CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 924 080 786 779 DATE DUE /^ Intepfl rary Xaz n f ly \ GAYLORD PRINTED IN U.S.A. A Cornell University y Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924080786779 In compliance with current copyright law, Cornell University Library produced this replacement volume on paper that meets the ANSI Standard Z39.48-1992 to replace the irreparably deteriorated original. 1997 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THE SOCIABLE; OB, Ol^E THOUSAIN'D Al^D Ol^TE coktainhto iOTING PEOVEKBS; DKAMATIO CHAEADES; ACTING CIIAEADES, OE DEAWING-EOOM PANTOMIMES; MUSICAL BUELESQUES; TA- BLEAUX VITANTS; PAELOE GAMES; GAMES OF AC- TION; FOEFEITS; SCIENCE IN BPOET, AND PAELOE MAGIC; AND A CHOICE COL- LECTION OF CUEIOUS MEN- TAL AND MECHANI- CAL PUZZLES; &e^ &C. ILLUETEATED Wmi NEAEXT TESM HUNBRED ENGRAVINGS AND DIAGRAMS, THE vnOLE BEINO A FlUSTD OF NEVER-BNDnSTG ENTERTAINMENT. By the Author of "THE MAGICIAN'S OWN BOOK." NEW YOEK: DICK-& FITZGERALD, PUBLISHERS, No. 18 ANN STREET. Kntcred according to Act of Coiigi-css, In tlie year i86S, By DICK & FITZGERALD, In the Clerk's Office of the District Omi't of the United States for the SouLhero Distiict of New York. PEEF ACE. Although a Tolime of this kind requires little by way 5f Preface, *e Lave d, few remarks to make, concerning the fruit of so ardent but pleasurable a task as we have found ita preparation to be. No pains nor expense have been spared that could render the Sociable a complete and perfect repertoire of the Amusements of Home, while the great- est care has been taken to exclude everything that might possibly be objected to by the most rigidly fastidious. Most of the recreations, here described, are entirely new, having been pre- pared expressly for this work by competent writers. The majority of the Parlor Theatricals are from the pens of Messrs. Frank Cahill and George Arnold — gentlemen of deserved literary popularity. . The Games of Action, Forfeits, and Ruses or Catch Games, will prove exceedingly pleasant for the younger members of the social circle ; while those department comprising Games requu-ing Memory and Attention, Wit and Intelligence, the Puzzles, and the Parlor Magic, are well worthy the atten- tion of those "children of a larger gro will," who are sensible enough not to ' -be above being amused. ; The Tableaux Vivants may bo new to many of our readers, although they have been popular for some years, in polite society, both in Europe and this country, and especially in the South. "These Tableaux are easily understood and arranged by persons of taste, and form one of the most refined recrea- tions that a mixed paily can indulge in. TVe have striven to make this volume a hand-book of interestinff and agreeable amusement for femily circles, for schools, for pic-nic parties, for Hodal clubs, aud, la short, for all occasions where diversion is appropriate ; . and we would express an earnest hope that our endeavors may meet witli V^^the favor and appreciation of which we have tried to render them in eveiy '-%ay worlhr I ]^D EX. Preface, Parlor Theatricals, . . . lostructions for Ainateurs,t. How to Construct a Stage, How to Construct a Curtain, Costumes and Pntperties,'. " Making up " of Characters, On tho Study of Parte and " Cues,' Exits and Entrances, , .■ List of Words for Charades, PAOK S 9 9 10 11 12 12 18 14 14 PEG r EBB I. ** When the Cat's away, then tho Mice wiUPlay," 15 PEOVBBB n. "It never Eains but it Pours,'' ... 22 PROTKEB m. " Honor among Thieves," 29 PEOVKEB IV, ,* AU is Fair in Love or War," . . . 8T PEOVEEB V. "Tis an lU Wind that Blows Nobody Good," 48 PEOTEEB VX ** There is no Eose without Thorns," 56 glramatic C^amJj^rs. OHASASE I. Phantom, 64 CHAEADB n. Contest, 73 OnAEADK m. Dramatic, 81 CHiEADE TV. Antidote, 89 CHARADE V. Friendship, 98 ckAEADE TL Bandage, 105 g.cfwtg dL^bfs; or, grafemg- CUAEADE i. Sweepstakes, Ill GQABADE n. Pigtail, 116 OQABADE III. Neighbor, ... ... . 120 PAGl OHABADZ IT. Pastil, 124 OUAEADE T. Backgammon, 127 OHAEADE VT. A Little Misnndei^tanding, .... 130 ' if^mrml §nrlesqii£. Orpheus and Eorydice ; or, the Wan- dering Minstrel, 134 Jrafomj-^oont Jam. Irresistibly Impndent, 142 STableam WMxds; at, gibing ^tc- tmz$. On Li-rht and Shade, 164 How to Arrange Tableaux, .... 165 How Screens and Colored Lights may be Used, 155 How to Make Colored Lipjhts, . . . 15? How to Produce various Effects, , . 156 How to Use Gauze Curtains, .... 156 How to Use the Magic Lantern in Tableaux, ^ ... 157 TABLEAU I. The Army and Navy, 157 TABLEAU n. Tho Gambler''a Warning, .... 158 TABLEAU in. Mischief in School, 159 TABLEAU rV. The Burglary, ico TABLEAU V. Cagliostro's Magic Mirror, , , . 162 TABLEAU VI. The Brunkard^B Home, 163 TABLEAU Til. Signing the Pledge, 154 TABLEAU VTU. The Temperance Home, 165 TABLEAU H. The Duel, 167 TABLEAU X. Love and Jealousy, log TABLEAU XI. The Music Lesson, ]fl9 TABLEAU XII, The Four Seasons, XTO INDEX. parlor ©amts: a ^epcrtoru of ; -Social g^musemtiifs. FAGE OAlfES OF AOnoK. The Leg of Mutton, 1T4 The Fagots, 1T4 The Wolf and the Hind, 175 Blind-Man's Buff, Seated, . . '. . . 176 Blind-Mans Buff by the Proflle, . . 176 Blind-Man's Baff with the Wand, . . 177 Forco ; or, Italian Blind-Man's Buf!^ . 178 French Blind-Man's Bnfl, 178 The Eibbons, 178 The Cotton Flies, 178 The Huntsman 179 Copenhagen ; or, the Dane, .... 180 The Cat and the Monse^ 180 Hunt the Hare, 180 The Key Game, 181 Hunt the Slipper, ISl Catch the Ki-ng, 182 Jack's Alivo, 183 Twirl the Trencher, 182 (Samis r£qrariiTg ^tmorg anb (Sonstant g^tottioit. The Field of the Cloth of Damask, . ISS The Flour Merchant, 187 The Elements, 188 How do Ton Like It? 189 The Butterfly, 189 Cross Purposes, 191 The Horned Ambassador, 191 The Game of the King, 192 The Alphabet ; or, I love my Love with an A, . . ,■ 198 The Deaf Man 194 The Ants and the Grasshopper, . . . 196 Clapperton; or, the Gooses History, . 196 Story Play, 197 The Dutch Concert, 198 My Lady's Toilet, 199 Simon Says, 199 Philharmonic Concert, . 200 Scheherazade's Bansom, 201 The Lawyer, 201 The Painter and his Colors, .... 202 Poker and Tongs ;or,hot-boUed Beans, 208 Thns Says the Grand Mnfti, .... 203 Characters; or. Who ami? , ... 204 The Aviary, . 206 . The Sportsman, 207 The Acrostic Sale, 209 The Trade, a Game of Pantomime, .'810 The Fickle Musician, ....... 210 The Echo, 211 The Boarding-School Mistress, . . . 213 My Aunt's Garden, 215 The Key of the King's Garden, . . . 215 The Little Man's House, 216 Run for yonr Lives, 216 Confession by a Die, 217 The Curate, 218 The Page of Love, ....... 219 Cupid's Box, .220 The Interrupted Eeply, 221 P |^nS£S Biib €ak^ (Sames. PAGE Scissors Crossed or not Crossed,. . . 221 The Mole, 222 I have just Come from Shopping, . . 233 The Cook who likes no Peas, , . . 222 The Diviner, 233 The Cherries, 223 The Slave Despoiled, ..■=.... 224 The Pigeon Flies, .' - . 2-'5 The Sorcerer behind the Screen, . 225 The Knight of the Whistle, .... 226 ■ The Witch, 237 Tombola, 228 damts Hqntiing ?itit anb |nfcl- ligeitte. TheBonqnet, 229 Flora's Bonqnet, 280 The Fool's JJiscoarse 280 The Description, 2S1 The Culprifs Seat, ....... 234 The Secretaiy, 235 The Narrative, 2S6 The Written Confessions, 287 Marriage from Similarity of Charac- ter, and Divorces from Incompati- bility of Tastea.and Tempers,. . . 289 Compliments, 240 The Throe Kingdoms, 240 The Travellers' Tour, 243 The Ehyming Game, -246 Crambo, 248 BoutEhymes, 249 The Little Fortune Teller, .... 249 The Torn Letter, 253 Entree; or, How do Ton Like It f . . 254 Proverbs, . 255 What is my Thought Like? . ... 2.56 Beady Ehyrae 257 The Game of Consequences, .... 258 Capping 'Verses, ........ 259 Thread Paper Poetry, 260 Geographical Play, 261 J'orfjils. The Knight of the Bnefnl Counte- nance, 262 The Journey to Eome, 262 The Laughing Gamut, 268 The Medley, 268 Hobson's Choice, ..-263 Poetic Numbers, 26-4 Hush-a-Bye, Baby, 264 The Beggar, -264 The Pilgrim, 264 The Egotist, -. ... 204 Dot and Carry One, 264 The Imitation, 205 Going to Service, 9ii5 Kissing the Candestick, 265 The Disappointment, ...... 265 The Florist's Choice, 205 The Fool's Leap, 265 The Riddle 205 VI INDEX. rAGB Th3 Secret, ........ 266 Tlio Scholar's "Spell," 266 Th3 Blind Man's Choice, 266 'Ihe Clock, i .... 206 Ariadne's Leopard; or, tho Hobby iforse 266 Hit or Miss, 260 'i'he Quiet -Lodger, 267 Stoops to GoDquer, 20T The Sofa, 267 The Gallant Gardener, 267 The Statesman, 207 To be at the Mercy of the Company, . 267 Kissing under tlie Candlestick, . . 267 To Kiss your own Shadow, .... 267 To Kiss the One you Lore Best "with- out being Noticed, . 208 The Two Guesses, 208 Tho Exile, 208 The "B" Hive 268 The Trio, 268 Bob Eavley, 268 The Sutue of Love, 268 The Chance Kiss, 209 The Blind Quadrille, 269 The Turned Head, 269 The King of Morocco is Dead, ... 209 The Yard of LoTO Eibbon, .... 270 The Journey to Cythdre, 270 Love's Arch, 270 Tho Convent Porter, 271 The Face of Wood, -271 The Declaration of Love, 272 The Comparison, 272 The Emblem, 272 The Spirit of Contradiction, .... 273 The Trip to Corinth 273 Kisses at Second Hand, 273 Shoot the Eobin, 278 The Stupid Kias 278 J'irtstbj (sumts for (OSiiittr ©feniitg ©itterfaiirmtnl. Agon ; or, the Queen's Guards, . . . 274 Directions for Playing, . ... 276 Laws of the Game, 270 Hints to Players, ..." 277 American Bagatelle, 278 Merelles; or. Nine Men's Morris, . . 279 Vox and Geese, 231 The Game of Solitaire 282 Examples of Games, 28o The' Curate in the Midst of Lis Flock, 283 The Corsair, 284 The Triplet, 284 %h\^l(s nni> toriotis ^araboecs. The Card Chain Puzzle, 236 The Magic Square, 236 Tho Practicable Orchard, ... . 286 The Octagon Puzzle, 287 The Metarnol-phosis, ... . . 287 The Divided Square, 268 Puzzle Pleasure Garden, 238 The Florist's Pazzlc, 289 rACH The Farracr's Puzzle, 289 The Protean Puzzle, 2S9 The Traveller's Maze, 290 Tho Geometrical Orchard, 291 The Hexagon Puzzle, 291 The Carpenter's Puzzle, 291 The Puzzle Purse, 291 The Prcblem of Money, ... .291 The Apple-Tree Pnzzle, 292 The Angular Puzzle, . ■' 292 The Perplexed Carpenter, .... 292 The Magic Octagon, . 292 The Blind Abbot and the Monks, . . 292 The Peach Orchard Puzzle, .... 294 The Grasping Landlord, 294 Love's Puzzle, 294 The Dishonest Jeweller, 295 The Gardener's Pnzzle, 295 The Circle Puzzle, 295 The Square Puzzle, 295 The Tree Pnzzle 290 The Geometrical PazzHe, 296 The Christians and Turks, .... 290 The Tulip Pnzzle 296 The Three Gentlemen and their Ser- vants, 290 The Drover's Pnzzle, ...... 296 The Market Woman's Puzzle, . . . 297 The Plnm Tree Puzzle, 297 The Laud Puzzle, 297 The Nine Digits, 297 The Landlord Tricked, 298 The Scissors Entangled, 298 The Carpenter Puzzled, 298 The Mechanic's Puzzle, 293 The Grecian Paradox, 299 The Five Arab Maxims, . . ' . . . 299 The Jesuit's Placard, 299 A Dozen Quibbles, .... . . 800 guiisfatrE in fujjles anb ^araboHiii. Card Chain Puzzle, 801 The Magic Square, .sol The Practicable Orchard, 802 Octagon Puzzles, 802 Metamorphosis, 802 The Divided Square, 803 Puzzle Pleasure Garden, 803 Florist's Pnzzle, 803 Farmer's Puzzle 804 Protean Puzzle, ......... 306 Traveller's Maze, 806 Geometrical Orchard, 806 Hexagon Puzzlo, 807 Carpenter's Puzzle, 807 Purse Puzzle, 807 Money Problem, 808 Apple-Tree Puzzle, 808 Aj;gular Puzzle, 808 Perplexed Carpenter, 308 Magic Octagon, 809 Blind Abbot and the Mouks, . . . 809 Peach Orchard Puzzle, 309 The Grasping Landlord, , . . . 310 Love's Puzzle, 810 Dishonest Jvwcller, . . . SIO INDEX, VU Mr ?AGB The Gardsnor'B Puzzle, 811 The Circle Puzzle, 811 The Square Puzzle, 811 The Tree Puzzle, 812 Geometrical Puzzle, 812 The Christians and Turks, ...;.. 812 The TulipPuzzle, 814 Drover's Trobiem, ., 315 Afarkct ■Woman's Puzzle, 315 Plam Tree Puzzle, 81* The liand Puzzle, ....-.,. 816 The Nine Digits, 316 The Landlord Tricked, 816 The Scissors Puzzle, 816 The Carpenter Puzzled, . . ; . . 316 The Mechanic's Puzzle, 817 Grecian Paradox, 817 The Arabs Maxims, 817 Jesuit's Placard, 817 A Dozen Quibbles, 818 Scrntcc iit-^porf, nnij parlor The Balanced Turk, 821 The Mechanical Bucephalus, . . . 322 The Balanced Coin 823 The Complacent Vizier, 323 The Kovolving Image, 324 The Spanish Dancer, 824 The W^ic Blow, 325 The Magic Vessel 325 To Produce Fire from Cane, .... 836 Hat Measurement, 326 Curious Experiment with a Tulip, . . 827 The Immovable Card, 327 To balance a Stick on the Edga of a Glass of Wine, 827 The Magic Tumbler, 328 The Boomerang, 823 How to make a Parlor Boomerang, . 329 The Balanced Pail, 830 TheThaumatrope, 330 Dioptrical Paradox, 831 Deceptive Vision, 832 The Magic Incendiary, 832 Magical Color Changes, 833 Kxperiment 1, 333 Experiment 2, Sa4 Experiment 8, 334 Experiment 4, &?5 The Mimic Vesuvius, 388 Mimic Gas House, 837 To place a Tea-kottlcful of boiling "Wa- ter upon the naked Hand without Injury, 837 To Fill with Smoke two apparently Empty Bottles, 838 To ReduceTin Instantaneously to White Powder, 883 To Reduce Metallic Lead to Powder, which burns immediately on coining in contact with the Air, 333 To Make a Liquid which feels Cold to the Touch, but which Renders the Hands and Face Luminous when smeared with it, .... 889 ,!CrystfllHne Baskets, 839 To Make Beautiful Transparent Co- lored "Water, ....=( 840 The Phial ofthe Four Elements, . . 840' ' Curious Experiment with a Glass of Water, 840 To Produce Metallic Lead from the Powder, 841 Subaqueous Exhalation, .-*.... 841 The Mineral Chameleon, 841 To Cause Fire to Burn under "Water, . 841 | To Cause a Stone to be in Perpetual ' I Motion, 342 A Fountain of Fire, 843 Rotai-y Motion of Camphor upon "Wa- ter, ... 842 To Melt a Coin in a Nutshell, ... 842 Instantineous Crystallization, . . . 842 Combustion under Water, 843 To Set a Combustible Body on Fire by the Contact of Cold Water, ... 843 Vivid Combustion of three Metals whtn brought into Contact with each Other, 843 To Make a Ring Suspend by a Thread after the Thread has been Burned, . 843' To Cause Water to Boil upon the Sur- face of Ice, 843 To Make Wine or Brandy float onWa- ter, 844 Chemical Effect of Light, ... . 844 Combustion of Charcoal, 844 To Put three Liquids in a Glass, and Drink Either without disturbing the Other, 9U Decomposition of Water, 844 ProductionunderWater of vivid green Streams of Fire, 344 Subaqueous Combustion, 845 Bottled Moonshine, 845 Brilliant Light from Steel, .... 845 Sparks from Tin, . 846 How to Strike the Knuckles without Hurting them, 846 How to Raise a Heavy Weight with a Wine Glass, 846 The Travelling of Sound Experiment- ally Proved , S46 How to Put Sand into Water without Wetting it, 847 The Magic Cups, 847 The Mysterious Bag, 848 The Revolving Serpent, 848 To pass a Quarter into a Ball of Wors- ted, 849 Eighteen Curious Experiments with the Magnets. 849 The Erratic Needle, 850 The Automaton Scribe, 350 The Obedient Swan, 850 Magnetic Fishing, 850 The Balance Bewitched, . . . 850 The Mutual Attraction 860 The Impromptu Compass, .... 850 Tiio Susperidoil Needle, ... 850 The Neighboily Neodles, .... 850 The Unneighb«rly Noedles, . . . 850 VUl PAGE Tlie Fugitive Cork, ^' . 851 The Cohesive Needles, .....*; 861 The Dancing Filings, ' . 851 The Stnbborn Needle, .^ 851 The Magical Watch, 851 Mahomet's Coffin,'. . . ' 861 The Revolving Needle 861 The Magic Wand, 861 Twenty Cnrlons Experiments in Elec- tricity, 862 A Simple Method of Making an Elec- trical Machine, 862 How to Make an Electrical Eubher, . 863 The Discontented Feather, . , , . 864 The Electrical Illnrainatiun, .... 864 The Luminous Dust, 864 The Wine-G-lass, Watch, and Tobacco Pipe, 864 The Leyden Jar, 856 The Electrical Stand, 865 The Merry Pith B.-ll!s, 855 The Attractive Stockings, 856 The Sociable Stockings, 866 The Electrified Paper, 856 Experiment with Paper and Feathers, ' 856 The Spider Trick, 856 The United Paper, . 85T The Dancing Bran, 86T The Locomotive Elder Ball, .... 857 The Goose-Qnill Experiment, . . . 857 The Fngitivo Featlier, -857 The Electric Aurora Borealis, . . . 868 Eight Experiments in Galvanism, , . 868 A Galvanic Tongue, 858 Galvanic Infinence on Pewter and Tin, 869 The Galvanized Flounder, .... 859 Curio>is Galvanic Shock, 8CS PAOR Mimic Lightning Flash, 859 The Soured Water, .859 The Imprisoned Leech, '. 859 The Galvanized Knife, 860 An Eatable Candle, ....... 860 The Pneumatic Phial, 800 Eesin Bubbles, . 860 The Bottle and Straw, (161 How to Mate a String appear Black and White alternately, 861 Light from the Potato, 801 The Bottle Imps, 812 Table Turning, SC2 The Hat Phenomenon, 8C,3 The Book and the Key, 8C6 The Man in the Moon, ...... 807 The Watch or Time Trick, .... 807 The Double-Colored Eeflection, . . . 808 The Flute of Fancy, 863 How to Blow off your Hat, .... 868 How to Put an Egg in a Small-necked Bottle, 808 The "Twenty Cent," trick, .... 863 The Tanishing Dime, 309 To Bring two Separate Cents into one one Hand 8C9 To Cause a Dime to Appear in a Glass, 370 To Make a Coin Stick against the Wall, 870 The DiSiappearing Dime, 870 The Kuife and the Decanter, .... 371 How toPass aTumbler through a Table, 371 The Disappearing Coin, 872 The Hat and Quarter Trick, .... 87.'3 The Magnetized Cane, 878 The Magic Coin, 874 The Fate Lady. 876 PARLOR THEATRICALS. FEW amusements will be found more agreeable for small parties; than Parlor Theatricals. They have long held a favored place among the more cultivated circles of the old world, and oiily need to be more widely known, to gain equal popularity here. As an educational agent, the amateur drama can hardly be too highly esteemed; for it teaches the young performer elocution, gesti- culation, ease of manner, and a certain knowledge of the emotions and passions of humanity, which can rarely be acquired elsewhere. For private performances, " Acting Proverbs " and " Dramatic Charades " are decidedly the most appropriate. They are necessarily short, and as ihe audience is expected to guess, from the plot of the piece, tlie proverb, or word they illustrate, a double interest is engen- dered The " Tableaux Vivants" (Anglici, "Living Pictures") are better known in most of our schools and family circles, and affora great scope for ilie exercise < f .artistic knowledge and taste, in the.r arrangement. I* 10 PAELOK TIIEATEICAIiS. The Pantomime, or Acting. Charade, is a description of amusement wel^uited to Christmas time^and often affording scope for the exer- cise of considerable wit and ingenuity. A word is to be chosen, the separate syllabjes of which may be rendered into some Idnd of lively performance; and the whole word must be capable of a similar representation. Then, the plan of action being agreed upon, old coats and hats, aprons, gowns, etc., etc., are looked up for the occasion, and speedily converted into a variety of grotesque costumes, suited to the representation to be made. The two most celebrated performers of the party choose " their sides," and, whilst the one group enacts •.he charade, the other plays the part of audience. At the conclusion of the drama, the guessing begms on the part of the audience. If they are successful, they in their turn perform ; if not, they BtiH remain as audience. In the Proverbs, Charades, and Tableaux, which wUl be found in this volume, care has been taken to avoid anything that would be difficult, or inappropriate to the large majority of families and schools. Although the means and contrivances required are few and simple, it may be well to give some little instruction, for the benefit of those who have never seen or participated in such representations. The first thing to be looked to, is the stage, which may be con- structed at a trifling expense, so as to be taken up and laid down in a few minutes, and at any time. All that is necessary is a number of stout boards, such as flooring is ordinarily made of, three or four beams of sufficient strength to support the actors, furniture, etc., and twice as many boxes as beams. These boxes should be made for the purpose, of thick plank, and should be from one to two feet in height, according to the size of the room — the larger the room, the higher the stage, of course. Place the boxes firmly,^ so as to support the ends of the beams; lay the floor-boards evenly upon them, and when these are covered with a carpet, the stage is complete. To conceal the opening, underneath, and to hide the front boxes, a strip of some dark muslin may be tacked upon the edge of the boards, and allowed to fall to the floor. The cut represents the appearance of the stage, when laid, where only two supporting beams are required. This would, however, be rather narrow. The next thing of importance, is the curtain, behind whose friendly TAELOK THEATRICALS. 11 This should be £- "^^7V Tr^ expanse the young comedians may arrange their scenes, and which may ..close silently upon their histrionic triumphs, made of some soft stuff — ^the heavier the bet- J 23. ter — and should, ifpos- U-y sible, be of the classic color, green, so long considered sacred to stage-curtains. Although much has been said in favor of draw-curtains, for school purposes and private theatricals ge- nerally, the drop- curtain . is much the best, and the easiest to arrange. A light wooden frame should be made, tolerably firm at the joints, and just [« as wide as the stage, to the front part of which, it should be attached. This frame is merely three sides of a square, and the cur- tain is to be strongly nailed to the top piece. A stiff wire should be run along the lower edge of the curtain, and a number of rings be attached to the back of it, in squares — say three rows, of four rings each, extending from top to bottom. Three cords are now fastened to the wire, and, 'passing through „ , «■ the rings, are run over three pulleys, on the upper piece of the ft^f' BACK OF THE OUETAIN. A A— Top of tbe rrame. B B— Onrtain. 0— Cords. . ._•• '^►'fL D D— Pulleys. vit'ift E £— Wire. , _ ,'■ ■ 12 - PAKLOE TKEATEICALS. » Thi3 may seem a little complicated, but the annexed outs ^vill show its simplicity. ''^ The ends of the "cords may be gathered together, and held by the person who officiates as prompter. On pulling them, if the pulleys and rijigs are properly adjusted, the curtain will be found to rise easily, in lateral folds. Almost any household contains a sufficient variety of furniture and " properties," for any indoor scene, and a little ingenuity will produce a fair theatrical wardrobe from very common material These things, of course, depend upon the piece to be performed, the taste of the actors, and other circumstances. The costume of CordobeUo, the brigand, in the proverb of " Honor among Thieves," may be gotten up without difficulty, although it is one of the most picturesque. A com- mon black felt hat, with the left side fastened up by a showy buckle, holding a black ostrich plume — a, short velvet or woollen jacket with brass buttons (easily sewed on for the occasion) — a gay scarf bound several times around the waist, with a large knot and long ends, and a brace of pistols thrust in it — ^a pah: of knee breeches (made by cutting off the legs of an old pair of pantaloons), with a knot of red ribbon" at the knees, and long stockings — a pair of pumps, with metal buckles, and a quantity of paste jeweby, chains, etc., make a very respectable brigand's costume, at the expense of next to nothing. This is merely one instance among many that might be mentioned, and will illustrate the ease with which the " tinselled fascination of the stage " may be mimicked by the bome fireside. A still more important part of dramatic preparation is what is tech- nically termed the " makmg up " of the characters, and one which requires some practice and observation. Tliis is the painting and shading of faces, the adaptation of wigs, etc., to make the young look old, the plump lean, etc. For the "making up" of any variety of difierent faces, a box of good water-colors, a httle fine chalk, some camel's-hair pencils, and dry rouge, are wanted. If a comical expression is required, Tniir a reddish brown tint with the water-colors, stand before a mirror, assume ,the desired " broad grin," and trace the wrinkles produced, with a fine brush of the brown tmt This will fix the hue which your face requii'cs, to give it the expression, much more naturally than you could do it by following any of the rules current among artists. The same may be done with frowns, smirks, simpers, scowls, and all other Biarked contortions of feature. ■I^ouge should be applied with tie forefingers^ much better imple- -% PAELOE THEATEICALS. f 13 ment than the traditional hare's-foot — and should be softly graded off upon the cheek. Chalk should be very sparingly used. Burnt cork is very effective for black eyes, or for representing leanness, by applying a \ jfy faint tint underneath the eyes, on the sides of the cheeks, and under the lower lip. A strong mark running from the corner of jhe nose down towards the comer of the mouth, on each side, is a good sign of age or emaciation, but these points are best learned by observ- ing (Efferent faces. Moustaches and beards, when slight, should be made with India-ink and a fine pencil A few sets of false ones, of . real hair, however, as also a few wigs of various colors and patterns, will be found a great addition to the wardrobe. In the tableau of the *' Drunkard's Home," in this work, there is great scope for the art of " making up," and a good effect may be produced on the faces and arms of the women and children, by deepening the shadows with coik, or India-ink, and heightening the prominent features with chalk. For the man, a flushed color, with a few purplish spots on the cheeks and nose, win be appropriate. One of the most imperative of all rules which we can lay down — and one which apphes to professional, as well as amateur performers — is, "learn your parts tkorougKly." Without this, no proverb nor charade can be well acted, or interesting to the audience. Each per- former should write out his own part, with the " cues " or words which come directly before his own speeches, and should commit every word literaUy. The following example, from "No Rose without Thorns,'' win explain the " cues " and their use. The performer who takes the part of Hose, should copy out and study the last words of Kate's and Jack Upson's parts, thus : ;\ Enter Kate. Hose. Katie, child, go to my room, and bring down the guitar. ( Cue, from Jack's part.) Sing dear ? EosE. Oh, anything. All your songs are sweet, to me. (CW.) Like best? BosE. Do you know, " I love but Thee ?'' {Cue.) To hear it I - Rose. No, no I — ^I mean the song of that name I {Cue.) The instrument And so on. When the performer hears the words of the cue, kuo-™- ing them by heart, they instantly suggest the speech to follow. The exits and entrances will be found somewhat difficult of manage- 14 PAELOE THEATEICALS. ment, in some rooms, and windows, or even closets, will occasionally have tc) be used — tlie latter, especially, for very short absences from the stage. A simple way of making one door serve for two exits, is by placing a screen in front of it, at the back of the stage, and retiring behind, or issuing from, the ends of it. This screen will be found very useful in many pieces, and we would suggest that where such enter- tainments are popular, it is worth while to have one constructed^; It is simply made of wooden frames, some six feet high by three wide_ Linged together and covered with cloth or waU-paper. The initials for the diiierent portions of the stage are: L. Left. E. Eight. IT. E. Upper entrance. L. E. Lower entrance. C. Centre. Etc. The following words will be found suitable for either Pantomime or Dialogue Charades: , Air-gun, Arch-bishop, Band-box, Bride-cake, BuU-rusb, Court-ship, Cross-bow, Dice-box, Dog-rose, Eye-glass, Fag-end, Fan-light, Game-cock, Grand-child, Great-coat, Heir-loom, Horse-ciiest-nut, I-dol, I-rate, Jack-pudding, Jew-el, King-crafb, Key-hole, Leap-frog, Love-apple, Mad-cap, Mend-i-cant, Milk-maid, Nap-kin, Night-cap, Out-rage, Out-pour, Paok-clofti, Pop-gun, Quarter-staff, Rain-bow, Rope-yam, Sauce-box, SearsheU, Sweet-heart, Tell-tale, Tow-line, TJp-braid, Up-shot, Tat-i-can,- Watch-man, ■Waist-cord, ■Way-bill, ■Water-fail, Toung-ster, Zeal-ot. "With these brief instructions, which, sketchy and general as they are, the writer hopes may prove of some utihty, we will proceed to some examples of the style of performance best suited to amateur dramatic talent and convenience. Though they are slight and simple they contain good characters, healthy sentunents, and a briskness of dialogue which is necessary to short, hvely pieces. In taking leave of the subject, we would only say, that amusement and instruction are • the grand objects, and it is evident that the more perfect the acting, the better are these aims accomplished. PROVEEB I. "WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY, THEN THE IIICB WILL PLAY ! BT GEOEGE ARNOLD. €'i[Bxudtxs. Patrick O'Holohoolan, a Coachman. Bridget Foley, a Cooh. Mehitable Coffin, a Chambermaid. Bob, a Page, in huiions. Mr. Garnett, a weaUh't/hmusekeeper, master'of the above servants. Mrs. Garnett. Hjke Hennessy, Sandy M'Culloden, Mkb. Eapferty, Miss Dollop, and other servants belonging to neighboring families. A Policeman. A Thief. SCENE — A drawing-room in Mr. Garnett's hoicse. Patrick, Bridget, and Bob. Pat. Sliure, thin. Miss Foley, an' it's a good time we'll be aPtliei havin' 'vrid our par'Jiy, Tilings is corned round convaynient intirelv l6 • ACTING PKOV'JSBBS. Bbidgut. 'Tis, honey. It's mesilf was thinkin' that same, jist. Troth, an' I was mighty afeared that the master an' missus would niver be afther a-goin' in ihe counthry. Shure it's the only vacation pore ser- vants has, when the fam'Ees is out of town. .Pat. Bob, have yez given out all the invites? Bob. Tes. . They're all coming, 'cept the two Flanagans. Pat. Bad luck to tiiem. It's common folk they are, t"hin, an' onQl for the company of daycint people. I'm glad they're not comin'. Bridget. Aii' it's the blessed thruth ye're teflio'. Them Flanagans hain't got no manners, and in consekence, no eddication. Go see what time it is. Bob. Bob. Don't you wish I would ! Pat. What d'ye mane, ye spalpeen, taUdn' to yer betthers afther that fashion? Where's yer manners, ye httle roosh-light! Bob. I don't care. I ain't the servants' servant. Master's away .now, and Pm jest as good as anybody. I only went round with the invitations 'cause you promised me some of the ice-cream. Bridget. Did I iver see sich an upstart I Go at onst, sir, an' see what time it is ! Bob. (moMngly, making a face at her.) Ta-a-a. {Runs off, with Pateiok after him. Pat. {coming hack.) Shure, the imperence of these underlings is awftd, Miss Foley I (5eK rings.) There's the bell — some of the com- pany must be afther arrivin'. Bridget. Tis, machree ; jiSt step an' let 'em in. That gossoon will niver answer the belL Pat. Well, Miss Foley, I don't think it's quite the coachman's place to be runnin' to the doore. Bridget. No more it isn't the cook's. Pat. J But shure, ma'am, it's more of a woman's bisness than a man's. ' Bktoget. Misther O'Holohoolan, I'm dressed for the parthy, sir, an' I decline- agoin' to the doore, if it isn't opened to-night IBeU rings. Pat.' Och, smithereens I Here, Bob. [Cofey. Enter Bob. Bob. What d'ye want? Bridget and Pat. Don't yez hear the bell, shure? Bob. Tes, I hear it Bridget. Well, it's the company. WHEJSr THE CAT'S AWAY, THEN THE MICK WlIJi PLAY. 17 Bob. Oh, isiti , Pat. Tis, an' they wants to come in. Bob. Oh, does they ? Bridget. Gro to the doore, Bob, there's a honey I Pat. GrO to the doore, ye thafe of the world I Bob. Do you, want the door opened, you two? ?AT and Bei5get. Av copirse I ' . V ' ' [£eB rings. Bob. ,? Wen, you'd better open it, then. "^*\ ' - ' ' [ Runs off. Pat. Shure an' I see I'll have to be afther bemanin' my station hy openin' the doore mesilf. (Looking reproachfuUy a< Bbidget.) Some folks is too mighty proud intirely. I won't open it a^n, though. Bridget, in niyer tend a belL Pat. Shure thin, I'll jist lave it ajar, aa' when they rings agin, PD tell 'em to come right in, of thimselves. [Exit. Enter Mehttable Coffin. Mehitable {perUy). Ah, Miss Foley, hasn't nobody come yet? Bridget. Tes; Misther O'Holohoolan is gone down to let 'em in. Is the wine iced, Miss Coifee ? Meihtable. Miss Coffin, if you please, mann. I don't know any- thin' about the wine, marm, I never was brought up to use spirituous things. Bridget. Ocli, darlint, an' it's a mighty dale of good » little dhrop does, now an' thin. '-.> Mehitable. I wouldn't tech a glass for the world, marm. I knowed two very likely young fellers, down to hum, in Kennebec, who com- menced with wine, marm, and drinked theirselves into their grave, ir ten years, marm. Enter Patrick, viiCh Mtk-k Henhesst and Mrs. Eaffertt. Pat. Mike, this lady is Miss CofiSn — one of our family. Mike (bowing awkwardly). My respects to yez, Mi?9 Muffin. Mehitable. Miss CofSn, if you please, Mr. Mike. Mike. Mr. Hennessy, if you plaze, Miss Coffin. [During this introduction, Mrs. Rapferty shalccs hands with Bridget, and iaixs off her bonnet amd shawl, which she throws on a chair.') Bridget. Good evenin' to yez, Misther Hennessy — how is ths childher ? .^ Mtk-b Comf 'able, mum, bad luck to 'em (Pat introduces Mehitable and Mrs. Eaffertt, at bach of stage, where they stand talking), barrin' that little Joe has the fayver, and Oathrun stuck a fork in lier fut, yis- 18 ACTING PBOVEKBS. terday. Och, mum, it's hard -work it is, intirely, to take care of the poor oipMinga, an' I tliink I'll have to be lookin' afther another wife, shure I ' IBdl rings. Bridget. Patrick — ^Misther O'Holohoolan — ^there's some one ringia' I [Pat goes to window, puts his head out, and shouts. Pat. Come right up, shure. The doore's left ajar for yez ! [Bridget and Mike retire to hack of stage, talking, and Mehitable and Mrs. Eaffertt come forward. Mehitable. Yes, mann, I'm uncommon fond of parties. The gala and fellers allera has great times down in Kennebec, to com shuckin's and parin' bees. Mrs. E. Och, honey, ye should jist be over in the ould counthry, oust, and have a taste o' Donnybrook Pair I Shure, that's the place for coortin', an' dancin', an' singin', and fightin', and gittin' comforta- bly dhrunk I Enter Sandy McCniiLODEW with Miss Dollop. Pat. Ah, it's you, is it, Misther McCulloden ? How are yez ? [Shaking hands. Sandy. "Weel, I canna say I'm in sic bad health as I ha' seen. Miss Dollop, Mr. O'Holohoolan. Miss Dollop is the chambermaid at our house. Miss Dollop (looking savagely at him). I attend to the dormitories, and I hope I'm not ashamed to say so. Pat. Troth, it's all one. Sandy's fren's is my fren's, an' I'm glad to see 'em. Sandy.- Hoot, girl I ye need na fly aff the handle sae! It's na disgrace to ken how to mak' a bed or hantle a broom ! Gang yonder to Miss Foley, an' let her tak' aff yer duds. [Miss Dollop goes to Bridget, and takes off things. Mehitable and Mrs. Eafferty/oib them, and they talk apart. Sandy «zte down on Mrs. E.'s honnei without seeing it, and taking out a, pipe, JiBs it. Pat. and Mike also get pipes, and sit down with Sandy. Mike Qooldng suspiciously at Sandy's chair). Troth, Mr. McCulloden, I think ye're afther a-sittin' on something. Sandy {getting up and holding smashed bonnet out at arm's length) Ay, fecks ! I think I ha' doon some damage 1 [The women come forward, and Mrs. Eatferty sees the honnet. Mrs. E. Och! murther! look at me hat — me bian-new hat! It-^. kilt and spiled entirely; ochone, wirristhroo ! an' all along of thai great awkward baste of a Scotchman ! och'Nie I WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY, THEN THE MICE WILL PLAT. 19 MEniTABLB. Law sakes I you might know she wasn't brought up to havin' good clothesl she takes on more about a bunnet than I would about a silk gownd ! Sandy. Tush, woman, dinna mak' sic a hue-and-cry. I'm sair fashed aboot it I piRS. E. snccWhes ihe honnet, and threatens Sandy with her fist; all ' crowd about, and aU speoJdng at once, a terrMe confusion ensues. Pat. (speaMtig at the top of his voice.) Be quiet, will yezi (Jumps up on chair, and shouts to the party^ Och, ie quiet, I say, an' we'll hush the matther up, over a bottle o' wine or sperits I We'll have something to drink! I say I D'yez hear! {They suddenly hecome silent.) There, thin, I knowed I could settle the difficulty, aisy enough. Come out o' the way, Sandy, for a minnit, an' h«lp me bring in the refrishments. • [JEoait, with Sandy. Miss Dollop. I guess no man wouldn't sit on my hat more than once! Mehitable. Nor on mine ; but I wouldn't get so cantankerous, and raise Cain so, about no cheap bonnet like that 'ere ! Mns. E. Bad luck to ye, do ye call that a chape bonnet, when it cost me five shiUin's steflin' in ould Ireland, an' I haven't worn it but two year come next Michaelmas will be a month! Bridget and Mike. Now, thin, don't be afther wonyin' anny more. Enter Pat. and Sandy vnth trays, ioitles, etc., which they place on table. Pat. Now fall to, good luck to yez aU! Mrs. Eafferty, will ye thry a little bog-poteen? Miss Poley, plaze do the banners of the table. Bridget. Thank ye, sir, I'm not a waiter. Pat. Och, wirra ! an' it's mighty unobleegin' yez are, to be shure. (Kiiies glass, and tries to fiU it from bottle, but finds it empty.) Shure, somebody's bin at the refrishments 1 (lAfts cover from dish, and finds it empty also.) Och, an' the ice-crame's all gone, too ! [Hum out Mrs. E. This is a mighty pretty parthy, now, isn't it, Mike Hen- nessy, where a body's things is spiled an' ruined intirely, an' there's nothin' to ate or dhrink, barrin' empty botUes' an' dishes ? Bridget. Good enough for the likes of you, Misthress EaiFerty! [Anotter confusion begins to arise, when Pat. appears, dragging Bob by the collar. Bob has his mouth fuU, a very red face, and drops apples, calces, etc., aU over the stage. Pat. Ochone I Haven't I caught ye, now, ye murtherin' little 20 ACIING PliOVEEBS. thafe o' the -world — ^ate up all the ice-crame, an' poun' cake, an' dhrink all the sherry — will ye? Bob. {trying to talk with his mouth fuU.) Blob-blob, glob, glog, blog-lob Mike. Shure, now — Sajjdt. Hoot, mon I Mbs. K. Well, now — Mehitable. Law sakes 1 du telL Bridget. Och ! the gossoon 1 Miss Dollop. Deary me ! IThey aU run to table, and examine dishes. Bob slips away and runs out. AU talk at once, louder and louder, tiU nothing can be heard but a perfect uproar. Enter Bob, mth his face pale, and his hair on end, looking much terrified. Bob. Thieves ! thieves 1 help I murder I [Miss Dollop throws herself into Sandy's arms, and pretends to faint. Mrs. Eatferty throws herself upon Mike, and nearly upsets him. The rest stand bach alarmed. Pat. Thavea? Where? Bob. Somebody's carried off the spoons from the dining-room, and a whole lot of things ! All. Oh! oh I Bridget. It was aU along of your lavin' the front door open, Pat Shurfe, it's jist hke yez ! [ While aU stand aghast, the door opens, and Mr. and Mrs. Garnett enter. Mrs. G-. Whew I faugh I tobacco smoke ! Mr. Gr. What's all this ? By Jove, here are pretty goings on I Patrick ! Pat. (looking very sheepish.) Yis, sir. Me. G. Bridget I , Bridget. Tis, sir. Mr. Gr. Who are all these people, carousing and smoking here in my drawing-room? Pat. Shure, sir, an' they're only a few fren's as dhropped in tb-^ Mr. Gr. Dhropped in, did they ? Well, they can dhrop out again now, the sooner the better. Do you hear, you people ? Go — ^leave — vanish t [AU draw back towards the door. Mrs. G. Oh ! my poor carpet is ruined. Mrs. Kafpertt. Och, mum, an' so is me poor hat ! ■WnEN THE cat's AWAY, THEN THE MICE WILL PLAT. 21 Enter Policemak, holding Thief hy the am. Policeman. Mr. G-arnettl Me. G. Hallo ! who have you got there, Brown ? Policeman. A well-kno-mi hall thie^ sir, and he had a lot of spoona marked with your name. I caught him just around the corner here, sir, and thought Td see who he had been robbing. [Gives spoons to Mrs. G-aenett. Me. Gr. Ton are a good officer. Brown; here, take this (giving him money), and help me to clear these wretches out of the house. All. OhI ohi Me. G. Go, every one of you I Patrick, you and Bridget may pack up your things as soon as you can, for I can tell you that you shall not stay another .day in my service. Now, Brown, clear the room ! [The Policeman draws his cliib, the party make a msh for the door, and tumble out in confusion. Policeman. They're a nice set, sir. It's a mercy they hadn't burned the house down before now. Mes. Gaenett. Just to think oi such a company drinking and smoking in my parlor I Me. Gaenett. My dear, it is always the way. These people, are never to be trusted, only when one's eyes are upon them. I will leave it to any of our matronly friends here (turning to audience), if their ser- vants do not " worry the lives out of them." When we're at home, they're steady as you please — But when we go away, they take their ease ; My coachman's faithless — Mes. Gaenett. So are cook and maid — Pm out 01 patience I Me. Gaenett. And out proverb's played I CUETADf. PROVERB II. 'IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS." BT FRANK CAHILL. €^scmitxs. Paul Smitheks. Jack Thomson, his frien^. Me. Simpson, M.C. Mrs. Bobbidge. Postman, Waiter, etc. SCE^Ji—An attic hedroom. A table, JR. 0., upon which are a quantity of MS., an inJcstand, letters, etc. Enter Paul Smithers, slmVbily attired, examining a large rent in the side of his coat. Paul. Just my luck ! must go and tear my coat coming up those confounded stairs. — I never saw such a tear. — ^I haven't any needle and thread, neither have I any money to get it mended. I am an unlucky fellow 1 Hallo ! here are one or two letters that have been left during my absence in search of money. I wonder what my creditors have to say to-day. ( Takes up letter and opens if) Ah, the old story — wants his money. I'll be. bound he don't want it any more than I want to pay him. Its no use reading any more, they're all alike, I know, — yet I may as well look over the signatures, and see who they are from. {Opens three letters.) Let me see, Packer, that's my tailor, — you can go there (throws it info waste-paper hasJcet that is at side of table). Ben- son, — eh, he's my .bootmaker, you can go there (throws it into waste- basJcef). Now for the last, — who's this ? Smith, — Smith, I don't know anybody of the name of Smith. Pll read the letter. " Sir : — Some time ago you recommended a friend of yours to me as a boarder; no doubt you will recollect it; telling me at the time that IT NEVKE EAINS BUT IT POUES. 23 you would be responsible for his board. Now, sir, he has gone away in my debt, amounting in all to fifteen dollars. Will you please forward it to me, or shall I caU upon you? Yours obediently, "John Smith. " P.S. — ^Tour friend's name was Jackson." Did you ever see anything like it ? I have not spoken to Jackson foi fifteen months, and now Smith comes down upon me for fifteen dol- lars : — charged a dollar a month for not seeing a fellow I {A knock heard ai the door.) Come in. Enter lixx. Thomson. Jack. Hallo I Paul, how goes it? Paul. Shocking. Jack. Sorry to hear it. Things are pretty bad with me just now. I say, old fellow, can you lend me fi.ve dollars? Paul. Do what ? Jack. Lend me five dollars. I have got into a deuce of a scrape, — must get it somewhere. Paul. I'm surprised at you. Jack. Where should I go to borrow money, if not to you ? Paul. You misunderstand me, old boy. I'd lend it you, if I had it ; but I haven't a penny in the world. Jack. It's always the way, whenever I want to borrow money, I never can get it Paul. It's the same with me I've been half over town to-day, and couldn't raise a red. I am nearly worried to death. I haven't been so hard up for months. Jack. You don't say so ? Paul. But I do say so ; and Pm being dunned for money hourly. Jack. You must expect that; you know, misfortunes never come singly. Paul. Yes, indeed; misfortune must be married, and have a nume- rous family, if I can judge by the number of times she and hers have visited me, for I am sure she would be tired out with the number of calls she makes at my abode. Jack. Can't we raise the wind somewhere? Paul. I've got nothing. Jack. More have I— only some collars, and they won't lend any- tliing on half worn-out collars. Paul. I say, Jack. Jack. What? 24 ACTISrCl PKOVEEBS. Paul. Ain 't, it a pity that we haven't a rich old uncle, somewhere or other, who would turn up just now— like they do in plays— give us a lot of money, say "Bless you, be happy 1" and make us marry his rich ward? Jack. Ah, don't I wish I had such an uncle ! But I must be oiE Tre got to raise that money before two. Good bye. Paul. &ood bye — good luck to you 1 Jack. Hope so. Keep up your pluck; I'll call again shortly. [JExit Jack. Paul. No news yet from that article I sent on to the Pacific Monthly the other day; anybody else would have had the money by this time, and have spent it. Well, this won't do; I must go to work, anyway. {Goes to table, and begins to arrange papers.) It's fortunate that I have some ink and paper left; if I hadn't those, I should be in a pUght. (Knocks inkstand over.) Groodness gracious ! how careless ! There, it's going all over my papers. No, it's no good — ^I can't get any of it up. That's nice paper to write on {shows paper covered with ink). Now Pm in a nice condition : no ink, no paper, and no money "to buy any with. I've half a mind to — {a knock is heard at the door) — Come in. Enter Mrs. Bobbidge. Mrs. B0BBID6E. Mr. Smithers, Pve come for ray rent Paitl. I am very sorry, Mrs. Bobbidge, but I can't pay you to-day. Mrs. Bobbidge. But I must have my money. Paul. I haven't any money, Mrs. Bobbidge. Mrs. Bobbidge. If you haven't any money, what made you take my room? Paul. When I took your room, I had money ; you know I paid you regularly for the first six months. Mrs. Bobbidge. Tou haven't paid me regularly for the last three. Paui^I shsdl have a lot of money soon, then I'U pay you. Mrs. -Bobbidge. I want my room, Mr. Smithers ; and if you don't pay me to-day you must leave. Padi. How unreasonable you are, Mrs. Bobbidge. A man must - live somewhere, and I may just as weU run into your debt as anybody else's. Mrs. Bobbidge. It don't make much difference to you, but it does to me ; so, if you please, Mr. Smithers, get a room elsewhere. Paul. But, Mrs. Bobbidge Mrs. Bobbidge. Don't Mrs. Bobbidge me, if you please, sir. If IT NEVER EAINS BUT IT PO0ES. 25 you don't let me have the room to-night, I'll lock up the door to-mor- row, mind that. [Exit Mrs. Bobbidge. _ Paul. Was there ever such an unfortunate feUowl Where's that penny, — here it is. I'll toss up and see whether I shall kill myself or not. It's no use living; I shall never have any good fortune again. Here goea Heads— -death; tails — ^hve. (Be tosses penny up in the air, and catches it, at thai moment a hnock is heard at the door.) Come in. Ikier a Waiter. Waiteh. Is this Mr. Smithers' room ? Paui. Yes ; are you from the restaurant, across the way ? Waiter. Tes, sir. Paul. Where's that dimier I ordered ? Waiter. If you please, sir, master says, he can't let you have any more, tUl you pay up. Pato. What! Waiter. Master says, he can't let you Paul. I know what your master said. Go away, you make me hungry to look at you. Waiter. Very well, sir. [Exit Waiter. Paul. Was there ever, — ^no matter, what do I want with a dinner, when I'm going to kiU myself. Let me try again. Heads — death; tails — ^hve. (Se spins penny again, a knock is heard at the door). Confound that door ! Come in. Enter Postman, with rather a large letter in his hand. Postman. Mr. Paul Smithers. Paul. That's me. Postman. Two cents to pay. Paul (offering to take tlie letter). I'll owe it you. Postman. No, you don't. You owe me twenty-four cents already. Paul (giving him penny). There's a penny on account, now let me have it. Postman. No, I slian't, till you give me the other penny. Paul (aside). It's a large package, I shouldn't be at all surprised if it contained a remittance from the Pacific Monthly. (Aloud.) Post- man, I must have that letter. Postman. But you shan't till you pay me the other penny. Paul (turning up the sleeves of his coaf). Postman, give me that letter. 2 26 ACTING PBpVEEBS. Postman. I'll call again to-morrow with it (going). 1 j.m, (seizing him by the coat-tail). Stay ! I am sure that letter coa' tains money ; let me open it, then I'U pay you. Postman.' I won't. Paul. Tou won't! then I'll take it. (Paul and the Postman struggle. The Postmas drops letter, Vattl picks it up triumphantly).- Postman. Very well, you, Mr. Smithers, I'll have you up for rob- bing the United States Mail. \Eait Postman. Paul. Confounded rascal! wouldn't leave the letter without the money, but I've done him this time. Now, then, for the contents. (Begins to open letter.) I'm sure it contains money. It must be from the Padflc Monthly. HuUo ! what's this, — my letters to Julia, — what can be the meaning of this ; — ^here's a letter, perhaps that will explain it. \The letter contained a package of letters, which lie holds in Jiis hand ; he opens one. ''Sir: Herewith you will receive the letters that you have, from time to time, addressed to my daughter Julia. Tou will oblige all of as by not sending any more, till you hear from us again. I remain, yours obediently, John Jones." That's a nice letter to receive, instead of money ! So Julia is lost to me for ever. Oh 1 fickle, cruel-hearted Juha ! No matter. Where's that cent ? Heads — death ; tails — live. Dear me, where can it have got to ? I remember now, that wretched postman has taken it, and I have not even the mournful satisfaction left me, of tossing up a copper for life or death. (A knock is heard at the door.) Come in. Enter Simpson. Simpson. Is your name Smithers — ^Mr. Paul SmitlierS? Path.. It's no good your coming here ; I hav€ no money. Simpson (smiling). But Paul. I tell you it's no good. Simpson. My dear sir. Paul. I can't pay you ; I haven't any money. Simpson. I do not want — Paul. Tou are the most indefatigable man I ever saw in my life. It's no use dunning me; I'll pay you when I have the money. Simpson. Will you listen to me ? Paul. Tes, I'll listen to you, but you're wasting your time ; 1 haven't any money. Simpson. I don't want any money. IT NEVER EAISrS BUT IT POUKS. 27 Paul Why didn't yea say so before ? I am extremely glad to see you. ^ [ShaJdng Mm iy the hand. Simpson. I have come on a more pleasant errand, I assure you. Paul. Indeed 1 well, anything for a change. Simpson. I have come from my friend, Mr. EUiott, whom you know, I believe. Paul. Then you want that money he loaned me. Simpson. On the contrary, 1 have come to oflfer you a situation under government. Paul. Tou don't say so ? Simpson. Mr. EUiott has sucn a high appreciation of your talents, that he has obtained for you the position of secretary to the ambas- sador of Otaheite. Paul (delighted). My dear sir — Simpson. Will you accept it ? Paul. With pleasure. [Jack poJces his head in at the door. Jack. Can I come in? Paul. Tes, certainly. Jack (entering'). Well, Pve been successful Bateman lent me the money, and he gave me this note for you (hands note to Paul). He has been out of town, and only returned this morning. Paul- Excuse me, Mr. — ^Mr. — Simpson. Simpson. Certainly. Paul. (Opens letter.) Hurrah! Bateman has sent me the twenty dollars, and apologizes for not sending it before. Bateman's a brick 1 Jack. Isn't he ? Paul. Fortune has changed. Jack. Mr. Simpson has just offered me a situation under government. Jack. Bravo ! I congratulate you. Simpson. I hope Mr. Smithers will find it pecuniarily to his advantage. [A Imock is heard at the door. Paul. Come in. Enter Mrs. Bobbidge. Mes. Bobbidge. If you please, Mr. Smithers, Paul. I know what you want, — ^you want your money. Mrs. Bobbidge, I should like it, but here's a letter for you. [Gives letter. Paul. Another letter, — a dun I suppose. (Opem letter and reads.) Hurrah! Mrs. Bobbidge, let me hug you. (Attempts to embrace Mna Bobbidge, who reptdses him^ Congratulate me, Jack. Mr. Simpson, 28 ACTING I'EOVBEBS, you're a trump ; no, I beg pardon, you're a,— you're a, — ^I don't know ■what you are. [STialces hands with them violenUy. Jack. Wiat's the matter, old boy? Paul. The Pacific. has accepted my story, and has sent me on a draft for a hundred and fifty dollars. Hurrah! [Waves draft about, and dances frantically about the stage. Simpson. You seem to be fortunate, Mr. Smithers. Paul. Fortunate ! This moriiing I thought I was one of the most unfortunate men in the world; now I think I am the most fortunate. Jack. Well, you're in luck, old fellow. Paul. In luck! I should rather say I was. It reminds me of the old adage. It what is it, do you know? I have forgotten it. Jack. No, — yes, — ^let me see. It oh, I don't know it. Paul. Do you know the proverb, Mr. Simpson ? SuiPSON. No, I do not. Paul. You know it, Mrs. Bobbidge ? Mes. Bobbidge. No, Mr. Smithers, it is such a long while since I went to school, that reaUy I do not remember it. Paul. What shall we do ? none of us remember it Oh I I have it {To audience.) We must leave it to these ladies and gentlemen. And, if any here remember the proverb, we shall only be too happy for them to tell us it. Paul and Me. Simtson centre. Jack right. Mrs. Bobbidge left. CURTAIN. PROVERB ill. "HONOR AMONG THIEVES." BY FRANK C AHILL. CljHrarftrs. -^ Alonzo di Coedobello, a brigand. Landlord. Charles Vane. Alice Vane, his wife. Mrs. Beaumont. Master Clakenoe, her son. Ladies, Gentlemen, etc. SCENE — A parlor in an Italian hotel — a window at bach. Ente>- Landlord, bowing, and wallcing bacJcwards, followed by Mn. and Mrs. Vane. Landlord. This way, Signor — ^mind the step, my lady — this is the room, Signor — hope you are satisfied, my lady ? Alice. Tes ; this seems a very pleasant room. Landlord. Glad it meets your approbation, my lady. Would you like some refireshments, Signor ? Charles. None at present — ^we dined on the road. Landlord. Thank you, Signor. If Signor will graciously permit me, I will retire. [Bows himself towards the door. Alice. Oh! landlord Landlord. My lady. [Advances hurriedly towards Alice and bows. Alice. There is a writing desk in the carriage — will you bring it me? Landlord. Certainly, my lady. [He bows himself out Alice. So, Charles dear, we are in delightful Italy at last. The land of sunny skies, poetry, and romance. (Goes to window, and looks 30 ACTING rEOVEEBS. out.) See what a charming view from this window ; isn't it lovely ?— such a beautiful sky, too 1 Charles. Enthusiast ! Alice. But isn't it splendid, Charley ? Charles (laughing). Let me see. Delightful, charming, lovely, beautiful, splendid — ^take care, take care — ^what an extravagant young woman you are ! Alice. Extravagant! how? Charles. Why, in the use of adjectives. Hallo! look at those sol- diers. [Charles and Alice ioih look out of window. Unier Landlord, with writing desk, which he places on table. Landlord. I beg your pardon, Signer, but they'll ha,ve him now. Charles. Indeed I but who is it they are going to have ? Landlord. Is it possible Signer cannot have heard ? Why, Alonzo di CordobeUo, to be sure. Charles. And who is Alonzo di CordobeUo ? Landlord. He is the celebrated brigand, whose depredations are the talk of Italy. Alice (clapping her hands). A real Hve brigand I Do tell us about dim- Is he handsome? — ^is he young? How I should like to see him ! Landlord. So they say, my lady ; but I have never seen him. Charles. And those soldiers, we saw in the court-yard, just now, are going in search of him ? Landlord. Y.es, Signer. Prince di Costello was waylaid last night, and robbed, so government has determined to catch this Cordo- beUo, dead or aUve. Alice. How romantic ! Landlord. Yes, my lady. He only plunders the rich, and fre- quently gives money to the poor. Last year, when the worms destroyed Baptiste's grape crop, and he corild not pay his rent, CordobeUo sent him the money to do it with. Charles. Quite a Eobin Hood, I declare. Landlord. Bobbing? Tes, indeed; he robs everybody he comes across. But w-iU Signor come and enter his name, as the police are very strict about that? Charles. Certainly. Where is the book? Landlord. If Signor wiU come with me I'U show Mm. [Goes to door, holds it open, for Charles iogo out, hows as he passes, turns to Alice, hows to her, and emis. HOlTOB AMONG THIEVES. 31 Alice {goes io table, and sits dovni). A brigand I How deKcious I Oh ! if I could only see him ! "When we return to New York, how delightful it would be to be able to tell my friends I had seen a brigand — a real live brigand 1 (As she is speaJdng, Coedobello enters the room, through the window.') I am sure I shouldn't be a bit frightened. [CoEDOBELLO, who is in Irigand's cosivm,e, comes down, and stands before Alice, who screams, and shrinks from him, covering her face with her handhercMef. CoEDOBELLo. Paidon my unceremoni6us entrance (holes at her left hand), madam. . [Takes off hat, and bows. Alice. What — ^what do you want? CoBDOBELLO. Hearing of your arrival, poHteness made me calL Alice. I will call my husband, sir. [Moves towards door. CoRDOBELLo (intercepting her). Nay, do not trouble yourself. Allow me to offer you a chair. [TaJces her hand, and leads her to a chair. Alice (with forced calmness). To whom am I indebted for this visit? Cordobello. Tou must excuse my breach of etiquette in not send- ing up my card ; my name is Alonzo di Cordobello. Alice. The brigand ! [Suppresses a scream. CoEDOBELLO (bowing). At your service. Nothing is more agreeable to me than a tete-d-iete with a lady, especially an American lady. Alice (aside). He certainly is very handsome. Cordobello. I have heard of your country, lady, where the sky is almost as clear and as blue as our own. What a pretty bracelet: allow me to examine it. [Takes the bracelet off her arm. Alice (timidly). Sir, — ^that, — that bracelet was a wedding gift. Cordobello. A wedding gift! Really the donor must have had exquisite taste. [Pzds bracelet in his pocket. Alice (aside). Does he mean to rob me ? Cordobello. Tour bays too, are very fine, are they not ? Have you seen our far-famed Bay of Naples ? Alice. Tes. Cordobello. It used to be called the finest in the world ; but I have heard that some of your American bays almost exceed it in beauty. But, pardon me, I am afraid that I am exceeding the time that society aUcwB for a caU. Would you obUge me with the hour ? Alice Qcohing at watch). It is now half past Cordobello (interrupting her). Nay, I conld not think of troubling a lady. Allow me to see for myself [TaJces chain, with watch attached, from her Tieck. Alice (rising). This rudeness, sir 52 ACTING PKOVEP.BS. OoEDOBELLO. Now you are unjust {drawing himself tip proudly). A-lonzo di Cordobello is never rude to a lady. Alice. Then return me my watch and bracelet, and leave me. CoKDOBELLO. Pardon me; v^henever I meet a lady, I always like to keep something in remembrance of her. Jllice. Tour impertinence is charming. CoEDOBELLo. I am happy that I charm,, madam (bows). A desk too (tries to open desk), and looked : might I trouble you for the key ? Alice. I haven't it with' me. I will fetch it for you. {Goivg. CoEDOBELLO. I Couldn't think of trQubling you. Bee, I can do without it. [Forces desk with dagger. Alice {pettishly). You have spoiled my desk. Cordobello. I am not such a clumsy workman. See, — ^it is unin- lured. {Takes things out of desk.) "What have we here, — ^letters, — those we wiU pass. I never interfere with the correspondence of a lady. Alice. Well, that's considerate. CoEDOBELLO. A miniature 1 and set round with diamonds. Alice Oh, do not take that. Cordobello. Pardon me, I must ; miniatures are my especial weak- ness. (Aside.) Particularly when they have diamond settings. Alice. Take the setting, — take anything else I have in the world ; but give me back my miiiiature. It is the likeness of my mother, — the only one I have, — so pray, pray, give it me. Cordobello. Ladies never ask a favor of Alonzo di Cordobello in vain. [Tries to take miniature out of setting. Alice. Then you wiU not take it ? Cordobello. (Aside.) Pshaw 1 I cannot get it out of the setting (Aloud.) I am afraid I shall be obliged to take it. Alice. Oh I do not, I implore you. Cordobello. Lady, I promise you, on my honor, that you shaU be in possession of the painting again in less than an hour. Alice. Pray, pray, do not take it. CoEDOBELLO. Madam, my word is passed. I never break my word. In an hour you shall hear from me. AUow me to take my leave (bows). Stay ! would you favor me with that ring you have upon your finger ? It would keep me from forgetting you. (Alice takes off ring and gives it to him.) Madam, once more farewell. (Goes to window and gets out.) Pardon, I forgot, not farewell, au revoir. (Kisses his hand to Alice and disappears.) Alice. Thank goodness! he has gone. How agitated I feel— I HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 33 wonder if he -will return the miniature. (Ooedobello appears again al window.) I wonder where Cha CoKDOBELLO. Histl Lady! Alice (starting). Here, again. CoRDOBELLo. Pardon my return ; but I have forgotten one thing. Alice. What is that? CoRDOBELLO. If you wailt your miniature restored to you, you must promise not to tell anybody of my visit here. Alice. I promise. CoBDOBELLO. Madam, I thank thee. Once more, au revoir. \Bows and exits. Alice. What have I done ? Promised not to tell anybody I have been robbed. How absurd 1 And thus let the thief escape. What a tremor I am in ! Hark ! somebody is coming. I am so confused that I cannot meet them, so I will retire to my dressing-room, and compose myself [Exit Alice. Enter Zianjjlohv, followed by Mrs. Beaumont and Clarence. Mrs. Beaumont is leading Clarence hy the hand. Landlord. Tliis way, madam ; this is Mr. Vane's room. Will you please take a seat, and I wiU tell Mrs. Vane's servant that you are here. Mrs. Beatj. Thank you, my good man. Give her that card, will you? (Qives card, Landlord hows and exits.) Now, Clarence, mind that you are a good boy, and behave in your best manner, wiU you ? Clarence. Guess so. Mrs. Beau. There's a darUng ! Come and kiss me. Clakence. Give me sixpence ! Mrs. Bea0. What ! does my boy want to be paid for kissing his mother? Oh, fie! (^wfer Alice and Charles.) Ah, Mr. Vane, and my dear AUce, how do you do ? You are looking charming, I declare. [Tliey shake hands, Alice and Mrs. Beaumont kiss. Charles. We are glad to see you, Mrs. Beaumont. How long have you been in Italy ? Mrs. Beau. We have only just arrived from Paris. Seeing your flame in the registry, I thought we would call upon you, and see how you were. Alice. How kind, to be sure ! Mrs. Beau. Not at al This is my son; you remember my son. AUce. Clarence, this js Mr. and Mrs. Vane ; you know them, don't vou? Clarence. Tea 2* 34 ACTING PBOVEEBS. Chaeles. And how has Clarence been, all this long while? [Claeence hangs hack, sucking his thumb, in a timid and shy manner. Mrs. Beau. Why don't you speak to Mr. Vane, Clarence? Claeekoe, How do? Chaeles. Well, I thank you. How are you? Clakeuce. First-rate. Mrs. Beait. There's a dear. Now speak to Mrs. Vane. Claeenoe. I don't want to. Mrs. Beau. Tes, you do. Tell her you are glad to see her; you are glad, are you not ? Clarence. No. [Charles and Alice lav^h. Mrs. Beau. He is such a dear, artless creature, he always says what he thinks. I am sure you wont be angry with him. Alice. Indeed, no. Pray be seated, Mrs. Beaumont. (Mrs. Beau- jiONT and AiiCE seat themselves.) You are not going, Charles? Charles. Yes, if Mrs. Beaumont will excuse me ? Mrs. Beau. Certainly. Charles. I have a lot of things to look after, and I know you ladies have ever so much to talk about. [Mmt Charles. Alice. How do you Uke Paris, Mrs. Beaumont? Mrs. Beau. Oh, it's a dehghtful place for shopping. I have bought such a number of dresses. Alice. How I long to get to Paris 1 But Charles would come to Italy first. Mes. Beau. What do you think, dear ? I have been presented to the Emperor. Alice. Oh, how nice I What did you wear ? Mrs. Beau. Well, I wore a grey moire-antique dress, trimmed with white tuUe, and a — [During the above conversation, Clarence Jias been doing aU manner of things about the room; jumping over chairs, putting things about generally ; opened the desh, and looJced over some of the Ut- ters. Finally, he goes to the window, and stretches himself out, as though reaching for something. Mrs. Beau, (giving a slight scream, and starting Mp.) My boy 1 my precious darling! He will kill himself! (Runs to the window, and drags Clarence in.) What are you doing? How you have frightened your poor mother I Clarence (beginning to cry). Now then, why can't you let a fellow alone ? I want the grapes. Boo — oo — oo — Mrs. Beau. What grapes, darling? HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 35 Clarence. Those just out of the window. [Still crying. Mrs. Beau. There, there, don't cry any more, and mamma will give you money to buy some. {Gives money.') Now sit down, and be a good boy, and don't worry mamma any more. (Clarence sits on chair, takes an apple out of his pocket, and commences eating it.) Well, as I was saying, Alice, I wore a moire antique — Enter Charles. Charles. Oh, I beg pardon, Mrs. Beaumont; but as I was in the court-yard just now, I saw the Fentons and the Grays drive up ; so 1 thought I'd come up and tell Alice. Alice. I suppose we shall be honored with a eaU. Enter Landlord. Landlord. If you please, Signer — Mrs, Beau. Ah I goodness gracious ! [Seeing Clarence eating an apple, sTie runs to him and takes it from him. Clarence. G-ive me back, my apple. [Endeavors to snatch it away. Mrs. Beau. Tou naughty boyl you shan't have it. Tou'U make yourself iU ; you have eaten nine already. I beg your pardon, Mr. Vane. Charles. Pray, don't mention it What were you saying, land- lord? Clakencb (aside). I don't care, I have another one in my pocket. [TaJces apple out of pocket, and begins eating it, surreptitiously. Landlord. I was saying, Signer, that some ladies and gentlemei. are down stairs, and they desired me to bring up their cards. [Presents cardi on salves Charles (fakes them). Show them up. [Exit LAiiE!i,ORp. Alice. Who is it, Charles ? Charles. The Pentons and the ^rays. Mrs. Beau. Clarence. Clarence (with his mouth fuU). "yps, ma. Mrs. Beau. What airp you eating? Clarence (swdCloifi^, fta^il^). Nothing. Mrs. Beau. There arp some ladips and gentlemen coming here, ;^o.w oehave like a gp,pd boy, will you ? Clarenc^. Y^Sj mfj. [Go.es ifick to chair, and rfswmps ht^ appU. 36 ACTING PROVERBS. Enter Landlord, followed by four or five Ladies and Genilemen. Cohdo- BELLO enters with them, in evening costume. Landlord. This is the room, Signors. [He holds the door open for them to enter. Bows and exits. CoRDOBELLO (oside). Oh, I know the room. [Charles and Alice shaJce hands with the ladies and gentlemen. Alice then introduces them to Mrs. Beaumont, who introduces thei i to her son, who is remarTcahly shy and hackward. Cordobello (to diaries). Gould I say a few words to you ? Charles. Certainly. Cordobello. You do not know me ? Ceaeles. I have not the pleasure. Are you not a friend of Cordobello (interrupting). Never saw the good people before in my life. Charles. Then, who are you, sir ? Cordobello. I am Count Fuseh. Having a great regard for the A.merican people, I have taken the hberty to call on you, which I hope ^ou will pardon. Charles. Not another word, I beg of you. Allow me to introduce you to my wife. Alice. [Alice comes forward. Alice. Yes, Charles. Charles. My dear, this is Count Fuseli. Count Fuseli, Mrs. Charles Vane. [They how. Charles walks up the stage, and talks with Mrs. Beau- mont, and company. Alice (aside). Surely I have seen that face before. CoRDOBinLQ, Madame, I am pleased to have the honor of your acquaintance. [Alice courtesies. Alice. Have ypij ever been in America, Count? Cordobello. I have i^eyer Ijad that pleasure. Alibe. Have we not met beforg ? Cordobello. We have. Alice. I thought I remembered you. Where ? Cordobello. Here. Allow me to retijrij tlie miniature. (Alice takes it.) You see I have kept my word. [Alice screams. Charles runs forward, and catches her in his arms, just as sJie faints. Everybody runs dbovifor XfStoratives. The Landlord enters ; seeing what is the matter, he runs off, and Xeturns wiih a glass of water. Clarence is in ecstasies, he runs about, as though it were the funniest thing in the wofld. Jh thp cqnfusiorp Cordobello escapes through the window. HONOK AMONG THIEVES. 87 Charles. See, she is coming to. Alice (fainUff). Where is he? Charles. Where is who ? ' Alice. He — ^he — Count Fuseli. Charles (looking round). I don't see him here. I suppose tie must have gone. Alice. Count Fuseli is Cordobello. All (except Clarence). What ! Cordobello the brigand ? Alice. Yes. Charles. How do you know? Alice. Listen. (They dU crowd round her.) This evening, about an hour ago, he came in tiirough that window, and robbed me of my watch, bracelet, ring, and the miniature of my mamma. Charles o«d),rj^gg^^^^^gl, Landlord. ) Alice. I implored him not to take it. He said he must, for the set- ting, as it was bordered with diamonds, but promised to return the miniature, uninjured, in an hour. Charles. Why did you not tell me ? Alice, He made me promise not to. I thought he would keep his word, so I kepfmine. You see he has. {SJiows miniature. Charles. The bold rascal! But come, landlord, let us start in pursuit. Alice (dinging to him). Nay, nay, Charles, do liot go. You may be injured. Landlord. I am afraid it is of very Uttlg good, trying to catch hirp now; he has had five minutes start. Charles. What shall we do ? Alice. Do? Let us put up with our loss, and (to audience) hope that all present will keep their word as inviolable as the brigand. Charles and Alice in centre. Mrs. Beaumont c^nd Clarence Jefl, Landlobb right. Ladies (m4 Genflemen ranged in half cirde ai back. PROVERB IV. "ALL IS PAIE IN LOVE AND WAR." BT FRANK CAHILL. CI^Mntcttrs. Lieutenant Geat, U.S.A. Lieutenant Eatnok, U.S.A. Me. Williamson. Kate WiLiiiAMSON, 7jis niece. Mary, a lady's maid. €imttxmte. Lieutenant Geat and Eatnoe, in undress uniform, as officers in the U.S.A. The rest, modern. SCENE— J. parlor. Enter Geat and Eatnoe. Gray. Isn't she charming? Eatnoe. Charming! Charming isn't the name for it She's lOvely, beautiful, divine I Geat. I told you, you'd be captivated. Eatnoe. Was there ever a more magnificent creature ? I suppose during the last three weeks you have been laying siege to her heart Geat. Now really, Eaynor Eatnoe, Ton rascal 1 But I am not surprised, I have only been here three hours, and you have been here as many weeks, yet I am deeply in love, so what must you be ? Geat. Upon my word, Eaynor, this is absurd. Eatnoe. Absurd, or not, I intend entering for the prize ; so I give you fair warning. Geat. I — I understand Miss Williamson is already engaged. ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WAE. 39 Ratnor. No matter. At West Point we were taught that strategy was allowed in war. Love is much about the same thing, I take it. So, whoever is the favored swain must look out, for I'll win her, if I can. GrEAT. A pleasant prospect for the gentleman in question. Eatnoe. I hope he'll think so. But, excuse me,- 1 have a short latter to write. I'll meet you in the garden, in a quarter of an hour. \Exit Ratnob. Gray. Confound that Kaynor ! Just as I was getting on so nicely, he must come here, and in the coolest manner possible, teU me he'U cut me out, if he can. Enier Mr. Williamson. ■Me. Williamson. Ah, Gray, where's Kitty 7 Gray. I don't know, I think she is in the garden. Me. Williamson. Gray, why don't you marry ? Gray. Upon my word, sir, I — I Mk. Williamson. Now there's my niece, as nice a girl as you can find in a day's march, — ^why don't you marry her ? Gray. EeaUy Mr. Williamson. J have known you a long while. Gray, and your father before you, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see you united to my niece. Gray. My dear Mr. Williamson, I am pleased to have your good opinion. Me. Williamson. Not at all, — have you any objection to making my niece Mrs. Gray ? Gray. To tell you the truth, I have already fallen a captive to Miss WiUiamson's charms, and am trying very hard, I assure you, to make her change her name. Me. Williamson. Ha, ha, ha! you sly dog; — you shall have my help in the matter, I'U warrant you. Gray. How can I thank you, sir? Me. Williamson. By not saying a word about it. Kitty is walking in the garden, let us see if we can find her. Geay. With pleasure. \Eoceunt Williamson and Geay. Enter Kate and Raynor. Kate. -There is no believing you men. Raynor. Some men, I grant you, but who would have the temerity to <0 ACTING PEOVEEBS. Bjitk \£oes to table, and tahes up portfolio). Are you fond of pic- tures, Mr. Kaynor? Ratwoe. I am delighted with them. Kate. Thirf is a view of our house, with the Hudson in the distance. Eatnok- Charming ! Are you the artist ? Kate. No, Mr. Gray drew that. Eatnor (aside). Confound Gray. (Aloud.) Here's a sketch of your head. Kate. Do you tlunk it Uke me ? Ratnor (examiningr sketcK). Tes, it's a bold vigorous sketch, but I do not like the mouth. Kate. I can't alter my mouth. Ratnoe. Pardon me , — it is not like it. If it were like the original it would be impossible to find fault with it. Kate. How pretty 1 where do you learn all those nice speeches ? Ratnor. Nowhere. When I look upon the beautiful, they come by inspiration. Kate. A truce to these compliments. (Shuts up portfolio.) Is there anything new in New York ? Ratnor. Nothing, absolutely nothing, save that somebody has walked off with a million and a half of dollars from the city treasury ; but that's nothing new. Enter Ghat. Grat. Oh, here you are! Ratnor. Tes ; if I am not very much mistaken, we are here. Kate. Where's uncle ? Grat. In the garden, looking after his cucumbers. They are the finest I have ever seen. He ought certainly to take the prize at the next horticultural show. Ratnor. Does Mr. Wilhamson take a pride in large cucumbers, parly peas, etc. ? Kate. Oh, yes. Have you not seen his tomatoes ? Ratnor. No ; I have i}ot had that pleasure. Kate. Will you come with me ? I'll show them to you. Ratnor. Most happy, [Going off. Grat. I will accompany you. Ratnok. Tou iire^ery kind, but I can't allow you to put yoursplf fo so much trouble, Grat, No trouble AIX IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR. 41 Eaynor. You're tired — ^you know you're tired. Rest yourself a bit ; we'll soon return.' Kate. Do not fatigue yourself, Mr. Gray, I beg of you. Gkat. Indeed, I am not tired. Eatnoe. What a polite fellow you are. Gray. Do you know, Miss Williamson, that it is politeness makes him want to come with us ? Tou know you're completely used up. Kate. If that is the case, I can't think of allowing you to accom- pany us. (^With mock dignity.) So I command you to stay here. Come, Mr. Eaynor. Eatnor (aside to Gray). Strategy, my boy — strategy. ^Offers his arm to E1a.te, and exit. Gkat. What cool impudence I Never mind, I will be even with him yet. I'U go and watch them (going) ; no — ^I won't be a spy. (Hesitates.) Tes, I will " Strategy, my boy — strategy." [Exit. Enter Williamson and Maey. Me. Williamson. So you don't know who it is, that has been at my peaches ? Maey. No, sir. I saw some boys prowling about last night. I dare say they took them. Me. Williamson. The rascals! If I had caught them, I would have shot them. My favorite peaches, too ! Maky. It's always the way, sir. The favorites are sure to go ; at least, it was so in my case. [Siglis. Mb. Williamson. Where's my niece — in her room ? Mary. No, Sir; she has gone with Mr. Eaynor, to look at your tomatoes. Me. Williamson. Oh, tell her I wish to speak to her. Maey. Very well, sir. [Eodt Maey. Mb. Williamson. Now, then, let me nerve myself for the task. I will tell Kitty that She will please me by marrying Mr. Gray. She owes me some obedience, and I have no doubt, in this case, she will do as I desire. JEnter Kate. Kate. Did you want me, uncle 7 Me. Williamson. Tes, my dear; come here. I have always been very kind to you— have I not ? Kate. Indeed, you have, uncle. 42 ACTING PEOVEKBS. Mr. Willlamson. , I have tried to be so. When your poor father my brother, died, he placed you in my care. Kate. Yes, uncle. Mr. Williamson (ahrupUy). It is time you thought about marrying, Kate. Kate. Oh, uncle I Mr. Williamson. Tes, my dear, if you love me, . you vriU be as agreeable to Mr. Gray as you can. I have spoken to him about it, and he loves you dearly. Nothing would give me greater happiness than to see you and the son of my old friend, married. Kate. This is so sudden, uncle. I — I — hardly knovf vf^hat to say. Mr. Williamson. Don't say anything, my dear; only do as I wish, and please your old uncle. I must go now, as my lawyer is waiting in my study to see me. (Aside^ I really think I managed it nicely. [Exit. Kate. Oh, dear ! oh, dear 1 what shall I do ? Uncle wants me to marry, and I'm sure I don't want to — at least I don't think I do, unless it's to that heroic person I dreamt of. Oh I if Mr. Gray would only get those flowers I What shall I do 7 I don't want to disobey my uncle 1 I have half a mind to have a good cry, that I have. I'm so miserable. [Sits down at tahle in a meh/ncholy and dejected manner- Enter Mart. Mart. If you please ^lor! Miss, what's the matter ? Kate. I'm unhappy, Mary. Mart. I'm sorry to hear that. Miss. What makes you so ? Kate. My uncle wants me to marry. Mart. Well, there's nothing very shocking in that Kate. He wants me to marry Mr. Gray. Mart. Ton don't say so. Miss ? Mr. Gray is not so bad looking. Kate. It's not that, Mary; but I've had a dream. Mart. Oh 1 do tell me about it. Was it a nice one ? Kate. I will tell you, Mary. Mart. Thank you, Miss. Kate. For the last two days I have noticed growing on a project- ing rock half way down the Palisades, some beautiful wild honeysuckle. Directly I saw it, I longed to have some of the flowers. Mart. Tes, Miss, we always long for what' we can't get. Kate. Last evening I dreamed that a venerable-looking man, with a long grey beard, dressed in white, came to my bedside, and held up a large mirror before me. AIL IS FAiJi IN LOVE AND WAK. . 