PRICE IS CENTS. DE WITT'S ACTING- PLAYS (Number 187.) HIS OWN ENEMY. A FAEOE, IN" ONE ACT. BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE HAPPY PAIR." As first produced at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, London, under the management of J. B. Buckstone, Esq., March 8, 1873 ; and at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, under the man- agement of Augustin Daly, Esq., Aug. 2, 1875. TO WHICH AKE ADDED, description of the Costumes— Synopsis of the Piece— Cast of the Characters —Entrances and Exits— Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and the whole of the Stage Business. Jttto-gark : ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER No. 33 Jioae Street. NOW NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEItt. A Play. In Five Acts. By Lord Lytton (Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer). Price 15 oents. BEADY. THE DUCHESS DE LA VALUERE. A Play. In Five Aete. «- By Lord Lytton (Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer). Prioe 15 cents. DE WITT'S HALF-DIME MUSIC OF THE BEST SONGS FOE VOICE AND PIANO. HIS SECRlES of first class Songs contains the Words and Music {with the Piano accompaniment) of the most choice and exquisite Pieces, by the most able, gifted and most popular composers. It contains every style of good Music—from the solemn and pathetic to the light and humorous. In brief, this collection is a complete Musical! Library in itself, both of Vocal and Piano-Forte Music. It is printed from new, clear , distinct, elegant Music Type, on fine white paper, made expressly for this Series, and is published at the low price of Five Cents. Remember, Each Number contains a Complete Piece of Music, beautifully printed on Sheet Music Paper. Any Twenty Pieces mailed on receipt of One Dollar, postage paid. J3F~ PLEASE OltnEM BV THE NUMBERS. ^» Address, R, M. DE WITT, Publisher, 33 Stose Street, JV. T. SENTIMENTAL SONGS AND BALLADS. No. Composer. 3. Lover's Letter-Box Wrighton. 5. Thy Voice is Near Wrighton. 6. Blue-Eyed Violets Jackson. H. The Maiden and Her Linnet. Montgomery. 14. Soft new is Sleeping Barker. 16. When the Roses Blow Allen. SO. Beautiful Bells Coote. «1. The mother's Dream Sullivan. 23. My Spirit Star Yonng. S5. Tittle Maggie May .Blamphin. 26. The Vagabond Molloy. 31. My Heart Is O'er the Sea. .Claribel. 33. Maggie's "Welcome Claribel. 35. Breaming or Nellie Hogett. 3T. Five ©'Clock in the Morning, Claribel. 39. She Came anil Vanished Tike a Dream Boucher. 41. Meet Me in the Tane Blamphin. 43. Tapping at the Garden Gate. 45. Sleeping on Guard Wrighton. 4*. Summer Dew Barker. 49. Oh, My Tost Tove Plumpton. No. Composer. 51. Far Away . Bliss. 55. Jess Macfarlane Tucker. 5?. Yes, I'll Meet Thee, Dearest. Blamphin. \ Chairs. Door. house, in 3d grooves, with breakfast laid out on table. Garden seen through win- dows and doors at back. COSTUMES. Fbedebick Whymper.— Handsome light trousers; white vest; elegant brown vel- vet cutaway coat ; rich but not showy jewelry ; has the general appearance of being a polished " society " gentleman. Captain Camebon.— Dark gray trousers ; dark vest ; dark blue or black frock coat ; silk hat. Messrs. Moleye and Groper dress in dark modern travelling suits. Harris.— Neat dark livery. Mrs. Whymper.— Very handsome morning dress G# white or spotted muslin. Hair tastefully arranged iu latest modern style. PROPERTIES. Several newspapers; handsome breakfast equipage; two or three small jewel cases ; a handful of small gold coin ; case containing two duelling pistols ; warrant for Moleye ; telegram for Groper. HJS OWN KVKHY. 3 SYNOPSIS. All the incidents of this piece occur in an elegant drawing-room in Mr. Whym- per' s mansion. Mr. W. is a gentleman of fortune, who, although only a few months married, has become satiated with the charms and accomplishments of his pretty young partner, and tired of the bon#yed sweets of the hymenial state. As he sits languidly poring over the contents of the different morning papers, he gives vent to his dissatisfaction in a monologue full of wit and oddity, winding up by ex- claiming, "If I were only a bachelor ouce more I should be the happiest being in creation !" His young wife, Mabel, stealing in on tiptoe, hears only the latter sec- tion of the sentence, and joyously says, " That's me. Good boy, to be always think- ing of his wee wine ;" and then Bhe fondly kisses him. Then follows a long dia- logue, sparkling with with and spirit, during which the husband intimates to Ids better half that they are the laughing stock of the neighborhood, from being seen always together and showiug so much fondness for each other. lie winds up by telling Mabel that " a mad but evanescent idolatry has given place to a regard that is eternal, because based upon respect." Poor Mabel is quite affected at this ; but she becomes positively astonished when her beloved husband advises, her to get up " a little mild flirtation with a really gentlemanly young fellow— just to pass away the time." The young lady intimates that such conduct might make him jealous. But the conceited fellow only laughs at such a very absurd idea—" Me jealous! ha! ha ! Oh, lord, only fancy me jealous !" Mabel, quite down-hearted, steps " down and out," receiving, however, a parting kiss at the door from her husband. Whym- per looks out after her, with a touch of sadness on his countenance ; an expression quickly changed to surprise and anger as he sees a young gentleman enter his gar- den. At first he thinks the uninvited visitor is after his apples ; but soon exclaims, " No, he's after my Eve— my Mabel, I mean." He calls to him, and Captain Cam- eron enters, but with apparent hesitation. In reply to Mr. Whympeb's interroga- tories the Captain, in a laughing kind of manner, says that he is an old acquaint- ance of Mrs. Whymper's. Mr. W. is pleased to see him, and makes him quite wel- come ; and in answer to a remark of the Captain's that he (Wuymper) must be a 'very happy man, the husband confidentially informs his guest that although Mabf.l (his wife) is in every way a pretty and estmablc woman, yet that he has grown tired of matrimonial bliss, and longs for his lost bachelor pleasures. Captatn Cam- eron expresses great surprise at hearing him say he does not love his wife, the more so as he thought he saw him kissing her just as she went out of the window. Whym- per, taken a little aback at this, says that the person that he kissed was only their little governess. Captain Cameron, when he tells Whymper that George (Mabel's brother) has left his regiment because he has shot a fellow-officer in a duel, is so much chagrined at hearing Whymper's denunciations of duelling, that he fears to tell him that he is the brother George. Whymper makes the supposed friend of his wife quite welcome, and bids him amuse (hat lady while he starts for a little " out- ing," but before he leaves the lady comes in, and rushes into Captain Cameron's arms, to the surprise of her husband. The brother excuses this act by saying that the lady has fallen into his embrace as she has turned her ankle. Whymper says, in his pet phrase, "That's all right,*' and clears out as quickly as possible. Then Cameron explains all to his loving sister. He fears he is pursued by officers, and has no means to continue his flight. She then proposes giving him some jewels and money. Meanwhile, during her absence to get "the sinews of war," Cameron goes into the garden. Whymper enters, and begins sarcastically to twit his wife upon her easy familiarity with their visitor. To his great surprise the lady tells him very coolly that she greatly admires the handsome and gentlemanly stranger. This is too much for Whymper, and he tells Mabel that he now sees that he was entirely wrong in his views of the matrimonial duties, etc., and that he cannot bear that any one should flirt with her. however innocently. But the lady only laughs at him, telling him that she has become indoctrinated with his ideas, and intends doing considerable of the " mild flirtation " business in the future. Whymper then falls into the tragic vein, and commands his wife to order Cameron to leave tho 4 HIS OWN ENEMT. house ; but the lady improves upon his cue, and informs him that the gentleman Bhall stay as long as he pleases. Whimper is struck dumb with amazement, and rushes from the room. The next instant Cameron enters, and Mabel hurriedly gives him money and jewels, kisses, and hurries him off, remarking, with a laugh, that her husband is horribly jealous. Whymper, meanwhile, is slyly peering into the window. As Cameron, however, hastens to the garden door he is confronted by the infuriated husband, who pours out upon him a whole vocabulary of denuncia- tion, and winds up by telling him that he means to kill him. Cameron tries to ci- jole him by saying that it was the " little governess " he was so free with ; but all in vain, for Whymper produces pistols, and urges Cameron to fight a duel. But at this moment Mabel rushes between them. Before an explanation can be given a knocking is heard at the door, and the police officer, Moleye, appears, with a war- rant for the arrest of Captain Cameron. Seeing no other way to gain a little time, the Captain, apparently with reluctance, points out Whymper as the duellist — at which Whymple grows furious, and of course denies that he is the criminal. The policeman astutely reasons that surely the lady will know her own husband. At a hint from Cameron she says that he is her husband, to the amazement of poor Whymper. As the officer is about to put the steel bracelets on the astonished hus- band, another police officer suddenly appears, and hands to Moleye a telegram. It is an order to the latter not to execute the warrant of* arrest, as Major C was not killed in the duel, and is recovering rapidly from the wound that he had received. Then follows a most amusing clearing up of misconceptions and mistakes ; Whym- per acknowledging that "we never know the value of a thing till we've lost it,' and his wife remarking " that his eyes are opened to the fact that all are friends here, and that he himself alone is • His Own Enemv.' " EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. The Actor is supposed to face the Audience. SCENE, / E. S E. £.22. / \ / L. SB. \ i \ L.2E. \ B. C. ©. L. O. L. AUDIENCE. l. Left. l. c. Left Centre. l. 1 e. Left First Entrance. l. 2 e. Left Second Entrance. l. 3 e. Left Third Entrance. l. u. e. Left Upper Entrance (wherever this Scene may be.) '.