^R \ Hollinger Corp. pH 8.5 PR 4518 5 I .C16 ^ M62 Copy 1 COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY HAROLD ROORBACK l>00ri)act)'s full Desrrfptibc €ataIoflUC of Dramas, Comedies, Comediettas, Farces, Tableaux-vivants, Guide-books, Novel Entertainments for Church, School and Parlor Exhibitions, etc., containing complete and explicit information, will be sent to any address on receipt of a stamp for return postage. Address as above. ROORBACH'S AMERICAN EDITION PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. This series embraces the best of plays, suited to the present time. The reprints have been rigidly compared with the original acting copies, so that absolute purity of text and stage bu-iness is warranied. Each play is furnished with an introduction of the greatest value to the stage manager, containing the argument or synopsis of incidents, complete lists of properties and costumes, diagrams of the stage settings and practicable scene-plots, with the fullest stage directions. They are hand- somely printed from new electrotype plates, in readable type, on fine paper. Their complete introductions, textual accuracy, and mechanical excellence render these books far superior in every respect to all editions of acting plays hitherto published. 1. ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD. A comic drama in two acts. Six in.ale, three female characters. Time, two hours. 2. A SCRAP OF PAPER. A comic drama in three acts. Six male, six female characters. Time, two hours. 3. MY LORD IN LIVERY. A farce in one act. Five male, three female charac- ters. Time, fifty minutes. 4. CABMAN No. 93. A farce in one act. Two male, two female characters. Time, lorly minutes. 5. MILKY WHITE. A domestic drama in two acts. Four male, two female char- acters. Time, one hour and three quarters. 6. PARTNERS FOR LIFE. A comedy in three acts. Seven male, four female characters. Time, two hours. 7. WOODCOCK'S LITTLE GAME. A comedy-farce in two acts. Four male, four female characters. Time, one hour. 8. HOW TO TAME YOUR MOTHER-IN-LAW. A farce in one act. Four male, two female characters. Time, thirty-five minutes. 9. LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. A drama in two acts. Four male, three female characters. Time, one hour and a quarter. 10. NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. A comedy in three acts. Six male, five female characters. Time, one hour and forty minutes. 11. W^HICH IS 'A^'HICH ? A comedietta in one act. Three male, three female characters. Time, fifty minutes. 12. ICI ON PARLE FRANQAIS. A farce in one act. Three male, four female characters. Time, fortj^-five minutes. 13. DAISY FARM. A drama in four acts. Ten male, four female characters. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 14. MARRIED LIFE. A comedy in three acts. Five male, five female characters. Time, two hours. 15. A PRETTY PIECE OF BUSINESS. A comedietta in one act. Two male, three female characters. Time, fifty minutes. l5. LEND ME FIVE SHILLINGS. A farce in one act. Five male, two female characters. Time, one hour. 17. UNCLE TOM'S CABIN.— Original Version. A drama in six acts. Fifteen male, seven female characters. Time, three hours. 18. UNCLE TOM'S CABIN.— New Version. A drama in five acts. Seven male, five female characters. Time, two hours and a quarter. 19. LONDON ASSURANCE. A comedy in five acts. Ten male, three female characters. Time, two hours and three quarters. 20. ATCHI [ A comedietta in one act. Three male, two female characters. Time, forty minutes. 21. WHO IS WHO ? A farce in one act. Three male, two female characters. Time, forty minutes. 22. THE WOVEN "WEB. A drama in four acts. Seven male, three female char- acters. Time, two hours and twenty minutes, ^^^Any 0/ the above ivill he sent hy mail, ^ost-J>aid, to any address, on receipt d/ thi' price. HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 9 Murray St.. New York MIRIAM'S CRIME A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS H. T. CRAVEN New American Edition, Correctly Reprinted from the Original Authorized Acting Edition, with the Original Casts of the Characters, Argument of the Play, Time of Representation, Description of the Costumes, Scene and Property Plots, Dia- grams of the Stage Settings, Sides of Entrance and Exit, Relativ^e Posi- tionsof the Performers, Expla- nation OF THE Stage Direc- tions, etc., and all of THE Stage Business. Copyright, 1890, by Harold Roorbach, NEW YORK HAROLD ROORBACH PUBLISHER ^ ^ ,^^ V MIRIAM'S CRIME. CAST OF CHARACTERS. • Royal Strand Theatre^ London, Oct. gth, iSdj. HUFFIN {a Lawyer) Mr. H. J. Turner. Bernard Reynolds Mr. Parselle. Biles (« Lawyer's Clerk) Mr. George Honey. ScuMLEY (from the Colonies) Mr, Belford. Daniel (a Servant) Mr. Danvers. Miriam West Miss Kate Saville. Mrs. Raby (a lodi^ing-house keeper) Mrs. Manders. Olympic Theatre^ A^eiu York, Sept. sth, J864. Mr. Hind. Mr. Ringgold. Holston. Stoddart. Parsloe. Miss Irving. Miss Harris. Mr. Mr. Mr. Time of Representation — Two Hours. THE ARGUMENT. Miriam West is the protegee of Mrs. Wilson, a rich widow, who had taken her in as an orphan, brought her up and educated her. It had long been a favorite idea with the elder lady that her nephew and heirat-law, Bernard Reynolds, should marry Miriam who secretly loves him though her affection is unreturned. Imagining a mutual attachment between the two young people, one year before, Mrs. Wilson had made a will bequeathing her property to Bernard. During Mrs. Wilson's last illness, Miriam is surprised by a visit from a stranger, Clarkson Biles, who, after introducing himself as the clerk of Mrs. Wilson's legal agent' MIRIAM'S CRIME. Act III. Corridor Ba eking [OiaJr Trujik Fire -Place Chat \ WiodoH' W'Me o Arm ■ Chair Chat^ \ SCENE PLOT. Acts I and II. — Drawing-room boxed in 3 c, backed with corridor drop in 4 G. Doors c. in flat and r. 2 e. Window l, 3 e. Fire-place, with fire, L. i E. Chairs up R., R. C. and l. c. Table up R. Sofa down R. Ottoman c. Escritoire L. Picture of a young lady (Miriam) on wall. Carpet down. Act III. — Plain chamber boxed in 30., backed with corridor drop in 4 G. Fire-place C, and door L. C. in flat. Window r. 2 e., with backing to show roofs of opposite houses. Table down