SCENE I.--_Exterior of the_ Duke’s _Mansion in Euston Square by

night. On the right, a realistic Moon (by kind permission of_ Professor HERKOMER) _is rising slowly behind a lamp-post. On left centre, a practicable pillar-box, and crossing, with real mud. Slow Music, as_ Miss JENNY JINKS _enters, in rags, with broom. Various Characters cross the street, post letters, &c._; Miss JINKS _follows them, begging piteously for a copper, which is invariably refused, whereupon she assails them with choice specimens of street sarcasm--which the Lady may be safely trusted to improvise for herself_.

_Miss Jenny Jinks_ (_leaning despondently against pillar-box, on which a ray of limelight falls in the opposite direction to the Moon_).

Ah, this cruel London, so marble-’arted and vast, Where all who try to act honest are condemned to fast!

_Enter two_ Burglars, _cautiously_.

_First B._ (_to_ Miss J. J.) We can put you up to a fake as will be worth your while, For you seem a sharp, ’andy lad, and just our style!

[_They proceed to unfold a scheme to break into the Ducal abode, and offer_ Miss J. _a share of the spoil, if she will allow herself to be put through the pantry window_.

_Miss J. J._ (_proudly_). I tell yer I won’t ’ave nothink to do with it, fur I ain’t been used To sneak into the house of a Dook to whom I ’aven’t been introdooced!

_Second Burglar_ (_coarsely_). Stow that snivel, yer young himp, we don’t want none of that bosh!

_Miss J. J._ (_with spirit_). You hold _your_ jaw--for, when you opens yer mouth, there ain’t much o’ yer face left to wash!

[_The_ Burglars _retire, baffled, and muttering_. Miss J. _leans against pillar-box again--but more irresolutely_.

I’ve arf a mind to run after ’em, I ’ave, and tell ’em I’m game to stand in!... But, ah,--didn’t my poor mother say as Burglary was a _Sin_!

[Duke _crosses stage in a hurry; as he pulls out his latchkey, a threepenny-bit falls unregarded, except by the little_ Sweeper, _who pounces eagerly upon it_.

What’s this? A bit o’ good luck at last for a starvin’ orfin boy! What shall I buy? _I_ know--I’ll have a cup of cawfy, and a prime saveloy! Ah,--_but it ain’t mine_--and ’ark ... that music up in the air!

[_A harp is heard in the flies._

Can it be mother a-playin’ on the ’arp to warn her boy to beware? (_Awestruck._) There’s a angel voice that is sayin’ plain (_solemnly_) “Him as prigs what isn’t his’n, Is sure to be copped some day--and then--his time he will do in prison!”

[_Goes resolutely to the door, and knocks--The_ Duke _throws open the portals_.

_Miss J. J._ If yer please, Sir, was you aware as you’ve dropped a thruppenny-bit?

_The Duke_ (_after examining the coin._) ’Tis the very piece I have searched for everywhere! You rascal, you’ve _stolen it_!

_Miss J. J._ (_bitterly_). And _that’s_ ’ow a Dook rewards honesty in _this_ world!

[_This line is sure of a round of applause._

_The Duke_ (_calling off_). Policeman, I give this lad in charge for a shameless attempt to rob,

_Enter_ Policeman.

Unless he confesses instantly who put him up to the job!

_Miss J. J._ (_earnestly_). I’ve told yer the bloomin’ truth, I ’ave--or send I may die! I’m on’y a Crossing-sweeper, Sir, but I’d scorn to tell yer a lie! Give me a quarter of a hour--no more--just time to kneel down and pray, As I used to at mother’s knee long ago--then the Copper kin lead me away.

[_Kneels in lime-light. The_ Policeman _turns away, and uses his handkerchief violently; the_ Duke _rubs his eyes_.

_The Duke._ No, blow me if I can do it, for I feel my eyes are all twitching! (_With conviction._) If he’s good enough to kneel by his mother’s side, he’s good enough to be in my kitching!

[Duke _dismisses_ Constable, _and, after disappearing into the Mansion for a moment, returns with a neat Page’s livery, which he presents to the little_ Crossing-sweeper.

_Miss J. J._ (_naïvely_). ’Ow much shall I ask for on this, Sir? What! Yer don’t mean to say they’re for _me_! Am I really to be a Page to one of England’s proud aristocra-cee?

[_Does some steps._

_Mechanical change to_ SCENE II.--_State Apartment at the_ Duke’s. _Magnificent furniture, gilding, chandeliers. Suits of genuine old armour. Statuary (lent by British and Kensington Museums)._

_Enter_ Miss J., _with her face washed, and looking particularly plump in her Page’s livery. She wanders about stage_, _making any humorous comments that may occur to her on the armour and statuary. She might also play tricks on the Butler, and kiss the maids--all of which will serve to relieve the piece by delicate touches of comedy, and delight a discriminating audience._

_Enter the_ Duke.

I hope, my lad, that we are making you comfortable here? [_Kindly._

_Miss J. J._ Never was in such slap-up quarters in my life, Sir, _I’ll_ stick to yer, no fear!

[_In the course of conversation the_ Duke _learns with aristocratic surprise, that the_ Page’s _Mother was a Singer at the Music Halls_.

_Miss J. J._ What, don’t know what a Music-’all’s like? and you a Dook! Well, you _are_ a jolly old juggins! ’Ere, you sit down on this gilded cheer--that’s the ticket--I’ll bring you your champagne and your cigars--want a light? (_Strikes match on her pantaloons._) Now you’re all comfortable.

_The_ Duke _sits down, smiling indulgently, out of her way, while she introduces her popular Vocal Character Sketch, of which space only permits us to give a few specimen verses_.

First the Champion Comic Steps upon the stage; With his latest “Grand Success.” Sure to be the rage! Sixty pounds a week he Easily can earn; Round the Music Halls he goes, And does at each a “turn.”

_Illustration._

Undah the stors in a sweet shady dairl, I strolled with me awm round a deah little gairl, And whethaw I kissed har yaw’d like me to tairl-- Well, I’d rawthah you didn’t inquiah!

All golden her hair is, She’s Queen of the Fairies, And known by the name of the lovely Mariah, She’s a regular Venus, But what passed between us, I’d very much rawthah you didn’t inquiah!

Next the Lady Serio, Mincing as she walks; If a note’s too high for her, She doesn’t sing--she talks, What she thinks about the men You’re pretty sure to learn, She always has a hit at them, Before she’s done her “turn!”

_Illustration._

You notty young men, ow! you notty young men! You tell us you’re toffs, and the real Upper Ten, But behind all your ears is the mark of a pen! So don’t you deceive us, you notty young men!

_Miss J. J._ (_concluding_). And such, Sir, are these entertainments grand, In which Mirth and Refinement go ’and-in-’and!

[_As the_ Duke _is expressing his appreciation of the elevating effect of such performances, the_ Butler _rushes in, followed by two flurried_ Footmen.

_Butler._ Pardon this interruption, my Lord, but I come to announce the fact That by armed house-breakers the pantry has just been attacked!

_Duke._ Then we’ll repel them--each to his weapons look! I know how to defend my property, although I _am_ a Dook!

_Miss J._ (_snatching sword from one of the men-in-armour_). With such a weapon I their hash will settle! _You’ll_ lend it, won’t yer, old Britannia Metal?

[_Shouts and firing without; the_ Footmen _hide under sofa_.

Let flunkeys flee--though danger may encircle us, A British Buttons ain’t afeard of Burgulars!

[_Tremendous firing, during which the_ Burglars _are supposed to be repulsed with heavy loss by the_ Duke, Butler, _and_ Page.

_Miss J._ ’Ere--I say, Dook, I saved yer life, didn’t yer _know_?

(_A parting shot, upon which she staggers back with a ringing scream_.)

The Brutes! they’ve been and shot me!... Mother!... Oh!

[_Dies in lime-light and great agony; the_ Footmen _come out from under sofa and regard with sorrowing admiration the lifeless form of the_ Little Crossing-sweeper, _which the_ Duke, _as curtain falls, covers reverently with the best table-cloth_.

II.--JOE, THE JAM-EATER.

_A MUSICAL SPECTACULAR AND SENSATIONAL INTERLUDE._

(_Dedicated respectfully to Mr. McDougall and the L. C. C._)

The Music-hall Dramatist, like Shakspeare and Molière, has a right to take his material from any source that may seem good to him. _Mr. Punch_, therefore, makes no secret of the fact, that he has based the following piece upon the well-known poem of “The Purloiner,” by the Sisters Jane and Ann Taylor, who were _not_, as might be too hastily concluded, “Song and Dance Duettists,” but two estimable ladies, who composed “cautionary” verses for the young, and whose works are a perfect mine of wealth for Moral Dramatists. In this dramatic version the Author has tried to infuse something of the old Greek sense of an overruling destiny, without detriment to prevailing ideas of moral responsibility. Those who have the misfortune to be born with a propensity for illicit jam, may learn from our Drama the terrible results of failing to overcome it early in life.

JOE, THE JAM-EATER.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_Jam-Loving Joe._ By that renowned Melodramatic Serio-Comic, Miss CONNIE CURDLER.

_Joe’s Mother_ (_the very part for Mrs. BANCROFT if she can only be induced to make her reappearance_).

_John, a Gardener._ By the great Pink-eyed Unmusical Zulu.

_Jim-Jam, the Fermentation Fiend._ By Mr. BEERBOHM TREE (_who has kindly consented to undertake the part_).

