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P'rama u Four Acta. 11 male, 4 female rhsrantera. Sfcentft Spencer's Universal Stage. A Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to eUher Public or PriwxA Performance. Containing a full description of all the '^v»«j necessary Stage Business. PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH, i®- No Plays Exchanged. L LOST IN LONDON. A Drama in 8 Acts. 6 male, 4 female characters. 2, NICHOLAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By J. B, Buckstone. 5 male, 3 female char. 5. THE WELSH GIF.L. A Comedy in 1 Act By Mrs. Flauche. 3 male, 2 female char. 4. JOHN WOPPS. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 2 female char. 6. THE TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act By Montague Williams and F. C. Bumand. C male, 1 female cliar. e. THE TWO PUDDIPOOTS. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 7. OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5 male- 2 female char. B. TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX. A Farce in 1 Act By \V. E. Suter. 2 male char. 9. SMASHINQTON GOIT. A Farce in i Act By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 3 iiemale char. 10. TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A Farce in 1 Act By Lenox Home. 4 male, 1 female char. IL JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act ByJ.M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. Z2. THE DAUGHTER of the REGIMENT. A Drama in 2 Acts. By Edward Fitzball, 6 male, 2 female char. >3. AUN-T CHARLOTTE'S MAID. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. JMortou. 3 male, 3 female char. 14 BROTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 1 Act By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 3 female char. 15. DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 Act By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female char. 16. DUNDUCKETTT'S PICNIC. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. G male, 3 female char. 17. I'VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce . in 1 Act By T. J. WUliama. 4 male, 3 female char. 19. MY PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 Act By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 4 female char. SO. MY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 22. THE PHANTOM BREA.KPAST. A Farce in 1 Act By Chas. Selby. '.j male, 2 lemalc char. 23. DANDELION'S DODGES. A Farce in 1 - Act By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 24. A SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act By J. AI. Morton. 4 male, 2 female char. 26. ALWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 Act By Uorace Wigan, 3 male, 3 female char. 26 A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By Charles Matthews. 6 male, 4 female char. 27. ANOTHER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act By Thomas Morton. G male, 3 female char. 28. BOWLED OUT. A Farce in 1 Act ByH. T. Craven. 4 male, 3 female char. 29. COUSIN TOM. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By Geo. Roberts. 3 male, 2 female char. 80. SARAH'S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 Act By W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3 female char. 31. HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates and N. U. Har- rington- 7 male, 3 female char. 82. THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male 6 female char. 8S. A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 Act By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 4 female char. 34. YOUR LIFE'S IN DANGER. A Farce in 1 Act By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 85. TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. Bv J. Sheridan Knowles. 6 male,^2 female char. 86. DIAMOND CUT DLA.MOND. Anlnterludi ml Act By W. H. Murray. 10 male, 1 femali char. 87. LOOK -AJPTER BROWN. A Farce in 1 Acta By George A. Stuart, M. D. 6 male, 1 female char. ■ 38. MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 3 Acts. Bi Thomas Archer. 15 mule, 3 female char. "1 39. A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. I^- Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male char. ^ 40. BROTHER BEN. A Farce in 1 Act By JJ M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 1 41. ONLY A CLOD. A Comic Drama in 1 Acta By J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1 female char. 42. GASPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A Drama in 3 Acts. By George Almar. 10 male 2 female char. 43. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. A Drama in 1 Act. By Slingsby Lawreuce. i male, 3 female char. 44. DON'T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, female char. 45. NURSEY CHICKWEED. A Farce in 1 Act By T. J. Wi.liams. 4 male, 2 lemale char. 46. MARY MOO ; or, Which shall I Marry?: A Farce in 1 Act By W. £. Suter. 2 male, '] female char. 47. EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acts. 8 male 7 lemale char. 48. THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama in 5 Acts. By Robert Jones. IG male, 7 female char. 49. SILVERSTONE'S WAGER. A Commedi- etta in 1 Act By R. R. Audrewa. 4 male, 3 le- male char. 50. DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By Chas, Reade. 6 male, 2 female char. 55. THE WIFE'S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. By Geo. W. Lovell. 10 male, 2 female char. 56. THE BABES IN THE WOOD. A Com- edy in 3 Acts. By Tom Taylor. 10 male, 3 le- male char. 57. PUTKINS ; Heir 1 3 Castles in the Air. A Comic Drama in i Act By W. It Emersou, 2 male, 2 fe i.ale char. 58. AN UGLY CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act By Th-rmas J. Williams. 3 male, 2 lemale cliar. 59. BLUE AND CHERRY. A Comedy in 1 Act 3 male, 2 female char. 60. A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy Ie 1 Act 3 male, 2 fcni.-ile char. 61. THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in J Acts. 8 male, 7 female char. 62. WHICH WILL HAVE HIM? A Vaude- ville. 1 male, 2 female char. 63. MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Actjj 2 male, 2 female char. 64. THE ANONYMOUS KISS. A Vaudeville^ 2 male, 2 female char. 65. THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy in 3 Act« 5 male, 3 female char. 66. A SOLDIER. A SAILOR, A TINKER) AND A TAILOR. AFarcein lAci. 4male< 2 female char. 67. GIVE A DOG A BAD NAM£. A Farced 2 male, 2 female char. 68. DAMON AND PYTHIAS. A Farce. ( male, 4 female char. v 69. A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comii Drama in 2 Acts. 5 male, 3 female char. | 70. PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Domestii Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male, 1 female char. Descriptive Catalogue mailed free on application to Geo. M. Baker 6l Co., 47 Franklin St.« Boflfon. AMONG THE BREAKERS^ ^ Bf ama, in Ttwo Jtcta. BY THE A.UT5iOu ua- •^yiV>«'i So^dl«T, "Once on a Time," '*Do«rn by the Sea," "Bi«f.d on the "^^atenT ThL- Last Loaf," " Stand by the Fla":," " The Tempter," " A Drop Too Much," " WVtf AU Teetotallers," "A Little More Cider," "Thirty Minutes for Refreshments," * Wanted, a Male Cook," " A Sea of Troubles," " Freedom of the Press,'' "A Close Shave," " Tlie Great Elixir," " Tlie Man with the Demijohn," " He'ff brooms Sweep Clean," ** Humors of the Strike," " M3' Uncle the Captain," "The Greatest Plague in Life," "No Cure, No Pay," "The GreciaP ■^jtend," "The War of the Roses," " Lighthearfja Pilgiimagei*' *^The Sculptor's Triumph," " Too Late for the Train," " Siicw- Bound," "ThePtfddlerof Very Nice," " Bonbons," " Capu- tetta," "An Original Idea," "Enlisted for tlie War," * Never Say Die," "The Champion of her Sex," **The Visions of Freedom," "The Merry Christmas of the Old Woman who lived in e *ihoe," " T"he Tournament of Idylcourt,' ■^A Thorn among the Roses-** ** A Christmas Carol," "One Hundred *! *" ' / .f ears Ago," " t a - * " . &C. j^'S^iW^,^ Mj BOSTON : iiiEORGE M. BAKER ANU OOMPANYj 41-45 Franklin Street. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1872, By George M. Baker, In tlie Office of tlie Librarian of Congi-ess at Washingtwn. Boston: Stereotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, & Co. AMONG THE BREAKERS. A DRAMA IN TWO ACTS. CHARACTERS. David Murray, Keeper of Fairpoint Light. Larry Divine, his Assistant. Hon. Bruce Hunter. Clarence Hunter, his Ward. Peter Paragraph, a Newspaper Reporter. Scud, Hunter's colored Servant. Miss Minnie Daze, Hunter's Niece. Bess Starbright, " Cast up by the Waves." ** Mother Carey," a reputed Fortune -Teller. Biddy Bean, an Irish Girl. COSTUMES. Murray (age 46). Full black beard, iron-gray wig, dark pantt} red or blue sailor's shirt, with black necktie, pea-jacket, and tarpaulin hat. LiRRT (age 25). Red crop wig, pea-jacket, dark pants, red of blue sailor's shirt, and tarpaulin hat. 107 M50859 108 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Hunter (age 45). Dark English side whiskers, iron-gray wig, dark, fashionable suit. Clairencb (age 21). Jarty yachtman's suit. Paragraph (age 30). Black crop wig, large red mustache, gray pants, white vest, black velvet coat, light hat, umbrella. Scud (age 40). Gray woolly wig, black face, green plaid pants^ gaiters, white vest, ruffled shirt front, standing coUv, blu« coat with brass buttons. Miss Daze (age 20). Fashionable dress of summer fabric, Florida hat, white crape shawl, parasol. Bess (age 18). Short red dress, muslin waist, neat polka jacket, flowing hair, janty sailor hat. ** Mother Carey " (age 40). Disguise of an old fortune-teller. Long, white hair, wig, dress of dark stuflT, red shawl draped about her shoulders, crutch-cane. She hobbles, and has *Jie appearance of a woman of seventy. Biddy Bean. Neat calico dress, apron. pn the storm scene, thunder, lightning, and rain are effective. Thunder is produced by shaking a large sheet of iron, holding it by one corner, lightning by blowing powdered rosin into the flame of a candle through a common ** pea-shooter." A " rain "- box is made by driving pegs of wood into the bottom of a box about eighteen inches long, six wide, and six high. Into the box throw a handful of dried peas, fasten on the cover, and copious showers can be produced by letting the peas slowly lat- tia along the box fronr. end to end.] AMONG THE BREAKERS. 109 A.CT I. — Scene. Room in the Light -heqer's house^ Table^ C, set for supper. Long box or hench^ L. Bocking-chair^ R. Stool, R. Door, c, leading to the beach, the lighthouse, Sc, Door, R., leading to the kitche'%. Door, L., leading to Murray's sZeepin^ room, Larry and Biddy discovered, r. and l. of table, eating. Biddy, Faith, now, Misther Larry, it's joking ye's are. Larry. Niver a once. There's not a live man widdin tin miles, savin' the masther, Misther Murray, mysilf, owld Mother Carey, and Bess Starbright, the famale life praserver, who can bate the worrld wid the pull uv her oars, and the light in the tower beyant wid the glame of her bright eyes. It's mysilf would like to be drownded, for the sake of being pulled from a wathery grave by that same darlint. And that's the extint uv fashionable society at Fairpoint. Biddy, Ye don't mane it. O, musha ! why did I lave the city for this wilderness of rocks and say ? Larry. Why, d'ye ask ? Because yer own thrue Irish heart towld ye's that here would be found a broth uv a D'y pinin' for famale society. O, Biddy Bane, yer a jewel, so ye are, and I dying wid the love I've had for ye's a twilvemonth, though I niver set eyes on ye afore the day. Biddy. O, blarney, Misther Larry ! It's a smooth tongue ye's have, onyhow. But till me, is the masthei kind? no * AMONG THE BREAKEBS. LaiTy, V/ell, the laste said about him the betther He's the gloom upon him, and sometimes I think there's something gnawin' at his conscience. Well, well, I mustn't talk. You've only been here a day. Say for yesiif. Biddy, Have ye lived here long, Misther Larry ? Larry, A matther of five or six years ; owld Murray fifteen. The last kaper of the light was found dead one morning afther a stormy night, when the lamps were not lit, and a ship drifted into the breakers and wint to paces. Not a sowl saved except Bess Starbright, whom the wavcf tossed up to Mother Carey's door. Biddy. An' who's Mother Carey — I donno ? Larry. An' it's will