■ .V\ • - ' - { ■■■■ • ^' • - S " ■ 1 _■ ' _ —1 _ { & l U LAM) [POWERS^ I S/jtlAHCGVftlLilMOYNF, WERNER'S * READINGS® RECITATION No. Character 3 Sketches v 111 J hlvJi \ ! ■ o EDG AR S WERNER ■ ' • - NEW YORK NEW YORK EDGARS. WERNER & CO. PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1891, by Edgar S. Werner ACTING MONOLOGUBS BY LIVINGSTON RUSSELL. ENGAGED. Price, 25 cents. Romantic, humorous monologue for a woman. A young woman, who has just become engaged, calls her departing lover back several times, and then falls into a gushing and hysterical reverie. She ports over her love-letters, plans how their room will be arranged, and runs on! stage singing theLohen- grin Wedding March. Full business given. CUPID'S VICTIM ; or the TIMID MAN. Price. 25c, Humorous monologue for a man. A bashful man reads up on courting and practices before a dummy girl. Very full business given. Three illustrations. AN IMPECUNIOUS ACTOR. Price, 25 cents. Humorous monologue for a man, describing the tribulations of a stage- struck youth who goes into raptures over his "art," etc. THE CLIMAX OF A CRIME. Price, 25 cents. Tragic monologue for a man. Old man make-up. A murderer, having gone into a hole to bury his victim, is shut in and can not escape. He goes mad in his living tomb; his various victims appear before him, and he finally stabs himself. Complete business and stage-directions. THE DEATH DREAM. Price. 25 cents. Intensely dramatic monologue for a man, from the play "The Bells," played by Sir Henry Irving. An inn-keeper, who is also the burgomaster, murders a guest for gold and burns the body in a lime kiln. On his daughter's wed- ding night he in a dr«am goes through all the minutiae of the murder, passes through terrible suffering and dies. Five full-page illustrations. Full business. THE " COMING OUT" OF MISS CUMMINGS. 25c. A breezy and humorous monologue for a woman. An up to-date " bud " of seventeen, from the West, makes her debut in New York. She does not take kindly to society's ways and to the addresses of the stylish men, but i refers Montana wa\s and "Jimmie, of Missoula Gulch." Affords opportunity to introduce various specialties. Full directions for stage, and full business. Three full page illustrations. THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER. Price, 25 cents. Humorous monokgue for a woman. An actress, in making her debut, misses the presence of her lover, and has a fit of jealousy and of the blues. Ends happily. Affords opportunity for varied expressional work. FOR GOD AND COUNTRY. Price, 25 cent* Historical, patriotic, and tragic monologue for a woman. 1 *.»,ed Cross nurse describes the scenes on the battle-field at Santiago. Herers to Gen. Wheeler and to Col. Roosevelt. Unusually elaborate directions for producing various war-effects, and full business. (Every reciter should have this monologue for the valuable stage-iessons it gives, even thrugh he does not cpre for the monologue itseif .) Three full-page illustrations. Costume of a Red Cross nurse. VIVA CUBA LIBRE! Price, 25 cents; 4. patriotic monologue for a woman. A dramatic setting of incidents con- nected with the patriotic daring of Paulina de Ruiz Gonzales— the Joan of Arc of Cuba; together with the Introduction of historical matter regarding the sufferings of the Cubans during the struggle for liberty. JUST LIKE ONE OF THE FAMILY. Price, 25 cents. William Handy, living with friends but considered 41 just like one of the family," is asked to look after the house during the absence of his host and hostess on a call. He promises himself a quiet evening of intellectual en- joyment, but is aroused first by the frantic bawling of their baby, by the entrance of the coalman and by the cries of their pet cat, dog and parrot. When upon the verge of nervous collapse, his friends return. Intei eely humorous. Any of the above sent post-paid, on receipt of the price, by the publishers, EDGAR S. WERNER & CO. « Ea^oth^Street. WERNERS Readings and Recitations, No. 3. ORIGINAL CHARACTER SKETCHES BY GEORGE KYLE AND MARY KYLE DALLAS. EDGAR S, WERNER & COMPANY NEW YORK Copyright, 1891, by Edgar S. Werner / CONTENTS. PAGE Alphabetical Sermon. — George Kyle 28 Anatomical Tragedian, The.— George Kyle 9 At the Altar.— Mary Kyle Dallas 113 At the Rug Auction. — Henry Baldwin 124 Aunt Betsy on Marriage. — Mary Kyle Dallas 46 Aunty Doleful's Visit.— Mary Kyle Dallas 81 Aurelia's Valentine. — Mary Kyle Dallas 121 Bessie's Dilemma. — Mary Kyle Dallas . 117 Billy's Pets.— George Kyle . 14 Broken Dreams.— Mary Kyle Dallas 36 Burglar's Grievances, The. — George Kyle 3 Catching the Cat. — Margaret Vandegrift , 170 Caught.— K. E. Barry itft) Classical Music. — George Kyle 29 Cleopatra's Protest.— Edward L. Keyes 17") Coriauna's Wedding. — Mary Kyje Dallas 74 Dawn on the Irish Coast —John Locke 140 Delancey Stuyvesaut and the Horse-Car. — George Kyle 5 Dentist and Patient.— George Kyle 28 Different Ways of Saying Yes 13:5 Difficult Love-making. — Will Carleton 131 Dream, A.— Mary Kyle Dallas Ill Dunderburg Jenkins's Forty- Graff " Album.— George Kyle 24 Dutifuls, The.— Mary Kyle Dallas 86 Father Paul.— Mary Kyle Dallas 33 Fashionable Hospitality. — Mary Kyle Dallas 92 Fashionable Vacation, A.— M;iry Kyle Dallas , 51 Felinaphone, The.— George Kyle 26 Fireman, The. — R. T. Conrad 152 Fisherman's Wife, The 160 > iii 5 iv CONTENTS. PAGE Fortune-Teller and Maiden. — Mrs. Mary L. Gaddess 158 Frightened Woman, A. — Mary Kyle Dallas 99 Good Little Boy and the Bad Little Boy, The.— George Kyle . . 11 Great Man, A. — Mary Kyle Dallas 120 Her Fifteen Minutes. — Tom Masson 155 Her First Steam-Engine. — Mary Kyle Dallas 73 Her Heart was False and Mine was Broken. — Mary Kyle Dallas 115 Her Preference 182 High Art and Economy. —George Kyle 20 Hoolahan on Education. — George Kyle 8 How Salvator Won. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox 156 In Amity of Soul.— Mary Kyle Dallas 10 1 Innocent Drummer, The.— Recitation Lesson-Helps by F. W. Adams 139 Introduction to Part I. — George Kyle 2 Japanese Wedding, A. — Arranged by Sara S. Rice 183 Juggler, The.— George Kyle 27 Knight and^the Lady, The. — Robertson Trowbridge 164 Legend of Arabia, A 173 Legend of the Willow-Pat tern Plate 165 Le Mauvais Larron. — Graham R. Tomson 161 Love's Reminiscences. — Mary Kyle Dallas 118 Miaouletta.— Mary Kyle Dallas 102 Mothers and Fathers: Two Pictures.— Mary Kyle Dallas 43 Mr. and Mrs. Popperman 150 Mrs. Britzenhoeffer's Troubles. — George Kyle . . . 22 Mrs. Pickles wants to be a Man. — Mary Kyle Dallas 91 Mrs. Slowly at the Hotel.— Mary Kyle Dallas 59 Mrs. Smith Improves Her Mind. — Mary Kyle Dallas 67 Mrs. Tubbs and Political Economy. — Mary Kyle Dallas 45 Mrs. Winkle's Grandson. — Mary Kyle Dallas 52 My First School 137 My Love 168 My Sweetheart's Baby Brother.— Mary Kyle Dallas 94 "N" for Nannie and "B" for Ben.— Mary Kyle Dallas 110 Nettie Budd before her Second Ball.— Mary Kyle Dallas 79 New Version of a Certain Historical Dialogue, A.— Robert J. Burdette. . . 129 Old, Old Story, The.— Mary Kyle Dallas 114 On the Beach 144 Out of the Bottle.— Mary Kyle Dallas 40 Pat's Perplexity 148 Paying her Fare.— Mary Kyle Dallas 68 Professor Gunter on Marriage. — George Kyle 17 Rebecca's Revenge. — Mary Kyle Dallas 71 CONTENTS. v PAGE Sad Fate of a Policeman, The 128 Scene in a Street Car. — Mary Kyle Dallas , 70 Simon Solitary's Ideal Wife.— Mary Kyle Dallas 85 Slowly s at the Photographer's, The. — Mary Kyle Dallas 47 Slowlys at the Theatre, The. — Mary Kyle Dallas 53 Statue's Story, The.— Mary Kyle Dallas 37 Street Cries 152 Suppose.— T. H. Robertson 132 Thikhed's New Year's Call 148 Thoughts at a Party. — Mary Kyle Dallas 83 To A. M. Olar: An Old Man's Memories.— Mary Kyle Dallas 116 Tragedy at Dodd's Place, The.— Mary Kyle Dallas 63 Tried.— Lulah Ragsdale , 178 Twilight Pastoral, A 135 Two Opinions of One House. — Mary Kyle Dallas 98 War's Sacrifice 145 What He Would Give Up 136 What the Crickets Said.— Mary Kyle Dallas 100 " You Git Upi"-" Joe" Kerr. . . . " 163 INDEX TO AUTHORS. Page Baldwin, Henry 124 Burdette, Robert J 129 Carleton, Will 131 Conrad, R. T 153 Dallas, Mary Kyle. All of part II 31-122 Gaddess, Mrs. Mary L 158 Kerr, Joe 163 Keyes, Edward L 175 Kyle, George. All of Part 1 1-30 Locke, John 146 Masson, Tom 155 Ragsdale, Lulah 178 Robertson, T. H 132 Tomson, Graham R 161 Trowbridge, Robertson 164 Vandegrift, Margaret 170 Werner's Readings No. 3 — page vi CHARACTER SKETCHES WRITTEN A. N D SUCCESSFULLY RENDERED By GEORGE KYLE. Werner's Readings No. 3 — page 1. \ INTRODUCTION TO PART I. '""PHE various recitations contained in the following pages, what- ever may be their real merit or want of merit, have at least one advantage that will commend them to the performer, whether professional or amateur, viz., they have each and all been tried, not " on a dog," but on audiences of every sort and quality except the lowest, and have all proved successful. They have each formed a part of my repertoire Avhen I was on the platform a few years ago, and were all subject to a simple but effective rule: Whenever a new piece failed to " catch on " or receive a hearty encore, I cast it from me into the outer darkness of forgetfulness and oblivion, ana those to be found here are only such as I retained for their usefulness in my business. Those who have been so kind as to speak favorably of my plat- form work have frequently asked me what course of study I have pursued. To such I have always answered, that, mere vocal cul- ture aside, there is only one true school for a successful entertainer, " nature." Learn your lines thoroughly, con them until they are as familiar as your own name or the letters of the alphabet, and then try to • feel what you are saying. Watch the greatest actors or the most popular comedians, and you will find that naturalness and not any artificial trick is the true source of their success and their superi- ority over the lesser performers about them. Be natural, speak as you would to your own mother or brother, and you will find your audience warming to you ; but strut and affect unnatural vocal tricks, strained attitudes and gestures, and you will freeze your audience so that even a good thing will not arouse or please them. Yours sincerely, GEORGE KYLE. Readings and Recitations. No 3. THE BURGLAR'S GRIEVANCES. T AM a decent, hard-working persecuted man. When I was a little kid, so inches high, folks used to say to me mother: " Give your boy a good trade and then he won't need to ax no odds ev nobody." Well, she done it best she knowed how. She put me 'prentiss to a first-class practical burglar fer to learn de perfession. Well, I stayed me time out and worked hard and steady, and got all de points down fine, and what was de good? She might as well ev made a writer er a playactor ev me fer all de good ever I got out ev it. People is always puttin' stumblin'-blocks in me way and hinderin' me. Why, only last week I was a-lookin' fer work in a gentleman's house up -town, and I am always keerful not to disturb no one when I am at work; and I'd just raised de scuttle-door as easy and climbed down de ladder as quiet as a mouse, and was just steppin' across de garret floor, when all ev a suddin I stumbled over soine- thin' in de dark and barked me shin dreadful. And what do you tink ? — ef they hadn't gone and left a coal-scuttle right there fer folks to tumble over! I call dat culpubble negazince; dat's what I call it. Why, I might a broke a arm er a leg and been a cripple and a burden on de community fer de rest of me life, and den de racket I made woke de old man up and I had to shoot him. See de unnecessary loss 3 4 WERNERS READINGS ev life all brought about by leavin' tings around fer folks to stum- ble over. Den dere's anodder ting — dat's de false appearances people puts on. De holler French jewelry, de Humphry dimon's, de filled-case watches — de country's flooded wid 'em. Just see how it affects my perfession. You git your eye on a crib — I mean ter say a 'stablish- ment. De gals is all fixed up fine, de men's all got watches, an dere's silver on de buffit. Well, you get in wid de cook to see how de rooms lays (and ice- cream is high dis year). You fix it wid de cop to be on de odder end ev his two-mile beat, and dat costs money, not to mention de tools and de time and de indianuty, and maybe after you've cracked de crib all you get is a whole lot of bogus swag dat ain't wort carry in' home. It's tough, I tell you; it takes all de ambition out ev a feller. Den dere's anodder ting — dat's de late hours people keeps, sit tin' up and sittin' up and de lights a blazin' and to all hours ev de night, and de poor burglar waitin' out dere in de rain, maybe in de snow, feelin' so lonely and gettin' his death a cold with de plum- bago into his back er layin' de seeds ev a consumption, anil deir. folks inside a sittin' up and a— oh, it's just disgustin' how selfish people is. But dere's just one more ting I want ter speak about before V leave you, and dat's burglar-alarms. What do you want burglar- alarms fer ? Why don't yer have doctor-alarms, and shoemaker- alarms, and bank-president-alarms? A burglar is only workin' at de trade he was brought up into. Now just see how it affects a feller. You come in de quiet ev de night, maybe de moon is shinin', and you take your jimmy — I mean ter say your Jamei^ and you prize open a back shutter say. Den you slip back de ketch ev de sash and begin to reeze de winder softly, just little* by little so's not to disturb no one; and de moon shines down on yer, and yer soul felt at rest wid itself like, when all ev a suddin— bang! comes a darned old burglar-alarm. I tell you what it is, if a feller's nerves is weak er his heart's affected, it might give him a turn he'd never get over; and ] AND RECITATIONS. 5 wanter say right now, dat if I can't work at me trade widout bein' bullyragged and badgered and hindered at every step, Fll leave it, and go inV. de city government er get a charter to lay volcaners under Broadway, and den yez el be sorry yez didn't gimme a chance to work at de trade I was .brought up into. DELANCEY STUYVASANT AND THE HORSE-CAR. T WONDER why fellahs ever wide in horse-cars, fellahs do you know? Some fellahs tell me they wide in the horse-cars evewy day. Say, do you know, if I were to wide in a horse-car evewy day my fewneral would occur in a week, I assure you. I once wode in a horse-car, did it for a lark, you know. I made a bet at the club, with another fellah. I said [heroically], "I will wide in a horse-car." So I went to the corner where I had observed these vehicles and called one of them. I said : " Horse-car, horse- car!" but not one of them came, don't-cher-know. And then I observed that fellahs who wode in horse-cars wan after them, don't- cher-know, played tag with them as it were, like the howwid little children when they come out of school. So I pursued one of, the strange equipages and at last overtook it. Well, when I had clambered upon the wear portion of the dwedful contwivance, I was vewy much fatigued and out of bweath; and as I pawsed to wecover myself an official decowated with strips of various colored card-board, said to me quite woodly, " Come, step inside and make woom for the ladies." I could see no ladies, weally, only a number of female persons of the lower orders. I hesitated, when some one inside the vehicle called out quite loudly, "Come up to the stove," and quite a warm day in October, too, don't-cher-know, and no such appawatus in the vehicle, I assure you. When at last I forced myself inside the car, I found it quite noi- some, quite squalid don't-cher-know ; and looking about me I could 6 WERNER'S READINGS see no place to sit down. Evewy seat was occupied, and a large number of persons were dangling from stwaps beside. I turned to the conductor fellah and said, " Where shall I sit ? The seats appear to be occupied by — persons." The conductor fellah answered quite woodly, "You may sit upon your thumb, if you please." He did, indeed; and when I wemon- stwated with him upon the impropriety of telling a gentleman to sit upon his thumb, he told me to seek a place of eternal punish- ment, just fahncy! Well, at last I obtained a seat, and the moment I did so the con- ductor fellah stwode up to me and pwesented a nickel-plated we- volver at my bweast and demanded his fare, — some twifling sum. I assured him that violence was not necessary, and that I was quite willing to pay him without compulsion. Still arfter I had paid him he pulled the twigger ; but, instead of its going bang! as I had ex- pected, it only went ping! don't-cher-know, and no one excepting myself in the vehicle seemed in the least alarmed. Well, as I wecovered from my smpwise, I looked about me, and weally it was quite howwid, don't-cher-know. Wight opposite me sat persons of the labowing classes, with what I pwesume to be lime on their boots, and tin cans, which for some mystewious purpose they caAvied in their hands ; and there was a female person with fish, and a colored person with soiled clothing in a large basket, and a German person with ancient cheese in a bwown paper. But next me there sat a fellah who had been eating garlic, and weally, it annoyed me exceedingly. Now I had wead somewhere — indeed I think it was in the vehicle itself — that if any fellah annoyed another fellah in the horse-car, he must speak to the conductor fellah ; so I addressed that vewy unpleasant official, saying, " I say, conductor fellah, I wish you would wemove this person : he has been eating garlic quite wecently, and it annoys me exceed- ingly." The fellah put his fist under my nose and wemarked, " You will eat that in a few moments if you are not careful!" I turned to him and wemonstwated. I said, " My dear fellah, you must be aware that you have been eating garlic, and that it makes AND RECITATIONS. 