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White. Ah! and I needn't look far for the pouter. [All laugh. Lucy. What have you got there, brother Alfred-another present for me?

White. No! it is a present for brother Pinchbeck. Ber. I should like to kick him out!

White. That is a pleasure in which I hope to anticipate you.

Lucy. What is to be done?

White. The governor has given me carte blanche to act as I see fit-or more grammatically, as I see "fight." But here comes the limb which I am going to lop off!

Ber. [to Lucy.] Come along. Here, give me your arm; now your shoulder. That's it. I think I shall manage it. [Exit R., supported by LUCY. White. He knows all about it!

Enter, L. 1 E., MRS. PINCHBECK. They salute formally.

[c.] Well, Mrs. Pinchbeck, is your luggage packed up?

Mrs. P. No! [Her tone very cold.] Is yours?
White. What do you mean?.

Mrs. P. I don't see why I should be compelled to leave the house. Your father may yet desire me to be his wife.

White. Heaven forbid!

Mrs. P. [enraged.] Sir! do you wish to insult me? White. No! I wish to induce you to pack up! Mrs. P. Can't I insult you? Can't I sting you into rage!

White. [smiling.] You can try. But I recognize in you the triumph of sex over character. Mrs. P. [aside.] What coolness!

Enter CAPTAIN MOUNTRAFFE, swaggering. Captain M. [to WHITE, insolently.] Ah, I have been looking for you.

White. [aside.] The brother! Ah, this is very different. I needn't keep my temper here, and by Jove I won't! [Aloud.] You have been in the army, captain?

Captain M. In the Mexican army.
White. Is it swords or pistols ?

[Indicates weapons on table. Captain M. Oh, I am not blood-thirsty! White. I am.

Mrs. P. [aside.] How handsome he looks as he says that so brave!

White. At your service in the garden, then. I would just as lieve shoot a blackguard as a gentleman, any day!

Captain M. [aside.] What a cold-blooded ruffian! White. Well?

Captain M. In peace times I don't fight. Mrs. P. Is it for you to cast the slur? I will White. Then apologize for your conduct here. make him a good wife. I am tired of my mode of [Switches one of the foils about menacingly. existence and want to settle down. I only need Captain M. Well, I don't mind acknowledging time to utterly blot out the bad moments of my I might have acted wrong, but no gentleman ever life. Repentance equals innocence. I am frank-apologizes. I am not an angel.

White. I fully agree with you! You are not! Mrs. P. I thought you were the more desirable | because you appeared to have title and wealth. And I fell into the trap. It is not the first time that a man has laid a snare and a woman has fallen into it.

White. Nor the first time a woman has tempted

a man.

Mrs. P. You are alluding to the serpent that tempted Adam.

White. Nay, Eve tempted Adam.

Mrs. P. And the serpent tempted Eve.

White. But the serpent was not a man-it was the devil!

Mrs. P. The serpent is the abstract of man. What chance has a woman against whom devil and man are combined?

White. That is clever

Mrs. P. So were you when you tempted me to leave your father, because, upon your return, you found me standing fair to be mistress here.

White. Can you call any one mercenary? Mrs. P. It was not money I sought. White. Whatever your aim, it is foiled. I have saved my father.

Mrs. P. From what? From his own happiness and peace of mind. I should have made him a faithful wife, if not a loving one. I have respect for him, and I would have been grateful. I would have showered upon him every care, and cheered his remaining days with all the attentions to be found by a cool-headed woman of the world.

White. [sneeringly.] You are fortunate in entertaining such a good opinion of yourself.

Mrs. P. I can have no such a one of you, who have only come back to claim your inheritance.

White. Perhaps I came back to tell my father all. I have had reports of your trip to America.

|

White. Then as for the lady, I suppose that will be a mere question of damages?

