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CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Institut canadien de microreproductions historiques

1980

Technical Notes / Notes techniques

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of

fil

or
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D
D

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in

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in
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The images appearing here are the best quality
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Maps or plates too large to be entirely included
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Les cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour dtre
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1 2 3

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Comers

Beins

Ye Faithful Drama

Ye Artists' V^i^detta

^>t.<)Cin/tJ

Duncan & Hall,

PuiiLISHERS.

Philadelphia,

PSS4&7

-D / X o N , ^ f) .

/> ^,

69572

( OPYI'IGHT BY
IXNCAN A HALL, PHILADELPHIA

1880

EPISTLE DEDICATORY.

My Dear Lord Diifferin :

May I dedicate this little play to you in retnemb ranee of
the many happy hours at Rideau bearing especially in mind
all that is associated with that never-to-be-forgotten night
when your Epilogue was spoken—

" Ando/t at home when Christmas fire-loss burn

Our Pensive thoughts instinctively will turn

To this fair city with her crown of towers.
And all the Joys and friends that once were ours,
And q/t shall yearning fancy fondly fill
This hall with guests, and conjure up at will
Each dear familiar face, each kindly word—'

Philadelphia, Christmas, iS8o.

Faithfully,

THE AUTHOR.

TIME— To-L)AY. PLACE— :\. Conundrum.

ACT r.

The Plot — In a Studio.

ACT II.
High Art — In a Barn.

ACT III.
MoME — /// a Cottage.

fc.5JX jLi «iai»»

DRAMATIS J^ERSON/E.

RAPHAEL GAMBOGE

IL BACIO MODDLE

BAROUCHE BROli'N.

nR. SAM FLOYD

NATHANIEL BOBBIN

ALFRESCO DADO

MAUD CASHMERE BOUQUET.
CONSUELA RENAISSANCE

A Painter.

A Sculptor.

An Art CmTie.

An Unkmotionai. Physician.

. . An Enthusiast in Soap.

)■ Daughtkks to Brown.

MISSALHAMBRA FRIEZE t„hir Hi.h-C.u

MISS CAIRNGORM .

UKCH Friend.

A Woman Reporter.

ANGELICO BEN. CEL BA Y7P7? n

c^^. jiAXlLh. . . Colored page to the Browns.

a Brown's meek handmaiden.)
An Angel in the oyster business.

• . . . A HIT OF EGG shell CHINA.

An Egyptian Mummy.

An Old Greek Marblh.

COSETTES' ANKLES. . (Cosette bein

BILL BVLES

CRICKET

GRASSHOPPER

STUMPS.

POLICEMEN. CONNOISSEURS, ETC.

•9*

ACT I. THE PLOT.

Scene I. — 77ie Studio.

Enter Raphael GAMnor.ic, excitedly holding a neiospaper in his

hand.

Gamboge. I don't mind the feliow making an infernal fool of
himself as long as some other idiot can be found to pay him
twenty dollars a column for it, but I wish to heaven he would
make an ass of himself on some other subject than Art ! Was ever
such a lot of rubbish palmed off on an unsuspecting public !
\^Reads.'\ " There is an indefinable something which steals upon
the beholder, a lack of symphonic treatment, so to speak — a sub-
tle idea — er-er — that is to say — aw — he — in fact he does not grasp
his subject boldly, and there is a lack of a sense of vacancy about
his sky, as it were, that seems to express, clumsy handling — Ah-h
-h! The Old Masters ! They were the glorious fellows." D— n
the Old Masters ! If I had this ill-conditioned mule in the open
r.ir, I'd let him know pretty precious quick if I could not handle a
subject boldly and give him such a sense of vacancy, regarding
the sky, as would send him home on a shutter !

Enter Moddlk.

Moddle. Halloo, Gam, how is things? Somehow you don't
look happy! Oh, ah, you've been reading the Fog Whistle, have

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

you ? I thought you had sworn off on reading criticisms ! I
would smile at such rot — smile philosophically, Gam.

Gamboge. Teach me your philosophic smile, will you? So you
have seen his notice of your Jephtha's daughter?"

Moddle. No ! where ? what does he say ?

[ Takes the paper from Gamboge and reads.'\

Moddle \in a rage'\. Why hang this idiotic drivel ! He has
mixed me up with another man, \^Slaps the paper furiously. '\ Here
he says my Jephtha's daughter looks like a pickle-eating graduate
of the public school, a cadaverous female thr.t ought with my
Bacchus to make a pair — (my Bacchus !) exhibited last year at the
Academy, which had the appearance of being modeled from Pork
and after re-named Jack Spratt and wife, the Society for the pre-
vention of Cruelty to Animals should demand that ^^ oth be ground
to powder for the culture of cabbage — why the d — fool Chizzle
did Bacchus. Now Gam, what the devil are you making that
face for?

Gamboge. I was not aware that I was making a face. I was
watching for the first beam of your philosophic smile.

Moddle. H'm, well you must admit that compared with myself
he has let you down easy. But I swear — by all the Chizzles and
chisels — animate and inanimate, I'll be even with Brown before
snow is on the ground.

Gamboge \seizing his hand\. And I'll help you.

\^A knock is heard. ~\

Ye Last Szvect Thing in Corners. g

Moddle. There's some one, I'll be o-iJ-h — see you later.

[^Exit MoDDi.K, side door.
[(iAMHor.K, after a hasty glance about the apartment^ opens door.]
Enter fat, over-dressed Old Ladv, 7vith 07>er.dressed YoUNG
Daughter, who 7valk in and stare about them.

Gamboge. How can I serve you, ladies?

Fat Old Lady, Can you finish my daughter in water and ile ?

Gamboge. You wish her portrait painted, I presume, madam ?

F. O. L. Lor' bless you no, we got three of 'em now. You
know my man's in the provision business, and we got a paintei to
paint her likeness an' take it out in trade; she has just left school
an' we want her io be finished \v. water an' ile, an' be taught to

criticise the paintings in the picter galleries. My man he was

dead sot on having the other painter feller learn her and take it
out in trade, but Mirandy read in the paper that he didn't put the
best French paint in his pictures an" I says to Dan, says I, " Dan'l
you can jest as well afford to have your daughter finished in water
an' ile as them Napthas, Bacon is as good as petroleum any day."
I had him there, an' he gave me a check, an' I want you to make
an A I artist of Miranda and do it reasonable.

Miranda [who has been staring out of the windoto upon the
street]. Oh Mar, there's the Napthas' carriage across the way and
Eveleen has gone up stairs with her drawing book. [ Turns to
Artist ] Why I thought you gave Miss Naptha painting lessons.

Gamboge. No, madame, I have no pupil by that name.

Ve Last Siueet Thmz in Corners.

JMiranda [fo/ding her ivrap around her'\. O dear me, mar,
we've made a mistake, I want to take lessons of the same teacher
Evelecn Naptha docs.

/''. O. L. I-aws-a-me — that's too bad; we've got in the wrong
place and raised your hopes, young man. Hope wc haven"', taken,
up your time. Mirandy, lift your dress goin' down tliem dirty
stairs. \^Exit.

Gamboge \Jhrowing himself in a chair despondenlly'\. The same
old story ! People think no more of an artist's time ! \^A knock
at the door. ~\ There it goes again ; another infernal bore I'll bet
my dinner — if I have money enough left to get it.

[ Opens the door. ]

Enter the MissKS Alfresco and Maud Brown, accompanied by a
Sl.KNDER Young Man sucking the end of his cane.

Alfresco. How do you do, Mr. Gamboge? Pray don't let us
disturb you — commune with your muse — ^^just as if we were not
here, we have only come to stay an hour or so and look at the
pretty things.

Gamboge. I am honored. Miss Brown.

[Alfresco stands in a rapture before a landscape, meanwhile
Slender Young Man and Maud walk about the studio criti-
cising audibly.^

Alfresco. How sweetly pretty. Isn't it a love ! I think Papa
was severe on you in the paper this morning, hut he means it for
your good — we must wkA murmur at immolation on the shrine of

Ve Last Stveet TJiins: in Corners.

Art. Bnt really, this is lovely. It makes me think of one of
Prnng's happiest bits— I think after the old masters, Papa dotes on
Prang ; you paint in sympathy with Prang, don't you think so ? I
am not trying to flatter you, I assure you. Those cows are elegant,
and the tin pail in the milkmaid's hand is so true to nature ! And
Maud, just look ! What a pre-Raphaelite effect that spot of ver-
digris on the pail handle has !

Gamboge. If your father is severe, you are certainly too kind.

Alfresco. What a clever fellow that Ilors Concours is! And
such a hard-working person, I see his paintings in almost every
gallery I visit. I dare say he and you are fast friends.

Gaviboge [//emurefy]. Oh yes, //ors Concours is a very dis-
tinguished man.

Maud. Don't you think, Mr. Gamboge, that the animals in your
paintings are nearly all out of drawing ?

Gamboge [biting his lip\. I beg your pardon?
[S. Y. M. has opened a private sketch book of studies from the
nude — he and Miss Alfresco start back shocked.^

Alfresco. 0\v di^-xxX [Faintly.']

Maud. What is the matter, sister mine ?

Alfresco. A sudden faintness, that is all— do not mind me, I
shall be better presently.

S. V. M. [putting up his glass at Gamboge]. Mr. Gamboge, I
am surprised at you.

Gamboge [angrily]. Well, my dear sir, that is a private port-

mmM

12 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

folio, not intended for visitors' inspection ; those studies from the
nude —

S. K AI. [coughing-]. Ahem! This conversation is getting to
too fine a point, remember, sir, there are ladies present.

Maud [.ohLsperingl Why is it that artists are so immoral in
the.r tendencies ? See ! [Clutching S. Y. M.'s arm.] He has got
some woman in that room. [Points to lay figure.] The horrid
creature !

