'HE»LI0N AND iTHE^EAGLE 1 \ f. THK Lion md tub E^gle A Cooiedy in^ Tlnree Act* ^^X By JOHN E. RAISBECK. "DEC 8 1886 Of WASH CINCINNATI : (iKo. E. P.RVAN, Theatrical Printer and Exgkavkr, 58 West Fourth Street. K P5Z(. , . R/3L Entered accordinii- to Act of Congress, in the year iSS6. by loiiN E. Kaisbeck, in the Office of tlie Librarian of Cong-ress at Washington. D. C. CHARACTERS. JOHN Blassy, a British bottle manufacturer, visiting the United States in the interests of his business. He is a fat Yorkshireman. Sir Charles VVormley. a young British peer, taking his second pleasure trip to America. Tom Rlassy, a son of John Mlassy, and a friend of Sir Charles Wormley, visiting America for the first time. Robert Rosf.well, a rich American returning from a Euro- pean trip with his tvi^o daughters and a vi^idowed sister. George Duckerson, a New York museum manager, and uncle to the girls; also returning from Europe with his wife. Jake, a negro musician. Georgie Rosewell, a sharp, lively, caustic, and patriotic American girl. Daughter to Robert Rosewell. Clara Rosewell, her sister; more subdued, refined, and ladylike. Mrs. Alice Harpley, a widow, and sister of Mr. Rosewell. Mrs. Nellie Duckerson, wife of George Duckerson, and sister of Mr. Rosewell and .Mrs, Harpley. Kate, a mulatto girl at Mr. Rosewell's. Bowery boys, sailors, officers, etc. SCENERY. ^CT I, ..... On Board the Servia. Scene — Outside Sandy Hook. Act II, .... Washington and New York. Scene i — Parlor in Mr. Rosewell's house, Washington. Scene i — The Bowery, New York ("ity. Scene -^ — Duckerson's office in his New York theater. Act III, At Mr. Rosewell's. Scene i — Conservatory and grounds around the house. Scene 2— The kitchen. Time — The Present. COSTUMES. Act I. First part of Scene-Q^oxgx^ and Clara in careless, everyday clothes such as are usually worn by people on shipboard. Latter part If Scene- ^W in the latest styles of traveling cos- tumes. Act II. Scene i— Georgie and Clara in morning wrappers. Kale in shabby dress, handkerchief on head, shoes unbuttoned. Mr Rosewell in morning gown, slippers, smoking cap etc. Mrs Harpley in walking dress, hat, etc. , suitable for shop- s',,; J' ^ffil assy in businesssuit slightly disordered hard round felt hat on one side. Bowery boys in all sorts of old clothes. Sir Charles in dark frock coat and vest, light trousers, hio-h light hat, blonde wig parted in center, blonde side whiskers and mustache, cane, gloves, etc. Tom Blassy in fashionable sack coat, gray trousers, light low-crowned hat, black mustache, no whiskers, cane, gloves, etc. George Duckerson in light summer suit, sack coat, light high hat, black mustache. Mrs. Duckerson in dress of some light stuff, parasol, etc. „ . , i Scene ^—Georgie in handsome, stylish walking dress, parasol, gloves, hat, etc. Clara in suit somewhat different from Georgie's, but equally elegant. Act III. All in full evening dress, but John Blassy's is old-fashioned. THH LION AND THE EAGLE. ACT I. Scene. — A steamer just outside of Sandy Hook^ approaching Nezv York. Officer on the bridge^ peering thivugh his glass at the sea in the distance. As the curtain rises ^ four or five sailors {good singers) are discovered working the chain and singing the follow- ing song : What joy there is on a gallant bark, Controlled by a gallant band, None but a fearless sailor lad Can ever understand. The wild delights of a sailor's life 'Tis useless to explain To those who've never seen the seas, And crossed the Spanish Main, Chorus. — Don't speak of pleasures of home life To men so bold and free. A sailor's life is a jovial life; A sailor's life for me ! We go to islands of the seas, Where white men seldom go; And pluck the fruit from tropic trees, Or brush the Alpine snow. What'er we do, where'er we go, We sailors still remain — We sing and smoke and take our ease, And dream of Betsey Jane. Chorus. — Don't speak of pleasures of home life To men so bold and free. A sailor's life is a jovial life; A sailor's life for me ! 6 The Lion and the Eog/e. As they finish sins^ung the last line a ringing Inngli by Georgie is heard on the outside, and immediately enter Geofgie and Clara ^ rather carelessly dress, d. Clara. There! there! Georgie! Don't be so rude. I am positively ashamed of you. You are much too ^■ Georgie How can I help being amused at that — that — (what do they call it in the newspapers?) — that noble scion of an effete monarchy ? With his eye-glass stuck in his eye half the time like an idiot. Clara. What language! Really 1 should not like Sir Charles to hear you. He would say you Georgie. I don't care what he would say. It is the last day on board, and I shall say what I please I intend to give him a pieee of my mind, if I get a cliance, for the many sneers he has cast at my country. Besides, what is he to me ? I never expect to see him again. Clara. That is no reason why you should speak disrrspt ct- fullyofhim. I much fear, however, that away down in that little heart of yours you do expect to see him again. Georgie. No, I don't. [Slight pause.) Or if I do, he will have to change his tone about America and everything Ameri- can, My own self-respect Clara. (Archly.) He ^e'?'// change his tone about c^/z^ thing American. Georgie. Don't be foolish. You see further with your eyes than your judgment. Clara. Time will tell. But, after all, we have had a de- lightful time on board. Now, haven't we ? Georgie. Oh, yes. Although I think (mind, I only think) that if it had not been for Mr. Blassy, the younger (rE()R(;iE. Why, Clara, you are quite an Anglomaniac. Before long you will be despising your own country — you, the sensible Clara. / am an American. CiARA. And so am I. But that does not prevent me from admiring things in other countries unknown in ours, just the same as foreigners admire things in our country unknown in theirs. And Sir Charles Wormley has had the justice to admit that it is possible to live in America. Georgie. Possible, indeed! Possihle to live in America! And you think I would marry a man who talks in that super- cilious style about my country — a prating fool, who talks as though he had a pebble in his mouth— a dolt, who wears a single eye glass. Never I Clara. What dreadful language ! 1 wish you would be a little more choice in the use of words. Georgie. Georgie. It is only a habit of mine. Clara. And it is only a habit that Sir Charles has of wear- ing an eye-glass. He certainly does not talk like a fool, as you call him; for even j-t?// have been forced lo admit the justness of some of his remarks about America, and Georgie. No, I have admitted nothing. I am always and ever an American; and no Sir Charles W^ormley can make me be anything else — unless I wish to. Clara. When, for instance, he said that politics in America at election times always reminded him of the witches' cauldron in "Macbeth," the only difference being that the cauldron of politics was continually boiling over and somebody getting smirched. And when you replied that that was because we liked ourstew hot, did you not admit Georgie. ( With a ringing laugh.) Why, I admitted noth- ing. Didn't you see by my answer that I did not think his criticism worth a gooseberry ? Clara. Perhaps not. However, I think Sir Charles is quite sensible. Georgie. I suppose you do. It is a wonder you do not 8 The Lion and the Eagle. marry him. For my part, I think him insufferably insolent, supercilious, egotistical, vainglorious, bigoted Clara. Stop! slop I Georgiel Perhaps you are equally so to him. Gkorgie. iy Laughing loudly at the thought.) I hope so; I hope so. Indeed, I do. '^- A voice is heard outside. Ci.ARA. Be quiet. They are coming. Georgie. I Avon't. I'll laugh the more. Georgie laughs again ^ Clara grasps her arm .^ and they retire up K., and look out upon the sea. Enter at the same tiftie Sir Charles IVormley and Tom Blassy, L., both dressed for traveling. Sir Charles holds his eye-glass in his left hand^ looks rather namby-pa^nbyish^ bntiszvithal shrewd and sarcastic. Toj?i is a manly looking young fellow, and dressed to contrast somewhat. Sir C. [Dra7olingly.) There she goes again — fairly howl- ing with vacant and idiotic laughter. There is nothing that so soon gives me a mental nausea as vacant laughter. Tom. Do you call that vacant laughter ? Sir C. Yes What do you call it? Tom. I call it a merry, girlish laugh. Sir C. Tut, tut 1 There is nothing girlish about it, and nothing very merry. It is affectation, my boy — affectation — too forced to be natural. Tom. But verv winsome, withal. Sir C. Only to a fledgling. Tom. Like myself, for instance. Sir C. Exactly. Tom. I envy your effrontery Sir C. I know you do, and would imitate it if you could. But I was about to say, Tom — remember we are on shipboard, and not in America yet, else I would not dare to say it. Tom. Well, go on. Si R C. ( Looking around, and motioning toith his finger in the direction of Georgie and Clara.) No American ladies ca.n hear us, can they ? Tom. I should scarcely think so. Georgie. [Aside to Clara.) I wonder what they are talking about. Clara. Oh, about billiards and cigars, I suppose — what young men usually talk about. They unconsciously dra^v nearer^ a}id overJiear the following: 7 he Lion and the Eagle. 9 SiK C. Well, I was about tu say that forced laughter is a pecul amy of the American ladies — perhaps I should call it a national failing; for all the ladies laugh unnecessarily, es- pecially when enteriaining company, and all the girls giggle immoderately at the mcjst commonplace remarks. Claka. [To Georgie^zuho has clenched her hands and become terribly excited.) Oh, why — why did we listen to this? Come away, Georgie. Come. {^Georgie is immovable^ Tom. a result, perhaps, of their naturally high spirits. Sir C That is exactly the impwession they wish to convey. But by watching them closely you perceive that it is mostly, as 1 said before, affectation — thrown in partly to fill up the pauses in conversation, and partly to be thought lively and entertaining. A sham, my deah boy; and I detest shams. Georgie.gnashes her teeth ^ and Clara zvith difficulty prevents her f rem rushing at Sir Charles. Tom. I fear you are prejudiced. Perhaps you have been jilted by some fair American, who was too independent to sell herself for your title Sir C. No, no. 