_Bank._

SERENA.

R. L. ATTENDANTS.

_Serena._ Genius of Freedom, in thy visions bless

Serena's faithful heart with warm caress.

Let not vain Conquest flatter and deceive:

Bid restful Peace at once thy doubts relieve.

Bending in homage to thy royal sway,

Strong to achieve, and zealous to obey,

She sues for favor: bid her journey wide,

Prosperity to sow on every side.

She pleads in love: receive her earnest prayer,

And of thy love bestow a generous share.

_Industry._ Hear her, great goddess: ready to inthrall

True-hearted worth, I wait her cheery call.

With brain and muscle ceaselessly I play,

Opening new harvests to the light of day.

Contentment, life's warm, sweet, and better part,

Industry thrones in Labor's thrifty heart.

_Plenty._ List to her prayer, O Gloria! All elate

To fill the treasure-house of wealth I wait;

At her command, the harvest shall outpour,

To deck thy chosen land from shore to shore.

Warmed in the love-light of her peaceful eyes,

Plenty, fruit-freighted, shall luxurious rise.

_Art._ Grant her fond wish, fair goddess, and I twine

Into thy reign, with rare and grand design,

All that pen, brush, and chisel can achieve,

Thy weighty cares to lighten and relieve.

Gigantic Genius bends a willing knee,

When Art, by Peace, to triumph is set free.

_Music._ Hear her, fair goddess, and I joyous soar,

Pæans of thankfulness and praise to pour

In bounteous song. Thy proud and happy reign

Shall be the burden of my glad refrain.

Religion's anthems swell with large increase

When Music rises at the call of Peace.

_Serena._ Dost hear, my mistress? All the Graces meet

In my behalf, thy favor to entreat.

Grant me thy love, and beautiful and grand

Shall be the labors of this gifted band.

(_Enter_ RUBINA, R., _and her_ ATTENDANTS.)

_Rubina._ Thou suest for love, Serena, all too late:

Gloria has parted with her high estate.

I sued for power, defied the royal frown,

Played with bold hand, and won the regal crown.

_Serena._ The crown upon thy head! Oh, bitter woe

O'er a fair land relentlessly shall flow!

Must I relinquish all my dreams of bliss?

Do I deserve such recompense as this?

_Rubina._ Check thy bold speech, Serena. Get thee hence!

Thy piteous pleading is a rash offence

Against our state.

_Serena._ Rash Rubina, hold!

Peace by thy sway can never be controlled.

Thou hast usurped the guidance of a race

Who shrink in terror from thy brazen face.

Thou hast with treachery obtained a crown;

Serena quails not at a wicked frown.

Traitress—

_Rubina._ Defied by thee! At once away!

Rubina rules, and can relentless slay.

Thy power is crushed: Serena now must cease

The fickle glow of enervating peace.

With all the sprites that compass thee about,

From Freedom's realms I boldly drive thee out.

War's mighty reign begins—

(GLORIA _rises quickly, steps between, and snatches the

crown from_ RUBINA'S _head_.)

_Gloria._ False one, 'tis o'er!

Flaunt thy fierce mien in our domain no more.

Thy rude assaults of recklessness and pride,

Fame, glory, and renown, in scorn deride.

Thou hast no charms the noble to inthrall;

No knightly hearts obey thy martial call

When Conquest beckons. Here, within the realm,

Be thou content to treason overwhelm

With mighty force. Fate binds thee to our side;

Henceforth thou watchful guard, and we will guide.

(_Waves her hand_; RUBINA _and her_ ATTENDANTS

_retire to back of stage_, L.; GLORIA _passes behind bank, and

stands_.)

By vision hath our sleep been girt about,

And happy wake we, free from anxious doubt.

Our choice 'twixt War and Peace we here reveal,

And stamp the fiat with our royal seal.

Approach, Serena! Love thou dost desire.

(SERENA _stands near_ C.)

Thou hast all charms affection to inspire,—

Heart warm with honesty and generous zeal;

Brain strong to contrive, and mighty to reveal;

Soul full of teeming virtues. All outflow,

Blessings of peace and love to free bestow.

Henceforth to guide us by thy loving arts,

We crown thee sovereign in our heart of hearts.

_TABLEAU. The crowning of Peace._

DREAM-SPIRITS. ATTENDANTS.

QUEEN MAB. RUBINA.

GLORIA.

_Bank._

INDUSTRY. SERENA. ART.

R. PLENTY. MUSIC, L.

SERENA _sits on bank_, C., _facing audience,

hands folded across her breast_. GLORIA _stands behind her, placing

the crown upon her head_; INDUSTRY R. _of_ SERENA, _seated on bank,

facing_ R., _distaff in her left hand resting against shoulder_;

ART _in the same position_ L. _of_ SERENA, _facing_ L., _with

palette in her left hand_; MUSIC _kneeling in front of_ ART,

_facing audience, playing upon lyre_; PLENTY _kneeling on right

knee, front of_ INDUSTRY, _outpouring her horn of plenty_; RUBINA

L., _back, with her_ ATTENDANTS _grouped behind her_. QUEEN MAB

_enters_ R., _with her_ DREAM-SPIRITS, _and group_ R., _back.

Appropriate music: then chorus; air, Eichberg's "National Hymn."_

On thee, O Freedom, grand and great!

In confidence we lean,

Our land to bless, with fond caress

Of happiness serene.

To hail thy crowning, gentle Peace,

Let music joyous soar;

While harvests wave, and blessings lave

Thy realm from shore to shore.

_Repeat._ _Curtain._

NOTE.—All the tunes used in this allegory, with

the single

exception of Eichberg's "National Hymn" (which is published

in sheet-form), are from "The Grammar School Chorus," which

furnished the tunes for "The Revolt of the Bees," "The War

of the Roses," and "Lightheart's Pilgrimage," by the same

author. Published by O. Ditson & Co., and sold by Lee &

Shepard, Boston. Price $1.00.

THE MERRY CHRISTMAS

OF THE

OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE.

CHARACTERS.

THE OLD WOMAN who lived in a Shoe.

SANTA CLAUS, disguised as a Beggar.

Ten or twelve CHILDREN, Boys and Girls of various ages.

SCENE.—_The exterior of "Copper Toe Shoe House,"

which is set at back of platform._

_Chorus (invisible); air, "Revolutionary Tea"_ (p. 194,

"Golden Wreath").

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe;

Of children she had a score:

So many had she, to know what to do

Was a question which puzzled her sore.

(_Head of_ CHILD _appears at 1_.)

To some she gave broth without any bread;

But never contented were they,

Till she whipped them all soundly, and put them to bed,

And then very happy were they,

And then very happy were they.

(_Head appears at 2._)

"Now, mother, dear mother," the young ones would cry,

As they dropped off with a nod,

"To train up a child in the way to go,

O mother, dear, ne'er spare the rod.

(CHILD'S _head appears at 3_.)

For broth without bread is a watery waste;

And never contented are we,

Till with your good stick it is thickened to taste;

(_Three heads appear at 4._)

And then, oh, how happy are we!

And then, oh, how happy are we!"

_Enter_ OLD WOMAN, R. _Her costume, bodice, quilted petticoat,

sugar-loaf hat, high-heeled shoes, and cane._

_O. W._ Aha! (_Heads disappear quick._)

Good gracious! can't I leave the house a minute,

But what a head's at every window in it?

Don't let me see the tip of a single nose;

For, if you do, we'll surely come to blows.

Poor dears! they want the air. Well, that is cheap

And strengthening; for they live on air and sleep.

Food is so high, and work is so unstiddy,

Life's really wearing on this poor old widdy.

[Illustration: FRONT VIEW OF COPPER TOE SHOE HOUSE.]

1. Split in the Heel.

2. Patch on the best Corn.

3. Copper Toe.

4. Lookout, or Observatory at top of House.

(_Heads appear, one after the other, as before._)

Ah me! here's good old Christmas come again.

How can I join in the triumphant strain

Which moves all hearts? I am so old and poor,

With none to aid me from their generous store.

CHILD _at 1_. Mother, I want a drum.

CHILD _at 2_. I want a doll!

CHILD _at 3_. Gimme a sword!

_Three_ CHILDREN _at 4_. Got presents for us all?

_O. W._ Aha! (_Heads disappear quick._)

Poor dears! if with the will I had the power,

The choicest Christmas gifts should on them shower.

_Song_: OLD WOMAN; _air, "Comin' through the Rye."_

If a widdy's with her biddies,

Living in a shoe,

If a widdy's work unstiddies,

What'll widdy do?

(_Heads appear as before._)

Every mother loves her biddies;

Many a one have I;

But where get gifts to fill their fists,

When I've no gold to buy?

Aha! (_Heads disappear quick._)

There is a sprite oft comes this night,

Whom children love full well;

But what's his name, and where's his hame,

He does not always tell.

(_Heads appear as before._)

Lads and lassies know good Santa,

With presents not a few;

Would he were here, my chicks to cheer,

Living in a shoe!

Aha! (_Heads disappear._)

Well, I'll get in, and make the children warm.

Tucked in their beds, they're always safe from harm.

And in their dreams, perhaps, such gifts will rise

As wakeful, wretched poverty denies.

(_Disappears behind shoe._)

_Enter cautiously_, R., SANTA CLAUS; _his fabled

dress is hidden by a long domino, or "waterproof;" he has, swung

about his neck, a tin kitchen, on which he grinds an imaginary

accompaniment to his song_.

_Santa._ "You'd scarce expect one of my age"—

For gray hair is the symbol of the sage—

To play at "hide-and-seek," to your surprise.

Here's honest Santa Claus, in rough disguise.

But 'tis all right, as I will quick explain,

For I've a mystic project "on the brain."

I've dropped down chimneys all this blessed night,

Where warmth and comfort join to give delight;

I've filled the stockings of the merry elves,

Who, to fond parents, are rich gifts themselves;

And now I've come, resolved to make a show

In that old mansion with the copper toe,

Where dwells a dame, with children great and small,

Enough to stock a school, or crowd a hall.

If they are worthy of our kind regard,

Christmas shall bring to them a rich reward.

So I have donned for once a meaner dress,

To personate a beggar in distress.

If to my wants they lend a listening ear,

The rough old shoe shall glow with Christmas cheer:

If they are rude, and turn me from the door,

Presto! I vanish, and return no more.

_Song_: SANTA CLAUS; _air_, "_Them blessed Roomatics._"

My name's Johnny Schmoker, and I am no joker;

I don't in my pockets no greenbacks perceive.

For, what with high dressing in fashions distressing,

I can't with a morsel my hunger relieve.

My stomach so tender, that aches there engender;

The whole blessed day I am crying out, "Oh!"

Drat these grand fashions! they wakens my passions,

A-nippin' and gnawin' my poor stomach so!

(_Heads appear as before._)

I've had the lumbager, dyspepsy, and ager,

With tight-fitting veskits and pantaloons too;

Highsterics and swimins, delirious trimins,

St. Vestris's dance, and the tick dolly-oo.

But not the whole gettin', one's body tight fits in,

Is noffin' to this, which is drefful. Oh, oh!

Drat these grand fashions! they wakens my passions,

A-nippin' and gnawin' my poor stomach so!

(_Heads disappear._)

Now, there's a touching song to move the heart,

Hark! what's that? I thought I heard them start.

_Song_: CHILDREN, _outside; air, "Oh, dear, what can

the matter be?"_

Oh, dear, what can the matter be?

Dear, dear, what can the matter be?

Oh, dear, what can the matter be?

Somebody's groaning out there!

A hungry old beggar has come here to tease us,

By grinding an organ he knows will not please us.

He hopes it may bring him a handful of pennies,

To buy him a loaf of brown bread.

_Enter_ OLD WOMAN, _with_ CHILDREN, L., _from

behind shoe. The largest hangs on to her skirts, the next in size

to the largest, until they dwindle to the smallest; repeat song as

they enter slowly, turn to_ R., _march across stage; turn to_ L.,

_march across again; turn to_ R., _and form across stage._

_O. W._ Now go away, old man. 'Tis very queer

That you should seek to waste your sweetness here;

For we've no money, not a cent, to pay

For music; so you'd better up and move away.

_Santa._ Alas, alas! and can you be unkind

To one who's been by Fortune left behind;

Who has no friend, no money, and no clo'es;

The hunted victim of unnumbered woes?

Good dame, I ask not money: if you please,

A simple crust my hunger to appease.

_O. W._ Good gracious! Starving! Children, do you hear?

The old man's hungry: quickly disappear!

(CHILDREN _scamper behind shoe_.)

_Santa._ She drives them in. To me 'tis very clear

Old Santa fails to find a welcome here.

_O. W._ We're very poor, have fasted many a day,

Yet from our door ne'er drove the poor away.

_Song; air, "Balm of Gilead," by the_ CHILDREN,

_who march in as before, carrying sticks, on which are stuck

apples, potatoes, crusts of bread, turnip, carrot, "beat," &c. They

move around the stage, singing as they pass_ SANTA; _the last time,

pitch their potatoes, &c., into his tin kitchen. He stands_ L. _of

stage_; OLD WOMAN, R.

Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,

Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,

Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,

Down at Copper Toe Shoe.