_Chorus of Plum and Pear Gatherers, from the Savoy_ (_by kind permission of_ Mr. D’OYLY CARTE).

SCENE--_The Store-room at sunset with view of exterior of Jam Cupboard, and orchard in distance._

_Enter_ JOE.

“As Joe was at play, Near the cupboard one day, When he thought no one saw but himself.”--_Vide Poem._

_Joe_ (_dreamily_.) ’Tis passing strange that I so partial am To playing in the neighbourhood of Jam!

[_HERE_ Miss CURDLER _will introduce her great humorous Satirical Medley illustrative of the Sports of Childhood, and entitled,_ “Some little Gymes we all of us ’ave Plied;” _after which, Enter_ JOE’S _Mother, followed by JOHN and the Chorus, with baskets, ladders, &c., for gathering fruit_.

“His Mother and John, To the garden had gone, To gather ripe pears and ripe plums.”--_Poem._

_Joe’s Mother_ (_with forced cheerfulness_)--

Let’s hope, my friends, to find our pears and plums, Unharmed by wopses, and untouched by wums.

[_Chorus signify assent in the usual manner by holding up the right hand._

_Solo_--JOHN.

Fruit, when gathered ripe, is wholesome-- Otherwise if eaten green. Once I know a boy who stole some--

[_With a glance at JOE, who turns aside to conceal his confusion._

His internal pangs were keen!

_Chorus_ (_virtuously_). ’Tis the doom of all who’re mean, Their internal pangs are keen!

_Joe’s Mother_ (_aside_). By what misgivings is a mother tortured! I’ll keep my eye on Joseph in the orchard.

[_She invites him with a gesture to follow._

_Joe_ (_earnestly_). Nay, Mother, here I’ll stay till you have done. Temptation it is ever best to shun!

_Joe’s M_. So laudable his wish, I would not cross it-- (_Mysteriously._) He knows not there are jam-pots in yon closet!

_Chorus._ Away we go tripping, From boughs to be stripping Each pear, plum, and pippin Pomona supplies! When homeward we’ve brought ’em, Those products of Autumn, We’ll carefully sort ’em (_One of our old Music-hall rhymes_), According to size! [_Repeat as they caper out._

[JOE’S Mother, _after one fond, lingering look behind, follows: the voices are heard more and more faintly in the distance. Stage darkens: the last ray of sunset illumines key of jam-cupboard door._

_Joe._ At last I am alone! Suppose I tried That cupboard--just to see what’s kept inside?

[_Seems drawn towards it by some fatal fascination._

There _might_ be Guava jelly, and a plummy cake, For such a prize I’d laugh to scorn a stomach-ache!

[_Laughs a stomach-ache to scorn._

And yet (_hesitating_) who knows?--a pill ... perchance--a powder! (_Desperately._) What then? To scorn I’ll laugh them--even louder!

[_Fetches chair and unlocks cupboard. Doors fall open with loud clang, revealing Interior of Jam Closet (painted by_ HAWES CRAVEN). JOE _mounts chair to explore shelves._

“How sorry I am, He ate raspberry jam, And currants that stood on the shelf!”--_Vide Poem._

_Joe_ (_speaking with mouth full and back to audience_). ’Tis raspberry--of all the jams my favourite; I’ll clear the pot, whate’er I have to pay for it! And finish up with currants from this shelf ... Who’ll ever see me?

_The_ Demon _of the Jam Closet (rising slowly from an immense pot of preserves_). No one--but Myself!

[_The cupboard is lit up by an infernal glare (courteously lent by the Lyceum Management from “Faust” properties); weird music_; JOE _turns slowly and confronts the_ Demon _with awestruck eyes._ N.B.--_Great opportunity for powerful acting here._

_The Demon (with a bland sneer_). Pray don’t mind _me_--I will await your leisure.

_Joe_ (_automatically_). Of your acquaintance, Sir, I’ve not the pleasure. Who are you? Wherefore have you intervened?

_The Demon_ (_quietly_). My name is “Jim-Jam;” occupation--fiend.

_Joe,_ (_cowering limply on his chair_). O Mr. Fiend, I _know_ it’s very wrong of me!

_Demon_ (_politely_). Don’t mention it--but please to come “along of” me?

_Joe_ (_imploringly_). Do let me off this once,--ha! you’re relenting, You smile----

_Demon_ (_grimly_). ’Tis nothing but my jam fermenting!

[_Catches_ JOE’s _ankle, and assists him to descend._

_Joe_. You’ll drive me mad!

_Demon_ (_carelessly_). I _may_--before I’ve done with you!

_Joe_. What do you want?

_Demon_ (_darkly_). To have a little fun with you! Of fiendish humour now I’ll give a specimen.

[_Chases him round and round stage, and proceeds to smear him hideously with jam._

_Joe_ (_piteously_). Oh, don’t! I feel _so_ sticky. _What_ a mess I’m in!

_Demon_ (_with affected sympathy_). That _is_ the worst of jam--it’s apt to stain you.

[_To_ JOE, _as he frantically endeavours to remove the traces of his crime._

I see you’re busy--so I’ll not detain you!

[_Vanishes down star-trap with a diabolical laugh. Cupboard-doors close with a clang; all lights down._ JOE _stands gazing blankly for some moments, and then drags himself off stage. His Mother and_ JOHN, _with Pear-and-Plum-gatherers bearing laden baskets, appear at doors at back of Scene, in faint light of torches._

_Re-enter_ JOE _bearing a candle and wringing his hands._

_Joe._ Out, jammed spot! What--will these hands _never_ be clean? Here’s the smell of the raspberry jam still! All the powders of Gregory cannot unsweeten this little hand ... (_Moaning._) Oh, oh, oh!

[_This passage has been accused of bearing too close a resemblance to one in a popular Stage Play; if so, the coincidence is purely accidental, as the Dramatist is not in the habit of reading such profane literature._

_Joe’s Mother._ Ah! what an icy dread my heart benumbs! See--stains on all his fingers, and his thumbs!

“What Joe was about, His mother found out, When she look’d at his fingers and thumbs.”--_Poem again._

Nay, Joseph--’tis your mother ... speak to her!

_Joe_ (_tonelessly, as before_). Lady, I know you not (_touches lower part of waistcoat_); but, prithee, undo this button. I think I have jam in all my veins, and I would fain sleep. When I am gone, lay me in a plain white jelly-pot, with a parchment cover, and on the label write--but come nearer, I have a secret for your ear alone ... there are strange things in _some_ cupboards! Demons should keep in the dust-bin. (_With a ghastly smile._) I know not what ails me, but I am not feeling at all well.

[JOE’S Mother _stands a few steps from him, with her hands twisted in her hair, and stares at him in speechless terror._

_Joe_ (_to the Chorus_). I would shake hands with you all, were not my fingers so sticky. We eat marmalade, but we know not what it is made of. Hush! if Jim-Jam comes again, tell him that I am not at home. Loo-loo-loo!

_All_ (_with conviction_). Some shock has turned his brine!

_Joe_ (_sitting down on floor, and weaving straws in his hair._) My curse upon him that invented jam. Let us all play Tibbits.

[_Laughs vacantly; all gather round him, shaking their heads, his_ Mother _falls fainting at his feet as curtain falls upon a strong and moral, though undeniably gloomy dénoûment._

III.--THE MAN-TRAP.

This Drama, which, like our last, has been suggested by a poem of the Misses Taylor, will be found most striking and impressive in representation upon the Music-hall stage. The dramatist has ventured to depart somewhat from the letter, though not the spirit, of the original text, in his desire to enforce the moral to the fullest possible extent. Our present piece is intended to teach the great lesson that an inevitable Nemesis attends apple-stealing in this world, and that Doom cannot be disarmed by the intercession of the evil-doer’s friends, however well-meaning.

THE MAN-TRAP!

_A THRILLING MORAL MUSICAL SENSATION SKETCH IN ONE SCENE._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_William_ (_a Good Boy_) Mr. HARRY NICHOLLS. _Thomas_ (_a Bad Boy_) Mr. HERBERT CAMPBELL. (_Who have kindly offered their services._) _Benjamin_ (_neither one thing nor the other_) Mr. SAMUEL SUPER. _The Monster Man-Trap_ Mr. GEORGE CONQUEST.

SCENE.--_An elaborate set, representing, on extreme left, a portion of the high road, and wall dividing it from an orchard; realistic apple- and pear-trees laden with fruit. Time, about four o’clock on a hot afternoon. Enter_ WILLIAM _and_ THOMAS, _hand-in-hand, along road; they ignore the dividing wall, and advance to front of stage._

_Duet._--WILLIAM _and_ THOMAS.

_Wm._ I’m a reg’lar model boy, I am; so please make no mistake. It’s Thomas who’s the bad ’un--_I’m_ the good!

_Thos._ Yes, I delight in naughtiness for naughtiness’s sake, And I wouldn’t be like William if I could!

_Chorus._

_Wm._ Ever since I could toddle, my conduct’s been model, There’s, oh, such a difference between me and him!

_Thos._ While still in the cradle, I orders obeyed ill, And now I’ve grown into a awful young limb!

{ he’s } _Together._ Yes, now { I’ve } grown into a awful young limb. I’ve made up my mind not to imitate _him_!

[_Here they dance._

_Second Verse._

_Wm._ If someone hits him in the eye, he always hits them back! When _I_ am struck, my Ma I merely tell! On passing fat pigs in a lane, he’ll give ’em each a whack!

_Thos._ (_impenitently_). And jolly fun it is to hear ’em yell!