[Exit Misses Brown lookin.r reproachfully and indi^rnantly at
GAMBOGK, folknved by S. Y. M., who places a tract on the artistes
easel. ]

Gamboge [dejectedly]. Another hour of this would drive me
mad. What a lovely girl that Miss Brown is to look at. What a
pity she is such a fool. I'll get my dinner and take the taste of
this out of my mouth. [Feels in his pockets for money.] Eighteen
nineteen ; and here's a five cent piece, twenty-four. I must have
another nickle somewhere_yes-no_it's a button off my light
coat-Ah, Eureka-ten cents. By Jove, here's fortune; thirty-
four cents. Now for dinner a la carte. I can get beefsteak and
two vegetables for twenty-five cents and one beer five cents and
have four cents left for two stamps to post Mrs. DeMontague's,
and Thorn's bills_or I could get veal pot pie for twenty cents'
and get two beers-I'm tired of veal, I'll get mutton stew for
fifteen cents-No I won't; the amount of mutton I've consumed
since the exchequer has been low is simply horrible to contemplate.
I shall be going around on four legs-and hire myself out as a

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

model to Verboeckhoven. We'll have a fresh menu. I might get
soup, ten cents; corned-beef hash, ten cents; sweet potatoes, five
cents, and one beer — that's the ticket! but hold, hold my heart,
Where's my supper to come from ? I might drop in Vandyck's about
that time — no, that won't do, I was there three days ago, and it's too
thin — or to speak less vulgarly, it's not sufficiently opaque and it's
hardly a week since I took a meal at his expense. Now I'll begin
all over again. Beef's a necessity — greens a luxury, so I'll say
beef stew, fifteen cents {ihey give bread with it), and one beer —
twenty cents, ten cents left for supper and four cents for postage
stamps — I trust to Providence for breakfast, don't give up the ship
old fellow ! Commune with your muse ; and dine on Art ; [^makes
a face'] I felt like telling Miss Brown that my muse is a coy damsel,
that comes only to me after the studio rent is paid, that my inspir-
ation is helped by a good dinner. Dine on Art — What rot ! \^A
knock is heard"] Oh — the deuce — who is that ? [ Opens the door.]

Enter a Motherly Person, a Young Bride, ati Esthetic
Maiden, a Woman Reporter, Brown of the Fog Whistle and
a Child of ten years. They smile at and nod to Gamhoge or
ignore him, and walk about the room looking at the paintings.

Motherly Person, And so you're a painter, why where's your
parents?

Gamboge. They are dead, madame.

Moth. Per. Oh, I understand. How much can you make a
week at this business ?

Gamboqe. Well, really, madame, I — the fact is I can't say —

IMHMi

Ye Last Sweet T/iing in Comers.

Our remuneration is greater than in some professions, but it is
often precarious —

Young Bride. Mr. Gamboge-I d.n't see anything I like here.
Can't you tell me where I can get a really ^W painting about
ten by fifteen inches, to fit in a space on my wall ?

Gamboge. You had better go to a dealer, madame, I don't
paint for the trade.

CAild. Mr. Gamboge, the face of the gid in the hammock
needs a little cadmium yellow, and I don't think the drapery of her
polonaise is true to nature.

[ Gamboge stares at Child and looks about to zvhistle or to S7oear.]
IVoman Reporter Iwalking over to Gamboge, sotto voce-\. I'll
stay till these people go, because I want you to give me some
items for my Art article.
Moth. Per. Have you got a good boarding-house, young man >
Gamboge. \-.^-^or.\ board exactly-that is l-lbreak^down-].
Moth. Per. Ista. /ng at the so/a}. Do you sleep here all nicrht,
or how ? '^

Brown [the cHt/c]. I say Gamboge, this isn't a bad thing; is
it a water color or a chromo?
Gamboge. It is —

^sth,-tu Maiden {_sweetly\ Mr. Gamboge, won't you tell me
some pretty little anecdote about the Old Masters, if you are not
too busy now, I want to put it in my diary.

Moth. Per. What do you have to pay for your dinner, general-
ly speaking?

] V Last Sivcet Thing in Corners.

Gamboge [^Generally speaking this week I haven'' t had any din-
ner to speak about.'] That depends on my appetite, maJame.

Young Bride. Mr. Gamboge, couldn't you give me a card to
some dealer who would let me have a picture cheaper on account
of my knowing you ?

Gamboge. I fear it would not do any good, madame.

Moth, Per. Do you generally have a good appetite, or does the
smell of your pictures siccen you of your food ?

Gamboge. Yes, sometimes I have no appetite ior my dinner —
\^Aside, And sometimes I have no dinner for my appetite.]

Child. Mr. Gamboge, didn't you make that pedestal out of a
grocery box ?

Moth. Per. Whose child is that, any relation of yours ?

Gamboge [aside, Heaven forbid]. I don't know whose child it

is.

Moth. Per. What is it doing here ?

Gamboge. That is a question I fain would ask myself.

The Child. You need not whisper, say it out loud ; I hear you ;
I am in pursuit of Art culture. I read the criticisms and I came
to see if you were a true artist or a servile imitator — Were you a
true artist you would encourage me in my thirst for Art.

\_Exit Child, slam?ning door.

Gamboge \aside]. I'd like to educate her with an old slipper.

Moth Per. I must go, now, but I shan't forget you — I know the
way an' I'll come real often — Good bye.

Gamboge \Jwwing her to the door]. Thanks, madame.

\^Exit MoTHKRi.Y Pkrson.

Ye Last Siveet Thing in Corners.

Brown. By the way, Gamboge, that's a neat little thing, ye
dog and child ; quite in ye Dutch spirit and feeling. How one of
my daughters would like that for her room. Is it ordered.

Gamboge. Yes, it is sold. [Asidel How I wish it was.

Brown. I'll tell you what I'll do, Gamboge, yo ' paint me a
first-rate picture, and I'll hang it up in our Queen Nancy living-room
at my chateau ; I will, indeed. You're no genius, Gamboge, and
you haven't much talent, but you're no drone. There's a want of
freedom in your handling, but you're an industrious fellow and I
want to see you get on. Now you paint me some bit of sky and
some green, or ye flock of sheep in ye thunder-storm, or ye Orien-
tal sword dance — I leave ye motif to yourself, and if you do it
welly I'll have your name put on ye frame. People will be sure
to see it; we have so many visitors and it will bring you in orders.
I'll drop in next week. Good-day and grammercy !

\Exit Brown.

Young Bride. Mr. Gamboge, have you a littje bit of carmine
you don't want, just the tiniest little bit? I want to deccDrate an
Etruscan vase with some Lady Washington geraniums, and I am
too tired to go all tlie way down to Cobalt's to buy it.

Gamboge \Jiands her a little tube']. There is a trifle of it, ma-
dame.

Young Bride. Oh, thanks ! I'm awfully obliged. Now, when
you paint something real srveet I'll send some friends of mine to
look at it. Good-bye. Wish I could stay longer, but my husband
will be home and he is so lonely without me. \^Exit Y. B.

Ve Last Siveet Thing in Corners. \ 7

[Gamboge doses door after Young Bride, and turning around dis-
covers /Esthetic Maiden asleep on the sofa ; looks up in em-
barrassment at the Woman Reporter, ivho is scribbling in a
note-book.']

Woman Reporter. I guess I've got enough for three-quarters of
a column. Can't you help me spin it out to a column, then I'll
get five dollars for it.

Gamboge. If you would suggest anything, I might tell you what
I know about it.

IVoman R. Oh, anything about artists to fill up; any roman-
tic incidents or cases of destitution. Is any painter going to the
seaside or has he had an order from a rich man. Anybody in
consumption, or going to be married, or going to Europe ?

Gamboge. Yes, Chloral died last night.

Woman R. Consumption ?

Gamboge. Yes, call it consumption.

Woman R. Iscribbling] Go on ; I've got that. I'm afraid you're
tired. I won't keep you much longer. Tell me what sort of a
painter Gizzard is, and I'll go.

Gamboge. What sort ?

W. R. Yes, what is his style ? Tell me what I had better say
about his last picture; I haven't seen it, but I asked Vandyck
and Vert Green, and now you, and I guess between you I can
strike an average. What shall I call it- French or American ?

Gamboge. Call it Franco-American, the newspapers have not
used that word threadbare.

Ye Last Sweet Thing 'n Corners.

M^, a. You do look tived I wonder if you don't have your
own trouble? I ''o. I tell you writing for the papers is no joke,
and don't you just earn your money. Pay's good enough, but it's
too slow. Before I jumped into this thing of writing on Art, I
tried everything — wax flowers, whole art in one lesson, patent pro-
cess; then I beaded parasols and did spatter-work and decalco-
manie for a notion house ; then I canvassed Picturesque America
and Duplex Elliptic corsets, but I was getting into typhoid fever
and my head was all of a whirl, and one day I was fagged out I
got into a broker's office, where there was a lot of gentlemen, and
I got Picturesque and the corsets all mixed up, and they thought
I'd been drinking, but it was the fever coming on me. After that
I was ill ten weeks ; I got in the dollar store, ?.nd there it was nip
and tuck, I couldn't get out of debt; so I thought I'd make a
bold strike for the Spiritualists,— -" seventh daughter of a seventh
daughter; tells family secrets; reveals destinies ; shows husband's
photograph ; eighth wonder of the world ; Ladies, 50 cents ; no
Gents; ring the basement bell." I had an ad. all written out
when T met a young fellow, foreman in printing office of the Fog
Whistle, and says he to me, he says — why don't you write on Art,
that's the latest dodge? O land, I says, I can't tell a chromeo
from an Old Master. Yes, he says. Go to a second-hand shop
and get a lot of old art catalogues by Ruskin and those fellows
and read em up; so it reads well, that's all the papers care. And
so I did, and in about a montli I could tell which way the cat
jumped as well as the next one, and I skipped out of that dollar
store lively. I move now in tip-top society, and here I am.

Ve Last Siveet Thing in Corners. 19

Camhoi^e. How long did you say you had been writing on Art ?

W. R. About a year,— but I must go, you're busy, ain't you ?

Gamboge {smiling]. I have not had a chance to be busy. I have
been interrupted so many times to-day,

IV. R. Haven't you had your dinner yet? Don't be offended,
I'm right out, I am. If you're short, I can ^end you a couple of
dollars.

Gatiiboge {quickly'\ . No, no, but I thank you, — I mean I have
had no time to leave my studio.

W. R. Your wife's asleep; she believes in taking things easy;
she's just right.

Gamboge. The lady is a perfect stranger to me. Would you

[hesitatingly'] be good enough to wake her?

JV. R. [shaking tEsthetic Maiden], Wake up, wake up, Mr.
Gamboge wants to go to his dinner.

ALsthetic Maiden. Ah ! I did but dream then. Methought I
was in the Sistine chapel in Italy.

W. R. To be continued in our next. You had better finish
your dream in your own ijoarcling-house, and let this man have a
rest. Good-bye, Mr, Gamboge ; I am much obliged. Send you a
copy of my Art article. [Exit Woman Reporter.

