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[Illustration:

  ENLISTED FOR THE WAR.
]

[Illustration:

  'THE EXHIBITION STAGE

  BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD.'
]

                       THE AMATEUR DRAMA SERIES.




                                  THE

                           EXHIBITION DRAMA:

                               COMPRISING

                       DRAMA, COMEDY, AND FARCE,

                             TOGETHER WITH

                  DRAMATIC AND MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENTS,

                                  FOR

        _PRIVATE THEATRICALS, HOME REPRESENTATIONS, HOLIDAY AND
                          SCHOOL EXHIBITIONS_.


                                   BY

                            GEORGE M. BAKER,

   Author of "Amateur Dramas," "The Mimic Stage," "The Social Stage,"
       "The Drawing-Room Stage," "Temperance Dramas," "A Baker's
           Dozen," "Humorous Dialogues," "Running to Waste,"
                                  &c.

                              ILLUSTRATED.

                                BOSTON:
                      LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
                               NEW YORK:
                      LEE, SHEPARD, & DILLINGHAM.
                                 1875.




       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by
                            GEORGE M. BAKER,
       In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.


                                BOSTON:
             RAND, AVERY, & CO., STEREOTYPERS AND PRINTERS.




                                PREFACE.


In the preparation of "The Exhibition Drama," the author has endeavored
to present as great a variety as in the previous volumes of this series,
and to comply, as far as possible, with the requests of numerous
correspondents. Thus "Enlisted for the War" was written in response to a
demand for something, based on the late civil war, which should meet the
requirements of various Posts of the G. A. R. The musical allegories,
"The Visions of Freedom," and "The Tournament of Idylcourt," were
prepared for the graduating-class in a Boston grammar-school, and are of
the same general character as those previously issued. The Christmas
entertainment, and the dramatization of Dickens's "Christmas Carol,"
have both been successfully performed at sabbath-school entertainments.
These, as well as the allegories, are plentifully supplied with
tableaux, easily represented, and are adapted to the wants of many
occasional exhibitions.

That "Amateur Dramas" are successful, the appearance of a fifth volume
is convincing testimony. In addition to this, the warm commendations of
the press, frequent testimonials from public teachers, and last, though
not least, a steadily increasing demand for the old as well as the new,
convince the author that he is honorably catering to a healthy appetite
for innocent and wholesome recreation.

                                                                G. M. B.

 207 WEST SPRINGFIELD STREET, BOSTON.




                               CONTENTS.


                                                              PAGE.

     ENLISTED FOR THE WAR; OR, THE HOME-GUARD                     9

     NEVER SAY DIE                                               85

     THE CHAMPION OF HER SEX                                    109

     THE VISIONS OF FREEDOM                                     135

     THE MERRY CHRISTMAS OF THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE   157

     THE TOURNAMENT OF IDYLCOURT                                173

     A THORN AMONG THE ROSES                                    201

     A CHRISTMAS CAROL                                          227

  All the above are published separately, and can be obtained of LEE &
            SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. Price 15 cts. each.




                         ENLISTED FOR THE WAR;
                                  OR,
                            THE HOME-GUARD.


                         A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS.

         _Also a complete two-act drama, by omitting the second
                       act, and two characters._




                              CHARACTERS.


               ROBERT TRUEWORTH, a Soldier of the Union.
               WILDER ROWELL, Guardian of Gaylie Gifford.
               HOSEA JENKS, Auctioneer.
               HIRAM JENKS, his Son, "a mere boy."
               CRIMP, .
               GEN. GRANT.
               LIEUT.-COL. BOXER.
               GAYLIE GIFFORD, an Heiress.
               MRS. TRUEWORTH, Robert's Mother.
               MATTIE TRUEWORTH, Robert's Sister.




                               COSTUMES.


  ROBERT. Acts 1 and 2, Uniform of a private. Act 3, Uniform of a
    colonel.

  ROWELL. Act 1, Modern dress, change to colonel's uniform. Act 2,
    Colonel's undress uniform. Act 3, Fashionable dress.

  HOSEA. Act 1, Make up "fat;" blue coat with brass buttons; nankeen
    pants; striped vest; white necktie; face florid; nose a little
    pimply; curly gray wig. Act 3, Something like the same, but figure
    rather emaciated; cheeks sunken; and a little more bald than in
    first act.

  HIRAM JENKS. Act 1, Short jacket, through which his arms protrude;
    light pants, very short; blue stockings; thick shoes; crop wig;
    general juvenile appearance. Act 3, Short dress bob-tail coat,
    &c.; not dandified, but neat; should be an entire change from Act
    1.

  CRIMP. Act 1, Black woolly wig; gray pants; white shirt, sleeves
    rolled up; wide-rimmed straw hat. Act 2, Disguise of an old
    darkey; gray wig; gray side-whiskers; blue shirt; white duck
    pants, with one suspender. Act 3, Black coat and pants; white
    vest; white necktie.

  GEN. GRANT. Uniform of major-general, with cloak; military slouch
    hat, full beard, and make up as usual.

  GAYLIE GIFFORD. Act 1, Neat travelling-suit. Act 3, Handsome
    evening-dress.

  MRS. TRUEWORTH. Black dress, white collar and cuffs, and widow's
    cap, very neat.

  MATTIE. Act 1, Muslin dress and white apron; sleeves rolled up. Act
    3, Evening dress.

  NOTE.—"ENLISTED FOR THE WAR," here presented in its most simple
  form, can be elaborately produced, if preferred. Where a military
  display is desirable, the second act will allow of "an awkward-squad
  drill," "relieving guard," a bayonet-drill, or the introduction of a
  camp song. At the end of the third act, the returning company might
  march across the stage, behind windows and door, illuminated with
  white and red lights, with the chorus "Marching through Georgia."




  ACT I.—SCENE. _Interior of farm-house. Door in flat_, R. C. _Window
    in flat_, L. C. _Outside the window arrange flowers in pots, and
    shrubbery. Inside, muslin curtain draped up at_ L. _Window open;
    between it and door, bureau or secretary. Lounge or sofa_, L.
    _Rocking-chair_, R. C. _Small table with a chair beside it_, L.
    C.; _writing-materials on table. Chair_, L. MRS. TRUEWORTH
    _discovered in rocking-chair, knitting and rocking_. MATTIE _in
    chair beside table, her arms folded on table, her face hidden in
    her arms_.


   _Hosea_     (_outside_). It's a downright shame. Look at it; a fine
 piece of property like this going, going at such a ruinous sacrifice;
 and I'm only offered nine hundred and fifty dollars for it; literally
 flowing with milk and honey. Shall I have ten,—ten, do you say? Quick,
 or you lose it; nine hundred and fifty once, nine hundred and fifty
 twice, nine hundred and fifty,—going, going, and gone to Wilder Rowell,
 Esq., for nine hundred and fifty dollars. You've got a bargain.

   _Mattie_    (_raising her head_). Do you hear, mother? To Wilder
 Rowell.

   _Mrs. T._   It's a shame to let it go for that price, and to a
 stranger.

   _Mattie._   Mr. Rowell is no stranger, mother. It's now five years
 since he came to Grainlow with Mr. Gifford.

   _Mrs. T._   For all that, he's a stranger,—a proud, haughty man, whom
 nobody likes, nobody has confidence in.

   _Mattie._   Mr. Gifford had confidence enough to give him the
 guardianship of his daughter when he died two years ago; and Gaylie
 likes him. As for being proud and haughty, to me he is always pleasant
 and condescending.

   _Mrs. T._   Condescending, indeed! You're just as good as he is.
 Bless you, child, the Trueworths held their heads as high as the best
 of folks until our troubles commenced. Your father took to borrowing to
 experiment with his patent wrinkles, and mortgaged the farm to that
 mean skinflint, Hosea Jenks. Ah, well! he did it for the best, no
 doubt. Only six months dead, and now the old farm has gone too.

   _Mattie._   Mother 'tis hard, 'tis cruel, to leave you homeless in
 your old age. Had father been wise—

   _Mrs. T._   Hush, child! not a word against him. He was a good, kind
 father, and a husband to be proud of. In all his troubles he never
 would touch a cent of the money we had put by to push Rob through
 college. That was safely locked up; and the lad came through with all
 the honors.

   _Mattie._   What good can his learning do him now?

   _Mrs. T._   That remains to be seen. When the call came for men, our
 boy, bless him! stepped out with the first, and enlisted for the war.
 Then came the hard blow, hardest of all to bear. My own dear, noble
 husband breathed out his life in my arms, and joined the true and noble
 in that better land. Hark! I hear Robert's step. (MATTIE _rises, and
 goes up_ _to the window_. ROBERT _enters slowly door in flat; comes
 down, places his hand on the back of his mother's chair_.)

   _Rob._      Mother, the farm has gone. We are homeless.

   _Mrs. T._   (_wipes her eyes, and endeavors to suppress emotion_).
 Yes, Rob, the old home is ours no more. Perhaps it is as well we made a
 change. Now he who, who (_rises, and stretches out her arms_)—O Rob,
 Rob! I can't bear it; I can't bear it. (_Sobs, and falls upon his
 neck._)

   _Rob_       (_embracing her_). O mother! this should not have been.
 Had I known the worst, I could have prevented it. I have strong arms
 and a cool head. I could have managed the farm. I thought father was so
 comfortably settled; and now my enlistment binds me. Oh, I could have
 done bravely!

   _Mrs. T._   (_recovering_). And you will do bravely now, where every
 true man should stand in the hour of his country's peril, in the ranks
 of brave defenders. Fear not for us: there's a power of strength in
 these old arms yet, and a stout heart to struggle; ay, and a brave one.
 Am I not the mother of a man who leaves all to serve his country?

   _Rob._      Brave mother, you shall have a son to be proud of.

   _Mrs. T._   Right, boy. And my prayers and blessing shall cheer you
 on to victory.

   _Rob._      Yet you are homeless, mother. Our regiment is ready for
 the field: it only awaits the appointment of a colonel. I may be called
 away at an hour's notice. If I could only have secured the old home for
 you, I should have been content.

   _Mattie._   Rob, why did you not ask the assistance of Gaylie
 Gifford? She is rich, and I know would have helped us,—her old home
 too.

   _Rob._      Yes, her old home. Dear little girl! how fond we all were
 of her, and she of us! But she went away to school two years ago,
 perhaps has forgotten us.

   _Mrs. T._   Why, Rob, not a week passes but I have a letter from her;
 such a good, kind letter too!

   _Rob._      Yes, I know; and yet I could not _ask_ her assistance.

   _Mattie._   Perhaps you are right, Rob; but it does seem hard, after
 all the care and attention she has received from mother, she could do
 nothing for us. But they do say money makes inward changes as well as
 outward. Thank Heaven, we're out of its temptation!

                                                              [_Exit_ R.

   _Rob_       (_seating his mother in her chair, and kneeling at her
 side_). Mother, there's one reason why I could not ask Gaylie for
 assistance. I should like to tell you, for I would want her to know it
 should I never return.

   _Mrs. T._   Never return! O Rob! do not say that.

   _Rob._      That is one of the chances of war, mother. We must think
 of it. 'Tis the unlucky chance in this game of life, when so much
 depends on my success. But Gaylie, mother.

   _Mrs. T._   Well, Rob, what of Gaylie?

   _Rob._      Mother, you will, perhaps, call me mad; but, since Gaylie
 left us, a wild and strong desire has taken possession of my heart. I
 could not see her growing up so good and beautiful, without becoming
 more and more strongly attached to her. At college my dreams were of
 her; my waking thoughts again and again fashioned her image into dear
 companionship; and I have at last dared to believe that I might one day
 woo her, perhaps win her.

   _Mrs. T._   Rob, my boy, 'tis a wild dream. She is a rich heiress; in
 a year will be mistress of that grand estate yonder. (_Enter door in
 flat_ WILDER ROWELL.)

   _Rob._      Yes, mother; but I am a soldier of the Union; and, out of
 that glorious majority who are to battle for its rights, the North will
 pick its trusty leaders. Why may not I rise? Why may not I win rank and
 glory? and, when that is gained, why may not I dare to ask the hand of
 her I love so dearly, Gaylie Gifford?

   _Rowell_    (_at back_). I beg your pardon if I intrude. (ROB
 _rises_.) Mr. Jenks asked me to step inside. He will soon join me to
 complete the sale.

   _Mrs. T._   (_rising_). You are in your own house, sir. 'Tis we who
 intrude.

   _Rob._      Mr. Rowell, I shall take immediate steps to find another
 home for my mother and sister. We will not long trespass.

   _Rowell_    (_down_ L.). Oh, take your own time: perhaps 'twill not
 be necessary to remove.

   _Rob._      How? I do not understand you.

   _Rowell._   I will speak with you again: for the present, make
 yourself perfectly at home in my house.

   _Rob_       (_aside_). His house. Poor old house! you have fallen
 among thieves. Come, mother. (_Puts his arm about his mother's waist,
 and they exeunt_ R. ROWELL _looks after them, then places his hat on
 bureau at back, and sits at table_.)

   _Rowell._   Well, I certainly have heard something to my advantage.
 So, my fine soldier-boy, you love my ward, Gaylie Gifford. So do I.
 There we are perfectly agreed. But, when it comes to possession, I
 think we shall quarrel. Forewarned, forearmed. I have purchased this
 farm for the purpose of pleasing my ward; well knowing, that, had she
 been informed of the sale, she would have requested its purchase, that
 in gratitude she might have restored it to her old protectress. Her
 gratitude to me, for my wise forethought, would, no doubt, bring me one
 step nearer to my ambition. But this soldier loves her; should she be
 allowed to carry out her wishes, would love her all the more, perhaps
 arouse an answering affection. No. I'll keep the farm for my own
 pleasure; perhaps play the _rôle_ of benefactor myself. Gaylie's large
 fortune must be shared with me. I never dreamed of this fellow's
 ambition. He rise? If fortune only smile upon me, I will guard against
 that.

   _Crimp_     (_outside_). I'm obleeged to you, Massa Jinks. I jes
 w-w-want to know w-w-w-whar you gwine t-t-t-ote dis yere farm?

   _Hosea_     (_outside_). Oh, bother! do you suppose we're going to
 dig it up, and cart it off, you stupid? (_Enter door in flat, followed
 by_ CRIMP.)

   _Crimp._    S'pose, s'pose; donno nuffin 'bout s'posin, Massa Jinks.
 You cum down here, Massa Jinks, betwixt eleben and seben, A.M., into de
 forenoon. You stick up a red frag ober de do', and you gets up onto de
 barril; and, when you's onto de barril, you gets a crowd round de
 barril, and deliber a Fourfe-ob-July speech onto de barril, and you jaw
 away, and ax 'em for dollars, nine hundred dollars, fify dollars, and
 tell dat ar assemblin' dis yere farm am gwine, gwine, gwine; and all I
 ax you for to tole me, whar it am gwine for to go. I'm obleeged to you.

   _Hosea._    Oh! that's only a figurative expression. I've sold the
 farm: that's all.

   _Crimp._    Figger-who? Sole de farm; who tole you? who ax you?

   _Hosea._    My interest.

   _Crimp._    In-ter-which? who's he?

   _Hosea._    I had a mortgage on the property, foreclosed, and sold
 out.

   _Crimp._    M-m-m-orgages onto de property. No, sar, don't raise 'em;
 heaps ob cabbages, but no morgages. I'm obleeged to you.

   _Hosea._    Well, I've sold the property,—house, land,
 farming-utensils, and live stock.

   _Crimp._    Live stock; horses, cows, by golly, and de hogs (HOSEA
 _nods_), and de chickens and roosters?

   _Hosea._    Yes, sold them all.

   _Crimp._    By golly, you don't mean it; w-w-w-what we gwine to do
 for Fanksgibben? And de ole ram Jim,—he gwine too?

   _Hosea._    Yes, the old ram Jim.

   _Crimp._    Golly, dat so? I'm obleeged to you, Massa Jinks. Dat are
 ole ram Jim am de mos' dyspeptic biped—

   _Hosea._    Quadruped, Crimp. Bipeds walk on two legs: he goes on
 four.

   _Crimp._    Does he, Massa Jinks? You jes' don't know ole Jim: by
 golly, he's on two legs mos' de time, and gwine for me so (_imitates
 butting_), see, so. Hope I may die, Massa Jinks, if dat ar ole Jim
 didn't creep up a-hind me las' night when I was a-leanin' ober de
 pig-sty, jes' as easy, and lif' me ober dat ar fence into de mud, afore
 you could ax no questions. Nearly took away my bref. I'm glad he's
 gwine; he's too sociable; he is always teasin' folks to take a horn wid
 him, always wantin' to help gib you a boost. By golly, I's glad ole Jim
 gwine.

   _Hosea._    Suppose you go and tell him so.

   _Crimp._    What, me? Guess not, Massa Jinks. We ain't on speakin'
 terms; de conbersation am always interrupted wid so many buts, can't
 get on at all. But I'll jes' go and gib him a hint, Massa Jinks,—wid a
 stone. By golly, ole Jim gwine! Hi! de jubilum am come. I'm obleeged to
 you.

                                                              [_Exit_ F.

   _Hosea._    Now, Mr. Rowell, I'm at your service; sorry to have kept
 you waiting.

   _Rowell._   It's of no consequence, Jenks: by the way, Miss Mattie
 Trueworth is a very pretty girl.

   _Hosea._    Isn't she? If she only went with the farm you'd get the
 _true worth_ of your money. You see: ha, ha, ha! I'm always doing it:
 can't help it; will pop out in my office, at my table, even in my
 dreams. It's a bad habit,—a _pun_icious habit, for which I ought to be
 punished. There it is again! Ha, ha, ha! I can't help it. I try, but
 it's no use; in my office, at my table—

   _Rowell._   I'm to pay you one hundred dollars.

   _Hosea._    Exactly, to bind the bargain; balance in ten days.

   _Rowell_    (_takes out pocket-book_). These Trueworths are evidently
 in a bad way.

   _Hosea._    Very. Farm gone, all gone. Poor folks! my heart bleeds
 for them.

   _Rowell._   Does it, indeed? The farm is sold to pay your claim.

   _Hosea._    Yes, and you've got a bargain. It's wartimes, and folks
 ain't a-goin' to put out their money. A year ago, three thousand
 dollars could not have bought this farm. What's the use of buying land
 when there's no telling but what the Southern Confederacy will sweep
 every thing afore the war's over?

   _Rowell._   Indeed! then you've not much faith in the success of
 Northern arms?

   _Hosea._    It does look a leetle black for the North.

   _Rowell._   If that's your opinion, perhaps I'd better withdraw
 before the bargain's closed.

   _Hosea._    What! back out? Don't you do it! It's always blackest
 just afore day. The right must conquer: it's a magnificent farm.
 It's only a question of time: a hundred dollars if you have it
 ready. The Union must be preserved: best cows in the country. Look
 at the uprising: a million freemen in arms,—ninety acres of
 meadow-land,—marching on to victory. And we're so far north, you
 know, it's a safe investment. I'll write a receipt.

   _Rowell_    (_throws down money, and rises_). There's your money.

   _Hosea._    That's good. (_Snatches the money._) The best investment
 you ever made. (_Sits and writes._) There's your receipt. Thank you.
 (_Rises and shouts._) Hi, sonny, take down the flag: bargain's closed.
 That's my son out there; a mere boy, but awful smart if he's kept in
 his place. Hiram Jenks is his baptismal name. I call him Hi, for short:
 see the pun? ha, ha, ha! Hi Jenks, when I'm in a highly humorous
 vein,—that's another; and when he's in a teasing humor, I call him Hi,
 son. There's another! Ha, ha, ha! Can't help it: I'm always doing it. I
 must be funny; in my office, at my table—

   _Rowell._   You seem to be a very busy man, Mr. Jenks.

   _Hosea._    I am. I'm a auctioneer, funeral undertaker, coroner,
 lawyer, expressman, carpenter, shoemaker, any thing by which I can gain
 an honest penny. There's only one office that seems necessary to my
 happiness. I would be a postmaster; and Stamps is on his last legs.
 Poor fellow! he's nearly stamped out of existence. You see: ha, ha, ha!
 I can't help it; it will pop out. Perhaps it's better, for humor is
 dangerous when it strikes in. See? Ha, ha, ha!

   _Rowell._   Your humor is not of the strikin' kind, Mr. Jenks.

   _Hosea._    Ha, ha, ha! very good; it's catching. Strike in: that's
 (_looks grave_) rather good.

   _Rowell._   There's a son at the head of this Trueworth family, I
 believe?

   _Hosea._    Yes; a splendid fellow, who enlisted a week before his
 father died. Poor chap! he's awfully cut up. Thought the old folks
 nicely settled, and was chock full of patriotism. Was disappointed in
 that, but could not get out of Uncle Sam's clutches. I couldn't afford
 to lose my money, so foreclosed and sold out. (_Enter door in flat_
 HIRAM JENKS _with a long pole, on which a red auction-flag is rolled,
 on his shoulder_.)

   _Rowell._   'Twas a hard blow for the family. (HIRAM _turns to shut
 the door: pole swings round, and hits_ HOSEA _in the head_.)

   _Hosea._    Oh, murder! you clumsy chap, you've broke my head.

   _Hiram._    'Twas a hard blow for you, dad,—an auctioneer knocked
 down under his own flag.

         "When pole meets poll, then comes the crack of skull."

   _Hosea._    Shut up, sonny! Where's your manners? Hold up your head.
 (HIRAM _obeys the directions as spoken_.) Boys should be seen, not
 heard. Turn out your toes. That was good, though, "when pole meets
 poll:" ha, ha, ha! He can't help it: takes it from me. I can't help it;
 in my office, at the table—

   _Rowell._   I'm anxious to settle this business at once, and get
 possession of the farm. If you will arrange the papers, my check is
 ready to-day for the whole amount of purchase.

   _Hosea._    I like that. My son, hold up your head: here's an example
 for you; a man who's anxious to pay,—turn out your toes,—who never puts
 off until to-morrow what can be done to-day. When you grow up, sonny,
 remember ready is the color of the winning horse on the racecourse of
 life,—Ready-cash; by whom that _dun_- nag Promise-to-pay is
 always distanced. Ha, ha, ha! There's a pair of 'em. I can't help it;
 it will pop out; in my office, at my table—

   _Rowell._   I'm in something of a hurry.

   _Hosea._    All right: step over to my office, and we'll settle up at
 once. Sonny, straighten up! You are released from official business,
 and may go off fishing. (_Pats him on the head._) That's good, Ha, ha,
 ha! I can't help it; 'twill pop out regardless of time and place. We
 wits know no pent-up Ut_aca_. You take, hey, Rowell? Ha, ha, ha! I
 really can't help it; in my office, at my table—

   _Rowell._   Mr. Jenks, I really must insist—

   _Hosea._    You can't stand it, hey? Then we'll move on. Sonny, stand
 by the flag. I'm going, going, gone. Ha, ha, ha! [_Exit, followed by_
 ROWELL, _door in flat_.]

   _Hiram_     (_stands_ C., _and looks after them_). Sonny, sonny!
 Well, if the old man keeps on his degenerating pace, he'll be in his
 second childhood in six months. Calls me a boy, a mere boy: twenty last
 month. Keeps me in a short jacket, and shorter pantaloons. Makes me
 keep my hair sandpapered like an urchin of ten. It's about time this
 thing was stopped. If my arm creeps through this jacket much farther,
 I'm very much afraid it will rise in indignation, and smite my aged
 sire. "Honor your parents" is a very good maxim, but it may be carried
 a little too far. I'd go into the army, but he won't let me; swears I
 shall stand by the old flag. (_Clasps the auction-flag in his arms._)
 No matter: it's only a year, and I am free. Ah! here's Mattie
 Trueworth, a girl I would lay down my life for, and who laughs at me.
 Heigho! if I wasn't a boy, I should be very much in love with her. How
 d'ye do, Mattie? (_Enter_ MATTIE R.)

   _Mattie._   Oh! it's you, Hiram Jenks.

   _Hiram._    Yes, it's me, Mattie: the standard-bearer, (_pompously_)
 bearing the old flag, that has conquered in so many battles; under
 whose folds so many household gods have fallen, never to rise again.

   _Mattie._   Pshaw! you'd look more manly bearing the flag of your
 country.

   _Hiram._    S'pect I would, Mattie: it's what I'd like. But dad says
 No.

   _Mattie._   Oh, indeed! a dutiful son, truly. The house is sold: why
 do you wait here?

   _Hiram._    To get a word with you, Mattie. I've a great admiration
 for you. If I dared, I would tell you that I love you. (_Places flag
 in_ R. _corner back_.)

   _Mattie._   Don't you dare do any such thing. You must know I detest
 you, a mere boy; why, you're not yet out of jacket and trousers!

   _Hiram_     (_stretching up his arms_). You're mistaken, Mattie: I'm
 a long way out of them.

   _Mattie._   Hiram Jenks, you're a fool.

   _Hiram._    That's just what dad says, Mattie; but he's awfully
 mistaken. He's old and queer, so I think it no harm to humor his
 fancies, though I do get laughed at. He does not know, that, long after
 he's asleep, the fool is studying by candle-light, way into the night;
 that, while he's about his business, the fool's ears are open, and his
 eyes sharp set, watching the kinks and tricks of trade. Only a year,
 Mattie, and I shall be free,—free to laugh at him, free to win you.

   _Mattie._   Win me! Hiram Jenks, have you lost your senses?

   _Hiram._    Sometimes I think I have, Mattie, when I look at you.
 Don't be hard on me. Think me a boy, if you will: only remember that I
 love you dearly; for your sake, would die a thousand deaths.

   _Mattie._   What unparalleled devotion! (_Sits in chair_ R., _and
 turns her back_.)

   _Hiram._    Mattie, Rob must soon leave for the battle-field. You
 will then need a friend. Let me take his place, be a brother to you; or
 give me the right to be nearer and dearer. (_Kneels, and takes her
 hand._) Speak, Mattie: I love you dearly, truly. (_Enter door in flat_
 HOSEA, _followed by_ ROWELL.)

   _Hosea._    Good gracious, boy! what are you about? You're spoiling
 your trousers. (HIRAM _jumps up_.) Mattie, don't let that boy pester
 you with his nonsense. Sonny, go home. (_Aside._) 'Pon my word, I
 believe the boy was making love to that girl. I must look after him a
 little closer. (_Aloud._) Hiram, hold up your head, turn out your toes,
 'bout face, march! (HIRAM _looks at his father as if he would defy him,
 then obediently marches off_.) Now, Mr. Rowell, you are in possession.
 There is the deed (_giving paper_), where you may read your title
 clear. What's to prevent? Ha, ha, ha! there it is again! I can't help
 it; in my office—

                                                      [_Exit_ D. _in_ F.

   _Rowell._   Miss Mattie, will you be kind enough to inform your
 brother that I would speak with him?

   _Mattie_    (_rising_). Certainly sir, he's somewhere about the
 place: I'll find him.

                                                              [_Exit_ R.

   _Rowell._   I will make an attempt to dispose of this farm to
 advantage. I must be quick: Gaylie is expected home to-day, may return
 at any moment. If this fellow was only out of the way, 'twould be clear
 sailing. Yet if I can manage to spike his guns before the prize heaves
 in sight, the victory is mine. (_Sits at table. Enter_ R. ROB.)

   _Rob._      You would speak with me, Mr. Rowell?

   _Rowell._   Yes: take a chair. (_Rises, and offers chair to_ ROB,
 _then goes_ L., _and brings chair to_ L. _of table: both sit_.) This
 farm has passed from the possession of your family into my hands; the
 purchase-money is all paid; and I now hold by right the title-deed.
 Here it is. (_Lays it on table._)

   _Rob._      I understand. Your property shall be vacated at once.

   _Rowell._   Not so fast, my dear fellow: hear me out. You are a brave
 man; you have enlisted in your country's cause. You must go to the
 battle-field, and leave your dear ones to the tender mercies of this
 little world. I cannot be insensible to such patriotism, and I would
 befriend you in this emergency.

   _Rob._      You befriend me! I have no claim upon you.

   _Rowell._   But you have upon my ward. She was reared beneath this
 roof. Were she here, I think she would uphold me in what I am about to
 do,—restore to you this farm.

   _Rob._      Restore it! I have no right to it. 'Tis yours by lawful
 purchase.

   _Rowell._   You're right; and as an act of justice to one who gives
 himself to a great cause, that his dear ones shall not be left
 helpless, I give you back the farm.

   _Rob._      You do this, Mr. Rowell: you give me the farm freely,
 unconditionally?

   _Rowell._   Not exactly. There is one condition, and only one.
 (MATTIE _appears at window outside, with a pair of scissors, and is
 arranging and clipping her flowers, overhearing the following
 dialogue_.)

   _Rob._      One condition. Mr. Rowell, before you state that
 condition, let us understand one another. I do not like you. I have
 felt an instinctive dislike from the time you first entered this town.
 I have heard hard stories concerning you,—that you have wronged men,
 ay, and women too. With all that, I have no right to prevent my mother
 and sister from remaining in their old home. I will not, can I do so
 honorably. But I will accept no favor from you. Show me any way in
 which I can redeem this place, the way to win it back by good service
 that shall repay in full all expenses you have incurred in its
 purchase, or encumber it with a mortgage and heavy interest; but give
 me time to redeem, and I will believe you are my friend, will trust
 you. Come, I have spoken plainly: now let me hear your condition.

   _Rowell._   Ha! I like plain speaking. You are an adept at it. You
 don't like me. Well, then, in place of favor, I will offer a bargain.
 Here it is: this farm to you and yours forever, for a promise—a
 pledge—that you never offer your hand to my ward, Gaylie Gifford.

   _Rob._      Gaylie Gifford,—my hand!—Mr. Rowell, you are jesting.

   _Rowell._   No, I am serious. When I entered this house for the first
 time to-day, I heard your confession to your mother. I know how
 grateful Gaylie is for the kind care bestowed upon her here in
 childhood; and I would not have her kind heart wounded by the belief
 that one with whom she has been so intimate should presume upon her
 friendship, to seek to gain her hand, and with it a fortune.

   _Rob_       (_rising_). Mr. Rowell, you are insulting.

   _Rowell._   Come, be reasonable! You can never hope to win her. Give
 me your promise, and the farm is yours.

   _Rob._      No! A thousand times no! You know my secret, but you know
 not me. I do love Gaylie Gifford, and with a hopeless love. The very
 fortune you taunt me with seeking is a bar to keep me silent.

   _Rowell._   Then take the farm. I will willingly give it up to
 purchase your silence. She can never be yours: 'twas her father's wish,
 that, when she became of age, her hand should be given to another.

   _Rob._      And that other, yourself. Am I not right, Wilder Rowell?

   _Rowell._   'Twas a pretty shrewd guess.

   _Rob._      It is a lie. He had no such wish. My father was with him
 when he died.

   _Rowell_    (_rising_). Lie! this to me?

   _Rob._      Ay, a lie! You like plain speaking. I know he left her
 free to choose her own mate, and bade you, as her guardian, to respect
 her choice.

   _Rowell._   I am her choice. Already she trusts me, with a confidence
 that only love can bring; and I, I love her, dearer than all else in
 the world.

   _Rob._      Except her fortune. You love her, Wilder Rowell, and she
 is in your power. Poor Gaylie! You shall not win her. She is too good,
 too pure, to mate with such as you, an adventurer, a fortune-hunter.

   _Rowell._   Indeed! Come, we are rivals. I will be magnanimous: you
 shall have the first chance. Speak, tell her of your love. If she says,
 Yes, I'm silent.

   _Rob._      O villain! you know your power. Speak to her, tell her of
 my love; I a poor soldier, she a rich heiress! She would think me as
 mercenary as I know you to be. No, no, I cannot: I love her dearly,
 truly, but must still love on in secret. (_Falls into chair, and buries
 his face in his hands on table_).

   _Rowell_    (_rising. Aside_). Honorable to the last! There's no fear
 of him. (_Aloud._) Think well of it, Trueworth. Take the farm, and make
 your dear ones comfortable. The prize you covet hangs too high.
 (_Aside._) Silent! I'll look in on him again (_takes deed_): an hour's
 reflection may awaken a better spirit.

                     [_Exit door in flat, passing_ MATTIE, _who enters_.

   _Mattie_    (_going to_ ROB). Why, Rob, what's the matter?

   _Rob._      Nothing, Mattie: I was only thinking over a plan I have
 for your future.

   _Mattie._   Gaylie's back, Rob: I just saw her carriage drive up to
 the house.

                                                              [_Down_ R.

   _Rob._      Indeed! Then I shall see her before I go. Where's mother?
 (_Enter_ MRS. TRUEWORTH, R.)

   _Mrs. T._   Here, Rob. What had Mr. Rowell to say to you?

   _Rob._      Nothing, mother, to benefit us. I must go out, and look
 about for a new home. Home! home! that's a hard place to find, when the
 roof that has so long sheltered us is stripped from our heads.

   _Mrs. T._   Home is where the heart is, Rob; and, while the old love
 binds us together, we can bid defiance to adversity, beneath the
 humblest roof.

   _Rob_       (C.). That's right, mother. Keep up a brave heart. We
 shall weather the storm. (_Aside._) Oh! who will care for these dear
 ones when I am gone? (_Crosses to_ L.)

   _Gaylie_    (_outside_). Ha, ha, ha, old Jim! you know me, don't you?
 keep away! Open, locks, whoever knocks. I'm home, I'm home! (_Runs in
 door in flat._) Home, home again! You dear, good Mother Trueworth!
 (_Runs into_ MRS. TRUEWORTH'S _arms_, C.; MATTIE R., ROB L.)

   _Mrs. T._   Dear child, welcome, a thousand times welcome!

   _Gaylie._   I knew you'd be glad to see me; and Mattie (_runs to her_
 R., _and embraces her_), you dear darling, how rosy you look!

   _Mattie._   Gaylie, this is a surprise. I'm real glad to see you.

   _Gaylie._   Of course you are; isn't it jolly? But where's Rob?

   _Rob_       (_advancing_). Here he is; patiently waiting to be
 recognized.

   _Gaylie_    (_runs to him, and catches his hands, shaking them
 heartily_). Oh, you dear old fellow! How glad I am to see you! Why
 don't you kiss me?

   _Rob_       (_kissing her_). That was certainly an oversight. So you
 are back again, the same dear, good Gaylie. Two years' schooling has
 made little alteration in you.

   _Gaylie_    (C. _with_ ROB; MRS. TRUEWORTH _sits in rocking-chair_;
 MATTIE _stands_ L., _with arms akimbo_). Yes, it has. I'm spoiled,
 completely spoiled. Got a beau yet, Mattie?

   _Mattie._   No, indeed! I hope not.

   _Gaylie._   Ha, ha, ha! what a girl! sneers at her destiny. She'll
 get over it. Yes, I'm completely spoiled. Went away a _cheild_ of
 nature, fresh, buoyant, and all that sort of thing: I've come back a
 cultivated woman. Ahem! (_Struts across stage: comes back._) Oh, my
 poor little head! it's had Latin squeezed into it, Greek pounded into
 it, and French, German, Spanish, and Italian filtered through it. Oh,
 it's a learned head! Then my fingers have been calloused into
 familiarity with all the ugly notes in the musical scale; my feet
 twisted and turned about all the figures a French dancing-master could
 invent; and my poor little figure tortured with elegant movements and
 graceful poses. Oh, bless you! I'm not myself at all. (_Goes back to
 Rob._)

   _Rob._      You are our own Gaylie still. I know it; I can feel it in
 the warm clasp of your hand, in the clear light of your eyes.

   _Gaylie._   Right, Rob: you're always right. For this dear old home,
 you, my earliest, best friends, are a part of this my heart; and that
 not all the teaching in the world could change. (_Goes to_ MRS.
 TRUEWORTH, _and kneels at her side_. ROB _goes up stage, and watches
 her_.) So here I am again, mother, at your feet. When my father went to
 that far-off land, years ago, in search of wealth, he left me here, and
 asked you to be a mother to his child. How well you took the place of
 her who died when I was so little, let this testify. I am now the
 heiress to his wealth; I have a home rich and attractive, servants at
 my call, much that can make life bright and beautiful: but I could part
 with all, sooner than lose the right to call this home, and you mother.

   _Mrs. T._   (_putting her arms about her_). Dear, dear child! You are
 my own; still the same fresh, warm heart.

   _Rob_       (_aside_). She's an angel. Had I but the power to call
 her mine!

   _Crimp_     (_outside_). Go 'way dar, you Jim! don't yer shake yer
 head at me. Go' way dar! help! murder! help! (_Tumbles in at door, as
 if "butted;" jumps up, runs, and shuts door, placing his back against
 it._) Go 'way, yer fool! Nobody to hum.

   _Rob._      What's the matter, Crimp?

   _Crimp._    Dat ole fo-fo, Jim, he will insist on squartin' me to de
 door, an' I don't want none of his attention. Go 'way, out dar: stop
 dat knockin' at do'!

   _Gaylie._   Oh, here's our black Cupid! Why, Crimp, old friend,
 aren't you going to speak to me?

   _Crimp_     (_comes down_). Why, bress my soul! No, 'tain't. Yes, it
 am: it's Miss Gaylie hersel'. You dear little honey! bress us an' save
 us, am dat yerself?

   _Gaylie_    (_taking his hand_). Yes, it's your old torment; home
 again, and ready for a frolic.

   _Crimp._    Wh-wh-at! bress yer purty face; yer ain't grown a mite;
 gwine fur a frolic; climb de yapple-trees, ride onto de <DW54>'s back.
 Oh, golly! what times we did hab, to be sho'!

   _Gaylie._   Only give me a chance, Crimp. I'm as spry as ever.

   _Crimp._    What! would you, dough, ride onto dis year <DW54>'s back?
 By golly! I'm obleeged to you. I's powerful glad to see ye back, honey.
 Comfort de ole lady, now Massa Rob gwine fur a sojer.

   _Gaylie._   What! our Rob a soldier?

   _Crimp._    Yaas, indeed! Don't you see de uniform? gwine along de
 tramp, tramp, tramp fellars, he am.

   _Rob._      Yes, Gaylie, enlisted for the war.

   _Gaylie._   But where are your shoulder-straps, your sword?

   _Rob._      I am but a private, Gaylie. The emblems of command are
 yet to be won: they'll come in time, I hope.

   _Gaylie._   I know they will. O Rob! I'm proud of you.

