"o ^ o^ -^'^pigitized by the Internet Archive* A q^. o,"^ ^o^ *•-,, in 2010 with funding from "^ .^'^' . <*>» The Library of Congress ^^ *^- ' • ^:> - - .. • 9o -** • ^ liyp://\0/wvi/::^enive.org/details/clou'^qt^inaJ^^m . *rXT« .v'^ n'' » • • r O- I*RICE IS CENTS .ar^/^^-^A. DE "WITT'S ACTING- PLAYS. (Number 149.) CLiOUDS. M ORIGINAL AMERICAS COMEDY, 11^ FOUR ACTS. BY FEED MAESDEN". (W. A. SLIVER.) ATTTHOB or " ALMA ; OK, HELD IS BONDAGE," " NEMESIS ; OB, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW," " IN THE TOILS," " TETJMPS," " SILVEB STAE," ETC., ETC. Author's ^dition. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. TO WHICH AT.E ADDED A description of the Costume— Cast of the Characters— Entrances Bad Exits — Belative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and the whole of the Stage Business. Sttto-goitli : ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER, 2fo. 33 Hose Street. THE OVERI>ANl> ROUTE. A Comedy. In Three Acts. By Tom now J Taylor. Price 15 Cents. iJ!!^n-p. I illlT OFF AVITH A SHIIil^ING. A Comedietta. In One Act. DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS. ^" Please notice that nearly all the Comedies, Farces and Comediettas in the followL ^Ist of De Witt's Acting Plats" are very suitable Jw representation in small A?nateur TIu tres and on Parlor Stages, as they need but little extrinsic aid from complicated scenery exiKnsive costmnes. They have attained their deserved popularity by their droll sitnatim excellent plots, great humor and brilliant dialogues, no less than by the fact that they are t most perfect in every 7'espect of any edition of plays ever ^mblished either in the United Stat or Eu7vpe, whether as regards 2nirity of the text, accuracy and fulness of stage directions ai scenery, or elegance of typography and clearness of j^rinting. *** In ordering please copy the figures at the commencement of each piece, which indica the number of the piece in "De Witt's List of Acting Plats." 1^" Amj of the following Plays sent, postage free, on receipt of p>rice — 1 cents each. Address, ROBERT M. DE WITT, JVo. SS Hose Street, JVew York. J^~ The figure following the name of the Play denotes the number < Acts. The figures in the columns indicate the number of characters — M. malt r. female. No. M. 75. Adrienn*, drama, 3 acts 7 114. Anything for a Change, comedy, 1 3 167. Apple Blossoms, comedy, 3 acts. . . 7 93. Area Belle (The), larce, 1 act 3 40. Atchi, comedietta, 1 act 3 89. Aunt Charlotte's Maid, farce. 1 act.. 3 192. Game of Cards (A), cumedietta, 1 3 16(j. Bardell vs. Pickwick, sketch, 1 act. 6 41. Beautiful Forever, farce, 1 act 3 141. Bells (The), drama, 3 acts 9 67. Birthplace of Podgers, farce, 1 act. . 7 36. Black Sheep, drama, 3 acts 7 160. Blow for Blow, drama, 4 acts 11 70. Bonnie Fish Wife, farce, 1 act 3 179. Breach of Promise,, drama, 2 acts.. 5 25. Broken-Hearted Club, comedietta, 1 4 24. Cabman, No. 93, farce, 1 act. 3 1. Caste, comedy, 3 acts 5 69. Caught by the Cuff, farce, 1 act 4 175. Ciisf upon the World, drama, 5 acts. 10 55. Catharine Howard, historical play, 3 acts 12 80. Charming pair, farce, 1 act 4 65. Checkmate, comedy, 2 acts 6 68. Chevalier de St. George, drama, 3 9 76. Chops of the Channel, farce, 1 act. 3 149. Clouds, comedy, 4 acts 8 121. Comical Countess, farce, 1 act 3 107. Cupboard Love, farce, 1 act 2 1.52. Cupid's Eye-Glass, comedy, 1 act... 1 52. Cup of Tea, comedietta, 1 act 3 148. Cut off with a Shilling, comedietta, 1 net 2 113. Cvrill's Success, comedy, 5 acts 10 199. Captain of the Watch (The), come- dietta, 1 act 4 20. Daddy Gray, drama, 3 acts 8 4. Daivdelion'.s Dodges, farte, 1 act 4 22. David I >arri(-k, comedy. 3 acts 8 96. Dearest Mainina, coiiiedietta, 1 act, 4 16. Dealer than Life, drama, 3 acts 6 58. Deborah (Leah) drama, 3 acts 7 125. Deorfoot, farce. 1 act 5 71. Doing for the Best, drama, 2 acts.. 5 l'"2. Dollars and Cents, comedy, 3 acts.. 9 F. No. 3 21. 3 186. 3 47. 2 13.. 3 21X). 3 103. 1 9. 2 3 128. 3 101. 3 99. 5 14.5. 6 102. 1 88. 2 74. 8 53. 2 73. 3 30. 1 5 131. 28. 5 151. 3 8. 5 180. 3 19. 2 60. 7 187. 1 174. 1 64. 1 190. 1 191. 197. 1 18. 4 116. 4 129. 2 1.59. 3 122. 3 177. 5 1O0. 6 139. 1 17. 3 86. 4 72. Dreams, drama, 5 acts 6 Duchess de la Valliere, play, 5 acts. . 6 Kasy Shaving, farce, 1 act 5 Everybody's Friend, comedy, 3 acts. 6 Estranged, an operetta, 1 act 2 Faust and Marguerite, drama, 3 acts, 9 Fearful Tragedy in the Seven Dials, interlude, 1 act 4 Female Detective, drama, 3 acts.... 11 Fernande, drama, 3 acts 11 Fifth Wheel, comedy, 3 acts 10 First Love, comedy, 1 act 4 Foiled, drama. 4 acts . . 9 Founded on Facts, farce, 1 act. . . . 4 Garrick Fever, farce, 1 act 7 Gertrude's Money Box, farce, 1 act. 4 Golden Fetter (Fettered), drama, 3 11 Goose with the Golden Eggs, farce, 1 act 5 Go to Putney, farce, 1 act 4 Happy Pair, comedietta, 1 act 1 Hard Case (A), farce, 1 act 2 Henry Dunbar, drama, 4 acts 10 Heniy the Fifth, historical play, 5 38 He's a Lunatic, farce, 1 act 3 Hidden Hand, drama, 4 acts 5 His Own Enemy, farce, 1 act 4 Home, comedy, 3 acts 4 Household Fairy, sketch, 1 act 1 Hunting the Slipper, farce, 1 act 4 High C, comedietta, 1 act 4 Hunchback (The), play, 5 acts 14 If I Had a Thousand a Year, farce, 1 act 4 I'm Not Mesilf at All, original Irish stew, 1 act 3 In for a Holiday, farce, 1 act 2 In the Wrong House, farce, 1 act. . . 4 Isabella Orsiiii, drama, 4 acts 11 I Shall Invite the Major, comedy, 1 4 Jack Long, drama, 2 acts 9 Joy is Dangerous, comedy, 2 acts. . . 3 Kind to a Fault, comedy, 2 acts 6 Lady of Lyons, play, 5 acts 12 Lame Excuse, farce, 1 act 4 fSW oPBClAL NOTICE.— The Play of Clouds is duly protected by copyright and managers and stars are hereby warned against permitting its production with- out the permissioQ of the author, Fred Marsden. CLOUDS. %n #ngmal ^^meriratt Com^bg', m FOUR ACTS. BY FRED. MARSDEN, (VV. A. i-LIVEK.) AtuJior of "Alma; or. Held in Bondage" " JVe.mesis ; or. Sunshine and Shadow," " Zip," "in the Toils," " Trumps," " Silver Star," etc. AS FIRST PERFORMED AT MR. A. R. SAMUELL'S NEW PARK THEA- TRE, BROOKLYN, UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF MR. THOS. E. MORRIS, SEPT. lo, 1873. _^UTH0R'S pDITION. TO WHICH ARE ADDED, A DBSCKIPTION OF THK COSTPMES — CAST OF THE CHARACTEBS — EN- TRANCES AND EXITS RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PER- FORMERS ON THE STAGB, AND THE WHOLE OF THE STAGB BUSINESS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NEW YOKE: ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER, No. 33 Rose Street. Snteied according to Act. of Congress, in the year 1873, by W. A. Slivee, in the ofilc« of the Librarian of Congress, at AVashmgton, T). C. ^i»:c. 3\*2> ORIGINAL CAST. A. R. Samuell's Nf.w Park ThrMire, Brooklyn,S>-pl. 15, 1873. T. E. MoRius, Manager. Hon. "Walter Randall (an Ex-member of Congress) Mr. T. J. Hind. Balph Randall (a Young New Yorker who has been to Paris) ^Ir. W. E. Sheridan. ■William Wimberly (a Gentleman from Chicago) Mr. M. Lanao.^n. Fred Town (a Gentleman of Family on the confines of Bohemia) Mr. John W. Norton. Dr. Edward Lane (an JEsoulapian on the sands of Jer- sey) Mr. J. C. DoNN. Mr. Billy Buddies (an Honest Man) Mr. M. W. Fiske. Mr. Albery Sedley (a Member of the Y. M. C. A.) Mr. Uwen Maulowe. Robert (a Servant) Mr. John P. Cook, Jr. Stella Gordon (under a cloud) Miss Is.^bel Frebman. Cora Adair (who despises the past but utilizes the present) Miss Helen Thacy. Ella Randall (a New York Belle with a tendency to "gush ") Miss Katie Mayhfw. Eola Wimberly (a Prarie Flower, innocent and young).. Miss Gekaldinb Stuakt. Miss Matilda Prim (a .Jersey Maiden with a veneration for "Dorcas") Mrs. E. M. Post. Mrs. Malvernon (who sympathizes with youthful loves). Mrs. C. M. Walcot, Sen. Martha (an American Help) I^" SPECIAL NOTICE.— The Play of Clouds is duly protected by copyright, and managers and stars are hereby warned against permitting its production with- out the permission of the author, Feed Marsdkn. SCENERY. ACT 1. — Light landscape backing. Set handsome cottage, l. h. Porch to tho ; Light LanJ^oape Backing. : Fence. Large Gate. 1 1 Fence. ; ; . Flower-beds. .Carriage . : Fence.. . Road. . ; . -;;;• Statue. : Small Gate. : • «- Statue. ' . : • Porch ^ ; • ^^^S. Grass Mound. • • : Fence.* f J Vase.-;;;* • : • • • Steps.".' • : • Rustic Bench. • • Cottage. ; : • Vase.-:; : Fence- Rustic Table. • : . : : *Chair. : Flower-bed. : Q»FT EST. OF J H. CORNING JUNE 20. 1940 CLOtTDS. O ^~ return covered with vines ; vase of flowers r. and l. of porch steps. Run fence ^ oblique from r. 1 G., up, and return off l. Sniiill gate k. ; carriage gate c. llouud ^^ mound c, covered with grass, and on top a statue or fountiiiu; rustic table and chair r. c. ; rustic bench at mound, c. Flower-beds as in diagram. Canary bird in ' — cage, hanging in porch. Garden cloth down, with carriage road leading off behind V.S house. Set wing.i, oblique. Foliage borders. Statue or vase each side of gate, r. . ACT II. — Hudson river drop in 5. Set waters cross 4. Eow boat, tied, c. ; bank ^ : : ^ ; Hudson River Drop. ^ : : ^ ; Set Waters. ; Boat. Ground-piece. ; : : : Ground-piece. Bank. Boat-house. Tree. Tree, Tree. ; Rustic : : • • : #Chair : Table. Iron Chair. ; • Rustic Seat. ; Hammock ; ; Rustic ; : Bench. : near boat ; boat-house l. c. ; tree r. h., with rustic table and chair : rustic seat be- low table, R. H. ; two trees l. h., with a hammock swung between them ; iron chair at head of the hammock ; rustic bench at foot of hammock, l. h. Green baize down. Foliage borders ; wood wings, oblique. Statues, bronze deer, etc. ACT III. — Elegant drawing-room. Carpet down. Box set. Large window. Hudson River Drop. : Window. f Busts * SC- Busts. • : : Piano. : • ': • ! * # Stools. Zi Chair. Whatnot. • ; Easel.- • • : Arm-chair. Spanish Chair. — : Sf Door. : • Door. Ottoman. ' ; : O •: i Table and Chairs. Sofa. : : . ; • .. .'..1 Fireplace, j : Arm-chair.;.':- • : : : S ^Chair. 4 CLOUBS. opening on park, c, backed by Hudson river drop, Doora r. and l. Ceiling to loom, with chandelier, not lighted. Handsome desk r. h. ; table and chairs r. c. ; large ottoman, ornamented with statue, in c. ; piano and two stools, up it. h. corner ; busts and pedestals b. and l» of window ; handsoiae whatnot, up l. jj. corner. ; easel below it, with handsome painting or portfolio of engravings; rich sofa, l. h., near tire ; arm-chair below fire ; fireplace, down i.. h.,, with grate fire burning ; handsome mirror over mantel ; Spanish chair ap l. c. ; arm-chair up n. c. ; paintings on wall ; large curtains to window ; shovel and poker at fire ; gong bell on table, b. ACT /F.— Same *s,Act. 111. SYNOPSIS. ^Cr A— Clouds on the Horizon. Scene. —Qat^on Cottage, Eatentown, N. J, Tableau.— X Mother, hut no Wife. ACT II, — Watching m the Shadow. .Sterae.— Park of Mr. Bandall's Villa on the Hudson. Tableau.— A. Strange Proposal. ACT III.— A Break iu the Mists. .Scene. — ^Drawing-rown in Bandall's House, Tableau. — The Betrayer and Betrayed. ACT /Fj— The Silver Lining. &c>?f.— Randall's Villa. TaWeaM.— Be-nnited Hearts. PROPERTIES {See Scenery.) Jet I. — Garden eloth down, "Written letter (No. 1) lor Fred Towk, and cigar and matches, in case ; double-barrel shotgun, game-bag, shot-pouch and powder-flask, for Kalpb ; dog, lor Servant ; handsome work-basket, for Martha ; glass of wine (blackberry) ready in house, for Stella ; written letter (JNo 2>for Ralph, Act II.: Baize down. Cigar-case, with cigar and matches, for Wimberly ; book and blank letter with stamp »ii, lor Ella ,- boat oars in boat-house; handsome ladies' writing-desk aztd material.s, for Servant to carry on. Acl III. : Car- pet down. See paper, pens, ink, envelopes, in desk, r., also account books, folded papers, and check-boolc ^pm-licalar) ; music-book on piano ; handsome books on table, i!,r large pocket book, for Sedley, containing a folded blank letter, in envolopi; ; canl photograph, for Eola ; rent receipt book, for Bcddles ; writter letter (No. 3), for Ella ; blank letter, no stamp, for Cora. Ael 1 V. z Carpet down. See gong' bell on table, b. ; Skein of Berlin wool, for Eola : newspaper for "Wimbehly, with virillen paragraph ; package of old letters, ti' d with white ribbon, neatly, for Eli.a, iil.-^o a package tfed roughly with enmrain string; written letter (No. 4), for Ei.la ; blank letter, no stai»p, for ^YALTEl^ Randall; small inlaid siiufl'-box, to-r Fred; old, faded stiairii^ge certiteeate, for Stella, STAGE DIRECTIONS. R. means Rigbt of Stage, facing the Audience ; L. Left ; C. Centre ; E. C. Eight of Centre ; L. C. Lett of Centre. I>. F. Door in the Flat, or Scene ruaning across the back of the Stau'e ; C. D. F. Centre Door iu the Flat ; R. D. F. Eight Door in tlie Flat; L. C. F. Left tXior in the Flat ; U. D. Right Door ; L. D. Left Door ; 1 B First Entrance ; 2 E. Second Entrance ; U. E. Upper Entrance ; I, 2 or 3 G. First Second or Third Groove. E. R. C. C. R. C. L. !^~ The reader is suppoaed to be upon the stage facing the audieoco. IFor Synopsis of the I'iaif, see pages 62, 63 and 61.} B^" SPECIAL NOTICE.— Tbe Play of Clotjds is duly protected by copyright, and managers and stars are hereby warned against jiermitting its production with «ut the permission of the author, Tred Maksden. CLOUDS. ACT I. SCENE. — Cottage amd grounds, Eatoifown, N". J. Martha discovered on steps, fixing bouquet, Martha. There, now, I think that is just as sweet as can be — a rose, a lovely white bud, a dash of marguerite, a sprig of geranium, and some lake lilies. Oh, how I love flowers ! Enter Mi,s.fi Pkim, gate, e. How nice they look — just as pretty as a picture. I'm proud of this ; what's the good of being a woman if you caii't make a pretty boiiuiufit \ Pkim (r. c, sharply). Martha ! Mar. {starts i)ioleMy). Oh, my! Prim. What's the matter .' Mar. Good gracious, Miss Prim, yoii gave me such a shock. Pkim {sits k). Did 1 1 Pity you're so nervous, Where's your mis- tress ■? Mae. Gone out. {rises.) Prim Wliere tol Mar. Don't know, ma'ara. (^w?& aifiowers.) PjtiM. When will she be back? Mar. Don't know, ma'am. Prim. Where's your master 1 Mar. Don't know, ma'am. Prim. Gone away again, I suppose? Mar. Don't know, ma'am, {fixes flotvers in vase, v.) Prim. Do you know anything, young woman 1 Mar. Yes, ma'am. Prim. And what's that 1 Mas. {going up). I know how to mind my own business, ma'am. Enter De. Lane, gate, R. Prim. And one thing more — you know how to be impertinent. Dr. Lane {comes c). Well, Martha my girl, good day. Ah, Miss Prim, your most obedient, {raises hat.) Priv (sharply). Good day, doctor. Dr. L. You're looking quite yourself again. Eheumatism gone? Pbim. Never had the rheumatism. b CLOUDS. Dr. L. No 1 Bless me, I thought I heard so. Prim. I was affected with a pain in ray limb, and I consulted Dr. Pillby, a member of the church and a reliable physician. Dr. L. Yes — and what did old Pill say ■* PiiiM. Br. Pillbi/ said that the pain arose from a slight contraction of the ligaments of the limb, caused by a sympathetic affinity with the mental activity of my brain. Dr. L. {laughing). Well, bless me, that's the most polite diagnosis I ever heard. Egad, I'll take lessons from my fashionable rival, and when I wish to speak of rheumatism again, I'll call it muscular contraction mentally accelerated. But come, this isn't business. Martha, how's my patient? Mar. Nicely, doctor : he pulled my hair quite natural this morning. Dn. L. That's a good sign. Where's your mistress ] Mar. Gone out, sir. Di!. L. {going l.). That's a better sign ; no doubt of his improvement now. Miss Prim, excuse me. {aside) Bless me, to think I came near marrying that woman once — ugh ! [Exit in house. Pkim (rises). Martha, I can't wait here all day. Tell your mistress I called. I thought I'd be sure to fitid her home, as her child was sick. Mak. (up c). She is coming now, ma'am. Music. Stella runs on, gate, k. Stklla. Well, Martha, here I am; did you think I'd run off for Oh, Miss Prim, is that you 1 I'm so glad to see you. How are you 1 [kisses her) I've just been having a good run ; I've not been out before since baby was taken sick. But come in the house. Prim [stifflg). No, thiink you; Dr. Lane's there. Stel. And you don't like him, do you? Well, sit down and we'll talk out here. I'm in such spirits this morning. Baby s so much bet- ter here, Martha, take in my things — he was very sick, you know. ^ Martha takes things in.) Pkim {sits r.j. Yes; Mrs. Stubbs thought you'd lose him. He's not a healthy child. Stel. He is rather delicate, but the doctor says he will be all right — the little darling. I'm so glad you came over. How's the rheumatism 1 {sits on seat, c.) Prim. 1 wish you wouldn't talk like that. I'm not an old woman, to be down with rheumatism. Dr. Pillby assured me it was nothing of the kind. Stel. I meant no offence ; it's only mj' careless way of speaking. You know how giddy 1 am. Prim. Yes, I do, moi e's the pity ; you're too fond of the world. Stel. We are all fond of it. Miss Prim, when we are happy. I'm just at the age, you know, when 1 can see beauty in everything. The chirping birds, the budding flowers, the rippling waters, all give me pleasure. I've nothing to be ashamed of in my i)ast, and I'm contented in the present, and hoi)eful for the future. I like the world because I like to live. Ah, there's no sin in being happy! Pkim. That's what I call gush, and I've no sympathy with it. I've come to tell you I'm going away. Stel. Going away ! Prim. Yes. My married sister has been worrying my life out to come and see her, and I'm coing. Stel. She lives in New York city, doesn't she] Pkim. If she did I'd never go near her while I had good sense. ACT I. t Thank goodness, she lives up the Hudson, and not in such a sink of in- iquity as New York. Stel. But you will have to go through the city. Prim. Yes, but I'll ride through in a carriage, with the blinds down and a prayer-book in my hand. As I said to our minister last Sunday, don't talk to me about foreign missions ; send your missionaries to New York; it will be more beneficial and less expensive. Stel. {smiling). Will you be gone longi Prim. I hope not; but while I am away I want you to take my place in the Dorcas Society. Stel. I'm not a member. Prim. I know you're not ; but you can join, 1 suppose. Stel. Really, Miss Prim, you must excuse me. Prim. Excuse you 1 Stkl. Yes; I don't like Dorcas societies. Prim. Indeed. Why not 1 Stel. Because the members drink too much ^ea and talk too much scandal. PitiM. Thank you; I know where that comes from. Stel. It comes from an earnest conviction, Miss Prim. I am willing to assist you in all your charities ; I will do any work you may assign me ; but I simply request the privilege of doing it at home. Prim. Just what I expected. That husband of yours laughs at us, and is making you just as bad as he is. I'm sorry you let that