Pf'^"j • .^■'^' M,^ ;£.. ::i': .0-'iW,%i,. 11: Vll 1^1 o "^saaAiNnawv so ^■^mkrn^ ^0FCAIIF0%. -j^tllBRARYQc .^WE■^JNIVER% < =3 ^lOSANCElfjV \RY 30 S 5(MUBRARYQr ^^WE■l)NIVER5/^ ^. % 5 ^ %j nv> jo"^ &AavaaiH^ <: I '© '•"^mv^ R% ^lOSANCElf/^ s s — f ft Q w 01^ v/^aaAiNa-awv* -^^l-UBRA'^"- i? 1 1,- ? ''MBRARY•" . • : ■ • ■ . ■•..;-.• ',: •• '.. •' .. . . ; • . • • ••• • • ... •_ ' • • • • • • Philadelphia ^^ The Penn Publishing Company 1U2!) 149248 Copyright 1898, -by The, Penn Publishing Company Cb45 CONTENTS tAMM Old Hbads on Young Shouldebs . Mrs. Louise E. V. Boyd . 5 Just from thb City H. Elliott McBride ... 13 Tbusty and True Mrs. Clara A. Sylvester . 20 Unappreciated Genius Millie M. Olcott 28 Thb Discontented Girl? .... Mrs. J. E. McConaughy . 34 Colorado — Acting Charade . . . Millie M. Olcott 35 A Pair op Lions Harry H. Cushing ... 37 The Conjugating German . . . Vale Chester 48 Whekb there's a "Will there's a Way — Dramatic Proverb . . . Sophie May £»0 Other People's Chudren .... Mrs. E. R. A 58 Good Maxims .62 The Floral Guide — A Tableau . Millie M. Olcott 63 The Three "Wishes Edward Traill Horn . . 64 Turn About's Fair Play .... Haltie Herbert 67 Frightened at Nothing 74 Boarding 'Round Phila H. Case 78 Alice's Party Eliza Doolittle 82 Who's THE Poet? Kate Woodland 86 [ Guehs I'm the Man Laura S. Parsons .... 90 Mischief — Dramatic Charade . . T. A. E. Holcomh ... 92 Uncle Deal's Lecture Alice A. Coale 100 Tnr. Fairy Qckkn's Decxsion . . Mrs. Louise E. V. Rmjd . 104 The Sbcond Phizb U. EUioti McBride ... 107 8 4 CONTENTS 'Washinqton*s Vision — ^Tableau . Amanda P. Sdkrig . . . 113 Cubing an Invalid 115 Little Folks' Opinions H. Elliott McBride . - . 119 The Doctor's Choice Alice M. Ball 121 The Unwelcome Guest H. Elliott McBride . . . 126 Not What he Wanted J. D. Vinton 131 Saved — Dialogue and Tableau 139 Two Ways of Telling the Samb Thing Mrs. E. B. Duffey ... 145 Aunt Debby's Speculation . . . Mrs. J. E. McConaughy . 152 Illinois — Acting Charade 161 The Young Debatees H. Elliott McBride . . . 163 The Two Dolls Mrs. Louise E. V. Boyd . 170 The Census Taker Millie M. Olcott 173 The Returned Brother n. Elliott McBride . . .179 After a Fashion Mrs. E. B. Duffey . . . 183 A Fbightenbd Lodg£b 166 STERLING DIALOGUES OLD HEADS ON YOUNG SHOULDERS. CHARACTERS :— Mrs. Grimshaw, fussy old Lady. Polly, her Step-daughter. Joe, Polly's Brother. Fannie, Polly's Cousin. Elihtj Goahead, fopjiish old Gentleman. Scene. — Mes. Grimshaw, in cap and spectacles, and a letter is her hand, which she opens and reads with much apparent satis- faction. Mrs. Grimshaw — ( Calls) — Polly ! Polly ! Enter Polly, looking much frightened. Polly — Well, ma'am ! (Going to sit down.) Mrs. Grimshaw — Don't sit down till I give you per- mission. How pert you are ! Polly — I didn't mean to be. Do you want me? Mrs. Grimshaw — Yes, I do want you ; I want you particularly ; I want you on this occasion to give me your undivided attention ; I want you to be serious ; I want to confide to you a subject of the greatest importance: and now you may sit down. (Polly, sitting down, bursts into a little laugh, but tries to conceal it by turning it into a cough.) Why, what a cough you have to-day ! You must bathe your feet, and take some red pepper tea, and put a piece of red flannel around your throat, and wear your night-cap ; it is just perversity in you not to wear a night-cai)^every discreet young lady does wear a niglit- cap; they are very becoming, too, and the broader the 5 § STERLING DIALOGUES frill the better they look. (Polly again laughs, but ends by coughing.) Oh, what a cough! It must be attended to. But now we will proceed to business. Sit up straight ; fold your hajids ; your hair is not as smooth as it should be, your collar is a little crooked. Let me see your shoes ; nothing speaks as vrell for a young lady's neatness as for her shoes to be neatly laced. Polly, here is a letter from ray respected friend, Mr. Elihu Goa- head of Goaheadville. He's as rich as a lord, and a great catch, I assure you. Yes, Polly, you might search through the world's lotteries a long while before you could draw such another prize as Mr. Elihu Goahead. Polly Ha! ha! ha! Oh, what a name! what a name! Mes. Grimshaw — What a name! Indeed it's a very good name. . To-Li-Y— (Still laughing) — It is too funny for anything ! Mrs. Grimshaw — Stop your laughing, you frivolous simpleton. I wont have it. Have you no propriety at all ? My mother never laughed herself, and never allowed her children to, and they rewarded her care by being very proper people, very indeed. Ah ! dear me, what my trials are since I became your step-mother. Just to think of a girl of sixteen laughing right in my face at the name of my friend. People can 't help their names. Suppose your name was Polly Pickle, I guess you couldn't help that. Polly — (Again laughing) — No, I couldn't help it, but I'd laugh at it. Polly Pickle! I'd die laughing at that Ha ! ha ! ha ! Mrs. Grimshaw — Hush ! hush ! listen to me. ( Open- ing the letter, adjusting her glasses, and looking at Polly idth a severe expression.) Here, now, is a chance for you. This old gentleman — STERLING DIALOGUES 7 Polly— Old ! Is he old ? Mrs. Grimshaw — He's not a boy, nor a flirt, nor a scamp, nor a fop such as you would pick, but he is my friend, respectable and responsible, Mr. Elihu Goahead. Polly — {Slowly) — Mister I-like-you Go-a-head ! Mrs. Grimshaav — Polly, this is wasting time. At one o'clock my old friend — Polly — (In an undertone) — Old ! old ! Mrs. Grimshaw — He Avill be here, and I will have a splendid dinner — turkey, oysters, coffee, cakes. If you do n't receive Mr. Goahead as you should, you will lose not only the offer of his heart and hand, but all the good things : for remember, I will send you to your own room and there serve you with nothing but bread and water, until you learn to be something less of a child, something less of a tom-boy, I may say, for a tom-boy you are, and it all comes of your intimacy with your hopeful cousin Fanny ; understand that hereafter my doors will not be open to her, and you sha' n't visit her, and I '11 send your brother Joe off to school. Yes, I'll revolutionize this vt'hole concern. Your father says it's no use to try to put old heads on young shoulders ; but I'll show him I can do even that! (She flings the letter into Polly's lap, who reads it over, while Mrs. Grimshaw arrays herself in bon- net, shawl and gloves.) Polly, I will now start for the railway station. Do you go and dress yourself neatly, and be ready to receive Mr. Goahead ; and when you are established in his fine house you will thuuk me for all this. Be discreet for once, Polly, do be discreet for once. Polly — Oh, to be — ha ! ha ! Oh, to be sure — ha ! ha! ha! {As the old lady turns around threateningly, the laugh becomes a cough.'] Mrs. Grlmshaw — Polly, I ^o now ; remember what I 8 STERLING DIALOGUES say. You may be Mrs. Elihu Goahead if you will, oi you may find yourself living on bread and water in your own room, while turkey, and oysters, and coffee, and pleasant society will be the order of the day. You must try to have an old head on young shoulders. [^Exit. Enter Fanny, with a great bound, her hat flung hack on her shoulders, hair in disorder, and without hoops. Fanny — So old Grim 's gone, has she ? I dodged her nicely, came in the back door as she went out of the front ; but what have we here ? Polly — Fanny, Fanny, I wish I was nobody. She has gone, but she will be back, and you must go away. She says you sha' n't come here any more. Fanny — {Throwing off her hat) — But I will. This is my uncle's house, and you are my own cousin. Let's have some fun. Where's Joe? Come, brighten up. Polly — Fan, look here; look at this letter. She's gone now to meet this friend of hers. Fanny — (Glancing at the letter) — For ever and ever! This is fine ! Mr. Elihu Goahead, his name is spelled to a T, for it should be goat-head. A precious old hunks he must be. Is he rich ? Polly — Rich as a Jew, and stupendously proper. I hate him. Fanny — "When did you see him ? and why do you hate him ? Polly — I never saw him ; I never want to. Fanny — Now, don't sigh or groan, or I'll leave. Just draw him on, and make fun of him. / would ; I wish I'd half your chance for fun.*- i'(\. lead old Grim. A dance would do her good. I 'd take the starch out of her. Let 's have some fun ; there comes Joe. Joe, here ; Joe, come ia and let us have a real high time ! Polly is as solemn as a tombstone, all because she is to have a rich STERLING DIALOGUES 9 beau, a lordly, grand old soul, beautiful as the day, for all we know. Enter Joe, his coat badly torn. Polly — O Joe, what will our ma say to that coat ? how did you tear it so ? Joe — Easy enough. I saw the old sweety coming down street, and thought it time to scatter off; so I took to the fence, and there my coat ketched, and I could just hardly get away before she saw me. Fanny — Fol de rol ! who cares for a coat ? I say, let us start a good romp and shake the cobwebs out of Polly's brain. Oh, we have a new play, Joe and I, such a good new play ! Polly, come on, take it easy ; every body has to have beaux some time. Don't fret though, Polly, till he is really here, and no help for it. Who knows ? maybe the cars will run off the track or something else turn up. Joe — Come, Polly, this is a new play. Oh, first rate! Here are some strings. Fanny, tie her hands behind her, and now we'll just show her what fun is! {Produci7ig fstrong cord, they tie Polly's hands behind her, all laugh- ing in great glee. JoE looks out and says ;) My gracious, who 'd 'a thought it ? Dear ! oh, dear ! Polly — What is it, Joe? Joe — The old lady and — and an old fellow along with her. This is a jolly go ! Polly — Undo my hands ! Fanny — ( Trying hard to untie the knots) — I can not, to save my life, loosen this! Polly — Oli, I'm undone, I'm undone! Joe — No, you 're not, by a good deal ! Fanny — (liumviaglng a work-basket) — The scissors, the scissors, they're not here. Polly — Joe, your knife, your knife, quick. 10 STERLING DIALOGUES Joe — ( Carelessly) — I traded it for a quart of chestnuts. Polly — {Angrily) — Are you both possessed? Get me loose, I say ! I wont put up with this ! Joe, I '11 tell ma ! Joe — Ha ! ha ! ha ! Never saw such fun in all my life. Girls in a scrape, and don't know how to get out. Our lady ma will quite forget my toi'n coat, when she sees Poll's predicament. (Sings:) Hey, Polly, don't you feel jolly? Don't you feel jolly, pretty Polly? [Fanny, flying at Joe, boxes his ears, and turns him out ; he looks in once more to say :] Joe — They 're inside the gate ; I wish you a happy time of it. Fanny — (Soothingly) — Polly dear, don't fret. I'll make this all right. I was n't born in the woods to bo scared by an owl. Trust me ; now, here. ( Thrusting her liands through Polly's arms.) See, there 's nothing like a little strategy. How fortunate that I have no hoops on. You talk now, I will do the gestures, and get you through. There they are ; be calm and cool ; I am. Mrs. Grimshaw — (Bringing Mr. Goahead forward) — Mr. Goahead, allow me the pleasure of presenting to you my daughter Polly. She is, I must assure you, Mr. Goahead, a very discreet young person. Indeed, I might ?ay that with her I have succeeded in putting an old head on young shoulders. Mr. Goahead — (Approaching, shakes hands) — Mir Polly, I am glad to see you, and you have (Still holding hei- hand), you have a very beautiful small hand. I love a small hand. (Takes a rose from his button-hole.) Here, Miss Polly, accept this little tribute to beauty, inhale its fragrance, and tell me if you are not an admirer of nature, STERLING DIALOGUES 11 IHere Mrs. Grimshaw gives Mr. Goahead a chair, and pushes one toward Polly, who seats herself in Fanny's lap on it.} Polly — (Smelling the rose) — I am an enthusiastic ad- mirer of nature, Mr. Goahead. The flowers at my feet, the stars in the blue heavens above, the far-off hills, these near streams hurrying on to the ocean, all, all enchant me ! \_Duri71g this speech, Fanny As profuse in gestures.l Mr. Goahead — Upon my word, you are quite eloquent. [ love eloquence. Time would pass swiftly with you, miss; but let me see, what time it is? (Takes out his watch.) My watch has stopped. "What time have you, Miss Polly ? Polly — (As the hands take out her watch) — Half past two ! [^Puts the watch hack, takes her handkerchief from her pocket and wipes her mouth, bursting irito a little laugh, which turns to a cough.} Mrs. Grimshaw — (Stamping) — Polly, something must be done for that cough. You had better take some pepper \ea, and eat nothing. [Joe is now seen behind Mr. Goahead and Mrs, Grimshaw^ with a hirge butcher-knife in his hand, making signs as if to cut off the old gentleman's head, which imreases Polly's cough, and Mrs. Grimshaw, growing uneasy, steps forward and calk to the cook to hurry dinner ; and standing in the doorway, seems to give many directions. Mk. Goahp:ad has taken up a magazine, and turning the leaves, asks ;] Mr. Goahead — Miss Polly, here are a number of bridal costumes given; now tell mo how you think a bride should bo dressed. Polly — In white, pure white, with a double skirt; and the orange blossom wreaths should be not only on the brow, but all about the floum-es; aud the slippers of satin; 12 STERLING DIALOGUES and the veil floating around the form, should be of the finest lace; and a costly brooch of pearls should rest above the heart. (Many gestures.) Mr. Goahead — The picture is heavenly ; yes, too hea- venly ! Oh, how I long to gaze upon it ! But, lady, let me place upon your slender finger this ring. (He draws it off.) Polly — No, thank you ; oh, no ! (He attempts it, but the hands close tight.) Mrs. Grimshaw — (Alarmed for the result, announces dinner ready, and saying, affably :) — Mr. Goahead, give yrour arm to Miss Polly, and follow me. ( Goes out.) Mr. Goahead — Miss Polly, please honor me by taking oay arm. [J.S he offers it, Joe steps nimbly forward, cuts the cord, and Polly taking the old gentleman's arm, they march out, leaving Fanny and Joe standing together on the stage, looking at each other. 1 Joe — My goodness! And so this is our new play. What a one it is ! What do you call it ? Fanny — " Old heads on young shoulders ' " [ Curtain.'] STERLING DIALOGUES 13 JUST FROM THE CITY. CHARACTERS :— Sam Jones, country Rustic. Erastus Blinknat, city Swell. Eva LENA Evans, Cousin of Sam's. Officer. Scene I. — A wood. Sam Jones discovered whittling. Enter Erastus Blinknat." Erastus — How do you do ? Sam — Hallo ! Whar 'd yeou cum from ? Erastus — I came down fwom the citaw. I wish to fiud the wesidence of Mrs. Jones. Can you assist me ? Sam — Wall, yes, I reckon I kin. I'm purty well acquainted around in these diggin's. Erastus — So I supposed. Sam — And yeou want tew go tew the house of Mrs- Jones? I reckon yeou be n't a relation of hers, be yeou? Erastus — No, sir ; I am not. But, weally, if you know where she wesides I 'd be supwemcly happy if you would infowm me. I am in somewhat of a hurwy. Sam — Yeou don't say so! Wall, neow, if yeou be n't a relation of Mrs. Jones's I 'd like tew know what on airth yeou air goin' there fiir. Erastus — (Aside) — A vewey impudent and inquisitive boaw. ( To Sam.) I wish to infowm you, sir, that I do not desiaw to hold any further convewsation with you, unless you will give me the diwcctions I so much desiaw. Sam — Sartinly, I '11 give yeou all the directions yeou want. I '11 tell yr-ou all abeout the Jones' family, and if yeou want, I'll tell yeou about the Barkers, and the Higginses, and the Wum])erley8 and the Scoozinhams, and all the l4 STERLING DIALOGUES rest of the people as lives areound here. Reckon yeotf haint never been areound in these diggin's afore ? Erastus — No ; I have nevaw had that honaw. Sam — What makes yeou talk in that twisted sort of a way ? Yeou say ho7iaw and nevaw jest like as if thar was somethin' wrong with yeour jaws. Reckon yeou've got the mumps, or somethin'. Erastus — {Aside)—W\xdii a disagweeably booby ! ( To 6am.) I would pwefer not to convewse with you. Sam — Wall, neow, that's not like me, fur I like tew talk tew e'en a'most anybody. A feller ginerally feels better arter he has got a good long talk tew somebody, and as yeou have jest cum deown from the city, I want tew ax yeou a heap of things. I haint seed a feller from the city fur up'ard of six months, and that feller was so mighty stuck up I could skurcely git a word eout of him. Thar aint any use in a feller bein' so much stuck up abeout any thing, fur we do n't know what is in store fur us, and when we air feelin' our biggest and lookin' our proudest we may git a whop that will make us feel sad and lonely all the rest of our lives. Erastus — (^Aaide) — I sujipose I must heaw this fellow through with his wigraawolc, or find the way myself. {To Sam.) Look heaw, Mr. John Smith, or whatevaw youaw name is, I have lost my way. Now, I fancy — well, I know you — Sam — Know me ! Wall, neow, I kalkilate yeou do n't, if yeou think my name 's John Smith. My name 's Jones, and yeou air a wantin' tew go tew my marni's house. The idee of me bein' a Smith ! I tell yeou, sir, if yeou warn't a stranger I'd make a fuss abeout it. The Smiths aint no great shakes, and I do n't take up with the idee of bein' equaled to 'em. John Smith lives deown tew Turkey Run, and he was ketched in the act of stealin' a STERLING DIALOGUES 15 hoss onct, so don't tell me I'm a Smith, fur I don't know as I kin allow it. Yeou know I 'm a feller as can 't be bamboozled and bully-ragged beyond a sartin p'int. Erastus — I meant no offence. I was merely going to wemawk that I knew you — that you were one of that sowt of gentlemen as desiwed to tell his stowy through befoaw talking on any other subject. I therefoaw desiwed to say that I would heaw you through, and then you could give me the diwections so that I could find Mrs. Jones's wesidence. Sam — Wall, yeou 're a buster tew talk ! I do n't know as I have got any thing partickelar tew say, but I 'd like tew ax yeou abeout the city. I reckon yeou have lived there fur a consid'able spell ? Erastus — Yes; I have been there for nearly ten yeaws. Sam — And I reckon yeou know all the crooks and turns. Neow, I 'd give a heap tew live in the city a spell. Reckon yeou wouldn't keer abeout takin' a feller with yeou when yeou go back ? Erastus — "Well, weally I do not expect to weturn to the citaw for some time, and therefoaw it would be impos- sible for me to accompany you. Howevaw, you can find the way at any time. And you aw a son of Mrs. Jones, you say? I am glad I have found you. There is a young lady at youaw mothaw's house, I undewstand. Sam — Yes; cousin Evalena's thar. Reckon yeou 're her beau, aint yeou ? Erastus — Yes ; I have that honaw. Will you con- duct me to youaw wesidence, so that I may see my chawmcr? If you have ever been in love you will un- dawstand just how I feel. I am impatient to sec Miss Evalena, and I would fly on the wings of the wind to meet her. 16 STERLING DIALOGUES Sam — Wall, neow, this is railly presbyterious ! Here I 've been a talkin' tew yeou this long spell, and never once dreamed that yeou was Evalena's beau. Thar 's a feller deown here as has been tryin' tew shine areound Evalena, but I reckon she'll skurcely look at him when yeou 've cum areound. Yeou air sich a stylish feller ! May I ax yeour name ? ' Erastus — Certainly. My name is Erastus Blinknat. Sam — And mine is Sam Jones. But I reckon yeou know all abeout our family. Evalena has told yeou, I s'pose. As I was a sayin', thar 's a feller deown here as has been a shinin' reound Evalena, but I reckon it wont amount tew much. He's a mighty nice feller, but then he isn't so stylish and doesn't talk so proper and perlite. Air yeou a preacher or a lawyer ? Erastus — Neithaw. Sam — Neither one nor t'other! Wall, neow, that's a similar sarcumstance. Yeou look as slick as a preacher Then yeou must be a doctor ? Erastus — No ; I am not a doctaw. I abhoaw medicine. Sam — Wall, neow, if yeou aint a lawyer, nor a preacher, nor a doctor, yeou must be one of these fellers what has big stores and sells all kinds of kalikers and silks and things. Aint yeou one of them fellers ? Erastus — No, I have not that honaw. Sam — Wall, then, I 'd like tew ax yeou what yeou air ? Do n't yeou dew nothin' ? Erastus — No, I am happy to infowm you that I do nothing. I am a gentleman. Sam — Land of Pequonnock ! a gentleman ! Wall, if that don't beat all natur'. Erastus — Did you nevaw see a gentleman befoaw ? Sam — Yes, I kalkilate I 'm one myself, but I had no idee that a gentleman was a feller as did n't dew nothin'. STERLING DIALOGUES 17 Deown here we call fellers of that kind loafers. Reckon yeou must be a reg'lar built loafer. Erastus — {Aside) — This fellow's impudence is dwead- ful. But he is a cousin of Evalena's, and I mustn't get up a wumpus with him. {To Sam.) Well, let us move on. I am anxious to gaze upon my chawmaw — the beautiful Evalena. Sam — Yes, I see yeou seem tew be sorter oneasy. But thar aint no hurry. We '11 git thar abeout dark, and deown here it aint fashionable to go a sparkin' till arter dark. Erastus — But I flattaw myself that Evalena will be wejoiced to see me at any time of day. Sam — Don't be too sure abeout that. Sometimes when a feller thinks he's gittin' along splendid in his courtin' he gits an awful backset. Neow thar was Azariah Har- kens deown tew Goose Holler. He was a courtin' Arabella Scruggins awful strong, and he 'peared tew think that it wouldn't be of no kind of use fur another feller tew look at her ; he jest thought he could git her, and no mistake. Wall, sure 's yeou 're born, Arabella ups one night and telled him she guessed he 'd better not come any more, as it warn't no kind of use. This made Azariah feel mighty bad, and he tuck the solemnchollies, and he haint never been eout a sparkin' since, Erastus — I think we had bettaw walk on, and you can tell youaw amusing stowies as we pass along. Sam — Yes, that's so, Mr. Brickbat. Come along. \_Exib both. [ Curtain.'] Scene II.— A room in Mrs. Jones's house. Evalena and Erastus seated. Evalena — Mr. Blinknat, you should not have coma here. I wanted time to consider the matter, and I did not wish to be disturbed. 18 STERLING DIALOGUES Erastus — "Well, weally, I could not wait. I found out youaw wetweat, and I felt that I must fly to you. O Eva- leua, beautiful woniau, do not upbwaid me. I live upon youaw smiles, and I thought I must come immediately and plead for an answer. EvALENA — And you must have your answer now ? Erastus — Yes, oh, yes, answer me. Let me not pine and be unhappy. Aftaw the encouragement you have given me, you will accept me and make me a happy man. EvALENA — As you are so exceedingly desirous of an immediate answer, I will give you my answer. Erastus — Oh, yes, youaw answer, aud make me one of the happiest mowtals upon the face of the eawth. But do not cwush me — oh, no, do not cwush me ! EvALENA — My answer is No I Erastus — Oh, dweadful ! You do not mean it ? EvALENA — I do. Erastus — Oh, unsay those cwuel words or I shall be misewable all the days of my life. O Evalena, do not kill me! Evalena — You have my answer. Erastus — Oh, but I can not take no for an answer. Oh, no, no ! I can not, I can not ! You will not cwush me thus when you have heawtofoaw looked upon me with such gweat favor. Evalena — It is useless to multiply words. I have given the only answer I can give you ; the only answer I vxill give you. Do you understand me ? Erastus — Oh, no, no ! I can not undawstand such cwushing words. Evalena, do not kill me ! Enter Sam and an Officer. Sam — Wall, if Evalena doesn't kill yeou I kalkilate here 's a feller as will. STERIJNG DIALOGUES 19 Erastus — AVhat means this intwusion ? Sam — Why, yeou see, Mr. Brickbat, this feller thinks yeou air courtiu' a leetle too airnestly. When yeou find eout what he's arter I kalkilate yeou '11 see a Brickbat fly. Erastus — I demand an answer. What means this intwusion ? Officer — ( Advancing and placing his hand on Erastus' shoulder) — I arrest you on a charge of counter- feiting. Erastus — What do you mean ? I demand an answer. [Exit Evalena, R. Oh, you have dwiven her away. You shall sufiaw for this. (Breaks away from Officer and attempts to run off, L.) Sam — (Seizing him) — Wall, I kalkilate not. (To Officer.) The Brickbat didn't fly that time. (To Erastus.) Neow yeou jest keep yeour standin' or I '11 fetch yeou a whop with my fist. Erastus — Oh, this is excwuciating ! (Officer puts on bracelets^) Sam — Yes, I reckon it does make yeou feel sort of cranky. But this is ginerally the case. Loafers do eVn a' most universally come to some bad eend. Erastus — You stupid fool, shut up. Sam — Why, Mr. Brickbat, yeou seem tew be takin' a spell of the tantarantums. Officer — Come along ; we can 't stand here all day. Sam — I say, Mr. Brickbat, when yeou git eoxd, cum deown ag'in. Fetch yeour knittin' and stay awhile ! [Exit Erastus and Officer. That's jest the way it turns eout witli these fellers as doesn't like tew work. Wall, I reckon I'd better step eout and say good-bye tew the Brickbat. [^Exit Sam. {^Curtain.'] 20 STERLING DIALOGUES TRUSTY AND TRUE. CHARACTERS :— Mb. Soule, a Merchant. John Russell,] Frank Grey, ^Clerks. Amasa Drew, J Scene I. — Counting room. Russell seated at a desk, busy with q day-book and ledger. Enter Drew and Grey unperceived by him. Russell — {Speakiiig to himself) — There you are ! I 've conquered you at last. All those long columns of figures are right, sir ! Now, John Russell, I think a page of algebra will get the cobwebs out of your brain. So here 's at it, my boy ! Drew — {Slapping him on the shoulder) — So, here's your den, where you hide yourself, old fellow ! What a fool you are, to work two hours after the rest are out ! Grey — And now he talks about algebra ! I 'd go sail- ing up Salt River, with a sign over me, before Fd touch an algebra. Sure enough, what do you stay here for so late o' nights? Russell — Well, to-night I stayed to do a little work for Mr. Soule — a few figures that somehow would n't add up right. But I 've balanced every thing all straight ; and I 'm glad of it. They were in a snarl, somewhat, but it 's all right. Drew — And the algebra ? Russell — Oh, you know Mr. Soule told us the other day he must do with less help soon. And as I 'm the youngest clerk, I expect to be the one to be turned off. So I 'm brushing up a little. Just to prepare for a winter campaign of teaching. That 's all. Grey — {Putting his hands in his pockets, and looking iolenxnly at Russell) — Russell, how old are you ? STERT.rJirG DIALOGUES 21 Russell — {SmiUng) — Oh, I'm almost eighteen. Ra. ther young, I know ; but I taught last winter with pretty good success. I '11 do better this year. Grey — Well, I'm glad you aren't quite a hundred. A fellow 'd think, though, to hear you talk, that you came out of the ark. Drew — Looks arkish, doesn't he, Frank? Well, one thing I know. You 're a fool to work over your hours for old Soule. He doesn't pay you extra. Russell — I don't ask anything for a little kindness like that. Mr. Soule is a kind, considerate employer, and does a great deal for us, you know. I 'm glad to do him any little favor, I 'm sure. Grey — Well, old fellow, don't stay here moping all the evening. It 's a splendid night ! Come with us and have some fnn. Russell — What kind of fun ? Grey — Oh, most any thing. A hand at euchre, per- haps. Russell — My dear fellow, I don't know one card from another. In the ark, where I was brought up, cards are fion est. Drew — Of course. Well, say a game of billiards, for variety. Russell — I am not going to the billiard-room again. I confess to a fondness for the game, but they make it a regular gambling operation ; and such a set of profane, half-druuken rowdies as they get in. No, sir! I beg to be excused. I wish you would n't go, boys. Drew — I've no conscientious scruples, and I 'ni not afraid, /wasn't brought up in the ark, thank fortune. Russell — Mine was a blessed, restful, safe old ark, thank Heaven ! The memory of it has been a safeguard in many a temptation. 22 STERLING DIALOGUES Grey — Yes, yes, no doubt ! You make me home-sick' for your words bring to mind my dear old home in tho country. Drew — There, boys, don't be spoonies ! We'll just go it while we 're young, and have a good time. See here, Russell, we came in to ask you to take a sail with us to- morrow. There 's a party of us going over to the island — it 's going to be a splendid day ! Russell — You don't mean to-morrow ! To-morrow's Sunday ! You 've forgotten. Drew — Forgotten ! Just as if it could be any harm for us poor fellows, who are shut up within brick walls six days out of seven, to take a sail on Sunday ! Grey — You can go to church twice and attend your Sunday-school, and then go. That would n't be breaking the Sabbath. Drew — Come, Russell, do go just for once ! I tell you Diamond Island is just splendid now. Come! Russell — Stop a moment. Let me think. I tell you, boys, Pd like to go ! I 've been in the city ten months, and all the country I 've seen is that pitiful little Common, and the bit of green in front of my boarding house. I 'd like to go, if it was right, but — Grey — Hurra ! " The man that deliberates is lost." He '11 go, Drew ; we only want him to complete our num- ber. We'll have a gay old time. Russell — See here, boys, don't be too fast. Just let me read you a part of my mother's last letter. ( Takes a letter from his breast pocket, and opens it.) You see, I carry it next my heart. (Reads ;) " I hope, my child, you will never be tempted to spend any portion of the Sabbath in a way that your mother would not approve. I know you must be lonely on that day, and that you must miss us all. But do not forget that day belongs t« STERLING DIALOGUES 2% God. You can not expect His blessing, if you do not ' re- member the Sabbath.' " Now, boys, you see I sat right down and wrote to mother that I wouldn't be tempted to do any thing on the Sabbath that she would n't like me to do. So you see I can 't go. Grey — Well, you needn't preach any more. We'll get enough of that to-morrow. Russell — I beg your pardon, boys. I think I never intruded my opinions upon you before. But, honest, I don't think it right to go sailing on Sunday. Grey — And, honest, I don't — so there! Russell — Oh, then, be true to your conscience, and don't go. Grey — I've promised, and I must this once. But it shall be the very last time. Drew — Hold your tongue. Grey, and don't be a fool. Russell, you've always been a clever fellow, never poking your nose into other folks' business, and you 've never " let on " about us fellows that do n't think as you do. I respect you for it. And now I want you to do us a favor, will you ? Russell — Certainly, if I can. Drew — Well, you can. Tell us where old Soule keeps the key to his boat-house. Grey — You are not supposed to mistrust what we want to know for. Drew — Oh, we want to know just for information. We have inquiring minds, you see. A little curiosity — that's all. Russell — But I do suspect your intentions. You want U) get Mr. Soule's " Favorite " to go sailing with to- morrow. Drew — Granted. He's a stingy old scamp. He wont let his boat, and there isn't another to be had, for love or 24 STERLING DIALOGUES money. All you've got to do about it is to say, acciden- tally, where he keeps the key. We know you have charge of it. Russell — (Walking about, as if thinking, and then speaking) — Can you keep a secret, boys ? Drew — Mum's the word. Nobody shall ever know. The rack could n't wring it from us. Grey — Oh, yes ; we can keep a secret, and we will. Let us have it. Russell — So can I; and so I will ! Mr. Soule gave me the care of the boat-house key. I promised him I would neither let it go out of my possession, nor tell where I keep it. I know you'll both be offended, but I can 't help it. My motto is " trnsty and true," and I '11 stick to it as long as I live. Drew — You 're a booby, spooney, and coward ! I cut your acquaintance for ever. ( Goes out.) Grey — (Following Drew, takes Russell's ha^id, and speaks in a loiv voice.) — I respect you, Russell. I don't blame you ! Do n't forget me. Russell — Well, they've gone. Heigho! I've made a life-time enemy ; but I can 't help it ! I 'm a booby and a spooney, may be, but I 'm not a coward. I know I 'd rather march up to the cannon's mouth than to face such music as this. Oh, dear! wouldn't I like to have some- body tell me I'm not a booby. I wish somebody cared about us poor stranger-boys. When I'm a man, I'll hunt up all the young fellows, and just let them see that some- body has an interest in them. I'll ask them to church and Sabbath-school and — ah! well ! that's another of my fooli?b a: iLt.ns. I suppose I must be a little unfinished in the upper story. I '11 off to bed and to sleep. [_ExU. [ Curtain.