NO PLAYS EXCHANGED. —■ in— —■■■ Miw ■ —I III ■ ■ in— i ■m— ■ [■■him 1 1 — i \wmmm*m*mmmMmMemmxxj aBacrzaiizi3z*rJxi Baker’s Edition OT PLAYS THE BABES IN the WOOD. COPYRIGHT, 1889. BY WALTEH H. BAKER & CO- I I (vs (VS (VS (Vs (is (is (Vs (VS (VS (VS (VS (vs (VS (Vs (is S\( s» SV( S*( S\( m SV( SV( \\( w ¥ W( SV( w A. W. PINERO’S PLAYS. Uniformly Bound in Stiff Paper Covers, Price, 50 cents each. The publication of the plays of this popular author, made feasible by the new Copyright Act, under which his valuable stage rights can be fully protected, enables us to offer to amateur actors a series of modern pieces of the highest class, all of which have met with distinguished success in the leading English and American theatres, and most of which are singularly well adapted for ama- teur performance. This publication was originally intended for the benefit of readers only, but the increasing demand for the plays for acting purposes has far outrun their merely literary success. With the idea of placing this excel- lent series within the reach of the largest possible number of amateur clubs, we have obtained authority to offer them for acting purposes at an author’s roy- alty of Ten Dollars for Each Performance. This rate does not apply to professional performances, for which terms will be made known on application. T^I4TT AMA7fW<; I A Farcical Romance in Three Acts. By Arthur 1 rxc. | w p INEKG . Seven male and five female cliar- — — — ' acters. Costumes, modern; scenery, an exterior and an interior, not at all difficult. This admirable farce is too well known through its recent performance by the Lyceum Theatre Company, New York, to need description. It is especially recommended to young ladies’ schools and colleges. (1895.) THE CABINET MINISTER. A Farce in Four Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Ten male 1 and nine female characters. Costumes, modern society ; scenery, three interiors. A very amusing piece, in- genious in construction, and brilliant in dialogue. (1892.) DANDY DICK. A Farce in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Seven male, four female characters. Costumes, mod- 1 ern ; scenery, two interiors. This very amusing piece . was another success in the New York and Boston theatres, and lias been ex- tensively played from manuscript by amateurs, for whom it is in every respect suited. It provides an unusual number of capital character parts, is very funny, . and an excellent acting piece. Plays two hours and a half. (1893.) THE HOBBY HORSE. A Comedy in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Ten male, five female -char- 1 acters. Scenery, two interiors and an ex- terior ; costumes, modern. This piece is best known in this country through the admirable performance of Mr. John Hare, who produced it in all the principal cities. Its story presents a clever satire of false philanthropy, and is full of interest and humor. Well adapted for amateurs, by whom it has been success- fully acted. Plays two hours and a half. (1892.) LADY BOUNTIFUL. I A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Eight male and seven femaie char- acters. Costumes, modern; scenery, four interiors, not easy. A play of powerful sympathetic interest, a- little sombre in key, but not unrelieved by humorous touches. (1892.) Mj* (VS (VS (VS (VS (VS (VS (VS (VS (VS (VS (VS (Vs (VS (VS (VS (VS (VS (Vs # m \\( m W s» \\( \\( \\( w SV( m 1 S\( w s» THE BABES IN THE WOOD. ©rigiwat $oro*di}, IN THREE ACTS. TOM TAYLOR, Esq., AUTHOR OP “Still Waters Run Deep” “Ticket -of- Leave- Man,” fc. BOSTON: THE BABES IN THE WOOD. CAST OF CHARACTERS. Theatre Royal , Boston Museum , London. Boston. I860. 1870. Jeremiah Beetle. Mr. Buckstone. Mr. William Warren. (Leading Low Comedy) Frank Rushton Mr. W. Farren. Mr. W. H. Crisp. (Leading Light Comedy.) Earl of Lazenby Mr. Chippendale. Mr. R. F. McClannin. (First Old Man.) Mr. Slidell Mr. Compton. Mr. J. W. Norris. (Eccentric Comedy.) Sir George Loosestrife. . . . Mr. Villiers. Mr. J. B. Bradford. (Walking Gentle^s. Peacock Mr. Coe. Mr J. H. Ring. (Second Low Comedy.) Todd (a BUI Discounter) Mr. Clark. Mr. J. Burrows. (Seconu Ola Man.) Policeman (Utility) Mr. Courtney. Mr. Ho ward. Nonsuit (Utility) Mr. Moyse. Mr. Coolidge. Allsuit (Utility) Mr. James. Mr. Cambridge. Lady Blanche Rushton. . . . Miss A. Sedgwick Miss Laura Phillips. (Leading Comedy.) Mrs. Beetle Mrs. Wilkins. Mrs. J. R. Vincent. (First Old Woman.) Trotter. Miss Josie Batchelder, (Second Chambermaid.) COSTUMES OF THE DAT. TIME. — The present. TEE BABES IN THE WOOD ACT I. SCENE. Drawing Room in the Lodging House where Frank Rushton and Ladt Blanche have their apartments . — Furniture expensive , but in questionable taste ; windows in f. ; fireplace be - tween them ; doors , r. and l. ; 1 and 3 entrances on each side. — Peacock discovered with his back to the fire, his coat tails under his arms , reading the “ Morning Post,” his master's coat and waistcoat on the chair beside him ; hot water can on the hob ; cigar casket on the table ; bank book in the drawer ; Lady Blanche’s desk and writing case on table , r. Peacock . Dear old England ! How the British public keeps its lieye on the haristocracy ! Here we are in the fashionable intelli- gence. ( Reads .) “ Mr. and Lady Blanche Rushton arrived from the continent last week. This is the distingue young couple whose runaway match at Rome excited such a sensation in the Eternal City last winter.” Yes, the paragraph reads well : it will give them a little eclat, poor young things. Enter Trotter with a dress on her arm, l. Ali ; Mrs. Trotter, good morning ! if one may use the expression of the struggle between sun and fog that’s agoin’ on out of doors. Trotter. How different from Sorrento, Mr. Peacock, where we first made acquaintance ! Suckumstances has changed since then, as well as climates. (Sighs.) Peac. And both for the wuss, decidedly. Your missus and my master was then baskin’ in the sunshine of celibacy : now they’re a gropin’ in the fogs of married life, with Hymen’s link to show ’em the crossings, poor lost creatures I 3 4 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [ACT I Trott. To think of their marryin’ clandestieally, and upon next to nothing ! Peac. Soo-i-ci-del ! Bachelors has advantages. But ’ang a wife round a man’s neck, and good-bye to clubs, country ’ouses, the ’igh- lands, the ’unting field, and the ocean; a baby per annum is added to our incumbrances, and no corresponding increase takes place in our income. I wonder for mjr part how young men without fortun’ ever does marry. Trott. It’s my ’umble opinion it’s a flyin’ in the face of Provi- dence ; I’ve had quite enough of married service in the last six months. I’m sick of it. Peac . It’s a throwin’ ourselves away. We’ll give warning at once. Trott. This very morning if you like. Peac. And then we puts our ’osses together for life. Trott . ’Ave you thought about a profession, Mr. P. ? Peac . I’ve been consulting the directory. What do you say to a lodging ’ouse? — at the West end of course. You might pursoo the millengery on the ground floor, and I could do for the lodgers. ( Bell rings.) Trott. (goes up, l. c.). There’s my lady’s dressing bell ! ( Takes dress. — To Peacock.) I’ll give her warning this blessed minute. [Exit, r. 3 e. Enter Beetle, timidly , l. 1 e. Beet. You didn’t happen to come across such a thing as a black lead brush, Mr. Peacock, did you? Peac . I did, Mr. Beetle; nearly broke my shins across it. There; ( points to black lead brush — Beetle picks it up) I beg you won’t leave the harticle about in future — that is, if the black lead brushes is in your department. Beet. My department was originally limited to boots ; but it has been gradually extended, ’till it absorbs all the dirty work of this es- tablishment, from the cellars to the sky parlors. Peac. I hope Mrs. Beetle is pretty well this morning? Beet. I have every reason to believe so — at least, I’ve just taken her up a couple of muffins and a rasher, and she seemed to relish ’em. Peac. (to Beetle, who has been gathering up black lead brushes , dusters , hearth broom , §c.). You didn’t happen to know of a heligi- ble ’ouse to let in this neighborhood, sootable for lodgers ; at my time of life a man likes to be his own master. Beet. And, by way of being your own master, you think of taking a lodging-house? Peac. Ya-as. Beet . Then I think I know precisely the house that will suit you. Peac. Whereabouts ? Beet. At Hanwell. Inquire for the Middlesex County Lunatic Asylum — that’s the house most suitable for lodgers like you. You may as well get on the books before you begin your new business, Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 5 for you will undoubtedly be qualified for a strait waistcoat by the end of your first quarter. Peac. What the blazes do you mean? Beet. What do I mean? Look at me — when I married Mrs. B. and her business, she was the mistress of this lodging-house. It is true I had passed through several phases of a checkered existence. I had been usher in an academy — general utility man in a minor theatre — and ultimately come to grief in a coal and bottled porter agency — but what of that? If my capital was swallowed up, my energies were unimpaired. Three years of lodging-house keeping, and Mrs. B., have made me the pitiable object you see before you. Peac. I don’t understand. Beet. You soon will. Being maid-of-all- work is bad enough — but it’s a trifle to being man-of-all-work in a lodging-house. [The human constitution requires regular hours. I go to bed after the last lodger has come home, and rise at the caprice of the milkman or the sweeps. The humblest animal has its assigned place in crea- tion — I oscillate between the attics and the area in a state of per- petual motion. Digestion requires rest — my meals are caught fly- ing. The butler is master in his pantry, and the cook a despot in her kitchen — I am an intruder even in the boot hole.] The division of labor is ignored in my person — I’m a rotary knife grinder, an American washing machine, a ragged brigade shoe-black, and a London Parcels Delivery Company rolled into one. Peac. But why don’t you stand on your rights ? Beet. Because I’m crushed under my wrongs. Besides, I never could exactly discover any rights I had to stand on. Peac. 44 The rights of man,” to be sure. Did you never read Paine ? Beet. I’m familiar with pain in every other form — but you don’t know Mrs. B. Though a lovely, she’s a powerful, woman. I adore her, but I quail before her majestic presence. Peac. That accounts for the life she’s led you — woman only re- spects her master. ( Bell rings.) Beet. I hope you respect yours — for that’s his bell. Mrs. B. ( without , calling). Beetle! Beet. And that’s mine. (Calling at door.) Here, Arabella, love ! Rush. ( within , l . 3 e., ringing furiously). Peacock, you lazy rascal ! Peac. I beg your pardon, sir. Here’s your ’ot water, sir. [ Exit , l. 3 e. Beet, (hastily arranging the furniture). There’s liis hot water gone in, and here's mine a cornin’ up stairs. Enter Mrs. Beetle, l. 1 e. Mrs. B. So, Mr. B. as usual ! If my nervous headaches keep me in bed of a morning, nothing is done in this house — that I may be sure of. 6 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [ACT 1, Beet. I was just giving a finishing touch at the grates, my pre- cious ! Mrs. B. The grates ! at ten o’clock, Mr. Beetle. How comes ifc the first floor’s breakfast isn’t laid? I suppose you expect me to do that, as well as everything else in the house — with my nervous headaches of a morning too ! Beet. It was Mr. Peacock detained me in conversation, my angel. He’s thinking of marrying Mrs. Trotter, and going into our line. Mrs. B. Our line ! I didn’t know you had a line, Mr. Beetle. Beet. I mean he thinks of taking a lodging-house ; (aside) mis- guided individual! Mrs. B. Oh, indeed — set up a rival establishment next door to this, I dare say. Of course you encouraged him ! Beet. On the contrary, I warned him, if he didn’t wish to be a slave for life Mrs. B. Oh, indeed, Mr. B. ; I’m obliged to you for the compli- ment. Beet. ( embarrassed ). But, my angel, you wouldn’t have had me tell him the delightful truth! Why, we should have had half Lon- don in the business, if they knew its profits and its pleasures. (Sighing.) Mrs. B. Yes; eating, drinking, and sleeping is all you think of. You’d find it very different kind of life if you were in my place. Beet. I have no doubt I should, my sweetest. Mrs. B. But this is my reward for marry in’ below my position in life, which, though now reduced to let lodgings, was once in a very different situation. Beet. But hadn’t I better get the breakfast things. ( Crosses to l. — going.) I’m acquainted with the family history, you know. (Aside.) I ought to be, for I have it once a week all through — with occasional episodes in the intervals. [ Exit Beetle, l. 1 e. Mrs. B. (c.). That Beetle would provoke the temper of a saint. But I might have known what was in store for me, when I descended to a coal and bottle porter agency. Re-enter Peacock, l. 3 e. Peac. Ah ! good morning, Mrs. Beetle. Mrs. B. (very distantly). Good morning, sir. Peac. Sir — eh? why we’re on the high ropes this morning! Mrs. B. When parties comes behind other parties backs, a tryin to take other parties bread out of their mouths, the less hintimacy is encouraged between them and other parties the better ! Enter Trotter, r. 3 e. Which I’m sure I wish — (crossing, l.) you every success in the lodging-house line, Mr. Peacock. (Sees Mrs. Trotter.) And you Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 7 too, Mrs. Trotter. Of course, I shall be happy to mention you to trades persons in the neighborhood. Good morning, mem. [ Exit Mrs. Beetle in a stately manner , l. 1 e Trott. An impudent, audacious woman! I’ll teach her to give herself airs to me ! Peac. Never mind her vulgar insolence, my dear, she hasn’t been used to good society. Well, I’ve been and gone and done it. Trott . So have I Peac . Bray vo ! Then the sooner we gets our necks out of the collar, and our fingers into the ring, the better! Trott . Oh, Mr. Peacock, you do so flutter one ! [ Exit Trotter, l. 1 e. Enter Beetle with breakfast tray , l. 1 e. Peac. You’d better look sharp with them breakfast things, they’ll be out directly. Beet . Do lend me a hand, Mr. Peacock ! Peac. ( drawing up). I regret it ain’t in my department, Mr. Beetle, I’m a valet — not a footman. [Exit, d. l. Beet. Ah ! I should like to see him spreading that superb tail of his after six months lodging-house keeping. There, the breakfast things are all tidy — the first floors don’t want me to wait — I’ll go and get forty winks on the knife board. [Exit, l. 1 e. Enter Mr. Rushton, in his dressing gown, l. 3 e., and Lady Blanche, r. 3 e. — Lady Blanche brings out paper . Rush . The impudent rascal ! Good morning, Blanche ! Lady B. She shall go at once. My dear Frank ! ( Puts up her mouth for a kiss , which he gives her.) What's the matter, darling? You look vexed. Rush. As if one’s first week in a London lodging house wasn’t bad enough — here’s that ass Peacock — has the impertinence to give warning. ( They sit at breakfast table.) Lady B. (r.). How very provoking! Trotter has played me just the same trick. Tea, darling? Rush. Thank you. {They breakfast.) Lady B. The sooner they’re paid off the better. Rush. Certainly, certainly. By-the-by, touching the state of the funds, Blanche, I changed my last note last night. Have you any money? ( During this dialogue breakfast has been going on.) Lady B. Two or three sovereigns, I believe, and some silver. But there’s last quarter’s allowance not touched. Hadn’t you better send Peacock to Coutts’s with our checks. Enter Peacock, l. door, with letters for Rushton and Lady Blanche, on two salvers. Peac. Your letters, my lady. Yours, sir. {Puts them down.— Peacock is going.) 