4 > 38 < PLAVS EXCHANGED. ™er’5 Edition ..o^ovdicmt i&RQ by , WALTER H. BAKER & CO. ALWAYS HJTENDED. CENTRAL CIRCULATION AND BOOKSTACKS The person borrowing this material is re- sponsible for its renewal or return before the Latest Date stamped below. You may be charged a minimum fee of $75.00 for each non-returned or lost item. Theft, mutilation, or defacement of library materials can be causes for student disciplinary action. All materials owned by the University of Illinois Library are the property of the State of Illinois and are protected by Article 16B of Illinois Criminal Law and Procedure. TO RENEW, CALL (217) 333-8400. University of Illinois Library at Urbana-Champaign . 6 a IHyij AUG 1 0 1999 When renewing by phone, write new due date below previous due date. L162 ALWAYS INTENDED. IW ONK ^CT. rr HORACE NVIGAN, ESQ, BOSTON: ALWATS INTENDED. CHARACTERS. Olympic Theatre^ London^ 1865. Mr. ••••.• Ml. Maclean. Charles Constant (his Nephew), . • . • Mr. E. F. Edgar. Mr. Project (a Solicitor), . Mr. II. Wigan. Boston Museum^ 18C7. Mr. R. F. McClannin, Mr. L. R. Shewell. Mr. J. A. Smith. Mary (Niece to Mr. Muddle), • Miss Harland. Mrs. Markwell (a widow). Miss Sheridan. Jane (a Servant), • • • . Miss Schavey. Miss Annie Clarke. Mrs. E. L. Davenport Miss Blanche Vining. Scene: Modern Villa. Costumes: Modem. Time: Present* ALWAYS INTENDED. K $ \l ir U> «> c5 SCENE. — 3ibcfem Villa, Elegantly furnished moryiing^room opening on lawn, c. doors r. and l. Enter, through c., Mrs. Markwell, ushered in hy Jane — during the first portion of the dialogue, a piano is heard off as of some one running the scale and modulating the instrument. Jane, Mr. Muddle is not in, ma’am ; he’s fishing, and Mr. Charles is after the rabbits. 3Irs. 31. What, on a day like this? Jane, Oh, yes, ma’am, every day master and master’s nephew are always a-sporting, as they call it. 3Irs. 3L And where’s your young lady? But, of course, dressing for the ceremony. Tell her I’m here, but don’t disturb her; say I can wait, and take my things to my room. Jane. O ma’am ! you won’t disturb Miss Mary — she’s only a-practisi ng, and she’s been at it for hours, and them scales is enough to tire anybody. 3Irs. 31. What, is that your mistress that I hear! Jane. Y'es, mum, that’s Miss Mary, and she keeps all on like that for hours, and says it’s an execution — I’m sure it worrits one to death. 3frs. 31. Very good, say I am here, Mrs. Markwell. Jane. Yes, mum. [Exit L., loith travelling-hag, bonnet, shawl, etc. 3Irs. M. This is incredible. The announcement of the mar- riage must be a hoax. This was the day fixed for the wedding, and there’s not the slightest appearance of stir or preparation in the house. The uncle out fishing, the bridegroom out shooting, and the bride practising the piano; there must be some strange mistake. Enter Mary, l. Ah, my dear Julia, what a 3Iary (runs to, and kisses her), long, long time since we met ! 3Irs. 31. Ah, it is long indeed. Since my marriage in Paris. 3 ALWAYS INTENDED. I have only paid one visit to dear old mud Babylon. La, my dear, people may talk as they like about continental residence, but there’s no place like London after all; so, as soon as iny poor dear husband’s affairs were settled abroad, I determined to come back, and my first visit is to you. Ah, how differently we meet! You were a child and I a wife when we parted, and now 1 am a widow and you on the eve of marriage. Mary, Eve! you may say morning ! Mrs, 31, Then it is to-day ? 3Iary, Yes, of course, to-day, and how kind of you to come, for I don’t think there’ll be any one else. I’ve sent for my uncle ; he’s somewhere in the neighborhood, and I don’t think cousin Charles will be long. Mrs, 31. Then the gentlemen are out! {They sit.) Mary, Out! oh, yes, they’re always out in the morning. 3Irs, 31, And leave you ? 31ary. Oh, yes. I was busy practising my sonata in D minor. Mrs. 31. A bride in the minor key on her wedding morning ! But, my love, you’re not dressed ! 31ary, Oh, there’s plenty of time; so I took the opportunity of practising while I was alone, for Charles can’t bear anything in the minor, though I think he’s wrong, don’t you? 31rs. 31. I think he is, indeed. 31ary, Why, how you look at me ! Is there anything extraor- dinary about me ? Mrs. 31. Yes, very extraordinary. You seem very little moved at the solemnity of this occasion. Mary. I see nothing solemn. Why should I be moved? Mrs, 31. Why, my love, you are incomprehensible. Is it not natural at such a moment to feel alarmed, anxious, and ere it is too late to catechise one’s heart ! Mary {astonished). Too late! catechise! I don’t understand. 31rs. 31. Yes; to ask if your girlish hopes will be realized? If he whom you wed will love you as you would be loved ; if he will understand, and understanding will appreciate, you ; and if you yourself love him sufficiently to find happiness at his side. 31ary, And did you ask yourself all those questions when you married Mr. Markwell ? 31rs. M. All ! yes, and many more. {Sits.) 31ary, Ah ! My case is difierent, 31rs, 31, Indeed! Mary {sitting). I’ve been going to be married such a very long time, ever since I was six years old, and I’m quite accus- tomed to the idea of marrying cousin Charles. It was the last wish of my dear mother and his — Our uncle, now our only relative, has always spoken to us about it, as an afiair settled and asreed on long ago. So, you see, my marriage is not so alarming after all — to-day or to-morrow, it’s the same thing ALWAYS INTENDED. — he teas my cousin, and he toill be my husband, as they alwaya intended, and that’s all. JJrs. M. Well, your resi 2 :nation is, perhaps, natural, for your cousin Charles is very handsome. Miry {with mdifference) , Do you think so? 3Irs. M. Yes, don’t you? Mary, Perhaps so. I am scarcely able to judge. Mrs. M. {Aside.) Poor child, she does not understand her position. {Aloud.) Ah! {Sighing.) Mary. What’s the matter? Mrs. M. Nothing. Mary. You look as if you pitied me. Mrs. 31. I ! 3Iary. Yes, and you said, “ Ah! ” Mrs. 31. Well, then, my love, I must tell you that marriage is not at all the matter-of-course ajSair that you suppose it. 3Iary. No? 31rs. M. Not at all. 3Iary. Why, then, what is it? 3Irs. 31. I’ll tell you, my love — a momentous occurrence — the great sensation act of life’s drama, of which the denoue- ment may be happiness or misery Ah, my dear, when once we have borne a part in the play ourselves, you can’t imagine what interest we take in watching the other performers, and I must say, I am disappointed. 3Iary. Disappointed! 3Irs. 31. Yes, your uncle wrote to invite me here on the auspicious day, as he termed it. My heart beat at the thought. I came down here with my nerves strung up to the proper pal- pitation pitch. I brought with me a love of a dress, and a duck of a bonnet. I came to witness a world of sweet surprise and emotions, the blushes of the bride, the eagerness of the bride- groom, — the sympathetic sighs of anxious friends, the waving handkerchief from the carriage window, — to see the launch of Love’s frail bark on the dim ocean of futurity, — in short, to read the one poetical page in a life’s history; and what do I find? Two commonplace young people, who have been told to get married like good children, and who do as they’re bid, in a cold-blooded, methodical way, in the interval between the practising of a sonata and the cracking of a double-barrelled gun. It’s unexampled, — unheard-of. 3Iary. Is it? Charles never told me so; but then he never says anything about it. 3frs. 31. Never says anything! What a poetical courtship ! 