@10I6eJ)! UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES Choice Dialogues Ji Collection of JHew and Original Dialogues for School and Social Entertainment Edited by Mrs. J. W, SHOEMAKER "' ''' .', I I r* •'- r\ •■ ' *. - Philadelphia The Penn Publishing Company 149273 Bntered accoi-ding to Act of Congress, in the year 1888, by THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ELOCUTION AND OBATOBY, In tha OflBce of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. COPYKIGHT 1914 BY MrS. J. W. SHOEMAKER • : v; - - "\ ; i ... : \ ■; ' i ;♦ • « o c to s Ruggles, head of the firm. Habby Mitchell, an office-boy. Ragged Tom," the applewoman's son. (8CENE.~^n office; table in the centre, with pens, ink, and pajjer upon it; chair behind it, also several chairs about right and left of stage. Harry Mitchell discovered seated on comer of table swinging his legs and holding half a dozen letters in his hand. Harry (soliloquizing as he looks over the addresses on ihn tetters). — Ruggles & Co., 29 Bond Street ; Messrs. Nicholaa Ruggles & Co.; Ruggles & Co.; Mr. Nicholas Ruggles One, two, three, four, five, six letters this moruiug for the firm. That's for us ; but theu, you see, I don't open thefirm'a letters. No, the senior partner does that — Mr. Ruggles, that ia I'm only the Co. I must be the Co., for there ia no othei Co. about. Mr. Ruggles says that those two let- ters, that " C " and that little " o" at the end of the line, add greatly to the effect on the general public — give weight to the house, and all that, you know. He says he don't mind my calling myself the Co., provided it don't make me too proud to be office-boy and sweep out the place, build the fire, wind the clock, and run the errands. Well, I don't ^hiuk it will. I don't mind working. Mr. Rugglea says U ? suoaO:8 & Co. 1 work very hard and am a good boy and save my money, 8ome day I may be the Co. in earnest, and share the firm's profits. And they're big, they are. [Referring to the letters^ which he still holds.'\ These are orders, every one of 'em — orders for our watches — the best watches made for the money. " Warranted to keep seventieth meridian time 80 well that it can never get away from you." That's what Mr. Ruggles says. He's promised that I can have one when I save up ten dollars — have a real, genuine, eigh« teen dollar, wholesale, silver hunting-case, patent lever, fiill-jeweled, stem-winder when I save ten dollars ; and I've got nine dollar and fifty cents now. Fifty cents more, only fifty cents, Harry Mitchell, and you can carry a watch in your pocket that will . [Footsteps are heard outside. Harry springs down from table. Straightens pens, etc., and places letters under a paper-weight^ It's Mr. Rug- gles, I suppose. Wonder what's bringing him down so early this morning ! Fully fifteen minutes ahead of time, and he's usually as punctual to the minute as the handa on the watches he sells. (^Enter Ragged Tom, shivering, and looking pale, hungry^ and generally forlorn.) Tom (rubbing his hands). — By jiminy, aint it cold, though ! Can I come in awhile and git warm ? Harry. — Can you ? Why of course you can. Take a seat o rer the register and toast your toes. You look half frozen, ■ure enough. (^Ragged Tom comes forward, seats himself on a tthaiVi n^kd hangs his feet over imaginary register.) Tom. — That's jolly, that is. [^Slill rubbing his hands.'} I kaven't been warm for two days, I haveo't, and poor mother is almost frozen to death up in our old attic I iri«h I could take some of this heat home to her. KUGGLES & CO. B Harry. — I wish you could, for we've enough and to spare here, I'm sure. What's your name ? Tom. — Ragged Tom, they call me. Mother's name's Mrs. ISIackiu. Kitty — Old Kitty — some people call her. She used to sell apples down here in the doorway of this buildiug till she got down with the rheumatism. Since then she hasn't heen able to get out. Now she's got the fever, and I'm afraid she's going to die ; it's so cold up in our garret. Harry. — Why don't you move ? Tom. — It would kill her to move her, they say, and be- sides, we haven't any money — not enough to get a fire or a crust to eat even, let alone pay for a doctor. We're in a bad way, we are. I've tried so hard for work, too, but I can't get it, and when I beg I get cursed at and laughed at, and told to be off and work for money, as other boys have to do. Harry. — I'm sorry for you, Tom. Tom. — Are you ? Harry. — That I am! And I want to help you. Tom. — Oh ! will you ? If you could only save mother's lifa Harry. — I will if I can, I'm not rich, Tom, but I've got enough to get you a fire and something to eat, and enough to pay for a doctor to see your mother and give her some medicine. Kitty and I used to be great friends, we did, when she kept the apple-stand, and many a time she's given me an apple when I was hungry and hadn't a cent to pay for it. I'm not going to forget her now, [_Aside,'] No, not if I don't get my watch for ten yeaw to come, I won't. Tom (jumping up and dapping his hands'). — Oh ! how good you are I And have you really got money to do «Uthi8? 10 RUGQLES & CO, Harry. — I've saved up a little — nine dollars and a half. It's not much, to be sure, but what there is you and your mother shall have it, every peuny I I waa going to buy a watch. Tom. — I'll pay you some day. If mother only gets well I can black boots or sell papers or something, and 111 give you all I earn till I've paid you. Harry. — Every minute is precious, isn't it? Mr. Ruggles has my money locked up in the drawer there or you should have it now, Tom. But then he won't be long coming. If you're warm enough, suppose you run oflf after a doctor and send him to your mother. Tell him that Ruggles & Co. — ^Nicholas Ruggles & Co., that is — wish him to go. I'll foot the bill. Tom. — What is your name ? Harry. — I'm the Co. — Harry Mitchell, they call me — ■ but you needn't say that to the doctor. Do you see, Tom ? Hurry off now, and then come straight back and I'll have some money for you. Ihm. — You're awful good, you are, Harry Mitchell, Mr. Co., or whatever your name is, and mother and I won't forget you, we won't. (Exit Tom hurriedly. Harry resumes his place on tha corner of the table and begins soliloquizing again.') Harry. — Well, I'm not quite so near the watch as J thought I was; but then I couldn't see that little chap starve, and his mother — dear old Kitty, who has been so kind to me — die just because I wanted to be a swell and carry a ticker. Oh ! no. Maybe I'm a bad boy ! Maybe I am, but I'm not so bad as that, not by a large majority I'm not. [^Noise of footsteps outside again.'\ Ah, here cornea Mr. Ruggles for certain. [Jumps down from table Just at Mr. Buggies enters.'] BUGGLES & CO. 1) 3Ir. Buggies. — Ah, there you are I I want you to go a» errand immediately. Get your hat quick uow, and be off iiere's a note [iakiiig letter from Im pocket} which must bft delivered to Mr. Robinson down in the Exchauge building before uiue o'clock, aud it's five minutes of that time now. Oil' you go ! [Hcwry picks up Jm hat from a chair, takes the idler, and stops in front of Mr. Ruggles, who has seated himr- self at the table.} Marry. — Before I go, sir, won't you please give me — 3fi E. — I'll give you nothiug. Off with you, sir; quick now, and not another word. (Har^-y puts on his hat and makes his exit.) Mr. R. — What on earth did that boy want ? Maybe I was a little harsh w'ith him, but business is business, and there was no time to lose. Wanted his nine dollars and a half probably. Got tired of saviug to buy a watch, I tuppose, and wants to invest in a half dozen dime novels, ft revolver, a dirk-knife, and go West. Just like a boy. They're all the same ; though I did thiuk Harry was a little better than the average. [Begiiis opening his letters. Opens each in turn, glances at them, and sp)reads them out beside him. Takes up pen and commences to write. As he does so, the door opens and Ragged Tom pokes his head in. Mr. Buggies looks up-l No, we don't want any caatches ! Tom. — I'm not selling matches, sir; I'm — Mr. R. — Shoe blacking, shoe laces, needles, pins, button- fasteners, soap, lead pencils, etc., all the same; we don't want any. Tom {coming further in). — I haven't anything to sell, sir, I came to — Mr. R. — Came to beg, did you ? Well, we don't give to fceggars. We beloug to several Soup Societies and all out 12 RUGQLES & CO. money for charity goes that way. Get out now. Don't yon Bee I'm busy. Tom. — But, sir, I was to call back to see the boy — Co, he called himself, or something like that. Mr. R. — Ohl you want to see the Company do you? Hal ha! That's a good one. And what do you want to see the little chap for, eh ? Tom. — Please, sir, he promised to pay for a doctor for my mother, who is sick, and to get us some coal and some- thing to eat. Mr. R. — Who promised you all this? Tom. — The boy who called himself Co. I think he said some people call him Harry. Mr. R. — Ah I ha ! So he's going to spend his saving? on you, is he ? Well, if you're worthy of it I don't know but that I admire his generosity. You know he had saved that money to buy himself a watch, don't you? Tom. — He said something like that, sir ; but indeed I'll pay it all back to him — every cent — as soon as I can get work Mr. R: — And you want work, do you ? Tom. — Oh ! yes, sir ; very much. Mr. R. — And would you be a good boy, and att^d to business if I gave you a position here? Tom.—0\\ ! wouldn't I, though I (Sounds of footstejJS outside again.) Mr. R. — Sit down over there then, and keep very still while I attend to the Co. ( Tom sits down. Enter Harry.) Mr. R. (sharply). — Come here, sir. [^Harry walks to side «/ table.'] So you have determined to give away your hard. earned savings, have you? Harry. — I thought this poor boy and his mother oeeded k Bo much more than I did. RUGQLES & CO. 18 Mr. R. — Very well, then, you shall have it ; but how about your watch ? Harry. — Oh ! I can get along without that for a timeyet,sir, Mr. H. — You can, can you ? Well I think differently. You can't, as tlie tail end of this firm, get along svithout 9ne. To tell the truth, young man, I'm not altogether satisfied with you as an errand boy, and this action of yours has determined me to relieve you. Your services aa errand boy are no jnger required. Harry. — O Mr Kuggles ! I hope you won't — ■ Mr. R. — Not a word, sir. I have spoken. Your place is already filled. That youth on the chair there is to be your successor. Harry. — Am I discharged then, Mr. Ruggles? Mr. R. — Discharged! Not a bit of it, my boy; not a bit of it. I wouldn't think of discliarging a lad with a heart as big as yours. You will be a member of the firm in earnest some day, Harry. For the present, you are to be my clerk. You write a good hand, and you're getting too big to run errands. As I said, however, you can't get along without a watch ; so I'm going to give you one. And I'm going to do something for you [turning to Ragged Tom']. You had better stop with your mother until she is better and then you can come and take Harry's place. Tell me where you live, and Ruggles & Co. — that's Harry and I — will fix you up. [Taking bills from his pockef] Meanwhile, take this — it's the junior member's money— and see that your mother is comfortable. (Tom takes money and Harry, smiling, begins to tliank Mr, Ruggles.) Harry. — O sir! you are too good, Mr. Ruggles. I thank you more than I — Tom. — And I thank you too, sir! M THE GODS IN COUNCIL. Mr. E. — Never mind the thanks, boys. Wish the firn success, that's all I Tom and Harry {in chorus). — We do! We do ! Mr. Buggies. — Give three cheers for Ruggles & Co. I Tom and Harry [shouting). — Hurrah I Hurrah! Hurrah Success to Ruggles & Co. I [Curtain.] Charles Stokes Waynr THE GODS IN COUNCIL. CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES. JUPITEB, white chiton, purple drapery, golden staflF. Juno, white chiton, cardinal drapery, short golden staff, and crown. Mars, white chiton, cardinal drapery, helmet, shield, staif in form of speax all three silver. Neptune, green drapery, a silver trident and crown. Pluto, black chiton, yellow drapery, wooden scepter, yellow crown. Minerva, white chiton, blue drapery, silver helmet, shield, and spear. Apollo, white chiton, blue drapery, golden lyre. Vulcan, white chiton, black drapery, hammer. Vesta, white chiton, white drapery. Diana, cream-colored drapery, silver bows and arrows, with quiver at hei back. Ceres, white chiton, pink drapery, crown of cereals on her head, a lighted torch in her hand. Mercury, long gray stockings, short gray drapery streaming behind hka, winged cap and sandals, caduceus. (Shawls can be used to good effect in the drapery, while shields, spears, etc, ian be made of wood or pasteboard and covered with gold or silver paper.* {Enter Jupiter and Mercury from one side, and Juno from Ihe other.) Juno (addressing Jupiter). — My lord, do the gods assem- ble to-day in council ? Jupiter (turning to Mercury). — Mercury, go thou through khe corridors of Olympus and summon the gods to council THE GODS IN COUNCIL. Jj (^Mercury boivs and flies to do his bidding r Enter some oj the deities at one door, some at the other, and group themselves about Jupiter, who is seated on his throne.) Jupiter. — Give ear, all ye gods and goddesses, while I declare the thought withiu my breast. Let noue of either sex presume to sit iu this last diviue council of the eods without broad ideas, piercing thought, grave emotions and eloquent words. Now, what shall be the issue of the present state of af- fairs in heaven and among mortals? This is the question : Shall the gods try to regain their former relations to man and be worshiped throughout the earth or not ? Ye dwellers of the sky, in answering this question, first consider the great achievements of man incumbered by the dark clay of the earth, and then the aliility of the gods in the freedom of space. Know ye now, that I shall weigh yonr thoughts in the " scale of justice," and as the argument goes, so shall be the eternal conclusion of affairs. (Turning to Juno.) What think you, most wise goddesi and queen of the heavens? Juno. — As queen of all the gods and mistress of heaven and earth, I would regain my former power. It would be my greatest pleasure, as of old, to guard woman against byrauny and aid her iu the assertion of her rights. I would crown her untiring efforts, made through the long cen- turies, with victory, participating in her final triumph. The golden apple, though bestowed upon another, Avould no longer excite my envy. Because of man's increased ap- preciation of the talents and ability of woman, my powers as a goddess would no longer be undervalued, and all cause for jealousy would cease. Pluto. — Ye gods, '' great in action and in council wise," 16 THE GODS IN COUHCIL. once was I dire monarch in the kingdom of the lost, bul since the usurpation of my throne the cry of the oppressed sounds to mine ear from under the oi)pressor's fiery heel. Their cry doth rend my heart, and shall I idly listen to their wail ? By Styx ! I mean this tyrant's reign shall end ; and the fast increasing subjects of Hades shall rise to welcome Pluto's just and lawful reign. Awake, O Gods! "Why would ye bid to shun the coming fight? And would ye move to base, inglorious flight ? Know ye, 'tis not honest in your soul to fear." In time of old we reigned supreme, and all were subject to our power ; and shall we sleep while puny man with his inventions of these latter days defies our might? Up then, ye gods, and with united strength we will re- gain the kingdoms that rightfully are ours. Ne2')tune. — Most high and mighty Jupiter, who alone of all these is greater than I, it is to thee I address myargu- ment on this grave subject. Three thousand years ago the oceans and rivers were mine. The mountains and forests trembled as I walked. With a blow of my trident I raised islands out of the deep, and caused earthquakes at my pleasure. But, Jupiter, my old haunts are broken up ; the whales and dolphins no longer gambol about me ; my daughters are driven from their caves and grottoes. The discerning intellect of man has found the history of all our former greatness in natural laws. The Inmans, the Allans, and the Cunarders plow the mighty ocean with no thought of Poseidon to aid their swiftness, and no fear of his wrath, tn view of all this, I find THE GODS IN COUNCIL. 17 "All things invite to peaceful counsels and a settled st»t« Of order. Kow in safety best we may Compose our present evils, with regard Of what we are and were; dismissing quite All thoughts of war." 3/ars.— Great Jupiter, why need I wish for the power and rule of old, when I stop and reflect that in my youth nearly the whole ambition of the people was to prepare for war. A Spartan entered his public career as a soldier at the age of seven, and continued such until he was sixty ; but now, how is it ? Instead of gaining fame by excelling in brave deeds and daring exploits, they seek to build up their fame with what they call the finer arts, such as music, painting, and poetry. "When they do enter into conflict, it is not, as it used to be, power against power, but skill against skill ; by the invention of powder the weakest man in the whole army can put into execution the most cruel man- destroyer ever invented. No, Jupiter, with these conditions of affairs, I could do nothing, and would not even wish to have again the power and rule I once held over the kingdom of mankind. Minerva. — Father Jove and all ye blessed ones who live forever, let our sceptered King be gracious, mild, and merciful toward the mortal race. We know thy power is not to be withstood, yet are we moved with pity for the people made in our own image. Such has been their ad- vancement in the art and science of war, that, presumptu- ously relying on their unaided wisdom, they will not fear a combat even with celestial beings — a combat which to khem must end in an evil fate. \Yhy arouse them to their own destruction, O son of rtaturn I since then, alas I would there be none left to pay uf 18 THE GODS IN COUNCIL. homage? Let us rather trust that misguided man, led by hij couvictious and inherited sense of what is due to us as ira moiital beings, may of his own free will return to his formej allegiance and worship. This is the counsel of Minerva once in men's eyes the queen of wisdom, great and power- ful, and adored as the patroness and teacher of all just and scientific warfare, the instructress of every skillful artist. Vulcan. — So long have we rested peacefully from oui cares, I do not desire to again be placed upon earth to repeal the toils aud labors which it was my lot to undergo. We have reigned supreme as gods of the earth ; we, the mighl y have fallen ; we are cast from our S2:)heres and only wax and desolation can i-estore us. O, valiant gods and goddesses of excellency, brave and faithful to the last ; though overpowered, yet we are tri- umphant, for our honor will never die. Blest and glorious be thy name and race, O brave and honored Jupiter ! I am wearied with the anvil and hammer, so long have I wielded the strong and mighty strokes that forged the heavy thunderbolts of Jove, and now I long for rest. Vesta. — I am Vesta, the home goddess. I had ever a pure and uplifting influence on the soul of man, and every beartbstone was consecrated to my worship. I would that [ had my power back again, for then would I keep men From all evil ! I would strive to teach them the true path 3f life and make them true and faithful to their duties and loving toward all mankind. Apollo. — All powerful Jupiter, son of Saturn, mightiest Itmong the potentates in this most august assembly of the ^ods and goddesses, Phoebus Apollo speaks in favor of war. Let us ari.«!e in our might and compel these weak and pre- ifumptuous people to acknowledge our supremacy. There was a time, most august father, when men were THE GODS IN COUNCIU \% much more warlike than at present, that one of their mort illustrious poets exclaimed, " Who is so rash as to resist th« gods ?" It is in the power of the gods to prove that thejf have indeed been rash. Let Vulcan forge for each a suit of armor, and whilst Mars is shaking the earth with his thunder and thou arl liurliug thunderbolts of wrath upon their heads, the resl of the gods and goddesses will descend and drive them all into the dark regions of Hades. This we might have ac- complished long ago had we united our efforts. There- fore let us not delay, but descend at once, for Phoebuj Apollo will never tune this divine lyre, until the authority of the immortal gods and goddesses is established for- ever. Ceres. — blessed of heaven I thou askest Ceres whethef she would reoain her former rule. Once all earth smiled when I smiled, and wept when 1 wept; but what availed my power? Vainly I spread mine earthly fruits and flowers. She became another's, who was once my child, Persephone. She left with scarce a sigh her mother's care to hold his ^gesture toward Pluto] sceptre and his kingdom share I And yet, great Jove I were it for the good of suffering humanity, I would e'en take up again the power which QoW is only mockery ; but men are not as they were ; they reap wealth by preying on their fellows. If I should seek to reward the virtuous by increasing the harvests, [ would simply expose them to the cupidity and rapi, ciousness of the wicked. Therefore, O Father Jove, am for peace. Diana. — During ray reign upon the earth, I chose the woods for my dominion and the chase for my occupation ' delighted to wander through the forests attended by mj 2>0 THE GODS IN COUNCIL. maidens, where grew the fennel green and balm and golden pines, savory, lattermint and columbines^ cool j)arsiey, basil sweet and sunny thyme. Yea, every flower and leaf of every clime we gathered In the dewy morning. Our great labor, however, was to slay the wild boar and wolves which infested the forests, and which were the much-dreaded enemies of man. I had other work besides that of a huntress to perform, I was queen of the moon, and nightly, unobserved, I stole away to my throne, sending my clear, silvery rays to pierce the darkness of the earth, and by the light of my bright tapers I often saw my maidens dancing on the dewy grass. But, during the hundreds of centuries that I have been absent from the earth, the human race has so increased, both in numbers and power, that they have been obliged to fell the forests, and have been enabled to exterminate the wild beasts. So that now 1 have no desire to return to the earth, as the scenes of my former labors have been obliterated. Mercury. — Father Jove, although but the messenger of the gods, I think I should have something to say on thia question. For many years I held supreme power as messenger, but npw I feel that my occupation is indeed gone. Now electricity and steam outdistance me, and I wish to retire and leave puny man, as he has been here styled, in full poa- {Session. Therefore, ye gods, let us not attempt to regain oui power, but retire to peace and everlasting rest. Jupiter. — Gods and goddesses, I thank you for the wise counsel that has proceeded from your lips; but for my own \hought, I may say this: it is below the grandeur and THE GODS IN COUNCIL. 