r. Sofa down L. Arm- chair c. Trunk up R. Chairs about stage. STAGE DIRECTIONS. In observing, the player is supposed to face the audience. R. means right ; L., left ; c, centre ; R. C, right of centre ; L. c, left of centre ; D. F., door in the flat or back scene ; R. f., right side of the flat ; L. F., left side of the flat; R. D., right door; L. D., left door; c. D., centre door; i e., first entrance ; 2 v., second entrance ; u. E., upper entrance ; i, 2 or 3 G., first, second or third grooves; UP STAGE, towards the back; DOWN STAGE, towards the footlights. R. R. C. C. L. C. L. Note. — The text of this play is correctly reprinted from the original authorized acting edition, without change. The introduction has been carefully prepared by an expert, and is the only part of this book protected by copyright. MIRIAM'S CRIME. ACT 1. Scene. — A handsomely furnished apartment— fireplace and good fire, L.; large door, c. ; and door R. 2 E.; window, l. 3 e. ; ladys escritoire, l.; table, r. ; chairs, ottoman, c; on the wall hangs the portrait of a young lady (Miriam). As the curtain rises, a double knock heard— pause — enter Mr. Huf- FiN, C.from h., following Daniel {a servant in livery). Huff. You're a new servant, I see. Do you know me? Dan. Sure, in coorse, I know ye well. Huff, {crosses to R. C.) What's my name ? Dan. (l., back) I disremember that I ever heard it, sir. Huff, (r.) Did you ever see me before? Dan. I can't say that I have. HufT. Then how can you know me? You're Irish, are you not ? Dan. No, sir ; but I had the misfortin to live in an Irish family, and I tuk the brogue as childer take the maysles. Huff. I never saw you before — how long have you lived here ? Dan. Jest a fortnight exactly, barrin' six days. Huff. Eight days in fact. What's become of the other man, Davis? Dan. [coming down, l.) Well, sir, I'm tould he's married the cook and gone off to Australy. I'm here as a substitute, till thev find some fellow wid a strong recommendation ; but I'll be thinkin' I fit the place like a bung in a whiskey keg, and there's no doubt iU all but I'll be the man to hould the situation in spite of *em all. Huff. But you're Irish — don't deny it, sir ; you're Irish. Now look here ; my name is Huffin. Dan, Guffin ? Huff. Huffin, fellow, I am Mrs. Wilson's solicitor, and what is more, an old friend of hers. How is she this morning ? 8 MIRIAM'S CRIME. Dan. She's aslape ; and the doctor who was here awhile agone, says the danger's over. Huff. I'm glad to hear it ; she has had a severe attack. Where is Miss West ? Dan. She's been sittin' up all night wid Mrs. Wilson, an* I'll be guessin' she's gone to lie down too. Huff. Well ; don't disturb them. Dan. I don't mane to. Huff. I'm at home. Dan. Ye mane ye' re goin' home. Huff. I mean what 1 say, sir — I'm at home ; that is, I can wait and make myself at home till Miss West comes down ; and until she wakes I may be of service in receiving any one who may call. By-the-bye, who is that fellow sitting in the hall? Dan. Don't know in the laste, sir. Huff. What does he want ? Dan. He wanted to see Mrs. Wilson. HufT. But you know that no stranger can see her in her present state. Dan. So I tould him : then he said he'd wait till she was awake and send up a message. Huff. Dear me ; you should never leave a man like that in the hall. There's my great coat there too ! — go and look after it, and if he hasn't already walked off with it bring him here to me. /'// see him. Dan. I'll do that same, sir. Exit, C. a7id L. Huff. So, so! My good friend Mrs. Wilson is once more out of danger. I never knew any one have so many warnings. I have known her for — let me see — eleven years, and during the whole of that time she has been subject to these alarming crises. She vi^as remarkably fortunate to meet with so excellent a companion as Miss West. Enter Daniel, c. from l. followed by Scumley, a middle-aged man, of disreputable appearance, in somewhat of a seaman s costume. Dan. The gentleman — I mane the man, sir, who's below. Exit, C. D. HufT. (l., with back to fire) Well, sir? Scum, (c.) Well! HufT. What have you got to say ? Scum. What \\-a.\^ you to say ; you sent for me, didn't you ? Huff. Why are you waiting here ? Scum. To see Mrs. Wilson. Huff. What is your business ? Scum. PiXQ. you Mrs. Wilson? MIRIAM'S CRIME. 9 Huff. You're an impudent fellow. Mrs. Wilson is very ill, and there is no likelihood of your seeing her. Scum. But I've come some distance. Huff. Pooh ! what distance .'' Scum. Twenty thousand miles. Huff. Eh.? Scum. Twenty thousand miles. Huff. Oh, then you may go back again. Scum. Perhaps you'll fork out my passage money ? Huff. You'd better call me a fool at once. Look here, my fine fellow ; from your style and figure, I can reckon you up in a few words; you've come for an answer to some begging letter ; now, I take upon myself to say you'll get nothing. Scum. That's the way you reckon up, is it? [siiiinjr, c.) Now I'll reckon you up. You're some done-up old adventurer on the look- out for a rich widow, and I take upon myself to say — you won't get her. Huff. Why, you — you — you — I'll tell you who I am ; I'm a solicitor, and — [looking through window l. 3E.) I can refer you for the truth of this to that upright gentleman in blue over the way. Scum. A peeler? Huff. As you say, a peeler. Scum. Don't wish to mix with your gentlemanly friends: I wish you a good day. Exit, c. and L. Huff, [following to the door mid calling) Paddy, show this fellow out, and d'ye hear? keep an eye on my great coat in the hall. [coming down) An impudent rascal — looks more hke a ticket-of- leave bird than anything else. The idea of calling me an — an adventurer, looking out for — confound his impudence I Enter Miriam ^'E.'S,!: door r. 2. e. Miriam, Mr. Hufifin. Huff. Miss West, how d'ye do? [shaking hands) I received your note apprising me of the severe illness of our friend, Mrs. Wil- son ; but I am delighted to hear she is better. Miriam. I hope she is ; I earnestly hope so. Huff. No doubt you do ; she has been a good friend to you. Miriam. A mother, sir ; for I cannot imagine a mother's care to exceed her's — and I had no claim on her. She took me as you know, an orphan into her house, to bring me up as a domestic, and promoted me to