'Pon my honah, no. Tom. If not that, then there must be something else. But I think you said that the women as well as the girls Sir C. {Putting his hand on Tom's arm.) Stop where you are, Tom; you have misunderstood me. I did not say the women ; I said the ladies. Tom. The what ? Sir C. The ladies. Tom. But — I — I do not understand you. Tell me what you are talking about. Are not women ladies ? Sir C. Yes; but ladies are not women — in America. Tom. { Pausing and arching his eyebrows.) I fail to penetrate. Sir C. No doubt; and there will be many things, my deah fellow, you will fail to penetwate before you get through. Tom. What a peculiar people the Americans must be. Sir C. Yes, a vewy peculiar people. Georgie makes another effort to get at Sir Charles^ but is pre- vented by Clara. Sir C. [Continuing.) Even the washerwomen and the servants (female >^r^, I should say) would be insulted did you call them women. [Slapping him on the shoulder.) They are all ladies, my deah boy — all ladies. Tom. " What about the negresses that I shall see ? Sir C Well, they are not negresses now. Tom. No ? Good Lord, what are they ? lo The Lion and ihe F.agle. Sir C. 'i hey are — colored \^A\g?,. Tom, [Ata loss for words to express his thoughts suitably.^ Vou stagger me ! I am bewildered ! I — I fail to pene rate. Sir C. Watch your speech, Tom; watch yours])eech — if you do not want to be thought rude You must not, for in- stance, speak of the barnyard fowls as anything Initioosiers and chickens. They have no cocks and hens. They do not know what they are. You must be vewy particular about this Tom. Very particular about it ? Sir C. Vewy. Tom. But I say, Charles, have they no dictionaries? Sir C. Lots of dictionaries, but few weaders. Everyman is a dictionary unto himself, especially the editors. Tom. No, no, no, Charles ; you can not make me believe everything. When you attempt to cast a slur at ye gentle editor, I shall have to draw the line. Besides, he will cut your head off — with his pen — if he hears you. Sir C, No fear. There's none on board. Tom. But what makes you say the editors are dictionaries unto themselves? Sir C. Why, because they are continually twying to reform the language or to coin new words. One first-class paper, for instance, spells philosophy, philanthropy, and such like words with an f ; and another will have nothing to do with the word "manufacturer," but always pwints it " facturer." Tom. What a strange people ! Every editor a dictionary. And what a singular way to study brevity. If'' brevity is the soul of wit," then their papers must be very witty. I shall like to read their papers. Full of strange thoughts, no doubt. Sir C, {Sarcastically.) Brimful, brimful. And one thing more, my deah fellow, I must caution you about. Nevah speak of shops to a lady; it is too suggestive of machine shops, or something of that sort. You must call them stores. Tom. Call shops stores ? Sir C. Yes. Tom. Then, of course, it will not do for me to ask a lady if she has been shopping ; for if the English go shopping in shops, it necessarily follows that the Americans go storing in stores. I must therefore ask her if she has been storing. Sir C. By no means. Tom. No? What a peculiar people! Sir C, A ve^vy peculiar people. Georgie. [Stepping up, ito longer able to control herself .) Mr. Blassy, allow me to inform you that Ave do not go storing in The Lion and tJie Eagle. 1 1 stores. We go shopping in stores. When we have any storing to do, we do it 1 y storing our goods in the store. Now, do }OU understand? {Jurnifig to Sir Charles dfjiantly.) And if Sir Charles Wormley has anything mor( Ci.ARA. [More subdued.) I think, Mr. l^lassy, that Sir Georgie. Will you let me speak, Clara ? Clara. Not just now, dear; you are too excited. Mr. Blassy, I think Sir Charles is imposing a little upon your cre- dulity. You will find that we are not such a zr^j peculiar pec pie as he would have you believe. We have our peculiarities, it is true; but Sir C. I was not aware that our conversation had the honah of being listened to by — ladies. Turns and takes a few steps up I.. 7i'ith Tom. Georgie. (Angj-il)'.) I suppose you think, Sir Charles, that we ought to stand quietly by, Sir Charles^ and hear insults, Sir Charles — yes, sir, insults — heaped upon us by a picayunish English lord ! Clara. Oh, Georgie! Georgie! Sir C. [Aside to Tom ) I say, my deah boy, you like spunk There is spunk for you. Tom. Too much "^^^wvlV for you.^ I should say. Sir C. [Coolly adjusting his eye-glass.) Ladies, will you permit me to remark Georgie. We don't want 1o hear any remarks from a man who wears a glass in his eye, prrt> his hair in the middle, puts on puppy airs, talks as it he had a hot potato in his mouth, and looks like a Chimpanzee. Clara. Georgie, dear, please don't talk so. It is shameful. Let us all part friends. Remember this is our last day on board. Georgie. I am going to speak my mind first. And whi e I am about it. Sir Charles, since you have been so free in ex- pressing yourself about the Americans, let me tell you what I think about the English T think they are the most arrogant, the most selfish, and the most egotistical people on the face of the earth ; and that Sir Charles Wormley is the most arrogant ( Clara takes hold of Georgie'' s arm., and shakes it in an effort to stop her).^ the most selfish, and the most egotistical of them all ! There ! Clara throivs up her arms in despair^ and Georgie walks excitedly across the stage. Sir C. [Aside to Tom.) Gweat country for divo'ces, is America. Tom. [Significantly.^ I should almost think so. 12 The Lion and the Eagle. Fnter Mr John Blissy and Mr. Rosexvell, R. M^^ Blassy fa very fat man, If true Falstaffian proportions fu^^^ RftvvZsof age, and wearing very big English ^^f^^"f ToeT Mr Rosewell is about the same age, bu rather le der and ^^enteel looking. Blassy has ji ^orkshne tcentjut not too broad. Both are dressed for landing. T^rAssY What' What! Tom, me lad. quarreling with the Us^f ^Na r.is will — ^- Jl^;;.ir^Andy?:M\7s ^turning and ol-cr^^'^-i^e^^SU^^^^^^^ herlnder the dimpled chin quarreling with your Jfr/r,uaS\vS friend .her^tha. insolent spng °^7^^?' What, Sir Charles? Nay, I can not believe that. I r y^hought S.r Charles too ™uch o a Se;;^;^. ^^^,^^ .i^^aU tn »; ifC an^I "^intend that the charnrin. Miss Rosewell shall be the first. .^ „,e ''"If.y-.Aand? I re is too hort to waste it foolishly, as lass. ShaVe hands. Ul^e.^ ^^,,is alkis sl,-'ach.) a greater man ran me ha sa,^ J ^^ ,„^„ b, friendly wrtb , ^ ■ ,aVe,;iTemen i have invited Mr. Blassy to pay us a '^^Z m-ZZ will, of course, bring his son and btr "^ cltr:" h''w -very good of you, papa. I'm sure we will do our best to enterlain them j r R."Qiife"Hght,ai:;'; anrihope GeorgiewiU show the same obliging spirit. o^.p^ell if the young uns are J^plSant^^'e t r:T:o^M ^^y ^^p.^^"- -" -• 'To:: ^mV'flthe-r^-rhtve noCbiuhe Uindliest feelings for the ladies .j c:,-^ r/,r,rl^s ^ And I, for my part, CiARA { Moving toward Sir Uiaries.) ahu , j r Clara'^^MWO Perhaps this will excite her jealousy a little. We women are queer creatures. The Lion and the Eagle. 13 Georgie. [Aside.) She thinks I don't see through her little scheme. But I do. I know she prefers Mr. Blassy. {^Exeunt, one couple 'L.^the other Yi. Blassy. Now, as I >vas saying when we tumbled on them youngs uns a fighting, facts is facts, business is business, and friendship is friendship. Mr. R. All very true, Mr. Blassy — all very true. Blassy. Which being the case, you will exert yourself, for friendship's sake, to repeal the duty on glass. For me it will be business, and your reward will be a fact. [Slaps him on the shoulder. ) I may say, Mr. Rose well, a varry substantial fact. Mr. R. You could not, perhaps, be more definite, and ex- plain how substantial the fact will be. Blassy. Well, no, not just now ; but four ciphers will partly express it. Of course, you will exert yourself personally, Mr. Rosewell — do, in fact, a little lobbying. I believe that's what you call it. Mr. R. Yes, that is our polite term for boring and button- holing our Congressmen. You may depend upon me to do my utmost to further your interests, Mr. Blassy. And, further- more, I will engage Mrs. Harpley, my sister, to help us. The ladies, sir, are the most successful lobbyists in our country. Blassy. [With a surprised look.) Indeed! Well! well! well! But, then, what can't woman do? Nay, is there any- thing on this hemispherical globe that woman can not do? Poor, puny man must seek her aid in everything. Woman ! woman ! Mr. R. Why, Mr. Blassy, you are quite tragic. Blassy. ( With a feeble smile.) Yes, I was a poet once. Mr. R. Ka! ha! ha! Impossible! Once a poet, always a poet. Poets, you know, are born, not made. Blassy. Fact, I assure you. There was once a time when this portly form was as light as the downy web of a fairy's wing. Mr. R. Why, you are quite poetical still. [Slyly scanning his person.) But that must have been in the long, long ago. Blassy. Not so long as a dull sermon, nor so short as a lover's walk ; but it was before Age had plucked me by the beard, and Time liad not reared this monument of flesh to curse my later days. [Putting his hands on his stofnach.) Mr. R. Mr. Blassy, I would advise you to cultivate the muses by all means — if you can reduce your flesh. They do not go well together, and [Merry voices are heard on the outside.) Here comes that perennial bore, my brother-in-law. You must excuse him if he sometimes I A The Lion and the Eagle. Enter George Diickcrson^ unth Mrs. Duckerson and Mrs. Harplcy on his arms. D inkers on is a lively^ hail-felloiv- well-inet sort of man , and the ladies are also jolly. They are aboict thirty-five years of age, and are dressed for traveling. Duckerson. Here, you old graybeards, are you never- Mrs. Harpley. Mr. Blassy, I shall have lo take you under my wing once more if you don't Mrs. Duckerson. Robert, are you going to keep Mr. Blassy here talking until the last minute ? Mr. R. My dear sisters, we are all ready. Only our trunks tolook after. Mks. H. And that, you know, is the most important thing. Is i I not, Mr. Blassy? Blassy. If the ladies say so, Mrs. Harpley, it must be so. Mrs. D. [Aside to her hiisband.) Charming old man. Alice is j ust — yozi know. Duck. {Ready to burst zvith laughter ) Well, I should say I do know. Mr. R. I will go below and see what the girls are doing. Now, Mr. Blassy, don't forget to visit us, and we will endeavor to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Exit Mr. Rosewell, the ladies accompanying hhn to the door. Mrs. H. {Speaking after him.) Robert, tell Clara to look after my sachel. M rs. D. ( Also speaking after him. ) And tell Georgie not to talk to that young officer too much, or I shall tell Sir Chawles. They both laugh heartily, retire up C, and gaze tipon the sea. Duck. ( To Mr. Blassy. ) I say, old man, I guess you have yet some smack of youth in you, eh ?