[_Chorus._

_Third Verse._

_Wm._ He’s always cribbing coppers--which he spends on lollipops.

_Thos._ (A share of which _you_’ve never yet refused!)

_Wm._ A stone he’ll shy at frogs and toads, and anything that hops!

_Thos._ (While you look on, and seem to be amused!)

[_Chorus._

_Fourth Verse._

_Wm._ As soon as school is over, Thomas goes a hunting squirr’ls, Or butterflies he’ll capture in his hat!

_Thos._ _You_ play at Kissing in the Ring with all the little girls!

_Wm._ (_demurely_). Well, Thomas, I can see no harm in _that_!

[_Chorus._

_Fifth Verse._

_Wm._ Ah, Thomas, if you don’t reform, you’ll come to some bad end!

_Thos._ Oh, William, put your head inside a bag!

_Wm._ No, Thomas, that I cannot--till you promise to amend!

_Thos._ Why, William, what a chap you are to nag!

[_Chorus and dance._ THOMAS _returns to road, and regards the apple-trees longingly over top of wall._

_Thos._ Hi, William, look ... what apples! there--don’t _you_ see? And pears--my eye! just _ain’t_ they looking juicy!

_Wm._ Nay, Thomas, since you’re bent upon a sin, _I_ will walk on, and visit Benjamin!

[_Exit_ WILLIAM (L. 2 E.), _while THOMAS proceeds to scale the wall and climb the boughs of the nearest pear-tree. Melodramatic Music._ The Monster Man-trap _stealthily emerges from long grass below, and fixes a baleful eye on the unconscious_ THOMAS.

_Thos._ I’ll fill my pockets, and on pears I’ll feast!

[_Sees_ Man-trap, _and staggers._

Oh, lor--whatever is that hugly beast! Hi, help, here! call him off!...

_The Monster._ ’Tis vain to holler-- My horders are--all trespassers to swoller! You just come down--I’m waiting ’ere to ketch you. (_Indignantly._) You _don’t_ expect I’m coming up to fetch you!

_Thos._ (_politely._) Oh, not if it would inconvenience _you_, Sir! (_In agonised aside._) I feel my grip grow every moment looser!

[_The_ Monster, _in a slow, uncouth manner, proceeds to scramble up the tree._

Oh, here’s a go! The horrid thing can _climb_! Too late I do repent me of my crime!

[_Terrific sensation chase!_ The Monster Man-trap _leaps from bough to bough with horrible agility, and eventually secures his prey, and leaps with it to the ground._

_Thos._ (_in the_ Monster’s _jaws_). I’m sure you seem a kind, good-natured creature-- You will not harm me?

_Monster._ No--I’ll only eat yer!

[THOMAS _slowly vanishes down its cavernous jaws; faint yells are heard at intervals--then nothing but a dull champing sound; after which, dead silence. The_ Monster _smiles, with an air of repletion._

_Re-enter_ WILLIAM, _from_ R., _with_ BENJAMIN.

_Benjamin._ I’m very glad you came--but where is Thomas?

_Wm._ (_severely_). Tom is a wicked boy, and better from us, For on the road he stopped to scale a wall!...

[_Sees_ Man-trap, _and starts._

What’s _that_?

_Benj._ It will not hurt _good_ boys at all-- It’s only Father’s Man-trap--why so pale?

_Wm._ The self-same tree! ... the wall that Tom _would_ scale! Where’s Thomas _now_? Ah, Tom, the wilful pride of you.

[_The_ Man-trap _affects an elaborate unconsciousness._

_Benj._ (_with sudden enlightenment_). Man-trap, I do believe poor Tom’s inside of you! That sort of smile’s exceedingly suspicious.

[_The_ Man-trap _endeavours to hide in the grass._

_Wm._ Ah, Monster, give him back--’tis true he’s vicious, And had no business to go making free with you! But think, so bad a boy will disagree with you!

[WILLIAM _and_ BENJAMIN _kneel in attitudes of entreaty on either side of the_ Man-trap, _which shows signs of increasing emotion as the song proceeds._

_Benjamin_ (_sings_).

Man-trap, bitter our distress is That you have unkindly penned In your innermost recesses One who used to be our friend!

_William_ (_sings_).

In his downward course arrest him! (He may take a virtuous tack); Pause awhile, ere you digest him, Make an effort--bring him back!

[_The_ Man-trap _is convulsed by a violent heave_; WILLIAM and BENJAMIN _bend forward in an agony of expectation, until a small shoe and the leg of_ THOMAS’S _pantaloons are finally emitted from the_ Monster’s _jaws._

_Benj._ (_exultantly_). See, William, now he’s coming ... here’s his shoe for you!

_The Man-trap_ (_with an accent of genuine regret). I’m sorry--but that’s all that I can do for you!_

_Wm._ (_raising the shoe and the leg of pantaloons, and holding them sorrowfully at arm’s length_). He’s met the fate which moralists all promise is The end of such depraved careers as Thomas’s! Oh, Benjamin, take warning by it _be_-time! (_More brightly_). But now to wash our hands--’tis nearly tea-time!

[_Exeunt_ WILLIAM and BENJAMIN, _to wash their hands, as Curtain falls. N.B. This finale is more truly artistic, and in accordance with modern dramatic ideas, than the conventional “picture.”_

IV.--THE FATAL PIN.

Our present example is pure tragedy of the most ambitious kind, and is, perhaps, a little in advance of the taste of a Music-hall audience of the present day. When the fusion between the Theatres and the Music Halls is complete--when Miss Bessie Bellwood sings “_What Cheer, ’Ria?_” at the Lyceum, and Mr. Henry Irving gives his compressed version of _Hamlet_ at the Trocadero; when there is a general levelling-up of culture, and removal of prejudice--then, and not till then, will this powerful little play meet with the appreciation which is its due. The main idea is suggested by the Misses Taylor’s well-known poem, _The Pin_, though the dramatist has gone further than the poetess in working out the notion of Nemesis.

THE FATAL PIN.

_A TRAGEDY._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_Emily Heedless._ By either Miss VESTA TILLEY or Mrs. BERNARD BEERE.

_Peter Paragon._ Mr. FORBES ROBERTSON or Mr. ARTHUR ROBERTS (only he mustn’t sing “_The Good Young Man who Died_”).

_First and Second Bridesmaids._ Miss MAUDE MILLETT and Miss ANNIE HUGHES.

SCENE.--EMILY’S _Boudoir, sumptuously furnished with a screen and sofa,_ C. _Door_, R., _leading to_ EMILY’S _Bed-chamber. Door,_ L. EMILY _discovered in loose wrapper, and reclining in uncomfortable position on sofa._

_Emily_ (_dreamily_). This day do I become the envied bride Of Peter, justly surnamed Paragon; And much I wonder what in me he found (He, who Perfection so personifies) That he could condescend an eye to cast On faulty feather-headed Emily! How solemn is the stillness all around me!

[_A loud bang is heard behind screen._

Methought I heard the dropping of a pin!-- Perhaps I should arise and search for it.... Yet why, on second thoughts, disturb myself, Since I am, by my settlements, to have A handsome sum allowed for pin-money? Nay, since thou claim’st thy freedom, little pin, I lack the heart to keep thee prisoner. Go, then, and join the great majority Of fallen, vagrant, unregarded pinhood-- My bliss is too supreme at such an hour To heed such infidelities as thine.

[_Falls into a happy reverie._

_Enter_ First and Second Bridesmaids.

_First and Second Bridesmaids._ What, how now, Emily--not yet attired? Nay, haste, for Peter will be here anon!

[_They hurry her off by_ R. _door, just as_ PETER PARAGON _enters_ L. _in bridal array. N.B.--The exigencies of the Drama are responsible for his making his appearance here, instead of waiting, as is more usual, at the church._

_Peter_ (_meditatively_). The golden sands of my celibacy Are running low--soon falls the final grain! Yet, even now, the glass I would not turn. My Emily is not without her faults “_Was_ not without them,” I should rather say, For during ten idyllic years of courtship,

By precept and example I have striven To mould her to a helpmate fit for me. Now, thank the Gods, my labours are complete. She stands redeemed from all her giddiness!

[_Here he steps upon the pin, and utters an exclamation._

Ha! What is this? I’m wounded ... agony! With what a darting pain my foot’s transfixed! I’ll summon help (_with calm courage_)--yet, stay, I would not dim This nuptial day by any sombre cloud. I’ll bear this stroke alone--and now to probe The full extent of my calamity.

[_Seats himself on sofa in such a position as to be concealed by the screen from all but the audience, and proceeds to remove his boot._

Ye powers of Perfidy, it is a pin! I must know more of this--for it is meet Such criminal neglect should be exposed. Severe shall be that house-maid’s punishment Who’s proved to be responsible for this!-- But soft, I hear a step.

[_Enter_ First _and_ Second Bridesmaids, _who hunt diligently upon the carpet without observing_ Peter’s _presence._

_Emily’s Voice_ (_within_). Oh, search, I pray you. It _must_ be there--my own ears heard it fall!

[PETER _betrays growing uneasiness._

_The Bridesmaids._ Indeed, we fail to see it anywhere!

_Emily_ (_entering distractedly in bridal costume, with a large rent in her train_).

You have no eyes, I tell you, let me help. It must be found, or I am all undone! In vain my cushion I have cut in two ’Twas void of all but stuffing ... Gracious Heavens, To think that all my future bliss depends On the evasive malice of a pin!

[PETER _behind screen, starts violently._

_Peter_ (_aside_). A pin! what dire misgivings wring my heart!