be her companion. Huff. Because you deserved it, my child ; the education which she bestowed upon you, you took readily, and you devoted your youth to the incessant tending of an invalid. If she has been kind, you have always the gratifying consciousness of deserving it. lO MIRIAM'S CRIME. Miriam. I trust I have ; but oh, Mr. Huffin, if she should die what is to become of me ? I haven't another friend in the world. Huff. Sit down, child, [they sit) Do you know that what you allude to has just occurred to me, and I think it my duty to speak to her on the subject ? Some provision ought to be made for you in her will. Miriam. I don't mean that ; don't think so meanly of me, sir ; that never entered my mind ; I have no claim on her, besides, my vanity tells me I can earn a hving. What I would have said is, that in hers I shall lose the only heart that can feel for me, and we all need 07ie to sympathize with. • Huff. So we do, so we do ; and you ought to have a husband. Miriam. Pray, sir, don't jest at such a time. Huff. My dear, I'm not jesting ; I'm one of those rare birds, a plain blunt lawyer — many think that an anomaly, I never found it so. I have a maxim that a man may be a sound jurist and yet speak his mind and the truth ; I'm a father, moreover — a widower, and I say the best protector for you would be a husband. This introduces a few more words which I think necessary. It was for some time a favorite idea of Mrs. Wilson that you should marry her nephew Bernard. Miriam. Cease, I beg. HuflF. Certainly not, because I want to explain the conduct of the poor invalid upstairs. Imagining that Bernard loved you, she felt assured of shortly seeing you united, and therefore when I drew out her will a year ago, everything, without exception, was bequeathed to him; in fact, the will itself was really needless, since Bernard being her nearest, nay, her 07ily relative, is heir-at- law. And now having so far betrayed professional confidence, I must tell you another secret, /always strongly opposed her idea of a union between you and Bernard. Miriam, [with emotion) You — you were right, sir. I never was — worthy of him. Huff. He never was worthy of you ; he's a scamp. Miriam. No, Mr. Huffin, no. His accomplishments, and the frankness of his nature may have betrayed him into indiscretions ; but he has a noble heart. Huff. Noble fiddlestick ! he's an idle spendthrift, and but for the influence which I have exercised over his aunt, on whom he is wholly dependent, his " noble heart " would in all probabiHty, by this time have ruined her. And yet I like the dog, after all — can't help it; he, like you, is an orphan; but he's not the partner for you. Miriam, [dejectedly) No, Huff. My daughter Judith is the wife for hi7n : a woman of MIRIAM'S CRIME. II masculine resolve — born to govern — to subdue ; but you — he'd break your heart in a month. Miriam. Pray sir, speak no more of it. Huff. I don't mean to do so ; I've spoken my mind and I've done with it. Enter DANIEL, C. Tt./rom R. Daniel. The nurse-woman says Misses is awake now, sir, and will see you if you wish it. Huff. I'll come, (exit Daniel, c. and l. — aside to Miriam) I'll try and mention that little matter — some provision. Exit, c. and R. Miriam. She imagined that Bernard loved me ! I thought so once, and felt that in permitting it I deeply wronged him, even when his aunt had told me of her approval. He has seldom been here of late ; am I to think that Mr. Hufiftn's wise opposition has been the cause of this? Has he been enforced to renounce his regard .'* If so he has not suffered more than I have ; but 'tis right ! 'tis right! Have I, a poor dependent orphan, pretensions to share with him — the only relative of my benefactress, the fortune which must be his? Re-enter Daniel, c. from L. showing in Clarkson Biles. Daniel. A gentleman as wants to spake to ye privately all alone by yourself, miss. Exit, c. and l. Biles, (r.) Miss West — I've once or twice had the pleasure of seeing you two or three times. May I venture to ask after your health ? Health's a blessing ; we ought to be thankful for health. Miriam, (l.) Indeed, sir, I don't remember you. Biles. You remember Mr. Scrivener ? Miriam. Scrivener — no ; unless he was concerned in the pur- chase of some house property for Mrs. Wilson. Biles. The same ; a lawyer residing at Walworth. I was his clerk — his managing clerk. Miriam. Possibly. Biles. You were out of town the last time Mr. Scrivener and I had business with Mrs. Wilson. You and I are alive. We've much to be thankful for. Poor Scrivener, he's dead. Miriam. Indeed ? Biles. May I sit down and tell you the melancholy history ? Thank you ! [^sits) Two months ago his premises were burned to the ground Miriam. Really ! Biles. He was uninsured, and it ruined him. I, at the risk of my life, for my eyebrows were on fire, saved a deed box or two, which I conveyed for safety to my lodgings; all the rest of his 12 MIRIAM'S CRIME. papers were consumed ; but, I am happy to inform you that all Mrs. Wilson's leases were in her own possession. Miriam. That was fortunate, sir. Biles. Most fortunate for her ; she has much to be thankful for. However, poor Scrivener took the affair to heart, and, being a man of weak mind, died five weeks ago. Miriam. I am sorry for his family. Biles. He had no family. Miriam. I'm glad of that. Biles. Yes, he has much to be thankful for. Miss West, I have now an idea of starting in practice as an agent on my own account. Miriam. No doubt you would secure much of your late master's connection. Biles. I'd try — I'd try. I feel the elements of success strong within me ; but. Miss West, it depends entirely upon you, whether I make up my mind to do this, or embark to-morrow for Queens- land. Miriam. On me ? Biles. Oviyou. Miriam. I am without money, sir ; if you have counted on my assistance in that. Biles. I know it, my dear young lady — I know it. You are of humble birth — so am I ; you commenced as a menial — so did I. We have much to be thankful for. Miriam. Sir ! Biles. Don't be offended ; I am only explaining the reason which has led me to take the present step. Miriam. Pray, sir, explain your meaning and spare my time, which, through the illness of Mrs. Wilson, is more than usually