   _Crimp._    Same here, Massa _Rob._ I'm obleeged to you. Golly! if I
 was only a white man, I'd jist go down dar, I would. Hi! I'd lay 'em
 out. I'd go for dem are fellars, like ole Jim, so (_butting_). But dey
 don't want no brack guards; oh, no! S'pect dey will, dough, glad to git
 'em afore de war am ober; and, when de do, hi! Tumms Jeffsum Crimp am
 dare, he am.

   _Rob._      It strikes me, Crimp, you are rather monopolizing the
 conversation. Fall back, sir.

   _Crimp._    I'm obleeged to you, Massa Rob. I's dumb. (_Goes to
 window, and in dumb show pesters the imaginary_ JIM _by shaking his
 fist, throwing things out of the window, &c._)

   _Rob_       (L. C.). Yes, Gaylie, I am expecting daily orders to
 march. I only hope I shall have time to completely settle mother and
 Mattie in their new home.

   _Gaylie_    (R. C.). Their new home! what do you mean?

   _Rob._      The farm has been sold, Gaylie,—sold to-day, to satisfy
 the claim of Hosea Jenks.

   _Gaylie._   Sold! Why have I heard nothing of this?

   _Rob._      You must have known it. Pardon me: I see I have been
 mistaken. Your guardian—

   _Gaylie._   Has not written me a word concerning you; not a word have
 I heard of this. But 'tis not too late: the farm can and must be
 redeemed. Who is the purchaser?

   _Rob._      Your guardian, Wilder Rowell.

   _Gaylie._   He bought it? then it's all right. Dear, good fellow! he
 knew I could not desert you. That's just splendid! (_Enter hurriedly_,
 ROWELL, _door in_ F.)

   _Rowell._   Miss Gaylie, I have this moment heard of your arrival.
 Welcome home! (_Gives his hand._)

   _Gaylie_    (_eagerly shaking it_). A thousand, thousand thanks,
 Guardy: you have indeed made me welcome. So, sir, you have a surprise
 in store for me. Come, disclose it: I am all impatience. It's so
 splendid to be surprised, when you are all prepared for it!

   _Rowell._   A surprise? I do not understand.

   _Gaylie._   O Innocence! thy name is Wilder Rowell. But I know your
 secret. You have bought this farm.

   _Rowell._   Yes: a good piece of property, they say.

   _Gaylie._   Indeed it is! the very investment I should have proposed.
 Thank you for your thoughtful consideration. So it's my property?

   _Rowell._   No, it's my property. Not as your agent, but for myself,
 I bought this farm. I mean to settle down, and become a sober, plodding
 farmer, and, in time, take to myself a wife. (_Looks at_ ROB, _who is
 in_ L. _corner_.)

   _Gaylie._   Guardy, I _have_ been mistaken. But you will sell _me_
 the farm. Come, you never yet refused me a request; and it is one of
 the dearest wishes I have, to possess this farm.

   _Rowell._   Sorry I cannot oblige you. But, for particular reasons, I
 would not sell this farm for ten times the money I gave for it.

   _Gaylie._   But you are turning from their dear home the best friends
 I have in the world.

   _Rowell._   They are not very much attached to it, Gaylie; for, not
 an hour ago, 'twas offered them on easy terms.

   _Gaylie._   Offered them, by you?

   _Rob._      Yes, Gaylie: on terms no honest man could for a moment
 consider.

   _Rowell._   I offer it again. Consider, Robert Trueworth, 'tis you
 who are driving your family from home.

   _Rob._      You have had your answer. Scoundrel!

   _Rowell._   That name again!

   _Rob._      Ay, again and again! Plead no more, Gaylie. Ask no favors
 for me or mine, of that man: even from your dear hands, I could never
 take the fair farm which he has polluted by ownership.

   _Rowell._   Robert Trueworth, you shall repent this. (_Comes close to
 him._) You are making me your enemy.

   _Rob._      I am satisfied. Better open war than false friendship
 with a heartless foe.

   _Gaylie._   No more of this, I beg. You have quarrelled. For my sake,
 be friends.

   _Mattie_    (R.). Silence, Gaylie! you know not what you ask.

   _Gaylie._   You too, Mattie? What means this mystery? (_They pass to_
 R., _and converse in dumb show_. ROB _goes up stage, and passes round
 to back of his mother's chair, on which he leans, conversing with her,
 as_ HOSEA JENKS _enters, followed by_ HIRAM. CRIMP _runs to_ HIRAM,
 _and keeps him back, conversing in dumb show about_ "JIM;" CRIMP _going
 through pantomime, to convey an idea of an attack_. HOSEA _comes down_,
 C.)

   _Hosea_     (_speaks as he enters_). Oh, here you are, Rowell! I
 thought I should find you. I've just been down to the post-office. Poor
 Stamps has gone. He has distributed his last batch, and been
 transferred to the dead-letter office. Ha, ha, ha! that's a grave pun;
 but I can't help it; you know my weakness.

   _Crimp._    Weakness? am you got de lumbago, Massa Jinks? Golly! I
 had de rheumatiz awful, las' winter. Tell you what you do, Massa Jinks:
 you jis get a poorhouse plaster; only draw a quarter out ob yer pocket,
 and all de anguish out ob yer back.

   _Hosea._    Ha, Ha, Ha! he little understands my facetious humor.

   _Crimp._    Oh, humor! face itches; den clap it onto yer face. Draw
 out all de pain, and some ob yer cheek too.

   _Rob._      Crimp, be silent!

   _Crimp._    Ob course, ob course! I'm obleeged to you.

   _Rowell._   So Stamps is dead?

   _Hosea._    Yes: poor fellow, I grieve for him. Who can take his
 place?—I should say, his post. Postmaster, see? ha, ha, ha! There it is
 again! I can't help it.

   _Rowell._   Mr. Jenks, if you could contrive to drop this jesting
 humor—

   _Hosea._    But I can't. I try, but I can't drop it: it's a drop too
 much. Ha, ha, ha!

   _Crimp._    Ya, ya, ya! dat's good: de ole man's been drinking jes' a
 drop too much.

   _Rowell._   If I understand you, Mr. Jenks, you would be his
 successor.

   _Jenks._    That's just it. I know you have influence. See, here's an
 official envelope addressed to you, and from the war-office too.

   _Rowell_    (_snatches and opens it_). For me? Ah, good, good! Jenks,
 I shall remember you. Now comes my turn. Gaylie, I must home at once:
 will you go with me?

   _Gaylie._   I prefer remaining here.

   _Rowell._   As you please. Mr. Trueworth, a word with you. (ROB
 _advances_.) I give you one more opportunity to embrace my offer. 'Tis
 the last chance. This fine property for your silence.

   _Rob._      I will make no terms with you. When I have won the right,
 I will speak. (_Turns up stage._)

   _Rowell_    (_walking up slowly to door_). When you have won the
 right: that time will never come. Fool! you have made an enemy of one
 who can strike deep and well.

                                                    [_Exit door in_ _F._

   _Hosea._    Rowell, Rowell! don't forget me. I must run after him:
 there's no time to be lost. Come, Hiram! fall in, or we shall fall out.
 Ha, ha, ha!

                                                      [_Exit door in_ F.

   _Crimp._    Take care, Massa Jinks, you don't fall onto ole Jim's
 horns! (_Looks out at door._) golly, he's a-laying fur him. Dere de go!
 Go in, ole man; he's a arter ye! By golly, see 'em run: see 'em run!
 (_Exit._ HIRAM _starts for door, stops irresolutely, and then comes,
 and stretches himself upon lounge_.)

   _Hiram._    It's right comfortable here: I think I'll stop.

   _Gaylie_    (_aside_). He denies my request. What motive can he have
 in thus appropriating the property of my friends? I must know more of
 this. (_Aloud._) Come, mother, show me to my old room. I want to talk
 to you: I've so much to say! I shall not tell you what I have bought
 for you. Such a cap, a perfect beauty! and such a shawl! You'll be the
 envy of the town.

   _Mrs. T._   (_rising_). Dear, dear child! ever thoughtful of my
 comfort.

   _Gaylie._   If I were not, I should not deserve so good a mother.
 Good-by, Mattie: good-by, Rob! [_Exit with arm about_ MRS. TRUEWORTH.]

   _Rob._      Good-by, Gaylie. Bless her dear heart! mother will have
 one friend when I am gone. Now, Mattie, I'll take a look about, and see
 if there's a poor but neat tenement to be had: I won't be gone long.

   _Mattie._   O Rob! where can we go?

   _Rob._      Trust all to me, Mattie: I will not leave you homeless.
 (_Going._)

   _Hiram_     (_on sofa_). Sh—sh—sh!

   _Rob_       (_returning_). Why, Hiram, what's the matter? (HIRAM
 _rises, walks on tiptoe to the window, looks out, turns, "Sh!" then
 walks to the door, and performs the same manœuvre; then comes down_ C.
 _on tiptoe, beckoning_ ROB _down_.)

   _Mattie._   What ails the boy? is he crazy?

   _Hiram._    Don't mind me. If the old man should happen about, I'm
 ruined. But, sh—you want a friend.

   _Rob._      Well, Hiram, I am not quite destitute.

   _Hiram._    Sh—if I only dared, I could find a friend for you. If I
 only dared; but I'm such a coward. No matter, I'll take the risk. You
 know the Widow Smith place?

   _Rob._      Yes: 'twas sold at auction six months ago.

   _Hiram._    Exactly. Sh—it's mine: I bought it.

   _Rob._      You? why, 'twas knocked down to Crane!

   _Hiram._    Yes; and Crane crooked his long neck round, and took his
 cue from me. I bought it: my money paid for it. Never you mind where
 the money came from; it was an honest purchase. Now you're in trouble:
 you want a home. Take mine, and welcome; only don't let the old man
 dream I'm its owner. Crane holds it now; but, when I am free, 'twill be
 known as my property. Will you have it? Not a cent will I take for it
 until the war is over. It's a pretty place: not much land; but flowers,
 good gracious! and woodbine, why, the front is completely covered. Will
 you take it? Quick! the old man will return, and then I am a boy again.

   _Rob_       (_takes his hand_). Hiram, you're a man: you are a true
 friend. Thank you: I will accept your offer.

   _Mattie._   O Hiram! I've treated you shamefully. Forgive me: I never
 dreamed you had such a noble heart.

   _Hiram._    I haven't any heart, Mattie: you had it all long ago. So
 you'll take the place (_enter Gaylie_ R.), and be my tenant until the
 war is over. Sh—sh! not a word!

   _Gaylie._   You're too late, conspirators: I have heard all. Rob, you
 have found a home?

   _Rob._      Yes, Gaylie, thanks to a true friend.

   _Hiram._    Sh—not so loud; the old man drops round mighty sudden.

   _Gaylie._   Rob, you have done this without consulting me. Why am I
 shut out from your counsel?

   _Rob._      Ah, Gaylie! you cannot befriend me. You are not of age,
 and I will not be indebted to your guardian.

   _Gaylie._   Tell me, why have you quarrelled with my guardian? What
 means this enmity between you and him?

   _Rob._      Gaylie, you must not ask me.

   _Gaylie._   But I must know: you have no right to keep it from me.

   _Rob._      I cannot tell you, Gaylie. Let it suffice, we are
 enemies; that he would do much to crush me and mine.

   _Gaylie._   Let him dare! I stand between you and him. You go to
 battle in a noble cause: fear not; if he has the will to wrong the dear
 ones you leave behind, I have the power to crush him, and I will. Face
 the enemy in the South with a brave heart, Rob. Against the enemy here,
 I will be the Home-Guard.

   _Rob._      You, Gaylie? what can you do, little woman?

   _Gaylie._   Woman's work. Think you we will sit idle at home, while
 husbands, fathers, brothers, are in the field? No! there is work for
 tender hands and willing hearts. To care for the needy, to protect the
 helpless, at home; to heal the wounds, and charm away the pain, in the
 hospitals,—this is our work: to it I give my whole heart; my whole
 fortune, if need be. Henceforth I am the guardian of your mother and
 your sister. (_Enter_ CRIMP _door in flat_). Alone, if need be, I will
 stand the Home-Guard, a bulwark against adversity.

   _Hiram._    You shall not stand alone, Miss Gaylie. They say I'm but
 a mere boy, but I'm heart and hand with you in this cause.

   _Crimp._    Same here. I'm obleeged to you; I'll be de drum-major in
 dat ar corpse.

   _Gaylie._   See, Rob; they muster at my call. Home-Guard, attention!
 fall in! (_Stands_ L. C. HIRAM _steps up beside her_; CRIMP _up stage
 next him; form in line up and down stage_. MATTIE _sits in
 rocking-chair_, R.; ROB _leans upon the back of her chair_.)

   _Rob._      Raw recruits, Gaylie!

   _Gaylie._   Yes, almost as raw as those who take the field, Rob.
 Company, attention!

   _Crimp._    Hole on, Miss Cap'n. Whar's de colors? mus' have a frag.
 Golly, dis year's de ticket. (_Takes auction-flag from corner, and
 unrolls it_). Dar! look at dat; and, as I's de only pusson ob color in
 dis yer corpse, I'll be de color-bearer.

   _Gaylie._   Attention, company!

   _Crimp._    Yes, Missy Cap'n; I's all attention.

   _Gaylie._   Eyes right: eyes left: salute! (_They bring their hands
 to a salute. Enter door in_ F. ROWELL, _in full uniform of a colonel_.)

   _Rowell._   Ah! what new recruits have we here?

   _Gaylie._   Mr. Rowell, what does this mean?

   _Rowell._   That an honor for which I have exerted much influence
 has, at the last moment, been conferred upon me. I am appointed colonel
 of the 10th. (_Bows, and comes to_ L. _corner_.)

   _Gaylie_    (C.) Rob's regiment, and his enemy at its head! Oh, this
 is cruel!

   _Rob._      He in command! He our colonel! Another blow: fate can do
 no more. (_Goes up_ C.)

   _Rowell._   Robert Trueworth, you will join your regiment at once.
 All furloughs are countermanded. We march at sunrise to-morrow.

   _Gaylie_    (_aside_). Oh, this is terrible! Rob's bitter foe in
 command: oh, why have they quarrelled? (_Goes to rocking-chair, and
 leans upon it._)

   _Rob_       (_aside_). To serve under that man, whom I detest! There
 is no escape. I must submit. There's one comfort: his position takes
 him away from Gaylie. (_Enter_ MRS. TRUEWORTH R.) The time has come,
 mother. I have orders to join my regiment at once: we march at sunrise.
 Keep a stout heart, mother. I leave kind friends behind, who will see
 to it you do not suffer.

   _Mrs. T._   (_her arms about his neck_). My brave boy, serve well
 your country, and do not forget your mother. She gives you up freely,
 with a prayer that you may be found true to your duty. Heaven bless and
 keep you, Rob! (_They stand together conversing._)

   _Gaylie._   Mattie, before Rob goes, I must know the meaning of this
 quarrel between him and my guardian. Why is it kept from me? You must
 know: I conjure you, as you value my friendship, as you love your
 brother, speak before 'tis too late.

   _Mattie._   O Gaylie! I do know; for his sake I will speak. You are
 the cause of this quarrel. Both these men love you.

   _Gaylie._   Indeed! Oh, I'm so glad!

   _Mattie._   Glad! You should be ashamed of yourself. You can't marry
 them both.

   _Gaylie._   Oh! you don't know what I can, what I will do.

   _Rob_       (_approaching_). Mattie, sister, good-by.

   _Mattie_    (_rising, and running into his arms_. GAYLIE _slips into
 her seat, and covers her face_). O brother! so soon? what shall we do
 without you?

   _Rob._      Keep a good heart, sister. You will do bravely. (_Kisses
 her._ MATTIE _goes to her mother_, C. ROB _comes down, looks at_
 GAYLIE, _sighs, and turns up stage_.) Good-by, Crimp. (_Shakes hands._)

   _Crimp._    Good-by, Massa Rob. I'm obleeged to you. You'll come home
 a drum-major, sartin sure.

   _Rob._      Thank you, Crimp. Good-by, Hiram, and thank you for your
 friendly aid.

   _Hiram._    Good-by, Rob. I'll look out for the women-folks, sharp
 too. (ROB _goes to door_.)

   _Gaylie_    (_running up stage_). Rob, Rob! you've forgotten me!

   _Rob._      True, Gaylie. I had not the heart to say farewell to you.
 You are so dear—

   _Rowell._   This is but tardy obedience.

   _Rob._      Ah! you fear me, Col. Rowell, no more than I fear myself.
 But am I not bound in honor to be silent? Gaylie, farewell: you have
 been a kind friend to us, will still be to my dear ones when I am gone.
 Good-by.

   _Gaylie._   Rob, is there nothing more you would say to me? (_Looks
 at him tenderly._)

   _Rob._      Nothing, Gaylie: were you but the poor girl I once
 thought you; but no, no—

   _Gaylie._   Rob, whatever you would have said to the poor girl, say
 to the rich heiress: there's the same heart here.

   _Rowell._   Confusion! is she leading him on to confession?

   _Rob._      O Gaylie! am I awake? You give me life; you give me hope:
 you make me bold to speak. Gaylie, I love you, dearly, truly.

   _Gaylie_    (_placing her hands on his shoulders_). As dearly and
 truly as I love you? O Rob! it must be deep and strong.

   _Rob_       (_clasping her in his arms_). Mine, Gaylie, mine! oh,
 this is happiness indeed!

   _Crimp._    Hi, das a fac. De Union foreber!

   _Rowell._   Girl, are you losing your senses? I forbid this folly.

   _Gaylie._   And who are you?

   _Rowell._   Your guardian. You shall not throw yourself away upon a
 common soldier.

   _Rob_       (_comes down_). A common soldier! True. I glory in my
 rank. You leap to a command by power and influence. My spurs must yet
 be won. I am content. Should I rise by merit, no emblems of rank could
 shed a brighter glow than gleams from the trusty bayonets of Liberty's
 common soldiers.

   _Rowell._   Enough! To your regiment. You forget I am your superior.

   _Rob._      No, I do not forget it; and I know what to expect,—hard
 service, and an enemy in command. I am satisfied, for I have won the
 victory here. (_Takes Gaylie's hand._)

   _Rowell._   Be not so sure of that. You forget the enemy has a long
 arm, and it may reach even here.

   _Gaylie._   And, if it does, I fear it not.

   _Rowell._   Indeed!

   _Gaylie._   Ay, indeed, Col. Rowell. You are my guardian, true; but
 you forget my father's will. In one year I am free: even now I have the
 power of appeal to two noble men, should you distort your power. I will
 be mistress of my fortune. I will be free to bestow my hand. With the
 one, I will protect the homeless; with the other, cheer him at whom you
 sneer, a common soldier. Deny my right at your peril.

   _Rowell._   No more of this. Quit that man's side. I command you,
 obey me!

   _Gaylie._   You command? You forget I am a leader here. I entreat
 you, in the name of justice, to deal fairly and honorably by this true
 hero, who leaves all to serve his country, to recognize his right to
 the hand which I freely give. Come, sir, do we part friends?

   _Rowell._   Not on such terms as you offer. (_Crosses to_ R.)

   _Gaylie._   Then beware! you make yourself my enemy. Already you
 disgrace the rank you've bought, not won. You have command, and my hero
 in your power. I have love, wealth, and a loyal heart, that abhors
 injustice. Against all treachery and deceit, against the wily arts you
 may contrive to shame my hero, I am the Home-Guard, the firm friend,
 enlisted for the war.

   _Tableau_:  ROB _and_ GAYLIE, C. ROB _has his right arm about her
 waist, her left hand in his left; she bends forward, with her right
 hand outstretched to_ ROWELL, R., _defying him_. MRS. TRUEWORTH _sits
 on sofa_, L., _with her handkerchief to her eyes_. MATTIE _with her
 hand on her mother's shoulder_. CRIMP, _back_ R., _has the flag rolled
 up, and is menacing_ ROWELL _with it_. HIRAM _catches it in his hand as
 it descends, and holds him back. Slow curtain._




  ACT II.—(_After two years._) _Headquarters of_ COL. ROWELL _in
    Virginia. Room in a farm-house. Door in flat_ L., _open; window in
    flat_ R., _open. Landscape behind, moonlight if possible. Set the
    "moon"_ L., _so the light will fall through the door and window.
    Writing-desk or table, against_ R. _side; writing-materials, a
    candle to light, a pile of letters and papers, upon it. Chair in
    front of this. Give the scene a military character by placing a
    stack of arms in_ L. _corner back, a pile of knapsacks in_ R.
    _corner with an American flag thrown over it; hang up a drum
    between the door and window_. ROBERT _discovered, with musket, on
    guard outside the door; passes door and window twice. A "distant"
    fife plays, "The Girl I left behind me," through: as it ceases_,
    ROB _should be at door; he leans against the doorway_ L.


   _Rob._      The boys are making merry to-night around the camp-fire;
 but that lively air brings only sadness to me. "The girl I left behind
 me," two years ago, in Grainlow, Gaylie Gifford, is still silent. Not a
 line in reply to my frequent letters. Has she repented of her choice?
 No, I cannot believe that; for my sister writes me she often speaks of
 me, longs for my return. But yet she never writes. Perhaps she has
 never received mine; 'tis hardly possible, and yet her silence—Can my
 enemy, the colonel, be conspiring to keep us apart? He is base enough
 to use any means to serve his purpose. By his orders, the mail is
 brought here, and inspected by him, before delivery; perhaps, that he
 may intercept any letters for me. If I could only get a single line
 from her, I would be content. Oh! I am ground down worse than any slave
 that tills the earth beneath the overseer's lash. Two years of service,
 and still a private! I know I have been honorably mentioned many times
 by my captain; and yet poorer men step above me: and I toil on, fight
 on, with no hope of promotion. Well, they shall not say I have not done
 my duty. Will the end never come, and free me from this bondage, give
 me liberty to turn my steps northward, to seek the star of promise that
 gleams in Gaylie's eyes? Halt! Who goes there?

   _Crimp_     (_comes from_ L., _passes the window, and appears at door
 speaking_). D-d-d-on't shoot! d-d-d-on't shoot! I's only a poor old
 <DW54>, Massa Sentenull.

   _Rob._      Your business here?

   _Crimp._    Pressing b-b-business; d-d-d-on't shoot! Want to see de
 colonel.

   _Rob._      The colonel is absent.

   _Crimp._    Den I'll walk into de parlor, take a cheer, and wait for
 um. D-d-d-on't shoot!

   _Rob._      Business. Your pass, uncle.

   _Crimp._    Pass: yes, massa, got a pass. Here she am! (_Searches
 pocket._) Golly! it am gone. No, here she am! (_Searches bosom._) Not a
 pass; had um, sure; hope I may die—

   _Rob._      What's that sticking out of your hat?

   _Crimp._    Golly, dat's so! (_Takes off hat, paper sticking out of
 crown_). Put um up dar to keep um safe. (_Hands pass._)

   _Rob_       (_examines paper_). The pass is right: pass in. (_Resumes
 march._)

   _Crimp._    Tole you so. Dar aint no inception about dis chile: he's
 de sole ob honor. (_Comes down._) Now, w-w-what's a-gon to be did?
 Missy Cap'n sends me away down here, in dis yer benighted regium, to
 bring a letter to Massa Rob. Tote about forty mile afore I find him,
 and den he's on guard. 'Twon't do to gib him de letter now: these sojer
 fellars so stiff onto de tictacs, dat if I was to gib him de letter,
 jes as likely to put de bagonet into me, or blow my head off, as not.
 No, sar: Crimp don't take no risks in dis yer camplain; no, sar, I'm
 obleeged to you. I'll wait till he's reliebed. Missy Cap'n say, gib 'im
 de letter, and den lay round, and see what de colonel was about. I'll
 hab a smoke (_takes out pipe, lights it_), an' I'll lay round. (_Takes
 the American flag, and wraps it round him._) Glory, hallelujah! dat's
 de warmest cobering dat eber a darkey got into. Yaas indeed. It am de
 protector ob virtue. Dat's me. (_Takes a knapsack for a pillow._) I'l
 jles hab a snooze into de corner, till Massa Rob is reliebed. (_Lies
 down._) Hi! das a heap ob comfort in de arms ob Morphine. (_Smokes._)
 'Spect Missy Gaylie tink a heap ob dat ar Massa Rob. Oh, lub, lub! when
 you got into dat Miss Gaylie's heart, you jist found de warmest place
 in de whole world. Yaas, indeed! (_Drops pipe._) Dar going to be some
 fun, down dar in Grainlow. By golly! de Home Guard am gwine to commence
 operations. Now, Massa Colonel, mind your eye; for de Home Guard am
 onto de war-path.

   _Rob._      Halt! Who goes there? (LIEUT.-COL. BOXER _enters_ L.,
 _passes the window to door_. ROB _salutes_. BOXER _enters_.)

   _Boxer._    The colonel away still? Hallo! (_Snuffs the air._)
 Tobacco, and pipe-tobacco too! Smoking in my quarters! Bah! who is it?
 I won't have it. If there's any thing I detest, it's smoking; under my
 very nose too. Here, sentinel! (ROB _steps inside door_.) Have you been
 smoking?

   _Rob._      I never smoke, sir.

   _Boxer._    Right: it's a filthy habit. But somebody's been here with
 a pipe. Now, mind, no more of it. Let no smokers pass that door. 'Tis a
 strict order which must be obeyed. That's all. (ROB _salutes, and
 retires_.) Plague take the fellow, whoever he is! The smoke of battle
 is inspiring; gunpowder is soothing to the nerves; but tobacco-smoke,
 bah! it makes me sick.

                                                              [_Exit_ L.

   _Crimp_     (_raising his head_). By golly! dat ar hossifer am riled.
 Don't like smoke. He's proficient in a liberal heducation, he am.
 (_Drops head._ GEN. GRANT _appears_ L., _slowly passes window, and
 crosses to door, is stopped by_ ROB.)

   _Rob._      Halt!

   _Grant._    I have business with the colonel.

   _Rob._      The colonel is absent.

   _Grant._    Then I will await his return.

   _Rob._      Halt! I have my orders. No smokers can enter here. If you
 would pass, put out that cigar.

   _Grant._    Indeed! Your orders are strict. (_Looks at_ ROB _keenly,
 then throws away cigar, and enters_. BOXER _enters_ L., _meeting him_.)
 Good-evening, colonel.

   _Boxer_     (_saluting_). Good-evening, general. You have surprised
 our post. The colonel is absent. Can I be of service?

   _Grant_     (_sitting in chair, and tilting back against table_).
 Your sentinel ordered me to throw away my cigar.

   _Boxer._    He did? confound him! Here, sentinel! (ROB _steps inside
 door_.) Do you know what you have done?

   _Rob._      Obeyed orders, colonel.

   _Grant._    Do you know me, sentinel?

   _Rob_       (_saluting_). I do, general.

   _Boxer._    And didn't you know better—

   _Grant._    One moment, colonel. Sentinel, you are the first man that
 ever dared put out my cigar. You did perfectly right: orders must be
 obeyed. Your name.

   _Rob._      Robert Trueworth.

   _Grant._    How long have you been in service?

   _Rob._      Two years.

   _Grant._    That's all. (_Waves his hand._ ROB _salutes and
 retires_.) Colonel, your orders are too strict. I cannot talk without a
 cigar.

   _Boxer._    Sorry I have not one to offer you, for I do like to see a
 man enjoy himself. My orders could not apply to you, general.

   _Grant._    Thank you; having permission, I can find the cigar.
 (_Takes out cigar, and lights it._) I always go armed. That man at the
 door,—what is his record?

   _Boxer._    Excellent: every inch a soldier; the bravest of the
 brave.

   _Grant._    Two years of service, and still a private?

   _Boxer._    Yes, general; although he has been honorably mentioned.
 (_Coughs._) (_Aside._) Confound his nasty cigar! (_Aloud._) There's not
 the best of feeling towards him on the part of our colonel. A brave
 soldier, general, but queer. It seems they quarrelled before entering
 service. (_Coughs._) (_Aside._) Oh, I shall choke! (_Aloud._) A
 love-affair, I believe. The private won the girl, and so he's not
 pushed.

   _Grant._    Indeed! the colonel brings his private piques into the
 battle-field. I rather like this boy. (_Looks round._) Can't we get out
 of earshot?

   _Boxer._    Certainly; in my room. (_Crosses stage, and then opens
 door_ L.) Walk in, general. (GRANT _rises, and crosses stage_.) We
 shall be secure from interruption here.

   _Grant._    No: it's pleasant outside; let's walk awhile. (_Passes
 out door off_ L., _smoking_.)

   _Boxer._    Bah! I foresee a smoky campaign here. (_Following him._)

   _Crimp_     (_raising his head_). By golly! dat ar fellar's a high
 buck. Ain't dey nebber gwine to reliebe dat guard? (COL. ROWELL
 _appears_ R., _passes window to door_. ROB _salutes, he enters_. CRIMP
 _drops his head_.)

   _Rowell._   That fellow's on guard to-night. How I hate him! Rebel
 bullets come fast and thick, but they never reach him. Pity! I should
 lose a good soldier, no doubt; but I could spare him. (_Goes to table,
 and lights candle._) Here's the mail for my inspection; let me see if
 there's any thing contraband. (_Examines letters._) "Robert Trueworth."
 His sister's handwriting; that shall go through. "Robert Trueworth."
 Gaylie's hand; detained for the present. (_Places it in his bosom._
 ROBERT _is at the window outside, watching him_.) I have managed to
 keep many sweet morsels from his parched lips. Not a letter of hers
 shall ever reach him while I have the power to prevent. My guardianship
 has expired: she has come to her fortune, and yet she loves this man.
 Not a thought of me; and I love her madly. Ah! what's this? (_Takes
 letter._) For me, and—Gaylie's hand! (_Tears it open._) So, so; at last
 she thinks of me. (_Reads._) "Dear Colonel: Pardon my long silence. I
 have not forgotten you. A business matter which I feel it impossible to
 adjust makes me bold to ask your assistance. Come to Grainlow at once.
 I have repented of my rudeness to you, long to see you. If you can
 obtain a furlough, come; if you cannot, I think I could repay you for
 the loss of your commission should you feel inclined to resign. Believe
 me, I am not ungrateful for your former kindness, and earnestly entreat
 you to return. You shall be made happy here if 'tis in my power.
 Gaylie." So, so; the wind has changed. There is only one construction
 to be placed upon that letter. She has repented of her folly, and I can
 win her. (_Soldier enters_ R., _and relieves guard_.) What's that? Ah!
 relieving guard; I'm glad of that: I cannot bear to have that fellow
 near me. (ROB _is about to pass off; stands irresolute a moment, then
 steps inside door. The colonel is again busy with his letters._)

   _Crimp_     (_aside_). Golly! de guard am reliebed.

   _Rob_       (_removes hat_). Your pardon, colonel. Can I speak with
 you? (_Comes down_ L.)

   _Rowell_    (_turns round_). Eh? oh, Private Trueworth! Certainly, if
 it is important.

   _Rob._      You have the mail. Are there letters there for me?

   _Rowell._   If there are any, they will be forwarded to your company
 quarters. (ROB _is about to turn away_.) Stay! here is one. (_Hands
 letter._ ROB _takes it eagerly, looks at it, and sighs_.)

   _Rob._      Are there no more?

   _Rowell_    (_sneeringly_). No. _She_ does not seem inclined to
 write.

   _Rob._      I think _she_ has written, not once, but many times.

   _Rowell._   Indeed! 'Tis strange you should never have received them,
 for our mails come very regular.

   _Rob._      Not so very strange, colonel. We are in an enemy's
 country. Craft and deceit are all about us, even in our own ranks. I
 suspect an enemy has intercepted my letters. I suspect you, colonel.

   _Rowell_    (_rising_). Do you dare, Robert Trueworth? Remember who I
 am,—one high in authority, your superior. You are but a private
 soldier. There is no love between us. Be warned in time.

   _Rob._      Yes, I do remember; but I do not fear you. You have used
 your power to degrade me, by keeping me in the ranks, when I have _won_
 a higher place. I have not murmured. But when you step between me and
 the girl I love, the girl I have won, mark me, colonel, _won_ in spite
 of you, you are no longer my superior: you are a base and treacherous
 spy.

   _Rowell_    (_furious_). Robert Trueworth, you lie! you have not won
 her.

   _Crimp_     (_rises to a stooping position, throws off flag_). By
 golly! dere's gwine to be a fight here. Wish Massa Rob jes had dat
 letter. (_Creeps round to_ L. _on "all fours" while the others are
 speaking_.)

   _Rob._      In the sight of Heaven she is mine. We have exchanged
 vows; and, as I am true, I believe she is true. O man, man! have you no
 honor? Your strategy is unworthy a soldier of the Union. (GRANT _and_
 BOXER _cross stage_ L. _to_ R., _outside_.)

   _Rowell._   I repeat, you have not won her. True, there was a foolish
 plighting of vows; but one year ago, when, as her guardian, I met her
 in Grainlow to surrender my trust, I found her changed. I felt she had
 repented of her rashness: now I am sure of it. She no longer loves you.

   _Rob._      I will believe that when I hear it from her lips. You
 cannot shake my faith in her.

   _Rowell_    (_handing open letter_). Then read that. I am recalled to
 Grainlow.

   _Rob_       (_takes letter, and looks at it, then at_ ROWELL, _then
 at letter_). "Come to Grainlow: I have repented of my rudeness to
 you—long to see you—earnestly entreat you to return—you shall be made
 happy."—oh! what is this? (_Crushes letter in his hand._) She has
 forgotten me, repents. Oh! would I were dead!

   _Crimp_     (_aside_). Yaas, Guess not. What a muss! If he only had
 dat ar letter! (_Creeps nearer._)

   _Rowell._   There is only one construction to be placed upon that.
 'Tis I who am the favored suitor. (GRANT _and_ BOXER _saunter across
 stage outside from_ R. _to_ L. GRANT _appears at window, leans on the
 casing, and watches the scene, smoking_; BOXER _with him_.)

   _Rob._      'Tis false! more of your treachery. She would never have
 rejected me without a word, a sign.

   _Rowell._   Still incredulous; poor fool! To your quarters! Another
 word to your superior, and you are under arrest. I have waited my time;
 and now Gaylie Gifford and her fortune shall be mine, in spite of
 trusting love and plighted vows. Away! (_Goes to_ R.)

   _Rob._      No: I will not stir. I know you have intercepted my
 letters; I know you have one in your bosom now; I saw you from my post
 secrete it; I saw the direction upon it; and by this (_showing letter_)
 I recognize the hand. 'Tis my property, and I claim it. Give it to me;
 or forgetting all distinctions, remembering only I am a man persecuted
 and wronged, I'll tear it from you.

   _Rowell_    (_taking pistol from his bosom_). Approach me but a step,
 and I'll have your life! I should be justified, for this is mutiny.

   _Rob._      No, this is justice. I claim my rights. Give me the
 letter. (_Approaches._)

   _Rowell._   Take that instead! (_Raises arm._)

   _Crimp_     (_running between, and throwing up his arm_). D-d-d-don't
 shoot! (_Pistol discharged._) W-w-what you 'bout? w-want to blow dis
 yer <DW54>'s head off?

   _Rowell_    (_runs to door_). Guard, guard! Quick, quick! (_Guard has
 passed out of sight_, L.)

   _Crimp_     (_running to_ ROB, _and falling on his knees at his
 side_, L.; _speaks quick_). Massa Rob, you's made a fo-fo ob yourself.
 Here's de letter right straight from Miss Gaylie. (_Passes letter into
 his hand._)

   _Rob._      Who are you?

   _Crimp._    Done ye know me? I'se Crimp ob de Home-Guard. (ROWELL
 _returns; guard enters door: should all be done quick_.)

   _Rowell_    (_to guard_). Arrest that man. To the guard-house with
 him!

   _Rob_       (_presses_ GAYLIE'S _letter to his lips_). At last, at
 last! (_To_ ROWELL.) Ay! to the guard-house let it be. She has
 outwitted you. Here's a letter from her own dear hand.

   _Rowell._   Ah! who has done this? Away with him! (_Guard places his
 hand on his shoulder._) To the guard-house. (_Enter_ GRANT _door in_
 F., _writing on tablet in his hand_.)

   _Grant._    Right. To the guard-house: orders must be obeyed. (_To_
 ROB.) If it comes to a trial, you may want a friend. (_Gives paper._)
 Count on me.

   _Rowell_    (R.). And who are you?

   _Grant_     (_takes off hat_). Your superior, sir.

   _Rowell_    (_confused_). Gen. Grant? (_Salutes._)

   _Crimp._    By golly! it's de ole smoke-jack. Hi! whose pipe's out
 now?

   _Tableau._  GEN. GRANT C. BOXER _at door_. ROWELL R., _saluting but
 confused_. ROB L. C., _saluting. Guard with his hand on his shoulder._
 CRIMP _on his knees_ L., _squeezing himself, and laughing internally,
 with a show of white eyeballs and grinning teeth. Slow curtain._




  ACT III.—(_Two years later._) _Parlor in_ GAYLIE GIFFORD'S _house.
    Door in flat_, C., _windows each side of it, with drapery
    curtains; shrubbery outside. Table_, R. C., _with books, &c.; a
    lighted astral lamp upon it. Lounge_, L. _Arm-chair_, R., _with
    small table beside it. Easy-chairs_, R. _and_ L. _Should be
    handsomely furnished; elegantly, if possible, by adding
    statuettes, screens, &c._ MRS. TRUEWORTH _discovered in
    arm-chair_, R., _knitting_. MATTIE _sitting at table_, L. C.,
    _reading a newspaper_.


   _Mattie_    (_dropping paper_). And so at last this cruel war is
 over, mother. Richmond has fallen, and our brave soldiers are already
 marching homeward. Only think of it! any day, any hour, may bring back
 our dear Rob, after four years' absence. Oh! 'twill be a happy return
 for all of us.

   _Mrs. T._   For you and me, Mattie, yes. I shall see my brave boy
 again; you, a noble brother, whose record in the long struggle is
 spotless. But how will Gaylie receive him?

   _Mattie._   With open arms, mother: are they not lovers?

   _Mrs. T._   They parted as lovers: but you know two years ago Wilder
 Rowell resigned his command, and returned to Grainlow; that from that
 time he has been a constant visitor to this house; that he is always
 welcomed by its mistress; that he attends her in all her walks and
 drives; that she smiles upon him, and evidently delights in his
 company. You know this, and I know it, and I don't like it. There, I've
 dropped a stitch!

   _Mattie._   Why, mother! I really believe you are jealous of Col.
 Rowell's attentions. Do _you_ doubt Gaylie's affection for us, her love
 for Brother Rob?