-. *.. r. Doer Left Centre. c. Centre, rt. Eight. B. 1 E. Eight Eirst Entrance. r. 2 e. Right Second Entrance. r. 3 E. Right Third Entrance. B. v. E. Right Upper Entrance. d. v.. c- Door Right Centre. HIS OWN ENEMY. SCENE. — Drawing-room in Mr. Wiiymper's house, handsomely furnished, opening at back on garden. Whymper discovered in east/ chair reading the newspaper. Breakfast is laid on table. Whymper. Nothing in the confounded papers, as usual ! {glancing over different papers) 'Pon my word I believe (like everything else) the further they get from town the stupider they are. I positively can't wade through them. "The Globe" is flat, " The Times " is out of joint, and "The Echo "don't answer at all. Heigho ! (yawnmg) The fact is, this infernal country is killing me by inches — inches. I've at least a foot in the grave already. " Mysteriously disappeared " — ** masses of golden hair," — " small-shaped head," — " almond-shaped eyes." What luck some men do have, to be sure. There's that Mr. Paddington Green now, always running after some pretty girl or another, and, damme, he gets paid for doing it ! Wonder it lie wants a partner. {reads) — " Wanted, a really intelligent young man, unmarried."' There's a shilling clean thrown away there anyhow. A really intelligent young man would be unmarried as a matter of course. Cele va sans dire. (throws away paper again) Ah ! marriage, marriage! that chain we forge and rivet for ourselves so strongly, is at the bottom of half the misery in this most miserable world The only thing in life there's no getting over — or round — is a wife. Not that I've a word to say against my wife as a wife. I mean except as a wife. Far from it; she's charming in every respect — perfectly charming — but the fact is, I am not fit for married life. I never was intended to be any one's intended. Was cut out to be — cut out ; and yet here we are, tied hand and foot together till death d<> it* part, which won't be for the next fifty years in all pro- bability. We're both so disgustingly healthy. Not that I have one word to say against Mabel. Poor child ! It is entirely my own fault. She is worthy of a much better man than I am (I only wish she had got him, that's all). I pine for liberty, fraternity, Bohemianism ! I weary of a life of forced respectability. I weary of the monotony of my exis- tence. And then Mabel is so confoundedly fond of me ; that's the most surprising — I mean annoying part of it. She's miserable if I'm not per- petually with her. Always wants you to be staring at the moon, or reading "Locksley Hall," or some sucb midsummer madness. And we've been married for months ! Flesh and blood won't stand it. Fool! fool ! that I was. Why, oh why, did I marry 1 I swear it wasn't her money. I'd give double to be single again. It seems deuced hard, too, that a fellow should be chained to a girl — sort of a galley slave, ha. ha! — all his life when she don't suit him a bit. Why can't he send her back to her mother as a misfit, 1 Oh, we want some radical reformation in the matrimonial market. Why can't we take a wife as we do a house —on lease — seven, fourteen, or twenty-one years? Very few w< 6 HIS OWN ENEMV. would get beyond the seven, I fancy. I wonder what on earth makes men marry? Upon my honor, I believe it's curiosity — sheer curiosity. Fatal curiosity ! by indulging in which (like the celebrated Mrs. Blue- beards of old) we end by losing our heads altogether. Yes, if we will rush in where angels fear to tread, and get married, we must take the consequence. If we persist in choosing a wife through the eyes, we must not be surprised if we have to pay for our foliy through the nose. Love's young dream may be very sweet ; but oh ! the bitterness of the a.vakening. The bitterness of a rib that don't fit you. The bitterness of having a skeleton in your cupboard who won't even keep there, but insists upon pervading the whole house. If I were only a bachelor once more, I should be the happiest being in creation. Enter Mabel. She steals up behind his chair without his hearing her. Mabel. The happiest being in creation! That's me. Good boy, to be always thinking of his wee wifie. {kisses him.) Whym. I do wish, Mabel, you wouldn't startle a fellow so. You made me jump out of my shoes. Mab. There'd he plenty of people ready to fill them, dear, if you did — with so charming a wife, eh 1 How cross you are this morning. What's the matter ? Whym. Cross ! Not at all. I'm depressed in spirits by the gloom of this infernal place, that's all. Mae. Don't you like the country, then, dearest 1 Whym. I hate it ! Mab. Oh, Fred ! It seems positively wicked to speak so of such a lovely spot — this dear, picturesque old house, so full of associations—— Fred. And of rats. Mab. With clematis running over it Feed. And a cesspool underneath. Mab. Why, you discontented animal ! {pinching his ear playfully.) Frkd. Not animal, Mabel. I am undeserving the appellation; say vegetable. I grow, i don't live. I am a sensitive plant, my dear, and 1 fear I shall get quite seedy if I'm not transplanted very soon. Mab. Silly boy ! You don't understand how to enjoy a country life. Early to bed Feed {hastily). There's nothing I hate so much as going to bed. Mab Except getting up again, love. Feed. Getting up ! Why, in London I'm always up at cock-crow. {aside) Never turn m till the beggar's done. Mab. Why don't you occupy yourself — take up some pursuit ? Fred. There's nothing to pursue but " the even tenor of my way." Mab. Yifhy not hunt — for instance. Fred. Nothing to hunt — but my slipper. No getting near the hounds in this out of the way hole. Mab. {quicldy). But it would be just as difficult to go to the dogs in London. Fiied. Oh, no, it Avouldn't though. Mab. Why not try and kill something 1 Frkd. So I do — Time — and can never manage it. Mab. Farm, then 1 Fred. There's only one sort of farming pays now-a-days. Mab. Sheep 1 Fred. No; baby. Mab. P.sliaw ! don't be childish. Why, where would you be, you ag~ HIS OWN ENEMY. 7 Fred. Not under a harrow, ray dear ; somewhere where that inter- esting implement of agriculture is unknown. Mab. Ah, my love ! you have no sentiment — no poetry. "A prim- rose at the river's brim, a yellow primrose is to" you, "and nothing more. 1 ' Fred. What more should it be, unless it's a double one 1 What's the good of talking of living in the country, when I tell you I'm dying for town ? Mab. I have no patience with you, you silly boy ! Tell me, have you finished your breakfast, or luncheon, or whatever you choose to call this disgracefully late meal 1 Feed ( pushing back chair). Long ago. "Why? Mab. Thai's charming, because I want you to come with me to Cr on old Mrs. Ilornblower. Fred. Oh, bother ! Mab. Don't say that, pet. You know you went to her ball the oth night — at least you were asked ; and I'm sure, if there's a good, dea kind, vulgar old soul living, it's old Mrs. Horn— - — Fred. Blow her! Besides, now I remember, I've — I've not done {/(side) and I'm not to be done either, (he pulls his chair round to table an cats vivaciously.) Mab. Very well, dearest, don't hurry. Fred. I sha'nt. Mab. I'll wait for you — oh, but I will, cheerfully. I shall like it. It is so " triste " driving about alone. Fred [aside). Hang it! (aloud) No, no, don't wait. I — I — the fact is, I am not quite the thing this morning. Mab. My own one ! And I have been pressing you to go out. How selfish of me ! You shall lie on the sofa at once — oh, but I insist — and I'll bathe your head the live long day with Eau-de-Cologne. Fred (aside). Cheerful! (aloud) No, no! It's not the head; it's the — the liver, and you can't touch that with Eu-de-Cologne, (aside) thank goodness ! Enter Servant. Harris, remove these things ! (after he has done so. Aloud) Now, my dour Mabel, I want to have a little serious talk with you ; sit down a minute. Mab. Now you arc angry with me, dearest. Oh, what have I done ! (advancing lovingly towards him.) Fred (motioning her back). No, no. I am not angry ! sit still. Mar. {still advancing). Oh, but I'm sure you're angry with your wee wifie — very angry. Fred. No ; I'm not. Mab. O'i, yes, you're very, very angr)'. Fred. D.unn it all, I say I'm not angry ! Nothing makes me so angry as to be called angry when I'm not angry, and you know it. I believe you do it on purpose. Now, hold your tongue do, and listen to me. You see, Mabel, we are no longer in our honeymoon. We've been mar- ried a deuce of a time! Mab. Oh, Fred ! Fred. You know what I mean, (aside) It's been a deuce of a time since we married, at all events ! (aloud) It's really high lime we gave up all that spoony nonsense of being all in all to each other, and so on. 1> > you understand 1 AI Ait. (with a sigh). Perfectly. 