ACT III.—(_Two years later._) _Parlor in_ GAYLIE GIFFORD'S _house.

Door in flat_, C., _windows each side of it, with drapery

curtains; shrubbery outside. Table_, R. C., _with books, &c.; a

lighted astral lamp upon it. Lounge_, L. _Arm-chair_, R., _with

small table beside it. Easy-chairs_, R. _and_ L. _Should be

handsomely furnished; elegantly, if possible, by adding

statuettes, screens, &c._ MRS. TRUEWORTH _discovered in

arm-chair_, R., _knitting_. MATTIE _sitting at table_, L. C.,

_reading a newspaper_.

_Mattie_ (_dropping paper_). And so at last this cruel war is

over, mother. Richmond has fallen, and our brave soldiers are already

marching homeward. Only think of it! any day, any hour, may bring back

our dear Rob, after four years' absence. Oh! 'twill be a happy return

for all of us.

_Mrs. T._ For you and me, Mattie, yes. I shall see my brave boy

again; you, a noble brother, whose record in the long struggle is

spotless. But how will Gaylie receive him?

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

_Mrs. T._ They parted as lovers: but you know two years ago Wilder

Rowell resigned his command, and returned to Grainlow; that from that

time he has been a constant visitor to this house; that he is always

welcomed by its mistress; that he attends her in all her walks and

drives; that she smiles upon him, and evidently delights in his

company. You know this, and I know it, and I don't like it. There, I've

dropped a stitch!

_Mattie._ Why, mother! I really believe you are jealous of Col.

Rowell's attentions. Do _you_ doubt Gaylie's affection for us, her love

for Brother Rob?

_Mrs. T._ Doubt her affection for us? No! Has she not been a dear

daughter to me for these years? Has she not made us members of her own

household? Have I not had, every day, convincing proofs of her

affection? No, no! bless her dear heart, for Mother Trueworth has a

warm corner in it. It's only for the boy I fear. Suppose he should come

home, and find our Gaylie's heart turned from him, caught by this man

whom I don't like, never did like, and never will like. There goes

another stitch!

_Mattie._ Suppose, suppose! O mother, you ought to be ashamed of

yourself! Why, I should no more doubt Gaylie's love for our Rob, than I

should doubt—

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

_Mattie._ There's another jealous one! He thinks Mr. Rowell is in

love with me, or pretends he does, and continually quarrels with me

about him. But we always make up, and I really believe that it's for

the pleasure of being reconciled every day that he does it.

_Mrs. T._ Ah! Hiram Jenks is a good, honest, smart, reliable young

man: so you be careful, and not quarrel too often. There may be a time

when there will be no reconciliation.

_Mattie._ I'm not afraid of that, mother. He loves me dearly. But I

mean to cure him of this folly the very next time he attempts it.

_Crimp_ (_outside_). Hi! whar's Missy Gaylie? whar she be?

Hallelujum! (_Enters_, C., _running, in a high state of excitement_.)

Babylum am fallen! Got a telegram down dar: de boys am coming dis yer

night, got mos' home. Der a-lighting up down dar. "Johnny am marching

home" double-quick. Yaas, indeed! Whar Miss Gaylie? Hi! lots ob fun.

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

_Crimp._ Don't I tole you? Don't I tole you? I'se jes' gwine to

'luminate dis yer mamsum from de crown to de heel, regardless ob

expense. Hi, golly! Jubilum am a-comun, and de darkies are jes' gwine

into glory. Whar's Miss Gaylie? Whar she be? Golly! I can' hole myself

still: mus' do somfum, or I shall combusticate and smash all to pieces.

Whar's Miss Gaylie? (_Runs off_, L.)

_Mrs. T._ (_rising_). Coming to-night! Dear, dear boy! I must dress

myself to receive him. Just see what a state I'm in,—this old cap and

this poor dress.

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

_Mrs. T._ It's no such thing. I'm looking shabby, and my boy's

coming home. Oh! I wish I had the regal robes of a queen, that I might

receive him as he deserves. Dear, dear boy! (_Hurries off_, L.)

_Mattie._ And so Rob is really coming home: how glad somebody will

be to see him! She care for Wilder Rowell? I, for one, do not believe

it. She's some reason for allowing his attentions: what it is, I cannot

find out. When I ask her, she laughs, and breaks away singing, "Trust

her not, she is fooling thee. Beware! Take care!" But I do trust her.

She is all goodness. (_Enter_ ROWELL, C.)

_Rowell_ (_aside_). Ah! only pretty Mattie Trueworth. If I hadn't

higher aspirations, I should dearly like to make love to that girl.

(_Aloud._) Good-evening, Miss Mattie.

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

_Rowell._ There seems to be a hubbub about this usually quiet

mansion. What is going on?

_Mattie._ Why, don't you know our soldiers are coming home

to-night?

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

_Mattie._ Why, what a man! Don't you read the papers? Don't you

take any interest in the war?

_Rowell_ (_aside_). Not since I resigned two years ago. (_Aloud._)

Oh, certainly! Is Richmond taken?

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

and comes forward._)

_Rowell._ Indeed! show it to me. (_Puts his arm about her waist._

HIRAM _appears at door_, C.)

_Hiram._ Ahem! a-hem! (MATTIE _starts to_ L. ROWELL, _with paper

in his hand_, _starts_ R.)

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

true, all true.

_Rowell._ What! is the news confirmed?

_Hiram_ (_contemptuously_). Confirmed! my _suspicions_ are

confirmed. (_To_ MATTIE.) Oh, you cruel, deceitful, perfidious,

ungenerous, ungrateful, unkind, unjust, un—un—unsociable young woman!

what have you done?

_Rowell_ (_aside_). Hallo! this fellow's in his jealous humor

again. (_Aloud._) Miss Mattie, as you have company, I'll take the

paper, and find the news myself.

[_Exit_ L.

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

_Hiram._ What's the matter? You ask _me_? Matter, what's the

mattie? I mean Wattie, matts the water? Oh, pshaw! I can't speak. My

tongue is paralyzed. False woman! you have shattered the shrine of

affection in this bosom. Young lady, you have burst the bonds of

devotion. Young maiden, you have lacerated my heart, crushed my soul,

blasted my hopes, destroyed my—my—Go, deceitful maid! After my long

devotion, oh! this is too much, after all I have done for you. Oh!

(_Tears hair._)

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

_Hiram._ Eh! well, what I was going to do for you,—marry you. To

see you fondly reclining upon the bosom of another, another's arm about

your waist,—oh, this is torture! madness! (_Tears his hair, and rushes

about stage._) Mattie Trueworth, you are a cartless hoquette; no, a—

_Mattie._ You got the cart before the horse that time, Hiram. How

silly you are! It's all a mistake.

_Hiram_ (_coolly_). Oh! it's a mistake: I'm glad of that; so

let's kiss and make up. (_Approaching her._)

_Mattie._ Stop! you have opened my eyes. You saw his arm about my

waist. Then he loves me. Oh, joy! rapture! bliss!

_Hiram._ Why, Mattie! you don't mean, you can't mean, you can't be

so mean as to say you love Col. Rowell.

_Mattie._ Why not? he's rich; he is the owner of Trueworth Farm;

and I, I might be again its mistress.

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

_Mattie._ You? why, you unjustly suspected me; but then you opened

my eyes. You have my thanks: all else is at an end between us.

_Hiram._ Good gracious! I don't want your thanks. I wouldn't thank

you for your thanks. I want _you_, Mattie. Come, let's make up

(_coaxingly_). Now, do, Mattie, now, do. You ain't a-going to throw me

over for that man?

_Mattie._ Why, he owns Trueworth Farm.

_Hiram_ (_aside_). Confound it! she means it. (_Aloud._) Hang

Trueworth Farm! what's that to a heart filled with devotion! No, don't

be hard on a feller. You know I love you. Come, let's make up. Do, now,

do.

_Mattie_ (_drawing herself up to her full length_). No, sir! You

have trifled with me, and we must part. Seek another mate: be happy if

you can. (_Imitating_ HIRAM'S _coaxing_.) Do, now, do. I wish you well:

particularly, _fare_-well. (_Courtesies, and goes off_, L.)

_Hiram_ (_looks after her_). Why! she's gone. She means it!

Jealous of her? why, it's absurd! She might have known it. I only

wanted to tease her into a reconciliation: these make-ups are so jolly!

But she don't tease well; and now I've set her to setting her cap for

Rowell. Pshaw! Humbug! the jealous game is all up. (_Enter_ CRIMP, L.)

_Crimp._ Hallo, Hi-_ram_! am dat you? Jes' you come down to de

barn wid me. I'll show you, free gratis, for nuffin, no extra charge,

and no postfonemet, de greatest dissemblage ob sky—sky—sky—what dat man

call 'em? _skyrotechnicks_, golly! rickets, fourteen pounders, and—and

Rum-and-candles, and—and Bungola lights, and squabs, and bombs—golly!

Jes' busters; de take de roof right off; yaas, indeed! Come down, do,

Hi-_ram_: gwine to let 'em shoot slam bang, when de boys come home.

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

_Crimp._ Yaas, indeed, Hi-_ram_! gwine to make 'em smell

brimstone. I tole you. Serve 'em right: wish we could get up a

yearthquake: wouldn't be a bit too good for 'em. Come on, Hi. I say,

Hi-_ram_, am you any relation to ole Jim? he was de highest old ram

eber I see. Yah, yah, yah! (_Exit_, C., _laughing, followed by_ HIRAM.

_Enter from_ L., ROWELL.)

_Rowell._ And so the war is over, and the boys are marching home,

and with them comes, of course, Mr. Rob Trueworth. Hang the luck! I

fear that fellow's appearance. Two years ago I resigned my command in

the army for two reasons. First, an unfortunate _rencontre_ with

Trueworth, whom I kept in the ranks after he had been several times

honorably mentioned, awakened the suspicions of Grant, and a

court-martial was threatened; second, a very pressing invitation from

Gaylie to return, the pretext being business which required my

assistance, but the real motive, an evident desire for my society. Of

the first reason, I took good care to let her know nothing; and having

the postmaster, Hosea Jenks, well under my thumb, I am sure she has

received no hint from Trueworth. She has evidently repented of her

folly, and takes kindly to my presence. Never a word about Rob

Trueworth. Yet I seem no nearer the attainment of my heart's desire,

than when I returned. I have assiduously courted her: we walk, ride,

and sail together. I am attentive, devoted, and she enjoys every thing.

But, when I speak of love, she evades it, or talks of her freedom, or

we are interrupted. I will speak plainly: she must be bound to me ere

he returns, or I fear my two-years' campaign will be wasted. Ah! here

she is. (_Enter_ GAYLIE, L.)

_Gaylie._ Oh, isn't it glorious! the war is over. (_Sees_ ROWELL.)

Why, colonel, is that you? Have you been waiting long? I'm so sorry.

_Rowell_ (_taking her hand_). Yes: I have been waiting long, two

years, Gaylie, to give you full assurance that I love you. Is my love

returned?

_Gaylie_ (_excitedly_). Returned! O colonel! have you heard the

news? Our brave soldiers have returned; that is, they are coming home

to-night, crowned with victory. Oh, I'm so happy! ain't you?

_Rowell._ Gaylie, I am miserable.

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

soldier?

_Rowell._ Gaylie, you must listen to me. You evade a question of

the utmost importance to my welfare. I asked you, Do you love me?

_Gaylie._ As you have asked me a dozen times in the last fortnight;

and I answer you as I have before, Wait until the war is over.

_Rowell._ Ah, but the war is over: there is no reason for delay.

Gaylie, will you be my wife?

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

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

_Gaylie._ Then I won't consider it: will that suit you? O colonel!

do you suppose there have been any changes in the regiment?

_Rowell._ Will you answer my question, Gaylie?

_Gaylie._ Will you answer mine, colonel?

_Rowell_ (_biting his lips_). I don't know; I don't care. Boxer,

who took my place, has been made a brigadier-general; but, for the

rest, I know nothing.

_Gaylie._ I wonder if Rob Trueworth is still a private. Perhaps

he's a captain, or a sergeant. I do hope he has risen.

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

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

_Rowell_ (_aside_). That's good. She ignores the other tie.

(_Aloud._) Now, Gaylie, speak. (_Takes her hand._) Surely my devotion

deserves a recompense. Will you? (_Enter_ CRIMP, L., _with a lighted

candle in each hand_.)

_Crimp_ (_speaking as he enters_). Hi! Miss Gaylie, de hole

_circumbendence_ ob de exterior ob de house up stairs am in a blaze ob

glory; lights into all de windows, an' greeze all ober de glass and de

carpets. Took sum pains up dar, I tole you. Shall I light dese yer

windows, Miss Gaylie?

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

_Crimp._ Yaas, indeed! I'm obleeged to you. Jes' put your bright

eyes into de windows, and de illumination up stairs won't be no

circumstance. I'll jes' stick 'em into de bay window, out yunder.

[_Exit_ R.

_Rowell_ (_runs to_ GAYLIE, _and puts his arm about her waist;

takes her hand_). Gaylie, am I never to get an answer? Speak before we

are again interrupted. (MRS. TRUEWORTH _appears_, L.)

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

_Gaylie._ Come in, mother.

_Mrs. T._ No: when two young people are so closely interested in

conversation, an old woman's presence is unpleasant. I'm not blind,

Gaylie Gifford; and I'm not likely to hold my tongue, when I see

injustice done one I love; so I'll go away. O Gaylie! Gaylie! have I

been deceived in you? (_Going._)

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

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

[_Exit_ L.