valuable. Biles. How long have I been in this room ? Miriam. Some ten minutes. Pray proceed, sir. Biles. Ten minutes ? Oh, it will seem too abrupt — too sudden — scarcely dehcate. Miriam. Then sir, despairing of understanding you, allow me to wish you good day. [rising arid going, Y..) Biles. You urge me to it, and I'm'thankful. Miss, it isn't much in the way of an articled clerk ; but an articled clerk has emotions — I say a clerk has emotions — in corporal sufferings he feels as great a pang as the uneasy head that wears a crown, as the immortal bard has it. Miss West, I love you. Miriam. Sir, you are surely out of your senses ! Biles. I mean honorably ; falsehood sits not on Biles's brow. Do you think me worthy of your affecUon ? Will you become the partner of my heart — my prospects — and my name? My name's Biles. MIRIA M 'S CRIME, 1 3 Miriam. Preposterous ! Biles. There is nothing preposterous save in the abruptness of the proposal — my devotion is pure. Miriam. Ridiculous ! ^iles. You think so? Well, put it in a business way : a girl — • that is, a young lady who is dependent, naturally aims at an eligi- ble match. Now you might do worse than accept a professional man, and a man of talent. I have talent. Understand me ; I'm a man to rise — there's something of the balloon about me. Miriam. To end this insulting interview, sir, allow me to request you to withdraw. Biles. I'm not a man of family ; but no man of family would think of uniting himself to a young woman risen from Miriam. Go, sir ! Biles. That's very like being turned out. I'm scorned, am I ? I've much to be thankful for. Then I'm off to Queensland early to-morrow. Think again. Miriam. Will you force me to ring for assistance ? Biles. Not at all — I'll go. But you must understand. Miss West, I consider I have paid you a great compliment ; the offer of marriage from a professional man to a mere promoted domestic is a compliment ; and, with that remark, you see the last of Clark- son Biles, [as Biles is boiving out c. and l., he bitnips against Ber- nard, yjho enters) Bernard. All right — don't apologize. Biles. I beg your pardon if I did. Exit, c, a7id'L. — Miriam crosses to L. Bernard, (r.) That's a queer-looking fish; has be been leaving you the first number of an illustrated work, and "call again to- morrow? " Miriam, I'm glad to hear poor old aunty is better. Miriam, (l.) I hope so. Dr. Lambton says that if there is no relapse to-day, she may be considered out of danger. Bernard. I hope she'll recover suddenly; I want her assistance ; for though the dear old soul always lectures me on my extrava- gance, she never denies me. Miriam. Well, but Bernard, our only thought is now for her recovery. Bernard. Yes ; I should like to confine my thoughts to that ; but some courageous fellows who have ventured to give me credit, won't let me ; yet it makes me feel very like a selfish rascal. Miriam. Bernard ; you ? Bernard. Don't take me too literally ; I've got my bright side, for though I know that I shall inherit all the old duchess has, whether she makes a will or dies intestate, yet I would a thousand times rather she lived for many years and doled me out an allow- ance than place me in comparative opulence by her death ; she has never been hard upon my waywardness but once — only once. 14 MIRIAM'S CRIME. Miriam. Hard upon you, Bernard ? so much as she loves you ? Bernard. Yes, but she touched me on a tender point ; I never found her so obstinate before, and that is the reason I have not been here much lately. Miriam. You'll pardon me, Bernard, won't you ? but I have thought that unkind — you, the only relative she has in the world. Bernard. You're a good sympathizing little creature, and I've a great mind to tell you all about it. Miriam. About what? Bernard. I think I ought to tell you, for you have too much good sense to allow it to hurt your feelings. Shall I tell you ? Miriam. If it will afford you pleasure. Bernard. Pleasure, no! it's a deuced unpleasant subject, but it will ease my mind, for I have been in great doubt whether I have behaved well to you, but if, when you know all, you say I have, why then I shall feel happier ; sit down, I'll condense, {they sit — Bernard, r, c, Miriam, l. c.) Mind, it's a delicate subject as regards you and me ; but we are both strong-minded, giants of intellect, superior to the slaves of mere etiquette. Now first of all, allow me to ask if I have ever made myself too agreeable to you ? Miriam. Your quesdon puzzles me. Bernard. Of course it does ; but you m.ust have perceived, Mirry, that I admired you ? Miriam. I — I sometimes thought so. Bernard. No doubt about it ; I fancied you were rather reserved and cold, but I was resolved to overcome it. I hked your society, it relieved the monotony of tete-a-tetes with my dear old aunt, so I tried to pay you as much attention as possible. Ha, ha, ha ! only fancy, the dear foolish old soul set it down in her own mind that I — ha, ha ! — that I was in love with you. Miriam. Did — did she tell you so ? Bernard. That she did. Miriam. And forbade our meeting ? Bernard. Worse, insisted that I should at once make you my wife ; but her arguments were the funniest I ever heard ; you'll laugh, I know you will. She declared I was a reckless, extrava- gant dog, who would never do any good in the world without a guardian angel always at my elbow to rescue me from folly ; and you were that guardian angel. In other words, I am a naughty boy, and you were to be my nurse — a good joke, wasn't it? Miriam, [in a trembling voice, but with an effort atfinnness) Yes, yes — a joke ; it was cruel of her to hint a choice of me, a poor friendless dependent, whose office was, as it should be, to submit to gallantries for the pastime of another, who forgot that hisexperi- ments were on a girl ignorant of the practices of the world, and who might have given them a deeper interpretation. MIRIAM'S CRIME. \% Bernard. But you didn't, Mirry, did you ? tell nic, my dear girl, did you ? Miriam. Oh, Bernard, make your mind easy ; 1 know my posi- tion, I Bernard. That's enough ! my nonsense had no injurious effect — pheu ! there's a weight off my mind, yet I'm sorry I went so far as I did, but I was a mere boy then — that's five months ago — maturity has