— some relish for the salt- ness of the flesh ? Blassy. I don't exactly Duck. No, you don't exactly catch on — no, of course not. Blassy. [Looking bewildered .) As Tom says, I fail to pene- trate. Duck. Why now, look here, I know a sweet creature that's just gone on you. Blassy. [With a loud guffaw.) Ha! ha! ha! I never thought you could be so interesting. Tell me more about it. Duck. And I'll bet you five dollars you don't know who it is. Blassy. It cartainly can't be Mrs. Ducker Duck. Look out, old man. The Lion and the Eagle. 15 Blassy. Well, I give it up. Duck. That's good enough. If you don't know Avho it is, then I've done talking about it. You certainly are an old slick. I dare say, though, you have known the time that you could have crept through a bride's wedding ring. [Svu'les and looks at Blassy from head to foot. ) Blassy. I've heerd say as the Americans is a 'umorous people. I suppose jj't'z/ are a 'umorous American. Duck. Yes, a little that way. But now for a few^ words on business, John. Blassy. ( With dignity.) Mr. Blassy ^\{ you please. Duck. All right. Blassy then it is. Blassy looks at him with zvithering scorn, kit says nothing Duck. ( Continuing ) 1 t's a delicate subject ; but I've made up my mind to ask you, this being the last day we shall be to- gether. I've been over to Europe seeking artists and curiosi- ties. Now, how would you like me to engj^ge you as a curiosity for my museum ? Blassy. {Disgustedly.) Sir? Duck. You would have nothing to do but sit on a platfoim in two chairs instead of one, and smile at the ladies all day. Blassy. ( Mo)-e disgustedly.) Ton my soul, sir, I never- Duck. I know you never exhibited. Hut that is nothing. Don't let that worry you. {Sleips hitn goodhvvioredly ) Think it over, Mr. Blassy — think it over. Your fortune is made. \Exit Mr. Duckerson. Blassy. {In a tage.) And is it come lo this that I, a repre- sentative British merchant, a man with wealth enough to buy all the beggarly museums in the country — that / should be in- sulted at every turn, upon a British ship, by an enterprising Yankee showman? Now\ by all me forefathers, I want an apology — I wantsatisfaction— I want revenge. {Struts around.) The ladies turn around suddenly, run, and each catch an arm. Mrs. H. Why, Mr. Blassy, what is the matter ? Mrs. D I never saw you in such a passion before. You must have encountered something fearful. Mrs. H. Or been abused terribly. Blassy. {Calming dozvn.) I y^az/^ been abused, ladies. Me feelings have been hurt— I may say stabbed. I have (I am ashamed to say it) — I have been asked to join a museum as a curiosity. Mrs. D. Oh, I am sure George did not mean to insult you, Mr. Blassy. It is merely a matter of business with him. 1 6 The Lion and the Eagle. Mrs. H. That is all, Mr. Blassy. And where no offense is intended, you know, none should be taken. Blassy. {Patting them tmder the chin.) Well spoken, me dears. Perhaps it is as you say. Mrs. D. {Aside to Mrs. ff) It may have been one of George's dreadful jokes. Mrs, H. Just possible. Mrs. D. But upon what grounds did he wish to engage you, Mr, Blassy? Mrs H. Yes, why did he wish to exhibit you as a curiosity? Mrs. D. You are not deformed in any way. Mrs. H, Nor yet capable of writing with your foot and that sort of thing. Blassy. {Looking doubtfully at them.) Well, now, \i you don't know, I'm sure /don't know. Perhaps it was me superb good nature he wanted to exhibit. Mrs. D. Ha! ha! ha! Do you believe that a good-natured man is so great a curiosity ? Blassy. Me fifty years of life have led me to believe so Mrs. H. I think, Mr. Blassy, you are about light. Thor- oughly good-natured men are as scarce as fifty-dollar bills in a tenement house. Enter Sir Charles and Clara, L., and Tom and Georgie R. The girls have changed their dresses, and are now ready for landing. Clara. Come, aunties — both of you — the steward says we shall be landing in two hours, and that we had all better be getting ready. \^Sir Charles and Torn retire up C. Mrs. H. Yes, dear, we are coming. Now, Mr. Blassy [taking his arm), don't forget my brother's invitation to visit us. We shall expect you. {To Mrs. D.) And you, Nellie, also. Mrs. D. { Taking Blassy' s other arm) Certainly I shall be there. I don't propose that you shall have Mr. Blassy all to yourself. Oh, no. ^Exeunt Blassy^ Mrs. H., and Mrs. D., laughing. Clara. {To Georgie.) Well, have you got over your patri- otic soreness? Georgie. I have not, and never expect to, unless Clara. Unless what? Georgie. Unless somebody apologizes. Clara. Well, I dare say Sir Charles will accept an apology . Georgie. Indeed! He will accept an apology, will he? The Lion and the Eagle. 17 I want you to understand. Clara, that I consider an apology due from Sir Charles to me. Clara. Ah, that is quite another thing. Georgie. And quite the correct thing. And I want you and your puppy English lord to know it. Clara. [Petting her.) There! there I Don't get angry — that's a little dear — and it shall receive an apology, so it shall. But suppose Sir Charles looks at it in a different light ? Georgie. He vii/stn^t look at it in a different light. Clara. Oh, if he mustn't, he mustn't; and that's an end of it. When the eagle screams, let the lion beware. Georgie. You may be funny if you like. But I'm going to show you that I'll bring that man to his knees, or — or he'll never see me in pa's house. Clara. That would be sad, indeed — too sad for contem- plation. We must not permit such a catastrophe to occur. Really, the world would Tom. ( Turning around and moving toiuat'd the girls Sir Charles follotving.) I see the sailors are beginning to move. Sir C. And pwaps we had bettah be doing the same. Georgie. {Aside to Clara.) Now watch me brmg that man to his knees. Clara. I'll watch. Georgie. [Pretending to carry on a previous conversation.) And what a nice old gentleman he is — your father I mean, Mr. Blassy — and what a pleasant world this would be if everybody were as destitute of satirical remarks as he is. Sir C. [Aside to Tom.) My boy, that is intended for me. Clara. I quite agree M'ith you, Georgie. The elder Mr. Blassy is indeed a lovable old man. I could almost put my arms around his neck and call him " Father." Tom. [Aside to Sir C) Now, by Jove, ///rt/ is intended for me. Georgie. And I think it is nothing but right that people who are not entirely devoid of honor should feel sorry for words uttered that may have wounded another. Clara. Quite right. Georgie. Then, Clara, I think you will admit that there is a gentleman around here who ought to feel sorry — and who consequently ought to apologize — for some very unkind re- marks made to me. Tom. Miss Rosewell, am I the gentleman ? Georgie. No, sir; you are not. Clara. Am I the gentleman? i8 The Lion and the Eagle. Georgie. [Smiling.) Scarcely. Tom. Why, who can it be ? Georgie. [Looking demurely down at herfoes.) Is there no one else around here ? Tom. ( Looking up above his head.) I see no one. Clara. [Looking around ) Neither do I. Georgie. I see you are very funny, but it is no Sir C. I nevah knew before that I was so attenuated as to be invisible to mortal eyes. I think Miss Wosewell wefers to me. But I was not aware that any wemarks of mine could be construed as offensive, and therefore wequiring an apology. On the contwary, I was vezvy much aware that Miss Wosewell might with pwopriety apologize to me. Georgie. Sir, your impudence is simply marvelous. Do you know to whom you speak ? Sir C. Perfectly. And to show you that I have no ill feel- ing, Miss Wosewell, if you will kindly specify the words that you considered personally insulting, I shall be most happy to apologize. Gforgie. Sir Charles Wormley, you know very well what you said. I do not now recall the particular words ; but I know this, that you insulted my country, and therefore insulted me, for which I want an apology. Sir C. Ah, that is something altogether diffewent. W^hen yourcountwy demands an apology, then I will apologize to the fairest representative of your countwy. Georgie. {Sneeringly.) To theyiz/Vrj/ representative of my country ? Sir C. Yes. Georgie. Hear him, Clara; he is willing to apologize to the yazV^J/ representative of my country. Will you please step this way ? Clara. [Who has been conversing aside unth Tom.) Fight your own battles, Georgie. Mr. Blassy and I are already ar- ranging for their visit in the fall. [Signijicantly.) You'll get left if you don't mind. Georgie. My sister, sir, does rot want an apology. It is I who want it. Sir C. [Conciliaiingly .) It was you whom I meant, and it is you who shall have it. Georgie. I? Then, sir, down on your — I mean, humble yourself; apologize. Sir C. Allow me to ask first, Miss Wosewell, dees your countwy wequire it ? The Lion and i/ie Eagle. 19 Georgie. It does. Sir C. And it is absolutely necessawy that I must obey your countwy's mandate in order to secure your forgivene.ss and — and good-will? Georgie. It is. Sir C. Then, come ; we will talk about it. This is a vewy serious matter. [Ojffers his arm.) Georgie. {Aside, as she viciously gras fs his arvi.) He has not apologized yet. I will make him do it if I have to man y him for it. [ They letire tip. i.. Clara. {Mockingly, aside to Geojgie as they pass,) Well. Georgie dear, did you bring him to his knees yet ? Hal ha I ha I Georgie. {In the same tone of voice. ) Not quite, Clara love ; only to his arms. Clara. {To Tom.) Almost like a lovers' quarrel, Mr. Blassy ; don't you think so ? What do you think of it all ? Tom. I think it would be well if we did a little quarreling, so that you could ask me to do some apologizing Clara. Suppose we try ? Tom. With all my heart. But what would pa say ? What would both our pa's say? They might Georgie. ( With a sudden laugh.) How very funny you can be sometimes. Sir Charles. Clara, I am going for my wraps. Don't delay. The sailors are getting ready to drop the anchor. ^Exeunt Georgie and Sir Charles. Tom. Confound it I I thought she'was laughing at me. Clara. Then you must have a guilty conscience, Mr. Blassy. Unburden it. What were you about to say ? Tom. Only this: You said my father was a lovable old man, and that you would like {A noise is heard outside. ) Clara. What was that? Tom. Oh, nothing. {Koise heard again.) Clara. There it is again. They are hauling the baggage up. We must be getting ready. Tom. The deuce take it 1 They are always hauling things at the wrong time. The baggage-smasher is an incubus on society. He ought to be exterminated. When he is not break- ing boxes, he is breaking hearts. YEjceiint.