ye don't, for to my mind she's the very — you know what I mane. She lives on the bache, and picks up a livin' by tellin' fates, and fortunes, an' sich like. It's a famous resort for the city folks in their yachts, and she picks up many a silver bit from the loikes of 'em. Biddy. A witch is it ? O, musha ! I'll pack up my thrunk, and lave to onct. Larry. O, no you won't, Biddy, darlint. She's no trouble to such a dacent, nate, bawitchin' little sowl as y« are ; and, besides, here's a warm heart and a sthrong arm to love and protict ye's — d'ye mind ? Jiiddy. O, be aisy wid yer jokin' I Ye bring tlie favcr to me cheeks. Larry {rising^ and coming to side of Biddy). It's no joke at all, at all. Ye've come, like the darlint that ye are, to cheer my solitude, and swaten the cup uv life wi« the honey of yer priscnce (puts his arm around h^ paist)^ and I love ye, Biddy Bane, so I do, ntirely. AMONG THE BREAKERS. Ill Biddy. Away wid ye's nonsense — don't I tell ye. Enter Mother Caret, c. — Biddy jumps up / runs^ l. Biddy (l.), 0, murther! who's that? Lnrry (l.). Aisy, Biddy ; it's only Mother Carey. Mother Carey (comes doion). Man, why sit you idle Lere ? See you not the black storm clouds gathering in the west ? Hear you not the whistling of the winds that creep across the sea ? the roar of the breakers on the rocks ? the seething of the waves along the beach ? The storm fiend is abroad, and no warning light in yondel tower. Away ! away ! ere 'tis too late. Larry. By me sowl, you're right. A storm comin*, and the lights not lit I O, Biddy, Biddy I it's all youj work ! lExity O Mother G. (to Biddy). Ah, a new face in the old lighthouse. Fresh and fair, buxom form, and strong arm. Who are you ? Biddy. If you plase, marm — misses — Carey, Tm nobody — yes, I mane I'm Biddy Bane ; come down from the city to do housework for Misther Murray. Mother G. But you tremble. Is it with fear ? Biddy. Yes, marm — no, marm I Mother G. You need not fear me, Biddy. I'm a poor old woman, with little strength, and no power to harm you. Biddy. Yes, marm ; but Larry says you're a witch I Mother G. He does I Ha, ha ! a witch I Well, well, Larry's clever, but don't believe all he says, tliough he f-raises the brightness of your eyes and the tint of your clieeks. A witch, incteea I I^arry's a fool I Hi AMONO THE BREAKERS. Enter Larry, c. Larry, Fm obleeged to yer for the complimeut, M: Ibct Carey, long life to ye's. {Gomes down l. of Biddy.) Mother G. What nonsense have you been telling this girl ? Larry. Ton me sowl, no nonsinse at all. I told hei ye*s towlJ fortunes and fates ; but barrin' that little touch of owld Satan, I'll swear ye've a warm heart, to which same many a poor tar can tistify who's been Lilped by yer when driven ashore. Mother G, Where's the master to-night, Larry ? Larry. The masther, is it? Oflf on one uv hia thramps. He takes a moighty dale uv ixircise for one wid a shmall appetite. Mother G. {to herself). Restless as the sea ; pacing the sands for hours ; wandering among the rocks — a stern, gloomy, mysterious man ; within, a storm of evil passions blinding his soul to all outward beauty ; revenge flashing up among the dying embers of a fierce life, to be smothered by the ashes of remorse. Bad! bad I badl {Turns up stage.) Biddy. I say, Misther Larry, would ye be afther axing her to till my fortune jist? Larry. To be sure I would. I say, Mother Carey, this is Biddy Bane. Would ye's be afther tilling hei fortune ? Mother G. Give me your hand, child. {Tdke% Biddy's hand.) A fair, smooth hand. Larry. Bedad, that's thrue, onyhjw That's ivhal I said. Biddy, said I — Biddy. Howld yer pate. AKONG TftE BKEAKEBS. IIS Mother G Silence ! A fair, young hand ; the linei &f fate but indistinct, yet foreshadowing good fortune — ah ! I see a lover not far off. Larry, Bedad, Biddy, he's close at yer elbow. Biddy. Whist yer blarney ! Yell sphoil the charnio Mother G, I see a little home on the rocks. Larry, " A cottage by the say " — d'ye mind, Biddy F Mother G. Troops of children — Larry. Young Larrys and Biddys, bedad, and a pig » — d*ye say a pig ? Biddy. Be aisy, Masther Larry. Larry. Look for the pig. Don't ye's hear him Bqualin' ? David (outside^ c). Hallo! Larry! Larry I Larry. There's the masther. Ay, ay, sir ! {Going towards door.) A lover, an' a cottage ! — Mother Carey, jist find that pig in Biddy's hand, or there's no luck in the fortune, sure. Biddy. The masther's coming, and the table not cleared 1 (Battles among the dishes at table — Motheb Carft retires up, r. c.) Enter David, c. David. The boat's sawing her rope across the rock. Quick, or she'll be adrift ! Larry. Ay, ay, sir 1 lExit^ O. David. There's a yacht beating around the point ; no time to spare ; yet she's quick, and I think will make it. That girl, Bess Starbright, has put off in her wherry, feaiw less of danger, to lend a helping hand. How is this, girl, the table not cleared? a 114 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Biddy. Indade, sir, I couldn't help it. Mother Carej here was tilling my fortune jist. David. Ah, Mother Carey, still at youi old tricks, do- i^eiving the credulous with your boasted power. Out oq you, silly old fool 1 Girl, bring a light ! Biddy. To be sure I will. \^Uxit^ B. Mother G. Better a fool than a knave, David Murray. Damd. What's that? Mother G. Boasted power! David Murray, you sneer, but I have the power to drive the flush from your cheek, to make your knees tremble, and your heart quake with fear, silly old fool that I am. I deceive ! You say this I you, whose whole life is a deliberate lie I David. What know you of me ? Mother G. Look. (Takes cup from table.) What see you here? David. Pshaw ! that's an old trick, Mother Carey. Mother G. What see you here ? David. Nothing ; an empty cup. Mother G. You're right ; an empty cup : yet as I look into it, David Murray, it fills with tiny clouds that float Bud roll together ; now expand, divide, and vanish, dis- closing a picture of the past. A room luxuriantly fur- nished. On a bed lies an old man, thin, pale, wasted with fever. His eyes are fastened upon a young man, who watches at his side. He is dying. See ! a door opens ; a figure appears, in form and features so like the old man, 'tis plain it is his son. He approa(;hes the bed. The dying man's face flushes. He starts up, wises 1 is band, as though he would bless — No, no, thai JLMONQ THE BREAKERS. Ill angry gesture ! it is a curse, a bitter curse ! and now na falls back dead — dead — dead. David (agitated). Woman, or fiend! where learnt you this? Mcther G. (still gazing into the cup). Silence ! The clouds gather again — thicker — thicker — thicker — and now they separate and vanish. There's the son again. A woman clings about his neck, begging, en- treating, praying. Useless ; there's an evil look in hia eye, a wicked purpose in his heart. He pushes her away. Again — prayers, entreaties. Wretch! accursed wretch ! She ^ is his wife ; but, with a horrid oath, he turns and 'fells her to the ground ! David (agitated). Ha, ha! paint away, old Mother Dragon ! Your pictures begin, and end as they began, in smoke. Well, what next ? Mother G, Again they gather — thicker — thicker — thicker. Again they roll away and vanish. Ah, 'tis the other now — the young man who closed the eyes of the dying. David (aside), Bruce Hunter ! Mother G, He sits beside a cradle. In it sleeps a child — a pretty little girl, rosy cheeks, long lashes, curly hair. How pretty she is ! The man rises, listens, then leaves the room. Now a window opens ; a man appears ; his face is hidden by a veil He stealthily approaches the cradle ; raises the child in his arms. Heavens I where is the father? He moves towards the window. Now he stops, listens, then raises the veil. I see hi* face. Merciful Heaven ! it is — David (dashing the cup from her hand). Fool! at 116 AMONG THE BREAKERS. more of your jugglery ! Away I Home, and paint pictures in your own tea-cups. Spread them before women weak enough to listen to the ravings of a crazy old fool. Mother G. Crazy. Right, David, I am crazy. My brail snapped one night, long, long ago, and so Fm crazy ; ha, ha ! You*ve read much, David, though ycu are but a poor lightkeeper. You remember the story of the old archer who went mad when the no We de- stroyed his daughter. They laughed at his ravingSj but they found that when he bent his bow his arrow flew straight to the mark. Poor, old, crazy archer I Fm just like him, David, crazy, as you say,* but m^ arrows always fly straight to the mark, straight to the mark. [^Exit, c. Enter Biddy, r., with a candle^ which she places on table J and carries dishes off^ R., leaving a pitcher of water and two tumblers on table, David (^pacing the stage). Who is this woman? After fifteen years' silence, has an avenging Heaven put into the mouth of an old hag daggers to pierce my conscience ? Is she a witch ? My father's death-bed — my deserted wife — Hunter's child — she saw them all. They came at her call ; faded at her bidding. Wretch that I am, I can conjure them, but they never disap- pear, — never. Yet I was right. The old man wronged rae ; cut me off from the possession of his wealth — mine by right. My wife oflfended me with her re- proaches and entreaties ; and Hunter, curse him, robbed lae of a father's love; coiled his flattering tongue aboui AMONG THE BREAKERS. 117 fcbe old man's heart, and, like a spaniel, licked his wa^ to favor. What should have been miue became his. He, the pauper's son, slipped into my inheritance But I was revenged. I snatched his darling from hei cradle lilteeu years ago, and since that time father and child have never met. Yonder breakers, with their angry voices, tell no tales ; and yet I dare not face them, for on their crests I've seen amid the storm the features of a little child, with sad, sad eyes, come and go, come and go. O Heavens ! if I could but shut out that sight, close those eyes that haunt me everywhere. Revenge is sw^et, indeed, but remorse is terrible to bear. (Sits on bench, l., and covers his face with his hands. — Knock at door, c. ; a pause ; knock again. The door opens, and Scud sticks his head in.) Scud, Am anybody to home, hey? (Enters, with a lunch-basket on his arm,) Not a soul. Eberybody gone a fishin'. (Sees David.) No, dar's an individle in solitary conflection. (Steps tip, and touches him on shoulder, David looks up,) Yes, sir, ax yer pardon, sir. Am de lady ob de house disumgaged? David, The lady of the house ? There is none. Scud, Shoo ! what dat ? no lady ? Well den, whar'a de widderer? David, The what? Scud. De widderer, ob coorse ; dar was a lady ob ^e house, — nebber heerd ob a house widout one, — and if she's gone, ob coorse she's left a widderer ; one ob dem fellers wid a bumbezine round his stovepipe, moaning, in de words ob de sublime poet, — ** She has left me here for to shed a tear, And play on de old jawbone." U8 4MONG THE BREAKERS. David. There's no lady, no widower. I am the mastei here. Who are you ? and what do you want ? Scud. Who are I? Shoo! don't you know me? Frought eberybody knew me. Why, I'm Scud, de capn's right bower. David. Then spades are trumps. Well, who's tha captain ? Scud. Who's de what? Bless my soul, whar you tin ! Don't know de cap'n ! Well, well, de igromance ob some people am surprisin'. Why, de cap'n ob de Pacer, de fastest yacht on de coast. You see, Mr. — Mr. — what might I call you ? David. You might call me Sir — that's respectful. Scud. Yaas, exactly. Well, den, Mr. — Mr. — Sar — Mr. Sar, you see we was out in de bay, we was, me, and de capin, and Massa Clarence, and Miss Daze, and de yacht, when, by golly, afore we knowed it, up rolled de brack clouds, and de wind blowed four ways to once -^ north-east, sow-west, and — and — well I forgot de oder pints, — and so we let go de jib, and de formast, and dft main truck, and de windlass, and de mizzen — mizzen — somethin', — let *em all go, and den, by golly, dem ar winds jist took dat ar yacht and laid her clear up onto de beach down dar. David. Ha! Remarkable gale. Scud. Wan't it? Dat's jest what I tole de cap'n. Cap'n, says I — David. No matter what you told the cap'n. What do you want here ? Scud. Hey ? Jes want to stay here all night. David. Well, stay, if you can sleep on the floor. That'i %11 tlie accommodation you'll get here. AMONG THE BBEAKEBS. 