8 HIS OWN ENEMY". Fred. You can't expect me to be always tied to your petticoat strings, you know. Mab. Why, you vulgar, unfeeling Fred. Hallo ! Go it — pitch in — never mind me — my back's broad enough. Mab. So are your jokes ! Fred. Eh 7 Good thing, too. Now-a-days they make their jokes so fine that I'll be hanged if you know 'em when you meet 'em. The fact is, my dear girl Mab. Don't call me your dear girl. Fred. Well, I won't then. We are the laughing-stock of the whole country-side. It's deuced gravelling for a man to spend all his morn- ings in his wife's lap — like a pug-dog, by Jove ! — and to be taken out shopping all the afternoon, as a sort of colter-irritation, I suppose — ha, ha! You can't wow without me. Mab. What a story ! Did I not go to Mrs. Hornblower's ball alone ? while you went to that horrid Colonel Jiggers and played billiards, and came home reeking of smoke, so that I dreamed I was a martyr at the stake all the night long; only, instead of fagots, thy were burning tobacco. Fred. Well, my dear, all I can say is, I hope you had a pleasant party. Mad No, we didn't. There, you lost nothing by going to Colonel Jiggers, I can tell you. Fred {aside). I can tell you I did though — fifteen pounds ten at pool — worse luck, {aloud) Well, my dear, I'm glad you take this so sensibly. Mab. 1 don't ! [turning quickly round on him.) Fred. Well, well — so ^sensibly, then ! It is impossible for us to go on all our lives billing and cooing like a pair of love-birds in a cage ; do you see ? Mab. I see. You no longer love me. Fhed. My dear Mabel, pray — pray never let me hear you make use of that— that Jenny and Jessamy expression again. Ugh! (shudders.) Mab. May I ask what you refer to"? Fred. Love! Ui>h ! there's no such word known in decent society ; it's entirely eliminated from the English language — west of Regent Cir- cus, I mean. Love ! bah ! Your butcher, and baker, and candlestick- maker love their wjves, I've no doubt; but people moving in our set — never! It's shocking bad "ton" 1 assure you. Mab And yet I thought I remembered it was used in the marriage service, too. Fu ED. The marriage service! Ah, very probably! But, my dear Mabel, that's quite out of date, you see. Indeed, if the present Govern- ment stay in, I've no doubt whatever they'll disestablish it along with tiie Church, and have done with it. Mab And so, listen to me, please ; but, there, you think more of your appetite than you do of me. Frkd. My dear, Nature abhors a vacuum, [eating eagerly) Now. look here, Mabel, everything must have an end, even a spoon. You can't expect a fellow to bury himself alive here, with no one to speak to but his own wife 1 Why don't you have a pretty girl, now and then, down to stay with you 1 Mab. I should like to see a pretty girl in this house ! Fred. So should. 1, uncommonly. Mab. {after. a few steps up and down the room). And pray, sir, don't you call mc a pretty girl ? Fred. Well, really, my dear, I—. Ilu ' ha! Such a Very extradrd tits OWN ENtiilY. 9 nary—. You arc passable — quite passable; good eyes, if they were both the same color ; pretty-colored hair, what there is of it; and not a bad nose, if it didn't turn up quite so much. Mab. My nose ! What a shame ! it's pure Grecian. But you men are always raving about a straight tip ! Go on, sir ! make me down- right ugly, if you can. Fred. My dear Mabel, not at all ; I only want to disabuse your mind. Mab. By abusing my person ; oh, I see {walking up and down) I see I You are tired of me. I cloy upon you. You hate — you loathe me ! Great Heavens ! what shall I do — what shall I do? Oh, mother, mother ! 1 am alone in the world ! in this cruel, hard, wicked world ! Take me to your arms again ! Let me die — let me die ! {sobbing bitterly. ) Fred {aside). Damn it ! that's always the way. She opens the sluices and off go all my arguments, washed away by the flood, {aloud) No ; but, Mabel, my dear Mabel, my own one, listen tome! I lo — hem! like you more than ever— far, far more. A mad, but evanescent idolatry has given place to a regard which is eternal, because based upon respect. {aside) That's neat ! {aloud) You — you, too, dear one, would be far hap- pier, believe me, if you would mix more with — ahem! — the male of your species, other than your unworthy spouse ! Mab. What! Do I understand you to desire me — me, your wife, to court, to accept — I cannot demean my lips to speak the words. For shame, sir ! for shame ! Fred. No. no, my dear child ; you rush at your fences — I mean, con- clusions, so ! Far be it from me to — to — and so on. But a little mild flirtation with a really gentlemanly young fellow — just "pour passer le temps,'" you know — is quite " de rigueur" in the fashionable world, I assure you — quite. Mab. {aside). Oh, Fred! Fred ! {aloud) I see ; and you — you wouldn't mind ? Fred. Mind 1 My dear child Mab You wouldn't be jealous of me 1 The least little tiny bit in the world jealous — come 1 {watching him closely.) Fred. Jealous 1 Me jealous ! Ha! ha! Oh, Lord ! only fancy me jealous ! Mab. But I forgot ; perhaps it's " de rigueur" also in your fashionable world, for the husband to have his " pastimes " too? Fred. Well — aw! not positively"^ rigueur" my dear; but still, I believe, it is sometimes done. Mab. {sloivly, and meditatively). I see ! I see ! But this new world you describe is so strange to me. Husbands do not love their wives, and wives do not honor their husbands. Fred. They honor their husband's checks, though, remember ; ha! ha! My dear child, I am a man of the world, and may be trusted in this, if in nothing else. Depend upon it, a married couple are much happier if they meet now and then — say once a day at the dinner-table— than when they are as inseparable as — as — Erckmann-Chatriau or the Sia- mese Twins. I am so glad we have had this little chat together. Now we quite understand each other, don't we? Run into the garden and gather some roses for me and for yourself; you look quite pale. Au revoir ! {kisses her as she passes slowly out of the French windoio, c.) Poor child! it was a bitter pill for her ! but she swallowed it better than I expected. Well, it's for her own good in t:i-> long run. (walking to win- dow) Halloa! what's that 1 By Jove! a swell in my garden — a serpent in my paradise. I wonder whether he's after my apples ? No ; he's after my Eve — my Mabel, I mean. Yes; he follows her towards the 10 HIS OWN ENEMY. summer-house, {calling out) Halloa ! Hi ! You, sir ! Just step this way, will you ! Enter Captain Cameron, through window. Re stands on the step and ap- pears to hesitate. Captain. I beg ten thousand pardons ; I believe I've made a mistake. Fred {eyeing him). I believe you have. Capt. Somehow or other I missed my way, and was trying to get on Fred. By the back stair-case— just so. Capt. Mr. Whymper, I presume. Fred. Sir, your presumption is well— founded. Capt. I have not had the honor of — but your wife, Mrs. Whymper, is an old acquaintance of mine ! {aside) This is deuced awkward — deuced. Fred. Ah, indeed ! {aside) just the very fellow, {aloud) My dear sir, delighted to see you; delighted! Any friend of my wife's! What will you take to drink! Nothing! Oh, nonsense; any friend of my wife's must drink as a matter of course. You won't ! Well, sit down ; sit down, {they sit) And how are you ? Quite well 1 That's all right. Stopping in the neighborhood? That's all right. Hunting! That's all right. By the way, I didn't quite catch your name. Capt. Douglas — Captain Douglas, 100th Foot. " The Black Border- ers." Fred. The 100th Foot. Why, by gad! that's my wife's brother's regiment. My dear fellow, sit down. Oil, you are sitting down. Wel- come to (what the devil's she call the place ?) You are almost one of the family. Eh! Now you'll take something to drink? Not! Just as you like. Liberty Hall, you know ; {aside) wish it was. I'd take the liberty to haul it down, beastly old crib, {aloud) Well, and — dear me, this is a coincidence. How is — {aside) I forget his confounded name, {aloud) her brother ? Capt. He's very well. Fred. Come; that's all right. Capt. At least, he's been very well, but Fred. Ah, well ! a man can't well expect to be always well, you know ! Capt. The fact is, he's had a row with the Major. Fred. A row with the Major ! Incredible! Capt. Fact, I assure you; and — he's a devil of a temper, you know, when he's roused. Fred. Ah, it runs in the family ; so has his sister. Capt. Very soon gets his shirt out, you know. Fred. Ah, so does his — just so. Capt. And it ended in a duel at Boulogne. Cameron shot his man through the body and killed him dead. Fued. What! A duel — killed his man dead — the outrageous 3 r oung ruffian ! The unprincipled, cold-blooded, murdetinu blackguard ! (to Captain, vjJio rises indignantly) don't speak to me, sir; don't speak to me. I say it's lucky for the young profligate he's yiven me a wide berth, or as sure as my name's in the Commission of the Peace it would be war between us. I tell you, sir, I'd hand him over to justice with my own hands. A young bloodthirsty reprobate ! Capt. Allow me, sir, for the credit of the regiment Fred. The regiment'.