THE COUNTRY COUSIN.

Scene I.—Mrs. Atherton’sdrawing-room.Blanche,L., and her mother,R., present.

Mrs. Atherton.Did you hear your father say we were to expect a visitor to-day?

Blanche(surprised). No, I heard nothing of it. Who is it?

Mrs. A.The daughter of his only sister, who married a farmer in the little village of Donnellsville.

B.Do you know anything of her?

Mrs. A.No. They live at such a distance, that there has been but little communication between the two families. Your father met Mr. Haynes in the city a few days ago, and invited him to send his daughter here for a visit. This letter, which he has just received, announces that she will be here to-day.

B.Do you know her name?

Mrs. A.Eunice Haynes.

B.What a wretchedly countrified name! And how unfortunate that she should come just at this time. Next week, you know, we are to have our party, and of course she will have to be present. I have no doubt she is a country gawky, whose conversation will be mostly of “aour caows,” and how much butter and cheese we make.

Mrs. A.No doubt. I wonder that your father should have invited her here until some of us had seen her.

B.As to that, I don’t know how we should ever see her unless she came here. It will be bad enough to receive a visit from her, but it would be still worse for us to visit them. I have no doubt they are genuine rustics, who keep no servants, talk bad grammar, and take their meals in the kitchen.

Mrs. A.Very likely.

B.And then I suppose her dresses will all be calico or gingham, having all the colors of the rainbow. No doubt she will select the gayest of them all for the party. How disgusted I am at the thought of this visit! I wish it were well over.

Mrs. A.So do I. But couldn’t you pass her off as Isabel’s governess?

B.No, that wouldn’t do at all. In fact, she probably couldn’t sustain that character. Besides, papa has such strange, out-of-the-way notions on suchpoints, that I fear he would be angry if such a thing were attempted.

Mrs. A.Perhaps, after all, it may not be as bad as you think, Blanche. We will wait patiently, and not judge her till she arrives.

B.And, by the way, you promised to go out with me to select a dress for the party. We ought to go now, I think. Otherwise we shall be obliged to inviteour cousin(with emphasis) to go with us.

(Exeunt,R.Curtain falls.)

Scene II.—The curtain rising shows two chambers formed by a curtain extending from front to back of stage, it being necessary that both should be seen at once.ServantushersEunice, who has just arrived, intoR., one of them.

Servant.This is the room you are to have, miss. Mrs. Atherton and Miss Blanche have gone out, but will be in soon.

Eunice.Very well. (ExeuntServant,R.Eunicetakes off bonnet and shawl, and lays them on the table. Afterward takes up a book, sits down, and begins to read.)

(Mrs. B.andBlancheenter the other chamber,L., and lay aside their outer garments.)

B.I wonder when our rustic friend will arrive? (Eunicelooks and listens attentively.) I am quite curious to see her. I suppose she will begin by giving me an account of all the household matters in particular, and thefarm-work in general. I can imagine her dressed in a rainbow-colored costume, making a deep courtesy to you, and giving a nod of recognition to your humble servant. I dare say before night she will tell me confidentially all about the country swain whom she most favors.

Mrs. A.Why, Blanche, how you do run on! Don’t, I beg of you, make her appear any more ridiculous than she naturally is. And, above all things else, pray don’t introduce the subject of cows.

B.I’m sure I don’t see any harm in drawing her out. It will be so amusing. I will invite her to go shopping with me to-morrow, just to see how she will stare in the windows. There will be a slight contrast between our large and fashionable stores and the one little variety store in her native village, where they sell everything from a peck of potatoes to a silk dress.

Mrs. A.I should be too much mortified to do so. But she may have arrived already. Let us go down and see.

(Exeunt.)

E.(astonished and amused). Is it possible that my aunt and cousin expect to find me so countrified? It would be cruel in me to disappoint their expectations. I have always been considered quite good at imitation, and I have a great mind to personate, for a little while, the character of a backwood’s maiden—for my amusement as well us theirs. I must practise a little, first, in order to carry it out well. (Goes to mirror and makes a low courtesy.) Why, haow d’ye do, Aunt Tildy? I’m proper glad to see ye. And haow d’yedo, Blanche? I’m dreadful tickled to meet ye. (Turns round smiling.) I wonder how it would do to give her what Charlie calls a “Down East hug.” They would be fairly horrified, I think. But I will be governed by circumstances, and go down to meet them without further delay.

(Goes out,R.Curtain falls.)

Scene III.—Mrs A.’sdrawing-room.Euniceenters,R.

E.(looking round). What! are they not here yet? I supposed they were coming directly downstairs. However, I will sit down and await their coming. Ah! there they are now.

(Mrs. A.andBlancheenter,L.)