^ arm in arm. The noise confirmes : officer on bridge gives some directions : the sailors begin %v or king the chain .^ and sing the following verse from the opening song : 20 The Lion and the Eagle. What joy there is on a gallant bark, Controlled by a gallant band, None but a fearless sailor lad Can ever understand. The wild delights of a sailor's life 'Tis useless to explain To those who've never seen the seas, And crossed the Spanish Main. Chorus ,—Viox\\ speak of pleasures of home life To men so bold and free. A sailor's life is a jovial life; A sailor's life for me ! While the sailors have been singing, Mr. Blassy, Mr. Roscwell, Mr. Duckerson, Sir Charles, Tom, Georgie, Clara, Mrs. Ditckerson, and Mrs. Harpley have entej-ed, carrying sachels in their hands ^ and wraps upon their arms . ACT II. Scene i. Parlor in Mr. Rosewelts house, Washington. Doors right and left, and double door center. Kate is discovered dusting. Kate. 'Pears to me as if Miss Georgie and Miss Clara hal) neber been de same gals sence day cum home. No singing, no dancing, no nuthin'. Always talking 'bout deir European trip, an'cl dem lords ober dere, and old castles and abbeys and ruin's. I'm sick ob it all. And den dey sometimes talk, kinder in a whisper, 'bout two fellahs dat cum ober in de same ship as dey did, and wonder why dey neber get a letter from dem. I knowed how it 'd be befo' dey went away. Says I— but here come de young ladies demselves. I must be gwine. [ Exit. Enter Georgie and Clara, C.,.in morning wrappers. Clara. Yes, yes, Georgie ; I know it. Papa was only say- ing yesterday that it is now four weeks since we left New York, and that he thought Mr. Blassy would surely have written be- fore this. The Lion and the Eagle. 21 Georgie. Perhaps Mr. Blassy, the elder, is too busy seeing the sights of the great city; but 1 think Mr. Blassy, the younger, might have let us know if we may expect them next month. Clara. Yes, or Sir Charles might have Georgie. Please, Clara, don't. That man never- Clara. Might have wiitten to inform us if he is yet pre- pared to go down on 1h> knees. Ha] ha! ha J Georgie. You are simply horrid. But he will have to apologize, even if I did apparently make it up. Clara. He shall. Georgie. He must. And if he still Enter Mr. Rosewell in morning gowtz^ slippers^ etc. Mr. R. Girls, I have just reeeived a letter from Mr. Blassy. Clara. ( Eagerly. ) W h at does h e say ? Georgie. {Eagerly.^ When are ihey coming ? Mr. R. He says he has not had a spare minute, or he would have written before. Both. Nothing else? Mr. R. And he says he is enjoying himself immensely, but sufferihg with the hot weather. Both. Is that all? Mr. R. No. He also says that he is becoming, on account of the hot weather, quite thin. He knows this to be so from the fact that only a hundred boys follow him now where five hundred Georgie. Oh, pshaw! Does he say nothing about Clara. He certainly'has not forgotten to mention- Mr. R. {^Divining their meaning.) Ah! yes, yes. Cer- tainly. I see. The impatience of lovers. I ought to have known. We old men forget the callowness of youth, and the thoughts that burned within us before our beards began to sprout. Yes, in a postscript here he says the boys wrote three weeks ago, but have received no answer, and so think that they must have addressed their letters wrong. They think they must have sent them to some other Washington, as they have since learned there are about a thousand in the country. They are writing again, however, by the same mail. Georgie. By the same mail ? Glara. Where are the letters, then ? Mr. R. Probably Kate has them. I will see about it, and send her in. (Moves offhand turns suddenly.) I have also re- ceived a letter from your Uncle Gearge. He says the theatrical season will soon be commencing, and that he will be glad to see 22 The Lion and the Eagle. us at any time. Auntie is well, and hopes the girls will not fail to visit New York the coming fall. He incidentally mentions that Sir Charles Wormley and Mr. Tom Blassy have called upon him, and that he has introduced them to several lady professionals, to whom they seem to be doing the agreeable. But I will see Kate, and ask her about your letiers. '^' \^Exit. Georgt'e walks excitedly across the stage, and Clara up center. Georgie. Did you hear that — did you hear that, Clara? Clara. ( With forced calnmess.) Yes, I heard it, Georgie. Georgie. "To whom they seem to be doing the agreeable." And still they have the audacity to write to us ! Clara. I suppose the next thing they will be asking us to marry them. Georgie. [Sneeringly .) And go off with them to "glorious old England." But I wonder what they say. I wonder whether Sir Charles writes to me or to you. Clara. You don't wonder anything about it. You knoio to whom he writes. Enter Kaie^ ivith letters. Kate. Here's two letters fo' you. I forgot to bring dem in befo'. Georgie. Please don't be so forgetful again, Kate. You may go. \^Exit Kate. Enter Mrs. Harpley, c, dressed for shopping. Mrs. H. Dear, dear! Why, you are not ready yet. I thought you were going shopping with me. Clara. Not this morning, auntie. Georgie's head Georgie. I do not feel quite well enough for shopping. My head — I — I Mrs. H. A little fresh air would do you good, goosey. Come, get ready — both of you. Clara. No, no ! Georgie. Impossible, dear auntie — impossible. Mrs. H. Why, you stupid little creatures, what is the mat- ter Avith you ? It was only this morning at breakfast that you said you would both go ; that you wanted to Clara. Please, dear auntie, do leave us alone for a little while this morning. {Gently leads her to the door.) We are not in a condition — well, never mind. Good-by. {^Kisses her.) Mrs. H. {Aside.) This is very strange. Never saw them this way before. There's something the matter, and I'm woman enough to want to know what it is. I'll find out when The Lion and tlie Eagle. 23 I come home. A love affair, as sure as the moon is not made of green cheese. \_Exit. Georgie. {Opening her letter.) I thought she would never go. It is a wonder she didn't stop half an hour just to tease us. She knew there was something the matter. {Reads to herself .) Clara. ( Havi?jg opetied her letter and read a few lines. ) W hy — why — what is this? I've actually — yes, actually got a pro- posal. Georgie. {With a ringing laugh.') And — and so have I. The impudent puppy ! The impudent puppy! Clara, if you will permit me to use a little slang for once, 1 will remark that this beats — Cain. Clara walks uf and doivn the stage, and Gtorgie across. Clara. What are you going to do about it ? Georgie. What ^x&you going to do ? Clara. I asked you first. Georgie. Well, I don't know. It seems to me that they are making fools of us, and love elsewhere; playing the gal- lants to ladies m New York, and writing us what may be mock proposals of marriage. I suppose I shall have to answer it. Clara. Certainly we shall have to answer. I think we had better tell them that we can not decide until we have seen more of them, and that we will defer our answers until they come to see us. Georgie. {Smelling at her letter. ) This letter {smells again) has had some cigar ashes on it {smells again) and some bad breaih near it Smell ihat letter, Clara, and see if it has not an odor of stale Avine. Clara. {After smelling it.) I don't smell it. Besides, I am not sure that I know the odor of stale wine Georgie. You're a dunce. Well, I smell it. This is not my first love-letter, and I know the difierence between the smell of a cigar flavored with bad wine and the usual perfume of a billet-doux ; and' if this letter has been perfumed in the manner I assume, then the writer of it had too much wine in him when he wrote it. Clara. What a preposterous supposition ! I might almost call it an asinine supposition ! Georgie. Not at all. Now listen, Clara ; I have an idea. Clara. Is it possible? I always thought that giddy girls like you, George, never had any ideas. Georgie. Well, I've got one this time; and my idea is to concoct a little plan. Clara. Explain. 2r 1 The Lion and the Eagle. Georgie. These young men may have been half drunk when they wrote these letters. Clara. Impossible! They are gentlemen, and gentlemei> never get drunk. Georgie. That is one of the fictions that mammas teach their good little girls. Clara. Why, Georgie, you are /?^// of ideas. Must have been communing with your though is lately, an occupation new to you. Philosophers and lovers are the only ones who do that ; and as you are not a philosopher, then you must be, I suppose- in love. Georgie. It may be true, nevertheless. Clara. What, that you're in love? Georgie. Goose, no. But that these young gentlemen may have been half drunk when they wrote these letters. Clara. But perhaps they are prohibitionists. Georgie. I do not think they are. There are not many prohibitionists among the gentlemen of England. Clara. You seem to know a great deal about it. Sir Charles must have been quite confidential with you at some time. Georgie. It did not require Sir Charles Wormley, nor even Mr. Tom Blassy, to tell me that. I could see for myself when I was over there that the English drink a great deal. Clara. But then they have some respect for ladies. Georgie. Not much — at least, not always. I have heard that the Englishman loves his horse a little better than his dog, and his dog considerably more than his wife. Clara. You should not believe all that you hear. But what is your plan ? Georgie. My plan is this : We will go to New York as actresses seeking an engagement. We will take Uncle George into our confidence, and he shall invite (apparently unknown to us) these young gentlemen to witness a trial of our abilities. We shall then find out if they are falling in love with every girl who goes behind the footlights. Clara. Very good, Georgie — an excellent scheme. But don't you think they will recognize us ? Georgie. I'll take care of that. I'll tell Uncle George to put them behind a screen of some kind, and that they are only to hear us and not to see us. In any event, he must place us in the shade, so that, if they j/wm/I:/ peep (as I know they will) they can not make us out. Clara. But they will know our voices. The Lion and the Eagle. 