^ STERLING DIALOGUES 25 SCKHB II.— Place same as before. Time, Monday morning. Mb. SOULE sitting by a desk. Enter Russell. Russell — You wished to see me, sir ? SouLE — Ah, Russell! {Extending his hand.) Glad to see you so prompt ! Sit down here. I want to have a little talk with you. Russell — ( Taking a seat) — Thank you, sir, I 've been expecting this for a week. I suppose you're about to make the change you spoke of. I 'm sorry to go, sir, but as I 'ra the youngest clerk, I expected to be the first one turned off. SouLE — Yes, I am making some changes in my busi- ness, and some two or three must be discharged. You found the snarl here, (Laying his hand on the ledger,) and unraveled it, I see. Russell — Yes, sir ; I think it is all right. Soule — All right, Russell, and very well done. Have you seen Drew this morning? Russell — No, sir ; neither Drew nor Grey. I won- dered where they are to-day. I noticed neither of their desks were filled. Soule — Then you haven't heard the news? Russell — No, sir! What news? Soule — Frank Grey had his eye put out last night, in a billiard saloon, in a drunken quarrel ! RuasELL — Frank Grey! Poor fellow! You don't mean to say he had been drinking, Mr. Soule? Soule — No, I think not. He got mixed up in the (jiiarrel somehow. It is a great pity he was ever tempted to go there at all. Grey is not very wicked yet, only a little weak. Russell — Perhaps this may save him. I hope so. 1 A 26 STERLING DIALOGUES He 's good-hearted. Poor Frank ! Lost an eye I Ho^ terrible ! SoULE — Yes, but it might have been worse. If the loss of an eye will reform his character and make his life useful, it will be a mercy, after all. There's another piece of bad news which I presume you haven't heard. Drew is in the lockup. Russell — (Astonished) — In the where f SouLE — In " durance vile," Russell, on the charge of breaking and entering. Russell — Whose store? Can it be true, Mr. Soule? SouLE — Captain Nelson's boat-house. He stole Nel- son's yacht, he and some other fellows, and went pleasur- ing. Nelson 's angry, of course, and had them arrested this morning. Russell — It is a sad thing ! I am very sorry. Was Grey one of the party ? Soule — No, he was n't. He had a sick headache all day, and it is a great pity it had n't lasted all the evening, as well. Russell — Somebody coaxed him off. The poor fellow could never say " no." Soule — It 's a great pity. The fact is, he is n't " trusty and true." Very few young men are. When I find one that is, I consider him worth his weight in diamonds — eh, John? Russell — Yes, sir ; I suppose so, sir ! That is, my parents always taught me so. Soule — Do n't blush so, Russell, my dear fellow. I did n't mean to play eaves-dropper last Saturday night, but I heard your conversation with Drew and Grey. You have been well taught, and you do your parents honor. You shall not suffer for your defence of me and my property, I assure you. STERLING DIALOGUES 9'J Russell — I only did my duty, sir. When do you want me to leave — to-day ? SouLE — I do n't wish you to leave at all. Russell — I thought you said — SouLE — You mustn't jump at conclusions. I said 1 was about making some change, and I am. I sent for you to ofl'er you the clerkship made vacant by Drew. That gives you a jump over four years, and will more than double your salary. Russell — O Mr. Soule, how can I thank you? Do you think I am competent to do his work ! Soule — I think so. That was his work you righted up on Saturday night. Russell — Mr. Soule, you never can know what you have done for us all — mother and sister and me. I hope you will never have cause to regret your kindness. Soule — I never shall, if you continue trusty and true. That is all I ask of you. For no man can be that to the full, without being more — a true Christian. {He shakes Russell's hand, and exits.) Russell — (Pinching himself) — It isn't me. I must be dreaming. John Russell, the booby, spooney, coward ! O mother, it all comes of your teaching! And earnestly will I pray that I be not led into temptation, but ever be trusty and true. 28 STERLING r>TAT-OGUES UNAPPRECIATED GENIUS. CHARACTERS :— Mk. Beown. Mrs. Browx. Alphonse, ] „ ,, T> „ Clementina, little Girl. Biddy, Domestic. Scene. — Disordered room ; everything in confusion. Enter Mrs. Brown, ivith knotted hair and soiled dress. Takes up manuscript and looks it over. Mrs. Brown — Dear, dear! Here it is Saturday morning, and that article for the Hardscrahhle News not finished yet. Let me see ! How did it read ? {Reads aloud ;) " On a beautiful day in the leafy month of June, when all nature was bursting forth with — " Enter Biddy. Biddy — Ungyuns, mum ! Will ye be havin' them for dinner, mum ? Mrs. Brown — Oh no, Biddy, they smell so badly. I guess we'll have the bits left from yesterday's dinner hashed for to-day ; you know Mr. Brown 's never par- ticular. Biddy — (Aside) — More 's the pity, says I. Poor mon ! ( To Mrs. Brown.) The bits is all gone, mum. Give 'em to the dog, mum, to Bounce. Mrs. Brown — Oh, Biddy, how could you ! Enough for two good dinners! I haven't time to go down to the pantry ; can 't you tell me what there is ? Biddy — That I can, mum, fur me two eyes can say, an' me two hands can hold ivery bit of aitin' there is in this house, to be sure ! The two boys, mum, has et up the black raisin cake — 8TERT.TXG DIALOGUES 29 Mrs. Brown — All my fruit-cake? Biddy — Truth, muiu, though I make bold to say it tasted strong of merlasses to me ; Ellen Ryan says — Mrs. Brown — What else is there? (^Goes to writing.) Any bread ? Biddy — No, mum ! Baby 's et that. Mrs. Brown — Five loaves baked yesterday. Poor Baby! Well, get — get — oh, something! Make a pud- ding, can 't you ? Run down and buy some bread, and some meat — steak I guess, that'll cook the quickest — and tell 'em to put it on the book. Biddy — On the book, is it ? And if it 's all the same to yes, mum, I '11 bring it in the basket ! Mrs. Brown — {Laughs) — Oh, Biddy! I mean, tell them to charge it to Mr. Brown. Biddy — Yes, mum. {^Exit. Mrs. Brown — If Charles only would look after the help more, I would bo glad ; he must see that /don't get time. Her mother was here yesterday, and that accounts for empty larder, the children never touch anything, precious ones. Oh, dear! {Yawns, and reads again:) " Nature was bursting forth with all her wealth of — " Enter Alphonse, and Clementina. Alphonse — (Holding up his buttonless jacket) — But- tons all off my jacket, mamma; see! Mrs. Brown — (Abstractedly) — Pin it, Alphonse. (Reads :) " wealth of buds, and — " Alphonse — Apple, mamma, Clementina's got my apple. Clementina — Just one bito, mamma. Mrs. Brown — Give it to brother, dear; run and play, and you may take my white rrffpe shawl. Cleuentina — Your very bestcst one, mamma. You 30 STEPLTXO DIALOGUES nodded us yes. Oh, you're just the sweetest, {Kisses her rapturoitsly,) goodest mamma. Mrs. Brown — Run away, pet, you'll stick my face all up with your apple. (Beads:) "blossoms to gladden weary man. The sun was slowly sinking in a — " \_Exit both. Enter Biddy. Biddy — Swill-pail, mum ! Baby 's fell in it, sure ; he 's kickin' an' squallin' awful, mum. Mrs. Brown — Get him out quick, and take off his dress. Poor baby. Biddy — Yes, mum. [JSrit, Mrs. Brown — (Reads) — " blazing radiance — " Enter Alphonse, Adolphus and Clementina. Alphonse — Fire 's all out, mamma ; mayn't me, and 'Dolph, and Clem come in where you be ? Mrs. Brown — What grammar! What manners! No, dears ; run out and skate, mamma 's busy. Put on your mittens. Alphonse — The strap to my skate 's broke. Mrs. Brown — Take a string, can 't you ? [Exit all. (Beads :) " in a blazing radiance of glory, when a stranger might have been seen approaching a — " Enter Biddy. Biddy — Beef's liver; all the meat he had, mum. Mrs. Brown — Dreadful ! Fix it someway. Biddy — Yes, mum. \_Exit. Mrs. Brown — (Beads) — "approaching a dwelling on outskirts of a small village. He wa? seated on a — " Enter Biddy, Biddy — (Jlothes-line 's broke, mum, an' let the beauti- ful white clothes, as white as your own hand, missis, right STERLING DIALOGUES 31 down on the dirty ground, an' me so tired, what with t'oin' iverything, that I've no strength lift at all, 'tall, jid' twelve of the clock and no dinner. Mrs, Brown — I'm sorry; can't you take the bed- Neighbors. Mrs. Jones, J Howard, Mrs. Green's son. William Henry, Mrs. Brown's son. Scene. — A street in a country village, in front of Mrs. Green's residence ; Mrs. Green sweeping front jjorch, accosted .by Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown — I say, Mrs. Green, if you want peace with the world, and all besides, you may just commence this very day, keeping your children at home, for I can not, and will not be bothered with them any longer. Mrs. Green — Keep my children at home ? Why, Mrs. Brown, you surprise me ! I think I should be committing a sin, if I should deprive my children the benefit of our schools and our religious services on the Sabbath. My friend, I am at a loss to know what you mean. Mrs. Brown — (Aside) — I am no friend of hers. (To Mrs. Green.) Only yesterday, one of my — Mrs. Green — I am still puzzled to know what you mean ! Perhaps the quickest and best way to approach the subject, will be to ask you to explain yourself, for I am growing very impatient. Mrs. Brown — If you had been half as patient as I know I have been, you would have known ere this. As I was going to say : only yesterday my second boy, Wil- liam Henry, came as straight into the house as he could come, and told me your boy made a continual face at him all the time he was passing the house. If it had been the first time, or I knew it would have been the last, I 'd have just let it pass by without mentioning it. Mrs. Green — If Howard has done such a thing as you speak of, he shall be severely reprimgjided for it. I hear STERLING DIALOGUES 59 fiim now in the back yard, and will call him. Howard .' Howard ! {Speaking louder the last time.) Howard — {Behind the curtain) — What is wanting. mother? Enter Howakd. Mrs. Green — Mrs. Brown and I are having a little difficulty here, and as you seem to be the main cause of it, I thought it best to speak to you, and correct you for a very great fault that I hear you have committed. Howard — Me, mother? Mrs. Brown — Innocence, oh, innocence ! (Putting on a dreadful frown.) Mrs. Green — Yes, Mrs. Brown tells me you have been making faces at her little boy, which I think to be very wrong. Howard — Why, mother, I can not think when I did such a thing. Mrs. Brown — Yesterday ! Mrs. Green — (At the same time) — She says you did it yesterday. Howard — I can not remember it. Enter William Henry, walking by, with a slouched hat on, and both pockets full of apples that he is try- ing to hide. Mrs. Brown — William Henry, dear, just wait a minute. Didn't you tell me that Howard Green made a face at you yesterday ? William Henry — Yes I jist did, and I'm going to flax him for it, yit. Mrs. Brown — (Addressing Howard) — Now, my young man, you have two things to answer for. First, making faces at my boy ; and second, telling a plain^ try-to-get-out-of-it. 60 STERLING DIALOGUES Howard — I am going to confess all that I am guilty of. William Henry, what time yesterday did you see me? William Henry — Jist after breakfast, while the first bell was ringing for school. Howard — {Laughing) — I can now explain the whole thing. Don't you remember, mother, how my tooth had been aching all the morning, and I had just consented to have it drawn as the first school-bell commenced ringing ? Mrs. Green — I do now, indeed. Howard — I think now it is a plain case, without much further argument. I was going by your house, Mrs. Brown, with hands to my face, suifering very much with my tooth, and hurrying to the dentist's that I might not be too late for school. I guess I must have looked very ridiculous to William Henry, and am willing to confess that I gave him reasons for thinking as he did, though I was innocent of it at the time. Mrs. Brown — Well, we will let that pass this time, but what I wish to speak most particular about, is this : Now, my children are good children, and never interfere in the least with that which doeii not belong to them ; yet I hear a continual complaint about rubber balls being missed, and plates of apples being taken. I mean the apples and not the plates ; for I consider the apples alone, a great theft. Now, I do n't want a street quarrel here, but William Henry thinks your children are the cause of all complaint. Mrs. Green — Never make an assertion, Mrs. Brown, unless you have positive proof for it. Mrs. Brown — (Very loud) — Positive proof! I can give — Enter Mrs. Jones, hurriedly. Mrs. Jones — Good morning, Mrs. Green. Why, Mrs. Brown, I was just going to call upon you about a little STERLING DIALOGUES 6> matter ; but finding you here, it will save me the trouble of going any farther. You seem to have some business on hand already. Mrs. Broavn — Yes, I am a business person, and like to settle things in a business manner. Give in your ac- count, and I will square it off. Mrs. Jones — Indeed I will, in a very few words. I saw your second son, "NYilliam Henry, just emptying a plate of apples that were on the table in my front room, and hurry off so fast that I could not speak to him, and I thought it best to call upon you about the matter, and say to you that he has repeatedly done the same thing. Mrs. Brown — Have you "positive proof" of it, as Mrs. Green says ? Mrs. Jones — I think I have, if my own eyes don't deceive me. "William Henry — Let's go home, mother, for it's dinner time. (^Starting, and letting an apple fall.) Mrs. Green — "Wait a moment, William ; I think posi- Uve proof is becoming visible proof. Was not that an apple you let fall just now ? "William Henry — Y-e-s, m-a-a-m. Mrs. Green — (Laughing) — I think we had better end this very unpleasant difficulty at Mrs. Jones' expense yet; for I remember the Golden Rule, " Do good for evil." I propose that Mrs. Brown's little boy gives each of us an apple, and returns the rest to the rightful owner, keeping none for himself; which may afterwards jog his memory should he ever think of stealing apples again. Mrs. Jones — I consent. Howard — So do I. [Wri>LlAM Henry Kherpixhhj fakes the apjilcs from his pockets, and d!j'\ > -, /^ First — Better be poor, and have a good name, Than wicked, and wealthy, and blazoned with fame. Second — That 's true ! ^ ( Triple applause.^ First — Pray tell me, dear friends, if any one can, The habits and ways of a nice gentleman ? Second — Please tell us. - First — This is the rule, and it never fails, He washes and brushes and pares off his nails. / Second — Good ! Good ! All right ! {Ap>plause.] First — He never profanes the name of the Lord, Is gentle and loving, and true to his word. Second — Good! That's true. S) U fv I ,,, STERLING DIALOGUES 63 First — He never sips rum, or shnffles a card, Or poisons his breath with the nauseous weed. Second — Good ! Good ! All right ! {^Triple applause.) First — Is never unkind to parent or wife ; But faithful and true to the end of his life. Second— All Wi ! That 's all true ! .,.,.-- [ Curtain.'] ' Note. — This may be performed with good effect to fill up the time while preparing for some longer exercise. THE FLORAL GUIDE. A HUMOROUS TABLEAU. There is nothing nicer for an Exhibition, or other like occasion, than a good tableau or two. The following has the merit of simplicity "^ least, aud can be made very- amusing by proper preparation. To be appreciated, the flower or vegetable must be announced quite plainly by the manager, and acted very slowly. Characters : — lu almost every company of young peo- ple can be found a "Rose "and a "Lily." "Bouncing Bet" can be represented by a big, hearty Elizabeth, or a smaller person of same name, jumping; "Poppy" by a happy papa, holding a child in his arms; "Lady Slip- pers " by showing a pair of those useful articles ; " Johnny Jump ITp" by some John rising snddcidy from his chair; "Rocket "by a little girl rocking a cradle; "Morning Glory " ])y a sleef)y boy, without a coat or shoes, with frowsy hair, rubbing his half-opened eyes; "Pink" by a 64 STERLING DIALOGUES foppish young man, daintily strutting, with beaver, kids and cane ; " Tulips " by two pair of lips in greeting, and " Sweet Williams " by two boys of that name. In the " Vegetable Department " a small boy is poised on his head, held in place by a larger one, for " Turnip ; " another small boy strike.'i the first one for " Beets ; " while the " big boy " pushes both over, for " Squash," and a fourth boy takes handkerchief from last boy's pocket for " Cabbage." (Each action to he separately named.) Tom standing with eight capital O's pinned to his coat is "Tom- a4oes ; " some one displaying auburn hair is " Kadish " (red-dish) ; and a boy plucking flower from girl's hair is " Caul-i-flower " (cull-I-flower). This whole display will occupy but a few minutes, and if desirable, may be pro longed by anything a fertile fancy may suggest. \_Ourtain.'^ THE THREE WISHES. CHAEACTERS :— Queen of the Fairies. First Fairy, the Fairy of Truth. Second Fairy, the Fairy of Love. Third Fairy, the Fairy Youth. Other Fairies. First Girl. Second Girl. Boy. Scene. — A group of Fairies with hands joined. (They sin| or speak.) A thousand years ago we met, Around this aged tree. And yet, though years have rolled away, A youthful band are we. And yet, though years have rolled away, We sing our songs with glee. STERLING DIALOGUES 66 Queen — What have you done this thousand years ? First Fairy — I've wiped away unnumbered tears. Second Fairy — I 've quieted unnumbered fears. Third Fairy — How did you do it? I could not, Though I 'ra the bright fairy of Youth, I could not cleanse them of one dark blot. Tell me, O fairy of Truth. First Fairy — I showed them the Truth, and I strove hard to win Their hearts from the dangerous inroads of sin. Third Fairy — And now tell me how, O fairy of Love, Men's hearts from the pleasures of earth you could move? Second Fairy — Whene'er I knew their hearts to rove, I chained them to the Throne Above; To those I knew that knew not God, I showed their Saviour's pard'uing blood. Queen — Come, let us go to earth again, Visit together the children of men, See which will win — Heaven or Sin, Truth or Beauty, Youth or Duty. Enf^ First and Second Girl, and Boy. (Tliey should act rjuf if they did not see the fairies, who should all face them. The children should seat themselves on the floor.) First Girl — I wonder if the story of Cinderella is true. Boy — Why, Sis, you never see fairies now. Second Gi ul — No, tve do n't, but maybe other people do. Boy — W(!ll, if there are any, I'd like to see one — -just once. fQlTKEN JKk/x f/rfifly.) First Girl — Look at that Lily. Didn't it nod beauti- fiilly? 66 STERLING DIALOGUES Second Girl — So strangely, too. (Fairies all nod to each other, and to the children.) Boy — They all seem nodding — Oh, so strangely. First Girl — It almost seems as if fairies were here. (Fairies all step forward. Children are frightened.) Queen — We are here, Children dear. What will you have. For we will give, What you may ask ? All the Fairies — A pleasant task. Queen — Be not afraid to sjieak. Second Girl — Give to me beauty. Make me amiable. Give me wealth and a long life, full of pleasure. Queen — These we grant to thee. First Fairy — Yet to me thy wishes are Vain as searches for the star That goes from sight, in darkest night, A bright but — dying meteor ! Boy — Give me strength, and with it energy, a strong mind and a strong body. And give to me, too, a brave, open heart. Make me a man. Queen — Th}^ wish is granted thee. First Fairy — Indeed, right joyfully, Thy wish is granted thee. And yet methinks I see Something that thou dost lack. Oh, mayest thou not, as I believe, Ever look mournful back O'er the gifts thou didst receive. First Girl — Fairy, I don't know for what to ask. Beauty must fade, and I would not be always young. Give me Love — Love to God, and to my fellows every- where. STERLING DIALOGUES 67 QrEEN — With thee, daughter, we agree. All things added unto thee, From the God who loves, shall be. Second Fairy — Lord, I thank thee, thou hast brought To her mind this holy thought. Bless it, bless it ! While she basks In thy Love-light, what she asks. And more, be given unto her. {Fairies join hands, and look upward.) With the Love From Thee above. Give them Truth To guide their youth ! Give them true beauty of life and heart; Keep them afar from sin apart ; Guide them, and keep them, Safe from harm ; Helpless lambkins. Under Thine arm. [ Curtain.'] TURN ABOUT 'S FAIR PLAY. CHARACTERS :— Mr. Faiebairn. Mrs. Faikbairn. Kitty *^*^''' Children. Aunt Bktsey, a maiden Aunt. Scene I. — Parlor. Late in tlie afternoon, or evonincr. Tom — (Spitefully kicking the ottoman') — " You can 't do this/' and " you mustn't do that," from morning to night. Enter Kitty. Kitty — (With a frown) — What were you saying? I hope you don't feel as cross as I do. 68 STERLING DIALOGUES Tom — Cross is no word for it. It 's so terribly warm. (Fanning hhnself with his hat.) And I wanted to go to the river to cool off. And papa told me to take a book and sit still. Just as if that could keep me cool. But what is the matter with you? I declare you don't look any more amiable than IJ'eeL Kitty — Amiable is no word for it. Mamma has made me dress up in this stiff, clean frock, and have my hair combed again, because she says some one may come. I want to play in the garden, and I can't when I'm all fus- sed up in this way, with ruffles, and bows, and sash. I do hate company, and clothes, and manners, don't you? Tom — Yes, I do. I hate beiug ordered round everlast- ingly from morning till night. I'd just like to be let alone. Well, if we can 't have a game of romps, let us go down to the gate and see other children have a nice time. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Fairbairn and sit down. The former tips back in a chair with his paper, the latter takes up her embroidery. Aunt Betsey comes in knit- ting, with glasses and big apron on. Mrs. Fairbairn — ( Goes to the door) — Come, children, the dew is falling. You'll take cold. Enter Tom and Kitty pouting, and take seats. Mrs. Fairbairn — I believe this warm weather affects, the health of the children. They look pale and languid. They need something bracing. I shall give them a dose of iron mixture in the morning. Kitty — Oh, my! {Making up a face.) I've taken enough now to make a cooking stove. Tom — I 'd feel all right if I could go swimming every night. Aunt Betsey used to let the nephews who lived with her go. Mr. Fairbairn — (Sharply) — Aunt Betsey's ideas and STERLING DIALOGUES 69 uiiiie ditier. Children are not brought up now as they were in her day. Tom — I wish they were. Jolly good times her nephews used to have. Papa, she has told me about it ; and how you used to play with them. [Mr. Fairbairn lays down his paper. Mrs. Fair- BAiRX looks up interested.'] Kitty — Yes ! And her nieces used to have good times, too, when they came to the farm. They used to play everything they liked. And were not afraid of soiling their clothes ; for they did not have to be rigged up, and plagued with company every day. Mr. Fairbairn — What do you mean by that? Tom — If you were to be in our places for a day, you'd 866 what we mean. Aunt Betsey — (Smiling) — Wouldn't it be worth your while to try the experiment ? (Mr. Fairbairn and Mrs. Fairbairn laugh.) Aunt Betsey — (Earnestly) — Why not put yourselves in their places for a day, and sec how you like it? I think you would understand the case better than any one could describe it ; and, perhaps, do both yourselves and the children a lasting service. Mr. Fairbairn — (M^uch amused) — Upon my word, that's a droll idea ! What do you say to it, mamma? Mils. Fairbairn — I am willing to try if you are, just for the fun of the thing ; but I don't think it will do any good. ( Children clap their hands. ) Mr. Fairbairn — TIow do you propose to carry out this new educational frf)lic? (Looking a bit worried.) Aunt Betsey — Merely let the children do as they like for one day, and liavc full power over yon. Let them plan your dutifts and j)lc!i.siir('s, order your food, fix your houru and j)uni*ih or reward yon us tliey think |)ropor. You 70 STERLING DIALOGUES must promise entire obedieDce, and keep the agreement till night. Tom and Kitty — Good ! good ! Oh, wont it be fun ? Aunt Betsey — As to-morrow is a holiday for us all, let us celebrate it by this funny experiment. It will amuse us, and do no harm at any rate. Mr. Fairbairn — Very well, we will. Come, mamma, let us promise, and see what these rogues will do for us. Playing father and mother is no joke, mind you ; but you will have an easier time of it than we do, for we shall behave ourselves. [ Curtain.'] Scene II. — Next day. Morning. Kitty enters the room with a long dress, and the airs of a grown-up person, looks annoyed as she picks up books and balls, saying, " What careless children ! How I wish they would learn to be orderly ! " Busies herself witli Aunt Betsey setting the breakfast table. Mrs. Faibbairn enters with loose hair, and light cool wrapper. Kitty — (Solemnly) — Careless, untidy girl. Put on a clean dress, do up your hair properly, and then practice this new music until breakfast. [Mrs. Fairbairn hesitates, looks as if she would rather not, then goes out.~\ Enter Tom, with long coat, neck-tie, beaver hat, cane, etc. Tom — Good morning, Mrs. Fairbairn. Good morning, Betsey Jane. Why, where 's that boy ? Has n't he got up yet? {Calls at the door:) Get up, get up! (A voice whines out:) " Come, — you-let-me-alone. It-is n't-time-yet." Tom — (Solemnly) — No, no ! lazy-bones, get up. ( Takes out his watch.) There, you have been called ; and now if you are not down in fifteen minutes, you wont have any breakfast. Not a morsel, sir ; not a morsel. [Breakfast bell rings. Mrs. Fairbairn coTnes in hurriedly in a stiff calico, unth braided hair, and white apron.] STERLING DIALOGUES 71 Kitty — Go back and enter the room properly. Will you never learn to behave like a lady ? Mrs. Fairbairn — {Looks impatient, but obeys, passes her plate) — Some biscuit, and trout, if you please. Kitty — No fish, or hot bread for you, my dear. Eat your good oat-meal porridge and milk ; that is the proper food for children. Mrs. Fairbairn — Can 't I have some coffee ? Kitty — (Pouring out and sipping a large cup of her own) — Certainly not. / never was allowed coffee when a little girl, and couldn't think of giving it to you. Mrs. Fairbairx — Oh, dear ! [Mrs. Fairbairn eats porridge with a xiyry face. ToM sits in an arm-chair, reads, paper, and eats heartity. Aunt Betsey looks pleased.'] Enter Mr. Fairbairn. Tom — (Looks at watch) — What did I tell you, sir? You are late again, sir. No breakfast, sir, I 'm sorry, but this habit mxist be broken up. Not a word ; it 's your own fault, and you must bear the penalty. Mr. Faiubairn — Come, now, that's hard on a fellow! I'm awful hungry. Can't I have just a bite of some- thing? (Stepping towards table.) Tom — (Rises and stamps his foot) — I said — not — a — morsel ! And I shall keep my word. Go to your morn- ing duties, and let this be a lesson to you. [_They rhe from the table, and all leave the room but Mr. Fairbairn. He siUs biting the end off hi$ cigar, which ha has found, after much rummaging in his pockets. Aunt Betsky comes in, on tip-toe, and slips a biscuit and a cookie in his hand.] Aunt Betsky — My dear, do try and please your father. He is right. But — I can 't bear to see you starve. 72 STERLING DIALOGUES Mr. Fairbairn — {MUh mouth Jull) — Betsey, you are an augel. {Eating very fast.) Do you think these rogues will keep it up in this rigorous style all day ? AuMT Betsey — I trust so ; it is n't a bit over-done. Hope you like it. ( Goes out laughing.) Enter Kitty anc? Mrs. Fairbairn. Kitty — Now, put on your hat, and draw baby up and down the avenue for an hour. Don't go on the grass, or you will wet your feet. Do n't play with the baby ; I want her to go to sleep. Do n't talk to your brother, or he will neolect his work. His father wants him to rake in the yard. Mrs. Fairbairn — Must I, really? It's so warm, and I want to sew. Kitty, you are a hard-hearted mamma, to make me do it. Kitty — I have to do it every morning, and you do n't let me off. ( Getting a bottle.) Here is your iron mix- ture, dear. Now, take it, like a good girl. Mrs. Fairbairn — (Stepping back) — I wont! Kitty — Then Aunty will hold your hands, and I shall make you. Mrs. Fairbairn — But I don't like it ; I don't need it. Kitty — Neither do I, but you give it to me all the same. I'm sure you need strengthening more than I do ; you have so many " trials." (Kitty looks sly.) Enter Aunt Betsey. Aunt Betsey — You'd better mind, Carrie; it can't hurt you, and you know you promised entire obedience. Mrs. Fairbairn — But I never thought these little chits would do so well. (Drinking it.) Ugh, how disa- greeable it is ! Kitty — When you come iu, sit down, and hem thes* STERLING DIALOGUES 73 towels until dinuer time. I declare! I have so much to do, and so many cares, I don't know which way to turn ! [Evening.— Tom and Kitty dressed to go out riding.] Mr. Fairbairx — Can 't I go over and see Mr. Ham- mond? Tom— jSTo; I don't like Billy Hammond, so I don't wish you to play with his father. (Smiling.) (Mr. Fairbairn gives a long, low whistle.) Mr. Fairbairn — (Eespectfulli/)— Going to drive, sir? Tom — Do n't ask questions. Mrs. Fairbairn — Can't I go? Kitty — No; there isn't room. Mb. Fairbairn — Why not have the carry-all, and let us go, too ; we like it so much. (In a pleasing tone.] Tom — (Impatiently) — We can't be troubled with you. The buggy is nicest, and lightest, and we want to talk over our affairs. You, ray son, can help John turn the hay in the lawn, and Caroline can amuse the baby, or help Jane with the preserves. Little girls should be domestic. Mr. Fairbairn — Oh! thunder! Kitty — Aunt Betsey taught you that speech, you saucy boy. (Shaking her finger at him.) Now, Caroline, I expect company this evening, but I don't wish you to sit up. You are too young, and late hours arc bad for your eyes. Go to bod at seven, and don't forget to brush your hair and teeth well, five minutes for each ; cold-cream your hands, fold your ribbons, hang up your clothes, put out your boots to be cleaned, and put in tlic mosquito- bars. I will come and take away tlu' light, when I return. [Ktil Mi{. and Mrs. Fairbairn. Tom — Hasn't it been a funny day? 74 STERLING DIALOGUES Kitty — Don't thiuk I quite like it, every thing is so turned around. Tom — Guess they didn't like it very well. I wonder if our joke will do any good. Aunt Betsey — {Smiling and knitting, xuith happy jace) — Wait and see, little dears. [ Ourtain.l FRIGHTENED AT NOTHING. CHARACTERS :— Mrs. Ketchem. LiLLiE, an Orphan, her Niece. ^™^'{ School Girls. Frank. Scene I. — A neat room. Enter Lucy and Nettie talking. Nettie — Wont that be grand ? But do you think we can do it? Lucy — I guess so. How lucky it is for us, that she believes in ghosts, spirits, and such things. But I don't believe she ever saw one. Wont she be surprised ? Nettie — Poor Lillie ! I feel so sorry for her ; she has to stay at home all the time ; Mrs. Ketchem wont let her go anywhere ; but I thought, perhaps she would let her go to our picnic, when we got it up more on her account than any thing else. Lucy — Yes, and isn't it too mean, she wont let her go now? But I am determined she shall go, if I can do any thing to help her. Nettie — But do you suppose Lillie will go, if we can get her aunt's consent tlie way we spoke of? Lucy — By frightening her into consenting, yoi' mean ? STERLING DIALOGUES 75 Yes, I think she will, but she would not if her aunt was not so unkind to her. Nettie — Hark! I hear somebody coming, let's hide and see who it is. {They hide behind a table.) Enter Frank. Frank — (Talking to himself) — I declare it's too bad, I wish her aunt was in Mexico. I wonder if I can 't con- trive some means to make her aunt let her go — but — Nettie — You'll have to get ghosts to help you. Frank — Ghosts! (Looking around.) Who is that? Nettie — The shadow of your Aunt Betsy Jane. Frank — (Laughing ) — Why she's alive. Seems to me that voice sounds like Nettie Gay's. Nettie — (Coming out) — So it is. (To Lucy.) Stay there a minute. (To Frank.) And so you too, are won- dering how you can get Lillie to attend our picnic ? Frank — Yes, can 't you help me ? Lucy — (From under the table) — You'll have to get ghosts to help you. Frank — (Starting) — Well if there isn't another! I believe the house is haunted. Who are you? Lucy — The great grandfather of your dejiarted Uncle George. Frank — (Looking under table) — Come out of there, Lucy, you can 't scare me. Lucy — ( C(ym,ing out) — But perhaps we could scare Mrs. Ketch era. Frank — What do you mean ? Lucy — Let's go out in the yard, and we will tell you what a nice plan we have, for making Mrs. Kctchem let Lillie gu with us to-morrow. \_Exil. [ (Jurtain.'