Mrs. P. [indignantly.] I will not accept a penny! Captain M. [to MRS. PINCHBECK.] Don't be a fool! [Aloud. WHITE sits at R. table.] Well, since you don't like my sister to marry your fatherWhite. No!

Captain M. Or want to marry her yourself?
White. Still less!

Mrs. P. [aside.] Oh, how he despises me!
White. Your sister has every right to damages.
Mrs. P. No!

Captain M. Shut up!

Mrs. P. [aside.] Oh, humiliated in his eyes. Captain M. Well, say five hundred. Five hun

dred pounds-that's a good round sum. White. I brought a blank check. Captain M. That's business.

[About to sit c. beside WHITE at table. White. Don't sit down in my presence. [Dates the check and signs it, but does not fill it in; writes "500" on separate sheet of paper.] Five hundred pounds.

Captain M. [aside.] I wonder if he would have given more. [Aloud.] Ah, that's for damages. Then there's the attendant expenses, my sister's laces and tears

Mrs. P. [to CAPTAIN MOUNTRAFFE.] Spare me! Captain M. [aside.] Not a pair of gloves. [Aloud.] Say wedding outfit, two hundred pounds. Mrs. P. Oh, torture!

White. Two hundred-seven hundred. [Writes.] Anything more?

Captain M. Hum! Well, you might stand a wedding suit for me.

White. How much?
Captain M. Twenty pounds.
White. Very well.
and twenty pounds.

That's for seven hundred [Fills up check.

Captain M. Don't cross it; it won't be any use you, or with the tone which I lately assumed to me if you do.

White. You will be kind enough to give me a receipt, [rises] that I may let my father see that all the affair is settled.

towards you. But I did not know you then, as not only a good woman, but a noble heart. Lucy, give your hand to the true lady, who has known how to keep the best light of her nature unobCaptain M. [takes seat to write.] With pleasure. scured in the midst of the gloom of this world. White. Your sister is supposed to be the in- Delay; if you please, and we will see you to your jured party, and being of age, I shall require her carriage. And remember that, wherever you go, signature. you leave behind you your best friends here! Captain M. Quite correct. [Writes.] "Re-[Offers his hand.] Farewell! Heaven bless you! ceived the sum of seven hundred and twenty [MRS. PINCHBECK is afraid she will weep, goes up pounds "-stop-twenty was for me" seven hun- L., pauses at head of piano, tears a locket from dred pounds-in consideration of which I, Pamela round her neck, kisses it passionately, and lays it Pinchbeck, give up all claim to the damages on piano. CAPTAIN MOUNTRAFFE, on sofa, has arising from the action for breach of promise of turned and watches her. The others do not see marriage already commenced by me--" I thought her. She pauses in L. U. doorway, looks at WHITE, I had better put that so?

presses her hand to her heart and exits.

White. All right! Of course! Captain M. [rises.] Well, that is a woman— Captain M. [writing.] "Already commenced after all I have done for her! [Goes up c. to L., by me against Mr. Alfred Dorrison, Sr., and I glances round to see he is not noticed, pockets the hereby engage not to claim aforesaid damages. locket quickly, and swaggers, L. U. E., triumphantMade by me this day." [Rises.] Here, Pam, ly.] It's too bad! too d- -d bad! [Of L. U. E. sign here, under this.

Mrs. P. [to table.] Where is the check?
White. [points to check.] There it is!

Mrs. P. [takes up check and receives pen from
WHITE. Puts check on paper and holds them both
together.] Where am I to write? [WHITE shows
her.] There!
[Tears paper and check.

White. [aside.] What a woman?
Captain M. [amazed.] What are you about?
Mrs. P. Buying back my self-respect, and get-
ting rid of you!

Dor. Forgive me, my dear boy! [Shakes WHITE'S hand warmly.] I am heartily ashamed of myself. Alfred, what return can I make for so much?

White. A great one, very simply. [Takes DORA'S hand.] By speaking favorably to this young lady's guardians.