A. Maiden [calling after IV. R.]. Woman, don't leave me
alone, and here. How indiscreet of you. Wait for me. Adieu,
Mr. Gamboge ; forgive my discourteous haste. [Exit.

Gamboge {solemnly.) Thank heaven, I am alone. I began to
think I never should 'oe {changes his coat). I am going to have a

«ip

Vi' Last Siveet Tiling in Corners.

new rule about visitors, either that or blow my brains out, that is
if I haye any to blow out, which I am beginning to doubt.
Humph — P'og Whistle's impudence, I'll do him a picture when
he pays in advance for it. The D. E. Corset canvasser is a caution
for veterans, but she's an ornament to society compared with him.
Wonder what Moddle wanted so all of a sudden. There he is
now.

Enter rough looking stranger who walks into the centre of the
stndio and stares at the artist without speaking.

Gamboge. Did you wish to see me ?

Stranger. My name's Byles, Bill Byles, can you paint?

Gamboge. These are my works, Mr. Byles.

Byles [contemptuously^ I don't mean those jimcracks, the man
who has done my painting work has gone to Frisco, and I thought
may be I could get a painter feller like you, to do it well enough-
I wanted a sign painted. Could you do it?

Gamboge [glancittg nervously at the door"]. Yes, I can paint a
sign for you.

Byles. Now I don't want you to put any high art ruffles in it.
I want an oyster sign. Could you paint an oyster sign ?

Gamboge l/aintly']. Yes, I can paint an oyster sign. Wliat
name ? and how large is it to be ?

Byles. No name at all — I want a border kinder fancy, of
oysters all around it, and three plates in the middle. Could you
paint an oyster plate ?

Gamboge, Oh, yes.

Ve Last Suwel Tiling in Corners. 21

Byles. Then I want you lo paint on the plates, a raw, and a
fry and a stew. Hold up, I only live a block off; couldn't I send
you a raw and a fry and a stew every day until it is done. Don't
you make no mistake — I won't dock it off your pay.

Gamboge [smiling']. Tha^iks, that would be a good idea, they
would be of great use to me to paint from \^aside, " And to eat after-
7anr,/s'].

Bylcs. And then in some nice, handy way, couldn't you paint
a bottle of ketchup and some crackers and — do you think you
could paint a plate of cold slaw ?

Gamboge [tfyirig not to smile']. If you were to send the cold
slaw I think I could manage it.

Byles. I guess that's all ; now bis is bis. What'll you take to
paint a sign like that? Speak out, and no gander dancing.

Gamboge [timidly]. Would fifteen dollars be too much?

Byles. I'll give you twenty dollars if you do it bang up this
week. Here's ten now — the baJance on delivery. I'll send the
lumber and oysters around in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

Gamboge. Thank you, sir, you are very prompt. I wish all
my patrons were the same.

Byles. They ain't; you needn't tell me; I seed it in your face,
quick as I came in. Hut I worked hard when I started in the busi-
ness an' I can feel for a fellow who has smatl sales and no profits.
Well, so long. Be good to yourself.

[Exit.

Gamboge [looks at (en dollar note, puts it in his vest pocket, does

i«W

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Comers.

I I

a caper about the room, then seats himself and laughs aloud"].
Heaven tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. I'll never lose faith
again; I'll ask Moddle to dine with me to-day, and to-morrow I'll
feast on oysters. Oysterman you're a trump; the right and left
bower and all the aces. [Knocks on the wall."]

ModdWs -joice. Halloo.

Gamboge. Come in here, I want you.

ModdWs voice. All right.

Enter MoDDi.E.

Gamboge. Have you had your dinner?

Moddle. No, just going.

Gamboge. Dine with me. I have had an unexpected streak of
luck, only a pot-boiler, but enough for present necessities. [Loud
knocking at the door.] Whoever that is I'll say plump out that 1
can't stay, for I'm as hungry as fifteen bears. [ Opens door].

Enter t%vo men, one with a large board, the other 7vith a covered

tray,

1st man. Mr. Gamboge ?

Gamboge. Yes.

ist man. This board is for you.

Gamboge. Put it here.

2nd man. Is your name Gamboge ?

Gamboge, It is.

2d Man. This here tray of oysters is for you [places tray on
table] — one box stew, one big fry, one dozen raw, crackers, ketch-

Ve Last Szueet Thing in Corners.

up, cold slaw, pepper sass, salt, pepper, mustard, knives, forks,
spoons, plates, pumpkin pie, two pints of pale ale, — all right, sir ?

Gamboge. All right, my fine fellow. [aside'\ Immensely all right.

Moddle [whistling']. You have done it, haven't you? You're
a reckless fellow to sqiander your substance in this fashion. I
did not understand that wc —ere to dine here.

Gamboge {aside]. Neither did I ; {to Moudle] sit down while
its hot. Nature abhora a vacuum, at least mine does.
[ They seat themselves. GAMroGE helps his friend plentifully.]

Moddle. Here's richness.

Gamboge. They are good.

Moddle. Good is not strong enough.

Gamboge. Why don't you eat ? Here now, don't leave them
to waste.

Moddle. Softly, Gam. I was hungry ; all the same I haven't the
stomach of an ostrich. I have been wildly impatient to tell you
of the brilliant idea I have conceived for paying off old Brown.
Its something in your line — now don't say no— its just a nice job
for both of us, especially you ; and Grasshopper and Cricket.

Gamboge. Grasshopper and Cricket?

Moddle. Even so, I have already talked it over with them and
you never saw two such cases of inoculation in all your life,
they're going into train at once.

Gamboge. Is it a conundrum ? I hate conundrums.

Moddle. You want to pay off old Brown, don't you ?

Gamboge. Don't I ?

,. f

24 Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

ModMe. Now as we've finished our dinner, lock the door and
let us get to our work ; you get at your sign ; I know what that
board IS for-and I have some buttons to paint for a Yankee No-
tion house; so that we shall not be disturbed, write a card on the
door and say we are out of town, for a few days.

Gamboge, Suppose we do it up in style. Here's a good sized
card-[....V... then read, aloudl, ''Gone to dine whh August
Belmont; will return in five days." How's that?
Moddlf. A stroke of genius.

Gambooe. Now what are you going to do with Brown-he was
here to-day. Curse his impudence.

Moddle. I am going to marry his daughter.
Gamboge. Are you, indeed ?
Moddle. I am, and you shall marry his daughter.
Gamboge. Oh, shall I ? The same one ?
Moddle. No, her sister.

Gamboge. Thank you, that is certainly^ a less startling way of
putting it. Much obliged ; small favors thankfully received etc
you know the rest. But what's the plot ? ' '

Moddle. You know Brown's craze for objets d'art. as he calls
them?

Gatuboge. Slightly.

Moddle. And you may have caught a glimpse of his daughters-
passion for the mediceval?
Gamboge. Rather.
Moddle. And you have heard that the family " collect." '

Ve Last Sweet Thing ift Corners.

Gamboge. A few.

Moddle. And you know they live in a barn ?

Gamboge. No, by Jove, I didn't. That's the latest news from
the seat of war is it, well ?

Moddle. Briefly then, you and I and our upstairs familiars must
play a practical joke on them — you have the gift of gab —

Gamboge. Thank you.

Moddle. So you must be Dr. Bric-a-brac, a great collector. I
will be your friend, an authority on old china, by name, Claude
Kaolin ; we visit them with a cart load of curios — which I am
sure two ingenious fellows as you and I — ahem — ought to be al)le
to contrive. We will make them lively curiosities you know, and
astonish the Browns, somewhat ; Grasshoppei > Cricket and Stumps,
you know, who will make the rafters of that barn ring — then in
the midst of it we'll trump-up a charge against Brown for receiv-
ing stolen goods, and two mock policemen shall arrest the whole
family. We in propria persome appear in the nick of time — " The
Rescue," " The Betrothal," and bless you my children and ring
down the curtain to waltz time — Eh ?

Gamboge. It will take some thinking.

Moddle. And more talking. A few yards of rubber cloth, some
pins and some good accidents of color, and we can make any-
thing in the market from a giant in Satsuma to a mummy in old
Bronze.

Gamboge. Success to your plan.
Moddle. Our plan, if you please.

" T

I 1,1

26 Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

Gamboge. Success to our plan, then, here's to our future bride
and brother-in-law, and confusion to their dad.

[ They touch the empty g/asses.}

End of Act I.

ACT II. HIGH ART— IN THE BARN BEAUTIFUL.

Scene I. — Interior of a barn, in the suburbs of a city, appointed
in the Eastlake, Rococo, Medicaval, Queen Nancy style ; the
Misses Alfresco Dado rtw^ Maud Cashmere Bouquet Brown,
seated at embroidery and pottery painting ; two ankles of their
handmaiden COSETTE appear beneath the portiire which divides
the culinary department from the " living room.^'' Incidental
music during this act, by Cosette, addicted to smashing dishes ;
an inquisitive rooster, a crow, and a cow in the distance.

Enter Miss Alhambra Frieze.
Alhambra. I had such a time to find your house— barn — cha-
teau, I mean. I am so glad to see you. How perfectly exquisite
your new home is. It \%just charming. It makes me think of
dear, darling Italy.

Alfresco {^kissing her in rapture^ You're just one naughty girl
for not coming to us before.

Maud. Indeed you are. We have been pining to see you. We
have so much to tell you.

Alfresco. I knew you would like our house. Is not this a sym-
phony in homes ? \_Music by Cosette and the cow.'\
Alhambra. I have been neglectful, but I am coming real often
now. What a little paradise ! So aesthetic ! so artistic ! It makes
me think of a grand chord in one of Wagner's hymns or a poem
by Browning. Don't you feel as if you were in heaven ?

Ye Last Swecf Thing in Corners.

Alfresco. Yes, Alhambra,we are sweetly tranquil \jioise of -dias/i.
ing dishe: is heard behind the viediaval hangings'\; our lives are
as simple and primitive as the ancient Greeks. No bustle, no din
of the hollow world [Cosette smashes a plate'^, no bickerings no
heart-burnings, such as are felt by those who live a fashionable
life, do we know. We revel in the art works of the mighty Past.
We commune daily with the spirits of the masters of the Middle
Ages. Oh, how I wish it were the Middle Ages now, Alhambra.
But we are cheerful; we do not repine; but patiently hope that
the time may come when something worthy the name of Art shall
be done in this, our own country. Cosette, our maid ; Angelico
Benvenuto Cellini, our page, attend to our wants, which are few
and simple. At night we gather about our sacred tripod and papa
reads to us his criticisms, or from some fragmentary paper he may
have written during the day to elevate American Art.

