ACT IV.

SCENE.--_Room in MARTHA’S cottage; a couch in recess of window.

Night. A small lamp burning on pedestal table at head of couch._

_Enter LISA from without, meeting MARTHA._

_Mar._ (_anxiously_). Well, hast thou seen the holy Anselm?

_Lisa._ Yes;

Yet but one moment I had been too late.

Old Karl is dying, and the holy man,

Being called in haste to minister to him,

Was on the eve of starting as I came.

_Mar._ (_testily_). Old Karl! Must he needs die this very night!

But thou didst tell the holy man that Gretchen

Was sorely ill, and stood in urgent need

Of his most comfortable ministry?

_Lisa._ Yes, yes. Alas that it should be the truth!

He promised he would come without delay.

How fares our loved one? Is her mind at rest?

_Mar._ Alas, I fear that death draws nigh apace!

There is a strange look in her wondering eyes

That is not of this world--a bright calm light,

As though she saw far, far beyond the grave.

When she is taken, Heaven help the poor!

There’s not an ailing soul for miles around

Who does not bless her ministering hand!

_Lisa._ If the old tale be true, when such as she

Are taken hence to their appointed heaven,

Good angels come to earth to take their place

And finish their good works; and so the poor

Who looked to them are clothed and comforted,

The hungry fed, the sick and dying healed.

_Mar._ Her work is all her own, and would be so

Though Heaven sent the best of all good angels!

[_GRETCHEN appears at door, dressed in white. She is pale and

weak._

_Gret._ Lisa, thy hand!

_Lisa._ Gretchen, what dost thou here?

_Gret._ My heart is sad. I cannot rest in peace.

_Mar._ But thou shouldst not have left thy bed, dear child.

The night is cold.

_Gret._ Alas, it matters little!

The end is near--the tale is nearly told.

_Lisa._ Nay, nay--not yet! not yet! Oh, Gretchen, Gretchen!

While life remains to thee, pray thou for life!

Oh! pray, pray, pray!

For Heaven hears the prayers of such as thou.

Oh, mercy, mercy on my misery!

How shall I live without thy saving love?

How shall I die when thou are gone from me?

Oh! Gretchen, stay with us, oh! stay with us!

As thou, in the rich love of thy great heart,

Didst look in pity on my bygone sin,

Have mercy on the love I live upon,

And pray for life! Oh, Gretchen, pray for life!

_Gret._ Lisa,

I looked in pity on thy bygone sin

In the poor pride of an untempted heart,

As one to whom such sorrow could not come.

I looked upon such unknown sin as thine

As a rich queen might look upon starvation--

In pitying wonder that such things could be.

And now--

God pardon me, as thou wast, so am I!

_Lisa._ But, Gretchen, think of him, he loveth thee!

His heart is all thine own, oh, live for him!

Oh, Gretchen, for his sake, if not for ours!

Remember him--his life’s in thy hands!

_Gret._ Remember him!

Ay, I remember him! Had I the power

To blot him from my aching memory,

Even as I have torn him from my heart,

Then I could die in hope!

_Mar._ Ah! Gretchen, Gretchen,

Pray Heaven thy love _be_ dead!

_Gret._ I have no love.

There is no biding place for earthly love

Within a heart rent with the agony

Of sacrilege, unpardoned, unatoned.

Her minister! her chosen instrument!

And I---- Oh, Heaven, have mercy on my soul!

I knew it not--thou knowest I knew it not!

(_Falls weeping on the couch._)

_Mar._ Who knocks?

_Lisa_ (_opening door_). ’Tis Father Anselm.

_Enter ANSELM, followed by FAUSTUS, who is in a monk’s dress, his

face hidden by his cowl._

_Ans._ _Benedicite!_

Is this the poor sick maid who seeks our aid?

(_To GRETCHEN, who is still sobbing._)

Nay, dry thy tears, my child; however grave

Thy burden, Heaven’s grace will lighten it.

(_To MARTHA._) Old Karl is even at the point of death,

And I must go to him; but take good heart;

This holy father will abide with her

Until I come again. The old man’s house

Is near at hand?

_Mar._ Good father, follow me

And I will lead thee thither.

_Ans._ Be it so.

[_Exeunt ANSELM and MARTHA. Exit LISA by another door. GRETCHEN

weeping at couch._

_Faus._ (_removing his cowl_). Gretchen!

_Gret._ (_starting up amazed_).

_Thou_ here! Oh, Faustus, get thee hence.

Have I not sinned enough, that thou hast come

To fill my dying heart with thoughts of thee?

I am not thine! Go, leave me to myself.

_Faus._ As stands a felon at the judgment-seat,

Bent with the burden of his published shame,

Stand I before thee!

_Gret._ I am not thy judge.

_Faus._ I have been judged, and to my lifelong doom

I bow. Yet by the love of long ago--

By the pure days when yet that love was young,

Shed but one ray of light--one gleam of hope

Upon the darkness of my dungeoned soul!

_Gret._ What wouldst thou with me? Speak, my hour is brief.

_Faus._ Time was when every tongue was eloquent

With legends of thy God-sent charity.

Gretchen,

Of all the starving crowd thy hands have fed,

Never was wretch so famine-worn as I.

Of all the agony thy words have soothed,

Never soothed they such agony as mine!

I come to thee, as others came to thee,

In shame and sorrow--hungry and athirst,

For pity and for pardon.

_Gret._ Oh, Faustus, is it meet that thou and I,

Two trembling sinners, guilty hand in hand,

Should ask each other’s mercy? Who am I

That I should deal in pardons!

_Faus._ (_wildly_). What am I

That I should live unpardoned! Hear my prayer,

And save me from myself. Thy love is dead.

So let it rest--’tis fit that it should die.

I would not raise it from its solemn grave

For all the joy that it would bring to me.

I pray thy pity, Gretchen, not thy love.

_Gret._ Kneel thou to Heaven, and not to such as I;

So shall thy pardon come from that great Source

From which alone can pardon profit thee.

My time is brief--I have to make my peace! [_Exit._

_Faus._ Gone! And with her, my only hope on earth!

Oh, Heaven, send me my death--send me my death,

And all that follows death! Am I to live

With this black blight upon my tortured soul.

Or carry with me into dark old age

The canker of an unforgiven sin?

Curse not the world with my unhallowed life,

Or me, with life on this thy goodly world!

Send me my death, oh Heaven--send me my death!

[_Falls sobbing on table. Door opens, and GOTTFRIED enters, with

sword drawn, and another in his hand. He pauses, advances to

FAUSTUS, strikes him heavily on the shoulder, and puts one

sword on table._

_Gott._ Sleeper, awake! Thine hour or mine hath come!

_Faus._ (_starting and turning round_).

Gottfried!

_Gott._ Ay, Gottfried! Oh, mine enemy!

Arise, destroyer! Thou that layest waste

The flowers of heaven with thy plague-laden blast!

Thou devil-wielded scourge! Thou thief of souls!

Make thine account with God--thy course is run!

_Faus._ Spare thou thy barbèd words for worthier foes.

There is a voice within my tortured heart

To whose anathemas thine utterance

Is but a kindly whisper. Use thy sword!

_Gott._ Then strip thy monkish frock, and take thy guard.

Strip off thy frock, I say--or does it cling

More closely to thy limbs than heretofore?

Time was when thou couldst cast thy slough at will.

Has that time gone? or does thy craven heart

Seek sanctuary in a Churchman’s garb?

[_Involuntarily FAUSTUS grasps sword on table._

Despair thy hope--the rag will serve thee not.

Monk or no monk, as Heaven defends the right,

To-night thou diest! so arm and take thy guard!

_Faus._ (_after a pause throws down sword_).

Gottfried, I’ll fight thee not. Thy cause is just.

I am a blot upon the fruitful world.

Away with me! I have no claim to live!

_Gott._ Defend thy life! Base as thy soul has shown,

I would not be thine executioner;

Yet, by the rood, defence or no defence,

I will fulfil my mission. Take thy sword!

I know no mercy when I war with hell!

_Faus._ (_passionately_).

Strike, Gottfried, strike! In the good days gone by

Thy loving hand was ever on the stretch

To aid me with a hundred offices,

The least of which should knit my heart to thine

As brother’s heart to brother. Crown thy work

_Enter GRETCHEN; she stands horrified._

With this the kindliest of thy kindly deeds! (_Tearing open his gown._)

Comrade in arms--brother in all but blood--

Here is my heart--kill the accursed thing,

It eats my flesh! Strike surely and strike deep!

_Gott._ So be it then! Thine hour has come! Good sword,

That never yet shed undefended blood,

I pray thy pardon for the infamy

I place upon thee!

[_GOTTFRIED is about to strike. GRETCHEN staggers forward and

places herself before FAUSTUS, with her arms extended to

protect him._

_Gret._ Gottfried! stay thy hand,

Or slay me with him! Oh, for shame, for shame!

Is this thy love for me? He is to me

As I to thee, and wouldst thou prove thy love

By slaying him to whom my heart is given?

Gottfried!

I place thy brotherhood upon the test,

And by that test, so shall it stand or fall.

If it be free from the base taint of earth,

As I believe it, from my heart, to be,

It will arise unshaken from the proof.

If it be as the love of other men,

Slay him--and me! (_Kneeling to him._) My brother--oh, my brother!

I know thy love--this is its counterfeit;

I know thy love--thou wouldst lay down thy life

To add one hour to mine. Thou wouldst not rob

The few brief hours that yet are left to me!

Thou seest, I know thy love! Oh, brother, brother,

Be strong in mercy! Is his wrong to thee

Less than his wrong to me?--and I forgive him!

May Heaven have pity on my woman’s heart--

I love this man!

_Gott._ (_after a pause_). Go, sir--I spare thy life.

My heart has lost its vigour, and my hand

Is stayed against thee. Go! thou knowest now

The virtue of her love--its alchemy

Hath made _thee_ sacred in mine eyes! Go, sir,

Amend thy mis-spent life--she loveth thee!

When evil thoughts assail thine impious soul,

Remember that, despite thy wrong to her,

She loveth thee!

If a man’s heart is beating in thy breast,

That amulet should hold thee Satan-proof! [_Exit._

_Faus._ Gretchen, I thank thee for my granted life,

For it hath taught me that, for all my sin,

Thine heart is turned towards me. But for that,

’Twere better I had died by Gottfried’s hand

Than by mine own!

_Gret._ Faustus, thou shalt not die.

Oh, Faustus, Faustus! _I_ am marked for death--

Is not one life enough!

_Faus._ Ay, verily,

So that that life be mine. I must atone!

_Gret._ Thou shalt atone, for thou hast greatly sinned--

Thou shalt atone with worthy deeds lifelong;

Thou shalt atone with steadfast, humbled heart,

With faith, and truth, and works of charity.

Atone with life--with brave and blameless life,

And not with coward death. Resign thyself.

_Enter LISA._

Heaven wills that thou shouldst live--that I should die--

So let us yield ourselves to Heaven’s will!

[_GRETCHEN grows gradually fainter. FAUSTUS leads her to couch._

_Enter MARTHA and ANSELM._

_Mar._ Too late! Oh, Heaven, too late!

_Lisa._ Oh, Gretchen, Gretchen!

Poor loved one--speak to us--one word! one word!

Oh, Heaven, pity us!

_Gret._ Nay, gentle one,

Weep not for Gretchen--three sad months ago

Poor Gretchen died! ’Tis a long time to mourn,

Three months! Nay, Martha, dry thine eyes again,

And deck thyself as for a holiday.

Rejoice with me--

The days of mourning for thy kinswoman

Are past and gone!

_Faus._ Oh, Gretchen--oh, my love--

My heart will break. Gretchen, tell me, at least,

That thou forgivest me!

[_Faint indications of coming daylight are seen through window._

_Gret._ I love thee, Faustus

Ah me! but it is meet that I should die,

For I can turn my head, but not my heart--

And I can close mine eyes, but not my heart--

And still my foolish tongue, but not my heart--

So, Faustus, it is meet that I should die!

Weep not-- [_FAUSTUS rises and turns towards ANSELM._

I go from Death to Life--from Night to Day!

Weep not--my heart is glad, and all my cares

Fold their black wings and creep away abashed,

As shrinks the night before the coming dawn.

[_The lamp at her feet begins to die out. MEPHISTO is seen at

door._

Farewell!

The hand of death is heavy on my heart,

The little lamp of life is dying out.

It matters not--the dreary Night is past,

And Daylight is at hand!

[_She raises her hands towards the rising sun, which is seen

through the window. Her hand falls slowly and she dies, as the

light at her head goes out, and the sky is filled with the

splendour of the coming day. ANSELM, consoling FAUSTUS, raises

his crucifix in the air. MEPHISTO, at door, cowers before

it. During GRETCHEN’S speech, the music of an organ is heard

faintly; it swells into a loud peal as GRETCHEN dies._

TOM COBB;

OR,

FORTUNE’S TOY.

_AN ENTIRELY ORIGINAL FARCICAL COMEDY_, IN THREE ACTS.

_First produced at St. James’s Theatre, under the management of MISS

LITTON, on Saturday, 24th April, 1875._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

COLONEL O’FIPP, _an Irish Adventurer_ MR. C. COOPER.

TOM COBB } _Young { MR. ROYCE.

WHIPPLE } Surgeons_ { MR. BRUCE.

MATILDA O’FIPP, _the Colonel’s Daughter_ MISS E. CHALLIS.

MR. EFFINGHAM } { MR. DE VERE.

MRS. EFFINGHAM } _Members of a { MRS. CHIPPENDALE.

BULSTRODE EFFINGHAM } romantic family_ { MR. HILL.

CAROLINE EFFINGHAM } { MISS LITTON.

BIDDY MISS DOYNE.

FOOTMAN MR. RUSSELL.

TOM COBB;

OR,

FORTUNE’S TOY.

ACT I.

SCENE.--_A shabby but pretentious sitting-room in COLONEL O’FIPP’S

house. Breakfast laid. Enter TOM COBB, with open letter in his

hand._

_Tom._ I haven’t a penny--I haven’t the ghost of a prospect of a

penny. In debt everywhere, and now I’m told that judgment’s been

signed against me for £250 by the cruellest Jew in Christendom! Upon

my soul, it’s enough to make a fellow shy things about, I swear it is!

But everything always _did_ go wrong with me, even before I was born,

for I was always expected to be a girl, and turned out something quite

different, and no fault of mine, I’m sure! (_Producing pistol._) Oh, if

I was only quite, quite sure I knew how to load it, I’d blow my brains

out this minute! I would, upon my word and honour!

_Enter MATILDA._

_Mat._ Eh! and what good ’ld that do, dear?

_Tom._ It would rid the world of an unhappy wretch. The world’s a

beast, and I hate it.

_Mat._ Then if you hate it, what d’ye want to be doing it a good turn

for? Sure it would be a bad bargain, lovey, for _you’d_ lose the world,

whereas the world ’ld only lose _you_. (_Takes pistol away from him._)

_Tom._ There’s truth in that.

_Mat._ If I was you, dear, I’d go on living to spite it.