43 Maey QooHng uneasily around). My goodness ! Go ou, Miss. Kate. In that mirror I saw the very place where the honeysackle that I have taken such a fancy to is growing. At that moment a man emerged from the brushwood, and began climbing the rocks, at the peril of his life ; for you know at that part it is considered inaccessible. Mart. Yes, Miss. Kate. After an amount of exertion, he gained the spot where the honeysuckle was, and plucked some. The next moment his foot shpped, and he fell to the bottom of the rocks. •^' Makt. How shocking ! Kate. I tried to scream out, but could not The next instant the whole scene changed, and I found myself standing in our parlor, with the man kneeling at my feet, presenting to me the honeysuckle. Mart. Who was it ? Did you see his face ? Kate. No, — at least I cannot remember his face. The venerable- looking man who was holding the glass, said, " That man will be youf husband." Maet. How strange ! Kate. The next instant I awoke. Mart. Oh, my ! Kate. I do not generally attach much importance to dreams; but look upon that one,as an omen, on which depends my future happi- ness. Whoever brings me some of those flowers shall be my husband. Mart. Why don't you tell Mr. Gray ? Let him get some, and then marry him. Kate. No, Mary ; it appeared to me that the person learned that I wanted them, intuitively. The man must find out of his own accord, or not at alL Mart. Well, Miss, all I can say is, that it is a most extraordinary dream, Kate. That it certainly is, Mary. But come to my room ; I want you to fix some dresses for me. Mart. Very well, Miss. [Mceuntt Mart and EIate. Unter Eatnor and Grat. Eatnor. So, Gray, it's war to the knife, is it ? Grat. If you mean I won't give up my pretensions to the hand of Miss Williamson, yes. Eatnor. All right, then. I shall know how to act. By the way, I had quite 'forgotten my appointment with Mr. Williamson ; he ia 44 ACTING PKOVERBSi going to show me some superb melops. I must be oil. (Going.) One word. Gray, have you proposed to Miss Williamson ? Gkay. Yes, — ^no, — ^that is, — ^not exactly. Eatnoe. What do you mean by no, — yes, — ^not exactly ? Gray. I have her uncle's consent. Eatnoh. You want to marry the niece, and pop the question to her uncle. What a strange fellow you are, Grayl Good bye, — ^I must find Mr. Williamson. . [^(^i Katkoe. G^RAY. I wish that Eaynor had not come here just yet. If he had only waited another week, I shouldn't have cared. But why should I fear him ? I have Mr. Williamson's consent, and Kate herself doe? not look unkindly upon me. Unter Mary. Maey. Oh, Mr. Gray, I am so glad you're here. » Geay. Are you ? Maey. Can you keep a secret ? Gray. Keep a secret ! Why do you ask? Maey. Because I have one that I must tell somebody. Gray. Well, if you must tell it, let me hear it Maey. You're sure you won't tell anybody ? Gray. If you say not, certainly. > Maey. You, — ^you, — excuse me, sir ; but you are in love with Misa Kate? Geay. What has that to do with my keeping a secret ? Maey. A-great deal, sir. Geay. How ? Maey. I'U tell you, sir. You know the Palisades ? Gray. ,Yes. But what has that to do with Miss WiDiamjBon ? JEnier Eatnoe. Eatnoe. Where can Mr. (Stops on sedng Grat and Mart. Aside.) What's that about Miss Williamson ? " Strategy, my boy, strategy." [Retires up stage. Maey. I'm telling you. In the centre of the Palisades some wild honeysuckle is growing. Gray. WeU? ; Mary. Well, Miss Kate has had a dream ; and in that dream she saw a man climb up there, and get some of that honeysuckle. Geay (impatiently). What has thai dream to do with m,e? ALL IS PAIR IN LOVE AND WAE. 45 Mart. Don't be so impatient — a good (JeaL Well, she told me that whoever brought her some of those flowers, she'd marry. Ghat. Tou don't say ; but it is impossible to ohmb the Palisades. Mart, If it is impossible, you will never marry Miss Williamson. Raynor (aside). I'll see if it is impossible. Gray. I'll do it. Mary. Mind, you mustn't tell Kate that I told you. Gray. No, I will not. Do you know the exact spot where the honeysuckles are ? Mary. Tes. Gray. Come and show me, will you? Mart. ■ Certainly, sir. Come along. [Exit Mary and Gray. Ratnor (coming down). TU also — with your leave, Mr. Gray, or without it, for that matter — see the precise locality. [Mcii Raynor. Snter Mr. Williamson and Kate. Mr. Williamson. Was there ever anything so annoying? Kate. What's the matter, uncle ? Mr. Williamson. Matter 1 Some scoundrels hkve been robbing my melon patch. Oh ! If I could only catch them, I'd — ^I'd pitch them into the Hudson. Kate. What, for taking a few melons ? Mr. Williamson. A few melons ! The best that were on the vine ! Where's that confounded gardener of mine ? I'm sure he don't keep half watch enough. I'U go and talk to him about this. [Exit furiovdy. Kate. What a dear, kind, cantankerous old fellow my uncle is! He wouldn't harm a worm; yet he is always talking of killing or shooting somebody. I wonder whether Mary has finished that dress yet. I'll just go up-stairs and see. [Exit Kate. Enter Raynor. Raynor. Glorious ! I've seen the spot, and, as Gray said, it is im- possible to climb up there. However, I think I've hit upon a plan. I'Jl knock off a few of the flowers with my gun, and pluck some honey- suckles that are rather nearer the bottom of the Pahsades. Now for my gun. There is certainly nothing like strategy. [Exit Ratnor. Enter Kate. Kate. Where can Mary be ? She has not touched that dress, and she knovra that I want to wear it this evening. 46 ACTING PEOVERBS. Enter Gray. Gray. I tave come to — ^I have come to Are you fond of flow- ers, Miss Williamson ? Kate. Exceedingly. Gray. I have just seen some honeysuckles growing on the Pali- sades; they seem very beautiful, so I am going to pluck some for you. Kate. Oh, thank you. (Aside^ How pleased uncle will be 1 The man of my dream I Gray. In a few minutes I will return with them. (AsOe^ I wonder she don't persuade me from going; I shall certainly break my neck. {MouA^ Well, good bye. Kate. Good bye. Gray. If I should kill myself in the attempt, you will sometimes thiiik of me. Kate! That I wilL Gray (aside). How cool she is! (Aloud.) Farewell, perhaps for ever, farewell! [Imprints a kiss upon her Tiand, and runs off. As he goes off, Raynob enters with a gun in his hand and a hunch of honeysuckles. Raynor. HoUo, Gray i where are you going to in such a hurry ? He's off Ah, Miss Williamson, will you accept these flowers 1 [Offers flowers. Kate. Thank you. Where did you get them? Raynor. As I was walking under the Pahsadesthis morning, I saw these honeysuckles growing upon a rock about half-way up. How they got there I don't know. Kate (aside). What wiU. my uncle say ? The man of my dream I (Ahud.) And did you risk getting these for me ? Raynob. What would I not risk for you ? Oh, Miss Williamsonj believe me that I love you — ^love you to distraction! Kate. Oh, sir, consider Raynob, I can consider nothing, but that I love you — ^madly, fondly. WiU you — ^wUl you give me one word of hope ? Kate. Well then — you are — ^you are — ^you are not indifferent to me. S,xYNOR (seizing her hand and covering it with Tosses). A thousand thanks, [They retire up stage. Enter Mr. Williamson, dragging in Gray. Mr. Williamson. What do you mean, sir, by endeavoring to break your neck in that manner ? ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WAE. 47 G-KAT. 1 was only going to pluck some flowers. Mr. Williamson. Pluck some flowers! Only going to kill your- sellj you mean. What do you think, Kate? Mr. Gray, here, was trying to climb the Palisades, only I caught him at it, and saved him from breaking his neck. Kate. There is no occasion for Mr. Gray getting those flowers now, for Mr. Eaynor has saved him the trouble. Gray. What ! Eaynor got them I Eatnoe. Tes, Eaynor has got them. And Eaynor would ask Mr. Williamson's consent to his union with his niece. Mb. Williamson. How's this? Are you in love witii Mr. Eaynor, Kate?^ Kate (sofUy). Tes, uncle. Gray. But, Mr. Williamson, you promised her to me. Mr. Williamson. I did promise her to you, but a man who risks his neck by climbing up perpendicular rocks, is hardly safe to be trusted with her. I don't want my niece made a widow too soon. Eaynor, take her, and be happy. [Eaynor takes her hand. Eaynor. You have made me the happiest of men. Gray. And me the most miserable. Kate. And me the happiest of women. {Aside.) Henceforth I shall believe in dreams. Gray. I say, Eaynor, how did you manage to get those flowers ? Eaynoe. " Strategy, my boy, strategy." {To audience.) If any here should condemn my conduct, I can only refer them to the old adage. Guess it, if you can. Batnoe and Kate centre. Williamson right, and Gray left. PROVERB V. "'TIS AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS NOBODY GOOD.' BT FRANK CAHILL. John BoNirACE, landlord of a country hotel. Michael, an Irish waiter. Mr. Okcesos. Paul Edmonds. Mrs. Myrtle. Fannie Myrtle, her daughter. SCENE — A parlor in a hotel on the Hvdson. Window at hack. Boniface discovered looJdng out of window. Michael dusting cJudrs, &c Boniface. HuUo! there's another pleasure party landing. Of course they're not coming here. Oh, no, there's a carriage waiting for them. Of course they're going to the Belle Vue House, top of the hill, nobody ever comes here. Well, there's one consolation, we're going to have a shower soon, and as it's an open carriage, they'll get wet through before they get there. Michael. And who'E be afther gettin' wet, sur? Boniface. Those carriage folks. Yes, there it goes along the road, past my house of course. Michael, you may as well shut up the house, nobody ever comes here. Michael. Aisy now about shuttin' up the house ; — do you think I'd be afther losing my place now? Git out wid you. Boniface. Here it is at last : bless me how it comes down. Did you ever see such rain? Michael, go and shut the up-stairs' windows. Michael. An' shure I will, sur. [Mcit Michael. Boniface. Well, here I am, with ruin staring me in the face. There never was such an unlucky fellow. I've tried all manner of dodges to 'TIS AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS KOBODT GOOD. 49 draw customers. I've had sea serpents, a;\d wild women out of num- ber, yet they won't draw. I've half a mind to open a free hotel, and get rid of my stock that way. Miter Mkhael, hurriedly. Michael. I knew they'd be allher comin' this time, anyhow. Boniface. Who's coming? Michael. Why them folks, who passed by just now, here in a carriago, Boniface. What I coming here ? MiCBAEL. Yis, an' didn't I till yez so intiroly ? Boniface. Here they are; now, Michael, bustle about, and get things in order. I'll go out and receive them. [Msii Boniface. Michael. Sure now, it's a mighty nice bit of luck that shower was, that's bringin' those jintale paple here, where there's pUnty, and niver a bit of stint. Enter Boniface, followed by Me. Crcesus, Paul Edmonds, Mus. Myrtle, and Fannie. The gentlemen have tJieir coat collars turned v/p. The ladies have their handkerchiefs over their bonnets. Boniface. This way, ladies. Crcesus. What a sudden shower ! I am afraid you have got wet, ladies. [TAe ladies brush the rain off their clothes ; the gentlemen do the same. Mrs. Myrtle. Not very ! It was fortunate we were so near shelter. Paul, Exceedingly so. Can I assist you. Miss Mj'rtle ? Fannie. Thank you. IHands Paul her handkerchief, with which he wipes her mantilla. Mrs. Myrtle (taking the handlcerchief from Paul). Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Edmonds, — I'll assist my daughter. Boniface. There's a dressing-room up stairs— would the ladies hke to go to it ? Mrs. Myrtle. Tes, if you please. Boniface (caUing off). Mary, show these ladies to the dressing-room. Mrs. Myrtle. Come, Fannie. [Exeunt Mrs. Myrtle and Fannie. Crcesus. I say, Edmonds, we may as well lunch here, — eh 1 Edmonds. It was merely a passing shower — sec, it is holding up already. ^ Boniface. We have every accommodation, sir. Michael. Sorra a bit of a He is that. Crcesus. This seems a comfortable place, and we shall have aaother shower directly, so I think we had better stay where we are. Michael. My sintimints to a T. 4 50 ACTING PEOVERBS. Edmonds. As you like. I am agreeable to anytUng. Cecesus. Landlord, can we have lunch here ? Boniface. Certainly, sir. Cecbsus. Well, then, prepare us a nice lunch for four. Michael. Good luck to ye. May the hair of your head be hung with diamonds. Boniface. Come with me, Michael, I shall want your assistance. Michael. Arrah, now, an' aint I the boy to help .you? [Mceunt Boniface and Michael. Crcesus Qooldng out of window). They seem to hare nice grounds here. It has left off raining — let us take a stroll round. Paul. Well, I've no objection. [Exewni Paul and Ce(esus. Enter Mks. Mtktle and Fannie. Mes. Myrtle. It is of no use talking, Fannie ; I am exceedingly angry with you. Fannie. But, mamma ! Mes. Mtetlb. I have noticed it, all the way from New York. Tou let Mr. Edmonds pay you a great deal too much attention. Fannie. But I can't help it, mamma. Mrs. Mtetle. Yes, you can; you ought not to receive them. The idea of letting Mr. Edmonds wipe your mantilla. , Why didn't you let Mr. Croesus do it? Fannie. Mr. Croesus never offered to. Mrs. Mtbtle. Well, then, why didn't you make him? You know that Mr. Edmonds hasn't a penny in the world, and that Mr. Crcesus is as rich — as — as — oh, you know he is ever so rich; yet you go on in this way. Fannie. I am sorry, mamma, and I'll try not to let Mr. Edmonds wipe my mantiUa again. Mes. Mtetle (kissing Tier). There's a good child. Now, go and see if you can find Mr. Croesus in the garden, and be agreeable to him. Fannie. Very well, mamma. (4si(fe.) Oh, what will Paul say ? [Eodt Fannik Mrs. Myrtle. Now, if Fannie only plays her cards well, she will, in all probability, be Mrs. Croesus, and ride in her own carriage. Of course, I shall live witli her. Yes, tiiat's settled — I'll live with her. Unt&r Crcesus. Mrs. Myrtle. Ah, Mr. Croesus, have you seen Fannie ? 'TIS AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS NOBODY GOOD. 61 CROES0S. No, I have not. Mrs. Myrtle. She this moment ■went into the garden. Ah, Mr. Croesus, you have no idea what a good gkl she is. Crcesus. I am extremely happy to hear it. Mrs. Myrtle. I hardly know what I shall do when I lose her; foi I suppose some of you naughty men wiU be soon robbing me of her. Crcesus. When daughters are handsome, Mrs. Myrtle, we must expect such things. Mrs. Myrtle. She is so kind, so considerate, she never gives me a moment's uneasiness. (Paul and Fannie are seen throitgh the window crossing the stage, talking earnestly together^ (Aside.') With that Mr. Edmonds again ! I must put a stop to that. (Alovd.') There goes my dear child. Excuse me for a minute, Mr. Croesus. [Sosit Mrs. Myrtle. Croesus. Strange woman that; what in the world can she be driv- ing at? However, I'U go and see how the landlord is getting on with the lunch. [JSodt CRffisus. Snier Paul. Paul. Confound that Mrs. Myrtle. I can't be alone with Fannie a moment but she must poke her stupid old head in, and spoil our tete-a- tete. Pve half a mind to — no, I hav'n't — ^yes — no . [Rests his chin upon his hand, as though lost in meditation. Enter Ckcesus, who walks up to Paul and taps him on the lack. Paul starts. Crcesus. What's the matter, Edmonds, my boy? What are you dreaming about? Are you in love or in debt, which? Paul. Ah! yes — ^no. Excuse me. [Walks off rapidly. Crcesus. Hullo ! what's the matter with the man, I wonder ? He's in love, I suppose ; but it's nothing to do with me. There's one conso- lation though — lunch is coming on finely. Eeally that fellow has a cjapital idea of what's good. We must patronize him for the future. Miter Mrs. Myrtle and Fannie. Mrs. Myrtle. Tou here, Mr. Croesus? I thought you were in the garden. Fannie aijd I have just been taking a walk round the grounds. Fannie. Yes, and we have seen such a dear Uttle lot of pigs. Such tiny ones, no bigger than kittens. Crcesus. Indeed 1 they must be interesting. But where is Edmonds, have you seen him in the garden? 52 ACTING PEOVEEBS. Mrs. Myetle (aside). A good excuse to leave them together. (Aloud.) I will go and see if I can find him, Fannie. . Shall I come too, mamma ? . Mrs. Myrtle. No, my dear; the ground is damp, and you may catch cold, I shan't be long. [£kcit Mrs. Myrtle. Croesus. We are going to have by the way, I had nearly for- gotten it;I must mix the salad myself. Excuse me, Miss Myrtle. [Exit Crcesus. Fannie. I wonder where Paul can be ; he has kept away from nic all day. I'll be quite angry with him when I see him, and tell him that mamma says I am to have nothing more to do with him. Enter Paul, with his hands in his poclcets, loolcing extremely dejected. On seeing Fannie, he runs forward, takes her by the hand and shulces it. Paul. My dear Fannie ! Fannie. There, there, that wiU do; you need not shake my hand off, sir. Where have you been all this while, sir ? Paul. I have been looking for you, Fannie. Fannie. A pretty excuse, indeed 1 Tou could not have looked very far. Paul. Do not be angry, Fannie. [Endeavors to take her hand. Fannie. Leave my hand alone, sir. Tou have shaken hands with me once already. Paul. Why are you so cool, Fannie ? Why do you speak this way to me? Fannie. Mamma says I must not talk to you so much. Paul. Ohl I see how it is : I'm poor; Mr. Crcesus is rich. Fannie. That is an unkind remark, sir. Hush, here comes mamma. Paul. May I hope ? Fannie. While there's life there's hope. Enter Mrs. Myrtlk Fannie. Ah, mamma. Mrs. Myrtle. Where's Mr. Crcesus? Fannie. He just this moment left the room. Paul. Tes, he left the room this moment. • Enta- Michael. Michael. Where wiUye be havin' it laid, here or in the garden? Mrs. Myrtle. Having what laid ? 'TIS AN ILL WII^D THAT BLOWS NOBODY GOOD. 53 MibHAEL. Shure, an' aint it the tablecloth I mane ? "Paul. Oh 1 you mean the tablecloth? Michael. Wisha, now, d'ye see that ? As though ye did'nt know it. Paul. What do you say, ladies? Mrs. Mtetle. What does Mr. Croesus say ? Paul (aside). Confound Mr. Croesus. MioHAEL. He bade me ask the ladies; and bless 'em I says Michael O'Grady. Pannie. Let us lunch here, mamma ; this is a very pleasant room. MioHAEL. Pleasant! by the powers, it's a perfect paradise, now your ladyship's in it. Paul. We can dispense with compliments, my good felow ; so look sharp, and lay the cloth. Michael. Yes, sur, Pm the boy that'll do it immadiately. [Eidt Michael. Paknie. What a strange man he appears to be. Paul. Yes ; if he hadn't a brogue, I should have known him for an Irishman, by the compliments he paid you, ladies. JSnter Crcesus. Ckcesus. Well, lunch is nearly ready, and really, I must beg your pardon, ladies, but I have countermanded your order, and lunch wiU be served in a room overlooking the river. A much pleasanter room, I assure you. Mrs. Myrtle. Anywhere you hke, Mr. Croesus. Paul. Suppose, while we're waiting for Iimch, we pass the time with a dance. Pannie. Oh, that will be nice. Croesus. A capital idea. Mrs. Myrtle, wiU you allow me the plea- sure ? [Mrs. Myrtle courtesies, and he lakes Twr for partner. Paul. Pan — ^I beg pardon. Miss Myrtle, will you honor me with your hand. [She gives it. Mas. Myrtle. Sir! Paul. For the dance, I mean. Mrs. Myrtle. Oh ! [The music siriJces up, and they form themselves for a qvadriEg. As they are dancing, Michael enters, with a tray of plates, dishes, etc. He lochs at them a minute, then drops the tray, rushes into the midst of them, and begins an Irish jig. They disperse in confw- sion. V 54 ACTING PEOVEEBS. Enter Bonitace, wlw, on seeing Michael dancing, runs up to Mm, and after some slight diffiadtg stops Mm. Boniface. What are you doing ? what do you mean by this conduct ? Michael. Mane, is it? Aint I entertainin' the illegant company for you ? Boniface. Tou rascal ! if you don't finish setting that table, I'll discharge you this instant. Michael. Och! be asy now, an' aint it miself, that's going to do it? [Picks up tray and broken crockery, and exit. Boniface. I hope, ladies and gentlemen, you are not offended at my servant's rudeness. Grcesus. Not at all, at least I am not. But I certainly should advise you to get a waiter who wasn't quite so eccentric. Fanme. Shall we finish our dance ? Paul. By all means. Come. Enter Michael. , Michael. If ye plaze, leedies and jintilmen, lunch is ready. Boniface. This way, if you please. [Boniface leads Hie way, Cecesus offers his arm to Fannie. Paul offers his arm to Mrs. Myetle, and exewnt. Michael. Faith, and troth, it's an illegant company we've here to- day. Och ! mavourneen, what a purty face the young ledy has, an' her bright eyes do you good to look on 'em. Boniface (calling off). Michael, Michael, where are you ? Michael (calling). Isn't it here I am ? Boniface (calling off). Come here. Michael. Yes, sur, I'm comin'. [lizins off. Enter Fannie. Fannie (looking about stage). Where can my handkerchief be, I wonder ? I am sure I had it when I was dancing. Enter Paul. Paul. Wliat are you looking for ? Fannie. My handkerchief Paul. I have also lost something. Fannie. What ? 'tis AJSr ILL Tv'IND THAT BLOWS KOBODT GOOD. 55 Paul. My heart 1 Fannie. Your heart? Paul. Yes, Fannie, my heart. Oh 1 Fanny, I cannot — cannot go on this way any longer. Tell me, — ^pray, tell me, — yea, I implore you to teU me that I am not indifferent to you. Fannie. Who said you were ? Paul. Nay, do not trifle with me. ; ^fi Fannie. Well then, — ^well then, — you are not indifferent to me. Paul. What rapture I Mks. Mtetle {cdUing off). Fannie, — ^Fannie! Fannie. Hushl here's mamma. I wonder where my handkerchief <;an have got to ? [Paul and Fannie look qboui the stage, anxiously. Enter Mrs. Mthtle. k Mrs. Mtetle. What are you doing, Fannie ? Lunch is waiting. Fannie. I am looking for my handkerchief mamma. Enter Croesus. Crcesus. Here you all are, — eh ? I have come to look after you. Limch has been waiting for you this last quarter of an hour. Enter Boniface, followed hy Michael. Boniface. Really this is too bad ; as a man who takes an interest in his business, I protest against it. Here, the lunch has been waiting more than twenty minutes, and everything is getting cold. Michael. Yis, an' bo is the champagne. Cecesus. We can understand your feelings upon the subject, Mr. Boniface, and appreciate the manner in which you have attended to us. So much so indeed, that for the future, we shall always come here, and recommend our friends to do the same. Boniface. If the shower has robbed the Belle Vue House of some customers, it has done me some good. Croesus. How ? Boniface. Did it not drive you here for shelter, and have you not promised me your patronage for the future ? Michael. Arrah I good luck to the shower, that sent ye here. Paul (aside). And so say I ; I have gained a wife by it. Fannie (aside). And mamma has lost a daughter. Croesus. Come, let us give the lunch another trial 50 ACTING TEOVEEBS. [Boniface goes off, followed Uj Paul, Fannie, Crcesus, and Mrs. Mtetle. lIicHAEL {to avdietiee.) Leedies and jintilmen, would ye oblige me, by laving me your address. Long life to you, I k^^iw ye wilL The rason I -wants to know, my darlints, is, in case I shoald lave this situashun. Por isn't it thrue to all of ye, that I make a fust rate sar- vent, an' any of ye would employ me ? CUKTAIN. PROVERB VI. "THERE IS NO ROSE WITHOUT THORNS." ET GEORGE AKNOLD. dljEradtrs. Jack Upson, a wecdthy young lawyer. Rose Thorne, a young lady engaged io Jack. Mr. Thorne, father to Rose. Kate, Rose's waiting-maid. SCENE — A parlor in Mn. Tiioene's country home on Staten Island. Jack Upson. Rose Thorne. Jack. 1 say, my dear, it is too bad. The boat is aH out of order — leaks dreadfully — torn sail — ^pump broken — everything topsy-turvy ! We can't have our sail this afternoon, that is plain. Rose. Oh I never mind it. Jack. You shall stay and read Tenny- son to me, instead. Jack. I was afraid you had set your heart upon the sail, and would be angry. I might have known better, though, you're always so kind and good-natured. Rose. How could you .think I would ever be angry with you ? Now, Jack, go and bring Tennyson, and read aloud to me by this window TIIEEE IS NO ROSE WITHOUT THORNS. 67 Jack. TJmph ! My dear I EosE. What is it ? Jack. I'm afraid EosE. Of what? Jack. It is too bad that you should be disappointed again I Rose. Disappointed I How, dear Jack? Jack. Why, I left my volume of Tennyson in the city last night. I took it up to the office to show Paul a passage we were disputing about, and when I returned. I was in such a hurry that I forgot all about it. Rose (pettishly). Dear me. ( Very blandly.) Well, well, I'm sorry, but it cannot be helped. We will find some other amusement. Jack. Oh ! you are so good-tempered 1 , Shall I sing you a song ? Rose. Yes, do ; and accompany yourself with the guitar. [Sings beU. Jack. I am a little hoarse to-day, but I guess I can sing something. Enter Kate. Rose. Katie, child, go to my room and bring down the guitar. Kate. Yes 'm. (Aside.) How mighty soft-spoken she is before her husband that is to be. He said he was " a httle hoarse," but I tliink he's a Uttle donkey if he marries her. [JExii. Jack. What shall I sing, dear ? Rose. Oh ! anything. All your songs are sweet to me. Jack. But which do you like best ? Rose. Do you know, " I Love but Thee?" Jack. Well, I didn't Jmow it positively, but I'm very glad to hear it Rose. No, no ! I mean the song of that name. Jack. Oh I no. I never heard it; but here is Kate with the instrument Enter Kate, with guitar. Kate. Here it is 'm.- RosE (with affected sweetness). Give it to Mr. Upson, Katie, child. Kate (aside). Oh, my I Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. [Oives guitar to Jack, and exit. Jack (trying guitar). Oh ! it is terribly out of tune. [Begins tuning it, and IreaJcs string. Rose. Oh I How that frightened me 1 Jack. Too bad again, I declare 1 The E string has snapped, just in the middle I The ends are too short,.and that is Uie end of our music 1 3* 58 ACTING PEOVEEBS. EosE (aside). How- awkward I (Aloud.) What a pity 1 Well, I suppose we must find something else to pass away the afternoon. Jack. Yes. I'll go into the garden for some flowers, and you shall arrange a bouquet [Sxii. Rosa The stupid fellow ! I have no patience with him ! Here are tlu?ee disappointments within an hour, and all his fault I could almost cry. JEnterMr. Thoenb. TaoENE. Well, Eosie, I have a pleasure for you. EosE (pouting). I don't want any pleasures 1 Thorne. You don't You're a strange girl ! EosE. I'm not a strange girl ! TaoENE. Don't be fdolish, Rosie. I have got some tickets for the Academy of Music, to-night. Don't you want to go with Mr. Upson and myself? We can take the six o'clock boat, and get to the city just EosE. No I I won't go ! I hate the opera ! I hate Mr. Upson ! Thorne. But, my dear child, you must not be so unreasonable. What has happened? EosE. Nothing has happened I I'm not unreasonable I Mr. Upson has insulted me — he won't do anything for me — ^he won't take me out sailing, and he won't read to me, and he won't sing for me, and I don't care a pin for him. I believe he is ashamed to be seen with me, because my bonnet is so old 1 There now I Thorke. Nonsense 1 He is too sensible a young man for that, and besides, I have just brought your new bonnet from the milUner's. You shall wear it to-night Here, Kate I [Calling. Enter Kate. Kate. What, sir ? Did you C4II ? Thorne. Yes. Bring the bandbox from the sitting-room table; [Eodt KIatk Now then, here are the tickets for the opera — ^Lucia di Lammermooi is to be performed. Rose. I won't go 1 Thorne. Then Mr. Upson andfl will go alone, and you may stay at home ! EosE. I won't stay at home ! You shan't go away and leave me ! [^Snatches tickets, and tears them, to pieces. Thorne Eose I What do you mean ? You ought to be ashamed of yourself 1 THERE IS NO EOSE AVITIIOUT THORNS. 59 Enier Kate with handbox in one hand and a honnet in the other. Kate. Ob I it is such a beauty, mum — a real love of a bonnet ! Rose. Give it to me, this instant 1 What right have you to open my bandbox, and handle my new bonnet v^ith your great coarse paws ? [Seizes honnet from Kate. TnoENE. Daughter I I am really ashamed of you ! Rose (loolcing at honnet). There's a pretty thing, now, isn't it ? Why, I wouldn't be seen in such a miserable, cheap affair ! It looks Uke a coal-scuttle ! TnoRNE. Cheap I It cost thirty dollars I I guess if you had to earn your own money, you would be very glad to get as good a one ! Try it on, and say no more about it. Rose. I won't try it on. I won't be seen in it I It isn't half so nice as Miss Jones's bonnet, and she is only a poor school-teacher. TnoKKE. I wish to goodness your temper was half as good asMiss Jones's I But I teU you, you shaU wear that or your old one. I'm determined to give you a good lesson. Do you hear ? Rose. I'E never wear it as long as I live I I'E tear it to pieces first! TnoENE. I command you to wear it, you ungrateful girl I Rose. And I say I won't! [Tears honnet to pieces, and tramples it underfoot. Thoene. Stop ! Here, Rose, you (She runs off, sohhing.) Was tbere ever such a frightful temper in the world ? ^ [Mint. Kate. Goodness gracious me! What a flighty creature? Now how much better it would have been to have given me that bonnet I (Picks up ihe torn honnet.) Just to see — the flowers all torn out of it — ^was there ever! — ^the crown aU jammed in. Who would think, to look at her — hallo I Mtler Jack Upson, with hunch of roses. Jack. What's that you're saying? Kate. Nothing, sir, only ICss Rose seems to be a Uttle out of humor — she is troubled about something. Jack. Poor soul ! she has had enough disappointments to vex a saint It is a wonder to me how she keeps her temper! Kate. Tes ; but she can't keep her temper ! Jack. I don't know how you can say that. To me, she seems the most unwaveringly good-humored girl I ever saw. 60 ACTING PKOVERBS. TCatr. Yes, sir ; that's very likely, to you. Jack. What do you mean ? Kate. Hush ! here she is — ^I must go. [Exit Kate. . Enter Kose. EosE. Dear me ! I declare I never was so put out in all my lifa I could — (seeing J ACS.), Oh! my dear Jack 1 what a beautiful bouquet you have got 1 Jack. Yes, dear ; but what were you saying when you came in ? EosE. Nothing. I was only speaking to Kate. Jack. Here, take these roses, and arrange them. Put this white one in your hair. (She takes the roses, and admires them.) Did you see your father? I met him in the garden a moment ago, as he came up from the boat, EosE. No — yes — ^fiiat is, yes, I saw him only a moment Jack. Did he tell you that we were all going to the Opera to-night ? EosE (aside). What shall I say? What a fool I vran to destroy the tickets 1 (Aloud.) Yes, he told me; but I cannot go. Jack. You cannot? How is that? EosE. I — I don't feel well enough. I think I have a headache. Jack (half laughing). You ftinfc you have ? Don't you know? EoSE. I mean I am afraid I shall have one. (Aside.) What does he mean by laughing at me ? Never mind ! when we're once married, I'll let him laugh, if he feels like it then ! Jack. Well, well ; make up your bouquet, and if you feel'like it, we will go. Now excuse me a moment — I wish to see your father. [Emt. EosE (sitting down and spreading flowers out on Jier lap). Let me see — ^I want some thread to tie up tliese roses. (Rings heU.) If I could only keep my temper until I am Mrs. Upson, I wouldn't care, but these odious people do provoke me so that I don't know what I'm doing. The idea of papa buying . me that horrible bonnet, and then expecting me to go to the Opera in it ! (Rings heU with great violence.) Where is that huzzy Kate, I wonder ? She never answers the bell ! Enter Kate. Kate. Did you ring, mum ? EosE (mimiaking her). Did you ring, mum ? Of course I rang ? Wliy can't you attend to your duties? What are you hired for, I should Uke to know ? l^ATE. Iijdeed 'm, J came just as quick as ever I heard the beE THEEE IS NO EOSE WITHOUT THORNS. 61 Rose. I don't want you to talk — ^I don't want any of your imper- tinence. If you can't attend to my wants, I must find a girl who can. Go and get me some thread — some white thread. Kate. Tes'm. [Qoes towards door. EosE. Here, Kate! Kate (stopping). What 'm ? Rose. Go, this instant; do you hear? {ExH'Ka.ie, angrily) Seems to me, everybody conspires to abuse and neglect me ! [She sorts out the flowers. Enter Mr. Thoene,. with Jack Upson. Me. Thorne. Tes, I dare say — ah, here is Rosie. Now, then, daugh- ter, have you quite recovered ? ■ Rose (looking daggers at him, hut speaking very softly). Tes, papa dear, my headache is quite gone. Enter Kate. Kate. Please 'm, I — I can't find any thread at all, but here's some string. [Shows a quantity of tangled strings of aU sizes. Rose stamps her foot and starts up, but recollecting herself, becomes calm, with an ap- parent effort. Rose. Never mind, Katie, child, I'll go and look for it myself. [Exit. Jack. Tm glad her headache is gone — we shall have a fine time at the Opera. Thoene. Eh? Jack. I say we wUl have a fine time at the Opera, to-night. Thoene. Oh, ah I — ^the Opera ; yes. Jack. Certainly — didn't you tell me that you had reserved some seats? Thoene (much embarrassed). Tes — ^reserved seats, to be sure. (Aside.) What shall I say ? How can I tell him the tickets are destroyed ? Never mind, I'll be honest, and tell him all — even if Rose should lose him for ever. Jack. What is the matter, sir ? Thorne. Just this : I haven't got any Opera tickets. Jack. No! how is that? Thoene. I had, but they were destroyed — ^tom to pieces! Jack., Explain yourself. By whom ? 62 ACTING PEOVEEBS. Thokne By my daughter — by Rose I [ELate laughs, and Jack looks more and more puzzled. Jack. I don't understapd you, sir I TnoKNE. My daughter, sir, has a most ungovernable temper — she is a regular virago. There, now 1 Kate. There never was a truer word, sir I Jack. But — you — you astound me ! Have I not seen her undergo a dozen disappointments to-day — a, dozen vexations, without a soiu: look or a cross word? Kate. But ah, sir, you should have seen her pitch into me when you were away ! Thorne. Hush, Kate I It is too true, my young friend, that she has so far concealed her temper before you, for obvious reasons, but believe me, you wiU see it, when it is too late to avoid the consequences. Jack. What, she, who seems so equable, so kind, so forbearing ? Kate. So fiddle-stick 1 Jack. So evenly good-natured — in short, such an angel? No; I can't believe it before I see it. I beg your pardon, Mr. Thorne, for the suspicion, but I do not understand your motives for setting me against your daughter — you may have some reason — ^you Thorne. My dear boy, you do me an injustice, believe mel I have told you this for your own good, although the confession has greatly pained me. Rose is a spoiled child, and unworthy of you. Jack. But, sir, I must not be too hasty. I have found her always the same Kate. When you was present! Jack. And I never expect to find her otherwise. Kate. It is easily tested. Step behind this window-curtain, and when she comes in, you shall hear her, Thorne. Yes. That will prove it. I hate to humiliate my ovra daughter thus, but I do not wish to be responsible for your future misery. Jack. It is hard to play the spy upon one's own betrothed, but I owe it to her and myself, so here goes. [Conceals himself behind curtain. Kate. Just in time, for here she comes I Enter Rose, wiffi thread. Rose (glancing about.) Where is that Mr. Upson ? Thorne. Humph, — ^he is — ^he — ^is Kate. In the garden 'm? THEKE IS NO EOSB ■WTTHOUT THOEHS. 63 EosE. All ! he is always here when I don't want him, and away when I do 1 1 want him to help me wind this thread. {To Kate.) Now, then, where were your eyes ? You seem to be blind- as well as deaf I The thread was in my basket, on the table, right in plain sight, and anybody but an idiot would have seen it I Here, help me wind it — uo, you're too clumsy for anything — ^go about your business ! [Picks up flowers, and arranges them. Thoene. Daughter ! that temper of yours is getting you into trouble. [Kate laughs. Rose. What do you want to talk to rae so much about my temper for? Do you expect me to put up with everything? Now see that good-for-nothing girl laughing ! Gret out of my sight ! Go, or I'll box your ears I . [KliTE laughs still louder. Thorne (ironically). Gro on — go on ! Don't mind her, Kate. You are making a very pretty exhibition of yourself. Miss Rose. Rose (extravagantly angry). Do you take sides against your own daughter, with a common servant-girl ? My conscience 1 I shall faint — hold me I (Tears louquet to pieces, and throws flowers ai Kate and Mk. Thorne.) I won't stay in the house — I won't I TnoRNE. Would you like Mr. Upson to see you now ? Rose. Who cares for him? He's a good-for-nothing, hateful, odious old Jack (coming from hehind ewrtairi). Old what? [Rose screams and throws herself backward. Mr. Thoene catches her. Kate and Thoene. Are you satisfied ? Jack. Yes ; and more, too. I beg leave to wish Miss Rose a very good evening, and to thank you, Mr. Thorne, for having so generously undeceived me. It was well I should know aU. Goodbye. [Uxit. Rose (raising her head). . Where is he ? • Thorne. Gone, and for ever. Kate. And I shall follow his example, to-morrow. Rose (suddenly springing up). Well, let him go I What do I care for him? (looking at her hands.) I'm only sorry that he gave me those roses ; I have torn my hands aU to pieces with the thorns. (To Kate.) What are you staring at there? Go along I EIate (fuming to audience). I'm wondering what all these good folks think of you ? Thoene (to audience). Ladies and gentlemen, you must excuse my daughter. She is a good girl at heart ; but she has such a temper! CHAEADE I. BT FRANK LiAniLL. "PHAN TOM." Mk. Debit, a merchant Tom Highdon, his clerk. JuLiuSj" a colored servant. Mrs. Reeves. Ellen Reeves, her danghter. PHAN— SCENE I. — An office in Wall street. A desk L., atid a table R. C. ■Debit is looking over some letters at table. Tom Highdon is writing at desk. Debit. Oh, Highdon I Tom Qooldng round). Sir. Debit. Did you send ofi those charges to Pluckem & Co.'s ? Tom. Sent them by yesterday's post. PHAN — TOM. 65 Debit. Tliat's right [J. 'pause. Ton resmnes his writing. Debit. Oh, HighdonI Tom (looldng round). Sir. Debit. Has the " Oharmer" been heard of yet ? Tom. I called at the Underwriters' this morning, and nothing has been heard of her. Debit. Confound it! — and I am not fully insured I Has Bradbury iieen here this morning about that sugar? Toil. Tes, sir. He'll meet you on 'Change at twelve o'clock. Debit. That's right. (A. pause. Tom resumes his writing; Debit jets up, changes 7iis coal, and puts on his hat.) Copy this out in time tor to-day's post, wiU you ? [Gives him paper. Tom. Tes, sir. Debit. I'm going on 'Change now. Tom. Very well, sir. (JEkdt Debit.) I thought he never would go out. {Throws down pen., rises, and comes forward.) And the adver- tisement says between eleven and twelve. Where's the Serald? (Goes to Debit's iaile, and gets newspaper.) Let me see: "Dear Brown, call and see me. Juha." That ain't it. I wonder if Brown will go and see his Julia. " Wanted, two thousand five hundred dol- lars" — ah, who don't want two thousand five hundred dollars ? — that ain't it. Here it is : " Found, in a Broadway stage, a lady's fan. The owner can have it by applying at No. 796 Wall street, between the hours of eleven and twelve." If I am not mistaken, the young lady who left the fan in the stage was handsome. I hope she'll come for it herself (A knock is heard at the door.) Come in. ^ter Mks. Reeves and Ellen. Mes. Beeves. Is this 796 WaU street? Tom. Tes, madam. Mrs. Reeves. My daughter had the misfortune to lose a fan the other day, in a Broadway stage. Tom. Oh, then, you have called about that fan ? Mrs. Reeves. Tes. Seeing an advertisement in the Serald, to the effect that a fan had been found, and might be had by applying here, we have called to see if it is the fan that my daughter lost Tom. What kind of fan was it? Mrs. Reeves. Tou had better describe it, Ellen. Ellen. Very well, mamma. It was an ivory fan, carved, with a landscape painted upon it, and trimmed with marabout feathers. Tom (goes to desk and gets fan). Is that it ? 