worldly, careless man Stel. {rises). Your pardon. Miss Prim ; you are speaking of my hus- band. Prim. There, don't fly off; now that we're on the subject, I mean to do my duty and give you some advice. Stel. [pulh Jlowers in vase, l.). If what you have to say concerns my husband, I would prefer not to hear it. Prim {rises). Well, it does concern him. Do you know people here are commencias to talk about Mr. Gordon 1 Stel. Indeed 1 Has Dorcas had him under consideration! Prim. Every one is wondering what sort of business he can have in New York, when he never goes there but he stays several weeks, and never comes back but he remains a month. Stel. And the good people here are making his movements the sub- ject of their earnest inquiries? Pkim. Old Farmer Wells was in York some weeks ago, and he heard a man speak to your husband. Stfl. Indeed ! Prim. And he called him by a different name than he is known by here. Stel. (slight start). A different namel What was it. Pkim. Old Wells don't remember; but he knows it wasn't Gordon. The farmer thinks, as he has another name in York, he may be one of them lottery chaps, or in Stel. {turns). That will do, Miss Prim. You are at liberty to specu- late upon my husband's actions as much as you please, but I will feel obliged if you will not express your opinions to his wife, {crosses, r.) Prim (l. c). Now don't be impulsive. A conscientious desire to do my duty Stel. (r). There, Miss Prim, pray don't speak of duty. It is no one's duty to cast a shadow between a husband :ind his wife. It is this kind whispering of friends that often raises the first oloud between a 8 CLOUDS. happy couple, and has made of many lives a wreck that might have been a blessing. Prim. Gracious, my dear ! I don't want to make any trouble. I wouldn't do that foi the world. I only wi.sli to warn Stel. Pray say no more. Let us drop the subject. It's not interest- ing, and might become unpleasant, (sits, r.) Fred Town stuff s outside. In life I own it's very true Our joys are mixed with sorrow ; But keep a stout heart in your breast And never heed the morrow, lour pockets may be empty, bv*. A crust of bread's enough To keep your legs in motion when They're made of the right stuff. Fred (^appears c). I beg your pardon, but in the rural simplicity of this Arcadian retreat resides there a gentleman calling himself Gordon ? Stel. {rises). Yes, sir; this is his home. Fred. Then I am ri^lit, and may venture to enter. Prim. A friena of your husband — I'll go. (kisses Stella; goes up, meeting Fred, who has entend a large gate, l. c.) Fred {raises hat). Have I the honor of addressing the sylvan goddess of this domestic Hesperides ? Prim {sharply). Are you speaking to me ] Fred. I have that honor. Prim. Then speak English. Fred. I will — is Mr. Gordon at home? Prim There's his wife — ask her. Good day. [Exit, gate, B. Yrkd {raises hat). Yours truly, {aside) If Xantippe was not dead, I'd think she'd left Greece and settled in New Jersey. Stel My husband went out this morning for some shooting. Have you any urgent busmess with him "? Feed [down l. c.}. Oil, no, nothing particular, {asidt) By Jove, I can't tell her ! {al'iid) The fact is, I was just passing, and dropped in, somethina on the Paul Pry order. Stel. Who was he — a preacher * Fred. Well, yes, in his way. He taught somewhat on the negative principle — illustrated the beauties oi minding youi own business by contrast. Stel. Which implies FuED. That Paul Pry, by always interfering in other people's busi- ness, taught them the advantage of minding their own. Stel Then, as you comp. re yourself to Paul Pry, you must be here on our business and not your own. Fred, {aside). Thhts neat, {aioud) I came, my dear madam, to see Mr. Goidon, and have lingered too long. The charming beauty of this rural pictnie captivated me — a picture completed by the presence of « perfect object Stel. Ai d thai is I I! ED {ratie. hat) Youiself ! Stel Thank you ; but tiie charming simplicity of the rural scene is, 1 think marred by one flaw. ACT I, ^ 9 Fked. And that is Stel. The presence of a flatterer. Fred {aside). Egad ! that's clever, i^ahud) I cry you mercy, madam. I have a great admiration for your sex, but a wholesome dread of the one weapon nature has supplied them with — the tongue. Stel {crosses, l.). Pardon me; we are wandering from the point. While waiting for Mi, Gordon, step in the house and let me offer you some refreshment. Fred. No, thank you. {aside) I feel too much like a spy to eat at her table, {(dtrnd) I'll just stroll around and smoke a cigar, and drop in again when Mr. Gordon returns. Stel, May 1 know, then, who has honored us 1 Fred. The honor is all on my side. I am simply a poor artist— a restless Bohemian. I see, admire, and reproduce, I know nothing of theory, ignore the romantic, live in !in atmosphere of paints and brushes, and sacrifice high art to the vulgar accumulation of dollars and cents. The confession is sad*but true, and so au rd-oir, {gmng.) Stel. Do yon decline to leave your namel Fred {setiovdy). Should fate evei throw us together when you may stand in need of the stout heart and strong arm of a friend, I will tell you all. Till then, adieu. [Bows and exits, gate-, ii. Enter Dr. Lane, from house. Dr. Lane {on steps). Hoity toity ! what's all this '? Stel. {turns, seen him). Why, my dear old friend, I forgot you were here. I've just had a visitor from the land of Bohemia, and he was quite interesting. Dr. L. {coining down l. c). Humph ! Bohemia is a subject to be let alone by the wife of a well-to-do young man. Who was that dandy? Stel. He's an artist, and wanted me to sit for Venus. I refused, but ofifered to let him take a portrait oi my bald-headed parrot. He got muffed, and departed with the prophetic warning, '' We will meet again at Pbillipi! " Dr. L. What are you going to Philllpi for 1 Stel. My dear old ^sculapian, don't be stupid. I wished him to leave his name, but he refused and with the solemn accents of Hamlet's venei'able papa, declared : '* Should fate throw us together again I will tell you all .; till then, adieu." So saying, he vanished. Dr. L. Let me feel your pulse. Stel. (latiijhmg). The impulse is vpon me to repulse you; but I con- sidei youi age and so proceed Dr. L. {tnke. hei wrist). Humph ! slightlj'^ accelerated. You've got a little too much oxvgen in the nervou-i system. A flow of spirits now — look out for the reaction. Stel. Yes, that's the formula; I know it. Hold the wrist, count the pulse, roll up the eyes, look wise, say something no one can understand, pocket a fee, and leave Dame Nature to effect a cure. Dr. L. Bab ! you trifle with seiious things. What would people do if there were no doctors ? Stel. Adam and Eve got along well enough without one Dr. L. Nonsense ! If Mother Eve had possessed a good family phy- sician, it would have been much better for mankind. Stel. How so? Du. L AVhy, the doctors would have told Eve that a green apple was indigestible, and she wouldn't have eat it. Stel. The doctor would have done no such thing. He would have 1 CLOUDS. allowed Eve to eat the apple, so that if she got a colic he might get a lee. Dr. L. Tut, tut ! you jest on serious matters. Stel. I was only carrying out your ideas. But there, I won't tease you, for you are a darlin say '! He's too fond of playing le grande seigneur not to take advantage, of this opportunity of reading me a lecture. I suppose it's a long-drawn homily upon morals. I wish I could afford to send it back unopened, [suddenly opens letter) Confound it! what's the use of speculating — let's know the worst, [rends) "To Ralph Randall, calling himself Ralph Gordon. Sir : — The honor of our family, which has in you received its first blemish, demands that we should have an explanation. When I inform you that I know all, you will have sufHcient appreciation of my character to understand the consequences to yourself if you do not instantly follow the bearer of this missive. As your future very materially depends upon your pre- sent actions, I trust that personal considerations will so far influence your conduct as to mitigate in some degree, the contempt I experience upon being compelled to subscribe myself — your father." {crushes letter) Just what I expeted. A cold, stilted, insulting letter; without one sign of heart in all its chilling diction. And yet this man wonders that I don't love him. Well, I'm not such a fool as Pygmalion to fall in love with marble. Martha enters from house. Martha. Mrs. Gordon is asking for you, sir. Ralph (starts). All right; I'm coming — yet stay, Martha. Mar. Yes, sir. Ralph. Say I'm going into the library a few minutes to write a letter — then I'll come to her. Mar. Yes, sir. [Uxit in house. Ralph. I've got to do it — the sooner the better. It's but one more infamy — I wonder if it will be the last 1 Exit in house. It has been sloivbj coming on night, stage one-third dark. BuDDLES enters gate, r., comes down very cautiously. BuDDLES. That's the house ; nice and comfortable— least it looks comfortable from the outside A pretty cage for a pretty bird. Sen- sible girl — feathered her nest well. Hem, I wonder if the male bird's around 1 Shouldn't altogether like him to sec me here— he's got such ACT L 15 an uncomforatble temper, and that's unpleasant. If he saw me I could ho out of it— I've got so used to that now, it's almost a trouble to tell thtr tvtith. What a nice accomplishment that is — to tell a good lie — none cf your half and halfers — none of your little white fibs, but a good, solid, substantial, unvarnished, downright lie. It's the secret of business success. The man who can't tell a good lie is sure to — {starts, takes off hfit) I beg pardon ; I just called — (seeing no one) As I'm an honest man, I thought some one pinched me. It's strange how uncomfortable I feel when I'm on strange ground. If anyone was to see me they might think I was prying — that would be a slur on my character. I hate pryicg — it's a mean, low, sneaky — (starts) Oh, lor' ! the male bird is home. Conceals himxelf behind vase, l., as Ralph re-enters from Iwuse, with letter. Music, iremulo, pp. Ralph, I am trembling, like the coward I am. I never, until this moment, felt how utterly low and mean a man may become. Well, I have taught myself to expect this ; now I must face it as best I can. What Avill she think of me when she reads this 1 Well, I won't think of that. There, she'll find you there quick enough (places letter in -work-basket on table, R.) What a contrast! The j)retty amusement of her idle hours covering the confession of my ignoble life! Well, so be it. The sting of the reptile is often covered by the fairest flowers. It is done, and I have no longer a place here. I have put the finishing touches to the greatest villainy of my life, and now — now I'll go to my father. \Exit, gate, r. Bud. (comes out eautiouslg). As I'm an honest man, he's a rascal. Good — ha ! ha ! — good ! Suppose he'd caught me listening — damme, that would have been bad. He's left a letter for her ; he's going away — going back to the old man. He must know we're on his track. I wonder if he's told all in that letter 1 That won't do — I came here to tell that myself. I'll just take charge of that letter — I will, as I'm an honest man. (goes to taih', takes letter.) Stella appears on steps, Stella. What are you doing 1 (Buddles turns, startled, concealing letter. ) Bud. I beg pardon; I just dropped in, Stel. (conies doun, l. c). Another Paul Pry. Well, sir, as it is some- what late, and you are a stranger, will you kindly explain your business 1 Bud. I will, ma'am, as T in an honest man. Stella. What were you doing when I entered — my presence seemed Id f.Mifhtpn you ? Bud. Frighten! Oh, no, madam, not frighten. I'm a man. But I had a misfortune, madam, in my youtli. When I was a baby the nurse dropped me in a bucket of colil water, and I've never got over the shock to my nerves, (.isul ) That lie's weak, but it's too late to alter, Stel. What made you suirt so wlien I si»oke to you 1 Bud. My nerves, nuidani. A voice suddenly striking upon my ear acts like a galvanic batteiy uiion my nmscles. It s a disease with me, ma'am. It's what I call an unnatural activity of the nervous system. Stel. Well, sir, is this unnatural activity tne cause of your being heie? Bud. No, ma'am, I came here to see you. 16 CLOUDS. Stel. To see me ! What for 1 Bud. (mt/steriousli/). To tell you something you should know. Stkl. Don't be so mysterious, jdease. If you have anything to say, speak out. You can say notliing that I am either ashamed or afraid to hear. Bud. (in low voice) . Are you sure 1 Stel So sur^ tliaL I will instantly give you proof, (turns l.) Bud. What are you going to do ? Stel. Call my husband that we maj' together listen to your com- munication. Bud. Stop. It's about him I want to speak. Stel. Then is there the greater need of his presence ; to thank you if you speak well, to chastise you, if you speak false. Bud. He won't thank me, as I'm an honest man; and he can't chas- tise me — for he's gone. Stel. Gone ! Bud. Gone, as I'm an honest man. He knows the storm is coming, and he's trying to find shelter. Stel. Gone — my husband gone! Bud. The man who has Stel. Silence ! Bud. Yes, but I can prove Stel. Silence ! A being like you shall not insult the man I love. Bud. Yes, but he is Stel. No matter what he is or was. If my husband has been guilty of any wrong the knowledge of it shall not come to me first from the lips of a spy. Bud. Won't you let me speak 1 ' Stel. I have but one answer. Go ! (Buddles retreats behind table.) Cud. Well, then, if you won't hear me, listen to him. (places letter on table. Site takes it.) Stel. A letter ! Why, it's Ralph's writing ! Bud. He told me to give it to you, but I hated to do it, as I'm an honest man. (Fred Town appear at gate, r. Music, pp.) Stel. A letter ; and Ralph gone ! It must be that man. Oh, I knew he brought bad news, {reads) "My darling: — The spring is past, and the dreary waste of winter has come. No frost can ever chill my love, but the horizon of which you were the sun is now clouded forever. As low as a man can fall I have fallen. My life to you has been a decep- tion, and I am now forced to fly. It will be useless to seek me, but, though away from you, I will amply provide for your future. How vile I have been these words will prove : Our marriage was not legal — you are not my wife." (r/asps) " After so much deception, to speak the truth seems mockery, and yet my only truth has been, and is— my love. Ralph.' (after struggle turns culmlg to Buddles) I have had the courage, you see, to read this letter to the end. Bud. You believe me now 1 {comes doicn, e.) Stel. I beliei^e W\\h letter. You appear to know this man ; who is he 1 Bud. What do you mean 1 Stel. I mean the man who called himse'f Rilph Gordon— what is his real name 1 FuED [comes down c). Perhaps I can best answer that question. V>vr>. [starts). Wliat! Fied Town ! FuED. I told you, madam, should fate throw us together again, that I would tell you my name. Fate has now answered your question. ( points to Buddles.) Stel. Fred Town ? ACT ir. 17 Fred. Yes, madam, Fred Town, who has never yet had canse to blush for his hame, and who now, as a gentleman, appreciating your distress, begs you to accept his friendship. Stel. Answer me one question — you must know all — who is Ralph Gordon 1 Fked. The man who called himself Ralph Gordon is Ralph Randall, son of Walter Randall, of New York. Stel. {unnaturally calm). Thank you — good night ! {going l., staggers.) Fred. You are ill ! {starts towards her.) Stel. {motions him awaxj). Do not be alarmed — I am strong! I am a mother, and my child has only me now to protect his future. I will not faint — I will act. Fred. What do you mean ? Stel. {on steps). I mean that I am this man's wife in the sight of heaven ; I intend to make myself his wife in the sight of men. [Calcium on her. Ficture.) MEDIUM CUUTAIN. ACT II. SCENE. — Park of Mr. Randall's villa on the Sudson. Enter Walter Randall and William Wimberlt, l. u. e. WiMBEELY (l. c). Delightful place, Walter, delightful; no disguising that fact. I don't blame you for being ])rr>ud of your property. Randall (k. c). I believe I have ev tv reason to be pleased. You have no scenery equal to this in Chicagu. WiM. Well — hem ! no ; that is, we have nothing so romantic ; but then we have a sweep of prairie that is magnificent, if you could only get high enough to get a good look at it. Ran. The best point of observation there would no doubt be a bal- loon. WiM. {takes out cigar case). Look here, Walter, don't try to make fun of Chicago. Have a cigar 1 Ran. Thank you, I never smoke, [sits at table, r.) WiM. Chicago is the city of the future, sir — the city of push and go. Rapid thought there is followed by rapid action. We don't take fifty years to build a court-housr, nor do we call every new party Refoi m, and oblige them to raise the taxes to pay off" the extravagances of a de- funct ring, [lights cigar.) Ran. Why, you don't mean to say we have no push here? WiM Bless you, no. You've got push enough, but it's not of the right sort; your push is directed against one another, and the weaker party goes under. Ran. Why, 1 thought you were partial to our city. WiM. Nonsense ! that's my brother, Ben ; you're thinking of him. He wasn't satisfied till he got to New York ; bought that property out at Manhattanville, you know. He thought he had a fine thing, wrote me it was a big speculation, that rapid transit would soon be a practical fact, and his home be worth double what he gave for it. This was years ago. Now look at him : he hasn't got rapid transit, and he has got chills and fever. Ran. I'm sorry to hear that. WiM. I'm not, sir ! serves him right — teach him a lesson. When a 18 CLOUDS. man has his foot upon solid ground he ought to fee\—— {stamps foot, dratvs it up quickly) The devil I {staggers to seat down l.) Ran. {rises, crosses to him). What's the matter ? WiM. (sits L., caresses leg). Gout, sir, gout ! Yankee's showing figlit. Ran. Yankee ? WiM. Yes. Ever since the war I've called one foot rebel and the other Yankee, and when the gout comes, damme, how they do fight ! (holding foot) Yankee's got the best of it just now. Ran. You should put the Palmetto on one boot and the Union Jack on tlie other. WiM. What for ? Ran. To keep you from forgetting. {>its in chair, l ) WiM. Forgetting ! Weil, if ever you get the gout I'll go bail you won t forget it. It telegraplis its presence as soon as it arrives, and keeps the brain posted as to wliat's going on in the foot. Ran. I have fortunately been spared the affliction, but I can form some idea of its severity from the description of others. It serves a purpose, though — warns men against an epicurean career. WiM. Damn it. Walter, don't preach I Gout's bad enough without a sermon. This is only a twinge now, but