Scene III.

A drawing-room; doors in the flat; one opening into Miss Juliana Smashaway's boudoir, and the other to her bed-chamber. She is discovered standing at the window in a pensive attitude. She sighs heavily, and rubs her temples with "eau de Cologne."

Miss S.—He comes not—half-past four! Ah, fickle Connor!
Is this thy plighted faith, and thrice-pledged honour?
Was it for this, I waived a grocer's hand,
And twice refused a counter in the Strand,
Sent back an offer from a Tenth Hussar,
And without warning left Soho bazaar,
Rejected Griskin, that rich man of mutton;
Shy'd Lincoln Stanhope, and cut Manners Sutton?

(Sudden noise. Voices without.)

1st voice.—Fare's sixteen-pence, and with one bob I'm shamm'd! Fork out the four-pence!
2nd voice. First I'd see you d—d!

(Door opens. Clipclose rushes in, and embraces Miss Smashaway.)

Miss S. (with considerable spirit.)—Unhand me, fellow! Whence this bold intrusion?
I think I'll faint, I feel in such confusion.

(Cab stops suddenly at the door. Miss S. looks out alarmed. Loud knocking. Alarum.)

Miss S.—Lost—lost for ever!
Mr. C. Pray, madam, what's the matter?
Miss S.—Heard ye no broadsword on the pavement clatter?
Mr. C.—A broadsword! Zounds! My teeth begin to chatter!
Miss S.—Where shall I hide him?—(Opens the chamber door.)—In, sir, or you 're dead.
Mr. C.—Can nothing save me?
Miss S. Creep beneath the bed.

(Door opens. Mags peeps in.)

Mags.—She's quite alone. Oh, happy Matthew Mags!

(Maid-servant enters.)

Maid.—A chap's below who says he's Samuel Snags.
Mags.—I'm a done man; for that 'ere cove will blow me.
Miss S.—Follow me in, and I will safely stow ye.

(Enter Snags.)

Snags.—Divine Miss Smashaway, I humbly kneel
To plead a passion you can never feel;
A smile will save, a frown as surely kill,
One who for you has robb'd his master's till.
Miss S.—Well, after that the man deserves some pity.—
Knocking again! and here comes my maid Kitty.

(Enter Maid.)

Maid.—One Mr. Poppleton.
Miss S. Was ever one so courted?
Snags.—All's up with me; for life I'll be transported!
Ma'am, could you save a lover?
Miss S. Let me see.
Oh, yes; the bed will surely cover three.

(Puts Snags into bed-chamber. Enter Poppleton.)

Pop.—Where is my charmer?

(Enter Maid, hastily.)

Maid (to Pop.) Sir, you're dead as mutton;
The Captain's come. Your life's not worth a button.
Pop.—Where shall I hide?
Miss S. (to the Maid.) Put him with t'other three;
They're the same firm, "Clipclose and company."

(A heavy footstep is heard, and a sword strikes against the stairs. Enter the Captain, whistling "Darby Kelly.")

Miss S. (flies into his arms.)—My own loved Guardsman, and my fancy beau.
Oh, Terence Connor! (Kissing him.)
Capt. (embracing her.)—Sweet Juliana, O!
Miss S.—Why did you dally, dearest; tell me all?
Were you on guard?
Capt. Yes, sweetest, at Whitehall.
Miss S.—Ah, you false man,—(taps his cheek playfully,)—I'll watch you close.

(Somebody sneezes within.)

Capt. What's that?
Miss S.—Nothing, dear Terence, but the landlord's cat.

(Somebody coughs twice.)

Capt.—A cough!—another! Do cats cough so, my fair?
Ha! her cheeks redden! Tell me who is there?
That guilty look! Zounds! If my fears be true,
He'll curse the hour he dared to visit you!

(Draws his sword, and rushes into the bed-chamber. Miss S. faints. Voices within.)

Capt.—A man!—my eyes! another!—and another!
A fourth one still!
Snags. I'm dead with fright!
Pop. I smother!

(Capt. drives them before him into the drawing-room.)

Capt. (in a frenzy.)—Why, hell and Tommy! the maid whom I adore
To prove untrue, and play me false with four!
But all shall die!

(Captain Connor cuts No. 6. with his sword, while Clipclose and company fall upon their knees.)

Mags. Oh, Lord! I'm dead already!
Capt.—Prepare for death!
Snags and Pop. Indeed, sir, we an't ready.
Mr. C.—Probably, sir, affection for my wife
Might plead my pardon, and reprieve my life.

(Enter, hastily, Mrs. Clipclose and Annette.)

Mrs. C.—Why, what's all this? What do my eyes discover?
An errant husband, and a truant lover!
(Aside to Mr. C.)—Was it for this I gave my faith to you?
(Aside to Capt. C.)—Was it for this I drove you out to Kew,
Paid cab and lunch, brown stout, and ruin blue?

(Capt. C. drops the point of his sword, and evinces great contrition for attempting the lives of the company, when enter an elderly pieman with a juvenile dealer in "all-hots," attended by two policemen. Pieman identifies Miss Smashaway.)

