TSfc35 t/S P km^mm PS 635 ' ^ .29 B113 Copy 1 AMES' Series of iNDARD AHD imTOR LB.AMA. rns .>f». 7.";. Kc^ ,.^^ i m si m ADRIFT A TEMPERAUCa PLAY IX THREE ACTS CH:iRLES ll\ B:iBCOCK, M. Z>.. f wrni CA ssTOF nrj ra ctj:i7s, entra kce^ a kd Exrrs, rei.a ti vs I'O^jiTjoys at' Tin-: I'EHFoii.MEns oy tue>>tage, dH' H'JltlPTloyOECOSTlME, AND THE WHOLE OF THE STAGE BUSINESS, AS PEREOll^l- ED A T THE PJilNCIl'AL ANEH- ICAN AND Ex\GLISU TilEA TRES. CLYDE. nllK). A. 1) AME^, PCTJLrSilEU, &;^mw^^^^^wmw^/^'^^^m^\ JV^JF MILITARY ALLEGOBY. T'lie Spy of Atlanta. h srrand military allegory in C acts, by A. D. Ames and C. G. Bartlev, 14 male, ;i lemale characters, with as many supenuimary ladies and gents as the stage may aiford i-oom for. This great piay is founded on incidents which actually occured during the w'ar of thte Rebellion — it introduces Ohio's brave and gallant Mol'herson — the actual manner of his capture and death is shown. It abounds with the most beautiful tableaux, di'ill, marches, scenes upon the battle held, in Andersonville, etc., and is pronounced by the press and jmblio, the most successlul military' play ever produced. G. A. \{. I'osts, Military Companies and other organizations, who may wish something which will draw, should 2>rodace it. U may not be out of ])lace to add that this play with the incidents ol the death of the gallant McPherson, was written with the full consent of the General's brother, R. B. McPherson, since de.id, who fuliy spjiroved of it. Below will be found a synopsis of incidents, etc. SYNOPSIS OF INCIDEKTS. Act Ist. Home of Farmer Dalton. ''don't talk politics." Tlie dinner hour. News from Fort Sunii)ter, and call for 7."),00!J iae:i. Quarrelofnkl friends. "Tlioy hung truitors in former times." Oath of venijcanee. The iialriotie ])utchinan. His wonderful story. Husband and wife. "Uo, and may God liless you." Litlle Willie. "Dot dos-" Tlie J)uk'hnian organizes a compa- ny. Parting of lovers, and "jjarling for ever." "Country lirst and love afterwards." Schneider, the Dutchman, and Iiis new company. He means business and shows liis "poys" that he understands military business. En- 1, sting. Schneider and his company sign the rolls. Tlie Daltons. "Hus- band, must you go?" Duty. Lit Lie Willie. "Please, molher, may I go?" Presentation of the flag. Parting of loved ones. Act 2nd. Camp by night. The letter from liomo. Army duties. Songs and merriment. "Tenting on the old camp ground." Inspection of the regiment. Generals McPher.son and Sherman. Kews from Atlanta. A brave man required. The dangerous mission. Promise of promotion givi'ii by JlcPhersoii. Departure of tlie .sjiy. The Confederate camp. ("ajit. St. Clair's soli loijny. I'lotting. I'ete. The old Kegrois used ratlier rouglily. Father and son. The man who stutters so badly. The discovery. ".V s]>y!" "Do your worst, you cowanlly traitor." Pete makes himself lisefid. ".No chance of life." 'Thrilling taljlcau and capture of St. Clair. Escape of .St. Clair. The pursuit, tieiierals Mil hcrson and Sherman. Kews from ihe front, Mi:Plieison preparing for liatlle. I'iring on the left. "I must at once ascertain (he cause." The rebel squad. McPherson's danger. "Halt and surrender." The fatal .• of the surrendi'r of'I.ee. Tlio nrw lovi'. The \:ii';in( clinir. llaiii)ines.-~ of Polo, llctnvn of tlir lioys. and joyful meeting of l,,\rii ontb.' Hummer's march, a:id beautiful talilraii. Price, 2.> cent.s per cup ADRIFT. A TEMPERMCB DRAMA, IN THREE ACTS; -BY- Charles VI. Ealjcock, M. D., to Tvliich is added, a discription of costumes, characters, entrances and exits; with flie stagd buBJness carelully marked, etc. Ct.rrectly printed from the author's own manuscript. • ST -—• <>»-^-^»<^''^ Entered acecrdhrg to act of Covgress, in (he year 1880, ly A.D.AMES, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. CLYDE, OHIO, A. D. AMES, Publisher. ADBIFI. r ^,£113 DRAMATIS PERSONS. GEOEGE RENSHAW A Merchant DR. LANDER A traveling physician MAT SLY A man of mystery SHARP WIT A lawyer OLD JUPE A colored servant of Renshaw'a TIM O'REGAN A porter of a hotel MRS. RENSHAW Wife of George's ELLA Their daughter IDA MAY A sewing girl PHILLIS Wife of old Jupe Citizens and Pulice Officers. TIME— The present. COSTUMES— Modern, to suit the charactenu TMP92-008574 TIME OP PERFORMANCE— One hour and thirty minutea. ADRIFT. ACT I. SCENE FIRST.— u4 street near the Brent House. Enter Dr. Lander l. folloxced by Tim 0' Regan carrying a traveler's saehel, Dr Lander. Where is your hotel ? J^'m. Jist in sight, sir. You can see it yonder, wid a big sign on H. Dr L. This place hes changed very much since I left it ten yejvrs ago. That hotel was not there when I lived here. Tim. It was not there at- all then, sir, for it was put up last year. Dr L. Who is that gentleman yonder ? I really ought to know him, for there is something familiar in his face. It may be one of my eld ac- quaintances. Tim. That is Mr. Renshaw, sir. Dr L. Renshaw ! Which one of them 7 It isn't George Renshaw 7 Tim. That is the mon, sir, jist the same mon. Dr L. Son of the rich old Renshaw, who lived in the large brick house ? Tim. It is, indeed. Dr L. AVhat a difference ten years have made in him! He is well dressed too, and a sjilendid looking teUow. We were old cronies when I lived here. 1 must