if Yankee really means fight, I'll be forced to pay you a longer visit than I intended. Ran. Don't speak of that. I will regret your suflering, but be happy to i)rolong your stay with us. WiM. Thank you. Ella Randall and'Eoi,'. Wimberly enter, l. u. e , arm in arm. Ella has a book aiid blank Cater ; EoLA goes down to her fath'r. Ella. I have been looking for you, papa ; here's a letter. Ran. Thank you. With your permission, William, {rises, crosses r., sits at table, reads letter ; Ella goes up.) WiM. Well, miss, what have you been doing ? Eola {at his knee). Throwing pelibles in the water. WiM. Bless me ! that's nice amusemenl — what for ? EoLA. To make rincs. WiM. Oh, I see ! You've caught the New York fever already. Eola. What's that, papa V WiM. Making rings. You can't help it, my child ; it's in the atmos- phere liere, and ah, look out! don't touch my foot. Eola. A battle V WxM. No; only a skirmishing party. Eola. Which is it, papa — rebel y WiM. No, Yankee; and he's in a precious bad humor. But, I say, Walter, any bad news 7 Ran. {starts from rererie). On the contrary, my son returns to-day. (rises.) WiM. Glad to hear it. Ella {runs down r. c. ). What's that, papa — Ralph coming 1 Ran. This letter announces that fact. Ella. Oh, that's jolly ! {looks at Randall, startled) I mean delightful. WiM. You don't see much of your brother, eh? Ella. Hardly see him at all, and when he does come he's not like himself. He used to be the life of the place, and when he went away it was awful. Ran [sternly). If young ladies would take the trouble to understand the meaning of the words they use, they would give the word awful a rest. ACT ri. 19 WiM. Why, bless me, Randall, you're asing slang. Ran. I \iad no intention of doing so. But come, if Yankee will per- mit you; I've not shown you all the beauties of my place yet. WiM. Wait till I see. [rises, j-jfec^-s foot down carcfuili/) A.h ! All quiet upon the Potomac. I guess I'll venture. But ;lon't go far ; it won't become your dignity to bring me back on your shoulders. Ran. (gives his arm). I'll risk that. WiM. Now then, you girls, look out; we're going to leave you alone; don't get in any mischief. [Wimbeult and Randali. exeunt, k. 3 e. Ella. We won't. Ah! they're gone at last; what a relief. These fathers are awful bores, ain't they 1 [crosses, iiis l.) Eola. My papa's not a bore. Ella. That's so — he's jolly ; but my governor's slow — one of the aw- ful solemn kind. Why, if he was riding behind one of Bonner's best, the only sensation he'd have would be the fear of falling out. But come, sit down and let's have a nice talk. Eola (sits beside her on seat, l.). AVIiy, don't you love your father] Ella. Love him 1 Of course; but I don't gush about it. Papa's stern and dignified, and that's why he and Ralph can't get along to- gether. Ralph useft to be so jolly. Eola. Your brother does business in New York, doesn't he ? Ella. What! Ralph do business? Why, bless your little innocent soul, Ralph has no more idea of business than my canary has of making love. Eola. Then, why does he live in New York 1 Ella. Because he can spend money there faster than he can here. He does as he pleases there — we don't even know where he lives ; we send our letters to his club. Papa's been very angry with him lately, though. These fathers are awful diagreeable sometimes, but one can't well do without them — at least, until we're married. Eola. Oh, dear ! how you talk. Ella What's the matter 1 Eola. My papa don't like me to talk about marriage; he says young girls shouldn't think of such things. Ella (in great surprise). Why, bless me ! what else has a young girl got to think about 1 Eola. Papa says it's time enough for me to think about it when I'm a grown-up woman. Ella. Pshaw ! AVhy, your father's worse than mine. Now. you look out ; if you wait until you're a grown-up woman, you'll end by becoming a ringleted old maid, and die in solitude, lamented only by the cats. Eola. I wouldn't like to be an old maid. Ella Then make hay while the sun shines. Matrimony's the hay, and youth's the sunshine. Study the men — they need it. They're precious artful, and the more you study them the more you 11 be puz- zled. But you're a woman, and if you only keep your wits clear and your heart firm, you can rule the best man that ever breathed. Ella. Papa dt)n't like me to talk much to young men. Ella. Oh, bother! your father don't understand these things— fath- ers never do. It's natural ; they've out-grown it. Now, just thing of it. When they're in petticoats thej'' play with dolls ; when they sport their first boots, they kick football and gamble in marbles; when they go to school they fall in love, and when thej' get an income they marry. The first child they spoil, the second they scold, and the third they grumble at ; and by the time they have worried all the hair off their 20 CLOtTDS. heads and wear a wig,tliey talk politics and philosophy, and forget they were ever young. EoLA. My pajya's not like that. Ella. Well, come ; when did your father many 1 EoLA. He was married twice. Ella. And now he don't want you to marry once. EoLA. Oh, no ! he don't mean that; he only want's me to know a man's character well first. Ella. Well, how are you going to know anything about if you don't talk to him 1 You can't study a man's character by looking at his photograph. EoLA. No, I don't think you can. Ella {both rise) Well, now, you take my advice, and I'll make you profit by this visit ; and when you return to Chicago you'll be fully ac- complished. I'll teach you — (looks k.) Oh, dear! Eola. What's the matter .' Ella. Here comes ray shadow — young Modest. ^ter Albeky Sedley, r. 1 e. Good-day, Mr. Sedley ; you're just in time — we were talking of you. Sedlet (r. c, raises hat). Anything bad ? Ella (c). No, indeed ; we were saying lots of nice things. Let me present you to my friend. Miss Wiraberly, Mr. Albery Sedley. Sed. Delighted, I'm sure. Ella. Now mind, I won't have you tease her, if she is from the country. Sed. The courtry 1 Why I thought Miss Wimberly was from Chi- cago 1 Ella. Well, so she is; but you don't call that little western town, with its plank sidewalks, a city, do you ? Sed. I'll call it a wilderness, if you wish it. Ella. Did you come to take me out boating 1 Sed. I exj)ected that pleasure. Ella. Well, I can't go; I'm busy. Sed. Indeed 1 Ella. Yes, sir; indeed. But I'll take pity on you, and send a sub- stitute. Skd. Miss Wimberly ? Eoi.A (l. c, aside to Ella., pulls her dress). Oh, no, no ! Ella. Yes Miss Wimberly is very fond of the water, and has been wishinn all day for a sail. Eola (aside to her). Why, Ella ! Sed. Be delighted, I'm sure. Cora Adair enters l. u. •&., follmoed by Servant, with writing-desk. Cora {crosses •&.). Good-day. Mr, Sedley. Put the desk, on the table, Robert, Have you been rowing 7 («/ » at table, u.) [Sehvant ^VrtfM deiilc on table. Hxits, l. V. E. Sed. Just about to start, {to Ella) 111 get the oars, {goes up, enters boat house.) Eola. Oh, Ella, what have you done 7 I can't go without you. Ella. Nonsense, don't be silly. Eola. 1 know i)apa will not like it. Ella. You follow your father's advice and you'll die an old maid ; fol- low mine, and you'll die a rich widow. ACT II. 21 EoLA. But I don't want to marry this man. Ella. Well, Miss Innocent, you don't have to marry a man because you go boating with liim. Sed. {comes out with oars). Quite ready, Miss Wimberly. Will you join us, Miss Adair 1 (Ella leads Eola tqj.) (JoRA {writimj at desk). No, thank you. I'm too deep in correspon- dence to thinlc of pleasure. Sed. Permit me. {helj)s Eola in boat.) EoLA (totters). Oh ! look out. Sed. All right, not the slightest danger, (to Ella) 1 do wish you had gone. Ella. Oh, pshaw, get in and row the boat, {thci/ row off k.) Good bye, Eola, take care your dress don't get wet. (comes down laughing) Poor child, she looks as frightened as if she were going to prison. Cora (writing). Why did you not join them 1 Ella {sits on seat, l., reads). Because I wanted to read Middlemarch ; I'm just getting interested. Cora. In what character, Casaubon 1 Ella. I should tliink not; there's too much parchment about him for me ; I like poor Dorothy, but 1 skip her husband. I suppose he's your favorite. Cora. By no means. He was a failure, and I despise a failure. Ella. I'm just reading where Fred Vincy made that mistake in his horse trade. Poor Fred, he's jolly — I love him. CoKA. Speaking of Freds — that reminds me, I received a letter from Mr. Town this morning. Ella (starts). Indeed ! CouA. Here it is — you can read it. Ella (throws book on seat, rises). Read his letters to another woman ? Oh no, thank you. Cora. It is simply upon business. Ella ( quickly). And what business has he io y^x'iie- -(stops, turns away confused) Oh, pshaw ! Cora. I will tell you its contents. Ella. Don't trouble yourself, (sits on hammock, swings.^ Cora. Mr. Town simply informs me, that he will return to-day, and present the new housekeeper. Ella. The new housekeeper 1 Cora. Your father desired him to bring one up from the city, if he could find a suit ^ble ])erson. Ella {rises). And why didn't my father tell me of this "? CoBA. Excuse me, dear, but your father is the proper one to answer that question. Ella. And he shall answer it ; I'm not going to be made a nonen- tity here, if I'm not as old and wise as some people, Cora. Do you refer to me 1 * Ella. N-o-o. Cora. Your father loves you too well to refuse you an explanation. Ella. You seem to understand my father better than I do. Cora. I undeistand that you are provoked because Mr. Town has written me a letter, and permit yourself to speak without reflection. Ella. Provoked because Fred — I mean Mr. Town — wrote to youl Well, that's nice. I suppose he can write to whom he pleases ; I'm not young enough to be surprised at anything a man does, (sits l., reads.) Cora. I'm glad to hear it. Enter Fred Town, b. v. e. 22 CLOUDS. Fred. Ah ! good day — ladies— I salute you. What a charming picture — living charms, rivalling the inanitiate surroundings of nature. Cora. You have returned 1 Fred. As you see ; the gods have been propitious, and I return in safety with uiy sketch book lull and my pocket-book empty. Cora (seals a letter). For all of which you are duly thankful. Fred. Thankful .' Why just think of it. I have been in New York and have neither been kidnapped, robbed nor murdered ; and returned on the Hudson River Railroad, and encountered no accident. Thank- ful ! I should say I was. j Cora. We are glad to see you. 1 Fred. Thanks — but apropos — I have a companion, the lady I informed yon of, the custodian of your keys and manipulator of your servants, who is willing to guarantee you a propre menage and waits without your gracious leave and pleasure. Cora. Pray present her. Fred. I will. By the way, where's Buddies 1 CouA. At the house, I suppose — why] Fred. Nothing, {to Ella; Look here, you haven't said a word to me, Jap; what's the matter ] Ella [throivs dotvn book, rises). My name's not Jap, sir. {crosses r.) FiucD {aside, going up). Humph ! something wrong, {speaks off, k. n. E.) Come this way, Mrs. Lee. Music. — Enter Stella, slowly, r. u. e. Miss Adair, let me present to you Mrs. Lee. I am sure you will make her feel at home, {aside to Stella) Keep up your courage, I'll go for Buddies, [aloud) Now, ladies, I must ask you to ecxuse me. Cora. Are you going ? Fked. I m going to the house a moment, to see Buddies. Cora {looks closely). You appear greatly interested in him ; have you any bad news ] Fred. No — I have simply a drawing for him. {aside) That's true, I mean to draw his teeth. [Exit, l. 3 e. Cor?A [coldly to Stella). What is your name 1 Stel. Amy Lee. Ella {sits r. of table r.). What a pretty name. CoKA. You are married ? Stel. I — I am — a widow. Ella. Poor dear, how romantic. Cora. I presume you are accustomed to the duties of housekeeping ? Stel Yes — on a small scale. Cora. Have you never had the care of a large household 1 Stel. No, madam. CoitA. In that case, how can you expect to give satisfaction. Stel. I am very quick to learn, and although it may be a little strange at first, I will try so hard to please, that I am sure I will suc- ceed. Cora. From the tone of Mr. Town's letter, I scarcely expected he wished us to submit to an experiment. Stel. 1 am not aware how far Mr. Town's desire to serve me may have carried him ; but 1 have told you simply the truth. I have not had large experience, but I will strive hard to give you satisfaction, if you will give me a trial. Ella. Why, of course we will. Cora. E.^^cuse me, Ella, i am acting in your father's interests. I have ACT II. 23 no desire to deal harshly with 3'^ou, madam, but the position is a very responsible one, and Ella. Oh, pshaw ! Where's the responsibility 1 keep the keys, gfive out the tea and sugar, regulate the butler, look after the silver and lin- en, and take a nap in the afternoon. There it is, in a nutshell, {ffoes up.) Cora. I was about to observe that the responsibility of the position justified us in demanding unquestionable references. Stel. Of course — I am quite prepared for that, {aside) Oh, this is torture. CoKA. The proper judge of this matter will, however, be Mr. Ran- dall, {looks L.) I see Mr. Buddies coming, he can show you to the house for the present. Stel. {down, c, aside). Buddies coming — now for the test. If he speaks, I ara lost. Enter Buddles, l. 3 e. Bud. I saw Mr. Town — he sent me here — said you might want me. CoKA. I did not want you, but now that you are here, show Mrs. Lee there, to the house. Bud. Very good. Hem. At your service, madam, {stands r. c.) Stel. {toith bach to him, aside). Heaven, how I tremble ! Bud. When you're ready , ma'am. Stel. I am quite ready, (turns.) Bud. {starts). Bless me. Stel. {aside). Lost. Cora. What's the matter, Mr. Buddies'? do you know Mrs. Lee? Bud. Know her ? Why bless me I never saw her before, as I'm an honest man. Cora. Then, what surprised you ? Bud. Her face — it's so calm — so sweet — so lovely. CoKA. There, that will do — show the woman to the house. Ella {comes quickly down, c). This lady. Mr. Buddies, will remain here as housekeeper ; I will show her the house — you can go. Bud. Very good. Don't mind me, Mrs. Lee, I'm onlj' an humble man. {aside, crosses, l.) Ha ! ha — I frightened her, I kept my word with Mr. Town, but I frightened her. Never saw her before in all my life. Capital lie, as I'm an honest man. [Exit, l. 1 e. Ella. You mustn't mind that old dunce, he's papa's man of business, and half crazy, 1 believe. Come, I'll show you your room. Stel. Thank you. {to Cora) Shall I receive any orders ? Cora. It is to save that trouble that you are here. Enter Mrs. Malvernon and Randall, r. u. e. Mrs. Malvernon {as she entcr>^). No you won't, I'll not have it ; my favorite must be respected. How do you do, dearl {goes down c, kisses Ella) Your father wants to scold you, and I'm going to be the good fairy, {botes to Cora) Excuse me, Miss Adair, I was so anxious about Ella, it has made me impolite. Ella. What have I done now 1 Ran. (l. o/Cora). Something that, notwithstanding my knowledge of your thoughtless nature, I confess, surprises me. Mrs. M. (c ). There, now, don't be severe. I'll tell you all about it, pet. You see, Mr. Wimberly saw his little Eola rowing on the river with a young man — he was horrified, and he waved his hat frantically until the young man rowed ashore and took him on board. Ran. I, of course, knew it was your work, Ella, and, I assure you, it 24 CLODDS. gave me no pleasure ; I will speak to you, however, at a more fitting time. May I ask to be presented to your friend 7 Cora. That is Mrs. Lee. wlio applies for the posi of housekeeper. She has been presented by Mr. Tuwn. Mrs. M. My good-for-nulliing nephew. So he has returned. Of course he came here first — eh, puss 1 {to Ella.) Ran. (raises hat). 1 am glad to see you, madam. (Stella bows.) Cora. I have not yet had an opportunity of seeing her references. Stel. Mr. Town has them, sir ; he wished to show them to you him- self. I am sure you will find them satisfactory. Ran. Your appearance, madam, is sufficient guarantee of your claim to our respect, and being presented by Mr. Town, ensures you a wel- come. But we have detained you. Ella, Mrs. Lee may be fatigued. (ffocs up.) Ella. We're going. Mrs M. One moment, dear, and I'll go with you. Miss Adair, I only ran over to let you know my visitor has arrived, and as"k you to call. Cora. I will take great pleasure in making the acquaintance of your friend, {goes up to Randall ) Ella. Is it your sister, Mrs. Malvernon 1 Mrs. M. Yes, puss, it's my sister — and be careful how you mention it ; she's an old maid. Ella. Oh, dear ! I won't like her ! Mrs. M. And she comes from New Jersey. (Stella starts.) Ella. Gracious! that's worse yet! She'll never be able to sleep here. Mrs. M. Why not 1 Ella. Jersey people never get any rest unless they're sung to sleep by mosquitoes. Mrs. M. Hush, you tease ! Don't you let Miss Prim hear you speak against New Jersey. Stel. {aside). Miss Prim 1 Ella. Gracious, what a name I Mrs M. Well, I've heard worse names than that. Ella. So have I. I heard of a man once who had such an ugly name the minister fainted trying to christen him. Mrs. M. Go along, you torment. I must really beg your pardon, Mrs. Lee, but when I get talkin-i to my favorite here, I forget myself. Stel. Pray don't mind me. {to Ella) You go with your friend— I will follow you. (Mrs. Malvernon and Ella exeunt, l, 1. e.) Miss Prim here ! another obstacle. Heaven help me ; it seems like fate. [Exit, L. 1 E. Ran. (conies down with Cora). I received this letter this morning. I am expecting him every minute Cora (r. c). I am very glad of it, for your sake ; it gives you pleasure to have him here, and he comes so seldom. Ran. (l. c). It is all my fault, Cora— I have been, in a great measure, to blame for it. The truth is, Ralph has had too much his own way. I have occupied my mind with home matters, and llie boy has run wild. • Cora {sits r.). Your son may be a little wild, but I wouldn't be too severe with him. It's somewhat diflicult for a young man to resist the contagion of New York. He is fond of life, and — I suppose it's very improper to say — but I like him tlie better for it. Ran. There is nothing i)uritanical in my nature, Cora, as you well know ; but, while I believe in a young man seeing life, I do not believe in excess. Now Ralph, I am sorry to say Cora {rises quickly). Excuse me ; don't betray his secrets ACT n. 25 Ran. Yes, but Cora, this is something that you have a right to know. Cora {timidly). Then let me hear it first from his lips. If your son ever speaks to me in the way you would have him speak, he will then, I am sure, tell me all that I ought to know. Ran. [takes her hand) . Bless you, my child ; j^ou seek to spare me even a blush My son will speak to you in the way 1 would have him speak, and he comes here to-day for that purpo.se. Cora [represses a start of joif) . There is only one thing that troubles me. I fear that — that your son feels lather forced into lliis. Ran. Not at all ; he don't know his own mind. But in any case, I do not intend to study his inclinations. It must suffice to him that it is my will. CoBA. Still, that is not very complimentary to me. Enter Buddles, l. 1 e. Ran. Well, what is it 1 BuDDLES. Mr. Ralph, sir — -just arrived — ^looks well and hearty — anx- ious to see you, as I'm an honest man. (ooes up.) Ran. I told you — he's prompt. Will you go with me % Cora. No ; you had better see him first. Ran. Always considerate. Bless you, Cora ; you are dear to me as my own child. 