   _Mrs. T._   Doubt her affection for us? No! Has she not been a dear
 daughter to me for these years? Has she not made us members of her own
 household? Have I not had, every day, convincing proofs of her
 affection? No, no! bless her dear heart, for Mother Trueworth has a
 warm corner in it. It's only for the boy I fear. Suppose he should come
 home, and find our Gaylie's heart turned from him, caught by this man
 whom I don't like, never did like, and never will like. There goes
 another stitch!

   _Mattie._   Suppose, suppose! O mother, you ought to be ashamed of
 yourself! Why, I should no more doubt Gaylie's love for our Rob, than I
 should doubt—

   _Mrs. T._   Your love for Hiram Jenks, eh, Mattie?

   _Mattie._   There's another jealous one! He thinks Mr. Rowell is in
 love with me, or pretends he does, and continually quarrels with me
 about him. But we always make up, and I really believe that it's for
 the pleasure of being reconciled every day that he does it.

   _Mrs. T._   Ah! Hiram Jenks is a good, honest, smart, reliable young
 man: so you be careful, and not quarrel too often. There may be a time
 when there will be no reconciliation.

   _Mattie._   I'm not afraid of that, mother. He loves me dearly. But I
 mean to cure him of this folly the very next time he attempts it.

   _Crimp_     (_outside_). Hi! whar's Missy Gaylie? whar she be?
 Hallelujum! (_Enters_, C., _running, in a high state of excitement_.)
 Babylum am fallen! Got a telegram down dar: de boys am coming dis yer
 night, got mos' home. Der a-lighting up down dar. "Johnny am marching
 home" double-quick. Yaas, indeed! Whar Miss Gaylie? Hi! lots ob fun.

   _Mrs. T._   Coming, Crimp, to-night?

   _Crimp._    Don't I tole you? Don't I tole you? I'se jes' gwine to
 'luminate dis yer mamsum from de crown to de heel, regardless ob
 expense. Hi, golly! Jubilum am a-comun, and de <DW54>s are jes' gwine
 into glory. Whar's Miss Gaylie? Whar she be? Golly! I can' hole myself
 still: mus' do somfum, or I shall combusticate and smash all to pieces.
 Whar's Miss Gaylie? (_Runs off_, L.)

   _Mrs. T._   (_rising_). Coming to-night! Dear, dear boy! I must dress
 myself to receive him. Just see what a state I'm in,—this old cap and
 this poor dress.

   _Mattie._   Why, mother, you never looked better in your life.

   _Mrs. T._   It's no such thing. I'm looking shabby, and my boy's
 coming home. Oh! I wish I had the regal robes of a queen, that I might
 receive him as he deserves. Dear, dear boy! (_Hurries off_, L.)

   _Mattie._   And so Rob is really coming home: how glad somebody will
 be to see him! She care for Wilder Rowell? I, for one, do not believe
 it. She's some reason for allowing his attentions: what it is, I cannot
 find out. When I ask her, she laughs, and breaks away singing, "Trust
 her not, she is fooling thee. Beware! Take care!" But I do trust her.
 She is all goodness. (_Enter_ ROWELL, C.)

   _Rowell_    (_aside_). Ah! only pretty Mattie Trueworth. If I hadn't
 higher aspirations, I should dearly like to make love to that girl.
 (_Aloud._) Good-evening, Miss Mattie.

   _Mattie._   Ah! Mr. Rowell, good-evening.

   _Rowell._   There seems to be a hubbub about this usually quiet
 mansion. What is going on?

   _Mattie._   Why, don't you know our soldiers are coming home
 to-night?

   _Rowell._   To-night! That is news. Is the war over?

   _Mattie._   Why, what a man! Don't you read the papers? Don't you
 take any interest in the war?

   _Rowell_    (_aside_). Not since I resigned two years ago. (_Aloud._)
 Oh, certainly! Is Richmond taken?

   _Mattie._   A week ago. Here's the whole account. (_Rises with paper,
 and comes forward._)

   _Rowell._   Indeed! show it to me. (_Puts his arm about her waist._
 HIRAM _appears at door_, C.)

   _Hiram._    Ahem! a-hem! (MATTIE _starts to_ L. ROWELL, _with paper
 in his hand_, _starts_ R.)

   _Hiram_     (_with bombastic fury_). Oh, yes, oh, yes! it is all
 true, all true.

   _Rowell._   What! is the news confirmed?

   _Hiram_     (_contemptuously_). Confirmed! my _suspicions_ are
 confirmed. (_To_ MATTIE.) Oh, you cruel, deceitful, perfidious,
 ungenerous, ungrateful, unkind, unjust, un—un—unsociable young woman!
 what have you done?

   _Rowell_    (_aside_). Hallo! this fellow's in his jealous humor
 again. (_Aloud._) Miss Mattie, as you have company, I'll take the
 paper, and find the news myself.

                                                              [_Exit_ L.

   _Mattie._   Mr. Hiram Jenks, what's the matter?

   _Hiram._    What's the matter? You ask _me_? Matter, what's the
 mattie? I mean Wattie, matts the water? Oh, pshaw! I can't speak. My
 tongue is paralyzed. False woman! you have shattered the shrine of
 affection in this bosom. Young lady, you have burst the bonds of
 devotion. Young maiden, you have lacerated my heart, crushed my soul,
 blasted my hopes, destroyed my—my—Go, deceitful maid! After my long
 devotion, oh! this is too much, after all I have done for you. Oh!
 (_Tears hair._)

   _Mattie._   Well, what have you done for me?

   _Hiram._    Eh! well, what I was going to do for you,—marry you. To
 see you fondly reclining upon the bosom of another, another's arm about
 your waist,—oh, this is torture! madness! (_Tears his hair, and rushes
 about stage._) Mattie Trueworth, you are a cartless hoquette; no, a—

   _Mattie._   You got the cart before the horse that time, Hiram. How
 silly you are! It's all a mistake.

   _Hiram_     (_coolly_). Oh! it's a mistake: I'm glad of that; so
 let's kiss and make up. (_Approaching her._)

   _Mattie._   Stop! you have opened my eyes. You saw his arm about my
 waist. Then he loves me. Oh, joy! rapture! bliss!

   _Hiram._    Why, Mattie! you don't mean, you can't mean, you can't be
 so mean as to say you love Col. Rowell.

   _Mattie._   Why not? he's rich; he is the owner of Trueworth Farm;
 and I, I might be again its mistress.

   _Hiram._    Yes: but, Mattie, wh-wh-what's to become of me?

   _Mattie._   You? why, you unjustly suspected me; but then you opened
 my eyes. You have my thanks: all else is at an end between us.

   _Hiram._    Good gracious! I don't want your thanks. I wouldn't thank
 you for your thanks. I want _you_, Mattie. Come, let's make up
 (_coaxingly_). Now, do, Mattie, now, do. You ain't a-going to throw me
 over for that man?

   _Mattie._   Why, he owns Trueworth Farm.

   _Hiram_     (_aside_). Confound it! she means it. (_Aloud._) Hang
 Trueworth Farm! what's that to a heart filled with devotion! No, don't
 be hard on a feller. You know I love you. Come, let's make up. Do, now,
 do.

   _Mattie_    (_drawing herself up to her full length_). No, sir! You
 have trifled with me, and we must part. Seek another mate: be happy if
 you can. (_Imitating_ HIRAM'S _coaxing_.) Do, now, do. I wish you well:
 particularly, _fare_-well. (_Courtesies, and goes off_, L.)

   _Hiram_     (_looks after her_). Why! she's gone. She means it!
 Jealous of her? why, it's absurd! She might have known it. I only
 wanted to tease her into a reconciliation: these make-ups are so jolly!
 But she don't tease well; and now I've set her to setting her cap for
 Rowell. Pshaw! Humbug! the jealous game is all up. (_Enter_ CRIMP, L.)

   _Crimp._    Hallo, Hi-_ram_! am dat you? Jes' you come down to de
 barn wid me. I'll show you, free gratis, for nuffin, no extra charge,
 and no postfonemet, de greatest dissemblage ob sky—sky—sky—what dat man
 call 'em? _skyrotechnicks_, golly! rickets, fourteen pounders, and—and
 Rum-and-candles, and—and Bungola lights, and squabs, and bombs—golly!
 Jes' busters; de take de roof right off; yaas, indeed! Come down, do,
 Hi-_ram_: gwine to let 'em shoot slam bang, when de boys come home.

   _Hiram._    That's right, Crimp: give them a welcome.

   _Crimp._    Yaas, indeed, Hi-_ram_! gwine to make 'em smell
 brimstone. I tole you. Serve 'em right: wish we could get up a
 yearthquake: wouldn't be a bit too good for 'em. Come on, Hi. I say,
 Hi-_ram_, am you any relation to ole Jim? he was de highest old ram
 eber I see. Yah, yah, yah! (_Exit_, C., _laughing, followed by_ HIRAM.
 _Enter from_ L., ROWELL.)

   _Rowell._   And so the war is over, and the boys are marching home,
 and with them comes, of course, Mr. Rob Trueworth. Hang the luck! I
 fear that fellow's appearance. Two years ago I resigned my command in
 the army for two reasons. First, an unfortunate _rencontre_ with
 Trueworth, whom I kept in the ranks after he had been several times
 honorably mentioned, awakened the suspicions of Grant, and a
 court-martial was threatened; second, a very pressing invitation from
 Gaylie to return, the pretext being business which required my
 assistance, but the real motive, an evident desire for my society. Of
 the first reason, I took good care to let her know nothing; and having
 the postmaster, Hosea Jenks, well under my thumb, I am sure she has
 received no hint from Trueworth. She has evidently repented of her
 folly, and takes kindly to my presence. Never a word about Rob
 Trueworth. Yet I seem no nearer the attainment of my heart's desire,
 than when I returned. I have assiduously courted her: we walk, ride,
 and sail together. I am attentive, devoted, and she enjoys every thing.
 But, when I speak of love, she evades it, or talks of her freedom, or
 we are interrupted. I will speak plainly: she must be bound to me ere
 he returns, or I fear my two-years' campaign will be wasted. Ah! here
 she is. (_Enter_ GAYLIE, L.)

   _Gaylie._   Oh, isn't it glorious! the war is over. (_Sees_ ROWELL.)
 Why, colonel, is that you? Have you been waiting long? I'm so sorry.

   _Rowell_    (_taking her hand_). Yes: I have been waiting long, two
 years, Gaylie, to give you full assurance that I love you. Is my love
 returned?

   _Gaylie_    (_excitedly_). Returned! O colonel! have you heard the
 news? Our brave soldiers have returned; that is, they are coming home
 to-night, crowned with victory. Oh, I'm so happy! ain't you?

   _Rowell._   Gaylie, I am miserable.

   _Gaylie._   Because they are coming home? Oh, fie! colonel. And you a
 soldier?

   _Rowell._   Gaylie, you must listen to me. You evade a question of
 the utmost importance to my welfare. I asked you, Do you love me?

   _Gaylie._   As you have asked me a dozen times in the last fortnight;
 and I answer you as I have before, Wait until the war is over.

   _Rowell._   Ah, but the war is over: there is no reason for delay.
 Gaylie, will you be my wife?

   _Gaylie._   That's a serious question, colonel. I'll consider it.

   _Rowell._   Gaylie, you'll drive me mad.

   _Gaylie._   Then I won't consider it: will that suit you? O colonel!
 do you suppose there have been any changes in the regiment?

   _Rowell._   Will you answer my question, Gaylie?

   _Gaylie._   Will you answer mine, colonel?

   _Rowell_    (_biting his lips_). I don't know; I don't care. Boxer,
 who took my place, has been made a brigadier-general; but, for the
 rest, I know nothing.

   _Gaylie._   I wonder if Rob Trueworth is still a private. Perhaps
 he's a captain, or a sergeant. I do hope he has risen.

   _Rowell._   You still have an interest in that fellow?

   _Gaylie._   Of course. Isn't he my brother?

   _Rowell_    (_aside_). That's good. She ignores the other tie.
 (_Aloud._) Now, Gaylie, speak. (_Takes her hand._) Surely my devotion
 deserves a recompense. Will you? (_Enter_ CRIMP, L., _with a lighted
 candle in each hand_.)

   _Crimp_     (_speaking as he enters_). Hi! Miss Gaylie, de hole
 _circumbendence_ ob de exterior ob de house up stairs am in a blaze ob
 glory; lights into all de windows, an' greeze all ober de glass and de
 carpets. Took sum pains up dar, I tole you. Shall I light dese yer
 windows, Miss Gaylie?

   _Gaylie._   No, Crimp, I will attend to this.

   _Crimp._    Yaas, indeed! I'm obleeged to you. Jes' put your bright
 eyes into de windows, and de illumination up stairs won't be no
 circumstance. I'll jes' stick 'em into de bay window, out yunder.

                                                              [_Exit_ R.

   _Rowell_    (_runs to_ GAYLIE, _and puts his arm about her waist;
 takes her hand_). Gaylie, am I never to get an answer? Speak before we
 are again interrupted. (MRS. TRUEWORTH _appears_, L.)

   _Rowell_    (_goes_ L.). Confusion! Will this never end?

   _Gaylie._   Come in, mother.

   _Mrs. T._   No: when two young people are so closely interested in
 conversation, an old woman's presence is unpleasant. I'm not blind,
 Gaylie Gifford; and I'm not likely to hold my tongue, when I see
 injustice done one I love; so I'll go away. O Gaylie! Gaylie! have I
 been deceived in you? (_Going._)

   _Gaylie_    (_running to her_). No, mother, no! Believe me, trust me.

   _Mrs. T._   I try to, Gaylie; but it is so hard, so hard!

                                                              [_Exit_ L.

   _Gaylie_    (_comes down_ R. _at table_). Have I wounded her dear
 heart? Am I doing right?

   _Rowell_    (_approaching_). Gaylie—

   _Gaylie._   Silence, sir! Speak to me now, and I shall hate you.
 (ROWELL _returns_ L. _Enter_ C. HOSEA JENKS, _followed by_ HIRAM.
 MATTIE _enters_ L. HOSEA _comes down_. HIRAM _stops up stage, and tries
 to make up with_ MATTIE; _she snubs him_.)

   _Hosea._    I—I—really, really, I beg pardon, colonel, if you are
 having a _tety-tety_; but I thought you'd like your mail, and so I
 brought it. (_Comes down_ L. _of table, and hands letters to_ ROWELL,
 _who stands_ R. _of table; then goes back to_ L. C.)

   _Rowell._   Ah! thank you, Jenks. (_Aside._) Confound his kindness! I
 know you'll excuse me, Gaylie. Here's my mail.

   _Gaylie._   Certainly, colonel. (HIRAM _comes down_ R. _of table,
 where_ GAYLIE _is standing, and hands her a letter secretly_.)
 (_Aside._) And here's mine. (_Presses it to her lips._)

   _Rowell_    (_his back to_ GAYLIE). (_Aside._) Here's one for Gaylie,
 in the old familiar hand. (_Looks round to her: she is looking down; he
 turns to_ L., _and slips it into his pocket; as he does so, she bends
 forward, and watches him, then shakes her head_.)

   _Gaylie._   Nothing for me, Mr. Jenks? (_She looks at_ JENKS _keenly:
 he tries to look in her face, drops his eyes, and nervously plays with
 his hat_.)

   _Hosea._    Oh, no! Nothing for you, not a thing. Do you suppose I
 should have failed to bring them? (_She goes up stage; he comes down_
 R.) (_Aside._) That's a lie, a wicked lie. I can't help it. I try; but
 it will pop out, anywhere, everywhere. Once I was a punster. "Alas,
 poor Jenks! where are your jests now, that were wont to set the table
 in a roar?" All lies now.

   _Gaylie_    (_goes up, takes_ HIRAM'S _hand_). (_Aside._) Thanks,
 faithful sentinel. (_Aloud._) Come, Mattie, we'll go and look at
 Crimp's preparations, and leave the colonel to his letters. (_Puts her
 arm about_ MATTIE'S _waist, and they go off_ C.)

   _Rowell_    (_who has opened a letter, and is reading it, seated at
 table_, L.). Confound it! another call for money, and no way to raise
 it. (JENKS _starts for door_; ROWELL _looks round_.) Yes; there's
 Jenks: he must help me out. Jenks!

   _Hosea_     (_turns trembling_). Ye-yes, colonel.

   _Rowell_    (_rising_). Jenks, I must have money at once. I have a
 pressing call, and my funds are completely exhausted. Come, you shall
 give me fifteen hundred dollars, and I'll transfer to you the Trueworth
 Farm.

   _Hosea_     (_aside_). That's cool. (_Aloud._) But—but you see,
 colonel, I—I—I don't want the Trueworth Farm.

   _Rowell._   Neither do I. But I do want money; so look round and
 raise it, and don't keep me waiting long (_rises, and comes close to
 him_), or Grainlow will have a new postmaster. (_Exit_ C. JENKS _falls
 into chair he has left_.)

   _Hosea._    New p-p-p-postmaster! well, that's the old threat. Oh,
 the villain! This comes of meddling with public affairs. When I was a
 private citizen, I was gay and happy, with such a flow of humor,
 punning from morning till night. I never pun now; I can't; it's sure to
 turn into a lie. I'm a miserable old rascal, that's ashamed to look an
 honest man in the face. I'm a swindler, a cheat, a liar, and a coward.
 I can't help it. I sold my birthright for a mess of pottage; no,
 potash, for it's all lie. O Jenks! when you parted with honesty, you
 knocked down a rich estate at an awful sacrifice. I'm in daily dread of
 these infernal detectives. In my office, at home, at my table, in bed,
 I feel the hand of justice on my shoulder, and the voice of outraged
 Uncle Sam thunders in my ear.

   _Hiram._    The colonel wants his money, dad.

   _Hosea_     (_starts to his feet_). Yes, yes. I'm a-going for it, I'm
 a-going for it. (_Starts up stage._)

   _Hiram._    Halt! 'bout face! hold up your head, turn out your toes.
 (HOSEA _obeys_.) Now, dad, you will do no such thing!

   _Hosea._    Hey! what do you mean, boy?

   _Hiram._    Come, dad, straighten up; drop that. I've changed that
 name with you. You are the boy,—a weak, silly, foolish boy.

   _Hosea._    Do you want to insult my gray hairs?

   _Hiram._    Insult them? Tell me, dad, have _you_ respected them as
 you should?

   _Hosea._    Eh! wh-what do you mean?

   _Hiram._    Why does that man order you to find money for him? Why
 does he treat you with such cool contempt?

   _Hosea_     (_nervously_). Eh? oh! ha, ha, ha! it's only his way, you
 know. We are great friends,—great friends. He got me my office; and,
 you know, if I can do him a favor, why, I ought; certainty I oughter be
 proud to—to do him a favor: see? (_Aside._) How he looks at me! he
 knows it's a lie. I can't help it: it will pop out.

   _Hiram._    That won't do, dad. You're afraid of him: you're a
 coward.

   _Hosea._    Coward, boy! this to me?

   _Hiram._    Yes, and more. You have sold yourself to this man; you
 are accomplices in crime. You have made yourself liable to a long
 imprisonment, for you have robbed the mail.

   _Hosea_     (_alarmed_). Hush! don't speak so loud, boy! Who told you
 this? Do you want to see me hung? do you want—O Hiram, Hiram! pity me,
 pity me! I'm a poor old sinner, a poor old sinner! (_Wrings his hands,
 falls on his knees, and hides his face._)

   _Hiram._    That's the truth, dad; a tool in the hands of a crafty
 man. O dad, you were hard on me in the old days! You sought to crush
 out my ambition to be manly while yet a boy,—an ambition which should
 have been encouraged, not crushed. Your example made others slight me,
 and look upon me as a fool. But you were an honest man, and you made me
 honest; and for that I shall always be grateful. Now you have parted
 with your high estate; sold yourself, body and soul, to the—well, Col.
 Rowell is his name. I have kept mine, and I mean to rescue you from the
 clutches of this villain.

   _Hosea._    No, boy, you can't do that; I'm sold, delivered: it's too
 late. I see my folly. But that man! O Hiram! he could deliver me up to
 justice: he could have me imprisoned.

   _Hiram._    Why, dad, you forget he is your confederate; that, in
 sacrificing you, he must betray himself.

   _Hosea._    Eh? I never thought of that. Of course he must. What a
 fool I have been! He dare not move. I'm safe, I'm safe!

   _Hiram._    But I dare, dad, and I will. For four years you have
 intercepted letters belonging to Gaylie, and Rob Trueworth. I know it:
 I have full proof. Ah! I've watched you closer than you watched me when
 I was a boy.

   _Hosea._    Yes, yes: but you can't betray me; you couldn't have the
 heart. Hiram, I was a good father to you; that is, I tried to be. You
 won't give me up to justice?

   _Hiram._    You have wronged my friends. Unless you immediately
 resign your office, I will give information that shall lead to your
 arrest.

   _Hosea._    I'll resign, I'll resign! but he won't let me.

   _Hiram._    He shall not prevent you. You must also decline to
 furnish him with money.

   _Hosea._    I'll do that, I'll do that!—any thing you ask, Hiram,
 only don't give me up.

   _Hiram._    He's coming back. Remember, no money to that man. (_Goes
 up_ R. _Enter_ ROWELL, C.)

   _Rowell._   Why, Jenks, what are you about? Didn't you hear? I want
 that money to-night,—must have it. Why are you not after it?

   _Hosea._    You want fifteen hundred dollars, colonel?

   _Rowell._   That's the sum I named.

   _Hosea_     (_comes close to him_). Don't you wish you may get it,
 colonel? (_Snaps his fingers in his face._) Do you understand that? not
 a dollar from me. You've been drawing heavily on my conscience, but you
 can't draw on my bank-account: understand that.

   _Rowell._   Fool! do you know that I could hang you, unless—

   _Hosea._    We hang together. That's good, a pun, ha, ha, ha! the
 first for many a day. Oh, I'm feeling decidedly better! No, colonel,
 you couldn't hang me: you dare not molest me; for we are both in the
 same boat.

   _Rowell._   Indeed! Well, my _honest_ friend, we can find a new
 postmaster for Grainlow.

   _Hosea._    Do, colonel! the sooner you write to Washington, "Off
 with his head: so much for Jenks," the better for said Jenks.

   _Rowell._   Do you refuse to purchase the Trueworth Farm?

   _Hosea._    Decidedly I do.

   _Hiram_     (_comes down_). Do I understand you, colonel? You wish to
 dispose of Trueworth Farm?

   _Rowell._   What's that to you?

   _Hiram._    If you want to sell, I'm your customer.

   _Rowell._   You?

   _Hosea._    You? Why, Hiram Jenks, where can you find the money?

   _Hiram._    No matter, dad. Name your price, colonel.

   _Rowell._   Fifteen hundred dollars.

   _Hiram_     (_takes a wallet from his pocket, and slaps it on
 table_). There's your money.

   _Hosea._    The boy's crazy. (_Aside to_ H.) I say, Hiram, what are
 you about? You wouldn't let me buy it, and now—

   _Hiram._    I want it: you forget you are under suspicion. Uncle Sam
 might confiscate your property at any moment, and the farm would go
 with it.

   _Hosea._    Oh, what a head, what a head! And I thought him a boy!

   _Hiram._    If you want the money to-night, write a receipt, and take
 it. We will pass the papers in the morning.

   _Rowell_    (_goes to table_, R., _and writes_). Certainly.

   _Hiram_     (_takes paper from his pocket_). As I have had some
 thoughts of making you an offer for the property, I have drawn up an
 agreement. Sign that, and I am satisfied.

   _Rowell_    (_takes paper, and looks at it_). This is satisfactory.
 (_Signs._)

   _Hiram._    Now, dad, if you will witness it. (_Takes bills from
 wallet._)

   _Hosea._    Certainly. (_Signs. Aside._) Where could that boy have
 got his money?

   _Hiram_     (_taking paper, and laying down bills_). You'll find that
 all right.

   _Rowell_    (_counting money_). All correct. I will see you at Lawyer
 Ware's office, to-morrow at nine. Is that satisfactory?

   _Hiram._    Perfectly. Come, dad, let's look after the office.

   _Hosea._    Yes, to the office, where I shall take the first
 opportunity to write to the Postmaster General, resigning my office.

   _Rowell._   Do it at your peril!

   _Hosea._    No: I shall do it at my office. Ha, ha, ha! Why, I'm
 getting back into my old humor, thanks to the boy. What a head! I used
 to look in his face, and think I saw a fool. I was wrong: I should have
 looked in a glass.

   _Rowell._   I hope the farm will pay you better than it has me,
 Hiram.

   _Hiram._    No doubt it will. (_Aside._) If Miss Mattie Trueworth
 wants Trueworth Farm, she'll have to look this way. Come, dad!

   _Hosea._    Good-by, colonel: if you want your next mail, you'll have
 to come for it. (HIRAM _goes up, followed by_ HOSEA; _meet_ GAYLIE
 _and_ MATTIE _coming in_; MATTIE _comes down_ R., _is stopped by_
 HIRAM; GAYLIE _speaks with_ HOSEA, L. C.)

   _Hiram._    Mattie, won't you make up?

   _Mattie._   No, sir: I have higher aspirations.

   _Hiram_     (_tragically_). I know: to the owner of Trueworth Farm!
 Mattie, it's hard to lose you, but it's for the best: I see my error. I
 cannot win you; and so I freely give you up to a better, a richer
 man,—the owner of Trueworth Farm. Farewell! (_Clasps her in his arms
 quick, and kisses her: she screams; he runs off_ C.)

   _Mattie._   Well, I never! what does he mean? He give me up? He shall
 do no such thing. Dear, dear! have I lost him? Hiram, Hiram! (_Runs
 off_ C.)

   _Gaylie._   Your son has gone, Mr. Jenks.

   _Hosea._    Has he? I must run after him. I can't bear to have him
 out of my sight: I'm so proud of him! (_Aside._) He might repent, and
 give me up.

                                                              [_Exit_ C.

   _Rowell_    (_as_ GAYLIE _comes down_). Gaylie, may I ask a favor of
 you? I have been making a sale to-night, and have here fifteen hundred
 dollars: will you give me your check for it? I want to send it
 to-night.

   _Gaylie._   Certainly! you'll find my check-book in the next room.
 Please bring it to me, colonel. (ROWELL _bows, and exits_ L.; GAYLIE
 _sits in chair_ R., _and looks after him_.) That man loves me, for two
 years has been my devoted slave; and now the time has come for me to
 speak plainly. He tells me there is no longer reason for delay: he is
 right. He thinks his long period of devotion deserves a recompense: he
 shall have it. And the other, Rob Trueworth, who left here four years
 ago,—does he still love me? (_Smiles._) Can I doubt it? Yet I must
 speak to-night, speak plainly. He believes that he has won me: I can
 see it in his proud step, the triumphant glance of his eye. Is he
 right? (_Smiles._) Can I doubt that? (_Enter_ ROWELL L., _with
 check-book_.) I'm so sorry to trouble you, colonel! (_Takes book._)
 Fifteen hundred, you say? (_Writes check._)

   _Rowell_    (_laying down bills_). Yes: you'll find the bills here.

   _Gaylie._   So you have made a sale to-night, colonel?

   _Rowell._   Yes: Trueworth Farm.

   _Gaylie._   Sold Trueworth Farm? And you refused to sell it to me
 four years ago!

   _Rowell._   Yes,—yes, I remember. I didn't like to part with it now,
 but I wanted money—

   _Gaylie_    (_rising_). Oh! I bear you no malice, colonel. (_Gives
 check._)

   _Rowell._   Thank you. And now, Gaylie, that we are alone, may I once
 more press you for an answer? (_Takes her hand, and puts his arm about
 her waist._) You know how dearly I love you: make me happy by saying
 that you return that love.

   _Gaylie._   And would that really make you happy, colonel?

   _Rowell._   Happy? The happiest of men!

   _Gaylie_    (_drawing herself up_). Then hear me, Col. Rowell!
 (_Enter_ L. MRS. TRUEWORTH, _with shawl and_ _bonnet added to her
 former costume, and a large band-box in her hand_.)

   _Rowell._   Oh, speak, Gaylie! tell me you love me!

   _Mrs. T._   Before you do, Gaylie, let me get out of this house.
 (GAYLIE _goes_ R., ROWELL L.)

   _Gaylie._   Mother, what does this mean?

   _Mrs. T._   Mother! you have no right to call me by that name: you
 have disgraced it. Four years ago you plighted vows with my dear boy;
 he went to battle, trusting in your promise: and now another's arms are
 about you, another's voice pleading to you for words which tremble on
 your lips. O Gaylie! how I have loved you, you may never know; but I
 love my boy, and he shall not come here to have his noble heart broken
 at the sight of his rival, a favored suitor. No: I thank you for all
 your kindness to me, but—my boy's coming, and I'll go to meet him: he
 has no one to love him now so tenderly as his old mother, bless him!
 'Twill be a hard blow after all his love and hope and faith. O Gaylie,
 Gaylie! you've broken my heart! (_Drops her box, and staggers forward_;
 GAYLIE _runs, and catches her in her arms_.)

   _Gaylie._   O mother, mother! this must not be! Stay here; this is
 your home: here Rob will come—

   _Mrs. T._   Not in that man's presence will I meet my boy.

   _Rowell_    (_aside_). The old lady's complimentary. (_Aloud._) I
 think Mrs. Trueworth is right, Gaylie. It would certainly be unpleasant
 to young Trueworth to see our happiness.

   _Gaylie._   I beg your pardon, colonel; I have not spoken yet.

   _Mrs. T._   Let me go, Gaylie: I cannot stay here!

   _Gaylie._   You must, you shall, mother! You have heard the colonel:
 now hear me.

   _Mrs. T._   No, no! I will go. Hark! what's that? (_Distant chorus;
 sings the chorus of "Marching through Georgia."_)

   _Gaylie._   At last, at last! They've come, mother, they've come.
 Hear me. Within myself, and to myself, I made a vow that I would keep
 Col. Rowell in suspense until I heard the victorious shouts of our
 returning heroes. They come, and I can speak; hear me: Col. Rowell, you
 have asked me to be your wife: I answer, No; for I detest you. (MRS.
 TRUEWORTH _goes over to chair_, R.)

   _Rowell._   Gaylie, what is this? are you in earnest?

   _Gaylie._   Four years ago I defied you; enlisted, for the war
 between you and my hero, on his side, not yours. I have kept the faith:
 I have battled you from that time to this, and won the victory.

   _Rowell._   Battled! victory! I do not understand you.

   _Gaylie._   You sought to keep us apart, and, to that end,
 intercepted our letters.

   _Rowell._   No, no! you are mistaken! I—I am innocent of any such
 crime. (_Enter_ HIRAM, R.)

   _Gaylie._   Here is my witness. 'Twas he who aided me in outwitting
 you. For the last two years our letters have passed under cover of his
 name. Those you have stopped were decoys.

   _Rowell_    (_aside_). What a fool I have been!

   _Gaylie._   You sought to keep my hero in the ranks. Perhaps you will
 recollect the first letter which reached him. 'Twas sent by the hands
 of a trusty messenger. (Enter CRIMP, L.) 'Twas delivered in your
 presence.

   _Crimp._    Yaas, colonel; d-d-don't shoot!

   _Rowell_    (_aside_). Oh, curse the girl! she has outwitted me.

   _Gaylie._   You sought to keep him down; and so I decoyed you here,
 believing that your presence, hateful as it had become, was necessary
 to the exaltation of Rob Trueworth. I have used a woman's art,
 coquetry; but the end justifies the means. So you see, colonel, the
 Home Guard has a right to claim the victory. Home Guard, attention!
 fall in! (_She stands_ L. HIRAM _takes his place next her, and_ CRIMP
 _next up stage_. GAYLIE _then faces them_.)

   _Gaylie._   Comrades, your general, ahem! is proud of you; we have
 fought together; we have conquered. Now let us march to meet the
 returning heroes. (_Steps back beside_ HIRAM.) Home Guard, attention!
 Eyes right! eyes left! Salute! (_They salute. Chorus repeated outside,
 "Marching through Georgia," nearer. Enter_ ROB, _in full uniform of a
 colonel_.) Ah! Rob, Rob! he's come, mother, he's come! (_Runs into_
 ROB'S _arms_.)

   _Mrs. T._   (_springing up_). O Rob, boy! welcome, welcome, welcome!

   _Rob._      Dear, dear mother! (_Enter_ MATTIE, L.)

   _Mattie._   Where is he? O Brother Rob! (_Runs into his arms._) This
 is glorious!

   _Rob._      Thanks for your hearty welcome. Ah, Hiram! (_Shakes
 hands._) And Crimp!

   _Crimp._    Yaas, indeed! how is yer? an' how is Boxer? an'—an' ole
 smoke-jack? Gay times in ole Virginny, two years ago. I'm obleeged to
 you.

   _Rob_       (_comes down to_ L., _where_ ROWELL _stands with his back
 to him, and his arms folded_). Wilder Rowell, the regiment with which
 you set out for the battle-field has returned under command of its new
 colonel, myself.

   _Rowell_    (_turns round_). You the colonel of the 10th?

   _Rob._      I am happy to say I have won that distinction. Won it! do
 you hear? You would have kept me in the ranks; but thanks to woman's
 wit, and military justice, you were removed in time. I now return to
 claim my bride. (_Turns up stage._)

   _Rowell_    (_turns away_). Oh, I have failed,—miserably failed! I
 cannot bear to see their happiness. (_All are gathered about_ ROB, _up
 stage_.) I was so sure of her! and she has been laughing at me all this
 time. I wish I could hate her; but no, no, it's impossible. I played
 for her fortune, and I ended in loving her as I can never love again.
 They are busy: I'll slip away. Oh! this may be justice for them: 'tis
 ruin, utter ruin, for me.

                                                              [_Exit_ L.

   _Hiram_     (_leads_ MATTIE _down_ R.) Now, Mattie, Rob has returned,
 and Gaylie is true to him. Col. Rowell, of course, is in the market.

   _Mattie._   I don't care if he is: I don't want him!

   _Hiram._    But you want Trueworth Farm.

   _Mattie._   Not if I must take its owner.

   _Hiram._    No? not when his name is Hiram Jenks? It's mine, Mattie:
 I bought it to-night. Come, let's kiss and make up: do, now, do! (_Kiss
 and retire up, arm in arm._ ROB _and_ GAYLIE _come down_.)

   _Rob._      Gaylie, how can I ever thank you for making me what I am?

   _Gaylie._   Nonsense, Rob! you made yourself. If I did help a little,
 'twas for my own pride; for I always wanted to be a colonel's wife.
 Ahem!

   _Crimp_     (_down_ L.). So did I. Yaas, yaas! I'm obleeged to you.
 No, no, dat's a bifstake: dat's a bifstake. I mean—I mean—wh-w-w-what
 do I mean? I mean to go an' let off dem ar squabs; make a blaze; cos de
 colonel's come; yaas, indeed!

   _Hiram_     (R.). Wait, Crimp: the colonel's going to speak.

   _Crimp._    Yaas, indeed! I's waiting with both years wide open
 tight. I'm obleeged to you.

   _Rob_       (C. _with_ GAYLIE). Ladies and gentlemen of the Home
 Guard, accept my thanks for your kind and valuable assistance in the
 campaign just closed. Ever grateful must our country's defenders be to
 the strong arms and tender hands, loving hearts and watchful eyes, that
 cared for the old folks at home, when they were in the field.

   _Gaylie_    (C.). Ahem! Colonel, in behalf of the Home Guard, I give
 you a hearty welcome home. If our efforts have won your approbation,
 if—There, I've broken down! O Rob, Rob! I'm so glad to get you back!
 we'll be a happy family now, won't we, mother?

   _Mrs. T._   (_comes down_ R. C.). Indeed we will, Gaylie. My own boy
 back again, thank Heaven! The skies will be bright now.

   _Rob._      Ay, mother! bright to herald the coming of peace, with
 all its blessings. We have fought the good fight: we have conquered.
 Henceforth the land we love is free.

   _Crimp._    Das a fac', an' I am one on 'em; I'm obleeged to you.

   _Gaylie._   Yes, we have conquered; and, though "the girl you left
 behind you" has done but little for the cause, she carried into it a
 loyal and a willing heart; and, if her hero is satisfied, she will
 never regret having "enlisted for the war."

             HIRAM _and_ MATTIE, R. MRS. T., ROB, GAYLIE, C.
                          CRIMP, L. _Curtain._




                             NEVER SAY DIE.


                              CHARACTERS.

                 MR. SIMON GRAYLOCK.
                 MR. RALPH CHEENY.
                 JOHN BOUNCE, Mr. Graylock's coachman.
                 MRS. GRAYLOCK.
                 MISS ALICE CHASE.
                 PATTY PERT, Mrs. Graylock's maid.


                    COSTUMES MODERN AND APPROPRIATE.

  SCENE.—_Handsome apartment in the house of_ MR. GRAYLOCK. _Table_,
    C., _red cloth. A study-lamp burning. Books and papers. Lounge_,
    R. _Arm-chair_, L. _Chairs_ R. _and_ L. _of table_. PATTY PERT
    _seated in arm-chair with a book_.

   _Patty_     (_reading_). "At the sound of that voice musically
 voluminous as the sighing of the October gale in the lofty branches of
 mountain hemlocks, Araminta Augusta Violetta sprang to her feet, and,
 dashing the embroidery-frame to the floor with a crash that shook the
 ancient edifice, gave one terrific, yet ecstatic scream of joy, and
 sank fainting into the arms of her own fond Felix Frederick Freelove."
 Oh! isn't that splendid? Oh! why wasn't I born in those barbaric days,
 when knights and squires, and milk-white steeds, and high-born ladies,
 pranced about, like the grand entry of a magnificent circus? Oh! why
 wasn't I a barbarian? And such love-making! (_Reads._) "Beauteous
 damsel, with eyes of azure blue, hear, oh, hear the vow of your own
 true knight! I will cleave yonder mountain from summit to base with one
 blow of my trusty cimeter, ere one tear of grief shall find its way
 adown thy gently-arching nose:" oh, beautiful, beautiful! There are no
 barons now. Who ever hears such language as that in these plebeian
 times? Even old Mr. Graylock, fond as he is of his young wife, never
 allows his ecstasy to rise above the utterance of "My dear, you're
 looking well, remarkably well." And Mrs. Graylock has nothing more
 romantic on the end of her tongue than, "Hubby, don't be gone long. I
 do get so sleepy when you're away!" Oh, the world's degenerating!
 there's not the least doubt of it. There's John Bounce, who tries to
 make love to me; and precious bad business he makes of it too, forever
 dropping his _h_'s, and sticking them where they don't belong. I'm
 determined to reform him, or he shall bounce about the world without a
 wife, though, as he says, his 'art _h_is given to me _h_alone. (_Enter_
 BOUNCE R.)