-, got no credit, and don't deserve any. Capt. Great provocation. Fred. Great fiddlesticks ! I tell you, sir, a duel is a thing I hold in 1118 OWN KN'KAJY. 11 utter and complete abhorrence ; and as for this young vagabond, I say deliberately he is not only a scoundrel, but a coward — a rank and con- temptible coward ! Bali ! when I think of it, I feel a regular brute — Brutus, I mean, [paces stage.) Cai't. {aside). Lucky I took my soundings before casting anchor, by George. There's nothing for it now but to see Mabel once more, and then Fred. Duel, iudeed ! For my part, I'd rather be garotted at once and have done with it. If there's less honor, there's less danger. Duel! no wonder you're called the " Black Borderers," if you coolly throw whole families into mourning in this off-hand manner. Well, well ; let us change the subject, it's a painful one to both of us. Poor Mabel ! It will be a terrible blow to her. She is foolish enough to doat on this young scapegrace. Well, well ; and so, Captain, you're on furlough, eh 1 AVhy not come and hang out here ? Capt. {aside). \\ hat I'm afraid of is, that I shall hang out there ! Fred. Not bad quarters, though I say it that shouldn't. Plenty to eat, drink, and smoke ; and nothing to do. Might fancy yourself in a garrison town, you know. Bridge quite handy, too, for you to loll over. What do you say 1 Capt. Ton my soul, it's very kind of you — very ; but Fred. Oh, nonsense ! come and stop a month. Capt. {aside). I wouldn't stop a minute, if I could help it. {aloud) But, my dear sir, your wife — won't she object ? Fred. Object ! But you don't know her. The fact is, my dear fel- low (between ourselves, you know), we are rapidly becoming mutually bored to death, and anyone would be acceptablenow, just for a change. Bless you, she'd welcome you with open arms. You see — (you' re sure you won't take anything to drink 1) — I was — 1 don't mind confessing it to you — fast, devilish fast, before I married — oh ! a sad dog, I assure you — and now that the gloss of the thing has worn off, I long for my old vagabond life. Not that I mean to say a word against Mabel. Capt. {aside). You'd better not. Poor child ! So soon too. Fred. A good man struggling with respectability is a sight for the Gods. Only fancy me— me, of all the world — a householder, with a vote for the county, and the privilege of paying Income Tax ! Now, as I've no mind to spend the rest of my life like Sterne's starling, crying <: let me out— let me out!" I've determined to accustom her at once to my frequent — I mean occasional — absences; and, as a first step, I must provide her with something to occupy her mind. You are the very thing. Oh, no mock modesty ! I saw it at the first glance, with half an eye. Young, handsome, and a soldier. (By-the-by, you haven't got your livery — pshaw ! I mean your regimentals— with you, I suppose V No matter ; but a woman's as bad as a bull after a bit of red ran. Well, it can't be helped.) Stay with us like a good fellow, and entertain my wife. You'll find her a most charming woman, I assure you ; oh, most charming in every respect. Capt. {aside). I shall have to kick this fellow down his own stairs di- rectly, {aloud) And yet you seem deaf to the charmer, charm she never so wisely. Fred. Who — I ? My dear fellow, I do assure you I am such a racketty, dissolute, disreputable scamp that I can't, for the life of me, admire my own wife. I own it with shame and contrition. If she were my neighbor's wife, now, I should admire her prodigiously. Capt! And yet, Mr. — aw — Whymper, notwithstanding all you say, I wa.s an involuntary witness of a most touching and tender parting just now on that very spot, ( pointing up) between yourself and a lady whom 12 HIS OWN ENEMtf. I presume to be your wife. Ha ! ha ! Come, come ; you're not so black as you paint yourself. Fred. Eh ? What 1 1 1 (aside) The Paul Pry. Confound him ! (aloud) Oh — ha ! ha ! ha ! No ! what a ridiculous mistake — but not a word of this, mind — ha ! ha ! No, that was a little ha ! ha ! — a little governess— he ! he ! Pretty, plump little body enough, whom I some- times chuck under the chin, or give a kiss to — ha ! ha ! ha ! And you took her for my wife ? (aside) He couldn't have seen her face ! Capt, I did, I confess, (aside) The fellow's a humbug, a rank hum- bug ! Poor child ! poor Mabel (aloud) I was not aware you had any family, Mr. aw — Whymper. Fred. Family ? Hang it, man, we've not been married six months yet. Capt. Then pray may I ask what " the governess" does'? (aside) Had him there. Fred. Does! Washes the dogs, and teaches them to sit up. (aside) Too many tor him — by odds, [aloud) Here comes my wife up the gar- den, I'll introduce you. Pshaw, I forgot you have met before. Capt. No ! but really I can't think- Fred. Of course you can't. You're an officer and a gentleman. My dear, (to Mabel, who enters at the moment) an unexpected pleasure for you Mab. (with a scream) Douglas ! (is about to rush to him.) Fred (astonished). Hallo ! Capt. (hastily stepping up to her). My dear madam, I hope you have not hurt yourself, (aside, with vehemence) Not a word, not a look of re- cognition or I am — lost! Mab. (aside, to him). Good Heavens ! What has happened 1 (Doug- las puts out his hand to support her.) Fred. What the deuce 1 Is she mad 1 . Capt. (to Whymper). Most unfortunate — Mrs. Whymper in running up the — aw — steps — slipped, and her — aw — ankle's turned. Fred. Her ankle! I thought it washer head! Are you better 1 That's all right. Captain Douglas and you are old friends, he tells me — ehl Mab. Yes ; I mean — no — that is, yes. Fred. That's all right. And now, as I have a very pressing engage- ment, I will take the liberty of running away. Capt. No, but — I say — really — you know — (following Fred.) Fred {aside to him). Nonsense — nonsense, man. Just chat to her, and keep her amused for half an hour, like a real good fellow — that's all. (pushes him play fully towards Mabel — aside) I think I'll just pop across to old Jiggers, and see if I can't get back that same fifteen pounds ten. (looking back at Mabel and the Captain) Red upon white ! Green's your player in hand. [Exit. Mab. (rushing up to Douglas). And now, darling, what is the mean- ing of all this 1 How came you here ? I thought you were in Ireland. And why all this mystery and concealment? Capt. (kissing her). Fact is, Mabel, I'm in a mess. Mad. And always have been, ever since you made dirt pies in the gutter, (ciressing him as she speaks.) Capt. Ah, but this is serious, I can tell you ; terribly serious, Mabel. I have killed a man. Mab. Is that all 1 I thought soldiers were always doing that, the wretches. Capt. Ah, in the field of battle, but this was — (sinking his voice) in a HIS OWN ENEMY. 13 duel. I tell you, I am an outcast, a murderer m the eye of the law, and am even now flying from the officers of justice. Mab. An outcast ! A mur — Oh, no — Douglas, Douglas ! it is too hor- rible. How came you to he so mad 1 Capt. I was driven to it. Major Chislehurst, of ours, has for mouths past followed me with the most settled malignity (we had a row about a racing bet to begin with), and done his utmost to blackeu my character "in the regiment. At last he seemed half-maddened by ra^e, and one evening, before a dozen men or more, he struck mo. Mab. Struck you ! And what did you do 1 Capt. 1 1 I let out straight from the shoulder and down ho went like a ninepin. He was no good to me at all. Mab. That was right, that was, my own Douglas, " tender and true," but terrible in revenge. When did a Cameron submit to an insult ] Well, well, go on. Capt. (shrugging his shoulders). Well, of course there was the usual challenge, which 1 could not choose but accept. We met at Boulogne, and at the first exchange he fell dead, (shudders) shot through the body. Do not blame me too much. Mabel, or it will break my heart. Mab. I do not blame you, my darling, my own one ; you were power- less, and " a Cameron never can yield ;" but it is horrible, most horri- ble. And your commission 1 Capt. Gone. Mab. And your hopes of promotion 1 Capt. Gone also. Unless Jack Ketch promotes me a step higher. Ha! ha! Mab. Oh, pray, pray don't laugh. Then your life, your very life hangs by a thread. Capt. I expect it will hang by a cord before long. Ha ! ha ! Mab. Douglas, for Heaven's sake! — But why not tell Fred? Why this mummery and deceit ? Capt. I felt my ground, and found him inexorably set against duel- ling. No, it would never do. I drew him, and found he'd draw me, and hang and quarter me into the bargain. Mab. Ah! I forgot. It's surprising, since he's