21 greatness of the gods to take any offeusive stand against the inhabitants of the earth. They themselves are con- scious of the narrow limits of their ability and understand- ing. They to-day may stand in defiance of all that is noble and higher than themselves, but the hard problems of life are before them, and as soon as their frail natures are de- feated they will agaiu offer sacrifices at the altars of the hnmortal gods, hoping for guidance and strength. Therefore I declare that none of us shall make any effort to regain the confidence of man. You may now re« turn to the inactivity which you have followed for the past •igUteeu hundred years. [Exit all.'] Arranged by Emily Radcuff. ALMOST A MORMON, ALMOST A MORMON. CHARACTERS. John Manly, a Yankee, resident of Salt Lake City. Mks. Manly, his wife. Alice Sinclair, on a visit to Utah. Arthur Mayton, her lover. Tommy, ^ Sallie, I children of the Manlys. Jerusha, J Scene. — A neatly furnished living room. Lounge at right, table in centre, chairs at back ; also chair and two stools ai left. Curtain rises, disclosing Mrs. Ma)dy bending over Miss Sinclair, who lies upon lounge apparently asleep. Tom.' m,ie, /Sallie and Jerusha seated on chairs and stools at right. Mrs. Manly. — There now, she's asleep ! Dear me ! dear me! How innocent she looks, to be sure! To thiuk that she should want to come here and take half of my John's love from me and his children. O the huzzy. What a mask that face is ! No wonder she's nervous and fright' ened. She ought to be nervous, and if it wasn't she is so frail and delicate looking I'd give her reason to be fright- ened, too. {^Turning to the children.^ Ah, my little dears! Aren't you ashamed of your father ? To thiuk that he hag so far forgotten you as to want to give you another mother! As if one mother was not enough to scold you when you are naughty and to pet you when you are good. Did you want another mother, my dears ? Children. — No, ma'am ! Mrs. Manly. — Of course you didn't, and he ought to have considered your wishes and mine, too. Did I not tell him when we came out here from New England that the first thing that happened he would be adopting these Mormon ideas and practicing polygamy ? ALMOST A MORMOK. 2< Children. — ^Yes, ma'am ! Mrs. Manly. — And what did he say to me? Didn't he tell me that he hated the very idea of Mormouism ; that I was all the wife he wanted, and too much sometimes, and that he only came here because he could earn more money here than he could East. Didn't he ? Children. — ^Yes, ma'am ! Mrs. Manly. — And to think that he should so soon for- get his promises! O John Manly! John Manly! How could you? "Do you expect me to love her?" I asked him when he brought her in here ten minutes ago, and to think that he had the impudence to say, "Yes! yes! Be good to her; try to get her to sleep. She is very nervous ; the elder frightened her," Did you hear him say that, children?—" The elder frightened her?" Children. — Yes, ma'am ! Mrs. Manly. — Do you know what that meant? Children. — No, ma'am ! Mrs. Manly. — It meant that your father has had this woman sealed to him — sealed by the elders. That means married, my dears ! She is your father's wife in the sight of the Mormons just as much as I am. More so, I guess, because no Mormon elder sealed me, but a good dominie in a Connecticut meeting house, and these Mormons don't much believe in dominies any more than the dominies be- lieve in the Mormons. Tommy. — Where has papa gone now ? To get anothei mother for us ? Mrs. Manly. — Well, I hope not ! You don't suppose he*8 going into the business wholesale, do you? Don't yon think two wives are enough for any man, and more thar enough ? Children (in chorus). — Yes, ma'am 1 24 ALMOST A MORMOW. Mrs. Manly. — Your father, my dears, has gone for a doctor for his second wife, I suppose. She's going to begin to run up doctor's bills already and rob you of whai property belongs to you. You don't like that much, do you? Children. — No, ma'am ! Mrs. Manly. — No, of course you don't. It means you must go without any new shoes this spring. Tommy ; and you, Sallie, must do without the new frock you ought to have; and you, Jerusha, must wear that faded sunbonnet another season. Children. — Yes, ma'am ! Mrs. Manly. — Oh ! it's terrible ! terrible ! {Miss Sinclair moves on lounge and opens her eyes.) Mrs. Manly. — There, my dears, your new mother is waking. Do you see her ? Children. — Yes, ma'am ! Mrs. Manly (to Miss Sinclair). — Do you feel better, madam ? Miss Sinclair (raising herself on her elbow). — Madam, did you say ? I am no madam, I am Miss Sinclair. Mrs. Manly. — Excuse me, but you are not. Maybe you were an hour ago, but you're sealed now, and you're a miss no longer. Miss Sinclair (jumping up suddenly). — O do not say that ! Where am I ? Mrs. Manly. — At your husband's home, under his roof, in the care of his wife ! Miss Sinclair. — But this is outrageous ! I — Mrs. Manly. — What is outrageous ? You don't mean to gay this home is not good enough for you ! If it's good enough for John Manly's first wife, it's certainly good enough for his second. ALMOBT A MORMON. 2» 3fiss Sinclair. — But I'm not his Avife. I'm — Mrs. Manly. — You're not his wife ! [To children.'] Do jfou hear that, my dears ? She's not his wife! Oh, my dear hidy, you're wandering ; your mind's aflected. 3Iiss Si)iclair. — No, I am quite rational. I had a severe Qervous attack just now. I'm subject to them, but I've :juite recovered, aud I can assure you that I am not his wife. I was visiting the Tabernacle and I got into conversa- tion with him. I said I thouglit I would like to be a Mormon. I said it just in a joke, you know, when he threw his arms about me and said I should be. He had looked witli favor upon me, and he would seal me unto him. Mrs. Manly. — O the villain! John, my husband, how could you so far forget your promises of loyalty to me ! Mks Sinclair. — But he could not marry me against my mil. Mrs. Manly. — O that makes no difference. The Mor- mon elders don't mind trifles like that. There's no getting over it. You're his wife and no mistake aud I suppose jrou'll have to make the best of it, just as we are making the best of it. Won't she, children? Children. — Yes, ma'am ! Mks Sinclair. — O horror ! This is outrageous ! Is there no law in Utah ? Mrs. Manly. — The law of the Book of Mormon, that's about all. Miss Sinclair. — But, my friends, I have an uncle at the hotel, and a cousin. I will go to them at once, [ Getting up and starting for door at left.] Mrs. Manly. — I wish I could aid you ; but I daresay you will not go far. Your husband has probably posted a •eotinel outside of the door. Don't you think p\>, -jhildren? 26 ALMOST A MORMON. Children, — Yes, ma'am ! Miss Sinclair. — But I shall try ! There is no harm ia trying. O I must escape ! (Jtllss Sinclair is about to go out when there is a hioch at the door, L. She starts back in affright and sinks into a chair.) Mrs. Manly. — Who on earth is that ? [ Going to door and opening if] {Enter Arthur Mayton.") Arthur. — Is this where Mr. Manly lives ? Mrs. Manly. — Yes, sir. Arthur. — Aud is this Mrs. Manly? Mrs. Manly. — One of 'em, sir. Arthur. — I have come to — Miss Sinclair (starting up). — O Arthur! Arthur! Arthur (pushing past Mrs. Manly). — Alice, my darling I I am so glad to find you. {^Is about to embrace her when Mrs. Manly speaks.'] Mrs. Manly. — Hands off, sir ! Are you not ashamed of yourself, sir ? How dare you put your hands on another man's wife ! Arthur (turning and facing Mrs. Manly). — Another man's wife ! What do you mean, madam ? Mrs. Manly. — I mean that that young lady has been sealed to John Manly by the Mormon Church, that she is his wife, and that she is now half mother and third owner of these children. [To children.'] Is she not, my dears? Children. — Yes, ma'am ! Arthur. — Nonsense! This is preposterous! Why, it has only been a few hours since she left us at the hotel to go on an independent tour of inspection of Salt Lake City and its Mormon Tabernacle. Mrs. Manly. — And the Mormons have claimed her. ALMOST A MORMON. 27 3riss Sinclair. — O Arthur, take me away I This seenaa like some horrid dream ; it cannot be real. Arthur. — To be sure I'll take you away. Come I (^Enter John Manly hurriedly.) Mrs. Manly. — You are just in time, John ! John. — In time for what? Arthur. — In time to explain your couduct, sir! That's what you are in time for. Mrs. Manly. — Yes, and in time to defend yourself before me, your wife, and those [})ointi)ig to children'], your ofT- spring! O John Manly ! How could you do this thing? John. — I have done nothing that I would not do again and again, whenever occasion offered. Arthur (aside). — The hardened wretch ! Mrs. Manly. — O you awful Mormon! What do you suppose your dominie at home would say if he heard you say that ? John. — Say well done, I suppose. 3Iiss Sinchir. — Who is this ? Mrs. Manly. — Your husband, of course ; don't you know him? John. — What ? Her husband ! Who's her husband ? Mrs. Manly. — Why, you, aren't you ? John. — I ? Not much. As I have said before, one wife is enough, and sometimes more than enough, for me. Don't accuse me of being a jNIorraon. I hate 'em. Arthur. — Then you did not attempt to make this young lady your wife? John. — Well, hardly ! One wife and the children there are all I can support. Mrs. Manly. — Then maybe you will explain your coH' duct that you are so willing to repeat. 28 ALMOST A MORMON. John. — I will in very few words. I happened to be passing the Tabernacle this afternoon when I saw Elder Slabback. You know the old wretch, my dear — the fellow who winked at you the first Sunday we were in Salt Lake. Well, as I said, I saw him carrying this young lady out of the Tabernacle. He had her up in his arms like a baby. " Where are you going ?" I asked. " That is my business," he replied. A little shaver who happened by spoke up. " I saw him in the Tabernacle," he said ; " he wanted to seal the girl to him, and she said she wouldn't have it. Then she fainted, and he carried her off. I guess he's go- ing to seal her." With that I followed the Elder and told him to take her back to the hotel. [To Miss Sinclair.'] I saw your fiice, miss, and remembered having seen you at the hotel. He refused, and told me to be off. Then I had a tussle with him, got the best of him, rescued you, and hurried you over here. You recovered from the faint and had a fit of hysterics on the way here, and I thought it best to leave you in my wife's care while I hurried to the hotel for your friends. Miss Sinclair. — O how good of you ! Arthur. — You're a noble fellow. Let me thank you I (^Arthur and John shake hands.) John. — When I got to the hotel I tried to explain whom I wanted ; but, as I didn't know your names, I couldn't make the stupid clerk understand. Arthur. — And I had just stepped out, having become nervous about Miss Sinclair's absence. I heard people talking about a fellow named Manly having carried a young lady into his cottage. I inquired where it was and came straight here. Mrs. Manly. — O my brave husband I I'm as proud of BRIDGET'S INVESTMENT. 29 you as though you had been elected to Congress and had a bill passed abolishing Mormonisni, Arthur. — That may come in time. Mr. Manly has begun well, certainly. Mrs. Manly. — And the children are proud of him, too, aren't you, my dears? Children. — Yes, ma'am! Miss Sinclair. — And then I am not married after all, and, Mrs. Manly, I am still a miss? Mrs. Manly. — Yes, miss ; but it looks very nmch to me [looking sharply at Arthur, ivho has hia arm about her} that you won't be a miss long. Arthur. — Not if I can help it, Mrs. Manly. 3frs. Manly. — Well, we wish you joy! Don't we, John ? John. — "NVe do, that's certain ! 3Irs, Manly (to children). — Don't wc, my dears? Cl'ildren. — Yes, ma'am! [Curtain,] Charles Stokes Wayne. BRIDGET'S INVESTMENT. CHARACTERS. Bridget, a servant. Mes. Morgan, her employer. Boy, a stove-polish vender. Gentleman. An Agent, selling tea. Scene I. Bndgd, ironing and humming a tune. Enter Mrs. Morgan. Mrs. M. — Bridget, I am going out for a few hours, and r shall expect you to finish the ironing while I'm out. Yon can do it easily if you have no interruptions. Doo't 80 Bridget's investment. let any of those nuisances — ^traveling agents or peddlers keep you from your work. Bridget. — Sure, and I won't. If any of the botherin' chates attirapts to shtop within, I'll shlap to the door in their impideut faces, or give then^a bit of me moind, afthe? which they'll be deloighted to lave me in pace. Mrs. M. — Very well. I'll be home at two. [^Exif] Bridget. — The misthress doesn't know Biddy Muldoon if she thinks I'll be tuk in by one of thim peddlin' chates. I'm just sp'ilin' for a chance till relave my tongue by sassin' thim, and its meself wishes one of thim would come. [^ hiock i& heard.'] Fwhat was that ? A knock ? I'll go to the door and say. \_Ope)is the door, and a voice is heard.] Boy. — Want any stove-polish? Make your stove or range shine like a lookin'-glass, so as ye can see your purty face in it. Bridget. — Be off wid ye's. Your blarneyin' tongue won't sell ye's any stove-polish here the day. Boy. — But, can't I — Bridget. — Git out, will ye's, now, before I'll be afthei Dalliu' the dog. {^Shnts the door, comes in, and goes on iron- mg and humming the tune, hut is interrupted by another hnock.] Whisht, now I There's another. Sorra a bit will tne ironin' git complated wid me runuin' to the door ivery foive minutes. [Goes to the door and shouts.] We don't want anything the day. We're complatcly shupplied wid ihoe-blackin', castile soap, sewin' machines, oranges and limons, patent egg-beaters, haugiu' hat-racks, and appoor' ;enances ginerally. Ye's can't sell me the amount of a tin- iint-pace, and ye's may as well waltz off the door-steps. Gentleman. — But, my good girl, I'm not asking you to ouy anything. I merely called to see Mrs. Morgan on a Doatter of business. BRIDGET'S INVESTMENT. 8| Bridget. — The misthress is gone out, but she will be homa at two o'clock, axiu' your pardon for me mistakin ye's for an agent. Gefiileman. — I'll call again. Good-morning. Bridget. — Good-morniug, sir. \_Closing the door and again iro}iing.^ It's meself that got a holt of the wrong ind of the iron that time. Mistakin' a gintlemau for a peddler ! It all comes of the misthress's care in cautiouin' me about the agents. But this shirrut looks foine and smooth, now doesn't it. Siven shirruts a week for one mon. The masther must be very dirthy to make so much washin' and irouin'. There is Pat O'Rourke, now. Pat can wear a shirrut thray wakes widout changin'. Pat's a foine b'y, so he is. \_A knock is lieard.'\ Bad luck till the door-knocker! There it goes again. Sure, I'll kape me tongue in me mouth this toime, till I say fwhat is wanted, and not ba gettin' meself into a foine blunder again. ( Goes to the door and opens it.) Agent. — Ah ! good-morning, madam. Have I the pleas- ure of addressing the lady of the house ? Bridget. — Sorra a bit have ye's. Agent. — Ah! A lady friend staying with her, I pre- sume. Bridget. — Ye's prcshume more than the facts will war. rant ye's in preshumiug. Fwhat are ye's afther wantin' ? Agent. — I'll just step in a minute out of the damp air, and then we can converse in comfort. [ Walks boldly m.] I hope I don't intrude, as I would not on any accouut in- commode a lady who has received a stranger so kindly. {^Looks around the room with a patronizing air.^ Very pleasant room this is, worthy of its occupant. [Boumig politely to Bridget.'] It needs but one thing to make it perfect. 32 Bridget's investment. Bridget (evidently pleased). — And fwhat moight that bel Agent. — Au iustrumeut of music, to be sure. I see bj the shape of your hands — those long, taper fingers — that you are, or ought to be, a musician. Bridget. — I can't say, as I'm a complate performer at prisent, but, as Pat O'Rourke fraquently tells me, niver have I seen the uudertakin' as was too hard for me whin I thried it. Agent. — And wouldn't you like to have a nice cottage- organ of your own ? Bridget. — Faix, and I would that ! Agent. — I am an agent, representing a large tea ware- house in the city, and we wish to extend our business. Of course, to do that, we offer extra inducements to buyers. Any one purchasing to the amount of ten pounds of tea at seventy-five cents a pound will receive an organ as a pre- mium. Isn't that an easy way to get a musical instru- ment? Bridget. — Faith, an' ye's can't be in airnest ! Agent. — I certainly mean it. No such inducements were ever offered to purchasers before, but there is no sham about it. Purchase the tea and the organ will arrive in the course of a few hours. Bridget. — Tin toimes sivinty-five cents is — Agent. — Seven dollars and fifty cents, ma'am. Bridget. — And have ye's the tay wid ye's ? Agent. — Certainly, madam. It is here, in this package. Just ten pounds in the package, done up in one-pound parcels. Bridget. — Perhaps I'd betther be waitin' till I shpakes wid the misthress. Agent. — Of course I would not wish you to buy unlcsa Ton feel perfectly satisfied that all is fair and square. Our BRIDGETS INVESTMENT, Qrm ia a reliable one. It is because we do business on luch a large scale that we cau afford to make these presents. I wouldn't wait to see the lady, if I were you. Perhaps she will be jealous of you and wish to get the organ her- self. You had better secure it. This [^getting up and selecting a place in the rooml would be just the place for it to stand. How I wish you had it now. I would so de- light to hear you play and sing. Bridget. — And will the organ be here the day ? Agent. — Before night, madam. Bridget. — But fwhat will I do wid all that tay ? [Laugh- ing.'] Faix, and I can make prisents to all me frinds and relations — Agent. — Besides having enough to go to housekeeping along with Pat — the lucky fellow ! Bridget. — Arrah! how did ye's know about Pat? Agent. — Never mind, I do know, and a happy man he'll be with his nice little wife. Bridget. — Git away wid ye's now I Here, I'll take the tay, and pay ye's the price of it. It's all good luck that made me ax the misthress for me money this mornin'. [Gets her purse, and counts out the money.l There's foive, lix, siven dollars, and a quarther, and two tins and a foive. That's correct, I belave. Agent. — Quite correct, and here is your package of tea. Grood-morning. You'll not see me again, as I will not bring the organ myself, but you must not forget me. Bridget. — Faix, and I'll think of ye's whin I am playin' fne own organ, loike any other lady, and good luck be wid ye's. [Exit agent. Bridget picks up the package.'] Troth, Hid fwhat a lot of it there is. I can make it foiue and jhtrong for Pat, sure. But to think of me having an irgan of iae own. Faith, and I won't be proud ; I'll let ^^ Bridget's investment. the misthress show me how to play. lExU, carrifm^ package.] Scene II. Bridget (enters with hiitting, and glances at the clock). — Siven o'clock is it ? And the foine organ not yit arrived Well, here's the chance to round ofF the hale of my shtockiu' whilst I'm waitin' for it. [^Commences to knit, and huma a line or tivo of " Kitty Tyrrell," or some other familiar air, then suddenly stops her knitting and finishes the tune, using her hands as though playing on the instrument.'] Och ! bu^ won't Pat shtare when he comes in the morrow, and sees me foine iushtrument forneust the wall, and me, loike ray misthress, the lady, playin' the accompaniments and sing ing the chunes. But whist ! here she comes now — the mis- thress, I mane — and I must kape quiet. Time enough to tell her about it when the men are bringin' it in. Mrs. M. (entering with books and papers). — Well, Bridget, [ thought I would bring my book and sit with you awhile. The front part of the house is so lonesome, now that John'8 away. You finished your ironing to-day, did you? Bridget. — Faix and I did — as pritty a wake's airnin' as iver ye seed. The collars and cuflTs are loike boards, mum, and it would take a stronger person nor you to break in the shirrut bosoms, they are that stiff and firrum loike. [ Glancing uneasily at the xvindotv.] Mrs. M. — Hadn't you better close the shutters, Bridget? That is, if it makes you nervous to have them open. Bridget. — Niver a bit, mum. Shure and I loike to give the little shtars a chance to pape in; hark! fvvhat was that? Mrs. M. — I heard nothing unusual, Bridget; some on« passing the door, I think. [Resumes her readingJ] Bridget's investment. 3^ Bridget (resumes her humming for a moment, then starit up suddeidij). — Is that a wagou shtoppiug at the door? Mrs. M. — Certainly not. It seems to me, Bridget, your organ — Bridget. — Och ! and do you know about it, then ? Where is it? AVho told ye? Did ye see the gintleman himself? Mrs. 31. — What in the world are you talking about, Bridget ? Where is what ? See whom ? I was merely re- marking that your organ of hearing seems very acute to- night. Bridget. — Oh-h-h ! \_Aside : WasTi't I the doonce to be afther given myseP away in that stoile.'] Now I know what you mane ; shtupid I was not to understand you at first. 3Irs 31. — Bridget, there's something on your mind, and you may as well tell me what it is. Have you and Pat had a quarrel, and are you looking for him to come and make up? That you expect some one is very evident. Bridget. — Yes, Mrs. Morgan, 'tis mysel' that do expect some one, but it isn't Pat. And as you're bound to foind out sometime, I'll tell you fwhat I've been afther doin'. I bargained for an organ the mornin', mum, and sure I'm lookin' ivery minute for the mon what will fetcb it here the night. 