   _Bounce._   'Illo, Patty! _h_all by yourself, 'ay? Where's the master
 and missus?

   _Patty._    Still at table, Mr. Bounce, daintily toying with the
 dessert of their luxurious repast.

   _Bounce._   My _h_eyes, Patty! what _h_elegance of _h_expression!

   _Patty._    It's a pity Mr. Bounce, your language is not better
 seasoned with polite pronunciation.

   _Bounce._   My _h_eyes, Patty, 'ave you been drinking?

   _Patty._    Sir!

   _Bounce._   You talk just for _h_all the world like the fellows that
 master used to 'ave 'ere to dine afore 'e was 'itched to the new
 missus. They were dreadful free _h_and _h_easy spoken until the wine
 came _h_on, and then they couldn't find words _h_expansive enough to
 _h_express their _h_ideas.

   _Patty._    Mr. Bounce, no more of such language. It is time that you
 and I understood each other. I believe you wish me, at some not very
 distant period, to become your bride?

   _Bounce._   Yes: _h_i _h_expect to make you Mrs. Bounce.

   _Patty._    _H_expect? Why should you?

   _Bounce._   Why, Patty? 'Aven't _h_i _h_offered you my 'art _h_and
 'and?

   _Patty._    And—and what?

   _Bounce._   My 'art _h_and 'and. Don't you _h_understand _h_it?

   _Patty._    Your art? Yes: your art is driving horses.

   _Bounce._   But I ain't talking _h_about 'orses. _H_i said 'art; this
 'art which 'eaves _h_in my bosom with fond _h_aspiration.

   _Patty._    Nonsense! Once for all, Mr. John Bounce, I will never
 marry a man who aspirates in such a shocking manner as you do. No, sir.
 The man whose bride I shall become must be capable of declaring his
 love in grammatical, pronounceably correct English. He must fall
 gracefully upon his knees before me, and, in accents too wild to be
 resisted, say, "Patty, my heart"—not _art_, Mr. Bounce; I'll have no
 artful man—"is at your feet." Not _hat_. Hats are for heads, not feet,
 Mr. Bounce. When you can do that, speak: till then a gulf as wide as
 that which once yawned between Felix Frederick Freelove, and his
 Araminta Augusta Violetta, separates us.

                                                              [_Exit_ R.

   _Bounce._   My _h_eyes! Who's _H_araminta _H_augusta? _H_i don't know
 'er. Well, this _h_is _h_extraordinary. _H_and _h_i thought my language
 was so _h_intelligent! Well, Miss Patty, though _h_i love you with
 _h_all my 'art, _h_i'm not _h_a-going to lose no flesh on your
 _h_account. Well, _h_after _h_all, women _h_are a good deal like
 'orses; _h_if they find you don't notice their capers, but keep cool,
 they're very _h_apt to settle down _h_into a _h_easy trot. 'Ere's
 master and missus. _H_i'll make myself scarce. (_Exit_ L. _Enter_, R.,
 MR. GRAYLOCK, _with a plate containing nuts and raisins balanced on
 each hand, followed by_ MRS. GRAYLOCK.)

   _Mr. G._    Now, my dear, for a refreshing season of calm and
 tranquil delight. Here, beneath our own vine and fig-tree,
 metaphorically speaking, we will meditate, converse, and—and eat our
 nuts and raisins. (_Sits in chair_ L. _of table_).

   _Mrs. G._   (_placing ottoman beside him_, L.). Yes, indeed; what
 could be more delightful? (_Sits. He hands her a plate. They eat._) How
 grateful I should be—and I am—that I have a dear husband, so fond of
 spending his evenings with me, instead of leaving me for a stupid club,
 or the society of a billiard-room! It's a shame, a disgrace to married
 life, the manner in which some husbands conduct themselves.

   _Mr. G._    Ah, my dear, you were a wise young woman, when from the
 multitude of your admirers, young, giddy fellows, you turned to make
 choice of a staid, middle-aged, experienced individual to guide your
 youthful steps. Ah, my dear, yours was a wise choice. Do I not worship
 you? Do I not dote upon you? Is not every wish of your heart gratified?

   _Mrs. G._   Yes, indeed. No: there's one wish yet ungratified. Alice—

   _Mr. G._    What! you're not going to bring up that troublesome
 subject again?

   _Mrs. G._   Again and again, until you give your consent to her
 marriage with Mr. Cheeny.

   _Mr. G._    Now, my dear, how are we to enjoy a season of calm and
 tranquil delight if you insist upon boring me with a subject upon which
 we can never agree? Let's change the subject. My dear, I am seriously
 thinking of dyeing—

   _Mrs. G._   O Simon, don't talk so! Do you want to frighten me to
 death?

   _Mr. G._    Yes, of dyeing—my hair and beard.

   _Mrs. G._   You cannot mean it.

   _Mr. G._    Yes, I do. Watkins tells me he has a wonderful
 preparation, one application of which will instantly turn white, gray,
 red, or yellow hair to a beautiful black. Think of it, Susannah! In
 imagination behold your husband entering the room, transformed by "The
 Magic Dyer" into a youthful specimen of the genus _homo_.

   _Mrs. G._   I couldn't imagine it, and I won't. I am perfectly
 satisfied with your appearance. And you would look horrid with your
 hair and beard in mourning. I should never forgive you if you did such
 a dreadful thing. Never say dye to me again. Now let's change that
 subject. Alice and Mr. Cheeny—

   _Mr. G._    Sue! Susan! Susannah! pause. If you do not instantly
 pause, I shall dye—my hair and beard.

   _Mrs. G._   Oh, no, you won't! Why are you so determined to keep
 Alice single? (_Enter_ ALICE R.)

   _Alice._    Yes, uncle, why am I to be deprived of my natural rights?

   _Mr. G._    Oh, bother! You here? Now, how is a man to enjoy a season
 of—

   _Mrs. G._   Oh, don't say that again! Answer my question.

   _Mr. G._    Certainty, my dear. I have three reasons: the first of
 which is, she is too young to marry.

               _Mrs. G. and Alice_ (_together_). Too young to marry!

   _Mr. G._    (_aside_). Grand chorus of indignant females. (_Aloud._)
 I repeat it: too young to marry.

   _Mrs. G._   Nonsense! She's as old as I am. If that is your opinion,
 why did you allow me to marry?

   _Mr. G._    (_aside_). Stuck my foot in it. (_Aloud._) You didn't
 allow me to finish. Too young to marry a young man.

   _Alice._    Indeed! Well, I'll never marry an old one, if I live to
 be as old as my grandmother. I do detest old men, and middle-aged men
 too.

   _Mr. G._    (_aside_). Stuck my foot in it again.

   _Mrs. G._   So much for your first reason. What is your second?

   _Mr. G._    My second is, Alice can do better than to marry at all.
 Look at that head. How beautifully the reasoning bumps are developed! A
 phrenologist would go wild with ecstasy with his hands upon that head.

   _Alice._    Would he? He'd get them well scratched for his assurance.

   _Mr. G._    (_Rising, placing plate on table, and speaking with
 bombastic enthusiasm._) Alice, 'tis the era of progress. Woman's rights
 will soon be fully recognized, and woman take her place among the
 gifted and the learned. They will be called to the bar, the pulpit.
 Think of that time, and prepare to take your place,—to rule, and not be
 ruled. Married life for you! Preposterous! 'Twould be a galling chain
 'gainst which your noble intellect would chafe and worry.

   _Alice._    Uncle, are you crazy?

   _Mrs. G._   Poor Simon, has second childhood come so soon to you?

   _Mr. G._    My dear, let's change the subject.

   _Mrs. G._   Certainly; to the third and last reason. What is that?

   _Mr. G._    The third and last? That I refuse to make public.

   _Mrs. G._   What! you have another reason?

   _Mr. G._    I have, and it's a clincher; but I positively refuse to
 give it.

   _Mrs. G._   To your own lawful wife? to her from whom you have often
 said you have no secrets? Simon Graylock, I'm ashamed of you.

   _Mr. G._    But, my dear Susan—

   _Mrs. G._   Don't dear me, Mr. Graylock. You are a very ungrateful
 man. Do I deserve this treatment? Have I not sacrificed my young and
 ardent admirers for your sake? Have I not crushed out the brightness
 and gayety of my young life to settle down, and become the slave of a
 man old enough to be my father? For what? To have your confidence
 withheld from me—

   _Mr. G._    Sue—

   _Mrs. G._   Silence, Mr. Graylock! When I fondly hoped, in making our
 Alice happy, to brighten our home with the presence of gay, lively
 company—

   _Mr. G._    Susan—

   _Mrs. G._   Silence, sir! I must be content with your company; not
 even allowed to share your confidence. You ought to be ashamed of
 yourself. I wonder your iron-gray locks do not turn white with shame.
 They look streaked enough. You want to dye them. You'd better. Disguise
 yourself somehow. Keep out of my sight, for I'm thoroughly ashamed of
 you. Come, Alice, I'll not waste my time with such a wretch.

   _Alice._    But, Aunt Susy, my marriage—

   _Mrs. G._   Must wait till my lord and master concludes to give his
 third reason. O Simon, Simon! you've broken my heart. (_Weeps._)
 You—you—you've br-br-br-oken my heart.

                                       [_Exit_, R., _followed by_ ALICE.

   _Mr. G._    (_looks off_ R., _then speaks slowly_). Well, I never!
 Bless my soul! Goodness gracious! Heavens and earth! Here's a tornado,
 an earthquake, a hurricane! The wife of my bosom, the partner of my
 joys, in the enjoyment of a season of calm and tranquil delight, gets
 up, and—Well, well, here's blighted hearthstones, blasted happiness,
 and for what? For an untold reason. Make public that reason? disclose
 it to the partner of my joys? Never! distinctly, emphatically, and
 unequivocally, never! Tell her that I oppose my niece's marriage
 because upon that marriage I, her lawful guardian, must pay into her
 hands the sum of ten thousand dollars, left in my hands by my deceased
 brother, her father, to be so paid on the occurrence of her marriage,
 which marriage must have my consent? Never! She would drive me from her
 presence with scorn,—or any thing else that was handy. I can't part
 with the money now. This unlucky, happy day must be kept far, far away.
 But my wife, she must be appeased. How can I bring back her smiles? Ah,
 "The Magic Dye!" She would see manhood in its prime, raven locks, and
 all that sort of thing, about her home. She shall. I will disguise
 myself. The die is cast. She will be pleased with the change: she can't
 help it. The smile will return to her rosy lips, and all be bright
 again. Wilkins can transform me in five minutes. He shall. I shall dye
 happy, and live happy ever after. (_Strikes bell._) I'll make a
 confidant of Bounce. No, I won't. I'll mystify him to—(_Enter_ BOUNCE
 L.)

   _Bounce._   Did you ring, sir?

   _Mr. G._    Bounce, I am about to commit a desperate act.

   _Bounce._   _H_another? Why, you've only been married _h_a month!

   _Mr. G._    I am about to leave this home, to go—no matter where; to
 do—no matter what. You are a faithful servant. You will keep my secret.
 (_Aside._) I know he won't.

   _Bounce._   _H_as the _h_apple of my _h_eye, when I know it.

   _Mr. G._    When your mistress asks for me, you will say—nothing;
 when they search for me, you will lead them to the—well; you will lead
 them somewhere, anywhere, but where I am—where I go to dye. You
 understand. Silence, remember. I was here, I am gone, silently,
 mysteriously (_creeps to door_, R.), like the expiring flame of a
 candle. Puff! I'm gone.

                                                              [_Exit_ R.

   _Bounce._   My _h_eyes! master's _h_out of 'is 'ead. 'E's gone off
 suiciding, _h_as sure _h_as _h_eggs. 'Ere's _h_a situation for _h_a
 'ouse'old. What's to be done? 'E must be stopped, but 'ow? _H_i'll call
 mistress. Oh, 'ere she _h_is! (_Enter_ MRS. GRAYLOCK R.)

   _Mrs. G._   Has your master gone out, John?

   _Bounce._   _H_o, mistress, _h_i'm _h_all _h_unstrung. 'E's out of
 'is 'ead, 'e _h_is. 'E's gone somewhere, _h_and 'e's going to do
 something _h_awful,—put a _h_end to 'imself. _H_it's 'orrible!

   _Mrs. G._   What do you mean?

   _Bounce._   'E said _h_i must lead you to the well. 'E's going to
 drown 'imself, _h_only the well is dry, _h_and he can't. Perhaps 'e's
 going to the stable to sacrifice 'imself _h_on the 'alter. _H_o,
 _h_it's 'orrible!

   _Mrs. G._   Nonsense, Bounce; he's gone out for a walk.

   _Bounce._   Yes, _h_an' 'e'll walk _h_into 'is grave, _h_an' then
 'e'll walk nights, and scare us to death. _H_o, _h_it's 'orrible!

   _Mrs. G._   John Bounce, have you been drinking?

   _Bounce._   _H_i 'ave, _h_i 'ave; tea, green tea; Young 'yson. _H_o,
 you'll never set your young _h_eyes _h_on's noble form _h_again. 'E's
 gone to die.

   _Mrs. G._   Gone to die? I see it all: the wretch!

   _Bounce._   So do _h_i, missus,—'is cold remains, _h_a long
 procession. Poor master! 'is _h_own 'osses will never carry 'im
 _h_again!

   _Mrs. G._   John Bounce, you are a fool! Stop your snivelling, and
 listen to me. Your master has no thought of taking his life. He is
 bound on a very foolish errand, the purport of which I know. As he has
 tried to frighten us, we will endeavor to turn the tables upon him.
 Call Patty.

   _Bounce._   Yes, ma'am. You're sure 'e's not gone _h_insane?

   _Mrs. G._   So sure of it that I shall prevent his entrance to the
 house for the present. You will lock all the doors, and fasten the
 windows, except one in the kitchen. When you have done that, go to his
 room, get his rifle, and return here.

   _Bounce._   My _h_eyes! what _h_is coming to this 'ouse? _H_o,
 _h_it's 'orrible!

                                                              [_Exit_ R.

   _Mrs. G._   So my good husband, evidently vexed at my assumed anger,
 is about to execute his threat of dyeing. Let me see if I cannot turn
 this to good account, and fix the day for Alice's marriage. That third
 reason seems to be the impediment; but, if I cannot find that out, I
 will at least gain his consent by stratagem. O my good Simon! if I
 cannot win your confidence, I will teach you such a lesson that you
 will never say dye again. (_Enter_ PATTY R.)

   _Mrs. G._   Patty.

   _Patty._    Yes, ma'am.

   _Mrs. G._   I believe you are very fond of romantic adventures.

   _Patty._    Indeed, I am, ma'am, though I never had one in my life.

   _Mrs. G._   I am about to throw one in your way. Mr. Graylock will
 soon return to the house in disguise; that is, he has gone to have his
 hair and beard dyed. I have given orders to have the doors and windows
 locked. He will gain an entrance, after some difficulty, to this room.
 Once here, John Bounce and you, with doors locked, must keep guard over
 him. Whatever he may say or do, you must not recognize him as your
 master, but treat him as a burglar. You understand?

   _Patty._    Indeed I do. Trust me to treat him as a burglar. I'll
 pound him with the broom, and John shall fire a few bullets into him to
 keep him quiet.

   _Mrs. G._   No, no: there must be no violence. I rely upon your
 discretion. You are both old servants of his, and will not fail to
 treat him respectfully. It's only a frolic of his young wife, at which
 he will laugh heartily when it is over. (_Bell rings._) There's the
 bell. Should it be he, do not open the door.

   _Patty._    I will remember.

                                                              [_Exit_ R.

   _Mrs. G._   Now, then, to rehearse my part in the grand tragedy.
 (_Enter_ PATTY R.)

   _Patty._    Mr. Cheeny, ma'am. (_Enter_ Mr. CHEENY R.)

   _Mrs. G._   Ah, Ralph; welcome!

                                                        [_Exit_ PATTY R.

   _Ralph_     (_shaking hands_). My dear Mrs. Graylock, this is jolly,
 to see you in such good spirits. Am I right? You have succeeded? (MRS.
 G. _shakes her head_.) No?

   _Mrs. G._   No, my dear friend; the enemy is still strongly
 intrenched behind the bulwarks of obstinacy, from which neither smiles,
 tears, nor reproaches can drive him.

   _Ralph._    And the assailing party, discomfited, is about to retire
 from the contest?

   _Mrs. G._   Never! We have inscribed upon our banners the motto,
 "Never say die!"

   _Ralph._    Good! You're the best friend a man ever had. But where's
 Alice? (_Enter_ ALICE L.)

   _Alice._    O Ralph, it's all over! He'll never give his consent.

   _Ralph._    Then, my dear Alice, we will do without it. An unexpected
 turn in business affairs to-day has made me as independent as a nabob.
 I should have liked your crusty old uncle's blessing; but, as he won't
 give it, we'll see Parson Clark, say next Tuesday, be married, take a
 journey to Niagara, and, on our return, settle quietly into married
 life. What's to hinder?

   _Mrs. G._   The crusty old uncle's wife.

   _Ralph._    Eh, my clear Mrs. Graylock! A thousand pardons for my
 levity. He is crusty, you are lovely. "In contrasts lieth love's
 delight," you know. You will place no bar to our union.

   _Mrs. G._   Stop. We have begun a battle: let's fight it out. If
 Alice marries without her _crusty_ old uncle's consent, where's her
 fortune?

   _Ralph._    Her fortune? I never knew she had one. "Her face is her
 fortune."

   _Mrs. G._   With ten thousand dollars with which to buy mirrors to
 see it in if she please.

   _Alice._    Why, Aunt Susy! I never heard of it.

   _Mrs. G._   Nor I. But it's true, for I've seen the papers. 'Twas
 left you by your father, to be paid when you should marry with Mr.
 Graylock's consent.

   _Ralph._    Why, this is charming!

   _Alice._    Do you think you like me any better, Ralph?

   _Ralph._    Ten thousand times! That is, you understand, I'm not
 mercenary; but you deserve it, you're such a dear, sweet, nice—

   _Mrs. G._   Attention, company! Business! I am going to gain his
 consent. Ralph, sit at that table, and write, if you please.

   _Ralph_     (_sits at table_; ALICE _leans on his chair_; MRS. G.
 _stands_ L. _of table_). Yes; proceed.

   _Mrs. G._   "I, Simon Graylock, being in sound mind and body"—(_Bell
 rings._) Hark! that's he. Don't mind. Write.

   _Ralph._    "Sound mind and body."

   _Mrs. G._   "Hereby bequeath to my dearly-beloved friend, Ralph
 Cheeny"—(_Bell rings violently._)

   _Ralph._    "Beloved friend, Ralph Cheeny." Go on.

   _Mrs. G._   "My affectionate niece, Alice Chase"—(_Bell rings
 violently._)

   _Ralph._    "Alice Chase:" that's you, Ally. Go on.

   _Mrs. G._   "To have and to hold, as his lawful wife, from this day
 forth and forevermore. And to this union I give my consent, and
 subscribe my name." That's all. He has stopped ringing. (_Dog barks._)

   _Mr. G._    (_outside_). Hero, Hero, old boy, don't you know your
 master? (_Dog barks. Shouting._)

   _Mrs. G._   He's getting into the garden: he will soon be here. We
 must retire.

   _Ralph._    But what is it all about?

   _Mrs. G._   Ask no questions. Let me arrange that paper. I will turn
 the writing underneath, leaving a blank space for his signature. (_Dog
 barks._)

   _Mr. G._    Clear out, you brute! There goes my coat! Murder! help!

   _Ralph._    Shall I run to his assistance?

   _Mrs. G._   Not for the world! Come this way. I will explain all.
 [_Exeunt_ R. _Then enter, hurriedly_, L., MR. G., _his hair and beard
 dyed black, one coat-tail, torn off, in his hand_.]

   _Mr. G._    Confound that dog! He has decidedly curtailed my
 enjoyment. (_Holds up coat-tail._) Is it possible I am so transformed
 as to become a terror to my own terrier? Where is everybody? Doors
 locked, windows fastened, and nobody to let me into my own house! A
 pretty state of affairs, truly! No matter: I have gained an entrance,
 and now for a good surprise. (_Takes hand-mirror from table._) What a
 change! The Simon Graylock of twenty-five takes the place of the Simon
 Graylock of fifty. Glorious! Won't I make a sensation? I can see my
 wife's look of astonishment and pleasure. I can hear her rapturous "O
 Simon, you beauty!" Eh? what's that? (_Turns to_ L., _as_ JOHN BOUNCE
 _enters, locks the door, and stands with his rifle at_ "_present_.")
 Well, what's the matter? Eh! what's that? (_Turns_ R., _as_ PATTY
 _enters, locks the door, and stands with a broom at_ "_present_.")
 What's the meaning of this?

   _Bounce._   Silence! Not _h_a sound! not _h_a, step! Sh—!

   _Patty._    Silence! Not a look! not a breath! Sh—!

               _Patty and John_ (_together_). If you move, if you speak,
 you are a dead man. Sh—!

   _Mr. G._    Why, John! Patty! you idiots! don't you know your master?

               _Patty and John_ (_together_). Master! you! Ha, ha, ha!

   _Mr. G._    Now stop that duet, or out of this house you go without
 warning. Unlock those doors, and call your mistress.

   _Bounce._   Call the police. _H_i know you? You're _h_a burglar, _h_a
 thief! But we're wide _h_awake. You're caught.

   _Patty._    Yes, Mr. Jack Sheppard, your foot's in the trap. You've
 lost your coat-tails, but that's nothing to the loss of your liberty:
 ten years in prison.

   _Mr. G._    Am I awake? John Bounce, who's your master?

   _Bounce._   Simon Graylock, _H_esquire, _h_a respectable,
 middle-_h_aged gent, rather plain _h_in 'is _h_external _h_appearance,
 but with _h_an 'art _h_as big _h_as an _h_ox.

   _Patty._    Yes, Mr. Burglar, as nice an old gentleman as you ever
 met.

   _Mr. G._    Am not I that gentleman?

   _Patty._    You! Nonsense!

   _Bounce._   You! _H_absurd! Why, you look like what you _h_are,—_h_a
 regular 'ousebreaker.

   _Mr. G._    I'll break your head if you call me that name again. I am
 master of this house; and as such I order you instantly to unlock those
 doors, and call your mistress.

   _Patty._    What impudence!

   _Bounce._   _H_and what _h_assurance!

   _Mr. G._    (_approaching_ PATTY). Young woman, out of my way!

   _Patty_     (_points broom at him_). Help! murder! thieves!

   _Bounce_    (_points rifle at him_). 'Ere, you, none er that! Lay
 _h_a finger _h_on that young woman, _h_and I'll fire. (MR. G. _backs up
 stage; they follow with their weapons pointed at him_.)

   _Mr. G._    Confound it! this is ridiculous! Go away. (_Gets up into
 chair._)

   _Bounce._   Wretched _h_outcast, would you lift your 'and _h_against
 _h_a woman? Would you—

   _Mr. G._    Put down that gun.

   _Bounce._   Never! You _h_ex_h_asperate the British lion; you
 _h_insult the _h_object of my 'art's _h_adoration; you—you—you—

   _Mr. G._    Put down that gun. It might go off.

   _Bounce._   _H_it might; but you can't.—Patty, _h_i'll put _h_an
 _h_end to 'is miserable _h_existence.

   _Patty._    No; leave him to the officer of justice.

   _Bounce._   _H_i can't. 'E 'as _h_insulted you, _h_and _h_i must 'ave
 blood, blood, blood!

   _Mr. G._    Put down that gun! Here, Sue! Susan! Susannah! Help!
 help! help! (_Knock at door_, L.)

   _Mrs. G._   (_outside_). Open the door, Patty. (PATTY _unlocks the
 door_, R. MRS. G., ALICE, _and_ RALPH _enter, stand huddled by the
 door_.) Have you got him?

   _Mr. G._    Got him! And she the wife of my bosom! Susy!

   _Bounce._   Silence! (_Threatens with gun._)

   _Mr. G._    Susan!

   _Patty._    Silence! (_Flourishes broom._)

   _Mr. G._    Susannah!

   _Mrs. G._   Why, the wretch knows my name!

   _Mr. G._    Of course he does. 'Tis I, your own true, loving husband,
 Simon Graylock.

   _Ralph._    Egad, the rascal has assurance!

   _Mrs. G._   Did you ever?

   _Alice._    No, I never.

   _Mr. G._    (_coming forward_). Oh, come! this is all nonsense, you
 know. You're not going to cut me off, are you? I am your husband.

   _Mrs. G._   My husband! Why, he's old enough to be your father.

   _Mr. G._    (_aside_). There's a "puff" for "The Magic Dye."
 (_Aloud._) You don't know me. Am I, then, so changed?

   _Mrs. G._   You look like a burglar.

   _Ralph._    What a thievish look there is about his mouth!

   _Alice._    And such cunning eyes! Oh, do, Aunt Susy, let John call
 the police, and have him taken away!

   _Mr. G._    It's only the effects of the dye, you know. I've had my
 hair and whiskers . Gives me quite a juvenile look; quite the
 dandy, eh?

   _Ralph._    Oh! come, sir, this won't do. You have entered this house
 in search of plunder. Your attempt has been foiled by the keenness of
 this lady, who, in the absence of her husband, can well protect his
 treasures.

   _Mrs. G._   John, call the police.

   _Mr. G._    John, if you do, I'll discharge you without a
 character.—Susannah, be reasonable. If you don't know me, you must know
 these clothes. Are they not your husband's?

   _Mrs. G._   My husband's? Gracious heaven! I see it all! My husband
 has been murdered, cruelly murdered! and you have stolen his clothing.
 Oh, wretched woman that I am!—John, call the police.

   _Mr. G._    And I say, no. Confound it! Do you want to drive me out
 of my senses?

   _Mrs. G._   Oh, take me away! My life's in danger. Oh, somebody take
 me away!

   _Ralph._    Fear not, madam. I will protect you. If your husband has
 gone, you shall find in me a watchful guardian and a trusty friend.
 Fear not: the miscreant shall not harm you.

   _Mr. G._    Confound his impudence! O Susy! what can I do to make you
 own me? I think I am your husband; in fact, I'm quite sure of it.

   _Mrs. G._   Can you write?

   _Mr. G._    Write? I signed a check for two hundred dollars, which
 you now have in your porte-monnaie.

   _Mrs. G._   Can you write your name?

   _Mr. G._    To be sure I can.

   _Mrs. G._   Then write it. I shall recognize my husband's
 handwriting, I think; yes, I'm quite sure of it. Write at once: there
 are pen, ink, and paper.

   _Mr. G._    I'll be hanged if I do any such thing! This is absurd,
 ridiculous!

   _Mrs. G._   John, call the police.

   _Bounce._   _H_instantly, missus.

   _Mr. G._    Stop! I'll write. (_Goes to table_, C.) If ever I'm
 caught in such a ridiculous position as this, may I be—

   _Mrs. G._   (_goes to table_). Here! write your name there.

   _Mr. G._    (_sits, takes up pen, then looks up at_ MRS. G., _who
 stands immovable_). And that's the wife of my bosom, the partner of my
 joys! and I've got to write my name before—No! I'll be hanged if I do!
 (_Throws down pen._)

   _Mrs. G._   John, the police.

   _Bounce._   _H_instantly, missus. (JOHN _and_ PATTY L., FRANK _and_
 ALICE R.)

   _Mr. G._    No, no: I'll sign! (_Writes._)

   _Mrs. G._   (_takes up paper_). What do I see? 'Tis he, my husband,
 my Simon! (_Throws her arms about his neck, and repeatedly embraces him
 in a frantic manner._)

   _Ralph._    What do I hear? 'Tis he, your uncle, my Alice!
 (_Embraces_ ALICE.)

   _Bounce._   _H_it's _h_all _h_up. 'Tis 'e 'imself, Patty. (_Embraces_
 PATTY.)

   _Patty._    Let me alone, you exasperating Englishman! (_Releases
 herself._)

   _Mr. G._    Confound it! Susy, don't smother me!

   _Mrs. G._   O Simon! something's burning! I smell brimstone!

   _Mr. G._    Smell fiddlesticks! It's "The Magic Dye." It makes me
 sick: I wish I was well rid of it. And now be kind enough to tell me
 the meaning of this. I've been locked out of my house, my clothes
 lacerated by my dog, been threatened with death by my servant, with the
 police by my wife; and am threatened with a brain-fever, if I don't
 know what all this is for.

   _Mrs. G._   For the third reason, Simon.

   _Mr. G._    Eh? You're not going to bring up that subject again?

   _Mrs. G._   Oh, no! that's all settled.

   _Mr. G._    Settled? How?

   _Mrs. G._   (_takes paper from table, and reads_). "I, Simon
 Graylock, being in sound mind and body, hereby bequeath to my dearly
 beloved friend Ralph Cheeny, my affectionate niece Alice Chase, to have
 and to hold, as his lawful wife, from this day forth and forevermore;
 and to this union I give my consent, and subscribe my name." Signed,
 "Simon Graylock."

   _Mr. G._    Why, this is a swindle! Obtaining goods under false
 pretences! And you, the wife of my bosom, the partner—Do you know what
 this would cost me, were it known?

   _Mrs. G._   Yes; ten thousand dollars: Alice's portion.

   _Ralph._    Of which she is in no immediate want; in fact, I think I
 would prefer to leave it in your hands.

   _Mr. G._    My dearly beloved, take her, and be happy. When I die,
 you will find I have not forgotten you.

   _Mrs. G._   As did the partner of your joys, the last time you dyed;
 eh, Simon?

   _Mr. G._    My dear, let's change the subject.

   _Mrs. G._   If we could only change the color of your hair as easily!
 Why, Simon, it's purple!

   _Mr. G._    Is it? Then don't look at it, don't speak of it; for, if
 you're not pleased, I have dyed in vain.

   _Mrs. G._   No: for it has helped to make two people happy who were
 dying for each other, helped your dear wife to triumph in a good cause,
 and helped us all to a little amusement—

   _Mr. G._    At my expense. Sue, Susan, Susannah, let's change the
 subject. Never say die, and I never will.

            JOHN BOUNCE _and_ PATTY, R. MR. _and_ MRS. G., C.
                    RALPH _and_ ALICE, L. _Curtain._

[Illustration:

  THE CHAMPION OF HER SEX.
]




                        THE CHAMPION OF HER SEX.


                     (FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)


                              CHARACTERS.

            MRS. DUPLEX, a widow with money and a mission.
            MRS. DEBORAH HARTSHORN, her mother.
            FLORENCE DUPLEX, her daughter.
            CAROLINE DUPLEX, her step-daughter.
            RHODA DENDRON, │ her friends.
            POLLIE NAY,    │
            KATIE O'NAIL, the cook.
            MAGGIE DONOVAN, the chambermaid.


                    COSTUMES MODERN AND APPROPRIATE.

  SCENE.—_Apartment in_ MRS. DUPLEX'S _house. Lounge_, L.; _two
    chairs_, R.; _table with writing-materials, and an easy-chair_, C.

   _Mrs. H._   (_outside_, R.) Don't tell me, yeou imperdent thing!
 Clear out, I tell yeou!

   _Maggie_    (_outside_, R.) Faix! not for the likes av yez, at all,
 at all.

   _Mrs. H._   (_outside_, R.). Yeou won't, hay? We'll see about it.
 (_Enter_ MAGGIE, R., _followed by_ MRS. H., _brandishing a broom_.)

   _Maggie._   Aisy, Mrs. Hartshorn, or it's yersilf will be sent to
 coort for salt and bathery, sure.

   _Mrs. H._   Don't care! If I'm sent to prison for life, I mean to
 have my orders obeyed.

   _Maggie._   Faix, an' it's not yersilf is the lady of the house, at
 all, at all.

   _Mrs. H._   Don't make no difference. Yeou take that broom, and sweep
 out my room, and be quick about it!

   _Maggie._   It's warning I'll give to onct the misthress cooms, Mrs.
 Hartshorn. Faix! there's a power of work in the house, and a heap of
 misthresses to order about—bad luck to 'em! Niver mind, I'll swape the
 room; an', if ye find any thing broke, it's not the fault av Maggie
 Donovan. (_Aside._) Only jist I'll—I'll have one good crack at her
 chiny vases, so I will.

                                                              [_Exit_ L.

   _Mrs. H._   (_sits in chair_, C., _takes out her smelling-bottle,
 removes stopper, places her finger over it, and applies it to her nose,
 snuffs it, gives a little start, with something between a sigh and an
 exclamation, sounding like "Kee," accompanying it. This should be
 repeated wherever the word appears in the dialogue_). Well! if Hannah
 Merria's heouse ain't a-going to eternal smash, it's not for want er
 help. Sich actions I never did see. There's that ere cook! If I stick
 my head into the kitchen (kee), I'm sure to be saluted with the
 dishcloth; and, if I go up stairs, there's always a broom laying round
 loose for me to tumble over (kee). For the land of liberty's sake,
 what's the use of having a home if you don't take care of it? Neow,
 here's Hannah Merria, whose husband died a year ago, leaving all his
 property to her, his second wife, and who ought to be the happiest
 woman in the world in consequence (kee),—not of his death, but the
 money,—a-prancin' round in perlitical circuses, ravin' like a lunatic
 about "speers," and "rights," and "sufferings," and leaving her home to
 take care of itself. She's the queerest young 'un I ever had (kee).
 (_Enter_ CAROLINE, R.)

   _Caroline._ What's the trouble, grandmother?

   _Mrs. H._   Oh, it's them hired gals, Ca'line. They've made me crazy
 with their shiftlessness. I do think Hannah Merria might stay at home,
 and look arter them.

   _Caroline._ My good step-mother has other affairs to occupy her time.
 You know she is one of the leaders of the Female Reform Club.

   _Mrs. H._   Then she'd better bring her club home, and trounce these
 sassy critters into some kind of reform (kee).

   _Caroline._ She thinks she is engaged in a noble work. She is the
 champion of her sex.

   _Mrs. H._   Champion fiddlesticks! There's no sense in such
 carryings-on. What would my old man, Hezekiah Hartshorn (kee)—bless his
 dear dead and gone memory—have thought if I'd 'a' gone off in this
 fashion, a meddlin' with things that women don't know nothin' about?
 When he took me for better or for wus, sez he to me, "Deborah, there's
 the old homestid,—a snug house and a likely farm,—all ours. Yeou take
 kere of the house, and I'll take kere of the farm. Outside I'll be
 master, inside you shall be mistress; and we won't interfere." That's
 all the bargain we ever made, and we stuck to it. I took good care to
 make his home pleasant; but meddlin' with his affairs would have ben as
 rediculous as it would have ben for him to stick his nose into the
 churn every time I made butter. No, indeed! Let woman do her own work,
 and leave man to his'n.

   _Caroline._ Ah, grandmother, the world has turned over a great many
 times since your day. Women have acquired larger ideas of usefulness,
 and have found in intellectual pursuits release from household
 drudgery. Triumphs in medical practice, and success in the pulpit, have
 fired them with ambition to take their place beside the sterner sex in
 those educational, scientific, and political spheres, for which they
 feel themselves equally well fitted.

   _Mrs. H._   (Kee.) Do hear that young 'un talk; and she don't believe
 a word of it, nuther.

   _Caroline._ But my good step-mother does; and, if she can elevate her
 sex, she is doing a noble work.

   _Mrs. H._   Noble cat's foot! If she wants to elervate her sex, as
 she calls it, let her stay to home, and look after things. If that
 Katie don't want elervating with a broomstick, then I'm mistaken (kee).
 Why don't she give you a eddication, instead of keeping you drudging
 about the house, when you should be at school with Florence? She's got
 your father's money, and that's all she keres for (kee).

   _Caroline._ I am contented, grandmother. I make no complaint.

   _Mrs. H._   'Cause you're meek as Moses. But I'll give her a piece of
 my mind, you see ef I don't.

   _Caroline._ Don't get angry, grandmother. To-day Florence returns
 after six months' absence at school. Let her find every thing bright
 and pleasant.

   _Mrs. H._   Lor-a-massy! So she does. Well, I'm glad on it. Ef she
 don't upset things, then I'm greatly mistaken. (_Bell rings_, R.) She's
 a dear good girl.

   _Caroline._ Indeed she is, and deserves all the care and affection
 bestowed upon her. (_Enter_ KATIE, R., _with a scrubbing-brush in her
 hand_.)

   _Katie._    She's coom, ma'am, she's coom, as rosy and bright as a
 new copper tay-kettle.

   _Caroline._ Who? Florence?

   _Katie._    Indade, it's the truth ye's spakin'; her own swate silf,
 Miss Ca'line.

   _Caroline._ Glorious news! I must run to her at once. Come,
 grandmother.

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

   _Mrs. H._   Bless the child! I must go and fix her somethin' warm.

   _Katie._    Somethin' warm, is it? Faix, jist kape out av the
 kitchen, d'ye mind, or it's yersilf will git somethin' warm.

   _Mrs. H._   Wal, I never! The airs that these critters do put on
 (kee)!

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

   _Katie._    Faix, the ould woman's a sore thrial, that she is.
 There's little chance to kape my sisther Bridget's children in sugar
 and tay, wid her middlin'. (_Enter_ MAGGIE, L., _with a broom_.)

   _Maggie._   An' it's mesilf would likes to know what ye mane by
 demaining yersilf in this fashion, Kate O'Nail. It's little yez know of
 itikate.

   _Katie._    Och, be aisy wid yer spakin', Maggie Donovan. Itikate,
 indade!

   _Maggie._   Isn't it me privilege to tend the bell, I'd like to know?

   _Katie._    To be sure it is. But 'twas the darling Miss Florence
 rowled up to the door; and would I be afther lavin' her on the stips,
 an' you in the attic?

   _Maggie._   It's a desateful tongue ye have. Don't I know ye'd be
 afther liftin' yersilf above yer pots and kittles to my place, to
 betther yer condition?

   _Katie._    Betther my condition, is it? Wid what? Swapin' and
 dustin', and the likes? Niver, at all, at all. When I betther my
 condition, 'twill be as the widded bride of Terence McFunnigafferty.