resume my acquaintance with him. I say, Pat Tim. That is not mj' name, sir. Dr L. What is it ihen, if you are so particular? Tim. Tim, your honor. Dr L. Well then, Tim, you may carry my sachel to the hotel, and 1 will come myself, as soon as I have spoken with Mr. Renshaw. I see that he is coming this way. Tim. I will, sir. ^xit B. Dr L. How this place has improved I 1 would not have known k, if I had been set down here suddenly. I wonder if Alice Grey is marrkd yet. If ever a man loved a woman 1 loved her, but she jilted me, aiui 1 left on short notice. If she is not married, her mind may have changed with everything else here, and she may be willing to marry me by thie time. Yet she might have changed so in her looks, that I may not wish to mar- ry her, when I come to see her. But here comes George Renshaw, I won- der it he will know me. Enter George Lenshaw, r. 1 k. Een. (r. — aside) What is that stranger staling at me 80 for? Dr L. (i.. c.) Is your name Renshaw? Hen. {haughtily) That is my name, sir. 4 ADRIFT. Dr L. George Rensh aw ? Ren. Yes, sir. Dr L. {holding out his hand) How do you do George? Ren. (r. c.) You have the advantage of me, sir. I don't kuow that I ever saw you before. Dr L. Oh, yes you have 1 Don't you remember John Lander? Ren. ] certainly ought to, for we were boys together. Dr L. Well, sir, I am John Lander. Ra\. Are you John Lander? You are the last man I should take for him. Ten years have made a great difference with your looks. Dr L. Reckon in the whiskers and the mustaches too, they help change a person's appearance. Ren. They have changed you most certainly. Well, I am glad to see you, John, and give you my liand now willingly, (they shake hands) Where have you been this long while? Dr L. Oh, I hiive been around the world. It would take a long time to tell where I have been. Ren. When I meet an old friend so, I am particular to learn his res- idence and occupation, then I will know where to place him. So you see, John, that is a polite hint lor you to tell me where you live now, and what you are doing. Dr L. I have been practicing medicine in St Louis, until withiu the past year. My health failed me, and I am traveling now, treating certain diseases. Happening to ct.me into this part of the country, I thought 1 would stop here a few days, but more to see old friends than to show my skill In the healing art. Ren. That is right, John. I must call you John, even if you are a doctor. Dr L. You need not be at all particular, for I shall call you George, as I have always done. Old Jrienns should not stand on ceremouj', especially when they have been separated as long as we have been. Ren- M'ell, I can compromise the matter by calling you Doc, that will be showing some regard for your title. Dr L. I accede willingly to the compromise, (laughing) I see you are the same George Renshaw still. Ren. Yes, and follow the business my father did. Dr L. Whal ! is your fiither dead? I did not know it if he is, for I have not heard fiom this place tince I lelt. Ren. He died nearly ten years ago. Dr L. That must have been soon after 1 left. Ren. It was so. Doc, and when the old gentleman's estate was settled, I tiiok the store, and have been a merchant every since. Dr L. Got married of course, become a man of business, and followed in the footsteps of your paternal relative? Ban. Just so. Doc. Come, go home witti me to dinner, and get acquaint- ed wiih my wife ; she is always happy to entertain her husband's old friends After dinner we will take a drive around town in my carriage, sd you can seo what this place has grown to since you left. Dr L. I- accept your invitation with pleasure. But I must g» to the hotel first and see to my baggage, then I am yours for the rest of the day. Ren. Well, I will go right along with you. {they exit k. SCENE SECOND. — A parlor in Ren shaw's house, with elegant furniture, pictures hanging on the loa'lls, etc. Enter Rcnshaw and Lander, l. Ren. (r. c.) This is my home. Doc, and I am happy to welcome you to it. /))• Ti. (i,. c.) You have a [jleasant home here, George. ADRIFT. b Ren. It suits me. We commenced keeping house here soou after our marriage, and have lived here every since. But take a seat, and make yourself a*, home. {sets out chair. Dr L. I am glad to see you so pleasantly situated, George, and appreci- ate your welcome. Ren. The l.-steh-string, at my door, hnugs on the outside, and my friends will always be welcome. ^What's the use of standing, Doc? take a seat. I will go and call my wife. ^41 Je) He has no idea who she is, so great will be the surprise, when lie seeo iier. What a laugh we will have over it. [exit R. 1 E. Dr L. George has really a fine house here, and lives in style. It is just like him. He always wanted the best of everything, and his father has left him enough to gratify his tastes. This must be their parlor, and it'is splendidly furnished. Pictures on the walls too, and some of them very fine. 1 wonder what that is ? (looks at a picture l. Enter Mrs- Renshawfrom door, r. 3 e. 3/rs R. Here I p.m, Gei rge, Biddy told me that you wanted to see me in the parlor. (Laiv er iurrts around, ivhen they both see each other and start. Dr L Alice Grey 1 Mrs R. John Lander. Dr L. (aside) How came she here ? Mrs R. (aside) What, brought him here ? Dr L. You know me then, Alice? others do not ajijiear to recognize me, I have changed so. Mrs R. (laughwg) I should know John Lander in any guise or rs. Dr L. Oh, you are not alone in sympathy for Renshaw ! I hope his financial embarrassment will not end in a failure. Sharp. His creditors have already taken legal measures against him, but allow him to continue in business and occupy his house, just so long as he keeps sober. I am their lawyer in this matter, and persuaded them to make ihis arrangement with Renshaw, that he might have a chance to do better. But the moment he gets intoxicated, I am instructed to close on him without delay. Dr L. And you will do so ? Sharp. 