11^ Scud. Shoo ! sleep on de flo' ! What, Massa Clar- ence, and Miss Daze, and de cap'n ? Why, dey cotch dar def a cold. Drf-ncZ. You don't mean to say your whole boat load will quarter on me? Scud. Dat's jes what I mean. Golly, you wouldn't go for to leab us all out onto de rocks to be devoured by de wild beasts ob de sea, and — and de skeeters — would yer? {Knock at door, c.) Here dey am. (Throws open door.) Walk right in, gemblems and ladies. Enter Clarence, c, with Miss Daze leaning on Ati arm, — Seats her in chair, L. Clarence. You succeeded in finding shelter, Scud. Scud. Yaas, sir ; take a cheer, sir. Enter Hunter, c. Hunter. Good. Any port in a storm. David (starting up. — Aside). Bruce Hunter ! and be- neath my roof! Scud. Yaas, sar ; found a port, sure nuff. Dis am do master, Mr. — Mr. — Sar. Hunter. I trust you will excuse this intrusion, my friend. The storm overtook us, and we were forced to land. This seems to be the only house on the point at- tached to the light. David (assuming a rough manner, and with his hack to Hunter). Yes, cap'n, this is the lightkeeper's house, and I am the keeper. Not much of a place, as you see. You're welcome to what's here. There's no beds, noi nothing to eat, so make yourself comfortable. (Turn* up stage.) 120 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Bvnter, Thank you, friend, we will do our Uest Beds we can do without for one night ; as for edibles, Scud is our commissary. Scud. Dat's a fac, sure's yer born, cap'n. I toted de lunch-box along. We'll soon fix 'em all right. (Goet to table, opens hashet, and takes out plates^ saucers, and food,) Hunter. Friend, will you eat with us ? David (^fiercely). Eat with you? (Changes.) No, I'm obliged to you, I'm not hungry. I must look to my light. (^Goes to door, c. — Aside.) Eat with him! Never ! The food would choke me. [^Exit, C. Hunter. Our host seems anything but sociable. Clar. A rough customer. Scud, what did you say to him ? I'm afraid you were rough spoken. Scud. Shoo ! I ? Why, Massa Clarence, Ts a lamb. I jes axed him if de lady ob de house, or de widderer, was to home, and tole him we was comin' — dat's all. Clar. Ah, Scud, you should polish up your manners. You'll never lose anything by politeness. You should have flattered him a little. Scud. Flattered him ? By golly, he'd a flattened me in a jiffy, I tole yer. Clar, You don't understand. You should have praised his house, the neatness of this rDom, his appear ance, before proffering your request. In such a situation as this a little tact goes a great way. Scud. Y'aas, sar. Some ob de hard tact in dis yei basket been goin' free or four voyages. Hunter. Ha, ha ! Clarence, your lesson will bi Qirown avray upon Scud. AMONG THE BREAKERS. 121 Clar. The squall has driven us into queer quart errf, father. Hunter, No matter, my boy, as long as we are not driven among the breakers, we should be thankful we have escaped the storm. (^Lightning.) Ah, here it comes . ( Thunder. ) Minnie (uith a drawl), I declare, Uncle Chawles, this b positively delightful. So romantic ! to be swept along by the fury of the blast, lashed by the heaving billows, tossed like a tiny chip at the will of the sportive winds, and at last left like shipwrecked mariners upon a deso- late island. Scud. Dat's a fac, an' a disolute lighthouse-keeper a growlin' into de bargain. (^Lightning^ thunder^ and rain,) Hunter, Not so bad as that, Minnie. We have seen at least one inhabitant. It's too bad to deprive you of a pleasant sail, and, what's worse, condemn you to pas« the night in this desolate house. Minnie, Now don't, Uncle Chawles. I do so love adventure. This is just for all the world like a novel. Let me see, what shall we call it — " The Castaway Yachters?" Clar. Or " The Drenched Duck." Hunter, With you as the heroine, Minnie. Minnie, No, I escaped that. How can you, Uncle Chawles, break all my pretty bubbles of romance with your sarcasm. Hunter, I beg your pardon, Minnie, if I broke an) - thing. Let's all break fast ; that will offend nobody. Beady, Scud? Scud, Yes, Bar; dap's biled chicken, biled ham« 122 AMONG THE BREAKERS. tiled toDgue hard biled eggs — eberyting but biled taters — and dar's — Bes8 (outside J sings), ** A wet sheet and a flowing sea, And a wind that follows fast, And fills the wide and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast." ♦ There, mind your steps, messmate ; here, give me your baud. Now, a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together. Here we are, in port at last. (^Doot opens^ c. — Lightning tcpon Bess an instant in the door^ way^ then she enters, followed by Paragraph. — Thunder and rain,) Paragraph (shutting up his umbrella). The heavens be praised ! Bess, Here, Mr. Murray, I've brought you — Hallo I strangers I Hunter. Why, it's our old friend Paragraph. Paragraph, What ! the Hon. Bruce Hunter ? Sir, yours lespectfully. (^Shake hands.) Master Clarence, yours truly. (Shake hands.) Miss Daze, one of the sweetest days of my life, yours devotedly. (Shake hands.) Scud, black cloud of the evening, how are you? (Scud grins.) Bess, Why, you seem to have fallen among friends. Paragraph. Exactly. Allow me — Hon. Bruce Hunter, Miss Bess Starbright, the rover of the seas ; Miss Minnie Daze, Miss Bess Starbright, the bright star of the bay ; Mr, Clarence Hunter, Miss Bess Starbirght, the preserver of tliis Paragraph. (All interchange greetings.) * Or any nautical song AMONG THE BREAKERS. 12S 8 cud (aside), I)at ar Paragraph ain't got jo stop ko it. Paragraph, And now stop. Busine;5s before pleasure. {Pulls out a note hook^ and writes.) '* The storm spirit abroad. Terrific peril of our own correspondent. Afloai in a leaky boat. A wrecked writer and a spunky heroine. Peril and privation. Kescue and relief/* How's that for a heading? Hunter, Heading for what, pray? Paragraph, The news column of The Roaring Ram- page, of which highly influential journal I am the duly accredited roving correspondent. Minnie, Why, bless me, Mr. Paragraph, last week you were an artist. Paragraph, Exactly, last week, as you say ; this week, genius has taken a new flight. Literature is above art. Consequently I have dropped the brush, and taken up the pen. All day I have been in search of an item. This morning I heard of a prize fight, and hastened to report it. Reached the ground, placed myself in a capital posi- tion to witness the set-to, when I was ignominiousl^ hustled from the ground by friends of the contending par- ties. Then rushed off to report a dog fight, but, alas I the dogs wouldn't fight, but flew among the spectators, and I hurriedly left. Then I took a boat to board an incoming steamer. Boat leaked, squall came on, boat upset ; cl'-ng to the keel until succor, in the shape of that dear little girl with the tarpaulin hat, tore me from my flail support and landed me here, wet, hungry, and minus the news. Bless her, she's a trump. I was a foregone conclusion, a Paragraph cut short, but for her. Henre' forth I am her slave. 124 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Bess (seating herself on hox^ l. c). Well, I neve^ What a fuss about nothing. Paragraph. Nothing? Hear her; hear the bold rover of the seas. To have saved the life of Peter Paragraph she calls nothing. Bess, Why, bless you, Mr. What's-your-name, I hava pulled twenty fellows out of the water in the last ten years. It's no trouble. I was found in the water. Ever since I could pull an oar, I've had a boat and lived on the water. I know every inch of the coast, every turn of the weather, the depth of every part of the bay, and when 1 see a boat in distress, what more natural than for me to put out. Pooh ! there's no danger ; it's just fun. Hunter. Your hand, my brave girl. You have saved our friend, and, though you treat the matter lightly, 'lis a stout heart that would brave the storm in such a cockle shell as yours. Paragraph. My sentiments exactly. Miss Starbright, such heroism as yours deserves reward. (^Kneeling.) Here on my knees I offer you my hand. Bess, Your hand? What for? I don't need it. I can climb trees like a squirrel, pull ten miles without rest — what do I want of your hand. Paragraph. But you do not understand. I'm rich, I can place you in a situation where pulling and climbing are not necessary. I offer you my hand in marriage. Bess. Marriage ! Ha, ha, ha ! that's too good. You marry me — Mother Carey's chicken? Paragraph. Yes, were you Mother Carey's old rooster Fd marry you. Bess. Ha, ha, ha I O, take him away, somebody. AMONG THE BREAKEBS. 125 do ! Ha, ha, ha ! I shall die, I kuow I shall I F>ery man I pull out of the water wants to marry me , bat as Boon as their clothes are dry, off they go, and " nevei come back, never come back, they never come back to me." I say, Mr. Paragraph, don't let's talk of mar^ riage. If you're my slave, find me something to eat. I'm awful hungry. Hunter. Here's plenty. (Hunter, Clarence, aiid Paragraph run to tahle^ take plate of lunchy and crowd around Bess.) Hunter ^ f Allow me, a slice of tongue. Paragraph f-togetherA Allow me, a slice of ham. Clarence J L Allow me, a little cold chicken. Bess, La ! how polite I But I can't eat it all, you know. (Looks at Clarence. — Aside.) O, my ! what a splendid fellow ! {Aloud^ to Clarence.) Thank you, I'm very fond of chicken. (Takes plate from him, — Hunter and Paragraph return to table, — Clarence seats himself beside Bess on the box,) Minnie (aside). Heroism has won the day. They have quite forgotten poor me. (Aloud,) Ahem ! / am very fond of cold chicken. Paragraph (going to her with plate). Good gracious I has nobody thought of you ? (Hunter sits at table, and eats,) Minnie, Thanks. 'Tis sweet to be remembered, evea by a false one. Paragraph, False one? (Aside,) What have I done ? A year ago I offered her my hand, which she accepted, ^ and to-day, in her presence, I've gone and offered it U) this sea nymph. It's bigamy — circumstantial bigamy {Aloud,) My dear Minnie — 126 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Minnie, No, I'm not your dear Minnie. You art false. We have plighted vows together, and youVe broken them before my eyes. FaragrapJu No, no. I must show my gratitude lo the preserver of my life, you know, and what more nat- aral than to " offer her this hand of mine." She didn't take it, and I shan't offer it again. But you, you are the ideal of my soul, the loadstone of my existence, the object of ray adoration ! dearer to my heart than — Scud {comes down with plate). Biled ham. Miss Daze? Minnie, No, I thank you. Scud. (Scud retires up,) 0, Peter, you know my weakness for cultivated society. I thought you would take your place among noble artists. I find you have changed. You have taken to literary pur- suits. At the first mention of new aspirations, my heart fluttered and 1 pictured a bright future for you among the noble wielders of the classic pen, but with one blow you have dashed my hopes, and I find you false as the fickle moon, as hard-hearted as — Scud (coming down with plate), Biled eggs. Miss Daze? Minnie, No, I thank you, Scud. (Scud returns to table,) Paragraph, Don't, Minnie, don't. You'll break my heart. Do not spurn me for a thoughtless jest. You alone are my own dear, loved, tender — Scud (coming down with plate). Chicken, Massa Par- agraph ? Paragraph, Confound it, no I Go awaj" with ycui •enseless bawblcs. AMONG THE BRRAKFRS. 121 Scud. Bawbles? Yes, I guess not, Massa Para- graph. It's chick'n ; cook 'iin myself. Have some, Miss Starbright? Bs8$. iJo, I thank you, Mr. Scud. I'm very well Beltled. Scud (aside). Misser Scud ! Now der's a lady. Bress her bright eyes, and hansom' as a picter. Jea look at Massa Clarence ! He's smashed, clean gone. Settled — golly, she's settled him sure nuff. (Returns to table,) Clarence, But, Miss Starbright, 'tis but a rough life after all. Our ladies in the city find their enjoyment in the dance, the ride, the care of flowers, needlework, and other delicate and refining pastimes. Here you have no company save the rough sailors and fishermen of the coast. Here you are out of the world. Bess. You think so ? Why, this place is a world in itself. Before us is the wide ocean ; behind, smooth plains ; beyond that, the hills, with their wooded fronts ; here around us, the bold headland, the jutting point, roar- ing breakers and rippling waves, jagged rocks and smooth beach ; above, the heavens, now studded with stars, anon sombre and black, or cut by swift lightnings. All forma of nature centre here. There's much of the awful, and much of the sublime. Yet 'tis the dearest spot on earth, for 'tis my home. Rough is the life I lead, 'tis true, but here are no temptations to assail ; and I've one true heart on which to lean — could I ask for more ? Clarence. Indeed, but 'tis a blessed spot, and, as you picture it, it seems like a magic realm, one of tliose (kbled grottos, made to enclose a priceless gem, fof J 28 AMONG THE BREAKERS. whose possession princes strove. Here you are the gem. May I not be the prince? Bess {aside). I never met such a splendid fellow. 