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ZION
{DRAMA.)
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xiniBs' Editian of Plays.
^ 9^<$^ ■*-
FIFTEEN CENTS EACH UNLESS OTHERWISE MARKED.
2 164
39
43 100 125
89 ■113 226
14 160 161
60 152 173 143 176 162 117 207
52
76 141
26 191 194
3
9
46
227
211
163
91
36
34
229
tSi
81
85
8.3
196
29
18
10
45
79
144
67
119 92 112 71 105 7 201 193 200 121
DRAMAS.
A Desperate Game 3 2
After Ten Years 7 5
A Life's Revenge 7 5
Arrah de Bangh... 7 6
Aurora Floyd 7 2
Auld Robin Gray 25c 13 8
Beauty of Lj-ons ll 2
Bill Detrick 7 3
Brae, the Poor House Girl.... 4 4
Brigands of Calabria 6 1
Conn; or. Love's Victory 11 3
Dora 5 2
Driven to the Wall 10 3
Driven from Home 7 4
EastLynne 8 7
Emigrant's Daughter 8 3
Factory Girl 6 3
Fielding Manor 9 6
Hal Hazard, 25c ff.lO 3
Heroic Dutchman of '7b 8 3
Henry Granden 11 8
How He Did It 3 2
Hidden Treasures 4 2
Hunter of the Alps 9 4
Hidden Hand 15 7
Lights and Shadows of the
Great Rebellion, 25c 10 5
Lady of Lj-ons 12 5
Lady Audley's Secret 6 4
Man and Wife 12 7
Maud's Peril 5 3
Midnight Mistake 6 2
Miriam's Crime 5 2
Michael Erie 8 3
Miller of Dcrwent Water 5 2
Mistletoe Boush 7 3
Mountebanks (The) 6 2
Old Honesty 5 2
Old Phil's Birthday 5 3
Outcast's AVife 12 3
Out on the \Voi Id... 5 4
Oath Bound 6 2
Painter of Ghent 5 3
Poacher's Doom 8 3
Reverses 12 6
Rock Allen 5 3
Spy of Atlanta. 25c 14 3
Thekla 9 4
The False Friend 6 1
The Fatal lllow 7 1
The Forty-Nincrs 10 4
The <l(ntli'iiian in Black 9 4
The Nciv M;ig(lnlen 8 3
The Reward of Crime 5 3
Through Snow and Sunshine 6 4
The Vow of the Omani 7 1
Ticket of Leave Man 9 3
Toodle.s 7 2
Uncle Tom'n Cabin 15 7
WinH)'-the-Wisp 9 4
at
41 Won at Last 7
192 Zion 7
TEMPERANCE PLAYS.
73 At Last 7
75 Adrift 5
187 Aunt Dinah's Pledge 6
202 Drunkard [The] .T...13
185 Drunkarl's Warning 6
189 Drunkard's Doom 15
181 Fifteen Years of a Drunk- ard's Life 13
183 Fruits of the Wine Cup 6
104 Lost 6
146 Our Awful Aunt 4
53 Out in the Streets „... 6
51 Rescued 5
59 Saved 2
102 Turn«f t'ne Tiii* 7
68 Three Glagaee a Day 4
62 Ten Nights in a Bar-Room... 7
58 Wrecked 9
COMEDIES.
168 A Pleasure Trip _ 7
136 A Legal Holiday .T. 5
124 An Afflicted Family 7
178 Caste.... ., 5
3 3 5
3
199 Home 4 3
174 Love's Labor Not Lost 3 3
149 New Years in N. Y 7 6
37 Not So Bad After AH 6
237 Not Such a Fool as He Looks 6
126 Our Daughters 8
114 Passions 8
219 Rags and Bottles 4
221 Solon Shingle 14
87 The Biter Bit 3
TRAGEDIES. 16 The Serf 6 3
FARCES AND COMEDIETTAS.
129 Aar-u-ag-oos 2 1
132 Actor and Servant 1 1
12 A Capital Match 3 2
166 A Texan Mother-in-Law 4 6
30. A Day Well Spent 7
169 A Regular Fix
80 Alarmingly Suspicious.
78 An Awfi.l Criminal 3
65 An Unwelcome Return 3
31 A Pet of the Public. 4
21 A Romantic Attachment 3
123 A Thrilling Item 3
20 A Ticket of Leave 3
175 Betsey Baker 2
8 Better Half 5
86 Black vs. White 4
22 Captain Smith 3
84 Cheek Will Win 3
22.T Cupi'ls Capers 4
49 Der Two Surprises 1
jG
<iA
Z I O N .
A DRAMA,
IN A PROLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS,
BY ■
B. W. HOLLENBECK. M. D.,
Author of ''After Ten Ycars,''^
TO WHICH IS ADDED
A DESCRirTION OF THE COSTUMES— CAST OF THE CHARACTEBS-
ENTKANCES AXD EXITS— RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE
PERFORMERS ON THE STAGE, AND THE WHOLE
OF THE STAGE BUSINESS.
PRINTED FR031 THE AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT
Entered according to act of Congrfgt in the year 1886, hy
A. D. AMES, in the office of the Librarian of Congreis at ^Yashington,
n.^
} CI.YDK,oniO, }^~— — "^
A. D. AMES, r U B [. I S H SB»
Z/OiV.
CHABACTEBS IN THE PBOLOGUE
JEPTH A M AR WOOD .1 }[<jnnon Elder.
JAMES DAY .The Husband
JABEZ BLIGII A friend to Day.
PETE A colored servant.
MRS. DAY Wife of Day.
DORA DAY {ten years of aye) Daughter of Day.
A period of eight j'ears is supposed to have elapsed between the rrolo^'iie and Act First.
CHABACTEBS IN THE DBA31A.
JEPTH A :\[ARWOOD .1 Mormon Elder.
JAMES DAY The icrouye'l Itusband.
OBADIAil GORIIAM .1 ''destroying Angel."
OSCAR DURAND A young ' ' Gentile.'"
JABEZ BLIGH .1 friend to Day.
BARNABAS GRUMP A Yankee.
PETE ; ^1 colored servant.
MRS. DAY Wife of Day.
DORA DAY {eighUea years old) Daughter of Day.
JULIA EDWARDS Jlrs. Mara:ood the seventh.
LUCY STONE " " " eleventh
TIME OF TLAYiyo'—TWO HO UBS.
f>ltEFORMANCE—FBEE'
ZION. tSl
COSTUMES MODERN.
Marvv'ood.— A ])laiu black suit; white neck-tie. In Prologue — iron gray hair; in Drama — wliite liair; may wear beard or be clean shaven. Fift^^ years old in Prologue.
James Day. — Thirty-five years old in Prologue. Neat gray suit in Prologue. Drama — liunting, or trapper's suit.
Jabez BLKiu. — Forty years of age. Prologue — homespun suit, woolen shirt with wide collar; large black neck-kerchlef. Drama — trapper's suit.
Pete. — Prologue — homespun pants; large figured cotton shirt; old slouch hat ; large coarse shoes ; white stockings. Drama — semi- hunting suit.
Mks. Day. — Prologue — house dress gray or brown. Drama — plain black ilress, full skirt.
Dora Day — Prologue — A. neat dressy child's suit. Drama, Act first — A UL-at traveling suit. Act second — dark dress.
OscAK DriiAXD. — Dark business suit.
Obadiah Goeham. — Dark pants; tlannel shirt; wide hat; long boots; dark coat; black hair and wluskers.
Barnabas Gruaip. — Large checked pants; blue coat and waistcoat, brass buttons; white hat; coarse boots; sandy hair, mustache and imperial; large figure;! shirt.
Julia Edwards. — Plain dark dress, full skirt.
Lt'cy Stoxe. — I'lain dark dress, full skirt. This dress should be distinctive, a sort of Mormon uniform.
rROrERTIES.
/'T.'OLOfr re"— Letter for Mrs. Day.
DRAMA — Act firs! ; guns foi Day, Bligli and Pete; knife for Mrs. Day. Act second; knife for Bligli. Act third; Pistol for Bligh ; knife for Gorham; shears lur Mrs. Day.
ST A HE DIRECTIONS.
R., means lliKht; \.., b-ft: u. h., llijilit [[ami, i.. u.. Loft Iliind; C, Centre; 3. K. ! 2(1 >:.,] Seconil Eutraucc;; \;. v.., llpiior l']utraimo; m. d., Miildlo Door; f., tho Flat; D. r., Door in Flat; k. c, lliKht of Centre; l. c, Loft of Ceutro.
E. It. c. c. L. c. Ii.
*»* The reader is supposed to be upon the kitago, facing the audienoe.
ZION.
PROLOGUE.
SCEKE. — A room plainhj furnished in Pay's Jiouse. Table r. ; lounge l. ; chairs, etc. Bonrs c. and l. Discovered, Jepiiia Mar- AvooD and Mrs. Emma Day, seated R., and l,, of table.
Manoood. I hope sister 'Da.y, j-ou have considered your soul's sal- vation, and have conduded to participate ia the joj's of the saints?
3frs, Day. Oh, brother Marwood, 1 am torn witli conllieting emotions! My soul yearns for the "New Zion," but I cannot endure the thouo:ht of leaving my family.
Mar. This yearning for -worldlj' things, is a part of your trials — your crown will be all the brighter, for tliis chastening.
Mrs. Dan . If I could l)e sure of. that, I would trample my love under my feet, and go forward to the promised land, singing ho- sanna.
Mar. If yon could be sure of it? My dear sistor, I have told you only solemn facts. I am the prophet's accredited apostle, and by all my hopes of heaven, I swear to you, you will be eternally lost, thrust into outer darkness, Avhere there will be weeping and gnash- ing of teeth, forever and forever, if you do not iiceept the salvation now oflered. None but a husband's hand can guide you to the joys of heaven — unless you are sckZcc? to one of our holy saints, you ?.re lost forever.
Mrs. Day. Oh, I believe j^ou I But leaving my husbaiid and daughter, gives me untold agony.
Mar. I assure you this feeling is the work of the devil, onlj^ dis- guised to draw you from the gates of Paradise, and plunge you into the depths of everlasting hell.
Mrs. Day. If I could take my daughter with me.
Mar. Tlie will of the Lord has been spoken; you are to learn all, and follow Him — if not, in that great day, Avhen all shail be judged, the edict will be thundered forth, ''Depart from me ye accursed in- to everlasting fire." You know the way, if you do not follow it, your doom is sealed.
Mrs. Day. But why should my daughter be left behind? I could rear her in the faith. She would be such a comfort to me.
ZTOX. 5
Mar. {rising) I see my labor has been in vain. You are dooraecl, doonie;]. {noiuij.
Mrs. Day. Stay ! give me a little more time to think. I must have moie time.
Mar. You have not been luirried in your decision, sister Day. The voice of the T^ord now calls me. There are many souls to save, and I must be about the harvest. If you do jiot wish to seek th9 ligiit, I will go at once — however, if you will leave this laud of the Ishmaelites and seek the New Zion with me, I will wait until night. jVEake your choice at once, and remember, it is a choice for eternit^^
Mrs. Bay. [startinfi «ji ) Give me another day, only one more I
Mar. It is impossible. The hand of theLord is heavy upon me ; benighted souls are seeking deliverance, I cannot allow tliem to seek in vain. Your soul is very dear to me, and I have periled hundreds in mr endeavors to save it — but now I must go, I bow to the will of(ind,
Mrs. Day. The time has come. Oh, God be merciful !
{sinl-s on her knees by chair and buries her face in her hands.
Mar. (sfireadim/ his Itands above her) Holiness to the Lord ! Re- member, sister, you cUoose between the delights of heaven, and the anguish of hell.
Mrs. Day^ My clioiee is made, brother Mar wood, I will seek the New Zion. {rises.
Mar. Heaven bless you ! The choicest benedictions of lieaven rest upon you !
Mrs. Day. My heart is breaking, help me brother ]\Iarwood!
Mar. Look on high for aid — it will surely come.
Mrs. Day. Brother ]\Iarwood, in taking thisstep, I leave a happy home, a loving husband, and a beautiful daughter. Are you sure you have not over-drawn the i^icture? Is the happiness of the saints as groat as you depict 3^
Mar. Sister Day, I have not deceived you. I swear it. Once in the walls of Zion, you will feel your emancipation from this ten- ement of claj'. You will revel in the sweets of everlasting haiipiness, and sip the nectar of eternal life.
Mrs. Day. I believe you iniplicity ; but if you have deceived me, I will be j'onr Xemesis. I nuist prepare for our journey. What time will we start ?
Mar. I will meet you at the large oak, at the outskirts of the village, at ten o'clock to-night.
Mrs. Day. I M'ill be there. {exit l.
3[ar. Well, in an experience of twenty years I have not found so difficult a customer to deal with. Wlien I get her to the Holy City, I will use less persuasion to bend her to my will. She is a magnih- cent woman, and I cannot aflbrd to lose her. I am running a great ■yisk to obtain hcfe; but the prize is wortli it. If her liusband should overtake us, it would be short shrift and few i)rayers with me. Once I get her home, a legion of devils could not tear her from me. I wonder what she will say when she learns my intention is to make her the eighth ilrs. !Marwood? There will be a scene no doubt, but I will own her then, body and soul — she must then do as I reriuire.
[exit L.
Enter Jabez Bligu, c. Bligh. I kinder thought I'd find Day in here— I want tew talk
G ZION,
with him about that 'ere cussed old apostle, I don't lilce the way he's agoin' on a bit. Day'll wake up some o' these mornin's and find his- self a witlder. I wisli he'd send the old varmiat a llyin' — it' lie'll only give me the chance, I'll elevate tlie old sinr.er a few. Xow lie's a purty apostle ain't he? He's an apostle o' the devil if he's anytliing.
Enter Pete, l.
Pete. How de do, Massa Bligh? Golly, didn't 'specter see yer heah.
Bligh. "What ye doin' here anyway, Pete? I'm a good mind to wallo'p yer old bfack carcass jist for fun.
Pete. Golly, dat wouldn't be berry much fiui fer dis iio.-ih nig>>'er, Mflssa Bligh.
Bligh. Say Pete, do ve know wliere the apostle is?
Pete. What 'postle ye 'feriu' to, Massa, Bligh? De 'postle Paul?
Bligh. j\o, I mean that 'are sneakin' old devil, what's bin a hang- in' round here fer a spell.
Pete. Oh, ilat 'are Massa Marwood? He'spowful 'ligious, he 1.5.
Bligh. Oh, he is, is he? How did you find it out?
Pete. Kasel heerd him talkin' pow'ful goed ter Missus Day.
Bligh. 'VYhat did he say ? Come, speak sudden I
Pete. I don't jes 'member, ]Massa Bligli, I clare to goodness I don't — but it were ])owful good, and powful 'ligious.
Bligh. No doubt of it; the sneakin' cuss. But what did Mrs. Day saj'^?
Pete. She said she couldn't leab ^Massa Day, and little Missus, and Massa Marwood said she must leabe luu — and den Missus Day, she cry.
'Bligh. Pee liere you nigger, you go an' find Day, quicker'n blazes; come git! {exit I'f.tk, c, grinning) Curse that old sinner, if I kin git Day ter see the length o' his nose, we kin beat him yet. I'm purty sartin lie's an old ]SIormon. If I knowed it fur sure, I'd hev him strung up ter a tree aforde he could squeal twice. This here ain't a healthy place fur that kind o' calamity.
Enter Mr. Day, and Pete, c.
Day. Well, neighbor Bligh, Pete says you want to see me?
Bligh. Yaas, I want tu talk with ye about this ere blamed old apostle what is a makin' hisself so consarned numerous around here.
Dag. Wliy, is tliere anything wrong with Mr. Marwood ?
Bligh. I'm orful feard thar is.
Day. Sit down neighbor, {ihrg sit) Now tell me what you know .and suspect.