1 shall obey my instructions to the letter. Dr L. So if a person wished to ruin George Renshaw, all that is necessa- ry would be to get him drunk. Sharp, (sneeringly) Certainly, if that could be any person's motive. Do you think of getting him drunk? Dr L. (aside) Curse the fellow, I wonder if he suspects me 1 He is as sharp and keen-witted as ever. Enter Tim. O'Rcgan, L. Sharp, {making a mock bow) Ha, here comes my occasional mercury, rigbt from Cork ! The top of the morning to you, Paddy. Tim. Yer jist the mon I'm looking for, Misther Sharpwhit, leaving all jokes asiae. Sharp. And what will you have, Paddy, now you've found me ? 10 • ADRIFT. TVm. A gintleman wants to see ye. Sharp. Why didn't you send him to my office ? Tim. He went to your office, sir, but didn't find ye. Sharp. And where is he now ? Tim. He is in the Brent House here, waiting for ye. I told bim I'd look for ye, he was iu such a hurry to see ye. Sharp. I will go and see bim at once then. Doctor, excuse me, I will see you again. {exit Sharptoit and Tim 0' Began, r. Dr L. Somehow I was always afraid of that Sharpwit. He is so keen to penetrate a person's motives, yet so blunt to speak out his conjectures, that it seems like exposing what you wish to keep a secret. But 1 thank him for telling me about George Renshaw, and he may rely upon it th.it 1 will get George drunk, as soon as I can heve an opportunity. 1 have now found out how I can have my revenge on his wife without playing lago. {exit e. CURTAIN. ACT II. SCENE FIRST. — A street in front of a Store, fourth groovt.t. Mat Sly stands on a dry- goods box, with a book open in his hand, and is surrounded by a crowd of men, among whom are Old Jupc and Tim 0' Regan, Enter Henshawand Lander, l. Mat. Ho ! ye that are wise, come and hearken to my words I I>r L. What is going on here ? Ren. Ah, it is that crazy man 1 Let's stand here awhile, and we'll see some fun. Mat. Life is a great book, my friends, which every one should study. It is not a romance, though full of stories, for the stories are all true. Some are startling, and some are quiet. Sr L. (i«) Hollo! what's here? Why, here's Renshaw now. He has probably started for home, and was too drunk to get there. I knew he was half seas over before he left, but I did not know that he was so drunk, as to fall down in the street. Ella. Come, pa, don't lie here 1 Get up and go home. J>r L. What child is that? It must be his little girl, his little Ella, who gave me such a pretty welcome to her father's house, when I took dinner there. Ella. 0, pa, do wake up and go home with me. {toeeps. Dr L. {approaching Ella) What are you doing here, sis? Ella. I'm trying to wake up my pa. Dr L. Is he asleep? Ella. lie's gone to sleep on the ground here^ and I'm afraid he'll take eold. {shakes Renshaw) He won't wake up. J>r L. You will not awaken him very soon. Ella. Why? He isn't dead, is he? Dr L. Yes, dead drunk. Ella. Drunk? My pa don't get drunk. He got tired, and lay down here, and went to sleep. 0, pa, pa 1 \weeps. Dr L. {aside) Probably the child never saw her father drunk before. I wish Alice Grey could see her husband lying drunk in the streets, and their child crying over him, while the lover she jilted is a spectator of the flcone. Ella. Pa, pa, do wake up ? Dr L. Sis, your pa is too sick to get up. Go and tell your ma to come here, and she will know what to do for him. (aside) Oh, wouldn't I like to have Alice Grey come here just now ? Ella. My ma is sick, and can't come here. Dr L. Well, then go home and tell your ma where your pa is, and she can send Old Jupe to bring him home, (aside) Wouldn't it gall Alice Grey's pride to see her husband brought home by a nigger 7 Ella. 1 can't leave my pa. Dr L. I will stay and watch him while you are gone. 1 was yoor pa's •Id playmate when we were boys, you Know, and I'll he sore to take good eare of him. tUla. Will you ? Then I'll go, I won't be gone long. {eseit \.. Dr L. So far, so good. Now that Renshaw has got drunk, his store and house go for certain. Will not Alice Grey's pride have a lall ? Perhaps •he will wish that she had married John Lander instead of George Rensliaw. Ha. there is Sharpwit ! He has just turned the corner from anotrher street, and is coming with railroad speed in this direction. He will see Renshow lying drunk here, and must fulfill the instructions of Renshaw's creditors. It does seem as though some good devil was bringing around ^yery thing in accordance to ray wishes. Enter Sharpwit, l. Sharp. Doctor Lander, we meet again, (discovers Renshaw) Ha ! what have We here? George Renshaw lying drunk in the