   _Maggie._   McFunnigafferty! Bad luck to him! he's only a
 hod-carrier.

   _Katie._    He's dacent and respictable; an' it's my belafe, Maggie
 Donovan, ye'd be glad av me chance. Haven't I seen ye castin' sly looks
 that way yersilf?

   _Maggie._   Oh, murther! An', an' me own b'y, Teddy Murphy, sailin'
 the thrackless say—

   _Katie._    Wid a swateheart in ivery port.

   _Maggie._   Och! it's invious ye are, Kate O'Nail; an' it's out av
 place ye are above the kitchen shtair. Away wid yez to yer pots and
 kittles! (_Threatening with broom._)

   _Katie._    An' its out av place ye are onywhere. Be off to yer
 swapin'! (_Threatens with brush. Enter_ FLORENCE _and_ CAROLINE, R.)

   _Florence._ Fie, fie, girls! You're both out of place, quarrelling.
 Ah, Maggie! I'm glad to meet you again. (_Shakes hands with Maggie._)

   _Maggie._   Thank you, Miss Florence. An' it's a warm welcome home to
 yez; an' it's glad I am to see yer own bright face once more.

   _Florence._ And it's glad I am to be here, Maggie. Now I want you and
 Katie to get my trunk up stairs. It's not very heavy, and I wish to
 open it at once.

                         "Take it up tenderly,
                         Fashioned so slenderly,
                         It's fickle and frail."

   _Maggie._   Indade, Miss Florence, I'll do my best with the help of
 very rough company.

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

   _Katie._    Thar's a fling at me! Arrah, I'll give her one thump on
 the fut with the thrunk.

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

   _Caroline._ Welcome, welcome, welcome home! A thousand times welcome,
 Florence! Oh! we have missed you very much. (_They sit on lounge_, L.)

   _Florence._ I'm glad of that, Carrie, for you will be so glad to see
 me now that I can have my own way in every thing; and I'm going to
 spend my time advantageously. I'm going to induce mother to send you
 with me when I return to school.

   _Caroline._ Oh, that would be grand! But I fear you will not succeed.

   _Florence._ But I will. You have as much right to the advantages of
 Rushly Seminary as I; and I will no longer allow you to submit to the
 cruel treatment you are receiving. You go with me: that's settled. But
 where's mother?

   _Caroline._ At a committee-meeting.

   _Florence._ A committee-meeting at eleven o'clock in the forenoon!
 What important project can take her from home at this hour?

   _Caroline._ She is one of the leaders of the Female Reform Club.

   _Florence._ What! my mother! You don't mean to say that she has come
 out for women's rights!

   _Caroline._ She has, most decidedly. She gives all her time to the
 club. She is a very zealous member.

   _Florence._ And who takes care of the house?

   _Caroline._ It takes care of itself. The mistress away, it is very
 hard for me to govern affairs; and grandmother does much harm by her
 kindly-meant interference in household matters.

   _Florence._ It's too bad! Does mother speak at public meetings?

   _Caroline._ She spoke for the first time last night. There's a report
 of her speech in the papers. (_Takes paper from table._) Here it is.

   _Florence_  (_reads_). "Mrs. Duplex, widow of the celebrated
 match-manufacturer, whose decease last winter was chronicled in our
 paper, arose and spoke warmly of the oppression of the female sex. She
 vehemently asserted their ability to achieve success in any path
 trodden by man, and eloquently styled herself the champion of her sex
 in its endeavors to throw off the yoke of bondage, and victoriously
 array itself by the side of man in his onward march of progress." What
 nonsense!

   _Caroline._ Nonsense, Florence? Then you are not in sympathy with the
 woman movement.

   _Florence._ Yes, Carrie: I am an earnest advocate for reform. Noble
 women are doing brave work in _educating_ our sex to a realizing sense
 of their power for good in many of the walks of life heretofore kept
 sacred to the foot of man. But foolish women, who raise the cry of
 oppression or slavery, are no better than the political demagogues of
 the other sex,—loud in speech, but dumb in council.

   _Caroline._ And so you think mother has made a mistake?

   _Florence._ I certainly do. A woman's duty is to care for her
 household. From what little I have seen since I came home, I am
 convinced reform is needed here. (_Bell rings_, R.) If she would
 elevate her sex, I'm sure she could have no better task than to fit
 you—who were left penniless on her hands by a thoughtless father—for
 the station to which you have a right to aspire. (_Enter_ MAGGIE, R.)

   _Maggie._   If ye plase, Miss Florence, yez frinds, the Misses Nay
 and Dendron, are below, axin' for yez.

   _Florence._ Show them up, Maggie. (_Exit_ MAGGIE, R.) I must find
 some way to rid mother of her delusion.

   _Caroline._ I wish you could, Floy, for it is certainly very
 disagreeable for us who are left at home. (RHODA _and_ POLLIE _appear_,
 R.)

   _Rhoda._    May we come in?

   _Florence_  (_jumping up_). To be sure you may. Rhoda, you dear, dear
 girl! (_Kissing her._) Pollie, I'm glad to see you! (_Kissing_ POLLIE.)

   _Rhoda._    Saw you come up, and couldn't wait a minute longer; could
 we, Pollie?

   _Pollie._   No, indeed. We just dropped every thing, and ran across.
 How d'ye do?

   _Rhoda._    Yes; how are ye? Tell us, quick!

   _Pollie._   Had a splendid time, hey?

   _Rhoda._    Not engaged, are you?

   _Pollie._   What you got new for dresses? Why, there's Carrie!
 (_Shakes hands, and kisses._)

   _Rhoda._    Well, I declare, Miss Meekness! you are as still as a
 mouse. (_Shakes hands, and kisses._)

   _Caroline._ She's here, girls, and just as splendid as ever.

   _Rhoda and Pollie_ (_together_). Splendid? Of course she is.

   _Florence._ Come, come, girls; sit down and tell me the news.
 (CAROLINE _and_ RHODA _sit on lounge_, L.; POLLIE _in chair_, R.;
 FLORENCE _in chair_, C.) I'm dying to know what has been going on since
 I left.

   _Pollie._   Well, then, Tilly Dodd's really married.

   _Rhoda._    Pooh! that's an old story. She's talking about getting
 divorced now.

   _Pollie._   Divorced! Why, she's only been married six months!

   _Rhoda._    Six months and ten days. No matter about her. Have you
 read your mother's speech?

   _Florence._ I read a brief notice of it.

   _Rhoda._    I heard it all. She's the champion of her sex. Oh, it was
 grand! She flourished her right hand as majestically as any orator I
 ever heard; and her voice was as strong and clear as Patrick Henry's.

   _Pollie._   Lor, Rhoda, you never heard Patrick Henry.

   _Rhoda._    But I've read his speeches, and they've got the ring of
 his voice in them yet. Ain't you proud of your mother, Flory?

   _Florence._ Not of her last effort, Rhoda.

   _Pollie._   That's where you're right, Floy. I wouldn't like to have
 my mother spouting in that manner. It looks coarse and unladylike.

   _Rhoda._    Well, I don't think I should like to have my mother take
 to that kind of business.

   _Florence._ I like it so little, girls, that I am determined to give
 mother a lesson, if you will grant me your assistance. Our principal,
 Miss Steady, had an attack of "woman's rights" at school last winter;
 and the girls took advantage of it to indulge in a little masquerading,
 which so affected our honored head, that we heard no more of woman's
 rights for the balance of the term. I shouldn't wonder if something of
 the kind would make mother a little less zealous in the cause.

   _Rhoda._    Oh, tell us all about it!

   _Pollie._   Is there any fun in it?

   _Florence._ You shall see. Come to my room. Mother may return at any
 moment, and I do not wish her to see us at present.

   _Pollie._   There's something delightfully mysterious in your
 proceedings, Floy.

   _Rhoda._    Yes: there's mischief in your eyes.

   _Florence._ Perhaps; time will show. Come, I want you too, Carrie.
 [_Exeunt_, R., FLORENCE, RHODA, _and_ POLLIE.]

   _Caroline._ Take me with her! I wish she could. I love Floy too well
 to envy her. But the privileges she enjoys, and to which I feel I am
 entitled, would afford me those opportunities for culture for which I
 have often sighed. (_Enter_ MRS. DUPLEX.)

   _Mrs. D._   Caroline, I am astonished! You sitting here with your
 arms folded, and the house in disorder! Is this a fitting return for my
 care? or have you forgotten that to me you owe all you have in the
 world?

   _Caroline._ You never allow me to forget that, madam. Yet I am
 grateful for your care. Add one favor more, and let me go into the
 world, and earn my living.

   _Mrs. D._   Indeed! As you are anxious to earn a living, perhaps it
 would be as well to commence at home.

   _Caroline._ This life is distasteful—

   _Mrs. D._   There, that's quite enough. I have very important
 business to engage my attention. Set the reception-room in order at
 once. (_Takes off bonnet and shawl, and sits in easy-chair near
 table._)

   _Caroline._ Certainly, madam.

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

   _Mrs. D._   My late lamented husband left me one useless
 incumbrance,—that girl. Strange some people are so hard to manage! Now,
 then, to business. I've a long report to make to-night on the "Scheme
 for Improving the Condition of Motherless Girls." (_Enter_ MRS.
 HARTSHORN, R.)

   _Mrs. H._   Lor, sakes, Hannah Merria! You home?

   _Mrs. D._   Yes, mother, and hard at work.

   _Mrs. H._   (_sitting on lounge, and knitting_). Du tell!

   _Mrs. D._   Yes, mother. There's a wide field of labor opening to
 willing hands. To raise woman from her lowly position, is not that most
 noble work?

   _Mrs. H._   That depends on what she's doing, Hannah Merria. If she's
 scrubbing the floor (kee), the lower the better.

   _Mrs. D._   She was never meant for such ignoble toil.

   _Mrs. H._   Ignoble fiddlesticks! P'r'aps you want the men-folks to
 do that.

   _Mrs. D._   It may be necessary for the triumph of woman. Did you
 read my speech, mother?

   _Mrs. H._   No, I didn't. I've _heard_ enough on 'em to be heartily
 sick. A pretty champion of your sex, you are!

   _Mrs. D._   I hope I am an earnest and an honest one. I have a
 mission,—to lift woman to a higher plane of civilization; and I believe
 I have the power to fulfil it.

   _Mrs. H._   How? By getting up and speaking out in meeting? Never
 heard nothin' like it since Sally Skreecher j'ined the Millerites, and
 hollered so in meetin', that they thought the Angel Gabriel was
 a-tootin' his horn (kee.)

   _Mrs. D._   Ah, mother! you do not understand this noble movement of
 woman.

   _Mrs. H._   I understand washin' and ironin', and that's what I call
 the noblest movement woman ever took a hand in.

   _Mrs. D._   There; that's quite enough: we shall never agree. Be
 quiet, and let me write.

   _Mrs. H._   (Kee.)

   _Mrs. D._   (_writes_). "Silently, but steadily, moves on the mighty
 car of progress"—

   _Mrs. H._   (Kee.)

   _Mrs. D._   "Crushing, beneath its fast revolving wheels, prejudice
 and wrong; upward soars the spirit of freedom, mounting on eagles'
 wings."

   _Mrs. H._   (Kee.) Say goose's wings, Hannah Merria.

   _Mrs. D._   Mother, will you be silent?

   _Mrs. H._   And hear you talk that bosh? Why, every Fourth-of-July
 speaker has said them things year after year since Cornwallis
 surrendered. (_Enter RHODA, R., disguised; a black shawl pinned tightly
 across her breast; faded black bonnet with bright flowers stuck in it;
 large, black cotton gloves, much too long in the fingers, on her hands;
 and parasol._)

   _Rhoda_     (_very extravagant in her gestures_). Where is she? Let
 me look upon her, the deliverer of our race, the champion of our sex!
 Ah, she's here! the noble face, the stately figger! 'Tis she! 'tis she!
 (_Falls at the feet of_ MRS. D.)

   _Mrs. H._   Land er Goshen! that's Hannah Dudley!

   _Mrs. D._   My good woman, can I be of service to you?

   _Rhoda_     (_rises_). You can, you can. I am the mother of nine
 interesting children, whom I have vainly endeavored to support for five
 years by the manufacture of molasses-candy. A sweet occupation, but,
 alas! not profitable; for, work as I will, I can make but just enough
 to satisfy the wants of my children. 'Tis all they have for food.

   _Mrs. H._   Well, they're a sweet set.

   _Mrs. D._   My good woman, why do you come to me?

   _Rhoda._    I come to sit at your feet; to draw into my thirsty soul
 the teachings of your stupendous intellect. Glorious champion of my
 sex, I would wrest from proud man one of his boasted prerogatives.

   _Mrs. D._   Indeed! To what sphere of usefulness do you aspire?

   _Mrs. H._   She's ravin' about paregoric. She ought to be a doctor.

   _Rhoda._    I heard your glorious speech last night, and every fibre
 of my being thrilled beneath the touch of your matchless eloquence. You
 told us we had the ability to achieve success in any occupation where
 man could triumph. I want to be a butcher.

   _Mrs. H._   Heavens and airth! the woman's <DW38>!

   _Rhoda._    Yes, a butcher; that I may give my children strong food,
 for which they hanker. Ah, the mighty butcher! the crafty butcher! the
 skilful butcher! I have gazed upon him with admiration. With what power
 he fells the mighty oxen and—and—things! How skilfully he sends to
 "green fields and pastures new" the sportive lambs! With what grace he
 seizes the portly hog, and, regardless of its piteous cries, ends its
 devouring life! Oh, glorious champion of our sex, teach me to excel in
 this great branch of usefulness, and fill the mouths of my babes!

   _Mrs. D._   Woman, have you escaped from a lunatic asylum?

   _Mrs. H._   Lor, Hannah Merria, she's 'sterricky.

   _Mrs. D._   The poor woman's mad.

   _Rhoda._    Mad? Then 'tis you who have made me so. You promise, and
 do not fulfil. Make me a butcher, or I will proclaim you a traitor to
 our cause, from the market-place, in the council-hall, from the
 house-tops. Champion of the sex! Bah! Give my children beef, pork,
 mutton, or "get you to a nunnery," quick.

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

   _Mrs. D._   Poor woman, poor woman!

   _Mrs. H._   Nothin' but skin and bones (kee). This all comes of
 political circuses. O Hannah Merria! the millinariam won't come any
 sooner for all yer speechifyin'. Better stay to home. Lor sakes! who's
 this? (_Enter_ POLLIE, _disguised. Old-fashioned straw bonnet, bright
 ribbons; faded shawl of bright patterns; white cotton gloves, very
 large, upon hands._)

   _Pollie._   W-w-where is she,—the ch-ch-champion of our s-s-s-s-sex?

   _Mrs. D._   What do you wish, good woman?

   _Pollie._   'T-t-tis she: I know th-th-th-that v-v-voice! D-d-dear
 Mrs. D-D-Duplex, last night you m-m-moved me with the f-f-f-force of
 your el-l-l-oquence. I have long b-b-blushed at our de-p-p-p-pendent
 situation: I have thrown off the c-ch-chain, and stand p-p-prepared to
 wrest from man one of his pr-p-proud p-p-p-p-prerogatives.

   _Mrs. H._   There's an awful waste of paregoric there.

   _Mrs. D._   And pray, my good woman, to what new field of labor do
 you aspire?

   _Pollie._   B-b-before I heard your v-voice, I listened to one that
 charmed my f-f-f-fancy. M-m-make me like him, and I will b-b-bless you.
 I would be an auc-sh-sh-shuneer.

   _Mrs. D._   An auctioneer! do you want to insult me?

   _Pollie._   Insult you, the ch-ch-champion of our s-s-s-sex?
 N-n-never! B-b-but an auc-sh-sh-shuneer I must be. G-g-going,
 g-g-going, g-g-gone. Oh, it's splendid! How much am I offered?
 St-st-stove, t-t-table, ch-chair, in one l-l-lot. H-h-how much?
 G-g-going, g-going—

   _Mrs. H._   (Kee.)

   _Pollie._   G-g-gone! Thank you, marm.

   _Mrs. D._   Woman, leave this house at once!

   _Pollie._   What f-f-for? Ain't you the ch-ch-champion of our
 s-s-sex? D-d-didn't you s-s-say we were f-f-f-fitted to t-t-take the
 place of m-m-man? and ain't I g-g-going to be an auc-sh-shuneer, hey?

   _Mrs. D._   You are fit for nothing but the workhouse. Instantly
 leave this room, or I will have you driven into the street.

   _Pollie._   Ch-ch-champion of our s-s-sex! P-p-pooh! You're an
 imp-p-postor: you d-d-deceive us with your sp-p-peeches. If you don't
 make me an auc-sh-sh-shuneer, I'll d-denounce you,—yes, I will, now, at
 once. I'm g-g-going, g-g-going, g-gone.

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

   _Mrs. D._   Was there ever any thing so provoking? It's the work of
 our enemies.

   _Mrs. H._   No, 'tain't, Hannah: it's a nat'ral impediment.

   _Mrs. D._   Mother, shut up!

   _Mrs. H._   Wal, I never! Is that the way you honor your parent?
 (Kee.)

   _Mrs. D._   It seems I am to be made a laughing-stock for my speech.
 Could I have been too hasty? (_Enter_ FLORENCE, R.)

   _Mrs. D._   Goodness, child! you home again? (_Rises._)

   _Florence_  (_tragically_). Stop! Approach me not. Busy rumor, with
 its thousand tongues, says, last night you asserted, in a crowded
 assembly, that woman could achieve success in any path trodden by man.
 I come to you for truth. Speak, mother! did you speak those words? is
 rumor true?

   _Mrs. D._   I did say so, _Florence._

   _Florence_  (_lightly_). Then, my good mother, you will be delighted
 to hear that your daughter has chosen the profession in which she hopes
 to win fame. I want to be a lawyer.

   _Mrs. H._   Lor sakes!

   _Mrs. D._   Florence, you are trifling with a serious matter.

   _Florence._ Yes, 'tis a serious matter. But I feel that in that
 profession I can win success. "Gentlemen of the jury, I stand before
 you to plead the cause of a young girl, who needs all your sympathy.
 She was the idol of fond parents; but, alas! her mother died: her
 father took to his side a second bride, and she was neglected. Not
 content with this, on his death-bed the father cut her off from any
 share of his wealth, and left to the mercy of her step-mother."

   _Mrs. D._   Florence, what means this?

   _Florence._ "Gentlemen of the jury, can you ask? Beneath this roof is
 one who is entitled to all the benefits of wealth and education; but
 she is made a drudge: while she who should rear her tenderly sees not
 the oppressed in her own home, but seeks abroad that labor for the
 improvement of the condition of motherless girls which should be
 commenced beneath her own roof."

   _Mrs. D._   Florence, are you serious, or are you crazy?

   _Mrs. H._   Not a bit of it, Hannah Merria (kee).

   _Florence._ Only practising, mother. (_Enter_ RHODA, R.)

   _Rhoda._    Mrs. Duplex, champion of our sex, I want to be an actor!

   _Mrs. D._   An actress, you mean.

   _Rhoda._    No, an actor. Richard the Third, Richelieu, Macbeth, are
 the characters I would play. They are manly. If man can excel in them,
 so can woman. Have you not said we could win success—

   _Mrs. D._   Silence! Don't let me hear that word again.

   _Rhoda._    Yes: let me tread the boards as Macbeth.

                "Is this a dagger which I see before me?"

   _Mrs. H._   (Kee.) That young one's <DW38> too.

   _Rhoda._    Or as Richelieu.

  "In the lexicon of youth, which Fate preserves for a bright manhood,
  There's no such word as fail!"

   _Mrs. H._   (Kee.) Mad as a March hare!

   _Rhoda._    Or as Richard.

              "Off with his head! So much for Buckingham."

   _Mrs. H._   Land sakes! that would be too much for him.

   _Mrs. D._   Enough of this, Rhoda Dendron. I do not care to be made
 the butt of your amusement. We can dispense with your company. (_Enter_
 POLLIE, R.)

   _Pollie._   Mrs. Duplex, champion of your sex, I have chosen my
 profession. I will be a general in the army.

   _Mrs. D._   Pollie Nay!

   _Pollie._   A glorious life, at the head of a host, charging upon the
 foe. "Up and at them!"

               "Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!"

   _Mrs. D._   Silence! Florence, what does all this mean? Gracious
 goodness! whom have we here? (_Enter_ MAGGIE, L., _with a rough
 pea-jacket and a tarpaulin hat added to her costume_.)

   _Mrs. D._   Maggie, what does this mean?

   _Maggie._   If ye plaze, missus, they towld me nixt door that all the
 women-folks was a-goin' to step into the men's places; and so I thought
 I'd jist give warnin', and take mesilf to the say, for me own Teddy is
 a sailor, and I might climb the sails, and pull the ropes, and haul in
 a jib, till I larnt the way, if ye plaze.

   _Mrs. D._   Why, Maggie, I'm astounded to think you should listen to
 such nonsense.

   _Maggie._   Sure, 'twas Bridget Daly, nixt door, that heard yez own
 silf talk last night, and towld me. (_Enter_ KATIE, R., _with a large
 military hat on her head, a gun on her shoulder_.)

   _Maggie._   Oh, murther! Here's Kate wid a gun!

   _All._      A gun! (KATIE _comes_, C.)

   _Pollie_    (R.). Oh, dear! put it the other way! (KATIE _turns to_
 R.)

   _Rhoda._    (L.) No, no! the other way!

   _Mrs. H._   Lord-a-mercy! she'll blow all our brains out! (_Gets
 behind lounge._)

   _Florence._ Put down that gun, Katie. (KATIE _takes it from her
 shoulder_.)

               (POLLIE _and_ RHODA _scream, and jump up in chairs_,
 R.; MRS. DUPLEX _gets behind easy-chair_; MAGGIE _jumps upon
 lounge; and all cry, "Drop it!" "It's loaded!" "Take it away!"
 "Call somebody!"_) _Florence_ (_takes the gun, and lays it upon the
 floor_).

               You can descend in safety, girls. (_All get down._)

   _Mrs. D._   Now, Katie, what does this mean?

   _Katie._    If ye plaze, Mrs. Duplex, I thought, bein' the good time
 that's comin' was come, and the women-folks was a goin' to rule, and
 the men-folks do the housework, I'd give warnin', if you plaze.
 (_Stoops, and picks up the gun. All scream, and renew their old
 positions on chairs, behind chair and lounge, as before; repeat cries,
 "Put it down" &c._)

   _Florence._ Don't be alarmed: it's not loaded. (_All quiet again._)

   _Mrs. D._   Well, it's about time an end was put to this nonsense.
 You have picked up one of my remarks last night for the purpose of
 laughing at me, or—

   _Florence._ Teaching a lesson, mother.

   _Mrs. D._   Well, I acknowledge my remarks were a little wild, and am
 prepared to pay the penance. What shall it be? You seem to have been
 the manager of the remarkable scene. Speak.

   _Florence._ Mother, I want to take Carrie back with me when I return
 to school.

   _Mrs. H._   Bless my soul! what do you think I found in your father's
 desk to-day? Something that looks, for all the world, like a will. Here
 it is. (_Gives paper to_ MRS. D.)

   _Mrs. D._   A will! (_Opening it._) And of a later date than the one
 in my possession. (_Reads._) "To be equally divided between my dear
 wife, and my beloved daughter Caroline." Indeed! This must be seen to.

   _Florence._ Ah! then Carrie is not penniless, after all.

   _Mrs. D._   Florence, how can you speak so? Never, while I live.
 Where is the dear child?

   _Mrs. H._   Shouldn't wonder if she was sweepin' off the steps.
 (_Enter_ CAROLINE, R.)

   _Caroline._ The reception-room is in order, madam.

   _Mrs. D._   Caroline, my dear child, I think your experience in
 house-affairs has been sufficient for the present. You will go with my
 daughter to Rushly Seminary on her return. I shall look after my house
 myself hereafter.

   _Mrs. H._   Lor' sakes, Hannah Merria, are you coming to your senses?

   _Mrs. D._   I hope I have never been bereft of them.

   _Florence._ And the Reform Club, mother—

   _Mrs. D._   Shall still have my hearty support; but no more public
 speeches for the present, for my house needs putting in order; and you
 have reminded me of that which I had almost forgotten, that a woman's
 first duty is to her home.

   _Katie._    Faith, ma'am, if there's to be a misthress, I'll sthay,
 if yez plaze.

   _Maggie._   An' mesilf, too, missus, by your lave.

   _Florence._ There, mother, the storm's over; so let's hear no more of
 "woman's rights."

   _Rhoda._    And I can't be a butcher!

   _Pollie._   Nor I an auc-sh-sh-shuneer. It's too bad!

   _Mrs. D._   So there has been masquerading here.

   _Florence._ For which I alone am to blame. Mother, we are wild girls,
 and good subjects for missionary work. Set the Female Reform Club a
 good example by commencing its work in your own neighborhood, and
 reform us.

   _Mrs. D._   There is certainly a large field of labor here for me;
 and I shall set about the work at once. But what will the officers of
 the club say?

   _Mrs. H._   (Kee.) That you've backslid, Hannah Merria.

   _Florence._ If they are honest and earnest, they will say that she
 who to the welfare of her family first gives her heart, is a stanch
 friend to progress. In that realm she is queen, and they who bend
 beneath her loving sway, freely acknowledge her, in that grand sphere,
 the Champion of her Sex.

                              _Situations._

                         CAROLINE.     FLORENCE.
                       RHODA.              MRS. D.
                     POLLIE.                 MRS. H.
                   KATIE.                      MAGGIE.
                 R.                                   L.

                               _Curtain._




                        THE VISIONS OF FREEDOM.


                          A NATIONAL ALLEGORY.


                              CHARACTERS.

        GLORIA, Goddess of Freedom.
        RUBINA, her Counsellor of War.
        SERENA, her Counsellor of Peace.
        QUEEN MAB of Dreamland.
        DROWSA, OBLIVIA, SOMNA, SOOTHA, Dream-Spirits.
        ART, INDUSTRY, MUSIC, PLENTY, SERENA'S Attendants.
        REVENGE, DISCORD, CRUELTY, HATRED, RUBINA'S Attendants.

  _Action supposed to have occurred in Dreamland. Green bank_, C.
    _Behind this a small platform about six inches high; chorus
    seated_ R. _and_ L. _of stage_.

               _Opening Chorus; air, "The Quiet Night."_

                Slumber o'er earth is sending
                  Its realm of sweet repose:
                The stream of life, rest-tending,
                  In peace through Dreamland flows;
                Where waiting and caressing,
                With varied visions blessing,
                  Dream spirits vigils keep;
                  Dream spirits vigils keep;
                  Their vigils keep, their vigils keep.

  (_As the chorus closes, enter_ R., DROWSA _and_ OBLIVIA; L., SOMNA
  _and_ SOOTHA; _then_ R., QUEEN MAB, _who stands_ C.)

     _Q. Mab._     Spirits of Dreamland, once again we meet,
   Our round of nightly revel to repeat.
   O'er earth, when locked in sleep's warm, close embrace,
   Since time began, the genius of our race
   Has had the power fearlessly to sway
   The visionary sceptre all obey.
   The mighty monarch, who, with tyrant frown,
   Upholds the burden of his weighty crown;
   The fierce-browed warrior who relentless slays,
   And, bathed in blood, his vows to Moloch pays;
   Haughty and lowly, powerful and weak,—
   Under mysterious spells our guidance seek.
   Sweet sister spirits, Dreamland opens wide;
   Yet justice guards it well on every side.
   Over the pure we rosy visions throw:
   Around the base a sea of troubles flow.
   Ere forth you glide to ply your happy arts,
   Your queen would learn the secrets of your hearts;
   Who hie to sport, with mischievous intent,
   And who on graver ministries are bent.

     _Sootha._     I've an old miser under watchful care,
   With sordid soul, of generous impulse bare;
   Who nightly feasts, with avaricious eyes,
   Where treasured gold in rare profusion lies;
   Who revels o'er his fast-increasing store,
   Chuckles with glee, yet wistful sighs for more;
   Starvation's image, in a den so bare,
   It seems a fit abode for dark despair.
   Into his sleep I glide, disturb his rest,
   Rattle his treasure, till, with fear possessed,
   As frightful visions thick and thicker press,
   He trembling wakes, his idol to caress.

     _Oblivia._    Fair queen, a toiling student I enchain,
   And with my art refresh his weary brain:
   Up wisdom's heights I lead him by the hand,
   And show him visions of the promised land;
   Fair fields of learning spread before his gaze,
   For him the realm of science set ablaze,
   Ope Fame's grand temple, Honor's scroll unroll,
   And tell the triumphs of the trusting soul,
   Till hope re-animates the wasting fire
   With earnest zeal and conquering desire.

     _Somna._      I guard a trusting maiden, young and fair,
   Whom Love has tangled in his silken snare;
   Spread rosy dreams amid her sleeping hours,
   And lead her captive through a land of flowers;
   Adorn her hero with true manly pride,
   And of the future ope the portal wide,
   While smiles of pleasure o'er her sweet face creep,
   And blissful words betray her secret deep.
   With rare delight her day-dreams I repeat,
   And make her young life's round of love complete.

     _Drowsa._     Oh, I've a task, fair queen, will love secure.
   Last night I visited with visions pure
   A weary mother, who, for many a day,
   Watched o'er the cradle where her dear babe lay
   Wasting with fever, till the unseen Hand
   Took it in kindness to a better land.
   Long has she mourned its loss, with wakeful eyes,
   Fast-falling tears, low, sad, and bitter cries.
   Last night she slept; and then, in vision's charms,
   I crept, and laid her babe within her arms.
   Content she rested, with a smile so sweet,
   I go to-night this comfort to repeat.

     _Q. Mab._     Your zeal, industrious spirits, we applaud:
   Your chosen missions meet with full accord;
   Yet for this night we have a task so grand,
   Your queen would all your energies command.

     _Somna._      We wait your pleasure,

     _Oblivia._    All our arts employ;

     _Drowsa._     Set us what tasks you will,

     _Sootha._     We'll serve with joy.

     _Q. Mab._     Thanks, sisters! To our confidence draw near,
   And list our secret with attentive ear.
   Freedom's fair goddess, Gloria, in doubt,
   Her fair Republic, restless roams about,
   Seeking a talisman to life prolong,
   And make her youthful charge wax brave and strong.
   Close at her side Rubina, crafty maid,
   Whose fire-lit eyes gloat over war's dread trade,
   Plies her bold speech, unchecked by fear of frown,
   Counselling deeds of conquest and renown;
   While calm Serena, long to Peace allied,
   Whose gentle influence stretches far and wide,
   Recounts the glories of a land at rest,
   With sterling Industry's rich harvests blest.
   Wavering betwixt the gentle and the bold,
   By turns rebellious, and by turns controlled,
   Poor Gloria wanders long, in dire distress
   Which counsellor to choose her realm to bless.
   Old custom gives to us prophetic power
   To guide by vision in the trying hour.
   And so to-night, o'er Gloria's doubting heart,
   Fair sister spirits, we will ply our art,
   Lure her to Dreamland, and in phantom light
   Illume her path, and guide her to the right.
   Stand close! she comes! the light winds bear along
   The martial burden of her triumph song.

                                        [_Retire, and form behind bank._

                    _Chorus; air, "Love of Country."_

                 Blest is the land where Freedom rears,
                   'Neath heaven's blue, arching dome,
                 For labor's sons of every clime,
                   Her proud and happy home.
                 Beyond the reach of tyrant rule,
                   Free are the hands we raise:
                 Onward we move, with joyous song
                   Of thankfulness and praise.
                 Blest is the land, &c.

         (_Enter_ L., GLORIA, _attended by_ RUBINA _and_ SERENA,
                       _followed by_ ATTENDANTS.)

                               C. GLORIA.
               R.      RUBINA.            SERENA,     L.
           ATTENDANTS.                            ATTENDANTS.

     _Gloria._     Yes, mine, all mine, this bounteous land,
   So rich in varied blessings that command
   Homage from all. The mighty of the earth
   Must stoop to thee, O land of lowly birth!
   Thy mountains rise in majesty and pride;
   In royal state thy valleys open wide;
   Thy broad, expansive waters, spreading free,
   Embrace the bosom of the mother sea;
   Out of a fruitful earth thy harvests rise;
   Out leaps the golden ore with glad surprise;
   Over thy broad domains, with ceaseless hum,
   Labor's grand armies ever conquering come;
   While rare Invention opes its secret heart,
   And Genius rears its monumental art.
   O land of promise! Gloria's inmost prayer
   Could ask no more than thy fair fate to share.
   Sweet counsellors, let Wisdom quick contrive
   Some plan this happy state to keep alive.

     _Rubina._     A nation's life, fair mistress, action craves;
   Cold, sluggish apathy the blood enslaves.
   Renown's the rock on which to rear a state;
   Rubina's counsel is for conquest straight.

     _Gloria._     Conquest, Rubina! Thine's a sorry jest.
   We have no quarrels: friends with all we rest.

     _Rubina._     Ay: but to win renown, with fair excuse,
   Strike at the shadow of some old abuse
   Among our neighbors; or, with slight parade
   Of justice, boldly on their borders raid.
   Quick to revenge, their warlike hearts upspring:
   "To arms! to arms!" they cry. Their weapons ring;
   On us they march, a fast-increasing band,
   Till in the confines of our realm they stand.
   "Quick! to repel invasion!" then our cry;
   Alarming signals flash out fierce and high;
   From east and west, from north and south, outpour
   The sons of Freedom, in their strength secure;
   Drive back the foe, in turn invade their fold,
   Until their fate victoriously we hold.

     _Gloria._     And then—

     _Rubina._     And then boldly for ransom claim
   A portion of their realm in Freedom's name.

     _Gloria._     What says Serena?

     _Serena._     'Tis a crafty plot,
   And full of wickedness. I like it not.
   Freedom's a name too sacred to infold
   A hungering appetite for greed and gold.
   What conquest gains is ne'er enriched by toil;
   Ensanguined earth is but a sterile soil.
   Rubina's counsel, and her bold device,
   Would purchase glory at a bloody price.

     _Rubina._     Serena, pause! thou hast no right to frown,
   With thy cold-hearted words, my counsel down.
   No crafty plot I weave to bring disgrace,
   But lofty plans to glorify the race.
   Let War once set his standard in the field,
   With strength and valor blazoned on his shield,
   The roar of cannon, and the clash of steel,
   Shall glad the nation with triumphant peal,
   And strong and mighty conquerers enroll
   Heroic deeds on her historic scroll.

     _Serena._     While o'er the land the blood of her dear sons—
   Conquest's sad recompense—in horror runs.
   Forbear, Rubina! Gracious mistress, might
   Should ever wield its strong arm for the right.
   Let not Rubina's counsel carry weight,
   Lest angry discord rend your lofty state.

     _Rubina._     Insult again—

     _Gloria._     Nay, nay, Rubina. Pause:
   Thou hast had ample time to urge thy cause.
   With patience curb a while thy fiery mood;
   We'll ponder well thy influence for good.
   Speak thou, Serena. Canst thou find release
   For our perplexity in ways of peace?

     _Serena._     Ay, peace, fair mistress, is the fount of health,
   Whence flow the streams of happiness and wealth
   That bless a nation. In its waters fair,
   Drowned are the pangs of life-corroding care;
   Cheered and refreshed is duty's faithful heart,
   In labor's trials strong to take its part.
   O happy Gloria! o'er this blest domain,
   With Peace thy minister, forever reign.
   Its power can bless thy state with bright renown,
   And deck with radiant gems thy royal crown.
   Let not bold War thy quiet glades invade,
   To ruthless revel in thy marts of trade,
   Affront thy people with its thundering peal,
   And grind the harvests 'neath its iron heel.
   For Peace is mighty to achieve all ends,
   And highest good with grandest triumph blends.

     _Rubina._     Ignoble Toil, Serena, grovels low,
   And on the race no glory can bestow.

     _Serena._     Toil is the power that tears the rock away,
   And brings rare jewels to the light of day.

     _Rubina._     'Tis base!

     _Serena._     'Tis noble!

     _Gloria._     Silence, I entreat!
   Counsel is vain when angry passions meet.
   In patience we have heard: in patience wait,
   Till we have pondered on this strange debate,
   And made our choice. Anon we'll make it known.
   Await our pleasure. We would be alone.

                   (_Repeat chorus, "Blest is the land," &c., and
   march off_ R., RUBINA _and_ ATTENDANTS; L., SERENA _and_
   ATTENDANTS. GLORIA _sits on bank_.)

     _Gloria._     O doubting heart! the battle to repeat,
   Within thy depths Content and Conquest meet.
   Upon the field where Conscience sits enthroned,
   One must be victor crowned, and one disowned.
   When Wisdom all its arguments hath plied,
   Thou, judge impartial, must the case decide.
   Upon thy fiat hangs a nation's fate:
   Give me the power to make my people great.

            _Song; air, "Oh, come ye into the summer woods:"_
                     QUEEN MAB _and_ DREAM-SPIRITS.

                Oh, sink you into soft slumber's arms!
                  There dwelleth no annoy;
                There freely rove the Dreamland sprites,
                  And sweet rest is full of joy.

                   _Gloria_ (_slowly sinks to rest, speaking softly,
   with closed eyes_).

                   Soft, drowsy spirits o'er my senses creep,
   And bear me captive to the realm of sleep.

                            _Song continued._

                 We'll spread for you, in phantom light,
                   That plainly you may know,
                 The woes of dreadful warfare,
                   The joys from peace that flow.
                 Oh! sink you, &c.

                   _QUEEN MAB (comes front of bank, and kneels;
   SOMNA and OBLIVIA come down R.; DROWSA and SOOTHA, L.)._

                   Ay, sink to sleep, fair goddess. Healthy rest
   From weighty care shall ease thy troubled breast;
   Prophetic visions o'er thy senses roll,
   To guide to just result thy struggling soul.
   Rubina comes with treason in her tread,
   To crafty acts by false ambition led.

                   (_Enter_ RUBINA, R. _She passes behind bank, and
   stands_ C., _looking down at_ GLORIA. _Then enter_ R., CRUELTY
   _and_ HATRED, _who pass to_ L.; DISCORD _and_ REVENGE, _who stand_
   R.)

                                RUBINA.
                           GLORIA, _on bank_.
                         QUEEN MAB, _kneeling_.
             R. DISCORD.                        HATRED.  L.
                SOMNA.                          SOOTHA.
                REVENGE.                        CRUELTY.
                OBLIVIA.                        DROWSA.

