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Title: Under a Veil
Author: Roberts, Randell, Baker, George M. (George Melville)
Language: English
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
No. 2.
=Just Published.= The “Popular Edition” of =Baker’s Reading Club= and
=Hand Speaker=. Nos. 1, 2, and 3. 50 selections in each. Price 15 cents
each.
THE
GLOBE
DRAMA.
ALL THE WORLD’S
A STAGE
UNDER A VEIL.
By Sir Randall Roberts, Bart., and George M. Baker.
BOSTON:
GEORGE M. BAKER & CO.,
41-45 Franklin Street.
Copyright, 1876, by GEORGE M. BAKER.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spencer’s Universal Stage.
_A Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to either Public
or Private Performance. Containing a full description of all the
necessary Stage Business._
PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. ☞ No Plays Exchanged.
1. LOST IN LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 6 male, 4 female characters.
2. NICHOLAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 3
female char.
3. THE WELSH GIRL. A Comedy in 1 Act. By Mrs. Planche. 3 male, 2
female char.
4. JOHN WOPPS. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 2 female
char.
5. THE TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. By Montague Williams and F. C.
Burnand. 6 male, 1 female char.
6. THE TWO PUDDIFOOTS. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3
female char.
7. OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5 male, 2
female char.
8. TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male
char.
9. SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 3
female char.
10. TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A Farce in 1 Act. By Lenox Horne. 4
male, 1 female char.
11. JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female
char.
12. THE DAUGHTER of the REGIMENT. A Drama in 2 Acts. By Edward
Fitzball, 6 male, 2 female char.
13. AUNT CHARLOTTE’S MAID. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3
female char.
14. BROTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 3
female char.
15. DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2
female char.
16. DUNDUCKETTY’S PICNIC. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 6 male,
3 female char.
17. I’VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4
male, 3 female char.
19. MY PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 4
female char.
20. MY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female
char.
22. THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce in 1 Act. By Chas. Selby. 3 male, 2
female char.
23. DANDELION’S DODGES. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2
female char.
24. A SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 2
female char.
25. ALWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 Act. By Horace Wigan. 3 male, 3
female char.
26. A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By Charles Matthews. 6
male, 4 female char.
27. ANOTHER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act. By Thomas Morton. 6 male, 3 female
char.
28. BOWLED OUT. A Farce in 1 Act. By H. T. Craven. 4 male, 3 female
char.
29. COUSIN TOM. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By Geo. Roberts. 3 male, 2
female char.
30. SARAH’S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3
female char.
31. HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates and N. H.
Harrington. 7 male, 3 female char.
32. THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 6
female char.
33. A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 4
female char.
34. YOUR LIFE’S IN DANGER. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3
female char.
35. TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6 male,
2 female char.
36. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. An Interlude in 1 Act. By W. H. Murray. 10
male, 1 female char.
37. LOOK AFTER BROWN. A Farce in 1 Act. By George A. Stuart, M. D. 6
male, 1 female char.
38. MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 3 Acts. By Thomas Archer. 15 male, 3 female
char.
39. A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male
char.
40. BROTHER BEN. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female
char.
41. ONLY A CLOD. A Comic Drama in 1 Act. By J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1
female char.
42. GASPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A Drama in 3 Acts. By George Almar. 10
male, 2 female char.
43. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. A Drama in 1 Act. By Slingsby
Lawrence. 3 male, 3 female char.
44. DON’T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3
male, 2 female char.
45. NURSEY CHICKWEED. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2
female char.
46. MARY MOO; or, Which shall I Marry? A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E.
Suter. 2 male, 1 female char.
47. EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acts. 8 male, 7 female char.
48. THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama in 5 Acts. By Robert Jones. 16 male, 7
female char.
49. SILVERSTONE’S WAGER. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By R. R. Andrews. 4
male, 3 female char.
50. DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By Chas. Reade. 5 male, 2 female
char.
55. THE WIFE’S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. By Geo. W. Lovell. 10 male, 2
female char.
56. THE BABES IN THE WOOD. A Comedy in 3 Acts. By Tom Taylor. 10 male,
3 female char.
57. PUTKINS; Heir to Castles in the Air. A Comic Drama in 1 Act. By W.
R. Emerson. 2 male, 2 female char.
58. AN UGLY CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act. By Thomas J. Williams. 3 male,
2 female char.
59. BLUE AND CHERRY. A Comedy in 1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char.
60. A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy in 1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char.
61. THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 Acts. 8 male, 7 female char.
62. WHICH WILL HAVE HIM? A Vaudeville. 1 male, 2 female char.
63. MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act. 2 male, 2 female char.
64. THE ANONYMOUS KISS. A Vaudeville. 2 male, 2 female char.
65. THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 5 male, 3 female char.
66. A SOLDIER, A SAILOR, A TINKER, AND A TAILOR. A Farce in 1 Act. 4
male, 2 female char.
67. GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A Farce. 2 male, 2 female char.
68. DAMON AND PYTHIAS. A Farce. 6 male, 4 female char.
69. A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic Drama in 2 Acts. 5 male, 3 female
char.
70. PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Domestic Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male, 1 female
char.
_Descriptive Catalogue mailed free on application to_
GEO. M. BAKER & CO., 41-45 Franklin St., Boston.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
UNDER A VEIL.
A Comedietta in One Act.
BY
SIR RANDAL ROBERTS, BART.,
AND
GEORGE M. BAKER.
BOSTON:
GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY,
41 FRANKLIN STREET.
1877.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHARACTERS.
CHARLES DEVEREAUX.
PRITCHARD.
ELIZABETH.
WAITER.
Costumes modern.
COPYRIGHT.
BY GEO. M. BAKER.
1877.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
UNDER A VEIL.
SCENE I.—_Two rooms right and left, stage divided in the centre; a door
of communication between rooms, fastened by a bolt on either side;
small tables, sofas, and arm-chairs. Practicable doors_, 1 E. L., 2 E.
L., _and_ 2 E. R. _Window at back of_ R. _room. Door at back of_ L.
_room_.
_Pri._ (_advancing towards table_). Beg pardon, sir.
_Cha._ (_lazily_). All right.
_Pri._ Beg pardon, sir, exceedingly sorry to disturb you; (_to_ WAITER)
he’s asleep.
_Cha._ (_snores_).