Mrs. A.(coming forward). I didn’t know you had arrived, Eunice. I have just returned from—

E.(interrupting her by advancing and throwing her arms around her neck). Why, haow d’ye do, Aunt Tildy? I’m proper glad to see ye. (Mrs. A.withdraws from the embrace with a disgusted expression of countenance, and smooths down her collar, which was disarranged by it.E.advances toBlanche, who, fearing a like salutation, takes a step backward, and holds out the tips of her fingers to her cousin.E.grasps them vigorously, and, stepping forward, bestows a loud kiss upon her cousin’s cheek.Blanche, with a slight frown, takes her handkerchief and wipes it off.) How d’ye do, Cousin Blanche? I’m dreadful tickled to meet ye.

B.(smiling). And I am glad to make your acquaintance, Eunice. When did you leave home?

E.Day before yesterday.

Mrs. A.You must be quite fatigued (E.stares)—tired, perhaps I should say—with your journey.

E.No; I aint tired a mite.

B.Were you ever in the city before?

E.I guess not. I don’t remember it if I was. It looks queer enough to see the houses crowded so thick together. And I haven’t seen a barn since I came. I suppose, though, they’re all in back of the houses; but then I don’t see how folks get their caows in and out. I s’pose they pastur’ ’em on the common.

B.Oh, no, they wouldn’t be allowed in any of the parks. It is too thickly settled here for any one to keep cows.

E.You don’t mean to say that you have to buy all your butter! It must cost a sight. Why, if I’d a’ known it, I’d have brought you a mess. We churned the day before I came away, and the butter came tip-top.

(Mrs. A.quietly leaves the room,R.)

E.(noticing her aunt’s exit). I s’pose your mother’s gone out to get tea. If you want to help her, don’t let me hinder you. And if there’s anything that I can do, jest let me know, for I’d just as lieves help as not.

B.Thank you, but there’s no need. We leave that for the servants.

E.How many helps do you keep?

B.There are four, I believe.

E.And how many have you in family?

B.(smiling). Four persons.

E.(in assumed amazement). Well, that beats all that ever I heard. What do they all do?

B.We have a cook, housemaid, chambermaid, and seamstress, and they all seem to find enough to occupy their time.

(Bell rings.)

E.What’s that bell for?

B.(rising). That is to call us to dinner.

E.(rising). What, dinner at six o’clock! At home we have dinner at twelve, and supper at five. And you ought to see our bell! Why, you can hear it most half a mile. We have it to call the men from the field to their meals.

(Exeunt,R.Curtain falls.)

Scene IV.—Mrs. A.’sdrawing-room.Blanche,R., and her mother,L., engaged in crocheting or other fancy work.

B.Well, ma, what do you think now? Isn’t Eunice the most countrified specimen you ever saw?

Mrs. A.I must admit that she is decidedly rustic.

B.But did you notice the blunders she made at dinner?

Mrs. A.I saw that she ate with her knife, and didn’t use her napkin.

B.(much amused). That reminds me that when I took my napkin from the ring, she asked me if I used a towel in my lap because I was afraid of spoiling mydress. She also said that, at home, the younger children wore bibs, and she wondered we didn’t put one on to Isabel. (Greatly amused.) Imagine Isabel,—a girl nine years old, with a bib on!

Mrs. A.I’m afraid she wouldn’t submit to it very quietly.

B.Then she took butter from the plate with her own knife, and when pa asked her if she would have more of the meat, she said, “No; I’ve had enough for this time.”

Mrs. A.I think your father must have noticed her awkwardness.

B.I don’t see how he could help it. But he would not allow her to see that he noticed it.

Mrs. A.What did she say to the piano? I heard you playing for her.

B.(laughing). She thought it was a queer-looking thing, and said it must be hard to work it.

Mrs. A.Where is she now?

B.She has retired. She said she always went to bed as soon as it grew dark. I should think she had been living in the woods all her life.

Mrs. A.And yet, with all her blunders, she is quite pretty, and dresses with a good deal of taste.

B.That is true. And yet, with such an ignorance of conventional rules, what sort of a figure will she make at our party?

Mrs. A.You will have to make the best of it, and hint to any one that you may introduce to her that she is a country cousin.

(Curtain falls.)

Scene V.—The same.Mrs. Atherton,L. C.,Blanche,R.,Eunice,C., andMr. Warner,L., present. Also other guests conversing in groups.Eunicedressed in white, with a few simple flowers in her hair.Blanchedressed richly.

B.(beckoning toMr. W., who comes to her, and speaking in a low but audible tone). Mr. Warner, I wish to introduce you to a cousin of mine, a rustic damsel, who has never been to the city before. She is fresh from the country, and I doubt not you will be greatly amused by her conversation. There she is near the piano.

Mr. Warner(surprised). What, that young lady so tastefully dressed! It cannot be! You are surely joking, Miss Atherton.

B.(smiling). You will discover by her conversation that I have spoken truly. But here we are.—Mr. Warner desires the honor of an introduction, Cousin Eunice. Miss Haynes—Mr. Warner.

(Blancheretires to another part of the stage,L.Eunicebows without any show of embarrassment.)

Mr. W.Have you been long in the city, Miss Haynes?

E.But a few days.

Mr. W.And how do you enjoy it?