7 you highly objectionable and unpleasant to those about you, and that you weally ought to wesign — get out, don't-cher-know." One of the labowing persons opposite called out most woodly, " Oh, put a head on him, Bill and the other added, "Go on; push his face in." A moment's weflection convinced me that these wemarks were colloquialisms of the lower order referring to a personal attack, so I considered that in case of a personal attack I might weceive some contusion or other injury which would not impwove my personal appear wance, so I turned to the fellah and apologized. I said, "1 beg your pardon, Fm sure ; I was not aware that it was customawy Ho eat garlic in the horse-cars, don't-cher-know ;" and he appeared mollified. Well, at last a most dwedful thing occurred. A female person, an Iwish female person, entered the car and stood wight before me. She had a soiled baby in her arms and the baby held a bit of candy in one of its sticky hands and an owange in the other. I was just wegarding the infant, and wondering why persons of the lower orders were allowed to have such dirty babies, don't-cher-know — why Mr. Bury or Mr. Seary, or some one didn't interfere and put a stop to it ; when, before I could compweehend her intention, she put the dwedful baby wight down upon my knees, wemarking as she did so, " Howld the choild till I git me money out." The awful infant gwasped my scarf in one hand and my eye-glass in the other, and wemarked, " Daddy." Evewy one in the car laughed. I dwopped the dwedful infant on the floor, wemarking as I did so, "Conductor, allow me to alight from this infamous vehicle; 1 cannot endure it a moment longer." And what do you think the conductor fellah said: "Come, huwwy up, don't keep us waiting all day";" and when I wemonstwated with him upon the impwopwietv of telling a gentle- man to huwwy up, he threw me off the car. Just fahncy ! That is the only time I ever wode in a horse-car. I wonder why fellahs ever do wide in horse-cars. I should think they would pwefer cabs. 8 WERNERS READINGS HOOLAHAN ON EDUCATION. T A DIES AND GENTLEMEN : Allow me to present to you Mr, Michael Hoolahan, a member of the Quarryman's Society, who will repeat his valuable remarks upon education, which were received with such enthusiasm at Hibernia Hill on the evening of the seventeenth of March last. [Change face and manner.] Quarry min and Rockblasters and all others here assimbled: — This has been a grand day, it has been a glorious day„ The whalin' and march in' and counter-march in' of the Hohokobolareny Society, of St. Marks' Society, of the St. Bridget's Society, of the St. Luke's' Society, of the Macacracara Conceptra, Society of the Ancient Ordher of Hibernians, of the Father Matthew, T. A. B. No. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen [choke and cough] ; but above all and before all and snparior to all, the Quarrymin and Rock- blaster Protective and Benevolent Society. But it is not for self-ugratulation or the like of that that we are assimbled here this evenin'. No, my frinds, but for a few words upon the subject of iddication. Iddication, quarrymin and rock- blasters and all others here assimbled. Oi moight remarruk in the wurruds of the most fameous of Irish poets, William Shake- speare be name, in the original tongue which was the Gaelic, " Hohoken der holler gush gomorrikin de blist," which translated into the English would rade: [pauses] Will — m— m — iddication, there is nothin' like it fur the ould, the young or the middlifi' aged, quarrymin and rockblasters, and all others here assimbled. Oi say to yez all, git iddication, larn your childer iddication, lam thim biology, which traits of plants and how they grow; larn thim chimistery, which dales with numbers and the combinations thereof; larn thim bo-taney, which dales wid the interior construc- tion of mankind and similar subjects; larn thim ostrology, which infarms thim of the rapid transit of Vanus and the revolution of the wurruld upon its axle-tree; and larn thim conkerology and ois- terology and bummorology, and a-— um — m, a — in fact all the ologies AND RECITATIONS. 9 and all the sciences, and in all manners and on all occasions give thim iddication, quarrymin and rockblasters and all others here assimbled. One point as to the advantages of iddication before oi lave yez. Oi cam to this country ineself a poor boy of fourteen, twinty years ago, and now at thage of fifty-sivin, oi am what oi am [pause for effect ; goes on impressively]. And what med me what oi am ? Id- dication, iddication, quarrymin and rockblasters and all others here assimbled, THE ANATOMICAL TRAGEDIAN. T ADIES AND GENTLEMEN:— I presume you have all heard of my great and celebrated master and predecessor, Delsarte, whose analysis of the dramatic art has elevated the work of the actor almost into an exact science, and my intention upon this occa- sion is to give you in a condensed form the outlines of his great system. Every human passion or emotion is expressed in the face and form by the flexion and extension of certain muscles, and by no other means. The passion of love, for instance, is presented by drawing up the corners of the mouth by means of the grinuric muscles, placing both the hands upon the heart, turning in the toes, and opening and shutting the eyes rapidly by means of the winkaious nerves, thus. \ Illustrates.'] The emotion of fear is simulated by opening the mouth to its fullest extent, turning the eyes as far as possible to the right or left, violently oscillating the knock-kneeic bones, rapidly vibrating the hands with fingers all spread wide so as to present the motion of a fish's tail, thus. [Illustrates.] The passion of jealousy is represented by grasping the chin with the graburic bones of the left hand, and the left elbow in those of the right hand, turning in the toes, working the jaws by means of the chew-glewic muscles and fixing the eyes upon the bridge of the nose, thus. [Illustrates.] 10 WERNER'S READINGS Grief is most effectively expressed by turning the back toward the audience, pressing both hands over the eyes, resting the weight upon one limb, bowing the head and regularly raising and lowering the shoulders by means of the shruguric muscles, thus. [Illustrates.] Scorn or contempt is depicted by folding the arms, drawing down the corners of the mouth, wrinkling up the nose by means of the bad-smellic muscles, and fixing the eyes steadily upon the floor before you, or upon the feet of your adversary, thus. [Illustrates.] Resignation is best expressed by crossing the arms upon the breast, raising the head, drawing down the corners of the mouth, and rolling up the eyes by means of the sick-catic muscles, thus. [Illustrates.] Deep thought or meditation is depicted by placing the fore-finger of the right hand upon the thinkuric bone of the forehead just beside the right eye, throwing up the head at an angle of forty-five degrees, with the face turned toward the left, wrinkling up the forehead by means of the frownuric muscles and stretching forth the left hand as though to ward off some object, such as a small boy or a bicycle, thus. [Illustrates.] But I will best illustrate the great advantages of the Delsartean system by a selection from one of Shakespeare's masterpieces. I have often regretted the fact that Shakespeare was removed from among us by death, as his early demise lost him the oppor- tunity of witnessing my performances of his work, but we may hope that from his happy abode above he may look down with satisfac- tion upon my rendition of the creatures of his genius, happy in knowing that at last his work has received full justice. hamlet's soliloquy. To be, or not to be? that is the question. [Deep thought or medi- tation.]* Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer the slings [throw sling] and arrows [draw bow] of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, [stiff military attitude, as with a gun] and, by opposing, end them ? To die ; [pantomime of hanging /] to sleep no more, — and, by a [* Whenever an emotion is men lion jd the performer should assume the at- titude and expression described in the burlesque lecture.] AND RECITATIONS. 11 sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To«die ; to sleep — to sleep? perchance to dream, [picture horror'] ay, there's the rub ; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, [taking off coat] must give us pause [picture paws]. There's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time ; the oppressor's wrong ; the proud man's contumely ; [picture contempt] the pangs of despised love ; [picture jealousy] the law's delay ; [business of Jianclcuffs] the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes, [business of kicking] when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin? [Stabbing.] But that the dread of something after death, that undiscovered country from whose bourne (burns) [express pitch- forking, horns, and jumping about] no traveller returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have, than fly [business of flying] to others that we know not of. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all. [Picture fear.] And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; [picture meditation] and enterprises of great pith and moment, with this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action. Soft you now ! the fair Ophelia. [Picture love.] Nymph, in thine orisons be all my sins remembered. [Picture resignation.] [Exit.] THE GOOD LITTLE BOY AND THE BAD LITTLE BOY. T PEESUME you have all occasionally dipped into the sort of literature that is provided for the young by the various Tract Societies and Book Concerns, — the sort of book in which the virtu- ous lad, by strict attention to the rules and precepts of his worthy parents and Sabbath-school teachers, rises to high distinction in the world, and in which the naughty boy, by his disobedience, falls into grievous trouble, sometimes even into the mill-pond when his depravity leads him to the purloining of birds' nests upon Sunday. I say I suppose you have read these books, but I doubt if any of you have ever seen the little boy intended to be produced by these means. 12 WERNER'S READINGS I will try to put before you the natural product of this class of literature in the character of " The Good Little Boy." " I am a very good little boy. I never tell stories, I never play truant, I never make loud, rude noises. "Ah ! there is the school-bell, but there is another bell before school begins, so I shall have a chance to reflect. Let me see, do I know all my lessons ? Ah, yes, I do not think I can fail in any of them, and that rejoices me with a great gladness. I never would miss a lesson if I could avoid it, for it grieves my teacher and makes my parents' hearts sad if I do not attend diligently to my studies. Besides, knowledge is power; and power is a good thing if we make good use of it, which I shall always do. " Ah! who would neglect their studies for the sake of idle play ? who would not rather acquire information than marbles? For after all, playing at marbles is a sinful game, somewhat resembling gambling, and arousing evil passions in a boy's breast. I have seen one little boy strike another little boy upon the nose when disput- ing over the game of marbles. " Ah! how I wish that other little boys could be as I am; and when I see them doing wrong I try to correct them and make them better, and sometimes it gets me into trouble, as upon one occasion when I saw some naughty boys playing a wicked game of base-ball upon the" Sabbath. And when I went up to them and plead with them and strove with them, and told them that they would never go to heaven, they called me rude names and cast rocks at me, and put me ' under the pump and pumped on me; so when I went home, my papa, who discredited my story, whipped me for getting my clothing wet. " What shall I be when I have grown to be a man ? Let me re- flect. I will be a wealthy and benevolent merchant and found a woman's hotel. No, I will be a missionary and go to Africa's sunny strand and make the poor, little, black heathen children wear nice warm ulsters and read tracts instead of going about with nothing on [looks modest] and eating each other. "No, now I have it: I will be postmaster of the United States on week-days, and on Sunday I will be superintendent of a Sabbath- school. AND RECITATIONS. 13 "Ah! [listening] there is the second bell, and I must hurry on or I shall be late for school, which would grieve my parents and make my teacher's heart sick." [Exit singing."] " Oh, come, come away, the school-bell now is ringing: With merry hearts from friends depart, oh, come, come away." [Re-enter quickly with tough gestures, smoking a stump of cigar, if permissible. ] " I'm tough, I am, and fly too. You can just bet your sweet life that feller that just went away is a chump. I smashed him in his kisser and pushed his face in. He told me ef I didn't go to school to-day and learn me lessins I would grow up igerrent, so I just showed him. Oh, look at that [showing muscle]. " Oh, I am sorry for him. He thinks ef he minds hees teachers and learns hees lessons and all dem tings, he'el get 'lected presi- dent of the U-nited States. Oh, rats ! Won't he get left, dough ! When I grown up and get a big man I'll run a gin-mill and get to be boss of a gang, and den I'll get 'lected alderman and grab de boodle. " I got a gang now. You'd oughter see 'em. We call ourselves ' De Curbstone Cotiree.' Dere's Scotty and Dirty Mike, and Patsy G-illigan, and Swilltub Fritz, and Crummey de Dog-s wiper. We used to meet on de Dutchman's coal-box, but he got fresh wid us fellers and setwed a writ of interjection onto us. " Maybe we didn't have a dandy fire last 'lection night. Dere wasn't a ash-barrel or a fence left in de district; and say, you'd oughter seen how de Dutchman's coal-box blazed, it was as good as fire-works. " I wish I was out on de plains fightin' injins like they doos in ^ droubles I have got. Key Yorrick vos de vorst city fon de whole vorlt, mit de vorst mans, unt de vorst vomans, unt de vorsi poys unt gels, unt de vorst dogs. But by dose shamrock flats vere I life me, v^s de vorst men unt de vorst voman, unt the vorst poys unt gels, unt de vorst dog in de whole city fon Ney Yorrick. Dere names vos Mulligan. Gooka mol [setting down basket]. I keep me dose bretty shura- nium flowers, de roses shuraniums, unt de Lady Voshingtons shura- niums, unt de lemons sheraniums, unt de fishes shuraniums. I keep me dose shuraniums on de vinder shelluf unt dey grows fine unt beautiful, unt got soch a bretty flowers on dem. Veil, comes dose raskell Mulligans poys unt break fon de fishes shuraniums de heads off. Dot make me so vild I look me out de vinder unt I say to dose Mulligans poys: "For vot you drow dose sthones unt break m^ AND RECITATIONS. 