cases ws aaa ik ica ton C at

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«S{SOUVEMIR <=

$3 EPILOGUE. $4

Spoken by HER EXCELLENCY THE COUNTESS OF DUFFERIN,

At the last performance.

+e ———-—

Kind friends! for such indeed you've proved to us— Kinder than just I fear—and ts it thus That we must quit you? Shalt the curtain fall Over this bright pageant like a funeral pall, And blot forever from your friendly sight The well-known forms and faces that to-night For the last time have used their mimic arts To tempt your laughter, and to touch your hearts, Without one word of thanks to let you know How trredcemable’s the debt we owe, For that warm welcome, which year after year Has waited on our poor attempts to cheer With the gay humour of these trivial plays Some few hours stolen from your busy days ? Despite ourselves, the grateful words WILL come, For love could teach a language to the dumb, ’Tis just one lustre, since—a tyro band— On paltry farce we tried our ’prentice hand, Treading at first a less pretentious stage Even that the goatherds of the Thespian age ;

RE HES e eee on Ue ENTRAR TS LLANE

Bul so Qur J THE HOUR ro Se Show y) Yen i Vheir ( ‘ Ve near Hrd fol ‘ SEMI j Vinge Uietil « With ¢ These 0 The pre a7’ was. Conjure You ta Where Our he nd y Broth Who v Ind ¢ Who And |

JF FERIN,

“0 us~—

Bithoul a curtain; —for cach slip—a screen s—

While bedroom candles Light the MCALVE SCCNE,

Bit soon embcldened by our Public's smile,

Qur Muse attempts a more ambitious style;

€THE DOWAGER” parades her stately Lrace,-— #OUR WIFE” declares two husbands out of place,— Jo “ SCHOOL.” we send you, and—a sight too rare Siow you Jor once, a really “HAPPY PAIR,”

(hen having warned your daughters not “TO LEND' Vieir only “LOVER” toa Lady fricnd,—

Wie next the fatal “Sorry ov Paver” burn,

lud follow with “On Hovur,’—“J acques,’—2n durn,

¢ Seameaats,” a Debutante's “Virsar Nigut,”— y] rnging atl each essay a loftier flight,

Uniil at last a bumper house we drew

With the melodious “Mayor or Sr. Brivux !” These our achievements —but we gladly own

Lhe praise, if praise be due, ts half your own

was your encouragement that nerved our wits,

Covured hysterics, sulks, tears, fainting fits,

Vou taught our “ Ing nues” those airs serene,

iThese blushing Sirs to drop their bashful mein,—

Tl herefore commeesstoned am I to come to-day

Our hearts and laurels at your feet to lay.

Jlnd yet my task ts only half fulfilled —

Brothers and sisters of Thalia’s guild (To the actors) Who've faced with me the critic’s glittering eye

And dared the terrors of yon gallery, Who've lightened at my labour with your love

And made cach effort a new pleasure prove,

HTB rl Hi

If words could thank you for your , These lips should bankrupt be to see you paid, And oh! believe as long as life endures

The best affections of my heart are yours,

LPENCVOUS aid

And now one last Farewell,-—a few months more or nl And we depart your loved Canadian shore,

Never again to hear your plaudits rise,

Nor watch the ready laughter in your eyes fo. Gleam out responsive to our author's wit, flowever poorly we interpret it,

Nor see with artist pride your tears derflow, In homage to our simulated woe.

Yet scenes like these can never wholly fade

Into oblivion's melancholy shade, 4,

And oft at home when Christmas fire-logs burn 5, Our pensive thoughts instinctively will turn

To this fair city with her crown of towers

And all the joys and friends that once were ours,

And oft shall yearning Fancy fondly fill Bea: This hall with guests, and conjure up at will ren Each dear familiar face, each kindly word | 3 JE Of praise, that eer our player souls hath stirred, | Till neath the melting spell of memory

Our love flows back towards you like a sea ;— For know—whatever way our fortunes turn -- aw Upon the altars of our hearts shall burn

These votive fires no fuel need renew,

Our prayers for blessings on your land and yout.

5th April, 1878. Dz.

1672.

December 23rd.

? aoe CONCERT COSTUME.

OOOO OO Swe

Hrogramme.

I. DUVO .,. .. La ci darem la mano,” .. .. Mozart. Miss. AprELE KIMBER. Mr. R. KE. Kimper.

2. SOLO .. ve ee ‘

Mrs. Burrirr. 3. DUO .» From “ La Fille du Régiment,’ .. Donizetti. Mure, Lerrouon,

4, SOLO ee er ee ee ee oe ee 5. SOLO s “Largo al Factotum,” .. .» Dossini. In, BARBIERE,

Mr. R. E. Kimser.

Art 2.

lL. SOLOS ayy CHORUS from “ La Dame Blanche.” Boieldieu.

1, AH! QUEL PLAISIR L’#YRE SOLDAT oe an .. Mr. Blain de St. Aubin. 2, Dict VOYEZ CE BEAU DOMAINE .. F ah .. M. de Gélinas.

3. JEN’Y PUIS RIEN COMPRENDRE.. Mlle. Gélinas, Mr. Kimber, Mr. B, de St. Aubin. Cuorus.—Mrs, Percival Sheppard, Miss L, Coffin, Miss Dewe, Miss I. Stanton, Madlle. Kimber, Miss A, Kimber, Mile. R. Kimber, Mr, Blain de St. Aubin, Mr. R. E, Kimber, Mr. N. McLean, 2. SOLO .. i a a6 is an ee : oe Miss CLARKE, » 3. DUO... Vorcr L’Heure,” Don Pasquale, .. Donizetti. MADLLE. GELINAS. Mr. R. Kimber.

1) 4. DU0... Quanto amore,” Elisir d’amore, .. Donizetti. Mrs. WAuLTeRs. Mr. R. KE. Kinser.

56. CANADIAN BOAT SONGS ”.., By Au. THE AMATEURS,

March 13th & April 2nd.

TO OBLIGE BENSON.

MR. BENSON .. ea ie ~ a Con, STUART.

MR. TROTTER SOUTHDOWN .. IF. Hamitron, Esg., A.D.C.

MR. JOHN MEREDITH * IF. Counson, Esq., A.D.C. MRS. BENSON . Miss A. Himsworrn.

MRS. TROTTER SOUTHDOWN _.. vs Mrs. Sruart.

March 19th & 26th.

Lr: PLR NIGH, ACHILLE DUFARD

IK. Kimber, sa. HON. BERTIE FITZDANGLE F. Hamiuton, Esq., A.D.C. HYACINTH PARNASSUS .. Str. Dents LeMorne, Esq. THEOPHILUS VAMP.. a 7 W. Himsworrna, Esa. TIMOTHEUS FLAT i “a .. R.E. Kroper, Esq. GEORGE .. ROSE DUFARD .. Miss ADELE KIMBER. MISS ARABELLA FITZJAMKES .. oe Mrs. Sruart.

. Master Harry Stuart.

MR FA MR,

(LEN mae tineerenenemincmneerein rs emus nanasninaementiaatasinaeinaaettstitt eA lll lei,

T3721.

April 8th & 15th.

SELECTIONS FROM SEMIRAMIDE.

SEMIRAMIS .. ‘Ms wa ~» Mrs. Evanturet. AZEMA $i - o ve .. Miss ApgLe Kimper, ARSACE “i ‘ sy Sa .. N. McLean, Ese.

wil 2nd. | ASSUR “it si ‘8 ‘a ar .. EK. Kimper, Esq. CHORUS OF ) (Mrs. P. Suepparp, Miss FeLiowes, ATTENDANTS } ‘* (Miss Kinesrorp, Miss Kruper.

NUBIANS os C, Weatuer.y, Esq., F. Macponaup, Esa. us STUART. i ADC. a, A.D.C. ONE HOUR. IMSWORTH. JULIA DALTON .. ..H. E, Tae Countess or DUFFERIN. MRS. BEVIL es oy sie is »» Miss Himsworrn. FANNY ee “a sik aa .. Miss A. Himsworrn. MR. CHAS. SWIFTLY A .. Carr, F. Warp, A.D.C. O’LEARY bs 7 - .. EF. Hamitton, Esq., A.D.C.

eee

3, STUART,

April 22nd & 209th.

MONSIEUR JACQUES, ER, MsQ. MONSIEUR JACQUES ” be .. FE. Fruper, Esa. , A.D.C. >; MR. SEQUENCE .. es a x »» Con. Stuart. ve, Esq. VIVID os “4 aa re oa a, J. DERBYSHIRE. ANTONIO... a a es te Me N. McLean.

5th.

rH, Esq. 1 NINA és oe - es wi Miss ADELE Kiser, IR, Esq.

—_—_—_-——-

STUART.

XIMBER,. THE DOWAGER. PIUART. | re BET H. KE. Tie Countess oF DuFrerin. LADY BLOOMER - s $5 .. Miss Fetrowes, MARGARET BEAUCHAMP _.. .» Miss A. Himsworrn. LORD ALFRED LINDSAY .. F, Hamitton, Esq., A.D.C. SIR FREDK. CHASEMOKE es Capr. F. Warp, A.D.C. } EDGAR BEAUCHAMP... ~—«.-—«E. Kp, Esa.

February 18th & 24th, NAVAL ENGAGEMENTS.

ADMIRAT, KINGSTON I.TEUTENANT KINGSTON SHORT

DENNIS

MRS. PONTIFEX..

MISS MORTIMEL

_—_—

WOOING ONE'S WIFE.

MAJOR KARL VON WALSTEIN BARON MULDORF

COUNT MUFFENHANSEN .. BARONESS MULDORE .. GERTRUDE...

Cart, F, Warp, A.D.C. CoL. Sruart,

I. HAMILTON, Ese, A. D.C, Mrs. Stuart.

.. Miss HAMILTON,

March 18th & 318t. THE MAYOR OF ST. BRIEUX.

(AN OPERETTA,)

Composed for Her Excellency The Countess of Dufferin’s Private Theatricals, By F. W. Mills, Esq. Libretto by - - F. Dixon, Esq.

COMTESSE DE BEAUDRY MARIE - as THE MAYOR OF ST. BRIEUX CHARLES DUVAL MONSIEUR BOUILLE’

Mrs. ANGLIN.

Miss Ap&LE KimBer, KE. Kimser, Esq.

J. H. PLummer, Esq. BE. Grvaras, Esa.

PIERRE P. B. Douatas, Esa. GENDARME C. Bropig, Esq. CHORUS OF PEASANTS, BLACKSMITHS, &c. :

Mrs, SHEPPARD, J. CUNNINGHAM Stewart, Esq. Mrs. Forest. W. A. BLackmore, Esq.

Mrs. More. F, Dorr, Esa.

Mrs. Corserr, H. G. DuNLEvIr, Esq.

Miss Powe tt. G. CocHRANE, Esa.

Miss FeELLowes. W. R. Mauor, Esq.

Miss Tompson. Sipney Smiru, Esa.

Miss PogetTrerk.

A STORM IN A TEACUP. MRS. FELIX SUMMERLY , ‘3 Mrs Srvarr, MR. FELIX SUMMERLY., 7 i .» Capt. F, Warp, A D.C THEIR JEWEL OF A SERVANT THEIR RESPECTED PARENT

‘9 ait ‘es Miss. K. Hamitton. C, Bropir, Esa,

RMI SURN EES ery me + ny: =v 17 ener 7

E. Kimser, Esa.

F, HaMILron, Esq@., A.D.C. Capr, FEATHERSTONHAUGH, R.E. C. Bropir, Esa.

Mrs, Stuart.

Miss FELLOWEs.

JAC BE: MR DR. LOR NA BEL MRS LAU TIL! MIL CLA KIT FA} HE’

MR MR

’ * a

4th,

IMBER, Esq. Nsa., A.D.C, TAUGH, R.E, RODIE, Esa.

RS, STUART,

FELLOWEs,

RD, A.D.C. L. STUART, 3Q., A. D.C, S. STUART,

HAMILTON,

3182, X.

eatricals,

ANGLIN, KIMBER, ER, Esq, ER, Esq. AS, Esa. AS, Esq.

> Fis E, Esq.

Esq.

JACK POYNTZ BEAN FARINTOSH MR. KRUX

DR. SUTCLIFFE LORD BEAUFOY NAOMI TIGHE BELLA

MRS. SUTCLIFFE ..

LAURA TILLY .. MILLY CLARA KITTY FANNY .. HETTY

A

MRS, HONEYTON MR. HONEYTON ..

18376.

March 29th and April 8th.

SCHOOL.

F, Hamittron, Esq., A.D.C. E. Kimper, Esq. ; ei ; C. Bropig, Esq. CoL.. THe Hon. E. G. P. Lirrietoy. Capt. F. Warp, A.D.C.

H. E. Tut Countess or DUFFERIN. Miss Stanton.

. Mrs. Stuart.

How. Mrs. Littieton. Miss LeMoInNe.

Miss A. Himsworra.

Miss HIMsworrn.

Lapy HeLen Biackwoop.

Viscount CLANDEBOYE. Hon. Terence BLackwoop.

HAPPY PAIR.

H.E. Tue Countess or Dvurrerin.

.. F. Hamivtoy, Ese., A.D.C.

Nites. s-diaemaalipata en ai — és aoa 5 tty a gL eee ee wr wee Bo

MLLE, ZENOBIE

M ‘ME DUPONT i ey a Miss Lemornr, I CLINE aé ey :

— i sea

1877. february 21st & 287%,

THE LOAN OF A LOVER. CAPT, AMERSFORT PETER SPpyK

ae e ‘s s se Ff Kimber, Ksa. SWYZEL cs a “3 i de N McLean, Esa, DELVE oe C. Broptr, Esa.

ERNESTINE ROSENDAA L..H. 4k THe Countess op Durreriy, GERTRUDE = .. Miss ADELE KIMBer.

OUR WIFE.

F, Hamitroy, Esg., A.D.C. Cary, F, Warp, A.D.C,

~ MARQUIS DE LIGNY COUNT Dk BRISSAC POMARET . et ie és kK. Kimber, Esa, DUMONT... i

6 5 ag a Bropiz, Ese. MUSKETEER sig ; N. McLean, Hse.

ROSINE H. E. Tur Countess OF Durreriy, MARIETTE

-» Miss A, Himsworru,

es

March 14th & 24th, A SCRAP OF PAPER,

PROSPER CO URAMONT BARON DE LA GLACIERE BRISEMOUCHE bs ep zs gan Brovig, Ksq. ANATOLE F ws os : EK. Kimber, Esq. BAPTISTE .. sii a4 +» Carr. Sexpy Smyru, A.D.C, MULE. SUZANNE DE RUSEVILLE H.E. Tue Cou LOUISE DR LA G ACIERK 3 Miss Sranton, MATHILDE = e - Miss Angepp Kimber,

F, Hamitron, Esq., A.D.C, Carr, F, Warp, A.D.C,

’

NTESS oF Deurrrriy,

Mrs. Sruarr,

Miss A. Himsworrn,

Cou. Hoy, li. G. Pp, Lirrietoy,

MAI

“SAM

BER MR. BER’ SECh GAN’ LILI LADY MRS. FAN) MRS,

MR. H WILC( MISS J

RUTH

DURIES, ST,’

!LETON, t, Esa. v, Esq,

Ly Esq.

FERIN,

IMBER,

1378.

April 2nd & 35th,

NEW MEN AND OLD ACRES.

MARMADUKE VAVASOUR .. 7 .. Con. Stuart.

“SAMUEL BROWN se. 4 .. Caper. F. Warp, A.D.C.

BERTIE FITZ-URSE e .. F. Hamiiton, Esq., A.D.C. MR. BUNTER .. es ai oe .. ©, Bronte, Esq. BERTHOLD BLASENBALG _.. as EK. Keser, Esq. SECKER .. es ee -» Cart. Setpy Smytu, A.D C. GANTRY Be wie +a ~ .. G. R. Masor, Esa. LILIAN VAVASOUR .. H.E. Tue Counress oF DUFFERIN. LADY MATILDA V* VASOUR de .. Miss Stanton. MRS. BUNTER as ig ‘ i Mrs. Lemorne. FANNY BUNTER.. as - ‘a ..Miss Fei_iowes. MRS. BRILL .. oa = v és Miss Lemoine.

SWEETHEARTS.

MR. HARRY SPREADBROW .. F. Hamitton, Esq., A.D.C. WILCOX a 5 i T KE. Kimser, Esq. MISS JENNIE NORTHCOTE

H. KE. Tae Countess or DuFFERIN. RUTH .. Ss a: es ‘ds -» Muss Cockpurn.

DUBIES, STATIONERS, OTTAWA,

thc: RIOR iv

“Fa o

TO OBLIGE BENSON.

q Mm Comedietta IN ONE ACT,

4BAPTED FROM THE FRENCH VAUDEVILLE,

“Uy SERVICE A BLANCHARD”

g TOM TAYLOR,

Author of A Trip to Rissengen, Diogenes and his Lintern,T he Philssopher’s Stone, The Vicar of Wakefield, To Parents and Guardians, Our Clerks, Little Red Riding Hood,

&e., fe. ; and one of the Authors of Masks aud Faces, Plat and Passion, Slave Life, Two Loors aud a aijey FC, AO. S2

Lonpon: New Yorr: SAMUEL FRENCH, | SAMUEL FRENCH & SON, PUBLISHER, PUBLISEDRS,

89, STRAND. 122, NASSAU STRELRY,

Firet performed at the Royal Olympic Theatre, on Monday, March 6, 1854.

CHARACTERS. Mr. Benson (4 Barrister).. ..eececesseeesee MR. EMERY. Mr. Trorrer Sournpown (his Friend).......Mr, F. ROBSON. Mr. Jonn Merenpits (a Pupil of Mr. Benson's)Mr. LESLIE.

Mrs. BENSON... eeoeaoeee @©P eee ee et eeeeeeee Miss WYNDHAM-. Mrs, TRoTrER SOUTHDOWN. oo sees ceces. os Mas. STIRLING.

TIME—Tue Present Day. SCENE—MR. BENSON’S HOUSE IN THURLOW SQUARE.

2ime of Representation Fifty-three Minutes.

COSTUMES.

Mr. Benson—Frock-coat, buff waistcoat, and grey trousers. .

Mr. Trotter Southdown—Shooting or fishing coat, waist voat, and trousers, all of small black and white plaid, drab cloth boots, drab hat.

Mr. Meredith—Dark frock-cout, fancy drab waistcoat, ang trousers, black hat.

Mrs. Benson—Handsome morning dress, silk apron.

Mrs. Southdown—Morning walking dress, fashionable bonnet, china crape shawl.

ERY. ROBSON, SLIE.

NDHAM.-

rIRLING.

SQUARE,

‘trousers. .

at, waist laid, drab

coat, ang

on. shionable

TO OBLIGE BENSON,

op

SCENE.—A Drawinea-Room.

Door in flat c., backed by another chamber. Door R. 2 E. Window (practicable) with curtains, RX. 3 ¥, Door, t. 8 £. Practicable fire-place, with fire, fender, fire trons, hearth-rug, §c., L. 2B. Chimney-piece, with glass, china ornaments, vases, and French clock. Round tubce, R.H. with books, knick-knacks, blotting book, 3 sheets of letter paper, 3 pens, and ink. Chair near table. Chairs about stage. Table at back, (against flat) uu. A chair (to break) near it. Easy chair by fire-place ; carpet down; on ottoman in C. Of stage.

Enter MEREDITH, L.C.

Merepitu. Not here! I am sorry for that—no, I am not—I’m glad; it will give me time to collect myself before I face her. I am overwhelmed with anxiety until I know the result of my letter. She can’t be offended at it—yet, if she should, the consequences may be awful. It’s wrong! —of course, I know it’s wrong. I didn’t pay Benson a hundred guineas for leave to fe"! is ‘ove with his wife—his adorable wife—whom her parchiient-faced busband leaves all day by herself, while he’s rummaging Reports in Cham- ders, or retailing them in the Queen’s Bench. To see an angel like that neglected in this way is enough of itself to set an inflammable fellow in a blage—and I am inflammable —I glory in it. She certainly is not annoyed at my attene tions, or she’d never have written me this dear letter, (¢akes t¢ out) the answer to which [I slipped into her glove se cleverly at the picenic in Bushey Park yesterday. I shall hear what she says to it this morning. Of course I was

4 TO OBLIGE BENSON.

bound to call to enquire whether she hasn’t caught any cold (looks off at door, L. 3 £.) Eh !—here she comes !— no, confound it! it’s Benson

Enter Bunson, t. v. 8 &.

Benson. Ah! Meredith, my boy! What good wind blows vou here, all the way fromthe Temple? (qoes to R. of “re-place)

Mer. Eh? I—{f—saw my uncle yesterday. (1. of firee:

lace ° Bon. What! the Captain ?—old Trueblue, eh ?

Mer. Yes; and he will be delighted to let you have his cottage at Ventnor for the long vacation.

Bren. Capital !—and the figure ?

Mrr. What you offered—fifty guineas for the three months. '

Ben. Bravo!—Carry will be delighted with Ventnor— the cottage is delightfully situate, isn’t it ?

Mer. Delightfully. You can catch your own lobsters out of the dining-rvom windows.

Ben. I don’t krow that that will be any recommendation --to her, I mean. But, remember, not a hint to Mes. Benson that I pay for the place—she fancies it a delicate attention of yours—and she’s so afraid of our spending too much money.

Mer. You may depend on my keeping the secret.

Ben. And what are you going to do with yourself this long vacation ?

Mer. [I hardly know. I shall probably be in the Isle of Wight part of the time.

Ben. Look us up, look us up. Carry will be delighted to see you—you’re a bit of a favourite with Carry, I can tell you.

Mer. (aside) I hope so.

Ben. Here she is! (crosses tor.) Not a word of the money for the cottage.

Enter Mes. Benson, R. D. 2 &.

Mrs. B. Good morning, Mr. Meredith! (B.)

Mer, (1.2) Good morning! I hope you caught no cold at Bushey yesterday ?

Mrs. B. Oh, no! What a charming day we had!—I enjoyed it so much,

TO OBLIGE BENSON. 5 Men. (aside) Bravo!—she’s not offended. I never had s more delightful afternoon,

Mrs. B. Yes—the chesnuts were lovely.

Mer. I didn’t look at them. (significantly)

Mrs. B. Indeed!

Ben. Ah! Meredith’s like me—no taste for green trees and white blossoms. Law calf’s the colour—eh, Meredith ? But, what do you think, Carry? Here’s Meredith offers us that pretty cottage of the captain’s—his uncle’s, you know—at Ventnor, for the long vacation.

Mrs. B. Oh, how very kind of Mr. Meredith! Such a lovely spot!

Ben. And not content with that, he’s brought vou a box for the Opera to-morrow night.

Mrs. B. Oh, Mr. Meredith!

Brn. (aside to MerepitH) You twig! Take one at Mitchell’s. Hush! (passes his purse to him slily)

Mrs. B. But, my dear, we are trespassing on Mi Meredith’s kindness.

Ben. Not a bit of it. He knows you adore the Opera, and he can always get boxes given him. Can’t you, Meredith ?

Mer. Oh, yes. I’ve some friends connected with the press. It’s only asking them.

Mrs. SouTHpown. (without u.c.) In the drawing-room ! Oh, very well.

Ben. It’s Mrs. Southdown, Carry.

Enter Mrs. SouTHDOWN, c. D., MEREDITH retires up to jire-place

Ah! Mrs. Southdown!

Mrs. 5. (c.) Good morning, Mr. Benson, (shaking hands with him, u.c., he goes up, c., and comes down again, B. H.) Well, Carry! (dissing Mrs. B.)

Mrs. B. How well you are looking, dear.

Mrs. S. I’ve come to restore stolen goods, Carry. Only think, I carried off your gloves from Bushey, yesterday ; picked ’em up off the grass when you went for a stroll, an¢ put em on instead of my own, Here they are. (gives gloves)

Mer. She had her gloves!