_Pri._ (_loudly_). I’m really very sorry to wake you, sir.
_Cha._ (_still lying on sofa_). What! you don’t mean to say it’s twelve.
_Pri._ Twelve! ah, to be sure, the hour I was to wake him for the ball.
No, sir, it’s only ten o’clock; but (_looking at him_) he’s asleep
again—the devil! (_Calling loudly._) I’m really pained to awake you,
sir—
_Cha._ (_half rising and yawning_). What on earth’s the matter? Oh, it’s
you, Mr. Red Lion, is it?
[_Sinks back._
_Pri._ Beg pardon, sir, I am not Red Lion: it is my neighbor of the next
hotel I suppose you allude to. Here, sir, you are in the first and best
hotel in the town,—the White Horse.
_Cha._ (_stretching himself on sofa_). All right, with all my heart,
then, Mr. White Horse. What is it?
_Pri._ Well, sir, the fact is, I’m in a dreadful fix—a most awkward
predicament, out of which I cannot extricate myself without your
assistance. You see, sir, if you will only pardon it, but my daughter
was only married to-day. Yes, sir, married; in fact, sir, she was
married to make her happy—you know, sir,—you understand! And, sir, just
as we are having a little dance in honor of this marriage, which takes
up all our spare accommodation, a lady and her maid arrive, asking for
rooms; and, as they require two beds in one room, I dared to hope that
perhaps, sir, you would oblige me by changing this room for the next
one. You see, sir, that the bedroom belonging to this sitting-room has
two beds, whilst in here (_throwing open door in centre partition_)
there is only one bed, though in all respects furnished in the same
manner. If you, sir, would oblige me by just looking in (_on turning to_
CHARLES, _finds him asleep_)—Confound it, he’s asleep again! (_To
audience._) An idea occurs to me; (_turning to_ WAITER) here, George,
catch hold of one end of this sofa. (_They take sofa, and carry it into
next room with_ CHARLES _asleep on it_.) There, I don’t believe he’ll
find it out; here, George, his luggage. (_Brings baggage, but leaves
letter._) There, now, that’s all right, and now (_entering next door,
and closing with bolt_) I can fetch the ladies up.
[_Exit._
_Re-enter_ PRICHARD _ushering in_ LUCY _and_ ELIZABETH. PRICHARD
_carrying candle_. CHARLES _asleep in_ R. H. _room_.
_Pri._ These are the rooms, madam. This door leads into the bedroom.
[_Shows door_ 1 E. L., _and_ ELIZABETH _takes luggage in_.
_Luc._ Many thanks. Don’t forget the horses at six o’clock to-morrow
morning.
_Pri._ To the moment, madam. (_Aside to_ ELIZABETH, _who has
re-entered_.) If you can find time, join us downstairs. Don’t forget; I
shall expect you.
_Eliz._ All right; as soon as missus has done with me.
[_Exit_ PRI.
_Cha._ (R. H., _waking up_). Hullo! there’s somebody talking in the next
room.
[_Listens, sitting up._
_Luc._ You seem to know the landlord, Elizabeth?
_Eliz._ Oh, yes, ma’am, I’ve known him for some time: his wife was a
friend of mine, and his daughter that married to-day is my godchild.
_Luc._ Indeed! Then I suppose you’d like to join them downstairs. You
can go, and I’ll open my things myself.
_Eliz._ Oh, thank you, mum!
[_Exit_ L. 2 E.
LUCY _unpacking her boxes_, L. H.
_Cha._ (_sitting on side of sofa_, R. H.). By Jove! one hears every
thing that is going on next door. Seems to be a lady and her maid—not
very gentlemanly to listen, Master Charley, but it’s interesting. Ah,
well! when I was young this might have led to an adventure. I should
never have rested until I had made the acquaintance of my fair
neighbor,—for I suppose she is fair,—whilst now there’s not the
slightest danger. Confound it! I must see this woman, though. (_Rising,
and going towards door._) Hullo! I could have sworn the lock of the door
was on the other side just now. That’s deuced funny. (_Looking round the
room._) Why, where the mischief am I? and how on earth did I get here?
_Luc._ (_looking at her watch_). Half-past ten.
_Cha._ Ah! I understand. I thought I had a terrible nightmare. A
frightful monster held me by the feet, and another by the head; it
appears, however, that these monsters must have been the Red Lion or the
White Horse, and my room has been given to this lady, whoever she may
be, to suit their convenience. Well, I don’t care very much about seeing
her. All women are alike—just as cats are all alike. (_Stoops down to
examine the door._) Why, there’s no lock! only a bolt. Well, I can’t
help that; let’s see if we can’t get another nap until it’s time to go
to the ball.
[_Returns to sofa._
_Luc._ (_book in hand, seated on sofa_). This “Voyage round the World”
is always a charming book to read.
_She puts her book upon the table, and leans her head upon her arm
as if to read book; perceives letter._
_Luc._ Why, here’s somebody’s letter! (_Takes it up, coming down
front._) Not very ladylike to read it, I suppose; but all women are
curious. Seems to be unfinished. Of course it’s very wrong to read this
letter (_reads_),—
“MY DEAR GEORGE,—As I quite anticipated on my return from
home, the Government appointment I expected has been given to
another. Pardon me, if on receiving this intelligence, I quitted
London without bidding you adieu—and as it seems”—
This is really too bad of me,—
“that I am too lazy to do any thing, as you all of you always
said”—
[_Pausing._
What on earth does that mean? I should much like to see the author
(_reading again from letter_),—
“I intend as soon as I have realized what property I have, to go
to Baden, and once more try my luck at the tables. If I win, I
shall found a hospital; and if I lose—well, in that case, the
only thing I can see for me to do is to join my mother.”
[_Finishing reading letter._
That’s all; this gentleman has got no further, or else he has taken away
the end of it.
[_Commences re-reading in a low tone._
_Cha._ (_rousing himself_). Oh! I can’t lay here any longer. Morpheus
won’t come to my aid. What shall I do? Well, I might just as well finish
my letter to George. Why! what the deuce have I done with it? (_Searches
in his pockets._) Why, it seems to me I left it on the table before I
went to sleep.
[_He looks upon the table._
_Luc._ (_again reading letter_). “In that case, the only thing I can see
for me to do is to join my mother.”
_Cha._ (_striking his forehead_). Confound it! I’ve left it in the next
room.