_Gaylie_ (_comes down_ R. _at table_). Have I wounded her dear

heart? Am I doing right?

_Rowell_ (_approaching_). Gaylie—

_Gaylie._ Silence, sir! Speak to me now, and I shall hate you.

(ROWELL _returns_ L. _Enter_ C. HOSEA JENKS, _followed by_ HIRAM.

MATTIE _enters_ L. HOSEA _comes down_. HIRAM _stops up stage, and tries

to make up with_ MATTIE; _she snubs him_.)

_Hosea._ I—I—really, really, I beg pardon, colonel, if you are

having a _tety-tety_; but I thought you'd like your mail, and so I

brought it. (_Comes down_ L. _of table, and hands letters to_ ROWELL,

_who stands_ R. _of table; then goes back to_ L. C.)

_Rowell._ Ah! thank you, Jenks. (_Aside._) Confound his kindness! I

know you'll excuse me, Gaylie. Here's my mail.

_Gaylie._ Certainly, colonel. (HIRAM _comes down_ R. _of table,

where_ GAYLIE _is standing, and hands her a letter secretly_.)

(_Aside._) And here's mine. (_Presses it to her lips._)

_Rowell_ (_his back to_ GAYLIE). (_Aside._) Here's one for Gaylie,

in the old familiar hand. (_Looks round to her: she is looking down; he

turns to_ L., _and slips it into his pocket; as he does so, she bends

forward, and watches him, then shakes her head_.)

_Gaylie._ Nothing for me, Mr. Jenks? (_She looks at_ JENKS _keenly:

he tries to look in her face, drops his eyes, and nervously plays with

his hat_.)

_Hosea._ Oh, no! Nothing for you, not a thing. Do you suppose I

should have failed to bring them? (_She goes up stage; he comes down_

R.) (_Aside._) That's a lie, a wicked lie. I can't help it. I try; but

it will pop out, anywhere, everywhere. Once I was a punster. "Alas,

poor Jenks! where are your jests now, that were wont to set the table

in a roar?" All lies now.

_Gaylie_ (_goes up, takes_ HIRAM'S _hand_). (_Aside._) Thanks,

faithful sentinel. (_Aloud._) Come, Mattie, we'll go and look at

Crimp's preparations, and leave the colonel to his letters. (_Puts her

arm about_ MATTIE'S _waist, and they go off_ C.)

_Rowell_ (_who has opened a letter, and is reading it, seated at

table_, L.). Confound it! another call for money, and no way to raise

it. (JENKS _starts for door_; ROWELL _looks round_.) Yes; there's

Jenks: he must help me out. Jenks!

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

_Rowell_ (_rising_). Jenks, I must have money at once. I have a

pressing call, and my funds are completely exhausted. Come, you shall

give me fifteen hundred dollars, and I'll transfer to you the Trueworth

Farm.

_Hosea_ (_aside_). That's cool. (_Aloud._) But—but you see,

colonel, I—I—I don't want the Trueworth Farm.

_Rowell._ Neither do I. But I do want money; so look round and

raise it, and don't keep me waiting long (_rises, and comes close to

him_), or Grainlow will have a new postmaster. (_Exit_ C. JENKS _falls

into chair he has left_.)

_Hosea._ New p-p-p-postmaster! well, that's the old threat. Oh,

the villain! This comes of meddling with public affairs. When I was a

private citizen, I was gay and happy, with such a flow of humor,

punning from morning till night. I never pun now; I can't; it's sure to

turn into a lie. I'm a miserable old rascal, that's ashamed to look an

honest man in the face. I'm a swindler, a cheat, a liar, and a coward.

I can't help it. I sold my birthright for a mess of pottage; no,

potash, for it's all lie. O Jenks! when you parted with honesty, you

knocked down a rich estate at an awful sacrifice. I'm in daily dread of

these infernal detectives. In my office, at home, at my table, in bed,

I feel the hand of justice on my shoulder, and the voice of outraged

Uncle Sam thunders in my ear.

_Hiram._ The colonel wants his money, dad.

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

a-going for it. (_Starts up stage._)

_Hiram._ Halt! 'bout face! hold up your head, turn out your toes.

(HOSEA _obeys_.) Now, dad, you will do no such thing!

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

_Hiram._ Come, dad, straighten up; drop that. I've changed that

name with you. You are the boy,—a weak, silly, foolish boy.

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

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

you should?

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

_Hiram._ Why does that man order you to find money for him? Why

does he treat you with such cool contempt?

_Hosea_ (_nervously_). Eh? oh! ha, ha, ha! it's only his way, you

know. We are great friends,—great friends. He got me my office; and,

you know, if I can do him a favor, why, I ought; certainty I oughter be

proud to—to do him a favor: see? (_Aside._) How he looks at me! he

knows it's a lie. I can't help it: it will pop out.

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

coward.

_Hosea._ Coward, boy! this to me?

_Hiram._ Yes, and more. You have sold yourself to this man; you

are accomplices in crime. You have made yourself liable to a long

imprisonment, for you have robbed the mail.

_Hosea_ (_alarmed_). Hush! don't speak so loud, boy! Who told you

this? Do you want to see me hung? do you want—O Hiram, Hiram! pity me,

pity me! I'm a poor old sinner, a poor old sinner! (_Wrings his hands,

falls on his knees, and hides his face._)

_Hiram._ That's the truth, dad; a tool in the hands of a crafty

man. O dad, you were hard on me in the old days! You sought to crush

out my ambition to be manly while yet a boy,—an ambition which should

have been encouraged, not crushed. Your example made others slight me,

and look upon me as a fool. But you were an honest man, and you made me

honest; and for that I shall always be grateful. Now you have parted

with your high estate; sold yourself, body and soul, to the—well, Col.

Rowell is his name. I have kept mine, and I mean to rescue you from the

clutches of this villain.

_Hosea._ No, boy, you can't do that; I'm sold, delivered: it's too

late. I see my folly. But that man! O Hiram! he could deliver me up to

justice: he could have me imprisoned.

_Hiram._ Why, dad, you forget he is your confederate; that, in

sacrificing you, he must betray himself.

_Hosea._ Eh? I never thought of that. Of course he must. What a

fool I have been! He dare not move. I'm safe, I'm safe!

_Hiram._ But I dare, dad, and I will. For four years you have

intercepted letters belonging to Gaylie, and Rob Trueworth. I know it:

I have full proof. Ah! I've watched you closer than you watched me when

I was a boy.

_Hosea._ Yes, yes: but you can't betray me; you couldn't have the

heart. Hiram, I was a good father to you; that is, I tried to be. You

won't give me up to justice?

_Hiram._ You have wronged my friends. Unless you immediately

resign your office, I will give information that shall lead to your

arrest.

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

_Hiram._ He shall not prevent you. You must also decline to

furnish him with money.

_Hosea._ I'll do that, I'll do that!—any thing you ask, Hiram,

only don't give me up.

_Hiram._ He's coming back. Remember, no money to that man. (_Goes

up_ R. _Enter_ ROWELL, C.)

_Rowell._ Why, Jenks, what are you about? Didn't you hear? I want

that money to-night,—must have it. Why are you not after it?

_Hosea._ You want fifteen hundred dollars, colonel?

_Rowell._ That's the sum I named.

_Hosea_ (_comes close to him_). Don't you wish you may get it,

colonel? (_Snaps his fingers in his face._) Do you understand that? not

a dollar from me. You've been drawing heavily on my conscience, but you

can't draw on my bank-account: understand that.

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

_Hosea._ We hang together. That's good, a pun, ha, ha, ha! the

first for many a day. Oh, I'm feeling decidedly better! No, colonel,

you couldn't hang me: you dare not molest me; for we are both in the

same boat.

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

postmaster for Grainlow.

_Hosea._ Do, colonel! the sooner you write to Washington, "Off

with his head: so much for Jenks," the better for said Jenks.

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

_Hosea._ Decidedly I do.

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

dispose of Trueworth Farm?

_Rowell._ What's that to you?

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

_Rowell._ You?

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

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

_Rowell._ Fifteen hundred dollars.

_Hiram_ (_takes a wallet from his pocket, and slaps it on

table_). There's your money.

_Hosea._ The boy's crazy. (_Aside to_ H.) I say, Hiram, what are

you about? You wouldn't let me buy it, and now—

_Hiram._ I want it: you forget you are under suspicion. Uncle Sam

might confiscate your property at any moment, and the farm would go

with it.

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

_Hiram._ If you want the money to-night, write a receipt, and take

it. We will pass the papers in the morning.

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

_Hiram_ (_takes paper from his pocket_). As I have had some

thoughts of making you an offer for the property, I have drawn up an

agreement. Sign that, and I am satisfied.

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

(_Signs._)

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

wallet._)

_Hosea._ Certainly. (_Signs. Aside._) Where could that boy have

got his money?

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

all right.

_Rowell_ (_counting money_). All correct. I will see you at Lawyer

Ware's office, to-morrow at nine. Is that satisfactory?

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

_Hosea._ Yes, to the office, where I shall take the first

opportunity to write to the Postmaster General, resigning my office.

_Rowell._ Do it at your peril!

_Hosea._ No: I shall do it at my office. Ha, ha, ha! Why, I'm

getting back into my old humor, thanks to the boy. What a head! I used

to look in his face, and think I saw a fool. I was wrong: I should have

looked in a glass.

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

Hiram.

_Hiram._ No doubt it will. (_Aside._) If Miss Mattie Trueworth

wants Trueworth Farm, she'll have to look this way. Come, dad!

_Hosea._ Good-by, colonel: if you want your next mail, you'll have

to come for it. (HIRAM _goes up, followed by_ HOSEA; _meet_ GAYLIE

_and_ MATTIE _coming in_; MATTIE _comes down_ R., _is stopped by_

HIRAM; GAYLIE _speaks with_ HOSEA, L. C.)

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

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

_Hiram_ (_tragically_). I know: to the owner of Trueworth Farm!

Mattie, it's hard to lose you, but it's for the best: I see my error. I

cannot win you; and so I freely give you up to a better, a richer

man,—the owner of Trueworth Farm. Farewell! (_Clasps her in his arms

quick, and kisses her: she screams; he runs off_ C.)

_Mattie._ Well, I never! what does he mean? He give me up? He shall

do no such thing. Dear, dear! have I lost him? Hiram, Hiram! (_Runs

off_ C.)

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

_Hosea._ Has he? I must run after him. I can't bear to have him

out of my sight: I'm so proud of him! (_Aside._) He might repent, and

give me up.

[_Exit_ C.

_Rowell_ (_as_ GAYLIE _comes down_). Gaylie, may I ask a favor of

you? I have been making a sale to-night, and have here fifteen hundred

dollars: will you give me your check for it? I want to send it

to-night.

_Gaylie._ Certainly! you'll find my check-book in the next room.

Please bring it to me, colonel. (ROWELL _bows, and exits_ L.; GAYLIE

_sits in chair_ R., _and looks after him_.) That man loves me, for two

years has been my devoted slave; and now the time has come for me to

speak plainly. He tells me there is no longer reason for delay: he is

right. He thinks his long period of devotion deserves a recompense: he

shall have it. And the other, Rob Trueworth, who left here four years

ago,—does he still love me? (_Smiles._) Can I doubt it? Yet I must

speak to-night, speak plainly. He believes that he has won me: I can

see it in his proud step, the triumphant glance of his eye. Is he

right? (_Smiles._) Can I doubt that? (_Enter_ ROWELL L., _with

check-book_.) I'm so sorry to trouble you, colonel! (_Takes book._)

Fifteen hundred, you say? (_Writes check._)

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

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

_Rowell._ Yes: Trueworth Farm.

_Gaylie._ Sold Trueworth Farm? And you refused to sell it to me

four years ago!

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

but I wanted money—

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

check._)

_Rowell._ Thank you. And now, Gaylie, that we are alone, may I once

more press you for an answer? (_Takes her hand, and puts his arm about

her waist._) You know how dearly I love you: make me happy by saying

that you return that love.

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

_Rowell._ Happy? The happiest of men!

_Gaylie_ (_drawing herself up_). Then hear me, Col. Rowell!

(_Enter_ L. MRS. TRUEWORTH, _with shawl and_ _bonnet added to her

former costume, and a large band-box in her hand_.)

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

_Mrs. T._ Before you do, Gaylie, let me get out of this house.

(GAYLIE _goes_ R., ROWELL L.)

_Gaylie._ Mother, what does this mean?

_Mrs. T._ Mother! you have no right to call me by that name: you

have disgraced it. Four years ago you plighted vows with my dear boy;

he went to battle, trusting in your promise: and now another's arms are

about you, another's voice pleading to you for words which tremble on

your lips. O Gaylie! how I have loved you, you may never know; but I

love my boy, and he shall not come here to have his noble heart broken

at the sight of his rival, a favored suitor. No: I thank you for all

your kindness to me, but—my boy's coming, and I'll go to meet him: he

has no one to love him now so tenderly as his old mother, bless him!

'Twill be a hard blow after all his love and hope and faith. O Gaylie,

Gaylie! you've broken my heart! (_Drops her box, and staggers forward_;

GAYLIE _runs, and catches her in her arms_.)

_Gaylie._ O mother, mother! this must not be! Stay here; this is

your home: here Rob will come—

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

_Rowell_ (_aside_). The old lady's complimentary. (_Aloud._) I

think Mrs. Trueworth is right, Gaylie. It would certainly be unpleasant

to young Trueworth to see our happiness.

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

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

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

now hear me.