     _Rubina._     In fetters bound all powerless she lies,
   The mighty goddess who all earth defies,
   The slave of sleep. Relinquished the command
   Which sways the fortune of her chosen land.
   The gleaming crown on her majestic brow
   But serves as symbol of her bondage now.
   Should I but snatch it from her pillowed head,
   Rubina rules, and Freedom's host is led
   Instant to conquest. 'Tis a glorious aim.
   Speak, you who wait: have I your free acclaim?

     _Discord._    Quick! snatch the crown, and I will hie away
   To boldly with the meaner passions play;
   Quicken your hosts with feverish desire,
   With love of anarchy their bosoms fire.
   Pause not, but on the instant power assume!
   Discord will go before, and cry, "Make room!"

     _Cruelty._    Ay, wear the crown. Let war defiant move;
   Let me 'mid soft and tender passions rove,
   Crushing and slaying, turning all to steel,
   Forged in the flame of fierce and bitter zeal.
   Allegiance to thee, Cruelty will give;
   Under thy triumphs will she grandly live.

     _Hatred._     Usurp the regal state, and I am free
   War's stanch and sturdy champion to be.
   Warm blood I quicken with a thirsty hate,
   That nought but anarchy can satiate.
   Unto thy crown I full allegiance lend;
   Hatred by thee will ever stand as friend.

     _Revenge._    Success to treason! At thy feet I lay
   My fond allegiance. Bid me quick array
   The fiercest passions. I will straightway prove
   My bold endeavor worthy of thy love.
   War is my idol; at its luring call
   Revenge is quick, and sure to conquer all.

     _Rubina._     O glorious spirits! what you free accord,
   This grateful heart shall bless with rich reward.
   Success is certain: I'll no longer pause,
   But raise aloft the standard of our cause.

                  (_Takes crown from_ GLORIA'S _head_.)

                   The crown is mine. Rise, War, in triumph now;
   Gloria's rare diadem is on my brow!

                     TABLEAU. _The crowning of War._

                  HATRED.       RUBINA.       DISCORD.
                           GLORIA, _on bank_.
               R. SOMNA.       QUEEN MAB.     SOOTHA.  L.
                  REVENGE.                    CRUELTY.
                  OBLIVIA.                    DROWSA.

                   _A chord._ RUBINA _places crown on her head;
   stands with her hands raised to the crown_. GLORIA _starts up,
   resting on one hand, her other hand raised to her brow, terror in
   her eyes_. QUEEN MAB _on her knees in front of bank, her hands
   clasped, resting in her lap, head thrown back_. SOMNA, R., _and_
   SOOTHA, L., _in line with_ QUEEN MAB, _crouch each with one hand on
   her shoulder, the other outstretched, as though warding off
   danger_. HATRED _and_ DISCORD _run_ R. _and_ L. _of_ RUBINA; _each
   has hand on her waist, the other raised in triumph_. DROWSA _falls
   at the feet of_ CRUELTY, L., _her back to audience, her hands
   raised and clasped_. CRUELTY _looks down at her with right hand
   raised and clenched, as though about to strike_. OBLIVIA _falls at
   the feet of_ REVENGE, R., _with outstretched arms, facing
   audience_; REVENGE _seizes her hands, bends her back, and looks
   into her face. Expressions of terror on the faces of_ DREAM-SPIRITS
   _and_ GLORIA; _triumph in those of_ RUBINA _and her_ ATTENDANTS.
   _Soft music until the attention of the audience is fastened on the
   picture, then_,—

                   _Chorus; air, "Soldier's Chorus."_

                   Glory and fame for the free and bold!
   War's red banner let heroes unfold,
   Boldly advancing to win renown,
   Ay, eager to fight, and ready to guard Rubina's crown.

                             _Semi-chorus._

                   Who lack courage to dare in the front of fight,
   With conquest before, and the foe in sight?

                             _Semi-chorus._

                   Who would falter or turn when glory and fame
   Their bright laurels press, and with victory bless,
   In War's mighty name?

                                _Chorus._

                   Glory and fame, &c.

     _Rubina._     Up and away! the tocsin sounds afar;
   The land of freedom is the realm of war.

                   (_Repeat chorus, "Glory and Fame," &c., and exit_
   R., RUBINA, _followed by_ REVENGE, HATRED, DISCORD, _and_ CRUELTY.
   _As the music ceases_, QUEEN MAB _and the_ DREAM-SPIRITS _resume
   their places at back of bank_.)

     _Gloria._     Rubina false, and I, by sleep possessed,
   Powerless to rise my rightful crown to wrest!

     _Queen Mab._   Now, fair Serena, let thy loyal heart,
   The treasures of its secret depths impart.
   Sisters, the spell prolong with slumber's chain;
   Bind the fair goddess to her dreams again.

            _Song_: QUEEN MAB _and_ DREAM-SPIRITS; _air, "The
                          Image of the Rose."_

              Come, Sleep, on drowsy pinions flying,
                Fair Gloria lull to sweet repose.
              The land of dreams around her lying,
                To charm her senses, brightly glows.
              There peaceful visions, soft, entrancing,
                In changeful measures sport and play.
              Sleep, by thy magic power advancing,
                Within thy arms bear her away.
          Magical sleep, bear her, bear her, oh, bear her away!

                   _As the song proceeds, the_ DREAM-SPIRITS _and_
   QUEEN MAB _slowly exeunt_, R. SERENA, _and_ ATTENDANTS, MUSIC,
   _with a lyre_; INDUSTRY, _with a distaff_; PLENTY, _with a horn of
   plenty; and_ ART, _with a palette and brushes,—appear_, L., _when
   the music ceases_. SERENA _stands_ C., _looking down at_ GLORIA;
   _her_ ATTENDANTS L. _The implements carried by the_ ATTENDANTS
   _should be made of flowers, if possible_.

                           _Bank._
                           SERENA.
                       R.          L. ATTENDANTS.

     _Serena._     Genius of Freedom, in thy visions bless
   Serena's faithful heart with warm caress.
   Let not vain Conquest flatter and deceive:
   Bid restful Peace at once thy doubts relieve.
   Bending in homage to thy royal sway,
   Strong to achieve, and zealous to obey,
   She sues for favor: bid her journey wide,
   Prosperity to sow on every side.
   She pleads in love: receive her earnest prayer,
   And of thy love bestow a generous share.

     _Industry._   Hear her, great goddess: ready to inthrall
   True-hearted worth, I wait her cheery call.
   With brain and muscle ceaselessly I play,
   Opening new harvests to the light of day.
   Contentment, life's warm, sweet, and better part,
   Industry thrones in Labor's thrifty heart.

     _Plenty._     List to her prayer, O Gloria! All elate
   To fill the treasure-house of wealth I wait;
   At her command, the harvest shall outpour,
   To deck thy chosen land from shore to shore.
   Warmed in the love-light of her peaceful eyes,
   Plenty, fruit-freighted, shall luxurious rise.

     _Art._        Grant her fond wish, fair goddess, and I twine
   Into thy reign, with rare and grand design,
   All that pen, brush, and chisel can achieve,
   Thy weighty cares to lighten and relieve.
   Gigantic Genius bends a willing knee,
   When Art, by Peace, to triumph is set free.

     _Music._      Hear her, fair goddess, and I joyous soar,
   Pæans of thankfulness and praise to pour
   In bounteous song. Thy proud and happy reign
   Shall be the burden of my glad refrain.
   Religion's anthems swell with large increase
   When Music rises at the call of Peace.

     _Serena._     Dost hear, my mistress? All the Graces meet
   In my behalf, thy favor to entreat.
   Grant me thy love, and beautiful and grand
   Shall be the labors of this gifted band.

               (_Enter_ RUBINA, R., _and her_ ATTENDANTS.)

     _Rubina._     Thou suest for love, Serena, all too late:
   Gloria has parted with her high estate.
   I sued for power, defied the royal frown,
   Played with bold hand, and won the regal crown.

     _Serena._     The crown upon thy head! Oh, bitter woe
   O'er a fair land relentlessly shall flow!
   Must I relinquish all my dreams of bliss?
   Do I deserve such recompense as this?

     _Rubina._     Check thy bold speech, Serena. Get thee hence!
   Thy piteous pleading is a rash offence
   Against our state.

     _Serena._     Rash Rubina, hold!
   Peace by thy sway can never be controlled.
   Thou hast usurped the guidance of a race
   Who shrink in terror from thy brazen face.
   Thou hast with treachery obtained a crown;
   Serena quails not at a wicked frown.
   Traitress—

     _Rubina._     Defied by thee! At once away!
   Rubina rules, and can relentless slay.
   Thy power is crushed: Serena now must cease
   The fickle glow of enervating peace.
   With all the sprites that compass thee about,
   From Freedom's realms I boldly drive thee out.
   War's mighty reign begins—

         (GLORIA _rises quickly, steps between, and snatches the
                      crown from_ RUBINA'S _head_.)

     _Gloria._     False one, 'tis o'er!
   Flaunt thy fierce mien in our domain no more.
   Thy rude assaults of recklessness and pride,
   Fame, glory, and renown, in scorn deride.
   Thou hast no charms the noble to inthrall;
   No knightly hearts obey thy martial call
   When Conquest beckons. Here, within the realm,
   Be thou content to treason overwhelm
   With mighty force. Fate binds thee to our side;
   Henceforth thou watchful guard, and we will guide.

                   (_Waves her hand_; RUBINA _and her_ ATTENDANTS
   _retire to back of stage_, L.; GLORIA _passes behind bank, and
   stands_.)

                   By vision hath our sleep been girt about,
   And happy wake we, free from anxious doubt.
   Our choice 'twixt War and Peace we here reveal,
   And stamp the fiat with our royal seal.
   Approach, Serena! Love thou dost desire.

                        (SERENA _stands near_ C.)

                   Thou hast all charms affection to inspire,—
   Heart warm with honesty and generous zeal;
   Brain strong to contrive, and mighty to reveal;
   Soul full of teeming virtues. All outflow,
   Blessings of peace and love to free bestow.
   Henceforth to guide us by thy loving arts,
   We crown thee sovereign in our heart of hearts.

                    _TABLEAU. The crowning of Peace._

                   DREAM-SPIRITS.         ATTENDANTS.
                   QUEEN MAB.               RUBINA.
                                  GLORIA.
                                  _Bank._
                   INDUSTRY.      SERENA.    ART.
                R. PLENTY.                  MUSIC,    L.

                   SERENA _sits on bank_, C., _facing audience,
   hands folded across her breast_. GLORIA _stands behind her, placing
   the crown upon her head_; INDUSTRY R. _of_ SERENA, _seated on bank,
   facing_ R., _distaff in her left hand resting against shoulder_;
   ART _in the same position_ L. _of_ SERENA, _facing_ L., _with
   palette in her left hand_; MUSIC _kneeling in front of_ ART,
   _facing audience, playing upon lyre_; PLENTY _kneeling on right
   knee, front of_ INDUSTRY, _outpouring her horn of plenty_; RUBINA
   L., _back, with her_ ATTENDANTS _grouped behind her_. QUEEN MAB
   _enters_ R., _with her_ DREAM-SPIRITS, _and group_ R., _back.
   Appropriate music: then chorus; air, Eichberg's "National Hymn."_

                 On thee, O Freedom, grand and great!
                   In confidence we lean,
                 Our land to bless, with fond caress
                   Of happiness serene.
                 To hail thy crowning, gentle Peace,
                   Let music joyous soar;
                 While harvests wave, and blessings lave
                   Thy realm from shore to shore.

                          _Repeat._ _Curtain._

                   NOTE.—All the tunes used in this allegory, with
   the single
   exception of Eichberg's "National Hymn" (which is published
   in sheet-form), are from "The Grammar School Chorus," which
   furnished the tunes for "The Revolt of the Bees," "The War
   of the Roses," and "Lightheart's Pilgrimage," by the same
   author. Published by O. Ditson & Co., and sold by Lee &
   Shepard, Boston. Price $1.00.




                          THE MERRY CHRISTMAS
                                 OF THE
                     OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE.


                              CHARACTERS.

        THE OLD WOMAN who lived in a Shoe.
        SANTA CLAUS, disguised as a Beggar.
        Ten or twelve CHILDREN, Boys and Girls of various ages.

            SCENE.—_The exterior of "Copper Toe Shoe House,"
                   which is set at back of platform._

        _Chorus (invisible); air, "Revolutionary Tea"_ (p. 194,
                           "Golden Wreath").

              There was an old woman who lived in a shoe;
                Of children she had a score:
              So many had she, to know what to do
                Was a question which puzzled her sore.

                   (_Head of_ CHILD _appears at 1_.)

        To some she gave broth without any bread;
          But never contented were they,
        Till she whipped them all soundly, and put them to bed,

                      And then very happy were they,
                      And then very happy were they.

                         (_Head appears at 2._)

         "Now, mother, dear mother," the young ones would cry,
           As they dropped off with a nod,
         "To train up a child in the way to go,
           O mother, dear, ne'er spare the rod.

                     (CHILD'S _head appears at 3_.)

          For broth without bread is a watery waste;
            And never contented are we,
          Till with your good stick it is thickened to taste;

                      (_Three heads appear at 4._)

                     And then, oh, how happy are we!
                     And then, oh, how happy are we!"

  _Enter_ OLD WOMAN, R. _Her costume, bodice, quilted petticoat,
  sugar-loaf hat, high-heeled shoes, and cane._

     _O. W._       Aha! (_Heads disappear quick._)
   Good gracious! can't I leave the house a minute,
   But what a head's at every window in it?
   Don't let me see the tip of a single nose;
   For, if you do, we'll surely come to blows.
   Poor dears! they want the air. Well, that is cheap
   And strengthening; for they live on air and sleep.
   Food is so high, and work is so unstiddy,
   Life's really wearing on this poor old widdy.

[Illustration: FRONT VIEW OF COPPER TOE SHOE HOUSE.]

               1. Split in the Heel.
               2. Patch on the best Corn.
               3. Copper Toe.
               4. Lookout, or Observatory at top of House.

            (_Heads appear, one after the other, as before._)

                   Ah me! here's good old Christmas come again.
   How can I join in the triumphant strain
   Which moves all hearts? I am so old and poor,
   With none to aid me from their generous store.

     CHILD         _at 1_. Mother, I want a drum.

     CHILD         _at 2_. I want a doll!

     CHILD         _at 3_. Gimme a sword!

     _Three_       CHILDREN _at 4_. Got presents for us all?

     _O. W._       Aha! (_Heads disappear quick._)
   Poor dears! if with the will I had the power,
   The choicest Christmas gifts should on them shower.

           _Song_: OLD WOMAN; _air, "Comin' through the Rye."_

                     If a widdy's with her biddies,
                         Living in a shoe,
                     If a widdy's work unstiddies,
                         What'll widdy do?

                       (_Heads appear as before._)

              Every mother loves her biddies;
                  Many a one have I;
                  But where get gifts to fill their fists,
              When I've no gold to buy?

                     Aha! (_Heads disappear quick._)

               There is a sprite oft comes this night,
                   Whom children love full well;
               But what's his name, and where's his hame,
                   He does not always tell.

                       (_Heads appear as before._)

                 Lads and lassies know good Santa,
                     With presents not a few;
                 Would he were here, my chicks to cheer,
                     Living in a shoe!

                    Aha! (_Heads disappear._)
   Well, I'll get in, and make the children warm.
   Tucked in their beds, they're always safe from harm.
   And in their dreams, perhaps, such gifts will rise
   As wakeful, wretched poverty denies.

                       (_Disappears behind shoe._)

                   _Enter cautiously_, R., SANTA CLAUS; _his fabled
   dress is hidden by a long domino, or "waterproof;" he has, swung
   about his neck, a tin kitchen, on which he grinds an imaginary
   accompaniment to his song_.

     _Santa._      "You'd scarce expect one of my age"—
   For gray hair is the symbol of the sage—
   To play at "hide-and-seek," to your surprise.
   Here's honest Santa Claus, in rough disguise.
   But 'tis all right, as I will quick explain,
   For I've a mystic project "on the brain."
   I've dropped down chimneys all this blessed night,
   Where warmth and comfort join to give delight;
   I've filled the stockings of the merry elves,
   Who, to fond parents, are rich gifts themselves;
   And now I've come, resolved to make a show
   In that old mansion with the copper toe,
   Where dwells a dame, with children great and small,
   Enough to stock a school, or crowd a hall.
   If they are worthy of our kind regard,
   Christmas shall bring to them a rich reward.
   So I have donned for once a meaner dress,
   To personate a beggar in distress.
   If to my wants they lend a listening ear,
   The rough old shoe shall glow with Christmas cheer:
   If they are rude, and turn me from the door,
   Presto! I vanish, and return no more.

         _Song_: SANTA CLAUS; _air_, "_Them blessed Roomatics._"

                   My name's Johnny Schmoker, and I am no joker;
   I don't in my pockets no greenbacks perceive.
   For, what with high dressing in fashions distressing,
   I can't with a morsel my hunger relieve.
   My stomach so tender, that aches there engender;
   The whole blessed day I am crying out, "Oh!"
   Drat these grand fashions! they wakens my passions,
   A-nippin' and gnawin' my poor stomach so!

                       (_Heads appear as before._)

                   I've had the lumbager, dyspepsy, and ager,
   With tight-fitting veskits and pantaloons too;
   Highsterics and swimins, delirious trimins,
   St. Vestris's dance, and the tick dolly-oo.
   But not the whole gettin', one's body tight fits in,
   Is noffin' to this, which is drefful. Oh, oh!
   Drat these grand fashions! they wakens my passions,
   A-nippin' and gnawin' my poor stomach so!

                          (_Heads disappear._)

                   Now, there's a touching song to move the heart,
   Hark! what's that? I thought I heard them start.

          _Song_: CHILDREN, _outside; air, "Oh, dear, what can
                            the matter be?"_

                  Oh, dear, what can the matter be?
                  Dear, dear, what can the matter be?
                  Oh, dear, what can the matter be?
                    Somebody's groaning out there!
            A hungry old beggar has come here to tease us,
            By grinding an organ he knows will not please us.
            He hopes it may bring him a handful of pennies,
                To buy him a loaf of brown bread.

                   _Enter_ OLD WOMAN, _with_ CHILDREN, L., _from
   behind shoe. The largest hangs on to her skirts, the next in size
   to the largest, until they dwindle to the smallest; repeat song as
   they enter slowly, turn to_ R., _march across stage; turn to_ L.,
   _march across again; turn to_ R., _and form across stage._

     _O. W._       Now go away, old man. 'Tis very queer
   That you should seek to waste your sweetness here;
   For we've no money, not a cent, to pay
   For music; so you'd better up and move away.

     _Santa._      Alas, alas! and can you be unkind
   To one who's been by Fortune left behind;
   Who has no friend, no money, and no clo'es;
   The hunted victim of unnumbered woes?
   Good dame, I ask not money: if you please,
   A simple crust my hunger to appease.

     _O. W._       Good gracious! Starving! Children, do you hear?
   The old man's hungry: quickly disappear!

                    (CHILDREN _scamper behind shoe_.)

     _Santa._      She drives them in. To me 'tis very clear
   Old Santa fails to find a welcome here.

     _O. W._       We're very poor, have fasted many a day,
   Yet from our door ne'er drove the poor away.

                   _Song; air, "Balm of Gilead," by the_ CHILDREN,
   _who march in as before, carrying sticks, on which are stuck
   apples, potatoes, crusts of bread, turnip, carrot, "beat," &c. They
   move around the stage, singing as they pass_ SANTA; _the last time,
   pitch their potatoes, &c., into his tin kitchen. He stands_ L. _of
   stage_; OLD WOMAN, R.

                     Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,
                     Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,
                     Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,
                       Down at Copper Toe Shoe.
                     Cold potato—tato,
                     Cold potato—tato,
                     Cold pota—to,
                       Down at Copper Toe Shoe.

                            (_No interlude._)

                     Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,
                     Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,
                     Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,
                       Down at Copper Toe Shoe.
                     Crusts for breakfast—breakfast,
                     Crusts for breakfast—breakfast,
                     Crusts for break—fast,
                       Down at Copper Toe Shoe.

                     Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,
                     Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,
                     Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,
                       Down at Copper Toe Shoe.
                     Broth for supper—supper,
                     Broth for supper—supper,
                     Broth for sup—per,
                       Down at Copper Toe Shoe.

                     Oh, you sha'n't, &c.

     _Santa._      Well, well, I'm puzzled! Here's a grand surprise.
   Bless me, the tears are dropping from my eyes!
   Thank you, my children. This is quite bewitchin';
   With eatables you've nearly filled my kitchen.
   Ah, little ones! you've learned the better part.
   They are the poor who lack the kindly heart;
   And they the rich, the noble, and the high,
   Who never willing pass the sufferer by.
   Now comes my triumph. Children, speak up bright:
   What day is this?

     _All._        Christmas.

     _Little Girl._   No; 'tis Christmas night!

     _Santa._      That's true. Now tell me who, against the laws,
   Drops down the chimneys?

     _All._        Why, old Santa Claus!

     _Santa._      Bless me! how bright and nice these children are!
   Each eye doth sparkle like the evening star.
   Now, then, suppose I were that ancient sprite,
   What would you ask, to give you most delight?

     _Child 1._    I'd have a sled.

     _Child 2._    A doll.

     _Child 3._    A kite for me.

     _Child 4._    Something still better.

     _Santa._      What?

     _Child 4._    A Christmas tree!

     _All Children._   Oh, my! Good gracious! Wouldn't that be grand?

     _O. W._       Too grand, my chicks, for you to understand.
   Why, such a tree within our old shoe spread,
   Would from their fastenings tear out every thread;
   Make every peg to start from out its socket,
   And send the buckle flying like a rocket.

     _Santa._      Good, good! there's fun beneath that wrinkled phiz.
   At playing Santa Claus, let's make a biz.
   Suppose me Santa Claus. I bless you all:
   Then from my waistcoat let this oven fall,

                         (_Takes off kitchen._)

                   Throw off this mantle with a sudden jerk,

          (_Throws off disguise, and appears as_ SANTA CLAUS.)

                   And in an instant set myself to work.

     _Children._   'Tis Santa Claus!

     _Santa._      You're right. I am the man,
   Yours to command. I'll serve you if I can;
   For I have found, good dame, that honest worth
   Can burrow in the lowliest spot on earth;
   That sweet compassion's ne'er so poorly fed,
   But what she finds an extra crust of bread.
   Now, to reward your generous hearts, my chicks,
   Into the earth these magic seeds I sticks;
   These cabalistic words in Hebrew mutter,—
   "Ene, mene, moni, suti, sutter;"
   Presto! appear! and, glittering bright and free,
   Beams on your sight the mystic Christmas tree.

        (_Shoe divides, and disappears_ R. _and_ L. _Curtains at
                     back open, disclosing tree._)

  _Song: "We'll gather round the Christmas Tree."_ SANTA CLAUS _and_
    OLD WOMAN _distribute presents to the company. Curtain falls._

[Illustration:

  REAR VIEW OF COPPER TOE SHOE HOUSE.
]

  NOTE.—This entertainment was prepared for a Sunday school's
  Christmas Eve, and was arranged as follows: A stage, fourteen feet
  square, was fitted with a "roll-up" curtain in front. Drapery was
  hung at the sides and back; a Christmas tree, filled with presents,
  was placed well back on the stage, and hidden by curtains arranged
  to separate in the middle. In front of these was placed "Copper Toe
  Shoe House." The rear view represents the frame made of wood, in two
  pieces, to separate in the middle, of the following dimensions: ten
  feet from toe to heel, five feet and one half from heel to top, four
  feet and one half across top, heel about twenty inches long, eight
  inches high. Cover front, in two separate sections, with black
  cambric; for toe, copper tinsel paper; for sole and patch, brown
  cambric; for buckle, silver tinsel paper; the patch fastened only at
  bottom. A curtain, of same material or color as back stage, should
  be hung in rear of shank, that children standing behind may not be
  seen. A settee is placed behind it, on which the children in the
  dwelling stand. 1, 2, and 3 lie upon the stage, and stick their
  heads out when required. The characters can pass between the
  curtains at back, to their places. When the tree is disclosed, all
  the characters are in front, the settee is removed, the braces
  unfastened, and, at a signal, two boys run off the shoe, and others
  draw the curtains.

[Illustration:

  THE TOURNAMENT OF IDYLCOURT.
]




                                  THE
                        TOURNAMENT OF IDYLCOURT.


                              AN ALLEGORY.


                              CHARACTERS.

            JUSTICIA, Genius of Idylcourt.
            PRIMEVA, Goddess of Nature.
            MAJESTA, Guardian of the Mountains.
            LOFTIE, AERIE, Mountain-Spirits.
            FLORA, Guardian of the Fields.
            POMONA, AGRIA, Field-Spirits.
            OCEANA, Guardian of the Sea.
            SHELLIE, WAVA, Sea-Spirits.
            GENIA, Goddess of Art.
            BLENDA, Genius of Painting.
            CLASSICA, Genius of Sculpture.
            HARMONIA, Genius of Music.
            FAITH, HOPE, CHARITY, Classica's Models.
            RELIGION, PRAYER, SORROW, JOY, Blenda's Picture.
            POESIE, a wandering Maiden.

  SCENE.—_Idylcourt. For a school exhibition, the chorus should be
    seated right and left of an open space in the centre of the
    platform, for the speakers. There should be a raised platform, six
    or eight inches high, at the rear of this, with a dark background
    for the more effective display of tableaux._

                 _Opening Chorus; air, "Shady Groves."_

                 Idylcourt, in fame and beauty
                   Glorious, bright thy realms appear;
                 Idylcourt, in love and duty
                   Willing hearts to thee draw near,
                   Wise Justicia's words to hear,
                   Wise Justicia's words to hear.
                 Court of genius, home of beauty,
                 Court of genius, home of beauty,
                 Court of genius, home of beauty,
                   Willing hearts to thee draw near;
                 Court of genius, home of beauty,
                 Court of genius, home of beauty,
                 Court of genius, home of beauty,
                   Willing hearts to thee draw near;
                 Court of genius, love and duty
                 Render homage to thy beauty,
                     Render to thy beauty,
                 Court of genius, love and duty.

  _During the singing of the Chorus, enter_, R., PRIMEVA, MAJESTA,
    FLORA, _and_ OCEANA. _Enter_ L., GENIA, CLASSICA, BLENDA,
    HARMONIA. _At the conclusion, enter_ JUSTICIA R., _and stands_ C.
    _Positions are indicated by the following diagram_:—

[Illustration]

                              JUSTICIA.
             _Chorus._ R.         C.          L. _Chorus._
                       MAJ.                CLAS.
                       FLO.   PRIM.   GEN.  HAR.
             OCEA.                                   BLEN.

     _Justicia._   Welcome, fair sisters, to our regal court;
   Your tuneful measures breathe of good report;
   Twin guardian spirits of the fruitful earth,
   To glad mankind creation gave you birth.
   To you, Primeva, Nature bends in awe;
   From you, fair Genia, Art receives its law.
   Your free acclaim, upon this regal seat,
   Justicia placed, all arguments to meet
   With ear impartial; bade her voice decide,
   That blissful harmony might here abide.
   Your graceful homage, to our royal ear
   Is but the foretaste of more welcome cheer.
   You need our aid: unto our grateful heart
   Your mission's import quickly now impart.

     _Primeva._    Fair genius—

     _Genia._      Sweet Justicia—

     _Justicia._   Our decree,
   By courtly rule, admits no double plea.
   Be gracious, sisters.

     _Genia._      I was wanting grace,
   And humbly bend to give Primeva place.

     _Primeva._    Justicia, yonder proud and haughty sprite
   Usurps a name Primeva claims by right.
   I would have justice!

     _Justicia._   Art thou just to her?
   Genia usurper! 'tis a cruel slur.
   Brave, truthful speech bears no envenomed sting,
   But, like good metal, has an honest ring.

     _Primeva._    It was an honest truth, I dare repeat;
   I may be rough in speech, but scorn deceit.

     _Genia._      'Tis true, Justicia, in a friendly way,
   I chanced to cross Primeva's path to-day,
   And held some converse with my sister sprite,
   Whose bold, free speech is often my delight.
   Our theme was conquest; and, in pleasant strife,
   Each boasted of her power o'er human life;
   And, half in jest, this boast I gayly hurled,—
   "I, Genia, am the empress of the world."

     _Primeva._    'Tis false. It was no jest.

     _Justicia._   Primeva, cease!
   Your angry humor doth disturb our peace.

     _Genia._      Primeva met my jest with frowning brow,
   And angry words, so bitter in their flow,
   My jesting humor fled. We argued long
   To whom, by right, that title should belong;
   Leaving all else but this great truth behind,—
   She is the greatest who best serves mankind.

     _Justicia._   Who won the battle?

     _Genia._      That you must decide.
   By your impartial fiat we abide.

     _Primeva._    On this we are agreed. Justicia, hear,
   And let your judgment be both wise and clear.
   Nature's own goddess, crowned and sceptred, I
   Stand forth all meaner powers to defy.
   I rule the field, the mount, the sky, the sea:
   Who shall presume in power to rival me?
   I wave my hand; and, o'er the barren waste,
   Upspringing flowers to meet my coming haste.
   I smile: the trees, o'erburdened with their fruit,
   Bend low, with blushing cheeks, for my salute.
   I speak: the bristling hillocks, far and near,
   Present in homage many an opening ear;
   The grand old mountains, stately and serene,
   Welcome my coming, own me as their queen;
   Adown their sides I loose the mimic streams,
   To sport and revel in the sun's warm beams.
   I rule the mighty sea by wave and tide;
   I deck with starry gems the heavens wide;
   I hurl the storm upon the maddening sea;
   The shifting winds, obedient, follow me;
   I bind the waters in an icy band,
   And spread a snowy pall o'er all the land;
   With all the elements I sport at will,
   And, fast or loose, all my commands fulfil.
   Fair genius, 'tis but just, that, so renowned,
   As empress of the world I should be crowned.

     _Justicia._   There's anger in thy speech, pride in thine eye;
   Ambition's soaring pinions lift thee high.
   What says your rival to this weighty claim?
   Can aught be found to heighten Genia's fame?

     _Genia._      Justicia, I a mightier sceptre sway,
   And make Primeva's realms but pave the way
   To grand achievements. Through her flowery field
   I drive the plough, and bounteous harvests yield;
   With skilful husbandry I trim and train,
   And bursting garners from wild growth obtain;
   Tunnel her mountains with resistless force,
   And make a pathway for the iron horse;
   Gird up her waters to obey my will,
   And move the strong arm of the whirring mill.
   Across her broad expanse, the mighty sea,
   My white-winged messengers move swift and free;
   From out their earthen graves I pluck the gems
   That warm and shape, or glow in diadems.
   In aërial flights I wander through her sphere,
   Or with rare science draw her planets near,
   With touch electric feel the farthest clime,
   And count the storm-specks on the wings of time.
   She empress of the world! it cannot be;
   All her possessions minister to me.
   Rough and ill-shaped the treasure she displays;
   I mould and carve, and make the jewel blaze.
   I claim the crown. Justicia, be thou true;
   She must be greatest who can all subdue.

     _Justicia._   Unto this haughty speech, and fulsome praise,
   We've listened, Genia, in a wild amaze.
   Hast thou forgot, self-laudatory boast
   Was ne'er the leader of a conquering host?
   But that to sober justice we're allied,
   We should be merry at such foolish pride.

     _Genia._      We wait your verdict.

     _Primeva._    'Twill give me the crown.

     _Genia._      Primeva, cease.

     _Primeva._    I care not for your frown.
   Betwixt the false and true she _must_ decide:
   Mine is the wise, and yours the foolish pride.

     _Justicia._   This idle skirmish doth our court defame;
   A silly quarrel for an empty name.

     _Primeva._    A silly quarrel! Is Justicia fair,
   To shun a verdict by excuse so bare?

     _Genia._      She's bound to rule whene'er we make appeal:
   Be wise, Justicia, and your choice reveal.

     _Justicia._   Hear, then, the judgment which we now proclaim:—
   As each has sought to blazon her own fame,
   The key to right in this one truth we find,—
   She is the greatest who best serves mankind.
   On this you are agreed. Here rest your case,
   And leave the verdict to the human race.
   Ofttimes, in Idylcourt, you've chanced to meet
   An earthly maid, who favors our retreat,
   With curious, watchful eyes, as though she sought
   Food for the nourishment of new-born thought,—
   A goodly type of fair, ingenuous youth,
   About whom floats an atmosphere of truth.
   Woo her, fair sisters, with all fair device,
   Which should in honest rivalry suffice;
   In peaceful tourney meet to win the maid;
   And on the victor shall our hand be laid
   In benediction of so wise a choice;
   Then harmony prevails, and all rejoice.

     _Primeva._    An admirable plan.

     _Genia._      Justicia's right.

     _Justicia._   Prepare your forces for the bloodless fight.
   Be earnest in the strife, but loyal ever,
   And some success _must_ crown a right endeavor.

                     _Chorus; air, "New-mown Hay."_

                   Then gayly to the tourney hie,
                     And struggle for the crown;
                   The strong in right shall all defy,
                     The wrong in shame go down.
                   In peaceful contest meeting,
                   All courteous be the greeting.
                   We arm, the contest to begin:
                     Hurrah! the right shall win!

                   _At the words, "All courteous"_ JUSTICIA _extends
   her right hand_; PRIMEVA _lays her left hand upon it_; GENIA _lays
   her right. They stand thus until the chorus ends. Then repeat the
   chorus._ JUSTICIA _steps back, and exit_ R.; PRIMEVA _and_ GENIA
   _with their attendants countermarch, and exeunt_ R. _and_ L. _As
   the song ceases, enter from_ R., POESIE.

                   _Poesie_. Vanquished again! Was ever mortal maid
   By wild, illusive phantoms so betrayed?
   Taught by a wise old seer that Idylcourt
   Of guiding genii is the famed resort,
   I've wandered in and out for weary hours,
   Seeking the leaders of those mighty powers
   That robe the earth in beauty, seasons guide,
   Hang out the stars, and shift the changing tide,
   Endow with action all the sons of earth,
   And to the good and beautiful give birth.
   Alas! my search is vain. About me glide
   Tormenting shadows, that my calls deride.
   I feel their presence in the fragrant breeze;
   I touch their fingers in the fruited trees;
   I spy their images in mirrored fount;
   I hear their music in the echoing mount.
   I know that at their touch fair cities rise;
   That at their call delighted progress flies;
   That at their smiles e'en towering genius soars
   To loftier heights, and richer spoil secures.
   And yet far off they stand. I cannot meet
   The love-light of their eyes, or at their feet
   Drink in the wisdom of inspiring speech.
   The springs of power rise far beyond my reach.
   Hear me, ye spirits, wonderful and grand!
   Upon your charmèd ground I fearless stand.
   Come ye in frightful shapes, or forms of grace,
   I challenge you to meet me face to face.

                     _Chorus: "The Fairy's Revel."_

                   The mountains are sending their forces in might;
   The fields are upspringing, and girding for fight;
   The sea is outpouring, the air is alive,
   For thee, fair Primeva, in tourney to strive.

                   _During which, enter_, R., PRIMEVA; FLORA,
   _bearing flowers_; POMONA, _bearing basket of fruit_; AGRIA, _with
   a bundle of dried grass, hay, and grain_; OCEANA, SHELLIE, WAVA,
   MAJESTA, LOFTIE, AERIE, _and take positions according to following
   diagram_:—

[Illustration]

      _Chorus_, R.                C.                 _Chorus_, L.
      ───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
      _Chorus_, R.        WAV. SHEL. POESIE.         _Chorus_, L.
      _Chorus_, R.         OC.                       _Chorus_, L.

      _Chorus_, R.   POM.                    LOFT.   _Chorus_, L.
      _Chorus_, R.  AGR.               PRIM.   AER.  _Chorus_, L.
      _Chorus_, R. FLO.                         MAJ. _Chorus_, L.

     _Poesie._     Conquered at last; and yet with strange affright
   I am possessed at this most dazzling sight.
   Fair spirits, at my call you've kindly met.
   I'm little skilled in your court etiquette:
   Accept the homage of a grateful heart,
   That long will cherish what you may impart.

     _Primeva._    A suitor for that heart behold in me,—
   Primeva, Nature's goddess, strong and free.
   Follow my footsteps, and the path of life
   Shall be with beauty and instruction rife.
   Nature's grand empire all inviting opes,
   To crown with joy and bliss thy youthful hopes.
   The realm of matter owns my sovereign sway;
   All working forces my commands obey.
   But give to me thy heart, and onward press,
   For I've the power to beautify and bless.
   Come thou, fair Flora, guardian of my fields,
   Display the charms thy rich dominion yields.

         (FLORA _steps upon platform at_ L. _of_ POESIE. POMONA
                    _and_ AGRIA _step behind them_.)

     _Flora._      Broad and bright, in beauty and in worth,
   The realms I govern stretch about the earth:
   In pastures where the meek-eyed cattle graze,
   In clustering woodlands, musical with praise,
   In mighty forests where the untamed rove,
   O'er rich plantations, through the tropic grove,
   O'er plain and prairie, noiseless to the tread,
   My regal green luxuriously is spread.
   Out of my thrifty soil mankind's supplies,
   At lusty labor's call, obedient rise.
   With fancy's touch I skilfully combine
   Grove, hill, and river in a rare design,
   And spread for Genius, rich, attractive views
   She fails to catch, yet hopefully pursues.
   Come to my realms, fair maid! Primeva's heart
   With warmest love shall purest joys impart.

     _Agria._      Haste, gentle maid, into our fair retreat:
   Agria will lay her treasures at thy feet.

     _Pomona._     And in thy lap, from her abundant store,
   Pomona will her choicest treasures pour.

     _Flora._      Thou shalt be welcomed with a matchless song,
   Our heaven-taught singers joyously prolong;
   On mossy beds recline for happy hours,
   Charmed by rich perfumes, decked with lovely flowers.

                  _Tableau: "Flora's Tribute." Music._

                   POESIE _sinks on one knee, making a "lap" of her
   dress with her hand_. FLORA _steps behind, holding flowers over her
   head_. AGRIA _at_ R., _kneeling, in the act of laying her treasures
   at her feet_. POMONA, L., _bending forward, about to pour her
   fruits into her lap_. OCEANA _with her arms about_ WAVA _and_
   SHELLIE, R. _and_ L., _kneel_. MAJESTA, LOFTIE, _and_ AERIE _form a
   standing group, with arms thrown about each other_. POMONA _passes
   to back_, L. _corner_. FLORA _looks down at_ POESIE. POESIE _has
   her head thrown back, looking up at_ FLORA. _All the others look
   at_ POESIE. _Music continues until the group is well settled in
   position, then_,—

                   _Chorus; air, "The First Violets."_

                   Come with gentle Flora, fair fields to rove.
   She can deck with beauty, she will share with love.
   Bathed by the sunlight, and fed by the dew,
   Her bright and verdant regions are opening to you.