Cold potato—tato,

Cold potato—tato,

Cold pota—to,

Down at Copper Toe Shoe.

(_No interlude._)

Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,

Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,

Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,

Down at Copper Toe Shoe.

Crusts for breakfast—breakfast,

Crusts for breakfast—breakfast,

Crusts for break—fast,

Down at Copper Toe Shoe.

Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,

Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,

Oh, you sha'n't be hungry now,

Down at Copper Toe Shoe.

Broth for supper—supper,

Broth for supper—supper,

Broth for sup—per,

Down at Copper Toe Shoe.

Oh, you sha'n't, &c.

_Santa._ Well, well, I'm puzzled! Here's a grand surprise.

Bless me, the tears are dropping from my eyes!

Thank you, my children. This is quite bewitchin';

With eatables you've nearly filled my kitchen.

Ah, little ones! you've learned the better part.

They are the poor who lack the kindly heart;

And they the rich, the noble, and the high,

Who never willing pass the sufferer by.

Now comes my triumph. Children, speak up bright:

What day is this?

_All._ Christmas.

_Little Girl._ No; 'tis Christmas night!

_Santa._ That's true. Now tell me who, against the laws,

Drops down the chimneys?

_All._ Why, old Santa Claus!

_Santa._ Bless me! how bright and nice these children are!

Each eye doth sparkle like the evening star.

Now, then, suppose I were that ancient sprite,

What would you ask, to give you most delight?

_Child 1._ I'd have a sled.

_Child 2._ A doll.

_Child 3._ A kite for me.

_Child 4._ Something still better.

_Santa._ What?

_Child 4._ A Christmas tree!

_All Children._ Oh, my! Good gracious! Wouldn't that be grand?

_O. W._ Too grand, my chicks, for you to understand.

Why, such a tree within our old shoe spread,

Would from their fastenings tear out every thread;

Make every peg to start from out its socket,

And send the buckle flying like a rocket.

_Santa._ Good, good! there's fun beneath that wrinkled phiz.

At playing Santa Claus, let's make a biz.

Suppose me Santa Claus. I bless you all:

Then from my waistcoat let this oven fall,

(_Takes off kitchen._)

Throw off this mantle with a sudden jerk,

(_Throws off disguise, and appears as_ SANTA CLAUS.)

And in an instant set myself to work.

_Children._ 'Tis Santa Claus!

_Santa._ You're right. I am the man,

Yours to command. I'll serve you if I can;

For I have found, good dame, that honest worth

Can burrow in the lowliest spot on earth;

That sweet compassion's ne'er so poorly fed,

But what she finds an extra crust of bread.

Now, to reward your generous hearts, my chicks,

Into the earth these magic seeds I sticks;

These cabalistic words in Hebrew mutter,—

"Ene, mene, moni, suti, sutter;"

Presto! appear! and, glittering bright and free,

Beams on your sight the mystic Christmas tree.

(_Shoe divides, and disappears_ R. _and_ L. _Curtains at

back open, disclosing tree._)

_Song: "We'll gather round the Christmas Tree."_ SANTA CLAUS _and_

OLD WOMAN _distribute presents to the company. Curtain falls._

[Illustration:

REAR VIEW OF COPPER TOE SHOE HOUSE.

]

NOTE.—This entertainment was prepared for a Sunday school's

Christmas Eve, and was arranged as follows: A stage, fourteen feet

square, was fitted with a "roll-up" curtain in front. Drapery was

hung at the sides and back; a Christmas tree, filled with presents,

was placed well back on the stage, and hidden by curtains arranged

to separate in the middle. In front of these was placed "Copper Toe

Shoe House." The rear view represents the frame made of wood, in two

pieces, to separate in the middle, of the following dimensions: ten

feet from toe to heel, five feet and one half from heel to top, four

feet and one half across top, heel about twenty inches long, eight

inches high. Cover front, in two separate sections, with black

cambric; for toe, copper tinsel paper; for sole and patch, brown

cambric; for buckle, silver tinsel paper; the patch fastened only at

bottom. A curtain, of same material or color as back stage, should

be hung in rear of shank, that children standing behind may not be

seen. A settee is placed behind it, on which the children in the

dwelling stand. 1, 2, and 3 lie upon the stage, and stick their

heads out when required. The characters can pass between the

curtains at back, to their places. When the tree is disclosed, all

the characters are in front, the settee is removed, the braces

unfastened, and, at a signal, two boys run off the shoe, and others

draw the curtains.

[Illustration:

THE TOURNAMENT OF IDYLCOURT.

]

THE

TOURNAMENT OF IDYLCOURT.

AN ALLEGORY.

CHARACTERS.

JUSTICIA, Genius of Idylcourt.

PRIMEVA, Goddess of Nature.

MAJESTA, Guardian of the Mountains.

LOFTIE, AERIE, Mountain-Spirits.

FLORA, Guardian of the Fields.

POMONA, AGRIA, Field-Spirits.

OCEANA, Guardian of the Sea.

SHELLIE, WAVA, Sea-Spirits.

GENIA, Goddess of Art.

BLENDA, Genius of Painting.

CLASSICA, Genius of Sculpture.

HARMONIA, Genius of Music.

FAITH, HOPE, CHARITY, Classica's Models.

RELIGION, PRAYER, SORROW, JOY, Blenda's Picture.

POESIE, a wandering Maiden.

SCENE.—_Idylcourt. For a school exhibition, the chorus should be

seated right and left of an open space in the centre of the

platform, for the speakers. There should be a raised platform, six

or eight inches high, at the rear of this, with a dark background

for the more effective display of tableaux._

_Opening Chorus; air, "Shady Groves."_

Idylcourt, in fame and beauty

Glorious, bright thy realms appear;

Idylcourt, in love and duty

Willing hearts to thee draw near,

Wise Justicia's words to hear,

Wise Justicia's words to hear.

Court of genius, home of beauty,

Court of genius, home of beauty,

Court of genius, home of beauty,

Willing hearts to thee draw near;

Court of genius, home of beauty,

Court of genius, home of beauty,

Court of genius, home of beauty,

Willing hearts to thee draw near;

Court of genius, love and duty

Render homage to thy beauty,

Render to thy beauty,

Court of genius, love and duty.

_During the singing of the Chorus, enter_, R., PRIMEVA, MAJESTA,

FLORA, _and_ OCEANA. _Enter_ L., GENIA, CLASSICA, BLENDA,

HARMONIA. _At the conclusion, enter_ JUSTICIA R., _and stands_ C.

_Positions are indicated by the following diagram_:—

[Illustration]

JUSTICIA.

_Chorus._ R. C. L. _Chorus._

MAJ. CLAS.

FLO. PRIM. GEN. HAR.

OCEA. BLEN.

_Justicia._ Welcome, fair sisters, to our regal court;

Your tuneful measures breathe of good report;

Twin guardian spirits of the fruitful earth,

To glad mankind creation gave you birth.

To you, Primeva, Nature bends in awe;

From you, fair Genia, Art receives its law.

Your free acclaim, upon this regal seat,

Justicia placed, all arguments to meet

With ear impartial; bade her voice decide,

That blissful harmony might here abide.

Your graceful homage, to our royal ear

Is but the foretaste of more welcome cheer.

You need our aid: unto our grateful heart

Your mission's import quickly now impart.

_Primeva._ Fair genius—

_Genia._ Sweet Justicia—

_Justicia._ Our decree,

By courtly rule, admits no double plea.

Be gracious, sisters.

_Genia._ I was wanting grace,

And humbly bend to give Primeva place.

_Primeva._ Justicia, yonder proud and haughty sprite

Usurps a name Primeva claims by right.

I would have justice!

_Justicia._ Art thou just to her?

Genia usurper! 'tis a cruel slur.

Brave, truthful speech bears no envenomed sting,

But, like good metal, has an honest ring.

_Primeva._ It was an honest truth, I dare repeat;

I may be rough in speech, but scorn deceit.

_Genia._ 'Tis true, Justicia, in a friendly way,

I chanced to cross Primeva's path to-day,

And held some converse with my sister sprite,

Whose bold, free speech is often my delight.

Our theme was conquest; and, in pleasant strife,

Each boasted of her power o'er human life;

And, half in jest, this boast I gayly hurled,—

"I, Genia, am the empress of the world."

_Primeva._ 'Tis false. It was no jest.

_Justicia._ Primeva, cease!

Your angry humor doth disturb our peace.

_Genia._ Primeva met my jest with frowning brow,

And angry words, so bitter in their flow,

My jesting humor fled. We argued long

To whom, by right, that title should belong;

Leaving all else but this great truth behind,—

She is the greatest who best serves mankind.

_Justicia._ Who won the battle?

_Genia._ That you must decide.

By your impartial fiat we abide.

_Primeva._ On this we are agreed. Justicia, hear,

And let your judgment be both wise and clear.

Nature's own goddess, crowned and sceptred, I

Stand forth all meaner powers to defy.

I rule the field, the mount, the sky, the sea:

Who shall presume in power to rival me?

I wave my hand; and, o'er the barren waste,

Upspringing flowers to meet my coming haste.

I smile: the trees, o'erburdened with their fruit,

Bend low, with blushing cheeks, for my salute.

I speak: the bristling hillocks, far and near,

Present in homage many an opening ear;

The grand old mountains, stately and serene,

Welcome my coming, own me as their queen;

Adown their sides I loose the mimic streams,

To sport and revel in the sun's warm beams.

I rule the mighty sea by wave and tide;

I deck with starry gems the heavens wide;

I hurl the storm upon the maddening sea;

The shifting winds, obedient, follow me;

I bind the waters in an icy band,

And spread a snowy pall o'er all the land;

With all the elements I sport at will,

And, fast or loose, all my commands fulfil.

Fair genius, 'tis but just, that, so renowned,

As empress of the world I should be crowned.

_Justicia._ There's anger in thy speech, pride in thine eye;

Ambition's soaring pinions lift thee high.

What says your rival to this weighty claim?

Can aught be found to heighten Genia's fame?

_Genia._ Justicia, I a mightier sceptre sway,

And make Primeva's realms but pave the way

To grand achievements. Through her flowery field

I drive the plough, and bounteous harvests yield;

With skilful husbandry I trim and train,

And bursting garners from wild growth obtain;

Tunnel her mountains with resistless force,

And make a pathway for the iron horse;

Gird up her waters to obey my will,

And move the strong arm of the whirring mill.

Across her broad expanse, the mighty sea,

My white-winged messengers move swift and free;

From out their earthen graves I pluck the gems

That warm and shape, or glow in diadems.

In aërial flights I wander through her sphere,

Or with rare science draw her planets near,

With touch electric feel the farthest clime,

And count the storm-specks on the wings of time.

She empress of the world! it cannot be;

All her possessions minister to me.

Rough and ill-shaped the treasure she displays;

I mould and carve, and make the jewel blaze.

I claim the crown. Justicia, be thou true;

She must be greatest who can all subdue.

_Justicia._ Unto this haughty speech, and fulsome praise,

We've listened, Genia, in a wild amaze.

Hast thou forgot, self-laudatory boast

Was ne'er the leader of a conquering host?

But that to sober justice we're allied,

We should be merry at such foolish pride.

_Genia._ We wait your verdict.

_Primeva._ 'Twill give me the crown.

_Genia._ Primeva, cease.

_Primeva._ I care not for your frown.

Betwixt the false and true she _must_ decide:

Mine is the wise, and yours the foolish pride.

_Justicia._ This idle skirmish doth our court defame;

A silly quarrel for an empty name.

_Primeva._ A silly quarrel! Is Justicia fair,

To shun a verdict by excuse so bare?

_Genia._ She's bound to rule whene'er we make appeal:

Be wise, Justicia, and your choice reveal.

_Justicia._ Hear, then, the judgment which we now proclaim:—

As each has sought to blazon her own fame,

The key to right in this one truth we find,—

She is the greatest who best serves mankind.

On this you are agreed. Here rest your case,

And leave the verdict to the human race.

Ofttimes, in Idylcourt, you've chanced to meet

An earthly maid, who favors our retreat,

With curious, watchful eyes, as though she sought

Food for the nourishment of new-born thought,—

A goodly type of fair, ingenuous youth,

About whom floats an atmosphere of truth.

Woo her, fair sisters, with all fair device,

Which should in honest rivalry suffice;

In peaceful tourney meet to win the maid;

And on the victor shall our hand be laid

In benediction of so wise a choice;

Then harmony prevails, and all rejoice.

_Primeva._ An admirable plan.

_Genia._ Justicia's right.

_Justicia._ Prepare your forces for the bloodless fight.

Be earnest in the strife, but loyal ever,

And some success _must_ crown a right endeavor.

_Chorus; air, "New-mown Hay."_

Then gayly to the tourney hie,

And struggle for the crown;

The strong in right shall all defy,

The wrong in shame go down.

In peaceful contest meeting,

All courteous be the greeting.

We arm, the contest to begin:

Hurrah! the right shall win!

