Box. Oh, yes, I have-don't mind me. (apart) She can't however, forget the attentive stranger, who carried her little dog on his knees during our journey-she can't forget the white kid glove that I've preserved ever since. Here's her name inside: "Fanny Hawes"-and here's a slight memorandum of my feelings written at the time. I wish I could speak a few words to her; I've some mournful intelligence to communicate to her, that I'd rather Mrs. Box shouldn't be aware of—but how to reveal myself?

Cox. Muffins all gone?

Box. (Apart) Muffins! happy idea-I'll place her glove under a muffin, and give it to her with a mysterious wink. (he goes to side table, takes the last muffin on a plate, which he brings down, L.) This is certainly a most ingenious plan. (he places the glove under the muffin) There, she can't miss it. Mrs. B. Box, dear, will you fetch me my shawl from the next room?

Box. Certainly, my love. (aside) Confound the shawl! (puts down plate with muffin on side table, and goes hastily into room, 2 E. L.)

Cox. Are there no more muffins? (rises and sees the muffins Box has left on table, L.) Oh, here's one left. (takes the muffin and returns to breakfast table.) I've a theory about muffins, that they're a curious combination of sponge and washleather; (endeavoring to cut the muffin) and I've strong sus picion that the leather predominates in this particular specimen-there's no cutting through it. Eh eh! what's this? (rises and holds up the glove on his fork) Well, really nowMrs. Bouncer-this is too bad-though I am partial to muffins, -I can't swallow gloves !

Mrs. C.

Box appears at door, 2 E. L.

Mrs. B. Gloves. (they rise and come forward)

Cox. Yes, a lady's kid as I live, and what is heresomething written inside. (reads) "Fanny Hawes." Mrs. C. My name?

Cox. And here on a slip of paper." April the 1st, 1851,the happiest day of my life! oh, Fanny Hawes when shall we meet again?-Signed, "JOHN Box, Printer"-Hah! (Box rushes down, both ladies scream, Mrs. Box falling in a swoon into the arms of Cox, R., and Mrs. Cox into the arms of Box, L.)

Cox. Hah!-Box, you're a villain.

Box. Cox,-you're another.

Cox. Drop my wife this instant, sir?

Box. I shan't, till you relinquish my better half.

Cox. Miserable subterfuge! As the husband of that lady, I demand your card, sir.

Box. You'll find it in my left-hand trowsers' pocket-come and take it?

Cox. I regret that the affair I have on hand prevents my availing myself of your polite offer.

Box. Nothing but the pressing nature of my present engagement could make me think of putting you to so much trouble.

Cox. Don't mention it, will you allow me to make one observation!

Box. Certainly, Cox, with pleasure.

Cox. Well, then; I had no idea that Mrs. Box was so ponderous.

Box. And I assure you, I am quite overpowered by the solidarity of Mrs. Cox. (a child is heard crying in room, R., another in room, L.) What's that? an infantine cry.

Mrs. C. (starting to her feet) The blessed child!

Mrs. B. (starting to her feet) The dear baby! (the LADIES rush into rooms, R. and L.)

Cox. Hem! The ladies having retired for the performance of their maternal duties, I presume we are alone.

Box. I believe I may venture to say we are.

Cox. Well, then, we must come to an understanding, sir. That glove (shows the glove) requires an explanation.

Box. (taking the glove) This glove-oh, yes! certainly. (puts the glove into his pocket) Ha! of course, my dear fellow,

sit down.

Cox. I'd rather not.

Box. Sit down, I insist-(pushes him into a chair, R. c.) -now, we can talk the matter over calmly and dispassionately. (places chair for himself, L. c., and sits)

Cox. Proceed, Mr. Box.

Box. It was a lovely evening towards the close of the fourteenth century—

Cox. What the devil have I to do with the fourteenth century, sir?

Box. (rises) If the honorable gentleman on the opposite

E

side requires an explanation, I shall give it in my own way. I repeat, then, it was a lovely evening towards the close of the fourteenth century, when two horsemen, enveloped in ample cloaks, might be seen slowly ascending the winding path that leads to the castle. "By my Holidam!" exclaimed the clder swarthy stranger- Do you follow me?

Cox. (rising) I'll be d- d if I do.
Mrs. C. (calis in room, R.) Cox! Cox!

Box. (rises) Hah! there's your wife calling you.
Cox. Never mind my wife-the explanation, sir!

Box. There's your child, Box-your only child-the image of its father-do you hear? Now it screams--inhuman parent, why don't you fly? (pushing him)

Mrs. C. (in room, R.) Cox! Cox! I want you.