3Iary. Courtship, what’s that! 3Irs. 31. Dan Cupid’s ferry-boat, my love ; but ask Charles and he’ll explain. 3Iary. I don’t think he will ; he’s so stupid, he never explaln.« anything. 1 * 6 ALWAYS INTENDED. Mrs, 31. But does he never say agreeable things, pay you little attentions, praise your looks, your hair, your dress, whis- per soft nothings, — in short, never make love? 3Iary, If that’s the proper way to make love, he certainly never does. 3Irs. M. Then, my dear, he’s the oddest lover in the world. Mary. Indeed! then you think he doesn’t make love like other people ? 3Irs. M. I’m sure of it. 3Iary. Dear me, you’ve made me quite uncomfortable ; per- haps he doesn’t care for me at all. Mrs. M. I’m afraid, my poor child, it looks very like it. {Noise of gun fired outside, — starting.) Good heavens ! what is that? Mary. Nothing, only Charles comeback from shooting — he always discharges his gun under the windows, to let us know he is coming. Mrs. M, A charming mode of announcement, certainly. Enter Chakles, c., dressed in straio hat and shooting jacket — he is carrying a gun, and smoking a cigar. Charles {not seeing Mrs. Markwell, and kissing Mary on forehead). Good-morning, little wife, good-morning ; wipe my forehead, there’s a dear. I’m quite done up. 31rs. M. {Aside.) Done up ! quite a model bridegroom. Mary {icith indifference). Any sport? Charles {placing gun at hack). No, nothing worth speaking of, — a couple of rabbits. Mrs. M. A provision for the wedding-dinner, I presume. Charles. Ah, my^ dear Mrs. Markwell, — this is indeed a surprise. Why I’ve not seen you these two years. Mrs. M. Time enough to be forgotten. Charles, forgotten I why, I’m always talking to Mary about you. Mrs. M. {Aside.) Then that’s what she meant by his nevei saying anything. Charles. And how is your worthy husband ? Mary {aside to him). She’s a widow. Charles. A widow, my dear madam, I sincerely congrat — Mary {pulling his coat) . What are you saying ! Charles. I mean condole with you. though oue can hardly regret any cause that brings so charming a person among us. 31rs. 31. {Aside.) Pretty well for a man who never says anything. {Aloud.) I did not know you country gentlemen were so gallant. Charles. We want inspiration, madam; but {bowing) we always find pretty words for pretty women. 3dary. Upon my word! So then /am no inspiration, as you call it. ALWAYS INTENDED. i . Charles. Oh, that’s a different thing altogether. You go for nothing, you know, — you’re ray little wife. \^Chucks her under the chin ; she tarns away sulkily.) Mrs. M Wife ! not yet. Charles, Oh, yes, ray dear madam, we’ve been married these ten years ! Mrs. M. Married ten years ? Charles. Well, it’s the same thing, meant to be married ever since we were children ; we drag a perpetual chain. il/ary {sighing). Ah, yes, a perpetual chain. Mrs. M. So, so, both in the same song. Charles. And to make matters more pleasant, I see Mary’s in the sulks. Mary. And what if I am. Haven’t I enough to make me, left alone all the morning? Charles. Why, my dear, I leave you alone every morning. Mary. I know it, and I don’t like it. Why are you not like other people? Why do you not ride in Dan Cupid’s ferry- boat? Charles. What ! Mary. Why don’t you leave that nasty gun ? Why don’t you say agreeable things ? Charles. Agreeable things ? I don’t understand. Mary. No, sir; but I do, and I insist upon it. Why don't you pay me little attentions, praise my looks, my hair, rny dress? Why don’t you whisper soft nothings? In short, why don’t you make love? Charles. Now, my dear madam, I appeal to you ; what on earth can a fellow find to say to a girl whom he sees at break- fast every morning of his life in a perpetual course of coffee and curl-papers ? Mary. Curl-papers ! It’s an abominable falsehood ! Charles. And when I do begin to talk you’re always at that piano, and the only answer I get is t-r-m-r-r-r-tor-n. {Imi- tating running of scales.) I’m sure those infernal scales are enough to weigh any man’s spirits down. Mary. I’m sure my piano is quite as interesting as those landscapes that you’re always pestering me to look at, — the dreadful daubs ! Charles. Daubs ! that’s a nice remark for a wife. Mary. Quite as kind as coffee and curl-papers from a husband. Charles. Very well. Miss Mary ! C huffed, take stage Mary. Very well, Mr. Charles! \ up in opposite directions. Mrs. M. What a charming commencement of conjugal comfort I Muddle {outside). Very well, very well, for goodness sake don't worry me ; confound it all, I’ve nothing to with it. Mrs. M. Who’s that? 8 ALWAYS INTENDED. Mary. Only uncle come back from fishing. Don’t you recognize his voice ? Mrs. M. No, my love; but I do the farailv temper. Muddle {speaking off as he enters, c.). Very well, let the house-keeper and the cook settle it between tliem. Fee nothing to do with it. I’m sure the fuss, and the worry, and the bother^ ation’s enough to drive a man mad. Mrs. M. Why, my dear sir, you appear quite put out. Muddle. My dear madam, I’m not only put out, but I’m upset. Everything’s upset to-day and the whole house is topsy- turvy ; everything’s out of the usual coarse. Mrs. M. Dear me, I don’t perceive it. Mary. La, my dear, uncle’s always in a pucker about trifles. Muddle. Trifles! Is the marriage a trifle? and the lawyer a trifle? and the settlements a trifle? To say nothing of the dinner, and my being compelled to wear my dress-coat that’s a mile too small for me, and being put out of one’s usual course. Mrs. M. I am sorry, my dear sir, if my arrival has added to your discomfort. Muddle. Not at all, my dear friend ; not at all, I expected you. But you see, every morning of my life for the last fif- teen years. I’ve made it a practice to go fishing, and just as they came to tell me you were here, I had got a beautiful bleak at the end of my line, and the fellow startled me so that I lost him, — the first bite I’d had since four this morning. Well, children, squabbling as usual? {They rise and come down.) Mary. It’s all his fault. Charles. On the contrary, uncle, she picked a quarrel with me. Muddle. Oh, yes, it’s the old story, — they’v^e been squab- bling, my dear madam, ever since they were children. Ah, theirs will be a happy match, — nothing like diversity of dispo- sition. Mrs. M. I don’t quite understand that, unless you mean that in marriage, as in homoeopathy, love cures love. Muddle. My meaning to a T, my dear madam, but much better expressed. Mary {coaxingly putting her hand on his arm). Uncle, dear! Muddle. Well, Mary, my dear! Mary. Is — is this marriage quite decided on ? Muddle. Decided ! Is the girl mad ? a thing that was always intended, — that has been settled for the last fifteen years. Oh, for goodness’ sake, let us get it over and have done with it. Charles. Yes, let’s do it, and have done with it. {They go up; she sits at work, and he plays with the lock of his gun — sit- ting back to hack, opposite sides.) Mrs. M. {Aside.) Poor young people — ’twould be a kindnesi to break off such a union. ALWAYS INTENDED. £ Muddle, Ah, madam, what a day ! I am the most unfortu* hate of uncles. Mrs, M. {Mysteriously.') I comprehend ; in fact, I wished tc Bpeak to you upon the subject. Muddle {offeriiKj chair). I shall be delighted to have your assistance in so important an arrangement. Mrs. M. You see it requires great delicacy. (Sits.) Muddle. Oh, yes, of course. I wish to have every delicacy; but, unfortunately, it’s not much in any way, and the couniry