Alhambra. Your embroidery is too lovely for anything. Is it
your own design ?

Alfresco. Yes, that is to say, almost my own design. I got it in
part from a funeral pall of the Elizabethan age. I am going to
have it made up for a window bench, if in the neighborhood I can
find a carpenter with a feeling for his business. Even now Ben-
venuto is looking for one for me.

Alhambra. What a lovely bust! And how beautifully that tor-
chon lace ruffle looks around its neck !

Alfresco. I am glad you like it, dear. It is a genuine antique.
That is just the corner for a bust— the toned white of the marble

Vc Last Sweet Thing in Corners,

against the blue necktie sympathizes with our rather severe scheme
of color, papa thinks.

Enter A. B. C. Baxter, the pa^e.

Alfresco. Speak, Benvenuto.

Ben \^qrinning'\. Couldn't fin' no Midinville carpenter, Mis'
Frisker, dar ain't none ob dat ar in de town.

Alfresco. You have not searched diligently. Go, ask at the post
office.

Ben. I dun went dar.

Alfresco. Did you inquire at the mill ?

Btn. Yes, Mis' Frisker, an de miller's wife said she nebber
heard ob no mechanic ob dat style.

Alfresco, Oh, the ignorance of the masses ! I told you to say
of the Middle Ages.

Ben. Yes, Mis' Frisker, I done said dat it peared like how you
wanted a middle-aged carpenter, an' she tole me to ax you if a
young man ob twenty-five years wouldn't suit you ?

Maud. There, go to your duties, stupid minion. Alfresco, my
sister, we must needs wait until we can pick up something in Lon-
don or Paris or Vienna.

Alfresco. Don't loiter, Benvenuto ; if you have nothing else to
do, go to Cosette and paste some tasteful chromos on the Hispano-
Moresque pie-plates your master brought from the museum yester-
flay. [5'jrjV Benvenuto.

Alliatiihra. T do so want to get an ecclesiastic chair for my

Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

l)Oudoir. I have hunted all over the city for it and I have been in
all the artistic second-hand shops without success.

Maud. You can get it at Fraction's.

Alhambra. No, dear, I tried ; they are bought up. Mr. Frac-
tion said he could make d. fortune if he could supply the demand
for ecclesiastic chairs.

Alfresco. Must it be second-hand, Alhambra, dear?

Al/iai/ibra \^^rep7-oachfulIy'\. Yes, of course.

Alfresco. Then, if I were you, I would have it made to order.
You can get any second-hand bargain duplicated ; no one could
ever tell that it was new if well done. You know Judge Plank-
down's cabinet of rare Dutch marquetry of the i6th ceniury,
Fraction made that for him in six weeks, brass clasps and all.

Alhambra. But where is Connie, all this time, and how is her
affaire tendre progressing ?

Alfresco. O, Connie is such a trial to us ; she nearly worries our
lives out with her irreverence for Art. She ridicules everything ;
our artistic home, our artistic labor and our artistic hopes. You
know Dr. Bricabrac and Mr. Kaolin, the great connoisseurs?

Alhavibra. I haven't met them, but I have heard of them, and
am wild to be introduced.

Alfresco. Give me that pleasure, they are valued friends of ours :
but I was about to say that Connie treats them very rudely, and
she actually told them she was going to be married, that she might
live among sane people once more.

Ve Last Sweet Tiling in Corners.

Maud. Where is she ? I wish her to go buy some crewels for
roe. [6a//f] "Connie."

\_Connie' s voice behind the porti^re'\ I'm coming [pettishly'].

Enter in riding habit.

A/fresco. Where are you going ?

Connie. Going for a gallop with Dr. Sam. How d'y do, Miss
Frieze? How's the Middle Ages at your house?

A/fresco. Connie, will you ever stop your slang? I do wish
you would be more dignified and not spend all your time riding
over the village; people will think it very strange of papa to allow
his youngest child to wander about alone.

Connie. That isn't the only thing that the people in these dig-
gings think strange. This ranche of ours is the talk of the place.
Only this morning I heard we were travelijig Gipsies, and the
Winslow's gardener asked Cosette if there was madness in our
family.

Alfresco. There have been noble sufferers for the cause of Art
before us. We can afford to treat the sneers of common people
with lofty contempt. What other solace do you need than the
study of Egyptian pottery ? What other society than your em-
broidery frame and your Mediaeval crewel samplers?

Connie. I'm not going to live in a junk shop for the sake of
Art or anything else, nor spend my time sewing crazy dandelions
on kitchen toweling, nor pasting chromos on frying pans, nor any
high or low art moonshine. I admire pretty things and love jiic-

Ve Last Sweet Thing hi Comers.

tures and I can tell an engraving from an oil painting, which is
more than half your art critics can do, but I don't want to have
"Art" dinned into my ears morning, noon and night.

Maud. Alfresco, dear, let her alone, she will never be like the
rest of us, no, not if she lives till doomsday,

Connie. I don't want to be. I am going to marry a man with
a reputation to sustain and it won't help him if it gets abroad that
he is going to marry into a crazy family.

Alhambra. Why, Connie, how unkind of you.

Co7tnie. They may as well hear it from me as from strangers.
Every time we go out we are stared at as if we were bedlamites,
and I am getting tired of it.

Alfresco. Dr. Sam is at the bottom of this. It is because of his
influence that you are so impertinent ; I know he dislikes us, but
if you had any family pride you would resent bis insolent allusions
to our artistic home.

Connie. He doesn't dislike you.

Enter Dr. Sam.

Dr. Sam. Indeed I do not dislike you. Alfresco, I think you
and Maud and my Connie are the loveliest girls in America and I
would do anything to prove my regard for you — that is to say, I
would do anything in reason, but I can't neglect my patients for
the Middle Ages, and I couldn't mix the Mediaeval medicines with
nineteenth century doses — upon my word, I could not. I'm a
radical and all my patients are uncompromisingly of this day of

! W

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

their own. I don't think I could get one of thorn to take a Queen
Anne pill or an Elizabethan mustard plaster to save iny life. They
would dismiss me first, and if my practice is ruined (Bonnie and I
can't get marrieil. \_Sits down on a plaque which xMaud has painted
and transfers the design to his white trousers.'] Oh, the dev — I
beg your pardon. Here's a nice mess.

Connie. Oh plague take your old pottery ! Look at my Sam's
trousers. [Begins to cry."]

Maud {sobbing]. Well, what did he sit down on my early Italian
plaque for — he's just ruined it !

Dr. Sam. Oh, dear, it is going through. Is it poison ?

Maud. No, I just wish it was [sobbing].

Alfresco. Don't cry, Maud, don't cry. Dr. Sam you're a brute.

Dr. Sam. Alfresco Dado Brown, I am behaving like an angel ;
look at my trousers !

Alf-esco. Look at poor Maud's piaque !

Dr. Sam. Look at my trousers !

Connie. Come, Sam dear, I'll wash it off with benzine. Don't
you ever go near their horrid old paint pots again. Come, Sam.

Dr. Sam. Good bye, ladies. Destiny and my trousers i,all me
hence. Adieu Miss Frieze ; when you find yourself venting the
holy emotions of your soul in early Italian maiolica — think of my
trousers. [ Exit Connie atid Dr. Sam .

Enter Ben.

Ben. Mis' Frisker the two gemmen what bri. js de hot objecks

MBl

■. \

34 Ve Last Szvect Tiling in Comers.

are coming up de road in a carriage, an' days got a truck follerin
'em.

Alfresco. I'm so glad. Bathe your eyes Maud ; don't go Al-
hambra, Dr. Bricahrac and his friend are coming, you must stay
and see the curios he is going to lend us while his new museum
is being built. Some of them are priceless. Benvenuto, attend
the door. [^>'^ ^^kn.

Enter Dr. Bricabrac and Kaomn.

Brie. Ah, ladies, I am delighted to greet you once more, this
is the happiest picture I have ever seen in my life, your home is
like a dream of the past, setting off your beauty, like chased gold
does the gem. Are ycm all quite well? Ah, this is your valued
friend Miss Frieze? rerniit me to introduce my friend, Mr.
Kaolin ; Claude, this is Miss Frieze of whom you have heard.

Miss F. Delighted to meet you, sir.

Kaolin. The pleasure is mine, madame.

Dr. B. I have brought the curios which you were so apprecia-
tive as to wish to see, and if you think they will till a void in your
genile souls until my museum is finished, I will gladly leave them
with you. Ah — shall we go over the catalogue at once.

Alfresco. Please do, dear doctor.

Maud. By all means, doctor.

Dr. B, My servant and Benvenuto shall bring them to me as I
read from my catalogue. The first is a pre-Raphaelite textile Fabric,
No. 3007. {Produces '* basket'^ bed-quilt. ^^

Chorus. How sweet ! How boldly designed !

Ve Last Stveet Thing in Corners.

Dr. B. [rfm/.q. No. 42^1, M, Night cap of an early Dutch
painter. I Produces a bottle of Schiedam Schnapps. "[
Chorus. Ah, indeed.

Alfresco. There is something so instructive in the customs of
that quaint jieople.

Dr. B. \^reads'\. No. 7,444 is, pre-historic cleansing utensil
from the recent excavation in Ohio. [Exhibits a white-wash brush,
much 7vorn.'\

Chorus. Ah, j'wdeed.

Alfresco. Our country has a great unwritten history.
Dr. B. No. 7,346 I, An Anglo-Hibernian vegetable masher.
[Exhibits Kehoe club.'\
Chorus. Ah, indeed.

Dr. B. No. 1,643,020, n, A genuine Greek Cratere. [Pro-
duces a basket-covered demijohn. "l

Chorus. Ah, indeed. Isn't it sweet ?
Dr. B. [aside^ . Yes, there's sugar in it.
Kaolin [aside\. And it's the genuine crather too.
Dr. B. [reads'^. No. 3000, an Athenian saut6 pan.
Chorus. Ah, indeed. My gracious !

Alfresco. Is it not rather deep for a saut6 pan ? At our cooking
class we don't use one more than four inches deep.