Bligh. Wall, Mr. Day, I don't want tu hurt yer feelin', but I'm purty sartin the apostle is ;i tryin' mighty hard tu convert yer wife.
Day. What do you mean, sir? Do yon intend to insinuate tliat mv wife is not lionest?
'Bligh. No, sir, I don't mean tu insiiierate nothin' o' the sort— 1 mean that there old apostle aint honest.
Day. What makes j'ou think tliat?
Bligh. 'Cause, I've watclied him right smart, an' I've found lie'r, a laborin' mostly with the winimen.
bay. Is that all you have against him?
ZIOK. 7
BUgJi. No, that aint all, I've mighty good reason tu think he's a Mormon apostle.
Day. A Mormon? What grounds have you for these suspicions?
Bligh. Wall, ye see, when he gits arter the females, he alius talks about goin' tu the New Zion ; and I reckon that's what them fellers call there city over in Utah, aint it?
Day. Yes.
Bligh. Wall, as nigh as I kin make out, he's a tryin' tu coax a lot o' these wimmen tu go tu that New Zion with him, an' I reckon you'd better be a lookin' out, or you'll wake up some o' these line mornin's an' find yerself a widder.
Day. {rising hastily) Stop I Xeighbor Bligh, my feelings at this moment prompts me to kill you. If I did not know your worth and true friendship, you should never leave this room with those words upon your lips.
Bligh. I kinder 'spected you'd git riled — but what I'm a sayin', is fur yer good. I don't mean any insult tu nobody, an' I knowed it was mighty ticklish bizness tu talk tu ye as I've been talkin' ; but I want ye tu be a lookin' out, so I tuck tlie chance. I wish ye would go an' talk tu her about it.
Day. I do not wish her to think I could entertain a suspicion of her, it would be an insult to her womanhood, and wifely honor, to a^k her anything concerning ^Earwood's intentions.
Bligh. That's all right, Sir. Day, but that infernal cuss keeps a talkin' tu her about this ere ^e\v Zion, an' I believe he's a tryin' tu coax her tu go thar.
Day. And little good it will do him. But how do you know Ije talks to her so much about this New Zion?
Bligh. In the fust place; fustly, that nigger Pete, has hcerd him a talkin' an' a preachin' tu her, an' then that's the way he does with all the ^Yimmin.
Day. 8ee here, Pete, have you ever heard "Sir. Marwood talking to Mrs. Day, about this New Zion ?
Pete. Yes, sab, I done heerd Massa Marwood talkin' ter Missus Day, 'boutdat 'are place.
Day. Can you tell me what he said?
Pete. I forgitjes all Massa Marwood say, but he talked powful 'ligeous.
Day. Well, Pete, tell me something he said.
Pete. Yes, massa, I can tell yer alfl kin 'member. He asked her if she'd go to dat 'are Zion place wid liiin, an' she say she can't leab de family, an' den she cried, an' den ISIassa Marwootl he talked pow- ful 'ligeous, an' den ^Missus Day stop cryiu' an' say she'd see him arter while — and dat's all I know 'bout dis heah Zion business. 'Fore de Lawd it am.
Day. Are you sure you have made no mistake, Pete?
Pete. Golly, massa, I don't make no mistake. Dat am de truf, what I tells you.
Bligh. Ye see Mr. Day, thar's sum reason fur lookin' arter this ere bizncss.
Day. I do not doubt my wife, but I am beginning to doubt this man Marwood. If half your susi)icions are true, I will call him to an account he will not soon forget.
Bilgh. An' if 1 was sure that he is a Mormon, I'd have his old
8 ZIOX.
carcass a swingin' from some tree in a mighty short time, I kin tell ye.
Daij. You seem to have a izireat dislike for the ]\[ormons generally, neighbor?
Bligh. I have Mr. Da}-. They lived close by tliis neclc o' woods onct, an' I l<no\v suthin' o' tlieir carrying on; and I tell ye, thur aint one on them 'em but what desarves hangin'.
Day. AVliy, what did they do?
Blifjli. Ye see Mr, Day, ye didn't live here then, an' so ye don't know about 'em like we'uns dn what lived right along side o' 'em. Ye see at fust, tlioy only tried tew nnvke converts in a decent waj'; but arter awh.ile some o' the apostles an' head mei*, begun tu talk free love, plural marriages, an' the like. An' then they begun tu break n[) families an' sicli : an' I tell ye ilr. Daj', my mother kinder' got wild about 'em, an' run away i'roni home an' married one o' theiu 'ere saint; an' when the varmints was drove out o' here, an \\M\t tu llleuoy, she went along an' wlien they got tu Xauvoo, the man what she married here, tuk three or four more wives, an' when the i)eop]e sent 'em a tlyin' from there, they let my poor old mother starve an' freeze tu death on the plains. I know she didn't du right, but them infernal devils coaxedher intu it, an' I tell ya Mr. Day, I'd shoot a Mormon, quicker'n I'd shoot a coyote any time; an' now ye know why I talked a- I did — I tell ye, ye nuist watch 'eni, ye can't tr'i-t 'em at all.
Da:. Tete, go and tell your mistress I would like to see her.
/V/e. Yes, sail, all right, sah. [exit C.
Uliijh. "Wall, ]\Ir. Day, I'm glad yer a goin' tu look arter this thing, an' if ye find out that old cuss is a 3[orinon, let me know, 'an I'll make a ilinner fur the buzzards outo' him. {exit i..
Day. {seated at /able) Is it possible this man is an adventurer, and has deceived my wife? But I would searcely believe her guilty of even an indiscretion. She is the soul of honor, and I feel 1 am doing her a great wrong, wlien I speak of the matter, or give it a seriou- thought. I wiircautiou her about this man — no I cannot do that, it wouid inijily a doubt oflier, and that I do not have. Uligh is too suspicious; he eaiui<)t appreciate her no1)leness and virtue. If I tliought Marwond would altem^jt — pshaw, I will not think of sucli a piis<ib;liity. I will make some excuse for sending for her, 1 can- nol let iiei- think I for a moment doubted her.
Enter Mas. Day, l.
Mis. Day. You sent i"or mo .Tames, is there anylhing you wish?
Day. Nothing at all my dear, only I think of going to (Jrayson'a to-morrow, and I wanted to tell you to make arrangements to go with me.
Mrs. Day. I shoidd like to go very niueh.
Day. I thought you would, and so I planned to go as much on your account as niy own. I think we shall enjoy liie trij).
Mrs. Day. I am sure of it. {asii.lc) Oh, 1 cannot meet his glance. ilow can 1 wrong him so?
Day. You are not well, you tremble, you must n>st.
Mrs. Day. 1 am (piite well — a little nervous is all.
Day. I fear you are conce ding the truth ; you have not been look- ing well, for several weeks.
ZION. 9
Mrs. Datj, I assure yon lam perfectly Ts'-ell, a trifle tired, nothing more.
Day. I hope Mr. Marwood will cut his stay short, it certainly adds to your cares* to entertain him ; and besides I want you all to myself again.
Mrs. Day. He is soon going away, I believe.
Day. Oh, by the way! to what' religeous denomination docs he belong? I never rhougiit to ask before.
Mrs. Day. To the reformed "Latter Day Saints" I believe.
Day. What! a Mormon?
Mrs. Day. Yes, but not one of those who believe in polygamy.
Day. It is well he is going away ; if it should be known liere tli.it lie is a Mormon, he would be hung to the nearest tree.
?[rs. Day. Why woidd that be done?
Day. Years ago, the Mormons came here and started a setlement, and so ontrajicd the laws of decency that the people drove thent from the sr:de. Many who live here now, remember the all'air, and hate all Avho profess to believe in there tenets. The feeling is so strong, that Zdarwood would not be safe a moment, if he were suspected of being a Mormon.
3frs. Day. You must remember, James, Mr. Marwood does not believe in plural marriage ; he repudiates that doctrine.
Day. It would be dilHcnlt for him to convince the people he does not believe it.
3/>'s. Day. Did you ever investigate the ]Mormon creed?
Day. Xo dear, the surfa-e is sullicient to show its vileness and corruption. It is founde I and maintained, for the sole purpose of pandering to the lustaiul cupitlity of !nan ; it cannot have any foun- dation in fact. The assumption that Joseph Smith found print- ed plates engraved by the Almighty, from which was printed a new Bible, a new r.'velatiou being thus given to mankind, is a piece of ridiculous folly, too .absurd to attract a moment's thought.
3frs. Day. You know there arc many who believe in this new rev- elation; is it i)0s.sible they .are .all wrong?
Day. In my oiiinion, yes. There may be those who are sincere, but they are few. Tiie wiiole thing is a noisome leprosy, a blot up- on our civilization.
Mrs. Day. Can it be ])0ssible, a man like i\Ir. Starwood, would give countenance and sanction, to an institution as bUaok as you have painted tins to be?
Day. Arc you uttempting to delcnd .>rornionism ?
Mrs. Day. Xo, no, not at all, I thought you niiglit be prejudiced against it — that is, I thought you might not know.
Day. aright no!: know? Kvery oni; should know it is an outrage upon dci-ency. ][a-- tliat man .AJarwood attempted to convert you to his faith?
Mrs. Dn.y. (ni/ilatcd > Ko, lie ha ' never saiil anything about it — that is, he never dofended porygamy, lie always condemed that.
Day. There issometliing you are trying to conceal from me. Tell me v,-li.it it is.
Mrs. Day. 'J'liere is nothing — I assiu'c you there is nothing. I .tm not feeling well to-d;iy.
Day. Tlieie is something wrong, I am sure of it; tell me what it is. Have you been iudiiceil to bi'lievi- .Mornuiuism? Jf you have, tell rac so— l6t me convince you of your error— do not iear; think
10 ZION.
ho-w I have loved and trusted yon. The angels in heaven could not make me think ill of you.
Mrs. Day. I know it! Oh, I know it! I will tell yni what it is— but not to-daj' — wait until to-morrow, and then you shall know all. Do not he too angi*y with me — wait until you know.
Throios her arms about his neck, kisses him, and exit hastily r.
Day. What can this mean? I cannot believe she* is untrue to me in thought or deed. I fear that man has had some evil influence over her; if I were sure he had, I would have his life. I shall know all to-morroWj, and I have no doubt will laugh away her fears. This is very strange — doubts, fears and misgivings, crowd upon me, in wild confusion. There must be sometliing wrong — yet, she is the soul of honor; I have never doubted — 1 will not doubt her now. This is the first cloud to cast a shadow upon our way, heretofore love and confidence have reigned supreme. But now, harrowing doubts arise and fill my heart with dark forebodings. Would to heaven the night were past! I must be alone; solitude is my only refuge. Oh, this dull heartache. {exit slowly c.
Enter PiiXE, l.
Fete. 'Fore de T.awdl Dis am de queerest doin's I eber seed. Missus Day cry and riy all de time, an' Massa Day look drefful sorry, an' Massa Garwood grin an' rub liis hands, an' talks powful 'ligious — I clare to goodness, it am awful ijueer, suah.
Enter Dora Day, l.
Dora. Oh, uncle I'ete, what is the matter? Tliere is something wrong.
Pete. Bress de Lawd, child! dcr haint nulUn' wrong as I knows on. What fur yer tink there is sumfin' wrong?
Dora. Oh, I don't know! But mamma cries awfully, and papa looks as if he was sick.
Pete. Seeheah little missy, don't yer go fer ter feelin' bad, dar haint no 'casion fer it. (aside) Cuss dat deblish old 'postle anyhow ; he orter hab a good fioggin'.
Dora. What are you talking to yourself about, uncle Pete?
Pete. I clare to goodness child, 1 don't know.
Dora. Do you think mamma is sick?
Pete. Xo child, 1 don't tink she am. I reckon she feels a. littlo nervous like, dat's all.
Dora. Do folks ery when they are nervous, uncle Pete ?
Pete. Yes, child, dey cries dreft'ul sometimes, (aside) D.tmu riat 'postle anyhow !
Dora. Did you swear, uncle Pete?
2'ete. Didlswar? Now honey, yer knows dat dis child nebber swars — I was jest savin' some scripter, dat's all.
Dora. I am glad you don't swear, uncle Pete— it's dreadful to swear. But I wish i knew what ails papa, and mamma.
Pete. Now honey, don't fret; jes go ter bed an' go ter sleep, an' in de mornin' eberytin' will be all rigbt.
Dora. Oh, uncle Pete, I can't sleep, I know I ean't !
Pete. Yes, yer kin; jes go an' say yer prars, an' de good Lawd will put yer right ter sleep child.
Dora. Uncle Pete, I feel awfuly bad.
ZION". 11
Pete. Bress yev heart, child ! I knows yer do— clar hain't nuffin' tei- feel bad about. Go ter bed, an' den ye'l! soon foi\2;et all about it.
Dora. Oil, uncle Fete ! what would I do, if anything bad should hajipcn to papa, and mamma ?
Fete. Dar won't nuliin' happen, don't yer l)e afraid child. See heah honey, if yer should hear me say suiiiii' dat sounds like swar words, don't yer tink I'se swarin', kase dat hain't it — I'll jes be sayin' seripter dat's all. Yer know Massa Marwood talked mighty 'ligeous an'
l)ova. I don't like Jfr. Marwood, uncle Pete.
Fete. Why, don't yer like him honey?
Dora. I don't know, only I don't, that's all.
Fete. It's queer, but dat's jes de way I feels. I don't know why I don't like him, but I don't, an' dat's de trufe. (aside) Massa Bligh don't like him, say him damn raskil; little missus don't like him — and dis child tink him damn raskil too.
Dora. Are you swearing again, uncle Pete?
Fete. Xo child— no honey, Idon't swar--rsejessayin' atex, dat's all. Come child, go ter bed, uncle Pete '11 go too.
{exit DoKA and Pute, l.
Enter Mks. D \y. c, c-ith hat and shaifl on — a letter in her hand.
-V/'.-i. Daj. Here is my confession and my vindication, if there is any vindication for me. My heart sinks at what I am doing— but I cannot retract, I must go on. i\[y course is irrevocably fixed; and now when it is too late, I repent of what I have done. Oh, if I only dare tell my husband all — no, no, I dare not, he would spurn me. 'I'iiis act severs my connection with all I hold most dear. If the fu- ture brings happiness, my dream will be realized; if it brings sorrow and pain, 1 must bear it alone. Oh, Father! give me strength to boar, coin-age to enihire, and faith to guide. Teach me the truth, and the wa}'; sweeten this cu)) of bitterness with Thj^ love; l)ind up mj' bleeding, )>roken heart, with 'J'hy tenderness. Farewell my home, beneath your shelter I have been the happiest of the happy. I have basked in the liglit of love and I'cjoiced. Years have come and gone frcighled with joy ; I have loved and been beloved — but now to ah the jiast, farewell— to }ny old life — to my old love — to my old home farewell — farewell forever, {places letter on (able and exits sloxoUj c.
SCENE IT. — A street in first (jrooces.
Enter .Iki-tha Maimvood and ^Mus. Dav, i,.-Mns. Day haf. on honnet and sh'atrl; .M.vuwooj) /.>>■ dressed for the street.
Jfar. Come, my dear sister, we nuist not delay a moment.
Mrs. Daif. Oh, it seems yet as if I nuist turn back. ]\[y brain is full of thoughts of my forsaken husliand and child, and tlie home which lias been so ver}', very hai)py.
Mar. 'I'o hesitate now my dear sisti-r, would be folly, indeed. Do not think of what you leave, but of ibe liaiijnncss which awaits you in llii- \ew Zion.
Mrs. Da;/. No, 1 will go on— it is too late to go back; lead on, I will follow.
i^- y/i'ON-
Mar. My clear sister, j-ou have made a wise conclaslon, and once within the gates of the New Zioii, the happiness j-ou will enjoy will more than compensate for the slight pangs you now feel, '{looks at vmtch) We have only time to roach the depot— draw your veil close- ly over your face that you m:iy not be recognized^ and in a few hours wc shall be far on our journey. " {exeunt k.