_Luc._ (_putting down letter, and taking up book_). After all, I’m not
George, and I’ve no right to read that letter.
_Cha._ But then my letter must be in the power of this woman. It appears
to me that I’ve a perfect right to—
[_Knocks gently at door._
_Luc._ Good gracious! there’s some one knocking. Who is there? What do
you want?
_Cha._ A thousand pardons, madam. I am the person who inhabited a few
minutes ago the room you now occupy; and by accident in leaving the room
I left an unfinished letter.
_Luc._ (_aside_). Dear me! This is the young gentleman that’s too lazy
for any thing.
_Cha._ Would you be kind enough to return me my letter?
_Luc._ (_embarrassed_). Sir, I’ll ring in order that your letter may be
brought to you.
_Cha._ A thousand pardons, madam; but pray don’t trouble to ring. Can’t
you slip it under the door?
_Luc._ Oh, certainly! There it is.
[_Passes letter._
_Cha._ Thanks. (_Aside._) A charming voice,—soft as a bird’s; and, if
the plumage only corresponds—(_He goes to examine fastening._) Confound
this bolt! Infamous hotel! (_He returns to table, and prepares to
write._) By the way, I should like to know if she’s read this (_looking
at letter_). Well, there’s a very old method for ascertaining that: ask
her. (_Goes to door, and knocks._) Madam, pardon me—
_Luc._ What do you want, sir?
_Cha._ Madam, my letter was left open on the table; and in taking it
up—without, of course, the slightest desire—your eye must naturally have
fallen upon it, and—
_Luc._ (_aside_). I understand. (_Aloud._) I don’t understand you, sir;
and, inasmuch as I’ve done what you desire, I must beg that we have no
further conversation, as I shall refuse to answer.
_Cha._ Why, may I ask? I was asleep just now, and dreaming charmingly.
If you like, I’ll tell you the dream.
_Luc._ Certainly not, sir.
_Cha._ Very good: it’ll keep for another time; but then, inasmuch as it
was you that woke me up, permit me at least to converse with you as a
compensation.
_Luc._ (_aside_). He is not stupid.
_Cha._ I beg pardon: did you speak?
_Luc._ (_aside_). What have I to dread? He seems a gentleman. (_Aloud._)
Well, sir, proceed, as you consider yourself aggrieved; only remember
that I trust to your feelings as a gentleman, and your discretion.
_Cha._ Madam, you may depend upon it. (_Wheeling arm-chair to door, and
speaking through keyhole._) Are you married?
_Luc._ (_affronted and aside_). Upon my word! (_Aloud._) Do you call
that discretion, sir?
_Cha._ Most certainly; as a subject of conversation I see nothing
against it. Society prescribes certain forms of conversation; and, to
ascertain what forms to use, one must know whether one is speaking to a
widow or a young girl, to an old maid or a married woman.
_Luc._ In—I—I am married.
_Cha._ (_aside_). So much the worse. I, madam, am a bachelor, and I’m
going to Baden. Where may you be going?
_Luc._ A long way off, sir.
_Cha._ To—
_Luc._ To rejoin my husband, naturally.
_Cha._ By the way, madam, do you love your husband?
_Luc._ Excuse me, sir, but, if you don’t mind, we’ll change the
conversation.
_Cha._ Whatever pleases you, madam, pleases me. (_Pause._) A charming
hotel, madam, is this Golden Lion. So well furnished, so well decorated!
My goodness me! it gives me the inclination to set fire to the place.
_Luc._ If you’ve any such intentions, sir, pray remember that I’m in the
hotel.
_Cha._ Very good; only just remember, that, in not setting fire to the
hotel, I’m saving your life. (_A pause._) By the way, madam, now I come
to think of it, you do not love your husband.
_Luc._ Sir!
_Cha._ When one is compelled to separate one’s self from a husband that
one loves, one is not so light-hearted as you were just now, and—
_Luc._ Really, sir!
_Cha._ Madam, pardon me, but you do not evidently possess a husband who
would make you cry out in the words of Sterne, “Oh, Love, king of gods
and men!” Now, if it had been my fate to have crossed your path, I swear
that—
_Luc._ And I swear to you, sir, that I would never marry a man who was
too lazy to do any thing.
_Cha._ Madam, you have read my letter.
_Luc._ I, sir? oh, dear, no! I can assure you I only looked at it. By
the way, would you mind informing me how it is that you came to inhabit
this room?
_Cha._ Well, the fact is, I went to sleep on the sofa: I’ve some faint
recollection of the landlord coming in and asking me something about
moving out; but he was so long about it that I fell asleep again, and
during that time I fancy he had me quietly carried, sofa and all, into
the next room. By the way, I have a charming idea.
_Luc._ May I venture to ask it? (_Aside._) I should like to have a look
at this man.
_Cha._ Madam, in the East, you are aware that a veil is a protecting
wall between man and woman. If you would endeavor to put on such a veil,
and would do me the honor of granting me an interview,—the landlord can
supply us with refreshments,—we can converse more easily than through
this partition; in fact, we shall be in the East; and, further, I pledge
myself on my honor as a gentleman, that nothing shall in any way cause
you to regret our interview.
_Luc._ (_aside_). His letter announces that he intends to risk his
fortune. What if I could dissuade him? it would at least be the act of a
Christian, and—and a woman.
_Cha._ What! not a word? must I then beseech you in song?—
(_Sings._)
Oh! let my voice persuasive
Penetrate to your inmost heart;
Oh! list to my prayer so plaintive,
Through the door that keeps us apart.
_Luc._ I consent, but upon one condition; and that is, that you explain
to me how it is that a man can be too lazy to do any thing.
_Cha._ Very good; at least I will explain to you the meaning of this
somewhat bad joke.
_Luc._ Sir, upon these conditions in a few moments I shall be prepared
to meet you—in China.
_Cha._ Madam, in a few minutes I shall have the honor of presenting
myself. (_Goes to window, calling._) Mr. Red Lion, or Mr. White Horse!
_Luc._ (_aside_). I suppose I’d better alter my dress a little for the
occasion.
[_Exit_ L. 1 E.
_Cha._ (_coming down stage_). He has absolutely condescended to hear
me,—this landlord. Upon my word, I’m rather pleased with this little
adventure; if I’d gone to the ball, at any rate, I should never have
heard so sweet a voice.