Dor. Yes, Lucy has told me all about it.

White. Has she? how can I repay her kindness? Lucy. By speaking favorably of me to this young gentleman's parents. [Takes BERTIE's hand.

White. The fact is, Bertie saw Lucy, and Lucy saw Bertie, and each saw the other, and they have gone on only seeing one another-perhaps that accounts for their having seen nobody else.

Dor. Well, I suppose I must give my consent. [LUCY claps her hands.] But you are so young yet. You should wait

White. Oh, yes, twenty or thirty years! They are both willing.

Ber. In twenty or thirty years, at this regimen of wall-climbing, there won't be anything left of me. No, nothing will cure me but marriage.

White. He believes marriage is a remedy for sprains. [DORA congratulates LUCY and BERTIE. Dor. [to WHITE.] You have saved me from great unhappiness.

Captain M. Never mind, colonel, you can make out another check. It's only a freak of temper. The fact is, she is in love with you; the real sort, no swindle, regular genuine love! Enter, L. U. E., DORRISON, Lucy, Bertie, Dora. Mrs. P. I avow it. Yes, [to WHITE] I love you! I can say it, now that I am going to leave here forever. At first I believed I was solely attracted to you by your pretended wealth and title, but I love you for yourself alone. This confession is my punishment. [Looks at LUCY and DORA timidly.] I-I am not all to blame--I never knew a mother's love, or girlish friendship. I had to look on him [very scornfully looking at CAPTAIN MOUNTRAFFE] for protection and comfort. He married me when I was quite a child to an old man. Free of him, he married me to an adventurer, who broke my heart while he excited my vanity. [Turns to WHITE.] On the death of my second husband, this fellow taught me that all my energies were to be directed to securing a third-an old man with money. So we came here. But, in the gar- White. Yes, marriage is not good for fathers, den of purity, snakes lose their venom. Your but it is excellent for sons. [BERTIE and LUCY father's kindness, your sister's gentleness, and-go to piano, and LUCY takes seat there; business and--[with an effort, glancing at DORA] that of laughing and playing together. young lady's goodness, taught me a lesson. not the woman I was. I have one talent, that for music, and it will enable me to live away from this bad, selfish man, whom I leave forever. [Voice breaking, but conquered by an effort.] Forgive me for the evil I have brought on you. If ever you should hear of me, you will know how I keep my word.

I am

White. Madame! [MRS. PINCHBECK stops, turns] the words of repentance are not easily feigned. You have touched me to the heart. I am not proud of the part I have played as regards

White. Yes, happiness does not consist in wives but in brothers, sisters, mothers-not mothersin-law.

Dor. Yet you are going to enter on the happy state, though you disapprove it for me.

Dor. Then I shall give my daughter [kisses DORA] the affection you have prevented me to lose. [DORA takes seat C., on sofa. WHITE sits in chair at back of sofa, close by her. DORRISON to chair R. C., sits facing L.] When will you be married? White. Immediately.

Dor. And where will you keep the honey-moon?
Lucy. On the Continent?

White. No! [Pause.] At home!

[LUCY plays and sings "Home! sweet home!"

COSTUMES.-MODERN.

THE END.

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CASTS OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c.,

ADAPTED TO

THE HOME CIRCLE, PRIVATE THEATRICALS, AND THE AMERICAN STAGE.

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ACT I.

Mr. Buckstone.

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Kendal.

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Everill.

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Clark.

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Rogers.

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Braid.

Mrs. Chippendale.

Miss Madge Robertson.

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Caroline Hill.
Fanny Wright.
Fanny Gwynne.

SCENE.-Garden of KING PHANOR'S Country
House. KING PHANOR discovered with CHRY-
SAL, ZORAM, ARISTEUS and PALMIS. ARIS-
TEUS is standing sulkily apart.

As the curtain rises KING PHANOR is finishing
a recitation which he is accompanying on a
mandolin in a very affected manner.

