place. The next day.

THE SCENERY IS DESIGNED AND PAINTED BY T. W. HALL.

The reception on the first night was of a half-hearted character, for the play had been described simply as a farce, and the audience found itself laughing at seemingly serious situations which it felt should properly provoke tears, feeling sympathetically interested in passages of sentiment one moment, only to mock at them the next, and, in fact, experiencing constant perplexity as to its emotional duties. The programme certainly said “farce” in black and white, and what could that mean but unmitigated nonsense and laughter? Yet, here was actual drama with a whimsical twist that was most surprising; here were bits of pathos which were positively comic. Could this be farce? But happily that kind of criticism is soon forgotten whose principle is, like that of Mr. Punch's navvy, “Here’s a stranger, let’s ’eave ’alf a brick at him.” The “mixed” greeting of “The Cabinet Minister” gave place to very enthusiastic receptions on succeeding nights, and, in spite of the perplexity confessed in many of the criticisms of the play, the theatre was crowded night after night, and the fashionable and political worlds flocked to the Court, many leading politicians being frequent visitors.

The season terminated on August 8, and the theatre re-opened on October 11, from which time the popularity of Mr. Pinero’s play continued as great as ever. But, after 197 performances, Mrs. John Wood decided to withdraw “The Cabinet Minister” on February 14, 1891, in the very zenith of its success, while a further long run was still to be reasonably expected. This play has not yet been seen in the provinces, but Mr. Augustin Daly has arranged to produce it, with his famous company, at his theatre in New York early in the present month.

 Malcolm C. Salaman.

January 1892.

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

Right Hon. Sir Julian Twombley, G.C.M.G., M.P., Secretary of State for the * * * Department

Lady Twombley

Brooke Twombley, their son

Imogen, their daughter

Dowager Countess of Drumdurris

Lady Euphemia Vibart, her daughter

Earl of Drumdurris

Countess of Drumdurris

Viscount Aberbrothock, their son

Lady Macphail

Macphail of Ballocheevin, her son

Valentine White, Lady Twombley’s nephew

Hon. Mrs. Gaylustre, trading as Mauricette et Cie., 17a Plunkett Street, Mayfair

Mr. Joseph Lebanon

Mr. Melton

The Munkittrick

Miss Munkittrick

Probyn

Angèle

THE FIRST ACT

DEBT


THE SECOND ACT

DIFFICULTIES


THE THIRD ACT

DISASTER


THE FOURTH ACT

DANCING

THE CABINET MINISTER

THE FIRST ACT.

Debt

The scene is a conservatory built and decorated in Moorish style, in the house of the Rt. Hon. Sir Julian Twombley, M.P., Chesterfield Gardens, London. A fountain is playing, and tall palms lend their simple elegance to the elaborate Algerian magnificence of the place. The drawing-rooms are just beyond the curtained entrances. It is a May afternoon.

Brooke Twombley, a good-looking but insipid young man of about two-and-twenty, faultlessly dressed for the afternoon, enters, and sits dejectedly, turning over some papers.

Brooke Twombley.

I’ve done it. Such an afternoon’s work—what!  [Reading.]  “Schedule of the Debts of Mr. Brooke Twombley.  [Turning over sheet after sheet.]  Tradesmen. Betting Transactions. Baccarat. Miscellaneous Amusements. Sundries. Extras.”

[Probyn, a servant in powder and livery, is crossing the conservatory, when he sees Brooke.]

Probyn.

Oh, Mr. Brooke.

Brooke Twombley.

[Slipping the schedule into his pocket.] Eh!

Probyn.

I didn’t know you were in, sir. Her ladyship told me to give you this, Mr. Brooke—quietly.

[He hands Brooke a letter which he has taken from his pocket.]

Brooke Twombley.

[Glancing at the envelope.]  The Mater. Thank you.  [A little cough is heard. He looks toward the drawing-room.]  Is anyone there?

Probyn.

Mrs. Gaylustre, sir.

Brooke Twombley.

The dressmaker! What does she want?

Probyn.

She told Phipps, Miss Imogen’s maid, sir, that she was anxious to see the effect of her ladyship’s and Miss Imogen’s gowns when they get back from the Drawing-Room.

Brooke Twombley.

You should take her upstairs.

Probyn.

Beg your pardon, Mr. Brooke, but we’ve always understood that when Mrs. Gaylustre calls in the morning she’s a dressmaker, and when she calls in the afternoon she’s a lady.

Brooke Twombley.

Oh, very well; it’s awfully confusing.  [Probyn goes out. Brooke reads the letter.]  “My sweet child. For heaven’s sake let me have your skeddle, or whatever you call your list of debts, directly. I’ll do my best to get you out of your scrape, though how I can’t think. I’m desperately short of money, and altogether—as my poor dear father used to say—things are as blue as old Stilton. If your pa finds out what a muddle I’m in, I fear he’ll throw up public life and bury us in the country, and then good-by to my dear boy’s and girl’s prospects. So if I contrive to clear you once more, don’t do it again, my poppet, or you’ll break the heart of your loving mother, Kitty Twombley.” The Mater’s a brick—what! But I wonder if she has any notion how much it tots up to.

[He places the letter upon the back of a large saddle-bag arm-chair while he takes out the schedule.]

Brooke Twombley.

Three thousand seven hundred and fifty-six, nought, two. What!

[Probyn enters.]