aflbrds such \ ery few resources. (Sits, r. c.) Mrs. M. The country ! Muddle. Yes; the cook insists on four entrees and a des- sert; and, if I send all the way to Coventry, they'll be as cold as a stone before they come to table. Mrs, M. 1 am surprised, sir, you can neglect, for such ridic- ulous details, a question so momentous. Muddle. Momentous! Good gracious me. What’s happened now? To what question do you refer? Mrs. M. The future lot of these young people. Are 5^011 quite sure they will be happy? Muddle. Happy? Why, how can they be otherwise ? Our life here is a perfect picture of domestic felicity — Eden with- out the serpent. In the morning I. read the paper ; they listen ; then we breakfast. I go fishing — Charles goes shooting; or, if it’s wet, we play a game at billiards — Mary plays the piano or potters about the flower-beds ; then we dine ; then we go to sleep ; and, in the evening, we play a round at cribbage, and go to sleep again. Mrs. M. Ha, ha, ha ! Truly delightful, indeed ; but some- what dififereut Horn our town notions of enjoyment. Mary (eagerly coming down ^ t,.). Difierent! Oh, then, do tell us all about it, there’s a dear. How do you pass the time? What do you do? What do you see? Do you play the piano? Does everybody go out shooting and fishing? Do they ride in Dan Cupid’s ferry-boat ? Do they — Charles (coming down, R.). How on earth can anybody speak while you gabble away at that rate ? Mary. Gabble, indeed! I’m sure it’s you that interrupts. (To Mrs. Markwell.) Pray, tell us all about it. Mrs. M. I hardly know how to describe it, my love ; but in London, life is a perpetual gala; balls, concerts, plays, operas, parties; in short, an unceasinground of unpremeditated excite- ment; and the morning never knows what the evening may bring forth. Muddle. What infernal irregularity! just like the late Mrs Muddle; never knew her own mind for two minutes together. Charles. Now do be quiet, uncle : the picture is delightful. Mary Oh, yes, charming! do go on. Mrs. M. Then, there are the new fashions and the shops 10 ALWAYS INTENDED. Snell shops ! Ah, rny clear, you would open your eyes ; but 1 see you are doing so already. Mary. Yes, yes; goon. Mrs. M. In short, my love, if one is only passable, London is one round of admiring and admirers. Mary. Admirers — do you hear that, Charles ? Charles (l. Mrs. Markwell). Then, of course, madam, you have only to choose. Mrs. M. Alas, who can one believe. Such a battery of bon mots, bouquets, and badinage is very confusing. Mary. Bon mots and bouquets! That is a lesson for you, Charles. Charles. Yes, yes ; I understand. Kivalry, excitement, jeal- ous3% obstacles to overcome, pursuit and happiness. Muddle. Pursuit, indeed ! Stiiif and nonsense ! What’s that to peace of mind and perfect tranquillity? (Jb Mrs. Mark- well.) I presume, madam, you will soon follow our example ! Mrs. M. Well, sir, I’m afraid I’m rather hard to please. {Looking at Charles.) My husband must be handsome, clever, and to refinement of mind add refinement of manners. Muddle. Then yours is a hopeless case, madam; the phoenix has died out long ago. Charles (aside). Confound this shooting-jacket! (Looking at watch.) Half-past eleven. Will you excuse me, madam, whilst I change my costume for one more fitting this — this — Muddle. Happy occasion. We understand. (Goes up and talks to Servant, who enters at hack.) Charles. Exactly. Happy occasion. (Going — aside.) She certainly is a delightful woman. Mrs. M. (Coquettishly.) Will the conqueror be long in arming for victory? Charles. Conqueror! rather say vanquished, my dear mad- am. (Bows — going.) Charming creature ! Mary. Charles! Charles! (He returns.) Are you going like that? Charles. Like what ? Mary. Have you nothing to say ? Charles (patting her cheek, and looking at Mrs. Markwell). Oh, ta, ta, little wife ; ta, ta. (Aside, going out.) She certalnl}! is a charming woman. [Exit, r. 2 e. Mary. Ta — ta, indeed ! I suppose he calls that a bon mot. Muddle, (having Servant, who exits l. c., and coming down with newspaper in his hand). Now, here’s another bore. Al- ready the lawyer’s come, two hours before his time. I wish people would be punctual ; just my time for reading tne papers ; and now I must read his instead; for that infernal Project is sure to pester me about some pet scheme or other. Mrs. M. Project! Muddle. Yes ; of the firm of Project and Forecast ; sharpest ALWAYS IN' KNDED. 11 practitioners in the county. So I got them to draw Mary’s settlements. Mrs. M. To be sure. I remember, a very gentlemanly man, Mr. Project. {To Mary.) Such a good vvaltzer! Mary. Good gracious ! and I’m quite a fright. I must gc and dress for — f()r — Muddle. Yes, yes, we understand; for the happy occasion. Mary {goiiicj). xlh, my dear friend, I feel so miserable; and, if I dared — I d — But, I suppose it’s too late. \_Exit l. d. Muddle. Late! {Looking at loateh.) Confound it, my watch has stopped, and we shall all be late; and I’ve got to look after those four courses, and cram myself into that cursed coat. Oh, what a day ! Project {speaking as he enters c., down l. c.). Yes, yes; I understand perfectly. Ah, my dear neighbor, here I am. Come full-speed all the way. \Youldift be late, on an occasion like this, for the universe. I’ve brought the papers, and all the paraphernalia of happiness, {Pats paper on table.) Will you give orders to see to my Bucephalus? Muddle {going up). Bucephalus! I call it a Welsh pony. Peter, look after Mr. Project’s nag. {Sits and reads.) Project. And now, introduce me to the bride. Miss Con- stant, I presume. Allow me to offer — Mrs. M. {Turning round.) Your hand to an old acquaintance. Mr. Project. Project. Mrs. Markwell! This is delightful. Ah, madam, that winter in London, when we danced together so often, lias left an impression, that in short, a kind of indelible — inefface- able — if I might express myself — I say, if I might express myself — Mrs. M. You certainly might, Mr. Project, and much more plainly. Project {aside). The pretty widow’s as sharp as a needle. Mrs. M. I presume that you mean you regret tlie metrop- olis ! Project. Ah, madam, regret is not the word. I positively pine for it. You may see that I am wasting away. You behold in me, madam, the most fanatical partisan of centralization. In London I live; in the country I vegetate. I require excite- ment, bustle, movement. Mrs. M. Your choice of a profession, then, is unfortunate. Project. Not at all, madam, not at all. I am aware that an impression exists that a lawyer’s is a plodding, dull, prosaic profession; but all depends on the temperament of the prac- titioner. Lawyers, madam, may be separated into two great classes, the fusty and the fast. I belong to tlie latter and more brilliant category. The former coniine themselves to Cum.m n Law, Chancery, and Conveyancing, while we delight in can- vassing for Elections, llailway Bills, Marriage Settlements, and 12 ALWAYS INTENDED. Actions for Ciim. Con., — T should say, Conjugal Separation — and if we are but fortunate in a partner — Mrs. M. Partner, why, I understood you ha^l one! Project, Yes, yes, madam; but I mean a partner for life, and when I say partner, you must understand a portion. You see the requirements of modern civilization are so many tlnP professional prolits are not adequate to tiieir supply. My friend Muddle here is a lucky man, and he has promised to find a suitable match. Muddle. I wish to goodness you’d let me alone. I’d just got to where the lover was scaling the balcony. {Bell at gate.) More arrivals. Deuce take it ! Oh, what a day I Charles, r. 2. e., in full dress, with a bouquet. Charles {presenting bouquet). May I be permitted. Mrs. M. What a charming bouquet ! Muddle {aside). Been at my roses again. Oh, what a day ! {Bell.) There’s the luncheon-bell. I suppose you’ll loin us, Mr. Project? Project. No, thank you, I’ll stay here, and take a last look at the papers, there are one or two iittle points to see to. {Sits at table.) Enter Servant, l. 2 e. Servant. Miss Mary says you’re not to wait for her, sir; she’s not very well. Charles. Ah, still in the sulks ; just like her. Mrs. M. Indeed! how sorry I am for you. Charles {offering his arm, which she takes; leads her up). O madam, at this moment I am to be envied, not pitied. Muddle {reading). “But how’ the deuce can he scale four stories with a pistol in one hand and a dark lantern in the other? ” Mrs. M. Are you coming, Mr. Muddle ? Muddle. Yes, yes, I’m coming; no such a thing as a moment’s peace. Oli, what a clay! [^Exit, following Charles a ?