23 bretty flowers ? Sthop dot right avay. " Den comes more sthones unt knocks fon my roses shuraniums de heads off it. Den I get me vild unt I holler out: "You little raskells, I call mine hosband unt he keel you, you little loafers! Hons! Hons! Kumma mol, keel for me dose raskell Mulligans poys." Unt Hons he come very grafe unt quiet, unt he say : ". Lena, Lena, dot vos not de vay to speak by childrens. De vay to speak by childrens vos quiet unt dignyfied unt gentle, not vild unt oxcited like dot." Unt he goes by de vinder unt he says: " Little poys, donM you know dot vos ferry wrong to drow dose sthones unt break de bretty flowers? See dey vos all broke unt sphoiled, unt dot makes mine vife engry. Now you vill be goot little poys unt go right avay." But dey don'd go avay. Comes more sthones unt breaks for twenty-five cents vinder gless, unt a milluk pitcher. Unt Hons say : "I vos surprised for you. You are more bed dan I could belief. Go right avay or I sholl be vexed mit you." But dey don'd go avay some more, but comes anoder beg sthone unt hits my Hons on de nose. Unt he say, "Donner unt blixen, you nesty, dirty raskells! I sthrangleese de life fon out you! I blow your heads off mit such a Getting guns, you nesty, dirty, freckley, vorty, red-head, schnub-nosed raskells! Bolice! Bolice! Bolice!" Yah [crying\ Unt de bolice come unt take mine Hons by de station-house, unt dot cost me den dollars of I can get him oud some more in de morning. I keep me some schickens, de hens unt de roosters, unt dey lay me sometimes eggs, — de hens. Unt last veek I come down de sthares mit a besket fon dose eggs on my arm. Unt dere on de lending sthands dose Mulligans gel, Mary Ann, mit dose Mulli- gans dog, Dowser. Unt dot Dowser he got a mout like a railroat tunnel, unt he growls fon me unt looks cross-vays, unt I say, " Get oud, you bed Mulligans dog; I vont to go de sthares down \" unt dot dog he growls mit me. Unt I say, "Get out!" unt I make for heem a kick so ; unt dot Mulligans Mary Ann, she say, "Sick her, Dowser," unt I make for heem anoder kick, unt he youmps for me 24 WERNERS READINGS unt bites fon my new knit stockings soch a pieces es two skeins of yarn knits not in some more, unt some of me too; unt I fall me ofer dot Mary Ann unt dot Dowser, unt down sthares I go, humpty pump, ofer and ofer, unt smash on de bottom goes for a dollar eggs unt fifty cents profit. Veil, nefer mind, nefer mind; de little old Dutch vomans can do something. By Jersey lifes mine brooder. Yah [meaningly]. Vot vos his occupations, eh? He vos a sausage-maker, ain't it? Yah. Last veek Dowser bighted fon me big pieces out. Dis veek — [taking property sausage from basket with a laugh of fiendish triumph. Biting sausage savagely] — I know vot I know. [Exit.] DUNDERBURG JENKINS'S "FORTY- GRAF" ALBUM. A. STUDY IN FACIAL EXPRESSION AND POSING. T ONCE spent a few weeks at the house of Mr. Dunderburg Jen- kins, in the northern part of this State. Mr. Jenkins was a good, worthy man. He meant well, I am sure, but he had a col- lection of photographs^n an album upon his parlor-table which he insisted upon showing to every one who stopped at his house. " Don't you want ter see the fortygrafs ? Most remarkable col- lection." And so indeed it was. I will try to imitate in my own person as nearly as possible the pictures in that remarkable collection, together with the running comment upon the originals of the same with which Mr. Jenkins always favored his pictures. " That there is the fust Miss Jenkins. She enjoyed powerful bad health while she was among us. She's now in glory." [Hands folded and mouth draivn down on one side. Melancholy ex- pression.] AND RECITATIONS. 25 * That there is Thompson's boy Jimmy. Ah, he's a right) smart lad and handsome, too." [Feet ivide apart, anus stiff a Utile way from body, hands spread wide. Mouth ivide open and a dead stare in the eyes. Expres- sionless face. .] "That there is young Si. Hawkins. Oh, he's a regular highfalu- tin chap — he is. Been tew town quite a spell. Got that picter take on Bowery Street, which I reckon is somewhere near the Fifth Avenue. You see him standi n J there in one of hees most 'poller-like ackitudes. I call that picter Mie chafe duffer of the hull col- lection." [Feet crossed. Weight thrown on one hip. One elbow raised as though upon a mantel. Other arm akimbo. Conceited expires- sion of countenance.] " That there is Uncle Silas Hogwhistle. Powerful fine-lookin' man if 'twarnt fer the least bit of a cast inter one of hees eyes." [Arms folded. Eyes crossed. Upper lip inflated.] " That there is Parson Wheeler. He was a powerful exhorter and all them things, but worldly-minded. Warn't satisfied with hees salry — two hundred dollars a year — and only six in family. He's got another call now up to Higgles ville." [Hands clasped. Mouth drawn down and eyes rolled up. Sancti- monious expression of countenance.] r " That there is old grandma, ninety come next January." [Corners of mouth drawn up as high as possible. Eyes nearly closed. One hand grasping chin, and elboiv supported in the other.] ' " And that there's grandpa. 'Bout the same age." [Shoulders bent. Under lip drawn way down, showing lower teeth. Eyes screived up and hand behind ear as though deaf] [Resuming your own voice.] But I could endure no more. I fled the house. [Exit.] 26 WERNER'S READINGS SOME ENCORE BITS. OTHINGr secures the feeling of success with your audience better than to follow any set piece of recitation with one or two very brief bits of humorous pantomime. A short story with a good point, which enables you to leave the stage gracefully and happily amid a roar of laughter and applause. These little things, while they gain you the prestige of several recalls perhaps, and warm up an audience wonderfully, occupy so little time in an en- tertainment that the feeling of wearying produced by prolixity — one of the very worst possible impressions for a performer to pro- duce in an audience — is entirely avoided. My dear Friends : AYhen the Emperor Maximus Gorillus en- tered Rome after his series of brilliant military achievements in South Dakota, he was as usual ushered into the Latin capital by a grand triumphal procession. Among the many wonderful features of this magnificent spec- tacle was a musical instrument of peculiar construction. Upon a table were arranged a number of stalls of various lengths, the smaller upon the right and the larger upon the left, in gradu- ated succession. Each of these stalls contained a cat or kitten of corresponding proportions, ranging from an ancient Thomas cat, with a deep bass voice, up to an infantile kitten, with a high soprano. The tails of these pretty animals projected through holes in the backs of the stalls, and to each tail was affixed a handle working upon a hinge, so that by pulling the handles each cat or kitten was induced to emit his or her peculiar note. There were two full octaves in the instrument. I am not quite sure that the Carnival of Venice was in vogue at that time, but I am sure if it had been the performer would have selected it for his grand piece de resistance. So, without fur- THE FELINAPHONE. [ Very gravely and earnestly.'] AND RECITATIONS. 27 ther comment, I will endeavor to give you an idea how the Car- nival of Venice sounded upon the Felinaphone. [Plat/ or rather mew the Carnival with a piano accompaniment, pulling imaginary handles with great affectatio7i of vigor, once over simply and thsn with extravagant variations, ending with a loud caterwaul and exit. Make the cat business short and sharp, as the effect is lost by keeping it up too long.] THE JUGGLER. I attended a seance of mesmerism a few years ago, at which the patients or subjects were induced to do many remarkable and amusing things. One case that struck me particularly was a youth who was impressed by the Professor with the idea that he was a juggler at a theatre. I will endeavor to give you some idea of the young man as he appeared under the mesmeric influence. [Have a lively galop played. Go through the motions of a mes- merist making the passes over a sealed patient. Then with a sm ile to the audience say, as though addressing a seated figure :] " Young man, you are a juggler. Go on and show us some of your skill." [Make a sweeping boio like that of a circus performer. Pick up im- aginary balls and toss them under legs, over back, etc. Strike heroic attitude. Pick up imaginary plate, imitate spinning it upon a stick, then balance upon nose with appearance of great agility and skill. Add more plates. Attitude and sweep of arm. Then express in pantomime "Look at that muscle!" Pickup imaginary heavy cannon-ball and roll it across neck, toss it, etc. Tlien with straining muscles and forcing blood into the face, raise two exceedingly heavy balls straight above head and sloiuly lower them, arms extended, legs apart, and szoaying as tliough almost overcome by the weight. Drop as though tired. Siveep- ing gesture and glance around. TJienpick up imaginary sword. Fencing gestures and attitudes. Bend sword and let it spring out. Take hair from head and cut it in the air. Tlien fall 28 WERNER'S READINGS upon one knee and slowly press the sword down the throat. Draw it out with flour ish, bow with conceited, heroic air, and then come out of trance, looking scared, ashamed, and sheepish, and rush off the stage in a huddled up, shrinking manner. The success of this bit depends almost entirely on a natural ability for pan- tomime. ] DENTIST AND PATIENT. Ladies and Gentlemen : I shall now endeavor to be two people at once. Scene— Dentist's office or torture chamber. Enter patient. [Puff out one cheek and express great pain. Point to tooth, shake head, and raise hands. The dentist beams and rubs hands to- gether, shrugs shoulder with an easy wave of hand, as though to say, " Perfectly easy. Have it out in a moment." The patient expresses fear. The dentist beckons him back. The patient looks resigned, heroic. Then extract tooth, rigid arm and hand haul- ing and jerking at tooth and left hand grasping right as though in terror. One great pull and the tooth is out. Express with thumb and grimace, "Oh, ivhat a big hole! Big as that." Pay dentist and exit smiling upon imaginary tooth of great size which you hold between thumb and finger. ALPHABETICAL SERMON. [Read text from book very quietly and gravely, A, B, G, D, etc., to Z. Then repeal alphabet impressively and pointedly as though reading the text a second time. Then close book and begin A, B, C, as though saying firstly, laying one forefinger on the other. Again twice through alphabet argument at ively and quietly, then warningly , finishing on Z in a deep, impressive tone, pointing dovmivard. Then rapidly and in a questioning tone, going through pantomime of pitchforking, horns and humorous horror. Then once through in a tone of exalted 'joy, pantomime of flying and gazing about in admiration. Then through twice in a pleading tone, throwing passion and pathos into the voice. Then "AND RECITATIONS. 29 once through gravely, with eyes closed, and wind up with the words :] "The usual collection will now be taken up. 1 ' The above specimens of encore bits will servj ay a suggestion to the clever reader as to the sort of material to usu. The performer should keep his eyes and ears open in the street in society, and look through papers for hints and touches, and he will come across many a good and effective idea. In these little things, remember that the more familiar and easy your style is, and the more you give them the tone of something gotten up on the spur of the mo- ment, the more effective they will be. CLASSICAL MUSIC. T PITY any one who does not love classical music. IKe/e was A a time when I did not appreciate it myself, and I shudder when I think of my benighted state of mind at that period. There was a time when a barrel-organ playing a waltz beneath my window would set me spinning around the room in circles of terpsichorian delight ; when the brass band of a target company playing " Johnny ■get your gun" would make me long for epaulettes and a war ; when I wagged my head and stamped my feet with the boys in ths gallery when the orchestra played a nigger melody. But, happily for my musical soul, this has all passed away, and now the organ-man " must go," if it costs me all my small change to get rid of him. The brass band jars upon my cultivated ear, and I always go out in the lobby at the theatre, and look cynica, and bored when the chef d'orchestrc fills up the time between the acts with a string of popular airs. I am now a passionate student of harmony and thorough bass. I thrill with delight when I con- template a sequence of dominant sevenths with major thirds, and revel in inversions of the flatted ninth. I have come to regard what I used to call a "tune "with abso lute horror ; and when I hear a piece of music which is new to me, I listen attentively, and if I detect the slightest intimation of any- 30 WERNER'S READINGS thing like a melody, I immediately assume a supercilious expres- sion suitable to my proper feelings under the circumstances, for I know it cannot be music of the highest order. That is the true test of music, and a simple rule by which the most ignorant may learn whether they ought or ought not to admire any given piece of music. If you know at once what it is all about, if it seems to be saying 1, 2, 3, hop, hop, hop, or 1, 2, bang, bang, bang, you may know at once that you are listening to something of a very low order, which it is your duty to despise. But when you hear something that sounds as though an assorted lot of notes had been put into a barrel and. were then stirred up vigorously like a kind of har- monious gruel, you may know it is a fugue, and you may safely assume an interested expression of countenance. If the notes ap- pear to have been dropped by accident into a well, and are being fished up at irregular intervals, in a sort of flaccid, drowned con- dition, it is likely to be a nocturne, which it is quite proper to admire. ' If the notes seem to come in car-loads, each load different from the last, and if it seems to take the train a very long time to pass any given point, it will turn out most likely to be a symphony, and symphonies, you know, are considered very fine. If the notes appear to be dumped out in masses, and. shovelled vigorously into heaps, and then blown widely into the air by explosions of dynamite ; that's a rhapsody, and rhapsodies are the very latest thing in music. Just here it may be well to observe that the very highest kinds of music are the oldest and the newest, that our admiration should be about equally divided between chromatic fugues composed in sixteen something and tone-pictures, rhapsodies, and suites. One general rule may be observed in forming a proper manner while attending a classical concert, which will save the neophyte a world of trouble and mortification. It is to look about you and discover the most serious, careworn-looking man, with the longest hair and the largest spectacles, in the audience, and by observing his changes of expression, his fits of enthusiasm, and his bursts of applause, and imitating them closely, you may always appear as one of the chosen few who have entered the high shekinah, and know a thing or two about classical music. READINGS AND RECITATIONS By MARY KYLE DALLAS. Werner's Readings No. 3 — page 31. INTRODUCTION TO PART II. I HAVE received so many requests from elocutionists, readers, and amateurs for certain of my published pieces, that the idea oi making a collection of the present nature has naturally suggested itself. If among the selections here contained there prove to be some that will aid the artist toward success and fur- nish a source of enjoyment to my dear friends the public, I shall be amply rewarded for my labor, and encouraged to repeat the present experiment at some future day. The public's grateful friend, Mary Kyle Dallas. Werner's Readings No. 3 — page 3 2. FATHER PAUL. '^HE fisherman's wife went down to watch. Her husband's boat come in from the sea; One babe lay at rest on her motherly breast, Another little one stood at her knee; And they said " Good-even" to Father Paul, Beading his book by the old church wall. His eyes they followed them over the sand — Over the sand and down to the sea — " Oh, never a woman in all the world Will lull my babe on her breast/' sighed he. " Mea culpa," moaned Father Paul, "To wear serge and sandal is not all." Afar the glint of the fisherman's sail Caught Rosabel's eye as she went to prayers. "Oh, happy," said she, " the woman must be Who joy and woe with her loved one shares ! Would that a boat sailed over the sea, Freighted as that boat is, for me." Father Paul by the convent wall Striving to read, striving to pray, Saw with his heart, if not with his eyes, What woman it was that came that way. " Oh, the heart is a snare," sighed Father Paul, " And Satan tempteth us, one and all." Father confessor, he sat in his chair; Penitent, knelt she upon her knee. " The purest angel in all the skies Might have more sin to confess than she." Thus to himself said Father Paul, Thus to himself, and it was not all. WERNER'S READINGS He put the crucifix into her hand — Into her hand as she knelt at his knee. "Thou hast not stolen? Thou hast not lied ? Thou hast not been light of love ?" asked he. For this he must say, young Father Paul, To kneeling penitents, one and all. And to each and all of the things he said, Of the things he asked, as she knelt at his knee, The girl said " No; " yet her golden head Lower and lower in shame bowed she. " Then must thou tell me," sighed Father Paul, " Whether thou hast done wrong at all." Then in the silence one could hear — The silence that lay between the two — The monastery bells ring out, Frightening the swallows as home they flew. " Daughter," he whispered, "tell me all." She made no answer to Father Paul. Eang the bells on the twilight air, Lengthened the shade of the convent wall; Silently still the girl knelt there, Knelt at the feet of Father Paul. Not a word, not a word, not a word was said ; But his young hand rested upon her head. " Hast thou coveted aught ?" said Father Paul, As he saw the fisher man's wife go by, Cuddling her babe in her knitted shawl, Lulled by the croon of a lullaby. " It needeth our Lord's grace most of all To covet nothing," said Father Paul. AND RECITATIONS. She saw the fisherman kiss his wife And toss the urchin, who crowed with glee, And under her lashes the hot tears crept. " Oh, I am sinner of sinners !" said she ; " I have coveted that, Father Paul, Which is heaven's only and