Trelawny of The "Wells": A Comedietta in Four Acts

NOTE:--Bagnlgge (locally pronounced Bagnidge) Wells, formerly a popular mineral spring in Islington, London, situated not far from the better remembered Sadler's-Wells. The gardens of Bagnlgge-Wells were at one time much resorted to; but, as a matter of fact, Bagnigge-Wells, unlike Sadler's-Wells, has never possessed a playhouse. Sadler's-Wells Theatre, however, always familiarly known as the "Wells," still exists. It was rebuilt in 1876-77.

The costumes and scenic decoration of this little play-should follow, to the closest detail, the mode of the early Sixties, the period, in dress, of crinoline and the peg-top trouser; in furniture, of horsehair and mahogany, and the abominable "walnut -and -rep." No attempt should be made to modify such fashions in illustration, to render them less strange, even less grotesque, to the modern eye. On the contrary, there should be an endeavor to reproduce, perhaps to accentuate, any feature which may now seem particularly quaint and bizarre. Thus, lovely youth should be shown decked uncompromisingly as it was at the time indicated, at the risk (which the author believes to be a slight one) of pointing the chastening moral that, while beauty fades assuredly in its own time, it may appear to succeeding generations not to have been beauty at all.

TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS."

THE FIRST ACT.

The scene represents a sitting room on the first floor of a respectable lodging house. On the right are two sash-windows, having Venetian blinds and giving a view of houses on the other side of the street. The grate of the fireplace is hidden by an ornament composed of shavings and paper roses. Over the fireplace is a mirror: on each side there is a sideboard cupboard. On the left is a door, and a landing is seen outside. Between the windows stand a cottage piano and a piano stool. Above the sofa, on the left, stands a large black trunk, the lid bulging with its contents and displaying some soiled theatrical finery. On the front of the trunk, in faded lettering, appear the words "Miss Violet Sylvester, Theatre Royal, Drury Lane." Under the sofa there are two or three pairs of ladies' satin shoes, much the worse for wear, and on the sofa a white-satin bodice, yellow with age, a heap of dog-eared playbooks, and some other litter of a like character. On the top of the piano there is a wig-block, with a man's wig upon it, and in the corners of the room there stand some walking sticks and a few theatrical swords. In the center of the stage is a large circular table. There is a clean cover upon it, and on the top of the sideboard cupboards are knives and forks, plate, glass, cruet-stands, and some gaudy flowers in vases--all suggesting preparations for festivity. The woodwork of the room is grained, the ceiling plainly whitewashed, and the wall paper is of a neutral tint and much faded. The pictures are engravings in maple frames, and a portrait or two, in oil, framed in gilt. The furniture, curtains, and carpet are worn, but everything is clean and well-kept.

The light is that of afternoon in early summer.

Mrs. Mossop--a portly, middle-aged Jewish lady, elaborately attired--is laying the tablecloth. Ablett enters hastily, divesting himself of his coat as he does so. He is dressed in rusty black for "waiting."

Mrs. Mossop.

[_In a fluster._] Oh, here you are, Mr. Ablett----!

Ablett.

Good-day, Mrs. Mossop.

Mrs. Mossop.

[_Bringing the cruet-stands._] I declare I thought you'd forgotten me.

Ablett.

[_Hanging his coat upon a curtain-knob, and turning up his shirt sleeves._] I'd begun to fear I should never escape from the shop, ma'am. Jest as I was preparin' to clean myself, the 'ole universe seemed to cry aloud for pertaters. [_Relieving Mrs. Mossop of the cruet-stands, and satisfying himself as to the contents of the various bottles._] Now you take a seat, Mrs. Mossop. You 'ave but to say "Mr. Ablett, lay for so many," and the exact number shall be laid for.

Mrs. Mossop.

[_Sinking into the armchair._] I hope the affliction of short breath may be spared you, Ablett. Ten is the number.

Ablett.

[_Whipping up the mustard energetically._] Short-breathed you may be, ma'am, but not short-sighted. That gal of yours is no ordinary gal, but to 'ave set 'er to wait on ten persons would 'ave been to 'ave caught disaster. [_Bringing knives and forks, glass, etc., and glancing round the room as he does so._] I am in Mr. and Mrs. Telfer's setting-room, I believe, ma'am?

Mrs. Mossop.

[_Surveying the apartment complacently._] And what a handsomely proportioned room it is, to be sure!

Ablett.

May I h'ask if I am to 'ave the honor of includin' my triflin' fee for this job in their weekly book?

Mrs. Mossop.

No, Ablett--a separate bill, please. The Telfers kindly give the use of their apartment, to save the cost of holding the ceremony at the "Clown" Tavern; but share and share alike over the expenses is to be the order of the day.

Ablett.

I thank you, ma'am. [_Rubbing up the knives with a napkin._] You let fall the word "ceremony," ma'am-----

Mrs. Mossop.

Ah, Ablett, and a sad one--a farewell cold collation to Miss Trelawny.

Ablett.