COUNT CORNELIUS DE c.o.xO, Land-Margrave } of Somewhere, with a Palazzo in Venice, } R. MILBURD.

commonly known as "JAMES c.o.x" }

KARL, the German Waiter T. CHILVERN.

MRS. PENELOPE ANNE KNOX MRS. ORBY FRIMMELY.

MAJOR-GENERAL BOUNCER, B.L.H. CAPTAIN BYRTON.

_The Scene is laid in Aix-la-Chapelle, at the Hotel known as Die Schweine und die Pfeiffer._

_Time._--There being no time like The Present, we choose the present time.

The Orchestra under the superintendence of MISS CATHERINE MEDFORD.

Stage Manager, R. MILBURD.

Prompter, GEORGE A. MEDFORD.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR STAGE.]

PENELOPE ANNE.

The Curtain being drawn up:--

_The scene represents a public room in the small Hotel above-mentioned, at Aix-la-Chapelle._

_Doors R.H. and L.H. Also a door C. leading on to a garden._

_Time, late in Autumn._

_On the table are various papers, books, &c._

_Enter c.o.x._

_Everybody applauds him. The Signor says, aloud, "_Oh 'ow good! eet is Deeck_," and looks about, proud of his penetration of his nephew's disguise, when Madame observes, "_Mr. Regniati, if you can't be quiet, you'd better go out_," whereupon the Signor confines himself to smiling and nodding to different people among the audience, intimating thereby his intense satisfaction with everything that is taking place on the stage._

[Ill.u.s.tration: COUNT c.o.xO.]

_c.o.x is in full tourist style of the most recent fashion. Over this he wears a top-coat and round his throat a cache-nez. In one hand he holds a large gla.s.s of water._

_He walks up and down on entering. Drinks a little. Takes off his coat, which he throws on the sofa. Then drinks again. Then walks.

Then removes the cache-nez, which he throws on to coat, then he stands still and respires freely._

c.o.x.

Phew! I'm only gradually cooling. This is the sixth day I've taken the waters of Aix-la-Chapelle ... and I'm beginning to be so sulphurous all over, that, if anybody was to rub against me suddenly, I should ignite and go off with a bang. I've written to my friend Box an account of it.

I haven't seen Box for some years; but as I particularly wish him to remain in England just now, I've commenced a correspondence with him.

I've told him that the doctor's orders here are very simple .... "Herr c.o.x," says he to me--Herr's German--I must explain that to Box, because, though Box is a good fellow, yet--he's--in fact--he's an a.s.s. "Herr c.o.x," says he, "you must drink a gla.s.s of sulphur wa.s.ser." Wa.s.ser's German too; it didn't take long for my naturally fine intellect to discover that it meant water. But Box doesn't know it ... for though he's an excellent fellow, he is--in fact he's an ignoramus. "Herr c.o.x,"

says he to me, "you must take the sulphur wa.s.ser, and then walk about."

"What next, Herr Doctor?" says I. Note to Box. _Herr Doctor_ doesn't mean that he's anything to do with a _Hair_-cutter. No, it's the respectful German for Mister--must explain that to Box, for though he's a tiptop chap, yet Box is--is--in fact, Box is a confounded idiot. "Herr Doctor," says I, "what next?" "Well," says he "when you've taken the sulphur water and walked about, then you must walk about and take the sulphur water." Simple. The first gla.s.s ... ugh! I shan't forget it. I never could have imagined, till that moment, what the taste of a summer beverage made of curious old eggs ... a trifle over ripe ... beaten up with a lucifer match, would be like ... now I know. But I was not to be conquered. Gla.s.s number two was not so bad. Gla.s.s number three .... less unpalatable than gla.s.s number two--gla.s.s number four ... um, between number three and number four a considerable time was allowed to elapse, as I found I had been going it too fast. But now my enfeebled health is gradually being renovated, and they tell me that when I leave this, I shall be "quite another man." I don't know what other man I shall be.