heaven's all \" cl Is it the treasure our coffers hold ? Or the gems on the shrine of Our Lady fair? Or the cups and flagons of beaten gold ? Or the pearls that gleam in the Virgin's hair? Or the lands of our Church ?" asked Father Paul; " Or aught that our Church her own can call ?" " Oh, I am sinner of sinners \" said she ; " Oh, I am evil beyond compare ! A heart has turned from this weary world, And I to covet that pure heart dare. Its love is given to things divine, And I, a woman, would have it mine !" She could not look up into his eyes, But he heard the throb of her frightened heart, And saw the flush of her forehead rise Where the pale-gold tresses fell apart ; And his own heart's trembling told him all She would have hidden from Father Paul. " Child, thou art holier far than I; Nearer thy bosom the angels come. Oh, a soul so pure can never lie. Life's holiest things are heart and home, Holier far than the granite wall Of a monkish prison," said Father Paul. WERNER'S READINGS And he did not kiss her, as often do Father confessors, upon the brow : On her mouth his mouth, to kisses new, Showered kisses warmer for that, I trow; "And may God judge us, my love, for all, Though the priesthood ban us," said Father Paul. The monks of the monastery tell, How, one midsummer eve, in woman's guise, At the ringing of the vesper bell Satan gave them a sad surprise, And bore from the shade of their sacred wall Their best-loved brother, young Father Paul. But far away, under other skies, 'Midst yellow waving of golden grain, A homestead's happy walls arise, Where love and plenty hold blissful reign; And he who is master of it all * His wife calls tenderly, " Father Paul." BROKEN DREAMS. HP HEY wake me from my happy sleep, The moonlight's pure and pallid beams. Diana fair, Diana cold, Why hast thou bid me leave my dreams ? For they were warm as thou art chill, And all my senses Avere a-thrill. What were they ? Ah ! they fade so soon. Two long-divided paths had crossed, But where, or if 'twere night or morn, Of this all memory is lost. I only know a love came back That died long since upon the rack. AND RECITATIONS. And bitter years were blotted out With all their weight of pride and pain ; As we can never meet on earth, I and another met again, Amidst some wild, sweet dreamland change, That made all right as it was strange, Eich odors from unnumbered flowers And murmurous music filled the air, And all adown the golden hours We drifted, to some sweet nowhere. The whole world for our own had we, And love was our eternity. Diana fair, Diana pale, 'Twas ill to banish dreams so sweet ; They fly as fly the fleecy clouds That giide beneath thy silver feet. Calm from Endymion thou could'st part, But I — I have a woman's heart. THE STATUE'S STORY. T AM a statue of marble, I am white, I am cold, I stand in a niche of the window Of the grange gray and old ; The sunshine falls over me, Nor warms me one whit, The noontide grows golden, / whiter yet. I stand in a niche of the window Of the old gray grange; All through the bright day's changes I know no change; WERNER'S READINGS Before me, without in the road, Carriage and wain roll by; Men a-horse, men on foot, Nothing care I. Within is a little white couch. Spread over with silk, And a pillow of eider-down, Whiter than milk. Over the head of the bed hang A cross and a face, — The face of a beautiful woman All passion and grace. When the red day hath departed^ And the moonshine Rims the crown of each mountain, Fringes each pine, Through the still pass I hear, Rippling along, The voice of my love, my dear, Lifted in song. "I am coming, beloved," he sings, " Coming to worship thee." Clearly his sweet voice rings; But he sings not to me. *Tis to the face of the woman, Glowing and bright, That he chants, and not to a statue Of marble, dead white. When in mid -skies the moon hangeth, Looking at me, My best-beloved comes to his chamber, Bendeth his knee; AND RECITATIONS. First to the cross at his pillow, Then to the face Of the golden-haired, dusk-eyed woman, All passion and grace. He sayeth to heaven a prayer, To her wild words doth he say: I have heard, as I stood in the window Of the grange, old and gray, Accents burning with passion, Woful with long delay, I knew what they meant, though I stand here, A statue to-day. For when the angel of slumber Waveth her dusky wing, Lulls him asleep by her magic, Happens an o'er-strange thing. I have an hour when the pulses Of life are mine own, And I stand no more in the window, A statue of stone. My cheeks grow red like the roses, My lips are parted with sighs; I step from the niche in the window. And kiss his sleeping eyes; I pass my hand o'er his forehead, In my fingers his hair I take; I call him love-names many, Nor fear that he will wake. For the same strange spell lies on him Then, that lieth else on me. The hour that he sleepeth I awake, My waking he may not see. 40 WERNER'S READINGS I kiss him until the cock-crow, And then I make my moan, And stand in the niche of the window, A statue of stone. At dawn, down the pass of the mountain, His farewell I hear. Echo flings back the burden, " Adieu, my clear, Until I return again To kneel at thy shrine, Kissing the cross and thee, lady mine !" Oh, his kisses upon my marble Would wake it, I know; He could break the spell that has frozen My bosom to snow. But he knows not the power of his magic. He turneth away To the picture, and leaves me a statue In the niche, cold and gray. OUT OF THE BOTTLE. TT was a rat-trap of an old house. Its walls bulged, its floors slanted, the cellar was full of water, the roof leaked ; no one had lived there for years, but it had once been a handsome place, and the name it was called by was the name of a good old family. Why did it stand empty until it fell to decay? Haunted — said the neighbors. And so I, who have a predilection for haunted houses, went wandering about it one day, sending the mice scampering away into their holes, frightening the black beetles, and enraging the spiders that were weaving their webs from one door-post to the other. Where did the ghost live ? I looked into the parlor. The tattered remains of some old shades hung at the AN'D RECITATIONS, 41 windows, and a rusty shovel and tongs upon the hearth told of the hospitable fires that had smouldered out long ago. In the bedrooms only a broken candlestick and a cracked ewer had been left over from those days when white linen was spread upon the bed in the guest-chamber, and the crow of the chanticleer awakened master and mistress, and Dolly the dairy-maid, and all the rosy children. The ghost was not there; neither was he up garret, where he be- longed. I looked the whole house over for him, until at last in the kitchen, where a red and cracked stove was all that remained -to whisper of the many comfortable dinners that had been cooked and eaten, I found on a high old shelf a long, black bottle, and rather from idleness than interest set it upon the mantel-shelf. No sooner had I done so than I saw 7 that it was no ordinary bottle. It looked like one, as it stood in the closet, but no sooner was it set upon the mantel-piece, with its label, " Whiskey," plainly visible to the beholder, than I saw rising from its mouth a sort of smoke, which by slow degrees condensed itself into a figure of hideous aspect, though of tiny proportions, until finally I saw perched upon the neck of the bottle a little, greenish-colored imp, with long horns, Satanic hoofs, red eyes, and great, white fangs. I stared at it in horror. " Who are you ?" I asked. The thing looked at me and grinned, slapped the bottle with its hand, and answered : " I am the ghost who haunts this house." I shrank away. " You needn't be afraid," it said. "I'm harmless until some one fills my bottle. I'm quite superannuated now. I'm garrulous in my old age, and would like to talk. I remember when I came here. It was on a wedding-day. Two young people were married, and an old man brought me in this very bottle as a wedding present. 'The best old Bourbon,' said he. No one saw me grinning through the glass, but they pulled the cork and out I came. I perched my- self where I could see them all, and nodded as they pledged each other. "That night the bride sat and cried by herself; the bridegroom 42 WERNER'S READINGS was lying drunk on the sofa below. I liked that, ha, ha! It pleased me. After that I stayed here. The bottle kept full. In a little while the bride did not cry about it. She took her glass too. "They were handsome young people. It took two years for his nose to turn purple, and she was not red-eyed for five. Children came; they had whiskey and sugar to suck before they were able to eat meat — five of them — and the father was seldom sober. No wonder the old place was mortgaged soon, the woods cut down, some land sold. " All went to ruin fast. Once, however, I was disappointed. The man swore he would reform, stuffed me up into the corner of a shelf, and kept sober for a year. I was wretched then. However, one day a new baby came. Old Nurse Dickerman was with the mother. e a big boy to be proud of. I won't do anything mean to make ler ashamed ; and I wouldn't say a naughty swear word like the >oys in the street, because she would cry to hear me so wicked. Ihe made me that little white rabbit and my new jacket, and when had the measles she sat by me all day. Once she went away on a 44 WERNER'S READINGS visit, and I cried — I was so lonesome. She was lonesome, too. Sh don't like to go away from home long. She's the nicest person in the world ; only papa is just as nice. He kisses me when he goes out, and he rides me on his back in the garden, and he makes rab bits on the wall with his fingers, and he takes mamma and me out to ride, and says we are his treasures, and he takes care of us both and mamma says he's the best man in the world, and I guess he is Little Neddie. — My mamma is pretty. She's so pretty 1 wan to kiss her, but I muss her hair. She don't often come to breakfast with papa and me, because she gets so tired dancing at the balls, sie When I tumbled down stairs and broke my arm she was at a party and she didn't know it until next day. But if she gets up I don' think it's nice, for papa scolds her, and says he'll put an end tcjJpoHtica] waltzing with the captain. Does your ma ever waltz with captains And do you think pa don't like it because the captain might ge mad and kill her with his sword? I'm afraid of soldiers. I'nfjtutei afraid of ghosts, too. Biddy says if I don't sleep sound a ghost wil fetch me up chimney. Biddy is our French maid, with a capfwuey, She gives the bread and butter to her cousin James, and I can't g to sleep because I am so hungry. I told pa once, and he said^ " Poor child ! why, have you no mother ?" but I asked if ma wasiv my mother, and I don't know what he meant. I don't go into ma room, because I'm troublesome. I spilt the aurora, one day, a over the rouge and lily white. Don't you know what they are fen. Why, they are things to make ma look pretty. But I wouldn't cai* if pa would make me a kite, like the one your pa made for yoi 5D1 pb n But he's always so busy, and he groans so when he's home. Enditcloti goes down town all day, and once I asked ma what he went fo Well,?] and she said, "To make money, and that is all he is good ftin h thooi Did your pa ever fail ? My pa says he will, if ma's dressmakei ' a hat wii bill is three thousand and twenty-one dollars again. But ma sa he's only a miser. I guess I'd like to come to your house and ha fe your ma and pa instead of mine. isajrii (lu( lading i ikk life, iouk < in a litter wi a et single often tei L anjpe ( par nice, j back, •liaa, n\ AND RECITATIONS. 45 MRS. TUBBS AND POLITICAL ECON- OMY. ut \ \ /"ELL, really, since listening to that wonderful Miss Bigwitz ■\ who lectured to us on Thursday night, I have felt ashamed 115 )f myself. For a girl who was so much thought of in school, I 'lave neglected my mind dreadfully. I know Miss Bigwitz is right n saying that a woman can't be her husband's companion unless he does improve her mind. My husband, Jefferson Tubbs, the eading butter-dealer in Creamtown, ought not to find a want of in- ellectual companionship at home. I'll begin this minute and read political economy. It's vacation, and the children have no lessons o look over. No better time, I'm sure. Here it is": " Principles e|f Political Economy ;" and here is a chapter on " Credit as a Sub- stitute for Money." I'm sure that credit did not turn out well as a substitute for cs loney, when Jefferson let those Poachers have ten tubs of the best utter without sending in his bill. They haven't paid for 'em yet. Ji! I agree with this writer: "The functions of credit have been subject of as much misunderstanding and as much confusion as ny single topic in political economy." I should think so, indeed ! often tell Jefferson what I think of that. No credit ought to be iven. Let me see what comes next. Ah, yes: " This is not owing .,, aI ) any peculiar difficulty in the theory of the subject, but to the v01 Dmplex nature of some of the mercantile phenomena in which g-edit clothes itself." Well, what a wonderful observer this writer is, to be sure. I've ften thought I should be ashamed to go out, as Mrs. Poacher does, J I a hat with fourteen ostrich tips that have not been paid for, and brocade velvet cloak she is dunned for every morning. Mercan- tile phenomena, indeed! That's just what she wears! I'd rather ear nice, plain, lady-like things. No mercantile phenomena goes l my back! Oh, gracious, what's the matter now? Selina, what is the matter ? You're soaked to the skin. Fell to the pond, and most drowned, and got a little fish in your ear ? wii said are ntfo 46 WERNER'S READINGS Why, you'll be deaf for life. Oh, there, it's out! You've killed me with fright. Where's the baby ? You don't know! Run every- body and look for baby. Oh, gracious! Nora's got her! What a mercy! You shan't one of you go out again. Sit down there, and read your books. 1 can't improve my mind while you go on so. Political economy takes a lot of studying over, and it's a most im- portant subject. It's tiresome, too. I feel as if I'd improved my mind enough for one day, and I'll do a block of my crazy quilt now, for, really, my brain feels quite overworked, and I ought to rest it. AUNT BETSY ON MARRIAGE. i/ "T^VEAR ME! When we think of what we might do and don't do — of the opportunities we neglect — we have great cause to re- proach ourselves. I'm very, very sorry that youthful levity caused me to refuse the hand of Mr. Melancthon Gypsum when I was a girl. I objected to him because he had warts on his nose and was cross-eyed. What a silly young creature I was, to be sure! Such an opportunity! Why, you know him, dear. It is the Dr. Gypsum who is paying attention to Widow Potkins now. He has found five partners to share his labors. Why, you shocking girl! No, he's not a Mormon. He's had the misfortune to lose five wives. Thath nothing to smile at, I'm sure ! When he proposed to me I was a mere child. He told me he waf well aware that no woman's constitution would stand the climate h( was going to more than two years. He was then twenty-one, anc expected to stay abroad until he was forty, so he would have nine o: ten wives at least during his sojourn in that foreign land, and suppose he thought it was my duty to be the first one. He didn' look for happiness in this wicked world, he said, and he hoped didn't either. But, as I said, I was frivolous at the time. The firs Mrs. Gypsum lived two years. I've read her biography. Th natives used her dreadfully, She was just eighteen when she lef this world. Ah! when I called at the parsonage the other day I saw the por pictor n pictur Washi AND RECITATIONS. 