street I 1 am sorry J Dr L. What are you sorry about ? tiharp. To see the condition to which the love of strong drink hat brought a noble bquI. Sad indeed 1 Sad, sad I 14 ADRIFT. Jir L. Yon seem to be in for a temperance lecture, Sharpwit. Tou used to take a horn yourself when you lived in St Louis. Sharp. And it was only when I lived iu St Louis. Dr. Lander. I never drank a drop of anything that would intoxicate, until I joined your eet after I came to St Louis. The habit began to grow upon me, and I soon discovered what a fascinating hold strong drink would fix upon those, who work with their brains as we are compelled to do in the professions. This I saw was the cause of so many doctors and lawyers becoming tipplers or drunkards, who might otlierwise fill honorable and useful stations in life, uhd 1 resolved not to add to the numbt-r. To get rid of my drinking com- panions I loft St Louis. I have not drank a drop of liquor since, and by God's help I never will. Dr L. Well, what do you propose to do in Renshaw's case now he's got drunk T Will you close on him according to orders ? Sharp. I shall fulfil the instructions of his creditors, and I hope it will be the means of his reform. DtL. I hope so too. George and I were bosom friends when 1 lived here. Sharp. Then I see no reason why you should cause his ruin, when you oome back here on a visit. Dr L. What do you mean ? {angrily. Skdrp. I mean just what I say. Dr. Lander, and there is no use in your getting angry, for I shall not scare worth a cent. I know what you wera in St Louis. There was none of our set that liked to take a nip quite so often as Dr. Lander. And when a person of such appetite meets with a friend, who has the habits of George Renshaw, they are more than likely to take al glass together for old acquaintance's sake, and it generally winds up in a spree. Dr L. Do you mean to insinuate that I got George Renshaw drunk ? {blustering. Sharp. You needn't put on airs with me, for I am hot a child. I saw ^ou in a saloon drinking with George Renshaw Dr L. Well, he invited me to take a glass of beer with him. Shdrp. You were not obliged to accept of the invitation. And, if you are as good a friend to him as you profess to be, you would have refused after I told you what I did about him. You would not have encoura^d hiito in the way to ruin. Enter Old Jupe and Ella, u (/upe, Dar's massa George, flat as a dead possum. EUa. Yes, and he's still asleep. Jupe. {a.'iide) Blessed chile ! she don't know what kind ob a sleep her fadder's in, but I won't tell her. Dis isn't de fust time nudder. Sharp. You had better wake him up, Jui)e, and take him home. Jupe, Dat's jist what I'se come fur, massa Sharpwit. Ella, I couldn't wake him up. Jupe. 1. guess dis ole nigger can wako him up. {shakes Renshaw until he awakes) Come, massa George, get up an' go home. Menshato rises on one elbow and looks around — Lander dodges out of his sight, then steals away unperceived by the rest. Hen. What — who — where am I? Oh, now I see — lying drunk in tlie etreetl I did not reach home then to sleep it off" before they knew it? Ha, Ella here too — my little daughter? She finds her f«ther in the gutter I I never thought it would come to this ! {falls back and we.(ps. Sharp. Take huld of that arm, Jupe, and I will take this, and we'll lead him home. It will not do to leave him here. Jupe. Dat am a fact, massa Shar|)wit. (they lift Eemhaw to his feet and lead him out \.. foUomedby Ella. ADBIFT. • .16 SCENE FOURTH. — Sitting-room in Itenshaw's houxe. A table in the C. with a chair at each end of the table. Ida May sits in the chair at e, of table sewing. Enter Renshaio, l, Ren. Adrift like a ship driven out of a harbor, to be tossed by the merci- less waves upon the ocean. Ida. What's adrift, George ? Ren. (discovers Ida) Ila, you here, Ida? I didn't know that any one ■was near to overhear my complaints, Ida. You must not come then where I am, George, if you don't want me to listen to your soliloquies, (laughivg) This is my usual seat, when I use the needle, you know. Ren. There is no harm done if you should hear my soliloquies, Ida. We are sister's children, and yo\] are more like a sister than a cousin to me, 80 Alice and I have never hesitated to bring you into our family confiden- ces. Ida. Well then, if our relationship j)lace8 us on such terms of confidence with each other, will my cousin George tell me what he means by talking to himself when he is alone, as he has done so olten lately ? For this is not the first time that I have heard you. Tell me what is adrift, like a ship driven out of its harbor. Ren. Myself, and the little bark I command, will soon be adrift. Ida. How can that happen, George, when you are in a prosperous buei- ness? Ren. (sadly) "Ay, there's the rub 1" Ida. There is something going wrong with you, George, and I have seen it for a long time. Sit down and let us talk it over. I can give ypu my sympathy, if nothing more; and sympathy is a cordial, that revives the drooping heart. Ren. You would be very different from what you had been, if you could not even give me good advice, Ida. {sits in chair at the other end of table. Ida. Well then, tell me what is the matter, so that I can give you some of my good advice. {looks at him with a smite. Ren. Your smile at any time is enough to revive a drooping heart. 0, Ida, you have been such a comfort to Alice and myself since you lived wilh us, and now to think of sendi'g you adiift {falters. Ida. Adrift, George? 1 cannot be more adrift than I have been for years, ihnugh you have harbored my bark for a 8easnker, who happened to take a fancy to Ida May, the orphan. I ne«d not tell you, George, of the rich, dashing and accomplished young ■ladies, daughters of the elite and wealthy of that town, who were proud to receave the young banker's attentions. 'N'either will I stop for particulars, but say that he passed all these by, and paid his attentions to the poor ttawing girl, niece of the poor but respectable widow Baldwin. Ren. A noble fellow! Ida. He was a noble fellow, George, and his kindness to the poor orphan won not only my gratitude, but what would naturally follow in a woman under such circumstances, my heart. So, wtien he at last surprised me with the offer of his hand, I willingly accepted it not only for the love 1 bore him, but because I knew my love was as truthfully returned. Rom. What, then, sent you adrift? IJa. He loved the social glass, and would have his sprees. I tried to reform him, but with no avail. His obstinate folly led him on, until I saw him lying drunk near a saloon one day, when I gave him up in dispair. Thou it was that I accepted your offer to live with you, for that lit'-le vil- 'la.ge was no longer the paradise it had been, (weeps, Ren. And now the same cursed folly will turn you adrift once more I I la. {w iping her eyes) Have you told your wife of this, George ? Ren. {falters) No, Ida, for I have not the courage to do it. Ida. Do j'ou intend to wait until the sale, and let it come upon her like H thunder-bolt ? That is unmanly as well as cruel. Come, let us go to- jEjcther, and we will break it gently to her. Ren. You are au angel, cousin Ida. {they exit r ACT III. SCENE FIRST. — A room in Old Ji/pe's house, third (jrooves. Mrs. Ren- iihaw is tyinq upon an old lounge, r., and weeping, while Phillis stands at a re ^pect/ul distance watching her. Phil. Laws, missus, dar's no use a cryin'. You isn't de fust one dat's ebber been turned out o' house an' home. Mrs R. But, Phillis, to think that none of my old acquaintances invited ADRIFT. ir me home, and I should have lain all night in the streets, had it not been tor you. So unfriendly, so ungrateful, so cruel {she w interrupted hy her ovjn sobs. Phil. Nebber mind, honey, you wont hub lo lie in de streets, an' you wont starve nudiler. Ole Jupe nu' I'se laid up henps o' money we earnt o' you an' massa George, nn' yv)U iiu' massa George an' miss Ella shan't die fer want o' nuffin. So don't cry any more. Mrs R. You miHt not expect that we would live on you, Phillis. Yet what shall I do? What can Goorge do? Where shall we go? PhU. Go )iowheri;s, missus, bui stay right here. And when nil dc mon- ey's gone, Ole Jujie an' 1"11 work an' get more, (a knockiny wi.thout, l.) Dar. somebody Knookiir at de door. I'll go an' see who's come. Wipe your eyes, honey, an' don't let 'em know yoii'se been cryin'. {exit l. 2 e. Mrs R. Yesterday in a mansion, and today in a hovel. One day in affluence, the next day in pnvi-rty. What a change ! And all this in'l wo da\'s, two short days ! It seems like a dream, and the thoughts of it will make me crazy. To be reduced so suddenly from plenty to want— ^Oh, it is too much ! Buries hirface in her hands, and howing doivn upon the lounge, lies there and weeps. ■ Enter Phil! is and Ida Mail, l. 2 E. Phil. Dnr's de bressed dnrlin', an(i cryin' cz if her heart would break, I'se been iryin" to comfort her, but what I says seems no account. May be you can say sumfin, dat'll make her feel better. Miss Ida. Ida. .Mrs. Renshaw ! Mrs R. {looking up, discovers Ida) Is that you, Ida.' You are sent adrift ton with the rest of us. Ida. That is nothing new to ino, as I have told you befure. Mrs R. But it is new to me, and I cannot endure it. Ida. Nonsense! Do you intend to give up, and weep over your mis- fortunes, without trying to do anything? Be a brave woman, Alice, and not a s.'.ild. Mrs R. Is that the sympathy you give to those who befriended you and gave you a home for years? I di(l not expect such ingratitude from'you. Ida. This is no ingratitude, my dear cousin. It is the love and gratitude- I feel towar is yon, that prom])ls me to arouse you from this repining help- lessness, and have vou meet tlie cliangea of life with a brave heart. Where is Mr. Ken^haw, Phillis? Phil. He's gone away wid Ole Jupe, an' Ella's gone wid him. Laws,, here comes de chile now! Enter EUa,h. 2 E, Ella. 0, ]\Iiss May, I am so glad to see you i {running to Ida May Ida. And I am- glad to see you. [kisses Ella) Alice, here is an incen- tive lor Vou to arouse vourself. You have something to do and care for in this child. Phil. Where has you bewi, MissElla? Eila. Oh, I've been where they aie sawing wi oil. Phil. Who's you been to see SdW wooil, chile? Ella. Old Jujie is sawing Wood for .Mr Benton, and my pa split.s it as fast as he saws it, and he does it roal nico \o(k Mrs R. Is your latiier working with Old Jupe, Ella ? Working at Mr. Brenton'.s? Are you sure? Ella. Yes, he is, ma, for I just came from tliere. Mrs R. Good heavens! lias it conic to this, that George Renshaw is cutting wood? Ida. Is there any disgrace in it, Alice? George has seen the evil he has done, and like a brave soul endeavors to reiiair that evil. And if you had 18 ADRIFT. the heart of a woman, you would try to assist your husband, and not wilt down here in this place. You encouraged him in the habits which led to this downfall, and now you should encourage him in his efforts to reform and to support his family. Mm R Encourage him in his habits! How have I done so, I would like to know ? Ida. By having wine at your evening parties, and on your table when your friends dined with you, and at your receptions on New Year's day. Mrs R. Well, George always wanted it on such occasions. Ida. You could have persuaded him i'-om doing so, for George was a loving husband, and would have done anything to jilease you. It was an easy thing to point out the consequences of such a practice, while his own good sense would have led him to see it, and your own influence would have caut-ed him to abandon it. But instead of doing this you even took •wine yourself on such occasions. It is true you never drank enough to •show the effects, yet your own example was an encouragement to your husband, whose temperament would not allow him to drink with your moderation. Mrs R. {sadly) It may be so. I never thought of it before. Ida. There's where the shoe pinches. Yr L. "Well, the thing has come to a focus. George Renshaw's family lias been turned out of house and home, and are obliged to take up their temporary quarters with Old Jupe, because none of their acquaintances were charitable enough to give them shelter, As far as George is concerned pity him, but for his wife I have not one spark of compassion. Oh, bow ADRIFT. 19 lucky that I camo here just in time to witness her downfall 1 And, if I C'luld have a chance to tell her what I did to aid it, my vengeance would be co'tiplote. But it will not be siife tor ino to stay any longer in town, for 1 have been watched the pasi two days by a. couple of strangers, who ap- pear too much like detectives to make me feel contented nere. If I get on the cars in this town they will surely nab me, so I have engaged Tim O'Regan to drive me in a carriage to the next station, where I can take the train in spite of detective or police. How lucky it was that I let my trunks go on when I stoped here, so I have no baggage here but my sachel, and that can be got away without exciting suspicion. Ha, there comes the Irishman now ! Enter Tim 0' Legan, R. Tim. The carriage is waiting, sir! Dr L. Where is it? Ti7n. Jist the other side o' them ere tall bushes you see yonder. Dr L. IIow did you get away without exciting suspicion ? Tim. I told the boss I wanted to go to see my sick sister. And, by my soul, I told no lie. Dr L. Good for you, Tim. And did you get my sachel ? T««. I did, sir, and put it unitcr the seat, where no one could see it. Br L. You are a brick, Tim, and I will pay you well, when we get there. So, let us be going. Lander turns to go e., andjinda himself face to fact with Mat Sly, icho enters just at that moment, e. Mat. You are my prisoner 1 (putting his hand on Lander's shoulder. Dr L. Not yet I (drawing a pistol, presents it at 3fat Sly. Mat Sly hits the pistol, which goes off xnto the air. Then he draws a revolver and points it at Lander's head. Mat. Two can play at the same game. Enter 1st. Police Officer, e., grasps Lander's arm, points a revolver at him. 1st Officer. So can three ! Enter 2d. Police Officer, l., loho seizes the other arm, and levels a revolver at Lander. 2d Officer. So can four! Dr L. What does all this mean? Mat. Why, it simply means that, when an arch rogue, like Dr. Lander attempts to resist tlie ofScers of justice, he will find that they are prepared for him. Dr L. What do you arrest me for, I would like to know? Mat. You know well enough, or you would not have drawn a pistol, when I doclared yoti my prisoner. There is reason to believe that you were the riuglesde'- in a recent bank-robbery in St Louis. Dr L. I do not see how you can iniplicate me. Tlie papers state that the notorious Tom Poole was the ringleader in that robbery. Mat. And I have come to the conclusion, after watching you in St Louis and following you here, that Tom Poole is none other than Dr Lander. Dr L. (a.fide) Just what I suspected all the while, that this lellow was somr detective on my track. Mat. Bring him along, for you must be off with him on the next train. (Exit Mat Sly avd the Police Officers, with Dr Lander as a prisoner. Tim. Be jabers, an' if that wasn't done the natest 1 ever see anything done. If I ever rob a bank, I hope I'll have jist sich perlice officers to taka me, for they do it so nate an' so quick. But divil burn me, where is tha 20 ADRIFT. five dollars the donther was going to give me ? Och, I'll hev to go an' se© my sick sister uovv widout gitting my pay fur it I {exit a. SCENE TEIIRD. — A street before Rcnshaio' s garden, seco7id grooves. Ida May rushes in i.., with a shriek. Ida. Help! Help! [.