Dr. B. Ah, yes, but allow me to explain. This shape was sug-
gested to an Athenian chSf by a Phoenician cook who had been
employed in the kitchen of the Pharoahs. It was used to prepare
a dish of which afterwards the Greeks became inordinately fond.

) f

r,i

I <'

I-

) V Zrt-jr^ Szucci ' riling in Corners.

They let a fewouncesdf butter brown in the pan and then put in a
layer of onions, then a porter-house steak, and finally a double
layer of onions ; in fact, my dear Miss Brown, it was the ancient
method of preparing the pastoral dish — the classic beefsteak
smothered in onions.

Aifreuo [hreaiking freely and lon£^'\. I am so glad I know. I
must make note of it for our cooking class.

Enter Ben and Murphy ivith large curio.

Pr. B. Gently Ben, gently, easy Murpliy, easy my man. This
my friends, No. 11,078, F. is an Egyptian mummy, age one hun-
dred thousand years.

\^Exit Ben and Murphy.

Alfresco. Isn't it a little thing? I thought they were large.
Poor Mummy. Heartless Time, to have caused you to shrink
thus.

Mummy \^asid€'\. Little! Shrunk ! It is a wonder there is any-
thing lelt of me after the shaking I got in that wagon !

Enter Ben and Murphy.

Dr. B. Steady men, be careful. Be careful, that bit of old egg
sh-jll china cost me a pretty penny. Should feel awfully grieved
if you broke any part of it.

Bit of old China \^aside'\. So should I.

Dr.B. \^reads'\. No, 8,642, Y. a large Chinese Mandarin, portrait
figure of Jim-lung-jam-lee, a wealthy potentate, contemporaiy with
Confucius.

Alfresco. Oh, what an amusing creature, I never saw one so

I '!

Ye Last Sztueet Thing in Corners. 37

large before. It is almost life-size. Can it rock itself ? [AttemNs
to move the Mandarin, thereby putting; the wooden bowl in which it
is placed, in motion, "^

Alhambra [touchini^- ii'\. It looks just as if it could speak if it
had a mind to.

Maud. Please rock it Dr. Bricalirac.

Dr. B. Certainly. Rock-a-by, Mandy. ^Aside to the bit of
China}. If you spread out you arms, Cricket, I'll ihrash you.

A/fresco. Let me ! Don't it go nice ! I could just rock you all
day, you funny old curio. [ Curio winks at her.-] Oh, my dear !
oh doctor! what is the matter with its eyes?

ZJr. B. Il is in a bad light. Allow me to move it here. [_ Aside
to the bit of china]. Now, Cricket, behave yourself, or I'll give
you Jersie. It isn't time for you to cut up your shines yet.
Enter Bkn and Murphy xvith a statue.
Dr. B. Easy my lads, steady now. Very careful Murphy, put
it on the pedestal. The last and best. No. 5,270. An old Greek
marble, " Innocence sucking its thumb," sculptor unknown. It
is supposed to have been discovered by a Dutch general in a vast
plain, which legend as.^igiicd as the original Garden of Eden.
It has been the subject of much varied and learned criticism and
was probably executed when Greek art was in its decline.

Bit of old China [aside to statue]. If you're an c'd marble, I
sposc I'm a chiny alley.

Dr. B. [aside]. Cricket, behave yourself.

Alfresco. Is it not a gem ? How shall we ever thank you, doctor ?

mf»mm< l» »■,<

Ve Last Stveet Tiling in Corners.

Maud. Indeed, doctor, I wish we could thank you sufficiently
but words are weak to express our joy.

Alfresco. How happy we shall be! I'll never be melancholy
again, for with those wonderful objets tV art about me I shall
have a wealth of thought which will absorb my inmost spirit the
long days to come. Time cannot pall or annoy with these about
me. I shall commune with them and the masters which bade them
be and endure, and I shall be happy.

Kaolin \^aside^. If she isn't, it won't be Cricket's fault.

Alfresco. But while we are admiring our new possessions, we
are forgetting your creature comforts. You must be hungry after
your long drive. Benvenuto shall bring the bread and wine.
What! Ho! Without there ! Who waits! [Stops in confusion
and presses her hand over her brow,"] I — I — really don't know
how it is, but occasionally I get in this manner of speaking. In
fact, ever since we have occupied our new home, I seem to live in
the middle ages and relapse into the phraseology of olden time. I
think it must be the eflfect of the new curios.

Maud. And so does papa. Don't you remember, dear, it was or'y
the other night when Cosette surprised papa by snuffing the candle
into the salad instead of the tray, he exclaimed, " By my Hali-
dame, wench," and sometunes he says, '♦ Gramnercy," he declares
he cannot help it.

Enter Ben. with tea, wine and fruit. The Misses Brown press
their gttests to partake of the food.
Kaolin. What a wonderful eye for color you ladies have. The

Ve Last Szvcet Thing in Corners. ^g

grouping on the tea tal>Ie is as admirable a symphonic treatment
as I have ever seen.

Dr. B. And the subjective tones of the bread and butter against
the green plate is a marriage of sweet hues.

Maud. Oh, doctor, you talkyW/ like one of papa's Art articles.

Dr. B. Now really Miss lirown, that is high praise indeed, it is

a bonus of honor which my modesty will not permit me to appro-

I'riate. I never could talk like your respected father. \^Aside.'^

Heaven forbid !

Alhambra [in terror']. Oh — oh — ouch!
Alfresco and Maud. What is the matter, Alhambra, dear?
Alhambra. Some horrid creature is in this apple and has stung
uic in the mouth. Oh my goodness how it hurts ! Do you think
it will swell ?

Alfresco \_falteringly]. I am afraid it is the pins which I put
in the little bows of i)lue ribbon to decorate them; the glue would
not stick and I put a pin through tiie centre of the bow. I am so
sorry it r.in in your moutii,— but dou"t you think it a pretty idea?
1 got it from reading a criticism of papa's on the English water-
colorists. It seemed to me that the apples were too warm a red
and I thought a little pale blue ribbon would tone it down ; but
blue is such a diflicult color to handle.

Dr. B. {^aside]. Darling Alfresco, may I not see you alone for
two fleeting moments ?

Alfresco \_aside\. I shall try to gel rid of Alhambra, and sister
and Mr. Kacjiin will be glad to walk out in the garden together.

iSBmmm

Ve Last Szveet Thing iit Corners.

Dr. B. {aside^ Do, my angel.

Alfresco. Alhambra, dear, I fear your poor, dear mouth is swell-
ing. I am so sorry for you, but it is looking dreadfully.

Alhambra. Oh, is it ? What shall I do ?

Dr. B, If you were at home, a piece of cold raw beef laid on it
would remove the swelling.

Alhambra. Then I must go at once. No, dear, I really can't
stay any longer; I must go home or I shall be a fright. I'll come
soon again. Good-bye dear. [Kisses the Misses Brown and
makes a feint of kissing Dr. 13. ; discovers her mistake and retires
in confusion.'^ Oh, dear, I am so ill I don't know what I am
doing. \_Exit Al. b.

[Bkic. rtMri' Alfresco, Mr. Kaolin and Maud statid in couples

conversing in a lo2v tone, the curios meanwhile are helping them-
selves to the food with relish and pantomime. "^

Alfresco. Maud, dear.

Maud. Sister mine.

Alfresco. Don't you think Mr. Kaolin would like to see our
dear old apple trees ?

Maud. Claude, do you love apple trees?

Kaolin. Dearest Maud, I adore them, — next to you.

Maud. Sh;iil we go for a walk then ?

Kaolin. With all my heart. \ Exit MAUD and Kaolin, Z. D.

Dr. B. My darling Alfresco, do you truly love me ?

Alfresco. Yes, my very own, you know I do.

Dr. B. I would fain believe you, but you have known me so

Ve Last Sivect Tiling in Corners.

short a time, and this is a deceitful world, — at least I have found
it So, and sometimes the fear haunts me that my vanity expects too
much, and that my dear little duck of a decorator, my sweet
mignonne pottery putterer, my macrame fringed cherub, my fond-
est stork embroidered anti-macassar, my precious darling decalco-
manie, my iridescent Venitian glass goblet, my cameo, my intag-
lio, my whole catalogue of gems, loves me for my curios and not
for myself ; but you do love me, sweetheart, don't you? Say it
again. Say to me, that if I were only a poor artist with five thou-
sand a year, and had not a museum to my name, nor a bit of early
Italian maioiica to my back, nor the shadow of an Egyptian
mummy to foster an art -atmosphere in our home, but only my
heart to love you, my eyes to adore you, and my hands to work
for you, and keep your own like white rose petals, and my broad
breast for you to rest upon, and keep your dear little tootsy-
wapsies from the cold, cold ground, would my sweet darling lovey
dovey decorated pre-Raphaelite love me then, would her?

Alfresco. Ah, my own, my very, veriest own, my chosen Bric-
abrac, collector of collectors, more steadfast than Cloisnee, more
precious than "old blue," — how the very name thrills me with
fond association. Yes, even if I found you had deceived me, that
instead of being a great connoisseur I were to find in you a mere
worldling, a merchant millionaire, after what has transpired, I
should love you and be your wife.

Dr. B. Oh, Miss. \_They e)}ibrace.'\

Alfresco \_diseni^ag>itf:; herself'\. But now Iiet me show you the

1-^

Vc Last Sweet Thing in Conicrs.

little dower I am going to bring you, the things I have made for
our new home with my very own hands. Help me to lift this
box, dearest.

£>r. B. Ah, this is my charge.

[Lifts chest to centre 0/ stage. Alfresco opens it.]

Alfresco. Here is your smoking cap and wrapper, trimn>ed with
macrame lace, and here is an inlaid clothes pole for the kitchen,
and here is a cartoon — a design for the iron gate of a private
menagerie, when we can afford one, — and here are some bits
of old china, I did them ; and here is a set of embroidered cheese
cloths to dust the curios, — and here — don't blush — I have taken
some liberty with your wardrobe and have made you some shirts,
— that is to say, I bought them made, but decorated them myself;
you will think of me when you wear them, won't you, dear ?
[Spreads out the decorated shirt.] Don't you think the sunflower
design on the front bold and original?

Dr. B. I do indeed, dear. I am sure it will create a sensation
on the avenue. [Aside] Oh, Lord.