47 traits of Dr. Gypsum's wives, all in a row : Clarissa Gypsum, aged eighteen; Maria Gypsum, aged twenty; Martha Gypsum, aged seventeen (she died on the voyage over); Sarah Gypsum, aged twenty-four, and Amelia Gypsum, who lived to be forty. She was a widow when the doctor married her, and the only one of his wives that knew how to manage natives. Mr. Gypsum came home one day and found her driving two of 'em about harnessed to a little basket carriage. They thought it was their duty; she'd told 'em 'twas. Mr. Gypsum didn't like it, but / think it was right smart of her. Don't you ? They fried her in slices at last, I'm told, and offered her up to a big stone idol with three noses, that they thought all the world of. All of 'em came to some violent end but the one that died going over; and two or three of the little babies were carried off, ar>d may- be are worshipping idols now, for all we know about them. Dear me! I've seen the biographies of the five wives, all in blue and gold, with a portrait on the first page. Ah! if I hadn't been so frivolous mine might have been among 'em. There isn't one so good looking as I am, and how proud I should have been of it, to be sure. But that's the way with young girls ; they can't see what's best for 'em. THE SLOWLYS AT THE PHOTOGRA- PHER'S. APPEN," said Sam, the other day, to pa, "have you had your pictur' taken yet ?" "No," says pa, "we hain't. Cherubs and young gals look well enough in pictur's, but arter fifty years o' seafarin' a man ain't pictorial." "Why, cappen," says Sam, "all distinguished men have their pictur's taken. There's Sherman, and Sheridan, and General Washington, and Bismarck, and Gladstone, and all the rest of 'em have all been took frequent." "Well/' says the cappen, " that's no rule for me." 48 WERNER'S READINGS " Oh, pa," says Minervy, "let's hev our pictures taken in a family group." " Do, pa," says I. " Very well/' says pa. " If you want to do it, do it. I'll go along." So we went. The pictur'-room was atop o' the house, and arter we'd climbed there nobody but the cappen, who is used to gales of wind, could speak to the folks for want of breath. So he marches up to the gentleman that stood in the middle of the room, looking, us Minervy said, just like Shakespeare, with his turn-down collar and p'inted beard, though I never knew Mr. Shakespeare myself, and couldn't say. And says he, "Here's Mrs. Cappen Slowly, and my darter Minervy, and Cousin Sam, and me, all come to be took, mate. We want to be in one pictur', and take us as large and bright as you can. It ain't my doin' comin', but the wimmin folks', so don't sot it down to vanity." By this time Sam got his breath. " Mister," says he, "the cappen is modest. He's worthy not only of havin' his pictur' took, but of havin' it framed. This here is Cappen Slowly, commander o' the Amelia, lastly mnnin' betwixt Onerville and Muddy Holler with cargoes o' kindlin'-wood and fine feed, but formerly afloat on the boundin' billers of the onconquora- ble ocean. Take him good." "We shall do our best," says the pictur'-taker. Jest then / got my breath. " Mister," says I, " if you please, I'd like to be took younger. I've got dreadful old these last ten years, I'd ruther hev' my wrinkles left out." Mr. Shakespeare — I mean the man that looked like him — bowed and smiled. Minervy said nothin'. Only when she wus asked she said she pre- ferred standin' behind her ma and pa. So Sam he preferred that too. So we wus all screwed up at the back of our necks as if we were going to be executed, and the gentleman says : "I beg you will not move/' and retires behind a curtain. Just then the cappen takes out his pocket-handkercher and blows his mose. AND RECITATIONS. 49 It wusin consequence o' that that the pictur' took as it did. It wus all pocket-handkerchers. The gentleman looked perlite but worried. Says he, " If you please, you must sit again, and quietly, I beg." So we wus screwed up again. This time toe wus all right, but Minervy and Sam were two big blots bumpin' against each other. The cappen look at 'em. "Sam," says he, "I don't make no charges, but ef you'd kissed Minervy, this here might have looked jest so/' " As ef I'd have let him," says Minervy. Sam only turned the color o' biled beets. So we sot again, like clockwork, bolt upright. Bat bless you ! jest as all wus ready, I sneezed ! 'Twusn't my fault. I couldn't help it. This time Mr. Shakespeare (I can't help call in' him so) wus per- litely mad. He gave us a lectur' on the perpriety o' sittin' quiet when we wus a bein' took. "Well," said I, "I know it is necessary, but sneezin' is done in unguarded minutes. I couldn't help it." So we sot again. This time you never saw such frozen objects — like cast iron. We must take good now, says I. But at the solemn minute of coverin' up the pictur' machine and Mr. Shakespeare altogether with black, like a walkin' funeral, Sam trod on Minervy's toe, and, in gettin' off, oversot himself. Over he came a top o' the cappen, and both of 'em together on the floor, and the back out of the chair, and two of the spokes, which, bein' of white wood, I took for the cappen's bones when I see 'em a lyin' on the floor, and. screeched horrid. But nobody wus hurt, except that by this time Mr. Shakespeare wus frantic, and came out so red in the face I thought he wus a goin' to have apperplexy. Says the cappen, "Mate, we've broke your chair and spiled your pictur'. What's the damage ?" But he said the chair had been injured before, and asked us to sit again. 50 WERNER'S READINGS So we sot. This time nothing happened. Mr. Shakespeare came out and told ns the pictur' wus all right. And we waited. He went into a little room, and staid a while. Then out he marched, smiling contented, and proud, and give us the pictur'. I give one look at it. Says I : " Them are us?" Then I sat down overcome. The pictur' wus on iron, kinder cloudy and the biggest parts of us wus our upper lips. My mouth wus from ear to ear, and Min- ervy's met behind. As for the cappen, his nose is small by natur' and as it wus took by art it skeered me. The cappen looked at it kinder stern. " My lad," says he, " we hev' give you trouble, but you'd orter hev' revenged yourself better than to caricatur' us this way. We ain't objects of ridicule I hope, my lad, to you and your mate ?" " Far from it," says Mr. Shakespeare. " Those are in my opinion good likenesses." " Mate," says the cappen, " it's hard to know yourself. I'd hev said, wal, mebbe arter all that is like me. But I kin see Mrs. Slowly, and Minervy, and Cousin Sam, and never hev' I seen 'em grim and savage like these. When we paired off, my Sarah wus as likely a lass as ever walked, and I don't see more change than usual. And though we've been to Barnum's biggest show on earth, he didn't ask to have Minervy and Sam there, as he would if they'd looked like this. It's a shabby trick, my lad, and it makes it wuss to call 'em likenesses. I shan't take the pictur'. But I'll pay you for your trouble if you'll put it in the fire." Then Mr. Shakespeare kinder turned on his heel and walked off, and talked to some ladies comin' in, and the cappen pitched the' pictur' into the stove himself, and put a dollar on the table, and we walked out. Since then I've seen more pictures, and I've kinder made up mv mind it wusn't done a purpose. AND RECITATIONS. 51 A FASHIONABLE VACATION. /^\FF the first of next week ! My goodness ! What a lot of things to be done ! I think I shall go crazy. The poor girls haven't a thing to wear, and 1 am like a beggar. Twenty- eight new dresses last summer ? Yes, I know, dear, but that was only seven apiece, and nothing but side-pleating was worn then, and now everything is puffed. Can't I puff up the side-pleatings? Oh ! if that isn't exactly like a man. But no matter, dear ; you can't help it ; you were born so. Puffings are bias and pleatings are straight. Ah ! if we were only able to go off camping at four hours' notice , as the boys are, with a lot of blue shirts and some celluloid col- lars ! If the girls were sensible, we might ? Now there is an- other proof that girls need a mother. Poor things ! If I were to die I've no doubt you'd take them to the country in plain blue flannel dresses and fisherman's hats, as Doctor Duckweed does his two poor orphans. And how rosy and fat they are when they come back ? Oh, yes, dear; rosy enough, and fat enough. Miss Delight, our dressmaker, tells me their belts are twenty-six inches ! Now, Maud and Mil- dred are eighteen inches and Eose is only twenty. I've seen to their corsets since they were ten years old. Let me see — lend me your pencil, dear. What will you allow me for dresses ? I know you are very generous to the girls, and though of course I don't care myself — very much otherwise — I must be elegant to chaper- one them. Oh! I'll show you their shoes, dear. I've got them their shoes already. Well — what a face! Did you ever see anything so pretty ? And only number two and a half ! They can't take a country walk in those high heels? Why, of course not, you old- fashioned soul ! And come home all tanned and blowsy, and with great, vulgar appetites; and young Richards, and old Mr. Bloom- ingburg, and all the rest to be there ! My goodness, dear! I believe you think I take all this trouble 52 WERNER'S READINGS every year, and put you to all this expense, just to give the girls fresh air and country walks. Why, we could all go down to poor old Uncle Peter's and board on the fat of the land for five dollars a week a piece, and any old things would do; and as for walks and hay rides, and boating, there'd be no end. And I should enjoy it. But time is flying; our eldest girl is twenty — though you must not tell anybody — and we must get them married well. That's what going to Saratoga, and Newport, and all the rest of it, means to loving mothers, dear. What! You're shocked ? You think of Turkish slaves ? You wouldn't have your girls marry a young rascal like Richards or a dishonest millionaire like Bloomingburg ? When a good man loves one of them — Oh, stop there, you dear, old-fashioned thing, and let a mother do her best for her darlings. How much will you give me this season ? MRS. WINKLE S GRANDSON. n^HIS is my grandson, Billy, Mr. Bernacle. I'm sure after A you've been here a month you'll think as much of him as I do. He's so lively and agreeable ! The house is never dull as long as he is in it. You can hear him from the time he gets up until he goes to bed. There isn't a comic song he don't know, nor a byword; and he plays the accordeon foe-utiful— don't you, Billy, pet ? " Must be a musical genius ?" Oh, yes, sir ; but he's so vari- ously gifted, too, is Billy. He's real inventive. As soon as ever he sees a watch he picks it to pieces and makes a windmill of it. Of course I don't let him have the boarders' watches generally ; but sometimes he to ill get 'em, and some folks is so tetchy. Mr. Bernacle, this is the room ; nice and airy, ain't it ? Yes, the windows are a little broken. " Every pane cracked ?" Yes, so I see. We'll have that fixed in no time. Poor little Billy did that with his pea-shooter. It's a joy to see him, he can hit so straight. I often sit and watch him. AND RECITATIONS. 53 " Furniture looks scratched ?" Well, you see, Billy is real talented — likes to draw and paint. You ought to see the pictures he draws of the boarders; comic pictures, with words coming out of their mouths on scrolls. He hits 'em off so't I die a laughing e'en a'- most. " Is this Billy's room ?" Oh, no, sir. He sleeps nearer his own grandma than that ; but somehow the dear child has got a key that opens all the doors, and I can't find where he hides it. I'd think it my duty to take it away if I could, but after all, we wouldn't have half the amusing surprises we do if he hadn't it. He makes it so gay and lively for us with his jokes. Yes, the arm does come off that big chair. Billy makes a horse of it ; but we'll mend it. I think you'd better have this room, it's so cheerful. Eh ! Not coming at all ? Well — as you please, of course. Billy, you shouldn't have done that, screwing the gentle- man's coat-tails to the door-post while we were talking. See what a piece he has torn out, turning suddenly. Good-by, sir. Humph! Old Sobersides! Nothing would make him laugh. We don't want such a boarder, do we, Billy ? THE .SLOWLYS AT THE THEATRE. AACHEN I came to York I hadn't ever been to a play. That plays wus wicked I had always heerd, and there wus an actor at the tavern a spell that drank like mad, besides bavin' three wives, all of which came after him, and made the landlady's heart ache cryin' in the parlor, and he unfeelin' as a frog, and ended by com- mittin' suicide. I hadn't ever been to a play, and when the cappen came home, and says he : "Now, ma and Minervy, put on your new top-sails, for I'm goin' to steer you to a theayter this evenin'," Why, I opened my eyes and lifted up my hands, and says I : " Cappen, don't talk wicked." " What d'ye mean, ma ?" says he. 54 WERNERS READINGS " Why, pa," says I, " plays are sinful." " Who told you so ?" says he. Says I, " I dunno who told me. It's one o' them facts folks knows from the kind o' intooition ; but I suppose it won't hurt to go and see the play, and if it's wicked we'll never go no more." "Agreed, ma," says he. So Minervy and me went and dressed ourselves in our best, and off we went in an omnibus, and down we wus sot at the door of the theayter. I dunno what wickedness players may be up to, but there wus a young man walled up alive sellin' tickets. I looked and looked, and there wusn't any door for him to get out at, only a window, and I suppose they put his food in that way. I asked the cappen, and he says: " Sarah, accordin' to my reckonin', they're afraid he'd make off with all that money if so be he had his liberty, and p'raps it's in the agreement that he shall be walled up for a certain space o' time. Tickets, if you please, mate." "How many ?" says' the poor young man, quite brisk and cheer- ful. Says he, "For me and these two ladies — wife and darter." " Eeserved seats ?" says the young man. " We want first-cabin passage, whatever it is," says the cappen. So he gave us tickets, and in we went. It looked like meetin'. Everybody in there had bun nets, and all sittin' up proper jest as if they wus goin' to be preached to. " I don't believe it's a bit wicked, Minervy," I said. "La, don't, ma," says Minervy. " Everybody'll hear you." Well, a nice, slick young man that they called an usher pointed out our seats, and pretty soon the music began. It wus splendid. I never heerd such music, though Minervy and her cousin Sam does play duets together on the piannerforty and the fiddle sometimes. There wus a beautiful pictur' straight before me, and I wus ad- mirin' it, when suddenly it rose up; and then I began to know what the theayter wus. There wus the nicest young gal you ever knew wus obliged to AND RECITATIONS, 55 )lay a guitar and sing to get victuals to eat; and there wus a young nan that had come from the country somewhere, and whether he mew the money wus counterfeit or not, I wouldn't like to say, for \ myself gave our grocer a bad half-dollar, and never knew it until I wus given back. But he passed it, anyhow. But there wus some rood in him, for he gave real money to the poor gal with the guitar, md it wus pretty to see how obligated she wus to him. But it seemed to me, too, that that young man — Robert Brierly vus his name — wus jest a little the worse for somethin' he'd taken. He wus pretty, though, with his yellow hair and pink cheeks, and ivhen they came and arrested him I jest riz up, and says I: "Do let him off! I'm sure he didn't know it, and if he did he livon't do it again." Says the cappen, " Ma, don't interfere. Law is law, and when it's broke must have its course. There'll be a trial, and if he ain't guilty, why he'll clear himself." So I jest sat down and cried, and waited jest as anxious as if he had been a neighbor. Well, the curtain riz again. I don't know why they didn't leave it up to let us see what happened. And there wus the young gal. She didn't play the guitar no more for a livin', but took in sewin'. I thought the more of her for takin' up some respectable trade as soon as she could, as I told the lady next me; and she paid her rent regular, for so the old lady down stairs said when she come in for it. A nicer old lady I never knew, and how I felt for her! That grandchild of hers wus the plague of her life, and she sat down and told us all about it. Says I, " Ma'am, I know your feelin's well, and there's Mrs. Brown, down our way, she suffers as you do with hers." Says the cappen, " Beggin' pardon, ma'am. But have you rope's- ended him ? i Spare the rod and spile the child ' is scriptur'. If he troubles you any more, jest hand him over to me and I'll fix him." " Oh, do hush," says Minervy. "Minervy," says I, "when I'm spoke to I shall answer, be it where it may." Mrs. Jones she lived in the same house, too. She's lovely, but 1 56 WERNER'S READINGS not, as I should say, genteel. And as for singin' when I had sucl a cold and wus so obliged to sneeze, I wouldn't do it. I felt sorn for her, and says I, " Don't, ma'am, I beg. I know that you'll h hoarse to-night, for a cold ain't to be trifled with. Take a cup o yarb tea and soak your feet in hot water, and don't put yoursell Brieriy v,- fcns t( 01V" 're d( lai Then everybody laughed. Why, goodness knows. I felt so took up with Mr. Brieriy that I couldn't think of an} one but him. Well, he wus engaged to Miss May, and they didn't like to toll it, so she called him her brother. And I've knowE plenty who thus spoke of their steady company as cousins, and i 4 - wusn't much worse. And then to see Mr. Brieriy in the nice old gentleman's office, lookin' so spruce and bright, and behavin' so nice, and goin' to be married to Miss May. " Well," says I to pa, " I never felt more pleased about a stranger in my life. " Oh my! oh my! and jest then the dreadfulest things were comin' to him. Troubles never come single, you know, and it shows what keepin' bad company is. They turn up jest when they're not wanted, after you've tried to get rid of 'em. Mr. Hawkshaw, he wus a detective, and, I should say, a nice, steady man, though with a temper, and he never told a word about what he knew to the old gentleman that hired Bob Brieriy in his office; and how could he, when Mr. Brieriy stood askin' him not to, with his eyes? I didn't durst speak to Mr. Hawkshaw, because the old gentleman might have heerd, but I jest nodded and winked at him, as much as to say, (i I saw what you did, and I take it very kind of you." And then there came in such a nice old gentleman — oh, so re- spectable, that nobody ever would have thought he could do any wrong. I'm sure I'd have trusted him with thousands; and if he didn't try to pick the safe open! And, bless you! Mr. Brieriy caught him, and he wus a dreadful critter in disguise — one he'd knowed of old. And, out of revenge, the fellow that wanted to rob the safe went and got the other old thief to tell how that poor dowr 'And so nil Butt! worlds, earryin' that pu him. i anil lie how pii And do but about Am breaki poor \ wus; An and 1; Mil, ! AND RECITATIONS. 