brought wisdom ; but to my tale. I frankly told aunt that I Tvas in love. Miriam. Bernard ! Bernard. With another. That caused a commotion, but when I told her it was with Ellen Raby Miriam. Raby ? Bernard. Who instructed you in music, the old lady blew a hurricane. " What ! degrade myself by marrying a deep, design- ing girl — the daughter of a lodging-house keeper ! " She said that. I couldn't stand that you know. I love Ellen, and when one loves, one can't hear things said that touch us to the quick — can one ? Miriam. Some are obliged. Bernard. She's a girl that any one might love. Why, do you know — now laugh at this — do you know that old Huffin had fallen in love, through seeing her here ; he wrote her a note — she returned him an evasive answer. I cut him out, but he doesn't know that yet. Ha, ha ! — poor old Huffin ! Miriam, [abstractedly) Miss Raby ! Bernard. I swore to aunty that she, and none but she should be my wife. The old lady said it was an infatuation that would shortly expire. At last, I perceived that aunty really was making herself ill, and I yielded so far as to promise that I would not marry Ellen while aunty lived. Sdll I don't wish the old lady dead, for I hope, with your assistance, to get her to set aside this harsh decree. Miriam. Mine I Bernard. Yours. You have great influence over my aunt, and, besides, she acted on the supposition that I had gained youraff"ec- tions. Now you've only got to set her right on this point — tell her you don't care a button about me — in fact, tell the truth. Miriam. Yes — the truth. Bernard. Think of me bathed in tears of joy— think of my dear Ellen throwing herself at your feet in a transport of gratitude — think of our children, yet unborn, lisping the name of the pioneer of the happiness of the authors of their being Enter HuFFiN, C. from R. HufT. (R.) Ah, Berny. my lad — glad to see you. 1 6 MIRIAM'S CRIME. Bernard, (c.) Same to you. Lord, how sleek and well you look. The world is a macadamized road for you, my favored one ; you nestle in the well-feathered nest, and show a benignant frontispiece to the world — whilst 1, studying the difficult problem of how to make both ends meet, smile with an aching heart. Well, so much the more merit to me. Huff. My dear boy, whatever I possess, I earned ; d'ye under- stand ? — earned it — and, therefore, 1 enjoy it with a gusto unknown to you: there's energy about me. I'm one of the old school, but still I advance with the rest of the world. Bernard. I see, you're a complete _/?/-— Bernard runs to her assist- ance — Picture. CURTAIN. Twelve days are supposed to have elapsed. ACT II. Scene. — Same as Act I. The furniture rather differently arranged — papers, &*c., scattered about. HuFFiN a?id Bernard discoverd—Hi^YVi^ examining papers, l. c. — newspaper lying on the table, R., back. Huff, (l.) There; the search is over ; 'tis no use. Every nook — every corner in the house has now been examined, and there is no will. Bernard, (c.) Strange 1 and yet you say you drew out one a year ago ? Are you quite certain you did ? Huff. Certain? You'd belter call me a fool at once. Why, I was left sole executor ; and I need scarcely tell you that the will was entirely in your favor — entirely. Bernard. Well, Huffin. I have left it to you to examine the papers, and I am sure you have done so thoroughly. I suppose it only remains for me now to administer as heir-at-law ; and though the will must have been destroyed by my aunt, any legacy that was named as a recompense for the duties of executorship, I shall feel proud in placing to your account. Huff. Stop, stop ! In the first place you'll have to estabhsh your identity ; for having been born in the colonies Bernard. I may not be myself — pshaw ! there must be some easy clue to that fact ; you lawyers are always so fertile in suppo- sitious possibilities and actual six-and-eightpences. Huff. Bernard, my dear boy, I have now a painful — most pain- ful duty to perform. Bernard. What do you mean? Huff. In anticipation still of being able to find the will I have withheld somethmg which 20 MIRIAM'S CRIME. Bernard. No mystery, old fellow. You don't mean to deny the fact that I am now my aunt's heir? Huff. Are you sure of it ? Bernard. Hang it ! I'm nephew, am I not? HufT. We have always supposed so ; but are you sure there is no other near relative ? Bernard. Quite. Mrs. Wilson had a brother and a sister. The sister was my mother. At nine years of age I was left an orphan. Huff. But the brother Bernard. Was a sailor, or something of that sort. He died when I was an infant — met, I imagine, some dreadful fate, for neither my parents nor my aunt would ever allude to the subject ; but I have often heard them remark on the singularity of our having no other relatives. Huff. Suppose your uncle is still living? Bernard. What? Is — is //^rt/ your secret ? Huff. No ; I don't know that he lives. Bernard. Then you're supposing for supposing's sake? Huff. You' d better call me a fool at once. He was hving eleven years ago. Bernard. Huffin, I desire you to tell me instantly what you know. Recollect that your words threaten me not with beggary alone, but with loss of liberty perhaps. I am in debt. Huff. That's nothing new to you. But a brother, after all, can but claim half if there is a nephew. Bernard. If there is a nephew. Well, there is a nephew ; the "if" only applies to the brother — get on. Huff. In searching for the will, I examined the papers in that desk, where I had reason to know she had placed it, and there I found a packet of letters from Hobart Town, with the inscription, in her writing, " To be destroyed,'' and I was about to obey, when a sentence caught my eye and arrested my hand. I read the let- ters and found they were from Mrs. Wilson's brother — the last dated eleven years back, which was the time when your aunt came from India, on the loss of her husband. Bernard. Bringing me with her. Huff. He may be dead ; let us hope so. Bernard. Poor fellow ! — hope so ? Huff. I say it advisedly ; for by his letters I find he had dis- graced his family, and was paying the penalty of the law. Bernard. Do you mean to say Huff. I do. 