Pieman.—That 'ere flash madam hit me in the withers.
All-hot (pointing to Mr. Clipclose).—And that cove knock'd my kitchen-range to shivers!
Mr. C. (to Policeman.)—Let me explain, sir.
Miss S. Pray, sir, let me speak.
Policeman.—Silence! and keep your gammon for the beak.

(A rumbling noise heard underneath, attended by a disagreeable vapour.)

Policeman.—Zounds! what is this? it smothers me almost.
Is it the gas-pipe?
Capt. C. No, dash my wig! a ghost!

(Slow music. Apparition of Old Clipclose rises through the stage, dressed in a white shirt, and scarlet nightcap.)

(To the Ghost.)

(Capt. C. seems thunderstruck, grinds his teeth passionately, then strikes his forehead, and sings.)

Ghost (to the Capt.)—Shut your potato-trap! we still refuse—
The corps's so moral—Life-Guardsmen and Blues.
4th Wife.—Cheer up, my Connor; 'twas in jest I spoke,
When I affirm'd my best beloved was broke.
Ghost (addressing the company).—Ladies and Gemmen, give the ghost a hearance,
As this, his first, must be his last appearance.
(To Mr. and Mrs. Clipclose)—Bent upon wedlock, and an heir, to vex ye,
If toasted cheese had not brought apoplexy,
I died asleep, and left my hard-won riches;
Search the left pocket of my dark drab breeches;
Open the safe, and there you'll find my will;
Deal for cash only and stick to Ludgate-hill;
Watch the apprentices, and lock the till;
And quit the turf, the finish, and the mill;
Turn a new leaf, and leave off former sins;
Pay the pieman, and mend young "All-hot's" tins.
Mr. C. (doubtfully.)—Did you die rich, dad?
Ghost. Rich as any Jew;
And half a plum, son Bob, devolves on you.
Mrs. C.—What a dear ghost, to die when he was wanted!
Will you forgive me?
Ghost. Ma'am, your pardon's granted.
My time's but short; but still, before I go,
With Miss Juliana I would sport a toe.
Miss S.—With all my heart. What would your ghostship order?
Ghost.—Tell them to play, "Blue bonnets o'er the border."

Apollonicon strikes up the country-dance. Ghost leads off with Miss Smashaway; the Captain follows with Mrs. Clipclose; Clipclose, Mags, Snags, and Poppleton each choose one of the Captain's Wives; the Police dance with the Ladies' Maids; and the Pieman with "All-hot." Twice down the middle, poussette, and form hands round. At the end of the dance, the Ghost vanishes, and the remainder of the dramatis personÆ take hands, and advance to the stage-lights.

(Curtain falls amid tremendous applause, and a call for the author.)

CRITICAL REMARKS BY AN M.P.

"I am not in the habit of frequenting the theatres, nor indeed any public house, except the House of Commons; neither do I pretend to be particularly conversant with the drama: but, by general consent, this play has been declared not inferior to the happiest effort of the bard of Avon, as player-people call William Shakspeare. I have not seen it represented; for, the free list being suspended, prudence would not permit me to attend. Had half-price been taken, I think I should have gone to the two-shilling gallery; but this question is irrelevant.

"The author deserves well of his country. Indeed, his is a double claim; and the debt consequently due by the public would amount to a large tottle. No doubt the restoration of the drama is a matter of some importance; but surely the diminution of drumsticks is one of infinitely greater consideration!

"I perceive by the playbills,—one of which I was enabled to obtain gratis,—that a gentleman called Tambourette performs upon two drums with a single stick. Now, I call the public attention to this important discovery; and, in these times of retrenchment and reform, the introduction of this system into our military establishment should be at once insisted on. The saving would be immense. Assuming that there are one hundred and three battalions of foot, and, on an average, twelve drums to each regiment,—a shameful waste of public money, by-the-bye, one drum and fife being quite sufficient for each corps, as they only alarm an enemy in war-time, and, in peace, destroy the utility of servant-maids by seducing them eternally to the windows. Well, even permitting this extravagant number to remain; by adopting Mr. Tambourette's system of performance, one thousand two hundred and thirty-six drumsticks would be saved to the country. Now, averaging the cost of the smaller-sized drumstick at sixpence, and the larger at one shilling, a reduction in the army estimates might be effected of one thousand one hundred and thirty-three small and one hundred and three large ones; making a tottle to the credit of the nation of 33l. 9s. 6d.!!!

"If the author will furnish me with the necessary information to enable me to frame a bill, I will move for a return of the drummers attached at present to the army: specifying their respective names, weights, heights, and ages, and take the earliest opportunity of bringing the matter before parliament.

"J.H.

"July 1, 1837.

"P.S. If one thousand two hundred and thirty-six drumsticks be dispensed with, it follows that a similar number of drummers' hands will then remain unoccupied. Might not a one-handed fife be introduced, or a pandean pipe substituted, and fifers totally abolished? I see no reason why the same man should not play the drum and fife together. This, indeed, would be a reduction worthy a reformed parliament, and a tremendous saving to the public purse.

"J.H."