Phanor. "Oh, I would not—no, I would not be there!"

[ZORAM and CHRYSAL applaud vigorously. Chrysal. My lord, I pray you, read it once again, My ears are greedy for the golden sound.

Phan. Chrysal, you make me blush!
Chrys. My lord, a blush

Is modesty's sole herald-and true worth
Is ever modest. Pray you, sir, again!

Phan. It's a poor thing-a string of platitudes-
Stale metaphors-time-honored similes.
I'm a poor poet, gentlemen!

Chrys. I swear

There never lived a poet till now!
Zoram. And then

The music you have wedded to the words
(I speak of this with some authority)
Shames, in its flow of rhythmic melody,
The counterpoint of Adam de la Halle!
Phan. [bashfully.] The merit is not altogether
mine.

I wrote the music-but I did not make
This dainty instrument. Why, who could fail
To charm, with such a mandolin as this?

NO. 22.

Zor. Believe me, the result would be the same,
Whether your lordship chose to play upon
The simple tetrachord of Mercury
That knew no diatonic intervals,
Or the elaborate dis-diapason

(Four tetrachords, and one redundant note),
Embracing in its perfect consonance

All simple, double and inverted chords!

Phan. [to CHRYSAL.] A wonderful musicianand a man

Of infinite good taste!

Zor. Why, from my birth

I have made melope and counterpoint

My favorite study.

Phan. And you really care

To hear my work again, oh, melodist?

Zor. Again, my lord, and even then again!
Phan. [recites.] "When pitch-incrusted night

aloft prevails;

When no still goddess through the mid-air sails;
When scorpions vomit forth their poisonous scum ;
When to the demon tryst gaunt witches come;
When noisome pestilence stalks through the glen,
Bellowing forth its enmity to men;
When ghastly toads scream loudly through the air;
Oh, I would not-no, I would not be there!"

Chrys. [in raptures.] Why, where's the cun

ning of the sorcerer Placed by the magic of such words as these? "When pitch-incrusted night aloft prevails;" Why, there's an epithet might make day night, And shame the swallows to their couching place! "When no still goddess through the mid-air sails!" Why, here's a blackness, Zoram, so intense It scares the very deities away!

Phan. [explaining.] "Still goddess" means the

moon.

Chrys. The moon-my lord?

Of course-the moon! See how, in ignorance,
We seek upon the surface of the wave
For pearls that lie uncounted fathoms deep.
The darkness frightens e'en the moon away!
The metaphor is perfect!

Phan. [annoyed.] No, no, no!

The moon has not yet risen, sir! The moon
Frightens the darkness-darkness don't fright her!
Why sits the genial Aristæus there

All solitary? How d'you like my work?
[Aside to CHRYSAL.] We'll have some fun with him.
[Aloud.] Your verdict, come!

Arist. I'm blunt and honest. I can't teach my

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My estimate of what you've given us,
I think your poetry contemptible-
Your melody, my lord, beneath contempt.
Phan. That's rather strong.

Arist. It's strong, my lord, but true.
I'm blunt-outspoken. If I've angered you,
So much the worse; I always speak the truth.
Chrys. Heed not the yelping of this surly cur,
Naught satisfies him, Phanor!

Arist. There you're wrong,

For I was satisfied to hear it once;
'Twas you that wanted it a second time!

Chrys. Back to your kennel, sham Diogenes!
Arist. I'm no Diogenes. He spent his life
Seeking an honest man. I live in courts.

Zor. My lord, I pray you, send the fellow hence,
For he and we are always out of tune.
An inharmonious bracketing of notes,
Whose musical extremes don't coalesce:
He's sharp and we are flat.

Arist. Extremely flat!

Chrys. He's vinegar, my lord, and we are oil.
Arist. Oil is a sickening, insipid food
Unless it's qualified with vinegar.

I'm rough and honest. If I've angered you,
I'll go.