3Irs. 31. — An organ I You buy an organ, Bridget ? Bridget. — Faix, and I didn't buy an organ. It's a pra. niium for the tay. 3Irs. 31. — A premium for what tea ? Bridget. — For the tay I bought the mornin', mum. Such a nice, spry-lookin' young gintleman he was, Mrs. Mor- gan. He represiuted a large tay firrum in the city, he said. "And," says he, "if you will take tin pounds of me tay, I will prisent you wid a handsome organ." " That's a good bar- gain for me," says I. "If you're afraid it's a risk," said he, 56 BRIDGET'S INVESTMENT. ** don't ye do it." Wid that I takes out my poorse and counti the money into his hand — siven dollars and fifty ciuts. And sorra a bit do I grave for the money — it was a chapi mshtrumeut at that, and the tay thrown in. 3Irs. M. — Bridget, Bridget, is it possible that you have been the dupe of that outrageous swindle, which has jusi been exposed in this evening's paper. Bridget. — Swindle, do you say ? 3Irs. 31. — Yes, a swindle. Bridget. — And won't I get the organ? il/?'s. 31. — I' ra afraid not. [ Opening the paper.'] Listen to this. [Reads:'] A young man of good address and pleasing manners, representing himself to be an agent for a large tea warehouse in this city, has been canvassing the country, offering great inducements to purchasers in the way of pianos, sewing-machines, organs, etc. Incredible as it may seem, many persons have been victimized, and the so-called agent has by this time made good his escape. Bridget. — And do you think that's the same mon as sold «ie the tay ? Mrs. 31. — There's no doubt about it, Bridget. Bridget. — O the rascal ! he desarves to be prosecuted. 3frs. 31. — He's too smart to be caught now, I'm think- ing. Bridget. — Well, mum, there's one consolation lift me, I have the tay, you know. 3Ir8. 31. — Suppose you bring it in, Bridget, and let us see what it is like. Bridget (goes out and returns with the tea, opens the paeh 9,ge, and picks up one of the parcels and smells it). — Is it grane or black? I niver moinded me to ax the rascally chate the natur of it. [Opens it] Begorra, I don't belav€ it's ta^ at all Look at it, Mrs. Morgan. TEN FAMOtTS WOMEN. 37 Mrs. M. — It looks to me like dried rose-leaves and shav* ings. O Bridget ! you have been sadly duped, Bridget {opening another). — And this is joost like it. Och, the villain! Wouldn't I like to clutch him now. Mrs. M. — I think, probably, Bridget, you will find one pound of the real article in your package, as that much is needed to give an odor of tea to the whole ; but you have paid dear for it, and I am sorry for you. But, Bridget, * you must remember that though the man is a rascal, you are in fault, too. Those who aim to get valuable articles for little or nothing are not blameless. If there were no foolish people, eager to grasp more than they pay for, these dishonest tricksters would find no base for their operations. Bridget. — Sure, and I know ye's are right, and I'm afthei gettin' the retoorn which I merit, but it's no more comfort' abler for all that. I only hopes Pat won't hear of it. Mrs. M. — We'll try to keep the secret to ourselves. You're sufficiently punished, so I'll keep quiet. [Curtain.] E. C. AND L. J. Rook. TEN FAMOUS WOMEN. Eleven ciiaracters: The Goddess of History should be attired In h flowing robe, with loose drapery across the chest. She may be seated with five or six good-sized volumes at her feet. In her left hand a partly unrolled manuscript ; in her right hand a wand, which she waves to bring forward the different persons represented. The other ten should be dressed to imi tate the characters they portray. They should stand in a group or semi- circle, and each one as she speaks should step a little to the front, and remain there until the others have recited the verse about her, after wliich sJtie may rcturu to her place. 14927,'? 38 TES FAMOUS WOMEN. Then, If It Is deemed necessary, the Goddess may make knovni the dbUi fccter by pronouncing the name, or it may be left for the audience to guess To get a good idea of the proper costumes, consult history and portraits. loan of Arc, 1411-1431: I was born in a land across the seas, nearly five hundred years ago. I was the daughter of a humble peasant, and in my girlhood often tended my father's sheep. But the land which I loved was invaded by a foreign foe, and the young King was yet uncrowned. I began to see visions and dream dreams ; and God revealed to me that it waa my mission to lead the armies of my sovereign, and free my country from the enemy. The young King believed in me and the soldiers followed me to victory. After my Bovereigu was crowned at Rheims, I wished to go back to my humble home, but he persuaded me to remain with the army. I was captured by my rebellious countrymen, de* livered into the hands of the English, condemned to death as a sorceress, and burned at the stake. The people were moved to tears by the heroism with which I met death, and even my executioner cried out, in an agony of repent* ance, " We are lost 1 We have burned a saint!" All the others in concert : "Truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne ; — But that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own." — Lowell. Queen Elizabeth, 1533-1603 : I was the most powerful sovereign that ever ruled the greatest nation on the earth. There was never a queen who had more famous courtiers than I. One of these, 2 TEN FAMOUS "WOMEW. 39 while he was yet unknown to the world, spread his velvel mantle on the ground to keep my royal feet from the stain •, another, " the glass of fashion and the mould of form," gave, with his dying breath, a cup of water to a man, whose necessity was greater than his. During my reign the greatest poet flourished that ever wrote to delight man- kind ; and the strongest fleet that had ever been sent against any nation was driven back, dismantled, from my country's shores. Mine was not the mere semblance of glory, for in reality, as well as in name, 1 lived and died a queen. All the others : Men say that woman cannot rule. That hers is only to obey ; But unto thee men bent the knee. And England owned thy legal sway. Josephine, 1763-1814: I was born on an insignificant island of the West Indies. I was twice married. My first husband perished by the guillotine during the horrors of the French Revolution, and only the death of Robespierre saved me from sharing his fate. When I wedded a second time people thought the man to whom I gave my heart was beneath me in rank ; but he made himself the head of the army, and then the ruler of the nation. He it was who said to me, " I win battles but you win hearts." As long as he was true to me he gained triumph after triumph, but when, for selfish reasons, he set me aside and married another, his star began to decline, and he died a prisoner and in exile. I. did not long survive him ; all the people mourned for me, fcr they called me "the guardian angel of France." 40 TEN FAMOUS WOMEN. All the others: " With reason firm, and temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill,— A perfect woman, nobly planned To warn, to comfort, and command." — Adapted from WordstvoTih^ Lucretia Mott, 1793-18 — : On a little island on the bleak coast of New England my childhood's days were passed. At fifteen years of age I began to teach school ; at eighteen I was married ; a^ twenty -five I became a minister in the Society of Friends- In addition to what I said in meeting, I spoke often and earnestly in behalf of peace, woman's rights, and the abo- lition of slavery. I was often in the midst of mobs and violence, but no one ever did me harm, and I lived to see the chains fall from every slave in my native land. But although engaged in so many public duties, I never forgot that a woman's first thought should be for her home and her family ; and now, when I am no longer in their midst children and children's children hold my memory dear. All the others : ," Blessing she was ; God made her so, And deeds of week-day holiness Fell from her, noiseless as the snow, Nor did she ever chance to know That aught were easier than to bless.'* — Adapted from LoweU. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1807-1861 : England was the country of my birth, Italy the land of my adoption. The laurels that adorn ray brow were won, not by the sword, but by the pen. I did not lead armies to battle, like Joan of Arc, but I inspired soldiers by my TEN /^AMOUS WOMEN. A\ poems ; I did not plead the cause of woman from the plat- form, as did Lucretia ^lott, but, like her, I showed man- kind what a woman can do ; I was not sovereign of a nation, like Elizabeth, but my empire is greater than hers, for the world has crowned me Queen of Poetry. All the oth&ri : " She sang the song of Italy ; She wrote Aurora Leigh." Harriet Beecher Stowe, 1812 : I was born in New England, and, like a true New Eng^ /and girl, I began early in life to grapple with deep theo- logical subjects ; before I was twelve years old I wrote an essay upon the question, " Can the immortality of the soul be proved by the light of nature ?" When I became a woman I wrote novels instead of theology ; the greatest oi these stirred the pulse of the nation, and helped to break the bondman's chain ; it has been translated into every European language, and has been read and re-read by th« people of my native land. '* "When truth herself was slavery's slave. My hand the prisoned suppliant gave The rainbow wings of fiction." All the others : "When a deed is done for freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast, Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west." — Loxoell. Grace Darling, 181.5-1842: My home was on a rocky island on the north-eastern coast of England. My father was a light-house keeper. My life on earth was less than half of the allotted thre« 42 TEN FAMOUS WOMEN. score years and ten, but I lived long enough to save nm& other lives. One night a ship was wrecked upon our coast, and in the morning we saw some people clinging to the distant rocks. I persuaded my father to help me row a boat over the angry waters. We reached them, and brought them all safe to the shore. AH the others : " The shortest life is longest if 'tis best, — 'Tis ours to work, to God belongs the rest ; Our lives are measured by the deeds we do, The thoughts we think, the objects we pursue." Florence Nightingale, 1820 : 1 am an English woman, but I was born in a sunny Italian city, whose beautiful name became my own. I, too, saved many lives, but my work was on the field oi battle, and not on the stormy ocean. The soldiers in the hospitals were wounded and dying, — many of them dying from inattention and neglect. I went among them, minis- tered to their wants, dressed their wounds, and spoke worda of cheer ; and some of them loved me so well, that they even kissed my shadow, as it fell upon the wall. All the others : " On England's annals, through the long Hereafter of her speech and song, The lady with a lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good^ Heroic womanhood." — Longfelhw, Xenny Lind, 1821 : I was born in the Northland, but I have made the world my country, for I charmed both hemispheres by my song Those who heard me count the time thus spent among the TEX FAMOUS WOMEN. 45 goldeu hours of their lives. And now, when the young men rave about Nilsson, and Gerster, and Patti, the old men shake their heads and say, " Yes, their voices are wonderful, but you should have heard the Swedish Night- ingale !" ^11 the others : " Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous or sweet or clear thy music did surpass." — Shelley. Harriet Hosmer, 1831 : I came from the old Bay State, whence have sprung so many famous men and women. In my childhood's days I lived out of doors ; I learned to ride, row, swim, and Bhoot ; I spent many an hour modeling figures in clay. When I became a woman I studied art, and now I work in marble. I have wandered from my native land, and my home is in Italy, the land of artists. But many of my creations have found their way to my own country, jind America is proud of the woman, who, as a sculptor stands first among her sisters. All the others : " Maiden, when such a soul as thine is born. The morning stars their ancient music make, And, joyful, once again their song awake." — Lowell. AU: The lesson of our lives is this, — That woman's sphere is wide ; That what by women has been done, By women may be tried. 44 GENEVRA. You may not win a noble name. Such honor falls to few ; Whatever work lies next your hand, That work God means for you. Then do it wisely, do it well ; Be brave and pure and good ; And, great or small your part in life. Hold fast your womanhood. [Finis.] Elizabeth Lloyd. GENEVRA. Founded on the legend as told in the old song entitled, " The Mistl«to« Bough." CHARACTERS. LovELL— the bridegroom. Genevra— the bride. A Knight. A Lady. Guests as many as desirable. A bevy of lads and lassies for last scene. Scene I. After the wedding — Genevra and guests still in wedding costumes appropriate to the times — Holly, or other evergreen decorations. Antique furnishings for room, stags' horm upon wall, and punch bowl upon the table. Lovell. — Now, merry hearts, let games begin. At games the dullest one may win ; The prize I've won, bowing full low, I own with humble heart doth show I That daring, not desert, hath woD I GENEVRA. 4Q Genevrh. — The game ! tlie game ! Lovell, have done. Knight. — Good sir, thy prowess, questioned never, By us shall be remembered ever, If dariug wins the fair We all will dare [turning to ladies] — beware! But now a game, as says thy bride. Now, who ? Genevra {exclaims gayly). — I'll hide! I'll hide! I'll hide! Lovell, thou'st sought in glen and glade The covert where the deer hath stayed ; Think'st thou as true thou'lt follow where I shelter find ? Come, ladies fair. Comfort my lord a moment's space. Jjady (aside). — Genevra, but a moment's grace ; I tell thee that his cheek did pale Its color when beneath thy veil A moment you were still as death. I watched him then — his fitful breath Came in short gasps — he loves thee well ', Stay not too long in covert dim Out of sweet pity unto him I Genevra. — Fie ! fie my own ! Hast heard it said ? — I have ! — When once a man is wed Tease and elude and still mock on, If wife will keep what maid hath won! I'll find a nook — a half-hour's rest From eager groom and tiresome guest I 48 GENEVRA. [ Turns to eompany^ Turn to the wall each happy face I Each hide the eyes a little sjoace I Count one, two, three, and so to ten ; From ten go on to ten again. And now I go ! Who findeth me May claim my hand for dances three, May drink my health, be first to call Me hostess true of Lovell Hall I Guests in concert (to music if wished). — One, two, three, four, five six, seven, eight, nine, ten I Lovell. — Now, friends, we'll count it once again. Guests (in concert).^ And one, two, three, and— Lovell. — Seven are ten ! ILaughter."] Knight. — Away ! away ! I heard her feet Fly soft but fleet — yes, soft and fleet- Past me. This doorway I will try, A guest. — And this one 1 1 Another guest. — And this one I! (All go out by different exits — remain a little time — music') Scene II. All re-enter, some laughing and breathless, Lovell half anxiow Lady- — We searched the gallery long and dim, Afraid each pictured, armored knight Might leap from arras, niche, or wall, ' 1 Till we were half aswooned from fright! She did not answer to our call. GENEVRA ^ A Gentleman. — I half had sworn I heard her sigh, As she were frighted too, when I Looked back of moth-worn velvet chairs, Where saints above once knelt at prayers— I list'n'd again. In the old wall I heard the wainscot-niouse ; an' the fall And sough o' the wind " in turret and tree," Sounded so long and dismally That had my lady fair been hid In that ghostly chamber, even she— A bride — had hailed me rapturously f Lovell (to first lady). — My lady fair, what said she when She smiled and whispered unto thee ? And then Challenged us to this search ? Lady. — That she Would find a half-hour's rest ! Iteasingly'] Be free from her dear lord and tiresome guest 1 Lovell (po7iders — then speaks). — Go on with mirth and laugh and jest, I, only will prolong the quest, I' faith I swear I think 'twere best Her lord claim guerdon and not guest I (Lovell goes out — music and the minuet, or games, or a »ong, as perjormers choose — occasionally one looks anxiously pr another listens for Lovell' s return.) (Enter Lovell.) 18 OENEVRA. Lovell. — Is she not here? A little fear Unmans a man ! (Sinks down half smiling. They gather about him.') First Lady. — Have courage ! More she said : 'Twere well and good A husband, like a lover, should Know worth of her so surely won By arts such as his heart had won ! Mayhap about her bridal gear She's thrown some cloak, and no doubt Where shadows lurk she's crouched in rest, In sleep forgetting lord and guest I Again we'll search, and revelrie Led by her on shall be less dree ! Come one, come all, if Lovell then, Unlike most lords, must find again His bride ! Away ! away ! away ! (They go as gayly as before — presently music of a dirffa lounds faintly — they come in one by one, look blankly a\ each other, whisper, shake their heads, try to smile — Loveu daggers in.) Lovell {despairinglif). — Is she not here? O friends of mine! Once, heated by the fumes of wine, I did a wrong to one ! But now I did remember how a prayer From my foe's lips was sent to heaven 1 — 'Twas this — " Mav joys fall with'ring at his touch. May happiness but mock his gaze" — GEXEVRA. 49 Then turning where I stood, Remorseful, even before my deed Had been recorded with a speed Of word and blow that took my breath, He hissed, " I'll follow thee like Death, Ay, will be Death to all thy good !" My friends, he made a cross in blood, The blood — my blood his hand had drawn, Swore by that cross, and swearing fled I My bride ! my bride ! alas, is dead ! (T^ej draw about him to comfort, and curtain falls.) Scene III. A garret — chests about — dark corners — young voices heard approaching — a gay company enter. Young Girl. — Uncle Lovell said we may Find in these old chests well stored Some old costumes for our play. Another. — Dear old man ! alway, alway Striving hard to please us well. Poor old man ! Striving hard to cover With dear smiles his sadness over. Lest our hearts be chilled foretime. Another. — See this old, worm-eaten hold Of satin, silver, plumes, and gold ! Strong the lock and firm the lid, Help me, Conrad ! [Loohs in as lid is lifted] Lo ! amid Dust and darkness, like a star. Something shines— What is't? A ring! ^ (Jenevra. A diamond circle ! Strange sole thing For such great chest and hasp and key ! ( Takes up ring^ Another. — Alice! Alice! Let me see! Conrad. — Alice ! All ! What can this mean ? Yes, it must be ! This has been The silent grave of her so dear, So greatly mourned this many a year. Alice. — Oh ! what woe ! what woe ! Strange they never thought to look Within, when every crevice, nook, And forest even searched they through I It caunot be our uncle knew This secret spring had e'er been tried By his Genevra. Poor young bride! How glad and gay and sweet and fair She must have been ! And oh ! that there She should have died ! It must be so ! Anne. — And the years that he has wandered far and wide, By plain and sea and mountain side. Ever thinking it might be He yet would find her — piteously Scanning every crowded mart With eager eyes and eager heart. At last come home to end his life In striving thus to make us glad In every way — -by every plan CONTESTING FOR A PRIZE. 5J He could devise. Dear, sad old man, How can we tell him what we've found ? {Lovell enters, old, gray, and smiling jjathetically. He catchet sight of chest and ring, grasps the latter and cries). — Oh ! my bride ! my love ! my wife ! my pride ! (^Conflicting emotions depicted on every face). This is where she hid, and, prisoned, died ! (Falla on knees, burying face in hands and leaning on chest.) [Curtain falls.] Music low and mournful, or the singing of " Oh ! the Mistletoe Bough," by a concealed choir may fittingly fol- low the fall of the curtain, Emma Sophie Stilwell. CONTESTING FOR A PRIZE. characters. John SEYJfouR, Professor of Elocution. Paul Rodgers, Judge. Julia Gray, ~1 Alice Hill, i. Contestants. Jennie Drew. J Scene.— Parfor, in ivhich Professor S. w seated. Enier Paid Rodgers. p^of S.—^lj dear sir, I thank you heartily for the kind- ness which has prompted you to serve as judge upon this occasion. j/,._ i?._Not at all, sir— not at all; the only question in my mind is why you should have so honored me. Pj.qJ- ^._-\yhom should one promote to the position of judge, pray, if not a promising young lawyer. Mr. R. — Again you honor me [boidng']. Prffj^ ^.—Having expressed my appreciation of you* 5ii CONTESTING FOR A PRIZE. kindness, Ave will proceed to the business at hand. Fot some years past it has been my custom at the end of s course of instruction to j^resent a gold medal to the pupil who shall prove most efficient in the art of elocution. During the whole term of the present class three young ladies have stood side by side, their examination proving them of equal merit, therefore a decision must be reached through other means. The method chosen I have already described to you. The trial sentence consists of the two words, " Take this." You are to describe the positions, and the characters to be personated. Mr. R. — I understand perfectly. Prof. S. — At the close of the contest you will award the prize to the young lady you consider most deserving. Mr. R. — Exactly. Prof. S. — I am expecting the young ladies at half-past ten. \_Glancing at his watch.'] It is already time they were here. [ Voices tvithout, a knock at the door ; the Pro' fessor rising, opens it ; enter three young ladies.^ Prof. S. — Good-morning, young ladies. Alice. — Good-morning. Jennie. — Good-morning, Professor. Julia. — Good-morning. Prof. S. — Allow me to present to you your judge, Mr. Paul Rodgers. Mr. Rodgers, let me make you acquainted »vith the contestants, Miss Julia Gray, Mi,3S Alice Hill, and Ntiss Jennie Drew. 3Ir. R. — Most happy to meet you. Prof. S. — And now, Mr. Rodgers, we will proceed witk ihe contest. Jennie (aside'). — He doesn't look very severe. Alice (iiervously). — But, Professor Seymour, we have not the least idea upon what we are to contest. CONTESTIXG FOR A PRIZE. 53 Prof. S. — Mr. Rodgers will explain. Jennie. — You are not going to be very hard with us, are fnu, Mr. Rodgers ? My memory is most treacherous. 