_At the words, "All courteous"_ JUSTICIA _extends

her right hand_; PRIMEVA _lays her left hand upon it_; GENIA _lays

her right. They stand thus until the chorus ends. Then repeat the

chorus._ JUSTICIA _steps back, and exit_ R.; PRIMEVA _and_ GENIA

_with their attendants countermarch, and exeunt_ R. _and_ L. _As

the song ceases, enter from_ R., POESIE.

_Poesie_. Vanquished again! Was ever mortal maid

By wild, illusive phantoms so betrayed?

Taught by a wise old seer that Idylcourt

Of guiding genii is the famed resort,

I've wandered in and out for weary hours,

Seeking the leaders of those mighty powers

That robe the earth in beauty, seasons guide,

Hang out the stars, and shift the changing tide,

Endow with action all the sons of earth,

And to the good and beautiful give birth.

Alas! my search is vain. About me glide

Tormenting shadows, that my calls deride.

I feel their presence in the fragrant breeze;

I touch their fingers in the fruited trees;

I spy their images in mirrored fount;

I hear their music in the echoing mount.

I know that at their touch fair cities rise;

That at their call delighted progress flies;

That at their smiles e'en towering genius soars

To loftier heights, and richer spoil secures.

And yet far off they stand. I cannot meet

The love-light of their eyes, or at their feet

Drink in the wisdom of inspiring speech.

The springs of power rise far beyond my reach.

Hear me, ye spirits, wonderful and grand!

Upon your charmèd ground I fearless stand.

Come ye in frightful shapes, or forms of grace,

I challenge you to meet me face to face.

_Chorus: "The Fairy's Revel."_

The mountains are sending their forces in might;

The fields are upspringing, and girding for fight;

The sea is outpouring, the air is alive,

For thee, fair Primeva, in tourney to strive.

_During which, enter_, R., PRIMEVA; FLORA,

_bearing flowers_; POMONA, _bearing basket of fruit_; AGRIA, _with

a bundle of dried grass, hay, and grain_; OCEANA, SHELLIE, WAVA,

MAJESTA, LOFTIE, AERIE, _and take positions according to following

diagram_:—

[Illustration]

_Chorus_, R. C. _Chorus_, L.

───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

_Chorus_, R. WAV. SHEL. POESIE. _Chorus_, L.

_Chorus_, R. OC. _Chorus_, L.

_Chorus_, R. POM. LOFT. _Chorus_, L.

_Chorus_, R. AGR. PRIM. AER. _Chorus_, L.

_Chorus_, R. FLO. MAJ. _Chorus_, L.

_Poesie._ Conquered at last; and yet with strange affright

I am possessed at this most dazzling sight.

Fair spirits, at my call you've kindly met.

I'm little skilled in your court etiquette:

Accept the homage of a grateful heart,

That long will cherish what you may impart.

_Primeva._ A suitor for that heart behold in me,—

Primeva, Nature's goddess, strong and free.

Follow my footsteps, and the path of life

Shall be with beauty and instruction rife.

Nature's grand empire all inviting opes,

To crown with joy and bliss thy youthful hopes.

The realm of matter owns my sovereign sway;

All working forces my commands obey.

But give to me thy heart, and onward press,

For I've the power to beautify and bless.

Come thou, fair Flora, guardian of my fields,

Display the charms thy rich dominion yields.

(FLORA _steps upon platform at_ L. _of_ POESIE. POMONA

_and_ AGRIA _step behind them_.)

_Flora._ Broad and bright, in beauty and in worth,

The realms I govern stretch about the earth:

In pastures where the meek-eyed cattle graze,

In clustering woodlands, musical with praise,

In mighty forests where the untamed rove,

O'er rich plantations, through the tropic grove,

O'er plain and prairie, noiseless to the tread,

My regal green luxuriously is spread.

Out of my thrifty soil mankind's supplies,

At lusty labor's call, obedient rise.

With fancy's touch I skilfully combine

Grove, hill, and river in a rare design,

And spread for Genius, rich, attractive views

She fails to catch, yet hopefully pursues.

Come to my realms, fair maid! Primeva's heart

With warmest love shall purest joys impart.

_Agria._ Haste, gentle maid, into our fair retreat:

Agria will lay her treasures at thy feet.

_Pomona._ And in thy lap, from her abundant store,

Pomona will her choicest treasures pour.

_Flora._ Thou shalt be welcomed with a matchless song,

Our heaven-taught singers joyously prolong;

On mossy beds recline for happy hours,

Charmed by rich perfumes, decked with lovely flowers.

_Tableau: "Flora's Tribute." Music._

POESIE _sinks on one knee, making a "lap" of her

dress with her hand_. FLORA _steps behind, holding flowers over her

head_. AGRIA _at_ R., _kneeling, in the act of laying her treasures

at her feet_. POMONA, L., _bending forward, about to pour her

fruits into her lap_. OCEANA _with her arms about_ WAVA _and_

SHELLIE, R. _and_ L., _kneel_. MAJESTA, LOFTIE, _and_ AERIE _form a

standing group, with arms thrown about each other_. POMONA _passes

to back_, L. _corner_. FLORA _looks down at_ POESIE. POESIE _has

her head thrown back, looking up at_ FLORA. _All the others look

at_ POESIE. _Music continues until the group is well settled in

position, then_,—

_Chorus; air, "The First Violets."_

Come with gentle Flora, fair fields to rove.

She can deck with beauty, she will share with love.

Bathed by the sunlight, and fed by the dew,

Her bright and verdant regions are opening to you.

_Poesie_ (_springing to her feet; others retiring to their

first positions_).

Sweet, gentle Flora, take me to your heart;

In all your joys I long to bear a part.

_Primeva._ Nay, not so fast, fair maiden. List again.

Majesta burns your homage to obtain;

She is the guardian of the mountains high,

Whose peaks in grandeur pierce the arching sky.

_Majesta._ Where the fierce eagle builds her dizzy nest,

Amid the clouds, I take my regal rest.

The sun on me his morning kiss bestows,

And nightly wraps me in his farewell glows.

The storm-king grimly musters round my throne,

And sends his chariots to the farthest zone.

My realms stretch far and wide o'er all the land,

And monuments of awe-inspiring grandeur stand.

Within my treasure-caverns locked secure,

Are precious stones, and veins of gleaming ore;

Marbles and granites—sleeping giants—lie,

Long to escape the crafty builder's eye.

Come to my realm, fair maid, and thou shalt find

The golden talisman that lures mankind.

From towering summits watch the creeping world;

See beauty's colors gloriously unfurled;

Heap the weird echoes bound from steep to steep;

And see the lightning take his earthward leap.

Primeva's fortress shall thy guardian be:

Give me thy hand, and upward mount with me.

_Tableau: "The Listeners." Music._

MAJESTA _stands_ C., _with left hand pointing up

over audience_. POESIE, _kneeling_ R., _places her left hand in_

MAJESTA'S _left, and bends forward, intently gazing in the

direction in which she points, her right hand behind her ear_.

LOFTIE _passes to_ L. _of_ MAJESTA, _and kneels with her hand on

the waist of_ MAJESTA. AERIE _in same position_, R. _of_ POESIE.

OCEANA _and her sprites form a standing group_, R., _back_. PRIMEVA

_steps back of all; and_ FLORA _and her sprites form standing

group_, L., _back. Music continues until all arranged, then_,—

_Chorus; air, "The Herd-Bells."_

Amid the mountains fleeting,

The echoes linger long,

Earth's song of praise repeating,

In chorus rich and strong.

The grand old mountains proudly

Their heads in beauty raise,

And, bathed in blushing glory,

Accept the song of praise.

[_The effect could be heightened by concealing a

chorus at the farther end of the hall, and introducing an echo

refrain in the song._]

_Poesie_ (_springing up; the others resuming their former

positions_).

Upward, Majesta, guide my willing feet;

I long to share the joys of your retreat.

_Primeva._ Curb your impatience once again, I crave.

Speak, Oceana, guardian of the wave.

_Oceana._ Know me, fair maid, as guardian of the sea,

The wealth of waters stretching far and free,

Deep basined in the world; in peace as mild,

As bright and beauteous, as a sportive child;

Dancing in sunlight up and down the sand;

Leaping, with white-capped waves, the rocky strand;

Creeping to shady nooks on pebbly bed;

Sleeping in moonlight 'neath a silvery spread.

Over her rolling roads, in strength and pride,

The floating treasure-chests of nations glide;

In emerald pastures deep beneath her crest,

The fin-clad wanderers from their gambols rest.

At mankind's call she hastes to do her part,

And from her herds bestows with generous heart.

Far, far below, fair cities rear their walls

With jewelled keeps, and coral-caverned halls.

Come to my realms, fair maid, and float with me

Upon the bosom of the swelling sea.

Hark to the song of Naiads far below;

See in the sunlight yonder billows glow.

_Tableau: "The Gazers." Music._

OCEANA _kneels on one knee_ R. _of_ POESIE,

_pointing off_ R. POESIE _places her left hand on_ OCEANA'S

_shoulder, leans forward, shades her eyes with right hand, and

looks in the direction of pointed hand_. SHELLIE _comes_ L. _of_

POESIE, _a little behind her, and kneels quickly, holding a shell

in her hand_. WAVA _kneels in front of all, with her finger to her

lip, and her hand waving silence to_ PRIMEVA, _who stands_ L. AERIE

_and her sprites form a standing group_, L., _back, and_ MAJESTA

_and her sprites the same_, R., _back; all looking in the direction

in which_ OCEANA _points. Music continues until the picture is

complete, then_,—

_Chorus; air, "Boating Song."_

Gayly, ye billows, among you we play;

Take us up gently, and bear us away;

Light on the surface of ocean we glide;

Deep in her bosom we fearless abide.

Roving at pleasure, joyous and free,

Rocked in the arms of the murmuring sea.

_Poesie_ (_starting up; others resume former positions_).

Among thy happy scenes I long to roam;

Bright Oceana, take me to thy home.

_Primeva._ Thou shalt be free to roam field, mount, and sea,

If thou but give thy gentle heart to me.

These sisters three, my ministers of state,

My edicts to enforce, obedient wait;

And I, submissive to a heavenly will,

With mighty powers its commands fulfil.

I own no earthly rule, no rival fear;

Beauty and grandeur at my voice appear;

What title, Poesie, will you here bestow

On one in whom such rare endowments glow?

_Poesie._ Thy glorious visions wrap me in amaze;

Speech were too poor, in eloquence of praise,

To frame a title that would fitly stand

To mark a power so wonderful and grand.

What title can I give? I pray thee tell.

_Primeva._ The empress of the world would suit me well.

_Enter_ JUSTICIA, R.

_Justicia._ Hold, rash Primeva! not to gain applause

Should wild ambition overstep our laws.—

What thou hast heard, fair mortal, ponder long,

For hasty action often strengthens wrong;

Another suitor comes; give willing ear;

Weigh well all doubts; then let the truth appear.

[_Exit_, R.

_Chorus_: "_The Fairy's Revel._"

The armies of Genius outpour in their might,

Fair Science is marching her clans to the fight.

At the call of its mistress Art's realms are alive,

For thee, lovely Genia, in tourney to strive.

(_During the chorus, all upon the platform move

round back of_ POESIE, _and form in line_. _Enter_ L. GENIA,

BLENDA, _and_ CLASSICA.)

_Poesie._ Another brilliant throng, so fair and bright,

My spirit quickens with a new delight.

Welcome, sweet friends: if me you come to greet,

Such glowing honors lay me at your feet.

_Genia._ Kneel not to me; I come to win thy heart.

The suitor here should choose the lowly part.

Fair mortal, listen. Genia is my name:

Art's chosen goddess, mighty is my fame.

Thou art the offspring of that sovereign Thought,

Under whose sway the universe is brought;

And I, the guiding genius of mankind,

In bonds submissive, Nature's realms to bind.

Before my birth, the world was filled with strife,

And all the squalor of barbaric life;

The human race in ignorance sunk deep,

Content to live and die in sloth and sleep.

But, with my coming, energy awoke,

And reason through the deadening chaos broke;

Awakened Thought, in wonder, sought by lore

Creation's mystic riddle to explore;

And, as she strove, the world's great change was wrought,

With purer joys from deeper delvings brought.

Beneath my sway, all's wonderful and grand

Where taste and culture deck what Nature planned.

Give me thy heart, and with all-conquering might

I'll guide thy steps through life to realms of light.

I bring three sisters in my regal train,

Who high in Art's supreme dominion reign.—

Blenda, approach. Thy skill to Poesie show,

And let rare colors on thy canvas glow.

_Blenda._ In Nature's studio, Blenda's models rise

In various shapes to gladden and surprise.

The shadows of their beauties to secure,

Leads genius many trials to endure.

But what a triumph waits the earnest heart,

Who on the canvas sees her trophies start

To life and action, adding, age on age,

To history many a bright, illumined page!

Portraying vice with rarely gifted hand,

She sees a warning light 'gainst passion stand.

Depicting virtue in her pure attire,

She warms all hearts to worship and aspire.

Inwrapping sense and soul with pleasure high,

To homage leads the world's applauding cry.

Look on the picture I will now display,—

Religion standing in the heavenly way,

Her finger pointing in the Book of truth,

Instruction pouring in the ears of youth.