_Mrs. T._ No, no! I will go. Hark! what's that? (_Distant chorus;

sings the chorus of "Marching through Georgia."_)

_Gaylie._ At last, at last! They've come, mother, they've come.

Hear me. Within myself, and to myself, I made a vow that I would keep

Col. Rowell in suspense until I heard the victorious shouts of our

returning heroes. They come, and I can speak; hear me: Col. Rowell, you

have asked me to be your wife: I answer, No; for I detest you. (MRS.

TRUEWORTH _goes over to chair_, R.)

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

_Gaylie._ Four years ago I defied you; enlisted, for the war

between you and my hero, on his side, not yours. I have kept the faith:

I have battled you from that time to this, and won the victory.

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

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

intercepted our letters.

_Rowell._ No, no! you are mistaken! I—I am innocent of any such

crime. (_Enter_ HIRAM, R.)

_Gaylie._ Here is my witness. 'Twas he who aided me in outwitting

you. For the last two years our letters have passed under cover of his

name. Those you have stopped were decoys.

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

_Gaylie._ You sought to keep my hero in the ranks. Perhaps you will

recollect the first letter which reached him. 'Twas sent by the hands

of a trusty messenger. (Enter CRIMP, L.) 'Twas delivered in your

presence.

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

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

_Gaylie._ You sought to keep him down; and so I decoyed you here,

believing that your presence, hateful as it had become, was necessary

to the exaltation of Rob Trueworth. I have used a woman's art,

coquetry; but the end justifies the means. So you see, colonel, the

Home Guard has a right to claim the victory. Home Guard, attention!

fall in! (_She stands_ L. HIRAM _takes his place next her, and_ CRIMP

_next up stage_. GAYLIE _then faces them_.)

_Gaylie._ Comrades, your general, ahem! is proud of you; we have

fought together; we have conquered. Now let us march to meet the

returning heroes. (_Steps back beside_ HIRAM.) Home Guard, attention!

Eyes right! eyes left! Salute! (_They salute. Chorus repeated outside,

"Marching through Georgia," nearer. Enter_ ROB, _in full uniform of a

colonel_.) Ah! Rob, Rob! he's come, mother, he's come! (_Runs into_

ROB'S _arms_.)

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

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

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

is glorious!

_Rob._ Thanks for your hearty welcome. Ah, Hiram! (_Shakes

hands._) And Crimp!

_Crimp._ Yaas, indeed! how is yer? an' how is Boxer? an'—an' ole

smoke-jack? Gay times in ole Virginny, two years ago. I'm obleeged to

you.

_Rob_ (_comes down to_ L., _where_ ROWELL _stands with his back

to him, and his arms folded_). Wilder Rowell, the regiment with which

you set out for the battle-field has returned under command of its new

colonel, myself.

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

_Rob._ I am happy to say I have won that distinction. Won it! do

you hear? You would have kept me in the ranks; but thanks to woman's

wit, and military justice, you were removed in time. I now return to

claim my bride. (_Turns up stage._)

_Rowell_ (_turns away_). Oh, I have failed,—miserably failed! I

cannot bear to see their happiness. (_All are gathered about_ ROB, _up

stage_.) I was so sure of her! and she has been laughing at me all this

time. I wish I could hate her; but no, no, it's impossible. I played

for her fortune, and I ended in loving her as I can never love again.

They are busy: I'll slip away. Oh! this may be justice for them: 'tis

ruin, utter ruin, for me.

[_Exit_ L.

_Hiram_ (_leads_ MATTIE _down_ R.) Now, Mattie, Rob has returned,

and Gaylie is true to him. Col. Rowell, of course, is in the market.

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

_Hiram._ But you want Trueworth Farm.

_Mattie._ Not if I must take its owner.

_Hiram._ No? not when his name is Hiram Jenks? It's mine, Mattie:

I bought it to-night. Come, let's kiss and make up: do, now, do! (_Kiss

and retire up, arm in arm._ ROB _and_ GAYLIE _come down_.)

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

_Gaylie._ Nonsense, Rob! you made yourself. If I did help a little,

'twas for my own pride; for I always wanted to be a colonel's wife.

Ahem!

_Crimp_ (_down_ L.). So did I. Yaas, yaas! I'm obleeged to you.

No, no, dat's a bifstake: dat's a bifstake. I mean—I mean—wh-w-w-what

do I mean? I mean to go an' let off dem ar squabs; make a blaze; cos de

colonel's come; yaas, indeed!

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

_Crimp._ Yaas, indeed! I's waiting with both years wide open

tight. I'm obleeged to you.

_Rob_ (C. _with_ GAYLIE). Ladies and gentlemen of the Home

Guard, accept my thanks for your kind and valuable assistance in the

campaign just closed. Ever grateful must our country's defenders be to

the strong arms and tender hands, loving hearts and watchful eyes, that

cared for the old folks at home, when they were in the field.

_Gaylie_ (C.). Ahem! Colonel, in behalf of the Home Guard, I give

you a hearty welcome home. If our efforts have won your approbation,

if—There, I've broken down! O Rob, Rob! I'm so glad to get you back!

we'll be a happy family now, won't we, mother?

_Mrs. T._ (_comes down_ R. C.). Indeed we will, Gaylie. My own boy

back again, thank Heaven! The skies will be bright now.

_Rob._ Ay, mother! bright to herald the coming of peace, with

all its blessings. We have fought the good fight: we have conquered.

Henceforth the land we love is free.

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

_Gaylie._ Yes, we have conquered; and, though "the girl you left

behind you" has done but little for the cause, she carried into it a

loyal and a willing heart; and, if her hero is satisfied, she will

never regret having "enlisted for the war."

HIRAM _and_ MATTIE, R. MRS. T., ROB, GAYLIE, C.

CRIMP, L. _Curtain._

NEVER SAY DIE.

CHARACTERS.

MR. SIMON GRAYLOCK.

MR. RALPH CHEENY.

JOHN BOUNCE, Mr. Graylock's coachman.

MRS. GRAYLOCK.

MISS ALICE CHASE.

PATTY PERT, Mrs. Graylock's maid.

COSTUMES MODERN AND APPROPRIATE.

SCENE.—_Handsome apartment in the house of_ MR. GRAYLOCK. _Table_,

C., _red cloth. A study-lamp burning. Books and papers. Lounge_,

R. _Arm-chair_, L. _Chairs_ R. _and_ L. _of table_. PATTY PERT

_seated in arm-chair with a book_.

_Patty_ (_reading_). "At the sound of that voice musically

voluminous as the sighing of the October gale in the lofty branches of

mountain hemlocks, Araminta Augusta Violetta sprang to her feet, and,

dashing the embroidery-frame to the floor with a crash that shook the

ancient edifice, gave one terrific, yet ecstatic scream of joy, and

sank fainting into the arms of her own fond Felix Frederick Freelove."

Oh! isn't that splendid? Oh! why wasn't I born in those barbaric days,

when knights and squires, and milk-white steeds, and high-born ladies,

pranced about, like the grand entry of a magnificent circus? Oh! why

wasn't I a barbarian? And such love-making! (_Reads._) "Beauteous

damsel, with eyes of azure blue, hear, oh, hear the vow of your own

true knight! I will cleave yonder mountain from summit to base with one

blow of my trusty cimeter, ere one tear of grief shall find its way

adown thy gently-arching nose:" oh, beautiful, beautiful! There are no

barons now. Who ever hears such language as that in these plebeian

times? Even old Mr. Graylock, fond as he is of his young wife, never

allows his ecstasy to rise above the utterance of "My dear, you're

looking well, remarkably well." And Mrs. Graylock has nothing more

romantic on the end of her tongue than, "Hubby, don't be gone long. I

do get so sleepy when you're away!" Oh, the world's degenerating!

there's not the least doubt of it. There's John Bounce, who tries to

make love to me; and precious bad business he makes of it too, forever

dropping his _h_'s, and sticking them where they don't belong. I'm

determined to reform him, or he shall bounce about the world without a

wife, though, as he says, his 'art _h_is given to me _h_alone. (_Enter_

BOUNCE R.)

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

and missus?

_Patty._ Still at table, Mr. Bounce, daintily toying with the

dessert of their luxurious repast.

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

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

seasoned with polite pronunciation.

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

_Patty._ Sir!

_Bounce._ You talk just for _h_all the world like the fellows that

master used to 'ave 'ere to dine afore 'e was 'itched to the new

missus. They were dreadful free _h_and _h_easy spoken until the wine

came _h_on, and then they couldn't find words _h_expansive enough to

_h_express their _h_ideas.

_Patty._ Mr. Bounce, no more of such language. It is time that you

and I understood each other. I believe you wish me, at some not very

distant period, to become your bride?

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

_Patty._ _H_expect? Why should you?

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

'and?

_Patty._ And—and what?

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

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

_Bounce._ But I ain't talking _h_about 'orses. _H_i said 'art; this

'art which 'eaves _h_in my bosom with fond _h_aspiration.

_Patty._ Nonsense! Once for all, Mr. John Bounce, I will never

marry a man who aspirates in such a shocking manner as you do. No, sir.

The man whose bride I shall become must be capable of declaring his

love in grammatical, pronounceably correct English. He must fall

gracefully upon his knees before me, and, in accents too wild to be

resisted, say, "Patty, my heart"—not _art_, Mr. Bounce; I'll have no

artful man—"is at your feet." Not _hat_. Hats are for heads, not feet,

Mr. Bounce. When you can do that, speak: till then a gulf as wide as

that which once yawned between Felix Frederick Freelove, and his

Araminta Augusta Violetta, separates us.

[_Exit_ R.

_Bounce._ My _h_eyes! Who's _H_araminta _H_augusta? _H_i don't know

'er. Well, this _h_is _h_extraordinary. _H_and _h_i thought my language

was so _h_intelligent! Well, Miss Patty, though _h_i love you with

_h_all my 'art, _h_i'm not _h_a-going to lose no flesh on your

_h_account. Well, _h_after _h_all, women _h_are a good deal like

'orses; _h_if they find you don't notice their capers, but keep cool,

they're very _h_apt to settle down _h_into a _h_easy trot. 'Ere's

master and missus. _H_i'll make myself scarce. (_Exit_ L. _Enter_, R.,

MR. GRAYLOCK, _with a plate containing nuts and raisins balanced on

each hand, followed by_ MRS. GRAYLOCK.)

_Mr. G._ Now, my dear, for a refreshing season of calm and

tranquil delight. Here, beneath our own vine and fig-tree,

metaphorically speaking, we will meditate, converse, and—and eat our

nuts and raisins. (_Sits in chair_ L. _of table_).

_Mrs. G._ (_placing ottoman beside him_, L.). Yes, indeed; what

could be more delightful? (_Sits. He hands her a plate. They eat._) How

grateful I should be—and I am—that I have a dear husband, so fond of

spending his evenings with me, instead of leaving me for a stupid club,

or the society of a billiard-room! It's a shame, a disgrace to married

life, the manner in which some husbands conduct themselves.

_Mr. G._ Ah, my dear, you were a wise young woman, when from the

multitude of your admirers, young, giddy fellows, you turned to make

choice of a staid, middle-aged, experienced individual to guide your

youthful steps. Ah, my dear, yours was a wise choice. Do I not worship

you? Do I not dote upon you? Is not every wish of your heart gratified?

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

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

subject again?

_Mrs. G._ Again and again, until you give your consent to her

marriage with Mr. Cheeny.

_Mr. G._ Now, my dear, how are we to enjoy a season of calm and

tranquil delight if you insist upon boring me with a subject upon which

we can never agree? Let's change the subject. My dear, I am seriously

thinking of dyeing—

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

death?

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

_Mrs. G._ You cannot mean it.

_Mr. G._ Yes, I do. Watkins tells me he has a wonderful

preparation, one application of which will instantly turn white, gray,

red, or yellow hair to a beautiful black. Think of it, Susannah! In

imagination behold your husband entering the room, transformed by "The

Magic Dyer" into a youthful specimen of the genus _homo_.

_Mrs. G._ I couldn't imagine it, and I won't. I am perfectly

satisfied with your appearance. And you would look horrid with your

hair and beard in mourning. I should never forgive you if you did such

a dreadful thing. Never say dye to me again. Now let's change that

subject. Alice and Mr. Cheeny—

_Mr. G._ Sue! Susan! Susannah! pause. If you do not instantly

pause, I shall dye—my hair and beard.

_Mrs. G._ Oh, no, you won't! Why are you so determined to keep

Alice single? (_Enter_ ALICE R.)

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

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

of—

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

_Mr. G._ Certainty, my dear. I have three reasons: the first of

which is, she is too young to marry.

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

_Mr. G._ (_aside_). Grand chorus of indignant females. (_Aloud._)

I repeat it: too young to marry.

_Mrs. G._ Nonsense! She's as old as I am. If that is your opinion,

why did you allow me to marry?

_Mr. G._ (_aside_). Stuck my foot in it. (_Aloud._) You didn't

allow me to finish. Too young to marry a young man.

_Alice._ Indeed! Well, I'll never marry an old one, if I live to

be as old as my grandmother. I do detest old men, and middle-aged men

too.

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

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

_Mr. G._ My second is, Alice can do better than to marry at all.

Look at that head. How beautifully the reasoning bumps are developed! A

phrenologist would go wild with ecstasy with his hands upon that head.

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

_Mr. G._ (_Rising, placing plate on table, and speaking with

bombastic enthusiasm._) Alice, 'tis the era of progress. Woman's rights

will soon be fully recognized, and woman take her place among the

gifted and the learned. They will be called to the bar, the pulpit.

