822.08 N533 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, By WHEAT & CORNETT, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. THE NEW YORK DRAMA TRAGEDIES, A CHOICE COLLECTION OF COMEDIES, WITH FARCES ETC., CASTS OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c., ADAPTED TO THE HOME CIRCLE, PRIVATE THEATRICALS, AND THE AMERICAN STAGE. VOL. 3. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by WHEAT & CORNETT, in the Office SCENE.-A pretty Boudoir in MRS. VAN BRUGH'S Country House. EVE discovered with FREDERICK; FREDERICK on chair, EvE on footstool. Fred. [dictating to EVE, who writes in a memorandum book at his feet.] Let me see! Three hundred oranges, six hundred buns, thirty gallons of tea, twelve large plum cakes. So much for the school-children's bodies. As for their minds Eve. Oh, we've taken great care of their minds. In the first place, the amateur minstrels from Locroft are coming, with some lovely part songs. Fred. Part songs! Come, that's well. Dr Watts? Eve. Oh, dear, no. Doctors Moore and Burgess! Much jollier. [He shakes his head gravely.] Then we have a magic lantern. Here are the views. [Handing them. Fred. [examining them.] A person on horseback, galloping at full speed. Here he is again. Probably the flight of Xerxes. Eve. No-the flight of John Gilpin. Fred. Very trivial, Eve, dear; very trivial. Eve. Oh, but it will amuse them much more than the flight of Xerxes. Fred. [gravely.] My dear Eve, is this giddiness quite consistent with the nature of the good work before us? Eve. Mayn't one be good and jolly too? NO. 25. Fred. Scarcely. Grave work should be undertaken gravely, and with a sense of responsibility. Eve. But I don't call a school feast grave work. Fred. All work is grave when one has regard to the issues that may come of it. This school feast, trivial as it may seem to you—this matter of buns and big plum cakes-may be productive, for instance, of much-of much Eve. Indigestion? That's grave, indeed! [He seems annoyed.] There, I'm very sorry I teased you, dear old boy; but you look at everything from such a serious point of view. Fred. Am I too serious? Perhaps I am. And yet in my quiet, undemonstrative way I am very happy. Eve. If you are not happy, dear, who should be? Fred. Yes, Eve, who, indeed! [Kisses her. Eve. I did not mean that. There is very little in me to make such a man as you happy, unless it be the prospect of making me as good and earnest as yourself a poor prospect, I'm afraid, for I'm a very silly little girl. Fred. At least I will try. Eve. Begin now-tell me of my faults. Fred. No, no; that would be a very ungrateful task. Eve. Oh, if you neglect all tasks that are not pleasant, you are too like me to allow of my hoping to learn anything of you. Fred. Very aptly put, Eve. Well, then, you are too giddy, and too apt to laugh when you should sigh. Eve. Oh, but I am naturally rather-jolly. Mamma has taught me to be so. Mamma's views are so entirely opposed to yours. Fred. Yes; I am deeply sorry for it. If it were not so, perhaps Mrs. Van Brugh would like me better. Eve. Mamma does like you, dear. She thinks you are very grave and precise and methodical, but I am sure she likes you-or why did she consent to our engagement? Fred. Because she loves you so well that she has the heart to thwart you in nothing. She is an admirable woman-good, kind, charitable beyond measure-beloved, honored and courted by allEve. The best woman in the world! Fred. But she does not understand me. Well, time will work a change, and I must be content to wait. Enter SERVANT. Servant. Mr. Edward Athelney, miss, is in the drawing-room. Eve. Dear me, how tiresome. But you Fred. You know very well that I dislike no one. Eve. I'm sure of that. You love all men. Fred. No doubt, Eve, I love all men. will understand that I love some men less than others; and, although I love Edward Athelney very much indeed, I love him, perhaps, less than anybody else in the world. Eve. But this is quite astonishing! Has Ted Athelney a fault? What is it? Come, sir, name one fault if you can. And mind, he's my big brother, or as good, so be careful. Fred. "Frater nascitur non fit." Fred. I don't believe in your amateur brother. With every desire to confine himself to the duties of the character he undertakes, he is nevertheless apt to overlook the exact point where the brother ends and the lover begins. Eve. [puzzled.] The lover! Fred. The brother by birth keeps well within bounds, but the amateur treads so often on the border line, that in time it becomes obliterated and the functions merge. Eve. Ted Athelney a lover of mine! Oh, that's too absurd. Ted Athelney-that great, clumsy, middle-aged, awkward, good-natured, apple-faced man-a lover of any body's, and least of all of mine! Why, he's forty! Oh, it's shocking—it's horrible! I won't hear anything so dreadful of any one I love so much. Fred. You admit that you love him? Eve. Oh, yes, I love him-but I don't LOVE him! [Nestling against FREDERICK.] Don't you understand the difference? Fred. I don't like his calling you Eve. you Miss Fred. Then he kisses you. Eve. Of course he does, dear. Kisses me? So does mamma! Fred. No doubt, but there's some difference. Eve. A difference! What difference? Fred. This, if no other: that I object to the one, and don't object to the other. [Turns away. Eve. [disappointed.] Then I'm not to kiss Ted Athelney any more? Enter TED ATHELNEY. Ted. Well, Eve, old lady, here I am, back again-well and hearty. Eve. Ted, stand back; I'm not to kiss you. [To FREDERICK.] Isn't it? Fred. I'm sorry you think it necessary to ask the question. Eve. There, Ted. Only think of the wrong we've been doing for years, and never knew it! Ted. But who told you it was wrong? Not conscience, I'll be sworn. Eve. Yes. Ted. To [Indicating FREDERICK. Eve. Yes. [He is much agitated.] Won't you tell me that you are glad to hear it? Ted. [after a pause.] Yes, Eve, I'm glad of anything that makes you happy. It has come upon me very suddenly. I never thought of your getting married. I was a great ass, for it must have come about some time or other, and why not now? and it must have been to some fellow, and why not Fred Smailey? God bless you, Eve. I must get it well into my mind before I can talk about it, and mine is a mind that takes a good deal of getting at. I hope and believe that you will be happy. [She retires.] Fred, old man— [Goes to FREDERICK; takes his hand and tries to speak, but in vain. Enter MRS. VAN BRUGH. Mrs. V. B. Well, I've done for myself now; go away from me; I'm a pariah, an outcast; don't, for goodness' sake, be seen talking with me. Eve. Why, mamma, dear, what on earth have you been doing? Mrs. V. B. Doing? Listen and shudder! I've put a Dissenter into my almshouses! [Sits at table. Fred. [rising.] A Dissenter? Mrs. V. B. A real live Dissenter. Isn't it awful! Fred. No, awful is too strong a term; but I think it was a very, very sad mistake. Mrs. V. B. A thousand thanks for your toleration-I shall never forget it. The village is outraged-they have stood my eccentricities long enough. It was bad enough when I put a Roman Catholic in, but in consideration of the almshouses being my own they were good enough to swallow the Roman Catholic. Then came a Jew-well, the village was merciful, and with a few wry faces they swallowed even the Jew. But a Dissenter! The line must be drawn somewhere, and High and Low Church are agreed that it must be drawn at Dissenters. The churchwardens look the other way when I pass. The clerk's religious zeal causes him to turn into the "Red Cow rather than touch his hat to me, and even the dirty little boys run after me shouting "No Popery" at the top of their voices, though I am sure I don't see how it applies. Fred. But, my dear Mrs. Van Brugh, you mean well, I'm sure-but a Jew, a Catholic, and a Dissenter! Is there no such thing as a starving Churchman to be found? Mrs. V. B. There are but too many starving men of all denominations, but while I'm hunting out the Churchman, the Jew, the Catholic and the Dissenter will perish, and that would never do, would it? Fred. That is the Christianity of impulse. I him at all. would feed him that belonged to my own church, I pulled him out of the ice last February, and and if he did not belong to it, I would not feed how, in return for my lending him money to pay his college debts, he got his father to let me shoot over Rushout? No, no-if Fred Smailey has a fault, he's too good for this world. Mrs. V. B. That is the Christianity of Religious Politics. As to these poor people, they will shake down and agree very well in time. Nothing is so conducive to toleration as the knowledge that one's bread depends upon it. It applies to all conditions of life, from almshouses to happy families. Where are you going? Eve. We are going down to the school to see the cakes and oranges and decorations— Fred. [seriously.] And to impress upon the children the danger of introducing inharmonious elements into their little almshouses. Mrs. V. B. Is he? at all events, he's too solemn. Ted. Here's the dad coming-he mustn't see me like this. Good-by, Mrs. Van Brugh. You won't speak of this to any one, I know-not that I've reason to be ashamed of it, but it'll pain Eve, and Fred too. I'll bear up, never fear, and Eve shall never know. After all, her happiness is the great end, and, so that it's brought about, what matter whether Fred or I