_Enter_ PRICHARD, _slightly intoxicated._
_Pri._ For nobody else but you, sir, would I have disturbed myself upon
the auspicious occasion. To-day! yesterday! did I tell you that my
daughter was married? Yes, sir, to make—
_Cha._ You couldn’t do better, my dear White Horse, if you intended
giving your daughter a husband. Just listen to me for a moment; you will
oblige me by going up—yourself, mind—into that lady’s room next door.
_Pri._ Marrying one’s daughter, sir, when one is a father, is a grave
responsibility; my emotions—
_Cha._ Of course you feel as a father; you will be good enough to take
up plenty of candles, some flowers—
_Pri._ So long as she’s happy, so long as—(CHARLES, _movement of
impatience_)—candles, sir, yes, sir, and flowers; yes, sir.
_Cha._ Afterwards you will bring up some refreshments; tea, for
instance.
_Pri._ Tea, sir?
_Cha._ Yes; tea, tea, tea.
_Pri._ Senna tea?
_Cha._ No, confound you, ordinary tea!
_Pri._ Ordin— ordmorary— onding (_Charles impatient_)—You’re not ill, I
hope, sir?
_Cha._ Not in the least, thanks. (_Going, Charles stops him._) Ah, by
the way, landlord, that lady in the next room—what sort of a person is
she?
_Pri._ Char—ming, sir; be-a-u-ti-ful. Oh! she’s much handsomer than her
father; but if hereafter he should betray her, if he should—
_Cha._ Who the devil are you talking about?
_Pri._ My shon-in-law.
_Cha._ Confound your son-in-law!
_Pri._ Yes, sir, certainly, sir: that’s what I say, and—
_Cha._ Be off, and do what I told you.
_Pri._ Yes, sir, directly; but you’ll understand that on such an
auspicious—
_Cha._ There, there—be off; Red Lion—he’s gone.
_Pri._ (_turning at door_). White Horse Hotel, sir, please.
[_Exit._
_Cha._ (_alone_). I suppose he’ll do what I’ve told him. I ought to
change my coat too. Upon my honor (_dressing himself_), I’m delighted
with my evening; and somehow or another, oddly enough, I feel quite
curious to see this woman; in fact, I begin to be interested. It’s so
long since I’ve been in the least interested—yes, it’s six months since
any thing of the kind has happened. And my heart is, after all, but
human: it detests a void.
[_Goes on dressing._
_Enter_ PRICHARD _and_ GEORGE, L. 2 E., _carrying candelabra
and vase of flowers_.
_Pri._ (_still drunk_). George, your conduct is schandalush: your
master’s daughter is married to-day, and you take no more notish of the
event than a cow, than a cow or calf; you’ve no heart, George, you’ve no
shoul.
_George._ But, sir—
_Pri._ Hold your tongue; pray for her happiness, and go down and tell
her I’m coming.
[_Exit_ GEORGE.
_Enter_ LUCY 1 E. L., _veil in hand, and long cloak on, hiding
figure_.
_Luc._ (_perceiving flowers_). Oh, what a charming change! I
congratulate you, sir.
_Pri._ I’ll tell her, madam, she will be delighted; such a day, you
understand, madam. If she’s only happy! May heaven—
_Cha._ He’s having a reel in the next room now.
_Luc._ Who are you talking about?
_Pri._ Eh, my daughter, madam; at this moment she’s so happy—may she be
so all her life! and as to your maid, madam, she dances as if my
daughter’s happiness depended on her legs, you understand. Madam, of
course I mean—
_Luc._ Perfectly; be good enough to open that door, and show the
gentleman in, who is in there.
[_Sits down, and puts on veil._
_Pri._ But, madam—
_Luc._ Do what I tell you.
_Pri._ (_hesitating, yet opens door of communication, and enters_
CHARLES’S _room_). Sir!
_Cha._ All right, I’ve heard; you can announce me.
_Pri._ You wrote your name in my book; but you see, sir, my daughter’s—
_Cha._ You’ve forgotten it; say Mr. Charleston King.
_Pri._ (_re-entering_ L. H.). Mr. Charles, son of a king!
_Luc._ Son of a king!
_Cha._ (_entering_). Charleston King, at your service, madam.
_Pri._ (_aside, going_). A veiled woman in my house on such a day!
[_Exit._
_Cha._ (_taking a chair near_ LUCY). It is really too good of you,
madam, to receive a man in your rooms who you never saw; and I scarcely
know how to thank you.
_Luc._ You will thank me, sir, by explaining how it is that one can be—
_Cha._ Too lazy for any thing.
_Luc._ Precisely. If you will take the chair near you, you can be
seated.
_Cha._ Well, you see, in this world men have all sorts of faces.
(PRICHARD _enters with tea-tray_.) Confound this fellow! Just as I was
getting on so nicely!
_Pri._ (_putting down tea_). Madam—
_Cha._ Talking of faces, let me draw your attention, madam, to this one
(_pointing to_ PRI.’S _face_). There is a face that has committed
faults—crimes.
_Pri._ Crimes! Faults! Me, madam! me, sir! Here is the best tea, which
upon this auspicious day—
_Cha._ That’ll do.
_Pri._ Crimes! Faults! Yes, madam, your maid has charmed us to such an
extent with her dancing on this auspicious—
_Luc._ (_taking no notice of_ PRI.). Go on talking, sir, whilst I pour
out the tea.
_Cha._ Well, madam, in consequence of my misfortune my lifetime has
indeed been a miserable one,—sorrow upon sorrow, faults accumulating
upon faults.
_Pri._ (_leaving_). Crimes! Faults, indeed!
[_Exit._
_Cha._ My friends always insisted on declaring that I was too lazy to do
any thing; and the unlucky star that I was born under, gossiping
tongues, and certain circumstances all combined, seemed to favor such a
prediction.
_Luc._ But, sir, was this merited? (_Making tea._) Will you have a cup
of tea, Mr.—Mr.—
_Cha._ (_absorbed_). Apollo.
_Luc._ Mr. Apollo.
_Cha._ Madam! Ah, a thousand pardons. I was absorbed in thinking of my
miserable self.
_Luc._ (_getting interested_). Have you no relations?
_Cha._ I had an uncle, a well-known merchant, but he died two years ago.
_Luc._ And didn’t he leave any thing?