1 will see Ralph at once, and not neglect your happi- ness, {aside) Now to brace my nerves ; there'll be a struggle, but I must win. [Exit, L. 1 E. Cora stands r., Buddles looks around^ slowly comes down close to Cora. Bud. {pointedly). Well, he's come. Cora [with back to him). So I perceive. Bud. It's all right — he's up at the house — everything's going nice. You'll be Mrs. Randall after all. Cora. Perhaps. Bud. Perhaps 1 Well I wish I was as sure of being president. Why, the old man will Cora {turns, cro.sses h.). There; spare your comments; I'm not in- terested in your opinions. Bud. Yes, but I'm interested in your acts, as I'm an honest man. I've found out all you wanted to know — I've i)ut the old man on his son's track. Now keep your promise. Cora. I will — in good time. BtjD. The best time i.* present time. You've go your foot on my neck ; I want you to take it off. The sensation is not nice, as I'm au honest man. Cora. I find nothing to complain of. Bud. Of course not. A man's neck is softer than the ground. Cora. Listen to me, please. I have known you too long not to un- derstand you. Through me you obtained a position here that enabled you to worm yourself into your employer's confidence. Bud. {ironically). How good of you— how charitable! Cora. Don't interrupt me. I'll disguise nothing even from myself. I was forced to bring you here, I admit, but you were not forced to commit a crime. Bud. It — it was a mistake. Cora. But I hold a paper that would send you to answer that mistake in prison. Bud, You wouldn't dare— /or I would tpeak. 26 CLOUDS. Cora. True — we are in each other's power — silence for silence. When I no longer dread you I will give you your release. Bud. And that will be ■ Cob A. When what I came here for is accomplished — when I am Ralph Randall's wife. Turns, seeg Ella, who enters^ tulUnlt/, l. 1 e. Ah, Ella, has your brother come ? Ella {sharply). Yes, he's come, (crosses, k.) Coka. Mr. Buddies was just telling me that he had an'ived, but \ thouslit he must be mistaken You must excuse me for doubting you, Mr. Buddies, and accept my tiianks for your information. [Bows ; exit, l. 1 e. He looks after her. Bdd. {aside). Well, if that woman bad been in Eden the serpens wouldn't have had a show. \to Ellaj Miss Ella Ella. Don't bother me. Bud. Oh ! I beg pardon — I thought Fred Town enters, sullenly, l. 1 B. Ah, good evening, sir. 1 fixed that little Fred. Don't bother me. {goes up.) Bud. Well, if 1 stay here much longer, I'll have ray feelings hurt. There's something wrong ; Id like to find it out ; but I wouldn't stoo^. to spy, as I'm an honest man. [Exit, l. 1 e. Ella crosses l., sits on bench, takes up book ; Fred cmnes dawn slowly to her. Night cmnes on. Fred {leans on back of seat \ Quite interesting, isn't it 7 Ella. Are you speaking to me .' Fked. Yes. I suppose your book's quite interesting. Ella {reading^. If it were not why should I read 1 Fred. Well, from the way you rushed at it. I thought you sought a refuge. Ella. From you 1 Fred. Yes. Ella. Even a dull hook is preferable to a dull companion. Fred. Is it ? (yawns) I wish I had a book. Ella {rises, crosses., n.). If you find my society so dull I would advise you to leave. Fred {reclines in hammock'. Thank ycni ; I'm comfortable now. This is delightful. This is a luxury Epicuru.s would liave envied, and Anac- veon immortalized. In such a calm attitude of repose, Petrarch might have mused upon his Laura, or Alcibiades quaffed the juice of the grape, while the balmy ze[)hers of the lonan Isles chased each other through his curly locks. Ella (r.). Dear me, how poetical. Placing your body in repose ap- pears to elevate your mind to the clouds. Fred. There's everything in position. Your side to an opponent in a duel, your knee to a lady in a quarrel. Imagine the knee, please ; the .soft air of the declining day has made me lazy. Ella. If I am any judge of character, that appears to be your normal condition. Fred. All right — run through the list of my sins, and I'll reply with ACT II. 27 mea culpa, and end with Hamlet's plaintive cry, " Nymph, in thy orisons, be all my sins remembered 7" Ella. Thank you ; I've not the courage for such a task, and prefer leaving you to reflect on them, (crosses, l.) Fred. Are you going 1 Ella. Yes. {^stands l. 1 e.) Fred. Well, if you meet Mrs. Lee, will you kindly tell her to make haste, or I'll fall asleep ? Ella [starts). Mrs. Lee ? Fred. Yes — the housekeeper, you know — she wants to see me before I go. {yawns) I wish she'd hurry. Ella. You're greatly interested in your protege. Fred. Yes — somewhat. Ella. Young widows are very romantic. Fred. Yes, they are. Ella. Especially when they're handsome and poor. Fred. Yes, that adds a charm. By the way. when you go ■ " Ella. I'm not going, {crosses, c ) Fked. Ah, in that case never mind. Ella You're awful anxious to get rid of me. Fred. Not at all ; but youve been so angry with me I thought you wanted to get rid of me. Ella. I've not been angry, {draws slightly near him.') Fked. Oh yes, you have. Ella ( xtill nearer). I — I wasn't angry — only annoyed. Fred. Why? Ella {nearer). Why — because — because Fred [sits up). Because what 1 Ella {at head of hammock). Well, because — because — Oh, you know very well. Fred. Because you thought me a silly moth, singeing my wings in a new flame, {puts arm around her.) Flla {draws away). Well, when a girl is engaged to a man, she can't be expected to enjoy his flirtation with another woman. FuED {rises). Wants all his attentions for herself, eh "? Ella. Well, as she can't expect many from the husband, she ought to get all she can from the lover. Fred {sits down, l. h.). Well, come here and be a good girl, and I'll tell you all about it. Ella. I don't want to. {gets near him.) Fred. Oh, very well, [about to recline on bench.) Ella. There, don't be lounging about like that, [sits.) Fred {puts arm around her). That's nice — now don't be cross any more. Ella. If Mrs. Lee comes Fred. Mrs. Lee is not coming. Ella. Why, you said so. Fred. It was a fib. There's another sin to remember in your orisons. Ella. Well, what made you say so. Fked. To teaze you for snubbing me so. Here I've just returned, and you've hardly noticed me, but raised your little eyebrows, and played offended Juno, with icicles hanging all around you. Ella. Well, you deserve it ; away a whole two weeks, and only wrote me seven letters. Fred. Well, that was bad, but I ran short of postage stamps. Ella. Then look at the way you came back, with a young woman. Fred. There— don't fly ofi — she was in distress, and I helped her. 28 CLOUDS. Ella. You're sure you don't care anything for her 1 Fked. Perfectly. Ella. And you feel no interest in herl Fred. Well, only a certain sympathy. Ella. Never mind tvjat — I'll sympathize with her. Fred. Very well. Ella. And you wei^e only joking when you said she was coming out here. Fred. Positively ! Ella. On you honor, sir 1 FiiED. On my honor! She is not coming — I swear it. Raises his hand tragically as Stella appears, l. 1 e. Both rise quickly. {aside, crosses, R.) By Jove, I'm trapped. Ella. Good evening, Mrs. Lee; you're just in time, [to Fked) Let me congratulate you on your success in deception. Frkd {aside to her). It's all a mistake — don't make a scene. Stel. I really beg pardon for this intrusion. Ella. Oh, Mrs. Lee, don't apologize — I am the only intruder here. I am glad you have come — Mr. iown was growing quite impatient. It's a lovely evening for a tete-a-lete; and, now that you are here, he may be able to keep awake. With your permission, Mrs. Lee. (bows, cr'isses, L. — aside) Id like to pinch her and shake him. It's an awful shame ; but what better can you expect from a man I [Exit, l. 1 e. Stel. What is the matter — have I done anything wrong ? FiiED. Not at all. You only happened to come here at a very awk- ward moment, and seemed to give me the lie. Stel. I don't understand you. Fred. It's all owing to my stupid desire to teaze. Ella and I have had a little misunderstanding, and, in retuin for her snubbing me, 1 told her that I was expecting you, and at the very moment I was explaining the joke — presto — you appeared. Stel. She will believe now my coming here was preconcerted. Fred. I fear I'll have some trouble to make her believe otlierwise. Stel. I can hardly thank you for this, Mr. Town, (crosses, r.) Fred. Now, for Heaven sake, don t you get ansry. I'm always blun- dering into some scrape. Of course 1 had no idea you would come out here. Stel. (.v;7s, r.). You have probably placed another obstacle in my path In her jealousy she may compromise my position here. Fred. I m the only one will suffer ; she's too proud to say anything about it. But what brought you out here — is anything the matter ? Stel. No— 1 could not stay in the house — the air seemed to stifle me ; I wanted to be alone. Fred. He has come. Stel. I know it. Fred. Did lie see you? Stel. No. He is going back to town to-morrow — 1 heard his father tell Ella so. Fred. It's a wonder he stays over night. Home's the last place to look for him. Siill, if you stay here, you must meet. Stel. I presume so. Fked. Then what will you do? Stel. I don't know. Frrd. Well, by Jove, this is the strangest thing I ever heard of in all my life. ACT II. ~ 29 Stel. Life is made up of incongruities. Out of many a wild chimera has sprung permanent results. The fact that a thing is strange is no guarantee of its being impossible. Fred. Well, hang mo if 1 can understand it. You insisted upon com- ing here — but I don't see what good can come of it. Of course you have some plan. Stel. {rises). My main resolve has been the determination not tamely to submit to a flagrant wrong. I will not silently accept this man's dis- missal — that would be to share his sin. (cro'^ses, l.) Fred (r. c). But have you no settled plan ? Stel. (l. c). I had two — one has already failed. Fred. Failed ! Stel. Yes. I came here first to see this Miss Adair, the woman to whom Mr. Randall would give his son, mij husband. (Fked starts) There — I know what I say. Do you think I will admit, even to myself, that I have no just claim upon this man 1 1 may be his victim, but I have never been his accomplice. I had hoped to tell this woman frankly the truth, and trust to her woman nature to aid me. I have seen her, and she is not the woman for my confession, bhe would not pity me — I could not confide in her. Fred. That is natural. Stel. It is not jealousy ; I don't like her. You know we women don't stop to reason ; we jump to conclusions. I don't like this Miss Adair — 1 can't understand myself— I don't know what is actuating me, but I be- lieve that my way to success crosses the track of her past life. Fred. Why, what do you mean 1 her past is well-known. Stel. 1 don't know. Yon have promised to help me ; see if you can- not find a clue to something. She may have a secret. I know this sounds foolish. I may believe there is something because I hope for it; but remember I am a poor, lone woman struggling with fate, and I must hope. Fred. I will do all in my power to aid you, on my honor. I never liked this Miss Adair, but still I believe you wrong her. What was your other plan y Stel. To see Ralph alone, and trust Heaven for the result. But I must not hurry — I must watch my time— failure there would be death. And now — there is another danger. Fred. What is it 1 Stel. Miss Prim is here ; the lady you saw leaving my cottage. Fred. The deuce. Stel. She is visiting Mrs. Malvernon. Fred. Why, confound it, that's where I live ; Mrs. Malvernon is my aunt by marriage. 1 wonder if she'll know me. Stel. She will know me. Should she see me I will be forced to leave here. Miss Adair dishkes me as it is. Fked. Well, I swear, this is too bad. Hadn't I better see her, and explain something ? Stel. Ah, you do not know her. My only hope will be in seeing her alone, and try to persuade her to be silent. Fred (crosses, l.). Hello — by Jove, they're coming, Stel. Who 1 Fred. Look, {points l.) Stei*. Ralph— and with her. F^KD. They mustn't see us here — come. Music, Se leadi her up-^they conceal themselves hy boat hottae, BaIiFB md Cora enter, l. 1 e. 30 CLOUDS. Ralph ^^R.^ x am sorry at least that you decline to listen. Cora (l.). I decline for botli our sakes. I have nothing of the ro- mantic in my nature, Mr. Rnndall. Lite has taught me to be practical. As I do not elevate you to tlie position of a god in tlie present, I will not trouble myself to inquire if you have been a hero in tlie past. Ralph {seriousl//). But suppose I have been a devil "? Cora. Oh, Mr. Randall! I am not absurd enough to imagine any- thing so melo-draniatic. 1 know the young men of the present day are a little wild, but you know I am not puritanical. 1 don't like prosaic men. Ralph. If you will let me make a full confession. Cora. I am really proud of the contidence you have in me ; but, as I cannot give you absolution, I must decline to act as father confessor. {crosses r ) Ralph (sadli/). You are right. Miss Adair — you cannot give me abso- tion Cora {turns to him). Well, come then, let us drop this subject forever. I have neither the intention nor desire to pry into your secrets. Let us roll a stone against the tomb of the past, and place a seal upon it for- ever, {turns atvay, sits R ) Ralph. I cannot, of course, force this upon you; I wish to be frank and honest with you— you decline to hear me ; you will be good enough to remember this in the future and acquit me, at least, of in- tentional deception. Cora. Well, Mr. Randall, if I was of a suspicious nature, I might be induced, from your maimer, to believe you a villain, I prefer, however, with your permission to regard you as a gentleman. Ralph {aside). If she selected her words with a knowledge of the truth, she could not wound me more, {aloud) My object in seeking to make a confession, was that you might judge for yourself to which of the titles you mention I have the best claim. I will come now to the main object. You are aware of my father's wishes 1 CoBA. As of my own parents' desire. Ralph. It seems that we have both been used as puppets in this mat- ter ; but it is too late to speak of that now I am given to understand that you consent to the arrangement. Cora. My poor father's wish was always a command to me, and since I have been here I have learned to obey your father almost as implicitly. Ralph. Although you are well prepared, Miss Adair, for the proposal I am about to make, I will yet strive to be candid. 1 will not speak of love. We have seen so little of each other that any attempt on my part to make this an affair of the heart would be absurd. Coka irises). 1 have none of the school-girl's enthusiasm, Mr. Randall, and, if I have little of romance in my nature, 1 have still less of senti- ment. I i)erfectly agree with you as to the absence of love in this mat- ter. The engagement in which we are entangled is the work of our pa- rents, and is only binding upon us in so far as we deem their wishes worthy of respect. Ralph. I am glad that you are prepared to look upon this in a prac- tical light. The past has left some maiks ui)on my heart that I find it ditficult to obliterate, and I am candid enough to acknowledge that my father's wishes alone would not be sufficient to influence my conduct; if, however, you are willing to accept so imi)erfect a suitor, I will seal this paternal engagement by offering you my hand. (Stella staggers, clings to Fued fur support.) Cora. Accustomed from my childhood to regard you as my future ACT m. 81 hnsband, and remembering my promise to my dead father, I have no course open to me — but to accept. Ralph. We accept the engagement, then — which I believe we under- stand to be a union of hands but not of hearts, {turns away.) Cora {aside). I knew my man, and I liave won. {sits, e.) Ralph (l., at chair, aside). I have done it — saved my inheritance at the sacrifice of my honor. Fred {at back, l., to Stklla). Do you hear? Stel. {calmly). Hush. Watch, but wait. Picture — Cuktain. ACT III. SCENE. — Drawing-room in Ranball's vUla, discovery. — Ella and EoLXplay duet as curtain rises ; Miss Prim on go/a, L. ; Cora seated on ottoman, c ; Mrs. Malveknon stands ai piano. Mrs. M. {after duet). Thank you, iny dears ^ that was perfectly ruling. JoKA. Are you fond of music, Miss Prim 1 \ Prim. I'm fond of church music and some sacred songs, but I don't 111 those double pieces ; they make too mucli noise. Cora. That is often a trouble with duets. Prim. What's that piece called? Cora. I really must plead ignorance. Ella. Ella. Yes. {comet down.) Cora. Miss Prim would like to know the name of the duet you just finished, {c/oes up to window.) Ella {crosses to sofa). It's called . It's perfectly lovely, isn't it? Pkim. No; I don't like it. Can you play "When Dropping Tears Refresh my Soul ? " Ella. 1 never heard of that piece ; what is it — a polka ? Prim. It's a hymn; we sing it in Dorcas. Mrs. M. {comes down, e., with Eola). You must be mistaken. Eola. No, I'm not; ask Ella. (Cora sits at piano, turns music.) Mrs. M. Come, talk to my sister, and I will. [tJwy goc.) Matilda, this young lady wants to talk to you about Dorcas. Wlien she returns to Chicago she wants to give them the benefit of your opinion. Prim. Gracious ! haven't you a Dorcas society out there ] Eola. Yes, 1 suppose— really 1 don't know':' Prim. Well, did I ever! Why, Chicago must be worse than New York. You've got churches, haven't you 1 Eola. Oh, yes. [sits on sofa beside Prim. Mrs. Malvernoit, having drawn Ella awaij, stands talking to her, r. h.) Prim. Have you got a Young Men's Christian Association 1 Eola. I suppose so, but my papa don't like me to know much about young men. Prim. Very proper, my dear ; verj"- proper. Young men of the pres- ent day are very wicked, but when they belong to the Young Men's Christian Association, they become the spiritual guides of the weaker sex. Mrs. M. (r. c). You're a foolish, silly child. I know my nephew 82 CLOXTDS. better than yon, and I say it's all nonsense. Fred loves you as well as ever. Ella (sits l. of table, r.). Does he 1 "Well, he takes a strange way of showing it. Mks. M. Why, yon don't expect him to he kneeling at your feet all the time, do you 1 ( Eola and Prim po tip, look at ])ictnre on easel.) Ella. Yes, sooner than have iiini at the feet of another woman. What's the use of heing engaged to a man if you don't get all his at- tentions 1 Mrs. M. Wliy, you unieasonahle little dunce ! You surely don't think Fred cares for Mrs. Lee 1 Ella. I don't know. You never can tell what men care for ; they're worse than a Chinese puzzle. Mrs. M. Well, now take care. Any puzzle can be solved if you take time enough. Now, no man ought to be a puzzle to a woman. They're shrewd enough in business, but bless you, they're perfect babies in love. Ella. And, like babies, throw away an old toy when they see the glitter of a new one Mrs. M. The man who is led by his eye alone may do so; the man who is led by his heart, never. Now, Fred loves you. Ella. Oh, pshaw ! Mrs. M. Tliere, don't jump ; I know what I say. A man, even .n love, requires very delicate handling. You may gently wind him around your finger ; but one harsh twist — one turn tt)o nuich, and you find your finger cut and your slave fled. Now, I know Fred's nature better than you do; but I fear he has got himself in a scrape. Ella {quickli/). What is it i* Mrs. M. I'm not certain yet. Now where did Fred tell you he was going when he left here 1 Ella. To New York, to sketch animals in Central Park. Mrs. M. S() he told me ; but he was really down in New Jersey. Ella. How do yo« know 1 Mrs M. My sister recognized him as soon as he came in — spoke of meeting him in Jersey, and the way Fred stammered a reply, showed he had a secret. Ella. A secret ! Put it in the plural, Mrs. Malvernon ; that young man is above having only one secret, {rises, crosses c. Mrs. Malvernon stops her.) Mrs. M. I think I have an idea what this secret is about. Don't do anything hasty. Keep this young man in leading strings, and trast me. Albery SEnLEY enters, d. l. Ella. Oh, Mr. Sedley, you're just in time to save us ladies from ennui. Sedlet. Charmed, really, {hctvs to Eola ) Mrs. M. (etsicle) Just like a trirl — siie'll spoil all now by flirting with that dunce, {ffoes to Cora, at piano) Ella, (r c). I want to introduce you to Mrs. Malvernon's sister. (crosses l. c.) Miss Prim, let me make you acquainted with a friend of mine, Mr. Albery Sedley. Prim, (comes down l ). Sedley — Sedley. Any relation to Dick Sed- ley 1 Sed He's my father. (Eola stands back- of sofa.) Prjm. Well, I declare.' Why I knew your father when I was a child. ACT III. S3 He used to live near us in Jersey, and supplied Long Branch with ice. {sits on sofa.) Sed. {shocked). By Jove, madam, it's a mistake ! it wasn't my father. {goes R., looks over bo. Certainly. Mrs. M. (c. to Coua). 