[Hops forward with a cold dignity, holding one foot in his hand.

You seem in some excitement, Emily?

_Emily_ (_wildly_). _You_, Peter!... tell me--have you found a pin?

_Peter_ (_with deadly calm_). Unhappy girl--I _have_! (_To_ Bridesmaids.) Withdraw awhile, And should we need you, we will summon you.

[_Exeunt_ Bridesmaids; EMILY _and_ PETER _stand facing each other for some moments in dead silence._

The pin is found--for I have trodden on it, And may, for aught I know, be lamed for life. Speak, Emily, what is that maid’s desert Whose carelessness has led to this mishap?

_Emily_ (_in the desperate hope of shielding herself_). Why, should the fault he traced to any maid, Instant dismissal shall be her reward, With a month’s wages paid in lieu of notice!

_Peter_ (_with a passionless severity_). From your own lips I judge you, Emily. Did they not own just now that you had heard The falling of a pin--yet heeded not? Behold the outcome of your negligence!

[_Extends his injured foot._

_Emily_. Oh, let me kiss the place and make it well!

_Peter_ (_coldly withdrawing foot_). Keep your caresses till I ask for them. My wound goes deeper than you wot of yet, And by that disregarded pin is pricked The iridescent bubble of Illusion!

_Emily_ (_slowly_). Indeed, I do not wholly comprehend.

_Peter._ Have patience and I will be plainer yet. Mine is a complex nature, Emily; Magnanimous, but still methodical. An injury I freely can forgive, Forget it (_striking his chest_), never! She who leaves about Pins on the floor to pierce a lover’s foot, Will surely plant a thorn within the side Of him whose fate it is to be her husband!

_Emily_ (_dragging herself towards him on her knees_). Have pity on me, Peter; I was mad!

_Peter_ (_with emotion_). How can I choose but pity thee, poor soul, Who, for the sake of temporary ease, Hast forfeited the bliss that had been thine! You could not stoop to pick a pin up. Why? Because, forsooth, ’twas but a paltry pin! Yet, duly husbanded, that self-same pin Had served you to secure your gaping train, Your self-respect--and Me.

_Emily_ (_wailing_). What have I done?

_Peter_. I will not now reproach you, Emily, Nor would I dwell upon my wounded sole, The pain of which increases momently. I part from you in friendship, and in proof, That fated instrument I leave with you

[_Presenting her with the pin, which she accepts mechanically._

Which the frail link between us twain has severed. I can dispense with it, for in my cuff

[_Shows her his coat-cuff, in which a row of pins’-heads is perceptible._

I carry others ’gainst a time of need. My poor success in life I trace to this That never yet I passed a pin unheeded.

_Emily._ And is that all you have to say to me?

_Peter._ I think so--save that I shall wish you well, And pray that henceforth you may bear in mind What vast importance lies in seeming trifles.

_Emily_ (_with a pale smile_). Peter, your lesson is already learned, For precious has this pin become for me, Since by its aid I gain oblivion--thus! [_Stabs herself._

_Peter_ (_coldly._) Nay, these are histrionics, Emily.

[_Assists her to sofa._

_Emily._ I’d skill enough to find a vital spot. Do not withdraw it yet--my time is short, And I have much to say before I die. (_Faintly._) Be gentle with my rabbits when I’m gone; Give my canary chickweed now and then. ... I think there is no more--ah, one last word-- (_Earnestly_)--Warn them they must not cut our wedding-cake, And then the pastrycook may take it back!

_Peter_ (_deeply moved_). Would you had shown this thoughtfulness before! [_Kneels by the sofa._

_Emily._ ’Tis now too late, and clearly do I see That I was never worthy of you, Peter.

_Peter_ (_gently_). ’Tis not for me to contradict you now. You did your best to be so, Emily!

_Emily._ A blessing on you for those generous words! Now tell me, Peter, how is your poor foot?

_Peter._ The agony decidedly abates, And I can almost bear a boot again.

_Emily._ Then I die happy!... Kiss me, Peter ... ah!

[_Dies_.

_Peter._ In peace she passed away. I’m glad of that, Although that peace was purchased by a lie. I shall not bear a boot for many days! Thus ends our wedding morn, and she, poor child, Has paid the penalty of heedlessness!

[_Curtain falls, whereupon, unless Mr. Punch is greatly mistaken, there will not be a dry eye in the house._

V.--BRUNETTE AND BLANCHIDINE.

_A MELODRAMATIC DIDACTIC VAUDEVILLE._

_Suggested by “The Wooden Doll and the Wax Doll,” by the Misses Jane and Ann Taylor._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_Blanchidine,_ } By the celebrated Sisters STILTON, the Champion _Brunette._ } Duettists and Clog-Dancers.

_Fanny Furbelow._ By Miss SYLVIA SEALSKIN (_by kind permission of the Gaiety Management_).

_Frank Manly._ By Mr. HENRY NEVILLE.

SCENE--_A sunny Glade in Kensington Gardens, between the Serpentine and Round Pond._

_Enter_ BLANCHIDINE _and_ BRUNETTE, _with their arms thrown affectionately around one another._ BLANCHIDINE _is carrying a large and expressionless wooden doll._

_Duet and Step-dance._

_Bl._ Oh, I do adore BRUNETTE! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, tappity-tippity, tippity-tappity, tip-tap!

_Br._ BLANCHIDINE’S the sweetest pet! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Together._ When the sun is high, We come out to ply, Nobody is nigh, All is mirth and j’y! With a pairosol, We’ll protect our doll, Make a mossy bed For her wooden head!

[_Combination step-dance during which both watch their feet with an air of detached and slightly amused interest, as if they belonged to some other persons._

Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, clickity, clickity, clickity-clack; clackity-clickity, clickity-clackity, clackity-clickity-_clack_!

[_Repeat ad. lib._

_Bl._ (_apologetically to Audience_). Her taste in dress is rather plain! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Br._ (_in pitying aside_). It _is_ a pity she’s so vain! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.

_Bl._ ’Tis a shime to smoile, But she’s shocking stoyle, It is quite a troyal, Still--she mikes a foil!

_Br._ Often I’ve a job To suppress a sob, She is such a snob, When she meets a nob!

[_Step-dance as before._

[N.B.--_In consideration of the well-known difficulty that most popular Variety-Artists experience in the metrical delivery of decasyllabic couplets, the lines which follow have been written as they will most probably be spoken._

_Bl._ (_looking off with alarm_). Why, here comes Fanny Furbelow, a new frock from Paris in! She’ll find me with Brunette--it’s _too_ embarrassing!

[_Aside._

(_To Brunette._) Brunette, my love, I know _such_ a pretty game we’ll play at-- Poor Timburina’s ill, and the seaside she ought to stay at. (The Serpentine’s the seaside, let’s pretend.) And _you_ shall take her there--(_hypocritically_)--you’re such a friend!

_Br._ (_with simplicity_). Oh, yes, that _will_ be splendid, Blanchidine, And then we can go and have a dip in a bathing-machine!

[BLAN. _resigns the wooden doll to_ BRUN., _who skips off with it_, L., _as_ FANNY FURBELOW _enters_ R., _carrying a magnificent wax doll_.

_Fanny_ (_languidly_). Ah, howdy do--_isn’t_ this heat too frightful? And so you’re quite alone?

_Bl._ (_nervously._) Oh, _quite_--oh yes, I always am alone, when there’s nobody with me.

[_This is a little specimen of the Lady’s humorous “gag,” at which she is justly considered a proficient._

_Fanny_ (_drawling_). Delightful! When I was wondering, only a little while ago, If I should meet a creature that I know; Allow me--my new doll, the Lady Minnie!

[_Introducing doll._

_Bl._ (_rapturously_). Oh, what a perfect love!

_Fanny._ She ought to be--for a guinea! Here, you may nurse her for a little while. Be careful, for her frock’s the latest style.

[_Gives_ BLAN. _the wax doll_.

She’s the best wax, and has three changes of clothing-- For those cheap wooden dolls I’ve quite a loathing.

_Bl._ (_hastily_). Oh, so have _I_--they’re not to be endured!

_Re-enter_ BRUNETTE _with the wooden doll, which she tries to press upon_ BLANCHIDINE, _much to the latter’s confusion_.

_Br._ I’ve brought poor Timburina back, completely cured! Why, aren’t you pleased? Your face is looking _so_ cloudy!

_F._ (_haughtily_). Is she a friend of _yours_--this little dowdy? [_Slow music._

_Bl._ (_after an internal struggle_). Oh, no, what an idea! Why, I don’t even know her by name! Some vulgar child ...

[_Lets the wax doll fall unregarded on the gravel._

_Br._ (_indignantly_). Oh, what a horrid shame! I see _now_ why you sent us to the Serpentine!

_Bl._ (_heartlessly_). There’s no occasion to flare up like turpentine.

_Br._ (_ungrammatically_). I’m _not_! Disown your doll, and thrust me, too, aside! The one thing left for both of us is--suicide! Yes, Timburina, us no more she cherishes-- (_Bitterly._) Well, the Round Pond a handy place to perish is!

[_Rushes off stage with wooden doll._

_Bl._ (_making a feeble attempt to follow_). Come back, Brunette; don’t leave me thus, in charity!

_F._ (_with contempt_). Well, I’ll be off--since you seem to prefer vulgarity.

_Bl._ No, stay--but--ah, she said--what if she _meant_ it?

_F._ Not she! And, if she did, _we_ can’t prevent it.

_Bl._ (_relieved_). That’s true--we’ll play, and think no more about her.