8 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act I Lady B. Wait a moment, if you please. Rush. (< getting his check hook f rom drawer L. and writing checks ), How much shall I draw for? Lady B. I think forty will do for the present. Rush. ( returning to breakfast table). Give me an envelope. (Peacock gets one — Rushton puts up checks and bank book.) Peac. { behind table). Beg your pardon, sir, but me and Mrs. Trotter have took the liberty to send our books ( puts down two ac- count books on table) and some bills that’s not settled. Rush. Leave them. ( Gives Peacock packet.) Take this to Coutts’s, and bring back an answer. Lady B. { going again to desk). Stop! I want our cards left at these houses. {Gives cards and list.) I thought I had better let our friends know where we are, Frank. Rush. Blessed invention, these pasteboard proxies ! [Let me see your list? ( Reads list.) Lady Loosestrife eh ! Lady B. She was Fanny Bellenden, you know, my dear, an old friend of mine. Rush. All ! Loosestrife proposed to her after you refused him. Lady B. Poor fellow ! he suffered very much when I said “ No.” Rush. Not half so much as you would have suffered had you said “ Yes.” Lady B. He has an excellent heart — Rush. And thinks it much too good a thing to be kept for his wife ~-but never mind him.] I may as well drop a card on Tom Slidell. Ijady B. Oh, Frank! that horrid gossip? Rush. He’ll help us to bring up our arrears of London small talk — if it wasn’t for Slidell I don’t know what society would do to get its secrets discreetly let out, and its scandals properly ventilated — “ The Drawing-room Times ” we used to call him at the Travellers — his information is strictly anonymous — and his circulation uni- versal. ( Gives list and cards to Peacock, who goes l. and turns.) Peac. Shall I take the brougham to leave the cards, sir? Rush. No, sir. Take a cab, if you’re too grand to walk. (Rushton and Lady B. are examining their letters.) Peac. {going aside). Leaving bis cards in an ’ack cab! He wouldn’t a done it when he was a bachelor. [ Exit Peacock, l. 1 e. Rush, {opening his letters). Here's the governor as inexorable as ever, Blanche — sends back my last letter unopened. Lady B. And here’s mine to dear papa returned too. Rush. The parental flints will melt one of these days. A fellow must have time to get over a bad character, and Lady Lazenbv’s anonymous informant seems to have given mine a double coat of the best japan. Lady B. Yes, she used to say the most dreadful things about you, dear — that if you married, you were certain to run through youi wife’s property. Scene 1.] the babes in the wood. 9 Rush. Have I ? I appeal to our two purses — you have £3 5s. left to my £1 10s. Lady B. And sure to break her heart into the bargain. Rush. Now, is your heart broke? I appeal at once to your con- science, your looking-glass, and your appetite. Lady B. I judge of the truth of all the rest by that — you’ve been the dearest, kindest, most attentive hub that ever was ; and I’m sure I’m the happiest woman ! But what are all those notes, dear? Rush. Here’s one from Harry Windfall, of the Coldstreams, ask- ing me to join the Guard Derbys drag. ( Throws it to Lady B. — opens another.) An invitation to dine with the Four-in-hand at the Trafalgar, from Charley Shatterly. ( Throws it to her — opens another.) The O’Skeeter wants me to take a cabin in his yacht to run down the French coast, and smuggle a few cases of claret. ( Throws it to hei opens another , and throws it aside.) An invite for his Caithness-shire moors from Kildearie of Kildearie, and a card for some ratting sports at Jemmy Shaw’s. Lady B. But what do you mean to do? You can’t accept all of them ! ( Looking at her letters.) Rush. Accept none of ’em to be sure! I mean to stay at home with you, Blanche, to prove myself a model husband, and my step- mother-in-law a horrid old backbiter ! Lady B. That’s a darling! What can there be in this envelope? ' Weighing a small parcel, neatly sealed up.) I know the hand — y >s, I’m sure it is yours, Frank. Don’t deny it. Oh, what a de- lightful surprise — what can it be? A locket — no; {feeling) it’s long and broad at one end. It’s a brooch — yes, I’m certain it’s a brooch Rush. u Open your note, and shut your mouth, and see what Hub has sent you ! ” ( She opens the note and takes out a latch key.) Lady B. A common latch-key ! ( Disappointedly .) Rush. A common latch-key ! ( Reproachfully .) When a general enters a conquered town, the corporation bring him the keys on a cushion. I lay my latch-key at your feet in humble surrender of the liberties of bachelorhood ! Lady B, And your cigars ? Rush. Look, both empty. ( Opens cigar casket , and turns cigar case upside down.) Lady B. And your horses ? Rush. I’ve done for them what they’ve often done for me — sold them with their engagements. Lady B. And your bills ? You remember your promise? Rush. Never to draw or accept another as long as I lived. Ah, Blanche, you may boast of that. Like Great Britain after the war, I forswear the facilities of paper, and resume cash payments. Lady B. Yes, with your £400 a-year and my three, I’m sure we shall get on beautifully. I’ve arranged our expenses so nicely, dear! ( Takes out a little mother-of-pearl memorandum book.) There’s a hundred for our lodgings — and a hundred for your man and my THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 10 [Act L maid, at board wages — and a hundred for my toilette — and a hun- dred for your tailor — and Rush, Stop, that’s four Lady B, Which leaves us three for our eating and drinking — you know they cost a mere nothing — and our sundries Rush. Sundries? What do you mean by sundries? Lady B. Oh, such trifles as lace and trinkets, and knick-knacks, and visiting and charity, and books, and stalls at the theatres and the opera, and sketching things, and a piano, and music — {she pauses for breath.) Rush. And my club subscriptions — and fishing tackle, and shoot- ing traps, and a brougham in the season — a mild sweep occasionally — and the tennis court — and Pratt’s — and Lord’s — and a drag now and then — and hats, and boots, and gloves — and Eau de Cologne — and walking sticks — and a run on the Continent. I say, Blanche, I’m afraid our miscellaneous estimates will be rather high. Lady B. But you know, dear, these are all things one must have. Rush. I don’t dispute the necessity of having ’em, I was only thinking of the possibility of paying for ’em ; I’m afraid they won’t leave much for eating and drinking. Lady B. I have been consulting Mrs. Beetle about that; she says a fowl costs 3s. 6d., and 365 three and sixpences only come to £63 17s. 6d. Rush. But we can’t live on roast fowls all the year round. I pro- pose we suppress the eating and drinking altogether, and like Napoleon’s army, quarter ourselves upon the enemy — I mean our friends’ country houses. Lady B. Well, we can do that for six months in the year. Oh, I’m sure we shall get on famously. I mean to be so economical. ( They rise.) Rush . So do I ; we’ll always pay ready money, and accumulate the discount at a sinking fund. Lady B. Of course I can’t manage without a maid. Rush . Out of the question, and I must have a valet. Enter Mrs. Beetle with a paper , l. Mrs. B . Good morning, my lady ! — good morning, sir. Hoping you slept well, and find things comfortable? {Putting paper on the table.) Rush. All right, Mrs. Beetle ! What’s this? Mrs. B. It’s your week’s bill, sir, which my lady desired to have it reg’lar. Rush. Quite right, Mrs. Beetle, we are eminently ready-money people! Leave it! Lady Blanche is dismissing her maid — and I’m getting rid of my man ; — ’till we can replace them, I suppose, you and your husband can wait on us? Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOIK n Mrs. B. Which I ’ave not been used to anything menial myself, far from it — but to oblige my lady, Mr. Kushton Rush. Thank you ! — and your husband? Mrs. B. He is a-comin’ to remove the breakfast things. You can ask him, sir ! I never presume to answer for Mr. B., especially when its anything that will give him work to do. [Exit Mrs. Beetle, l. d. Enter Mr. Beetle, l. d. — comes to c. of breakfast table. Beet. If you please sir, that is my lady, I think you must have dropped this last night. ( Gives ring to Lady B.) Lady B. My diamond ring ! How very careless of me ! Where did you find it? Beet. As I was tidying — that is — as I was overlooking the housemaid tidying this room this morning. My lady, a gentleman below wishes to see you. ( Gives card to Lady B.) Lady B. Sir George Loosestrife. Rush. We are not at home ! Beet. But Mrs. B. said you was! Rush . You tell him we’re not! Beet, (aside, going). Easy for him! He doesn’t reflect I shall have to contradict Mrs. B. [ Exit Beetle, l. 1 e. Rush. Our coleopterous friend don’t look like a valet, does he, Blanche? (An altercation heard without .) Mrs. B. When I said — Beet. But I — Mrs. B. What right — Rush. Holloa! ( Goes to door , l., and listens.) Lady B. What a dreadful noise ! Rush . It’s the hum of the female Beetle ; poor devil, he’s in for it! Re-enter Beetle with tray , l. — agitated. Well, wouldn’t he take your answer! Beet. Oh, he took it quietly enough, sir; I wish I could say the same for Mrs. B. I hope, sir, you’ll satisfy her it was you con- tradicted her, and not me. She’ll take it from the first floors. Rush, (to Blanche). He seems broken into harness already. (In removing breakfast things — Beetle going to l. — stumbles.) Mind, or you'll have a smash. Beet. It’s all Mrs. B. I have told her repeatedly if she will chivy me in this way, I can’t answer for the crockery. Rush. My man has given me warning. Will you take his place for a day or two ? I don’t want much waiting on. You’ll only have my clothes to brush — and my boots to polish — and to dress me — and to wait when we are at home — and to run errands — and sit up iot us — and make yourself generally useful Beet, (aside). What a blessed prospect ! Rush. You can hire a boy to do your work in the house. U. OF ILL. Lta 12 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act I. Beet . Hire a boy to do my work ! You’d better say hire a steam- engine — that’s the only tiling to be compared to me. It’s made of cast-iron — is considered equal to an indefinite number of horses — and is always liable to be blown up. Rush. But your wife says you’re afraid of work ! Beet. Merciful ’Eavens ! Ask her to show you my schedule of duties ! Why there’s the same difference between Mr. Peacock and me as there is between one of the Queen’s state coach horses and a costermonger’s donkey ! Take me for your servant — if you can, sir, do — and I shall bless the exchange with every bone in this ema- ciated body. The mere prospect has steadied my nerves already. There’s no fear of the crockery now ! [Exit triumphantly with tray , l. Rush . Now he ought to be dried and put into the British Museum, labelled “ scarcebeus connubialis — awful warning to young men about to marry.” Lady B. Is it possible there can be such wives, Frank? Rush. My darling, wives are all tyrants — only some teach us our paces with spurs, and some with sugar plums. Lady B. Will you have a sugar plum? ( Putting up her mouth.) Rush. Won’t I. {Kisses her.) Enter Peacock, l. Peac . From Coutts’s. ( Lays down envelope.) I’ve delivered the cards, sir; any further horders, sir? Rush. Not at present — you may go. ( He opens the envelope , and gives a note from it to Lady Blanche.) Peac. {aside). Something up at the bank — a deal o’ whisperin’ among the clerks, and no money ! I’ll give Mrs. Trotter the hoffice. [ Exit Peacock, l. d. Rush . {aside, after reading letters). By Jove! here’s a let down. Jjady B. {aside). Oh, this is too cruel of Lady Lazenby ! Rush . I’m afraid, Blanche, I must trespass upon the proceeds of your check Lady B. My check — I was just going to draw on yours. Rush. The fact is, my love, it's extremely annoying — but I find that the governor has stopped the supplies ! Lady B. No — really! and Coutts writes that there will be no quarterly payment to my credit for the future ! Rush. The deuce there won’t! Then we’re regularly in the hole. Lady B. But seriously, Frank, you don’t mean that we are both to be left without money ? {Rises.) I don’t mean short, you know, but absolutely penniless. Rush. Within £4 15s. of utter destitution — — Lady B. Oh, dear — what is to be done? Rush. We must fall back on your £3 5s. and my £1 10s. Lady B. And when that’s spent, where are we to go for more? Rush. I haven’t the most distant idea. There are the usual three courses open — but begging is ungentlemanly, borrowing is difficult THE BABES IN THE WOOD. Scene 1.] 13 and stealing is felonious. Ah, Blanche — Blanche, if it hadn’t been for that rash vow you exacted of me, I should only have had to write my name across a stamp, and we should have been all right again — it is in such moments as these one feels the real grandeur of the ac- commodation bill system ! Lady B. (r.). But Franky, dear, if you had written your name across a stamp — whatever that may be — at the end of three months we should be where we are now, with the amount of the bill to pay besides. Rush. You women will insist on looking so far ahead; it’s a vile habit, quite fatal to all enterprise. I suppose I must find some means of making money — even if I face the horrible alternative of working for it. Lady B. Yes, with your talents, dear, it can’t be difficult — there are all those Government places, you know. I’m sure the papers are always complaining they’re all given away to young men of good family in reduced circumstances. Suppose you were to apply for one of them ? Rush. I’m afraid however diligent Government may be in making places, the number of reduced young men of good family will always keep ahead of them. But I know what I’ll do ! Lady B. Eh? Rush. I’ll go to Tommy Slidell, he has the entree to every back- stairs in London — and backstairs were built for people in my pre- dicament. Bye, bye, keep up your spirits ! Mind if you crane, I can’t make running. Lady B. I’ll be as brave as a lion ! I don’t care how poor we are so long as we love each other — I’m quite ready to live on bread and cheese ( kisses him ) and that, dear ! Rush. Yes, but this ( kisses her ) won’t do much without the bread and cheese — the point is to secure them — and talking of cheese, darling, that was a horrid conglomerate we had at dinner yesterday. If you do turn housekeeper I hope you’ll develop a capacity for cheese-tasting — cheese is a weakness of mine. Lady B. Oh! I’m so glad to know ! — because I mean to begin poor man’s wife this very day. While you’re out, I’ll put on. my bonnet, and go and buy to-day’s dinner, and I mustn’t forget the cheese. Rush. Going to market yourself, — in St. James’ too ! By Jove, that is rather strong though — fancy Lady Blanche Rushton, daughter of the Earl of Lazenby, hugging her own market basket past the bay-window of White’s. Lady B. Oh ! I can have a cab you know. But to-day’s dinner I will buy — now don’t say I mustn’t, Frank. Rush. Well, I hope you won’t insist on cooking it too. Lady B. No, no ! I’ll be content with buying at first — it will be such fun — I’ll make Mrs. Beetle tell me all about the places to go to, and the prices to pay, and the things in season. There now, you just run away to Slidell, and do let me get about my business. Rush. ( taking her affectionately by the chin). You dear little 14 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. LAct I housewife ! I’m half inclined to stay and go to market with you — but this is just about Tommy’s morning gossip time at the Travel- lers’ — I shall be sure to find him in full whisper! — so bye, bye, darling, and success to your first marketing. [Exit Rushton, d. l. u. e. Lady B. Bless him ! It would be a shame to discourage him — but it’s very dreadful — only £3 5s. in my pocket, and I’ve not the least notion how long I ought to make it last. Enter Mrs. Trotter, l. d. Trott. Oh ! If you please, my lady, here’s the milliner’s bill for the things you had, and the shoemaker’s, and the plumassier’s, and you was good enough to say you would settle my book. Lady B . ( embarrassed ). Oh! Mr. Rushton has gone out, Trot- ter - — when lie comes in — Trott . You see, my lady, I thought as Mr. Peacock had been to the bank — Lady B. I am sorry to put you out of the way, Trotter — but really, at this moment — (embarrassed.) Trott. Oh, my lady, if parties can’t pay, of course they can’t — but really after packin’ up, and orderin’ a cab, it’s ill- convenient to be kep’ out of one’s money — I’ve been kep’ out of it a good while already, my lady. Lady B. (aside). This is dreadful! That will do! (Firmly.) Leave the room, Trotter! — Stay, fetch me my bonnet and cloak, and send Mrs. Beetle! Trott . Well, I’m sure — all this difficulty about a paltry £15. [Exit Trotter, mutteriyig saucily , l. d. Lady B. (rises). Oh, this comes of being poor. It’s the first time that woman ever dared to be impertinent to me — I must and will pay her, and all these bills too. But where am I to get the means ? (Her eye falls on her diamond ring on the table.) Ah! this ring — it was papa’s present ! it’s worth a great deal of money, I dare say. Why shouldn’t we sell it? I’ve no business with diamonds now! and yet to part with dear papa’s present? Enter Mrs. Beetle, l. 1 e. Oh, Mrs. Beetle, will you be good enough to give me the names of the tradesmen you deal with — I’m going to market myself. Mrs. B. Bless me, my lady ! Take all that worry — to say nothink of demeanin’ yourself. Lady B. Oh, but I like it, Mrs. B. — it’s pleasant to feel one can take any trouble off one’s husband’s hands. Mrs. B. Perhaps it may be with husbands that take any trouble off yours — but that remark don’t apply to my Mr. B. I’ll have a list of tradespeople made out against you come down stairs, my lady. (Returns.) And if you’d have the kindness to say I recom- mended ’em. Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 16 Lady B. I shan’t forget. Oh, and could you tell me of a respecta- ble jeweller in the neighborhood? Mrs. B. A jeweller? If I might presume the inquiry, was you a goin’ to buy any hornaments, my lady ? Lady B. {embarrassed') . Perhaps — very probably — one is never sure, you know — one may take a fancy to something. Mrs. B. Then if I might make bold, my lady, I would advise you not to go to a jeweller’s — they ask such prices. There’s two or three most respectable pawnbrokers close at hand — Screwby’s, King Street, has a very high connection. They have often the pret- tiest things for sale there. (Confidentially .) Things that have been put up the spout you know, my lady, and never took down again. Lady B. Up the spout? I don’t understand you. [Mrs. B. Which how should you? But great people often wants ready money — Lady B. I can imagine that easily enough, Mrs. Beetle. Mrs. B. Then the first place they goes is to my uncle’s — Lady B. Your uncle’s?] Mrs. B. At the sign of the “ Three Balls,” my lady, the pawn- broker’s I mean — [and for one that takes their things out, there’s ten leaves ’em in — and they’re sold at the year’s end] — bargains that’s enough to make your mouth water. Lady B. But do you mean to say that these ladies pledge their things publicly, and in their own names ? Mrs. B. Oh, bless you! No, my lady! There’s every accom- modation for the harristocracy — private doors — close boxes — young men that can hold their tongues — then they uses other peo- ple’s names, you know ! Lady B. This is all quite new to me, Mrs. Beetle — I’m so much obliged to you ! Mrs. B. I’m sure, my lady, you’re always welcome to hany in- formation I can give — which it’s not much you’re likely to get in this ’ouse from anybody but me — that I must and will say ! [Exit Mrs. Beetle, l. 1 e. Lady B. How little she knew of the value of her hints ! I might pawn this ring, and redeem it when we get some money ! Frank would never know! I wonder if I should have the courage? There’s a private entrance she said — and they must be used to in- experience and awkwardness — yes! I must pay Trotter — I’ll put my feelings in my empty pockets — I’ll go to that — what did she call it? — “ Spout,” in King Street. [ Exit Lady Blanche, r. Enter Beetle, l. d., in black coat and trousers and white cravat. Beet. ( looking at himself). Yes! I hope I do look quite the gentleman’s gentleman, though Mrs. Beetle did call me a “ black beetle,” as I came up stairs. I mightn’t have been so proud of the place once; but then I hadn’t been a man of all work in a lodging house — objects vary from the pints of view. If Mrs. B. would only let me go into service right out and sell off the ’ouse — it don’t paj te THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act 1. 