_Cha._ Oh, dear, yes; he left a very nice fortune. In fact, he adopted
this young lady on purpose to do that.
_Luc._ Oh, that wasn’t right.
_Cha._ I don’t know that it’s wrong; but it is not on account of this
that I owe him a grudge. I heard that the only way in which he could
discharge an obligation to a friend of his was by adopting this friend’s
daughter, who was left an orphan, a very charming person, I heard; at
least, so I was told, for I refused to put my foot inside his house.
_Luc._ Curious determination!
_Cha._ Pardon me: not at all. The fact is, he insulted me,—he made me a
present.
_Luc._ A present! what could it be?
_Cha._ “_A very handsome dressing-case_” (_a waltz is heard playing
outside_), with my name engraved upon it, and below my name the
following compliment: “Too lazy to do any thing.” I was furious, but I
wanted a dressing-case: so, as I wanted a dressing-case, I kept it. I’ll
trouble you for another cup of tea, at least if you don’t find me too
lazy for that?
[_Handing cup._
_Luc._ With pleasure.
[_Hands cup._
_Cha._ Thanks; don’t let’s talk of my unfortunate self any more; a
little more sugar, please.
_Luc._ This country band really plays that waltz charmingly.
_Cha._ (_listening and pondering_). Yes, oh, yes; how often have I heard
that air, and how happy have I been!
_Luc._ That waltz?
_Cha._ My mother used to play it to me when _I was a little child_!
_Luc._ Have you any control over yourself?
_Cha._ Most certainly, a good deal even; ask me to prove it.
_Luc._ You would not grant what I ask.
_Cha._ I wouldn’t. Ah, madam! you want to send me away.
_Luc._ Not at all: only I wished to explain to you, that, never having
worn a thick veil in a room, I’m simply stifling.
_Cha._ I can quite believe you. Nothing, nothing is so dangerous as a
thick veil: you must take it off at once,—you must.
_Luc._ If you can sufficiently control yourself to sit in a chair here
without turning your head, I will sit behind you, and we can finish our
conversation without my being stifled.
_Cha._ (_reproachfully_). What, madam!
_Luc._ Well, you must choose; for, as I don’t want to die of
suffocation, I shall be forced to give you your _congé_.
_Cha._ (_taking chair down front of scene, and sitting_). Madam, this is
the second time it is my good fortune to save your life to-night, in
return for which—
_Luc._ (_advancing with a cup of tea in one hand, whilst with the other
she keeps him down in the chair_). Then, sir, I am to understand that,
notwithstanding all the misfortunes connected with your nickname, you
have still hope.
_Cha._ Yes,—hope, that poor little creature that nothing can kill.
_Luc._ It is, then, this hope that takes you to Baden?
_Cha._ Baden is, as far as I’m concerned at this moment, my last hope in
this world; then, if my luck is once more against me, if fortune fails
to help me, if that poor little creature, hope, succumbs to bad luck,
why, then—
_Luc._ You’ll go and join your mother.
_Cha._ Yes, madam, I shall go.
[_Endeavoring to turn round._
_Luc._ If you do that, I shall have to tie you with my handkerchief.
Don’t you think now, joking apart, that it would be wiser, without
tempting fortune at Baden, to go to your “mother at once”? (_Waltz music
again._) She’d play to you again. (_Listening._) Come, do you hear that
waltz? and when you hear it once more by her side,—that dear
mother,—you’ll be happy, and—
_Cha._ Ah! then, in reading my letter, you evidently did not understand,
did not comprehend.
_Luc._ Comprehend what?
_Cha._ The country that my mother is gone to.
_Luc._ No.
_Cha._ It is the Country of Peace, of Repose,—the only land from which
the mother cannot return to console her child.
_Luc._ (_making a movement as if to show herself_). Then, sir, am I to
understand that if you lost—you would—(_stops, and reseats herself_)—he
has no mother!
_Cha._ It would not interest you, madam, to learn all these details; but
please to remember that you are not my friend George, and that I’ve not
absolutely gone on my knees to you to read my letter.
_Luc._ (_aside, looking at_ CHARLES). Just imagine if it were him!
(_Rising with animation._) Well, sir, I don’t repent of having read your
letter: in fact, I congratulate myself on having done so; and I am also
glad to see you here, for now I can implore you, beseech you, to
renounce such fatal plans; to beg of you with clasped hands to do so, in
the name of your mother.
_Cha._ Madam!
_Luc._ Listen, sir. I cannot explain to you my object in being so
curious; but what is your name?
_Cha._ Charleston King.
_Luc._ Sir!
_Cha._ That is my veil. If you want to take it off, remove your own.
_Luc._ No, sir: that is impossible; but—
_Cha._ In that case, madam, I am Charleston King, too lazy to do any
thing, but quite at your service.
_Luc._ (_aside_). What shall I do? (_Looking round, sees flowers._) Ah!
(_Takes a sprig of May, and comes towards_ CHA.) Sir, we are about to
part, probably never to meet again; would it be repugnant to your
feelings to accept a souvenir?
_Cha._ Pardon, madam, but you don’t propose giving me a dressing-case?
_Luc._ Don’t be alarmed. The souvenir I give you, do you promise to keep
it?
_Cha._ For ever, madam, I swear it. (_Aside._) What can it be?
_Luc._ (_kissing sprig, and leaning against back of_ CHA.’S _chair_).
Take it.
_Cha._ (_looking at it, but not taking it_). A sprig of May!
_Luc._ Upon which I have just left a kiss. (CHA. _moves_.) You have
sworn never to part with it. Good! Should you persist in your fatal
project, at the moment when you are about to commit this frightful act,
perhaps my poor little sprig may catch your eye; perhaps it will remind
you of the days of your childhood, those happy days that have fled away;
those Sundays when your mother’s smile was upon you as you filled your
little arms with flowers, and brought your childish offering to her
knees.
_Cha._ Keep still, my heart!
_Luc._ If you should have such thoughts, your courage will be tried;
for, in speaking to you of me, my little sprig will also remind you of
your mother; and if you should still desire—
_Cha._ (_seizing sprig_). No, no! I have no longer any such desire
(_seizing her hand, and kissing it, slides upon his knees_). I swear it
to you on my knees. But I must see the angel who—(_Lifts his head, when_
LUCY _turns away_). Ah, cruel! This hand at least I hold.