       _Poesie_ (_springing to her feet; others retiring to their
                           first positions_).

                   Sweet, gentle Flora, take me to your heart;
   In all your joys I long to bear a part.

     _Primeva._    Nay, not so fast, fair maiden. List again.
   Majesta burns your homage to obtain;
   She is the guardian of the mountains high,
   Whose peaks in grandeur pierce the arching sky.

     _Majesta._    Where the fierce eagle builds her dizzy nest,
   Amid the clouds, I take my regal rest.
   The sun on me his morning kiss bestows,
   And nightly wraps me in his farewell glows.
   The storm-king grimly musters round my throne,
   And sends his chariots to the farthest zone.
   My realms stretch far and wide o'er all the land,
   And monuments of awe-inspiring grandeur stand.
   Within my treasure-caverns locked secure,
   Are precious stones, and veins of gleaming ore;
   Marbles and granites—sleeping giants—lie,
   Long to escape the crafty builder's eye.
   Come to my realm, fair maid, and thou shalt find
   The golden talisman that lures mankind.
   From towering summits watch the creeping world;
   See beauty's colors gloriously unfurled;
   Heap the weird echoes bound from steep to steep;
   And see the lightning take his earthward leap.
   Primeva's fortress shall thy guardian be:
   Give me thy hand, and upward mount with me.

                   _Tableau: "The Listeners." Music._

                   MAJESTA _stands_ C., _with left hand pointing up
   over audience_. POESIE, _kneeling_ R., _places her left hand in_
   MAJESTA'S _left, and bends forward, intently gazing in the
   direction in which she points, her right hand behind her ear_.
   LOFTIE _passes to_ L. _of_ MAJESTA, _and kneels with her hand on
   the waist of_ MAJESTA. AERIE _in same position_, R. _of_ POESIE.
   OCEANA _and her sprites form a standing group_, R., _back_. PRIMEVA
   _steps back of all; and_ FLORA _and her sprites form standing
   group_, L., _back. Music continues until all arranged, then_,—

                    _Chorus; air, "The Herd-Bells."_

                    Amid the mountains fleeting,
                      The echoes linger long,
                    Earth's song of praise repeating,
                      In chorus rich and strong.
                    The grand old mountains proudly
                      Their heads in beauty raise,
                    And, bathed in blushing glory,
                      Accept the song of praise.

                   [_The effect could be heightened by concealing a
   chorus at the farther end of the hall, and introducing an echo
   refrain in the song._]

        _Poesie_ (_springing up; the others resuming their former
                              positions_).

                   Upward, Majesta, guide my willing feet;
   I long to share the joys of your retreat.

     _Primeva._    Curb your impatience once again, I crave.
   Speak, Oceana, guardian of the wave.

     _Oceana._     Know me, fair maid, as guardian of the sea,
   The wealth of waters stretching far and free,
   Deep basined in the world; in peace as mild,
   As bright and beauteous, as a sportive child;
   Dancing in sunlight up and down the sand;
   Leaping, with white-capped waves, the rocky strand;
   Creeping to shady nooks on pebbly bed;
   Sleeping in moonlight 'neath a silvery spread.
   Over her rolling roads, in strength and pride,
   The floating treasure-chests of nations glide;
   In emerald pastures deep beneath her crest,
   The fin-clad wanderers from their gambols rest.
   At mankind's call she hastes to do her part,
   And from her herds bestows with generous heart.
   Far, far below, fair cities rear their walls
   With jewelled keeps, and coral-caverned halls.
   Come to my realms, fair maid, and float with me
   Upon the bosom of the swelling sea.
   Hark to the song of Naiads far below;
   See in the sunlight yonder billows glow.

                     _Tableau: "The Gazers." Music._

                   OCEANA _kneels on one knee_ R. _of_ POESIE,
   _pointing off_ R. POESIE _places her left hand on_ OCEANA'S
   _shoulder, leans forward, shades her eyes with right hand, and
   looks in the direction of pointed hand_. SHELLIE _comes_ L. _of_
   POESIE, _a little behind her, and kneels quickly, holding a shell
   in her hand_. WAVA _kneels in front of all, with her finger to her
   lip, and her hand waving silence to_ PRIMEVA, _who stands_ L. AERIE
   _and her sprites form a standing group_, L., _back, and_ MAJESTA
   _and her sprites the same_, R., _back; all looking in the direction
   in which_ OCEANA _points. Music continues until the picture is
   complete, then_,—

                     _Chorus; air, "Boating Song."_

                   Gayly, ye billows, among you we play;
   Take us up gently, and bear us away;
   Light on the surface of ocean we glide;
   Deep in her bosom we fearless abide.
   Roving at pleasure, joyous and free,
   Rocked in the arms of the murmuring sea.

        _Poesie_ (_starting up; others resume former positions_).

                   Among thy happy scenes I long to roam;
   Bright Oceana, take me to thy home.

     _Primeva._    Thou shalt be free to roam field, mount, and sea,
   If thou but give thy gentle heart to me.
   These sisters three, my ministers of state,
   My edicts to enforce, obedient wait;
   And I, submissive to a heavenly will,
   With mighty powers its commands fulfil.
   I own no earthly rule, no rival fear;
   Beauty and grandeur at my voice appear;
   What title, Poesie, will you here bestow
   On one in whom such rare endowments glow?

     _Poesie._     Thy glorious visions wrap me in amaze;
   Speech were too poor, in eloquence of praise,
   To frame a title that would fitly stand
   To mark a power so wonderful and grand.
   What title can I give? I pray thee tell.

     _Primeva._    The empress of the world would suit me well.

                          _Enter_ JUSTICIA, R.

     _Justicia._   Hold, rash Primeva! not to gain applause
   Should wild ambition overstep our laws.—
   What thou hast heard, fair mortal, ponder long,
   For hasty action often strengthens wrong;
   Another suitor comes; give willing ear;
   Weigh well all doubts; then let the truth appear.

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

                    _Chorus_: "_The Fairy's Revel._"

                   The armies of Genius outpour in their might,
   Fair Science is marching her clans to the fight.
   At the call of its mistress Art's realms are alive,
   For thee, lovely Genia, in tourney to strive.

                   (_During the chorus, all upon the platform move
   round back of_ POESIE, _and form in line_. _Enter_ L. GENIA,
   BLENDA, _and_ CLASSICA.)

     _Poesie._     Another brilliant throng, so fair and bright,
   My spirit quickens with a new delight.
   Welcome, sweet friends: if me you come to greet,
   Such glowing honors lay me at your feet.

     _Genia._      Kneel not to me; I come to win thy heart.
   The suitor here should choose the lowly part.
   Fair mortal, listen. Genia is my name:
   Art's chosen goddess, mighty is my fame.
   Thou art the offspring of that sovereign Thought,
   Under whose sway the universe is brought;
   And I, the guiding genius of mankind,
   In bonds submissive, Nature's realms to bind.
   Before my birth, the world was filled with strife,
   And all the squalor of barbaric life;
   The human race in ignorance sunk deep,
   Content to live and die in sloth and sleep.
   But, with my coming, energy awoke,
   And reason through the deadening chaos broke;
   Awakened Thought, in wonder, sought by lore
   Creation's mystic riddle to explore;
   And, as she strove, the world's great change was wrought,
   With purer joys from deeper delvings brought.
   Beneath my sway, all's wonderful and grand
   Where taste and culture deck what Nature planned.
   Give me thy heart, and with all-conquering might
   I'll guide thy steps through life to realms of light.
   I bring three sisters in my regal train,
   Who high in Art's supreme dominion reign.—
   Blenda, approach. Thy skill to Poesie show,
   And let rare colors on thy canvas glow.

     _Blenda._     In Nature's studio, Blenda's models rise
   In various shapes to gladden and surprise.
   The shadows of their beauties to secure,
   Leads genius many trials to endure.
   But what a triumph waits the earnest heart,
   Who on the canvas sees her trophies start
   To life and action, adding, age on age,
   To history many a bright, illumined page!
   Portraying vice with rarely gifted hand,
   She sees a warning light 'gainst passion stand.
   Depicting virtue in her pure attire,
   She warms all hearts to worship and aspire.
   Inwrapping sense and soul with pleasure high,
   To homage leads the world's applauding cry.
   Look on the picture I will now display,—
   Religion standing in the heavenly way,
   Her finger pointing in the Book of truth,
   Instruction pouring in the ears of youth.

                  _Tableau: "The Heavenly Way" Music._

                   BLENDA _takes_ POESIE'S _hand, and leads her_ R.,
   t_hen turns, and points to_ C. POESIE _falls upon her knees with
   clasped hands_. PRIMEVA _and her sprites, who are in a line, back,
   separate_ R. _and_ L., _disclosing group_. RELIGION, _standing_ C.,
   _an open Bible supported on her left hand, rests upon her arm, the
   open pages towards audience; her right hand rests on the page, with
   one finger pointing. At her right hand, kneels_ JOY, _pointing with
   her left hand to_ RELIGION, _her right on the shoulder of_ SORROW,
   _who is crouching before her, with her face buried in her hands.
   Left of_ RELIGION, PRAYER _kneels, joining the hands of a little
   child who is in front of her: she is looking up at_ RELIGION.
   _Music soft and low, until the group is formed, then_,—

                  _Chorus_: "_How gently, how calmly._"

                So gently, so calmly descending,
                Religion glides over the earth,
                      So pure, so bright,
                She decks the earth with heavenly light,
                That charms to calm and sweet repose.
                      Oh, lovely spirit!
                Genia in triumph shall soon arise;
                Blenda calls beauty from out the skies;
                She shall be honored evermore;
                Goddess of Art, your crown is secure.
                      Joyous are we, &c.

      (_Music continues until all change to their old positions._)

     _Poesie._     I am enraptured with your beauteous art;
   Sweet Blenda, let me henceforth share your heart.

     _Genia._      Classica waits, fair maid: we hold her dear;
   With words of counsel let her now draw near.

     _Classica._   Dull, senseless stone, I train to living grace,
   Trace beauty's lines upon the pallid face;
   From sullen marble draw the prisoned heart,
   And strength and sense to meaner clay impart.
   Over the earth I rear the grandest homes,
   With towering pinnacles, and stately domes;
   While tombs and pyramids for ages stand,
   To mark the workings of my gifted hand.
   Who follows me must labor hard and long,
   Be brave in trial, and in patience strong.
   The tasks I spread, by perils oft beset,
   The sculptor strengthen, when courageous met;
   Through me, life-studies he must ponder o'er,
   And dive deep down in streams of classic lore;
   And, if he fails to reach his ideal plan,
   Out of his struggles he has carved—a man.
   But, if he triumphs, grand is his renown;
   Fame can bestow no more enduring crown.
   Upon my marbles, maiden, look with me;
   Faith, Hope, and Charity,—the peerless three.

                 _Tableau: "The Peerless Three" Music._

                   CLASSICA _takes_ POESIE'S _hand, and leads her_
   R., _then turns, and points_ C. POESIE _falls upon her knees. The
   characters at back separate, showing group_: CHARITY, _a tall
   figure_, C., _her left hand upon the left shoulder of a child, who
   stands nearly in front of her, half turned towards her, with
   outstretched hand, into which_ CHARITY _is in the act of dropping a
   coin, with her right hand. At_ R. _of_ CHARITY _stands_ HOPE,
   _leaning upon an anchor, looking at_ CHARITY. _On her_ L. _stands_
   FAITH, _with her arms folded about a large cross, which rests upon
   the platform, and reaches above her shoulder_. FAITH _and_ HOPE
   s_hould be a little shorter than_ CHARITY. _All the figures in
   plain white, no colors; the cross and the anchor should be white.
   Music soft and low until all is arranged, then_,—

               _Chorus_; _air, "How gently, how calmly."_

                How calmly, how sweetly relieving,
                Moves Charity over the earth,
                      With Faith and Hope!
                They deck the earth with heavenly light,
                That charms to calm and sweet belief.
                      Oh, lovely spirits!
                Genia in triumph shall now arise;
                Classica calls from out the skies;
                Her works for ages shall endure;
                Goddess of Art, your crown is secure.
                      Joyous are we, &c.

            _Poesie_ (_starting up; line at back changing as
                                before_).

                   Classica, thy sculptured forms are all divine.
   Has Art another realm can equal thine?

     _Genia._      Thou shalt be judge, fair maid; within my train,
   Is one who can the wildest heart enchain;
   She rules the realm of song, melodious moves,
   Gathering the warbled sweets of woodland groves;
   And thence distilling soul-entrancing lays,
   That fill the earth with peace, the heavens with praise.
   Spirit of music, sweet Harmonia, wake:
   Of thy rich gifts bid Poesie partake.

                   _Music. Characters at back separate._ HARMONIA
   _discovered_, C., _standing erect, a lyre in her left hand, the
   fingers of her right upon the strings_. POESIE _moves up, and
   kneels at her feet, looking up at her with clasped hands. The
   characters group themselves in sitting and reclining positions
   about her._ PRIMEVA _and_ GENIA _stand at extreme_ R. _and_ L.,
   _back_.

             _Solo and chorus_: "_So merrily over the Ocean
                                Spray._"

           HARMONIA _sings the three solos, then full chorus_.

     _Solo._       I am queen of the realm of song,
   My home the harmonious sea,
   Where the spirits of music prolong
   Unceasing a welcome for me.
   From the song wave they merrily brave,
   Melodious voices glide;
   Oh, sweet is their song as it floateth along
   The crest of the tremulous tide!

     _Chorus._     So merrily over the sea of song,
   Rising and falling we float along;
   So merrily over the sea of song,
   Gayly we float along.
   Gayly over the sea,
   Harmonia's spirits free,
   Singing, singing,
   Happy, happy are we.
   As merrily over the sea of song,
   Rising and falling we float along;
   So merrily over the sea of song,
   Over the sea of song,
   Gayly we float along,
   Gayly we float along.

                   (_When the song is ended, all keep their places_,
   POESIE _kneeling, with her eyes fixed upon_ HARMONIA. _A pause;
   then_ GENIA _steps to the side of_ POESIE.)

     _Genia._      Silent, fair Poesie? What! no words of praise
   As tribute to Harmonia's matchless lays?

     _Poesie._     Can words pay fitting homage to her art?
   My tribute's here, in this high-swelling heart,
   Which, filled with rapture, checks the flow of speech
   That would aspire to praise it cannot reach.

     _Genia._      And so I triumph. Maiden, unto me
   This soaring spirit bends the humble knee;
   Is but a slave to work my sovereign will,
   And with her sisters my commands fulfil.
   Over the earth unnumbered spirits bind,
   At smile from me, rich blessings for mankind;
   What title can she claim who thus displays
   All that can bless and strengthen and amaze?

     _Poesie._     What title can she claim? You ask me this,
   Whose soul is filled with one rich draught of bliss,—
   Harmonia's mistress?

     _Genia._      I that spirit claim.

               _Primeva_ (_comes down_ L. POESIE _rises_).

                   'Tis false! 'Twas I, Primeva, gave her fame.
   From heaven she came, to purify and bless;
   And Nature nurtured her with warm caress.

     _Genia._      'Twas Art's rich culture trained her infant voice
   In grand, majestic numbers to rejoice.

     _Primeva._    Genia, no more; let Poesie decide
   Upon our claims. Her judgment we abide.

     _Genia._      I am content.

     _Poesie._     Of me, ye judgment seek?
   You, strong and mighty, I but poor and weak.

     _Primeva._    To save a sovereign title of command,
   Nature and Art in strife before you stand.
   In full accord our forces are combined
   For this great task,—to serve and bless mankind.
   Who is the greatest? Fearlessly proclaim.
   We ask your verdict in Justicia's name.
   Both have our powers skilfully unfurled;
   Who shall be crowned as empress of the world?

     _Poesie._     O spirits regal, beautiful, and wise!
   In unity supreme your glory lies;
   Can frail mortality presume to call
   Her judgment forth, to make you rise or fall?
   Fair Genia, through your realms of thought and light,
   I wander in a maze of grand delight;
   Behold mankind upspring in strength and grace,
   And sturdy tasks courageously embrace.
   As through your realms, Primeva, free I rove,
   My spirit glows with reverence and love.
   I see your earth, so wonderful and vast,
   Which proud man conquers, conquer him at last;
   And in both Art and Nature see the hand
   Which wields the sceptre of supreme command,
   Where each within my heart holds equal place,
   I could not elevate, would not abase.

                         (_Joins their hands._)

                   Together reign, and teach mankind the way
   To that grand realm, and that one sovereign sway.

                          _Enter_ JUSTICIA, C.

     _Justicia._   A righteous verdict, which we joyous seal.
   Our tourney's ended: let the chorus peal.

  _Tableau_: JUSTICIA _on platform, with her hands raised in
    benediction over_ POESIE, _who stands before her, joining the
    hands of_ GENIA, L., _and_ PRIMEVA, R.; GENIA'S _followers on her_
    L., PRIMEVA'S _followers on her_ R.

                   _Chorus, same as opening chorus._

                   Idylcourt, in love and beauty, &c.

                              (_Curtain._)

  NOTE.—The airs, "Shady Groves," and "Boatman's Song," can be found
  in "The Grammar School Chorus." The other airs are from the new
  "Fourth Music Reader," published by Ginn Brothers. Price, $1.50.
  Furnished by Lee and Shepard, Boston.




                        A THORN AMONG THE ROSES.


                              CHARACTERS.

 MRS. CANDOR, Principal of Rosebush Institute.
 PATIENCE PLUNKETT, the oldest of her pupils, age thirty-five.
 LUCY WOODS,       │
 BESSIE TRAVERS,   │
 JANE TURNER,      │Pupils.
 AUGUSTA STEPHENS, │
 MARIA MELLISH,    │
 BRIDGET MAHONY, the cook, age fifty.
 TOM CANDOR, MRS. CANDOR'S nephew, a homesick youth of nineteen.
 JOB SEEDLING, lad-of-all-work, age twenty.


                               COSTUMES.

  PATIENCE PLUNKETT. A very girlish attire, with an old face strongly
    marked; red hair, with corkscrew ringlets.

  JOB SEEDLING. Dark pants, rather short, white jacket, apron,
    stockings and shoes.

  Other characters appropriately dressed.

  SCENE.—_Music-room at Rosebush Institute; piano, back_, C.; _lounge
    or sofa_, L.; _arm-chair_, R.; _two or three chairs_, R. _and_ L.
    _Entrance from_ R.

               (_Enter_ BESSIE TRAVERS _and_ LUCY WOODS.)

   _Bessie._   Madam Solfa has really gone off in a pet?

   _Lucy._     Yes: because poor me could not run up the musical scale
 with celerity,—in fact, stuck fast at the bottom,—her highness
 complained to Mrs. Candor; and Mrs. Candor—bless her!—took my part. "If
 the poor child cannot sing, let her alone."—"But se most be made to
 seeng," says madam; "and se weel steek to 'do,' and go no
 furzer."—"Well, let her stick there, if she likes. Her father's a
 baker, and she has a perfect right to stick to dough, if she likes it."
 So madam, shocked at the levity of our delightful preceptress, put on
 her bonnet and shawl, and vanished in a blaze of fury.

   _Bessie._   O Lucy, you have driven the poor lady away!

   _Lucy._     But she won't be gone long, depend upon it; for she left
 her baggage behind, and there's a quarter's salary due her.

   _Bessie._   And we must go without our lesson to-day.

   _Lucy._     I'm glad of it. There's no music in my soul. I must be
 "fit for treason and conspiracies."

   _Bessie._   You are the smartest girl in the school, Lucy, with this
 _inharmonious_ exception.

   _Lucy._     I the smartest? You flatter me; and you forget our aged
 schoolmate, Patience Plunkett.

   _Bessie._   Aged! Why, Lucy, what could have possessed that mature—to
 speak mildly—female to class herself with young girls like us?

   _Lucy._     I'm sure I don't know; but Maria Mellish, who is always
 fishing out mysteries, told me her father, a farmer, has recently made
 a mint of money; and Patience has a foolish idea that she can procure
 an education, even at her age, and so entered Rosebush Institute as a
 pupil.

   _Bessie._   Poor thing! she is the laughing-stock of the school, and
 cannot be made to see it.

   _Lucy._     She has one devoted admirer, Job Seedling. The silly
 gander is evidently in love, and takes no pains to conceal it. At the
 table he forgets his occupation, and stands staring at her.

   _Bessie._   She certainly receives a great deal of attention, and all
 the tidbits, there. (_Enter_ MARIA MELLISH, R.)

   _Maria._    O girls! I have found it out at last. Only think of it! a
 romance in Rosebush Institute! Yes: now, don't speak of this,—Job
 Seedling, the meek, patient Job, is a prince in disguise.

   _Bessie._   A prince? Nonsense.

   _Maria._    Well, not exactly a prince; but Hopps the milkman told me
 that Johnson the butcher told him that Bates the expressman told him
 that Patience Plunkett belongs in Razorly, and that his agent there
 told him that Job Seedling was the son of a rich farmer; that he got
 desperately enamoured of Patience, and followed her here, taking a
 menial situation that he might be near the object of his love. Isn't it
 splendid?

   _Lucy._     Splendid. If Mrs. Candor should hear of this, I fear that
 Job would have to give up his menial situation for a meaner.

   _Maria._    But nobody shall tell her. I mean to watch them. It will
 be such fun to hear Job sigh as he passes the butter, see him roll his
 eyes as he lifts the rolls. Oh, it's just jolly! (_Enter_ JANE TURNER
 _and_ AUGUSTA STEPHENS.)

   _Jane._     O girls! have you heard the news? Tom—

   _Augusta._  Candor has just arrived.

   _Jane._     Sick. Only think of it! Come here to be nursed. And he
 looks awfully.

   _Augusta._  Mrs. Candor hurried him off to bed at once, ordered hot
 jugs for his feet, hot ginger-tea, and a cold towel for his head.

   _Maria._    Dear me! and I never heard a word of it!

   _Lucy._     He ought to have a holiday, and go home.

   _Maria._    Oh, wouldn't that be fun! Poor fellow! I'm so sorry for
 him! But then, he can have jam, and jellies, and all the consolations
 of sickness. I think it's rather pleasant to be sick—a little. (_Enter_
 MRS. CANDOR, _equipped for going out_.)

   _Mrs. Candor._ Girls, I must run down and see Dr. Bruce.

  _Augusta._    │               │ Is he very sick?
  _Maria._      │ (_Together._) │ Is he going to die?
  _Lucy._       │               │ Is he dangerous?

   _Mrs. Candor._ I hope not.

  _Augusta._    │               │ Will school close?
  _Maria._      │ (_Together._) │ Shall we have a holiday?
  _Lucy._       │               │ Will you send us home?

   _Mrs. Candor._ Dear me, what talkers! Keep quiet, girls. I'll run down
 and tell the doctor his symptoms.

   _Bessie._   Let me go for him, Mrs. Candor.

   _Other girls_ (_in chorus_). Let me! I'll go! We'll all go! Do let us
 go!

   _Mrs. Candor._ No: I don't want to have him come unless it is necessary.
 He can determine that when I tell him the symptoms. So keep quiet.
 There will be no music-lesson, and you can amuse yourselves until my
 return—under the rules, remember. Dear me! what could have sent that
 boy home sick?

                                                                [_Exit._

   _Maria._    Amuse ourselves! Oh, isn't that nice? Let's have a game
 of tag!

   _Augusta._  Nonsense! With that poor sick youth over our heads?

   _Maria._    That's so! We must be quiet. (_Enter_ BRIDGET.)

   _Bridget._  If yez plase, ma'am, what'll I do? Shure, the misthress
 is nowhere at all, at all.

   _Bessie._   No, Bridget: she's gone to the doctor's.

   _Bridget._  To the doctor's, is it? 'Pon my sowl, there's throuble be
 comin' to the place. Didn't I say a windin'-sheet in the flame av me
 candle last night? Shure, that's a sign av disolation.

   _Bessie._   It's a sign the candle wanted snuffing, Bridget.

   _Bridget._  Oh, be dacent, Miss Bessie! Don't make light av the
 signs. Shure, I seed it in a candle onct whin me brither Pathrick was
 ailin' wid the masles, and jist fourteen months and six days from that
 very night he died.

   _Maria._    Of the measles?

   _Bridget._  Go long wid yez! Didn't he fall into a well, and break
 his neck wid drowning?

   _Augusta._  Now, Bridget, Mrs. Candor told us we might amuse
 ourselves while she is gone. Do you know what would _most_ amuse us?

   _Bridget._  Troth, I don't.

   _Augusta._  A nice mince-pie.

   _Maria._    Oh, yes; and some cold tongue!

   _Jane._     And a pickle. Don't forget a pickle.

   _Bridget._  I'll forgit mesilf if I git any sich dili_cases_. No, no:
 I'll not be afther givin' yez ony sich divarshun.

   _Maria._    O Bridget! you know me. I've got an elegant breastpin,
 that will look well—

   _Augusta._  Fastened to a pretty green necktie that I've no use for.

   _Jane._     And they will match a nice pair of earrings that mother
 has promised to send me for somebody—you know, Bridget.

   _Bridget._  Och, the darlints! It's the foine wheedlin' way yez have,
 onyhow. Well, well, it's mesilf will look into the panthry; an' if
 there's a deli_cate_ morsel, that's in danger av shpoiling, mayhap it
 moight find its way up here. But I'll make no promises.

                                                                [_Exit._

   _Maria._    Now let's have a dance.

   _Augusta._  Oh, that's splendid! (_Enter_ PATIENCE.)

   _Patience._ A dance! A dance in the halls of learning! Horrible!
 Girls, it must not be! You shock me. _I_ came here to cultivate my
 understanding.

   _Maria._    And dancing will do it, Patience: it's just the thing for
 the understanding.

   _Patience._ Maria Mellish, I'm ashamed of you. You want polish.

   _Maria._    A polished floor is delightful, but not necessary to the
 poetry of motion. Come, girls, a dance, a dance!

   _Patience._ Not in my presence. I will be no spec_takor_ of such
 priv-priv—nonsense. No: we are here for a higher purpose; to enlarge
 our ca-ca—talents, to store our minds with the in-in—things which the
 great minds of all ages have con-con—got together for good.

   _Maria_     (_aside to_ AUGUSTA). Poor Patience! how she trips at the
 hard words!

   _Patience._ If there is any dancing here, I shall feel under ob-ob—I
 shall tell Mrs. Candor.

   _Maria._    Well, Miss Tattler, you shall be under no ob-ob to do any
 such thing, for we won't dance.

   _Patience._ If we have a leisure hour, it cannot be better employed
 than in the per-per—reading of a useful book.

   _Maria._    That's so. (_Goes to_ R., _and calls_.) Here, Job, bring
 Miss Patience the dictionary. Come, girls, let's have a sing.

   _Augusta_   (_aside to_ MARIA). Hateful old thing!

   _Bessie._   Let us look over the music; perhaps we can find something
 sweet and soft, that will not disturb the invalid.

   _Jane._     Good! "Mulligan Guards," or, "Gentle Spring." (_They go
 to the piano, which should be placed with back to audience._ BESSIE
 _opens a musicbook; and they gather about her, turning over the
 leaves_. PATIENCE _sits on lounge_, L.)

   _Patience._ Thoughtless girls! they lack the wisdom and ripe
 ex-ex—Dear me! it's so hard to remember these words!—experience of my
 ma-ma—older years. But I, in what the poet calls "the fresh bloom of
 womanhood," can curb their flightiness. Ah, this life is so
 con-con-gealing to my ambitious spirit! I am so rapidly mastering the
 ru-ru—first steps of learning! I feel that I shall de-de-velop a
 gi-gi-_antic_ mind, and burst upon the rude boors of Razorly like some
 glorious starry con-con-consternation.

               (_Enter_ JOB, R., _with a large quarto dictionary in
 his arms. He stops at entrance; sees_ PATIENCE, _clasps the
 dictionary to his breast, and heaves a sigh_.)

   _Maria_     (_at piano_). Hush! there's Job. Now watch the pair.

   _Job._      There she is, "a-sittin' on the style, Mary," the stylish
 lounge. Oh, would I were the plush upon that lounge, that I might clasp
 that form! That's Romeo, altered for the occasion. Oh, I'm chock full
 of these frenzied ideas! I do nothing but read Shakspeare and them
 other poet-chaps—when I ain't handling plates, or scouring knives; for
 I'm in love, oh, so bad! with Patience Plunkett. Oh that name! it runs
 in my head. It is so musical, so full of poetry!

                 With fair, bewitching Patience Plunkett
                 I'm in love. Who would have thunk it?

               There's poetry, all out of my own head too. (_Comes
 down._) Miss Patience! dear Patience!

   _Patience._ Why, Job, is that you? How you startled me! I was
 rume-rume—

   _Job._      Not rheumatic. Oh, don't say that you are suffering,
 beloved Patience!

   _Patience._ I was ruminating upon some lines in Homer's _Ilyd_, the
 original Greek. You are not acquainted with Greek, Job?

   _Job._      Well, Patience, I'm not acquainted with many on 'em.
 There was old Pat Haggerty, in Razorly: they used to call him an
 Original Greek—

   _Patience._ O Job! I have no patience with you. How can you expect me
 to stoop from my high speer to mate with you, unless you cultivate your
 head more ass-ass-iduously?

   _Job._      Well, I've had it cut and shampooed three times since
 I've been here. If that ain't cultivating it, I'll have it ploughed
 next time. Here's your dictionary, Patience.

   _Patience._ Thank you: I do not require it.

   _Job._      Then, why did you send for it?

   _Augusta_   (_at piano, reading music-titles as they turn the
 leaves_). "Wouldn't you like to know?"

   _Job_       (_turning round_). Eh? Why, there's the whole lot of 'em!

   _Maria._    No: that won't do. That's too sentimental.

   _Patience._ They sent for it, not I. You can take it back.

   _Job._      O Patience! why are you so cold to one who loves you to
 distraction? Why—

   _Maria_     (_reading title_). "Lubly Cynthia." That's good.

   _Job_       (_turning round_). Plague take those girls! You know that
 for love of you I've left my home, Patience, and have donned the apron
 of a waiter, and become a patient waiter for you, Patience. Oh! when
 shall my love be rewarded with the possession of that plump white hand?

   _Jane._     "When Johnny comes marching home." That's lovely.

   _Job_       (_turning round_). Eh? Oh, bother them girls!

   _Patience._ Don't mind them, Job. They do not dream of our
 attachment. They do not dream you are my—

   _Maria._    "Curly little bow-wow."

   _Job_       (_turning round_). There, now! What's the use of trying
 to talk where them girls are? Patience, dear Patience, meet me, meet
 me—

   _Augusta._  "Meet me by moonlight alone."

   _Job._      Oh them girls! Meet me after tea in the woodshed, while I
 am cleaning knives. We can commune: we can exchange vows: we can—

   _Maria._    "Root hog or die."

   _Patience._ Yes, Job, I will be there. But be secret. If our
 attachment is discovered, Mrs. Candor will instantly dismiss you. And
 it's so romantic to have a lover in disguise! I know you love me, Job.
 Have patience.

   _Job._      I mean to have her. Don't I love you better than all else
 in the world? better than—

   _Augusta._  "My old Aunt Sally."

   _Job._      Eh? (_Aside._) I believe they are doing that on purpose.
 (_Aloud._) Farewell, Patience! I must tear myself away from your
 beloved presence. My heart—

   _Maria._    "Oh! my heart goes pit-a-pat."

   _Augusta._  "Somebody's coming, I'll not tell who."

   _Jane._     "Let me kiss him for his mother."

   _Lucy._     "Single gentleman, how do you do?"

   _Job._      Eh? Oh, I'm pretty well.

   _Maria._    Oh! nobody's talking to you, Job. Go about your business.

   _Job._      Thank you. I don't hanker for your society, do I? A
 parcel of harum-scarum girls, who are no more to be compared to—

   _Lucy_      (_reads_). "The girl I left behind me."

   _Job._      Oh, gracious! can they suspect? (_Starts off_ R., _drops
 the dictionary, and stumbles over it; then picks it up, and exit_ R.)

   _Maria._    He's stumbled over the hard words too.

   _Bessie._   There's nothing here we can sing.

   _Maria._    Oh! here's one: "Upidee."

   _Lucy._     Oh, that's nice! (_One of the girls strikes the piano,
 and all join in chorus of "Upidee." At the conclusion, three loud
 thumps are heard outside._)

   _Maria._    Oh, dear! That's Tom. We have disturbed him.

   _Lucy._     No matter: let's try it again, softer. (_Chorus repeated.
 At its conclusion, enter_ TOM, R., _with a blanket wrapped about him,
 and a wet towel tied about his head. The girls scream, and run down_ R.
 _and_ L., _leaving him in_ C.)

   _Tom._      Oh, dear! how can you reasonably suppose that a young man
 can be comfortably sick with such a racket going on down here? Oh, my
 head, my head! my poor, poor head!

   _Bessie._   Oh, Tom, we're so sorry we disturbed you!

   _All_       (_in chorus_). Yes, indeed; awful!

   _Lucy._     Wouldn't have done it for the world, had we known you
 didn't like it.

   _All_       (_in chorus_). No, indeed, we wouldn't!

   _Tom._      Oh, yes! that's all very well, now the mischief's done.
 Why, you might drive me into a fever.

   _All_       (_in chorus_). Oh, that would be dreadful!

   _Tom._      You might—you might bring on convulsions, spasms, with
 such outrageous squalling. I'll complain of you! Where's my aunt? Where
 is my fond, affectionate relative?

   _Bessie._   She's gone out, Tom: gone to the doctor's.

   _Tom._      Eh? Gone out? Good! (_Throws off blanket, and tears towel
 from his head._) Thomas is himself again!

   _All_       (_in chorus_). Why, Tom!

   _Tom._      Because Tom is only homesick, girls. My good aunt would
 not give me time to explain that I was tired of school, eager to have a
 frolic, and so got leave of absence, and came home for a day. No: she
 caught the "sickness," and bundled me off to bed. I humored the joke,
 and laughed under the bedquilt. But no sooner was she out of the room,
 but I was out of bed, dressed myself, and here I am, ready for any
 thing in the way of sport you have to offer. How long will she be gone?

   _Bessie._   Perhaps half an hour.

   _Tom._      Then for half an hour we will enjoy ourselves. Come,
 girls, what shall it be?

   _Maria._    Oh! isn't this jolly?

   _Augusta._  Real nice!

   _Jane_      (_and others_). Splendid! Beautiful!

   _Augusta._  Let's play "Hide the Slipper."

   _Maria._    No: "Copenhagen."

   _Tom._      Any thing—every thing. The noisier the better.

   _Patience_  (_rising_). Stop! Young ladies, are you aware of the
 rules of this ed-ed-ucational institute? We have been sent here from
 our happy homes, to be se-se-quest_rated_ from contact with the ruder
 sex; and now you propose to indulge in games, childish games, for your
 amusement and ame-ame-amelioration. I am ashamed of you! I blush for
 you!

   _Tom_       (_aside to_ MARIA). Oh! that's one of the teachers.

   _Maria._    Hush! It's one of the girls.

   _Tom._      One of the girls? Why, she's old enough to be your
 mother!

   _Patience._ I shall not submit to the in-in-trusion of a young man
 upon our privacy. He must instantly leave the room.

   _Tom._      I beg your pardon, Mrs.—Excuse me, miss: a slip of the
 tongue. But you look so much like my Aunt Matilda! But then, she's
 forty-five; and you can't be over thirty—

   _Patience._ Sir!

   _Tom._      Not quite, miss. I'm still very young, and not entitled
 to that address. But I couldn't think of infringing upon the rules; oh,
 no! I should have been pleased to spend half an hour in such agreeable
 society; but, as you object, I will go.

   _Girls_     (_in chorus_). Oh, no; don't go; stay!

   _Patience._ I insist upon his immediately quitting the room. I did
 not come here to flirt and frolic with young men, but to improve my
 mind, to store it—

   _Maria._    Oh, bosh, Patience! I've no patience with you.

   _Tom._      "Let Patience have her perfect work."

   _Maria_     (_aside_). She's a humbug, Tom. Our Job is in love with
 her, and she with him; and they are billing and cooing every chance
 they can get.

   _Tom_       (_aside_). Maria, you're a jewel. You have enlightened my
 understanding. You shall see some fun. (_Aloud._) Miss Patience, you
 are right: I was wrong to disturb your peaceful meditation. Forgive me.
 I will go, and in the quiet of my chamber contemplate—the basin of
 gruel which my fond aunt has left me for consolation.—Sorry, girls; but
 the rules must be obeyed.

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

   _Maria._    Patience Plunkett, you're a hateful old thing!

   _Augusta._  Yes; just as mean as you can be.

   _Jane._     If you are so fond of seclusion, why don't you go to your
 own room?

   _Maria._    Yes; and study the Book of Job.

   _Bessie._   Hush, Maria!

   _Patience._ You know I am right; and I am not at all stu-stu-pefied
 by your ob-ob-jackulations. I am a few years older than you—only a few;
 and I have wisdom to guide—

   _Maria._    Oh, fiddlesticks! We have all the preaching we want, and
 don't believe in yours.

   _Tom_       (_outside_). Oh, oh! My hand! my hand!

   _Bessie._   Tom has hurt himself.

   _Tom_       (_outside_). Oh! gracious goodness, how it smarts!
 (_Enters_ R. _hurriedly, his left hand concealed in a large piece of
 white cloth. He should also have in his hand apiece of wood, under the
 cloth; a string in his right hand._) O girls! I've done it now! That
 hand I was so proud of, oh! so white and delicate, oh!

   _Bessie._   What is it, Tom? Have you cut it?

   _Lucy._     Burnt it?

   _All_       (_in chorus_). Oh! what is the matter? (_They gather
 about him._)

   _Tom._      Oh! don't come near me. The slightest touch is agony,
 agony, agony! I went up stairs—oh! to my basin of gruel—oh! Beside the
 gruel—oh! there was a knife—oh! I took it up—oh! and—and—and oh, oh,
 oh!