60 very well ! Why at this moment there’s a “ bill of sale ” and a promissory note hanging over our heads — that is, over mine, for of course she’s safe as a married woman — for advances made by that bloodsucking old Towzer Todd, in Bury Street — from here I can see his house ( looking out ) — where I’ve paid 30 per cent, for Mrs. B.’s accommodation, often and often! Enter Lord Lazenby cautiously , l., not seeing Beetle at the window .* Holloa! who have we here ? (Beetle^. retires a little more behind the curtains.') Lord L. ( advances to writing table , arid looks about for envelope ). Beet, {aside). One of them lodging-house sneaks, that walk in on false pretences, to bolt with whatever they can lay their hands on. Lord L. {picking up an old envelope from table , r.). This will do. {Puts note into it.) There, now to deposit it safely. Beet, {advancing and seizing him by the collar). No, you don’t, you old vagabond ! Lord L. {struggling and angry). Vagabond! What do you mean, you scoundrel? Beet. I mean, scoundrel — you vagabond ! I’m up to your sneaks ! Lord L. Sneaks, sir ! How dare you Beet. How dare you — drop it. {Takes the envelope from his hand , and opens it — taking out the note.) There, I thought so — walking off with a £50 note ! Lord L. Nonsense, sir — I put that note into the envelope Beet. A very likely story! You look as if you was in the habit of walking about droppin’ £50 notes in old envelopes. Lord L. I tell you the money is a gift — a payment by me to Lady Blanche Rushton. Beet. That’s all very well — but here you stay till Lady Blanche Rushton, or her husband, comes to identify you. Lord L. No — no, I assure you, my good man Beet . How dare you call me a man. Say sir, if you please, when you’re addressing the master of the house ! Lord L. I assure you, sir, that this money is mine. I would place this note willingly in your hands to hand over to Lady Blanche, only it’s most important she should not know where it comes from. Beet. Oh, of course, she’d be very much hurt. [Parties always are hurt to find other parties puttin’ £50 notes in their pockets.] But it won’t do — I’ll give you your choice, to remain in custody ’till they come back in the coal-hole Lord L. Gracious Powers ! in the coal-hole ! Beet. Or to be handed over to a policeman, and take your chance at Marlborough Street to-morrow morning. Lord L. Figure in the police reports ! What would my lady say? Egad, the coal-hole would be better than that. I assure you, sir, J am a gentleman — upon my honor Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 17 Beet. Your honor! Lord L. Will this satisfy you — I am not what you take me for? ( Holds up a $5 note.') Beet. A fiver ! ( looking , as Lord L. opens note case) and a good many more where that came from! {Takes note.) Well, sir, you looked like a gentleman, and now that you’ve acted like a gentle- man, I’m quite satisfied. ( Gives back envelope.) Lord L. But you’ll not mention to Lady Blanche who left the money ? Beet . How can I, when I don’t know you from Adam? Lord L. That’s true — eh ! and how is she ? Beet. Pretty well, thank you. Lord L. But I want to hear all about her — how she’s looking — what she’s doing — whether she’s happy — that is, whether she’s sorry for her disobedience, poor darling? Does she talk much about me ! (j Eagerly.) Beet. Not knowing who you are, how can I say. Lord L. Very true, very true — the fact is I’m Lady Blanche’s father, the Earl of Lazenby. Beet. Oh, indeed, my lord — will your lordship take a chair? Lord L. Thank you. I may tell you in confidence, you under- stand, that though I can’t countenance my poor child publicly after her maniage, in the teeth of Lady Lazenby’s — that is, of my wishes — I naturally feel anxious — in short, as a father — ( em- barrassed — then breaking out) D — n it, sir, the girl was the apple of my eye — the darling of my old age — and my lady won’t let me forgive her, and take her to my heart again. Beet . Then I’d see my lady bl ! No ! I know what they are, when they’ve got the wliip-hand over a man — I feel for you, my lord. Lord L. That’s very kind. of you, sir, very kind — you’ll not men- tion this visit of mine to Blanche, it would be sure to come round to my lady’s ears — everything does come to her ears, somehow — she’s a most superior woman ! Egad ! she’d lead me such a life if she ever heard I’d been here. Beet. I know what it is, bless you ! night and day, day and night, knag, knag, knag! it would breakdown a St. Pancras guardian — and that’s the hardest sort I know. I’ll keep your secret, my lord. Lord L . Do, do ! that’s a good soul ! — and you’ll let me come round now and then on my way to the Club, and give me the news of her — and, I say, if you could put me in some snug hiding-place — ha, ha ! — where I could see her — only now and then, you know — it would be such a comfort to me ! I loved her so well, sir, and she loved me — and at seventy-two it’s very hard to lose anything that loves one ! Beet. Bless you, my lord! you’re welcome to the use of my boothole, on the stairs, every day in the week — and as long as you like ! Lord L. You’re very kind! meanwhile you’ll watch and let me know how she’s going on ! — Eh ! {gives him another £5 note) and 2 18 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act I. you’ll not breathe a word to anyone of my having been here. But stop ! she must know the note is for her. I’ll write ! ( about to write in envelope) I’ll disguise my hand! ( writes — reading) “For Blanche.” There ! now I’ll put the envelope with the money in here — ( opens writing-case and deposits envelope with note) — she’ll find it the first letter she writes. Ah! (kisses her writing-case) \ gave it to her, poor darling ! And here’s my likeness (takes up a miniature case) put just where she sits — and to think I’ve sent back her dear, coaxing letters unopened. Bless her! Bless her! (Cries silently.) Oh, my lady ! my lady! — you have a great deal to an- swer for. (Takes his hat.) [ Exit , d. l. 1 e. Beet. Dash’d if I couldn’t cry ! Poor old boy ! And this is what the women can bring us all to, if they set about it ! But I’ll keep him up to everything that goes on here — I’m bound to do it by com- mon humanity — to say nothing of these two fi-pun notes ! (Looks at them.) Bless their nice clean faces! — I’ve not had so much money of my own since I was married. Enter Todd, l. d. Todd {sitting down). Good morning, Mr. Beetle! ( Very unc - tuously.) Beet, (anxiously). Mr. Todd — there ain’t anything due is there? Todd. Oh, dear, no ! To be sure there’s that bill of sale, and the collateral security, your promissory note — I’ve had judgment entered on it, merely by way of precaution you know. So long as you pay the interest — I’m not the man to give you any trouble. No! My visit is to your lodger, Mr. Rushton — lie’s an old cus- tomer of mine. Beet, (aside). Then we’d better look sharp after the weekly bills. He’s in his dressing room. (Goes hurriedly to l. d.) Enter Rushton, d. l. 1 e. down c. Mr. Todd, sir ! (Aside.) And I wish you well out of it, that I do. [ Exit Beetle, l. d. Rush. Well, Towzer, here I am again in Old England, you see ! Todd. Yes, sir! with a wife, sir, I hear, and a fortune I hope ~ I don’t know anybody likely to make a better use of his money. Rush. Oh ! as I’ve flung one fortune to the dogs — in the shape of Towzer Todd, Crockey Davis & Co. — you fancy I’m likely to send the next 1 get the same way — but you’re out there, Towzer, my old boy ! Todd. Ah ! you will have your joke, Mr. Rushton — I believe you would have your joke if you’d a large bill just due, and not a farthing to meet it. (Taking out his bill book.) Rush. I wish you would keep that infernal case of instruments of yours out of sight, Towzer. Todd. My memorandum book, eh? It’s very much wanted in our line, sir — you know gentlemen are so very unpunctual. Now THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 19 Scene 1.] I dare say, if I hadn’t called to remind you, you’d have forgotten that bill of yours for £150, nearly a week overdue. Rush. The devil! it was one of Easington’s, wasn’t it? Todd. Exactly — accepted by you six months ago. In course 1 had judgment entered upon it by way of precaution, you know. Here it is Rush. ( taking the bill — aside). Confound it! I’ll tell you what, Towzer, you must hold it over for a few days. Todd. What, without renewing! I couldn’t do it, Mr. Rushton — it’s against principles — quite against principles. Rush. But it’s in favor of interest, for I’ll give you 12 per cent, for the accommodation — 20 — 30 — D — n it, how much do you want ? Todd. Give me another bill for £200 at three months, and I’ll cancel this one. Rush. No, I can’t do that — the fact is, Towzer, I’ve promised my wife never to draw or accept another bill as long as I live. I can’t meet, and I won’t renew, so you must hold over — you can’t help yourself. Todd. There’s your body, you know, Mr. Rushton — Rush . Don’t talk like a cannibal — what use is my body to you? Todd. Well, I always liked you very much, Mr. Rushton — you know I did. I’ll tell you what I’ll do — I don’t mind holding over, but you must do me a little favor for it Rush. Anything I can, Towzer. Todd. You’ll be first in the first flight again, sir, now you’ve come back — all the younguns at Pratt’s, and the Guards, and the Portland, and the Corner will be following your lead, as they used to do before you went abroad. Now, if any of ’em should want ac- commodation — young’uns with expectations I mean [which young men will want it you know, Mr. Rushton — whatever their expecta- tions] and you’ll just recommend ’em to old Todd, I’ll allow you a nice little commission on any business you introduce to me. Rush. Bribe me to become your decoy duck, you impudent; old rascal ! I’ve a deuced good mind Todd. Keep your temper, Mr. Rushton — keep your temper. I’m an easy man — but when I’m once up, I’m bad to smooth down again. Remember there’s this bill. Rush. Hang you and your bill too, sir — leave the room, sir. Todd. There — there, I’m going — you’ve used quite enough bad language — quite enough — and to a man old enough to be your father — you ought to be ashamed of yourself. But you’ll repent it, sir — you’ll repent it. Rush. There’s one thing I won’t repent, and that is giving you the most infernal shaking ! (Rushton rushes at him — Todd bolts , l. d., nearly upsetting Beetle, who is just coming in.) Beet, {remonstrating). Mr. Todd, I wish you’d mind my toes.* {To Rushton.) Mr. Slidell, sir. Rush. Show him up. 20 THE BABES IN THE WOO!>. [Act I Beet, {aside). I’m clearly not wanted to show old Todd down. [ Exit Beetle, l. Rush. The old scoundrel ! By George ! I can’t get over it. This comes of being hard up. ( Walks up and down.) Enter Slidell, l. 1 e. Ah ! Tommy Slid, (in a very mellifluous voice). My dear Frank, delighted to welcome you home again ! Congratulate you on your marriage — you know I’m all in favor of these permanent arrangements — so re- spectable and comfortable. I found your card for me at the Travel- lers. George Gascoyne told me you wanted to see me. I’ve thrown over Lady Hautboy’s blue breakfast, besides an appointment with Lord Tapington at the Foreign Office. Rush. That’s a good fellow — now sit down, Tommy, and I’ll open my budget. Slid, {sitting). That reminds me, I’ve an idea for the Chancellor of the Exchequer about those spirit duties. {Makes a note on his silver-mounted tablets.) Never mind, Franky ! The fact is, I’ve so many ideas I’m obliged to hit them flying in this way. But now, my dear fellow, I’m all attention. How very well you’re looking — but rather thin and harassed, eh? Rush. (l.). The fact is, Tommy, we’re infernally hard up! Slid. (r.). Ah! I knew the General had stopped your allowance. He held me by the button yesterday on the steps of Whites’ for a quarter of an hour without a check, abusing you all the time in the most confidential manner. I suppose poor dear Lazenby bleeds for two? Rush. Lord Lazenby has stopped Blanche’s allowance also. Slid. Ah ! that’s my lady’s doing — a remarkable clever woman Lady Lazenby, and deucedly agreeable when she likes — she leads poor dear Lazenby a devil of a life. A most amiable man Lazenby — pity lie’s such a fool. Rush. Well, what between her and the governor, Blanche and I are left fairly aground. I want you to help me to a berth. Slid. [Ah ! now if you’d only been here a month sooner, there •was that private secretaryship to the first lord of the hamper ; but Fitzluke has got that — entre nous, he may thank me for it.] {Con- templatively.) What a pity it is you weren’t ruined. two years ago. Rush. Much obliged to you I’m sure — I think it has come quite soon enough. Slid,. I mean before the system of civil service examination was introduced. Rush. Oh, I suppose one could cram up for the examination in a few days. Can you give me an idea of the sort of thing that’s ex- pected ? Slid. Oh, dear, yes ! Can you throw off a synopsis of the Anglo Saxon chronicle; calculate the parallax of a fixed star; describe the internal anatomy of a spider ; or extemporize an essay on the rise Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 21 and progress of the Ottoman empire, from the flight of Mahomet to the massacre of the Janissaries? Rush . What the devil are you talking about, Tommy? Slid. Because that’s the sort of thing expected nowadays from . candidates for a civil service stool at £ l J0 a year, to say nothing of reading, writing, and the first four rules of arithmetic. Rush. Oh, hang it ! they would settle me ; but you don’t mean to say they put private secretaries through this style of paces ? Slid. Of course not! but there’s such a rush to the back stairs since the Civil Service Commissioners set up their pike at the front ones, that your hair may be gray before it comes to your turn. Rush. How about a Colonial appointment? Slid. That occurred to me when I heard you were hard up, and I spoke to my friend the Secretary for the Colonies, but I’m afraid there’s no chance — unfortunately the Colonial Office people have adopted the preposterous practice of giving away all their good things in the service, instead of out of it. Rush. Confound it ! what’s the use of a fellow having a family to his back in these levelling days. Slid. Just what I was saying to Tapington only the other day — but he lives and moves in terror of the “ Times.” He declares he never has a night’s rest ’till a job’s a year old at least; they’re too stale then for working up into leading articles. Rush. I suppose Parliament’s out of the question ? Slid. My dear fellow, there are only two roads to the House now- adays, spouting or spending; you can do neither. Rush. In short, it’s a very fishy lookout for me altogether. Slid. Yes! the public purse is not the resource it used to be — unless you could make yourself devilish disagreeable, then you might be worth buying up. Rush. I’m afraid I haven’t any of your abilities in that line, Tommy. Slid. My dear Pranky, don't run away with that vulgar error. I owe my position entirely to my good nature. Rush. Yes, you’re the d — d good-natured friend who repeats all the d — d ill-natured things. Slid. It’s a painful task to open people’s eyes, and gets one a great deal of ill-will — but then one’s sustained by one’s sense of duty. Rush. Well! I’ll make a last appeal to the governor. Ring the bell, there’s a good fellow. (Slidell rings — Rushton goes to writing tabic , l.) If that fails there’s always turning stud-groom, or driving a ’bus. ( Writes.') Slid. Or Australia. Sidney Plantagenet made a very good thing of it out there, by landing passengers from the emigrant ships. Rush. A Plantagenet turn waterman ! Slid. Yes, he used to charge a guinea for the sensation of being rowed ashore by a lord — and they paid it ! 