Alfresco. I knew you would admire it. And I have a set of de-
signs here for our best dinner dishes, each represents the rise and
fall of every art of every country, and in the middle I have en-
twined our monograms, and here's a little place I have left bare
for our crest, — that is if we can look up our genealogy and get
one. I had rather find one from the Browns in ancient history
than have one made at Tiffany's for us. But, dearest, haven't you
a coal-of-urms in your family ? We really must have one.

Ve Last Siveet Tiling in Corners. 43

Dr. B. Oh, yes ; our family were distinguished in the early
Irish wars; on the distaff side they were all Borhues.and the coat
of arms was a green field bearing on it a shiilaly rampant.

Alfresco. How delightful ! Won't you hunt it up for us, like a
dear? I'd just love to have it on our coupe, we won't have a
coupe~^e\\ have a sweet low-backed car, shan't we?
Dr. B. It would be distractingly piciuresque, certainly.
Alfresco. And we'll have a Shiilaly Rampant blazoned on each
side,— why that reminds me— I think 1 have some family docu-
ments belonging to you ; you dropped it out of your pocket-book
when you were here last. It is so quaint and queer. I showed
it to Maud, and she said, she thought if we took it to an Oriental
scholar he could decipher it for us, but I feared you might not
like it, and thought it better to ask you to explain it to me.

Dr. B. lal>sently-\. You were a thoughtful darling. I don't re-
member losing any hieroglyphic paper.

Alfresco Itroduces little folded paper^. First, there is three
curious round things like pills, then there's a dash and some dots,
and something that looks like "doll" and the "250," and then
beneath it says, " not answerable in case of fire, moth or robbery,"
— why what's the matter?

Dr. Brie itaking paper from her]. Yes it is— it is_il's a family
paper, you were quite right, it is a family paper and was given me
by my uncle l„side, Uncle Simpson'].

Alfresco. I thought it was a laliel from some r.ire curio.

Mr. Brie. You are gifted with divination my sweetest— it is—

^^^Sp

i ?

44 Ve Last Szveet Thing in Corners.

[aside'\ It is the ticket of my dress coat, precious rare, I have not
seen it for nearly a year.

Alfresco. Won't you tell me what it means ? You ought to have
no secrets from me.

Dr. Brie [desperaieiy']. Well, daughter of Eve, you see these
three round things are the emblems, or ancient marks of the great
de Medicis, and in reality mean pills, for the family were renowned
centuries ago for their discoveries in medicine. [Aside'] How
shall I get out of this? \_Noise at the door. Alfresco disengaging
herself from Dr. Bricabrac's arms.]

Alfresco. Oh, pshaw, there comes Maud and Mr. Kaolin and I
have not said half what I intended to say to you.

Dr. B. How stupid of them. [Aside] Thank fortune !

£nter Maud and Kaolin.

Maud. You have only ten minutes to catch the train ! Oh how
quickly the afternoon has gone.

Dr. Brie. Really, is it so late ? Then we must tear ourselves
away. Good bye, au revoir. [Kisses Alfresco'' s hand.]

[Exit Bric and Kaolin.

[Curios 7vho have been capering about, run hurriedly to their
places ; the Mummy mounts the pedestal, the Mandarin leans against
the bust in the corner, while the Greek Statue crouches in the
Mandarin's boxul.

Alfresco. I think Dr. Bricabrac is the greatest connoisseur living.
Maud. In curios, yes, but of old china and maiolica, I think

' |i

Ve Last Sivcct Thing in Corners. 45

Mr. Kaolin is one man in all the nineteenth century — 1 am perfectly
happy to-day \_sighs^ .

Alfresco. So am I [sighs'^.

Maud. How glad Papa will be when he sees our new possessions !
Why, there is the dear Pater now.

Brown. My darling, my first born Alfresco, my lady Maud. But
where is my little Arch-Rebel- Consuelo Renaissance ?

Maud. Out riding with her doctor Sam, as usual.

Alfresco. Papa, dear, you can't guess what has happened. Now
shut your eyes— No don't open your mouth— Shut your eyes.
Now turn around. Now then, what do you think of this ?

Brown. What do I see ?

Alfresco. Doctor Bricabrac brought them— wasn't it lovely of
him ? See that Mummy ! IPoints io Mummy who has posed d la
Col. Sellers. 1

Brown {in a 7apiure}. But this is grand ! my dears, I take this
as very friendly on tlie part of my friend Bricabrac, he has l.-^-haved
handsomely, he has indeed. What power there is in that brow, in
that urn— urn-marble, in ye urn— ye an— in fact see how carefully
ye color is worked up in ye bit of old china, doubtless by some
celestial jjrehistoric artist, equal to Potta-Rubb.a of Italy. And
that a-um-that ah-./yV/ ./' art is ye figure-head of ye ancient
bucaneer — I doubt not —

Alfresco {asidey Why they look awfully queer some how, don't
they to you Maud ?

■H

aoB

''^''%f9f-*'^^iitmisimm$mma^

*" iMfi

Ki' Zrt'.sV S^vect Thins^ in Comers.

,•:>

t.if

; I

Maud \_asidc'\. What did you say, dear? I was thinking of
Claud Kaolin.

Broivn \_attittidinizing\. Alfresco, hear me — that, that is ye only
mummy I ever saw which struck me as being genuine. Alfresco,
Maud, my children, it was a glad day for me when it darkened —
came beneath my humble rooftiee. Oh, you thing of old, you
corpse of an ancient king — (probably) — you friend of ye Pharaohs
and contemporary of dead and gone monarchs of mighty Egypt.
Sharer of ye mystic secrets of ye sphynx, of that grandest of all
conundrums — ye pyramids ! Would you could speak now, and
tell us of your own age, and put this frivolous time of ours to
shame ! [^ lotid knocking at the door.'\

Brown. What, ho ! Benvenuto ! Approach ye portal and bid
him who waits salve, and cave cancm.

Enter two Polickmkn.

Brown. What would ye?

1st Policetnan. Is your name Brown ?

Brown. It is — sirrah.

rst Policeman [dra^ving- paper from his coat']. You must come
with me ; you're my prisoner.

Brown. Marry fellow, what do ye mean ?

1st Policeman. Now stash your gab — you're going up on three
counts.

Alfresco. Ah! [In terror."]

iT/rt«^, Oh Papa ! ISobbing.]

Brown [aroused to indignation and the American language].

Vc Last Sivcct Thi)ig in Conurs. 47

Hush girls ! How dare you intrude upon me— I am a simple gentle-
man. [1ST Policeman winks at 2d Policeman and taps his head
significantly. \ And I am ihe art critic of the Fog Whistle—

1st. Policeman. Now you needn^t say anything to criminate
yourself, but I'd like to know how much you expect to make out
of the shady little plant you're on now.
Brown. "Plant," fellow, what does this insolence mean ?
1st. Policeman. Don't try that on—it's too thin. I've had my
eye on you for a long time, and thought you'd need my profes-
sional services ; now are you coming peaceable, or shall I clap on
the bracelets ?

Brown. I demand to know of what I am accused.

2d Policevian. Teil him Billy.

1st Policeman. Receiving stolen goods. Harboring two es-
caped lunatics— these young women here— they go up with you,
and vagrancy.

Brozvn. But my good man, you are mistaken, I assure you, we
are a quiet family. I am an art critic—

nt Policeman. Didn't I tell you not to give yourself away?
Now I'd advise you to stop chinnin' or you'll make things worse.
We have our theory about you worked out fine.

Brown. I will give bail— come with me and I will give you
security for my appearance at any time the law may demand, but
now it is late, and I would be rid of you.

ist Policeman. Much obliged, but that won't work. We won't
take any bail, its too late, and to-day's Saturday. You'll have to

-*""*«-•■'---■

Vt' Last Siveet Thimr in Corners.

i ^

: \

make the best of it in the jug until your case is tried next week.
So come along — get your Inmnits young women. Come along!

yLays his hand on Brown's shouldei .]

Alfresco. Don't you dare touch my lalhcr. He is innocent. I
call the angels to witness!

ist Policevian. Well young woman, if you can supeny them
angels when your trial comes off, you'll score one for the Brown
case, but now you are all coming along with me.

Maud. And leave our home !

Alfresco. Our sweet home, our own artistic paradise !

Brown. Our vine and fig tree !

ist Policeman. Don't feel bad old man, your vine and fig trees
are comin' too, I have got a warrant for three of 'em. {^Seizes
curios, who stntggle ; the Mummy tries to crawl under the portiere.
The Browns stare at them in consternation.^

Brown. I am not mad — no, no, not mad. \^Tears his hair. '\

jst Policeman, Well, your neighbors wouldn't swear to that.

\^Seizes Brown."]

Alfresco. Help — I die !

\_S2v00ns .ind is caught by the MANDARIN.]

Maud. Oh my sister, I die with you !

\_S7v00ns and is caught by the STATUE.]

Brown. My chield, my chield. \^S'a'oons and is caught by the
Mummy, wlio poses a la Col. Sellers. CosETTE smashing dishes as
curtain Jails.

End of Act II.

ACT III. HOME-IN A COTTAGE.

Scene.— T-r^j/,/,,//^ furnished drmving-room in the Gray Coffage,

the resilience of Dr. Fi.oyd.

Enter G\m\OGK,fo/lowed by MooDLE.
Modd/e. Oh Gam, I'm a brute, I'm a brute !
Gamboge. And I'm another.
Moddle. Yes, we're both brutes.

Gamboge. But for all that, don't you go spoiling what we have
done with your sentimental notions of justice. It's done, and
can't be helped, and tho' I can't say that I altogether approve
of what we did, the end partly reconciles me to the means.
Maud and Alfresco were two very silly girls, for all their loveli-'
ness. and we have cured them ; their father, begging their pardon,
was an infernal ass ; but now it is to be hoped that he has given up
for all time his profession of making fools of others as he has
been doing with his papers on art i,Poor Art!). Viewing it in a
pecuniary light, he had interfered with our means of obtaining our
living_I do not believe there was any bitterness in the revenge
we took upon him though I am afraid we frightened the girls.

Moddle. By Jove, Gam, I was frightened too, when I saw her
lying like a dead lily in the arms of the bit of old china. For-
tunately the rag carpets and rugs were thick.

Vi' Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

Gnmhoi^e, Hut — ha ! ha ! — how the old fellnw did beam upon
us when we appeared in our own identity, as the trio were recov-
eriiij^ from their swoon !

Muddle. And how he swallowed the story of our being near the
barn beautiful sketching, and heard cries of distress and hastened
to their rescue !