^(:Z Mrs. Markwell, l Project {mending pen). Charming person that widow; un- fortunately her husband left her nothing but a doubtful Chan- cery suit, and that doesn’t suit me. Extraordinary thing how scarce money is! Here am I, a man whom any woman might fall in love with, who pass my time in marrying other people, and can’t find an heiress for myself. Now hero’s a chance this fellow’s got, twenty thousand in cash, and heaven knows how many acres — Be-enter Mary, as Bride, l. Mary. A pretty subject for congratulation, truly'. Julia was ALWAYS INTENDED. 1 .^ right. He doesn’t pay me the slightest attention. Of course, I said I was ill to see if he would fetch me. Not at all. He treats my absence with the utmost iudifierence. Project, Two hundred and sixty acres, be the same more or less. Mary {seeing him). A stranger! Project, Oh, don’t mind me. I was just looking at the deed. Mary. I presume, sir, you are my uncle’s solicitor? Project. IJncle! Have I the honor of addressing the bride? {Bises.') Mary. Oh, yes, I am the bride. {Sighing.) Project. Delighted to offer my congratulations. I was ad- miring the real property, but I see that the personal far exceeds it in value. {Aside.) Kather neatly said, I flatter m^^self. {Aloud.) But how is it that you are alone ? Mary. It is odd, is it not? ( Weeps.) Project. Tears I who can have dared to afflict so beautiful a person on this auspicious day? Mary Auspicious day ! i think every one is in a conspiracy to call it so. Project. Conspiracy ! Might I without indiscretion ask you to explain? My official character may warrant your confidence, and accustomed as we are to events of this nature — Mary. True, sir, you ought to know something of marriage. Project. My dear young lady, it has been my special study. Mary. Then, perhaps, you can inform me; but, perhaps I ought not to ask — Project. What on earth can she want to know? {Aloud.) Speak, madam. Mary. I wish to know if in other houses where you are professionally engaged, matters pass off" as they do here? Project. Oh, never! Generally speaking we’re surrounded by a crowd of busy Iriends and relations, and it is seldom I enjoy my present privilege of testifying admiration for the bride. Mary. Indeed ! Project. Yes, generally the bridegroom is so jealous that he follows her like her shadow. Mary. Then Charles, you see, is not like the other bride- grooms ! Project. Surely on a day like this he is doubly attentive. Mary. Ah! so Julia thought ; but he never seems to notice me. I don't believe he’s once looked at my dress, and I don’t think it’s unbecoming, do you? {Bises.) Project. Unbecoming! charming! Mary. Would you believe it, he never once told me I was pretty. Project. Dear me, the man must be blind, or else he thougld the fact too obvious for remark. 2 14 always intended. 3Iary, O sir ! Project, Yes, madam, I swear it by my official character and I am prepared if necessary — 3Iarij, Enough, sir, enough, I believe you, and this is how Charles ought to talk. This is what Julia called payiiu* addresses. Project. Addresses, and why not, here goes. (^Tragically.) Alas ! poor pallid sacrifice ! Marij. Sacrifice ! Project. Yes, I repeat, a sacrifice, — solitary sacrifice to cold neglect. O heaven ! if it had been me ! Mary. You? Project. What fiowers I could have strewn upon the altar! How wild would have been my worship at that shrine ! Mary. Sir ! Project. Yes, I would have studied every wish, anticipated every desire. Mary. Yes, that’s what he should have done. Project. Yes, I would have had “ a palace lifting to eternal summer and musical with ” — (Aside.) No, there I stick ; I’d better go on — on — my own hook. Yes, I would have l(*d you to the metropolis, the halls, the halls of dazzling light, to the centre of pleasure. Mary. Yes! operas, balls, concerts, races! Project. Yes, and my happiness would be, to be your slave ! Mary. My slave ! Project. Yes, you should find me ever at your feet. Mary. There now, and Charles has never thrown himself at my feet once. Ah, sir, you, I see, would make a woman happy. Oh ! is there no way of delaying this hurried marriage ? Are you quite sure that the papers are all ready? Project. Quite. They only wait to be executed. Mary. Executed! horrible idea, can I not delay It? Project. Certainly, speak to your uncle. Mary. Impossible! I dare not; but you, sir, you ’who take so much interest in me, you are a lawyer, and lawyers they sa\ , can prove anything. Can’t you put off this marriage for a few weeks or months? Project. It will be extremely difficult; but if your happiness is at stake — Mary. You will try, I am sure you will. Project. And may I count on your gratitude ? Mary. You may, you may; but don’t say a word to my cousin; for though he doesn’t care about me, he’s quite capable of marrying me out of contradiction. Project. Angelic being! trust to my discretion. (Kisses hef hand and puts her off r., taking stage and sicaggering .) I Hatter myself I’ve done it at last. An heiress, young, beautiful, and rich ; but of course, with a face and figure like m’ne, the resul' A1.WAYS INTENDED, 13 was certain. How fortunate for her! Here was she with her charms unappreciated, and her capital unemployed, whereas now, the former will be adored and the latter invested to the best advantage. Let me see, desirable investments. New River, London and Westminster, East India Bonds, and — Charles {outside). I’ll be back directly. Project. The bridegroom ! oh, the devil, I’d forgotten him ! Be-enter Charles, l. Charles {going eagerly to him). Ah, my dear sir, I come to you as a friend. Are we alone? Project. You see there’s nobody here. Charles. Then I am saved. Project. Indeed I {Aside.) If he was lost I shouldn’t miss him. Charles. You see, my dear sir, this is a most embarrassing affair. Project. It is, indeed. {Aside.) What the deuce shall I sny to him ? Charles, May I ask a particular favor of you ? Project. Oh, certainly. There can be no harm in asking. Charles. Then instantly exert your influence to prevent this marriage. Project {eagerly). I shall be only too delighted. {Becovfr- ing himself.) That is — hem! I should rather say, that in a measure of this grave responsibility, I would willingly do anything not strictly incompatible with my professional char- acter. Charles. Oh, certainly; it’s strictly compatible. You must invent some ingenious subterfuge — some evasion — some — some kind of — Project. I understand ; not a suggestio falsi, but a mild sup- pressio veri. Charles. Oh, is that