[_Covers it with kisses._
_Luc._ Give me my hand, sir, or else—
_Cha._ Or else—
_Luc._ Tell me your name.
_Cha._ Shall I see your face?
_Luc._ No, no! I cannot possibly—
_Cha._ Madam, I implore you! I beseech you!
_Eliz._ (_outside_). It’s me, mam. There’s no key.
_Luc._ Elizabeth!—Get up at once, and return to your room, I implore
you!
_Cha._ Madam, I obey you; but—
_Luc._ (_going towards door_). Thanks, sir, and don’t forget my lecture.
_Cha._ (_entering his room_). In thinking of you, madam, I shall always
remember it.
[_Exit._ LUCY _opens door_.
_Eliz._ (_entering_ 2 E. L.). Why, the key’s fallen out. (_Aside._)
She’s been up to something, I know.
[_Replaces it._
_Luc._ (_still upset_). You must be tired, Elizabeth. Go to bed, my good
girl, go.
[_Reseats herself, and takes up book._
_Eliz._ (_takes off tea things_). I tired! Oh, no, mum! (_Returns._)
Surely thirty waltzes or quadrilles wouldn’t tire me much; and there’s
only two hours to sleep. It’s not worth while going to bed: so, if you
please, mum, I’ll sit up with you.
[_Sits on sofa._
_Luc._ It must, then, be that nephew, the son of his sister, of whom Mr.
Mortimer always avoided speaking to me.
_Cha._ (_in next room, uneasy_). What on earth made her so anxious to
know my name?
_Luc._ At any rate, I have his promise: that’s some consolation. By the
way, Elizabeth, did you know Mr. Mortimer’s nephew?
_Eliz._ Well, yes,—little Charley Devereux. Oh, yes! I recollect; and
I—I—(_falling asleep and dreaming_) thank you, sir: I don’t dance any
more.
_Cha._ And to think she’ll leave without my seeing her face! It’s
abominable!
[_Rises._
_Luc._ (_Looking at_ ELIZABETH). She’s asleep, poor thing! She’ll catch
cold.
[_Covers her with her cloak._
_Cha._ Ah, this window! Perhaps there’s a veranda.
[_Goes to window._
_Luc._ How can I ascertain for certain that he is Mr. Mortimer’s nephew?
I must know it somehow.
_Cha._ No road here; perhaps by the other staircase. I shall just go in
without knocking, as if I had forgotten; that’s it: here goes.
[_Exit, slamming door._
_Luc._ That noise was in his room. I think he’s gone out. If I was
certain that dressing-case he spoke of would tell me! (_At door._) Sir,
Mr. King! No answer. What have I to fear?
[_Enters room, closing door._
_Cha._ (_gently opening_ 2 E. L. _door_). Yes, this is the room.
(_Looking round._) She sleeps; my handkerchief too. Now, my charming
girl, let me see your face. (_Takes candle, starts back._) Confound it!
Well, there’s the end of my dream.
[_Heaves a sigh, and goes out._
_Eliz._ (_starting up_). There’s somebody in the room. (_Goes to door at
back, and looks in._) I knew she was up to something: I’ll find it out,
see if I don’t.
[_Exit_ 1 L. E.
_Luc._ (_searching_). Ah, here it is at last,—Charles Devereux. It’s he,
it’s he! (_She returns hastily, and bolts door._) Ah, how my heart
beats! what shall I do now? (_Thinking._) The fact is, he’s very nice,
notwithstanding his nickname.
_Cha._ (_entering, and falling into arm-chair_). Another dream, that
takes itself off to the land of dreams. (_Striking table._) No, it’s
always the same. If you were to go to a masked ball where there was only
one woman—oh, love! oh, frenzy! the mask falls, ugh! no more love, no
more frenzy. The woman’s ninety, and ugly as—heaven knows what.
_Luc._ He’s come in. (_Calling at door._) Mr. King!
_Cha._ And such a voice!
_Luc._ Sir.
_Cha._ Woke her up, I suppose. Madam—
_Luc._ Sir, I should like to have a few words of explanation with you.
_Cha._ (_running to fasten door_). Oh, by jingo!
_Luc._ He’s locked himself in. (_Aloud._) Pardon me, sir, for troubling
you; but—but—if I mistake not, you are Mr. Charles Devereux, the nephew
of Mr. Mortimer.
_Cha._ I suppose you mean, madam, that that gentleman was my uncle. I
don’t dispute the fact. (_Aside._) How the mischief did she find that
out? Ah! it’s that confounded landlord told her.
_Luc._ Well, sir, I’ve a most important communication to make to you
from his adopted child.
_Cha._ But I don’t want to hear what she’s got to say, madam. You know
her?
_Luc._ Yes, sir, I know her; and I also know that she has been seeking
you for a long time, in order to give you up a fortune which by right
belongs to you.
_Cha._ What you propose, madam, is ridiculous. I could never accept a
farthing.
_Luc._ But suppose in seeing her you happen to like her, and that—
_Cha._ I shall never like her.
_Luc._ Perhaps you might. If she were like me, for instance?
_Cha._ Never, madam. I’m sworn celibacy,—a knight of Malta, in fact.
_Luc._ (_aside_). What an extraordinary change! (_Aloud._) Mr. King, I’m
in the greatest danger, and you alone can save me.
_Cha._ Madam, I’ve saved you twice to-night, and I distinctly refuse to
do it any more.
_Luc._ (_aside_). He’s absolutely getting impertinent. Sir, I have
something to return to you that belongs to you,—a pocket-handkerchief.
_Cha._ Thanks: I’ve got it,—one with a monogram. I really believe I must
barricade my door.
[_Puts furniture against door._
_Luc._ He’s got it! Why, he must have come in here, then; and—and—of
course he saw Elizabeth with my cloak round her. I see. Ha, ha, ha!
_Cha._ Confound her, she’s laughing! She laughs too as if she was only
twenty.
_Luc._ So, sir, you refuse to open the door?
_Cha._ Quite impossible, madam. I’m gone, I’m a long way off, I’m on my
road to Baden.
_Luc._ Pleasant journey, sir. (_Aside._) It can’t be helped, I must have
recourse to more violent means.
[_Exit_ L. D.