22 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act I Enter Peacock, l. Rush . Oh! I thought you were gone, sir? Peac. I’ve been ready this half-hour, sir. But there’s my book to settle, sir. Rush . Oh ! — all ! your book, eh ? Peac. Yes, and Mrs. Trotter’s — Rush. ( aside ). Confound it! where are Blanche’s envelopes? ( Finds envelope containing £50 note.) Here’s one — no, it’s been used. ( Finds note — aside.) A £50 note ! and addressed to Blanche ! She told me she had no money. Is Lady Blanche at home ? Peac. No, sir, my lady went out, and has not returned. Rush. Well, it comes apropos w T herever it comes from. ( To Pea- cock.) Take that. ( Gives him the £50 note.) Pay yourself, and bring me back the change. ( Examines envelope .) Peac. Thank you, sir. {Takes note and booh — aside.) I didn’t think he could ha’ managed it. [ Exit Peacock, l. 3 e. Rush. Do you know whose hand this is ? {Shows envelope.) Slid, {looking at it). George Loosestrife’s. Rush. Loosestrife’s ? Slid, {looking at it again). Yes, a remarkable pretty billet-doux hand — easy, elegant, and insinuating. Here’s something inside. {Reads.) “For Blanche ” — uncommonly easy. Rush, {snatching envelope). “ For Blanche!” {Aside.) Loose- strife sending money to my wife by her Christian name — impossi- ble ! Are you sure about the hand? Slid. Certain ; an excellent specimen — may I have it to add to my portfolio of autographs ? I’ve all the loose fish of London but George. Rush. No; as Blanche hasn’t destroyed it, she may set some value upon it. Slid. Oh ! I dare say — George’s letters are valued by the women. {Aside.) There’s a mystery in that envelope. Rush. Good bye. ( Walking up and down.) Slid. Bye — bye. I’ll see what we can do for you in the Colonies. Rush. That’s a good fellow. Blanche is full of pluck, and I’m game to roast, freeze, or fry ! Slid. So I see. {Aside.) He’s on the gridiron already. Enter Peacock with letter , l. Peac. For Mr. Slidell, sir. — On her Majesty’s service. [ Exit , l. Slid, {opens letter). Oh, from the Colonial Office. {Reads.) Rush. Loosestrife dare to send Blanche money, after refusing him as she did ! Blanche never could have applied to him. No, no ! I won’t believe it. She’ll be able to clear the mystery up at once. Slid. Well, Franky, I’m in luck; my friend the secretary has promised you the only gentleihanly berth now at his disposal. Rush. Hurrah ! Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 2 1 Enter Blanche, r. ; she starts back at sight of Slidell. Rush . Ah, Blanche, just in the nick of time, darling. You know Mr. Slidell? {She bows.) Such good news! Slid. I’m delighted, Lady Blanche; I have just received the tid- ings of Frank’s promotion. Lady B. His promotion? Oh, Mr. Slidell! Slid: I’ve got him the refusal of a place. Nothing short of my interest could have done it. Lady B. I’m so thankful; and what place is it? Slid. The treasurership of Sierra Leone. Lady B. {aghast). Sierra Leone ! Slid. You’re in luck. The secretary writes me that the news of the last treasurer’s death arrived this mail. He’s the third in the last eighteen months ; so promotion must be rapid. Lady B. Rather too rapid for our humble ambition. I hope Frank has no wish to step into dead men’s shoes, or to transfer his old ones to his successor, instead of his valet. Rush. You shall decide. Lady B. Mr. Slidell is very kind ; but you have an incumbrance now in the shape of a wife, who cares a little for her own life, and a great deal for her husband’s. Slid. But consider, when I’ve exerted my influence. Lady B . He takes, with thanks, what your influence has procured him. Slid . The place ? Lady B. The refusal of it. We’ll meet our fate in Old England. I promise you, Frank, however hard that fate may be, you won’t hear a murmur from your wife. Slid. Utopian! [ Tableau . END OF ACT I. ACT II. SCENE. Same as First Act — newspaper on table . Enter Peacock, l. 1 e. Peac. ( putting receipts on table, c.). There’s the receipts! ] wonder where the money comes from — but that ain’t my business — my lady I Enter Lady Blanche, r. u. e. Lady B . Mr. Rushton returned, Peacock? *4 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act II. Peac. No, my lady. Lady B. Send Trotter here ! [Exit Peacock, l. I’m glad Frank’s gone. I want a little time to compose myself. I’ve been to that spout place — they advanced me fifty pounds on the ring at once. How frightened and guilty I did feeU I used Mrs. Beetle’s name. Where’s that ticket they gave me — Eh? I put it in my glove — No! ( searches ) or my portemonnaie — No! Dear mo I must have dropped it! No wonder — I was so flurried! I’m certain I was watched by a gentleman — I dursn't look at him — but I felt he was dogging me all the time. But nobody could recognize me through my veil, and in that heavy travelling shawl. Enter Trotter, l. 1 e. Oh, Trotter ! I’ll settle your book at once. Trott. Here it is, ma’am — fifteen pounds ! (Lady Blanche 'pays her.) Thank you, my lady; and these bills, twenty-five pounds more ! Lady B. There is the money — Mr. Rushton will see Peacock about his book. Trott. Oh ! Mr. Rushton settled with Peacock just now. Lady B. { surprised ). Mr. Rushton! Are you quite sure? Trott. Quite sure, my lady ! which Mr. Peacock got change for the fifty pound note Mr. Rushton gave him, at the butcher’s round the corner, not ten minutes since. Good morning, my lady. [Exit, l. Ijady B. Why, Peacock’s book was twenty-five pounds — Frank in possession of all this money! He told me he had only £1 10s. this morning! Oh, he must have been drawing one of those dread- ful bills! No, no! he gave me iiis word of honor he wouldn’t. I dare say he’ll explain everything when we meet. What a silly crea- ture I am, to think he would hide anything from me. Enter Rushton, l. u. e. Ah, Frank! I’ve had such a successful marketing, dear! I’ve or- dered such a delicious little dinner, and I’ve bought the cheese — they’re to send the bill in with it. Rush. Well, Blanche, you can afford to make large investments, now you’re rich. Lady B. Rich, dear! 1 told you I had only £3 5s., and now ever so much of that is gone. Rush. But that was at breakfast. I was referring to the money you have received since. Lady B. {aside). Can he know about the ring? {Embarrassed.) What money, darling? Rush . {aside). She colors. Come, Blanche dear, we agreed this morning that we should have no secrets, you know. Lady B. Yes, and you’ve got a secret to tell me, haven’t you? Rush . No! Scene 1.] the babes in the wood. 25 Lady B. No? mind, I know all about it. Rush. Then it’s not much of a secret. Lady B. You won’t tell me where you got that money to pay Peacock? Rush. When you’ve told me your secret, Blanche. Lady B. { embarrassed ). My secret! Rush . How you came by that fifty pounds. Lady B. Fifty pounds ! what, do you mean to say you know of my receiving fifty pounds? Rush. Yes! Lady B. Oh, Frank! {Aside.) It must have been he who dogged me. .To be suspected, watched, — my own husband to play the spy on me. Rush. I neither suspected, nor watched, nor played the spy; I made the painful discovery by accident. Ijady B. Accident ! Oh, Frank 1 I thought you had more con- fidence in me ! Rush. And I never suspected to see you stoop to such humilia- tion. Lady B. Humiliation ! Rush. Yes, to accept money, in whatever straits, from a man of his character. Lady B. Mrs. Beetle said he was a most respectable person. Rush. Mrs. Beetle! — a precious witness to George Loosestrife’s character. Lady B. George Loosestrife ! what do you mean? Rush. What do I mean, Blanche? you can’t deny black and white. There {taking envelope out of his pocket ), you little thought it would come into my hands. Lady B. Well! {examining envelope) an old envelope, directed to me — by whom I’ve not the slightest idea. Rush, {takes it and reads). “For Blanche,” enclosing a fifty- pound note. Lady B. Fifty pound note ? There’s no fifty pound note. Rush. No ; I took that to pay Peacock. Lady B. Frank, either you are dreaming, or this is all a pretence to conceal from me how you really got the money. Rush. Do you mean to tell me he would have sent the money, unless you had asked him ? Lady B. I mean to tell you I don’t believe a word of the whole story. ( Crosses , c.) Rush. (r.). This is cool! Oh, Blanche, Blanche! what has be- come of our mutual confidence ? Lady B. I little thought you would have so soon began to deceive me. I see now you’ve been drawing another of these bills. Rush. Confound it! Not satisfied with denying the fact, she’s turning the tables on me. ( Walks up and down in a passion.) 26 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act II Enter Beetle, l. d. Beet . Please, sir, there’s the poulterer’s man, with a ducklin’ and a cream cheese. Rush. ( crosses to him). Damn the duckling and cream cheese. ( Goes up to fire.) Lady B. The dinner I ordered — oh ! {Sobbing.) Beet. And here’s the cheesemonger brought such a prime Chesh- ire, forty pounds if it’s an ounce, and there’s the bill, my lady. Lady B. {sobbing). £2 18s. 4d. — why — the man said — it was — only sixteen pence. Beet. Oh lord, oh lord! he meant sixteen pence a-pound — ha, ha, ha ! Rush. Leave the room, sir. Beet. Yes, sir, but Rush. { furiously ). Will you leave the room? Beet. Yes, sir. {Aside.) What can the row be? Rush. Stay, sir. Do you know of any one having put a note into Lady Blanche’s writing case ? Beet, {aside). I twig. {Aloud.) No. {Aside.) Nothing like a good ’un when you are about it. [Exit, l. 1 e. Lady B. Oh, Frank, Frank! this is dreadful! and you swore at the duckling and cream cheese, though it was the very first dinner I ever ordered. Oh dear, oh dear! Rush. I beg your pardon, I was not my own master. Blanche, look me in the face. (Blanche does so.) Do you persist that you knew nothing of a fifty pound note in this envelope, addressed to you by George Loosestrife ? Lady B. Upon my honor, no ; and now you look me in the face ; did you put it there ? Rush . No. Lady B. You have not drawn another bill? Rush . No, upon my honor. Ljady B. Forgive me for being faithless enough to suspect you. Rush . Forgive me for doubting my darling even for an instant. I’ll never do it again. Lady B. No more will I — there — it’s a bargain under our hands {takes his hand) and seals. {Kisses him.) But we must clear up the mystery of that fifty pounds. Rush. Yes. I only hope it won’t turn out that it wasn’t meant for Blanche after all, for Blanche’s husband has spent it. Lady B. It’s very annoying. Rush. As a mystery, yes; but as money, quite the reverse. I wish we could find a few more such enclosures. Lady B. I shan’t be satisfied, darling, till we’ve seen and ques- tioned Sir George Loosestrife himself. He might have heard from Fanny that we were very poor. He might have had the im- pertinence to send this money presuming on his old acquaintance with me . Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 27 Rush. You must own, Blanche, the very idea of such a thing was enough to irritate me. Lady B. But you had no business to be jealous. Rush. There’s no love without jealousy, darling. Lady B. That’s a vile masculine doctrine, Frank. Women are jealous of each other; but they never doubt the man they really love. But I was very hasty too ! Rush. No wonder! To think of my having d — d that delicious little dinner of yours — the duckling and the cream cheese ! If the quantity had only been as unexceptionable as the quality. Lady B. Yes, it was very cruel of you. But I was so stupid about the large Cheshire — but all is forgiven now. Oh, dear, if we could only find some way of making money, I should be so happy. Rush. Yes, in these diggings ( holds up Times’ advertising sheet ) there must be no end of fortunes, if one could only hit upon a mon- ster nugget. Lady B. (- running down list with her finger). I’ll go prospecting : — “Governess’’ — “Governess” — “Governess” — “House to let” — House to let” — “ House to let ” — “ To parents and guar- dians ” — “To persons about to marry ” — “ To the benevolent ” — “Scholastic.” Oh, dear Frank! — “ A competency of from £4 to £6 a week guaranteed by return of post on receipt of 12 postage stamps. Address, Alchymist, 6 Lamb’s Conduit Street.” Rush. Put a mark at that, darling — we’ll write. (Reads.) “A large and certain income secured to any person of energy and enter- prise ” — that just suits my book. “ Principals only treated with, by personal interview, with A. B., 10 Silver Street, Golden Square.” The locality sounds promising. (Aside.) I’ve a good mind to apply. Lady B. And here’s one would exactly do for me. (Reading.) “ To young ladies with narrow means and personal advantages. Elegant and easy employment, realizing a genteel weekly income. Apply at 12 Greek Street, Soho.” But, after all, why should we be wading through the Times’ advertisements. We’re forgetting the money that’s to come in for your sketches. Rush. My sketches ! Lady B. Yes ; while you were out with Slidell, thanking the Chancellor of the Exchequer for the refusal of that horrid berth — or rather death — at Sierra Leone, I had such a capital idea — I made up a parcel of your sketches and my music, and sent Beetle off with them to the publishers’ to dispose of. (Rings.) He has returned. Rush. Well, your music may be worth something, but as for my sketches Enter Beetle, l. d. Lady B. (to Beetle). Well — what success ? Beet . I’ve tried every print-seller and every music-seller at the West End, my lady, I do believe, and they’ll not so much as look at 'em. 28 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [ACT II, Lady B. How provoking ! [Those beautiful sketches of yours, dear, that everybody raved so about. Rush . While I was the fashion. Lady B. And offered any money for Rush . While they knew they weren’t for sale. Lady B. You showed my letter? ( Sighing .) Beet. ( advancing , l.). Yes, my lady, and they all said that if youf ladyship had been so much troubled by requests for copies of your songs, they would be happy to publish them on your own account; but that they never speculated in amateur music. ( Puts down music and portfolio on table , c.)] Lady B. We had better write to Alchymist, dear. ( Resuming the Times.) Rush . Which is that? Lady B. This four to six pounds a-week for the twelve postage stamps. Beet, {aside). Poor innocent creatures ! Bless you, my lady, you may save your stamps. I can tell you what that is. Lady B. Oh, do tell us. Beet. ( crosses , c.). Baked taturs ! Lady B. Baked taturs ? Beet. Baked taturs ! I dropped my shilling’s worth of Queen’s heads to that artful dodger. You’re to buy a bushel of potatoes, re- tail ’em after dark — out of consideration for your feelings — hot, with butter at one penny a-piece. And he proves to you by the rule o’ three, that it will bring you in from four to six pounds a week, ac- cording to your pitch — only it don’t somehow. Lady B. Good gracious, Frank! ( crosses , c.) to think of your selling baked potatoes. Rush. Perhaps if I were to establish my can opposite Lord Lazen- by’s it might bring the Countess to terms. {Lady B . We’re so much obliged to you, Beetle, for all the trouble you have taken for us, and for keeping the secret of our poverty so faithfully. Beet. Don’t mention it, my lady. I’m sure if it wern’t for Mrs. B. you might stay here free gratis as long as I could keep the brokers out, or get credit for a leg of mutton. But Mrs. B. don’t know you’re hard up in the first place, and if she did she wouldn’t stand tick in the second.] Lady B. Don’t you think we had better remove to the second floor to-day, Frank? Rush, {sighing). I suppose we had. Oh, Blanche ! to be slowly but surely ascending to the attics, and yet to think there’s that Croesus, Todd, in Bury Street, and no end of fellows ready to give me their names if you would only reconsider your edict against paper. Lady B. No, we’re determined to work ourselves clear. Frank! only think, darling, what a pleasure it will be to look back to this struggle when we’ve battled our way into smooth water. Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 29 Rush. Bless your brave little heart ! Beetle, you had better see our things taken up stairs. Beet. Yes, sir. I’ll tell Mrs. Beetle it’s for the sake of the air and the prospect. ( Goes up for Rushton’s hat , $c.) Rush, {aside'). Meantime I’ll have a shy at A. B. I say, Blanche, I must look in at the Traveller’s. ( Crosses , c.) I may hear of something to my advantage. Beet. ( gives him his hat and gloves , and goes up a little ). Rush. ( putting on gloves). Tommy Slidell has proclaimed our destitution by sound of trumpet, at every club between the Senior University and Brooke’s ! Good bye and success, darling. [Exit, l. 1 E. Lady B. Yes ; and I’ll go and answer that advertisement from Greek Street, Soho, wherever that may be. Will you get me a cab, Beetle? [Exit, r. u. e. Beet. Yes. my lady. That aristocratic angel in a musty four- wheeler, w T ith a driver in corduroys and gin and beer! And her born to nothing under a coroneted chariot, with a coachman in a spun glass wig and silk stockings, and two six-foot Jeameses hanging on behind, all cocked hats at the top and all calves at the bottom ! [Exit, L. D. Re-enter Lady Blanche, with her bonnet on, r. u. e. Lady B. I’ve made up my mind. Let me be quite sure of the address. {Looks at paper again). Yes, No. 12. {Reading). “To ladies of narrow means and personal advantages.” Well, there’s no doubt about the narrow means, and just as little, I hope, about the personal advantages. [Exit, l. 1 e. Re-enter Beetle, l., gives a loud and significant cough as sht passes out . Beet. I hope his lordship >vas in time to bolt into my boot hole. Yes ( listening ), there’s nobody fainted or gone off into hysterics. Enter Lord Lazenby, l. d. Lord L. Well, well, I saw her go past looking so well and happy. She didn’t look as if she regretted her old father. Beet . Don’t she, though ! Why, I caught her this morning a shedding tears over the miniature of your lordship to that degree she’d have washed the colors clean olf, if it hadn’t been for the glass. Lord L. Bless her dear affectionate heart! Crying, eh? I’m glad of that. {Whim jeering.) No, d — n it! I’m not; I could cry my- self, to think what a hard-hearted old wretch I am. But I must be firm, my lady says; and how about that money I left, eh? Beet. Ah, that was nearly the worst day’s work you ever did if 30 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [ACT II. your life, my lord. Mr. Rushton found it, and thought she was de- ceiving him, and there was such a jolly row. Lord L. My poor darling! Beet. If she hadn’t been an angel, it might have been a case for Justice Cresswell. But they’re all right again now, and they’re going into the second floor. Lord L. Merciful powers! my Blanche in a second floor! This is fearful! ( Crosses , r.) Beet. And they’ve been trying so hard to earn money. (Lord Lazenby expresses strong indignation .) What’s the matter, my lord ? Lord L. It’s nothing — a glass of water. Beet . (giving water). Might I offer your lordship a drop of brandy in it; I’ve got a private bottle. (Aside.) Out of one of my fivers. Lord L. No, thank you, I’m better now; it was the idea of my Blanche trying to earn money, coming on the shock of the second floor, too. Do you mean they’re actually reduced to work for their livelihood. Beet. Worse! they can’t get work to do for their livelihood. (Lord Lazenby groans .) They sent me to try and sell his sketches and my lady’s music. Lord L. (haughtily). I can’t allow the publishers to make a market of the name of Easington. Beet. You needn’t distress yourself, my lord ; the publishers didn’t seem to see it. Lord L. Do you mean they refused her compositions ? Beet . Unanimously! Lord L. The tasteless barbarians ! but I’m glad of this, it opens a way for me to help my pet without suspicion — to throw my lady off the scent too. Look here, my worthy Mr. Beet. Beetle, my lord. Lord L. Beadle ? Beet. No, Beetle, a little black thing, that runs about the kitchen, and is always in a hurry. Lord L. I’ll give a commission to Crash and Quailpipe, the great music publishers, in Bond Street, to buy up all Blanche’s music; and I’ll tell my old friend Harry Graves, of Ball Mall, to take all the sketches Rushton can turn out — he mustn’t think he’s living upon her earnings, it might make him harsh and unkind to her, poor darling — T must find some discreet agent. Enter Slidell, l. d. Slid. My dear lord ! Lord L. Talk of the devil — you’re the very man I want. Slid, (crosses). Always delighted to be of any use to dear Lord Lazenby. (To Beetle.) Mr. Rushton not at home? Beet. (l.J. No, sir! lie’s gone out, and so has my lady. Slid. I didn’t expect the pleasure of meeting you here. THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 8 * Scene 1.] Lord L. (r.). Hush, hush, Slidell! my visits here are sub rosa ; nobody knows of ’em but this worthy fellow. ( Crosses , c.) You needn’t stay, my good friend, (to Beetle) Mr. Slidell can manage this delicate negotiation for me. Beet. Well, my lord, I confess I don’t feel up to the business of fine art salesman. I should have been at home had it been Guin- ness’s stout’s or best Wallsend’s. [Exit, l. 1 e. Lord L. As for you, Slidell, I know you are discretion itself. Slid. It’s very pleasant, my dear lord, to a much maligned man as 1 am, to find himself fairly appreciated for once. Lord L. I know what straits these silly things are reduced to. Egad! it’s all my doing — must read ’em a severe lesson, you know, Slidell ; teach ’em not to fly in the face of parental authority — Slid. To say nothing of step-maternal ! Lord L. Yes, yes! — still one don’t exactly like to throw ’em on the parish, eh ! So as they’ve been trying to make money of Blanche’s music and llushton’s sketches, I want you to commission Crash and Quailpipe to buy the one, and Graves the other — you’ll be the buyer. Here’s a blank check for the first batch. Slid. An admirable idea! I shall be delighted to act as your agent. Lord L. My lady and I agreed it had better be managed quietly — so you may as well avoid allusion to it, even in conversation with her. Slid. My dear lord, rely absolutely on my discretion ; [of course I can’t answer for their not finding out the first link in the chain of benevolent agency myself — that doesn’t rest with me ; but beyond that all shall be as dark as a November fog, and silent as the Foreign Oflice. Lord L. If it hadn’t been for General Rushton stopping poor Frank’s allowance, it would never have come to this. Slid. No, it was a harsh measure; but, entre nous , you know his own circumstances are the reverse of flourishing. He has the mania for making his fortune. He’s the director of six companies at least — bubbles, every one of them. Lord L. Ah, his property’s dipped heavily, so I understand. Slid. Dipped? drowned! Altogether beyond the resuscitating powers of the Humane Society.] Lord L. Gad, I envy you Slidell. You are free to see my girl — to talk to her — to help her. There’s nobody to clap a martingale on your affections, and cry out to your heart — “Hold hard.” Slid. No, I am a blessed bachelor without encumbrances. Lord L. Ah, — yes. No, d — n it, Slidell, I’d rather be the misera- ble old dog I am, sneaking like a culprit, in and out of my child’s lodgings, watching for a glimpse of her dear face, and relieving her necessities by stealth, than a confounded, easy-going, smooth- spoken, club-hunting, dining-out product of isolation and egotism like you. And now, good morning, my dear fellow, good morning. [Exit, l. door. Slid. He’s not such a fool as I took him for, when he’s untied 82 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [ACT II from his wife’s apron strings. I like the commission ; [it has many advantages. Lazenby knows I’ve only to breathe a hint to the Countess, to upset this scheme, so I nail him. I’ve only to intimate to Lady Lazenby that I hold the secret of reducing Blanche and Rushton to submission, and I nail her. I’ve only to let them know that I command their bread and butter, and I nail them . In social as in military tactics, there’s nothing like a position where three roads meet.] Then this character of art patron and benevolent agent is agreeable and new. I’ve often wondered what it is like to have people grateful to one. Enter Beetle, l. door . Slid . Put that portfolio into my cab ! [ Exit , l. door . Beet . ( taking portfolio , and imitating ). Put that portfolio into my cab ! Now, that’s a man that acts on me like the patent fire- wood — a very little of him makes my blood bile in an incredibly short space of time. [Exit, l. door , with portfolio . Enter Lady Blanche, l. door . Lady B. ( taking off her bonnet and shawl). That horrid Mr. Sli- dell just driving off. I’m glad I didn’t find him here. I haven’t spirits to meet him after this mortification. Ah, Prank ! Enter Rushton, l. door . Rush . My dear Blanche ! (Aside). Confound these advertising humbugs ! Lady B. What’s the matter, dear — you look annoyed? Rush. And so do you. What’s the matter? Lady B. I’ve just had such a disappointment — promise you won’t be angry. I determined to answer that advertisement! Rush. You answer an advertisement ! — which ? Lady B. The one that promised a genteel and easy income to young ladies of narrow means and personal advantages ; and what do you think it is, dear? Sitting as a model for social groups in the stereoscope — at — a shilling an hour, and find your own wardrobe. I thought I should have cried when the man told me. You’re not angry, Prank? Rush . Don’t you be angry with me, dear — I answered an ad- vertisement too. The large and certain income for anybody of energy and enterprise. Lady B. (eagerly). Yes — oh ! — and what is it? Rush. A lunatic, with a perpetual motion, to be applied to all railways and steamers, and to supersede all other powers whatever. What he wants in a partner is not energy and enterprise, but im- becility and capital. I hope I’ve as little of the one, as I know I have of the other. Lady B. Another disappointment ! THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 33 Scene l.J Rush. And the accounts coming in for the things ordered since our return. Lady B. And the lodgings not paid for ! Rush, (aside). And that bill of Todd’s hanging over my head. Confound it! We can’t starve, Blanche! We must fall back on a three and sixpenny stamp after all 1 Enter Beetle, announcing , l. Beet. Sir George Loosestrife and Mr. Slidell. Rush. Not at home. Lady B. Yes, show them up. [ Exit Beetle, l. We must clear up the mystery of that note. Enter Loosestrife and Slidell, l. Loose. Ah ! welcome home, my dear Bushton ; Lady Blanche, I’m fortunate in finding you at last. ( Bows to her , and converses apart with Bushton up a little.) Slid, (to Blanche). Will you forgive me for carrying off a port- folio of Frank’s sketches and your music? It occurred to me I might do something with them. Lady B. Oh, we’ve tried that already; those horrid publishers won’t look at them. Slid. Ah, you must allow me to exert my influence. Lady B. We shall be only too happy. Loose. ( down , r. of Slidell). [So you’ve actually made up youi minds to exchange the sun and sky of Sorrento for London fog and the sweet shady side of Pall Mall. You’re wrong. I’ve never re- gretted leaving Italy but once, and that’s been since I left it. Rush. You and Lady Fanny are not such a chimney-corner couple as Blanche and I mean to be. Loose. No; we prefer the continental fashion of matrimonial im- prisonment — the separate system. Slid. Whereas matrimony in England, like the galleys in France^ is not merely chaining, but chaining in pairs ] Loose. I ought to apologize for calling while you were at break- fast. But I was so eager to see you. Besides it gave me an excuse for a poulet to Lady Blanche. Rush, (aside). He admits the note. Lady B. Apropos of that poulet — there’s no use beating about the bush — did you in a fit of distraction, enclose me a fifty pound note in it? Slid, and Loose . A fifty pound note ! Lady B. Yes; where’s that envelope, Frank? Rush, (giving it). Here. Lady B. (showing the envelope ). Is that your writing? Loose. Yes. Lady B. (showing inside ). Is that? Loose. No. 3 34 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act II. Lady B. There, Frank, are you satisfied now? ( To Loosestrife.) You may well look astonished ; but the fact is, we found a fifty pound note in this envelope. Slid, (aside). We? Loose. What a very singular circumstance ! Lady B. And what’s more singular still, we can’t discover who put it there. Slid. I wouldn’t inquire too curiously — I never knew a £50 note go a begging long. Lady B. At least, we know it didn’t come from you. That’s the important point at present — eh! Frank? And that settled, you must excuse my running away. Good morning, everybody. Loose. Going? Before I’ve recovered the shock of your point- blank interrogatory ! Lady B. Yes, I’ve so much work in hand. Loose. W ork ? Ijady B. No wonder you think me an odd woman ! (Laughing.) £50 notes creep into my old envelopes, and I’m not ashamed to own that I’ve real work to do ! (Aside to Rushton.) The package for our migration to the second floor. Don’t look sad, dear! We shall be so much nearer the sunshine ! [Exit , r. u. e. Loose. Frank, I congratulate you — at all events, you’ve got a wife who speaks out, [and looks startling things in the face, instead of shying at ’em. I wish she’d give Fanny a lesson. Slid. No, no, George! I won’t hear your wife run down, even by you. She’s a charming woman when she likes. Loose. I dare say — but all my experience of her is when she don’t like ! Never mind my wife.J (To Rushton.) Are there any rooms to let in this house ? Rush. We are leaving these to-day. Loose. Bravo ! I want them as a basis of operations. The fact is, I’ve rather a piquant affair in hand. [Slid, (eagerly). An affair, eh? Loose. Why should you prick up your ears, Tommy? I’m scandal proof — you ought to know by this time that no more dirt will stick to me, even with your art of laying it on ! Slid. Thank you, George ! Rush. But your affair ?] Loose. I was coming from St. James’s Square to Piccadilly about an hour ago — Re-enter Lady B. with a travelling bag — she pauses and listens. when I was attracted by a white capote and a dark cloak turning hurriedly out of Jermyn Street into York Street. I dodged for a sight of her face. Slid. And saw Loose. A thick black veil. (Blanche expresses relief.) The mys- tery of shawl and veil, with the revelation of the most delicious SCLiNE 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 35 ankle, was irresistible. I followed my incognita across the Square, when, conceive my amazement, she disappeared into Slid. The Bishop of London’s? Loose. Screwby’s the pawnbroker’s in King Street. I entered at her heels, and ensconced myself in the next box — she pledged a dia- mond ring; I couldn’t catch the name she gave; (Blanche again ex- presses relief) but the voice was worthy of the ankles. I followed her out; in her confusion she dropped the duplicate, which I picked up — Slid. And of course returned? Loose. Not such a flat, Tommy ! — which I pocketed, and marked her down here. Slid. Here ? Rush. In this house? Loose. Yes! there’s nothing so bad as over-riding one’s scent! I gave her half an hour to calm down and realize her loss — and I make my appearance to restore the missing ticket and improve the opportunity. Slid. I suppose there’s a name on the ticket? Loose. You don’t suppose I’m green enough to tell it you, Tom- my ? I like hunting single. As you’re leaving these rooms, Kushton, I mean to establish myself in your place. Lady B. ( coming forward , r.). Frank, dear, this packing’s such bore. I’ve changed my mind. We are very comfortable here. I Link we’d better not give up these rooms. {Sits at table and W7 ‘tes.) Loose . {aside). Confound her caprice ! Rush. But it’s too late, Blanche — all’s settled I’m afraid. Loose. No ! you really must not stay here a day longer. St. James’s is not the thing for a married couple — it’s given up to bachelors and their works. Lady B. Then it’s only kind to keep out such very objectionable occupants. (To Loosestrife.) But I’ve a note here to Fanny! are you going home ? Loose. No ! my wife’s there. Slid. They are like the man and woman in the Dutch weather- house — never at home together. I shall look in on Lady Loose- strife, en passant. Lady B. Then I must ask you to be my postman. ( Gives Sli- dell note.) Loose. Take care. Tommy can’t resist a lady’s secret. Slid. Thank you, George. Lady B. Oh, there’s no secret here. It’s only to ask Fanny to come and spend the day with me. You leave her time so much at her own disposal. ( Goes to desk , r.) Loose, {aside). That won’t suit my book. I must block Slidell. Slid. Lady Loosestrife shall have the note in five minutes {going , aside), and perhaps a hint of mine. I owe George three. Good morning, Lady Blanche. Addio, Franky. Bye-bye, my dear George [Exit, l. door. SG THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act II. Lady B. I’m afraid we must say good morning, too. I’m sorry Frank and I are so very busy. Do come, Frank, and help me with that mountain of things in your dressing-room ; I can t make any im- pression on the heap with these poor little hands. Rush. I’ll ring for Beetle. ( Rings .) Lady B. No, no; I want you to help me, you lazy thing. [Exit, l. u. e. door . Rush . Bye-bye, Loosestrife. Loose. One moment, Frank. Who are lodging in the house be- sides yourselves ? Enter Beetle, l. door . Rush. Haven’t a notion — my man here will tell you. ( To Bee- tle.) When Sir George has done with you, come to my dressing- room. [Exit, l. u. e. door . Loose. Now, my man, can you answer a question? ( Gives a sovereign .) Beet. Any number at the same rate. Loose. What women are living in this house? Beet . Women? There’s my Lady, and Mary Anne, the house- maid, and Martha Jane, the cook, and Mrs. Ragget, the charwoman, that is she don’t exactly live here, — and Mrs. Beetle. Loose. That’s the name on the ticket, — a handsome woman, isn’t she? ( Sits at table and writes, speaking as he writes .) Beet. ( astonished ). Eh? As far as my taste goes, decidedly. Loose . Tall — beautiful feet and ankles ? Beet. Beautiful. ( Aside .) What’s he up to? Loose. A rounded figure ! Beet . ( hesitatingly ). Yes, rather full — a graceful embonpoint. Loose. The exact description — Is she a widow ? Beet. Certainly not ! Loose . Where’s her husband? Beet. Here ! Loose . What sort of man? Beet. Gentlemanly appearance, good manner,' no settled occupa- tion. Loose. I mean, what sort of terms is he on with his wife? Beet. Terms of respectful tenderness. Loose. Is he jealous ? Beet. Frightfully ! Loose. Do you think you could manage to give her this note with- out his knowledge? Beet. Not easily. Loose, {gives another sovereign ). Would that remove the diffi- culty ? Beet. A soveieign ? — make it five, and I’ll try. Loose. ( gives note and money — crosses, l.). I’ll call in a quartet of an hour for the answer; but, remember, this is a secret between you and me. Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 37 Beet . Strict ! Loose. As these rooms are unoccupied, tell the people of the house I take them. Here’s a five pound note in advance, — now to pre- vent Fanny spoiling sport! [ Exit , l. d. Beet. This £5 is paid nominally as rent, but really for an unlaw- ful purpose ; — it is confiscated. ( Puts it in his pocket .) A serpent in patent leathers. This note to be delivered to Arabella clan- destinely. Shall I display a noble confidence, and give it her un- opened? The gum is still damp — perish the thought! ( Opens and reads.') “Madam, — An accident has made me cognizant of your having yesterday pawned the article referred to in the enclosed, and has placed the ticket you lost in my hands.'” ( Looks at slip en- closed.) A diamond ring, £50 — Mrs. Beetle, 190 Jermyn Street. Gracious powers! (Reads.) “ We are fellow-lodgers. Grant me an interview alone in the drawing-room at three, when I hope to have the pleasure of restoring the ticket to your own fair hands, and of expressing my profound respect and passionate admiration.” Arabella pawning a diamond ring! How did she come by it? Pas- sionate admiration ! There’s no mistake about that. Here’s a hideous mystery — two hideous mysteries — three hideous mysteries ! ( Re-closing letter , but not enclosing the duplicate.) There, the let- ter’s enclosed — no address. ( He directs it at table , r.) It’s close upon three — I’ll drop it in the letter-box, and then I’ll watch. Enter Lady Blanche from dressing-room , r., goes to l. of c. table y and takes up things left on table , so that Beetle can see both hands . Lady B. Oh, we shall not want you now, Beetle. Beet, (aside). The ring’s gone. Beg pardon, my lady; but, as master of the house and responsible for everything, might I inquire. That ring you dropped yesterday — I see you’re not wearing it. Have you lost it again ? Lady B. (embarrassed). I don’t know ! it was not on my toilet- table this morning ! I’m so careless ; pray tell the maids to be care- ful when they sweep the room. [. Exit , d. r. u. e. Beet. Sweep the rooms ? They’d better sweep the spout. Oh, Arabella ! Arabella ! I have heard no woman could resist diamonds. What’s to be done? Shall I charge her at once with the felony? Shall I await her encounter with the serpent in patent leathers? Trampled on, tyrannized over, as I’ve been, I hardly feel equal to this fearful situation. (Takes a flask from his pocket.) How thank- ful I should be that my private means have at last placed stimulants within my reach. (He drinks.) There may be truth in wine, but there’s courage in brandy. Yes! I’ll watch their interview, and at the critical moment, I’ll blast the guilty pair with my presence — and a policeman. (Brinks again.) The worm so long trodden on turns at last, and rises up a rattlesnake. (Going.) 38 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act II. Enter Todd, l. d. Todd . Oh ! Mr. Beetle, could I have a few minutes’ conversation with Mrs. Beetle on most particular business? Beet. Sit down, Todd, ( crossing , l.) you shall see the woman in question. [Exit, l. d. Todd. The woman in question ! is the poor man going crazy. Enter Mrs. Beetle, l. d. Mrs. B. Dear me! Mr. Todd, I hope there’s nothing in arrear? Todd, (r.). No! I don’t come about that. You know I’ve an interest in Screwby’s the pawnbroker’s — in fact, between you and me, I am Screwby’s. As I was making up Screwby’s books yester- day, I found this entry: “Ring, large diamond, solid gold setting, £50 advanced, name of pledger Mrs. Beetle, address 190 Jermyn Street.” Mrs. B. It’s an impostor. Todd . So I thought ! the shopman informed me that it was pawned by a young and elegant woman. Mrs. B. It wasn’t me, though the description applies. Todd. I’m glad to hear that, for it may be a very serious affair. I happen to know the stone, it was bought two years ago, at Sim- mons and Sons — in fact, between you and me, I am Simmons and Sons — by the Earl of Lazenby as a birthday present to his daughter, now your lodger, Lady Blanche Rushton. I must see her first and ascertain if she’s lost this ring. Mrs. B. Lost it ? Mr. Todd, depend upon it it’s been stole — and Beetle’s at the bottom of it. Todd. Dear me ! Mrs. B. He has been observed with money in his possession since yesterday. Todd. Has he indeed? Mrs. B. Cook told me she saw him with a five-pound note. I didn’t believe it possible, but it’s explained now. Yes ! depend upon it, Mr. Todd, he has taken to wicked courses ; he robs the lodgers to supply his profligate pleasures — and he’s got a clan- destine Mrs. Beetle to dispose of the plunder! But I’ll be down upon him, the faithless wretch! ( Grossing up, r.) First I’ll send my lady to you, and then I’ll go quietly and get a policeman if there’s one to be found. [Exit, r. u. e. Todd. ( rubbing his hands , r. c.). Aha ! I think I’ve got the screw upon Mr. Rushton at last. Re-enter Mrs. Beetle, r. u. e. Mrs. B. My lady’s a coming! ( Down l.) She fancies she’ve mislaid the ring. Oh, that vile man ! Only think, Mr. Todd, felony ain’t bad enough for him without bigamy on the top of it. [Exit, l. d. Scene i.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 89 Enter Lady Blanche, r. u. e. Lady B. Do you wish to see me? Todd. (l.). Yes, my lady! on a delicate and I fear painful busi- ness. It’s no use mincing matters. You pawned a diamond ring yesterday, at Screwby’s, in a false name. Lady B. (alarmed). Oh, sir! how do you know this? Todd. Because I saw you from the back shop. We are bound by law to inform the police of all cases of suspicious pawning. Lady B. But this is not such a case. The ring was my own. I had a right to pawn it. Todd. Pardon me, not in the name of Mrs. Beetle. That person denies all knowledge of the transaction. Besides, the ring was not your own ! Lady B. Not my own? Todd . No, it’s your husband’s — you committed a theft in pawn- ing it ! Lady B. A theft? Todd. Unless you pledged it by his direction. That I must as- certain from him. Lady B. For mercy’s sake ! say nothing to him about it. I took the ring without his knowledge. Todd. I presumed as much. Lady B. Oh! sir, you will keep my secret? Todd. Is it a secret? You were followed by one of the most no- torious fast men in London, Sir George Loosestrife ! Lady B. He did not recognize me. Todd. But he may find you out. He’ll inquire further. Lady B. ( clasping her hands). If he discovers it was I, who knows what mischief he may make? Todd. Impossible to say ! He has a gift of making mischief out of much less. Lady B. Oh ! sir, what shall I do ? Todd. Trust to me — I will keep your secret. Lady B. Oh ! thank you — thank you. Todd. On one condition — that you take off the embargo you have laid on your husband’s drawing bills, and allow me the pleasure of accommodating him with ready money as I used to do. Lady B. Oh ! but he’s so disposed to spend, sir. Todd. That’s what I like in him. Lady B. And now — with me to spend on, as well as himself. Todd . He’ll be a better customer than ever. Lady B. If I would only allow him, he would empty all Howell and James’s into my lap. Todd. It would be a thousand pities to balk such an amiable in- clination ! Lady B. Ask anything but this, sir. I can’t renounce the only ground I’ve gained since our marriage — I will not open the door t« my husband’s ruin. 40 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [ACT II, Todd. Oh ! if you choose to put your good name at Sir George Loosestrife’s mercy ! Lady B. I know him better than you do — he will not wrong a helpless woman ; or, if he should be so base, shall I sacrifice my husband to save myself? Todd. As you please — you may repent this when you stand at the bar of a police court. Lady B . A police court! I never dreamed of that. Todd. On a charge of theft, made by Screwby’s young man. Among the night charges — the scum of London — with the police- men grinning, and the reporters sharpening their pencils ! Lady B. Spare me ! spare me ! Todd. It will read well : “Yesterday a young lady, who gave the name of Lady Blanche Bushton ” Lady B. I should die with shame ; and my father ! 1 dare not meet this degradation — I dare not face his anger — to have done such a thing without telling him ! Rush, (without). Blanche, dear! Lady B. Hark ! He’s here. Be silent. I’ll consent. Enter Bushton, r. u. e. Rush . All’s ready for our rise in the world. It’s too mortifying to be driven to such straits. If you hadn’t forbid my flying kites Lady B. (gravely). I never forbid your flying kites, dear, though I think it a very childish amusement. Rush. Bless your innocent face, I mean drawing bills. Lady B. I hoped we might have managed without it, dear; that we might have found some way of earning what we want. Rush. Meantime, how are we to keep afloat till we’ve learnt to 6wim ? I see nothing for it, but a kite Lady B. Well, if you will promise never to forget that however long they may run, bills are sure, like curses and chickens, to come home at last. Rush. I’ll always be ready with the ready. Lady B. And if you’ll promise solemnly not to spend a shilling uselessly. Rush. Not a farthing. Lady B. Perhaps I might be induced to relax. Rush, (joyously). You might. Lady B. I may have been too strict. Rush . You admit it? Oh, Blanche! if I might only invest in a stamp once more. Lady B. (mournfully). You may, darling; I withdraw my veto. But oh, Frank, do be careful, for my sake ! (Aside.) Coward that I am ! What have I done? [Exit, n. u. e. Rush. Hurrah ! Victory ! The garrison yields to starvation ! (Todd comes forward, l.) You! Todd (obsequiously). Ah! Mr. Bushton, you didn’t know I wa» there. Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 41 Rush . The devil’s never very far off I’m afraid, Towzer. But if I draw a hundred bills you shan’t have the benefit of one of 'em. I haven’t forgot yesterday’s insult. Todd {taking out his bill book). Pooh! pooh! Mr. Rushton. How mueli shall we sjiy? Rush. Not a farthing from you; I’d rather give Crockey Davis forty per cent, than do business with you at twelve. Leave the room. Todd. You’re joking. Rush, {contemptuously). Joking with you! {Approaches him angrily.) You won’t go? {Pauses.) No, I won’t dirty my hands. {Rings.) Todd. Have a care, Mr. Rushton ; I put up with a great deal of bad language yesterday. Enter Beetle, l. door , flustered with drink. Rush. Hand this fellow down stairs, Beetle, by the neck — as you would a mangy cur. Beet. With pleasure — Only old Todd! He’s a trifle in my way. {Lays hands on him.) Todd {threatening). Take care, Mr. Beetle; I’ve a judgment against you. Beet. Blow your judgment ! {Seizing him.) Todd {calling out). Help! Murder! Beet . {forcing him to the door). Heads below ! {Flings him out by nape and breeches.) Pick up the pieces ! {A heavy fall is heard — with tipsy gravity.) Todd has got his gruel. Rush. You haven’t broke his neck. Beet. The flight is short — the mat is soft — and Old Nick looks after his own. Rush. Why, what’s this? You’ve been drinking. Beet. Mental excitement principally ; but I don’t deny I have resorted to Cognac, to steady my nerves. Not the lodger’s, Mr. Rushton — a private bottle. I’m in independent circumstances, I’m thankful to say. Mr. Rushton — sir, I’m on the brink of a pre- cipice. Rush. Then I should decidedly recommend a hand-rail. Beet. I have discovered that my wife, the superb and haughty woman you have seen and admired, has already been guilty of felony, and is probably at this moment contemplating something worse. She has stolen a diamond ring; Sir George Loosestrife has an assignation with her at three. I’ve a volcano in my bosom, and a policeman in the front parlor. Hark! here he comes. Let us conceal ourselves in your room, sir. You shall behold my wrongs, and be a witness of my vengeance. [Exit, l. u. e. door. Rush. Loosestrife’s incognita no other than mother Beetle ! Oh, what fun I [Exit, l. u. e. door. 42 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act II Enter Sir George Loosestrife, l. door. Loose . Three o’clock ! Hark ! The rustle of her dress ! Enter Mrs. Beetle, l. d., reading the letter , — does not see Sir George, who stealthily locks the door behind her. Mrs. B. I can pretend I’m the woman till I recover the duplicate, at all events. The policeman says we can prove nothing without the duplicate. Loose, {coming forward — starts at the sight of her). Madam ! — are you Mrs. Beetle? Mrs. B. Yes, sir! I received your note — I own my imprudence. Oh, sir ! restore that duplicate. Enter Beetle and Rushton, d. r. u. e. Beet, {aside, at door). She owns it! I’ll have recourse to the policeman. {Steals out softly , unlocking l. d., taking key with him.) Loose, {recovering from his amazement) . But you surely don’t mean to say Mrs. B. The duplicate, sir ! — only restore the duplicate. Loose. That you are the lady I followed into Screwby’s? Mrs. B. If you’re a gentleman, sir ! do not abuse the confidence I have reposed in you — the duplicate ! Loose, {catching a glimpse of her ankles). I’ll be hanged if those are the ankles. Beet, {without). In the Queen’s name! Mrs. B. My husband’s voice ! Loose. Nevermind him, the door’s locked. {Goes up to looking- glass.) Beet, {flinging the door open and appearing with policeman be - hind him). It flies open before the majesty of the law, and the dignity of an outraged husband ! Rush, {constraining his laughter). Oh! if Blanche could only see this. {Goes in, door l. u. e.) Beet, {to Loosestrife). Serpent ! your fangs are drawn. ( Crosses , l.) I give this woman, Arabella Beetle, into custody, on a charge of stealing and illegally pawning a valuable diamond ring, the property of a lod *er. (Policeman crosses to Mrs. Beetle.) Lady Blanche appears at door r. Mrs. B. You — you — wretch? Oh ! if he isn’t drunk ! Where’s my policeman ? Policeman. It was me you spoke to, ma’am. Mrs. B. I give him in charge for stealing that very ring, and pawn- ing it by the hands of the hussy he passes oflf as his wife. Scene 1.] the babes in the wood. 48 Police. Why, then, I must take both of you in charge. The in- spector will settle it at the station. Mrs. B. lie is the felon, I assure you — not me. Beet. I go, calm in my innocence. [Exit Mr. and Mrs. Beetle and Policeman, l. Enter Rushton, l. u. e. Loose . What is the meaning of this confusion? Who’s this full- blown woman? Is Rushton’s man mad, or only drunk? Lady B. comes down and gets c. Rush. ( aside ). Blanche 1 Loose. Lady Rushton ! Lady B. Is it possible they are taken into custody for stealing my ring? Oh! if you do not wish two innocent people to be under grave suspicion — if you would not be the means of destroying all confidence between me and my husband, give me back that dupli- cate. Renounce all attempt to discover who dropped it. Rush. ( gets r. up stage , ready to come down , r. c.) Loose, (r.). Nay, since it seems you were concerned in the mys- tery, it becomes more than ever interesting. Lady B. On my knees I implore you to give me back that paper ! Loose. My dear Lady Blanche ! don’t kneel — you are too ir- resistible ! Rush . Blanche! Enter Slidell, l., Mr. and Mrs. B., led by a Policeman. Slid. ( aside ). Interesting, very ! Lady B. It is my folly has brought all this about. I deserve the humiliation of this public exposure — I pawned the ring — I dared not tell my husband. Oh, Frank ! forgive me — it was my first con- cealment! Mr. Beetle {crosses to him), I gave your wife's name. She is guiltless as you are ! I have given pain and offence to all! Will any forgive me? Rush. My poor child ! ( crosses to her ) you should have had more faith in me. Mrs. B. Mr. Beetle, ask my pardon. Beet . Mrs. Beetle, I stand upon my rights at last, and call upon you to kneel for my forgiveness. Lady B. Oh, please, do everybody forgive everybody ! Enter 1st Bailiff, l. Isrf Bailiff ( showing writ, and touching Rushton’s l. shoulder ). At the suit of Jonas Todd — judgment on a bill of exchange — debt and costs £194 6s. 8d. ! Lady B, Frank arrested ! 