-iiuks upon the (jround, and covers her face with her hands) Oh, is there no one to protect me from this crazy man? Enter Mat Sly, l. Mnt. This crazy man will not hurt you. Don't be frightened, ma'am, I only want to talit with you. Idii. I don't want to talk with you, nor hear anything j'ou have to say. Mat. You may be gbul, that you heard what I have to say, before we get throuirh talking. Ida. Surely that voice sounds very familiar ! (an.fovei-s her face with a look of surprise, Mnt. And this face may look fiuuiliar, if you will allew )jie to disclose my real fentui-t-s lo you. Ida. 1 don'D want to see your face. Yoa look like a fright every time I have seen you. {covei-s herjace again with her hands. Mat, Well, then loolc at this handkerchief, Ida May, and see if you you know whose it is. (lakes handkerchief from h's pocket. Ida. How do you know that my name is Ida May? / Mat. If you will examine that handkerchief, you may guess how I came to know your name, {drops the handkerchief into her lap) Itliesinyour lap, Ida, so yoa can see it witbout yetting a vievv of the horrid old crazy man. Ida. (taking her hands from her eyes, she discovers the handkerchief) tl is my handkei chief! How came you by it? Mat, I will tell you, Ida May, it vuu will have the patience to listen. I Once loved a young lady, whom 1 thought lo be perfection. I loved her belter th.m myself, aye, belter than I did my God, and that was the reason he took her from me. I had the happiness to know that my affection was returned, and then earth became a paradise, for i wanted no'better hea.veu. Ida. Ha ! Did you love like thai? Mat. I did, Ida May, and even the remembrance of it is bisss. But I had one bad habit, whicli, liKe the forbidden fruit, cast me out of that par- adise. Ida. And what was that? Mat. I would lipple a little ever}'' day, and go off occasionally on a spree. When this came to Ida's knowledge, slie endeavored to win me from these habits, by fond persuasion and gentle admonition. Ida. Like the angel that a woman should be to the man she loves. Mat. She was an angel, Ida! She would have beiui my guardian angel, and led ine into a path of roses, if 1 had bei'n willing to follow her. But I was headstrong and persisted in my course, for I thought she w;.s meddling with what did not cone^ rn her. Then she told me lo consider our engage ment broken, for she would not run the risk of having a drunkard for her husband. Ida. Just as every young lady should do under such circumstances. Mat. This maddened uie so, that I grew more wilful, and drank harder than ev<^r. I would even got intoxicated in the day lime, and lie di-unk where every one could see me. One day I lay in a drunken sleep beside a saloon, where the sun shone fully into' my face. How long I lay there I know not, but when I awoke my face was covered by the handkerchief which now lies in your lap. I inquired if any one knew how it came there, ADRIFT. 21 and was told that a young lady, who was passing by, took her handkerchief from her reticule, and spread it over my face. I examined the handker- chief, and saw upon the corner, Ida May.. Then I knew who had seen me lying there, and had covered my face wilh her own handkerchief, to shield it ironi the glare of the sun. Ida. Yes, I remember well the time. {lueeps. Mat. You weep, Ida May, hut yours are not the tears of regret, that mine were at this act of kindness in my darling Ida. It was like the part- ing deed of mercy to a willul sinner, before his guardian angel takes its final flight. And yet it seems to be a token of encouragement, that my guardian angel could be induced to stay her flight. So I resolved to see her, and swear in her presence nevermore to drink a dro]) of alcoholic liq- uors, if our engagement could be renewed. But when I went, ti/ see her, I found that she had suddenly left tov/n, and no one could tell whither she went Ila. She would not have gone had she known all this. Mat. I kejit her h0nARO A?^lI>Mli^'OI£ I>RA^ia.. f ^ 75. ADRIFT. A Temperance Drama, in three acts, by Chas. W. Babcock, ^ ^? M. D. Six male, four female characters. Good characters for leadin;^ man, fP Q^ villnin, comedy, juvenile, a capital negr®, and jolly Irishman. Al.so leading la- (© ^ dy, little girl, juvenile lady, and old negress. A deep plot, characters well ^ (J) f)r iwn and language pure. Easilv produced. Scenery simple cud costumes (1) modern. Time of perfermance, one hour and a half. " (ft 76. HOW HE DID IT. A comic Drama in one act, by John Parry, three $ male, two female charactsrs. An amusing scene from real life. A plot is laid T to Cure a husband, who having lost a first wife whom lie domineered over, tries ^ to treat a second one in like manner. A splendid comedian's part. Time about W thirty minutes. Costumes modern. (3 77. JOES VISIT. Ah Ethiopean burksius on the Kough Diamond, two k male, one female characters. Easily produced and very laughable. Can also be ;P played white. Time twenty minutes. Costumes extravagant negro. '^ 7S. AN A WFUL CRIMINAL. A Farce in one act, by J. Palgrave Simpson, jff) three male, three female characters. Plot excellent and its development very ^ amusing. The oftener produced the better it is liked — is in one scene and easily /,k put upon the stage. Costumes simple. Time thirty-five minutes. ^ (p 70. THE SPY OF ATLANTA. A Grand Military Allegory 'in six acts, by (t) (f)) A. D. Ames and C. G. Hartley, fourteen male, three females. This play is found- (J) (J 3 ed on incidents which occured during the war of the Rebellion — it introduces (^ C^ Ohio's brave and gallant McPlierson — the manner of his capture and death. It f« ,< J abounds witii beautiful tableaux, drills, marches, battle scenes. ,\ndersouville, (^ Q etc., and is pronounced by the pre.ss and public, the most sui-cessiul military X. play ever produced. G. A. R. Posts, Military Companies am! otlicjr organiza- tions, who may wish something which will draw, should produce it. It may not be out of place to add that this play with the incidents of the d.