1 would like to ask you one favor. Fred and Ella aie tryins to get up a qnarrel. Now, as you are constantly with her, will you try and make her reasonable 1 Prim (l.). She's too headslrona to manage. C'RA (It.). You are riglit; still I will do my best. Mrs. M. Thank you. Come, Matilda. . As they go, Stella enters d. r. Prim starts. Stel. Miss Adair, I — {sees Prim, starts violentli'— turns axoay agitated.) Pkim. Gracious ! You here ? Cora {surprised). AVhy, do you know Mrs. Lee, Miss Prim 1 Prim. No, I don't know Mrs. Lee — but I know Stel. {with sudden resolve, crosses to her). Pray pardon me. Miss Prim, your presence here somewhat surprised me. {aside to her, quickly) Don't say a word till I see you again ; if you speak you wiil ruin me. Cora. I scarcely understand you, Miss Prim. Stel. {tries to he calm). This lady is acquainted with a secret of mine ; may I ask you to let it remain such 1 34 CLOUDS. Cora. Excuse me, T was addressing Miss Prim. She will certainly agree with me that I am justified in demanding an explanation. Prim. Yes — certainly. Cora. Then, Miss Prim, if this person is not Mrs. Lee, who is shel {pause— Stell\ looks at PitiM imploringly.) Prim. I won't answer that question— I don't kuow whj' she is here, but I will say no more. Stel. {aside to her). God bless you ! {crosses tojire.) Cora. Then I have simply to regret your determination. Prim {to Stella). I don't understand this, and I don't like it. I : hope you'll be able to explain. Come, sister, {goes d. l.) Mks. M. I regret, Mi^s Adair, my sister's refusal to explain. Cora. It does not matter ; it will scarcely afiect the result. Miis. M. You'll run over soon \ Cora igoes to door with them). To-morrow perhaps. Mrs. M. Till then. [Bows and exits, d. l., ivith Prih. Ooka {comes down sloivly, c). Now, then, madam, I am ready for your explanation. Stel. Please don't ask me n"W. CoKA. By what name shall I address you in future! Stel. It is hardly necessary to ask that question. Cora You are evidently here under an assumed name ; and there is only one construction to put upon that. Stel. What do you mean 1 Cora. I mean thai you either have no right to a husband's name, or feel ashamed of your own. Stel. {advances angrily). Why, do yoa dare — [draws back) I beg your pardon, I forgot myself. Fred appears in win low, c. Cora. I must request you (o keep your temper, madam, or miss — I am somewhat uncertain how to call you. Stel. I have given you the name of Mrs. Lee. The fact that I have a secret is scarcely sufficient reason for subjecting me to insult. Being of your sex should entitle me to some consideration ; but you hated me from the first. Cora. Oh, pardon me. My hatred, like my friendship, is confined to a circle somewliat above your own. But I will tell you this Fred. Look out, there's some one here. Coi:a {starts, goes b..). Listening, Mr. Town ? Fred [comes down). All the fault of my artist nature. Miss Adair. I was studying cliaracter. The light and shade were perfect, and the humble (iemeanor of the dependent contrasted very well with the cour- tesy of the high-born lady. Cora. I am glad the scene afforded you so much pleasure. It will make a fine companion picture to a certain tete-a-tete in the park. Fri d. 1 will be charmed to utilize the subject if you will explain it more fully. Cora. I would not presume to give a spur to your genius, but, as a hint to your imagination, let me .«U2gest that in a moonlight promenade there are often more listeners — than the stars. [Exit, d. r. Stel. [comes to Fred). Ella has told her of our meeting in the park. FiiED {crosses tojire, annoyed). I thought Ella was above that. What has this Miss Adair discovered 1 Stel. Miss Prim has seen me, and though— Heaven bless her — she refused to speak, there was enough said to show I was not Mrs. Lee. ACT ni. 35 Fked. By Jove, I wish this dear Miss Prim had never left the obscu- rity of Jersey. You 11 have to leave here. Stel. I know that. This Miss Adair hates me, and, a.s she does as she pleases here, my dismissal will not be delayed. Fred. Since it is sure to come, why wait for it 1 Stel. I do not intend to. I will leave this house, but not the neioh- borhood, until I see him once more face to face. This woman can have no suspicion of the truth, and yet looli at her manner towards me ; she is coarse — there is a pretence in her refinement — I feel she is not a lady — and then to think of her as his — Oh, Heaven, help me ; I cannot bear that — it will kill me. {sinks sobbing on ottoinan, c. Fred goes to her.) Fred (c). Come, this won't do. On the path you have taken there is no resting place for tears. Listen to me. You have taken a decided dislike to Miss Adair. I regard that as natural ; but I have promised to be your friend, and I will humor even your whims. Now this Miss Adair may have a suspicion of the truth. Stel. {startled). How could she < Fred. Buddies was spying down in Eatentown'^she has a strong in- fluence over him, and he may have told her what he saw. If so she has only to couple Miss Prim's recognition of yoii with Miss Prim's resi- dence in Jersey to come at a shrewd guess of the truth. Stel. That is true. Fred. Now this Buddies came here with this Miss Adair, and, if she really has any secret in her life. Buddies is the man to reveal it. Stel. {springs tip). I never thought of that. Fued. Well, don't think of it again until I know more. Stel. But you will try i Fred. On my honor as your friend. Takes her hand. Ella enters at windrnv. They start — Fred goes to fire. Ella. I must really beg your pardon. I regret to interrupt you, Mrs. Lee, but my father desires you to have Mr. Randall's room over the library in readiness. My brother returns to-day for some time, {sits at piano. ) I Stel. I will attend to it at once, [aside., going r.) She believes I am trying to win her lover ; if she knew the truth, would she despise or pity me ? [Exit, d. h. Fred. Ella. Ella {playing). What is it 1 Fred. I wish you'd stop that noise and come here. Ella. Thank you — [ prefer to stay where [ am. Fred. Well, then, I must come to you. {goes up.) Ella. Don't trouble yourself. Fred {leans ovr her). Ella, I wish to speak to you very seriously. Ella. Now go away, Fred Town, and leave me alone, {rises, crosses to sofa.) Fred {goes to her). Will you please to remain in one place, and listen to me ] Ella {sits on sofa.) No, I won't; I won't listen to a word you say. {eov'rs her ears with her hands.) Fred. Come, now, be reasonable. You don't understand this. Ella. I can't hear a word you say. Fred. You can't 1 Ella. No. Fred. Now, don't be silly. You think you have cause to be angry, don't you? Well, you haven't. Do you think I'dl deceive you, eh? 36 CLOUDS. \ Won't you answer me ? You don't suppose 1 care for Mrs. Lee, do you ? Ell { She's a very pretty woman thouEjh, isn't she 1'( Ella makes a slight movemoit) Has such a sweet and winning way, hasn't slie ? And then her disposition — she's very amiable, isn't she? Ella {springs up anffrili/). Fred Town, you're a brute ! {crosses, Vl.) Fkkd. Oil, no — just at present I'm a doctor, applying a severe remedy in order to restore 3'our hearing. I shouldn't like to have a deaf wife. Ella. Oh, so you expect to marry me? Fred. Of course — it's all settled isn t it 1 Ella. Well, it's agreed on, but not settled. From what I've seen of mankind, I'd never believe I had a husband luitil the ring was on my finger and the marriage certificate was in my pocket ; and men are such slippery individuals, I'd scarcely be sure of it then. Fred. You have a poor opinion of our se.K. Ella. Of course I have ; so has every woman of experience. Fred. Yet, in stigmatizing our sex you cast a reflection upon your own. Ella. How so 1 Fred. How can man be all evil since perfect woman sprang from his rib? Ella. Easy enough. All that was good of him left with his rib — all that was evil remained. Fred. It is probably, then, upon the principle that like objects repel, that this perfect woman is so partial to this imi)erfect man. Still it is to be regretted that even i)erfect woman sometimes stoops to unworthy acts. Ella. Do you refer to me % Fred. I regret to say I do. Ella. And I have done something, then, even more silly than listening to your vows 1 Fred. You have condescended to act the part of tale-bearer. Ella. If you refer to what took place in the park the other evening, it is false. I mentioned it to no one Fred. What! You didn't ? Ella. No. - Fred (ande). IMade another blunder, by Jove ! Ella. I'm glad to know your true opinion of me, Mr. Town. Fred. I beg your |)ar(Ujn, Ella. It was all a mistake. Ella. Don't speak tit me. I hate you ! {'/ocs r.) Fred. Yes — but, Ella Ella. Silence, si^ropion ! [Exit, angrilij, L. D. Fred (k.). Well, I'd belter turn Don Quixote at once. I think I'd come out better in a struggle with a windmill than in a contest with a woman. Confound this busine.ss ! it's getting me into a nice scrape, Sedley ci/t'rs, moodily, from the park. Sed. [comes down, c, absoitlg). Hello, Fred. Fred {savagely'). Hello. Sed. {surprised). Why, what's tlie matter? FiiED {abruptly). Matter ! what do you see the matter ? What makes you ask such stupid questions V (goes up.) Sed. {dolefully). Don't be an^ry, old fellow ; I'm awfully blue. Fred {turns quicJdy). You are V Give me your hand, {shakes) I'm very sorry to hear it. [aside) Strange liow you can feel for a fellow wheu you have the same complaint. ACT IIT. 37 Sed. (ta^es out nole-hooh). I've got soiriethidg father gave me for you — I believe it's a check, {gives envelope.) FitED. For me \ {opens it, takes out paper ^ Sed. Yes ; he's delighted with the picture, Fked. By Jove ! {drops envelope.) Sed. {picks -up envelope). What's wrong'? {reads envelope') Why, hang it, I've given you the wrong one. Why, what the deuce have I done with the one father gave me % \hoks in his book.) Fred. Where did you get this. Sed. Found it in the park. I suppose it fell from Miss Adair's desk. Here's her name on the envelope, {gives envelope.) Fred. Have you read it 1 Sed. No — I never read unless I have to; it's too much trouble. What is It 1 Fred. Only some accouiits. I'll give it to her. {aside, crosses, l.) When it has served my purpose, {aloud) By the way, what gave you the blues 1 Sed. Mr. Wimberly — he saw me walking with his daughter in the park — took her undei' his arm, and shook me. Now, that's what I call small. Fked. Look out. - Wimberly and Eola enter at window. Ah, my dear sir, we were just speaking of you. Good morning, Miss Eola ; what can I do to serve you 1 EoLA (c). Get papa in a good humor — he's so cross. WiM. (l. c ). Tut, tut, Miss; what are you saying? Eola. Well, it's true ; you're scolding me all the time, {go up.) WiM. (he has an exception. Stel. {comes slowly to her). Miss Randall. Ella {looks up hanghtihj). Are you speaking to me, madam 1 Stel. {sadly). Yes. I am going to leave heie — I am going away for- ever. ! know tliat none of you will be sorry — I have made many enemies in my brief stay — but I at least wish you to think well of me. Ella. 1 don't pretend to be of any consequence here. Stel. You have misjudged me, Miss Randall. If I could only tell you all, you would see how I could not wrong you even in thought. I have had great trouble, and Mr. Town has simply acted the part of a noble gentleman towards a lone woman in distress. Ella. And even extends his kindness to correspondence. Stel. I don't understand you, Miss Randall. Ella irises). Mr. Bnd:'l >s bronglit a letter from Mr. Town. I prom- ised to deliver it — there it is. [gives letter she has held in her hand) Now, having assisted in the conveyance of Mr. Town's thoughts I'll leave you to peruse them at your leisure, (going.) Stel. A letter ! {UjoIcs at letter surpi ised ; goes doun l.) Ella. If you will condescend to take my advice, you will place it with the others you have no doubt received from the same source, tie them with white ribbon and you'll find them all in good order when your turn comes to send them back. [E.rit, d. r. Matic, pp. Stel. {sits on sofa). A letter to me, from Mr. Town \ What can it mean ' {opens it nervously- reads) " Mrs. Lee. — Courage and hope. I've taken the first stej) on the path you set before me, and expect to achieve more than your most sanguine hopes, Tiie canvass is on the easel, the brush is in my hand, Buddies 8ui)plies the colors, and the painted result will ast')ni.sh no one more than yourself. It is a full moon to night. If you would like to know the subject of my picture, take a walk in the j)ark, and this time I will take care there are no listeners— Aw< the stars.^ Fred Town." {rises\ He has made some discovery. Oh, can it be ])ossi- ble that what lias seemed a wild fancy, a mad chimera, may yet become a reality 1 But what uood can it do me now. I must leave here or she will force me to go. 1 will not wait for — — {looks in glass, sees Ralph entering c. from park) He here ! — face to face at last, {stands looking in fire, with back to c.) Ralph, entering o., comes down. Ralph {looks at her carelessly). Mrs. Lee, I presr.me. Don't let me dis- turb you, madam, (goe^ to de-kj I came in expecting to find ray sister; I presume she became tired of waiting, {opens desk, sits.) Stt.l. (m strange voice). She h;>s just left. Ralph, {writing), I am not surprised ; she seldom remains in one place long. ACT III. 45 Stel. Have you any commands, sir '? Ralph Well, I would like \ ou to have my room well aired, please. It has been so long since I occupied it 1 suppose it is rather musty. Stel. I have already attended to it, sir. Ralph. Thank you — then that is all. Stel. {hesitates, then sloioly turn", goes L. effaces him). Have I your permission to retire, sir 1 Ralph. Permission, my dear madam ? Why, I (leans back in chair, pen in hand, sees her — springs up) Great heavens ! Stella ! Stel. I am called here Mrs. Lee, sir. Ralph. Why, what are you doing here under a false name % Stel. Followin.g your example. Gordon was not your real name. Ralph. Come with me — they mustn't see you here. Stel. Excuse me, a housekeeper is not confined to one room. Ralph. What ! You a housekeeper in my father's house ! Stel. Why not 1 Ralph. Why not 1 Great Heaven ! you should not have come here. Stel. If you know anj^thing against my good name, sir ; if you can point to any act of mine that should bar me from earning my bread in an honest manner, reveal it to your father and ho will turn me from the house. Ralph. Earning your bread? Why, I left you ample means. Stel. Did you not know me better than to believe 1 would touch one penny of the money to which I had no legal claim 1 When you dis- closed to me your treachery, you closed to me your purse. Ralph. But this is madness. You have no right to refuse this money. Stel. I have a riaht to refuse from you everything that does not come in the shape of justice. I will not take from your hand as bounty that which it is my privilege to demand of you as a right. I am not ashamed to plead with you to rectify my wrong, but I am ashamed to siiare it. Balph. Why, the most ordinary person would allow Stel. I am no ordinary woman, sir ; my presence here attests thiit fact. The world would regard this as unpiecedented, and scorn my boldness ; but what cm I do y a poor and friendless woman ; wliere can I turn for redress \ To the law 1 Poverty against wealth weighs but lightly in the scales. And if I won, could damages, wrung from a smil- inj; jury, repay me for the shame spealdns in my tears .' Ralph. If you come for vengeance I have nothing to say. {turns, sits at table, n.) Stel. I did not come for vengeance — I came for justice. I hoped to confess all to the woman you were to wed, and gain her aid ; but the first tone of her voice sealed my lips. I felt she had no heart — she would despise, not pity. Ralph. Don't speak of her — if you knew my excuse. Stel. Excuse ! Can you speak to me of an excuse fov your act ? Can any pressure of circumstances on your life atone fo.