3Tr. R. — Your memory will be taxed very little. Jennie {jciside to Alice). — Julia isn't going to waste hej eoeal powers ; she has not said one word since she came in. Alice. — Oh ! she's sure of winning the prize, I can see that plainly. Mr. E. — Are you ready, young ladies ? Chorus. — Quite ready. Mr. E. — You are to remember but two words — " Take this." I will picture for you the characters, conditions, ind surroundings, and you will express them in those two tvords. Jennie. — Or, rather, we will endeavor to do so. [ Withenng jlance from Julia.'] Mr. JR. — Miss Gray, imagine yourself the queenly daugh* ;er of a royal father, surrounded by all the luxury and Deauty, art and nature can afFoi'd, at your feet the favorite might of the moment ; in your hand the token of that Tavor, which you present to him with those words. Julia. — Take this. Mr. JR. — Miss Hill, you are to personate a nursery maid entering a room, which ten minutes ago you left in i)erfect Drder, but which has been completely transformed in that jhort space of time by a small boy. Your patience Ls ;ri«d to such an extent that you smack the offender's hands. Alice. — Take this! Mr. R. — Miss Drew, a widow bends o'er the death-bed if her only child. He has refused to take the medicine upon which her last hope depends. With all her woman's heart in her voice she beseeches hLm. 54 CONTESTING FOR A PRIZE. Jennie. — Take this. Mr. R. — Professor, I understand we were to have su characters, each young lady representing two. ProJ. S. — That is correct — proceed. Mr. R. — Once more. Miss Gray, the scene is that of a children's festival. At the moment they are enjoying, as only children can, ice-cream, cakes, and candies. One little maiden has already before her a plate of ice-cream, of which she evidently approves, as she advises her little neighbor in the most audible whisper, to " Take this," pointing to the particular variety on her plate. Mi^s Gray. — Take this. [Every one smiles, Mr. R. uses handkerchief , fearing to shoio too much enjoyment.'] Mr. R. — You, Miss Hill, are to imagine a pretty draw- ing-room, in the middle of which stands a wee baby boy, hesitating, tottering ; at a little distance a lady, holding in her hand a bright toy, for which she is endeavoring to persuade the child to take its first steps, Alice. — Take this. Mr. R. — Miss Drew, you are to become for the time being, a little country girl, who has had the misfortune to offend her lover. He is a young man from the city, who, having won her heart among other summer pastimes, re- fuses now to have his wrath appeased, although she offers him the red rose that hides in her sunny hair, the last of the woodland floAvers that are pinned to her dress— in fact, any of her treasures, until in desperation she bashfully offers him a kiss. Jennie {bashfully twisting her dress, hesitating, sidling nloser to the judge). — Take this. Mr. R. (bending over quickly, attempts to his» her)^ Jennie. — Mr. Rodgers I Alice. — Oh I CONTESTING FOR A PRIZE. U Julia. — How shocking ! Prof. S. — What does this mean, sir ? Mr. R. — I beg your pardon, Miss Drew — Professor Sey- mour — ladies. You are surely couvinced of this fact, that I had no intention of insulting Miss Drew. My explana- tion for so unaccountable, so unmanly an act is this : Miss Drew was completely lost in the character she personated, and for the moment I saw — knew only the country maiden, and myself became the appeased lover. Weak as the ex- planation may seem, it is all I have to give, but it is an honest one. Prof. S. — Had you been a stranger I should doubt your word, as it is, 1 truly believe you. Julia (aside). — It is all her fault, anyhow. She had no right to look at him in such an insinuating manner. Alice. — Absurd. She had a right to make it as natural as possible. 3fr. R. — This unfortunate occurrence makes the one deserving of the prize apparent to you all. To lead the audience to forget the speaker and know only the character portrayed is the aim of every true artist ; but, in addition to this, to make the judge forget he is a judge, is certainly 4he crowning achievement. Miss Drew, pardon me, and aHow me the honor of pre- senting you with this medal, of which you are so worthy. (Mi^ Drew, accepting the medal, bows.) [Finis.] Adeline B. Aveky. 53 rHE SPIRIT OP LIBERTY. THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY. CHARACTERS. Martha. Marian Eutasia- Other Ladies. Scene I. Martha, a young lady, attired in the fashion of 1776, seatea in a humble room at a spinning-wheel, which she worh at intervals, while she recites the following stanzas, tht refrain being recited (or sung) by a concealed chorus oj young ladies. Martha. — Bright is the moon that hangs aloft ; The air of night is sweet and soft ; The stars, that ne'er a tear have shed, Are ftill of gold smiles overhead. Chorus. — Little they know of Boston tea, Or the great price of liberty. Martha. — The forest paths, all broad and free. That stretch their arms invitingly. Are edged with moss, begemmed with flowers, They know no sad, no anxious hours. Chorus. — No breaking hearts, no Boston tea, Or the sad price of liberty. Martha. — The fringed grass the clover holds, Each day accustomed beauty molds. Nature, in her most perfect plan. Seems mocked alone by struggling maa. Ckorua. — He spilled, alas, the Boston tea, And vowed the vow of liberty. THE SPIRIT OP LIBERTY. 5*, (^She ceases singing and spins a few moments steadily, (her, the wheel moves slowly and she sings) — Martha. — Strong aiid firm is tlie thread I spin, To wrap the forms I love within. Heavy of texture, it shall keep My soldiers warm, when cold winds sweep. Chonis. — Sweep o'er them, as for Boston tea They strike the blow of liberty. Martha. — Could I but turn my flax to brass Through which no sword or shot could pass ; A buckler spin impregnable, That would each British ball repel, Chorus. — Then could we smile at Boston tea, Nor dread the price of liberty. Martha. — Still, grief for labor must make way. And hands not rest that voice have sway. For independence was declared — We'll have it while an arm is spared ! Chorus. — Nor pay a tax on Boston tea. We'll work and fight for liberty ! (She spins rapidly a little while, then ceases, saying plain.' titely.) Martha. — At Lexington my father fell, And brothers two. Who can foretell What will befall the younger boys. And he who was to share my jojrs ? Chorus. — The price, the price of Boston tea. The heavy price of liberty. 88 THE SPIRIT OP LIBERTY. {She turns the wheel a few rounds slowly, then sings cheey fully.) Martha. — If they can fight with dauntless heart. Shall we not try to do our part ? So that at last the right may win, We'll pray for courage while we spin. Chorus. — The hearts that sank the Boston tea Will, conquering, gain sweet liberty. Martha. — This spinning-wheel must swiftly turn Until the sun of morning burn. These robes are needed. I must break This spell of thought, and silence take— Chorus. — With labor, for the Boston tea Sank, and up rose our liberty. (She spins on swiftly and steadily^ [Curtain falls.] Scene II., 1876. An elegantly furnished apartment. Marian Eutasid, a fashionable young lady of the present day, seated in an easy chair. She yawns, then recites (or sings) in tone to iuit the words. The chorus gives the refrain in a spiiii of mockery or ridicule. Euiaaia. — I wonder what I'll do This dreary evening through? No theatre or ball, No company, large or small. Invites me to go out. The novels are all done, I've read them every one; THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY. They're full of prosy stuff, With not half love enough To compass them about. Chorus. — She hasn't love enough. But only jirosy stuff, ^utasia. — I might some thought inclo» In petals of a rose, Or weave into a seam The mystery of some dream. My handiwork to show; But where would be the use? Genius is so profuse With all his lavish gifts, Fame lodges but in drifts On those he best doth know. Chorus. — Fame lodges but in drift* With all his lavish gifts, Eutasia. — I wish I'd lived before ! A hundred years or more. Talents were rare and pure. And critics more demure. I might have shone a star. People could labor then, But seldom drive a pen ; Could work and be content Until their lives were spent, JSor think of journeying far. Chorus. — We wish she'd lived before^ A hundred years or more, Eutasia. — This is a restless age, Each year a crowded page ; s& 00 THE SPIRIT OP LIBERTY. The people run to brains And groau with aches and pains. *Tis sad it must be so. I long that I may see Withiu tliis century Some vision of the past. Some form of ancient cast To cheer me as I go. Chorus. — The people run to brains And groan with aches and pains. {SJie ceases, leans back in her luxurious arm-chair, and sleeps. Enter Martha in the garb we saw her last, attended by several elegantly attired young ladles of the present day. who constituted the concealed chorus. The ladies assi^ Martha noiselessly to an elevated seat and kneel at her fed reciting or singing^ — Queen, we are worshipers At thy fair shrine. (Marian wakes and gazes curiously at the tableaws,) Queen, we are worshipers Whilst thou recline. We of this century Give reverence due. We of this century Our praise renew. (Marian rises and kneels with the others, jofining in Ilk mng.) Queen, we are worshipers At thy fair shrine. Queen, we are worshipers Whilst thou recline. TRAPPED. 01 Thank thee that liberty Came to us tree ! Thank thee for liberty, Our legacy I Queen, we are worshipers At thy fair shriue- Queen, we are worshipers Whilst thou recline. We of this century Give reverence due. We of this century Our praise renew. [Curtain falls.] Mrs. S. L. Oberholtzeb TRAPPED. A COMEDY IN ONE ACT. CHARACTEBS. Dick Roy, aged twenty-one years. Janet Roy, his sister, aged twenty-three years. Nellie Taylor, his sweetheart, aged twenty years. Sarah, a servant. BciCTc. — A cozy little breakfwit room. Table m centre sa for breakfast ; desk or table at right, lounge or sofa at left. Entrances right and left. Window at back covered by a cur- tain. Dick Roy discovered seated at desk with pajyers be- fore him. Holds up letter he has just fini.shed writing and looks at it critically. Then in pantomime compares it with another folded letter which he takes up from the ic^sh. Dick. — ^A nice way to begin a man's career, Pm sure Forgery. Well, well, it's in a good cause and nobody's 62 TRAPPED. name has been forged but my sister's, and I am sure sht. won't mind. [Leaning over and putting a mark on one of the. letters^] Ah ! that robs my act of its criminal character. Beneath Janet's name I put my own initial, so small that nobody would ever notice it, to be sure, but the loop of the R is big enough for one to crawl through. \_Rings bell Jor servant and then puts letter in addressed envelope.'] (Enter Sarah, L.) Dick. — Sarah, I wish you would have this letter de- livered by messenger immediately. It is for Miss Taylor, you see, and she only lives a few blocks away. /Sarah. — All right, sir. Will you have your breakfast now, sir, or wait for Miss Janet ? Dick. — I'll wait. Sarah. Sarah. — As you please, sir. And here's that you may have many more birthdays, sir. Dick. — Thank you, Sarah ; thank you. And you'll never be afraid of burglars or ghosts any more now, will you, since there's a man in the house ? Sarah {laughing). — Never again, sir. But you don't look a bit more of a man than you did yesterday, sir. Dick. — But I am, Sarah — I am, you know. I'm twenty- one to-day, and a man and a voter. Sarah. — So you are, sir. \_Exit, L.] Dick. — And a lover, I might have added, for there's nc mistaking I'm in love with that little witch, Nellie Taylor, bless her ! Though for the life of me I can't tell whether ghe cares a Avhit more for me than she does for the other fellows she smiles on, and she smiles on them all with an impartiality that is simply exasperating. Jolly girl ! I sup- pose she hasn't heard I've been home with a cold for the last week or she'd have been around here. I m^y flatter myself, but I think she would. TRAPPBD. (Enter Janei It^y, L.) Janet. — Good-morniug, Dick. Many happy returns. Dick. — Good-morning, Jean, and thank you. If I were ^ girl I'd make a curtsy, hut I'm a man and can't — and a hungry man, too, feeling much l>etter than for a week past, and ready to wrestle with a good, suhstantial break- ikst. Janet (sitting down at the table). — For all of which I am more than thankful, my dear brother. Come, let us see if we can't diminish that app'*tite somewhat. [^Ringing bdl.'] Dick. — With all ray heart. [Joining Janet at the table. Enter SaraJi, L., with breakfast, coffee-urn, etc., which she places on the table, and then takes two letters from her pocket, which she hands to Janet and goes out, L!\ Janet (after glancing at the superscrij}tio7i). — Here is h letter for you, sir, if your name be Horatio ! [Reaching letter across table to Dick.'] Dick. — But my name is not HoraLio. [ Taking it.'] Are you aware that to paraphrase is pfirfectly allowable ? "If your name be Richard " would be muck more appropriate and would sound far better. Look, for instance, at the Third Witch — glorious example for all paraphrasers — who, on hearing a trumpet sound when the Unee call for a drum, had the presence of mind to exclaim : " A trumpet ! a trumpet ! Macbeth doth stump it!" (Janet meanwhile has torn open her letter, which teous Southp what tribute bearest thou in thy fair palp^' CiuM of energy, Central group, advance and show ;j^<«v< OUR country's wealth. 8i eontributions. And tliuu, iair West, daughter of the set- ting sun, let me behold the glitter of thy annual oflering. Each, IK. turn come hither and reward my tender love for ail by duteous display of tribute due. [^With a majestid vave of her hand.'] xYdvance, New England. New England (bearing a piece of granite in her haiids, which she places at the feet of Columbia). — At thy command, Queen ! I draw near. Here is offering rare, digged from the quarries of the " Old Granite State." In massy piles, awaiting thy command, lies the timber, stout and strong, cut from the majestic forests of the North, while from the busy workshops and noisy factories, dotting all the fair land in numbers great, are sent forth a thousand proofs of our toil and enterprise. In thy hands, Oh ! gracious sovereign, 1 lay New England's tribute, with the hope that it meets with thy queenly approval. Columbia. — Nobly hast thou done. New England! Now let the Middle Atlantic recite her worth and work. Middle Atlantic {bringing iron-ore, or bits of coal, in a rnnall, shallow basket). — Our offering, most gracious Colum- bia, beloved Queen, we trust is not unworthy of thy accept- ance. We have delved into the deep places of the earth, and thence have brought the metal of strength for thy im- plements of tillage or of warfare, the dusky diamonds whose burning hearts will give thee warmth, and the won. derful oil from its storehouses under the rocks. We bring thee the webs from a thousand looms and the cunning devices from a thousand workshops. We offer thee ships and sailors to transport the work of our hands to the four quarters of the globe and receive thence spice* ftud myrrh and all fair things. O, Queen, canst thou ask more ? Columbia. — Middle Atlantic, right weU have you emr 84 OUR COUNTRY S WEALTH. ployed your trust. Accept our queenly commendation and give place to your sister, the South. South (^presenting a small fruit-basket lined with raw cotton and filled with oranges'). — Sovereign beloved, the South salutes thee. In thousands of our cotton fields the burst- ing pods offer pure white hearts for thy taking. The juicy canes of lowland acres bring their sweetness for thy delectation. Rice marshes and orange groves, fruits and flowers, bring thee greeting. Have I done Avell, my liege ? Columbia. — Beloved, I kiss thy hand and murmur benediction. States of the Centre, where are you ? Central States (carrying stulks of grain which she presents to Columbia). — From prairies wide and river valleys fair receive the corn and wine which are thy due. Our barna are bursting with their plenty, our waving plains are evei murmuring — " Come and take." We also bring to thee rich stores of metals pure. Copper and lead and iron are thine, if thou but speak the word. We bring thee cattle from a thousand hills. Can we do more? Columbia. — Richly art thou endowed, my daughter, and bounteously givest thou. Wilt thou now give place to her who Cometh hither from the far Western shore ? I would hear from her. West (ivith offering of quartz, or rock to imitate it). — From world-famed vale of giant trees, from mountain gullies rich with metals rare, I reach my hands to thee, 0, Queen Columbia. My offering here I bring — silver pale and yellow gold, and fruits of mammoth growth. The cluster- ing richness of the vine, we bring thee also. Is not our gif^ most fair? Columbia. — I grant thee grace and approbation real. Though last, not least art thou. All have done nobly, each THE BEST POLICY. 85 in her place, and here I call you round me. Let me feel what 'tis to be so well upheld. New Euglaud and ]\Iiddle at my right, fair South aud Central on my left, and thou, West, my youngest, here at my footstool stand. [_Theypl(tce tlieiiiselves according to Columbia s directions, thus forming a tableau and singing Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean, audiewe joining in the chorus. If preferred, the music may be omitUid, domig simply with the tableau. E. Celia Rook THE BEST POLICY. CHARACTERS. Mr. Rattenbury, whose bark is worse than bis bitg. Bob Bolter, who only wants to borrow. Jack Judson, a young man of principle. Little Benny Wakren, who lost his way. Scene. — A mdely furnished room. Table in centre. Small stove at right, on which sits a tea-kettle. Hough bed made of blankets at left. A couple of chairs without backs, on one of which is tin wash-basin, makes up the rest of the furniture. Table is set with tin plates and cracked and broken crockery. Lighted candle in centre. As curtain rises Bob Bolter is discovered placing a supjier on the table from some brown paper parcels. Bob (cheerily). — There we are! Some nice cold ham, aome rolls, some mince pie, and [turning to stove'] if that fire ever comes up we'll have some coffee. O my, though, didn't I strike luck to-day ? Not any too soon either, for Jack's without a cent in his pocket and we hadn't a crumb »a the house. Thank Heaven I didn't have to beg ! I was 86 THE BEST POLICY. afraid it would come to that — and it would, probably, if \ hadu't had the good fovtuue to get a job shoveling suow o4 the City Hall sidewalk. It was hard work, to be sure, and cold work, too ; but it gave me a dollar and a half which bought me a suow-shovel with which I can earu more to- morrow, and it provided us with a jolly good supper for to-night, too. After all, we're not so bad off! [Looking about room.'] It's cozy here if it's not luxurious. We're not Vanderbilts nor Jay Goulds and we haven't exactly a palace, but the windows are tight euough to keep the cold out, and so long as we pay our rent — [Starting suddenly.'] Pay our rent ! That's what I never thought of. It's a month overdue now, and unless we raise ten dollars by the time Old Rattleboues comes around again, out we go. Well, my dollar and a half wouldn't have done much in chat way, and if he will wait until to-morrow. Jack's wages for the fortnight will be paid to him, and we can pay the rent and have two dollars to spare. It's time Jack was here now. What can be keeping the boy, I wonder? Won't he be jolly glad when he sees the fire and the supper and catches a whiff of that hot coffee ! [Sou^ids are heard outside.] Ah ! Here he comes now. [Knock is heard at door, L.] What does he mean by knocking ? Come in I (Enter Mr. Rattenbury.') Mr. Rattenbury. — Ah ! Here you are, are you 1 Quite warm and snug and comfortable, ain't you ? Bob. — Trying to be, Mr. Rattenbury. Mr. Rattenbury. — Struck a fortune, I suppose, eh ? Bob. — Not exactly ; no, sir. Mr. Rattenbury. — Well, I'm sorry to hear that Bob. — So am I, sir. Mr. Rattenbury. — I suppose you're glad to see me, and tkat you have my money waiting for me, eh ? THE BEST POLICY. 87 Bob. — Not exactly, Mr. Rattenbury; we haven't the mouey in hand just now to pay your rent, but if you'll wait — Mr. Eattmbury (Jedily). — Wait I Wait! It's always wait. I'm tired of waiting and I won't wait any longer. No sir, not a day longer ; not another day, sir. I must have the ten dollars due to-night — this very night — or you'U sleep in a coal-bin or a dry-goods box. Bob. — To-morrow, Mr. Rattenbury, we'll be able to pay you. My friend Judson will have the money then and you shall have every dollar due you. Mr. EaUenburij. — Ha ! ha ! That's an old dodge. Bolter, a very old dodge ! We have heard it before, many times before. If you haven't it now, you won't have it then. You can't blind me, young man ! Out you go. Bob. — Can't you take my word, sir? Mr. Rattcnbu^y. — Pie-crust promises yours are — easily broken, very easily broken. No sir, I can't take any word, money is what I want — money ! money ! money ! Bob (o^icZe).— What shall I do with Old Rattlebones? I must stave him off for a while, anyhow. \_Aloud.'] Per- haps Judson will bring something home with him when he comes. He will be here soon ; will you wait ? Mr. Rattenbury. — No sir, I won't wait ; I hate to wait. If I were a joker I'd tell you I'm not a waiter, but I don't feel like joking and so I won't tell you. I'll go away and come back again. I have several other tenants in the neighborhood. I will see them and come back. If the money is not ready then, I shall have to throw this old rubbish of yours into the street and lock your door. Do you understand me? Bob. — O yes, sir, I understand. Mr. Rattenbury. — Have the money ready 1 Have tlui aoney ready 1 [Exit Mr. Rattenbury, LJ] n 88 THE BEST POLICY. Bob (sitting down on chair). — Old Rattlebones seems de- termiued, sure enough. I wouder if he really would throw us out a cold night like this. It strikes me his bark ii worse than his bite, and that he's onlj trying to frighten us. There isn't the least chance in the world of Jack hav' ing any money before to-morrow, and there isn't a friend from whom we could borrow a penny, that's a certainty. After all, it looks rather shaky and no mistake. IRises, goes to stove, and takes tea-kettle off.^ How's that for a coffee-pot ? Not very elegant, but it answers the purpose, and that's all that a silver urn would do. If Jack don't hurry the coffee will be cold, and we won't have time to eat be- fore we're — what is it they call it ? — ejected ! [^Footsteps heard outside.'] That's Jack, sure enough ! Hark ! I'm blest if there isn't some one with him, too ! (Enter Jack, supporting little Ben, L.) Jac^.