what you call it? There is a shorter word — Project. There is ; but it is not professional. Am I then to understand that you do not love your cousin? Charles. Oh, by no means. I love her pretty well ; but I only marry her to please the family. You see, she’s a child. Why, I’m three years older than she is. Project. Three years ! Charles. Yes; three years and a half. Project. Ah ! that makes an enormous difference, Charles. Of course. A new doll would suit her better tliau a husband. How can she understand love? That is the sort of feeling that — Project. I understand perfectly. You ought not to permit the sacriflee, for her sake as well as your owm; and it is youi duty at once to declare — 16 ALWAYS INTENDED. Charles, Mine! Oh, no; you must do that. My uncle is very violent, and has set his heart upon this match; and as it will require some amount of cajolery to persuade him — Project, You thoug’ht of me? A most flattering preference; but you must furnish me with some pretext. Charles. Oh, that’s easy enough; anything will serve for a pretext. M3" cousin’s fortune was only estimated at twenty thousand pounds ; and I know there’s another fifteen stands iu her name in the Three per Cents, that they said iiotliing about, that I might not blush at the discrepancy of our fortunes. Project, Fifteen thousand! That makes five and thirty thous — Infamous deception. Say no more, my dear friend. I’ll find means to prevent this sacrifice. Charles {shaking his hand). Thank you; and if ever I can return the obligation, put me in mind of it. Project, I will, I will. Charles. Do ; and the sooner the better. But you must see my uncle at once, and give him good reasons for what you say. Project. Certainly, my dear friend, certainly. {Going, aside.) I’ve thirty thousand golden ones entirely" at his service. \^Exit, rapidly, l. 2 e. Charles. Now, who would have expected such disinterested- ness in a lawver? It’s positively" refreshing! He seems as eager for my happiness, as though it were his own. Oh, that beautiful widow ! How sympathetic ! What a touching picture she drew of marriage without love ! By Jove ! here’s Mary * I didn’t expect her. Be~enter Mary, r. 2 e. Mary. I should like to know what Mr. Project has said. {Seeing him.) Ah, cousin, are you there? Charles {aside). I don’t know what to say to her. Mary, I must tell him. I wonder how he’ll bear it. Charles. Well, little wife, — I mean cousin ; I ve — I’ve seen our solicitor. 3Iary. So — so have I. Charles. It seems that there are some serious obstacles to our marriage. 3Iary. So he told me. Charles {astonished). Told you! When? 3Iary. Just now; ten minutes ago. Something wrong in the papers. Charles {aside). Why, confound it, the difficulty was of my making. 31ary. And perhaps it will have to be —postponed. Charles. So I understand. {Pause.) Perhaps you’re not very sorry for it. Mary, I don’t know. What do you think ? Charles {aside). It’s best to be candid. ALWAYS INTENDED. I* Mary (aside). I’ll tell him at once. Charles, you won’t be cross at what I’m going to tell you? Charles, Something to tell me? What is it? 3fary, Do you know, Charles, I — I — I — think — that — that I don’t love you the least bit in the world ; there. (Sits, r.) Charles, No, really! is that all? (SUs^i.,) Mary, All ! Charles, Now do you know, little wife, it’s very odd, but I was just about to tell you — Mary, What? Charles, That I don’t care a bit about you. Mary, Then we’re both of the same way of thinking. Charles, Exactly, and very naturally too. You see, my deal? Mary, our education in common has proved an insuperable bar to our happiness. Brought up together, we could not feel towards each other as strangers would; in short, Avith the same hopes, and almost habits, we know too much of each other. Mary, You’re quite right, Charles, I know too much of you. Charles, You see there’s no romance in it. I can’t forget the little girl in a pinafore smelling of bread and butter and stick liquorice. Mary. Nor I the dirty, rude boy with his ragged cap and the knees of his trousers out. Charles, You were always telling tales. Mary, Yes, because you would put my doll’s eyes out. Charles, Yes, and you were always pinching me, and pulling my hair. Mary, Yes, because you were always teasing me. Charles, Then you know you’re just as sulky as ever you were. Mary, And you’re just as quarrelsome. Charles, I’m afraid we should have been very unhappy. Mary, I’m quite sure we should, and now we shall be as happy as two birds out of a cage. I say, Charles, isn’t it odd? Charles, What do you mean? Mary, Why, for the first time in our lives, we’re of the same opinion. Tie-enter Muddle, l., violently taking stage. Muddle, Oh ! this is too much ! 3Iary, My dear uncle ! Muddle, Oh ! Charles, Have you seen Mr. Project? Muddle, Don’t speak to me, sir. Charles, But uncle — Muddle, Avvay, unnatural nephew. 3Iary, • My dear sir — Muddle, Begone, most perfidious of nieces ! serpent that 1 2 * 18 ALWAYS INTENDED. have warmed in my bosom. Two serpents — a coil of serpents. Oil ! what a clay ! I shall have a fit, 1 know I shall I Mary, Surely, uncle, you would not wish us to be miserable ! Muddle, Miserable? Charles, Certainly, miserable forever. Muddle, You don't say so ! 31ary, Wretched for life ! Muddle, Who’d have thought it ! Charles, I’d rather perish than do violence to my cousin’s feelings. Mary, And I’d rather die an old maid than marry him against his will. Muddle, Good gracious me I but it was always intended. It upsets all our ideas, or idea, for I never had but one. Both. Now, my dear sir, pray consider, — Muddle, That's what I wish to do, if you’d give me time. {They retire and interchange signs,') After all, if it’s a mistake, it’s better discovered now than later. They’re young, and the marriage once broken off, we can all go on in the same even tenor of our way. He’ll go shooting; I shall go fishing, and she’ll play the piano in the old comfortable jog-trot manner. Both. Well, uncle? Muddle, Anything for a quiet life, my children, — I consent. Both, 0 you dear uncle. {They embrace him.) Muddle, There, there, that’ll do. Enter Jane, l. Jane, If you please, sir, here’s the dinner come from Coventry. Muddle, Send it back. Jane, And the tenantry, sir. Muddle. Send ’em to Coventry after the dinner. Come, nephew, let’s find Project, and settle this unfortunate business at once. \_Exit hurriedly with Charles, l. Jane {holding up her hands in astonishment). Well, I never! lExit L. Mary. At last, then, I can breathe freely ; I’m my own mis- tress, and free to do as I like. For want of a little resolution I might have been miserable for life. Ah, here comes my kind deliverer. Enter Project, l. Oh, sir, how shall I thank you? Project, By keeping your promise. Miss Mary. You see I’ve kept mine. Mary, You have indeed. It’s quite surprising. Project, No, no; nothing surprising. An attorney’s attri- butes arc to arrange or disarrange anything according as he paid. It’s strictly professional. May I claim my reward? ALWAYS IN’fKNDKD. Mary, Reward ! Project {very tragically), O Miss Mary I 3fary {alarmed). Sir! Project, Do you not see the canker that corrodes me? 31ary, No ; indeed I do not. Project, You do not see the ardent love — I would in vaiiE dissemble. O heavens ! {Clasps hand to forehead.) Mary, Love ! Why, you saw me for the first time an hour ago. Project. That’s it ; love at first sight. The love that poets tell of. The strongest, most devoted, most unreflecting. Your cousin has known you fifteen years, and never appreciated the treasure in his grasp. Mary. That’s true. Project, Whilst I no sooner beheld those pecuniary — 1 mean, those peculiar charms, than I exclaimed, “ Yes, yes ; that is the woman I adore.” 3Iary. Is it possible? Project {very loud, and clapping his hand on his breast), Mary I 3Iary, Good gracious ! Project, Love, like the lightning’s flash, is all pervading! Ill vain you would deny it; you must have felt the sympathetic shock. Then yield to its decrees, and make me to-day the happiest of men. 3Iary, To-day? Project, To-day; this very hour. Your uncle will not op- pose it. The papers are ready, and we have only to substitute one name for another. 3Iarii, But I don’t even know your name. Project. Percy — Percy Project. My motto, persevere. Your answer, most adorable of women ; your answer. Mary, You leave me no time for reflection. Project, No, no. You see where reflection has led your cousin. Say, then, you consent at once. You are your own mistress. Give me but a word, a look, a sign ; and behold me, dear Mary, at your feet. {Spreads pocket-handkerchief, and kneels on it, c. Tableau,) Pe-enter Mrs. Markwell, l. 3Irs, 31, Why, what is the meaning of all this ? 31ary, It means, Julia, that I have profited by your lessons ; my marriage is broken olf, and this gentleman’s position — 3Irs, 31, Explains itself. Ha! ha! ha! Project, {rising), O madam, do not laugh; but rather sympathize with the most devoted of — of — of — 3Ls. M. Attorneys, ha! ha! ha! No wonder you wish fo/ a brief answer, ha! ha! ha! {Extending her hand, which hi kisses.'^ There, I’ll say a good word for you. 20 ALWAYS INTENDED. Project, Oh, thanks, thanks. ( To Mary.) Adieu, beautiful being. I will return to know my fate; but renrember, tliat suspense is — is agony. [Exit, extravaganUij, c. 3Iarif, Dear me; love seems a terrible thing, to judge by the language it employs. 3Irs. 31. La ! my love, it calms down amazingly ; and so this ill-assorted match is broken off? 3Iarif. Quite, thank goodness. Love was out of the ques- tion, so I followed your advice. 3£rs. 31. Receive, then, my congratulations, and at the same time, my adieus. 3fary. What, going? 3frs. 31. Yes ; my task is accomplished, and I return to town at once. 31ary. At once. 3Irs. 31. Yes ; the carriage is at the door. 3Iary {looking off). 1 don’t see it; but there’s Charles’s horse. 3Irs. 31. Yes ; he insists on accompanying me. Mary. Charles going too ? Mrs. 31. Naturally, after what has occurred. Mary. What’s that to do with it? I certainly didn’t mean to marry him. But I didn’t mean to send him away. 3Irs. 31. Oh, he’s going with me. 3Iary. You ! 3Irs. 31. Yes, he’s politeness and attention itself. 3Iary. What, Charles ? Why, this morning you persuaded me he was the very opposite. Mrs. 31. Yes, for you. • 31ary. Ah ! I begin to understand. To you, then — 3Irs. 31. He seems altogether different. Besides, we don’t all think alike. I am not, like you, tired of seeing and listen- ing to him. And 1 confess, when he declared himself this morning — Mary. This morning ! what before our rupture — when he was still my affianced husband ? Mrs. 31. Certainly. You told me plainly you wouldn’t have him, and so — 3Iary. You sacrificed yourself for me? 3Irs. 31. Yes, I thought I was doing you a service. 3Iary. Oh, certainly, a very great one, and I must say you’ve lost no time ! This morning you convinced me he was not at all suited for me, and this afternoon you take the useless commodity off my hands. Your kindness is remarkable. 3Irs. 31. Do you then regret tlie loss? 3Iary. Regret him, no. I know him too well. A pretty escape I’ve had. A man who before my eyes, on the very morning of our intended union, was paying attentions tc another woman — unparalleled duplicity ! ALWAYS INTENDED. 2 Mri. M, Not altogether unparalleled, unless Mr.* Project Is mistaken. 3Iary, And he’s not mistaken. I like him better than Charles; lie’s better looking, better behaved, disinterested, kind, trustworthy, and I’ll have him directly. Enter Muddle in dressing-gown, l., with a newspaper. Muddle. There, I’ve got out of that beastly dress coat, and now I’ll finish my article. Mary. Oh, my dear uncle, I consent to everything ; you dc the same thing, and I’ll be married this very morning, nay; this very hour, provided Charles knows of it before he goes. Oh, the traitor ! \_Exit l. 3Inddle {confused, turning to Mrs. Markwell). Why, what’s the meaning of all this ? 3Irs. 31. Mr. Project has solicited Mary’s hand, and she consents, that’s all. Enter Project, c. Muddle (r.). All, then everything’s to be upset all over again. Oh, what a day ! Project {dowiiG.). My dear sir, it’s quite true, the papers are prepared accordingly, and we only want your consent, 3Iuddle. But I don’t understand. Project. The papers ? that’s quite immaterial, no one ever does. 3Iuddle. But what on earth does it all mean? She will have you, and she won’t have Charles. Enter Charles, c., from l., puts hat on table, comes down. Charles. Ah, my dear sir, I was looking for you to say gof)d-by. 31nddle. Good-by! What, are you going ? Charles. Yes, I have the happiness to accompany this lady to London. 3Irs. 31. No, no, pray don’t mix me up in this matter; it’s a family affair in which I must remain entirely neuter. You, my dear sir, will see me to the train. 3Iuddle. But I don’t understand. 3Irs. 31. ( Taking his arm.) Then come with me and I will explain everything. 3Iuddle. 6h, dear! oh, dear! when shall I have a quiet moment again? [Exit with Mrs. Markwell, c. to l., who salutes CuAm^m. Charles. I will overtake her as soon as the old gentleman quits her ; and now to take leave of my cousin. ALWAYS INTENDED. Enter Jane, l. Where is your mistress, Jane? Jane. Miss Mary left orders, sir, that she would see nobody \_Exit L« Charles. Still in the sulks ; what an escape I've had. {Goe^ to gel hat ; sees Project.) What, are you there ? Project (r.). Oh, yes; waiting for her. Charles. Her, who? Project. Your charming cousin. What ! don’t you know ? Charles. Know what? Project. Why, I am the happy man. The place you left vacant I have filled up. Charles. You don’t say so? Project. Yes; my motto’s “persevere.” I came, I saw, I conquered — Charles. In so short a time? It’s incredible. Project. Not so short as all that comes to, for I certainly made some preliminary advances this morning. Charles. What ! why, this morning Mary was my affianced wife. Project. Yes, but only affianced. Charles. It’s fortunate for you, sir, that I did not perceive it. And to think of little Mary, too, never to mention the sub- ject. Oh, the duplicity of woman! However, it is no business of mine; she’s free and so am I, and, as a matter of course, so are you. I’ll say a good word for you if you like. Project. You’re too good. Charles. Yes, you’re not bad-looking, nor bad-tempered; are bent on obtaining a London joractice, can fully appreciate my cousin’s property, and will always look after the main chance. Project. Thank you. I won’t in that case retain your ser- vices. Charles. Sorry for it ; because I must represent the affair in its proper bearings. Project. Sir. Charles. Mary is my cousin ; almost a sister ; and I regard her interests as my own. Project. Then allow me to tell you, sir, that I won’t per- mit — Charles. And allow me to tell you, sir, that I shall dispense with your permission. Project, Sir, I’m not to be bullied. Charles. Nor I, sir, to be intimidated. Be~enter Mary, l. Mary. Why, what is all this ? Project. Really, Miss Mary, I am at a loss to understand. 1 ALWAYS r^rrENBED. 23 come here, authorized by circumstauces, to seek an intervievl with you; and this gentleman thinks proper to object. Mary. Object! By what right? Charles. The right of old acquaintance, Mary. I came to say good-by ; and the presence of a stranger — Project. Stranger? No such stranger I flatter myself. Charles, Sir ! Mary, Will you excuse me, Mr. Project, my cousin is about to leave us for a long time. I will see you after his departure. Project. Oh, certainly, madam; your request is law. (^Aside.) ril just take a last look at the settlements. {Exit l., looking indignantly at Charles — Charles and Mary sit for some time without speaking.) Charles. Hem ! I’m much obliged to you, cousin, for giving me the preference. Mary. I did so, because I understood you were going. Charles (icith efort). Yes, to-day. It’s decided. Mary. It was very kind of you to come and say good-by. Charles, My dear Mary, it was always intended we should marry. We understood that we could not love, and broke ofl the match. It was the wisest thing to do. Mary. Oh, yes, no doubt it’s for the best. Charles. However, w^e can always be brother and sister; if we cannot feel love, we may friendship, may we not, dear Mary ? ( Taking her hand.) Mary. Oh yes, friendship and confidence. Charles. That’s right; confidence without reserve. And before we part, let us open our hearts to each other. Now tiiis Mr. Project, is it possible that he is paying his addresses to you? Mary. Possible! Why not? Am I then incapable of in- spiring an attachment? Charles. I don’t say that. Mary. You seem to be mightily taken with Mrs. Mark well. Charles. Yes; she’s your friend. Mary. Exactly ; my friend. Charles. I confess that I am favorably impressed with the charms of her conversation, though she’s not so unafiected as you, with all the elegance of her manners. {She rises and crosses.) The taste of her dress, — by the bye, wdiat a pi’etty dress that is of yours ! How becoming ! I never saw you look so well. Mary. Yes ; you liked her conversation and her dress, and then — Charles. Then, when we went into the garden, she laid hei hand on my arm so. {Suits action hy taking her arm.) Mary. Yes, and then — Charles. Then, I involuntarily pressed her arm— so; then {taking her hand between his) I took her hand, so. 24 ALWAYS INTENDED. 3Iary. And then — Charles, Then — I looked in her eyes, sc . Mary, Yes. Charles, And then I felt that I loved her. 3Iary (withdrawing her hand suddenly'). Then marry her. Charles, Marry! Yes, of course ; that’s my intention. At the same time, it’s a very serious step. Mary, Not when you love. Charles, No, that’s very true. At the same time, if a fellow were to marry every woman he’s in love with — Mary, I don’t understand. Charles, I mean that I should like to know a little more of her temper. Mary, Very changeable and uncertain. Charles, Something of her feelings and sentiments. Mary, Those of a thorough coquette : I ought to know, I’m her friend. Ah! poor Charles, with your simple tastes and genuine nature, I’m sorry for you. Charles, Then she’s something like your lawyer, who thinks of nothing but money, and would sell the old place here to-morrow, to purchase a London practice. Mary, Do you think so ? Charles, I’m sure of it. Ah, it’s a terrible thing to sacrifice the hopes and destiny of an entire life to a person one scarcely knows. Mary, It certainly is very imprudent. Ah, if we could have loved each other, ever such a little bit. Charles, Ah, that’s what I say. Mary, I who know your thoughts before you speak. Charles, And I, who guess yours by the sound of your voice. Mary, You so frank and generous. Charles, And you so gentle and kind. Mary, Do you remember, Charles, when we were children, how you jumped into the fish-pond to rescue me? Charles, And do you remember how you nursed me when 1 was ill, and saved my life ? Mary, Oh, no! Charles, Oh, yes ! It’s a terrible thing to part and leave our poor uncle. Mary, That’s true, poor uncle. Charles, Suppose we were to stay with him. Mary, Yes, yes, never leave him; stay in the old house where we were born and brought up together. Charles, But what will you say to the lawyer? Mary, And what will you say to the widow? Charles, Dear Mary, will you say we are better engaged and that it was always intended ? Mary, But they’ll say we’re mad, and won’t believe us. ALWAYS INTENDED. 21 Charles. Leave that to me. {Rings violently.) Mary. What are you doing. Charles. You’ll see, follow my example. {She rings, and then both ring ; bells without.) Here they come, now for it. {Thioios himself on his knees at Mary’s feet.) Enter Muddle, Mrs. Markwell, c., and Project, l. Muddle. Good gracious! is the place ou fire? Project. Can’t say. {Looking at ^Imiy .) There’s evidently something burning. Charles. Yes, dear cousin, I love you, and only you. You shall still be my little wife. Mary. And you my little husband. Muddle. Then I’m to be made a fool of after all. Mary. No, dear uncle, thanks to Julia, who has opened my eyes, we will never leave you. Muddle. So then, you, madam, have been the cause of this disturbance. Mrs. M. I’m afraid so, — I and this gentleman between us. Project. Then I’ve actually laid a mine for my own destruc- tion. {Going to tear papers.) Mary. Preserve the settlement, Mr. Project, it may be use- ful. Julia has gained her Chancery suit and may marry again. Project. Gained a Chancery suit? Charles. Yes, and sixty thousand pounds. Project. What a charming woman. I never remarked it before. I will call on on her to-morrow. Mary. The moral of our little play now ended Is, look for friends where you were first befriended; To you I turn, kind friends, you’ve been of mine, And beg for one smile more for auld lang syne ; To win that boon, howe’er he have otfended. Was by our author “ Always Intended.” Muddle. Mary. Charles. Mrs. Markwell, PRO.rECi a.) {^L. CUMTAIN. A NEW IRISH DRAMA. CAPTAIN JACK; OR, iiBzsn oxjtxj A PATRIOTIC IRISH DRAMA IN THREE ACTS. By BERNARD F. MOORE. Seven male and four female characters. Costumes, Irish, 1867, military and pictur- esque ; scenery, an interior and an exterior. The story of this piece turns upon the always popular motive of Ireland’s struggle for political freedom, and is full of patriotic sympathy, besides being ingeniously constructed and cleverly developed. Its list of characters is very strong, both in its heroic and humorous elements. John Driscoll, the hero, provides plenty of excitement, and his faithful follower, Barney Donovan, an abun- dance of characteristic Irish fun. Aline, the heroine, and Captain Gordon are capital parts, and Squire Shannon and Teddy Burke, the heavy characters, are particularly strong. This is a second “ Shamrock and Rose.” Price 35 Cents. SYNOPSIS. Act I. — The home of the Driscolls. The girl I left behind me. Aline and the Captain. A forged kiss. Barney’s blarney. The devil and his shadow. Captain Jack. A warning. Old friends. The Squire’s proposal. “ I have sworn to make you my wife by fair means or foul.” A cowardly blow. The Arrest. Act II. — The Squire’s study. The cat’s paw, A rose from a thorn. Nellie plans a rescue. The ex-Caotain. A plea for mercy. Aline’s resolve. “ Not even for his sake.” In the Squire’s power. Rescuer^ Barney bobs up again. Teddy brings bad news. The hunted outlaw. The Esca'»e. Act III. — At the Driscolls’. Krle and Barney. A little tiff. Kate Kelly’s kiss. Aline and the Captain. A light ahead . Ht^nters and hunted. An undutiful daughter. Captured. A rift in the clouds. The Pardon. A CYCLONE FOR A CENT. A FARCE IN ONE ACT. By PAULINE PHELPS. Three male and three female characters. Scene, a plain interior; costumes, modem and everyday. Adelaide Merwin’s fad of “originality” is the cause of a sad domestic muddle, to which Colonel William Selton, the inventor of bottled cyclones and other con- densed weather, ably contributes. Very funny. Price. 15 Cents. A NEW DRAMA A PENNSYLVANIA KID; OR, A SOLDIER’S SWEETHEART. ^ COMEDY DDYMY EODR YCXS. By FREDERIC W. TAYLOR. Eight male and four female characters. Costumes, modern and military ; scenei-y easy exteriors and plain rooms. This is an excellent piece for a bright soubrette, full of opportunities both for dramatic action and for specialties. The heroic element is very strong, and its story, turning upon a striking deed of self-sacrifice, very sympathetic. The comedy element is good and strong, the parts of Judge Sloyer, Joe Botts, Jason Olds, and Duffy Whitecar, as well as Ray, the heroine, giving good humorous oppor- tunity. This piece is easily put on, and acts briskly and well. It has enough relation to the war to be available for patriotic purposes, but it does not smell of powder. Price 15 Cents. SYNOPSIS. Act f. — The White Horse Inn. Love and patriotism. Sanders and the Judge. A dark scheme. A bright “ Ray.” “ I never see you, Sanders, but I think of hogs.’* The Judge in a liquor case. Ray and Jack. A winner and a wooer. “ Unless you hide in the grave, you shall one day be my wife.” Duffy and the gun. Defiance. Act II. — The tavern again. An unwilling patriot. Making a cat’s-paw. Ray and the Quaker. The mermaid. Sanders loss. ” If you cannot return my money give me its equivalent.” The hog-dealer’s proposal. Ray’s answer. A startling sequel. At Bay. Act III. — Jack’s dilemma. My country needs me and T must go.” Judge Sloyer’s substitute. A dead man by proxy. Marching ordeis. Rav’s squad at drill. Farewells. The accusation. Duffy a thief. Ray to the rescue. He didn’t take the money— ’twas I!” Wedding ring or prison fetters. Jack’s avowal and its conse- quences. The arrest. The web broken. “Come, Jack, fall in.” Rescued. Tableau. — The field of Gettysburg after the battle. Joe’s death and Jack’s vin- dication. A Free Mam. Act_ IV. — Ray’s marriage. A good cry. “ I do not love the man I have married, and all his gold cannot buy me happiness.” The Judge’s private signal. A coward by vicar. Sanders’s other wife. “ Have you risen from the dead in California to raise the devil in Pennsylvania?” Another plot. Polly’s hand in iL. Duffy’s long pants. Jacks’ return. Light on many dark subjects. The marriage certificate. Free! San- ders’s arrest. “The War is Ended.” FACING THE MUSIC. A. COMEDIETTA. IdST OISTE A.CT- By HENRY OLDHAM HANLON. Three male and one female characters. Costumes, modern; scenery, an easy in- terior. This is a clever little play, sprightly in action, humorous in treatment, and original in idea. The Bohemian housekeeping of Tom Akenside and Walter Harding form an amusing background for a very ingenious series of complications. Price 15 Cents. FOUR NEW “DARKEY” PLAYS. THE HAN ABOUT TOWN. A NEGRO FARCE IN ONE ACT. By E. BOWERS and Q. H. COES. Four male and one female characters. Several changes of scene — not diffi- cult, d'his is a very lively piece, full of fun and incident. Plays twenty minutes. Price 15 Cents. TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS. A NEGRO ACT IN ONE SCENE. Arranged by GEO. H, COES. Three male characters. Scenery, costumes, and properties very easy. This is an act for two low comedians and a genteel darkey Can be worked up to be very funny. Plays only twelve minutes. Price 15 Cents. The Three O’Clock Train. A NEGRO ACT IN ONE SCENE. Arranged by GEO. H. COES. Three male characters ; one does not speak. Scenery, costumes, and proper- ties very simple. This sketch depends largely upon good “ business,’’ and in the hands of a good negro comedian wall convulse the audience. Plays fifteen minutes. Price 15 Cents. The Intelligence Office. A NEGRO FARCE IN ONE ACT. Arranged by GEO. H. COES, Two male characters (negro), and one female (Irish), played usually by a man. Scenery and costumes easy. This is a very funny and lively piece for a good negro and Irish comedian. Great opportunity for fine “ business.’’ Plays twenty minutes or more. Pric« 16 Cents. A NBv ,u's pt'ornise. The devil’s valet. A vile plot. Tarby, the catspaw. Kate and the spirits. A ghostly kiss. Jokes ami jca ousy. Jaruey and Father Tom. The letter. The abduction of Mary, coii O’Neil’s aih. “ Promise or no promise, i’ll have the life of Shaun Brady.” Act III. — The Devil’s glen. Dirby Riordan and IMrs. Grady. “A band ike a foot.” Giving a “ lady ” a seat. A kiss ami a blow. The kick of a mule. hauiTs prisoner. The secret cave. A coward’s proposal. “Death before larriageAvith such a man as Sfniuu Brady.” Kate’s protector. Mrs. Grady’s st again. Xhe Inst chance. The murder. Hurled from the cliff. The rescue, 'ighe’s leap for life. Acr IV.;— Con’s home. Darby’s propo.sal. Nancy Grady to the rescue. L three-cornered courtship. Nancy Grady turns out to be “no lady.” '1 ighe’s ittle disguise and its consequences Mai y’s engagement. Frank’s return. The (Itle deeds. Shaun Brady amCtlie rent once more. A ’’ You are now tanding on niy land, aiul U’hen you leave it Avill be to go to a prison.” Darby’s :>iifession. 'The'dead alive. • The silver lining. A NEW FARCE. :,A STRAW MAN. ‘ .A FARCE IN ONE ACT. 1 By EDWARD ABORN. Three male and two female characters. Scene, a garden ; costumes, modern. Hiis is a side-splitting little piece, full of action and “ go.” A straw man made by some mischievous boys, out of the clothes of one of the char;n*ters, plavs the leading part. No troubie wiG be found in finding an actor for this part, nor for those of Driinis (Iri.sli) and Gaston (Trench) — both excellent. , Price .... 15 cents. ■ FOR FEMALE »K^RACTERS, PSYCHE, M.D. A COMKDY IN one: ACT. By CHARLES BARNARD. Nine female characters. Scene, an interior ; costumes modern. This is clever satire of certain elociitio.iary “ fads,” is full of fun and acts briskly and Avel U is admirably jidapted lor “exhibition” purposes in that its ni..e charac ei are almost equal in length and opportunity — or as nearly so as is possible in well-balanced story. L)r. Psyche’s “Heart Searcher,” and “Sentiment Detector,” while not known to the Patent Office, are wonderful inventions, ar their operations full of interest and humor. An excellent successor to “Tli Chroiiothanatoletron.” Price 15 cents. A NEW FARCE. DEAD RECKONING. A FARCE IN ONE ACT. By HENRY DINQLEY COOLlDCiE. Two male and one female characters. Scene, an interior; costumes, mod»M This is a very original ami ingenious little play, written in a vein of qul hurnorthat suggests the peculiar style of W. S. Gilbert. The affairs of Chaii< ton Bryce, who is legally a dead man, and Constance, his legal widow by a im marriage which turned out a real one, are most amusingly complicated and th unravelled in some very clever dialogue. The fun of this piece is quiet a refined, and it is strongly recommended for parlor performance. Price . • • « • 15 cents. A NEW NEGRO SKETCH. A Perplexing Predicament. A. NEGRO ACT IN ONE SCENE. By QEO. H. COES. Three male characters. Scene, a phain chamber ; costumes, eccentiic. T1 act, which is founded upoii a popular farce, was a stock favorite with all “c. timers,” and has more laugh to the square inch than any 'Sketch priuled. 1 “slaf’und bladder” business, l>ut genuine character and negro liuuior. Pri