been a magistrate, how inveterate he is against any breach of law — by other x>eople ! No, you are right, it would never do. But why did you come here at all 1 Capt. Well, you see, the fact is, I haven't a quid about me. Mab. A very good thing, too ; smoking's bad enough, but Capt. Nonsense — I mean I haven't a penny. I must have some money, then I can make my way across country to Liverpool, and sail for some foreign part, no matter where. The bloodhounds were after me pretty close in London, but I think I gave them the slip ; luckily they can't know me by sight yet. So last night I sot safely to the " Red Lion " in a smock-frock and a wide-awake (characteristic hat for me to wear just now, by Jove!) and this morning I sneaked on here. Let me have what money you can, you old darling you, and I'll be off. Mab. Unfortunate; I have hardly any money by me, and I dare not ask Fred. I have it — my jewels ; you can sell them, or pledge them ; what you will. Oh, my darling, my darling ! it were better not to have met at all, than to meet with such a cloud hanging over us. Capt. But, Queen Mab ! you dear, good, unselfish old thing you, I can't think of robbing you of all your finery. Mab. Oh, Douglas, don't talk so ! You know I would give all I have in the world to save you one moment's pain. Stay here ; Douglas, for the first time in my life I thank Heaven our mother is not here. Her 14 HIS OWN ENEMY. boy, her idol, a fugitive and a felon ! It would have broken her heart. {she kisses him.) Capt. Dear old Mabel ! The truest-hearted, bravest girl that ever breathed. You are too good for this milk-and-water whining husband of yours, {aside) Who would be a knave, if he wasn't a fool 1 Mab. Not a word against Fred ; I won't listen to it, mind. Capt. Somehow or other, women always are too good for us, or too bad. That's the worst of your sex. You have no happy medium ; you are either an angel or Your husband ! I'll slip across to the garden- gate while you are gone, and, like a prudent general, secure a safe re- treat. [Exit into garden. Enter Whympek, at door. Mab. Aha Fred {with forced calmness). Aha! {aside) Does she take me for an oaf? A boor"? Mab. Here we are again. Fred {aside). Or a clown? {aloud) Alone? Why, where is the gal- lant Captain ? Mab. Drawn off to repair damages. Fred {aside). Damages ! I thank thee for that word ! {aloud) And how did he get on, eh ? Swimmingly 1 Mab. No ; he ran himself aground in no time. The fact is, the Cap- tain's so painfully shy always. Fred. Always? he don't Jight shy, does he 1 Mab. I suspect he's a -much better hand at killing men than ladies, poor fellow. After all, he is but a rough, uncouth man-nt-arms. Fred {aside). He was not a man-at-arm's length just now, at all events. Mab. Still, he's delightful, as far as he goes. Fred {aside). Hang it ; I'm sure he goes far enough. Mab. And he has promised me his photograph ; isn't that nice of him? Fred. You know, Mabel, how strongly I object to your receiving presents from comparative strangers. Mab. But, Fred, this is a superlative stranger. Fred {aside). Ah, you hypocrite! {aloud, with attempted nonchalance) He, he ! A truce, pray, to this deceit. Mab. Did you say deceit, sir ? Fred {loudly). I said deceit, madam. Listen, madam, and tremble ! {she breaks out laughing) I — I, madam — was a witness of — of all that passed when you parted just now from that — that scoundrel. Mab. So, sir, you did us the honor of watching us through the key- hole 1 Of spying upon us ? Fred {hastily). The only way to find a woman out since the world be- gan. I'll be bound Adam himself was giving to eaves-dropping; never- theless, as it happens, you are wrong. 1 came into the room as usual, through the door; but you were too much wrapt up in one another to notice me ; and there I found this villain — this low, undermining vil- lain — pressing his caresses upon you, under your very nose — I mean my very nose, {walks stage.) Mab. And pray, what did you see ? Fred. I saw him kiss you. Yes, kiss you, madam. Mab. Lor' ! Was that all 1 Fred. No, madam, it was not, for I saw you kiss him in return. Mab. Well, my dear, you see, knowing how strongly you object to my receiving presents from strangers, I thought it better to give them all back. Ha ! ha ! Besides, 1 only obeyed your orders to the letter. HIS OWN ENEMY. 15 Fred. Pshaw ! You mistook the direction • how could I imagine he would try and jump down your throat in that indelicate manner. Mab. I like him, he is so handsome. Fred. " Handsome is what handsome does." Mab. But I like what he does, too, Fred. Oh ! he is lovely ! His nose is perfect. Fred. Oh blow ! his nose ! Mab. And then his beautiful, long, silky hair, (clasping her hands en- thusiastically) And his eyes. Fred (savagely). I declare, Mabel — {walking up and down) you would provoke a saint. Mab. If ever you are canonized, it will be as St. Vitus the Second. Ha! ha! ha! Fred. I want a little serious Mab. (interruptiug him). No more sermons, sir, if you please. Frkd. Surely, surely, you do not object to exchange ideas Mab. (interrupting). But 1 do most decidedly. You would have too much the best of the bargain. Fred (forcing himself to be calm). Mabel, I have been turning over this question Mab. Then perhaps you can now look on the other side of it. Fred (not heeding her). And I see you were right. Mab. I always am. Fred. And I was wrong. Mab. You always are. Fred. That I cannot bear that any one should approach you with their attentions, however innocently. Mab. (aside). Poor boy ! — but he must learn his lesson first and have his sugar-plum afterwards. Fred. I therefore, dearest Mabel, desire .yon — I mean I beg, 1 en- treat of you to send away this swaggering young coxcomb and to prom- ise me Mab. (interrupting). It is too late. Fred. Too late 1 (starting back.) Mab. Too late. I am a tiger who has tasted human blood Why did you not leave me in my ignorance of men, happy and contented with my fowls, and my pigeons, and my ducks 1 Now I am a man-eater, and I feel I shall prey upon the sex for the rest of my liie. Fred. Mabel, how can you torture me ! how can you trifle with me so cruelly ? You know how I love you. Mab. (lifting up her hands in horror). Ah ! Never let me hear you utter that Jenny and Jessamy word again! Love! I assure you it's shocking bad " ton." Ha! ha! ha! Fked (angrily). Since you meet me with nothing but taunts and sneers, madam, I will plead no longer! I will now command, command ! do you hear, madam 1 Mab. Ton command me? Better learn to command yourself, first. Ha! ha! Fa ed. You are a woman, and to you I can say no more, but this presuming puppy, I will have a terrible reckoning ; and by the same token, here he comes. Fortune, 1 thank thee. Now, madam, I must trouble you to retire. Mab. Too much trouble, I assure you. (aside) They will quarrel ; I know they will. Fred (hastili/, glancing at wndow). Have the goodness to leave my room, (attempting to take her hand. ) Mab. (drawing back her hand). Shan't. 16 HIS OWN ENEMY. Fred {with forced politeness). Permit me to escort you. Mab. Thank you; I prefer your room to your company. Fred. Oh, very well, madam, very well. If you have any fancy to see the — ha ! ha ! gentleman kicked out. Mab. {aside). Kicked J Oh, Heavens ! {aloud) Don't condemn him unheard, at all events. You're not on the Bench now, you know. Fred. I say he shall go — pack — be off out of my house this very mo- ment, as sure as my name is Whymper ! {walking furiously tip and down.) Mab. And I say it's my house, not yours; and he shall stop in it a.-i long as he likes ; so there. (Whymper gazes at her speechlessly a moment, and then rushes from the room) Oh, no ; 1 didn't mean that. How unkind ; how ungenerous of me 7 I am a bad, wicked girl, that's what 1 am. Enter Captain Cameron, at back. Ha ! is all safe 1 — Then you must not lose a moment, {running to escri- toire and opening drawers) Here is all the money, every penny I have. Nineteen pounds ; and here are my jewels. Quick — lake them {gives jewel-cases and coin to C apt ain) I have chosen all the smallest and best — that is, all he won't miss, and now, my own boy, my darling, good- bye once more, {kisses him) Be prudent and cautious, and write to me whenever you can safely do so. Not here. Direct X. Y. Z., at the post office, or my husband may find us out, and he's — what do you think ? So horribly jealous. Ha ! ha ! ha ! {during the above, Fred appears at (he window and peers in.) Capt. {putting money, etc., into his pocket). Jealous! And of mo] Ha ! ha ! ha ! But you don't seem much annoyed either. Mab. Annoyed! Silly boy; a wife is never annoyed at finding her husband jealous, no matter how he rages and storms, it shows he's still on the hook ; but when he sulks at the bottom, wholly indifferent to the missiles you hurl at his head, however sharp and pointed, then look out, or you'll lose him in a jiffy. Capt. Why, Queen Mab, you are a pocket edition of the " Complete Angler," I declare. Mab We are forced to be, dear. It's part of our accomplishments. A woman spends one half her life in fishing for a husband, and the oth- er half in wishing she hadn't caught him ; but I stand here chattering when — Farewell, farewell ! She kisses him again, and hurries off at door l. Captain Cameron goes has- tily towards garden door. Just as he reaches i', it opens, and Fred ap- pears standing in the door way. Captain Cameron starts back. Capt. {aside). My old luck, {aloud) Ah ! back again ! Glad to see you. {making an attempt to pass Fred.) Fred {tragically). Liar! Capt. Eh? {aside) Thought so. {aloud) Well, ta-ta ! I'm just going. {tries to pass him.) Fred {yet more tragically). Liar ! Capt. What d'ye mean 1 (aside) Beggar wants to quarrel. Fred. J mean what I say. Liar! You are not glad to see me, and you are not just going. Capt. Well, certainly, I can't very well, while you keep that door shut, unless I go out head first, {imitating a harlequin going to leap through a window.) Fred. You are much more likely to go out feet first, I can tell you. Villain ; cold-blooded, false, double-dyed villain, you are discovered. HIS OWN ENEMY. 