_Tableau: "The Heavenly Way" Music._

BLENDA _takes_ POESIE'S _hand, and leads her_ R.,

t_hen turns, and points to_ C. POESIE _falls upon her knees with

clasped hands_. PRIMEVA _and her sprites, who are in a line, back,

separate_ R. _and_ L., _disclosing group_. RELIGION, _standing_ C.,

_an open Bible supported on her left hand, rests upon her arm, the

open pages towards audience; her right hand rests on the page, with

one finger pointing. At her right hand, kneels_ JOY, _pointing with

her left hand to_ RELIGION, _her right on the shoulder of_ SORROW,

_who is crouching before her, with her face buried in her hands.

Left of_ RELIGION, PRAYER _kneels, joining the hands of a little

child who is in front of her: she is looking up at_ RELIGION.

_Music soft and low, until the group is formed, then_,—

_Chorus_: "_How gently, how calmly._"

So gently, so calmly descending,

Religion glides over the earth,

So pure, so bright,

She decks the earth with heavenly light,

That charms to calm and sweet repose.

Oh, lovely spirit!

Genia in triumph shall soon arise;

Blenda calls beauty from out the skies;

She shall be honored evermore;

Goddess of Art, your crown is secure.

Joyous are we, &c.

(_Music continues until all change to their old positions._)

_Poesie._ I am enraptured with your beauteous art;

Sweet Blenda, let me henceforth share your heart.

_Genia._ Classica waits, fair maid: we hold her dear;

With words of counsel let her now draw near.

_Classica._ Dull, senseless stone, I train to living grace,

Trace beauty's lines upon the pallid face;

From sullen marble draw the prisoned heart,

And strength and sense to meaner clay impart.

Over the earth I rear the grandest homes,

With towering pinnacles, and stately domes;

While tombs and pyramids for ages stand,

To mark the workings of my gifted hand.

Who follows me must labor hard and long,

Be brave in trial, and in patience strong.

The tasks I spread, by perils oft beset,

The sculptor strengthen, when courageous met;

Through me, life-studies he must ponder o'er,

And dive deep down in streams of classic lore;

And, if he fails to reach his ideal plan,

Out of his struggles he has carved—a man.

But, if he triumphs, grand is his renown;

Fame can bestow no more enduring crown.

Upon my marbles, maiden, look with me;

Faith, Hope, and Charity,—the peerless three.

_Tableau: "The Peerless Three" Music._

CLASSICA _takes_ POESIE'S _hand, and leads her_

R., _then turns, and points_ C. POESIE _falls upon her knees. The

characters at back separate, showing group_: CHARITY, _a tall

figure_, C., _her left hand upon the left shoulder of a child, who

stands nearly in front of her, half turned towards her, with

outstretched hand, into which_ CHARITY _is in the act of dropping a

coin, with her right hand. At_ R. _of_ CHARITY _stands_ HOPE,

_leaning upon an anchor, looking at_ CHARITY. _On her_ L. _stands_

FAITH, _with her arms folded about a large cross, which rests upon

the platform, and reaches above her shoulder_. FAITH _and_ HOPE

s_hould be a little shorter than_ CHARITY. _All the figures in

plain white, no colors; the cross and the anchor should be white.

Music soft and low until all is arranged, then_,—

_Chorus_; _air, "How gently, how calmly."_

How calmly, how sweetly relieving,

Moves Charity over the earth,

With Faith and Hope!

They deck the earth with heavenly light,

That charms to calm and sweet belief.

Oh, lovely spirits!

Genia in triumph shall now arise;

Classica calls from out the skies;

Her works for ages shall endure;

Goddess of Art, your crown is secure.

Joyous are we, &c.

_Poesie_ (_starting up; line at back changing as

before_).

Classica, thy sculptured forms are all divine.

Has Art another realm can equal thine?

_Genia._ Thou shalt be judge, fair maid; within my train,

Is one who can the wildest heart enchain;

She rules the realm of song, melodious moves,

Gathering the warbled sweets of woodland groves;

And thence distilling soul-entrancing lays,

That fill the earth with peace, the heavens with praise.

Spirit of music, sweet Harmonia, wake:

Of thy rich gifts bid Poesie partake.

_Music. Characters at back separate._ HARMONIA

_discovered_, C., _standing erect, a lyre in her left hand, the

fingers of her right upon the strings_. POESIE _moves up, and

kneels at her feet, looking up at her with clasped hands. The

characters group themselves in sitting and reclining positions

about her._ PRIMEVA _and_ GENIA _stand at extreme_ R. _and_ L.,

_back_.

_Solo and chorus_: "_So merrily over the Ocean

Spray._"

HARMONIA _sings the three solos, then full chorus_.

_Solo._ I am queen of the realm of song,

My home the harmonious sea,

Where the spirits of music prolong

Unceasing a welcome for me.

From the song wave they merrily brave,

Melodious voices glide;

Oh, sweet is their song as it floateth along

The crest of the tremulous tide!

_Chorus._ So merrily over the sea of song,

Rising and falling we float along;

So merrily over the sea of song,

Gayly we float along.

Gayly over the sea,

Harmonia's spirits free,

Singing, singing,

Happy, happy are we.

As merrily over the sea of song,

Rising and falling we float along;

So merrily over the sea of song,

Over the sea of song,

Gayly we float along,

Gayly we float along.

(_When the song is ended, all keep their places_,

POESIE _kneeling, with her eyes fixed upon_ HARMONIA. _A pause;

then_ GENIA _steps to the side of_ POESIE.)

_Genia._ Silent, fair Poesie? What! no words of praise

As tribute to Harmonia's matchless lays?

_Poesie._ Can words pay fitting homage to her art?

My tribute's here, in this high-swelling heart,

Which, filled with rapture, checks the flow of speech

That would aspire to praise it cannot reach.

_Genia._ And so I triumph. Maiden, unto me

This soaring spirit bends the humble knee;

Is but a slave to work my sovereign will,

And with her sisters my commands fulfil.

Over the earth unnumbered spirits bind,

At smile from me, rich blessings for mankind;

What title can she claim who thus displays

All that can bless and strengthen and amaze?

_Poesie._ What title can she claim? You ask me this,

Whose soul is filled with one rich draught of bliss,—

Harmonia's mistress?

_Genia._ I that spirit claim.

_Primeva_ (_comes down_ L. POESIE _rises_).

'Tis false! 'Twas I, Primeva, gave her fame.

From heaven she came, to purify and bless;

And Nature nurtured her with warm caress.

_Genia._ 'Twas Art's rich culture trained her infant voice

In grand, majestic numbers to rejoice.

_Primeva._ Genia, no more; let Poesie decide

Upon our claims. Her judgment we abide.

_Genia._ I am content.

_Poesie._ Of me, ye judgment seek?

You, strong and mighty, I but poor and weak.

_Primeva._ To save a sovereign title of command,

Nature and Art in strife before you stand.

In full accord our forces are combined

For this great task,—to serve and bless mankind.

Who is the greatest? Fearlessly proclaim.

We ask your verdict in Justicia's name.

Both have our powers skilfully unfurled;

Who shall be crowned as empress of the world?

_Poesie._ O spirits regal, beautiful, and wise!

In unity supreme your glory lies;

Can frail mortality presume to call

Her judgment forth, to make you rise or fall?

Fair Genia, through your realms of thought and light,

I wander in a maze of grand delight;

Behold mankind upspring in strength and grace,

And sturdy tasks courageously embrace.

As through your realms, Primeva, free I rove,

My spirit glows with reverence and love.

I see your earth, so wonderful and vast,

Which proud man conquers, conquer him at last;

And in both Art and Nature see the hand

Which wields the sceptre of supreme command,

Where each within my heart holds equal place,

I could not elevate, would not abase.

(_Joins their hands._)

Together reign, and teach mankind the way

To that grand realm, and that one sovereign sway.

_Enter_ JUSTICIA, C.

_Justicia._ A righteous verdict, which we joyous seal.

Our tourney's ended: let the chorus peal.

_Tableau_: JUSTICIA _on platform, with her hands raised in

benediction over_ POESIE, _who stands before her, joining the

hands of_ GENIA, L., _and_ PRIMEVA, R.; GENIA'S _followers on her_

L., PRIMEVA'S _followers on her_ R.

_Chorus, same as opening chorus._

Idylcourt, in love and beauty, &c.

(_Curtain._)

NOTE.—The airs, "Shady Groves," and "Boatman's Song," can be found

in "The Grammar School Chorus." The other airs are from the new

"Fourth Music Reader," published by Ginn Brothers. Price, $1.50.

Furnished by Lee and Shepard, Boston.

A THORN AMONG THE ROSES.

CHARACTERS.

MRS. CANDOR, Principal of Rosebush Institute.

PATIENCE PLUNKETT, the oldest of her pupils, age thirty-five.

LUCY WOODS, │

BESSIE TRAVERS, │

JANE TURNER, │Pupils.

AUGUSTA STEPHENS, │

MARIA MELLISH, │

BRIDGET MAHONY, the cook, age fifty.

TOM CANDOR, MRS. CANDOR'S nephew, a homesick youth of nineteen.

JOB SEEDLING, lad-of-all-work, age twenty.

COSTUMES.

PATIENCE PLUNKETT. A very girlish attire, with an old face strongly

marked; red hair, with corkscrew ringlets.

JOB SEEDLING. Dark pants, rather short, white jacket, apron,

stockings and shoes.

Other characters appropriately dressed.

SCENE.—_Music-room at Rosebush Institute; piano, back_, C.; _lounge

or sofa_, L.; _arm-chair_, R.; _two or three chairs_, R. _and_ L.

_Entrance from_ R.

(_Enter_ BESSIE TRAVERS _and_ LUCY WOODS.)

_Bessie._ Madam Solfa has really gone off in a pet?

_Lucy._ Yes: because poor me could not run up the musical scale

with celerity,—in fact, stuck fast at the bottom,—her highness

complained to Mrs. Candor; and Mrs. Candor—bless her!—took my part. "If

the poor child cannot sing, let her alone."—"But se most be made to

seeng," says madam; "and se weel steek to 'do,' and go no

furzer."—"Well, let her stick there, if she likes. Her father's a

baker, and she has a perfect right to stick to dough, if she likes it."

So madam, shocked at the levity of our delightful preceptress, put on

her bonnet and shawl, and vanished in a blaze of fury.

_Bessie._ O Lucy, you have driven the poor lady away!

_Lucy._ But she won't be gone long, depend upon it; for she left

her baggage behind, and there's a quarter's salary due her.

_Bessie._ And we must go without our lesson to-day.

_Lucy._ I'm glad of it. There's no music in my soul. I must be

"fit for treason and conspiracies."

_Bessie._ You are the smartest girl in the school, Lucy, with this

_inharmonious_ exception.

_Lucy._ I the smartest? You flatter me; and you forget our aged

schoolmate, Patience Plunkett.

_Bessie._ Aged! Why, Lucy, what could have possessed that mature—to

speak mildly—female to class herself with young girls like us?

_Lucy._ I'm sure I don't know; but Maria Mellish, who is always

fishing out mysteries, told me her father, a farmer, has recently made

a mint of money; and Patience has a foolish idea that she can procure

an education, even at her age, and so entered Rosebush Institute as a

pupil.

_Bessie._ Poor thing! she is the laughing-stock of the school, and

cannot be made to see it.

_Lucy._ She has one devoted admirer, Job Seedling. The silly

gander is evidently in love, and takes no pains to conceal it. At the

table he forgets his occupation, and stands staring at her.

_Bessie._ She certainly receives a great deal of attention, and all

the tidbits, there. (_Enter_ MARIA MELLISH, R.)

_Maria._ O girls! I have found it out at last. Only think of it! a

romance in Rosebush Institute! Yes: now, don't speak of this,—Job

Seedling, the meek, patient Job, is a prince in disguise.

_Bessie._ A prince? Nonsense.

_Maria._ Well, not exactly a prince; but Hopps the milkman told me

that Johnson the butcher told him that Bates the expressman told him

that Patience Plunkett belongs in Razorly, and that his agent there

told him that Job Seedling was the son of a rich farmer; that he got

desperately enamoured of Patience, and followed her here, taking a

menial situation that he might be near the object of his love. Isn't it

splendid?

_Lucy._ Splendid. If Mrs. Candor should hear of this, I fear that

Job would have to give up his menial situation for a meaner.

_Maria._ But nobody shall tell her. I mean to watch them. It will

be such fun to hear Job sigh as he passes the butter, see him roll his

eyes as he lifts the rolls. Oh, it's just jolly! (_Enter_ JANE TURNER

_and_ AUGUSTA STEPHENS.)

_Jane._ O girls! have you heard the news? Tom—

_Augusta._ Candor has just arrived.

_Jane._ Sick. Only think of it! Come here to be nursed. And he

looks awfully.

_Augusta._ Mrs. Candor hurried him off to bed at once, ordered hot

jugs for his feet, hot ginger-tea, and a cold towel for his head.

_Maria._ Dear me! and I never heard a word of it!

_Lucy._ He ought to have a holiday, and go home.