_Cha._ I verily believe she’s going to burst the door in: I’d better
bolt. The devil! this is becoming serious. It almost reminds me of my
adventure amongst the savages in Africa, where the daughter of a king,
with rings in her nose, took a violent fancy to me. The king favored the
marriage, and told me quietly that I had the choice, if I didn’t marry
his daughter he’d eat me. I at once answered, “Your Majesty, I prefer to
enter your family to your mouth; I’ll marry your daughter to-morrow.”
And during the night I escaped to the coast. Let us do the same, and
escape to the coast.
[_Makes for door._
_Pri._ (_appearing at door drunk_). Miss Lucy Mortimer wishes to have
the honor of seeing you, sir.
_Cha._ Miss who, did you say?
_Pri._ Well, sir, beg pardon, it’s your cousin’s uncle or your uncle’s
cousin.
_Cha._ Ask the lady to walk in, wretched man.
_Pri._ (_announcing_ LUCY, _who is in_ ELIZABETH’S _cloak with a thick
veil on_). Miss Lucy Mortimer.
_Cha._ (_advancing, confused_). Madam, I thought I—
_Luc._ (_speaking to him in a disguised voice, and throwing back veil_).
Well, sir, what do you think of me?
_Cha._ Ah, madam! Even the most confused man in the world could but
confess that you are charming. (_Aside._) If my neighbor were only half
as pretty! Charming is not the word; but, excuse me, you come here at
five in the morning, and ask me what I think of you. Well, that’s all
right, I suppose; but pardon me if I go further, and venture to ask in
the most humble manner in the world a little question.
_Luc._ (_same voice_). I’m listening.
_Cha._ I scarcely know how to put it, but by what curious coincidence do
you come to know my name?
_Luc._ (_in ordinary voice_). Because, sir, I found out. (_Points to
dressing-case._) Because it’s the name of a kind, frank, brave young
fellow, whom I really don’t find too lazy for any thing, and whom I’ve
also learned to know as too honorable to misinterpret.
_Cha._ That voice! impossible. (_Points to_ L. H.) It can’t be you. Who
could I have seen there just now?
_Luc._ My maid, who was asleep whilst I was here, reading your name.
_Cha._ Why, it’s like a dream. But your husband, madam—
_Luc._ He too has gone to that land of rest.
_Cha._ You are then—
_Luc._ Miss Lucy Mortimer, your cousin, who can no longer retain the
fortune that so justly belongs to you.
_Cha._ (_confused_). But I absolutely refuse to—
_Luc._ Ah, if you refuse me, I shall ask you to give me back my sprig of
May.
_Cha._ (_kneeling_). Never. I will keep it to the last moment of my
life, and with it the hand I now hold.
[_Sinks on his knee. Door opens._
_Luc._ Get up: here’s some one coming.
_Enter_ PRICHARD, R. 2 E.
_Pri._ Madam, sir, the postilions are harnessed: I mean the horses.
_Cha._ Confound that landlord!—Come here, landlord. (_Takes_ PRI. _up_
C.) Did you ever hear that this hotel of yours was infected with a
malady of the most infectious character?
_Pri._ Sir, I beg most distinctly to state that—
_Cha._ Landlord, you’re very drunk.
[_Pushes him through door into next room, where he falls on sofa._
_Luc._ Oh, Charles, dear! I hope we sha’n’t catch it.
_Cha._ Don’t be afraid, dear: the malady which I allude to is one from
which we are both of us suffering, and it is one that has but one remedy
for its cure. (_To audience._) Dear friends, the malady is love: the
remedy is marriage. If any of you are suffering from some of the
premonitory symptoms of this insidious disease, you will, I feel sure,
accord us your utmost sympathy. But if there should be any here who have
not yet been attacked, and who wish to avoid contagion, let me strongly
recommend them to avoid, upon any pretence whatever, a conversation with
a lady which is to be carried on
* * * * *
UNDER A VEIL.
_Curtain._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
“=Books that our Teachers ought to have on hand to SPICE UP with now and
then.=”—ST. LOUIS JOURNAL OF EDUCATION.
GEO. M. BAKER’S
READING CLUB and HANDY SPEAKER,
BEING
_Selections in Prose and Poetry_,
SERIOUS, HUMOROUS, PATHETIC, PATRIOTIC, and DRAMATIC. FRESH
and ATTRACTIVE PIECES for SCHOOL SPEAKERS
and READING CIRCLES.
In the words of the GOSPEL BANNER,—
_‘From grave to gay, from lively to severe,’
In poetry and prose a judicious mixture here;
Beside outlandish dialects, full of words odd and queer,
Which stir one’s sense of humor as they fall upon the ear,
Pleasant to those who read or speak as unto those who hear._
Published in Parts, each Part containing Fifty Selections. Paper Covers,
15 cents each. Printed on Fine Paper, and Handsomely Bound in Cloth,
price, 50 cents each.
READING CLUB NO. 1.
“We have many readers and books that purport to furnish pieces for the
use of amateur speakers and juvenile orators. But the great defect in
nearly all of them is, that their selections are made from the same
series of authors. We are surfeited _ad nauseam_ with ‘The boy stood on
the burning deck,’ ‘On Linden, when the sun was low,’ ‘My name is
Norval!’ or, ‘My voice is still for war.’ But in this volume, the first
of a series, Mr. Baker deviates from the beaten track, and furnishes
some fifty selections which have not been published before in any
collection of readings. Mr. Baker has himself written many pieces for
the amateur stage, and achieved a reputation as a public reader, so that
he is eminently qualified by his own experience for the task of teaching
others.”—_Phil. Age._
READING CLUB NO. 2.
“Mr. Baker deserves the thanks of the reading public for his
indefatigable endeavors in the field of light and agreeable literature.
The selections are made with good taste, and the book will be of great
value for its indicated purpose.”—_New Haven Courier._
“In its adaptation to day schools, seminaries, colleges, and home
reading, the work will be found very superior in its variety and
adaptability of contents.”—_Dayton (Ohio) Press._
READING CLUB NO. 3.
“This is one of those books that our teachers ought to have at hand to
_spice up_ with now and then. This is No. 3 of the series, and they are
all brim full of short articles, serious, humorous, pathetic, patriotic,
and dramatic. Send and get one, and you will be sure to get the
rest.”—_St. Louis Journal of Education, Jan. 1876._
“The young elocutionist will find it a convenient pocket companion, and
the general reader derive much amusement at odd moments from its
perusal.”—_Forest and Stream, N. Y., Jan. 6, 1876._
READING CLUB NO. 4. (_Just Ready._)
_Sold by all Booksellers, and sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of
price._
LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dickens’s Dramatic Readings.