25 Georgie. Not necessarily. You know, they have never heard us sing, and that is all we shall do in their presence. Clara. And dance? Georgie. And dance, of course, in a mild way. And if we should have to speak a few words, why we can disguise our voices. Clara. But what will pa and auntie say ? Georgie. Oh, we shall have to tell them that we are going on a visit to Uncle George Clara. Which, of course, we shall be doing; and so we shall not be telling a story. Georgie. Certainly, certainly. It would not do to tell a story. Lovers wt'z/^r tell stories. They always Clara. Why, here's auntie back from shopping. Enter Mrs. Harpley with three or four pare els ^ivhich she lays on the table. (iEORGiE. And, unlike us, she is full of good sense and — other tilings. Mrs. H. Yes, and other things. Just look here, [Attempts to undo a parcel.) See what I've been buying while you two geese have been talking love and such stuff. Clara. What is it, auntie — a yard of tape ? Georgie. Or a spool of thread — which ? Mrs. H. It is neither, you goslings. I knew I should make your eyes water. Look! It is a duck of a bonnet. [Exhibits a bonnt t. ) Clara Oh, what a beauty ! Ln't it handsome ? Georgie. It's just too lovely for anything! Did you buy it for me, auntie? It will just match Clara. Do let me try it on. Mrs. H. {Picking up her parcels.) Come, both of you. I want to show you something else— something you've never seen before. Oh, it's simply grand. Georgie. What is it? What is it? What is it? Clara. Oh, do tell, auntie ! Do tell ! Mrs. H. Not now, dears. Wait until we get upstairs. Come. Both Girls. Oh, what is it, auntie? What is it? What is it? Exeunt; Mrs. H. carrying her parcels .^ and Georgie and Clara hugging her. 26 The Lion and the Eagle. Scene 2. — The Bowery^ N'ezu York City. A dog barking is heard outside, and a noise as though the dog were worrying something. Enter Johi Blassy backwards slowly^ and trying to kick the dog off^ which he succeeds in doing just as he comes on. His tJ-ousers are disarranged, his hat awry, and he is panting for breath. Blassy. Save, me, lads ! Save me! I am worried by dogs. ( Gives a kick. Looks, and sees there is no dog there. ) Now, by the fat of all my ancestors, I know not why that dog should treat me thus. I was walking quietly along the Bowery just now when that skulking pup, that dirt-enveloped cur that hungry-looking hound, that flea-devoured mongrel, that yelp- ing, snarling, crust-eating snipe of the gutter, flew at me from behind a boy's legs, and attacked my extremities most villain- ously. I did not hear the lad say anything to the dog, nor did I see the dog wink to the lad ; hence I am at a loss to account for it. H'm, now I think on't, I've heerd that here in New York dogs are taught to know a Chinaman, and to fly at him on sight. But am I a Chinaman ? Bah ! ( Takes out his hand- kerchief.) Do I look like one? Bah! [Wipes his face.) True, I am shrinking away. This hot weather is having its eff'ect. I am becoming a mere shadow of my former self. Another month of it, and I shall be as lean and wizened as one of Duck- erson's professional skeletons. But I am not becoming moon- eyed. Nay, lads, I am not becoming moon-eyed, am I ? [Looks up to the gallery.) This is frightful! This is frightful! An honest British merchant to be taken for a rat-eating Mongolian. Does this come from eating rats ? ( Puts his ha^ids on his stomach) Nay. I think not ; but good beef, lads — ^juicy beef and ale. My mishaps in thisgre&t city have been many ; but to be taken for a Chinaman is the unkindest one of all. I shall write a book when I go home. Everybody does it It pays — so I've heerd. And I shall have lots to say about the gamins. They do not follow me so much as they did, which is one reason why I think I am getting thin. Occasionally they seize upon me, and then — yes, then I have a frightful time. For a week or two after I landed I could not leave my hotel without an army of small boys following me. Some would whisper (as only small boys can whisper) : " Have a care, old man ; if you fall, the earth will quake." Others would shout : " How much fur yer beetle- crushers, Mr. Shadow ? " I have since learned they meant my boots; I wear No. 15's. Still others would yell [A noise is heard outside) Ah, here's a crowd of 'em coming now. I had better be going, methinks. The Lion and the Eagle. 27 Enter ^ before Blassy can get away^ about ten Bozvery boys. One shottts,'^IIere^s old Anti-fat P' They initnediately snrj'otmd Blassy. Eour get hold of his coat-tails and pull him different ways A?iotherfonrJuvip around Jiiin and keep t

leecker Street, up Broadway Tom. No wonder my father is blowing like a porpoise. Sir C. Mrs. Ouckerson has only been exercising him a little — twaining him, perhaps, for some pugilistic contest. Blassy. It's nothing, boys. Nothing — nothing. Sir C, Or for some future gladiatowial exhibition with the Bowery small boy. Now twy the duml)-bells. Mrs. D. Ha! ha! ha! Yes, Mr. Blassy has been telling me all about it; how you rescued him from the jaws of — the very jaws of death. How dreadful it must be to be fleshy. But where is my husband ? Sir C. Gone — gone home. [Aside.) I pwesume. Mrs. D. Gone home? Then I must be going too, and be there before him, or I shall never hear the last of my escapade with Father Blassy. Ha! ha! ha! Sir C. Don't be in a hurwy. Shall one of us accompany you home ? Mrs. D. No, thank you ; I'd rather go alone. Good-by. Ta-ta, Mr. Blassy. Blassy kisses his hand^ and the others say " Good-by T {Exit Mrs, Duckerson. Blassy. A charming woman, but fear — fearfully fast. [Hastening to correct himself .) I mean a fearfully fast walker. Tom. Father, you're a chump. Blassy. A what, me lad? Tom. a chump. Blassy. What is a chump? Tom. Well, if I must tell you, it is slang for a blockhead, a dolt, a fool. Blassy. Tom, Tom, me lad, don't call your old father a fool. Call me a blockhead, a dolt, a jackass, an' you will ; but call me not a fool. 32 The Lion and the Eagle. Tom. I did not mean to call you a fool, father. A -'chump" is not quite so expressive as that. It means a person who has acted foolishly. And you act foolishly, father, in indulging in the pleasures of the table so much when you see that it keeps you so fat. It nettles me to see my old father the sport of boys, when he might, by a little self-denial, reduce his size to that of ordinary mortals, and thereby prevent his being a jest forever Blassy. Aye, aye, me lad ; but how? Sir C. ' hat'sit, Mr. Hwassy. How? Tom. Live on bread and water, if there's no other way. Blassy, Well, well, Tom ; we'll not quarrel. When you get to my age, you will learn that it is no easy thing to live on bread and water. Sir C. 'Tiseven worse, I should judge, than wiving on bread and cheese and kisses, Tom, He might try the kisses alone. Some people live on love. Sir C. Or dyspepsia. Dyspepsia is a never-failing wemedy with Americans for reducing flesh. Try and get dyspepsia, Blassy. What is dyspepsia. Sir Charles ? SirC, Dyspepsia? Why anybody in this countwy can tell you what dyspepsia is. Blassy. Do they sell it in drug stores? SirC In some dwug stores — yes. Blassy. And you are sure it is a good remedy ? Sir C, Perfectly sure. Blassy. Ever try it yourself ? Sir C. Nevah, Blassy, Then how do you know it is good ? Sir C. I judge fwom its eff.^cts on the specimens I have seen. Blassy. I'll get some! I'll get some! Sir C. Then I'll have to intwoduce you to some sufferwing native. He'll show you how to take it. Blassy. Sir Charles, I'm your devoted friend. Show me how to take dyspepsy, and I'm your devoted slave. SirC. All you have to do is to watch him at the table. He takes it at his meals. Blassy. { All moving off together. ) Before or after ? Sir C. Sometimes before, but generally after. Blassy. I'll buy some, Sir Charles; I'll buy .some. I'll try dyspepsy. I'll try it! I'll try it! Anything to reduce this Rocky Mountain of flesh. \^Exeunt. The Lion and the Eagle. 33 Scene 3. — Mr. Duckerson^s office in his theater. Enter Mr. Duckerson. Duck. {Looking at his watch.) It is now twenty minutes after two. I told Sir Charles and Tom to be here a little before half past. They have not the faintest suspicion of who the ladies are, and I do not intend that they shall be enlightened. I suppose they will go wild, and want presenting this very afternoon. Oh, no. I shall hustle the girls into a carriage immediately after it's over, and the young fellows may rave themselves sick. It's only fun for the girls, I know ; but I've given my word of honor to do this thing squarely, and I mean to do it. It may be that they — {a knock is heard) — ah, here they are. Come in. Enter Sir Charles and Tom Blassy. Duck, ( Contimdng. ) How do, gentlemen ? Just in time. Beaten the ladies by a neck. Now don't break your necks in beating them behind that screen. Let me Tom. Now this is no hoax. Sir C. Nor one of your infernal jokes? Duck. Never more serious in my life. I'm trembling in my boots. Wish I hadn't let you come. Tom Ducky, old boy, you won't refuse us now. Sir C. Wemember, Duckerson, we know a pwetty little story about you that Mrs. Duckerson Duck. Well, then, hurry up. Here, get behind this screen. I hear the ladies coming. Hurry — hurry! {He pushes them partly behind the screen. ) Tom, Onemoment, Suppose — suppose^oh, hang it ! Sir Charles, you say it. Sir C. I think Tom is twying to say, Mr. Duckerson, that if we should take a particular fancy to these wadies, you surely would not wefuse Duck. Don't have time to listen. i^A knock is heard at the door.) Now be slippery. Look lively. Get behind there. ( Hep ushes them aga in.) C o m e i n Enter Georgie and Clara dressed in elegant style .^ but con- trasting somewhat^ each with parasol.^ gloves^ etc. Georgie. {In a disguised voice.) This is the manager, I believe? Duck. {Bowing.) It is, at your service. 