Mrs. B. Thank you. I couldn’t imagine what hag become of them. And you enjoyed your picenic ?

TO OBLIGE BENSON,

Mrs. S. Oh, enormously ! (sees MerxpitH, aside) There he is. But only conceive, Carry. I made a conquest.

Ben. ’Gad, I don’t wonder at it.

Mrs. B. A conquest, dear P

Mrs. S. “ Veni, vidi, vici!’ That’s right, ien’t it, Mr. Benson?

BEN. Quite. It was a letter of Ceesar’s to the Senate, Xt means, ‘‘ I came, I saw, I conquered.”

Mrs. S. Only think, dear, of my getting a regular de- claration—popped + neatly—the gentleman thought I was a widow, I suppose.

Mrs. B. But who was it ? Do tell me.

Mrs. S. Oh no, that wouldn’t be fair. I hardly know him; and I don’t want to make the poor man ridiculous,

MER. (aside) A pretty mess I’ve made of it.

Mrs. S. You never read anything like his letter ( pre- tends to see MereDitTH)—Ah, Mr. Meredith, good morning ! I didn’t see you.—It was the silliest namby-pambiest stuff—

Bren. Ah! so they always are, these love-letters. I’ve had lots through my hands in actions for breach. They always amuse the jury amazingly.

Mrs. B. But Mr. Souchdown was there. If he had seen you receive such a letter—

Mrs. S. Oh, Trotter was asleep, under the horse- chesnuts. He always goes to sleep after dinner, you know.

Bren. What a capital idea! Southdown peaceably snoring while his wife was receiving a billet-doux. Isn’t it a good notion, Meredith? Ha! ha! ha!

Mrs. B. I don’t see anything to laugh at, Mr. Benson.

Ben. And where is Southdown this morning ? Snoring still, I suppose.

Mrs. S. He? Oh dear, no. He was off by eight o’clock this morning to his model farm, at Willesden.

BEN. Farm! Now how a sensible man of business, like Southdown, can take any pleasure in farming !—

Mrs. 8S. Oh, it’s his passion, We all have our passione, you know, Mr. Meredith. Always some little pet wickede ness. Lucky where they’re nothing worse than absurd.

Mer. (aside) Confound it! She’s quizzing me.

MRrs. 8. He is to grow turnips as big as balloons, and feed oxen so fat they can’t walk, and raise mangold- wurzel upcn deal tables; and, in short, to make his fortune

‘here

TO OBLIGE BENSON, 7

in the most wonderful way,—in the long run, Only it’s very expensive—in the meanwhile,

Ben. Throwing his money away, and neglecting his wife for such humbug as that! I have no patience with him, I say, Meredith, I wish you would just come into my study —I’ve had the papers in Griggs and Griffin up from chambers. There's the prettiest point I want to show you. (going up to door gn 2 8.)

Mer. Very well, (Aside toMRs.S., as he crosses behind tor.H.) I must have five minutes conversation with you, ma’am.

Mrs. S. (aside to him) With all my heart.

Ben. (to Mrs. 8.) I shall find you here in a quarter of an hour P

Mrs. S. Yes. I’ve come to spend the morning with Carry.

Bren. Come along, Meredith. We shall put Griggs out of court. He’s made the most tremendous blunder in his declaration. Exit, BENSON, R.D.2.E.

Mer. (aside) Confound it! So have I! Exit Merepitu, B.D. 2 ».

Mrs. B. (sitting down x.) Well dear, here we are, nice and cosey. What shall we do ?

Mrs. 8. (sitting down c.) Talk seriously.

Mrs. B. Very well. Were you at the Opera on Tuesday ?

Mrs. S. Never mind the Opera. Let’s talk about the pic-nic.

Mrs. B. And your love-letter, eh? Well, now, who was it? Let meguess. Was it a friend of Mr. Meredith’s ?

Mrs. S, It was Mr. Meredith himself.

Mrs. B. Mr. Meredith!

Mrs. 8. Yes, he slipped the letter into my glove—that is to say, into your glove, which I took by mistake.

Mrs. B. No! Howvery droll!

Mrs. 8. Droll! Youseemamused, Carry. That letter was intended for you, and from the language of it, it is clear that you have already written to him.

Mrs. B. Oh, well, suppose I had.

Mrs. 8. Suppose you had! My dear Carry, do you know you’ve done a very imprudent thing P

Mrs, B. But, Lucy, he was so very unhappy.

Mags. S. Well.

TO OBLIGE BENSON.

Mrs. B. And then, I assure you, I’ve never given him the least encouragement.

Mrs. S. You don’t call that letter encouragement, I suppose ?

Mrs. B. Well, but you know Benson’s all day long in chambers, or in court, and one gets so moped. And Mr. Meredith is so attentive—always calling and sending one bouquets and prints, and getting autographs for one’s album, and giving one Opera Boxes.

Mrs. S. And what does that all amount to, that you should run the risk of making an excellent husband, like yours, unhappy?

Mea. B. Oh, yes, I admit there never was a worthier man or a kinder creature than Benson.

Mrs. S. My dear Carry, I hate preaching, and I don’t think it ever does any good. But really you are wrong to trifle ina matter of thissort. (Mrs. B. is about to speak) I know—you’ve only committed an indiscretion, but indis- cretions may easily grow into crimes, and—

Mrs. B. Oh, Lucy, you alarm me. I'll never do any- thing so foolish again. But what ought I to do, dear?

Mrs. S. First of all, you mustn’t write any more letters to Mr. Meredith.

Mrs. B. Oh, never!

Mrs. S. And then you must get back the one you have written.

Mrs. B. Bu‘ how ?

Mrs. S. I’ll undertake to recover it. I’m to see him here directly. You had better go.

Mrs. B. (crosses to u.) Oh, I’m so much obliged to you, you can’t think. I had no notion I was acting so foolishly. But I assure you I’ve not given him the least encourage- ment,

Mrs. S. Now, pray don’t say that again, Carry.

Mrs. B. I won't, then. [ll go to my ownroom directly, and if ever 1 do such a thing again, dear, ic would serve me right to tell Mr. Benson. Exit Mrs. BENsoN, L.v. 3 BE.

Mrs. S. It’s lucky Benson is so blind to everything but his points of law, ar there might have been mischief here already. Ah! here comes the inamorato—so now to get back the letter.

Enter MEREDITH. B.D. 2 BR.

MER. (R.) I trust, Mrs. Southdown, you will not betray the secret which you have discovered by a mistake.

en him ent, [ ong in

And ending

one’s

t you 1, like

rthier don’t ng to peak) indis« anye A y

tters have

him

rou, hly.

ge-

TO OBLIGE BENSON. 9

Mas. S. (t.) I’ve a very good mind, Sir, to betray it, except on one condition—that you give up your most un- becoming attentions to Mrs, Benson.

Mer. Ask anything but that, ma’am.

Mrs. S. I shall not ask anything but that, Sir. Unless you will give me this promise.

Mer. But Mrs. Southdown—

Mrs. S. I will listen to no special*pleading, Sir. I am mistress of your secret, and it is for me to dictate the con- ditions on which I will consent to keep it.

Mer. (aside) She’s as obstinate as one of her husband's own pigs. Well, madam, what are your conditions ?

Mrs. 8. You will immediately leave London.

Mer. Agreed.

Mrs. S. You will not come within a hundred miles of the Bensons all this summer.

Mer. (aside) Confouud it! Well!

Mrs. 8. And before going you will give up to me the letter youhave received from Mrs. Benson—at once—or I tell Mr. Benson everything.

Mer. Good Heavens! Mrs. Southdown !

Mrs. S. The letter—

Soutu. (without u. c.) Hollo, Toody! Where are you?

Mer. Hush!

Mars. S. It’s only my husband, never mind him !

Enter Sourupown tL. c.

Souru. (z.) Oh! good morning, Toody.

Mrs. S. (¢o Merevitu) The letter, Sir, at once,

Soutu. Holloa! Toody won't even bid me good morning this morning—Eh ? I said good morning, Toody.

Mrs. 8. (carelessly) Good morning, Trotter, good morning.

Sourn. What a duck it is! Ah, Meredith, I saw you at the pic-nic yesterday, my boy—didn’t you pitch into the champagne, you aaa ge you pay attention to the ladies—Ah, you dog! , and how are you—hearty— eh?

Mer, Quite well, thank you, Sir.

Mrs. 8. The letter—I must and will have it.

Mxr. I will give it back to Mrs. Benson. I havn’t ge it here.

Mas, S. Go and fetch it.

10 TO OBLIGE BENSON,

Soutn. What is he to go and fetch, Toody ? Mrs. S. Never you mind, Trotter,

Mer. But sure'y—

Mrs. 8. Go at crce, Sir, or I will speak out Mer. Very weil, Ma’am, then speak out.

Exit Murxprru, angrily, and with determination, ue. .

Mrs. S. (upc. looking after him astonished) But, Sir—

Soutu. (1.) Eh! ‘Speak out!” What are you up to, you two? What is the secret between you and Meredith ¢ He looked uncommonly queer, and. you're looking flabbergasted.

Soutu. (to herself, coming down x. x.) I hope things have not gone any further than Carry said, but this obsti- nate refusal to give up the letter, and her thoughtlessness—

Mrs. 8. Well, but I say, Toody, you don’t ask after the early reds. Would you believe it? I found three with the blight on ’em already—I’ve brought one to show you.

Mrs. S. (to herself) I begin to feel very anxious about them.

Soutu. Sodo I. Now’s the ticklish time—just as they are beginning to swell, Look! (takes a diseased potato from his pocket)

Mrs. 8. Their eyes must be opened.

Soutu. (staring at her) Eh! my potatoes’ eyes opened!

Mrs. S. Oh, bother your potatoes!

Soutu. Bother my potatoes! Onthe contrary, my potge |

toes bother me.

going any further.

Sours. No—have you though? Out withit! Min¢ | tried.

lime’s been tried, and salt—they’re no use. Is yours a |

new one ?

Mrs. S. A new one indeed, but I wasn’t thinking about |

potatoes, Trotter.

Sourn. Weren’t you though? My head’s full of them |

—dav and night.

Mrs. 8. Now, Trotter, listen to me; you have a great regard for Benson, have you not ?

Soutu. Regard for Benson? Immense regard—I’ll do anything in the world to oblige him,—except cut farming,

Mrs. S, Then you have an excellent oppurtunity to oblige him now.

Soutx. To oblige Benson! Does he want any money ?

Maa. 8. Oh, no!

. ce of Jealous Mrs. 8. Eh! yes, I’ve a plan to prevent the mischief | J

Ss

N tor S

M denl Se

M not ¢ Trott Sc Trott M: you | Bhe ?- So Mr most Sot Mr Sov Mr Sou Mrs Sou

Mrs Sou!

Mrs Sou4 Mrs! Sour it’s all x Mus. Sour Mrs, I’ve tolc Sour Mas. and com SOUTH Mrs,

tion, Le Co yl

-, Sir—

yu up to,

feredith ¢ looking

pe things ‘his obsti- lessness— k after the .e with the you.

bout them. ust as they notato from

opened!

it! Mind | Is yours &

king about : all of them : Ave @& great rd—I’ll do

t farming. y to oblige

y money ?

TO OBLIGE BENSON. 11 Soutn. Well, what is it, then?

Mrs. S. You must leave the house. (SoutrHDown goes up towards ©. p.) Where are you going ?

Soutn. To leave the house—didn’t you tell me ?

Mrs. S. Stop! you must leave the house, and then sude denly come in as if you’d not been here before—

Soura. Will that oblige Benson ?

Mus. S. Do wait till I’ve finished the sentence.—But do not come in till you hear me say: ‘* Good gracious, here’s Trotter !”

Sourn. Till I hear you say: Trotter!” I don’t understand.

Mrs. 8. That’s not of the least consequence.—When you hear that, open the door and shout out: “ Where is she ?>—I’m certain she’s here !”

Souts. Who’s here?

Mrs. S. Me. And you must begin storming at me inthe most furious manner,

Sourn. Storming at you, Toody, what for ?

Mrs. 8. Because you’re jealous of me,

Sv bile Jealous! stuff and nonsense! I’m not jealous.

Mrs. 8. No, but you must pretend to be.

Soni ‘To oblige Benson ?

Mrs, S. Exactly.

SourH. But, Toody, I don’t think I know how to be

‘Good gracious, here’s

htef jealous—I never was given to that sort of thing. e mischief |

Mrs. S. Just imagine I had been flirting with somebody ! Sour. Bless you, I couldn’t imagine such a thing if I

tried.

Mus. S. Well, but only suppose I had! Sou TH, Oh—well—if you had—(violently) Mrs. 8S. What would vou sav? Sourn. (mildly) Oh, I should say, ‘ Toody likes it; so

it’s all right.”

Mus. 8. Then you don’t care for me, Trotter ? Sours. Not care for my Toody? Mus. 8. Jf you do, pray do what Task you; besides,

I’ve told you already it’s to oblige—

Sourn. Benson! Well, Tuody, I'll try. Mus. 8. That’s a dear old boy. Now go out at once,

and come in raving like a lunatic.

Soutn. Like a lunatic, ch? Mrs. S. Yes.

TO OBLIGE BENSON.

Soutn. Very weil, Toody, I'll try; but how the devce cain that oblige Benson ?

Mrs. S. Now do go, Trotter, and don’t ask questions— you know I’m always right.

Sourn. Of course, Toody. (aside) I’ve not the least notion what she means—~but she’s such a superior woman.

Exit Sourupown, c.p... Mrs. S. Yes, it’s a capital plan; and if poor Trotter isn’t S90 stupid— Enter Mks, BENSON, L. D. 3 E.

Mrs. B. (u.) Well, Lucy, have you succeeded ?

Mrs. 8, te} My dear Carry, Meredith refuses *o give back the letter.

Mrs. B. Then let him keep it, poor fellow!

Mrs. 8, Let him keep it! ,

Mrs. B. After all, what caz it signify ?

Mrs. 8. My poor dear Carry, if you knew as J do the dreadful consequences of even the slightest flirtation on the part of a married woman—

Mrs. B. You—you, dear steady old Lucy? What do you know about flirtation ?

Mrs. S. Ahem! Now for it. (aside) Shall I confess to you, my dear, that I have been imprudent enough to accept what I thought harmless attentions from a gentleman—not Trotter—and even to write to him.

Mus. B. You don’t say so!

Maus. S. I said at first as you do, ‘* What can it signify ?” ‘It’s only to amuse myself.” “And then Trotter don’t know what jealousy is.” And so I fancied, till one day he sound it out.

Mrs. B. Good gracious !

Mrs. S. And ever since he’s been a perfect brute—a tiger!

Mrs. B. Mr. Southdown a tiger !

Mrs. §. Qh, in society he restrains himself; but a‘ home—vou haven’t an idea—it’s fearful—not a moment’s peace—suspicions—allusions—gquarrel:—threats—violence!

Mrs. B. Oh, Lucy, how dreadful!

Mrs. S. Why, at the pic-nic yesterday, when he was lying under the chesnuts, he wasu ¢ asleep, my dear ; oh, no, bless you, he had his eye on me ali the time. I'm almost afraid he saw me take that letter out of your glove. And

ne

yo

al

) give

TO OBLIGE BENSON.

13

ever since it’s perfectly awful the way he has been in. This morning he said he was going to the farm at Willesden; but it’s quite possible it was only a trick to throw me off my guard. I dare say he was hiding in the mews round the corner to watch who called, or to see if I went out, and te follow me. (noise of footsteps heard with t.c.) Eh! that step! oh!

Mrs. B. What’s the matter?

Mrs. S. Good gracious! here’s Trotter.

Mrs. B. (goes up to c.v., and looks off u.) Yes, he’s in the liall.

Soutn. (without, u.c.) Don’t tell me! stuff! humbug! (roaring)

Mrs. S. For Heaven’s sake, Carry, say you’ve not left me an instant !

Mrs. B. Don’t be frightened—I’ll say anything.

South. (without) Don’t tell me!—she 7s here—I know she’s here !

Mrs. B. How dreadful! He’s frantic! (gets down tot, corner)

Enter Sovtupown, t.c.

Soutu. (comes down x.) I must see her—I will see her— J insist on seeing her—TI shall proceed to violence if I don’t see her—so—

Mrs. S. (c.) Oh, Sir, not before Mrs. Benson.

Soutu. (aside and stopping short in his violence) I mustn’t, mustn’t I?

Mrs. S. (aside to him) Of course you must.

Soutu. So, Mrs. Trotter Southdown—so, Madam—

Mrs. B. (u. soothingly) But, Mr. Southdown—

SouTH. (crossing to c. very politely and quietly) How do you do, Mrs. Benson?

Mrs. S, \aside to him) Be in a rage. (R.)

Souru. (c.) I’m in a rage, Ma’am—a towering rage— a tremendous rage !

Mrs. 8. (R...aside to him) Capital!

Sours. I say, I’m in a tremendous rage; because, of SPATIAL Net the deuce am [ in a tremcudous rage or?

Mrs. B. I assure you, Mrs. Southdown and I have been sitting quietly here by oursclves. (t.)

Mus, 8. Oh, he will not belheve what you say! (aside te him) Say you don’t believe her.

14 ‘TO OBLIGE BENSON,

Soutu. No, Madam, no; stuff and nonsense, Madam; 7% I don’t believe vou!

Mrs. S. (crying) Oh, I’m av unhappy woman! Toex- | pose me thus before my friend—to exhibit your insane q jealousy! Oh, you'll break my heart ! Se

Sourn. (goes to her) Eh! break your heart, Toody ? | : Come! (she pinches him) Oh! (resuming his violence) I} don’t care, Mrs. Trotter Southdown—break away ! 3

Mrs. B. (1.) This violence from you, Mr. Southdown, 4 whom I alwavs thought the mildest of men— be

Soutu. Well, I am the mild—

Mrs. 8. (aside to him) Be a brute. a

Soutn. Mild! I am mild, naturally—noITam not—that 7 is, I don’t know what I am—on the contrary; because, of 7% course—in short, there are circumstances—(aside) What a the deuce ought I to say? \

Mrs. 8. (seated on ottoman c.—aside to him) Stride about > the room. s

Sourn. (x. c., aside to her) Eh, stride! Yes, I can’t © stand quiet; my agitation forces me to stride about the room (7 —in this style, Madam. (walks about in long strides—then = aside to Mrs. S. stopping u.c.) Will that do, Toody ? 4

Mrs. S. (aside) Capital! Goon. Sir, you are a brute! © a tyrant! (aside to him) Tear your hair. (c.) q

Sourn. (aside to her u.c.) To oblige Benson?

Mrs. S. (aside) Of course ! ‘is

Souru. It’s enough to make a man tear his hair out by | 4 : the roots. (he seizes his hair and pretends to tear it) oF

Mrs. B. (u.) But, Mr. Southdown— *

Mrs. S. (aside to him) Capital! Now, throw the furni- ] ture about and go. 4

Sourn. (aside) To oblige Benson? (aloud) But I will |

restrain myself no longer—there! (degins to fling furniture q about in pretended rage, but putting it gently down again; 7 ings a chair against door B. 2 8. which hits Benson, who | enters at the moment)

Mrs. S. To use me thus;—before my friends, too ! On, | this brutal treatment is not to be borne! 4 Ezit Mrs, Souruvown u,v. 8 &., SourHpown rushes up CG |

Ben. (R. rubbing his shins) Confound it, Trotter! Tr otter | : Southdown! I say, Trotter! 3

Sout. Don’: tell me—I want sir, air—quantities of air! § (going c.) Well, this is the uddest way of obliging Benson! |

Lzit Sourupowx L.Ce |

sense, Madam; |)

ymman! Toex- |

sit your insane |

heart, Toody ?

his violence) I ©

away !

lr. Southdown, , t

Iam not—that |7 ry; because, of | —(aside) What ~

1m) Stride about .

Yes, I can’t

about the room 7 g strides—then =

» Toody ?

ou are a brute! |

kon?

his hair out by |

ear it)

row the furni- 7

bud) But I will | fing furniture 7

down again; © 8 Benson, who ©

ds, too! Qh, |

IN rushes up Ce ] utter! Trotter @

antities of air! | liging Benson! | UTHDOWX L.Ce |

TO OBLIGE BENSON, 18

Ben. (crosses to Lu.) What on earth is the meaning of all this?

Mrs. B. (8.) Was ever anything like his violence ? Good gracious! to think of Mr. Southdown being jealous of his wife. '

Ben. I never should think of such a thing.

Mrs. B. He is, though.

Bsn. But what’s his reason ?

Mrs. B. It appears she has had the indiscretion to write to a gentleman—a young gentleman—

Ben. Ah! that was imprudent—it would make a strong |

impression on a jury.

Mas. B. Of course, there was nothing wrong—Lucy assures me there wasn’t.

Ben. Oh! of course not; but Southdown found it out, eh?

Mrs. B. Yes; and then it appears he must have seen Mr. Meredith give his wife a letter at the picenic yesterday.

Ben. Meredith! so it’s he that’s been playing the fool, is it? Now, why wild Southdown allow his wife to go to such parties. A young woman like her! I can quite understand his agitation now—quite. Poor Southdown!

Mrs. B. Oh! but after all, no reasonable man would get into such a passion for such a trifle as that. I am sure you wouldn’t—would you, dear?

Brn. Eh, hum! I don’t know. One can’t answer for the consequences in such cases. As I told the jury in Bloggs and Burster, only last week—‘* When the temple of the domestic affections is violated, what matters the size of the breach or the plunder that rewards the sacrilegious in- truder? That holy seal of confidence which cements the marriage bond is broken—the shrine of the household god has been outraged; and who can wonder if the poor worshipper in that desecrated fane, forgetting himself, should have thrashed the defendant within an inch of his ife 1”

Mrs. B. Beautiful!

Ben. But, of course, with a prudent, steady little duck ofa wife like you, Carry, (Aissing her) there’s no fear of such indiscretion, No, no. However, we must get this affair settled without going to law. You goto Mrs. Southdown,

and comfort her; and [’ll reason with Southdown. (gozng

up LH.) Mrs. B, Oh, do pacify him! (going up, aad crossing, to LH.)

ee Se —

16 TO OBLIGE BENSON,

Ben. Yl try. (looking out window, x. 3 £.) There he is, walking up and down in front of the house, mopping his forehead, and trying to curb his indigmetion, poor fellow! (calls from window) Here, Southdown!—I say !—holloa! come up, there’s a good fellow!—I want to speak to vou.

Mrs. B. (up tu.) Does he still look excited? :

Bren. (B.) No—he appears mild—quite mild. The open air has a wonderfully soothing effect in these cases. But go, Carry, and comfort Mrs. Southdown.

Mrs. B. [ll go at once. Now do impress upon him, my dear, that there’s no harm in what she’s done—that she wrote the letter without meaning anything—just as anybody might—just as I might. (aside) Oh, dear!—if he found out I had! Exit Mrs. Benson, t. p. 3 &

Enter SouTHDOWN, u.c. He looks round room, and comes down L.H.

Soutn. (L.) Toody not here!

Brn. (8.) Now, Trotter, you really must restrain your feelings. Come! you're more reasonable now, aren’t you ?

Sours. (u.) Eh? (aside) What a bore Toody’s not here to tell me if I ought to go on being crazy, or not!

Brn. Come, don’t sulk, Trotter. Promise me you'll be more master of yourself in future.

Sours. I’ll try. (aside) I mustn’t tell him it was to oblige him. (aloud) I say, Benson, [ hope I didn’t hurt you with that chair ?

Ben. Don’t mention it. But I say, my dear fellow, you really ought not to give way in this style. Remember, if Mrs. Southdown has been a leetle indiscreet, after all, you are most to blame,

Sourn. Eh! what? (aside) Mrs. S. indiscreet! What does he mean? (aloud) Do you think so?