'Tis a painful thing, but this is not a time to con- ceal such a fact, therefore we must ascertain if he still lives. Bernard. Certainly ; but as you say, let us hope he's been hanged. Huff. I said no such thing. MIRIAiXrs CRIME. 21 Bernard. Well, let my uncle's ghost arise from its penal settle- ment, and take his-moiety. Huff. 1 must tell you, my dear boy, though I place little reliance on the fellow's words, in the letter which I alluded to, he seems to infer that you are not the nephew of the deceased. Bernard. V>\x\. you know my aunt always said I was. Huff. At least she never said you were not ; but in the will which I drew out, thougli she left everything to you, I now recollect she avoided designating you as a relative ; but that says nothing. Bernard. And your mare's nest will prove to be nothing; if it does not, I don't disguise the fact, I shall be the most miserable dog in existence. I shall lose Ellen, perhaps. Huff. Ellen ! what Ellen ? Bernard. Never mind what Ellen — that's my business. Enter Daniel, c.fromi.. Huff. Irishman, come there. Daniel. I'm not an Irish. Huff. Ain't you? you'd better call me a look here, do you know of any nook or corner, which I have not examined, in which your late mistress was likely to keep a document ? Daniel, (c.) What's a document — a toasting fork? Huff. (L.) A testament? Dan. Oh, to be surely — in the book rack. Huff. No! no! — a paper. Dan. There's the dust-hole. Huff. Pooh ! not a very likely place to find a will. Dan. Is it the will of her ye haven't found yet? Why three days agone ye'd given it up for lost, as I tould the gentleman as inquired. Huff. Who inquired ? Dan. A mighty quare looking sort of gentleman, as came to see Miss West, all alone, the day as Misses died, faix did she. [wipes his eyes) Bernard. What is his name ? Dan. I don't know at all, but he's been several times and crass- questioned me on the area steps about whether ye'd found the will. Huff. That's strange. Observe me, Irishman ; never answer any impertinent questions of that kind. If any one comes again on such business show him up. Dan. That will I, in his true colors, the blackguard ! Exit, C. and R. Enter Miriam /ww/ door, r. 2 k., txttircd in juourning. Bernard. (R.) Ah, Miriam ! I am glad to find you can leave your chamber ; are you better ? 22 MIRIAM'S CRIME. Miriam, (c.) Yes, yes; I am better, Mr. Reynolds. Bernard. Mr. Reynolds '^. Why not Bernard, as you used to call me ? Our loss should cement friendship. Miriam. P'riendship ! Oh, I have no friend now. Huff, (l.) That's wrong, Miss West. As long as you are a good girl, you will not want a friend. Though I have asked the ques- tion before, allow me to repeat it ; do you know anything of a will Mrs. Wilson has made ? Miriam. I — sir — I — was not in her confidence to that extent. Huffin. You never saw one ? Bernard. Every place, Miriam, has been searched, and though we know one had been executed, it is not to be found. Miriam. Then, Bernard, you — you are master of all! Your bereavement forbids me to congratulate you ; but I pray you may be happy. Huffin. These letters [producing a packet) make it doubtful whether he will inherit a penny. Miriam, [aside) Ah ! those letters I was to have destroyed ; her last request, and 1 forgot it. [sits at table, R. ) Huffin. What agitates you.-* Re-enter Daniel, q.. from l. Daniel. Here's another rapparee about the will business; he axed me the same question, and I've brought him up ; t'other fellow is with him. Enter Scumley, followed by Biles, Q.from l. — exit Daniel. Huff. This fellow again ! what do you want ? Mrs. Wilson is dead. Scum. (r. c.) I know it; we know it, eh, what's your name? [nudges Biles) She's dead and buried, so I can't see her; and I aon't want to see her, that's more — do we? [to Biles) Biles, (l. ) No; she's defunct: that's fact, number one. How d'ye do. Miss West? Huff. (r. C.) Oh, you know Miss West? Biles. Don't you see I do? Huff, [to Scumley) Allow me to ask a question before I order you out. Scum. Allow me to ask a question before I V\z\i you out. Bernard, (r.) Impertinent ruf Scum. I'm not speaking to you ; you're a mere boy ; I ask this hoary adventurer, has Mrs. Wilson died intestate? Huff. Why you — you — you imp Scum. Don't prevaricate — I know she has ; and I beg to inform you that I, being her only brother, proclaim myself her heir — eh, what's your name? (/^ Biles) Biles. Biles. There's no denying it. MIRIAM'S CRIME. 23 Miriam. (R., aside — horrified) Am I in a hideous dream ? Bernard. You, my uncle ! Scum. Well, never mind that : I don't want to be bothered with any relations just now. Eh, what's-your-name ? (/ Miriam. And this too, is my doing ; a curse must have been on me, Bernard. Bernard. No — no! I don't see it in that light. I needn't tell you, that after receiving a significant rebuff last night, I didn't sleep a wink. Miriam. I am your bane. Bernard. Nothing of the sort. I couldn't sleep, but I thought a good deal, Miriam. I reflected whether the girl's love was really worth possessing, which was too evidently built upon worldly interest ; then I thought oi you MIRIAM'S CRIME. 35 Miriam. To hate me. Bernard. Not in the least — to contrast what, with such a nature as yours, your conduct would have been under such circum- stances ; and I came to this conclusion, that had you been in her position poverty would not have made you desert me — would it? Miriam. I don't know ; I seem to myself to be all that's wicked. Bernard, {taking her hand) lam sure you would not; so you see the cruelty of one has not made me a woman-hater ; but I feel it — I feel it. Miriam. Cruel girl ! Bernard. She is. Well, I went on thinking and thinking, and I think came to a most singular way of thinking ; for what do you think 1 thought ? Miriam. I cannot tell ; but I judge from your sad look. Bernard. Sad look — nonsense ! It's a change that's coming over me ; I'm in a transition state. This is the conclusion I came to, Miriam, that in all probality I shall see, when a few years have passed over, that all things have happened for the best, Miriam. Impossible, Bernard ! Bernard. Had I married this girl, and afterwards discovered — as I should have done — that my prospects had been the tempta- tion, I should have bade farewell to domestic happiness for ever ; consequently I wrestle with my infatuation, and wlien I