-ftth of Mc- Pher.son, was written with the consent of the General's brother, R. Bjj|McPher- son, since dead, who fully approved of it. Price 25 cents per copy. 80. AL.iRMINGLY SUSPICIOUS. ACom3lietta in one act, byr-J- Pal- grave Simpson, four male, three females. This play is easily arranged, iwd the ^ plot excellent. Some things are "Alarmingly Suspicious" however, anOit will ,i please an audience. Time forty-five minutes. . ■' ,'• % 81. OLD PHIL'S BIRTHDAY. A serio-comic Drama in two actsirby J. ^) P. Wooler, five male, two females. Scenery easily arranged. Costumes niAdern. ( i) One of the purest and most attractive plays ever published. The charctv)iP of "Old Pliil" cannot be excelled, and the balance are every one good. Tim4 sne hour and forty-five ainutas. y^, 82. KILLING TIME. A Farce in one act, one male, one female. Scentia < l) drawing room. Costumes modern. A woman held captive at home by the ra^%i i{3 seeks to "kill time." How she does it is told by this farce. Time about thirty i^ (ji) minutes. . 'r Ci) 83. OUT ON THE WORLD. A Drama in three acts, five males, four fe-jj ^ males. Scenery not difficult. Modern costumes. A thrilling picture of love, ' ' *> ^ fidelity and devotion. Excellent leading characters and Irish comedy, both ( j) male and female. Can be produced on any stage. Time two hours. An Amer- ^ ) ican Drama. <^ 84. CHEEK WILL WIN. A Farce for three male characters, by W; E. ••'>• \\ r\\ S]_)eiit A Pet of the Public AiTiih DeBiiugli An Unwelcome Return Alarminiily iSuspiciuus A Lile's Kevenge At Last Adrift An Awful r''iminhl Bri2;aui.lti nf Calabria Better Ilali Captain S'liitii (.' He Did it H. s on F^locution 1' idy Andy ^' w .Stout You're (ietting nry Oi'anden an?.", the butch J. P. iamlft iluutei- of the Alps ( Law JLiw \i, 'ranie Your JMolher-iii- 1m thf WiMug Bux •''I 'ill Smiiii J'lti's N'isir La.dy And ley's Secret Lad/ of Lv,",u.> J.if.-'s I!,, v;.nuv .Mr. and .Mrs. Pnnule My Jleart'n in ihc llio^hlauds :My Wifr'.s Relations Man and AVito M..ther's F,..d -Mistletoe I^,,u-ll -Miller of Derwent Water Xot So Bad After All Not as Deaf ai He tjeerns On the sly Obedience Out in tne Streets Paddy Miles' Boy P(iachei''s Doom Painter of Ghent R.iciielien Rock Allen the Orphan Rescued Spy of -\tlanta, "25 cts. Stocks Up Stocks Down S|)ort Willi a Si)ortsmau Scliiia I'.p.-i Somebody's Nobody Saved Sh;un Professor 'J he Spy of Atlanta, 25 cts. The Lady of Lyons The Studio The Vow of the Ornani The Better Half The Brigands of Calabria The Serf The Po.icher's Doom The Hunter of the Alps Thirty-Tiiree Next Birthday The Painter of Ghent The Mistletoe Bough The Miller ot Derwent Water The Bewitched Closet That .Mvsterious Bundle The Two T. J-s. Ten Nights in a Bar-R.om Three Glasses a I'ay That Boy Sam The J''alse Friend The Sham Pro essor The lie ward of Crime Tlie ])eui'e is lu 11 im Tbe Comin'^- Alan \'ow of I iie Ornani \V hen Women VVi'ep Won at Last A\ni])lisher on hand. LETTERS OF I2TQUIIiT cinsworcd promptly, and we solieit eorrcspond- enee. If tiie business upon which you write concerns yon .'ilone, enelos^c a M cenl Rialnij) for reply. /\in:ileurs wlio are puzzled upon any qvieslioi.f. lelativo to the slai;e will be answered explicitly, and to the best of our abil- ity. 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If you order from our list, it is not luc- ossary to designate, only by giving the name olthe y\fy ; but if from the lists of other p'lblishfrs, state the publishers name, if you know it. Do iiot write your lotli-is of inquiry e found. All this eau b(ulone away with. Our catalogue embraces plavj fuilalilo for any and all companies, .'tndif o\ir friends will write to us, slate- itii,' the riM|uircnn'nis cd their coinpanies, there need l>e no troubh^, in this Hue at L'nsl. it' a tiMuperance Pociely wants plays, we have something for ihcni. If a company wants SDinething wliieh is very funny, we can suit iheni. In tict. we have dramas, farces, traiffidies .oiul comedies which vitl sijit you. Enclose ]J cents JHM- Copy, for as many copies as you may need, aiid wo guarantee to suit you, if you will state the size of your comjiany, and whetli r best iKiopteci to the serious or funny. Give us n trial at least. ■MAnXKSIUM TAIILEA U LIGHTS. There is scarcely a i)erson ivho lins not been annoyed by the smoking of Colored tires, which are so often used on taldeaux, and whole scenes in dramas liave Veen ruined Ijv the (■ijughing and noise always attendant on their use. AVe earnestly reeom- jiKMiii the use of the Magnesiiim lights. They can be ignited with a common niatidi, and burn with wonderful l>rilliancy. There is no danger in their use; t ley make no smoke and are cheap. I'riee, 25 cents each, by mail, jiost paid. Those who do not know how to burn them, will bo inslructe