0, dear ! and he*ll go away to-morrow. {Aloud,) Hark 1 What's that? Mother (7. {outside), Bess! Bess! my child! Biss {starting up), O, there's my mother! H»re, mother, here. Enter Mother Carey, c. — Bess runs into her arms. Mother G. Safe, safe, my child ! *Twas a rough gale. I feared for your safety. Bess. Never fear for me, mother. My boat is tight, and my arms are strong. Come, let me introduce you to my new friends. {Situation : Clarence seated on the bench, L. Mr. Hunter stands talking with him. Miss Daze, r. Paragraph talking with her. Scud at table, putting away food, Bess and Mother Caret, C.) Mr. Hunter? Hunter. Well, Miss Bess ? Bess. My mother. Mother G, {grasping Bess, and glaring at Hunter). No, no ! not that name I Hunter I {^iside.) What does he here? Have the wolf and the lamb met at last. Bess, Don't mind her, sir. The sight of a new fac« J9 very apt to agitate her. Hunter. Yeiy glad to meet you, madam, to tell you how much we owe your brave daughter. Mother G, Yes, Bess is a good girl. A daughter to be proud of. AMONG THE BREAKERS. 12d Bess, No^ don't make me blush, mother. Mr. Hun- ter a id his yATty were driven ashore. They are to pasa the nrght heit?. MoUer 0, Here beneath this roof? Better the cold Bands br a bed, the heavens for a shelter, than this place. Huf^^ter, What mean you? Mot\ r 0". Show me your hand. Bess, Mother is a fortune-teller, Mr. Hunter. She is called, hj the good people who visit here, a witch. I can asswwe you she sometimes. makes wonderful proph- ecies. Scud. A witch I O Lord I she takes de kink right out ob my har. Hunter, My good woman, I have very little faith in predictions, yet here's my hand, if you wish. Mother G, (taking his hand), A good hand. There's fortune here. Fame, too,t — the lines straight, dis- tinct, — but here's a dark line I like not — a vein of trouble among the fortunate lines. There's a lifelong pain at your heart. Am I not right? Hunter. You are. Fifteen years ago I lost a daugh* ter — stolen from her cradle. Mother G, And never found? Hunter, Never. Mother G. And yet you know the thief? Himter, I do. Mother G, An enemy? Htmter, The only enemy I ever had; and he out *^iDm I never wronged by deed or word. Mother G, Have you ever searched for him? 9 ISO AMONG THE BREAKERS. Hunter. Every effort was made to fiud Ibe child and the kidnapper, but all in vain, and at last I came to think that, out of his deep revenge, he h^d de- stroyed the child and himself. Mother G. You're wrong. The child still lives ; wiU be restored. Hunter, Still lives? How know you this? Mother G. I read it in your hand. Hunter (snatching away his hand). Pshaw I An idle trick. Woman, 'tis wrong to trifle with tender emotions. But, 'tis your trade. Mother G, My trade ! Man, the knowledge I pos- segs has been acquired by hard experience, and patient study of the ways of life. I tell you, he who so wronged you is travelling towards you, as you, all un- wittingly, are nearing him. As sure as the sun shines, as the winds blow, as the waves beat upon yonder rocks, you will meet, anc?, in that meeting, I foretell happiness for you, defeat and destruction for him. Mark me. Mother Carey tells you this — and her proph - ecies never fail, never. fO Glarence. Let me try my luck, father. Mother G. Father? Who spoke then? Glarence (coming, c). 'Twas I, mother. Read my ' ' hand, and tell me my fate. Mother G, (puts her arm over his shoulder , takes hii hand, and leads him down). No, no, not the haid; let me read it in your face — fresh, open, honest; a face the mother should be proud to look upon. I can easily foretell your fortune — a bright, brave, happ^ lil«. Your mother — AMONG THE BREAKERS. 181 Clarenct. A.las ! she died when I was very youug. Mother G, Too young to remember her? Clarence. No, mother. There's just a glimpse of a loving face fastened upon my memory, which ray father's praises of her goodness have fashioned into ao indefinable presence, that is always with me, acting on my life, keeping me from wrong, and aiding me with high aspirations, a radiant image so pure and bright that in Lay heart I call it by the tender name of mother. Mother G. {with emotion). Bless you, my boy. Doubt not, wherever she is, whether in this world or the unseen, her love still guides and guards your life, (Clarence retires up stage.) Hunter {comes down^ c. — Aside). Now to test her power. {Aloud.) Mother, the boy called me father. Mother G. He was right. You have reared, pro- tected, loved him — what though the tie of birth be wanting? — the boy is right. Hu7iter {aside). She is a witch. {Aloud.) But, the mother? Mother G. Ask me no more. My brain grows weary, and the thoughts of wrong and outrage make my soul sick. What I have told you will come to pass. Be content, and wait as I have waited. {Goes to door^ c.) The wronger and the wronged shall meet, and when they do, remember Mother Carey's prophecy. lExit^ 0. Scud. By golly, she's gone off on a brocmstick. Bess. Well, I must be getting home. {Puts an kiU.) 132 AMONG THE BREASJBB8. j If Clarence, Let me accompany you. Be^^. rm not a bit afraid; and bebid^is haven't 1 got a beau already. Here's Mr. Paragraph. He*d be mortally offended if I should slight him. /^\ Clarence. O, no, he wouldn't mind it. You see he's very busy with Miss Daze. He's engaged to her. Bess, What? Engaged to her? Why, he offered Liinself to me a little while ago. Til put a stop to that. Ahem ! Mr. Paragraph ? Paragraph (turns to c. of stage). Well, Miss Star- bright ? Bess, A glass of water, if you please. / L Clarence, Let me — Bess, Stop ! Mr. Paragraph is my admirer, I may Bay, my affianced husband, as he offered himself to me, and I did not refuse him. Mr. Para — ah ! Peter ■—a glass of water. Paragraph, Yes. O Lord ! the little jade's in ear- nest. Yes, Miss Bess. Hot or cold? Bess, Cold for me. (^Aside.) Hot for you, I guesa- Paragraph, Yes, I go. (^Starts for table,) Minnie, Peter ! Paragraph, Well, dear? {Returns to MiNNlE.) Minnie, A glass of water for me first. Paragraph, Certainly. (^Ooing to table,) Bess. Peter ! Paragraph (returning). Well, Miss Bess? Bess, I shall expect to be served first. Paragraph. Yes^ marm. (Goes to table; Jills two flosses ; conies down^ c, ; looks at Minnie, then at Bess ; Hands irresolute a moment^ then starts for Minnie.) AMONG THE BREAKERS. 189 Be(s. Peter ! Paragraph, O, yes, certainly I ( Turns to Bess.) Minnie, Peter ! Paragraph. Coming, dear. (Turns to Minnie.^ Bess. I protest. (Paragraph starts /or Bess."^ Minnie. I insist. (Paragraph turns to Mikniz) Minnie.l^^^^^, Bess. } Paragraph (stands in c. of stage, falls on one knse^ mid stretches out his hands containing the jlasses to Bess, r., to Minnie, l.) " Pity the sorrows of a poor young man." Ladies, help yourselves. Minnie (jumps up). You're a false, deceitful man, and ril never speak to you again. (Goes up stage.) Bess (jumps up). Very well, JMr. Paragraph, I re- lease you from your engagement. The next time you are shipwrecked, don't expect me to save you. Come, Mr. Clarence, as he who should be my protector has de- serted me, I will permit you to see me home. Good night, all. (At door, c.) Peter ! Paragraph (still on his knees). Miss Bess ! Bess. *' Henceforth I am your slave.'* Ha, ha, ha I You make a capital fountain. Good by, (Exit, c, foU hived by Clarence.) Paragraph (rising). Betwixt two stools I fall to th« ground. Here, Scud. Scud. Yaas, Massa Paragraph. Paragraph (handing him a glass). Join mo in a toa«t llere'e to " woman's rights," ** To torture and tease, To do just as they please." l^Drinks ; retires wt 1S4 AMONG THE BREAKEBfl. Scud. Yaas, Massa Paragraph, ebery tine. {DrinlcB.) (Aside.) By gollj, dey jes cook his goose. {Betiresup.) Enter Labry, r. Larry. Beg yer pardin, ladies and gints. Would be afther takia' a look at the lighthouse? The rain's stopped, and it's only a stip. Minnie. O, yes ! Uncle Chawles, I should like to •ee the interior of a lighthouse. Hunter. And so would I. What say you, Para- graph? Paragraph. Lighthouse? Yes, there's a chance for an item there. Larry. Thin follow me. {Sees ScuD.) Hullo, nagar! Scud. Hallo, paddy I Larry. Begorra, ye's so black and shiny, I thought 'twis the avil one I Scud. By golly, yer fool ! Does you tink I's a lookin'- Larry. Ugh ! blarney I [^Exit, c« Scud. " Shoo, fly ; don't bodder me ! " Hunter. Come, Minnie. {Gives her his arm, and xtit, C.) Paragraph. She turns her back upon me without a word, and goes off to the light, perhaps to make light ^f me. Peter, my boy, you've been a fool. Let this be a warning to you. Never make love to a woman when another's in sight. \_Exit, c. Scud. Shoo I Triborlat'n am a comin' sartin sure I Dar's a Hibetnicum in de house, and de uat'ral antipidiei AMONG THE BREAKERS. 185 ob de African persuas'n for dem ar fellers is a risin in de inlestiues ob dis yer buzzim ! Who be he am ? Hey ? What ? De brack blood ob forty-leben ginnyologies oh ancisters and ancisteresses cries, Away, white trash ! Dar ain*t no asswassiation to be fright ob. Til jes tell de cap'n, Whar's de towel? Can't put away de plates widcul wipin' um, and I ain't got no towel. Enter Biddy, l. Biddy. Where's Misther Larry ? {Sees Scud.) O, my sowl and body, who's that ? Scud, I want — I want — Stop, Scud. Massa Clarence tole yer to be 'ticlarly polite. Dis am de gal what hab de towels. See me I now, see me ! {Lays his hand on his hearty hows several times^ and ajpproaches Biddy.) Sublimest ob your sexes ! Biddy. How Id yer blarney jist. It's ashamed I am uv the loikes uv yer. Scud. When I look at yer, it seem jes as if chahorse am come agin. Biddy. Sure, I don't know who's coom, at all, at all. Scud. Y ^u hab de peach-blow on yer cheek — Biddy. Will, I don't know what ye mane. Scud. De wermillion hues ob de sunflower kermingla dar. Biddy. Troth, I belave he's a gorrilla Scud. And de light ob affliction am in yer eye. Biddy. O, away wid ye's ! It's hathen Chinee yei talk'n, jist. Where's Misther Larry? Scud. Sweetest ob de female persuasion, what you tx me? 186 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Biddy. Where's Misther Larry, stupid? Scud. Mister Larry Stupid am gone a^vay. Lidien to me. Gib me what I ax yer. (Falls on both knees^ facmg audience.) Gib me, angeliferous creture, O, gib me — (^Takes her hand.) Enter Larry, c. Biddy. Quit aboult uv my baud ! Scud. Don't be skeered ; it's only peliteness ; and I ax yer, gib me, O, gib me — (Larry creeps up behind^ takes him by the nape of the neck^ and shakes him.) Larry. Ye thafe of the worrld. {Shake.) Ye black hathen ! (Shake.) Scud. Here, you up dar ! Wha — wha — what yer 'bout dar? Larry. Troth, ye'U soon find out. {Shake.) Ye blackguard ! Scud. Look hyar, Hibernicum ; quit foolin', quit foolin'. Larry. What d'ye mane by insultin' the swate^t girl in Fairpoint ? Biddy. Och, it's blushin' I am, Masther Larry. Scud. You jes lef dat ar coat alone, or I'D tell yer mudder. Larry. I'll break ivery bone in yer augly carcass, so I wiU. (Shake.) Scud, You jes lef me be, dat's all. Dis am a free country. Larry. An' this is a fray fight. Now, nagar, ye'U %x. the parthin uv Miss Biddy Bane — d'ye mind ? Scud. Well, I ax it. Lef me be, now. AMONG TH£ bR£Al!L£BS. LSI Larry. An' say, I'm a black — Scud, You're a brack — ^arry. What's that ? You repate afther me. Pin a black — Scud. Dat's what I said. You're a brack — Larry (shaking Mm). Will yer mind what I say? Scud. Quit, you fool ! quit, yon fool ! I'm a brack — Larry. Ogly, mischievous owld darkey ! — Scud. Ugly, Miss Cheever's old darkey ! — Larry. An' diserve a kickin', so I do I — Scud. And deserve a kickin*, so I do I Larry. Now git up, an' if iver I find ye's demaning yersilf afore this illigent crather, I'll break ivery bone in yer ogly, black carkiss, so I will. Scud (rising). Look hyar, Hibernicum I De day ob triberlation am a comin' ! You jes look out, dat's all. Mind what I say, de day ob triberlation am a comin', and Scud am a comin', too. Larry. Howld yer pate, ye black son uv a gun. Enter Hunter, c, with Minnie. Hunter. Hallo ! what's the matter here ? Scud. Nuffin, Massa Cap'n. I was axin de lady for a towel — dat's all. Larry. An' he got a wipe uv anither kind — hey, Biddy? E7Uer David, c, with blankets on Ma arm. David. I'll do the best I can for you, captain. Ycui ftiend I've already disposed of for the night in the light- house. There's a room above for the lady, a small roorn 138 AMONG THE BREAKERS. ihere ior the boy ; here's a bench and blanket for you Yoxir servant can go to the light with Larry. Sorry 1 can't do better. Hunter, Say no more, friend. We shall get along very comfortably. David. Biddy, show the lady to her room. Biddy. To be sure I will, and make her comfortable, toe , This way, my lady. \_Exit^ B Minnie, Good night. Uncle Chawles. Don't he anxious about me. I shall sleep soundly, never fear — it's so romantic. \_Exit, b. Hunter, Good night, Minnie. Well, Scud, you're assigned quarters in the light. Larry, I'll take care of him, sir. Come along, Scud. I'll find a soft plank and a comfortable shake down for ye's. Scud, Yes, I guess not. Had jes enough ob yer shake downs. By golly, my teeth am all droppin' Dut me. Hunter, Go with him, Scud. He'll take good care of you. Larry, That's thrue for ye, sir. Scud, Well, lead on, Hibernicum. Dar's alius a olam afore de storm, but de day ob triberlation am a eomin'. [^Exit Larry and Scud, c. David, The room in there is very small, so I advise you to give if to the boy, and keep this for yourself. Hunter, All right, friend. Hope I'm not turning you »ut of your own quarters. David, No ; my duties keep me in the light all night Hunter. Rather a rough life you lead, friend. AMONG THE BREAKERS. David, Rather. Plenty of work, and poor { ay . Hunter. You look like a maa who has seen bcttei Jays. David, Do I? Well, perhaps I have, and perhaps 1 haven't. That's my business. I can tell you this, cap'n, Tve tried to do the fair thing wherever I've been placed. Love my friends, and hate my enemies. That's about the wa^ of the world, and I'm no better or worse than the common run of mankind. You'll sleep here — ivuU you? Hunter. Yes, I'll stretch myself on that bench. David. Don't lock the door, for I have to pass in and out during the night. You sleep sound ? Hunter. Very. David. rU try not to disturb you. Good night, and a long^ refreshing sleep. \_Exit^ C. Hunter. Good night, friend. That woman's words ring in my ears. My child still lives. O, would they were true. Where could she have learned so much. Paul Hunter and I meet again? Impossible. I wish I could drive such thoughts from my mind. They almost madden me. To feel the clasp of the dear one's arms about my neck, to hear her sweet voice speak the name of father, after so many years, wduld be a miracle. O, Paul Hunter, deep and terrible was your revenge upos an innocent head. Heaven forgive you, as I hope I do. Enter Clarence, c. Clarence. Well, father — back again, as you see. Hunter. And the sea nymph — safe at home ? Clarence. Yes. O, father, she is the swee^^est, 'jright^ •at . dearest girl I ever met 1 140 AMONG THE BBEAKEko. Hunter, Hallo, boy ! Have you lost your heait? Glarevce, Entirely gone, father. Do you know, Fd like to win that girl ; to make her my wife. Hunter, And why not? Clarence, Her station in life is very low. For my §elf I would not care, but you would hardly like to tak« RS a daughter one so poor and — Hunter, Tut, tut, boy ! I'd rather see you woo this, brave girl, poor as she is, believing, as I do, she has a noble heart, a pure soul, and a loving disposition, than have you bring home as a wife the belle of the gay cir- cles of our city life. Clarence, Do you mean this ? Hunter, I do, my boy. * I was once so poor that 1 dragged my half-starved body to your grandfather's door, and begged of him a crust of bread. That good old' man took me Tn, fed me, clothed me, treated mo €.6 his own son, and when he died, left me all his wealth, Clarence, Treated you as his son ? left you his w^^lch 't 'Twas yours by right. Hunter, No, Clarence, for I am not your lather. Clarence, Not — my — father ? Mr. Hunter — Hunter, Clarence, to-morrow you are of age. Then I shall make disclosures which will startle you. To- morrow I shall place in your possession the title deeds of a large property — yours by right. I did not mean to speak of this now. Ask me no questions. To-mor- row you shall find that, though I am not your father, 1 have tried to be your friend. Clarence, Friend I Heaven bless you for your k» ad- Iie6ft to me. You have indeed startled me. I kiio^ f*ot AMONG TH£ BREAKERS. 141 wha,t to think or say. But I will obey you, and be silent. Hunter. That's right. Now let's to bed. There's a little room which you will occup3\ I shall sleep >n thio bench. Good night. Clarence. Good night, father. (Goes, L., and o'pe\ ^ door.) Why, here's a comfortable room and a bed. 1 gee here your fatherly care. You would give me a '^ose^ nest, and take the hard couch for your bed. Hunter. The light-keeper told me it was only a closet. Why should he deceive me so ? Clarence. Well, father, you take the bed, and I'll take the bench. Nay, I insist. I could not sleep here, knowing you were not as comfortably provided for. Hunter. But, Clarence — Clarence. Nay, let me have my \^y. 'Tis perhaps the last request I shall make while I can call you father. (Takes candle from table.) Here, take the candle. I shall not need it. Good night, father. Hunter {takes candle). I do not like this, but you shall have your way. Good night, my boy. (They §hafce hands.) Heaven bless you. ^ [_Exit, L» Clarence, Good night, kindest and best of friends. Not my father? Who is he, then? Who am I? This place seems the very abode of mystery. An unknown heroine, a witch, who startles even the cool, impenetrable Bruce Hunter, and then he with mysterious hints of secrets in my life. To-morrow I shall know all ; be wealthy owner of a large estate, and lose my father. J cannot fathom it. I'll to bed, and try to sleep. (Gropes 4m way to hench^ L-^ on which are lyirig two blank 5ts which 142 AMONG THE BREAKERS. David brought \n ; one he rolls up for a pillow^ then liek dcfwn, covering himself with the other,) That long walk has made me sleepy. (^Yawns.) What a pleasant walk, and what a delightful girl — by no means ignorant. She's well read ; Mother Carey has reared her well — and then 8C captivating. Ah, me, if she were only mine ! I'll win her. Bess — Bess — what a pretty name. Bess Hunter — Mrs. Bess Hunter — (^Yawns,) This sea air is a decided narcotic. Bess, — brave, lovely, capti- vating, — she's the treasure of the seas. Bess — Bess — Bess — (^Sleeps. Lightning, thunder, rain.) Enter Scud, c, with a blanket. Scud. Rainin' like de debble ! Dat ar Hibernicum's a fo — fo — fool, dat's what he am. Gib me a soft plank on a stone floor ! .No, sar ; not for Scud. Til jes find a soft plank hyar onto de bench. {Goes to bench,) Hallo ! By golly, dar's a lodger dar now. Shoo ! it*s Massa Clarence. Whar's a soft plank ? (Feels about the floor.) Hyar's one — jes a shade softer dan a slab. I'll retire here. (Lies down in front of the bench.) Dar's nuffin like a good crop ob wool onto de cranium when de pillers am all gone to de wash. Hallo ! what's dat ? More lodgers? (Lightning and thunder. Door, c, opens Boftly. Enter David, with a long knife in his hand,) David. He sleeps ! My enemy's at my mercy. 'Tia a cowardly act — a blow in the dark. But let me re- member my wrongs. Bruce Carter, son of a pauper, living in luxury ; I, the rightful owner of all he calls hia own, living here like a dog. He must die. One sure blow, and we are quits. The breakers roar for prey. AMONG THE BREAKERS. 145 Who bo fit to feed them as he? All sleep well. This knife shall find his heart. One plunge, and his body ii in the waves. Scud. Dar's somebody in de house dat don't belong hyar, dat's sure enough. Wake ap, Scud. Triberlat'n'a a comin* ; I feel 'em in dem remarkable organs, my heels. (Sits up,) David (in c. of stage). Why do I falter? He is my enemy. Shall I spare him? If I lose this chance, with the light he will go, never to return. I must do it. (Lightning and thunder,) Scud (rising). By golly, dar*s a man in de middle ob de floor wid a meat-axe I Who's he comin' fur to go fur ? (Bises,) David (creeping towards bench). Curse the knife 1 How my hand trembles. Scud, Triherlat'n am a comin' I I hyar 'im breave. David, Now for it. Scud (seizing him by throat). Nuffin hyar, butcher I Quffin hyar ! David, Confusion! (They struggle,) Scud, Drop dat knife I Hyar, cap'n ! Help I mur- der ! Help ! help ! ( Wrests the knife from David, and throws him to B..) Enter Hunter, with lighted candle in one hand, pistol in the other, Clarence sits up, rubbing his eyes. David, Curse that black fiend ! Hunter, What's the matter. Scud? Scud, Murder — jes — almost — dat's what'a da matter. Dat ar chap was gwine for Massa Clarence wid a knife, an' I went for dat chap, jes — dat's all. 144 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Hunter, Murder — Clarence ! Short work foi Ina^ derers. {Levels pistol at David. Lightning,) Enter Mother Carey, o. Mother G. (c). Hold, Bruce Hunter ! The maQ who'i life is in your hands must not die. Look well at him 'Tis Paul Hunter. Hunter {dropping pistol^ and falling back) Paul Hunter ! David {dashes past Scud towards Mother Caret). Woman ! fiend ! you lie ! Scud {puts his arms through David's, and bends him over his knees). Hold on, old man ! Gib de old lady a chance, for triberlat'n*s ar a comin' ! Mother G. Ha, ha ! Remember Mother Carey's prophecy. The wronger and the wronged shall meet. Happiness to one ; destruction to the other. Justice for both at last, — at last. {Lightning and thunder.) QUICK CURTAIN. A.CT n. — Scene. Same as in Ad I. Table^ c. Chairs R. and l. of table. Bench, r-. Arm-chair^ r. L., near entrance, barrel with cover^ large enough yQ comfortably contain Scud. Larry {sings, outside, c). " When first I saw swate Peggy, *Twas on a market day, On a low-backed car she sat and rode. Upon a truss of hay/* &c. AMONG THE BREAKERS. 145 Oeh, it's ab lUigant mornin', jist, an' it's clyitf I am foi a sight uv the lovely girl that's made me pass a 8lap«- less night dramin* uv her. Where's the masther — I donno ? Not once the night has he put his head in the light. Will, it's his onaisy sphirit kapes him a walkin' an a walkin'. Ah, there's Biddy comin', as rosy as the clouds iv the mornin*. {Enter Biddy, with her hands full of dishes,) The top uv the mornin' to ye's, Biddy, ye jewel. Biddy. Ah, ha, Misther Larry, yer up betimes wil yer compliments an' flatterin' spaches. Larry, To be sure I am. For it's little slape I have wid yer purty face forninst me an' the shlumbers of mid- night. Och, Biddy, darlint, won't ye's come for to go for to be my widdy ? Biddy, Indade, an' I'll be nobody's widdy. If I'd not my hands full I'd box yer ears, so I would. Larry, Och, be aisy ! That's a dilicate way of axing ye's to be my wife. Hands full I By that same token, Biddy, darlint, I'm just going to stale a kiss from your purty lips. Biddy. Indade, but yer not. Kape off, or I'll scratch ye's face, so I will. Larry, Wid yer hands full? Troth, but I'll jist thry that same. (^Puts his arm round her waist.) Biddy (struggling) . Away wid ye's ! Larry. Whin I've tasted the cherries uv yer lipsr (They struggle. She drops the dishes. He kisses her. Cover of barrel is raised^ and Scud's head appears.) Scud (aside). Dar's a smash. Stolen sweets, iliiis trated wid — wid — wid plates. (Disappears in barrel.) 