17 Capt. {coolly). This is as good as a play. Fred. But don't think to escape me. 1 tell you, dog, you shall pay dearly for this, (runs round to door and locks it.) Capt. He's drunk. Fred. Do you think I can't see as well as other people ? Gapt. On the contrary, I think you can see twice as well. Ha ! ha ! Fred. Let them laugh that win. You will not take back this pretty story of the poor, deluded idiot of a husband, and the pretty, frail, and too complaisant wife, to your barrack companions. You will not re- hearse this little domestic drama of Chalk shire life over your mess-room table, I promise you ; and shall I tell you why ? Capt. Pray do. Fred (deliberately). Because I mean to kill you. (furiously) Scoundrel — black-hearted scoundrel, do you think I didn't see you and that shame- less woman exchanging your fiendish -caresses and blandishments, here under my very roof — here, in my very house ? Capt. (aside). I'm in for a row, begad. Shall I make a clean breast of it % (aloud) Caresses ! Blandishments ! Ha ! ha ! Excuse my laugh- ing ; but, my dear fellow — your wife — nonsense — that was. Ha ! ha ! — mind mum's the word — the little governess ! Fred. Little governess ! Capt. Yes. (digging him in the ribs) You know. Plump little body that you sometimes snatch a chuck from or kiss under the chin — ha ! ha ! what a ridiculous mistake, to be sure. Fred. Pshaw! Talk not to me of little governesses. Do you think a husband doesn't know his own wife ? Capt. Very rarely, I should say. (aside) No go. Fred. Do you think I didn't see her — God help me — showering her trinkets and gold into your lap, like — like Jupiter and Danac in leap year "? — but your triumph shall be a short-lived one. A Nemesis is at hand. Capt. A what ? (aside) Is that Chalkshire for a policeman, I wonder 1 Fred. A retribution, terrible as it is just. ( produces case) These pistols are both loaded, take which you will and we will fire across this table. Capt. Well, but — hang it ! Fred. Not a word ! Take one ! Quick 1 quick ! Capt. And pray what's become of your unconquerable aversion to a duel 1 Fred. This is no duel, it is an execution! What, do you hesitate? False, treacherous, hollow, I kn^fv you to be, but I had yet to learn you were a coward. Capt. (annoyed). Be it so, then, (takes pistol without rising. Asidt ) I wish he were anyone else's husband; damme, I'd shoot him like a bird, and make up the brace. Fred. Now, sir, are you ready? In deference to your "honorable " profession I depute to you the word of command. What, you won't? Then / will. I shall count three. Mark you — one, two, three, and at the word three we fire, (furimisly to Captain, who still lounges in his chair) Stand up and face me like a man, or, by the Lord, I'll shoot you like a dog. (Captain, c, tosses his pistol on the table unobserved by Fred and rises, calmly facing him. Fred, hoarsely, with suppressed rage) "One," (Mabel's face appears at the garden window, peering in) " two," (Mabel tries to open door, and finding it locked, dashes her hand through the glass and draics back the bolt. She rushes down between them) Mabel ! (Mabel goes up to Captain Cameron and addresses him angrily, aside) It is for him she fears. It is his life she would save even with her own. I wish I were dead ! (he si?/ks into chair, and hides his face in his hand.) 18 HIS OWN ENEMY. Mab. {aside, to Captain). And did you dare to lift your hand against my husband ? Capt. Not a bit of it. Look, there lies the pistol. Mab. Then — then you were going to stand and be shot at unarmed, like a — Cameron 1 Capt. Lor' bless you, it's a crown to a cabbage he missed me. He couldn't hit a hay-stack. Look, he is all of a shake. Mab. So he is, my poor darling ; this has gone too far. Not another moment ( pushing Captain Cameron towards door) or you will ruin us both, (just as they reach door, a loud knocking is heard at it. They stand motionless. ) Mab. What's that ? Capt. Too late, too late ! I am lost ! Mab. Not so, darling, there is yet a chance. Through the garden, quick, quick ! (she hurries him to the garden door, and is about to throw it open, when Groper appears outside, calmly chewing a straw. Mabel pulls Captain Cameron back with a scream of despair.) Capt. Trapped, by all that's damnable ! (knocking is still continued at room door) Mabel, listen to me. There is only one way out of this ; it will put him (indicating Fred) to half an hour's inconvenience, but it will save my life. Mab. (confused). I don't — I don't understand. Capt. Watch me closely and follow my lead, (he unlocks and opens door.) Enter Moleye — he glances round the room. Now, sir, what do you want 1 Moleye. I want to come in. if it's entirely the same to you, gove'nor. Sorry to intrude upon a family party in this 'ere way, especially when it's so werry private as to nercessitate the door a-being locked. Mab. The door ! Oh ! we can't bear the draught, (aside) Oh, Doug- las, Douglas ! Moleye. Ah, some people can't. For my part, a good draught's a thing as never comes amiss, (rubs his lips with his coat cuff.) Capt. And what is your business here, pray ? Moleye. Well, yer see, my name's Moleye. Mister Moleye, Scotland Yard. And I've a warrant here for the arrest of — (reading from war- rant) one Captain Douglas Capt. (twitching ivarrant out of his hands). Let me look. Yes, all ap- pears to be regular and in due form* and I, as a magistrate of the County, would be the last to throw any impediment inthe way of justice. Do your duty, officer. Moleye (looking from Filed to Captain Cameron). Beg yer pardon, gove'nor, but your name is Capt. (carelessly). Whymper ; Frederick Whymper. Fred (who has raised his head at the last few words for the first time). What! Scoundrel! (vehemently) I tell you, officer, this — this fiend in human shape has robbed me of all I hold dear in life, and now seeks to rob me of my good name. I— 7 am Frederick Whymper, a justice of the peace for Chalkshire, as I will prove to you in one moment by the testimony of my own servants, (advances towards bell.) Moleye (stopping him). No you don't. Me and my mate's alone on this 'ere job, and this is a frightful lonely spot. No ; 1'li tell you a trick worth two of that, young gentleman. It's a wise child as knows its own father, they say — (I never had no father myself, to speak on) — but any fool 'ud know her own husband any day in the week. So now, mum, just speak up, will you, and tell us which of these two gents it is HIS OWN ENEMY. 19 as you belongs to. (Mabel stands a moment breathless ; but at a glance from Captain Cameron, she advances, and takes his arm.) Mab. This is my husband. (Captain Cameron supports her and turns so that Moleye cannot see her face) Oil, Fred ! Fred ! Capt. {aside). My own brave Mab, you have saved me. Moleye {to Fred.) You hear, my lad. Your little game is up. Fred. Stand back. I tell you it's a lie— a shameful lie. I tell you, officer Moleye. You take my advice and don't tell me nothing at all, for it's my duty to inform you as anything you say will be took down and used agin you at your trial. Now', look'ee here. What you have got to do is to go quietly along with me ; that's what you've got to do. {advancing towards Fred.) Fred {furiously). Stand back, I say. Lay a finger on me at your peril. Mab. {aside to Captain Cameron). Mercy, mercy, I cannot bear it. Capt. {to her). One moment more ; only one moment, {at this moment the garden door opens, and Gropeu puts in his head.) Moleye. Just as I was a-wanting yer. Hallo 1 What have you got there ? Groper. Telegram. Moleye. Where from 1 Groper. The Yard — for you. {handing telegram.) Moleye. How did it come 1 Groper. 