Think of that time, and prepare to take your place,—to rule, and not be

ruled. Married life for you! Preposterous! 'Twould be a galling chain

'gainst which your noble intellect would chafe and worry.

_Alice._ Uncle, are you crazy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

give it.

_Mrs. G._ To your own lawful wife? to her from whom you have often

said you have no secrets? Simon Graylock, I'm ashamed of you.

_Mr. G._ But, my dear Susan—

_Mrs. G._ Don't dear me, Mr. Graylock. You are a very ungrateful

man. Do I deserve this treatment? Have I not sacrificed my young and

ardent admirers for your sake? Have I not crushed out the brightness

and gayety of my young life to settle down, and become the slave of a

man old enough to be my father? For what? To have your confidence

withheld from me—

_Mr. G._ Sue—

_Mrs. G._ Silence, Mr. Graylock! When I fondly hoped, in making our

Alice happy, to brighten our home with the presence of gay, lively

company—

_Mr. G._ Susan—

_Mrs. G._ Silence, sir! I must be content with your company; not

even allowed to share your confidence. You ought to be ashamed of

yourself. I wonder your iron-gray locks do not turn white with shame.

They look streaked enough. You want to dye them. You'd better. Disguise

yourself somehow. Keep out of my sight, for I'm thoroughly ashamed of

you. Come, Alice, I'll not waste my time with such a wretch.

_Alice._ But, Aunt Susy, my marriage—

_Mrs. G._ Must wait till my lord and master concludes to give his

third reason. O Simon, Simon! you've broken my heart. (_Weeps._)

You—you—you've br-br-br-oken my heart.

[_Exit_, R., _followed by_ ALICE.

_Mr. G._ (_looks off_ R., _then speaks slowly_). Well, I never!

Bless my soul! Goodness gracious! Heavens and earth! Here's a tornado,

an earthquake, a hurricane! The wife of my bosom, the partner of my

joys, in the enjoyment of a season of calm and tranquil delight, gets

up, and—Well, well, here's blighted hearthstones, blasted happiness,

and for what? For an untold reason. Make public that reason? disclose

it to the partner of my joys? Never! distinctly, emphatically, and

unequivocally, never! Tell her that I oppose my niece's marriage

because upon that marriage I, her lawful guardian, must pay into her

hands the sum of ten thousand dollars, left in my hands by my deceased

brother, her father, to be so paid on the occurrence of her marriage,

which marriage must have my consent? Never! She would drive me from her

presence with scorn,—or any thing else that was handy. I can't part

with the money now. This unlucky, happy day must be kept far, far away.

But my wife, she must be appeased. How can I bring back her smiles? Ah,

"The Magic Dye!" She would see manhood in its prime, raven locks, and

all that sort of thing, about her home. She shall. I will disguise

myself. The die is cast. She will be pleased with the change: she can't

help it. The smile will return to her rosy lips, and all be bright

again. Wilkins can transform me in five minutes. He shall. I shall dye

happy, and live happy ever after. (_Strikes bell._) I'll make a

confidant of Bounce. No, I won't. I'll mystify him to—(_Enter_ BOUNCE

L.)

_Bounce._ Did you ring, sir?

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

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

_Mr. G._ I am about to leave this home, to go—no matter where; to

do—no matter what. You are a faithful servant. You will keep my secret.

(_Aside._) I know he won't.

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

_Mr. G._ When your mistress asks for me, you will say—nothing;

when they search for me, you will lead them to the—well; you will lead

them somewhere, anywhere, but where I am—where I go to dye. You

understand. Silence, remember. I was here, I am gone, silently,

mysteriously (_creeps to door_, R.), like the expiring flame of a

candle. Puff! I'm gone.

[_Exit_ R.

_Bounce._ My _h_eyes! master's _h_out of 'is 'ead. 'E's gone off

suiciding, _h_as sure _h_as _h_eggs. 'Ere's _h_a situation for _h_a

'ouse'old. What's to be done? 'E must be stopped, but 'ow? _H_i'll call

mistress. Oh, 'ere she _h_is! (_Enter_ MRS. GRAYLOCK R.)

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

_Bounce._ _H_o, mistress, _h_i'm _h_all _h_unstrung. 'E's out of

'is 'ead, 'e _h_is. 'E's gone somewhere, _h_and 'e's going to do

something _h_awful,—put a _h_end to 'imself. _H_it's 'orrible!

_Mrs. G._ What do you mean?

_Bounce._ 'E said _h_i must lead you to the well. 'E's going to

drown 'imself, _h_only the well is dry, _h_and he can't. Perhaps 'e's

going to the stable to sacrifice 'imself _h_on the 'alter. _H_o,

_h_it's 'orrible!

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

_Bounce._ Yes, _h_an' 'e'll walk _h_into 'is grave, _h_an' then

'e'll walk nights, and scare us to death. _H_o, _h_it's 'orrible!

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

_Bounce._ _H_i 'ave, _h_i 'ave; tea, green tea; Young 'yson. _H_o,

you'll never set your young _h_eyes _h_on's noble form _h_again. 'E's

gone to die.

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

_Bounce._ So do _h_i, missus,—'is cold remains, _h_a long

procession. Poor master! 'is _h_own 'osses will never carry 'im

_h_again!

_Mrs. G._ John Bounce, you are a fool! Stop your snivelling, and

listen to me. Your master has no thought of taking his life. He is

bound on a very foolish errand, the purport of which I know. As he has

tried to frighten us, we will endeavor to turn the tables upon him.

Call Patty.

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

_Mrs. G._ So sure of it that I shall prevent his entrance to the

house for the present. You will lock all the doors, and fasten the

windows, except one in the kitchen. When you have done that, go to his

room, get his rifle, and return here.

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

_h_it's 'orrible!

[_Exit_ R.

_Mrs. G._ So my good husband, evidently vexed at my assumed anger,

is about to execute his threat of dyeing. Let me see if I cannot turn

this to good account, and fix the day for Alice's marriage. That third

reason seems to be the impediment; but, if I cannot find that out, I

will at least gain his consent by stratagem. O my good Simon! if I

cannot win your confidence, I will teach you such a lesson that you

will never say dye again. (_Enter_ PATTY R.)

_Mrs. G._ Patty.

_Patty._ Yes, ma'am.

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

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

_Mrs. G._ I am about to throw one in your way. Mr. Graylock will

soon return to the house in disguise; that is, he has gone to have his

hair and beard dyed. I have given orders to have the doors and windows

locked. He will gain an entrance, after some difficulty, to this room.

Once here, John Bounce and you, with doors locked, must keep guard over

him. Whatever he may say or do, you must not recognize him as your

master, but treat him as a burglar. You understand?

_Patty._ Indeed I do. Trust me to treat him as a burglar. I'll

pound him with the broom, and John shall fire a few bullets into him to

keep him quiet.

_Mrs. G._ No, no: there must be no violence. I rely upon your

discretion. You are both old servants of his, and will not fail to

treat him respectfully. It's only a frolic of his young wife, at which

he will laugh heartily when it is over. (_Bell rings._) There's the

bell. Should it be he, do not open the door.

_Patty._ I will remember.

[_Exit_ R.

_Mrs. G._ Now, then, to rehearse my part in the grand tragedy.

(_Enter_ PATTY R.)

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

_Mrs. G._ Ah, Ralph; welcome!

[_Exit_ PATTY R.

_Ralph_ (_shaking hands_). My dear Mrs. Graylock, this is jolly,

to see you in such good spirits. Am I right? You have succeeded? (MRS.

G. _shakes her head_.) No?

_Mrs. G._ No, my dear friend; the enemy is still strongly

intrenched behind the bulwarks of obstinacy, from which neither smiles,

tears, nor reproaches can drive him.

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

from the contest?

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

"Never say die!"

_Ralph._ Good! You're the best friend a man ever had. But where's

Alice? (_Enter_ ALICE L.)

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

_Ralph._ Then, my dear Alice, we will do without it. An unexpected

turn in business affairs to-day has made me as independent as a nabob.

I should have liked your crusty old uncle's blessing; but, as he won't

give it, we'll see Parson Clark, say next Tuesday, be married, take a

journey to Niagara, and, on our return, settle quietly into married

life. What's to hinder?

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

_Ralph._ Eh, my clear Mrs. Graylock! A thousand pardons for my

levity. He is crusty, you are lovely. "In contrasts lieth love's

delight," you know. You will place no bar to our union.

_Mrs. G._ Stop. We have begun a battle: let's fight it out. If

Alice marries without her _crusty_ old uncle's consent, where's her

fortune?

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

fortune."

_Mrs. G._ With ten thousand dollars with which to buy mirrors to

see it in if she please.

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

_Mrs. G._ Nor I. But it's true, for I've seen the papers. 'Twas

left you by your father, to be paid when you should marry with Mr.

Graylock's consent.

_Ralph._ Why, this is charming!

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

_Ralph._ Ten thousand times! That is, you understand, I'm not

mercenary; but you deserve it, you're such a dear, sweet, nice—

_Mrs. G._ Attention, company! Business! I am going to gain his

consent. Ralph, sit at that table, and write, if you please.

_Ralph_ (_sits at table_; ALICE _leans on his chair_; MRS. G.

_stands_ L. _of table_). Yes; proceed.

_Mrs. G._ "I, Simon Graylock, being in sound mind and body"—(_Bell

rings._) Hark! that's he. Don't mind. Write.

_Ralph._ "Sound mind and body."

_Mrs. G._ "Hereby bequeath to my dearly-beloved friend, Ralph

Cheeny"—(_Bell rings violently._)

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

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

violently._)

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

_Mrs. G._ "To have and to hold, as his lawful wife, from this day

forth and forevermore. And to this union I give my consent, and

subscribe my name." That's all. He has stopped ringing. (_Dog barks._)

_Mr. G._ (_outside_). Hero, Hero, old boy, don't you know your

master? (_Dog barks. Shouting._)

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

must retire.

_Ralph._ But what is it all about?

_Mrs. G._ Ask no questions. Let me arrange that paper. I will turn

the writing underneath, leaving a blank space for his signature. (_Dog

barks._)

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

_Ralph._ Shall I run to his assistance?

_Mrs. G._ Not for the world! Come this way. I will explain all.

[_Exeunt_ R. _Then enter, hurriedly_, L., MR. G., _his hair and beard

dyed black, one coat-tail, torn off, in his hand_.]

_Mr. G._ Confound that dog! He has decidedly curtailed my

enjoyment. (_Holds up coat-tail._) Is it possible I am so transformed

as to become a terror to my own terrier? Where is everybody? Doors

locked, windows fastened, and nobody to let me into my own house! A

pretty state of affairs, truly! No matter: I have gained an entrance,

and now for a good surprise. (_Takes hand-mirror from table._) What a

change! The Simon Graylock of twenty-five takes the place of the Simon

Graylock of fifty. Glorious! Won't I make a sensation? I can see my

wife's look of astonishment and pleasure. I can hear her rapturous "O

Simon, you beauty!" Eh? what's that? (_Turns to_ L., _as_ JOHN BOUNCE

_enters, locks the door, and stands with his rifle at_ "_present_.")

Well, what's the matter? Eh! what's that? (_Turns_ R., _as_ PATTY

_enters, locks the door, and stands with a broom at_ "_present_.")

What's the meaning of this?

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

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

_Patty and John_ (_together_). If you move, if you speak,

you are a dead man. Sh—!

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

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

_Mr. G._ Now stop that duet, or out of this house you go without

warning. Unlock those doors, and call your mistress.

_Bounce._ Call the police. _H_i know you? You're _h_a burglar, _h_a

thief! But we're wide _h_awake. You're caught.

_Patty._ Yes, Mr. Jack Sheppard, your foot's in the trap. You've

lost your coat-tails, but that's nothing to the loss of your liberty:

ten years in prison.

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

_Bounce._ Simon Graylock, _H_esquire, _h_a respectable,

middle-_h_aged gent, rather plain _h_in 'is _h_external _h_appearance,

but with _h_an 'art _h_as big _h_as an _h_ox.

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

met.

_Mr. G._ Am not I that gentleman?

_Patty._ You! Nonsense!

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

regular 'ousebreaker.

_Mr. G._ I'll break your head if you call me that name again. I am

master of this house; and as such I order you instantly to unlock those

doors, and call your mistress.

_Patty._ What impudence!

_Bounce._ _H_and what _h_assurance!

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

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

_Bounce_ (_points rifle at him_). 'Ere, you, none er that! Lay

_h_a finger _h_on that young woman, _h_and I'll fire. (MR. G. _backs up

stage; they follow with their weapons pointed at him_.)

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

chair._)

_Bounce._ Wretched _h_outcast, would you lift your 'and _h_against

_h_a woman? Would you—

_Mr. G._ Put down that gun.

_Bounce._ Never! You _h_ex_h_asperate the British lion; you

_h_insult the _h_object of my 'art's _h_adoration; you—you—you—

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

_Bounce._ _H_it might; but you can't.—Patty, _h_i'll put _h_an

_h_end to 'is miserable _h_existence.

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

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

blood, blood, blood!

_Mr. G._ Put down that gun! Here, Sue! Susan! Susannah! Help!

help! help! (_Knock at door_, L.)

_Mrs. G._ (_outside_). Open the door, Patty. (PATTY _unlocks the

door_, R. MRS. G., ALICE, _and_ RALPH _enter, stand huddled by the

door_.) Have you got him?

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

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

_Mr. G._ Susan!

_Patty._ Silence! (_Flourishes broom._)

_Mr. G._ Susannah!

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

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

Simon Graylock.

_Ralph._ Egad, the rascal has assurance!