— Heigh, ho ! What's this ? Well, I didn't expect such a cheery reception for my little guest. It's ten hun- dred times better than I dared to hope. Bob. — Hello, Jack, old man ! Have you brought home company with you? Who is the little shaver? Jack (leading I/ittle Ben over to stove). — A poor little chap I found asleep and half frozen, in the snow, lying down near the corner of the street. We must get him warmed up. Bob. Thank Heaven ! you have a fire. I was not expecting this. You found work, did you ? Bob. — Yes, and not any too soon, either. It wasn't much, to be sure, but it was enough to give us fire and a supper, and small favors must be thankfully received, eh ? Jack (sitting down by stove and rubbing Utile Ben^s hands). — Do you feel warmer, my little man? ^Little Ben thakes hi^ head affirmatively.'] Is that coffee I smell, Bob? £ob. — I am happy to say it is. THE BEST POLICY. 8S Jack. — Pour out a cup for the youug gentleman, will you? Boh. — Why, certainly ! "We haven't any sugar oi cream. I hope he will excuse that. \_Fowring out cup oj coffee from tea-kettle.'] Jack. — It will warm him up. \_Gives coffee to Little Ben, who drinks it.] That's nice and hot, isn't it? Ben. — Yes, sir. You are very kiud to me. Jack. — Poor little chap, if I hadn't found you, you might have frozen to death. Bob. — What were you sleeping in the snow for ? Don't you know that's a poor sort of a bed ? Ben. — sir ! I was so tired. I had walked so far, and 1 was so cold, and at last I grew very sleepy. I could not keep my eyes open, and then I don't remember any more until this gentleman 'wakened me. Jack. — And where did you come from ? Ben. — From grandpa's office, sir. Bob. — And where were you going ? Ben. — He sent me with twenty dollars to pay a bill, but I lost my way, and I was trying to find it again. Jack. — And you couldn't, could you? Ben. — No sir. I asked several people, but I guess they thought I was begging, for they only hurried on and wouldn't stop to listen to me. Bob. — Are you hungry ? Ben. — Yes sir. Jack. — Give him something to eat, Bob. Bob (getting some bread and ham from table). — To be sur« I will. Here's a sandwich for him. What's his name ? Ben. — Benny Warren, sir. Jack (taking sandwich and handing it to him). — Here Benny, eat this, and you'll feel better. JJO THE BEST POLICY. Ben (taking sandwich and ea^m^).— Thauk you, air. Jack. — And when you have had all you want to eat, you. shall lie down over there and have a nice nap. And then I will take you home, for I dare say your mamma is very much worried about you now. Ben (with his mouth full). — Thank you, sir. I should never be able to find ray way by myself. Bob. — Quite a little gentleman, isn't he? Jack. — That he is. ^Getting up and drawing chair to table.'] I'm rather hungry myself, Bob ; suppose we pitch in. There you go, Benny. Trot over there and lie down and rest yourself. (Ben lies down on blankets, L., and is soon asleep. Bob and Jack sit at table, Bob left and Jack right. While eating they converse.) Bob. — I suppose you brought the rent home with you I Jack. — The rent ? Well, I guess not. There's no draw- ing money in advance down at our shop. I managed to borrow fifty cents from the foreman with which I meant to buy some supper if you hadn't bought it already, and I considered myself lucky to get that. Bob. — You see, Old Rattlebones has been here, and he Bays he won't wait another day for his money. Jack. — Did you tell him I had work and would pay him as soon as I get my wages ? Bob. — O yes, I told him everything, but he's deter- mined to bounce us. Jack. — I don't believe he's got the heart. Bob. — Hasn't he, though ? My dear Jack, if we don't raise the money in half an hour, there's no hope for us. We'll either have to throw Old Rattlebones out the window er vamose the ranche, as they say out West. THE BEST POLICY. Jack. — Raise the money? Where on earth are we ta tiiise it ? Bob. — I was just thinking \_pohitiiig significantli/ to Ben, who lies sleeping^ that we might borrow a ten from hii twenty. He'll sleep quiet enough until morning, when you can take him home, explain all about the matter, and pay back the ten when you get your wages to-morrow night. Or his father might give you that as a reward — see? Jack. — no, Bob, not that. It would be stealing, my boy. We have no right to touch a penny of the little chap's money. I'll take him home to-night, and maybe they'll give me the reward then. Bob. — But that will be too late. Old Rattleboues will have been here. l/Steps heard oiitside.l Old Rattleboues is here now, and if I'm not mistaken we've either got to mob lijm or be mobbed. Jack. — We won't take little Ben's money, that's certain. We must be honest, Bob, under all circumstances. {Enter Mr. Battenbury.) 3fr. Battenbury. — So } ou're in, are you, Judson ? Jack. — You see me, sir. J/r. Battenbury. — And you have the money? Bob. — No sir, we haven't. As I told you, we can't pay- yon before to-morrow. Mr. Battenbury. — Which means next week, next month, next year. Well, you know the consequences. Get out ! Jack. — You're not going to turn us out to-night, Mr. Ratteubury? Mr. Battenbury. — Never put off until to-morrow what can be done to-day, that's my motto. Come now, move your furniture. [^T-urns to bed. Little Ben is rolled up in covers and cannot be seen.'] Here, I'll carry your bed out for you. [Stoops down and attempts to drag it out, and in 92 THE BEST POLICY. doing so discovers Benl\ What's this? You've got a boarder, have you ? Wliy don't you get the reut out of hini ? Is he peuuiless, too ? Boh. — No sir, he's not penniless. He has twenty dol- lars in his pocket now, but — Mr. Battenbury. — Why don't you borrow it of him ? Jack. — Because, sir, it don't belong to him ; he was — (Little Ben, who has been awakened by the talking and the pulling at his bed, jumps iqj and runs to Mr. Battenbury, who has his back to him.) Ben (interr^ipting). — grandpa ! grandpa ! I'm so glad to find you. Mr. Battenbury (turning in surprise). — Why Benny, my child, where did you come from? What are you doing here? Ben. — I lost my way, and this young man took me in and was so kind and good to me. Jack. — I found him half frozen in the snow, sir. Mr. Battenbury. — And did you pay the bill ? Ben. — No sir, I couldn't find the ofiice. I got lost. Mr. Battenbury. — And you told these young men all about it and that you were my grandson ? Ben. — O no, sir, I didn't say whose grandson I was. I told them where I lived, and that one ^pointing to Jack^ was going to take me home this evei^"»g. Mr. Battenbury. — Well, it's fortuiu«,te they found you. Poor child, I ought to have known better than to send you on an errand this cold weather, but I hadn't an id ^a but that you could find the place. Bob. — And he's your grandson, is he, sir ? Mr. Battenbury. — He is, y-es. I must thank you for be- ing so good to him. Jack. — O doa't mention it, sir. THE BEST POLICY. 95 Mr. Eattenbury. — And you wouklu't borrow ten dollars of the money you knew he had, even to save yourselves from being thrown out into the street? Bob. — I wanted to borrow it, but Jack persuaded me it wouldn't be honest. Mr. Eattenbunj. — And Jack was right. He deserves bredit ; you both deserve credit. And I mean to give it to )'ou in more senses than one. Never mind about the rent aow. Pay me when you get it. I know I can trust you. I ask your pardon for mistrusting you before. Come to my office in the morning, both of you. I think I can put you in a way to earn a good living where your honesty will be ajipreciated. Jack. I _xiiank you, sir. Bob. ) Mr. Eattenbury. — And now, Benny boy, come along home with grandpa ; your friends shall be rewarded. Ben. — Good-bye ! '^^ ' \ — Good-bye, Benny. Bob. ) Mr. Eattenbury (stopping on threshold). — Young men, you are on the right track. While you are honest, you are sure to succeed. (Exit Mr. Eattenbury, L. , leading Ben.') Bob. — He's not such a bad sort, is he ? Jack. — No, he's not ! Old Rattlebones is a brick. Bob. — And honesty is — Jack, — The best policy. [Curtain.] Charles Stokes Wayne. 94 UNCLE Morton's gift. UNCLE MORTON'S GIFT. CHARACTERS. Arthur Jackson, a boy of twelve. JiMMiE White, a poor boy. Alice Jackson, a young lady. Lucie Jackson, a girl of fourteen. BiLviE Meredith, a friend of Alice's. Annie Carter, a sewing girl. Susie Carter, a little invalid girl. Bridget Dolin, an Irish fruit seller. COSTUMES. Alice, Silvie, Lucie, and Arthur well and tastefully dressed in the fashion of the day. Annie Carter and Susie in faded calico dresses and much< worn shoes. Mrs. Dolin, short calico dress, green gingham apron, large, rough shoes, and a very small plaid shawl pinned over her head. Scene L Nicely furnished sitting-room. Alice sitting at R. reading, LniGi,e and Arthur at a table near C, playing checkers. Arthur. — There's one thing I can't understand. Alice. — Only one, I suppose ? Arthur. — Of course ! And that is — Jjacie (slyly). — How the molasses candy disappeared from the shelf in the closet so mysteriously ? Arthur. — Maybe I know more about that than you think, Miss Lucie. But you're wrong. Gaess again. Lucie. — Is it why Uncle Morton doesn't send us our New Year's money ? Arthir. — I declare, Lu., you've hit it! Say now, Alice, don't you think it's a little queer ? Here it is the fifth, and he has always sent it in time for New Year's Day before, you Know. Lucie. — Perhaps he is sick. Alice. — A hundred things might happen to delay th« I UNCLE "Morton's gift. 98 mail betweeu here and San Francisco. [J. loud ring it heard.] Arthur. — There's the postman now. I'll go and see if he has our letters. IGoes out, returning in a moment with letters in his himd.'j Hurrah! here they are at last. IReads ] JNliss Alice Jackson, Miss Lucie Jackson, Master Arthur Morton Jackson. Whut'li you give for them, girls? Alice {holding out her hand). — Now don't tease, Arthur, Give me mine, please. Arthur {handing one to Alice and another to Lucie}. — There, calm yourselves, ladies. You know exactly what's in them. How unfortunate it is to be the youngest of the family. {^Opening his letter and unfolding a check. "l Here I have only twelve dollars, while Alice has — let me see [peeps over her shoidder'] — twenty! My gracious, Alice, but you're getting old. Lucie. — I just wish I was twenty instead of fourteen! Fourteen dollars will buy lots of things that I want, but twenty — only think of having twenty dollars all at once I {Enter Silvie MeredithI) Silvie. — Ann told me you were all up here, so I took the liberty of coming right up. Alice {rising and kissing her"). — I am so glad to see you, Silvie. It is such a long time since you were here last. Silvie. — I have been away three weeks. Arthur and Lucie. — I didn't see you at first. How di you do? Lueie. — I'm well, thank you. Arthur. — So am I, considering the circumstances. Silvie. — What circumstances? Arthur. — Why, Christmas and New Year's, you know, and having two young ladies ordermg me about from morn^ 96 UNCLE MORTON'S GIFT. ing till night. It's "Arthur, won't you please do this T "Arthur, do stop that !" "Arthur dear, won't you pleas* run down town for me ?" Alice (laughing). — Oh, yes, you are dreadfully abused. I/ucie. — What an absurd boy you are! It isn't half so bad as he makes it out, Miss Silvie. Alice. — Come over here and sit down, Ivie. I want to ask you something. You can go on with your game, chil- dren. [^Alice and Silvie sit doivrt.'} Lucie {sarcastically). — Children ! {Lucie and Arthur resume their seats at the table, but listen to what Si'vie and Alice are saying.) Alice {to Silvie). — You know our Uncle Morton always sends us each a present of money at New Year's to corres- pond with our ages. Silvie. — That is very kind and generous of him, I think. Arthur. — Oh, he don't hurt himself. He's as rich as Croesus. Alice. — Mine is twenty dollars this year, and I'm won- dering just what I had better do with it. Of course, I want to get the greatest amount of satisfaction out of it that I cau. There's a lovely engraving of Guido's " Mater Dolorosa " at Norman's. I can't decide whether to get that or an elegantly bound edition of Shakespeare I saw at Randall's. Lucie. — Well, I know what I want without any trouble. I have set my heart on a monkey-skin collar and mufil They have been reduced since the holidays, and I can get a lovely set at Arnold's for fifteen dollars. Arthur. — Oh, what queer things you girls are ! I'm the only one who has a sensible plan. I'm going to buy a printing press. Will you give me an order for some cordSi Miss Silvie? UNCLE Morton's gift. 3t Silvie. — Perhaps so. Alice. — Now, which would you rather have if you wer« I, Silvia ? — Shakespeare, or the " Mater Dolorosa " ? Silvie. — I fear I should find it hard to decide between the two, they are both so temptiug. But, as there is no pressing need of your deciding at once, I wish you would come and take a walk with me. There's a picture I want you to see that you may possibly feel more like spending your mouey for than the " Mater Dolorosa " even. Alioe. — What can it be? I am very anxious to see it. Bhall we go now? Silvie. — ^Yes, if you please. The afternoons are so shorty you know. ITurtis to Lucie.] Lucie, may I go with you to-morrow morning to look at the furs you are going to buy? Lucie. — Yes, indeed, I should be ever so glad to have you. Arthur. — Look here, this isn't fair. Don't you want me to escort you somewhere ? Silvie. — I certainly do, Arthur. If you will come round to my house at three o'clock to-morrow I will very gladly avail myself of your kind offer. Arthur. — All right, I'll be there. Scene II. A plainly furnished room. Annie sitting at R. sewing, Su^ie lying on lounge, L. Silvie and Alice in out-doo* wraps sitting near C. Silvie. — Are you working as hard as usual, Annie? Annie. — Yes, miss. I get up at six in the morning and fm seldom in bed again before midnight. Alice. — But you don't sew steadily all that time, surely T Annie.— Yea, I do, miss. It's the only way I can mak« 98 UNCLE MORTON'S GIFT. anything, and even then I only make enough to keep ui barely comfortable. Susie is so delicate and her appetite is so poor that I have to buy some nice little things to tempt her to eat at all sometimes. If she were strong and well like other children it would be different. I have to be BO careful of her. If I should lose her I shouldn't want to live any longer. Silvie. — But if you work in this way you will certainly kill yourself, and then what would become of little Susie? Can't you get anything to do but those coarse shirts? Annie. — I have tried, but so far I have failed. I don't like to take time to go and look for work, for every houl means a few cents at least, and I'm sure of getting my pay for these, if it is small. If I could only lay by a little, 1 ghould have some hope, but it is so discouraging to spend every cent as fast as you get it. I don't mean to complain, but when I think how it used to be when mother and father were alive I can scarcely bear it. We had such A comfortable, pleasant little home, and I knew almost Qothing of what care was. But now — [weeps.l Silvie (rising and laying her hand on Annie's shoulder}.-^ Ob, don't cry, Annie. There are brighter days in store for fou, 1 am sure. Indeed, I can assure you there is a rift in the clouds already. I will give you some sewing to do for me, and I am sure I can interest others for you. Alice. — I have some work at home that I have been put* ling off for want of leisure. I shall be only too glad ta bave you do it for me if you will. Annie. — Indeed I will, and thank you very, very much. Alice (to Susie). — What do you do to amuse yourself all day long? Susie (shyly). — I sit at the window and look out some- times. Sometimes I play with my doll. IShows a stick UNCLE MORTON'S GIFT. 99 with an apron tied around U.'] Sometimes sister and I lell each other stories, but most times I make pictures. Alice. — Make pictures ? How ? Slide. — Sister bought me a pencil and some nice, smooth brown paper, and I make trees and houses and little girls and boys aud dogs and cats and horses and everythiug I can think of. AUee. — Suppose you could have just whatever you W'anted, what would you like? Susie (ta Anme). — Shall I tell her, sister? Annie. — Of course, dear, since the lady is so kind as to ftsk you. Susie. — If I could have a box of paints, so I could paint my pictures, I should be just as happy as I could be. Alice. — Then you may begin to be happy now, for you Bhall have them. Aud suppose you could have a doll with red cheeks aud blue eyes and real yellow curls, how would you like that ? Smie. — Oil, dear me. I'm afraid I'd cry, I'd be so happy. Alice. — Well, you may look for one before night. And DOW, Silvie, don't you think we are making our call very long? Silvie. — Yes, we must go. Now, Annie, after you hav» finished that set of shirts, don't get any more. You shall have better work and better pay than you have had. Good-bye. Annie.- — Good-bye, ]\Iiss Meredith. I don't know how to thank you for all your kindness to Susie and me. iOU CTNCLE MORTON S GIFT. Scene III. The street. A corner fruiUtand, with oranges, apples, Ags, and nuts arranged upon it. Bridget Dolin silling beside it {Enter Silvie and Lucie.) Silvie.—W\l\ you object to stopping a moment, Lucie ? [ want to speak to this woman. Lade.— Do you know her, Miss Silvie? Silvie.— I buy fruit of her quite often. You will find her very interesting, I think. Good-morning, Mrs. Dolin. Mrs. D.— Sure, an' is it yerself, miss? The top of the mornin' till yez ! Silvie.— Thiink you. Please give me a dozen oranges. Mrs. D. — Wid all me heart, miss, an' blessin's on ye for the shwate young leddy that ye are ! It's the first sale I've had the morn, an' I was just gettin' a bit down-hearted like. Silvie. — I thought you didn't get down-hearted, Mrs. Dolin? Mrs. D. — No more I don't, miss, unless I jist can't help it. [ Wipes her eyes on her apron.'] Silvie. — Has anything gone wrong at home? Mrs. D. — Wrong, is it? Sure, an' it seems as if every* thing in the wurruld war turruned upside down wid me I Arrah, but it's an angel ye are, jist to be inquirin' into the throubles o' the likes o' me! But since ye're axin, I'll tell yez the thruth. There isn't a livin' man as could be betther nor me own Pathrick whin the dhrink isn't intil him. It's yerself knows I've said that same thing to ye2 mauy's the time. But onct he gets a dhrop o' the craythur, he's jist wild like. It's mesilf belaves he don't know what he's about at all, at all. He got home afore me laeht *ight, an' he ba^ed little Tim so that the poor child's flat UNCLE MORTON'S GIFT. 101 on hi3 back the day wid every bone in him achin*. An Maggie, she's iu bed wid a fayver like, though the docthor says there's no inflection about it. An' Molly fell agin the ehtove yestherday an' burruned her poor airm to a blish- ther. So ye see, miss, we're in a peck o' throuble in- tirely Silvie. — Indeed, I should think so. I am very sorry. May I go to your house this afternoon and see if I can do anything for the children, Mrs. Dolin ? Mrs. D. — May yez, is it? Jist listen till her, now I Dade, miss, they couldn't be more pleased to see youi shwate face if ye was a blissed angel ftom heaven ! It'a meself wad like to be there this minute, lookin' afther the poor things ; but if I was to shtay wid thim, where wad I b« afther gettiu' the money to kape a dacint roof over theii heads, not to miution the bit dliresses an' jackets an' sicb like, an' the bread an' praties they has to ate. Lucie. — You may give me a dozen oranges and a pound of figs, Mrs. Dolin. 3frs. D. (beginning to do them up). — Faith, it's a fine young leddy ye are, miss I I hope ye'll find thim as shwate as honey. Lucie. — Don't you find it very cold sitting here with nothing but that little shawl over your head ? I should think you would freeze. Mrs. D. — Dade, miss, I think I shall some o' these days Sure I couldn't shtand it at all, at all, if I didn't jist kapt thiukin' o' the childher. Silvie. — I think we will go, now, Lucie. Good-morning Mrs. Dolin. Lucie. — Good-morning. Mrs. D. — The same to ye both, an* may every mornio' be betther and betther as long as ye live I 102 CWCLE MORTON'S GIFT. Scene IV. A very bare room. Pine table, a wooden chair, a three-legged stool, a small, rusty stove with no fire in it. An old bed- stead or settee in one corner covered with faded patch-xoork quilt. Jimmie White lying thereon with an old picturebook and some pieces oj broken toys beside him. A knock is heard, Jimmie. — Come in. (^Enter Silvie and Arthur.') Sihie {going to bedside). — Well, Jimmie, how are you /lo-day ? Is the pain in your back very bad ? Jimmie. — Yes'm, pretty bad, but not so bad as it is some- times. Silvie. — I have brought a friend of mine to see you. His name is Arthur Jackson. Arthur, this is Jimmie White. Arthur {shaking hands with Jimmie). — I say, old chap, do you have to lie here all the time ? Jimmie. — Oh, yes. Arthur. — Well, now, I call that tough. Who looks afte? you? Jimmie. — My mother does. But she goes out to work for folks when she can get anything to do, and then I have to stay here alone. Arthur. — Don't you get lonesome? Jimmie. — Awful lonesome. Arthur. — I see you've got a book there. Do you like to read? Jimmie. — I'd read all the time if I could get anything to read. My mother finds an old newspaper sometimes, »nd once the folks where she was workin' gave her this old yicturebook. Arthur, — What do you have to eat ? UNCLE MORTON'S GIFT. 103 Ji)wnle.— Potatoes and bread and once in a while some soup. Christmas Day we had some meat, but I couldn't eat it. Arthur. — Don't you ever have rice or farina or oranges or grapes or figs or jelly or cocoa or anything nice? Jimmie. — My ! I guess not ! We're too poor to buy such things. Arthur. — Gracious! If I can't have everything of that kind when I'm sick, I think it's pretty hard times. But look here, Jim luie, your fire's all gone out! Don't you waut me to make oue for you ? I should thiuk you'd freeze to death. This room is as cold as a barn. Where is your coal and kindling-wood and shavings? Jimmie. — There ain't any. Arthur. — My stars and garters ! If that don't beat me. Look here, young fellow. You wouldu'ts'pose I could carry coal and wood and blankets and books and good things to eat in my pocket, would you ? But I can, though. Miss Silvie, shall I escort you to one of the stores around the corner, or will you wait here till I come for you? Silvie. — I think I'll go now. Good-bye, Jimmie. Jimmie. — Good bye. Scene V. The Jacksons' sitting-room. Enter Silvie, Alice, Lucie^ jtrtnut. Alice. — Oh, Silvie ! I'm afraid you are very artfu-1. What a cunning plot you laid for us all. Silvie (laughing). — You needn't have fallen into it so easily as you did. I didn't ask you to buy dresses and shoes and cloaks and color-boxes for Annie Carter and her sister. Lucie had Mrs. Dolin bundled up in a warm 104 UNCLE Morton's gift. hood and shawl, and every one of the little Dolins pro vided with woolen stockings and a pair of shoes almosi before I knew what she was about. And the way Arthur whisked me in and out of one store after another to get the things for Jimmie White ! You would have thought he had a hundred dollars at his command instead of twelve. Arthur. — "Wasn't it fun, though. Miss Silvie ? Silvie. — Yes, indeed it was. You see, Alice, I have be- come interested in these poor people. But, you know, I haven't much money of my own, so I thought I could at least give you the chance of doing what I would do myself if I could. Alice. — To be serious, Silvie, I am heartily glad that you did give us such a chance. I was never so thoroughly satisfied as I am now with the way I used Uncle Morton's gift. Lucie. — Nor I. Arthur. — Nor I. It was regularly jolly. And noWj girls, I move we give Miss Silvie a vote of thanks, and that we all enjoy ourselves in the same way next jeafi All in favor say aye. Alice and Lucie. — Aye ! Arthur. — The ayes have it. [Curtain falls.] Lilian F. Wells. THE OPENING ADDRESS. 105 THE OPENING ADDEESS. CHABACTERS. Jack, Tom, and Dan. Scene I. The speech in preparation. Jack (soliloquizing). — Well, I am in a fix — a decided fix, Here's Exhibitiou Day close at baud, and I am expected to deliver the " Opening Address," and I have no more idea what to say than " the man in the moon." Let me see! I must try to make up something for the occasion. \_Looking around^ There doesn't seem to be auy one around, so I think I'll have a little private rehearsal in the solitude of these grand old woods. I believe it is customary in these opening addresses first to make a profound bow [6ouw], and then to commence something like this: Ladies and gentlemen, we are glad to welcome you here to this, our annual entertainment, and we hope — we hope — and WQ hope — \_Commences again in a louder tone. ^ Ladies and gentlemen, we are glad to welcome you here to this our annual entertainment, and we hope — we hope — Dan (who has entered with Tom, unpereeived). — And we hope that you are not taking leave of your senses, Jack. Tom. — Nor contemplating going on the stage — Dan. — Nor suffering from an attack of brain fever. But really, Jack, I am afraid we startled you. You look frightened and a little sheepish, too. Do tell us what you were doing, that's a good fellow. Tom. — Yes, where are all those ladies and gentlemen whom you were addressing? And what is it you hope to do? There's some joke ahead, I know, and you may ag well own up. 106 THE OPENING ADDRESS. Jack. — Well, I will ; and althougt it may seem a jok« to yoo, I assure you it's anything but a joke to me. I never felt more serious in my life than I do this minute. Tom. — If that's the ease, maybe we can do something for you. Dcm. — Yes, give us the chance to be the " friends in aeed," won't you, Jack ? Jack {brightening'). — That's so ! I believe you are the very fellows to help me out of this fix. I wonder that I did not think of it before. But " three heads are better than one," you know. Well, then, to tell the truth, boys, I was trying to compose a little opening speech for our school entertainment to-morrow afternoon, and after the first stereotyped sentence, I got hopelessly lost ; but here you are to help me out of the maze, and set me on my feet again. Da7i. — Is that all your trouble ? Then cease to groan, for Tom and I will set you right in a few minutes. We know all about it, for we've been through the mill, haven't we, Tom ? Tom. — That we have ! and if you will take our advice. Jack, and act upon some hints that we will give you, I will venture to assert that you will get through with your speech famously, and will sit down amid such deafening applause that you will begin to feel as though you were a born Demosthenes with a great and glorious future before you. Dan.^Yes, and you will wonder how it was that you or your friends had not discovered these signs of genius before. Jack. — Oh, I'm not quite so conceited as all that, boys, but I am really anxious to hear your suggestions, as I have ttot yet one good idea. Tom. — Well, then, we will proceed at once to businesa 9 THE OPENING ADDRESS. 107 When you get up to make your speech, Jack, you must look neither to the right uor the left, but gaze blankly ahead at uothiug ; and when you feel your heart rising up in your throat, and a mist coming over your eyes and a weakness into your knees, make a tremendous effort to appear perfectly at ease, and your audience will never suspect that you are standing upon "pins and needles," wishing that something would happen to hide you from their gaze. Dan. — And then, when you feel the "silence of death" around you, commence with your " Ladies and gentlemen, we are glad to welcome you here to this our school anni- versary, and we hope that our exercises at this time will meet with your approbation and will prove to you that we are making earnest efforts to improve our time and oppor- tunities. And although we do not expect to become Platos or Ciceros, yet we do hope to grow into wise and useful men, exerting an influence for the good of mankind in what- soever station of life we may be placed." Tom. — Then bring in the plea about your extreme youth, you know, something like this: "Many of us are very young, and therefore we ask you not to criticise too harshly any mistakes or imperfections that you may notice at this time. We hope that as we grow older our wisdom will in- crease with our years, and that the knowledge we are daily gaining in the school-room will better prepare us to meet the stern realities of life when they are presented to us." Dan. — And then, when you have quoted the favorite ex- pression that has been put into the mouths of all the sage little orators in our big country, namely — " Where should we look for our future statesmen and Presidents but to the public schools of our own beloved America?" — then, I say, when you have have said this in a solemn and impre* 108 THE OPENING ADDRESS. eive manner, you can proceed to wind up your address with thanks to the audience for their attendance. J(.ick. — And with some remarks about the exercises that are to follow. Yes, I think I can do that part all right. And now I'll go and think over the speech and fix it just as I mean to say it on the stage to-morrow afternoon. Tom. — And we'll be on hand, Jack, to help you bear your honors. Jack. — All right. I'm off now to prepare my speech. [Curtain.] Scene II. The speech. Jack. — Ladies and gentlemen, we are glad to welcome you here to this our school anniversary, and we hope that our exercise — our sexercise [lie begins to gd excited- — ivipea his face and runs his hands through his hair] — our serexcises at this time will meet with your approbation and will prove — will prove that you are making — that is, that you are trying to make — or, rather, to improve — your time and opportunities. And although we do not expect — do not expect — er — we do not expect — er-ate to become Catos and Pliceros, yet we hope to grow — to grow — up — [m a desper- ate tone, and mopping his face violently'] to grow till we are grown up — thereby exhorting in afiluence for the good of men-kind, in whatever life in the station-house we may be p'liced. Many of us are very young — many of us are very young and some of us are very young — yes, many of you are mere babes — and therefore we ask you not to criticise too harshly any mismakes that you may take at this or any other time. Therefore— we hope as you grow— bigger — our age will increase with our years, and that the HAVE A SHINE, SAH? 109 marbles we are daily gaining in the school-yard will pre- pare us the better for the real sternalities of life when they — when they [gesticring wildly^ — when they — there- fore — where should we look for our future fratesmeu and stesideuts but to the scublic pools of our be-lowu loved America? We thank you for your attendance here and we hope — we do hope — that you will enjoy the fleeches thai are to spollow — which are worse if not better than the one you have just heard — I mean — that is — which are better il not worse than the one I have just heard. [^Retires in con- fusion.^ L. J. AND E. C. KOOK. HAVE A SHINE, SAH? CHARACTERS. Bootblack. COCNTRYMAK. Nkwsboy. Dude. Policeman. Scene, on the street. — Bootblack and Neivshoy standing on the street. Bootblack with his kit and brush ready for action. Newsboy well supplied ivith jjapers. Enter Coun- tryman in very old-fashioned clothing and coarse boots. Newsboy (addressing Countryman). — Papers, boss? Times, Press, Herald, Record. All the latest news. Bank rob- bery in New York. Jolly elopement. Pictures of the man to be hung to-morrow in six positions ; best that can Oegot! [Displaying a pictured paper.'] Only two cents, sir. Have a copy ? Bootblack. — Shine, sah? Hab yer boots shined ? Countryman (spurning the offered papers). — Clear the kack wi' yer papers I I've got an almanac, I reckon. [10 HAVE A SHINE, SAH? Nexvshoy (talcing a step backivard). — Better have a papei^ boss ! All tlie latest news. Bootblack. — Hab a shine, sah ? [^Flourishing his briish.} Grib yer boots a lubly shine, massa. Countryman. — Don't kere if I do, seein' ye're so willin.' It'll tickle Martha. She says boots oughter be black. I mos'ly use lard-ile, that's best. But len' me yer brush, youngster. Bootblack {placing his kit in position to receive the heavy loot). — Sot yer foot up yer, sah. Countryman (using the kit as a boot-jack). — I swan, thia thing ain't half so good as the stair door to pull off a feller's boot ! 'Taint got no hold, no how ! [Kicking it overJ] Bootblack. — Whoa, sah ? yer spillen ob de blacknen an opsottin' ob de kit. Dar, massa, sot up yer hausum boot, iBomewise so. [Lifting the booted foot to position on the kit.~\ Countryman. — What comes next? [Shaking his foot restlessly.'] Bootblack. — I shines him up lubly, sah. You does de holden still. [Applies the brush.] Countryman. — Great stars! you shine 'em an' don't pull 'em off! When I grease 'em, I allers puts 'em on me hand and roasts it in. (Enter Dude, dressed in the most ajyproved dudish styte.) Bootblack (looking up from his polishing and doffing his worn hat to th& Dtide). — Hab a shine, sah ? Jus' a moment ob delay. [Rubbing rapidly at the Countryman's boot] (Dude swings his cane and walks loftily.) Nexvsboy. — Papers, mister ? Herald, Times, Press, World, Ledger, Record. All the latest sensations ! Dude (pausiyig and raising his eye-glasses, with a drawl). — Ah leave ah World ah and ah Press at ah numba fourteen. HATE A SHINE, SAH ? Ill Newsboy. — Yes, sir. Five cents, mister ! Dude. — Ah, ah ! {_With some difficulty finding his ]wcket and the change.} Tiie ahuoyance and iusiguifahcauce of change ! Bootblack {to Countryman, as he gives his boot a finish- ing polish). — Dat hab a lubly shine now, massa. You 'spect him jus' a moment till I sees dis gen'lman. {Countryman takes his foot down aivkardly and continues to qazc rvith amazement at the Dude, twisting his neck to see the wonder in different jiositions.) (Bootblack, tvith a quick movement, sets his kit beside the Dude.) Dude (to Newsboy, as he gives him the pennies for papers). — Deliver the papers ahmediately, boy. Newsboy. — Yes, sir. (Newsboy moves to the side of the stage and employs him- self arranging his stock of papers, counting his change, and examining the contents of his jxjckets.) Bootblack (looking up and down the street, to Dude). — Dar anm't a gall in sight, massa. I-I be lookin' sharp. Hab a small shine ? [Flourishing his brush.'] Dude (raising his glasses and looking up and doivn the street). — Ah! yes. [Putting his small and finely polished hoot on the kit.'] Whisk ah the dust with ah delicate brush. (Bootblack jerks a fine, light brush from his pocket, with which he rapidly dusts the boot a moment, Dude meanwhile holding his eye-glasses and peering up and down the street.) Bootblack.— Dar, dat's lublier dan a mirror. Now, gib me de uder, massa ! Dude. — Ah! [Exchanging the position of the feet.'] Bootblack (rubbing a moment).— ^oyf dat am iiandsomei dan nothen. 112 HAVE A SHINE, SAHl {Dade removes his foot, strokes down his tights, and as Bumes an erect, superb attitude.) (Bootblack doffs his cap and quickly sets his kit beside thi awestruck Countryman.) Newsboy (moving a step or two forward, to Dude).^ Yer pardou, mister ! Any special orders fur to-morrer 1 Great news of the execution an other embezzlein to be in World, Press, Herald, Record, Times, Tribune. Great run on these papers. Dude. — Ah ! ^Readjusting his glasses and trtying with his watch chain.'] I thought you had ah gone. You may leave me ah Press and ah Times ahmedially to-morrow. [ With increased drawl.] Ahmedially, remember. Newsboy. — I deliver quicker 'an wink, mister. \^Walka rapidly off the stage.] Bootblack (who had been waiting a moment or two with his kit beside the Countryman, who appeared too fully overawed by the Dude to notice his presence). — Massa, pleas' sot up dat uder boot till I shine um. (Exit Dude, with a leisurely gait, swinging his cane.') Countryman (in a rather hushed tone). — What kind o' critter was that, Darkie? {^Lifting his unpolished boot slightly.] Bootblack. — Sot um boot, so ! ^Assisting it to position on the kit.] Which, massa? [^Rubbing the boot vigorously.] Countryman. — Why, that there crane or whatever ye call sich animals ; that 'mazin' curious thing with spindle shanks and cocked up head what ye jus' shined. Do they often come inter town ? Bootblack (grinning as he rubs). — Oh, dat were a man, sah. Dudes da call um. Regular cus'mers when dar no ^alls out. I sees lots o' um. Countryman.— Y o\x don't stuff me with no sich yarn' HAVE A SHINE, SAHT lH They're scarce as piziu', I'll vow. Barnum's been burned out agin, sure as ye live, an' this thing's got loose. The queerest critter I ever sot eyes on 1 Them boots is gotten to shine like Sambo. Bootblack {applying the brush more rapidhj). — Hab to charge yer double price, sah. Day's mighty hard tu shine. Countryman (surjyrised). — What's that grumblin' 'bout charge ? Bootblack. — Ten cents, massa, when I'se done. Day's 'mazin' hard to shine. Countryman (jerking doivn his foot). — Git out ! Nobody hired you fur this job. I'd enough sooner hav a layer uf decent grease on me boots. Make a fellow stick here half an hour on one leg an' rub a clean dollar's worth of leather off his boots, then tax im ten cents fur it. No you don't! [Kicking the kit over.'] Git out ! [Kicking toward the Bootblack.'] [Enter Policeman quietly.] Bootblack (affrighted, backing off). — Please, sah, don't trable on me brushes and smash um box. Countryman (to Bootblack). — I'll shine ye! rubbin' all the grease and leather off a man's boot an' clamin' pay fur the distruction of it. I'll knock yer box inter kindlen \FOod. [Giving the kit a pound with the heel of his boot] Policeman (talcing the Countryman's arm). — Better come along with me, friend, and leave the boy to his trade. Countryman (resisting). — Not much ! You cum with me, if there's any cumin' done. [Policeman and Countryman scuffle quickly off the stage.] Bootblack (grins at their exit, sighs while gathering up hU tcnttered, possemions, puts his bmtsh and blacking in the kit),-— Dar am many hard ways ob gettin' an' not gettin' a liben. [Curtain falls.] Mbs. S. L. Oberholtzeb. 1 14 BOLD FOR THE RIGHT. BOLD FOR THE RIGHT. chakacters. Harky Stevens. Eddie Taylor. Jack Wii^on. Enter Harry from one side of platform and Eddie from thu other, meeting in the middle. Harry carries school booh in a strap. Eddie has book pushed up under his jacket, which is buttoned over it. Harry. — Hello, Eddie! Where are you going? Eddie {in mysterious manner). — Don't say anything, Harry, but the fact is I'm not going to school to-day. I'm going to play hooky ! Harry. — I'm sorry to hear it, Eddie. It's not altogether right, you know. AVhat did you do with your boaks? Eddie. — Here they are. {^Showing them under jacket.'] I'm going down to the creek to see Jack Wilson, and then I'm going in swimming. No school for me, a nice day like this. Harry. — See Jack Wilson, did you say ? Where are you going to find him? Has he come home? Eddie. — Didn't you know ? He came back to town last night. There's a crowd of us fellows going down to meet him this morning. He's sure to be down by old Peter's boat-house, and we're going to get him to tell us all about his voyage. Won't you come along, Harry ? Harry. — I'm afraid I can't, Eddie. You see — Eddie. — O you're afraid of a whipping, are you? Well, then, you'd better not come. Jack don't like cowards. Harry. — No, I'm not afraid of a whipping at all, but 1 wouldn't like to deceive mother. She always says she can trust me, and I always want her to say that. I'd like first BOLD FOR THE EIGHT. 115 rate to see Jack, but I won't play truant to see him or any- body else. Eddie. — What a good boy you are ! It's not the first time I've hooked it, and it won't be the last, either. I don't like being cooked in a school-room these warm days. It's much better fun to swim down there below the boat- house. The water's just as clear as crystal, and you don't know how cool and pleasant it makes you feel for the rest of the day. Better come, Harry. You can hide your books under the hedge over there and get them as you go back. Harry. — But then I shall miss to-day's lessons, and that will throw me back, aud you know I want to be number one next month. Eddie. — Well, if you'd rather be number one than enjoy a swim, you'd better go to school. I'm not ambitious that way. The last bench is just as comfortable as the first one, I think, Harry. — I wonder if one day would make much differ' euce? Eddie. — No, of course it wouldn't. You could easily catch up. Besides, that other little fellow is sure to make half a dozen bad misses before the month's out, and you can walk ahead of him. Tell your mother you didu't feel well and thought some fresh air would do you good. Harry. — But I do feel well. Eddie. — O you're too particular altogether. However, if you're not coming I must go, because if T don't hurry I may miss Jack, and I want to hear the story he has to tell about meeting the " Flying Dutchman," the phantom ship, you know. Harry. — Is he going to tell about that ? Eddie. — O yes, and the boys say he can spin sailon' yarns like an old salt. You'd better come I 116 BOLD FOR THE RIGHT. Harry. — Shall I? No! It's a big temptation, bUb i won't yield to it, Eddie. School is the place for me. Eddie. — All right, then. I'll tell Jack how much you think of him. O my, won't he laugh when I tell him thai Harry Stevens was afraid to play truant, because he thought his mother might find it out and whip him for it? Jack will eujoy that ! {Enter Jack quldbj. He overhears last remark.) Jack. — Laugh, will he, Eddie? Eujoy it, will he? Well, maybe the Jack who ran away might ; but the Jack who returned won't. His year's voyage has taught him what a foolish, silly, wicked boy he was to play truant, neglect his studies, and disobey his poor old mother, who died while he was away. Eddie. — O never mind preaching. Jack, come down — Jack. — Not yet, Eddie. I don't wonder you are ashamed of yourself and want to get away. Don't you know it was very wrong of you to think of stopping away from school yourself? I hope you're sorry for it. And don't you know it was still more wrong to try to persuade Harry to do so, and then to ridicule him because he had the courage to say " No " ? Eddie. — 0, I don't care. Jack. — But you ought to care, and you will care some day — just as I do now. Harry. — I think he cares. Jack ; but he don't like to own it. He will come and go to school with me after all, I think. Eddie. — Well, if Jack won't spin any yarns, I suppose I might as well. Jac^.— Jack's yarns shall be spun after school hours to those who answered the roll call and to no others. There «ow, run away, both of you, and remember always that THE ART CRITIC. 11^ there is uothing brave or manly or smart in outwitting father, mother, or teacher. The truant seklom comes to any good, aud the idle scholar regrets his idleness during all the days of his life. Take Harry as your model, Eddie, aud when bad boys ask you to do what you know to be wrong, then be truly brave and manly and bold for the right, and say "No," and stick to it. Will you try? Eddie.— Yes, I'll try ! Harry. — And now hurry, or we shall both be late. [^Exit Harry and Eddie one way and Jack the other.'] Charles Stokes Wayne. THE ART CRITIC. CHARACTERS. Attnt Nancy, a quaint old lady in quaint costume. Isabel, her niece, a girl of twelve or fourteen years in modem attire. Scene. — An ordinary sitting-room. Aunt Nancy, seated, knitting a stocking. Enter Isabel with portfolio of en- gravings. Isabel. — Auntie, I think you must be tired of that ever- lasting knit, knit, knit, so come, put your stocking away and look at these pictures I have brought down to show you. Aunt Nancy. — Yes, child, jest wait till I get my glasses on, and I'll look at your picters as long as you want me to. \_Puts on her spectacles^ Isabel. — What do you think of this ? It is an engrav- ing from a painting by one of the great masters — I cannot recall his name just now — and I think it very fine. Aunt N. — ^Yes, that is fine, and I shouldn't wonder a bit if old Solomon Doolittle drawed that. He was the great* 1 18 THE ART CRITIC. est master I ever knowed, aud I tell you, the boys and gala that went to his skule was 'most af eared to wiuk their eyes when he was around. And he was a powerful hand with the pen aud pencil ; yes, I wouldn't be afeared to bet my last dollar that this picter is his work. Isabel. — No, Auntie, that cannot be ! But here's some- thing you will appreciate, I'm £,ure — the Madonna, after Raphael. Aunt N. — Madonner ! It seems to me I've heerd that name afore. Any relation of yourn, Isabel ? Isabel. — Hardly, Aunt Nancy. Aunt N. — She's a purty creetur. Turns her eyes up a leetle too much, but she's kind o' peaceful lookin'. I like her picter real fust-rate. Isabel. — I thought you would. Do you like animals? Aunt N. — Yes, well enough in their places. My ! that looks jest like some of Deacon Sly's pesky critters. Shouldn't wonder if they was his. Isabel. — That is one of Bonheur's animals. Au7it N. — Bonyur? I don't know him, never saw his animals, neither, but if that's a photograph of 'em, I wouldn't be afeared to set Deacon Sly's agin 'em any day IFicks up another.'] What's this? Isabel. — That's a rural scene. You'll like that, I know. Aunt N. — -Do tell I Jest look at that pig-pen, it's as nateral as life, and there's the pig, too. It reminds me of your Uncle Josh, he was so fond of pork. Isabel. — Do you see the mountains iti the distance, Auntie, and the soft, beautiful clouds above them ? Aunt N. — Yes, I see 'em, but they're not as purty to my «yes as the pigs and the chickens aud the turkeys. Take It away, it makes me feel kind o' homesick. Isabel. — Here's an oceaji view. I think this is exquisite, THE ART CRITIC. 