   _Jane._     I've got some Russia salve in my room.

   _Maria._    Let me run for it.

   _Tom._      No. I've spread on the salve an inch thick. Oh! it's all
 right. It will soon be well. If I only had some one to tie it up for
 me!

   _All_       (_in chorus_). Let me. Let me. I'll tie it. (_They crowd
 around him._)

   _Tom._      Oh, quit! Keep off! Do you want to kill me. The least
 touch causes an indescribable sensation to quiver and shoot to the
 roots of my hair. Oh! I want a gentle hand, a skilful hand, a matronly
 hand. Miss Patience, you have much skill, tact. Will you condescend
 to—to tie up my paw?

   _Girls_     (_in chorus_). Poor Tom!

   _Patience_  (_approaching him_). Certainty, if I can relieve your
 suffering.

   _Tom._      You can, you can! Oh! (_Gives her string, and extends his
 hand. She stands_ L. _of him_. GIRLS _fall back_ R. _and_ L. _She winds
 the string about hand._)

   _Tom._      Gently, gently! Oh! how soft and tender! It seems as
 though my mother was hovering about me. Take care, take care! Gently!
 (_She ties the string._) Be very careful.

   _Patience._ I think that is tied tight.

   _Tom._      You think so? But you must be sure.

   _Patience_  (_taking his hand, and looking at string_). Yes, it's all
 right.

   _Tom_       (_slipping his hand out of cloth, leaving it in her
 hands_). Then you keep it, Patience, as a slight token of regard. "I'd
 offer thee this hand of mine, if I could love thee less." Keep it,
 Patience, and "wipe your weeping eyes," when I am far away.

                                                          [_Runs off_ R.

   _Patience_  (_throws the wrapper after him_; GIRLS _laugh_). Was
 there ever such an insulting young puppy! Oh, his aunt shall know of
 this! I'll not go to my slumbers until I have told my story. Now laugh.
 (GIRLS _shout with laughter_.) You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

   _Maria._    You told us to laugh. Seems to me you cannot be suited
 any way.

   _Patience_  (_sits on lounge_). That scamp shall go out of this
 house, or I will. The idea of his daring to play such a trick upon me!
 Thought his mother was hovering about him!

               (_Enter_ TOM R., _enveloped in a large cloak or
 "waterproof," straw bonnet on his head, with a green veil down_.)

   _Tom_       (_at_ R.). Ef yez plaise, young ladies, I'm a poor ould
 widdy-woman, wid a husband in Californy; and the door was open, and I
 made bould, ef yez plaise, to walk in, and beg a chrust of bread. It's
 nine days jist, since a morsel of bread, or a sup of tay, has passed me
 lips.

   _Bessie._   Poor old lady!

   _Chorus._   Oh! do come in! (BESSIE _sets a chair_ C., _and the
 others crowd about_ TOM, _and lead him to chair_.)

   _Tom._      Oh! it's the kind hearts yez have, ony way. I'm wairy wid
 the walkin', and faint wid the hunger; and I've corns on my fute, and
 chilblain on my fingers, an' siven childer at home.

   _Maria._    Somebody give her something to eat.

   _Jane._     Here's Job with the tray.

   _Augusta._  And our lunch. (_Enter_ JOB _with tray_.)

   _Job._      Hallo! Who's this?

   _Jane._     A poor old woman, nearly starving. Quick! Give me the
 tray. (_Takes it, and places it in_ TOM'S _lap_.) Here, old woman, help
 yourself.

   _Tom_       (_aside_). My eyes! Here's luck; and I've had nothing but
 gruel. (_Eats voraciously._) It's the kind hearts ye have.

   _Jane._     Poor thing. Hasn't eaten any thing for nine days!

   _Job._      I should say nine months,—the way she puts it away.

   _Maria._    Oh, there's Bridget! Here, Bridget! (_Enter_ BRIDGET, R.)
 Here's a countrywoman of yours.

   _Bridget._  Indade! An' what be she doin' up-stairs, I dunno?

   _Bessie._   She's very hungry, and we gave her our lunch.

   _Bridget._  Oh, murther! An' me company mince-pies goin' down her
 throat! Oh! it's wastin' yez are. A cowld pratie would be good enough
 for her.

   _Maria._    Speak to her, Bridget; the tongue of her native land
 might please her.

   _Bridget._  Faith, it's my belief that the Yankee tongue she's
 stowin' away is far more to her liking. Whist, avourneen!

   _Tom_       (_aside_). That's Irish. (_Aloud._) To be sure! Yis,
 siscon. Fag-a-Balah. Erin-go-bragh. I'm obleeged to yez.

   _Bridget._  Were yez long from the owld country?

   _Tom._      Siventeen years come nixt Candlemas.

   _Bridget._  County Tipperary, I dunno?

   _Tom_       (_aside_). Nor I either. (_Aloud._) County
 Coberdowelgowen. D'ye mind that?

   _Bridget._  'Pon my sowl, I niver heard of it. D'ye know Larry
 McFinley at all, at all?

   _Tom._      Him as lived at Doublin?

   _Bridget._  Thrue for yez.

   _Tom._      'Pon me sowl, I niver hard his name before or since. My
 memory's failin', since I took to fortin'-tellin'.

   _Girls_     (_in chorus_). Oh! a fortune-teller. Isn't that grand!

   _Job._      Well, old lady, if you're done with that waiter, I'll
 take it.

   _Tom_       (_giving waiter_). It's little appetite I have, any way.

   _Job._      Little! She _has_ done with it. There's nothing left.

   _Tom._      Yis. I'm a bit of a fortin'-teller; and, in return for
 yer kindness, I'll be after tellin' yez a bit.

   _Maria._    Tell me mine first.

   _Other girls._ No, no! Mine, mine!

   _Tom._      Ah, be aisy. The wisest and the wittiest afore the
 youngest and the prettiest, that's my way.

   _Job._      Well, 'sposin' you commence with me, old lady. I
 calculate I can see through a grindstone when there's a hole in it.

   _Tom._      Ah! but they don't make the holes large enough for your
 observation nowadays, my foine fellow. But I know you. I can say
 through yez. Yez not yerself at all. Lave me alone for seein' through a
 body. You're in love. Ah! don't blush, man: it's rid enough yez are,
 onyhow. Yer fortune's made,—why would I be tellin' yez?

   _Job_       (_aside_). She's a keen one.

   _Bridget._  If yez plaise, will yez tell me?

   _Tom._      Oh! go way wid yez. Don't demane yerself before the foine
 folk!

   _Bridget_   (_angrily_). Will, I'd loike to know.

   _Tom._      Will, yez won't. It's ignorant yez are. The lady of the
 house would like to know where the sugar goes! D'ye mind?

   _Bridget._  Oh! it's a witch she is, onyhow. I'll not cross her.

   _Jane._     Now, my good woman, please tell me my fortune.

   _Other Girls._ No. Mine, mine!

   _Tom._      Be aisy. Don't I tell you? There's the foine lady on the
 sate beyant. Would she be after having her fortune towld, I dunno?

   _Patience._ No. I do not believe in such negrominstrelsy.

   _Maria._    Necromancy. Oh! what a mistake!

   _Tom._      Well, I don't know. The fates p'int that way. Onless I
 can tell her fate, I'll not be permitted to oblige yez.

   _Maria._    Oh, do, Patience!

   _Other Girls._ Yes, Patience, do!

   _Job._      Yes, do, dear—I mean, Miss Patience.

   _Patience._ Well, if it will please you, I will condescend to the
 examination. (_Approaches_ TOM, _and offers her hand. He takes it. The_
 GIRLS _crowd about him_.)

   _Tom._      Faith, that's a good hand,—a foine large hand; and yez a
 fortune. You've gowld and galore. (_Enter_ MRS. CANDOR, _unperceived,
 at back, with her hat and shawl; she stands by piano_.) Ah! but what's
 this? Ah! Yis, it's the way of the wourld. There's a young man close
 by.

   _Patience_  (_trying to release her hand_). It's no such thing. Let
 me go!

   _Tom._      It's the truth I'm tellin'.

   _Job._      She's a-goin' to let the cat out of the bag.

   _Patience._ I don't want to hear any more.

   _Tom._      Aisy, aisy! It's the fates wills it! He loves yez, honey,
 and you love him; and what will love not do, honey? He drops from his
 high estate, puts on the waiter's apron, and follows you,—his heart all
 the time cryin', "Have Patience!" Owld Job, him as had the cutaneous
 irruptions, had patience, and so shall Job Seedling have Patience.

   _Girls_     (_in chorus_). Oh, my! Our Job?

   _Patience._ No: not your Job, but my Job. I'm not ashamed to own him!

   _Mrs. Candor_ (_coming forward_). I'm very glad to hear it. (GIRLS
 _start to_ R. _and_ L.)

   _Girls_     (_in chorus_). Mrs. Candor!

   _Tom_       (_aside_). My aunt! Oh, here's a pickle. (_Hides his
 head._)

   _Job_       (_aside_). There'll be a nice row now!

   _Mrs. Candor_ (_to_ PATIENCE). So, young lady, contrary to all rules,
 you are carrying on a flirtation under my very nose.

   _Girls_     (_in chorus_). It's awful! wicked! O Patience!

   _Patience._ Well, what is a poor girl to do? Job loves me, and I love
 Job; and—and (_sobbing_) you couldn't be so wicked as to part two-wo-wo
 young lovers!

   _Job._      Yes; born for each other,—

                        "Two roses on one stalk!"

               Them's us, Patience and Job.

   _Mrs. Candor._ You, Master Job, will be wanted here no more; and as for
 you, Miss Patience, a word with you. (_They go_ L., _and talk in dumb
 show_.)

   _Bridget._  Faith, I'll git the owld woman out of the way. (_To_
 TOM.) Whist, come away! (_Takes hold of him, and shakes him._) The
 misthress will be the death of yez. Coome!

   _Tom_       (_aside_). Away wid yez!

   _Bridget._  Away wid yerself, or there'll be throuble whin the
 misthress claps her eye onto yez. Coome, coome! (_Pulling her._)

   _Mrs. Candor._ Yes, Patience, I think it best you should close your
 connection with the school at once. (_Turns to_ TOM.) But who is this?

   _Bridget._  If yez plaise, she's a cousin of mine from County
 Cob-Cob—something; and, if yez plaise, she's a fortune-teller.

   _Tom._      Af yez plaise, would I tell yez fate, misthress?

   _Mrs. Candor._ No: let me tell yours. Boys that deceive their elders
 will never come to good.

   _Tom_       (_jumps up, and throws off cloak and bonnet_).
 Discovered!

   _Girls_     (_in chorus_). It's Tom! Oh, it's Tom!

   _Bridget._  Well, I niver! 'Pon my sowl! I dhouted the accint of his
 muther-tongue. County Cob-Cob! Oh, yez a gay desaver!

   _Tom._      It was the gruel, aunt. It flew to my head.

   _Mrs. Candor._ Oh, you scamp! Pack up your bag, and off to school at
 once: you have made a fine disturbance here.

   _Tom._      I meant no harm, aunt. I was anxious to come home to
 taste your mince-pies; eh, Bridget?

   _Bridget._  It's a greedy epicae yez are, anyhow.

   _Tom._      Your tongue and pickles. You wouldn't give me time to
 explain, and I was so homesick! Let me stay my time out.

   _Girls_     (_in chorus_). Oh, do, Mrs. Candor, do!

   _Mrs. Candor._ No: back you go. You've given me a fright, made me travel
 a mile to the doctor's, and set my school in commotion. No, sir; back
 you go. I'll have no thorns among my roses.

   _Tom._      Ah! but I removed the thorns, aunt. I think I'll get
 back, though. 'Twill be such an item for the papers!—"Romantic episode
 at Rosebush Institute."

   _Mrs. Candor._ Would you ruin me?

   _Tom._      Then don't send me away hungry. Stuff me with mince-pies,
 so that I can't utter a word, and the world shall never know how a
 homesick youth proved that love, in the halls of learning, is but a
 Thorn among the Roses.

                               _Curtain._




                           A CHRISTMAS CAROL.


     [Arranged as an entertainment from Dickens's Christmas Story.]


                              CHARACTERS.

                    EBENEZER SCROOGE.
                    JACOB MARLEY, the shadow.
                    FRED, Scrooge's nephew.
                    BOB CRATCHIT.
                    TINY TIM.
                    BOY.
                    THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST.
                    THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT.
                    THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS TO COME.


                               COSTUMES.

  SCROOGE. Rusty suit of black; gray wig.

  MARLEY. Blue coat with brass buttons; breeches; top-boots with
    tassels; chain about his waist, with padlocks and keys fastened
    upon it; at the end, a cash-box; very white face; white wig, with
    hair standing up.

  FRED. Handsome modern costume; light overcoat; red scarf tied
    loosely about his neck; gloves; hat.

  BOB CRATCHIT. Rusty blue coat; shabby pants; iron-gray wig; large
    white comforter about his neck.

  TINY TIM. Roundabout jacket; comforter about his neck; crutch; cap.

  BOY. Jacket; large cap; very red nose; large mittens; comforter
    about his neck.

  CHRISTMAS PAST. A little girl; short white spangled dress; white
    stockings; shoes; a wig of long white hair.

  CHRISTMAS PRESENT. Purple robe reaching to the floor, trimmed with
    fur; long, brown, curly hair; full brown beard; on his head "a
    holly-wreath, set here and there with shining icicles;" a belt
    around his waist, to which is attached a scabbard.

  CHRISTMAS TO COME. Long black robe, with hood entirely concealing
    his features.

  These costumes can be altered or improved by reference to Fields,
    Osgood, & Co.'s illustrated Christmas Carol.

  ARRANGEMENT. This entertainment is arranged for a stage eighteen
    feet wide by fourteen feet deep. A curtain, to draw up, is
    required between the audience and the performers. Half way up the
    stage, another curtain, to separate in the centre, and draw aside;
    the front curtain should be green, the back dark fabric. The front
    of the stage represents Scrooge's office, where the dream (in this
    version) occurs. The back is used for the pictures. For home
    representation, the same arrangement can be easily carried out.
    The performer is directed as though standing upon the stage,
    facing audience.




                                STAVE I.

  SCENE.—SCROOGE'S _office_. L., _a low desk, at which sits_ SCROOGE,
    _in a large arm-chair_. R., _a high desk, with a tall stool;
    candle burning upon the desk_. C., _a low stool_. BOB _standing by
    the desk with a poker in his hand; one foot advanced, as though
    creeping off_ L., _looking at_ SCROOGE _with an anxious
    expression_.


   _Scrooge_   (_looking round_). Here, you! don't you do it; don't you
 do it! Haven't I told you, that, if you venture to waste my coals,
 'twill be necessary for us to part? Haven't I?

          (BOB _drops the poker, gets upon stool, and tries to
                     warm his hands at the candle_.)

   _Fred_      (_outside_, R.). A merry Christmas, uncle! Ha, ha, ha!
 (_Enters_ R.) A merry Christmas! God save you!

   _Scrooge._  Bah! humbug!

   _Fred._     Christmas a humbug, uncle? You don't mean _that_, I'm
 sure.

   _Scrooge._  I do. Out upon merry Christmas! What's Christmas-time to
 _you_ but a time for paying bills without money,—a time for finding
 yourself a year older, and not an hour richer? Bah! If I had my will,
 every idiot who goes about with "Merry Christmas" on his lips should be
 boiled with his own pudding, and burned with a stake of holly through
 his heart, he should.

   _Fred._     Uncle!

   _Scrooge._  Nephew, keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep
 it in mine.

   _Fred._     Keep it! But you don't keep it.

   _Scrooge._  Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do you!
 Much good it has ever _done_ you.

   _Fred._     There are many good things, from which I might have
 derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say Christmas among
 the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas-time when it
 has come round, apart from the veneration due to its sacred origin (if
 any thing belonging to it can be apart from that), as a good time,—a
 kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time,—the only time I know of in
 the long calendar of the year when men and women seem, by one consent,
 to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them
 as if they really were fellow-travellers to the grave, and not another
 race of creatures, bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle,
 though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I
 believe that it has done me good, and _will_ do me good; and I say, God
 bless it! (BOB _claps his hands heartily_.)

   _Scrooge._  Let me hear another sound from you, and you'll keep your
 Christmas by losing your situation. (_To_ FRED.) You're quite a
 powerful speaker, sir. I wonder you don't go into Parliament.

   _Fred._     Don't be angry, uncle. Come, dine with us to-morrow.

   _Scrooge._  I'll see you—(BOB _sneezes violently_.) What's the matter
 with _you_?

   _Fred._     Come, uncle; say "Yes."

   _Scrooge._  No.

   _Fred._     But why? why?

   _Scrooge._  Why did you get married?

   _Fred._     Because I fell in love.

   _Scrooge._  Because you fell in love! (_Suddenly turns to his desk._)
 Good afternoon.

   _Fred._     Nay, uncle, you never came to see me before that
 happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?

   _Scrooge._  Good afternoon.

   _Fred._     I want nothing from you: I ask nothing from you. Why
 cannot we be friends?

   _Scrooge._  Good afternoon.

   _Fred._     I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute.
 But I have made the trial, in homage to Christmas; and I'll keep my
 Christmas humor to the last. So a merry Christmas, uncle!

   _Scrooge._  Good afternoon.

   _Fred._     And a happy new year!

   _Scrooge._  Good afternoon.

   _Fred_      (_turns to_ R.) Bob Cratchit, a merry Christmas!

   _Bob_       (_shakes_ FRED'S _hand_). A merry Christmas, sir. God
 bless it!

   _Fred._     Ay, God bless it! and a happy new year.

   _Bob._      And a happy new year, sir; God bless that too!

   _Fred._     Ay, ay, Bob; God bless that too.

                                                             [_Exit_, R.

   _Scrooge._  Here, you!

   _Bob_       (_jumping off stool_). Yes, sir.

   _Scrooge._  _You'll_ want all day to-morrow, I suppose?

   _Bob._      If quite convenient, sir.

   _Scrooge._  It's not convenient, and it's not fair. If I was to stop
 half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself mightily ill-used, I'll be
 bound.

   _Bob._      Yes, sir.

   _Scrooge._  And yet you don't think me ill-used, when I pay a day's
 wages for no work.

   _Bob._      It's only once a year, sir.

   _Scrooge._  A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every
 twenty-fifth day of December. Well, you can't have it.

   _Bob._      But, sir—

   _Scrooge._  You can't have it. I shall expect you here earlier
 to-morrow.

   _Bob._      But, sir—

   _Scrooge._  No more. Go! (BOB, _with a very rueful face, puts on his
 hat, looks at_ SCROOGE, _and goes slowly out_ R.)

   _Scrooge_   (_turns his chair round to face_ C.) There's another
 fellow, my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family,
 talking about a "merry Christmas!" I'll retire to Bedlam. I don't make
 merry myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people
 merry. I help to support the prisons and the workhouses. They cost
 enough, and those who are badly off can go there. Merry Christmas!
 Pooh! bah! humbug, humbug! (_Bell rings_ R., _bell rings_ L., _and
 then_ R. _and_ L. _together_.) Mercy! what's that? (_Music, piano, slow
 and solemn. Enter_ R., MARLEY, _dragging his chain, moving slow. Stops_
 C., _looking at_ SCROOGE; _a bandage of white cloth, passing under his
 jaws, tied on top of his head_.) How now? What do you want with me?

   _Marley._   Much.

   _Scrooge._  Who are you?

   _Marley._   Ask me who I _was_.

   _Scrooge._  Who _were_ you, then?

   _Marley._   In life, I was your partner, Jacob Marley.

   _Scrooge._  Can—can you sit down?

   _Marley._   I can.

   _Scrooge._  Do it, then. (MARLEY _sits on stool_, C., _facing_
 SCROOGE.)

   _Marley._   You don't believe in me.

   _Scrooge._  I don't.

   _Marley._   What evidence would you have of my reality, beyond that
 of your senses?

   _Scrooge._  I don't know.

   _Marley._   Why do you doubt your senses?

   _Scrooge._  Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of
 the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested blot of beef, a
 bit of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.
 There's more of gravy than grave about you, whatever you are. (MARLEY
 _takes the bandage from his head; his jaw drops_.) Mercy! Dreadful
 apparition, why do you trouble me? Why do spirits walk the earth? and
 why do they come to me?

   _Marley._   It is required of every man, that the spirit within him
 should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and,
 if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after
 death. My spirit never walked beyond the counting-house. Mark me! in
 life my spirit never moved beyond the narrow limits of our
 money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me.

   _Scrooge._  Seven years dead, and travelling all the time! You travel
 fast.

   _Marley._   On the wings of the wind.

   _Scrooge._  You might have got over a great quantity of ground in
 seven years.

   _Marley._   Oh, blind man! blind man! not to know that ages of
 incessant labor by immortal creatures for this earth, must pass into
 eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed;
 not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's
 opportunities misused. Yet I was like this man. I once was like this
 man.

   _Scrooge._  But you were always a good man of business, Jacob.

   _Marley._   Business! Mankind was my business. The common welfare was
 my business. Charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, were all my
 business. Hear me; my time is nearly gone.

   _Scrooge._  I will; but don't be hard upon me. Don't be flowery,
 Jacob, pray.

   _Marley._   I am here to-night, to warn you that you have yet a
 chance and hope of escaping my fate; a chance and hope of my procuring,
 Ebenezer.

   _Scrooge._  You were always a good friend to me. Thank'ee.

   _Marley_    (_rising_). You will be haunted by three spirits.

   _Scrooge._  Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob? I—I
 think I'd rather not.

   _Marley._   Without their visits you cannot hope to shun the path I
 tread. Expect the first to-night, when the bell tolls one. Expect the
 second to-morrow night at the same hour; the third upon the next night,
 when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no
 more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed
 between us. (_Music as before._ MARLEY _walks backward to_ R.,
 _followed by_ SCROOGE, _with the same slow step_. MARLEY _goes off_ R.
 _As_ SCROOGE _reaches the_ R., _bell tolls one: he turns. At the same
 moment, the_ SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS PAST _appears_, C., _entering at the
 opening in back curtain_.)

   _Scrooge._  Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?

   _Spirit._   I am.

   _Scrooge._  Who and what are you?

   _Spirit._   I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.

   _Scrooge._  Long past?

   _Spirit._   No: your past. The things that you will see with me are
 shadows of the things that have been. They will have no consciousness
 of us.

   _Scrooge._  What business brought you here?

   _Spirit._   Your welfare. Look! (_Steps_ L., SCROOGE R. _Music. The
 back curtains are drawn, showing a boy sitting at a desk_, R., _with an
 open book before him_.)

   _Scrooge._  It is myself. (_A man dressed as_ ALI BABA, _with an axe
 across his shoulder, passes slowly and noiselessly across stage back of
 desk_, R. _to_ L.) Why, it's Ali Baba! It's dear, old, honest Ali Baba.
 Yes, yes; I know. One day, Christmas-time, when yonder solitary child
 was left here all alone, he _did_ come here the first time, just like
 that poor boy. (ROBINSON CRUSOE, _with a parrot perched upon his
 finger, crosses from_ R. _to_ L. _For costumes, the performers can
 consult the picture-books._) There's Robinson. There's the
 parrot,—green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing
 out of the top of his head; there he is. Poor Robin Crusoe, he called
 him, when he came home after sailing round the island. "Poor Robin
 Crusoe! Where have you been, Robin Crusoe?" Ah! poor boy, poor boy!
 (_Curtain closes._) I wish (_puts his hand in his pocket_)—but it's too
 late now.

   _Spirit._   What is the matter?

   _Scrooge._  Nothing, nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas
 carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something.
 That's all.

   _Spirit._   Let us see another Christmas.

               (_Curtains are drawn, disclosing_ "FEZZIWIG'S
 _Dance_." R., _sits an old lady in cap and spectacles, her hands
 raised in admiration_; C., _is_ FEZZIWIG, _in the act of "cutting."
 He is a large man; white stockings, knee-breeches, shoes with
 buckles, long white waistcoat, brown coat, large white cravat, and
 wig. He stands upon his toes, with feet crossed, his countenance
 radiant with enjoyment. Opposite him_, MRS. F., _as though dancing,
 one hand on her waist, the other above her head; bright petticoat,
 dress tucked up, cap, and gray wig._ R. _and_ L. _of this couple,
 three young women and three young men; costumes same as_ MR. _and_
 MRS. FEZZIWIG, _with the exception of the wig. They stand leaning
 forward, with their hands together, as though applauding. In front
 of_ FEZZIWIG, _a little boy, imitating_ FEZZIWIG. _Behind all, a
 musician, standing in a chair, in the act of fiddling; music
 (violin), "Sir Roger de Coverley." The characters should be all
 ready, and take their places, instantly the curtain falls on the
 previous picture, as the time is very short._)

   _Scrooge._  Why, it's Fezziwig,—bless his old heart!—my master
 Fezziwig alive again; and there's Dick Wilkins, to be sure. He was very
 much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear! those were happy
 times. How grateful we were! (_Curtains close on picture._)

   _Spirit._   A small matter, to make these silly people so full of
 gratitude.

   _Scrooge._  Small?

   _Spirit._   Why, is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your
 mortal money,—three or four, perhaps. Is that so much, that he deserves
 this praise?

   _Scrooge._  It isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to make his
 people happy or unhappy,—to make their service light or burdensome, a
 pleasure or a toil. The happiness he gives is quite as great as though
 it cost a fortune.

   _Spirit._   What is the matter?

   _Scrooge._  Nothing particular.

   _Spirit._   Something, I think.

   _Scrooge._  No, no. I should like to be able to say a word or two to
 my clerk just now: that's all.

   _Spirit._   My time grows short. Quick!

               (_Curtains are drawn, disclosing a young girl sitting
 upon a lounge. Beside her a young man stands, with his arms folded.
 She is looking away, he looking down at her. Costumes same as in_
 "FEZZIWIG'S _Dance._")

   _Scrooge._  Again myself.

   _Spirit._   Listen.

               (_The characters in the picture speak, with soft music
 while they are speaking._)

   _Girl._     It matters little—to you, very little. Another idol has
 displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I
 would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.

   _Youth._    What idol has displaced you?

   _Girl._     A golden one. You fear the world too much. I have seen
 your noble aspirations fall off, one by one, until the master
 passion—gain—engrosses you; have I not?

   _Youth._    What then? Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then?
 I am not changed towards you. Have I ever sought release from our
 engagement?

   _Girl._     In words, no. Never.

   _Youth._    In what, then?

   _Girl._     In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another
 atmosphere of life, another hope as its great end. If you were free
 to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose
 a dowerless girl? or, choosing her, do I not know that your repentance
 and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you, with a full
 heart, for the love of him you once were.

   _Scrooge._  Spirit, remove me from this place.

   _Spirit._   I told you these were shadows of the things that have
 been. That they are what they are, do not blame me.

   _Scrooge._  Away, I say! I cannot bear it. Leave me. Away, away!
 Haunt me no longer! (_Falls into chair_, L., _and covers his face with
 his hands. The_ SPIRIT _stands at the side of his chair, pointing at
 the picture. The front curtain slowly descends._)




                               STAVE TWO.

  _Lively music. Curtain rises, showing_ SCROOGE'S _office, as
    before_. SCROOGE _sitting in chair, looking at back stage, the
    curtains of which are drawn, disclosing the_ GHOST OF CHRISTMAS
    PRESENT, _who sits upon a seat covered with red, his right arm
    leaning upon a barrel. In his lap is a bowl of steaming punch; in
    his left hand, a torch [red fire, such as is used in tableaux,
    placed in a hollow at the end of a stick, will produce the desired
    effect]; round him are strewn articles, such as are given for
    presents. After a few seconds_, CHRISTMAS PRESENT _rises, and
    comes forward. The curtains close._


   _Spirit._   Look up, look up, and know me better, man. I am the Ghost
 of Christmas Present. Look upon me. (SCROOGE _slowly rises, and moves
 round him, looking closely at him. Music continues. This is to give an
 opportunity to set the stage for the next picture._) You have never
 seen the like of me before?

   _Scrooge._  Never.

   _Spirit._   Have never walked forth with the younger members of my
 family; meaning (for I am very young) my elders born in these later
 years?

   _Scrooge._  I don't think I have. I'm afraid I have not. Have you had
 many brothers, Spirit?

   _Spirit._   More than eighteen hundred.

   _Scrooge._  A tremendous family to provide for. Spirit, show me what
 you will. Last night I learnt a lesson which is working now. To-night,
 if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.

   _Spirit._   Look well upon the pictures I disclose.

                                       [SPIRIT _retires_ R., SCROOGE, L.

               (_Curtains open, disclosing_ "BOB CRATCHIT'S
 _Christmas_." _Table_, C., _covered with white cloth; plates_. L.
 _of table sits_ MARTHA, _a young lady about eighteen; brown dress,
 white collar and cuffs; hair neatly arranged. Beside her, a boy of
 ten; jacket, with an enormous dickey and black cravat; his hands
 raised and clasped._ R. _of table, a boy, with a large ruffled
 collar; his fork in his mouth. Next him, a girl of eight, with her
 spoon thrust into her mouth. At the farther corner of table_, R.,
 _sits_ BOB CRATCHIT, _with_ TINY TIM _sitting upon his knee_. MRS.
 CRATCHIT, _dressed in plaid, stands at back of table, holding in
 both hands a plate bearing a plum-pudding, rather small, with a
 bunch of holly stuck in the top of it, and alcohol blazing around
 it. All eyes are fixed upon the pudding. Expression upon the faces
 joyful and expectant. Music lively._)

   _Scrooge._  It's my clerk, Bob Cratchit.

   _Spirit._   Ay, Bob Cratchit, who pockets on Saturdays but fifteen
 copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present
 blesses his four-roomed house with the sprinklings of his torch.

   _Bob Cratchit_ (_raising a cup_). A merry Christmas to us all, my dears!
 God bless us!

   _All_       (_in picture_). God bless us!

   _Tiny Tim._ God bless us, every one! (_Curtain closes._)

   _Scrooge._  Spirit, tell me if Tiny Tim will live.

   _Spirit._   I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney-corner, and a
 crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain
 unaltered by the future, the child will die.

   _Scrooge._  No, no! Oh, no, kind Spirit; say he will be spared.

   _Spirit._   If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, none
 other of my race will find him here. What then? If he be like to die,
 he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.

   _Scrooge._  My very words, when I was asked to give a trifle for the
 poor!

   _Spirit._   Man,—if man you be in heart, not adamant,—forbear that
 wretched cant until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where
 it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may
 be, that, in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless, and less fit
 to live, than this poor man's child.

   _Scrooge._  He must live! he must live! Poor Bob! poor Bob!

   _Spirit._   Come; look upon another picture.

               (_Music lively. Curtain rises upon picture of "Blind
 Man's Buff at_ NEPHEW FRED'S." _Characters in full evening
 costume,—gentlemen, white vests and white ties, black clothes;
 ladies, rich and tasty. In the_ C. _stands a gentleman,
 blindfolded, leaning forward, groping with his hands, the right
 hand just touching a young lady, who is half turned from him, but
 who is looking back with a smile upon her face. Beside her stands a
 gentleman with his finger upon his lip. Behind the blindfolded
 gentleman_, NEPHEW FRED, _with his head thrown back, his mouth
 open, as though laughing. On the_ L., _a young lady, leaning
 forward, with her fan to her lips; next her, a gentleman, holding
 the blindfolded gentleman by the coat-tail, his other hand upon his
 side, his head thrown back, and mouth open, as though laughing. A
 boy in front of the party, on his knees, with finger pointing up to
 the blindfolded gentleman._)

   _Scrooge._  Fred's house!

   _Spirit._   Ay, your nephew, making merry. If you listen, you will
 hear him say of his Uncle Scrooge, "He may rail at Christmas till he
 dies; but he can't help thinking better of it—I defy him—if he finds me
 going there in good temper, year after year, and saying, 'Uncle
 Scrooge, how are you?'"

   _Scrooge._  And I refused his invitation,—I refused it! I couldn't do
 it again, if I had the chance. O Fred, Fred! A merry Christmas, and God
 bless you!

                   (_Front curtain descends quickly._)




                              STAVE THREE.

  SCROOGE'S _office, as before. Back curtains drawn. The_ GHOST OF
    CHRISTMAS FUTURE _standing_, R., _pointing down_; SCROOGE _beside
    him_, L. _Mournful music._


   _Scrooge._  Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, Ghost of the Future, I
 fear you more than any spectre I have seen; but as I know your purpose
 is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I
 was, I have borne you company, and did it with a thankful heart.
 Spectre, something informs me that our parting moment is at hand. I
 know it, but I know not how. Tell me who that man was with the covered
 face, whom we saw lying dead, of whom the merchants in the street spoke
 so carelessly, at whom the vultures of the dead sneered and jested.
 (_The_ SPIRIT _raises his hand, then points behind him_.) Before I draw
 near to that stone to which you point, answer me one question. Are
 these the shadows of the things that will be? or are they shadows of
 things that _may_ be, only? (_The_ SPIRIT _points as before_.) Men's
 courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they
 must lead; but, if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.
 Say it is thus with what you show me. (_The_ SPIRIT _moves to_ R.,
 _turns, and points to back, where a gravestone leans against the wall,
 lettered_ "EBENEZER SCROOGE." _The position of the_ SPIRIT _should hide
 it till this_. SCROOGE _staggers back till he reaches chair_, L.) Am I
 that man who lay upon the bed? No, Spirit! Oh, no, no! Spirit, hear me!
 I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for
 this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope? Assure me
 that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered
 life. (_The_ SPIRIT _slowly lets his hand drop by his side_.) I will
 honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will
 live in the past, the present, and the future. The spirits of all these
 shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they
 teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone! (_Sinks
 into chair. The curtains slowly close. Bells outside ringing a merry
 peal. Music lively._ SCROOGE _starts from his chair_.) What's this, my
 own office! (_Runs across stage._) Hallo! what's to-day?

   _Boy_       (_outside_, R.). Eh?

   _Scrooge._  What's to-day, my fine fellow?

   _Boy_       (_outside_, R.). To-day? Why, Christmas Day.

   _Scrooge_   (_dancing about_). It's Christmas Day. I haven't missed
 it. Hallo, my fine fellow!

   _Boy_       (_entering_, R.). Hallo!

   _Scrooge._  Do you know the poulterer's, in the next street but one,
 at the corner?

   _Boy._      I should hope I did.

   _Scrooge._  An intelligent boy; a remarkable boy! Do you know whether
 they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there? Not the little
 prize turkey, the big one.

   _Boy._      What! the one as big as me?

   _Scrooge_   (_rubbing his hands_). Ha, ha, ha! What a delightful boy!
 It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck.

   _Boy._      It's hanging there now.

   _Scrooge._  Is it? Go and buy it.

   _Boy_       (_with finger to his nose_). Walk-er.

   _Scrooge._  No, no: I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to
 bring it here, that I may give them the directions. Come back with the
 man, and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five
 minutes, and I'll give you half-a-crown. (_Exit boy in a hurry_, R.)
 What a delightful boy! See him run! I'll send him to Bob Cratchit's. He
 sha'n't know who sent it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller
 never made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be. I forget he's to
 be here to-day. Oh, if he'd only come late! (_Sits at desk_, L.) Here
 he is, sure enough! (_Enter_ BOB, R., _looking very dejected. Takes off
 his hat and comforter, and gets upon stool._) (_Gruffly._) Hallo! what
 do you mean by coming here at this time of day?

   _Bob._      I am very sorry, sir. I _am_ behind my time.

   _Scrooge._  You are? Yes, I think you are. Step this way, if you
 please.

   _Bob_       (_getting down from stool_). I'm very sorry—

   _Scrooge._  Are you? What do you mean by coming here at this time?
 Now, I'll tell you what, my man; I'm not going to stand this thing any
 longer; and therefore (_jumps up, and gives_ BOB _a dig in the ribs_)
 I'm about to raise your salary. (BOB _runs to his desk, and gets a
 ruler, looking frightened_.) A merry Christmas, Bob! (_Slaps him in the
 back._) A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you
 for many a year. I'll raise your salary, and endeavor to assist your
 struggling family; and we'll discuss your affairs to-morrow over a
 Christmas bowl of sparkling bishop, Bob. Home to your family, and have
 a merry Christmas, and in the morning make up the fires, and buy a
 second coal-scuttle before you dot another _i_, Bob Cratchit.

   _Fred_      (_outside_, R.). A merry Christmas! (_Enters_, R.) Here I
 am again, uncle.

   _Scrooge_   (_running to him, and shaking hands_). A merry Christmas,
 Fred! I'm going to dine with you.

   _Fred._     That's right, uncle. You'll find a merry company.

   _Scrooge._  You can't tell me. I know 'em all. My niece, Plumper, the
 fat sister. Wonderful party! wonderful games! wonderful unanimity!
 wonderful happiness!

   _Fred._     We'll have a merry Christmas.

   _Scrooge._  Ay, that we will. Henceforth _I_ will honor Christmas in
 my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the past, the
 present, and the future. The spirits of all three shall strive within
 me. (_Sinks to his knees._) God bless us all!

   _Fred_      │(_sink to their knees_). God bless us all!
   _Bob_       │

  (_Music: curtains at back are drawn, disclosing "A Christmas
    Picture." In the centre, the_ GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT, _seated
    as before, with his torch raised, red fire blazing in it. At his_
    L., _the blindfolded gentleman, in the same position as before,
    with the lady getting away from him; on his_ L., _the lady with
    the fan_; R. _of_ CHRISTMAS PRESENT, MRS. CRATCHIT, _with the
    pudding in her hands_; MARTHA _at her_ R., _with_ TINY TIM _in her
    arms. Two of the children opposite them, looking at the pudding._
    TINY TIM _speaks, when curtain is fairly drawn, "God bless us
    every one!" "The Christmas Carol" [see p. 64] is then sung by an
    invisible chorus; and the front curtain falls upon the whole
    picture._)




                          TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES


 1. Changed "Mrs. Trueworth" to "Mrs. T." on p. 42 to be consistent with
    other entries of the same character.
 2. Changed "Mrs. Hartshorn" to "Mrs. H." on p. 109 to be consistent
    with other entries of the same character.
 3. Corrected "Col." to "Rowell" on p. 68.
 4. Corrected "Jenks" to "Hosea" on p. 71.
 5. Corrected "Mr. G." to "Mrs. G." on p. 99.
 6. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
    errors.
 7. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
 8. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Exhibition Drama, by George M Baker

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