57 '■Til tnd r Brierly was a ticket-of-leave man. And out it all come on the day A tie wus to be married! II I,' " Oh/' says I, turnin' to him. "Stop," says I. " Reflect on what you're doin', and be kind to that poor young man." But he never u ] looked at me, no more'n if I hadn't spoken, not a bit more; and way they went. And when the nice old lady, that I told you of, sat down, I saw her feelin's wus like mine. And it's too bad, ma'am," says I. "Jest when he wus gettin' 3n so nice." But the worse hadn't come. I wouldn't go through it again for worlds. That nice young man came down to diggin' sewers and arryin' the hod. And even then sot agin by his bad companions, hat put even those common laborers up to turnin' their backs on him. And he hadn't a decent suit of clothes to his back, poor dear, and he hadn't had the heart to comb his hair; and his poor eyelids, how pink they were! Oh, my! I cried and cried. And then, down in that drinkin'-cellar, what did them wretches do but get at him and try to make him promise to help 'em rob his old master. And he agreed. Oh, dear!" says I. "Young man, don't, I beg and pray of you, don't. You'll feel the worse for doin' wrong." But then, how mistook I wus; for it wus only to find out all about it. And when they were gone down cellar, he wrote a note tellin' all about it. And, says he: " But who'll carry it?" And says the cappen : " Heave it here. I will, my lad." But Mr. Hawkshaw, he wus asleep on the table, and he took it. And then, if there wusn't the office outside, and if the house- breakers didn't go in, and if Robert didn't go in with 'em, and his poor wife lookin' over the gate, talkin' to that critter, that no name is bad enough for, and beggin' him to tell her where her husband wus; and all the while he wus in there with the house-breakers. And then there came Mr. Hawkshaw, and choked the old rascal, and laid down behind a tomb, and pounced on 'em when they come out, and there wus an awful fight, and the wretch shot poor Robert. Up jumped the cappen. jr 58 WERNERS READINGS " I'll help ye, my lads," says he. Says I, " Don't rush into danger, pa. Remember me and Minervy." But pa would have gone, only the gentleman playin' the violin caught him by the leg. Says he, "Stop, sir; assistance has arrived." And sure enough it had, and the rascals were treed, and Robert Brierly's wife and the old gentleman wus a-liftin' him up. There he sat, so white, all but his poor pink eyelids, and the blood runnin' from the awful wound on his forehead. And they were a-thankin' him, and says he, " There may be some good even in a ticket-of-leave man." " Oh," says I, " yes, yes. You've proved it, and we know you'll never do wrong no more if you live." But down came the curtain, and up riz the folks. Pa and me sat still. " Pa," says I, " I can't go until I know whether he'll get over it." " Nor I," says pa. So we went up front, and I caught hold of the sleeve of the young man that played the violin. 3ays I, " Mister, if you please, is he better ?" "It looked pretty desperate. I've knowed men to die of less," said the cappen. " So don't laugh, mate. It's Mr. Brierly we ask after. My compliments, and Mrs. Slowly's, and our darter Min- ervy's, and how does he find himself ?" " And if there's any one needed to sit up, I'll come," says I, " and willin'." " And providin' he recovers," says the cappen, " I've a brother that deals in ship stores, and he'll give him a berth, and glad to have him on my advice." Well, the young man did laugh, I know, but he told us quite polite that Mr. Brierly was not dangerous, and that the old gentle- man would employ him. Then we went home; but I wouldn't go through with it again for millions, and every night since I've dreamt of him, with his poor pink eyelids and his white cheeks, and that awful wound on his head, and I'll never go to a play to suffer so again in all my life ! AND RECITATIONS. 59 MRS. SLOWLY AT THE HOTEL. *\7 0, never, never will I live at a hotel again; not unless I come to my dotage. It's the awfulest thing I ever had to do; and it's a marsy that I ain't shot dead and murdered for it this blessed minute. The cappen had business that kept him out last night, and Min- ervy went to bed airly, and arter she had gone I felt an awful ache, and felt sure I was goin' to have the cholery. Then it come into my mindhow't old Doctor Puffer used to say, " Cholery and brandy don't agree together. In times of cholery always have your brandy bottle handy." And it struck me that I'd go clown and get a glass with some hot water before it wus too late. So I took a goblet, and went out and along all them windings and meanderin's, and staircases and entrys and halls, until I come to a waiter. Then I says to him — speakin' as polite as I could — for, black or not, them that deserves it should so be spoke to — says I, "If you please, young man, couldn't you get me some brandy and water? Not that I'm in the habit of drinkin', which goodness forbid in any female, much less me; but I feel as if I wus agoin' to be took with cholery, and an ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure." Says he, " I'll get it in a minute, mum." And off he went, and back he come, flourishin' his hand, and bowin' when he gave it to me as polite as if he wus as white as chalk. So I took the brandy and water, and away I went up to my room, as I thought, and I went in. Brussels carpet and white shades and marble-topped bureau and all. So I sot down the brandy and water, and went to the bed to get my night-cap from under the pillow, when, goody gracious ! what should I se^ there but a man's face, bound up and snorin' horrid. There wus his things, too, a hangin' on the headboard, and I knowed in a minute I must have got into the wrong room ! I e'en a'most screeched, and up I caught my brandy and water and out I went and tried the next door. 60 WERNER'S READINGS That wus open, too, and now I felt sure I'd got right, when a woman's voice hollers : " Who's there ?" . Says I, " It's only me." And away I went again, beginnin' to feel as skeery as if I wus in a church-yard. There wus numbers on all the horrid doors, and I remembered there wus a three in mine. So when I saw 33 on one I said: ff I'm arrived at last," and in I poked. There wus carpet and bureau and bed just alike. But I hadn't more than crossed the sill when somebody yells, "Murder! thieves!" And though it was darkish, I saw a man sittin' up in bed pointin' a pistol at me. "Oh, don't shoot!" says I. "It's only me." And out I rushed, and I heerd the critter get up and bolt the door, and swear horrid. I had to take a little sup of brandy to keep me from droppin' after that, and I says to myself : " Is it your fate, Sarah Slowly, to be took for a burglar, and shot dead arter all ? Is this your end ?" And I went on lookin' by the gas-light for numbers with three's in 'em. Every door I shook or opened, and every one wus wrong; and at last I sat down on the foot of the stairs, and cried like the babes in the wood, and them poor little critters couldn't have felt worse than I did. I knew I wus on our floor, because there wus a big scratch on the banisters that Sam made goin 1 down one day with his um- brella that happened to be broke, and that he very nearly put into my eye. So it seemed to me as if I would be bewitched, and there I sot and cried until a man in a white coat came along, and says he : " May I ask what is the matter, ma'am ?" Says I, " You may, for it's time somebody asked. I'm Mrs. Slowly, from the country, an old lady as you see, and not used to city ways, and I've been down to get some brandy and water; not that I'm fond of it, but that I felt sure that I wus gettin' the chol- ery; and I've lost my way, and here I be. And here I may perish before mornin', for find my way I can't." AND RECITATIONS. 61 "But, dear me, why didn't you ring for the waiter, ma'am ?" says the man. Says I, " I'm a plain body, and never wus brought up to take airs and ring servants about, but now I wish I had, I do declare, for I am lost as much as if I wus in the woods. All I know is, my room has a three in the number on the door." He laughed. "We'll find your room, ma'am," says he. "Come on, if you please. Now is this it — twenty- three ?" " No," says I. " There I remember I made the first mistake and went in, where there is a person, not to say a man, a-bed, and snorin' sound." " Ah," says he. " Now thirty-three ?" But I knew it warn't. However, he knocked. Somebody came to the door. " We are lookin' for this lady's room," says he. " Mrs. ?" " Mrs. Cappen Slowly," says I. " This is mine," says a voice. So we went on to the next door. " Somebody is tryin* to break ,in, John," says a woman. " I've got a loaded pistol under my pillow," says what I did sup- pose to be her husband. " So whoever is there beware." "What a coward!" says the kind gentleman, knockin' at the next. But it wus the same old story — they hollered and screeched and swore, and none of the rooms wus mine. " I'll call a waiter, ma'am," says the gentleman. So up came one arter he had rung, and looks at me standin' with my tumbler of brandy and water, and grins. "Can't find your room, ma'am?" says he. "Why it's twenty- three." "My!" says I. "In there I have been, and found a person snorin'." " I'm certain sure, ma'am," says he. " No," says I. ?< It isn't that." "Then you've mistook the floor," says the gentleman. And perhaps I had, so oh* we went and all over the house again, 62 WERNER'S READINGS everybody swearin' and screaming and offerin' to shoot, and still no room for me. The waiter and the gentleman looked at each other, and the gen- tleman says : ' 'You must try twenty-three, ma'am." Says I, " I did. But if you don't believe me, there's a man in there a-bed snorin'." So the gentleman pulled open the door, and the snores came out like a patent coffee-mill a-grindin'. " You are right, ma'am," says the gentleman. " Waiter, go and find out directly what this lady's number really is." So away he went, and back he comes. " Cappen and Mrs. Slowly's room is number twenty-three," says he. " Then," says the gentleman, " some stranger has gone in by ac- cident or design. We must have him out." " Oh, if he is a robber and a desperado he may shoot you "both," says I. " So he may. Better call the landlord," says the waiter. And off he went, and back he- 'es*ae with the landlord and an- other gentleman, and we told 'em what it wus. "Some gentleman who has been drinkin' more than wus good for him I suppose," says the landlord, and in he walked. " Come," says he, "you've made a mistake, sir. This is a lady's room." The man only snored. Then he shook him. All of a sudden out he bounded and made at us. I ran and screamed. So did the rest. Then the man held the door ajar and peeped out. " What ails ye all, you lubbers ?" he hollers. " Is the house a-fire, or what do you rouse a man out of his berth for in the mid- dle watch ?" " I beg your pardon," says the landlord; "there's a little mistake. This is Cappen Slowly's room." " I know it," says the man, " and that's why Cappen Slowly is here." u La !" says I, "if it ain't the cappen come home unbeknownt AND RECITATIONS. 63 to me. And it was him in bed all the while and not a stranger/* And so it wus, and twenty-three wus my room, after all. The landlord and the gentleman and the waiter wus all po- lite, but they laughed, notwithstanding. And Tin ashamed to show my face, for the cappen says they'll lay it all to the brandy and water, of which I only took one swallow,, and spilt the rest, or my name ain't Sarah Ann Slowly. THE TRAGEDY AT DODD'S PLACE. T_TE came into the store with a face full of misery, and sat down upon a box "beside the stove and began to cry. It was a queer thing for a man like that to do — a great, rough laborer fifty years of age. Some dreadful trouble must have come upon him to make him show his sorrow in that way. The strangers stared sympa- thetically. After awhile the proprietor of the store said : " Well, neighbor, you seem to be in trouble ; can we help you any?" The man did not look up ; he shook his head and said : " No, no, no. It's very kind of you, but nobody can help me. I suppose you think I'm an old fool ; but she was all the family I had, and she's dead ; " and a great tear splashed down upon the floor. " She's dead. You can't do me any good now ; but if you'd come around to my little shanty there about nine o'clock last night you might have done some good, I dunno. When a man is deter- mined to make a brute of himself he'll do it, perhaps ; but if there'd been some one there to say, i Dodd, what on airth are you about?' why, mebbe — I dunno, though, I was mad. When a man's mad and has had a glass too much, what's the use of talking to him? It's fixed things for me. Anyway — Lord forgive me ! she's dead." The tears splashed down again ; but the people looked at him with faces that had lost a little sympathy. "You didn't, didn't do anything to bring it on, whatever it was?" 64 WERNER'S READINGS said an old lady with a large basket on her arm. " I shouldn't have thought it of you." " Yes, I did, I did," sobbed the man. " If it hadn't been for me it never would have happened. I loved her too. Yes, I did love her. Nobody could say she'd ever had a hard word from me before in all the days we'd lived together ; but last night I'd had a glass too much, and I stopped at the butcher's down in the village and bought a bit of steak — a man wants a change from pork once in a way — and she was fond of steak, she was ; and I jest fetched it in and said to her : ' We'll have a supper to-night, eh ? ' and she sort of nodded and winked at me, jest as jolly, and then I went out to the well to draw water, and, as a body does sometimes when a body is in a hurry, I lost the bucket off, and I was a terrible time finding it, and when I went in — well, you see, I went in with, an appetite — and there she sat, and — well, I ain't dainty, but I couldn't have touched that steak to save me. I got madder than I ever was before, and I jest around and gave her a kick. Yes, I, did. If I was to be hung for it to-morrow I'd have to own up. I kicked her." "You brute !" said the woman with the basket ; " kicked her because your steak didn't suit you ! Well may you cry." ", Yes'm," said the man. " You can't speak harder to me than I ieel to myself. ' I kicked her in the side, and what is more, I opened the door and I kicked her out of it, and then I jest sat down alongside my fire and talked the worst kind to myself— I did in- deed; and I said I'd never let her in again. Yes'm, you can look as you like at me ; I deserve it ; and then I went to bed." " Went to bed and left her out in the cold ? " said the old lady. " Never seeing whether she was dead or not ?" " Yes, I did, and more than that, I went to sleep. I slept sound, too ; and what do you suppose waked me ? Why, her voice — I knew it from a thousand. It was the awfulest shriek, and then another, and then another, and it came all over me what I'd done. I'd turned her that had slept alongside of me winter nights more years than I could remember, out into the cold night. I'd kicked her out. Oh, I was sober then, I tell you. I saw what a brute I was, to do a thing like that, all for a bit of paltry steak, and I got AND RECITATIONS. 