\ 76 STERLING DIALOGUES Scene II. — Time evening. Mrs. Ketchem knitting. Lillie waali- ing dishes. Mrs. Ketchem — You needn't ask nie any more. 1 .say you shan't go. If you tease me any more, I vum, I will box your ears. Lillie — But, aunt, I haven't been anywhere for the longest time, and I will be real good if you will — Mrs. Ketchem — What did I tell you ? [Jumps up, dropping her work, runs toward Lillie, unth her hand raised. Lillie dodges around the table. Suddenly a knock at the door.l Mrs. Ketchem — Goodness gracious! Who is that? It can't be Hezekiah. Lillie, you just wait 'till I see who this is, then I will 'tend to your case, young lady. You need n't think you are going to get off so. ( Opens door, shrieks and starts back.) Enter Frank dressed as ghost of Lillie's mother. Lillie, pretending fright, hides behind chair. Frank — {Solemnly) — Mrs. Ketchem, sister of my dead husband. Do you treat my child as I commanded you ? Speak ! Mrs. Ketchem — (^Gasping) — Yes. Oh go away, go away! Frank — Kemeraber I am always watching you. All your actions I see ; I know how cruelly you have treated my child, and now I will remain here, until you promise to treat her better than you have done. Mrs. Ketchem — ( Covering her head with her apron) — Oh, don't stay, I haven't done — Frank— Hush! You needn't attempt to deceive me, I know all. Will you promise never more to abuse my daughter Lillie? Will you solemnly promi.se to treat her hereafter as your own daughter 't STERLrNG DIAT>OGrES 7? Mrs. Ketchem — Yes, I will promise any thing, only ^o away, go away ! Frank — I will go soon, and will not appear again, unless I find — Mrs. Ketchem — Oh, do n't come again, I will — I mean I wont box her ears any more. Oh ! Frank — If you don't let her go to the picnic to-morrow, I will appear again, and woe be to you, if I come forth again. Farewell. lExit sloivly. Mrs. Ketchem — Has she gone ? Has she gone sure f Well ; I suppose I will have to let you go to the picnic, after all. (Knock.) Hark! isn't somebody knocking? Oh, she has come back, she has come back ! JMercy, mercy ! \_Run8 frantically around the room, while Lillie open* the door, ushering in Lucy, Nettie and Frank.] Lillie — {Aside to them) — She is frightened 'most to death. It is too bad. Nettie — It isn't either. It's just what she deserves. Frank — It worked well, didn't it? Didn't I make a capital ghost ? Lillie — Yes indeed, but be careful ; she will hear us. Lucy — (To Mrs. Ketchem) — We have come again, to see if we can 't coax you to let Lillie go with us to-morrow. Please let her go. Mrs. Ketchem — I will this time — but next time — Frank — (In a sepulchral voice ) — Remember your promise. {All start — looking around.) All — Who was that ? Mrs. Ketchem — (Nervoujily) — It must have been the door creaking. Yes, Lillie may go. Now I suppose you are satisfied. Frank — Oh, yes, I can answer for all. But I must go now. Come girls; come, Lillie; I have something to tell you. lExii Lillie, Lucy, Nettie and Frank. 78 STERLING DIALOGUES Mrs. Ketchem — Who would have thought it? But I always did believe in ghosts, now I am sure of it. I believe I have treated poor Lillic rather badly. But it is all owing to my rheumatiz, it makes me so cross, but I will try and be easier on her. But what are they talking BO long about ? I must go tell them to finish their chat to-morrow. It is getting late. [Exit. [ Curtain.'] "BOARDING 'ROUND." AN EXPERIENCE OF THE OLDEN TIME. CHARACTERS :— Miss Landen, Teacher of a country Schooi. Tom, ) Tj -1 Lily, j ^^P^^^' Mk. Jenks. Mrs. Jenks. Ike ' 1 *^^^'" Sons. Sally, their Daughter. Scene I. — A country school-house— teacher seated at her desk ; her head leaning wearily on her hand. Miss Landen — Ah, well ! another day's labor in this dingy old school-room is ended, and now comes the un- welcome question : Where am I to lay my weary head to-night? Where shall I get something to satisfy the cravings of nature, that is fit to eat ? How do these peo- ple subsist on food that would disgust a Camanche In- dian ! I have been compelled to live on baked beans and pork, buckwheat cakes and " sop," until I abhor and loathe the sight, smell, or thought of them. And, being obliged to sleep in a different house every night, and be- ing obliged to " do the agreeable," no matter how weary or preoccupied, to such uncultivated, vulgar people, who seem to think they are doing a deed of charity, for which STERLING DIALOGUES T9 I must be duly grateful, in giving me a night's lodging, and a seat at their table. I declare, it's just like living on the town, and worse— for at the poor-house, one has at least a permanent home. True, for the last week I have had a pleasant stopping-place with :Mrs. Sanderson, the only woman in the place that lives like a civilized Chris- tian. But before going there— at ray " boarding-house"— there was the alternative of sitting up all night, or sleep- ing with two of my promising pupils— whom I could hardly endure as near me as the recitation bench, so redo- lent were they. of grease and dirt. If there were a place, within two or three miles, where I could buy provisions, I'd rent a room and set up house-keeping myself. I'd have, perhaps, twenty-five cents a week left. Enter Tom, Lily, cmd Ike, pupils. Tom — Say, school marm ! aint ye goin' to our house to-night? Mother told me to ask ye if it wasn't 'bout time for ye to come ag'in. Miss Landen — (Aside) — Nothing there but the ever- /asting pork and beans, and beds alive with bugs. (Aloud.) No, Tom, I guess not to-night, some other time I'll go with you. Lily — Will you go with me again to-night, Miss Lan- den? You know mamma is always glad to have you come. Miss Landen — It is a great temptation. I should like so much to go. (Aside.) Oh, if I could stop with Mrs. Sanderson all the time, I should be content. (Aloud.) But not to-night, dear; I have already stayed witli your mother far more than her allotted portion of "boarding tlie teacher," and I ran not further trespass on her hospi- tality. (A.-^ide.) Whore «/)«// I go? Ike Je>'K.s — (Marching up to the desk, with hand* in 80 STERLING DIALOGUES his pockets) — Mother says she 's got to have you to board gome time, and she wants you to be sure aud come to- night, 'cause father's been to the "Burg" to-day, aud she'd niyther you'd come when she's got tea aud sugar in the house. Miss Landen — (Aside) — As well there as anywhere. (Aloud.) Yes, I'll go with you! How far do your parents reside from here? Ike — How fur do they whatf Miss Landen — Do you live far from here ? Ike — No, mawm, only a little Avays. Just over the hill — not more'n a mile aud a half. Miss Landen — A mile and a half, through this mud and splash ! Well, if I don't need the grace of patience, I don't know who does. That man wrote nothing but truth, when he said, " Job mite have been the pashuntest man that ever lived — on biles — but he never taut skule and horded round." [Miss Landen |;wfe on her bonnet and shawl, locks the school-room, and follows Ike.] [ Curtain.'] Scene II. — Room in a " back woods " country farm-house. A table spread with supper — a dish of meat, potatoes, hot cakes ; around ■which are seated, ^IR. and ]\lRS. Jenks, Sally (in a flaminnr yel- low "polly-nay," and red calico skirt), Jake and Ike, and Miss Landen. Mr. Jenks — Just fall to, and help yerself, school mawm ; we don't have much manners here. Sally — Now, par, do wait on the skule miss. Change the plates, do. Mr. Jenks — Wal, ef I must, I'll hev to ; but it's nufT site better for every one to look out for his own bread and dinner. (Fills a plate with a piece of black-looking meat, a potato, and a huge buckwheat cake.) STERLING dtai.ogup:s 81 Mrs. Jenks — Dew yew take your tea with trimmin's, Miss Lantern f Miss Laxden — If you please. Landen is my name. Mrs. Jenks — Oh, it is! Well, I didn't understand. Tom and Ike, do behave yerselves ! Tom — Give me a later, then, I say I want a later. {At the top of his voice.) Sally — j\[ar, Ike's a dippin' into my apple-sass. I wish you'd lick him, he acts awful. Ike — I liaint teched it ! She's tellin' an awful whopper ! Mrs. Jenks — Go 'way from the table. I'll learn you to eat so, afore the skule mawm. {^Seizes Ike by his collar, and drags him from the room, while he kicks and hotvk.'] Mrs. Jenks — (Returns, and seats herself again at the table) — How on airth do you ever manage forty or fifty sich young-uns? I can't git along with two, and I'm allers powerful glad to git 'em off to skule in the mornin', and out of the way. Do try and make out yer supper, miss — goodness to gracious ! I do believe Dan Jenks has given you the griddle greaser ! (Looking on Miss liAN- Tyr.y'fi plfde.) He has, I swan! Now, Sally, that's too bad — some of your work, lettin' it drop in. Sally — I jist laid it on the side of the meat-dish, and it slid iu, I s'pose. Mr. Jenks — I'm done; aint you. Jack? Come along and help mo fodder the cattle. [Exit Mr. Jenks and Jack — all leave the table. Mrs. Jenks — Now, fly 'round, Sally, and h(>lp nic do up the work, and then git the .school mawm to show you liow to ('ro»h little Girls. TOTTIE, J Will, an Interloper. Alice — Children, we are having a nice time this after- noon, and just for a change, suppose we all sit down and have a little talk, and each one tell what she would like best to have, either for a new plaything, fur pleasure or comfort. Just think a little first. (All musing.) Grace — ( Vcrij modestly speahs) — I think if I had m^ wish, I 'd have a nice boy-dolly. Dressed up in splendid soldier style; I tell you, wouldn't he look jolly, STERLING DIALOGUES 83 With suit of blue and buttons bright, Upon his head a cap and feather, A shiny guu — and on his back A knapsack stutled, and made of leather.' Katie — Tliat tvould be nice. Then /would like A lady-doll, dressed to my fancy, With top-knot, jockey feather, veil. And " riding goat," like Cousin Nancy. And then some day, when skies were bright, And your gay soldier boy off duty. They, too, could have a splendid drive, To show off speed, and style and beauty, Alice — (Interrupting gently) — Now, girls, one thing you have forgot. To carry out your plans, quite needful, A something I have got to lend. And you may use, if only heedful. A nice new dolly-(;haise for two, And you must be the pony party ; I pray you take it when you choose. And enjoy it with my wishes hearty. Grace and Katie — {In concert) — We thank you dear, 'iu just like you To be so thoughtful, loving too, While we are heedless, gay and jolly. While planning for each one's new dolly. Enter Wii.i>. Kath-: — Now here comes Will. I expect he's heard All we have naid — yes, every word. Now tell us what you 've got to say About such trifles as girls' play. 84 STERLING DIALOGUES Will — (^Putting on an air of great importance) — Well — / say : Away with all your dolly talk. Give me a little pile of money, And I will show you something smart And worth your care — alive and funny. I'd buy a pair of fine grey goats, I 'd have them harnessed strong and gaily, I 'd have a carriage, too, to match, And then, you see, I 'd drive them daily. I 'd take some lady by my side, But 7iot a dressed up, lifeless dolly, But a real, gay, young chatterbox, Just like myself, so cute and jolly. Now what do you think ? Girls — (In concert) — We think you're pretty cute, young sir. And bound to make a noise and stir ; But when those splendid goats arrive, Remember — we '11 be ready for a drive. Will — (Leaving the room) — They had better wait till they are invited. Can 't take so many. Girls — {In concert) — What a great man ! A little selfish after all. Alice — Well, here's little Tottie, she has said nothing only with her eyes. Now, darling, what would you like to have ? Tottie — Me? I want — I guess I want A pussy tat, a soldier, too, A. little box — a little doll. I want most everything, I do. (Aside, softly.) But I want to ride with them goatees. STEliLI^a DIALOGUES 8t' All — About the goatees, darling, we can't say, but all the rest you shall certainly have. Alice — A little more time yet, as the meeting folks say. N^ow for Katie. Katie — (Hesitating) — I have been thinking a good deal. But like dear Tottie, 'mong so many, I want most everything that's nice, (I 'd want them nice, or else not any). I want a dress like Josie Fox, I want a muff, a hat and feather, I want some ribbons and some lace, And a waterproof for rainy weather. And then I want — I want — I want — Oh, dear! I can't say what — I'm fearing You think I am a foolish child, And all my talk not worth the hearing. Alice — Never mind, we are not perfect yet. Grace — The clock says we must go pretty soon ; but Alice, dear, has not told us a single wish yet. Alice — Never mind now, darlings. I have taken so much comfort in hearing you talk that all my selfish thoughts have fled away, so we will all be saying, " Good afternoon." (^Exchange of parting salutations.) [ Curtain.'] 86 STEKLING DIALOGUES WHO IS THE POET? CHARACTEKS :— Matilda Evans. William Evans, her Brother. Scene. — Matilda sits at a table writing. Enter William with papers and letters. Matilda — Oh, you 're a good brother. Now I will see if my poem is published. lOpetis a paper and looks it through. William reads anotJier paj)er.~\ Matilda — No, it isn't here, and what is more, I don't believe they intend to publish it. Well, it is really like casting pearls before swine, to send anything good to these common editors. There is not one in twenty of them that knows a good poem when he sees it. If I were not so modest, and unassuming, I would send it to some of those periodicals whose editors do appreciate a good article. Ah ! here are letters ; I wonder who they are from. ( Opens one and reads. Throws it down angrily exclaiming :) Impudence ! I '11 never send them a poem again so long as I live. William — What is the matter now, Matilda ? Matilda — Matter enough, I should think. Just hear this letter from that impudent editor. {Reads:) Miss Flora Der orest : That's my nom deplume, you know. Dear Miss :^ The enclosed poem which you modestly offer us for the trifling sum of ten dollars, we are obliged to decline. Your talent for writing poetry is, we admit, very uncommon, but as there are already so many poets in the literary field, we would advise you to try and see if your capacity is not equally good for washing dishes, and darn- ing stockings. Yours with great regard, E. T. Typeman. HTERLIXG DIALOGUES 8? Matilda — Now, William, isn't that the most pro vok. iugly .saucy letter you ever saw ? William — 1 dou't see anything particularly saucy about it. He merely refused your poem, and gave yuu his professional advice. Matilda — Professional advice, indeed ! Nobody asked his advice. I'll show him that there's more than one editor in the world, and more papers than his little con- temptible sheet. (Seats herself at the table.) William — What do you propose to do, Matilda ? Matilda — I am going to send this poem to an editor who does know something. I think he will appreciate it. William — Shall I tell you how to prevent the pos- sibility of receiving from him a letter similar to this you have just received from Mr. Typeman ? Matilda — Yes, if you know. What shall I do ? AViLLiAM — Keep your poem at home, and follow the advice contained in this letter. Matilda — Tliat is about as much sympathy as I ex- pected from you. I do n't believe I am appreciated any- where. (Rises and walks.) There, I have spent a whole week upon a poem which an insignificant editor refuses with scorn ; and even here, at home, among my nearest and dearest friends, where I should meet with the sweetest sympathy, I am treated with coldness and indifference. " Oh, for some heart to meet my own In sympathy and love." William — Stop quoting bad poetry. Let us talk plain prose. You say you are not appreciated here. Suppose you set the example, and commence by appreciating your- self. Your j)owers are not properly estimated, I'll admit, but you yourself have a-s false views of them as any one. Matilda — I don't think I understand you. William- "Let me make it more j)luiu then. You 88 STERLING DIALOGUES have imagined you could write poetry, and sit here day ai'ter day, spending your time in scribbling sentimental songs -which do not contain one word of sound common sense. The jin(/le, I'll admit, is well enough ; the meter is not bad, but what does the whole of it amount to? Simply highly embroidered nonsense. This is why editors reject your poems. They have no heart in them. They don't mean anything. Matilda — Look at my verses about moonlight ; I am sure they mean something. William — Yes, but let us hear a poem about daylight. Get up some morning and write a poem about sunrise, and perhaps it will be worth reading. Ah, Matilda, if you could only write such poems as Susie does, they would be appreciated by the folks at home, to say the least. Matilda — Susie? Why, William, what do you mean? I don't think she ever wrote two lines of poetry in her life. William — Nor did she, as you write poetry ; and yet her daily life is one unceasing, and beautiful poem. No wandering, unwilling feet, or discordant syllables are in her poems, but a glad out-gushing of pure and loving in- spiration is hers. Matilda — I know that Susie is a dear, good girl, but I never thought her poetical. William — That is because you do not understand what true poetry is. You fancy that you are a great admirer of Nature ; but who ever saw you grafting roses, or train- ing a vine? When were you able to name our common forest trees by looking at their leaves ; or distinguish and name our garden birds by hearing them sing ? Susie does this. Who plants and tends the flowers, making our little yard a perfect paradise of bloom and fragrance? Who knows where the sweetest wild blossoms are hid, and BTERLTXG DIALOGUES 8& brings them to cheer the weary invalid? "Who makes moss baskets for the windows, and picture frames for the parlor? Who binds up the broken limbs of lambs and chickens, and tenderly nurses them ? Who reads for papa, sings for the baby, and resigns her own pleasure always for that of every other one? Who watches all of us when we are sick, with unceasing care ? Whose feet are never weary while there is anything to be done for others? Whose hands are never idle so long as they can minister to the wants of a loved one ? Is not Susie's unselfish life a beautiful poem, Matilda ? And how much of such a poem are you living ? Matilda — I can see it all, William, and it is very strange that I never thought of it before. William — You are not an isolated exception, Matilda. There are thousands of sweet, unselfish lives, whose sacri- fices for others are accepted by them without even know- ing or thinking that they are sacrifices, because made so freely and lovingly. Matilda — 'Patting aivay paper and pens) — Brother William, you have opened my eyes to see myself in a true light, I believe, and I thank you for it. How idle and useless my life has been. I will scribble no more versos, l)ut go to work and see if I can 't do something ivorih doing. If I can not write poetry, I can at least help mother. Wili-Iam — Tliat sounds like something sensi])le. When you have learned to do anything worth writing about, perhaps you will be able to write something worth read- ing. At any rate, you may depend upon one thivig. The person who is not good for anything else, need not try to become a poet. That is my opinion. {^Exit, [ Curtain.'} SrO STERLING DIALOGUES I GUESS I'M THE MAN". CHARACTERS:— Mr. IL\ll, reformed Drinker. Mk. yMITII, I MK. J OSES, I Mil. James, I Mr. Rice, J Callers. Scene. — Mr. Hall in Lis office alone, sitting at the table writing. Mr. Hall — ( Taking up letter, reading aloud ) — " Mv dear sister, I liastea to iuf'orm you that I shall not annoy you any more by hard drink. I signed the pledge over six months ago, and have kept it to the very letter." Enter Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith — (^Interrupting reading, with a bow) — Sir, can you inform me where Mr. Hall lives? Mr. Hall — There are several families of Halls living around here. "Which one do you wish to find ? Mr. Smith — I don't know his Christian name, but he is the father of two beautiful girls. Mr. Hall — Really, sir, I can not tell which one you wish to find, as there are two families of Halls, and each has two daughters. Mr. Smith — Just give me the addresses of both, as I am bound to get acquainted with them ; but I don't think much of the old man. Enter Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones — Good evening. I call to see if you could inform me about a family by the name of Hall, and where he resides. Mr. Hall — Are you acquainted with Mr. Hall ? Mr. Jones — No, only by hearsay. Mr. Hall — Well, my friend, what have you heard ? Mk. Jones — I heard, and quite straight, too, that there STERLIXG DIALOGUES 91 wasn't a harder drinker in town, and that he would die a genuine sot ; but, then, he has two pretty girls. Mr. Hall — Hem I hem ! I guess that Mr. Hall lias drank more or less ; but, how about the girls ? Enter Mr. James. Mr. James — Good evening, sir. I hojie I 'in not in- truding. Mr. Hall — Xot at all, sir ; what can I do for you this evening? Mr. James — Do you know anything about a family by the name of Hall ? Mr. Hall — I'm slightly acquainted with two families by that name. Mr. James — The Mr. Hall I wish to find, I hear has two girls just splendid, handsome and witty, but they don't take much after the old man. Mr. Hall — What about the old man ? Mr. James — I hear he is drunk most of the time; and that he is a sharp, shrewd old man, and never was so drunk but that he could keep his money. Enter Mr. Rice. Mr. Rice — (Addressinf/ Mr. Hall) — Good evening, sir. I beg pardon for intruding, but I '11 detain you only a moment. Mr. Hall — My friend, what can I do for you? Mr. Rice — I just stepped in to see if you could inform me about a family by the name of Hall ? Mr. Hall — I think I can. Mr. Rick — Please give me his address. (Taking out his diary.) I believe he has two daughters. Mr. Hall — Yes; but they are quite shy. Mr. Rice — I 'II bet I can get acquainted ; yes, and T 'II hftt I'll marry one of them. 92 STERLING DIALOGUES Mr. Hall — You speak as though you should marry one, whether or no. Mr. Kice — I tell you I am sure I shall, as the old man is rich. Yes, rich as a Jew ; but he has been represented to me as being a close-fisted man, and not scrupulously honest in all his transactions in business, besides being drunk two-thirds of the time. Come, give me bis address. Mr. Hall — I do not think any of his friends here will ibe likely to get the old man's property — [^Interrupted by all. Some exclaim — What's that! What 's that you say ? Others — Why ! why ! ] Mr. Halx-^ — For this very reason, I guess, I 'm the maiil [ Curtam.'] MISCHIEF. DRAMATIC CHARADE. CHARACTERS :— Grandpa. r^llV^' ] Grandchildren. Miss. Scene I. — Willie discovered whittling an arrow. Enter Kate, with school-books, crying. Willie — Why ! what 's the matter with my sister Kate ? I have not seen her cry of late. Kate — ( Throwing down her books) — These hateful books, there 's not a leaf. But what's one constant source of grief; I try to learn my lessons every day. But the thoughts of sport have drawn my mind away : From all our childish plays I gain some bliss. But when my lessons come, I 'm sure to miss.. STERLING DIALOGUES 9^ Willie— "Why, Kate, that's nothing— I've been at home all day, And what is more, T mean to keep away From books and school, till I can plainly see Some pleasure there in store for me ; Then dry your tears ; for eyes so red as this, Are not becoming to my little miss. Kate — Don't call me miss; I hate the word, For which reproofs I've often heard ; This very day, while in the Grammar class, My turn came round, I had to let it pass; "What!" growled the teacher, with a hideous frown, "You miss again, and can not parse a noun?" And then she thundered, with her usual sneers, " Unless you study more, you'll miss your ears." Willie — Well, cheer up, Kate ; no word I speak Shall start a tear across your cheek ; But grandpa comes, and we must give report If we have spent our time in school or sport, Unless by some fair chance he fails to ask If we have learned or not our daily task. Enter Grandpa. Grandpa — How now, what do you there, my boy? What gives your fingers their employ? Willie — I'm making, sir, an arrow for the bow That Uncle Joseph gave me long ago. Grandpa — And think you that, like William Tell, You'll shoot your arrow ])rave and well? WiLLii: — I do not know how well he shot. Kate — Oh, tell his story, will yon not? Do, Grandpa, t<'ll us; take this chair, And I will ])la( e another there, 94 STERLING DIALOGUES That you may rest your aching toe, And tell his story. Do n't say no. [Grandpa sits doivn: Willie and Kate corns each side.l Grandpa — Tell was a brave man over the sea, Who wished to make all his countrymen free. The usurper caught him, but spared him his breath, On conditions almost as grievous as death. Tell had a son, a small lad like yon, Who was, like his father, brave, loyal and true ; On the head of this boy a small apple was placed, And two hundred yai'ds the old tyrant paced To measure the distance from father to son. And show by what skill his life might be won ; And he told the brave man that his life he would give. If he shot off the apple and let the boy live. Then the archer took up his trusty cross-bow, Selected an arrow as straight as a row, Adjusted the string, and quickly it sped. Well-aimed, at the apple upon the boy's head. Willie — Did it miss? Kate — Did it miss? Willie and Kate — Oh ! say, did it miss ? Grandpa — What nonsense, my children, what nonsense is this ? Think you the fond father would ever aim An arrow that might his only child maim ? No, Tell knew his skill, and the apple was found In two parts divided ; the boy was still sound. Now, children, the lesson — remember this, Be sure you are right, and never miss. Kate — (Aside to Wti-lie) — Does grandpa know what made me cry ? STERLING DIAI.OGUEfe 95 Orandpa — Now, youDgsters, go and play, and I Will try to sleep, for should I miss my nap. My gouty toe might meet with some mishap. Willie — Come on, then, Kate, and I will try my skill with this. (Holding up his arrow.) Kate — {To audience) — But no one would be hurt if he should miss. [Willie and Kate go out. Grandpa leans hack in his chair to sleep. 2 [ Curtain.'] Chief. Scene II. — Same as before. Grandpa feigning sleep. Enter Willie. Willie — (Looks at Grandpa, runs to door, and calls :) — Oh, Kate, come here ; here's such a chance for fun; Don't mope along so slow, but run, Kate, run. Kate — {Outdde) — Why, what's the matter? why such haste ? Enter Kate. Willie — Keep still, now, Kate, I 've not a breath to waste '. Grandpa's asleep, let's play him off a joke, As good as e'er his gouty slumbers woke. Kate — What, Will, make fun of grandpa? Sure you jest, You can not, must not, thus disturb his rest. Willie — lie's slept enough. Now, do not silly be; Do as I bid, and leave the rest to me. I'll dress up like an Indian, tall and straight; And when he wakens up, I'll lie in wait. And frighten him till half his ."^cnses go. And gdut foffvcr Iravcs his aching toe. Kate — llal lial now, Willie, you're so dumpy small, .You can not be an Indian straight and tall. 96 STERLING DIALOGUES Willie — Well, well ; tbea, Kale, I '11 staud up in a cnaii, And say I 'm Chief. 'T will give him such a scare, He'll tremble well from sole to crown, And think me a chief, and not a clown. Now, Kate, stand there and keep the flies away, Nor let one settle on a hair of gray ; Let not his nose become a place of rest, He'd surely waken up and spoil my jest. [ Goes out. Kate — Well, well I'll please him ; but it's my belief, When grandpa wakes he'll whip the little chief. (^Walks on tiptoe, and brushes away the flies.') \_Enter Willie with feathers in his hat, bringing a red shawl or blanket, a hatchet, bow and arrow, and a pair of moccasins. Puts the moccasins down on the floor by a chair, gets up in the chair, and fixes the blanket round him so that it falls to the floor, and shoivs the moccasins sticking out. Holds the hatchet in his right hand, and bow and arrow in his leff] Willie — (Hands Kate a string) — Now, Katy, draw this string across his nose, He '11 think it is a poison-spider's toes, And wake affrighted. Then I '11 play my part, And he shall fear the chief or feel his dart. Kate — You will not hurt him, Willie, dear ? Willie — No, no ; keep silent — never fear ; And when he wakes with such a fright, My Kate must needs keep out of sight. [Kate dratvs the string across Grandpa's face; he wakes, pretending to be frightened; Willie whoops, and Kate dodges behind Grandpa's chair.'] Willie — (In a gruff voice) — When evil thoughts disturb the mind. The old man leaves his sleep behinjl, STEELING DIALOGUES ffi And wakes to find his room possessed By one who makes no mild request. Old man, I am of many braves The chief, the pale face idly craves Our pity. Stationed all around Are scores of men, who, at a sound From me, would quick the old man take, And burn him at the nearest stake. But give me now a bag of gold, And I will from your quiet fold My braves withdraw, nor need you fear That they shall e'er again come near. Grandpa — The old man totters near the grave, And has no gold to give the brave. Willie — My kin have gone beyond the flood, The pale face steel hath drunk their blood ; Give me thy children, they '11 atone. For many wrongs the whites have done. Grandpa — Nay, take my life, but kindly spare My children's children ; they'd no share In all thy wrongs; grant this relief, And I will bless thee, haughty chief WiLLiK — Your life, old man, is nothing worth. Too long hath been thy stay on earth ; But, quickly bring to me the youth, And I will give my word of truth That they shall live. Else I will burn Thy mansion, give my dogs a turn At those fair children, and let thee live « To endure the pangs that I can give. fjRANDPA — Since naught can toucli thy heart of siflne, I yield by brutal force o'ercome ; I go to bring thorn — God forgive, If I have erred to let them live. [Exit. 98 STERLING DIALOGUES Kate — Oh, Will, how dared you scare him so ? He trembles — he can hardly go. Willie — (^Getting down, and taking off his shawl) — I thought he'd sooner find me out, What could the man have been about ? He '11 soon come back, what shall I say ? I wish the chief could run away. Kate — Nay, nay, brave chief; I bid you stand, A coward chief would flee the land ; You 've played the chief to scare your friends, I '11 be the chief to make amends. [ Curtain.'] Mischief. Scene III.— Kate and Willie, as before. Eyiter Grandpa. Grandpa — (Severely) — Is this the chieftain bold and brave. Who kindly vouched my life to save, If I would give my children dear To live in wigwams, slay the deer. Their faces paint, their ears bedeck With gewgaws, hung around their neck, Or at their belt, the scalps they take From slumbering foemeu ere they wake? Kate — {Advancing half-xvay, and kneeling) — Grandpa, for- give the naughty jest With which we broke your sweetest rest ; The chieftain then so bold and brave, Is willing now to be your slave. So pardon us and take for fun, What was in purest miscAte/ done. STERLING DIALOGUES W Grandpa — Well, well, fair pleader, since you own Your foolish pranks, I'll not disown My children ; but will take your hands In mine, and give you my commands. ( Takes them by the hands.) My children, you must never let Your love of muchief so forget What's due to age, that you would willing be To hang your grandpa to the nearest tree ; But if you should, you 'd better take a peep, And be quite sure that he is sound asleep. Willie — Ah, grandpa, but I thought you smiled When giving up your children wild. Kate — And I was sure you really knew Our Will's wild prank, and helped him through. Grandpa — (To audience) — Our charade's ended, but I'd like to add, That mischievous children are not always bad. Their faults lie on the surface ; at the core Arc many virtues, needing oft no more Than some kind hand to lead them on the road, — To show them what is evil, what is good ; To quietly chide when pleasure lures too long, To make them love the right and shun the wrong. Kate — And yet you 'd best, like grandpa, when you sleep, For fear of mischief one eye open keep. [ Curtain.