_Maria._ Oh, wouldn't that be fun! Poor fellow! I'm so sorry for

him! But then, he can have jam, and jellies, and all the consolations

of sickness. I think it's rather pleasant to be sick—a little. (_Enter_

MRS. CANDOR, _equipped for going out_.)

_Mrs. Candor._ Girls, I must run down and see Dr. Bruce.

_Augusta._ │ │ Is he very sick?

_Maria._ │ (_Together._) │ Is he going to die?

_Lucy._ │ │ Is he dangerous?

_Mrs. Candor._ I hope not.

_Augusta._ │ │ Will school close?

_Maria._ │ (_Together._) │ Shall we have a holiday?

_Lucy._ │ │ Will you send us home?

_Mrs. Candor._ Dear me, what talkers! Keep quiet, girls. I'll run down

and tell the doctor his symptoms.

_Bessie._ Let me go for him, Mrs. Candor.

_Other girls_ (_in chorus_). Let me! I'll go! We'll all go! Do let us

go!

_Mrs. Candor._ No: I don't want to have him come unless it is necessary.

He can determine that when I tell him the symptoms. So keep quiet.

There will be no music-lesson, and you can amuse yourselves until my

return—under the rules, remember. Dear me! what could have sent that

boy home sick?

[_Exit._

_Maria._ Amuse ourselves! Oh, isn't that nice? Let's have a game

of tag!

_Augusta._ Nonsense! With that poor sick youth over our heads?

_Maria._ That's so! We must be quiet. (_Enter_ BRIDGET.)

_Bridget._ If yez plase, ma'am, what'll I do? Shure, the misthress

is nowhere at all, at all.

_Bessie._ No, Bridget: she's gone to the doctor's.

_Bridget._ To the doctor's, is it? 'Pon my sowl, there's throuble be

comin' to the place. Didn't I say a windin'-sheet in the flame av me

candle last night? Shure, that's a sign av disolation.

_Bessie._ It's a sign the candle wanted snuffing, Bridget.

_Bridget._ Oh, be dacent, Miss Bessie! Don't make light av the

signs. Shure, I seed it in a candle onct whin me brither Pathrick was

ailin' wid the masles, and jist fourteen months and six days from that

very night he died.

_Maria._ Of the measles?

_Bridget._ Go long wid yez! Didn't he fall into a well, and break

his neck wid drowning?

_Augusta._ Now, Bridget, Mrs. Candor told us we might amuse

ourselves while she is gone. Do you know what would _most_ amuse us?

_Bridget._ Troth, I don't.

_Augusta._ A nice mince-pie.

_Maria._ Oh, yes; and some cold tongue!

_Jane._ And a pickle. Don't forget a pickle.

_Bridget._ I'll forgit mesilf if I git any sich dili_cases_. No, no:

I'll not be afther givin' yez ony sich divarshun.

_Maria._ O Bridget! you know me. I've got an elegant breastpin,

that will look well—

_Augusta._ Fastened to a pretty green necktie that I've no use for.

_Jane._ And they will match a nice pair of earrings that mother

has promised to send me for somebody—you know, Bridget.

_Bridget._ Och, the darlints! It's the foine wheedlin' way yez have,

onyhow. Well, well, it's mesilf will look into the panthry; an' if

there's a deli_cate_ morsel, that's in danger av shpoiling, mayhap it

moight find its way up here. But I'll make no promises.

[_Exit._

_Maria._ Now let's have a dance.

_Augusta._ Oh, that's splendid! (_Enter_ PATIENCE.)

_Patience._ A dance! A dance in the halls of learning! Horrible!

Girls, it must not be! You shock me. _I_ came here to cultivate my

understanding.

_Maria._ And dancing will do it, Patience: it's just the thing for

the understanding.

_Patience._ Maria Mellish, I'm ashamed of you. You want polish.

_Maria._ A polished floor is delightful, but not necessary to the

poetry of motion. Come, girls, a dance, a dance!

_Patience._ Not in my presence. I will be no spec_takor_ of such

priv-priv—nonsense. No: we are here for a higher purpose; to enlarge

our ca-ca—talents, to store our minds with the in-in—things which the

great minds of all ages have con-con—got together for good.

_Maria_ (_aside to_ AUGUSTA). Poor Patience! how she trips at the

hard words!

_Patience._ If there is any dancing here, I shall feel under ob-ob—I

shall tell Mrs. Candor.

_Maria._ Well, Miss Tattler, you shall be under no ob-ob to do any

such thing, for we won't dance.

_Patience._ If we have a leisure hour, it cannot be better employed

than in the per-per—reading of a useful book.

_Maria._ That's so. (_Goes to_ R., _and calls_.) Here, Job, bring

Miss Patience the dictionary. Come, girls, let's have a sing.

_Augusta_ (_aside to_ MARIA). Hateful old thing!

_Bessie._ Let us look over the music; perhaps we can find something

sweet and soft, that will not disturb the invalid.

_Jane._ Good! "Mulligan Guards," or, "Gentle Spring." (_They go

to the piano, which should be placed with back to audience._ BESSIE

_opens a musicbook; and they gather about her, turning over the

leaves_. PATIENCE _sits on lounge_, L.)

_Patience._ Thoughtless girls! they lack the wisdom and ripe

ex-ex—Dear me! it's so hard to remember these words!—experience of my

ma-ma—older years. But I, in what the poet calls "the fresh bloom of

womanhood," can curb their flightiness. Ah, this life is so

con-con-gealing to my ambitious spirit! I am so rapidly mastering the

ru-ru—first steps of learning! I feel that I shall de-de-velop a

gi-gi-_antic_ mind, and burst upon the rude boors of Razorly like some

glorious starry con-con-consternation.

(_Enter_ JOB, R., _with a large quarto dictionary in

his arms. He stops at entrance; sees_ PATIENCE, _clasps the

dictionary to his breast, and heaves a sigh_.)

_Maria_ (_at piano_). Hush! there's Job. Now watch the pair.

_Job._ There she is, "a-sittin' on the style, Mary," the stylish

lounge. Oh, would I were the plush upon that lounge, that I might clasp

that form! That's Romeo, altered for the occasion. Oh, I'm chock full

of these frenzied ideas! I do nothing but read Shakspeare and them

other poet-chaps—when I ain't handling plates, or scouring knives; for

I'm in love, oh, so bad! with Patience Plunkett. Oh that name! it runs

in my head. It is so musical, so full of poetry!

With fair, bewitching Patience Plunkett

I'm in love. Who would have thunk it?

There's poetry, all out of my own head too. (_Comes

down._) Miss Patience! dear Patience!

_Patience._ Why, Job, is that you? How you startled me! I was

rume-rume—

_Job._ Not rheumatic. Oh, don't say that you are suffering,

beloved Patience!

_Patience._ I was ruminating upon some lines in Homer's _Ilyd_, the

original Greek. You are not acquainted with Greek, Job?

_Job._ Well, Patience, I'm not acquainted with many on 'em.

There was old Pat Haggerty, in Razorly: they used to call him an

Original Greek—

_Patience._ O Job! I have no patience with you. How can you expect me

to stoop from my high speer to mate with you, unless you cultivate your

head more ass-ass-iduously?

_Job._ Well, I've had it cut and shampooed three times since

I've been here. If that ain't cultivating it, I'll have it ploughed

next time. Here's your dictionary, Patience.

_Patience._ Thank you: I do not require it.

_Job._ Then, why did you send for it?

_Augusta_ (_at piano, reading music-titles as they turn the

leaves_). "Wouldn't you like to know?"

_Job_ (_turning round_). Eh? Why, there's the whole lot of 'em!

_Maria._ No: that won't do. That's too sentimental.

_Patience._ They sent for it, not I. You can take it back.

_Job._ O Patience! why are you so cold to one who loves you to

distraction? Why—

_Maria_ (_reading title_). "Lubly Cynthia." That's good.

_Job_ (_turning round_). Plague take those girls! You know that

for love of you I've left my home, Patience, and have donned the apron

of a waiter, and become a patient waiter for you, Patience. Oh! when

shall my love be rewarded with the possession of that plump white hand?

_Jane._ "When Johnny comes marching home." That's lovely.

_Job_ (_turning round_). Eh? Oh, bother them girls!

_Patience._ Don't mind them, Job. They do not dream of our

attachment. They do not dream you are my—

_Maria._ "Curly little bow-wow."

_Job_ (_turning round_). There, now! What's the use of trying

to talk where them girls are? Patience, dear Patience, meet me, meet

me—

_Augusta._ "Meet me by moonlight alone."

_Job._ Oh them girls! Meet me after tea in the woodshed, while I

am cleaning knives. We can commune: we can exchange vows: we can—

_Maria._ "Root hog or die."

_Patience._ Yes, Job, I will be there. But be secret. If our

attachment is discovered, Mrs. Candor will instantly dismiss you. And

it's so romantic to have a lover in disguise! I know you love me, Job.

Have patience.

_Job._ I mean to have her. Don't I love you better than all else

in the world? better than—

_Augusta._ "My old Aunt Sally."

_Job._ Eh? (_Aside._) I believe they are doing that on purpose.

(_Aloud._) Farewell, Patience! I must tear myself away from your

beloved presence. My heart—

_Maria._ "Oh! my heart goes pit-a-pat."

_Augusta._ "Somebody's coming, I'll not tell who."

_Jane._ "Let me kiss him for his mother."

_Lucy._ "Single gentleman, how do you do?"

_Job._ Eh? Oh, I'm pretty well.

_Maria._ Oh! nobody's talking to you, Job. Go about your business.

_Job._ Thank you. I don't hanker for your society, do I? A

parcel of harum-scarum girls, who are no more to be compared to—

_Lucy_ (_reads_). "The girl I left behind me."

_Job._ Oh, gracious! can they suspect? (_Starts off_ R., _drops

the dictionary, and stumbles over it; then picks it up, and exit_ R.)

_Maria._ He's stumbled over the hard words too.

_Bessie._ There's nothing here we can sing.

_Maria._ Oh! here's one: "Upidee."

_Lucy._ Oh, that's nice! (_One of the girls strikes the piano,

and all join in chorus of "Upidee." At the conclusion, three loud

thumps are heard outside._)

_Maria._ Oh, dear! That's Tom. We have disturbed him.

_Lucy._ No matter: let's try it again, softer. (_Chorus repeated.

At its conclusion, enter_ TOM, R., _with a blanket wrapped about him,

and a wet towel tied about his head. The girls scream, and run down_ R.

_and_ L., _leaving him in_ C.)

_Tom._ Oh, dear! how can you reasonably suppose that a young man

can be comfortably sick with such a racket going on down here? Oh, my

head, my head! my poor, poor head!

_Bessie._ Oh, Tom, we're so sorry we disturbed you!

_All_ (_in chorus_). Yes, indeed; awful!

_Lucy._ Wouldn't have done it for the world, had we known you

didn't like it.

_All_ (_in chorus_). No, indeed, we wouldn't!

_Tom._ Oh, yes! that's all very well, now the mischief's done.

Why, you might drive me into a fever.

_All_ (_in chorus_). Oh, that would be dreadful!

_Tom._ You might—you might bring on convulsions, spasms, with

such outrageous squalling. I'll complain of you! Where's my aunt? Where

is my fond, affectionate relative?

_Bessie._ She's gone out, Tom: gone to the doctor's.

_Tom._ Eh? Gone out? Good! (_Throws off blanket, and tears towel

from his head._) Thomas is himself again!

_All_ (_in chorus_). Why, Tom!

_Tom._ Because Tom is only homesick, girls. My good aunt would

not give me time to explain that I was tired of school, eager to have a

frolic, and so got leave of absence, and came home for a day. No: she

caught the "sickness," and bundled me off to bed. I humored the joke,

and laughed under the bedquilt. But no sooner was she out of the room,

but I was out of bed, dressed myself, and here I am, ready for any

thing in the way of sport you have to offer. How long will she be gone?

_Bessie._ Perhaps half an hour.

_Tom._ Then for half an hour we will enjoy ourselves. Come,

girls, what shall it be?

_Maria._ Oh! isn't this jolly?

_Augusta._ Real nice!

_Jane_ (_and others_). Splendid! Beautiful!

_Augusta._ Let's play "Hide the Slipper."

_Maria._ No: "Copenhagen."

_Tom._ Any thing—every thing. The noisier the better.

_Patience_ (_rising_). Stop! Young ladies, are you aware of the

rules of this ed-ed-ucational institute? We have been sent here from

our happy homes, to be se-se-quest_rated_ from contact with the ruder

sex; and now you propose to indulge in games, childish games, for your

amusement and ame-ame-amelioration. I am ashamed of you! I blush for

you!

_Tom_ (_aside to_ MARIA). Oh! that's one of the teachers.

_Maria._ Hush! It's one of the girls.

_Tom._ One of the girls? Why, she's old enough to be your

mother!

_Patience._ I shall not submit to the in-in-trusion of a young man

upon our privacy. He must instantly leave the room.

_Tom._ I beg your pardon, Mrs.—Excuse me, miss: a slip of the

tongue. But you look so much like my Aunt Matilda! But then, she's

forty-five; and you can't be over thirty—

_Patience._ Sir!