Yes I do. I am now a single man. I hope to leave here a double, I mean a married man. c.o.x, my boy, that's what you've come here for. c.o.x, my boy, that's why you want to keep, diplomatically, Box, my boy, in England, and in ignorance of your proceedings. Herr c.o.x, you're a sly dog. If I could give myself a dig in the ribs without any internal injury, I'd do it. I came here for the rheumatism. By the way I needn't have come here for _that_, as I'd got it pretty strongly. I caught it, without any sort of trouble. I bathed, at Margate, in the rain. Before I could reach my bathing machine, I was drenched through and through, I don't know where to, but long beyond the skin. The injury was more than skin deep. No amount of exterior scrubbings could cure me. Brandies and waters hot internally, every day for two months, produced more than the desired effect. I began to wander. I finished by travelling. And here I am. In six more lessons on the sulphur spring, I shall be quite the Cure.

(_Dances and sings._) "The Cure, the Cure, the Cure, &c."

(_Great applause: from the Signor especially._)

_Enter WAITER._

(_More applause. An elderly lady with eye-gla.s.ses asks audibly if that isn't _Captain Byrton_?_)

WAITER (_putting newspaper on table_).

Aachen Zeitung, Herr c.o.x.

(_More applause for his German accent._)

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WAITER.]

c.o.x.

Nein danky. I mean, no thank you. Nix--nein--don't want any.

WAITER.

Nein, Herr c.o.x, zis ees de baber--de daily baber at Aix. Beebels come.

[_Exit._

(_The Signor here observes aloud, "_Eet is so like ven I----_"

Madame says, sternly, "_Hush, Mr. Regniati_," and he contents himself by finishing with a wink privately to me._)

c.o.x.

Ja. Goot. I flatter myself I'm getting on with my German. Here's the arrival column .. English .. I look at this every day ... because ... um (_reading it_) ... "Mr. and Mrs. Bloater, from Yarmouth, and all the little Bloaters ... Major Bouncer" ... goodness gracious! how extraordinary!... Major Bouncer ... Oh it can't be the same, it must be one of his ancestors ... or his posterity ... "Major Bouncer of the Royal Banbury Light Horse" ... pooh! fancy Bouncer on a light horse!

Ride a c.o.c.k horse To Banbury gorse To see Major Bouncer Upon a light horse; Rings on his fingers ....

Stop a minute ... Rings ... Ah! (_reads_) "accompanied by Mrs. Bouncer, also of the Banbury Light Horse." Of course, that settles it. It is _not_ old Bouncer. Next, "Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, from Pinner." Ah! at last ... "Arrived at the Hotel, der Schwein und die Pfeife," that's here--"Mrs. Penelope Anne Knox." I only heard it the other day at Margate. There she sat. Radiant as ever. A widow for the second time.

Originally widow of William Wiggins, of Margate and Ramsgate, and now widow of Nathaniel Knox, of the Docks, with a heap--a perfect heap--of money. Then my old pa.s.sion returned. I determined to propose to her. I was about to do so, when on the very morning that I was going to throw myself at her feet, I caught this infernal rheumatism, which laid me on my back. When I recovered she was gone. "Where to?" says I. "Aix!" says they. My spirits mounted. I took a vast amount of pains to get to Aix, and here I am. I had heard of some property in Venice, which belonged to the c.o.xes some hundreds of years ago, and so I thought I'd join pleasure with business, and take Aix and Penelope Anne on the road. And now _here_ she is. If Box had only known it, he'd have been after her. He's a first-rate fellow, is Box, but abominably mercenary and mean. He'd think nothing of proposing to Penelope Anne merely for her money. And _I_ think nothing of a man who could do such a thing. So I've written to Box telling him to go to the North, and I'll come and stay with him for the shooting season. A little shooting Box in Scotland. Ha! ha! when I _do_ go, it will be with Penelope Anne on my arm, as Mr. and Mrs. c.o.x.

Let me see, when the hour strikes again, it will be time for my third tumbler--here it is--and the promenade. The Doctor says I must be punctual in drinking the water, so I'll put myself straight, and then, so to speak, lay myself out for the capture of Penelope Anne.

VERSES.

(_"Les Pompiers de Nanterre."_)

I'm so very glad, Feel so very jolly, Like a little lad Who has come home to play.