'Oise-back, fast as it could gallop. Moleye {reading). " Inspector Billson. Do not execute warrant. • Come back at once. Major C. not dead — recovering rapidly," Mab. Not dead ! Thank Heaven ! Capt. Amen to that, say I. Moleye. Then it seems as you and me, Bill, has gone and been made jackasses of. Hope they'll send some one else next time they've such a jolly fool's errand. Ugh ! Fred. And you've made me get in this temper for nothing 1 Mab. {courteously). I'm sure, Mr. — Ahem ! No one could be better fitted Capt. Exactly. Here, my man, get something to drink ; {gives money) and, hark'ee, not a word of all this in the village. Eh 7 Moleye. Thank'ee, gove'nor. Not a syllabub, bless yer. Come along, Bill. Good-day, gents. Capt. ( pushing them off ). Good-day, officer, good-day. Moleye {dodging round him). Good-day, mum. Capt. There, there, that will do. Don t you see the lady's indisposed 1 Be off with you both, {pushing them off at room door.) Mab. {rushing to Fred the moment tlie door is closed on them, and throw- ing herself at his feet). Fred ! Fred ! now I can tell you all ! Fred {waving her back). Shameless woman, touch me not. Mab. Fred, dearest husband, don't you see 1 — don't you know 1 This is Douglas ! — Douglas Cameron. My brother ! — my own dear, unhappy brother, flying for his very life from the bloodhounds of the law. Capt. Yes, old boy, her brother — your brother. What do you say to that? Fred {in a maze — laughing stupidly). Well, that's all right. I — {angrily) Why did you not tell me 1 What the deuce did you mean by sneaking into the house like that? Capt. I meant to tell you ; but I found you so violently opposed to duelling — in theory. In practice you're a regular fire-eater, by Jove ! — won't be denied, eh 1 — ha ! ha ! ha I 20 HIS OWN ENEMY. Fred. Ah! it's all very fine! You soldiers think a man can't be worth his salt unless he's paid for it; but touch our hearths and homes, and you'll find we volunteers will fight like the devil. Well, at all events, I'm delighted to see you safe and sound. How are you'? (shakes hands with effusion) That's all right. Won't you take something to drink now 1 Capt. No, thanks. You are sure you don't hate me, then ? Fred. Hate you ? Not a bit of it ! I was like a boy who had been locked up in a jam-closet. I had a surfeit of sweets. You have taught. me a lesson, young fellow, (taking Mabel's hand) We never know the value of a thing till we've lost it. Mab. 0: fancy we have, dear. Fred. And I sincerely believe I shall never forget it as long as I live. Capt. And 1 sincerely believe I shan't, either. Mab. And I sincerely believe that all will go as " merry as a mar- riage bell," now that his eyes are opened to the fact that all are friends here — and that he himself alone is " His Own Enemy." CURTAW. "Sweetest Shake-pere, Nature's child , Warbles his native wood-notes wild. 1 ' — Milton. Please notice that nearly all the Comedies, Farces and Comediettas in the following List of "De Witt's Acting Plays " are very suitable for representation in small Amateur Theatres and on Parlor Stages, as they need but little extrinsic aid from complicated scenery or expensive costumes. They have attained their deserved popularity by their droll situations, excellent plots, great humor and brilliant dialogues, no less than by the fact that they are the most perfect in every respect of any edi- tion of Plays ever published either in the United States or Europe, whether as regards purity of the text, accuracy and fulness of stage directions and scenery, or elegance of typo- graphy and clearness of printing. *$* In ordering, please cop} r the figures at the commencement of'each piece, which indicate the number of the piece in " De "Witt's List of Acting Plays." q, *• fi^f Any of the following Plays sent, postage free, on receipt of price — fifteen cents. Address, ROBERT M. DE WITT, JVo. 33 ftose Street, Jfen> York. IDE WITT'S AOTIXTG PLAYS. No. 1 CASTE. An original Comedy in three acts, by T. W. Robertson. A lively and effective satire upon the times, played successfully in America, at Wallack's. Five male and three female characters. Costumes, modern. Scenery, the first and third acts, interior of a neat room ; the second a fashionable room. Time in representation, two hours and forty minutes. 2 NOBODY'S CHILD. A romantic Drama in three acts, by Watts Phillips. Eighteen male and three female characters. A domestic drama, wonderfully successful in London, as it abounds in stirring scenes and capital situations. Costumes modern, suited to rural life in Wales. Scenery is wild and picturesque. Time in representation, two hours and a quarter. 3 £100.000. An original Comedy in three acts, by Henry J. Byron. Eight male and four female characters. A most effective piece, played with applause at Wallack's. Costumes of the day. Two scenes are required— a comfortably furnished parlor and an elegant apartment. Time in representation, one hour and three quarters. «^ v DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS. No. 4 DANDELION'S DODGES. A Farce in one act, by Thomas J. Williams. Four male and two female characters. A rattling piece. The part of Dandelion excellent for a low comedian. Costumes of the day. Sce- nery, a picturesque landscape. Time iu representation, fifty minutes. 5 'WILLIAM TELL WITH A VENGEANCE ; or, the Pet, the Patriot and the Pippin. A grand new Burlesque hy Henry J. Byron. Eight male and two female characters. Replete with telling allusions. Cos- tumes of the period of the middle ages, grotesquely exaggerated. Five scenes in Switzerland. Time in representation, one hour. 6 SIX MONTHS AGO. A Comedietta in one act, hy Felix Dale. Two male and one female characters. A really effective little piece, suited to amateurs. Costumes of the day. Scene, morning room in a country house. Easily produced. Time in representation, forty minutes. 7 MAUD'S PERIL. A Drama in four acts, hy Watts Phillips. Five male and three female characters. Strong and sensational. Costume of English country life of the period. Scenery not elaborate. Time in representation, two hours and a half. 8 HENRY DUNBAR ; or, a Daughter's Trials. A Drama in four acts, by Tom Taylor. Ten male and three female characters. One of the best acting plays of the day. Costumes of the period. Scenery modern English. "Time in representation, three hours. 9 A FEARFUL TRAGEDY IN THE SEVEN DIALS. A farcical interlude in one act, by Charles Selby. Four male and one female characters. A very laughable piece, easily produced ; certain to bring down the house. Costumes of the day. Scene, a genteelly furnished bed- room. Time in representation, forty minutes. 10 THE SNAPPING TURTLES; or, Matrimonial Masque- rading. A duologue in one act, by John B. Buckstone. One male and one female character, who assume a second each. A very ludicrous farce ; has been eminently successful. Costumes of the day. Scene, a drawing room. Time in representation, one hour. 1Z WOODCOCK'S LITTLE GAME. A Comedy Farce in two acts, by J. Maddison Morton. Four male and four female characters. A sparkling, lively composition, by one of the most humorous dramatic authors. The part of Woodcock has been performed by Charles Mathews and Lester Wallack. Costumes of the period. Scenery, modern apartments, handsomely furnished. Time in representation, one hour. 12 A WIDOW HUNT. An original Comedy in three acts, by J. Sterling Coyne. Four male and four female characters. An inge- nious and well known alteration of the same author's " Everybody's Friend, 1 ' the part of Major Wellington de Boots having been rendered popular by Mr. J. S. Clarke in England and America. Costumes and scenery of the period. Time in representation, two hours and a half. 13 RUY BLAS. A romantic Drama in four acts, from the French of Victor Hugo. Twelve male and four female characters. This piece was eminently successful in London when produced by Mr. Fechter, It contains numerous scenes, capable of being performed unconnected with the drama, by amateurs. Spanish costumes of 1(592. Scenery, halls and apart- ments in the royal palace at Madrid. Time in representation, three hours and a half. 14 NO THOROUGHFARE. A Drama in five acts, with a prologue, by Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins. Thirteen male and six female characters. Very successlul as produced by Fechter in England and by Florence in America. Costumes modern but often changed. Scenery complicated ; English exteriors, Swiss interiors and Alpine passes. Time in representation,"three hours and forty minutes. lft MILKY WHITE. A domestic Drama m two acts hy H. T. Craven. Four male and two female characters. A good actin-r, pathetic piece. Costumes English, of the present day. Scenery, an exterior and in- terior. Time in representation, one hour and a half. DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS. 16 DEARER THAN LIFE. A serio-comic Drama in three acts, by Henry J. Byron. Six male and live female characters. An effective piece, which could Ijo readily performed by amateurs with success. Cos- tumes, English of the ony. Scenery, two interiors, easily arranged. Time in representation, two Lours. 17 KIND TO A FAULT. An original Comedy in two acts, by W illiam Brough. Six male and four female characters. A well written Composition with well drawn characters. Costumes of the present day. Scenery, two elegantly furnished interiors. Time in representation, one hour and twenty minutes. 18 IF I HAD A THOUSAND A YEAR. A Farce in one act, by John Maddison Morton. Four male and three female charac- ters. A splendid social sketch — the part of Green being excel eat for a good light comedian. Costumes of the present day ; and scenery, a neatly fur- nished interior. Time in representation, one hour and fifteen minutes*. 19 HE'S A LUNATIC. A Farce in one act, by Felix Dale. Three male and two female characters. A sprightly, laughter-provoking production. Modern dresses ; and scene, a drawing room. Time in repre- sentation, forty minutes. 