34 The Lion and the Eagle. Clara, (/w a disguised voice.) And you received our letter, I presume ? Duck. I did. Georgie. Aw, then we will proceed to business without further ceremony. Duck. May I ask what line of business? y. Clara. A little of everything. Georgie. Down to song and dance. Duck. Indeed! I should be pleased to witness a trial of your abilities as song and dance artistes. Clara. Certainly. Gf.orgie. ( Whispering.) Are they here, uncle? Duck. [Whispering.) Yes; behind that screen there. But don't speak so loud. Georgie. [Moving toward the screen.) We have scarcely room here, Mr. Duckerson. Suppose we move Duck. Don't kick that screen, ladies. {Sir C.a?td Tom start in surprise. ) Clara. It takes up too much room. If you will kindly Duck. I tell you again, ladies, don't kick that screen. Georgie. We are not going to kick it, sir. We are only going to move it. Clara. I think the gentleman must have something behind the screen that he does not wish us to see. He seems so anxious about it. Georgie. Perhaps a bull-dog. [Clara screams.) Duck. Yes, I have a bull-dog there — two of 'em. [Both ladies scream.) And British bull-dogs at that [Both scream again, and Sir C and Tom shake their fists angrily.) Fighting bull-dogs — vicious, snarling beasts. So look out, and don't go too near. Clara. Oh, Mr. Duckerson, Mr. Duckerson, why did you allow us to come here ? Georgie. We had no idea that this was a menagerie. Have you any other wild beasts ? [Sir C. and Tom start again at the thought of being compared to wild beasts. ) Duck. No others, I assure ; and these bull-dogs won't hurt you if you keep out of their way. Besides, they're chained up, and I've put a muzzle on them. Clara. Put a muzzle on them? Duck. You bet. I've got 'em where the hair is short. Clara. Then how do they eat ? Duck. Oh, like dogs. [Sir C. and Tom gleam with rage. ) Georgie. But how do you feed them ? The Lion and the Eagle. -jj^ Duck. Feed them sometimes with my boot, but oftener with a club. Ci.ARA. Don't you give them anything el>e ? Duck. Not much else during the dog-days, and we are now in the dog-days. At least, they are in /^^V dog-days. Every dog has his day. 'i OM. [To bir C.) I will not stand this much longer. Sir C. ( To Tom ) He's a villainous mountebank. I shall take the wiberty of pulling his nose at the first opportunity. Georgie. You seem to know a great deal about dogs. Duck. About bull-dogs— yes. But these are only puppies. At least, I don't think they are full-grown, because they have such pvippy ways. Clara Oh, why then we needn't be afraid of them. Duck Not a bit. They're leally the most harmless puppies you ever saw. They think they've lots of courage, like all puppies, but they haven't a thimV)Ieful. They crawl into their holes on the slightest scent of danger. They crawled into their ]>resent holes because they heard a footstep on the stairs. Tom. {To Sir C.) This is horrible ! Sir C. {To Tom.) Most horwibly horwible ! A Bwitish pcercwawling into a hole to be the sport of a knavish show- man. Georgie How I should like one. Duck. What, one of these ? Georgie. No, no ; I didn't mean that. Clara. She meant a bull-pup like one of these. Duck. Oh, well; perhaps I'll make you a present of one of these some day. But let me show you them. They are fine specimens. Just one peep. {Sir C. and Tom fall back in dismay.) Both Girls. Oh,no, no, no. Georgie I'm afraid of their fangs. Clara. I can almost see their gleaming eye-balls. Duck. All right. As you say. We'll take a peep at them some other time — when they're asleep, perhaps. Georgie. That will be better. Duck. Well, then, let us to business. What will you try ? Georgie. We have had written for us a little song of the sea that we will try. Duck. All right. That will remind us of those other dogs — the sea-dogs. Clara. Exactly. Duck. Well, then, all ready ? Georgie All ready. ^6 The Lion and the Eagle. They sing and dance thefol/oioing : Old Ocean. Glorious sea ! Boundless sea I How delightful to be Rocked to sleep by thy leonine hand, In forgetful repose Of the world and its woes ! For all ills fly away at thy wand. What on earth can compare With thy rich bracing air For the poor weary toilers of earth ? Yielding health, yielding wealth, Doing good e'en by stealth, Asking naught in exchange for thy worth. Land is bought ; land is sold ; Men bequeath men its gold ; But no birthright thou ever hast known. All to thee are the same : Rich and poor, strong and lame. Can inherit thee and call thee their own. Let us go, then, away, . To the beach, where the spray Murmurs sweetly its song of the sea ; And we'll sit on the shore. Watch the waves dash and roar. Dreaming sadly, Old Ocean, of thee. ACT IH. Scene r. — Grounds and conservatory around Mr. KoseweWs house ^ Washington. Three rustic seats partially coicealed from each other. Enter John Blassy^ arm in arm with Mrs. Harpley and Mrs. Duckersofn. Blassy is in full evening dress, a little old-fashioned — large double-breasted white vest and large neck-tie. Blassy. ( Wiping his forehead.) 'Pears to me you have din- ner early in this country. In my The Lion and the Eagle. 37 Mrs. H. We consider it good for digestion. IJlassy, Hut my digestion is very good. Mrs. H. But not very complete. I mean- Mrs. I). Exactly what you say, Alice. Mr. Blassy's diges- tion is not very complete, else he would not be so fleshy. HlassY. Why, my dears, I am taking physic to cure that. Hut more physic I take, the more I seem to eat. Didn't you notice my appetite at dinner ? Mrs. H. Not particularly. Mrs. I ). We all eat rather heartily, I thought. Blassv. But my appetite is — is frightful — frightful. How- somever, I am taking physic for it. I am taking dyspepsy — I think Sir Charles calls it. Funny name. [Both ladies look at each other in blank astonishment.) Never heard of it in my life beiore. Mrs. H. What did you say the medicine was, Mr. Blassy ? Blassy. Dyspepsy — yes, dyspepsy. I'm carlain that's the name. Mrs. D. W^ must Ti\fA.xi dyspepsia, Mrs H. But taking it as a medicine. I don't understand. Do you buy this medicine ? Bi-ASSY, Why bless my 'art, yes. Buy it in a drug-store. Dollar and a quarter a bottle; six bottles for {Both ladies burst into peals of laughter.) I — I see nothing funny about it. Cost me twenty-four dollars already. And now Mrs. D. Who told you of this medicine ? Blassl. Sir Charles — Sir Charles did. He said it was a capital thing for reducing flesh. Nearly every American took it. Mrs. D. {Slyly.) It doesn't seem to reduce jK^wrflesh, much, Mr. Blassy. Mrs.H. Sir Charles told you ! I didn't think that of Sir Charles — didn't think he was such a wag Now if it had been your husband, Nellie, I could have understood it. Mrs n. Yes, indeed. If it had been George, the thing would have been perfectly consistent But Sir Charles Bi.ASSY. Bless your 'arts, ladies, what do you mean ? I'm all at sea. They both told me. I never Both Ladies [Bursting into laughter again.) 'Tis enough ! 'Tis enough ! Blassy. Some joke on me, I'll bet a sovereign. I've been the victim of waggery ever since I landed in the country. B ooming queer country ! Every man a joker, and every joker taking physic. 38 The Lion and the Eagle. Mrs. D. But how did George come lo tell you that dyspep- sia was good for reducing flesh ? Blassy, Why the way on't was this: Sir Charles told me that I should watch some sufiferinf^^ native taking it at his meals. With that he took me over to Mr, Duckerson, who was just eating dinner, and told him what I wanted. Now I ;.hink on't, he (2'/4iot gel the bill through this session. But don't let that worry you BLASbY. It (o't'^.y worry me. I am going home in a month. Mr. R. Not so soon, Mr. Blassy; not so soon. Why, you haven't >een any of tVe wonders of our great country yet. A^ou haven't even seen any of our Indians, our Congressmen, and other — and other wild tribes. Blassy. Ha! ha I ha I Never thought of it. Where cam I see ihein ? Mr R. Many of them — our Congressmen, for instance — you can see there on Capitol Hill, in the Cave of the Winds. Blassy. Cave of the Winds— Cave of the Winds. Mr. R. Yes; or Windy Cave. Blassy. Windy Cave. Why Windy Cave ? Mr R. Oh, because it is so very windy up there when the average Congressman is spouting. Blassy. Hal ha! ha I You Americans «r^ a 'umerous lot ; you a;r a 'umerous lot Mr. R It often blows so hard that nobody but his constitu- ents ever hear what he says. Blassy Ha! hal ha! Ha! ha! ha! All jokers— all jokers. ^Exeunt Mr. Rosewell and Mr. Blassy. Tom and Clara rise slaiulyfrom their seats. Clara. {Plucking a Jlo7aer.) Only a rosebud. Pretty, i? it not ? Tom. Yes, very Clara. Are you fond of rosebuds? Tom. Of that rosebud, yes. Clara. I would put it in your button-hole, but I'm afraid. Tom. Afraid? Why? Clara. Oh, I don't know if you don't. Tom. Well, I'm sure I don't. So put it there. Clara, But what would some of those New York ladies say ? Tom. {Staiiled.) What do you mean ? Clara. Oh, I don't know if you don't, Tom, I fail to penetrate. Is that why you are afraid ? Clara. Yes. Tom, Then be not afraid any longer. Put it there. The Lion and the Easrle. 4» Clara. {Putting it in his button-hole. ) But you might think too much of it. Tom. I couldn't. Clara. But you might. Tom. Impossible. Clara. There ! It looks decidedly aesthetic on its back- ground of black. Tom. May I think as much of it as I like ? Clara. Oh, yes ; a flower means nothing. But I told you I was afraid you would think too much of it. Tom. I can never do that. What do you call this cluster that you wear in your — in your corsage, is it? I'm not well versed in women's dress. Clara. You will be some day. Tom. What do you mean ? Clara. When you marry. Your check-book will enlighten you. Tom. ( Putting his arm lightly around her waist. ) I f m o n ey could buy such a thing of beauty as this, then Clara. [Gently disengaging herself .) That will do. Don't carry my joke too far. Tom. Is it very expensive? Clara. What? Tom. a wife. Clara. I don't think so. But I've never been a wife. Tom. Quite right. I didn't think of that. But you might be some day. Clara. I hope so, though I don't think I have seen my husband yet. Tom. Are you sure? Clara. I see plenty of gentlemen I like, but few that I have no heart, I'm afraid. Tom. I'm afraid you have not. Clara. What do you knoAV about it? Tom. a good deal. I have been looking for it. Clara. You areas foolish as all the rest. I don't like men who can talk nothing but nonsense. Tom. It is not nonsense. Men sometimes mean what they say. Clara. Very rarely. Do you remember our first meeting ? Tom. No. I know it was on shipboard ; but our acquaint- ance never seems to have had a beginning. I simply knew you. Clara. And trusted me ? Tom. And trusted you. 42 The Lion and the Eagle. Clara. My! I don't know. It was not Tom. What? Clara. Nevermind. Did