SCENE III.— Same as scene first.
Enter James Day, c, lookinrj xoorn and weary.
Day. The night with its r;loom and darkness is past — none can tell the agony I have endured; I cannot shake olF the sickening fear. {sees letter and picks 'it up) V/liat is this ? a letter and addressed to me? and her writing — what can it mean? {opens letter and hastihj glances orer it) Gone, gone I I must be dreaming! This is a horrid nightmare ! No, no ! it is not — oh, heaven, it is not true ! Yes, yes, it is true — gone, gone, gone I i reads) "jieheve me when I say, I J. love you devotedly, hut a lliglier Power impels me to this step. I have gone never to return." There it is, gone, gone! {reads) "Broth- er Marwood has convinced )ne this course is necessary." Brother Marwood ! curse him ! curse him ! {reads) "I have gone to the New Zion — farewell forever." Can I endnre this?
{sinks in a chair h>j table, and buries his face in his hands.
Enter Jabez Bligu, c.
Bligh. Good mornin' Mr. Day, I felt anxious about you, and
good heavens, man! what on airth alls yc?
Day. She has gone, gone 1
.Bli(jh. Gone ! who has gone ? I don't git yer mcaniu'.
Day. My Avife, man ! nly wife ! Gone with that scoundrel Mar- wood.
JJli.,'h. I was afcarcd o' it, Mr. Day, I was afeared o' it. i know how them infernal varmints work. AVMien did they go?
Day. Last night.
Biiyh. Wail,"wc nuist foller 'em up. Ye don't have any idea which way they Vv-ent du ye ?
Day. No, only I suppose they would go diri'ct to Utah.
Bllfjh. Yaas, it's more'n likely they would. AVill ye go with raft Mr. Dav, in search of her?
Day. ' Go with you? certainly 1 will go with you. {starts np) Will ^ou lieln mc Jind tiiein?
Bliah'. I will, an' ririu-ver >t<ii> 'till they're roun<l.
Day. Swear to me by all you hold sacied, by all your hopes of heaven, if ever you meet that "man, you will kill him ihen and there.
.Blii/h. I swear it; and if the time comes an' 1 I'ail tu kecii my oath, mny Gou Almighty strike me dead?
Enter Doha c, she runts ^' Day.
Dora, Papa, papa! what is the matter?
Day. {rlaspiwj h'r in his arms) Oh, my darling! my darJlng! that this should ever have come ui)on you. Dora. Oh, papa ! what has happened?
ZION. i&
Day. Your mother, child, {aside) Oh,|I cannot tell her.
Bora. What is it papa, is she dead ?
Bay. Xo, no, dear — (aside) — would to heaven she were.
Bora. What is it? Oh, tell me ^Yhat it is?
Bay. Oh, child! your mother is gone-^left us forever.
{sinks in a chair.
Bora. Gone ! mamma gone ! Oh, papa, what shall we do — what shall we do?
Bay. I do not know— I am dazed, hcwildered, I cannot think.
Bli'jh. Mr. Day, we've got somethin' tu do, and I say let us be a doin' it.
Buy. {starts iqi) Yes, we have sometliing to do. He must die; the world is not wide enough for us hoth, I will follow him day and night — I will live only for vengeance.
Enter Tktk, c.
BUyh. Now ycr talkin' bizness. My fingers itch tu git holt of him.
Bay. Do you know tlie nature of an oath, Dora?
B'ira. Yes, ]iai)a.
Bay. If you should take an oath, would you keep it always?
Bora. Yes, papa.
Bi(y. Kneel, chilill kneel I Kaisc your liands toward heaven I (Doha kncrls ami raisca her /uuitZ.s) Dora child, will you ]u-omise, and swear uiioii your r-acred lionor, to devote your life, your strength, your eiithc ein rgics to accomplish llic death of Jeptha Marwood if 1 die before it 1-= clone?
Bora. Yes, papa.
Baif. AVill joii promise and swear never to marry while Marwood lives?
Bnxr Yes, ]tapa.
Day. Will yon promise to earry out mj- sehcmcs of vengeance if I tail, and if nii'c.«<ary take Marwood's life willi your own hand?
It'ira. I will, p:i|)a.
l)iiy. Hear nie. lliou all seeing and eternal Creator I Thon, whom ,iir -nn. moon and -lars obey I and who knowest the secret thoughts • if all manlund — bear nn- 1 1 swear l(t dedieate my life, my energies, and my enioiame to tbis act of holy vengeance. To bave no other ibongbts, no otbcr aim in life tlian the de-triu'lion of that man. I will follow him rclenllcs-^ly ; no sentiment of pily shall blnnt the Kci-n cdgr! of my dc-irr- for vengeance. I will know no rest, no peace, wbile be live-.; 1 w ill Kill bim wlnTcver I can liml bim, ami may curnal mi-cry bligbt me if I falter. May I Im; forever i'lirseil, and may tbe wraib ofontraged licaven follow me forever, if I tail to keep mv oath. AmiMi.
'^H'f- \ Amcu. I'cU. )
cl'i:tms.~i:si> of rinn.oai'L:.
\ piiiod of uiglit years is miii.o.'cJ to linvc i:liii>i<oil lictwoc-ii iln' I'ruluffue iind Act
Fint.
i4 ZION
THE DBAMA,
/iCTI.
SCENE I.— A street in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Enter from K., Dora Day and Oscak Durand.
I?t'.rancL You admit your love for me, Dor^, why do you refuse lo be my -»vifc?
Dora. Because it is impossible, I cannot marry j^ou — now.
Duraml. Not marry me now ? Will you ever marry me ?
Dora. I do not know.
Durand. You do not love mc — you are playing with my feelings. You i^ivo no reason for }'our strange conduct. If there is a bar to our marriage, why do you conceal it?
Dora. Oil, Oscar, be merciful. You know I love you and only you — but 1 cannot marry j'ou, indeed, indeed, I cannot.
Durand. I knov,' you say so, Dcira; and you ought in justice to me, injustice to yourself, to tell me the reason for your refusal, lam sure nothing you have done can l)s in the wa;/ of our marriage, and you c.-.nnot lie held responsible for the acts of others. I do not wish to distress you, l.nit I cannot accept a decision that will ruin two lives without investigatio 1. I therefore insist on an explanation.
Dora. I know I should rell you, but I slirink from laying bare a secret that makes m\- cheeks burn wllb shame, Avhcnever I think of it.
Durand. I am son'v io give you pain Dora, but I must know why yovj refuse. Tell me,'aiuri v.'iJl explain away your scruples, wc will yet be hai)py.
Dora, i t cannot be. you will turn from me with loathing, and horror Avhcn you know my errand here — when I tell you I am here for the sole j)urpost; oftMking a liunian life.
Dnrau'L Good iieiivens. Dora! you here for the purpose of mur- der? No, no, I cannot believe it.
Jhifii. Yet it is true, 1 am iiere bound by a most solemn oath ; and with tbe deliberate intention of taking a human life. If you married me. you would ally yourself with a murderess; with one who has pre- meditated the <1e(Ml for years— instead of clean pure hands, I would give you mine o'iinsoned with bumau blood. You shrink from me in horror now, and you have not he.nrd all.
Dnra)id. Goon, go on I tell me all I
Dnii. liisten. Eight years ago a serpent from this hell, entered, llie pilen of my home, and destroyed its happines-; forever. Jle be- guilcil my mother witli iiis ]>ious cant ; made her believe her only Iiopc of salvation and eternal liai)itiness, was tiirougb and in this so- ». -died church. Slic fully believed his lying story. "lied with him to tiiis jdagne-spot. My fatlier w.as nearly distracted and believing in llie justice of his course, dediiated his life to vengoauce, and caused me to take a most solemn oatii to carry out his plans if hesiiould fail ; ami furtlu'r my oatli stipul;itcd tbat I sliould lUiver marry wliile that villain lived. My fatlier came here, but did not succeed in ridding the world of thisinonsler. 1 have not heard from him for two years and have every reason to'believc that he was killed by Mormon bul-
'ZI02T. 15
lets at Mountain MeiiaoVs. I have found this wretch, and am pre- paring to accomplish my mission and fultll my oath. I shrink from tho task witli horror, but I must do it — I have no choice. Now, you know my story, you understand my position, spurn me if you will.
Durand. Spurn j-ou, Dora? never I I5ut I bo<; of you not to at- tempt this desperate deed. Remember Dora, if you do tliis, you will endanger your liberty, your life. Think of the conseciueucco— I know the grievance is great, and merits death ; but do nor, [ beseech you, do not constitute yourself the avenger; let time and the Almighty avenge the wrong.
Dorn. It is not that I «eek vengeance, but because of ray oath thiit I am here. 1 am bound by that oath body and soul — held to my task by a fate I eainiot escape.
Durawl. That oatli was given in childhood, given when you were too young to understand it.s full signilicance; given under circum- stances wiiich ought not to bind you to it^ dreadful purpose. It can- not, it must not, s.Tcrlfice you to this fearful destiny; you must break that oath fnr me, for yourself, upon every human consideration, you must break it.
Dorn. I cannot, oli, I cannot escape my destiny 1 That oath himls me to tliis juggernaut of duty with I)an(ls of steel that cannot be broken. I know I am the victim of a mistake; an innocent — an al- most unconscious instrument of crime. I dare not break my o:itii I
Jjumu'i. rroinise me, not to do anything rash until you see me again. I am obliged to go on u jijurney, tliat may take me some llTne to aceoinpli-h. If I cannot persuade you to abandon your ter- rible purpo-e. I must be near to protect you. If you love me. promise.
Dora. I premise you not to compromise myself during your absence. I am more than willing to postpone the evil day.
Durnnd. <Jod bless you, Dora, try and convince yourself it is not your duty to do this deed; let me find you ready to iorcgo your mad scheme when I return.
7>.?w, I cannot break my oath!
Durnit'l. (Jood-bye, love; my journey will be a sad one— 1 trust ill will yet be well. Keturn at once to your boarding place, for there i^ danger on every hand.
Dora. I do not fear, it Is only across tho street, (exit Dimiand l.) I have never fully rcalize<l tin- horror of my situation until the jirc- "eiit Mjoiui-nt, and now — it almost overwhelms nie. Oh, could I br.t eeeape my fat"', or if the saerillce of my life would uproot and detn-y tliis evil how gladly would I give it. Kvenifl strike down Mar- wood he'is oidy one among thousand'. Life here is apcr|tetual ni'dit- niarc' the saered ties of home and family are unknown; the i-lieeifnl groiil' around till! llre-ide is impossible; tllinl love and respect are not thought of; lu-t with its alt<-ndant cvlU relgn« hupreme. Kn(ir Jkitiia MAicwonp, n.
M<ir. Al>, .Mis-< Day, I am [jlcn'cd to nee you.
Dorn. S'oii will excu-e me, Hlr, the pleasure i- not mutual. I lio not wish to spe.iU with you. !;/"(»«}/.
M.ir. .Slay a moment, I have »0UJcllilng to say to you lluil you must hear.
D'>r<'.. Speak (luickly, I have no lime to waste with yon.
M-ir. Your lime will not be wa«U'd i ansure you. .My ilear young lady you arc uo doubt well aware I have placed uiy utlcctloiu upoi.
you, and that I desire you to be my wife. I can support you hand- somely, and can truly say you hold the first and only place in my heart. I wish to build up my kingdom and save your immortal soul. I therefore oiler you the only means of salvation, and an opportunity to participate in the earthly joys of the New Zion, in company with the saints.
Bora. I consider your proposal an insult, sir — how many wives have 3'ou now?
Mar. Only twelve; but I assure you
Dora. Stop! Do you suppose I would become your mistress?
Mar. You do not understand our peculiar institutions; we are allowed — nay commanded to consumate plural marriages. Our Holy Book expressly teaches this as the one paramount means of obtain- ing eternal felicity, and I warn you none but a husband's hand can guide you through the gates of Paradise — and that husband must be one of our Holy Saints.
Dora. I leiryou, sir, I would rather inherit eternal tormcjits, than debase myself by becoming what you ask.
3Iar. Is there anything debashig in becoming an honored wife?
Dora. An honored wilV ? Dare you tell me the victims of these polygamous marriages are lionored wives? Tlie moral law, the laws of the land, condemn tlie .system as criminal and scandalous.
Mar. "We are a law unto ourselves, and do not recognize anv au- thority above and beyond our Holy Ifcvclation. These observances are connnanded from" on lligli, nnd we obey them as the will of God.
Dora. Do you pretend to believe -Joseph Smith received a rev- ehition from (jod ?
3L'.r. 3Iost assuredly 1 do ; and I also l)elieve ourpresent prophet, Brigham Young, receives communications direct from heaven.
Dora. Iff Ihouglit you believed this, 1 would pity your ignorance and credulity. But as 1 am positive you do not, 1 despise your liy- pocrisy, and unutterably fletest tlie lust which prompts you to do- fend an institution so covered with leeldng tilth. You throw around all these shainel'ul things the glamour of sanctity. You use the name of the .Most High to cnfoite observances that degrade women, and destroy man'scrowning glory, manhood ;;\\\(\ you, des])ite these facts, dare ask me to go through tiiis farce of marriage, ami become your /(cwior''; thirteenth wite? drey hairs .■should be honorable, but how shockingly misplaced is tli:it crown of silver upon your head. Oood- day, sir. ('•.>;(■< i..
Mar. Well, well I that is the worst l)rceze I have been caught in lor a long time. .My lady soars high, and talks sharj); bull have means ati my command that will hundjle her pride, and break her limud spirit; I will use them unspiuingly ; I will bend her to my will, or — bury her. She is here alone, has no friends to make un- pleasant in(|uiries about her, conse([uently my way is clear, tiorham must bring her tn my house, and when I have her in my strongroom she will sing anotiier tunc, or I am greatly mistaken. 1 must do this at once, lor if ]5righam gets his eyes upon licr I fear he will claim her for himself, and 1 know bv experience it would be useless to op- pose him. I will see (iorham immediately— hello! ''talk about the devil, etc," here he comes; I will have this arranged now.
Evlar OiuDHU Cokii.vm, i;. Gorhaiii. How dy'c do brother Marwood? You seem to be in a brown study ?
Mar. Yes, T am in somethini? of a fitiuly. I have a ilttlc job for you, brollier (ioiiiain.
Gorham. All, wliat is it, I am really anxious to know?
Mar. You know the ijirl. Day V
Gorham. Certainly : it is a part of my business to know every one.
Mar. 1 have a fancy for hor — I want her for a wife.
Gorham. Exactly I Have you si)oken to hor about it"?
Mar. Yes. and got tlio worst blulf 1 over received.
Gorham. That is about wliat 1 sliould have exi)octc(l.
Mar. Well, Gorham, 1 am determineil to possess her. I want you to bring her to my house as soon as possil)lc; once under mj- control, I will find arguments lo bend her to mj^ will.
Gorham. Am I to coax her, or use force?
Mar. I do not care how you acromplish it. A little rough usage might be a good thing — it \\ould teach iier to respect our authority. My advice is, do not bandy words with her, just take her along whether she makes a fuss or not.
Gorham. The last clause in j-our chapter of advice suits me. ]N[y observation is, these high headed females need a little rough handlirg to convince them Zion is not to be tritled with. They see the beauties of our institutions more readly after doing a little penance.
Mar. Generally speaking, I think j'ou are right; but you know there arc exceptions. Xow in my little venture of eight years ago, the ])lan signally failed. You remembered the woman— all the ar- guments 1 could use were of no ci)nsc(pience; I tried moral suasion, until it ceased to be a virtue, and then resorted to sterner methods. I l)laced her in my strong room and kept her for daj-s on a starvation diet of bread and water. I used the lash with unsparing hand — I made her a servant to my faniil}-, and caused her to do the most menial drudgery, but I could not exorcise the devil within her. You know she made several attcmj)ts lo escajic, I then placed her in your care and she was returned to me a maniac, and 1 trust will always remain so — she is now useful to me therefore 1 keep her.