_Tom._ Oh, ain’t that small! Oh, ain’t that like a woman!

_Mat._ And, after all, ye’re not so badly off. Don’t ye board and lodge

on nominal turr’ms with a rale cornel?

_Tom._ Yes, that’s true enough.

_Mat._ And ain’t ye engaged to a rale cornel’s daughter? And isn’t

_that_ something to live for? (_Goes to table and cuts bread and

butter._)

_Tom_ (_seated_). Oh, I’ve plenty to live _for_, but I’ve nothing to

live _on_. Upon my word, Matilda, when you come to think of it, it

_is_ a most extraordinary thing that I can’t get any patients! I’m

a qualified practitioner, right enough! I’ve passed the College of

Surgeons!

_Mat._ So have I, dear, often.

_Tom._ You can’t be more a surgeon than I am, put it how you will; but

nobody seems to know it, and I’m sure I don’t know how to tell ’em. I

can’t send sandwich men about with advertisements--the College wouldn’t

like that. I can’t hang placards out from a real colonel’s balcony,

“Walk up, walk up, this is the Shop for Amputations!” or, “To married

couples and others”--the Horse Guards wouldn’t like that. (_Taking up

carving-knife._) Upon my word, Matilda, when I look at you, and reflect

that there isn’t an operation in the whole range of practical surgery

that I shouldn’t be delighted to perform upon you at five minutes’

notice for nothing, why, it _does_ seem a most extraordinary thing that

I can’t get any patients!

_Enter COLONEL O’FIPP, in seedy, showy dressing-gown._

_O’Fi._ Good mornin’, Thomas; Matilda, my own, the mornin’ to ye.

(_Kisses her._) Breakfast ready? That’s well. Good appetite, Thomas?

(_They sit to breakfast._)

_Tom._ Tremendous. (_Taking an egg._)

_O’Fi._ (_aside_). Then I’ll spile it for ye. (_Aloud._) Don’t crack

that egg till you’re sure ye’ll want it. (_Takes it from him._) Thomas

Cobb, I’m goin’ to have a wurr’d or two with ye about your prospects,

sorr.

_Tom._ Oh, Lord! (_Turns away from his breakfast._)

_O’Fi._ When I gave my consint to yer engagement with me beautiful and

beloved daughter---- Don’t cry, my child.

_Mat._ No, pa. (_Takes an egg._)

_O’Fi._ Ye tould me ye were about to purchase a practice; and, like a

simple old soldier, I believed ye.

_Mat._ Sure, and so he was. Didn’t ye introduce him to Ben Isaacs, and

didn’t he lend him the money to do it?

_Tom._ Which your papa immediately exchanged for bills.

_O’Fi._ Which is another turr’m for money.

_Tom._ Another term for money?

_Mat._ Papa has always been accustomed to regard his I.O.U.’s as

currency.

_Tom._ Why, who do you suppose would sell me a practice for a bundle of

your I.O.U.’s?

_O’Fi._ My name, sorr, is considered in the City to be as good for a

thousand pounds as for a hundred.

_Mat._ Papa’s is one of the oldest names in the kingdom.

_O’Fi._ Yes, sorr. And let me tell ye it’s on some of the oldest bills

in the kingdom, too. Such is the value of my name that I suppose I have

renewed oftener than any man aloive! And it isn’t every man that can

say _that_!

_Tom._ But when I try to discount your paper, capitalists always say,

“Who’s O’Fipp?” And when I tell ’em he’s a colonel, they say, “What’s

he a colonel of?”

_O’Fi._ Colonel of a regiment, to be sure.

_Tom._ Yes, but in what service?

_O’Fi._ Never mind the surrvice, sorr. It was the 27th ridgment of it.

That’s enough for any man. There’s many a surrvice besides the British

surrvice, I believe, sorr?

_Tom._ Oh, I believe there’s a good many.

_O’Fi._ There’s the Spanish surrvice, sorr--and the Hungarian

surrvice--and the Italian surrvice, and the French surrvice, and the----

_Mat._ And the dinner surrvice.

_Tom._ And the Church Service.

_O’Fi._ No, sorr. When a gintleman asks me my ridgment, he has a

right to know it, and I tell him at once. But when he asks me in what

surrvice, sorr, why that’s a piece of impertinent curiosity, and I ask

him “what the devil he means by it?”

_Tom._ Oh, I’m sure _I_ don’t care; the regiment’s quite enough for

_me_. But then I ain’t a capitalist.

_O’Fi._ Well, sorr, let us come to the p’int. For two months ye’ve been

engaged to my lovely and accomplished daughter---- Don’t cry, my love.

(_To MATILDA._)

_Mat._ No, pa. (_Takes an egg._)

_O’Fi._ And ye’re as far from marrying her as iver. Now during the last

two months my poor child’s been wastin’ the best years of her loife,

and she can’t wait much longer.--Can ye, Matilda?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I can’t then. I’m twenty-noine and a bit.

_O’Fi._ She’s twenty-noine--and a bit! Now it’s roight to tell ye,

and you too, Matilda, that a gintleman of good birth, irreproachable

morals, and a considerable command of ready money, has done me the

honour to propose for me daughter’s hand. I say no more, sorr. As a

man of honour there’s two courses open to ye, and I leave ye to decide

which of ’em ye’ll take. [_Exit._

_Tom_ (_in great grief_). Matilda, did you hear that?

_Mat._ Yes, Tom, I heard that.

_Tom_ (_furious_). Who is the scoundrel who has dared to aspire to your

hand?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I don’t know, but it’ll be some one who’s lendin’

money to papa. I ginerally go with the bills.

_Tom_ (_aghast_). What!

_Mat._ When a body falls in love with me, papa ginerally borrows money

of him, and he gives bills, and I go with ’em. It’s a rule of the

family. (_Rises._)

_Tom._ But surely you’ll never countenance such a bargain?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I don’t want to, Tom dear, but I’ve countenanced it

for thirteen years, and sure it ’ld look odd to refuse now. Besides,

dear, I’m not as young as I was.

_Tom._ No, but then you’re not as old as you might be.

_Mat._ No, but I’m as old as I mean to be. There’s razin for ye, Tom,

and ye want it.

_Tom._ Well, I’m sure I don’t know what to do; I’m at my wits’ end.

_Mat._ Then it’s the beginning end, and there’s hope for ye yet.

(_Knock._)

_Tom._ Who’s that?

_Mat._ There, now, if it ain’t your friend Whipple’s carriage!

_Tom._ Whipple! Whipple with a carriage! A fool, an impostor, a quack,

with a carriage! What does he want to come flaunting his one-horse fly

in my face for? There, I actually did that man’s botany papers for him

at the College, and now he’s rolling in fever patients,--literally

_rolling_ in fever patients,--while I haven’t one to my back!

_Mat._ Well, maybe he’ll help ye if ye ask him. He’s a pleasant man.

_Tom._ Pleasant, is he? I don’t know what you call pleasant. Why,

there’s a squalid old pauper idiot, a patient of his, who’s got no name

of his own, and Whipple christened him Tom Cobb, because he says he’s

the ugliest old lunatic he ever saw and reminds him of me. And all the

boys in the neighbourhood have taken it up, and he’s been known as Tom

Cobb for the last two years. That’s pleasant of Whipple.

_Mat._ Sure, it’s his joke.

_Tom._ Yes, I know it’s his joke, but I don’t like his joke. One Tom

Cobb’s enough at a time, and--(_taking out pistol_)--if I was only

quite, quite sure I knew how to load it, I’d snuff one of ’em out this

minute. I would; upon my word and honour, I would! [_Exit COBB._

_Mat._ Poor Tom! He’s an innocent boy, and he’s fond of me, and I like

him too, and it’s a pity he ain’t rich. And now who’s the gentleman

with the command of ready money who’s proposed for me, I’d like to know?

_Enter BIDDY._

_Bid._ Mr. Whipple. [_Exit BIDDY._

_Enter WHIPPLE._

_Whi._ Miss Matilda, don’t think me premature for calling, but I came

because I really couldn’t wait any longer.

_Mat._ And ye did right; sit ye down.

_Whi._ I couldn’t help it; you’re not angry? (_Sits._)

_Mat._ Not I! If ye couldn’t help it, what were ye to do? (_Sits._)

_Whi._ I declare I haven’t slept a wink all night from anxiety.

_Mat._ Would ye like to take a snooze on the sofa?

_Whi._ A snooze? Miss Matilda, hasn’t your father told you?

_Mat._ Told me--told me what?

_Whi._ Why, that I----

_Mat._ Ye niver mean to sit there and tell me ye’re the young gintleman

of high family, unblemished morals, and considerable command of ready

money?

_Whi._ That’s me--he _has_ told you. Yes, Miss Matilda, I have dared----

_Mat._ But don’t ye know I’m engaged to your friend, Tom Cobb?

_Whi._ Tom Cobb! Yes, I know you are. A mule, a clod, an unsuccessful

clod. Yes, I know he’s tied to you as a log is tied to the leg of a

runaway donkey. I beg your pardon--I don’t mean that; but you can’t

really love him?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I like him very well then. He’s a good boy. But tell

me now--is it bills?

_Whi._ (_rather taken aback_). Well, yes; since you put it like that,

it _is_ bills.

_Mat._ Then I tell ye what, Mr. Whipple; I’m tired of being handed over

with stamped paper.

_Whi._ (_earnestly_). There was _no_ stamp on it; indeed, there was no

stamp on it. It was an I.O.U.

_Mat._ It’s the same thing. I like Tom Cobb better than I like you, and

if he’ll marry me in a month I’ll have him, and if he won’t, why I’ll

talk to you. There’s your answer now, and don’t bother again.

_Whi._ In a month! (_Aside._) In a month! He _shan’t_ marry her in a

month! If I can only manage to get him out of the way, and keep him

there for a few weeks! (_Suddenly._) I’ll do it! It’ll cost money, but

I’ll do it.

_Enter TOM COBB._

Ah! Tom, my boy, I’m delighted to see you; how uncommonly jolly you’re

looking, to be sure!

_Tom_ (_very miserably_). Yes, I should say I was looking uncommonly

jolly.

_Whi._ Why, what’s the matter?

_Tom._ Why, a good many things; and look here, Whipple, I wish next

time you want a godfather for a nameless pauper you’d choose somebody

else.

_Whi._ Oh! you mean ugly old Tom Cobb! I beg your pardon--but he was so

like you I couldn’t help it. But there, that needn’t distress you--for

he died last night, and there’s an end of him. Never mind, old boy,

I’ll make it up to you some day.

_Tom_ (_suddenly_). Will you? Whipple, I’m in an awful fix about Ben

Isaacs’ bills; now you’re well off--I did your botany paper for you at

the College--will you lend me £250 on my personal security? I want a

plain answer--yes or no.

_Whi._ My dear boy, of course; with pleasure.

_Tom_ (_delighted and surprised_). My dear Whipple!

_Whi._ You shall have it, of course. (_Feeling for his handkerchief._)

_Tom._ When?

_Whi._ Why, now, if you like.

_Tom._ What--the money?

_Whi._ No; the plain answer. (_Takes out handkerchief, uses it, and

returns it._) I haven’t a penny at my bankers. I’ve lent it all--to the

colonel. What have you done with the money?

_Tom._ Well, _I_ lent it all to--the Colonel. He borrowed it the very

day he agreed to my engagement with Matilda; didn’t he, dear?

_Mat._ (_clearing away breakfast things_). Just that very same day,

dear. Directly after I told him ye were going to propose for me, and

immediately before ye did it.

_Whi._ Good soldier, the Colonel.

_Tom._ Oh, he didn’t borrow it because he wanted it; he borrowed it to

prevent my wasting it in foolishness. He said so; but I _should_ like

to have a go in at some foolishness now and then, if it was only a pair

of trousers or half a dozen socks.

_Mat._ Yes, ye want socks. [_Exit MATILDA with breakfast things._

_Tom._ But what’s the use of socks to a man who’s going to blow his

brains out? Whipple, I do assure you on my honour, if I knew a safe and

perfectly painless way of popping out of this world into comfortable

quarters in the next, I’d adopt it--upon my word and honour, I’d adopt

it!

_Whi._ (_suddenly_). Do you mean that?

_Tom._ Yes, I mean that.

_Whi._ Then I’ll help you. Now, observe: my old pauper patient, Tom

Cobb, died last night. He hasn’t a friend or relation in the world to

claim him. Well, I certify to his death, and he’s comfortably buried,

and there’s an end of old Tom Cobb.

_Tom._ The ugly one?

_Whi._ The ugly one, of course.

_Tom._ I don’t see what you’re driving at.

_Whi._ Don’t you? Why, if Tom Cobb’s dead and buried, what becomes of

the bill Tom Cobb gave Ben Isaacs?

_Tom._ But the ugly Tom Cobb never gave a bill. (_A light breaks upon

him._) Oh, you cunning devil!

_Whi._ Now then, what d’ye say to dying by deputy?

_Tom._ By Jove, it’s worth thinking of.

_Whi._ Worth thinking of? It’s worth jumping at without stopping to

think at all.

_Tom._ I believe you’re right. (_After a pause._) I’ll do it! I’m a

dead man! I can come to life again, I suppose, when I like?

_Whi._ Oh yes, under another name. But you’ll have to hide away for a

few months.

_Tom._ Oh, ah; but (_turning out his pockets_) how about burial fees?

_Whi._ Will five and twenty pounds do it?

_Tom._ Five and twenty pounds will just do it.

_Whi._ Then come along at once to my house, and take leave of this life.

_Tom._ But you’ll let me take a last farewell of Matilda?

_Whi._ No, no; bother Matilda! (_Taking his arm._)

_Tom._ Oh, but you mustn’t bother Matilda!

_Whi._ Now, now, do come along.

_Tom._ Hang it all, let me see her before the tomb closes over me for

three months!

_Whi._ No, you can write to her; now, come at once, or I won’t help you.

_Tom._ Then farewell, Matilda; I go to my doom. Whipple, during

my decease I confide her to you. Be a mother to her. (_Kissing

photograph._) Farewell, unhappy Matilda; be true to my memory, for

I’m as good as dead, and you’re engaged to a body! (_He staggers out

wildly, followed by WHIPPLE.)_

_Enter MATILDA._

_Mat._ Now, where’s he gone with Whipple, I’d like to know? That

Whipple’s up to some bedevilment with him, I’ll go bail.

_Enter BIDDY._

_Bid._ Please, miss, here’s a young lady as says she must see you, and

won’t take no denial.

_Mat._ A young lady?

_Enter CAROLINE, in great agitation. She is a romantic-looking young

lady, with long curls and gushing, poetical demeanour. She pauses

melodramatically._

_Car._ Matilda! Don’t ye know me?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I don’t. Why, if it isn’t my old schoolfellow, Carrie

Effingham! It’s Carrie, as I’m a living sinner!

_Car._ Yes; I came to town yesterday; and though ten long weary years

have flown since last we met, I could not pass my dear old friend’s

abode without one effort to awake those slumbering chords that, struck

in unison, ever found ready echoes in our sister hearts.