COMPILED BY HIMSELF.
_Comprising the Famous American Readings._
In Neat Paper Covers. Price, 15 cts. Each.
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY (at the Yorkshire School).
THE STORY OF LITTLE DOMBEY.
MR. BOB SAWYER’S PARTY.
A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
DR. MARIGOLD.
BOOTS AT THE HOLLY TREE INN.
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY (short reading).
BARDELL AND PICKWICK.
DAVID COPPERFIELD.
MRS. GAMP.
This style, for the use of readers and schools, is worthy of
examination.
Also, in one handsome 12mo volume, illustrated. $1.50.
_The Independent Household Dickens._
CHARLES DICKENS’S WORKS.
_A new edition in fifteen 12mo vols. Elegantly bound and handsomely
illustrated._
Price per Volume, $1.50.
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PICKWICK PAPERS.
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CHRISTMAS STORIES.
{ EDWIN DROOD.
{ CHILD’S HIST. OF ENG.
TALE OF TWO CITIES.
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY.
LITTLE DORRITT.
BLEAK HOUSE.
GREAT EXPECTATIONS.
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT.
BARNABY RUDGE.
In issuing this new edition, which will be furnished either in sets or
separate volumes, the publishers offer the best edition for the price in
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LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers,
41-45 FRANKLIN ST., BOSTON.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Plays for Amateur Theatrics
BY GEORGE M. BAKER
_Author of “Amateur Dramas,” “The Mimic Stage,” “The Social Stage,”
“The Drawing-Room Stage,” “Handy Dramas,” “The Exhibition Drama,”
“A Baker’s Dozen,” &c._
=Titles in this Type are New Plays.=
=_Titles in this Type are Temperance Plays._=
DRAMAS.
_In Three Acts._ _Cts._
=The Flower of the Family.= 5 male, 3 female char. 15
ENLISTED FOR THE WAR. 7 male, 3 female characters 15
MY BROTHER’S KEEPER. 5 male, 3 female char. 15
=_The Little Brown Jug._= 5 male, 3 female char. 15
_In Two Acts._
=Above the Clouds.= 7 male, 3 female characters 15
=One Hundred Years Ago.= 7 male, 4 female char. 15
AMONG THE BREAKERS. 6 male, 4 female char. 15
BREAD ON THE WATERS. 5 male, 3 female char. 15
DOWN BY THE SEA. 6 male, 3 female char. 15
ONCE ON A TIME. 4 male, 2 female char. 15
=_The Last Loaf._= 5 male, 3 female char. 15
_In One Act._
STAND BY THE FLAG. 5 male char. 15
=_The Tempter._= 3 male, 1 female char. 15
COMEDIES AND FARCES.
=A Mysterious Disappearance.= 4 male, 3 female char. 15
=Paddle Your Own Canoe.= 7 male, 3 female char. 15
=_A Drop too Much._= 4 male, 2 female characters 15
=_A Little More Cider._= 5 male, 3 female char. 15
A THORN AMONG THE ROSES. 2 male, 6 female char. 15
NEVER SAY DIE. 3 male, 3 female char. 15
SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 6 male, 3 female char. 15
THE BOSTON DIP. 4 male, 3 female char. 15
THE DUCHESS OF DUBLIN. 6 male, 4 female char. 15
THIRTY MINUTES FOR REFRESHMENTS. 4 male, 3 female char. 15
=_We’re all Teetotalers._= 4 male, 2 female char. 15
_Male Characters Only._
A CLOSE SHAVE. 6 char. 15
A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 6 char. 15
A SEA OF TROUBLES. 8 char. 15
A TENDER ATTACHMENT. 7 char. 15
COALS OF FIRE. 6 char. 15
FREEDOM OF THE PRESS. 8 char. 15
=Shall Our Mothers Vote?= 11 char. 15
GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY. 12 char. 15
HUMORS OF THE STRIKE. 8 char. 15
MY UNCLE THE CAPTAIN. 6 char. 15
NEW BROOMS SWEEP CLEAN. 6 char. 15
THE GREAT ELIXIR. 9 char. 15
THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 5 char. 15
=_The Man with the Demijohn._= 4 char. 15
THE RUNAWAYS. 4 char. 15
THE THIEF OF TIME. 6 char. 15
WANTED, A MALE COOK. 4 char. 15
_Female Characters Only._
A LOVE OF A BONNET. 5 char. 15
A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 6 char. 15
NO CURE NO PAY. 7 char. 15
THE CHAMPION OF HER SEX. 8 char. 15
THE GREATEST PLAGUE IN LIFE. 8 char. 15
THE GRECIAN BEND. 7 char. 15
THE RED CHIGNON. 6 char. 15
USING THE WEED. 7 char. 15
ALLEGORIES.
_Arranged for Music and Tableaux._
LIGHTHEART’S PILGRIMAGE. 8 female char. 15
THE REVOLT OF THE BEES. 9 female char. 15
THE SCULPTOR’S TRIUMPH. 1 male, 4 female char. 15
THE TOURNAMENT OF IDYLCOURT. 10 female char. 15
THE WAR OF THE ROSES. 8 female char. 15
MUSICAL AND DRAMATIC.
AN ORIGINAL IDEA. 1 male, 1 female char. 15
BONBONS; OR, THE PAINT KING. 6 male, 1 female char. 25
CAPULETTA; OR, ROMEO AND JULIET RESTORED. 3 male, 1 female char. 15
SANTA CLAUS’ FROLICS. 15
SNOW-BOUND; OR, ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGENE. 3 male, 1 25
female char.
THE MERRY CHRISTMAS OF THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE. 15
THE PEDLER OF VERY NICE. 7 male char. 15
THE SEVEN AGES. A Tableau Entertainment. Numerous male and 15
female char.
TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN. 2 male char. 15
THE VISIONS OF FREEDOM. 11 female char. 15
GEO. M. BAKER & CO., 41-45 Franklin St., Boston.
=Baker’s Humorous Dialogues.= Male characters only. 25 cents.
=Baker’s Humorous Dialogues.= Female characters only. 25 cents.
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