Cox. But the explanation-the glove-the-the

Box. There-your wife-your sweet babe-calls you-you can't resist that appeal. (pushes him iuto room, R.) Whew! I thought I should never have got him away-what's to be done, now--shall I confess all?-why shouldn't I? I'll relate the whole story-how Fanny Hawes and I travelled in the same railway carriage-how I purloined her glove--how we got separated by the crowd at the station-how I was left with her lapdog in my arms-how the poor creature got choked the following week-how Fanny Hawes and I never met until this hour. (MRS. Cox enters from room, R.) Hah! Mysterious being-Fanny, dear-dear Fanny-I beg pardon, Mrs. Cox-forgive the emotion-the confusion-that this unexpected discovery makes in my intellect. (in a confidential tone) Where's Cox?

Mrs. C. I left him singing the child to sleep.

Box. Happy Cox! (places a chair, R. c.) Sit down, my dear Mrs. C., I have something particular to say to you. (sits L. c. beside her--Cox appears at door, R., and MRS. Box at door, L., listening) You remember the circumstances under which we parted.

Mrs. C. Perfectly. And I have often thought since of the dear little creature that I left in your arms when we were rudely separated.

Box. (aside) He, lapdog!-she hasn't forgotten him then. A--you allude to

Mrs. C. My little Charley!

Cox. (apart, at door) Her little Charley!

Box. Yes, I wish to speak to you privately about him; you were greatly attached to the poor fellow?

Mrs. C. I doted on him: he was such a beauty with his silken hair, like his mother, and his charming long earsCox. (apart) Like his father I suppose.

Mrs. C. Then he was so playful.

Box. Wonderfully! The very day I took him home, he tore up Mrs. Bouncer's best cap, for which I had to pay. Mrs. C. I can't tell you how I grieved for him-until I got another————

Box. then you have got another?

Mrs. C. Oh, dear, yes. Cox has been very kind—such a little love-you can't think; but I never loved him as I did my pet Charley.

Mrs. B. (apart at door Oh! her pet Charley!

Cox. (apart at door) Hoh!

Box. Of course, first affection is always the strongest. Poor Charley! It quite affects me when I reflect upon his untimely end.

Mrs. C. What-is he dead?

Box. That was what I wanted to tell you,--poor dear little Charley is no more.

Mrs. C. Oh! Mr. Box, you do shock me!

Box. I knew you would be deeply affected; but I've done all I could to keep his dear remains for you.

Mrs. C. His remains ?-how?

Box. I've had him beautifully preserved-he looks just as if he was alive. I thought it might be a melancholy consolation to you to drop a tear or so upon the dear departed (MRS. Box and MR. Cox rush down suddenly on each side. It commences raining)

Cox. (R.) Hah! so we've discovered you. (Mr. Box and MRS. Cox start up in surprise)

Mrs. B. (L.) Oh! we've heard all

Cox. About the dear little creature.

Mrs. B. (to Box) Your darling Charley!

Cox. (to MRS. Cox.) The playful little fellow, with his mother's silken hair!

Mrs. B. (to Box) And his father's long ears! (Box and MRS. Cox laughing immoderately, throw themselves into chairs, R. and L.)

Cox. Oh! mighty fine, madam!

Mrs. B. It's just like you, Mr. Box!

Cox. My feelings as a husband have been trampled upon! I'll join the Broken-hearted Club directly-I'll leave you for ever I'll take the first omnibus to Australia, and bury my sorrows in the Diggings! (puts on his hat, Box and MRS. Cox continue to laugh)

Mrs. C. Oh, go by all means-we can spare you!

Box. Don't stay a moment on our account!

Cox. But it rains tremendously! (calls at door, 3 E. L.) Mrs. Bouncer, has that cabman brought my umbrella yet? Mrs. Boun. (outside) No-not yet, sir.

Cox. Not yet-how very extraordinary. (goes to window, .., a CHILD cries in room R.; then another CHILD in room L.) Mrs. C. The blessed child.

Mrs. B. My poppet! (they run into rooms, R. and L.)

Cox. (at window) Hah! why surely that's my umbrella a coming down the street,-brown gingham-brass spike-two broken ribs: I can't be mistaken. (throws up window and calls) Holloa, sir-hey! I beg your pardon, but that umbrella is mine. I say, sir, that umbrella you are carrying is my property.

Man. (in street) No it isn't, I gave a shilling for it this morning on Holborn Hill.

Cox. It's quite immaterial what you gave for it, sir, the umbrella is mine-and I expect you'll instantly give it up! Man. (in street) Do you? then you'd better come and take it.

Cox. Oh, very well, only wait there till I come down, and see if I won't have it. (quitting the window) An impudent rascal, to refuse to give me up my umbrella, that I've had for twelve years.

Exit, 3 E. L.

Box. Holloa! I shouldn't wonder if there was to be a row. Honor calls me to aid my friend, but prudence whispers that I never learnt the noble art of self defence-so I shall look on and see fair play. (goes to window and looks out) Cox. (in the street) Now, sir, give up my umbrella! Man. (in the street) I won't!

Cox. (in the street)

You won't?—but I'll have it! Man. (in the street) Holloa! what do you mean? Police ! robbery! murder!

Box. Oh! there's Cox pitching into the stranger, and the