_F._ (_sarcastically_). We may _just_ manage to get on without her! So come----(_Perceives doll lying face upwards on path._) You odious girl, what have you done? Left Lady Minnie lying in the blazing sun! ’Twas done on purpose--oh, you _thing_ perfidious! [_Stamps._ You _knew_ she’d melt, and get completely hideous! Don’t answer _me_, Miss--I wish we’d never met. You’re only fit for persons like Brunette!

[_Picks up doll, and exit in passion._

_Grand Sensation Descriptive Soliloquy, by_ BLANCHIDINE, _to Melodramatic Music_.

_Bl._ Gone! Ah, I am rightly punished! What would I not give now to have homely little Brunette, and dear old wooden-headed Timburina back again! _She_ wouldn’t melt in the sun.... Where are they now? Great Heavens! that threat--that rash resolve ... I remember all! ’Twas in the direction of the Pond they vanished. (_Peeping anxiously between trees._) Are they still in sight? ... Yes, I see them? Brunette has reached the water’s edge ... What is she purposing! Now she kneels on the rough gravel; she is making Timburina kneel too! How calm and resolute they both appear! (_Shuddering._) I dare not look further--but ah, I must--_I must_!... Horror! I saw her boots flash for an instant in the bright sunlight: and now the ripples have closed, smiling, over her little black stockings!... Help!--save her, somebody!--help!... Joy! a gentleman has appeared on the scene--how handsome, how brave he looks! He has taken in the situation at a glance! With quiet composure he removes his coat--oh, _don’t_ trouble about folding it up!--and why, _why_ remove your gloves, when there is not a moment to be lost? Now, with many injunctions, he entrusts his watch to a bystander, who retires, overcome by emotion. And now--oh, gallant, heroic soul!--now he is sending his toy-terrier into the seething water! (_Straining_ _eagerly forward._) Ah, the dog paddles bravely out--he has reached the spot ... oh, he has passed it!--he is trying to catch a duck! Dog, dog, _is_ this a time for pursuing ducks? At last he understands--he dives ... he brings up--agony! a small tin cup! Again ... _this_ time, surely--what, only an old pot-hat!... Oh, this dog is a fool! And still the Round Pond holds its dread secret! Once more ... yes--no, yes, it _is_ Timburina! Thank Heaven, she yet breathes! But Brunette? Can she have stuck in the mud at the bottom? Ha, she, too, is rescued--saved--ha-ha-ha!--saved, saved, saved!

[_Swoons hysterically amid deafening applause._

_Enter_ FRANK MANLY _supporting_ BRUNETTE, _who carries_ TIMBURINA.

_Bl._ (_wildly_). What, do I see you safe, beloved Brunette?

_Br._ Yes, thanks to his courage, I’m not even _wet_!

_Frank_ (_modestly_). Nay, spare your compliments. To rescue Beauty, When in distress, is every hero’s duty!

_Bl._ Brunette, forgive--I’m cured of all my folly!

_Br._ (_heartily_). Of course I will, my dear, and so will dolly!

[_Grand Trio and Step-dance, with “tippity-tappity,” and “clickity-clack” refrain as finale._

VI.--COMING OF AGE.

Our present Drama represents an attempt to illustrate upon the Music-hall stage the eternal truth that race _will_ tell in the long run, despite--but, on second thoughts, it does not _quite_ prove that, though it certainly shows the unerring accuracy of parental--at least, that is not exactly its tendency, either; and the fact is that _Mr. Punch_ is more than a little mixed himself as to the precise theory which it is designed to enforce. He hopes, however, that, as a realistic study of Patrician life and manners, it will possess charms for a democratic audience.

COMING OF AGE.

_A GRAND SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGICAL COMEDY-DRAMA IN ONE ACT._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_The Earl of Burntalmond._

_The Countess of Burntalmond (his wife)._

_Robert Henry Viscount Bullsaye (their son and heir)._

_The Lady Rose Caramel (niece to the Earl)._

_Horehound_ } Travelling as “The Celebrated Combination _Mrs. Horehound_ } Korffdropp Troupe,” in their refined and _Coltsfoot Horehound_ } elegant Drawing-room Entertainment.

_Tenantry._

SCENE--_The Great Quadrangle of Hardbake Castle; banners, mottoes, decorations, &c. On the steps_, R., _the Earl,_ supported by his wife, son, and niece, is discovered in the act of concluding a speech to six tenantry, who display all the enthusiasm that is reasonably to be expected at nine-pence a night.

_The Earl_ (_patting_ Lord BULLSAYE’S _shoulder_). I might say more, Gentlemen, in praise of my dear son, Lord Bullsaye, here--I might dwell on his extreme sweetness, his strongly marked character, the variety of his tastes, and the singular attraction he has for children of all ages--but I forbear. I will merely announce that on this day--the day he has selected for attaining his majority--he has gratified us all by plighting troth to his cousin, the Lady Rose Caramel, with whose dulcet and clinging disposition he has always possessed the greatest natural affinity. [_Cheers._

_Lord Bullsaye_ (_aside to_ Lady R.). Ah, Rose, would such happiness could last! But my heart misgives me strangely--why, I know not.

_Lady R._ Say not so, dear Bullsaye--have you not just rendered me the happiest little Patrician in the whole peerage?

_Lord B._ ’Tis true--and yet, and yet--pooh, let me snatch the present hour! [_Snatches it._

_The Earl._ And now, let the Revels commence.

_Enter the_ Korffdropp Troupe, _who give their marvellous Entertainment, entitled, “The Three Surprise Packets;” after which_--

_Horehound._ This will conclude the first portion of our Entertainment, Lords, Ladies, _and_ Gentlemen; and, while my wife and pardner retires to change her costoom for the Second Part, I should be glad of the hoppertoonity of a short pussonal hexplanation with the noble Herl on my right.

[_Exit_ Mrs. HOREHOUND.

_The Earl_ (_graciously_). I will hear you, fellow! (_Aside._) Strange how familiar his features seem to me!

_Horeh._ The fact is, your Lordship’s celebrating the coming of hage of the _wrong heir_. (_Sensation--i.e., the six tenantry shift from one leg to the other, and murmur feebly._) Oh, I can prove it. Twenty-one years ago--(_slow music_)--I was in your Lordship’s service as gamekeeper, ’ead whip, and hextry waiter. My son and yours was born the selfsame day, and my hold dutch was selected to hact as foster-mother to the youthful lord. Well--(_tells a long, and not entirely original, story; marvellous resemblance between infants, only distinguishable by green and magenta bows, &c., &c._) Soon after, your Lordship discharged me at a moment’s notice----

_The Earl_ (_haughtily_). I did, upon discovering that you were in the habit of surreptitiously carrying off kitchen-stuff, concealed within your umbrella. But proceed with your narration.

_Horeh._ I swore to be avenged, and so--(_common form again; the shifted bows_)--consequently, as a moment’s reflection will convince you, the young man on the steps, in the button-’ole and tall ’at, is my lawful son, while the real Viscount is--(_presenting_ COLTSFOOT, _who advances modestly on his hands_)--’ere!

[_Renewed sensation._

_The Earl._ This is indeed a startling piece of intelligence. (_To_ Lord B.) And so, Sir, it appears that your whole life has been one consistent imposition--a gilded _lie_?

_Lord B._ Let my youth and inexperience at the time, Sir, plead as my best excuse!

_The E._ Nothing can excuse the fact that you--you, a low-born son of the people, have monopolised the training, the tenderness and education, which were the due of your Patrician foster-brother. (_To_ COLTSFOOT.) Approach, my injured, long-lost boy, and tell me how I may atone for these years of injustice and neglect!

_Colts._ Well, Guv’nor, if you could send out for a pot o’ four arf, it ’ud be a _beginning_, like.

_The E._ You shall have every luxury that befits your rank, but first remove that incongruous garb.

_Colts._ (_to_ Lord B.). These ’ere togs belong to _you_ now, young feller, and I reckon exchange ain’t no robbery.

_Lord B._ (_with emotion, to_ Countess). Mother, can you endure to behold your son in tights and spangles on the very day of his majority?

_Countess_ (_coldly_). On the contrary, it is my wish to see him attired as soon as possible, in a more appropriate costume.

_Lord B._ (_to_ Lady R.). Rose, _you_, at least, have not changed? Tell me you will love me still even on the precarious summit of an acrobat’s pole!

_Lady Rose_ (_scornfully_). Really the presumptuous familiarity of the lower orders is perfectly appalling!

_The Earl_ (_to_ Countess, _as_ Lord B. _and_ COLTSFOOT _retire to exchange costumes_). At last, Pauline, I understand why I could never feel towards Bullsaye the affection of a parent. Often have I reproached myself for a coldness I could not overcome.

_Countess._ And I too! Nature was too strong for us. But, oh, the joy of recovering our son--of finding him so strong, so supple, so agile. Never yet has our line boasted an heir who can feed himself from a fork strapped on to his dexter heel!

_The E._ (_with emotion_). Our beloved, boneless boy!

[_Re-enter_ COLTSFOOT _in modern dress, and_ Lord B. _in tights_.

_Colts._ Don’t I look slap-up--O.K. and no mistake? Oh, I _am_ ’aving a beano!

_All._ What easy gaiety, and unforced animation!

_The E._ My dear boy, let me present you to your _fiancée_. Rose, my love, this is your _legitimate_ lover.

_Colts._ Oh, all right, _I’ve_ no objections--on’y there’ll be ructions with the young woman in the tight-rope line as I’ve been keepin’ comp’ny with--that’s all!