do it, so that it's done? It's Fred's job, not mine-better luck for him, worse luck for me. [Exit. Mrs. V. B. Well, I hope you'll be more successful with them than with me. Their case is much Mrs. V. B. Poor fellow! There goes a heart of more critical than mine, I assure you. [Exeunt gold with a head of cotton-wool! Oh, Eve, Eve, EVE and FREDERICK. MRS. VAN BRUGH Sees ED- my dear, I'm very sad for you! Is it head or WARD, who is sitting at back with his head between heart that makes the best husband? Better that his hands.] Why, who's this? Edward Athelney, baby-hearted simpleton than the sharpest Smailey returned at last to his disconsolate village? Go that ever stepped! I'm very unjust. Heaven away, sir-don't come near me you're a repro- knows that I, of all women of this world, should bate-you've been in London ten days and nobody be slow to judge. But my dislike to that man, to look after you. Give an account of yourself. to his family, to everything that relates to him, is It's awful to think of the villainy a thoroughly intuitive. However, the mischief, if mischief there badly disposed young man can get through in ten be, is done; I'll make the best of it. days in London, if I'm not there to look after him. Come, sir, all your crimes, please, in alphabetical Enter DR. ATHELNEY, very hurriedly. order. Now, then, A-Arson. Any arson? No? Dr. A. My dear Mrs. Van Brugh, I come withQuite sure? Come, now, that's something. Then out a moment's loss of time, to thank you, in my we go to B-Bigamy. No bigamy? Come, it's not late curate Twemlow's name, for your great kindas bad as I thought. Why, [seeing that he looks ness in presenting him to the Crabthorpe living. very wretched] what on earth is the matter? He has a wife and four children, and is nearly Why, my poor Ted-what is distressing you? I mad with joy and gratitude. I've brought you never saw you look so wretched in my life! his letter. Ted. Oh, Mrs. Van Brugh, I'm awfully unhappy! Mrs. V. B. My poor old friend-tell me all about it. Ted. It's soon told-Mrs. Van Brugh, you have a daughter, who's the best and loveliest girl I ever saw in my life. Mrs. V. B. [pause.] My poor Edward! Mrs. V. B. I won't read it, doctor. I can't bear gratitude; it makes my eyes red. Take it away. I am only too glad to have helped a struggling and deserving man. Now, I'm very glad you've come, because I want to consult you on a business matter of some importance. Dr. A. My dear Mrs. Van Brugh, I have been Ted. Did-did you know that I-that I was the intellectual head of this village for fifty-three like this? Mrs. V. B. No, no, no! years, and nobody ever yet paid me the compliment of consulting me on a matter of business. Mrs. V. B. Then I've no doubt I'm going to hit Dr. A. It's very possible. I was second wrang Ted. Nor I; it came on me like a thunderclap! My love for that little girl has grown as imper-upon a neglected mine of commercial sagacity! ceptibly as my age has grown---I've taken no note of either till now-when I rub my eyes and find ler of my year. Mrs. V. B. But surely you know-you must have heard Ted. Yes, yes, I've just heard-Fred Smailey's a lucky fellow, and he deserves his luck. Mrs. V. B. Perhaps. I don't know. I don't like Fred Smailey. Ted. [amazed.] You don't like Smailey? Mrs. V. B. No, I don't, and I'm afraid I show it. My dear old friend, it would have made me very happy to have seen you married to Eve, but he was first in the field, and she loves him. At first I wouldn't hear of it--but she fell ill-might have died—well, I'm her mother, and I love her, and I gave in. I know nothing against him. Mrs. V. B. I told you last night of Eve's engagement. Well, old Mr. Smailey has sent me a note to say that he will call on me to-morrow week to talk over the settlement I propose to make on the occasion of my darling's marriage with his son. Now, doctor, look as wise as you can, and tell me what I ought to do. Dr. A. Well, in such a case I should be very worldly. I think, my dear, I should prepare a nice little luncheon, with a bottle of that Amontillado, and then, having got him quietly and cozily tête-à-tête, I should ask him what he proposes to do. Mrs. V. B. Very good indeed, doctor. Upon my word, for a colonial bishop-elect that's not bad. But, unfortunately, I have already ascertained that he proposes to do nothing. All his money is tied up. Ted. Oh, Fred Smailey's a good fellow, a thoroughly good fellow. You do him an injustice, indeed you do; I never knew a man with such a Dr. A. Oh, is it, indeed? Bless me! Tied up, sense of gratitude-it's perfectly astonishing. Re- is it? And, may I ask, what do you understand member how he gave me that splendid colly, when by that expression? |