10 1 46 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Biddy. Now say what ye's done. Ye's bicker th« pace. Larry. Niver mvnd the paces. I'll make it all right wid the masther. Biddy (picking up pieces in her apron). The mas* ther is it? Och, Misther Larry, there's been avil work iiere the night. Lirry (picking up pieces). Avil work? What d'yi mace, Biddy? Biddy. Whist ! I heard a hullabaloo, an' down her« I cript, an' paked in at the door. An* there was the masther hild by the black cook, an' the cap'n wid a piathol in his fist, an' owld Mother Carey a houldin' uv her broomstick, an' all talkin' an* talkin' togither some- ihin' about a murther ; an' thin the owld lady scooted out uv the door, an' — an' they locked masther up in his room, an' — an* thin I jist crept off to bid. Och, but it's an avil place, jist ! Larry. A murther, an' the masther locked up? Bedad, I don't onderstand it at all, at all. Biddy. No more do I ; but I'll give warning the day, an' go back to my cousin, Bridget Blancy, so I will. Larry. An' lave yer own thrue Larry, that's dyin' for the love uv ye's ? Biddy, come wid me to the praste beyant, an' be my own thrue wife. Biddy. Och, d'ye mane it, Misther Larry ? Larry. Mane it? Biddy, my darlint (^puts his arm ^hout her waist), I'm a lonely Irishman, widout the con- vaniences uv relations, a pinin' for the swates ut domes- tic life. Take me to ye's heart, for I'm cowld wid thi hunger uv love that burns in my bosom. AMONG THE BREAKERS. 141 Biddy, Troll, Mistber Larry, yer a broth uv a boy, Eo ye arc ; an', wid the praste's blessia*, Til be your own thrue wife, Biddy Bane. Larry (embracing her). Och, ye darlint, it's crazy 1 am wid the joy I fale. By the blissid St. Patrick, we'U be the happiest couple in the wide world. Biddy. That we will. Now let me go. The brick- fast's not riddy, an' the table's not laid. ((7oes, ±t.) Larry. I say, Biddy ; like a thafe I stole a kiss (ap- yroaching her) ; like an honorable gintleman I put it back. (Kisses her. Scud raises cover.) Biddy. Be aisy, Misther Larry. {^Exity B. Scud, •* De monkey marred de baboon's sister, Smacked his lips, and den he kissed her." Shoo ! (Disappears.) Larry. She's a darlin', so she is. The masther'a locked up in his room. Begorra, I'll jist do meself the favor to lit him out, an' set him fray. He's my own masiher, an' if he's in throuble, Larry Divine's not the b'y to show him his back, jist. (Going , L.) Scud (throwing off caver ^ and standing up in the harrel) • Stop dar, Hibernicum, stop dar ! Dis am a private way it am dangerous trabellin'. Larry. Out uv that, ye hathen imp of blackness. Hould yer prate, or I'll break — Ccud ( pointing pistol) . Wliat's dat ? Who — who — • who — ' who's a what ? Quit, yer fool ! quit, yer fool I Dis yer am a deranged rebolber ; keeps goin' round an' goin' off, shootin' all de time. You can't go in dar. 148 AMONO THE BREAKERS. Larry (retreating), Pat up that pistol. It might go off. Scud, Da's a fact, da's a fact. I tell yer, Hiberjicum, triberlation am comin', sart'n sure. De tables am turued Down on yer marrow bones dar, down on yer marrow bones I Larry (Icneeling). Scud, Masther Scud, ye jewel, La aisy wid the pisthol. Scud. Now yer jest mind what I say. Ain't got dia chile by de scruff ob de neck dis time. Now, mister, say what I tole ye. I'm a red-headed, meddlin', pugniferous Hibernicum. Say it — by golly, can't hold dis yer pistol. Jjarry, Yes, yes. I'm a rid-headed — by my sowl I'll break — Scud. De pistol am goin'. Larry. I'm a rid-headed, middlin', pugnacious Mickey I Scud. Da's a fact. Brack libbered, ugly — say it. Larry, Niver, ye thafe. Scud. It's goin', it's goin — can't hole him. Larry. I'm a black-livered — Scud. Da's a fact, da's a fact — scoundrel — eay it. Larry, Scoundrel. {Aside.) That ye are. Scud. An* Massa Scud am a gentleman. Can't hole de pistol. Larry. An* Masther Scud am a gintleman — (Aside,) lliafe. Scud. Now den, Hibernicum, shake yer hoof, shake yer hoof, vamose. One — two — tree — Larry (rising). Off it is, belave it, honoy. (Oci6 tt AMONG THE BREAKERS. 149 ioor.^ C.) ril be avin \<^id ye, ye black thafe of the worrld. Scud, De pistol am a goia' ; can't hole liim, by golly, can't hole him. {Exit Larry, c.) Golly, see um run. De day ob triberlation am come. Massa cap'n tole me to get Tinder cober an' watch dat ar door. Dis yer am de only cober I kin find. Almos' stuffocate me. My knees am all out ob jint in de barrel, but dar ain't nobody goin' into dat ar door while I've got dis yer pistol. Hallo ! some- body's comin'. Whar's de cober? It am clean gone. {JDrovs into barrel,) Enter Paragraph, c, with note-booh. Paragraph, What's this — a murder ? The Irishman said that somebody had murdered somebody. His mas- ter locked up, and to use his expressive words, '* Owld Nick broke loose." Peter, you're in luck. Here's an item. ( Writes,) *' Horrible outrage. Dastardly as- sassination. The banks of Fairpoint bathed in gore. High crime on the Lowlands. Testimony of an eye- witness. Our special correspondent on the spot." There's a heading for an extra. But where's the mur- derer, and where's the murdered? The light-keeper locked up ! He must be the assassin. I'll interview him. What ! Miss Daze, my adored Minnie, for whom I fished and lost? I'll try her with a fresh bait. {TaJcei out his handkerchief,) Enter Minnie, r. Mmnie, Mr. Paragraph! Sir, I thought we weif to have no more of your society. 150 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Paragraph (icitJi affected emotion) . Minnie, — ah, Miss Daze, — I am about to leave this place, hallowed by tender recollections, never to return. ( Wipes his eyes. ) After a sleepless night, I have come to my senses. Yes, Peter, who so madly loved you, adored, celestial, seraph- ic, ecstatic, unaffected divinity of loveliness, has come to a realizing sense of his inferiority. The said Peler now sees how high you are above him. Pardon this weakness. {Weeps^ and blows his nose,) In an hour you will find said Peter, your once loved Peter, far away. You'll never hear of him again, save by report of his valor in the field. Minnie. In the field ? What mean 3'ou Peter — Mr. Paragraph ? Paragraph. To-morrow I enlist in the noble army of martyrs who serve our dearly beloved Uncle Samuel ; to-morrow I don the habiliments of a soldier — the tightly-fitting pantaloons, the bagg}' coat of blue, and march away to battle against " Lo." Minnie. Against who? Paragraph. ''Lo, the poor Indian," on the broad prairies of the West. Ah, the thought is a soothing balm to my lacerated bosom. It is an inspiration. I feel the glow of martial fire ; the smoke of battle fills my nostiils. I see the red man of the forest ; my hand grasps his top-knot ; my gleaming knife encircles his head. Ah, ha ! his scalp is at my belt. Minnie. How romantic. O Peter ! glorious Peter J you were born to be a soldier. Paragraph, There's but one drawback to this glow- ing picture. To leave you, whom I so madly love, to AMONG THE BREAKERS. 151 leaya you, fair type of civilization, to find oompaoion* ship with the red squaws of the West. The thouo:hl is madness. Minnie. And do you think I will submit to tht parting? No, Peter. When you go forth as a sol- dier I will be by your side. I will carry your mus- ket ; I will share with you the burden of your knap- sack, and, on the far distant prairies, cook for you th* sportive buffalo, while you scalp the red man. Paragraph. O, this is too much. Devotion, thy name is Woman. O Minnie Daze, I'm all ablaze with love and valor. Thus do I swear fidelity to you, my soldier bride. {Kisses her.) Scud (popping up his head). Dat's de sojer's fust shot, all de world ober. (Disappears,) Minnie. O, Peter, how could you? Pardon my blushes ; 'twas so abrupt. Give me time to recover. Anon we'll meet, my gallant soldier. O, this is indeed romantic. [_Exit^ r. Paragraph. Go for a soldier ! Not much, my bloom- ing Minnie. I've made peace with you without a bat- tle, and I'll contrive to keep it without the help of th« red man. Now, then, to interview the murderer. That'* his room. (Going^ L. Scud rises in the barrel.) Scud. Halt dar, Massa Paragruff. Paragraph. Scud I What are you doing iu that barrel ? Scud. Dis yer am de sentry-box, Massa Paragruff. Paragraph. O, ho ! I see. You are on guard. Scud. Yaas, Massa Paragruff. I'm de bra..l guard tb de place. 152 AMONG THE BREAKEBS. Paragraph, Exactly. There has been a murder com- nriitted. Am I right ? Scud, Yaas, indeed. Almos' killed a man. Paragraph, Good. Hold on a minute till I get my 'note-book. {Takes out note-hook,) I'll interview yot first. Scud, Interwhich? Yaas, I gue«s not. Yer canH come inter dis yer barrel. Paragraph, Now then, Scud, tell me all about it. You witnessed the deed? Scud, Yaas, indeed, I was dar, chile, in de thickest ob de fry. Paragraph, Yes. {Writes,) Scud, intelligent col ored man — age, forty — occupation, servant — witnessed the deed. Scud. See hyar, Massa Paragruff, what yer doin' dat for? What yer writin' my photography for? I didn't kill nuffin. Paragraph. It's all right. Now, then, who wa« murdered ? Scud, Hey ? Why, de wictim, ob course. Paragraph, But who was the victim? Scud, Why, de chap what was de wictim. Paragraph. O, stuff! What was his name? Scud, De back name, or de front name ? Paragraph, Both, you mule. Scud, Young man, look hyar. If you go for to hurlin' obstreperous epigrams at dis yer chile, I'm done, da^'s all. « Paragraph, I beg your pardon. Scud. Please givt ine the name of the victim. AMONG TUB BREAKERS. 155 Scud, Why, ycr know him. Twas Massa Clarence. Paragraph, Clarence murdered, and I asleep. ( Writes,} Victim, Clarence Hunter — age, twenty-one — pride of his father — promising youth — cut off — flower of mao* hood. Go on. Who was the murderer? Scud, De fellow wid de knife. Paragraph, Deed committed with a knife. Well. Scud, Well, you see, Massa Clarence was a sleepin* onto de bench down dar, an* I was a sleepin' onto de floor down dar, an' de fellow come into de door dar wid a knife ; an' he stan' up in de floor jes dar, an' de lighten come, an' I seed him. Den he went for Massa Clarence, %n' dis yer chile went for him, an' somefin dropped, dat's all. Den we locked him into dat yer room. Paragraph, In that room ? Enough. From the lips of the murderer i will hear the rest. O Peter, you're in luck. Here's matter for two columns of sensation. {Going ^ L.) Scud, Hole on, Massa Paragruff. Whar are you goin' ? Paragraph, Into that room. Scud, Can't do it, no sar. I am de cap'n ob dis yei — dis yer — barrel, an' dar ain't no passin' dis yer bul- wark, no sar. Paragraph, What, would you hamper the freedom of the press? Scud, Don't know nuffin bout de press. Free list ftm suspended. No dead heads in dar. No, sar; can't go. Paragraph, But I shall. My professional reputation ig at stake. Stand back. 154 AMONG ifac BiltAxlfiKS. Scud {presenting pistol), Staud back yerself, oi yer'll make a bifsteak. Paragraph (retreating). Put up that pistul. Scud. *Tain't one ob dat kind. It keeps goin' round, an* goin* off, an — Paragraph, Put it down. I'll tell your master, yon •camp, and have you horsewhipped. Point a pistol at A gentleman, and a member of the press I You shall catch it. {Hurries off, c.) Scud, Yaas, sar, do, sar, fetch de master, an' git me out ob dis yer barrel. Freedom ob de press 1 Ya, ya I dat am a mighty organ, but dis yer pistol am a sight more powerfuller. Hallo ! dar's somebody else. Can't go into dat ar room, no, sar. {Disappears in barrel,) Enter Bess, c. Bess (singing). ** Ever be happy, gay as a lark, Pride of the pirate's heart." Rather early to make a call. But it's such a splendid morning, bright, clear, with a capital breeze, and just the morning for a sail ; so, to be hospitable and polite^ IVe launched my boat, and sculled across the bay to invite my beau of last night to take a seat. O, wasn't he splendid — so tall, and such a noble style about him I Ah, me, Bess Starbright, it's well for you that he stays but a day. Enter Clarence. Clarence, Well, well, Miss Bes3, here you are. Bess. Yes, Mr. Clarence, here I am, to wish yao % good morning. AMONG THE BREAKERS. 