05 up and I went to the door and I called, but she didn't come. I called again, and then I heard her scream, bnt lainter and farther off ; and then I felt a kind of horror coming over me, and I dressed myself and took my lantern and went out. I walked this way and that. I looked and I called. I swung the lantern low and I held it high. There wasn't a sign of her ; and at last I got down to Bolter's pond, there by the edge of the woods, you know, and I heard a kind of growling ; and past me, all in a hurry, as they go when they've been doing mischief, flew those dogs of Bolter's — fierce devils ! but they knew enough to be afraid of me then. " And when I saw them my heart stood, still, and I swung the lantern low again, and I saw her. She lay alongside the pond, and her gray hair was dabbled in blood, and the marks of the dogs' teeth were on her neck ; and I jest took her up in my arms and carried her along the road home and brought her to the fire, and there I cried over her and called her all the pet names I used to call her when I first had her a little young thing ; but it wasn't any use — she was jest stilf and cold, and I laid her down on the bed, and there she's laid ever since. Oh, it's dreadful !" " Yes, and you deserve to be hung," said the old lady; "but now suppose she isn't dead, and maybe she isn't. Let us go over with you, and stop and fetch the doctor. Folks have been brought to that seemed dead." " Well, I'll do it," said the man ; " but it's no use, I know." Then the proprietor of the store called his wife to wait on it, and he headed a procession of his customers, and they all went to Dodd's cabin, calling on the doctor as they passed his house, and taking him with them. When they came to the house no one cared to be the first to go in ; but at last the doctor, as being best used to such things, opened the door. It was a mean little room, fur- nished only with a table, two chairs, some shelves and a bed, and on this bed sat an old gray cat washing her face. As soon as Dodd's eyes rested on this animal he uttered a cry of joy and flew to her side ; but she at once set up her back and uttered a loud miaoui, while her tail swelled to immense propor- tions. 66 WERNERS READINGS " Oh, I don't mind, I don't mind/' said Dodd. " I deserve you should be mad at me ; anything, anything, so as you're alive. She's come to life again. Glory, glory, glory !" " Why, you don't mean to say yon were talking about a cat all the while?" screamed the woman with the basket. " You said she didn't cook your meat properly, and — " " No'm," said Dodd. " I meant to say she ate most of it up for me, and tore and chawed what she didn't eat ; but she's welcome. So that she's alive, I don't care. Oh, make up, Pussy ; your own old Dodd will never do it any more." MRS. SMITH IMPROVES HER MIND. T TRIED to improve my mind one afternoon. I resolved I'd have opinions on all subjects; so, as washing, ironing, and baking were done for the week, and the children out for a walk with the nurse-girl, I took "Squashem on the Human Mind" from a shelf, and sat down in the corner. I chose him rather than " Snooks on Evolution " because he wasn't so thick; but the words were very long, and I'd never heard most of them before, and he wrote as if I'd contradicted him and he wouldn't put up with it; but I perse- vered. I read one paragraph over three times. It must have been about something, but I couldn't tell what. It seemed as if the man was doing his best to bother people; but I read the paragraph over again, and then I felt that if I read a little more I might get some notion about it, and that perhaps it meant — I don't know what. It sounded very improving. If I couldn't understand it, perhaps I could learn it off and say it when people were quoting out of other reason books. One doesn't like to seem stupid. I studied five min- utes, then up came Anna Maria, the cook : " Please'm," she said, " there's a gentleman at the door selling soap,and I think you ought to buy some, 'cause he hasn't got no legs." The plea was unanswerable. I bought the soap, and having re- covered from the qualms excited by the spectacle of the soap mer- chant, took up my book again. I read a little more, and was obliged AND RECITATIONS. 67 to put cologne on my handkerchief. I felt like one going mad. Did he mean anything, or was I [a fool ? However, I went back to my first principles and studied by rote, rocking backward and for- ward, and beating my breast, as I used to do at school ; but this time it was Martha who came up stairs to tell me that the coal would be out to-morrow, and the stationary tubs were leaking, and that the range wanted new bars, and she'd like to have an afternoon out if I could spare her. I spared her. Then I went at my book again. Lights flashed before my eyes. I came to words I didn't understand, and looked for them in the dictionary, and they were not there. I wondered whether, if the man really were trying to teach people to reason, he could not make the thought plainer to them, and whether he wasn't only showing off. Sometimes I thought he might not know what he meant himself. But I studied away, and at intervals cook came to tell me it was like Martha's impudence to go out and leave her, and an agent came to get me to subscribe to a new biography of somebody, and an unknown man called who said he remembered me in my infancy, and wanted fifty cents to go to his home with, and Miss Samanthy Tuttle came to spend the afternoon, and I put the reason book away. But at breakfast time next morning I re- membered what I had learnt, and I felt that I'd like to show Mr. Smith that I had as much mind as that Miss Splash he talks so much about; so I just said: "Mr. Smith, it is not the embodiment of the aggregation that most affects the conglomerate exhumation of thought in entity so much as the carbonation of sudorific petrefaction through which the molecules of prescience fail to precipitate themselves even amidst the sporadic growth of entirety." I'm sure I got it right; but Mr. Smith jumped up, rushed across the room, cried out: "Augusta, my dear, do you know me?" and sent for the family doctor. Then I had to explain. Since then I've left off trying to improve my mind — in that way. With so many interruptions as I have, books that are Chinese puzzles for the mind had better be let alone. Only, I don't think it's right to write 'em; do you ? 08 WERNERS READINGS PAYING HER FARE. T~\ RIVER peeping through his little window and addressing a stout lady passenger : "Fare, ma'am." Stout Lady — " I've paid." Driver — " You haven't." Stout Lady — " You tell a story. I have." Driver — "You haven't." The horses becoming restive, the driver turns his attention to them; flicks half-a-dozen boys off the platform with his whip, stops for a furious passenger who has been chasing the car for a block, and returns to the charge. "I want your fare, ma'am." New Passenger — "Mine? Why you ought to be ashamed of yourself! I have paid." Driver — "I know you have. That other old lady's." New Passenger — " Old lady — well !" Driver — " The old lady with the big shawl. You know (looking at the stout lady) who I mean well enough. Pay your fare, ma'am." Stout Lady — "I tell you I have. This here lady saw me pay it" — pointing to a timid young person in the corner. Timid Young Person — "Yes, Mr. Driver, if you please, I think I saw this lady go up to the box — if it wasn't some other lady, and I'm not mistaken." Stout Lady — "No, it was me. There now." Driver — " There wasn't a cent in the box. I'd jest shook it down. I'm not going to pay your fares out of my jacket. Here, pay up." Stout Lady (appealing to passengers generally) — "It a'n't the vally of the money; it a'n't the worth of five cents; it's the frinciidle. I a'n't goin' to pay twice." Chorus of Passengers — "No, don't you do it. It's a matter of principle." Polite French Gentleman in the corner — "Till 1 madame permit me ?" RECITATIONS. 69 Stout Lady— " JVo, I won't." French gentleman spreads his hands and shrugs his shoulders. The driver, after performing his multitudinous duties for a while, becoming entangled with a cross-car, and holding single combat with an intoxicated man who desires to enter the conveyance, ap- pears again at his little window and says: " Look here, ma'am, I've seen this dodge before. Pretty soon you'll be getting down. You're keeping it up. to beat me out o' a ride. Now put your fare in that box, or I'll stop the car and set you off." French Gentleman (to driver) — "If I might be allow, I shall say von vord." Driver — "You open your mouth if you dare. Pay up, ma'am." Stout Lady — " I've paid once, and all the wild animals in the menagerie couldn't tear it out of me again, nor get me off this car." Passengers greatly affected. Spokesman — " Ah, ma'am, if all had your spirit things would be different very soon." Stout Lady — "It's a plan and a plot, as well I know, to take in double fares from us poor critters. I hev heerd that the drivers that brings in double fares gets a present." Spokesman — " To be sure ; that explains it all. I've got the clew now." Serious Passenger — "We'll uphold you in your righteous course, ma'am." French Gentleman — " Zere is von leetle explaynayceong." No one takes any notice of him. Car stops. Enter driver. Old lady turns pale. Passengers double up their fists. Driver — "Now pay up." Stout Lady — " I have." French Gentleman (starting to his feet) — " Ah, zis rendairs it to becom necessaire. Zere is von grand mistake." Driver — " You'll find it one if you interfere." French Gentleman (wildly) — "But, madame! Behold! 'Viz i your admirable goodsens you vill comprehend." Stout Lady — "I don't understand Dutch." 70 WERNERS READINGS French Gentleman — "But behold in ze graceful elevacions of ze robe of madame* ze five sens." All follow the direction of his finger. The fare under discussion is seen lying in a fold of the stout lady's overskirt." Stout Lady — "La! I must have dropped it there when I went to put it in the box." Driver — " Passle of fools!" Passengers (to French gentleman) — " Why couldn't you speak before giving this lady all this trouble ?" SCENE IN A STREET CAR. T ATE afternoon. Oar full of business men going home. Enter lady with numerous parcels bearing the stamp of prominent dry-goods establishments. Polite gentleman rises and waves his hand toward his vacated seat. Enter second lady with more shop- ping parcels. First lady — "Why, Mrs. Clump, is that you? Sit right down." Mrs. Clump — "Oh, Mrs. Bump! To think of meeting you. You sit down." Tumbles into old gentleman's arms. Mrs. Bump — " I couldn't think of it. You take the seat." Mrs. Clump seats herself and says: "Thank you, Mrs. Bump." Second gentleman rises. Mrs. Bump says: "Oh, thank you!" treads on polite gentleman's corns, knocks oft' another gentleman's hat, and seats herself. A lady passenger rises to leave the car. Mrs. Clump exclaims: " Thank goodness, a place for my bundles!" and deposits them on the seat. A lady on the other side rises. Mrs. Bump cries, "How lucky! a place for mine, too!" and arranges her bundles, While a gouty old gentleman glares at the parcels, and a lame young man clings to the strap and sighs. AND RECITA1U0NS. ■ 71 REBECCA'S REVENGE. C AMANTHY PRICE and Rebecca Jane Judd was real close and ^ pertickeler friends fur a considerabul length o' time, and I suppose they kinder expected they allers would be; but nobody kin foretell events with any certainty, even if you pay 'em twenty- five cents fur doin' on't, as I was fool enough to do once, and heerd I was to hev two husbands and ride in my coach ; and the first hasn't come yet, though there's no tellin' what might happen; fur there was Peggy Barker, got to be thirty without thinkin' of hevin' nobody, and then had three. But Samanthy and Rebecca was what I was a-talkin' of. They was real friends until Peleg Worthington came along and kinder courted 'em alternate. Fur a while he ran arter Rebecca, and fur a while be ran arter Samanthy, and then he sot down and kept steady company with Rebecca, and then he broke flat off and kept steady company with Samanthy. That ended it. The two hadn't treated each other well, but, as Rebecca said, after Peleg had been her company, no friend would have encouraged him. This time the affair was settled, and the two used to go walkin' with their arms about each other's waists, right past Rebecca's window, and she got aggravated. It was nat'ral she should. She said everythin' she could lay her tongue to against Saman- thy, but Samanthy could do the same by her; and then she told everybody all about Peleg, and she thought and thought what she could do to spite 'em, and she couldn't think of anything, until one night she remembered that Samanthy was awfully afraid of ghosts, and made up her mind to hide in the lane, outside the back gar- den; and when Peleg had gone off, pop up and scare Samanthy. Perhaps she wanted to frighten her to death. Jealousy is an awful thing, I'm told. Not that I've ever experienced anythin' of that natur'. Anyway Rebecca wanted to frighten Samanthy as much as she could, and she took one of her ma's best sheets and made it into most an awful-looking wrap, and sewed black calico on fur eyes, 72 WERNER'S READINGS nose, and month, and cut a couple of holes to look through, and waited until night. At half-past nine she went out o' the house with her bundle, and hid in the bushes. But she waited quite a spell, and when they did come out they aggravated her more by walkin' up and down kissin.' She'd got on her fixin's by this time, and she was most an awful object, and she was gettin' pretty stiff squattin' there in the damp. When Peleg did go away at last she was rather anxious to get through hauntin' Samanthy; and she popped up all of a sudden and tumbled down again. However, Samanthy hadn't seen her. She stood still, lookin' sentimental arter Peleg; and Rebecca, hevin' got her feet out of tangle, stalked round awful solemn, and stood starin' at Samanthy and pintin' at her in an awful manner. Now Samanthy was afraid of ghosts, and ef this had been quite unexpected she'd hev flopped down on the ground half dead, and mebbe really expired on't; but jest a minute before, she'd looked around, and she'd seen Eebecca scramblin' up. She knew Rebecca's stockin's and shoes as well as she did her own ; so she guessed in a minute what it meant, and 'stead o' faintin' or havin' a fit she called out: "Peleg Worthington! Peleg Worthington! Here's somebody up to mischief." And back flew Peleg. Now Rebecca was scared 'stead of Samanthy. Off she started across a lield, and after her came Peleg. He thought it was some boy, and Samanthy stood laughin' to see the ghost pick up its skirts and run. Rebecca was a good runner, and she hoped to get out of sight long enough to hide somewhere; but she'd forgot where she was, and all of a sudden somethin' happened, she didn't know what at first. Down she went into what seemed to her the bowels of the airth. 'T wasn't, though. She'd forgot that there was a tan yard not far off, and that one of the vats was here. That was what she fell into, and she'd e'en a'most rather hev stayed there than to hev Peleof fetch a ladder and fish her out, as he did. He was very polite. Said ef he'd knowed 'twas only a little bit of fun he wouldn't hev run so hard, and hadn't no idee 'twas a lady. But AND RECITATIONS. 73 Samanthy took the ghost dress off and kept it. She wiped poor Rebecca dry, and lent her an old gown to go home in. But she kept that ghost rig, and hung it out on the lines " to dry," she said, fur several days. It was awfully stained, but there was one white place left, and on that was marked " R. J. Judd," as plain as print. Rebecca had left the marked corner of the sheet in. As for poor Rebecca, she was awfully stained, a kinder red-brown color in spots, and she didn't come to her right complexion fur three weeks, so they said; anyway she didn't show herself fur that time. Seems to me she met with a kind of a jedgment; though you couldn't blame her fur get tin* riled, could you? And now, Mrs. Brown, will you hev your little boy's pants long or knicker- bockers? HER FIRST STEAM-ENGINE. T "WAS a-walking along, comfortable and quiet, with a jar of jelly for poor sick Mrs. Spruce, and I was feeling real good, too, for the hay was in and butter had sold well; and I'd picked a big bunch of pennyroyal, and was wondering whether the long-iron rods I saw were the railroad the men-folks talked so much about — for I hadn't been over that way since they fixed it — when, all of a sud- den I heard a shriek, and then another, and I looked up, and there I saw skirring along full split toward me the most awful thing/ It was as big as ten elephants, and had a great pair of fiery eyes, and a long tongue, and it was as black as ink. And while I was a wondering what it could be, it snorted fire at me, and shrieked again. 1 And then I felt to know 'twas Satan come after me for my sins. And I shrieked, too, and I went down on my knees and^prayed to be spared — spared for improvement! And something grabbed me. And I said, " Don't take me! don't take me \ " for I thought it was him. But when I looked up, it was only a smoky looking kind of man, with a flag in his hand, and he held me tight an^ 74 WERNER'S READINGS pushed me over the irons,, and said he: ei Old lady, you came about as nigh being run over as you ever will, and miss it !" And said I, " I'm spared ?" " Thanks to me, yes," said he. " Don't you ever walk along a track again when a train of cars is coming." Then I began to know. " Was that a steam-engine?" I asked. And he laughed so that I didn't tell him I thought it was Satan. But I told my husband when I got home; and I've always reckoned the Evil One must look more like that than anything else ever since. HEN Jabez Chow came courtin' Corianna Dowly, Granther Peeks was jest as mad as hops. You see, Corianna she had kep' house fur granther quite a spell, and he didn't want to spare her, she made such nice griddle-cakes. He was very fond of griddle-cakes. He hadn't teeth to eat nothin' hard, and she made 'em fur him fur breakfast, dinner, and supper. So, when Jabez purposed and Corianna accepted him, granther said "No," and said he'd cuss her ef she disobeyed him. Now, Corianna could have done what she was a minter fur all Granther Peeks; fur she was risen thirty. But she was a pious gal, and she felt as ef her granther's cuss would sort o' blight her; so she told Jabez she couldn't marry him nohow until granther either died or give in, only she wasn't able to help herself from meetin' him after granther had gone to bed — jest where the punkin patch j'ined outer the blueberry medder, and the old popler grew. Well, some mean sneak went and told granther about it, and he follered her one night, and found 'em kissin'; and when he seen that, he jest up and cussed her and drove her home with his stick. Corianna was sobbin' as ef her heart would break. "You cussed me, granther," she kep' a-sayin'; "and now it don't make no matter what I do. Seem' I'm cussed, I'll jest marry Jabez any way." CORIANNA'S WEDDING. AND RECITATIONS. 