^ ii^ 100 *^'^ STERLING DIALOGUES UNCLE DEAL'S LECTURE. CHARACTERS :— Uncle Deal, a crotchety olfl Bachelor. Mrs. Deal, his Brother's Wife. SCROGGINS, Mrs. Deal's Brotlier. Eddie, Mrs. Deal's little Sou. Miss Drewery, a Caller. Scene. — Uncle Deal and his sister-in-law alone in the tatter's . l)arlor. A.^ocli. ^' / Enter ScitOGGlNS, who, in ottempting to bow, falls over a chair ; a bottle rolls from his pocket, which he scrambles after and replaces. Mrs. Deal — {With an annoyed laugh) — He's drunk! I say, it's too much to stand. Uncle Deal — (Approaching him) — Allow me to escort you to the kitchen ; you are at present hardly fit for parlor furniture. [ScROGGiNS is led off the stage, looking very foolish, and making comic boivs to the audience.'] liC-enter Uncle Deal. [M^s. Deal — (In a rather loud and excited tone) — Now, isnt that ridiculous. * Scroggins might be ashamed of himself. There is not a finer man in these parts, if I am his sist^, than Billy Scroggins when he's at himself, nor a worse one when the liquor 's in and the wit 's out. •■Uncle Deal— H-m. That is usually the case, but I thought your brother had reformed, and all that sort of thing. lMrs^Deal— So he had. He hadn't drunk a drop for three years, until Smggins started that abominable tavern, right on his road from the shop. There was no manner of call for a public-house there ; that is admitted by alL This thing of intemperance, it is awful, I say. STERLING DIALOGUES 101 VJJncle Deal— Its ravages are certainly fearful. It is not on the decrease^ though, when a late calculation shows, in one of ouf most enlightened, refined and pat- riotic^ cities, nearly as many groggeries as lamp-posts. kMs^ Deal— Well, the men seem to have grown per- fectly indifferent on the subject, and what can women do. 1 I will head a raid of women against it any time. I've read of such things being done, women breaking into whiskey shops, rolling the barrels into the street, staving in the heads, and letting the whiskey run down the gutter. ^ Uncle Deal — That way of proceeding doesn't seem to strike me as being very ladv-like. But — (J. knock.) Enter Miss Drewery. vMrs. Deal — How do you do, my dear Nellie? This is my husband's brother. (Turning to Uncle Deal, and they exchange greetings.) Do sit down, Nellie, and take off your things. I am sure you have come to spend the day with me. jifl^UT^'^H v MiMS DREWERY-f-Nothing would give me more plea- sure if I had the time, but you know-i ^ are preparing a little surprise for brother ,AVLill when he comes hume, in the shape of a little " sociable " at si.st er_Aunie's, and I just ('ailed to get the recipe for your currant wine. We all think it delicious. ^Mrh. Deal — Well, sit down and talk to Uncle Deal, while I hunt up the recipe. If-lhfiLe is one thing I do brag oti a little, Niillie, it is my currant wine. Oh ! here comes Eddie, he Jl entertain you while I'm gone. Enter Eddfe, a Utile fellow of about seven years. i,^, [Exit Mrs. Deal. ^^fisH DuEWTUtY^-r'oriie and kiss me, Eddie, wont youl ^-that's a dear lillli; lullow. Z02 STERLING DIALOGUES Eddie— No, I shaa'L though. ( Clambers on Uncle Deal's kneels *Uncle Deal — Now, Eddie, that's very impolite of you. You should certaiuly kiss the ladies when^ey ask you. ^ Eddie— Would you ? (^They both laugh.) Re-enter ^^ Irs.D eal, bearing a tray full of wine-glasses, filled with wine, which she hands around. Miss Drewery accepts, Uncle Deal refuses. QS.188 Drewery — How excellent. [Sipping it. Eddie slyly helping himself to udnefrom the glasses on the sideboard.'] vMrs. Deal — (Producing the recipe, and handing it to her friend) — You will see, there is a pint of brandy added to every two gallons of the wine. Do have some more, Nellie. ^iss Drewery — Oh, no, thank you ; indeed, I must go. Good morning, Mrs. Deal. Good morning, sir. (-j^i, a lExitS^^s Drewery wit h a hoi o. [Eddie begins to sing and caper around the room in a most extraordinary manner, \o the consternation of his mamma, and amusement of Uncle Deal, who both try in vain to pacify him.'] Mrs. Deal — {Perceiving the empty glasses on the side- board) — Goodness, my boy ! Did you drink all that wine? Uncle Deal — Yes, I believe he did. ( Taking Eddie in his arms, who must now feign sickness.) He'll be quiet enough now for awhile, I think. {Lays him on a sofa.) Mrs. Deal — (Alarmed) — Oh, how pale he is ! I am afraid he will die. Do run for the doctor. Uncle Deal — I don't think it's so bad as that. The stimulating effect of the liquor is dying away, and a violent reaction is taking place in the child's system- Presently lie will fall into a heavy sleep ; I think it is " rT STERLING DIALOGUES lOJi already creeping over him. There, I was right; he ia going to sleep. ^Irs. D eal draws a deep breath, and resumes her sewing. ■■^Uncle Deal relapses into a meditative silence.']>^ a-fc^ Mrs. Deal — (After a jyause) — What in the world are you thinking of, Uncle Deal, you look so solemn ? Uncle Deal — I am studying out the skeleton af a " Temperance Lecture," taking imaginary notes of the same. Mrs. Deal — Oh, that would be excellent. I wish you would deliver it here in this town, and Swiggins would be one of the audience. Unx'LE Deal — I have before me just the audience to whom I wish to address myself; though, would it were more numerous, if' it were of the same character. In the unmeasured terms in which you have denounced poor Swiggins, justice compels me to denounce the domes- tic users of alcoholic stimulants. I condemn them in toto. Mrs. Deal — ( With some loarmth) — Why, Uncle Deal, there isn't much alcohol in a little plain wine. Come, now. Uncle Deal — Enough to make it intoxicating, as we have just witnessed. I insist upon it, if there were no refined drunkards, there would not be so many unrefined ones. "Total Abstinence" is the only true temperance motto. If I possessed the power, I would not only banish it from every pul)lic-house, but I would first dispense with ita use in every private house. Come, Mrs. Deal, you were a very strong temperance woman this morning. Mrs. Deal — What, then, would we do for brandy in our mince-pies, and wine in our sauces? Uncle Deal — It strikes me that highly seasoned meat mixed with alcoholic drugs, and baked in greasy crusts, ?04 STERLING DIALOGUES must be a most trying thing on the digestive organs, especially those of children, thus laying the foundation for a diseased and depraved appetite, which is the primary cause of so much drunkenness. If mince-pies were laid under ban, I believe it would be a blessing to the rising generation. It is astonishing that, while quackery and humbuggery of every sort count their dupes by thousands, the sin.ple laws of physical health are so doubtingly and scoffingly received by the great mass of enlightened Christians. While our youth are instructed in all the lore of the ancient classics, they are suffered to remain in the grossest ignorance of that most wonderful organism, the human frame. [ Curtain.'] THE FAIRY QUEEN'S DECISION. CHAKACTERS :— Hubert, a rich Boy, Paul, a jjoor Boy. Nannie, Paul's Sister. Faiky Queen. Scene. — A sitting-room. Hubert discovered. Hubert — {Soliloquizing) — I hope that young scamp I met in the woods this afternoon will bring me the nest of young robins from the old apple-tree ! Let me see, I pro- mised him two dollars, these four silver fifty-cent pieces, for them — there will be three for himself, and one to dry the tears of little Nannie, who has threatened to cry her blue eyes out if any harm comes to them. One would think a bare-footed girl had rather have money than birds, and, as for Paul, what a nice Sunday hat he can buy ! STERLING DIALOGUES lOft lEnter Paul, in ragged clothes mid torri hat, a bird's nest in his hand.^ Paul — Here's the bird's nest — the young ones are ugly little things now ; but by and by they can be taught to sing. I got them without Nannie knowing of it. How she will cry ! Hubert — Ah, my brave boy ! you will make a man of yourself. I see you have grit. Paul — It will take grit to get Nannie into a good humor. Hubert — Pshaw! pshaw! she'll get over it. (He places the nest in his hat, on the table.) Here, take your money ; the ugly little things will be worth something handsome when they can sing ! (Paul rattles the money from hand to hand.) Enter Nannie. Nannie — O Paul, you wicked, wicked boy ! Where are the young birds you stole from their mother ? Where is the nest ? I say, where is the nest ? Paul — O Nannie, don't be a dunce! I'm a boy, and don't have any of your s(}ueanii.sh notions. Look here, now, you may iiave this great piece of money all for your own; but go away, Hubert don't want to see you crying. Nannie — I don't care who sees me crying ; I want the birds. O Huljort, you ought to hear liow the poor old birds are wailing, and calling Cor their dear children. Hubert — But they wont come, for all their culling; run home iind buy a jjicture-book with your money. Nannii; — I say, give nic the birds. J watched the old ones build their ne.st ; I saw the sweet blue eggs belbro they were hatched ; I saw the old ones feed those poor I06 STERLING DIALOGUES little helpless baby-birds. Once you were a baby, and your mother loved you ; do you remember that? Hubert — Remember being a baby! I think not. How funny that would be. If I could remember that^ I 'd try to forget it. A baby ! How very funny. Paul — O Nannie, come away ! the old birds wont cry to-morrow. We will take our money and go home ! Nannie — I wish I could see the Fairy Queen, I 'd tell her all about this. My story-book says she loves every- thing in the woods, and everybody that is good ! Paul — You greeny, there is no Fairy Queen; you have never seen her ! Nannie — No, I never saw her ; but maybe I will see her some day. I believe in her. I know she can do any thing she wants to, and will punish wicked boys like you ! Paul — Nannie, don't get yourself laughed at; there is no Fairy Queen ; it 's all a story ! {Enter Fairy Queen, a little girl, with gauzy spangled dress, a crown on her head, one star over her fore- head, and scepter in her hand.'} Fairy Queen — Yes, there is a Fairy Queen, And here she is now to be seen ! [Both boys start back amazed. Hubert, recovering himself, tells Paul, in a loud whisper, that it is only his sister, who is dressed for a fancy party. As she extends her scepter, Nannie devoutly kisses it.'] Nannie— Good Queen of the Fairies, you who love every bird, and insect, and flower, must dearly love young robins. Fairy Queen — Indeed I do ; no sweeter bird, Even in bright Fairyland is heard. Nannie — These boys have taken a nest of young ones from the old apple-tree. I have come to return it. Dear STERLING DIALOGUES lO? Fairy Queen, make these bad, bad boys do better, and please put it into the hearts of these robins to love me just a little if I am ragged and barefooted ! Fairy Queen — Yes, I swear by my scejjter and by my star, The}' will love you, oh, darling child that you are ! Paul, throw down your money, hie to your home. Or you '11 change to an owl, through darkness to roam ! Hubert, give to sweet Nannie the birds in your hat, Or to-morrow you '11 wake, not a boy, but a bat. Hubert — {Hands the birds over to Nannie, and sayu, tiside, to Paul) — Oh, my, what airs her majesty puts on ! Nannie — {Bending over the nest) — O Fairy Queen, you are so good ! What can I do for you ? Fairy Queen — Love me, Nannie, only love me. And the angels bright above me. That are better still than I, Smiling downward from the sky. Will guard you, and, at death, will come To take you to their own bright home. [ Curtain.'] THE SECOND PRIZE. CHARACTERS:— Graham Allcorn, a Tailor. Jknny Ai.lcoun, his Wife. Scene I. — A tailor shop. Gkah.\m Allcokn seated tailor-wise on a table, sewing. Graham — " Stitch, stitch, stitch, in poverty, hunger^ and dirt." That's the way it is at this particular moment, and in this particular place. I stitch all day long and part of the night, and I think Thomas Hood must have had ray humble self before his mind's eye when he penned that exquisite poem, " The Song of the Shirt." Now 108 STERLING DIALOGUES when a fellow works as hard as I do, it stands to reason that he ought to make a decent livhig — in fact he ought to live in pretty good style ; but we don't live in good style. My wife has only common clothes, and my children's toes are beginning to peep out of their shoes. Well, there 's one thing I'm sure of — if we aren't rich, we are comfort- able. If we haven't plenty of money, we have content- ment, and the Bible says, contentment is far better than wealth. I guess the Bible is right. Jenny and I are as happy a couple as can be found anywhere in the State, and the children seem to be happy too. Poor Benny is in the dumps, because he lost his place in the class yester- day, but that's nothing ; he'll get over that. It will make him study harder, and if so, he will get up again. This coat is nearly finished. A few stitches more and I 'm off for to-night. {Hums a tune a few minutes.) Now there 's that ticket in the Excelsior Gift Enterprise. If I should only draw the first, or the second, or the third, or the fourth, or even the fifth prize, would n't I be a rich man ? Jenny laughs at the idea of my drawing anything. She says all Gift Enterprises are humbugs, but I think she 'a wrong. Jenny is generally right though ; but I 'm in- clined to believe that she's wrong this time. I think the " Excelsior " is all right. Its promises are fair, and I think it is able to perform all it promises. Enter Jenny, her dress tucked up as if she had been working. Graham — Halloo, Jenny, coming to see how I am getting along, are you? Nearly bed-time, isn't it? Jenny — Yes, it's nine o'clock, and you must be tired. You 've been working since daylight this morning. Graham — Yes, Jenny, I am sort of tired, but you know we must work or starve. STERLING DIALOGUES 109 Jenny — Oh, I guess there's no danger of starving. We have enough to eat and enough to wear, and that is as much as we need. There's no use in having piles of gold ; it only ruakes one feel unhappy. Graham — Yes, Jenny, that's what I was just thinking about. I was thinking that the Bible told us riches didn't make jjcople happy, and that contentment was rather to be chosen than great riches, and the Bible is right, isn't it Jenny? Jenny — Yes, Graham, it says, " Be content with such things as you have," and we ought to be. If we have gold we ought to be content, and if we have no gold we ought to be content. Now, there are the Joneses up the road ; you know they 've got a grand house and a grand farm, but the people say they do not get along well. They are quarreling continually, and the boys spend the most of their time in drinking and gambling. But, Gra- ham, I had almost forgotten. Here's a letter for you. Benny got it as he came from school, but I forgot to give it to you at supper time. Open it and see what it is about. {Hands letter.) Graham — (Taking it) — A letter for me. I wonder who it can be from. As true as I live it is post-marked New York. It must be from Higgleson & Co., the pro- prietors of the Excelsior Gift Enterprise. (Opens and glances over it.) Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! (Jumps from table and dances around the room.) It is from Higgleson & Co., and I have drawn the second prize. Hurrah, hurrah! Why don't you throw up your hat, Jenny? Why don't you shout? Why don't you dance? We are rich folks now. We are as rich as the Joneses, or the Harrisons, or the McNarys. Jenny, why don't you throw up your hat? Jenny — Why, Graham, you are acting kind of shallow no STERLING DIALOGUES like. I thiuk you should u't make so much uoise until you are sure of the prize. By the way, what is the second prize ? Graham — It is a farm of two hundred acres in Vir- ginia — that rich and fertile State — that home of the Presidents — that garden spot of the world ! O Jenny, we are wealthy folks now ! We needn't stitch and sew any more — we can live without working — we'll lead jolly lives — we'll go to the city, and live in a green stone front and ride in our carriage, and be as big as the biggest ! Hurrah for Higgleson & Co., and the Excelsior Gift E a- terprise ! Jenny — Graham, I believe you are a fool; we'll not go to the city. I'll never live in the city. I very much doubt whether your prize is of any account, but, if it iji^ we '11 not sell it and go to the city ; that I 'm sure of Do you think I 'm a fool ? I reckon I know what I 'm doinj.'^. I '11 live in the village ; I '11 have a nice little house on Main street ; but as for going to the city, I '11 never go, so that's settled. Graham — Well, Jenny, I guess we'll see about that. I guess I'm boss here. Who bought the ticket ? I 'd like to know, and who owns the farm ? I 'd like to know. I guess I can do as I please with my own property. I '11 show you if I can 't, Jenny — And I '11 show you. I am not going to allow you to go to the city, for if you do, you 'd take to drink- ing and gambling just like the Jones boys, and you 'd soon he on the broad road that leads to destruction. You're on that road now, Graham, and it is hard to tell what will liocome of you. Graham — Hold your tongue, I say, and leave the room. Jenny — Yes, that 's the way it is. {Crying.) Oh, has STERLING DIALOGUES 111 It come to this ? I am told to hold my tongue and leave the room. Well, I '11 go right home to ray father's, and then you'll see how fast you'll go down hill. [^Exit crying. Graham — AVhat a dunce that woman is. She must kick up a fuss just about nothing at all. But she wont go to her father's, I know. I wouldn't care if she did. But I '11 be off to bed now, and off to New York early in the morning. [^Exit. [ Curtain.'] Scene II.— A room in Graham Allcorn's house. Enter Graham Allcorn, carpet-bag in hand. Graham — Home again, and a pretty wild-goose chase I've had of it. Wont Jenny crow when she hears it aH? By the way, I wonder where she is. She certainly wouldn't put that foolish threat of hers into execution, and go to her father's. It would make the old gentleman rage like a thunder-storm on a summer's evening. I sup- pose the children are at school. Well, I 've been to school too, and learned a hard lesson, and a lesson I '11 not soon forget. But here she comes ! Enter Jenny. Graham — Jenny, how do you do ? Are n't you glad to see me ? Jenny — No ; why should I be, when you told me to shut my mouth and leave the house? Graham — Ah, Jenny, so I did, but I was angry. Can't you forgive me? And if you will, I'll forgive you for talking so fiery to me. You know you rained it down pretty strong. Jenny — Why don't you tell me about the second 112 STERLING DIALOGUES prize ? Did you sell the farm and buy a brown stone front, and a carriage, and a new suit ? Tell me all about it. Graham — Ah, Jenny, I'm a sold man. The farm is n't worth a dollar. Jenny — Why, how does that come ? Did n't you say it was valued at fifty thousand dollars ? I suppose you did n't let Higgleson & Co, cheat you out of it ? Graham — Cheat! no! I'd like to twist their necks for them. The farm is made up of rocks and mountains, and isn't Avorth a copper. Hold on, Jenny, and I'll tell you all about it. I went to New York, as you know ; and as soon as I got there, I rushed to the " Excelsior " office, and made some inquiries about the second prize. I tried to sell the farm to Higgleson & Co., at their valua- tion of it, and they laughed in my face. I then came down in my price, again and again, and finally offered it to them for five dollars. They said they didn't want it, and would n't have it. I gave them a piece of my mind, and then I came home ; and here I am, less ten dollars in my pocket. Jenny — And so your visions of a city life, and a brown stone front, have vanished. Graham — Truly they have, Jenny. Now, don't be old-womanish, and say, " I knew it would be so," but forgive me, and let us go on in the old way. Jenny — I am willing, Gi^aham, and I rejoice that it has turned out as it has. While we owned the two hun- dred acres, worth fifty thousand dollars, we were unhappy. We quarreled just like the rich Joneses up the road. Now we are poor again, and we'll be as happy as the days are long. Graham — Yes, Jenny, and we'll never forget the lesson of the " Second Prize ! " \_Exit, [_CurtainJ] STERLING DIALOGUKS IK' WASHINGTON'S VISION. A TABLEAU. nn A T? A rTTrT?« I Thirteen Young Ladies, repre- OMAK Al. 1 t^tii, :— j senting the thirteen Colonies. Faith. Hope. Goddess of Liberty. Washington. Costumes. — The youn? ladies, representing the thirteen Colonies, should be dressed in lilack, badges of mourning ; a silver band en- circling the head of each, upon which is printed the name of the Colony which she represents. Faith and Hope, wliite dresses, spangled with silver or gold, colored stars. Paper of the same color, cut to imitate wings, pinned upon the shoulders. Bands upon the heads, with Faith printed upon one, and Hope upon the other. CiODDESS of Liberty, with a blue trailing dress, white over, skirt, and a red sash ; a scalloped band upon the head, upon which is printed, Liberty. A United States flag in her hand. Washington, dressed in black coat and pants, and white vest; £ants short, buckled just below the knee, with a steel or silve" uckle ; long, white stockings, low shoes and steel buckles. —A sleeping apartment. Washington upon a couch, asleep. Colonies, at a short distance from the couch, standing in a semi- circle, frtrms sliirhtly bowed, lofiking down upon the floor. A chain, extended in frrxit of thcin, as if fastened ujion the wrists of the Coionies, but so arranged that it can be dropj)ed instantly. [^Let some one behind the Curtain read these ivords :'} "1 am weary with my groaning. All the night I water my couch with my tears. Mine eye is consumed because of grief. Tlie enemy persecutes my soul ; yea, ho treads down my life upon the earth ; he lays mine honor in the dust. I am troubled, I am bowed down greatly. T go mourning all the day long. I have roared by reason of the di.squietno.es of my heart." [Enter Hopk and Faith, walking to the head of Wahiiington.] Hopk — (EcnHlnri dnvm, nppnrenfljf v^hii>pcri,ng in his ear, while these words are read:) — "Why art thou cast IH STERLING DIALOGUES down, O "Washington ? Why is thy soul disquieted within thee? Hope thou in God, for thou shalt yet praise Him for the help of His countenance." Y AITH— (Pointing upivards, while the reader continues :) — "I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and He has heard me out of His holy hill. I will not be afraid of ten thousand of people that have set themselves against me round about. Thou wilt save the afflicted people. Thou wilt bring down high looks. Blessed be the Lord God, who doeth wondrous things. By Him I can run through a troop, and by my God can I leap over a wall. He teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight. I have pursued my enemies, and overtaken them. I shall not turn back until they are consumed. They have fallen under my feet, and are not able to rise. The chains of oppression are broken, and I am delivered from their power." [^Chains fall from Colonies. Faith and Hope vanish quickly.'] Enter Goddess of Liberty. [Goddess of Liberty, tvaving banner, takes her stand at the head of Washington. Colonies sur- round the couch. Goddess of Liberty waves banner over all, while they sing the " Star Spangled Banner." Instrumental music, if desired.] [ Curtain.] tf STERLING DIALOGUES "ilh CUEmO AN INVALID. CHAEACTEES :— Aunt Jaxe, an Invalid. Julia, ] Ida, [ her Xieces. Amanda, J Mrs. Gr.KEK, Neighbor. Scene. — A neatly furnished room ; an old lady in an easy chair. Aunt Jane — "Well, here I am left all alone, and just as sick as I can be, and them good-for-nothing girls gad- ding about somewhere, and I'll declare, it's 'most eight o'clock, and I 've no breakfast yet. Well, well, well, that's what I call gratitude, after all I 've done for them. I '11 not put up with it ; so there. (She rings violently, and calls Mandy, Idee, and Juley.) Can't some of you come ? Enter three girls. Julia, with a wash howl of water and a white towel, kneels down for xVunt Jane to wash. Amanda with a fan. Ida, with a comb and brush, combs Aunt Jane's hair. Amanda — (Fanning her aunt) — Why, aunt, are you well enough to be up so early this morning? Aunt Jane — Up so early"! I .should think it wasn't so early, when I've been up three mortal hours ! Ida — Oh, aunt, three hours! Aunt .Jane — (Snappishly) — Yes, three hours. What is there strange about that? Julia — It Lsn't eight yet, aunt, and you told us lo call you at (light. Aunt Jane — Well, what if I did ? You might have looked in to sec if I wanted anything. Ida — I di^l romo in at ?\x, and at quarter after sevea and you were sound asleep — 116 ' STERLING DIALOGUES Amanda — And snoring away like everything. O aunt, what a funny snore you 've got ! Aunt Jane — Snoring, snoring ! Oh, you wicked littl* wretch. I never did snore in my life. Never, never. All the Girls — {Laughing) — We thought you did. Aunt Jane — Thought I did ! Well, perhaps you think' I don't want anything to eat to-day. Julia — Oh, yes, aunt, I have your breakfast almost ready. Aunt Jane — And pray what have you got to make such a fuss about ? Julia — Tea, toast, fresh eggs, — • Aunt Jane — There now, I knew it. I never can have anything I want. Ida — What do you want, aunt ? Aunt Jane — I want some gruel, and you all know that. Julia — Yes, aunt, and I have gruel, too. Aunt Jane — Well, for mercy's sakes, why did n't you say so ? Go and bring it ; do n't stand there all day. (Julia goes out, but soon returns with a bowl.) Julia — Here is your gruel, aunt, and I do wish you would try to eat the toast and eggs. Aunt Jane — ( Taking the bowl, tasting daintily) — Here, take it away ; it 's as salty as brine. Mercy, mercy me ! Oh, dear ! J^JuLiA goes out, but soon returns with a nice, tempting breakfast on a large waiter, covered with a white cloth.'] Julia — Here, aunt, is your breakfast, and some fresh gruel I hope you can eat. Aunt Jane — (Tasting again) — O Juley, it haint a single bit of salt in it now. Was there ever such a poor, neoflected creature as I am ! STERLING DIALOGUES 111 Ida— Dear aunt, do try to eat somethiug. Julia spent nearly all the morning trying to cook you something nice. Amanda — Yes, and I took some of old Skinflint's apples for you. Aunt Jane — You did, hey ? And pray, who gave you permission to take other people's apples ? Julia — I asked Mr. Green for them, Amanda — And he told us to take as many as we wan- ted, and when I went to get them, old Skinflint (his wife, you know) squalled out at me to let her apples alone. O aunt, if you was such an old, mean, stingy thing as she is, I'd, I'd— Aunt Jane — "Well, miss, what would you do ? Amanda — I'd get married, that I would. Why, aunt, she ordered me home, and said I was stealing her apples, and she would call and tell you on me to-day. Aunt Jane — She did, hey ? Well, let her come, we will see. Let her tell me you stole ! (Aunt Jane eats heartily, drinks her gruel, and keeps repeating to herself:) My girls steal ! We '11 see.) (Some one knocks.) Aunt Jane — Here, girls, take this away. Idee, give me my walking stick. We'll see. My girls steal, indeed ! lExit Julia, Ida and Amanda. Enter Mrs. Green, a tall, lean, lanky, shabby-looking woman, with a pipe in her mouth. Aunt Jane — Good morning, Mrs. Green. Mrs. Green — Good morning. I haint no time to stop. I jist stepped over to tell you that your girls has been in my orchard a — Aunt Jane — Ju.st stop a moment, !Mr.s. Green. Yoh might say something that would hurt my feelin's; I'm tender, been sick, you know ; besides, I want to know who 118 STERTJNG DIALOGUES Stayed with you and sat up of nights to let you sleep, when you was broke down, a- waiting on your sick old man last summer ? Mrs. Green — You did, ma'am, but — Aunt Jane — Hold on; who stayed with you? who carried you butter, fresh eggs, and so on, when you had none ? Mrs. Green — ^Your girls. Aunt Jane — Who helped you drive the cattle out of your orchard ? Who lifted heavy rails to fix the fence, when your old man was down ? Mrs. Green — Your girls; but it don't become you to be a tellin' — Aunt Jane— Well, now, I want you to shet up and go home, and remember, if I scold my girls, I do n't 'low no- body else to scold them. Mrs. Green — I will have my say, 'low or no 'low. If they did do all that, I haint gwine to have them a stealin' my apples — Aunt Jane — (Jumping up, drives Mrs. Green out of the room, whipping her over the shoulders with her walking gficyfe)— Steal ! my girls steal, hey ? Steal indeed ! {The three girls come from behind a screen laughing.) Amanda— Our aunt dined, drank grew-well (gruel), and whipped Mrs. Green ! Hurrah for Aunt Jane ! [ OurtainJ] STERLIXQ DIALOGUES 119 LITTLE FOLK'S OPINIONS. CHAEACTERS :-AxVNIe Lee, 1 ^ ^,,, q. , Birdie Bell, J ^^° mueuiris. Scene. — Annie and Bikdie, sitting very close together. Annie — Did n't you know, Birdie, I 'se dot a new dol- lie ? My dranmuzzer div it to me on Tris'mas day. Birdie — And I 'se dot a new dollie, too, and a pair of new shoes, and a 'ittle box and a tup and a saucer, and ever so many ozzer tings. Oh, my, but I does have the fun a-p'ayiu' wiz zem. Annie — Tum down to our house some day, and I'll show you ray new dollie and a whole heap of ozzer tings. My dollie 's dot sich pitty eyes and sich rosy cheets, and oh, sich a funny nose. It dist mates me feel dood all over to loot at it. Birdie — It was my Untie Don yat dive me my new dollie. I tell 'oo my Untie Don is a real nice old man, I like him, oh, ever so much. Last Fantsdiven' he buyed a bid turkey and div it to ma, and she would a tooked it for a Fantsdiven' dinner, but her and pa, and Untie Don aid me was inyited to do to a Fantsdiven' up at Untie Yeuben's, and so we did n't have our turkey, for Untie Yeuben's folts said we must besoor and do, and ma said Aunt Yachel and Untie Yeuben would both be hoppin' if we didn't do. I did n't know yat Aunt Yachel and Untie Yeuben tould hop. I dis tought it was 'ittle folts like you and me yat hops, and when I yent down on Fantsdiven' I ast Aunt Yarh(;l and Untie Y('ul)on if dey had beou a hoppin' any lately. Untie Don he jist laughed and laughed, and Aunt Yachel said dey used to pay at hop, step and jump when dey was 'ittle, but dey had n't jj'ayed any at it yately. Then Untie Don he jist ho-hocd and 120 STERLING DIALOGUES haw-hawed awful, and Untie Yeuben said he did n't sink there was much to laugh about. I 'd ast more about the hoppin', but muzzer toot me out of the room awful twick jist lite she tot I was sit or had the tolic or somethin'. When we was out she telled me not to say nussin' more about the hoppin', and I didn't say nussin' more 'bout it. Annie — We had a turkey on Fantsdiven', too, and it was a dolly big feller. Our Harry he's dot to sayin' big words now, and he said it was a, 7'ooter. I. don't know what a rooter is, but muzzer said for Harry to hush and not say sich words as yat. Harry said it wasn't a swear- word, but muzzer would n't a'yow him to say it anyhow, as it wasn't a nice word. Harry said he dot it from Frank Dones, and I des Frank 's a nice enough boy. He smotes a cidar, and is dittin' to feel pitty big. Harry said Frank was talkin' about Mr. Smith, and he said he was a rooter. I do n't lite 'ittle boys as smotes cidars, do you ? Birdie — No, I'm soor I don't. Cidars mates boys have sich a bad smell. I hate the smell of tobatto. My Untie Don smotes. I sink I 'd lite him a dood 'eal better if he wouldn't smote. Annie — I dess I'll have to do home now. Let us do and see if our muzzers are still talkin' to each ozzer. My ! but dey do talk fast when dey dit togezzer. Birdie — Annie, I lites you a heap, and I'se doin' to dive you sumsiu. Annie — You are ! Oh, doodie ! what is it ? Birdie — Tum on and I '11 so it to you. I tink you 'U be so dlad you '11 dump up and down. lExit. [ OiirtainJ] STERLING DIALOGUES 12jl THE DOCTOR'S CHOICE. CHARACTERS :— Mary Lowe, a poor Dress-maker. Maggie, her iuvalid Sister. Miss Smith, Lady of fashiou. Dk. Dane, Maggie's physiciau, and admirer of Miss Smith. Scene I. — A plain room in a dark, narrow street. Maggie — I've been thinking, sister Mary, of our old Lome on the hill, Where your face was round and rosy, and the nights were always still ; I'm so wearied, since this illness, of the loud talk in the street. Of the roll of wagons past the house, and the constant tramp of feet. I'm so tired, Mary, tired, that the fretful words will come ; {Anxiously.) Why wont you leave this noisy place— why wont you take me home? Mary — Why, my dear child, how grieved I am to hear these words from you ! {Lays aside her work.) I '11 lay aside my work awhile. What would you have me do? Y'ou will not grieve me long, I'm sure, by these impatient ways ; You know the same God rules the storm that rules the pleasant days. Have y(m i'orgotten Him whose love has been the or- phan's stay, And that it is the same wise love that's darkened all the way ? 122 STERLING DIALOGUES Maggie — No, Mary, no, I know 'tis so; but sinful thoughts will come, When I lie helpless, watching you, and think of our old home. You know there was no sickness there, you did not toil for bread ; And what was once all light and love, is want and pain instead. Mary — But God has wrought this change, my child, we would not wish it so. Should we question what He does ? He can not err, you know. No, darling, though this fearful night be deep, and dark, and long, Though we be weary on the way, God's grace shall make us strong. Now close those aching eyes awhile, for I must work to- night ; Trust all the future to our God, we know He '11 make it right. {Some one taps lightly and opens the door.) Enter Miss Smith. Miss Smith — Good evening, Miss : I 've called to see if all my work 's complete ; I sadly fear I 've soiled my skirts on this dark, narrow street {Shahes her clothes^) Mary — {Setting a chair) — I 'm grieved, Miss Smith, to say to you what I have said to none ; The work I promised you to-night now lies but partly done. Miss Smith — (Angrily) — Is that so, Miss? indeed, indeed ! I wonder w>iat excuse you '11 plead. STERLING DIALOG-JES 123 Mary — Miss Smith, my sister, being ill, has called for constaut care ; I 've given your dress all the time that this sick child could spare. Miss Smith — Well, I can't be put off like this ; since illness takes your time, You best had tend the sick one's needs, nor strive to tend to mine. {Sits down.) Please do my work up, nor expect, for work you 've done before, Remuneration, since the task of having this made o'er. {Shakes the half-finished dress.) Mary — {With some excitement) — Young lady, wait, please hear me through ; not for myself I speak, But for my suffering sister there, so pale, so frail and weak. Day after day I've planned and toiled through this hard, trying spring, To appease a poor, sick sister's wants by what this toil would bring. And has it been in vain. Miss Smith, must this child suf- fer on, Because my hands have failed to do all that you would have done ? ( Weeps.) M188 Smith — ( Taking out her purse) — Ah ! quite a scene indeed, indeed ! Here is a silver dime, 'Twill buy you bread for quite a while, and keep you for a time. Mary — {Looking %ip with indignation) — T am not asking alms, Miss Smith, and each cent should be spurned. From your full purse, uuless it's what you justly think I 've earned. 124 STERLING DIALOGUES Door opens, and Dr. Dane enters. Miss Smith — (^Rising and appearing to he confused)— You here, indeed ! how shocked I am ! I really can not see — Dr. Dane — {Smiling and shaking hands) — And I am equally surprised that this strange thing should be. ( Turning suddenly to Mary, exclaims :) And what means this, my friend? These tears — is my young patient worse ? (Looks at Maggie and smiles.) You know the blues will never do for doctor or for nurse. ( Goes to Maggie, who is also weeping.) What means this, ladies ? Pray explain — why this great grief to-day ? I think it 's best that I should know ; explain it, Nettie, pray. (Turning to Miss Smith.) Miss Smith — (Curling her lip scornfully) — I do not feel in duty bound to explain pauper grief, Nor give an inexperienced guess at what might bring relief. Dr. Dane — (Appearing grieved) — Miss Smith — Annette — I am shocked ! This talk will never do. Mary — Dr. Dane, 'tis proper, sir, I should explain to you. I have been sewing several weeks for this young lady, sir, I'd promised work complete to-night, and I've disap- pointed her. Miss Smith — (Rising) — Please have my work all ready. Miss, my servant soon will call ; ^ ( To Dr. Dane.) I'll leave here now — then, Dr. Dane, you'll hear the story all. STERLING DIALOGUES 12* Mary — {Quietly) — You judge unjustly ; truly, ma'am, I've nothing more to say ; Your work I '11 see is well prepared when the servant calls. Good-day. (Miss Smith hows superbly and goes out.) [ Clurtain.l Scene II. — Maggie sits up looking brighter. Enter Dr. Dane, smiling. Dr. Dani^: — Ah ! better, Maggie — this I know by the bright light in your eyes — Full well enough, your sister says, for a wonderful sur- prise. You know your old home on the hill, you've loved so well and long, I've bought that very place to-day — this news must make you strong ; Because — oh, here's the lady now, all blushes, too, you see, Who's promised to be mistress there, (taking her hand,) and walk through life with me. Maggie — ( With much confusion) — Why, Mary — Dr. Dane — indeed 1 I thought Miss Smith — you know — Dr. Dane — Yes, my dear child, we understand, and rejoice that 'tis not so. Maggie, that lady's real, true heart, in its benighted state, Was, happily, unveiled to me before it was loo late. Her proud and selfi.sh ways, my child, God meant they should be IwuikmI ; But the m(;:isur(! tliat she's meted out wo would not wish returned. 126 STERLING DIALOGUES Mary — No, while we are offering thanks to-day, for this great joy we find, We'll pray that Heaven's pure, perfect rays may pierce her darkened mind. [ Curtain.^ THE UN^'^ELCOME GUEST. CHARACTERS :— Edward Simpson. Mrs. Emeline Simpson, his "Wife. John Simpson, his Brother, and a Guest. Martin Jones. Mrs. Eliza Jones, his Wife. Scene. — A room in Edward Simpson's house. Mr. and Mrs. Simpson discovered. Mrs. Simpson — Edward, I may just as well say plainly that I think we must do something to get your brother off our hands. He has been here now over two weeks, and he stays and stays just as if this was his home, and as if he had n't the slightest idea of ever going away. Edward Simpson — You are quite right, wife ; we must get him away. I thought it possible, when he came here, that he had plenty of money ; but that idea has vanished entirely. If he had money, he would not go around so shabbily dressed. He had the audacity to hint to me, yesterday, that I might buy him a new coat ; just as if I had n't enough to do to buy new coats for myself and my children. Mrs. Simpson — Oh, the impudence of some people ! I am sure we have done very well in keeping him these two weeks, and not charging him a cent for his boarding. And now he wants a new coat, does he? I wonder he did n't ask for a full suit ; he certainly has need of it ; but STERLING DIALOGUES 127 he needn't expect to get it here. But are you sure, Edward, that he didn't bring any money home with him ? Edward Simpson — Yes, quite sure. I didn't say any thing to him about it, but John was never the man to go in rags if he had any money in his pocket. He has been away for fifteen years, you know, and he might have made plenty of money in that time ; but it is my impression, that if he did make any thing, he spent it all before he started for home. Mrs. Simpson — "Well, what are we to do with him ? Edward Simpson — Send him to the poorhouse, I sup- pose. I do n't quite like to do that, either ; for people will talk, and they will say I ought to have kept him in his old days. Mpj5. Simpson — Let them talk. It's nobody's business but our own, and it will all blow over in a week or two. Of course we can 't have him on our hands as long as he lives, merely because the neighbors will talk a little about our sending him to the poorhouse. Edward Simpson — No, of course not. Here he comes now ; we must inform him of our decision. Enter John Simpson, shabbily dressed. Edward Simpson — John, we have been talking about you. John — So I supposed. I thought I heard my name mentioned. You were considering that matter about the coat, were you? I hope you will think favorably of it. Miis. Simpson* — ( Bridling up) — No, sir; we were not thinking of buying you a coat, but we were speaking of your audacity in making such a request. John — Ali ! wore you? Don't you see I am old now, and dreadfully cripjilcd with rheumatism? And, of 128 STERLING DIALOGUES course, I am not able to work to buy myself clothes. If my brother will not take care of me now, who will? Mrs. Simpson — That's just what we are going to talk about. Epward Simpson — Wife, allow me to speak to John about this matter. (To John.) It may sound a little harsh and unpleasant, but we have come to the conclusion that we can not keep you any longer. You know we are not very well-off in this world's goods ; we have not much house-room, and we have three children that demand our attention. We have kept you two weeks, and we think we have done very well. We feel that you would be considerably in our road here, and we have concluded to send you to the poorhouse. John — The poorhouse ! I always did hate the poor- house. It must be so lonesome there; and then, I don't think the boarding will be good. Must I go to the poor- house ? Edward Simpson — Yes, we have decided. We can not keep you. John — I thought, when I was away, that if I could only get home again, I would find my brother willing to take me under his roof, and allow me to end my days there. But I was mistaken. When must I go ? Edward Simpson — I will have the papers made out, and be ready to take you to-morrow afternoon. John — Send for Eliza Jones and her husband. They will not want to keep me, either, I suppose — how can I expect them, when they are a great deal poorer than you ? But send for them. I want to see them, and say good- bye, before I go away. Edward Simpson — Emeliue, tell Parker to run across to Jones' for his Uncle Martin and Aunt Eliza. \_Exit Mrs. Simpson. STERLING DIALOGUES 12{> JoHif — If they do not treat me well at the poorhouse, what shall I do ? Cut stick and run off, or sue them for breach of promise ? Edward Simpson — (Aside) — It seems to me, he takes it exceedingly cool. But it is better he should do so, than to make a noise about it. (To John.) I think you will be well treated. The Superintendent is very kind to all under his care, and is considered a perfect gentleman. John — A gentleman! I'm glad of that. (Sarcasti- cally.) Ah! Edward, it is a great thing to be a gentleman. Edward Simpson — I am glad you are willing to go without making any fuss about it. You know people will talk ; and they would talk a great deal more, if you should be opposed to going. I hope you will not think unkindly of us, because we have concluded to take this step ; you see we can not well keep you here ; and as you are getting old, and are greatly afflicted with rheumatism, you will be better attended to there than you could be here. John — Yes, yes, I understand. Don't fret about me, Edward. I suppose it isn't much difference where I live, and where I end my days. But, Edward, I think I would not have treated you so. However, one hardly knows what one will do when one comes to the i)inch. If I had brought home a market-basket full of ninety-dollar gold-pieces, perhaps I would not have taken up so much room in your house, nor crowded your children so dread- fully. Enter Mrs. Simpson, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Joni-:s — (Ilunaimj to John) — O John, my bro- ther, they want to send you to the poorhouse ! You shall not go ! you shall not go ! Martin Jones — No, John, you shall not go. While wo have a crust of bread, you shall share it with us. £30 STERLING DIALOGUES John — But I never did like to eat crusts. Mrs. Simpson — That's him, for you! He doesn't want to pay anything for his board, but he wants to have the best. John — And he doesn't like to eat dirt. Mrs. Simpson — Do you mean to say that I am a dirty cook? John — ( Wliistles " Yankee Doodle " ) — Come, if I am to go to the poorhouse, let me be off. Mrs. Jones — You shall not go. We are poor, but you shall stay with us. We can find room for you, and we will be provided for, I '11 warrant, someway. Mrs. Simpson — People oughtn't to be rash about tak- ing on a load they can 't carry. Edward Simpson — Emeline, if Martin and Eliza want to keep John, let them do so; don't say a word. Of course, I think they have quite enough to do to keep their own heads above water ; but if they want to keep John, it is their own business. John — Yes, it is their own business ; and if they were on the point of sinking, would you raise a finger to keep their heads above water ? No ! Edward — I can not call you brother — I know you now. I leave your house to-day, but I do not go to the poorhouse. I have money enough to buy and keep a hundred such little farms as yours, and a hundred such little men. I do not need your coats nor your cringing sympathies ; I wanted to find you out. I wanted to know what kind of a man you were, and / know. When I came home, I determined to find out, in some way, whether you or the Jones family were most deserv- ing of my money. I have found that out ; and I go with them, to make my home there. Mrs. Simpson — But we didn't know — John — Ay, I know it. You thought I was a beggar; STERLING DIAT.OGUES 131 you thought I had no money, and no clothes. If you had believed otherwise, you would have received me with open arms. Come, {To Mr. and Mrs. Jones,) we will go. I shall not forget you for your kindness. I will make my home with you ; and if it is true, that you have had hard enough work to keep your heads above water, it shall be so no longer. {To Mr. and Mrs. Simpson.) I had almost fc^rgotten. Here are twenty dollars, for my two weeks' board. {Throws doivn the bills.) You see that although I may have a shabby appearance, I am yet able to pay my way in the world. Good-day, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson. [Exit John Simpson, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones- Edward Simpson — Confound the luck ! {Hushes out at one side of the stage.) Mrs. Simpson — Isn't this dreadful ! {Mushes out at the other side of the stage.) [ Curtain.'] NOT WHAT HE WANTED. CHARACTERS :— Joe, an impatient Boy. Myka, his Sister. He™' } ^i« Companions. Scene — A sitting-room on a hot summer day. .lo^—(Solu^.)—Oh, dear me! What shall I do? I really believe I shall melt. (Fanning hiimelf with his hat, and jniffing furiovdy.) I can 't stand such awful heat, and I never saw such hot weather before. It is enough to melt the whole human race. I wonder what such weather waa raa^le for. Phew ! I can 't stand it any longer, (pacing and 132 STERLING DIALOGUES blowing around the room,) and there's no use of talking. Why, I shall melt ; but how it would look if I should in- deed melt and turn into a pot of grease ! But see how I sweat; and see how red my face is. (Wiping his face while he looks in a glass.) Man was never made to en- dure such weather, for I am sure if I get much hotter I shall certainly be hissing hot. My handkerchief is as wet as a dish-cloth, and looks pretty much like one. The cologne has all vanished, and no wonder at it ; all been dissipated into vapor by the heat of such a furnace; and, like it, I am going as fast as possible. I don't believe I weigh half as much as I did in the morning, for I can almost lift myself by my boot-straps, and, if I were not so hot, could throw myself by them over a stone wall. Oh^ dear, what shall I do? I ca7i't stand it any longer. {Making a great noise, stamping around the floor.) Enter Myra. Myra — Joe, Avhat in the world is the matter with you ? What is all this fuss and noise about ? Joe — If you were only half as hot as I am, you would soon find out what it is all about. I believe the world is coming to an end ; I know it is burning up ! Myra — Oh, you great dunce to make such a hurrah about warm weather. Why don't you sit down and be quiet? You are in such a stew you will never become cool. Joe — I guess if you were half as hot as I am, you would make a bigger fuss. Oh, how I wish I were in Greenland, Iceland, or astride the North Pole, or hugging an iceberg ; only that I might get cooled off a little. Myra — What a great crazy lubber for a boy of fifteen, to make such an outrageous ado about a little summer weathpr 1 STT!RTJ>rO PTALOGUE8 133 Joe — Get away with such insults when I am suffering so severely ; I wont endure it. Myra — But what will you do about it ? The heat is just as great in my case as in yours. What if I should go storming around as you do ; and all the rest of our folks should do the same ; what a bedlam we should have ! Joe — Now you leave the room if you have no more sympathy for a suffering brother than this. You are around here as cool as an ice-cream plate, and only wish to insult vie as if I were your slave. Myra — Insult you ! I simply said that I am exposed to the heat of the weather as much as you are, which is true, and you call that insulting ! But more than this, I have been in the kitchen over the fire helping to get your dinner, while you have only had to make yourself com- fortable as best you could, and then you charge me with being cool as an ice-cream plate, in a most insulting way. Is this fair ? Joe — I don't care, you don't suffer as much as I do. The heat of the kitchen is nothing compared to this. (Sighing heavily.) Myra — Then you had better go into the kitchen your- self if that is any help. I only wish you would. If standing over the hot stove as I did would n't take some of the blubber out of you, then I will set myself down for a dunce. Joe — Oh, you are the greatest torment in the world — Myra — Greater than the heat you are suffering from ? Joi-: — You only wish to torment me while in this plight. What do I can; if you have been over the hot stove ? Perhaps the heat does not affect you so severely as it does me. You can .strut around wilh laccx and thin dresses, the coolest things in the world. No wonder the heat does not discommode you. 134 STERLING DIALOGUES Myea — Why don't you put on such refrigerators then? You certainly can try them, and the experiment wouldn't hurt you, since you think them to be so excellent. Joe — Oh, you are a contemptible pest ! See my hand' kerchief! {Holding it up.) See how it is soaked ! Myra — Yes, it would do admirably to cover a kite for all the wet there is in it. But how it is stained ! Joe — Yes, the berry juice is stewing through with the yei"spiration. It's those berries we had for dinner. Myra — You great goose, it's where you spilled your berries over it. Ha, ha ! Berry juice coming through the pores of the skin ! Who ever heard of such a ludi- crous idea before ? Joe — There, everything I say must become the matter for one of your jests. I wish, if you can not come with a ray of comfort, you would stay away with your contemp- tible jokes. Myra — You must not say such foolish things then. It is enough to make a marble statue laugh to hear such nonsensical remarks from a young man so professedly smart as Joe Prettyman. Why do n't you sit down and be quiet ; or busy yourself about something ? then you would not think of hot weather. It will soon be evening, and the cool breezes will remove the intensity of the heat ; then how very simple all this conduct of yours will appear. Joe — I don't care, I can't stand it much longer. I am almost melted. I feel real faint. {Leaning against the wall.) Myra — Come and sit down here and I will fan you. But, see ! there are Henry and Martin coming through the yard with some ice, I should think. Joe — (Quickly reviving) — Oh, that's good! and if I don't have some of it, then my name isn't Joe. Myra — Well, I wouldn't be so excited about it; and STERLING DIALOGUiS 135 do n't go to beijig mean with them, or you may be sorry for it. Joe — Yes, now you had better turn preacher ! Do n't you suppose I have a bit of common sense ? Myea — (^Lookhifj towards them) — I should think they have some ice in a glass jar. How delightful on such a warm day ! Joe — (To Myra) — Oh, get me a tumbler! I'll have gome of it, if I have to steal it. Oh, I mil have some. l^AIaking a great noise till he finds a tumbler. A knock at the door.'] Enter Henry and Martin, bearing a glass jar, contain- ing what seems to be ice. Joe — {Hurrying up to them) — Oh, I am glad you 've brought me some ice, for I am almost melted. Here is a glass ; give me a drink at once. ( With much importunity.^ Henry — (Carrying the jar) — Why, Joe, it wont be of any use — Martin — ( With a -peculiar wink to Henry and Myra, which they at once undei'stand) — Yes, you shall have some. Bring on your tumbler. But you want some water in it first, and then I will put in a piece all for yourself. Henry — Yes, Joe, if you want some go and fill your tumbler with water. How warm the fellow is. See how the sweat rolls down his face. (Joe goe.i out for some water.) Martin — ('Softly) — Keep on a sober face and we will have some fun with Joe, for I suppose he has been having one of his tantrums. Myra — Tnrleed he has ! He declares he is going to melt, and I don't see as we can ever break him of his ex- travagant freaka. 136 STERLING DIALOGUES Enter Job. Henby — Hullo ! Here he comes with his glass brim- ming full. O Joe, wout you have a treat now ? Poor fellow, to suffer so much irom the heat, and then be laughed at as, no doubt, you have been by Myra ! Myra — I think if you had been here a few moments ago you would have laughed. Martin — Come, my brave boy, put your tumbler on the table and I will drop in some pieces. Joe — Oh, do hurry, for I can hardly wait. Myra — Joe, why don 't you set down the tumbler on the table ? ( Taking hold of his hand.) Pray don 't act so foolish before folks ! Joe — Do get away, you little torment, for I can man- age this drink myself (Pushing her away.) Martin — (To Joe) — Yes, set it down and let it stand a moment, for it can 't possibly cool so much water in a moment. [He sets it down, and Martin picks out a few pieces from his jar, and puts them into the tumbler, when Joe seizes it and takes a swallow.'] Toe — Why, this isn't one particle cooler than it was before. Henry — Well, didn't we tell you to let it stand to cool ? Now let it alone for two or three minutes. Joe — Oh, but I am so hot ! Myra, get a spoon and stir it. (Myra gets one and stirs the water.) Martin — It will soon be ready. Don't you see; some of it is melting already ! Joe — Yes ; but some of it do n't melt at all. Martin — Oh, well, that that don't melt is frozen a great deal harder than the other. It is singular how hard some things freeze. ( Winking to Myra and Henry.) STERLING DIALOQTTES 137 Joe — Well, let me have it now, I can 't wait. {Seizes the tuvihler and drahis it off at one draugJU.l Henry — (Springing to him quickly) — Don't drink so much at once ! Joe— Oh, murder! What is it? What is it? It is n't ice ; it is n't cold ! Oh, murder, murder, how it burns my mouth ! Is it poison — say quick ! (JRun^ around with a wry face.) Martin — Don't you like it, Joe? Isn't it good this hot weather ? Joe — It's poison, it's poison; I am dying, I am dying ! Myra — Boys, what is it ? (Excitedly.) Pray, what is it ? Henry — Do n't you know what it is, Joe ? Joe — Oh, it's poison, it's poison ! Henry — Don't you know what it is? Myra — Oh, boys ! I am afraid it is poisc«n ! See how he raves, he is almost distracted. Had n't we better send for a doctor ? Henry — Say, Joe, do n't you hnov) what it is ? Joe — No. But I know well enough i^.'s poison. Martin — Well, if you did n't know what it was, why were you so anxious to drink it ? That is what I should like to know. Joe — Oh, it 's poison ! You've poisoned me to death ! I know I shall die. Martin — No, you wont die eitlier ; but what did you want to drink it for if you didn't know wliat it was? Joe — ( (Jdbning himxclf a litllc) — I thought it was ice. Hknry — Well, that didn't make it so, did it? Myra — You say it isn't poi.-on ; pray what is it? Joe — (Brightening up still more, but spitting copiously) — Yes, do tell wliat it is. Martin — (To Joe) — You say it is poison; if it is, that settles the matter, and probably it will kill you. 138 STERLING DIALOGUES Joe — Do tell me quick, is it poison ? Henry — Did you ever taste anything like it ? Joe — (^Puckering his mouth as if trying to discover what it is) — I should think it was alum. Henry — I guess it does pucker a little like alum, for it has the same nature, inasmuch as it is alum. Martin — Yes, it is only alum, and a very fine speci- men of quartz rock and glass for our museum. So cheer up, for it will not kill you just yet ; neither do I think it will quench your thirst to any great extent. Joe — But what did you say it was ice for when it was not? Martin — We never said it was ! You commenced furiously on us as we came in to show them to you, say- ing you were going to have some of that ice, and of course ouj- generosity could not refuse you if we could do you any service. It is all your own fault, arising from your own greediness. Joe — {Hanging his head thoughtfully) — I guess you are right. {To the audience.) It was the celebrated Dr. Franklin who said : " Never drink anything without see- ing it ; never sign anything without reading it," and I am now pretty well convinced from experimental knowledge, that Benjamin Franklin was a wise man; and further, that if the old saying, that " Experience is the best schoolmaster," is true, I shall endeavor to be wiser my- self in the future than I have been in the past. [ Curtain.'] STERLING DIALOGUES 139 SAVED. CHARACTERS :— Phillips, Barkeeper. Peters, Drunkard. Blanche, Drunkard's child. Bolt, Jailer. Policeman No. 1. Policeman No. 2. Faith, ) Hope, > Three young Ladies. Charity, ) CosTrMES.— Faith, Hope and Charity should be dressed in ■white ; hair long and loose over their shoulders, a band of white for coronet, with a gold or silver star at the forehead, a red sash passing over one shoulder and under the other arm, with the respective names upon them. Peters and Blanche in ragged clothes. Others as fancy dictates. Note.— Between the scenes, while the child is singing behind the curtain, the stage may be cleared for the next scene. If spoken in the evening, the stage should be dhnly lighted in the second scene, only one distant light, and that above the speakers' heads, to repre- sent the moon. Scene I. — A bar-room. Enter man Jialf drunk, begging for more drink. Peters — T-t-there's no use talking, landlord, I m-must have just one mure drink. PuiLLiFS — Show me your money. Peters — D-did u't I .say I haint g-got a red cent to my name ? Phillips — Then do n't come round me, begging, you poor drunken loafer ; make yourself off, or I'll — Peter.-? — D-d-do n't you call me a loafer, or I'll give you a do.se of that. (Shaking his fist.) I'm just as good as you, the best day you ever see. Phillips — Come, come, don't shake you fists around here, I don't want to fight. You had better go and earn a sixpence somewhere, then come and ask for a drink, instead of standing here, begging away the hard earnings of respectable men. 140 STERLING DIALOGUES Peters — {Straightening up and speaking quite soberly) — Respectable men! Landlord, I aint a fool, if I be drunk. I wonder if you call your money hard-earned, when you stand here behind your counter, and take the last shinplaster from the hands of a hundred wretched drunkards like myself? I s'pose you think you are mighty respectable, because you can wear a paper collar and good clothes. Landlord, I was once just as respecta- ble looking as you, but you've made me what I am. You 've got my last sixpence, and now you tell me to go and earn another, to give to you. (Turning round and speaking to himself.) My poor, poor children, I wish I could stop, for your sakes ; but I can 't ; it 's no use. Phillips — No more of your blarney. Get out, I say ! Peters — Not a step without a drink ; I mu^t have it ! Phillips — Well, you wont, you know. (Starting toward him.) I 've heard enough of your lip for one day. Go ! You wont get a drink here ! Peters — (Advances a step and draws a pistol) — Take care ! do n't you touch me, sir ! I 've come prepared for you to-day ; you 've got my last cent, now a drink or your life! Phillips — (Runs behind counter) — Murder ! Enter Policeman No. 1. Peters discharges the pistol at him, but misses. Enter Policeman No. 2, from behind, and seizes him. Policeman No. 2 — Not a very good marksman, but you 're caught in the act, and now you may go with us. Give me your firearms. [Peters struggles, bid the pistol is wrenched from his hand by Policeman No. 1, and he is led, still struggling, from the stage, followed by Phillips, who is assisting the Policemen.^ STERLING DIALOGUES I4l Phillips — ( Walks slowly back, soliloquizing) — Well, it's more luck than wit that I 'm alive! Supposing that scoundrel had shot mc. It's lucky that the police were so near at hand ; but I declare, he's desperate. I'm glad he is in safe keeping; there's no knowing what he might do if he 's allowed to run loose. (jS'eafe himself in a chair, places his feet on the top of a ivhiskey-barrel, tips his hat to one side of his head, and takes tip a newspaper. While he is reading a child enters; he looks up and says :) There comes one of his brats now. I was in hopes I had got rid of the whole crew, but they needn't come here, sniveling and begging. Zounds ! she looks rough, though. I do feel kind o' sorry for her, anyhow. Enter Blanche, who walks up before him, and sings. Blanche — Please, Mr. Barkeeper, has father been here 7 He's not been at home for the day, 'Tis now almost midnight, and mother's in fear Some accident keeps him away. Phillips — (Sings) — No, no, little stranger; or yes, he's been here, Some officers took him away. He 's gone to the lock-up, I 'm sorry, my dear, He 's done something wicked, they say. Blanche — {Sings) — Oh ! 't was not my father, who did the bad deed, 'Twas drinking that maddened his brain, Oh I let hitii go hodic to dear mother, I plead, I'm sure lie '11 not touch it again ! {Curtain falls and Blanche sings again :) Blanche — Pleasc, Mist/ir Policoman, my father is lost, A man says you took him away, Oh I can 't he go home, sir; and what will it co8<» If mother will send you the pay ? 142 STERLING DIALOGUES Policeman No. 1 — (Sings) — Oh, no, little pleader, yom father can 't go ! We put him in prison, to-day, Go home to your mother, and quick let her know, What 's keeping your fether away. Blanche — (^Sings) — Oh ! 't was not my father, etc. [ Curtain.'] Scene II. — Bolt, the Jailer, armed, walking slowly back and forth across the stage. Enter Blanche. Blanche — (Sings) — Please, sir, Mister Jailer, please let me go in. They say that my father 's inside, I scarcely can tell how unhappy we 've been. We could not feel worse, had he died. Please, sir, it was drinking that made him do wrong, I 'm sure, sir, he will drink no more, Oh, just a few minutes, a minute 's not long, — But no one wUl open the door. (Turns to go away, singing low and mournfully'^ Oh ! 't was not my father, etc. [Bolt takes a seat at the door where the prison is sup- posed to fee.] Enter Faith, Hope and Charity from different parts of the stage. They join hands. Charity — Welcome, sweet sisters, my helpers in every good and noble work. We 've met again on a mission of love. What shall we do first to best promote our object? Hope — We '11 hope and pray. Faith— We'll trust in God. Charity — Heaven help us, then; thou, sweet Hope, shall be my guiding star; and thou, dear Faith, my anchor; and mine shall be the hand to lift our fallen STERLING DIALOGUES 143 brother, and save him fi-om ruin ; let us go. ( They ad- vance toward Bolt, and Charity hands him a paper.) Mr. Jailer, here is a letter of pardon from the authorities, will you release our brother? Bolt — {Reads it, and then says) — Can it be possible, that the wretched vagabond, shut up iu this dungeon, is your brother? Charity — We are sisters to all mankind. There is none so low as to be beneath our notice, and none so de- graded as to deserve our scorn. When a poor, erring mortal has advanced far down the broad road to ruin, and a world joins its forces to dash him over the brink of destruction, then it is our mission to win him back, set him on an equal footing with us, and teach him the way to Heaven. Bolt — Yours is a good mission, friends ; you have my iest wishes for your success. Wait here, and I will bring the prisoner. [ Goes and brings the prisoner with him, dragging his chains.'] Charity — Loose him, and let him go. Bolt — (Looses him, and saijs) — There, go! you're free again, thanks to the efforts of these friends, in your be- half. May you be a better man for their sake, and the sake of your family. ( Throws off the chaim.) Peters — How can I ever thank you for your kind- ness, my unknown benefactors? Faith — Not so unknown as you suppose. Our good sister, Charity, has been a frequent visitor to your wretched home. Peters — Don't speak of my home, I beg of you. {Sits dniim and leans his head in his hands, speaking remorse- fvlfy.) I had a home once, and love and respect ; but I have none now ; and rum has been my ruin. I had 144 STERLING DIALOGUES friends once, but I have none now ; nobody to help me reform, if I wished. Hope — Do you remember, when poor trusting Faith and trembling Hope were thrust outside your doors? Peters — Yes, yes, I remember ! My poor wife and children, how they have suffered. Charity — Yes, brother, they have suffered, and even now they are weeping for you, hoping, trusting that you will yet be an honor to yourself and them. Peters — I can not! that never can be! I'm dis- graced and ruined ! I 'm driven from good society, and shunned by everybody. No, no! it's too late now! {Speaks ivipatiently.) Leave me alone, there's no use, I 'm a lost man ! Charity — (Advances, and lays her hand upon his shoulder) — Brother, don't talk thus, I pray you. I know the world is harsh ; temptation will follow you, slander will assail you, pride and malice will trample upon you, society will shun you ; but do n't say you have no friends. Look up, and behold the three angels, who will ever attend you in your hours of darkest trials. Peters — (Looks up, hastily) — Faith ! Hope ! Charity ! but the greatest of these is Charity. Are these, then, my friends, these, angels in disguise ? ( Takes an empty bottle from his pocket, holds it up, and looks at it ; talking as if addressing it.) I had thought that this was all the friend I had ; but, instead of a friend, thou hast been but the lurking-place of a demon. Never again shalt thou de- ceive me. What care I now for your temptations ! I have friends, true friends, the angels of Faith, Hope, and Charity ; and they have saved me. (Rises quickly, dashes the bottle upon the floor, crushing it to pieces, and shouts loudly ;) Saved, saved at last ! [ CurtainJ] STERLING DIALOGUES 145 Scene III.— Tableau.— Peters reformed. The back part of the stage should be hidden from the audience, by a curtain which opens in the center. This can easily be arranged according to taste or convenience. Upon the rising of the curtain, Faith and Charity are discovered to the right and left of the central opening of the curtain, a few feet from each other, with their right and left arms extended and grasping the curtain, as if about to draw it apart and open. Hope is discovered a few feet in advance, and midway between them, with the fore-finger of her right hand to her lips, as if invoking silence. While "Home, Sweet Home" is played or sung, very softly, in the distance, Hope slowly moves her finger from her lips, and points to the scene which is being re- vealed, as Faith and Charity gradually draw the cur- tain open, disclosing Peters, his wife and Blanche seated around the supper-table, Peters in the act of ask- ing a blessing upon the meal. [ Curtain.'] ^ TWO WAYS OF TELLING THE SAME THING. CHARACTERS :— Fred Scott, "I , „ ^„„„ NedSnoosy,)*^^^''^'- Scene. — A platform. Fred Scott steps out as if to make a speech. Fred — I want to tell you all about the walk I took with Ned, While all you lazy people here were sound asleep in b'd. I woke bofon; 'twas hanlly light, and quickly rose aiil dresHod, The day was breaking in the East, the moon shone in the West. 146 STERLING DIALOGUES I called to Ned ; called once, called twice, before lie scaambled down, And soon we two with hurrying steps had left the dozing town. And then I saw a splendid sight! The East was all aglow, With pink-edged purple clouds, and streaks of blue and gold below. And then the sun arose, a great and glowing ball of red, From out a heap of crimson clouds, like cushions of a bed ; He gleamed across the sky, the earth was flushed with ruddy light. On every leaf and blade of grass were diamonds flashing bright. Long shadows stretched along the ground, each leaf in quivering play. And sunlight warmed and lighted up where all was cold and grey. I see you smile at my big words; I say you needn't laugh. For of the splendid sight I saw, I have not told you half. Ned — (Calls out from the audience) — I don't believe your yarn ! Feed — You don't, you ugly, grinning elf! Just you get up here on the stage and tell the thing yourself ! Enter Ned. Ned — Look here, what's that you're going on about, you stupid fellow ? The sun was bright, the shadows long, the sky was red and yellow ? STERLING DTAIvOGUEvS 141 Well, what of it ? A patch of red is no such wondrous sight That, just, to see jt one_ should wake in the middle of the ui'rlit. {To the a7idience.) I 'm out of jiatieuce with this goose, (I will not call him fool, Because, I'm sorry to confess, he stands ahead at school,) But then he has such curious ways I can not well make out, I did not see such splendid things to gabble so about. I saw the sun rise, too, this morning. What of that ? I dare To say 'twould have risen all the same if I had not been there. To tell the truth, it was so early I could hardly keep - JVIy eyes from shutting up, and I was almost half asleep. And then the air was damp and chilly ; one might know 'twould be At such an early liour, and I was shivering dreadfully. And then those diamonds bright of his — those penetrating dews, I[ad wet my trowsers to my knees, and soaked quite through my shoes. Now I have this advice to give : I pray you all take warning, And never be caught out of bed on such a wretched morning, r Fred— O Ned ! Ned— Yes, Fred, It wdJi a wretched morning, those aro tli(! words I said ; I'll 8ti( k to them, and call them true, though you should kill me dead. 148 STERLING DIALOGUES So ■where 's the use of quarreling? You see we can't agree. (//i unison.) [ Ned — It was a wretched morning as ever I did see. 1 Fred — It was a splendid morning as ever I did see. {To the audience.) Now if this fellow hadn't stopped me with his foolish talk, I would have told you more about our very pleasant walk. The roosters crowing near and far replied to one another, And here and there we came across a careful old hen- mother, Who clucked and scratched for her young brood thus early in the morn. And in a field we saw some ducks nip off the growing corn. The men came out to feed their stock, the maids to milk the cows. We watched the blue smoke curling up from out each wayside house. Oh, all the world was waking up — each pig, and colt and calf, I wanted just to run, and hop, and jump, and sing and laugh, Turn summersaults, and fences climb ; but Ned here was so lazy — Ned — So tired you mean! You was so brisk you almost set me crazy. You know I was so tired I scarce could drag myself along, And still you wanted me to run, and climb, and sing a song; Or else you wanted me to stay and see an ugly daisy, Or watch a stupid bumble-bee a humming round a flower. STERLING DIALOGUES 14J- Although I begged you hard to stop and rest for half an hour. I never saw a boy so wild about the; birds and things, As though / knew or cared what kind of song a cat- bird sings ! I only know I saw one sitting on a fence we passed. And I thought, " Now there 's a chance for a little fun at last." And so I stopped and found a stone at the ugly bird to fling, In hopes, if I could not kill it quite, perhaps I'd break its wing ; But then it up and flew away, the good-for-nothing thing! Then you wanted even to see a rose, 'twas such a pretty blue— Frei>— ONedl Ned— 'T is true! Fred — 'Twas red. Ned — 'T was blue, But as for that I do not care ! I 'm sure I never knew "Whether a rose was red or white or black or green or blue. You see I 'm not so great a goose about a flower as you ! Fred — (To the audience) — You hear him! Did you ever know a boy that so lacked sense? He says he tried to kill a bird that sat upon the fence. I know he caught the butterflies and pinned them on hia hat, And kicked a little dog, and tried to set hira on a cat. But still we had a splendid time — Ned — Speak for yourself, I pray I 1 50 STERLING DIALOGUES Fred — I gathered all the flowers \ found in fields along our way, You uever saw such pretty flowers — Ned — I uever will again If I must rise at four o'clock to see them ; that is plain ! Fred — I filled a bottle full of bugs with green and golden wings — Ned — (To the audience) — I never saw a boy so wild about his bugs and things ! There 's one thing that I soon found out ; that is, that bees have stings. You see, I tried — Fred — (Jb the audience) — He caught a bee and shut it in a flower, And kept it close there buzzing loud for nearly half an hour; But when he tried to look at it, the poor thing got away. And buzzing round, it made him for his cruel cunning pay. It stung his hand — Ned — The mean old thing ! I feel it smarting yet. When I can catch another bee, that sting I sha' n't forget. Fred — {To the audience) — But then I haven't told you half the pleasure that I found ; I saw a buzzard in the sky go sailing round and round. I saw the crows go cawing past, a thousand crows or more ; I'm sure I never saw so many crows at once before. A hundred birds sang in the trees, each one a different tune ; The nicest time in all the year is just this month of June I STERLING DIALOGUES 15 1 We found some berries hidden in the grass, so nice and red, We stopped to pick and eat them — Ned — Tell the whole now, Master Fred, How as I tried to climb the fence n^y pantaloons I tore, And there you stood and laughed, while I — Fred — You tugged and almost swore, And every time I think of it I have to laugh the more. Ned — And then what were the berries worth, so small, unripe and sour ! And I so hungry, too, because 'twas past the breakfasl hour! Fred — ( To the audience)^—! found a bird's nost in a bush ! Oh, such a cunning sight ! It had four little eggs in it, all speckled brown and white. I called to Ned to come and see, and then — what will you say? He wanted to destroy the nest and take the eggs away ! And then — why — I — Ned — You need n't brag, you bully ! If I let You whip me once, it doesn't mean I shall not pay you yet, When I am not so sleepy quite ; I .shall not let it pass ; I can whip you any day I try, if you are first in the class. Fred— We'll see, young man! (To the audience.) I haven't time to tell you any more. For I'm so hungry I mn scarcely stand upon the floor. I've not had breakfast yet; I say, I think there's nothing cfuite So good as a morning walk to give a boy an apjKitite. 152 STERLING DIALOGUES Ned — O dear ! I 'm tired out, I 'm not so big a dunce as Fred ; And when 1 get my breakfast done I 'm going back to bed. [Exit Ned. Fred — Well, let him go, and yawn and snooze. I wont be called a fool, And when I get my breakfast done ,I'm going straight to school. [ Gurtain.l AUNT DEBBY'S SPECULATION. CHAEACTERS :— Aunt Debby Pinchum. Tom, the hired Man. Olivb, Aunt Debby's Niece. Keene, a Swindler. Scene I. — Aunt Debby's sitting-room. Aunt Debby seated knitting. Enter Tom. Tom — Here's the price for them 'ere chickens, marm, twenty-two cents a pound, just seventy-three pounds, comes to sixteen dollars and six cents. Aunt Debby — ( Clutching the money) — Dear me, Tom, couldn't you have got another cent a pound, by trying hard ? 'pears to me men are mighty shiftless now-a-days, Now, when I druv to market in my younger days, nobody could get the start of me in prices. Tom — I guess it was a high day. Miss Pinchum, when you got ten cents a pound for your poultry. Now it's twenty-two, and you want twenty-three. Folks are never satisfied. Aunt Debby — But consider how living has gone up, just look at the price of chickens' feed. STERLING DIALOGUES 152 Tom — (Midtering to hinwelf as he goes out) — Livin' hasn't ris much iu this i)liice, as my stomach can testify. I declare I wont stay to be starved out in this style. ( Goes out.) Aunt Debby — (Counting her money) — Well, this isn't so bad. It is a dollar and forty-six cents more than I ex- pected. {StaHing suddenly.) 0\\,ih.2it t\\M\ {Runs to the door and screatns :) Tom, Tom ! Enter Tom. Tom — "Well, now, what 's to pay ? One would think the house was a-fire. Aunt Debby — Where's that six cents? Tom — Well now I did forget that. (Draws out an old leathern wallet.) Here it is, and much good may it do you, lExit Tom. [Aunt Debby goes to a box in the corner, and takes out an old black stocking. She seats herself, takes out a roll of bills, and pours some silver pieces in her lap."] Aunt Debby — Twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five, one hundred. All as good as gold. It's time to send these down to the bank-safe along with the rest, but it's such a comfort to have a little by a body, ( Chinks the silver pieces and smiles.) Enter Oi.i\B. Aunt Debb-y throws her apron over the money. Olive — Oh, don't mind me, Aunt Debby. I sha'n't steal, if I do want some money j)rctty bad. Aunt Debby — (Peevishly) — Oh, yes, I dare say, there's something you are a wanting now. It 's just money, money all the time. Olive — But how can I tstudy, Aunt Debby, without books? I've borrowed and borrowed until I am ashamed 154 STERLING DIALOGUES of myself. I must have a new History now, or give up the study. I shall never be prepared for a teacher at this rate. Aunt Debby — Well, I do think, of all schools I ever heard of, yours is the most expensivest. It's just expense upon expense, new books and new fol-da-rols all the time. Now when I went to school we was well off with our spellin' books and English Readers and samplers, and a skein of blue cotton thread to work with. Them girls that hud a skein of red and green sewing silk besides, were counted rich. Olive — Well, times have changed, auutie. They never ask for our samplers now, when we apply for a school. But will you not let me have the dollar for the History out of that lapful of money I saw you counting when I came in ? Aunt Debby — ( Gathering her apron a little closer) — You must think of my expenses, child. Just see what it costs to keep up this place. Look at the price of chick- ens' feed, and see how much that ungrateful Tom eats every time he sits down to the table. It's enough to break a bank. Olive — But see what the place brings you in, auntie, and how valuable Tom is to you. I shouldn't wonder if he didn't stay long, unless you give hi.a better fare. But about the book, auntie, do please now get it for me; just see how I patch and save my dresses so as to help to get an education. Aunt Debby — Will you go without butter till you pay me back ? Olive — I will as soon as I can have coffee again. But I can't well do without both, as bread and water would be dry living for breakfast and supper. Let's see ; I have gone without coffee for two weeks now. I believe you called it two cents a day. That makes twenty-eight STERLING DIALOGUES 155 cents. It will take me three weeks more to pay for m Algebra. Then I will begin on the butter. But it is a hard way to get an education to starve one's self into it. ■ Aunt Debby— I'll risk its hurting you any, to go without butter and coifee. They aint good for young folks. There's nothing better for them than good plain mush and skimmed milk, and it's all foolishness in you to say you can't eat it. You'd like it well enough if you'd try it steady for a spell. Well, I suppose I shan't have a minute's peace until that book is got, so take your dollar and be off, but mind you've got to pay me back eveiy cent. And now don't you let me hear another woid about money again this year. {Gives her a dollar, gathers up her apron and goes out.) Olive — I coidd not thank her, glad as I am to get the book. Oh, what a wretched way to live ! How can I l)ear it? How bitter to be dependent. But courage for only one year more, then I hope to be free from such fetters. [Exit Olive. [ Curtain.^ Scene II. — Aunt Debby, spectacles on, seated at a table, reading a letter ; various papers scattered over it. Aunt Debby — Well, this beats all creation. I never saw nor heard of this chap, who signs himself St. John A. Goldsmith ; but here he writes me a letter saying I have drawn a prize of a thousand dollars, in a lottery away ofi' in Kcntufky. He says I musn't tell any body about it But I must send him fifty dollars to get five hundred of my prize money, or a hundred dolhirs to get the whole thousand. I can't just see through it, l)iit as far as I can learn the hundred dollars pays for my ticket, which is but reasonable when they {)ay you back a thousand. \ liave often thought what an easy way it was to make money, 156 STERLING DIALOGUES tmd here it comes right to my door. I 've a great mind to tell Olive. She'd never tell, I know, and she could write my letter for me, she 's such a good penman. {Steps to the door and calls :) Olive, Olive ! Olive — (Entering hastily, her sleeves rolled up) — What is it, auntie? You look excited. Has anything hap- pened ? Aunt Debby — Jest sit down, Olive, and read that letter and them papers, and tell me what you think of them. [Olive reads. TJie old lady rubs her glasses, and, watches her intently.'] Olive — It's a precious mess of nonsense, auntie, and you would never see your money again if you were foolish enough to send it. Just look at the morals of the man. He directs you to date your letter a month back, and says he will alter the post-mark to correspond, so as to deceive the " Board of Trustees." Now if he would de- ceive them, do you think he would hesitate much to deceive you ? Depend upon it, he is the " Board " himself, unless he has an accomplice or two in his swindling op- erations. I have often heard of such things before. So I beg of you, auntie, don't have any thing to do with it. I must make up my corn bread now ; and if you say so, I will light my fire with these papers. Aunt Debby — No, no ; I will save them for something else. One side is good white paper. {Exit Olive.) Now that is the most tantalizing girl I ever seen in my life. Here she must come in and spoil all my pretty calcula- tions. But never mind ; I '11 write the man a letter my- self, and just ask if he is certain sure that there's no mistake about it, and that I'll surely get my money, and if it is all right I'll send, no matter what Olive says. I'll just write to-night, and send it off in the evening-mail. STERLING DIALOGUES 15 » It Will go to New York to-night, and he can answer by to- morrow, if he has a mind to. I wont tell Olive a word though, about it. So I must write quick while she is get- ting supper. ( Takes down pen, ink, and paper, and writes, folds and directs the letter.) Now I'll just slip out to the post-office, and if Olive asks me where I've been, I'll tell her I went to the store for a skein of thread. [Exit. [ Ourtain.'] Scene III. — Aunt Debby, seated, knitting. Aunt Debby — I was so disappointed, not to get a letter to-day ; but I think it will certainly come to-morrow. Maybe he was 'fronted 'cause I did n't send along the money at first, and wont have nothing more to do with me. It 'ri all that girl's fault. I should never have thought of misdoubting him, if she had n't put me up to it. (Eap at the door.) Massy sakes ! who is that knocking at the door? (Opens the door.) \_Enter Keene, heavy whiskers, very dignified, solemn manner. '\ Aunt Debby — (Courtesying) — Will you walk in, sir? Keene — (Bowing low, hat in hand) — Thank you, madam. ( Walks in. Aunt Debby giving him a seat.) You are probably surprised, my dear madam, at seeing a stranger in your house ; but as I was passing through your beautiful village, I thought I would call on you a few moments. My name is St. John A. Goldsmith. [Bowing and smiling.) I believe it is not quite unfamiliar to you. Aunt Debby — Land sakes! wlio'd 'vo thought it! Excuse me, Mr. Goldsmith, but you have put me quite in a flutter. 158 STERLING DIALOGUES Keene — No occasion for it at all, my dear madam ; ] thought you hardly understood the matter with regard to which I addressed you ; and since I was riding along in the cars, it has occurred to me that you would take more interest in a mining company I am interested in than in the lottery. I think you mentioned you were alone, no man to manage your affairs. Your husband is dead, I suppose ? (^Bowing respectfully.) AuKT Debby — {Simpering') — Ahem — no, sir, — I— . ahem, I never married. Keene — Indeed ! I am very much surprised. I mis- took you for a young widow. But never mind my blun- ders. I am a very blundering man, at the best. As I was saying, you can dispose of your property as you st'e fit, having no one to dictate to you ; and this mining coiia- pany declares a dividend of fifty per cent, a month. Ju,3t imagine how a few hundreds, or thousands, would double themselves, over and over, every year, in that company. And all you have to do, is to take stock in it. You do not have to turn your hand to work. You could soon be the richest lady in the land, and ride in a golden coach, with gold-mounted harness on your horses. You mif^ht build you a palace which would be the pride of the whole country. The shares, as you will see by the prospectus, are fifty dollars each. The capital of the company is four millions ; so you see you are perfectly secure, perfectly. Now, if you would like to invest a little in this, I am wil- ling to serve you. Indeed, I shall be happy to do so, though I am exceedingly hurried and pressed with busi- ues-s, and seldom stop in such small towns. Indeed, I may say, I called this evening expressly to accommodate you ; and my time is very precious, very, indeed. (Looks at his watch.) Aunt Debby — I am sure I am very much obliged to STERLING DIALOGTTES 159 you ; but the thing is so suddeu-like ; could n't you give me a little time to think about it, and talk with my friends ? Keene — (Buttoning his coat, with an offended air) — I fear I have been deceived in you, madam ; and I will not trou])]e you further. (Fick)i vp his hat.) What I have said has been in the strictest confidence, and from a sincere desire to serve you. I might lose my position as Director, if it should be known ; and as you decline my offer, I can only beg you will not mention it. {Arises, as if to go.) AuxT Debby — (Much agitated) — But I did n't say I declined. Please, Mr. Goldsmith, take a chair again ; I didn't pertend to say I wouldn't invest; I only wanted to think over it. (Keeke takes his seat, still holding his hat.) But if you think there 's no mistake, I do n't mind putting in a little in the business. There's about four hundred in the bank, and I have another hundred and odd about me. Now, would you advise me to put in all, or only half? Keexe — (Brightening wp) — My dear madam, put in only half, if you see fit; but mark my words, you'll be sorry you didn't put in the whole, when your dividends come piling in so fast every month. Aunt Debby — Well, Mr. Goldsmith, would you mind waiting here a few minutes, till I get my money? It's after bank hours, but Mr. Edmonds is my nciglibor, and I know he'll oblige me. It is only a step over there. Keenio — Certainly, certainly, madam, oidy be sure and remember my caution about mentioning this matter to !uiy one, or I drop the whole concern. AuxT Debby — Certain, certain ; I sha'n't begone but a minute. [Exit. Keene — (Getting up and going to a drawer) — I won- 160 STERLING DIALOGUES der what the old girl has stowed away here. Two silver spoons, as sure as I live ! Here they go into the silver mine. {Drops them into his pocket, chuckling arid laugh- ing softly.) These pocket handkerchiefs will be useful ; they may follow. What a mean old thing she must be ! Her bureaus are absolutely not worth picking? I wish I could take a peep into the rest of her house. But I must take my seat, and draw on my professional face again. ISeats himself, and spreads out a number of maps and papers on the table.'] Enter Aunt Debby. Aunt Debby — Here I am, at last; Mr. Edmonds asked me a good many questions, but I put him off every time. So he don't suspect nothing. Keene — (/n some alarm) — How far off does he live ? Aunt Debby — Oh, just down the street. It's well I went just as I did, for he was just starting for Centerville, ten miles away, to be there early to court in the morning. They 've got a batch of counterfeiters to try, and he has to be there to prove something or other. Ain 't you well, Mr. Goldsmith, you look so queer somehow ? Keene — Perfectly well, perfectly, madam; I have sometimes a trifling dizziness in my head ; but it soon passes over. Now, let us proceed to business at once. I have made out your certificate of stock, five hundred dol- lars' worth. There you have it. Now I will affix a stamp, and it will be all legal. Here is my address in New York ; and here are the cards of the company. I will leave several with you ; and any time you are in the city, just call. We are always glad to see the stock- holdei's, and to give them all the information in our power. If you have counted the money, it is not nece* STERLING DIALOGUES 161 sary for me to do so ; I have perfect confidence in your honesty, perfect. l^Bows and smiles as he receives the roll of bills from her hand, and exits hastily.'} Aunt Debby — (^Gathering up her papers^ — Now, I must keep these^ choice as gold, and hide them from Olive. I know she wouldn't approve of it; but I guess she 'II think differently, when I get my first dividends. I shall get half my money back in thirty days. It 's a sight easier than raising chickens. \^Exit. [ Curtain.'] Scene IV. — Olive, dusting the sitting-room. Enter Tom. Tom — Is the mistress any better this morning, Miss Olive ? Olive — No better, Tom, and the doctor hardly thinks she ever will be. She seems quiet, and comfortable, though ; and that 's a blessing, after the stormy time we have had. But the shock has completely broken her. She talks about her silver-mine, when she says any thing ; and has quite forgotten, that she was swindled out of all her money. She seems to be looking for great returns every day,. She sometimes counts the checks on the counterpaut, and thinks they are silver pieces. Uncle Henry will stay a few days, and set things to rights; and he would ]ike you to stay on, and manage affairs just as you have ; and bo will make a fair bargain with you, Tom. Tom — (FumhUnrj his hat) — If you plea.se, miss, I would like to speak a word with you, about some help for the kitchen. It would never do for you to take all the care of the old la'ly and the housekeeping too. Olive — (Smiling) — So you think Mary Jane would be 162 BTERLING DIALOGUES a good assistant, do you ? Well, bring her here as soon as you like. I have already spoken to Uncle Henry about it, and he approves of it highly. Tom — {^Glowing with smiles) — Bless you, Miss Olive, I '11 serve you to the end of my days. [^Exvt. Olive — And this is the end of my poor aunt's dream of wealth. How terrible it seems, to see her so broken. I am sorry, now, for my many impatient words and thoughts toward her ; but she shall not want for any care and attention I can give, while her life lasts. There, I hear her calling now. {Lays by her duster, and hastily exits. [ Curtain.'] ILLINOIS.* AN ACTING CHARADE. CHARACTERS .-—Husband. Wife. Boy, Scene. — Wife, discovered sewing. Miter Husband. Husband — ( With hand over his eye, groaning) — Ob dear ! oh dear ! oh dear ! Wife — {Rushing to him) — What is it, husband ! Are you ill? Husband — Yes. Oh dear ! oh ! Enter Boy, making great noise. Wife — {To Boy) — Hush-sh-sh-sh ! Your father is ill. He 's hurt his eye. Stop that noise ! {Helps out Husband, followed hy Boy.) [ Ourtain.'] * In " Illinois," sound the final " s." JTEKLINQ DIALOGUES 165 THE YOUNG DEBATERS. :HAEACTERS :— Thomas Jones, large Boy. Harry Lee, 1 Frank Hart, Lj^aU Boys. Bennie Nelson, j •' Albert Wayne, J Scene. — A school-room, or an apartment in a house. Thomas — Didn't you little fellows say you wanted to learn to debate ? Harry, Frank, Bennie and Albert — (Shouting) — Yes, yes ! oh, yes ! We do ! That's it! Let's debate I debate ! Thomas — Come here, then, and we will arrange matters. What question would you like to debate ? Harry — I don't know; I never debated. Frank — I heard Ben Bingham talking about a horse and cow question. Thomas — Well, can you state the question ? Frank — No, I never stated a question in my life. Thomas — Bennie, can you tell me what the horse and cow question is? Can you state it or tell it to me? Bennie — I think this is it: "Is a horse more useful than a cow ? " Thomas — That 's right ! Well, will that question suit you? Albert — I think I would like this question, " Is a dog more useful to a man than a gun ? " Thomas — A very good question, indeed. What do you say, young Wobsters and Clays, will you take the Uog and gun question ? All together — I'm agreed I All right! It will auit us I 104 STERLING DIALOGUES Thomas — Who will take the affirmative and who the negative ? Harry — I don't know what that means. Thomas — {Laughs) — Ha ! ha ! Well, I '11 try to ex- plain. Those who are on the affirmative will affirm, or say tJiat a dog is more useful to a man than a gun, whilst those who are on the negative will deny that a dog is more useful to a man than a gun. Do you think you understand ? All — I do. And so do I. Albert — I want to be on the gun side of the question. Thomas — That will be the negative. Who will assist Albert on the gun side ? Bennie — I will, if you will let me ; and I think we can whip the other boys all to pieces. Why, sir, a gun is a useful thing — it is a weapon — you can shoot with a gun— Thomas — Hold on, Mr. Debater, you are too fast. It isn't your time to speak. The affirmative must open the debate. Bennie — Oh, I thought you wanted me to go ahead. Well, I'll wait till t\\Q firmament talks. Thomas — {Laughs) — Ha! ha! What's the firma- ment? Bennie — Why, it is the dog side of the question. Thomas — Oh, yes ! Well, Harry, you are on the fir- mament, as Bennie says ; we will let you open the debate. You must make a speech and endeavor to show that a dog is more useful to a man than a gun. You can com- mence. Harry — {Somewhat frightened) — I don't know what to Bay. Thomas — Walk right out here and say something. Don't be frightened, Nobody will hurt you. You can STERLING DIALOGUES l6& say a few words, anyhow, but you must not speak more than five minutes. Harry — I don't think I can speak half a minute. Well, then, I think a dog is a very useful animal. He has four tails and one leg. (Boys laugh.) I mean he has four legs and one tail. He has a mouth and a nose, and his nose — that is — his nose is always cold — his nose is. Our dog — we have a dog — our dog is a setter, he sets 'most all the time. The name of our dog is Bingo ; he was called after the dog in the song. The song says, " There was a butcher had a dog, and Bingo was his name." Thomas — I don't like to interrupt you; you are mak- ing a very good speech, but you ought to try to show that a doe: is more useful to a man than a gun. Harry — I thought I was showing that. Well, I'll commence again. A dog is a very useful animal. He has four legs ; two of his legs are hind legs and two of them are fore legs ; the hind legs are stuck on behind and the fore legs are stuck on before. If a dog had no fore legs behind and no hind legs before he would not be 80 useful an animal. He would not be so useful because he could not run much. If he had no nose he would not be 80 useful either, for he smells with his nose. Most all dogs smell with the nose. He smells on the track, and he runs on it, and sometimes catches up to it. You would think, sometimes, to see a dog running on his track, that he would run over his nose, but he never does. A dog is useful to bark at night. He is useful to a man because he runs after him, and a gun does not. You have to put your gun on your shoulder before it will run after you. Thomas — Harry, your time is up. (Hamj mts dow7i.) Now, Bennie, you have a chance to talk on the gun side. Bennie — I was going to say before, (liat a gun was a very useful animal, and I'll stick to it. 166 STERLING DIALOGUES Thomas — That is, you are going to stick to that which you were going to say before. Ah, yes, I understand. Benmie — (Speaking very loud) — Yes, sir-ee! The gun is the most useful animal in the wilds of North America and Nova Scotia. Thomas — Too loud for a little boy. Become calm before you proceed, or you will alarm the neighbors. Bennib — How can I be calm when there is — when there is — that is — when there is — Thomas — So much at issue. I understand ; go ahead. Bennie — Yes, sir ! The gun is the most useful animal. Thomas — You are not debating the question, " is the horse a more useful animal than the cow ? " Please don't refer to the gun as an animal, it makes me nervous. Bennie — It was only a mistake of the tongue. But, sir, the gun is the most useful an — that is, he is the most useful gun in the world. Where would we have been to-day if it had n't been for the gun ? As I said before, a gun will shoot. You can shoot with a gun, and you can not shoot with a dog. Where is the man that ever shot with a dog ? If General George W. Washington had had no gun when he landed on Plymouth Rock in the Spring of 1776, where would we have been to-day ? But he had a guo, and now we can all sit around our firesides and play checkers, or whistle " Yankee Doodle " and " Put me in My Little Bed." The gun is made by a gunsmith. Guns do not eat as much as dogs, and hence it follows that they are usefuler. Our dog is an awful eater. I think I have made it clear to you that the gun is the most useful an — most useful gun than a dog. Thomas — Clear as mud, Bennie; but you have exhausted yourself, and may rest awhile. Frank, you are on the affirmative. You may reply to Bennie's spread eagle speech if you can reach it. STERLING DIALOGUES 16? Frank — I don't think I can say much, as I never de» bated before. But I think the dog is the most useful animal. I believe the question is, " Is a dog more useful to a gun than a man ? " Thomas — {Laughs) — Ha ! ha ! You are badly ship- wrecked. Do you wish to debate on the gun or on the dog side? Frank — You said I would be on the dog side. Thomas — All right ; but your question is, " Is a dog more useful to a man than a gun ? " Now, go ahead. Frank — I say it is. A dog is very useful to man, from the fact that he is a very useful animal. If we had no dogs how could we hunt rabbits? "A dog will bite a thief at night," and therefore, a dog is a very useful animal. A dog will drive the pigs out of the yard and the chickens out of the garden, therefore, a dog is a very u:>eful animal. A dog will hunt wood-chucks and rac- coons, and sometimes he will kill snakes, therefore, a dog iii a very useful animal. The dog is also a noble animal, hut men often abuse dogs, which isn't nice in man. I heard the other day of a shabby trick which a man f layed upon his dog. The man was in a great wood, lie i\a8 far away from any house, and had nothing to eat. What did he do ? Why he cut off the dog's tail, ate the meat off of it, and tlien gave the dog the bone. Now, that's what I call a .shabby trick. But perhaps that saved the man's life. If the man had had a gun, where would he have been ? If he had had a gun he could not have cut off the dog's tail. The tail was not thtTc, neither was the dog there. He could not have cut off the gun's — that is, I mean — I mean, of course, the man would have been in a bad fix. If he had had a gun instead of a dog he might have perished there in the midst of that great how]pr of a wilderness. Guns are very good in their 1 68 STERLING DIALOGUES place, but they often go off unexpectedly, spreading famine and destruction around them. Thomas — Famine and destruction — that's the idea. You'll make a debater some day, Frank. Now, Albert, you may come forward and fire on the gun side. Albert — " He is fallen. We may now pause before that splendid prodigy which towered among us like some ancient ruin, whose power terrified the glance its magnifi- cence attracted. Grand, gloomy and peculiar — " Thomas — Halt ! The name of Albert Wayne on this occasion stands upon the list of debaters, and not on the list of declaimers. I 'd like to know what the " Character of Napoleon Bonaparte" has to do with the important question, " Is a dog more useful to a man than a gun ? " Albert — I know I am expected to debate the gun side of the question, but I never debated before, and I thought I could kind of get into the hang of the thing if I should first speak a few sentences of an old declamation. Thomas — You will only be allowed five minutes, and if you consume your time in speaking declamations, you will not assist your " worthy colleague " very much. Albert — Well, I '11 make another attempt. The dog is — that is — I mean the gun is. — Guns are made in many places. Some guns are made by gunsmiths, and some are made by other persons. Pop-guns are not made by gun- smiths. The gun is useful — the gun — (stammers,) the gun. I find that debating is hard work, but I suppose it will be the making of me if I keep at it. This reminds me o£ a story brother Bob read the other day. I guess I can't tell it just the way it was in the paper, but I can tell it my own way. A good while ago when dog-fight- ing was more in vogue than it is at the present time, a young man who was raising a fighting pup, induced his old father to get down on all-fours and imitate the dog. STERLING DIALOGUES 169 The pup caught the father by the nose and held on. The son disregarding the old gentleman's cries, exclaimed : " Hold him, Growler, hold him ! Bear it, father, bear it ; it will be the makin' of the pup." Guns are of various sizes. When there is a big war going on, a great many guns are made and a great many guns are thrown away ; the soldiers throw them away when they want to run pretty fast. The last argument I have to offer, is this : An army of men carrjdng dogs would be of but little use, whilst an army of men carrying guns can shoot and make a noise. Where would the Revolutionary war have been to-day, if it had n't been for guns ? A dog is not of much account. Uncle Joe had a bad dog once, and he took him into a crowd and tried to lose him, but the dog was home before Uncle Joe. Thomas — Time's up, Albert. Albert — I 'm glad of that, for I did n't know what I would say next. Thomas — You have all done remarkably well for a first effort, and I hope you will keep at it. As Albert says, it may be hard work, but it will be the making of you if you persevere, and whenever you feel like debating again, I will take pleasure in listening to you. [ Curtain.'] (70 STERLING DIALOGUES THE TWO DOLLS. FOR THE VERY LITTLE FOLKS. CHARACTERS :— George, a little Merchant. CELiI; } t^« lit^l^ Girls. Captain Hutton, Celia's Unele. Scene I. — George, seated behind a counter, on which are arranged boxes and toys. Enter Kitty, a poorly-dressed little girl. Kitty — I want to buy a doll, a very pretty doll ! George — A rag doll, with good-shaped head, black ink eyebrows, pokeberry red cheeks, and red worsted lips — and with a beautiful dress of calico — we have a case of these, just from Paris. [Se throws out a most ahsurd-loohing little home-made doll.'] Kitty— Oh, but it's pretty! Omy! Odear! O good- ness ! O sakes ! a real beauty ! I '11 get that, if I have enough money ! Sakes alive, what a beauty ! {Turning it round and round.) I must have this, if I can raise that many cents ! What price ? George — How much could you afford to give? or, in other words, how much money have you ? Kitty — Seven cents ; oh, what a beauty it is ! George — ( Very importantly) — Our price, exactly, lack- ing a half cent ; imported articles are very dear now ; but let me see ; considering, Kitty, that it is you, and your custom is worth something to us, we '11 throw off a half cent. Shall I do it up for you, miss ? j^jTTY — Yes ; here, (counting out rusty pennies,) one, two, three, four, five, six, seven; that's it. George — She 's worth every cent of it I Kitty — Is she named ? STERLING DIALOGUES 171 George — {Looking intently into a day-book) — Yes, her Dame is Victoria Eugenia ! Kitty — But I don't like Victry Ugia ! Would it hurt to change it ? George — Not a bit ; call her anything you like : Su- sanna Maria, or Jane Elizabeth, or Matilda Ann. Kitty — I'll call her Milly, wont that do? George — First rate; nice and short. Yes, call her Milly. Kitty — (Kisdng the doll) — Oh, Milly, darling Milly, how I do love you. I '11 make you a nice little bed when we get home, and we '11 have such lots of fun ; I would n't take seven times seven cents for you, my beauty, my pre- cious beauty. [Exit. Enter Celia, a very stylish-looking little lady. [George bows very low, asking what she will have.^ Celia — A doll, a fine doll — would prefer one dressed as a bride — I believe that is the latest style — and it must be from Paris. George — Our assortment, miss, is very fine ; however, we have but one bride — here she is. (Holding up a beautiful doll.) Celia — (Fingering the dress) — Is this real point lace? George — Yes, that is point lace, no imitation about that. Celia — What price? George — Ten dollars. Celia — Only ten, here it is; let me have her in a box ! George — (Handing the box) — We'll have some higher priced ones, with reaVer point lace, when our ship oomes in. Celia — No doubt. Good morning. [Exit [_ Curtain.^ 172 STERLING DIALOGUES ScEJTE II. — Captain Hutton, seated, wiping his speetecles. Enter Celia, pouting and half crying. Captain Hutton — I 'm sorry, my dear, that the doll doesn't suit you ; but why didn't you go and buy it your- self? My little pet told me she got a perfect beauty at the toy shop — a perfect beauty. Celia — I did go, that 's what makes me mad ! I went and got the paltry thing, and gave ten dollars for it. No doubt, if I 'd waited till the new lot came, and saved up ten more dollars, I could have suited myself. I don't know who that pet of yours is ; but I suppose she spent a nice lot of money, and got the beauty of the establish- ment! Captain Hutton — Ha, ha, ha. ( Calls.) Come here, Kitty ; bring your doll, and show my niece — she is cry- ing, because you have the prettiest one. Come, show it to us. Kitty — ( With the doll lorapped in a shawl as she rocks it tenderly) — Hush-a-by, hush-a-baby! Don't cry, little girl. I '11 let you play with it ; but do n't, oh, do n't ask me to part with her, my own Milly ; and (coaxingly) don't be mad at me for having a pretty doll. I never had one of my very own before ; and the minute I set eyes on this, I went about wild with joy. Celia — Let me see the doll. Kitty — {Half unwraps it, then pauses') — ^You wont snatch it? Celia — Oh, girl, how you will have her dress crushed ! Kitty — {Holds it up delightedly) — Don't you wish she was yours ? [Celia, with a little affected scream, faints ; and the uncle holds his sides with laughter.J [ Curtain.'] 8TERLINO DIALOGUES 173 THE CENSUS TAKER. CHAEACTERS :— Mrs. Smith. Samanthy, addicted to poetry. Sam, a ten-year old Boy. Mks. Harris, the Neighbor. Census Marshal. Scene. — Samanthy, in a soiled wrapper, loose hair, and inky fingers, sits with portfolio in lap, trying to write. Enter Sam, tuith cap on back of head, whistling, and bringing kite, knife, stick, and tacks. Sam — Say, sis, where 's ma? Samanthy — Over to Mis' Harris's. ^Sam whittles on floor.) You had better not let her catch you whittlin' on her clean floor ! Sam — You can clean it up. Samanthy — Do I look like it? Sam — I 'm going to fix my kite, anyhow. Who 's afraid of her ? Enter Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Smith — Samuel! (Sam drops knife and tacks, picks up, and sits down farther back.) What be you a- doin' ? Sam — I was just a-makin' my kite. Mrs. Smith — I '11 " kite " you, if you do n't stop whit- tlin' ! ( Takes broom. A knock.) Come ! Enter Census Marshal. Census MAii-siiAL — Good morning! Mrs. Smith — ( Grumblingly) — Mornin'. Take a cheer? (Dusting one with apron.) Census MAR.-iiiAT> — Tlianks. Mrs. Smith — Needn't mind about anything for that. Census Makhiial — Madam, I'm commissioned by the c/nited States Government to collect — l74 STERLING DIALOOUES Mrs. Smith — Aint got nothin' to give; another feller 'round beggin' last week ! Census Marshal— You don't understand me, m»dam; I am simply authorized — Mrs. Smith — I should think so ! Census Marshal — To take the Census ! [Mrs. Smith, indignatitly sweeping the dust into his face, he moves back, and places hat, with papers and gloves in it, on the table. Sam puts on hat and gloves, and takes papers for kite-tail.'] Mrs. Smith — (Very loud) — You can't take none of my senses ! Census Marshal — You will please remember that one of my senses is peculiarly acute; and I can hear per- fectly, if you don't speak half as loud! Mrs. Smith — You '11 have to be "cuter " than I think you be, if you take anything here ! Census Marshal — Are you the head of this family, madam ? Mrs. Smith — Well, yes; that's what folks say. Census Marshal — I mean — have you a husband ? Mrs. Smith — O yes, when he's to hum; but he aint 1,0 hum to-day, 'cause I sent him down to Seth Browns's, to get a pound of candles. (Sweeping.) Sam — Say, ma, old Brown says he wont trust you no more! Mrs. Smith — Samuel ! Census Marshal — What is your husband's name ? Mrs. Smith — 'Liphalet ! Census Marshal — Hasn't he any other? Mrs. Smith — Yes, sir — Ebenezer! his mother and Ebenezer Jones kep' company for years, kinder ; that is, he used to take her to spellin' schools, and buskin's, and uich ; but when he went to sea, and wasn't heard from in STERLING DIALOGUES 175 six hull months, and my man's father kinder hung 'round, and being good-looking and fore-handed, she just up and married him, and named her first boy arter both on 'em — 'Liphalet Ebeuczer. Census Marshal — My goodness ! Sam — And my name's John Samuel. Uncle John run off to Californy, after he stole that horse. Mrs. Smith — 'Taint no such thing ! Sam, if you ever tell ichere he went to ag'in, I'll flog you; there! Census Marshal — Hope I haven't got to hear the whole family history. But what do the neighbors call him ? Mrs. Smith — Squire, mostly. Census Marshal — (Aside) — Doesn't she know any- thing? (To Samanthy.) Young lady, "will you tell me the name of the man of this house ? Samanthy — Certainly. Smith ; S-m-y-t-h-e ! Census Marshal — ( Writing in his book, and reading aloud) — " Eliphalet Ebenezer S-m-i-t-h." Samanthy — Oh, that horrid man ! Census Marshal — What's his occupation ? Mrs. Smith — His what? Census Marshal — What does he work at? Mrs. Smith — Oh, as to that, he don't do much, my man don't; he's weak in the back, and work don't agree with him fust rate ; and being of a sociable sort of mind, he sets 'round to the tavern mostly. Samanthy — Oh, mother! Census Marshal — How much land have you ? Mrs. Smith — (Leaning on her broom, and pointing out the window) — Well, there's the three-corn'ed lot over east, {pointing,) whore we had turnips last year, and that one jining onto Job Harris's forty-acre; but that's so stunny, that it haiut never been plowed, and he took care of Job's melon-patch on shares — 176 STERLING DIALOGUES Sam — When they got ripe ! Census Marshal — Keep to your own property! Mrs. Smith — That aini much ; just this 'ere house-lot*, the rest is mortgaged. Census Marshal — ( Writing and reading aloud) — Let me see — acre, acre-and-a-half, two acres. Well ! have you any horses ? Mrs. Smith — No ! Eliphalet thinks them 's too resky property. Sam — Why, yes we have, ma ! Mrs. Smith — No we haint, uuther; what do you mean? Sam — That old saw-horse, down in the shanty. ( Goes to driving tacks with knife.) Mrs. Smith — {Approvingly) — Now, Samuel ! (Samanthy giggles.) Census Marshal — Have you any other stock ? Mrs. Smith — Just one load of 'em, that Farmer Bailey give us to feed our cow. Census Marshal — Then you have one cow ? ( Writing.) Mrs. Smith — Who denied it? Sam — And she gives such awful rich milk; ma always has to water it, before selling Mis' Harris any. Mrs. Smith — Samuel! you tell that ag'in, and I'll lick you within an inch of your life ! Census Marshal — I forgot to inquire about the chil- dren. Say them over, slowly, and I'll write them down. Mrs. Smith — {Counting on fingers very slowly) — Well, there's 'Liphalet, named after his father, that's one; Sa- manthy, named after me, is two ; Ne'amiah, but he's mar- ried, that's four ; Peter, he's working for Bailey, so we aint got to pay for him; and Desire, she's the seventh, isn't she ? Let me see ! 'Liphalet, named after his father ; Sa- manthy, named — GTERLTNG DTALOGTTES 171 Census Marshal—/ don't desire you should repeat them ; go on ! Mrs. Smith — And Ne'amiah is four, and Samuel is five, and Sary Ann — but she's the baby, so Ave wont count her in either ; Jim and Peggy 's the twins, seven — and the other's at school. Census Marshal — Others ! How many others ? Now their ages ? Mrs. Smith — Whose? Census Marshal — Oh, 'Liphalet's, Ne'amiah's, etc. Mrs. Smith — I wonder if I can tell ! Ebenezer is — (Census Marshal urites again.) Well, now, I wouldn't a-thought he was that old ; why, he was growin' on two when Jeff Smith — he 's his cousin — married Sophy Jones — she 's my cousin — and their oldest is big enough to come skylarkin' 'round here Sunday nights. She {pointing to Samanthy) is just his age, lacking six months. Next one 's two year older than Peter ; and he 's — (^Pointing to SA>r, ivho snatches off hat, etc.) Census Marshal — How old are you. Bub ? Sam — A whole year littler than Bill Coon ; but when he said a-s how I das n't, I just told him I was n't the man to take no sass, and I just at him, I did, and I '11 lick him more, yet. Samanthy — Where does he get that slang? Mrs. Smith — (To Sam) — You aint to fight no more! (To Census Marshal.) Why, see here, reckon it your- self; he was born the May after the brindle cow killed herself will 1 turnips — you see — Census Marshal — No, I don't see, and I don't want to ! Got any poultry ? Mra. Smttii — (Aside) — Tetchy, aint ho? (Aloud.) Yes, Samanthy writ lots of it. ( To Samanthy) Say, supposin' you tell him some of your pieces. 178 STERLING DIALOGUES Samanthy — {Affectedly) — I only consult the muses as a recreation, sir, when the lambent fire burns so brightly in my brain ; I have no other way of relieving my over- taxed mental faculties. Sam — I say, sis, did you ever try cold water, to put out the fire ? Samanthy — Oh, that horrid boy ! Mrs. Smith — ( To Sam) — Stop your noise, sir ! ( To Sa- M AN THY.) Just tell over the names of some of the pret- tiest ones. Do ! Samanthy— Well, there 's " The Ode to the Moon," and " Thou modest Violet that opes thy Eye " — Sam — " To every- — body — passin' by ! " (Census Marshal laughs.') Samanthy — ( To Sam) — Shut up ! Census Marshal — I mean, hens, ducks, geese, and the like. Mrs. Smith — Oh! Well, there's three white ones, one black pullet, one speckled, one that 's blind, and one with her feet froze off*. Counted 'em ? Sam — And two ruseters ! Census Marshal — Seven in all. ( Writes.) Enter Mrs. Harris, with shawl over her head. Mrs. Harris — Mis' Smith, be you goin' to take care of that yearlin' of your 'n, or not ? My man, he says he '11 shut him up in the pound ! \_Exit. Mrs. Smith — Shut him up in the pond, will he? I suppose she means he '11 drownd him ! He 'd better try it ! Sam — I tell you, he 's a beauty, all red ; the one this year is spotted. Census Marshal — I '11 put those in with the other Block. (Writes. Rises.) Well, madam, I believe that fe aii; I thank you for your information. STERLING DIALOGUES 179 Mrs. Smith — I 'm sure you 're welcome to all the in- flammation you 've got out of me. Census Marshal — ( Turns and snatches things, while he shakes and talks to Sam) — You youug rascal ! {Looks for papers in hat.) What have you done with my papers ? Sam — {Whining) — I didn't think you'd care; so I took 'em for the tail of my kite. Census Marshal — {Leaves the room, muttering) — I 'd " kite " you, if I were your mother ! \_Exit. Sam — Thank my stars, you never will be my mother. Samaxthy — Mother, will you chastise that boy, while I retire to revel in my accustomed flights of fancy ? Mrs. Smith — Do you mean lick him ? That I will ! [ Oiirtain.'] THE RETURNED BROTHER. CHARACTERS :— Washington Watson, just returned. John Watson, rich Brother. Susan Kendall, Wa.shington's Sister. Scene. — A room in a hotel. Washington Watson discovered. Washington — Home once more ! Home from Cali» fomia ! When I left this place, I was young and strong ; now I am old and broken down ; but I have money in abundance. I want to end my days here. I want to rest in peace. I have sent for ray brother and sister ; and, in these seedy garments, they will readily suppose that T have brought but little of the gold dust with me. Somebody's at the door, I think. {Opens door.) Enter John Watson. Washington — T suppose yon arc my brother John ? John — Yf!s. ( 7hnj nhakc hands.) I came in answer to the request of your messenger. !80 STERLING DIALOGUES Washington — I am glad to see you. How have you prospered ? John — Oh, I have been getting along miserably. Washington — You wear good clothes. That 's a sign of prosperity. Look at my clothes. John — Yes, I have observed them. You did not pros- per then, in California ? Washington — I lived comfortably. The climate is delightful. But I am an old man — several years older than you — and I have a desire to end my days here. You do uot object to my taking up my abode with you ? John — Well — no — yes — that is. To tell the whole truth about the matter, Washington, my house is small, and I have a large family. It would not be pleasant for you there. Washington — Oh, I can get along splendidly ! I am fond of young folks. John — Yes, but you know — Washington — Oh, I understand. You think because I am old, I will make trouble in the household. But do n't be alarmed. I am not quarrelsome. {Knock at the door.) My sister, I suppose. ( Opens the door.) Enter Mrs. Susan Kendall. Mrs. Kendall — ( TJirowing her arms around Wash- ington) — Oh, Washington, you have returned at last ! I am delighted to see you. But why did n't you come to our house ? Why did you stop here ? Washington — I thought it would be right and proper for me to stop here, until I had found out whether I would be welcome or not. Mrs. Kendall — Washington ! Why do you talk so ? Did you for a moment suppose that we would not be glad to see you ? STERLING DIALOGUES 18i Washington — Well, I didn't know. This is a queer world, and those we consider very dear friends are some- times bitter enemies. Mrs. Kendall — I am surprised that you should for an instant suppose that we would not be very glad to see you. Washington — But you see I am poorly dressed. Would you care to keep me awhile at your house ? Mrs. Kendall — Certainly, we will keep you ! Are you not my brother ? We are not wealthy. We have a large family, and my husband is a cripple ; but do you, for a moment, suppose that I would not be glad to have you stay with us, as long as you please ? Washington — But here's my wealthy brother, John, who doesn't feel inclined to take me, and why should I thrust myself upon you ? He is rich, they say, and you are poor. John — Well, you see — Susan, you understand how it is. We have a large family, and our house is small, and a stranger coming in, is apt to cause trouble. Mrs. Kendall — But, John, Washington is our brother. John — I know, and he had as much money to start with as I had. If he wandered over the world, and spent it all, it is no fault of mine. Mrs. Kendall — John, I am astonished! John — Are you, indeed ? Mrs. Kendall — You are becoming too grasping and avaricious. You can not take your money with you when you go down to the grave. John — Susan, it isn't necessary for you to commence to preach to me. I think I can attend to my own afHiirs. Washington — Y&s, go forward and lay up money — you may need it all. John — And if you and Susan had been more economi- 182 STERLING DIALOGUES cal, you would have been iu better circumstances to-day. But I can 't stand here talking all day ; I have business to attend tu. {Going.) Washington — You are not going to see me thrown out upon the cold charities of the world — you are not going to allow me to go to the poor-house, are you ? John — Susan says she will keep you. She seems to be seeking trouble, and if she desires to make you a member of her household, you shouldn't growl. "Beggars shouldn't be choosers," you know. Washington — And you will not reach out your hand to save me from the poor-house ? John — ( Testily) — I do n't see any use in making so much fuss about it. Didn't you get as much money as I? If you made a bad use of it — if you squandered it — you can not blame me. You should have taken care of your money. If you had done so, you would not have been going around now trying to sponge off your relations. Washington — Stop. I have heard enough. How much money do you suppose I have ? John — (Sneeringly) — Well, from your appearance, I should say you have twenty-five cents. Washington — Shrewd guesser ! Well, sir, I wish to tell you that I have money sufficient to buy out half a dozen such small men as you. I have at least five hun- dred thousand dollars, and I am happy to say that neither you nor any of your family shall lay your hands on a penny of it. My money was not made to be handled by small-souled people. I wished to find out how my brother and sister would treat me. I am satisfied. I will make my home with my sister. She shall want for nothing, and at my death my money shall belong to her and her children. Good morning, most noble brother. I have had my say, and you can retire. STERLING DIALOGUES 183 John — But, Washington, you do not consider. I ex- plained to you that I had a small house, and a large family. Of course I would like to have you stay with me. Washington — Susan, come. If he will not retire we will. {To John.) Your house has suddenly become larger, but the five hundred thousand dollars didn't make it become so ! Oh, no, of course not ! Come, Susan, I do not wish to hold any further conversation with him. \^Exit Washington and Susan. John— 'Well, now, haven't I put my foot in it? Who would have supposed that a man dressed in that style wag the possessor of five hundred thousand dollars? Just my luck ! I declare I feel angry enough to howl. \_Exit John. [ Omiain.'] AFTER A FASHION. CHAEACTERS :— Mrs. Nelson. Mrs. Armstrong, a Caller. MiNNiK, Mrs. Armstrong's Daughter. Scene.— A parlor. Enter Mrs. Nelson, with a book in her hand. Mrs. Nelson — (SoIuh) — There ! I 've got my morning work all done. I'll just get a lunch at noon for myself, and then I'll have nothing to do until John conies home to-night. There's some mending that ought to be done, and those shirts of John's must be made before long, for he is complaining about his old ones. But I don't know that I'm going to be tied up sewing all the time. I believe I'll hire those shirts made, and set the cost of their making down as household expenses. John will 184 STERLING DIALOGUES never find it out, I 'm going to have one day to myself anyhow, to take solid comfort in. Here's this novel that I haven't been able to look at since yesterday forenoon, and I left off right in the most interesting part. And I 'm so afraid John will find out I am reading it before I have finished it. Now I will sit down and enjoy myself. (Seats herself in a chair and opens the book.) Hark ! Did n't I hear a carriage stop before the house ? ( Gets up and looks out) I did. And if that odious Mrs. Armstrong isn't getting out of it ! She's got that disgusting child of hers with her, and I know she's come to spend the day. Oh, dear ! Was there ever anything more vexatious ? Mrs. Armstrong herself is bad enough, but that stupid child is worse. I often think I am just like an old hen, I like my own chickens well enough, but I feel like cracking every other hen's chicks on the head. [Mrs. Armstrong knocks. Mrs. Nelson lays her book on the table a7id opens the door.^ Enter Mrs. Armstrong and Minnie. Mrs. Nelson— My dear Mrs. Armstrong! (Kisses her.) How glad I am to see you ! And how kind of you to come ! Now sit right down and let me take your bon- net and cloak. [ Offers her a chair. Mrs. Armstrong and Minnie sit down.2 Mrs. Armstrong— Oh, no, no, I can not stay long. Mrs. Nelson— (^stWe)— Oh, I'm so glad ! (To Mrs. Armstrong.) Not stay long ? Why, you have come to spend the day with me, of course. I was so lonesome this morning that I did not know what to do with myself, and as soon as I saw you drive up, I said, now there is that dear delightful woman, who always knows when to do a kind action, come to keep me company to-day, and what a STERLING DIALOGUES 18S pleasant time we shall have. Now wont you, canH you make up your mind to stay ? Mks. Armstrong — I wish I could, you dear woman, but it is impossible. Mrs. Nelson — You don't know how disappointed I am ! (Aside.) It is such a relief to know 1 wont have tc get dinner, and nothing in the house but a little cold meat. (To Mrs. Armstrong.) Well, since you wont stay let us make the best of the little time we have. And how are you, dear? Mrs. Armstrong — I 'm quite well, I thank you. And how have you been since I saw you last ? Mrs. Nelson — Tolerably well. Only I am so lone- some. You know John leaves me at home all day, and the children go to school, and you never come to see me. And how is this little darling ? (Kisses Minnie.) Minnie — Very well. Mrs. Armstrong — Minnie, why don't you ask the lady how she is ? Minnie — Because I don't want to know. Mrs. Armstrong — Oh, Minnie ! ( To Mrs. Nelson.) Well, you know children will be children. Mrs. Nelson — The dear child ! It is such a blessing to have children candid and truthful. If grown folks were only so, how much better the world would be. I always try to set my children an example. (Aside.) The little unmannerly cub ! I would soon teach her better if she was my child ! Mrs. Armstrong — Yes, Minnie is very truthful, and I am glad she is so. But how do you spend these long days ? MitH. Nklson — Oh, how can you ask me that, and yourself tlie mistress of a family? You must know a mother and housekeeper always finds plenty to do. There 156 STERLING DIALOGUES are always mending and making on hand, enough to more than fill up one's leisure moments. Just as I heard your carriage drive to the door, I was about to get out the mus- lin to make my husband some shirts. I never have one moment of time to rest or to improve my mind. Mrs.. Armstrong — You poor woman ! You must not overwork yourself. Mrs. Nelson — How can I help it ? You know it is the lot of all women. If we can only make our husbands happy, and bring up our children to be useful members of society, we should never be discontented or complain. Mrs. Armstrong — (Takes up book from table) — What is this ? Oh, I see, I hope you have not been reading it. Mrs. Nelson — That book? Oh, no! I wouldn't look at it for anything. My husband brought it home last night for me to read, but I told him I hadn't a moment of time to do so. Mrs. Armstrong — My husband said it wasn't a pro^ per book at all for a woman to read, or even for a man. Mrs. Nelson — Is it possible ? I didn't suspect it, for I haven't looked into it. I wonder John brought it to me. But then he knows / can safely read anything, for my principles are so firmly fixed. How happy a woman should be when her husband can trust her ! Well, I 'm glad you told me, for if I had found a little time after my sewing was done, I might have turned over a few pages. And though my husband is so careless, I think women can not be too particular what they read. Mrs. Armstrong — Yes, so I think. But really, I must be going. Mrs. Nelson — Don't think of it. You haven't stayed any time yet. Mrs. Armstrong — {Rising) — But I must, indeed I wish I could stay longer. ^ STERLING DIALOGUES 18? Mrs. Nelson — Well, if you mad go, I can't compel you to stay. But do ct)ine soon and spend the entire day with me. You know there is nobody whom I am so glad to see as yourself. And you must be sure to bring this little darling with you. Mrs. Armstrong — Well, do come and see me, my dear Mrs. Nelson. Mrs. Nelson — I will certainly, if I can ever spare the time from my work. ( They kiss.) Mrs. Armstrong — Good morning. Mrs. Nelson — Good morning, dear. (Exit Mrs. Armstrong and Minnie.) There, she's gone at last, and I 'm so glad. The mean, spying thing ! She thought she had caught me on that novel, but I don't think she found out much. If she waits until I want to see her be- fore she comes again, she will be old and gray. My whole morning has been wasted with her call. So now I will go and take my lunch, and then make another attempt to sit down and finish the book before John comes home and discovers me reading it. [Exit Mrs. Nelson [ Curtain.'] 188 STERLING DIALOGUES A FRIGHTENED LODGER. CHARACTERS :— Hezekiah Scruggins. Alexander Addison. Pat Mulravey. Landlord. Scene. — Room in a Hotel. Enter Hezekiah. Hez. — Wall, I 'spose I'll hev tew stop here and stay over night. This ain't much of a room, neither, tew put sich a feller as Hezekiah Scruggins intew. The landlord sez as heow they are awfully crowded, and if another feller should happen tew come, I s'pose he'd chuck him in along o' me. Neow I'd rayther not hev a companyun on the present occasion, but I reckon ef anybody comes in it will hev tew be endoored. I 'most wish I hadn't come tew this big agerculteral fair. It ain't nothin' but push and scrouge from mornin' till night. (Sits down.) I'm most tarnation tired. I've been a trampin' reound all this blessed day, and haven't seen nothin' of much acceount neither. I wish I was tew hum. If I know myself I'll strike eout fur that same hum to-morrow evenin'. {Noise out- side.) Hullo ! thar's a trampin' at the door. I 'spose my pardner is a comin'. If I am tew have a compan- yun, I hope he'll be a respectable-lookin' feller. {Door is opened, and Landlord ushers in Alexander Addi- son. Hezekiah rises. Exit Landlord.) Alex. — Well, my friend, it seems that we are to /odge together to-night. Hez. — Yaas, so it seems. This ain't an awful good STERLING DIALOGUES li^^ room, but I reckon we'll hev tew put up with it, seein as heow all the houses are so much crowded. Alex. — I feel very tired, and shall sit down to rest. Be seated, my friend ; don't let my coming disturb you. Hez. — No, yeou ain't disturbin' me, not in the least (Aside.) That feller's got a quare look abeout him, I'm mighty 'fraid thar's somethin' wrong. Alex. — Why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable? If you have travelled around as much as I have to-day you certainly feel like resting. Hez. — I guess I'll step reound a spell ; I don't feel like sittin'. (Aside.) By thunder, I believe that's the crazy man that is a runnin' areound. He answers tew the description. Alex. — (Goes to door and locks it) — I guess I'll shut out all intruders. That money-loving landlord would likely crowd a couple more into this room if they should ask for lodging. Well, we are bosses now, Mr. ' I forgot to ask your name. Hez. — My name is Hezekiah Scruggins, at yeour sarvice. Alex. — And mine is Alexander Addison. Hez. — (Aside) — Good gracious ! I don't know what on airth I'll dew. But I must git eout o' this. It '11 never dew tew stay here. He has locked the door, and one of his crazy spells will come on soon. By gosh, I don't know what's tew be done. I am in the tbird story, and can't jump eout of a window — no sir! that might make a finisli of me. But I must do somethin' soon. What an ugly eye he has! Alex. — (Aside) — Tliat's a rascally-looking fellow. He doesn't seem inclined to talk, and he goes around as if he wanted to do something desperate. 1 really think he is a robber or a pickpocket. They say there 190 STERLING DIALOGUES were plenty of them on the fair-grounds to-day. ) wish I was out of this. Hez. — (Aside) — I guess as heow I'll holler. I'm most afeared tew dew so, tew, fur he would immedi- ately spring upon me. {To Alex.) Yeou'd better unlock that door agin, hadn't yeou? Alex. — And why should I unlock the door? Hez. — (In a frightened tone) — I — I — guess I'll — go deown stairs agin. Alex. — All right, you can go. Will you come back? (^s Alexander goes to unlock the door he passes close h Hezekiah, who thinks he is trying to catch hold of him, Hez. jumps to one side and shouts :) Hez. — Murder! murder! Alex. — (Aside) — That's a pickpocket ; I feel certain of it. He is trying to get up an excitement for the purpose of robbing somebody. (Advancing towards Hez.) I know your true character, sir, and I have a good mind to knock you down. Hez. — It's coming on ! It's coming on ! Oh, what will I dew ? Good gracious ! what'll I dew ? Alex. — None of your nonsense, now ; I understand you, and if you raise any more noise I'll give you a beating. Hez. — (Shouting) — Oh, gracious ! let me eout I Land* lord ! Landlord ! Alex. — Stop your noise, I say. You are a pick> pocket ; I know you are. and I'll have you arrested if you don't clear out. Hez. — Oh, he's gittin' wusser and wusser ! I wish I had stayed to hum. (Knock at door. Opened by Alex. Enter Landlord and others.) Landlord — What's the meaning of this rumpus? Hez. — Yeou've put a crazy man in here with ma STERLING DIALOGUES 191 It ie awful. I'm scared tew death. He has tried to ketch me. Oh, it is dreadful ! Alex. — There's not a word of truth in that, and he knows it. I am aware of his true character. He is one of the many pickpockets that Avere on the fair- grounds to-day. Look out for your pockets ! He is only trying to get up an excitement to get a crowd gathered around. Hez. — That's allers the way crazy people talk. I read abeout him in the papers, and I've hearn people talk abeout him, and he answers tew the description exactly. I tell yeou, yeou'd better look eout. He may do a great deal of mischief Alex. — (7b Landlord) — Don't mind him, he is frightened about nothing. I doubt not you have heard of me. My name is Alexander Addison, and I flatter myself that I do not act very much like a mad- man. Landlord — (To Hez.) — My friend, I think you have become frightened unnecessarily. And (To Alex.) I think you wrong the gentleman wlien you accuse him of being a pickpocket. My advice is, make friends again, and sit down and rest yourselves. Alex. — No, sir ; I do not choose to room with a man who has insulted me by saying that I look like a crazy person. I'll sleep in the street first. Hez. — Wall, I don't keer where yeou sleep, but I'm mighty sartin yeou'll not sleep with me. Yeou may be all right abeout the upper story, but I doubt it the blamedest. Alex. — Be careful, greeny, or I'll knock you down. Hez. — Then; ! T tolfl yeou he warn't square ; the fit's comin' on agin. Better git him away as quick as possible. 192 STERLING DIALOGUES Alex. — Dunce ! I will go. I don't wish to be in the same house with such a scarey youth. Landlord — Stay, I think I can accommodate you. And ( To Pat Mulravey, who came in with the Land- lord) stranger, as you wanted lodging, I think I can accommodate you, too. {To Hez.) This gentleman came in a few minutes ago. I will let him room with you to-night, and I hope you will get along smoothly. Hez. — {Aside) — He's a rough-looking customer. {To Landlord.) I'll try and endoor him. Pat — What's that ye say, ye blackguard ? Endoor me ! Be the howly St. Patrick, I giss I'll have to do all the endoorin. Ye'r a mighty outspoken chap, onyhow, and I've a mind to give ye a tap on the nose jist to bring ye to yer sinsis. Hez. — I beg yeour parding, sir ; it was a mere slip of the tongue. Pat — Well, be mighty careful not to let yer tongue slip again or be the powers I'll give it a twist that will sthop it av slippin'. Landlord — It seems that you can get along together, and so I will leave you. Pat — Niver fear about that, Mr. Landlord ; we'll git along first rate. This is a nice enough feller, on'y a little scarey about crazy people. [^Exit Landlord, Alexander, and others. Pat — {Aside) — Be the powers, I'll give him a scare worth talkin about. I'll act the crazy man a dale of a sight better'n that other feller did, and if I don't scare him right, thin my name isn't Pat Mulravey. (7b Hez.) Me name is Pat Mulravey. And what is your name? Hez. — Hezekiah Scruggins, at yeour sarvice, sir. Pat — Hezekiah Scruggins, at ye'r sarvice, sir I Well, STERLING DIALOGUES 19Jl that's a mighty long name. I'll call ye Scrooggins for short. Yez thought that was a crazy feller, didn't yez? Hez. — Yaas, I had hearn tell that thar was a crazy man loose, and I had read abeout him, and as the feller answered tew the description I thought he must be the one. Pat — Faix, I am the crazy feller — I im that, mesilf I am as crazy as iver Nickey Mulrooney was. Nickey Mulrooney lived in the town av Cork and was a broth av a boy. Hez. — Pooh ! Yeou air tryin tew frighten me. I rayther guess I'll not be so much alarmed ag'in. Pat — (Aside) — I'll fetch him yet, see if I don't. (7b Hez.) I'm a rale pacible b'y until the spill comes upon me and thin I git mighty obstepeevious. Hez. — Obstepeevious ! what is that ? Pat — I'll tell ye, sir. Whin a b'y gits obstepeevious fj/i! can do most onything ; he can fight, run, jump, knock fellers down and tear round like the very old Nick. I am an Irishman, sir. Hez. — I supposed yeou were. The Irish air a clever people. Pat — Faix, and ye'r right there, and they're a mighty smashin set too whin they get into the smashin humor. That crazy Nickey Mulrooney I was tellin yez of, he could fling four or five b'ys out av a third story windy before breakfast in the marnin, and make nothin av it, sir. And I tell ye he made things sthand around whin he got into a bit av a shindy. Be the powers, I feel mesilf gittin a little obstepeevious whin I think about it, and I've a kind of a notion jist to thry and show ye how he made things jingle whin the «phell wag on him. 194 STERLING DIALOGUES Hez. — Oh, Mr. Mulravey, )'eou needn't dew that 1 I'll ^.ake yeour word for it. {Aside.) Good gracious ! 1 believe he is a crazy man. But I don't like to run away. Jemimy Wiggins allers said I was a skeery feller, but I'll try and be brave on this occasion ; I'll stand and face the danger. Pat — Be the powers, that snakin landlord shan't git in here any more. He's an ugly blackguard, onyhow, and I'll kape him from sthickin his nose into this place. Hez. — Oh, dear ! he has locked the door. I wonder if he isn't only tryin tew frighten me. But he looks desp'rit. (To Pat.) Why did yeou lock the door, Mr. Mulravey ? Pat — That oogly landlord shan't coom a walkin in here jist whiniver we git up a little breeze. I'll larn him better than to do that. Faix, and I will. You and me may have a bit av a shindy soon and it'll be betther to kape that blackguard av a landlord on the outside. Don't ye think so, Mr. Scrooggins ? Hez. — Wall, neow, tew tell yeou the truth abeout the matter, Mr. Mulravey, I'd prefer to have the door un- locked. Pat — And I'd prefer to have it locked, and shure that's jist where we differ, Misther Scrooggins. I feel about as sthrong as a forty horse ingine and I giss I'll be boss on this occasion. (Pat gets up on a chair and crows like a rooster.) Whoop ! This is better than Donnybrook fair. This is the hist fair I've been at in the whole blissid counthry. (S?iouts.) Hurra ! I want to knock somebody down. Hurra for a bit av a shindy ! Hez. — {Aside) — Oh. gracious! he must be crazy! I wish Mr. Addison had stayed here. Pat — Come here, me darlint. Let us have a bit av a jig. Ain't yez a thripper ? STERLING DIALOGUES 196 Hez. — No, no ; keep o&\ I don't want yeou tew touch me. Go and dance by yeourself, PAT--Faix, an' I can't do that. It's agin the natur of the Mulraveys to dance alone whin there's a foine- lookin famale about. Come, Miss Scrooggins, let us have a dance. Hez. — Oh, no, no ! Keep off or I'll shout. Pat — Shout! An what good will shoutin do, I'd like to know. Faix, the landlord is down in the first sthory and ye might yill for an hour and he wouldn't hear anything at all, at all. Hez. — I'll burst the door open if yeou don't stop bothering me. Pat — Burst the door open ! Ye blackguard, ye can't do that while I've got an arrum on me neck and a head on me showlder. Shure I could knock ye into the middle of Janewary afore ye'd know what I was about. Hez. — (Aside) — Oh, if I was eout of this scrape I'd start for hum on the double quick. (To Pat.) Can't yeou sit deown for a while ? I am tired and I think yeou ought tew be too. Pat — Be two ! Be me sowl, it's as much as I can do to be one. But if ye bees tired, Mr. Scrooggins, sit down and I'll sit on top av yez. There is only one substantial chair an' I wouldn't be mindin me manners if I'd sit on it and let ye squat on the flure by yersilf. (In a lovd voice.) Sit down, Mr. Scrooggins, sit down. D'ye mind me now? Bedad if yez don't sit down I'll sthrike ye a lick abowt the middle and knock ye clane out av the windy. Hez, — (Situ on floor) — Wall, I'll sit deown to accom- modate yeou. I hope yeou'll be quiet neow. Pat — (Aside)— Faix, I've got him purty badly scared 196 STERLING DIALOGUES i giss I'd betther boost him up a little and give nim a run around the ring. (To Hez.) Mr. Scrooggins, git up. Yez has got to act " Black Hawk " and I'll be " Mazeppa " and we'll tear round the track jist as the horses did to-day at the fair. Won't that be fun? Hez. — (Aside) — Oh, how crazy he is ! But he doesn't 3eem disposed tew dew anything desp'rit, and so I had better humor him. (Gets up.) Pat — Now, thin, Mr. Scrooggins, yez may run once around the track, thin I'll set in and go it like lightnin. I giss it would be betther, Mr. Scrooggins, for ye to purtind to be ridin the Black Hawk horse, and I'll be ridin Mazeppa, and thin we can holler at thim and lick thim up and make thim sthreak it. Won't that be betther, Mr. Scrooggins ? Hez. — Yes, anything to please yeou, Mr. Mulravey. But hadn't yeou better unlock the door before yeou commence ? Pat— Unlock the door, ye spalpeen ? No, sir; don't ye know the horses might run out av the ring if the door was open? Bedad an I don't want the horses to git away. Now, Mr. Scrooggins, ye are to ride Black Hawk. Git on and make him go his bist, and I'll be afther ye in a twinklin. I'll give yez the word. Go ! (Hezekiah commences to run around the room. Pat stands in the centre and shouts.) He'p ! Hi ! Git ! Faster, ye lazy ould blackguard ! Go it, now ! Bedad, ye can't trot worth a cint. (Hezekiah after running a few times round the room stops almost out of breath.) Hez. — I thought yeou was a goin tew ride a boss tew. Pat — An so I am, me darlint. But I want to git ould Black Hawk perty well run down afore I set in. Now go it again. (Pat shouts. Hezekiah commences STERLING DIALOGUES 197 to Tun again?) Git up, Black Hawk, ye lazy ould black* guard ! H'ep ! Hi ! Git along ! Go it ! Limber out, ye stiff ould spalpeen! Mr. Scrooggins, ye must holler at yer horse and purtind to be a lickin him. (Hezekiah shouts and motions as if whipping his horse.) Hez.— Hi ! Git eout ! Wake up, Black Hawk ! G'lang ! Pat — Now, old Mazeppa, we'll go in. (Follows after Hezekiah, shouting) Hi ! Go it, ye blackguard ! He'p ! Hi ! Git along ! Be jabers this is the biggest kind o' fun ! Hi ! Go it, Scrooggins ! I'm gainin on yez ! Hi ! Git along, Scrooggins ! {Noise at door.\ Landlord — (Speaks outside) — What is the meaning of all this noise ? Open the door. Pat — Don't mind him, Scrooggins. (TJiey continue running.) Hi! Git along there, ye blackguard! Hi! Ho ! Ye'r comin in on the home-stretch now. Hi ! Landlord — (Shouting) — Open the door, I say ; open It instantly ! Pat — Scrooggins, go it! Ye'r ould Black Hawk is givin out. Go it ! Hi ! Be the powers I'm going to mn the race. Hi ! Landlord — (Shouts again) — Open the door, I say, of [HI have you arrested. (They stop running.) Pat — Scrooggins, darlint, the people bees comin to see the race. We'll let them in an thin we'll go it Jgain. (Goes to open tlie door,) Hez. — (Comes to front of stage) — Oh, gracious! Oh, dear ! I'm clean run deown. (Panting.) I'm all eout of breath. Oh, dear I (I* at opens door. Enter JjA'sulord.) Landlord — What is the moaning of all this noise? Vou have alarmed tlie whole liouse. Pat — Faix, we've been bavin a jolly time; it wint laead av Donnybrook fair. Me and Scrooggins has >een ridin around the ring. He rid I^lack Hawk and I X98 STERLING DIALOGUES rid Mazeppa. Ob, how we did make thim horses spiix We were jist comin in on the home-stretch. I tell yez, that Mazeppa is a darlint ! Landlord— Well, sir, I don't choose to have my room changed into a race-course. One of you musi leave. Kez.— (Still panting)— V\\ go ! I'll go ! I wouldn't stay here over night for a thousand dollars — by hokey, I wouldn't ! 'Pat— {Aside)— Be jabers, ould Black Hawk's about give out. (To Hez.) Me darlint, I'd like ye'd sthay. Ye are a spinner to run, and I'd like to see ye go it again. Hez. — No ! no ! I'll not stay ! I'd as leave stay in a lunatic asylum. ( To Landlord.) Better look eout for him; he's a rail crazy tick. [Exit Hezekiah. Pat— (To Landlord) — Be jabers, that's a badly scared b'y. He thought that other man was a mad- man, and I took a notion I'd be afther showin him what a rale madman was. Landlord — Yes, and you have aroused all my 2odgers. But I'll forgive you if you go to bed and keep quiet the rest of the night. Pat— Faix, and I'll do that, fur I'm mighty tired 'fter batin old Sweepstakes. lExii LandlorIa JSntertainment Books for Yoang People Choice Humor By Cheirle^ C. Shoem&ker For Reading and Recitation To prepare a book of humor that shall be free from anything that is coarse or vulgar on the one hand, and avoid what is flat and insipid on the other, is the difficult task which the compiler set for himself, and which he has successfully accomplished. The book has been prepared with the utmost care, and it will be found as interesting and attractive for private reading as it is valuable for public entertainment. V- Choice Dia^Iect By Chislej" C. Shoem&ker For Reading and Recitation This book will be found to contain a rare and valuable collec- tion of Irish, German, Scotch, French, Negro, and other dialects, and to represent every phase of sentiment from the keenest humor or the tenderest pathos to that which is strongly dramatic. It affords to the amateur reader and the professional elocutionist the largest scope for his varied abilities, and is entirely free from any- thing that would offend the most refined taste. Choice Dialogues By Mry. J. W. Shoem&.ker For School and Social Entertainment Entirely new and original. The topics have been arranged on a comprehensivi; plan, with reference to securing the greatest possi- ble variety, and tlie inaitur has been specially prepared by a corps of alile writers, their aijn being to secure loftiness of conception, purity of tone, and adaplahility to the needs of amateurs. It is an all-round dialogue book, being suited to children and adults, and to Sunday-schools and day-schools. It is conceded to be one of the best dialogue books in print. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Entertainment Books for Young People Comic Dialogue./ By John R. Dennis This is the something "real funny," which every boy and girl prefers, but there is nothing coarse in it. It is suitable for school or church use anywhere. The dialogues are arranged for from two to a dozen or more children. A few, like " Vilikens " and " The Head- less Horseman," employ music. " Our Lysander" is a real little play. Some ofthe dialogues are: Innocents Abroad, Artist's Dream, Aunt Dinah and Columbus, Taking the Census, Strictly Confiden- tial, etc. Humorous Dialogues and Dramas By Cheo-ley C. Shoem&.ker If there is anything more enjoyable than a humorous reading or recitation it is a keen, pointed, humorous dialogue. Thecompiler, with the largest resources and widest experience in literature for entertainment purposes, has produced one of the rarest, brightest, jolliest books ot mirth-provoking dialogues ever published. Much ofthe matter was prepared especially for this work. The dialogues are adapted to old and young of both sexes, and while often keenly witty, are wholly free from coarseness and vulgarity. Classic Dialogues arid dramas By Mr^. J. W. Shoemivker This unique work will prove not only interesting and profitable for purposes of public and social entertainment, but also instruct- ive and valuable for private reading and study. The book com- prises popular scenes judiciously selected from the plays of Shakes- peare, Sheridan, Bulwer, Schiller, and other dramatists, and each dialogue is so arranged as to be complete in itself Many of the exercises may be given as readings or recitals, and will prove acceptable to audiences of the highest culture and refinement. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Entertainment Books for Young People Sterling DI&.lo£(ues By Williii.m M. Clark The dialogues comprising this volume have been chosen from a large store of material. The contributions are from the pens of the most gifted writers in this field of literature, and the topics are so varied and comprehensive that they are readily adapted to the needs of Schools, Academies, and Literary Societies. They are especially suited for Social Gatherings and Home Amusement, as the stapine required is simple and easily obtained. Model Dialogues By Williivin M. Clark The dialogues comprising this collection have been contributed by over thirty of America's best writers in this field of literature. They represent every variety of sentiment and emotion, from the extremely humorous to the pathetic. Every dialogue is full of life and action ; the subjects are well chosen, and are so varied as to suit all grades of performers. The book is especially adapted for School Exhibitions, Literary Societies, and Sunday-school and Social Gatherings. Standard Di&.lo^ues By Rev. Alexander Cl&rk, A. M. The author's name is a guaranty of the excellence of this book. His long experience as a lecturer before Teachers' Institutes, and his close study of tlie teachers' needs, his lofty ideals of education and of life, his refinement of taste, diversity of attainment, and versatility of expression, all combine to qualify him in an eminent degree for the prep^iration of such a volume. For both teacher and entertailier this book has special points of merit, as the dia- logues are interesting as well as instructive. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Matertalnment Books for Toung People Schoolday Dialogues By Rev. Alexander Cleurk, A. M. This book of dialogues, prepared for use in School Enter- tainments, furnishes great diversity of sentiment and diction. Although for the most part composed of serious or pathetic subject- matter, there will be found many humorous dialogues and much good material for the little folks, as well as for the older ones. The staging and costuming are of the simplest character, and are so fully described as to make the task of preparation quite easy, even for the novice. Popular Dialogues By Phine&s Gtirrett The author's large experience in the Entertainment and Amuse- ment field has qualified him for the preparation ot a book of unusual merit. No work of this kind more fully meets the popu- lar demand for interesting and refined entertainment. In this collection will be found dialogues to suit every occasion, either for public entertainment or for a social evening at home. Humor and pathos are pleasantly blended, and provision is made for the wants of the young and the old, the grave and the gay, the expe- rienced and the.ioexperienced. £xcelsior Dialogues By Phine&.s Garrett This book is composed of original dialogues and colloquies designed for students in Schools and Academies, and prepared expressly for this work by a corps of professional teachers and writers. Comedy and tragedy are provided in due proportion, and the moral tone of the work is of the highest order. Teachers will here find just the material for which they have been search- ing, something with plot enough to hold the attention and that will command the best efforts of the older pupils. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Entertainment Books for Yonng People Fancy Drills and Marche*/* By Alice M. Kellogg Children enjoy drills, and this is the most successful drill book ever published. It has more than fifty new ideas— drills, marches, motion songs and action pieces. Among them are a Sifter Drill, Ribbon March with Grouping and Posing, Pink Eose Drill, Christ- mas Tree Drill, Delsarte Children, Zouave Drill, Wreath Drill and March, Glove Drill, Tambourine Drill, March of the Red, White and Blue. Teachers will be especially pleased with the care given to the exercises for the smaller children. All of the drillaiire fully illustrated. Ided.1 Drills By M2>,rguerite W. Morton This book contains a collection of entirely new and original drills, into which are introduced many unique and effective features. The fullest descriptions are given for the successful pro- duction of the drills, and to this end nearly 100 diagrams have been inserted showing the different movements. Everything is made so clear that anyone can use the drills without the slightest difficulty. Among the more popular and pleasing drills are : The Brownie, Taper, Maypole, Rainbow, Dumb-hell, Butterfly, Sword, flower. Ring, Scarf, Flag, and Swing Song and Drill. Eureka Bntertainments The title of this volume expresses in a nutshell the character of Hb contents. The weary searcher after material for any kind of entertainment will, upon examination of this book, at once exclaim, "1 have found it." Here is just wliat is wanted for use in day-school, Sunday-school, at church socials, teas, and other festivals, for parlor or fireside amusement, in fact, for all kinds of school or home, public or private entertainments. The work is characterized by freshness and originality throughout. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Entertainment Books for Young People Special Day Exerciser* By Amos M. Kellogg Almost every week iu the school year has its birthday of a national hero or a great writer. Washington, Michael Angelo, Shakespeare, Longfellow, Holmes, Browning and Emerson are among those the children learn to know from this book. The holi- days, Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day are not for- gotten ; and in between are many happy suggestions for tree plant- ing, for bird and flojver lessons, and debates. Christmas Selections By Rosamond Livingstone McN:)>.ught For Readings and Recitations Sunday schools, day schools, the home circle, all demand ma- terial for Christmas entertainments, and all want something new and appropriate. This book contains just what is wanted, l.very piece is absolutely new, not a single one having previously been published iu any book. It contains recitations, in prose and poetry, for every coucei\ able kind of public or private entertain- ment at Christmas time. Holiday Selections By Sara Sigoumey Rice For Raadings and Recitations The selections in this volume are adapted to all the difierent holidays of the year and are classified accordingly. Fully half of the pieces are for Christmas, but ample provision is also made for New Year's, St. Valentine's Day, Washington's Birthday, Easter, Arbor Day, Decoration Day, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving. ,' The pieces are unusually bright, and the variety under each holi- ' day will afford the fullest opportunity for a satisfactory choice; ' the older students and the little ones alike will find something Buite.d to their different degrees of ability^ THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA I Entertainment Books for Young Peo}opl€ Holiday Entertainments By ChstLflej C. Shoemaker Absolutely new and original. There are few things more popu lar during the holiday season than Entertainments and Exhibi- tions, and there is scarcely anything more ditticult to procure than new and meritorious material appropriate for such occasions , This book is made up of short dramas, dialogues, tableaux, recitations, etc., introducing many novel features that give the spice and sparkle so desirable for such occasions. It is adapted to the full round of holidays, containing features especially prepared for Christmas, New Year's, Washington's Birthday, Easter, Deco- ration Day, Fourtli of July, and Thanksgiving. Spring and Summer School Celebration*/* By Alice M. Kellogg This book shows how to capture "all outdoors" for the school room. Every warm weather lioliday, including May Day, Memorial Day, Clo.sing Day, is represented ; for each the book offers from ten to thirty new suggestions. Tableaux, pantomimes, recitations, marches, drills, songs aiul special programs, provide exactly the right kind -^f material for Spring exercises of auy sort. The drills and action ister, Everett, IMiillips, Curtis, Blaine, Beeclier, Grady, Cleveland, McKinley, and Depew may serve to suggest the standard of the selections. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA A^ atertainment Books for Vonng People ^per&nce Selections By John H. Bechtel For Readings and Recitations US have been taken from the utterances of pulpit tie speeches of political leaders, and from the pens ^. They depict the life of the drunkard, point out .innings of vice, and illustrate the growth of the habit after another is sipped amid the pleasures and gayeties life. This volume appeals to human intelligence, and ivords of truth andjirisdom that cannoi be gainsaid. / Sunday-School Selections / By John H. Bechtel For Readings and Recitations This volume contains about 150 selections of unusual merit. Among them something will be found adapted to every occasion aid condition where a choice reading or recitation may be wanted. Suitable provision has been made for the Church Social, the Sun- day-school Concert, Teachers' Gatherings, Christian Endeavor Societies, Anniversary occasions, and every assemblage of a relig- ious or spiritual character. Besides its value for readings and recitations, the pastor will find much in it to adorn his sermon, and the superintendent points by which to illustrate the Sunday- school lesson. Sunday-School Entertainments All new and original. The demand for a book of pleasing and appropriate Sunday-school entertainments is here supplied. The articles are largely in the nature of dialogues, tableaux, recita- tions, concert pieces, motion songs, dramatized Bible stories, and responsive exercises, all based upon or illustrating some Biblical truth. Special care has been taken to make provision for such occasions as Christmas, New Year's, Easter, Thanksgiving, and the full round of celebrations, so that no time or season is with- out a subv?ct. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Entertainmeat Books for Yoang People Money M&.kin^ Entertainments By Lizzie J. Rook and Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow There is no better way to raise money for church, school, or be- nevolent purposes than by means of entertainments. This unique volume contains a great abundance of new and original material especially prepared for such occasions by two writers of wide ex- perience in this line of work. In addition to the money making features there is also a large variety of entertainments and socials for home use. Tableaux, Charades, and Pantomimes This attractive volume is adapted alike to Parlor Entertain- ments, School and Church Exhibitions, and for use on the Amateur Stage. The department of Tableaux is unusually complete. Only such scenes as can be produced with the smallest number of auxiliaries have been selected. Tableaux, with readings from standard authors, form a very attractive feature, as do also the statuary scenes. The volume has recently been enlarged by the addition of a number of new and original charades, which add greatly^to tlje attractiveness of the book. School and Parlor Comedies By B. L. C. Griffith The dialogue is so spirited that the lines almost play themselves, 8o that the plays are sure to be acceptable even in the hands of only fairly competent performers. The situations are ingenious, and the plots are such as command the attention of an audience at the outset and hold it until the last line is givfu. The plays differ widely in character, thus affording an unusual variety. The scenery required in any instance is not difficult and may be easily arranged in the class room or in the private parlor. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Bntertainmeni Books for Tonne People Monologues and Novelties By B. L. C. Griffith In addition to the large number of new and original monologues In this book, it contains also a large collection of other features— ■uch, for instance, as a Shadow Pantomime, a Chinese Wedding, a Recitation with Lesson Help, a Play, a Monologue in Panto- mime, etc. The entertainments vary in length from five to twenty-five minutes, and are all of a high order of excellence. The book is brim full of the choicest and most artistic forms of enter- tainment. Sketches, Skits and Stunts By John T. Mclntyre Good vaudeville material, amateur or professional, is hard to get. This book contains au abundance of the best for both classes, all written to order by one who knows how to do it well. There are jokes, monologues, dialogues, stories, songs, sketches, parodies, short farces, and talking acts of the rapid-flre variety, all constructed for strictly laughing purposes. How to Become a Public Speaker By William Pittenger This work shows in a simple and concise way how any person of ordinary perseverance and good common sense may become a ready and effective public speaker. lie is here directed how to gather thoughts, how to arrange them to the best advantage, and how to form clear outlines. He is then told how to overcome timidity, how to secure ease and fluency of language, and how to acquire such a mastery of the arts of the orator as will give him «»Aafidence and power. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY \ >j««ni oui '•JUJt \l|1ll Jl^*^ ^OFCAIIIFO/?^ C_3 CALIFO/?;]^ ^\WEUNIVER% or CO '^^ v^lOS-ANCElfj> o %JI3AINfl3WV v^lOSANCElfj> avaaii-1^ ^^^AavaaiHS^"^ ^ mwmih f 33NVS01^ ^^WSANCElfX;^ ^OFCAllFOfi!^ ^OFCAllFO/?/!^ %a3AiNn-3WV^ "^^(^AHvaani^ '"^ > -< %a3AINn-3WV^ CAIIFOI?^ ^avaairi^ ^OFCAllFO% \WEUNIVERS/A c^ S ^J5130NVS01^ ^lOSANCElfj-^ '^/5J13AINfl-3WV mo/: p. LIFO/?^ ^ s^ ^^SlllBRARYO^^ ^ Ct ^ vtKiy/i o u_ ^■sov<^ 2 if' )^ji Ur