15d Clarence. TvQ been to your house to make a morn- mg call. Bess. That's very kind of you. And I took m} boat and rowed across the bay, and so missed mee^ ing you on the sands. Come, it's a beautiful morning; give me your company for a sail. Clarence. A sail? That's delightful. Shall I call the rest of our party? Bess. Just as you please — but — but — but my boat will only carry two. Clarence. Ah, that's a delightful boat! I thank you for your kind invitation, and will give you my company with pleasure. This is my birthday, Miss Bess. Bess. Your birthday? Accept my congratulations. Clarence. Thank you ; but I shall ask you for Bomething more. I am twenty-one to-day. Miss Star- bright, and with my manhood comes the possession of a large property, and an income sufficient to satisfy the most lavish disposition. Bess (aside). Rich! Ah, me! would he were as poor as I. (Aloud.) I'm very glad, sir. Clarence. Yes, I have wealth. X-al«e-have~a>~pair of -Strong-arms, a healthy- frame, a passably clear head, and, I hope, a warm heart. I'm rather an oddity, for I believe nothing in this world is of any good unlesi it is made useful ; and unless I can make the wealth servo, me as well as I have made the others, I shall think my birthday gift of fortune is a useless incum- brance. Bess, Why, I declare, sir. You're quite a preach iTi too. Id6 AMONG THE BBEAKEBS. Clarence. Am I ? Do you know what text I should like to preach a sermon from? Bess. I'm sure I don't. Clarence, With you as the congregation, I as the preacher, " Love one another." Bess. Sir — Mr. Clarence I Clarence. Miss Starbright — Bess — listen to me. Last night, after you left me, I stood at your window. I heard the sound of a piano and your voice, sweeter than any which ever fell upon my ears. You have beauty, taste, talent. You are out of place here. I have met beautiful, cultivated women in society, but never before has my heart been moved by that mighty power which makes or mars all destinies. Bess, let my hand lead you to a station more fitting your aoble, brave spirit. Be my wife, Bess, for I love you. Bess. You love me? — you rich, I a poor girl? Clarence. Nay, let's drop comparisons, or change aames, for your brave acts would count in honorable i^ealth beyond my rich possessions. Bess. O, Mr. Clarence! I know not what to say. [ cannot but be pleased with your preference. I, too, ^ave had my sweet dreams since you came here, but tis so strange. 'Tis better we should let it pass as a iream. To-day you will leave me ; to-morrow yoa ^ill look upon it as hiU a dream, and forget me. Clarence. 'Tis a dream from which I hope never (o awake then. No, Bess, I am determined ycu shall te my wife. Miter HuNTEB, c. Hunter. And he's a most determined young scampii MIbs Bess. AMOI^Q THE BREAKEBS 15 V Bess, What, Mr. Hunter, will you allow this? Hunter, I cannot help myself. He is of age ; and icsides, I rather like his spirit. Bess, But what will Mother Carey say? Enter Mother Caret, c. Mother G, Be not too hasty. Time tries all. Wait There are mysteries to be cleared, accounts to be set- tled, wrongs to be righted. Love can wait, aa well as hate. Clarence, Nay, Mother Carey, there's no time like the present. I love your daughter ; would make her my wife. I believe I can gain her consent. Have I yours? Mother (7. Patience, boy, patience. An hour from now the tide will change. Who can tell what its flood may strew upon the beach, — perhaps treasures of hope and joy ; perhaps fragments of wrecked hopes, and ghastly corses of despair. Wait, boy, wait. Come to me then, and what I have the right to bestow shall be yours. Clarence. Thanks! I will await your pleasure. Come, Bess, I'm anxious for that sail. Bess, Gracious I I forgot all about it. Come, you shall see how I manage a boat. Clarence, And then you shall see how I manage a wife. Bess, When you've caught her. Come along, sir. [_Exitt 0. Hunter. Hallo, Scud I {^cui> rises from barrel.) Scud, Ay, ay, Massa Cap'n. Hunter, What in the world are you doing there? 158 AMONG THE BBEAKEBS. Scud. I's on guard, Massa Cap'n. Didn't ye tolt me to watch de door dar? Spec I did — wid a pistle, too. Hunter. Well, get out of that barrel — quick I Scud (tips the barrel down, and crawls out)* Belibe guard I Yaas, sar, spec I will. I, golly, got de rheu* matiz in my heel. (Hohhles to door, c.) Here, cap'n, hyar*s yer pistle. (Hunteb takes it.) I jes paid rff dat ar Hibernicum ! {At door^ c, a broom comes dovm upon his head,) Larry. Ye did, ye thafe uv the worrld ! Scud. By golly, stop, yer fool 1 Help ! help ! {Rum across stage, followed by Larry beating him,) Larry. I'll tache ye, ye black son of a gun. \JExit, B. Hunter. And now we are alone, I thank yoa for the service you have performed in disclosing a villain. May I not ask you to clear this mystery ? Mother G. Bruce Hunter, or Carter, — it matters not, — you are a noble man. In all honorable ways, you have attained the love of friends, great wealth, a high name in the council halls, the good opinion of your fellows. One more effort, and happiness is yours. Hunter. Still mysterious. What must I now do? Mother C. Bring a sinner to repentance. Hunter. I am still in the dark. Mother G. Listen. Fifteen years ago, under my humble roof rested a woman weak and faint after a long journey. Her story was a bitter one. Young, the bloom of girlhood scarcely swept from her cheek, she was a wife and mother. Her husband was a reckless, dissipated man, who^e father had disinherited him foff AMONG TUB BREAKERS. 151 marry iog a poor girl, willing his property to ftn adopted son. Hunter, Paul Hunter! Mother C. And yourself. My characters are rcaL Fired with revenge^ the disappointed man determined to rob his foster brother of his dearest treasure. The wife, with tears and supplication, attempted to per- iuade him from his purpose. He struck her to the earth, sought the home of his enemy, and accomplished his purpose. Hunter. Sx) far all's true. The rest is mystery. Mother C. He fled ; but not unwatched, for the wife stealthily followed. Hunter. Wretched woman ! She should have sought the unhappy father, disclosed the hiding-place of the villain — Mother G. She was his wife. The two were one. His secrets were her secrets, to be kept sacredly. With the knowledge of his guilt she must cover her head, though the heavy burden crush her to the dust. She found his hiding-place ; watched and waited for the hand of fate to lead the father to his child. For she had made a vow that while her husband lived her lips should be silent, unless that husband, on his bended knees, with remorse leading his guilty soul to repentance, should himself proclaim the truth, and sue for pardon. Hunter. Where is that woman? Mother G. Beyond your reach. Bruce Hunter, he who so wronged you is at your mercy. In your handa IS the weapon that can take his life ; in your heart ig the power *a lead him to repentance. Use either, anci 160 AHONa THE UBEAKESS. the mystery is cleared. You have your choice. Bin reflect. Revenge, speedy, quick, terrible, blots out a wretched life, to stain you with its blood; repeiitancc washes a soul, brings it nearer to a merciful Father, and weaves into your spirit the rich reward of a noble act. (^At door, c.) Bruce Hunter, I have done. When next we meet, the mystery is cleared. [^Exit, c. Hunter (^sinking into chair r. of table), " You have your choice. The power is in your heart to bring hira to repentance." 'Tis false. There's nought within this bosom but a fierce desire for revenge. When 1 re- member these long years of separation from one who might have made my life so happy ; when I remember the cruel wrong wrought by this inhuman monster, can I stop to parley with hira, to turn him to repentance ? No ; this weapon shall right me quick, and thus restore my daughter. {Eises,) Daughter ! Ah, but when I have her in my arms, will she not shrink from the em- braces of a father whose hands are stained with blood? That woman is well skilled in her vocation. She sets fierce passions warring in my breast, and stakes her for- tunes on the power that in life's battle oft for me has won the field. She's right. I cannot sully the fair record of the past with crime. Away the thought. Heaven help me to subdue this man. (^Goes r., z:nloiJcs door, and throws/it open.) Paul Hunter I You are wanted. (Be- turns to seat r. of table,) David (outside, l.). Wanted, ha, ha! by the officers of justice. Well, I am ready. (Enters, L.) I am ready. How ? — alone ? Come, let's have no delay io fhi% business. I am anxious to enjoy the quiet of grinr AMONG THE BREAK BBS. 16l walls, the solitude of the felon's cell. Bring in youi men. You'll find no resistance. I'll walk as calmly to my fate as did the martyrs to the stake. Hunter, There are no ofiicers here. You are as free as I. David. Free ? Have you forgotten, that last night I attempted your life ; that I would have killed you as I would a snak^ that bit me? Hunter. O, no, I haven't forgotten it, Paul. But for the fidelity of a faithful friend some one would have been a corse this bright morning. David, Faithful friend ! Curse him. Huntir, And he saved a life dearer than mine. Your little plot failed, Paul. 'Twas the boy whose life was endangered, not mine. David, Bruce Carter, you have escaped me ; but if you value your life, leave this place forever. There's a fiend in my bosom urging me to murder : there's a frenzied power creeping through my frame I cannot control. Begone — ere 'tis too late. Hunter, 'Tis too late noy/, Paul Hunter ; too late for you and I to separate, until that dark veil which covers the past is lifted. For fifteen years you have embittered my life ; and now, when we meet, you bid me begone. Fool ! you forget I am the avenger now. 'Tis my wrongs that cry aloud. Of what do you complain ? David, Complain? Nothing. Why should I? There was a rich old father in the past, whom I loved dearly, and who loved me ; but another stepped in between, and robbed me of his love. But I must not complain. He died cursing me : 'twas the work of this other. But I II 162 AMONG THE BREAKERS. must not complain. Those broad lands, elegavit houses^ stores of notes and gold yonder, mine by right, whieb this other enjoys. But I must not complain. Hunter, YouVe wrong, — all wrong, Paul. David, Silence ! I know your smooth, oily tongue ; I knew that from the moment you stepped into my father's door, your aim was to destroy my influence, and reign supreme. I knew this, and you succeeded. I couldn't beat you there, but I had a terrible revenge. Hunter, You stole my daughter. David, Ay, from her cradle. Yes, the smooth tongue was wanting, but a soft step, a subtle trick outfought you, Bruce Carter ; and I bore her off in triumph. Hunter, Where is she now? David, Where you will never find her. I foiled your efforts to track us, for I knew whom you suspected. Ah, 'twas a glorious victory. One other would content me. To snatch you from my rich possessions, — mine, do you hear, Bruce Carter ? — to get my hands about your throat, to drag you to the bank beyond, and hurl you into the breakers. That would content me. You hear me ? We are alone, face to face. Fll struggle with you for a life, to end this mortal hate. {Approaching him fiercely,) Hunter {producing pistol). Stop ! There's a quicker way than that which you propose. 'Tis loaded, — works well, — is deadly sure. Til place it here upon the table {lays it on table), within your reach. At any moment you can grasp it, and with it take my life. I only ask that you will patiently listen to what I shall say. David {quickly places his hand on pistol). You re i> in J power. Yes, I'll listen. AMONG TUB BREAKERS. 