_Mrs. G._ Did you ever?

_Alice._ No, I never.

_Mr. G._ (_coming forward_). Oh, come! this is all nonsense, you

know. You're not going to cut me off, are you? I am your husband.

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

_Mr. G._ (_aside_). There's a "puff" for "The Magic Dye."

(_Aloud._) You don't know me. Am I, then, so changed?

_Mrs. G._ You look like a burglar.

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

_Alice._ And such cunning eyes! Oh, do, Aunt Susy, let John call

the police, and have him taken away!

_Mr. G._ It's only the effects of the dye, you know. I've had my

hair and whiskers colored. Gives me quite a juvenile look; quite the

dandy, eh?

_Ralph._ Oh! come, sir, this won't do. You have entered this house

in search of plunder. Your attempt has been foiled by the keenness of

this lady, who, in the absence of her husband, can well protect his

treasures.

_Mrs. G._ John, call the police.

_Mr. G._ John, if you do, I'll discharge you without a

character.—Susannah, be reasonable. If you don't know me, you must know

these clothes. Are they not your husband's?

_Mrs. G._ My husband's? Gracious heaven! I see it all! My husband

has been murdered, cruelly murdered! and you have stolen his clothing.

Oh, wretched woman that I am!—John, call the police.

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

of my senses?

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

me away!

_Ralph._ Fear not, madam. I will protect you. If your husband has

gone, you shall find in me a watchful guardian and a trusty friend.

Fear not: the miscreant shall not harm you.

_Mr. G._ Confound his impudence! O Susy! what can I do to make you

own me? I think I am your husband; in fact, I'm quite sure of it.

_Mrs. G._ Can you write?

_Mr. G._ Write? I signed a check for two hundred dollars, which

you now have in your porte-monnaie.

_Mrs. G._ Can you write your name?

_Mr. G._ To be sure I can.

_Mrs. G._ Then write it. I shall recognize my husband's

handwriting, I think; yes, I'm quite sure of it. Write at once: there

are pen, ink, and paper.

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

ridiculous!

_Mrs. G._ John, call the police.

_Bounce._ _H_instantly, missus.

_Mr. G._ Stop! I'll write. (_Goes to table_, C.) If ever I'm

caught in such a ridiculous position as this, may I be—

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

_Mr. G._ (_sits, takes up pen, then looks up at_ MRS. G., _who

stands immovable_). And that's the wife of my bosom, the partner of my

joys! and I've got to write my name before—No! I'll be hanged if I do!

(_Throws down pen._)

_Mrs. G._ John, the police.

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

ALICE R.)

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

_Mrs. G._ (_takes up paper_). What do I see? 'Tis he, my husband,

my Simon! (_Throws her arms about his neck, and repeatedly embraces him

in a frantic manner._)

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

(_Embraces_ ALICE.)

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

PATTY.)

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

herself._)

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

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

_Mr. G._ Smell fiddlesticks! It's "The Magic Dye." It makes me

sick: I wish I was well rid of it. And now be kind enough to tell me

the meaning of this. I've been locked out of my house, my clothes

lacerated by my dog, been threatened with death by my servant, with the

police by my wife; and am threatened with a brain-fever, if I don't

know what all this is for.

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

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

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

_Mr. G._ Settled? How?

_Mrs. G._ (_takes paper from table, and reads_). "I, Simon

Graylock, being in sound mind and body, hereby bequeath to my dearly

beloved friend Ralph Cheeny, my affectionate niece Alice Chase, to have

and to hold, as his lawful wife, from this day forth and forevermore;

and to this union I give my consent, and subscribe my name." Signed,

"Simon Graylock."

_Mr. G._ Why, this is a swindle! Obtaining goods under false

pretences! And you, the wife of my bosom, the partner—Do you know what

this would cost me, were it known?

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

_Ralph._ Of which she is in no immediate want; in fact, I think I

would prefer to leave it in your hands.

_Mr. G._ My dearly beloved, take her, and be happy. When I die,

you will find I have not forgotten you.

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

eh, Simon?

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

_Mrs. G._ If we could only change the color of your hair as easily!

Why, Simon, it's purple!

_Mr. G._ Is it? Then don't look at it, don't speak of it; for, if

you're not pleased, I have dyed in vain.

_Mrs. G._ No: for it has helped to make two people happy who were

dying for each other, helped your dear wife to triumph in a good cause,

and helped us all to a little amusement—

_Mr. G._ At my expense. Sue, Susan, Susannah, let's change the

subject. Never say die, and I never will.

JOHN BOUNCE _and_ PATTY, R. MR. _and_ MRS. G., C.

RALPH _and_ ALICE, L. _Curtain._

[Illustration:

THE CHAMPION OF HER SEX.

]

THE CHAMPION OF HER SEX.

(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)

CHARACTERS.

MRS. DUPLEX, a widow with money and a mission.

MRS. DEBORAH HARTSHORN, her mother.

FLORENCE DUPLEX, her daughter.

CAROLINE DUPLEX, her step-daughter.

RHODA DENDRON, │ her friends.

POLLIE NAY, │

KATIE O'NAIL, the cook.

MAGGIE DONOVAN, the chambermaid.

COSTUMES MODERN AND APPROPRIATE.

SCENE.—_Apartment in_ MRS. DUPLEX'S _house. Lounge_, L.; _two

chairs_, R.; _table with writing-materials, and an easy-chair_, C.

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

Clear out, I tell yeou!

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

at all.

_Mrs. H._ (_outside_, R.). Yeou won't, hay? We'll see about it.

(_Enter_ MAGGIE, R., _followed by_ MRS. H., _brandishing a broom_.)

_Maggie._ Aisy, Mrs. Hartshorn, or it's yersilf will be sent to

coort for salt and bathery, sure.

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

have my orders obeyed.

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

all, at all.

_Mrs. H._ Don't make no difference. Yeou take that broom, and sweep

out my room, and be quick about it!

_Maggie._ It's warning I'll give to onct the misthress cooms, Mrs.

Hartshorn. Faix! there's a power of work in the house, and a heap of

misthresses to order about—bad luck to 'em! Niver mind, I'll swape the

room; an', if ye find any thing broke, it's not the fault av Maggie

Donovan. (_Aside._) Only jist I'll—I'll have one good crack at her

chiny vases, so I will.

[_Exit_ L.

_Mrs. H._ (_sits in chair_, C., _takes out her smelling-bottle,

removes stopper, places her finger over it, and applies it to her nose,

snuffs it, gives a little start, with something between a sigh and an

exclamation, sounding like "Kee," accompanying it. This should be

repeated wherever the word appears in the dialogue_). Well! if Hannah

Merria's heouse ain't a-going to eternal smash, it's not for want er

help. Sich actions I never did see. There's that ere cook! If I stick

my head into the kitchen (kee), I'm sure to be saluted with the

dishcloth; and, if I go up stairs, there's always a broom laying round

loose for me to tumble over (kee). For the land of liberty's sake,

what's the use of having a home if you don't take care of it? Neow,

here's Hannah Merria, whose husband died a year ago, leaving all his

property to her, his second wife, and who ought to be the happiest

woman in the world in consequence (kee),—not of his death, but the

money,—a-prancin' round in perlitical circuses, ravin' like a lunatic

about "speers," and "rights," and "sufferings," and leaving her home to

take care of itself. She's the queerest young 'un I ever had (kee).

(_Enter_ CAROLINE, R.)

_Caroline._ What's the trouble, grandmother?

_Mrs. H._ Oh, it's them hired gals, Ca'line. They've made me crazy

with their shiftlessness. I do think Hannah Merria might stay at home,

and look arter them.

_Caroline._ My good step-mother has other affairs to occupy her time.

You know she is one of the leaders of the Female Reform Club.

_Mrs. H._ Then she'd better bring her club home, and trounce these

sassy critters into some kind of reform (kee).

_Caroline._ She thinks she is engaged in a noble work. She is the

champion of her sex.

_Mrs. H._ Champion fiddlesticks! There's no sense in such

carryings-on. What would my old man, Hezekiah Hartshorn (kee)—bless his

dear dead and gone memory—have thought if I'd 'a' gone off in this

fashion, a meddlin' with things that women don't know nothin' about?

When he took me for better or for wus, sez he to me, "Deborah, there's

the old homestid,—a snug house and a likely farm,—all ours. Yeou take

kere of the house, and I'll take kere of the farm. Outside I'll be

master, inside you shall be mistress; and we won't interfere." That's

all the bargain we ever made, and we stuck to it. I took good care to

make his home pleasant; but meddlin' with his affairs would have ben as

rediculous as it would have ben for him to stick his nose into the

churn every time I made butter. No, indeed! Let woman do her own work,

and leave man to his'n.

_Caroline._ Ah, grandmother, the world has turned over a great many

times since your day. Women have acquired larger ideas of usefulness,

and have found in intellectual pursuits release from household

drudgery. Triumphs in medical practice, and success in the pulpit, have

fired them with ambition to take their place beside the sterner sex in

those educational, scientific, and political spheres, for which they

feel themselves equally well fitted.

_Mrs. H._ (Kee.) Do hear that young 'un talk; and she don't believe

a word of it, nuther.

_Caroline._ But my good step-mother does; and, if she can elevate her

sex, she is doing a noble work.

_Mrs. H._ Noble cat's foot! If she wants to elervate her sex, as

she calls it, let her stay to home, and look after things. If that

Katie don't want elervating with a broomstick, then I'm mistaken (kee).

Why don't she give you a eddication, instead of keeping you drudging

about the house, when you should be at school with Florence? She's got

your father's money, and that's all she keres for (kee).

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

_Mrs. H._ 'Cause you're meek as Moses. But I'll give her a piece of

my mind, you see ef I don't.

_Caroline._ Don't get angry, grandmother. To-day Florence returns

after six months' absence at school. Let her find every thing bright

and pleasant.

_Mrs. H._ Lor-a-massy! So she does. Well, I'm glad on it. Ef she

don't upset things, then I'm greatly mistaken. (_Bell rings_, R.) She's

a dear good girl.

_Caroline._ Indeed she is, and deserves all the care and affection

bestowed upon her. (_Enter_ KATIE, R., _with a scrubbing-brush in her

hand_.)

_Katie._ She's coom, ma'am, she's coom, as rosy and bright as a

new copper tay-kettle.

_Caroline._ Who? Florence?

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

Miss Ca'line.

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

grandmother.

[_Exit_, R.

_Mrs. H._ Bless the child! I must go and fix her somethin' warm.

_Katie._ Somethin' warm, is it? Faix, jist kape out av the

kitchen, d'ye mind, or it's yersilf will git somethin' warm.

_Mrs. H._ Wal, I never! The airs that these critters do put on

(kee)!

[_Exit_, R.

_Katie._ Faix, the ould woman's a sore thrial, that she is.

There's little chance to kape my sisther Bridget's children in sugar

and tay, wid her middlin'. (_Enter_ MAGGIE, L., _with a broom_.)

_Maggie._ An' it's mesilf would likes to know what ye mane by

demaining yersilf in this fashion, Kate O'Nail. It's little yez know of

itikate.

_Katie._ Och, be aisy wid yer spakin', Maggie Donovan. Itikate,

indade!

_Maggie._ Isn't it me privilege to tend the bell, I'd like to know?

_Katie._ To be sure it is. But 'twas the darling Miss Florence

rowled up to the door; and would I be afther lavin' her on the stips,

an' you in the attic?

_Maggie._ It's a desateful tongue ye have. Don't I know ye'd be

afther liftin' yersilf above yer pots and kittles to my place, to

betther yer condition?

_Katie._ Betther my condition, is it? Wid what? Swapin' and

dustin', and the likes? Niver, at all, at all. When I betther my

condition, 'twill be as the widded bride of Terence McFunnigafferty.

_Maggie._ McFunnigafferty! Bad luck to him! he's only a

hod-carrier.

_Katie._ He's dacent and respictable; an' it's my belafe, Maggie

Donovan, ye'd be glad av me chance. Haven't I seen ye castin' sly looks

that way yersilf?

_Maggie._ Oh, murther! An', an' me own b'y, Teddy Murphy, sailin'

the thrackless say—

_Katie._ Wid a swateheart in ivery port.

_Maggie._ Och! it's invious ye are, Kate O'Nail; an' it's out av

place ye are above the kitchen shtair. Away wid yez to yer pots and

kittles! (_Threatening with broom._)

_Katie._ An' its out av place ye are onywhere. Be off to yer

swapin'! (_Threatens with brush. Enter_ FLORENCE _and_ CAROLINE, R.)

_Florence._ Fie, fie, girls! You're both out of place, quarrelling.

Ah, Maggie! I'm glad to meet you again. (_Shakes hands with Maggie._)

_Maggie._ Thank you, Miss Florence. An' it's a warm welcome home to

yez; an' it's glad I am to see yer own bright face once more.

_Florence._ And it's glad I am to be here, Maggie. Now I want you and

Katie to get my trunk up stairs. It's not very heavy, and I wish to

open it at once.

"Take it up tenderly,

Fashioned so slenderly,

It's fickle and frail."

_Maggie._ Indade, Miss Florence, I'll do my best with the help of

very rough company.

[_Exit_, R.

_Katie._ Thar's a fling at me! Arrah, I'll give her one thump on

the fut with the thrunk.

[_Exit_, R.

_Caroline._ Welcome, welcome, welcome home! A thousand times welcome,

Florence! Oh! we have missed you very much. (_They sit on lounge_, L.)

_Florence._ I'm glad of that, Carrie, for you will be so glad to see

me now that I can have my own way in every thing; and I'm going to

spend my time advantageously. I'm going to induce mother to send you

with me when I return to school.