- tin ruin of mine ? I am ruined, and can yet face you without a blusli, for the slnme that has come to me was throuah your deception, and not, my will. Y'ou repaid mj' love with the kiss of a -Judas; the ring I wore upon ray fin- ger was a mockery — tlie certificate I guarded as the holy guarantee of my honor was a forgery, and now 1 have thrown them both away to ask you to replace that spurious metal with the genuine gold. Ralph. And it was for this you came he;e 1 Stel. Yes. I would not appeal to your father — I sought not to ex- pose vou — and I declined to ask the law for redress. Ralph. Why? 46 CLOUDS. 8tel. (sadli/). Because an appeal to the law would but have lefi, as an lieii loom to our child a printed lecord of his father's sin. Ralph. There — don t speak of him. {rises, crossn, l., sadly.) Stel. (greatly moved). It is for his .sake alone, Ralph, that I am here. Had I to siiflfer alone I wouid .^^utt'er in silence. I am not pleadinjt to you as a woman for her love, but as a mother for her child. (Ralph s nks on sofa) Have you ever thought of liiin, Ralph — our — your boy ? I left him praltlins in childish glee, a sunbeam in every smile, a part.dise ill every toy. We have given him existence, should we not also give h'm a name 1 He will one day become a man. Will you force his mo- ther to cloud his future by breathins into his ear, upon the threshold of manhood, the story of a sin ? He will one day ask after his father; to say you are dead would be a lie, to whisper you are living would be a shame. Rai.pu. Oh. stop — stop. Stel. Oil, Ralph, do not turn from me — if you no longer love, at least pity me. Remember 1 am a mother — with all a mother's tenderness, all a mother's love. Oh, think of our boy— I cannot look in his face, lean- not take him in my arms without the thought that he may live to one day curse us both, [drops on her knees beside him) Oh, Ralph, be just — give nie the right to look in that child's face without a blush — give him the right to call you father. Ralph. Oh, stop ! this is torture. I cannot make redress. Stel. Cannot! What prevents ? Ralph. Poverty — the loss of my inheritance. Our union would leave me a beggar, (rises, crosses r.) Stkl. [rise."). No man need be a beggar here who has the strength and will to work. You should not shrink from the consequences of your act even though it be poverty. I am willing to labor for my child, why should you not labor for the mother ? Ralph. Oh, you do not know, {sin/cs in chair, r.) Cora appears, c.,from park, with letter in her hand. Music, plaintive, pp., till curtain. Stkl. I know that you have not the courage to do right. But, th«re, I will plead with you no more. I will leave here forever, and return to my boy. By your act he is oiphaned. I will live for his sake and work for his support. I will not make poverty the bugbear of his youth, that he may not plead it as an excuse in his manhood. I will strive to inculcate in his breast a love of truth and a regard for honor, and when, with boyish glee, he speaks as other children of his father, I will bend his knee beside his little cot and point him to his only father — his Father in heaven. Ralph (r., springs up, excitedly). Stella, stop — don't go — I — (Cora comes down quickly, c, he sets her, stops suddenly, sinks on chair, his head cm tabic.) Cora (c). Your dismissal from Mr. Randall, madam, (yives letter.) Stel. (h., calmly, taking letter ). It comes in good time. Now 1 am ready to go. (Stklla stands at duor, l., Cora stands by ottoman, c, looking at her triumphantly, Ralph sits r., with his head bowed on table. Picture.) UEDIDM CURTAIK. 47 ACT IV. Scene. — Same as Act III. Discovery— -SedIjEY sits in chair, atjire, holding a skein of Berlin wool, EoLA sits on sofa, winding it off. Lively music at rise. EoLA. Are you tired ? Sed. Oh, dear, no — not at all. I rather like it. EoLA. That's funny. My brother Gus. used to get so cross— he never held it half as nice as you do. Sed. Well, brothers don't understand this thing. I never hold it for rey sister. EoLA. You dont ! Why 1 Sed. She don't wind as nice as you do. EoLA. Oh, Mr. Sedley 1 (drops the ball, both stoop for it, their heads come in contact, she draws back timidly) Oh, excuse me ! Sed. {gives her the ball). Beg pardon — all my fault. Did I hurt you ? Eof-A Oh, no. How stupid of nie to drop the ball) Sed. I was too far off — ought to sit nearer. Don't you think so 1 EoiiA {timidly). I don't know. Sed. [at end of sofa) Hadn't I better sit here? Eoi.A {move'< to r. end). Maybe so. Sed. {sits on other end). I think that's better ; don't you 1 EoLA. Yes ; it don't wind so tight now. Sed. I wish you wouldtft wind so fast. EoLA. Yes 1 Sed. Yes. EoLA. Whyl Sed. You'll get done too soon. EoLA (quickly). Oh, I have a great deal more. Sed. [sits neanr). That's jolly ! I could sit a whole day and do this. EoLA. You could 1 Sed. Ye.^. {gets nearer, she looks up, he draws back). You wind better when I'm close Lo you, don't you 7 EoLA. Ye-s. Sed. Now isn't it funny ? Do you know what I was thinking! EoLA. No. Sed. I was thinking how angry your father would be if he could see us now. EoLA. Oh, papa's getting old ; you mustn't mind him. Skd. No. I won't, ^gets nearer) He don't like me, does he? EoLA {timidly). He don't know you very well. Sed. Well, you — you knew me very well. EoriA. Yes. Sed. Well, you like me a little, don't you? EoLA Well — I — that is, you have been very kind to me, and I — I al- ways liUe kind people. Sed. But I don't mean that kind of like; I mean another word like like — same number of letters, but spelt another way. EoLA. I don't know what you mean 'i Sed. I mean a word like 1-o-v-e. What's that spell ? EoLA. It spells love. Skd. That's it — that's the way I want j'ou to like me. Will you 1 EoLA. Oh, my ! papa would be so angry. Sed. Oh, your father's getting old ; don't mind him. 48 CLOUDS. EoLA. Oh, ain't you ashamed to say that ? Sed. I mean, he's older than we are. EoLA. Of course he is. Oli, Mr. Sedley, j'ou're tangling that all up. Sed. And yoirre tangling me all up. Come now, say you love me a liitle, won't you 7 EoLA. Not if you say anything against my i)apa. Sed. Tlien you d(i — you do love mo a liitle 'i {trim to put arm around hcr^ but can't for the shci)i. Asufc) Confound the skein ! EoL.i (riscsi. Oh, dear! you'll have that all in a knot! Sed. (ri'fs). Don't go — say yes, won't you 1 EoLA Oh, my! some one's coming. Hush! {she sists l. of table, r., demurely winding. Sedley sits on sofa, l.) WiMBKRLY entcr.i, d. r., with newspaper in his hand, comes c, looks at them. WiMBERLT. Bless mc ! what an innocent looking couple! Don't you think you could wind better if you'd sit farther apart? Sed. (rises). Good-day, sir ; I'm in your way. (crosses c.) WiM. Thank you. I want my favorite chair. Rather chilly in the house. Have you read the morning paper '^ (turns nm-chalr, sils in frniil of /ire, w:th his bark to thim.) Sed. (r. c. ). No, sir. (aside to Eol\) He's in a good humor ; isn't he ? EoLA. Yes ; splendid ! V» lyi. . (reads pa2>er). Never ought to miss reading a morning paper, t^ir — tireatest blessing of an enliiilitened age. Sed. Yes, sir; you're right, sir. (to her) May 1 ask liini 'f Eot.A. If you want to. Wi.vi, Pajjer full of news. A conductor on the Third Avenue line was robbed of all the fares last night. The directors call it sacrilege, and intend having detectives hereafter on each car. S::d. Thai's too bad. WiM. Bad ! Egad, I think that robbery was a blessing. Sed. Of course, sir; that's wliat 1 mean. EoLA. Don't contradict him. Skd. (places skein ill her lap, tvith suddtH resolve). Here — hold this. I'd ask \\.in riiilit away. {(/oesL., boldhj.) WiM. Bless uie; listen to this, (reads, ^i^h-lkx stops, c.) " The bill now before the legislature at Albany, by which it is proposed to increase tlie head money paid to the Conuni.ssioners of Emigration for every emi- izrant l.mdod at Ca.sile Garden, is calculated to inflict serious injury npt.n flic commerce of thi.s port, as the steamship companies are unanimous in their determination to land their passengers at Boston and other purls, rather than submit to the additional tax." Si:n. (retreating to Eola). He won't listen to me. WiM. Weil, sir, whal do you think of that '? Sed. It's terrible sir. The eminrrants ought to know better. WiM. (springs up). Emigrants the devil, sir. What have they to do with it/ It's your greedy politicians, filling their pockets, and driving a jirosperous trade from youi- city ; can't you see that ? EoLA (aside). Oh, dear, don't ask him now. Sed. I — I was thinking of som'^thing else WiM Why, confound it, then yon didn't hear a word. Si:d. Oh, yes. sir. I hoar 1 i! ; bul the fact is WiM. You didn't understaixl it. EoL\. Or course, ]>apa, he understood it, but I took away his atten- tion. M> lieiliit wool got all tangled up. ACT IT. 49 Sed. {desperate). The fact is, Mr. Wimberly, I wish — hem ! I wish to speak to you on a very serious subject. WiM. Well, sir, oo on. Sed. I have seen, that is, I have felt— of course you are well aware — well, when 1 say I feel, 1 mean to say WiM. That you have a sensation, eh '! Sed. Yes, sir ; a sensation in a way — a feeling in a way — that I feel bound — of course to tell you — but that you might WiM. Why, bless me Mr S6^Mey, you're tangled up worse than the wool. Sed. Can't get started, sir. Would you mind a little walk 1 I think I can talk better in the air. AViM. Bless me, I hope so. Come at once, sir, if you please, [goes up, 0.) Sed. (to EoLA). He's in a bad humor now, isn't he] EoLA (rises). No, only pretending. WiM. [at tcindmv). I'm waiting, sir. Ella enters, d. n., with package of blank letters tied nlcch/ tvith white ribbon. Sed. [going up). Good day, Miss Ella; I'm just going to take a little stroll with Mr. Wimberly. Ella. Well, go on; I have no objections. [Wimberly and Sedley go out, c. EoLA. Oil, Ella, 1 am so happy. Ella. Are you 1 I'm glad somebody's happy here, [ffoes b. , sits at desk.) EoLA. Are you going to write ? Ella. No, only send away some antiquities, (directs the package.) EoLA. Antiquities ? Ella. Yes — musty old love letters. EoLA [ffoes to her}. Oh, mj', you're not going to give up your love let- ters ? Ella. Of course 1 am ; what's the good of them when the subject's worn out ? EoLA. Oh, dear, I'd never do that. Ella. Pshaw ! Every girl has to do it some time. I— I expected how it would be from the first — I — I thought it would end like this ; so 1 bought this — this prelty piece of ribbon, and ke])t them tied up nice so as to have them all ready when the time came to send them back. Eola. I wouldn't do it, dear. Ella (rises, goes to table). Oh, you're a child — you don't understand these things, (rings bell on table.) Eola. Well, I'm commencing to learn. Enter Servant, d. l. Ella. Leave this package at Mrs. Malvernon's. There is no answer. [Servant takes letter, and exits, d. l. There, now, it's done, and I — I am wretched, [sinks on ottmnan, c.) Eola (goes to her). I'm so .sorry you're unhappy. Ella. I'm not unhappy. Do you think I — I care because I sent back some — some old letters. Eola. It seems so strange. I'm sure I'd never send back a love letter. Ella. Did you ever have one ? Eola. No — not yet. 50 CL0T7DS. Ei.i-\. You tliink they are wonderful — but they're not. 1 11 show j-ou on;-. J)r,LA. Why, didn't you send them all away ? Eli.a [ttfkes leti3r from dress). No — I — I retained .just one — to rrmrn)- ber how — how badly lie wrote. Listen to this, (leads) " My dear ,]j\) ' — II.' used to call me Jaj) because my hair came out— ' My dear Ja;) — I am tliinUin:^ of you, and hard at work. I'm ])aiiitiniz tlic handsoin<»st moitUey you ever saw. 1 can't take you out boatinj to-day ; the mon- key's lej; is mot done, and I hale to leave olT Excuse and Ihinli of m ) in solitude. Be very careful of your hair ; a bald yount; lady is not m- tcre.stina, and a wig is not artistic. Thine in Cupid. — Fred." There what do yr-ii think of that ' Eoi.A. I think it's horrid ! Ell.v {r/scs) Well, if you don't like his letters, Miss Wimberly, you raiiiht ke;';) it to yourself, {rrosse.i, r., awn'ily.) EoLA. I mean I don't think .\lbery would write like that. Ella. -Vre you speaking of Mr. Sedley 1 EoLA [(imi(Uij). Yes. He's gone to ask papa to let me call biin A!- bery. Ella. Well, upon my word you are going fast. EoLA. You told me to connnence early. ELf.A. Did I \ Well, I've changed my mind, {sits, k. a.) I thought I knew the men, and 1 didn t. EoLA. .Ml miMi are not al.ke. Ella. Oh bother. Every girl thinks her lover is perfect- You take nay advice — let the men alone. I've had jnore experience than you have, and if I can't manage them — you can't. Hitter Ralph, d. e. EoLA. I don't want to manage them, (sees Ralpu) Oh ! Ralpu. Don't let me disturb you. Talking secrets 1 (crosses tojirc.) EoLA. Oh no — I was just going — I want to see — papa, {to Ella) Don't tell, Ella, [aside, going up) Everybody lias the blues in this hou.so but me — and I — oh I am so happy. [Exit, c, on laivn. Ella. Is anything the matter, Ralph 1 Ralph. Yes. Ira going away. Ella. Going away V (rises, goes to him.) Ralph. Yes. .My father gives me a homo simply upon a condition ; I have been base enough to hesitate, but I have at last summoned the courage to go. Ella. Is it about Coral Ralph. Yos. I have resolved not to make her ray wife. Ella. 0!i I'm so glad, Ralidi ; I don't lii;e her. Ralph. 1 fought this opportunity, Ella, to speak of sorae one else ; a young man who I find has sutlered through me. Ella. Who do you mean ? Ralph. Fred Town. Ella. Excuse me, I don't want to hear anything about that person. [goes, c. sits on ottoman. Ralph ( goes to her). I am altogether to blame for what has happened, and you niu.Nt listen to me. There has been a mistake, and before 1 go I wish to show you Fred in his true light. Ella. If yon want to eulogize Mr. Town, go to the lady who will lake most jdeasure in hearing it. Ralph. And who is that? Ell.\. .Mrs. Lcc. ACT TV. 61 Halpu. Tliat lady has already a correct conception of his character, and values liim Ijislily. Ella. I've no doubt of it. Ralph. I am not only aware of her friendship, but also approve of it. Ella. Oh ! Tiien you are interested in this fair widow too ? Ralfu (calmlij). I have a right to be, since I propose mailing her mj wife. Ella {springs up). What! Ralph. I am prepared for your surprise, but let me tell you franklj', I am not prepared for any explanation. I have but one object in telling you this, Ella, to show you that you have wronged Mr. Town. Ella. I don't wish you to apologize for Mr. Town. The fact that you are his successful rival don't compel you to get him a wife, {crosses to fire.) Ralph. There was no question of rivalry between us, and as this may be our last interview, I must request you to respect my words. Fred Town is as true and noble a gentleman as lives, and far more honorable — than j-Qur brother. Ella {comes to him, fakes his hand). Ralph ! Ralph. It is true. Here, sit tiiere. Turn your face a waj'^ from mc. (scats her on sofa, stands k. of her) A man who has to confess a guilty se- cret should not look in the eyes of a pure woman. 1 had hoped to convince you without wholly exposing myself, but I will not sull'er a noble man to be compromised by ray act. This Mrs. Loe is not a widow. She is a noble girl with a secret in her life, and with which secret 1 am unworthilij connected. As I sank in the mire Fred Town came to that poor girl's rescue, and placed her feet upon firm ground. He stood by her as a friend, preserved her secret at the risk of his own happiness, and placed her in a position to reach my heart. Tliis is the solo interest Mr. Town has had in Mrs Lee ; an interest actuated through sympathy and continued through honor. Ella {sadly). And I not know. Music, plaintive, pp. Randall appears, c. Ralph. His loyalty to her secret made him appear disloyal to you. The sole cause of all this trouble stands before you — your unwortliy brother Don't look at me — I could not bear to go away with tlic sight of the scorn flashing in those eyes. Let me leave without a kiss, with- out even a i)rcssuie of the hand. I wish to carry with me, in my exile, the remembrance of your face as I saw it before you had learned to blush for me. Good-bye, Ella, my dear sister ; 1 dare not hope for sympathy — I caimot expect pardon. All I can ask is, that you will try and forget that the shadow of your brother's sin once raised a passing cloud between you and your love, {going, k.) Ella. Ralph, don't go ; I forgive you all. (she rushes to him, lie folds her in his arms, kisses her brow. Randall comes down, l. c.) Randall {stcrnli/). Ella, come here ! {she goes to him, slowly) i have no longer a son ; for the future you will forget that you ever had a brother. Ella. Oh, papa ! no— you don't Ran. I wish no comments upon my conduct, please. Leave us. \^goes down tojire, Ella ^o^s slowly to door, l., tarns, looking at Ralph.) Ella. Ralph, all my soul speaks to you in my last words. Good-bye. \Exit, D. L. Music stops. 52 CLOUDS. Ran. {standing at fire). I see you have had the good taste to take your sisior into your confidence. Ralph \_v..). 1 was compelled to do so. Rax. The sympaliiics of a younji girl are easily excited, and as a man of I lie woiM I presume you know every note in tlie scale. Ralph. A man wlio is utterly defensive, sir, is unworthy your sarcasm. Ra.v. You are ri<;ht — accept my apology. From what I heard as I eiiie.e 1, I i)resume you are about to leave here. Ram'u. l)i) you wish me to remain 1 Ran. That is bad taste, sir — I hate to have a man answer a question by .isUinsr another. Ralph. Well, sir, I leave here at once, since you drive me from the liotiso. Ran. I deny that ; you drive yourself out. Ralph. Very well, father; in either case I am readj' to go, and at once. Rax. One moment, please. Ralph. There is nothing further to be said, is there ? Ra.v. Yes, sir, there is sonjetliing further to be said. Ti)i8 — woman has dared to enter my house, and appears to set my authority at defi- ance; her influence over you is api)arent from tiiis letter, in which you grandly take leave of me, and regret your inability to follow my wishes, ( 2Jrodnccs letter. ) Ralph. I wrote you that because I thought further words between us could do no good. Ran. Did I consider only my outraged feelings, I would never trouble myself to speak to you again ; but I have determined — I confess after a struggle — to have more consideration for you than you have ever had for me. Ralph {quickli/). Oh, father — will you forgive? Rax. Never, sir, while I have memory and will. You have forced me to break my word — you turn your back \\\wn Miss Adair, the daughter of my old friend, and a woman worthy, in every respect, to be your wife. You have destroyed the greatest wish of my life, and now propose to leave here witii the woman who has brought her shame across my door. Ralph. Any shame there may be in the matter, father, rests solely upon me. Knowledge and intention are necessary to every sin. This poor girl believed herself my wife ; is her soul less pure that she be- lieved a lie ! Ran. I decline to discuss this question with you, sir. Some time since you cliarged me, I believe, with not having faithfully performed my duty as a father. Ralph. For all that I may have said in a hasty moment, sir, I beg youi' pardon. Ran. You assert that your collegiate education will not supply you with the experience necessary to earn your bread ; but you will please remember tliat I educated you for the position of a man of wealth not called upon to earn your living. A loving father, proud of his son, is not likely to anticipate that boy's villainy, and make provision for his graduating in ciime. My respect for my word compels me to cast you out of my heart forever, but I will not leave you altogether a beggar. (erosses, n., sits at denlc.) Ralph {c ). What do you mean ? Rax. (writes in check-hook j. 1 mean that I will alone for my fault in educating yt keep — it had gone to whisper my folly to the flowers ; but the ashes remained — I reverently collected them with a silver spoon and placed tiiem Eli.a. Where? Fri.d. In a snuff-box. [takes out hatidscmi' wu^-box.) Ella. You're launliiiia at me. Fi:ed. The sniiH-box is a new one ; I would not permit the odor of the nicotine leaf to cling around the embalmed remembrance of my love. Ella. If the letters are pone, what good are the ashes. Fred. \s a souvenir They servo to remind mo that I once gave a woman the power to ;hvow back in my teeth the vows of love penned by an honest hand. Ella. Give me my letters. Fi:i;d. No, I ll keep them, {puts them in his pocket.) Ella. Whore; in a snuti'-bo.x ? F;-;ed. Precisely. In their place I give you this. In this little casket rest the letters 1 once wrote to you, but in a changed form. Upon the lid I have inscribed the followinii beautiful elegy : — jeads from snuff-box.) Pandora gave to man a box. From out it youriL; hope dashes ; It leads a man until ho finds His love and hope are — ashes. Ella. You're making fun of me, and it's cruel; but it's always the way with you men; if a woman frowns, you are kneeling at her feet, but if she smiles, you are striking at her lieart. {sits on sofa, sobs.) FiiRD. And when she weeps, we are nestling by her side. You asked me for my letle:vs — take them. There, don't turn away ; I am in earnest. This little box is not elegant, but it is truthful, and it contains a lesson we may both profit by. Take it, Ella, and with it the assurance that my ACT IV. 55 love, Phoenix-like, but springs rejuvenated from its — ashes, {kneels beside her, ) Ella {takes box). Fred, I've — I've been very naughty. FitED. Good! Ella. And I'm — I'm sorry now. Fred. Better! Eli-a. And I'll never do so any more. Fred. Best. Ella. You forgive me 1 Fred. Fully. Ella. Oli, Fred! (falls in his arms.) Fked. Oh, Ella ! WiMBERLY and EoLA eii(er, c. Eola ffoes dotvn r., sulkily. Fred and Ella spring up. WiMBF.nLY (c.)- Bless me — what's all this 7 Fked (l c). Rehearsal, sir ; we're practicing for private theatricals. (Ella crosses r , to Eola.) WiM. Well, sir, if you act as naturally as you rehearse, your perform- ance will be a success. Come here, I want to talk to you. {they stand by fire) Ella. Oh, dear, I'm so happy ! Eola {turns, sits sulkily at tahlr). Are you 1 Well, I'm glad some one's hapi>y herp. Ella. Why. what's the matter 1 Eola. Why, I'm- I'm wretched. Ella. My poor darling! Your father has refused Mr. Sedley. Eola. No, he hasn't. Ella. No ? Then what is it 1 EiiLA. Why, he's — he's put it off ever so long. Ella. What, the niarriase I Eola. Yes. Papa (old Albery that if he'd come to Chicago, set up in business, and ask for me again at the end of five years, then — he'd think of it ! Ella. And what did Mr. Sedley say ? Eola. Said he didn t think his father would let him. Ella. Wi'll, don't fret ; it will all come right. Eola. No, it won't. You can't expect a man to be true five years. Ella. Oh, yes, you can. When a man truly loves, he's one of nature's noblemen, and you can sa''ely trust him. Eola (looks iq), surprised). Gracious! you've changed your views won- derfully. Ella. Yes. I've been taking lessons in manology, and it's done me good. But come, let's go out in the park ; I ve lots to tell you. They go up, meeting Randall, toko enters, d. r., he bows coldly, goes down, sits at desk, writing. Eola. What's the matter with your father 1 Ella. He's got the blues. Eola. How I pity him ! [Eola atid Ella go off, c. WiM. {'o Fr.KD). Now's our time. You go look to j-^our part of the work, I'll vouch for mine. Fred. I'll have all ready in five minutes. \Exit Feed, d. l. WiM. {back to fire). Busy, Walter'? BrANDALL {uniting). Not very. Why 1 06 CLOUDS. WiM. I want to talk to you. Ran. Talk away; I can wn^e and listen. Nothing very serious, I hoi)e. WiM. Yes, it is serious. You've sent Ralph away. Ran. I thought it was your business y<)a wished to speak of. WiM. {(/oes c. ). Come, now. Walter, that's unkind. You and I have been old ivieiuls for years, and you know that 1 am interested in all tliat concerns your happiness. Ran. (places letter in envelope, directs it). I have abandoned all hope of happiness. WiM. Yes, that's it; just like most men. Drive nappmess away through your stubbornness, and then complain over baing wretched. Now, you are unhappy because you have abandoned your son. Rax. Excuse me, William, but this is a matter that concerns me alone. (rises, crosses, l.) WiM. (r. c ). There, you can't stop me by any display of dignity. I'm not only your fiiend, but I'm your sons friend, and I'm not going to stand by and see him sbuved out of tliis house without saying, at least, that it's a damned sliame. Ran. I consider myself the best judge in this matter, and, I believe, understand my duty, {sits on sofa.) WiM Duty ! duty be There, you shan't spoil my case by mauing me angry. Wiiat do yon call duty — sending your' son away because he can't mould his heart according to your fancy 1 Ran. Before you appear in his defence you should know all the points in the case. Wi.M. I do know them, Walter ; I know that Ralph has acted wrong — confoundedly wrong ; but he has a plenty of good, solid stulf at bottom, and I don't want to see it turned to clay. Rax. If you know all, can you blnme me ? WiM. Certainly, 1 can. You may change iron into any shape you will, but you must heat it before you commence beating it with a ham- mer. You should take your boy by the hand, warm his henrt by the electric spavk of paternal syn)pathy, and try to lead him, not drive. Ran. I have no belief in the system of coaxing. A son's first duty is obedience. WiM. Very true, Walter ; but remember youth is rather hasty and 7>romi)t to go wrong. A father may regret a son's yielding to tempta- tion, but he should not drive that son to, perhaps, worse deeds, by any uncalled for severity. Ran. 1 have explained to him my wishes, and he has seen fit to de- spise them. WiM. You're besging the question, Walter. You permit j'our selfish- ness and pride to blind you. Ran. (spriiiffs np). Sir ! WiM. There — don't jmnp — in severe cases tlie dr.ctor must use the knife. Let us look this tiling full in the face. In your selfish desire to have your wishes carried out, you forget the suffering that may be en- tailed upon another. Now, what is your son doing? lie is striving to make the oidy atonement in his power for a vile wrong to an innocent girl, and has thrown away his inheritance in order to act like an honor- al)le man. Ran. Look here — answer me plaiuly — what is it you would have mo do 7 WiM. Reconcile yourself to the inevitable, pardon your son, and re- ceive him here with his wife. Ran. You forget yourself, sir — that woman {crosses, sits at talle.) ACT IV. 57 Music — Stella appears at unndoiv, comes slowhj doum, c. WiM. That, lady, sir, whose puritj' and sufFeriii:^ entitles her at least to respect, [takes her handi She has been an innocent party in all of this. She has come liere to seek your son, but before leaving she wishes to ask your forgiveness, [nods to Stella, ivho goes r. c, kneels at side of Randall.) Stel. To beg it, sir, on ray knees. Ran. (rises). Yon here ? WiM. I requested Mr. Town to send this lady here, feeling that as a gentleman, you would at least listen to her. Ra\. My letter to you, madam, I believe conveyed my w'shes. Stel, {rises). I could not resist the opportunity, sir, of seeing you, if onl)' for once, in ray true character, and asking your pardon for my deception. Ran. I must ask you to spare me anj- supplications. Stel. I do not intend to supplicate, sir — I wish simply to Tnake you a confession of the whole truth, and sliow you that I am at least worthy of your sympathy. Rax. I can really see no good in all this, (sits against l. of table.) Stel. Do not refuse me at least the satisfaction of knowing tliat you have heard the whole truth ? I have entered your house under a fals3 name, and for that deception I ask your pardon. In the desire to right myself, I have wronged you. (Wimbhrly stands l., at fire, listening.) Ran. I am sorry you wish to dwell upon the subject. Stel. Do not think harslily of me; I am only weakly striving to jus- tify myself in your eyes. My father was a Virginian, residing on a lit- tle property near Noniini Court House, Westmoreland County. There I was born. My mother died when I was very young, and my fatlier, impoverished by the war, removed to Richmond, where he obtained some little employment as a civil engineer. Some years after, receiving a lucrative offer to go to England, he left this country, taking me with him. Ran. All this is useless Sti:l. Oh, do not refuse to listen to me, sir — the only defence I can make, is to tell you the plain story of my life. Ran. (slightly moved]. Well — -ao on. Stel. We reached London in safety, and after a few days rest started for our final destination, Manchester. The train started, and father and I were alone in tlie carriage in which the guard had locked us. It was a stoiMny night, the rain poured in torrents ; but the train da^h^d on, with what seemed to me, like reckless speed. My father fell asleep, and I was left alone with my thoughts. The darkness without was im- ]ienetrable, that within was only relieved by the feeble light of a small lamp. The only sound was the monotonous rumble of the wheels over their iron bed. The solitude became painful — I was afraid — my mind began to wander — I thougiit I heard strange whispers ; faces appeared laughing at me througli the windows — I leaned over to arouse my father from his sleep, when there was a violent rocking of the carriage, a sud- den jerk — a shriek from the engine, a cry of human agony — and then — all was darkness. Ran. (interested). An accident. Stel. Wlien I recovered my senses, I was lying upon the side of the road, a man was standing near me, holding a lantein in his hand ; but at my side, kneeling upon the wet groiuid, was a j'ounger man, who held my wounded head tenderly u])on his knee. I looked up wondering in his face, and I saw for the first time, sir — your son. 6?S CLOUDS. Ran. Well. Stel. All was a^ain a blank, and when after days of delirium, I crawled back to stren^fth, I learned tbat I was alone in a strange l;uid, for in the darkness that came upon me that fatal night, I had lost my all, my father. Ran. (moved). Go on. Stel. The only face that was not strange to me, was the face of your son. He had remained to guard me, had paid for the lodging in which I slept, and when he learned my utter helplessness, gradually breathed into my ear the intere.st he felt in my fate, and— offered me his hand. Ran. {sadly). Which you accepted. Stel. What was I to do ? I was alone, without money, without friends. H3 had seen to the interment of my poor father's body, my father torn from me in my sleep, and buried without a dauirhler's pres- ence or a dauizhter's Kiss. It was your son who found him a grave, and paid him the last testimony of respect. It was your son who stood by me in my helplessness, tended me with the gentle care of a woman, and when in return for his devotions he asked me for my love — oh, sir, can you wonder that I said, yes ? Ran. Go on — go on. Stel. I knew him but as Ralph Gordon. He spoke of his father as a man of pride and wealth, and urged upon me a secret marriage, to be only aciuiowledged when he had prevailed upon his father to accept his bride. I loved him and accepted, and we were married at night in a little chapel near my father's grave. Ran. And then ? Stel. We returned to this country, where in a little homo in Eaten- town, I found perfect happiness, until that night when he fled, leaving behind him the penned confession of his sin. His letter would have killed me, but the thought 'of my child made me strong. In my utler need, Heaven sent me one friend, who listened to my plea, ond brought me here. There, sir, is the worthless certificate I received at ray fa- ther's grave. I came here to ask your son for justice; I have told you all, and though I liave taken from you your boy — oh, sir — have I not a right to him '! (sinks on her knees.') Ran. {rises, raises licr). Rise, madam. I confess I have done 3'ou gross injustice in my thoughts, and I am sorry for it. I find my son was not led into error, but has been a deliberate villain. Stel. He wished me to tell you all. He is sorry — he is seeking to atone. Rax. His only atonement will be in making you his wife ; but in do- ing that he separates himself from me forever. WiM. Why, confound it, Walter, you don't mean Ran. 1 must request you not to interrupt me, sir. I am not so utterly heartless as you imagine. 1 have here a letter {shows the one A- wrot' at desk) to my bankers, placing the sum of $5,000 to his credit ; if he does not use it, it will go to his child. I will have no hard thoughts for you, madam, but my son has deceived me, and I will not break my word — at my death my estate will be equally divided between my daughter, Elh, and the daughter of my old friend, Adair. SrrcL. {(•■dml;/). You cannot leave anything to his child. Ran. What do you mean ! Stel. 1 mean that the child of J.Ir. Adair is — dead. Ran. {starts). What! (Wimberly stands, qnietlij, l.) 8tel. I speak the truth, sir ; the lady who is here bears his name, but is not bis child. ACT IT. 59 Ran. Pray, madam, do you expect me to believe this 1 {rings hell on table.) WiM. (quickhi). What are you going to do 1 Ran. Summon Miss Adair to answer this charge. Stel. That will be lier triumph, sir, for I liave no proof. Ran. Then why do you dare to accuse her l Stel. To save you from the deception that she has practiced upon you for years. I had proof in Mr. Buddies; he has disappeared. Now, sir, grant me one favor — the only one — the last. Leave me alone wilh that woman, but overhear our conversation — if she does not betray her- self, do with me as you will. Ran. You wish to make me a spy ] WiM. If she is really Miss Adair there can be no injury to her ; if she is not, she ought to be found out. Stel. I know she is deceiving you, sir. I can only hope to unmask her in this way — grant me the trial. Ran. {slight jjnusej. I consent. Servant otters, d. r. Robert, tell Miss Adair I wish to see her. WiM. Hem ! No — say a lady, but not what lady. Ran. \"ery well — do so. [Servant exits, d. r. Come, sir, let us go. I am consenting to an arrangement, madam, that I am ashanieil of, but 1 must know how much tiuth there is in all this. {ffocs iij} and ojf, c.) WiM. {as he goes up, to Stella). Keep up j'our courage ; for Heaven's sake, don't fail. \Exit, c. Stkl. Now that what I wished for is in my grasp, I tremble so I can hardly stand. Oh, if I but knew how to choose my words. If I can only save that poor old man from this adventuress, I will at least have done some good. If Mr. Town had but obtained some proof — if but one line Cora enters, d. r. — starts, Stella s'ands l. c. Cora. Robert told me a lady was waiting— he must have been mis- taken. Stel. {calmly). It is I who wished to see you, Miss Adair. Cora. You will permit me to confess my surprise at seeing you here 1 Stel. I am heie because I have something to say to you alone. Cora. You can have nothing to say to me that others should not hear. Stel. 1 will tell you. Cora. Thank you — I don't take servants into my confidence. Strl. (calinly\. Are you sure of that ! CoiiA. I believe I understand my own character. Ste:.. I am glad of that — my task will be less difiicuit. Cora. Your pirdon. We have nothing in conmion, and I refuse to listen to your communication. We do not stand upon eiLual ground ; and, until you leave this house, 1 will seelj the i)rotection of my room. If you have anything to say to me, I prefer it should be in writing. {going.') Stel. {quiethj). And to whom shall I address my letter — Cora Adair, or — Jane Waters .' Cora [slight start). I am at a loss to understand you. Sti'L. If you will remain I will take pleasure in explaining. Cora. Thank you, but I can hardly feel enough interest in it to re- main longer in your presence. 