_The E._ Your foster-brother will act as your substitute there. (_Proudly._) _My_ son must make no _mésalliance_!

_Rose_ (_timidly_). And, if it would give you any pleasure, I’m sure I could soon learn the tight-rope!

_Colts._ Not at _your_ time o’ life, Miss, and besides, ’ang it, now I’m a lord, I can’t have my wife doin’ nothing low!

_The E._ Spoken like a true Burntalmond! And now let the revels re-commence.

[_Re-enter_ Mrs. Horehound.

_Horeh._ (_to_ Lord B.). Now then, stoopid, tumble, can’t you--what are you ’ere _for_?

_Lord B._ (_to the_ Earl). Since it is your command, I obey, though it is ill tumbling with a heavy heart!

[_Turns head over heels laboriously._

_Colts._ Call _that_ a somersault? ’Ere, ’old my ’at (_giving tall hat to_ Lady R.) _I’ll_ show yer ’ow to do a turn.

[_Throws a triple somersault._

_All._ What condescension! How his aristocratic superiority is betrayed, even in competition with those to the manner born!

_Mrs. Horeh._ (_still in ignorance of the transformation_). Halt! I have kept silence till now--even from my husband, but the time has come when I _must_ speak. Think you that if he were indeed a lord, he could turn such somersaults as those? No--no. I will reveal all. (_Tells same old story--except that she herself from ambitious motives transposed the infants’ bows._) Now, do with me what you will!

_Horeh._ Confusion, so my ill-judged action did but redress the wrong I designed to effect!

_The E._ (_annoyed_). This is a serious matter, reflecting as it does upon the legitimacy of my lately recovered son. What proof have you, woman, of your preposterous allegation?

_Mrs. H._ None, my lord,--but these--

[_Exhibits two faded bunches of ribbon._

_The E._ I cannot resist such overwhelming evidence, fight against it as I may.

_Lord B._ (_triumphantly_). And so--oh, Father, Mother, Rose--dear, dear Rose--I am no acrobat, after all!

_The E._ (_sternly_). Would you were anything half so serviceable to the community, Sir! I have no superstitious reverence for rank, and am, I trust, sufficiently enlightened to discern worth and merit--even beneath the spangled vest of the humblest acrobat. Your foster-brother, brief as our acquaintance has been, has already endeared himself to all hearts, while you have borne a trifling reverse of fortune with sullen discontent and conspicuous incapacity. He has perfected himself in a lofty and distinguished profession during years spent by _you_, Sir, in idly cumbering the earth of Eton and Oxford. Shall I allow him to suffer by a purely accidental coincidence? Never! I owe him reparation, and it shall be paid to the uttermost penny. From this day, I adopt him as my eldest son, and the heir to my earldom, and all other real and personal effects. See, Robert Henry, that you treat your foster-brother as your senior in future!

_Colts._ (_to_ Lord B.). Way-oh, ole matey, I don’t bear no malice, _I_ don’t! Give us your dooks. [_Offering hand._

_The C._ Ah, Bullsaye, try to be worthy of such generosity!

[Lord B. _grasps_ COLTSFOOT’S _hand in silence_.

_Lady Rose._ And pray, understand that, whether Mr. Coltsfoot be viscount or acrobat, it can make no difference whatever to the disinterested affection with which I have lately learnt to regard him.

[_Gives her hand to_ COLTSFOOT, _who squeezes it with ardour_.

_Colts._ (_pleasantly_). Well, Father, Mother, your noble Herlship and Lady, foster-brother Bullsaye, and my pretty little sweetart ’ere, what do you all say to goin’ inside and shunting a little garbage, and shifting a drop or so of lotion, eh?

_The E._ A most sensible suggestion, my boy. Let us make these ancient walls the scene of the blithest--ahem!--_beano_ they have ever yet beheld!

[_Cheers from Tenantry, as the_ Earl _leads the way into the Castle with_ Mrs. HOREHOUND, _followed by_ HOREHOUND _with the_ Countess _and_ COLTSFOOT _with_ Lady ROSE, Lord BULLSAYE, _discomfited and abashed, entering last as Curtain falls_.

VII.--RECLAIMED!

OR, HOW LITTLE ELFIE TAUGHT HER GRANDMOTHER.

CHARACTERS.

_Lady Belledame_ (_a Dowager of the deepest dye_).

_Monkshood_ (_her Steward, and confidential Minion_).

_Little Elfie_ (_an Angel Child_). This part has been specially constructed for that celebrated Infant Actress, Banjoist, and Variety Comédienne, Miss BIRDIE CALLOWCHICK.

SCENE--_The Panelled Room at Nightshade Hall._

_Lady Belledame_ (_discovered preparing parcels_). Old and unloved!--yes the longer I live, the more plainly do I perceive that I am _not_ a popular old woman. Have I not acquired the reputation in the County of being a witch? My neighbour, Sir Vevey Long, asked me publicly only the other day “when I would like my broom ordered,” and that minx, Lady Violet Powdray, has pointedly mentioned old cats in my hearing! Pergament, my family lawyer, has declined to act for me any longer, merely because Monkshood rack-rented some of the tenants a little too energetically in the Torture Chamber--as if in these hard times one was not justified in putting the screw on! Then the villagers scowl when I pass; the very children shrink from me--[_A childish Voice outside window,_ “Yah, ’oo sold ’erself to Old Bogie for a pound o’ tea an’ a set o’ noo teeth?”]--that is, when they do not insult me by suggestions of bargains that are not even businesslike! No matter--I will be avenged upon them all--ay, all! ’Tis Christmas-time--the season at which sentimental fools exchange gifts and good wishes. For once I, too, will distribute a few seasonable presents.... (_Inspecting parcels._) Are my arrangements complete? The bundle of choice cigars, in each of which a charge of nitro-glycerine has been dexterously inserted? The lip-salve, made up from my own prescription with corrosive sublimate by a venal chemist in the vicinity? The art flower-pot, containing a fine specimen of the Upas plant, swathed in impermeable sacking? The sweets compounded with sugar of lead? The packet of best ratsbane? Yes, nothing has been omitted. Now to summon my faithful Monkshood.... Ha! he is already at hand.

[_Chord as_ MONKSHOOD _enters_.

_Monkshood._ Your Ladyship, a child, whose sole luggage is a small bandbox and a large banjo, is without, and requests the favour of a personal interview.

_Lady B._ (_reproachfully_). And you, who have been with me all these years, and know my ways, omitted to let loose the bloodhounds? You grow careless, Monkshood!

_Monks._ (_wounded_). Your Ladyship is unjust--I _did_ unloose the bloodhounds; but the ferocious animals merely sat up and begged. The child had took the precaution to provide herself with a bun!

_Lady B._ No matter, she must be removed--I care not how.

_Monks._ There may be room for one more--a little one--in the old well. The child mentioned that she was your Ladyship’s granddaughter, but I presume that will make no difference?

_Lady B._ (_disquieted_). What!--then she must be the child of my only son Poldoodle, whom, for refusing to cut off the entail, I had falsely accused of adulterating milk, and transported beyond the seas! She comes hither to denounce and reproach me! Monkshood, she must not leave this place alive--you hear?

_Monks._ I require no second bidding--ha, the child ... she comes!

[_Chord. Little_ ELFIE _trips in with touching self-confidence._

_Elfie_ (_in a charming little Cockney accent_). Yes, Grandma, it’s me--little Elfie, come all the way from Australia to see you, because I thought you must be sow lownly all by yourself! My Papa often told me what a long score he owed you, and how he hoped to pay you off if he lived. But he went out to business one day--Pa was a bushranger, you know, and worked--oh, _so_ hard; and never came back to his little Elfie, so poor little Elfie has come to live with you!

_Monks._ Will you have the child removed now, my Lady?

_Lady B._ (_undecidedly_). Not now--not yet; I have other work for you. These Christmas gifts, to be distributed amongst my good friends and neighbours (_handing parcels_). First, this bundle of cigars to Sir Vevey Long with my best wishes that such a connoisseur in tobacco may find them sufficiently strong. The salve for Lady Violet Powdray, with my love, and it should be rubbed on the last thing at night. The plant you will take to the little Pergaments--’twill serve them for a Christmas tree. This packet to be diluted in a barrel of beer, which you will see broached upon the village green; these sweetmeats for distribution among the most deserving of the school-children.

_Elfie_ (_throwing her arms around Lady B.’s neck_). I _do_ like you, Grandma, you have such a kind face! And oh, what pains you must have taken to find something that will do for everybody!

_Lady B._ (_disengaging herself peevishly_). Yes, yes, child. I trust that what I have chosen will indeed do for everybody,--but I do not like to be messed about. Monkshood, you know what you have to do.

_Elfie._ Oh, I am sure he does, Grandma! See how benevolently he smiles. You’re such a good old man, you will take care that all the poor people are fed, _won’t_ you?

_Monks._ (_with a sinister smile_). Ah! Missie, I’ve ’elped to settle a many people’s ’ash in my time!

_Elfie_ (_innocently_). What, do they all get hash? How nice! I like hash,--but what else do you give them?

_Monks._ (_grimly_). Gruel, Missie. (_Aside._) I must get out of this, or this innocent child’s prattle will unman me!

[_Exit with parcels._

_Elfie._ You seem so sad and troubled, Grandma. Let me sing you one of the songs with which I drew a smile from poor dear Pa in happier days.

_Lady B._ No, no, some other time. (_Aside._) Pshaw! why should I dread the effect of her simple melodies? (_Aloud._) Sing, child, if you will.