Cainbotre. And how important a person I i)ecame in IJrown's
eyes when I told him I had influence with the police, and would
be responsible for their appearance until he could get bail — but
poor Alfresco, my heart misgave me when I saw her fainting in
Cricket's arms !

Moddle. How well the little beggars played their parts!

Gamboge. Not to mention the talent of the big beggars, eh,
Moddle ?

Moddle. As far as that was concerned, it all went off like a play,
especially when we had to change our clothes.

Gamboge. Well then, as I said, let well enough alone. We
courted the girls for spite, we are going to marry them for love-
Maud hates Kaolin, the scamp, but adores Moddle, her preserver.
Alfresco detests Kricabrac the impostor, but has promised to
intrust her happiness into the keeping of Raphael Gamboge, the

or artist. I know they both have spirit, and I for one, ar>; not
.0 sick of self love, thank Heaven, as to believe her love for me
now could make her forget my conduct to her then, and grant me
a full pardon. But she needed a lesson; they both did, and
Brown, like a sensible man, has quit writing on art, of which he

Vc Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 5 1

knows nothing, and has gone into manufacturing Macram6 lace,
for which, I admit, he has some talent, in fact—

Modiile. All's v,ell, that ends well.

Gambo^^e. Ah, but here's the rub. We have not yet got to
the end. Now I was about to propose this poser to you. What
are we going to live on when we get married ? But softly, here
comes Mrs. Doctor Sam.

Enter Mrs. Dr. Sam Flovd, formerly Miss Connie Brown.
Mrs. Floyd. I am so glad to see you, alone fx^r once. I have
been trying to get a word with you two alone, ever since we re-
turned from our wedding tour, for I must thank you for your
efforts in persuading my misguided family to leave that detestable
barn. What magic have you about you ? How did you accom-
plish it? I ask the doctor, hut he ^variably replies, "Rid-
dles, Connie, I know no more than you do." But come to con-
fession, now, and tell me, how did you go about it?

Gamboge. Why really, Mrs. Floyd, you know we were in the
neighborhood when they were in that scrape, and it was our duty
to help them, which we did, and since then a more amiable feeling
has been established between your father and ourselves.

Mrs. Floyd. Yes, I know, papa used to he severe on your pic-
tures. I always thought then, lovely, and it was so generous of
you to get him out of that scrape, when by leaving him alone, you
might have had revenge by seeing the disgraceful story in the
papers. But I don't think papa really meant any harm by his art-

■—

'i^

' I

Ye Last Secret Tiling in Corners.

writing, only he was fond of scribl)Ung and it gave the whole
family a sort of swagger you know.

Enter Doctor Sam Fi.oyd.
Doctor Sam \^interruptini^'\. Mustn't say swagger, Connie
dear What are you all talking about ?

Mrs. Floyd. Well, I mean it gave us a sort of air, to be pointed
out as the daughters of a great art-critic, and sometimes papa got
beautiful pictures from some of the artists of whose work he
wrote, and that of course, was very nice.

Gamboge. I am sure it was an easy way of adding to his collec-
tion. \ Exchanges looks with Moddle."]

Mrs. Floyd. And sometimes the artists would send him pictures
before he wrote about them, so he must have had his admirers
among your profession.

Doctor Floyd, And were they good, or bad pictures ?

Mrs. Floyd. Why as it happened, they were all good, for papa
pufied them all, and if they were big he wrote a half column each
about them. But here are the girls.

Filter Alkresco and Maud Brown.

Afrs. Floyd. You are just in time Allie. I was telling Mr.
Gamboge about a perfect symphony of a barn there is to let.

Alfresco. Now, Connie, will you please stop. You promised
you would not say anything more about it.

Mrs. Floyd. Stop what, Allie, I was only telling my brother-in-
law to be, of a chance to get a media-val interior at a bargain.

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 5 3

Maud. Please, Connie, stop.

Mrs. Floyd. Why Doctor Sam, did you ever know two such un-
grateful girls in all your life? Here I am offering to do all I can
to aid them by my six weeks experience as a wife and housekeeper,
and they look as if they were about to cry, and you sit there and
see your lawful wife abused and don't interfere. Defend your
altars and your fires and my dignity, Sam, tel' them they must treat
me with respect under your roof even if it is not shingled with
early Dutch tiles.

Alfresco. Will you ever keep still about that barn. I hate barns.

Maud. So do I.

Moddle. I don't.

Gamboge. I don't either.

Mrs. Floyd. I used to, but I don't now, for its no end of fun to
think of the sport that was carried on under that roof. When that
horrid old Hricabrac used to call on Allie,and talk about Egyptian
pottery and Hindoo rice placjues, I used to get behind the portidre
and make Cosette rattle the dishes, and once I made her fry some
onions to see if I could not drive them out that way.

Alfresco. Won't you please, brother Sam, coax her to hold her
tongue. I have eaten humble pie enough and am perfectly willing
that my husband shall have a home utterly devoid of ornament, if
he pleases.

Gamboge. Your husband is going to let his wife furnish her
house to suit herself.

Mrs. Floyd. Your barn beautiful, you mean.

h I !

Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

Doctor Sam. Connie, you little witch — I shall have to punish
you — have either of you two ladies such a thing as a silver and
Niello Damascened bowie-knife about you?

Alfresco. Sam, you're as bad as she is. "^et us change the sub-
ject.

Doctor Sam. With all my heart — by the way, if it is not an im-
pertinent question, when are you four people going to be married ?

Moddle. Why the fact is — \_hcsitatcs'\.

Gamboge. The fact is — \^hcsitates'\.

Aland. Oh, dear, I wish I was rich !

Doctor Floyd. So do I, Maud, but what has that got to do
with my question ?

Jifoddle. Why you see —

Gamboge. The fact is, we have not got any money. 1 have pic-
tures, and Moddle has g^ot statuary, but they won't do us any good
until we can turn them into dollars and cents. To come down to
stern facts, what with the twaddle in the newspapers and the twad-
dle out of the newspapers, an American artist can't sell a picture
unless he goes to Europe to do it, for rich people who are weak
enough to be led by everything they see in print, had rather refuse
to buy what their own innate good taste would lead them to pur-
chase, than not put child-like faith in flimsy newspaper articles on
Art, and so the "tolerably well to do" people buy chromos, and
the artists starve.

Alfresco. Could not we live in the studio and save renting a
house ?

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

Gamboge. No, clearest, there would be no economy in that mix-
ture.

Alfresco. Couldn't we help you in some way ? I could do
crewel work and sell it and —

Maud. And I could pose for Ralph.

Doctor Floyd. I wish 1 were rich enough to buy pictures and
statuary and I would give you both a lift.

Mrs. Floyd. I have an idea —

Doctor Sam. Oh, have you Connie, whereabouts ? Really now ?
Do you suffer from it — my healthy little wife — show me your
tongue.

Mrs. Floyd. Taiscz vous — to speak more correctly, I had an
idea, and acted upon it, but as I did not wish to lose the benefit
of it by discounting a success, I forebore to tell any of you of
my plan.

Doctor Sam. Whatever is going to happen when Connie has
such a long idea as that ?

Mrs. Floyd. Please, Doctor Floyd, I have the floor. We are
going to have a visitor this afternoon, dear old uncle Bobbin from
Cincinnati. You know he is as rich as a Peruvian gold mine. I
wrote to him two weeks ago, telling him all about you four people
who want to go housekeeping and have a nice little income to keep
it with, and begged him to buy some pictures by Raphael, and a
statue by our sculptor brother. I got a letter from him as soon as
the return mail could fetch it to me, and he said he had to come
to New York on business, and he would visit me, and to make a

^Tiwinpi

^pp

«M

Ye Last Sweet Tning in Corners.

long story short, I got a telegram this morning that he would be
here to-day. I feel it in my bones that he will do something for
you.

Ganiboge. Dear Mrs. Floyd, your words put fresh hope in our
hearts.

Miiud. Oh, Connie, you're a dear thoughtful girl.

Connie. Why you said yesterday that I had not but one idea in
the world and that was that I had the best husband in America.

Doctor Floyd. You're a sensible little woman and you deserve
him, ahem !

Alfresco, I say you are a dear, dear, kind, little sister too.

Connie. Why, you told me yesterday that I was an exasperating
little donkey, and the only person I ever tried to please and pro-
pitiate was my husband.

Doctor Floyd. Again I say you are a sensible little woman, and
if the world were fuller of such it would be the jolliest place to
live in.

Alfresco. Won't it be splendid if uncle Bobbin does help us.
How funny I never thought of writing for his advice.

Maud. If he doa't help us, what shall we do to get married?

Gamboge. Getting married is the easiest part. What shall we
live on afterward is the agonizing problem. \Noise is heard at the
door. ]

Airs. Floyd. I wonder if that is not uncle Bobbin now ? [ Goes
to the door. ]

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners. 57

Enter Stumps with letter.
Stumps. A letter for Mr. Gamboge.

Gamboge. Ah, my lad, and why did you not leave it at my
studio, is it important ?

Stumps. The man that left it said you must get it to wunst.

Gamboge. Any answer ?

Stumps, No, sir.

Gamboge. You may go, [Opens letter. -^ Why, what is this?
Gr^-it heaven ! Can he have committed suicide ?

Alfresco. What is the matter, dear ? No bad news, I hope.

Gamboge. Ifs from your father. {_Reads'\ By the time this
reaches your hand I shall be far atvay. Macrame lace and raveled
rugs fail to compensate' me for the loss I have sustained in leaving
the art critic's chair on the Fog Whistle. When you made me
promise to leave art and go into trade you little kneiv you had bereft
me of the melody of my life. Lest temptation prove too strong, I
leave America forever. I shall never be taken alive, so follow me
not. With my bride /go to Italy's sunny clime, where beneath its
cerulean blue I shall try to forget the ingratitude of the American
artists in the study ofmaiolica. I go ; farezoell. Barouche Brown.

Maud and Alfresco. To whom is he married? Oh, papa! to
leave us thus !

Connie [in distress]. Oh, can it be true? Don't cry, sisters;
you shall have a home with us.

Alfresco [roiping her eyes']. Who is his bride ? Do we know her ?

Ye Last Sweet Tiling in Corners.

Mil

Gamboge. It says in this notice, which he has enclosed, a Miss
Cosette Crest.

Alfresco. Cosette !

Maud. Cosette !

Mrs. Floyd. Cosette Crest ! It used to be Cosette Crust.