66 DRAMATIC CHARADES. Ellen. Oh, yes I How glad I am to get it back again ! It waa given me as a present, and I wouldn't lose it for the world. Tom. I am happy to have been the means of returning it to you. Mks. Reeves. Pardon me, sir, but what have we to pay you ? Tom. I paid fifty cents for the advertisement. Mrs. Reeves. Will you not allow us to pay your carriage hire as well ? Tom. Thank you, no. Ileft the advertisement on my way up town. Mks. Reeves. Ton are very kind. Dear me, I have not my purse with me I Ellen, have you any money with you? ", Ellek. No, mamma. Mrs. Reeves. How careless of me! Really, sir, I am extremely Borry, but ToM.~ It is no matter, I assure you. Mrs. Reeves. Would it be troubling you too much to get you to call at our house ? Tom. Not at alL {Aside.) A capital chance to make love to the daughter. Mrs. Reeves. There is our address, sir. [Gfives card. Tom. Thank you. Ellen. I am sure, sir, we are sorry to put you to so much trouble. ToM. It's a pleasure, I assure you. Mrs. Reeves. Any time you are passing, we shall be happy to see you. Come, Ellen. Good morning, sir. Tom. Good morning. Ellen. Good morning. [Tom hows, the ladies courtesy, and exit. Tom. What a beautiful creature I And how fascinating the mother is 1 Tom Highdon, you're a lucky dog 1 {Strikes himself upon the chest.) Hullo 1 here comes old Debit. [Huns to desk, sits down, arid hegins to write. Enter Debit. Debit. Highdon. Tom. Sir. Debit. What did those ladies want that I met on the stairs just now? Tom. They — they — wanted to know the price of cotton. Debit. Strange creatures these women, — did you tell them? Tom. Yes, sir. Debit. That's right. Here, copy this out, and take it round to Jones's when it's finished. [Gives paper to Tom, then goes to table, and sits down, [Scene closes. PHAH — TOM. 67 SCENE II. — A parlor in Mrs. Eeeves's hottse. —TOM. Enter Julius. Julius. Now, it 'pears to me dar is suffln' wrong 'bout dis house. Miss Ellen is in lub, dat's what it is. She don't eat nuffln', and am as melancolly as a rooster on a wet day. Now, when I was in lub, I felt mi'ty bad, too. My gal didn't 'have prop'ly to me at alL Dem gals do make fools of us poor cullud folks. Grolly ! don't dis child 'member de song she used to hke to hear. I 'member, — ^it went dis way. [Sings. Air: "A Hide more Cider, too.'' I'll tell you all about my lub, my heart goes pity-patter ; She" was as sweet as sugar-cane, her heart was soft as batter; Her eyes was brack as ebery ting — ^her voice as clear as nuflSn', Her har was like a blue-jay's nest — ^her nose was like a muflSnl I lubbed Miss Dinah so, I lubbed. Miss Dinah so — She was as gay as Chris'mas day — and — Tah ha ! I lubbed her so ! [Kisses his hand with a hud noise. One day we went out walkin' by de margin ob de ribber, De wind was blowin' kinder fresh, an' made Miss Dinah shibber ; She shibber so, I thought she'd fall, an' in my arms I caught her, When de wind cum up an' blowed so hard, it blowed us in de water I I lubbed Miss Dinah so, I lubbed Miss Dinah so — She was as gay as Chris'mas day — and — Yah ha ! I lubbed her so ! [Kisses hand. Miss Dinah she went in hed first, an' I went in hed foremost; An' the'. I froze my nose an' toes, my heart was still de warmest; Wo sank rite down into de waves— de people thought us drownded— Miss Dinah she was raked ashore, but I was nebber founded I 68 DKAJIATIC CHAKADES. OHOEUS. I lubbed Miss Dinah so, I lubbed Miss Dinah so — She was as gay as Chris'mas day — and — •Tah ha ! I lubbed her so ! . [Kisses hand. Hello 1 dar's old missus a-comin' I JSfifer Mrs. Eeeves. Mes. Eeeves. Did you leave that note I gave you ? Juuus. Yes, missus. Mes. Reeves. Did they give you any message for me ? Julius. 'Pears not, missus; nebber said nuffin' to me. Mes. Eeeves. You may go. (Juuus hesiiaies.) Why do you stand there ? You can go. Julius. Beg pardon, missus, but may dis boy go out to-morrow ? Mes. Eeeves. What do you want to go out for? You had a holi- day last week. Julius. Well, missus, Clementina, — dat gal's my cousin, — ^goin' to be married to-morrow. Mes. Eeeves. And you want to go to the wedding? Julius. Please, missus ; de party couldn't get on nohow widout Julius. I'se one of de bridesmaids. Mes. Eeeves. One of the groomsmen, I suppose you mean. Julius. Yas, dat's what it is. I gibs de bride away. Mes. Eeeves. If you give the bride away, I suppose you can go, JuUus. Julius. Tank you, missus. GoUy 1 won't dis boy Julius hab some fun! [Cuts a pigeon^ swing, and exits. Mrs, Eeeves. I can hardly understand the feeUng EUen entertains toward Mr. Highdon. I must speak to her about it, and see that the connexion with that gentleman is severed. Enter Ellen. Ellen. Oh ! mamma, Tom is coming here to Mes. Eeeves (interrupting her). Tom ! who are you speaking of, — a oat? Ellen. Oh, no, mamma; Tom is Mr. Highdon. Mes. Eeeves. Do you know it is very improper, my dear, to call gentlemen by their Christian names ? Ellen. But Tom don't mind it, mamma. PHAJsr — ^Tojr. 69 Mrs. Eeetes. I do. Mr. Highdou was kind enough to return your fan when you lost it; we would have paid him for his trouble, if he had allowed us ; because he would not, I see no reason why we should be on such familiar terms with him. Ellen. But, mamma, Tom hkes me to call him Tom. Mrs. Reeves. I, do not. We must let Mr. Highdon understand liiat we no longer desire >iiTn to visit us. Ellen. But, malnma, you won't be so unkind ! Mrs. Reeves. Unkind 1 My dear, Mr. Highdon is only a clerk, in a merchant's office down town, so it would be wrong of us to let him entertain hopes, that would ultimately have to be destroyed. Enter Jultos. Julius. Please, missus, dat young woman dat was here dis mornin', called agin. Mrs. Reeves. Very well, Juhus ; I'll come and see her. [Exeunt Mrs. Reeves and Julius. Ellen. I wonder what Tom will say, when I tell him that mamma don't like him to come here. I am sure it is very unkind of mamma, just because his name is Tom, not to let him come here any more. Enter Tom. Tom. My dear Ellen 1 how do you do to-day ? Ellen. How do you do, Mr. Highdon ? Tom. Mr. Highdon ! Why don't you call me Tom? Ellen. Mamma says I am not to. Tom. Why not? Ellen. I don't know ; she says you mustn't come here any more. Tom. Not come here I If I don't see you I shall go mad. Ellen. Don't go mad ; I don't like mad people. Tom. Well, then, dearest, for your sake I won't. Ellen. Thank you, Tom. Tom. There's a darling; always call me Tom. I will see your mamma ; tell her how much I love you, and ask her to let you be my wife. Enter Mrs. Reeves. Mrs. Reetes. Tou here, Mr. Highdon. Tom. Yes, madam. I have come to ask the hand of your daughter in marriage. 70 DEAMATIC CHARADES. Mrs. Reeves (aside). Oh, oh 1 It's time I thought of putting a stop to it. (Aloud.) Indeed, sir, and do you love my daughter? Tom. Most devotedly ! Mrs. Reeves. And Ellen loves you ? Ellen. Yes, mamma. Mrs. Reeves (aside). This has gone farther than I thought. (Aloud.) Mr. Highdon, wiU you come with me to the hbrary; there I will speak to you upon the subject. Tom. Certainly, madam. [£!odtM.BS. Reeves; Tom Msses Ellen's hand, and hurries after. her. Ellen. Mamma looks so cross, I am sure Tom wiU be disap- pointed, and I know 1 shall be. Oh dear I oh dear 1 wby are mammas so cruel ? [She sits upon chair, and covers her face with handkerchief. [Scene closes. PHANTOM. SCENE III.— r^e same as Scene II. Enter Julius. Julius. Nohow he can fix it— I won't let him in. He am been here two or tree times, but missus says, Julius, says she, if massa High- don comes here, don't let him see Miss EUen. An' dis nigger won't. (A cloch strikes twelve.) Dar's twelve o'clock, missus can't be long, anyway. Enter Tom, with a sheet wrapped round him. Julius. Oh ! Lor' a massy ! [ Crouches behind a chair in terror. Tom (in a sepulchral voice). Julius, Julius, Julius, I want you. Julius. Go 'long; don't know you; dis man neber seed you afore.''' Tom. Come here, Julius. Julius. Juhus am gone out Tom. Ha, ha, ha ! Tellest thou an untruth? [Goes to JuLips, ialfes him hy the collar, and drags him to front of stage. Julius (falling on his knees). Gro 'way, white man, dis cullud pcssun don't know you. Tom. Where is Julius (interrupting him). Where's dat sherry ? Tom (suppressing a laiigh). Tes, where is that sherry ? PHAN — TOM. 11 Julius. I only took two bottles ; one I gub to a yaller gal, the udder dis boy had for roomatiz. Tom. Sayest thou so ? Begone, and wait for me in the basement. Julius. Lor' a massy, massa, dat I will, [JE!xit Julius in extreme trepidaMon. Tom. Ha, ha, ha I {Resuming his natural voice.) Love laughs at locksmiths, they say. Love laughs at negroes, say L He was terribly frightened, but it was the. only way I could get him to leave here. But how am I to see EUen 1 I am almost as far from that as ever. Snter Ellen. Ellen (screams). What's that ? Tom {throwing away sheet). My dearest Ellen, it is only L Ellen. Oh, Tom, how you frightened me, I took you for a ghost. Tom. No dear, no phantom, but your own Tommy in the flesh. Ellen. What will mamma say, if she knows it ? Tom. But she won't know it. I have frightened Julius, thanks to that sheet, so there is no fear of his returning. Ellen. How indiscreet of you, Tom. Tom. Can you expect me to be discreet, and not see you ? It is impossible 1 Ellen. Did you see my letter in to-day's Beraldf Tom. Yes, dear. Ellen. Isn't it dehghtful that we can correspond in that way, with- out anybody being a bit the wiser. Tom. It's charming. {Aside.) But very expensive. {Aloud.) I have good news for you, darling; old Debit is going to take me into partnership. Ellen. That's splendid I Tom. Isn't it? Ever since your mother forbade me the house I have been indefatigable in my attention to business ; so much so, that old Debit has offered me a share in the business. When that's settled we may enter into a different kind of partnership. Eh, Ellen? Ellen. Oh, Tom. Miter Mrs. Reeves. Mes. Reeves. This is pretty conduct, sir, entering my house in this manner. What have you to say in palliation ? Tom. Simply, that I love your daughter. Mita .Reeves. Nonsense I I should have thought that Mr. Highdon 72 DEAMATIC CHAEADliS. had more pride than to intrude himself where his presence is obnox- ious. Tom. I have reason to think, only to one person, madam. Mrs. Reeves. If I were to give you my consent, how could you support a wife ? My daughter has been used to luxuries which I am sure you, with your income, could never afford. Ellen. But, mamma. Mi". Debit has taken Tom into partnership. Mrs. Eeev :o Is that so 7 Tom. Yes, madam, I am happy to say it is. Mrs. Reeves. Humph I (Aside.) Mr. Debit is' one of the richest men in Wall street. (Aloud.) Mr. Highdon, EUen, come here. (Talces Ellen's and Highdon's hands, and joins them together.) Take her, Mr. Highdon, but mind, if you are deceiving me about the part- nership, I shall withdraw my consent. Tom. Then my happiness is secured. Mrs. Reeves (rm^mg' 6eB). Now I will have a talk with Julius. You will excuse me; Mr. Highdon, but I am about to scold Julius for ad- mitting you. Tom. It was Snier Jnxins. JoLius. Yas, missus. (Seeing Tom.) Lor' a massy, dare's massa Highdon ! Mrs. Reeves. Yes, and how came you to admit Mr. Highdon? Julius. Dis boy neber 'mitted massa Highdon. Mrs. Reeves. How did he get into this room, then ? Tom. I will explain that. Knowing that you had forbidden me the house, I had recourse to a lover's stratagem ; I put on that sheet, and frightened Julius into the belief that I was a phantom, Julius. An' was you de spook ? Tom (pointing to sheet). Yes, and there is my ghostly garment. Julius (aside to Tom). Don't say nuffin 'bout de sherry. Mrs. Reeves. I see how it is, so I' suppose I must forgive all of you. Ellen. If you please, mamma, and (to audience) ladies and gentle- men, will you be kind enough to give a helping hand to the new part- nership ? Ellen arid Tom, centre. Mrs. Reeves left, and Julius right CHARADE 11. CON TEST. BY FRANK CAHILL. Mrs. Lockitt. Ada Lockitt, Aer daughter. Charles Bea0champ. Adolphus Sparks. Susan, a servant. CON- SCENE L—Aparlm: Enter Susan, followed by Adolphus. Adolphus. I declare, Susan, you are looking positively charming. Susan. Thank you, sir, I always do. Adolphus. Eeally, now, you don't say so? But where is your mistress ? Susan. Mrs. Lockitt, sir ? Adolphus. Mrs. Lockitt I No I Miss Ada; the adorable, the ia- comparable Miss Ada. Susan. She is up stairs, sir. Adolphus. Up stairs, — eh ? Susan, would you like to have a dollar given you ? Susan (courieseying). Yes, if you please, sir. Adolphus. Well, then, who comes here, besides me? Susan. Let me see, — there's the butcher, the baker, the milkman, the Adolphus. No, no; you misunderstand me. I mean, who visits here? Susan. Oh, there's Miss Cann, Mrs. Staunton and her two daugh- ters, Mrs. Jones 4 ^4 DKAMATIC CHAKADES. Adolphus. Stop, stop. I mean male visitors. Susan. Oh, we never have any male visitors. Adolphds. None 1 Susan, I'm a happy man. There s a dollar for you. [Gives dollar. SusAH. Thank you, sir. At least, none to speak of. Mr. Beau- champ comes here. Adolphus. Mr. Beauchamp 1 . Who is he? Susan. A friend of the family, sir; but he comes here so often, you can hardly call him a visitor. Adolphus. Susan, I am afraid you have got that dollar under false pretences. But, never mind, take my card up to Mrs. Lockitt. [Oives card. Susan. Very well, sir. {Aside.) Obtaining a dollar under false pre- tences, indeed I [Exit Susan. Adolphus. Now, who the dickens can this Mr. Beauchamp be? Can he be a rival ? If he is, I'll Enter Beauchamp, who places his hat upon table, slowly draws off his gloves, and sits down ; Adolphus staring at him the while. Adolphus. That's cool. Beau. Eh? Did you speak? Adolphus. No, nothing. Beau. I beg pardon. [Takes up booh, and begins to read. A pause. Beauchamp gives a slight cough. Adolphus. Eh ? Did you speak ? Beau. No, nothing. Adolphus. I beg pardon. [Beauchamp puis down booh, and walks up and down stage. Adol- phus does the same; finally they knodc against each other. Beau, and Adolphus. What do mean, sir ? Adolphus. I insist upon knowing what you mean, sir? Beau. Who are you, sir ? Adolphus. Never mind, sir. Beau. There's my card, sir. Will you favor me vrith yours ? [Gives card. A.D0LPHUS (reading card). Charles Beauchamp 1 Enter Mks. Lockitt. Mrs. Lookitt. Good morning, gentlemen. Beau. I am charmed to see you looking so well tliis morning. CON — ^TEST. 75 Mks. Lookitt. Platterer I But you, gentlemen, do not know one another. AJlow me to introduce you. Mr. Beauchamp, Mr. Sparka — ^Mr. Sparks, Mr. Beauchamp. [Beauchamp and Spaeks how. Adolphus. By the way, Mrs. Lockitt, why is Do you under- stand cons, Mr. Beauchamp ? Beau. Cons, — cons, — -what are they ? Adolphus. What an extraordinary individual you are, — don't know wliat a con is ? "Why, a cojiundrum, to be sure. Beau. Oh! a conundrum! Mrs. Lockitt. Tes, Mr. Sparks is famous for making conundrums. Adolphus. Well, then, what article of navigation resembles an animal ? (A. pause.) Do you give.it up,^ — eh ? Beau. I'll give it up. Mrs. Lockitt. And so will L Adolphus. Why, a (s)cow, to be sure. (LaugTis.) Isn't it good, — eh ? Aint it capital ? Beau, (forcing a JaugJi.) Tes, yes, very good. I suppose you have heard the news, Mrs. Lockitt ? Mrs. Lockitt. No. What is it ? Beau. Mr. Bearleigh has failed for a quarter of a milUon of dollars. Mrs. Lockitt. Tou don't say so ! I wonder what his poor girls win do for dresses. Adolphus. Here is another con. Why is an oyster hke a tell-tale ? Beau, (shrugging his shovMers.) I'm sure I don't know. Adolphus. Do you, Mrs. Lockitt? Mrs. LeoKixr. No. Tou know I'm a bad hand at guessing conun- drums. Adolphus. Well, then, because it is impossible to keep its mouth shut. [Laughs im/moderatdy. Enter Ada. Ada. Good morning, gentlemen. [Beauchamp a;nd Adolphus low. Mrs. Lockitt. Where have you been so long, my dear ? Ada. I had a visitor. Mrs. Lockitt. A visitor I Who was it ? Ada. How inquisitive you are, mamma. Well, it was the — the— ■ the dressmaker. Mrs. Lockitt. Ohl Ada. Is there anything new at the Opera to-night, Mr. Sparks? 76 DKAMA.TIC CHAEADES. Adolphits. Eeally — that is— no, I believe not. But I have a first rate con for you. Why is bacon like the asthma ? Ada. Really, I cannot telL Adolphus. Can anybody else ? No. Well, then, because smoking cures it. [iMughs excessively. Beau. I think you have been misinformed about the Opera, sir, for Madame Solfeggio sings to-night for the first time. Ada How I should like to go. Beau. Would you allow me to be your escort ? Ada Mamma, shall we go ? Mrs. Lookitt. As Mr. Beauchamp is so kind as to offer, I really think we will accept* Adolphus. Now, upon my word, this is too good to be lost. Why is a speechless monarch hke Great Britain ? Mrs. Lockitt. I have it. Because it's great but sUent. Beau. Really, a very good answer, indeed. Adolphus. Ah I but that's not it. Mrs. Lookitt. No I Adolphus. No. The answer is, because it's a king-dumb. Now, that's very good — aint it ? [La/ughs exceedingly. Beau. Ladies, I will now take my leave. I will call for you this evening at half-past seven. Adolphus. If you would allow me, I should like to accompany you. M.P& Lockitt. Certainly. With pleasure. Beau. Good morning, Mrs. Lockitt. Good morning. Miss Lookitt. [Bows to the ladies, and to Adolphus, and exit. Adolphus (caUing after him). Mr. Beauchamp — ^Mr. Beauchamp — I have such a capital con to ask you. Why is a rhinoceros Hke a ■ [Runs off after Beauchamp. Mrs. Lockitt. What an extraordinary man that Mr. Sparlvs ia But come to my room, my dear, I have several things to show you. ' Ada. Very well, mamma. [Exeunt Mrs. Lookitt and Ada. jSfcene closes. —TEST. SCENE IL—The same. Enter Ada, and Susan carrying a very large handhox. Ada. Tou are sure you have packed up the right bonnet? CON — TEST. >!>] Susan. Oh yes, miss. The yellow one, with the bird of paradise feather. Ada. That's right. Has Miss Shipton been here to-day ? SffSAN. Yes, Miss, and I gave her those dresses to alter for you. Aba. HasMr. Sparks called? Susan. No, Miss. Ada. When he does, I'm at home. SnsAN. Very well, Miss. Ada. That's aU. Stay, the lace of one of my best handkerchiefs is torn, will you mend it ? Susan. Tes, Miss. [Mdt Susan. Ada. Heigho 1 How those men do torment me. I suppose I shall have to marry one of them, to get rid of the other. I know, mamma likes Mr. Beauchamp the Unier Susan. Susan. Mr. Spai-ks. [Emt Susan. Unter Adolpeus Sparks. Adolphus. Good morning. Miss Lockitt. Ada. Good morning. AnoLpmrs. I am glad to find you alone. Ada. Indeed I Why ? Adolphus. Ever since I Tou cannot be insensible to M iss Lockitt, I am in love. Ada. Tou don't say so ? It is a very deUcious feehng, is it not? Adolphus. Ecstatic ! What would man be without love ; his life would be a blank, — a ship without a rudder. Tes, love is the guid- ing star of our existence, and without it all would be chaos and con- fusion. Ada. Quite poetical, I declare. I must certainly get you to write me a sonnet on love, in my album. Adolphus. With pleasure. Oh, Miss Lockitt, do you not pity me ? Ada. Pity -you ! I thought the feeling was delightful Adolphus. Have you no compassion ? Ada. Compassion is pity, is it liot? Adolphus. I will speak plainly. Miss Lockitt, I lo Miier Mrs. Lockitt. Adolphus (asiie). Confound the woman. Mrs. Lockitt. Ada, dear, I want you. How do you do, Mr. Sparks ? 78 DEAMATIC OHAJEADES. AooLPHns. Well, maxiam. (Aside.) Save a-secret sorrow. (SigJis.) Mrs. Lookitt. When you send your parcel to Miss SMpton, Ada, tell her I want to see her. Ada. Very well, mamma. Mr. Sparks, will you do me a favor? Adolphus. With pleasure. Ada. I want this small parcel taken to my milliner's, wiU you do it for me ? [TaJces wp handbox. Adolphds (looking agliasi). Eeally — upon my word Ada. Ton object? Adolphus. Oh, no ; not in the least, — ^that is, — I'll send for it. Mrs. Lookitt. Don't trouble Mr. Sparks. Adolphus. It is no trouble, I assure you. I'U go and get a boy to carry it, immediately. [IHmt Adolphus. Mrs. Lookitt. How silly of you, Ada. The idea of wanting Mr. Sparks to carry a bandbox. ^ Ada. It's only a httle plan I have, mamma, so say nothing more about it, please. Mks. Lookitt. I have such a number of things to do, that I hardly know which to begin first, so I'U set to work and do them. [JBurries off rapidly. Ada. It was quite funny to notice Mr. Sparks's face, when I asked him to carry that box for me. I wonder what there can be in band- boxes that makes men so afiraid of them. I am sure if I were a man, I wouldn't mind carrying one. Enter Beauchamp. Beau. Ah, Miss Lockitt, I am so glad to find you alone. Ada (aside). Here's another man glad to find me alone. (Aloud.) Mamma has this moment left me. Beau. I am pleased to hear it, Miss Lockitt; I have come to place my fate in your hands. Ada. And what am I to do with it? Beau. Oh ! can you not guess ? For the last six months I have been miserable, — wretched, — ^yet happy. Happy to be in your society, — ^happy to be near you. Ada. I am glad that I have been able to contribute to your happiness. Beau. Oh, Miss Lockitt, believe me, I know that I am unworthy. Ada (aside). This is becoming serious. (Almid.) Excuse mc, in- terrupting/ you ; but Mr. Beauchamp, — ^I hardly dare ask you, — will you do me a favor ? Beau, A thousand 1 if you wish it. CON — ^TEST. 79 Ada. Wen, then, would you mind taking this box down town for me ? l^Takes v/p the handhox. Beait. (surprise^.) That box? Ada. Yes, this box. There is nothing very extraordinary in a box, is there? Beau. Certainly, I will take it with pleasiire. Ada. Thank you. Susan will give you the address. [ Qives him box. Beau. Before I go, let me Ada. No, not now; place your fate in my hands when you return. Beau. Well, as you wish. Au revoir. (Aside.) I must certainly get a boy to carry this confounded thing. IMcit Beatjchamp. Ada. I knew that Mr. Beauchamp would hot mind carrying it. Men make vows and protestations, but the best way to test their sin- cerity, is to get them to carry a bandbox. lExii Ada. Scene closes. CONTEST. SCEliTE IIL—The same. JEnter Adolphus. Adolphus. No one here 1 I am determined to come to some defi- nite understanding with Ada. I will be accepted or rejected to-day ; this uncertainty will drive me mad. I was certainly foohsh — ^yes, decidedly foolish in refusing to carry that bandbox, for it would have been so easy to have hired somebody to have carried it. Ah, stupid, stupid Adolphus Sparks 1 [Sits down at hack of stage ; talces wp hook and reads. Enter Beaiiohamp. Beau. Precious unfortunate! Couldn't find anybody to carry that blessed bandbox, confound it ! Just my luck ; I met five people I knew. No matter, it has pleased Ada, I am sure ; so in that quarter I am safe. {Seeing Adolphus.) Ah ! you here ? Adolphus. (Rising and coming forward.) (Aside!) My rival I (Aloud^ Yes, sir, and why shouldn't I be here ? Beau. Tm sure I don't know. Adolphus. No, sir, and you won't know. Beau. I don't want to. Adolphus. Don't prevaricate, sir. Beau. Prevaricate ? 80 DEAMATIC CHARADES. Adolphus. Yes, sir, prevaricate. Do you object to the word, sir? Beau. Oh, bo. .u Adolphus. Very well, sir,. I'll use it if I like, sir. ■ Beau. With all my heart. Adolphus. Tes, sir. ( Wallcs up and dovm stage rapidly.). What are you here for, sir ? Beau. I have yet to learn that it is necessary for me to explain my actions to Mr. Sparks. Adolphus. You're another, sir. Beau, (smiling). Indeed ! I am sorry to hear it. Adolphus. Yes, sir, I say it emphatically, you're another. Beau. Mr. Sparks, I am at a loss to know the meaning of your con- duct. Adolphus. That for my meaning, sir. [Snaps his fingers in his face. Beau. Ah I If you do that again, I'll pitch you down stairs. Adolphus. No you won't, sir. Beau. I give you fair warning, so take care. Adolphus. That for your warning. [Snaps fingers inhis face again. Beau. Ah ! [Seizes Adolphus by the collar, and they struggle about the room. Enter Mes. Lookitt and Ada. Mrs. Lockitt. What is all this noise about ? What is the mean- ing of this disgraceful contest in my house ? Beau. I have to apologize to you, Mrs. Lockitt, for this unseemly conduct on my part. Adolphus. Yes, it is all on his part. Beau. I will finish the discussion with you, sir, elsewhere. At pre- sent, I express regrets to Mrs. and Miss Lockitt. Ada What is the cause of this disturbance ? Adolphus. He said, he didn't prevaricate. Mrs. Lookitt. Gentlemen, I see how it is, it is some misunderstand- ing on your part. Let us think no more about it ; — come, shake hands, and be friends. Be-vu. I have no ill-feeling towards Mr. Sparks. Ada (aside). What a magnanimous creature 1 Adolphus. I have no objection to shake hands. Mes. Lockitt. That's right. Come. (She takes their hands, joins ih em together, they shake heartily.) Ko w let us go to lunch. [Beauchamp offers his arm to Ada. Adolphus do^the same to Mrs. Lookitt. As they are walking off, the mirtainarops. CHARADE III DRAM ^AT(T)IO. BT FKANK CAHILL. LuDovico Jones, a down town cleric. Me. Last, a hootmaJcer. Theophilus Buckskin, a country manager. Dr. TotTENIQUET. Mrs. Johnson, a washerwoman. Mart "Worthington. The part ^f Ltjdovico Jones, to he played in a serio-comic manner, bordering on hurlesgue. BEAM- SCENE I. — A parlor, comfortably furnished, with a sofa in room. LtTDOVico is discovered, with his hair all tumbled, walking about the room, with a volume of Tennyson, open, in his hand. LnDovioo. How beautiful 1 My bKghted heart throbs, as though it would burst this mortal clay. Ha, ha I let me read that verse once more. [Reads. " Oh that 'twere possible After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love Round me once again 1" Tennyson, I love thee. Love! ha, ha I what is love? Notliing. There's no such thing as love 1 The world is cold and heartless, — "And my heart is a handful of dust" Ohl Grloriana Brovra, why did you iilt me? Tou fascinated me, as 4*' 82 DEAMAHC CHAEADES. the cobra di capello fascinates the little dickey-bird, and then you,— then you, — ^yes, — then you -wouldn't have anything more to do with me. Ha, ha, ha I I shall go mad 1 [ WaJlcs up and down stage rapidly, tearing his hair. Enter Mart. Mart. Oh, Mr. Jones, what is the matter? Ltoovico. Matter! A blighted heart is the matter. A .torn and lacerated bosom is the matter. Mart. Lor' ! Mr. Jones, you don't say so ? LuDovico. Mary, a crushed worm will turn, and I'H be a crushed worm. Mart. Very well, Mr. Jones ; but hadn't you better go down town ? It's getting very late. LuDovico. Down town I What care I for sordid wealth ? Nothing! Mart. What will Mr. Benson, your employer, say ? LuDovico. Confound Mr. Benson I Wall Street has no charms for me ! My ledger's a blank, and all is misery, desolation, and woe ! Mart. Mr. Jones, you are ilL LuDOVioo. mi Ha, ha, ha! Dying! Dying of unrequited love and crushed affections. Mart. I wiU fetch Doctor Tourniquet, who lives next door. LuDovico. Can a doctor cure a bleeding heart? Can he extract the dart that is rankhng in this bosom ? Answer me. Mart. A bleeding heart, Mr. Jones ? LuDovico. Yes, Mary. I am tlie victim of unrequited affection, and my bones will soon be ready for the sepulchre of the Jones's. Mart (aside). I have heard of people dying of a rush of blood to the heart) so I'll fetch the doctor immediately. (Aloud.) Would you like to have your breakfast brought up stairs, Mr. Jones ? Ltrnovico. Now, listen to her. Who ever heard of a person crossed in love, eating ? No, Mary, I want nothing, unless it is some poison. Mart (aside). I must certainly go for a doctor. [Exit Mart. LuDovico (catting after her). Mary ! Mary 1 She don't hear me. I wonder if she has really gone for some poison. I hope she is not so foolish. Poison is such a disagreeable tiling to take ; in fact, it is ex- cessively disagreeable ; so dangerous, too ; if a person takes too much of it, it's apt to kill him. Now, I hope she won't be absurd enough to bring poison into my room ; the children might get hold of it, and if they do, there is no knowing what the consequences will be. How- ever, I will rest my weary Umbs, and await fate. [Reclines upon sofa. sT- :. BEAM — at(t)ic. 83 Bnter Mary and Doctor TotjRNKjnET. Mart. There he is, doctor. [JDooTOE goes to sofa, and is about to feel LtrDovico's pulse, when he starts up and glares at the Doctor. LuDovico. Who are you, sir 1 Doctor. Ah ! I see — nervous aflfection. Mary. Hush, Mr. Jones, it's the doctor. Doctor. Come, come, be quiet; let me feel your pulse. [He forces Lttdovico gently vpon the sofa, in a sitting posture, and feds hisptUse. Mar* What is the matter, doctor ? Doctor. Humph I Have you a pain in your head ? LuDovico. No. Doctor. Ha ! I thought not. Have you any in your back ? LuDovico. No, none. Doctor. Of course, no pain in the back. Whereabouts do you feel pain? LuDOVico (in a sepulchral manner). In my lacerated bosom. Doctor. Ah ! as I thought — in the region of the chest. Does that pain you ? [Sounds LuDOVico's chest. Lddovico. No, mine is a secret pain. Doctor. Does that pain you ?. [Hits Lttdovico violently in the chest, which makes him cough. LuDovico. Hal a blow I minion, come on! [Jumps up, and commences to square off at the Doctor. Mary (laying hold of him). Pray, Mr. Jones, don't, for my sake. LuDovico. Mary, I viron't. (Aside.) Especially as he don't seem a bit afraid. [Sits down again. Doctor. Ahl I see vrhat the matter is with you. You're bilious. LuDovico (aside). What a strange old gentleman ; ' he calls love bUel Doctor. Tou get some magnesia, and take that. Mart. I will go and get it for you. LuDovico. How kind you are. [Makes a wry face. Doctor. Good morning, Mr. Jones. [Going LuDovico. How much am I to take, doctor ? Doctor. Take three or four drachms. Mary. I wiU see you down, doctor, and get the medicine at tho same time [Uxeuni Mary and the Doctor. Lwovrco (starting up). Ha, ha, ha! A new discovery — a sove- 84 DEAMATIC CHAKADBS. reign remedy for love — magnesia ! He told me to take three or four drams, and I'll do it. {Runs to comer of room, pulls out demijohn, and fMs tumbler.) Here's one to commence on. Oh, Grloriana Brown, this is your doing. [-^s he is drinking, the scene closes. -ATTIC. SCENE TL—An attic, very meanly furnished. No carpet on tlie floor ; a ted in one corner of the stage; one chair and a common deal table. Tjudovico is discovered, very shabbily attired, writing at table. LuDovico. Nearly finished 1 My great poem, that I have been at ■work on for weeks and weeks, is nearly completed. Those brutal and sordid editors I must try once more ! My great genius is not appre- ciated by them. They're jealous of me, that's what it is. They're afraid that my talents wiU echpse theirs, so they won't pubHsh anything I write. Give me a chance, and then won't I astonish the world ! {A TcnocJc is heard at the door.) Who's there? A dun, I suppose. Come in. Enter Mary, with bonnet and shawl on. Mart. Good morning, Mr. Jones. How do you feel this morning ? LuDOVico (rising and coming forivard). Sick, Mary — sick of the world and all its petty jealousies. Mart. When you were engaged down town, you were not sick of the world, Mr. Jones. Lnnovico. Speak not to me of old Benson; he could not understand the eccentricities of genius, so I threw up my situation; or, rather, he threw me up, because he objected to my writing sonnets in the ledger. Mart. But what are you going to do, Mr. Jones? Tou know you are very, very poor. LuDovico. Poor 1 Yes — ^nobody understands my genius, Mary. Mart. Don't they, Mr= Jones? Ltmovico. Even your mother could not. Because I owed her a few weeks' board, and couldn't pay it, and saw no prospect of so doing, she politely told me she wanted my room. Mart. I am hare I asked niother to let you stay ; but she wouldn't listen to me. Ltroovico. Mary, you're a good girl, and I like you very luupl). Mart. Oh, I'ni so glad, Mr. Jones. DRAM — ^At(t)iC. 85 LuDovico. Dou't call me Mr. Jones; call me Ludovico. Mart. I don't like to. Ludovico. Nonsense ; and I will call you Gloriana — may I ? Mart. Tou may call me anything you please, Ludovico. Ludovico {taking Tier hand). Well then, Ludovico and Grloriana, hand in hand^ will go through the world together. (A hnock is heard at the doot ) Come in. M^ter Mr. Last. Mr. Last. Good morning. Ludovico. Good morning, Mr. Last. Mr. Last. I have called for my money. Ludovico. Have you ? (Aside.) Then I sincerely hope you may get it. Mr. Last. Tes (handing hiS), and here's the bill — ^forty-five dol- lars and fifty cents. Ludovico. Thank you. (Folds it up carefully, and puts it in his pocket. ) m take care of it. Mr. Last. Are you not going to pay me ? Ludovico. Oh, yes, certainly. Mr. Last. Well then, hand over the money. Ludovico. Pardon me; I'm going to pay you, but not to-day. Mr. Last. Now look here, I can't afford to supply you with boots for. nothing. When will you pay me ? Mart (aside to Ludovico). Why don't you pay him now? Ludovico (aside to Mart). Circumstances over which I have no control, prevent me. (Aloud^ Mr. Last, I am now writing a poem that will iinmortalize me. Mr. Last. A poem ! Fiddlededee I I want my money. Ludovico. Tou shall have it, I tell you, shortly. I don't pretend it will be equal to the Attic authors of old, but I am sure it will be suo- cessfuL Genius cannot go long unrecognised. Mr. Last (glancing round the room). I suppose you call yourself an attic author ? Ludovico. No, sir; I am an American. Mr. Last. When can I have it ? Ludovico. Next week I think I can settle it. Mr. Last. Well, I'U call then. If you don't want to be put to trouble, you'll settle it. Good morning. [Exit Mr. Last. LuDovTCO. Good morning. There, Mary, — I mean Gloriana, — you «ee the trials and tribulations a man of genius has to go through. 1 86 DEAMATIC CHARADES. must get on with my poem. Sit down, Gloriana, — I beg pardon, there is only one chair. Stand up, Glo-iana, it will soon be finished ; then I'll read it to you. Mary. Oh, that will be nice. [A knock heard at the door. Lddotico. My mind misgives me, — anather dun. I can't see him. Where shall I hide ? Oh, here. {Buns to bed, pulls off counterpane, covers himself over with it, and crouches down in corner.') Speak to him, Grloriana. [Another knock heard at the door. Mart. Come in. Enter Mrs. Johnson, with a hasket of washing. Mrs. Johnson. Oh, dear me, tliem stairs I What makes people who calls themselves gentlemen live in attics, I don't know! {SiU down on chair, and viipes her face with her apron.') Is Mr. Jones in ? Makt. No, — that is, — he is, — no, you can't see him. Mrs. Johnson. It 'pears to me he conducts himself mighty nice for a gentleman. Did he leave any money for me ? Mart. No, — that is, — no, he didn't. Mrs. Johnson. Here am I, a. poor lone woman, with five small children and a sick husband, who has been laid up with the rheumatiz in his joints, and I have been washing for Mr. Jones three months, and have not seen a, cent of his money ; and I should like to know what -would become of me, that I would, if nobody ever paid me ? Mart. I am sure Ludovico, — ^Mr. Jones, I mean, — will pay you shortly. Mrs. Johnson. Give my compKments to Mr. Jones, and tell him that he shan't have any more clothes till he pays me, and that I'm sorry, but I'm a, poor lone woman, and must protect myself; so I'll take these things back with me. (Rises, takes basket, and goes to door.) Good morning. [Exiis. [During the above dialogue, Ludovico has been shaking his fats ai Mrs. Johnson in a wUd and savage manner. Mart. Ludovico, she has gone. Ludovico (jumping up). Thank goodness 1 Gloriana, I thank you. Now for the finale of my grand poem. [Rushes frantically to table, seizes a pen, and commences to wi'iie Mart goes and holes over his shoulder. [Scene chses. BEAM At(t)ic. 87 DRAMAT(T)IC. SCEND IIL—Satne as Scene II. Enter Ludovico and Maet. Ludovico has u, shabVy hat on, and his coat is buttoned close up, as though he had no shirt on. Mart has honnet and shawl on, which she talees off. Ludovico. Yes, Grloriana, we stall soon know our fate. Mr. Buck- skin will soon be here to see us rehearse one or two scenes. I think it was a brilUant idea of mine, when that grand poem I wrote was not accepted, simply through the maUce and enmity of editors, to turn my attention to dramatic art. Mart. That it was ; and how beautifully you do act ! L0DOVICO. Well, I flatter myself, — hut why should I be egotistical ? Tou know that geniuses can turn their minds to anything. \A knocJc is heard at the door. Mart. Here he is. Ludovico. Yes, it must be Mr. Buckskin. Come in. Enter Buokskm. Buckskin. Is this Mr. Jones's room ? Ludovico. Yes, sir, and I'm Mr. Jones, at your service. Buckskin. Ah, how d'ye do ? {Shakes him by the hand.) Is that Miss Worthington ? [Mart courteseys. Ludovico. Yes. Buckskin. You want an engagement at my theatre ? Ludovico. That is what we desire. Buckskin. Let me see what you can do. Ludovico. Very well ; we will go through a scene, of the " Lost Father, or the Found Daughter." Buckskin. Go ahead. Ludovico. Now then, Grloriana, put yourself into position. . You know the scene, where the daughter recognises her lost parent Mart. Yes. (Aside.) How frightened I feel [Ludovico throws himself into a melodramatic attitude. Mart does the saTne. Tlie following scene must be acted in a burlesque manner. Ludovico. Listen, maiden, 'tis now some twenty years ago Buckskin (interrupting him). No, no, that will never do. Say it 88 DRAMATIC CHARADES. like this. (Atters his voice to a gruff and sqmcchral tone.) " Listen, maiden, 'tis now some twenty years ago" ^Do you see ? LuDovico. Pardon me, but I don't commence it that way. I assume that voicCy as I get worked up in the scene. Buckskin. Oli, very welL Commence again. Ltjdovico. Listen, maiden, 'tis now some twenty years ago, on a cold and stormy night, that a man might have been seen wending his way, along a rocky path, with an infant in his arms. Mary. Oh, merciful heavens I Say not so. LxjDOVico. He placed that baby in the care Buckskin. "Wouldn't "he placed that infant," be better than "he placed that baby," — eh 7 LuDovico. We mentioned just before, his having an infant in his arms. We must avoid tautology, you know. Buckskin. All right, — all right. Go on. LuDovico. He placed that baby in the care of a goodly shepherd, who lived upon that mountain. Mart. Do my ears deceive me ? LuDOVico. He reared that child as though it were his own. Mart QiystericaUy). Ha, ha, — go on, — ^go on. LuDovioo. Upon that child's arm was a raspberry mark. Buckskin. That's good. Easpberry mark is quite original. Go on. Mart (wildly). A raspberry mark, say you ? LuDovioo. Do you not recognise me ? Mart. It is, — ^ha, ha, ha ! it is my father ! [ WdOcs slowly up to him, and faMs fainting into his arms. Buckskin. Bravo 1 Bravo 1 (Clapping his hands.) That's good, — very good. [ Ooes up to them, and shaJces them hy the ha/iid. LuDovico. Shall we try another scene ? Buckskin. No, not the least occasion. I see you have genius. I'll engage both of you. Mart. Bothl Oh, how delightful ! Buckskin. You must alter your name, Jones. Jones don't sound well upon a play biU. LuDovico. I don't mind. What shall I call myself ? Buckskin. What do you think of St. Clair? What's your first name ? LuDovico. Ludovico. Buckskin. The very thing. Ludovico St. Clair witt look first rate on a show biU. Letters two feet long, — printed in red and green. Crowded houses, — sure of it. ANn(ATCNTr) — DOTE. 89 LtTDOVico. I only hope that I shall be more successful as an actor than I was as a poet. (To audience.) And I furthermore hope, that all present ■will come and give me a helping-hand on the night of my OUISTAIN. CHAKADE IV. ANTI (AUNTY) — DOTE. BY FRANK OAHILIi. C^aradtrs. Feed. Ward, a Medical Student. Joe Dashington, Tiis friend. Mrs. Pondleigh. Susan, her tnaid. ANTI— (AUNTT— ) SCENE I. — A parlor. A sofa in room. Mrs. Eondleigh and Susan discovered. Mrs. Fondleigh. Dear me 1 what can make my nephew so much behind time ? The cars leave New York at six o'clock, now it's past ten, and they only take an hour and a half to get here. I hope no accident has happened I am getting quite fidgetty. Susan. Perhaps he missed the cars, mum. Mrs. Pondleigh. That may be it; but the next train is due now. I really do think an accident has happened. Susan. Don't you worry yourself, mum ; he'U be here safe enough, depend upon it. Mrs. Pondleigh. You know, Susan, how careless these railway people are. Susan. Indeed they a-e, mum. 90 DEAMATIC CHAEABES. Mrs. Fondleigh. Why, ti'e very last time I travelled in one of those nasty cars, which is very nearly fifteen years ago, I left one of my gloves upon the seat, and the careless fellows lost it. Susan. Dear me ! Mrs. Fondleigh. Yes; and they actually refused to give me a new pair. (A beU rings.) There he is ; run, Susan, and open the door. ScsAN. Tes, mum. [Sxit Susan. Mrs. Fondleigh. Here is my very dear nephew, at last. I wonder if he is changed ? How I long to see him 1 Susan (ialldng off). Be quiet, sir. Such impudence I Mrs. Fondleigh. What's that Susan's saying? Enter Fked. Ward and Joe Dashington. Feed. My dear aunty, how glad I am to see you. [He embraces Mrs. Fondleigh. Mrs. Fondleigh. My dear boy, how have you been ? You're look- ing very weU. Fred. Aunty, I have brought my friend down with me to Btay with us. Joe, this is my aunt Aunty, this is Joe Dashington. Mrs. Fondleigh. Mr. Dashington, I am glad to see you. (Joe bows.) Are you a student? Joe. Oh, yes ; Fred, and I are room mates. Mrs. Fondleigh. Indeed 1 I hope you haven't been letting my nephew study too hard. [Fred, winks at Joe, and puts his finger to the side of his nose. Joe. Well, he has worked pretty hard, that's a fact. Up till two or three o'clock reading ; I have often with tears in my ey js asked him to come to bed, but it was of no use — he would work. [Feed, struggles violently with a laugh. Mrs. Fondleigh. What's the matter, Fred. ? [Ituns to him, and holes into his face anxioush/. Fred. Nothing, aunty. It's only a tickling of the crico-arytmoideus posticus muscle. Mrs. Fondleigh (apparently mystified). Oh, indeed! Is it. dan- gerous ? Joe. Not at all, I assure you ; it's perfectly harmless. Mrs. Fondleigh. I'm so glad of that. But what made you so late 1 Why didn't you come by the six o'clock train ? Fred. My dear aunty, we couldn't help it. Just as we were leav ■ mg tlie hospital, such a beautiful case came in. Miss. Fondleigh. A b lautiful case, Fred. ? AKTI (aunty) ^DOTE. 91 Feed. Tes, aunty ; a man was teought in -with both the tihia and fihvia bones broken. Joe (rubbing his Jiands). It was perfectly charming. Mes. Fondleigh. Poor fellow — did it hurt him much ? Peed. -He didn't seem to mind it But you see, my dear aunty, we couldn't come away till his leg was cut off. Mrs. Pondleigh. How shocking I Surely, Pred., you didn't cut his leg off? Peed. Oh, no, I didn't do it; Dr. Gutting amputated it. Tou see it was rather an intricate case — wasn't it, Joe ? Joe. Splendid, sir, splendid. Peed. I'll explain it to you, aunty. You see, the cotyloid ligament of the acetabulum had to be severed, so as to get at the ligamentum teres; now that's a very daugeroi:.i= ripfiation, I assure you, and requires great care. Mrs. Pondleigh. I suppose so. Peed. Tou see it requires great nicety in handling, or else you'd injure the patient, and that would never do. Mes. Pondleigh. I am so glad, Pred., you didn't cut the man's leg off. If he had died, it would have been so iiorrible — ^wouldn't it ? M^ter Susan. Susan. If you please, mum, supper is ready. Mes. Pondleigh. Very well, Susan. Come, Pred. — come, Mr. Dashington, you both must be hungry after your ride. Peed. We wUl be with you in a moment, aunty. [Sxeunt Mes, Pondleigh and Susan. Joe (laughing). Ha, ha, ha 1 that wasn't bad about the fractured leg. Aunty was nicely taken in. Peed. If she only knew that billiards detained us, I don't think she'd be so horrified. Joe. No ; but I pitched it pretty steep about your reading. Feed. Tes, you did that capitally. But supper's waiting — come along. Joe. All right; I'm as hungry as a hunter. Does aunty keep a Bideboard ? Feed. It wiU do your heart good to see it. Come along. ^Exeunt Peed, and Joe. Scene closes. 