_Elfie._ How glad I am that I brought my banjo! [_Sings._

_Dar is a lubly yaller gal dat tickles me to deff; She’ll dance de room ob darkies down, and take away deir breff. When she sits down to supper, ebery coloured gemple-man, As she gets her upper lip o’er a plate o’ “possom dip,” cries, “Woa, Lucindy Ann!”_ (Chorus, dear Granny!)

_Chorus._

_Woa, Lucindy! Woa, Lucindy! Woa, Lucindy Ann! At de rate dat you are stuffin, you will nebber leave us nuffin; so woa, Miss Sindy Ann!_

_To Lady B._ (_who, after joining in chorus with deep emotion, has burst into tears_). Why, you are _weeping_, dear Grandmother!

_Lady B._ Nay, ’tis nothing, child--but have you no songs which are less sad?

_Elfie._ Oh, yes, I know plenty of plantation ditties more cheerful than that. (_Sings._)

_Oh, I hear a gentle whisper from de days ob long ago, When I used to be a happy darkie slave. [Trump-a-trump! But now I’se got to labour wif the shovel an’ de hoe-- For ole Massa lies a sleepin’ in his grave! [Trump-trump!_

_Chorus._

_Poor ole Massa! Poor ole Massa!_ (Pianissimo.) _Poor ole Massa, that I nebber more shall see! He was let off by de Jury, Way down in old Missouri--But dey lynched him on a persimmon tree._

_Elfie._ You smile at last, dear Grandma! I would sing to you again, but I am so very, very sleepy!

_Lady B._ Poor child, you have had a long journey. Rest awhile on this couch, and I will arrange this screen so as to protect your slumbers. [_Leads little_ ELFIE _to couch_.

_Elfie_ (_sleepily_). Thanks, dear Grandma, thanks.... Now I shall go to sleep, and dream of you, and the dogs, and angels. I so often dream about angels--but that is generally after supper, and to-night I have had no supper.... But never mind.... Good night, Grannie, good night ... goo’ni’ ... goo ... goo! [_She sinks softly to sleep._

_Lady B._ And I was about to set the bloodhounds upon this little sunbeam! ’Tis long since these grim walls have echoed strains so sweet as hers. (_Croons._) “Woa, Lucindy” &c. “Dey tried him by a Jury, way down in ole Missouri, an’ dey hung him to a possumdip tree!” (_Goes to couch, and gazes on the little sleeper._) How peacefully she slumbers! What a change has come over me in one short hour!--my withered heart is sending up green shoots of tenderness, of love, and hope! Let me try henceforth to be worthy of this dear child’s affection and respect. (_Turns, and sees_ MONKSHOOD.) Ha, Monkshood! Then there is time yet! Those parcels ... quick, quick!--the parcels!----

_Monks_ (_impassively_). Have been left as you instructed, my Lady.

[_Chord._ Lady B. _staggers back, gasping, into chair. Little_ ELFIE _awakes behind screen, and rubs her eyes_.

_Lady B._ (_in a hoarse whisper_). You--you have left the parcels ... all--_all?_ Tell me--how were they received? Speak low--I would not that yonder child should awake and hear!

_Little Elfie_ (_behind the screen, very wide awake indeed_). Dear, good old Grannie--she would conceal her generosity--even from _me_! (_Loudly._) She little thinks that I am overhearing all!

_Monks._ I could have sworn I heard whispering.

_Lady B._ Nay, you are mistaken--’twas but the wind in the old wainscot. (_Aside._) He is quite capable of destroying that innocent child; but old and attached servant as he is, there are liberties I still know how to forbid. (_To_ M.) Your story--quick!

_Monks._ First, I delivered the cigars to Sir Vevey Long, whom I found under his verandah. He seemed surprised and gratified by the gift, selected a weed, and was proceeding to light it, whilst he showed a desire to converse familiarly with me. ’Astily excusing myself, I drove away, when----

_Lady B._ When _what_? Do not torture a wretched old woman!

_Monks._ When I heard a loud report behind me, and, in the portion of a brace, two waistcoat-buttons, and half a slipper, which hurtled past my ears, I recognised all that was mortal of the late Sir Vevey. You mixed them cigars uncommon strong, m’Lady.

_Elfie_ (_aside_). Can it be? But no, no. I will _not_ believe it. I am sure that dear Granny meant no harm!

_Lady B._ (_with a grim pride she cannot wholly repress_). I have devoted some study to the subject of explosives. ’Tis another triumph to the Anti-tobacconists. And what of Lady Violet Powdray--did she apply the salve?

_Monks._ Judging from the ’eartrending ’owls which proceeded from Carmine Cottage, the salve was producing the desired result. Her Ladyship, ’owever, terminated her sufferings somewhat prematoor by jumping out of a top winder just as I was taking my departure----

_Lady B._ She should have died hereafter--but no matter ... and the Upas-tree?----

_Monks._----was presented to the Pergaments, who unpacked it, and loaded its branches with toys and tapers; after which Mr. Pergament, Mrs. P., and all the little Pergaments joined ’ands, and danced round it in light’arted glee. (_In a sombre tone._) They little knoo as how it was their dance of death!

_Lady B._ That knowledge will come! And the beer, Monkshood--you saw it broached?

_Monks._ Upon the village green; the mortality is still spreading, it being found impossible to undo the knots in which the victims have tied themselves. The sweetmeats were likewise distributed, and the floor of the hinfant-school now resembles one vast fly-paper.

_Lady B._ (_with a touch of remorse_). The children too! Was not my little Elfie once an infant? Ah me, ah me!

_Elfie_ (_aside_). Once--but that was long, long ago. And, oh, _how_ disappointed I am in poor dear Grandmama!

_Lady B._ Monkshood, you should not have done these things--you should have saved me from myself. You _must_ have known how greatly all this would increase my unpopularity in the neighbourhood.

_Monks._ (_sulkily_). And this is my reward for obeying orders! Take care, my Lady. It suits you now to throw me aside like a--(_casting about for an original simile_)--like a old glove, because this innocent grandchild of yours has touched your flinty ’art. But where will _you_ be when she learns----?

_Lady B._ (_in agony_). Ah, no, Monkshood, good, faithful Monkshood, she must never know that! Think, Monkshood, you would not tell her that the Grandmother to whom she looks up with such touching, childlike love, was a--_homicide_--you would not do that?

_Monks._ Some would say even ’omicide was not too black a name for all you’ve done. (Lady BELLEDAME _shudders_.) I might tell Miss Elfie how you’ve blowed up a live Baronet, corrosive sublimated a gentle Lady, honly for ’aving, in a moment of candour, called you a hold cat, and distributed pison in a variety of forms about this smiling village; and, if that don’t inspire her with distrust, I don’t know the nature of children, that’s all! I might tell her, I say, and, if I’m to keep my mouth shut, I shall expect it to be considered in my wages.

_Lady B._ I knew you had a good heart! I will pay you anything--anything, provided you shield my guilt from her ... wait, you shall have gold, gold, Monkshood, gold!

[_Chord. Little_ ELFIE _suddenly comes from behind screen; limelight on her. The other two shrink back._

_Elfie._ Do not give that bad old man money, Grandmother, for it will only be wasted.

_Lady B._ Speak, child!--how much do you know?

_Elfie._ All! [_Chord._ Lady B. _collapses on chair_.

_Lady B._ (_with an effort_). And now, Elfie, that you know, you scorn and hate your poor old Grandmother--is it not so?

_Elfie._ It is wrong to hate one’s Grandmother, whatever she does. At first when I heard, I was very, very sorry. I _did_ think it was most unkind of you. But now, oh, I _can’t_ believe that you had not some good, wise motive, in acting as you did!

_Lady B._ (_in conscience-stricken aside_). Even _this_ cannot shatter her artless faith ... Oh, wretch, wretch!

[_Covers her face._

_Monks._ Motive--I believe you there, Missie. Why, she went and insured all their lives aforehand, _she_ did.

_Lady B._ Monkshood, in pity hold your peace!

_Elfie_ (_her face beaming_). I knew it--I was sure of it! Oh, Granny, my dear, kind old Granny, you insured their lives first, so that no real harm could possibly happen to them--oh, I am so happy!

_Lady B._ (_aside_). What shall I say? Merciful Powers, what _shall_ I say to her? [_Disturbed sounds without._

_Monks._ I don’t know what you’d better _say_, but I can tell you what your Ladyship had better _do_--and that is, take your ’ook while you can. Even now the outraged populace approaches, to wreak a hawful vengeance upon your guilty ’ed! [_Melodramatic music._

_Lady B._ (_distractedly_). A mob! I cannot face them--they will tear me limb from limb. At my age I could not survive such an indignity as that! Hide me, Monkshood--help me to escape!

_Monks._ There is a secret underground passage, known only to myself, communicating with the nearest railway station. I will point it out, and personally conduct your Ladyship--for a consideration--one thousand pounds down.

[_The noise increases._

_Elfie._ No, Granny, don’t trust him! Be calm and brave. Await the mob here. Leave it all to me. I will explain everything to them--how you meant no ill,--how, at the very time they thought you were meditating an injury, you were actually spending money in insuring all their lives. When I tell them _that_----

_Monks._ Ah, you tell ’em that, and see. It’s too late now--they are here!

[_Shouts without._ Lady B. _crouches on floor. Little_ ELFIE _goes to the window, throws open the shutters, and stands on balcony in her fluttering white robe, and the limelight_.