_Tom._ Not quite, miss. I'm still very young, and not entitled

to that address. But I couldn't think of infringing upon the rules; oh,

no! I should have been pleased to spend half an hour in such agreeable

society; but, as you object, I will go.

_Girls_ (_in chorus_). Oh, no; don't go; stay!

_Patience._ I insist upon his immediately quitting the room. I did

not come here to flirt and frolic with young men, but to improve my

mind, to store it—

_Maria._ Oh, bosh, Patience! I've no patience with you.

_Tom._ "Let Patience have her perfect work."

_Maria_ (_aside_). She's a humbug, Tom. Our Job is in love with

her, and she with him; and they are billing and cooing every chance

they can get.

_Tom_ (_aside_). Maria, you're a jewel. You have enlightened my

understanding. You shall see some fun. (_Aloud._) Miss Patience, you

are right: I was wrong to disturb your peaceful meditation. Forgive me.

I will go, and in the quiet of my chamber contemplate—the basin of

gruel which my fond aunt has left me for consolation.—Sorry, girls; but

the rules must be obeyed.

[_Exit_, R.

_Maria._ Patience Plunkett, you're a hateful old thing!

_Augusta._ Yes; just as mean as you can be.

_Jane._ If you are so fond of seclusion, why don't you go to your

own room?

_Maria._ Yes; and study the Book of Job.

_Bessie._ Hush, Maria!

_Patience._ You know I am right; and I am not at all stu-stu-pefied

by your ob-ob-jackulations. I am a few years older than you—only a few;

and I have wisdom to guide—

_Maria._ Oh, fiddlesticks! We have all the preaching we want, and

don't believe in yours.

_Tom_ (_outside_). Oh, oh! My hand! my hand!

_Bessie._ Tom has hurt himself.

_Tom_ (_outside_). Oh! gracious goodness, how it smarts!

(_Enters_ R. _hurriedly, his left hand concealed in a large piece of

white cloth. He should also have in his hand apiece of wood, under the

cloth; a string in his right hand._) O girls! I've done it now! That

hand I was so proud of, oh! so white and delicate, oh!

_Bessie._ What is it, Tom? Have you cut it?

_Lucy._ Burnt it?

_All_ (_in chorus_). Oh! what is the matter? (_They gather

about him._)

_Tom._ Oh! don't come near me. The slightest touch is agony,

agony, agony! I went up stairs—oh! to my basin of gruel—oh! Beside the

gruel—oh! there was a knife—oh! I took it up—oh! and—and—and oh, oh,

oh!

_Jane._ I've got some Russia salve in my room.

_Maria._ Let me run for it.

_Tom._ No. I've spread on the salve an inch thick. Oh! it's all

right. It will soon be well. If I only had some one to tie it up for

me!

_All_ (_in chorus_). Let me. Let me. I'll tie it. (_They crowd

around him._)

_Tom._ Oh, quit! Keep off! Do you want to kill me. The least

touch causes an indescribable sensation to quiver and shoot to the

roots of my hair. Oh! I want a gentle hand, a skilful hand, a matronly

hand. Miss Patience, you have much skill, tact. Will you condescend

to—to tie up my paw?

_Girls_ (_in chorus_). Poor Tom!

_Patience_ (_approaching him_). Certainty, if I can relieve your

suffering.

_Tom._ You can, you can! Oh! (_Gives her string, and extends his

hand. She stands_ L. _of him_. GIRLS _fall back_ R. _and_ L. _She winds

the string about hand._)

_Tom._ Gently, gently! Oh! how soft and tender! It seems as

though my mother was hovering about me. Take care, take care! Gently!

(_She ties the string._) Be very careful.

_Patience._ I think that is tied tight.

_Tom._ You think so? But you must be sure.

_Patience_ (_taking his hand, and looking at string_). Yes, it's all

right.

_Tom_ (_slipping his hand out of cloth, leaving it in her

hands_). Then you keep it, Patience, as a slight token of regard. "I'd

offer thee this hand of mine, if I could love thee less." Keep it,

Patience, and "wipe your weeping eyes," when I am far away.

[_Runs off_ R.

_Patience_ (_throws the wrapper after him_; GIRLS _laugh_). Was

there ever such an insulting young puppy! Oh, his aunt shall know of

this! I'll not go to my slumbers until I have told my story. Now laugh.

(GIRLS _shout with laughter_.) You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

_Maria._ You told us to laugh. Seems to me you cannot be suited

any way.

_Patience_ (_sits on lounge_). That scamp shall go out of this

house, or I will. The idea of his daring to play such a trick upon me!

Thought his mother was hovering about him!

(_Enter_ TOM R., _enveloped in a large cloak or

"waterproof," straw bonnet on his head, with a green veil down_.)

_Tom_ (_at_ R.). Ef yez plaise, young ladies, I'm a poor ould

widdy-woman, wid a husband in Californy; and the door was open, and I

made bould, ef yez plaise, to walk in, and beg a chrust of bread. It's

nine days jist, since a morsel of bread, or a sup of tay, has passed me

lips.

_Bessie._ Poor old lady!

_Chorus._ Oh! do come in! (BESSIE _sets a chair_ C., _and the

others crowd about_ TOM, _and lead him to chair_.)

_Tom._ Oh! it's the kind hearts yez have, ony way. I'm wairy wid

the walkin', and faint wid the hunger; and I've corns on my fute, and

chilblain on my fingers, an' siven childer at home.

_Maria._ Somebody give her something to eat.

_Jane._ Here's Job with the tray.

_Augusta._ And our lunch. (_Enter_ JOB _with tray_.)

_Job._ Hallo! Who's this?

_Jane._ A poor old woman, nearly starving. Quick! Give me the

tray. (_Takes it, and places it in_ TOM'S _lap_.) Here, old woman, help

yourself.

_Tom_ (_aside_). My eyes! Here's luck; and I've had nothing but

gruel. (_Eats voraciously._) It's the kind hearts ye have.

_Jane._ Poor thing. Hasn't eaten any thing for nine days!

_Job._ I should say nine months,—the way she puts it away.

_Maria._ Oh, there's Bridget! Here, Bridget! (_Enter_ BRIDGET, R.)

Here's a countrywoman of yours.

_Bridget._ Indade! An' what be she doin' up-stairs, I dunno?

_Bessie._ She's very hungry, and we gave her our lunch.

_Bridget._ Oh, murther! An' me company mince-pies goin' down her

throat! Oh! it's wastin' yez are. A cowld pratie would be good enough

for her.

_Maria._ Speak to her, Bridget; the tongue of her native land

might please her.

_Bridget._ Faith, it's my belief that the Yankee tongue she's

stowin' away is far more to her liking. Whist, avourneen!

_Tom_ (_aside_). That's Irish. (_Aloud._) To be sure! Yis,

siscon. Fag-a-Balah. Erin-go-bragh. I'm obleeged to yez.

_Bridget._ Were yez long from the owld country?

_Tom._ Siventeen years come nixt Candlemas.

_Bridget._ County Tipperary, I dunno?

_Tom_ (_aside_). Nor I either. (_Aloud._) County

Coberdowelgowen. D'ye mind that?

_Bridget._ 'Pon my sowl, I niver heard of it. D'ye know Larry

McFinley at all, at all?

_Tom._ Him as lived at Doublin?

_Bridget._ Thrue for yez.

_Tom._ 'Pon me sowl, I niver hard his name before or since. My

memory's failin', since I took to fortin'-tellin'.

_Girls_ (_in chorus_). Oh! a fortune-teller. Isn't that grand!

_Job._ Well, old lady, if you're done with that waiter, I'll

take it.

_Tom_ (_giving waiter_). It's little appetite I have, any way.

_Job._ Little! She _has_ done with it. There's nothing left.

_Tom._ Yis. I'm a bit of a fortin'-teller; and, in return for

yer kindness, I'll be after tellin' yez a bit.

_Maria._ Tell me mine first.

_Other girls._ No, no! Mine, mine!

_Tom._ Ah, be aisy. The wisest and the wittiest afore the

youngest and the prettiest, that's my way.

_Job._ Well, 'sposin' you commence with me, old lady. I

calculate I can see through a grindstone when there's a hole in it.

_Tom._ Ah! but they don't make the holes large enough for your

observation nowadays, my foine fellow. But I know you. I can say

through yez. Yez not yerself at all. Lave me alone for seein' through a

body. You're in love. Ah! don't blush, man: it's rid enough yez are,

onyhow. Yer fortune's made,—why would I be tellin' yez?

_Job_ (_aside_). She's a keen one.

_Bridget._ If yez plaise, will yez tell me?

_Tom._ Oh! go way wid yez. Don't demane yerself before the foine

folk!

_Bridget_ (_angrily_). Will, I'd loike to know.

_Tom._ Will, yez won't. It's ignorant yez are. The lady of the

house would like to know where the sugar goes! D'ye mind?

_Bridget._ Oh! it's a witch she is, onyhow. I'll not cross her.

_Jane._ Now, my good woman, please tell me my fortune.

_Other Girls._ No. Mine, mine!

_Tom._ Be aisy. Don't I tell you? There's the foine lady on the

sate beyant. Would she be after having her fortune towld, I dunno?

_Patience._ No. I do not believe in such negrominstrelsy.

_Maria._ Necromancy. Oh! what a mistake!

_Tom._ Well, I don't know. The fates p'int that way. Onless I

can tell her fate, I'll not be permitted to oblige yez.

_Maria._ Oh, do, Patience!

_Other Girls._ Yes, Patience, do!

_Job._ Yes, do, dear—I mean, Miss Patience.

_Patience._ Well, if it will please you, I will condescend to the

examination. (_Approaches_ TOM, _and offers her hand. He takes it. The_

GIRLS _crowd about him_.)

_Tom._ Faith, that's a good hand,—a foine large hand; and yez a

fortune. You've gowld and galore. (_Enter_ MRS. CANDOR, _unperceived,

at back, with her hat and shawl; she stands by piano_.) Ah! but what's

this? Ah! Yis, it's the way of the wourld. There's a young man close

by.

_Patience_ (_trying to release her hand_). It's no such thing. Let

me go!

_Tom._ It's the truth I'm tellin'.

_Job._ She's a-goin' to let the cat out of the bag.

_Patience._ I don't want to hear any more.

_Tom._ Aisy, aisy! It's the fates wills it! He loves yez, honey,

and you love him; and what will love not do, honey? He drops from his

high estate, puts on the waiter's apron, and follows you,—his heart all

the time cryin', "Have Patience!" Owld Job, him as had the cutaneous

irruptions, had patience, and so shall Job Seedling have Patience.

_Girls_ (_in chorus_). Oh, my! Our Job?

_Patience._ No: not your Job, but my Job. I'm not ashamed to own him!

_Mrs. Candor_ (_coming forward_). I'm very glad to hear it. (GIRLS

_start to_ R. _and_ L.)

_Girls_ (_in chorus_). Mrs. Candor!

_Tom_ (_aside_). My aunt! Oh, here's a pickle. (_Hides his

head._)

_Job_ (_aside_). There'll be a nice row now!

_Mrs. Candor_ (_to_ PATIENCE). So, young lady, contrary to all rules,

you are carrying on a flirtation under my very nose.

_Girls_ (_in chorus_). It's awful! wicked! O Patience!

_Patience._ Well, what is a poor girl to do? Job loves me, and I love

Job; and—and (_sobbing_) you couldn't be so wicked as to part two-wo-wo

young lovers!

_Job._ Yes; born for each other,—

"Two roses on one stalk!"

Them's us, Patience and Job.

_Mrs. Candor._ You, Master Job, will be wanted here no more; and as for

you, Miss Patience, a word with you. (_They go_ L., _and talk in dumb

show_.)

_Bridget._ Faith, I'll git the owld woman out of the way. (_To_

TOM.) Whist, come away! (_Takes hold of him, and shakes him._) The

misthress will be the death of yez. Coome!

_Tom_ (_aside_). Away wid yez!

_Bridget._ Away wid yerself, or there'll be throuble whin the

misthress claps her eye onto yez. Coome, coome! (_Pulling her._)

_Mrs. Candor._ Yes, Patience, I think it best you should close your

connection with the school at once. (_Turns to_ TOM.) But who is this?

_Bridget._ If yez plaise, she's a cousin of mine from County

Cob-Cob—something; and, if yez plaise, she's a fortune-teller.

_Tom._ Af yez plaise, would I tell yez fate, misthress?

_Mrs. Candor._ No: let me tell yours. Boys that deceive their elders

will never come to good.

_Tom_ (_jumps up, and throws off cloak and bonnet_).

Discovered!

_Girls_ (_in chorus_). It's Tom! Oh, it's Tom!

_Bridget._ Well, I niver! 'Pon my sowl! I dhouted the accint of his

muther-tongue. County Cob-Cob! Oh, yez a gay desaver!

_Tom._ It was the gruel, aunt. It flew to my head.

_Mrs. Candor._ Oh, you scamp! Pack up your bag, and off to school at

once: you have made a fine disturbance here.

_Tom._ I meant no harm, aunt. I was anxious to come home to

taste your mince-pies; eh, Bridget?

_Bridget._ It's a greedy epicae yez are, anyhow.