_Caroline._ Oh, that would be grand! But I fear you will not succeed.

_Florence._ But I will. You have as much right to the advantages of

Rushly Seminary as I; and I will no longer allow you to submit to the

cruel treatment you are receiving. You go with me: that's settled. But

where's mother?

_Caroline._ At a committee-meeting.

_Florence._ A committee-meeting at eleven o'clock in the forenoon!

What important project can take her from home at this hour?

_Caroline._ She is one of the leaders of the Female Reform Club.

_Florence._ What! my mother! You don't mean to say that she has come

out for women's rights!

_Caroline._ She has, most decidedly. She gives all her time to the

club. She is a very zealous member.

_Florence._ And who takes care of the house?

_Caroline._ It takes care of itself. The mistress away, it is very

hard for me to govern affairs; and grandmother does much harm by her

kindly-meant interference in household matters.

_Florence._ It's too bad! Does mother speak at public meetings?

_Caroline._ She spoke for the first time last night. There's a report

of her speech in the papers. (_Takes paper from table._) Here it is.

_Florence_ (_reads_). "Mrs. Duplex, widow of the celebrated

match-manufacturer, whose decease last winter was chronicled in our

paper, arose and spoke warmly of the oppression of the female sex. She

vehemently asserted their ability to achieve success in any path

trodden by man, and eloquently styled herself the champion of her sex

in its endeavors to throw off the yoke of bondage, and victoriously

array itself by the side of man in his onward march of progress." What

nonsense!

_Caroline._ Nonsense, Florence? Then you are not in sympathy with the

woman movement.

_Florence._ Yes, Carrie: I am an earnest advocate for reform. Noble

women are doing brave work in _educating_ our sex to a realizing sense

of their power for good in many of the walks of life heretofore kept

sacred to the foot of man. But foolish women, who raise the cry of

oppression or slavery, are no better than the political demagogues of

the other sex,—loud in speech, but dumb in council.

_Caroline._ And so you think mother has made a mistake?

_Florence._ I certainly do. A woman's duty is to care for her

household. From what little I have seen since I came home, I am

convinced reform is needed here. (_Bell rings_, R.) If she would

elevate her sex, I'm sure she could have no better task than to fit

you—who were left penniless on her hands by a thoughtless father—for

the station to which you have a right to aspire. (_Enter_ MAGGIE, R.)

_Maggie._ If ye plase, Miss Florence, yez frinds, the Misses Nay

and Dendron, are below, axin' for yez.

_Florence._ Show them up, Maggie. (_Exit_ MAGGIE, R.) I must find

some way to rid mother of her delusion.

_Caroline._ I wish you could, Floy, for it is certainly very

disagreeable for us who are left at home. (RHODA _and_ POLLIE _appear_,

R.)

_Rhoda._ May we come in?

_Florence_ (_jumping up_). To be sure you may. Rhoda, you dear, dear

girl! (_Kissing her._) Pollie, I'm glad to see you! (_Kissing_ POLLIE.)

_Rhoda._ Saw you come up, and couldn't wait a minute longer; could

we, Pollie?

_Pollie._ No, indeed. We just dropped every thing, and ran across.

How d'ye do?

_Rhoda._ Yes; how are ye? Tell us, quick!

_Pollie._ Had a splendid time, hey?

_Rhoda._ Not engaged, are you?

_Pollie._ What you got new for dresses? Why, there's Carrie!

(_Shakes hands, and kisses._)

_Rhoda._ Well, I declare, Miss Meekness! you are as still as a

mouse. (_Shakes hands, and kisses._)

_Caroline._ She's here, girls, and just as splendid as ever.

_Rhoda and Pollie_ (_together_). Splendid? Of course she is.

_Florence._ Come, come, girls; sit down and tell me the news.

(CAROLINE _and_ RHODA _sit on lounge_, L.; POLLIE _in chair_, R.;

FLORENCE _in chair_, C.) I'm dying to know what has been going on since

I left.

_Pollie._ Well, then, Tilly Dodd's really married.

_Rhoda._ Pooh! that's an old story. She's talking about getting

divorced now.

_Pollie._ Divorced! Why, she's only been married six months!

_Rhoda._ Six months and ten days. No matter about her. Have you

read your mother's speech?

_Florence._ I read a brief notice of it.

_Rhoda._ I heard it all. She's the champion of her sex. Oh, it was

grand! She flourished her right hand as majestically as any orator I

ever heard; and her voice was as strong and clear as Patrick Henry's.

_Pollie._ Lor, Rhoda, you never heard Patrick Henry.

_Rhoda._ But I've read his speeches, and they've got the ring of

his voice in them yet. Ain't you proud of your mother, Flory?

_Florence._ Not of her last effort, Rhoda.

_Pollie._ That's where you're right, Floy. I wouldn't like to have

my mother spouting in that manner. It looks coarse and unladylike.

_Rhoda._ Well, I don't think I should like to have my mother take

to that kind of business.

_Florence._ I like it so little, girls, that I am determined to give

mother a lesson, if you will grant me your assistance. Our principal,

Miss Steady, had an attack of "woman's rights" at school last winter;

and the girls took advantage of it to indulge in a little masquerading,

which so affected our honored head, that we heard no more of woman's

rights for the balance of the term. I shouldn't wonder if something of

the kind would make mother a little less zealous in the cause.

_Rhoda._ Oh, tell us all about it!

_Pollie._ Is there any fun in it?

_Florence._ You shall see. Come to my room. Mother may return at any

moment, and I do not wish her to see us at present.

_Pollie._ There's something delightfully mysterious in your

proceedings, Floy.

_Rhoda._ Yes: there's mischief in your eyes.

_Florence._ Perhaps; time will show. Come, I want you too, Carrie.

[_Exeunt_, R., FLORENCE, RHODA, _and_ POLLIE.]

_Caroline._ Take me with her! I wish she could. I love Floy too well

to envy her. But the privileges she enjoys, and to which I feel I am

entitled, would afford me those opportunities for culture for which I

have often sighed. (_Enter_ MRS. DUPLEX.)

_Mrs. D._ Caroline, I am astonished! You sitting here with your

arms folded, and the house in disorder! Is this a fitting return for my

care? or have you forgotten that to me you owe all you have in the

world?

_Caroline._ You never allow me to forget that, madam. Yet I am

grateful for your care. Add one favor more, and let me go into the

world, and earn my living.

_Mrs. D._ Indeed! As you are anxious to earn a living, perhaps it

would be as well to commence at home.

_Caroline._ This life is distasteful—

_Mrs. D._ There, that's quite enough. I have very important

business to engage my attention. Set the reception-room in order at

once. (_Takes off bonnet and shawl, and sits in easy-chair near

table._)

_Caroline._ Certainly, madam.

[_Exit_, R.

_Mrs. D._ My late lamented husband left me one useless

incumbrance,—that girl. Strange some people are so hard to manage! Now,

then, to business. I've a long report to make to-night on the "Scheme

for Improving the Condition of Motherless Girls." (_Enter_ MRS.

HARTSHORN, R.)

_Mrs. H._ Lor, sakes, Hannah Merria! You home?

_Mrs. D._ Yes, mother, and hard at work.

_Mrs. H._ (_sitting on lounge, and knitting_). Du tell!

_Mrs. D._ Yes, mother. There's a wide field of labor opening to

willing hands. To raise woman from her lowly position, is not that most

noble work?

_Mrs. H._ That depends on what she's doing, Hannah Merria. If she's

scrubbing the floor (kee), the lower the better.

_Mrs. D._ She was never meant for such ignoble toil.

_Mrs. H._ Ignoble fiddlesticks! P'r'aps you want the men-folks to

do that.

_Mrs. D._ It may be necessary for the triumph of woman. Did you

read my speech, mother?

_Mrs. H._ No, I didn't. I've _heard_ enough on 'em to be heartily

sick. A pretty champion of your sex, you are!

_Mrs. D._ I hope I am an earnest and an honest one. I have a

mission,—to lift woman to a higher plane of civilization; and I believe

I have the power to fulfil it.

_Mrs. H._ How? By getting up and speaking out in meeting? Never

heard nothin' like it since Sally Skreecher j'ined the Millerites, and

hollered so in meetin', that they thought the Angel Gabriel was

a-tootin' his horn (kee.)

_Mrs. D._ Ah, mother! you do not understand this noble movement of

woman.

_Mrs. H._ I understand washin' and ironin', and that's what I call

the noblest movement woman ever took a hand in.

_Mrs. D._ There; that's quite enough: we shall never agree. Be

quiet, and let me write.

_Mrs. H._ (Kee.)

_Mrs. D._ (_writes_). "Silently, but steadily, moves on the mighty

car of progress"—

_Mrs. H._ (Kee.)

_Mrs. D._ "Crushing, beneath its fast revolving wheels, prejudice

and wrong; upward soars the spirit of freedom, mounting on eagles'

wings."

_Mrs. H._ (Kee.) Say goose's wings, Hannah Merria.

_Mrs. D._ Mother, will you be silent?

_Mrs. H._ And hear you talk that bosh? Why, every Fourth-of-July

speaker has said them things year after year since Cornwallis

surrendered. (_Enter RHODA, R., disguised; a black shawl pinned tightly

across her breast; faded black bonnet with bright flowers stuck in it;

large, black cotton gloves, much too long in the fingers, on her hands;

and parasol._)

_Rhoda_ (_very extravagant in her gestures_). Where is she? Let

me look upon her, the deliverer of our race, the champion of our sex!

Ah, she's here! the noble face, the stately figger! 'Tis she! 'tis she!

(_Falls at the feet of_ MRS. D.)

_Mrs. H._ Land er Goshen! that's Hannah Dudley!

_Mrs. D._ My good woman, can I be of service to you?

_Rhoda_ (_rises_). You can, you can. I am the mother of nine

interesting children, whom I have vainly endeavored to support for five

years by the manufacture of molasses-candy. A sweet occupation, but,

alas! not profitable; for, work as I will, I can make but just enough

to satisfy the wants of my children. 'Tis all they have for food.

_Mrs. H._ Well, they're a sweet set.

_Mrs. D._ My good woman, why do you come to me?

_Rhoda._ I come to sit at your feet; to draw into my thirsty soul

the teachings of your stupendous intellect. Glorious champion of my

sex, I would wrest from proud man one of his boasted prerogatives.

_Mrs. D._ Indeed! To what sphere of usefulness do you aspire?

_Mrs. H._ She's ravin' about paregoric. She ought to be a doctor.

_Rhoda._ I heard your glorious speech last night, and every fibre

of my being thrilled beneath the touch of your matchless eloquence. You

told us we had the ability to achieve success in any occupation where

man could triumph. I want to be a butcher.

_Mrs. H._ Heavens and airth! the woman's loony!

_Rhoda._ Yes, a butcher; that I may give my children strong food,

for which they hanker. Ah, the mighty butcher! the crafty butcher! the

skilful butcher! I have gazed upon him with admiration. With what power

he fells the mighty oxen and—and—things! How skilfully he sends to

"green fields and pastures new" the sportive lambs! With what grace he

seizes the portly hog, and, regardless of its piteous cries, ends its

devouring life! Oh, glorious champion of our sex, teach me to excel in

this great branch of usefulness, and fill the mouths of my babes!

_Mrs. D._ Woman, have you escaped from a lunatic asylum?

_Mrs. H._ Lor, Hannah Merria, she's 'sterricky.

_Mrs. D._ The poor woman's mad.

_Rhoda._ Mad? Then 'tis you who have made me so. You promise, and

do not fulfil. Make me a butcher, or I will proclaim you a traitor to

our cause, from the market-place, in the council-hall, from the

house-tops. Champion of the sex! Bah! Give my children beef, pork,

mutton, or "get you to a nunnery," quick.

[_Exit_, R.

_Mrs. D._ Poor woman, poor woman!

_Mrs. H._ Nothin' but skin and bones (kee). This all comes of

political circuses. O Hannah Merria! the millinariam won't come any

sooner for all yer speechifyin'. Better stay to home. Lor sakes! who's

this? (_Enter_ POLLIE, _disguised. Old-fashioned straw bonnet, bright

ribbons; faded shawl of bright patterns; white cotton gloves, very

large, upon hands._)

_Pollie._ W-w-where is she,—the ch-ch-champion of our s-s-s-s-sex?

_Mrs. D._ What do you wish, good woman?

_Pollie._ 'T-t-tis she: I know th-th-th-that v-v-voice! D-d-dear

Mrs. D-D-Duplex, last night you m-m-moved me with the f-f-f-force of

your el-l-l-oquence. I have long b-b-blushed at our de-p-p-p-pendent

situation: I have thrown off the c-ch-chain, and stand p-p-prepared to

wrest from man one of his pr-p-proud p-p-p-p-prerogatives.

_Mrs. H._ There's an awful waste of paregoric there.

_Mrs. D._ And pray, my good woman, to what new field of labor do

you aspire?

_Pollie._ B-b-before I heard your v-voice, I listened to one that

charmed my f-f-f-fancy. M-m-make me like him, and I will b-b-bless you.

I would be an auc-sh-sh-shuneer.

_Mrs. D._ An auctioneer! do you want to insult me?

_Pollie._ Insult you, the ch-ch-champion of our s-s-s-sex?

N-n-never! B-b-but an auc-sh-sh-shuneer I must be. G-g-going,

g-g-going, g-g-gone. Oh, it's splendid! How much am I offered?

St-st-stove, t-t-table, ch-chair, in one l-l-lot. H-h-how much?

G-g-going, g-going—

_Mrs. H._ (Kee.)

_Pollie._ G-g-gone! Thank you, marm.

_Mrs. D._ Woman, leave this house at once!

_Pollie._ What f-f-for? Ain't you the ch-ch-champion of our

s-s-sex? D-d-didn't you s-s-say we were f-f-f-fitted to t-t-take the

place of m-m-man? and ain't I g-g-going to be an auc-sh-shuneer, hey?

_Mrs. D._ You are fit for nothing but the workhouse. Instantly

leave this room, or I will have you driven into the street.

_Pollie._ Ch-ch-champion of our s-s-sex! P-p-pooh! You're an

imp-p-postor: you d-d-deceive us with your sp-p-peeches. If you don't

make me an auc-sh-sh-shuneer, I'll d-denounce you,—yes, I will, now, at

once. I'm g-g-going, g-g-going, g-gone.

[_Exit_, R.

_Mrs. D._ Was there ever any thing so provoking? It's the work of

our enemies.

_Mrs. H._ No, 'tain't, Hannah: it's a nat'ral impediment.

_Mrs. D._ Mother, shut up!

_Mrs. H._ Wal, I never! Is that the way you honor your parent?

(Kee.)

_Mrs. D._ It seems I am to be made a laughing-stock for my speech.

Could I have been too hasty? (_Enter_ FLORENCE, R.)

_Mrs. D._ Goodness, child! you home again? (_Rises._)

_Florence_ (_tragically_). Stop! Approach me not. Busy rumor, with

its thousand tongues, says, last night you asserted, in a crowded

assembly, that woman could achieve success in any path trodden by man.

I come to you for truth. Speak, mother! did you speak those words? is

rumor true?

_Mrs. D._ I did say so, _Florence._

_Florence_ (_lightly_). Then, my good mother, you will be delighted

to hear that your daughter has chosen the profession in which she hopes

to win fame. I want to be a lawyer.

_Mrs. H._ Lor sakes!

_Mrs. D._ Florence, you are trifling with a serious matter.

_Florence._ Yes, 'tis a serious matter. But I feel that in that

profession I can win success. "Gentlemen of the jury, I stand before

you to plead the cause of a young girl, who needs all your sympathy.

She was the idol of fond parents; but, alas! her mother died: her

father took to his side a second bride, and she was neglected. Not

content with this, on his death-bed the father cut her off from any

share of his wealth, and left to the mercy of her step-mother."

_Mrs. D._ Florence, what means this?

_Florence._ "Gentlemen of the jury, can you ask? Beneath this roof is

one who is entitled to all the benefits of wealth and education; but

she is made a drudge: while she who should rear her tenderly sees not

the oppressed in her own home, but seeks abroad that labor for the

improvement of the condition of motherless girls which should be

commenced beneath her own roof."

_Mrs. D._ Florence, are you serious, or are you crazy?

_Mrs. H._ Not a bit of it, Hannah Merria (kee).

_Florence._ Only practising, mother. (_Enter_ RHODA, R.)

_Rhoda._ Mrs. Duplex, champion of our sex, I want to be an actor!

_Mrs. D._ An actress, you mean.

_Rhoda._ No, an actor. Richard the Third, Richelieu, Macbeth, are

the characters I would play. They are manly. If man can excel in them,

so can woman. Have you not said we could win success—

_Mrs. D._ Silence! Don't let me hear that word again.

_Rhoda._ Yes: let me tread the boards as Macbeth.

"Is this a dagger which I see before me?"

_Mrs. H._ (Kee.) That young one's loony too.

_Rhoda._ Or as Richelieu.

"In the lexicon of youth, which Fate preserves for a bright manhood,

There's no such word as fail!"

_Mrs. H._ (Kee.) Mad as a March hare!

_Rhoda._ Or as Richard.

"Off with his head! So much for Buckingham."

_Mrs. H._ Land sakes! that would be too much for him.

_Mrs. D._ Enough of this, Rhoda Dendron. I do not care to be made

the butt of your amusement. We can dispense with your company. (_Enter_

POLLIE, R.)

_Pollie._ Mrs. Duplex, champion of your sex, I have chosen my

profession. I will be a general in the army.

_Mrs. D._ Pollie Nay!

_Pollie._ A glorious life, at the head of a host, charging upon the

foe. "Up and at them!"

"Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!"

_Mrs. D._ Silence! Florence, what does all this mean? Gracious

goodness! whom have we here? (_Enter_ MAGGIE, L., _with a rough

pea-jacket and a tarpaulin hat added to her costume_.)

_Mrs. D._ Maggie, what does this mean?

_Maggie._ If ye plaze, missus, they towld me nixt door that all the

women-folks was a-goin' to step into the men's places; and so I thought

I'd jist give warnin', and take mesilf to the say, for me own Teddy is

a sailor, and I might climb the sails, and pull the ropes, and haul in

a jib, till I larnt the way, if ye plaze.

_Mrs. D._ Why, Maggie, I'm astounded to think you should listen to

such nonsense.

_Maggie._ Sure, 'twas Bridget Daly, nixt door, that heard yez own

silf talk last night, and towld me. (_Enter_ KATIE, R., _with a large

military hat on her head, a gun on her shoulder_.)

_Maggie._ Oh, murther! Here's Kate wid a gun!

_All._ A gun! (KATIE _comes_, C.)

_Pollie_ (R.). Oh, dear! put it the other way! (KATIE _turns to_

R.)

_Rhoda._ (L.) No, no! the other way!

_Mrs. H._ Lord-a-mercy! she'll blow all our brains out! (_Gets

behind lounge._)

_Florence._ Put down that gun, Katie. (KATIE _takes it from her

shoulder_.)

(POLLIE _and_ RHODA _scream, and jump up in chairs_,

R.; MRS. DUPLEX _gets behind easy-chair_; MAGGIE _jumps upon

lounge; and all cry, "Drop it!" "It's loaded!" "Take it away!"

"Call somebody!"_) _Florence_ (_takes the gun, and lays it upon the

floor_).

You can descend in safety, girls. (_All get down._)

_Mrs. D._ Now, Katie, what does this mean?

_Katie._ If ye plaze, Mrs. Duplex, I thought, bein' the good time

that's comin' was come, and the women-folks was a goin' to rule, and

the men-folks do the housework, I'd give warnin', if you plaze.

(_Stoops, and picks up the gun. All scream, and renew their old

positions on chairs, behind chair and lounge, as before; repeat cries,

"Put it down" &c._)

_Florence._ Don't be alarmed: it's not loaded. (_All quiet again._)

_Mrs. D._ Well, it's about time an end was put to this nonsense.

You have picked up one of my remarks last night for the purpose of

laughing at me, or—

_Florence._ Teaching a lesson, mother.

_Mrs. D._ Well, I acknowledge my remarks were a little wild, and am

prepared to pay the penance. What shall it be? You seem to have been

the manager of the remarkable scene. Speak.

_Florence._ Mother, I want to take Carrie back with me when I return

to school.

_Mrs. H._ Bless my soul! what do you think I found in your father's

desk to-day? Something that looks, for all the world, like a will. Here

it is. (_Gives paper to_ MRS. D.)

_Mrs. D._ A will! (_Opening it._) And of a later date than the one

in my possession. (_Reads._) "To be equally divided between my dear

wife, and my beloved daughter Caroline." Indeed! This must be seen to.

_Florence._ Ah! then Carrie is not penniless, after all.

_Mrs. D._ Florence, how can you speak so? Never, while I live.

Where is the dear child?

_Mrs. H._ Shouldn't wonder if she was sweepin' off the steps.

(_Enter_ CAROLINE, R.)

_Caroline._ The reception-room is in order, madam.

_Mrs. D._ Caroline, my dear child, I think your experience in

house-affairs has been sufficient for the present. You will go with my

daughter to Rushly Seminary on her return. I shall look after my house

myself hereafter.

_Mrs. H._ Lor' sakes, Hannah Merria, are you coming to your senses?

_Mrs. D._ I hope I have never been bereft of them.

_Florence._ And the Reform Club, mother—

_Mrs. D._ Shall still have my hearty support; but no more public

speeches for the present, for my house needs putting in order; and you

have reminded me of that which I had almost forgotten, that a woman's

first duty is to her home.

_Katie._ Faith, ma'am, if there's to be a misthress, I'll sthay,

if yez plaze.

_Maggie._ An' mesilf, too, missus, by your lave.

_Florence._ There, mother, the storm's over; so let's hear no more of

"woman's rights."

_Rhoda._ And I can't be a butcher!

_Pollie._ Nor I an auc-sh-sh-shuneer. It's too bad!

_Mrs. D._ So there has been masquerading here.

_Florence._ For which I alone am to blame. Mother, we are wild girls,

and good subjects for missionary work. Set the Female Reform Club a

good example by commencing its work in your own neighborhood, and

reform us.

_Mrs. D._ There is certainly a large field of labor here for me;

and I shall set about the work at once. But what will the officers of

the club say?

_Mrs. H._ (Kee.) That you've backslid, Hannah Merria.

_Florence._ If they are honest and earnest, they will say that she

who to the welfare of her family first gives her heart, is a stanch

friend to progress. In that realm she is queen, and they who bend

beneath her loving sway, freely acknowledge her, in that grand sphere,

the Champion of her Sex.

_Situations._

CAROLINE. FLORENCE.

RHODA. MRS. D.

POLLIE. MRS. H.

KATIE. MAGGIE.

R. L.

_Curtain._

THE VISIONS OF FREEDOM.

A NATIONAL ALLEGORY.

CHARACTERS.

GLORIA, Goddess of Freedom.

RUBINA, her Counsellor of War.

SERENA, her Counsellor of Peace.

QUEEN MAB of Dreamland.

DROWSA, OBLIVIA, SOMNA, SOOTHA, Dream-Spirits.

ART, INDUSTRY, MUSIC, PLENTY, SERENA'S Attendants.

REVENGE, DISCORD, CRUELTY, HATRED, RUBINA'S Attendants.

_Action supposed to have occurred in Dreamland. Green bank_, C.

_Behind this a small platform about six inches high; chorus

seated_ R. _and_ L. _of stage_.

_Opening Chorus; air, "The Quiet Night."_

Slumber o'er earth is sending

Its realm of sweet repose:

The stream of life, rest-tending,

In peace through Dreamland flows;

Where waiting and caressing,

With varied visions blessing,

Dream spirits vigils keep;

Dream spirits vigils keep;

Their vigils keep, their vigils keep.

(_As the chorus closes, enter_ R., DROWSA _and_ OBLIVIA; L., SOMNA

_and_ SOOTHA; _then_ R., QUEEN MAB, _who stands_ C.)

_Q. Mab._ Spirits of Dreamland, once again we meet,

Our round of nightly revel to repeat.

O'er earth, when locked in sleep's warm, close embrace,

Since time began, the genius of our race

Has had the power fearlessly to sway

The visionary sceptre all obey.

The mighty monarch, who, with tyrant frown,

Upholds the burden of his weighty crown;

The fierce-browed warrior who relentless slays,

And, bathed in blood, his vows to Moloch pays;

Haughty and lowly, powerful and weak,—

Under mysterious spells our guidance seek.

Sweet sister spirits, Dreamland opens wide;

Yet justice guards it well on every side.

Over the pure we rosy visions throw:

Around the base a sea of troubles flow.

Ere forth you glide to ply your happy arts,

Your queen would learn the secrets of your hearts;

Who hie to sport, with mischievous intent,

And who on graver ministries are bent.

_Sootha._ I've an old miser under watchful care,

With sordid soul, of generous impulse bare;

Who nightly feasts, with avaricious eyes,

Where treasured gold in rare profusion lies;

Who revels o'er his fast-increasing store,

Chuckles with glee, yet wistful sighs for more;

Starvation's image, in a den so bare,

It seems a fit abode for dark despair.

Into his sleep I glide, disturb his rest,

Rattle his treasure, till, with fear possessed,

As frightful visions thick and thicker press,

He trembling wakes, his idol to caress.

_Oblivia._ Fair queen, a toiling student I enchain,

And with my art refresh his weary brain:

Up wisdom's heights I lead him by the hand,

And show him visions of the promised land;

Fair fields of learning spread before his gaze,

For him the realm of science set ablaze,

Ope Fame's grand temple, Honor's scroll unroll,

And tell the triumphs of the trusting soul,

Till hope re-animates the wasting fire

With earnest zeal and conquering desire.

_Somna._ I guard a trusting maiden, young and fair,

Whom Love has tangled in his silken snare;

Spread rosy dreams amid her sleeping hours,

And lead her captive through a land of flowers;

Adorn her hero with true manly pride,

And of the future ope the portal wide,

While smiles of pleasure o'er her sweet face creep,

And blissful words betray her secret deep.

With rare delight her day-dreams I repeat,

And make her young life's round of love complete.

_Drowsa._ Oh, I've a task, fair queen, will love secure.

Last night I visited with visions pure

A weary mother, who, for many a day,

Watched o'er the cradle where her dear babe lay

Wasting with fever, till the unseen Hand

Took it in kindness to a better land.

Long has she mourned its loss, with wakeful eyes,

Fast-falling tears, low, sad, and bitter cries.

Last night she slept; and then, in vision's charms,

I crept, and laid her babe within her arms.

Content she rested, with a smile so sweet,

I go to-night this comfort to repeat.

_Q. Mab._ Your zeal, industrious spirits, we applaud:

Your chosen missions meet with full accord;

Yet for this night we have a task so grand,

Your queen would all your energies command.