E.You will perhaps laugh at my lack of taste, when I say that, in my judgment, it does not compare favorably with the country. City life is too artificial to satisfy me.

Mr. W.And yet city life has many advantages which you probably do not get in the country,—lectures, concerts, and the opera, for example.

E.I confess these are advantages which I should be glad to enjoy, and should fully appreciate. In these latter days, however, most of the lectures are reported in the papers.

Mr. W.Yes, but in reading them one does not get the full enjoyment that is had in hearing them delivered.

E.That is true. It is also a great deprivation not to be able to hear the great singers of the day.

Mr. W.Then you are fond of music?

E.I am very fond of it.

Mr. W.Do you play?

E.A little, sometimes, for my own amusement.

Mr. W.Then let me beg a favor of you. There is a pause in the conversation and music is called for. Allow me to lead you to the piano.

E.I will play if you wish it, but I fear you will be disappointed.

(Mr. W.conducts her to the piano,R. C., toBlanche’sgreat astonishment. Guests look on and listen with interest.E.plays a short prelude, and sings in a clear, sweet voice, which excites general admiration, the following song:)

“I do not love the crowded streetWith all its varied show,Through which a sea of human formsKeeps heaving to and fro.My spirit yearns for fairer scenes,For bird, and flower, and tree;I cannot bid farewell to these,—A country life for me!“The bird has sought his last year’s nestWithin the fairy dell;The squirrel in the greenwood hides,His haunts I know full well;Along the meadows flower-bestrewn,I hear the humming-bee;I cannot live apart from these,—A country life for me!“’Twas there I roved in years gone byWith careless step and fleet,And scarcely deigned to pluck the flowersThat blossomed at my feet.O golden time of childhood’s prime,When life was blithe and free,Thy memory lingers in my heart,—A country life for me!“I love to climb the steep hillside,And catch the sun’s first glow,When, rising from his watery couch,He gilds the waves below.My spirit yearns for fairer scenes,For bird, and flower, and tree;I cannot live apart from these,—A country life for me!”

“I do not love the crowded street

With all its varied show,

Through which a sea of human forms

Keeps heaving to and fro.

My spirit yearns for fairer scenes,

For bird, and flower, and tree;

I cannot bid farewell to these,—

A country life for me!

“The bird has sought his last year’s nestWithin the fairy dell;The squirrel in the greenwood hides,His haunts I know full well;Along the meadows flower-bestrewn,I hear the humming-bee;I cannot live apart from these,—A country life for me!

“The bird has sought his last year’s nest

Within the fairy dell;

The squirrel in the greenwood hides,

His haunts I know full well;

Along the meadows flower-bestrewn,

I hear the humming-bee;

I cannot live apart from these,—

A country life for me!

“’Twas there I roved in years gone byWith careless step and fleet,And scarcely deigned to pluck the flowersThat blossomed at my feet.O golden time of childhood’s prime,When life was blithe and free,Thy memory lingers in my heart,—A country life for me!

“’Twas there I roved in years gone by

With careless step and fleet,

And scarcely deigned to pluck the flowers

That blossomed at my feet.

O golden time of childhood’s prime,

When life was blithe and free,

Thy memory lingers in my heart,—

A country life for me!

“I love to climb the steep hillside,And catch the sun’s first glow,When, rising from his watery couch,He gilds the waves below.My spirit yearns for fairer scenes,For bird, and flower, and tree;I cannot live apart from these,—A country life for me!”

“I love to climb the steep hillside,

And catch the sun’s first glow,

When, rising from his watery couch,

He gilds the waves below.

My spirit yearns for fairer scenes,

For bird, and flower, and tree;

I cannot live apart from these,—

A country life for me!”

(Curtain falls.)

Scene VI.—Drawing-room after the guests have left.Blanche,R., andEunice,L., present.

B.Do tell me, Eunice, what this means. I amsocurious to have it explained.

E.So I supposed. But confess the truth, Blanche. Didn’t you think me a genuine rustic, very ignorant, and quite countrified?

B.I certainly did, but you surely gave me reason. I give you credit for acting your part well. But what induced you to take upon yourself such a character?

E.I was afraid of disappointing you.

B.(surprised). Disappointing me?

E.(smiling). Yes. The day of my arrival I was shown by the servant into the room provided for me. I had scarcely laid aside my bonnet and shawl when you and Aunt Matilda came into the chamber adjoining mine. Unintentionally I overheard you conversing of me. You both had the impression that, as I lived in the country, I must be ignorant and uncultivated. I therefore decided to continue the illusion for a short time. When the party came off, it seemed a fitting time for me to appear in my true character.

B.I am glad that you are not what you seemed. I was almost overcome by your vigorous salute, and your talk about pasturing cows in the parks, and so on; and I feared that you might introduce these topics as the subjects of your conversation at the party.

E.Fortunately no such mishap occurred, and since you prefer me in my present character, I will still retain it, trusting that you may never again have cause to be disturbed at the rusticity of your Country Cousin.

(Curtain falls.)

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