have con- quered it, I've no doubt I shall find I've had — yes, I won't mince it — a lucky escape. Miriam. And you have the courage to think so ? Bernard. Oh, I'm a greater hero than I thought myself. Listen, '• Now," thought I, "this would have been number one of the con- sequences of my coming into property ; number two would prob- ably be that I should have squandered it, and soon have been no better off than I was before." And then I began to reflect what a locust in the land 1 have been, waiting for the death of a good old soul to give me the means of livehhood ; the idea of a man going through life without being able to fight his own way — disgraceful ! But look you, Miriam, I'll do it ! She shall see me competent to achieve competence yet; I'm no longer Bernard Reynolds, the spendthrift ; I'll be an R. A., or go to China and give lessons in perspective to the native artists ; bring out an improved edition of the willow-pattern plate ; something I'll do. I'm glad I'm penni- less, but I won't be a beggar for all that. I'm stimulated, {^crosses to R.) Miriam. Bless you, Bernard ; you give me comfort, indeed, to hear your words. Bernard, (r. C.) But I must not forget ^(7«, Miriam. I've done 36 MIRIAM'S CRIME. you a great wrong, and my mind will not be easy until I can do you some service. Miriam, (l. C.) Done me wrong? Bernard. Yes, I trifled with your affection in mere wantonness ; I misled you. As a lover I should have been unworthy, but I'll be a friend, Miriam; by Appelles and Sir Joshua, I'll be a friend; I'll never lose sight of you. Miriam. No, Bernard ; 1 cannot imagine the space so great that I would not wish between us. I alone have been to blame, but my humiliation has been deep. I cannot — I ought not to speak more on this subject ; let us regard it as a dream from which I have awakened to blush at and forget, Bernard. Mirry, you're a good girl — and I hate that old croaker, Huffin, for doubting it. Miriam. Don't blame him. Appearances are overwhelmingly against me ; even you perhaps Bernard. If I for a moment doubted you, 'twas but for a moment, and I shall never forgive myself for the paltry suspicion. No ; I believe you endeavored to make a sacrifice for me which no one else on earth would have done. It was an error, but that can't be helped. Now I'll step downstairs and see Mrs. Raby on the subject of this note. Bless you, my girl. Come, cheer up ; we are both young, and youth is not the season for despair. Look at me — here's a specimen of twenty-two and fortitude. Exit, gaily, door in flat. Miriam. Generous Bernard ; your kindness in reality wounds me more than would your anger. And can I do nothing to rectify the effect of my folly? I'll go to Huffin and tell him what that man said of having been witness to the will, {going for her bonnet and taking it off the box) perhaps he — [the natne on the box attracts her eye) Ah ! that name ! can it be ? Is he then the owner of these boxes? A strange thought takes possession of me ; 1 now recall that he once said he saved some papers of his master's from the fire ; he did not say he destroyed the original will — if it should be there ! but no ! no ! the idea is one of despair which clings for hope to impossibilities, {sits down and looks at box) Something there might be — but him I have made my enemy ; no succour can be anticipated there, [pause) Would it be very wicked to try and open that other box which looks like one in which deeds would be kept? no — 'tis wrong; I will not think of it. {going to door with bomiet and mantle on, reaches door and turns irresolutely) Yet surely it is my duty to dare anything in his, in Bernard's cause. I will ! I will ! I'll try my keys, [takes a bunch of keys out of her pocket, and essays to ope7i the box) Too small — this other! Ah, no! this one. {tries) Yes, I think — 'tis opened, [looks in) Yes, writings — deeds — {takes out bundles of papers) I fear detection — I'll put them back ; at night I'll search, {as she hastily replaces them, a will drops on the MIRIAM S CA'IME. 37 Jloor, which she does not observe) The hope no doubt is idle, but still it is a hope, {^locks the box) I'll go and — what is this? {picks up the will at her feet) " Will and Testament of Elizabeth Wilson I Ah! am I dreaming? this is too good a fortune to be real; 'twill kill me if untrue, [opens it and glances at a sentence) •' Bernard /Reynolds residuary leiratee — executor John Hujfin^^ I'm sick and overpowered, yet I dare not call for help, [sinks on the floor) Oh, this is folly — Bernard is here 1 1 must not delay his happiness for a moment, [rinj^s bell) I choke ! I suffocate — if I could but weep! The prayers of my sad sleepless night have been heard, and all is accomplished by a miracle — 'tis nothing less ! Enter Mrs. Raby, door in fat. Ask Bern — Mr. Bernard Reynolds to come up immediately. Mrs. R. He's just this moment gone, miss ; can't have got farther than the cornei". I had a certain party in my back parlor to speak to me, so Mr. Reynolds went away, and said he'd call in an hour. Miriam. I'll overtake him ; which way did he turn? Mrs. R. Either to the right or to the left; no, I think he went down the street opposite. Miriam. Not a moment is to be lost. Exit, hurriedly, door in fat. Mrs. R. Something important, by the hurry. It strikes me somehow she has a sneaking regard for him. Well, she's welcome to him if she can get him. My daughter, I'm happy to say, has washed her hands of the young gentleman, and what's more, taken my advice and written to accept Mr. Huffin's offer, which he made a month ago. A well-to-do old man must be better than a penni- less boy, and my Ellen is a lady tit for any society. Enter BiLEs, door in flat. Biles, (l.) Mrs. R., I've been waiting very patiently to speak to you. I'm tired of paring my nails in your back parlor, and as I've heard people go out, I conclude by this time you are disengaged. Mrs. R. (r. C.) Well, Mr. Biles, what have you to say to me? Have you brought me any money ? You've kept me out of it long enough, and remember full half of it was borrowed. Shame on you to rob a poor lone widow. Biles. Mrs. Raby, keep a guard over that libellous tongue of yours ; " rob " is a significant word — hurtful to the feelings of an honest man. Biles doesn't relish it. Biles can't allow it. If Biles had the misfortune to get into your debt, he left security in your hands which Mrs. R. Security ! Two trumpery boxes, containing, I daresay, nothing but old trowsers and waste papers, and as to misfortune — intemperance is j(7//r misfortune ; you might have done well enough if you hadn't been addicted to such habits. 