SCENE I.

_A Parlour in Cozy Cottage_, _Brompton_, (2_nd_ _grooves_) _tastefully furnished_; _door of entrance_, R. 1 E.; _door of Todd’s room_, L.1 E.; _window_, _with curtains drawn_, C. _flat_.—_A large leather travelling case on chair_, R. C.; _carpet bag_, _hat case_, _bandboxes_, _and a pair of boots on the floor_; _fishing rod_, _telescope_, _and umbrellas scattered about the room_, _which exhibits the disorder indicative of preparation for a journey_. _A table_, C., _on which is a writing desk_, _two candles lighted_, _a chamber candlestick unlighted_, _and work basket_. _An arm chair_, L., _with concertina and case on it_;—_chairs_ R. _and_ L. _of table_.

MRS. TODD _and_ PERKS _the maid servant are engaged packing the travelling case on chair_, R.

MRS. T. There, there, that will do. My pink satin dress there; my handkerchiefs; my collars—

PERKS. (_snatching a pair of Wellington boots from the floor_) And here’s master’s new boots, mum, can’t you make a tiny bit of room for them between your lace cap and your Indian shawl?

MRS. T. Perks, I’m astonished at your suggesting such an association:—put them in the carpet bag.

PERKS. La, mum, there’s not room for a tooth-pick in the carpet bag; how we’re ever to get it’s jaws closed again I don’t know; and there’s a dressing case, and a box of cigars, and a fishing rod, and two umbrellas, a telescope and a pair of slippers, to be put up yet!

MRS. T. Where’s my ugly? What can have happened it?

TODD _enters_, L. 1 E., _with a Bradshaw’s Guide in his hand_.

TODD. Here it is! I’ve found it!

MRS. T. (R.) My ugly?

TODD. (L.) No, my dear, our route. I’ve been studying Bradshaw all the morning, and I find that if we leave—page 49—I mean, if we leave the Paddington—no—the Euston-square Station—at 7 o’clock, a.m., we can get by the Oxford Junction to—to—page—(_turning over the leaves_) page—page—no—that’s the Tilbury and Southend Line. Ah! here it is!—we’re then to take the express train to—to York—where we meet the Midland Counties, you perceive, and then see—page 74—(_turning over the leaves_) 74—74—74—74—where there’s a branch to the Eastern Counties that takes us to Norwich—and when we get to Norwich there’s a junction that takes us—somewhere—I don’t precisely know where—but I have a strong reliance on Bradshaw.

MRS. T. I wish you would put down Bradshaw, Todd, and exert the limited powers with which heaven has blessed you, and help me to pack and cord these things—you leave everything for me to do.

TODD. My dear Laura, there’s the difference between us—you’re remarkable for physical energy—I for contemplative repose. The study of Bradshaw fatigues one’s mind so. (PERKS, _who has been clearing off luggage_, R., _gets round at back to_ L. _and takes up concertina from chair_) Mind that concertina, Perks—it’s the only instrument I play—(_takes it from her_, C.), and having devoted myself for six months to “My Mary Ann,” I rather flatter myself I shall create an extraordinary sensation amongst the foreign echoes this summer. (_he commences playing_ “_My Mary Ann_,” _when a knock is heard_) Hah! who can this be?

PERKS _crosses at back and exits_, R. 1 E.

MRS. T. I dare say my uncle Croker—come to bid us good bye.

TODD. Your uncle, my dear, is a very worthy man. I should feel bound to respect his venerable hairs, if he had any left to respect, but that hydropathic habit he has—of throwing cold water upon everything—is very disagreeable.

_Enter_ CHOKER, R. 1 E., _followed by_ PERKS, _who collects some of the scattered articles and carries them off_, R. 1 E.

MRS. T. (_kissing_ CROKER) My dear uncle! (CROKER _crosses to_ C.)

TODD. (L. _shaking his hand_) How d’ye do, Croker? How are you? Never saw you look so jolly in your life. (_aside_) Dismal as a cherub on a tombstone! It was very kind of you to call; we start on our tour in the morning, so you’re just in time to see the last of us.

CROK. ( C.) The last of you! Ah, Samuel, I hope there may be nothing prophetic in your words, but I have a melancholy foreboding—

MRS. T. (R.) For goodness sake, uncle, don’t talk of melancholy forebodings—when we are looking forward to the Continent.

TODD. Aye, what do you think of six months amidst the classic scenes of Italy. Fancy smoking a cigar on the summit of Vesuvius; think of dancing the Tarantula amidst the ruins of Pompeii; imagine the delicious maccaroni—and the lazzaroni—and all the other oni’s. (_forgetting himself_) Picture to yourself the indescribable rapture of floating on the moonlit sea with a lovely creature beside you.

MRS. T. (_indignantly_) Mr. Todd!

TODD. (_recollecting himself crosses_ C. to MRS. TODD) Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah! Of course my dear, I was thinking of you—idealizing you as it were—in a poetic dream. (_crosses back to_ L.) By the bye, Croker, is there anything we can do for you abroad? We expect to be in Boulogne to-morrow night.

CROK. ( C.) Well, I don’t wish to alarm you—but I had once a dear friend who was lost in crossing to Boulogne.

TODD. (L.) Lost! hem! dear me! But with a good steamer you’re tolerably safe, I believe.

CROK. I’ve heard of several appalling catastrophes to steamers. Now, if you’d like to hear a few of them. (_sits on_ L. _of table_, C.)

MRS. T. (_seated_ R. _of table_) Oh, dear, no! Don’t trouble yourself, uncle.

CROK. The trouble is nothing; it is to me always a melancholy pleasure to prepare my friends for the worst.

TODD. (_seated in arm chair_, L.) We’re very much obliged to you—but we’d rather have it without preparation.

MRS. T. Do you know, uncle, we purpose crossing the Alps into Italy?

CROK. It was but yesterday I was reading of a party of six young Englishmen being buried beneath an avalanche on the great St. Bernard.

TODD. Buried—alive?

CROK. Alive.

TODD. B—b—but it don’t often happen, does it?

CROK. Continually, at this season. Ask Albert Smith; _he_ knows:—and what is most distressing, they all leave large families—of creditors to deplore their loss.

TODD. I’m not naturally timid; but these things are sufficient to shake the stoutest heart.

CROK. Take my advice, Samuel, and stay in your own country. If you must travel—if you must go to the seaside—have you not Gravesend, Southend, and Mile-end?

TODD. Oh, but you know, if one never moves from one’s native shore, one might as well be born a muscle—or a barnacle!

MRS. T. Besides, my dear uncle, it’s now too late to alter our arrangements. What would they say at Brompton if we went to Margate, with a passport for Naples?

CROK. Have you considered the practices of the Italian innkeepers, who skin an Englishman alive, when they catch him?

TODD. I shan’t mind that; I’ve undergone the operation so frequently in our own happy country.

CROK. Then there’s the danger of the roads. I don’t want to alarm you; but I had a dear friend once, who was travelling with his young wife, as you might be, to Naples—

TODD. To Naples?

CROK. To Naples—where they were stopped in a lonely mountain road by brigands.

TODD. Did you say—by—brigands?

CROK. Twenty of them—all armed to the teeth. Their captain, a ferociously handsome-looking scoundrel, clapped a carbine to my unfortunate friend’s head—and—

TODD. (_earnestly_) Blew out his brains?

CROK. All that heaven had granted to him.

TODD. Atrocious wretch! And your unfortunate friend’s wife—did they shoot her too?

CROK. (_solemnly_) No—no;—it’s a horrible tale!

TODD. (_rises_) Then I’d rather not hear it. (_crosses to_ C.) Laura, my dear; on reflection, hadn’t we better confine our views to Margate, this year?

MRS. T. (_rises_) No, Todd—no. I’ve made up my mind, and packed my trunks for the Continent; and nothing on earth shall alter my determination.

TODD. Of course not, my dear—I’m fully aware of the steadiness of your purpose; but might it not be prudent—a—that is—a—advisable, to pause.

MRS. T. You know, Todd, I never pause. To-morrow morning, at six, we start! The policeman has promised to ring our bell at five.

TODD. Then it’s fixed. (MRS. TODD _goes up_ R. _and crosses at back to_ L.)

CROK. (_rises_) Ah! well,—if you will rush on your fate!—I must be going. (C.) Good bye, Laura. (_embraces_ MRS. TODD, L.)

MRS. T. (L.) Good bye, dear uncle—good bye!

CROK. Bless you both! Hah! I wish you a pleasant journey, with all my heart. Keep up your spirits, Samuel, man is born to misfortune. (_crosses to_ L., _then turns to_ TODD) I hope you’ve settled your worldly affairs. Good bye—this may be the last time we shall ever meet each other in this world—but remember,—I tried to cheer you to the last.

TODD. (_dropping into chair_ R. _of table_) Thank you—you’ve made me very comfortable—very.

_Exit_ CROKER, R. 1 E.

MRS. T. (C.) What a shocking raven my uncle is!—He hasn’t frightened you, dear, has he?

TODD. (_seated_, R.) No—not to say, frightened—but somehow I don’t feel that glowing anticipation of our journey that I did this morning. Vague apprehensions will intrude into the—vacant mind—and damp one’s natural hilarity.

MRS. T. Nonsense! (_lighting a chamber candlestick_) You’d better get to bed—and you’ll forget all these terrible stories before morning. (_crossing to_ R.)

TODD. (_rises_) Very well—I’ll follow you in a few minutes, my dear.

_Exit_ MRS. TODD, _with chamber candlestick_, R. 1 E.

Croker’s suggestion about arranging my worldly affairs should not be neglected. (_sits_ at L. _of table and takes papers out of writing-desk_) I have some papers and documents here which I must put in order before I depart for “that undiscovered bourne from whence no traveller gets a return ticket.” Pshaw! I must not let the dismal forebodings of old Croker prey upon me! Now! think of it, I’ll light one of those Turkish cigarettes, which my friend, Captain Crasher, brought home from the East. He tells me they’re prepared with opium and produce the most tranquillizing effect on the spirits. (_he takes a cigar case from the table drawer and lights a cigarette_) This I hope will restore the serenity of my mind. Be a man, Todd! be a man! Croker’s an ass! He and his stories may go to the devil. (_smoking and arranging his papers_) Humph! ha! pooh! capital weed! (_taking up a bundle of papers_) What are these? “Accounts settled.” Um! um! (_puts them down and takes up another parcel_, _turning them over_) Mrs. Todd’s letters to me when we were courting. Ah! delicious smoke! A lock of her silken hair! (_smoking_) How beautifully it curls! and this brown sprig of myrtle, which she wore the night we vowed to love for ever. Ha! we were green then! Her eyes remind me of—(_reading endorsement on another document_) “The last will and testament of Samuel Todd.” Dear me! what a sudden chill the sight of this solemn instrument brings over me. The paper looks so ghastly white, and the ink so deadly black; that, gazing at it as I sit here, seems like staring in the face of my own ghost. Pshaw! I’ll not give way to these desponding fancies! (_smoking_) By the bye, I may as well add a codicil to my will. I’ve been thinking about it for some time; no one can tell what may happen. Let me see—(_running over the will_) “I give and bequeath all that and those”—um, um, um, um, um, um—“three per cent. consols”—um, um, um—“Shares in the”—um, um, um—“bank stock, goods, and chattels, to my beloved wife, Laura,”—um, um, um! Now for the codicil, (_writes_) “Provided always, that if my said wife shall survive me, and shall intermarry with a second husband, I hereby revoke all and every of the bequests hereinbefore contained.” That’s only justice! If it was my misfortune to be left a gay widower—would I marry again? never! At least, not until I had reflected seriously—and—pooh! Deliciously soothing this cigarette!—not until, I had weighed in my mind,—the—delightful aroma, and the—object however lovely, with—the memory of the dear departed,—and the natural—weakness of—of—my head—no—my heart—and conjugal affection.—I’m coming—my dear—com—ing!

_Music_—_The cigarette falls from his lips_, _and he sinks fast asleep with his head on the desk before him_. _Lights down_, _and the scene gradually changes_—TODD _sinking through stage_, _with tables and chairs_.

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