92 DEAMATIC CHAEABBS. —DOTE. SCENE TL—Same as Scene L Enter Susan and Feed. SasAN. Do be quiet, Mr. Ered. I Feed. "Well, ain't I quiet ? Susan. No, you are not. Tou are trying to — ^to Feed. Trying to do what ? Susan. Trying to kiss me. Feed. There's no harm in that^ is there ? Tou kissed me when 1 went away to New York. Susan. But you've grown so much taller since then. Feed. Just think me a little boy again ; won't you, Susan ? [Encirdes her waist with his arm. Susan. Now, do be quiet, Mr. Fred. ; if you don't, I'll certainly tell your aunt Feed. I must steal one. (Attempts to hiss her.) Enter Joe. Joe. HuUo 1 (Peed, releases Susan, who holes confused. Peed, puts his hands in his pockets, and whisHes.) I beg pardon; don't mind me. I'm nobody. I'U look out of window. Susan. Mr. Ward was just telling me that — ^that Feed. That I wanted some buttons sewn on my shirts — ^wasn't I, Susan ? Joe. Oh, yes; I know you're obliged to get very close to a person when you tell them you want buttons put upon your shirts. Susan. I think Mrs. Fondleigh is calling me ; I'll go and see. [Ea:it Susan. Joe. I've caught you, have I ? Feed. Confound you I why weren't you two or three minutes later ? Joe. Poor fellow, then— did I interrupt him, then? Ha, ha, ha! if aunty only knew ! Feed. Hush ! here she comes. Enter Mes. FoNDLEiaH. Mes. Pondleige. Good morning, Mr. Dashington. How are you this morning, Fred. ? Has that — that muscle you were speaking o* tickled you since ? ahti(at:nty) — ^dote. 93 Feed. Oh I no, aunt, it hasn't troubled meat alL Mrs. PoNDLEieH. You must be careful of yourself, Fred., you know you're not strong. Do you think him strong, Mr. Dashington? Joe. Far from it, Mrs. Fondleigh. (Aside.) He's as strong as a young ox. Mes. Fondlezgh. And I heard you coughing, too, last night. Hadn't you better see a doctor — shall I send for my family physician ? Feed. Thank you, no, I'm perfectly well Mrs. Fondleigh. Be careful of yourself, there's a dear. Take some gruel to-night, and put your feet in warm water ; it wiU do you good. Feed. Very well, aunt, I wiU. Joe (aside to Fred.). You're a nice delicate morsel, aint you ? JUnter Susan. Mrs. Fondleigh. Where have you been, Susan ? SosAN. I've been — T\e been Joe. Sewing some buttons upon Mr. Ward's shirts — eh, Susan? [Laiighs. Feed, (aside to Joe.) Will you be quiet I ScrsAir. Yes, mum. That's what I've been doing. Mrs. Fondleigh. There's a good girl ; take care of my nephew's wardrobe while he's here. SnsAN. Very well, mum. Joe. Oh, Susan pays great attention to Fred., I can answer for that. Fred, (ciside to Joe.) Confound you I (Aloud.) Let's take a walk. Joe. With all my heart. Mrs. Fondleigh. Oh ! don't go out, quite a heavy dew fell last night. You'll catch cold, Fred. Fred. No I wont, aimt. Pll take care of that. Mrs. Fondleigh. Mind you wrap yourself up weU. Fred. Very well, aunt. [Ooing. Mrs. Fondleigh. Stay I I must see that you don't catch cold, so I'll wrap you up. Susan 1 StTSAN. Yes, mum. Mrs. Fondleigh. Go and get Mr. Ward's overcoat, and one or two shawls. StrSAN. Yes, mum. [Exit Susan. Fred. Consider, aunt, it is a beautiful fall morning, and the sun is shining brightly. 94 DRAMATIC CHAEADES. Joe. You'd better wrap up ; you know you're delicate. [Suppresses a laugh. Mrs. Pondleigh. There 1 Tou hear what Mr. Dashington says ? Enter Susan, with an oiercoat, a travelling shawl, and a gentleman^ s scarf upon her arm. StJSAN. Here they are, mum. " Pred. Surely, you don't want me to wear all those things, this hot day? Mrs. Fondleigh. Yes, dear. I don't want to have you laid up. Feed. But I'm not weak or sickly. Joe. ■ It's always the way with delicate people, they never wiU own it. MEa Fondleigh. Come now, let me help you on witli this coat. [She assists him to put coat on. Feed, (aside to Joe, and shaking his fist at him.') This is all youj doings. (Aloud.) That wiH be sufficient, aunt. Joe. You'd better be thoroughly protected, Fred. Feed, (aside to Joe.) Will you hold your tongue ! Mrs. Fondleigh. There now, Mr. Dashington is a medical student, and he must know. Susan, give me the scarf. (Susan hands scarf. Mrs. Fondleigh ^Mfaii round Feed.'s nech.) Now button your coat up. [He buttons his coat up in an energetic manner. Feed. Will that do ? Come along, Joe ? Joe. Don't you think he'd better have that shawl round his shoulders, Mrs. Fondleigh ; then he'd be quite safe ? Mes. Fondleigh. Perhaps that would be the safest ; how thoughtful you are, Mr. Dashington! Feed, (aside.) Precious thoughtful 1 (To Joe.) Fll half murder you. [Joe gives pantomimic expressions of delight. Mrs. Fondleigh. Now put this shawl round your shoulders, then there will be no danger of your catching cold. Susan, give me that shawl. Feed. But, aunt! Mes. Fondleigh (placing sliawl on his shoulders). I'U hear of no denial. Now I think you're safe. Joe. Are you sure you're wrapped up enough, Fred. ? Feed. Come along. Good-bye, aunt. [Goes off hurriedly. Mrs. Fondleigh. G-ood-bye, my dear. Mr. Dashington, take great care of him, will you ? ANTl(ATrNTT) DOTE. 95 Joe. That I certainly will. I'U see that he don't go within a' yard of a damp spot. Good morning, Mrs. Pondleigh. [JExit Joe, ^/Hth difficulty suppressing a laugh. Mrs. Fondleigh. Poor fellow! I'm afraid he's very delicate, Susan. SusAK. I hope not, mxim. Mrs. Fondleigh. He's a good boy ; I quite dote upon him. Susan. So do I, mum; at least I mean it's quite natural, mum, that you should. Mrs. Fondleigh. Oh 1 I am afraid he studies much too hard for his constitution, now he is here. Susan. Tes, mum. Mrs. Fondleigh. But come, Susan,' let us go and see the cook, and tell her to prepare something nice for his dinner, for he's far from strong. [Exeunt Mrs. Fondleigh and Susan. Scene closes. ANTI(AUJ^Ty)DOTE. SCENE TIL— The same. Enter Fred, and Joe. Feed. It's aU your fault. Joe. How my fault ? Fred. Why, making out that I was so precious delicate. Joe. I thought it would please the old lady. Fred. Tes, pleased her so much that she won't advance me any money to go to Newport with. Joe. That's bad. Feed. Bad I yes, if you had undergone what I have, you'd say it was bad. Here have I been wrapped up like a mummy, every time I've ventured outside the door. Joe (laughing'). Excuse my kughing, but, upon my word, your aunt takes great care of you. Feed. A precious sight too much for my liking. What's to be done ? There's Flora Myrtle at Newport, and I haven't a penny to carry me there. Joe. Why don't you ask your aunt ? Feed. I have asked her, and she says I'm too sickly to leave her side for a moment Have you any money ? Joe. Yes. Feed {eagerly). How much ? 96 DRAMATIC CHAKADES. Joe. One dollar, fifty cents, and a nickel Feed. Pshaw ! Joe. Do you want to go to Newport very badly ? Peed. Don't I tell you Flora Myrtle is there 7 Joe. Hold on, I have an idea. Feed. What is it? Joe. Tou shall go to Newport, and be happy in the society of Flors Myrtle. Feed. How ? Joe. Poison yourself. Feed. Don't be absurd ! Joe. I'm not absurd. I don't mean you to take poison actually, but pretend to. Feed. Oh, I see. Joe. Then I'll administer an antidote, and tell your aunt nothing can save you but a trip to Newport. Feed. Capital Joe, you're a genius. Joe. Here comes somebody. Stretch yourself upon the sofa, quick. (Feed, lies down upon sofa.) Now then, get up a countenance of intense agony. [Joe feels FEED.'s^raZse, who is roUing about as if in great pain. Enter Sdsan. SnsAN. If you pie what's the matter with Mr. Ward ? Joe. Don't be alarmed. It's nothing, I assure you — he has only taken poison. Susan. Taken poison I Oh my, oh my ! what will Mrs. Fond- leigh say I I'U go and tell her. Mrs. Fondleigh — ^Mrs. Fondleigh 1 [Eodt, calling. Joe. Here's a lark. Tou do it admirably, old fellow. You're a first-rate suicide. Feed. Look here, I begin to think it's too bad to alarm my aunt [Raises himself into a sitting posture, Joe. Newport, old boy, Newport! Hushl here's somebody coming. (Pmhes Feed, dovm upon the sofa.) Put on the intense agony expres- sion again. Miter Mes. Fondleigh and Susan. Mes. Fondleigh. Where is he ? — where is my darling boy? (Runs to sofa, and kneels down iy Feed.'s side, who groans dismaMy.) What shall we do, Mr. Dashington ? Susan, run for a doctor. [Susan, going. Joe. Stay, Susaru It's no good having this thing made public, I'll administer an antidote. , ANTI (AUiSfTT) DOTE. 97 Mns. FoNDLEiGH. Bless j'ou! save my darling nephew. (Fred, gives another groan.) Poor fellow I how he must suffer. Job. His suffering must be immense. Susan, go to my bedi-oom, you'E find a small bottle upon the mantelpiece, bring it to m"c. Susan. Yes, sir. [Hoat Susan. IIes. FoNDLKiGii. What kind of poison do you think he has taken ? Joe. Laudanum, — -judging from appearances I should certainly say laudanum. [Fked. groans again. Mrs. FoNDLEicn. Dear mo, what a time Susan is, and poor Fred, in tliig pain I Enter Susan. Susan. Here it is, sir. [Gives loiile to Joe. Joe. Now then, we'E soon have him right [Joe uncorks the bottle, Mks. Fondleigh and Susan hoh on, in hreath- less anxiety. Joe pours the contents of the bot(le_down Fred.'s throat. 'Fked jumps vp, aud runs to foot of stage. Feed, (coughing and spluttering.) Ugh 1 weugh ! pish ! Mks. Fondleigh. Thank goodness ! it has brought him to. JoK How do you feel now, Fred? Feed, (aside to Joe.) , What made you give me ink ? Joe (looJcs aibotde, then bursts into a laugh.) (Aside.) By Jove! she' brought down the ink bottle in mistake for the brandy. Mrs. Fondleigh. My dear boy, are you better now ? Feed. Tes, thank you, aunt, but I feel very weak. Mes. Fondleigh. What had he better do for weakness, Mr. Dash- ington? Job. Change of air, I should recommend, and the sooner the better. Mes. Fondleigh. He shaU have change of air. Fred., dear, there's some money. (Qives poeket-booTc.) You had bett-er start as soon as possible. Feed. Oh, aunt, this kindness! Joe. Keep quiet, old feEow, you mustn't get excited, or I woii't answer for the consequences. Susan. Hadn't he better take some more physic? Joe. Oh, no, he has had enough. Feed, (showing pocket-booh to audience.) Tes, the" antidote i have already, is quite sufficient. Mrs. Fondleigh and Feed centi-e Joe lef.. Susan right. CURTAIN. 5 CHARADE V. FRIENDSHIP. PEIEND— COMMUNICATITE OlD GeNTLEMAK. Disinterested Individual. Hackman. Mob. SCENE I. — Time, past mid/iiigTit — CoMMUNicATivE Old Gentlemaji, who has arrived at Railroad Station just too late for ihe last train, enters angrily, carrying umbrella and carpet-hag — ^Hackman /oKoittwjr, holding his whip in one hand, and a something tliat glitters in the moon- light, in ihe other. Hackman. Wot's this ? Old G-entleman. Go away with you; you know well enough what it is. Haokman. I never seed one afore — ^wot is it ? Old G. Your fare — a quarter. HA.CKMAN. A quarter! {He examines it dosdy.) So this is wot they call a quarter ; well, I can't believe as how a real gen'leman ever carried such a thing about vrith him. Old G. Don't be impertinent, or I'll give you in charge of a poHceman ; though I am from the country, I'm not to be imposed — Hackman (who hegins to exhibit a tendency to quiz). You're from tlie country, are you ? Well, I shouldn't have thought it ; many of you down there 7 Old G. (guite molMfied, begins to give way to his natural communica- tiveness). Why, yes; there's a good lot of us. There's my four brothers, myself and wife, and I've seven children. FEIBNDSHIP. 99 Haokman. AJil I thought you growed thick in those parts — it must be that as makes the fields so werry green. Old Gr. (becoming aware of his mistake.) You're an impertinent fellowr-a very vulgar fellow. Hackman. I aint a gen'leman — an' wot's more, I'd scorn to be one — agoing about giving quarters to poor honest Hackmen. Old Gr. (giving way to passion,, and threatening mt!i umbrella.) Tou, you, you bad man 1 Hackman (suddenly). Stop a bit; where do you live when you're at home ? Old G. At EoostervUle. Hackman. Eoosterville ? Well, you aint a chicken anyhow. (JBe advances on Old Gentleman, who siitt threatens with umbrella.) I tell you wot, if you don't drop that parachutte, I'll save you the expense of a first-class ticket, and knock you into the middle of Eoosterville in about two minutes. [Hackman dances playfuUy round Old Gentleman, maJdng wind- mills in the air with his fists. Mob suddenly appears. Old Gentle- man his his carpet bag and umbrella drop, clasps his hands, and gives himself up for lost. Mob to Hackman. Pay him out, BiU ! Old G. (endeavoring to expostulate^ My friends Mob. You aint got none. Go ahead, BiU. [Disinterested Individual pushes the mx>b aside, and advances to- wards Old Gentleman. The Disinterested. What's aU this? Here, go and fetch a police- man, some of you ; stay, I see one coming out of a grocery round the comer. {JExii Mob, quickly followed by grumbling Hackman. The Disinterested. The man who wouldn't help an elderly gentle- man in distress, is unworthy the name of (Old Gentleman exhibits signs of distress.) You feel faint ; lean upon me. Sorry I've no salts about me — left my only bottle — splendid thing — cut glass, with a gold stopper, with my uncle this morning. Never mind ; lean upon me. [He supports Old Gentleman. Old G. (recovering). You're very good — quite a friend in need — and a friend The Disinterested. In need, is a friend indeed. You may well say that : the article gets scarcer every day. Old G. I shall be very happy to see you at Eoosterville; we're thirteen in family : my wife and myself, my four brothers, and six chil- dren Yes, there's Jack, and Tom, and Harry, and 100 DEAMATIC CHAEADES. The Disinteeested. Charming family, I've no doubt. AE combin- ing the good sense of Papa, with the beauty of Mamma. What a thing sympathy is. I feel as if I'd known you for years — ^lost the train — going back to your hotel, I suppose ? Old Gr. Yes, I must find another carriage — and — ■ — The DispjTEKBSTED. Not far to go ; there's a carriage stand round the corner. (-He pidcs up umhreUa and carpet-bag.) I'll carry these. Old G-.' Oh, really, I can't think The Disinterested. Of course, you can't. I'm young and active, and the young man who wouldn't seek to lighten the burden of old age (The Disinterested looking off.) Is that a carriage ? I think it is. Stop here a moment, and I'll catch it for you. (Heis nmning off, tlien stops and turns to Old Gentleman.) Now, mind you don't move till I come back ; for without a friend, one's never safe in New York. Old G-. Certainly not ; only be quick {Exit The Disinterested, with umbrella and carpet-bag.) Good young man that 1 — ^it's lucky I met with hirn, or I should certainly have got into some difficulty — pity I missed the train though. My watch must be wrong; goes too slow, decidedly. {Bell strikes the Jwur.) Ah, now to test it. {He feds for hU luatch, then utters a cry of alarm.) It's gone! 1 1 Oh, dear me, it can't be — ^yes, it must be — it is that vile young man, when he was support- ing me ; and he's got my umbrella and carpet-bag. Here, Police ! Police ! PoKce ! {He is running off^. Oh, dear 1 oh dear 1 here's a position for an elderly gentleman, without a friend, at one o'clock in the morning. [He runs off. —SHIP. Characters, Farmer Pretzel. Dame Pjietzel. Mart. Tom Tarpaulin. Constables. SCENE n.— Pretzel's OoUage. Family discovered in great grief.. Two. Constables taking down inventory of the furniture. Dame Pretzel {crying). Ohl Maryl Mary! how could you go and refuse the young lawyer ? [^/jc ^obs. Mart {crying). Be— be— be— cause- 1 thought Tom's ship was suic FEIENDSHIP. 101 to come home ; and — and — and — Tom's -worth all the young lawyers in the wor — wor — -world. [She sobs. Farmer Pretzel. Donner-Tetter ! dis '11 preak mein heart Der crops is so pad, and der landlords so hard, dat -we shall all pe zold out, pody and preeches 1 [Se sohs. Dame Pretzel (looldng up, and Justifiably shocked). All 'as their misfortunes, and -we 'as ours ; but that's no occasion -why you, Dan' el, should use improper expressions. Mart. Oh I if Tom's ship -would only arrive, he'd soon put every- thing, right again, — sailors always do, you kno-w, mother. Dame Pretzel. Ships is uncertain, and so is sailors, — they changes ■with every -wind. For my part, I leans to the young lawyer. Parmer Pretzel (rising from his chair, and appealing, in the trite stage fashion, to the ceiling). I doesn't care 1 somedings moost turn up, some- how, for der same sun as shines on der palace vor der rich, shines on der cottage vor der poor I [Se siis dovm again, pours himself out a glass of leer, takes a pipe, and is evidenUy comfortable under difficulties. Dame Pretzel gives hersdf up to grief, and Mart goes to the window. First Constable. No beer, andno 'baccal andthey talk of farmers' hospitaUty 1 Second Constable. Not even to offer us a chair I No wonder we feels no compunction in taking the lot. Parmer Pretzel (starting to his feet, and appealing, as usual, to the ceiling). Der hard-hearted lawyer as asks a honest farmer vor der rent is nicht wort de name von man I (He resumes his seat, and continues placidly smoking^ I von't make no effort. I never does. Somedings moost turn up ! Mart (who has been looking out of window). Mother ! father ! the ship I the ship 1 the ship I Her Parents (poth springing to their feeC). Where? Mart (pointing). There! there! See, they are crowding all sail! Tom knows our danger, be assured ; and has persuaded the captain to hasten his return. (She comes from the window,' and also appeals to the ceiling.) For to rescue a female in distress, what true Yankee captain would refuse the prayer of evpn the humblest coxswain? [The Constables begin to move ahout the fumiiure, when a sJiovi is heard from witJiout, and Tom Tarpaulin, the " gallant Yankee tar," rushes into the room. He kisses Mart, then her moiJier, and shakes the old man by both hands. Mary gives way to Iter joy , bttt the Farmer and his Dame eye Tom doubtfully. 102 DEAMAHC CHAEADES. Mart. Ohl Fm so glad to see you, my dear Tom; and so are father and mother. Father and Mother (^stUl dovhtfuMy). Humph ! Tom (who is continually hitching up his trousers to prove his nauti- cality). Yes, here I am, come to my moorings at last — ^with twenty- sevsn wounds — got in twenty-seven engagements ! Farmer and his Wife. Humph I Tom. But I've got lots of prize-money — enough to make all our fortunes, and to'huy a cottage and garden for my dear Molly. [Tom is advartdng towards Mart, when he is rushed upon and abmost suffocaied by the affectionate embraces of the Parmer and his Wife. Dame (releasing him). I always said Tom would come home rich. Farmer (releasing hirri). I knew somedings vould turn up 1 \ToM produces from innumerahle pockets innumerable bags of money, which he throws about with reddess profusion. The Constables come forward, and present a paper to Tom. He reads it, and tears it to atoms. Tom. Shiver my timbers 1 avast heaving 1 strike my topsails! etc., etc., etc. What do you mean ? What ! ask a pretty woman for her rent, and a Yankee sailor to the fore ? There I you land-sharks ! (He gives each a bag of money. Then again embraces Mart.) And now for love and jollity. Stay, I had forgot. [He walks over to Constables, kicJcs first one, then the other They bath bow humbly and go out. Tom. So that matter settled, we'll first have a dance, and then drink Bi'ccess to the Yankee tar, and the ship that brought him over. \The old couple and Mart draw aside, while Tom, first placing his hat on the extreme back of his head, folds his arms, and proceeds to go through the steps of a hornpipe ; and the performance concluded, takes Mart's hand, and bows to the applauding and delighted audience. FRIENDSHIP. Horatio Brows. Walter Jones. Jack Robinson. Emilt. SCENE in.— ^ Drawing-Hoom. Horatio Brown and Waiter Jones discovered seated, both in a despondent condition. Horatio (loolcing up). Have you ever been in love, Walter ? [He sighs. rEtESTDSHIP. 103 Waiter (looking ap). Have I ? Ain't I in love now 1 [He sigJis. Horatio Curious coincidence — that we should both be in love at the same time. Walter (rising). It is curious; friend of my childhood, confide in me — and I Horatio (rising). Will do the same. Walter (solemnly). I will [They embrace, then draw chairs to ihe front, place ihem dose togetJier, and sit dovm. Horatio. It was a balmy day in June, in the year eighteen hu-, dred and fifty-six, when two travellers might be seen slowly wending their way. Walter, Tou interest me. Horatio. Towards High Bridge. One was a handsome youth, whose graceful figure was set off to advantage by a light brown palet6t, and his chestnut hair fell in clustering curls over his high an4 intellectual forehead. Walter. Go on. Horatio. I will — ^his companion was a beautiful girl, who had scarcely numbered seventeen summers ; yet upon her brow there sat an air of pensive melancholy. Walter (with a slight shrug of impalience). She was Horatio (clasping his hands and looking upwards). My heart's adored. Walter. And her companion? Horatio. Myself. Walter. Tou astonish me. (Se sighs.) My love was also beauti- ful; and in the year you mention, had also scarcely numbered seven- teen summers. Horatio. Touching coincidence. Walter. Affecting sympathy. [They embrace. Horatio (resumes his seat and story). That day I made her the offer of my hand and heart, which she Walter. Accepted. Horatio (wiMy). 'Eejectedl Walter. My friend, be comforted. Mine were rejected too. (Wal- ter ctmmences his story, while Horatio takes out handkeircMef and weeps copiously.) It was a wUd and boisterous night in March Horatio. Proceed, my friend, your story is fuU of interest. Walter. "When a young girl might have been observed, seated quietly by the parlor fire. 104 DRAMATIC CHARADES. HoBATio (starts). Such was Emily's .constant habit; especially on such nights Waltek. Emily ! — her name was Emily 1 1 1 [The friends gaze at each other; then STiddenly move their chairs some feet apart. HoEATio. Her other name ? Walter. Nay, answer me 1 Both (together). Smith 1 [They start to their feet, and advance threateningly towards each other. Houatio (laughs sardonically). You to love her — insolent presump- tion I Walter (Za«5'7is sardonically). You hope to win — contemptible as- surance,! [They advance dose to each oilier. HoKATjo (/lis eyes traveUiny slowly down Waltee, commencing at hia necJc-iie and finishing at his hoots). Eellow I Walter (doing the same ly Horatio, only commencing at hoots and finishing at nech-tie). Person ! Horatio. Resign her ! Waltpr. I shan't ! BoTn (double their fish). Emily Smith is EiiiLV (sudde^xly altering). Here ! [Gentlemen faU hade in much confusion. Emily. How do you do, cousins ? What, quarrelling, and you such friends ! Both (contemptuously regarding each other). Friends I Emily. Why not? What has interrupted your friendship ? Both. Tou. Emily. I ! Why, it seemed to me that I interrupted your quarrel- ling. Horatio. I love you ! Walter (with a contemptuous laugh). He loves you ! Horatio. We love you ! Emily (laughing). What are you about, declining the verb to love ? Well, I must decline it too, as far as you both are concerned. Both (one at each side of her). Oh, say not so ; decide between us 1 Emily (still laughing). But I can't. Both. Wliy not ? Esuly. I'm married 1 [Horatio and Walter each faU hade into a chair, making affecting tableau. Emily (running from one to the other, fanning them with her poclcet- BAIfDAGE. 105 handlcerchie/y How foolish you are I Oh dear ! oh dear 1 I'll call my husband Both the G-entlemek (springing to ilieirfeet). No, don't! Emily. He's here. Enier ihird gentleman. Hohatio and Walter looh at him and start. Both. Jack Eobinson I EoBiNsoN. Yes, my dear fellows, I'm the happy man. Sorry to have supplanted you; but when a lady's in the case, you know [The two friends looh sheepishly at each other. Emily advances heiween tliem, and addresses the audience. Emily. Ladies and gentlemen, — I am sorry that affairs, even for a moment, should have assumed so threatening an aspect; but am. now happy to announce, with the concui'rence of my two alUes (she indi- cates Horatio and Walter), that friendly relations between the rival lovefs are again resumed. [She Joins their hands. Eobinson waves his hat. And with this pleasing tableau ofgenerai reconciliation the Charade concludes. CHARADE VI. BANDAGE. Anteek Tello wleap, yrom (Jalifomia. l^^\ his Nieces. , Masters Brown, Jones, and Eobinson, ffieir Friends. BAND- SCENE I. — An elegant Interior. Music Boolts and Instruments lying ahout. Enter Lillie and Olivia. LiLLiE. Well, now, dearest I am delighted that you so cordially 106 DEAMATI_ CHAEADES. faU into my views. Ohl it will he charming! Dear uncle, who, as you know, arrived this morning from California, where he has spent, I'm told, more than ten years, but who was born upon this very spot, is, no doubt, passionately attached to old customs. Among these, that one of celebrating New-Year's Eve with "music," will probably be the most cherished in his memory, and dehghtful to his feeUngs. Olivia. Oh I beyond question, my Iotc; and your plan of bringing in the assistance of our friends and beavx, Masters Brown, Jones, and Robinson, as the musicians, is, I declare, a perfect inspiration. But you are so clever I LiLLiE. Well, I don't know that I can justly claim all the merit of the idea. Tou know what a perfect JuUien at concert^conducting Brown is, and how fond of getting up musical parties. It was this talent of his which suggested the notion to my mind. However, it is all settled. Master Jones is to take the drum and pan-pipes, Robinson will be trombone, and Lyte Brown will lead off with Ins viohn. Olivia. And our parts will be the easy ones of listeners in our snug warm room, while our gentlemen friends are scraping and thumping away in the cold. LiLLiE. Just so. But hark! I hear them coming. We meet in this room to make our final arrangements. (^Ooes to side.} Yes, here they Enter Brown, Jones, and Robinson, carrying Music Books and Instru- ments.* They are arrayed in greatcoats, and muffled up to represent street performers. After the exchange of lows and the u,sual compli- ments, Beown. Well, here we are; don't you think, ladies, that we look our parts well ? Olivia. To admiration. But then, you know, a musician is not usually tested by his looks. Brown. Oh ! it's all right ! we have had a jolly practice. Haven't we, boys ? down yonder in an out-house, adjouung the dog kennels. Jones. And the best of it was that, although we went twice through aE our pieces, we were never discovered. OuviA {archly). TsTo, foUis mistook your performances for the howhng of the dogs. Robinson. Oh ! But, Miss Olivia, you are such a quiz. Come — come, time flies, let us see what has to be done "j^ * Where the real things are Impracticable, it will do to substitute imitations; tha performers singing In such a way as to suffs:est the Instruments requiretl to be used. BANDAGE. lOV Brown. Tes. Well, I think that as we have had so many previous consultations, nothing remains to be settled. After supper, we repair to our posts. You, Miss Lillie, will give the signal when all is ready, by pjacing your candle in the window. Is there anything else, lads ? Jones and Robinson (together). Nothing, I think. OuviA. Except that as it is a seasonably cold night, I shall go and warm myself by roasting a few chestnuts. Omnes. Then, mind you don't burn your fingers! Ha! ha! ha I [Boius and eoceimt. Scene closes. —AGE. SCENE n. — An Ante-^oom, with a door at the hack to open and shut. Darle. Enter as from Bedroom, Anteek Yellowleaf. He is attired in a lona dressing-gown and nightcap, and has a rather decrepid and worn-out look, Se carries a candlestick, or night-lamp, in his hand. Anteek. Ugh! TJgh! (couching.) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! TJgh! ugh! I'm afraid I'm not getting younger. I canH sleep. These relatives of mine are, no doubt, very good people, and mean well to me, but, ugh, ugh, they have put me into a room that is haunted; not wit'i one ghost, but with a dozen. I canH sleep, do what I wiU. There's a noise in the chimney. There's another behind the wainscot. The case- ment keeps up a continual rattle ; and the bedstead creaks like that pair of mining boots which I threw last year at the head of George Washington Boggs, Senator from PineviUe, up in the mountains. Even the lamp spits and splutters as if it was a frying-pan fuH of dripping. And of all things in the world, I like quietness — especially of a night. I don't like to hurt the feelings of these relatives of mine, who, I've no doubt, are very good people, and mean well, or I'd ask them to let me have another room. Well, I must again try to get to sleep, for I'm as tired as a dog — as the saying is. Ugh! ugh! [Re retires into the room while spedking. Lillie and Olivia peep on from opposite comers, and then stealthily approach each other. Tliey speak in whispers. Lillie 'Tis now quite midnight, and I think our friends may approach and commence their serenade. What does your watch say ? Olivia Qooldng at Tier waicK). A quarter past twelve. Yes, do, for goodness' «ake, le'' them begin. 108 DEAilATIC CHAEADES. LiLLiE. By all means. I will go and give the signal No doubt, our good uncle is in a sound sleep. Let ttshe careful not to wake him. [£!xeunt. Anteek Tellowleaf (putting his head ovi of the door, arid projecting the rays of his lamp in every direction). I feel certain I heard something. What could it be? If I was not thoroughly conscious that these rela- tives of mine were good people, and meant well to me, I should be apt to think they were plotting to destroy my night's rest (Ee comes out.) Ugh! ugh! ugh! I can't get to sleep. I've tried — and tried — and tried again. But, no. There I am staring, wide awake, Uke a wax figure. But it won't do. If I lose my night's rest I shall be ill to- morrow, and that will never do, with the amount of business on hand that I have. Here goes, then, to make another attempt. I do hope I shall be more fortunate this time. [Exit into hedroom. [The music is heard, at first faintly, and then louder. Antebk again appears at his door in a terrible passion. The music shordd now play loud enough to render his voice unintelligible. Anteek. Now, this is too bad ! Some rascally musicians I "What can I do to get rid of them ? I'd bribe them, only I fear that that would make them play louder at the next house. Ughl ugh! Oh, this is little short of felony. Oh, a lucky thought ! (He retires into the room, and returns vAih water-jug.') I'll fling this at the head of the leader. I'U be bound that will quiet him. [ Ooes out at side. Crash heard. Music ceases. Antebk returns, looking pale and angry. Anteek. I hope I didn't hurt him, but that's his business. To be disturbed in such a way ; and at my time of life 1 too bad ! too bad ! Ugh ! ugh 1 [Exit into clmmber. Scene closes. BANDAGE. SCENE TIL-^A Eredkfast Parlor. Lillie and OLrwA sealed. A vacant amp-chair near the table. Lillie. Well, dearest, and what did you think of our friends' per- formances last night ? Olivia. Oh, dehghtful in the extreme I But, do you know, loyo, I am at a loss to account for one circumstance ! JiiLLiE, Indeed ? What is it ? BAITDAGE. 109 Ol.tia. Wliy,'ei11ier jhe tunes were so sleep-inducing that I went off into a slumber before they had played five minutes, or the music came to a sudden stop. LiLLiE. How very surprising, to be sure I My own impressions ex- actly. But we shall see our gentlemen amateurs this morning, and receive their explanation of the circumstance. (Bdl heard.) Ah ! there is dear uncle's belL He will be down in a moment. Let us be silent as to the serenade, until we have observed what kind of impres- sion it may have made upon him. Enter Anteek Tellowleap, haning feebly upon a walking-cane. Lilme and OtrviA advance eagerly to meet him, and condiict him to his arm- chair. LiLLiE. Dearest uncle, we hope that you slept well, and that your night's rest Anteek (interrupting her). Not a word, my dear niece, of last night — not a word. Oh dear, ugh 1 ugh 1 I didn't sleep a wink (Lillie and Olivia exchange glances). At first, from fidgettiness — and then, oh, dear I from remorse Olivia. Eemorse ! uncle ! Anteek. Of conscience ! Yes, I fear that I have killed somebody, I fear — ugh 1 ugh I — my poor nieces — that your old uncle is a homi- cide! Lillie and Olivia (together). Ho:w very dreadful ! Erder a Servant, who announces Masters Brown, Jones, and Robinson, in their ustuil attire. After which, enter Brown, wiih a cloth tied over his head, supported by Jones and Kobinson. Anteek (aside). Who are these ? In stature, they remind me of the musicians of last night. Pray, heaven, it may be so. Brown. We have intruded upon you, sir, and upon these ladies, in order to present the earli/»st possible apology for the disturbance^ w^ch our well-meant — out, as it would appear, ill-timed music caused Anteek (rising). Then you are the musicians of last night ? Brown, Jones, and Robinson. We are, Anteek. And I did not kill anybody ? Brown. No, sir, only bruised in a slight degree — your very humble servant 110 DEAMATIC CHAKADES. Anteek. Good I Then, 'tis I who owe you an apology ; for I per- ceive that your excellent intention was to honor me. I am sorry that the natural irritability of a man at my time of life led me to appreciate your performances so unworthily. If you will forgire me (they ap- proach, and shake hands) — ^we will be friends. At any rate — if I dare invite you to breakfast in a house not my own, our fair hostesses will excuse the freedom ; and if our neighbors here will excuse us also, all may yet be well While they are considering their .verdict, we will sing them an old air, which will awaken memories of the past,. and give to the old friends who are present a watchword for the future : — AULD LANG SYNE. Should auld acquaintance be forgot. An' never brought to min' ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot. An' days o' lang syne ? CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne ; We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet. For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes. An' pou'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, Sin' auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, &c. And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie's a hand o' thine ; And we'll tak' a right gude willie-waught For auld lang syne. For auld, &a And surely ye'll be your pint stowp, And surely I'U be mine ; • And we'll tak* a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. For auld, &a SWEEPSTAKES. A CHARADE IN THREE ACTS. SWEEP— ^iHmafis person. Little Sweep. Old JJADT. Sekvant. Old Sweep. SCENE I. — Interior of Servants' Kitchen, tvith the screen arranged as the fire-place. Little Sweep, crying (outside), " Sweep, sweep, sweep !" Enter Servakt hastily, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She rushes to the door and beckons, when 112 ACTING CHAKADES. Enter Little Sweep and Old Sweep, dressed in black, and carry- ing brooms, and dirty clothes soot bag. Their faces are also covered with soot* The Servant deskes them to sweep the chimney, and gives the Old Man money. Little Boy draws a nightcap over his eyes, and, taking his broom, plimges into the fire-place, his master holding a cloth before the opening. The entrance is too small and he cannot ascend. Old Sweep is enraged, and lights a fire with some straw he has brought witi. him, to make the boy ascend. Mceunt Old Sweep and Servant, to see whether Little Sweep has got to the top of the chimney. SCENE n. — The Bed-room of Old Ladt. Against the waU a painting of a Young Woman. In the window curtains tlie Old Lady discovered sleeping. She snores. Enter Little Sweep from down the chimney. He lifts the cap from his eyes, and wipes them several times to remove the soot. On looking about him he is astonished to find that he has mistaken his chimney, and got into the wrong room. He is alarmed, and wrings nis hands in terror. He gazes wildly about the room, and by his inno- cent actions intimates that he will be taken up and perhaps hung. [Se prays. He feels much calmer and admires the apartment. His eye rests on the picture against the wall, and he is visibly moved. He, in affecting pantomime, confesses that he has never known a mother's love, and weeps.t Suddenly he hears the snormg of Old Lady. He is alarmed, and runs about wildly. Then, advancing on tip-toe to the bed, he with- draws the curtain and gazes on Old Lady. He intimates that there is a striking resemblance between the picture and the Old Lady, and betrays a strong wish to embrace her. He gently lifts her hand and kisses it. The Old Lady wakes. On seeing Little Sweep she screams, and hastily draws to the cur- tains. Little Sweep kneels at the bed-side imploring forgiveness. He relates his mistake about the chimneys, and stating that he has never known a mother's love, appeals to her feelings. * A black silk mask must be put in requisition ; nnless, indeed, some enthusiastie gentleman will consent to be burnt-corked. + None but a flrst-rate artiste should undertake the part of the little sweep. The whole piece depends upon the audience being convinced that he hns never known a mother's love. SWEEPSTAKES. 