_Somna._ We wait your pleasure,

_Oblivia._ All our arts employ;

_Drowsa._ Set us what tasks you will,

_Sootha._ We'll serve with joy.

_Q. Mab._ Thanks, sisters! To our confidence draw near,

And list our secret with attentive ear.

Freedom's fair goddess, Gloria, in doubt,

Her fair Republic, restless roams about,

Seeking a talisman to life prolong,

And make her youthful charge wax brave and strong.

Close at her side Rubina, crafty maid,

Whose fire-lit eyes gloat over war's dread trade,

Plies her bold speech, unchecked by fear of frown,

Counselling deeds of conquest and renown;

While calm Serena, long to Peace allied,

Whose gentle influence stretches far and wide,

Recounts the glories of a land at rest,

With sterling Industry's rich harvests blest.

Wavering betwixt the gentle and the bold,

By turns rebellious, and by turns controlled,

Poor Gloria wanders long, in dire distress

Which counsellor to choose her realm to bless.

Old custom gives to us prophetic power

To guide by vision in the trying hour.

And so to-night, o'er Gloria's doubting heart,

Fair sister spirits, we will ply our art,

Lure her to Dreamland, and in phantom light

Illume her path, and guide her to the right.

Stand close! she comes! the light winds bear along

The martial burden of her triumph song.

[_Retire, and form behind bank._

_Chorus; air, "Love of Country."_

Blest is the land where Freedom rears,

'Neath heaven's blue, arching dome,

For labor's sons of every clime,

Her proud and happy home.

Beyond the reach of tyrant rule,

Free are the hands we raise:

Onward we move, with joyous song

Of thankfulness and praise.

Blest is the land, &c.

(_Enter_ L., GLORIA, _attended by_ RUBINA _and_ SERENA,

_followed by_ ATTENDANTS.)

C. GLORIA.

R. RUBINA. SERENA, L.

ATTENDANTS. ATTENDANTS.

_Gloria._ Yes, mine, all mine, this bounteous land,

So rich in varied blessings that command

Homage from all. The mighty of the earth

Must stoop to thee, O land of lowly birth!

Thy mountains rise in majesty and pride;

In royal state thy valleys open wide;

Thy broad, expansive waters, spreading free,

Embrace the bosom of the mother sea;

Out of a fruitful earth thy harvests rise;

Out leaps the golden ore with glad surprise;

Over thy broad domains, with ceaseless hum,

Labor's grand armies ever conquering come;

While rare Invention opes its secret heart,

And Genius rears its monumental art.

O land of promise! Gloria's inmost prayer

Could ask no more than thy fair fate to share.

Sweet counsellors, let Wisdom quick contrive

Some plan this happy state to keep alive.

_Rubina._ A nation's life, fair mistress, action craves;

Cold, sluggish apathy the blood enslaves.

Renown's the rock on which to rear a state;

Rubina's counsel is for conquest straight.

_Gloria._ Conquest, Rubina! Thine's a sorry jest.

We have no quarrels: friends with all we rest.

_Rubina._ Ay: but to win renown, with fair excuse,

Strike at the shadow of some old abuse

Among our neighbors; or, with slight parade

Of justice, boldly on their borders raid.

Quick to revenge, their warlike hearts upspring:

"To arms! to arms!" they cry. Their weapons ring;

On us they march, a fast-increasing band,

Till in the confines of our realm they stand.

"Quick! to repel invasion!" then our cry;

Alarming signals flash out fierce and high;

From east and west, from north and south, outpour

The sons of Freedom, in their strength secure;

Drive back the foe, in turn invade their fold,

Until their fate victoriously we hold.

_Gloria._ And then—

_Rubina._ And then boldly for ransom claim

A portion of their realm in Freedom's name.

_Gloria._ What says Serena?

_Serena._ 'Tis a crafty plot,

And full of wickedness. I like it not.

Freedom's a name too sacred to infold

A hungering appetite for greed and gold.

What conquest gains is ne'er enriched by toil;

Ensanguined earth is but a sterile soil.

Rubina's counsel, and her bold device,

Would purchase glory at a bloody price.

_Rubina._ Serena, pause! thou hast no right to frown,

With thy cold-hearted words, my counsel down.

No crafty plot I weave to bring disgrace,

But lofty plans to glorify the race.

Let War once set his standard in the field,

With strength and valor blazoned on his shield,

The roar of cannon, and the clash of steel,

Shall glad the nation with triumphant peal,

And strong and mighty conquerers enroll

Heroic deeds on her historic scroll.

_Serena._ While o'er the land the blood of her dear sons—

Conquest's sad recompense—in horror runs.

Forbear, Rubina! Gracious mistress, might

Should ever wield its strong arm for the right.

Let not Rubina's counsel carry weight,

Lest angry discord rend your lofty state.

_Rubina._ Insult again—

_Gloria._ Nay, nay, Rubina. Pause:

Thou hast had ample time to urge thy cause.

With patience curb a while thy fiery mood;

We'll ponder well thy influence for good.

Speak thou, Serena. Canst thou find release

For our perplexity in ways of peace?

_Serena._ Ay, peace, fair mistress, is the fount of health,

Whence flow the streams of happiness and wealth

That bless a nation. In its waters fair,

Drowned are the pangs of life-corroding care;

Cheered and refreshed is duty's faithful heart,

In labor's trials strong to take its part.

O happy Gloria! o'er this blest domain,

With Peace thy minister, forever reign.

Its power can bless thy state with bright renown,

And deck with radiant gems thy royal crown.

Let not bold War thy quiet glades invade,

To ruthless revel in thy marts of trade,

Affront thy people with its thundering peal,

And grind the harvests 'neath its iron heel.

For Peace is mighty to achieve all ends,

And highest good with grandest triumph blends.

_Rubina._ Ignoble Toil, Serena, grovels low,

And on the race no glory can bestow.

_Serena._ Toil is the power that tears the rock away,

And brings rare jewels to the light of day.

_Rubina._ 'Tis base!

_Serena._ 'Tis noble!

_Gloria._ Silence, I entreat!

Counsel is vain when angry passions meet.

In patience we have heard: in patience wait,

Till we have pondered on this strange debate,

And made our choice. Anon we'll make it known.

Await our pleasure. We would be alone.

(_Repeat chorus, "Blest is the land," &c., and

march off_ R., RUBINA _and_ ATTENDANTS; L., SERENA _and_

ATTENDANTS. GLORIA _sits on bank_.)

_Gloria._ O doubting heart! the battle to repeat,

Within thy depths Content and Conquest meet.

Upon the field where Conscience sits enthroned,

One must be victor crowned, and one disowned.

When Wisdom all its arguments hath plied,

Thou, judge impartial, must the case decide.

Upon thy fiat hangs a nation's fate:

Give me the power to make my people great.

_Song; air, "Oh, come ye into the summer woods:"_

QUEEN MAB _and_ DREAM-SPIRITS.

Oh, sink you into soft slumber's arms!

There dwelleth no annoy;

There freely rove the Dreamland sprites,

And sweet rest is full of joy.

_Gloria_ (_slowly sinks to rest, speaking softly,

with closed eyes_).

Soft, drowsy spirits o'er my senses creep,

And bear me captive to the realm of sleep.

_Song continued._

We'll spread for you, in phantom light,

That plainly you may know,

The woes of dreadful warfare,

The joys from peace that flow.

Oh! sink you, &c.

_QUEEN MAB (comes front of bank, and kneels;

SOMNA and OBLIVIA come down R.; DROWSA and SOOTHA, L.)._

Ay, sink to sleep, fair goddess. Healthy rest

From weighty care shall ease thy troubled breast;

Prophetic visions o'er thy senses roll,

To guide to just result thy struggling soul.

Rubina comes with treason in her tread,

To crafty acts by false ambition led.

(_Enter_ RUBINA, R. _She passes behind bank, and

stands_ C., _looking down at_ GLORIA. _Then enter_ R., CRUELTY

_and_ HATRED, _who pass to_ L.; DISCORD _and_ REVENGE, _who stand_

R.)

RUBINA.

GLORIA, _on bank_.

QUEEN MAB, _kneeling_.

R. DISCORD. HATRED. L.

SOMNA. SOOTHA.

REVENGE. CRUELTY.

OBLIVIA. DROWSA.

_Rubina._ In fetters bound all powerless she lies,

The mighty goddess who all earth defies,

The slave of sleep. Relinquished the command

Which sways the fortune of her chosen land.

The gleaming crown on her majestic brow

But serves as symbol of her bondage now.

Should I but snatch it from her pillowed head,

Rubina rules, and Freedom's host is led

Instant to conquest. 'Tis a glorious aim.

Speak, you who wait: have I your free acclaim?

_Discord._ Quick! snatch the crown, and I will hie away

To boldly with the meaner passions play;

Quicken your hosts with feverish desire,

With love of anarchy their bosoms fire.

Pause not, but on the instant power assume!

Discord will go before, and cry, "Make room!"

_Cruelty._ Ay, wear the crown. Let war defiant move;

Let me 'mid soft and tender passions rove,

Crushing and slaying, turning all to steel,

Forged in the flame of fierce and bitter zeal.

Allegiance to thee, Cruelty will give;

Under thy triumphs will she grandly live.

_Hatred._ Usurp the regal state, and I am free

War's stanch and sturdy champion to be.

Warm blood I quicken with a thirsty hate,

That nought but anarchy can satiate.

Unto thy crown I full allegiance lend;

Hatred by thee will ever stand as friend.

_Revenge._ Success to treason! At thy feet I lay

My fond allegiance. Bid me quick array

The fiercest passions. I will straightway prove

My bold endeavor worthy of thy love.

War is my idol; at its luring call

Revenge is quick, and sure to conquer all.

_Rubina._ O glorious spirits! what you free accord,

This grateful heart shall bless with rich reward.

Success is certain: I'll no longer pause,

But raise aloft the standard of our cause.

(_Takes crown from_ GLORIA'S _head_.)

The crown is mine. Rise, War, in triumph now;

Gloria's rare diadem is on my brow!

TABLEAU. _The crowning of War._

HATRED. RUBINA. DISCORD.

GLORIA, _on bank_.

R. SOMNA. QUEEN MAB. SOOTHA. L.

REVENGE. CRUELTY.

OBLIVIA. DROWSA.

_A chord._ RUBINA _places crown on her head;

stands with her hands raised to the crown_. GLORIA _starts up,

resting on one hand, her other hand raised to her brow, terror in

her eyes_. QUEEN MAB _on her knees in front of bank, her hands

clasped, resting in her lap, head thrown back_. SOMNA, R., _and_

SOOTHA, L., _in line with_ QUEEN MAB, _crouch each with one hand on

her shoulder, the other outstretched, as though warding off

danger_. HATRED _and_ DISCORD _run_ R. _and_ L. _of_ RUBINA; _each

has hand on her waist, the other raised in triumph_. DROWSA _falls

at the feet of_ CRUELTY, L., _her back to audience, her hands

raised and clasped_. CRUELTY _looks down at her with right hand

raised and clenched, as though about to strike_. OBLIVIA _falls at

the feet of_ REVENGE, R., _with outstretched arms, facing

audience_; REVENGE _seizes her hands, bends her back, and looks

into her face. Expressions of terror on the faces of_ DREAM-SPIRITS

_and_ GLORIA; _triumph in those of_ RUBINA _and her_ ATTENDANTS.

_Soft music until the attention of the audience is fastened on the

picture, then_,—

_Chorus; air, "Soldier's Chorus."_

Glory and fame for the free and bold!

War's red banner let heroes unfold,

Boldly advancing to win renown,

Ay, eager to fight, and ready to guard Rubina's crown.

_Semi-chorus._

Who lack courage to dare in the front of fight,

With conquest before, and the foe in sight?

_Semi-chorus._

Who would falter or turn when glory and fame

Their bright laurels press, and with victory bless,

In War's mighty name?

_Chorus._

Glory and fame, &c.

_Rubina._ Up and away! the tocsin sounds afar;

The land of freedom is the realm of war.

(_Repeat chorus, "Glory and Fame," &c., and exit_

R., RUBINA, _followed by_ REVENGE, HATRED, DISCORD, _and_ CRUELTY.

_As the music ceases_, QUEEN MAB _and the_ DREAM-SPIRITS _resume

their places at back of bank_.)

_Gloria._ Rubina false, and I, by sleep possessed,

Powerless to rise my rightful crown to wrest!

_Queen Mab._ Now, fair Serena, let thy loyal heart,

The treasures of its secret depths impart.

Sisters, the spell prolong with slumber's chain;

Bind the fair goddess to her dreams again.

_Song_: QUEEN MAB _and_ DREAM-SPIRITS; _air, "The

Image of the Rose."_

Come, Sleep, on drowsy pinions flying,

Fair Gloria lull to sweet repose.

The land of dreams around her lying,

To charm her senses, brightly glows.

There peaceful visions, soft, entrancing,

In changeful measures sport and play.

Sleep, by thy magic power advancing,

Within thy arms bear her away.

Magical sleep, bear her, bear her, oh, bear her away!

_As the song proceeds, the_ DREAM-SPIRITS _and_

QUEEN MAB _slowly exeunt_, R. SERENA, _and_ ATTENDANTS, MUSIC,

_with a lyre_; INDUSTRY, _with a distaff_; PLENTY, _with a horn of

plenty; and_ ART, _with a palette and brushes,—appear_, L., _when

the music ceases_. SERENA _stands_ C., _looking down at_ GLORIA;

_her_ ATTENDANTS L. _The implements carried by the_ ATTENDANTS

_should be made of flowers, if possible_.