Phan. No, no, you have not angered us.
[Aside to ZORAM.] I like the fellow's humor-he
may rave!

I'm tired of hearing truths, so let him lie!
But where's Queen Altemire?

Chrys. My lord, she comes—

A perfect type of perfect womanhood.
The dew of forty summers on her head
Has but matured her beauty, by my life!
For five-and-thirty years a bud-and now
A rose full blown!

Arist. Say over-blown.
Phan. What's that?

Arist. My lord, the Queen's too fat.
Phan. Well, that may be,

But don't you tell her so.

Your insolence

Amuses me-it won't amuse the Queen:
She has no sense of humor. So take care.
Arist. My lord, I'm rough, but honest.
tongue

That cannot frame a lie.

Phan. But bear in mind,
Besides that very rough and honest tongue,
You have a palate and a set of teeth,
And several delicate contrivances
That aid digestion. Tell her she's too fat,
And she may take offense: and, if she does,
She'll throw that apparatus out of work—
That's all.

Enter the QUEEN and MIRZA.

Good morning, Altemire, my queen.
Why, you seem sad.

Altem. My lord, I'm very sad.

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Chrysal awaits you-you may go to him;
Talk to him of your pledge to marry him,
And he'll not silence you. There, you may go.
[Exit PALMIS into house.

Now, what's the matter?

Altem. Oh, I'm sick at heart

With apprehension! Our dear Zeolide
To-morrow is betrothed to Philamir,

The bravest and the most accomplished prince
In Christendom. Phanor, she loves him not!
Phan. What makes you think so?
Altem. Phanor, you are blind!

Why, see how coldly Zeolide receives

His songs of love-his bursts of metaphor:
"I love you, Philamir," and there's an end.
She will vouchsafe her spouse-elect no more—
No tenderness-no reciprocity;

A cold, half-sullen and half-wayward smile,
And that is all. The maiden lavishes
More love upon her horse!

Phan. Perhaps she thinks

Her borse will bear such tokens of regard
With more discretion than her lover would!
Altem. Phanor, I tell you she loves him not.
I am a woman, with a woman's tact.

Phan. She says she loves him.

Altem. So indeed she says,

And says no more. Phanor, had I been woo'd
With ardent songs of overwhelming love,
Framed by so fair a poet as Philamir,

It would have turned my giddy woman's brain,
And thrilled my reason to its very core!

Phan. I never thought my wooing poetry,
Now I begin to think it may have been.

Mirza. Oh, sir, I love the princess. Pause before You sacrifice her earthly happiness

For sordid ends of selfish policy.

The prince is rich. What then? The girl is poor.
But what is wealth of gold to wealth of love ?
I've a What famine's so deplorable as his

Palmis. The Queen is sad! Zoram, attune your lyre,

And soothe her melancholy.

Altem. No, no, no

I'm not in cue for music-leave us, pray

I would take counsel with my lord-look, sirs,
I am not well.

[The three COURTIERS exeunt into house. Phan. [aside to PALMIS.] Palmis, what's here

amiss?

What causes this? Have I done anything?

Who hungers for a love he cannot find?
What luxury so wearisome as hers
Who's surfeited with love she values not?
King Phanor, let the princess be released!

Altem. My lady Mirza, you forget yourself!
Mirza. I do forget myself, rememb'ring her;
I have her happiness at heart. The maid
Is more than life to me. Forgive me, Queen.
I could not help but speak.

Phan. Well, say no more.

I'll question her, and if it then appears
She loves not Philamir, she shall be free.

I also love the girl-but, here she comes.

I'll find some test which shall decide the point.
Exit PHANOR into house.
Enter ZEOLIDE.

Altem. My daughter, where's the prince?
Zeo. I cannot say;

I saw his highness yesterday, but since
Have not set eyes on him.

Altem. Has he returned

From hunting?

Zeo. Yes, I heard the prince's voice
Not half an hour ago.