Bren. Yes—what can you expect if you neglect a woman as you do, for that humbugging farm of yours; cultivating Swede turnips, and mangold wurzel, instead of the domestic affections. A woman naturally feels piqued, and accepts attentions from others,

Sourn. Attentions! (aside) Toody accept attentions! What is he talking about ?

- Bsn. And, though appearances are against her, I'll undertake to satisfy any jury there was nothing in her con- duct at the pic-nic yesterday, beyond a leetle indiscretion.

he is, ng his fellow! holloa! to vou.

The 2 cases.

n him, hat she nybody e found ,D.3E

, and

in your *t you ? ot here

u'll be

was to

rt you

w, you ber, if ll, you

What

oman ivating mestic hccepts

itions f

r, I'll r con- etione

TO OBLIGE BENSON,

Sours. Her conauct at the pic-nic! Indiscretion ! Bey. Even that letter she re¢eived— Socru. Letter !—Toody receive a letter? Ben. Oh, my wife’s told me everything—she’s in yoy ’ wife’s secret.

Soutu. My wife’s secret !—then my wife’s got a secret‘?

Ben. I can answer for it that Meredith meant no harm, either, in writing to her.

Souru. (aside) Meredith write to my wife !—indiscre- tion !—receive attentions!’ Then it was he—ah! a light breaks in on me. Their conversation this morning when I came upon them unawares—his agitation—her distraction ! Oh, the duplicity of woman! It was to blind me— to hoodwink me—she persuaded me to get into a passion and behave as I did—storming, and striding, and flinging chairs about—she said it was to oblige you.

Brn. To oblige me!

Sourn. Yes. But now, will you oblige me?

Ben. In any way in my power, Trotter.

Soutn. Next time that fellow, Meredith, sets his foot in your house, vou set your fuot in his—that is—kick him out —will you ?

Brn. Kick him out?

Soutn. Yes, unless I’m here, and then I’ll save you the trouble.

Enter Mereptr4, t.c.

Mer. (at back R.n.) I’ve brought the letter. I must give it back or she’ll betray me. Ab, Benson and South- down here!

Ben. (to Sourn.) Now just let me give you a piece of friendly advice.

Sourn. Advice! I know what you are going to say— bring an action against him.

3EN. An action? Certainly—of course,

Mer. An action! She’s betraved me, then. (retires up listening)

Soutu. Yes, and you shall lead for me: or, I tell you what, better still, I'll challenge him, and you shall carry the challenge. The scoundrei!

Ben. But duelling is illegal, my dear fellow Good gracious! suppose you shot him?

Soutu. I dwell upan the idea w'th pleasure.

18 TO OBLIGE BENSON.

Ben. But then you'd be guilty of murder, and I should be an accessory before the fact.

Soutu. I'll have revenge in one way or other; by the law or against it—an action or a duel—damages or death !

Mer. I’d better get it over at once (coming forward 8.H.)

Ben. (c. holding Sournpown back) Now, my dear Trotter, be calm.

SoutH. Calm! Tell the ocean to be calm between Folk- stone and Boulogne. There he is! Let me get at him!

Bren. You’re in my hands, Sit down. This is my affair. (Brnson forces Soutupown up the stage into chair R. of fireplace)

Mer, (Rr. aside) As'I feared; it’s all over.

Souts. (in chair, to BENson) Mind, swords or pistols, or rifles, or revolvers—anything he likes, it’s all one to me.

BEN. (to Merepita) So, Sir, you’re here! Rash young man! your scandalous intrigues are discovered! The most dreadful consequences are to be apprehended unless you promise to leave London this very day,

Mer. But, Sir—

Brn. No explanations. Your conscience ought to tell you if they can improve matters.

Mer. (aside) Very well, Sir, I promise to leave Lon- don.

Ben. There, thank goodness, that’s settled.

Soutu. (jumping up) Settled! You call that settling ? I'll show you what settling is! (crosses to R.c.) Find a friend, Sir. We shall be happy to see you with him at Wormwood Scrubs with any weapons, provided they are dead)7 ones, to-morrow morning at six, or earlier, if you like.

Mer. A challenge!

Sourn. I flatter myself it is;—and none of you hum- bugging affairs,x—mere bouncers to frighten the cock- pheasants, and to publish in the newspapers. No, Sir; a challenge, Sir; to be followed by blood, Sir, real blood ! (crosses to Rr. and leans on back of chair)

Mer. (goes up c.) Mr. Benson, your friend is too excited at present to make any arrangements; but I shall be in my chambers all the afternoon, and any communication I may receive I will refer to a friend, in the style understood among gentlemen. (Exit MEREDITH, Lc.

Brn. (1.) But, Southdown, do reflect coolly.

bls, or ne, oung most 8 you

o tell

Lon-

ling ? ind a im at y are , you

1um~ 0cke ir; a

{

ood

cited | my may tood

LeCe

TO OBLIGE BENSON. 19

Sourn. (8.) Reflect coolly? Now I ask you asa friend, Benson, am I in a state to reflect coolly? I’m wet through with emotion. Coolly, indeed! (goes up 8.x?)

Enter Mrs. Benson and Mrs. Soutupown, t.D. 3.

Bsn. (r. seeing Mrs. S.) Oh, by Jove! here’s his wife!

Mrs. B. (t.c. aside to Mrs. 8.) Don’t be alarmed ; he’s quite calm now, Benson told me so. (#0 Sournpown) Mr. Southdown, here’s Lucy.

Sout. (r.c.) Eh, my wife! Take her away. I won't see her. Put her somewhere!

Mars, S. (crossing to c. to dim) Trotter t

SoutrH. Don’t speak to me, crocodile!

Mrs. S. (aside) Capital! Keep it up!

Soutu. Keep it up! I don’t want you to tell me to keep it up, I can tell you, Rattlesnake !

Ben. But, Trotter——

Souru. You be hanged!

Mrs. B. (crossing to SourHpown) But Mr. South- down

Sourn. You be—(Mrs. Benson goes up a little, c., and down again, L.H.) that is—I—I beg your pardon; but I’m mad, Mrs. Benson, stark, staring mad! So, Mrs. South- down, you think to throw dust in my eyes, doyou? Iam a good, stupid, easy-going man, amI? But you are mis- taken, Madam ; you don’t know the demon that is generally chained up under this mild exterior. He’s loose now. Basilisk !

Mrs. S. (c., aside) Excellent! He’s improved wonder- fully in his acting.

Souru. I’ve found out the wretch, Madam—the destroyer of my peace of mind—the bomb-shell that has burst in my house, and blown my domestic felicity to immortal smash !

Mrs. 8. (aside) I declare he’s inimitable! (aloud) Qh, mercy, mercy !

Soutu. I’ve challenged him, Madam; and at six o’clock to-morrow at Wormwood Scrubs—~

Mrs. S. (aside) Better and better! (aloud) You will murder him,

Souta. I flatter myself I will, in the most cold-blooded manner,

gist S. (falling on her knees) Ob, spare me, Sir—spare 1m

20 “TO OBLIGE BENSON.

Soutn. You hear the Cobra de Capella; she asks me to epare him! Do you hear, Benson? Oh, I shall go crazy !

Ben. But, Trotter!

Sourn. Don’t come near me. (crosses to R,. } may bite — I can’t answer for it I shall not bite!

Mrs. S. (aside) How well he does it!

Soutn. Let me go! (crosses to 0.) I want air—I wan: room—don’t attempt to hold me! (he walks about over. turning the furniture) Let the hurricane rage on !

Ben, (r.) Oh, this will never do! Trotter!—Trotter Southdown! you’re damaging the furniture.

Sourn. (up stage, L.c.) It relieves my mind to smash things! (dreaks chair)

Mrs. S. (aside) He’s overdoing it. (aside to him) Trotter, stop; that will do—you’re going too far.

Sourn. (down, u.u.) Ah! going too far! On the con- trary, I’ve not gone far enough—there! (breaks a vase on mantel picoe)

Mrs. B. (2.c.) Oh, Sir !

Ben. (r.) Carry’s favorite vase!

Mus. 8S. (u.c., aside to Sourapown) Remember, this isn’t your house.

Soutn. All the better! (he smashes another vase) There!

Bsn. But, Mr. Southdown, this wanton destruction !

Mrs. B. It is too bad!

Mrs, S. (aside) I must put a stop to this. Oh, mercy, mercy! I’m dying! (sinks on ottoman, Cc.)

Mra. B. (running to her, u. of ottoman) She has fainted ! Oh, Lucy, Lucy! (Sournpown throws himself, quite ex- hausted, into arm-chair, u.)

Ben. (Rr. of ottoman) Here’s a pretty state you've thrown your wife into!

Sourn. (in chair, u.) Here’s a pretty state she’s thrown me into!

Mrs. B. Lucy! Oh, she’s recovering

Mrs. 8. Air, air!

Brn, Take my arm, Mrs. Southdown. (going, leading Mrs. SouTHDOWN wy c. Zo Mrs. Benson, who is following) Stay with him, or he may do himself a mischief. (Mks. SOUTHDOWN goes towards Cc. leaning om BENSON’S arm; SouTHDOWN sits sobding in chair, L.)

Mrs. B. (coming down u. of SoutHpowNn Jaoking at hin) Poor man! what dreadful agony !

ks me to 0 crazy !

av bite — —I wan; ut over. -Trotter » smash Trotter,

he con- VASE On

hrown

brown

Mrs.

wing) Mrs.

arm ;

him)

TO OBLIGE BENSON. 21 Mas. S. (aside, and looking back) How wonderfully weil he does it!

Evit Mrs. Sourupown, supported by Brnson, L.c-

Mrs, B. (approaching SourHpown, L.) Come, Mr. South- down, cheer up—Lucy may have been imprudent—

Sourn. A woman I adored, Madam! (rises and comes forward, c.) A woman I thought more of than my great rota baga mangold wurzel, or my liquid manure tank—a woman I’d have given up high farming for if she had asked me.

Mrs. B. (u.) I’m sure she repents bitterly of her im- prudence,

Sourn. Repents! Suppose I’d been of an apoplectic habit of body—the shock would have been fatal, Ma’am. However, there’s the duel to come.

Mrs. B. Oh, you don’t mean to say you'll fight ?

Sour. Till one of us is brought home a mangled corse by the usual mode of conveyance, a shutter,

Mrs. B. Oh, Sir, do not talk in this dreadful manner (she puts her handkerchief to her eyes)

Souru. You feel for me—I’m extremely obliged to you— oh, try to conceive what I suffer—‘‘ Imagine Benson in my predicament”—-He’s a happy man, if ever there was one— fond of you—working away from morning till night for your sake. Well, now, suppose a d d good-natured friend was to come to him and say, ‘‘ your pupil, Mr. Mere- dith, is paying attentions to Mrs. Benson.”

Mrs. B. Oh, Sir!

Souru. “Mrs. B. has written to him a letter. ’

Mrs. B. Mr. Southdown!

Souru. I say, only imagine such a thing, of course you wouldn’t be guilty of anything of the kind—but, suppose you had been, and Benson were to be told of it, suddenlv— oe of a fuller habit of body than I am—it would be fatal to him.

Mrs. B. Oh, Mr. Southdown, how can you imagine such dreadful things? Now just reftect—

Souru. Reflect! Reflect, indeed! I’m past the stage of reflection, Madam. (he goes to table x. and sits, taking up blotting book)

Mrs. B. What are you going to do now?

Sours. To write to Mrs. Southdown’s family, to. tell them what a wreck she’s made of our once happy home,

22 TO OBLIGE BENSON.

(writes) ** My dear mother-in-law—” (he smashes a pen, and takes another, and a fresh sheet of paper) No, I'll spare her mamma. ‘ My dear father-in-law—” No, that is not heart- broken enough. (throws pen away, and writes with a fresk one on a fresh sheet of paper) ‘*‘ Wretched parent—” Yes, Eh! I’ve smashed all the pens, and used up all the paper. Oh! in Benson’s study I shall find the means of putting my emotions into black and white.

Exit Sourupown, kr. dD. 2 &

Mrs. B. And all this misery has been caused by a mere indiscretion—a letter! Good gracious! To think I might have caused as much suffering to poor dear Benson! Oh! it will be a lesson to me for life.

Enter BEnson and Mrs. Soutupown. t. C

Here he comes, and Lucy.

Mrs. S. (u.) Do not tell me, Sir. It’s always the huse band’s fault.

Brn. (c.) But atlow me-——

Mrs. 8S, After you’re once married you think you have a right to neglect us. Engrossed by your pleasures—your clubs—your public dinners—your white bait parties—you don’t think about us moping at home—and, of course—

Brn. But, my dear Mrs. Southdown, that’s what I’m always preaching to Trotter. ‘‘ Now, look here, South- down—” I’ve said to him a hundred times—‘“ Your head’s always running on turnips, and guano, and clod-crushers. You don’t think how Mrs. §. is bored all the while mewed up by herself in Clarges-street, while you are drilling, and har- rowing, and surface-soiling down at Willesden. Why don’t you do asI do?” '

Mrs. 8. As you do?

Ben. Yes, ask Carry if I’m not the most attentive hus- band in the Temple. Why, when we were first married there never was a night but I took her toa party, or to the play, or the Opera. It bored me dreadfully, but I did it frem a stern sense of duty—didn’t I, Carry ?

Mrs. B. (z.) Yes, when we were jirs¢ married.

Ben. And I should have gone on, only Carry got 80 eco- nomical—so afraid I was spending too much on her, that, egad, the only way I could manage, was to let Meredith take the boxes, and pretend they were given him,

Mrs, B. Then it was you.

TO OBLIGE BENSON. 93

Ben. Of course it was, I knew how you adored the Opera. Mrs. B. And you never told me.

Bsn. Why should I? Topoison your pleasure? I only mention it now, because Meredith’s going to leave town to-day.

Mus. B. Oh! I hope we shall see him again before he goes, to thank him for the very handsome way in which he has offered us his uncle’s cottage for the summer.

Bsn. Oh never mind, eae I pay old Trueblue fifty pounds for the three months.

Mrs. B. You pay fifty pounds! Then, it’s not a polite. ness of His, but an a‘tention of yours, dear.

Ben. Of course it is! Do you think I value fifty pounds, when it’s to give pleasure to my Carry ?

Mrs. B. (aside) And I thought him careless—neglectful !

Brn. I merely mention these things toshow Mrs. South- down what I have always preached to Trotter. But he never would listen to me.

Mrs. B. Do you know (embracing Benson, and getting toc.) you're a dear, darling, attentive old hubby, and I love you very much.

Bren, Of course youdo. Iknow that. (Mrs. B. appears affected) Why, what’s the matter ?

Mrs. B. Nothing, dear, only—when : think—if you only knew— 1

Mrs. 8. (1.) (aside) The little fool! Hush! But where is my husband P

Mrs. B. He’s gone to Mr. Benson’s study to write to your parents.

Mrs.S. To my parents! (aside) Thedear feliow! [| never thought he was half so intelligent.

Mrs. B. He’s more furious than ever,

Mrs. S. Oh, leave me to soothe him.

Ben. I’m afraid you'll find it difficult. I never saw a man in such a state as he was when J mentioned the letter you had written to Meredith.

Mrs. 8. ‘Che letter I had written?

Ben. Yes. Carry let it out to me, and I let it out to him. That is, I mentioned it—

Mrs. S. You mentioned my writing a letter to Mr, Meredith ? :;

Ben. Why, as he knew of it before. It was that first put him in such a frenzy-~wasn’t it?

ee

24 TO OBLIGE BENSON.

Mrs. S. Ah! I see it all now. (aside) He's not making believe to be jealous ! He is jealous in sober earnest.

Ben. (going up) I had better see him.

Mrs. S. No, no. I must explain matters alone. You’!? make the matter twenty times worse.

Brn. Well, perhaps you’re right. You women have a way of managing things. Come, Carry, let’s leave the parties to settle the case out of court, It often answers when we lawyers can’t do anything.

Ewvit Mr. and Mrs. Benson, tL. pv. 3 &.

Mrs.S. Here he comes! I must open his eyes—poor, dear old stupid!

Enter Sourupown, Rr D. 2 8. An open letter in his hand.

Soutu. I think this will do. (reads) ‘‘ Wretched ola man!’ It’s perhaps not very polite to address one’s father- in-law in that manner, but it paints the desolation of my mind, and will lead him to anticipate the misery that’s in store for him. ‘ Wretched old man! Your wife whom I have the misfortune to call my daughter” —

Mrs. 8. (u.) Pooh ! pooh ! Trotter ! (she takes the letter and crunples it up) If you must write to papa, don’t write nonsense,

Sourn. (r.) Eh! So Mrs, Southdown—

Mrs. 5. (daughing) There, there! and to think of your being in earnest all the while. Ha! ha! ha!

Sourn. So, madam, you’re laughing! Oh ! this is too hardened !

Mus. S. Don’t you see? It’s all a farce.

Sours. A farce! say a tragedy, madam, with everybody killed in the last act !

Mrs. S. Stuff and nonsense—how stupid you are! Don’t you understand ? This flirtation—Mr. Meredith’s letter—it wasn't to me!

Soutn, Not to you, eh? not to you?

Mrs. 8. No, of course not, but to Mrs. Benson. She was foolish enough to send that letter—the answer was for Aer, and I wanted vou to act jealousy, only to frighten her out of such indiscretions for the future,

Soutn. So, to frighten her, eh?

Mus. S. Yes, by showing her to what leagths an angry husband can go; even such a kind, soft-hearted easy crea- ture as you are,

Te’s not r earnest,

You’!

n have a leave the answers

1 DS3E, S—nDoor,

hia hand.

ched ola ’s father- n of my that’s in whom I[

the letter n’t write of your

ig is too

erybody

! Don’t btter—it

She was for ten her

n angry sy crea

4 » strong ™ Iam!

TO OBLIGE BENSON. 25

Sout. Oh, no! really I call this coming it a leetle too

, even for such a kind, soft-hearted, easy creature as So, it’s Mrs. Benson, is it ?

Mrs. 8S. Hush! or Benson will hear you.

' Sours. Mrs. Benson! oh, oh! this is too rich,

> Benson, Benson! (crosses to L.c.)

Enter Benson and Mrs. BENSON L.D. 8 £.

BEN. (L.Cc.) Well, you’ve made it up? SouTH. (r.c.) Made it up, indeed! Only imagine the cock-and-bull story this abandoned female has invented to

Here,

> humbug me!

Mrs. 8S. (r.) Mr. Southdown, don’t! SoutH. Don’t! how dare you say ‘‘don’t” to me!

~ Only imagine, Benson, she says, the real culprit—

Mrs. S. Silence, Mr. Southdown, this instant ! Sourtu. Silence yourself, audacious woman !

. She says ~~ the real culprit is Mrs. Benson.

~*~ Mrs. B. (u.) Oh, goodness gracious!

Sourn. That it’s Mrs. Benson that Meredith paid atten- | tions to—that it was Mrs. Benson who wrote him a letter, ; and that the letter he gave her at the pic-nic yesterday was

~ meant for Mrs. Benson.

Mrs. B. Oh, Lucy! how could you ? Mrs. S. (aside to Mrs. B. dchind Souruvown and Brn- » son) Hush!

Souru. There, Benson! you thought ‘ crocodile’’ too strong an expression for such a woman—what do you think now P | Brn. (u.c. aside) It’s a desperate move of hers, but we _ must back her up—anything to save her from his fury. _ (to Sourupown) Well, Trotter, what Mrs. Southdown has told you, is the truth.

Soutu. The truth!

(Mrs. Benson and Mrs. Sournpown look astonished—- BENSON makes signs to them)

BEN. (L.c.) Yes, Mrs. Beuson has confessed all to me. It was an act of indiscretion she has suffered deeply for her folly.

Sourn. (R.c. looking at Mrs. B. who is ayitated, u.H.) Is i: possible? Weil, I declare—lI see she is agitated |

Mus. 8. (B. aside to TroTrER) Will you * hold your tongue ?

26 fO OBLIGE BENSON.

Sout. Don’t speak to me, hyena! (to Benson) But you believe this ?

Ben. Of course [ do. What can you expect ; I neglected her for my briefs as you did for your turnips. Meredith was all attention, all politeness; in short, it was as much my fault as hers—I admit it. She has told me all, and we've made it up again—haven’t we, my darling?

Mrs. B. (u.) Oh, my dear—

Ben. (aside) Forgive my involving you—but it s to save your friend.

Enter Mrerepit#, LC.

Here heis! Will an avowal from hig own lips satisfy you? (to Sournpown)

Mer. (c.) Tired of waiting in chambers, Sir, I am come to know—

Ben. Sir, circumstances have changed since you were last here. (significantly) My wife, Sir, has acknowledged to having written you a letter—I sav, Sir, my wife—

Mer. (aside) She must have confessed. Well, Sir—

Bren. You confirm my wife’s acknowledgment—

Mrr. As she has admitted the fact, Sir, I have no choice—

Brn. (aside) He understands exactly! I must insist, Sir, on your giving me back the letter— my wife’s letter !

Mer. (aside) Give it to kim. Mr. Benson, it is impos- sible !

Ben. I insist on having it! (aside) or Southdown may catch sight of the writing. Come, Sir—the letter!

Mer. I’ve burnt it.

Mrs. S. (aside to Marevirn) A capital thought.

Ben. (aside) Deucedly well imagined!

Merepitu slides the letter into Mrs. Sournpown’s hand. Mrs. Sourupown approaches the fire-place.

Soutu. (up stage R.u.) I saw him pass it to my wife (aside)

Ben. Well, as it’s burnt, of course you can’t return it—. so let’s say no more about the matter. I forgive you (aside to MrerepitH) Shake hands—shake hands!

Mer. (shaking hands with Benson) With all my heart! (goes up c.—aside) Hang me, if I understand it!

Zzit Msrevitsa, L.c

Son) But

neglected edith was much my ind we've

8 to save

isfy you? am come

you were »wledged Sir—

have no

it insist, etter ! impos-

n may

’s hand.

ny wife

irn it.

u (aside heart

H, L.G

a

TO OBLIGE BENSON 27

Sourupown crosses to fire-place. Bzn. (crosses ton.) (to Sournpown) There, Trotter!

are you convinced now?

Sourn. (u.) I’ll soon show you. Mrs. Southdown !—

Madam !—have the kindness to give me that letter !

Mrs, S, (u.c.) What letter ?

Brn. (r.) Didn’t you hear Meredith say he had put it in the fire?

Sovrn. Humbug! The letter, Madam! I command you, by all the majesty of an offended husband! (Mrs, Soutnpown passes the letter to Mrs. Benson) There, now! she’s given the letter to your wife!

Mrs. B. No, no!

Mrs. B. trying to conceal the letter, drops it. BEnson seizes it.

Sours. Ah! now you've got it!

Ben. I ?—what an ‘dea!

Soutu. (goes round behind him, and seizes his hand, with the letter in it, R.) There!

Ben. (r.c.) Well, I have got it!—what then?

Sour. (k.) Let me read it—I insist on reading—it’s my right! (trying to take the letter from BEnson’s grasp)

Brn. What right can you have to read a letter written by my wife? I am the only person who has any right to violate her secrets. (takes letter, as if going to open it)

Mrs. B. (u. c. grasping Benson’s arm) Oh, Mr. Benson !

Brn. (to her) Capital! Appear terrified ! (aloud) No, Mrs. Benson, don’t be alarmed—when Benson forgives, he forgives entirely. My generosity doesn’t stop half way. (Benson crosses to the fire-place, lights the letter and lets tt fall, burning, into the fender) There! (crosses back again to R. C.)

Mes. B. (1. c.) Oh, Sir! (as Benson crosses)

Mrs. 8. (aside L.) She’s saved !

Soutn. (has quickly crossed behind to fire-place, snatched up the burning letter, throws it down L. a. and stamps on it) Ah! we'll see!

Bsn. (putting Mrs, B. round to nw.) There’s an example for you, Trotter—I have forgiven my wife, though she had committed an indiscretion, Forgive yours—who hasn’t. Come!

Mrs. S. (1. c.) Ah ! there are two words to that. pose I refuse to forgive him ?

Ben. Oh, but he shall ask your pardon on his knees.

Sup-

28 TO OBLIGE BENSON.

(crosses to L. c.) Come, Trotter, down on your marrowbones. (he forces Trotrer onto his knees) (to Mrs. 8.) Behold him at your feet ! (crosses behind to R. Cc.)

Sours (on his knees) lf I could only find out the truth! (picke up remnant of letter and looks at it) Oh ! there’s some of the writing still legible! Oh! oh, my wig!

Bun. (R. c.) What’s the matter ?

Sourn. (1.) A sudden emotion! (aside) It’s Mrs, Benson’s head after all ! (¢o Mrs, S.) Then, it was—

M?: %. (L.c.) Yes.

Souza. Oh!

Ben. (r.c.) Come, forget and forgive—follow our ex- ample—make it up. (Aisses Mrs. Benson) Poor deluded Southdown !

Soutu. With pleasure—with avery great deal of pleasure. Toody : (xzsses Mrs. S., then rises from his knees) Poor innocent J3eisv: !

Ben. And now we've happily made up our quarrel. Oolige we--/to Mi: SourHpown)

Sours. (L.) Jdilge Lerson—

BENSON (R.C.) With a moral ?

Mrs. SoUTHDOWN (advancing a litile, u.c.) Oh, wives! mind, billet-doux are dangerous things; Use Hymen’s torch to burn off Cupid’s wings. Husbands! if notes meant for your wives are sent you, Don’t read, or the contents may discontent you. Youths! who post loves in gloves, care it demands, That loves and gloves shall both reach the right hands; Or you may find—’tis no uncommon case— The gloves misfits, and the loves out of place! Benson (r.c.) Well summed up. Mrs. BENSON (R., pointing to audience) To sum up’s the judge’s task, BENSON (to Sournpown) You’ll oblige me—their verdict if you’ll ask. Soutupown (t., Mrs. S.) ‘Toody !—our fate pray take the House’s sense on Mra. SoutHDOWN (to Audience) You'll oblige, Trotter— Soutupown. By obliging Bensor!

| w.H. M&s, B., Benson, Mrs. Sourn. Sours., u.He

8.

owbones. hold him

he truth ! e’s some

t’s Mrs,

THE FIRST NIGHT.

Pad

ourex- @&

deluded A Comic Drama

pleasure, J ) Poor 7 W ONK MT,

el, oe

Ings ; nt you,

ands, hands;

LONDON : New York:

SAMUEL FRENOH, SAMUEL FRENCH & SON, PUBLISHER, PUBLISHERS,

69, STRAND. 122, NASSAU STREEI,

s task,

First Pexformed at the Royal Princess's Theatre, on Monday, October 1, 1849.

CHARACTERS.

Tne Hon. Bertie Fitzpancie.ese HyacintH PARNASSUS os cceccses THEOPHILUS VAMP os cccosececces TimOTHEUS FLAT coc cececsecees AcHILLE TALMA DUPARD eooeeess Emipie ANTOINETTE ROSE oo oe ee ee

Miss ARABMULA FitzyaMes .. ees

Mr. Craven,

Mr. Wynn.

Mr. Sragey.

Mr. J. W. Ray. Mr. A. Wiaane Miss Loutsa How

Miss SANDERSe

COSTUMES—Moprrn. Dufard—Long surtout, dark trousers, white cravat, grey

and bald wig.

Jtose,—Plain dark silk dress, French fashion, small plain

collar and cuffs.

4rabewa—*Fashionable and stylish carriage aress.

areca dae pe AEE

This piece is the property of Mr. J. M. Maddoe, and cannot se performed without his permission

OW

» grey

| plain

anno

THE FIRST NIGHT!

Scene I.—Sitting Room in Achille Talma Dufard’s Lodging, second floor. Door 2 x. u., leading to his Bedchamber, Door 2 E. R., leading to the Bedchamber of his Daughter, Door in flat.—Furniture, (plain) Table, two Chairs, ant Writing Materials.

Enter FrrzpanGur at Door in flat, which had been left ajar.

FITZDANGLE, I’ve managed to slip up unperceived. Surely these must be the rooms—it can’t be any higher, or no human being could possibly undergo the exhausting process of the journey more than once in the twenty-four hours! Yes! this must be the place where Rose vegetates with that stue pid old actor whom she has the misfortune to call papa. The obstinate donkey! Because his wife happened to be an Englishwoman, and his daughter consequently speaks our language like a native, he persists in making an actress of her, and of trying to bring her out upona London stage ; but Pil—

Durarp, (without) Rose!

Fitz. That’s the animal’s voice.

Dur. (without, louder) Rose !

Roser, (without, R. 4.) Papa!

Fitz. That’s the animal’s daughter’s voice,

Dur. (without) Are you awake?

Fitz. A sensible question, to ask her if she’s awakes

4 THE FIRST NIGHT [ac. 2.

Ross. (without) Yes, Papa.

Fitz. It’s a pity she didn’t complete the joke by saying no. Dur. (as before) Rose!

Ross. (as before) Yes, Papa.

Dur. (as before) Je rappelles tu, vere did I put my vig? Virz. Lis wig, indeed !

Rosr. (as before) When you went to bed, Papa, you hung it on the water bottle.

Virz, The dirty old pig!

Dur, (without) Ah, bon! I shaft find nim,

Firz. gad’! while he is putting on his vig, as he calls it, I’ve a great mind to pop in here—there’s nothing like a vigorous assault, and, if she consents, I will carry her off to the continent at once.

Dur, (without) Rose !

Enter Rose hastily from D. 2 B. Be

Ross. Here I am, Pepp, bare Tem! (runs into Firzpan- GLE’s arms—screams slyhtiy) Ah! who are you, Sir? what is your business here? Howdid you get into this room ?

Firz. Hush !

Ross. Eh; why, I declare it is the Honourable Mr. Fitzdangle, Arabella Fitzjames’ adorer !

Virz. Say rather your adorer !

Rose. Mine!

Firz. Yes; for your sweet sake I’ve broken off with her altogether; I leave town to-night for our embassy at Vienna, und, if you consent to accompany me—

Rose, (with raillery) Indeed! I’m very much obliged to you, I’m sure ; (7ith indignation) and pray, Sir, what have you ever seen in my conduct to lead you to suppose that—

Dur. (without) Rose

Ross. Ah! Papa’s coming ;: for Heayen’s sake, Sir, leave me—leave the room this instant, fom. if he were to see you here—

Firz. You don’t mean to say that he would refuse such an offer ?

Rose. Unless you wish to mafe your exit through the window, I'd advise you not to repeat it to Aim. Go, Sir; and never again dare to—(crose before him and go up) Ah! "tia too late, he is here!

ec. 1.J THE FIRST NIGHT 5

Enter Durarp, Door 2 #, L. H.

saying Dur. (Declaiming) ‘* Oui, c’est Agamemnon, c'est ton rot qui t'éveille— Vieux, reconnais la voiu qui frappe ton oreille.” vig? (While reciting, he crosses to Rosx’s chamber—not secing her 4 or FitzDANGLE) u hung Dit donc—Rosey, I ave finish to black your toser pair of boots; oh! guels amours de petites bottes / make haste, Miss, and we sh} @o see Mademoiselle Fitzjames dis mornin. 1e calls (FitzDANGLE crosses behind to L.) She have promise us her r like a protection and—do you hear me, Miss? her off Ross. (c.) Yes, Papa, yes. Dur. (sees her) Ah, you are dere! Ross. (aside to Firzpanaun, who has concealed himself bee hind her) Leave me, Sir. Fitz. (to hr, aside) Indeed I shall not. TZDAN- Dur. Oh, dat good Miss Fitzjames ; she have not you > what © % talent, my child, but she is rich and fashionable, and she m? * shall procure you a d¢édud ; and den, once you come out, no * more of struggle and of misére, you sall ave twenty pound e Mr. > of new gown every week, and you sall keep always a little © soup and a corner of de fire for ton vieux papa, eh, bien? . Rosg. Oh yes, dear father, 4 Dur. Bien, kiss me—(sees Firzpaneur) Tiens / un inconnul th her * Good morning, Sare! ienna, - Fitz, (Gowing) Good morning to you, Sir: how d’ye do, : ir? ped to Dur. Good morning, how you do? (aside to Ross) have > Who de devil is he? hat— :. Rose. (lo herself) What shall I say? I dare not tell him. > (Zo Dorary) It is a young man—who—who— leave “ Dur. Ah, it is a young man ! ? fe you Firz, I have the honor to be an artiste, Sir, an artiste like yourself and your charming daughter. P such Dur. Aha! you play de comédie ? Fitz. No, Sir, not exactly ; 1 play the cornet, my name h the is Piston, I play the cornet in Monsieur Baton’s orchestra. , Sir; Dur. De cornet / ah, I know him—I know de corned. I ) Ah! know him veil ; la, la, la, la la, la, &c. (imitating)

Koss. (aside) Ah, how he is fibbing. Us Dur. (crosses to centre) Mon cher camarade, I am delightful to see you, you shall stop and dine wiz us,

6 THE FIRST NIGHT. [ec. 1

Rosg, (aside to Dorarp) Papa, there’s nothing in the house !

Dur. So mosh de better, he shall send for someting and stand treat.

Fitz. Excure me, Sir, and allow me to explain the busi- ness which brought me here. I come to—to offer your lovely daughter an engagement.

Dur. Saperlotte! Iam ver much oblige to you, Monsieur Piston ; and so is my Rose, I am certain—n’est ce pas, mon enfant ?

Ross. (embarrassed) Y-yes—yes—Sir !

Fitz. And a very good engagemen* tego!

Dur. Indeed—where ?—In London,

Fitz. No !—

Dur. Ex province ?—In de country ?

Fitz. (markedly, regarding Rose attentively) No—abroad— On the continent, and, if Mademoiselle will consent to start to-morrow—

Dur. Mr. Piston, I tank you ver mosh—mais it is de dream of my life to make come out dis child in dis grand cité—For dat I ave struggle—for dat I ave pinch—for dat lave starve, and out she shall come, n’es¢ ce pas, mon enfant ?

Ross. Oh! yes, yes, Papa—it is my most ardent wish.

Dur. Look at dat child, Mr. Piston. Why, do you know, Sare, that from only hearing her friend, Miss Fitzjames, two or three times through the new part that lady is going to play at one of your teatres to-night, my little girl can repeat every line of it. Ah! she will make a most aston- ishing success.

Fitz. (aside) Poor old maniac ! (¢o him) But, my dear Sir, suppose she should be hissed !

Dur. Eh bien / suppose she shall. Ecoutez, monsieur, I ave play all de first part in Tragedie, Comedie, Opera and Ballet— and moi, Achille Talma Dufard, I ave been hiss for five and thirty year.

Firz. Well, it hasn’t killed you yet.

Dur. Bah! I mind him no more as de boz of de fly— mais, ven it comes to de orange peel—vpardleu / it is a leetle too mosh. Zé puis, M. Piston, when she is come out I sall come out also.

Fitz. You !

Dur. Certaincment l—=Why not?—you like de artiste all

e

ati

Bt

[ec. i. g in the someting

the busi- fier your

Monsieur pas, mon

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ear Sir,

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80, 1] THE FIRST NIGHT. 7

de better when dey what you call break your English—vou run after them a great deal more when they have a foreign accent—now, I ave a little accené myself, it 1s not mosh, but I ave an accent—so, when I appear in Macbet, I sall give de, what you call, go by to Mr. Macready.

Fitz. In Macbeth!

Dur. Yes, Sare, in Macbet or Hamlet—I have not make up my mind which. (gives an imitation of Macready in one of the soliloguies, but with French accent)—Dere—how you find dat?

Firz. You may call it breaking the English, but I call it macadamizing it.

Rost. Hush! I think I hear somebody coming up stairs, Papa!

jee (without) What! higher up stil] !—how very dreadful!

Ross, ’Tis Arabella’s voice !

Firz. (aside) The deuce it is!

AraB. (without) Dear me! I’m quite out of breath!

Dur. Ah! mon diew / it is de great Miss Fitzjames— pardon, camarade. Exit Duranp, v.¥,

Fitz. Arabella bere! If she sees me, I am lost!

Rost. But, I thought you had quarrelled and parted ?

Fitz. Yes, yes, but she loves me to distiaction, and, if she finds me with you, she’s] tear my eyes out, and yours as well. I must fly, but where?—Ah! this way! (crosses n. towards Rose’s chaméer)

Ross. No!—that is my room, Sir!

Fitz. So much the better.

Rose. But you'll find a door which leads on to the etaircase—

Firz, I shall not leave the house, my angel.

Hatt Firzpancur door 2 &, 2,

Rosz. Upon my word !—Did ever anybody hear of such

a thing? fte-enter Durarp conducting ARABELLA, D. i F.

Dur. Eutrez, Mademoiselle, entrez/ and permit me to introduce to you—(looking rouxd) Eh!—where is dat M. Piston?

Ross. He has gone, Papa! (¢o ARABELLA) Oh! I feel #0 much obliged o you for coming !

| | |

| | | Rl

¥ 1 ; Ba i i \ 4 ‘ + t ! ; {| i d My a rt

8 THE FIRST NIGHT. {sc. 1

Aras, Pray don’t mention it! Well, you are tolerably lodged here—it isn’t very stylish.

Dur. Non—not very.

Aras, But it really looks vastly comfortable.

Dur. Oui—c’est ver comfortable.

Ross. Ak! everybody is not so rich as you, you know.

Aras. True!—I’ve nothing to complain of as far as money is concerned; but, I’m very unhappy, my dear, for all that.

Dur. (gallantly) Unhappy !—So young!—So handsome ! —wid all the world at your feet !—Zimpossidle /

Aras, Indeed, but I am, though ; for the monster whom I loved—you know him, my dear--the Honourable Mr, Fitzdangle, has picked a quarrel with me, and vows he'll never see me again.

Dur. Oh, dear!—Oh, dear !—dat is bad!—Ma foi—I should be mosh sorry for any honourable man to make any love to my Rosey.

Ross. (¢o herself) My poor Papa !—If he did but know—

AraB. And the worst of it is that the creature has an immense fortune-—£7,000 a year, at least. But, I have a rehearsal at two o’clock for the new piece which is coming out to-night. You wrote to me saying that you wished to see me.

Dur. I had that honor, Mademoiselle, and it vas to re- call to your memory the promise you vas so kind to make.

Aras. About recommending Rose to an engagement. Well, I think I can manage it.

Dur. Oh! Mademoiselle !—ten million thousand tanks !

Aras. Yes; I have already spoken about her, and I think I may venture say that there will be an engagement open for her next week.

Ross and Dur, (enraptured) Oh !

Aras. As one of the supernumeraries in the forthcoming ballet.

Ross. (petrified) The baliet !|—

Dur. Supernumerary !

Aras. It isn’t avery large salary, it is true, but, m these hard times, seven shillings a week is bette: than nothing, you know.

Dur. Seven shilling !

Anas, And, as for yourself, they've promised to make an

wet CO?

{sc, 1.

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80. 1.) THE FIRST NIGHT. 9

opening for you in front of the house, as one of the check- takers.

Dur. Checktaker!—an artiste—checktaker!—Sacre ton- nerre f

Aras. Why not! I’meure it isa very respectable retreat for an old actor,

Dur. (with forced calmness) C'est possible? mais, voyez vous, Mademoiselle—I am a comédien—I am proud of my pro- fession—artiste I vill live—artiste I vill die—but the means to live vill not fail to me when my daughter shall have made her début!

Aras. Made her début !-—Where, I pray ?

Dur. Where —Here—in London—where you are!

Aras. (rising suddenly) London !—where I am !—upon my word—such pretensions as these—

Ross. Pretensions !—what pretension is there in it, Miss Fitzjames? Have you not come out, and succeeded ?

Aras, I!—yes!—but that is a very different thing, my good girl—I believe Z have talent!

Dur. (getting warm) Yes—you have—and modesty also — But, Mademoiselle, I had suppose that wiz your great interest in your new Theatre—

Aras, In my theatre! and, in my parts, I suppose !—

Dur. Well—what for not ?

Aras. Ha! ha! ha!—upon my word—ha! ha! ha! tne :.’79 is truly, laughable—and in my parts, too—ha! ha! ha! Why, the man is a perfect idiot? Do you think the audience would allow it? In my parts, indeed—a little minikin, pale faced chit like that !

Dur. A what?

Aras. (fiercely) Enough, enough, Sir !—Since such are your ideas, I’m very glad you have taken the trouble to make me aware of them, and, I have the honor to wish you both a very good morning—I should like to see you play Lady Macbeth—in my parts, truly—Ila! ha! ha!

Heit v. inv. laughing,

Dur. The impertinent !—Ah! I vould mosh like to see

you in her Teatre, for your talent should take away all de part from her back.

Ross. Yes, and I could take away her love too, if I chose. Dur. (astonished) Comment ?

3 ie

10 THE FIRST NIGHT. [sc. ws.

Ross. Yes, I could, yor this young nobleman—the Honourable Mr. Fitzdangle, loves me—he has told me so, “@ your and offered to run away with me. a

Dur. Run away viz you!—run away vis my child— vis my Rosey from her old fader ! ji

Ross. Nay, Papa, you needn’t be afraid, for I don’t love =| May him, and it wasn’t with my good will, I assure you, that he «7% was here just now. = .

Dur. Here just now! What! the young man! the 9 Com Piston ? S|

Rosr. Yes, that was he, Mr. Fitzdangle himself; but J 7 sent him away.

Dur. Mr. Fitzdangle, de friend of Miss Fitzjames? Ah! = bah ! but he did not go by me on de stairs—where he is? = & dat Piston? ’

Roszr. He—he—went there! (pointing to her door)

Dur. Diable! Evit into her chamber, x. 2 8.

Ross. But, father! Oh, mercy upon me! if he should find him there !

Dur. (returning, a sheet of paper in his hand) He has gone! de oder door was open, and he was right to go!

e

Saperlotte/ But he has writ someting on this paper which S Scex was lay on the table. a as Ross. A letter? q 3) Dur. Yes, only dere is no address on him, vois ma , ot]

biche. : Ente

Ross. Isuppose he thought the address was unnecessary, (taking it and reading) ‘‘I love you, and you only—meet

me to night at Dartford, the first stage on the road to a V Dover, where I shall be waiting for you. If you do not this come I’ll have you hissed off every stagein Europe. Yours, > Calif as you treat me, Bertie Fitzdangle.’—What audacity ! * tom Dur. What impertinence ! ’ I “Oh! rage! Oh,desespoir! Oh! vieillesse ennemie !’” = morn

“* N’ai je pus tant vécu gue pour cette infamie?”’ to-d

I will tear him to pieces, (about to tear letter’) mais attendez-— to be I have one idea!—yes—why not? there is no address, He ¢ (goes up to table, rapidly folds letter) . v Ross. What are you going to do, Papa? she Due. Give me my coat—she has insult me—she has sas

humiliate and defy us—sais nous verrons /—vite—une enves

but J

> Ah! he is?

‘) 2. DR, should

e has o go! which

be. 11.] THE FIRST NIGHT. lk

lope (puts letter in envelope) And now, Miss Fitzjames, mind

your eye!

Rosse. Where are you going to send it?

Dur. Silence, daughter, silence/ The old lion:s rouse to defend his cub—To Miss Arabella Fitzjames, Curzon Streec, May Fair—give me my coat, (crosses to L.) my best coat!

Ross. You have but one, Papa!

Dur. Ver well—I sall make him do. (puts on his cos) (Come, we go out together.

Ros. (putting on her bonnet) Go out! but what for?

Dur. (all rapidly) You sall come out at de ¢hédtre /

Ross. But when?

Dur. This ver night!

Ros. In what part?

Dur. De part of Arabella Fitzjames

Ross. Arabella’s !

Dur. ‘ Allons, ma fille chérie, voici le jour heureua,

Qui va conclure enfin nos desseins glorieuz. Allons ! oui, je le veuw. Il fuut me satisfaire !

Ll faut affranchir Rome! Il faut venger ton pére.” Exennt Durarp and Ross p. in F.

Sceng II.—TZhe Stage of the Theatre, somewhat in disorder, as if previous to a rehearsal. AcTORS, ACTRESSES, 3ALLET, Cuorvs, §c., discovered ; some seated at back, others walking to and fro.

Enter Tuzopuitus Vamp (the Prompter) u. wu. with hiv watch in his hand.

Vamr. A quarter-past two; rehearsal not begun; and this is the first night of our new piece—" The Virgin 1 California.” Less noise, ladies and gentlemen. Ah! her2 tomes Mr. Flat.

Fiat, (without R.) Tell them they must call again tu- morrow. I’m busy on the stage, and cannot see anybody to-day. (Haters R.) Well, Mr. Vamp, are you all reat” to begin? Where’s Mr. Parnassus ?—where’s the author. He ought to be here.

Vamp. He has gone to see after Miss Fitzjames, Sir * she has not yet arrived, though everybody was called at half-past one.

Fiat. Well, at all events, you can get the stage ready, and the scene set,

12 THE FIRST NiGHT. [sc. it.

Vamr. Yes, Sir. Now, Brace, look sharp. Clear the stage, ladies and gentlemen; and clear the wings, too, if you please; and we shall soon be able to get on.

The Actors and AcTRESSES exveunti. Hu. A Landscape Scene 1s put on.

Fiat. Now, quick, quick! do look alive about it. Are all the gentlemen of the orchestra in their places ?

Vamp. (looking in the orchestra) Yes, Sir! That is—all but the drum, I think.

Frat. Coniound that drummer—absent again! There’s half the effect of the piece to come out of his drum. (¢o orchestra generally) By the bye, gentlemen of the orchestra, I shall be glad if you'll pay as much attention to your dress as possible—body coats, and white cravats, and that sort of thing; and if those who haven’t em could cultivate a pair of mustachios or a beard, I should feel exceedingly obliged— you’ve no idea what a difference it makes with the public ; and if your hair don’t curl naturally, get it friz’d—it’s half the battle to look fierce and foreign. (turning to stage) Now, come—can’t we begin? Where are all the people? where’s Mr. Timkins ?—he’s discovered in the opening acene.

Vamp. He’s not come yet, Sir.

Frat. Forfeit him! And Mr. Folair ?

Vamp. Not here, Sir.

Frat. Forfeit him! And Miss Neal?

Vamp, Not here, Sir, |

Frat. Forfeit her!

Vame. And Miss Fitzjames—

Fiat. Forfeither! Eh !—stop—no--never mind !

Voicss behind r. Fiat. Eh! whois that? Is that she? Vamp. (looking off) No, Sir. I fancy it is somebody

who wants to see you. Fiat. I can’t seeanybody. I’m busy.

Enter Durarp and Ross rk.

Dur. Pardon me! but I wish to speak wiz de

manager. | Fiat. (taking the “‘ Times” grom his pocket, and beginning to read) The manager—the manager is not bers.

do, it.) THE FIRST NIGHT. 13

Dur. Excuse me—but dey told me dat he was here.

Fiat. They told you wrong, then. He’s not in the Theatre.

Vamp. (aside) Admirable coolness! He’s an extra- ordinary creature !

Dur. (¢o Frat) I beg pardon, Sir, but I think you labour under a lie.

Ross. (aside to Durarp) Why, that’s he, Papa!—that’s he himself !

Dur. Ah—bah! I sall tickel him. (Zo Frar) Mon. sieur Manager, I—

Frat. Have I not teld you, my good Sir, that the manager’s not here ?

Dur. Ah, Monsieur, pardon; but there are men in the world so celebrated dat dey cannot conceal themselves ;— now, the most clevere manager in London is one of dose mans.

Fiat. Really, now—

Dur. Approach, approach, my child, and make your best curtsey to de first directeur in Europe.

Ross. (curlseying) L esteem it no slight honour, Sir, be- lieve me |

Fiat. But, really, I am so excessively busy—

Dur. (aside to Rose) Hush! I'll tickel him. (aloud to Frat) Of course, Sare, of course you are. Our cousin, the editor, told us he feared you would be!

Fiat. (aside) The deuce !—his cousin an editor! (rise ¢o L.)

Ross. (astonished, to Durarp) Our cousin ?

Dur. (aside, to Rose) Hosh! Tais toi—hosh! I sall tickel him.

Fiat. Well, Sir, what is your business with me ?

Dur. (to Ross aside) I ave tickel him, you see. (fo Fiat) Look at that wonderful child, Sare—a child vich I did bring up—vich I did educate—vich I did create on purpose for de stage. Beautiful, as you see; and with an immense talent, as you sall see when you ave engage her.

Fiat. Eh, what ?

Dur. At least, dat is de opinion of her cousin, de editor dat vat he say.

Fiat. The deuce! Is this cousin ef yours connected with one of the large journals ?

Dur. Oh, yes! very large—enormous,—much larger

14 THE FIRST NIGHT. [se. tts

than that you have in your hand; and he make love at my child—he want to marry her!

Fiat. (with great courtesy) Humph! I’m very sorry, my dear Sir, excessively sorry—but, unfortunately, my company is quite made up.

Dur. (ina low, confidential voice) Yes—but if you happen to be disappointed, and, by chance, wanted anybody in a moment to fill up?

Frat. But I don’t want anybody.

Dur. (aside) Ah, diable! (aloud) She act everyting, Sare; she peform everyting; she sing—she dance—she pantomime—she play de Comcedie—de Tragedie—de Opera, and all for ten pound a week!

Fiat. My dear Sir, I am truly sorry, but I really have no vacancy at present—I have too many ladies already.

Dur. And, though I say ten, she vill agree for eight— eight pounds to have the pleasure of being wid .u; will you not, my child?

Rosg. That I would in so excedlent a Theatre, with so kind and polite a manager.

Dur. Kind and polite! he is mosh more dan dat—he is mosh more as dat—he is de true friend of all artistes—he is de fader and moder of all a7tistes—Oh, wonderful man! come, you sall engage for six pounds—eh P

Fiat. [can only once more repeat that it is impossiblé for me to—

Dur. Well, we will make it de five—de round sum—de bank-note—five—just to begin wid—you are engaged for £5, my child!

Fiat. (losing patience) Sir, for the last time, permit me to say that I must decline. (aside—walking away) Gabbling old fool!

Vamp. Ah, here they are at last!

Fiat. Who?

Vamp. Miss Fitzjames and the author,

Dur. Malediction! (crosses to 1. and Rosr—aside) She cannot have receive the letter !

Fiat. Now, then, places! places !

Dur. (going) Come, my child, come wid your fader to our cousin, de editor-—to our cousin, de editor,

Cau Boy. (x. u.) The drum hasn’t come yet, Sir f

Fiat. Forfeit him, then!

[se. tt.

bve at my

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ou happen body in a

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fader to

ir f

ac. 11] THE FIRST NIGHT. 18

Dur. (returning eagerly) Eh! you want de drums—I vill be big drum !

Frat. Can you play ’em ?

Dur. If I can play him? pardlew/ I ave play an air wie variations at the Academie Royale ! ask her cousin, de editor!

Frat. Well, get into the orchestra, then.

Dur, And, my child, come and sit by my side. (aside to her) So you can remark all de business of de scene without her seeing you. (¢o Leapgr) You vill have de kindness—(Ae hands Ross down into the orchestra)

Russ. (as she goes down) Ah, she is going to play the part though, Papa !

Dur. Then I will show you what I can do. (ix orchestra— to Fiat) Dites donc, Monsieur manager ! (Fat stoops down to listen) As it is to you, she sall come for four pound !

Fiat. (rushing away) Go to the devil!

Enter Anapeuta Fitzsames, § Hyacinth Parnassus, R.H.

Come, come, Miss Filzjames, you are half an hour after your time.

Aras. You had better forfeit me! (crosses to 1.)

Parnassus. (aside fo Fiat) Have a care, my dear Sirs she has quarrelled with iitzdangle, and she’s in a most dreadful ill-humour !

Aras. For my part, I can’t understand why there was any rehearsal at all this morning—tiring people out on the first night of a new piece, when there’s no necessity for it.

Dur. What airs she give herself! Prut!

Ross. Yes, indeed !

Fiat. Come, begin, begin—for mercy’s sake, begin !

Vamp. (¢o orchestra) The opening music, gentlemen, if you please. Now, Miss Fitzjames, you come in from third entrance right hand.

Aras, (superciliously) Thank you, [know Ido! (Durarp imitates her)

Music commences in orchestra—Symphony to Recitative.

Ros. (through music, despondingly) She’s going to play the part, Papa!

Dur. (while making a note on the drum) Diable! yes, I could tear my head from my hair! (in his passion he strikes the drum very energeticulily—Lxaver looks round at hin—he continues rolling, looking closely at the part which is on the desk before him)

1

Parn. (Ja ARABELLA as she walks down) My dear Madam, you don’t walk right.

Iur. (aside) Because she got bandy legs.

Parn. You don’t walk in time to the music.

Aras. Sir, I shall walk as I please.

Dur. (aside) I wish she would walk her chalk! (he rolls the drum very loud—lxaven looks round) All right} all right !

THE FIRST NIGHT, {so 11.

Second part of Symphony commences—Duraun strikes the drum loudly again.

Parn. There is no drum there. Dur. Pardon—dere is two drums here.

Symphony goes on. AIR.—ARABELLA,

Ah! yes; his faith I will not doubt; He’ll to his troth be true;

And soon, at yonder sacred shrine, We shall our vows renew.

Ah! yes; &cy Enter Groree (with a letter).

Georer, (Catt Boy) Here’s a letter for you, Ma’am. (gives i¢ to ARABELLA)

AraB. For me? (taking it)

Frat. (rising) How dare you bring any letters here, Sir, during rehearsal ? Exit Boy,

Dur. (aside to Rosx) Aha! voila la lettre ! voila la lettre!

AraB. (to herself, having opened it) Heavens! ’tis from Fitzdangle! (¢o Fiat, s¢ern/y) I suppose I may be allowed to read it?

Fiat. And stop the rehearsal again; certainly not, Ma’am!

ARAB, (half aside) Ugh! the brute! (keeps letler in her hand)

Parn. Now, pray proceed, my dear; we've passed your song; begin the recitative.

ARAB. (aside—glancing at the letter) He loves me! he loves me still ! Rose. (aside to Durarp) She’s going to rehearse, Papa, Dur. You sall see!

cay Ra APA 8 rc st SO a a a

{so sy.

Madam,

(he rolls ight} all

rikes the

Ma’am,

ere, Sir, vit Boy, 1 lettre f ‘is from allowed

Ma’am! r in her

ed your ne! he

» Papa.

sc. 11.) THE FIRST NIGHT. W

Recitative.

Aras. “ Now I must hasten to weave the crown of white roses, symbols of that innocence—

Dur. (aside) Oh!

Aras. ‘* Which presides o’er our happy solemnity.” (Three or four bars of soft, melodious music ; she glances at the letter by stealth while crossing stage)—(aside) He will be waiting for me to-night at Dartford.

Ross. (as defore) But she is going on, Papa!

Dur. You sall see—you sall see!

Aras. (rehearsing) ‘“ Ah, am I worthy of this honour f— yes—for have I not sworn to remain pure.”

Dur. (aside) Oh! pure!

Aras, (lo herself, as before) But Lact to night—whatever shall I do? (rehearsing) ‘‘ And I will hasten to the Temple, and renew that vow so sacred.” (Music. She goes up stage, rehearses again.) ‘ But who is that I see, sitting near my father’s house ?”

Parn. (correcting her) Cottage, my dear.

Aras, (tart/y) House or cottage—it is just the same thing.

PArn. Not at all!

Aras. A cottage is a house, I believe !

Parn. Yes; but a house is not always a cottage.

Frat. Of course. (rises) A mare is a horse, but a horse is nota mare! Besides—we’re here—in California.

AraB. In California! (looking at scene) It looks, really, more like Chelsea water-works.

Dur. Bon /—good !

ARAB, (working herself into a rage) With your observa- tions and your criticisms, it’s enough to make one ill.

PARN. (soothing her) Nay, nay, my dear Miss Fitzjames,

Dur. (as before) Aha! here comes de explosion /

ARAB. (40 PARNassus) Don’t touch me, Sir! Oh! oh! I declare I feel so faint—so deathly sick—oh !

Friar. Ah! it only wanted this to complete the business.

Vamp. A chair, here—bring a chair !

_ Fiat. (eapostulating) Now, pray, my good Miss Fitse james—

Pann. Get some Eau de Cologne.

Vamp. Has any one a smelling-bottle ?

THE FIRST NIGHT. [se. 12.

FLAT. (veredly) Really, such a scene as this for a mere caprice—

ARAB. (starts up suddenly —indignantly) Caprice, Sir !

Dur. (strikes blow on drum) Bon!

ARAB. You are an impertinent fellow, Sir, and [ll never play in your Theatre again. So, good morning to you. (goiny)

Parn. But, madame, this is frightful !

Frat. Horrible !

VAMP. Disgraceful !

Dur. (as before) Beautiful !

They walk up and down squabbling.

Frat. You had better take care. ‘Think what the public will say.

Aras. The public may say what they choose—they ought to be pretty well used to it by this time. Farewell, Sir! (pushing PARNASSUS away) Stand out of the way, fellow! (going to Catu-Boy, who is at the x. wing) Call my carriage, Call-boy! (pushing him off R. H. and exit after him in a fury)

Fiat. (¢o PARNASSUS) After her—after her; persuade her to return, or I am a ruined man.

Evit PARNASSUS R. H.

Dur. (calling to uar) Non! Monsieur Manager; you are save.

Frat. Hollo! who the devil said that?

Dur. (deating both drums loudly) De big drum! Creat moi.

Frar What?

Dur. La Fitzjames abandon you—but my child remain, to save you from de sky like an angel she descend; get up, my child. (he hands Rosx up from the orchestra)

Frat. Psha! you’re mad!

Dur. (getting up from orchestra) Du tout! she knows de part ; she can repeat it dis instant; she can perform it dis moment, if you will,

Rosx. Oh, yes, Sir, I can, indeed !

Fiat. The deuce you can! well, what think you, Vamp ?

Vamp. Anything is better than postponing the piece, Sir,

Dur. Postpone de piece / you can’t postpone de piece /

[se. ra. for a mere e, Sir!

and [’ll orning to

he public

se—they Farewell, he way, Call my after him

ersuade

US R. H.

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THE FIRST NIGH. bd

ac. 111] Frat. That’s true. Well, I agree; your daughter shall play it—but stay, we must have the author’s consent.

Dur. Oh, I will get dat—I will settle him!

Frat. I warn you—he’s a very particular sort of man.

Dur. C'est égal—I sall tickel him!

Fiat. Lose no time; he left the Theatre when he found that Miss Fitzjames would not listen to him, You had better call on him at his house,

Dur. I will! (crosses to x.) Come along, Rosey. Now, Mr. Manager, of course you will have de child’s name painted in letters bigger as nobody else; put her age, only fifteen years and a quarter—she is aleetle more, but dat does not signify, Come along, my child.

Ross. Oh, dear! if I should fail!

Dur. You fail! But screw your courage to de stickey- place, and be dam if you do fail! (strikes an attitude, then exits with Rosk R. u. The rest go off various ways, Scene

a closes)

Scene III.— Room in the House of Mr. Parnassus. Enter (u. 1.) Parnassus, followed by FitzpanGue.

Parn. I’m excessively glad that I happened to meet you, my dear Mr. Fitzdangle, for I think it is in your power to do me a most vital service.

Fitz. If I can—command me.

Parn. You'll scarcely believe it, but Miss Fitzjames abso« lutely refuses to play her part in my new piece to-night, and has left the Theatre, vowing she’!] never enter it again.

Fitz. I’m not at all surprised at that.

Parn. But, you having most influence with her—

Fitz. Not at all. We have quarrelled.

Parn. What—seriously ?

fitz. Parted, never to meet again. We've done it a dozen times before, but, this time, we mean it.

Parn. The devil! :

WiuuiaM. (without L. H.) But you can’t go in, Sir!

Durarp. (withoué u. uw.) But I must. I am the stage manager of the Theatre.

Parn. The manager!

Fitz. (to himself) Surely that is the old Frenchman’s voice. If they don’t shut that old bird up he’ll bite some body. (he retires a little)

20 THE FIRST NIGHT.

Enter Durarpv and Rost tu. 4.

Parn. Why, this is not the—

Dur. No, Sare!—my name is Dufard—Achille Talma Dufard, artiste du Théitre hrancais.

Firz. (at back—aside) What coes he want here, I wonder?

Parn. Well, Sir !

Dur. Oh, Sare—Monsieur—Monsieur—I pray you grant us one moment to recover from the emotion we prove in entering this the Sanctuary of Genius. Advance, my child, advance, and make your most profound reverence to the greatest dramatic author of the age. (Jose curtseys) Anoder reverence to de moderne Shakspere.

Firz. (aside) What the deuce is the old fox aiming at?

Parn. Pray explain the purport of this visit.

Dur. (u. u.) Pardon, Monsieur, de child explain it herself. Compose yourself, ion enfant, Dat great man shall grant you leetle démande—I can see it in his eye—in de middle of de lightning of genius dat pJay around his head. Oh, mon dieu / Oh! how he is like Alexander Dumas-—parle, mon enfant !

Ross. (u. c.) The purport of our visit is this, Sir: your piece cannot be played to-night for want of an actress, whom, we hear, is suddenly taken ill, and I come to offer my ser- vices to replace her.

Parn. You!

Fitz. (advancing c.) Oh! this is really ridiculous !

Ross. (seeing him) Ah!

Dur. (¢0 her) Diable! I tickel him too, if he not take care.

Parn. (é0 Filz.) Do you know this young person ?

Fitz. Oh, yes, very well. (aside—to Rosz) Have you not got my letter?

Dur. (placing hinself between them) Eh—letter !—What letter ?

Fitz. (aside—to Parnassus) Not a word.—I’ll explain bye and bye.

Parn. (é0 Rose) And you think you could play so in portant a part ?

Ross. Oh! yes, Sir! I’m quits perfect in it, from having heard my friend, Miss Fitzjames, repeat it frequently ; anda beautiful part it is.

Fitz. (¢o Parnassus) My dear fellow, you surely never would think of hazarding your reputation, and compromising the success of your piece by an act of this sort.

new Pp laugh H snee PH frien

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THE FIRST NIGHT. 2}

Vac, m1.)

Dur. (fiercely) Mr. Piston !—or rather Mr. Fitzdangle, Wor I know you, Sare! I sall tell this gentleman ae reason yy you speak so—(crosses to r. c.) It is dat you want to carry Wher off from the Theatre, (to PARNassvus) and prevent your —Bpiece from being perform, and rob you of your triumph and ‘f your glory.—Oh! wonderful man! Firz. Humbug ! “* Der. It is true, Sare, and it is not de first time dat you Pare do the same thing. Firz, I! Dvr. Yes, you! At the first representation of his last “new tragedy I saw you in one private box talking and Pilaughing, and blowing your nose to make a noise, and “Peneezing and hissing, and you put up your finger to your ‘friend beside you, just so. (aking a sight with finger to nose) Pary. Why, damn it, Fitzdangle, I gave you that private a box.

Fitz. (crosses fo x. C.) Upon my honor, J assure you, [— (they quarrel going up. Parnassus comes down again centre)

Dur. Mr. Parnassus sall see and judge for himself. Come, my daughter, recite some of de piece (Rose takes of shawl, §'c.) ; Fitz. Recite what you will, I’m sure that the manager '® will never give his consent. ' Dur. Den you are mistake, for he has give him already, Come, my daughter, recite the opening scene,

Fitz. Yes, yes, the opening is nothing !

Dur. The opening is not nothing, Sare? (to Liz.) It is a2l sublime ! on

Firz. Who the devil sa d it wasn’t. (aside) Poor Parnassus

“ —he believes every word of it.

Permit me to hold the M.S, (taking M.S. from sus) Oh! I will take care of him. I know he is v0 is weight in gold. Every word is a diamant (aside) I ticke: him now. (crosses tou.) Now, my daughter, and do not forget, above all, to show Mr, Parnassus how beautiful you are in dat part where you find yourself very sick—go

) on, my child— *tay—I will give you de tail.

Parn. The «le !—there is no occasion for that—we don’t require the! ory of the plot. Dur. No, ode tail—de, what you call, ‘ cue.”

Parn. Ab ah! yes!—

92 THE FIRST NIGHT. [so. an,

Dur. (reading the M.S.—declaims) Now for him, ‘No, 7 love, dy tears—dy prayers are voice—zou will not fly with me—lI will remain! (remarking on it) Ah! beautifal! splen. 7 did ! de common auteur would have said ‘I will stay”’—bu | no—de great arthor put ‘I will remain”—beautiful!—go 7 4 | on, my child. - a | Ross. (declaiming) Alonzo!—dear Alonzo! say not that 7% 5 | the sacrifice I made for your safety has been made in vain— "9 oh !—(movement of Parnassus) a

Dur. (odserving the movement) More strong upon the © Oh! my child!—‘*04/’—lean upon your “Oh!” (with % great emphasis) a

Ross. (continuing) Oh! must I remind you that it was 7% to ch you that I united myself to this demon—this fell 7 tiger ; ‘iH Dur. (¢o Rosr) Look at me—I am ze tiger!

4 Fitz. (¢0 Parnassus) It is feeble, Sir !—it won't do! =

Ross. (continuing) That it was to preserve your life that @ I conse.:ied to share the pillow whereon his fiend-like head = reposes—becaure I knew that beneath that pillow lay the 7 key of your dungeon. 4

Parn, Lay a stress on the hey.

Dur. Dat is what i tell her—lean upon de pillow !—

Parn. No, no—on the key—that is the point !

Dur. Oh, yes!—-but, as the key is under the pillow, if you lean on de pillow, you lean on de key—go on, my child ! Rosr. Oh, fly !—fly, my Alonzo—I conjure you, fly !

Dur. (declaiming reply) No, no—fly wid me, or here I stay—(remarking on it) Ah! de vulgar auteur would have say— I remain”—but de tan of genius say “T stay "— ’Tis wonderful !—go on, my child!

Rosx. (continuing) But, I am no longer worthy of you. ‘

Dur. (as defure) Yes—more worthy now as ever (stump- |

ing with his fool) bang !—~ la g Fitz. Hallo !—what’s that? pees Dur. "Tis de cannon wich announce Ge break of day—I :

play him on de drum at night. : Rose. (continuing) Ah! hear you not that sousd—they Oh

come !—~fly !—fly !—fly !—fly | ! va Paan, Bravo !—very good !—very good, indeed | sal

Dur. (stamping again) Bang! a Ross. (as before) Ah!—’tis too late !—too late !—too late |—ali | (she sinks on chair)

fav not that a ein vain— © 4 Bah! (sinks again into chair)

upon the a? (with

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4

ac. 119.4 THE FIRST NIGHT, 23

Parn. No—that’s not exactly the things Fitz. Not at all—not at all! PaRn. (to her) You throw a great deal of pathos, into jt, my dear—but that last exclamation, ‘“‘ Ah!’’ requires more energy—more fire—-a sort of scream, in fact. She is supposed to see the executioner coming.

Dur. (to Rose) Try him again. (to PaRNAssus) You sall ave him, Sare—do not tear. Now, my daughter— Rose. (resumes) Oh! ’tis too late—too late=—too late!

Parn. No, that’s not it precisely.

Tirz. It is laughable, if done in that way.

Parn. (pulls his hair)

Dur. No, Sare, don’t pull no more of your beautiful black hair—(seeing Parnassus about to rise) one moment, one moment; now try him once more, more strong, you leetel

fool. Ross. Oh! ’tis too late, too late! (Durarp in his anzxiety

a pinches her, which makes her scream out the‘ dh!) (She sinks again into chair)

Parn. Bravo, bravissimo! that’s it—capital! excellent !

Dur. Parbleu !

Parn, Come, let’s be off to the rehearsal. It will do—it will do!

Fitz, But suppose Miss Fitzjames should alter her mind

® and get well.

Dvr. She can’t, she is too bad. (all go up except Fitz-

DANGLE) Fitz. Oh, I can’t stand this; poor dear Arabella’s a bore,

a certainly, but she shan’t be crushed. There shall be two

Richmonds in t&2 field! and, if there’s no hit to-night, there shall be a most magnificent row.

FEvit 1. a.

Pann, (L. c.) Really, Sir, I must say I think this young lady is likely to prove a very great acquisition to the Theatre, and, if you please, we'll adjourn there at once.

Ross. (u.) Oh! thank you, Sir.

Dur. Oh, Monsieur, you are too good (hands hat, §c.) Oh ! quel honneur / (Paunassus about to take M.S.) Ah! non! mille pardons, permit dat I ave de honneur to carry de colos- eal work! Wonderful man $ Lveunt, &. ,

24 THE FIRST NIGHT. sc. 1 aa

Scenz Last—Behind the Scenes at the Theatre. 2nd win It is set in such a manner that the entrance upon the stag faces the spectators. The left hand (which is supposed toy the audience side of the theatre) is a flat which prevents th actor from being seen when supposed to be before the publi People discovered lighting the wings, placing properties aj making preparations for the play, which is about to commen, One or two Actors and AcTRESSES, and several of | Bauet dressed for their parts, are seen sauntering abit Carpenters sefding scene, hammering, §'c. GkorGeE (the cig boy) loitering about. They leave by degrees.

Enter Fuat and Vamp, vu. E.R.

Fiat. What is tobe done, Vamp? What business actor and actresses have to be ill at all, I can’t think. The on thing weakly about them should be their salaries. However this time I really believe she is iil—and that’s a grea comfort ! ,

Vamp. Yes, Sir! You know we have the medical ce. tificate. q

Fiat. Pooh! Anybody can get one who will take th trouble to buy a box of pectoral lozenges.

Vamp. It’s fortunate, Sir, we have this young lady ready.

Fuar. The young lady is a novice, and the public don! like novices. |

Vamp. She seems elever !

Fiat. And looks pretty, which is more to the purpose Any old coachman will tell you that the success of the stage depends very much on the outsides.—At all events we cal but try her; and, if the worst comes to the worst, she ca but be damned.

Vamp. A dreadful shock to her parent, Sir. But the piece will be damned too. . |

Fiat. I don’t know. The public haven’t the same energy to damn that they used to have. I suppose it’s the morbié antipathy to capital punishments. |

Enter Groner (the call boy) with hamper, R. u- Well, Sir, what’s that? Grorex. It’s the buckets, Sir ! Ftar, What do you mean by buckets? Oh! bouguets |i suppose,

[se. 19,"

tre. nd wing:

e upon the stag is supposed to \ hich prevents ty before the publi ng properties aj bout to commen. yd several of | sauntering abouim Grorek (the ol

R. : business actor ink, The on aries. However 1 that’s a gred?

the medical cer

10 will take th

oung lady ready the public don!)

to the purpose ‘cess of the stage ll events we call 2 worst, she cat

t, Sir. But thy

the same energy e it’s the morbi(’

nper, Re H-

Oh! bouguets |

THE FIRST NIGHT. 23

ec. 19.)

Grorce, Yes; the flowers, Sir, to fling at the lady in he last scene.

Firat. Why, you extrayagant dog—they’re twopenny ones! I told that property man I wouldn’t go beyond a penny—except two twopennies for a second last night— and three threepennies for a blaze of triumph, They'll not be wanted to night. Put ’em in water for the next occasion, Stay ! on second thoughts, you may as well have ’em ready in a private box; and, take care the girl is called for. Many a drowning Prima Donna has been saved by a call. Vamp, come with me and see that the scene is ready,

Eveunt Fiat and VampP tL. i.

Enter Durarp R., joyfully and hastily.

Dur. Ah} here we are at last, How long is it before we begin, eh ? Grorce. Abcut five minutes, Sir.

(GEorGE re-enters)

I’ve called the last

music. Dur. Pheugh! bless me, how warm I am! All is right now. My daughter’s name is in de bill in letters grand

size, De pudlic is in the Theatre. lic, be kind to my leetel child.

Enter Ross vu. &. u., dressed for her part in the drama.

Rosg. Here I am—here I am, Papa, all ready !

Dur. Ah, my child—you look an angel! (in rapture)

Ross. Do you think so, Papa?

Dur. Your “ress is perfection! Stay; you have not quite enough rouge on de left cheek. (takes bit of rouge out of his pocket and carefully rouges her cheek) There is a fine house—beaucoup de monde—and the ladies’ toilettes are superb; you ave a leetel too much white on your chin. (takes out small hare’s-foot and uses it on her chin and face) But you tremble, my darling! Come, come, you must not be frightful! See me, I am not frightful. ‘Take some of dis: I find a sixpence in my pocket I not know of, so I buy you a leetel glass sherry. Adlons! du courage! de Uaplomb, de Taplomb, aud you sall ave a success pyramidal !

Me-enter Vamp.

Vaue, Now, call away, George; the overture is on. Soe that everybody is ready to begin. ‘Tho curtain will go Up in five minutes. Where's the principal lady ?

Oh! mon bon petit pub-

26 THE FIRST NIGHT. {sc. tv,

Dur. Here she is, Sare! Ross. Here I am, Sir!

Enter ARABELLA, dressed for the part, with FitzDANGua, U. Eb.

Aras. Here I am, Sir!

Titz. Yes, here we are!

Aut. (astonished) Miss Fitzjames! (they all go up)

Dur. That woman is de devil !

Aras. I’m very sorry to disappoint you, Ma'’am, but I have resumed my part.

Dur. You cannot play him.

Fitz. Oh, yes, she can!

Anas. (smiling) And very well too, I flatter myself!

Dur. But you sall not play him |!

Rs. Certainly not.

ARAB. (coolly) That we shall see !

Dur, Aha! de bil! is publish wiz my daughter’s name, Madame.

ArAs, That’s not of the slightest consequence—the stage manager will announce the alteration to the audience. Fitz. Of course! where is he ? (looking about for him)

Dur. (to himself) Oh, if I could but get him out of de way! (to GeorGE) Dites donc, you ave some trap doors here?

GroreGe. Oh, yes, Sir, plenty. (pointing to stage)

Dur. Good! well, here—(whispers to GEORGE)

Firz. Here comes the manager and the author.

Enter Ftat and PARNASSUS, U. E. L.

Rosz. (rushing to Lat) Ah, Sir!

Inat. (to Rose) My dear Madam, I’m really very sorry, but, you see, the public interests—

Parn. Certainly—the public interests, you see—

Dvr. But, Mr. Shakyspear, yc : were satisfied.

Pann. Why, the fact is, I have nothing to do with it personally.

ARaB. (to Rosr and DurarD) You see, my good people, this thing is quite impossible !

Fiat. Come, we must clear the stage—the curtain is going up in one moment—Mr. Vamp, before it rises, you'll have the goodness to announce that Miss Fitzjames has re covered, and wili resume her part.

fsc. iv,

TZDANGLR,

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am, but J

hyself }

er’s name, ence—the > audience, Sor him)

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* a

sc. 1v.] THE FIRST NIGHT, 97 Dur. Ah, Monsieur! par pitié break not my heart ! Fiat. I say, Sir, you must leave the stage ! Dur. I will not! send for your gensdarmes, your police- men, end for your Lord Maire, 1 will not go! I say she shall come out !

Fiat. Now, Sir, go on and make the announcement,

VAMP is going.

Dur. (holding him back) He sall not go!

Rose. (crying) No; hold him tight, Papa!

Vamp. Silence! leave your hold, Sir!

Dur. (still holding Vamp) If I could but ring de curtain bell— Vamp tries to disengage himself from Du¥rarp, and makes

his way towards L, HU. a8 they are struggling.

Dur. (midst the general confusion) Ah, mind your head ! Vane runs back and DUFARD puts his arm off wing 1 £, where

the PROMPTER’S bow is supposed to be—the curtain bell ia

heard to ring very loudly, and Rose rushes on.

Fiat. Who rung that bell? ah, the curtain is up ! Dur. De curtain is up, and my child is on de stage.

Rosk disappears from view and is supposed to go before the audience.

ARAB. What! she on the stage? I’ll go on too! Pann. Stop, stop, stop! would you ruin my piece ? Applause without.

Fiat. (who is eagerly listening at wing of supposed stage) Silence, silence!

AnraB. But she’s playing my part !

Fitz, It is disgraceful !

Fiat. My dear Sir, it is not my fault! (applause—re- umes his situation at wing, eagerly watching the piece)

Dur, (delighted) Silence, silence! she is speaking like an angel! Ah, I said she should come out! (takes his place at the wing, eagerly watching and listening)

ARAB, Qh, I'll be revenged !

PARN. (at wing) Ah! where’s the Alonzo? he ought to be on the stage. (Eveunt Stace Manacer and AuTHOR, greatly agitated. ALONZO rushes on, Applause.) Eh, thank Heaven! there he is.

28 THE FIRST NIGHT (sc. tv,

AraB. Yes! your piece will fail, though ! You'll see!

Firz. It shall fal!

ARraB. (¢o FitzpaANGLE) And you, Sir, you, who said that she should not play the part, go and get your friends to hiss her, or you never see me more. (Lit in a rage)

Fitz. I'll go this instant.

Dur. (stays him) Hollo, where you go?

Fitz. To the front of the house.

Dur. To applaud ?

Fitz. Quite the reverse. (going)

Dur. (seizing him by the coat tail) What, hiss my child! Monster ! tu n’iras pas.

Fitz, Hands off, fool !

Dur. You sall not go!

Fitz. Who will prevent me?

Dur. I will. (Stamps three times with his foot on the stage; the trap pointed out by the call boy, and on which FivzDANGLe te standing, suddenly descends with him)

Fitz. (as he descends) Hollo! hollo! what is this? help! help! (trap closes)

Dur. .Ah! good bye.

Fiat. (popping in his head) Silence, silence, there !

Rose. (e-appearing at wing L. H., and declaiming as if about to exit from scene) ‘‘ Adieu! adieu! thou hast my love, and should danger menace, they shall strike through my deart, ere their daggers shall reach thine.” (Applause)

(She comes on as if having finished the scene)

Dur. Bravo! bravo! youhave perform it superb.

Ross. Oh dear, how warm I am! I declare it is very hard work.

Dur. So it is, so it is, my love. (gives her drink)

Fiat. (coming down eagerly) Excellent, my dear Madam, excellent! but you’ve no time to spare—you’re on again ina moment to finish the scene, you know.

Rosg, Yes, yes; but I must have my hair in disorder. (arranging and undoing her hair)

Dur. assisting her) 1 will do him—tenez, tenez—there ! shake him about ; it all her own, it won’t come off.

Vamp. (appearing for a moment) Now, Miss, the stage is waiting.

Ross, (resuming her tragedy tones). “Ah! to a dungeon say

(se. rv. u'll see!

» who said your friends

a rage)

} my child!

n the stage; ITZDANGLE

his? help!

re |

iming as if st my love, rough my lause)

1)

rb. | it is very

rk) r Madam, |} againina

n disorder. -¢—there | ,

1e stage is

ingeon say

i Papa!

gc. IV.) THE FIRST NIGHT. 90

vou? Hold, villain! Icommand you !” (Zviis on to supposed slage

<i (to himself) Capital! glorious! What fire! what energy! This girl will make my fortune. (Great applause heard) (To Durarp) Now, my dear Sir, I’m ready to engage your daughter immediately.

Dur, I should think so, for it is a colossal début.

Fiat. Let me see; you told me this morning four pounds a week, I believe ?

Dur. £10. I told you ten pounds, (aside) Now, I tickel him !

Fiat. Yes—but you ended by saying four.

Dur. But I begin with ten. (great applause behind)

Friar. Well, I’m a liberal man—£10 be it, I’ll give her £10.

Dur. What! no more—no more than ten after a success like that? I must have fifteen. («applause behind)

Friar, But £15, you know, is an enormous sum ! (applause)

Dur, £15 and a benefit.

Firar. Upon my word, Mr.—(applause and shouts of

B “ dravo’”’)

Dur. You bad better settle him at once, or I sall have twenty if the public proceed in dis way. (shouts and applause)

Rose appears picking up bouquets,

Fiat. Well, fifteen be it—I’ll give fifteen !

Rose enters surrounded by VamP, §c., bouquets thrown after her, Durarp puts wreath on Parnassus’ head, Ross. Thank you! I thank you! Oh, Papa! my dear,

Dur. My darling child! (emdracing her) Well, you ave tickel

: | the public—eh ? ah! my darling child.

Parnassus, (rushing in eagerly) Where is she? Where is she? Ah, excellent, ! charming ! magnificent !—Melody

Fin every tone—genius in every glance—grace in every

gesture! Dur, Eh, bien! Monsieur Flat—what you say ? £20? Fiat. Most happy, I’m sure !—But come, we must begin the Second Act. Dur. Ah, oui, en place—Come along. (shouts of * Mise Dufurd,” and applause) Stop--stop—listen.

THE FIRST NIGHT, [s0. ry, |

Groros. (entering) Sir! Sir! they are calling for Mis 7 Dufard. They'll tear up the benchesif she don’t come. © Fiat. Where’s Mr. Vamp, to take her on?

Dur. I sall take her myself,

Fiat. But, my dear Sir, you’re not dressed J 4

Dur. C’est é&al—I am her fader—the public shal! excuse © me—attendez ! (rouges himself) Allons ! ma fille !—wais stop © —What I see? dere is a public here also! Oh! dearme! © dear me! mais courage! perhaps dey will beas kind as de © odere public dere. I sall presume to take the liberty to ask © dem J<-Messieurs and Mesdames! 4

We've had applause behind de scene, I’ve tickel dem ’tis true,

But dat, alas, is leetel worth Unless I tickel you.

Ah, say, den, dat de debutante Again shall reappear,

And let de plaudits over dere ~ Now find an echo here!

CURTAIN.

[se. IV, x

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rHE ACTING NATIONAL DRAMA;

COMPRISING

EVERY POPULAR NEW PLAY, FARCE, MELO-DRAMA, OPERA, BURLETTA, ETC,., CAREFULLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTING COPIES.

EDITED BY

BENJAMIN WEBSTER, Comeptan;

MEMBER OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS’ SOCIETY.

—»>—

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS, BY PIERCE FGAN THE YOUNGER,

VOL. IV.

CONTENTS.

YOU CAN’T MARRY YOUR GRAND- , WEAK POINTS.

MOTHER, | NAVAL ENGAGEMENTS, SPRING LOCK. | BRITISH LEGION. THE VALET DE SHAM. THE IRISH LION. THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. | LYING IN ORDINARY. A HASTY CONCLUSION, | ONE HOUR} OR, THE CARNIVAL THE MELTONIANS, BALL,

PPP POPOL ELE PPP PE PD OP YUDOLP ODOT

WITH A PORTRAIT OF THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, ESQ.

FROM A PAINTING, BY JONES.

LONDON : CHAPMAN & HALL, 186, STRAND,

1838,

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

OF

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, ESQ.

Tue famed city of Bath is the birthplace of Mr. Bayly, which event occurred on the 18th of October, 1799. He is very highly connected. His father was the nephew of Lord Delauicre, and Sir George Thomas, Bart., was his maternal grandfather. He is also related to the present Earl of Stamford and Warrington, and the Eari of Errol. It may be said he “ lisped in numbers,” for at ten years of age, the writing of verses and dramas was his chief pastime, and displaying a more than ordinary talent, he was allowed to follow the bent of his inclination, having the inheritance of riches in prospect, and being an enly child. [n 1826 he was united to Miss Helena Becher Hayes, « near relation of Sir William Becher, Bart. In 1831 his re- sources, through the improvidence of others, became so crippled, as tocompel him to turn his love of poesy and general literature to acvount, and make his pen add to his comforts as

had formerly done to his amusement. His ballads soon

became so justly popular, that in private and public they

—— - —_—~ earnest teen seni = — et DE PR ae TIT ee ed

iv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF T. H. BAYLY, ESQ.

were the principal attraction, and though the number he has written is almost beyond computation, every announced new one is sought after with avidity. But it is his dramatic ca- pabilities that gives him a niche in this work, and certainly those, in their extent, are of a first-rate order, for no pieces in our edition are pleasanter to see or to read. His farce of Perfection, which was his maiden effort, is indeed the per- fection of fun, and his Gentleman in Difficulties, Eleventh Day, Tom Noddy’s Secret, &c., are strong proofs in favour of an extraordinary versatility of talent, and of his being one of the most popular authors of the day. He has also been a most voluminous contributor to the magazines; and his novel of “ Kate Leslie,” has deservedly added considerably to his fame.

Mr. Bayly is a well-formed man, five feet seven inches in

height, of 2 florid complexion, with auburn hair, and light

blue eyes.

October 6th, 1838. BR. W.

SQ.

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ONE HOUR:

OR, THE CARNIVAL BALL

AN ORIGINAL BURLETTA, En One Act.

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, Esa. MEMBER OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS’ SOCIETY.

AUTHOR OF ‘‘ THE CULPRIT,” “THE SPITALFIELDS WEAVER,” “ you CAN'T MARRY YOUR GRANDMOTHER,” &c, &c.

As performed at

MADAME VESTRIS’S ROYAL OLYMPIC THEATRE.

CORRECTLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER’S cory, WITH THE CAST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT, SIDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONA.

wiTtu A PORTRAIT AND MEMOIR OF THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, Ese.

FROM A DRAWING BY T. SAMSON.

ILLUSTRATED WITH AN ETCHING, BY PIERCE EGAN THE YOUNGER, FROM A DRAWING TAKEN DURING THE REPRESENTATION.

LONDON:

CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND.

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Aramatis Wergonae and Cogtume.

FIRST PERFORMED JANUARY 11th, 1856,

MR. CHARLES SWIFTLY. ist. Fashion-

able brown frock - coat, light af ag trousers, French gaiters, shoes, and white hat. -Mr. CHARLES MATHEWS. and. The costume of a Neapolitan Peasant, . J

O'LEARY. Dark mixture livery . . Mr. BrovucHam.

MRS. BEVIL. Ist. White dinner dress. ) and, Silver lama, black hat, white feathers ,j MTS. Knronr.

JULIA DALTON. Ist. Pink silk dinner dress, 2nd. Costume of a Neapoliton peasant

FANNY, Ist. Blue silk. 2nd. Goldlama.. Miss Paogrr.

\ Madame Vastris.

Time of representation, fifty minutes.

EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS,

L.. means first entrance, left. R. first entrance, right. 8S. E. L. second entrance, left. S, E. R. second entrance, right, U.E.L. upper entrance left. U. E.R. upper entrance, right. C. centre. L. C. left centre. R.C. right centre. T. E. L. third entrance, left. T, E.R. third entrance, right. Observing you are supposed to face the audience.

TO

LIEUT. COL. SIR WILLIAM ROBERT CLAYTON, BART., M. P.

THIS LITTLE DRAMA IS DEDICATED,

BY

HIS FAITHFUL AND OBLIGED FRIEND,

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

Athenaum Club, Aug, 23, 1838.

i LY.

ONE HOUR;

OR,

CARNIVAL BALL,

THE

ACT I.

SCENE [L—A chamber in Mrs. Bevit’s residence at Naples. A large practicable clock is a conspicuous object in the scene—a cage with two birds, a glass globe with two gold and silver fish—a table with work-box, guitar, writing materials, Mrs, Bevit at an embroidery frame; te Fanny writing, L.

Mrs. B. I wish you would lay aside your pen, Fanny, and talk to me ; | can guess to whom that letter is to be addressed ; you are always either thinking of him, or writing to him.

Fan. It is my duty, dear aunt; aye, and my pleasure too , but now I have come to a full stop, and as it will be in time for the ambassador’s bag to-morrow, | will have a little chat. ( Leaves the table, und sits by Mrs. Brevit.) Besides, I have something to tell you; who do you think is just arrived at Naples!

Mrs. B. I cannot guess.

Fan. My indefatigable persecutor, Mr. Charles Swiftly.

Mrs. B. Swittly! good gracious! indefatigable indeed; | thought he was still at Florence.

Fan. Yes, he was there last week—is here this—and where he will be the next, who shall say! I’m certain I saw him pass the house an hour ago in his travelling carriage.

Mrs. B. L trust he is not in pursuit of you, for he must be aware that we left Florence so suddenly, on purpose to avoid him. Poor young man, be said he loved you to distraction.

Fan. There is very little appearance of sunity in any thing he does ; therefore, were | to admit the existence of the love, I'd be the last person in the world to deny the distraction.

Mrs. B, Why, he would neither look at, nor speak to anybody else.

Fan. Because I was the only person who avoided him. He is really an exceedingly nice person; but, situated as | am, he is the very last 1 could have wished to be exclusively attentive to me.

Mrs. B, And, why, pray ?

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Fan. Because he is so gay, so agreeable, so good looking. Being married, and for a certain time obliged to keep my marriage a secret, until my husband has in person commu- nicated with his rich relations in England, of course it behoves me to act with extraordinary caution in his absence.

Mrs. B. You are right,--right in this instance, but very wrong to marry fn such a clandestine manner ; indeed I am not without blame myself.

Fan. That cannot be helped now, dear aunt ; but I think your other niece, 1 mean the niece of your late husband, my dear cousin, Julia Dalton, seemed to admire Mr. Charles exceed- ingly.

PAs; B. Ay, but I don’t think he ever deigned to look at her.

Fan. Because, before they met, he had been piqued by my coldness ; otherwise he would have preferred her to me.

Mrs. B. Would that we could tell him of your secret mar- riage, but that is impossible ; for were your husband’s relations to hear of it from any one but himself, they would never forgive him.

Fan. It is too true; so should Mr. Swiftly find us out here, I must again endure his harassing attentions.

Mrs. B. I wish he would transfer those attentions to Julia ; he is a spoilt child, accustomed to have his own way in every thing ; your coldness has, as you say, picqued him, and there- fore pride makes him persist in the pursuit; change your plan, Fanny, smile on him, seem more accessible, and the spell will be broken.

Fan. And the good old English gossips of Naples will tell my husband, when he returns, that I have been flirting with Mr. Swiftly in his absence.

Mrs. B, That will never do ; yet, as I am certain that he and Julia would suit each other, I wish we could think of some

lan— ‘ Fan. Hush !—I hear Julia’s step.

Mrs. B. Come then to my room, and let us talk it over before they meet—come. [Eveunt, k,n,

Enter Jutta, L. He

Jul. Is it possible ?—yes, I am sure I saw him looking up at the house: and what is that to me? What am I about, what am I thinking of? JI, Julia Dalton! I, of all women in the world, to interest myself about a man who certainly never thinks of me! I’ll ascertain out of mere curiosity, whether it be really he. (rings bell.) 1f so we shall have him here to a certainty, paying his addresses to the only lady in the family who cannot listen to him; my aunt being a widow, and I an interesting spinster.

Enter O'Leary, L. 8.

Oh, you are there ? O' Lea. Yes, madam, here be some bits of card, if you plase.

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4

THE CARNIVAL BALL.

+ Jul. How often have I told you to deliver them on a silver waiter ?

O'Lea. Ah, now—and that’s true ; because of your aversion to my finger and thumb; but it’s all along of my not being used to the indoor matters of a house you perceive: Ohi, and I'l] hurry and fetch the little tray—its Mr. Swiftly.

Jul. Your old master !—put the cards on the table.

O’Lea. With the fingers and thumbs !—you can’t mane it.

Jul. Yes, yes, yes, place them there. (O'Leary puts down cards, Jutta looks at them.)

O’Lea. Being just arrived, he laves ‘em, P. P. C. like, to ask how you all are. Oh, my old master’s a rale gentleman ; [I’m a judge, and know it—when I was in his sarvice, I looked after the horses, poor bastes, and the stable commodities ; but now I’m riz to be a futman—oh hone!

Jul. And pray, why did Mr. Swiftly part with you! he gave you an excellent character.

O’ Lea. Is it the}character? Oh, by the powers he didn't give me that; I’ve had it all along of my very own; but he parted with me because I got into a low way.

Jul. Indeed!

O' Lea, Oh, shocking! horrid low! mind me though, and no mistake, not low in the blackguard line, but low in spirits--the heart in my bussum’s as heavy as lead.

Jul. If anything serious is the matter, confide in me.

O’Lea. Confide! and is it to be contidential that you are asking of me; oh, the kindness of that, and the descention to listen to a poor sarvent’s inconveniences! I’m thankful to you, mistress, and ever shall; oh, and 1] tell you my mis- fortunes; and isn’t it a dreadful blow to be over on one side of the galantic ocean, and 2o have left the best part of one’s heart on the ’tother side? faith and I’m crazy like about it.

Jul. Oh, that is all ;—love ?

O' Lea, All! its plain, and clear, you never felt that same, or you would’nt say all. Its Meary O’Donnovan, such a pet of a girl,—selis the milk that’s fresh from the hen, and the eggs that’s fresh from the cow.

Jul. And do you correspond ?

O’Lea. In figure? Yes, she’s pretty enough on a small scale. Oh, you mean write ; ah no, there’s the mischief, | can’t; and I envy that boy, my brother Mick, his freeknowledgy.

Jul. Phrenology !

O'Lea. Yes, sure; all his knowledge came free at a Freeschool.

Jul. (laughing.) Oh, | comprehend. But now attend to me; did you open the door when Mr. Swiftly called ?

O’Lea. And to be sure I did. Faith he hardly knew his old groom in these new jerrymentals.

Jul. Did he leave any message ?

O'Lea. He asked a deal about mistress—I begs pardon, Miss —1l mean Miss Fanny.

Jul. 1 hope you never betrayed that secret, O'Leary !

O’Lea, Oh, never; but, faith, he did ask a mortal sight of

8 ONE HOUR; OR,

questions about her, pertaining to how she was, and how she Jooked, and the like.

Jul. And—a—did he ask—any other questions ?

O’Lea. No, ma’am.

Jul. Not about Mrs. Bevil—or—

O’Lea. Just asked, for the sake of asking, how ould lady did; but «s he didn’t stop to be answered, I take it he did’nt much care.

Jul, And—a-—any thing about me.

O’Lea. Divil a word! he said, he’d be back as soon as he had tidied his person to pay his respects.

Jul. You may go.

O’Lea, Yes, ma’am. (aside.) Oh, Meary O’Donnovan, my Ps heart will break ! [ Exit, . u. es

Jul. So, then, we shall meet again; yes, and I'll prove my Pe power, and having won him, I'll treat him with the coldness me he deserves; as to really caring for the man, I don’t think I do Wy,

—lI hope not, Ah, here’s my cousin,

Enter Fanny, R. #

Fan, Well, Julia, do you know who is arrived ?

Jul. There are three precious little cards upon that table, which announced to me the important event to which I suppose : you allude. You are ina pretty scrape, for he has followed ee ( you, of course.

Fan. Get me out of the scrape, by making him follow you.

Jul. Perhaps he may not so readily follow a new leader ?

Fan. Vllanswer for that; he is at present all frivolity, easily be caught and easily lost ; now I wish you not only to catch him, but also to keep him.

Jul. I'm exceedingly obliged to you, Fanny.

Fan. Well, then, for mu sake endeavour to attract his attention ; remember how unpleasantly I am situated.

Jul. Unpleasantly ! ob, you mean married ! yes, yes.

Fan. No, no, you giddy girl ; but you know very well what

{ do mean ; and pray accede to my wishes. , Jul. Hush! (aside.) I accede more willingly than she sus- 4 | pects. Ee

Enter O’LEary, L. H.

O’Lea. There’s Mr. Swiftly below, ma’am. Jul. Admit him ! O'Lea. (aside.) I can’t bring he up on top of a silver waiter,

Z iis _

suppose ! [Evit, .. Hu. Jul. Now I shall sit as quiet as a mouse, while you two make

love. 3 Fan, 1! 4

Jul. Oh, in all love-making, one must listen, while the other talks.—Now for it (goes to the table and pretends to be writing, merely bowing coldly to Swirr.y as he enters.)

Swi. (without.) Where is she? where is the inestimable, in- comparable, adorable— ?

THE CARNIVAL BALL,

Enters i. u.

Ah, here she is. My dear madam, how are you ? (bows coldly to Jucta scarcely looking at her: and crossing to Fanny seizes her hand.) What an age it is since we met ?

Fan. (coldly.) Not quite a month.

Swi. A month! pooh—months, years, centuries, ages ' must be--seems so—at all events, seemed so tv me. ‘To you, alas! perhaps—

Fan. (carelessly.) It seems to me as if we had parted yes- terday.

Swi. I thought you'd say so, and yet I ought to say it seems but yesterday ; I give you my honour I never ate or drank since.

Fan. Not eat or drink for a month ?

Swi. Nothing whatever !—that is, except little bits of snacks, and absolutely necessary drops of comfort ;—merely satisfied the cravings of appetite, nothing more; no dinners, no sup- pers, no meals of any kind.

Jul. (aside.) Poor little man! he keeps up his stamina won- derfully.

Swi. And as for sleep, I positively have not slept; wouldn't let any body else sleep; walked about the house, up-stairs, down-stairs, here, there, and every where ; drove my landlady distracted. Ever since you left Florence, my night-cap has hung upon a peg.

Jul. (without looking from her paper.) Almost enough to make you hang yourself upon another, sir ?

Swi, (starting.) Madam! Who’s there! I beg pardon; ! forgot there was any body else in the room.

Jul, Oh, don’t mind me—I’m writing letters.

Swi, (to Fanny.) Don’t you observe how thin ’m grown ?

Fan. No, indeed—vyour figure was always slight.

Jul. Oh, yes; very slight, almost equivalent to nothing at all.

Swi. Madam! Oh, now—yes, yes, now I’m very thin, ema- ciated, a living skeleton; my bones rattle as I walk. Your doing, ma'am, all your doing! (Jutta faughs. ‘ Ha, ha—a walking rattle !”’ Swirriy aside to Fanny.) That cousin of yours is an exceedingly disagreeable person. (aloud) 1 am positively so altered that my old servant, O'Leary, didn’t know me when he opened the door.

Jul. Fanny, ring the bell, and we'll introduce him.

Swi. (aside.) I never liked her; but she used to be inoffen- sive—now, there's no bearing her flippancy. (to Fansy.) Shall T never have an opportunity of speaking to you alone!

Fan, No, sir, certainly not.

Swi. (aside.) The old story, cold as an icicle. (aloud.) The carnival commences to-day, are you going to join the motley group at the ball to-night?

Fan. No.—you remember I rarely went out at Florence.

Swi. How very disagreeable. (Jutia has been writing on the

a3

LO ONE HOUR; OR,

back of a curd, crosses behind Fanny to R. u. and gives it to her.)

Jul. Fanny, have you seen this card ?

Fan. (reads aside.) 1 understand. (aloud and carelessly.) If I do go, I shall for once, as a frolic, assume a character.

Swi. What character, dear madam, tell me?

Fan. The costume of a Neapolitan peasant,—adieu, sir, adieu. [Evit, rR. ue

Swi, Gone! | wanted a little conversation with her; one hour. How provoking ; could 1 but contrive one uninterrupted hour, e’er I meet her at the ball. A Neapolitan peasant! charming costume; short petticoat, pretty foot—lI’ll get a dress also. (sees Jutta.) Oh, 1 forgot Miss Thingamee was in the room.

Jul. Surely, you'll never find a dress that will fit so thin a man ?

Swi. (aside.) What a satirical little devil it is! (during the scene he scarcely looks at her.) Never mind, |’ll try ; it’s easy to fill out a dress that’s too big, but when you've got one that’s too little, the case is hopeless. 1’m charmed with the thoughts of this Carnival Ball. They wanted to detain me at Florence, and the day before I left it, 1 dined with such a glorious set of fellows !

Jul. Dined! did you say dined ?

Swi. Yes, madam, dined; Lord Filmer, Charles Nugent, Sir Harry, three ambassadors,

Jul, Dined!

Swi. Yes, I say, dined at my apartments. Such a dinner! such wines !

Jul, Dinner! wines!

Swi. (rapidly.) Exquisite ! three courses—Potage @ la reine, suumon a la Tartare, dindon a la chipolate, beuf roté, petits patés aux huitres purée de champignon, ris de veau piqué aux tomates, sauté de voluille aux truffes, les asperges, le pois nouveaux, Charlotte Russe, gelée au Marasquin, souj/lée a la vunille—fondus—

Jul. Stop, stop! you'll make me ill!

Swi. Oh, I hav’nt half done.

Jul. But, of what dinner are you speaking ?

Swi. (aside.) Exceedingly stupid young person! (aloud.) My dear madam, as | said before, of a dinner 1 enjoyed with my friends at Florence.

Jul. You! you enjoy a dinner after Fanny’s departure!

Swi. Yes, madam. (recollecting himself.) That is—when I say dined, I don’t mean that—others dined—J looked on.

Jul. Oh! others dined—you looked on?

Swi. Yes, yes—sat at the table; couldn’t eat; tried, but couldn't; sniffed at every thing. Mais je ne mange pas de tout.

Jul. And, pray, when did you leave Florence?

Swi. Came here as fast as possible: wouldn’t stay at Rome aday. Dear Rome! not one day; I only slept there—excel- lent bed—particularly snug.

Jul. Slept there—slept at Rome ?

a

Ng a Be:

THE CARNIVAL BALL.

Swi. Yes, like a top—devilish tired I was.

Jul, Slept! what, took your nightcap off the peg?

Swi. Hem—off the peg—to be sure—obliged to take it off the peg to pack it up; but when I say | slept, I—I only mean I went to bed, and lay awake. (uside.) Hang me, if ever I met with such a little woman as that.

Jul, (yawning.) Oh, you lay awake ; beg pardon, nothing to me, you know.

Swi. (aside.) Pon my life, I should think not; very defi- cient | take it, poor thing, about the noddle.

Jul. (aside.) He will not look at me; how very provoking. If he would but look, I think I might induce him to listen; but this indifference is hopeless.

Swi. Perhaps, madam, you would do mea favour. I wish to be permitted to converse with your cousin for one uninter- rupted hour; now, if you would but run—

Jul. (languidly.) Run? oh dear, never I never run; and you really talk so fast, it hurries and worries me ; slow and sure is my motto. Oh dear me, what a tedious long morning it is—I should so like a cosey nap. [Evit, yawning, R.w.

Swi. (looking after her.) Upon my word, she has a good figure ; never observed her points before. But what a daudle ! neverruns! But, hang her, | must think of her more fasci- nating cousin. How to obtain this hour's conversation. Ah! here are pens, ink, and paper. IJ]l write to the aunt, and solicit her intercession. (sits down, writes.) ‘* Dear madam— um, um, um—fascinating niece—um, um, um—permission to visit her alone—um, um—for the space of one hour—have the honour to remain, most obedient bumble servant—Charles Swiftly.” There, that will do; now to dispatch it at once. (rings hell.) How slow servants are. When 1 marry and settle, 17iI make it a point with my footmen that they shall stride up stairs six steps at a time. (rings again.) Footmen, indeed ! snails, dormice, creeping things—I’ll pull the bell down, Oh, I forgot—I’m notin my own house. Ah! here’s somebody— a sloth in livery.

Enter O'Leary, L, H.

Swi. What, O'Leary, is it you? By Jove, its Incky for you. You used to move quicker when you were in my service.

O'Leary, Oh, faith, and truth, | was a different man altoge- ther, though it was myself; for then my heart was light, and the step of a man always keeps pace with his heart. But now!

oh thunder and devilry! Meary O’Donnovan! to her side the

salt ocean, oh hone !

Swi. Pooh, cheer up, man: bustle: don’t walk about lament- ing your fate like that. Here, take this note to Mrs. Bevil.

O’ Leary (takes note,) And won't you be after listening to—

Swi. Not a word—run—

O’Leary. But my late master now-—

Swi. Late master! if you don’t fly, you shall be my late servant with a vengeance, for hang me if you shall be in the

12 ONE HOUR; OR,

land of the living. Vanish. (Pushes O'Leary out, rn. u.) Now I'll sit still until the answer comes. (sits.) No, I can’t do that. (jumps up.) I know what l’ll do—there are one hundred and fifty stone steps to my apartments at the botel, I'll go and see how often Ican run up and down in a quarter of an hour. {Exit Swirtty, Enter Fanny, R. H.

Fan. This persecution is not to be borne. I am loth to re- quest my aunt to forbid him the house, because, as a friend, I esteem him ; and were he conscions of my real situation, he might learn to appreciate my cousin.

Enter Mrs. Bevit, with a notein her hand, rou.

Mrs. B. Here is a note from Mr. Swiftly, requesting permis- sion to visit you foran hour.

Fan. How very disagreeable !

Mrs. B. 1 really know not what to say to him. Here is Julia, let us consult her.

Enter Jutta, 8. ue

: Jul, A consultation !—here I am—what is the matter in de- ate ?

Mrs. B. Let me ask you seriously, what you think of Mr. Swiftly?

Jul. Would you have me waste a thoyght on a man who evidently thinks not of me? who would rot even look at me.

Mrs. B. Assuredly not; then we must decline receiving his Visits.

Jul. Yet, could I but manage to have one hour’s interview with him—one litle hour—

Fan, Well, what then ?

Jul. You will perbaps laugh at my vanity, Fanny, but I do flatter myself 1 could make him not only think of me, but re- member that hour all the days of his life.»

Mrs. B. How so, my dear, tow so ?

Jul. How so! why simply thus—I have never been taught to believe that either my person or my accomplishments are actually contemptible.

Mrs, B. Assuredly uot, my dear—but—

Jul. But, you would say, that Mr. Swiftly’s apathy arises from his having an attachment elsewhere; but no, aunt; amiable and delightful as my dear Fanny is, I am sure he does not really love her. Circumstanced as she is, she has been obliged to withhold from him the fascinations which she pos- sesses.

Fan, Thank you, Julia, for the compliment; and now, as I, being already married, cannot encourage him, you being free, and moreover being a little bit in love with him, mean to

Jul. Hush, Fanny! 1 confess I am not quite prepared to have all my motives and intentions scrutinised ; he is my brother’s friend; and—in fact—I should like to engage his at-

tention.

THE CARNIVAL BALL, 13

Mrs. R. You shall have your wish. He has written to re- quest an hour's conversation with my niece, meaning Fanny ; | will accede to his wishes, and, pretending to misunderstand him, will cause him to be conducted hither.

Jul. Oh, delightful. (rings the bell.) Now you mark the result ; he’ll not want to go away at the end of the first hour, depend i on it.

4 ‘ Enter O’Leany, k. He

Jul. Quick, dear aunt, quick ; give O’Leary your message— quick. [Mrs. Bevic goes to table to write.

O'Lea. (aside.) By the powers, she’s as great a bustle as my late master ; | wish he'd just turn over his attentions to her, instead of the married one.

Jul. What are you about, my dear aunt, fidgetting there ? don’t wait to write; O’ Leary will take the message.

Mrs, B. Very well; RO to Mr. Swiftly, with my compliments, and say my niece will be happy to receive him.

O'Lea. 1’}' do that same. (aside.) She manes the married + lady! Oh, shocking! he’s to be what they call here in Italy ber Calvalry Sarvanty ! .

Jul. Oh, | wish he were come. What shall Ido to amuse a inyself ?

a ‘Fan. (shows a miniature to Juuta.) Have you seen my lus- band’s picture, Julia?

Jul. No—yes—I can’t think of it now ;.and pray go away

both of you; for as his hotel is but two doors off, and he is as

i nimble as a harlequin, we shall have him here in two minutes. Ww @ (moves a worktable, chair, and stool to the frout.)

Bi Fan. (puts a miniature on the table.) Very well. Adieu.

ae Mrs. B. 1t is just five o'clock ; at six precisely I shall inter- lo g rupt your interview. [Exit Mrs. Bevin and Fanny, R. #, - = Jul, Hark! yes—I hear him coming—now for it.

[The hand of the clock has been moving ever since the

commencement of the piece, and it now points to fire.

t 4a Junta takes a long strip of muslin out of workbox, and begins hemming it.

Enter Swirtty, L, H., starts at seeing Jutia, and looks unviously round the room.

S cal ar : Jul. (affecting great surprise.) Mr. Swiftly ! Swi. Yes, your most obedient ; beg pardon I—I expected

—that is—l think they must have shown me into the wrong room—Mrs. Bevil Jul. (working.) Oh, if you want to talk to Aunt Bevil— Swi. No, no—hang aunt Bevil, [ beg your pardon, 1 | don't by any manner of means intend any disrespect—but—a— Fanny.

Jul, Oh, Fanny; yes—she’s somewhere or other; she'll be here by-and-by, no doubt. But, vow I think of it, Mrs. Bevil mentioned to me that you had written her a note?

Swi, Oh, she did!

l4 ONE HOUR; OR,

Jul. And she told me—bless me, I can’t thread my needle— she told me you wanted an hour’s conversation with me.

Swi. With you, ma’am!

Jul, These needles are shocking bad ;—yes, with me.

Swi, (aside.) What a silly blundering old body.

Jul. And having nothing particular to do, I said certainly, if she had no objection—and so here I am.

Swi. Yes, so I see, and here am I.

Jul. Yes, here we are for one hour; mind, you came pre- cisely at five, and you are to stay with me until six, and make yourself exceedingly agreeable.

Swi, (aside.) Oh, there’s no tolerating this! yet I can’t be so very rude as to say I won’t remain an hour—no, that will never do. Jul, Any thing the matter?—I thought of course you had something particular to say.

Swi, Yes—no—nothing—no—nothing particular.

Jul, Oh, merely a morning visit? very well, amuse yourself ; sit down ; if it bores you to talk, don’t exert yourself, L’ve a thousand things to think of.

Swi. (walking up and down the room.) Considerate cieacure.

Jul. Why don’t you sit down? doas you like though ; walk about if its your way, you've plenty of time, its only five minutes after five.

Swi, (aside.) An hour all but five minutes! I must say some- Saki ¢ (aloud.) Hera—a—a—the—(aside)—what the devil shall I say?

Tal. Hush! don’t talk ; I’ve made a long stitch.

Swi. (aside.) No escape ’till the hour is over, it would seem so rude; if I could but get upon a chair 1 might contrive to poke the hands of that vile slow going clock on a bit.

Jul, (aside.) Poor man, how T pity him.

Swi. (looks at the cage, aside.) There are two poor little dicky birds shut up together, l’ve a fellow feeling for them, poor little feathered songsters.

Jul. I wonder what he is thinking about. I must attract his notice.

Swi, (looks into the glass globe, aside.) Ah !. another pair of un- fortunates, one with a gold tail, and one with a silver tail— waggle, waggle, all day long, and day after day ; poor little fishy, shiny, scaly individuals, how precious sick you must be of one another. Oh dear, there’s no ending this, I will get on a chair and poke on the hands of the clock.

[Cautiously getting on a chair, puts it under the clock, and stands on it with a parasol in his hand, with which he is trying to alter the clock, Jutta looks round,

Jul. What are you about?

Swi. (jumping down, he sits in the chair, with the parasol ex- panded over his head.) 1! oh, nothing—I’m very apt to

Jul. Stand upon the chairs. Ha! ha! ha? what an odd habit ; but do come here for one minute, and sit down quietly,

THE CARNIVAL BALL, 15

I want to see if I have cut this piece of muslin straight; you hold that end so, and I’|| hold this; there, that’s it.

{ Gives him one end of a long strip of muslin, she takes the other end, and with a pair of scissors cuts it even, of course approaches him until she is quite close.

Swi, (aside.) Upon my life she’s exceedingly pretty !

Jul, Thank ye, that will do.

Swi. (aside.) | remember admiring her figure this morning, and really her face is——

Jul. You like travelling, don’t you?

Swi, Oh, that is the very

Jul, Stop! that isimy very own particular favourite theme. | never let any body talk about travelling but myself.—I know all the roads, and all the inns, and all the lions, and all the churches, and all the steeples ; those guide books are all paltry things, l’m worth twenty of them; and as to books of tours, none of them come up to my notion of what that sort of thing ought to be. I take notes myself invariably ; historical, de- scriptive, botanical, fossilogical, and characteristic.

Swi. (aside.) And she can talk too. What ametamorphosis !

Jul. I dare say you have thought me dull and cold and odd in my manner; don’t answer, L hate people to interrupt; I know it, 1 was so; but lama variable creature, and now my mood is changed.

Swi. Um delighted to hear it, ————

Jul. Yes, yes, that is all very well ; 1 know what you intended to say, and its true as far as it goes; but are you not weary of Naples ? do you not wish for wings to waft you away ?

Swi, Why it is only two hours ago that

Jul. True, very true; but two hours in one place—tedious, insupportable ; I love to live on wheels, travelling night and day for weeks together. :

Swi. Weeks! what no sleep?

Jul. Sleep! oh, no; when I travel I always hang my night- cap on a peg; beg your pardon, borrowed that phrase from you; vile phrase after all, not worth borrowing ; but as I said before, on I go--on, on, on, day and night, lose nothing by it, see all the prospects, hills, vales, cataracts, ruins, see them all, have people on purpose to rouse me at the proper places, and see every thing that’s worth seeing by torchlight.

Swi. Why you never told me all this before?

Jul. To be sure not ; if [had do you suppose I should have told it to you now ? J never tell the same thing twice over, un- less to fusty old men with dilapidated memories.

Swi. But now that I do know it, what travelling companions we should he ?

Jul. Not a bit of it, quite a mistake; two talkers in one close carriage would never do, nobody to listen: besides, my travel- ling would take away your breath; I, long for a continental rail-road, and a steam-carriage, which from its extreme ve-

locity will be imperceptible to the naked eye.

16 ONE HOUR; OR,

Swi. Oh, madam, there never were two people so much alike

as you and I,

ul. Don’t perceive it, sir; looked in the glass half an-hour ago, and don’t perceive it, dare say you mean it for a compli- ment ; but—

Swi. Nay, hear me

Jul. Hear you! it’s impossible to do otherwise, you never cease talking! chatter, chatter, chatter. 1 never met with such aman, and as I do not indulge in such volubility, I’m obliged to listen whether I will or no!

Swi, Well now, really, I must say

Jul. There! you want to be talking again ; but I will have my turn ; besides you must assist me here, l’ve some silk that has got terribly entangled. Sit you down on that little stool. (Swirrty sits on the little stool.)

Swi. (aside.) Upon my word! but really she’s one of the most lovely women I ever

Jul. (sits down on the chair before him.) Now for it—hold up your hands so. (he holds up his hands, she places a skein of silk on them, and winds it off'on a card.)

Jul. That’s right—a little higher.

Swi. Have you travelled in England? No, no, of course not.

Jul. Not so high, please.

Swi. Nobody does. Cits who see the lake of Como, never visit Windermere.

Jul. Beg pardon, a little lower.

Swi. I do though go every where, Highlands of Scotland, Killarney, Giant's Causeway, Scarborough, Tenby, Cowes, Penzance.

Jul. Look on the silk, sir, not in my face,

Swi. Can't help it, it’s the principle of attraction.

Jul. Perhaps you are tired !

Swi. Not a bit, I could sit here three weeks, quiet as a silk- worm ona mulberry leaf. (aside.) She is lovely, a glow-worm I should have said.

Jul. (puts by silk.) There, that is done: now there's a paper of pins, stick them all one by one into that pincushion, and I} tune my guitar.

Swi. (starts up.) Guitar! the very thing I—

Jul. Sit down again pray; mind the pins, (makes him sit down, and he sticks the pins awkwardiy into the pincushion, occa- sionally pricking his fingers.) Do you sing? yes, yes, | know you'll say yes; all the men try now, and breathe forth little confidential whispers, the words of which are strictly confined to the man and the guitar.

Swi, But I—

Jul, Attend to the pins ; but music to please me must be something quite out of the common.

Swi. Can you sing ?

Jul. Oh—just—no—nothing worth speaking of.

Swi. You’ve got a voice ?

Jul. Ay, that I have.

alike hour

n pli-

ever such iged

lave that ool. host

up ck On

nd,

17

THE CARNIVAL BALL.

Swi. And an ear! Jul. 1 don’t think, were I once taught, I should ever sing out of tune. ee Swi. (jumps up, putting part of the paper of pins in his pocket.) My dear madam, I've stuck in all the pins, and now pray do let me teach you a pretty little song ! Jul. Ov! I doat upon a pretty little song. Swi. So do 1; give me the guitar, and now attend.

SwIrtLy sings.

Air.—‘* Weber’s last waltz.”

To linger near thee, to see and hear thee Shall be for ever my prayer,

Those eyes enchant me, oh, lady grant me. One sinile to banish despair.

With thee 1’l] wander, still growing fonder, Thy willing captive I'll prove ;

Though once a rover, a] that is over, For thou hast taught me to love.

Thy notes |’m sure dear, are soft and pure dear, Then let my song be thy choice ;

Don’t pause a minute, at once begin it, Oh, how I long to hear thy voice.

ms Yeh: ‘ane

a?

Jul. (sings the two first lines out of tune, and then with great triumph says: ) What do you think of that?

Swi. Oh, mercy! nota note in tune, [thought I should have died of it.

Jul, Shall | give you the rest?

Swi. No, no, no, by no means, it will fatigue you.

Jul. Not atall, if you'll come here for an hour a day, I'll sing to you all the time.

Swi, (aside.) I was beginning to be charmed with her; but it’s all over!

Jul, Oh! stop, stop, you must listen: sit there; I can’t sing if you look at me.

[Swirtty goes and sits by the table, stopping his ears ; but as she proceeds looks round and takes a chair close to her.

Song.

‘* Love is the theme.”

Love is the theme, love is the theme, Of the minstrel all over the earth ;

List to the light-hearted chanson of France, '

Trace the burthen of German romance,

Hear the guitar in the sweet orange grove,

Of what sings the Spaniard ? oh, is it not love? Yes—love is the theme

Of the minstrel all over the earth,

18 ONE HOUR; OR,

List to the song in the camp of the brave, Hear the sailor, the sport of the wave, In court, or in cottage, wherever you rove, Of what sings the minstrel? Oh, is it not love ? Yes—love is the theme, Of the minstrel all over the earth.”

Swi. Rapture, transport, I never heard any thing so charm- ing! one more, I entreat, I implore.

[The hand of the clock has been imperceptibly moving, and it now points precisely to siz, JuLia points to it.

Swi. Nay, madam, another hour ; one more, Another skein of silk—several papers of pins,—anything you please: but give me one more hour.