119 Just look at the waste of waters, and ouly tKis strip of beach as a foregroiuul. Aunt N. — Well, ut" all things — Where's the pieter ? That's about as near nothiu' as the leetle end of a pinted stick. Why, there's nothiu' to be seen in it but water. Isabel. — Perhaps you'll like this better. Here are some ruins of ancient Greece. Aunt N. — O la ! don't put it down here on my new gownd if it's greasy. Sho ! you're jest makin' game ; that un is as clean lookiu' as the best of 'em. My! but it must have been a shacklin' man that owned that place. It's all gone to rack. I think I'd hev spent the money it took for gettin' the pieter took to put it in a leetle better repair. Isabel. — Ruins are not to my taste either, Auntie. Ah I here's a gem — these Corinthian pillars. Aunt K — Ruther hard pillers, I should say ; look more like posts. They're stood up, too. I s'pose that's so as to give a good view of 'em. Made for giants, by the size of 'em. Now, that picter's what I call interestin'. Got any more ? Isabel. — This snow scene. Aunt Nancy, is thought to be fine. Aunt N. — Now, I call that real purty, I allers did set store by a good snow-storm. Sort of chirks one up to heat the bells a-jinglin'. Many a sleighin'-party I went to when I was a gal, and good times we had a-dancin' and a-eatin' the good suppers that was got up. The pieter mak&s me think of it all, and I like it fust-rate. ITaking up another.l O, here's a dear little baby. How pert and sassy he looks! Jest for all the world like Sal Smith's little Joe, only Joe's got a squint like in one eye and his nose turns up a leetle. Isabel. — Not very complimentary to Greuzd's Infaat Cherub. What do you think of this? 120 THE ART CRITIC. Aunt N. (scrutinizing it closely and reading aloud ths title).—" Execution of Mary Stuart." Well, there! that's the first I knowed she was dead. Executed, too ! I wondei what she'd been and done ? Queer I hadn't heerd of it afore. She was old Stuart's daughter, you know, Isabel, down there at Tubbsville. Isabel. — Oh, you're altogether mistaken. Aunt Nancy. This was a beautiful young queen, who perished centuries ago. Aunt N. — Well, I am glad to hear it. That is, I'm glad it's not the gal I knowed, she allers seemed so peaceable like. Isabel. — Here are two pretty little companion-pieces, " Demanding Toll " and " Passing Free." You'll under- stand them at a glance. Aunt N. — I see a gal and a feller stand in' on a bridge, but I don't see no toll-gate. O now I know {laughing\ them's lovyers. Many a time was I asked to " pay toll " when I was young and handsome, but that was so long ago that I'd e'en a'most forgot what the sayin' meant. Passin* free, is she? Well, she'll come back agin if he coaxeg her up a leetle. It's nateral to fight shy for a leetle spell, but they don't ginerally hold out long. I'd have them framed and hung up. Isabel. — Perhaps I will sometime, but I hear the lunch- bell, so let us put them away and finish looking at them «ome other time. Aunt N. — Jest as you say, Isabel. I like your picten fnst-rate. When you come to visit me I'll show you my chromios. I got most of them at the tea-store down tc Tubbsville, and they're what I consider handsome. lExit.-] L. J. AND E. C. Rook. BEAVE BOSTON BOYS. Hi BRAVE BOSTON BOYS. CHARACTERS. QOTERNOK Gates. His Secretary. Four Boys, Scene. — Four boys standing in front of a table at which Secretary is writing. Enter Governor Gates. Takes seat beside table. Governor. — Mr. Secretary, what is our business with these lads? Secretary. — They have come to see your Excellency upon a matter which they had best speak of themselves. Governor. — Well, boys, what is your errand? First Boy. — We are here, sir, to complain of what your soldiers have done to us. They have outraged — Governor. — What ! Have your fathers been teaching you rebellion and sent you here to show it ? Fird Boy. — Nobody sent us, sir ; but if our fathers hate oppression, so do we, and we have come to you for redress. Governor. — Ha, ha ! a pretty piece of impudence, I de- clare. Well, my lad Iturns to third boy}, you seem war- like enough to whip a whole company of my red-coats. What say you ? Third Boy. — If I were a man, sir, I would teach them better manners. Governor. — What have the soldiers done to you ? First Boy. — They have torn down our snow hills and broken our skating ponds and — Governor. — That is provoking ; but even soldiers must have their frolic. Fourth Boy. — We could have excused one offense, but that did not satisfy them. Governor. — Well, the loss of a day's coasting is not hard 122 BRAVE BOSTON BOYS. to bear. Ah, my boys, you follow the example of youi elders and make a pretext for rebellion out of a trifle. The spirit is in you all. First Boy. — Then, sir, we have caught it from our Eng- lish grandfathers, if our history books speak the truth. Governor (to Secretary). — What youthful wiseacre have we here ? But [to hoys] to the purpose. Have you com- plained to the officers of the troops, my boys ? Second Boy. — John [^indicating first boyi and I went to the General, sir, and others spoke to the Captain, but they laughed at us and called us little rebels — Third Boy. — And told us to help ourselves if we could. First Boy. — After this we met at school, sir, and our companions chose us four to come to you. We have never troubled your troops, but they will not allow us to enjoy our sports, and harass us as if we had no rights in our own city. Governor. — If this is all you learn at your schools, ray boys, they had better be closed, for you will one day suffer a greater harm than the loss of an ice pond for such words. First Boy. — But, sir, if a company of American sol- diers — Governor. — Be very careful, my lad; such words are dangerous ! First Boy. of Indians, or French, should break through the walls of your forts and tear them down, would you not feel, sir, that you had been abused and injured enough to make you turn upon them and punish them ? We cannot fight our own battles yet, and for that reason alone we ask your interference with these insolent soldiers. General (to Secretary). — The very children here draw in a love of liberty with the air they breathe. [^Ihtrning to BRAVE BOSTON BOi'S. 123 t^o'/s.'] Now, tell me, boys, you have all heard of King Ge.irge of England? All. — Yes, sir. Governor. — And of the Parliament ? All. — Yes, sir. Governor. — Well, they are the powers that by divine right make the laws for the nations of which we are all subjects. Now, if our King wanted us to give him our purse for his good and for our own good, should we not be obedient to him? First Boy. — If he asked it of us as a gift, sir, we might from our patriotism or our generosity, give it to him and a great deal more besides ; but if he forced us — Governor. — What ! what ! The very babes prattle trea- son in their cradles. Children must be taught an humbler duty to their King if we would expect loyal men among us. Fourth Boij. — But, sir — Governor. — Well, enough of that. When did this hap- pen that you speak of? First Boy. — It was on the Common, sir. Every winter we build snow hills there to coast our sleds on, and we use the ponds for skating grounds. Last night for the third time the hills were throwu down and the ice cut and broken in the ponds — Third Boy. — Yes, sir ; and when we came, before our Bchool hour this morning, with our skates and sleds we found the Boiled Lobsters — Governor. — What, lad ? Third Boy. — O, that is what the townspeople call the red-coats, sir. We fjund them standing over our ground with their muskets in their hands, and they insulted us, and threatened to shoot us if we mended our hills. Governor.-^ And what did you do ? 124 BRAVE BOSTON BOYS. Third Boy. — We built up auotlier hill belure scnool, in spite of them, and then we resolved to speak to you, sir, when we were dismissed. Governor {to Secretary). — This is the stufl' to make armies of. Secretary. — It looks, your Excellency, as if it were likely to form an army before many years pass. First Boy. — If we were old enough, sir — Governor. — Well, my brave lads, I like your spirit ; but you must learn to utter more temperate words. All.—^ni, sir — Governor. — Go now and rest assured if ray troops trouble you again they shall. suffer punishment for it. \_Governot rises and starts to folloiv boys to the door. Suddenly he ex- claims-^ Hark ! are there not drums sounding outside? First Boy (who has already reached windoiv or door look- ing out). — Yes ! Come, boys, the British are out with theii muskets and drums, and the crowd is pelting them with snow-balls. Bravo, Dick! See, he struck the Corporal's hat off! They're fighting ! Come, we shall miss it ! [-Bo?/{ run out, shouting-l Governor (turning to Secretary). — This populace is as fearless as the sea. No barrier can subdue it. What an omen there seems for us in its roar! Quick! send for my arms. I must quell this riot or it will swell to revolution. [Curtain.] Morris Harrison. JUSTICE. 133 JUSTICE. CHARACTERS. Mb. Harding, Mr. Martin. Francis Hording, Mrs. Martin. a boy of seventeen. Harry Martin. Mr. Brooks, a lawyer. Alice Martin. Scene I. Mr. Hardinf/s office. Mr. H. and Mr. Brooks seated at a table, xvriting. Enter Francis, throwing down his books and seating himself by the table. Francis. — Father, Harry INIartiu is going to leave the Academy. He says his father has lost so much by the contract to put np those houses of yours on State Street, that he will have to sell his property, and Plarry is going to leave school and go in an office. Mr. Harding. — Yes, I believe that has been a losing business for Martin. It Avas very unfortunate for him. Francis. — But, father, could you not allow him some share of your profits on the work ? Mr. Harding {somewhat sternly). — My son, you do not un- derstand business transactions. When you are a few years alder, I hope you may have more wisdom. When the con- tract was made neither of us knew that the price of labor would advance so much. Had it become cheaper, the loss vvould have been mine. Such risks must always be taken in business. Francis (hesitatingly^. — Father ? Mr. Harding {impatiently). — Well, Francis. — I heard you and Mr. Brooks talking last evening about that new railroad running across Mr. Mar- tin's lot. I don't believe he knows anything about it, you told me not to mention it. It will make his land so much 126 JUSTICE. more valuable, that if he were to sell that part, don't yot> thiuk he could keep his house? Mr. Harding. — Yes, if he were uot obliged to sell at once, and could keep it until the railroad were au assured thing. Francis. — The road will surely run through his land, Mr. Brooks says it will have to. \_Rising and standing before Mr. H.~\ Father, won't you, to please me, buy this property and save JNIr. Martin from becoming a bankrupt ? Mr. Harding. — If it is ofiered for sale I shall probably buy it. And now, I have some business with Mr. Brooks. Francis. — Oh, thank you, father. Harry will be so pleased if he can keep on with his studies. [^Taking cap and books, leaves the room.'] Mr. Harding {turning to Mr. Brooks). — I fear that boy will never make a business man. If I buy the property I shall pay only what it is worth now, without any reference to the railroad. Mr. Brooks. — Certainly, sir ; what sort of a paradise would we have on this earth if business men acted on the principle of the Golden Rule ? Mr. Harding. — There is not a man in the city that would do differently, and yet I dread that boy's opinion of what he will consider a mean act. [Curtain.] Scene II. Same room as before. Mr. Brooks alone, seated, reading a paper. Enter Francis, who must be dressed to look older than in last scene, with gloves, cane, and high hat. Francis. — Good-morning, Mr. Brooks. Mr. Brooks (rising.) — Good -morning, sir; allow me, if not too late, to offer my congratulations on your having JUSTICE. 127 attained your majority. I had no opportunky of doing lo yesterday. \_Handing F. a c/tatV.] Francis. — Thank you, Mr. Brooks. I have called to in- quire about some business matters. I have been anxiously looking forward to the time when I would have control oi my proj^erty. J/r. Brooks. — You have a ^arge income ; I had supposed that was amply sufficieut for you. I hope you do not in^ tend taking up any of the capital, I trust you will con- sult me before you invest it in any new speculation. As you know, your father wished me to be your legal adviser, as I had always been his. Francis. — I do intend using my capital, and I have no doubt you will consider it a very unwise investment. Mr. Brooks. — What do you wish to do with it? Francis. — In what I shall do, I do not cast any reflections on my father's actions. He simply did what many others would have done. Mr. Brooks. — You have not told me yet what you are going to do. Francis. — I am going to pay Mr. Martin the balance du6 him on the land father bought of him about four yeara ago. Mr. Brooks. — Wh-at? I never heard of such insanity I Why, that land is worth fifty thousand dollars. Do you intend giving him that? Francis. — What did he receive for it ? 3Ir. Brooks. — Five thousand. Francis. — Now, will you tell me what you honestly be* lieve it would have been worth had it been generally known that the railroad would pass through ? Mr. Brooks. — Well, I suppose it might have brough* twenty thousand. 128 JUSTICE. Francis. — ^Then I shall pay Mr. Martin the fifteen thu* «and dollars. 3Ir. Brooks. — I can never consent to your using youi money for any such Quixotic notion. He sold it and ww glad to get rid of it. Francis. — That is no reason he should not have what is rightfully his. I shall be obliged to act without your con- sent, for I have intended doing it just as soon as the money was in rti^' possession. [^Jiising.^ [Curtain.] Scene III. Sitting-room, poorly furnished. Mr. Martin reclining in a chaii supported by pillows. Mrs. Mai-tin and Alice sewing. (Enter Harry, who throws himself in a chair with an air oj weariness.) Mrs. Martin. — Well, my son, what fortune to-day? Harry. — Oh, the same old story. Clerks are being dis* charged every day instead of employed. There seems to be no work in the city for me. Mr. Martin. — Do not despair, Harry. There must be £ place in the world for everybody. Harry. — Then my niche must be in such an obscure cor- ner that I cannot discover it. Alice. — I shall not wait any longer. I will write thic BTening and accept the position Mrs. Cook has offered me. Mrs. Martin. — Oh, Alice I how can I spare you to go so fai from us, and your father so ill ? Mr. Martin. — Things certainly look very dark for iig [f I could regain my strength it would be all right, but with money gone and health gone, it is a poor prospect foi (he winter. JUSTICE. 12f {Knock at the door. Alice admits Francis. Mrs. Martin places a chair. Francis says " Good-evening," shaking hoiida with Harry.) Harry. — We have not seen you for a long time. Francis. — No; after father's death I was away with mother for nearly two years. I am sorry to see you are an mvalid, Mr. Martin. il/r. Martin. — I trust I shall not be so long. Francis. — I have called this evening to speak about that property on Front Street you sold father. Did you knovr at that time that its value was likely to be so much in- creased ? Mr. Martin. — No; certainly I did not, or I shouldn't have sold it for the price I did. Harry. — Father blames himself for being so short-sighted as not to have seen further into the future. I think hig poor health is due to his worrying over that affair. Mr. Martin. — Yes, yes, had I only known the railroad would soon cross the laud, I could have saved myself from ruin and been to-day a prosperous man. Well ! [sighing'] it can't be helped now. Francis. — No, Mr. Martin, the last few years of anxiety and trouble you have passed through cannot be recalled ; but I trust that a simple act of justice may render the out- took for the future more cheerful. I felt, when I was but a boy, that it was not just for one to profit by another's mistake. Mr. Martin. — I blame no one, Francis. I should have inquired more carefully into the matter. Francis. — Well, Mr. Martin, we will not ask who was to blame. As father bought the land, I wish you to have the balance due on what you would have considered a fair value for xU Here is my check for fifteen thousand 130 JUSTICE. iollars that you can use at any time. [Holding a cheek loward /ii'm.] (3Ir. Martin leans forward, looking at Francis in surprise.) Mr. Martin. — Why ! I — I do not understand you. Francis. — It is simply this, sir, that I wish to pay you for your laud that is now in my possession. [Putting the check in Mr. Martinis handl^ Mr. Martin (looking at the cheeky. — But, Francis, I can- not accept this. You do not owe me anything. Francis. — Perhaps not, Mr. Martin, from a legal stand' point, but by my standard of conscience I do. I could Dever be happy, feeling that I was enjoying what rightfully belonged to another. (Mr. Martin leans back in his chair and covers his face with his hands.) Mrs. Martin (coming to Mr. Martinis side). — I would that all business men acted on the same principle. This is a noble and generous act, for which I hope you may be amply rewarded. Francis. — Do not look upon it in the light of a gift. It is your own money, though rather late in coming to you. 3Ir. Martin (sitting up). — It is an unselfish deed and one worthy of you. My future life will show ray gratitude better than I can now express it. Harry. — My dear friend [taking the hand of Francis'], I believe you have saved my father's life. This anxiety was killing him. Alice. — Let me thank you for the load of care you have lifted from the heart of my dear father and mother. I was beginning to doubt whether any one, nowadays, lived by the Golden Rule, but you have clearly proven to-night that ^ stUl has force. [Curtain.] Ella H. Clement. A CHKTSTMAS EVE "ADVENTTJRE. 131 A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURE. CHAKACTEES. Santa Claus. Nellie, a Mrs. Santa Claus. Harry, | Mr. Bently. First Fairy, V Little childre*. Mrs. Bently. Second Fairy, 1 A Young Lady. Third Fairy, J Three Shepherds. Several Adults and Children. Scene I. A sitiing-room nicely furnished. A little hoy and girl sealed in rocking-chairs. Nellie. — Harry, don't you wish there were fairies nowa- days? Harry. — Why, Nellie, wnat a funny question! What could the fairies do ? Nellie. — Help us go to se^ Santa Claus, to be sure. Harry. — Do you think they could do that ? Nellie. — Of course they could. Didn't they do all sort* of wonderful things in my new book> "The Enchanted Princess." Harry. — Well then, I wish they would help us, for I do want to see Santa Claus, I am afraid he won't know all the things I want. Nellie. — Do you think we could walk to his house to- morrow ? Harry. — Walk ! I guess not. He lives up in the moon. Nellie.— 0\\ ! Then the man in the moon is Santa Claus? Harry. — H'm, I — suppose — so. I never heard of but ane man up there. Nellie. — If that's where he lives, we can't get there- There is no use in thinking about it. Harry. — Oh dear. What shall we do with ourselves? ly^ A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURE. Nellie. — Mamma said I must not come in her room, and Mary told me to run out of the kitchen and not be after botheriu' her. Harry. — Yes, and I was going in the library, when papa came to the door and told me I was not on any account to go in that room. Nellie {yawning). — Everybody has something to do but us. I am so sleepy, I wish it was bedtime. Harry. — I am sleepy, too. I'll tell you what to do, Nel- lie ; let's take a nap till supper-time. Nellie. — Well, suppose we do, then we won't be both» ering anybody. Shut your eyes, and I'll shut mine. {Both lean hack in their chairs and close their eyes.') [Curtain.] Scene II. Same room. Children sleeping. Mrs. Bently (comes in and looks at children"). — Well, the little darlings are tired out and have gone sound asleep. I will not disturb them. l_Takes her work-basket from the table and goes o^lt.'\ {Enter three little girls dressed in ivhiteto represent fairies, each carrying a ivand with a bright ribbon twisted around, it. There should be several small bells sewed on the ribbon so thai they will ring luhen the wands are moved.) First Fairy. — Shall we aid these children ? Second Fairy. — Did they not wish for our presence ? Third Fairy. — And have we not left our dance on the velvet sward, by the side of the rippling brook, where the lowers were nodding and bending to us, to come to this cold land ? Ugh I I'm shivering now. First Fairy. — Then let us at once to work. [^Ooes to the 'Children, waves her wand over them three time3.'\ 12 A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURlii 13? O children dear, In your dreams so bright, May you swiftly speed, Through the frosty night, To the palace fair. That is built in air, Where dwelleth in state. So noble and great, The good Kris-Kingle, For whom our merry bells jingle. (^All tinkle their bells.) Second Fairy {ivaving her ivand). — Tinkle, tinkle, merry bells, By flowery meads and fairy dells. Guide these children on their way To the place where fairies stay. Third Fairy (waving her xvand). — There you may see the sly old elf, The o-ood St. Nicholas himself. {All tinkle their bells and say in concert^ Tinkle, tinkle, merry bells. By flowery meads and fairy dells. [Curtain.] Scene III. Some of Santa Claus. A profudon of toys scattered ahovX on tables, chairs, and floor. Mrs Santa Claus, with cap and spectacles on, dressing a large doll. A timid knock at the door. Mrs. S. C. (looking up). — Come in. (Enter Nellie and Harry dressed same as last scene.) Mrs. S. C. (in great surprise). — Why, bless my hearts Where did you two tots come from? [^Kissing each of 134 A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURE. them.] It does my eyes good to look at a child once more, I haven't seen one since Nick and I moved up here. But dear me, what did you come for ? Harry. — Please ma'am, we want to see Santa Claus. Mrs. S. C. — He isn't at home now, but he soon will be. He has just run over to China. But sit right down. [Giv- ing each a chair. TJie children gaze in admiration at the t^ys scattered about. 