75 Well, Granther Peeks he felt he'd made a mistake, and he kinder coaxed her up, and said he'd take the cuss back. But when she waked up next day, meanin' to run away and marry Jabez, she found granther had been before her. He'd nailed, and locked, and barred the whole house up as ef it was a prison, and lef jest a little hole in the kitchen shutter fur her to see to cook by. The front door he kept the key of in his pocket. "T guess we won't have any more meetin's by moonlight, my dear," says he, sardonic as ever could be. " When stores is needed I'll go oat, and you've got a pump in the kitchen." " You don't mean to lock me up this way fur good, granther?" says Oorianna. " I shall die of want of air. So will you." " I guess 1 kin stand it," says granther. " When you want fresh air you kin stick your head out of that there appychure in the shut- ter; and to-day I want pancakes with rawsberry jam into 'em and lots of coffee. I worked real hard last night puttin' up them fas- tening and I want stren'thenin'. She jest looked at him when he said that; she didn't durst trust herself to say nothin'. "Don't goggle at me, Corianna. It's worse than sassin'." So while she was a-fryin' the cakes, she kep' sayin' over and over to herself, " Now I lay me," and " Twinkle, twinkle, little star," to keep back her wickedness. She'd slaved fur that old man and she'd been fond of him, and this is what had come of it. She told us all this through the hole in the shutter. We got kinder scared, you know, seein' the house shet up, and went to call, but didn't get let in; but arter awhile, when we'd knocked and knocked a spell to the front door and the side door, we went round to the back, and there was poor Corianna's face a-stickin' out of the hole in the shutter. The tears rolled down her cheeks as she told the story, and We had to cry too. Maria Brown, she was jest proposin' breakin' down the door and carryin' poor Corianna off, when a upstairs shutter opened and Granther Peeks poked his head out. '* See here, folkses," said he, " a man has a right to keep his house shet or open as he pleases, and to order his wimmin folks as he sees fittin'. You tech bolt, or bar, or lock, or hook, on my premises, 76 WERNER'S READINGS and I'll shoot you down fust and have you took up fur burglars afterward, and I'd hev the law on my side, tu." Then he showed us a big boss pistol- and says he, "It's loaded/' and we scattered. But I wrote on a piece of paper, " I'll tell Jabez," and gave it up to Corianna, pretendin' to kiss her good-bye. And never was I so thankful that I oilers carried a pencil for new recipes. I kep' my promise, and that night Jabez pranced about the house, but couldn't get a peep at her. No more he couldn't fur a couple of days. But at last he thought of tootin' through a fish horn. If there was anythin' Granther Peeks liked, it was fish. So he says to Corianna: " Peek out, Corry, and see ef that's shad; shad's 1 in season." So Corry poked her head out of the hole and saw Jabez bio win' the horn, and as soon as he saw her he up and kissed her at the shutter hole. "Keep up courage, Corianna; this thing can't last long." "I sha'n't," says Corianna. "Granther says the law can't make a man open his doors, and I don't reckon it can ; and nobody has a right to demand my freedom, as fur as I know." " Your husband would." " I ain't got none." " Have one." (i How be I to go to my weddin' ?" " Let your weddin' come to you." "Corry, how's the fish ?" says granther from inside. "It isn't shad," says Corry, "and I guess it's stale." " Oh," says granther, " don't buy none ef it's stale !" "1 sha'n't," says Corry; " I'll look keerful." Out o' the winder she sticks her head again. "When your granther is at tea, Corianna," says Jabez, ''you come to the hole. Things will be fixed all right after that. Keep up your sperits." " How's the fish ?" asks granther. "Awful!" says Corianna, givin' Jabez a kiss and drawin' her head in. She felt lots happier, fur she had confidence in Jabez, though AND RECITATIONS. 77 she didn't know how he was goin' to fix it. That evenin' she came down to tea all dressed up, and she made Granther Peeks a lovely lot of cakes and an omelet, and he sat down to table with a crash towel under his chin, and began to eat as ef he hadn't had anythin' fur a fortnight; and as soon as he did so Corianna began to fan herself with a big palm-leaf fan that oilers stood behind the lamp, and says she: " Oh, fur a breath of air. I've got to have a breath of air or choke !" " You kin git it at the hole in the winder, then/ 5 says Granther Peeks. " You know my reggylations." Then Corianna she flew to the hole and she poked her head out, and there she saw a sight ! Close against the house stood Jabez Chow, with white gloves and a white tie onto him; and behind him was his brother, Plummer Chow, ditto; and t'other side was Sally Post, all rigged up in white, with a bouquet, for bride-maid; and between them was Dominie Chalmers, that had baptized her; and next him was Dominie Brown, and all over the garden was scattered the fust residents of the village, and all the little boys and gals was perched on the fences; and the man with melons had stopped his cart to see the spectacle, and there was Squire Peeler, Justice of the Peace, perched on top of the wood-shed — m y on ly one ! The time will soon be here when I shall be in a position to snap my fingers at fate and set up as my own boss. Then we shall have no more of these cruel partings." "And you will be true to me, love ?" "As I always am. By the way, you did not forget to put that photo you had taken especially for me into my gripsack, did you ?" "Oh dear, no; are you sure you will look at it sometimes, love ?" "You wicked little doubter! you know I should be wretched without at least such a precious semblance of my darling one to look at daily, nightly." Draw the veil of charity over his grief, and the treachery of one in whom he had such unbounded confidence. In brief, she, his only love, his pet, his wife, had secretly planned to make him wretched. She had taken that photograph from his gripsack, and 140 WERNER'S READINGS was gloating over his misery when he should discover that only memory remained to him, for the time being, of his darling's looks. " The dear fellow, how he will scold me for the trick; but I will send him the photo just as soon as I hear from him." Thus appeasing her conscience she waited for his first letter. It came from Chicago. With eagerness she broke the seal and read : "My Heart's Delight: Got here 0. K. this a.m. Have been wrestling with the trade all day, and a tough time I've had of it! Weary and fagged, I have retired to my room, shut out the gilded atmosphere of sin that envelops this terrible city, and taken from my satchel your sweet picture. It is before me as I write. I shall kiss it when I have said my evening prayers. It will rest under my pillow. It is my one solace until I hold you, my darling one, in these faithful arms again." Thus far she read, and toppled over on to the floor. What conso- lation she found there it would be hard to say; but a great deter- mination rose with the stricken wife, who went out an hour later and sought a telegraph office. Act II. — The Drummer m Chicago. The drummer had been saying his prayers abroad on this partic- ular evening, and arriving at his hotel about midnight, tired and exhausted, he was startled at finding a telegram from his only love. It was indeed a rude shock to his spiritual emotions. He was not in the habit of receiving such swift replies from his pet, but one could not expect an outraged wife to transmit her feelings by the slow mail. He read the dispatch: " You are no longer the only drummer that is not a liar, as you have always claimed. Let the fraternity make you their chief in the art. Had you taken the pains even to look for the photo you say your prayers to, you would have discovered that I had, to tease you, removed it. My faith in you is dead, dead!" "What the dickens did I write her anyway? By Jove! I must have been piling on the taffy. That's what a man gets for trying to make a woman feel good ! Poor little dear, what a fume she must be in ! Lucky for me she gave her grievance away. AND RECITATIONS. 141 dear, what geese these women are. anyway. Bless her little noddle, her faith in me shall be resurrected." Forthwith he telegraphed to a knowing friend: "Send me first mail photo of my wife. Beg, borrow, steal it somehow. Mum's the word. Will write particulars." Act III. — The Betukn - . About a week later a drummer, in dignified martyrdom, stood face to face with a stern but very wept-out wife. She had expected to find him meek and humble, but he gazed upon her with scorn, and passed to his room in silence. With* quick impulse she fol- lowed, thanking Heaven he had not locked her out. After sur- veying him a few moments, she opened fire : " Well, what have you to say for yourself ?" "I?" "Yes, you." " woman, were it not for the overmastering love I bear you, I should never look upon you more !" " Can you explain the deception you tried to practice upon me ?" " Can you obliterate the insult put upon your husband in that unwomanly dispatch ? A woman with so little confidence in her husband had better live alone. For my part, I am not only dis- gusted but disenchanted I" She holds the letter before his eyes: "Bead that! Knowing you had no picture of mine, what was I to think ?" "What any intelligent, right-minded wife would have thought. You should have said: ' My husband is incapable of deceit — he has my picture somehow/" "But you did not have it!" "0 woman, without an atom of faith!" He produced the photograph. "0 darling, forgive me! You did have my picture, didn't you? This old thing, taken long before we were engaged! Why, I didn't know you ever had one of these." The restored confidence caused the pretty blue eyes to swim in tearful joy. She threw her arms about his neck, begging his par- don, and caressing his coat-collar 142 WERNER'S READINGS " My dear, let this be a warning. Never doubt me in the future. No matter what appearances may be, remember I can always look you squarely in the eyes and say, ' I am innocent/ " And she believed him! RECITATION LESSON-HELPS. While gesture and emphasis depend upon the reader's interpre- tation of a selection rather than upon any fixed rules, yet often- times suggestions may help to an interpretation of the author's meaning; and in a dramatic piece directions may be quite essential to a proper interpretation with regard to presenting it before an audience. In this light I offer the following suggestions. Act I. — Announce your selection with what explanation you see fit. Then walk rapidly down stage, right, with both arms extended. Clasping the hands of your supposed wife, exclaim: "My love, my only one!" etc., and the selection is opened. At the conclusion of the speech " Then we shall have no more of these cruel partings," gently place your right arm about her. The drummer is a little affected in his devotion, and you should suggest this by tone and manner. His wife looks up tenderly, as if snuggled in his arms, with a shy witchery in her eye as she says : "And you will be true to me, love ?" In reading the letter, make your delight at hearing from your husband apparent, and also the eagerness to know what he has to say about the photo. Some comments as you read along will heighten the effect, as adding after reading the line "and a tough time I've had of it," the words "Poor fellow!" and again after the line "which envelopes this terrible city," "the dear boy!" continu- ing "and taken from my satchel ," — look puzzled and repeat, "and taken from my satchel, your sweet picture." Read the rest slowly, emphatically, at first somewhat bewildered, but increasing in speed and emphasis as the truth dawns at the climax, "until I hold you in these faithful arms again." With these words crush the letter in the left hand, in which you have been holding it, throw the right hand to your head in despair, and stagger backward. A slight scream would not be too much. Then step forward to your audi- AND RECITATIONS. 143 ence, and with a suggestive smile say, " Thus far she read and top- pled over," etc. Act II. — The drummer reads the telegram in more of a careless manner. You might give a low whistle after the first sentence. As you conclude reading the dispatch, drop the head, run your fingers into your hair, and say meditatively : " AVhat the dickens did I write her anyway ?" Walk up and down the stage meditat- ing, and suddenly break into a laugh as you exclaim, " By Jove! I must have been piling on the taffy," and finish in a gay vein. Act III. — She follows her husband into his room. Look at him; let the muscles of the mouth twitch, and finally say, "Well!" Wait as if expecting an answer; and when none comes, make an- other effort : " What have you to say for yourself ?" Her courage at this point is somewhat wavering. The drummer turns his head toward her and says, sarcastically, " I ?" The answer comes with more determination, " Yes, you." In his retort a little later, which closes with the words, "For my part I am not only disgusted but disenchanted," turn away and bow the face in the hands. As the drummer, keep cool and speak calmly but with force; you are playing a part and know your ground; but as the wife, you must appear agitated, nervous, and irritable, which comes to a climax in the response: "But you did not have it." This is her last stroke. Then, as the drummer, you hand the photograph to your wife, as the text suggests. Her anguish is nOw at an end. Come forward with extreme ani- mation, throw your arms about your husband's neck, " darling, forgive me," etc. As the drummer replies with mild but loving reproach, he should look squarely into his wife's eyes, and end on the words "I am innocent," with extreme dignity. Then turn to your audience, and, with a significant smile and shrug of the shoul- ders, end the selection, "And she believed him!" 144 WERNER'S READINGS ON THE BEACH. T_J E. Belle, Fve sought you all the morning; I return to town to-day; Pardon if I give no warning, There is something I must say. She. Sought so long! You must be weary! Are you ill? You look quite pale; When you go life will be dreary! Well, I'm ready for your tale. He. I can keep it back no longer. Belle, I need you in my life; Will is strong, but love far stronger; Dear one, will you be my wife ? She. Be your wife ? Your words seem braver Than they seemed in days of yore ; But your love would surely waver Now, as then. Please say no more. He. Ah, you jest! Though once I faltered, Failed your heart to comprehend, Never once my feelings altered, Not alone did I offend. She. Was I fickle in those hours ? Ah, perhaps 'twas better so; 'Mid the score that owned your powers, My poor heart was quite de trop I He. So it ends, then ? I have spoken Words that live until I die; And you smile while hearts are broken! Belle, God bless you, dear! Good-bye! AND RECITATIONS. 145 She. Good-bye ? I could always tease you ! Take my hand before you go; And/ if it would really please you, Keep it, Jack, for weal or woe. WAR'S SACRIFICE. TT was after the din of the battle A Had ceased in the silence and gloom, "When hushed was the musketry's rattle, And quiet the cannon's deep boom. The smoke of the conflict had lifted, And drifted away from the sun, While the soft crimson light, slowly fading from sight. Flashed back from each motionless gun. The tremulous notes of a bugle Rang out on the clear autumn air, And the echoes caught back from the mountains Faint whispers, like breathings of prayer. The arrows of sunlight that slanted Through the trees touched a brow white as snow, On the bloody sod lying 'mid the dead and the dying, And it flushed in the last parting glow. The dark crimson tide, slowly ebbing, Stained red the light jacket of gray; But another in blue sadly knelt by his side And watched the life passing away. Said the jacket in gray: "I've a brother — Joe Turner, he lives up in Maine. Give him these, and say my last message Was forgiveness." Here a low moan of pain Checked his voice. Then: