met at the club, I think. I am charmed to make your ac¬ 
 quaintance in private. I say, sir, what do you think of the affairs of 
 the nation? Bad; very bad! No enlightenment—great fall off in the 
 revenue ; —no knowledge of finance. There’s only one man who can 
 save the country — and that’s Popxins! 
 
 Smooth. Is he in Parliament, Mr. Stout? What’s your Christian 
 name, by-the-bye? 
 
 Stout. Benjamin — no. Constituencies are so ignorant, they 
 don’t understand his value. He’s no orator; in fact, he stammers so 
 much — but devilish profound. Could not we ensure him for Grog¬ 
 inhole? 
 
MONEY. 
 
 41 
 
 Smooth. My dear Benjamin, it’s a thing to be thought on. 
 
 Eye. {Advancing.) My friends, I wish to consult 3 7 ou. This day 
 twelvemonth I succeeded to an immense income, and as, by a happy 
 coincidence, on the same day I secured } r our esteem, so now I wish 
 to ask you if you think I could have spent that income in a way 
 more worthy of your good opinion? 
 
 Gloss. Impossible! excellent taste—beautiful house. 
 
 Blount. Yewy good horses {aside to Glossmore) especially the 
 gwey cab. 
 
 Lady F. Splendid pictures. 
 
 Graves. And a magnificent cook, ma’am. 
 
 SmOoth. {Thrusting his hands in his 'pockets.) It’s my opinion, 
 Alfred—and I’m a judge—that you could not have spent your money 
 
 better. 
 
 Omnes. {Except Sir John.) Very true. 
 
 Eve. What say you, Sir John? 
 
 Sir J. Certainly—certainly. No, you could not have done better. 
 {Aside.) I don’t know what to make of it. 
 
 Geo. Certainly. {Coaxingly.) Don’t retrench, my dear Alfred. 
 
 Gloss. Retrench! nothing so plebeian. It is against all the rules 
 of public morality. Every one knows now-a-days that extravagance 
 is a benefit to the population, encourages art, employs labor, and 
 multiplies spinning-jennies. 
 
 Eve. You reassure me. I own I did think that a man worthy of 
 friends so sincere might have done something better than feast — 
 dress—drink—play— 
 
 Gloss. Nonsense! we like you the better for it. {Aside.) I wish 
 I had my GOOZ. back, though. 
 
 Eve. And you are as much my friends now as when you offered 
 me 10£. for my old nurse. 
 
 Sir J. A thousand times more so, my dear boy. (Omnes approve.) 
 
 Enter Sharp It. 
 
 Smooth. But who’s our new friend? 
 
 Eve. Who? The very man who first announced to me the wealth 
 which you allow I have spent so well. ' But what’s the matter, 
 Sharp? (SnARP tohispering Evelyn.) 
 
 Eve. {Aloud.) The bank’s broke/ 
 
 Sir J. Broke! what bank? 
 
 Eve. Flash, Brisk & Co. 
 
 Gloss. ( To Smooth. ) And Flash was your brother-in-law. I’m 
 very sorry. 
 
 Smooth. {Taking snuff.) Not at all, Charles; I did not bank 
 
 there. 
 
 Sir J. But I warned you. You withdrew? 
 
 Eve. Alas! no! . 
 
 Sir J. Oh! not much in their hands? 
 
 Eve. Why, I told you the purchase money for Groginhole was at 
 my banker’s. But no, no; don’t look so frightened. It was not 
 placed with Flash; it is at Hoare’s; it is indeed . Nay, I assure you 
 it is. A mere trifle at Flash’s—upon my word, now. To-morrow, 
 
42 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Sharp, we’ll talk of this. One day more—one day at least for en¬ 
 joyment. 
 
 Snt J. Oh! a pretty enjoyment. 
 
 Blount. And he borrowed 700?. of me. 
 
 Gloss. And 600?. of me. 
 
 Sir J. And 500?. of me. 
 
 Stout. Oh, a regular Jeremy Diddler. I say, you have placed 
 your daughter in a very unsafe investment. Transfer the stock in 
 hand to t’other speculation. 
 
 Sir J. ( Going to Georgina.) Ha! I’m afraid we’ve been very 
 rude to Sir Frederick. A monstrous fine young man. 
 
 Enter Tore R. 
 
 Tore. (To Evelyn.) Sir, I beg your pardon, but Mr. Macfinch 
 insists on my giving up this letter instantly. 
 
 Eye. (Reading.) How! Sir John, this fellow, Macfinch, has 
 heard of my misfortunes and insists on being paid; a lawyer’s letter 
 — quite insolent. 
 
 Tore. And, sir, Mr. Tabouret is below, and declares he won’t 
 stir till he’s paid. (Exit R.) 
 
 Eve. Won’t stir till he’s paid. What’s to be done, Sir John? 
 Smooth, what is to be done? 
 
 Smooth. If he won’t stir till lie’s paid, make him up a bed, and 
 I’ll take him in the inventory as one of the fixtures, Alfred. 
 
 Eve. It is very well for you to joke, Mr. Smooth, but— 
 
 Enter Servant and Officer, giving a paper to Evelyn and whispering. 
 
 Eve. What’s this? Frantz, the tailor. Why, you impudent 
 scoundrel! Faith, this is more than I bargained for. Sir John, I’m 
 arrested. (Enter Servant R.) 
 
 Stout. (Slapping Sir John on the back with glee.) He’s arrested, 
 old gentleman; but I didn’t lend him a farthing. 
 
 Eve. And for a mere song—150?. Sir John, pay this fellow, will 
 you? or bail me, or something, while we go to dinner. 
 
 Sir J. Pay — bail — I’ll be d—d if I do! Oh, my 500?.—my 500?.! 
 Mr. Alfred Evelyn, I want my 500?.! 
 
 Graves. I’m going to do a very silly thing. I shall lose both my 
 friend and my money. Just like my luck. Evelyn, go to dinner; 
 I’ll settle this for you. 
 
 Lady F. I love you for that. 
 
 Graves. Do you? Then I am the happiest—ah! ma’am, I don’t 
 know what I am saying. ■ (Exeunt Graves and Officer R.) 
 
 Eve. (To Georgina.) Don’t go by these appearances. I repeat, 
 10,000?. will more than cover my embarrassments. I shall hear from 
 you to-morrow? 
 
 Geo. Yes — yes. (Going up R.) 
 
 Eve. But you’re not going? You, too, Glossmore?— 3 r ou, Blount? 
 —you, Stout? — you, Smooth? 
 
 Smooth. No; I’ll stick by you — as long as you’ve a guinea to 
 stake. 
 
MONEY. 
 
 43 
 
 Stout. Don't stop me, sir. No man of common enlightenment 
 would have squandered his substance in this way. Pictures and 
 statues!—baugh! 
 
 Eye. Why, you all said I could not spend my money better. Ha! 
 ha! ha! the absurdest mistake! You don’t fancy I’m going to prison? 
 Ha! ha! Why don’t you laugh, Sir John? Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Sir J. Sir, this is horrible levity! Take Sir Frederick’s arm, my 
 poor, injured, innocent child. Mr. Evelyn, after this extraordinary 
 scene, you can’t be surprised that I — I —zounds! Pm suffocating! 
 
 Smooth. But, my dear John, they’ve no right to arrest the 
 dinner. 
 
 Enter Toke C. 
 
 Toke. Dinner is served. 
 
 Gloss. {Pausing.) Dinner. 
 
 Stout. Dinner; it’s a very good smell. 
 
 Eve. {To Sir John.) Turtle and venison, too. (7 1 'hey stop irreso¬ 
 lute.) That’s right; come along. But, 1 say, Blount—Stout—Gloss- 
 more—Sir John—one word first. Will you lend me 10£. for my old 
 nurse? {Exeunt Omnes indignantly R.) 
 
 Smooth and Eve. Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 End of Act IV. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene 1. —* * * 's Club. 
 
 Smooth and Glossmore discovered. 
 
 Gloss. Will his horses be sold, think you? 
 
 Smooth. Very possibly, Charles. A fine stud—hum, ha! Waiter, 
 a glass of sherry. 
 
 Enter Waiter C. with sherry. 
 
 Gloss. They say he must go abroad. 
 
 Smooth. Well, it’s the best time of year for traveling, Charles. 
 
 Gloss. We are all to be paid to-day, and that looks suspicious. 
 
 Smooth. Very suspicious, Charles. Hum! ah! 
 
 Gloss. My dear fellow, you must know the rights of the matter. 
 I wish you’d speak out. What have ymu really won. Is the house 
 itself gone? 
 
 Smooth. The house itself is certainly not gone, Charles, for I 
 saw it exactly in the same place this morning at half past ten. It 
 has not moved an inch. {Waiter gives a letter to Glossmore.) 
 
 Gloss. {Reading.) From Groginhole—an express. What’s this? 
 I’m amazed! {Reading.) “They’ve actually at the eleventh hour 
 started Mr. Evelyn, and nobody knows what his politics are. We 
 shall be beat! —the constitution is gone!—Cipher!” Oh! this is in¬ 
 famous in Evelyn! Gets into Parliament just to keep himself out of 
 the Bench! 
 
 Smooth. He’s capable of it. 
 
 ' Gloss. Not a doubt of it, sir! not a doubt of it! 
 
44 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Enter Sir John and Blount C. talking. 
 
 Sir J. My dear boy, I’m not flint; I’m but a man. If Georgina 
 really loves you—and I am sure that she does —I will never think of 
 sacrificing her happiness to ambition. She is yours; I told her so 
 this very morning. 
 
 Blount. ('Aside.) The old humbug. 
 
 SirJ. She’s the best of daughters, the most obedient, artless 
 creature. Dine with me at seven and we’ll talk of the settlements. 
 
 Enter Stout C. wiping his forehead and taking Sir John aside. 
 
 Stout. Sir John, we’ve been played upon. My secretary is 
 brother to Flash’s head clerk. Evelyn had not 30(F. in the bank. 
 
 Sir J. Bless us and save us—you take away my breath! But then 
 —Deadly Smooth—the arrest—the—oh, he must be done up! 
 
 Stout. As to Smooth, he’d “do anything to oblige.” All a trick, 
 depend on it. Smooth has already deceived me, for before the day’s 
 over Evelyn will be member for Groginhole. 
 
 Sir J. But what could be Evelyn’s object\? 
 
 Stout. Object! Do you look for an object in a whimsical creature 
 like that? A man who has not even any political opinions! Object! 
 Perhaps to break off his match with your daughter. Take care, Sir 
 John, or the borough will be lost to your family. 
 
 Sir J. Aha! I begin to smell a rat; but it’s not too late yet. 
 
 Stout. My interest in Popkins made me run to Lord Spendquick, 
 the late proprietor of Groginhole. I told him that Evelyn could not 
 pay him the rest of the money, and he told me that— 
 
 Silt J. What? 
 
 Stout. Mr. Sharp had just paid it him! There’s no hope for 
 Popkins. England will rue this day! (Goes up stage.) 
 
 SirJ. Georgina shall lend him the money! /VHend him—every 
 man in the house shall lend him—I feel again what it is to be a 
 father-in-law. Sir Frederick, excuse me—you can’t dine with me 
 to-day. And, on second thoughts, I see that it would be very un¬ 
 handsome to desert poor Evelyn now he’s down in the world. Can’t 
 think of it, my dear boy—can’t think of it. Yery much honored, 
 and happy to see you as a friend. Waiter! my carriage. Um! 
 What! humbug Stingy Jack , will they? Ah! a, good joke indeed! 
 (Exit C.) 
 
 Blount. Mr. Stout, what have you been saying to Sir John? 
 Something against my character—I know you have; don’t deny it. 
 Sir, I shall expect satisfaction. 
 
 Stout. Satisfaction, Sir Frederick? As if a man of enlightenment 
 had any satisfaction in fighting. Did not mention your name; we 
 were talking of Evelyn. Only think; he’s no more ruined than you 
 ^are. 
 
 Bi.ount. Not wuined? Aha, now I understand! So, so! Stay, let 
 me see—she’s to meet me in the square. (Pulls out his watch , a very 
 small one.) 
 
 Stout. (Pulling out his own, a very large one.) I must be off to s 
 the vestry. 
 
MONEY. 
 
 45 
 
 Blount. Just in time—ten thousand pounds! Gad, m 3 7 blood’s 
 up, and I won’t be tweated in this way, if he were fifty times Stingy 
 Jack! {Exit G.) 
 
 Scene II.— The drawing-rooms in Sir John Yesey’s house. 
 
 Enter Lady Franklin and Graves 11. 
 
 Graves. Well, well, I am certain that poor Evelyn loves Clara 
 still; but you can’t persuade me that she cares for him. 
 
 Lady F. She has been breaking her heart ever since she heard of 
 his distress. Na} 7 , I am sure she would give all she has could it save 
 him from the consequences of his own folly. 
 
 Graves. {Half aside.) She would give him his own money, if she 
 did. I should like just to sound her. 
 
 Lady F. {Ringing the bell.) And 3 7 ou shall. 
 
 Enter Servant R. 
 
 Where are the 3 r oung ladies? 
 
 Serv. Miss Yesey is, I believe, still in the square; Miss Douglas is 
 just come in, m 3 7 lady. 
 
 Lady F. What,* did not she go out with Miss Yesey? 
 
 Serv. No, my lady; I attended her to Drummond’s, the bankers. 
 (Exit R.) 
 
 Lady F. Drummond’s? 
 
 Enter Clara li. 
 
 Why, child, what on earth could take you to Drummond’s at this 
 hour of the day? 
 
 Clara. {Confused.) Oh, I—that is—I—ah, Mr. Graves. How is 
 Mr. Evelyn? How does he bear up against so sudden a reverse? 
 
 Graves. With an awful calm. I fear all is not right here. 
 {Touching his head.) The report in tjie town is, that he must go 
 abroad instantty—perhaps to-day. {Crosses to C.) 
 
 Clara. Abroad! To-day! 
 
 Graves. But all his creditors will be paid, and he onh r seems 
 anxious to know if Miss Yesey remains true in his misfortunes. 
 
 Clara. Ah! he loves her so much, then. 
 
 Graves. Um! that’s more than I can say. 
 
 Clara. She told me last night that he said to the last that 10,000/. 
 would free him from all liabilities—that was the sum, was it not? 
 
 Graves. Yes; he persists in the same assertion. Will Miss Yesey 
 
 lend it? 
 
 Lady F. {Aside.) If she does I shall not think so well of her poor 
 dear mother; for I’m sure she’d be no child of Sir John’s. 
 
 Graves. I should like to convince myself that my poor friend has 
 nothing to hope from a woman’s generosity. 
 
 Lady F. Civil! And are men, then, less covetous? 
 
 Graves. I know one man, at least, who, rejected in his poverty 
 by one as poor as himself, no sooner came into sudden fortune than he 
 made his law 3 7 er invent a codicil which the testator never dreamt of, 
 bequeathing indepedence to the woman who had scorned him. 
 
46 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 LadyF. And never told her? 
 
 Graves. Never! There is no such document at Doctors’ Com¬ 
 mons, depend on it. You seem incredulous, Miss Clara. Good-day. 
 (Crosses R.) 
 
 Clara. (Following him.) One word, for mercy’s sake? Do I un¬ 
 derstand you right? Ah, how could I be so blind? Generous Evelyn! 
 
 Graves. You appreciate, and Georgina will desert him. Miss 
 Douglas, he loves you still. If that’s not just like me! meddling 
 with other people’s affairs, as if they were worth it—hang them! 
 (Exit R.) 
 
 Clara. Georgina will desert him. Do you think so? 
 
 LadyF. She told me last night that she would never see him 
 again. To do her justice, she’s less interested than her father, and 
 as much attached as she can be to another. Even while engaged to 
 Evelyn she has met Sir Frederick every day in the square. 
 
 Clara. And he is alone—sad—forsaken— ruined. And I, whom 
 he enriched—I, the creature of his bounty— I, once the woman of his 
 love— I stand idly here to content myself with tears and prayers! 
 Oh, Lady Franklin, have pity on me—on him! We are both of kin 
 to him; as relations we have both a right to comfort. Let us go to 
 him —come. 
 
 Lady F. No; it would scarcely be right. Remember the world 
 —I cannot. 
 
 Clara. All abandon him. Then I will go alone. 
 
 Lady F. But if Georgina do indeed release him — if she has already 
 done so—what will he think? What but— 
 
 Clara. What but—that, if he love me still, I may have enough 
 for both, and I am by his side. But that is too bright a dream. He 
 told me I might call him brother. Where, now, should a sister be? 
 But —but—I—I—I tremble! If, after all— if — if—in one word—am I 
 too bold? The world—my conscience can answer that —but do you 
 think that he could despise me? 
 
 Lady F. No, Clara, no? Your fair soul is too transparent for even 
 libertines to misconstrue. Something tells me that this meeting 
 may make the happiness of both. You cannot go alone. My pres¬ 
 ence justifies all. Give me your hand. We will go together. 
 (Exit R.) 
 
 Scene III. — A room in Evelyn’s house. 
 
 Enter Evelyn R. 
 
 Eve. Yes; as yet, all surpasses my expectations. I am sure of 
 Smooth— I have managed even Sharp. My election will seem but an 
 escape from a prison. Ha! ha! True, it cannot last long; but a few 
 hours more are all I require. 
 
 Enter Graves R. 
 
 Well, Graves, what do the people say of me? 
 
 Graves. Everything that’s bad. 
 
 Eve. Three days ago I was universally respected. 1 awake this 
 
MONEY. 
 
 47 
 
 morning to find myself singularly infamous. Yet I am the same 
 
 man. 
 
 Graves. Humph! why gambling— 
 
 Eve. Can! It was not criminal to gamble: it was criminal to lose. 
 Tut! Will you deny that, if I had ruined Smooth instead of myself, 
 every hand would have grasped mine yet more cordially, and every 
 lip would have smiled congratulations on my success? Man—man! 
 I’ve not been rich and poor for nothing. The vices and the virtues 
 are written in a language the world cannot construe, it reads them 
 in a vile translation, and the translators are failure and success! 
 You alone are unchanged. 
 
 Graves. There’s no merit in that. I am always ready to mingle 
 my tears with any man. (Aside.) 1 know I’m a fool, but I can’t 
 help it. Hark .ye, Evelyn! I like you. I’m rich, and anything I can 
 do to get you out of your hobble will give me an excuse to grumble 
 •for the rest of my life. There, now it’s out. 
 
 Eve. (Touched.) There’s something good in human nature after 
 all. My dear friend, did I want your aid I would accept it, but I 
 can extricate myself yet. Do you think Georgina will give me the 
 same proof of confidence and affection? 
 
 Graves. Would you break your heart if she did not? 
 
 Eve. It is in vain to deny that I still love Clara. 
 
 Graves. What do you intend to do? 
 
 Eve. This: If Georgina still adheres to my fortunes, if she can 
 face the prospect, not of ruin and poverty, for reports wrong me 
 there, but of a moderate independence; if, in one word, she loves me 
 for myself, J will shut Clara forever from my thought. I am pledged 
 to Georgina, and I will carry to the altar a soul resolute to deserve 
 her affection and fulfill its vows. 
 
 Graves. And if she reject you? 
 
 Eve. (Joyfully.) If she do, I am free once more. And then— 
 then I will dare to ask, for I can ask without dishonor, if Clara can 
 explain the past and bless the future. 
 
 Enter Servant II. icith a letter. 
 
 Eve. (Crosses to meet him , after reading it.) The die is cast—the 
 dream is over. Generous girl! Oh, Georgina, I will deserve you yet. 
 
 Graves. Georgina—is it possible? 
 
 Eve. And the delicacy, the womanhood, the exquisite grace of 
 this. How we misjudge the depth of the human heart! I imagined 
 her incapable of this devotion. 
 
 Graves. And I too. 
 
 Eve. It were base in me to continue this trial a moment longer. 
 I will write at once to undeceive that generous heart. (Writing.) 
 
 Graves. I would have given 1,000£. if that little jade Clara had 
 been beforehand. But just like my luck; if I want a man to marry 
 one woman, he’s sure to marry another on purpose to vex me. 
 (Evelyn rings bell.) 
 
 Enter Servant R. 
 
 Eve. Take this instantly to Miss Vesey. Say I will call in an 
 hour. (Exit Servant.) Why does my heart sink within me? Why, 
 
48 
 
 / 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 why, looking to the fate to come, do 1 see only the memory of what 
 has been ? 
 
 Graves. You are re-engaged, then, to Georgina? 
 
 Eve. Irrevocably. 
 
 Enter Servant 11. announcing Lady Franklin and Miss Douglas. 
 
 Lady F. My dear Evelyn, you may think it strange to receive 
 such visitors at this moment; but, indeed, it is no time for cere¬ 
 mony. We are your relations. It is reported you are about to leave 
 the country. We come to ask frankly what we can do to serve you? 
 
 Eve. Madam—I— 
 
 Lady F. Come, come; do not hesitate to confide in us. Clara is 
 less a stranger to you than I am. Your friend here will perhaps let 
 me consult with him. ( Crosses and speaks aside to Graves.) Let us 
 leave them to themselves. 
 
 Graves. You’re an angel of a widow, but you come too late, as 
 whatever is good for anything generally does. (Goes up with Lady 
 Franklin.) 
 
 Eve. Miss Douglas, I may well want words to thank you. This 
 goodness—this sympathy— 
 
 Clara. (Abandoning herself to her emotion .) Evelyn! Evelyn! Do 
 not talk thus,' Goodness! sympathy! I have learned all — all! It is for 
 me to speak of gratitude. To you—you I owe all that has raised the 
 poor orphan from servitude and dependence. While your words 
 were so bitter, your deeds so gentle. Oh, noble Evelyn, this, then, 
 was your revenge! 
 
 Eve. You owe me no thanks. That revenge was sweet. Think 
 you it was nothing to feel that my presence haunted you, though 
 you knew it not? Even if separated forever—even if another’s—even 
 in distant years—perhaps in a happy home, listening to sweet voices 
 that might call you “mother”—even then should the uses of that 
 dross bring to your lips one smile—that smile was mine—due to me 
 —due, as a sacred debt to the hand that you rejected—to the love 
 that you despised. 
 
 Clara. Despised! See the proof that I despised you. See, in this 
 hour, when they say you are again as poor as before, I forget the 
 world, my pride—perhaps too much my sex. I remember but your 
 sorrow—I am here. 
 
 Eve. And is this the same voice that, when I knelt at your feet, 
 and asked but one day the hope to call you mine, spoke only of pov¬ 
 erty, and answered, “Never!" 
 
 Clara. Because 1 had been unworthy of your love if I had en¬ 
 sured your misery. Evelyn, hear me. My father, like you, was 
 poor—generous; gifted, like you, with genius, ambition; sensitive, 
 like you, to the least breath of insult. He married, as you would 
 have done—married one whose only dowry was penury and care. 
 Alfred, I saw that genius the curse to itself; I saw that ambition 
 wither to despair; I saw the struggle—the humiliation—the proud 
 man’s agony—the bitter life—the early death—and heard over his 
 breathless clay my mother’s groan of self-reproach. Alfred Evelyn, 
 now speak. Was the woman you loved so nobly to repay you with 
 such a doom ? 
 
 I 
 
MONEY. 
 
 49 
 
 Eve. Clara, wo should have shared it. 
 
 Clara. Shared? Never let the woman who really loves comfort 
 her selfishness with such delusion. In marriages like this the wife 
 cannot share the burden. It is he—the husband — to provide, to 
 scheme, to work, to endure, to grind out his strong heart at the mis¬ 
 erable wheel. The wife, also, cannot share the struggle. She can 
 but witness despair. And therefore, Alfred, I rejected you. 
 
 Eve. Yet you.believe me as poor now as I was then. 
 
 Clara. But /am not poor —roe are not so poor. Of this fortune, 
 which is all your own—if, as I hear, one-half would free you from 
 your debts, why, roe have the other half still left , Evelyn. It is 
 humble, but it is not penury. 
 
 Eve. Cease, cease; you know not how you torture me. Oh, why 
 were such blessed words not vouchsafed to me before? Why, why 
 come they now—too late? Oh, heaven, too late! 
 
 Clara. Too late! What, then, have I said? 
 
 Eve. I am bound by every tie of faith, gratitude, loyalty and 
 honor to another. 
 
 Clara. Another! Is she, then, true to your reverses? I did not 
 know this; indeed I did not. And I have thus betrayed myself. Oh, 
 shame! he must despise me now. ( Goes vp.) 
 
 Enter Sir John; at the same time Graves and Lady Franklin 
 
 come dozen. 
 
 Sir J. (With dignity and frankness .) Evelyn, I was hasty yester¬ 
 day. You must own it natural that I should be so. But Georgina 
 has been so urgent in your defence that—that I cannot resist her. 
 What’s money without happiness? So give me your security; for she 
 insists on lending you the 10,000?. 
 
 Eve. I know, and have already received it. 
 
 Sir J. (R-) Already received it! Is he joking? Faith, for the last 
 two days I believe I have been living among the Mysteries of Udol- 
 pho. Sister, have you seen Georgina? 
 
 Lady F. (R.) Not since she went to walk out in the square. 
 
 SirJ. (Aside.) - She’s notin the square nor the house. Where 
 the deuce can the girl be? 
 
 Eve. I have written to Miss Vesey. I have asked her to fix the 
 day for our wedding. 
 
 SirJ. (Joyfully.) Have you? Go, Lady Franklin; find her in¬ 
 stantly. She must be back by this time. Take my carriage; it is 
 but a step; you won’t be two minutes gone. (Aside.) I’d go myself, 
 but I’m afraid of leaving him in a moment while he’s in such excel¬ 
 lent disposition. 
 
 Lady F. (Rejnilsing Clara.) No, no; stay till I return. ( Exit R.) 
 
 Sir J. And don’t be down-hearted, my dear fellow. If the worst 
 comes to the worst, you will have everything 1 can leave you. 
 Meantime, if I can in any way help you— 
 
 Eve. Ha! you— you, too? Sir John, you have seen my letter to 
 Miss Yesey (aside)-, or could she have learned the truth before she 
 ventured to be generous? 
 
 SirJ. No. on my honor. (Shouts without. “ Hurrah! hurrah! 
 Blue forever.") What’s that? 
 
5 <=> 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 Enter Shake 11. 
 
 Sharp. Sir, a deputation from Groginhole—poll closed in the first 
 hour—you are returned. Hollow, sir—hollow. 
 
 Eye. And it was to please Clara. 
 
 Sir J. Mr. Sharp—Mr. Sharp—Isay, how much has Mr. Evelyn 
 lost by Messrs. Flash & Co. ? 
 
 Sharp. Oh, a great deal sir—a great deal. 
 
 Sir J. (Alarmed.) How! A great deal! 
 
 Eve. Speak the truth, Sharp, concealment is all over. 
 
 Sharp. 223Z. 6s. 3 d .—a great sum to throw away. 
 
 Sir J. Eh! what, my dear boy ? what? Ha! ha! all humbug, was 
 it? All humbug, upon my soul! So, Mr. Sharp, isn’t he ruined, after 
 all? Not the least, wee, rascally, little bit in the world, ruined? 
 
 Sharp. Sir, he has never lived up to his income. 
 
 Sir J. Worthy man! I could jump up to the ceiling! I am the 
 happiest father-in-law in the three kingdoms. (Knocking II.) And 
 that’s my sister’s knock, too. 
 
 Clara. Since 1 was mistaken, cousin; since, now, you do not 
 need me, forget what has passed. My business here is over. 
 Farewell! 
 
 Eve. Could you but see my heart at this moment, with what 
 love, what veneration, what anguish it is filled! And must we part 
 now— now, when—when— 
 
 Enter Lady Franklin and Georgina, followed by Blount, who looks 
 
 shy and embarrassed. 
 
 Graves. Georgina herself—then there’s no hope! 
 
 Sir J. What the deuce brings that fellow Blount here? Georgy, 
 my dear Georgy, I want to— 
 
 Eve. Stand back. Sir John. 
 
 Sir J. But I must speak a word to her. I want to— 
 
 Eve. Stand back, I say. Not a whisper, nor a sign. If your 
 daughter is to be my wife, to her heart only-will I look for a reply 
 
 to mine. 
 
 Lady F. (To Georgina.) Speak the truth, niece. 
 
 Eve. Georgina, it is true, then, that you trust me with your con¬ 
 fidence—your fortune? Is it also true that, when you did so, you be¬ 
 lieved me ruined? Answer as if your father stood not there—answer 
 as the woman’s heart, yet virgin and unpolluted, should answer, to 
 one who has trusted to it his all. 
 
 Geo. What can he mean? 
 
 Sir J. (Making signs.) She won’t look this way, she won’t! hang 
 her! Hem! 
 
 Eve. You falter. I implore—I adjure you, answer! 
 
 Lady F. The truth! 
 
 Eve. Mr. Evelyn, your fortune might well dazzle me, as it 
 dazzled others. Believe me, 1 sincerely pity your reverses. 
 
 Sir J. Good girl. You hear her, Evelyn? 
 
 Geo. What’s money without happiness? 
 
 Sir J. Clever creature! My own sentiments! 
 
MONEY. 
 
 51 
 
 Geo. And, so as our engagement is now annulled—papa told me 
 so this very morning—I have promised my hand where I have given 
 my heart—to Sir Frederick Blount. 
 
 Sir J. I told you—I? No such thing—no such thing! You frighten 
 her out of her wits. She don’t know what she’s saying. 
 
 Eve. Am I awake? But this letter—this letter, received to-day— 
 
 Lady F. {Looking over the letter.) Drummond’s! From a banker! 
 
 Eve. Read—read. 
 
 Lady F. “Ten thousand pounds placed to your account, from the 
 same unknown friend to Alfred Evelyn.” Oh, Clara, I know now 
 whv vou went to Drummond's this morning! 
 
 Eve. Clara! what! And the former one with the same signature 
 —on the faith of which I pledged my hand and sacrificed my 
 heart— 
 
 Lady F. Was written under my eyes, and the secret kept that— 
 
 Eve. Look up, look up, Clara! 1 am free! I am released! You for¬ 
 give me? Y r ou love me? You are mine! We are rich—rich! I can 
 give you fortune, power; I can devote to you my whole life, thought, 
 heart, soul. I am all yours, Clara—my own, my wife! 
 
 Sir J. A pretty mess you’ve made of it, to humbug your own 
 father! And you, too, Lady Franklin; I am to thank you for this! 
 
 Lady F. You’ve to thank me that she’s not now on the road to 
 Scotland with Sir Frederick. I chanced on them by the park just 
 in time to dissuade and save her. But to do her justice, a hint of 
 your displeasure was sufficient. 
 
 Geo. ( Half sobbing.) And you know, papa, you said this very 
 morning that poor Frederick had been very ill used, and you would 
 
 settle it all at the club. 
 
 Blount. Come, Sir John, you can only blame yourself and Eve¬ 
 lyn’s cunning device. After all, I am no such vewy bad match; 
 and as for the 10,000^.— 
 
 Eve. I’ll double it. Ah, Sir John, what’s money without hap¬ 
 piness? 
 
 Sir J. Pshaw—nonsense—stuff! Don’t humbug me. 
 
 Lady F, But if you don’t consent, she’ll have no husband at all. 
 
 Sir J. Hum! there’s something in that. ( Aside to Evelyn.) 
 Double it, will you? Then settle it all tightly on her. Well, well, 
 my foible is not avarice. Blount, make her happy. Child, I for¬ 
 give you. {Pinching her arm.) Ugh, you fool! (Blount and Geor¬ 
 gina go up.) 
 
 Graves. {To Lady Franklin.) I’m afraid it’s catching. What 
 say you? I feel the symptoms of matrimony creeping all over me. 
 Shall we—eh? Frankly, now, frankly— 
 
 Lady F. Frankly, now, there’s my hand. 
 
 Graves. Accepted! Is it possible? Sainted Maria! Thank heaven 
 you are spared this affliction. 
 
 Enter Smooth II. 
 
 Smooth. How d’ye do, Alfred? I intrude, I fear. Quite a family 
 
 party. 
 
 Blount. Wish us joy, Smooth. Georgina’s mine, and— 
 
5 2 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 
 Smooth. And our four friends there apparently have made up 
 another rubber. John, my dear boy, you look as if you had some¬ 
 thing at stake on the odd trick. 
 
 Sir J. Sir, you’re very-confound the fellow! and he’s a dead 
 shot, too! 
 
 Enter Stout and Glossmoke hastily , talking with each.other. 
 
 Stout. I’m sure he’s of our side. We’ve all the intelligence. 
 
 Gloss. I'm sure he’s of ours if his fortune is safe, for we’ve all 
 the property. 
 
 Stout. Just heard of your return, Evelyn. Congratulate you. 
 The great motion of the session is fixed for Friday. We count on 
 your vote. Progress with the times. 
 
 Gloss. Preserve the constitution!. 
 
 Stout. Your money will do wonders for the party. Advance 
 
 Gloss. The party respects men of your property. Stick fast. 
 
 Eve. I have the greatest respect, I assure you, for the worthy 
 and intelligent flies upon both sides the wheel; but whether we go 
 too fast or too slow does not, I fancy, depend so much on the flies as 
 on the Stout Gentleman who sits inside and pays the postboys. 
 
 Smooth. Meaning John Bull. Ce Cher old John. 
 
 Eve. Smooth, we have yet to settle our first piquet account, and 
 our last. And I sincere!}’ thank you for the service you have ren¬ 
 dered to me, and the lesson you have given these gentlemen. ( Turn¬ 
 ing to Clara.) Ah, Clara, you—you have succeeded where wealth 
 had failed. You have reconciled me to the world and to mankind. 
 My friends, we must confess it, amidst the humors and the follies, 
 the vanities, deceits and vices that play their part in the great com¬ 
 edy of life, it is our own fault if we do not find such natures, though 
 rare and few, as redeem the rest, brightening the shadows that are 
 flung from the form and body of the time with glimpses of the ever¬ 
 lasting holiness of truth and love. 
 
 Graves. But for the truth and the love, when found, to make us 
 tolerably happy, we should not be without— 
 
 Lady F. Good health. 
 
 Graves. Good spirits. 
 
 Clara. A good heart. 
 
 Smooth. An innocent rubber. 
 
 Geo. Congenial tempers. 
 
 Blount. A pwoper degwee of pwudence. 
 
 Stout. Enlightened opinions. 
 
 Gloss. Constitutional principles. 
 
 Sir J. A little humbug. 
 
 Eve. And—plenty of money. 
 
 The End. 
 
 Disposition of the Characters at the fall of the Curtain . 
 
 Stout. Smooth. Sir John. Lady F. Graves, 
 Blount. Georgina. Evelyn. Clara. L. 
 
 Gloss. 
 
 11 . 
 
 Curtain . 
 
DENISON’S ACTING PLAYS. 
 
 Price 15 Cents Each, Postpaid, Unless Different Price is Given. 
 
 FARCES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Mi F. 
 
 In the Wrong House, 20 min... 4 2 
 Irish Linen Peddler, 40 min... 3 3 
 
 Is the Editor in? 20 min. 4 2 
 
 John Smith, 30 min. 5 3 
 
 Just My Luck, 20 min. 4 3 
 
 Kansas Immigrants, 20 min... 5 1 
 
 Kiss in the Dark, 30 min. 2 3 
 
 Larkins’ Love Letters, 50 min. 3 2 
 
 Limerick Boy, 30 min..'. 5 2 
 
 Love and Rain,, sketch, 20 m... 1 1 
 
 Lucky Sixpence, 30 min. 4 2 
 
 Lucy’s Old Man, sketch, 15 m. 2 3 
 
 Mike Donovan, 15 min. 1 3 
 
 Misses Beers, 25 min. 3 3 
 
 Mistake in Identity, sketch, 15 
 
 min. 0 2 
 
 Model of a Wife, 25 min. 3 2 
 
 Movement Cure, 15 min. 5 0 
 
 Mrs. Gamp’s Tea, sketch, 15 m. 0 2 
 
 My Jeremiah, 20 min. 3 2 
 
 My Lord in Livery, 45 min.... 4 3 
 My Neighbor’s Wife, 45 min... 3 3 
 
 My Turn Next, 50 min. 4 3 
 
 Narrow Escape, sketch, 15 m.. 0 2 
 
 Not at Home, 15 min. 2 0 
 
 On Guard, 25 min.. 4 2 
 
 Persecuted Dutchman, 35 min. 0 3 
 
 Pets of Society, 30 min. 0 7 
 
 Played and Lost, sketch, 15 m. 3 2 
 
 Pull Back, 20 min. 0 6 
 
 Quiet Family, 45 min. 4 4 
 
 Realm ot' Time, musical al¬ 
 legory, 30 min. 8 15 
 
 Regular Fix, 50 min . 6 4 
 
 Rough Diamond, 40 min. 4 3 
 
 Row in Kitchen and Politician’s 
 
 Breakfast, 2 monologues... 1 1 
 
 Silent Woman, 25 min. 2 1 
 
 Slasher and Crasher, 1 h.15 m. 5 2 
 Squeers* School, sketch, 18 m.. 4 2 
 
 Taming a Tiger, 20 min.. 3 0 
 
 That Rascal Pat, 35 min. 3 2 
 
 Too Much of a Good Thing, 50 
 
 min. 3 0 
 
 Turn Him Out, 50 min. 3 3 
 
 Twenty Minutes Under Um¬ 
 brella, sketch, 20 min_1 1 
 
 Two Bonnycastles,45 min. ... 3 3 
 
 T wo Gay Dece i vers, 25 m i n.... 3 0 
 Two Gents in a Fix, 20 min. .. 2 0 
 Two Ghosts in White, 25 min. 0 8 
 
 Two Puddifoots, 40 min. 3 3 
 
 Uncle Dick's Mistake, 20 min . 3 2 
 Very Pleasant Evening, 30 m . 3 0 
 Wanted a Correspondent, 1 hr. 4 4 
 Which Will He Marry? 30 m.. 2 8 
 
 White Caps (The), musical, 30 
 
 min . 0 8 
 
 Who Told The Lie? 30 min... 5 3 
 Wide Enough for Two, 50 min. 5 2 
 Women of Lowenburg, histori¬ 
 cal sketch, 5 scenes, 50 m.. 10 10 
 Woman Hater (The), 30 min.. 2 1 
 
 \ T. S, DENISON, Publisher, 
 
 M. F. 
 
 Wonderful Letter. 25 min. 4 1 
 
 Wooing Under Difficulties, 35 
 
 min. 4 3 
 
 Yankee Peddler, 1 hr. 7 3 
 
 ETHIOPIAN FARCES. 
 
 Academy of Stars. 15 min. 5 1 
 
 All Expenses: Or, Nobody’s 
 
 Son, 10 min. 2 0 
 
 Baby Coach Parade, 20 min.. 4 2 
 Back from Californy; Or, Old 
 
 Clothes, 12 min .*. 3 0 
 
 Deaf, I 11 a Horn, 12 min. 2 0 
 
 Hamlet the Dainty, 15 min_ 0 1 
 
 Handy Andy, 12 min. 2 0 
 
 Haunted House, 8 min. 2 0 
 
 Joke on Squinim (The). 25 m.. 4 2 
 
 Jumbo Jum, 30 min. 4 3 
 
 Mischievous Nigger (The), 20 
 
 min. 4 2 
 
 No Cure, No Pay, 10 min. 3 1 
 
 Othello and Desdemona, 12 m. 2 0 
 Prof. Black’s Funnygraph, 15 
 
 min. 0 0 
 
 Quarrelsome Servants, 8 min.. 3 0 
 
 Rooms to Let, 15 min. 2 1 
 
 Sham Doctor (The), 15 min... 4 2 
 
 Sports on a Lark, 8 min. 3 0 
 
 Stage Struck Darky, 10 min... 2 1 
 Stocks Up, Stocks Down, 8m.. 2 0 
 
 Tricks, 10 min.. 5 2 
 
 Two Pompeys (The), 8*min_ 4 0 
 
 Uncle Jeff, 25 min. 5 2 
 
 Unhappy Pair (An), 10 min. .. 3 0 
 Villikens and His Dinah 20 m. 4 1 
 Wax Works at Play, 30 min... 3 1 
 William Tell, 15 min. 4 0 
 
 
 The publisher believes that lie can 
 say truthfully that Denison’s list of 
 plays is on the whole the best se¬ 
 lected and most successful in the 
 market. New Plays will be added 
 from time to time. 
 
 Manuscripts , not only of plays but 
 of any books similar to those in Den¬ 
 ison’s catalogue, will receive careful 
 attention and if accepted will be 
 paid for at current prices. 
 
 
 I63 Randolph St., Chicago. 
 
Any Play on this List 15 Cts. Postpaid. Catalogue Free.) 
 
 Plays by T. S. DENISON. 
 
 That the plays written by T. S. Deni¬ 
 son are, all things considered, the best 
 for amateurs, is attested by their very 
 large and increasing sale. 
 
 ODDS WITH THE ENEMY. 
 
 A drama in five acts; 7 male and 4 
 female characters. Time, 2 hours. 
 
 SETH GREENBACK. 
 
 A drama in 4 acts; 7 male and 3 fe¬ 
 male Time, 1 h., 15 m. 
 
 IS THE EDITOR IN? 
 
 A farce; 4 male and 2 female; 20 m. 
 
 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 
 
 A drama in 3 acts; 5 male and 2 fe • 
 male. Time, 1 hour, 15 m. 
 
 PETS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 A farce; 7 female. Time, 25 m. 
 
 HARD CIDER. 
 
 A very amusing temperance sketch; < 
 male, 2 female. Time, to m. 
 
 INITIATING A GRANGER. 
 
 A ludicrous farce; 8 male. Time, 25 m. 
 
 WANTED, A CORRESPONDENT. 
 
 A farce in 2 acts; 4 male, 4 female. 
 Time, 45 m. 
 
 A FAMILY STRIKE. 
 
 Afarce,3 male,3 female. Time, 20m. 
 
 TWO GHOSTS IN WHITE. 
 
 A humorous farce, boarding school 
 life; S female characters. Time, 25 m. 
 
 THE ASSESSOR. 
 
 A humorous sketch; 3 male and 2 fe¬ 
 male. Time, 10 m. 
 
 BORROWING TROUBLE. 
 
 A ludicrous farce; 3 male and 5 fe¬ 
 male. Time, 20 m. 
 
 COUNTRY JUSTICE. 
 
 Amusing country lawsuit ; S male 
 characters. (May admit 11.) Time, 15 m. 
 
 THE PULL-BACK. 
 
 A laughable farce; 6 female. Time, 
 20 m. 
 
 HANS VON SMASH. 
 
 A roaring farce in a prologue and one 
 act; 4 male and 3 female. Time, 30 m. 
 
 OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 A patriotic drama. Requires 10 male* 
 {6 female. (Admits 11 m. 13 f.) Four fine 
 tableaux. Time about 1 hour. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMA’AM. 
 
 A brilliant comedy in 4 acts; 6 male, 5 
 female. Time 1 hour, 45 m. 
 
 THE IRISH LINEN PEDDLER. 
 
 A lively farce; 3 male, 3 female. Time 
 40 m. 
 
 THE KANSAS IMMIGRANTS. 
 
 A roaring farce; 5 male, 1 female. 
 Time, 20 m. 
 
 TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. 
 
 A capital farce ; 3 male, 6 female. 
 Time, 45 ra. 
 
 LOUVA, THE PAUPER. 
 
 A drama in 5 acts; 9 male and 4 fe¬ 
 male characters. Time, 1 hour, 45 m. 
 
 UNDER THE LAURELS. 
 
 A drama in five acts; a stirring play, 
 fully equal to Louva the Pauper. Five 
 male, 4 female, l ime. 1 hour, 45 m. 
 
 THE SPARKLING CUP. • 
 
 A temperance drama in five acts; 12 
 male and 4 female. Time a h. 
 
 THE DANGER SIGNAL. 
 
 A drama; 7 male, 4 female. Time, 2 h. 
 
 WIDE ENOUGH FOR TWO. 
 
 A farce; 5 male, 2 female. Time, 45 m. 
 
 BOOKS FOR ENTERTAINMENTS 
 
 WORK AND PLAY. 
 
 For little folks. Exercises in letters 
 numbers, objects, geography, animals 
 motion-songs, dialogues, charades, etc. 
 etc., postpaid, 50c. 
 
 PRANKS AND PASTIMES. 
 
 For home, school or church. Nearlj 
 100 games, charades, scenes, etc., 50c. 
 
 Negro Minstrel Book, 25c. 
 
 Social Games at Cards, 35c. 
 Private Theatricals, how to get up 
 25c. 
 
 WHEN LESSONS ARE OVER. 
 
 Dialogues, Plays, N uts to Crack, 25c 
 
 ENCHANTED WOOD. 
 
 Bright, New Opera. Price, 35c. 
 
 Dialect Readings, humorous, 25c. 
 
 THE FRIDAY DIALOGUES. 
 
 Short, lively. Boys and Girls. Price 25c 
 
 FRIDAY AFTERNOON SPEAKER 
 
 For little folks, for older boys and girls 
 short, pithy dialogues. Price 25c. 
 
 Dialogues from Dickens, 25c. 
 Shadow Pictures, Pantomimes, Tat 
 ieaux, etc., etc., 25c. 
 
 Choice Pieces for Little People, 25c 
 School and Parlor Tableaux, 25c. 
 Debater’s Handbook, cloth, 50c. 
 Everybody’s Letter Writer, 30c. 
 Good Manners, paper cover, 30c. 
 
 T. S. DENISON, Publisher, 163 Randolph Street, CHICAGO. 
 
7 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 073703222