1 Nellie. — Are you Mrs. Santa Claus ? Mrs. S. C. — Yes, I am Mrs. Santa Claus. Harry. — Why, I liever knew there was oue before. Nellie (scornfully). — Who did you s'pose dressed all the dolls? Do you think Santa Claus can sew? Mrs. S. C. {nodding). — It does me good to see you. But tell me, my dears, how you got here? Harry. — The fairies brought us. Nellie (looking intently at the doll Mrs. S. C. is dressing). •—Mrs. Santa Claus, do you think your husband is going to bring that doll to our house ? Mrs. S. C. — Now, I shouldn't wonder if it was intended for a little girl that looks like you. Nellie (clapping her hands). — my, s'pose it is. (J. stamping and ringing of sleigh-bells heard outside. Santa Claus rushes in. He should be stout, with a long, white beard. A large basket or pack strapped on his back.) Santa Claus (sees the children and stai'ts back). — Dear me! Bless my soul ! Where did you come from ? Mrs. S. C. — They came to see you on important busi~ ness. Santa Claus. — Ha! ha! ha! What business can two children have with Santa Claus ? Harry. — Please, Mr. Santa Claus, we were afraid you *ould not know just what we want for Christmas. A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURE. 13? Nellie. — And we thought it would be nicer to come and loll you. Santa Claus. — Yes, yes, to be sure; ao it is, so it is. [ Opening a large account-booh^ Let me see — what are youi aames? [Turning the pages of the book.^ Harry. — Harry aud Nellie Bently, sir. Santa Claus. — -Yes, yes, to be sure. Now, what is it you want? {_Talcing a pen and writing.'] Nellie. — A big wax doll aud — aud a box of cream choco- late candy. Santa Glaus. — Ahem I Candy is a bad thing for little girls. Aud you, sir? {^Turning to Harry.'] Harry. — A pair of skates, and a ball, aud a Chatterbox, and a new sled, and — ■ Nellie. — If you please, sir, I'd like a fairy book, and a music-box. Santa Claus. — Yes, yes, to be sure, you shall have them. Is that all ? Both Children. — Yes, sir. (Stamping and sleigh-bells ringing outside.^ Santa Claus (turning to Mrs. S. C. and taking the baskei from fiis shoulders). — My dear, will you have this basket filled with dolls by the time I come back ? I hear the rein- deer prancing and pawing out there, so I must be off. I Jim going to Norway, and can drop these children in the United States, as I go along. Mrs. S. C. — Well, if they arc going with you they must be well bundled up, for it will not be a fairy barge, such as they came in. Sxnta Claus. — Yes, to be sure. \_He wraps a buffalo robe around each. Mrs. Santa Claris kisses them and says good- bye. Santa Claus carries them out A loud ringing oj hells and cracking of whips.] ^CuRTAiN.3 136 A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURE. Scene IV. The room briuiantly lighted. A Christmas tree handsomely trimmed, which may be hidden during the previous part oj the entertainment by a curtain. Several adults and children seated in the room. Each child should have one or more toys. Nellie and Harry in the foreground, with the differ- ent articles for which they had asked Santa Claus, about them. Mr. and Mrs. Bently standing by the tree. Mr. Bently. — Friends, I believe the presents have all been distributed. I trust no one has been forgotten. Mrs. Bently (taking up a package). — Here is something you have overlooked. Mr. Bently. — It is marked for Miss Nellie Bently. Nellie {takes it and opens it). — Oh ! A box of cream chocolates. [Excitedly.'] Now, papa, mamma, don't you believe that we really went to see Santa Claus ? For we have every single thing we asked him for. Mrs. Bently. — I ihink you had a very pleasant dream, seated in the big: rocking-chair. Harry. — Well, we did see him, and Mrs. Santa Claus too, didn't we Nellie ? Nellie (plodding her head emphatically). — Yes, we did. Mr. Bently. — Let them believe in it ; such a harmless superstition can do them no injury. They will begin to doubt soon enough. I believe in letting children be chil- dren as long as possible. And now we will have some music, after that perhaps we may have some visitors. {Music, "Hark ! the Herald Angeh Sing," or anything appropriate to Christmas. During this piece three men or large boys enter, dressed as shepherds, ivith shepherds' crooks. They go to the front, and when the music ceases tJiey recite iogether, or each may recite to a period : ) A CHRISTMAS ETE ADVENTURE. 137 ** When Bethlehem's plains were transfigured with light And the shepherds stood gazing below, They saw in the heavens above them a sight That kindled their hearts to a glow. On the edge of a cloud stood the Angel of God, With legions cherubic attended, While voices uunumbered, both near and abroad, In melodious chorus were blended. ' I bring,' said the Angel, on wings of love flying, * Joy ! joy ! to this desolate sod ; In Bethlehem's manger a Saviour is lying Who is Christ, the Incarnate of God !' Then the cherubic legions praised God in full chorus. And this was the soug that rang out on the air, ( To he ^mg by the entire company ;) Gloria Deo in Excelsis, Peace on earth, good will to men." (The shepherds step back, and a young lady goes to front o) Ttm-xge and recites ;) " The Arab now pitches his tent on the plain Where the shepherds heard angels once sing. And the Mussulman's war-steed now crunches his graia In the manger that cradled our King ! But the warm, living faith and the heart's pure devotion The angels enkindled in bosoms of old. Have swept the wide world, and from ocean to ocean, Till millions rejoice when the story is told. And the Saviour no more is a babe in the manger. But a conquering hero, all mighty to save, To the helpless a refuge, a friend to the stranger. E'en wielding a sceptre o'er death and the grave. 138 DOUBLE PLAY. Let us take up (he song, then, and join tlie grand chorus, As sung to the shepherds on Bethlehem's plains; The same Christ is ours, the same heaven o'er us, And angels are waiting to join the glad strain. (2b be sung by the company:) Gloria in Excelsis, Peace on earth, good will to men." [Curtain.] Ella H. Clement. DOUBLE PLAY. CHARACTEBS. Mr. Jddson, a millionaire from Michigan, very delicate. Tom Caemine, a young artist looliing for a model. Fritz Oppelheimer, a German who has had experience. Mike O'Leary, an Irish grocery store clerk. Scene. — Parlor in Mrs. Mulberry's boarding house. Lounge at right, table in centre, on which are newspapers. One chair at right and two at left. Mr. Judson discovered lying on lounge asleep, with shawl throivn over him. Enter Tom Carmine, wearing Tarn O'Shanter cap, Norfolk jacket, and neglige tie. Contemplates Mr. Judson' s sleeping form. Tom. — What on earth does that fellow want lying about the parlor in that fashion, I'd like to know ? Why don't he go to his room and sleep ? A nice idea, that, to make a chamber out of the drawing room ! And I expect visitors, too— any number of them — in answer to my advertisement for a model. Mrs. Mulberry objects to my having them tramp over her new stair carpets up to the fourth floor, so I have to receive them here instead of in ray sky-parlor studio. What a jolly model this old fellow would make J TJOUBLE PLAY. 139 He's got just the cadaverous, worn expression I want, but oi course, he wouldn't consent to sit. Mrs. Mulberry tells me he's immensely wealthy. Don't know how to spend his in- come, and is looking for a long-lost nephew Avith whom to ihare it. Of course he wouldn't sit. I wish he'd get up and go, though. Well, when the consumptive models begin to come in he won't stop long ; their coughing will disturb his slumbers. \_Going to table and taking up a paper, reads:'] " Wanted — A thiu, hollow-cheeked man as a model, by an artist, who is about to paint a picture of 'Tantalus in Hades.' Call at 76 Boffin's Bower, between eleven and twelve." There, that's my advertisement. Rather neat, I think. As I view it, Tantalus must have been very much ema- ciated after his efforts to get a mouthful of water had con- tinued for some time, and so I shall picture him. I want as a model, a man dying of consumption, with his skin drawn tightly over the cheek-bones, his cheeks two deep holes, his eyes sunken, his complexion pale and sallow. How well that sleeper there would answer my purpose ! By Jove ! I think I'll make a sketch of his face as he sleeps. Where's my sketch-book ? \_Feels in his pockets.l Up stairs, of course. Well, it won't take me long to get it. [Exii Tom, i.] ( J.S he goes out, Mike O'Leary peeps in at E. Tlien stept cautiously in on tiptoe. ) J/t/L-e.— Whist, now ! And phat's this I'm doin'? Sure, I might be arristed for burgulary and clapped into a dun- geon cell fur false pretinses, Mike O'Leary, me boy, you've no right here, at all at all, and it's a coward yez are or ye2 wouldn't run away loike that from a purty face and a tidy waist — the wan wantin' to be kissed by you and the ither imbraced. Bad cess to the gurl wid her flattery ! It was at the back gate I called jist now to take Mrs. Mulberry'* 140 DOUBLE PLAY. ordtliers fur the corner grocery, whin the little colleen in vited me in, and " It's a model ye are," sez she. "Go way wid yez !" sez I ; " it's yerself as is the pink of perfection," eez I. Wid that I was about to put me arrum about her, whin she pointed to this door. "It's a Tantalus yez would be," sez she. " Tantalizin' ye?" sez I. " Niver a bit of it, but a thrue admirer of your rosy cheeks and bright eyes," sez I, and wid that I was about to kiss her. Then I heard futshtips a comiu' and I — well, here I am, and phat I'm here fur I don't know ! Sure, the ould man's a wakin' up there, and I'm blissed if I know how to explain toe prisence here, at all at all. {Mr. Judson opens his eyes, looks about sleepily, catches nght of Mike, and sits up on lounge^ Mr. Judson. — Ah ! you called to see me, I suppose. Mike. — I did, sir ! [Aside.l I must get out of this some way or other ; and sure, since I'm here I've called to see him. Mr. Judson. — I hope you will excuse the manner of my reception of you. The fact is, I was very weary, and I fell asleep almost before I knew it. Have you been waiting long? Mike. — Not very long, sir. Mr. Judson. — And you came in answer to my advertise^ ment, I suppose. Mike {aside). — Phat luck, to be sure! \_Aloud.'] I did that, sir ; yes, sir. In answer to your advertisement, sir. Mr. Judson. — Won't you sit down ? Mike {seating himself on chair by lounge). — Thank ye, air! 3fr. Judson. — I may as well explain to you that my sis- ter came east from Michigan twenty five years ago, and here married a poor man. Who or what he was I don't DOUBLE PLAY. 141 know. I never heard his name. She and ray father had i quarrel, and after her departure we received no letter ov message from her. A mutual friend who met her here years afterward, informed us she was married and had a son. That soi\ I now want to find. Therefore I adver« tised for information concerning Margaret Judson or her child. What do you know of either of them ? Mike. — Niver a word, sir ! (Enter Tom Carmine, L., portfolio in hand.) Mr. Judson. — But I thought you said you came in answer to the advertisement ; and yet when I ask you what you know, you can tell me nothing. Tom (interposing). — Pardon me, sir ; but it is probably my advertisement to which this young man has responded. I advertised for a model. Mike (aside). — Shure it's thrue the fairies are good to the Irish. \^Aloud.'\ That's it, sir; I'm a model, sir; at least I've been towld so, sir. Tom. — But I advertised for a thin, delicate looking man, Surely you don't mean to say you answer that description! Mike. — Ah sir, it's puffed up wid pride I am, sir, to be honored by the likes o' you, sir. Ordinarily, sir, I'm tliat thin that ye can't see me wid a microschope whin I stand sideways. Faith, whin the living skiliton was too sick to appear at the Dime Museum, I tuck his place as a substhi- tute, and I was that thin, sir, that siventeen ladies fell in love wid me, while wan hunthred and twinty siven bought me fortygraph the first day I was on exhibition. (Knock at door, L.) Mr. Judson and Tom (in chorus). — Come in I (Elder Fritz Oppelheiiner.) Mr. Judson. — You wish to see me ? Tom. — You have called in answer to— 142 DOUBLE PLAY. Fritz. — ^Yahl das is recht. I haf galled in anzer ti dot nodis by de baber. Mr. Judson. — As I said, you wish to give me some infop- mation about my nephew — my sister's child — you have — 3Iike. — It's a model he is, to be sure. Begorra, we are both practisin' the same profession. Tom. — Did you wish to see the artist? fritz. — Yah ! It vhas de ardisd I to see vhas vantin. I haf krade sugcess as a model. I haf bosed for ardists in Perlin, Vienua, Paris, effery where. For tweudy five years I have bosed here iu dis ciddy. I haf efferyding peen 1 — rarrior, loffer, Gubid, efferyding ! Mike. — Cupid is it I Faith, a foine bouncin' Cupid wud you make I Have yez iver thried Apollo of the Velvet Ear? Tom. — Excuse me, sir ; but I hope you won't interfere with this gentleman. Fritz. — Sho ! I mind not what he says. He was Irish. He vill haf his leedle choke. May I imbose a story ubon you ? Eh I Veil, all ride ! It vas shord. Shall ve sid town? Tom. — Certainly. ^Places chair. All sit.'] Mr. Judson. — I hope my presence is not an intrusion, Bir. Tom. — O not at all. Take a chair and hear our friend— I beg pardon, sir; your name is — Fritz. — Fritz Oppelheimer. [Jfr. Judson takes chair."} Tom. — Well, Fritz, we're listening. Fritz. — Yah, das in recht. Fifteen years ako I vas haf Bay live safed by von Irish shentleman. Peesiness vas fbrry pad. I vas ferry boor. I say, Fritz, old poy, you're live vas no goot. You pedder vas gone died. Mike. — Shure, it *ud been only one Dootchmon the leas^ DOUBLE PLAY. 143 and that's shmall accouut! {_Pick8 up Tom^» portfolio and eicamines it^ Fritz. — Town py de tocks I vas valkin", ven all of a guddiii I dakes a notion I vill end myselluf. De nide vas tark — so tark you noddings can see almost. 'Veil ! I make gvick vork. Sblash 1 iudo de vader I ko. O zo gold it vas I soon vish myselluf cud again. I sdruggle aud gdruggle, but no koot 1 All krows tarker und tarker. My bet she hums und hums uud hums. Pride lides tauco pefore mine eyes ; den I no more knows. I dinks I vas ded, meppe ; pud no, I vas all ride afder all. It vas an Irish shentleman vot safed me. He hert my sblash aud he shumped in afder me. Veil, I neffer forgod dot Irish- man for dot. It vas so prave, so goot. Tom. — How odd I Why, do you know, Fritz, my father was an Irish gentleman, aud he once saved the life of a German in just the way you describe. He was in hard luck at the time, aud was employed as private watchman down along the wharves. Fritz. — Ish dot so ? My resguer vas a brivate vatchmao doo. Tom. — What was his name ? Fritz. — Dom Garmine. Tom. — Then it was my father, Tom Carmine j I ad» named for him. Fritz (in amazement). — Ish dot sol And you vas bis ■on. Veil I vas zo klat to meed you. I reraemper you ▼en you vas so high. And vere is your fader now? [Shake Aa?ic?«.] Tom. — Dead and gone, Fritz. Fritz. — Und your mudder? O she vas sooch a nice tety. She koom from de Vest, eh ? T.m 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&.logues By Rev. Alexander Cl£k.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 the 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 preparation of such a volume. For both teacher and entertainer this book has special points of merit, as the dia- logues are interesting as well as instructive. THE PENN PUBi-ISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Entertainment Books for Voang People Schoolday Dialogues By Rev. Alexander Cleo-k, 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 BO fully described as to make the task of preparation quite easy, even for the novice. Popular Dialog'ues By Phineek.s Gakirett 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 werk 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 wliich they have been search- ing, something with plot enough to hold the attention and that will command the best efibrts of the older pupils. \ - THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925>27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Entertainment Books for Yottng People Fancy Drills and Marche*/' By Alice M. Kellogg Children enjoy drills, and this is tlie most successful drill book ever published. It has more than tifty new ideas — drills, marches, motiou songs and action pieces. Among them are a Sifter Drill, Ribhon ]\Iarch with Grouping and Posing, Pink Rose 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 drillsiu-e fully illustrated. Idea.1 Drill./- By Ma^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 ditiicultj'. Among the more popular and pleasing drills are : The Brownie, Taper, Maypole, Rainbow, Dumb-bell, Butterfly, Sword, Flower, Ring, Scarf, Flag, and Swing Song and Drill. Eureka Entertainments The title of this volume expresses in a nutshell the character of its contents. The weary searcher after material for any kind of entertainment will, upon examination of this book, at once exclaim, "I have found it." Here is just what 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 original itv throughout. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Entertainment Books for Vonng PeopH 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, Ilolnaes, Browning and Emerson are among those the children learn to know from this hook. The holi. days, Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day are not forr gotten ; and in between are many happy suggestions for tree plaai ing, for bird and flower lessons,.aud debates. Christmas Selections By Rosamond Livingstone McN&.ught For Readings and Recitations Sunday schools, day schools, the home circle, all demand mir terial for Christmas entertainments, and all want something new and appropriate. This book contains just what is wanted. Every piece is absolutely new, not a single one having previously been published in any book. It contains recitations, in prose and poetry, for every conceivable kind of public or private entertain* meut at Christmas time. Holiday Selections By Sssek Sigourney Rice For Readings and Recitations The selections in this volume are adapted to all the different 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 tlie variety under each holi- day will afford the fullest opportunity for a satisfactory choice; the older students and the little ones alike wiU find sooietUing ■uited to theii different degrees of ability. THE PENN PUBLX'SHING COMPANY Entertainment Books for Yonng People Holiday Entertainments By Cherries 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 difficult 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, Fourth 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 Aveather holiday, including Jlay Day, Memorial Day, Closing Day, is represented ; for each the book offers from ten to thirty new suggestions. Tableaux, pantomimes, recitations, marches, drills, songs and special programs, provide exactly the right kind of material fir Spring exercises of any sort. The drills and action pieces are fully illustrated. Everything in the book has been esoecially edited and arranged for it. Select Speeches for Declamation By John H. Bechtel This book contains a large number of short prose pieces chosen from the leading writers and speakers of all ages and nations, and admirably adapted for use by college men. Only the very best, from a large store of choice material, was selected for this work. The names of Demosthenes, Livy, Kossuth, Bona- parte, Chatham, Burke, Macaulay, Hugo, Gladstone, Washington, Jefferson, Garfield, Harrison, Webster, Everett, Phillips, Curtis, Blaine, Beecher, Grady, Cleveland, McKinley, and Depew may serve to suggest the standard of the selections. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Mnteriainmeut Books for Vonng People Temperance Selections By John H. Bechtel For Readings and Recitations These selections have been taken from the utterances of pulpit orators, from the speeches of political leaders, and from the pens of gifted poets. They depict the life of the drunkard, point out the first beginnings of vice, and illustrate the growth of the habit as one cup after another is sipped amid the pleasures and gayeties of social life. This volume appeals to humaa intelligence, and speaks words of truth and^wisdom that cannot 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 a ad 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- Bchool 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 subi^ct. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA Entertainment Books for Voang Peoplm Money M&.kin^ Entertainments By Lizzie J. Rook aitd Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow There is no better way to raise money for church, school, or he« nevolent purposes than by means of eutertaiuments. This unique Toluuie 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, Char&des, 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^o the attractiveness of the hook. School and Parlor Comedies By B. L. C. Griffith The dialogue is so spirited that the lines almost play themselves, 80 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 given. The plays dilFer widely in character, thus atfording an unusual variety. The scenery required in any instance is not difficult and may be easily armnged in the class room or in the private parlor. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 'Entertainment Sooks for Vonng People Monolo£>ues 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— 6uch, 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 an 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-fire variety, all constructed for strictly laughing purposes. How to Become a Public Speaker By William Pitteng'er This work shows in a simple and concise way how any person of ordinary perseverance and good common sense may become a ready and efiective public speaker. He 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 confidence and power. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 925*27 FILBERT STREFT PHII^ADELPHIA UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped "below 13 V NOV 2 4 1941 9 1943 S \94*.^ o r: ^94: OCT JAN 12 oAN 2 6 194S m 2 3 1945 •iUL 3 1194! ^ AlOV 181952 m REUtiVED LD-URL I UN 5 1965 .4 4-9 DEC D K b. -w' . . LD-URL AM 7= * ^ PM 10 PM c\ ^ 1 r^ Form L-9 20711 -12, 'sgfsase) 3 1158 00023 4137 UC SOUTHERN Rf GIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 409 693 9 '. /"• » T TT« niOfl* m