Doctor Floyd. Who the deuce is Cosette, anyhow ?

Mrs. Floyd. Why, Cosette's our maid.

Doctor Floyd. No, she is not. She is your mother.

Mrs. Floyd. Our mother ! I'd like to see myself —

Doctor Floyd. No; but seriously, who is she? or who was she?

Alfresco. She was our maid. Have you forgotten her?

Doctor Floyd. No, for I never remembered her. I never laid
eyes on her.

Mrs. Floyd. Oh, what a story! You saw her a hundred times !

Doctor Floyd. Upon my word, I did not.

Gamboge. Neither did I.

Moddle. No more did I.

Gamboge. I don't believe any of us ever saw her, though I con-
fess to having seen on several occasions a pair of ankles; but I
never saw the face of the owner ; and unobserved, one day, when
the noise in the culinary department was the loudest, I took the
liberty of making a sketch of them. Here it is.
\^Exhibits sketch of a dreadful pair of ankles. All crowd about it

and laugh."]

Gamboge [aside to Moudlf.]. What do you think of the
news ?

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

Af addle [aside to Gamboge], I thought his conversion was
mighty sudden. What is the best thing to say to comfort the
girls ?

Gamboge. We must marry them at once.

Alfresco {very proudly]. Doctor Floyd, you have been a kind,
good brother to us, but do not think that we are going to remain a
burden on you — Maud and myself are willing to work, and we will
go out as governesses, or tend a shop, if we can't do any belter.
Won't we Maud ?

[Puts her arm about her sister and begins to cry.}
Enter BonBiN unobserved.
Gamboge. Dearest Allie, don't cry. \_Goes to her.'\

Moddle. Maud, don't cry, we'll take care of you.

\_Gocs to Maud.]
Gamboge. Yes, we have made up our minds, as we cannot live
by Art respectably, we will make the fair creature a profound bow,
and only remember her as a coy acquaintance. I can get Moddle
a position in a clothing store as salesman, and as for me, I'll work
for a photographer.

Bobbin [coming forward^. Hold your horses. How do you all
do ? I know you're all glad to see Uncle Bob, or if you ain't, I'll
make you glad before I go. [Mrs. Floyd rushes into his arnis.^
How d'y do? So little Connie's married. How do you like it?

Mrs. Floyd. Oh, Uncle, I'm so glad you have come ! We are
in such trouble ! Papa has eloped, and Allie and Maud want to
get married, and —

ii!iuwiw.«t«j.juiia|iui ,

Ve Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

Bobbin. Now don't say another word, I've been listening and
heard it all. Young man [/(? Gamboge], [ like your grit. You
keep to them sentiments I heard you say just now, and I'll stand
by you. I hear you can paint.

Gamboge. I can paint, but I can't make money.

Bobbin. That's the difference between you and me, I can make
money but I can't paint. The only brush I ever handled was
when I whitewashed Aunt Betsy's garden fence. And I like your
grit, young man. [ To Moudle.] So you can make statues.

Moddle. I can make statues, but /can't make money.

Bobbin. There's the difference between you and me. I can
make money but I can't make statues. Now suppose you listen to
an old man who has roughed it and knows the world, if any man
does. You two young men marry your girls and come out West
with me. I'll give you work if you won't be too high flown to
take it. You say you can draw pictures ?

Gamboge. By the cartload.

Bobbin. I'll take every one of *em. You draw 'em and I'll
turn 'em all into labels for my soap. For instance a beautiful
home, father, mother, children, baby in the cradle. — " The
Happy Family," they use Bobbin's soap. Then a sad scene, a
man beating his wife — the miserable family, they don't use Bob-
bin's soap. What's the reason you can't do that ? Then you can
paint shirts in the laundry where they use Bobbin's Soap, and the
shirts in the laundry where they don't use Bobbin's soa'^. I'll
have a man write poetry for each picture. For instance :

Ve Last Sivect Thing in Corners.

Unlaundried shirts long time he wore,

Sal-soda was in vain,
Till Bobbin's soap came to the fore,

And set him up again.

Oh, I'm brimful of ideas ! It's always been my aim to see pic-
tures of my soap in every grocery store from here to Russia. I
can keep you drawing labels for me till you make enough to retire
on. Every picture you paint I'll bargain to make it advertise
my soap. Say it's a landscape with a girl sitting under a tree or on
the door step.

'Twas a Monday morning,

Kate's washing was most done.
And she before the laundry door

Was sitting in the sun,
While bleaching on the pretty green,
Were the whitest shirts you ever seen.

Chorus. Use Bobbin's soap.
Bobbin's patent quick action, self- asserting, soil-persuading
eclectic soap. No respectable family can do without it. It
•breeds content in the home, comforts the wearj' housekeeper,
lightens the kitchen-maid's cares. The father coming home tired
at night to the bosom of his family, sees the effect of Bobbin's soap
in the snowy table cloth, the spotless napkins, the children's pina-
fores, the bath room towels and in the mother-in-law's lace cap.
Cleanliness is the first law of nature. It is the foundation of

Ye Last Siveet Thing in Coi-ners.

'I I

morals in the family, and the family found the state. Give Bob-
bin's soap a trial. It contains no deleterious substance. It is per-
fectly uninjurious to the clothes.

Give it a trial and ask for more,

No charge for sample left at your door.

Mrs. Floyd. I say so too, make money and be artistic afterward.

Doctor Floyd. It's my opinion that it's a splendid offer.

Gamboge. And I am thankful for it. I suppose I may have a
chance to paint other pictures in time.

Bobbin. Of course. You needn't take the world into your con-
fidence. You needn't put your name to your pictures of my soap.
I don't care; I ain't proud myself; soap has stuck by me and I'll
stick by soap, but I shall not quarrel with you and the girls if you
don't want to identify A. I. art with the best soap in the United
States. You have your studio in the best building in the city for
your fancy paintings you can't sell, and I'll rig you up a room in
my factory where you can paint the labels you'll make your fortune
at. What's the reason you can't clap a high price on your fancy
pictures, and fight shy of selling them, and then you'll find you
can't paint 'em fast enough for customers ; that's human nature.

Moddle. And how can I be of service to you ? I don't see how
you can make use of me.

Bobbin. What's the reason I can't give you work ? I want you
to make figures of people using Bobbin's soap. I want you to
make a figure of a woman holding a cake of Bobbin's soap in her

Ve Last Siucet TJiiiis; in Corners.

hand, with a crown on her head. Why can't art and business mix ?
If you want to give it an ancient Greek touch, why throw in a
little Latin —

Semper idem, non disputamietn

Soapus Bobhiniis ad capitandem.
Carve it around the bottom of her petticoats, and I'll fix that
statue on the highest peak of the Rocky Mountains, if I have to
go to Washington twice a year to pay the rent. Don't you fret !
I can give you lots of ideas for figures to carry the good news of
Robliin's soap to every grocer in the world —

From Canada's cold climate

To old Kentucky's shore

We'll send a cake of Bobbin's soap

To every cottage door.

And so forth, and so forth. Now, I'm a man of few words, as per-
haps you see. Now, will you take my offer or not ?

Gamboge. I'll take it and thank you.

Moddle. And so will I, with all my heart.

Alfresco. Won't it be delightful ! and I can paste the labels.

Maud. And I can pose for laundry maids and housewives and
Bobbin's soap, the queen of the kitchen.

Bobbin. That's right, I am glad to see you've a straight idea of
your duties to your husbands and my soap. Can you get married
and ready to go West with me in three days.

All. Oh, yes, yes, yes.

vpwpm

] V Last Szveet Thing in Corners.

Bobbin. Then I must leave you for a while, for I have other
business than nnaking matches. Good-bye until to-night. Bless
you my children, and pack your trunks. \_ExU BoHiUN.

Gamboge. Now for a fresh start in life; who knows but out
there in a new field, free from care, with art boiling the pot and
paying the rent, we shall be a hundred times happier than drag-
ging out a miserable life of disappointment here — what say
you Moddle?

Meddle. I say, "ay" with my whole heart, [Aside} Its rum
ain't it ?

Gamboge. It's nothing else, but I'm game for anything. I'll
paint the labels at night and peddle the soap in the day time, if the
old man insists on it [aside^

Moddle. And I'll carry the figures of Bobbin's soap patrons
on a board on my head, like an Italian image vender, if I can
make a living no other way [^aside"}.

Alfresco. We must hurry away and pack our trunks and boxes to
emigrate to the far West.

Maud. We must send Benvenuto to that horrid barn to get some
things we shall need — where can he be, I sent him of an errand
two hours ago.

Gamboge. Whisper of angels and you'll hear their wings.

Enter Benvenuto.
Ben [trembling and frightened'^. Oh, Mars Moddle, oh, Miss
Frisco, honey.

■Ve Last Sweet Thing- in Corners.

All. What is the matter, what ails you?

Ben. Dreful news, Miss Frisco.

Gamboge. Tell us quick what is the matter ?

Ben. Oh, Mars Gamboge de barn bu'ful's dun sploded. Dar
was dynamite in the las' picture dat was sent Mars Krown, an' it
done l)lowed de whole cabin up.

Gamboge. What picture ?

Ben. De lilly one wid de curly headed bats.

Gamboge. Curly headed bats 1

Ben. Yes, sah !

Alfresco. Why, what can he mean ?

Maud. I don't remember it !

Mrs. Floyd {laughing']. Perhaps he means the Sistine Cherubs.

Gamboge. Oh, to be sure, the copy by Vert Green. {Aside to
MoDDLE.] You know Brown played the mischief with him in
the papers.

Moddle {aside]. Yes, I know, but this is a dreadful revenge to

take.

Gamboge. Any loss of life, Ben?

Ben. I don' understan you.

Gamboge. Did any one get killed? -rf

Ben. Yes, sah, two ob' em.

Gamboge. Great Heaven! speak quick— not your master and

his wife?

Ben. Not zackly, sah— Tabby she los' one ob her eyes, and
Towser he had his tail cut smove off.

■"^wr"^"-^

•wy^B^WW^WB

(If

Ye Last Sweet Thing in Corners.

Gamboge. Oh what a relief. Poor cats! But it might have

been worse. And it is quite burned to the ground ?

Ben. Yes, sah, clean gone.

Dr. Floyd. And no insurance. [Laug/nng.'\

Gamboge. Why then I suppose that is ye last of " Ye Barn Beau-

ii/ul."

Curtain.