44 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act III Enter 2nd Bailiff, l. 2nd Bailiff ( arresting Beetle’s l. shoulder ). At suit of same plaintiff, on a judgment for debt and costs £324 16s. 4d. Beet. Take me ! I have asserted my rights ; I shall die happy. Lady B. (to Bailiff). Sir, you will not separate us; Frank, you will not drive me from you ! By all the happiness we have shared do not forbid me to share your suffering and your sorrow. Poverty, hardship, imprisonment — these are nothing. Only one thing I can- not bear — separation 1 Come weal or woe, — come, come storm or sunshine — still let me meet it at my husband’s side! (She grasps his hand , and stands looking affectionately and appealingly in his face.) Police. Bailiff. Bailiff. Slidell. Loose. Rush. Lady B. Beet. Mrs. B. end of act ii. ACT III. SCENE. The Room occupied by Rushton in the Queen's Bench ; a whitewashed room with curtained window in flat ; drawings on walls; two tables — one under the window , one in centre , but covered ; chintz -covered chairs and sofa , and elbow chair ; books , music , $c., on the table under the window ; fireplace with fire R. ; door l., communicating with staircase ; door r., communicating with Rushton’s bedroom . Beetle discovered , c., brushing Rushton’s coat on table , c. ; black- ing bottle and brush standing beside him with Rushton’s boots. Beet, (reciting). “ I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre as far as I see, I’m lord of the coat (puts it down) and the boot.” (Takes up boot and begins blacking it.) Yes! I never knew what liberty was till I came into the Queen’s Bench. Here I’ve no lodgers to run of errands for, no servants to look after, no tradesmen to contend with, and no Mrs. Beetle to obey. If I do act as valet to Mr. Rushton it’s all for love — and only a very little for money. I’ve Scene 1.] TIIE BABES IN THE WOOD. 45 a strong room to myself, a well-bred keeper, an intelligent staff of wardens, a benevolent chaplain, and an excellent surgeon to look after me. I can have my meals cooked at Her Majesty’s kitchen. I can enjoy my glass of wine, not exceeding one pint, or malt liquor, not exceeding one quart, in each twenty-four hours — see Rules. I have excellent and even aristocratic society out of doors — if it is a little mixed; one of the very best racket courts in England for exer- cise. And even if Mrs. Beetle were to call, she’d be turned out punctually at nine, and my night would be secure against knagging. Talk of the irksomeness of confinement! Pooh! as the poet says, that my lady was reading to Mr. Rushton yesterday, — “ Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; One who has kept a lodging-house Peels this a hermitage.” (Putting away blacking brush , folding up coat , < 5*0 And then it’s a privilege to see caged birds so happy as Mr. Rushton is — thanks to that aristocratic angel, his wife ! They may run down the swells ; but show me the snobs that would have turned to as they have done since he was quodded a fortnight ago — he at his sketching and she at her music. Really No. 8, staircase 4, Q. B., is a perfect temple of the arts — a Parnassus on the Surrey side of the water — he’s Apollo, she’s Venus and Minerva rolled into one, and I’m Mars, Bacchus, and the rest of the Virorum. What a perfect little Paradise she has made of the place too ! curtains, chair covers, drawings, all put up this morning with her own hands, while Mr. Rushton is still in the arms of Morpheus. She’s oft' now to bring him a fresh box of water colors — he does get through an alarming quantity of paint. Enter Lady Blanche, l. Lady B. Well, Beetle, Frank’s not up yet. I hoped he wouldn’t be, till I got back. All was so dreary and naked here ; but now, thanks to my handy work and those kind people at my little lodging outside, I have made the bare room look as mj T darling’s cage should look — bright and summery. How dear Frank’s drawings light up the old wall. That’s my likeness, Beetle. Do you think it like me? Beet. Well — there’s something — about the tip of the nose. Lady B. He drew it before we were married, in the costume of Sorrento. With that over the fireplace he won’t feel so lonely after the gates are shut. Beet. Ah, my lady, the evening’s the time to appreciate a wife - — or the absence of one. Lady B. That’s a very abominable P. S. ( Putting flowers into vases.) Beet . (l.). It’s intended entirely for Mrs. Beetle ; she might have made our fireside a paradise — she preferred making it quite the re- 46 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act III. verse. If I did stay at home at night, there we used to sit, snarling at each other. I used to say, our chimney corner was an old- fashioned one, furnished with a pair of dogs — or rather, a cat and a dog. No, I don’t feel that a portrait of Mrs. B. is necessary to my happiness, and I don’t mean to break my heart at the absence of the original. Lady B. ( arranging knickknacks , writing-case, $c.) For shame, Beetle ! you know you’re very fond of her — and she’s very fond of you — at bottom. Beet. I don’t believe in the fondness that stays at the bottom. Love’s the cream of life, and always comes at the top. Rush. ( within , r.). Beetle! Lady B. Hark! There’s Frank! We must enjoy his surprise at this metamorphosis — we’ll peep through the keyhole! [ Runs off with Beetle, l. d. Enter Rushton, r., in a loose morning coat , coming down , r., and seating himself on chair — sees room . Rush. Nine o’clock — no Beetle! and worse still, no Blanche! What’s this? ( Astonished .) Have I walked into somebody else’s room? Chintz covers, curtains, flowers? Why, the place seems transformed into a paradise ! Enter Lady Blanche, l. Lady B. (l.). And here comes Eve! Rush. (r.). My darling Blanche ! Lady B. Frank! (Runs into his arms.) Many happy returns of the day ! You never remembered it was your birthday ! This is Blanche’s birthday present! ( Pointing round.) All my own doing and Beetle’s ! Rush. Bless your affectionate heart, and those diligent little fingers ! ( Kisses her hands.) Beet. ( coming on, l.). Many happy returns of the day, sir — out of the Queen’s Bench ! Rush. By Jove ! I don’t know — I’ve spent as happy a fortnight here as ever I did in my life, thanks to you, darling! But for the Queen’s Bench I should never have known half the value of a wife ! ( Presses Blanche’s hand.) Beet, (aside). Nor I half the value of the loss of one ! Lady B. That’s all very pretty, but we must get to work you know, Frank. We’ve a great deal of money to make still. Rush. Here are my sketching things. ( Sitting at table.) I must work up this Neapolitan subject. Beetle, you must stand for a bri- gand — drape yourself in the table cover. Beet . I was a fisherman yesterday, a monk the day before that, and now I’m a brigand. I’ts a gradual coming down in the world. I’ll try, sir, though a man can’t be expected to reach the depths of crime all of a sudden. I’m afraid I haven’t the proper ferocity of Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 47 countenance : when nature drew my mug, she drew it mild. Some- thing in this style, sir? ( Strikes an attitude, l.) Lady B. No, no! let me pose you. ( Puts a carpet broom into his hand.) That’s your gun. ( Puts a chair under his knee.) That’s a reck — you’re on the look out for travellers ! you can stand in that attitude. ( Gets writing desk to draw on, and puts it r. of table, C., moving table a little , l.) Beet . Toll-loll ! I’m rather coggly — there! that’s steadier. Lady B. While you draw, Frank, I must look over your shirts ; I dare say they want no end of buttons. (Runs into bedroom , b. — Beetle makes contortions of the face.) Rush, (working). What’s the matter? Beet. Only a fly oil my nose, sir. Re-enter Blanche, r., with shirts — . she sits and sews on buttons during dialogue, near fire. Lady B. How the laundresses do fray your shirts, dear. Rush. Slidell wrote to promise us a visit to-day, didn’t he? Lad.y B. Yes; he said he hoped to bring us good news. I wonder what it is — a large order for your sketches, I dare say. Rush . Or your songs more likely. Oh, Blanche, what a comfort it is to think we have the public for patrons now — that we owe our earnings to our own ability and industry. Beet. Oho! (Groans uneasily.) Lady B. and Rush. What’s the matter? Beet. Such a crick in my back ! ( Relaxing his attitude.) And my left legs all pins and needles ! (Hopping.) Oh ! I’m not meant by nature for a model. I’d do everything for you both; but I wish you would find another brigand. Rush . I’ve done the figure now ; go and relieve your muscles with a game at rackets. Beet . Thank you, sir. If looking out for travellers is half as fatiguing in the reality as it is in the imitation, I don’t wonder bri- gands are at a discount. (^4s he opens the door.) Here's Mr. Slidell. (Aside.) That’s another party it wouldn’t break my heart to see the last of. [ Exit Beetle, l., as Slidell enters . Rush. My dear fellow ! this visit is of a piece with all your other kindness. Slid. Now, really, what have I done? (Crosses c., to Blanche.) Lady B. Is it not to your recommendations we owe every far- thing we have made? Didn’t your influence open the publisher’s eyes? Rush. Don’t be ashamed of having a good heart, Tommy? Slid. The world has so long refused me credit for the article, that I find it difficult to believe in my possession of it — however, if you will insist upon it, I suppose it’s no use contradicting you. Lady B. And I strongly suspect, moreover, that it was you pul the £50 note in the envelope. 48 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [ACT III. Slid. No, no — I deny the note — positively. “ Not guilty of thi note,” upon my honor! Rush. Now I think of it, lie was there when I found it. He did handle the envelope. Ah, Tommy ! Lady B. You sec, it’s no use being so ingenious and delicate in your kindnesses — you are always found out. Slid. I suppose I must submit to your good opinion. Rush. There’s a brisk demand for our works — I hope to be out before July. But we mean to stick to the arts. Slid. Ah! as the public relish your works so! Lady B. Oh, yes ! after the success we have had it would be fool- ish to give them up ’till papa forgives us. Rush. I’m not sure, Blanche, I shall forgive him. Slid, (to Rushton). Don’t be rash! (To Blanche.) You will have it I’m in the habit of doing good-natured things — I suppose you will say it was good nature induced me to see your step-mother, too, to tell her of Frank’s misfortune ; you’re quite wrong, it’s all the pleasure I take in carrying bad news — I drew a lively picture of your misery. Lady B. Our misery, Frank ! ha, ha ! Slid. I expatiated on the squalor and penury of your prison cell. Rush. Look about you, Tommy ! Slid. Well, it has improved; (looking round) but I still call it squalid. I hope I worked upon her a little ; but she’s an uncom- monly tough woman, and I must say hates Frank with a heartiness that’s quite refreshing in these neutral-tinted days. However, here’s a letter I have been intrusted by her to deliver. (Gives letter to Rushton.) Lady B. From papa? Oh! what do we not owe you, Mr. Sli- dell. Slid. No ! from Lady Lazenby ! Lord Lazenby was present when it was written — he quite approved of it. Rush, (reads and gives it coldly to Lady Blanche). Read it, Blanche. Slid. Cold, I dare say ! Lady Lazenby’s style is not impassioned — not much of that gush about it which is so much in fashion now- adays. Lady B. An offer of reconciliation, Frank ! Rush. Which I don’t mean to accept. Slid. You don't? Rush. No ! the letter is offensive and arrogant; I would not sub- mit to that tone even from Blanche’s mother — much less will I bear it from her step-mother. Lady B. But, Frank, think of poor papa! — what he must have suffered from our separation. Rush. Then why does not he write? Slid, (shrugs his shoulders'). Force majeure ! Rush . Tell Lady Lazenby, Slidell, that we are earning our bread by our own work — which the public is pleased to set some value on — that we can never accept a reconciliation offered in terms of conr THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 49 Scene 1.] temptuous pity and undeserved reproof. Blanche, you cannot blame me for such an answer. ( Crosses , r.) Lady B. No, Frank! ( Turning away in tears.') But my heart is yearning for my father — I see him before me now — his gray hairs — his worn, venerable face, that always had a smile for me — he is sitting all alone — he looks sad, but there is no Blanche to cheer him now — to take his hand, and sing him the soft, low song he used to love so well. Frank, dear Frank ! I cannot forget that lonely, loving father — I will not believe that he has forgotten me! Slid. Exactly, my dear Rushton. As Lady Blanche suggests, think of all you are refusing : free quarters — a handsome allowance — one of the best dining houses in London — and that Comet Chateau Margaux ! Ah ! (with a sigh of exquisite recollection) it affects me to think of it! Rush. All that might have tempted me six months ago. But, since then, Blanche has taught me how little all this is without love ; how easily, where love is, all this may be dispensed with: and this fortnight has brought home to me the comfort that comes of earning. Still, if Blanche prefers luxury and humiliation to short commons and independence, she has only to make her choice, and I accept it. Lady B. I did not take a husband, Frank, that the choice in such a matter should be left to me. Where you go, dear, I will go ! I will live as you live ! trusting in you — comforting you — helping you in all I may — loving you as none but a woman can ! Only one thing, dearest ! I know that all which is harsh and ungracious in this offer comes from Lady Lazenby, and not from my father. If he held out his hand, Frank, I could not turn away ! Rush. He has not thought fit to put you to the trial, Blanche ! ( Crosses to l.) Slid. Suppose you tried the General? Rush. My father? Why, he’s in the same predicament as we are ! He’s a prisoner, too ! He’ll be glad to see you ! I’ve an appoint- ment on the next staircase to look over his schedule. He'll be Slid. General Rushton ! What ! is he made a Q. B. at last ! Rush. Yes, poor old boy! Some of his bubbles have burst, and they’ve come down on him as the director best worth powder and shot. Slid. Come along ! your father, Franky, is one of those remarka- ble men, who, with all their immense eagerness to reach the bank, some how never get further than Basinghall Street. \_Exeunt Rushton and Slidell, l. d. Lady B. Poor papa! how will he bear this rejection of Lady Lazenby’s offer ? Oh ! what it must have cost him to send off a let- ter that he knew his Blanche would read, and yet put no word ol affection into it! Oh! why did he not write himself! ( Wipes hei eyes.) But I must put away these shirts — there’s not a button missing. [ Exit into bedroom , b 4 50 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act III. Enter Beetle, r., cautiously . Beet . Bath oat for a wonder ! You may come in, my lord. Enter Lord Lazenby, l. d. Lord L. ( looking about him). And this is my poor love bird’s cage. Beet. You should have seen it yesterday, my lord : she’s turned it into quite a fairy bower — it’s Vauxhall as it was, with 20,000 addi- tional lamps, to Yauxhall as it is, let out for building sites. Lord L. Leave me for a few minutes, my good friend. Beet . Mind, my lord, if they come suddenly there’s no convenient boot-hole here, and it’s physically impossible for you to get into that cupboard. Lord L. Never mind ! [ Exit Beetle, l. Yes, I wouldn’t stay for their answer to my lady’s letter; I must learn from my darling their acceptance of my wife’s consent to re- ceive them at last. Egad! how I ever brought her to it I can't imagine — I fancy I must have looked awful, for she yielded to me ! — it’s the first time since we were married ! Enter Lady Blanche from the bedroom, r., Lord Lazenby’s back is towards the door, he does not see her — she stands transfixed , and checks an impulse to run into his arms . And here they live — here are her books, and her music, and my miniature, always by her writing-case. Bless her! ah! — I need no miniature of my Blanche, I carry her daguerreotype in my heavy old heart. Oh! my darling, my darling! (He lays his head on the writing-case.) Lady B. (stealing up to him, kneeling at his feet, and putting her arms round him softly) . Father! dear father! Lord L. ( starting up). Blanche! Blanche! ( a long embrace) at last — after six long months. Lady B. Not by my will, papa! I would have crept on my knees; but Frank is very proud, and you sent back my letters. Lord L. It was all her doing — she said I must be firm; but she has given way at last — you have got the letter — we shall all be happy again now! I’ve come to take you away with me — my pet mustn’t stay here. Lady B. She must stay with her husband. Lord L. Yes, yes! but lie’ll come too! where is he? He must tell me the amount of his debt — 1 11 pay it at once. Lady B. Oh, papa ! why was her letter so cold, and cruel, and contemptuous? Had there been but one word of love — one word from your heart, papa, instead of that proud and unfeeling pen. Frank has declined her offer of reconciliation. Lord L. Declined! how dares he? Lady B. (lays her hand on his arm). No, no, papa! I must not Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 51 have him blamed — he is proud, high-spirited — he has felt your turning your back on us very much. Lord L. I — I — turn my back on my darling — I w hose heart has yearned for you daily, hourly, since you left me! Lady B. And mine, papa! think how mine has craved for your forgiveness — for the love that never failed, the tenderness that never faltered; — and when my letters came back unopened, the thought that you were angry went like a dagger to my heart. Oh! I have been very, very unhappy. Lord L. You may conceive what I must have suffered who knew no music like my Blanche’s voice, no cordial like her smile. Lady B. My own dear father ! Lord L. She said I must punish you for your disobedience — she made me stop your allowance. Lady B. Yes ! I don’t know what would have become of us, but for the kindness of Mr. Slidell : guessing the straits we were in, he slipped a fifty-pound note into my writing-case, so delicately. Lord L . Slidell ! did he tell you so? Lady B, No, not exactly — he pretends to deny it, just as he does his services in first finding a sale for Frank’s sketches and my music. Oh ! we’re quite rich — do you know, papa? We’ve made more than £100! No wonder Frank feels proud and independent! Lord L. It was I, Blanche, who came like an old coward — as I was — by stealth to your lodgings ! I put the note in your writing- case ! Lady B. You ! Lord L . I commissioned the publishers to buy his sketches and your music. Lady B. Oh ! you dear, kind, sly old papa ! Then you were our guardian angel all this while, and we flattered ourselves it was all our own doing and Mr. Slidell’s. Well, as you have opened the market to us, you must close it. Frank must find out we are not so independent of your help as he imagines — he has sent some more sketches to the West End. You must write at once and let him know there is no more demand for our works — you can write the letter in the inner room. Lord L. I’ll write at once — but you’ll come and sit beside me. Lady B. Oh ! yes ; and then you shall pop out when we are in the depths of despair, to pay Frank’s debt, and to carry us off with you in triumph. And his birthday too — now I can wish him many happy returns of the day without one reservation! Enter Beetle, l. ( Crosses to B.) Oh ! Beetle, papa has forgiven us — I’m no happy ! Oh! you dear, good, kind, artful old papa! [ Exeunt , l. Beet . Here’s a turn of the roundabout — well, I’m glad of it, for the sake of that poor old boy, and hers too. I’ve just dropped half- a-crown at rackets to Captain Windfall, but this more than makes up for it. 52 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. [Act III. Enter Mrs. Beetle, l. Dashed ! if the sight of her happy face hasn’t made me feel as jolly as ( turns and sees Mrs. B.) Oh, murder I Mrs . B. ( in a soft voice). Jeremiah! Beet. ( offering her a chair , and in a formal manner). Pray b« seated, madam. May I ask to what I am indebted for the honor of this visit? Mrs. B. Oh, Jeremiah ! how can you treat your Arabella in this cutting manner when she comes to console you in the loneliness of your imprisonment? Beet. Hadn’t you better have waited till I applied for that particu- lar form of consolation ? Mrs. B. I couldn’t bear the separation any longer. Beet . Oh ! I’ve long been aware our tastes differed. Mrs . B. If you knew the efforts I’ve made to get this debt settled. Beet . Don’t trouble yourself on my account ! — I’m very comfort- able here. Mrs. B. But you don’t think of me , left with everything on my hands in Jermyn Street Beet . N. B. — Where I was always an useless encumbrance. Mrs. B. With the servants to look after, and the tradesmen to settle with, and the lodgers to do for. Beet. You surely don’t mean to say that I was of any use in the house ? Mrs . B. Oh ! if I ever 6aid you weren’t, Jeremiah, I’ve repented of it. Since you was took, everything’s at sixes and sevens — there’s the drawing-room floor’s stood empty ever since — and the second floor has gone without paying — and an area sneak’s walked off with the plate — and the cook’s been caught with a policeman — and the housemaid’s engaged herself to a fusilier — and altogether I’m at my wit’s end, and all for the want of you , Jeremiah. Beet . I’m gratified to hear it. We don’t know the value of an article till we’ve lost it, not even of the poor Beetle we are in the habit of treading upon. Mrs. B. I shall know better in future, Jeremiah — if you’ll only come back to me. Beet . You forget! I am incarcerated here for your debt. Mrs. B. Yes ! — but only say you’ll forgive me, and come back, if I do manage to get you out. Beet. When you have got me out, I’ll give the subject my mature consideration. Mrs. B. I’ve told Mr. Todd to call upon you, and see if we can’t manage something. The lease is good security for twice your debt. Beet. Your debt, if you please, Mrs. B., in point of fact, if not in the jaundiced eye of the law. But if I do come back, it must be on one condition. Mrs. B. I don’t care what it is. Beet. That I’m master in the house — that I’m released from Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 53 menial offices — and that the coal and bottle porter agency is not thrown in my teeth for the future. Mrs. B. Oh ! yes ; whatever you please, do only come back and look ofter the business. Beet . On that condition I don’t mind if I promise to meet your terms. Mrs. B. And now you’ll give me a kiss, Jeremiah, in token of forgiveness ? Beet. After I’m out, Arabella ! Mrs. B. No, now, or I can’t go away easy in my mind ! Beet. ( kisses her). There ! but let this be a lesson to you, Arabella — the first time you forget it, I shall not return to the Queen’s Bench, but I shall certainly apply to Mr. Justice Cresswell. Mrs . B. I’ll send Mr. Todd. Beet. I’m ready to receive the blood-sucker ! (Rises.) Mrs . B. Oh, Jeremiah! if you knew what a weight you’ve taken off my mind. There ! I must have another. [Kisses him again , and exit , l. Beet. A practical demonstration of the natural dominion of man over the inferior animals ! Enter Lady Blanche, r. Lady B. Give this letter to Mr. Rushton directly he comes in, Beetle — it’s about the sketches — not a word of papa’s being here. [Exit, r. Beet. Ah ! they’ll be going out now, I suppose, and I shall be left behind in solitary imprisonment. Somehow the Bench don’t seem so cheerful a residence as it did a quarter of an hour ago. Enter Rushton and Slidell, l. Rush . It’s no use arguing, Slidell ; I will not stoop to that woman ! Beet. Here’s a letter come for you, sir. It’s about your sketches, I believe. Rush, (looks at writing) . Ah! from Graves, with the money for the last batch, and a new order, no doubt. (Opens note.) What’s this ? Enter Lady Blanche, behind , l. Slid. A very large order, eh ? Rush. “ The customer on whose account Graves bought, declines further purchases.” The customer! Lady B . The customer 1 that means there was only one buyer all this time. Rush. I thought we were patronized by the public ! but who can this one customer be, I wonder !eh? No — yes 1 — I see it now ! — it’s Tommy. Slid. No, really ! — I protest. Rush. I’m certain ’tis you ; but if you’ve bought till now, why dc THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 54 [Act III. you stop buying. Pray go on ; I’m capable of still better things than I’ve done yet. Lady B. My dear, we’ve done Mr. Slidell an injustice — we owe him nothing. Slid. You’ll admit, whatever credit you gave me, I never took any. Rush . But explain, Blanche, if Slidell isn’t, who is our solitary patron ? Lady B. Papa ! He it was, who, to save us from destitution and despair, hit on this plan, and employed Mr. Slidell as his instrument. Enter Lord Lazenby, l., comes down , r. Slid. Just what I always wanted to explain; but I never got so far. Rush. Your father ! then we’re not independent of him after all. Lady B. No, dear ! we still need a helping hand, but it is held out to us in love 1 — look, Frank, will you refuse it? Lord Lazenby holds out his hand, and crosses to Rushton, who seizes it. Lord L. My son ! my darling ! God bless you both ! (He em- braces them both.) My lady’s out of town; you will come home with me at once. Lady B. Oh! this very day. ( Pointing to Beetle.) Papa! here is one must not be left behind! — as papa insists on satisfying Frank’s debts, he shall pay yours too, Beetle — it is but a poor re- turn for all your kindness. (Lord Lazenby crosses to Beetle and shakes hands.) Beet . Then I shall have old Todd off my shoulders at last ! I feel like Sinbad when he got rid of the man of the sea ! Enter Mrs. Beetle, l. Mrs. B. Jeremiah ! it’s all settled. Oh ! company — I beg pardon. Beet. Don’t be bashful, Arabella ! My lady, it will be an agreea- ble surprise to you to know that Arabella has struck her colors, and Pm to be captain of my own ship for the future. Lady B. May your next voyage land you in a pleasanter harbor than her Majesty’s Bench ! Rush, We have found it a very pleasant harbor, Blanche ! Lady B. Yes, for it was here we learnt the lessons of labor — how much sweeter is the chop of one’s own earning and cooking than the pheasant that drops into one’s mouth ready roasted! Oh! Frank — darling! our struggle has been a severe one, but we have reason to bless the wanderings that have taught us to lean upon each other — the privations that have shown us how little will serve when love is by to bless the meal ! Long Scene 1.] THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 55 “ Hand in hand these pretty babes Went wandering up and down; But now at last we see the man ( turns to Lord L.) Returning from the town.” ( takes her father's hand .) Even at the worst, no one can say that “ When we saw the darksome night, We sat us down and cried.” But now our wanderings are over, let us hope that you ( to audience) will play the part of Robin Redbreast, and kindly give us your leaves — to present to you from time to time our “Babes in the Wood.” Cctsahi. NEW ENTERTAINMENTS. THE BOOK OF DRILLS. PART III. A series of entertainments for parlor or liall by Mary B. Horne, author of “The Book of Drills,” Parts I and II; “The Peak Sisters,” “Prof. Baxter’s Great Invention ,’ 0 etc. Price, 30 Cents. CONTENTS. Looking Backward Drill For eight performers, ladies or gentlemen , or both . Living Advertisements . . . For a large number of performers. The Dwarfs’ Dance For four to eight boys . Gulliver and the Liliputians up to Date . . . For ten boys. THE BOOK OF DRILLS. PART IV. A series of entertainments for parlor, stage or lawn by Margaret Fezandie, Mrs. L. K. Rogers and Nellie E. Case. Price, 30 Cents. CONTENTS. The Tennis Drill . The Soap-Bubble Drill The Harvesters The Bread-and-Milk Drill A PAIR OF LUNATICS. A DRAMATIC SKETCH IN ONE SCENE. By W. R. WALKES. For one lady and one gentleman. A clever and amusing little piece, suitable for stage or platform. Requires no scenery, and plays about twenty minutes. . . . For sixteen girls. . . . For sixteen girls. For eight girls and eight boys. . For very little children. Price, 15 Cents. NEM PLPiYS A RIVAL BY REQUEST. A Comedy in Three Acts. By B. L. C. GRIFFITH. Author of “ A Bachelor’s Divorce.” Six male and five female characters. Costumes, modern and appropriate • scenery, two interiors. This is a comedy with an exceptionally well-constructed and interesting plot, abundant incident, and an unusual variety of character and humor. Its misunderstandings are ingenious and unforced and extremely laugh- able, and Pierson’s confusion of Lord Anthony McMullin and Alexander Mug- gins, a source of unfailing mirth. In its well-marked contrasts and uniformly strong character it offers a peculiarly advantageous vehicle for the talent of a good amateur club. Plays two hours and a half without a dull moment. The dialogue is particularly rapid and brilliant. Price .... 15 cents. Synopsis. Act I. — Pierson and the cornet. Getting out of an engagement. The Briggs family. Smythe’s English valet. On the move. Muggins. The lord or the lackey. Briggs and the bargain counter. Lord McMullin. A sad mistake. Love at first sight. The new boarders. The plot thickens. A crisis. Engaged to two women at once. Bad for Pierson. Act II. — Cutting the knot. A useless servant. A lord for a lover. More misunderstandings. Briggs’ nightmare. Nobody’s fool. The ladies combine. Husbands on strike. Defiance. Briggs and the ballet. A three-cornered row. Pierson explains. The two McMullins. Revelations. A broken engagement. Another. Worse for Pierson. Act III. — Pierson in a plight. The two B’s on a bat. “It’s our wives’ fault.” An artful stratagem. The telegram. A plot that didn’t work. Fixing it up. Muggins on thin ice. The two fiancees. Smythe’s return. McMullin’s restoration to the nobility. Worst for Pierson. Explanations. A show of hands. Pairing off. Muggins goes back to private life. The band plays “ Annie Laurie.” THE REVOLVING WEDGE. A Football Romance in One Act. By THORNTON M. WARE and GEORGE P. BAKER. Five male and three female characters. Costumes and scenery very simple. A capital farce, particularly adapted for Thanksgiving Day performances. Its excellent and original plot cleverly utilizes the universal mania for football, and builds up from this f umdation an admirable progression of incidents leading to a mo-t laughable conclusion. Its method will at once suggest that of the popu- lar “ Obstinate Family,” and it can be safely recommended to any one who has liked that piece. Plays nearly an hour. Price 15 cents. A NEW IRISH DRAMA. LANTY’S LUCK; Or, FALSELY ACCUSED. A DRAMA OF IRISH LIFE IN THREE ACTS. By F. N. LAWRENCE. Five male, four female characters. Costumes, modern'; scenery, not diffi- cult. This is a play perfectly adapted both in sentiment and in humor to the tastes and capacities of amateur organizations. Lanty McNally is another of those fascinating “ ne’er-do-wells,” so widely popularized by the late Mr. Bouci- cault, who earn every one’s sympathy without always deserving it, and his “ luck,” while bad enough for a time for dramatic purposes, is finally trium- phant in a capital last act. The cast is small but proportionately strong in its individual parts. Arte is a capital soubrette character, Richard, a strong heavy, and Murty, Pat, and Old Meg, strong character parts. Its compact cast and simplicity in production fit it admirably for amateur performance. It has been played “on the road” by professionals for a season with good success. Plays a full evening. Price 25 cents. SYNOPSIS. Act I. — Winding yarn. The young widow. The diamond brooch. The topi and its handle. The runaway. Fish stories. The dove and the hawk. Re- pulsed. Lanty and the thimble. An Irish courtship. The stolen kiss. A pretty plot. The trusted messenger. The stolen jewels. “ Those diamonds were mine and I refuse to prosecute him ! ” Hard Luck. Act II. — Murty and the sparklers. The Fair of Dunloe. A social outcast. Lanty’s “ widdy.” Old Meg. On the scent of the thief. The breath of shame. Lanty as a detective. Two kinds of love-making. “Down in the Well.” A false friend. “ I don’t want your money — it would burn the skin off me hands.” Better Luck. Act III. — Old Meg again. Lanty on the trail. Playing the witch. An un- fair advantage. “ She’ll skin me alive when she finds out it’s me ! ” Witchcraft. Murty’s secret. A hero in petticoats. The devil’s tryst. A quarrel among thieves. “ Curse him ! He has me in his power ! ” Cornered. Murty and the spirits. The Scotch kiss. The jewels found at last. The tables turned. Good for evil. “I forgive ye — that is, for five minutes.” Good Luck. JUST PUBLISHED, in the William Warren Edition : SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. A Comedy in Five Acts by OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Fifteen male, four female characters. Printed from William Warren’s prompt copy, by courtesy of Miss Annie Clarke. An entirely new acting edi- tion, giving all the familiar “ gags ” and “ business” never before printed. Price 15 cents. Sent , postpaid , on receipt of price , by BAKER, 5 HAMILTON PLACE, BOSTON, MASS. New Vaudeville Sketches. The following excellent list of short pieces will answer a general demand for easy entertainments suited to cases where the shortness of the time, or the con- ditions of the stage, will not allow a more elaborate production. They call for only two or three characters and very few and simple “ props,” are very bright and “ telling ” before an audience, and strictly “ up to date.” All of them have been in use on the professional stage by well-known Vaudeville performers, and are in perfect “ acting ” form. These are not suited for schools or home acting, but for the purposes for which they are intended can be strongly recommended. Price 25 cents each. AN OFF DAY* A refined musical comedy sketch. One male, one female, — comedian and soubrette. Very amusing. A PAIR OF GLOVES* An Irish sketch. One male, one female, —ec- centric comedian and Irish woman. Extremely funny. A DIAMOND STAR* A comedy sketch. Two males, — comedy Jew or Dutch and eccentric comedian. A constant laugh. MAID IN A HURRY* A comedy sketch. Two females, — comedienne and rough soubrette. Very laughable. SLASHER AND DASHER* A comedy sketch. Two males, — low come- dian. Very strong acting piece. AN EXPLODED BUM* A comedy sketch. One male, one female, — comedienne and character comedian. A scream from start to finish. SHE WANTED TO ACT. A comedy sketch. Two males, one female, — tramp, black face comedian, and soubrette. Very funny. Sketches written to order by the author of the above pieces to suit the re- quirements of any team of comedians. For terms apply to Walter H. Baker & Co., at address below. THE FOLLOWING PIECES which are constantly asked for, are not published in the ordinary play form. They can be furnished, however, at prices annexed, which are in all cases those of the cheapest form in which they can be had, and which are strictly net. Seven Old Ladies of Lavender Town. Published in a volume with “ Bobby Shaftoe ” and “Three Little Kittens.” Cloth. Com- plete, with music Six Cups of Chocolate. Paper Place aux Dames. Paper. By mail Aunt Dinah’s Husking-Bee. Paper The Temple of Fame. Paper The Bicyclers. Published in a volume with “ Proposal under DiflBcul- ties,” “ A Dramatic Evening,” and “ A Fatal Message.” Cloth . . Tulu. Published in a volume with “A Veneered Savage,” and “The Jack Trust.” Cloth Mr. Howell’s Plays. Published only in cloth. Each ...... The Courtship of Miles Standish. Dramatized $ 2.50 .25 .30 .50 1.00 1.25 1.00 .50 .15 Sent postpaid \ on receipt of price* by BAKER, 5 HAMILTON PLACE, BOSTON, MASS NEW PLAY* 3 0112 072683086 The Flying Wedge. A FOOTBALL FARCE IN ONE ACT. By GRACE LIVINGSTON FURNISS. Author of “ A Box of Monkeys,” “ Second Floor Spoopendyke,” “ The Corner-lot Chorus,” etc. Three male and five female characters. Scene, an interior. Costumes, mod- ern. A bright and vivacious piece in Miss Furniss’s very best vein. An over- whelming success in its original Empire Theatre production, and a favorite with amateur clubs in the past two seasons, during which it has been offered as a manuscript piece under royalty. We have much pleasure in offering this popu- lar farce for sale as a book, upon the ordinary terms, and in announcing that after Jan. 1, 1898, it may be played without payment of royalty. It is confidently recommended to young people as an amusing, up-to-date piece, full of fun, and yet incapable of giving offence to the most scrupulous taste. This, and the cir- cumstance that it offers parts for more ladies than gentlemen, make its publi- cation an apt answer to a very large and urgent demand for just such a play. It plays about forty-five minutes. Price 25 Cents. A Dead Heat. A COMEDY IN ONE ACT. Five female characters. Scene, an interior. Costumes, modern. A capital little play for ladies, affording four well -contrasted parts of nearly equal value and strength. Described by a professional auditor of its first performance as “ the best play for all women that I ever saw.” This, too, was one of the nota- ble productions of the late Nelson Wheatcroft, at his successful Empire Theatre Dramatic School, New York, and is a welcome addition to our large, but never large enough, list of plays for female characters. “A Dead Heat ” can be played after Jan. 1, 1898, without payment of royalty. Price 15 Cents.