_Tom._ Your tongue and pickles. You wouldn't give me time to

explain, and I was so homesick! Let me stay my time out.

_Girls_ (_in chorus_). Oh, do, Mrs. Candor, do!

_Mrs. Candor._ No: back you go. You've given me a fright, made me travel

a mile to the doctor's, and set my school in commotion. No, sir; back

you go. I'll have no thorns among my roses.

_Tom._ Ah! but I removed the thorns, aunt. I think I'll get

back, though. 'Twill be such an item for the papers!—"Romantic episode

at Rosebush Institute."

_Mrs. Candor._ Would you ruin me?

_Tom._ Then don't send me away hungry. Stuff me with mince-pies,

so that I can't utter a word, and the world shall never know how a

homesick youth proved that love, in the halls of learning, is but a

Thorn among the Roses.

_Curtain._

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

[Arranged as an entertainment from Dickens's Christmas Story.]

CHARACTERS.

EBENEZER SCROOGE.

JACOB MARLEY, the shadow.

FRED, Scrooge's nephew.

BOB CRATCHIT.

TINY TIM.

BOY.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS TO COME.

COSTUMES.

SCROOGE. Rusty suit of black; gray wig.

MARLEY. Blue coat with brass buttons; breeches; top-boots with

tassels; chain about his waist, with padlocks and keys fastened

upon it; at the end, a cash-box; very white face; white wig, with

hair standing up.

FRED. Handsome modern costume; light overcoat; red scarf tied

loosely about his neck; gloves; hat.

BOB CRATCHIT. Rusty blue coat; shabby pants; iron-gray wig; large

white comforter about his neck.

TINY TIM. Roundabout jacket; comforter about his neck; crutch; cap.

BOY. Jacket; large cap; very red nose; large mittens; comforter

about his neck.

CHRISTMAS PAST. A little girl; short white spangled dress; white

stockings; shoes; a wig of long white hair.

CHRISTMAS PRESENT. Purple robe reaching to the floor, trimmed with

fur; long, brown, curly hair; full brown beard; on his head "a

holly-wreath, set here and there with shining icicles;" a belt

around his waist, to which is attached a scabbard.

CHRISTMAS TO COME. Long black robe, with hood entirely concealing

his features.

These costumes can be altered or improved by reference to Fields,

Osgood, & Co.'s illustrated Christmas Carol.

ARRANGEMENT. This entertainment is arranged for a stage eighteen

feet wide by fourteen feet deep. A curtain, to draw up, is

required between the audience and the performers. Half way up the

stage, another curtain, to separate in the centre, and draw aside;

the front curtain should be green, the back dark fabric. The front

of the stage represents Scrooge's office, where the dream (in this

version) occurs. The back is used for the pictures. For home

representation, the same arrangement can be easily carried out.

The performer is directed as though standing upon the stage,

facing audience.

STAVE I.

SCENE.—SCROOGE'S _office_. L., _a low desk, at which sits_ SCROOGE,

_in a large arm-chair_. R., _a high desk, with a tall stool;

candle burning upon the desk_. C., _a low stool_. BOB _standing by

the desk with a poker in his hand; one foot advanced, as though

creeping off_ L., _looking at_ SCROOGE _with an anxious

expression_.

_Scrooge_ (_looking round_). Here, you! don't you do it; don't you

do it! Haven't I told you, that, if you venture to waste my coals,

'twill be necessary for us to part? Haven't I?

(BOB _drops the poker, gets upon stool, and tries to

warm his hands at the candle_.)

_Fred_ (_outside_, R.). A merry Christmas, uncle! Ha, ha, ha!

(_Enters_ R.) A merry Christmas! God save you!

_Scrooge._ Bah! humbug!

_Fred._ Christmas a humbug, uncle? You don't mean _that_, I'm

sure.

_Scrooge._ I do. Out upon merry Christmas! What's Christmas-time to

_you_ but a time for paying bills without money,—a time for finding

yourself a year older, and not an hour richer? Bah! If I had my will,

every idiot who goes about with "Merry Christmas" on his lips should be

boiled with his own pudding, and burned with a stake of holly through

his heart, he should.

_Fred._ Uncle!

_Scrooge._ Nephew, keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep

it in mine.

_Fred._ Keep it! But you don't keep it.

_Scrooge._ Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do you!

Much good it has ever _done_ you.

_Fred._ There are many good things, from which I might have

derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say Christmas among

the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas-time when it

has come round, apart from the veneration due to its sacred origin (if

any thing belonging to it can be apart from that), as a good time,—a

kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time,—the only time I know of in

the long calendar of the year when men and women seem, by one consent,

to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them

as if they really were fellow-travellers to the grave, and not another

race of creatures, bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle,

though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I

believe that it has done me good, and _will_ do me good; and I say, God

bless it! (BOB _claps his hands heartily_.)

_Scrooge._ Let me hear another sound from you, and you'll keep your

Christmas by losing your situation. (_To_ FRED.) You're quite a

powerful speaker, sir. I wonder you don't go into Parliament.

_Fred._ Don't be angry, uncle. Come, dine with us to-morrow.

_Scrooge._ I'll see you—(BOB _sneezes violently_.) What's the matter

with _you_?

_Fred._ Come, uncle; say "Yes."

_Scrooge._ No.

_Fred._ But why? why?

_Scrooge._ Why did you get married?

_Fred._ Because I fell in love.

_Scrooge._ Because you fell in love! (_Suddenly turns to his desk._)

Good afternoon.

_Fred._ Nay, uncle, you never came to see me before that

happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?

_Scrooge._ Good afternoon.

_Fred._ I want nothing from you: I ask nothing from you. Why

cannot we be friends?

_Scrooge._ Good afternoon.

_Fred._ I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute.

But I have made the trial, in homage to Christmas; and I'll keep my

Christmas humor to the last. So a merry Christmas, uncle!

_Scrooge._ Good afternoon.

_Fred._ And a happy new year!

_Scrooge._ Good afternoon.

_Fred_ (_turns to_ R.) Bob Cratchit, a merry Christmas!

_Bob_ (_shakes_ FRED'S _hand_). A merry Christmas, sir. God

bless it!

_Fred._ Ay, God bless it! and a happy new year.

_Bob._ And a happy new year, sir; God bless that too!

_Fred._ Ay, ay, Bob; God bless that too.

[_Exit_, R.

_Scrooge._ Here, you!

_Bob_ (_jumping off stool_). Yes, sir.

_Scrooge._ _You'll_ want all day to-morrow, I suppose?

_Bob._ If quite convenient, sir.

_Scrooge._ It's not convenient, and it's not fair. If I was to stop

half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself mightily ill-used, I'll be

bound.

_Bob._ Yes, sir.

_Scrooge._ And yet you don't think me ill-used, when I pay a day's

wages for no work.

_Bob._ It's only once a year, sir.

_Scrooge._ A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every

twenty-fifth day of December. Well, you can't have it.

_Bob._ But, sir—

_Scrooge._ You can't have it. I shall expect you here earlier

to-morrow.

_Bob._ But, sir—

_Scrooge._ No more. Go! (BOB, _with a very rueful face, puts on his

hat, looks at_ SCROOGE, _and goes slowly out_ R.)

_Scrooge_ (_turns his chair round to face_ C.) There's another

fellow, my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family,

talking about a "merry Christmas!" I'll retire to Bedlam. I don't make

merry myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people

merry. I help to support the prisons and the workhouses. They cost

enough, and those who are badly off can go there. Merry Christmas!

Pooh! bah! humbug, humbug! (_Bell rings_ R., _bell rings_ L., _and

then_ R. _and_ L. _together_.) Mercy! what's that? (_Music, piano, slow

and solemn. Enter_ R., MARLEY, _dragging his chain, moving slow. Stops_

C., _looking at_ SCROOGE; _a bandage of white cloth, passing under his

jaws, tied on top of his head_.) How now? What do you want with me?

_Marley._ Much.

_Scrooge._ Who are you?

_Marley._ Ask me who I _was_.

_Scrooge._ Who _were_ you, then?

_Marley._ In life, I was your partner, Jacob Marley.

_Scrooge._ Can—can you sit down?

_Marley._ I can.

_Scrooge._ Do it, then. (MARLEY _sits on stool_, C., _facing_

SCROOGE.)

_Marley._ You don't believe in me.

_Scrooge._ I don't.

_Marley._ What evidence would you have of my reality, beyond that

of your senses?

_Scrooge._ I don't know.

_Marley._ Why do you doubt your senses?

_Scrooge._ Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of

the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested blot of beef, a

bit of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.

There's more of gravy than grave about you, whatever you are. (MARLEY

_takes the bandage from his head; his jaw drops_.) Mercy! Dreadful

apparition, why do you trouble me? Why do spirits walk the earth? and

why do they come to me?

_Marley._ It is required of every man, that the spirit within him

should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and,

if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after

death. My spirit never walked beyond the counting-house. Mark me! in

life my spirit never moved beyond the narrow limits of our

money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me.

_Scrooge._ Seven years dead, and travelling all the time! You travel

fast.

_Marley._ On the wings of the wind.

_Scrooge._ You might have got over a great quantity of ground in

seven years.

_Marley._ Oh, blind man! blind man! not to know that ages of

incessant labor by immortal creatures for this earth, must pass into

eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed;

not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's

opportunities misused. Yet I was like this man. I once was like this

man.

_Scrooge._ But you were always a good man of business, Jacob.

_Marley._ Business! Mankind was my business. The common welfare was

my business. Charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, were all my

business. Hear me; my time is nearly gone.

_Scrooge._ I will; but don't be hard upon me. Don't be flowery,

Jacob, pray.

_Marley._ I am here to-night, to warn you that you have yet a

chance and hope of escaping my fate; a chance and hope of my procuring,

Ebenezer.

_Scrooge._ You were always a good friend to me. Thank'ee.

_Marley_ (_rising_). You will be haunted by three spirits.

_Scrooge._ Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob? I—I

think I'd rather not.

_Marley._ Without their visits you cannot hope to shun the path I

tread. Expect the first to-night, when the bell tolls one. Expect the

second to-morrow night at the same hour; the third upon the next night,

when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no

more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed

between us. (_Music as before._ MARLEY _walks backward to_ R.,

_followed by_ SCROOGE, _with the same slow step_. MARLEY _goes off_ R.

_As_ SCROOGE _reaches the_ R., _bell tolls one: he turns. At the same

moment, the_ SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS PAST _appears_, C., _entering at the

opening in back curtain_.)

_Scrooge._ Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?

_Spirit._ I am.

_Scrooge._ Who and what are you?

_Spirit._ I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.

_Scrooge._ Long past?

_Spirit._ No: your past. The things that you will see with me are

shadows of the things that have been. They will have no consciousness

of us.

_Scrooge._ What business brought you here?

_Spirit._ Your welfare. Look! (_Steps_ L., SCROOGE R. _Music. The

back curtains are drawn, showing a boy sitting at a desk_, R., _with an

open book before him_.)

_Scrooge._ It is myself. (_A man dressed as_ ALI BABA, _with an axe

across his shoulder, passes slowly and noiselessly across stage back of

desk_, R. _to_ L.) Why, it's Ali Baba! It's dear, old, honest Ali Baba.

Yes, yes; I know. One day, Christmas-time, when yonder solitary child

was left here all alone, he _did_ come here the first time, just like

that poor boy. (ROBINSON CRUSOE, _with a parrot perched upon his

finger, crosses from_ R. _to_ L. _For costumes, the performers can

consult the picture-books._) There's Robinson. There's the

parrot,—green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing

out of the top of his head; there he is. Poor Robin Crusoe, he called

him, when he came home after sailing round the island. "Poor Robin

Crusoe! Where have you been, Robin Crusoe?" Ah! poor boy, poor boy!

(_Curtain closes._) I wish (_puts his hand in his pocket_)—but it's too

late now.

_Spirit._ What is the matter?

_Scrooge._ Nothing, nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas

carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something.

That's all.

_Spirit._ Let us see another Christmas.

(_Curtains are drawn, disclosing_ "FEZZIWIG'S

_Dance_." R., _sits an old lady in cap and spectacles, her hands

raised in admiration_; C., _is_ FEZZIWIG, _in the act of "cutting."

He is a large man; white stockings, knee-breeches, shoes with

buckles, long white waistcoat, brown coat, large white cravat, and

wig. He stands upon his toes, with feet crossed, his countenance

radiant with enjoyment. Opposite him_, MRS. F., _as though dancing,

one hand on her waist, the other above her head; bright petticoat,

dress tucked up, cap, and gray wig._ R. _and_ L. _of this couple,

three young women and three young men; costumes same as_ MR. _and_

MRS. FEZZIWIG, _with the exception of the wig. They stand leaning

forward, with their hands together, as though applauding. In front

of_ FEZZIWIG, _a little boy, imitating_ FEZZIWIG. _Behind all, a

musician, standing in a chair, in the act of fiddling; music

(violin), "Sir Roger de Coverley." The characters should be all

ready, and take their places, instantly the curtain falls on the

previous picture, as the time is very short._)

_Scrooge._ Why, it's Fezziwig,—bless his old heart!—my master

Fezziwig alive again; and there's Dick Wilkins, to be sure. He was very

much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear! those were happy

times. How grateful we were! (_Curtains close on picture._)

_Spirit._ A small matter, to make these silly people so full of

gratitude.

_Scrooge._ Small?

_Spirit._ Why, is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your

mortal money,—three or four, perhaps. Is that so much, that he deserves

this praise?

_Scrooge._ It isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to make his

people happy or unhappy,—to make their service light or burdensome, a

pleasure or a toil. The happiness he gives is quite as great as though

it cost a fortune.

_Spirit._ What is the matter?

_Scrooge._ Nothing particular.

_Spirit._ Something, I think.

_Scrooge._ No, no. I should like to be able to say a word or two to

my clerk just now: that's all.

_Spirit._ My time grows short. Quick!

(_Curtains are drawn, disclosing a young girl sitting

upon a lounge. Beside her a young man stands, with his arms folded.

She is looking away, he looking down at her. Costumes same as in_

"FEZZIWIG'S _Dance._")

_Scrooge._ Again myself.

_Spirit._ Listen.

(_The characters in the picture speak, with soft music

while they are speaking._)

_Girl._ It matters little—to you, very little. Another idol has

displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I

would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.

_Youth._ What idol has displaced you?

_Girl._ A golden one. You fear the world too much. I have seen

your noble aspirations fall off, one by one, until the master

passion—gain—engrosses you; have I not?

_Youth._ What then? Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then?

I am not changed towards you. Have I ever sought release from our

engagement?

_Girl._ In words, no. Never.

_Youth._ In what, then?

_Girl._ In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another

atmosphere of life, another hope as its great end. If you were free

to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose

a dowerless girl? or, choosing her, do I not know that your repentance

and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you, with a full

heart, for the love of him you once were.

_Scrooge._ Spirit, remove me from this place.

_Spirit._ I told you these were shadows of the things that have

been. That they are what they are, do not blame me.

_Scrooge._ Away, I say! I cannot bear it. Leave me. Away, away!

Haunt me no longer! (_Falls into chair_, L., _and covers his face with

his hands. The_ SPIRIT _stands at the side of his chair, pointing at

the picture. The front curtain slowly descends._)

STAVE TWO.

_Lively music. Curtain rises, showing_ SCROOGE'S _office, as

before_. SCROOGE _sitting in chair, looking at back stage, the

curtains of which are drawn, disclosing the_ GHOST OF CHRISTMAS

PRESENT, _who sits upon a seat covered with red, his right arm

leaning upon a barrel. In his lap is a bowl of steaming punch; in

his left hand, a torch [red fire, such as is used in tableaux,

placed in a hollow at the end of a stick, will produce the desired

effect]; round him are strewn articles, such as are given for

presents. After a few seconds_, CHRISTMAS PRESENT _rises, and

comes forward. The curtains close._

_Spirit._ Look up, look up, and know me better, man. I am the Ghost

of Christmas Present. Look upon me. (SCROOGE _slowly rises, and moves

round him, looking closely at him. Music continues. This is to give an

opportunity to set the stage for the next picture._) You have never

seen the like of me before?

_Scrooge._ Never.

_Spirit._ Have never walked forth with the younger members of my

family; meaning (for I am very young) my elders born in these later

years?

_Scrooge._ I don't think I have. I'm afraid I have not. Have you had

many brothers, Spirit?

_Spirit._ More than eighteen hundred.

_Scrooge._ A tremendous family to provide for. Spirit, show me what

you will. Last night I learnt a lesson which is working now. To-night,

if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.

_Spirit._ Look well upon the pictures I disclose.

[SPIRIT _retires_ R., SCROOGE, L.

(_Curtains open, disclosing_ "BOB CRATCHIT'S

_Christmas_." _Table_, C., _covered with white cloth; plates_. L.

_of table sits_ MARTHA, _a young lady about eighteen; brown dress,

white collar and cuffs; hair neatly arranged. Beside her, a boy of

ten; jacket, with an enormous dickey and black cravat; his hands

raised and clasped._ R. _of table, a boy, with a large ruffled

collar; his fork in his mouth. Next him, a girl of eight, with her

spoon thrust into her mouth. At the farther corner of table_, R.,

_sits_ BOB CRATCHIT, _with_ TINY TIM _sitting upon his knee_. MRS.

CRATCHIT, _dressed in plaid, stands at back of table, holding in

both hands a plate bearing a plum-pudding, rather small, with a

bunch of holly stuck in the top of it, and alcohol blazing around

it. All eyes are fixed upon the pudding. Expression upon the faces

joyful and expectant. Music lively._)

_Scrooge._ It's my clerk, Bob Cratchit.

_Spirit._ Ay, Bob Cratchit, who pockets on Saturdays but fifteen

copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present

blesses his four-roomed house with the sprinklings of his torch.

_Bob Cratchit_ (_raising a cup_). A merry Christmas to us all, my dears!

God bless us!

_All_ (_in picture_). God bless us!

_Tiny Tim._ God bless us, every one! (_Curtain closes._)

_Scrooge._ Spirit, tell me if Tiny Tim will live.

_Spirit._ I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney-corner, and a

crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain

unaltered by the future, the child will die.

_Scrooge._ No, no! Oh, no, kind Spirit; say he will be spared.

_Spirit._ If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, none

other of my race will find him here. What then? If he be like to die,

he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.

_Scrooge._ My very words, when I was asked to give a trifle for the

poor!

_Spirit._ Man,—if man you be in heart, not adamant,—forbear that

wretched cant until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where

it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may

be, that, in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless, and less fit

to live, than this poor man's child.

_Scrooge._ He must live! he must live! Poor Bob! poor Bob!

_Spirit._ Come; look upon another picture.

(_Music lively. Curtain rises upon picture of "Blind

Man's Buff at_ NEPHEW FRED'S." _Characters in full evening

costume,—gentlemen, white vests and white ties, black clothes;

ladies, rich and tasty. In the_ C. _stands a gentleman,

blindfolded, leaning forward, groping with his hands, the right

hand just touching a young lady, who is half turned from him, but

who is looking back with a smile upon her face. Beside her stands a

gentleman with his finger upon his lip. Behind the blindfolded

gentleman_, NEPHEW FRED, _with his head thrown back, his mouth

open, as though laughing. On the_ L., _a young lady, leaning

forward, with her fan to her lips; next her, a gentleman, holding

the blindfolded gentleman by the coat-tail, his other hand upon his

side, his head thrown back, and mouth open, as though laughing. A

boy in front of the party, on his knees, with finger pointing up to

the blindfolded gentleman._)

_Scrooge._ Fred's house!

_Spirit._ Ay, your nephew, making merry. If you listen, you will

hear him say of his Uncle Scrooge, "He may rail at Christmas till he

dies; but he can't help thinking better of it—I defy him—if he finds me

going there in good temper, year after year, and saying, 'Uncle

Scrooge, how are you?'"

_Scrooge._ And I refused his invitation,—I refused it! I couldn't do

it again, if I had the chance. O Fred, Fred! A merry Christmas, and God

bless you!

(_Front curtain descends quickly._)

STAVE THREE.

SCROOGE'S _office, as before. Back curtains drawn. The_ GHOST OF

CHRISTMAS FUTURE _standing_, R., _pointing down_; SCROOGE _beside

him_, L. _Mournful music._

_Scrooge._ Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, Ghost of the Future, I

fear you more than any spectre I have seen; but as I know your purpose

is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I

was, I have borne you company, and did it with a thankful heart.

Spectre, something informs me that our parting moment is at hand. I

know it, but I know not how. Tell me who that man was with the covered

face, whom we saw lying dead, of whom the merchants in the street spoke

so carelessly, at whom the vultures of the dead sneered and jested.

(_The_ SPIRIT _raises his hand, then points behind him_.) Before I draw

near to that stone to which you point, answer me one question. Are

these the shadows of the things that will be? or are they shadows of

things that _may_ be, only? (_The_ SPIRIT _points as before_.) Men's

courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they

must lead; but, if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.

Say it is thus with what you show me. (_The_ SPIRIT _moves to_ R.,

_turns, and points to back, where a gravestone leans against the wall,

lettered_ "EBENEZER SCROOGE." _The position of the_ SPIRIT _should hide

it till this_. SCROOGE _staggers back till he reaches chair_, L.) Am I

that man who lay upon the bed? No, Spirit! Oh, no, no! Spirit, hear me!

I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for

this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope? Assure me

that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered

life. (_The_ SPIRIT _slowly lets his hand drop by his side_.) I will

honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will

live in the past, the present, and the future. The spirits of all these

shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they

teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone! (_Sinks

into chair. The curtains slowly close. Bells outside ringing a merry

peal. Music lively._ SCROOGE _starts from his chair_.) What's this, my

own office! (_Runs across stage._) Hallo! what's to-day?

_Boy_ (_outside_, R.). Eh?

_Scrooge._ What's to-day, my fine fellow?

_Boy_ (_outside_, R.). To-day? Why, Christmas Day.

_Scrooge_ (_dancing about_). It's Christmas Day. I haven't missed

it. Hallo, my fine fellow!

_Boy_ (_entering_, R.). Hallo!

_Scrooge._ Do you know the poulterer's, in the next street but one,

at the corner?

_Boy._ I should hope I did.

_Scrooge._ An intelligent boy; a remarkable boy! Do you know whether

they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there? Not the little

prize turkey, the big one.

_Boy._ What! the one as big as me?

_Scrooge_ (_rubbing his hands_). Ha, ha, ha! What a delightful boy!

It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck.

_Boy._ It's hanging there now.

_Scrooge._ Is it? Go and buy it.

_Boy_ (_with finger to his nose_). Walk-er.

_Scrooge._ No, no: I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to

bring it here, that I may give them the directions. Come back with the

man, and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five

minutes, and I'll give you half-a-crown. (_Exit boy in a hurry_, R.)

What a delightful boy! See him run! I'll send him to Bob Cratchit's. He

sha'n't know who sent it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller

never made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be. I forget he's to

be here to-day. Oh, if he'd only come late! (_Sits at desk_, L.) Here

he is, sure enough! (_Enter_ BOB, R., _looking very dejected. Takes off

his hat and comforter, and gets upon stool._) (_Gruffly._) Hallo! what

do you mean by coming here at this time of day?

_Bob._ I am very sorry, sir. I _am_ behind my time.

_Scrooge._ You are? Yes, I think you are. Step this way, if you

please.

_Bob_ (_getting down from stool_). I'm very sorry—

_Scrooge._ Are you? What do you mean by coming here at this time?

Now, I'll tell you what, my man; I'm not going to stand this thing any

longer; and therefore (_jumps up, and gives_ BOB _a dig in the ribs_)

I'm about to raise your salary. (BOB _runs to his desk, and gets a

ruler, looking frightened_.) A merry Christmas, Bob! (_Slaps him in the

back._) A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you

for many a year. I'll raise your salary, and endeavor to assist your

struggling family; and we'll discuss your affairs to-morrow over a

Christmas bowl of sparkling bishop, Bob. Home to your family, and have

a merry Christmas, and in the morning make up the fires, and buy a

second coal-scuttle before you dot another _i_, Bob Cratchit.

_Fred_ (_outside_, R.). A merry Christmas! (_Enters_, R.) Here I

am again, uncle.

_Scrooge_ (_running to him, and shaking hands_). A merry Christmas,

Fred! I'm going to dine with you.

_Fred._ That's right, uncle. You'll find a merry company.

_Scrooge._ You can't tell me. I know 'em all. My niece, Plumper, the

fat sister. Wonderful party! wonderful games! wonderful unanimity!

wonderful happiness!

_Fred._ We'll have a merry Christmas.

_Scrooge._ Ay, that we will. Henceforth _I_ will honor Christmas in

my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the past, the

present, and the future. The spirits of all three shall strive within

me. (_Sinks to his knees._) God bless us all!

_Fred_ │(_sink to their knees_). God bless us all!

_Bob_ │

(_Music: curtains at back are drawn, disclosing "A Christmas

Picture." In the centre, the_ GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT, _seated

as before, with his torch raised, red fire blazing in it. At his_

L., _the blindfolded gentleman, in the same position as before,

with the lady getting away from him; on his_ L., _the lady with

the fan_; R. _of_ CHRISTMAS PRESENT, MRS. CRATCHIT, _with the

pudding in her hands_; MARTHA _at her_ R., _with_ TINY TIM _in her

arms. Two of the children opposite them, looking at the pudding._

TINY TIM _speaks, when curtain is fairly drawn, "God bless us

every one!" "The Christmas Carol" [see p. 64] is then sung by an

invisible chorus; and the front curtain falls upon the whole

picture._)

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

1. Changed "Mrs. Trueworth" to "Mrs. T." on p. 42 to be consistent with

other entries of the same character.

2. Changed "Mrs. Hartshorn" to "Mrs. H." on p. 109 to be consistent

with other entries of the same character.

3. Corrected "Col." to "Rowell" on p. 68.

4. Corrected "Jenks" to "Hosea" on p. 71.

5. Corrected "Mr. G." to "Mrs. G." on p. 99.

6. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical

errors.

7. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

8. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.