113 Old Lady is about to drive him away, when her eyes rest upon a locket hanging to his neck. She hastily examines it, presses hei forehead, seizes the boy's head, and looks intently into his affrighted eyes. Then, clasping him to her bosom, she declares herself to be his mother.* Enter Servant and Old Sweep in search of Young Sweep. The Old Lady horrified at being discovered in deshaMUe, rushes behind the bed-curtains. Thrusting out her head and arm, points to Little Sweep as her son and heir. GRAND TABLEAU. —STAKES (Steaks). giaraalis persona;. Struggling Clerk. Butcher. Landlord. Waiteress. SCENE— Outside o/'Butcher's Slwp. On one side a table covered with plates of imitation diops and steaJcs. Enter Butcher with housemaid's blue apron on, and the knife-steel hanging from his waist. In his hand he carries the carving-knife, which he sharpens, at the same time inviting passers-by to patronize him. Enter Struggling Clerk with blue bag in his hand. His eye rests on the meat, and he stands for a moment gazing at it. Butcher advances to him and tempts him with his low prices. Clerk yields, and, approaching the table, examines the different lots. He purchases a steak, which he wraps up in his pocket-handkerchief, and gives money to the Butcher. Exeunt Butcher and Clerk dancing. * The interest and pathos may be greatly increased by the motlier searching for the strawberry her son was marked with on the left arm. At the embrace, a splendid eflfect — always sure of success — can be had, by the sweep blacking bis mother's gown. This Is done by cunningly placing a black silk handkerchief on the white skirt during the embrace. 114 ACTING CHAKADBS. SCENE IL — Caffe^oom at a Tavern, with table and chairs in centre. Enter Struggling Clerk, who rings the bell, when Enter Landlord. Clerk tells him that he wishes for something to drink, and, taking the steak from his bag, desires him to cook it, by- making a hissing noise, and going through the pantomimic process of frying. The Landlord is delighted, and exit with steak. Enter Waiteress with a jug and a glass. Clerk is smitten with her charms, and invites her to drink. She indignantly refuses, motioning him back with her hand. He pleads, but in vain. Exit Waiteress, haughtily. Enter Landlord with tray. He places it before Clerk, who devours the steak, raising his eyes to the ceiling, and pressing his bosom to tell of its tenderness. The Landlord is affected to tears, and, by shaking his head, expresses his fears that poor Clerk does not often have a steak for dinner. When he has eaten enough. Clerk places the remainder of the steak in an old newspaper. He tells Landlord by gestures that it is for his wife and children, who are very dear to him. He pays Landlord, who weeps. Exeunt Clerk and Landlord. ^d III. SWEEPSTAKES. Villagers. Merchants. Village Crier. Boys. Donkeys. Poor Motheb. SCENE. — A country fair. Booths and tables laden with merchandi e in all directions. Enter Merchants, who shake hands with each other, and proceed t^ SWEEPSTAKEKi 115 their tables and arrange their wares. Other Merchants stand -with trays of cakes and boxes of cigars, awaiting their visitors. Enter Villagers dressed in their best clothes, laughing and smiling. They advance to the different tables and purchase goods. Some buy silks and others necklaces. The Gentlemen deal largely with the Cigar Merchants, obtaining a cheroot and a. light for the counter penny they hand him. The Merchant with cakes is next visited, and his whole tray soon emptied. The pickle jar fuU of marbles for brandy balls is soon dis- cussed. .Exeunt the different Dealers with empty trays, highly satisfied. Enter Village Crier. He informs the Villagers, by riding an ima- ginary horsej that there is to be a race for a Sweepstakes, and he be- seeches them to give him money. They are dehghted with the idea, and hand him some. He bids them arrange themselves into a line, so as to form a race- course, and then exit Crier, ringing a bell violently. Enter Two Bots, adorned with ribbons, and mounted on Donkets,* which they urge on with sticks. The Villagers are delighted, and laugh and stamp on the floor. The Village Crier stands at the end of the room, holding in his hand the sweepstakes. The excitement of the race grows immense ; the spectators waving their handkerchiefs and cheering on the boys, who cannot make their Donkeys move. Enter Poor Mother with a long pole, having a bunch of cabbages tied to the end of it. She hands it to her Son, and prays. The Boy holds it before his Donkey, who immediately gallops after it. The People cheer, and the Crier hands the purse to the fortunate winner. The Boy advances to his Poor Mother, and kneeling, presents the money to her with it. Crier and Villagers weep. * Gentlemen may object to appear in this character, bat they must not be listened to. Ajiy one who has been newly married will perform the part to the life. PIGTAIL. A CHAEADE HT THREE ACia gxt|. PIG— grairalis ^traunH;. Show-Keepeb. Hi3 Wife. The Learned Pig Toby. Spectators. SCENE — The interior of as how, with chairs placed round for Speotatees. Against the door a hooJccase or deshfor an organ. Enter Show-Bj;eper and His Wife dressed in a man's greatcoat She seats herself at the organ, and commences playing. [Jifimc on the piano. The Showman, bending forward, puts his hand to one side of his mouth, as if shouting. He beckons the people outside to walk up, holding forth a placard, written " Only a Penny." At last he takes up a trumpet of roll of music, and blows through it. Enter Spectators, who pay their money at the organ, and take their places. The organ still continues playing, and the Showman blows his trumpet louder and louder, until the Spectators grow impatient, and advance to His Wife, holding out their hands to receive their money back. Showman pacifies them, and having shut the door, leads from the vrindow-curtains the Pig Toby. It has a blue ribbon round its neck, and its skin of white mackintosh is beautifully clean. The Showman points to the Spectators, who are clapping their hands, and the Pig grunts three times. His AVife, taking from her greatcoat pocket a pack of cards, hands them to the audience, who choose a card. Tlie pack is .then spread in a circle upon the ground, and the PIGTAIL. IIY Showman, pointing to it, stamps his foot to :ommanJ the Pig to ijoint out the chosen card. The Pig, grunting, advances to the circle. [Soft music on the organ. At last Toby stands before a card and grunts. The Spectators shake their heads to intimate that Toby has made a mistake. The Showman beats Toby with a stick. [-Great sgueaJcing. The animal beg^s again, and at last stands before the right card. The Spectators clap their hands for joy. The Showman then dances, and invites Toby to do so also. The Pig stands on its hind feet, and endeavors to perform a jig. The Audience is delighted, and laughs merrily. At last the Pig, taking a plate in its mouth, goes round to the Au- dience to collect halfpence, when JEhdi the Audience rapidly, followed by Toby, and the Showman and TTia Wife sneering. —TAIL. Bold Perfobmee. Other Actors. AuMENOE. Eaging Lion. SCENE — Interior of a Theatre. Candles are placed for Tamps hefore the stage, and seats are arranged fbr the Audience and Orchestra. Enter The Audience running over the seats, and scrambling and pushing for the best places. Several screams are heard,, and a fight takes place at the door. At last all are seated, when Enter Musicians, who gaze for some time upon the Audience, until whistling and clapping of hands begin, when they commence tuning their instruments. A bell is heard,, and the music strikes up, the Au- dience all seating themselves. (Music.) The curtain rises. The scene is supposed to represent a desert in Arabia. Against the wall the window-curtains are drawn close, and the roaring of a lion is heard behind them. 118 ACTING CHAKADES. The Audience all point to the curtains, to tell that tl ey know where (he Lion is. Enter' Actoes, dressed as a Prince and his followers, as richly as possible. Enter Bold Performer in bonds of jack-chain. He wears a large cloak, and walks proudly, sneering at the Prince. He is ordered- to bow the knee, but haughtily refuses. The Prince points to the cur- tains. [Terrific roarings again heard. Bold Performer starts, but recovering himself, sneers at Prince. The Prince stamps his foot and the curtains are drawn open, and discover the Lion roaring. He has a fine mane of drawing-room mat, and a long tail of Bell-rope, the tassel dragging on the ground. The Audience applaud the Lion, who is confined in his cell by the rails of a folding clothes-screen. The Prince gives the signal, and the Lion is let loose. It rushes to the Bold Performer and crouches before him. The Audience applaud. He puts his foot on the beast, and opens his hands to the Spectators, who cheer. Then holding out one arm, he makes the Lion jump over it. Next he makes the brute lie down, and he uses him in a graceful attitude for his pillow. Eenewed applause. Last of all, having closely examined the Lion's tail, he opens its jaws, and puts his head into its mouth. Pointing to the tail, he draws a placard, written "Does it Wag?" and shows it to tlie Prince. [Tlie Lion iasJies its tail. The Prince with a, look of horror nods his head, but in an instant the Bold Performer's head is bitten off.* Bold Performer falls down. The Audience scream, faint, rush to the door, when exeunt The Lion is secured and led off by Actors, and the Bold Performer, supported by the Prince, staggers off. [Exeunt omnes. * It Is for this point that tho Bold Performer wears t j oak. He n nst oUverlr slip It over his head, on which' is placed a piece < f red Bilk. \ PIGTAIL 119 get III. PIGTAIL. gramatre ^trsmtat. JOLLT TaES. Their Sweethearts Captain. Barbers. Marines. / SCENE — The front drawing-room qzuzrterdeck of one of U. S. ships. The bolster on the Oanierhury for a cannon. Enter Jolly Tars, with long pigtails of boas and twisted handker- chiefs. They are all putting qaids of tobacco in their mouths. They shake hands, and dance hornpipes. Enter Captain, wearing a paper cocked-hat, and hair-brush epaulets. His sword hangs by his side. Drawing it, he orders silence by stamp- ing. Taking from his pocket a placard, he holds it up before the audi- ence, and on it is written, "Pigtails must be cut off directly !" The men fall back in horror ; they then advance with clasped hands imploringly to the Captain, who refuses, untU at last he is overcome by the touching spectacle, and weeps, dashing away the tear with manly action. He stamps, when Enter Marines, with brooms for muskets. They stand in a file, and having gone through their exercises, drive back the Sailors. Enter Barbers with their coats off, and aprons on. They carry combs and scissors. The men coEect in a group and grumble. The Captain orders a Sailor to advance, and he refuses, folding his arms. Captain waves his sword. The Marines present brooms, and are about to charge, when Enter Sweethearts, hurriedly. They stand with open arms before the Jolly Tars, determined to protect their lovers with their lives. Captain and Marines weep. Sweethearts, by their loving actions, persuade the Jolly Tars to submit, imploring them with clasped hands to go to the chair. Two advance unwillingly. The Barbers cut off their pigtails. Their weeping Sweethearts pick them up, and kissing -them fondly place them in their bosoms. The whole of the men un- dergo the operation, each one on leaving the chair shaking his fist at , 120 ACTING CnARADES. the trembling Barber. But tbe Marines protect tlie Haircutters, and with their brooms drive back the Sailors. Exeunt Sailors, leaning on their Sweethearts' arms. The Marines once more go through their gun-exercises, when exeunt, led off by. Captain, and followed by Barbers. NEIGHBOR. A CHARADE IN THESE ACTS. NEI&H— JramHlis §tt«0ira£. DAnrns. Six Conspieators. Theie Cdakgers. Groom to Darius. His Horse. Persian Gtenerals and Soldieks. Persian Citizens. SCENE — An imaginary plain of vast extent. Lamps are lowered, to denote thai the sun has not yet risen. I Enter Darius on foot, accompanied by his Groom leading his Horse. Darius is magnificently dressed in robes of scarlet drugget, and wears a tm-ban of Indian shawl. He, by his actions, informs his Groom, who kneels before him, that he must, together with the Horse he leads, con- ceal himself behind the drawing-room curtains. The Groom salaams in answer, and taking the purse offered him by Darius, hides himself with his Horse. ' Exit Darius. - I ■i NEIGHBOE. 12 J Re-enter Davius on his Charger, surrounded by Six Conspibators, all magnificently dressed and mounted. They shake hands, and then drawing themselves up in a line, await the rising of the sun, ^ The lamps are turned on, to intimate that the sun has just risen. Im- mediately the Groom, drawing aside the curtains, discovers himself and his Horse. The Charger of Darius, on perceiving his companion, neighs to it in recognition. The Six Conspirators descend from Their Chargers, and stand in ii row before Darius, who remains mounted. They bend the knee as a sign of their obedience. Darius courteously begs of them to rise, and they remount their Chargers. Enter Persian Generals in full armor of dish-cover breastplates, and turbans of rich shawls and scarfs. They lead on their Troops, car- rying spears of brooms, and banners of fire-screens. The Generals bend the knee to Darius, who, by his affable pantomime, wins their love. The Generals, drawing their swords of walking-sticks, deliver them to the king, who immediately returns them. A crown of jelly mould is placed on the head of Darius. The Troops pretend to shout with loyalty, and wave their spears and banners high in the air. Enter Citizens, appearing to shout, and dancing for joy. Darius addresses them in a few energetic gestures, frequently striking his breast The citizens are melted to tears. They all kneel The king distributes among them pieces of card counter money. Exewrd procession to grand march on thes piano. ^11. =^ — BOR (Boar). Jrainalis ^trsomti. A OouNT (in. lome, with a Lady). German Huntsmen. A Ladt (in love vnth a CounC). Servants. '.Horses. ' Dogs. Boar. {^ SCENE represents, if possible, a wood in Germany. Huge trees are sup- posed to be visible on aU sides. Hunting chorus on the pianoforte, at first at a great distance, and graduaUy increasing, when Enter a Count on horseback, and surrounded by German Huntsmen also mounted, and Servants holding back the impatient Doos. The 6 122 ACTING ClIAKADES. Count has his trouser stiicked up, to show his boots, and wears a belt round his frock coat, and a feather in his hat. He is armed with a long spear of broom or curtain-rod, and has several knives, in belt. The Huntsmen also wear imitation roihantio Grerman costumes, and carry long spears. • A flask is passed round, from which they aU drink. A horn is heard without. Enter a Lady on foot, escorted by two servants, who hold her horse. She wears a long riding-habit of table-cover, and is armed with a short spear of bright poker. The Count, on seeing her, is startled, and expresses, by pressing his bosom, his love for her. She informs him in impassioned pantomime — a la Celeste — ^that she wiU join in the chase. The Count is alarmed, and turns aside in sorrow. He implores her, on his knees, to go back. She refuses. The Huntsmen mount their steeds. Exeunt omnes, the Count escorts the Lady. Enter a wild Boak,* growling, he squats on the ground, and looks around. The sounds of trumpets and the barking of dogs heard without SocU Boar rapidly. Ee-enter Boar, pursued by Dogs and Huntsmen, who cast their spears of brooms at the animal. The Dogs gain upon the Boar, who makes for the jungle of window-curtains. He is instantly surrounded by the Dogs. Several of them he is supposed to gore with his shoe- horn tusks. The Huntsmen urge the Dogs on. Enter the Lady, attended by the Count. Making a signal to the Count, she rushes to the Boar with pointed bright poker, and attacks it fiercely. The Boar springs upon her, and the Huntsmen drop their spears with alarm, as they perceive her overthrow by the savage animaL The Count for a moment wrings his hands, then drawing his hunt- ing-knife of walking-stick, he rushes boldly on the Boar, which imme- diately leaves the Lady, to engage the Count. [Terrific combat. The Count is wounded, and fights on one knee, when he slays the Boar. The Count has his wounds dressed by the Lady, who binds her haiidkerchief round his arm. Then falling on one knee, he declares his passion&j her in amatory pantomime. She, turning her head on one side from-modesty, accepts him. * IU*J11 require great ingenuity in the mating-up of the Boar. A brown mackintosh closely ftultoned, m;g1it do for tho skin, and on an emergency, shoe-horns could be used for tu6k§, NBIGHBOK. 123 Huntsmen group around the lovers, holding their hats high in the air, as if cheering, whUst the dead Boar is placed in clothes-basket, and hoisted upon the shoulders of the Servants. [Grand tableau. Sxeunl in pr'ocesaon, the piano performing Huntsman's March, dying away in the distance. ^ III. ( NEIGHBOR. SlOK Gentlemait. His Wife. Neighbors. SCENE — The stagers divided ly a screen into two rooms ; one of them represmils the bedchamber of Sick Gentleman, with the curtains arranged as a bed. Chairs, &c. Enter Sick Gentleman •with nightcap and dressing-gown on. He is very weak, and bends his knees whilst walking. His Wife follows, bearing the night-shade and the warming-pan. The Sick Gentleman seats himself, whilst his Wife warms the bed behind the curtains, and having given her Husband his physic, puts him to bed. She remains by his side until the invahd snores, then exit on tiptoe. Enter into the other room the Neighbors. One of them carries a large band-box drum, and the others trumpets of rolls of music. They place upon the table a black bottle and glasses, and commence drinking. Then, preparing their instruments, they begin playing. [MvMc. The Sick Gentleman is roused from his sleep, and starts up in his bed. He gazes wEdly around, and shakes his fist at the screen, fie in vain tries to go to sleep. - , Enter his Wife wrin^ng her hands. She rushes to the wall of screen, and knocks against it loudly, but the musicians do not hear her, and continue their concert. ^ji; _ Sick Gentleman puts on lus dressing-govra, and jumping out of bed, paces the room with indignant strides. At last, taking a book, he seats himself and leaning over the rushlight shade, tries to read. ^ The Neighbors at last lay aside their instruments to replenish their glasses. The Sick llan throws away the book, and is helped -by MS Wife once more into his bed, and again he snores ' "• 124 ACXmG CHAKADES. The Neighbors now begin dancing to a drum accompaniment, open- ing their mouths as if singing, whilst hand in hand they are jumping round the table. The Sick Gentleman is once more aroused. Nearly driven mad, he rages and jumps about the room in an agony of desperation. He throws the book against the screen, and dashes his nightcap on the floor. His Wife is alarmed, and putting on her bonnet and shawl, stamps on the floor, and pointing to the screen, rushes out indignantly. Enter the Wife into Neighbors' room. She goes through the panto- mime process of informing them that her husband is sick in the next house. She thumps the table, and shakes her fist at them. They all laugh, and the drum strikes up again. Pull of indignation, she rushes from the room, followed by Neighbors. Sick Gentleman, surprised at this renewal of the noise, draws his dressing-gown round him, and pulling his night-cap tightly on his head, hurries from the room, shaking his fist at the ceiling to teU that he win be revenged. PASTIL. A CHARADE IN THREE ACTS. %d I. PAS— Jramafis f jrsonae. Mesdemoiselles (jpremieres danseuses at the Academie), SiGNOE. Musicians. boxkeeper. Spectators. / SCENE— Jrafer&r of a Theatre. At the lack is seen the stage, wifli can- dles ranged in front for lamps, and the sofa for orchestra. Chmrs placed round for Spectators. PASTIL. 125 Enter Spectators, in full dress. They are shown, into their chairs by the BoxKEEPEK, •who hands to each a sheet of music for playbiU. Enter Musicians into orchestral sofa, and the tuning of imaginary instruments commences. Some tune their bellows for violins, some sound a few notes on their trumpets of pokers, and others ascend the scale on their flutes of walking-sticks. The Spectators g^ow impatient, stamp upon the floor, and clap their hands, when a bell is heard to ring, and Enter (on the stage) Signoe and Mesdemoiselles. The Spectators raise their lorgnettes to examine them. They are greatly applauded, and bow gracefully in acknowledgment. The Signer is dressed as a Highland chief, with tartan scarf over his shoulder, and an ermine cuff hanging from his waist for philibeg. The Demoiselles wear the book muslin skirts, and if possible, the black velvet bodices of the Scottish lassies. The orchestra performs the celebrated Highland Fling, and the pas commences. During the performance the applause increases. At each fresh round the Signer jumps higher and higher, and the Mesdemoiselles stamp harder and harder, according to the popular notion of the Scot- tish poetry of motion. At the conclusion, the Dancers are called forward, and bouquets are showered down from all quarters. The Signer picks them up, and in the fifth position presents them to the Demoiselles. Renewed applause. The Dancers bow again and again, with their hands on their hearts to express their gratitude. I ^ct II. —TIL. Jramafis ftrsomte. Ceockeet Merchant. Lady and Gentleman. TouNG Thief. His Feiends. SCENE — Interior of the warehouse of Crockery Merchant. In the cen- tre a table covered with plates, dishes, and cups. In the front pans arranged near the door of the warehouse. Enter Ceockeet Meechant, with an apron on, and his ledger under 126 ACTING CUAEADES. his arm. Behind his ear is seen Hs pen. He seats himself at the table and awaits his customers. Enter Ladt and Gentleman, who desire the Merchant to show them his goods. They are extremely delighted with the breakfast cups, and the Gentleman drawing his pocket-book gives two notes for them. The grateful Merchant bows his Customers to the door, and then folding up the notes, he puUs out Dick. So " Irresistibly Impudent." Dick, centre. Charles and Jeknie, kfi. Mr. Wiglet, right. lilriug '^ittuxts. This style of amusement is already toleraHy well known, and quite popular in many places, but owing to a want o{ savoir /aire on the part of those who arrange the " living pictures," they are rarely produced with much effect, except at our best theatres, at the close of melo- dramas, pantomimes, or extravaganzas. Of course, the performance of the home-circle troupe will hardly expect to rival these, yet by following our directions carefully, some very brilliant and pleasing scenes may be arranged, with but little trouble, and at an almost nominal expense. The things to be observed in getting up a tableau, are just the same as in painting a picture. Light and shade, color and tone, are the means by which all pictorial effects are produced on the stage or on the canvas, and he who best understands their employment, is the best artist. Without doubt, the best place for the arrangement of tableaux, is a parlor, separated from the audience by folding-doors. The stage, heretofore described, however, may be made to answer very well, if there is sufficient room on each side of the curtain to conceal one or 154 TABLEAUX YIVANTS. two persons, to superintend the burning of colored lights,, the shifting of screens, eta It is impossible to give any fixed rules which will apply to all tableaux, as the effects required for different subjects are totally different. But a few general directions may not be amiss, as they will be found of fre- quent service, and will suggest many more. The costuming of the performers will be one of the most important features, and wiU depend entirely upon their taste and resources. Hints have abeady been given on this subject, as also on the " making up," by painting, etc. The colors of the garments used in tableaux are much more to be con- sidered than in dramatic representations, as much of the beauty of the picture depends upon a harmonious and pleasing distribution of tints. As a general rule, the Ughtest colored figures should be kept in the back-ground, to reUeve the darker ones. A sti-ong "bit of color," such as a scarlet shawl, or a mihtary coat, gracefully disposed in the middle ground, between the nearest and farthest figures, will have a good effect in many scenes, whether worn by some character, or thrown over a piece of furniture. At the same time, great care should be taken to avoid the common and vulgar error of combining too many gay colors. Indeed, the two great reasons of the want of artistic effect in tableaux, as commonly arranged, are first, too much Ught, and second, too much color. In almost every tableau where more than three figures appear, one at least should be in shadow, relieved by something light behind. The following diagram will show how the shadow may be gained: LIGHT. 2 1 3 m Q ?! « R. A STAGE. 5 LIGHT. 1 6 a * TABLEAUX 7IVANTS. 155 Suppose the figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, to represent the performers. The two lights, indicated thus *, illuminate the back of the stage, form- ing a light background. Pigure 1 will tlien be in range of both lights; figure 2 will be partially shaded by figure 5 ; figure 3 wiU be partiallj' shaded by the screens ; figures 4 and 5 will be in full light ; figure ' "■ in deep shadow from both screens, and figure 7 dimly illuminated bj the rear hght only. Here we have a different degree of light for almos. every character, and the effect will be found a charming one. Foot lights should hardly ever be used in arranging tableaux, as they giv< shadows exactly the opposite of picturesque. The lights should be bril liant, placed high up, and few in number. A good effect may some- times be got by cross-lights, but, generally, it is best to have them at on one side of the stage. Colored lights are capable of being used with very happy results, and it is by no means a difficult matter to produce them, either by colored fires, such as ar« used at the theatres, or by filling globes with colored liquids, and placing them in front of the lamps, Uke those we see in the windows of chemists' shops. Red fire, which is beautiful for lighting up the finale of a scene, especially where the subject is heroic, national, or martial, may be made from the following receipt (care must be taken to preserve the proportions) : Five ounces nitrate of strontia (dry) ; one-and-a-half ounces finely- powdered sulphur ; take five drams chlorate of potash, and four drams sulphuret of antimony, and powder them separately in a mortar; then mix them on paper, and haying mixed the other ingredients (previously powdered), add these last, and rub the whole together on paper. For use, mix a Uttle spirits of wine wilh the powder, and burn in a flat iron pan or plate. A beautiful green fire, forming a fine contrast to the former, may be made by powdering finely and mixing well thirteen parts flour of sul- phur, five parts oxymuriate of potassa, two parts metallic arsenic, and three parts pulverized charcoal Then take seventy-seven parts nitrate of baryta, dry it carefully, powder it, and mix the whole thoroughly. A polished reflector, fitted on one side of the pan in which this is burned, will concentrate the light, and cast a brilliant green lustre on the figures. A bluish-green fire may be produced by burning muriate of copper, finely powdered and mixed with spirits of wine, and several other colors can be obtained by a little study of chemistry ; but the smoke and smell of these preparations render them less pleasant for the draw- ing-room than the globes fiUed with colored liquids. Where a windovf opens from the side of the stage, the fire might be burned outside, ar 156 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. even in a hall, wlaere a door could be opened. Generally, however the other plan will be found the neatest and simplest. Sulphate of cop- per, dissolved in water (after having been heated and pulverized), will give a beautiful blue liquid. The common red cabbage, or htnius, so well known in chemistry, will give three different colors, thus : Slice the htmus thin, and pour boiUng water on it. Decant the in- fusion, when cold, and add a small quantity of alum dissolved in water, which will give a clear rich purple. If potash dissolved in water be used instead of alum, the water will assume a brilliant green tint. A fine crimson may be got by a few drops of muriatic acid, instead of alum or potash. For ghostly scenes, where a sepulchral unearthly effect is desired, the following may be tried, and if properly managed, will astonish even the performers themselves : Mix some common salt vrith spirits of wine, in a metal cup, and set it upon a wire frame, over a spirit-lamp. When the cup becomes heated, and the spirits of wine ignite, the other hghts in the room should be extinguished, 'and that of the spirit-lamp shaded in some way. The result will be that the whole group — ^faces, dresses, and all — wUl be of one dingy yellow tint, no matter how bright their cos- tumes or how rosy their cheeks may be. Another great accessory to the tableau, but one which cannot always be had, is thin gauze, or common mosquito netting — in fact, any stuff which can be seen through — to interpose between the audience and the scene. Several cm-tains of this, made to let down from rollers, one after another, wUl give a "beautiful, misty, vanishing appearance ; and if enough be unrolled, the tableau appears to vanish entirely, allowing room for a change of scene, if desired. This gauze should be carefully managed, as the disclosure of a ragged edge would dispel all the illu- sion. Many scenes should have one thickness before them at first, to prevent a too startling distinctness ; and some may be concealed entirely by the gauze, which is gradually roUed up, until the tableau becomes visible. These varieties of effect, however, depend on the subjects, and the talent of those who arrange them. A number of almost supernatural effects may be procured by the aid of a magic lantern; and that instrument wiE be found quite invaluable to the amateur theatrical company. Its use, in getting up tableaux or scenes containing ghosts, dreams, or fancies of any kind, is very great. These, with a few screens for shading certain figures, are about all the appurtenances required for arranging excellent tableaux which are at all diflieult to procure. The materials for all else may be found in TABLEAUX TIVAISTTS. ,151 almost any house, either in tlie city or country. The tableaux which follow are intended more to suggest how such things are to be done, than as models. After two or three of them have been got up, careful attention having been paid to the directions, it will be an easy matter to invent new ones. The great requirement on the part of the per- formers is, of course, merely to remain perfectly still — a feat which may be acquired to a wonderful degree by practising before a mirror. Where a large group is to be posed, there is often a tendency to laugh - — why, it is hard to say ; but this may be overcome by frequent re- hearsals. In fact, none but the very simplest tableaux should be pro- duced without three rehearsals at least, and many require half-a- dozen. We need scarcely add, that appropriate music on the piano-forte, harp, or other instnmient, will add much to the eifect of any tableaux. THE ARMY AND NAVY. In the centre of stage the Groddess of Liberty is sitting, resting upon her shield, and holding in her hand a pole, on the top of which is the Phrygian cap. On left centre of stage, a sailor is standing with the American flag in his hand. On the right centre a soldier is standing, also with a banner in his hand. The flags are crossed, and their faces are turned towards audience. POSITION OF CHAKACTERS IN TABLEATT. STAGE. FEONT OF STAGE. ). The Sailor. L Goddess of Liberty. 8. The Sailor. 8. The Soldier. In this tableau as much hght should be thrown upon the stage as possible. The Goddess of Liberty should have bare arms, and be arrayed in a loose, flowing, whit? garment. The shield of liberty 158 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. can easily be made out of cardboard, with the assistance of some Uue and red paint The liberty cap can also be made in the same way. With regard to the soldier and sailor, we presume that all our readers will be enabled to costume them without our assistance. Just before the curtain descends, a good effect can be produced by igniting some red fire on each side of stage. THE GAMBLER'S WAKNING. At right centre of stage is a table covered with green baize, around which six or seven men are sitting, playing at cards. At the back of stage is a sideboard with decanter and glasses. A negro in a white jacket is standing at sideboard, pouring some hquor into a tumbler ; near him, and leaning against the sideboard in an easy attitude, is one of the gamblers. On the left of stage some gauze should be stretched across diagonally, behind which is the figure of a woman, with one arm laid across her breast, and the other pointing upward. All the figures at the table are intently watching the cards, with one exception; he is standing erect, with an expression of wonderment and terror upon his face, and is looking at figure behind gauze. Hia left hand is resting upon the table ; the right is outstretched, holding a card ; two cards are upon the floor, as though they had just fallen from his hand. POSITION OF CHAEACTERS IN TABLEAU. STAGE. R. 1 2 1 3\ 6 V \ \4 5 1 ^ FRONT OF STAGE. I. The table at which the gamblerB are sitting 8. The sideboard. &. Crauzd stretched across stage. t Fignre beh.nd gauze. 5. The figure standing erect 6. The negro. 7. Man leading against sideboard. TABLEAUX -nVAJSTS. 159 In this tableau the right of stage should be in full light; the left in shadow. A strong soft light should be thrown upon the figure be- hind gauze, wliich can be made by letting the light shine through a globe of clear water. After a few moments, a good effect could he obtained by letting a blue light fall upon character on left, and a red one upon the gamblers. It can easily be done by using colored water in the globes. The figure behind gauze should be attired in a white robe, looking very pale, with a sorrowful expression upon her face. The gamblers should be well, but showily dressed, with heavy moustaches, otherwise cleanly shaved. The figure standing at table should be neatly dressed, and wearing no beard or moustache. MISCmEP m SCHOOL. For this tableau the stage should be furnished with desks, benches, etc., to resemble a echool as nearly as possible. A black board is hung at the back of the stage, in centre, and a boy stands on a stool before it, sketching a ridiculous caricature of the master. Three or four others stand around him, in school-boy position, watching the progress of the drawing. A desk is placed at right of stage, at which a boy sits, pretending to study; but with his eyes fixed on the door, left, where the master is seen entering with a long rod in his hand, and a grim smile on his face. Two boys are in the act of scuffling at the left of stage, concealed from the master by the door. Another stands on a table, near the desk, right, with the dunce's cap on his head. Three others are playing marbles near the group, centre. The diagram "on page 160 wiU explain the positions: Some of the boys may be eating apples, cakes, eta, and a variety of books, maps, inkstands, rulers, and other school-furniture should be scattered about here and there. As the interest of the scene depends entirely upon the surprise, but little attention need be paid to the effects of light and shade, etc., the main object being to have all the groups in plain sight, and naturally arranged. 160 TABLEAUX VIVANTS, R. ' 1 3 C. 5 4 10 8 9 11 12 V 2 6 FRONT OF STAGE. 1. B07 at black board. 2, 8, 4, 5. Boys looking on. C. Boy at desk, pretending to study. T. Table, ■with boy in dunce^s cap. 8, 9, 10. Boys playing marbles. 11. Boys scuffling. 12. Boor, with master entering. THE BURGLARY. Unlike the above, this scene owes its charm chiefly to the pictu- resqueness of its effects. The scene is a chamber, with a bed, right, in which a man is sleeping. Another, roughly dressed and closely muffled up, with a hat slouched over his eyes, stands over the sleeper, with a knife raised above him. The robber should be " made up" in the most repulsive manner possible — his face slightly smutted with burnt cork, a black patch over one eye, a red handkerchief loosely knotted about his neck, and his whole appearance tlaat of a scoundrel of the lowest class, (fe Introduction^ In the centre, another burglar is kneeling on one knee in front of a trunk, taking from it a variety of articles, some of which are scattered TABLEAUX VIVA2JTS. 161 about liim. Among these, some pieces of plate, jewelry, and ornaments of porcelain or metal, with some blue, green, crimson, or other gay stuffs, will give brilliancy to the scene, and should be illuminated by a dark lantern in the hand of the burglar who is examining them. A centre-bit, chisel, and pistols, should lie near him, and he should be made up similarly to the first. The chamber should cont&in a bureau, dressiag-case, etc. ; and a looking-glass may be so placed at back of stage as to reflect one of the burglars with good effect. The light on the stage should be very dim, and unless the stage be very large, that of the lantern will be sufiScient. The burglar at the bed should shade the sleeper, and be only in a half-hght himself The one at the chest should have his face in full Ught, and great care should be taken in making him up. For low or TUlanous characters, an addi- tional ghastliness may be produced by showing no white of shirt or collar, having simply a black or colored handkerchief around the throat. A black cloth tied around the head, and under the chin, gives a pecu Uarly horrible effect. c. 4 FRONT OF STAGE. 1. Bedf vitb man asleep. 8. Bnrgliir witli knife. S. Trunk, with articles scattered aboat. 4. Burglar with lantern. Of course, the sleeper's clothing should be hung upon a chair near the bed, and other appointments arranged about the stage to give an »ir of naturalness. 162 TABLEAUX VIVAJSTS. A single thickness of gauze in front of the scene will add to ita gloomy air. CAGLIOSTEO'S MAGIC MIEEOR. This tableau illustrates the tradition of the Magic Mirror possessed by Count Cagliostro, a so-called magician, who lived some time during the seventeenth century. In the present scene, he is supposed to be showing a young courtier the image of his lady-love, who is de- ceased. A large frame should be set up in the rear of the stage, centre, with a large volume open before it. A lamp, one of curious form, if such can be got, stands just behind the volume, and across the open pages of the latter a naked sword is laid. If a human skuU can be had, that also may be placed on the book. On the left of the frame, in shadow, stands Count Cagliostro, point- ing towards the vision. On the right, the young nobleman stands in an attitude of fear and wonder. The vision is in the centre of the frame, standing just back from it, and is represented by a young girl, extremely pale, in a long, sweeping, white robe, with her hands crossed upon her bosom, and her eyes turned upwards. One or two thick- nesses of gauze should be stretched over the frame, and the vision illuminated by two lights, placed one on each side, behind, and con- cealed by the frame. If curtains can be attached to the latter, so as to prevent the light of these lamps from falling on anything but the girl, the effect will be beautiful The costume of the Count should be a small black cap, with a single drooping black feather, a long black cloak or robe, with a lace collar turned over it, and rufiBes about his wrists; black stockings and knee- breeches, pumps with large buckles, and a small sword, complete the dress. His face should be rather pale, with a black moustache and heavy black eyebrows. His expression should be solemn, and a Uttle BOornfuL The young courtier should have a somewhat rich dress. A dark coat, with gold lace on the cuffs, collar, and lappels ; light-colored knee- breeches, white stockings, pumps with rosettes, a, dress sword, lace collar and wristbands, and (if possible) a powdered court wig. He may have a slight ^moustache and imperial, but should appear much TABLEAtrx VrVAUTS. 163 younger than Oagliostro, and should stand more in the light. Direc- tions for producing these occasional lights and shades will be found in the introduction. R. LU FRONT OF STAGE. X. A large table, upon wbicli the girl who represents the vision. Is to stand. Upon its front edge the frame is to be rested. 2. Small stand, covered with dark cloth, supporting book, lamp, sword, etc. 3. Cagliostro. 4. Ooartier. 5. 6. Curtains stretched from the side of the frame, to conceal the lamps which light up the vision. The framo may easily be made of narrow boards, roughly nailed together, and covered with black velvet, neatly tacked on. THE DRUNKARD'S HOME. A dilapidated room, with an empty grate, and an empty saucepan lying on its side, so that the audience can see the interior. In one comer of the room (L.) a bed of straw, upon which two chEdren are lying. The elder, a girl, is supporting the younger, a boy, and is leaning over him, as though she were trying to soothe him and keep him quiet. A mother is sitting upon a stool (R. C), holding.a baby closely to her breast, with an old worn-out shawl wrapped around it. On the right, the drunkard is stretched upon the ground, insensible from drink. His clothes are torn and muddy; by his side is an old and battered hat; in his hand is an empty bottle, which he still clutches firmly. The wife is gazing upon the husband, with a look of mingled love and sorrow. 164 TAia.EAUX VIVANTS. Everything is to denote, as much as possible, misery and want. The woman to have hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. The children upon the straw are to have bare arms, and to be "made up," so as to appear wretchedly thin and emaciated. {See instructions for making up.) POSITION OF 0HABACTER3 IN TABLEAtT. STAGS. FRONT OF STAGE. 1. The bed of straw, npon which the children are lying. 2. The wife. 8. The dmnkard. To heighten the effect of this tableau, some fine gauze might be stretched across the stage, so as to give everything a dim and cheerless appearance. In using gauze, care should be taken that the whole front of the stage be carefuUy covered, so as not to mar the effect by having a stronger light at the bottom, sides, or top, than in the centre. In- structions are given in the introduction to tableaux:, how the gauze can be fixed. SIGNING THE PLEDGE. The same room as in the Drunkard's 'Home. In the centre of the stage is a stooL The drunkard is kneeling upon one knee, with his face towards the audience. He has a pen in his hand, and is signing his name to a paper that is upon the stooL His eldest daughter is looking timidly over his right shoulder, with her left hand resting upon him. On the right of the drunkard is the temperance advocate ; he has an ink-horn in his hand, and is looking down, smiling benignantly. TABLEAUX VIVAiJTS. 165 upon the signer. At tlie left centre the wife is kneeling down ; on one arm she holds her babe, while the other is uplifted towards heaven. Her face is upturned also, with an expression of gratitude and happi- ness upon it The boy has hold of his mother's skirt, and is looking at her with wondering eyes. POSITION OP CHARACTERS IN TABLEAU. SIAGK FRONT OF STAGE. 1. The drankard sigBing pledge. 2. The daughter. 8. The temperance advocate. 4. The mother, ■with her habe. 6. The little boy. Instead of dropping the curtain, for tlie last tableau, " The Drunk- ard's Home," some gauze might be let down, gradually increasing in thickness, till it completely shuts out the tableau from audience. " Signing the Pledge," might then be arranged, which must be done quickly, but noiselessly ; then clear away all the gauze, and have a subdued hght fall upon the whole group. A good soft light can be obtained by letting the gas, or lamp, shine through glass globes, con- taining water. The globes, such as are seen in chemists' shop- windows, can easily be obtained at any druggist's fixture store, at a small cost The above tableaux, if arranged and conducted properly, wiU have a very pleasing and teUing result THE TBMPEEANCB HOME. A room comfortably, but meanly furnished, with a square piece of drugget in centre of stage. A deal table is placed on the middle of I6(t TABLEAUX VrVAOT'S. carpet, 'upon which are laid some tea-things, as though supper -was about to be served, ^t left of stage, the husband is standing, with his hat on, and a basket of tools at his back, as though he had just come in from work. The boy is clutching him round the leg, and looking up into his face. The girl is sitting on a chair (E.), nursing'the baby, and is looking towards her father with a smile of welcome. The wife is standing by a chair, as though she had just risen from it, with her body inchned toward her husband, one hand is extended, and in the other she holds some needle-work. POSITION or CHAEACTEKS IN TABMAU. STAOB. FRONT OP STAGE. L A piece of drugget 2. A deal table. 8. Tbe husband, with boy clinging to his leg. 4. The wife. 6. The danghter, -with baby. In this Tableau, as much hght should be thrown upon the stage as possible, so as to give the whole chamber a comfortable and pleasant appearance. We presume, we need not tell the performers in this tableau, that all the figures should be economically, but neatly dressed ; so as to make the illusion greater to the audience, with regard to its being the home of a mechanic. TABLEAUX VlfANTS. 167 THE DUEL. At the back of stage five or six chairs are piled Qne on top of another. Also at back of stage (L.), a table, upon which are some bottles and glasses; under table a pack of cards is scattered. On the left of stage, one of the duellists stands, in his shirt sleeves, looking towards left at his opponent, with a grim smile upon his countenance. He is wiping his sword with a handkerchief, that he holds in his left hand. His second has his right hand resting upon the duellist's left arm, looking at him with an anxious face, and is pointing off with his left hand, as if advising him to fly. On the right of stage, a wounded man is lying, in his shirt sieves, with his head and shoulders supported by his second, who is in a kneeling position, and looking at the injured man with a terrified expression. By the side of the fallen man is a doctor, ex- amining the wound with professional calmness. On the backs of some of the chairs, the coats, vests, neckties, eta, are carelessly thrown. In the centre of stage is a sword lying upon the floor. POSITION OF CnARACTERS IN TABLEAU. STAGE. FKONT OF STAGE. 1. Chairs. 2. Table. 8. The duellist ■wiping his sword. 4. His second. 5. The 'wonnded man, 6. His second. 7. The doctor. 8. A sword. In this tableau the lights should be softened as much as possible. 168 TABLEAUX YLV ASTti. A fine gauze stretched across stage would add much to the appearance of this tableau. The wounded man is; to be "made up" so as to ap- pear extremely pale and ghastly. To heighten the effect, a few drops of blood can be seen upon his shirt, which can be easily represented by a httle crimson lake being smeared upon a piece of rag, and pinned upon it. LOVE AND JEALOUSY. To the right centre of stage, a cavalier, dressed in a slashed doublet and jacket, trunk hose, low shoes, with large pink rosettes, and a vel- vet cap and feather. At his side hangs a rapier. A guitar, upon which he is playing, is suspended from his neck with a blue ribbon. The cavalier wears a small moustache, and carries himself jauntily. To the left centre of stage, a man, enveloped in a dark cloak, lined with red, creeping stealthily towards the cavalier. In his right hand is a poniard. A slouched hat, with feather, is to be pulled down over his brow, and a heavy beard and moustache is to be worn ; also black stockings and low shoes. With his left arm he is holding the cloak to his face, as though trying to disguise his features. POSITION OF CHAKACTEKS IN TABLEAU. STAGE. rKONT OF STAGE. 1. The cavalier. 2. The man with poniard. Stage to be rather dark. The cavalier to be in ftill light, with liis back turned toward assassin, who is to be in deep shadow. TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 169 THE MUSIC LESSON. The stage for this tableau is arranged like a lady's boudoir, vrith the usual complement of birds, cages, flower-pots, toilet appurtenances, drawing and embroidery materials, etc. A sofa is set in the centre, a little back, and a folding screen placed zigzag just behind it On tixe sofa a young lady is seated, holding a guitar hstlessly in her left hand, while a gentleman.^kneeling gracefully before her^ is kissing her right He should be so placed, however, as to show his profile to the audience, as it is in bad taste ever to turn the back directly towards the front of the stage. Over the top of the screen, immediately behind the young couple, is seen the head of another man — the father or guardian of the lady — ^intently regarding her with an expression of comical horror and surprise. — — 1 - — - 2 3 C. FRONT OF STAGE. 1. The gnardian, behind the screen. 2. The sofa, -with the yoang lady. S. The gentleman, kneeling. Some sheet music should be carelessly scattered about the floor and sofa, with the hat and gloves of the gallant teacher of music. The young lady should be in an easy, elegant position, with her face a httle averted, but her eyes turned towards her suitor. A httle rouge may be effectively used upon her cheeks, for producing the blush which is supposed to be natural to such occasions. The face of the guardian should be carefuUy " made up" with reference to age and expression, with eyebrows strongly arched, wrinkles, a ferocious moustache, curled up at the ends, etC If conveniences can be had for getting up picturesque and elegant costumes, the suitor may be dressed as a cavalier, with doublet, belt, 170 '" TABLEAlTJX VIT4.NTS. lace collar and cuffs, knee-breeches and stockings, and a rapier. His hat should then be a wide-brimmed black felt, caught up on the left side with a bucMe and feather, and his gloves should be riding gauntlets. The lady should also Have a dress in accordance with the, styles of the middle ages, which may be leairned by consulting the French prints representing similar scenes, and her hair should be drawn straight ■ back from her forehead, and powdered. A large white ruffle around ,the guardian's neck, w^ill be in keeping, and add to the ludicrousness of his appearance. If, however, the resources of the parlor theatrical troupe are Kmited, the costume of the day may be used. In arranging the light, care should be taken to have the guardian's face in half-shade, and the strongest light upon the lady. Some heavy, dark curtains may be hung at the sides of the stage, to bring out the colors of the sofa, the lady's dress, etc., and the ornaments and toHet- articles should be strewn about with an easy graceful negUgence. THE FOUE SEASONS. The four seasons of the year, Spring, Summer, Autiunn and Winter, represented by female figures, make a very beautiful tableau, if artisti- cally arranged. The stpge , should have three platforms placed upon it, each a httle higher than the one in front of it, something like the . steps of a staircase, receding fi-om the audience. Spring, represented by a Uttle girl, dressed in pure white, with a basket of flowers, which she is apparently strewing before her, stands upon the stage, in front, nearest the audience. A single thickness of gauze is run across in front of the first platform, upon which stands Summer — a young girl just growing into womanhood, crowned with a wreath of summer flowers, and holding an apron full of summer fruits, mingled with flowers. Her dress is also to be white, but trimmed with chaplets of green leaves. Another thickness of gauze is stretched behind her, in front of the platform which supports Autumn — a smiling matron, in u. dress of richer material, with a garland of autumnal leaves about her head. In her arms she holds a sheaf of grain, and a sickle in one hand, wliile a piece of vine, laden with grapes, is carelessly thrown over her shoulder. Winter stands on the furthest platform, with a third screen of gauze in front of her. She is an old crone vrith a sallow and wrinkled face, and TABLEAUX -VTV-AHTS. l-?! her bent form is heavUy draped in a long robe of dull brown or grey woollen. Upon one shoulder she bears a fagot of dry sticks, and in her hand an axe. If an additional wintry effect is de^ed, pieces of small glass tubing (which can be procured at almost any chemist's shop), may be attached to the edge of her robe, in imitation of icicles, and flour may be scattered upon her head and shoulders, to represent E. -5 1 -. ^ 6 2 6 1 3 1 4 FRONT OF STAGE. 1. The first and highest platfom, with Winter, 2. The second, supporting Aatninn. 8. The third, for Sommer. *. The figure of Spring. 6, 6, The first ganze. 6, 6. The second ganze. T, 7. The third ganze. The gauze screens will shade the figures sufficiently, without any different degrees of light being thrown upon them. % %^nk^ nf Inrial Imus^nients, CONTAINING AN BSPLANATIOIT OF THE MOST ENTERTAINING GAMES, SUITED TO THE PAinLT CIBCLE FOE A EBCEBATION, STJCH AS GAMES OF ACTION.— GAMES "WHICH EEQUIEE ATTENTION MERELY.— GAMES WHICH EEQUIEE MEMOET.— CATCH GAMES, WHICH HAVE rOE THEIE OBJECT TEICK OE MYSTIFICATION.— GAMES m WHICH AN OPPOETDNITY IS AFFOEDED TO DIS- PLAY GALLANTEY, WIT, OB SOME SLIGHT K2J0WLEDGE OP CEETAIN SCIENCES.— FOEFEITS, ETC. At merry Clinstmas-time, or on a wet day in the country, or in the city too, for that matter, or on a w^inter's evening, when the .fire is burning cheerily, pussy purring on the hearth, and the lamps lighted, young folks are often at a loss, and their elders too, sometimes, to know how to amuse themselves. Some people will say, " There are books, let them read." "We would whisper in their ears an adage as old as the hills, but none the less true or pithy ; it is this : " All work and no play makes Jack a duU boy." And again, let us remember that we also were once young, and laughed as heartily over "Blind Man's Buff" as the youngest of our acquaintance. All the apparatus required in " Parlor Games" is good temper, good spirits, and gentleness, so that at any moment amusement for an even- ing can be obtained by anybody who wills it. PAKLOE GAMES. ' 1^3 "We do not wish to read our young friends a homily upon politeness, as this is not a book of etiquette, but we would impress Upon them that good temper is indispensable in games of any kind. We have known the pleasure of a whole party marred simply by the unreasonableness and ill-humor of one of the players, who, because he could not guess the answer of some game, declared that we had cheated him, and refused to play any longer, thus casting a gloom upon all who were playing. Roughness, too, we would particularly caution our boy friends to avoid. Very often, when carried away by the buoyancy of their spirits, they are apt to forget that young-^ladies are present, and participating in the pleasures of the game. There is no occasion for an exhibition of strength; if you are caught, submit to it; if you are forfeited, pay the fine without a murmur, or with a pleasant remark. Very often your httle brothers or sisters will spoU a game by reveal- ing who it is that is caught, or telling the answer to " Twenty Ques- tions," before the person whose turn it is to guess it, has given it up. Do not be angry with them, but take another question, and begin again, for in all probabiUty letting the secret out was merely cliildish importance, in knowing the answer as well as his elder brothers and sisters. Explain to him that he must not do so for the future, as he spoils the game ; and, take our word for it, he wiU try to avoid doing so again. We have heard many people say, " Oli, he's too young, he can't play." We say not so ; no child is too young to join in healthy and innocent pastime. There is no occasion to give a child a prominent part to perform, or to let him perform any part at aU ; but you can lead him to believe that his presence is in every way as desirable as that of the oldest person present Not that we advocate deception as a general thing, but we dp countenance it where it is used for the purpose of making children happy. We ourselves have, in the game of "Pox and Goose," carried a child on our arm throughout the whole; he had nothing at all to do with it, but he laughed as loudly and as heartily as any of the party. Many of these games are quite new, and have never appeared in print before. Thej have been selected and invented by a gentleman who is thoroughly conversant with the " Parlor Games" of Europe. In some cases the forfeit has to be paid by a kiss ; of course that is only intended for a family party ; in a mixed assembly some other mode of payment can be substituted. With these remarks, we leave our readers to enjoy themselves over •■'Parlor Games." 174 PAELOK GAMES. (iamijs af S^ta, THE LEa OP MUTTON. Almost every one is acquainted with, this game. The players place their fists alternately one upon the other, then the fist -which is lower- most is withdrawn and placed on the top of the pile, each as he with- draws his fist counting one, two, and so on, to nine. As soon as the ninth fist is placed on the top, the whole pile is overturned, each hand being withdrawn as quickly as possible. The one who has pronounced the word nine, must endeavor to catch one of his companions by the hand, saying " This is my leg of mutton." If he fails to do this, he has to pay a forfeit. If he succeeds in catching a hand, he says to the player who has allowed himself to be caught, " Will you do one of three things ?" If the player is polite, he simply answers, "IwiU, if lean." Others might reply, "I will, if I like." Then the winner gives him three things to do, and he performs either at his choice. THE FAGOTS. This game consists in forming a double circle, the players placing themselves two by two, so that each gentleman, by holding a lady in front of him, makes what is called a fagot. It is necessary that the players should be of an even number. The circles being formed, two persons are chosen, the one to catch the other. When the person who is pursued does not wish to be overtaken (which would oblige him to take the place of the pursuer), and at the same time desires to rest, he places himself in fi-ont of any one of the fagots he chooses, but within the circle, so that this fagot is then composed of three persons, which is contrary to rule. Then the third one, who is on the outside of the circle, must at once run to avoid being caught. If he is caught, he takes the place of the pursuer, who, in his turn, starts off, or, if he pre- GAMES OF ACTION. 175; fers itj enters into the circle, and places himself before one of the fagots, thus obliging a new player to run like the former one; this one him- self can at once obhge another player to run, by placing himself, in his turn, before a fagot, and it is this which gives life to the game, provided the players have a fair share of spirit and agihty. THE WOLF AND THE HEND. In this game all the ladies present can find employment, but only one gentleman is required, and the one who is considered the most agUe should be chosen, for, in truth, he will find exercise enough for his dexterity and his patience. This personage is called in this game the Wolf; the eldest lady pre- sent is the Hind ; all the others place themselves in a line behind her, according to their ages, and are called the Kind's fawns. It is the Wolf's part to catch the lady who is at the extremity of the line, and he manifests his hostile intentions by the following con- versation: — "lam a Wolf, and IwiU eat you." The Hind answers — "lam a Hind, and IwiU defend myself." The Wolf replies — " I must have the youngest and ienderest of your fawns." After this dialogue, the Wolf endeavors to seize the desired prey, but the Hind, extending her arms, keeps him off; but if he succeeds in passing. her, the young lady at the end of the hne may abandon her place before he can catch her, and place herself in front of the Hind, where she no longer runs any risk, and so with the rest in succession, until the Hind becomes the last of the line. . Then &e game ends ; the unskilful Wolf must pay as many forfeits as he has allowed young- ladies to escape, and the players select a suc- cessor if they wish to renew the game. If, on the contrary, before the end of the game, he succeeds in seiz- ing one of the young fawns, he does not eat her, but he has a right to elaim a kiss fi-om her, and to make her pay a forfeit, which promises new pleasure at the end of the game. This game, requiring, as it does, much quickness of movement and agility, is not as well fitted for the house as for a lawn or a field, where it presents a picturesque view to the lookers-on, and at the same time enables the players to display to advantage the grace and rapidity of their movements. 1^6 PAELOE GAMES. BLIND-MAN'S BUFF SEATED. In order to play Blind-Man's Buff seated, the company arrange themselves in a rarcle upon chairs ■which are placed very near together. The person chosen by lot, or vfho voluntarily offers to play the part of the blind man, allows a handkerchief to be bound over his eyes by a lady, if the player is a gentleman, and by a gentleman, if it is a lady who undertakes this part. When all ar« satisfied that the blind man cannot discern the objects which surround him, the players hastily change their places in order to baffle his sagacity. Then he approaches the circle without groping, for this is expressly forbidden, and seats himself in the lap of the first person he comes across, and without employing the sense of touch, but simply by listening to the stifled laughter around him, to the rusthng of the robes, the sound of which often discovers the wearer, or perhaps by a fortunate guess, he is enabled to tell the name of the player upon whose lap he is seated, and in case he is unacquainted with the name of the personage, describe her in such a manner that she can be recognised. If the blind man guesses correctly, the person discovered takes his place, puts on the bandage, and performs the same part. If, on the contrary, he is mistaken, the company clap their hands to inform him of his error, and he renews the experiment in the same manner, and without employing any other means than those authorized by the game. It is customary for the company, in order to prevent the blind man from recognising persons too readily, to resort to various little strata- gems, as for instance, some spread over their laps the skirts of their neighbors' dresses, others cover theirs vrith the cushions of the chairs. The ladies who are dressed in silk, place their shawls over their laps; in fine, all try to disguise themselves in the best manner possible. BLIND-MAN'S BUPF BY THE PEOFILE. When this game is played in a proper manner it is very entertain- ing. The following is the method of playing it. In this game the blind man's eyes are not bandaged, but he is not- withstanding obliged to exercise all his penetration. A piece of whit« GAMES OP ACTION. 177 and rather fine linen is stretched upon a frame like a screen, in the same way as when exhibiting a magic lantern. The blind man is seated upon a stool, so low that his shadow is not represented upon the linen, which is spread over the screen. Some distance behind him a single lighted taper is placed upon a stand, and all the other Ughts in the room are extinguished. A When these arrangements are made, the rest of the company form a kind of procession, and pass in single file, between the ,blind man (who is expressly forbidden to turn his head) and the table upon which the light is placed. This produces the expected effect; the light of the candle, intercepted by each of the company in turn, as he passes before it, casts upon the piece of white hnen a succession of shadows quite accurately defined. As these shadows move before him, the blind man is obliged to name aloud the person who he supposes is passing at the moment, and the errors into which he falls cause shouts of laughter, more or less prolonged. It is hardly necessary to say that each one, as he passes before the light, tries to disguise his air, his height, his gait, to prevent his being recognised. It is not usual to give forfeits in this game, still it would seem proper to demand them of those who are discovered. In this way it would probably afford entertaiimient to a greater number of players. BLIND-MAN'S BUFF "WITH THE WAND. BUnd-Man's Buff with the Wand is a game well adapted for the parlor. The bUnd man with his eyes covered with a bandage, is placed in the middle of the room, and a long wand is put into his hands. The rest of the company join theirs, and, forming a circle, wheel around him, at the same time singing some lively air, in which they all join. When the song is finished, they stop, and the bhnd man, extending his wand, directs it, by chance, towards one of the company, who is oblio-ed to take hold of it by the end presented to him. Then the Wind man utters three cries, which the other must repeat in the same tone. If the latter does not know how to disguise his voice, he is easily guessed, and takes the blind man's place ; otherwise the circle wheels around him, stops again, and so on as before. 8* 178 PAELOK GXyCES. ' PORCO, OE ITALIAN BLIND-MAN'S BUFF. This game is simBar to " Buff with the Wand." Several persons, male and female, join hands so as to form a circle, and one person, who is blindfolded, is placed in the centre, with a small stick in his or her hand. The players dance round the hoodwinked person, who tries to touch one of ihem witl^ the wand, and if he succeeds, the ring of people stops. The player then grunts like a pig — Whence the name of the game — crows, or imitates some animal, and the person touched must endeavor to imitate the noise as closely as possible, without discovering his or herself. If the party touched is discovered, then the hoodwinked player transfers the bandage and the stick to that player, and takes the vacant place in the ring of persons, who once more resume their dance, until another player is touched. FRENCH BLIND MAN. In this game, instead of blindfolding one of the players, his hands are tied behind him, and in that difficult way he must endeavor to catch one of his companions, who must, when caught, submit to the same restraint. THE RIBBONS. Each person in the company takes a ribbon, and holds it by one end. The other ends are all united in tlie hand of the one who leads the game, and who consequently is placed in the middle of the circle. . When he says — " PuU " they must let go, when he says " Let go " they must pull the ribbon which they hold. It is astonishing how many forfeits are won at this simple game. . > THE COTTON FLIES. One of the players takes a flake of cotton or a bit of down, which he casts into the air ii^ the midst of a circle formed by those present GAMES OF ACTION. 179 who are seated close together. He at once puJfs with his breath to keep it floating in the air, and the one towards whom the flake takes its course must puff in the same way to keep it from falling upon hia lap, which would cost him a forfeit. Nothing is more amusing than to see ten or twelve people, with up- turned faces, blowing and puffing, each in his own way, to send from one to the otlier, this flake of cotton. Sometimes it happens that as one cannot laugh and puff at the same moment, the tuft of cotton falls into the mouth of one of the company, who in vain tries to find breath enough to blow it away. This excites the laughter of the other players, who demand from him a forfeit for his gluttony. THE HUNTSMAIT. This game is one of the livehest winter evening's pastimes that can be imagined. It may be played by any number of persons above four. One of the players is styled the " Huntsman," and the others must be called after the different parts of the dress or accoutrements of a sports- man : thus, one is the coat, another the hat, whilst the shot, shot-belt, powder, powder-flask, dog, and gun, and every other appurtenance be- longing to a huntsman, has its representative. As many chairs as there are players, excluding the Huntsman, should next be ranged in two rows, back to back, and all the players must then seat themselves ; and being thus prepared, the Huntsman walks round the sitters, and calls out the assumed name of one of them: for instance, "Gunl" when that player immediately gets up, and takes hold of the coat-skirts of the Huntsman who continues his walk, and calls out all the others, one by one ; each must take hold of the skirts of the player before him, and when they are all summoned, the Huntsman sets off running round liie chairs as fest as he can, the other players holding on and running after him. When he has run round two or three times, he shouts out " Bang 1" and immediately sits down on one of the chairs, leaving his followers to scramble to the other seats as they best can. Of course, one must be left standing, there being one chair less than the number of players, and the player so left niust pay a forfeit. The game is con- tinued imtil all have paid three forfeits, when they are cried, and the pumkbments or penances declared. The Huntsman is not changed throughout the game, unless he gets tired of his wU 180 PAELOB GAMES. COPENHAGEN. First procure a long piece of tape or twine, sufficient to go round tlie whole company, who must stand in a circle, holding in each of their hands a part of the string — the last takes hold of the two ends of the tape. One remains standing in the centre of the circle who is called " the Dane," and who must endeavor to slap the hands of one of those who are holding the string, before they can be withdrawn. Whoever is not sufficiently alert, and allows the hands to be slapped, must take the place of the Dane, and in his turn, try to slap the hands of some ono else. ■r THE CAT AND THE MOUSE. Let an the company join hand in hand in a circle, except one who is placed inside, called the Mouse, and another outside, called the Cat. They begin by running round, raising the arms; the Cat springs in at one side and the Mouse jumps out at the other ; they then suddenly lower the arms so that the Cat cannot escape. The Cat goes round mewing, trying to get out; and as the circle must keep dancing round all the time, she must try and find a weak place to break through. As soon as she gets out she chases the Mouse, who tries to save herself by get- .ij^fl^ng within the circle again. For this purpose they raise their arms. If she gets in without being followed by the Cat, the Cat must pay a forfeit, and try again ; but if the Mouse is caught she must pay a for- feit. Then they name who shall succeed them ; they fall into the cir- cle, and the game goes on as before. HUNT THE HARE. The company all form a circle, holding each other's hands. One, called the Hare, is left out, who runs several times round the rino- and at last stops, tapping one of the players on the shoulder. The one tapped quits the ring and runs after the Hare, the circle again join- ing hands. The Hare runs in and out in every direction, passing under the arms of those in the circle untU eaught by the pursuer, when he becomes Hare himself. Those in the circle must always be friends to the Hare, and assist its escape in every way possible. GAMMS OF ACTION. 181 THE KEY GAME. This game may be played by any number of persons, whj should all, except one, seat themselves on chairs placed in a circle, and he should stand in the centre of the ring. Each sitter must next take hold, with his left hand, of the right wrist of the person sitting on his left, being careful not to obstruct the grasp by holding tlie hands. When all have, in this manner, joined hands, they shoiild begin moving them from left to right, making a circular motion, and touching each other's hands, as if for the purpose of taking something from them. The player in the centre then presents a Tcey to one of the sitters, and turns his back, so as to allow it to be privately passed to another, who hands it to a third ; and thus the key is quickly handed round the ring from one player to the other ; which task is easily accomplished, on account of the con- tinued motion of the hands of all the players. Meanwhile, the player in the centre, after the key has reached the third or fourth player, should watch its progress narrowly, and endeavor to seize it in its passage. If he succeed, the person in whose hand it is found, after paying a for- feit, must take his place in the centre, and give and hunt the key in his turn ; should the seeker fail in discovering tlie key in his first attempt, he must continue his search until he succeeds. When a player has paid three forfeits, he is out. mUsTT THE SLIPPER. This is usually an in-door game, although there is no other objection to its being played on a dry piece of turf than that the slipper cannot be heard, when struck by its momentary possessor, when passing round the joyous ring. Several young persons sit on the floor in a circle, a sUpper is given to them, and one, who generally volunteers to accept the ofilce in order to begin the game, stands in the centre, whose busi- ness it is to '' chase the slipper by its sound." The parties who are seated, pass it round so as to prevent, if possible, its being found in the possession of any individual. In order that the player in the centre may know where the slipper is, it is occasionally tapped on the ground, and then suddenly handed on to the right or left When the slipper is found in the possession of any one in the circle, by the player who is hunting it, the party on whom it is so found takes the latter player's place. J 182 PAELOR GAMES. CATCH THE RING. In order to p-ay this capital game, the chairs are placed in a circle, just so far apart, that each person sitting can easily reach the hand of another person on either side of him. One person stands in the middle of the circle. A piece of string with a wedding, or a larger ring of brass, upon it, is then tied, of a sufficient length to reach all round the circle, so that each person may catch hold of it. The players are then to slide the ring along the string, passing it from one to the other, -and the game is, for ihe person who stands in the centre to try to catch the ring. When he catches it, the person with whom he finds it is to go out into the centre. ' [Forfeits may be added to this game, if preferred, each person caught with the ring paying forfeit.] JACK'S ALIVE. A small piece of stick is lighted at one end, and the blaze blown out, leaving the sparks. It is then passed from one of the company to the next on his right hand, and so on round the circle, each one saying, as he hands it to his neighbor, " Jack's alive." The player who holds the stick when the last spark dies out must consent to have a delicate moustache painted on his face with the charred end of the stick, which is then relighted, and the game goes on. Should the wearer of the moustache have Jack die a second time on his hands, an imperial, whiskers, or exaggerated eyebrows may be added to his charms. While Jack is in a Uvely condition, with his sparks in fine brilliant order, he is passed carelessly from one player to" another ; but when he shows syfiiptoms of dying, it is amusing to see how rapidly he changes hands, for each player is bound to receive him as soon as his neighbor pro- nounces " Jack's alive." In case the moustache decorations are objected to, a forfeit may be paid, instead, by those who hold Jack dead. TWIRL THE TRENCHER. A w:ooden platter or a plate, is brought in, and given to a person who GAITES OF ACTION. 