G'jrham. That is my idea brother 3Iarwood, make 'em useful. If they refus(; lo be helpmales, the bes„ plan in my oiiinion is to open the gates of Paradise and shove 'em through.
Mar. You arc about the coole«t "destroying angel" we have ever had. It was fortunate, indeed, that the little alVair at Mountain Meadows brought you to the Prophet's notice.
Gorham. I tell you brother ^larwood, that was .a good joli, audi enjoyed it. If we could get all these Gentiles into the same sort of place I woulil glor}' in linishing the whole tribe.
Mar. Du not forget lo bring that girl to my house, brother (Joi ham.
Gnrhaiii. I will not fail. Oh, by the way brolhrr Marwood, what is to be done with that new convert to llio failh? That Yankee fellow- Harnabus (Irumi) is liis name I beliiive.
Mur. Is hi- really lonverted, do you briievc?
(lurham. I have no doubt of il. Jle undoubtedly sees the advan- tages of our system and willies lo pnrliripale in tliem.
Mar. >Ve nuist give him all the insUuclious pus-ible — he may bo of great use to us.
Uorham. Here he comes.
Enter Haknahas (Jkcmp, l. Grump. Good moruiu' brothers. 1 hcv ben out a "vlCTVltt' tho
18 Z.ION.
landscape o'er". Takin' a sort o' survey o' my future home ye know.
Gorham. Well, what do you think of it?
Gmmp. In my opinion it's a riglit o'ood i)lac'e tow live in, There seems tew be a sight o' harmony an' good feclin' among the Saints; a sort o' heavenly calm so to speak.
Mar. I see you are beginning to uiulcrstanil the boauties and sentiments of the true Faith.
Grump. Yaas, I am discovcrin' new l)cauties all the time. It's really afl'ectin' tew witness the alVcclion displayed in iho families o' the Saint.'*. As soon as I kin git a holt o' souu; hind i'ov a ranch, I'm Sjoin' tew commence tlie marryin' husinc.*-; in airnest. Ye see the Good Book says it ain't good fur man tew be alone, an' as soon as I kin git in shape tew make it pay, Tin a-g(/iu' tew take severnl wives more or less.
Mar. That is right and jiroper brother Grump, you will soon be an lionored member of our baud of Saints.
Grump. Yaas, I'm in hope.-, to inherit the joys of heaven, an' make it pay in this life tew.
Mar. You are upon the right road, do not weary in well doing.
Enter Mrs. Day, k. Sim is now insane.
Mrs. Day. I think my little daughter will soon come. I should have brought her Avith me, l)ut that man said no. And those .-ire tlic .ioys of Ziou I If these are the .joy?, what arc the sorrows ^ Oh, tiie despair I Oh, tlie hcai tachc I Oh, the horror piled on horror in this den of infamy! ]\Iy husband loved me, and my home was liappy, but now — oh, now! * In the silent -watches of the niglit, they come and whisper, whisper I Aye, and hiss, and hisd ! And for^Muost in that baleful throng is one Vliosc head is crowned with silver loeks, and who witli smiling lips repeats his lying cant and foul Iiyi)oerisy. lie is the header of this envenomed crew whicli talks of Saints, and paints in honied words their joys in Paradise. 'Twas he who lured me from my happy home, and made me what 1 am — a thing despised by Clod and nian. (x'. .s M.u:w()()i>) Yes— yes— there it is, there is the shape— the fiend who lureil me to destruction— and who nightly leads those grinning devils, who taunt me with my crimes.
Mar. {udvancinij tnirard Iicr) Why are you here, Mrs. Marwood? You should be at home attending to your duties.
Mr.t. Daij. Back— back— do not come near me I your touch — your presence is pollution.
Mar. You must go back to the house, this Is no place for you.
.Urs. Da;/. Xo— no, 1 know it is no i)lace for me. 1 am surround- ed witli gliostly grinning forms; I cannot escape tliem. I came liere to find joy on carlli and eti-rual life in heaven, and 1 found — oh, mer- ciful heaven, wlio are you? there is something lamiliar in your face. Ah, yes I know you now, you are my husband, come to see me; my husband whom 1 love — let me claPi> you in my arms and weep out my sorrow on your Ijosom. \o — no — it is not he— it is— it is — back! back : 1 say I do not touch me, you are the seri)ent who beguiled me; you coiled your slimy folds around my heart and foully betrayed me.
Mar. Woman, you must go home.
Mrs. Da;/. Iloniel home: liiave no home — nothing but a prison -where in daily toil my \veary life drags on. I left my home .-uid came to— what? I dare uol "think. My cpiivering llesh has felt the scourglug lash Inid ou by brutal haiidi— by you. My form Ua,s bent
ZION, 10
tncl ihTo"bbetl ^Ilh pain bciieatli its load of menial labor— laid on by you. I have at tinacs Icit reason's sway return as now I feel it. I have then fallen on my knees as I do now, (kneels) and asked Almi,ij;hty God to sweep with tire and sword tiiis moral plague spot. I aslc him now to breathe destruction, jiostilciice and death upon tins city in its sin; to let the earth open and swallow up forever, the liorriblc in- iquities perpetrated in His name; to sweep this valley with a besom of wrath and pnritication.
G'orham. ( adrani'iiitj and hti/s hand upon her shoulder; ahe xtarls in great fear) See here woman I you arc making a scene for nothing.
Mrs. Dan . i^lartiufj to her feet in frenrni) Away! Away! Do not touch me! 1 feel the frenzy upon uie. Oli, horrnr! they are coming back ! Back, ye liends !
She exits l., shrickinj b'.ick! back! Makwood and Goiuj am, rush uff
after her. Gnimp. Wail, nfow, this kinder beats nic. Ef this is the way the consarn pans eout, I'm agoin' tew ask tew he excused — I don't want any sicli oni)leasantnoss tew h:ipi)en in my family, tiiat's sartaiii. I'd better gin uj) the idea o' havin' mor'n one wife — it kinder ])ears tew me one on 'em is .about all I kin manage tew onct. 1 reckon I'll meditate onto it some. {exit l.
SCENE TI. — A trood in fnurth (jruovcs. Camp fire hurning, f/uns leaned against a tree. Discovered, Jahkz Bfjcu an '^PjCTE, seated i;., and l., of fire.
I'ete. ^Vhat ycr s'puhi" Ma<-a Day stay away so long fur? 'I'hiidv him got into trouble':'
Bliijh. 1 dinino, I'cio, this ere country is full o' them cussed Mor- mons and Injuns, an' they'll like nothiii' heiter nor sknlpin* Day — or any on us (or that niaitiT, 1 reckon we're purly safe here how- somever.
Pete. I speets wt; is kiuil(>r safe like; but I t(dl> yer what it atn, Massa Bligli, dis yer niggir riiddi r he up in the mountings diggin' fur gold, dan down in di- lieali valley watihin' fiu- Mormons.
Dliijh. Wall, I'ele. I reckon 'iwoidd In- safer ; hut ye know wc ilidn'tcome here- in dig gcdd. Oin- Id/ni'ss is, fustly lu clean out old Marwood, an' tlien w(,' kin du Kumeijiin' else.
i'ctc. Dai's all right, Massa iHi-li. but what Av detijl we tramp way oll'ter ('aliforn' fur? Didn't spect ler lind de old jiuMle dar did yer?
Bliijh. No, I'ele, liiu yesee wegul onto' fund-, an' we had lu gil somediink, or gin up the hunt. Wi-'ve got the dust now, .an I reik- on we'll be lookin' devili-h shai |i .Titer oldJM.irwood fur a while. I wouldn't lake hi- eliance, fur the Imll .Mciriimn oullil.
I'cte. S'pose Massa i>ay nelilier gil hack ; what will we do den?
DWjh. Why, I'elc, me an' you'll go in an' eleaii out the old coyote alone.
I'cte. Wouldn't dat 'arc be pe>ky onsartiii fur us, Massa lUigii ?
Dlifjh. Wall, yaas. I'etc, I reckon 'IwouM hr- kinder fteldoni, but we've got lu do it an' no mi-lake. Don't yer remeinher w hat a big oath we tuck afore we left? I hope ye don't want lu back out do ye?
Pete. No I guess not. But what good will all dis heah ilo dirf cUilJ, cli? .S'poijiu dis uigger lose hid har what dcu? fi'poseu dciu
^0 zioy.
Mormons cum like dey dul at do Medders, an' nvikc ns intof orow incnt, in a minute — wiiat good de onf do den, oh y I don't lii<o do Mormons a bit, but I tinks aheap ob my.-elf, I do suah. Massa Day jjit pow'ful mid. Dat's all rii^in, dcy don'r. steal my wife, wliat fur I git mad? Massa Day, he don't want ter lib, dis child don't want ter die, dat's de dilYerenee.
BlUjh. Wliy, Pete, ye wouldn't desart me would yc? Didn't I save yer skulp over in Californy? An' didn't 1 divide wh -n grub was scarse? I tliought ye had more grit, Pete.
retc. Wiiat fur yer tink dis nigger ain't got no grit? Didn't I mash dat'are Injun's head wid a big rock wlien lie had yer down? Didn't I carry Massa Day ofl' fru de rocks wid dat 'are deblisli meat ax a stickin' in him? Dis heah child ain't sifeard ob de hull pack ob Mormons — but what's de use? Dat's what I want to know.
JiUiih. I tell yc Pete, I've got a grudge agin 'em, an' when I'm a helpin' Day, I'm a payin' oil' some old scores fer myself. Wo"ve stuck together for a good while, an' I want ye tu hang on a spell longer. Day'U be back afore mornin', an' then we'll move fer sar- tin.
Frtc Hang on? ob course I'll hang on; dis child neber'il leab ye, wliilc he's got a liar left, ye may 'pend on dat— but I kiuiler tliought .ve"d better gin uji de job an' go houie, dat's all.
Pjli(jh. [start in{i vp) Ciive us yer hand Pete, yer hide's blacker'n tar, but yer white inside, an' yc've got as big a heart as any man wliat ever lived. {thp.n slmke hands.
Pete. AViiat's dat 'are crackin' in do brush out dar? Somethiu' or somebody's comin' suah.
Bll(ih. (listcninij) Yer right, Pete, grab yer gun an' git fer the brush I {l^heii sitzo thrAr ijuns and exit.
Enter from i,., cautiunshj JfruLiA Edwards— Mits. Mauwood the
seventh.
Jiih'ii. This camp seems deserted ; I wonder where the people are? Wliat a lonely i)!ace tliis is — my blood is chilled with fear. Tiiese dark somlier trees, and forljidding rocks stand gaunt and grim, like giant sjx'ctres. If this is an enemies' camp, no power on earth can ,sav(! me — no matter, 1 am prei)arcd to die. ]My life for years has been :i living death, blai-kcned with infamy. The horror of that so called Zion can n(>ver be told; I will perish in the forest, on the mounlaiu*. anywheie, rather thin return to that physical and moral ^^Iavery. Xo tongue can lell the misery in that sinful cit}'; it is the concentration of iniquity, an overllowing of licentiousness. Tiie sum total of all things vilel Is it possible a righteous G!od, a just govern- nieul will iicrmit this outrage to exist? Will the massacre of those innocents at '•Mountain Meadows" go unavenged? Would to heaven tiic fate of Sodom might overtake the city in sin !
Enter Dav, k.
JJa^i. Amen I
Juiiu. {attirls cnnfuspd) Maj' I inrpiirc who yon are, sir?
Drnj. ]SIa(lam, T am an avenger, I hate with fervent hatred the name of Mormon I T hnve dedicated my life, my substance to an iniceasing warfnre with this ijeslilcnce.
.Julia. Thank (iol I have found one who will syu)pathize with, and befriend mcl
ere
ZI02T. H
Day. Allow me to inquire who you are, and why yon are here?
Julia. I am one who lias felt the blistering contact of Mormouismi One who know3 the whole structure to be a baseless fabrication. I am here, because I chose the peril of the forest, the danger of the mountains, rather than endure the vileness of Mormon captivity.
Day, Where are you going? What are your plans?
Julia. Going? I know not. I have no plans; I only know I lied from the terror of tlie known, to face the unknown ; from the slavery and degredation (if Mormonism : to escajM! or die — I care not which.
Baij. It is fortunate you fouiul your way here. Myself and cou\- panions, will give 3'ou all the protection possible.
Julia. Where are your companions? I have not seen them.
Day. They are near 1 am sure, {lohistlcs — ('( is ansuun-ed by a uhiitle off among the rocks) They are close at hand.
EntPr after a pause, Bligii and Pkie, l.
Day. Were you o\it on a scout?
Bligh. Ynas", kinder thought we'd look around some.
Day. Did you discover nnything suspicidus?
Blljh. Xothin' at all. The fact o' the matter is, we heard this ' lady a comin' throngli tlie brn-li, an' so \vc jus i)ickcd \\\^ our shoot- in' "irons, an' stepped Ijehind the rucks fur a miniut tu sec what was a comin'.
Pete. I 'spects it would be a good tiling fur dis child ter keep a look out fur a spell — what ycr liiink. Ma-sa Day?
Day. I think it would lie well to do so.
Pete. I'll jes step out ob the way ob de Jiaii an' listen. {exit R.
Bligii sits on a rock icith yun leaniwj ayiiinst his knee.
Dfoi. We mu'^t mature some plan of action. 'J'here is a strong de- tachment of srovcrnmeuttrooiis on tiieir w.-iy here f<ir the imrposc ot investigating' ."Mormonism, and we must take advantage of tlirir jires- ence to"accouiplish our work, {to .Tii.ia) You are lately from Salt I,ake Citv, are you not?
Julia. ' I left there yesterday i.ioruing.
Da'/, l-^o you kii<w a man liiere by tlie name of .Marwood— depliia
Mar wood? _ , , ,. , ,
Julia. Know Jeptha >rarwood? l-or ten years I have bved only to hate him: prayed onlv for revenge upon him.
Dai/. You surprise me! What wrong has Maruood done you? Jnii'a. 'I'he greatest of all wrong, lie belrayed me, eiiticod me from my home, made me his drudge, his slavi'.
Dai/. ' Tell nu! vour slorv, 1 am anxious to hear it I .hiiia. .\boiit ten vears ago, .Marwood cami' to my iiome, a fair New l':ii"-l:ind village", and commenced a fevival in liic interest of this Mormon chiirch. I was young and lilted wilii that deep relig- eons enthusiasm, .so common among tiie descemlanls of old Puritan stock. I therefore lent a willing ear to his subtle arguments. Me seemi'il a iiattern of honest manho.id— in short I gave him my love. We were married and went to Salt I-ake < ity -to me (he promised land .III I'-e of my horror when I dl>eoveri'd how 1 had been be- tVaved • Ix'ii""" <'i''\' •'^'''^- M:"'^^'"' '• l'"" K'"venth. I <'0uld not escape. I wis'-i pirsoiier-eonstaiillv watched. I beard the massacre of Mountain Meadows talked of and i-ianned ; 1 heard those Mends,
n^ ' ■ . zioir,
boast of their deecls of blood ; I saw the little innocents, who were allowed to live parceled out among- the vile crew. I know of four lisping tongues silenced forever by Mormon hands, because they re- membered too much of tliat fearful tragedy. 1 liave seen maniacs wander about the streets, pitiful wrecks of gkirious \\ onianliood ; ruined by Mormon cruelty. Can you wonder i liate witl; undying hatred, the whole institution?
Day. Xo, I do not wonder; yon have every reason to linte, and so have I. Tins same Jeptha Marwood, e itercd m\^ liome, and pluck- ed from my fireside, my life, my love. Since that timi* I have liad but one tliouglit, and that is revenge. I have crossed hlistering deserts, encountered danger in forests, and on plains, and all for the purpose of ridding the eartli of this monster, and the long expected time is near at hand.