16S Hunter, Paul, your life has been all a mistake ; yoai eritimate of me is all a mistake. I never tried to sup- plant you : was always your friend. You remembei. you were dissipated, married against your father's command. Often I have stood your friend, but you would not believe me, so 'twould be useless to try to convince you of mj friendship. David, Bah ! Rather weave ropes of sand. Hunter. I never saw the girl you married. I think your father was mistaken in her. David. Mistaken I She would have graced hia noblest assemblies. She was too good for me. Hunter, "".nd so you deserted her? David, Have a care, Hunter. I'm desperate. Hunter, Your father, by a will, made me his heir. David, Why torture me with that? Hunter. To make plain what follows. One night I lost my daughter. You know how. David, Indeed I do. Hunter. The night following, a little boy, a bright little fellow, about six years of age, was brought to my home, with a note, running something like this : " This boy nas been deserted by his father, who has wronged you. His mother cannot care for him, as a stern duty compels her to fly. You are rich, powerful, enjoying what might have been this boy's. Be a father to the son of Paul Hunter, and Heaven and a despairing mother will bless you." Signed, Mary. David, My wife and son I " Mary I " My wife ! O, how that name strikes upon my heart. Well, the boy — • Hunter. By the provisions of your father's will I 164 AMONG THE BREAKERS. wa8 required to take the family name. By his bountf and affection I was already in good practice as a lawyer. Of the property willed me, I kept a strict account, in- vested in the surest and safest manner, never used one dollar for my own advancement, so that now the property has trebled in value, and to-day, by my own free act, ia transferred, with full title and possession, to one who ia of age to-day — your son. David {aghast). My son ! My son ! Hunter, Yes, the boy who has been, and is as dear to me as the little girl I lost ; the boy who has grown to be a noble man, with brains to conceive and energy to accomplish ; the boy whose life you attempted last night — your son Clarence Hunter. David, No, no, not that. Bruce Carter, spare me ; spare a miserable wretch. Attempt the life of my own Bon? Open, earth, and hide me; fall, ye walls, and crush me. I am accursed I accursed ! accursed ! ( Grouches on stage,) Hunter, Come, Paul, I think you will believe me innocent of any design to ruin you. Let us bury the past. For that boy's sake be a man ; shake off this de- sire of revenge. Come, I offer you my hand. David, Your hand, Bruce, to such a wretch as — No, no, I see now my error. You are a noble man, Bruce. You have repaired wrong with blessing. Take your hand ? Why, mine would stain it — Ah ! the child I Hark ! Do you hear the breakers ? They come — dash — dash — creeping all about us. See — see that face ! it comes again — the little gir! — sad face, tearful eyes — on the crest of the breakers I Drivf AMOKQ THE BREAKERS. 161 them back! shut those eyes! they burn into nj .soul. Hunter, The child — my child, Paul? David. Yes — O Bruce, if there's a spark of man* hood in you, revenge your wrongs. There's the weapon at your hand. Blow out my brains. Here, on my knees, I beg for pardon, ere you fire : on my knees, Bruce. But do not spare me. I am a murderer, — the child is dead! Hunter. Dead ! dead I Then all's lost — Enter Mother Caret, c. Mother C. No, all's well. The child lives. Hunter. Do not deceive me. Mother G. That repentant man at your feet bore her to the shore, — 'twas the night of the wreck, — plunged her into the waves, thinking no questions would be asked were she found with the dead passengers of the wreck. But the waves cast her up, high up upon the beach, and she was cradled in a mother's arms. She lives I (Enter Bess Starbright, c.) Bruce Hunter, behold your daughter. Hunter. She my daughter? The proof t- who are you? Mother G. The woman of the silent tongue, the pro- tector of your child, the deserted wife — (throws off ivig and cloak, appearing in dark dress) — Mary Hunter. David. Mary, my wife, what does this mean? (^Sitt on bench, and covers his face.) Mother G. Bess, the father I promised you, has come at last Bruce Hunter, take your child. I have full proo£ 166 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Hunter. M7 daughter! {Takes her in his arms,) It must be true, it must be true. Bess, the name youi* mother gave you, your eyes so like hers — strange I should not have noticed them befoie. Bess, Dear father, how glad 1 am to know youl Mother Carey has always told me that he would come to claim me. I never dreamed that he would be the father of Clarence. Hunter, Clarence? He is not my child. One good turn deserves another. Mary Hunter, you have restored my daughter. I give you back your son, brave, noble, honorable. Clarence, I promised you astounding disclo- sures to-day. This lady is — Mother G. Your mother, Clarence. Clarence, My mother? Hunter, She is right. I will explain. Clarence, Dear, dear mother. (Kneels at her feet.) Mother C, {raising him in her arms). Here, to my heart, my boy. Hard must be that duty which separates a mother from her child. This happiness repays all my ^ains. Clarence, Mother, I know not what witchcraft you have practised here ; I only know that Mr. Hunter never yet deceived me, and something in my heart tells me he is right now. Enter Paragraph a7id Minnie, c. Com( down, b. Paragraph, Mr. Hunter, Miss Minnie and myself have just been calculating the exact hour of your de« parture. Minnie, We are so impatient to be off. AMONG THE BREAKERS. 167 Enter Scud, c. Scud. De yacht am all ready. Dar's a breeze spruig «p from the sow — sow — north by west, an' — " De ship it am ready, an* de sails dey are set, So I must be off to sea, Phoebe Jane." Hunter. Nay, there's no hurry, friends. The old for- lune-teller has turned out to be a very dear friend, and we are in no hurry to leave this spot. Clarence. Mr. Hunter, I'm in a very awkward pre- dicament, for I love Miss Bess Hunter as dearly as I love Bess Starbright. Hunter. My dear boy, don't give yourself any uneasi- ness. Bess, my child, you love Clarence? Bess. I'm afraid I do, father. Enter Larry and Biddy, r. Hunter {joining their hands). Then be happy. Next m3 the happiness of calling you my daughter, is the joy «r having the power to make my dear boy " The happy bridegroom of so fair a bride." Larry. D'ye hear that, Biddy. There's to be a wed. I'm . Biddy. Och, bless their dear hearts. Larry, If ye plase, Misther Hunter, Miss Biddy an' I am thinkin' uv pairin' off. Scud {at doory c. Si^igs). «* De monkey marred de baboon's siiter— * Hunter. Silence, Scudl 168 AMONG THE BREAKERS. Larry. Ah, ye hathen ! An' if ye plase, sir, wcuW the young couple want sarvants ? Biddy. Yis, sir, to tind the door and kape the homt tidy. Larry, An' tind the childer — Biddy, Whist, Larry ! it's spilin' the chance, ye are. Hunter, I understand. We will remember you. (Bess and Clarence, hand in hand^ go up to Motheb Carey. She raises her hands, as though blessing them. Paragraph and Minnie come down, r.) Paragraph. Mr. Hunter, as you seem to be master of ceremonies, permit me to announce the early marriag« of the beautiful Miss Minnie Daze and the versatile Peter Paragraph. Minnie. Peter, how can you, before all these people ? Hunter. Accept my congratulations. Paragraph, Thank you. Being about to enter ths ministry, I find a wife will be a necessity. Hunter. The ministry? Why, you change professions rapidly, Paragraph. Paragraph, Do I? Well, I always did wish to be a pastor of a flock, it's so ennobling. Minnie, And so romantic. {They retire up stage^ arm in arm,) Hunter. Chameleons, that change their hues, and live on air. ( Grosses to r.) Ah, Paul Hunter, Clarence, I told you this was the great clearing-up day. There's another disclosure I must make. This man, whom you have known as the light-keeper — David {rising). Is the light-keeper still. {Aside t« Hunter.) Not that name to him. He would hate me AMONG THE BREAKEBS. 169 He knows 1 sought his life. Give me time. I would not blast his happiness now. Wait. (Crossesy c.) Mother Carey, before you quit this place, do a kindness to an old neighbor. (Mother Carey comes down^ c.) before you quit your old vocation, tell me my fortune. Here's my hand. What read you ? Mother G. (takes his hand). Here, nothing ; but in your heart I read the story of your future life. I see the dark stormy clouds of revenge slowly but surely drift- ing away fr6ra your life. Gleams of hope appear, brighter and brighter, as an old dream of love glows upon your memory ; as she who was so faithful to you, forgetting all wrongs, with the fondness of earlier days creeping into her being, yearning to be nearer and dearer, forgives and pardons all. David (falling on his knees ^ and kissing her hand), O Mary, Mary ! bless you ! bless you ! Mother G. Time washes away all sorrow. As we strive to brighten life with good deeds and true repent- ance, so will you strive, Paul, and the dark night shall pass away, and bright the morning come to bless our new espousal. David (rising). True wife ! may I never forget your goodness, 'Twas a dark night, indeed, that swept my soul. I will strive, and, with Heaven's blessing and your dear aid, win peace for my soul. Ah, wife, I have been like the unmanageable ship upon the waters, swept by the fierce winds of hate, battered by the cruel waves of remorse. They have cast me among the breakers, but aoble hands (takes Hunter's hand^ r.) have been •tretched out towards me, and out of the darkness haa 170 AMONG THE FREAKERS. gleamed the light of hope {takes Mother Carey's hand, L.), and on the open sea of repentance a strong and steady purpose shall waft this battered halk to a haven of rest. TABLEAU. David, c, clasping the hand of Hunter, b. c. ; his lef\ hand in Mother Caret's ; her right hand on his shoul- der. Paragraph ancZ Minnie, r. c, arm in arm. ClaR' £NCE and Bess, l. c, arm in arm. HcuD at dvor^ o Lasst and Biddy, r. c, hacL 4iways Get the Best. 50 of the Choicest Selections in the NoJ Beading Club and Handy Speaket Edited by George M. Bakkr. Price, clothf SO cents ; paper, 16 centSm CONTENTS. George 31. Bak», Leigh Hunt, Aldine, rhe Red Jacket « . » . 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BAITER, Aale, 3 fe- male characters ...•••« My Brother's Keeper, 5 male, 3 fe- male char «». ♦. Tlic Little J>rotvn Jug* 5 male, 3 female char. "- In Two Acts. Above tlie Clouds. 7 ma" characters One IIuiKlred Years Ago. 7 luaie, 4 female char. Among the Breakers. 6 male, v* m«le char Bread on the Waters. 5 male, 3 fti+Tialc char. Down by thr Sea. 6 male, 3 ."cnale char Once on a Time. 4 male, 2 female ch.;. The hast Loaf, 5 male, 3 fem-Jie char. In One Act. Stand by the Flag. 5 male char, c . The Tempter, 3 male, i female char. COMEDIES AND FARCES. A Mysterious Disappear ance, 4 male, 3 female char ••.• Paddle Your O-ivii Canoe. 7male, 3 female char •« A J>rop too Much. 4 male, 2 female characters. ...•*••• A Little More Cider. 5 male, 3 fe- male char A Thorn Among the Rosks. 2 male, 6 female char. . Never Say Die. 3 male, 3 female char. Seeing the Elephant. 6 male, 3 female char The Bostox Dip. 4 male, 3 female char. The Duchess of Dublin. 6 male, 4 fe- male char Thirty Minutes for Refreshments. 4 male. 3 female char • • We're all Teetotalers, 4 male, 2 fe- male char • •. Male CItaracters Only. A Close Shave. 6 char A Public Benefactor. 6 char A Sea of Troubles. 8 char 15 IS Coals of Fire. 6 char. . Freedom of the Press. 8 char. Shall Our Mothf^rs Vote ? n char. 1 Gentlemen of the Jury j 2 char. ; Humors of the Strike. 8 char. My Uncle the Caftai.n. 6 char. . . ; New Brooms Sweep Clean. 6 char. . The Great Elixir. 9 char The Hypochondriac. 5 char. .... The Man with the Demijohn, 4 char. The Runaways. 4 char. ..... The Thief of Time. 6 char. . o . Wanted, a Male Cook. 4 char. « . » Female Characters Only^ A Love of a Bonnet. 5 char. , A Precious Pickle. 6 char. .... Nv^ Ci'RE no Pay. 7 char The Champion of Her Sex. 8 char. . The Greatest Plague IN Life. 8cha. The Grecian Bend. 7 char. . . . . The Red Chignon. 6 char. .... Using the Weed. 7 char. i ill iilj w I'll ii ALLEQOEIES. Arranged for Music and Tableaux, j Lightheakt's Pilgrimage. 8 female | char. ... The Revolt of the Bees. 9 female | char. The Sculptor*s Triumph, i male, 4 fe- male char The Tournament of Idvlcourt. 10 female char The "/ar of the Rosf-S. 8 female char. MUSICAL AlID LSAMATIO. An Original Idea, t male, x female jljjj char, Bonbons ; or, the Paint King. 6 male, I female char. / * * Capuletta : CK, Romeo and Juliet Restored. 3 male, i female char. . Santa Claus* Frolics. ...... Snow-bound; or, Alonzo the Brave AND the Fair Imogene. 3 male, x female char • • The Merry Christmas of the Old Woman who lived in a Shoe. . . The Pedler of Very Nice. 7 male ThVseve'n Ages.' A Tableau Entertain- ment. Numerous male and female char. Too Late for the Train. 2 male char. The Visions of Freedom, h female char. m ill 4 Geo. M. Baker & Co., 47 Franklin St., Boston m Baker's Humorous Dialogues. Baker's Humorous Dialogues^ Male characters only. 25 cents. Female characters only. 25 cent«! 111 ' Gaylamount I Pamphlet Binder Gaylord Bros.. Inc. Stockton, Calif. T. M. Reg. U.S. Pat. Off YB 74558 Ivi50859 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY