r 
 
 HUTCHINSON'S 
 
 RECITATIONS 
 
 AND 
 
 DIALOGUES, 
 
 RODOLPME HirrCHlNSON 
 
 i 
 
EoDOLPHE Hutchinson. 
 
HUTCHINSON'S ORIGINAL 
 
 RECITATIONS, SPEECHES, 
 AND DIALOGUES. 
 
 COMPRISES 
 
 FORTY-NINE NEW SELECTIONS, IN PROSE AND VERSE 
 SERIOUS, COMIC, AND PATHETIC ; TOGETHER WITH A 
 VARIETY OF VERY LAUGHABLE NUMBERS IN 
 FRENCH, GERMAN, IRISH, NEGRO AND 
 YANKEE DIALECTS, EXPRESSLY 
 ADAPTED FOR THE PLAT- 
 FORM AND THE STAGE. 
 
 BY 
 
 RODOLPHE HUTCHINSON. 
 
 Copyright, 1907, by 
 RoDOLPHE Hutchinson. 
 
 RODOLPHE HUTCHINSON. 
 
 Author and Publisher, 
 289 Warben Street, Brooklyn, New York. 
 
^ 
 
 ^'"'"nK" 
 
 UBRABY of OOMSifJESS] 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 DEC 26 i90r 
 
 Oopyrigni tntry 
 
 xxc. no, i 
 3/27 
 
 CL 
 
 i 
 
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 2)e&icatfon. 
 
 Ubis IDoIume is IRespectfuIIi? S)et»fcate& to 
 
 /IDs Mife, 
 
 flDaria alien ^Burnett Ibutcbtnson, 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Life Sketch of the Author 7 
 
 Introductory Eemarks— Ancient and Modern Schools 
 
 of Oratory, Etc 11 
 
 Thoughts on Creation 17 
 
 A Living Tomb—Poem, serious 19 
 
 Bobby's Lesson in Arithmetic— Ventriloquist 20 
 
 Brudder Johnson's Lecture on the North Pole — With 
 
 Illustrated Pictures 22 
 
 The Little Old High-Chair— Descriptive poem, serious. 27 
 
 Uncle Sam Putnam's Fourth of July Oration 32 
 
 Brutus and Casius— Dialogue, Negro burlesque 33 
 
 The Railroad of Life — Speech of a young College 
 
 Student 35 
 
 A Mother to Her Son— Poem 37 
 
 How Lunkenheimer Set his Poetry to Music— Ger- 
 man dialect 38 
 
 Wanted, a Girl with References— Dialogue for five 
 
 females 40 
 
 I'm Going Home to Die— Poem, return of the Irish 
 
 emigrant 52 
 
 The Frenchman and the Hare's Eggs— Dialect, humor- 
 ous 54: 
 
 The Knights of the Press— Extract from Jimmy Far- 
 ley, news-boy 60 
 
 Little Socks of Wicklow Farm— Poem, serious 62 
 
 Uncle Sampson at Coney Island— Yankee dialect 66 
 
 Tim Murphy's Goat— Dialect, very funny 68 
 
 Dewey at Manilla Bay 71 
 
 The Professor— Romantic dialogue for two characters. 71 
 The Link of Friendship— The graphic story of Damon 
 
 and Pythias 80 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Witch— Poem, burlesque. 85 
 
 The German Philosopher— Address of Louis Schumann 86 
 
 The Student and his Boast— Humorous short story — 88 
 
 Sandy Mac Allister's Dream— Humorous 92 
 
 The Song of the Fly— Poem, humorous 97 
 
 Patrick Miles and the Plum-duff— Dialect 98 
 
 The Circuit Preacher— Poem, serious 101 
 
 Before Marriage— Dialogue for two characters 103 
 
 After Marriage— Dialogue for two characters 105 
 
 Kuby Jones' Lecture on Matrimony 108 
 
 The Girl Tramp— Poem, serious Ill 
 
 The Bald-headed Tyrant— Poem, comic 113 
 
 Doctor Quack— Poem, comic 115 
 
 Joe Jefferson and the Bed-post — For Interlocutor and 
 
 two end men 117 
 
 The P. O. Canary— From Jimmy Farley 120 
 
 How the Drummer Enjoyed his First Kabbit— Humor- 
 ous short story 121 
 
 Paddy Miles from Cork— Dialect, funny 124 
 
 Lunkenheimer and his Dog— German dialect 128 
 
 Deserted— Poem, serious 129 
 
 Meg Merrilies— From Guy Mannering. Sir Walter Scott. 130 
 
 The Summer Shower— Poem, serious 131 
 
 Our Yalliant Dead— Poem, serious 133 
 
 The Land of Burns— Poem, serious 133 
 
 Pompey the Slave— Poem, serious 135 
 
 Walulu and Olita— Poem, Indian love story 137 
 
 The Three Little Mad-caps— Poem for All Hallow E'en. 141 
 
 The Poor Workingman— Poem, serious 143 
 
 Jimmy Farley and his Typewriter 144 
 
 How MacPherson O'Flaherty Joined the Lodge— Dia- 
 lect, comic 146 
 
 The Keystone State— Poem, serious 148 
 
 Scene from "Our Nan"— From the author's play of 
 
 that name 150 
 
LIFE SKETCH OF THE AUTHOE. 
 
 The author of these selections, whose portrait 
 appears as the frontispiece of this book, was born 
 at La Grange, near Bustleton, Pennsylvania, Au- 
 gust 21, 1847. At the early age of fourteen years 
 he was an apprentice in the designing and engrav- 
 ing department of the Lackawanna Calico Print 
 Works, located at Frankford, Philadelphia. 
 
 The advent of the War of the Rebellion, which 
 eventually closed the factory doors, caused him, 
 later on, to seek for a vocation which he thought 
 might be more in keeping with his tastes and de- 
 sires. 
 
 The love for literature, composition, and the 
 drama had been acquired, and already the ambi- 
 tious youth had gained some reputation as a local 
 writer and amateur actor. The glare of the foot- 
 lights and sock and buskin now had an infatuation 
 for him which he found impossible to resist, and 
 after many discouragements and flat refusals from 
 managers he at length made his first professional 
 appearance upon the stage at the American Thea- 
 ter, at Eighth and Walnut streets, Philadelphia, 
 then under the management of Fox & Earnshaw. 
 Miss Kate Fisher was the star of the occasion, and 
 
 7 
 
8 LIFE SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 the part enacted by the young aspirant for dra- 
 matic honors was that of ambassador, in "The Cat- 
 aract of the Ganges/^ It was at this house that 
 Charles Barras, who was about presenting "The 
 Black Crook/' gave him his first dramatic impulse 
 in the profession, by casting him for the important 
 part of Eodolphe, It was during this spectacular 
 production that this theater was totally de- 
 stroyed by fire, and the unfortunate young actor 
 was again compelled to seek for employment else- 
 where. 
 
 Following this calamity, Mr. Hutchinson retired 
 temporarily from the stage, again sought his former 
 occupation, and eventually finished the term of his 
 apprenticeship at the American Print Works, Fall 
 Eiver. The sedentary habits required by this servi- 
 tude were not congenial to his tastes, and shortly 
 afterward he was a sojourner on the Pacific Slope, 
 in search of fame and fortune. 
 
 On his return to Philadelphia, at the age of 23 
 years, his efforts to connect himself with the liter- 
 ary and theatrical circles were marked and enthusi- 
 astic ; plays, dramatic correspondence, and various 
 writings for local papers were indulged in, togeth- 
 er with platform- entertainments and theatrical pro- 
 ductions, in which he figured prominently, and fre- 
 quently in a managerial capacity. 
 
 We find him subsequently filling successful en- 
 gagements in the leading theaters of his native 
 city, among which may be mentioned the Arch 
 Street Theater, under the management of Mrs. John 
 
LIFE SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 9 
 
 Drew, and the Ninth and Arch Street Theater, well 
 known as Wood's Museum, where he played for 
 two seasons. Having received a tempting offer 
 from the Vegiard Bros., he traveled in New Jersey, 
 New York, and the New England States, enacting 
 leading parts in the production of military dramas 
 for the Grand Army of the Republic. 
 
 In the years that followed Mr. Hutchinson de- 
 voted himself chiefly to his vocation as a skilled 
 tradesman, utilizing his spare moments in literary 
 work, dramatic readings, and the production of his 
 plays in various sections of the country. 
 
 Some of his plays are as follows : "Strife, or the 
 Female Spy,'^ a military drama of the Civil War; 
 ^^ Ostler Joe,/' from the poem of that name by Geo. 
 R. Sims; "The Fire King,'' written in the interest 
 of the fire department; "Galled Down," high and 
 low life in New York ; "Our Nan," a spirited Yan- 
 kee comedy; "Down in Dixie," a drama of the 
 South; and many other full acting plays. 
 
 His success as an actor and entertainer was prob- 
 ably due to his advantages of natural ability and 
 early training from such recognized masters as 
 Professor Shoemaker, founder of the School of Ora- 
 tory, and Madame White, of Girard College^ both 
 of Philadelphia; also the practical results to be de- 
 rived from the instruction of such lights of the dra- 
 matic art as Mr. J. B. Roberts, tragedian, Mrs. John 
 Drew, Manager Hahn, Charles P. Morton, and oth- 
 ers, besides his personal relations with such stars 
 as Edwin Forrest, E, L. Davenport, John MacCul- 
 
10 LIFE SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lough, and other great exponents of the stage art, 
 upon whom the curtain has descended forever. 
 
 Mr. Hutchinson has for many years been a critic 
 for dramatic papers, and was latterly a correspon- 
 dent of the New York Dramatic Mirror. 
 
 Although his work was suddenly cut short four 
 years ago by total blindness, he has found a strong 
 friend in the typewriter, and hopes by this means 
 to place a portion, at least, of his four hundred 
 pounds of unpublished literary matter upon the 
 market. 
 
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS 
 
 The power of oratory is manifestly the most ex- 
 alted of all accomplishments. Probably no races 
 of people have done more to bring this beautiful 
 art to a high standard of excellence and practical 
 usefulness than the Greeks and Romans. Their 
 teachings, as recorded in their works, afford the 
 best examples for the academies of modern times. 
 In the singleness of their purpose they sought per- 
 fection, and to this end they devoted their best ener- 
 gies and lives. The entire field of oratory was not 
 grasped, let alone thought of, by a single master, 
 in respect to the training of pupils, in the ancient 
 school. The several parts of speech, which may be 
 said to have an intimate relation with the power of 
 vocal delivery, were divided and sub-divided, at 
 the head of which divisions or sub-divisions a mas- 
 ter of recognized ability ruled with an inexorable 
 law. One devoted his entire attention to time, oth- 
 ers to pitch, emphasis, or articulation, as the indi- 
 vidual case might be, which system may be cited 
 as one affording the best practical results in the 
 training of pupils. 
 
 Under a system so exacting and comprehensive, 
 
 in connection with the healthful outdoor sports and 
 
 XI 
 
12 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 
 
 strenuous physical exercises then in vogue, it is not 
 difficult to conceive of the lasting benefits and de- 
 gree of excellence to be secured. 
 
 Foremost among all was Demosthenes. From an 
 humble beginning he became the greatest orator 
 of his time. Being of lowly birth, delicate consti- 
 tution, and with an impediment of speech, his 
 chances of becoming great would appear almost 
 hopeless. By persistent effort and earnestness of 
 purpose he finally mounted to the highest pinnacle 
 of fame. He became vigorous by the use of judi- 
 cious physical* exercises. His imperfection of speech 
 he overcame by holding pebbles in his mouth and 
 uttering his inspired sentiments while rapidly walk- 
 ing up a steep hill. To strengthen his voice and im- 
 prove his breathing powers, he had recourse to the 
 shores of the ocean, where he is pictured declaiming 
 to the waves. There are many others who might 
 be cited as possessing the oratorical gift in a 
 marked degree, but Demosthenes is the first, from, 
 the fact that he was, to a great extent, the architect 
 of his own fortunes* and greatness, and is held up 
 as a forcible example to the aspiring thousands in 
 the field of oratory. 
 
 We find in the modern school many conditions 
 which are, in most respects, paramount with those 
 of the ancients. Every nation has its orators, who, 
 in accordance with their exceptional gifts of elo- 
 quence, have risen to- positions of honor, and be- 
 come distinguished rulers in affairs of government, 
 as well as the high, offices and sacred livings of the 
 
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 13 
 
 churcH. If the qualities of true eloquence have 
 been so well pronounced under the various heads, 
 so have they been, as well, upon the platform and 
 the stage. Of the two latter we would speak more 
 particularly in this article, as they may have a more 
 intimate bearing on the matter contained in this 
 volume. 
 
 As regards dramatic representations, they would 
 appear quite as necessary to the comfort and hap- 
 piness of mankind as a desire for food, or the stern 
 pursuits of business life. That they have taken 
 place in past centuries, to some extent, among all 
 races of people who enjoyed a certain amount of 
 intelligence, and might be considered as moving 
 in a sphere above that of savagery, is manifest to 
 the most superficial observer. The spectacles of 
 fallen empire and dominion, the gleaming phan- 
 toms, or the wonderful city of the unknown, crum- 
 bled walls and broken columns of the cities of the 
 plains, give positive evidence of the theater and the 
 amphitheater. Many of the early writers have re- 
 corded the advent of the player, among which may 
 be mentioned Herodotus, Valerius Maximus, and 
 the sacred TVT?iter, Josephus. 
 
 The most effective impulse toward a thorough 
 system of dramatic representation is said to have 
 been given by an order of monks, who sought by 
 this means to impress more forcibly upon the minds 
 of their followers certain portions of the Holy 
 Scriptures. 
 
 Of the modern stage, such exponents of the dra- 
 
14 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 
 
 matic art as Cook, Kean, Kemble, Siddons, Ma- 
 cready, and latterly, Sir Henry Irving, have fully 
 established the prestige of true oratory as well as 
 the living personalities of the creative geniuses 
 which they represented. 
 
 As the curtain of the past rolls up before us^ re- 
 vealing in an intensified formi the mimic world, 
 we sit enraptured as we behold the living presences 
 and hear the resonant voices of Booth, Barrett, For- 
 rest, MacCullough, Cushman, and a score of others 
 whose names have gone down to posterity as the 
 brightest gems in the tiara of oratorical gifts* 
 
 We hear the sweet strains of a song, and we feel 
 that the voice that gives it breath has a soul aside 
 from a spiritual soul. We hear the sweet tones of 
 a violin, and we feel that, too, has a soul. A glance 
 within the instrument reveals to us the fact that it 
 is empty. 'Tis the hand of the master alone that 
 gives it being — ^he has reached the soul of his in- 
 strument. 
 
 Might not the same be said of oratory? The 
 printed page is but a void, an emptiness. The genius 
 gives it life, and, as one brought from the dead, he 
 rises in his strength and majesty, the embodiment 
 of the poet's conception. 
 
 Though it be reserved for but few to reach the 
 topmost round of excellence, it should be consid- 
 ered no barrier in the way of the youthful aspirant 
 for oratorical laurels. 
 
 The platform, too, has its advantages, and offers a 
 broad field of endeavor for the ambitious. Natural 
 
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 15 
 
 qualities, although of considerable worth, without 
 persistent effort would be of little avail. It is said 
 of the English actor, David Garrick, that it was cus- 
 tomary with him to single out certain sentences of 
 the part he was about to represent, and utter them 
 in a loud voice two or three hundred times, if he 
 thought necessary, until the utterance satisfied him 
 that the emphasis, inflection, or expression, was 
 what he desired. It is safe to say that his delivery of 
 those sentences electrified the house. It is quite 
 clear from various accounts that no artist of his 
 day knew more thoroughly the advantage to be de- 
 rived from practice and strict attention to the mi- 
 nutiae of his profession than Sir Henry Irving. 
 
 The power of oratory is not only useful to the 
 divine, the statesman, and the actor, but it is valu- 
 able to its possessor in private, for it provides him 
 with more agreeable and eflftcient conversational 
 powers, and, if he so desires, places him in an au- 
 thoritative and honorable position among his fel- 
 low-men. 
 
Hutchinson's Recitations, Speeches 
 and Dialogues. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON CREATION. 
 
 We behold in the universe, everywhere about us, 
 the creation of God. It is not the mighty heavens, 
 studded with innumerable planets and stars, nor 
 yet the sun nor moon, rolling in magnificent splen- 
 dor in the blue expanse, that reveal the magnitude 
 of the world in which we dwell and owe our tem- 
 poral being. The infinitesimal, as well, has its won- 
 derful developments of living creatures^ — in them 
 we behold the work of omnipotence, which is per- 
 fection. 
 
 The globe itself upon which we dwell, with its 
 towering mountains, its immense bodies of water, 
 its mighty forests, and millions of tons of weight 
 of rocks, ores, and earth, and loaded with its liv- 
 ing masses of humanity, and animals, not only 
 commands our admiration of the magnitude and 
 wonders of creation, but impresses us with a deep 
 sense of our insignificance as mortal creatures, and 
 
 17 
 
18 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 the greatness of that God to whose keeping all 
 things are destined. 
 
 We note the precision with which all things move 
 in the works of the Creator^ and we marvel at their 
 exactitude; so in all the wonderful achievements 
 of God we are reminded of this same unvarying 
 condition of things. The greatest of all animate 
 creations in this wonderful kingdom is that of man. 
 The rocks of the earth give sufficient evidence that 
 he came not until the beautiful world that he was 
 to inhabit had been fully prepared for him. From 
 a ponderous, molten mass, rolling in darkness, it 
 became a thing of beauty and a joy forever. With 
 light came warmth, and life, and from the bosom, 
 of the earth grew forth its delightful verdure. 
 Mighty trees, with their congenial shade, flowering 
 plants and vines, laden with fragrant bloom and 
 mellow fruits, w^ere everywhere in abundance. A 
 delightful verdure carpeted the earth. The song 
 of birds and the hum of insect life had begun. 
 Fishes sported in the deep, and the world became 
 inhabited with all the creatures of God's handi- 
 work. 
 
 Foremost of all was man. In form and bearing 
 he was infinitely above all others, for he walked 
 upright, and had a dignified bearing and the power 
 of speech. He was provided with wisdom and pow- 
 er that he might reign over all other subjects as 
 lord and master in the kingdom that God had given 
 him. Who, then, would live without God in the 
 world? 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 19 
 
 A LIVING TOMB. 
 
 A proud and angry father stood 
 
 Beside his weeping child, 
 And cursed the hour that gave her breath, 
 
 With looks of frenzy wild; 
 His tall form quivered as he spoke, 
 
 His arm smote in the air, 
 While she, with hands uplifted, knelt 
 
 And prayed for mercy there. 
 
 '^And dost thou ask for mercy, child, 
 
 Where thou shouldst be accursed; 
 WTiose fair fame lost in pools of crime, 
 
 Of virtue's cause the worst? 
 False one, this night must be thy last! 
 
 This night, as loud bells chime. 
 Behold thy fate! A living tomb 
 
 Atones thy bitter crime!'' 
 
 And as he spoke he thrust her in 
 
 Between the solid wall, 
 Nor heeded not her sobs and cries, 
 
 That wild and dismal fall : 
 "O father, hear ! O hear my word ! 
 
 Do not commit this deed, 
 But mercy show an erring child ! 
 
 O say that I am freed !" 
 
20 HUTCHINSON^S RECITATIONS, 
 
 He said no word, but pointed there, 
 
 And straiglit the Mason stood, 
 With trembling limb and hollow eye, 
 
 And say whatever she would, 
 No ray of hope, for one so fair, 
 
 Such cruel death to save; 
 And soon the opening 'gan to close 
 
 And seal the living grave. 
 
 With armed hand stood ready by 
 
 This m-an of stony heart. 
 Till every mark and crevice there 
 
 Did nothing now impart. 
 And to this day no clue is found 
 
 Of him this deed has done, 
 Nor her whose blooming life cut off, 
 
 A mystery ^neath the sun. 
 
 BOBBY'S LESSON IN ARITHMETIC. 
 
 For the Ventriloquist. 
 
 Professor — Bobby, I am going to give you an easy 
 lesson in arithmetic, and I want you to answer me 
 distinctly and correctly. Do you understand? 
 
 Bohli/ — Yes, sir-ee. 
 
 Professor — Suppose you had an apple 
 
 Bohhy — I ain't got no apple. 
 
 Professor — Certainly not ! This is simply a les- 
 son in arithmetic. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 21 
 
 Bohhy — I thought it was an apple. 
 
 Professor — You do not understand, Bobby. Sup- 
 pose you had an apple, and 
 
 Bohhy — Is it a yaller apple? 
 
 Professor — No, no! Will you listen to me, 
 Bobby? 
 
 Bohhy — Yes, sir-ee. 
 
 Professor — Suppose you had 
 
 Bohhy — Is it a red apple? 
 
 Professor — We are only supposing a ease. No 
 more interruptions, if you please. 
 
 Bohhi/ — All right. Boss. 
 
 Professor — Suppose you had an apple, and you 
 should cut this apple into four equal parts> or 
 pieces, then place one of these pieces upon a shelf, 
 and divide the remainder of them among your 
 friends, how many pieces would you have left? 
 
 Bohbp — I wouldn't do it that way. 
 
 Professor — How would you do it, Bobby? 
 
 Bohhy — I'd eat the three pieces. 
 
 Professor — Oh, I see ! You would eat them, would 
 you, Bobby? 
 
 Bohhy — Yes, sir-ee. 
 
 Professor — Well, then, for the sake of example, 
 say that you have eaten the three pieces. How many 
 would you have left? 
 
 Bobby — Is de other one on de shelf yet? 
 
 Professor — Certainly, Bobby. How many would 
 be left? 
 
 Bobby — There wouldn't be none left. Boss. I'd 
 grab it an' run. 
 
22 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 BEUDDER JOHNSON'S LEOTUEE ON THE 
 
 NORTH POLE, WITH ILLUSTRATED 
 
 PICTURES. 
 
 Costume — Long black coat, checked pantaloons, red 
 vest, old silk hat, gray wig, and old shoes. 
 
 Properties — Small table, and large folio, with pic- 
 ture on back representing a negro organ-grind- 
 er, with monkey, climbing the North Pole. 
 
 Brudders and Sistahs^ Ladies and Gen^men : 
 
 I feel dat it am not necessary fo' me to express 
 myself on dis occasion dat I am glad I^se wid yo' 
 dis ebenin', kase I know dat you hab received my 
 telegraph in answer to yo' pressin' invitation to 
 deliver my famous lecter, de Norf Pole, on dis mo- 
 menstrous occasion. 
 
 By de way o' makin' de subject mo' forcible to 
 yo' clouded intellects I hab lit ^pon de plan o' illus- 
 teratin' pictahs, painted specially fo' me, at de ex- 
 orbitant price o' sixty-two an' a half cents, from 
 de grabitation box. 
 
 Befo' I discourse my lecter I wish to impress 
 'pon yo' min's dat dere am free kin's ob congre- 
 gashuns dat I don't like. Dey am a walkin' con- 
 gregashun, a talkin' congregashun, an' a snoozin' 
 congregashun. 
 
 I hope dat de little chillun on de back seats won't 
 chew terbacker an' spit peanut shells on de flo', 
 kase it ain't 'spectible. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 23 
 
 De las' time I delibered a lecter in dm hall I had 
 de misfortune to burst a blood ligature in my throat. 
 I want yo' all, ladies an' gen'men, to set yo' min's 
 an' hearts to rest to-night, kase de Norf Pole am 
 a col' subject to handle, an' dere ain't no ligatures 
 to be bursted on dis occashun. 
 
 De Norf Pole am long bin a bone o' diseonten- 
 shun to de wisest haids in de worl'. Dere was 
 Franklin Benjamin, Horace Greesey, an' Hum- 
 phrey Gravy, berry wise men, ladies an' gen'men, 
 berry wise men, dat built big ships fo' de purpose 
 o' explorizations in de Polah seas. 
 
 Did dey bring de Norf Pole back wid dem? Dey 
 did not, ladies an' gen'men. Eberyone o' yo' know 
 as well as I do dat not one o' dem ever brought 
 dat pole back wid dem, behin' dar big ships> in de 
 New York Harbor. 
 
 Dey nebber asked de advice o' Brudder Johnson, 
 but went straight on over hills an' mountains o' 
 snow an' ice to dar disfatisfaction. 
 
 Dar idees were like hot flapjacks, in a hot pan, in 
 a hot kitchen, on a hot day ,in de month of July. 
 
 Dey didn't bring de pole back wid dem kase dey 
 wus on de wrong track. 
 
 Now, I'se gwine to show yo' to-night dat de proof 
 o' de possum am de eatin' o' it, an' de only way to 
 git de Norf Pole am to ketch de fish. 
 
 Keep yo' eyes peeled on de pictahs as dey pass 
 befo' yo' 'stonished visions. Yo' kin see dem bet- 
 tah dan I can, kase de Lord made me farsighted, 
 
24 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 an^ dat's de reason dat I am able to discourse to 
 yo' to-night. 
 
 Way back in de good ole days dar was a b'uti- 
 ful plantation. Dis yar plantation was so b'utiful 
 dat yaller roses looked red in de sunlight. 
 
 De fust pictah shows dis lubly plantation. {Ew- 
 hihits a blank page over front of table. ) You behor 
 to de left o' de pictah de green lawn, de flowers, 
 an' de mighty mountains in de distance, wid de sun 
 jes' peepin' ovah de top o' dem. De trees am so real 
 dat yo' can heah de birds singin' in de branches. 
 Far away to de right o' de pictah yo' see de high 
 rocks, an' de ocean shinin' like silver in de sun- 
 light. 
 
 Dar lived on dis plantation at dis time an ole man 
 who had two sons, John Jacob an' Cornelius Aster. 
 One day de ole man said to dese boys, "Now, look 
 here, yo' John Jacob an' Cornelius Aster, I want 
 yo' to go straight to school to-day, like good little 
 chillun. Don't play any mo' hookies, an' don't 
 yo' bring any mo' fish home in yo' pockets. Min' 
 what I tell yo' boys. By an' by yo' grow up to be 
 men, an' yo' won't know yo' haids from, pumpkins 
 an' cabbages." 
 
 When de ole man was emptyin' de swill barrel, 
 Cornelius Aster put a big fish-line under his jacket, 
 an' away de boys went, han' in han' together, trab- 
 blin' ovah de lawn. By an' by dey come to a big 
 thicket, an' Cornelius Aster saw a nice fish-pole. He 
 took out his jack-knife an' began to cut down de 
 pole. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 25 
 
 Den John Jacob spoke up an' say : 
 
 "Look heah, yo' Cornelius Aster, de ole man toP 
 yo^ not to cut down any mo' flsh-poles, an' heah. 
 yo' is cuttin' down a pole an' gwine a-flshin'. 'T'ain't 
 right, Cornelius Aster, 'faint right !" 
 
 Den Cornelius Aster spoke up, an' say : "Min' yo' 
 own bisness, John Jacob ! I know what I'm doin'. 
 I'se de fust bo'n on dis plantation, an' I cut down 
 all the fish-poles I like." 
 
 By an' by de boys got a-fightin', an' Cornelius 
 Aster struck John Jacob down to de earth wid de 
 fish-pole. 
 
 Wen de wicked boy saw what he hed done, an' 
 dat John Jacob didn't get up no mo', he got fright- 
 ened, an' blamed de fish-pole fo' killin' him. 
 
 De next pictah, as yo' see, shows de bad boy stand- 
 in' ovah John Jacob wid de pole in his han'. 
 
 He thought dat he would hide dat wicked pole 
 where no one would fin' it. Heah you behold him 
 flyin' ovah de lawn wid de fish-pole on his shoulder, 
 t'ward de high rocks an' mighty ocean. De pictah 
 on dis sheet shows him standin' on de rocks, throw- 
 in' de pole far out inter de water. Would yo' 
 b'lieve it, ladies an' gen'men, dat pole stuck in de 
 mud, wid de top o' it stickin' out o' the water. 
 
 By an' by de heavens became obercast, an' it be- 
 gan to thundah an' lightnin'. Cornelius Aster got 
 skeert an' ran straight home to his faddah. De 
 vengeance o' de Lord came down on dis b'utiful 
 plantation. Frum a lubly garden it became worse 
 
26 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 den a coon holler in de month o' January. De 
 sun went behin' de clouds an' shine dar no mo'. De 
 win's blew col', an' de snow an' de ice began to 
 fall. De mighty icebergs trabbled on de bosom o' 
 de vasty, bringin' wid dem de walruses an' de Polah 
 b'ars; an' de whol' country, after many days, be- 
 cum de Ahtic winter. De fish-pole dat Cornelius 
 Aster had thrown inter de waters o' de ocean 
 growed an' growed until it becum a mighty pole o' 
 ice reachin' to de heabens. 
 
 De ole man died o' a broken heart fo' de loss 
 o' John Jacob, an' Cornelius choke hisse'f to de'th 
 wid a fish-bone. 
 
 De nex' pictah shows de change o' country aftah 
 de vengeance o' de Lord hed cum down 'pon it. 
 
 One day dar was a great hummin', hissin' an' 
 buzzin' in de air, an' de wonderful sea-sarpint 
 'peared 'pon de bosom o' de vasty deep. 
 
 T'ink o' it, ladies an' gen'men ! Dat awful mon- 
 ster, fo'teen miles in length, wid fiery eyes an' dis- 
 tended jaws, twistin' its mighty body through de 
 waters like a steamboat, an' lashin' dem to fury 
 wid its tail. As soon as dat sarpint saw dat pole he 
 made a dive, an' dat mighty pole o' ice slipped down 
 his t'roat like a ripe persimmon on a frosty mornin'. 
 
 Since we hab got to de sarpint, my lecter is at 
 an end. Yo' will understan' as well as I do dat 
 de only way to git de Norf Pole is to ketch de fish. 
 
 De las' pictah in de book is de sea-sarpint. (Dis- 
 covers the fact that he had ieen exhibiting blank 
 pictures. Shows illustration on the back.) Dat 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 27 
 
 artist dun gone an' paint de pictaKs on de wrong 
 side o' de pictah book. 
 
 THE LITTLE OLD HIGH-CHAIE. 
 
 Way dowa in Kansas City, not many months ago, 
 From an underground apartment of a dingy, shabby 
 
 row, 
 The red flag of an auctioneer was streaming on the 
 
 wind, 
 With letters bold and showy, just of the taking 
 
 kind. 
 And as the time was heavy on both our hands that 
 
 day, 
 Walking up and down the street, like children out 
 
 at play, 
 I said, "Old Pard, let's take a peep into the auction 
 
 room, 
 Just by way of killing time until the afternoon." 
 My partner whispered something low of fools that 
 
 go it blind, 
 And wouldn,'t budge an inch ; and then — I left my 
 
 pard behind. 
 
 I stood within that auction-room, as big as life that 
 
 day, 
 Though musty as a sepulchre, with groaning shelves 
 
 of clay. 
 
28 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 The candles gave sufl&cient light to show the hoary 
 head 
 
 Of the aged, shrivelled auctioneer, who perched him- 
 self overhead. 
 
 He looked at me, I looked at himi with bold, un- 
 flinching eye. 
 
 He said, "Don^t block the doorway, please ! Look 
 round; you'll surely buy.'^ 
 
 I noted well the things I saw, from floor to grimy 
 
 ceiling. 
 And swept my gaze from face to face until my head 
 
 seemed reeling. 
 At length, down in his little box, the old man took 
 
 his station. 
 And hawked his wares in such a voice, you'd think, 
 
 for all the nation. 
 Utensils, knives, forks, and spoons, furniture, mats, 
 
 and pictures. 
 Went with a crash, one and all, down from the 
 
 flimsy fixtures. 
 
 At last, from out a corner, 'mong rubbish worse for 
 wear. 
 
 The auctioneer drew quickly forth a little old high- 
 chair. 
 
 'Twas musty, battered, worn with age, not worth a 
 picayune, 
 
 Yet full of meaning, boys, I guess that ain't for- 
 gotten soon. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 29 
 
 He held it to the feeble light. "A baby's chair/' he 
 
 said. 
 His voice was choked, he put it down, then turned 
 
 away his head. 
 I thought him cold and formal, a man of sordid 
 
 mind, 
 With gold and silver for his god, distrust for all 
 
 mankind ; 
 But since I'd seen a tear-drop a-shining in his eye, 
 I knew the man was human, and not afraid to cry. 
 
 It took me back to childhood's days> back to the 
 old gray farm 
 
 Among New England's quiet hills, that held life's 
 sweetest charm; 
 
 For well I knew there was a place where I had 
 played so oft, 
 
 A chair like that was stored above, way up in moth- 
 er's loft. 
 
 The auctioneer turned round at length, and grasped 
 
 the chair once more. 
 This time he was in earnest, if he never was before. 
 "My friends," said he, "you'll think it strange that 
 
 worldly men like I, 
 That at a moment such as this a tear should dim 
 
 the eye. 
 But facts are stubborn things, my friends, and tears 
 
 a gift of God— 
 They teach in life of better things, sometimes a 
 
 chast'ning rod. 
 
so HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 ^^For just then to my mind there came a cHerub 
 form of old, 
 
 With eyes of heaven's purest blue, and hair of shin- 
 ing gold. 
 
 I seemed to see a baby form perched in the old high- 
 chair, 
 
 A loving mother at his side, with all a mother's care. 
 
 It told of rattles, rings, and things that children 
 love so well. 
 
 Of joys forever hidden, no tongue or pen shall tell. 
 
 The winter comes, our flower is dead, we've parted 
 with our treasure^ 
 
 Though Nature smiles for us once more, we find 
 in her no pleasure. 
 
 A thousand things unfold the past remembrance 
 everywhere, 
 
 But none shall reach the heart like this — the little, 
 old high-chair." 
 
 He said no more; a wail was heard, and straight 
 
 from out the crowd 
 A woman rashed with frantic mien, and cried in 
 
 accents loud: 
 "Oh, kind sir, as you loved your child, have mercy 
 
 now on me ! 
 I cannot part with baby's chair, though steeped in 
 
 penury! 
 Take all I have, my worldly goods — for none of 
 
 them I care — 
 But give me back my precious gift— my little old 
 
 high-chair!'^ 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 31 
 
 "I cannot, ma'am. You plead in vain/' he quickly- 
 made reply, 
 
 "For I am in honor bound to sell, or all our laws 
 defy/' 
 
 The sale went on, and dollar bids at once were 
 
 quickly given, 
 A price unheard for such a thing, until they reached 
 
 to seven. 
 The auctioneer, his mallet raised, prepared to strike 
 
 the blow. 
 "Quick, or you lose it now!'' he said. "Who will a 
 
 dollar go?" 
 "I will !" I cried. "The chair is mine, by all there 
 
 is in heaven ! 
 A dollar more I'll freely give, though it were thrice 
 
 times seven!" 
 The mallet crashed with sudden force upon the lit- 
 tle stand, 
 And at the counter soon I stood, the chair within 
 
 my hand. 
 
 And to the wretched creature in tattered garments 
 
 clad, 
 With features pinched with hunger, and face so wan 
 
 and sad, 
 I went with quickened footsteps, and said in kindly 
 
 voice : 
 "Here, madam, is your treasure; your heart with 
 
 mine rejoice." 
 
32 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 The woman failed to make reply ; both grief and 
 joy were there, 
 
 And in her arms she bore away the little old high- 
 chair. 
 
 UNCLE SAM PUTNAM'S FOURTH OF JULY 
 
 ORATION. 
 
 Friends and Feller Citizens : 
 
 Since you've called on me to say sumthin', here 
 goes. I ain't much of what you call a speaker, so 
 if you're expectin' more than plain fire-crackers 
 from me on this accasion I'm afeared that you'll be 
 disapp'inted. I never could git off them tarnal 
 spin-wheels, Roman candles, and skyrockets of ora- 
 tory, like sum fellers, but I know enough to keep 
 my powder dry fur my own use. Wall, p'r'aps I'm 
 like the rest of the farmers reound abeout Plun- 
 ket's Corners, that git so full of Fourth of July 
 they git charged with the spirit of patriotism, an' 
 if they don't shoot it off in some sort of speech, as 
 it should be done, are liable to cause serious dam- 
 age to their innards by spontaneous combustion. 
 
 Eben Hardscrabble used tew say that if you want 
 tew keep out of the pig-throw don't say anything 
 ag'in the farmers. That'si jest what I think abeout 
 the Fourth of July. If yew want tew git intew a 
 hornet's nest, blaze away ag'in Independence Day. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 33 
 
 What we want, most of all, is tew carry aout the 
 instructions of the heroes that fit fur our liberties. 
 Them heroes, I am proud tew say, feller citizens, 
 were the farmers of our kentry. They didn't kere 
 tew be yoked up like oxen tew lords and dewkes, 
 who wanted tew live on the fat of the land at our 
 expense, so they threw deown their plows, pitch- 
 forks, and rusty bayernets and made it so durned 
 oncomfortable fur the red-coats that they were glad 
 enough ter git out of the kentry. 
 
 Yes, feller kentrymen, them's the martyrs that 
 made the Fourth of July what it is tew-day. They 
 took the American eagle from the clouds and sot it 
 on a perch, and made it the proud bird of liberty. 
 
 Ther's no use of crowin' till yew hev sumthin' 
 ter crow abeout, and as we've got the pile to stand 
 on, we'll whoop her up fur all that she is wuth. 
 And now I say ring the bells with all yer might, 
 and let the thunder of the cannons shake the nuts 
 from the trees and rock the cradle of the deep. 
 
 BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 
 
 The effect of this dialogue may he considerably 
 heightened hy the use of appropriate costumes. 
 
 Brutus — Dat you hab wronged me does appear in 
 dis. You hab condemned me kase I said you took 
 de horseshoe from de door. 
 
34 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Cassiits — I nebber said you took de horseshoe 
 from de door. 
 
 Brutus — You bribed the oder man to say so. 
 
 Casshis — I nebber bribed no man to say so. 
 
 Brutus — Remember what you say. 'Tis recorded 
 by de typewriter. I am not a man to be trifled with. 
 You know de man dat hung it dar upon de handle 
 ob de door did so for justice sake. 
 
 Cassius — 'Tain't nothin' to do wid me. It ain't 
 my luck ; I didn't take it down. 
 
 Brutus — You did. 
 
 Cassius — I did not. 
 
 Brutus — Dar's but one cure for you — chastise- 
 ment. 
 
 Cassius — Chastisement? 
 
 Brutus — Dat's what I said, Cassius. You are 
 known to be no stranger to de henroost. 
 
 Cassius — Your words cut sharper dan a razor's 
 edge. 
 
 Brutus — ^A man dat would filch a horseshoe from 
 a door would not stop to steal a horse. 
 
 Cassius — Dis to me! I can no longer hold toged- 
 der. Come all de midnight prowlers ob de night, 
 wid pistols, shotguns, open fire! Charge me wid 
 heavy lead rather dan bring dis burnin' shame upon 
 me ! Brutus is my friend no more. ( Offers razor. ) 
 Dar is my razor, and heah my covered breast. Cut 
 me deep if you like. (Offers horseshoe.) Dar is 
 de horseshoe dat drapped from off your door. Take 
 it, too, for I know dat when you hate it most thou 
 lovest it better than ever thou lovest Cassius. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 85 
 
 Brutus — Cassius, you are yoked wid a lamb. 
 {Embraces Mm.) I respect de tears dat you hab 
 shed, and your apology ; 'tis better so dan de peni- 
 tentiary. 
 
 THE EAILEOAD OF LIFE. 
 
 Speech of a Young College Student. 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen : 
 
 My remarks Hem ! My remarks this even- 
 ing are — hem! — in — in re — relation to the — the 
 journey of life. The subject, my friends, is — is one 
 that — that — hem ! — I mean to which I — I have paid 
 a — a good deal of — of attention. I — I have arrived 
 — rived — hem ! — at — to the — definite conclusion 
 that — that — we are all — that is — hem ! — as it were, 
 more or less in — indefinitely embarked on — on the 
 — the steam — steamboat — no! no! I mean the — the 
 steam engine of — of existence, the — the railroad of 
 life. From the — the first moment — moment of our 
 — that is to say, our — our tempor — temporal being, 
 we — we — what shall I say? Ah, yes! We realize 
 the fact — the fact that we are — are animate — or, in 
 — in other words — ^hem ! — ^mortal creatures, with — 
 with the weight of — responsibility upon us, the suc- 
 cess of — of our lives being largely due — largely due 
 to our — our own efforts. 
 
Se HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 The railroad of life has — ^has its — its beauties — 
 its beauties — as well as its pleas — I mean its annoy- 
 ances, and — hem ! — its dangers. Sometimes its way 
 is over a sort of — of level plane, with — with de-de- 
 lightful groves, trailing — I mean trailing vines^ — 
 on either side^ — on either side. 
 
 Frightful yawn— hem ! — ing chasms, winding 
 over — over shaky bridges crossed by running 
 streams — streams that run, and — and shine — shine 
 refulgent in the moonbeams of the setting sun. This 
 picture, so^ — so glowingly — glowingly portrayed, is 
 but one — but one of — of the many aspects presented 
 to — to the — hem ! — the vision of the pass-passenger 
 in his journey on the railroad of life. The other 
 side of the picture, my friends, is^ — is^ — ^ah — less in- 
 viting. There are — ah — collisions — collisions, and 
 — and smashups — smashups that, that — how shall 
 I put it? — ah, yes, that not only endanger the lives 
 of — of the passengers^ — the passengers themselves, 
 but — hem ! — but all that may be — may be connected 
 with it — I mean them. 
 
 I have not added these last few, may I say, pain- 
 ful remarks, with — ^with a view of — of debarring 
 any — any rational being within — within the sound 
 of my voice from the attempt — hem ! — of — of mak- 
 ing the attempt to undertake the journey on — on 
 the railroad of life. No, heaven forbid! We — ^we 
 are all embarked on — on the same train, and — and 
 if we live— that is, if we live long enough, we are 
 sure, very sure, to — to get there in the end. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 37 
 
 A MOTHER TO HER SON. 
 
 To Mothers everi/iohere these lines are respectfully 
 
 dedicated. 
 
 There is a love that's stronger 
 
 Than links of shining gold ; 
 'Tis sculptured in the rocks of time 
 
 And treasured urns of old. 
 Pure as the mirrored T\^aters 
 
 From mountain brooklets run, 
 It is the love that God has given 
 
 A mother to her son. 
 
 When war-clouds, dark, impending, 
 
 Like ravens' wings alight, 
 Erect, in stately manhood, 
 
 He stands to guard the Right. 
 Buckling round her youthful soldier 
 
 The sword that battles won, 
 For God and Country now appeals 
 
 A mother to her son. 
 
 Though dark his path, her light shall shine 
 
 To guide him on his way, 
 Where strong Temptations surge within, 
 
 And scoffers drink and play. 
 No matter what his faults have been. 
 
 What good or bad he's done, 
 You cannot break the links that bind 
 
 A mother to her son. 
 
88 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 ^Mid gilded halls, where Vice and Crime 
 
 Stalk with their loads of sin, 
 Dash down the cup, O wretched youth ! 
 
 Thy mother stands within. 
 The sorrow on her fevered brow 
 
 Speaks woe that's new begun, 
 Yet stronger still the love that holds 
 
 A mother to her son. 
 
 Though prison walls engulf him, 
 
 Immured in noisome den, 
 Forever from God's earthly light. 
 
 And from the haunts of men ; 
 Though Fate's hard hand shall grip her boy, 
 
 With chair or coil outspun, 
 His innocence 'fore all shall hold 
 
 A mother to her son. 
 
 The last, though not the least, be said, 
 
 When thorny paths be trod, 
 With outstretched hands, and throbbing heart. 
 
 She yields him to his Ood, 
 Her life, the lone, sad sacrifice, 
 
 When all is said and done; 
 'Tis Death that breaks the tie that binds 
 
 A mother to her son. 
 
 HOW LUNKENHEIMEE SET HIS POETEY TO 
 
 MUSIC. 
 My name vos Jacob Lunkenheimer. I vos a poet. 
 Everypody don't know id. I write some peautiful 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 39 
 
 poetry de odder tay. Id vos sucergested to me py 
 a cow dot vos scratching her hindt leg mit her front 
 leg. It runs in dis vay : 
 
 Dare vos a cow in our town, 
 Her fleece vos vite as snow ; 
 
 TJnd everyvare dot poor cow vent 
 Dot fleece vos sure to go. 
 
 Id vos such peautiful poetry dot all te girls are in 
 loaf mit me. Veil, dot vos too pad, for te girls; I 
 vos a married poet. 
 
 Id vos such nice poetry dot I took id to vun uv 
 dem poetry managers in Ni Yorak. 
 
 "Vy, Mister Lunkenheimer,'' said he, ^^dot is such 
 nice poetry vot I efer see, somedimes quick. Vy 
 don'd you haf id set to moosic?'^ 
 
 ^^Vell/' I say, ^^I don'd know 'bond dot. How vill 
 I haf id sot to moosic?'' 
 
 "I tole you,'^ he say, pooty quick. "You get von 
 leetle pox, so pig.'' 
 
 "Yaw, Mynheer.'' 
 
 "You fill dis leetle pox mit nice fresh eggs." 
 
 "Yaw, Mynheer." 
 
 "You put te poetry on te top of dese eggs." 
 
 "Yaw, Mynheer." 
 
 "Den you put dis pox mit te eggs und te poetry 
 on top, in von piano. You sure got moosic. Of you 
 don'd got moosic from te poetry, you sure got id 
 from te eggs." 
 
40 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 ^^Vell/' I say, "I t'ank you very mootch. You ha'f 
 von pig heart. I vill do dot right avay/' 
 
 I vent py mine houses und ven I got dare I put te 
 leetle pox, mit te eggs und poetry, in te piano, und 
 lief dem dare four veeks. 
 
 Vun tay Katrina ha'f coompany. She vos playin^ 
 dot piano mit all her might, und te beoples vos 
 happy, singin' ^^Vatch on te Rhine,'^ ven boom! 
 pang! dot pox mit te eggs und poetry got spilled. 
 For vun minit you couldn't preathe for te schmell 
 ov te moosic vot came oud of dot piano. Te beoples 
 dook a valk in te pack yard. Ven Katrina saw vot 
 happened she got so mat mit herself dot she tore 
 dot poetry to bieces und salt dot I ought to gone 
 right avay to te poor houses. Te nexd dimes I ha'f 
 poetry to set to moosic I pud id in under a hen. 
 
 WANTED, A GIRL WITH REFERENCES. 
 
 Dialogue for five Female Characters. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Mrs. Van Buren Altson Lady of the house 
 
 Matilda Hardscrabble^ 
 
 Lately arrived from Vermont 
 Bridget Murphy From County Kerry, Ireland 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 41 
 
 Geokgiana Sunflower, 
 
 Formerly of the best families 
 Katrina Talented, but inexperienced 
 
 Scene — Drawing-room or parlor; table, chairs, etc. 
 Mrs. Van Buren Alt son discovered at table. 
 
 Mrs. Altson \tdking up folded newspaper) — I 
 have just received this morning's*paper. I am a lit- 
 tle anxious to see how my advertisement for a ser- 
 vant^ppears in print. ( Glancing over sheet. ) Yes, 
 here it is. ^^Wanted, a girl with references. Bring 
 papers. Inquire, after nine o'clock a.m., Mrs. Van 
 Buren Altson, 29 Elmwood avenue, city.'' Now, I 
 think that is just lovely. Dear me! I am having 
 so much trouble with these servants. If it were 
 not that their services are so very necessary, I be- 
 lieve that I would dispense with them altogether. 
 The last servant I employed had the audacity to use 
 the parlor three nights a week for her company. 
 Aside from this annoyance she destroyed more than 
 the amount of her wages every week by the destruc- 
 tion of glass and chinaware in the kitchen. I was 
 obliged to get rid of her finally, as she almost gave 
 me acsiege of nervous prostration by setting the 
 house on fire with a kerosene lamp. ( Clock strikes 
 nine, ) Nine o'clock ! I am almost sure there are 
 some applicants in waiting. {Knock witliont.) Ah ! 
 there is a knock now. Come in ! 
 
 Enter Matilda. 
 Matilda — Don't disturb yourself, ma'am. I am 
 
42 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 not a person, I assure yon, to stand on ceremony. 
 I can mal^e myself at home most anywhere. You 
 see, ma'am, I am a person of few words, and will 
 come straight to the pint — I mean point. You will 
 excuse me when I inform you that I am a stranger 
 in town. In glancing over the paper this morning 
 I saw your advertisement for a girl with references. 
 As I, unfortunately, am compelled to labor for a 
 living, and being out of a position, I thought that 
 I would just step in and have a little talk with you. 
 I presume that you want some one for general 
 housework? 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — Yes, I am in need of a capable per- 
 son, more especially for work in the kitchen. 
 
 Matilda — In the kitchen; yes, I understand, 
 ma'am. Well, I have had experience in all sorts of 
 kitchen work. Bless you! Aunt Jemima Hard- 
 scrabble used to say that I was not only the best 
 cook in Farm Center, Vermont, but the handiest 
 critter — excuse me, ma'am, I mean creature — she 
 ever knew in any department of woman's work. You 
 see, ma'am, that I am entirely capable of attending 
 to my duties, whatever they may be — sweep, scrub, 
 wash, darn, and keep the run of things, and do what 
 there is to be done about the house, in a sensible 
 way. I am particularly fond of preparing such 
 dishes as brown bread, hasty pudding, and baked 
 beans, and if you have any old clothes to mend for 
 the children, or stockings 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — Excuse me for interrupting you, 
 but I believe you said your name was 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 43 
 
 Matilda — Matilda Hardscrabble, ma'am. Unfor- 
 tunately, I have none of my cards with, me at the 
 present time. Of course, the name is not as musical 
 as some others that I could mention, yet it is useful 
 from the fact that it is so expressive and easily 
 remembered. The Christian name of Matilda has 
 been in the family for a great many years. My 
 mother's name was Matilda, so was my grandmoth- 
 er's 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — I understand, Miss Hardscrab- 
 ble 
 
 Matilda — That's right — Miss Hardscrabble. Of 
 course I am not married. Let people say as they 
 think proper on the subject of matrimony, for my 
 part I am not favorable to early marriages. Plenty 
 of time, in my opinion, at thirty, thirty-five, or even 
 forty. 
 
 Mrs. Alison — I was going to say, Miss Hardscrab- 
 ble, that you being the first applicant 
 
 Matilda — That's right; I'm from the country, I 
 know, but I always make it a pint — I mean a point 
 — of being first. Of course, a person can be posi- 
 tively rude, but my education will not permit me 
 to make any undue attempts at becoming conspicu- 
 ously bad-mannered. When I came here this morn- 
 ing there were two or three ahead of me, but I just 
 put my right foot foremost, as I had a right to do, 
 and got the handle of the door in advance. You 
 seem to be a very agreeable person, and I believe 
 that I would like the place, providing the salary 
 was acceptable. 
 
44 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 M7's. Altson—Mj servants, Miss Hardscrabble, 
 have never had occasion to complain about their 
 salaries. 
 
 Matilda — I am more than delighted to hear you 
 say that, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — Have you any references? 
 
 Matilda ( in astonishment ) — ^Eef erences ! 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — Yes. As you have informed me 
 that you are a stranger in the city, it is hardly to 
 be expected that you would be able to refer me to 
 any friends or employers. I would be pleased to 
 accept any written recommendations that you 
 would be pleased to offer me. In fact, the tone of 
 my advertisement^ as you have read^ is favorable 
 to letters of introduction. You know what I mean? 
 
 Matilda — I certainly do, ma'am. You are not 
 willing to accept what I say as the truth. 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — With all due respect to your feel- 
 ings, Miss Hardscrabble, I am not. It is a mere 
 form of business, that every person in the city who 
 employs help is compelled to comply with. 
 
 Matilda {sohhing) — Not another word, ma'am! 
 I cannot endure it ! What is a poor girl to do, alone 
 and friendless in this great city? You know the 
 situation in which I am placed — that I am unable 
 to comply with your demands. You abuse and tor- 
 ment me ! 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — I am very sorry, Miss Hardscrab- 
 ble, very sorry, but 
 
 Matilda — Do not approach me. You have placed 
 me in a menial position and ground my heart to 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 45 
 
 powder with your words of cruelty! I cannot 
 breathe in this wretched atmosphere ! Farewell ! I 
 will return to my native hills at once ! 
 
 Ewit quickly^ L. 
 Mrs. Altson — Poor deluded creature! I could 
 not tolerate such a person for a moment. I doubt 
 very much if she ever saw such a place as Farm 
 Center, Vermont. It occurred to me that even her 
 emotion was more of a mockery than a reality. 
 {Knock without.) Dear me! Another applicant! 
 Come in ! 
 
 Enter Georgiana Sunflower^ L. 
 
 Georgiana (fanning herself vigorously) — Is you 
 de missis ob dis establishment? 
 
 Mrs. Altson — I am Mrs. Van Buren Altson. What 
 can I do for you? 
 
 Georgiana — Jes' at present, missis, I dun know. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — I suppose you have come in answer 
 to my advertisement, for a situation. 
 
 Georgiana — Dat's so, missis. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — You are in want of a situation? 
 
 Georgiana — I am, missis. You can write my 
 name down as Miss Georgiana Sunflower, formerly 
 of Virginia. {Hands her card.) Dat's my card. 
 My last place was wid Mrs. Bonaparte Jones, on 
 Fifth avenue, New York. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — Was Mrs. Bonaparte Jones unkind 
 to you that you have left her? 
 
 Georgiana — I didn't leave her, missisi. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — ^What was the trouble? 
 
46 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Georgiana — She left me. 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — She discharged you? 
 
 Georgiana — No, missis, I discharged myself. Dar 
 was too many chillun in de family to suit my con- 
 venience. I've got my pick in de best families. 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — You have references, then — that is, 
 you can refer me to your last place? 
 
 Georgiana — Dat's right, missis. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — Let me see — I have my book right 
 here. Mrs. Bonaparte Jones, Fifth avenue, the 
 number is 
 
 Georgiana — ^What you say, missis? 
 
 Mrs. Altson — The number, please. 
 
 Georgiana — Beg pardon! I'se a little hard o' 
 hearing in de right ear. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — You cannot give me the number of 
 the house, then? 
 
 Georgiana— -For goodness sake, missis;, I dun for- 
 got de number o' de house, shuah. I ^spect you find 
 de number in de directory. 
 
 Mrs. Alston — That will do, Miss Sunflower. 
 
 Georgiana — T^ank you. My trunk is at de door. 
 
 Mrs. Altson— Yon have brought your trunk with 
 you? 
 
 Georgiana — You needn't mind ; I can bring it in. 
 My wages am fo' dollahs a week. I come yar wid 
 de understanding dat I have fo' nights and free 
 arternoons off, wid de right ob de parlor for my 
 company. I would like to see my room. 
 
 Mrs. Altson (aside) — What audacity! I shall 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 47 
 
 not trouble you to bring in your trunk, Miss Sun- 
 flower. 
 
 Georgiana — ^Why not, missis? 
 
 Mrs. Altson — You are not the person to suit me 
 at all. 
 
 Georgianor— Yon pay for de trunk? 
 
 Mrs, Altson — Decidedly not. It could hardly be 
 expected that I should pay for your trunk when 
 you brought it here on your own responsibility. 
 
 Georgiana — Don't mention it. I don't blame you. 
 I'se sorry dat my terms don't suit you. My time is 
 limited. I hab seberal pressin' engagements dis 
 morning Good-bye, missis. 
 
 Exit^ L,y hurriedly. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — Oh, dear ! It is such a relief for me 
 to know that she is gone. The audacity of these 
 creatures is positively distressing. I wonder what 
 sort of an annoyance I shall be obliged to put up 
 with next. (Enter Eatrina^ L.) Ah! Here is a 
 nice-looking German girl. I think that she will 
 suit me. [Katrina approaches her very diffidently. ) 
 You are a German girl, are you not? 
 
 Eatrina — Yaw ! I come me from Yarminy. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — I presume that you are looking for 
 a situation. 
 
 Eatrina — Yaw ! yaw ! I come to hire you oudt. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — Hire me out? 
 
 Eatrina — Dot so. Ein, swi, dri dimes. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — How long have you been in the 
 country? 
 
48 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Eatrina — Der koontry — how long? 
 
 Airs. Alt son — Yes, how long? 
 
 Katrina (throwing her hands apart) — So long. 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — No, no! You do not understand. 
 How high? 
 
 Katrina (throwing her hands above her head) — 
 So high. 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — ^What is your name? 
 
 Katrina — Katrina Modder. 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — ^Well, then, Katrina, I want to 
 know how long it is since you left the ship? 
 
 Katrina — Yaw ! Ter ship^ — dis koontry — me vor- 
 stay. If I lief here swi tays I bin in de koontry von 
 veek. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — Where do you live? 
 
 Katrina — Lief? — me? Dot so; I lief me py der 
 Morgue. 
 
 Mrs. Alston — The Morgue! Oh, horror! 
 
 Katrina — It vos dis vay. Mine fadder he vos 
 here. He vent away oudt mit him's dorg und shoot- 
 ed himself mit him's gun. He vos tead right avay. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — Ah, I understand you, Katrina. 
 Your father was killed by the accidental discharge 
 of his gun. 
 
 Katrina — ^Yaw, dot so. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — What can you do? 
 
 Katrina — I can do dis. (Dances and sings ^ at the 
 conclusion of which a voice is heard without ^ calh 
 ing, ^^ Katrina! Katrina F^) Dot's my mudder now. 
 Coming, right avay, quick ! (Buns off quickly^ L.) 
 
 Mrs. Alston — What a singular action ! ( Goes^ L.) 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 49 
 
 Ah! Katrina in company with an old lady, who 
 seems to be angry with her. {Noise and hang of 
 door.) Thank goodness, they are gone. {Returns 
 to table. ) I am afraid I am not going to be success- 
 ful in securing a capable servant, after all. 
 
 Enter Bridget Murphy^ unceremoniously. She 
 carries a large market basket on Tier arm^ contain- 
 ing a number of balls made of newspapers. 
 
 Bridget — Are yees the lady of the house, mum? 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — I have that honor. 
 
 Bridget {placing her basket upon the stage and 
 unfolding a newspaper^ which she carries in her 
 hand) — You're the wan I'm luken fur. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — What is the nature of your visit, 
 madam? 
 
 Bridget — Madam ! I loike that. Well, in the fust 
 place, I'd have yees to know that my name's Bridget 
 Murphy, from County Kerry, Ireland; as dacint a 
 woman as ever trod shoe-leather. In the second 
 place, I'm luken for work. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — I see. Another applicant. 
 
 Bridget — I don't know about that, my lady. 
 
 Mrs. Altson — I would ask you to be as brief as 
 possible, Mrs. Murphy. Time is pressing. 
 
 Bridget — Is it? I have to ax yees a few questions 
 before I consint to take the place. {Goes to her, 
 unfolds paper y and points with her finger.) Are 
 yees the author of thim loines? 
 
 Mrs. Altson — That is my advertisement, madam. 
 
 Bridget — It is? I'll rade it fur yees. "Wanted, 
 a gurl v\dd references. Bring paphers." Do yee^ 
 
50 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 moind that? I've got the papliers. "Inquire of 
 Mrs. Van Buren Altson, No. 29 Elmwood avenue, 
 New York.'^ Yees are the instigator of thim wurds, 
 mum? 
 
 Mrs. Alison — I am. There is no necessity for any 
 further repetition of the words. 
 
 Bridget — It is not my intintion, ma'am, to incur 
 your displeasure. I would have yees to know that 
 I am particular about my engagements. I would 
 loike to ax yees what wurk yees have fur a good 
 girl? 
 
 Mrs, Alison — I desire a competent girl in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 Bridget — That's right, mum — ^T\^an that can wash, 
 iron, cook, and do anythin' there is to be done. I 
 understand. 
 
 Mrs. Alison — The person I employ must come 
 well recommended. 
 
 Bridget — I see, mum. Never moind, I've got the 
 paphers. What wages are yees pay in' to a good gurl? 
 
 Mrs. Alison — Two dollars per week and found. 
 
 Bridget — Found dead, I suppose. Yees can put 
 on another dollar a wake fur wan that can do any- 
 thing, an' lave out the per. Commints are not 
 
 Mrs. Alison — Madam, I 
 
 Bridget — Commints are not nicessary, mum. 
 What did yees discharge yer last gurl fur? 
 
 Mrs. Alison — She broke all the china and glass- 
 ware in the kitchen. 
 
 Bridget — Did she? Poor thing! And you dis- 
 charged her fur breakin' the china and glassware? 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 51 
 
 Mrs, Alt son — I did. 
 
 Bridget — Poor craythur ! And what else did she 
 do? 
 
 Mrs, Alison — Set the house on fire with a lamp. 
 
 Bridget — Did she? Poor thing! And you dis- 
 charged her fur burnin' the house wid a lamp? 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — I certainly did. 
 
 Bridget — You certainly did. Well, well! Will 
 wunders ever sthop? Go on. What else did she 
 do? 
 
 Mrs. Alt son — She used the parlor for her com- 
 pany almost every night of the week. 
 
 Bridget — She did ! That w^as TVTong of her. She 
 didn't know her place, mum. She should have con- 
 tinted hersilf wid the kitchen, and left the parlor 
 fur the lady of the house. I don't blame yees fur 
 dischargin' her at all, at all. I've no inclination 
 fur the parlor, mum. I'll take charge of the kitchen, 
 do all the wurk, and lave my ordhers wid yees fur 
 the butcher, the baker, an' the grocer. I'll see, mum, 
 that yer china and glassware ain't broke, an' that 
 yer house ain't burned down wid a lamp. All wid 
 the understandin' that there be no interference on 
 yer part wid me wurk. 
 
 Mrs, Alison — Mrs. Murphy, I am sorry, but really 
 I cannot allow this to go on any longer. Your ser- 
 vices are positively not required. 
 
 Bridget — What is that yees say, mum? 
 
 Mrs, Alt son {rising in anger) — I shall have to 
 ask you to leave my house at once. 
 
 Bridget — Lave yer house, is it? It's mane of 
 
52 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 yees, mum. Shure, it's lucky I am, afther all, that 
 I've no dalin's wid yees. Before I go I'll give yees 
 all the paphers yees want. ( Opens her 'basket and 
 takes out a paper hall. ) I'll have a game of base- 
 ball wid yees. ( Throws missile at Mrs. Alt son ^ who 
 dodges it and runs frantically/ ahout the room^ pur- 
 sued hy Bridget^ who continues to pelt her until 
 her supply is exhausted, in the midst of which melee 
 the curtain descends.) 
 
 FM GOING HOME TO DIE. 
 
 Return of the Irish Emigrant. 
 
 Some forty years ago, old friend, 
 
 I crossed the ocean blue. 
 And found a home in this fair land, 
 
 And to it I've been true. 
 I've been a soldier, fought and bled, 
 
 And fell where patriots lie ; 
 But now, there's no more need for me, 
 
 I'm going home to die. 
 
 1 recollect the day I left 
 
 The isle so green and fair, 
 The parting words of kindred, friends, 
 
 And she with sunny hair; 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 53 
 
 Our little cot among the hills, 
 
 The river running by. 
 Though none there are to greet me back, 
 
 I'm going home to die. 
 
 There's no one here to care for me 
 
 Since Bertha is no more; 
 Her little grave you will attend, 
 
 And twine the ivy o'er. 
 A father to her I have been, 
 
 And leave her with a sigh ; 
 You'll not forget the orphan child — 
 
 I'm going home to die. 
 
 My parents, brothers^ sisters* all — 
 
 Whose grief and joy I shared, 
 Eepose beneath old Ireland's sod, 
 
 And gone, I trust, prepared. 
 There is a churchyard on the hill, 
 
 Where, side by side, they lie ; 
 A space between, and that's for me. 
 
 I'm going home to die. 
 
 Farewell, dear friend, forever, now! 
 
 Mourn not when I am gone. 
 We both are old and palsied grown, 
 
 We'll not be parted long. 
 Though seas between our graves shall roll, 
 
 We'll meet again on high. 
 God bless and prosper you, old friend — 
 
 I'm going home to die. 
 
54 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 THE FRENCHMAN AND THE HARE'S LEGS. 
 
 A 'Stylish Frenchman entered a fashionable res- 
 taurant in New York^ and, seating himself at one 
 of the tables, rang vigorously for a waiter. 
 
 Not being served at once, on account of the rush 
 of trade, he arose to his feet and shouted lustily : 
 
 '^Gar§on ! gargon ! Come here, quick !'' 
 
 A waiter hurried to his side. 
 
 "Ah, gargon, you have come. I am so hongree! 
 I have me no preakfast, vun veek.^' 
 
 "What can I do for you, monsieur?" 
 
 "Mootch, vare mootch ! Vat have you got?'' 
 
 "Everything that is good for the stomach. Our 
 bill of fare." 
 
 "Aha ! ze leettle beel of fare, eh? Let me see how 
 mootch." 
 
 "Your order, please. Business is rushing." 
 
 "T'ank you. I vill get some preakfast quicker." 
 
 "Your order, please," reiterated the waiter, im- 
 patiently. "Our bill of fare." 
 
 "Oui ! oui ! Ze leetle beel of fare. Let me see vat 
 you have got, gargon." 
 
 The Frenchman glanced quickly over the little 
 card, and returned, sharply : 
 
 "How mootch you pay, huh?" 
 
 "What you eat, monsieur. We are on the Euro- 
 pean plan." 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 55 
 
 ^^ You do not comprehend, gargon. Vat you pay ze 
 whole beel?'' 
 
 The waiter gazed at his customer in amazement 
 for a moment, and then blurted out, ^Tive dollars !^' 
 thinking, perhaps, to get rid of him. To his aston- 
 ishment the Frenchman rubbed his hand in delight 
 and said. 
 
 ^^Vare weel. Sheap, sheap! Vare sheap!'' 
 
 The waiter smiled very graciously and became 
 even obsequious to the wants of his customer, 
 
 "We shall be pleased to serve you with our best,'^ 
 he said, with an extra flourish of his napkin across 
 the table. 
 
 "Ah, thanks, gargon. You do me vat you call 
 mootch proud. Let me see, ze first vat I see on ze 
 leetle beel is me— me — menu. Dat's it.'' 
 
 The waiter drew back in astonishment. 
 
 "Vat for you look like vun leetle pull like zat, 
 huh? Mon Dieu ! I get me no preakfast dis veek !'' 
 
 "I am sorry that we cannot accommodate you, 
 monsieur. We have no such dish as ^menu.' '' 
 
 "Vat ees zat you say, gargon? You have no such 
 tish?'' 
 
 "That is what I said, monsieur.'' 
 
 "Den vat for you put heem on ze leetle beel? I 
 pay my money, I must have ze whole beel. By gar, 
 you sheat me !" 
 
 To make matters alarming, the Frenchman arose 
 angrily from the table and made an effort to grasp 
 his hat and coat from the hanger. 
 
 Fearful of losing such a good customer, the wait- 
 
56 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 er interfered with his hasty movements and begged 
 him to be seated. 
 
 "Do not be in a hurry/^ he said. "You do not 
 understand. You are an intelligent man, monsieur. 
 If you will stop and think for a moment you will 
 realize that ^menu' is simply a name for the various 
 dishes upon the list. Pray be seated.'^ 
 
 "Oui, oui, gargon ! Zat ees so. I vould be vun 
 pig dunce. Menu ! Zat ees right, sare.'^ 
 
 With this our hungry Frenchman reseated him- 
 self at the tableland once more took up the bill of 
 fare. 
 
 "Ze next vat I see on ze leetle beel ees^ — ^vat you 
 call heem — tom — tom — tommy " 
 
 "Tomato soup/' interrupted the waiter. 
 
 "Oui, oui! Tomato soup; nice delecassey. You 
 pring me vun tish of tommitoes soup.'' 
 
 The waiter was hurrying away when he was 
 brought to a halt by a shout from the Frenchman, 
 who added : 
 
 "Vun cup of coffee and a leetle pread and sheeze." 
 
 The small order was soon placed before him. Af- 
 ter a vigorous rubbing of his hands he began opera- 
 tions on the tempting morsels. The first thing he 
 did was to empty the contents of the tiny sugar bowl 
 into his coffee; the milk followed suit. These were 
 now pushed aside, and he was soon scraping the 
 bottom of his soup-dish. The bread, cheese, and 
 coffee next disappeared like magic, and, like Oliver 
 Twist, he was looking round for more. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 57 
 
 The waiter was soon at his side^ and piled the 
 empty dishes upon his salver. 
 
 The Frenchman^ without a word, took up the 
 card and, gave the following order : 
 
 "Vun roast bif, vun roast lamb, vun roast chicken, 
 vun roast duck, vun roast turkey, vun roast potato, 
 vun squash, vun turnip, vun celery, vun mushroom, 
 catsup, two cranberry sauce.'' 
 
 The waiter staggered, and in his effort to ^vnrite, 
 dropped his pencil upon the floor. 
 
 He turned to go, when his hungry customer called 
 him back and said : 
 
 ^^I say, gargon, a cup of coffee, and a leetle more 
 pread and sheeze.'' 
 
 The waiter soon reappeared bearing a well-filled 
 tray with the Frenchman's order. The various dishes 
 were speedily grouped in a semicircle in front of 
 his delighted customer. 
 
 "Vun pottle of vine, right here, gargon, right 
 here," tapping with the end of his finger on the 
 table. He needed no invitation to begin operations, 
 but Went to work in earnest with knife, fork, and 
 spoon. 
 
 The viands which were most agreeable to his pal- 
 ate were eagerly devoured, while some of the other 
 dishes were partly ignored, only the most toothsome- 
 appearing morsels being eaten. Leaning back in 
 his chair, he surveyed his field of operations, and 
 evinced his satisfaction by a succession of grunts. 
 The wine now attracted his attention, and grasping 
 the bottle he threw away the unloosened cork, and. 
 
58 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, 
 
 pouring out a glassful of bright red wine, tossed 
 it off at a drauglit. The next moment he sputtered 
 what remained in his mouth over the dishes on the 
 table, followed by a succession of grimaces, guttur- 
 als, and expletives, which brought the waiter hastily 
 to his side. 
 
 "Ah, gargon, vat^s ze matter, you say? Vat you 
 take me for? You t'ink mine stomach vaz vun vash- 
 house, huh?'^ 
 
 "What's the trouble, monsieur?'^ said the waiter. 
 
 "Ze vine ! You make vun peef steak ! You poison 
 me V^ 
 
 "Our best Burgundy.'' 
 
 "Burgandy, ze debble, sare! Vinegar, gargon, 
 vinegar !" 
 
 During this time the waiter was busy piling the 
 dishes upon his tray. Our Frenchman, having set- 
 tled down, once more took up the bill of fare, and 
 went on enumerating : 
 
 "Vun apple pie, vun custard pie, vun rice pud- 
 ding, vun apple dumpling, vun nuts, vun oranges, 
 vun ice-cream, vun leetle cup of strong coffee, and 
 a leetle more pread and sheeze. Ah ! vat I see me 
 now, at ze pottom of ze leetle card?" 
 
 "A special dish, monsieur. Stewed mushrooms 
 and frog's legs," said the waiter. 
 
 "Mushrooms! Frog's legs! Peautiful delicas- 
 sey! Vy didn't you tell me zat quick, sometimes 
 pefore?" 
 
 The waiter shook his head and made no reply, 
 
 "Vare weel, you pring him here, quick S" 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 59 
 
 The waiter hastily reappeared with the order, and 
 once more made his semicircle of dishes, in front of 
 the Frenchman, on the table. 
 
 ^^Ah ! vare goot ! I vill keep ze frog's legs to ze 
 last. Dey vill keep ze rest of ze t'ings in my stom- 
 ach.'^ 
 
 The frog's legs were pushed to a convenient dis- 
 tance from him, and the waiter took his leave. The 
 puddings disappeared, and the pie, oranges, nuts, 
 and ice-cream followed, topped off with the coffee, 
 and bread and cheese. Next the frog's legs were 
 drawn in front of him and subjected to a vigorous 
 attack. 
 
 To his surprise, he found them tough and un- 
 palatable. After several fruitless attempts to cut 
 them with his knife and fork, he finally splurted 
 them from the dish and upset the mushrooms upon 
 the table. 
 
 Eising in anger from the table, he shouted for 
 the waiter. 
 
 "By gar ! Vat you call dem, eh?" 
 
 "I'm sorry, monsieur," replied the waiter, "but 
 the cook has made a mistake, and sent hare's legs 
 instead." 
 
 "Sacre! The debble heemself could not eet zem! 
 I have what you call enough." 
 
 The Frenchman grasped his hat and coat and 
 turned toward the door. 
 
 "Your check, monsieur." 
 
 He clutched the check and hurried to the coun- 
 ter. 
 
60 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Throwing down his money, and the check along 
 with it, he shouted : 
 
 "Ze next time yen I come inside of dis place I 
 stay on ze outside! I call for frog's legs, by gar! 
 You give me Belgian hare's legs !'' 
 
 THE KNIGHTS OF THE PEESS. 
 
 Speech of Jimmy Farley at the Fifth Anniversary 
 of the Newsboys^ CUib^ the Knights of the Press. 
 
 Friends and Feller Associates : 
 
 It is wid a feelin' of de innermost pleasure dat 
 I appear before you dis evenin' as de speaker se- 
 lected for de occashun. I t'ank yer for de honor 
 dat yer have conferred on me, an' hope dat I may 
 be able ter acquit myself in a manner dat would 
 be worthy of a newsboy of de city of New York. 
 (Applause.) I am happy to say dat dis is de fifth 
 anniversary of de newsboys' club, de Knights of de 
 Press. 
 
 It also affords me happiness to say dat dis club 
 is now in a more prosperous condishun dan ever 
 before. Dat should be a subject of de highest grat- 
 ercation to de offl.cers and all dose connected wid it. 
 
 Fer de benefit of dose who are wid us to-night 
 who may not know de principuls by which dis club 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 61 
 
 is gUYerned, I would like to make de announce- 
 ment dat dis club was founded by the newsboys of 
 New York, s'ported by de newsboys of New York, 
 an' dat de only people in de worP dat have any say 
 in its active principuls are de newsboys of New 
 York. Every boy, regardless of nashonality, dat 
 makes his livin' by sellin' newspapers, an' has a 
 character fer tellin' de truth, wid a dispersishun to 
 do what is right, can become an active member of de 
 Knights of de Press. Its fundermental principuls 
 are eddicashun, mut'al pertection to its members, 
 an' de elervashun of mankin' gen'rally. 
 
 You will see, den, my frien's an' brothers, how 
 important it is dat every right-minded boy dat has 
 an idee above a huckleberry, or a full stummick 
 (laughter), should see de importance of becomin' a 
 member, dat he might enjoy de benefits of its teach- 
 in's an' associashuns. 
 
 De newsboy, in my opinion, deserves more credit 
 dan he is given gen'rally. He dissemernates knowl- 
 edge to de classes, an' promotes de good of de com- 
 munity by de circerlashun of de latest news an' use- 
 ful literatoor. Dere is many a man livin' in high 
 s'ciety ter-day dat wouldn't enjoy his cigar half so 
 w^ell, after a warm breakfas', if he didn't have de 
 mornin' paper fer consolashun. I might enum'rate 
 many instances in s'port of de glorious cause of de 
 newsboy were it not dat I feel dat I have fully ex- 
 pressed myself on dis occashun, an' must close, wid 
 de hope dat dose present who are not members of 
 de Knights of de Press may join us, wid a view 
 
62 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 of becomin' useful^ right-minded, an' respected cit- 
 erzens of dis iniglity republic. 
 
 THE LITTLE SOCKS OF WICKLOW FARM. 
 
 In the sunlight of his kitchen, 
 
 Sat a farmer, old and gray ; 
 He ^\^as thinking of his boyhood, 
 
 And the years now passed away. 
 
 He was thinking of his manhood. 
 
 He sat thinking of his dead. 
 Sternly, now, his face grew stronger, 
 
 As he raised his heavy head. 
 
 ^^Give to me, O God,'' he uttered, 
 "Give to me thy comfort now!" 
 
 Then he rose as one in terror, 
 
 Clasped his hands upon his brow. 
 
 "No !" he cried, "I'll ne'er forgive her! 
 
 She to me is dead as clay. 
 All my curses heaped upon her. 
 
 Keep her from me now alway. 
 
 "Call her not my only daughter, 
 I have none, the world shall say, 
 
 For I've crushed all feeling for her, 
 And the brat she bore away. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 63 
 
 ^^What's to me her wortliless husband, 
 
 Beggar, outcast of the town, 
 With no spark of human kindness. 
 
 Of the lowest, lowest down? 
 
 "So I drove them forth together, 
 
 Barred the heavy kitchen door; 
 With the night and winds contending. 
 
 Vagrants now, forever more!'^ 
 
 Then he turned toward the window, 
 Where the jeweled mountains lay. 
 
 In the gleaming of the ice-fields 
 Shining in the golden day. 
 
 No sound, no voice, no echo there. 
 
 No human form he saw. 
 'Twas frost ! Another winter's day 
 
 Writ in his book of law. 
 
 He turned away, then started back. 
 
 What is this upon the chair? 
 A small brown box, tied with a string ! 
 
 She must have placed it there ! 
 
 He broke the cord with nervous hand. 
 
 The lid from it he tore. 
 A little pair of baby socks 
 
 Fell out upon the floor. 
 
64 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 'Twas fair Helen's baby fixings, 
 By swift fingers neatly done; 
 
 'Twas her trinkets, socks, and garments, 
 By her mother knit and spun. 
 
 All the dead past rnshed upon him, 
 All the days of grief and woe. 
 
 All the happiness, and blessings, 
 Of just nineteen years ago. 
 
 From his hands the box fell quickly, 
 O'er the floor its contents flew; 
 
 Then he grasped the hanging curtain. 
 Bound him now its folds he drew. 
 
 Through the darkness saw these pictures, 
 In the shadows, come and go: 
 
 Of a mother and her infant, 
 Brightest now for him to know. 
 
 Heard the ring of joy and gladnessi. 
 Saw her innocence, her glee ; 
 
 In her eyes the love-light shining, 
 As she climbed upon his knee. 
 
 Saw her in her girlhood's beauty, 
 
 In her loveliness of life. 
 All his comfort, all his treasure. 
 
 Drooping o'er his poor dead wife! 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 65 
 
 Saw her face of bitter anguish, 
 
 As he drove her from his door, 
 In that storm of cruel winter, 
 
 To the icy, frozen moor. 
 
 Then there came his cry of torment, 
 As though terror did him seize; 
 
 Tore the curtain in his madness, 
 Fell upon his trembling knees. 
 
 To that God which is above us, 
 Then he prayed, as ne'er before. 
 
 For that light, which is in Heaven, 
 For the outcast from his door. 
 
 That the past be all forgotten, 
 All his hope he centered there. 
 
 On his feet he stood, enlightened ; 
 God had answered earnest prayer. 
 
 Ere the night fell, came a jingling 
 
 Of bells upon the snow, 
 And the noise of prancing horses, 
 
 In the gloaming, come and go. 
 
 Next, the sound of merry voices. 
 
 Open wide he threw the door. 
 With a happy father's greeting. 
 
 Counting all his treasures o'er. 
 
66 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 'Twas fair Helen and her infant, 
 And her husband, free from harm. 
 
 O'er the fender still are hanging 
 Little socks of Wicklow Farm. 
 
 UNCLE SAMPSON AT CONEY ISLAND. 
 
 Talk abeout Coney Island ! Well, say, fellers, we 
 hain't got nothin' like it at Vermont Center, that's 
 a fact. I was aout fur a good time, an' I ruther 
 guess I got all I was lookin' fur. 
 
 It was all-fired hot^ an' thar was sich a tarna- 
 shun craowd that sometimes I was walkin', an' 
 sometimes I wasn't, fur the craowd held me up. 
 
 Thar was a great squawkin' of females an 'babies, 
 an' one of my caowhide boots got tangled up in a 
 woman's skirts, an' caused a rumpus. She called 
 me a Yankee hayseed, an' said fur two pins she'd 
 fire the baby at me. None o' the gals had any pins 
 abeout 'em to spare, so I didn't git the baby, arter 
 all. 
 
 Thar were more sights than you could shake a 
 stick at ; an' as fur music, you'd think the hull place 
 hed gone mad. 
 
 What struck me as bein' kinder curious was that 
 the hull lot o' 'em played the same tune. The dura 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 67 
 
 thing has bin skalavantin' through my head ever 
 since. 
 
 Talk abeout clam cheowder ! Well, say, if Sally 
 Ann Sampson made sich stuff fur me she'd hev a 
 bath she wouldn't furgit in a hurry. They made 
 up with pepper what they didn't hey fur fire; an' 
 as fur clams, yeou couldn't find 'em with a telescope. 
 Oile feller tried tew take my picter, whether I want- 
 ed tew or not. He got the wrong pig by the ear, I 
 reckon, fur he went into his hole a-flyin', with one 
 of my caowhide boots arter him. 
 
 Another feller asked me if I'd had a try at shoot- 
 in' the chutes. I sed I was sorry, but I hadn't 
 brought my gun with me. 
 
 They've got another jigger they call skoop the 
 skoop. They didn't skoop me in till I tried, fur fun, 
 one o' 'em air machines that goes up and around, 
 bumty bump. I wish I'd hev stayed aout of it, fur it 
 sot everything I hed eaten fur a week clean down 
 into my boots. 
 
 Of course I hed a dip in the salty, an', gosh ! it 
 was one o' the best treats I ever hed. I j'ined in 
 with the rest, heart an' hand, an' when I kum aout 
 you'd thought I'd swallered the ocean, I was so 
 puffed auot. 
 
 I put a couple o' handfuls o' the sand into my 
 trowsers pocket, an' kum away with the convicshun 
 that the island was safe an' sound. An' I'd say to 
 all you fellers, that if you ever go tew New York, 
 daon't furgit to go tew Coney Island. 
 
68 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 TIM MUEPHY'S BILLY GOAT. 
 
 Listen to me, an' I'll tell yees somethin' about 
 Tim Murphy's billy goat. Shure, it makes me laugh 
 every time I think about it. 
 
 "Moike! Moike! Where are yees, Moike!" yelled 
 Mrs. Malony. 
 
 "Phwat's the mather?" says I. 
 
 "Where are yees?" 
 
 "Here, on the lounge in the kitchen, slapin' as 
 swately as a churub. Will yees be afther tellin' me 
 phwat's the mather?" 
 
 "Mather enough!" scramed she. "Shure, an' 
 shure, Tim Murphy's big billy goat's in the parlor !" 
 
 "Is thot so? How did he git in, Mrs. Malony?" 
 
 "By the windy, Moike." 
 
 "Drive him out ! Bate him ! Kill him !" I shout- 
 ed. "The baste'll be atin' yer furnitoor !" 
 
 "Shew ! Shew ! He won't go out, Moike !" 
 
 "It's not the loikes o' yerself thot's afeared o' a 
 billy goat? Shure, the divil himsilf has horns." 
 
 "Och ! Musha ! musha ! It's my wake's wash he 
 has in his stummick ! Murdher ! Luk out, Moike ! 
 He's a-comin'!" 
 
 Afore I cud turn my hand the cratur wuz on the 
 top o' me, wid his two eyes starin' at me loike mad. 
 "Aha!" says I, "is thot yersilf, yees durty, ill-man- 
 nered dinizen? I'll t'ach yees, pokin' yer nose into 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 69 
 
 other paple's bizness !'' Wid thot, I giv him a smash 
 on the jaw that sint him rollin' on the flure, on the 
 broad o' his back. I scrambled to my fate jist as 
 Mrs. Malony rushed in at the dhure wid the broom. 
 
 ^^s he dead, Moike? Is he dead?'' 
 
 "Dead? No, shure he's not dead ! Faixlhehas 
 a jaw on him loike a stone fince." 
 
 The goat got on his fate. He wuz chewin' on 
 somethin' that luked loike the bit of a tail he hed, 
 fur all the wurld. 
 
 "Luk at the soize o' him!" says I. "Phwat's that 
 sthickin' out o' his mout'?" 
 
 "It's my new clothes-line, Moike," she returned, 
 wid her broom forninst her, loike a soger. 
 
 "Murphy'll pay fur the clothes-line, an' I'll haye 
 the goat. Get me gun !" 
 
 "Shure, Moike, it's widout lock, stock, or barrel." 
 
 "Thot's so. Where's the butcher-knoife?" 
 
 "In the pig-stye, wid the pig yees kilt." 
 
 "Have yees ony hot wather?" 
 
 "Divil a dhrop ! The tay -kittle is at the tinker's." 
 
 Afore I cud spake another wurd the goat made a 
 iflive at Mrs. Malony, who ran scramin' about the 
 kitchen. Shure, I cudn't help laughin' if I wor to 
 die fur it, the way the ould woman got round the 
 place, an' the goat af ther her. Over wint the chairs 
 an' table, an' down wint the poor cratur in the 
 earner, wid the goat buttin' at her. 
 
 "Och ! Moike ! Moike !" she cried. "It's done fur 
 intoirely, so I am ! The harn o' the goat is broke 
 off in my soide!" 
 
70 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 ^^Lave go o' thot!'' I shouted, grabbin' the baste 
 by the two harns. Up he kem on his hind legs, an' 
 afore I knew phwat wuz the mather, down I wint 
 on the flure, wid the cratur on the top o' me again. 
 Och! Murdher! murdher! I thought I'd be aten 
 aloive. By me troth it's a harrd toime I hed uy it to 
 turn thot goat over on his back. Whin I did so he 
 wuz dancin' on his hind legs, as though nothin' had 
 happened to ayther o' us. 
 
 ^^Kick him, Moike!'' yelled Mrs. Malony. "Kick 
 the stuffln' out o' him !'' 
 
 At the wurd, I planted my brogan wid my best 
 force in his soide^ thot sounded loike an ould tin 
 pan, an' out cum a yard an' a half o' clothes-loine. 
 
 The goat got enough, an' ran behoind the stove in 
 the earner. 
 
 "Now," says I, "we hev him, Mrs. Malony. Pile 
 on the chairs at the back o' him, so the craytur can't 
 get out." Shure, we hed him at las'. I caught 
 hould o' the rope at his mout', an' pulled wid all 
 my moight. Out cum another yard o' the rope, 
 wid somethin' sthickin' to it. 
 
 "Phwat is thot on the rope?" 
 
 "A bit o' yer suspinders yer ould grandmither 
 sint from Oireland." 
 
 "Murphy'll pay fur the suspinders," says I, wid 
 another pull at the rope. "An' phwat's thot, shure?" 
 
 "A boondle of clothes-pegs, Moike." 
 
 "Murphy'll pay fur the pegs," says I, wid a pull 
 o' the rope. "An' phwat's thot?" 
 
 "A bit o' yer Sunday pants." 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 71 
 
 ^^Me pants, eh? Shure, I'll hev the rist o' me 
 pantSj.if I die fur it!" 
 
 I gev a hard pull at the rope. Out it cum in me 
 han', an' down I wint on the flure, wid the rope in 
 me han^ The goat slipped under the stove loike 
 a dried skin. 
 
 I got to me fate, whin Mrs. Malony yelled out, at 
 the top o' her voice : 
 
 ^Thwat's that at the ind o' the rope, Moike?'' 
 
 "Shure, thot's the bit o' a brush never used by 
 onybody but the goat himsilf. By me soul! IVb 
 the goat's tail V^ 
 
 DEWEY AT MANILA BAY. 
 
 The sun went down o'er Manila Bay; 
 There battleships at anchor lay, 
 Calm and still, in the starry night. 
 Fearless and bold for law and might. 
 
 When through that op'ning forth there came, 
 From out the gleaming, crested main. 
 With masked lights, and pipings low. 
 The iron-sheathed hulls of a warlike foe. 
 
72 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, 
 
 Fearless they moved^ and yet so still, 
 The stoutest heart with awe might All ; 
 And in the widening waters found, 
 E^en like a death-trap, circled round. 
 
 Quivered the lights along the shore, 
 Hushed was the city's sullen roar, 
 And, through the night, each man, at his post, 
 Awaited the onset of the host. 
 
 The gray morn broke o'er Manila Bay, 
 And there, in formal battle array, 
 The placid waters sweeping o'er. 
 Old Glory waving at the fore, 
 
 That mighty squadron, bearing on. 
 Awoke the city's slumbering throng 
 With booming guns and rattling spars- 
 Brave Dewey and his gallant tars ! 
 
 Ne'er on the breast of mortal foe 
 Fell with such force more fatal blow; 
 And ne'er a keener, greater surprise. 
 Than on those drowsy watchers' eyes. 
 
 Now surged the battle, fierce and wide; 
 The smoke hung o'er the sluggish tide 
 In blackened columns, drifting low, 
 A solemn pall, o'er stricken foe. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 73 
 
 The lurid flash, the deaf ning roar 
 Of mighty guns, whose missiles pour 
 Through heaving hulks, athwart, amain, 
 Cruiser and battleship the same. 
 
 Before that belt of fire and steel 
 The battling hosts with terror reel ; 
 They turn, dismantled and undone; 
 They burn, they sink — the victory's won ! 
 
 The sun went down o 'er Manila Bay ; 
 Within the blood-stained waters lay 
 The shattered wrecks, with hundreds slain- 
 The vanquished ships and sons of Spain ! 
 
 Hurrah for Dewey, and his crew — 
 The flag that flaunts the azure blue! 
 Long may it wave above the free, 
 Herald and emblem of liberty! 
 
 From frozen North to torrid clime, 
 May every star, undimmed, shine ; 
 From pole to pole, free as the day, 
 And ne'er the sun set on its sway. 
 
 Brave Dewey links the mighty chain 
 That sweeps across the storm-tossed main 
 A harvest rich, in golden days, 
 An endless name, a nation's praise ! 
 
74 HUTCHINSON^S RECITATIONS, 
 
 THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 A Dialogue for Two Characters. 
 
 Geo. W. Denhurst Professor of elocution 
 
 Eveline His daugkter 
 
 Scene — Parlor in a hotel, Denver, Col. 
 Frofe^sor discovered at table, looking over paper. 
 
 Professor {reading) — "Professor Geo. W. Den- 
 hurst, of the New York College of Oratory, has 
 taken a suite of parlors at the Occidental, where 
 he will be pleased to receive pupils in elocution and 
 dramatic art, from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.^ Sundays ex- 
 cepted. The training of females, particularly, is 
 desired." It is rather an odd advertisement, but 
 I think it will suffice for my purpose. This is my 
 third annual journey to the frontier of my native 
 country, buoyed up with the hope of recovering my 
 lost one. So far, my efforts have been fruitless, 
 yet I do not despair of finding her, if she is among 
 the living. I have used my name and profession 
 pretty liberally in my endeavors, and I am well 
 satisfied that if she should behold one of the little 
 announcements that I am scattering broadcast she 
 would fly to my embrace at once. 
 
 Eveline appears, C. She is attired as an Indian 
 maiden.^ and carries a small rifle over her shoulder. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 75 
 
 Professor (starting to his feet, and gazing won- 
 deringly at her, aside) — An Indian maiden! The 
 likeness is perfect ! Oh, God ! and cannot it be at 
 last? 
 
 She strikes a grotesque attitude, raises her rifle 
 to her shoulder, and levels it directly at him. The 
 professor exhibits no fear, standing rigid and mo- 
 tionless. 
 
 Eveline {dropping her rifle) — 'Pon my word, 
 stranger, but you can stand fire like a warrior. 
 {Goes quickly toward him and offers her hand.) 
 Shake ! I admire bravery in a man. 
 
 Professor {shaking hands with her) — Although 
 I am not the bravest of men, there was no terror 
 to me at the muzzle of your rifle. Your eyes were 
 not expressive of danger. 
 
 During the utterance of these words Eveline 
 stands as one transfixed. At the conclusion of his 
 speech she springs quickly forward, and, grasping 
 him hy the arm, fixes her eyes upon his face. 
 
 Eveline {turning away dejectedly) — I was mis- 
 taken, stranger. Your voice seemed so familiar to 
 me that I thought you must be someone that I had 
 known years ago. 
 
 Professor — So you think that you have heard my 
 voice somewhere before, do you? You cannot recall 
 where you have heard it? 
 
 Eveline — I cannot recall anything, stranger. I do 
 not even know where I was born. 
 
 Professor — Ah! Indeed! What induced you to 
 call and see me? 
 
76 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Eveline — Well, you see, stranger, I saw your ad- 
 vertisement in the paper, and I thought that I would 
 give you the sort of introduction that some of the 
 hunters have on the frontier. 
 
 Professor — You are intelligent — can read and 
 write? 
 
 Eveline — I am afraid that I am not very intelli- 
 gent, as you call it, but I can read and write. 
 
 Professor — You are not an Indian? 
 
 Eveline — As I have told you, I don't know what 
 I am. I live in the Gulch, with Weaniwa. 
 
 Professor — ^Who is Weaniwa? 
 
 Eveline — The old Indian squaw who provides for 
 me, teaches me to do bead-work, and dresses me in 
 fine clothes for exhibition when we come to the city. 
 That is how I found you out, stranger. 
 
 Professor — Ah ! I understand. You say that the 
 name of the woman that protects you is Weaniwa? 
 
 Eveline — As they say on the frontier, you hit the 
 bull's-eye that time, sartin. 
 
 Professor — Yes, yes ! And what is your name? 
 
 Eveline — Hiawana. 
 
 Professor — Hiawana ! You must have had some 
 other name. Try to think. 
 
 Eveline — Hiawana is the only name I can remem- 
 ber. Weaniwa said that in her tongue it meant 
 White Fawn. 
 
 Professor (agitated) — Great heaven! Can it be 
 possible? (Places a chairs C. ) Sit down, Hiawana. 
 You must be tired. (She seats herself.) I feel as 
 much interest in you, little one, as though you were 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 77 
 
 my own child. You must tell me all about this 
 Indian woman who has been so kind to you, {She 
 places her rifle on the stage heside her, and gazes 
 vacantly ahouty as though she were awukening from 
 a dream.) Go on^ Hiawana. 
 
 Eveline — She is not kinder to me than you are, 
 stranger. I will tell you all I know about myself. 
 I have a dim recollection of a far-away home, and 
 a mster and mother. Moreover, I have an almost 
 obscure recollection of a father, who was more than 
 kind to me. It seems to me that I can hear him 
 now, addressing large gatherings of people. {She 
 pauses, and draws her hand dreamily across her 
 forehead. ) 
 
 Professor — Go on, my child. You do not know 
 low interested I am in your story. 
 
 Eveline — I can feel the whirl and rush of cars, 
 and hear the noise and rumble of wheels. Now I 
 see a merry party upon a tall cliff. I wander away, 
 and shriek with all my strength as I seem to be 
 hurled into a bottomless pit. Then all is blank. My 
 next recollection is of a strange, dark-skinned wom- 
 an standing over me. She said that she had found 
 me at the bottom of the Gulch, and that I must be 
 very quiet, as my head was injured. 
 
 Professor — What a revelation! {Aside.) I am 
 more than satisfied that the unfortunate girl before 
 me is my own child. What a dreadful position for 
 a fond parent to be placed in ! If I could only re- 
 store but for a moment the glimmering light of rea- 
 son in her brain! What shall I do? I must be 
 
78 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, 
 
 further satisfied. Ah! The little recitations I 
 taught her when a child ! Perhaps she may remem- 
 ber one of them. 
 
 Eveline — I cannot tell you anything more, stran- 
 ger. 
 
 Professor — You spoke, a few moments since, of 
 one whom you supposed to be your father. Don^t 
 you think you would recognize him, if you saw him? 
 {She shakes her head mournfully.) Your father 
 being an orator, as you say, must have taught you 
 some selections, in prose or verse, that you doubt- 
 less remember. I should so much like to hear you 
 speak one of them. 
 
 Eveline — Let me think. Yes, there is one that 
 I recall. I will recite it for you. {She arises and 
 recites the following poem) : 
 
 ^^The cataract! See how it leap's 
 
 Adown the rugged hill, 
 Across the meadow, through the wood, 
 Then by the old grist-mill. 
 
 ^^Its limpid waters lashed to foam, 
 As onward to the sea. 
 Among the rocks, with angry voice, 
 Eoars ever sullenly. 
 
 "It surges, hisses, seethes, and spouts, 
 Drives fishes to the air, 
 And, like a maddened charger, seeks 
 For freedom everywhere. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 79 
 
 ^^Its rushing waters ne^er fulfil, 
 To turn the lumbering wheel, 
 And fill the miller's heart with joy 
 By sacks of sweetest meal. 
 
 ^^The lovers seek its flow'ry banks^ 
 
 The children fear it not, 
 And in its shade the cattle find 
 No more delightful spot. 
 
 ^^Close by the farm-house on the hill, 
 
 Under the bridge of stone, 
 Deep and swift, with a merry laugh, 
 A sigh, anon a moan. 
 
 ^^Onward, then, to the rocky crest, 
 Then down, with deafening roar, 
 Foaming and hissing in the pools, 
 The angry waters pour. 
 
 "The cataract ! Its murmur dwells 
 Where'er my footsteps roam. 
 The sweetest spot on earth to me — 
 My own dear native home." 
 
 Professor (icho has stood enrapt during her re- 
 cital) — Be comforted, my child. It is not a dream, 
 a phantasy, as related in the story of the cataract. 
 May God give you strength to realize the truth. 
 Ah! The visions that tormented your mind have 
 been dispelled. I can see it in the sparkling of 
 
80 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 your eyes. I have not searched for you in vain. 
 Look up ! look up ! — my child ! Eveline ! look upon 
 me! 
 
 Eveline (with a cry of joy rushing to his em- 
 brace) — Father! 
 
 Professor — Eveline, my child ! At last ! 
 
 THE LINK OF FEIENDSHIP. 
 
 The heautiful story of Damon and Pythias^ as con- 
 tained in the popular play of that name. 
 
 Behold the ancient city of Syracuse, agitated with 
 civil feuds, factions, and brawls, incidental to a 
 struggle for supremacy. We see, at this time, two 
 notable persons among them : Damon, a noble sen- 
 ator, a man of considerable repute among them, 
 proud, stern, austere, aggressive in disposition, and 
 loud-voiced for the liberties of his countrymen. The 
 other, Pythias, a valiant soldier, young, ardent, im- 
 pulsive, a friend to Damon, and a strong believer 
 in the principles which he advocates. 
 
 We behold Damon in his little country villa, with- 
 out the walls of the city of Syracuse, surrounded 
 by home comforts, the presence of his gentle wife, 
 Hermion, and his little boy, Damon, both of whom 
 he idolized as he did his own life. We regard his 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 81 
 
 happines^s, his affection for the loved ones about 
 him, and hear him tell over again some of those 
 noble principles for the betterment of mankind 
 which agitated his breast. We see, once more, 
 Pythias, and his betrothed, Calanthe, and hear them 
 recount once more their tender words of affection 
 and sincerity. 
 
 We behold Damon rushing into the Senate House, 
 where sat the mighty rulers of the kingdom, and 
 hear him thundering his anathemas in their ears. 
 Again we behold him, infuriated almost beyond con- 
 trol, with his glittering poniard poised above his 
 head, aiming it at the life's blood of the tyrant, Dio- 
 nysius. For this offense we see him overcome by 
 the soldiery, and, by the command of the king, 
 shackled hand and foot and thrown into a noisome 
 dungeon. We hear his pleadings go forth to Dio- 
 nysius that he may behold his friend, Pythias, be- 
 fore he dies ; that he may behold his wife and child 
 before he dies. Even these poor boons were strenu- 
 ously denied him by the king. He has transgressed 
 upon one of the most important laws of the king- 
 dom, he has forfeited his life, and must die upon 
 the scaffold. 
 
 And now we behold him led forth to execution, 
 his heavy chains clanking upon the stony streets 
 of Syracuse. Around and about him are the sol- 
 diery of the king — Dionysius a central figure. Be- 
 side the block stands the grim headsman, with the 
 fatal axe glittering in his hand. Without, the som- 
 ber, silent multitude of Syracuse, awaiting the mo- 
 
82 HUTCHINSON^S RECITATIONS, 
 
 ment of execution. There would not seem a ray 
 of hope for Damon at this moment. When, hark ! 
 A cry is heard, and Pythias, forcing his way through 
 the multitude, with a cry of anguish prostrates him- 
 self before the king. He begs of Dionysius that 
 Damon be allow^ed to behold his wife and child, and 
 that he be granted a respite of four hours. He 
 implores of him that he may be permitted to take 
 Damon's place in irons> as a hostage for his return, 
 and cries out: "Do this — but this, and may the 
 gods lift up thy greatness as high as their own 
 heaven !" 
 
 Dionysius gazed on him in wonder and admira- 
 tion. He could scarcely believe that such a condi- 
 tion of friendship could exist in the human breast. 
 To satisfy himself on this point he ordered that 
 the chains be removed from Damon and placed 
 upon Pythias, which done, they separated, Pythias 
 going forth to Damon's dungeon, and Damon to lib- 
 erty for his short respite of four hours. 
 
 Now came the most trying ordeal for Pythias 
 that he had yet experienced. Being called forth 
 from his dungeon, he beheld before him his adorable 
 Calanthe and a heavily cowled monk. This monk 
 painted for him a glowing picture of liberty. The 
 vessel was already in the harbor, her sails were set, 
 ready to depart. He had but to say the word, and 
 liberty should be his; Calanthe should be his; and 
 all that he most desired in the world should be his. 
 Calanthe pleaded with him, but in vain. Pythias, 
 be it said to his honor, was true to his friend. He 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 83 
 
 believed that Damon would return; if not, death, 
 to him, would be far more preferable than dishonor 
 in flight. Turning from them both, he fled fran- 
 tically back to the remotest corner of his dungeon. 
 Had he been able to penetrate the cowl of that 
 monk, he would have beheld the sinister features 
 of the king, Dionysius. 
 
 In the meantime, Damon, mounted upon the 
 swiftest steed in Syracuse, dashes away over the 
 stony streets, thence over hill, and down dale, until 
 he reaches his little country villa. Hermion, his 
 wife, is in his arms, and to her he quickly relates 
 his experiences of the past few hours : his attempt 
 upon the life of the king, his arrest and imprison- 
 ment, his being led forth to execution, the interven- 
 tion of Pythias as a hostage for his return. He 
 informs her that he has less than four hours to live, 
 and that he must return at once to save his friend. 
 Hermion falls lifeless in his arms. He places her 
 in a seat, and is about taking his last look upon 
 her when he is startled by the cry of his little boy, 
 Damon, who rushes to his embrace. Then his heart 
 almost bursts. He raises the child in his arms, his 
 tears falling fast and heavy upon the little up- 
 turned face. He places the child beside its mother 
 and rushes into the garden. 
 
 The sun is rapidly going down behind the hills. 
 He has not a moment to spare. He seeks his steed. 
 It is nowhere to be found. He beholds his faithful 
 slave, Lucullus, cowering in the garden. He rushes 
 toward him and demands his steed. The slave grov- 
 
84 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 els at Ms feet ^^Oh, my master!'^ lie cries, "to save 
 your life, I slew your steed V^ 
 
 It was a moment of despair, fraught with mad- 
 ness, for Damon. Almost frenzied with rage and 
 desperation, he cried aloud : "Pythias, my friend ! 
 He will be slain, and I am his murderer !'' Clutch- 
 ing the trembling slave, he dragged him furiously 
 toward a frowning precipice. 
 
 And now Pythias stands alone at the block. Ca- 
 lanthe has been torn from his arms, and already 
 his neck is being prepared to receive the fatal blow. 
 He has but two minutes to live, Damon has not 
 come, and he must die in his stead upon the scaf- 
 fold. He kneels beside the block, the headsman's 
 axe is in the air, when, hark! A distant cry is 
 heard. A horse and rider are at the stretch. Louder 
 and louder the yells of the multitude are heard, 
 until the rattling of the horse's hoofs resound upon 
 the stony street, and Damon, begrimed with dust 
 and mire, huge drops of sweat standing like beads 
 on his brow, and his whole being quivering with 
 emotion, with a wild cry of joy leaps into the en- 
 closure and is folded in the arms of his friend, 
 Pythias. 
 
 In a whirl of ecstatic joy and madness, and amid 
 the prolonged shouts of the multitude, he relates 
 the story of his adventure with a horseman, the 
 capture of his steed, and his speeding on the wings 
 of the wind to save his friend. Mounting the scaf- 
 fold, his voice is heard crying out: "I am standing 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 85 
 
 upon my throne, as proud a one as Ms, that I have 
 reached V^ 
 
 Falling before the block, the headsman's axe is 
 glittering in the air, when, behold ! a cowled monk 
 comes quickly forward, and, throwing down his 
 disguise, 'tis Dionysius, the king ! 
 
 ' ' Behold me ! " he cries. ' ■ Say this at every door 
 in Syracuse : that Dionysius, tyrant as he is, gives 
 back his life to Damon V^ 
 
 THE WITCH. 
 
 Within a glade, 'mong tangled roots and mire. 
 An old witch sat, beside her crackling fire. 
 Now in the flames she thrust her bony hands. 
 Drew" forth the sticks, and whirled the fiery brands. 
 "Oho !'' she cried, "ye whelps of sin and shame. 
 With these mad sticks I'll scourge ye o'er again ! 
 Come, now, ye all, from out your loathsome den ! 
 'Tis Wild Madge bids ye come, accursed of men !'^ 
 Then down on the ground, in frenzy, she tore. 
 Mumbling and ranting her wretched old lore. 
 Now forth from the gloom, in the early fall morn, 
 Came a fierce, crouching form, unshaven, forlorn, 
 With glaring eyes fixed on the croaking old crone, 
 Like a ghoul from the dead^ claiming his own. 
 
86 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, 
 
 So slow he moved, the reptile life ne'er feel. 
 Within his hand there gleams a blade of steel. 
 Now o'er the witch he bends, with grim delight, 
 Gnashing his teeth, the very winds to fright. 
 He grasps her by the hair, her throat he thumbs, 
 Down cleaves the deadly knife. {Terrific shriek.) 
 The daylight comes. 
 
 SNYDEE VOS SO GOOT. 
 
 ( The German Philosopher. ) 
 
 Address of Louis Schumann at a Memorable Gath' 
 ering of his Associates. 
 
 Mine Friendts : 
 
 I t'ank you very mootch ven I hear you say dot 
 you must haf a man dot knows somedings to speak 
 to you to-nighd. Now, mine friendts, I don'd know 
 vedder I vos dot man you vant, or not. I t'ink, 
 maype, dot you vould be mistaken ven you hear 
 vot I haf got to say. Off you know id, you know 
 more as vot I do mineself. Von t'ing you know 
 pooty quick, und dot is, der pisness oof hot frank- 
 fordts is bedder for me den der pisness oof makin' 
 speeches. 
 
 Der shentlemans who has takin his seat mit your 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES- 87 
 
 handts of abblause vonct sedt dot der only vay to 
 get dare vos to vork. He meant ven he sedt dot 
 dot he vos talkin' aboud dis brudderhood. I b'lieve 
 vot he say abond id from der pottom oof my heart. 
 Der man vot goes ter sleep ven he ought ter be 
 avake vill vake oop tead. Off I vould feet a man mit 
 colt frankfordts he vould get mat^ und say dot my 
 pisness vos goin' ter de togs. I must vork to keep 
 dem varm, und dot keeps mine customers. Der vay 
 ter keep a pisness is ter make it keep you. Der 
 vay ter make a pisness is like makin' a steam-engine. 
 You make der bieces, pud dem togedder, de veels, 
 de fire-hole, de smoke-stack, und everyt'ing vot you 
 vant; den, mine friendts, you haf no more droubles; 
 der machines run demselves. 
 
 Dare are two odder fellers vot couldn't vait. De 
 fust man vants to get dare too quick. He joomps 
 so high at vonce dot he findts dare is not enough 
 vind in der air ter keep him oop dare, so he has 
 ter come down kersmash. Der odder feller is like 
 der goose mitoudt der golden egg. He gets von 
 gold egg every tay, but he don'd vos been satisfied. 
 He vants all ter eggs at vonce, so he kills der goose, 
 und findts dot id is empdy. Dot so? 
 
 Der most impordant subject pef ore you to-nighd 
 is der toombstone by der Monumental Fundt oof 
 dis Brudderhood. Now, mine friendts, let me say 
 dot I, for vun, am in der favor oof der toombstone. 
 Id is der last t'ing vot ve can gif a man in dis vorld. 
 Vy shouldn't he haf id? How vould ve feel oof ve 
 vould gone tead, come pack agen, und findt no 
 
88 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, ' 
 
 toombstone ofer our graves? I know dot you vould 
 all say, shust as I do, mine friendts, dot I am 
 sorry. Vot kindt oof a brudderhood vould id pe, 
 anyhovr, dot vouldn't helup a man ven lie is down? 
 
 THE STUDENT AND HIS BOAST. 
 
 A sea-captain and a young student, of but slight 
 acquaintance, were strolling along, the other day, 
 when the student inadvertently made the remark 
 that any female of ordinary intelligence could be 
 approached without an introduction. The captain, 
 who was noted as being somewhat of a joker, turned 
 to the student sharply and said : 
 
 ^^Do I understand you to mean that you can ap- 
 proach any young female you desire to become ac- 
 quainted with, without an introduction ?'' 
 
 "That's precisely what I mean," returned the stu- 
 dent 
 
 "Are you quite sure of what you say?'' again said 
 the captain, with a merry twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "I wish that I was as sure that I am going to 
 get a thousand dollars to-day as I am, of that," was 
 the answer. 
 
 The captain gave him another one of his sharp 
 glances, and replied : 
 
 "I know of one little female^ I would venture to 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 89 
 
 say, that you would not dare to approach without 
 an introduction." 
 
 ^^Is she pretty?'' 
 
 *Tretty as a picture! The trimmest, finest little 
 creature that you ever saw. She is from the Orient, 
 a new arrival in the country. Her name is Nancy." 
 
 "Don't make any difference about her name," 
 said the student. 
 
 "What do you think about her?" inquired the 
 captain. 
 
 "Don't know. How old is she?" 
 
 "That's a delicate question to answer, for a fe- 
 male. She may be sixteen, and she may be sixty, 
 for all I know." 
 
 "I would like to try it," said the student, with a 
 long breath. 
 
 "Come with me, then," said the captain, locking 
 his arm in that of the student. "It is only a walk 
 around the corner." 
 
 A walk of a few minutes brought them to a mod- 
 est three-story brick house, where the captain halt- 
 ed, and, ringing the bell, the summons was quickly 
 answered, and they were admitted. The captain 
 soon had the student safely ensconced in a comfort- 
 able arm-chair, and disappeared in an adjoining 
 room, where the following conversation took place : 
 
 "Hello, Cap!" came a clear, sharp voice. "I've 
 been looking for you." 
 
 "That is nice of you," replied the captain. "So 
 you were looking for me, were you, Naucy?" 
 
90 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir ! Had a bracer ?^' resounded the same 
 shrill voice. 
 
 "Well, Bo^ — ^not exactly/' he responded. "I Ve had 
 a walk/' 
 
 "Ha ! ha! ha!'' laughed Nancy. "Tell that to the 
 marines !" 
 
 "You are looking very fresh this afternoon, my 
 dear," remarked the captain. 
 
 "Not so fresh as that rooster you brought in," 
 came the shrill voice. 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha V^ roared the captain. 
 
 "I've had a clean wash." 
 
 "Oh, I understand, Nancy; you have had a bath 
 this afternoon." 
 
 "You bet I have !" she screamed. 
 
 "I am real glad of that, Nancy. I have brought 
 a nice young gentleman to see you." 
 
 "Quack! quack! quack!" replied Nancy, in pier- 
 cing tones. 
 
 "But he is such a nice young man," chimed in the 
 captain, mockingly, "handsome, college bred " 
 
 "Quack ! quack ! quack !" repeated Nancy. 
 
 "Has high connections, wealthy " 
 
 "I've heard ducks quack before," she screamed. 
 ^^He don't cut any ice with me." 
 
 "Why, Nancy, dear, think of what you are say- 
 ing !" 
 
 "He can't make eyes at me, I tell you ! Quack ! 
 quack !" 
 
 "I'm sorry to hear you go on this way, Nancy." 
 
 "He's a son of a gun ! Quack ! quack !" 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES 91 
 
 ^'I am astonished '' 
 
 ^^So am I. Quack ! quack ! Hair like oakum.'' 
 
 "Don't be so silly, my dear/' 
 
 "Quack ! quack ! Face like salt-junk." 
 
 "You will ruin your prospects." 
 
 "Can't help it. Quack ! quack ! Nose like a boat- 
 hook." 
 
 "Listen to me, Nancy !" 
 
 "Quack ! quack ! Mouth like a clam." 
 
 "How have you found this out?" 
 
 "From the window. I had my weather-eye open. 
 Quack! He can't hold hands with me. Quack! 
 quack ! quack !" 
 
 The captain suddenly made his appearance in the 
 parlor, where the student, who had, no doubt, been 
 more than an attentive listener to all that was 
 going on, stood in the middle of the floor, hat in 
 hand, ready to depart. 
 
 ^^ Don't be in a hurry," he said. ^^You can now 
 see what you can do with Nancy." 
 
 "I'd rather be excused," he answered, in a trem- 
 bling voice. "I think I will be going." 
 
 "Wait a moment," rejoined the captain. "I will 
 introduce Nancy to you." 
 
 He disappeared, and the next moment returned 
 with a large gray parrot in a cage. 
 
 The student, now realizing for the first time that 
 he had been tricked, clutched his hair in anger, and 
 without waiting for an introduction, flew to the 
 door, and down the steps. 
 
92 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 ^^See Mm run!'' shrieked the parrot. "The son 
 of a sea-horse! Give him grape and cannister!" 
 
 The captain rushed to the window, roaring with 
 laughter at the success of his powers of ventrilo- 
 quism, and looked out. He was too late, however, 
 for the student had gone. 
 
 SANDY MacALLISTER'S DREAM. 
 
 Sandy had been imbibing rather freely the night 
 before. In his own words, he was not feeling well, 
 so he got permission from his foreman for a short 
 leave of absence, and went home at an early hour to 
 have a quiet nap. 
 
 He had been a quiet lodger in the Miggs family 
 for a number of years, and, consequently, he enjoyed 
 privileges therein which some of the other lodgers 
 did not possess. He had a night-key, and could 
 enter the house at any hour he chose. It was almost 
 dark when he arrived home. It so happened on this 
 occasion that the Miggs family were absent, and 
 would not return until a late hour. A few of the 
 lodgers were present in the dining-room. Dolly, 
 the servant girl, was employed in waiting upon 
 them. Sandy drank a cup of strong tea, and, with- 
 out a word^ quietlj^ left the roam^ 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 93 
 
 ^^Sandy is not so weel the day/' coolly remarked 
 one of the men. 
 
 "I ken ye weel, mon/' chuckled another. "I'm 
 thinkin' he'll be seein' some o' his friends afore 
 momin'.'^ 
 
 Here both men laughed heartily. 
 
 Sandy went at once to his room, and, relieving 
 himself of his coat, vest, and shoes, threw himself 
 upon his bed, and vainly endeavored, for a time, 
 to close his eyes in sleep. He heard the lodgers 
 bang the door as they went out, one after another. 
 He heard Dolly singing merrily in the hall a mo- 
 ment later. Then another door banged, and he 
 knew that he was alone in the house. Thus evi- 
 dently relieved, he stretched himself comfortably on 
 the bed, and fell fast asleep. The rays of the har- 
 vest moon streamed into the room through the open 
 window and made it as light as day. Sandy was 
 sound asleep, sure enough, with his head resting 
 upon a huge bolster, and snoring lustily. Sud- 
 denly, something in the form of a human being 
 sprang in at the open window and stood crouching 
 over him. 
 
 "What be ye, man or beast?'' muttered Sandy, 
 partly rising, and fixing his gaze upon the strange- 
 looking object. 
 
 The fierce-looking creature protruded its head 
 quickly toward him, and shouted in a sepulchral 
 voice : 
 
 "Boo-whoo !'^ 
 
94 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 ^^It's the de'il himseP !" ejacnlated Sandy, duck- 
 ing down and covering his head with the bolster. 
 
 Sandjj be it said to hm credit^ was no coward. 
 Usually he would fight anything when aroused, 
 though it were twice his bulk. This monster, seem- 
 ingly, was too much for him. It had taken him 
 by surprise, and had completely confounded him. 
 
 Rising to a sitting posture, he glanced quickly 
 about him. The hateful object had disappeared. 
 He was, doubtless, congratulating himself that it 
 had gone for good, when, to his horror, he beheld 
 it on the opposite side of the bed. It was certainly 
 more ghastly and hideous-looking than ever before. 
 The eyes of the monster were flaming like live coals, 
 and the horrible teeth chattering, as though in fiend- 
 ish delight and mockery. 
 
 "Boo-whoo ! Boo-whoo V^ it thundered, thrusting 
 its horrible head and shoulders forward, as before. 
 
 Another bolt under the bolster was the restilt 
 from Sandy. 
 
 As he lay there, trembling, and his hair standing 
 on end, like quills on a porcupine's back, he could 
 hear those dreadful utterances at the foot of the 
 bed, then at the head of the bed, and he fairly 
 groaned in affright It seemed to him that he could 
 endure the terrible suspense no longer. Starting 
 to his knees, with a roar of desperation, he leaned 
 forward, and, clutching his heavy shoes from the 
 floor, he raised them above his head, with a fixed 
 determination to annihilate the fiendish object on 
 its next appearance. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 95 
 
 He had not long to wait, for almost the next in- 
 stant the grinning thing appeared over the foot of 
 the bed. 
 
 ^^Boo-whoo ! Boo-whoo V^ it roared. 
 "YonVe brought it on yourseP, monster that ye 
 are !'' he fairly hissed. The next instant the shoes 
 were hurled at the grinning head with terrific force. 
 Down it went like a shot. With a cry of delight he 
 sprang to the foot of the bed to gloat over his vic- 
 tory. 
 
 "Boo-whoo! Boo-whoo!'' came from the left of 
 the bed. 
 
 Sandy sprang from the bed with a bound. His 
 nerve was completely gone. 
 
 "A madman !'' he shrieked, rushing in terror from 
 the room. 
 
 "Boo-whoo! Boo-whoo!" roared the other at his 
 heels. 
 
 Upward he sped with the speed of the wind. At 
 the top of the second flight of stairs he stood in dis- 
 may. He tried the door. It was locked. He could 
 hear the heavy tread of the fiend behind him, and 
 already he felt his burning breath upon his cheek. 
 He would be destroyed, body and soul ! The door 
 resisted his efforts. He threw his body against it, 
 once, twice, thrice. It flew open with a crash. The 
 madman was there, with his ghastly, grinning face, 
 and clutching hands. 
 
 "Boo-whoo ! Boo-whoo !'' he screamed. 
 
 Sandy was wrought to frenzy. Still upward he 
 
96 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 fled. He climbed a flight of rickety stairs to the 
 roof. 
 
 "Boo-whoo! Boo-whoo!'' came the blood-curd- 
 ling words beneath him. 
 
 "Aha! I'll fix ye noo, ye blatherin' idiot!" shout- 
 ed Sandy, throwing up the trap and leaping upon 
 the roof. His object was to force down the trap 
 and thus prevent further progress of the fiend. To 
 his amazement, he could not crush it down. 
 
 "Boo-whoo ! Boo-whoo V^ struck like a death-knell 
 upon his ears. 
 
 The heavy lid was forced upward with terrific 
 forca He found himself thrown violently upon 
 the roof. In an instant the madman was upon him. 
 He could feel the terrible grip of death-like fingers 
 clutching his throat, and the hot breath of the mon- 
 ster burning on his cheek as he grappled with him. 
 Downward they struggled on the slippery roof, until 
 the very edge was reached. 
 
 "Boo-whoo! Boo-whoo !'' now crashed upon his 
 ear, as with a piercing cry they were hurled down 
 to the stony street. 
 
 At this perilous moment light glared upon the 
 scene, and the Miggs family, alarmed at his cries, 
 rushed pell-mell into the room. 
 
 There Sandy stood erect upon the bed, with a look 
 of the wildest consternation on his face. His mad- 
 man was the huge bolster of his bed, that he was 
 clutching in his arms. 
 
 Sandy never heard the last of that night's adven- 
 ture. He was fond of argumentation, but if you 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 97 
 
 wanted to silence him on any subject, you had only 
 to say "Boo-whoo !'' 
 
 THE SONG OF THE FLY, 
 
 There is a song that's ever sung 
 
 In every land and clime; 
 'Twas born when Life's world first began, 
 
 To die at end of Time. 
 It sings for king upon his throne. 
 
 As well for lowly slave, 
 And all it follows everywhere, 
 
 Through life unto the grave. 
 
 Through all the changing scenes of years 
 
 It lingers in the mind, 
 And happy recollection brings 
 
 Of those we ne'er more find. 
 When near by Granny's spinning-wheel, 
 
 A child upon the floor, 
 With pleasant thought comes back to us 
 
 That merry song of yore. 
 
 Perhaps no singer in the land 
 
 Has fewer friends than he. 
 For every living thing protests 
 
 Against his liberty. 
 
98 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Despite the locks, and bolts^ and bars, 
 
 He lights upon your nose, 
 Or, on your ear, with thrilling note, 
 
 He drives away repose. 
 
 Yet, robber bold that he may be, 
 
 He gleans with every care, 
 And helps himself to best of things. 
 
 Nor scorns the beggar's fare. 
 With all his faults, God gave him life. 
 
 For good, as you and I. 
 Dear reader, would you know his name? 
 
 'Tis mother's old house-fly. 
 
 PADDY MILES AND THE PLUM^DUFF. 
 
 Here am J, Paddy Miles, from Cork. All the^way 
 from Oireland to New York. You see, sors, the walk- 
 in' was bad, so I kem over by the boat. I'm de- 
 scinded from two Irish noblemin, Bourack and 
 Bourack. Shure, their names wor so much aloike 
 yees couldn't tell wan from the ither. Wan day my 
 ould mither sez to me : 
 
 "Paddy," says she, "wurk is gittin' scarce. Yees 
 had betther be doin' up yur Sunday clothes an' luk- 
 in' up a job fur yurself." 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 99 
 
 ^^AU roight, mither," says I. ''I think I'll be 
 goin ' to Amerikay . ' ' 
 
 "Amerikay !'^ says she, wid a face on her as long 
 as yur arrum. "An' ain't yees afraid, Paddy, yur'll 
 be drownded^at say?" 
 
 "Not at all, at all, mither," says I. 
 
 "An' phwy not?" says she. 
 
 "Because," says I, "wasn't me faither a Cark 
 mon?" 
 
 "Yis," says she. 
 
 "An' wasn't his faither, and his faither's faither 
 Cark min?' says I. 
 
 "I b'lave they wor," says she. 
 
 "An' did jee^ iver know o' a Cark mon to be 
 drowned at say?" says I. 
 
 Wid dis, the ould woman began to bawl, thin I 
 began to bawl, thin we both bawled togither, an' 
 begorra, we bawled till we c'u'dn't bawl any bawler. 
 
 Well, to make a long story short, as I was goin' 
 down to the boat, I met me ould schoolmasther, 
 Mr. Burke. 
 
 " The top o' the marnin' to yees, Patrick," says he. 
 He always called me Patrick, for short. "Where 
 are yees goin'?" 
 
 "Well," says I, "Mr. Burke, if the ship don't go 
 to the bottom, I'm goin' to Amerikay." 
 
 "It's a long voyidge," says he. 
 
 "Faix, I know it," says I. "Shure, it's glad I am 
 to meet yees. You'll be afther givin' me a bit o' 
 charracter." 
 
100 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 "It's sorry I am I can't do that same/' says he. 
 "Yees niver hed ony charracter to give." 
 
 ^^Thot's the raison," says I/^I'm axin' yees fur 
 wan now/' 
 
 "Well/' says he, "I'll hould yees in remimbrance. 
 Shure, I'll sind the charracter by expriss to New 
 York." 
 
 "T'ank yees fur thot same, Mr. Burke," says I. 
 "My prayers are thot the divil may not fly away 
 wid yees." 
 
 Shure, there's miles an' miles of the Mileses in 
 Oireland. You kin see ther tombstuns at the road- 
 side, onywhere yees want to luk — five, tin, an' twin- 
 ty miles to Cark. 
 
 Whin I got down to the boat they wor waitin' 
 fur me. The min wor haulin' in the loins. There 
 was such a crowd on the dock to see me off, so 
 jammed an' squeezed togither, thot yur couldn't tell 
 wan fram the ither. 
 
 Whin we got out into the strame, wan o' the 
 purty byes kem on deck, an' says he, "All hands 
 below!" 
 
 "Phwat is thot yur say?" says I. 
 
 "All hands below," says he. 
 
 "What about my brogues?" says I. 
 
 "Get down in the hould," says he. 
 
 Wid thot he took hould o' me collar. 
 
 "Hould on!" says I. He guv me a shove, an' 
 down I wint to the bottom o' the hould, wid me 
 back skint as clane as a whistle. 
 
 Whin I got on deck in the marnin', shure I 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 101 
 
 c'udn't tell where the land might be for the hapes 
 o' wather about me. The atin' was bad, an' the 
 wather worse. What wid the salt-junk, the crack- 
 ers, the praties, an' the plum-duff — ouch ! Begorra, 
 shall I iver furgit the plum-duff? Shure, I ate a 
 pailful o' it. I no sooner got it into me stummick 
 thon the duff an' the plums began to foight, an' the 
 duff hed it — wan pound o' duff to two plums. 
 
 ^Thwat's the mather?" says wan o' the min. 
 
 "It's toid wid a knot," says I, "but I'll lave it 
 go." 
 
 I made a dive fur the soide o' the ship. 
 
 A say cratur was swimmin' alongsoide — a shark, 
 I b'lave they call it. Not carin' to be impolite, shure 
 I guv the ould gintlemon all the plum-duff I hed 
 to spare. The next toime Oi go on a say voyidge 
 Oi'll sthay in Oireland. 
 
 THE CIRCUIT PREACHER. 
 
 Fiercely and wild the hot winds blow, 
 Across the plains as white as snow, 
 Whirling in clouds the glittering sands 
 Deep from the breast of the arid lands. 
 
102 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Blazed like a fiery furnace high 
 
 The midday sunburst of the sky, 
 
 And twixt the blasts, and scorching glare, 
 
 Left no hope nor refuge from despair. 
 
 Wrapped in mantle of fire and stone, 
 
 A rider from his steed is thrown ; 
 
 Down in the sands, in terror dight. 
 
 He clings to the reins with strength of might. 
 
 Snorting and plunging in the air, 
 The rider shrieking in despair. 
 With maddened force he breaks the hold 
 That grips him with a weight of gold. 
 
 And upward to the frowning cliffs 
 His heaving flanks in frenzy lifts. 
 From out those dreadful, scorching sands. 
 That hapless form now holds his hands; 
 
 And fights to gain his feet once more. 
 That burning waste to struggle o'er. 
 He rubs his eyes, no light they gave. 
 But all the darkness of the grave. 
 
 "O God!'' he cried, "it cannot be, 
 This is my earthly destiny ! 
 In blindness here to yield my breath — 
 On this dread waste to lie in death !" 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 103 
 
 Then down upon the sands fell low, 
 Gave all to God, for weal or woe. 
 Renewed with courage, he arose, 
 With burning brain, and cruel throesJ, 
 
 And in his darkness sped away, 
 Till in the sands unconscious lay. 
 Yet death to him was not to be, 
 In this dread waste of misery. 
 
 A hunting party on the plains, 
 
 Ere night came on, now drew their reins. 
 
 As eagerly they round him draw, 
 
 The circuit preacher's form they saw. 
 
 Half buried in the drifted sand. 
 They drew him forth, life to command. 
 God gave him strength and light of day, 
 Once more to live to preach and pray. 
 
 BEFORE MARRIAGE. 
 
 Dialogue for Two Characters, Male and Female. 
 
 Scene — A fashionable parlor. Table and easy- 
 chairs, C. ; rich cloth and vase of flowers on table; 
 footstool at back. Orlando and Angelica seated, 
 R. and L. 
 
104 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Angelica {sweetly) — Orlando! 
 
 Orlando — What is it, love? I am all attention. 
 
 Angelica — Do you know what this reminds me of? 
 
 Orlando — I am sure I do not. 
 
 Angelica — Well, it reminds me of a beautiful 
 story I once read in my childhood. 
 
 Orlando — Yes? I presume you mean our court- 
 ship. 
 
 Angelica — ^I certainly do, Orlando. It seems to 
 me just as pure and sweet as these lovely flowers 
 upon the table. 
 
 Orlando — Ah ! You are so poetical, Angelica ! 
 
 Angelica — Oh, I think poetry is just lovely. You 
 know, as well as I do, dear, that all these beautiful 
 things of Nature were created for our pleasure and 
 delight, and it is just as little as we can do to offer 
 up our thankfulness in the spirit of poetical effu- 
 sions. Besides, pure poetry is so refreshing, and 
 sips the nectar of love. 
 
 Orlando — Excuse me, love, if I express my feel- 
 ings with a smile. 
 
 Angelica — Oh, I know that men are not so tender 
 as women are. They say that the course of true 
 love never does run smooth ; but I am happy to say, 
 Orlando, that there is an exception to the rule in 
 our case. Don't you think so, dear? 
 
 Orlando — I certainly do, my dear. We have real- 
 ly more to be thankful for than most people have. 
 
 Angelica — That is true, my love. But* then, you 
 know that so many people are so responsible for 
 their unhappiness. It is so easy to borrow trouble. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 105 
 
 With us it is so very different. There are no jars, 
 no disturbances^ no grievances, but all peaceful and 
 delightfully happy. {Starts to her feet^ and presses 
 her hand upon her forehead. ) Why, dear, I really 
 believe that I am getting dizzy. 
 
 Orlando {rising quickly) — Dizzy, my love! I will 
 bring some water. 
 
 ^Angelica — Not for the world, my dear Orlando! 
 Pray, do not be alarmed ; 'tis nothing serious. 
 
 Orlando — You gave me a momentary fright. 
 
 Angelica — That simply shows the depth of your 
 devotion. 'Twas but a rapture, an ecstasy of joy, 
 that carried me away. You remember, Orlando, that 
 beautiful story of Ingomar, the barbarian? There 
 are two lines in it that seem to apply to the devo- 
 tion we have for each other. ^^Two souls with but 
 a single thought '^ 
 
 Orlando {embracing her) — "Two hearts that beat 
 as one.'^ 
 
 AFTER MAEEIAGE. 
 
 Dialogue. Characters as in the foregoing selection. 
 
 Scene — A parlor. Tables and chairs, R. and L. 
 Orlando and Angelica discovered, R. and L., sitting 
 at tables, with their backs ,partly turned toward 
 
106 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 each other. Orlando is reading a newspaper An- 
 gelica a magazine. 
 
 Angelica {glancing over her sTioidder at him) — 
 Dear me! How stupid these men are! 
 
 Orlando — Phew ! What a tiresome old sheet, to 
 be sure! Politics! politics! politics! Anything to 
 fill up a paper. 
 
 Angelica (dropping the tooJc in her lap) — This 
 book must have the fidgets ! 
 
 Orlando — Terrific boiler explosion in New Jersey, 
 smashup on Broadway, a balloonist takes a plunge 
 in Buzzard's Bay, execution at Sing Sing 
 
 Angelica — Why don't he say something? 
 
 Orlando — Wants, wants^ wants ! Wants are nev- 
 er supplied ; they become more numerous. The same 
 old story. Look up a situation, and you find a mob 
 ahead of you, fighting to get in, at five o'clock in 
 the morning. 
 
 Angelica — What horrible pictures for a maga- 
 zine ! If it was not that he is my husband, I would 
 throw the book at him. 
 
 Orlando — Lard, hams, butter, and eggs lively. 
 [{Cry of infant imthout.) Another county heard 
 from. 
 
 Angelica — Men ! Brutes — monsters ! 
 
 Orlando — Hello! Here's a go! Another Black 
 Friday in Wall Street. Bulls and bears panic- 
 stricken. {Cri/ of infant.) Angelica, I do wish 
 you would attend to that child! 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 107 
 
 Angelica — It is unfortunate that you should be 
 disturbed by the cry of the child. 
 
 Orlando (cry of infant) — Do you hear that, An- 
 gelica? You are simply wasting your time over 
 those horrid magazines. 
 
 Angelica — No worse than that evening paper of 
 yours. 
 
 Orlando — What do you mean, dear? 
 
 Angelica — Don't dear me ! Has it never occurred 
 to you how selfish you are? Any man of sense ought 
 to know better. I am tired of it. You fly into a rage 
 if the child cries while you are poring over your 
 evening paper. You forget that I have to endure 
 it the entire day. You read the morning paper. 
 That should satisfy any man of ordinary intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 Orlando — What about your magazines? 
 
 Angelica — I am willing to compromise the mat- 
 ter. If you will give up your evening paper for my 
 sake, I promise you that I will give up my maga- 
 zines for your sake. You see how selfish I am. 
 
 Orlando ( starting tip ) — I don't think so. ( Crush' 
 ing the paper in his hands. ) Done ! ( Throws down 
 paper. ) 
 
 Angelica {throimng doion magazine and rushing 
 to his arms) — Forgive me, Orlando, for being so 
 cross to you, but it is so nice, my dear, to have some- 
 one to rock the cradle once in a while. 
 
108 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 RUBY JONES' LECTURE ON MATRIMONY. 
 
 Friends^ and Women Associates : 
 
 It affords me pleasure to see such an assemblage 
 of happy, smiling faces before me this evening. It 
 proves to my mind that the people of this commu- 
 nity are awake, and not slumbering in the delusions 
 of life, as some folks are. The subject of my lecture 
 is one that should be of much interest to every man 
 and woman, married or single, and, may I say, child, 
 that knows enough not to reach an arm across a 
 breakfast table for a plate of doughnuts or a pan of 
 baked beans. I am not here to-night to talk woman's 
 rights, or woman's suffrage, but to speak upon a 
 subject quite as near to your heart of hearts, and 
 that is — matrimony. 
 
 I don't know whether the fellow that invented 
 the word is living, or not, but if he was I'd be one 
 of the first to shake hands with him, because, in 
 my opinion, he struck the right spot. 
 
 In the first place, everyone agrees that it is not 
 natural for man or woman to live alone. These 
 are my sentiments, publicly expressed, from per- 
 sonal observation. Look at a man forty-five or fifty 
 years of age, with no mother or sister to look after 
 him. He mopes about as though he didn't have a 
 friend on earth. He grows sour and morose, and 
 when he goes to church, which don't often happen, 
 he sits in a rear pew, says the amens where he 
 shouldn't, and wipes his nose with a cheap bandana 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 109 
 
 handkerchief. The house where he lives has a grin 
 like a skeleton in armor, for the want of paint, and 
 the grass in the front yard is four feet high, with 
 the rose-bushes smothered out and bearing a single 
 sickly bloom at the top, where there ought to be 
 a hundred. To see him, you would say that he 
 was part and parcel of the apartments that he in- 
 habits. When you enter, you are obliged to lift 
 your skirts for the dirt. The stove glares at you 
 like a phantom, and the ashes beneath it remind 
 you of the drippings of Vesuvius. The carpets are 
 marvels of junkism, and the window-panes so thick 
 with grease and dirt that you couldn't see through 
 them with a telescope. When he comes to see you 
 he pokes around in the kitchen, and talks and 
 laughs over things that happened thirty years ago. 
 
 Now, if there is anything that I despise, it is 
 to have a man poking his nose into women's busi- 
 ness in the kitchen. Now, I calculate that if the 
 critter I've been talking about had the right sort 
 of a partner for life such a state of affairs would 
 never happen. 
 
 In speaking of women, I cannot disguise the fact 
 that I am a woman myself. I claim for her that she 
 is the weaker of the two sexes, and is worthy of more 
 careful consideration. At a corresponding age, nine 
 times out of ten, she is just the opposite of the other 
 critter. She is the essence of cleanliness, and to 
 enter her abode without wiping your feet would be 
 next to sacrilege. She may be a little ancient in 
 some respects, but she is kind, gentle, tidy, and her 
 
110 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 stove is as black and shining as the cat that sleeps 
 under it. She is just as careful about her personal 
 appearance, and never loses the tact of primping 
 her hair and touching up the gray spots about her 
 temples with shoe polish — which is nobody's busi- 
 ness but her own. 
 
 Now, what I contend is that both of these crit- 
 ters would have been better off if they had given 
 half the attention to matrimony that they had to 
 other things. On the other hand, look at the people 
 who have observed the teachings of Scripture, and 
 entered into the holy bonds of wedlock. Their name 
 is legion, and the fruits of the earth are theirs to 
 enjoy forever. Of course, there are many exceptions 
 to the rule, but the system is not to be disclaimed 
 because some girl sees the wrong fellow in a brook, 
 or another one weds a pair of blue eyes, or a set of 
 teeth that never grew in a person's head. I have 
 many competitors — people who advance ideas very 
 different from my own — ^but they are usually of that 
 class w^hose finger-nails need pruning, or have been 
 crossed in their affections. 
 
 The secret of success in matrimony is not alone 
 to be wedded, but to be mated. The necessary quali- 
 ties are honesty, consistency, and congeniality — a 
 strong pull, a long pull, and a pull together. 
 
 I am not married myself, as the most of you know, 
 but I do not hesitate to stand up for matrimony in 
 my opinion, and as long as I have Jane Cauliflower 
 and the Banguptown Free Press on my side, I will 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. Ill 
 
 assert its rights, and run the machine to the ends 
 of the earth. 
 
 THE GIEL TRAMP. 
 
 Hey, boys, a hand, please, to help me on my way ! 
 I'm down at the heels, footsore, hungry, you say? 
 In want? Yes, rather. You see, Vye struck hard 
 
 times. 
 With no nickel to jingle to the clink of dimes. 
 Don't laugh. I'm hardened, and don't give a whack. 
 'Tis water that's spilled on a duckling's back. 
 I've something to tell you of an up-to-date scamp. 
 Then, maybe, you'll have pity on a poor girl tramp. 
 
 Don't stand in the sun ! You're melted? 'Tis noth- 
 ing to me. 
 Come here, in the shade of this time-worn tree, 
 And listen to one who a story might tell 
 That would curdle the blood of the imps of hell. 
 One of your kind, in the image of God, 
 Whose homage I paid, whose blistering rod 
 Dealt scourges and flames to life's ebbing lamp — 
 Fell crushed at his feet, the wretched girl tramp. 
 
 In the maddening whirl of that Gotham of sin, 
 'Mid splendor and pleasure, confusion and din^ 
 
112 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Alone, and unheeded^ the tempter came soon, 
 The herald and far-reaching mandate of doom. 
 Dishonored ! Don't jeer ! 'Tis bnt human to fall. 
 Our strength is in God, the Master of all! 
 'Twas the lures and the wiles, not the pure guinea 
 
 stamp; 
 The heart-throes of despair of the lost girl tramp. 
 
 Deserted ! Don't turn away ! I saw him that night, 
 Another one, too; but, boys, I'll set it right. 
 As God is above me, his footsteps I'll trace, 
 Till Death shall receive me in his icy embrace. 
 A coin ! Thank you. I'm tiresome, I know, 
 But the life that now courses will soon cease to flow. 
 ^Tis the way of the world. Your senses would cramp 
 With the tale, so oft told, of the lone girl tramp. 
 
 Now, boys, don't let a poor creature down hard. 
 
 Make the queen of jour hearts ever your trump- 
 card. 
 
 As you have fair sisters, pray do not deface 
 
 Their beauty and love with the siren's false grace ! 
 
 Eemember the wreck you beheld on the way, 
 
 And the smile of sweet future gleam on you alway. 
 
 Then, with forked flash, where the wild steeds 
 champ. 
 
 Fled the fleet form of the strange girl tramp. 
 
 The storm of the night had now drifted afar. 
 And the sunlight of day gleamed like a bright star. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 113 
 
 In the doorway of the little old church on the hill 
 A small huddled form sat upright and still, 
 Rigid, and cold as the heavy, dull clod, 
 With a smile on her face, upturned to her God. 
 Safe, and at rest from the chill and the damp, 
 Reposed, on that morn, the dead girl tramp. 
 
 THE BALD-HEADED TYRANT, 
 
 One night in September, 
 
 The moon at its full, 
 There came to our household 
 
 A strange-looking cull. 
 His mouth it was puckered, 
 
 His eyes they were blue. 
 With a nose that resembled 
 
 A small billiard-cue. 
 His cheeks they were rounded, 
 
 As red as a rose; 
 His arms they were dimpled, 
 
 As well as his toes. 
 He yelled with a vengeance. 
 
 And clutched at the spouse, 
 The bald-headed tyrant 
 
 That came to our house. 
 
114 HUTCHINSON^S RECITATIONS, 
 
 The longer he stayed 
 
 The bolder he got, 
 Till Billy got savage, 
 
 And yelled, ^^Tommy rot!" 
 And grabbed at the butter 
 
 Eolled under his jaw, 
 To choke him to silence, 
 
 And read him the law. 
 Then mamma got frightened, 
 
 And said, ^^It's too bad !" 
 Yelled out to the tyrant; 
 
 The tyrant yelled, "Dad !" 
 Young Billy was under^ — 
 
 A little wee mouse — 
 The bald-headed tyrant 
 
 That came to our house. 
 
 To mamma's great pleasure, 
 
 And Billy's surprise. 
 His head it grew bigger, 
 
 And brighter his eyes, 
 Though mamma, each morning. 
 
 Gave it a rub 
 You'd think would have polished 
 
 An old cedar tub. 
 The folks didn't worry 
 
 If the hair didn't sprout, 
 For Johnny got bolder, 
 
 More rugged and stout, 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 115 
 
 And ruled with a rattle, 
 
 Togged in a frilled blouse — 
 The bald-headed tyrant 
 
 That came to our house. 
 
 Little Billy's blue nose 
 
 Was just out of joint, 
 By Johnny outwitted 
 
 At every point. 
 To the yard and the street 
 
 He scampered away, 
 "With romping dog, Towser, 
 
 And urchins, to play. 
 He didn't care more 
 
 For Johnny's red pug. 
 Tootsy-wootsy, my darling. 
 
 Or mamma's warm hug. 
 He could have all his playthings, 
 
 He was nix come a rouse, 
 The bald-headed tyrant 
 
 That came to our house. 
 
 DR. QUACK. 
 
 In a dingy room, of a dingy town, 
 Sat Dr. Quack, in his office gown. 
 Above him, about him, on every side. 
 Were fruits of his labor and pride. 
 
116 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Literature he scattered everywliere, 
 With bombs of curatives filled the air; 
 And every village^ and town, as well, 
 Had something of Dr. Quack to tell. 
 
 His wonderful cure he puffed to the sky. 
 Strangest of all, that people should die, 
 When, for a coin, though its ring were bad, 
 Such life-giving mixture might be had. 
 Under his care came an old woman now. 
 With shuffling gait and fevered brow. 
 He eyed her up, and he eyed her down, 
 And knew at a glance her name was Brown. 
 
 He looked at her tongue, looked at her eye, 
 Knew 'twas a case, yet heaved not a sigh ; 
 Thumbed her pulse, her temperature took, 
 Wrote her full name in his musty old book. 
 Then said, as he sat upright in his chair, 
 "Your liver, good woman, is thin as air. 
 YouVe come in time. Go home in delight; 
 A draught of my balm will set you to right.'^ 
 
 A youth, of sweet fortune, now entered in; \ 
 He sighed like a furnace, spoke with a grin. 
 The doctor gasped. Said he tenderly, 
 "There's little to work on, that I can see. 
 You've struck the right place — ^your good fortune; 
 An hour later death would have been your portion. 
 Your only hope in this world of strife 
 Is a bottle of my Balm, of Life.'' 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 117 
 
 A wag came in, who wagged upon a peg ; 
 In point of fact, he wore a wooden leg. 
 "Doctor/' said he^ "I've had a fall. 
 I'm so lame I can hardly walk at all/' 
 The man of drugs and bottles then said, slow, 
 "Come right along. Here's a pretty go ! 
 I see, my friend, you seem to walk on eggs. 
 My balm's the only cure for wooden legs." 
 
 ffOE JEFFERSON, THE BED-POST. 
 3. Minstrel Sketch, for Interlocutor and End Men. 
 
 Interlocutor — Bones, I want to ask you a ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Bones — ^What's de trubble, now? 
 
 Interlocutor — I understand that you and Tamba 
 had a quarrel in a room of this theater to-night. 
 
 Bones — ^Who tol' yo' dat? 
 
 Interlocutor — No matter. Is it so? 
 
 Bones — I 'spect it is. Boss. 
 
 Interlocutor — You should not quarrel with Tam- 
 bo. He is an inoffensive man. 
 
 Bones — ^What kin' o' man did yo' say, Boss? 
 
 Interlocutor— Ino&en^ive. 
 
 Bones — He wasn't on de fence. 
 
 Interlocutor— What were you quarreling with 
 him about? 
 
'118 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Bones — I wasn't quar'lin' wid him; he was 
 quar'lin' wid me. 
 
 Tambo — Dat's a lie! 
 
 Bones (Rising with Tambo) — Yo' mean ter say 
 Hie? 
 
 Interlocutor {rising) — Be seated, gentlemen. 
 {All seated.) Perhaps you will tell me the cause of 
 the trouble^ Tambo. 
 
 Tambo — He said I hed a black eye. 
 
 Bones — No, I didn't, Boss! 
 
 Interlocutor — What did yon say? 
 
 Bones — I said he hed a red eye. 
 
 Tambo — It's all de same. 
 
 Interlocutor — How did you get it, Tambo? 
 
 Bones — I didn't do it. 
 
 Interlocutor — To save yourself further annoy- 
 ance, Tambo, you had better explain this matter at 
 once. 
 
 Tambo — I'll tell yer. Boss. You see, I was on de 
 street de odder day. 
 
 Interlocutor — Broadway, I suppose? 
 
 Tambo — Yes, sah. I was suddinly 'costed by a 
 gen'man dat I hed not seen fo' twen'y y'ars. 
 
 Interlocutor — Indeed ! You knew each other af- 
 ter so long a time? 
 
 Tambo — Dat so. Who yo' t'ink de man was, Boss? 
 
 Interlocutor — I could not say. 
 
 Tambo — Joe Jefferson ! 
 
 Interlocutor— Soe Jefferson ! 
 
 Bones {rising) — Dat's a whopper! Eb'ryboddy 
 knows dat Joe Jefferson's daid long ago. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. U9 
 
 Tamho {rising) — Who's tellin' dis story? 
 
 Interlocutor ( rising ) — Be seated, gentlemeiL 
 (All seated.) Go on, Tambo. 
 
 Tarnho — Gun-barrel. 
 
 Interlocutor — Yes. 
 
 Tam'bo — Long, white ha'r an' b'ard. 
 
 Interlocutor — Yes. 
 
 Tam'bo — Eb'ry-day clo's. 
 
 Interlocutor — Yes, I see; Joe Jefferson as Eip 
 Van Winkle. 
 
 Tambo — Dat's him. 
 
 Interlocutor — What did he say to you? 
 
 Tambo — Hello, Sebastepool ! 
 
 5on65— Ha ! ha ! ha ! Dat's good ! Sebastepool ! 
 
 Interlocutor — Never mind him, Tambo. What 
 did he say next? 
 
 Tambo — Let's take a drink. 
 
 Interlocutor — You went, of course? 
 
 Tambo — I did, Boss. 
 
 Bones — You bet he did. 
 
 Interlocutor — What happened after that? 
 
 Tam'bo — We went inter de fust s'loon an' sot 
 down at de tabul. Joe called fur a schooner, an' so 
 did I. He drank de beer an' began to disappear, 
 like a spook. I made a grab fur him. 
 
 Interlocutor — Yes, yes! You made a grab for 
 him 
 
 Tambo — I was up 'gainst it. 
 
 Interlocutor — Against it — what? 
 
 Tambo — De bed-post 
 
120 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 THE P. O. CANARY. 
 
 Extract from a Speech Delivered hy Jimmy Farley. 
 
 De latest f ing out, in my Opinion, in de shape o' 
 boids, is de P. O. canary. In de first place, dis boid 
 is not foun^ in eny seed store, or in eny place where 
 dey sell boids fur a livin^ Yer can^t fin' any pre- 
 scripshun of it, neider, in eny of dem high-fangled 
 books on boidology, or eny other 'ology. 
 
 The P. O. canary is a cross 'tween a crane an^ a 
 carrier-pidgin. A crane, 'cause it has long legs, 
 long wings, a short body, an' makes a bizness of 
 walkin' 'stead of flyin'. A carrier-pidgin, 'cause it 
 carries messages, an' says nuttin' 'bout it. It is 
 diff'rent frum most boids, 'cause its crop is under 
 its wing. It has two eyes, a stout beak, an' a mout' 
 under it 'stead of on top. Sometimes it has a top- 
 knot, an' sometimes it don't. It all depends wheth- 
 er it uses Babbitt's soap or cold cream. 
 
 De P. O. canary don't build its own nest; it gets 
 some odder boid ter build it for it. It flocks three 
 times a day, an' pairs off ter suit de convenience of 
 odder boids. 
 
 De P. O. canary is de best known bold in de city, 
 'cause he don't many eny mistakes, an' brings ev'ry- 
 body messages. It has a guv'ment boat wid Uncle 
 Sam, an' gets dere in all sorts of weather. 
 
 One of de bes' t'ings 'bout de P. O. canary is its 
 song. It always sings 'fore it delivers its message, 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 121 
 
 an' if yer at de top of de house, or at de bottom, yer 
 supposed to get dare in time, or de canary gets off 
 his perch, an' is gone. Generally, nobody waits w'en 
 it sings, 'cause ev'rybody is lookin' fur it, an' makes 
 a diye to get what b'longs to 'em. 
 
 If de shoe fits de boid dat I hev bin talkin' 'bout, 
 I hope dat it will wear it, an' bring many prize 
 packages to de people dat is lookin' fur 'em. 
 
 HOW THE DRUMMER ENJOYED HIS FIRST 
 
 RABBIT. 
 
 The landlord of the little country hotel had just 
 opened his doors to his customers, in the early morn- 
 ing, when he was confronted by a large man, bearing 
 a heavy valise. The landlord recognized in the new- 
 comer at once one of his monthly visitors, a drum- 
 mer from the city of New York. 
 
 After a hearty greeting the drummer threw his 
 valise in a chair, and regaled himself at the bar, to 
 his evident satisfaction. He was fat, good-natured, 
 and, like most commercial travelers, brimful of 
 jokes and funny stories. He had visited this sec- 
 tion for a number of years, in the interest of a 
 hosiery firm. 
 
 The landlord himself was not above cracking a 
 joke, or telling a laughable story^ his love for this 
 
122 HUTCHINSON'S BECITATIONS, 
 
 species of amusement being so great with him at 
 times that he resorted to jokes of a practical nature, 
 much to the injury of his business. 
 
 The weather being extremely cold, and the ground 
 being lightly covered with snow, the conversation 
 finally ceased between the two men rather abruptly, 
 perhaps, on the subject of game in the vicinity, and 
 rabbits in particular. The drummer had manifest- 
 ed such a dislike for the creatures, which he called 
 vermin, that the landlord was somewhat vexed, as 
 he expected to have stewed rabbit that very day 
 for dinner, and his ardor for a tempting dish for his 
 boarder had been exceedingly lessened. It was a 
 relief to him that morning when the burly form; 
 of the drummer disappeared through the doorway. 
 
 There were a half dozen hungry individuals 
 crowded around the dinner table when the fat drum- 
 mer came in for his dinner. A savory dish was 
 brought on by the landlady, who was considered 
 one of the finest cooks in the county. All eyes were 
 immediately fixed upon her, and there was an imme- 
 diate offering of plates for a share of the tempting 
 morsels. The drummer, on being informed that the 
 dish was rabbit stew, turned away in positive dis^ 
 gust. He could not, however, help remarking the 
 manner in which the other boarders enjoyed the 
 dish and looked at the empty platter with pitiful 
 faces. The savory odor from it he also thought was 
 agreeable. 
 
 To the evident surprise of all present, the follow- 
 ing day a still larger dish of rabbit was brought on, 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 123 
 
 and, to tlie still greater surprise of all, the drum- 
 mer surrendered his plate to be partly filled with 
 the food. He ate very sparingly at first, but soon 
 redoubled his efforts, and in a short time there was 
 not a vestige remaining upon his plate. 
 
 He looked wistfully at the remaining portion 
 upon the large platter, and there was a roar of 
 laughter from all when he helped himself to an- 
 other supply of the stewed rabbit. 
 
 At this moment a large gray cat walked leisurely 
 into the room. All eyes were immediately fixed 
 upon it. 
 
 "I would not take twenty-five dollars of any man's 
 money for that cat,'' said the landlord, with a seri- 
 ous expression on his face. "He is not only the 
 largest cat in the county, but by far the best hunter. 
 This rabbit that you are eating to-day for dinner 
 is the second one that he has caught and brought in 
 in two days.'' 
 
 The fat drummer looked at the speaker with va- 
 cant eyes and open mouth. Without a word, he 
 rose quickly from the table, and, amidst a volley 
 of merriment, bolted from the room. 
 
 The landlord, perhaps, laughed the loudest of all, 
 and by his wink and knowing look they all knew 
 that it was another one of his jokes, and that he 
 was simply, as the saying is, "playing it on the 
 drummer.'^ 
 
124 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS. 
 
 PADDY MILES, FEOM CORK. 
 
 A One-Man Character Sketch. 
 
 Cries of ^^ Paddy Miles ^ from CorhT without. En- 
 ter Mr. Miles, He has a placard pinned on his hack^ 
 with the wordSy ^^Paddy Miles/^ 
 
 Paddy (looking off^ and brandishing his stick) — 
 Hoodlums! Gutter-snoipes ! Cum on, now! I'll 
 guv yees all the Paddy Miles yees want, wid tlie 
 weight of me sthick on the broad av yer backs! 
 (Coming down.) Vm new landed. Shure, it's glad 
 I am I've left the ould hulk bahind me. I landed 
 at a place thay call Castle Ga'den. Castle Ga'den, 
 is it? Shure, it wuz loike Tim Murphy's thatch in 
 a fog. The robbers! The robbers! Thay wint 
 t'rough me ould box as though it wor their own 
 property. 
 
 Not havin' onythin' to do, I wint down to the 
 Bat'ry to hov a luk at the guns an' fortificashuns, 
 but divil a gun or fortificashun 'bout the place at 
 all, at all. 
 
 I laid down on a bit av binch ter hov a bit av a 
 slape, whin a purty bye they call a cop wanted ter 
 run me in fur disturbin' the pace. He directed 
 the way wid the ind of his sthick, an' I followed. 
 
 In walkin' up the strate I saw a foine-lukin' gin- 
 tlemon standin' on the earner, wid brass buttons 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 125 
 
 over him, an' a hat on his hed thot luked loike a 
 sugar skoop. 
 
 *^The top av the marnin' ter yees," sez I. 
 
 ^What do yees want?'' sez he. ^Thwat are yees 
 lukin' fur?" 
 
 ^^I'm lukin' fur Noo Yark/' sez I. 
 
 ^^Folly yer nose/' sez he. 
 
 *^I can't^ it's toid on/' sez I. 
 
 ^^Lave yer thracks," sez he. 
 
 ^^I'll hov yer job on the force," sez I. 
 
 Wid thot he kem at me wid his sthick. 
 
 "Yer Oirish, I know, but yees can't bate me,'^ 
 sez I. 
 
 He wint fur his sthick in a twinklin', an' I wint 
 fur the earner. I hoven't seen the purty bye since. 
 
 The next place I saw wuz Broadway, I t'ink they 
 call it. Shure, thay wor foine ladies an' gintlemin. 
 Ev'rybody wuz laughin', an' fur the loife av me I 
 didn't know phwat thay wor laughin' at. Phwat 
 wid the Mr. Miles here, and the Mr. Miles there, 
 an' the hand-shakin's here, an' the hand-shakin's 
 there, it's done up entoirely, so I am. 
 
 By and by me oyes began to wather fur the soign 
 I saw on the strata I pinched me arrum to b'lave 
 me sinsis. By the poker! I wuz in luck at last! 
 ^^John Miles, millinery!" I wint in at the soide- 
 door. Shure, there wuz anither big soign insoide, 
 on the wall : "John Miles, hats and bonnets, three 
 stories high. Take the elevator." Now, phwat the 
 divil is an elevator? t'inks I. Shure, I niver saw 
 an elevator in my loife. There wuz a broom in 
 
126 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 the earner. That must be the elevator, sez I to 
 mesilf. I tnk hould av it, whin an ould gintleman 
 tuk hould av me. 
 
 "Aha ! I've caught yees, hov I ? It's sthalin' yees 
 are!'' sez he, shakin' his fist at me. 
 
 "It's not fur the loikes av yees to be chargin' me 
 wid sthalin' ! I'm lukin' fur Mr. Miles. Shure, he's 
 a forty-second cousin av moine." 
 
 "Take the elevator," sez he, shovin' me inter a 
 little box, an' closin' the dhure afther him, wid 
 himsilf insoide. The t'ing began to move, an' I be- 
 gan to squirm; an' the more the thing moved the 
 more I squirmed, till I fought my brogues wor 
 playin' tag wid me stummick. Shure, it's glad I 
 wor whin the elevator got to the top. 
 
 "Is Mr. Miles at home?" sez I to a gintleman in 
 a little box. 
 
 "I'm sorry to say he is not, Mr. Miles," sez he, 
 wid a roar av laughter. 
 
 "How did yees know me name wuz Miles?" sez I. 
 
 "Yer soign tould me," sez he, wid anither laugh. 
 
 "Whin will he be back?" sez I. 
 
 "I don't know," sez he. "It all depinds how 
 long the gas houlds out. He has gone on a b'loon 
 ascinshun to Coney Island." 
 
 "Is it New Yark gas?" sez I. 
 
 "It is/' sez he. 
 
 "He'll be back all roight. I'll be back in fifteen 
 minits." 
 
 With thim words in me mout', I turned away. 
 
 "Take the elevator," sez he. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 127 
 
 ^^Not much/' sez I. "IVe had enuff elevators. 
 I'll be goin' down by the back way.'' 
 
 Wid thot, I made a rush to the ither ind av the 
 sture, wid them all scramin' wid laughter at me. 
 There wuz an illegant pair av iron stairs ladin' 
 down to the bottom, forninst me. I jumped on to 
 thim, an' wuz goin' down all roight, whin wan av 
 the gintlemin grabbed me by the collar. 
 
 ^^Fur God's sake, man! Where are yees goin'? 
 Yer on the f oire-eshcape !" 
 
 "The f oire-eshcape!" yelled I. 
 
 "Yis ! Quick, fur yer loife !" he scramed. 
 
 Wid thot he dragged me out on the flure, from 
 the danger av bein' burned aloive. (Cries of ^^ Pad- 
 dy Miles r^ without. ) Thim bad byes ag'in. ( Going 
 up.) Cum insoide an' call me names, yees durty 
 rag'mufflns! [Throws off his coat.) I'll t'ach 
 yees a thrick wurth two av thot. Well, good-bye 
 ter yees, if yees call that goin'. I fought yees would 
 t'ink better av it. (Picks up his coat^ and sees pla- 
 card pinned on it.) Shure, an' shure, it's a voile 
 thrick thay're playin' on me, af ther all. ( Crushes 
 placard in his hands and throws his coat over his 
 arm.) I'll away to the boat, an' if I foind the 
 durty spalpeen thot pinned the tag on me back, I'll 
 make him ate the turf my fate hov trod, or me name 
 ain't Paddy Miles, from Cark. 
 
128 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 LUNKENHEIMER AND HIS DOG. 
 
 My name vos Yuccup Lunkenheimer. I keeps von 
 hot frankfort factory py der sthreet, town here; 
 Yaw, dot- vos so. I make dem fur a livin' py my 
 gustomers, und eadt dem fur a livin' py meinseluf. 
 
 Ve haf von leetle tog, vot ve call Snyter. He vos 
 sootch a goot leetle feller dot der gals vos al teat 
 in loaf mit him, und call him shweet names, such 
 as dose : honey, sugar blums, und kiss me quicker, 
 und say he look so mootch like him's fadder. Ve 
 loaf him, too, pecause he vos so goot. 
 
 He vouldn't harm a mouse, but ven he got madt 
 he vould eadt up a tog ein, swi, dri, swansig dimes 
 so pig as himseluf. He vould schleep at mine pack 
 all der nighd, und chew oop der flies dot boddered 
 me; und ven I vent oudt py der streedt he vould 
 foller so glose py mine heels dot I valk on him. I 
 vould not dake me dwenty-fife tollar of eny man^s 
 mooney fur dot tog Snyter. 
 
 Veil, poor feller, he vos gone teat von tay. He 
 vos got a pone sthuck fasdt in him's throat, dot 
 you couldn't pull him oudt. He vent under ter 
 sthove und kicked himseluf to teth. 
 
 Ve hadt hot frankforts shust der same der nexd 
 tay. Ve didn't bury der poor feller; ve hadt him 
 stuffed. Poor, poor Snyter ! He vos so goot ! 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 129 
 
 DESERTED. 
 
 Half hidden, she stood in the twilight calm, 
 
 Sadly dreaming of days long gone; 
 For her seared heart earth possessed not a charm 
 
 Or joy that to mortals belong. 
 
 Eagerly she strained her gaze o'er the vale, 
 Whilst on her pale cheek stood a tear. 
 
 And her ashen lips quivered forth the sad tale 
 Of one, though inconstant, yet dear, 
 
 'Tis fully a year since her heart felt the pang 
 
 That proved to her innocent mind 
 That love may be fickle, though truthful 'tis sang. 
 
 And lovers prove likewise unkind. 
 
 Deserted! How sad and heart-rending the word! 
 
 Yet sadder the object of woe, 
 And wider and deeper* her story is heard, 
 
 Yet never a frown or a- blow* 
 
 And some will say that her mind is diseased ; 
 
 A ^^foolish young maiden," quoth they. 
 Yet little she'll reck, if all are displeased, 
 
 If her lover appear on the way. 
 
 God pity this maid, and ease her sad heart 
 Of the grief and the woe that there abide. 
 
 Else over her grave her tombstone impart^, 
 She loved, she faded, and died. 
 
130 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 MEG MERRILIES. 
 
 "An Adaptation from ^^Guy Mannering/^ 
 
 Gipsies! Strike not, at your peril! Children, 
 obey me, and depart! Yes, I am Meg Merrilies, 
 queen of the gipsies, witch of the dell! Born to 
 raise the house of Ellen Gowan from its ruins! 
 
 They call me mad, but I am not mad. I have been 
 imprisoned for mad, scourged for mad, banished 
 for mad, yet mad — I am not ! I do not want your 
 trash, Lucy Mannering. Hence ! Get to your home 
 in safety! Who goes* there? Halt! and stand fast, 
 or you shall live to curse the hour that a limb of 
 you hangs together. Go and tell Colonel Manner- 
 ing that if ever he owed a. debt to the house of Ellen 
 Gowan, and hopes to» see ifc prosper, to come in- 
 stantly, armed, and attended, as well, to* the glen 
 below the Tower of Derncleuh. Bid him fail not, 
 on his life. You know the spot. There Abel Samp- 
 son blazed my heart this many a day, and there, 
 beneath the willow that hung its garlands over the 
 brook, I sat and sang to Harry Bertram the songs 
 of the old time. That tree is withered now, never 
 to be green again, and old Meg Merrilies will never 
 sing her blythe songs more. 
 
 I charge you, Abel Sampson, when the heir shall 
 have his own, tell him not to forget Meg Merrilies, 
 but to build up the old wall in the glen for her sake, 
 that those who live there may be so good that they 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 131 
 
 will have no fear of the beings of the other world ; 
 for if ever the good come back among the living, 
 I shall be seen in that glen many a night when 
 these crazed bones are whitened in the moldering 
 grave ! To your work ! Begone ! 
 
 Now, then, to perform the work of fate. The mo- 
 ment is near at hand when all shall behold 
 
 That Bertram's right, and Bertram's might 
 Meet on Ellen Gowan's height. 
 
 THE SUMMER SHOWER. 
 
 Across the sky 
 
 The dark clouds fly, 
 While from the mighty realms on high 
 
 A noise of fear, 
 
 Upon the ear, 
 Gives warning that tha storm is near. 
 
 The drooping trees 
 
 Bend to the breeze, 
 As though another life did seize; 
 
 And down the vale 
 
 The vapors sail 
 Before the gentle, freshening gale. 
 
132 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 The summer rain, 
 
 O'er mount and plain, 
 With pattering footsteps comes again ; 
 
 Drenching like lead 
 
 The clover bed. 
 Driving the cattle in the shed. 
 
 The farmer, hale, 
 
 With shout and wail. 
 Dashes his horses down the vale, 
 
 Eager to pour 
 
 His golden store 
 In safety on the old barn floor. 
 
 The children three. 
 
 Beneath the tree, 
 Shout in gay chorus, merrily : 
 
 We do you pray 
 
 Now go away, 
 And come to us some other day. 
 
 O'er mazy rift 
 
 The dark clouds lift. 
 Till all the jagged mountain cliff, 
 
 In bright array 
 
 Of gorgeous day, 
 In one continuous splendor lay. 
 
 So Nature's wile. 
 With frown and smile, 
 Her earthly subjects does beguile ; 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 133 
 
 And e'er recall 
 That God o'er all, 
 Who noteth e'en the sparrow's fall. 
 
 OUE VALIANT DEAD. 
 
 Honored the day our nation hath at heart 
 For mourning to her dead now set apart; 
 Those valiant sons, who, at our country's call, 
 Gave up their lives and sacrificed their all. 
 Battling for the right upon the crimson field. 
 Till death compelled the fearless heart to yield. 
 Their cause was ours, and the debt we owe 
 Our sincere hearts and humble offerings show. 
 Green be their graves, with floral beauties strown, 
 Symbols of love, sweet, treasured gifts of home. 
 Wherever Freedom holds her mighty sway, 
 Let patriot hearts commemorate the day. 
 
 THE LAND OF BURNS. 
 
 No matter where our birth may be, 
 In north or southern clime. 
 
 Still recollections fond shall live 
 In the land of Old Lang Syne. 
 
134 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Pair Scotia's flowery hills and dales, 
 With Nature's dew-drops bright. 
 
 E'er fill our minds with pleasant thoughtsi, 
 Our hearts with pure delight. 
 
 The hawthorn sweet, the bluebells, too, 
 
 The heather of her hills; 
 The rugged steeps, the bonny shades, 
 
 Her shining, rushing rills. 
 
 Are ever pictures, fresh and fair, 
 
 That shine beyond the sea; 
 'Tis Caledonia's favored land — 
 
 The land of poetry. 
 
 No marvel that her brawny sonsi 
 
 In strength and valor grew. 
 And from her tow'ring peaks and vales 
 
 Proud inspirations drew. 
 
 It tells of Wallace, and of Bruce, 
 
 Of royalty and power. 
 Of royal hosts and clansmen bold, 
 
 And she of queenly dower. 
 
 It tells of statesmen bold of thought, 
 
 With strength of iron will ; 
 Of Nature's bards of high degree, 
 
 And one the earth to till. 
 
 All hail to thee, fair Scotia's bard! 
 
 The world shall know thy worth 
 When man to man together stand 
 
 To honor now thy birth. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 135 
 
 POMPEY, THE SLAVE. 
 
 When the autumn leaves were falling, 
 
 When all Nature seemed forlorn, 
 Lowly in his little cabin 
 
 Pompey stretched his aged form; 
 Stretched himself upon his pallet, 
 
 In the cheerless, dying day, 
 Waiting patiently the moment 
 
 When his life should ebb away. 
 
 Bent with age, and very feeble. 
 
 Helpless as a child was he. 
 And his life was full of sadness; 
 
 Death alone could set him free. 
 He had been a faithful servant. 
 
 And in bondage nursed his woe, 
 Whilst the scars upon his shoulders 
 
 Told the cruel slaver's blow. 
 
 In the cotton-fields of Georgia 
 
 He had toiled his years away; 
 There his kindred all had perished. 
 
 None but Pompey saw the day 
 When the monster, Slavery, vanquished, 
 
 And the gallant, martial tread 
 Of the boys that bore the standard 
 
 Crushed to earth the viper's head. 
 
136 HUTCHINSON'S EECITATIONS, 
 
 "Ah! ^Tis well dat I remember/' 
 
 He exclaimed, with moistened eye, 
 "When de shackles still were on us, 
 
 And was heard de fearful cry 
 Of de bloodhounds in de meadows, 
 
 Chasing down some flyin' form. 
 An' de smoke hung in de heabens 
 
 Like some awful comin' storm. 
 
 "Den we prayed both night an' mornin', 
 
 Prayed as ne'er we prayed before, 
 Dat de wrong t'ings might be righted 
 
 And each day would peace restore. 
 Hark!" he cried, with deep emotion, 
 
 Straining every nerve to rise, 
 "Don't you hear dem in de distance? 
 
 Don't you hear dar joyous cries? 
 
 "Bress de Lord ! De Flag am comin', 
 
 See de rockets in de sky ! 
 Hear de drums an' fifes a-goin'. 
 
 An' de shouts dat peal on high ! 
 Hallelujah ! sing de people, 
 
 Hallelujah ! for de band, 
 Hallelujah ! for de General 
 
 Marchin' through ole Georgia land ! 
 
 "T'ank de Lord ! De Flag am comin' ! 
 
 De good oP Flag we long to see! 
 Hear de muskets an' de cannon — 
 
 All de colored people free ! 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 137 
 
 Bress de Lord for all His goodness ! 
 
 Massa Lincoln, kind an' true! 
 Bress de Country! Bress de People! 
 
 An' de gallant Boys in Blue !'' 
 
 His voice was choked, he said no more; 
 
 His work was almost over, 
 For closely by his bedside now 
 
 The Angel Death did hover. 
 Suddenly he glanced about him. 
 
 And each friendly hand he pressed; 
 Then, with fervent looks of parting, 
 
 Pompey calmly sank to rest. 
 
 WALULU AND OLITA. 
 
 ^An Indian Love-Story. 
 
 Beside a little mound. 
 Far in the somber wood, 
 
 With shattered crest and plume, 
 A noble warrior stood. 
 
 As stately as the pine, 
 
 A melancholy form, 
 Whose woe was like the calm 
 
 That comes before the storm. 
 
138 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS^ 
 
 A cMeftain of the tribe — 
 Walulu, called by name — 
 
 ,The last of five who died — 
 Brothers — in battle slain. 
 
 He mutters low and sad, 
 And rends his flowing hair; 
 
 He spurns the loamy earth, 
 And waileth in despair : 
 
 Oh, give me back the star 
 The world has ta^en away ! 
 
 Olita, star of night. 
 Sunbeam of the day ! 
 
 Come with your dulcet voice. 
 Come with your beaming eye; 
 
 Entrance your soul with mine, 
 Olita, then I die! 
 
 I heard a voice of death. 
 It whispered at the door; 
 
 I hear it now, as then : 
 Olita is no more. 
 
 I hear it in my dreams, 
 
 I hear it day by day; 
 I hear it in the rills 
 
 That down the mountains play, 
 
 I see her at the tryst, 
 
 She whispers love to me; 
 
 I see her on the lake. 
 
 She waves her hand to me. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 139 
 
 I hear her fawn-like steps 
 
 Among the fallen leaves; 
 I start, as though in fear — 
 
 Walulu scarcely breathes, 
 
 'Twas nothing but the wind, 
 
 A sigh among the trees, 
 A spirit of the mind 
 
 That seemed my blood to freeza 
 
 Dark is the forest nook, 
 
 And low the branches lave ; 
 And slender plants that bend. 
 
 That kiss Olita's grave ! 
 
 Within the misty vale 
 
 The white man rears his home, 
 And through the trackless woods 
 
 The pale-face hunters roam. 
 
 The panther screams no more. 
 
 The bear and wolf have fled. 
 The moose and elk are gone, 
 
 The Redman's hope is dead. 
 
 His council-fires are out. 
 
 Deserted at the dawn. 
 Toward the setting sun 
 
 My people all are gone. 
 
 I hear their mournful dirge; 
 
 They beckon from afar, 
 Deep in the tangled wood, 
 
 Like phantom forms of war. 
 
140 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Why stay I here so long? 
 
 Why linger near this spot? 
 Why chant my mournful strain? 
 
 Olita hears me not ! 
 
 A noise rings in my ear, 
 
 My heart ne'er gave it place : 
 
 The white man's shout of joy — 
 The death-knell of my race! 
 
 With bold, defiant look 
 
 He plunged into the wood ; 
 
 Like frighted deer he sped, 
 Till 'mong his braves he stood. 
 
 The conflict waged that day, 
 A hundred strewed the vale, 
 
 And one, a chieftain, fell. 
 Oh, mark yon bloody trail ! 
 
 He dragged his wounded limbs 
 From off the sanguine field. 
 
 Upon his wild love's grave 
 His ebbing life to yield. 
 
 There, in the early mora, 
 Upon an Indian mound, 
 
 Flung fearlessly in death, 
 Walulu's form was found. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 141 
 
 The warrior and tlie maid 
 
 Sleep calmly, side by side, 
 His life a sacrifice; 
 
 For love Walulu died. 
 
 THE THREE LITTLE MADCAPS. 
 
 Li Eallowe'en Selection. 
 
 Three^little madcaps, one dark, stormy night, 
 Through the lone byways took their runaway flight. 
 They stopped not for walls, brooks, fences, or stones, 
 But over them all they rattled their bones. 
 Far down the steep hill the voices rang out, 
 Of the grim little bogies, now hustling about : 
 The prattle of Wine, the clatter of Glee, 
 And the horrible laugh of Revelry. 
 
 Down by the sheds and mud-holes they fly, 
 Till Old Penny Bridge the young rascals spy. 
 "Aha !" yelled they all, in their fiendish delight, 
 "Here's a chance for some fun on this gruesome old 
 
 night !'' 
 To the windlass they flew, and turned with a will. 
 It swayed and it splashed, like a huge water-mill. 
 Like grim fiends they danced, and tugged at the 
 
 draw. 
 Till the dark, yawning chasm before them they saw. 
 
142 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Now huddled together, in silence they lay 
 Till slow, tottering footsteps stumbled over the way. 
 Through the dark night came a wretched old crone, 
 Shrieking her wrongs and heart-sorrows alone. 
 "Oho!'^ cried they all, "we're glad that she came. 
 There^s no better place for this wretched old dame." 
 They seized her, and whirled her, with horrible din, 
 And, despite her wild cries, they soused her in. 
 
 Next came a drunkard, with staggering gait. 
 
 Who even the stones did soundly berate. 
 
 "By the shades!" they all yelled, "'tis a wretched 
 
 old wight! 
 We'll give him a lesson for going home tight!" 
 His struggles were useless, for, three against one, 
 They lit on hrs head with the weight of a ton — 
 In the. water he shunned — "Perhaps he can swim. 
 But whether or not, may the devil take him!" 
 
 The bridgeman, who lived just at the wayside. 
 Appeared with his cudgel, the brawlers to chide. 
 He came with a bound, fell in, with a groan, 
 And went to the bottom with the weight of a stone. 
 As he scrambles out at the side of the wall. 
 These distant shouts on his ear-drums fall : 
 The clatter of Wine, the prattle of Glee, 
 And the horrible laugh of Kevelry ! 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 143 
 
 THE POOR WORKINGMAN. 
 
 In a cot on the hillside, where the battered old door 
 Invites the chill winds from o'er the ice-covered 
 
 moor, 
 And wild, whirling snow-blasts, sweeping upward 
 
 and on, 
 'Neath the low-hanging roof sing their lullaby song. 
 'Tis lone, mean, and wretched, yet rich in its way. 
 For, bright as a palace, gleams its light of the day; 
 And dear to his heart-strings as life's fitful span, 
 Is the cot of the toiler, the poor workingman. 
 
 From the frowns of the world, its turmoil and din, 
 At the close of the day he finds comfort within. 
 There, safe from the storm, with plenty in store 
 By the sweat of his brow, drives the wolf from his; 
 
 door. 
 Though his form may be shrunken, and grimed with 
 
 the clod. 
 With precepts of wisdom he stands upright with 
 
 God, 
 With peace and contentment looking upward to 
 
 scan 
 The home that's provided the poor workingman. 
 
 With the false and pretentious of life, and their 
 
 glare, 
 He builds not his castle to dwell in the air. 
 
144 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 But witli blows, hard and sound, from morning till 
 
 night, 
 In the broad field of labor finds his task a delight. 
 From the rich hall of splendor, where luxury dwells, 
 And the wealth of the world like a tidal-wave wells. 
 Sad hearts shall grow heavy, and sigh as they scan 
 The full dinner-pail of the poor workingman. 
 
 To him, what are riches, that fade as they gleam 
 In the depth of the darkness of lifers running 
 
 stream? 
 A wealth, to him greater than millions allow — 
 The affection of kindred — encircles him now. 
 The prince in his palace, the king on his throne. 
 Might seek, from his thraldom, his fortune to own ; 
 And thousands, bed-ridden, with visages wan, 
 Might envy the blessings of the poor workingman ! 
 
 JIMMY FAELEY AND HIS TYPEWEITEE. 
 
 Dare is no kind of machine dat will respond to yer 
 ideas as well as de typewriter. In my opinion, it 
 don't make much difference wot kind of a machine 
 yer get, as long as yer get one. Dey are all good. 
 De bad workman always complains of his tools. 
 It's de simplest machine to manipulate, 'cause yer 
 have only to touch de button, an' de job is done 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 145 
 
 quicker^!! a flasli of 'lectricity. It is so easy, after 
 yer have got de practice, dat yer can write a biz- 
 ness letter and bet on a horse race at de same time. 
 I don't tell it fer de truth, 'cause I got it frum one 
 of de boys dat was not a member of de club, an' I 
 don't know nuttin' 'bout his verasity. .He said dat 
 he knew a feller dat run de machine so much dat 
 you c'u'd see a keyboard in his face w'en yer looked 
 at him. He was so far gone on de bizness dat he 
 used to take it to bed wid him to make de records 
 of his dreams. 
 
 De reason dat people don't make good typewriters 
 is 'cause dey won't take de trubble to find out de 
 workin's of it. In odder words, dey won't practice. 
 If yer a beginner, begin at de beginnin' by gettin' 
 someone who knows how to give you de fundemen- 
 tal princ'ples, then go ahead, and you will soon be 
 able to tickle de buttons to yer satisfaction. Some 
 of de most prev'lent mistakes on de machine are 
 carelessness, too healthy dinners, mixing yer drinks, 
 cleaning an' oilin' de machine, pressing de keys 
 where you ought to be clipping dem, forgettin' de 
 capitals an' de spaces, running too fur ahead of de 
 machine wid yer thoughts, clipping de keys w'en 
 de bell has called yer down, an' oder t'ings too nu- 
 merous to menshun. 
 
 My 'pinion, publicly expressed, is, dat ninety-nine 
 times out of a hundred I am in favor of de type- 
 writer. De bizness man dat writes his letters by 
 hand, 'stead of typewritin' dem, is only givin' away 
 his bizness. It helps de man dat ain't a bizness 
 
146 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 man, too. He will find out, w'en he gits old 'nnff, 
 dat de only way to get behind de man who says 
 I am his representative, is to drop in a typewritten 
 letter fixed up in de right shape. 
 
 De only t'ing dat worries me 'bout de machine is 
 dat it says I. O. U. too much for de instalment 
 house where I got it. 
 
 HOW Mcpherson otlaherty joined 
 
 THE LODGE. 
 
 My name is Felix McPherson OTlaherty. Oi'm 
 a mon av all conthries. Me faither wuz an Oirish- 
 mon from Dublin, an' me mither a Scotchwoman 
 from the north of Scotland. Oi wuz borrn on boord 
 av an English vissel, in Spanish wathers, wid a 
 Frinch captain. Me mither wanted me to talk 
 Scotch, but me faither bate it out av me wid a 
 sthick. Oi hov uncles an' ants in England, Oire- 
 land, Scotland, an' cousins by the score in Ameri- 
 kay an' Canada. 
 
 Oi follied the say fur a livin', an' whin Oi landed 
 in Amerikay, shure the say follied me, an' Oi wuz 
 glad to get out av it. 
 
 Oi j'ined the lodge the ither noight, the Indepin- 
 dint Min av Amerikay. It wuzn't so indepindint 
 fur me, as Oi found out. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 147 
 
 The goat wuz a foine feller, an^ got in his work 
 on me fur the furst toime. 
 
 The byes shook han's wid me all roun', an' Oi 
 felt loike a f oightin' cock wid his furst spurs. Wan 
 av the byes axed me, in a whisper, how Oi loiked it. 
 ^^Oho V^ sez Oi, pullin' down the corner av me eye. 
 "Hist! Don't say a wurd! It's all in me ey^ an' 
 Betty Martin.'' 
 
 The wurst av the t'ing wuz the ice-crame. It 
 wanted cookin'. It was stiff as a poker. 
 
 The cigars w'udn't go roun'; they were two fur 
 foive. 
 
 Oi wuz dyin' fur a shmoke, so Oi wint down to the 
 strate. There wuz a feller, shmokin' a seegar, near 
 the dhure. 
 
 "Gud avenin'," sez 01. "Thot's a purty clane see- 
 gar yees hov got.'' 
 
 "Yer roight," sez he. 
 
 "Is it a Dimmycrat seegar?" axed Oi. 
 
 "Av coorse," sez he, wid a knowin' luk in his eye. 
 
 "Shure," sez Oi, "Oi loike the shmell av it. Where 
 did yees get it?" 
 
 "At the furst shop b'low," sez he. "Inquoire av 
 the mon at the dhure." 
 
 Wid thot I wint down the strate. There wuz wan 
 av thim red divils sthandin' on a bit av a box, so 
 hoigh, forninst the dhure. Shure, it's an illigint 
 gintlemon he wuz, wid his painted face, his long, 
 black hair, an' his foine clothes. By me troth, it 
 wor an illegint bunch av seegars he had in his 
 han', to be on the strate wid. 
 
148 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 "Is this the seegar sthore?'' sez Oie 
 
 Divil a wurd did he say, at all, at alL He wor 
 grinnin' at me. 
 
 "It's bad manners yees hov, sor. Will yees be 
 afther tellin' me if this is the seegar sthore?'' 
 
 He didn't spake, but I fought the red divil 
 blinked at me. The blood av ould Oireland wor 
 rampant in me veins as I made a grab at the bundle 
 av seegars in his han\ By me soul ! it wor a joke 
 on me by the man at the ither dhure. They wor 
 glued on. 
 
 Oi didn't get the seegar. Whin Oi got back to 
 the lodge-room the byes wanted me to take anither 
 dagree. "Oh, no, not to-night, me hearties!" sez 
 Oi. "It's a dagree too much." 
 
 THE KEYSTONE STATE. 
 
 I was born in Philadelphia, 
 
 That seat of Quaker lore, 
 In the year of forty-seven, 
 
 Before the Civil War. 
 'Twas there I got my learning, 
 
 iWhate'er got in my pate. 
 I've never found a country yet 
 
 Like good old Keystone State. 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. !« 
 
 I have sailed the broad Atlantic, 
 
 Where chops the Carib Sea; 
 Have gazed on sunny isles that skirt 
 
 The lands of liberty. 
 I have crossed the mild Pacific, 
 
 Passed through the Golden Gate, 
 Yet never seen a land so fair 
 
 As good old Keystone State. 
 
 I have crossed the rugged border 
 
 Of my proud native land. 
 Have stood among the ranges 
 
 Where gleams the golden sand; 
 In western lands, and sunny slope. 
 
 Where grows the palm and date, 
 But none to me that seemed so fair 
 
 As good old Keystone State. 
 
 On stern New England^s rocky shore. 
 
 That home of industry, 
 Where gates of learning stand ajar 
 
 To welcome in the free; 
 My weary footsteps lingered there, 
 
 'Twas there I found my mate. 
 Yet never home^ it seemed to me, 
 
 Like good old Keystone State. 
 
 And now my joumey^s at an end. 
 
 My rambling story told; 
 Upon those pictures of the past 
 
 The dingy curtain rolled. 
 
150 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 Yet, gleams of home through shadows^ show 
 
 To me my earthly fate : 
 Beneath the sod my feet have trod 
 
 In good old Keystone State! 
 
 SCENE FROM "OUE NAN." 
 
 From the Play of that Name^ hy Bodolphe 
 Hutchinson. 
 
 Scene ly Act III — An elegant parlor at the Capi- 
 tol. Delmar and Our Nan discovered. Delmar 
 seated in arm-chair. 
 
 Delmar — Come here, Nan, and bring your foot- 
 stool. I have something to say to you. {l^an brings 
 footstool^ and sits beside him.) Several times you 
 have expressed a desire to know something more of 
 the father you have found, and, in justice to you, 
 I feel that you should know all. I will be as brief 
 as possible, and not weary you. 
 
 Nan — I never get tired of hearing you talk, pa. 
 My mother, too — ^is she living? 
 
 Delmar — I cannot utter the word. 
 
 Nan — Dead! Then I shall never see her in this 
 world ! 
 
 Delmar — Not in this world, my child* She was 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 151 
 
 pure and good. Some day, if you are like her, you 
 may behold her. 
 
 Nan — Where? 
 
 Delmar — In that haven of eternal bliss above. 
 
 Nan — ^Well, I will try and be good, for yours and 
 mother's sake. How old was I when she died? 
 
 Delmar — An infant, scarcely six months old. I 
 was a clerk in a large wholesale house in New York. 
 By hard work I had amassed the sum of two thou- 
 sand dollars, which sum was in one of the savings 
 banks of the city. Your mother's death almost 
 killed me. I sought a change. My desire was to 
 try my luck in the great West. But how? I could 
 not take the babe with me. Vainly I endeavored 
 to locate someone or place in the great city to 
 entrust it. At length the old farm-house at Plun- 
 kett's Four Corners flashed upon my mind. It was 
 a resolve well taken, for I thought that the child, 
 once there, would be well cared for. 
 
 Nan — My mother's home? 
 
 Delmar — Yes. I secured the money at the bank, 
 and placed one-half of it in the basket with the 
 child, and sped out into the wintry night. In a 
 few hours I was at my destination. The snow was 
 falling fast. Away I sped, over the country road 
 I knew so well, till a flickering light at the old 
 farm-house told me that my journey was at an end. 
 Beside the door, in a spot sheltered from wind and 
 snow, I placed the sleeping babe. Then back again, 
 just as the streaks of dawn rushed over the sky. 
 ^Twas done! I was alone! 
 
152 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 l^an — Not alone, pa. God watches over all. 
 
 Delmar — Bless you! {She turns away and looks 
 downcast.) What are you thinking about? 
 
 Nan — I was thinking it was cruel to leave me in 
 that way — a helpless babe. If you had only made 
 your wants known to Uncle, I am sure — — 
 
 Delmar — Ah, Nan ! You don't know ! I was a 
 despised man, though Penelope clung to me despite 
 her brothers' and sisters' remonstrances. We were 
 wed against their wishes. We departed. She never 
 looked upon them more. They were unjust, and 
 God knows I never gave them cause for their abuse. 
 I bore no malice, as the sequel has proved. You 
 will realize now that there was an excuse for my 
 conduct, for I felt that if I should make my wants 
 known to the family I should be refused. 
 
 Nan — I am sorry I mentioned it now. I could 
 not control my feelings. 
 
 Delmar — Let it pass ! There is nothing of it now, 
 Nan. To continue my story : The early morning 
 train landed me in New York. Ere nightfall of 
 that day I was many miles on my journey to labor 
 in the mines. Fortune seemed against me. I strug- 
 gled in vain. I suffered untold hardships. Finally 
 I prospered — struck a rich vein at last. You un- 
 derstand. Nan — ^gold, and lots of it, in the bed-rock. 
 Wealth flowed in upon me, for the Red Gulch was 
 a wonder. I had ^^made my pile,'' as the miners call 
 it, when an irresistible longing for the States in- 
 duced me to sell out, which I did, for three million 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 153 
 
 dollars, in government bonds and hard cash, which 
 I deposited in Denver banks. 
 
 Nan — Three millions! That's more than a bar- 
 relful of money ! 
 
 Delmar — Yes. I came to the States, sought the 
 old farm-house at the Four Corners, and engaged 
 with Mr. Plunkett as a farm laborer. 
 
 Nan — ^T\^asn't it funny? And to think you were 
 my father all the time, and I didn't know it ! Why 
 didn't you make yaurself known at once? 
 
 Delmar — Well, for two or three reasons hardly 
 worth mentioning. I wanted to be near you — to ad- 
 vise and protect you — to know your real character — 
 to know that you would be worthy of the splendid 
 home that was to* be yours. Besides, this place, 
 which the country people dubbed the Capitol, was 
 built for me under contract, and I did not want to 
 capture my pretty bird until the cage was ready 
 to receive her. You understand nowi why I went 
 about as John, the laborer? 
 
 Nan — Indeed I do! You know best, and I have 
 learned to trust you. 
 
 Delmar — Thank you, my child. 
 
 Nan — You mentioned the Eed Gulch Mine. I've 
 heard Tony speak of the same place. 
 
 Delmar — Yes. He was there with me in my pov- 
 erty. 
 
 Nan — He said he nursed you when you had the 
 fever. 
 
 Delmar — Yes, that is true. 
 
154 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 
 
 ^an — That your secret was revealed to him in 
 your fits of delirium. 
 
 Delmar {starting to his feet) — Ha! I see it all! 
 Thus he gained my secret^ disappeared, post-hast^ 
 came here, and sought you! You, once his wife, 
 he would be able to dictate his own terms, for well 
 he knew" my wealth, the rascal ! He was more de- 
 signing and dangerous than I thought. 
 
 Nan — He w^as a relative — — 
 
 Delmar — Nothing of the sort, Nan ! A scapegoat 
 and a scoundrel! The son of a noted New York 
 gentleman, who educated him for one of the learned 
 professions; who died ruined and broken-hearted 
 on account of the misdeeds of his son. He was 
 known and hated among the miners under the name 
 of Slippery Jim ! 
 
 Han — Ha ! ha ! What will Uncle Is say when lie 
 knows that? 
 
 Delmar {-firmly) — Let his name rest in oblivion! 
 There, Nan, I have told you all. This has been rath- 
 er an eventful day. I am tired. I believe I will 
 lie down for a few minutes' rest. {Going.) 
 
 Nan — One more question before you go! 
 
 Delmar — Well? 
 
 Nan — I was thinking about my mother, how she 
 would have enjoyed it with us. What's the matter! 
 Are you ill ! 
 
 Delmar — No. 'Tis nothing — only a little dizzy, 
 that is all. 
 
 Nan — Tell me! Did she look anything like your 
 little Nan? 
 
SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 15d 
 
 Delmar — The very image of yourself. ( Takes out 
 hook from his breast pocket.) There is a miniature 
 picture of your mother in this book. She gave it to 
 me on her dying-bed. You shall Judge for yourself. 
 (Opens hook. A hullet drops upon the stage.) 
 
 Nan (picking up hullet) — ^A leaden bullet! 
 
 Delmar (amazed and trembling) — ^A pistol bul- 
 let! The book was here — next my heart. (Run- 
 ning over leaveSj and showing the pages perforated. 
 The book falls from his hand^ OMd he sinks hack in 
 the chair. ) Great heavens ! 
 
 Nan (picking up the hook) — My mother's Bible! 
 
 THE END.