BUtjh. (n'stDij) Amen! And I say now, as I've sed afore, ru Btick tu 5'e while I've got a specie o' life an' help ye cut tli:it villiau's throal, whenever an' wherever we kin find him.
Enter Pkte, quicl'ly and silently, i:.
Pete. Jlassa Day, dar am some one comin', suah ! I don't know as dar's mor'n one, but dar's one I'se sariain.
Daij. {lo Jui.i.v) licmain here l)y the fire — we will st:'[> b.iek among tlie trees, and await developments. Come, IJiigli I come Pete!' (''.K'V' I..
Jlliijh. I hope tu goodness it's a Mormon, I'd like tu begin hiz ness, right ofi'. {exit l.
rein." 'Spects it am a Mormon. He'll git his old liide peppered mighty good. {I'.i'il l.
Enter Oscau Dukaxi>, k.
Dnrand. Here is a good fire and every indication of a camp. T wonder where the people are? (,svcs .Tulia — aaidv) Hello! here is a woman. (<o Julia) Are you alone?
EnUr Dav, Bi.iGii and Pete, i.., guns in hand ready fur instant use.
Day. Xo, she is not alone — arc you?
Du'ritn'l. Yes, I am alone, but not unarmed.
(ahi)ut to dnin- a n^niinn.
Dat/. If you wish to commit suiciide, young mini, dniw al oni-e.
Dnrand. AVhy, do you come towards me with guns leveled? Do you suppose I will stand (juietly, and be shot like a dog?
Day. You invaded our camp, therefore we wish lo know your busine>s. Are you a Mormon ?
Dunniii. No, tliank heaven I
Day. Where are youlrom"''
Dnrand. liemotely from the Ea<t, immeili.ite.ly from S;dt Lake City.
jhni. Are yon leaving there ])erniaiieiitly ?
Dtirriil. S'o, sir, I have l)usiness which e.-ills me to the northern part of llie territory, I shall return as soon as possible.
Dai/. Do you intend to remain at Salt Lake after your return?
Durand. See here, sir! I am not accustomed to this sort of cat- echising; and although you are three to one and well armed, 1 pos- itively refuse to be quizzed in tliis naanner.
zion. ss
Day. Well, neighbor Bligh, what shall we do in this case? Bligli. lie talks nrKldlin' straight, 1 reckon we'll have tu let him
go-
Duniml. Is your name Day ?
Day. It is.
Durancl. Did vou formerlv live in Arkansas?
Day. I did. ■
Durand. And j'ou liad a daughter, Dora?
Day. Yes, yes, but what is this to you? What do yon know of rny daughter?
Durau'l. I know tliorc is in Salt Lake City, a young lady named Dora Day, who is bound by a terrible oath to do an awful deed, and nothing but knowing the fact thrit her father lives, will jn'event her taking a huuiau life. If this lady is your dauLTiiter, it is your duty to go to her rescue, and save lier from commiiting this crime.
Day. {musinijly} Can it be, that Dora hasoome to fulfil her oath? If she is there I must hasten to ai)prise her of my presence, and fore- stall the possibility of her attempting Marwood's execution. Young man how did you learn so nuieh of Miss Day's intentions?
Durand. I love her, told her of my love, ami Ix'gged of her to be- come my wife — she lel'used, and I insisted on knowing her reasons for refusing; then she reluctlantly contided to me the story of lier oath, I therefore exacted a promise from hci-, not to move in the matter initil I returned.
Day. What did you intend to do when you return?
Durand. I intended to kill Marwuod myself.
Day. I am jjositivc this young lady is my daughter. We will go to Salt Lake City at once.
Julia. What am I to do? I dare not go back there.
Day. We will find means to protect you, never fear, {to Drii.vNi)) AVill you go with us?
Durand. Yes, I will postjjone my trip.
Day. Couic fr'ends let us hasten to avenge our wrongs; and may the one who falters die.
All. \'engeance! Vengeance! Amen!
rKTK. n. Dav, c. Bi.iGfr, L. Jii.ia and Dviwsit, v.. and \.. Of c, each out icitk riylit hand and tya uprained.
QUICK CUliTAlN.—END OF ACT I.
ACT II.
SCENE T. — A nintn in ^f akwood'.s houiie pnnrly fiirnish''d, with tciiiiiltn fhairm, yiaia xiaiid and rot lied. .Yiyht, raudli' hurnimj nn stand — discovered Dih:a \)\\y icatcd on bed.
Dora. I am surely a prisoner in that hypoerilii.-d villain's power. J am powerless; eornplelely at his mercy, lie lias no sei'iimenl <»f pity; he is imjilacahle. I have no one to aiil me. I am alone, [start:, vpj I will not give way to fear or repining. Tlieiinie is eonie f«»r i;ie to do and dare. .Ml the tortures at his command cannot snhduo me or make me falter, .fejitha .Marwood shall leaiu he lias roused a demon that will not down. Ah, some one is comintj.
U ZI02T.
Enter Lucy Stone, c, (Mrs. Makwood the eleventh) carrying a tray on u-hich is a coarse supper; she ^olaces tray on stand, and turns to DoEA.
Lucy. There is j-our supper, I hope j'ou will enjoy it.
Dora. Can you tell me why I am made a prisoner?
Lucy. I reckon j^ou know as well as anybody.
Dora. I assure 3^ou I do not.
Lucy. So you don't know brother Marwood intends to marry you?
Dora. I know he asked me to marry him, but I positively refused.
Liicy. Well, that's why you are here. He proposes to marr^y you anyway.
Doni. I would sooner die, than marry him.
Lucy. You can say that all right now, but 1 reckon j-ou'll sing another song- before he is done with you.
Dora. Wiiatdoyou mean?
Lucy. I mean he is determined to have you ; and have you he will in some way. The balance of us don't like it very well, but we've got used to it. I'm next to the last one, and I know I had a hard time for a while, but I get along lietter now — I reckon it won't make much dilierence, if he does get a lot more; it will be a little bad for the new ones thougli.
Dora. I do not understand you. Are you one of Marwood's wives?
Lucy. Yes, I suppose so — but I reckon it would be nearer right to say I'm one of liis u-hite niijijers — that's about what we all are; and it's what j'ou will come to before long.
Dora. Wh\^, will you stay here and endure this slavery? Why, don't you run away from him ?
Lucy. That's a mighty sight easier said than done. Some of 'em have tried to get away but didn't make it out, and when they were broiigiit l:)ack and put in this room once, they didn't want to try it again. If these walls could talk they could tell you things that would make your hair stand on cni]. There is one who was brought here about eight years ago, who tried to get away, and he put her in here and fed her on bread and water until she was almost starved, iMit she wouldn't give in, and when he let her out she tried it again; tJH.'U he whipi)ed her awfully, but that didn't do anj^ good ciLlier — it wa> awtul the way he whipped her every day for a montli, but he coiiliiirt, conquer lier, and sohe turned her over to thatdevil (iorliam, and wlien he brought her home she was raving crazy, and has l)cen so ever since. It's all right for you to talk brave now, but just wait and you will change your mind.
iJnra. Perhaps I ma}', but I will endure any torture rather than act the farce of marriage and become his mistress.
f.iiri/. "Well, I nuist go. I am sorry for you, but I don't know liow I t an lielp y:)u ; you see I've got to take care of myself — I don't w.-mt to get a wiiip])ing or do double duty in the kitchen, or theJield; \ liave got into a liad scivip;'. ami I must make the best of it. Well, good-niglit. 1 will -ce yini in tiie morning. [exit c.
Puru. How can I escape? That poor creature is trying to make the best of lier sad lot; her spirit iscruslicd — she is an abject slave to u vile master, lie owns Jicr body and soul; iiur only thought is to escape his brutality. Her womanhood is gone ; her mind is benumb- ed, and the apathy of des[»air has seized upon her. And this poor maniac, what of her ? Her i^ride and honor could not be conquered^.
ZION. SS
her sliatterod mind is a pflorious monument to hor heroism. She was no doubt eiiti(>eil iVoin a liappy home, to this wliirlpool of'siu. Iler puny sti-en<;lh c-ould not s en\ this torrent, she was engull'ed in the mad murky Hood.
Enter 'Mrs. Day, c, cnutinusly.
?rrs. Da>f. Ah, the tears, the toils, tlie agony I have endured here! Oh, the utti'r bl;;ckni'>s of tiie weary years ; at times a Hash of reason's liii,lit illuminates ilu- i^loom, and 1 live again in memory of the sad, sad past. ^ly Iiouk-, my husband and my daugliter, I'onie b'.^fore mo as 1 saw them la<l; and tlien these long, long j'ears of woe and shanie rise up ))efore ni(! :uid shut out the view of my lost heaven. Black, chcerh'ss, starless night anon swoops down and in seeming pity ob- scures the light of reason. Would that self-consciousiu'ss might be forever lost ; that rea-on's ilanie nnght never burn within me, or death might eonu! and set me free, {sees Don.*: — aside) Is this another victim of Mormon hypocrisy ! (fo Dora) Who are you, and why are j'oii here":*
Dora. I am a prisoner — who are you '?
Mrs. Day. AVho am I ? i ;nn a wretched victim of lust and avarice, who has forfeited her peace on eartli and hopes of heaven.
Dora. Are you j[rs. ^larwood?
Mrs. Da;/. 1 am forced to bear that hated name.
Dora. Tell me your story, let us sympathize with each other. {asid/') Oil, heaven! I believe this is my long lost mother, reduced to this by ilormon cruelty.
Mrs. ihuj. 3Iy story is brief. I left a happy home, to seek the joys of Zion. 1 was seduced from the i)ath of honor by a smoothed- "tongued villain, and awoke from my drc-am too late to retract.
Dora. Was your name. Day V Did you have a daughter, Dora?
Mrs. Da;/. Yes, yes! Oh, yes I Do you know anglit of iier, or my Inisban.i? Sjieak, sj)eak (iinckly, or the old horror will l)e upon mi", before I can he.ar your .^tory.
/-'(;;■((. Your daughter lives. a!:d like you, is a prisoner. I am she whom yon left eight years ago. Oh, mother, mother ! Do you not know me?
Mrs. D(i>/. Is it possihle? Are you my darling whom I left in the once happy home?
Dor.t. i an) your daugiiter— oh, my i^oor, poor mother.
Mrs. Da>/. i lo"kiitij inteiUhj at It^r) Y'es, you are Dora, my own, my beantihil Dora. (Jiereehj) (Jr.ant me a ijoon, do as I ask you 'ere the madness come-, ft is coming now, 1 feel its liorrors creeping over me. 'i'akc this knife, {(jicrs knife) [)lungc it into my bosom— (/.,-;i''f'?.s)— let me die by your hand; let me feel in tl>c death panw dealt l)y yon, the first and only joy lor eight long years. Set free my fainting soul, be my Saviour. Here— here— plunge it here.
'j)ora. Oh, motlici-. Inoiher ! I cannot do this dceil. Calm your- self, I will free you from this slavery.
Mrs. Da;/, (startinj vj)) There is no escape but death, let mo die by your hand. Yon will not? Then [ must be my own executioner. Let iiic clasp yon to my bosom — once, only once, and then, farewell.
'Miiii. T).\.\' clas()S \)ou\ in her arms then steps back and wrests the knife from Doka, raises it as if to phmge it in her oion i^osom—
Enter Makwood and Gkump, c.
3Iar. What does this mean? Where did you got that knife? {he takes the knife from her) Goto your room, you hav« no busuiess here.
Mrs. Day.' iBack, you fiend ! do not touch me. Back, back ! I say !
(exit ivildly, c.
3Iar. That woman is givino' me trouble lately. I must keep her in close confinement or she will do serious damage,
Grump. She seems ter be kinder onsettled like— I reckon she'll stand a heap o' watchin'.
JIar. I have hesitated about placing her in a public Asylum, it seems such a heartless proceeding.
Grump. Yaas, that's so. I alius knowed you had a big stock o' fine feelin's.
3Iar. Miss Day, I am very much pained that this episode should have occured— I trust it will not prejudice you against us.
Dora. It has not changed my feelings in the least.
3Iar. Tliat is very sensible of you. You will understand these unfortunate incidents occur outside of Zion, so this case cannot be considered of any special significance.
Grump. That's so. I haVe knowed o' several if not more occuriu' down in Maine — it's dreadful onpleasant, but it can't be-tielped.
Mar. I hope you will not lay too much stress upon this afl'air. It it', indeed, unfortunate, and I deplore it greatly. ]My great love for her, induces me to keep, and watch over her; I cannot endure the thought of placing her in the care of strangers.
Grump. I know brother Marwood has got an awful tender heart — he can't bear tu see sutlerin' o' any kind. He takes better care o' his household than most o' the Gentile folks du— that's as true aspreachin'.
3far. Brother Grump has investigated our system thoroughly, and has been converted to our faith. He was very much opposed to us when he came here, but he now sees the beauty, and harmony of our lives and earnestly desires the felicity of full communion with us.
Grump. Yaas, that's it tu a T. I'm mor'n willin' tu cast my lot among the Saints. I've looked the matter over, .an' I've read the Holy word, an' in my opinioii, the only chance fer Salvation is right in this 'ere church, (aside) An' it's a darned good spcckilation tu.
Dora. You are wasting time if you expect to convert me.
Mar. Do not be hasty in your decision. Miss Day, think this matter over, carefully.
Grump. Yaas, take plenty o' time an' read the Word, an' I'm purty bartin' you'll change your mind. It's a dreadful good thing tu take plenty o' time, (aside) An' plenty o' wives when you've got a ranch.
Dora. Have you forgotten the teachings of your New England home ?
Grump. Not at all, but ye see they didn't have the true faith. When I come out here I didn't believe a word on't; but arter a while I got convinced tliat this 'ere is the Jfnuwine thing, an' so I made a proposition tu jine tu onct— an' tiie Saints are goin' tu take nie in, an' I'm a goin' to be heir o' eternal joy. (nsid'-) An' impi-ove my financial condition into the bargain.
Dora. Your argument-; arc l';il acious. You .-ire both talking from vile and selfish motives. You cannot disguise the selfishness, which
prompts you to defend this institution ; I have seen too much to be beguiled by j^our studied cant, and transparent hypocrisy.
Mar. You seem determined to force me to extreme measures. I wish to convince you with the mild persuasion of love.
Dora. Love ? You do not know the meaning of love. Your sor- did nature cannot appreciate a pure thought.
Mar. Miss Day, you seem resolved to goad me to desper.ition, I advise you to be careful — perhaps you do not realize how completely you are in my power?
Dora. I fully understand my situation. I know you have the power and disposition to rack me with torture. I know unless I succumb to your base propositions, a horrible death awaits me — yet, knowing all this, I defy j''Ou, and dare you to do your worst.
Mar. Miss Day, I am determined to possess you; there is no ne- cessity for furthor concealment. You are in my i^ower, absolutely in my jwwor. I will conquer your haughty pride, and bend you to my will, or kill you — do you understand?
Dora. I do, sir. I know your power here is unlimited; I know the poor maniac who but now left us, is the work of your hands; I kno\\' you enticed her from a happy home ; I know you lashed her quivering llesh ; I hnow you attempted to starve her into submission, but you could not break her resolution. I know — mark me well Jeptba Marwood — I know this victim of your lust and greed, of 3'our Mormon religeon, is my mother. And now I say to you, do what you please — starve, lash, burn if you will, I will never, ne\:er be vour so-called wife.
Mar. I will give you a little more time to meditate; and I hope you will change your mine. If not, I will make you beg for death, that will not come. I will make your life sucli a burden, that any chniige will be welcome.
(iruuip. (aside) This is a queer sort o' courtship — not very lovin', but mighty excitin'.
Dura, i do not wish any more time. My determination is fixed, unalterable.