60 CLOTTDS. Stel. Tou prefer, then, that I should taice my information to Mr. Randall ? Cora {comes down, r. c). That implies a threat. Pray don't misun- derstand me. I desired to free myself from your presence, not to fly from your infoi mation ; as you appear to believe that I am intimidated, however, I will remain, {looks quickhj around, and sits l. of tabic) Please spare me any prosy oration, and make your accusation as brief as possi- ble. Stel. I have no accusation to make ; I simply wish to tear a leaf from the past, and hand it to you as your passport to another sphere of action. Cora. My dear madam — I will call you madam, — while being concise pray be intelligible. I have a horror of riddles. Stel. I will endeavor to be plain ; but first let me make a confession. When I first saw you I disliked you. At that time I knew nothing against you, and I had no just cause for my antipathy. It was an un- worthy feeling, springing from purely selfish motives ; and, as 1 wronged you then, I now ask your pardon. Cora. Don't trouble yourself to apologize. Stel. I do so in justice to my better nature. At the time to which I allude you intimated that you would drive me from this house ; I will be less harsh tlian you, and simply request you to leave. Cora. Request me to leave 1 Really I must do you the justice to admire your assurance. Stkl. I ask you to leave this house in order that you may be spared the pain of having its master tell you to go. Cora {rises). Madam, you go too far! Stel. If you will kindly remiin seated I will give you my reasons. Cora. Well, in doing so, pray spare me your insidts. [sits.) Stel. If wliat I say insults you, you can only blame yourself. I sugaested to you the propriety of leaving this house, because you fill a position here to which you have no claim. Cora. Go on. You may excite my contempt ; I will not permit you to arouse my anger. Stel. As you are evidently determined to test my power, T must trouble you to listen to a short narration of facts. Mr. Randall had, in his youth, a friend to whom he was ardently attaciied. ]• ailure in busi- ness drove that friend into exile, and for many years all trace of him was lost, until one day a letter was brou^lit by a young girl, which proved to be ii message fr>m the dead. From that letter Mr. Randall learned that liis friend had died in India, with but little means, on-nly, c.) Ran. I am grieved to have been a witness to tliis scene — more so at its unexpected termination. After what has occurred, it is hardly necessary for me to request you to retire. Cora. Why, you can't believe all this — let her produce the letter. Stel. Mr. Buddies told Mr. Town of the letter ; I have never seen it. Ran. No further proof is necessaiy. Your manner throughout the controversy has been a tacit avowal of guilt. Your presence hereafter will be painful to me, and I must request you at your earliest conven- ience, to leave this house, {sinks on sofa, l., agitated.) Cora. Very well, sir; I will not supplicate. As you prefer the word of that woman to the assertion of a lady, 1 trust she will compensate you for my absence, [aside, at d. e.) Failure at last — and through her! [Exit, D. R. 62 CLOUDS. Ralph, Feed, Ella, and Eola, ajjpear at window, Wimberlt, havinfj beckoned to then), gois down, l. of sofa. WiM. Walter — my ol 1 frieml — they are here. Ran. Don't speak — look at me — I am a helpless old man, deceive 1 u i all sideo — can you ask me after this to trust in human love ! {music, pp., pi tintivc.) Stel. {comes slowly to sofa). We arc going now, sir. I have done my duty, yet even in that I have caused you pain. I have exposed a wn- maii whom you loved, and I have robbed j^ou of a son in whom you ui.ce had pride. A poor and friendless girl, 1 have been thrown by fate within the sha low of your life, and my presence has caused nothing but pain. As a mother, stru2gling for her child, 1 may have your sym|iq- thy — but, as the wife of your son, I dare not ask your blessing. Fare- well, sir ; you have forbidden us to love you, but 1 at least will pray for you {goes up sioivly, r ) WiM. Walter, crush down this pride — for Heaven's sake call her back ! Randall sits, (jreatly moved, his head bowed. Ralpii comes slowly dow.n. Ralph. Father! (RxyvAhh slightly starts) Let me caW you so the last time. 1 am about to leave here — perhaps foiever. 1 am going, hand in hand, with the womin I have wronged. She has told you all I have been guilty of ; you know how much I have to alone. I have been to you in everj- way unworthy — but try and forgive, if you can't forget. I am not pleading now for the sake of your m-^ney — I am no longer afraid of the future; but, in order that my life may not be altogether clouded by the remembrance of your sternness, say to me but once, as a father to a son — " God bless you — good-bye." {extends his hand — RAXDALLr/ses, shaking with emotion, and, without looking at Ralph, takes his hand.) Ran. My boy, 1 cannot say — good-bye— I can only say — bring to mo yo'i)- wife. SriiL. {rushes doion tohim ivith a cry). Father! Ran. My chdd. Stella kneels at Randall's feet; he stands jj. c, tvith left hand on her head the rigid hand extended to FtXhPi, wh.'> .••tands behind her; Wim- Bi'HiLY stands at fire, rubbing his hands ; Frkd at window, seizes Ella in his armi ; Eola turns fruiii thev.i tcith a pout, and sits at piano — plays. Ficture. CURTAiy. SYNOPSIS. The scene of Act I. is laid in the garden of a small cottage in Eatentown, N. J., known as Gordon Villa. The proprietor is a Mb. Kalph Gordon, who occupies it in company with liis wile, Stella, and child. He is apparently a man of leisure, having, however, a secret, which is as much a mystery to his wife as to his neigh- bors—viz , the source whence he derives his income. Making periodical visits (o New York, lie remains away but a short time and returns always with plenty of cash. The fact tluit he is known in that city by another name is first intimated to Stklla by Miss 1'bim, an inquisitive old maid, and the certainty of its truth is subi eequeutly confirmed by Fbso Town, whose appearance on the scene evidently causes CLOUDS. O-J the husband great uneasiness. The -wife bein^ sent away, nn interview between Fked and Ralph reveals the fact that the father of the latter has but just learned of his residence in Jersey and of the deception he is practising. A letter brou'^lit by FuKD commands his instant return home ; and, awed by the paternal summons, Ealph flies from Jersey, leavint? a few hasty lines as explanation to his wife. Mr. Billy Buddles, who is spying in Eatentown for a certain purpose, obtains posses- sion of the letter left by Ralph, and it is from his lips Etklla first hears of her hus- band's flight. The letter left for her reveals all his baseness, and informs her tliat their marriage was a mockery— that she is not his wife. In the moment of her grief Frf.d Town appears and offers her his friendship, and gives the real name of Ralph Goudon, as Ralph Randall, son of AValter Randall of New York. The certainty of being utterly deceived, arouses all her strengtli, and accepting the prof- fered friendship of Town, resolves to make herself in the eyes of man what she is in the eyes of Heaven— Ralph Randall's wife. The second act takes place in the park of Mr. Randall's residence on the Hud- son. The curtain rises on an amusing collection of characters interrupted by the return of Fred Town from his sketching trip. Mb. Randall being in quest of a housekeeper, Fred brings Stella to fill that position, introducing her as Mrs. Lee. She is received by Cora Adair, a cold and haughty woman, with disdain. Cora, who is the protege of Randall, is designed by liim as the future wife of his son. Securing the place, however, she again meets Bcddles, who is Randall's man of business, but he is silent as to her identity, being under the influence Fred Tows. Mh. Randall informs Coba of his son's expected visit, and assures her that before his departure their engagement will be an established fact. During this time Ella, Ra.ndall's daughter, who is engaged to Fred, becomes jealous of his apparent at- tentions to the new housekeeper, and thereby seriously endangers Stella's position. The arrival of Ralph is followed by his proposal to Cora, which is overheard by Stella .and Town, closing the act witli an effective tableau. Act III. passes in the drawing room at Mr. Randall's villa. Mrs. Malvernon, tbe aunt ot Fred Town, calls on Ella and Cora, hrin;?ing witli her Miss Prim, who is i)aying her a visit. Stella suddenly caters in her c)iaracter of housekeeper, meets Miss Prim, and the surprise of that Iidy convinces Cora that there is a secret connected with Stella's past life. Miss Prim, yieldin'^ to Stella's wishes, refuses to speak, and the visitors depart without Cora's curiosity being gratified. Cora has, liowevcr, seen enough to convict Stella of deceit, and knowing of Ralph's res- idence in Jersey tlirough the aid of Bcddles, arrives at a shrewd guess of the truth. Stella confesses to Fred Town the result of Miss Prim's appearance, and it is agreed that Stella must depart in order to avoid the dismissal -which Cora will be certain to obtain from Mb. Randall. At the moment she is preparing for her de- parture, she is suddenly brought face to face with her husband. An explanation, takes place, and to his horror he discovers that the housekeeper he has heard of as Mrs. Lee is the woman he has so basely wronged. Carried away by lier feelings, Stella pleads with him to atone for his f.iult — she speaks of the old home and the old happiness, and with all a mother's love for her boy, begs of the man who should be her husband to give that boy a name. At first hesitatini', he is upon the point of relenting, when Cora, who has overheard all, appears between them, giving to Stella a letter from Mr. Randall, dismissing her from the house. Ralpu sinks back, and the curtain falls on a powerful and affecting tableau. In the fourtli and last act the scene remains the same as Act III. Ralph, having resolved to atone for his fault by marrying Stella, confesses all to his sister, and bids her farewell. His father, in liis blind desire to see his son the husband of Cora, the child of liis old friend Adair, resolves never to forgive him, ami, candidly inform- ing Ralph of his intention to disinherit him, offers him two thousand dollars. This Ralph refuses to accept, and bids liis father farewell. At tliis point, Mr. Wimeer- LY, who has been the guest of Randall, endeavors lo mitigate the anger of the stem old parent, and secures a meeting between him and Stella. She tells him the story of ber life— reveals tbe whole truth, and compels tbe old man to admit hex 64 CLOUDS. entire innocence. "While confessing that his son is bound in honor io make her his ■wife, he still refuses to see either of them again, and expresses his determination to divide his estate between his daughter, Ella, and Cora, the child of his old friend Adair. Stella, having obtained a full knowledge of Coba's past life through Fred Town's influence over Bl'ddles, desires to be left alone with her, and the old man, beiii:,' a listener at that interview, discovers to his profound dismay that he has been doubly decL-iveJ, and that the giil he lias loved and sheltered as the daughter of his old friend Adair is but an impostor and a cheat. In the moment of his anguish at this revelation, his son and Stella come to take their leave. The last remnants of his pride causes liim a momentary struggle, but the feeling of the father rises to the surface, and all is forgiven. There are several other characters not material to the development of the plot, but being closely interwoven with its incidents, make an agreeable introduction. ^^ ^ / DK WITT'S ACTING PLAYS (Continued). Lancashire Lass, melodrama, 5 acts.l3 3 Larkins' Love Letters, farce, 1 act. . 3 2 L'Article 47, drama, 3 acts 11 5 Liar (The), comedy, 2 acts 7 2 Life Chase, drama, 5 acts 14 5 Living Statue (The), farce, 1 act 3 2 Little Annie's Birthday, farce, 1 act. 2 4 Little Rebel, farce, 1 act 4 3 Little Ruby, drama, 3 acts 6 6 Locked In, comedietta, 1 act 2 2 Lockedin with a Lady, sketch, 1 act. 1 1 Locked Out, comic scene 1 2 Lodgers and Dodgers, farce, 1 act.. 4 2 Leap Year, musical duality, 1 act. . . 1 1 Marcoretti, drama, 3 acts 10 3 Maria and Magdalena, play, 4 acts . 8 6 Marriage at Any Price, farce, 1 act. 5 3 Master Jones' Birthday, farce, 1 act. 4 Maud's Peril, drama, 4 acts 5 Midnight Watch, drama, 1 act 8 Milky White, drama, 2 acts 4 Miriam's Crime, drama, 3 acts 5 Model of a Wife, farce, 1 act 3 Money, comedy, 5 acts 17 Mr. Scroggins.'farce, 1 act 3 Mr. X., farce, 1 act 3 My Uncle's Suit, farce, 1 act 4 My Wife's Diary, farce, 1 act 3 1 My Wife's Out, farce, 1 act 2 2 My Walking Phuto-raph, musical duality, 1 act 1 1 Never Reckon Your Chickens, etc., farce, 1 act 3 4 New Men and Old Acres, comedy, 3 8 5 Nobody's c hild, drama, 3 acts 8 3 Noemie, drama, 2 acts 4 4 No Name, drama, 5 acts 7 5 Not a Bit Jealous, farce, 1 act 3 3 Not So Bad as We Seem, play, 5 acts. 14 3 Not Guilty, drama, 4 acts 10 6 Not Such a Fool as He Looks, drama, 3 acts 5 Nothing Like Paste, farce, 1 act 3 No Thoroughfare, drama, 5 acts and prologue 13 Off the Stage, comedietta, 1 act 3 On Bread and Water, farce, 1 act. . . 1 Only a Halfpenny, farce, 1 act 2 Only Somebody, farce, 1 act 4 One too Many for Him, farce, 1 act. 2 £100,000, comedy, 3 acts 8 Orange Blo-soms, comedietta, 1 act. 3 Orange Girl, drama, in prologue and 3 acts 18 Ours, comedy, 3 acts 6 Our Clerks, farce, 1 act 7 Our Domestics, comedy farce, 2 acts 6 Our Heroes, military play, 5 acts. . .24 Out at Sea, drama in prologue and 4 acts 16 Overland Route, comedy, 3 acts 11 Peace at Any Price, farce, 1 act 1 Peep o' Day, drama, 4 acts 12 Peggy Green, fane, 1 act 3 10 Petticoat Parliament, extravaganza, in one act 15 24 Photographic Fix, farce, 1 act 3 2 A COMPLETE No. M. r. 61. Plot and Passion, drama, 3 acts 7 3 138. Poll and Partner Joe, burlesque, 1 act 10 3' 110. Poppleton's Predicaments, farce, 13 6 50. Porter's Knot, drama, 2 acts 8 2 59. Post Boy, drama, 2 acts 5 3 95. Pretty Horse-Breaker, farce, lact.. 3 10 181 and 182. Queen Mary, drama, 4 acts.38 8 1,57. Quite at Home, comedietta, 1 act. . . 5 2 196. Queerest Courtship (The), comic op eretta, 1 act 1 1 132. Race for a Dinner, farce, 1 act 10 183. Richelieu, play, 5 acts 16 3 38. Riglitful Heir, drama, 5 acts 10 2 77. Roll of the Drum, drama, 3 acts 8 4 13. Ruy Bias, drama, 4 acts 12 4 194. Rum, drama, 3 acts 7 4 195. Rosemi Shell, travesty, 1 act, 4 scenes 6 3 158. School, comedy, 4 acts 6 6 79. Sheep in Wolf's Clothing, drama, 17 5 37. Silent Protector, farce, 1 act 3 2 35. Silent Woman, farce, 1 act 3 1 ' 43. Sisterly Service, comedietta, 1 act. . 7 2 6. Six Months Ago, comedietta, 1 act. 2 1 10. Snapping Turtles, duologue, 1 act.. 1 1 26. Society, comedy, 3 acts 16 5 78. Special Performances, farce, 1 act.. 7 3 31. Taming a Tiger, farce, 1 act 3 1.50. Tell-Tale Heart, comedietta, 1 act. . 1 2 120. Tempest in a Teapot, comedy, 1 act. 2 1 146. There's no Smoke Without Fire, comedietta, 1 act 1 83. Thrice Married, personation piece; lact 6 1 42. Time and the Hour, drama, 3 acts.. 7 3 27. Time and Tide, drama, 3 acts and prologue 7 5 133. Timothy to the Rescue, farce, 1 act. 4 2 153. 'Tis Better to Live than to Die, farce, 1 act 2 1 134. Tompkins the Troubadour, farce, 13 2 29. Turning the Tables, farce, 1 act. ... 5 3 168. Tweedie's Rights, comedy, 3 acts.. 4 2 126. Twice Killed, farce, 1 act 6 3 56. Two Gay Deceivers, farce, 1 act 3 123. Two Polls, farce, 1 act 4 4 198. Twin Sisters (The), comic operetta, 1 act 3 1 162. Uncle's Will, comedietta, 1 act 2 1 106. Up for the Cattle Show, farce, 1 act. 6 3 81. Vandyke Brown, farce, 1 act 3 3 124. Volunteer Review, farce, 1 act 6 6 91. Walpole, comedy, 3 acts 7 2 118. Wanted, a Young Lady, farce, 1 act. 3 44. War to the Knife, comedy, 3 acts. . . 5 4 105. Which ofthe Two? comedietta, lact 2 10 2 4 98. Who is Who? farce, 1 act 3 12. Widow Hunt, comedy, 3 acts 4 5. William Tell with a Vengeance, burlesque 136. Woman in Red, drama, 3 acts and prologue 6 161. Woman's Vows and Mason's Oaths, 4 acts 10 11. Woodcock's Little Game, farce, 2 4 54. Young Collegian (Cantab.), farce, 1 3 8 2 DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE of DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS AND DE WITT'S ETHIOPIAN AND COMIC DRAMAS , containing Plot, Costume, Scenery, Time of Representation and every other information, mailed free and post paid. Address, ROBERT M. DE WITT, 33 Rose Street, New York. DE WITT'S ETHIOPIAN & COMIC DRAMAS. Nothing so Hiormtgh and complete in the way of Ethiopian and Comic Dramas has ever been printed as those that appear in the following list. Not only are (he plots excellent, the characters droll, the incidents funny, the language humorous, but all the situations, by-play, positions, pantomimic business, scenery, and tricks are so plainly set dotvn and clearly ex^ plained, that the-merest novice could put any of them on the stage. Included in this catalogn are all the most laughable and effective pieces of their class ever produced. **♦ In ordering, please copy the figures at the commencement ofeachplay, which indicai the number of the piece in " Dk Witt's Ethioi'Ian and Comic Drama." tW" Any of the following Plays sent, jmstage free, on receipt of price — 15 Cents Each. Address, ROBERT M. DE WITT, jyo. 33 liose Sir eel, JVew York ^" The figure following the name of the Play denotes the number of Acts. The Sgures in the columns indicate the number of characters.— M. male; F. female. #** Female characters are generally assumed by males in these plays. No. M. 94. Julius the Snoozer, burlesque, 3 scenes 7 1. Last of the Mohicans,! scene 3 18. Live Injun, sketch, 4 scenes 4 35. Laui;luns Gas. sketch, 1 scene 6 37. Lucky Job, farce, 2 scenes 3 60. Lost Will, sketch, 1 scene 4 90. Lunatic (The), sketch, 1 scene 3 8. Mutton Trial, sketch, 2 scenes 4 19. Malicious Trespass, sketch, 1 scene. 3 44. Musical Servant, sketch, 1 scene... 3 96. Midnight Intruder (Thei, 1 scene.. 6 101. Molly' Moriarty, Irish musical sketch, 1 scene 1 49. Nightin a Strange Hotel, 1 scene 2 23. Obeying Orders, sketch, 1 scene... 2 27. One Hundredth Night of Hamlet, sketch, 1 scene 7 30. One Night in a Bar Room, sketch, 1 scene V 76. One, Two. Three, sketch, 1 scene.. 7 9. Policy Players, sketch, 1 scene 7 57. Ponipcvy's Patients, interlude, 2 scene's 6 65. Porter's Troubles, sketch, 1 scene.. 6 1 66. Port Wine vs. Jealousy, 1 scene.. 2 1 87. Pete the. Peddlar, negro and Irish slictch, 1 scene 4 sketch, 1 scene 2 1 91. Painter's Apprentice (The), 1 scene 5 9a. Polar Hear (Tlie,) fared scene 5 14. Recniitiiiu Office, sketch, 2 scenes. 5 26. Rival Tenants, sketch, 1 scene 4 45. Kcinittatice from Home, 1 scene... 6 55. Kii;i.'iMg a Purchase, 1 scene 2 81. Rival .Vrtists, sketch, 1 scene 3 7. Stupid Servant, sketch, 1 scene 2 13. Streets of New York, sketch, 1 scene 6 15. Sam's Courtship, farce, 1 scene 2 1 80. Scenes on the Mississippi, sketch, 2 scenes 6 84. Serenade (The), sketch, 2 scenes... 7 1(H). Three Chiefs (The), sketch, 2 scenes 6 102. Three, A. M., sketch, 1 scene 3 1 75. Weston the Walkist, Dutch sketch, 1 .scene 7 1 93. What Shall I Take ? sketch, 2 scenes 8 1 97. Who's the Actor? farce, 1 scene... 4 99. Wrong Woman in the Right Place (Thel, farce, 2 scenes 3 1 85. Young Scamp (The), sketch, 1 scene 3 M. F. African Pox, burlesque, 2 scenes. . .• 5 Black Chap from Whitechapel, eccentric sketch, 1 scene 4 Black Chemist, sketcli, 1 scene 3 Black Kv'd William, 2 scenes 4 1 Bruised and Cured, sketch, 1 scene. 2 Big .Mistake, sketch, 1 scene 4 Bad Whiskey, sketch, 1 scene 2 1 Baby Klepluint, sketch, 2 scenes... 7 1 Bogus ludian, sk<'tch, 4 scenes 5 2 Barney's Courtship, musical Irish sketch, 1 scene 1 1 Bogus Talking Machine, Dutch 4 Coal Heavers' Revenge, 1 scene. . 6 Cremation, sketch, 2 scenes 8 1 Da<;uerreotypes, sketch 3 Draft (The), sketch. 1 act, 2 scenes. 6 Damon and Pythias, burlesque, 2 scenes 5 1 Darkey's Stratagem, sketch, 1 act. . 3 1 Dutchman's Gliost, Dutch sketch, 1 scene 4 1 Dutch Justice, Dutch s\etch, 1 scene 11 Eh y What is it ? sketch, 1 scene. . . 4 1 Kxcise Trials, sketch, 1 scene .10 1 Editor's Troul)les, farce, in 1 scene.. 6 Elopement (The), farce, 2 scenes. . . 4 1 Fe low That Looks Like Me, inter- lude, 1 scene 2 1 Fishcjiinan's Luck, sketch, 1 scene. 2 First Night (The), Dutch sketch, 4 scenes 4 2 Oliost (The), sketch, 1 scene 2 (Jlyceriiie Oil, sketch, 2 scenes 3 ' iO "7*1 * ^' ^-^?^;/i^' -% f . .i-' ''*. "-?^ • ' &■ ■^^ " ■< ■■■' "^ r ., DOBBS BROS. LIBRARY aiNOINO -,i— ST. AUGUSTINE %^^ LIBRARY OF CONRRFQc iifiifi'iii 018 604 066 1