38 MIRIAM'S CRIME. Biles. Such reproaches cannot be allowed from the kettle to the pot. Mrs. R. How sir, you infer Biles. Infernal what? Don't descend to abuse, Mrs, R. I wish to take away one or two of the waste papers, and I'll just open one of the boxes in your presence. Mrs. R. No, you don't. You don't touch one till I've had my money — forty-three pound five shillings. Biles. I see the boxes there. You can't prevent me. Mrs. R. Can't I ? I'm a poor lone woman ; but I'm a lady bred and born, and you shall find I can take my own part if I'm put to it. Don't attempt to move one step towards them. Biles, [^aside) She's a tigress when she's up ; I know her of old. Well, Mrs. R., I came to offer you ten pounds on account ; here it is. {offering bank notes) Mrs. R. If there's any thing in those boxes worth ten pounds, I'll risk it, and keep them as they are till I get my forty-three pound five shilling. Biles. You're acting illegally ; allow me to explain the law. Mrs. R. Do ! and I'll explain possession — which is nine points ofit! Biles. I'll give you twenty pounds if you'll allow me to open one of them. Mrs. R. Noiv I'm sure they're worth my money ; forty-three pound five shillings. Biles. Now, Mrs. R., you're a woman of uncommon sense, and know there's no getting Ijlood out of a stone. Mrs. R. My common sense tells me that if the stone will bleed at all, it will bleed a good deal. Forty-three pound five shilUngs, if you please, Mr. Stone. Biles. Well, I've no time to waste. There, you hard-hearted, man-eating, lodging-house keeper; there's your money, and mind you prepare a proper stamped receipt for it while Clarkson Biles opens his chest. Mrs. R. Clarkson Biles is a nice article to make so many bones about paying a poor lone widow her due, when he'd got it in his pocket all the time. I'll give you your receipt as you come down ; you must make haste, for my lodger may be coming back directly. Biles. Let him come ; Biles knows how to apologize like a gentle- man. Now, you be off! Mrs. R. {aside, as she goes out) Well, this is a windfall ; I never expected to get this. Exit, door in flat. Biles, (r.) All goes on swimmingly ; but I must be cautious — as cunning as a fox ; that fellow Scumley is a queer customer to deal with, and if he were once to get this will in his hands before I get my share of the estate secured, I might whistle for my chance ; MIRIAM'S CRIME. 39 lor' bless me, he'd destroy it in a moment; but I haven't allowed him to get the smallest scent of the place where I've got the docu- ment, and I'll make it secure enough now. Now for it. {takes out a key and opens the box) Here's a lot of rubbish! {bundling out papers) It was a lucky thing for me that I didn't destroy that will — 1 don't know why the deuce I didn't — and it was a lucky thing for me 1 saved this identical box from the fire ; I don't know why the deuce 1 did ; it was fate ! Fate had predestined Biles to be a capitalist — where the devil is it? I thought it was at the top — no, it must be at the bottom : Mother Raby has been tossing this box about ; everything's reversed. Enter SCUMLEY, silently, door in flat — leans over the back of arm chair, c. , and watches. Ha, ha! if that rascal Scumley had only known where I had it, he'd have been here before me, and Oh ! what do you want here ? Scum, (c.) Why, considering that you got fifty pounds out of me, and not having much opinion of the honesty or honor of the world in general, I kept my eye upon you ; in other words, I dogged you to this house, and not seeing you come out of it, I introduced myself to the landlady as your elder brother, and the good soul sent me up to assist you. Biles, (r.) Well, then, you may go down again ; the will's not here. Scum. What are all those papers ? Biles. Nothing at all to do with your business ; be kind enough to leave me, 1 can't attend to you just now. Scum. Well, I'm glad to see there's some appearance of your not having deceived me. The will is amongst those papers ; now don't deny it, because you'll only force me to come and search them myself. Biles, {barricading himself with the table aftd chairs) If you come near, I'll open the window and shout for the constabulary, {takes his keys and quickly opens the other box) Look here — yes, this is what I wanted, {takes out a large horse pistol) This is what we used to keep in our strong room at the office; I used to sleep there when there was any property to protect. I know it's charged, I loaded it myself four years ago. Now I'll look over the papers, but you keep where you are, or I shall be compelled to pick you off. Do we understand each other ? Scum. Do you take me for a rogue ? Biles. I see we understand each other, so I'll go on with my job. [searches) I've examined those — not there, nor there, {taking all out) 'Tisn't here ! it's gone — gone — gone ! Scum. What's that.? 40 MIRIAM'S CRIME. Biles. It's not here, I tell you ! Scum. So you said before. None of your tricks upon me, or Biles. Can't you see I am in earnest? I'm robbed — I'm robbed! it's gone ! Scum. [leaj)s over the table and seizes hitn) You scoundrel ! will you dare to play upon me ? I'll Biles. Don't, don't! I'm in earnest; I — I can't find it — I'm ruined ! Give me time to think ; I'll swear it was there. Scum. I'll look myself, [searching papers) Biles. I hope you may find it. [a pause) Scum. No — no Enter Miriam, door in fiat — Biles 5^ and the screech-owl.— A husking bee. — The Corn Song.— Little Aaron's battlements. —Old Dan Tucker. ^^" Copies of the above will be mailed, post-paid, to any address^ on receipt 0/ the 'P>ecijied prices. „.,^^ HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 9 Murray St „ New York. NEW ENTERTAIN, WhNTS. THE JAPANESE WEDDING. A cosliimc panlominie reprociUatioii of the Wetldmg CcreiiKJiiy in japincse high life. 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