Mar. Do not be hasty. Think it over.
Enter Lucy, c, excited.
Luaj. Brother M;iruood, .Tiilia has run away sure, she was seen going North, out of the, city, and 1 reckon she's gone for good.
Grninp. (aside) 'J'he hull Ihi ng seems kinder onsarliii'; guess I'll think it over a s])e]l.
Mar. Well, Lucy, we will look for her at once— I caimot allbrd to let her escape.
Luc.)/. Sister Eiiima is taking on awful, so I locked her door.
Mai-. That is right Lucy, you are very thoughtful. (In Dora) "Well, Miss, I will leave yoti to tliink over your situation. Kemeui- ber, escape is impossible ; so show your good sense by making the best ofit.
Dora. Yon need not dehiy. ('onmicncc your torture at once.
Mar. Lucy, do not hritig tins lady any food to-morrow; liungei may teacli her to reason (lillcreiilly. f'onie Tuicy, come (iiiunp, wo will look after the nniawny.
(Iriiiiiji, {asiili') It's taiiiatiou rough on the gal; if I Uiicw how, I'd help iier— 1 would l)y gosh I
Exit Mauwoud, Lucy ami G«ump, o.
28 ZION.
Dora. My fate is fixed, tliere is no escape. I must suffer and niuke no sio-n. I Avill not repine or indulge in useless regrets. The fiend shall not see ine falter; I am prepared to die, and die hravely. Heaven help ine in nij'^ lime of need I
Scats liemtlf wcaril[/ on the edije of the bed; drops her face in her hayid* in an attitude of despair.
SLOW CURTAIN— END OF ACT II,
ACTIII.
SCENE T.—A street in Salt Lake City.
Enter .Teptiia Mauwooo and Obidiah Gorttam.
Gorham. Well, brother Marwood, how are you siu-ceeding with Miss Day'
Mar. My success is not flattering; she shows no signs of weaken- ing.
Gorham. If j'ou place her in my care, I can promise one of three results,' complete conversion, insanity or death. I shall not stop with namby-pamby measures, you may be sure.
Mar. I believe you dehgliL in human suffering — in taking human life.
ii'orham. I do brother iFarwood, it is my business and I enjoy it.
Mar. Well, Avhen I find I can do nothing with her, you shall take 'lie care. But wiiat about these government troo^JS? Are tUey coming liere do j'ou supjiose?
Gorham. I don't know, if I had had my way, they would never liavc readied liere, I would have taken a i)arty and went out to the .Mountains, and prepared the pass for tlieir recei)tion. We could have made as clean a swee]) as we did at ^lountain Meadows. And it would have been a good liiut to tlic infernal government, to let us alone. I believe in setting up an liuiependent Empire, and defend- ing it; we ought to do it, and cut every Gentilii's ilu-oat, who comes nosing around here. 'J'iiere are three of tlicm here now, who Walk about the streets with revolvtn-s and knives strai)ped upon tlieni. I 1 asked Brigliam, for leave to dispose of the gang, but lie refused on account of those cursed soldiers being so ne.ir.
Mitr. See here Gi)rliani, it won't do tD have tliat girl seen, or the cra/y one cither. If we find the soldiers are coming' here, I will send them to your suburban retreat, at once.
Gorham. All right, send them along— they will be safe enough with me.
Mar. And if tlie troops do come, and yois liiink there is danger ot detection, I want you to ili-jjose of them al once.
Gorham. Now that suits nie, I would like to make a finish of that cra/y one any way.
Mar. I wish you had luid your wav about these troops; it seems to me. very fordisli to allow iliem to Li^'t si iwar.
timlnnn. 'i'liat i- what 1 thiidi. 1 iia\e a mind to clean them out, Trojihei or no I'rophet. Hrigham was not afraid to kill a lot of em-
igrants at the Meadows, but he don't like to face government bayo- nets. I tell 3-ou, they never ought to be allowed to move another 6te|i in this direction.
^fal•. That is true, it will open tlie way for a horde of Gentiles to come here. A war between the Xorth and South, is the only thing that will save us. We must eneoura2:e a war as much as possible, ami defend our borders to the death. Wc must stir up the Kedskins, and get tlicm on the warp:ith; tliat will take the attention of the government, until tlic big war c0IU•^s on. If all this does not stop (iciiiili^ intoriV'raiicc, our rillcs will. Hello! Here comes the Yankee, we will know more about it now.
IJntcr B.UiXABAS GitUMr, u.
Onnnp. Good-mornin', gents.
.V<T?-. <Io()d-morniiig, brother Gruinp.
(i'lrhnui. AVliat did you tlnd, brotlior Gruinp? Give us the par- ticulars— we .".re might}' anxious to know.
(iridiip. Waal, ye see, I went over tu the cani!), an' hung around tlicre a spell an' axed a heap o' questions; but I didn't find out much o' anything till last night, :i:id then I heard that tlieni fellers are mighty likely in drop down here kinder onexpccttvl like, a'most any timo. As nigh as I kin make out, Uncle Sam, lie's sent 'em here tu see what sort o' a place this is, an' what we're a doin' — an' L reck- on they'll l>e i)urty apt tu nose about some.
)lnr. That is about what I have expected. How many arc there, do you 6Up])0se?
(iniiiiji. 1 reckon there's a thousand on 'em anyway. I tell ye what they're mighty thick about tbar.
'.; n-iKiui. A thousand? It wnnld wiuTy u> some to get away with tliat many, unless we couhl surprise 'em. Arti they rather careful?
(,'nniip. Yuu kin jest l>et they arc. Tiieyve got double guards, an' a felb-r's got tu toe mighty straiglit, or iie'U gi; tilled full o' lead liuic^er'n chain lightnin'.
M'lr. 1 must remove tiiosp females for a time. 1 wish you would come and get them to-day.
(inrhnm. All right — 1 will get brother (irum[) (o ludp me.
Mnr. 1 must attend the, (Council to-day, I sliall insist im exter- uiin.atiiig tlie tr()0j)S, if we liavi> sullicient strength to i;o li.
liarhiim. Yon exitress my sentimerU- exactly; and I believe the Bretheren nearly all, concur in that belief.
Mar. 1 will urge the matter to tiie be-t of my ability. (.r.,-it i,.
(ii)iit'iiii. If the Council does notdecideon :i Jight, I will organize a band of true believers; disguise tliem as Indians; and pick the solilieis olf, one by one. They will learn to respect our "Destroy- ing Ang(d.s," if they do not respect our holy ndigioi:.
(innnp. Won't that be a leetle resky ? .Suppose llicy liappe:i tu keteh xmie on ye, an' find out yer white miMi?
(Inihum. They wont catch its, you may lie sure of lliat.
lir'nii/i. It seems this 'ere thing i> a dr iwin' tu a p'-a!:. I'm kin I- cr o' the oi)inion the folks in the "States', are a gittiu' riicil uj), more or less, an' are a goin' lu make it warm fer the Saints.
Gnrham. Arc you celting weak kneed?
Gruinp. Wall, no, I can't <ay as I am, I was thinlvin' that uicbbe it would i)e as well tu hold oil awhile, afore 1 begin luarryin', an' wait fur the dust tu settle a bit.
so ZIOIT.
Gorham. Of course you can do as you please about that; however I would advise you to go ahead. This aftair is only a spasm of the govorument, and will soon be over.
(rrinnp. Yaas, I reckon it's nothin' only a spasm, but ye know it niiiLClit work round, an' be a regular fit afore it's done.
(lurham. Do as you like — I suppose j'ou will help me move those women of Marwood's?
(irump. AVliy. j^es, I reckon I will, I don't like the job fust rate, but I guess 1\1 better du it so's I'll kinder git used tu the bizness you know.
Gorham. Very well; we will go and git this job off our hands.
(extf Gorham and Grump, k.
SCENE 11. — A poriion of apnblic park in Salt Lake, City. Night,
moon-light.
Enter Day and Bligh, l.
Duij. AVhat do you .-iqipose lias directed suspicion toward us? I fe ir i'ete lias said something he should not have s;ul1,
Blijjh. I don't believe Pete has said anything; you kin trust that nigger as far as any white man.
0(11/ . l*erhaps they were trying to pump him.
Eli'jh. 'J'iiat's about it — an' I'll bet a coon skin, they didn't find out enough to hurt 'em either.
Ba>i. It makes but little ditierence anyway, we must do our work, and begone. The first opportunity you have, you had better fix that Dcslroying Angel, Gorham.
Biiijh. I'll du it, an' du it well. I'll try an' revenge them babies an' wiinmin, as was killed at "Mountain Meadows". 'J'heir bones are a bleuchin' yet in the storm an' sunshine, an' are a cryin' fur vengeance, tu every one what hates these cursed Mormons, t tell ye it's a burnin' shame that this government will 'low this thing tu go on.
Daii. So it is. These ^ioniions openly defy the government; and our alleged statesmen take their smmIis and insults, and never wince.
JlUgh. Ain't it a gittin' about time fur Pete tu come? I'm dread- ful anxious.
JJiiij, Curb your impatience, he will soon be here. Hark! some one is approaching now ; I think it must be Pete, we will soon know what to do.
Enter Oscar Durand, l.
Da;/. I thought you were Pete, wcare very anxious for his report. Have you learned anything new?
Dnranil. I have learned lln; troojis are very angry because they are not permitted to inve-tigatc. Mnnnonisin with iixed bayonets. Julia ha.s told her sad story with good ell'ect, and the boys are im- patient to avenge her wrongs.
Viiij. They would make short work of it, if they had the opportu- nity.
Bligh. I wish 1 could lead 'em fer five or six hours.
Durand. Julia is coming to the city to-morrow, and if she is mo- lested, the soldiers will wreak dire vengeance upon the Saints.
ZION. ^1
Bligh. What du you s'pose they'd du?
Durand. They woukl burn the city, and scattei" the Samts to the four winds.
Blliih. I don't wane 'era to hurt her very much, but I hope they'll kinder i^ether her inter the fold not very gentle like — jest use her rough enough to rile the boys, that all. Hello ! here comes Pete ; an' he's got some feller with him.
Enter Pj:te and Grump, l.
Da>h Wc were beginning to think something had happened to j'ou, I'ete.
Pete, Fob do Lawd, Massa Day, dis yer child had a debbil ob a time. Catched dat 'are old ']»ostle right in someob his debblish mean- ness— and dis yer genunen was a belpin' him do it to.
Daii. {to Gwvsiv) Are you a 3Iormon?
Gruiiiji. AVall, I kinder leaned that way fer a spell, but I reckon I ain't luanin' (]uite so nuicli now.
Bligii iftcjis behind Guujip and draws a lar(jG knife. Day makes fjcs- tures to him to stop.
Day. Why did you bring this man with you, Pete?
Pcic. Golly, Massa, I didn't fotch him, he done come jest 'case he wanted to.
/>.'//. [to Gkimp) ^Vell, sir, what can we do for j'Ou ?
Grump. I can't sa\' as you kin du anj'thing perticular for me. I jist wanted to see yo, is all.
JJa;/. Do you tliink we arc planning an insuiTectiou?
(rrinnp. I don't know nuthin' about what yer a plannin', an' I don't c ire a darn. All I know is y<'r (.icntiles, an' 1 kinder thought 1 coidd tell 3'e a few things that would l)e good Icr ye tu know. I don't want lu push myself intu nol)ody's company ef I Inint want- ed, so I reckon I'll Im; a joigin' along. {ijuimj.
Jhn/. Slop a nionuMit. You say you have something to tell us that w.' ought to know?
(inniip. y;ias. I reckon yer .-.bout kercct.
Ihitj. .\nd yet you arc a 3Iormon?
Ciriiuiji. Wiio says I'm a .Mormon?
D":'. Von said so yourself.
(,'rin;:p. Xot by a jug-fuil. 1 said I kinder leaned that way fer a sp'Il. ltd! 1 said tew, tiiat I didn't slant that way<iuite so nuicb now.
1)1!. \',[\i you were in Mormon comjjan}^ ;uul doing Mormon woil^ y
<inniii>. True, 1 was keli-ln-d in b;id comiiany, an' 1 helped them di'vils du s<;nie cussed mean work — but I want ye tu know I've re- formed sli^k an' clean.
Jjii'i. Wliat is your name?
(•'rin.iji. (iiiimp — liarnabas Grumi) — at your sarvice.
JJa;/. Well, Mr. (irunip, w(! will licar wliat yon iiavc to say.
Grnuii>. I n-ckon yon hale Mormons, wors'n pussh'v don't ye?
JUi'jIi. ". d': I" Day) 'I'ell lum yes, an' ask him what he's goin' tu du ahout ii.
Jiin/. {ii.sidr.- to Ili.KJu; Do not grt impatient, ncigiilio;- IJiigh.
/;//;//'. {auU". to l)\\) I l(dl ye .Mr. Day, I'm a giiiin" tired o' this daliyin', an' I'm goin' in commence busine^- pretty -oon, an' commence it in ainicst. Ef lie ain't a Mormon he'd belter say so
$S Z[101fu
without much more palaver. I won't answer for myself much longer.
Pete, {aside to Bligh) Massa Bligh, this yer gemmen ain't no Mormon.
Day. (aside) I trust you are right, Pete, if lie is not, he ought to say so.
Pete, (aside) Dat's so, Massa Day. (4o G-kump) See heah, ye'd better spealv kinder quiclc and plain.
Gntmj). Holy smoke! Hain't I said I want no Mormon? Ef you don't believe me when I say a thing, ye may go tu the devil, or any where else 5'e want tn.
Bliijh. jS'ow yer talkin' as though ye meant it, an' it's about time tew.
Gniwp, See here, ef yer a tryin' to skeer me 3'-ou've made an all tired mistake. I am as independent as a cork screw. If you want tu hear what I've got tus:iy, you'd better git at it more peaceable like.
Dai/. You know we find it necessary to be cautious h^-.e, I hope you will not hesitate to tell us what you know.
Grnmp. Waal, I'll tell you about it. Ye see I've been here a good spell, an' I begun tu think fhat Mormonism was a mighty good thing; an' so £ told 'em I wanted tu jine the church — arter that they let me intu some o' their secrets. 1 found out that this 'ere Gorham is about the biggest villain, an' cutthroat in the unlvarse; and that old Marwood ain't a bit better; and I fmallj' made up my mind, that the whole lot needs killin' pretty considerable bad.
Daij. Well, what about Gorham and Marwood?
Grnmp. I found out, that Marwood has got about a dozen wives, an' one on 'em is crazy as a bed bug; an' that his an' Giorham's dev- ilish abuse made her crazy; an' that he's a tryin' to get another one, an' that they're bound to make this gal marry Marwood, or kill her. She's a gittin' mighty near starved to death now, and them there in- fernal devils keep a starvin' an' a whippin' her, an' a sweariu' if she don't consent they wlil starve an' wliip her tu death. But I reckon she'll go crazy, lilve the other one did; she'll never give in, I'll bet on that.
Da>i. Is this vouni;' lady a l^IormonV
Gnuiip. No, "she ain't no Mormon. She's a name sake o' youru, her name is Day.
Durand.] -n.,., ,
Day. S ^ ■
Grump. Yes, Day, an' tiie crazy one is her mother.
Day. My God! her mother":'
Grump. Yaas, but what's the matter?
Day. They arc my wife, and daughter.
Grump. Yer wife an' darter?
Da>/. Insane — starving — whipped — and I inactive? Where are they?
Grump. They are at Gorham's house, just outside o" town, they was tuck there this niDrnin'.
Day. Do you suppose we would tlnd those villains there to-night?
Grump. No, ye wouldn't, but I reckon we kin lix it so we kin ketch 'cm to-morrow sometime.
Day. We will take you into our confidence, Mr. Grump, and if you i)lay us false, j'ou sign your death warrant. We are desperate men, and Ave have sworn to kill .Jeptha Marwood, and we will do it.