20 DADDY GRAY. A serio-comic Drama in three acts, by Andrew Halliday. Eight male and four female characters. One of the author's most effective and natural compositions. Dresses of the present day. Scenery, interior of a cottage, a lawyer's office, street and archway, and cottage with landscape. Time in representation, two hours. 21 DREAMS ; or, My Lady Clara. A Drama inftve acts, by T. \V. Robertson. Six male and three female characters. Full of thrilling incidents, with several excellent parts for both male and female. Was suc- cessfully brought out at the Boston Museum and New York Fifth Avenue Theatre. Costumes, modern German and English. Scenery, interiors and gardens, rather complicated, but effective. 22 DAVID GARRICK. A Comedy in three acts, by T. W. Robertson. Eight male and three female characters. Most effectively per- formed by Mr. Swtheniin England an dm America with decided success. Cos- tumes, court dresses. Scenery, two interiors antiquely furnished. Time in representation, one hour and three quarters. 23 THE PETTICOAT PARLIAMENT. An Extravaganza in one act, by Mark Lemon. Fifteen male and twenty-four female charac- ters, A revision of the "House of Ladies. 11 Performed with, great success at Mitchell's Olympic in New York. The costumes are extremely fanciful and exaggerated. Scenery, modern English. Time in representation, one hour and five minutes. 24 CABMAN No. 93; or, Found in a Four Wheeler. A Farce in one act, by Thomas J. Williams. Two male and two female char- acters. A ludicrous piece, with a cabman for the first low comedian, and a stock broker as eccentric character part. Costumes of present day. Scene, a furnished room. Time in representation, forty minutes. 25 THE BROKEN HEARTED CLUB. A Comedietta, by J. Sterling Coyne. Four male and eight female characters. A laughable satire on "the Women's Rights movement. Costumes modern English. Scenery, a drawing room. Time in representation, thirty minutes. 26 SOCIETY. A Comedy in three acts, by T. W. Robert- son. Sixteen male and five female characters. A plav exceedinglv popular, intended to exhibit the foibles of British Society and to ridicule the election rem. Costumes of the present day. Scenery elaborate. Time in repre- sentation, two hours and a half. 27 TIME AND TIDE. A Drama in three acts and a pro- logue, by Henry Leslie. Seven male and five female characters. An effec- tive piece, with novel and striking incidents. Costumes English, present day. Scenery, London marine scenery. Time in representation, two hours. DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS. No. 28 A HAPPY PAIR. A Comedietta in one act, by S. Tkeyre Smith. One male and one female character. A neat dramatic sketch of a conjugal misunderstanding. Modern dresses. Scene, a drawing room. Time in representation, twenty minutes. 29 TURNING THE TABLES. A Farce in one act, by John Poole. Five male and three female characters. One of the happiest efforts of the famous author of " Paul Pry. 1 ' The part of Jeremiah Bumps is re- dolent with quaint humor. A standard acting piece. Dresses and scenery of the present day. Time in represemation, sixty-five minutes. 30 THE GOOSE WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS. A Farce in one act, by Augustus Mayhew and Sutherland Edwards. Five male and three female characters. Gay, rollicking, full of incessant action, having three of the most comical characters imaginable. Costumes of the present period. Scene, a lawyer's office. Time in representation, forty-five minutes. 31 TAMING A TIGER. A Farce in one act, altered from the French. Three male characters. In this a dashing light comedian and fiery, petulant' old man cannot fail to extort applause. Modern dresses : and scene, a modern apartment. Time in representation, twenty five minutes. 32 THE LITTLE REBEL. A Farce in one act, by J. Ster- ling Coyne. Four male and three female characters. An excellent piece for a sprightly youn? actress. Dresses and scenery of the present day. Easy of production. Time in representation, about forty-five minutes. 33 ONE TOO MANY FOR HIM. A Farce in one act, by Thomas J. Willi,, is. Two male and three female characters. Adapted from a popular jj'rench vaudeville. Costume of the time. Scene, parlor in country house. Time of representation, fifty minutes. 34 LARKIN'S LOVE LETTERS. A Farce in one act, by Thomas J. Williams. Three male and two female characters. The piece has excellent parts for first low comedy— first old man and a soubrette. Dresses of the day. Scene, a parlor. Time in representation, forty minutes. 35 A SILENT WOMAN. A Farce in one act, by Thomas Hailes Lacy. Two male and one female characters. One of the prettiest little pieces on the English stage. Dresses of the period. Scene, a drawing room. Time in representation, thirty-five minutes. 36 BLACK SHEEP, a Drama in three acts, from Edmund Yates' novel of the same name, and arranged for the stage by J. Palgrave Simpson and the author. Seven male and five female characters. Costumes of the present time. Scenery, an interior ; gardens at Homburg, and a handsome parlor. Time in playing, two and a half hours. 37 A SILENT PROTECTOR. A Farce in one act by Thom- as J. Williams. Three male and two female characters. An active, bust- ling piece of ingenuity, which affords abundant opportunities for the display of Quickridget's eccentricities. Costumes of the period. Scene, a drawing room. Time in representation, forty minutes. 38 THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. A Drama in five acts, by Lord Lytton (Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer). Ten male and two female characters. A revision and improvement of the author's play of the "Sea Captain, 1 ' originally produced under management of Mr. Macready. Costumes of the English Elizabethan period, armor, doublets, tights, &c. Scenery pictu- resque and elaborate. The play contains numerous scenes and passages, which could be selected for declamation. Time in representation, two hours and forty-five minutes. * 39 MASTER JONES' BIRTHDAY. A Farce in one act, by John Maddison Morton. Four male and two female characters. A very amusing and effective composition, particularly suited to amateurs. Dresses of the day ; and scene, a plain interior. Time of playing, thirty minutes. 40 ATCHI. A Comedietta in one act, by John Maddison Morton. Three male and two female characters. A gem in pleasantry, whose conclusion is irresistibly comic. Costume of the day. Scene, a taste- fully laid out garden. Time in representation, forty minutes. DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS. No. 41 BEAUTIFUL FOREVER. A Farce in one act, by Fred- erick Hay. Two male and two female characters. A sprightly satirical re- buke to those that patronize advertised nostrums. Costumes of the day. Scene, a handsome interior. Time in representation, forty minutes. 42 TIME AND THE HOUR. A Drama in three acts, by J Palgrave Simpson and Felix Dale. Seven male and three female charac- ters. An excellent acting play, full of life and incident, the parts of Medlicutt and Marian Beck being capable of impressive representation— all others good. Costumes of the present period. Scenery, gardens and ex- terior, cottage and garden, and an old oaken chamber. Time in representa- tion, two hours and a half. 43 SISTERLY SERVICE. An original Comedietta in one act, by J. P. Wooler. Seven male and two female characters. An interest- ing piece. Costume?, rich dresses of the musketeers of Louis XIII. Scenes, an apartment of that period, and a corridor in the royal palace of France. Time in representation, forty minutes. 44 WAR TO THE KNIFE, a Comedy in three acts, by Henry J. Byron. Five male and four female characters. A pleasing, enter- taining and morally instructive lesson as to extravagant living ; capitally adapted to the stage. Costumes of the presenttime. Scenes, three interiors. Time in representation, one hour and three quarters. 45 OUR DOMESTICS. A Comedy Farce in two acts, by Frederick Hay. Six male and six female characters. An irresistibly face- tious exposition of high life below stairs, and ot the way in which servants treat employers during their absence. Costumes of the day. Scenes, kitchen and dining room. Time in representation, one hour and a half. 46 MIRIAM'S CRIME. A Drama in three acts, by H. T. Craven. Five mal^- and two female characters. One of the best acting plays, and easily put on the stage. Costumes modern. Scenery, modern English interiors, two in number. Time in representation, two hours. 47 EASY SHAVING. A Farce in one act, by F. C. Bnr- nand and M ntagu Williams. Five male and two female characters. A neat and effective piece, with excellent parts for low comedian and singing chamber maid. Costumes of the days of Charles II of England. Scene, a barber's shop. Time in representation, twenty-five minutes. 48 LITTLE ANNIE'S BIRTHDAY. An original persona- tion Farce, by W. E. Suter. Two male and four female characters. A good farce, whose effectiveness depends upon a singing young lady, who could make the piece a sure success. Costumes modern. Scene, an apart- ment in an English country house. Time in representation, twenty-five minutes. 49 THE MIDNIGHT WATCH. A Drr