you like New York ? Tom. Will you not finish your sentence ? Clara. It was nothing — a thought that should not have been uttered anyway. But tell me, are you g,ping back to London ? • Tom. Yes, I suppose it is best for me. Clara. I suppose — it — is. Tom. I fear I shall not be happy, though. Clara. Yes, you will. There's where the eyes of the world are centered. There's where there is brilliancy, and gayety, and clever people, and worldly power; and you will find another — I mean other friends. Tom. And so you wish me happiness ? Clara. Indeed — indeed, I do. Tom. Then why not contribute towards it ? Clara. Tell me how I can. I will do anything within my power. We have talked frankly enough at times; let us talk frankly now. Tom. Our friendship has been wasted if we can not be frank with each other now. I am going away soon Clara. Yes, you are going away soon. To say that I shall miss you is to talk platitudes. I dare not speak what I feel. You will not misunderstand me ? Tom. No ; you may be sure of that. Clara. You need not squeeze my hand quite so hard. Tom. Did I really have hold of your hand ? I was think- ing [Slight pause.) Clara. Well, of what were you thinking ? Tom. I have never [looking at her dubiously) — I have never spoken of love. Sometimes a little sentiment has stolen in, but you have not encouraged it, not even Clara. I don't like sentiment. It's always hollow and foolish. Tom. But have you not sometimes thought I loved you ? Clara. Yes, sometimes. And I shouldn't wonder if you have not sometimes thought I loved j^«. Tom. I have, sometimes. Clara. But how could I love a man who never sought to be anything but a friend ? Tom. And how could I ask a woman who gave me her friendship to accept my love as a reward for her friendship, and to give me hers as a reward for mine ? If I had taken advan- The Lio7i and the Eagle. 43 tage of your friendship to make love to you, I should have come to the base level of the rest of mankind. Clara. Now you are talking nonsense. Do you believe that I would ever have given you my confidence if there had been nothing but friendship ? And I am very much mistaken if friendship ever could be so warm as yours that had no deeper motive power. Tom. Take care, Clara ; you are committing yourself. Clara. Committing myself or not, why should I rot speak in a'matter that so nearly concerns my happiness ? Tom, you are going away ; you are going to leave me; you have taught me to trust you; you have weaned me from all other confidants, and made me one-half of yourself You have known all the time that I loved you. If I have read you M^rongly, it has not been your fault. Our happiness calls for us to speak the truth — woman or man. Tom. Clara, you have read me aright, as I have you. No woman that had not all my love could have had all my friend- ship, as you have had. You are my other self; and where I go, you shall go. I believe that we were made one for the other. ( Kisses her. ) Clara. And now, Tom, darling, I don't mind if you do indulge in a little sentiment now Tom. {Encircling her waist very lovifjgly.) And nonsense too? ' Clara. And nonsense, too. Tom. {Kissing her again.) This kind of nonsense ? Clara. Yes. They move up the stage very fondly .^ and come suddenly upon Mr. Blassy and Mrs. Harpley^ who have just entered. Blassy. {Disgustedly.) Drat it! Drat it! These young 'uns are always so intent upon their own love-making that they never see anybody else. Mrs. H. Why you were not making love, Mr. Blassy. Why should you be annoyed ? Blassy. I am not annoyed, Mrs. Harpley. But I was — well, I can't express — I mean I was — I w s.?, fee ling \o\e^ if I was not making love. Mrs. H. Pshaw ! Mr. Blassy. Pshaw! A man of your age. Blassy. Why, look you, Mrs. Harpley, my vigor is not yet affected by my age, and my age is not so great as to have weak- ened my constitution, and my constitution is good for another thirty years. 44 The Lion and the Eagle. Mrs H. {Edging a Utile closer to him.) Hut what has all that to do with me? Sir Charles and Georgie get up and move sloivlv toward the footlights^ unconscious of Blassy and Mrs. H. Blassy. Why, look you, only this : I have ,been thinking lately what is life worth living for if not to — in short, 1 have been a widower now some Drat the infernal luck ! Drat it! Here's another spoony couple! Always coming when I am in a mellow mood, and want to say something — but come, come. [ Mrs. H. takes his arm., and exeunt talking together Sir C. This is not spwingtime, is it, Miss Wose well ? Georote. Certainly not. Sir C. Then I'm sure there must be something in the Amewican climate conducive to love and tender thoughts, A fellow seem-; lo dwop as natuvvally into love as — as — I beg par- don, Miss Wosewell, but am I not getting foolish ? Georgie Perhaps you are But I — but /do not think so. Pray go on, Sir Charles. Sir C. ( Toying with his eye-glass .) Your answer is wather ambiguous. {Slight pause ) And so this is Washington. Georgie. That is not what you were saying. Sir C. Perhaps not, but it will do. The last time I was in this countwy I was acquainted with a family in Washington — the Lovillons. Georgie. You know the Lovillons? Why so do I. What a pretty girl Marie Lovillon is ! Sir C. {Drily.) Oh, yes. Georgie. You say that as if it were anything but your opinion. Don't you like her ? Sir C. Not extwavagantly. Georgie. {Quickly.) Why? Sir C. She's not my style exactly. Were she more like you, for instance, I should pwobably like her bettah. Georgie. {Coldly.) I value your compliment at its true worth. Were she in my place, no doubt you would have said the same thing. Sir C. {Calmly.) It is possible. Georgie. {Scornfully.) Your effrontery is admirable. Sir C. And my temper imperturbable. Georgie. And your impudence magnificent. Sir C. And my admiwation bestowed where I think pwoper. Georgie. You're no gentleman. The Lion and the Eagle. 4^ Sir C. Cut a peer of the realm, and a lord of the manor. Georgie. Your birth or your queen may make you a lord, but not a gentleman. Sir C. Come, now, why should you grow angwy at my hum- ble little attempt to say in an indivvcct way that I — like you ? Georgie. I am duly grateful. Sir C. And that evah since I came to your father's house I have been — I have been Georgie. ^More graciously.) You have been what ? Sir C. Let me see, how long have I been here ? Georgie. About a week. But you were saying that you have been something during that time. Sir C. Yes, yes. I hav^e been — I think I have been getting foolish, as I said before. Ah, well ! When it is happiness to be foolish [looks fondly at her), 'tis foolishness not to be happy. Georgie. ( Very graciously.) Sir Charles, you seem to feel love, while other people only talk it. Sir C. Did I speak of love? Georgie. I thought so. Sir C. Then it must be because you are my auditor. Gen- erally I wegard love as a disease, the distinguishing chawacter- istic of which is a tendency to convey the most commonplace ideas in ultra-human language. With you for a listener, how- evah, it would seem almost appwopwiate. Georgie. Indeed! What would seem almost appropriate ? Sir C. To expwess a man's feeling for you in any combina- tion of hyperbolical words such as lovers use. Georgie. I wonder if I have anything to do with the feel- ings which prompt you to talk thus. Sir C. By heaven, you have. Georgie. How am I to know it ? Sir C. Do not laugh, and I'll play at love like the veriest lover of them all. Georgie. Like you have played at it in New York, for instance. Sir C. Egad ! but this is too much. You mock me. You seem to have a hidden meaning in your words. What mean you ? Georgie. Oh, nothing. Only uncle incidentally mentioned one day that he thought you and Mr. Tom Blassy were sighing to get back to New York, especially as he had promised to in- troduce you to two lady professionals whom you had seen giv- ing an exhibition of their talent. Sir C. Miss Wosewell, you know that your uncle is a most 46 The Lion and the Eagle. abominable joker, always twifling wiih other people's most tender feelings. [Astdf.) A villain ! A base villain ! Georgie. Sir Charles, I will believe you, and take your word for it that you are only now p/aymg a.t love. Sir C. Egad! I have a mighty leaning to it. Georgie. Some day you'll play at it in earnest, gjid /^e " the veriest lover of them all,'' or I'm no prophetess. Sir C. Methinks the day has come — the hour — and the zaoman. Can you not see that evah since I have known you — since that happy day when Georgie. [JVaively.) When you said that all American ladies (or 7vomen. if you would rather have it) — that a'l Amer- ican women were affected ; that they laughed too much ; and that the girls giggled immoderately at the most commonplace remarks. Sir C. Ah, then you have not forgotten that little scene on shipboard. I have been in your thoughts sometimes, it seems. Georgie. Yes, I have occasionally thought about you. Sir C. And I — I have always thought about^'(?«. Georgie. Always? Sir C. Always Georgie. And nothing more than thought about me ? Sir C. Yes, from the first you have been my idol. Your image has evah been in my heart, and I have fallen down be- fore it, worshiping it always. [Clasps her waist.) Will you permit me to continue worshiping ? Georgie. {Archly.) Well, I don't know. I think I had better; for perhaps that is the only way to get my revenge for the many disagreeable things you have said about the Ameri- cans, Sir Charles. Sir C. [With a sly look.) The truth is always disagwee- able, Miss Wose — I mean Georgie. {Slight pause.) And it was nevah more so than when you told me that the English were the most selfish, egotistical, and arwogant people on the face of the earth ; and that I was the most selfish, egotistical, and arwogant of them all — because, you see, I think you were half wight. Georgie. Well, if I were half right, and you were half right, let us make it wholly right. {Holds up her lips for a kiss ^ and Sir Charles kisses herunctiously.) But I wonder if you will always be willing to so candidly acknowledge your faults. Sir C. Always, when my deah wife uses her persuasive voice to convince me that I am wong. Georgie. Ah, I'm afraid not, especially if I am using my Tlie Lio7i and the Eagle. ^7 persaasive voice to convince you that it is wrong to go out of an evening and leave your wife at home. But there is one thing, Charley Sir C. {SHghtly disgusted.) Not ♦• Charley," my deah ; but ** Charles," if you think "6>VCharles " too formal now. Gkorgie. Well, there is one thing, Charles, I want you to acknowledge ; and that is, that we are not such a very peculiar people as you once said Ave were. Sir C I do acknowledge it from iheboltomof my heart. Still 1 must say that, though you may not be such a vewy pecu- liar people, yet j(?e^, my deah, are a vewy peculiar person. Georgie. I a peculiar person ? And why? Sir C. Why? Because you are going to marwy wr. Georgie. I^Shyly ) Woman's ways are past finding out. \^Exeunt^ lovingly. Ejiter John Blassy, Mrs. Harpley, and Mrs. Duckerson, zvho take a retired seat that is barely able to hold the three. Plassy. Here 1 flatter meself we shall not be observed, Talce a seat, ladies. Mrs H. No prying eyes to see what we are doing. [Sits down in one comer of the seat. Mrs. D. And no rascally husband to note the peculiarities of t h e si t nation . ( Sits do^un in the other corner) Blassy. {Squeezing himself in betiucen the two ladies.) Ha! ha! ha! ^' Peculiarities of the situation "is good. A jelly-fish between two sardines could not be more peculiar. I feel like a jelly-fi^h. Mrs. D. Which means that we are two sardines. Blassy No, no, no! You put a wrong construction on my words. I said Mrs. D. Did you not understand it so, Alice ? Mrs. H. Not exactly. Even if it were possible to construe it so, Mr. Blassy did not mean it so He is too good-natured . Blassy. [Patting her tinder the chin.) That's a good little dear. It ought to be kissed, so it ought. Mrs. D, Am I in the way, Alice? Mrs, H. Not at all, Nellie; not at all. [In an undertone.) Is she, Mr. Blassy? Blassy. No, no, no — certainly not. [Aside) Though one thorn in me side would be enough. Mrs. D. I think we shall have a double wedding soon. Blassy. [Startled.) A double wedding! What, in the 4$ The Lion and the Eagle. Mormon style — two women marry one man? Ladies, you do- not mean me. Mrs. H. [Both ladies laughing.^ Why no, Mr. Blassy ; we haven't proposed to you yet. The double wedding Nellie re- fers to is that of your son Tom to Clara, and Sir Charles to Georgie. They have been so inseparable of late ^hat it has become the talk of the household. Blassy. Tom — my son — going to marry ? Going to marry so soon? Well, well! how could it be otherwise ? I knew it must come some day. And I shall be left alone in my old age. [He hangs his head pathetically. ) Mrs. H. Do not take it so to heart, Mr. Blassy. There are always good friends in the world. Blassy. But none to cheer me. Mrs. H. Yes, some to cheer you. Mrs. I). {Slyly.) And some even to love you. Bl\ssy. You, Mrs. Duckerson, talking that way — you, a married woman. I — I — never Mrs, D. Never thought that you were fascinating enough to inspire a woman with love ; but you are Mrs, H. Nellie, do stop your nonsense. What with you and George, Mr. Blassy's life is a burden. Mrs, D. Yes, a burden greater than most men's. Mrs. H. And one, perhaps, that he does not propose to in- crease by marrying. Blassy. What — what in the name of common sense is all this about? What have I said to cause all this? Here I am bemoaning me son's marriage, and then thrown all at once into a discussion of me own. It must be another joke conceived by that villain — I mean your varry 'umorous husband, Mrs. Duck- erson. Mrs. D. No, he is not in this plot. Only Alice and I. Mrs. H. Do, Oi? stop your ridiculous nonsense. What does Mr. Blassy care what we think about him ? Mrs. D. " We," indeed ! ''JVef" I did not mean myself at all. Blassy. Bless your 'arts, ladies, I love you all. There's only three things worth living for, and Mrs. H. And what are they, Mr. Blassy ? Blassy. They are women, wit, and wine. You see, I alter the order in which some other poet has said the same thing. Mrs. D. (Looking quizzically at his figure.) Some other poet? Blassy. Y'es. The other poet said : " Wit, wine, and The Lioii and i/ie Eagle. <}9 women." You observe that I place women first, because with them are associated all the domestic joys — and — and thingsof that sort. {Both ladies nod affirmatively.) Next I place wit, because with that is associated all the joys of mixing with men of sense — like myself. [Both ladies smile affirf?iatively. ) Last I place wine, because, you see, that is more, I may say — more of an animal joy; but still — digreat ]oy. [Aside^unctioitsly.) And perhaps, after all, ihe greatest ]oy ^ without which the other two would at times be very tame. Mrs. H. [All three rising from their seats.) Mr. Bl assy, you seem to be something of a philosopher as well as a poet. I could sit at your feet and drink wisdom for hours. Mrs. D. Then sit, Alice, sit ; don't get up yet, I must be going. I suppose George will be looking all over for me. Mrs. H. Nonsense. He knows you are in good company. But go^go if you want to. We'll not detain you. I guess Mr. Blassy and I can interest each other, can't we Mr. Blassy ? Blassy. Why, bless my 'art, yes. Of course, of course. But that is no reason why we Enter Georgie and Clara hurriedly Georgie. W^hy, here they are. Where have you been ? We have been looking for you all over. Clara. We want you to come into the kitchen to-night. We are going to have a dance ? Mrs. D. A dance, indeed ! What kind of a dance ? Georgie. A real plantation breakdown. Will you all come ? Mrs. H. Of course we will come. I suppose you dance, Mr. Blassy ? Blassy. Bless your little souls, ladies, my dancing days are a thing of the past. Mrs. D. Humbug. You are as full of the agility of youth as an alderman's pocket is of boodle. Georgie. Why certainly he is. Here, aunties, get hold, and let us make a Tucker of him, and show him how easy it is. The four ladies Join hands, dance around Blassy a few times, and then all give him. a good push . Blassy. Ha! ha! ha! That is immense. H'm It brings back the callow days of me youth. I shall be there. Clara. That will be just too lovely. Georgie. Yes, and old Jake says he will play the violin and call the figures. 5° The IJon and the Eagle. Clara. And we have asked Kate to bring her beau and a few friends. Georgie. To make it look like the real thinjj you know Mr. Blassy. "^ ' Blassy. How nice Mrs. H. We shall be there. Mrs. D. All in good time, and we shall certainly bring Mr. Blassy along. Blassy. Who will most willingly consent to be brought by such fair creatures Clara. Don't forget. Georgie. If you do, we know where to look for you now Mrs. H. We shall not forget. [Exeunt Georgie and Clara. Mrs. H. ( Continuing. ) And so vou will have to dance now Mr. Blassy. ' ' Mrs. D. Of course he will; and I shall claim him for my partner. Mrs. H I was going to claim that honor for myself. Now which do you prefer, Mr. Blassy ? ' Mrs. D, Yes, which do you prefer ? They doth look lovingly tip to his face. Blassy. [Looking first atone and then the other. ) How happy ought I be, indeed ! The right and left bower in my hand. Both. But which is the right bower ? Blassy. H'm. I never thought o' that. I can hardly tell theright bower from the left. I'm only new to the game. So you will have to settle it between yourselves, me dears. * I'm the little joker. ( Offers his arms^ and they moz'e off. ) For meself I never knew before that I was such a great ladies' man. But 'tis a queer world, and we know not — we know not [Exeunt. Scene 2. — Kitchen in Mr. RosewelFs house, cleared of everythino- except a bench.^ on which Jake is discovered timing his violin. Enter Kate and her deatc^ and another colored couple, followed in afe7v seconds by Sir Charles^ Tom, and Mr. Duckerson. Then come Georgie and Clara, immediately followed by Blassy^ Mrs. Duckerson^ and Mrs. Harpley, the t7co ladies striving to outdo each other in fascination Blassy, Well, ladies, have you settled between yourselves your little difficulty ? The Lion and the Eagle. 5 1 Duck, [Getting hold of his wife's ami.) Nellie, I want you for my partner. Mrs. D. You miserable wretch I I wanted to dance with Mr B I assy. Duck. Can't do it. Don't you see that Alice wants that — that distinguished honor herself? Mrs. D. I know it; and that is why I wanted to tantali/e her. Duck. Perfectly womanlike. But then you might leave her a free field for once. And if you want to do any tantalizing, tantalize me; that's a little deary. Besides, old Bag-o'-Bones might tread on your toes, and then Mrs. D. You're simply horrid. But we'll dance in their set, anyhow. Duck. All right, but look out for your toes. Georgie. Now, Jake, are you ready? Jake. Yes'm; yes'm. Georgie. 'Ihen choose your partners. Sir diaries, Georgie, Tom, and Clara occupy the right of the stage in front. Blassy, Mrs. Harpley^ Mr. Dtuker- son^ and Mrs. Duckerson take up a position on the left in front Kate, her beau, and the other colored couple occupy the back of the stage. Jake starts up the music, the orches- tra accompanying him ; and he sings asfollan's, the test also singing, Ihit not so as to divwn Jake's voice : Choose yo' pardners ; time's er-flying ; Take yo' places on de flo'. Don't yo' hear dat fiddle cryin' '' Nickerdemus Ebbermo ! " S' lute yo'' pardners ! Bow perlitely. Dat's de motion through en through. Srving dem corners ! Step up ligh tly. Hail, Columby ! Hallaloo ! Fus'' fd' forward ! Keep 'er diggin'. Nozv you sasshay back agin. Neber mind yo' ragged riggin', So's 't don't show de naked skin. Lawdy ! see dat old man Blassy, How he bow en scrape aroun' ; Head seems like a looking-glassy. Shines so bright up on de crown. 52 The Lion ami the Eagie. Ladies change^ en keep 'er scootin'. Cross right ober^ no7v yoit siving. Hold dem heads up highfalutin' ; Look permiskus, dat's de thing. Mussy ! look at Missy Georgie ! Dat gal flings a supple toe. Crack yo' heels dar, Massa Charlie ; Bow en smile, en — " so en so." Balance all I Now don't git lazy. Fly aroun' en tar yo' shirt. Stomp dem feet, but don't go crazy^ Else Mam Harpley sho' git hurt. Fiddler got his mouf wide open'm, Holin' down de music tight ; Teeth, dey settin' sorter slop'm, Look like tomestones in de night. All sasshay ! I clar to gracious, Nebber seed de like befo' ; White folks sho'ly dance audacious When dey hab an open flo'. Heb'nly kingdom ! look at Clary, Bofe eyes shining like de moon. *' Don't git w'ary, don't git w'ary," Dat's de way to change de chune. Promernade alU Now dat comes handy. Hunt yo' seats en take a res'. Gentermens will pass de candy To de gal he love de bes'. THE END. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 016 165 656 2 •