Grump. I'll see they are at Gorham's house to-morrow, an' I'll let you know when.
Durancl. Is there any unusual danger for them to-fiight?
Grump. No, I reckon not.
Day. Friends and companions, the time is at hand when our debt of vengeance will be paid. Are j'ou ready to go?
All. We are.
Bay. I feel the thrills of coming triumph — destruction swift and sure shall overtake Jeptha Marwood. My work is nearly done. Ke- venge ! Kevenge !
Dis'iiQsHion of characters for tahleau.
Bligh. Day. Durand.
Grump. Pete.
QUICK CUBTAIK.—END OF ACT III.
ACTIV
SCEyE I. — A room, in Goriiam's housp. Discovr^e.^ Dora Day, looJc-
iiig pale and careworn, teatcd by table l.
Dora. Oh, these weary weeks of agony I The pangs of starvation — the lash and the prison in this our boasted nineteenth century. The tortures of the inquisition Ij'jncath a ling of freedom and ecpial rights. Here am 1, a victim of the basest human passions, helpless and alone, with no friend to succor me in my distress, {starts up) If JSodom of old perished for its sins, why should this place e-cape? On every side, tiie cries and supplications of the wronged, the lieli)less, the in- nocent ascend to lieavcn, begging, pleading for mercy and deliver- ance. l]ut to no i)urposc — the e;klying whirlpool sucks them in, their cries .nil supplications fall unheeded, 'riicy are swallowed uj) and lost for' ver, or left pitiable wrecks upon the liarreu sliore. I feel I am givinj;*' way beneath this sirain; I will sodu be a wreck, ))ut the wreck wi 1 do me honor; no taint or shndow ot sin will ])e upon me. Ah, some one is coming, I pray it may be my executioner.
Enter Bakxakas Gkumi-, c.
Grump. Good-mornin' ^liss Day, how dii ye feel this mornin'?
Dora, ilnw do 1 feel? What mo(;kei-y to ask!
G'rtimji. Miss Day, I've come tu tell ye some news. 'J'liis is ycr last day in prison.
J)(jra. Thank heaven! Oh, thank heaven! Hut stay, does tliis reh'ase compromise my honor?
Grump. Not a bit on it.
Dora. Can this be true? Oh, can this helrur?
Grump. Ye just bet it's true. 1 wish I could bring ye someLhiu' to eat.
Dnra,. I do not caro I'or aio'thing to eut. 1 can live on tlic hope of gaining my freedom.
Grump. 1 reckon lioi)e is a droadfid thin diet, fn my opinion, ye won't get very fat on that kind o' feed an' nuthin' else.
Dora. I do nut feel the craving of lumgcr uow-— I am strong and well.
V ZIOK.
Crump. That's gootl. An' I reckon ye'll need a right gooJ lot o' strength, fer that old cuss ]\[avwood, will call on ye soon.
Dora. Must I face that old villain again? Why not lot me go before lie comes ?
Grump. It's a part o' the plan tu let liim come. Don't get skeer- ed, he won't harm ye,
Dora. I must believe wliat you say; it is my only hope. Do not deceive me — oh, I beg of you, do not deceive me.
Grump. I'm not deceivin' ye. Wliat I've told ye, is true as gospel.
Dora. I will be brave, I will not falter. I have endured nuich, I can endure more.
Grump. I know ye've got a heap o' grit, ef ye liadn't, ye'd gi'ji in long ago. Waal, [ mu'-t be a goin'. Good-day, don't worry.
{exit L.
Dora. Hope has revived I I believe that man told me the truth— if he did not — oil, heaven ! I daie not tliink of my misery ! I cannot endure this much longer — I am breaking, breaking! {sink^ on a chair h)j tabic and buries face in her Jtajuls.
Enter Oscar Durand, c.
Durand. (aside) Siic seems to be asleep— how thin and pale she is. Tlie i:orril3le cruelty she has undergone, would kill on", less de- termined. {aln^l'l) Doi'a, Dora my love! Look up and speak to me!
Dora, {starting up) OIi, Oscar, Osear! is it indeed you?
Durand. Yes, it is I, and no otlier. How pale and thin yon are. Come to me darling! {embrare) Oh, my love, how you have suf- fered !
Dora. Yes, I liave snlVrred ; but the joy of this moment repays me for all.
Durand. Tliis is, indeed, a joyous moment, only marred by what you liavc endured.
Dora. It is past, and when I am free, will soon bo forgotten, or only remembered as the pliaut.-ism of a dream.
Durand. Dearest, 1 have come to claim you for my own.
Dura, llemembcr my oath, I cannot evade its dreaelfid require- ments.
Durand. Y'our oath is not in force, and never has been. Y'our father is alive and well.
Dora. Alive? Is it true? Is lie, indeed, alive?
Durand. lie is, and sei^king his revenge.
Dora. AVhereishe? Oh, where is he?
Dur'ind. Near at hand, and will be here soon to protect you.
Dora. 'I'lien Osear, I am yours— take me if you wish.
Durand. (rlasi>ina her in'his arms) Y^ou are mine, all nunc. I could not wait longer to see you; I knew in the hurry of our tUght, 1 could not seek and gain the sweet promise you have given me.
Dora. Yvn will not fall to come?
Durand. Never fenr, I will be here.
Dora. And will father surely be with you ?
Durand. Y\'S, dear, your father, Mr. lUigli and Pete. Good-bye.
,'/./.s-sT.s her a.iid exits c.
Dora. Oh. joy! Joy! My ddivorancc is ;;i lirnid ! The only cloud tomar the :^unslli^(•,' is poor crazy mother. However wrong her conduct, Hove her still— she is my mother.
_ ^ ZION-, "&
Enter Mrs. Day, c.
Mrs. Bay. ■VVh^^ have they changed our prison? Oh, yes, Ire- member now ; they told me we should go back to the dear old home — my little ghl and 1. How happy we shall be ! I will then see my husband! My husband? No, no — I have no husband — no home! He said I would l)e happy — happy? AVhy, should I speak of happi- ness? It is not for me. The villain came with honeyed lies in his mouth, and deceived me. I trusted him, I believed him, and now wiiat am I? (^ees Doka) AV^ho are you? Oh, I know you now; you are the harpies, who visit me at night, and grin, and shriek at me. Away I Away ! Do not come near mo !
Dora, Don't you know me, mother?
Mrs. Dcuj. Know you? Xo, I know no one. They say I am mad, but that is false; I am not mad — no I am not mad. I see those hor- rid shapes, and grinning faces — but they tell me it is only fancy. They come to me by niglit and by day, and mock and scolf; and one among them, with silvery h;iir, and smiling lips — scourges my quiv- ering Ilesh, until I shriek Avith agon^'.
Dora. Oh, heaven I Is this my mother ? Mother, motlier! I am your daughter.
Mrs. Day. Away you lying fiend ! Why do you mock me?
Dora. You knew me yesterday; don't you remember?
Mrs. Day. lie me in her"::' Yes, I remember the lowly ho ma-like cottage, covered Avith clinging A'ines, and filled with love and peace. I remember — nh, how well I remember my loving daughter; my noble husband, I rcinembcr — and tln^ remembrance sears my brain, ];ow that smooth-tongued devil beguiled me. I remember how he starved me — I remember — Back ! back I Do not come near me ! See tliat horrid throng come on— they arc skeletons, lleshless skeletons; victims of .Mormon cruelty. Hark I Hark! what do they say ? That sliadow holding to her bosom a fair-haired babe, with streaming eyes and breaking heart, begged for mercy at Mountain ^Meadows. The one beside lier with raven locks and (lueenly carriage, was decoyed from her English home, to grace the I'rophct's harem, and died broken-liearred. The whole ghostly train are shrieking out their wrong and crving loud for venae.ince. Away! Away! I cannot ])earit! ' ' (cxJt qulckhj r,'i>^'at!ii'i, aaiaij! away!
D'ira. Oh, mv pnoi- nu.lncr! Xo one can Id! w Inl she has sufter- ed. {kneds) Oh, Fallicr in llcaveu, grant thai this may soon end.
SGEKE JT.— Street in first grooves.
Enter Jetuia >f amwooi), n.
Mar. One more cHbrt, and then brotlicr Ci-riiim 'uay take the obstinate girl in cliarge. .My i)alienc(! is cxliaii-lcd ! li is niilortu- nate that slie rcro-ni/.t'd her mother— yet tlic fa.t that -h.- i- a ravuip; maniac, may li:iv<' -onw elVect on her, ami induce her tn yield. I will at oncftVmd'Gorli.im, and heshall go with me— lie has a way to tame these obdurate women which never fails. {exit \..
8G!S^i! ItI.-^Th$ same as scene first— Kight.
Enter DopwV, c.
Dora. Night lias coine, nnd I am nearly wild with apprehension. I fear I am (loomed to disappointment ; if they do not cone, I am lost — nothino- can save me. My poor mot;ier'shal!acinauo:i, almost un- nerves me.
Enter Jeptiia Marwood, c.
3Iar. Good evening, Miss Day, how are j'ou feeling hy this time?
Dora. Look at me and your question is answered.
3Iar. You are rather thin and pale.
Dora. You have come then to taunt me with your triumph? to gloat over the defeat of a weak, lielpless woman?
JIar. It seems your enforcetl failing, and the vigorous discipline you have undergone, have not dulled the sharp edge of your tongue.
Dora. And never will.
Mar. Do not Hatter your.-elf tliat this is all. What you have sulfered, will lie considered pleasure, Avhen compared with what you will endure, if you still remain ohdurate.
Dora. And this is your hoasted religion ;'5^onr reputed saintliness? i^ou starve and scourge women, because they are helpless, and in your power. You a pillar in the so-called churcli, descend to prac- tices, a savage would blush to own.
Mar. Have a cave my lady, or j'ou will leani to your sorrow what I can do.
Dora. I know you would not hesitate to do ;inytliing you could with safety to yourself. Yet there is one thing you cm never do.
3Iar. What is that pray ?
Dora. Conquer my pride and honor.
3Iar. I tell you Dora Day, if you do not consent to he my wife, T will rack you with tortures, sucii as you never dreamed of. You shall beg and plead for death that will not come. The man in whose house you now are, has no spark of pity or compassion. Once in his care, your doom is sealed. There is no escape but in marringc Avith me, insanity or deatli. Your mother played the fool, as you are do- ing; you have seen tlie result — be warned in time.
Dora. Your threats do not intimidate me. You and your l)loody satellite may do your worst — you cannot conquer me.
Mar. We sliall see. You will soon shriek with agony.
Dora. I may cry with agony, but never for mercy.
3Iar. I will give you one more opportunity before I call Gorham. Will you consent?
Dora. Jei^tha Marwood, I answer you once for all, — never I Call your inquisitors, commence your torture — I am ready to meet it.
Mar. roorfool! you little know what you are bringing upon yourself.
Dora. I can judge of that to come, by what I have already ex- perienced.
3Iar. I dislike very nuich to resort to these extreme measures; I ■W'isli you would listen to reason.
Dora. My decision is fixed ; noue of your sophisms can change it.
Mqv, As you wUl. (««??«'
' ' Enter, Obadiah Gorham, c.
3far. Brother Gorham, this j'oung lady is still obdurate, T there- fore consign her to your care.
Gorham. I have a way of briiiii'Inii- them to reason that never fails.
Mar. I do not want any dilly-dailying about it, brotlier Gorham.
Gorham. 1 understand, {starts toa-ard Don\) Come alon^,-, ^liss ! You will now have something to keep you from being lonely.
Dura. Do not touch me ! 1 warn you, do not touch me !
Gorham. ITa! ha! I shall stop a long time fortius Hurry.
(sei."efi her arm.
Dira. {struij(jlinij to free herself) Help! Help I Uiiluind me ! let me go ! •
Gorham. Give me a little assistance, brother Marwood. Put your hand over her mouth and shut up that noise.
They struggle with her; ZaJakwood attempts to stifle her cries. She frees her head and shouts, Help! Help!
Enter at c, Mus. Day, i7te rushes downstage, s«V'.i'e5 Gorham hy the collar, and j^rks him down, lie raises to bis knees, she draivs a pair ('f shears from her dress, and is about to plunge them i)ito GuU- iiam's breast, lohen Mauwood releases Dora, and selves her.
Mrs. Day. {wrenching herself loose from 'M.\n\yo(^v>) Back! back I say ! I will avenge my wrongs, and the wroiigs of this poor girl.
Mar. Go away from here at once !
Mrs. Day. Ha! ha! ha! Go away from liere?
Gorham. {to Marwood) You wati-h this one; I will take care of the crazy one.
Mrs. Day. You will take care of the crx/.y one? IIa!ha!haI Come and take care of me.
Gorham. Seize her brother ]\Tar\vood, and choke the life out of her! I will do the same for tiiis one.
GoitUAM and Mauwood starts toward l^iutA and JCus. Day.
Enter from c, Day, Br.rcir, Dckand, Pktk and Gkump,
Day. (rushes to Maiiwood and sieves him) .Tcplha .Marwood, do you know me? Mar. My God ! Tt is James Day !
DuRAND goes to DoK\; Bligii watches Gorham. Pktk ajK? Grump
stand at back watching the parties.
Day. Yes, Jcptha I\rarwood, it is James Day — come to avenge the wrongs you Iiavc done hiin. AVhat have you lo say?
Mar. Xotliing, only to admit .and deplore "tiie \vri)iig, and h(>g of you to be merciful.
Day. Beg me to be merciful ! Have you been mcn;ifiil tome? Have you been merciful to tills poor insane wreck? Have you been merciful to my daughter ?
Mar. I have only been trying to live according to the faith of our holy religion.
Day. Your holy religion ! Did it teach you to destroy my home, to drive your victim to insanity, and persecute my daughter almost unto death ?
Bligh. Cut the old villain's tliroat ; don't parley witli him.
Mar. jNIercy ! jNlercy I
GORHAAi draws a knife. Bligh draws and levels pistol at him.
Bligh. Your time has come, {shoots Gouham, who drops knije, falls and dies.
Mar. Mercy ! Mercy ! Ob, he merciful!
Day. Look at your victhns and aslc for mercy, if you dare. Down ! Down on your knees, you al)ject coward !
Marwood kneels: Mrs. Day picks np knife dropped hy Gorham — steps quickly behind Marwood and stabs him. Marwood falls and dies. Mrs. Day falls on her knees in front of Day, and o'aises Iter clasped hands to him. Duraxd on ii., siip"i,iiiiy Dora. Bligh l., by Day, bending forward and looking at, Gorham, Grump andrETE, c, back.
PIGTUBE.—SL 0 W G UB TA IN
THE END,
«-t9 " eJ^
STAGE DIRECTIONS.
K., means Pwiglit; i..,Left; u. h.. Right Hand, i-. n., L?ft TTanl; c. Centre; 3.8. [2d E.,1 Second Entrance; u. e., Upper Entrance; ii. d., Mi 1 llo 0,.-ir; i-., the Flat; D. v., Door in Flat; u. c, Right of Centre; l. c, Left of Ceutre.
K. K. C. C. t. C. Ii.
***.The reader is supposed to be upoa tUe Stage, facing the audience.
PUBLISHED FROM THE AUTHOB'S OEiaiNAL MANUSCRIPT.
An entirely original Allegorical Drama of the civil war in the United States, entitled,
THE DUTCH RECRUIT;
OB,
THE BLUE AND GREY.
BY J. T. YIEGABDT^
All rip-hts to thi- iM.])uI:ir ilriunn liuvp been inirehascfl of its luiHior, amlit is now pnbli.-^hi'il in Ixxik I'linn eoiniilctt! lor the first time. It was iirodueod .'!<-asoii after .=easoii by tlic orisinnl iM'opriotor with unbounded sucxoss, and was the means ot re- lilenishinj; many (i. A. U. treasuries, which were running low.