Enter Mrs. Brevi, Rr. H,

Mrs. B, I trust, sir, your conference with my niece is finished ?

Swi. No, no—that clock goes wrong—it gallops.

Jul. Um quite ready to accompany you, aunt. But I almost fancy there has been some mistake; Mr. Swiftly had nothing particular to communicate to me; I therefore think it must have been my cousiu Fanny that—

Swi. (aside.) Here’s a dilemma. (aloud,) No, madam, you wrong me; [—I—won’t you let me come to-morrow ?

Jul, You hear what he says, dear aunt ?

Mrs. B. Impossible, sir. Come, Julia.

Swi. One word. Shall you go to the masked ball ?

Jul. (nods and smiles.) I'm not quite sure.

Mrs. B. Come, Julia, come,

Swi. In what costume ?

Jul. Don’t know.

[Jutta puts her finger to her lips, laughs, and shakes her head. —Evxeunt Mrs. Bevitand Jutta, Rk. H.

Swi, Charming creature—worth forty thousand of her cold repelling cousin; and to that frosty individual have I been for months breathing the warmest protestations—indefatigably striving to thaw an iceberg! and, what’s worse, I do believe I saw a little symptom of melting this morning, when she con- descended to tell me what dress she would wear at the ball: I’m in a devil of a scrape. After paying such exclusive atten- tion to the North Pole, can | hope to prosper with my Love among the Roses? Oh, Charles, Charles, what a harum- scarum chap thou art! always getting into mischief and prick- ing your fingers. Oh! (puts his hand in his coat pocket and pricks his fingers with the pins.) Hold, I’ve one chance yet ; that gleam of sunshine was so unlike Miss Fanny, that she’ll proba- bly freeze again at night; and egad should it be so, no breath of mine shall ever take off the chill. I’m on slippery ground ; but to gain the adorable Julia, I’d skate across the Bay of Naples, on ice as thin as a wafer. [ Evit,

* This song is published by Messrs, Chappell, Bond-street,

rm- and

<ein rive

THE CARNIVAL BALL.

SCENE II[,—A chamber in Mrs, Bevit’s house. Enter O'Leary, with the miniature in his hand, v. u.

O’Lea. Tl tell him—I’ve made up my mind—oh, faith, I must spuke to my pvor ill-trated master—he must kuow that insiniating young famale has a husband already, shut up in this little red box. Here he comes, and |’ll make no bones about it, but tell him all.

Enter Swirty, &. i,

Swi. I can scarcely find my way out of this overgrown old tenement. Ah, here is O'Leary.

O’Lea. Can | spake one word to you, late master of mine ?

Swi. What do you want?

O’ Lea, Oh, sir, it’s my conscience, I can’t keep their bad sacret any longer; I come to divulge.

Swi. Why, what is the matter?

O’ Lea. They’re after using you shamful bad in this house.

Swi. What are they doing ?

O’Lea. There’s nobody listening to us two but ourselves—not the way you came, | mean—if they heard me, they’d show me the outside of the door before a cat could lick her whisker. I’ve just fetched this thig from the room, where you and the young miss was, and there’s nobody there now.

Swi. No—nobody but the dicky-birds and the water wag-tails.

O’La. Water wagtails! Oh you manes the little red herrings in the big white bottle! Whisht—hush—Oh, faith and it’s past a joke, or ajew dy sprey ; you'll faint away dead as a herring when I tell ye—you loves one of them naces of Mrs. Devil— Bevil, [ mean.

Swi. Yes, the one that—

O’ Lea. Yes, yes, in course. (aside.) He forgets how he scru- tinised me about her state of health at the door this morning.

Swi. Well, go on, what of her ?

O’Lea. Well, listen—you see this bit of a red box!

Swi. Well, well, what of it?

O'Leary. Why, it’s husband to she.

Swi. What do you mean by husband to she?

O'Leary. It’s the effigies of Mr. Smith.

Swi. And who the devil is Mr. Smith ?

O’ Leary. Why Mrs. Smith’s husband, what’s away.

Swi, And who is Mrs. Smith—do I know her ?

O’Leary. Know her! faith and I believe you do too; step this way ; hush—if any living soul should hear ine prevaricate the particulars—Mrs. Smith is Mrs. Bevil’s nace, that un, mar-

ried surreptitious like, at Florence—out of the Pope’seye!

Swi. Mercy on me, can it be possible—you have driven a dagger into my heart, lacerated, torn my finer feelings into shreds—it’s a lie; a horrid, loathsome, wicked lie, and Ill shake the breath out of your body.

O'Leary. Here’s the gratitude of the late master.

Swi. But what motive can he have for deceiving me! Mar- ried ! there’s an end of hope, (seizes the picture.) I never in

¢

20 ONE HOUR; OR,

my life saw such a disagreeable-looking person—vile abomi- nable daub—I could trample it under my feet.

O’ Leary. Oh, don’t think of it—she loves it dearly, looks at it every quarter of an hour, and faith, I'll be bound, pops it under her downy pillow in the night time.

Swi, The man seems to grin out of the ivory at me. Is there no earthquake to swallow me up—oh, for floods of lava—I wonder if Vesuvius smokes. (runs to the window, )

O'Leary. Not to-day, your honour. I suppose he’s out of backy ; but I do—p'raps you like a pipe.

Swi. Hold your tongue, sir; leave the room.

O'Leary. Well, but—

Swi. Begone—vanish. (he paces the room.)

O'Leary. (aside.) Faith, and if Vesuvy don’t smoke, here’s an eruption with the cratur, at all events! Oh, well I'm gone— better take a pipe to discompose your nerves. [Evit, L. 4.

Swi. What is to be done! carry her off by force, get her divorced from this abominable Smith, and then marry her my~ self? No, no—disreputable, impracticable—loves him no doubt—puts his paltry little picture under her pillow. Besides, what shall I do about her cousin Fanny? At all events, to this abominable ball 1 must go, for, as a man of honour, | must come to an explanation with her. But Julia, Julia— confound it, 1 must call her Julia—Mrs. Smith. That ever I should hive to call ber Mrs. Smith. [Evit, tH.

SCENE THE LAST.—A splendid Ball-room, with a distant view of Naples, Vesuvius, and the Bay, by moonlight.—Masked Jigures, in various costumes, are finishing a quadrille,

Chorus.

Naples is ever joyous and gay,

Dancing and music closing the day ;

Come with a mask, or with no mask at all, Welcome you'll find at the Carnival Ball.

A Waltz.

Enter Jutta, in Neapolitan costume, with Mrs. Bevin and Fanny, Srom centre.

Jul. He is not yet come: do you see him Fanny? Fan. No, but depend on it he'll soon arrive. Take care you support your character.

Jul. Never fear; he shall take me for a native of Bella Na- poli, [Evit, rR. H. Neapolitan Song, with the original words,

Chorus renewed,

Naples is ever joyous and gay,

Dancing and music closing the day ; Come with a mask, or with no mask at all, Welcome you'll tind at the Carnival Ball.

. THE CARNIVAL BALL.

Swirt.y dances on.

Welcome Italian, Spaniard, and Greek, Strangers to look on, friends when you speak ; What though all nations honour the ball, Love is the language common to all. Though you may mask, I never doubt, Easy the task, To find you out. Beauty her veil Long cannot keep, Soon without fail Forth she will peep. Poncinella, Tarantella, Lazaroni, Macaroni, Oh happy day ! Sings Neapolitan Song. Swi. My brain is in a whirl—I must sing, I must dance, I must keep moving, or I shall throw myself on the earth in a paroxysm of despair. I know what I'll do—any thing to ba-

nish thought—I’ll ask that pretty little girl to dance a taran- tella with me. Come here.

He goes to a lady who is not masked, in a Neapolitan costume, she advances with him, and they dance a Neapolitan tarantella. After

the dance, they go off together—maskers pass occasionally at the back.

Enter Swirtty, with Juria, masked, from centre.

Jul. Do you know me?

Swi. Yes, madam, and I was seeking you.

Jul. Indeed! who am I then?

Swi. The fair Fanny—am I right ?

Jul. (aside.) He mistakes me, as I could wish: for, after such a sudden change, I shall very much like to hear what my gentleman will say for himself to the lady he has abandoned.

Swi. You do not answer me: your name is Fanny ?

Jul. Had I intended to make myself known to inquisitive people, do you suppose I should have come here in a mask ?

Swi. 1am sure I am right; and, as I said before, you are the very person I was in search of.

Jul. (aside.) In search of ! I suppose he is going to change back again.

Swi. I have a confession to make. (aside.) Though Julia is married, Fanny is sure to hear of my attentions to her, and she shall hear it from myself first.

nia Indeed! J am no Father Confessor ; you had better seek—

Swi. No, no, to you alone I must confess. You—that is—

22 ONE HOUR; OR,

1— mean, madam, both of us. (aside.) Hang me, if I know how to begin.

Jul, Well, sir, I am all attention.

Swi. Well, madam, I will be as brief as possible. For many months, madam—I—I—I have—ventured—with the—utmost respect—to—to—to

Jul. Yes, yes; you have been making incessant love to the Fanny that you take me for.

Swi. You forget that this morning you told me you should wear that dress.

Jul Did 1? Why, yes, I believe I was more kind to you to- day than usual; more complying; but you know, sir, perse- verance will, in the end, conquer all difficulties ; and really your following us to Naples was—

Swi. Madam!

Jul. Sir!

Swi, (aside.) Why, she’s actually going to accept me. I must nip that in the bud; for, though Julia is married, I’ll never marry any one else, (aloud.) Madam; chilled by your inces- sant coldness, I—(aside.) What a thing to tell her.

Jul. Well, sir ?

ye I, this day, relinquished my presumptuous hopes, and—

Jul. Sir!

Swi. And transferred my—my attentions to your cousin.

Jul. (affecting agitation.’ To my cousin! Oh, this is too cruel.

Swi. There—l might have known how it would be. She'll faint, she'll die; go into a decline; haunt me for ever. Don’ take it to heart, ma’am, pray, ma'am. 1’m not so fascinating as you think me.

Jul. Water ! water ! my mask—take it off.

[He catches her ; takes off her mask, and she jumps away laughing.

Swi. Julia! cruel woman. Laughed at too; this is barbarity !

Jul, Nay, there is no harm in laughing at so innocent a frolic. I have the best reasons for knowing that Fanny will not lament your desertion. Come, if you wish for my company, let us join the dancers.

Swi. Dancers! how can you trifle with my feelings thus ? You think { am not aware of your situation, but I am.

Jul, (aside.) My situation! what can he mean ?

Swi. Yes, madam, my faithful O'Leary told me all. Look at this picture, madam. (Shows miniature.)

Jul, Oh, yes, | see—Smith’s picture ; very like him too. You don’t know him? no, if you did, | think you’d like him. He’s a nice little man in his way.

Swi. In my way, madam—very much in my way; and though you may talk thus carelessly of your husband—

Jul. (aside.) My husband.

Swi. You surely should not trifle thus with the feelings of an honourable man.

J" Caside.) Delightful. I must tease him a little bit.

THE CARNIVAL BALL.

Enter Mrs. Brevi, r.u.

Mrs. B. Oh, Julia, who do you think is just arrived from England 1—Mr. Smith !

Swi. Mr. Smith! Distraction.

Jul. Mr. Smith! how apropos.

Enter Fanny, R. u,

Fan. Julia, have you heard the news? My hushand is arrived !

Swi. (in amazement.) Husband! Mr. Smith her husband !

Jul. (laughing.) Oh, that is not my Mr. Smith.

Swi, But have you got a Mr. Smith at all? No, no. I see myerror. I shall be delighted to make Mr. Smith’ $8 ac- quaintance. Mrs. Smith and I are very old friends ; I hope we shall now be cousins. Mrs. Bevil you are the aunt of divinities, and therefore of course a divinity yourself. Julia, you are— ‘gad. I’ve no words to say what you are, but you will be—

Jul. What?

Swi. Mrs. Swiftly.

Fan. My busband brings me ‘excellent news—his friends have sanctioned our marriage.

Swi. Oh, then, we'll all go to England together. Juliaand I will be maried at the Embassy, and then we shall travel a very agreeable family party.

Jul. Indeed—upon my word! Well, if you prove your con- stancy, and behave yourself well.

Swi. Yes.

Jul. Exceedingly well.

Swi. Go on.

Jul. Then, at the ey 1on of ten years, I may be induced—

Sui. Ten years! give you my honour I couldn't wait—I would if | could, but I couldn’t ; I-know I should carry you off by sea‘or land in some extraordinary manner ; I give you due notice. Ten years! I should fret myself to fiddlestrings ; there'd be nothing of me left.

Jul. Vl not abate an hour.

Mrs. B, Nay, nay, you shall be tormented no longer; prove that you deserve her, and she shall be yours.

Jul. Upon my word, good people, you seem to manage mat- ters all your own way. =| suppose every hody is satisfied, and I hope that Mr. Swiftly is not the only person here to whom the time has appeared short. Friends, have you been pleased with my company? If so, visit me often. My cards are dis- tributed every morning, and you will find me at home every evening for the rest of the season. Pray drop in sometimes, if only for one hour.

(The Chorus is repeated, and the Curtain falls on a dance.)

WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND,

SSE A CE SE RE OE ER

§AM

MONSIEUR JACQUES

A MUSICAL PIECE

BY

MORRIS BARNETT,

AUTHOR OF

The Bold Dragoons; Spirit of the Rhine; Yellow Kids; Out on the Loose; Mrs. G.; Tact; Lillian Gervaise ; Sarah the Creole ; Married Unmarried; Power and Principle ;

Serve Him Light ; Circumstantial Evidence,

§C., SC.

—

THE MUSIC BY JOHN BARNETT,

Lonpor: New Yor: » SAMUEL FRENCG, SAMUEL FRENCH & SON,

PUBLISHER, PUBLISHERS,

89, STRAND. 122, NASSAU STREET.

MONSIEUR JACQUES.

First performed at the St. James's Theatre, January 12th. 1836.

CHARACTERS. MR. SEQUENCE - - - Mr. STRICKLAND. MONSIEUR JACQUES - Mr. Barnett. VIVID - - - * e Mr. SELBY. ANTONIO

NINA -

- Mr. Horniincswortnh.

- Miss P. Horton.

SCENE—DOVER.

COSTUMES.

Monsieur Jacques. — Old dark smalls, grey worsted ©

stockings, rather darned, slippers, dark waistcoat, grey woollen morning gown, iron grey wig, shirt collar open.

SEquencE.— White trowsers, stockings and shoes, light vest, brown coat, white neckerchief. -

Vivip.—Dark trowsers, blue coat buttoned up, boots, ~

black hat, gloves.

Antonio. — Black smalls and stockings, shoes with s buckles, black vest, brown straight cut coat, stick, ©

gloves. ; Nina.-~A handsome but plain white dress, bonnet, &c.

Pa at Bit Pee

come lead duct

WORTH.

Ne

worsted | oat, grey = ‘t collar

es, light

, boots, 7

es with ¢ t, stick,

t, &e.

a Nap

ws Bea

SCENE.—An Attic.

MONSIEUR JACQUES.

Door, tL. H., leading to another room. £& door, 8. H. Window in flat, through which is seen a view #y' the sea. A pianoforte, L.H., upon which is scattered loose sheets of music (MS.) and a full score. An old book case in flat, R. H., containing a few odd volumes and printed music. A small table and buffet-—some chairs, one or two of which are bottomless. The whole scene wears an air of extreme poverty. At the rising of the curtain a knocking at door, R. 8.

Enter SEQUENCE, R. H. door.

SEQUE. Coutts his head in at the door.) I suppose I may come in? Eh! the orchestra empty? Madam, follow your leader. Mind the stairs !—this way, I am used to act as con- ductor—this way !

Enter Nina, R. H. door.

I am really very sorry you should have had to mount four octaves—I mean four stories high. Quite a bit of luck to have had the honour of meeting you last night at Signora Squeakini’s concert. Would it be taking a very great liberty to ask if you are musical ?

Nira. I have studied music from my infancy.

SequE. Bravo! then the affair, I trust, is settled; you

' really must take my apartment. I am perfect master of every

instrument—am principal kettle-drum at the Dover Philhar- monic, and, though I say it, I have produced some works.

Nina. I am aware that the public is already indebted to you for several charming ballads; the one sang last night was singularly beautiful.

SEQUE. Oh, what! my ‘ Azure Eyes?” You have not yet seen my ‘* Radiant Locks?” The young amateurs prefer ** My Faithless Bride,” though J think very little of that one myself.

4 MONSIEUR JACQUES.

Nina. I believe this is the apartment you intend for my ser. vant? From what you said, I supposed it much larger. In. deed, Antonio is rather a friend than a servant.

SequE. You have not seen all, madam; there is another, much larger and more commodious. I intend to have them

both fresh papered; cherubims blowing trombones — quite |

charming, if your servant is musical. (goes towards door, 1. 1.) Perhaps you would like to see the other room. (tries the doo; and finds it locked.) Dear me, it’s locked! (peeping through th: keyhole.) Not up yet; at this time of day, too—forty bars rest. A lazy old fellow, madam; but I'll soon rouse him.

Nina. Do not disturb any one, I beg. I can call again.

SEQuUE. There is no need of ceremony with him. He's a horrid bad lodger—owes three quarters’ rent.

NINA. (going towards piano.) A musician ?

SEquE. Yes—um—a sort of musician, a poor devil! He used to give leesons, but it wouldn’t do; his pupils found him rather

cracked, so he soon lost the few he had. Bless you, he will °

sit for hours at that window as though he expected the arrival of some vessel: he fancies he sees it sailing towards him—

rushes down stairs in 6-8 time, and watches the face of every |

passenger as they come ashore; then, ic, ar acer his head drops, and he wanders back to this wretchedly furnished room: the furniture'is his own, madam.

Nina. Unfortunate being !

SequE. You perceive there is no necessity to—(going to door, L. H.)

Nina. Hold, sir! your story of the poor old man has much interested me: he must not be turned out on my account.

(she goes to piano and looks at the loose music. %

SEQUE. Well, madam, if you do not wish him to go, your servant can occupy the other room ; for there is another iodger on this floor: he’s a poet, but unfortunately as destitute as the other.

Nina. (who has been looking at a shect of music.) This is — very strange! Why this is the ballad that was last night sang _

at the concert.

SEQUE. (confused.) My ballad? Oh, yes, yes, it is my : ballad. You see, from notives of charity, I frequently give this |

poor devil my music to copy. (aside.) The old fool has kept the

original; I thought I had them both. I'll take better care for |

the future. (footsteps heard.) I think I hear your servant.

Enter ANTONIO, R. H. door.

Nina. (crossing to AnToNIO.) Have you made any dis. covery ?

) guardia

Enter J

Viv

NIN

(runs te resides ‘ finale a

arms rushe sighs note.

JACQ volerai § reverro dear Jad 800n wel ago dat rader di wid lines dese are heel as

Qpon ww

my ser- er. In.

another, ve then — quite 7, L. HH.)

the dooy ©

©) thousand pardons, madam!

“ough th ars rest,

rain. He's a

He used

m rather

, he will °

e arrival Is him— of every his head ed room:

(going to

1as much int.

se music. go, your er iodger te as the

) This is |

ight sang #

it is my @ give this |

s kept the |

r care for}

ant.

any dis

MONSIEUR JACQUES. ° Antonio. (aside to Nina.) It is of that I wish to tell you. Nina. I engage your apartments, and will to-morrow take possession. os Antonio.

As they are going, enter Vivip at door L. H., rapidly, with @ sheet of paper in his hand; he does not perceive them.

Vivip. My dear friend, here is the finale. (sees Nina.) A

Nina. (aside.) Again this young man!

Vivi. As I live, my incognita !

ANTONIO. (to SEQUENCE.) Who is that person ?

SequE. Oh, the old man’s fellow lodger. (to Nixa.) The poet of whom I spoke to you.

Nina. IfI mistake not, we have met before.

Vivip. Yes, miss—madam—on the beach.

Antonio. Come, madam, we have much to do.

Nina. Yes, let us begone.

SequE. Allow me, madam—(crosses to R. H. door.) I'll con- duct you down ; take care of the step—this way, madam, if

| you please.

(SEQUENCE goes out first; Vivip bows timidly to Nixa, who curtseys and goes out, followed by ANTONIO, R. H. door.)

Vivip. She here! in the humble apartment of my poe e &

friend! What could have caused this visit? Perhaps, li

; | guardian spirit, to succour him. I dared not even look at her.

(runs to window.) What if I follow and ascertain where she

resides ? No, no, it would be worse than folly. I will leave my

finale and seek one more glance, though I feel ‘tis madness. Exit hastily, door x. H.

© Enter Jacques at door x. H.; he is absent and pensive, his

arms folded. He walks about the stage slowly; suddenly # rushes to the window—returns—throws himself into a chair— sighs despondingly—rises and draws from his bosom a small note.— Music.

JACQUES. (reading.) ‘‘ Pars! fuis! mon cher Jacques; je volerai sur tes traces aussitét que je pourrai; bient6t nous nous reverrons.” (repeats, without reading.) ‘‘Go! fly away, my dear Jacques; I will be upon your heel as soon as I am able ; soon we shall to see one anoder again.” Here is twenty years ago dat she write this, and she has not yet arrive! De age, or rader de deep suffering have ridé mon visage—ruled my face wid lines, and she has not yet arrive. (he kisses the letter.) Ab, dese are not de light words to be brake—‘‘ I will be upon your heel as soon as I am able.” Have she not been able yet to be apon my heel? Mais, I am tranquille—elle viendra. Ah,

6 MONSIEUR JACQUES.

oui—yes—she shall come, becose she know dat I expect her dis — twenty years. (he folds the letter carefully and places it in his Ja bosom.) Mariana! chére Mariana! let us to look once again. an @ (goes to window.) Rien! noting but Ge boat of de fiskman! | hone

_ (returns.) Ah, it shall not be no more to-day dat I strain my hat ¢ - eye. Mais—but—demain—to-morrow, peut-étre—perhaps— , — sings yes, I do expect her to-morrow, to-morrow ! Tt Sr AIR. _

Dat word wich console us—‘' To-morrow, to-morrow,” He bring wid him hope when he come to de heart— Mariana, my wife, come and banish my sorrow, And jamais—non, never—again shall we part!

When, day after day, I feel life ane wasting,

And dis hand vitch was fort tremble now more and more ; Now my hair it is silver’d—no happiness tasting—

Still ** to-morrow” I vispare—but soon ’twill be o’er.

Allons! allons! let me drive far away from me dose ideas (goes to piano, sees paper that Vivip has left.) Qu’est-ce-que- c'est ca? vat is dis? Ah, my finale! A la bonne heure! Vivid have already been here; hv are so good boy—he not had wish to wakes me. (reads paper.)

“‘Sound the clarion! strike the drum ! War her flag of courage waving— The warriors cry—‘ They come! they come!’ Patriot hearts all danger braving !”

Trés bien! it is capital—and my musique is a capital also. This night, pendant le silence—when all was hush, I compose my overture ; and the emotion vich it make me prove that my musique is handsome. Aprés my déjeuner, after my breakfast, I shall compose dis finale. (opens buffet.) Mon dieu! I forgot— il n’y a plus rien! dere is noting no more leave. (shuts buffet.) Ah! c’est vrai—it is true; I remember I eat yesterday for my | souper the little bit fromage—the cheese that remained me. ; 7 Never mind, it is already late, and the morning wili soon be | finish. Tinking of my opera, I shall forget my stomach. Let : | me see—voyons le premier vers—dis is de first verse. ¥

‘¢ Sound the clarion, strike the drum.”

(he rushes to the piano, and arranges the loose sheets; begins to play, trying several motions to the above words.)

fidenti ouve

you h Srq JAC

Enter SEQUENCE, R. H. door. Sxque. Ah, there he is composing, and composed! He may

her dis