Altem. And, in return,

You made no sign to him?

Zeo. No sign, indeed.

I heard his song-'twas very sweetly sung,
It told of love-it called for no reply.

Altem. A song of love that called for no reply?
Zeo. It asked no question, mother.
Altem. Surely, girl,

There may be questions that are not expressed.
Zeo. And answers, mother-mine was one of
them!

Altem. Come, Zeolide, I've much to say to you.
Renounce Prince Philamir ere 'tis too late!
He will release you; he is proud and brave,
And would not force a hated life on you.
Come, Zeolide, throw off this weary bond,
And marry whom you love, or marry none !
Zeo. As I am bound, dear mother, I'll remain,
So let me stay with Mirza.

Altem. [annoyed.] You can stay!

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Phil. I am content to imitate the earth-
I am content to sit and gaze at you,
Tranced in a lazy glow of happiness;
But if you speak and wake me from that trance,
Wake me, dear Zeolide, with warmer words.
"I love you!" Why, I know you love me well!
Say nothing, Zeolide, and I'm content.
If you say anything, say more than that!

Zeo. What words could I employ which, tested in
The crucible of unimpassioned truth,

Would not resolve themselves into those three! an-Now I must go-your sun's about to setSo farewell earth!

[Exit QUEEN ALTEMIRE into house, glancing grily at MIRZA; ZEOLIDE notices this with some surprise.

Zeo. Why, Mirza, how my mother frowns at you! How have you angered her?

Mirza. I love you well;

And when I told her of my sister-love,

In words more passionate than politic,
The Queen rebuked me sternly.

Zeo. Oh, for shame!

Mirza. She is your mother, and she claims your
love,.

And cannot brook that I should share that love.
I can forgive the noble jealousy

That comes of woman's love for woman.

Zeo. Yes;

For you are Mirza-queen of womankind—

The best, the noblest woman in the world!

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The moon appears! Perhaps there is a moon
That fills my place until I rise again?

Phil. No moon, dear Zeolide; or, if there be,
She floats in one perpetual eclipse!

Zeo. The moon is not the less a moon because
The earth thinks fit to hide her from the sun!
Phil. Nay; you pursue the metaphor too far.
If I, the earth, conceal a nightly moon,
Why you, the sun, have many worlds to warm,
And some are nearer to you than this earth!

Zeo. Hush, Philamir! I'm ready to believe
That you're an earth that knows no moon at all,
If you'll allow that I, although a sun,

Mirza. Why, here is warmth! and people call Consent to warm no other world than this!

you cold,

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[Kissing his forehead, and going.
Phil. Oh, do not leave me thus, dear Zeolide.
I am a beggar, begging charity;
Throw me more coin that bears the stamp of love!
Zeo. I have one coin that bears that holy stamp-

I give you that---I have no more to give.
Phil. Tell me its value, then, in words of love!
Zeo. What! would you have me advertise my
alms,

And trumpet forth my largess to the world?
Phil. Not to the world, dear Zeolide—to me!
Zeo. Ah, you would have me say "You are my
world!"

You see I have the trick of ardent speech,
And I could use it, were I so disposed.
But surely, Philamir, the mendicant
Who is not satisfied to take my alms
Until he knows how much that alms be worth,
Can scarcely stand in need of alms at all!
I love you, Philamir-be satisfied.
Whose vows are made so earnestly as hers
Who would deceive you by her earnestness?
Why, if I sought to trick you, Philamir,
I should select such phrases for my end-
So passionate-and yet so delicate,
So fierce-from overflow of gentle love,
So furious-from excess of tenderness,
That even your expressions of regard,
Unbounded in their hot extravagance,
Would pale before the fury of my words,
And you, from very shame, would call them back,
And beg my pardon for their want of warmth!
I love you, Philamir-I'll say no more! [Exit.
Phil. Gone! But I'll follow her- [Going.

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