The following arc the eharacters represented:
Peitrich Vonderspoek VVc Jfufch Itrmiit
Col. St. Leon «■ luil'd SaiillicfDcr
Ihnry I'ear.son -^ y Uni-in Spu
Fr.ink Ihinean Tlic (JacrriUa Cliirflnin
.Tdhn Marker St. /.'tin's Ocirnrrr, aflcnrnrds n <!u>i-)illii,
Charles White llarri/'s fri'iiil, u UiiinnSpij
■Jcdily M-Ciiiinor ■ asnaoftltr ()ldS<>d
lle'ic'r;il I'oiniiKiitiliiifi I '. S. Fnrco
Col. I'niidvliii "fill'' f'-S. Aniii/
Iii'lc .Ned '".' Oitiiiviiiiruin
(i(.|l(i;il (:i>iiimin\<liii;i ('. S. Fiirri H
Sam "'"' <>fll[c Hums i)f ('unt'jilinn
\i(>.\ i'llirt ' Lii ii/tiiinif of (nil rii/fni
i'risnncr • "' '•'//>• fs'"
\laiide St. l/oon (i loi/nl hull/, <ltiiif/lilrr i,j Si. I.ron
Mrs. St. lyon "■'>> "/'/"■ <'«lnnd
Goddess (jf ],iherty, Ullieers U. S. A. Officers C. S. A. Citizens, Soldiers. Ikish" whai kers, I'risoneis, etc., etc.
It will he found easy to put iip.iii the sl;i-e, full of tlirilling and stat tliirs sit a- lirilis. iKiirhroadlh c.-capes. niilit;iry movenuMits, prison scenes, si-eiics full of pathos anil t'l'HS otlu-rs in wliicli the |)utehniaiJ and IrishmMii will convnise llin listeri'TS with lanj-'iiter. Kycry character i.s good, being strongly drawn, and worthy the talent of the i)est actors.
Hm- 'I'Ik- pnblisher has piireha<ed all rights in this gratxl Military I'iay and iil tlunil'liatahigli pri'-e, has.leterinin.-l lopla.'e it, at the -lisp.isal of every (J A. R.
T„.;t S of V. Camp, and in fact any orgam/ation wli ay«i-h to iirodnee it.
Thereloi-e, bi^ar iti mind, there is no royally on it alt ciin produce it who nmy >\i-h todo's"./V""/r/ioi7/'-.
tfii- It is printed from new typ'- mi good paper siibslanlially bound in paiicr
binding. PRICE 25 CENTS PER COPY.
A. IJ. AMES, i'lilillr'.hnr,
Lock Box 102. CLYDE, O.
-«^ THEATRICAL fta^
AND FANCY COSTUME WIGS.
:(r-ELr-
Atteution is called to this list of "WIGS, BEARDS, MUS- TACHES, 'WHISKERS, &c.
We employ a wig-maker especially to manufacture goods for our trade,
and can guarantee satisfaction. All goods made
under our personal supervision.
In ordering be careful to state every particular, i, e. size, color, etc. Any wig for special cliaracter or occasion can be made to order.
i©rr~^
White Old Man $4.50
Iron Gray 4.50
Yankee 4.50
Irish 4.50
Crop [all colors] 4.50
Fright 5.00
Negro 90
" [white old mill] 1.50
grey " ] 1.50
" with top knot] 1.50
" [wench] 5.00
Fir Peter Teazle 5.00
e^hylook 4.50
Court Wig with 13ag 4..50
Tic 4..50
Paul Pry 4.50
Dundre.ary 5.50
Light Dress Wig, with parting 5.50
Hough Irishman 4.00
Flaxen Country Boy 3.50
I'hysicinn or Lawyer [white] 5.00
Dress Wig with Eycbr'ws &, Whisk'rs 5.50
]»rcHs, without parting 4.00
I'lil'lo.x; can 1)0 worn cither as a male <ir I'ciiialc Wig; very convenient; in
reality 2 Wigs in 1 6.00
Flow Wigs, Long Hair, suitable for ino.st Shakespcrian characters. Fairy
Plays, &c 5.50
Comic Old Woman's F
Dress Scalp, with parting 85.00
Scalps 2.75
Gentlemanly Irish, with parting 5.00
Bald Wigs, Grey or White 4.50
Rip Van Winkle 4.50
Grey Dress Wig, with parting 4.50
White " " " 4.50
Clowns, in colors 4.50
Pantaloon, Wig and Beard 5.00
Robinson Crusoe 4.50
Monk 4.00
Box and Cox, 2 AVigs, each Wig 3.50
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LADIES.
Court Wig 6.50
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Mother-m-Law 5.50
Female, plain. Long Hair, so that lady can do up as she wishes, a really fine
Wig 10.00
Ni?gcr Crape Masks, a substitute for
blacking the face 2.00
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Front Piece $2.50.
BEARDS, WHISKERS, MUSTACHES, &o.
Full Beard without Mu.stachc 1
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Mustaches on wire ■
" gause
CRAPE IIAIR-For m.aking False Whiskers, Mustaches, .^c. Colors— Black, White, Light Brown, Dark Brown, Iron Grey & Red. Price per yard
.'^idn \Vhiskr's & Jl'stachc on wire SI. 2.')
t^i'lo Whiskers and Mustache, on
wire. Slip rior 1..50
Si.le \\'hiskeis, no Mustache, wire 1.00
."^i'li! \Vhiskeis (fc Mustache, Gauze 2.00
Side \Vliiskcr.s and JIustache, on
_ gair/.n, sujicrlor 2.2-'J
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on jraiiso 1.50
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on gauze, superior 1.75
Full Beard 1.7.'.
" superior 2.00
20
Address
A. D.AMES, PUB'R.
LOCK BOX 102.
CLYDE, OHIO.
3^"
■^
xi-iQEs^ Plays— UDntinuGii,
72 19
bS 2-20 148 218 224 233 IM 184 209 13 66 116 120 103
FARCES CONTINUED.
Deuce is iu Him 6
L)id i Dream it 4
Domes.ic Felicity 1
Dutch Prize Fixhter 3
D. itchy vs. Nigger _ 3
Eh? \Vi at Did You Say 3
Everybody Astonished 4
Fooling with the Wrong Man 2 Freezing a Motlier-in-Law... 2
Fun in a Post office 4
I'amily Discipline 0
Goose with the Golden Eggs.. 6
Give Me Mv Wife 3
Hans, the Dutch J. P 3
Hash 4
H. M.S. Plum 1
How Siiiter Paxey got her
Child Bisptiz d 2
How She ha-i Own Way 1
How He Popped the Quest'n. 1
How to Tame .M-in-Law 4
How Stout Vour Getting .5
In the Wrong 15o.\ 3
In the Wrong Clothes 6
John Smith 5
Jumbo .Juiu „ „ 4
Killing Time 1
Kittle'- AVcdding Cake....- 1
127 Lick Skillet Wedding 2
228 L iiderbach'.-i Little Surprise 3
Li/il«ings for Two 3
j^atrimonial BIIfr 1
Match torn Mother-in-Law.. 2
More Blunders than one 4
Mother's Fool 6
Mr. and Mrs. Pringle 7
Mr. Huiison's Tiger Hunt 1
My Heart's in Highlunds 4
A y J'reciou.s Betacy 4
My Turn Next 4
M> Wife's Relations 4
My Day and Now-OrDays 0
Obedience 1
On the b\y „ 3
Paddy Miles' Boy 5
Patent Washing Machine 4
PersccuUrd Dutchman 6
Poor Pilicody -... 2
Ouict Family 4
Rough Diamond - 4
Rii.ples - 2
. Sctiiiap!" 1
138 Sewing Circle of Period 0
ll.T S. H. A. M. Pinafore 3
."JS Somebody's Nobody _.... 3
232 Stage Struck Yankee 4
137 Taking the Census 1
40 That MyHlerious B'dle 2
Tlie Bewitched Closet 5
The Cigarette 4
... The (Coining Man — 3
167 Turn Him Out ^ 3
68 The Sham Professor 4
M The Two T. J'» 4
50 140 74 35 47 (t5 11 !»9 82 182
lot) 139 231 235
69
1
1.5.S
23 2<J8 212
32 186
44
.■«
67 217 1&5 19.5 159 171 ISO
48
38 131 101
28 143 213 lo_l 5 50 70 135 147 155
111 157
204
15
172
98
222
214
145
190
27
2:i0
1.5.3
24
'IK
77
88
128
!K)
Gl
234
1.50
109
l.U
177
96
107
1.3.3
179
94
25
92
10
64
I'ci
118
()
108
4
197
198
170
216
JK!
210
203
20.5
L5(i
17
Thirty-three Next Birthday.. 4
Tit for Tat 2
Vermont Wool Dealer -.. 5
Wanted a Ilusbiind „.... 2
AVhen Women AVcep „. 3
Wooing Under Difficulties-^ 5
Whicii will he Marry 2
AVidowor's Trials 4
Waking Him Up -..._ 1
Why they Joined the Re-
^ becca:<....„ _ ^ 0
Yankee Duelist „ 3
Y'a;ikeo Peddler 7
ETHIOPIAN FARCES.
Academy of Stars „.-..„ 6
An Unhappy Pair „ 1
Black Shoemaker 4
Black SUitue _...,. 4
Colored Senators 3
Chops „-_ „ 3
Cuff's Luck .- ^ 2
Crimps Trip 5
Fetter Lane to Gravesend...- 2
Hamlet the Dainty 6
Haunted House „ 2
Handy Andy — .._ 2
Hypochondriac The ...- 2
Joe's Vis'.t —..«...- 2
Mischievous Nigger _ 4
Mu.sical Darkey 2
No Cure No Pay 3
Not as Deaf as He Seems 3
01.1 Dad's Cabin 2
OldPompey 1
Other People's Children™ 3
Pomp's Pranks •„.„ 2
Quarrelsome Servants _ 3
Rooms to Let ».-« 2
School „..._.-— _- 5
Seeing Bosting-.-....-,- „_ 3
Sham Doctor _.-...-. 3
16.1X10 Years Ago „„ 3
SiKirt with aSportaman....— 2
Stage Struck Darkey __- 2
Stocks Vi>, Stocks Down 2
That Boy Sam _„...._ 3
Thr Select School -. 5
The PotHjorn Man -..-.__... 3
The Studio __ — 3
Those Awful Boys....-...- 6
Twain's Dodging -____. 3
Tricks 6
Undo .Ittif ., , ,,, 5
U. S. Mail -_ 2
Vice Versa ^.^, 8
Villkcns and Dinah , 4
Virginia .Muu my 6
Who Stole thi, Chickens 1
William Tell 4
Wig-Mukor and HidSurvantR 3 GUIDE BOOKS.
Hints on Elocution «
H\.nts to Amatenn .^
dn —
CANTATA. 215 On to Victory (with chorus) '2.5 cents 4 8
jB
[§ SPLAYS RECENTLY PUBLISHED. i^^
Lp PRICE 15 CENTS EACH. ^^
219 Rags and Bottles. An original comedy in two acts, by M. Stuart Taylor, 4 males, 1 female. A play by the author of The Afflicted Family is sufficient guarantee ot its excellence. Hags and Bottles are two street waife, and the play follows their fortunes through good and bad. An opportunity is given to introduce songs and dances. The balance of the characters are good. Costumes modern. Time of performance 1 1-2 hours.
220 Dutcliey vs. Nigger. An original sketch in 1 scene, by James 0. Luster, 3 males. A landlord has two servants— one a Dutchman, the other a negro, who are continually playing tricks upon each other, which are very laughable. Time in playing about 20 minutes. Costumes modern.
221 Solon Shingle; or the People's La-nryer. A comedy in 2 acts, by J. S. Jones. An excellent play, and easily put on the stage, the scenery not be- ing difficult to ariange. Some of the best Comedians have starred in the character of Solon Shingle. Costumes modern. Time of performance 1% hours.
222 The Colored Senators. An Ethiopian burlesque in 1 scene, by Bert Richards, 3 males. Avery laughable experieQte of two darkey's, who became dead - broke and hungry— their schemes to get a meal of the landlord of a hotel, are very amusing. Costumes modern. Time of performance, 25 minutes.
223 Old Honesty. A Domestic drama in 2 acts, by John Madison Morton, 5 males, 2 females. An e.\cellent play with a good moral, showing the truth of the old saying that "Honesty is the best Policy." Scenery, interiors. Costumes modern. Time about 2 hours. _. , ^ ■ . , ^ ■ -
224 Fooling •writh the ^Vrong Man. An Origmal farce in 1 act, by Bert Richards. 2 uiales, 1 female. Character.^ are an Irishman who is not such a fool as he looks, a dude, and a society belle. The situations are very funny, and tho farce must be read to be appreciated. Costumes eccentric to suit. Time of perform- ance lii minutes, ,.„ , -r, -r^. ■, ■. .
225 Cupids' Capers. A fiirce-comedy in 3 acts, by Bert Richards, 4 males, 4 females. O verdows w ith fun from beginning to end. A lawyer, his son, a Dutch- man, and a negro are the male characters. A giddy widow and her beautiful daugh- ter, a German servant girl, and the Irish hotel proprietress are thj females. Costumes modern. Time of performance about 1 hour.
226 Brae the Poor House Girl. A drama in three acts, by 0. L. Piper, 4 males, 4 females, Tlie character of Brae, is a capital one for a scnbret^e, after the style of Fancbon the Cricket, etc. All characters are good. It aboun.ls in fine situa- tions, ami is a great success. Costumes modern. Time of performance 2 hours.
227 Maud's Peril. A drama in 4 acts, by Watts Phillips, 5 males 3 females. A very populordrnma of the present time. Strong and sensational. English Cos- tumes of the present, time. Easily put on the stage. Time 1 1-2 hours.
228 Ijauderbauch's Little Surprise. An Original farce in one scene, by E. Henri Bauman, a males. A roaring piece, the humor being about equally divid- ed between a Dutchman— a negro digused as a woman, and a negro boy. Costumes modern. Place anywhere. Time of performance 20 minutes,
229 The Mountebanks- A Specialty-drama in 4 acts, by Fred. G. An- drews, 6 males 2 females. Two of the characters assume various disguises, at once effective and artistic. The drama is replete with fine situations, and unlooked-lor developments. Mirth and sadness are well combined. Costumes modern. Time of performance 2hours. An Auu'rican drami of the pre.-c:it time.
230 Hamlet the Dainty. An Ethiopian burlesque on Shakespeare's Hamlet, by (iriHiii, 6 males, 1 female. Burlesque costumes of Hamlet. Very fun- ny. Time l.'i minutes. ^ , „ ,. ,, . , . , ,,, ,
231 Match for a Mother-in-Law. A Comedietta in 1 act, by Wybert Eoeve, 3miiU-s, 2 females. The henpucl^ed husband, his friend, a servant, the wife and the mother-in-law, constitutes the dramatis pcrsonae. Very suitable for private and amateur use, as well as professional. Costumes modern. Interior scene. Time
232 Stage Struck Yankee. A farce in 1 act, by 0. E. Durivage, 4 males, 2 females, ^-cenes, interiors. A Yankee becomes badly stage struck, by seeing a play in a barn, discards his affianced for an actress. The manner of his becoming disenchanted, is shown in the play. It is full of laugh. Time 45 minutes.
233 Freezing a Mother-in-law. A farce in in 1 act, by T. E. Pemberr ton, 3 males, 2 fema.es. Co.-'tumes modem. One interior scene. Old man 2 walk- ing eents, old woman, walking lady. A mother-in-law is to be frozen in order to gain her consent to her daughter's marriage. She discovers the plot, substitutes water for the freezing fluid, yet pretends to be equally afEectual by it. Time 45
234 ' Old Dad's Cabin. An Ethiopian farce in one act, by Charles White, 2 males, 1 female. An e- eel I'nr darkey play, full of good situations and sparkling dialogue. Costumes modern. Time 4U minutes.