183 is to be the leader. The leader then takes a name himself, and gives a name to each of the company. .Numbers will do, or the Christian or familiar names by which they are usually known, or the names of ani- mals or flowers may be adopted. Each person must be sharp enough to remember his or her name -directly it is mentioned. Each person has a chair, and a large circle (the larger the better) is formed around the plate. The leader then gives the plate a spin, and calls out the name of the person who is to catch it. Leader then runs to his seat, leaving the plate spiiming, and when tlie person named fails to catch the plate before it has done spinning, he or she must pay a forfeit, which must be held until all the players have forfeited. [This game excites a great deal of merriment, and should be played in a spirited manner. The plate should be fairly spun, and the names distinctly but quickly called out. A little stratagem should be em- ployed by looking towards one person, and then calling out the name of another quite unexpectedly. Nobody should jiemur to pay a forfeit if fairly fined, and each person should remember his own forfeits.] (§mm rtqcirrag Mmm\\ m^i tmnM attetttinn. THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF DAMASK. When you have cleared the table of everything it has upon it, ask Mary to bring you a small plate (a round piece of wood is better), and, after ranging yourselves round the table, choose partners previously to beginning. CnOOSING PARTNERS. At every party there are some good genial souls who lead all the fiin and know most of the games. Fix upon two of these for Field-Mar- shals and call them respectively Sir Loin and General Kettle. These of&cers will, upon being raised to such dignity, commence choosing (alternately) their soldiers from among the company; and, as they select these valiant recruits, will perform the short ceremony of con- ferring titles, commencing, if a gentleman, with a sharp blow of a walk- ing stick across the shoulders, and, if a lady, with a kiss ; concluding with the gift of a name, of which a suitable list is annexed- — 184 paelor games. Sir Loin. General Kettle. General Goose. General Tongs. Lieutenant-general Duck. LiEUTENANT-GENERiL Carver. Major-General MnrriN. Major-Geneeal Pork. Colonel Crumpet. Colonel Coffeepot. Colonel Carrot. Colonel Corkscrew. Major O'Mutton. Major Cracker. Private Partridge. Major Spit. " Pine; Corporal Steel. " Potato. " Toastrack. " Plum. Private Plate. Peach. " Pail. " Pigeon. " Potlid. " Pear. " Poker. With power to add to their number. TnE GAME. General Kettle talces the Plate (which, is called " the Plwm-pttdding'') hetween his fingers and thumb, ready for spinning on the table, and begins : — " As I was sitting on the fire this morning, spluttering with rage at having no enemy to boil, who should come along in his bag and string but old Plum-pudding 1 The moment he caught a sight of me off he ran, I after him; when, turning round a comer, I ran up against Major O'Mutton." At this word General Kettle spins round the "Plum- pudding," which Major O'Mutton has to keep up, continuing the story in his assumed character until he has mentioned " Plum-pudding," and introduced the name of an antagonist, who, in his turn, must continue the game. It will be seen that the two greatest difficulties of the game consist in keeping up the " Pudding," and continuing the story. The first is, however, very easy after a httle practice, there being numerous devices to keep it from falling, such as patting it on one side until it recovers its perpendicular, or dexterously giving it a twist with finger and thumb as it slackens in its speed. The second is more difficult; but there is one safe rule which will help you on amazingly. Never think of yourself as yourself — always remember that you are Muffin, Par- tridge, Goose, Tongs, Toastrack, or Steel, as the case may be ; for it you are not vigilant you will have to give GAMES REQUIRING MEMORY AND ATTENTION. 185 FOEFEITS. Firstly— For letting the " Plum-pudding" falL Secondly — For speaking of yourself as a human being. Thirdly — For failing to continue the story. Fourthly — ^For omitting to mention "Plum-pudding;'' and Fifthly — ^For calling an " enemy " by a wrong title. TERMINATION OF THE GAME. One hundred forfeits is a good limit to the garae when the armies are numerous and Ught-hearted ; but the nimiber may be less, and the fun as furious, when the party is a small one. At the finish of the game the army that has given the least number of forfeits is declared the victor, its forfeits are returned to it, and its commander-in-chief calls a court-martial, at which the penalties to be inflicted upon the defeated army are adjudged. PENALTIES. Sir Loiris Army. Basted. — ^Tou iare pursued and beaten with handkerchiefs round the room. Seasoned. — You are to kiss every lady in the room, and have your face slapped in return. Trussed. — ^Tou are to be skewered with two walking-sticks into a comer, until some lady is kind enough to release you with a kiss. Boasted. — ^You must walk up to every lady in the room : if she does not wish to kiss you she catches hold of your arms and gives you a turn : when a lady is net kind enough to give you a chaste salute you are said to be " done," etc., etc. Oeneral KeWs Army. 'Scrubbed. — ^Tou must ask every lady to kiss you; if any one refuse she must scrub your fac'e with her handkerchief; as soon as you are kissed you are at hberty. Scoured. — The same. Sharpened. — Two gentlemen (the Grindstones) try their utmost to prevent you from catching and kissing the lady yon have selected. Blackleaded. — ^Tou must go round to each of the company and ask them what they think of you. They, in reply, are to say something disparaging. Washed. — ^The exact reverse of Blackleading, for all the company must reply with fulsome praise etc., etc. 186 PABLOK GAMES. It will be noticed that, although these penalties are described above as for gentlemen, a moment's thought will suggest the means of adapt- ing them for ladies. , HOW WE PLATED THE GAME AT O0B HOUSE. Example is far better than precept ; therefore ima^ne us all around the table, a merry group. Our Generals have chosen each an army ; the " Pudding" (we always use a round piece of wood in preference to a plate) has been found, and off goes the stately General Kettle. — As I was sitting on the -fire this morning, splutter- ing fiercely at having nobody to boil, who should come along but "Plum-pudding" in his bag and sling! " Hollo 1" said I, "are you looking for me?" "No," he rephes, "it's Major-General Mufl&n I want." (General Kettle spins the "Pudding." Up springs Major-General Mufiin, cautiously trying to keep up the " Pudding.") Major-General Muffin. — ^M^y I be toasted this minute if I ever could find out what the old " Pudding" wanted with me ! I hadn't long been baked ; I was quite unknown to the officers, and had only one enemy, and that was Corporal Toastrack. (Up comes Corporal Toastrack as quickly as he can ; but, as he was talking in an undertone to the pretty Miss (" stay, that's a forfeit 1") to General Tongs, down went the "Pudding," which was a forfeit for him, oiF leads Muffin again as at first, not spinning the Pudding till the last word.) Major-General Muffin. — Still a muffin is a muffin, say what you wilL I am independent; I don't care for "Plum-pudding;" and if I had him here, although he looked as fierce as he did in the butcher's shop, I would fight even Corporal SteeL (And off goes the "Pudding," but Steel had noticed the allusion to the butcher's shop, and was on the alert.) Corporal Steel. — The ridiculous idea I Corporal Steel can fight any- body, even Mr. Hodgson. (" Stop, stop 1" we all cried ; " that's a forfeit ;" so Muffin had another turn.) Major-General Muffin. — Fight or no fight, this has nothing to do with the "Plum-pudding;" the poor fellow wasted away with grief, and during dinner-time, did nothing but bewail his unhappy fate. " Ah 1" said he, " I wish I had never known that Lieutenant-Generaj Carver." GAMES KEQCriKING MEMORY AND ATTElTllOU'. 187 Lieutenant^General Carver. — ^He never did know me properly, for I had a very great respect for him, and wouldn't have touched a single currant if I had not been forced to it Tou see I was invited to his birth-day party on Cliristmas-day. I went the more readily as I went to pay some dehcate attentions to General Goose. ( " Forfeit 1 forfeit 1 " -they all cried ; " you never mentioned ' Plum- pudding I' " So Greneral Goose went on after the payment of the forfeit.) General Goose. — Hm ! hm I Ah I So says I — as I was walking to ofiB.ce — and — and — so — ^I can't get along. ( " Two more forfeits if you please," said that sharp, hard Major Steel ; " one for failing to continue the story, and the second for speaking of yourself as a human being." ) Major-General Muffin. — "I. can't get along," says Plum-pudding. " Well," I replied, " I don't wonder at it. Look at your clumsy bag and long string. But if you wiU wait a Uttle while I'll send an old friend of yours to you, one General Kettle." (Ofif goes the " Pudding" — up comes General Kettle. General Kettle. — ^A very old friend indeed, but not so welcome as he expected; for although I took hold of him by the neck, and jumped on to the fire with him ("Forfeit!" they all cry; for General Kettle was so anxious to construct a good story that he let the " Pudding" falL) In this way we continued, causing great fun, until we had surren- dered our hundred forfeits ; when General Kettle's. army having given but forty, while Sir Loin's had been stripped of sixty. General Kettle claimed the victory, and immunity from punishment, for his side. The court-martial was then called, whereat the appropriate punishments were adjudged and inflicted; everybody admitting (as well as they could for laughing) that it was the best game they had ever played at. And what everybody says, you know, must be true. THE PLOUE-MERCHANT. Grhe one who personates the Flour-Merchant will try every way to dispose of his stock of flour, by asking question after question of the others, who must, in their answers, be careful not to use these words : flour I, yes, or no, as they are forbidden, and the one who is caught usina: them is considered out of the game. 188 PARLOR GAMES. The Flour-Merchant must persevere in his endeavors to make the players use one of the interdicted vfords. For instance : " Do you wish any flour to-day?" " There is none required." " But you will soon want it ; let me persuade you to take some.'" " That is impossible." " "Why so ? It is the very best of flour ; just look at it ; it ia so very fine and white." " The quahty is a matter of indifference to me." " But it will make such good sweet bread. Do take some." " Tou have had my answer." " Have I ? I must have forgotten it. What was it ?" " My answer was, decidedly not any." " But, madam, consider ; it is a very reasonable price." " I will not take any." The Flour-Merchant having succeeded in making her say " /," pro- ceeds to the next one. THE ELEMENTS. In this game the party sit in a circle. One throws a handkerchief at another, and calls out air ! The person whom the handkerchief hits must call Eagle, Vulture, Lark, Pigeon, Hawk, G-oose, Partridge, Wood- cook, Snipe, or some creatures that belong to the air, before the caller can count ten ; which he does in a loud voice, and as fast as possible. If a creature that does not live in the air is named, or if a person fails to speak quick enough, a forfeit must be paid. The person who catches the~ handkerchief throws it to another, in turn, and cries out earth I The person who is hit must call out Ele- phant, Horse, Dog, Cat, Mouse, Guinea Pig, Ox, or any creature which lives upon the earth, in the same space of time allowed the other. Then throw the handkerchief to another, and call out water I The one who catches the handkerchief observes the same rules as the pre- ceding, and is Uable to the same forfeits, unless he calls out imme- diately, Trout, Mackerel, Herring, Sole, or the name of some creature that lives in the water. Any one who mentions a bird, beast, or fish twice is hkewise liable to a forfeit. If any player calls fire ! every one must keep silence, because lio creature lives in that element. GAMES KEQUIEING MEMOKY AND ATTENTION. 189 HOW DO TOU LIKE IT 7 This is an excellent and very amusing game for winter-evening parties. It may be played by any nuinber of persons. The company being seated, one of the party, called the Stock, is sent out of the room, and the' company then agree upon some word which will bear more than one meaning. When the Stock comes back; he or she asks each of the company in succession, " How do you like it?" One answers, " I like it hot ;" another, " I like it cold ;" another, " I like it old ;" another, " I Uke it new." He then asks the company in succes- sion, again, "When do you hke it?" One says, "At all times;" another, "Very seldom;" a third, "At dinner;" a fourth, "On the water ;" a fifth, " On the land," etc. Lastly, the Stock goes round and asks, "Where would you put it?" One says, " I would put it up the chinmey ?" another, " I would throw it down a well;" a third, " I would hang it on a tree;" a fourth, "I would put it in a pudding." From these answers, a witty girl may guess the word chosen ; but, should she be unable to do so, she has to pay a forfeit Many word.0 might be chosen for the game, such as — Aunt and ant. Eain and rein. Plane and plain. Vice, a tool; and vice, a crime. Key, of a door ; and quay, a place for ships. THE BTJTTERPLT. By the exercise of a true and delicate politeness, this -game may be rendered extremely agreeable to the young ladies who have been in- vited to join in it; and the mischief of their answers adds in no slight degree to its charm. Each of the gentlemen plays the part of an insect, such as the Butterfly, from which the game takes its name, and with which it com- mences ; the Emnble Bee, the Anl, the Fly, the Caterpillar, etc. The young ladies take each the name of a flower, as the Rose, the Pinlc, the Tuberose, the Violet, the Sawthorn, etc. When all these names are distributed and agreed upon, each player should be careful to remember them, so as not to pronounce any name •that has not been chosen. Each player also must be prepared to answer as soon as the one who is speaking pronounces his assumed 190 PAKLOK GAMES. name. The speaker, however, when pronouncing the name, must ha-vt the address to look at sonie other person of the company. A wrong name pronounced, a wrong or tardy reply, are all faults which require a forfeit. EXAMPLE. THE BDTTERFLT. " Here am I, suddenly transported into a garden of flowers ; and such flowers ! — all aUke beautiful 1 Here I find the sweet perfume of the Tuberose " THE TUBEROSE. " Away, ugly insect ! Do not approach me ! I have not forgotten that yesterday you embraced one of the most beautiful of my sisters, and now she is dead. Give me the Ant for my choice." THE ANT. "Since you permit me, sweet flower, I will cUmb to the top of your perfumed cup, before the Sun* (1) has finished half his course. I will seek a shelter there until the Gardener (2) comes, with his Watering Pot (3), to give a new charm to your beauty. Until this moment, I have paid my homage to the VioleC THE VIOLET. "At last I shall find a moment for repose ! Vainly I kept myself concealed beneath the grass I this cruel insect has persecuted me worse than any Humble Bee" The Humble Bee then takes up the word, and the game continues ; but it must be observed, that the Insects are not allowed to address themselves to anything but a Flower, and a Flower cannot address itself to anything but an Insect. Any mistake of this kind costs a forfeit, as well as the mention of any Flower or Insect which any of the players has named before. * 1, 2, 8. The speaker must endeavor to Introdace in a natural manner into his dis- course the words -SWt, Garderur^ Watering Pot, These three words, for which the players are less prepared than they are for the names of the Flowers and In^eda^ com- monly cause numerous forfeits, because many of the players forget, when the Sitm. ia named, that they must rise from their seats; when the word Gardiner is mentioned, the Flowers must extend their hands, as if to supplicate his care, while the Insects^ alarmed, make a gesture as if about to fly, from dread of his presence ; and finally, when the word Watering Pot is pronounced, all the Flowers must stand erect, as if reani- mated by the freshness of tho water ; while the Insects^ with one knee bent to the earth, seem overwhelmed from the same cause. These different postures, which form a prei.ty tableau, only cease when the speaker, whether gentleman or lady, names some Flower or Insed, which, in its turn, takes up the discourse. GAMES EEQDIKING MEMOKT AND ATTENTION. 191 CROSS PURPOSES. ^This is another very entertaining game. One player goes around among the circle and whispers in each one's ear an answer he is to make to' the next player, who comes after him asking questions. For instance, Charles goes round to Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 4. To No. 1, he whispers : " Hot, sweet, and strong." To No. 2, " With pepper and vinegar." To No. 3, " With my best love." To No. 4, "No, indeed." And to the whole circle an answer of some kind. Jane comes after Charles to ask any questions her own wit may suggest. She asks No 1, "What kind of a week have you passed?" No. 1, " Hot, sweet, and strong." To No. 2, " Shall you ever marry?" No. 2, " With pepper and vinegar." To No. 3, "How win you keep house on these?" No. 3, " With my best love." ToNo. 4, "No, indeed!" Much amusement is sometimes made by the total variance of the questions and answers, and sometimes a very hard blow is administered ;'.j,. to some of the company; but, of course, no offence can be taken. ■""°':'^ THE HORNED AMBASSADOR. T his is a game which, if played with spirit, creates much merri- ment. It is played in this way : — A number of papers, twisted like a lamphghter or a curl paper, are - all the materials necessary. The first player turns to the person on his left hand, and, with a bow, says : " Good morning. Royal Ambas- sador, always royal; I, the Royal Ambassador, always royal, come from his Royal Majesty (pointing to his neighbor on his right, who must bow), always royal, to teU you he has an eagle with a golden beak." The second player must repeat this to his left-hand neighbor exactly word for word as he hears it, adding brazen claws. If he leaves out a 192 PAIILOR GAMES. word, or makes any mistake, he must have one of the papers twisted into his hair. Then he becomes a one-horned ambassador, and must call himself so, instead of royaL For instance, No. 1 says: — " Good morning, Royal Ambassador, always royal ; I, the Eoyai Ambassador, always royal, come from his Royal Majesty, always royal, to tell you that he has an eagle with a golden beak."' No. 2, "Grood morning. Royal Ambassador, always royal; I, the Royal Ambassador, come from" Having left out always royal after his own name, No. 2 is homed, and says : " G-ood, etc. ; I, a One-horned Ambassador, always one- horned, come from his Royal," etc. When his neighbor has gone on, he must add diamond eyes to the eagle — each player must add something to the eagle — ^and he miist say he comes from his One-horned Majesty, instead of his Royal Majesty. By this time a good many of the party will be well horned ; and, as every horn incurs a forfeit, the game may cease until they are redeemed. Sometimes the ambassador becomes seven or eight-horned before the game is over. THE GAME OF THE RING. This game is nothing else than an application of one of the methods employed to teU several numbers thought of, and should be played in a company not exceeding nine persons, in order that it may be less complicated. Request any one of the company to take a ring, and put it on any joint of whatever finger he may think proper. The feat then is, to tell what person has the ring, and on what hand, what finger, and on what joint. For this purpose, term the first person 1, the second 2, and so on ; also term the right hand 1, the second 2. The first finger of each hand, that is to say, the thumb, must be denoted as 1, the second 2, and so on to the little finger. The first joint of each finger, or that next the extremity, must be called 1, the second 2, and the third 3. Let us now suppose that the fifth person has taken the ring, and put it on the first joint of the fourth finger of his left hand. Then, to solve the problem, nothing more is necessary than to discover these numbers; 5, equivalent to the person; 2, the hand; 4, the finger; and 1, the joint GAMES KEQUIliLVG MEMORY AND AITBNTION. 193 •v* "'Commence by requesting any of the party to double tlie number of ' '- the person, which will give 10, and to subtract 1 from it; desire him then to multiply the remainder, 9, by 5, which will give 45 ; to this product bid him add the number of the hand, 2, which will make 47, and then add 5, which will make 52. Desire him then to double this last number — the result will be 104 — and to subtract 1, leaving 103. Tell him then to multiply the remainder by 5, which will give 515, and to add to the product the number expressing the finger, which will make 519. Then bid him add 5, which will make 524 ; and from 1048, the double of this sum, let him subtract 1, which will leave 1047. Then desire him to multiply this remainder by 5, which wiU give 5235, and to add to this product 1, the fourtti finger indicating the joint, which will make 5236. In the last place, bid him again add 5, and the sum will be 5241, the figures of which will clearly indicate the person who has the ring, and the hand, finger, and joint on which it was placed. It is evident that all these complex operations merely amount^ in reality, to multiplying by ten the number which expresses the person, then adding that which denotes the hand, multiplying again by ten, and so on. As this artifice may be detected, it would be-better, when performing this feat, to employ the method previously described, when no one of the numbers exceeds nine — for, on account of the numbers which must be subtracted, the operation vdll be more difficult to be comDrehended. THE ALPHABET: OE, I LOVE MY LOVE WITH AN A. / Formerly this game was confined to the players saying in rotation, "1 love my love with an A, because he is Amiable, Aedent, Aspiring, Ambitious," and so on, through as many letters of the alphabet as might be approved o^ each player haying to invest his love with a. ^ quality beginning with the letter in question. Forfeits were exacted, — firstly, for the repetition of any qimlity mentioned by a previous player ; . secondly, for faults of spelling. As, however (thanks to the progress of education), people are no longer in the habit of loving others because they are Andsome, Onor- able, or Helegant, the latter opportunity may be said to be almost obsolete. It has therefore been decided to improve the fonn.'sr, by mcreasing the difficulty of finding words. 9 194 PAKLOE GAMES. The gamg, as it is at present" played, will be understood from the following 'specimens;: — "I love my love with s^n A, because he is Affectionate, because his name is Augustus, because he lives in Albany. I will give him an Amethtst, I will feed him on Apple-taets, and, make him a bouquet of Anemones." " I love my love with a B, because she is Beautiful, because her name is Beatrice, because she Uves in Boston. I will give her a Brooch, I wiU feed her on Berries, and make her. a bouquet of Blue- bells." This form need not be strictly adhered to, we merely offer it as a model The leader of the game may vary it as he thinks fit; but whatever form he may choose to adopt, the others must imitate closely (allowing for the variation of the sexes). Failure in this must be punished by a forfeit; the old regulation as to repetition and mistakes in BpeUing (accidents which wiU happen, even now, in the best edu- cated families) still holding good. The whole alphabet may be gone through in this manner, if the interest of the game lasts long enough. It is advisable, however, to exclude the latters K, Q, X, and Z, which oiTer too many difficulties. THE DEAF MAN. The person on whom this temporary infirmity is imposed must stand out in the middle of the room, and to all that is said must answer three times following, " I am deaf; I can't hear." The fourth time however, the answer must be, " I-can hear." The fun, to all but the unfortunate victim, is, for the first three times to make the deaf man some agreeable proposal, such as bringing a lady to him and asking him to salute her, to jivhich he is obliged to turn a deaf ear; while the fourth time he is requested to perform some humihating act, such as to take a lady to another gentleman to salute, sing a comic song, recite extempore verses in praise of the prettiest girl in tlie company, and to all these agreeable invitations his ears must be suddenly open In fact, he ,must illustrate exactly the inverse of the old proverb, " None so deaf as those who won't hear." He is not obliged to accede to the requests that are made to him in the intervals of his deaf fit. This would be too severe. ■(iAMES EEQUIKING MEMOKy AND ATTKJNTIOlir. 195 THE AI^TS AND THE GRASSHOPPER. ' Lots are drawn to decide which of the company shall first undertake ~ the part of the Grasshopper. This important matter settled, the chosen ■ individual stands up, the other players (who represent the Ants) seat- ing thetoselves in a circle around them. The Grasshopper writes on a piece of paper the name of a particular grain — or other article of food suitable to his species — ^to which he has taken a fancy. The memo- randum-he condSals for the present 'He then advances, with a pro- found salutation, to the Ants, whom he addresses something in the following manner :- — " My dear and hospitable friends, I am very hungry. Would any of you lend me a Uttle provision of some kind to be going on with ? " Then, addressing some particular Ant, " Tou, my dear friend, I know your goodness of heart; I am sure you will help me with a trifle?" The Ant addressed, repUes, " I have nothing but a grain of barley " (or any other grain according to fancy). " Thank you, I don't care for it. And you, neighbor," addressing another Ant, " is there nothing better you can offer me ? " "^ grub." " Thank you, I would rather not." He begs from all the players in turn, who propose a, fly, a grain of wheat, oats, hayseed, etc. — always an article which a Grasshopper might be expected to eat, and which has not been mentioned before. When he has gone all round, without the article he has written being named by any one, the Grasshopper pays a forfeit, and proceeds with his second question. If, however, one of the Ants should hit upon the identical thing, "I wiU take it with pleasure, neighbor," cries the Grass- hopper, "and may you be rewarded." He then produces his piece of paper, proving that the article proposed was the one he had thought of; the Ant pays a forfeit, and becomes Grasshopper in his turn. In- stead, however, of recommencing the game, he continues it in the following manner: — "Neighbor," he says to an Ant, "I have eaten abundantly, thanks to the kindness of your companions. I should like -a, dance. What dance would you recommend ?" (The name of a dance is written down, secretly, as in the case of the food.) • The. question goes round as before — the Ants proposing various daiices, such as the polka, the fandango, the schottische, the minuet, Hie quadrille, etc. The Grasshopper treats these suggestions (liis own not being among them) with the greatest contempt Any player propos- ing a dance previously named, pays a forfeit. The Grasshoppcir, of 196 rAELOB GAJLES. course, does the same, should the round terminate without the dance of his memorandum- being- mentioned, and proceeds to write the third question. If, on the contrmr, an Ant should hit upon the right dance, they change places, as in _&e'first instance ; and thfe new Grasshopper (having pajd a forfeit) continues: — ^ "Wer^ I will dance, my friends. But I see no fun in dancing with- out music. - What instrument would you recommend ? " The Ants recommend various instruments, such as ike violin, the piano, i!ie cornet, Hie harp, etc^subject to the same conditions as the previous rounds. The fourth Grasshopper (supposing an unlucky insect to have hit on the identical instrument) takes up the thread : — "I have had enough dancing; I feel rather tired; I should' like a nap. I always consult you, my friends; what sort of couch would you advise me to sleep on?" The Ants reply, each in his turn — moss, stvhhh, sand, dover, a rose- leaf, etc., etc At length the fifth and last Grasshopper puts the question. " My good friends, I should sleep very comfortably, but for a slight misgiving. I am afraid of being pounced upon by some hungry bird. What bird do you think I have most reason to fear? " Answers: — The rook, the partridge, the pigeon. Hie larJc, etc., etc. Should the bird whose name has been written dqwn be mentioned, the too-prophetic Ant pays a forfeit, and the game is finished. If not, the Grasshopper not only pays a forfeit, but has to put the question round a second time, then a third, and more still if necessary. Nor ia that all — ^from the commencement of the second round, he has to pay a forfeit for every answer tiU the identical bird is named, The result is, generally, that the Grasshopper, despairing of being able to redeem tlie number of forfeits exacted from him, cries for mercy ; the pitch of mental anguish to which he is wrought, keeping up the excitement of the game to the very end. CLAPPERTON: OE, THE GOOSE'S HISTORY. This game was suggested by the ancient one of Coach, but is much altered to avoid both the necessity of young and old making themselves giddy by twirling round when their names are mentioned, and to effect a compromise in the redemption of the forfeits ; the ordinary mode '• HAMES REQUIEING ilEilOET AND AITENTION. 197 being often singularly tiresome. In tlie History of tte Groose, a com- mencement of -which is appended, to show the sort of story which should be invented for the occasion, no notice is to be taken when her name occurs, but whenever the word Drake or Doctor is mentioned, every one is to clap his hands once, uiiless the two are joined, when two merry daps must sound. Any one omitting to clap at the right place; or clapping when the Grooseis named, pays a forfeit, and dU the forfeits may be redeemed by quoting two lines of verse, varied by kissing the mantelpiece, etc.,- if the little ones present prefer it to the former mode. " A Goose feeling out of spirits one morning, consulted her favorite Doctor Drake (two claps), who advised her to go a long journey to foreign countries, which she resolved to do. So making, by the Doc- tor's '(one clap) advice, a good meal of cabbage-stalks and apple-parings, she set out irom' Dingle Farm, escorted by Doctor Drake (two claps). A shrill scream soon announced some disaster, and the Doctor (one clap) was obliged to extract two thorns from one of the Goose's wings, and to bathe her footj stung by nettles, in a ditch, before they could proceed. After this they got on pretty well, though Goose was so fat that she could not have forced her way through one of the styles, had not the Doctor (one clap) given her a good push behind. Part of the journey lay through a meadow, in which two Miss Chickens, admiring the Goose and the Drake (one clap), joined them; but they talked so fast, the Doctor (one clap) soon gave them to understand their com.- pany was unacceptable. A Cock in the neighborhood seemed disposed to fight Doctor Drake (two claps) for his rudeness to his daughters, but ' the Doctor (one clap), not thinking it becoming to his professional dig- nity to engage in battle, only quacked a haughty reply, and went on with his patient" STORT-PLAT. You are to whisper a word, which must be a substantive, to the per- son who begins the play, and who is to tell a short story or anecdote, into which the word is to be frequently introduced. It requires some ingenuity to relate the story in so natural a manner, that the word shall not be too evident, and yet it may be sufficiently marked. When the story is finished, each of the party endeavors to guess the word ;* and the person who discovers it tells the next story. The following is a specimen: — 198 PAELOEeAMBS. " Three young children 'vsrere pbming down the Mississippi with their father^icL a sort of boat, ;w%hihey,;call..there a pirogue. , They landed . on a desert island in that /widjoinyer on a bitter snowy evening, in the month of December; ,their^f^"er left them on the island, promising to return after he had procuredTsdme brandy at a house on the opposite bank. He pushed off in his little boat, to cross the river; but the wind was high, and the water rough. The children watched him ~Vith tears in their eyes, struggling in Iiis pirogue against the stream, till about half way across,- when they saw the boat sink, and never more saw their father. Poor children! they were left alone, exposed to the' storm, without fire, shelter, or even food, except a little com. "As the night came on, the snow fell faster; and the eldest, whc was a girl only six years old, but very sensible and steady for her age made her little sister and her infent brother creep close to her, and she drew their bare feet under her clothes. She had collected a few with- ered leaves and branches ,to cover them, and in this manner they passed the long winter's night. Next morning, she tried to support her poor weeping companions by giving them com to chew; and sometimes she xade them run about with her, to keep themselves warm. " In this melancholy state, you may imagine what was her joy when, .n the course of the day, she discovered a boat approaching the island. It happily contained some good-natured Indians, who took compassion oji the children, shared their food with them, and safely conveyed them to New Madrid in their own boat." THE DUTCH CONCERT. In this game all the parties sit down. Each person makes a selection of an instrument — say one takes a flute, another a drum, a third the trombone, and a fourth the piano, and each person must imitate in the best way he can the sound of the instrument, and the. motions of the player. The leader of the band, commencing with his instroment, all the others follow, tuning some popular air, such as " Yankee Doodle'" " Pop goes the Weasel," " Bobbing Around,". " In the Days when we went Gipseying," or any other air. The fun consists in this, that the, leader may take any instrument from either of the players, who must watch the leader, and take tliC instrument which he was previously playing. Jf he fails to do so, he pays a forfeit. Or if he makes a GAMES EEQUIRINO MEMOKY AND ATIBNTION 199 mistake, and takes the wrong instrument, he pays forfeit Suppose A be the leader, playing the Tiolin, and B to be one of the band, playing the trombone. Directly A ceases to playjthe violin and imitates the trombone, B must cease the trombone, anil' imitate the vioUn, and im- mediately A returns to the violin, B must take the trombone, or what- ever other instrument A was playing the moment before he took the violin. If he makes a mistake, he pays forfeit. [This is a very laughable, though rather noisy game. It should not be continued too long. A good leader will soon be able to impose for- feits upon all the players.] S^ MY LADY'S TOILET. Each having taken the name of some article of dress, chairs are placed for all the party but one, so^as to leave one chair too few. They all sit down but one, who is called the Lady's Maid, and stands in the centre ; she then calls out " My Lady's up and wants her shoes," when the one who has taken that name jumps up and calls " Shoes 1" sitting down directly. If any one does not rise as soon as caUed, she must forfeit. Sometimes she says " My Lady wants her whole toilet," then every one must jump up and change chairs, and as there is a chair too few, of course it occasions a scramble, and whoever is left standing must be Lady's Maid, and call to the others as before. SmON SATS. ( This, if well managed, is a very comical game. The players are ar- ranged in a line, the player who enacts Simon standing in front He and all the other players clench-their fists, keeping the thumb pointed upwards. No player is to obey his commands unless prefaced with the words, " Simon says." Simon is himself subjected to the same rules. The game commences by Simon commanding, — "Simon says, turn dovm .-" on which he turns his thumbs downwards, followed by the other players. He then says, " Simon says, turn up," and brings his hands back again. When he has done so several times, and thinks that the players are off their guard, he merely gives the word, "Turn up," 200 PAKLOK GAMES. or " Turn down," without moving his hands. Some one, if not all, ia Bure to'obey the command, and is subject to a forfeit, ^imon is also subject to a forfeitj if he tells .his companions to turn down while the • .thumbs are alriwdy down, or vice versiL. With a sharp player enacting .•nj;~;jSimon, the game: is' very spirited. 'A;:- ■■ — -^''- ^'AS:-'-- THE PHILHARMONIC CONCERT. ''if music ia the food of love, noise in this game is the food of ftin. It proceeds in the manner and form following : — The players seat them- selves and form a circle, each adopting an instrument of which Ke is the imaginary performer. One chooses the violin, and draws his right hand backward and forward over his left arm ; another the horn, and puffs out his cheekSji-imitating the acting of a horn blower; another the piano, and strums with his hands upon his knees ; another the harp, taking a chair or any other suitable piece of furniture to play on; and so, on through as many instruments as there are performers. Each player must imitate the action, and, as well as he is able, the sound of the instrument upon which he is supposed to be performing. The spectacle which is then presented by this orchestra of imaginary musi- cians, all playing con furore, is irresistibly ludicrous, and renders the gravity which is prescribed on pain of forfeit a sheer impossibility. In the middle of the circle the conductor takes his posi, a-straddle on a chair with the back before him, in such a manner as to figure a desk, on which he beats time. He may get himself up after the similitude . of the great Monsieur Jullien, whose attitudes and gestures, at the most exdted pitch of his last " Universal Smash" polka, may be adopted as a model, but will need no exaggeration to be made as amusing as those of the orchestra he directs. In the midst of the indescribable confusion of sounds over which he presides, the, conductor suddenly singles out one of the performers, and asks him why he is at fault.' The individual so addressed must at once, and without a moment's hesitation, give some answer corresponding to the nature of the instrument ; for in- stance, the fiddler may say his bow wanted rosin, the harp player that one of his strings had broken, the clarionet player that his instrument was broken-winded. Any failure to do this, or any repetition of an excuse previously given, will necessitate a forfeit. This game in some respect is similar to the Dutch Concert, and should not be played in a very quiet family. ' GAMES KEQUIEING JMEMOET AND ATTENTION. 201 SCHEHERAZADE'S RANSOM. "f^ Three of the company agree to sustain the parts of the Sultan, tlie Vizier, and the Princess Scheherazade. The Sultan takes his seat at die end of the room, arid the Vizier then leads the^Princess before him, with her hands bound behind her. The Vizier then makes