_Mat._ Why, ye talk nonsense as well as ever, dear; but I’m glad to see

ye. (_She sits. CAROLINE kneels at her feet._)

_Car._ How well--how very well you’re looking--and, heavens! how

lovely!

_Mat._ Yes, dear. Ye’re lookin’ older. Ye’re not married yet, I suppose?

_Car._ Alas, no! (_Wiping her eyes._)

_Mat._ Don’t fret, dear; it’ll come.

_Car._ Oh, Matilda, a maiden’s heart should be as free as the summer

sun itself; and it’s sad when, in youth’s heyday, its trilling gladness

has been trodden underfoot by the iron-shod heel of a serpent!

_Mat._ Yes; it’s sad when that’s happened. Tell me all about it.

_Car._ Swear that, come what may, no torture shall ever induce you to

reveal the secret I am going to confide to you?

_Mat._ Oh, I’ll swear that with pleasure.

_Car._ Will you believe me when I tell you that--I have loved?

_Mat._ Oh yes!

_Car._ And that I have been loved in return?

_Mat._ Well, ye--es. Oh yes; it’s possible.

_Car._ He was a poet-soldier, fighting the Paynim foe in India’s

burning clime--a glorious songster, who swept the lute with one hand,

while he sabred the foe with the other!

_Mat._ Was he in the band?

_Car._ The band! He was a major-general! (_Rises._)

_Mat._ Oh! Handsome?

_Car._ I know not. I never saw him.

_Mat._ Ye never saw him?

_Car._ I never saw his face; but--I have seen his soul!

_Mat._ What’s his soul like?

_Car._ Like? Like the frenzied passion of the antelope! Like the wild

fire of the tiger-lily! Like the pale earnestness of some lovesick

thunder-cloud that longs to grasp the fleeting lightning in his

outstretched arms!

_Mat._ Was he often like that?

_Car._ Always!

_Mat._ A pleasant man in furnished lodgings! And where did ye see his

soul?

_Car._ (_sits_). He poured it into the columns of the _Weybridge

Watchman_, the local paper of the town that gave him birth. Dainty

little poems, the dew of his sweet soul, the tender frothings of his

soldier brain. In them I read him, and in them I loved him! I wrote

to him for his autograph--he sent it. I sent him my photograph, and

directly he saw it he proposed in terms that cloyed me with the sweet

surfeit of their choice exuberance, imploring me at the same time to

reply by telegraph. Then, maiden-like, I longed to toy and dally with

his love. But Anglo-Indian telegraphic rates are high; so, much against

my maiden will, I answered in one word--that one word, yes!

_Mat._ And ye’ve engaged yerself to a man whose face ye’ve niver seen?

_Car._ I’ve seen his soul!

_Mat._ And when d’ye think ye’ll see his body?

_Car._ Alas, never! for (pity me) he is faithless! We corresponded for

a year, and then his letters ceased; and now, for eighteen months, no

crumb nor crust of comfort has appeased my parched and thirsting soul!

Fortunately my solicitor has all his letters.

_Mat._ Oh, I see. And when does the action come off?

_Car._ I know not. We have advertised for him right and left. Twenty

men of law are on his track, and my brother Bulstrode, an attorney’s

clerk, carries a writ about him night and day. Thus my heart-springs

are laid bare that every dolt may gibe at them--the whole county rings

with my mishap--its gloomy details are on every bumpkin’s tongue!

This--this is my secret. Swear that you will never reveal it!

_Mat._ Oh! but ye’ll get thumping damages when ye _do_ find him.

_Car._ It may be so. The huckstering men of law appraise my heart-wreck

at five thousand pounds!

_Mat._ Well, and I wish ye may get it, dear!

_Car._ Thank you, oh! thank you for that wish.

_Mat._ Ye’re not goin’?

_Car._ No; I have come to spend a long, long day. I’m going to take my

bonnet off. (_Solemnly._) Dear Matilda, we have not met for many many

years, and I long--I cannot tell you, Matilda, how earnestly I long--to

see all your new things!

[_Exeunt together, as O’FIPP enters._

_O’Fi._ There’s an ungrateful daughter to refuse Whipple, and me

pinched for money till I can hardly raise an egg for breakfast. But she

shan’t have Tom Cobb anyhow. I’ll see to that! A pretty kettle of fish

I’m boiling for myself. When I’ve sent Tom Cobb about his business,

what’ll the ongrateful villain do? Why, he’ll sue on them bills o’

mine, as if I’d never bin the next thing to a father-in-law to him! But

that’s the way with mean and thankless naturs. Do ’em an injustice and

they’re never satisfied till they’ve retaliated!

_Enter MATILDA with letter, and pretending to cry._

_Mat._ Papa dear, I’ve bad news for you.

_O’Fi._ Bad news? At whose suit?

_Mat._ It ain’t that, dear; it’s my Tom.

_O’Fi._ And what’s the scamp been doin’ now?

_Mat._ The scamp’s bin dyin’.

_O’Fi._ Dying? What d’ye mean?

_Mat._ I mean Tom’s dead.

_O’Fi._ (_looking at her sternly_). Matilda, are ye in earnest, or have

ye bin at the eau de Cologne?

_Mat._ Oh! I’m in earnest. Tom’s dead.

_O’Fi._ Who’s killed him?

_Mat._ Faith, an’ he killed himself. He’s written to say so. Here’s his

letter. He encloses yer two bills and app’ints ye his executor.

_O’Fi._ Ye pain and surproise me more than I can tell ye. Poor Tom!

He was a koind and ginerous lad, and I’d hoped to have met these

bills under happier circumstances. Well, his executor deals with them

now--that’s me; and the question is whether, in the interests of Tom’s

estate, it would be worth while to proceed against the acceptor--that’s

me again; and, on the whole, I don’t recommend it. (_Tears them up._)

Now, tell me all about it; don’t cry, my child.

_Mat._ No, pa. Well, it’s loike this--Ben Isaacs was overpressin’, and

poor Tom was bothered, and thought he’d make an end of himself; and

just then he heard that the ould man, that Whipple called Tom Cobb from

the loikeness, had just died. So Tom thought he’d make one death do for

the two. Sure, he’s been economically brought up.

_O’Fi._ What! Am I to onderstand that Thomas Cobb has been troiflin’

with the most sacred feelings of an old soldier’s grey-headed ould

harr’t?

_Mat._ Well, he’s shamming dead, if ye mean that, and he hopes you’ll

go to the funeral!

_O’Fi._ (_rises_). Shamming dead, is he! Shamming dead! Let me come

across him, and by the blood of the O’Fipps, I’ll make him sham dead in

rale earnest!

_Mat._ But, papa dear, the boy’s hard pressed!

_O’Fi._ Don’t interrupt an honest burst of feelin’ in an old military

officer. For months I’ve looked forward like a simple ould soldier to

meetin’ those bills, and now I’ve destroyed them, and deproived meself

of a pleasure which might have lasted me the next twenty years! But

I’ll expose him. It’s a croime of some sort, pretendin’ to be dead

when ye’re not. It’s obtainin burial under false pretences, if it’s

nothing else! What’s that?

_Mat._ (_with paper in her hand_). It’s his will! (_Laughing._)

_O’Fi._ (_indignantly_). His will!

_Mat._ Yes; would ye have a gintleman doi without a will?

_O’Fi._ A gintleman! A beggarly scoundrel! (_Opens it._) Ha, ha! He

leaves ye everything, Matilda! It’s duly signed and witnessed, all

quite in form! By my soul, I congratulate ye on yer accession to

fortune and prosperity!

_Mat._ It’s just done to give colour to his death. Don’t be hasty,

dear. It’s the first time I’ve been mentioned in a will, and maybe

it’ll be the last. (_Laughing._)

_O’Fi._ (_furious_). Mentioned in a will! It’s an outrage--a sacrilege,

I tell ye--an insult to a simple ould officer and his deluded gyurl,

to mention them in a swindlin’ document that’s not worth the ink it’s

written with! This is how I treat it, Matilda. (_Crumpling it up._)

This is how I treat it (_throws it in the fire_); and if that thief,

Tom Cobb, was here, I’d crumple him too and send him after it!

_Enter WHIPPLE, breathless and much excited._

_Whi._ Oh, Colonel!

_O’Fi._ Well, sorr?

_Whi._ Here’s news! My old man, the ugly old man who always went by the

name of Tom Cobb----

_O’Fi._ Well, sorr?

_Whi._ He died last night! Poor ugly old Tom Cobb died last night.

_Mat._ We know all about it; we knew it half an hour ago.

_Whi._ Yes, Matilda, but you don’t know this: I went to his cottage

this morning, and on the bed I found a hasty scrawled note written by

the old man just before he died. (_COLONEL becomes interested._) It

contained these words, “Look under the fireplace.” I got a crowbar,

raised the hearth, and under it I found gold--gold,--silver and

bank-notes in profusion! No end of gold--you could roll in it, you

could roll in it! And he hasn’t a friend or relation in the world!

[_COLONEL O’FIPP, during the last few lines, has hurriedly snatched

the will out of the fire, and smoothed it out, unobserved. He

produces it with a dignified air._

_Whi._ What’s that?

_O’Fi._ This, sorr, is the poor old gintleman’s will, in which he

leaves everything to my beloved daughter.

_Whi._ But that’s not _old_ Tom Cobb’s will! That’s the will young Tom

Cobb made in fun just now!

_O’Fi._ Sorr, old Tom Cobb’s dead, and here’s a will signed “Tom Cobb.”

Put that and that together, and what d’ye make of it? [_WHIPPLE falls

into a chair amazed._

ACT II.

SCENE.--_The same room in COLONEL O’FIPP’S house, but very handsomely

furnished. Pictures, busts, etc. Writing materials on one table;

sherry and glasses on another._

_MATILDA O’FIPP discovered working, WHIPPLE on a stool at her feet._

_Whi._ My darling Matilda, who was it who said the course of true love

never did run smooth? Are not our loves true? And could anything be

smoother than their course during the last three months?

_Mat._ No, dear, savin’ that when ye proposed for me, papa kicked ye

out of the house.

_Whi._ He did, in the effusion of the moment, and I honour him for it!

On his unexpected accession to wealth he naturally looked for a wealthy

and well-born son-in-law, and I honour him for it! But the doughty old

soldier was open to reason, and when I proved to him that his wealth

depended on my secrecy, he admitted his error at once, like a frank old

warrior as he is, and I honour him for it!

_Mat._ Poor Tom! I wonder what’s come of him all this while? It’s three

months since he----

_Whi._ Died.

_Mat._ Died, and I’ve never heard a word from him since.

_Whi._ Then he can’t complain if you’ve been inconstant.

_Mat._ ’Deed, and he can’t. It’s clear a young girl must marry

somebody. It’s nature.

_Enter O’FIPP._

_Whi._ Of course it is, and if he truly loves you--really and truly

loves you as I do, he ought to be delighted when he comes back to find

that you’ve engaged yourself to a gentleman in every way his superior.

_O’Fi._ Deloighted when he comes back? Divil a bit! By razin that he

won’t come back any more!

_Mat._ Won’t come back any more?

_O’Fi._ Not he. Isn’t he dead, and haven’t we buried him, and paid his

debts, and proved his will, and stuck up a tombstone that he’d blush to

read. Sure, it’ll be in the highest degree ondacent in him to give the

lie to a tombstone!

_Whi._ But Tom never had any tact--and if he _should_ be guilty of the

indiscretion of turning up----

_O’Fi._ Well, sorr, if he should, I shall be prepared to admit that

I’ve acted under a misconception. But, sorr, before I yield possession

of the estate which has so miraculously come into my hands, I shall

satisfy meself beyond all doubt that I am not dealin’ with an

imposthor. Any one who assumes to be the late Tom Cobb will have to

establish his identity beyond all manner of doubt. And as I’ve paid Mr.

Ben Isaacs and his other creditors conditionally on his being dead,

he may find that difficult, sorr,--he may find that difficult.

[_Exit O’FIPP._

_Mat._ Well, Tom Cobb may be dead, but when he finds out the use that’s

been made of his will, he’ll not rest in his grave, I’m thinking,

that’s all!

_Whi._ But if he _should_ return--if Tom Cobb’s shade _should_

take it into his ghostly head to revisit the scenes of his earthly

happiness--promise me that you will treat him with the cold respect due

to a disembodied spirit.

_Mat._ But when d’ye think he’ll come?

_Whi._ Well, between ourselves, I think we may look for his apparition

at an early date. Unless the necessaries of life are considerably

cheaper in the other world than in this, Tom Cobb’s five and twenty

pounds must be as shadowy as himself by this time.

_Mat._ But if he comes to life, who’s to kill him again?

_Whi._ Oh, your papa will have to kill him; it’s his turn. Besides,

it’s a colonel’s business to kill people.

_Mat._ And a doctor’s, too.

_Whi._ Yes, Matilda. But we don’t _pay_ people to die: they pay us

to kill ’em. It’s the rule of the profession.

[_Exeunt MATILDA and WHIPPLE._

_Enter TOM COBB, preceded by _Footman_. TOM is very seedy and dirty,

and his boots are in holes._

_Footman._ If you’ll take a seat, sir, I’ll tell the Colonel you want

to see him. What name shall I say?

_Tom_ (_aside_). If I give him my real name he’ll faint. (_Aloud._)

The Duke of Northumberland. (_Aside._) That’ll draw him. (_Aloud._)

I haven’t a card. (_FOOTMAN is incredulous. He is about to go, but

returns and removes tray with sherry; then exit._) Well, nicely the

old scoundrel’s feathered his nest, upon my word! Real Axminster,

satin furniture, ancestors, busts! And this has been going on for

three months, and I only heard of it yesterday. Why, he’s made me

accessory to a forgery, and I’m being advertised for in every paper in

the kingdom! Why, it’s penal servitude! Who’d think an Irish colonel

could be such a scoundrel! Well, you never know when you’re safe in

this world; upon my soul, you don’t. I never met a man in my life whose

manner and appearance inspired me with so much confidence.

_Enter O’FIPP._

Well, upon my word, Colonel O’Fipp, you’re a nice officer, you are!

I make a will more by way of a joke than anything else, and you have

the face to apply it to the property of a friendless old man who went

by my name! Why, it’s robbery! it’s forgery! and Docket and Tape are

offering £50 reward to any one who can give information about me! Now,

look here--destroy that will and restore the property, or I’ll answer

this advertisement this very minute. I will; upon my soul and honour, I

will--there!

_O’Fi._ I believe I have the honour of addressin’ the Jook of

Northumberland.

_Tom._ Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Colonel; you know me well enough.

_O’Fi._ Am I to onderstand, sorr, that ye’re not the distinguished

nobleman you represented yerself to be?

_Tom._ Oh, haven’t I been deceived in you! Oh, Colonel, Colonel! you

_have_ turned out treacherous; upon my soul, you have!

_O’Fi._ I’m at a loss to comprehend your meanin’, sorr. Will ye oblige

me by informing me whom I have the honour of addressin’?

_Tom._ You’ve the honour of addressing a miserable, poor devil, who’ll

be standing alongside of you at the Old Bailey bar in about three

weeks, if he’s not very much mistaken.

_O’Fi._ Upon my wurrd, sorr, ye’ve got the advantage of me.

_Tom._ Have I? Then I’m the only man that ever did. I don’t think Tom

Cobb is the sort of man to get any advantage out of Colonel O’Fipp.

(_COLONEL O’FIPP falls sobbing into chair._) What’s the matter now?

_O’Fi._ Ye mentioned the name of Tom Cobb, sorr. I had a dear, dear

friend of that name once. He was to have married me daughter, sorr; but

he’s gone!

_Tom._ Well, if that’s what you’re crying for--cheer up, because he’s

come back again.

_O’Fi._ (_seizing his hand_). Me dear friend, me very dear friend, if

ye can only assure me that poor dear dead and gone Tom Cobb is aloive,

me gratitude shall know no bounds! Maybe you’re his brother?

_Tom._ His brother!--get out!

_O’Fi._ No? I thought ye moight be; I seem to see a loikeness.

_Tom._ I should think you did!

_O’Fi._ A distant loikeness, sorr.

_Tom._ A mere suggestion, I suppose?

_O’Fi._ A faint shadowy indication of a remote family resemblance;

that’s all, sorr, I give ye my honour. And now tell me where is he,

that I may embrace him.

_Tom._ Well, he’s here; but don’t embrace him.

_O’Fi._ Sorr, d’ye mean to sit there and tell me to me very face that

you’re me beloved ould friend Tom Cobb?

_Tom._ Well, if the marks on my linen are to be trusted----

_O’Fi._ Ah, sorr! beware of jumpin’ at conclusions on insufficient

grounds. Depend upon it, ye’re mistaken, sorr.

_Tom._ Well, upon my honour, I begin to think I am!

_O’Fi._ Tom Cobb, sorr, is dead and buried. I had the melancholy

satisfaction of following him to his grave--me dear friend, Tim

Whipple, accompanied me, and he’s at the present moment engaged in

comforting my bereaved and inconsolable daughter.

_Tom._ I’m sure I’m very much obliged to him! Perhaps I could do that

better than he?

_O’Fi._ I think not, sorr. He’s doing it very well--very well indeed.

_Tom._ Now, once for all, Colonel, this won’t do. There are plenty of

people who know me if you don’t. Here’s my card--“T. Cobb, 6,” in red

cotton (_showing mark on pocket-handkerchief_), and I’ve several other

marks of the same character about me, which I shall be happy to show

you at a more convenient opportunity.

_O’Fi._ Sorr, documentary evidence in red cotton isn’t worth the

cambric it’s stitched upon. Ye’ll have to find some better proof of yer

identity than that.

_Enter MATILDA._

_Mat._ Papa dear, Tim’s goin’ to take me to the theayter. (_Sees TOM._)

Oh!

_Tom._ My darlin’ Matilda! My beloved Matilda! I’m so, so, _so_ glad

to see you again, dear! Why, it’s three months since we met. (_Kissing

and hugging her._) What a fool I’ve been to cut myself out of this sort

of thing for three months! (_Kisses her._) How very, very well you’re

looking! (_Kisses her._)

_Mat._ Will ye koindly leave off kissin’ me till I’ve had the pleasure

of bein’ inthrojuiced to ye?

_Tom._ Why, you don’t mean to tell me _you_ don’t know me?

_Mat._ ’Deed, and I don’t then. And yet I seem to have seen yer face

before?

_Tom._ ’Deed, and you have, and you’ve kissed it before.

_Mat._ I don’t rimimber kissin’ it.

_O’Fi._ You observe, sorr. She don’t rimimber kissin’ it.

_Mat._ Oh, papa! (_Crying._)

_O’Fi._ What’s the matter, my dear?

_Mat._ There’s somethin’ about him that remoinds me of poor Tom!

_O’Fi._ There’s a faint resemblance; I remarked it meself. (_Wipes his

eyes._)

_Tom._ Now, Matilda, don’t _you_ deny me? I’ve loved you so long in

spite of your not having any money, and although you do go with the

bills, and although you _are_ older than I am, don’t turn against me

now. Oh, you _do_ look so pretty! (_Puts his arm round her and kisses

her._)

_Enter WHIPPLE. He seizes TOM by the collar and whirls him away from

MATILDA._

_Tom_ (_seizing his hand_). My dear Tim--my very dear Tim--you’re the

very man I wanted to see! I am most unaffectedly delighted to see you.

(_Shaking his hand heartily._) How well--how remarkably well you’re

looking, to be sure!

_Whi._ (_shaking his hand with a great show of welcome_). Yes,

uncommonly well--never better. And how have _you_ been?

_Tom._ Very well, but rather dull. I say, I’ve got into a nice scrape!

They’re after me--they’re advertising for me!

_Whi._ No!

_Tom._ Fact! £50 is offered for me! What do you say to that?

_Whi._ Well, I should close with it.

_Tom._ Why?

_Whi._ Because I should think it’s a good deal more than you’re worth.

_Tom._ Ha, ha!

_Whi._ Ha, ha!

_Tom._ What a fellow you are! Same old Whipple! I say, the Colonel’s a

cool hand. What d’ye think he says now?

_Whi._ Nothing worth repeating, I should imagine.

_Tom._ What a caustic fellow you are! He says I’m dead!

_Whi._ Oh, he’s an Irishman.

_Tom._ Ha, ha! Oh, that’s very good: that’s so like you.

_Whi._ _He’s_ not dead, Colonel. (_Feeling TOM’S pulse._)

_Tom._ There, Matilda, you hear that! (_About to embrace her._)

_Whi._ What are you about? How dare you embrace that young lady?

(_Stopping him._)

_Tom._ You said I was alive.

_Whi._ But, bless my heart, you don’t suppose every man alive is

privileged to embrace Miss O’Fipp?

_Mat._ A nice time I’d have of it.

_O’Fi._ I tell ye, sorr, Tom Cobb is dead and buried.

_Whi._ Yes, poor Tom, he’s dead. (_Wipes his eyes._)

_Tom._ But you just said I was alive.

_Whi._ Yes, old chap, you’re alive.

_Tom_ (_puzzled_). I see, your theory is that I’m alive; but I’m not

Tom Cobb.

_Whi._ Yes; that’s my theory.

_Tom._ But I’m like him, ain’t I?

_Whi._ Well, now you mention it, you _are_ like him.

_Tom._ Matilda--once more, I implore you---- (_Seizing her hand._)

_Whi._ Matilda, leave the room! (_Takes her to door._) Sir, misled by a

resemblance, which I admit to be striking, you have come here under the

impression that you are my departed friend. I can excuse the error; but

now that it’s been pointed out to you, if ever you attempt to embrace

this young lady again, I’ll break your leg and set it myself. [_Exit._

_Tom._ Colonel O’Fipp, I----

_O’Fi._ Stop, sorr. If this conversation is to continue, I must be

informed whom I have the pleasure of addressing. Up to the present

moment we have only learnt who you are _not_. Let us now proceed to

ascertain who ye _are_.

_Tom._ Colonel, I’m in that state of mental confusion, that I declare I

don’t know who I am. Give me a little breathing time. When a young man

believes he’s been Tom Cobb for twenty-five years, and then suddenly

finds himself kicked out of Tom Cobb, with nowhere to go to, he _wants_

a little breathing time to look about him and find a name to let.

_O’Fi._ Well, sorr, for the purpose of this interview one name’s as

good as another. Here’s the _Toimes_ newspaper. Ye’ll find many a good

name goin’ beggin’ in that. Choose yer name. Here’s a gintleman who was

hanged this mornin’! Would ye like _his_ name? He’s done with it.

_Tom._ Don’t be unpleasant, Colonel.

_O’Fi._ Well, put your finger down; take the first that comes. (_Puts

COBB’S finger on the newspaper at random._) Here’s one--the Bishop of

Bath and Wells.

_Tom._ Nonsense! Who’d take me for a bishop?

_O’Fi._ Then try again. Mr. and Mrs. German Reed.

_Tom._ Don’t be absurd.

_O’Fi._ Well, once more. Major-Gineral Arthur Fitzpatrick. What d’ye

say to that?

_Tom._ But I don’t look like a major-general.

_O’Fi._ Well, sorr, and what of that? I don’t look like a

lieutenant-colonel, do I?

_Tom._ No, you don’t; but a major-general in broken boots!

_O’Fi._ Sure it’s where yer corns have been shootin’ through. Ye

wouldn’t have a major-gineral with corns that couldn’t shoot, I suppose?

_Tom._ No!

_O’Fi._ Now, sorr, it’ll take a mighty deal of argument to pursuade

me that you’re not Major-Gineral Arthur Fitzpatrick in broken boots.

Now, I’ve the credit of the surrvice at stake, and when I see a

major-gineral in broken boots me harrut bleeds for him, and I long to

allow him a pound a week, sorr--a pound a week--to keep up his military

position.

_Tom._ A pound a week?

_O’Fi._ No less, sorr. Now, as long as Major-Gineral Arthur Fitzpatrick

chooses to claim a pound a week of me, it’s here at his service. But

on the onderstanding that he resumes his name and rank, and ceases for

ever the dishonourable and unsoldierlike practice of masquerading under

a false name. D’ye onderstand me, sorr?

_Tom._ Yes--I understand you.

_O’Fi._ Do ye agree?

_Tom._ I’m so hungry, and seedy, and wretched, that I’d agree to

anything. You couldn’t oblige me with the first week in advance?

_O’Fi._ Sorr, it has always been Terence O’Fipp’s maxim to pay

everything in advance. I’ll go and get ye a pound, and ye can amuse

yeself by writing out the receipt while I’m gone. (_Going._)

_Tom._ (_sitting down to write_). Colonel, I don’t know whether to be

very much obliged to you, or to look upon you as the coolest scamp

unhung.

_O’Fi._ Sorr, take my word for it, ye’ve every reason to do both.

[_Exit COLONEL O’FIPP._

_Tom._ Now, that man’s commanded a regiment for years--he’s enjoyed

the unlimited confidence of his sovereign (whoever that may be), and a

thousand men have looked up to him with reverence and esteem. And it’s

been left to me (who am not naturally sharp) to find out that he’s an

atrocious scoundrel!

_Enter _Footman_, followed by MR. EFFINGHAM, MRS. EFFINGHAM,

BULSTRODE EFFINGHAM, and CAROLINE. COBB takes up newspaper and

sits._

_Foot._ The Colonel will be here directly, ma’am.

[_Exit _Footman_. The others pose themselves in a group, as if

being photographed:--MR. EFFINGHAM seated, MRS. EFFINGHAM

leaning on his left shoulder, CAROLINE seated in a picturesque

attitude at her feet, and BULSTRODE standing gloomily behind._

_Mrs. Eff._ Adolphus, what a sweet spot! A rural paradise, indeed. How

balmy, and yet how cheap!

_Eff._ I am an old, old man, and I have learnt the hollowness of

outward splendours. The house is, indeed, well enough, and (it may be)

cheap--but, after all, what _is_ the house?

_Tom._ (_politely._) Seventy-five pounds a year, on a three years’

agreement, I believe.

_Eff._ (_not heeding him._) After all, what _is_ the house but the

outer husk? Let us rather learn to value the fruit within. The shell,

truly, is goodly; but where, oh, where is the kernel?

_Tom_ (_politely_). He will be here in one minute. (_All turn to look

at him._) I beg your pardon. (_They all turn slowly back again._)

_Bul._ (_gloomily_). To the soaring soul, fettered by stern destiny to

the office stool of an obscure attorney, the contemplation of such a

paradise opens a new vista of Life’s Possibilities.

_Mrs. Eff._ My crushed and broken boy!

_Bul._ In such a home as this I feel I could lay the warp and woof of a

Great Life. In the dingy purlieus of Somers Town life has no warp--no

woof.

_Tom._ A kind of shoddy.

_All._ Sir!

_Tom._ Nothing--I didn’t speak. (_They turn back as before._)

(_Aside._) Extraordinary family!

_Mrs Eff._ If there is one class of young men I detest beyond another,

it is the class of young men who see a humorous side to everything.

_Car._ In the eyes of such a one the doughtiest deeds are the subject

of a sneer--the noblest thoughts, the peg on which to hang a parody.

_Bul._ Go to, sir--go to.

_Eff._ (_to MRS. EFF._). I am an aged man--let me play the peacemaker.

Remember, you are not as others are--you are a thing of thought--an

abstraction. You must not expect the young man of average tastes to

grasp you.

_Mrs Eff._ I do _not_ expect any young man to grasp _me_.

_Tom._ And she’s right.

_Eff._ (_rising and approaching TOM_). We pity you, young man, but do

not despise you. Read the master thoughts of mighty minds. Withdraw

yourself within yourself. Soar. Be abstract. Think long and largely.

Study the incomprehensible. Revolve. So will you learn at last to

detach yourself from the sordid world, and float, as we float, in

thoughts of empyrean purity.

_Car._ Oh, sir, my father is an aged man, and his words are wise. Be

led by him and you will prosper.

_Mrs Eff._ The young man is not of those who _can_ detach themselves

from the sordid world.

_Tom._ I beg your pardon. The young man is one of those who have

detached themselves from the sordid world, so completely that he can’t

get back again!

_Enter COLONEL O’FIPP._

_O’Fi._ Now, if you’ve got the receipt---- Mrs. Effingham! I’m rejoiced

to see ye! Miss Caroline--Bulstrode--Mr. Effingham, my aged friend!

Allow me to inthrojuice ye to a very particular friend and ould

comrade--Major-General Arthur Fitzpatrick. (_TOM bows._) Foightin’ Fitz

we called him.

_All._ What!

_O’Fi._ Major-General Arthur Fitzpatrick. (_TOM bows._)

_Mrs Eff._ (_crossing to TOM_). Of the 29th Madras Native Infantry?

_Tom_ (_puzzled_). I have no doubt that was my regiment.

_Mrs. Eff._ Viper! (_CAROLINE faints in her fathers arms._)

_Tom._ What!

_Mrs. Eff._ Viper! Deliberate and systematic viper! (_Goes to

CAROLINE._)

_Bul._ Poetic fiend in human shape, despair!

_Mr. Eff._ Blighter of fond and faithful hopes, behold your handiwork!

_Tom._ Why, what have I done?

_O’Fi._ (_turning up his sleeves_). Ay, sorr, what have ye done? Answer

me that. Come, Gineral, no evasion, or by the blood of the O’Fipps----

(_Turning up sleeves._)

[_CAROLINE revives, and MR. EFFINGHAM and BULSTRODE turn up their

sleeves._

_Car._ No, no--don’t hurt him. I am better now. (_To BULSTRODE, who

is turning up his sleeves and advancing in a threatening attitude._)

Brother, stand off! (_Throws herself between TOM and the others._)

Stand off--father, mother, brother, all! I have loved this man--ay,

and I love him still. (_To TOM._) Arthur--my poet-soldier--by our old

vows--by the old poetic fire that burns in _your_ heart and kindled

mine, tell them--tell _me_--that you can explain everything. (_Falls on

her knees to him._)

_Tom._ Upon my word, I shouldn’t like to undertake to do that. Why, I

never saw you before in all my life.

_Mrs. Eff._ Despair that plea--it cannot serve you, sir. Your letters

bind you--we are so advised.

_Tom._ But it can’t be--it’s impossible.

_Car._ Oh, Arthur, I am told by those who understand these things that

you have indeed compromised yourself to the extent required by our

common law. But you will not--oh, you will _not_ compel me to bring our

sacred loves into Court. You are a poet--a great, great poet--you will

be faithful--you will be true. (_Kneels._)

_Mr. Eff._ (_kneels_). Oh, sir, do not compel us to lay bare the

workings of her young affections--do not force us to bring her very

heartstrings into Court, that ribald minds may play upon them!

_Bul._ (_gloomily_). To the tune of £5000.

_Enter WHIPPLE._

_O’Fi._ (_brandishing a big stick_). Gineral, do not blight this young

lady’s harrut. Give her your sacred promise, or by the blood of the

O’Fipps (_sees that TOM has taken up a chair and looks threatening_),

my son-in-law elect shall teach you your forgotten duty! (_Hands stick

to WHIPPLE, and retires._)

_Whi._ (_brandishing stick_). Yes, sir. Promise at once, or nothing

shall prevent me from urging this young lady’s natural protector to

inflict on you the condign punishment you so richly deserve. (_Hands

the stick to MR. EFFINGHAM, and retires._)

_Mr. Eff._ (_brandishing stick_). You speak nobly, sir. I am an old,

old man, but I am yet hale and tough as hickory. I have a brave and

stalwart son, and it is to his hand I confide the task of avenging the

insult offered to his outraged family! (_Hands the stick to BULSTRODE._)

_Bul._ (_gloomily_). What prevents me from flying at his throat? What

prevents me from whipping him as I would whip a cur? Tell me, somebody,

what is it holds me back?

_Car._ _I_ will tell you--it is mercy.

_Bul._ It is! (_Throwing away stick._) I give you your life!

_Mrs. Eff._ My lion-hearted boy!

_Tom._ Do you know that you are labouring under some surprising and

unaccountable delusion?

_Mrs. Eff._ Delusion, sir!

_Bul._ Delusion! Ha! ha!

_Car._ (_kneeling_). No, Arthur, no--this is no delusion, for see, I

have your letters. (_Feeling for them._) No, they are with my solicitor.

_Bul._ They are. I am his clerk, and at my broken-hearted sister’s

suit, cold calculating man of war, I serve you with this writ!

[_BULSTRODE presents writ, which CAROLINE, kneeling at TOM’S feet,

reaches and hands to him, kissing his hand as she places the writ

in it._

_Tom_ (_looking at writ_). Breach of promise! (_Wildly._) Don’t bring

any actions, don’t resort to any violent measures. You say I’m engaged

to you. I dare say I am. If you said I was engaged to your mother I’d

dare say it too. I’ve no idea who I am, or what I am, or where I am,

or what I am saying or doing, but you are very pretty, and you seem

fond of me. I’ve no objection. I think I should rather like it: at

least--_I’ll try_!

_Car._ (_flinging herself into his arms_). My poet-soldier, and my

minstrel boy!

[_MR. EFFINGHAM, BULSTRODE, and MRS. EFFINGHAM group themselves about

CAROLINE and TOM._

ACT III.

SCENE.--_A drawing-room, shabbily furnished, in MR. EFFINGHAM’S

house. COBB is discovered smoking a pipe on balcony with CAROLINE.

The EFFINGHAM family is discovered grouped:--MRS. EFFINGHAM seated;

old EFFINGHAM leaning on her chair, with his arm round her neck,

and BULSTRODE standing moodily behind. As curtain rises CAROLINE

enters from balcony, and throws herself at her mother’s feet._

_Mrs. Eff._ Where is your poet-lover, Caroline?

_Car._ I left him basking on the balcony, in deep communion with his

inner self.

_Mrs. Eff._ Ah, what a priceless destiny is yours, my babe--to live a

lifetime in the eternal sunlight of his poet brain!

_Car._ It is; but you shall share it--father--mother--brother--all! We

will all share it, alway! I would not rob you of one ray that emanates

from that divine face, for all the wealth of earth!

_Mrs. Eff._ My unselfish girl!

_Bul._ How nobly he looks when, sickened with the world, he turns his

eyes inward to gaze upon his hidden self!

_Mr. Eff._ None but Apollo ever looked as he looks then.

_Car._ Truly. Yet--shall I confess that when I saw him first my idiot

heart sank deep within me, because, in the expression of his thoughts,

I did _not_ recognize Apollo’s stamp?

_Bul._ Fie, Caroline! Would, you have a poet carry his muse

pick-a-back, for daws to pick at? Fie, Caroline--oh, fie!

_Mrs. Eff._ Some thoughts are too deep for utterance.

_Car._ And some too precious. Why should he scatter such gems

broadcast? My poet-warrior thinks them to himself.

_Bul._ He does. It is his weird and warlike way.

_Car._ He comes. (_Rises._) His fancy-flight has ended for the nonce.

My soldier-minstrel has returned to earth!

_TOM enters from balcony. CAROLINE goes to meet him, and brings him

forward lovingly. His appearance is somewhat altered. He parts his

hair in the centre, and allows it to grow long. He wears a very low

lie-down collar in order to look Byronic. CAROLINE throws herself

at his feet, and MR. and MRS. EFFINGHAM cross and group themselves

about him. MRS. EFFINGHAM kneels, BULSTRODE standing moodily behind

his mother._

_Mr. Eff._ Arthur, ennoble us. Raise us one step towards the Empyrean.

Give us a Great Thought!

_Bul._ From the vast treasures of your poet brain, we beg some spare

small change.

_Tom._ Well, I really don’t know; I haven’t anything just now.

_Car._ We are the bees, and you the flower. We beg some honey for our

little hives.

_Tom_ (_with a desperate effort to be brilliant_). Talking of bees

(_all take out note-books and write down what follows_)--talking of

bees, have you ever remarked how the busy little insect avails herself

of the sunshine to gather her sweet harvest from--from every opening

flower?

_Mr. Eff._ (_writing_). We have, we have. How true to fact!

_Bul._ (_writing_). You said “her sweet harvest,” I think?

_Tom._ Her sweet harvest.

_Bul._ (_writing_). Her sweet harvest. (_All shake their heads and

sigh._)

_Tom._ Her honey, you know.

_Bul._ Thank you. (_Sighs. All finish writing and put up their

note-books._)

_Mrs. Eff._ You are a close student of nature, sir.

_Tom._ Yes, I do a good deal in that way.

_Mrs. Eff._ How simple are his words, and yet what priceless pearls of

thought lie encased beneath their outer crust!

_Tom._ Yes, I always wrap them in an outer crust, to keep them from the

cold. (_All take out note-books and write this down._)

_Car._ (_writing_).

“He wraps them in an outer crust

To keep them from the cold!”

And once I sneered at these grand utterances, just as we continually

sneer at shapeless clods upon the road, which, on inspection, turn out

to be jewelled bracelets of exceeding price!

_Tom._ Nothing more common. It’s the old story. The superficial mind

(_all take out books and write_)--the superficial mind looks for cream

upon the surface of the milk; but the profound philosopher dives down

deep below. (_Aside._) Much more of this and my mind will give way!

_Mrs. Eff._ You are a deep thinker, sir. I can fancy Shakespeare to

have been such another.

_Car._ Shakespeare? Shakespeare never said anything like that! How--how

do you do it?

_Tom._ I don’t know. It comes. I shut my eyes and it comes. (_All shut

their eyes and try._)

_Car._ I cannot do it. Ah me! I shall never learn to talk like that.

[_MRS. EFFINGHAM rises, goes to BULSTRODE, and leans upon his

shoulder._

_Mrs. Eff._ Bulstrode, had you had communion with the Major-General in

earlier life, he might have helped to shape your destiny to some nobler

end.

[_MR. EFFINGHAM crosses behind. CAROLINE and COBB remain in

conversation._

_Bul._ No, it might not be. I am fated. Destiny has declared against

me. Fettered to the desk of an obscure attorney--forced to imprison my

soaring soul within the left-off garments of a father whose figure has

but little in common with my own, who can wonder that my life is one

protracted misfit?

_Mr. Eff._ (_rising_). My boy, sneer not at those clothes. They have

been worn for many, many years by a very old, but very upright man. Be

proud of them. No sordid thought has ever lurked behind that waistcoat.

That hat has never yet been doffed to vicious wealth. Those shoes have

never yet walked into the parlours of the sinful.

_Mrs. Eff._ (_embracing him_). I am sure of that, Adolphus,--I am very,

very sure of that.

_Bul._ It may be as you say. I _do_ respect these clothes, but not

even a father’s eloquence can gloze over the damning fact that they

are second-hand! [_Turns up and exit on to balcony, as MR. and MRS.

EFFINGHAM exeunt lovingly._

_Car._ A blessing on him. Is he not benevolent?

_Tom._ Yes, he looks so. Why do benevolent people have such long hair?

Do they say to themselves, “I am a benevolent person, so I will let my

hair grow,” or do they let it grow because they are too benevolent to

cut it off?

_Car._ There are thousands of such questions that appear at every turn

to make us marvel at Nature’s strange decrees. Let us not pry into

these dark secrets. Let us rather enquire whether you have any chance

of getting anything to do? (_Rises._)

_Tom._ No; there’s no opening for major-generals just now.

_Car._ And yet how nobly you would lead your troops into action,

caracolling at their head on a proud Arabian barb, and rousing them to

very frenzy by shouting forth martial songs of your own composition!

Oh! it would madden them!

_Tom._ Yes, I think it would! But at present I’ve only my half-pay--a

pound a week--and we can’t marry on that.

_Car._ Why not? It is ten shillings a week each. I am content if you

are. Say, Arthur, shall we be made one?

_Tom._ My dear Caroline, it’s nonsense to talk about being made one.

(_She takes out her note-book._) It’s my experience that when poor

people marry, they’re made half a dozen, at least, in no time!

_Car._ Arthur! (_Shuts up book._) Well, I must wait and hope. Oh for a

war! (_COBB much alarmed._) A vast, vast, vast war! Oh for the clash of

steel-clad foemen! Oh for the deadly cannonade! And loud above the din

of battle, I bear my Arthur’s voice, as, like a doughty Paladin of old,

he cleaves his path where’er the fight is thickest! Oh! I think I see

him doing it! [_Exit CAROLINE._

_Tom._ Yes. I think I see myself doing it! Poor, dear girl, it’s a

shame to deceive her, but what can I do in the face of this confounded

advertisement, which still appears in all the papers every day!

(_Reads._) “£50 reward will be paid to any one who will give any

information concerning the whereabouts of Thomas Cobb, M.R.C.S. Apply

to Docket and Tape, 27, Paragon, Somers Town!” For just six mouths this

blighting paragraph has appeared in every paper in London. Every one is

talking about it; a Christmas annual has been published, “How we found

Tom Cobb,” and a farce, called “Tom Cobb found at last,” is playing at

a principal theatre!

_Enter WHIPPLE._

_Tom._ Whipple, you here?

_Whi._ Yes, how de do? I’m quite well. So’s Matilda.

_Tom._ That name!

_Whi._ She’s downstairs, with Miss Effingham.

_Tom._ Downstairs! And does she--don’t think I ask from an improper

motive--does she ever talk about me? (_Sits._)

_Whi._ Never mentions you by any chance. But she often drops a tear to

the memory of poor dead-and-gone Tom Cobb.

_Tom._ Oh! she does _that_, does she? That’s rather nasty for you,

isn’t it?

_Whi._ Not a bit. (_Sits._) It does her credit, and I honour her for

it. The poor fellow’s dead, and there’s an end to him. I loved him as

a brother! (_Wiping his eye._) He did my botany papers for me at the

College. But it’s no use repining. No power on earth can bring him to

life again, now. How she loved that man!

_Tom_ (_half sobbing_). Oh, Matilda! Be good to her, Whipple.

_Whi._ I will, General; trust me.

_Tom._ Is she--is she as fond of the theatre as ever!

_Whi._ Quite. We go every night.

_Tom._ She used to call it the “theayter.”

_Whi._ (_much moved_). She does still!

_Tom._ Bless her for it. And does she still like oysters after the play?

_Whi._ Always. She bargains for ’em--stout and oysters.

_Tom._ She used to call them “histers.”

_Whi._ She does still.

_Tom._ Oh, thank you for this news of her. Oh, Whipple, make that woman

happy!

_Whi._ Trust me--I will, for poor dear Tom Cobb’s sake. How she loved

that man! (_Wipes his eye._) But this is not business. The Colonel,

who is downstairs with Mr. Effingham, begged me to give you this--your

weekly screw. Allow me, Major-General. (_Gives him a sovereign._)

_Tom._ Thank you. The Colonel is always regular and punctual with my

little pension.

_Whi._ The Colonel is extremely punctilious about money matters. Oh,

I quite forgot--he further desires me to say that from this moment he

proposes to discontinue your weekly payment.

_Tom_ (_aghast_). What!

_Whi._ From this moment your little pension dries up.

_Tom._ Do you mean to tell me that he intends deliberately to break his

plighted word?

_Whi._ That is precisely what I intended to convey.

_Tom._ And cut off my only source of sustenance?

_Whi._ Absolutely.

_Tom._ But hang it, man, don’t he know that his liberty and wealth are

at my mercy?

_Whi._ Yes, he knows that; but he’s prepared to risk it. You see,

General, Messrs. Docket and Tape are looking out for Tom Cobb. Tom

Cobb’s wanted. I don’t know what he’s done, but people talk about a

forged will. He’s advertised for every day. You may have noticed it.

_Tom._ Yes, I’ve remarked it.

_Whi._ Well, if Tom Cobb is alive this advertisement is quite enough

to keep him quiet. The Colonel, having this fact strongly before his

eyes, considers that as he has no further interest in Major-General

Fitzpatrick’s existence, he does not see why he should be called upon

to contribute to his support.

_Tom._ But it’s ruin! Hang it--it’s starvation! Whipple, you used to

be a nice man once--ask him to see me--ask him to speak to me for five

minutes! By your old niceness, I implore you!

_Whi._ I can’t resist that appeal! I’ll ask him, but I’m not sanguine.

You see, he’s been in the constant practice of breaking his promise for

the last sixty-five years, and it’s degenerated into a habit.

[_Exit WHIPPLE._

_Tom._ And I did that man’s---- (_Furious._) But I’ll be even with

them all. I don’t care now. I’ve nothing to lose, and I’m a desperate

man. My mind’s made up. I’ll write to Docket and Tape, and tell the

whole truth! (_Sits down to write._) Now, Colonel O’Fipp, tremble, and

you, Whipple, tremble, and Matilda. (_Throws down pen._) I would spare

Matilda! But no, let _her_ tremble too! (_Finishes letter; about to

ring bell._) Now, now, I shall soon know the worst!

_Enter BULSTRODE from balcony._

_Bul._ The Major-General seems moody. On what is he thinking? On the

sacking of towns, perchance?

_Tom._ Bulstrode, you’re a lawyer’s clerk, aren’t you?

_Bul._ Cursed be my lot, I am!

_Tom._ Do you happen to know Docket and Tape?

_Bul._ I do!

_Tom._ Who are they?

_Bul._ My loathed employers!

_Tom._ What! Why, then, you know all about this Tom Cobb whom they are

advertising for, and whose name is on every tongue?

_Bul._ I should rather say I did.

_Tom_ (_excited_). A--what is he wanted for?

_Bul._ Much.

_Tom._ Yes, but what--what?

_Bul._ It is a weird tale. Wild horses shouldn’t drag it from me.

_Tom._ But, hang it, you can trust _me_.

_Bul._ (_takes his hand_). General, I think I can--but I’m sure I won’t.

_Tom._ But why do you object?

_Bul._ Major-General Fitzpatrick, had you the password of some

leaguered town, and an enemy, armed to the teeth, demanded that word at

the pistol’s mouth, what would you do?

_Tom._ Tell him at once without a moment’s hesitation.

_Bul._ Then am I made of doughtier stuff. Sir, I hate my employers, I

loathe their unholy practices, but--I respect their secrets. Good day;

I go to them. [_Exit BULSTRODE._

_Tom._ So it seems I’ve had my head in the lion’s mouth for the last

three months without knowing it! Well, well--there is a grim justice in

the fact that my punishment will be brought about through the employers

of the son of the husband of the mother of the young woman to whom I

was to have been married.

_Enter COLONEL O’FIPP._

_O’Fi._ Now, sorr, ye’ve expressed a wish for an audience. On

consideration I have resolved to grant it.

_Tom._ You’re very good, Colonel.

_O’Fi._ You may say that, sorr, for I have discovered that ye’re an

imposthor. An out and out imposthor, sorr! Ye’re no more a gineral

officer than I’m a gineral postman.

_Tom._ But I never said I was. _You_ said I was a major-general; and

you ought to know. It isn’t for me to set up my opinion on a military

matter against a lieutenant-colonel’s.

_O’Fi._ Sorr, I’m a soft-hearted, simple ould fool, and at first your

military bearing deceived me practised oi, and I was moved to pity by

yer plausible tale and yer broken boots. I was touched by yer sorrows,

and I was disposed to try and heal them.

_Tom._ The boots?

_O’Fi._ The sorrows. Now, sorr, a lie has ever been me scorrn and

aversion, and an imposture me deepest abhorrence.

_Tom._ Colonel, I respect your sentiments, for they are my own. You

discontinue my allowance, and you are quite right. Your hand.

_O’Fi._ (_rather surprised_). Sorr, ye spake like a gintleman. Ye’re

not a gintleman, but ye spake like one. (_Sees note in TOM’S hand._)

What’s that?

_Tom._ It’s a letter to Docket and Tape, in which I confess myself to

be the Tom Cobb they’re advertising for,--and offering to give them all

the information in my power.

_O’Fi._ But ye’re niver goin’ to send that?

_Tom._ I’m going to send it directly.

_O’Fi._ Ye’re doin’ it to frighten me.

_Tom._ Frighten a colonel? I wouldn’t presume to attempt it!

_O’Fi._ But---- Oh! ye’ll niver sind it--it would ruin ye.

_Tom._ It’ll ruin us all. (_Rings._)

_O’Fi._ No, no--they can’t touch me, mind that! I’m a simple ould man;

it’s well known, and aisy done. Don’t send that, Tom Cobb, and I’ll pay

ye the pound a week; damme, I’ll double it--treble it! I’m a simple

ould soldier, and I’m fond of ye, Tom, and I’ll not let ye ruin yeself

for me!

_Tom._ Sir, a lie has ever been my scorn and aversion, and an imposture

my deepest abhorrence.

_Enter _Servant_._

Take this to the address at once. [_Exit _Servant_._

_O’Fi._ Effingham--Mrs. Effingham--Matilda--Bulstrode--Whipple--all

of ye--come here! (_To TOM._) Ye’ve determined to inform on me grey

hairs--I’ll be first in the field anyhow--mind that now.

_Enter all the characters from different doors; BULSTRODE and

CAROLINE holding back TOM, WHIPPLE and MATILDA holding back O’FIPP._

_Mrs. Eff._ What--what is the clamour?

_Mat._ Papa, dear, what’s he bin doin’ to ye?

_O’Fi._ This man--who has passed himself off as a major-general--he’s

a swindler--an imposthor--he’s deceived us all--he’s practised on our

inexperience.

_Car._ Arthur--Arthur--speak--what, oh, what is this?

_Mat._ Don’t call him Arthur--his name’s Tom--Tom.

_Car._ Tomtom? Impossible. Tell them, Arthur, that it is false. Tell

them that you are not--you cannot be Tomtom!

_O’Fi._ His name’s Tom Cobb. Tom Cobb, Mr. Bulstrode--and he’s a

swindlin’ apothecary--the man you’ve been advertising for these six

months.

[_CAROLINE faints in MR. and MRS. EFFINGHAM’S arms._

_Bul._ Amazement!

_Mr. Eff._ Monster--once more behold your work!

_Mrs. Eff._ Viper! Creeping, crawling, unadulterated viper!

_Tom._ I am Tom Cobb, M.R.C.S.; there’s my card--“Tom Cobb, 6.”

(_Producing handkerchief._) Lead me away.

_Bul._ This is a day of great events. We have sought you everywhere for

six months.

_Tom._ I know you have. Your advertisement has been the nightmare of my

life.

_Bul._ Amazement! There was a nameless old man, who bore so strong a

resemblance to you, that scoffers called him by your name. He died in

squalor, barely six months since.

_Tom._ All is over--lead me away!

_Bul._ He was supposed to have much money in the house, though not a

penny could be found. But besides this untold gold, there was standing

in his name a sum amounting to £12,000!

_Tom._ I know nothing about the £12,000! But I am amenable to the law.

Take me to my dungeon!

_Bul._ No dungeon yawns for you, oh, happy sir. Wealth--wealth waits

you open-armed!

_All._ What!

_Bul._ You had a father once--that father yet another of his own, the

aged man so strangely like yourself. That aged person had a son--that

son another son--that son your father, and that other son yourself!

_Tom._ Then--I am the old man’s grandson!

_Bul._ That is the same idea in vulgar phrase. You are his grandson and

his heir-at-law.

_Car._ (_reviving_). My poet-surgeon, and my old, old love! (_Embracing

him._)

_Mrs. Eff._ My son!

_Bul._ My brother!

_Tom._ Well, Colonel, I must trouble you to hand over the property. If

it’s inconvenient----

_O’Fi._ It is. (_From behind his handkerchief._)

_Tom._ Well, I’m sorry, that’s all.

_O’Fi._ Maybe ye’re sorry, sorr; but ye’re not so sorry as I am, I’ll

go bail!

_Mat._ Papa dear, don’t fret. Sure, I’m a poor penniless girl now; but

ain’t I goin’ to marry a handsome and ginerous young gintleman of good

fortune? (_Leaning on TOM’S shoulder._) And won’t he be a son to ye,

and give ye a home for the rest of yer days?

[_WHIPPLE appears to remonstrate with her. CAROLINE expresses

indignation and clings to her mother._

_Tom._ But I protest!

_O’Fi._ Tom Cobb, ye spake like a gintleman. Ye’re not a gintleman, but

ye spake like one. I accept yer offer with pride and gratitude, my son!

(_Seizes his hand._)

_Tom._ Get out! (_Shakes him off._) Whipple, take this young lady.

Matilda, go with the bills! (_Hands her to WHIPPLE, who takes her

up, expostulating with her._) Caroline, you loved me as a penniless,

but poetical major-general; can you still love me as a wealthy, but

unromantic apothecary?

_Car._ I can! I can love you as a wealthy anything!

_Mrs. Eff._ We all can!

_Bul._ All!

[_They group about him, MR. and MRS. EFFINGHAM on each side,

BULSTRODE behind, and CAROLINE at his feet; the COLONEL, WHIPPLE,

and MATILDA seated at table, with their heads buried in their

arms._

THE SORCERER.

_AN ENTIRELY ORIGINAL MODERN COMIC OPERA_, IN TWO ACTS.

_First produced at the Opera Comique Theatre, by MR. R. D’OYLY CARTE,

on November 17, 1877._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

SIR MARMADUKE POINTDEXTRE, _an elderly Baronet_.

ALEXIS, _of the Grenadier Guards_--_his Son_.

DR. DALY, _Vicar of Ploverleigh_.

JOHN WELLINGTON WELLS, _of J. W. Wells & Co., Family Sorcerers_.

NOTARY.

LADY SANGAZURE, _a Lady of ancient lineage_.

ALINE, _her Daughter_--_betrothed to_ ALEXIS.

MRS. PARTLET, _a Pew-Opener_.

CONSTANCE, _her Daughter_.

_Chorus of Peasantry._

ACT I.

GROUNDS OF SIR MARMADUKE’S MANSION.

[_Half an hour is supposed to elapse between Acts I. and II._]

ACT II.

MARKET-PLACE OF PLOVERLEIGH.

TIME--THE PRESENT DAY.

THE SORCERER.

ACT I.

SCENE.--_Garden of Sir Marmaduke’s Elizabethan mansion. The end of

a large marquee, open, and showing portion of table covered with

white cloth, on which are joints of meat, teapots, cups, bread and

butter, jam, etc. To the back a raised terrace with steps. A park

in the background, with spire of church seen above the trees._

CHORUS OF PEASANTRY.

Ring forth, ye bells,

With clarion sound--

Forget your knells,

For joys abound.

Forget your notes

Of mournful lay,

And from your throats

Pour joy to-day.

For to-day young Alexis--young Alexis Pointdextre

Is betrothed to Aline--to Aline Sangazure,

And that pride of his sex is--of his sex is to be next her,

At the feast on the green--on the green, oh, be sure!

Ring forth, ye bells, etc.

[_At the end of chorus, exeunt the _Men_ into house._

_Enter MRS. PARTLET, meeting CONSTANCE, her daughter._

RECITATIVE.

_Mrs. P._ Constance, my daughter, why this strange depression?

The village rings with seasonable joy,

Because the young and amiable Alexis,

Heir to the great Sir Marmaduke Pointdextre,

Is plighted to Aline, the only daughter

Of Annabella, Lady Sangazure.

You, you alone are sad and out of spirits;

What is the reason? Speak, my daughter, speak!

_Con._ Oh, mother, do not ask! If my complexion

From red to white should change in quick succession--

And then from white to red, oh, take no notice!

If my poor limbs shall tremble with emotion,

Pay no attention, mother--it is nothing!

If long and deep-drawn sighs I chance to utter,

Oh, heed them not, their cause must ne’er be known!

_Mrs. P._ My child, be candid; think not to deceive

The eagle-eyed pew-opener--you love!

_Con._ (_aside_).

How guessed she that, my heart’s most cherished secret?

(_Aloud._) I _do_ love, fondly--madly--hopelessly!

ARIA.--CONSTANCE.

When he is here,

I sigh with pleasure;

When he is gone,

I sigh with grief.

My hopeless fear

No soul can measure;

His love alone

Can give my aching heart relief!

When he is cold,

I weep for sorrow;

When he is kind,

I weep for joy.

My grief untold

Knows no to-morrow.

My woe can find

No hope, no solace, no alloy!

[_At the end of the song, MRS. PARTLET silently motions to _Women_

to leave them together. Exeunt _Chorus_._

_Mrs. P._ Come, tell me all about it! Do not fear--

I, too, have loved; but that was long ago!

Who is the object of your young affections?

_Con._ Hush, mother! He is here!

_Enter DR. DALY. He is pensive, and does not see them. He sits on

stool._

_Mrs. P._ (_amazed_). Our reverend vicar!

_Con._ Oh, pity me, my heart is almost broken!

_Mrs. P._ My child, be comforted. To such an union

I shall not offer any opposition.

Take him--he’s yours! May you and he be happy!

_Con._ But, mother dear, he is not yours to give!

_Mrs. P._ That’s true, indeed!

_Con._ He might object!

_Mrs. P._ He might.

But come; take heart. I’ll probe him on the subject.

Be comforted; leave this affair to me.

RECITATIVE--DR. DALY.

The air is charged with amatory numbers--

Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers’ lays.

Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers

The aching memory of the old, old days?

BALLAD.

Time was when Love and I were well acquainted.

Time was when we walked ever hand in hand,

A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted--

None better loved than I in all the land!

Time was when maidens of the noblest station,

Forsaking even military men,

Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration.

Ah me! I was a fair young curate then!

Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled;

Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;

Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;

And when I coughed all thought the end was near.

I had no care--no jealous doubts hung o’er me;

For I was loved beyond all other men.

Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me.

Ah me! I was a pale young curate then!

[_At the conclusion of the ballad, MRS. PARTLET comes forward with

CONSTANCE._

_Mrs. P._ Good day, reverend sir.

_Dr. D._ Ah, good Mrs. Partlet, I am glad to see you. And your little

daughter, Constance! Why, she is quite a little woman, I declare!

_Con._ (_aside_). Oh, mother, I cannot speak to him!

_Mrs. P._ Yes, reverend sir, she is nearly eighteen, and as good a girl

as ever stepped. (_Aside to DR. D._) Ah, sir, I’m afraid I shall soon

lose her!

_Dr. D._ (_aside to MRS. P._). Dear me! you pain me very much. Is she

delicate?

_Mrs. P._ Oh no, sir; I don’t mean that; but young girls look to get

married.

_Dr. D._ Oh, I take you. To be sure. But there’s plenty of time for

that. Four or five years hence, Mrs. Partlet, four or five years hence.

But when the time _does_ come, I shall have much pleasure in marrying

her myself----

_Con._ (_aside_). Oh, mother!

_Dr. D._ To some strapping young fellow in her own rank of life.

_Con._ (_in tears_). He does _not_ love me!

_Mrs. P._ I have often wondered, reverend sir (if you’ll excuse the

liberty), that _you_ have never married.

_Dr. D._ (_aside_). Be still, my fluttering heart!

_Mrs. P._ A clergyman’s wife does so much good in a village. Besides

that, you are not so young as you were, and before very long you will

want somebody to nurse you, and look after your little comforts.

_Dr. D._ Mrs. Partlet, there is much truth in what you say. I am indeed

getting on in years, and a helpmate would cheer my declining days.

Time was when it might have been; but I have left it too long. I am an

old fogey now, am I not, my dear? (_to CONSTANCE_)--a very old fogey,

indeed. Ha! ha! No, Mrs. Partlet, my mind is quite made up. I shall

live and die a solitary old bachelor.

_Con._ Oh, mother, mother! (_Sobs on MRS. PARTLET’S bosom._)

_Mrs. P._ Come, come, dear one, don’t fret. At a more fitting time we

will try again--we will try again.

[_Exeunt MRS. PARTLET and CONSTANCE._

_Dr. D._ (_looking after them_). Poor little girl! I’m afraid she has

something on her mind. She is rather comely. Time was when this old

heart would have throbbed in double time at the sight of such a fairy

form! But tush! I am puling! Here come the young Alexis, with his proud

and happy father. Let me dry this tell-tale tear!

_Enter SIR MARMADUKE and ALEXIS from house._

RECITATIVE.

_Dr. D._ Sir Marmaduke--my dear young friend, Alexis--

On this most happy, most auspicious plighting,

Permit me, as a true old friend, to tender

My best, my very best congratulations!

_Sir M._ Sir, you are most obleeging!

_Alex._ Dr. Daly,

My dear old tutor and my valued pastor,

I thank you from the bottom of my heart!

(_Spoken through music._)

_Dr. D._ May fortune bless you! may the middle distance

Of your young life be pleasant as the foreground--

The joyous foreground! and, when you have reached it,

May that which now is the far-off horizon,

But which will then become the middle distance,

In fruitful promise be exceeded only

By that which will have opened, in the mean time,

Into a new and glorious horizon!

_Sir M._ Dear sir, that is an excellent example

Of an old school of stately compliment,

To which I have, through life, been much addicted.

Will you obleege me with a copy of it,

In clerkly manuscript, that I myself

May use it on appropriate occasions?

_Dr. D._ Sir, you shall have a fairly written copy

Ere Sol has sunk into his western slumbers!

[_Exit DR. DALY._

_Sir M._ (_to ALEXIS, who is in a reverie_). Come, come, my son--your

_fiancée_ will be here in five minutes. Rouse yourself to receive her.

_Alex._ (_rising_). Oh, rapture!

_Sir M._ Yes, you are a fortunate young fellow, and I will not disguise

from you that this union with the house of Sangazure realizes my

fondest wishes. Aline is rich, and she comes of a sufficiently old

family, for she is the seven thousand and thirty-seventh in direct

descent from Helen of Troy. True, there was a blot on the escutcheon of

that lady--that affair with Paris--but where is the family, other than

my own, in which there is no flaw? You are a lucky fellow, sir--a very

lucky fellow!

_Alex._ Father, I am welling over with limpid joy! No sicklying taint

of sorrow overlies the lucid lake of liquid love, upon which, hand in

hand, Aline and I are to float into eternity!

_Sir M._ Alexis, I desire that of your love for this young lady you do

not speak so openly. You are always singing ballads in praise of her

beauty, and you expect the very menials who wait behind your chair to

chorus your ecstasies. It is not delicate.

_Alex._ Father, a man who loves as I love----

_Sir M._ Pooh, pooh, sir! fifty years ago I madly loved your future

mother-in-law, the Lady Sangazure, and I have reason to believe that

she returned my love. But were we guilty of the indelicacy of publicly

rushing into each other’s arms, exclaiming--

RECITATIVE.

“Oh, my adored one!” “Beloved boy!”

“Ecstatic rapture!” “Unmingled joy!”

which seems to be the modern fashion of love-making? No, it was,

“Madam, I trust you are in the enjoyment of good health.”--“Sir, you

are vastly polite, I protest I am mighty well”--and so forth. Much

more delicate--much more respectful. But see--Aline approaches; let us

retire, that she may compose herself for the interesting ceremony in

which she is to play so important a part.

[_Exeunt SIR MARMADUKE into house._

_Enter ALINE, preceded by Chorus of _Girls_._

CHORUS OF GIRLS.

With heart and with voice

Let us welcome this mating:

To the youth of her choice,

With a heart palpitating,

Comes the lovely Aline!

May their love never cloy!

May their bliss be unbounded!

With a halo of joy

May their lives be surrounded!

Heaven bless our Aline!

RECITATIVE.--ALINE.

My kindly friends, I thank you for this greeting,

And as you wish me every earthly joy,

I trust your wishes may have quick fulfilment!

ARIA.--ALINE.

Oh, happy young heart!

Comes thy young lord a-wooing,

With joy in his eyes,

And pride in his breast.

Make much of thy prize,

For he is the best

That ever came a-suing.

Yet--yet we must part,

Young heart!

Yet--yet we must part.

Oh, merry young heart,

Bright are the days of thy wooing!

But happier far

The days untried.

No sorrow can mar

When Love has tied

The knot there’s no undoing.

Then, never to part,

Young heart!

Then, never to part!

_Enter LADY SANGAZURE._

RECITATIVE.--LADY S.

My child, I join in these congratulations.

Heed not the tear that dims this aged eye!

Old memories crowd upon me. Though I sorrow,

’Tis for myself, Aline, and not for thee!

_Enter ALEXIS from house, preceded by Chorus of _Men_._

CHORUS OF MEN AND WOMEN.

With heart and with voice

Let us welcome this mating:

To the maid of his choice,

With a heart palpitating,

Comes Alexis the brave!

_SIR MARMADUKE enters from house. LADY SANGAZURE and he exhibit signs

of strong emotion at the sight of each other, which they endeavour

to repress; ALEXIS and ALINE rush into each other’s arms._

RECITATIVE.

_Alex._ Oh, my adored one!

_Ali._ Beloved boy!

_Alex._ Ecstatic rapture!

_Ali._ Unmingled joy!

DUET.--SIR MARMADUKE _and_ LADY SANGAZURE.

_Sir M._ (_with stately courtesy_).

Welcome joy, adieu to sadness!

As Aurora gilds the day,

So those eyes, twin orbs of gladness,

Chase the clouds of care away.

Irresistible incentive

Bids me humbly kiss your hand;

I’m your servant most attentive,

Most attentive to command.

(_Aside, with frantic vehemence._)

Wild with adoration!

Mad with fascination!

To indulge my lamentation

No occasion do I miss!

Goaded to distraction

By maddening inaction,

I find some satisfaction

In apostrophe like this:

“Sangazure immortal,

Sangazure divine,

Welcome to my portal,

Angel, oh, be mine!”

(_Aloud with much ceremony._)

Irresistible incentive

Bids me humbly kiss your hand;

I’m your servant most attentive,

Most attentive to command!

_Lady S._ Sir, I thank you most politely

For your graceful courtesee:

Compliment more true knightly

Never yet was paid to me!

Chivalry is an ingredient

Sadly lacking in our land.

Sir, I am your most obedient,

Most obedient to command!

(_Aside, with great vehemence._)

Wild with adoration!

Mad with fascination!

To indulge my lamentation

No occasion do I miss!

Goaded to distraction

By maddening inaction,

I find some satisfaction

In apostrophe like this:

“Marmaduke immortal,

Marmaduke divine,

Take me to thy portal,

Loved one, oh, be mine!”

(_Aloud, with much ceremony._)

Chivalry is an ingredient

Sadly lacking in our land.

Sir, I am your most obedient,

Most obedient to command!

[_During this duet a small table has been placed upon stage, by

MRS. PARTLET. The COUNSEL has entered, and prepares marriage

contract behind table._

RECITATIVE--COUNSEL.

All is prepared for sealing and for signing,

The contract has been drafted as agreed;

Approach the table, oh ye lovers pining,

With hand and seal come execute the deed!

[_ALEXIS and ALINE advance and sign, ALEXIS supported by SIR

MARMADUKE, ALINE by her mother._

CHORUS.

See they sign, without a quiver, it--

Then to seal proceed.

They deliver it--they deliver it

As their act and deed!

_Alex._ I deliver it--I deliver it

As my act and deed!

_Ali._ I deliver it--I deliver it

As my act and deed!

CHORUS.

With heart and with voice

Let us welcome this mating:

Leave them here to rejoice,

With true love palpitating--

Alexis the brave,

And the lovely Aline!

[_Exeunt all but ALEXIS and ALINE._

_Alex._ At last we are alone! My darling, you are now irrevocably

betrothed to me. Are you not very, very happy?

_Ali._ Oh, Alexis, can you doubt it? Do I not love you beyond all on

earth, and am I not beloved in return? Is not true love, faithfully

given and faithfully returned, the source of every earthly joy?

_Alex._ Of that there can be no doubt. Oh that the world could be

persuaded of the truth of that maxim! Oh that the world would break

down the artificial barriers of rank, wealth, education, age, beauty,

habits, taste, and temper, and recognize the glorious principle, that

in marriage alone is to be found the panacea for every ill!

_Ali._ Continue to preach that sweet doctrine, and you will succeed,

oh, evangel of true happiness!

_Alex._ I hope so, but as yet the cause progresses but slowly. Still I

have made some converts to the principle, that men and women should be

coupled in matrimony without distinction of rank. I have lectured on

the subject at Mechanics’ Institutes, and the mechanics were unanimous

in favour of my views. I have preached in workhouses, beershops, and

lunatic asylums, and I have been received with enthusiasm. I have

addressed navvies on the advantages that would accrue to them if they

married wealthy ladies of rank, and not a navvy dissented.

_Ali._ Noble fellows! And yet there are those who hold that the

uneducated classes are not open to argument! And what do the countesses

say?

_Alex._ Why, at present, it can’t be denied, the aristocracy hold

aloof.

_Ali._ The working man is the true Intelligence, after all!

_Alex._ He is a noble creature when he is quite sober. Yes, Aline,

true happiness comes of true love, and true love should be independent

of external influences. It should live upon itself and by itself--in

itself love should live for love alone!

BALLAD.

_Alex._ Love feeds on many kinds of food, I know.

Some love for rank, and some for duty;

Some give their hearts away for empty show,

And others love for youth and beauty.

To love for money all the world is prone;

Some love themselves, and live all lonely.

Give me the love that loves for love alone;

I love that love--I love it only!

What man for any other joy can thirst,

Whose loving wife adores him duly?

Want, misery, and care may do their worst,

If loving woman loves you truly.

A lover’s thoughts are ever with his own;

None truly loved is ever lonely.

Give me the love that loves for love alone;

I love that love--I love it only!

_Ali._ Oh, Alexis, those are noble principles!

_Alex._ Yes, Aline, and I am going to take a desperate step in support

of them. Have you ever heard of the firm of J. W. Wells and Co., the

old-established family sorcerers, in St. Mary Axe?

_Ali._ I have seen their advertisement.

_Alex._ They have invented a philtre, which, if report may be believed,

is simply infallible. I intend to distribute it through the village,

and within half an hour of my doing so, there will not be an adult

in the place who will not have learnt the secret of pure and lasting

happiness. What do you say to that?

_Ali._ Well, dear, of course a filter is a very useful thing in a

house; quite indispensable in the present state of Thames water; but

still I don’t quite see that it is the sort of thing that places its

possessor on the very pinnacle of earthly joy.

_Alex._ Aline, you misunderstand me. I didn’t say a filter--I said

philtre.

_Ali._ So did I, dear. _I_ said a filter.

_Alex._ No, dear, you said a filter. I don’t mean a filter--I mean a

philtre,--ph, you know.

_Ali._ (_alarmed_). You don’t mean a love-potion?

_Alex._ On the contrary--I _do_ mean a love-potion.

_Ali._ Oh, Alexis, I don’t think it would be right. I don’t indeed. And

then--a real magician! Oh, it would be downright wicked.

_Alex._ Aline, is it, or is it not, a laudable object to steep the

whole village up to its lips in love, and to couple them in matrimony,

without distinction of age, rank, or fortune?

_Ali._ Unquestionably, but----

_Alex._ Then, unpleasant as it must be to have recourse to supernatural

aid, I must nevertheless pocket my aversion, in deference to the great

and good end I have in view. (_Calling._) Hercules!

_Enter a _Page_ from tent._

_Page._ Yes, sir.

_Alex._ Is Mr. Wells there?

_Page._ He’s in the tent, sir--refreshing.

_Alex._ Ask him to be so good as to step this way.

_Page._ Yes, sir. [_Exit _Page_._

_Ali._ Oh, but, Alexis! A real sorcerer! Oh, I shall be frightened to

death!

_Alex._ I trust my Aline will not yield to fear while the strong right

arm of her Alexis is here to protect her.

_Ali._ It’s nonsense, dear, to talk of your protecting me with your

strong right arm, in face of the fact that this Family Sorcerer could

change me into a guinea-pig before you could turn round.

_Alex._ He _could_ change you into a guinea-pig, no doubt, but it is

most unlikely that he would take such liberty. It’s a most respectable

firm, and I am sure he would never be guilty of so untradesmanlike an

act.

_Enter MR. WELLS from tent._

_Mr. W._ Good day, sir. [_ALINE much terrified._

_Alex._ Good day. I believe you are a sorcerer.

_Mr. W._ Yes, sir, we practise necromancy in all its branches. We’ve a

choice assortment of wishing-caps, divining-rods, amulets, charms, and

counter-charms. We can cast you a nativity at a low figure, and we have

a horoscope at three and six that we can guarantee. Our Abudah chests,

each containing a patent hag who comes out and prophesies disasters,

with spring complete, are strongly recommended. Our Aladdin lamps are

very chaste, and our prophetic tablets, foretelling everything--from a

change of ministry down to a rise in Turkish stock--are much inquired

for. Our penny curse--one of the cheapest things in the trade--is

considered infallible. We have some very superior blessings, too, but

they’re very little asked for. We’ve only sold one since Christmas--to

a gentleman who bought it to send to his mother-in-law--but it turned

out that he was afflicted in the head, and it’s been returned on our

hands. But our sale of penny curses, especially on Saturday nights, is

tremendous. We can’t turn ’em out fast enough.

SONG.--MR. WELLS.

Oh! my name is John Wellington Wells.

I’m a dealer in magic and spells,

In blessings and curses,

And ever-filled purses,

In prophecies, witches, and knells.

If you want a proud foe to “make tracks”--

If you’d melt a rich uncle in wax--

You’ve but to look in

On our resident Djinn,

Number seventy, Simmery Axe.

We’ve a first-class assortment of magic;

And for raising a posthumous shade

With effects that are comic or tragic,

There’s no cheaper house in the trade.

Love-philtre--we’ve quantities of it!

And for knowledge if any one burns,

We keep an extremely small prophet

Who brings us unbounded returns:

Oh! he can prophesy

With a wink of his eye,

Peep with security

Into futurity,

Sum up your history,

Clear up a mystery,

Humour proclivity

For a nativity--for a nativity;

Mirrors so magical,

Tetrapods tragical,

Bogies spectacular,

Answers oracular,

Facts astronomical,

Solemn or comical,

And, if you want it, he

Makes a reduction on taking a quantity!

Oh!

If any one anything lacks,

He’ll find it all ready in stacks,

If he’ll only look in

On the resident Djinn,

Number seventy, Simmery Axe!

He can raise you hosts

Of ghosts,

And that without reflectors;

And creepy things

With wings,

And gaunt and grisly spectres.

He can fill you crowds

Of shrouds,

And horrify you vastly;

He can rack your brains

With chains,

And gibberings grim and ghastly!

Then, if you plan it, he

Changes organity,

With an urbanity

Full of Satanity,

Vexes humanity

With an inanity

Fatal to vanity--

Driving your foes to the verge of insanity!

Barring tautology,

In demonology,

’Lectro-biology,

Mystic nosology,

Spirit philology,

High-class astrology,

Such is his knowledge, he

Isn’t the man to require an apology!

Oh!

My name is John Wellington Wells.

I’m a dealer in magic and spells,

In blessings and curses,

And ever-filled purses,

In prophecies, witches, and knells.

If any one anything lacks,

He’ll find it all ready in stacks,

If he’ll only look in

On the resident Djinn,

Number seventy, Simmery Axe!

_Alex._ I have sent for you to consult you on a very important matter.

I believe you advertise a Patent Oxy-Hydrogen Love-at-first-sight

Philtre?

_Mr. W._ Sir, it is our leading article. (_Producing a phial._)

_Alex._ Now, I want to know if you can confidently guarantee it as

possessing all the qualities you claim for it in your advertisement?

_Mr. W._ Sir, we are not in the habit of puffing our goods. Ours is

an old-established house with a large family connection, and every

assurance held out in the advertisement is fully realized. (_Hurt._)

_Ali._ (_aside_). Oh, Alexis, don’t offend him! He’ll change us into

something dreadful--I know he will!

_Alex._ I am anxious from purely philanthropical motives to distribute

this philtre, secretly, among the inhabitants of this village. I shall

of course require a quantity. How do you sell it?

_Mr. W._ In buying a quantity, sir, we should strongly advise your

taking it in the wood, and drawing it off as you happen to want it. We

have it in four and a half and nine gallon casks--also in pipes and

hogsheads for laying down, and we deduct 10 per cent. for prompt cash.

_Ali._ Oh, Alexis, surely you don’t want to lay any down!

_Alex._ Aline, the villagers will assemble to carouse in a few minutes.

Go and fetch the teapot.

_Ali._ But, Alexis----

_Alex._ My dear, you must obey me, if you please. Go and fetch the

teapot.

_Ali._ (_going_). I’m sure Dr. Daly would disapprove it.

[_Exit ALINE into tent._

_Alex._ And how soon does it take effect?

_Mr. W._ In half an hour. Whoever drinks of it falls in love, as a

matter of course, with the first lady he meets who has also tasted it,

and his affection is at once returned. One trial will prove the fact.

_Enter ALINE from tent with large teapot._

_Alex._ Good: then, Mr. Wells, I shall feel obliged if you will at once

pour as much philtre into this teapot as will suffice to affect the

whole village.

_Ali._ But bless me, Alexis, many of the villagers are married people.

_Mr. W._ Madam, this philtre is compounded on the strictest principles.

On married people it has no effect whatever. But are you quite sure

that you have nerve enough to carry you through the fearful ordeal?

_Alex._ In the good cause I fear nothing.

_Mr. W._ Very good; then we will proceed at once to the Incantation.

(_The stage grows dark._)

INCANTATION.

_Mr. W._ Sprites of earth and air--

Fiends of flame and fire--

Demon souls,

Come here in shoals,

This dreadful deed inspire!

Appear, appear, appear!

_Male Voices._ Good master, we are here!

_Mr. W._ Noisome hags of night--

Imps of deadly shade--

Pallid ghosts,

Arise in hosts,

And lend me all your aid!

Appear, appear, appear!

_Female Voices._ Good master, we are here!

_Alex._ (_aside_). Hark, they assemble,

These fiends of the night!

_Ali._ (_aside_). Oh, Alexis, I tremble.

Seek safety in flight!

ARIA.--ALINE.

Let us fly to a far-off land,

Where peace and plenty dwell--

Where the sigh of the silver strand

Is echoed in every shell.

To the joy that land will give,

On the wings of Love we’ll fly;

In innocence there to live--

In innocence there to die!

CHORUS OF SPIRITS.

Too late--too late,

It may not be!

That happy fate

Is not for thee!

ALEXIS, ALINE, AND MR. WELLS.

Too late--too late,

That may not be!

That happy fate

Is not for {me! }

{thee!}

_Mr. W._ Now, shrivelled hags, with poison bags,

Discharge your loathsome loads!

Spit flame and fire, unholy choir!

Belch forth your venom, toads!

Ye demons fell, with yelp and yell,

Shed curses far afield--

Ye fiends of night, your filthy blight

In noisome plenty yield!

_Mr. W._ (_pouring phial into teapot--flash_).

Number One!

_Chorus._ It is done!

_Mr. W._ (_pouring phial into teapot--flash_).

Number Two!

_Chorus._ One too few!

_Mr. W._ (_pouring phial into teapot--flash_).

Number Three!

_Chorus._ Set us free!

Set us free--our work is done.

Ha! ha! ha!

Set us free--our course is run!

Ha! ha! ha!

_ALINE and ALEXIS_ (_aside_).

Let us fly to a far-off land,

Where peace and plenty dwell--

Where the sigh of the silver strand

Is echoed in every shell.

CHORUS OF FIENDS.

Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

[_Stage grows light. MR. WELLS beckons villagers._

_Enter villagers and all the dramatis personæ, dancing joyously. SIR

MARMADUKE enters with LADY SANGAZURE from house. VICAR enters,

absorbed in thought. He is followed by CONSTANCE. COUNSEL enters,

followed by MRS. PARTLET. MRS. PARTLET and MR. WELLS distribute

teacups._

CHORUS.

Now to the banquet we press;

Now for the eggs, the ham,

Now for the mustard and cress,

Now for the strawberry jam!

Now for the tea of our host,

Now for the rollicking bun,

Now for the muffin and toast,

Now for the gay Sally Lunn!

_Women._ The eggs, and the ham, and the strawberry jam!

_Men._ The rollicking bun, and the gay Sally Lunn!

The rollicking, rollicking bun!

RECITATIVE.--SIR MARMADUKE.

Be happy all--the feast is spread before ye,

Fear nothing, but enjoy yourselves, I pray!

Eat, ay, and drink--be merry, I implore ye,

For once let thoughtless Folly rule the day.

TEACUP BRINDISI.

Eat, drink, and be gay,

Banish all worry and sorrow;

Laugh gaily to-day,

Weep, if you’re sorry, to-morrow!

Come, pass the cup round--

I will go bail for the liquor;

It’s strong, I’ll be bound,

For it was brewed by the vicar!

CHORUS.

None so knowing as he

At brewing a jorum of tea,

Ha! ha!

A pretty stiff jorum of tea!

TRIO.--MR. WELLS, ALINE, AND ALEXIS (_aside_).

See--see--they drink--

All thought unheeding;

The teacups clink--

They are exceeding!

Their hearts will melt

In half an hour--

Then will be felt

The potion’s power!

[_During this verse CONSTANCE has brought a small teapot, kettle,

caddy, and cosy to DR. DALY. He makes tea scientifically._

BRINDISI, _2nd Verse_.--DR. DALY (_with the teapot_).

Pain, trouble, and care,

Misery, heart-ache, and worry,

Quick, out of your lair!

Get you all gone in a hurry!

Toil, sorrow, and plot,

Fly away quicker and quicker--

Three spoons to the pot--

That is the brew of your vicar!

CHORUS.

None so cunning as he

At brewing a jorum of tea,

Ha! ha!

A pretty stiff jorum of tea!

[_DR. DALY places teapot on tray held by CONSTANCE. He covers it

with the cosy. She takes tray into the house._

ENSEMBLE.--ALEXIS AND ALINE (_aside_).

Oh, love, true love--unworldly, abiding!

Source of all pleasure--true fountain of joy--

Oh, love, true love--divinely confiding,

Exquisite treasure that knows no alloy!

Oh, love, true love, rich harvest of gladness,

Peace-bearing tillage--great garner of bliss--

Oh, love, true love, look down on our sadness--

Dwell in this village--oh, hear us in this!

[_It becomes evident by the strange conduct of the characters

that the charm is working. All rub their eyes._

TUTTI (_aside_). ALEXIS, MR. WELLS, AND ALINE (_aside_).

Oh, marvellous illusion! A marvellous illusion--

Oh, terrible surprise! A terrible surprise

What is this strange confusion Excites a strange confusion

That veils my aching eyes? Within their aching eyes--

I must regain my senses, They must regain their senses,

Restoring Reason’s law, Restoring Reason’s law,

Or fearful inferences Or fearful inferences

The company will draw! The company will draw!

[_Those who have partaken of the philtre struggle against its

effects, and resume the Brindisi with a violent effort._

TUTTI.

Eat, drink, and be gay,

Banish all worry and sorrow,

Laugh gaily to-day,

Weep, if you’re sorry, to-morrow;

Come, pass the cup round--

We will go bail for the liquor;

It’s strong, I’ll be bound,

For it was brewed by the vicar!

None so cunning as he

At brewing a jorum of tea.

Ha! ha!

At brewing a jorum of tea!

ACT II.

SCENE.--_Market-place in the Village. Rustic houses. In centre a

market cross._

_Enter _Peasants_ dancing, coupled two and two. An old _Man_ with a

young _Girl_. Then an old _Woman_ with a young _Man_. Then other

ill-assorted couples._

OPENING CHORUS.

Happy are we in our loving frivolity,

Happy and jolly as people of quality;

Love is the source of all joy to humanity,

Money, position, and rank are a vanity;

Year after year we’ve been waiting and tarrying,

Without ever dreaming of loving and marrying.

Though we’ve been hitherto deaf, dumb, and blind to it,

It’s pleasant enough when you’ve made up your mind to it.

_Enter CONSTANCE, leading NOTARY._

ARIA.--CONSTANCE.

Dear friends, take pity on my lot,

My cup is not of nectar!

I long have loved--as who would not?--

Our kind and reverend rector.

Long years ago my love began

So sweetly--yet so sadly--

But when I saw this plain old man,

Away my old affection ran--

I found I loved him madly.

Oh!

(_To NOTARY._) You very, very plain old man,

I love, I love you madly!

_Chorus._ You very, very plain old man,

She loves, she loves you madly!

_Notary._ I am a very deaf old man,

And hear you very badly.

_Con._ I know not why I love him so;

It is enchantment, surely!

He’s dry and snuffy, deaf and slow,

Ill-tempered, weak, and poorly!

He’s ugly, and absurdly dressed,

And sixty-seven nearly,

He’s everything that I detest,

But if the truth must be confessed,

I love him very dearly!

Oh!

(_To NOTARY.)_ You’re everything that I detest,

But still I love you dearly!

_Chorus._ You’re everything that girls detest,

But still she loves you dearly!

_Notary._ I caught that line, but for the rest

I did not hear it clearly!

[_During this verse ALINE and ALEXIS have entered at back, unobserved._

ALINE AND ALEXIS.

_Alex._ Oh, joy! oh, joy!

The charm works well,

And all are now united.

_Ali._ The blind young boy

Obeys the spell,

Their troth they all have plighted!

ENSEMBLE.

ALINE AND ALEXIS. CONSTANCE. NOTARY.

Oh, joy! oh, joy! Oh, bitter joy! Oh, joy! oh, joy!

The charm works well, No words can tell No words can tell

And all are now How my poor heart My state of mind

united. is blighted! delighted.

The blind young boy They’ll soon employ They’ll soon employ

Obeys the spell, A marriage bell, A marriage bell,

Their troth they To say that To say that

all have plighted. we’re united. we’re united.

True happiness I do confess True happiness

Reigns everywhere, A sorrow rare Reigns everywhere,

And dwells with My humbled And dwells with

both the sexes, spirit vexes, both the sexes,

And all will bless And none will bless And all will bless

The thoughtful care Example rare Example rare

Of their beloved Of their beloved Of their beloved

Alexis! Alexis! Alexis!

[_All, except ALEXIS and ALINE, dance off to symphony._

_Ali._ How joyful they all seem in their new-found happiness! The whole

village has paired off in the happiest manner. And yet not a match has

been made that the hollow world would not consider ill-advised!

_Alex._ But we are wiser--far wiser--than the world. Observe the good

that will become of these ill-assorted unions. The miserly wife will

check the reckless expenditure of her too frivolous consort, the

wealthy husband will shower innumerable bonnets on his penniless bride,

and the young and lively spouse will cheer the declining days of her

aged partner with comic songs unceasing!

_Ali._ What a delightful prospect for him!

_Alex._ But one thing remains to be done, that my happiness may be

complete. We must drink the philtre ourselves, that I may be assured of

your love for ever and ever.

_Ali._ Oh, Alexis, do you doubt me? Is it necessary that such love as

ours should be secured by artificial means? Oh no, no, no!

_Alex._ My dear Aline, time works terrible changes, and I want to place

our love beyond the chance of change.

_Ali._ Alexis, it is already far beyond that chance. Have faith in me,

for my love can never, never change!

_Alex._ Then you absolutely refuse?

_Ali._ I do. If you cannot trust me, you have no right to love me--no

right to be loved _by_ me.

_Alex._ Enough, Aline; I shall know how to interpret this refusal.

BALLAD.--ALEXIS.

Thou hast the power thy vaunted love

To sanctify, all doubt above,

Despite the gathering shade:

To make that love of thine so sure

That, come what may, it must endure

Till time itself shall fade.

Thy love is but a flower

That fades within the hour!

If such thy love, oh, shame!

Call it by other name--

It is not love!

Thine is the power, and thine alone,

To place me on so proud a throne

That kings might envy me!

A priceless throne of love untold,

More rare than orient pearl and gold.

But no! Thou wouldst be free!

Such love is like the ray

That dies within the day!

If such thy love, oh, shame!

Call it by other name--

It is not love!

_Enter DR. DALY._

_Dr. D._ (_musing_). It is singular--it is very singular. It has

overthrown all my calculations. It is distinctly opposed to the

doctrine of averages. I cannot understand it.

_Ali._ Dear Dr. Daly, what has puzzled you?

_Dr. D._ My dear, this village has not hitherto been addicted to

marrying and giving in marriage. Hitherto the youths of this village

have not been enterprising, and the maidens have been distinctly coy.

Judge then of my surprise when I tell you that the whole village came

to me in a body just now, and implored me to join them in matrimony

with as little delay as possible. Even your excellent father has hinted

to me that before very long it is not unlikely that he, also, may

change his condition.

_Ali._ Oh, Alexis--do you hear that? Are you not delighted?

_Alex._ Yes. I confess that a union between your mother and my father

would be a happy circumstance indeed. (_Crossing to DR. DALY._) My dear

sir, the news that you bring us is very gratifying.

_Dr. D._ Yes--still, in my eyes, it has its melancholy side. This

universal marrying recalls the happy days--now, alas! gone for

ever--when I myself might have--but tush! I am puling. I am too old to

marry--and yet, within the last half-hour, I have greatly yearned for

companionship. I never remarked it before, but the young maidens of

this village are very comely. So likewise are the middle-aged. Also the

elderly. All are comely--and (_with a deep sigh_) all are engaged!

_Ali._ Here comes your father.

_Enter SIR MARMADUKE with MRS. PARTLET, arm-in-arm._

_Ali. and Alex._ (_aside_). Mrs. Partlet!