_Elfie._ Yes, they are here. Why, they are carrying torches!--(Lady B. _groans_)--and banners, too! I think they have a band.... Who is that tall, stout gentleman, in the white hat, on horseback, and the lady in a pony-trap, with, oh, such a beautiful complexion! There is an inscription on one of the flags--I can read it quite plainly. “_Thanks to the generous Donor!_” (That must be _you_, Grandmother!) And there are children who dance, and scatter flowers. They are asking for a speech. (_Speaking off._) “If you please, Ladies and Gentlemen, my Grandmama is not at all well, but she wishes me to say she wishes you a Merry Christmas, and is very glad you all like your presents so much. Good-bye, _good_-bye!” (_Returning down Stage._) Now they have gone away, Granny.... They did look so grateful!

_Lady B._ (_bewildered_). What is this! Sir Vevey, Lady Violet,--alive, well? This deputation of gratitude? Am I mad, dreaming--or what does it all mean?

_Monks._ (_doggedly_). It means that the sight of this ’ere angel child recalled me to a sense of what I might be exposin’ myself to by carrying out your Ladyship’s commands; and so I took the liberty of substitootin gifts more calculated to inspire gratitude in their recipients--that’s what it means.

_Lady B._ Wretch!--then you have disobeyed me? You leave this day month!

_Elfie_ (_pleading_). Nay, Grandmother, bear with him, for has not his disobedience spared you from acts that you might some day have regretted?... There, Mr. Butler, Granny forgives you--see, she holds out her hand, and here’s mine; and now----

_Lady B._ (_smiling tenderly_). Now you shall sing us “_Woa, Lucinda!_”

[_Little_ ELFIE _fetches her banjo, and sings, “Woa, Lucinda!” her Grandmother and the aged Steward joining in the dance and chorus, and embracing the child, to form picture as Curtain falls_.

VIII.--JACK PARKER;

OR, THE BULL WHO KNEW HIS BUSINESS.

CHARACTERS.

_Jack Parker_ (“_was a cruel boy, For mischief was his sole employ._”--_Vide_) Miss JANE TAYLOR.

_Miss Lydia Banks_ (“_though very young, Will never do what’s rude or wrong._”--_Ditto._)

_Farmer Banks_ } By the Brothers GRIFFITHS. _Farmer Banks’s Bull_ }

_Chorus of Farm Hands._

SCENE.--_A Farmyard._ R. _a stall from which the head of the Bull is visible above the half-door. Enter_ Farmer BANKS _with a cudgel_.

_Farmer B._ (_moodily_). When roots are quiet, and cereals are dull, I vent my irritation on the Bull.

[_We have_ Miss TAYLOR’S _own authority for this rhyme_.

Come hup, you beast!

[_Opens stall and flourishes cudgel--the Bull comes forward with an air of deliberate defiance._

Oh, turning narsty, is he?

[_Apologetically to Bull._

Another time will do! I see you’re busy!

[_The Bull, after some consideration, decides to accept this retractation, and retreats with dignity to his stall, the door of which he carefully fastens after him. Exit_ Farmer BANKS, L., _as_ LYDIA BANKS _enters_ R. _accompanied by Chorus. The Bull exhibits the liveliest interest in her proceedings, as he looks on, with his forelegs folded easily upon the top of the door._

_Song_--LYDIA BANKS (_in Polka time_).

I’m the child by Miss Jane Taylor sung; Unnaturally good for one so young-- A pattern for the people that I go among, With my moral little tags on the tip of my tongue. And I often feel afraid that I shan’t live long, For I never do a thing that’s rude or wrong!

_Chorus_ (_to which the Bull beats time_). As a general rule, one _doesn’t_ live long, If you never do a thing that’s rude or wrong!

_Second Verse._

My words are all with wisdom fraught, To make polite replies I’ve sought; And learned by independent thought, That a pinafore, inked, is good for nought. So wonderfully well have I been taught, That I turn my toes as children ought!

_Chorus_ (_to which the Bull dances_). This moral lesson she’s been taught-- She turns her toes as children ought!

_Lydia_ (_sweetly_). Yes, I’m the Farmer’s daughter--Lydia Banks; No person ever caught me playing pranks! I’m loved by all the live-stock on the farm,

[_Ironical applause from the Bull._

Pigeons I’ve plucked will perch upon my arm, And pigs at my approach sit up and beg.

[_Business by Bull._

For me the partial peacock saves his egg, No sheep e’er snaps if _I_ attempt to touch her, Lambs _like_ it when I lead them to the butcher! Each morn I milk my rams beneath the shed, While rabbits flutter twittering round my head, And, as befits a dairy-farmer’s daughter, What milk I get I supplement with water,

[_A huge Shadow is thrown on the road outside_; LYDIA _starts_.

Whose shadow is it makes the highway darker? That bullet head! those ears! it is----Jack Parker!

[_Chord. The Chorus flee in dismay, as_ JACK _enters with a reckless swagger_.

_Song_--JACK PARKER.

I’m loafing about, and I very much doubt If my excellent Ma is aware that I’m out; My time I employ in attempts to annoy, And I’m not what you’d call an agreeable boy! I shoe the cats with walnut-shells; Tin cans to curs I tie; Ring furious knells at front-door bells-- Then round the corner fly! ’Neath donkeys’ tails I fasten furze, Or timid horsemen scare; If chance occurs, I stock with burrs My little Sister’s hair!

[_The Bull shakes his head reprovingly._

Such tricks give me joy without any alloy, But they do not denote an agreeable boy!

[_As_ JACK PARKER _concludes, the Bull ducks cautiously below the half-door, while_ LYDIA _conceals herself behind the pump_, L.C.

_Jack_ (_wandering about stage discontentedly_). I thought at least there’d be _some_ beasts to badger here! Call this a farm--there ain’t a blooming spadger here!

[_Approaches stall--Bull raises head suddenly._

A bull! This is a lark I’ve long awaited! He’s in a stable, so he should be baited.

[_The Bull shows symptoms of acute depression at this jeu de mots_; LYDIA _comes forward indignantly_.

_Lydia._ I _can’t_ stand by and see that poor bull suffer! Excitement’s sure to make his beef taste tougher!

[_The Bull emphatically corroborates this statement._

Be warned by Miss Jane Taylor; fractured skulls Invariably come from teasing bulls! So let that door alone, nor lift the latchet; For if the bull gets out--why, then you’ll catch it.

_Jack._ A fractured skull? Yah, don’t believe a word of it!

[_Raises latchet: chord; Bull comes slowly out, and crouches ominously_; JACK _retreats, and takes refuge on top of pump: the Bull, after scratching his back with his off foreleg, makes a sudden rush at_ LYDIA.

_Lydia_ (_as she evades it_). Here, help!--it’s chasing me!--it’s too absurd of it! Go away, Bull--with _me_ you have no quarrel!

[_The Bull intimates that he is acting from a deep sense of duty._

_Lydia_ (_impatiently_). You stupid thing, you’re _ruining_ the moral!

[_The Bull persists obstinately in his pursuit._

_Jack_ (_from top of pump_). Well dodged, Miss Banks! although the Bull I’ll back!

[_Enter_ Farm-hands.

_Lydia._ Come quick--this Bull’s mistaking me for Jack!

_Jack._ He knows his business best, I shouldn’t wonder.

_Farm-hands_ (_philosophically_). He ain’t the sort of Bull to make a blunder.

[_They look on._

_Lydia_ (_panting._) Such violent exercise will soon exhaust me!

[_The Bull comes behind her._

Oh, Bull, it _is_ unkind of you ... you’ve _tossed_ me!

[_Falls on ground, while the Bull stands over her, in readiness to give the coup de grace_; LYDIA _calls for help_.

_A Farm-hand_ (_encouragingly_). Nay, Miss, he seems moor sensible nor surly-- He knows as how good children perish early!

[_The Bull nods in acknowledgment that he is at last understood, and slaps his chest with his forelegs._

_Lydia._ Bull, I’ll turn naughty, if you’ll but be lenient! Goodness, I see, is sometimes inconvenient. I promise you henceforth I’ll _try_, at any rate, To act like children who are unregenerate!

[_The Bull, after turning this over, decides to accept a compromise._

_Jack._ And, Lydia, when you ready for a lark are, Just give a chyhike to your friend--Jack Parker!

[_They shake hands warmly._

FINALE.

_Lydia._ I thought to slowly fade away so calm and beautiful. (Though I didn’t mean to go just yet); But you get no chance for pathos when you’re chivied by a bull! (So I thought I wouldn’t go just yet.) For I did feel so upset, when I found that all you get By the exercise of virtue, is that bulls will come and hurt you! That I thought I wouldn’t go just yet!

_Chorus._ We hear, with some regret, That she doesn’t mean to go just yet. But a Bull with horns that hurt you Is a poor return for virtue, So she’s wiser not to go just yet!

[_The Bull rises on his hindlegs, and gives a forehoof each to_ LYDIA _and_ JACK, _who dance wildly round and round as the Curtain falls_.

[N.B.--Music-hall Managers are warned that the morality of this particular Drama may possibly be called in question by some members of the L. C. C.]

IX.--UNDER THE HARROW.

_A CONVENTIONAL COMEDY-MELODRAMA, IN TWO ACTS._

CHARACTERS.

_Sir Poshbury Puddock (a haughty and high-minded Baronet)._

_Verbena Puddock (his Daughter)._

_Lord Bleshugh (her Lover)._

_Spiker (a needy and unscrupulous Adventurer)._

_Blethers (an ancient and attached Domestic)._