THE
PHYSICIAN;
rE —on- aa
THE HOME bocror..
DIME
/ DIALOGUES No.37.
MINOR DRAMAS,
SCENIC AND DRESS PIECES,
FARCES, BURLESQUES,
RAYMED COLLOQUIES FOR LITTLE FOLKS etc
FOR SCHOOLS, EXHIBITIONS, ENTERTAINMENTS,
AND THE AMATEUR STAGE.
b
$09
ORIGINAL AND PREPARED EXPRESSLY FOR THIS SERIES,
——__+-4—__-
M. J. IVERS & CO., PUBLISHERS,
(JAMES SULLIVAN, PROPRIETOR),
379 Peart Street, New Yor,
ntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1890. by ~
\ BEADLE AND ADAM? f
in the office o. the Librarian of Congress at wasmugwwx.
4
SR a Sr
CONTENTS,
5 PAGE
SET PAT ebtoee E ISON Biiiisieds(sc'dcie assed dvecces cess -cceees ‘free eo
A Midsummer Day’s Festival. A Scenic and Dress Piece for a
Young Ladies’ School, or Garden Party, or Parlor Entertainment.
By ‘Alice Cary Victor.
I.
THE McFLACKERTYS AND McDOOZLERS; or, Too Mucn
MERIT TI LIN Wy Sb os vc soos eo nabisaees op cose ek hanes cet Nwee cc ebe
A Domestic Solution. For two males and three females. By H.
Elliot McBride.
Ti.
THE CHILDREN OF THE WEEK.....00..... ...csseeseseesccoe sees
A Rhymed Recitation, For seven little girls, By Frances
Fernleigh.
IV.
UNCLE RASPY’S RUSE; or, How He Was Nor Decutven..........
fees Family Campaign. For one_male and four females. By
Mignon Estes, author of ‘‘ Florence eat 's Mistake,” (No. 35), ‘* Mrs.
Podberry’ 's Views on Education,” (No,
aa
THE LAND OF “ ONCE-ON-A-TIME,”........sceesesececeveccees owe
A Rhymed Recitation. Forsevenlittle boys. By Frank Snelling.
VI;
JUPITER JOHNSUM’S AFFAIRS....... eeP aay Man wnaee KeemI SRST TS
A “Colored” Catastrophe, For one male and one female and one
outsider. By John Cutler.
VIL.
THE BORES OF A DAY; or, A MISTAKE IN THE PERSON.........++
as Village Misunderstanding. For four males and six females. By
rs, 2.
rd
VITl.
RATHER MIXED ...... se esncedpiowedass deiuisvendesDatannesereures
A School Show-off. Fora number of small id, ‘By Cousin pee:
[X.
THE OULD OIRISH TAY, or. ‘tm Rarrerty’s GUESTS. .........65
An Emerald “ Raciption.” For severa] males and two females,
By John Cater,
9
10
3
86
viii. CONTENTS.
>. « PAGS
CHERUBINO AND SERAPHINA; or, THz Wess IN a WEB........ 5)
A Case of Similarities. For one male and onefemale. By Edward
Willett.
x1.
THE COMIC VALENTINE; or, Tonk Berore You ACT.............
A Joke that Failed. For four boys and teacher. By H. Frank
Cushman.
XII.
THE TWO ROBERTS; or, THE UNWELCOME RECEPTION.............
A Fiel,l Day Outbreak. For five males and one female. By Mrs.
Eugene Schuyler.
XI.
KEEPING BACHELOR’S HALL; or, Mr. Bry’s DIsasTEr.. fake
4.Rash Man’s Experiment, For several males and one ‘female.
By Mrs. . Lee,
XIV.
POUR: WISHES. Vi toassetee eget tupaicus vases vabdsese¥ eeecccceeccvere
For four little girls. By Miss A. E. R.
XV.
THINGS ARE SELDOM WHAT THEY SEEM; or, Be Surge You
Are Riegut Berort You Go AHBAD......66 12. ceseeceeses ees
A Parlor or Exhibition Comedietta For two males and two
females. By Maria M. Norris.
XVI.
THE CHARITY STUDENT; or, A Goop Way Not To Do.......0++
_ A Very Useful Mishap. For several girls. By H. Frank Cushman.
XVII.
A CATCH AT LAST; or, M1ss PUNKERTON’S CONQUEST .... 100-000
(‘he Coming Method. For three males and one fame, By H. |
eiot McBride.
XVIII.
At BOGUA DOOTOR sc striate kei eis sci oo nk ee ee
~ ee Molar. For four males and a ghost. By Ceeil
. a
XIX. .
PREPARING FOR AN EXHIBITION........... even zest eeeccceseeee
age teacher and three children. by Lucy Sturdevant.
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THE DIME
|DIALOGUES No. 37.
THE FAIRIES’ PRISONERS.
A MIDSUMMER DAY’S DELIVERANCE,
A SCENIC AND DRESS PIECE FOR A GIRLS’ SCHOOL.
Characters :—Mapseu. Liny, Harth-Children ; Trranta, Con-
WEB, THISTLEDOWN, Motu; Farries, BROwNIgs.
Scenr.—A woodland, with a bower for Trvanta’s throne, at
left of stage. Her train about evenly divided into Farrrms
and BrowntEs. The costwmes may be simple or elaborate ;
the Farries should have wings, and the BrowntEs be soberly
dressed, with pointed caps, and T1vanta should have a train,
Any number of performers may take part, the more the better,
so that the stage is not crowded. If performed by older girls,
more elaborate music may be substituted, each school choosing
its own, according to the ability of its pupils. Much depends
on costumes and music, and care should be taken to have both
perfect, The curtain rises, disclosing MABEL and LILY wan-
dering in the wood,
MABEL.
How lovely it is here!
And how we might enjoy this loveliness
Were we not lost within these leafy deepst
No rose was ever without thorn, they say;
And this the thorn that pierces now.
Did we but know our whereabouts,
And that the coming night
Would see us safely home,
We might indeed find pleasure here,
And revel to our hearts’ content,
In this almost fairy land.
Liny.
To me it is a lonesome spot, at best,
And no desire have I to linger,
Lest night o’ertake us, and the Brownies’ spell
-Around us should be woven.
|
THE DIME DIALOGUBS, —
MABEL,
Ah, yes! I had forgot!
*Tis midsummer night, when Titania,
hoe: of all the fairy tribe,
ets loose upon the earth her merry crew.
Why should we fear them?
Rather fear some robber bold in human form,
Or prowling wolf or venomed snake,
Lity.
Surely you know the power the Brownies have
For brewing mischief and doing ill! ;
The spells they cast, their trickeries,
Are powers for evil to the fated one
On whom they fall,
Let us away from here with speed!
; é MABEL, i
Not soi Already we too far have strayed,
And if we deeper in this wild-wood go
Our mates will never find us.
The Brownies only work their spells
On those who, like themselves, are given to evil,
Titania looks to that.
Her fairies are around the good and innocent,
With charms and gifts for all.
I have heard tell, if on this special night,
A mortal child encounter such,
Her latest wish shall granted be,
‘That is, if she be good, pure, true, and striving hard
To reach the highest and the best. :
No such need fear the Brownies.
Liny.
_ IT have no claim to such a record,
As you know.
This very day have I not wronged
et and still more, you—
ho always strive to save me
From the consequences dire
Of my repeated faults?
But for me you had not thus been wandering here,
From friends and home apart—
The whole day spoiled for you and them,
As, long ere this they must have missed
The Queen of our Midsummer Fete.
_And far and near they must be searching now.
Maset. ee
T only hope they'll find us ere the dark comes on, —
THE FAIRIES’ PRISONERS,
Liny.
Most hear<’ly I echo your desire.
MABEL.
How warm it is!
Let’s seat ourselves upon this grassy mound
And rest, Perhaps we'll hear the others calling.
(Two fairies appear in the background and wave wands rhythmi-
cally to soft music, which continues until all come on the
stage, when t¢ increases to loud as they come in view, singing.)
~ Liny,
~ How warm it is indeed! :
I’m on the very verge of sleep ;
Despite uneasiness at our dilemma, (Yawns.)
MABEL.
I, too, can scarcely keep awake,
And yet I fear to sleep, lest we should miss
The searchers in their quest. (ods.)
Liny.
I—can—not—keep—a—wake. (Leans up against a tree
and falls asleep.)
MABEL.
Nor I. (Lays her head in Liuy’s lap and sleeps.)
Farry.
> The spell is on them till we choose to break it.
Ee Let’s hope the Queen will not discover them,
3 Or we're undone. , 3
They retire to join the others, who enter with Trvanta lead
_ ing, CopwEesB and THISTLEDOWN carrying her train, FAIRIES
following and lastly the BRowNIES—aul singing -)
7 Hail, hail, hail!
Hail to our festal day!
Come, come, come,
Come to the greenwood gay
With dance and song
Time flies along—
A Fairy band are we;
No mortal rude
Shall here intrude
Where all is mirth and glee}
Hail, bail, hail!
Hail to our festa] day!
Sing, sing, sing,
Sing a gladsome lay}
THE DIME DIALOGUES.
(White *hey sing, Trvanta seats herself on her throne, the Farris ©
and Browns posing prettily around her. She spies MABEL
and uty and starts.) 5
TITANIA.
Ah, ah! What have we here?
Two mortals as I live!
And sound asleep!
Whose work is this
'That on this day of all the year
Our vale should be unguarded,
Left open to intruders from the mortal world—
Its grasses bruised by mortal feet—
Its waters sullicd that their thirst be quenched!
Whose work is this, I say?
Whose turn was it to guard this charmed spot?
(Silence.) ©
You will not speak? ¢
Let justice then have sway!
Instead of feast, and mirth, and revelry— 4
Instead of moonlight dance and lovers’ w anderings— 7
Instead of honey-cake and wine of cowslip flowers—_
Instead of this that should have been,
We-must have gloom and punishment;
E’en death perhaps,
For this offense is rank}
Awaken those intruders!
(Two Farris nearest them, shake them gently but they do not
awaken.) ’
They waken not!
A spell is on them, then,
More mischief is abroad, and some
Must suffer for it.
Undo the spell!
(Two FarriEs wave wands over the two girls, who slowly straighten
up, rubbing their eyes, and yawning. )
TITANIA.
Bring them to me and guard them well.
You—Cobweb and Thistledown—you
Weave round our glade again
The magic circle.
(While she speaks four fairies lead the two girs and place them me
before the Queen. Then Copwes and THISTLEDOWN wav
their roands in an imaginary cirele, all. singing maaan’
Guard us from stranger;
Guard us from danger;
Keep all intruders away.
Demon nor mortal, —
_ Can enter our portal, | ;
_ While this incantation has sway.
THE FAIRIES’ PRISONERS.
TITANIA.
Now, strangers from the outer world,
Speak up, and tell me true:
How came you here amid this woodland?
Who brought you hither?
On this of all days in the year
*Tis dangerous for mortal feet
To tread our fairy soil.
Mase. anv Lity,
Fairy!
TITANIA.
Ay, fairy! Know you not
That I am Queen of all this region?
That on this day—Midsummer Day—
. I, and all my court have power
To charm the destinies of mortals
For good or evil?
Liny.
Then, Mab, we are indeed undone.
MABEL.
Why, no! Not so!
If this indeed Titania be,
Titania sweet with all her fairy train,
Why should we fear?
Rather be glad that fate has lead us hither.
For surely she, the dowered Queen,
Will set us on our homeward way.
Good Queen, we are two maids
Who’ve strayed from schoolmates far away,
Until we found ourselves within this glade.
So tired were we, we sat us down to rest,
And fell asleep, unwittingly.
Now we pray you show us how
We may go unmolested hence,
And find again our comrades gay.
TITANIA.
That cannot be! The penalty is death
For her who treads on fairy sward,
Or drinks from magic spring
On this our festal day.
Liny.
Oh, Mab! They mean to kill us!
And I am all to blame.
(Cries. Browntns gather round her, and claim her.)
THE DIME DIALOGUES,
BROWNIES.
She is ours; she is ours! Give her to us!
TITANIA.
What’s this? Who taiks of blame?
There’s something wrong or ill in this.
Some one has been in mischief deep
Elsewhere, as well as hereabouts.,
Stand back, my imps, until ’tis sure
That she be!ongs to you. (They fall back.)
Now speak, young maid;
For what are you to blame?
Liny.
As you already know, sweet Fairy Queen—
Midsummer Day is with us now.
We had a féte, and, Mabel, here,
Was chosen queen. I but a visitor—
A stranger in these parts.
Her mother cautioned her to watch me well,
Nor let me from her sight escape,
And she but did her mother’s bidding,
‘With this result, that we are here
Unwittingly, and so at your disposal.
Punish me, if must be, Queen,
But send her safely home, I pray.
Brownie
She is ours! You “now the law
That gives intruding mortals to our power,
’ To do with as we please.
TITANIA.
Hold! Not so fast, my imps!
You quite forget, it seems, —
‘That forfeit are your claims to any power
Until mete punishment is doled
To those who unguarded left
Our boundaries open to invaders’ feet.
By law, these straying maids are ours
To do to death, if so we will; ”
But, had our laws been well obeyed,
They had not been here at all,
As they the magic circle could not cross,
And never would have hither come,
Nor penetrated this our realm.
MABEL
Dear Queen, please let us go!
‘You surely know we never meant
To trespass on forbidden soil.
THE FAIRIES’ PRISONERS.
Liny.
Don’t let the Brownies have me, Queen,
Never again will I be disobedient
If you will let us go.
TITANIA,
Impossible! Some one must needs
Atone for this day’s work,
And if the guilty ones will not confess,
The victims of their guilt you stand.
FaArrigs.
Oh, no, dear Queen!
ist Farry.
Dear Queen, it cannot be
That these must suffer death for fault of ours}
Revoke the edict! Let them go,
And punish us instead!
TITANIA.
It cannot be! The power is not mine
To break our laws, as well you know.
For death they must prepare,
Unless—
ist Farry.
We find the guilty ones,
CoBWEB.
And that will not take long.
Behold in me the one
Who, faithless to her trust,
Ne’er wove the silken circlet strand
Bevond whose magic admonishment
These never should have entered.
TITANIA.
What! Cobweb, you?
But you were not alone, .
For in that duty no one ever is,
Who else was with you
In this ill-done work?
CoBWEB.
I cannot tell. Our rules forbid,
As you must know, sweet Queen?
TITANIA.
Ah, yes! ’Tis true. é
Well, you have exculpated on.
The other must remain,
Which shall it Bes
THE DIME DIALOGUES.
2
Liny.
Not Matei, surely, Queen;
I—I alone must suffer.
Mase.
I will not leave without you, dear! ~
‘TITANIA.
Beware, lest you sbould share her fate!
MABEL.
Then be it so, great Queen!
I will not go and leave her here alone,
To suffer death or torment at your hands;
Whate’er her fate, be mine the same!
2p Farry.
"Twas nobly said.
Alas that it must be,
Can we have cne among us who woud dare
To silence keep, when but a word
Would set these free and send them home
To friends and happiness?
Morn.
‘Whate’er my fate, I’ll tell the truth:
Iam the culprit, Queen!
_ TITANIA.
What, you, my trusty Moth?
Mora.
Yes, I, alas!
TITANIA.
How has it happened thus that you,
My right hand maidens :
Could have acted so thoughtlessly!
CoBWEB.
Dear Queen—
Mora.
No, Cobweb, J will tell thetale: ~
You know, dear Queen. how on this day
We fays are sent abroad
To look in human hearts—find out the good,
And plant some blessing in their way;
Also ta mete out punishment
Where’er incurred by deed or thought,
At dawn we started on our quest,
Meaning full surely to be here g
Long ere the rising of the sun,
To weave the magic circle.
THE FAIRIES’ PRISONERS.
When almost here, we met that horrid Punch,
King Oberon’s Court Jester,
And he, the pest, began forthwith
To follow and torment us.
We ran, but all in vain;
For he, the scourge, knew full well
That could he keep us till the sun was up
Too iste we'd be for duty.
He caught me, held me fast and firm;
I could not break his holding;
So Cobweb sprung right on bis back
And did so belabor him, in truth,
That he was glad to run away.
If you want proof of what I've said
Just look at his black eye and face
When comes the King to join our feast
At rise of moon,
I promised Cobweb not to tell,
Lest for unseemly conduct, you
Should reprimand and censure—
Perhaps deprive her of her share
Io this day’s festivity.
Then off we ran, but all too late!
The sun was here before us,
And we must pay the penalty
Of the Court Jester’s most rude jesting.
TITANIA.
Tis well that you have spoken
Or else these maidens from the earth
Had ne’er returned to their domain. again.
Tke punishment be on your heads.
MABEL.
Oh, Queen! No blame was theirs,
I beg you, spare them, as not culpable,
LIny.
Dear Queen we plead for them.
Assuredly they were not at fault.
Let rather punishment befall
That offensive masculine offender!
TITANIA.
Tl see to that, you may be sure!
Meantime these maidens must depart
From out our fairy realm,
Fleet-footed and ere set of sun
Be far beyond the reach of wand or charm,
Before they go, one wish I'l] grant to each.
Speak out earth children! What shall it bet
THE DIME DIALOGUES.
MABEL.
Ah, that is good, for now I know
The offenders may be pardoned;
That, fair Queen, is my own wish.
TITANIA.
Then be it so; although with us
It is unusual to leave exempt
From punishment or penance dire
What fairy shall be derelict
in trust, or duty,-or service meet,
Ané@ yours? (Zo Lity.)
Lity.
Mine, sweet Queen, the power te be,
Like Mabel dear, unselfish ever.
Nor ere again to grieve loving friends,
As by this day’s sad willfulness
I may have done.
TITANIA.
Well-wished! It shall be so
Since, in your true humility
You make confession a virtue rare,
Tf vou have erred, the atonement is
That you will err no more.
Now fairies all, escort them hence,
And then, since harmony once more prevails
We will resume our revels. (AU sing.)
With light heart and gay, ;
Speed you away,
To home and friends
Ere daylight ends.
By light of the moon
ell be dancing soon
With Oberon’s band
- In this charmed land!
So speed you awa
Nor longer delay 5
For the fading light
Bids us say ‘‘ Good-night!”
| (They waltz off—Maxer with CoswEB—Liiy with Morn—the
: mwas a eee raat twa who attend TrraNnta, and vol
carry her trail, These go off at last with dignity, w
meses 18 still heard.) ge of a las aebee ign: ve
THE MCFLACKERTYS AND MCDOOZLERS, st)
THE M’FLACKERTYS AND M’DOOZLERS,
OR,
TOO MUCH MOTHER-IN-LAW.
Characters :-—Mrs. McFLACKERTY, an Irishwoman ; BARNEY
MoFiackerty, er son; Mrs. McDoozurer, an Irishwo-
man; KiuzA ANN McDoozier, her daughter; JAMIE
McGuackerry, another Irishman,
Scmne.—A voom. BARNEY and EvizaA ANN, seated,
Barney. Begorra an’ it’s to the point Oi’m a-comin’ to-
night. Shure and Oi have hild back, an’ have said nawthin’;
but Oi won't hould back ony longer. Oi must know me fate.
E1iza ANN. Don’t yez know yer own fate, Barney?
Shure now an’ Oi'd think ye w’u’d. They’re big enough,
onyhow. (She looks at his feet and laughs.)
B. (Drawing his feet under the chair.) Och, but it wasn’t
them fate that Oi was talkin’ about. Ye’re thryin’ to be
laughin’ at me fate, but Oi’ll git the laugh turned afther a
sphell. Naw, Eliza Ann, it’s not them fate that Oi was
a-sphakin’ about. It’s the odther fate, an’ Oi want to know
what me fate is. Shure an’ Oi’ve jist core over fur the pur-
pose of axin’ yez about it, an’ Oi can’t put it off ony longer.
EvizA ANN. Couldn’t yez put it off fur a wake or two?
There is no use in rushin’ into throuble, ye know.
B. Isit throuble ye’re a-sayin’? Shure, now, an’ Oi was
flatherin’ mesilf that Oi’d have purthy plain sailin’, an’ Oi was
not expicting to git ony back-set or throuble.
Exiza Ann. But, Oi wasn’t intendin’ to give yez ony back-
set, Barney. Naw, indade. Oi was jist talkin’ a little, fur
the fun av it, d’ye moind?
B. Well, thin, Oi’ll come to the point at once, an’ have
done wid it. Oil not be foolin’ ony longer. Thin, Eliza
Ann, what do yez say about it? W’u'd yez have me to be
yer lawful wedded husband?
Exiza Ann. Oh, Barney, is it really axin’ me ye are?
Murdther!. Ye’ve taken me by surprise, an’ Oi can’t say a
wurrud.
B. Oh, sp’ake out jist, fur Oi want to know. Oi’m all ina
trimble. Shure, an’.w’u’d yez kape a poor b'y in such sus-
pense? Sp’ake out, Eliza Ann, an’ tell me wull yez have me,
an’ be me own wife?
E1iza Ann. Yes, Barney, Oi wull! Ye’re a dacent b’y,
an’ Oi can lay me hand on me heart, an’ say thruthfully that
Oi am wullin’ to take yez fur betier or wusser!
20 “IR DIME DIALOGUES,
B. (Springs up and dances.) Oh, be the jabers, an’ ye’ve
made me so glad! Oi could sing an’ holler an’ dance. There
was a fear cum over me jist a minut ago that mebbe ye’d not
have me; but that has been disphelled, an’ be me troth Oi am
the happiest b’y in the United Statesav Amerikay. Now Oi’ll
sit down again, an’ we'll be afther makin’ all the necissary
arrangements fur the weddin’. (Seats himself.) An’ when
wull it be, ye purthy little darlint?
Eviza ANN. Oi could be ready in a month.
B. In a month it shall be, then, ye purthy littl— But,
faix, an’ Oi forgot. Oi want to s’ale the bargain wid a bit av
a kiss!
E1izA ANN. Oh, Barney, ye nade not moind that,
B. But Oi wull mind it. An’ w’u’dn’t Oi be a haythen to
forgit it? (Kisses her.) Be jabers, an’ whin Oi’m about it,
mightn’t Oi jist as wull give yez anodther? (tisses her
again.)
Eiza ANN. Och, Barney, ye’re sich a bodther!
B. Wull, it’s no bodther to me!
E1izA Ann. D’ye think now, Barney, that yer modther
would object to the doins of the hour? D’ye think she would
object to me fur a daughter-in-law?
B. Oh, indade, no! She wull be pleased intirely. An’
that reminds me av wan thing: My modther, which is gittin’
purthy well up in years, wull live wid us. She can’t lave
me.
ExrizA ANN. An’ so wull my modther live wid us, fur Oi
can’t lave her,
B. D’ye say that, now? Wull, that w’u’d be considkerable
av a houseful, whin we w’u’d all git together. Faix, an’ Oi
ssunno how it w’u’d wurruk.
E1izaA ANN. Yes, an’ be jabers, Oi think your modther
might be left off. Shure an’ Oi w’u’d have considherable
hesitation about residin’ wid a modther-in-law.
B. Wiull, that’s jist the way Oi fale about it. Oi niver
could think av residin’ in a house wid a modther-in-law.
Couldn't we be afther avin’ yer modther off?
Exiza ANN. L’avin’ me modther aff! Wull, Oi think not!
Better ave your modther aff. Yez must be a cowardly calf
av a b’y if yez can’t live widout yer modther.
B. Wull, Oi'll go an’ ax my modther about it. Shure an’
Oi’d ruther not give the thing up intirely, but if Oi must Oi
must. Oi’l!l go an’ see what she says about it, onyhow.
(Hvit BARNEY.)
Eniza ANN. An’ w’u’dn’t that be a gintleman ava thrick
to dhrive me own mother out an’ not let her live wid me
when she has been livin’ wid me all the days av me life? An’
he’d be a purthy gintleman, too, to bring his own mother in
whin he knows how Oi’d hate to live wid a mother-in-law.
:
THE MCFLACKERTYS AND MCDOOZLERS. 21
(Enter Mrs. McDooziEr.)
Mrs. McDoozier. Oi thought Barney McFlackerty was
here.
ErizaA ANN. He was, the big lumpity gumpity, and he
axed me to marry him, an’ Oi said Oi w’u'd; an’ thin he ob-
jected to me havin’ yez live wid us, but he wants to have his
modther, old Mrs. McFlackerty, to live wid us.
Mrs. McD. The haythen! But yez didn’t badge an inch,
did ye? :
EvizA ANN. Naw, imdade, Oididn’t! Oi’d niver budge fur
sich a mon as Barney McFlackerty. Why should I, indade?
Mrs. McD. Wull, that’s right, Eliza Ann. Allers stand
up fur yer rights. Shure an’ w’u’dn’t it be an idee now fur
that mon, Barney McFlackerty, to bring his own modther
into the house wid yez? Oi’d niver consent to sich an ar-
rangement—niver! niver!
Fiza ANN. Faix, an’ Oi niver wull, And Barney ought
to be ashamed av himself fur axin’ it—McFlackerty that
he is!
Mrs. McD. Ye’r’ talkin’ right now. An don’t yez niver
consent to marry him if he doesn’t agree that yer own modther
shill Jive in the house wid yez. An’ where w’u’d Oi go if Oi
didn’t go wid yez? Haven't we lived togither all these many
years? an’ how could we live ony odder way, now? He’sa
m/’aue b’y jist, an’ that’s what he is, when he w’u’d ax me to
Pave yez now. 4
(Znter Mrs. MoFuackerty, followed by BARNEY.)
Mrs. McFuackerty. An’ what’s the m’anin’ av this?
Oi’d like to know!
Mrs. McD. An’ what brought you here?
Mrs. McF. Shure, now, an’ haven’t Oi a roight to come?
W’u’d yez abuse me b’y, an’ him the only b’y I have?
Mrs. McD. Begarra an’ he’s no b’y at all to ax me daugh-
ter to marry him an’ thin talk as if he w’u’d not let me live
wid them, an’ this when Eliza Ann has been livin’ wid me
all the days av me life.
Mrs. McF. But, w’u’d yez ixpect a b’y to marry a girrul
an’ thin kape the whole family? Shure and sich doin’s is
bound to bring throuble an’ disthress—that’s what it is!
Mrs. McD. An’ w’u’d yez ixpect me daughter to marry a
man an’ then let that man bring his ould blatherskite av a
modther to come an’ boss her around? Sich a thing can’t
. done in this case. Ye’d have to walk over my dead body
rrust.
Mrs. McF. Be jabers an’ Oi could walk over yer dead body
aisy enough, fur Oi’m not aparticle afeard av yez. An’ yez
called me an ould blatherskite! Oi fale me temper risin’, an’
begarra Oi could lambaste ye in less’n no time. Me Me:
Flackerty pride is hurt, so it is! po
22 THE DIME DIALOGUES,
B. Modther, don’t git jist ramparageous. Oi w’u’dn’t
want a particle av throuble arisin’ out av the matter, fur Oi
w'u’dn’t want onybody to git hurt. Oi think maybe we can
git the matter fixed up so that we nadn’t have no throu-
ble at all, at all.
Mrs. McD, Wull, Oi’m thinkin’ jist that it wull niver be
fixed up now. Shure an’ Eliza Ann nadn’t go a beggin’ to
git a man, fur she’s as smart a girrul as ye'll find onywhere.
If there’s goin’ to be ony disturbance about me livin’ wid
me daughter, which has been livin’ wid me all her loife, then
Oi think the sooner the talk about gittin’ married is drapped
the betther it wull be.
Mrs, McF, An’ Oithink so, too. Barney is the on’y b’y Oi
have, an’ he has allers been wid me, an’ shure Oi could
niver give him up now. Oi w'u’d have to live wid him
still, no difference whether he had a wife or not.
B. Wull, Ov'd loike to git this little onpleasantness fixed
up. Shure, an’ Oi don’t want to give up Eliza Ann altogether.
EuizA ANN. Git the matter fixed.up! Niver! W’u'd Oi
marry sich a trimbly, onr’asonable, onprincipled, idiotic b’y
as you are, wat axes me to sacrafice me own mother?
Mrs. McD. Thin that settles it, an’ there nadn't be ony
more talk about it. An’ ye ould Mrs. Flackerty, whin yez
are so touchy, yez can git aff to yer home an’ not be throu-
blia’ p’aple that don’t want to have onything to do wid yez.
Be aff now!
Mrs. McF. Och, be jabers, an’ yez nadn’t give me ony av
yer sass! Shure an’ Oi come into the house in pursuance av
me duty, an’ Oi’m not goin’ to be scared out jist by ony
av the McDoozlers. D’yemoind that now? An’ yez called
me an ould blatherskite! Faix, an’ can Oi indure sich talk
as that ?
Mrs. D. Wull, an’ how can yez help it? Oi’d loike to
know. But, afore me temper rises very much higher Oi
think it w’u’d be betther fur yez to git out av me house.
There’s the dure. (Points to door.) Dye say it?
Mrs. McF Yis, av course Oi say it. But, Oi don’t care
fur the dure, an’ Oi ain’t afeard av yez.
(Enter Jamie MOGLACKERTY.)
Jamie. What's sich loud talk about, anyhow?
Mrs. McD. Faith, thin, an’ Oill tell yez. This innocint
calf av a b’y here, Barney McFlackerty, he axed me daugh-
ter here, Eliza Ann, if she’d have him an’ be his wife, an’
Eliza Ann she said she w’u'd.
E1izA ANN. But, if it was to do over again, Oi’m shure
Oi'd niver say yes.
Mrs. McD. An’ thin they got to makin’ their arrange-
ments an’ Barney he said that he w’u’d have his modther to
live wid him, an’ Eliza Ann she said she w’u’d bave me to
THE MOFLACKERTYS AND MCDOOZLERS, 23
live wid them, which, ye know, w'u’d only be right an’
Prsper; but, Barney, he objected to that, an’ Eliza Ann she
objected to Barney’s modther comin’ to live wid them, which
ye know was only right an’ proper, fur what woman would
Iver git along wid a modther-in-law, an’ partic’larly sich a
modther-in-law as ould Sally McFiackerty w’u’d be?
Mrs. McF. Aisy, now, ye ould Peggy McDoozler, or yez
el git into throuble! Shure an’ Oi can’t indure it much
longer.
2 An’ then the fuss is all about the modther-in-law?
Wull, now, Oi’d be willin’ to take Eliza. Ann an’ kape half a
ozen modther-in-laws into the bargain! What do ye say,
liza Ann?
_Eviza ANN. Wull, Oi’d be agreed fur that/ You're not
Sich a scary feller as Barney. (Goes to JAMIE and eatends her
ad.) Here’s me hand, Jamie!
3. Be jabers an’ Oi’m pl’ased about ¢dhat. Shure an’ Oi
didn’t know Oi w’u’d stand a ghost av a chance, or Oi w’u’d
ave axed yer long ago, darlint!
Mrs. McD. There, ye scary McFlackertys, ye say how it
has come out! Jamie isa gintleman, an’ Eliza Ann has done
4 powerful sight better’n if she had tuck up that calf av the
» Sod, a McFlackerty!
Mrs. McF. Whist, now. ye ould Peggy McDoozler, or ye’ll
git me aroused, an’ there'll be a bit av a shindy, an’ hair all
Over the flure!
Mrs. McD. (Dancing around.) Oh, ho, ho! Tol de dol,
tol de dol de dido! Tol de dal, tol de dol de dido! Shure,
Now, an’ Oi fale loike dancin’ a r’ale Limerick jig, an’ me hair
B hist achin’ to be pulled!
: . The matther’s settled, an’ there’s no use cryin’ over
Sphilled milk. Onyhow, we nadn’t cry ontil it ds sphilled.
‘u’d yez lind me yer hand fur a four square? (Hatends his
hand to Mrs. McDoozuEr.)
Mrs. McD. Shure an’ Oi wull. (Takes BaRNEy’s hand.)
Mrs. McF. (Angrily.) What w’u’d yez be doin’? W’u’d
Yez dance wid that ould Peggy McDoczler?
x Yis, it’s all right. Oi want to bury the hatchet, an
five Eliza Ann an’ Jamie a good sind-off. (JAMIE and ELIza
NN come forward, and they, with BARNEY and Mrs. McDooz-
Ler, form a four square dance. The music strikes up and they
nee. Mrs. McFuackertry becomes excited, and commences to
nce at one side, waving her bonnet as she doce so, As they
a nee, JAMIE shouts. ‘‘ Hooray fur Hliza Ann!” and BARNEY
| shouts, “ Hooray fur the United States av Ameriky !”
k (Curtain.)
THE DIME DIALOGUES.
THE CHILDREN OF THE WEEK,
FOR SEVEN LITTLE GIRLS,
{sr Curup. MondGay’s child is fair in the face,
2p Curd. Tuesday’s child is fuil of grace;
3p Cuttp. Wednesday’s child is sour and sad,
4taH Cuiip. Thursday’s child is merry and glad;
Sta Curtp. Friday’s child is loving and giving,
6TH CHILD. Saturday's child must work for its living;
Yru CHILD. But the child of the Sabbath is meek and mild,
And ne’er to know want is the Sunday child.”
Frrst Grey.
I’m a Monday’s child; ’tis more blest, in this case,
To be fair in the heart than fair in the face—
To be fair in one’s studies, and fair in one’s play,
To be fair in one’s doings in every way:
The face that is fair may bring tokens of love,
But the soul that is fair wins sweet Heaven above.
The fairness of faces will fade or depart,
And so, I will seek for the fairness of heart.
SECOND GIRL.
I’m a Tuesday child; am I full of grace found?
In dancing-school graces I. do not abound,
But, mother dear tells me there’s a far better grace,
And what she has told me I’ll tellin this place:—
To be gracious to those around us at home,
To the poor little beggars who ceaselessly roam;
To the weary and sick, of each nation and race,
And strive every day in winning God’s grace.
TurirD GIRL.
T’m a Wednesday child, but believe I’d be mad
If any one called me either sour or sad;
If with cross words and tears I met every one
From so dolesome a child every person would run.
Why should I be sour when I find so much sweet?
Why should I be dull when I merriment meet?
So much sunshine and pleasure I always have had,
Y'd be wicked, indeed, to be sour and sad,
Fourtr Giri
I’m a Thursday child, and this T should know—
If I’m merry and glad I should make others so,
I must go through the world like a sunbeam bright,
Filling dull hearts with joy and dim souls with light,
THE CHILDREN Jf THE WEEK,
I will make it my mission the lone hearts to cheer,
To comfort the pining and dry up each tear,
To my day I'll be true so that fotks, who are blue,
Will welcome my coming, and cry: ‘‘ Glad to see you”
Firta Gru.
And Friday’s child should be loving and giving,
The only right way of truthfully living.
He was loving and giving Who died on this day,
He showed us the path; let us walk in that way.
Loving and giving to all in distress,
Should be our endeavor as onward we press,
Let us all love to give and to give with all love,
For that will bring blessings and joys from above,
Sixt Giri
The last day of the week is my birthday.» They say
i must work for my living; why shouldn’t J, pray?
The world will think well of its right-ready workers,
But look with disgust on its dull, lazy shirkers.
I will work for my living; that’s just what Ill do,
And while working for self, work for other ones, toot
At working I never will grumble or fret,
But cheerfully labor at all duties set.
SEVENTH GIRL.
The child of a Sunday and that ought to be
The very best child one ever could see;—
Never to want for a motive to live—
Never to lack the power to give=
Never withholding the generous deed—
Never refraining to help those in need,
And never by evil thoughts to be beguiled—
That is the record of the true Sunday child.
Isr Curip, We will seek a fair heart, and not a fair face,
2p Cump, We will strive, very hard, in winning God’s
grace;
3D Cup. We will strive to avoid being sober and sad,
47H Cup. We will strive to be cheerful, and make others
glad;
5rux Curp. We will strive,every day,to be loving and giving,
Sra Camp. And eo we grow up, we will work for our
- iving;
«Wx Cum. If we do all of this, we surely shall be
Bi The happiest seven this side of the sea,
.
THE DIME DIALOGUES.
UNCLE RASPY’S RUSE;
OR,
HOW HE WAS NOT DECEIVED.
FOR ONE MALE AND FOUR FEMALES,
Characters :—UNcLE Raspy, rich old uncle; Mis. BARNES
his niece; AMANDA, OLivia and HewgEn, her daughters,
Scene I.—Sitting-room. Mrs. Barnes and daughters, en-
: gaged in conversation.
Mrs. Barnes. I think everything is now in readiness for
Uncle Raspy’s arrival. I have had the south room heated and
prepared for him, as it is the pleasantest and sunniest of the
bedrooms. When he first wrote to say that he was coming to
spend the winter with us, he said that he must have a large,
warm room, as he suffers so much with his rheumatism. He
also wished me to be sure that the sheets were well aired.
(Laugh: ) Well, I don’t doubt but what he will be a sore
trial, but I do hope and pray, girls, that you will exercise
your patience to the utmost, and do all you can to make him
comfortable. I know it will be hard work, but it is only for
a few months, and you will have your reward in the end.
Just bear that in mind.
AMANDA, Poor old man. I shall do all I can to make him
feel that this is his home, and bear with his infirmities to the
best of my abilities. (Laughs sarcastically.) You will see,
mamma, how devoted we will be to him.
Oxivia. (Sighs.) Yes, indeed! How old age appeals to
our sympathies! It calls out all the tenderest qualities of our
nature. What acomfort it will be to poor Uncle Raspy, after
knocking around this harsh world for so long, to find such a
haven of rest! I long to bestow the care of a loving daughter
upon him, (Winks at the girls.)
Heven. (Who has been listening with a disgusted air.) No
doubt you will have the opportunity very soon. For my part,
J think we have quite enough to do without burdening our-
selves with the care of an irascible old invalid, who is quite
able to hire people to do it.
A. (nahorrified tone.) Oh, Helen! How ean you talk
so! Don't you see, if we play our cards well, we will be
amply repaid for all our trouble ia a few years? You know
we are his only living relatives. Of course we expect to saeri-
fice to his whims, and are more than willing to do so.
H. Oh, I see there is a mercenary as well as a teuder side
to your nature, Well, Jam willing to do what I can fer
UNCLE RASPY’S RUSE. 21
uncle, as I would for any old person who is beginning to be
dependent on the care of others, that is, as long as he is civil
and polite. But if my recollection of him be correct, he will
be quite the reverse, and I will not stand being ordered about
as if I were his servant, just because he happens to bave some
money. Iam very sure of that.
Mrs. B. Now, Helen, don’t begin to talk your nonsense.
Tf you begin by showing uncle your dislike of him, you will
spoil everything. Inever saw such a girl. You never use
any diplomacy in concealing your feelings. Just understand
that 7 wish you to be as kind and attentive to the old gentle-
man as possible. Your sisters are only too glad to obey me in
this matter. But, here comes the carriage. We must make
haste to greet him. Come, girls! (They all leave the room for
a minute.)
(Enter again, with UNct® Raspy, one carrying his umbrella,
another his bag, etc. WELEn seats herself and goes on sew-
ing. UNCLE R. sinks into a chair, groaning and muttering
to himself.)
O. Here, dear uncle, take this chair. I am sure you will
find it more comfortable than the one you are sitting in. (As-
sists him to chair.) 4
A. Let me put this stool under your feet. (Hssays to
pluce tt, but he kicks it aside with a look of disgust. HELEN
calmly sews on with an amused smile on her face.)
Uncie R. Do stop bothering me so. You treat me as if I
were an old woman.
O. (Not noticing his remgrk.) Did you have a pleasant
journey, Uncle Raspy?
Uncite R. What a questiontoask! Do you call it pleasant
to be jolted and jarred in those infernal cars for six mortal
hours? If you do JZ don’t! Hurry up now and get me some-
thing to eat. I am very nearly starved. Mind, now, some
good strong tea, Idon’t want any slops. Be sure and don't
ret my meat overdone or! can’t touchit, and give me stale
bread, not any fresh, doughy stuff. Prepare it as quickly as
possible.
A. -Yes, uncle, you shall have your dinner in a very few
minutes. (She and Ourvia hurry from the room, while Mrs.
Barnes gathers up the baggage and exits with tt.)
Uncie R. (Suddenly noticing HpteN) Well, young wo-
man, it seems to me you are taking my arrival very coolly.
You aren’t over-anxious to bestir yourself. Why don’t you
go and help your sisters get my meal ready, instead of sitting
there, wasting your time on that everlasting stitching?
Tam willing to do all I can for you, Uncle Raspy,
when you have the politeness to ask, and not command, as if
We were your servants. 1 cannot stand being treated so, even
28 THE DIME DiaALOWUEs,
from one so much older than myself, though I respect ane
venerate old age.
UncLE R. (Gazing at her in perfect astonishment.) Well,
upon my word anc honor, you ae independent! You don’t
hesitate to speak out your mind, now, do you?
H. (Smiling.) Oh, no. Frankness always was one of my
strong points.
Uncie R. (Sinks back in his chair and regards her stead-
fastly, muttering lo himself.) “Humph! Did L ever?” etc. ete
(Zinter AMANDA.)
A. Come, uncle, your dinner is ready. I know you are
very tired. Let me assist you tothe dining-room. (Offers
her arm.)
UnciE R. (Turning to HevEen.) Perhaps (i72 a sarcastic
voice) my niece Helen will condescend to help her old uncle,
as he has requested her to. (Looks at her inquiringly to see
what HELEN will do.)
H. Certainly! This way, please. (Gives him her arm and
they go out, AMANDA following with an annoyed look .on her
fuce.)
(Curtain falls.)
Scenz Il.—Same as before. Hr En discovered alone.
H. How hard it is to have all your family opposed to the
man you love! Notwithstanding all that mamma and the
girls know of Charlie’s noble, upright character, and many
good qualities, they are bound I shall not marry him. Just
because he earns his bread by good honest labor they turn up
their noses at him, and say he is far beneath me in social
standing. Oh, how indignant it makes ma! They think
when they have Uncle Raspy’s money to live in style, they
would be ashamed to own a clerk as their brother-in-law.
It is, indeed, a true saying that, ‘‘The course of true “ove
never did run smooth.” I fear I will have to accede te
Charlie’s request and go quietly to the minister’s some day to
be married. He has a home prepared for me, so there is no
use in keeping him waiting. Then, too, my life here is
not particularly happy, though (laughing) I really believe
Uncle Raspy tties to be more civil to me, when ke sees I
won't give in to all his whims. The poor girls have a hard
time of it, for he certainly isa great trial, and I must say
they have shown far more patience toward him than I would
have thought possible. I hope they will not be disappointed
in their reward. One thing is certain: J shall not reap any
UNCLE RASPY’S RUSE. 29
of the golden harvest, but I own something better than all the
money in the world, the love of a good, true man.
(Zinter AMANDA and OurviA. They busy themselves with read-
ing and sewing. In a minute or two the door bursts open and
Uncte Raspy comes in, sighing and groaning. OLIVIA
springs up and offers him a chair, which he sinks into heavily.)
O. Why, what is the matter, uncle? You look so strange-
ly. Are you ill?
Uncite R. (Covers face with hands.) It is all gone, all
one.
E A. What are you talking about? What is gone? Why
don’t you explain yourself?
Uncitx R. The sayings of my lifetime. All sunk in that
wretched mine. What shall I do? oh, what shall I do?
(Wrings his hands. AMANDA and Outvi1a eachange horrified
glances, and, for a minute or two, no one speaks.)
Uncix R. What is to become of me the few remaining
years of my life?) AmI to wander around, homeless and an
outcast? No, it cannot be! My nieces are too good and lov-
ing to see their old uncle turned adrift. All I ask is a corner
in your bright home. I fear I have been capricious and over-
bearing at times. It ull comes back to me now, in my trouble.
I promise to turn over a new leaf. You have been patient
with me in the past. You shall not have to complain of me
in the future. What have you tosay to me, my dears? (Looks
appealingly from one to the other. OLtvia turns to the window
to conceal the tears of disappointment she cannot restrain.
AMANDA now speaks in a cold, unsympathetic voice.)
A. You are certainly very unfortunately situated, Mam-
ma, I know, will wish you to finish the winter out with us,
but, of course, it will be impossible for her to offer you a per-
Manent home. You know our means are very limited. I—
(Oxrvia interrupts, in an angry tone.)
O. I should think so, If this is all the reward to expect
for our trouble, having you thrown upon us in a beggared
condition. 1 declare it is too, too bad! (Begins to weep
again.)
A. Come, Olivia, we will tell mamma of our good fortune.
(Puts her arm around her. sister, and leads her from the room.
Unotn Raspy turns to HELEN, who has been listening to her
Sisters in astonishment.)
Uncite R. How is it with you, Helen? AmT to expect
any morc feeling from you than from these young women,
Who I t.ought cared for me a little, in spite of my rough
Ways? Or are you, too, willing to see me go to the poor
house? But, I fear I tve offended you too often to find
favor in your sight. (J/»ks at her searchingly.)
H. (Gets up and plu: iher hands on his shoulders.) Do not
suet
80 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
distress yourself, dear uncle. I pray you will forgive my toa
frank speeches. I have found out that a warm heart beats
under the .crusty exterior, and I cannot tell you how grieved
and wounded I am at my sisters’ heartless behavior. Rest
assured you shall never know want as long asI live. And
now, let me whisper a secret in your ear. You have probably
noticed that there is something between Charlie Foster and
myself, but mother and the girls are so set against my marry:
ing him, because he is poor, that we have decided to be pri
vately wedded some night soon. He has fitted up a comfort
able little home for us, and we shall be only too happy to have
you share it with us.
Uncite R. Wellspoken. You are made of the right stuff,
after all! There are some good ones left in the world,
after all. I have met this lover of yours, and, I must
admit, he zs a fine fellow—knows how to be polite to
an old man. I, too, have a pleasant surprise for you.
(Tukes her hand affectionately.) This professed loss of my
money was merely a test, as f suspected that my money
really was the cause of. the girls’ devotion to me. I saw that
you were too independent to have any such designs, so I took
this way of satisfying myself. It is very true that I invested
heavily in that silver mine, but it has been to good advantage,
I can assure you; my money has been returned to me trebled,
so now I am a comparatively wealthy man. Nothing will
please me more than to have you and Charlie enjoy it with
me, and if we don’t do some good with it, then I miss my
guess. How is that for news? Do you think yon will want
me around all thé time? I fear I might play bear again and
- prove too much for even you.
H. (Reproachfully.) No fear of that, uncle. Oh, how
happy we all will be! But, I am so grieved that there will be
such a gulf between me and my family. Why must it
be so?
UnciE R. Donotfret. Itis their own fault, I will settle
a comfortable income on them that the pill may not prove too
bitter. So, now, hurrah for the wedding! Comeand kiss me,
my dear. (Zhey embrace and curtain falls.)
THE LAND OF ‘‘ ONOH-ON-A-TIME.”
THE LAND OF “ONCE-ON-A-TIME.,”
FOR SEVEN LITTLE BOYS.
¥irst Boy.
Come, iet’s run away from study to play,
To a land that is full of delights;
Where giants are found and where fairies abound,
Where brilliant and gay are the sights.
Let us go, hand-in-hand, to that beautiful land
Which you've read of in story and rhyme ;—
Of course you know where lies that country. so fair,
Tis the land we call ‘‘ Once-on-a-time.”
SeconD Boy.
There, Aladdin, the scamp, found his wonderful famp,
Which made him a right happy Jad;
This lamp he would scrub, or, just gently rub,
And all that he wanted he had
While bis magical ring many wonders did bring,
And yet, Zam oft wanting a dime.
How I oft wish to be, such a fellow as he,
In the Jand we call ‘‘ Once-on-a-time.”
Turrp Boy.
J would go for a whaler, or as Sindbad, the sailor,
The strange world and strange people to see;
And, like that grand rover, Id sail the seas over,
From all study and work to be free.
I'd strive for the right, and make a brave fight
For the poor and oppressed in each clime;
But, no ‘old man of the sea” should e’er cling to me
In that land we call ‘‘ Once-on-a-time.”
Fourtu Boy.
4 would be that young Jack, who never had lack
Of bravery, courage and skill;
Who caused so much wonder he made giants knock under,
And, cruel, vile ogres did kill.
I would strive to be brave; all young people would save
From the giants, who feasted on crime;
Although but a boy, I would ogres destroy
In that land we call ‘‘ Once-on-a-time.”
Sea
2S
oe
Se
THR DIME DIALOGUES,
Firru Boy.
Without any doubt I scon could find out
Where the Forty Thieves hid their treasure;
With ‘‘ Sesame” saying, cave-doors would be swaying,
And of riches I’d get a big measure.
A big palace I'd build, and have laborers skilled;
Gay bells in the tower should chime;
*T would be made of pure gold, and silver untold,
In that land we call. ‘‘ Once-on-a-time.”
SrxruH Boy.
At every day’s dawning, some fellow is yawning,
And the time of arising he fears;
‘Then we wish for the land that’s so lazily grand,
Where they slept for a full hundred years.
Oh, it seems very tough, when we've slept not enough,
To be roused by the church elock’s shrill chime;
How good it then seems to have weeks for long dreams
In the land we call ‘‘ Once-on-a-time!”
SEVENTH Boy.
There’s a much better land, and the negrer at hand ;—
*Tis where one can earn honor and fame;
Tis where Justice has sway, and Truth wins ss day
And the Land of Content is its name.
So we need never roam, but find here at home
The work that is always sublime;
Of undoing wrong, and making truth strong,
And banishing ‘‘ Once-on-a-time.”
A Tue Boys.
So, we'll eagerly try, to help low or high,
Nor seek for some mythical clime;
So, onward let’s press, to help those in distresa
And our watchword be ‘*Now’s-the-timel”
JUPITER JOHNSUM’S AFFAIR,
JUPITER JOHNSUM’S AFFAIR,
FOR ONE MALE AND ONE FEMALE AND ONE OUTSIDER,
Scene.— Kitchen, or living room, with old furniture, including
lounge. Aunt DinAw sitting before the stove, peeling pota-
toes and crooning a camp-meeting melody. A dismal groan
heard outside.
Aunt Dinan. (Starting up.) For de Lawd’s sake what’s
dat? (Another groan, louder than first, and a voice is heard.)
“Dinah, for de lub ub Heaven, open de do’!”
Aunt D. Ef it ain’t Jupiter hisself! Wonder w’at on
airth’s de matter. (Runs to door and opens.)
(Enter UNcLE Jupiter limping, with face swollen, one eye shut,
his clothes torn, and hat stove in.)
Aunt D. Good sakes alibe! Jupiter, is yo’ clean killed?
W’at’s de matter—say?
Uncie JuPiTer. (@roaning.) Tush, Dinah, doan't stop
ter talk—I isn’t killed, but I’s speechless. Git me onto de
lounge, quick, an’ run fer de muscular limingnent!
Aunt D. (Helping him to the lounge.) But, Jupiter, wha’s
de matter? Mule kick yo’?
Uncie J. Wish he hed; sabe me from de tr’ubble kickin’
myself. Dinah, isn’t yo’ nebber gwan fetch dat limingnent.
Atnt D. (Bringing a bottle to him.) Did ole Abe frow
you? ’Pears like as ef yo’d bin frowed in berry patch; yo’
face is jest a mask ub scratches.
Uncie J. Abe didn't frow me. How cur’ous yo’ womens
alers is! Dinah—(groaning) oh, Lawd, how dat collar-bone
hurfs! I beliebs it’s plum disulcated.
Aunt D. Maybe I'd better go fer.de doctah!
Uncie J. Fer de landsakes, no/ I doesn’t wishes any
doctah come filagreein’ ’round-me; he’d ax too many ques-
Shuns. Put some pennyr’yal tea to steep. Ouch. (Lies back
on pillow with hat still on, and groans dismally.. Dinan puts
tea to steep, then comes and removes his hat.)
Aunt D. W’y, Jupiter Johnsum, I solem’ly beliebs yo’
brain is frackshurded!
Uncie J. So it am, Dinah; so it am! Yo’d better mix
hup a flaxseed poultiss, an’ ply to de small ob my-back. Oh,
pawdl I'd jes’ Jike to mash der mouf ub dat mis’ble Yander
isco,
Aunt D. Yander Cisco! Wha’s he got to do wid it, I’d
like fer to know? Yo’s bin fightin’! I beta cooky dat’s jes’
W’at’s up! an’ you a deacon ub de church, too! Oh! Jupiter!
0’s done gone an’ disgraced me, an’ I'll nebber dar’ hol’ my
} ead up in meetin’ no =o’. (Throws apron over her head and
begins to cry.)
See
SEA
PP aed
a then
84 THE DIME DIALOGUES,
Unciz J, Shet yo’ mouf, old woman! I ’clar’ to grachus
ef yo’ tongue doan’t go like a windmillin a hurrycane! Who
says I bin fightin’? Dat Cisco chap call my ole mule names
an’ sed I better call him Pig-aces, ’cause he use his huffs fer
wings! an’ I j2s’ got mad an’ pitched onto him. Guess he’ll
git out ub de way w’en he see me comin’, after dis. Oh, de
debbil! My elbow’s out ub j’int, sure ’nuf. (Rubs elbow and
groans. He didn’t dar’ tech me, all de same, and I piled all
names ob de cullendar onto him—dat’s w’at I did!
Aunt D, W’y, I always t’ought Mr. Cisco was a mighty
sprucified young gen’lum, an’ so berry perlite to all de ladies
in meetin’ an’ at de singin’-school, I trusses yo’ didn’t hurt
him berry bad.
Uncie J. Hurt him? Dar isn’t a hull bone lef’ in dat
mis’able nigga’s body; an’ he didn't dare tech me neider!
Aunt D. Den whar yo’ git all der woundses? Jupiter
Johnsum! I hardly knows whedder to beliebs yo’, or not.
Yo''isn’t always as full ub truf as you migkt be. Dar’s some-
fin mighty quar at de bottom ub dis hull affair, an’ I’s bound
to ’scover it, dat I is!
Unciz J. Dinah, yo’s a fool! Nothin’ to ’scover. We
sort ub argyfied befo’ [ pitched onto him, an’ a brick come~—
Aunt D. hem—ladies and gintlemen,
ivery wan ay ye. This is an onexpected honer. Oi don’t
know phwat to say to bi ali, *pon my worrd Oi don’t. Oi
wish that at this minute Oi c’u’d be wid my respicted country-
man, at the bottom av the say. But, this I will raymark,
that, ef there’s an Irishman in Amiricka what isn’t an Irish-
man, be dad to him, he’s a spalpeen as daysarves hangin’ fer
b.s riputation’s sake—I m/ane, fer the riputation of his coun
’ y's sake; fer if the auld country is to be saved, it is the Irish.
Man as kas got to put his shoulder to the whalebarrow an’
50 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
shove it wid a. his might, wid the wives av him, an’ his chil.
der, too.
P. D’ye m’ane to have the wives and childer in the wheel-
barrow? ~
T. Oh, bad ’cess to ye! Take a dhrink, b’yes! (Loud
laughter and cries of ‘ Hooray!” ‘Thats the talk!” ete.
Just when the noise is loudest the door is burst open, and a
PouiceMAN enters. The women scream, the men push forward
and general confusion prevails. Tim jumps down from We
table and goes toward the POLICEMAN.)
An’ phwat are ye doin’ here, Oi’d loike to know?
Pouiceman. I have here a warrant for your arrist fur dis-
turbin’ of the p’ace,,so ye’il just have to come along wid me,
widout any fuss, ayther. (A scuffle ensues, and Nora runs to
Par, who nuts his arm around her as though to protect her.)
B. (Shaking her fist in the officer’s face.) Arrah, ye spal-
peen! An’ phwat d’ye m’ane by disturbin’ daycint people in
this way?
PcxiceEMAN. Come, now, missus, ye’d betther kape shtill,
onless ye want to git locked up wid yer husband. Come on,
now. (Shoves Tim and two or three of those who were the noisi-
est out of the door and goes out after them.)
B. (Sinking into a chair and rocking back and forth.) Ah,
wirra! wirra! This ’s a noice inding to my ould Trish tay!
Oi know whose worrk this is, the m’ane, desateful, hateful
spalpeen! It’s that Dan Brady. Tim said he’d take vin-
geance if we didn’t invoite him, an’ this is the way he
has done! Och! The murtherin’ b’aste! Ah, but O/ll be
aven wid him yit for this ayvenin’s worrk! The miserable
wretch!
N. Niver ye moind a bit now, Biddy. We all know
*twas that ould Brady’s doin’s, and who cares for him? Yer
tay-parthy has been a grand succiss so far, anyhow, Biddy,
80 don’t take on so. We'll all go home now, an’ maybe some
other time we can finish our intertainment.
P. (Stepping forward and taking Nora’s hand.) All good
friends prisint, Oi take this opporchunity av requistin’ yer
prisence at the widdin’ av Miss Nora Muldooney an’ yer
humble sarvant, whin it takes place, which the day it has not
yit been set.
(Curtain falls.)
CHERUBINO AND SERAPHINA, 51
CHERUBINO AND SERAPHINA.
FOR ONE MALE AND ONE FEMALE.
Present :—Atice Maysuin, seated. She rises as CHARLEY
WEBB evilers. e
CHARLEY. Good morning, Alice! Where is your aunt?
Anicr. She has just come up-stairs, and has gone to her
own room.
C. I have something to say to her; but perhaps you will
kindly serve as the medium of communication?
A. I shall take pleasure in obliging you, Mr. Webb.
C. I want to say to her that—in short, I am thinking of
leaving her house.
A. She will be very sorry to lose you as a lodger.
C. And you, Alice-—will you grieve a little if 1 go away?
A. Of course I shall be sorry. Your companionship has
been very pleasant to usall. I hope that nothing has gone
wrong, that you are not offended at anything or anybody?
C. Not in the least. The truth is, Alice, that I am expect-
ing to begin housekeeping.
A. What, alone?
C. Ofcourse not. Y mean to marry.
A. To marry! None of us-had suspected that.
C. I suppose! so. The affair has been very quietly man-
aged. Sit down, and I will tell you all about it. (They sit.)
You must know, Alice, that I have long admired you.
A. Surely you don’t mean to marry me?
C. N-n-no; but I must begin the explanation in some
way. I have long admired you because you are so beautiful
and so amiable.
A. Iam very grateful.
C. Lhad hoped that you and I.-méght make a match.
A. So kind and condescending!
C. But, you persisted in neglecting to improve your mind
as I wished you to.
A. Ishall never cease to lament the deficiencies that have
deprived me of such a high honor!
C. Don’t be sarcastic, Alice. This is a serious matter.
A. You must surely perceive that it is a very serious busi-
hess for me.
C. The wife I choose must be intelligent as well as lovely
—cultivated as well as amiable. I have been core
of late with a lady who possesses all those qualities which
80 nrauch admire, who answers to my idea of what my wife
Should be. Her letters display a cultivated intellect, and are
full of varied and extensive information upon the topics she
touches, expressed with,the utmost elegance. ,
52 THE DIME DIALOGUES,
; A. Is she beautiful and amiable, as you are pleased to say
am?
C. No doubt of that! Her beautiful style is surely a reflec-
tion of her personal beauty, and no young lady could breathe
such sentiments who had not a heart overflowing with gcod-
ness and affection. But I have not seen her yet.
*®A. Not seen her! Are you sure that she is a young lady?
C. Of course she is: young! How can you ask sucha
question? We only know each other, as yet, through our let:
ters, but I shall soon see her. J wrote to her this morning,
making her a formal offer of my heart and hand. Why are
you laughing, Alice? Have I made you the confidante of my
dearest secret, only to be ridiculed?
A. Iwas not laughing at you, Charley. I was smiling at
my own thought. I was thinking how strange it is that two
persons in this house should have hit upon the same plan of—
courtship by correspondence.
C. Two persons! And who isthe other? It surely can’t
be you, Alice?
A. Iwas referring to my Aunt Deb.
C. Your Aunt Deb!
A. And why not? She is not old, and is by no means will-
ing to admit that she is unattractive. She has received a letter
from her lover, in which he makes her what you call a formal
offer of his hand and heart. She was perplexed about the
matter, and showed me the letter. He says it is true that he
is only a young clerk, but he is sure of rapid advancement,
and hopes soon to be in business for himself.
C. Why, that is just what I wrote to my Seraphina!
A. Seraphina! That is the very signature Aunt Deb uses
in corresponding with her unknown Icver!
C. (Aside.) Confusion! Is it possible that I have been
carrying on a courtship with my landlady, and offering to
marry her? (Aloud.) Has your Aunt Deb answered this let-
ter, or concluded to accept this offer?
A. Notyet. She says that he seems to be a younger man
than she had supposed him to be.
C. Tell her to be careful. She ought to know more about
him. She may be deceived, or he may be. Happy marriages
are not made in that way.
A. But that is your way, Charley.
C. ‘True, but perhaps | have made a botch of it, too.
A. Aunt Deb says. that she wi'l take Cherubino’s case into
consiceration,
C. (Aside.) Cherubino! Mys.gnature! Gracious heavens!
what a mess I have got into!
A. What is the matter, Charley? Are you not well?
C. Only a passing pain—sort of neuralgic twinge. What
are you laughing at now?
CHERUBINO AND SERAPHINA. 58
A. Smiling at my thought again. If it is sosingular that
two persons in this house should have hit upon the plan of
conducting their courtships by correspondence, how much
more strange it is that ¢ivee persons should have adopted the
same idea!
C. Then you must be the third person!
A. Just so, and I, too, have received a .etter from my as
yet unknown lover, in which he makes me a formal offer of
his hand and fortune.
C. The- deuce you say! Things are coming to a rretty
pass! I wish I could see that letter.
A. Here it is. (Gives him a letter.) I would like to have
your advice.
C. I want to see what the fellow says. (Opens and reads.)
‘My dear Seraphina.”” What! Another Seraphina?
A. Aunt Deb and I happened to hit upon the same sig-
nature.
C. (Aside) Isit possible that Alice—? No, it can’t bel
There is no getting out of this tangle. (Reads aloud.) “‘ My
dear Seraphina, we have written to each other enough to
know what we mean. I mean marriage, and live in hope
that you mean as konest as I do. If you love me asI love
you, no knife can cut our love in two.” What beastly lines!
“‘T offer you myseif and all I have, and ask you to name the
day. It is true that I am forty-five and a widower, but I
have no children, and am able to take care of you in good
style. I own the house and lot where I live, and my stock
of groceries is all paid for, and [am doing a good business.”
What a matter-of-fact animal he is, tobe sure! ‘‘I shall be
on thorns until I hear from you. Sono more at present from
your faithful lover, Cherubino,” (CHARLEY jumps up.)
Cherubino! Why, the miserable, cheese-cutting, bologna-sell-
ing, molasses-measuring beast has usurped my signature!
A. Singular coincidence, isn’t it? So romantic!
C. Romantic! Such a letter would knock all the romance
out of ‘‘ Romeo and Juliet.”
A. You ought not to speak so harshly of a gentleman who
has made me an honorable offer of marriage, and has laid his
fortune at my feet.
Se Nonsense! Alice, have you any idea of accepting this
Offer?
A. Why should I not? Cherubino is the first gentleman
Who has ever appreciated me sufficiently to make me such an
o. He doesn’t even say anything about my neglected
ind!
; B What a foolI have been! Alice,I love you. Marry
Me |
A. Is it possible that a man can be so fickle? You forget
Your Seraphina, sir.
54 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
©. Confound my Seraphina! That was all an awkward
mistake, a horrid blunder. This man is not worthy of you.
You are too lovely, too refined, to be tied to a grocery.
A. As to that, I admit that I have had my doubts. My
Cherubino is an older man than I had supposed him to be,
and this offer does not seem to be in the same handwriting as
the other letters. :
C. (Aside.) What light through yonder window breaks?
(Counts on his fingers.) Two Seraphinas—that is possible.
One, two, three Cherubinos—that is quite impossible. (A/owd.)
Alice, may I see those letters?
A. Certainly! I always have them with me. (Gives him
letters.)
C. (Jumping up with a flourish.) My letters! This is too
good! I don’t deserveit. It is all plain now, my darling. I
am your Cherubino, and you are my Seraphina. i am over-
joyed, but you hardly seem to share my transports.
A Don’t get excited, Charley! You have suppressed
your appreciation of and regard for me so long, whiie we ,
have been living in the same house, that you needn't let your
enthusiasm boil over now, I knew al! the while that those
letters were from you. This letter from the groceryman
belongs to Aunt Deb, and was given to me by mistake, while
your last letter intended for me was handed to her.
C. Will you answer that letter now, by word of mouth?
Will you be mine?
A. Isuppose I must say yes, as the affair has gone so far,
and if you have really learned, in this roundabout way,
to care for me—to overlook my want of mental culture—
to—
C, Oh, don't speak of that! I was a fool. We will be
one, henceforth. What shall be done with this other
letter?
A. I will give it to Aunt Deb, and I see no reason why
she should not marry her groceryman.
C. Then there will be two Seraphs.
A. And two Cherubs.
C. That will be angelic!
A. Perfectly heavenly!
a
—
THE COMIC VALENTINE,
THE COMIC VALENTINE;
OR,
THINK BEFORE YOU ACT.
. Scrne I.—A school-room. CHaruim, WILLIE, Frep and Bert
§ sitting together at the front of the stage.
CHARLIE. Say, boys, I’ve got an idea!
Wii. Is that so? Is it original?
©. You needn’t be so sarcastic, Will Brown, if you do
Stand alittle above me, now. I bet I'll pass you before the end
of the term.
__ Frep. Come, come, fellows; what’s the use of quarreling?
Let’s hear your idea, Charlie.
_ W. Yes, let’s have it, Charlie. I didn’t mean anything.
_ C. Well, let’s send old Jones, the teacher, a valentine!
_ F.. What? One of those silk and lace affairs? What
: I don’t mean oneof them. I mean a comic one—
‘Something funny.
' W. Just the thing! My! wouldn’t he be mad!
_ F. But, we’d just catch it if he found us out. He’d be
‘Sure to know our writing.
_, ©. He wouldn’t know that, for I can get my sister to ad-
‘Gress it.
,.W. Good! Then he’d think some young lady sent it to
him, wouldn’t he?
, F. Say, Charlie; I heard he was mashed on your sister.
48 that so? :
C. Don’t be a goose, Fred Harris. I guess he thinks too
ly of me to want me for a relation. _
W. Well, what about the valentine? Have ee got one?
Yes; here itis. (Zwkes a valentine from his pocket, and
olds it up toward the audience. It shouid have a picture of «
, thin man on tt, as homely as most comic valentines are. Tt
ight be one drawn with pen and ink.)
W. Oh! that’s justlike him! What does it say?
(Reads.) Dear Mister Jones,
You old bag of bones, :
I send you this valentine rude,
To let you see,
Between you and me,
es That every one thinks you’re no good. iB
What do you think of that, fellows?
i. That's just the thing! My! won't he be mad! What
© you think of it, Bert? . :
is
ae
=
PF
i
1
}
eee a Wl
56 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
B. I think it would be very wrong and rude tosend such @
thing to Mr. Jones.
W. Oh! you're always preaching! Where’s the harm?
B. Well, in the first place, it would hurt his feelings.
Second, if he knew you sent it, it would lower you in his esti-
mation; and third, if he thought some one else sent it, it would
be throwing an unjust suspicion upon an innocent person,
aad that I say is both wicked and mean.
F. Whew! Bert, that’s quite a sermon. I declare you
would make a good preacher.
B. I did not intend to preach. You asked my opinion,
and I gave it.
C. I don’t care. We're going to send it, boys, aren’t
we?
F. ann, W. (Zogether.) Yes, yes!
B. Well, do as you will; but I’m afraid you’ll be sorry,
afterward.
F. It'll just do him good, the mean old crank. He’s just
too conceited for anything! :
B. I think he is very kind to us, and we give him a great
deal of trouble. How would you like, Fred, to have charge
of a lot of boys like us?
F. I'd just like to! Wouldn’t I make you fellows stand 7
around!
B. Of course you would. Yet you blame him for trying
to keep us under control, and compel us to study.
F. Oh, you're too goody-goody, you are! Pity he don’t
wear an apron, so’s he could tie you to the strings.
B. Don’t get angry, Fred. But, if I were you, boys, J
wouldn’t send the valentine—that is, not a burlesque one.
CG. Well, ’m going to, anyhow. I'll get my sister t
address it as soou as I get home, Will you come, boys?
F. I will, Charlie. :
W. So willl. Then we'll all go and mail it, so he'll get it
when school opens in the morning.
©. Aren’t you coming, Bert?
B. No, thank you; I must study my Latin this afternoo™
V’'ll see you in the morning. Good-by. (Zvit.)
C. Come on, boys! I'm ready.
(Curtain.)
Scene II.—Same as first, except the boys are seated at the desks.
(Enter Mr Jones. He takes his seat at.a desk, facing thé
others, All the boys pretend te be very busy, studying.)
Mr. Jones. Good-morning, boys! All on time, 1 see!
am glad of that, for I wanted to see you all before beginn!®
our studies for the day. (Z'he boys glance nervously at eae,
at Oh a ee
coast
other.. I have intended for some time to make each one@]
THE COMIC VALENTINE. 57
you a small present, in token of the friendship which should
always exist between pupil and teacher. I had some difliculty
in obtaing the books 1 wanted, but they came by express last
night, and I now take much pleasure in presenting each one
of you with a volume, from which I hope you will derive both
knowledge and pleasure. Come forward, please, one at a
time, and receive them.
B. (Stepping forward and recsiving a book.) Mr. Jones, I
thank you for this present, and I assure you I shall do my ut-
most to fuifill the hope you have expressed. (Sits. The other
boys step up one after the other, receive their books, and mumble
their thanks in a shamefaced way. Just then the postman’s
whistle is heard outside.)
Mr. J. There is the mail. Will you get it, Fred? Or
stay; I will go myself; I wish to speak to the postman,
(Heit.)
C. Oh! boys! How sorry I am we sent the valentine.
What will he think of us now?
F, Iwish ne had sent me after the mail. I’d have taken
the old thing out, and he would never have known.
W. Well, we must own up and apologize tohim. Won't
that be right, Bert?
B. Ofcourse. I’m glad to hear you speak so.. He will
respect you for your apology, and forgive your foolish prank.
C. Here he comes. | feel like sinking through the floor!
(Enter Mr. JonEs.)
Mr. Jones. Not much of a mail this morning—only one
letter. (Opens letter and reads aloud:) ‘‘From the boys.”
(Vhe boys start, and look at each other, and then at the floor.)
“Our dear teacher, this is St. Valentine’s Day; and although
We can’t be your valentine, we hope that you will find one to
your liking before the 14th of next February.” (Zhe boys
k wonderingly ut each other.) Thank you, boys! I had
forgotten the day. But, this is a lady’s handwriting. Why
did you not write it yourselves? Never mind; I thank you
for the wish. And, now, let us get to work.
(Ourtain.)
Scene IlI.—Same as first.
F. Boys, who do you suppose changed the valentine?
W. Why, Charlie’s sister, of course! I tell you, Charlie,
She’s a brick!
C. Indeed, she is! Let’s go to her and give her a vote of
_ thanks, Come on! Bert; I’ll tell her how you tried to per-
| Suade us not to do it.
F *, Come on! Three cheers for Charlie's sister and Mr,
Tones! (Lhe loys rush out, cheering as they go.)
Bs Curtain.)
THE DIME DIALOGUES,
THE TWO ROBERTS:
oR,
AN UNWELCOME RECEPTION,
I Characters :—Jamus Norris, a young man ; Jupak Browy
an elderly gentleman; Sam TytEeR, Tom Len, Roserr
Simpson, young men of the village ; Kirry MAson, a young
lady, cousin to RoBERT Simpson.
Scene.—Curtain rises, disclosing James Norris walking wp
and down the stage in a dejected attitude, his hands in his
pockets,
JAMES. I must say this ¢s a strange state of affairs. I
can’t make it out at all. The people here have very evidently
mistaken me for some one else, and nothing that I can say or
do will convince them of their error. I came to this, as I
supposed, quiet village, for a little peace and rest, expect-
ing to enjoy my vacation after my own fashion, but
the people won't let me alone. I believe they think mea
celebrity in disguise, consequently here I am, bothered to
death by a set of fellows who think they’re wonderfully
pe smart, I suppose, to rush up to me every time I poke my nose
out of the door and grab my hand as if they were never be-
fore so glad to see anybody, and call me Bob, or Rob, or some
other equaliy beautiful cognomen. I shall leave to-morrow.
I can’t stand it.
Hs, (Enter Sam TYLER. )
t Sam. Heilo, Bob! You're just the very fellow we're
looking for. We want you to act as umpire this afternoon at
the base-ball match.
i JAMES. Sir, you are laboring under a strange delusion.
8. Oh, no, ’m not. They have appointed me a committee
of one to ask you.
JAmeEs. You are mistaken in supposing—
8. (nterrupling.) It_is you who are mistaken. They
want you very much and would consider it a great favor on
your part, Bob.
JAMES. (Tesiily.) Weill, I guess they’ll continue to want,
then. Whoever Bob may be, Z’m not he, and I want you to
i understand that.
Ms 8. Oh, come, now, Bob, and stop your chaffing. What's
is the matter with you, anyhow?
i JAMES. I should say the matter was with you.
(Enter JupGE Brown, with slow and dignified step. Hutend-
ing hand to JAMES as he speaks.)
Jupax. How do you do, Robert? You haye changed but
THE TWO ROBERTS. 58
little since I last saw you. I heard you were in town and
said at once that I should seek out the son of my old
friend, Simpson, and make him welcome! You resemble
your father closely, my boy. But, what’s the matter? You
two look as though you’d been having some unpleasantness.
S. Why, he’s trying to make us believe he is somebody
else and getting mad as a hornet because we refuse to believe
him. It’s very likely we don’t know Bob Simpson when we
see him with our own eyes!
JAMES. (Hveitedly.) Itell you I’m not Robert, nor Rob,
nor Bob, nor whoever it is you are taking me for, and if you
call me that name again [’11—
JupeE. But, this is very singular. You certainly must be
Robert Simpson, who left this place after his father’s death,
two years ago. Jcannot be mistaken, and what your object
can be in trying to conceal your identity, 1 can’t conceive.
JAMES. I tell you that you are mistaken, sir, and so is
every one else who supposes me to be other than James Norris,
of New York City, who has come to this village for a couple
of weeks’ rest and recreation.
(Znter Tom LER.)
Tom. (Rushing forward.) Why, Rob, oid fellow, this zs
a real surprise!
JAMES. (Aside.) I should think it was.
T. Whoever would have thought of seeing you here?
You’ve come just in time. We are going to have a grand
base-ball match this afternoon, and we expect our nine to
beat the Crazy Hollow nine all to pieces, We want an um-
pire, and you are just the fellow. Glad to see you back
again. (Slaps him on the back.)
JAMES. (Glaring at him.) Sir! You are evidently in the
same error that these other people are. Iam not the Robert |
you are looking for, and I'll thank you to leave me alone!
JupGE. Now, Robert, do listen to reason. Why should
you seek to deceive your old friends in this manner? What-
ever your motive may be, you are treating us unfairly. Here
are these young men, your old friends and companions, ready
to welcome you and make much of you, and you treat them
thus! It is very unkind, to say the least. I wash my hands
of you. - (it.)
T. I don’t understand what it is all about.
8S. Oh, let him alone! If he wants tobe such a cross-
patch, come away and leave him to himself.
Jamzs. When I wish your opinion of my conduct, young
Maan, I’ll ask for it. Until then, please te kind enough to
keep it to yourself!
8. See here, Bob, that’s carrying things a little too far.
T,. Perhaps when he hears that his cousin Kitty is going
60 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
to be there to bestow a golden star upon the winning club, he
may change his mind,
JAMES. You fellows may think it’s a very funny thing ‘to
do to make sport of a stranger in your town, but I can tel:
you that there is such a thing as carrying a joke too far. I
shall not go one step to your ball match, and I shall leave
town this afternoon. (Zurns to go, and as he does so, Kirry,
entering, sees him and runs up to him.)
Kirry. (Delightedly.) Oh, dear Cousin Rob! I didn’t
known you had arrived. (Puts out her hand and he draws
back.) What’s the matter, Rob? You act as though you
weren't glad to see me. (In the mean time others have been
coming in, until there ts quite a crowd on the stage )
JAMES. Really, I don’t wish to be rude to a lady, but this
is going a little too far. I can’t stand much more of this.
K. (Turning to the others.) What does he mean?
8. It means he’s getting too good to associate with his old
friends, I guess.
K. I never thought this of you, Robert! What have we
done that you should consider yourself too good for us? I
little dreamed that you could ever be so contemptible. Robert
Simpson, I am ashamed for you, if you haven’t the grace to
be ashamed of yourself. (Stamping her foot at him.) Hence-
forth you need call yourself no cousin of mine.
JAMES. Unfortunately for me | am no cousin of yours. I
wish | was!
<. Did youever? (Cries of, ‘‘ The fellowiscrazy.” ‘‘ Put
him out!” ‘‘ He's a thief in disguise,” etc., from the crowd.)
YT. Id like to thrash the fellow!
JAMES. You'd better try it! :
S- Vll have some satisfaction for this, you impertinent
scoundrel!
JAMES. (Furiously.) Come on, every one of you! I'll
lick you all. (Ories of, ‘‘ Pitch into him!” Give it to him!”
“ Drive him out of town !” from the crowd.)
JAMES. (Throwing off his coat and striking an attitude.)
I'll soon show you who’s going to get licked! Ill fight
every one of you! T'll teach you to insult a peaceable
man, who never before in his hfe saw one of you! Come
on, I say?
K. Gentlemen, this is disgraceful. If he really does not
wish to recognize us, let us leave him to himself. We need
not lower our dignity by condescending to notice him. Let
us concern ourselves no more about him.
(Enter the real Ropert Srupson, who must resemble JAMES
Morris as closely as possible. All stare in astonishment.)
Rosert. Hello, boys! What’s the excitement? Sam,
Tom, glad to see you, old fellows! And Cousin Kitty, too!
Well, well, it isa real pleasure to see you all again! (Sees
THE TWO ROBERTS. 61
JAMES.) Why—how—what—who is this? Am I looking in
a mirror, or is it my ghost?
K. Who, indeed?
James. Perhaps, sir, you can explain tue mystery. These
people insist that J am not myself; that I am one Robert
Simpson, whom evidently they have not seen recently. Are
you he?
R. LIbelieve Iam. And so they thought that you were I,
did they? Ha, ha! A good joke that!
K. I amsure we owe—Mr.—Mr.—? (Looking inquiringly
at JAMES )
James. (Bowingto Krrry.) Your obedient servant, James
Norris, of New York City.
K. We certainly owe Mr. Norris an apology.
S. I, for one, am ready to make amends.
TT. And E
James. Say no more, gentlemen. The matter is forgotten
already.
R. Did I hear you were to have a ball match, this after-
noon?
S. Yes, and we were trying to persuade Mr. Norris to act
as umpire.
R. Which he will still do, I am sure, to show us that he
has no hard feeling toward us.
JAMES. I will accompany you with pleasure. (Putting on
his coat.)
K. And I think that, under the circumstances, I am en-
titled to present Mr. Norris with the golden star. (Cheers
Srom the crowd and cries of *‘ Good!” “ That’s so,” etc.)
T. By all means. Come here, Mr. Norris, and allow Miss
Mason to give you the decoration.
c JAmEs. (Coming toward Krrty.) I do not deserve the
onor,
K. Oh, indeed, you must have it, Mr. Norris. (Pins it on
his cout.)
R. And now let’s get a start for the ball grounds. Come
on, all! (JAmus offers his arm to Kirry, and they follow the
others off the stage.)
(Curtain falls.)
THE DIME DIALOGUES,
KEEPING BACHELOR’S HALL;
OR,
MR. BLY’S DISASTER.
Characters :—Mr. Buy, Mrs. Buy, Mr. Macr, PAT KENNEDy,
: and severai guests.
Scene I.—Sitting-room of the Buys. Mrs. Buy dressed to go
out. She stands facing Mr. Buy.
Mrs. Bury. Are you sure you can do your own cooking?
and-that you can find things? and that you won’t be too lone-
some?
Mr. Bury. What a string of foolish questions. The idea of
a man being lonesome, because his wife is absent. one week!
Cook! Tl live like a king, and don’t you forget it! And, if
thee is anything under this roof that I can’t find, I'l call in
the _zighbors to help me.
Mrs. B. (Harnestly.) And you won’t smoke or do any-
thing dreadful while I am gone?
Mr. B. ’Pon my soul! Wasn’t I considered a respectable
citizen before.you took me in charge? Quess I’ll not develop
into a savage in one week.
Mrs. B. Oh, dear! I wish I hadn’t thought of going at all!
Mr. B. (Laughing.) Come, Vll go as far as the door
with you, or I am afraid you will back out yet. (Hzxeuwnt.)
(Curtain.)
Scene II.—Same room as before, in great disorder. Coats.
hats and boots on chairs, and scattered about the floor. Mus.
Buy going out and in briskly, as though preparing breakfast.
Holds dish-cloth.
Mr. B. This little stand is plenty large enough to hold all
the breakfast I can eat. No use setting out the table, just to
remind me that Nellie isn’t here. Gracious! I didn’t think
Td miss her so. (Attempts to move stand with one hand.
Takes dish-cloth in iceth, but drops it again in great disgust.)
Kah! That’s the most savory mouthful I ever got holdof. I
wonder what the component parts of a dish-cloth are, to give
it that flavor. (Puts dish-cloth in his pocket. Places stand in
center of stage, and goes out. Great clattering of tronware.
Cat youls. Mr. B. rushes'in.) What the dickens did I do
with that dish-cloth? Tipped the tea-kettle clean off of the
stove; took the griddle full of cakes along with it; scalded my
feet and the cat’s gone out to air herself. (Rushes out again.
More cluttering, then enter Mr. B., with various dishes and
the coffee-pot. Places dishes on the stand, coffee-pot on the floor.
Sets a dish or two on the floor with ‘coffee-pot. Sits.) Takes
more room to spread my grub than | thought. (Zastes of
KEEPING BAOHELOR’S HALL. 68
cakes.) Whew! Ranker than sauerkraut! What’s wrong, I
wonder? Wish Nellie was here to fix’em. Her’s never taste
that way, but mine have, every time. Jiminy Fizz! I must
have left that griddle burning, from the smell out tbere.
(Jumps up; upsets coffee-pot.) That’s right, Mary Ann!
Blast the only hope a man has of a decent breakfast. That
coffee, at least, was good, and now nota spoonful left. Jehu,
what a spot on Nellie’s carpet! What will I wipe it up with?
That dish cloth is clean gone. (Seizes a towel and wipes floor,
when the dish-cloth drops from his pocket.) Oh, here ye are,
hey? (Straightens up, looks at his breakfast.) Guess Ill go
down to the store and get some crackers and cheese to piece
out, when my cooking fails to supply the demand. (Puts on
boots, hat and coat.) How on earth does Nellie manage?
Breakfast, dinner and supper as regular as clock-work. Good
victuals, and plenty of ’em. And house as neat asapin. I
begin to think Nellie’s an angel. Ill tell her so when she
comes back, and I’ll get her the dress she has asked for several
times. (Looks at reom.) Awful-iooking house! Nellie is
monstrous particular how she leaves the house looking.
Well, (li lock the door and come right back. (Hait.)
(Curtain.)
Scpne Ill.—Hvening. Same room. Worse disorder. Mr.
Buy in shirt sleeves, feet elevated, trying to read. Stretches,
yawns, throws paper aside.)
Mr. B. Four days since Nellie went. Jl go crazy if
something don’t happen before long. She told me not to do
anything dreadful. Wonder if she ever felt this way? I'll
perish with hunger if she stays much longer. (A7ock.)
Great Scott! How the room looks! (Vhrows table-spread
over stand ; picks up articles and throws them in corners and
under chairs. Knock repeated. — Opens door.)
(Hnter Mr. Mace and Pav KENNEDY «ith several others.)
Pat Kennepy. Avenin’! Avenin’ till ye’s, Mister Bly!
Faix and we’ve come to give ye a Lit of a wake to loiven up
yer sperits a bit.
Whin the missis steps out,
Faith, thin, Satan’s about.
Bedad ye looks loike a corpse already.
Mr. Mace. Old fellow, don’t be too much surprised. We
got wind that you was keeping Bachelor's Hall and came to
cheer yer up. Been there myself; killa mon quickern con-
sumption.
Mr. B. Good-evening, friends! I’m glad to see you all.
Take chairs and make yourselves comfortable. (All find
seats, sitting in bar-room attitudes.)
Mr. M. (Offers cigar tow.) ere are some choice Havanas,
fit fora king. Give usa light, Bly, and we'll have a smoke.
J
64 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
P. (Offeringjug.) Bedad and here’s the prime stuff—~
swater then the honeycomb. (All refuse to drink, but each
takes a cigar and are soon smoking.)
Mr. B. Well, now, Mace, this 7s a good cigar. Haven't
smoked in an age, before. Wife doesn’t like the smoke in her
rooms.
Mr. M. (Slaps him on the shoulder.) Ha! ha! ha! old fel-
sow. Haven’t J been there? No smoke allowed around our
curtains, either. : :
P. Yis, and bedad! J’ve been there, too! An here’s hilth
and long life to our hilpmates, and p’ace to oursilves! (Zukes
a drink from thejug.)
(Enter Mrs. Buy, with bonnet and cloak on. She stands a mo-
ment as if horror-struck. Advances to Mr. Buy.)
Mrs. B. In Mercy’s name, Arthur! what does this mean?
Mr. M. (Rises blandly.) It means, Mrs. Bly, that you may
be thankful to us that your husband is alive. We called a
short time since and found him on the verge of suictde—
Mrs. B. (Sereams.) Oh, Arthur, what made you?
Mr. M. Be calm, madam; let me explain and then we will
os you. We found him on the verge of suicide from soli-
tude.
Mr. B. And starvation. What brought you home to-
night, Nellie? I thought—
Mrs. B. J thought you were lonesome. 1 need not have
teas however. No wonder you wanted me to go. (Begins
to sob.
Mr.M. Excuse us! Good-evening! We will not intrude.
(Gives Mr. Buy a comical look and then all go out, Par with
jug, and Mr. Mace with cigar’ box. Mrs. Buy throws herself
into chair.)
Mr. B. Don’t cry, Nellie. I was lonesome—almost dis-
tracted, and hungry!
Mrs. B. Wh—what—were those horrid men doing here?
And, Arthur, you—you-—were smoking too. (Sobs afresh.)
Mr. B. Yes, Iwas. But, don’t I tell you I was distract-
ed? I never was so lonesome in my life, and when they came
I was glad to see them.
Mrs. B. Which was not the case when I came. I thought
you said you wouldn’t miss me. (Smiles.)
Mr. B. I'll never say it again! Say, what ailed the buck-
wheat cakes? I couldn’t eat ’em and they stuck to the grid-
dle like wax!
Mrs. B. Sour,probably. Did you drink any out of Pat's jug?
Mr. B. On my life 1 didn’t. Don’t be cross, Nell. I've
made an awful mess of the cooking. and the house is upside
down, all over, but I’) help clean it up and I hope—(te a
dience) this is my final experience keeping Bachelor’s Hall.
(Curtain.)
|
FOUR WISHES.
FOUR WISHES,
FOR FOUR LITTE GIRLS,
Mary.
I wish I were a bird so free
That I might fly away,
To some far land across the sea,
Where { could have my way.
A single sum I'd never do,
Nor learn a single rule;
I couldn’t very well, you know,
For birds don’t go to school.
EyMa.
I wish J were a great, big boy
With bat and ball and kite,
And every kind of tool and toy,
And knife with blade so bright,
T never should have been a girl
To sit in careful state,
Trying to keep my hair in curl
White for company I wait,
Lucy,
I wish I were a pussy cat
Without a thing to do,
But just lie on a nice, soft mat,
And drink fresh milk, don’t you?
Just think how very nice *twould be
To never have to hurry,
But take our time and know that we
riad not a single worry!
Amy.
Tshouldn’t care to be a bird
Without a home or mother;
Nor yet a boy, for they I’ve heard
Are nothing but a bother.
Nor yet a cat; they’re lazy thieves;
Ours is a wicked ef; i
One thing I'd be, if youll believe,
And that 5a meena ‘x
66 THE DIME DIALOGUES,
THINGS ARE SELDOM WHAT THEY SEEM:
OR,
BE SURE YOU ARE RIGHT BEFORE YOU GO
AHEAD.
Characters :—Mrs. Dovaias, Mr. Dovanias, Nerrm Bare
Bour, Tom Evarts, | ¥
Scenn I.—Cozy sitteng-room. Nertire BARBouR sviting before
an open fire, reading.
(Enter, distractedly, Mrs. Dovuauas.)
Mrs. Dovatas. Oh, Nettie, I shall go crazy!
Netrin. (Dropping her book.) Why, Mabel, what is the
matter? You are white as a ghost!
Mre. D. Oh, I never would have believed it of Ned!
What shall I do? My heart is broken. (Throws herself on a
couch, in an attitude of despair.)
N. But, Mabel, dearest, do explain what itis. What can
Ned have done that is so terrible? There must be some mis-
take.
Mrs. D. Mistake! Oh, that there were! But, I have the
proof of his perfidy here, this very minute!
N. Perfidy! I shall believe you are crazy, sure enough,
to talk like that, Mabel. Come, calm yourself, and tell me
what you mean,
Mrs. D. (Holding out a scrap of paper.) There! Take it,
read it, and see for yourself! Oh, Ned! (She bursts into
tears.)
N. (Zaking paper and reading.)
“My Dear FELLOW :—
‘You are just the one I want to help me out of a scrape;
so glad you are back. You,must accompany me to the Opera
House, to-morrow night—she will be there—private box. It
seems my only chance, and I must make the most of it. A
runaway couple to Canada is the prospect. Be on hand at my
office in the morning, to talk it over. I want your views and
assistance. Hurriedly, Nep.”
N. (invewilderment.) What isit allabout, Mabel? I don’t
understand.
Mis. D. Can’t you see? The wretch! He is actually
going to run away with some dreadful woman, and that
detestable Tom Evarts is to be in the plot.
N. Why, 1 thought you liked Mr, Evarts very much,
Mabel—that you were anxious J should méet him, and run thé
risk of love at first sight!
Mrs. D. Don’t talk to me of love! I’ll never believe in it
again. I did like him, Nettie—at least, I thought.so; but, he
THINGS ARE SELDOM WHAT THEY SEEM. 67
is every bit as bad as my husband; they are in league together.
I will never have any more faith in mankind.
N. Do not say that, Mabel; there ts some explanation to
this, you may depend upon it. Ned loves you too dearly to
desert you for any one. Where did you get that note?
Mrs. D. It was in the pocket of his business coat. Just at
the iast minute this morning, after he had kissed me good-by,
as usual, he came running back and said that be had fergot:
ten a rip in the coat, and would leave it for me to mend. Sa
he changed it, and I was going through the pockets to see
that they were ail-in order, when I came across this. He had
evidently forgotten to mail it yesterday when it was written.
N. Well, it does took strange I will admit, but, you mustn't
do anything rash, dear. Be sure, for you might cause yourself
endless trouble and do others great injustice.
Mrs. D. (Snatching note from Nerri’s hand.) Let me
see—what did ke say? To-morrow at eleven—tbat is to-day!
and, Nettie, (looking wp at clock) it is only half-past ten! Vl
doit! Yes, I will! and then the whole plot will be unmasked.
Let him try to hoodwink mo, if he dares! I am desperate!
Nettie, come with me instantly.
‘N. Mabel, what are you about? You are certainly
going out of your mind with this trouble. Don’t let Ned
or that you mistrust him until your belief becomes a cer:
ainty.
Mrs. D. You are a dear, good girl, but you cannot stop
me now. I must know the truth, and you shall be my wit-
hess. There isan empty room next to Ned’s office, vacated
Only a few days ago, and there is a communicating door be-
tween the two rooms. Ned is talking of taking it himself, so
as to have adjoining offices, and so has the key, which I found
In the same pocket with this note. This is my chance; we
Will go there, and we will hear the sum and substance of that
interview. If it is ali right, Ned need never know; if not,
then let him beware! He will find I am no meek saint to
brook wrong and desertion]
N. But, what a risk torun! Suppose we should be dis-
Covered? Think how humiliating! and, what would Mr,
Evarts think of us?
Mrs. D. Ido not know, and do not care, Nettie; I shal
&0; you may do as you please.
N. If your mind is made up to do so, I will say nothing
More, but will go, too. You do not think I would desert you
» % such a time, surely?
Mrs. D. No, Nettie; you are a true, faithful friend; what-
€ver comes, [am sure of your support. But, come immedi-
ately; we will barely have time td get there if we are to ac-
} ©Omplish our object; so let us make all haste. (Hait hwrried-
'y, followed by Nwrrin.) (Curtain falls.)
68 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
Scene II.—Two rooms, divided by partition containing door with
transom above. One-room furnished as office, the other bare
and empty, except for couple of dry-goods boxes in corner,
(Enter, with hats and wraps on, on tiptoe, Mrs. Dovauas fol-
lowed by Nerrrm, who cautiously shuts and locks the door be-
hind her.)
Mrs. D. (In whisper.) I believe they are neither of them
here yet. I don’t hearasound. Nettie, help me drag those
boxes over here to this door; I’m going to look through the
transom. (They pull boxes over and put them one on top of the
- other ; then Mazen climbs up and peers through.)
N. Ugh! What a cobwebby, dirty place; and, Mabel,
you'll be sure to tear your dress on the nails in that box. If
Mr. Tom could see us now, he’d get a pretty fair sample of
Mother Eve curiosity!
Mrs. D. Nettie, do be quiet! They are coming! I hear
their voices in the hall. Yes, here they are! Ned looks as
handsome as a picture, and exactly as though he was up to
some mischief. Oh, the wicked, wretched man!
N. He will certainly hear you; then the cat wild be out of
the bag! I’m dying to sneeze; this dust has all gone up my
nose, and I’ll disgrace you yet.
(Enter into office Mr. Douauas and Tom Evarts.)
Mr. D. But, she 7s a beauty, and no mistake! It’s hardly
a wonder that a man is willing to risk everything for her!
Tom. Even a married man?
Mr. D. So it seems---a species of perfect infatuation, nob
to be resisted. Everything on earth that you would suppose @
man holds dear, given up for her sake: home, friends, reputa-
tion—even a sweet, true wife.
Mrs. D. What did I tell you, Nettie? It is only too true!
N. The wretch! But, what is that his friend is saying?
(Listens at keyhole.)
T. Have you all your plans well laid, Ned?> It would be
bad business to fail, now that you’ve made up your mind to
- it out. Remember, I’m ready with any assistance 1 cab
offer .
N. A bad case of Damon and Pythias! i'd like to put
you both in the stocks Mabel, are you going to faint?
Don’t you dare to! You are trembling so that youcan hardly
stand. Get down, and I will take your place.
Mrs. D. No, I must hear tt out. Do not fear, 1 shall no
faint—unti! it is all over; then—oh, what wit 1 do! But
disten— —,
T. Has your wife a suspicion?
Mr. D. “Not a breath of one! she is so soft-hearted
that I wouldn’t ansvcr for the consequences. But, you
THINGS ARE SELDOM WHAT THEY SEEM, 69
haven’t met her yet, have you? Drop in to dinner to-night,
T want you to know her, and Net too. Nettie’s a stunner!
N. (At keyhole.) Much obliged to you, ’m sure.” Oh,
“Mabel, I’m govng to sneeze! It’s coming sure as fate. (Gives
&@ loud sneeze which she tries to smother in handkerchief.)
Mr. D. What on earth was that?
T. Ii certainly sounded like a sneeze, ora wheeze, or some-
thing human. Any one in this room? (Goes to door and tries
tt, but finds tt locked.)
Mrs. D. Thank our lucky stars, the key is on this side!
Mr. D. It must have been—vats ; for the room is empty,
and I’ve the key to the outer door in. my pocket—no; it’s in
the coat I ieft at home this morning to be mended. By the
way, | wrote you a note yesterday and forgot to mail it.
uckily you happened to meet me.
T. Yes, very; but, who is Nettie?
Mr. D. My wife’s most intimate friend, and a mighty nice
girl; want you to mect her, so come to-night, sure, in even-
ing dress, then you can make an excuse to spirit me off and
We'll make a bee line for the theater.
.N. A pretty pair of conspirators!
T. I’msure I hearda footstep in the next room. It must
| be haunted! It wouldn’t do for any one to take in this con-
Versation, or we might get badly left. Doesn’t he suspect
anything?
Mr. D. 1 do not know;{ think he does; it will be dia-
Mond cut diamond between us, and to-night will undoubtedly
determine who will come out victor—he orI. If I don’t suc-
| Ceed now, I'll give up once, forall. It’s a dreadfu! ctratu on
i man’s nerves; even Mabel -has remarked on 11 once Or twice,
ately. a
=e D. And, oh, Nettie, I thought it was his business
' which was so wearing on him; but, instead, it was—this! |
T, Well, Ned, I must be going, Come out to lunch with
Ie, and we'll plan the details, as we discuss some oysters and
a right, I’m witl
. righ m with you. :
ee : (Hwit Mr. D. and Tom.)
Mrs. D. (Climbing down from boxes, and pacing up and
win the room, wringing her hands.) There! do you believe it,
Now? What shall I do, what shall I do? To-morrow will
8ee me a deserted wife! :
| WN. He shall not desert you, my poor darling; make up
‘Your mind to that. . We will bring him back to your feet,
'8nd then you can punish him as you see fit. As for his
Contemptible friend—aiding and abetting your husband in
8uch an affair as this—words utterly fail to express my scorn
forhim. Mabel, you look wretched enough; but, take heart,
r, and we will hope for the best.
20 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
Mrs. D. [cannot stand much more, Nettie.
N. should think not. Come, I will take ‘you home, and
a cup of strong tea, and a nap, will brace you up for the com-
ing ordeal, Remember, it is to-n7ight—only a few hours away.
You must be strong and brave.
Mrs. D, You are right. I must conserve all my strength
and courage for this dreadful trial, (Hvit Mrs, D. and
NETTIE.)
(Curtain falis.)
Scene IIL.—Same room as first. Mrs. Dovatas and Nut-
TIE, in evening dress.
N, [ heard them come in ten minutes ago, and go up-
stairs. They will be here in a minute. Mabel, if you will
only hold out as you have begun. You lock lovely, dear, with
that flush on your checks, and your eyes are sparkling like
diamonds.
Mrs. D. But my hands are like ice, and my heart is beat-
ing almost to suffocation. What if I s/ould break down!
_ N. You will not, Lam positive, Hark, I hear them com-
ing now.
(Enter Mr. D. and Tom.}
Mr. D. Ah, Mabel, dearest, here you are! (Makes a mo-
tion to kiss her, but she draws back) Afraid of Tom, eh? He's
harmless, if he 7sa bachelor. Tom, my wife; and, Miss Bar-
bour, allow me to introduce Mr. Evarts. (Tom dows deeply;
the ludies slightly.)
thee? Why, Mabel, what’s the matter? You look as
well? you bed a fever, your face is so flushed. Are you
Mrs. D, Perfectly so; why do you ask?
Mr. D. It dces not secm entirely natural to see you with
so much color, darling; you observe, the eyes of love aré
keen. (Masen frowns slightly and says nothi ng.)
_ N. (Laughing sarcastically.) Yes, the eyes of love a7ré
keen—sometimes too much go}
T Too much so, Miss Barbour? How can that be? You
perceive I ama tyro, so please enlighten me.
N. (With great dignity.) My remark was not addressed to
you, Mr. Evarts, (Lurns away and takes up book from table.)
Le (Looking bewildered} Ohi beg pardon, I’m sure. 1
certainly had no intention of giving offense, Miss Barbour.
(Aside) And she is the girl that Ned was so anxious | should
meet! Awfully pretty, but, I must say, confoundediy rud2
Wonder what's up?
MR. D_ (In low tone to Maseru.) What on earth possessed
Bettie to snap Tom up like that? He'll get a singular opinioD
THINGS ARE SELDOM WHAT THEY SEEM St
Mrs. D. Do you mean to deny Nettie the right to snub
him if she so wishes?
Mr. D.. Oh, certainly not; although, as joint hostess with
ou, 1 should suppose she wouid be at least tolerably civil.
But, | thought you were as anxious as [ that they should be-
come friends.
Mrs. D. Friends: With tai man}
Mr. D. That man! Why, Mabe. you must be a little off
your head. What are you both thinking of?
Mrs, D. 1 never want to took on his face again! (Mr. D
stares at her in astonishment, and attempts to take her hand,
which she snatches from him.)
T. (Crossing over to MaBen.’ Mrs. Douglas, you don't
know how glad I am to make your acquaintance. Nea
" spoken so often of you, and sung your praises ic
ighly.
Ma D. Hardly to be wondered at, eh, Tom?
. Mrs. D. (Coldly.) Very bad taste, 1 shoud consider it, to
Sing the praises of one’s wife; any other woman wou.d an-
swer better. (Turns away and goes toward Nerrrm; Tom and
Nep stare blankly at cach other.
T. Isay, Ned, what the deuce is to pay?
Mr. D. The dickens only knows! I never knew Mabei to
act so before. She has the sweetest disposition imaginable.
It certainiy can’t be because you dropped in unexpectedly, tor
I telephoned my wife this afternoon that you would accom-
pany me home,
T. Weil, tam beginning to feel decidedly de trop I guess
Pll make my adieux, and join you later,
Mr. D. You'll donosuch thing; I am gomg to-find out
What this ati means.
N. (Coming suddenly forward.) Oh, ited, we want you io
take us to the opera to-night. Albani will sing in Lohengrin,
and both Mabei and [-are wild to hear her. And you, Mr.
Evarts (smiles bewitchingly at him), will make the fourth of
our yarty, I’m sure?
T. I should be only too delighted, Miss Barbour; only—
OMly— (Looks at Nev, tnguiringly.)
N. (Saucily.) Only what, Mr. Evarts? Rather a luke-
warm fashion to accept the escort of two such charming be-
ings as Mabel and myself! Perhaps some other lady has the
precedence? If so, don’t hesitate to say so, and you are for-
given.
Mr. D. Tom and [have unfortunately an engagement, this
€vening, Nettie, or we would go with all the pleasure im-
Aginable; but, you know it must be business before picasure,
‘articularly in my calling. Any other evening this weck I
_ Will be at your command. Perhaps we can go to morrow
| ight. I hate awfully to disappoint you, darling. (oes up
42 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
fo MABBL, but she turns away and bursts into tears.) For Tea
ven’s sake, what 7s the matter? What have I done?
N. Oh, you wretch! (Rushes up to him and inakes a face,
at which Tom laughs.)
N. (Turning to Tom.) Oh, yes, you can afford to laugh,
you Lucifer! but your villainy is known to us both,
Mr. D. and Tom. Villainy?
T. Ye gods! here zs a pretty kettle of fish!
Mr. D. Mabel, what does this all mean? I demand an ex
planation! Why have you thus insulted my friend, to say
nothing about your inexplicable treatment of me?
Mrs. D. (Sobbing.) How dare you speak so to me? +
know the truth !
Mr. D. What truth?
N. (Getting between them.3 You shalt not cross-question
her. Let it suffice that we doth are aware ot your whole plot.
and, Ned, you shall not desert your wife
T. Desert his wife! Whew! the plot thickens}
Mr. D. Desert my wife! Nettie. are you both gone mad?
Dearest Mabel! (going to her) my darling, what 7s she talking
about? Asif I would desert you for all the world beside!
N. Denials are useless. We were there, and we knot
Ned, { never would have believed you capabie of such dis-
honor. Z
Mr. D. You were where? Mabel, cannot you speak ant
tell me what it all means?
Mrs. D. (Lhrusting note into his hand.) ‘This will speak
for itself. I found it mm your pocket this morning; and,
Ned, we were present during your interview with Mr.
Evarts. We were in the neat room (Tom gives a wut
whistle.)
fT. That accounts for the mysterious sounds! ‘rrust @
woman for managing to gratify her curiosity:
N (TZuartly.) Trust a woman, you mean. “or ferreting out
p man’s villainy!
T. (Bowing low.) I stand corrected, Miss Barbour; you
would make a most excellent detective.
Mr. D. (Looking at note) My message to you, Tom,
which I forgct to post; but, what has this to do with it alli
By George, Mabel! you didn’t think it was 2 who was going
to run off with her, did you?
N. Of course she did: Disprove it if you can! Haven't ©
we the proof positive?
Mrs. D. What else could I think, Ned?
Mr. D. (Bursting into a roar of laughter.) But, great Scott,
that’s too good a joke to keep. Tom, imagine my running 0
with Genevieve Rolston! Oh, Mabel, Mabel, what a little
goose you are; and you, ‘oo, Nettie—I’m positively ashame®
of youl
on
par}
S20 oO sDeyes
°
—
THINGS ARE SELDOM WHAT THEY SEEM, 8
T. Trust a woman for ferreting out a mystery! (NETTIE
casts a look of indignation at him.)
N. Will you be kind enough to explain? The note cer-
tainly did say that you were going to meet her at the Opera
ouse.
; T. And that was the reason you were so anxious to at-
end?
N. Please not to interrupt me again, Mr. Evarts. That
' You were going to meet her at the Opera House, and run
away to Canada!
Mr. D. and Tom. Ha-ha! Ha-hal
N. You gentlemen might better reserve your hilarity for »
More appropriate occasion. Ned, look at your wife; she is
S0ing to faint.
Mr. D. Mabel, dearest, forgive me! But; it really seemed
too absurd! How could you ever have doubted me so? Jam
the one to feel hurt at your want of confidence in me.
Mrs. D. But, how couldI have doubted the evidence of
My own eyes and ears, Ned? It has almost broken my heart.
Didn’t I hear you talking about giving up everything for her
Sake—home, wife, reputation? and you said that I did not
have the slightest suspicion of it all. “I cannot understand it
even now.
T, Mrs. Douglas, it’s a bad plan to eavesdrop.
N. Especially if you don’t hear anything worse of yourself
than to be called a stunner!
Mr. D. Well, it might have turned out much more
feriously. Girls, you were listening to secrets of State—al-
Most as bad as though it had been a masonic assembly.
isten now to the simple explanation of all this mystery.
ABEL and Nettie come up close to him, one on each side.)
O-night, at the theater, in my official character as one of
——’s detectives, I was going to make an arrest: a very im-
portant one, which has baffled and eluded me until my pa-
Jence has well-nigh been exhausted. You well remember the
ank robbery which took place six months ago? I have been
/%n the track of the perpetrator ever since, and through a
‘oman, have at last obtained the evidence necessary for his
arrest.
T. (Sotto voce.) Always & woman at the bottom of the mis-
Chief, every time!
, . You can say that, because you're an incorrigible old
bachelor. J believe that a woman has jilted you, and soured
Your disposition. But, go on, Ned; we're dying to hear it all.
Mr. D. That woman was Genevieve Rolston, the actress.
He became infatuated with her, and the robbery was com-
‘Mitted to obtain funds to flee with her—the same old story of
Woman's allurement and man’s downfall. Afterward, she
Was either tvo selfish to share his disgrace, or else she repented
4 THE DIME DIALOGUES,
the step she was about to take, for she refused to receive of
see him. All this time he has been using all his influencé
over her, which was considerable, to induce her to reconsidet
her decision, with the result that she hasdone so, To-morroW
wouid, in all probability, have seen them on their way t0
Canada, but for my stumblifg upon the clew which will bring
me not only fame in my calling, but the thousand dollars
offered as a reward, and out of which I was going to surprisé
ou with those diamond earrings you have been longing for
little wife. Tom here is to assist me in the arrest—two detec
tives in citizens’ garb. Mabel, are you not sorry now fot
having doubted your husband?
Mrs. D. Oh, Ned, I hardly dare ask your forgiveness
How could I ever have believed it of you—the best and trues
of men? No punishment can be too severe, no mattet
what.
T. J think you have been quite suttliciently punished
already, Mrs. Douglas, so [ hope Ned will not be foo severe.
But, for Miss Barbour, the heaviest fine the court can inflict;
no extenuating circumstances, no recommendation to mercy:
She had no recreant husband to bring to terms, yet, self col
fessed, she listened at the keyhole, read your private col
respondence, and formed an arch conspiracy with your wifes
to our utter rout and confusion.
N. I plead not guilty to the indictment! ’Tis false as thé
witness against me, whom I defy to prove the truth of b¥
assertions!
Mr. D. Order in court, or a heavy fine for contemp
Prisoner at the bar, arise, and receive your sentence. You
Mabel, a fine of one hundred kisses, the confiscation of afore
said diamonds.
T. Oh, let her off with the fine, judge, providing she pay?
it before leaving the court!
Mrs. D. So be it! And you, Nettie, three days’ impriso”
ment in the house—no calling, shopping or theater durin
that time—
' S (Groaning.) Have mercy ob, most kind and upright
udge!
7 Mr. D. No mercy, unless the :harge against you is with
rawn.
T. I withdraw the charge! The youth, beauty and inn®”
cence of the prisoner are too much for my gallantry to resist
Miss Barbour, I retract all that I’ve said, and will begin ove!
again. Shall we be friends? J
N. Is it possible that you are ready to become friends with
a daughter of Eve? If so—well, I'll be generous to a falle?
oe. 1
T. Andis that the light in which I am to be regarded! |
Oh, woman, woman{
@aeo
Sa «+7
THE CHARITY STUDENT. "8
N. To allow you to re-instate yourself in my good graces—
Surely that is concession enough!
Mrs. D. No, not enough, Nettie dear. We owe our good
friend apologies without end or number, and I hope he will
Consider them expressed as well as felt.
T. Oh, Mrs. Douglas, you are too kind!
Mr. D. And now we must to dinner, or we'll be too late
or our elopement. Tom, your arm to Mrs. Douglas. Nettie,
' May I have the pleasure? (Offers his arm to Nervi.)
(Curtain falls.)
THE CHARITY STUDENTS
oR,
A GOOD WAY NOT TO DO.
FOR SEVERAL LITTLE GIRLS AND ONE OLDER GIRL.
Scenz.—Z he parlor or sitting-room of a boarding-school, with
several little girls present.
Eraer, Oh! girls! Have you seen the new scholar?
Mair. No; have you?
E. Yes, I saw her this morning.
Gracie. What does she look like? Is she pretty?
M. How does she dress?
_, E. Oh! awfully dowdy! And, what do you think? I
heard Mr. Morton, the principal, say she was a charity
Scholar! Just think of it!
M. Really! How dreadful!
. G. I think it is perfectly shameful! ‘The idea of expect-
Mg us to associate with a pauper /
Frorrie. (Who has not spoken before.) I don’t see why it
Should make any difference just because she is poor, so long
4&8 she is nice and ladylike.
E. Oh! Florrie! How queer you are sometimes! Do you
think we ought to act the same toward a girl dependent on the
charity of others, as we do to ourselves, whose fathers pay for
Verything we want?
Yes; for what would we be without our fathers, but
| Paupers, if we had no one else to support us?
- Oh! you have such strange notions! I sometimes won-
act Where you get them from. Anyhow, J shall not notice
} G.andM. (Zogether.) Nor I!
%6 JHE DIME DIALOGUES,
M. I don’t think it’s right to throw us into such promis |
eet company without telling us anything about it before
hard.
G. Yes; I think Mr. Morton might have consulted us.
I’ve a good mind to write to mamma about it, and see if she 7
wants me to associate with charity people!
F. But are you sure she és a charity scholar, Ethel? How
did you find it out?
E. Why, I saw her when Mr. Morton was introducing het
to Miss White, our teacher, and I heard him say something |
about ‘‘ charity student,” just as plain as day.
M. Well, I don’t care; I think it’s a real shame!
G. Hush! Here comes Miss White now!
(Hinter Miss Waite, the teacher, seating herself.) :
Miss Wurrre. Good-morning, girls! What are you all
looking so interested about? ;
We were talking about the new scholar.
Miss W. Well, and what was the opinion you arrived at”
concerning her? 3
E. Well, we all think that it is a real shame! At least, all
but Florry, here.
Miss W.
here.
Miss W. Well, Miss Ethel, you need not associate witD
any one you do not care to; but, unless I am much mistake®y |
THE CHARITY STUDENT.
when you meet this young lady you will like her very much,
and will not object to associating with her at all,
E. (Supercitiously.) Indeed! Perhaps not!
Miss W. Well, girls, I will go and bring the new scholar,
and introduce her to you, so you may form your own opinion
of a charity student (Evit.)
M. JZsha’n’t be over polite to her!
@. Neither shall I! And I don’t care whether Mr. Mor:
ton likes it or not. I suppose Florrie will treat her like the
proverbial ‘‘ Jong lost sister.”
F. idon’t know that I will do anything of the kind. 1
Will treat her the same as I would any one else.
E. Andi shall just snw her; that’s what Ishalldo. Oht
here she comes now, with Miss White.
‘(Enter Miss W. accompanied by avery well dressed, stylish-look-
ing girl of about the same aye as the others.)
M. (Aside toG.) She don’t look much like a pauper, does
She? (The girls all look very much surprised, except ¥ LORRIR,
who rises, ready to greet tie new-comer.)
Miss W. Young ladies, let me introduce to you your new
associate. I hope you will try to make her feel at home
among you, and, until she becomes accustomed to her new
Surroundings, give her what help may lie in your power to
bestow. Remember that we are, as it were, a sort of family
here, and upon our treatment of each other depends our happi-
Ness or our misery. And now let me make you acquainted
With Miss Charity Windom, who received her name from her
“unt, Charity. Windom, who, you _all know, was the founder
Of this little school of ours. And, in conclusion, let me say
to you, ‘‘ Never believe all you hear.” Miss Windom, I be.
lieve Mr. Morton wishes to see you‘again. Let us go.
(Hxeunt.)
E. Well, Inever! What de you think of that, girls?
oot. I think you’re just too awfully stupid for anything,
thel,
G. ‘Charity !” That’s a funny name; but, ske must be
awfully rich, if old Miss Windom is her aunt.
' E. Im glad she didn’t hear us talking about her. You
Won’t tell her, Florrie, will you?
F.’ Of course not, girls. But, you ought to let it be a les.
e te you never to slight a person because you think they are
dor
_ E. Indeed, I never will again; and I don’t believe you
Will, either; will you, girls?
I. No, indeed! 1 wish I were like you, Florrie.
G. And TI, too. (Bell rings.) Oh, there’s the bell. Come
} 4%, girls. I shall feel awfully cheap when Miss White sees
ts, (They all run out.)
: (Curtain.)
THE DIME DIALOGUES,
A CATCH AT LAST3
OR,
MISS PUNKERTON’S CONQUEST.
Oharacters :—Miss EMELINE PUNKERTON, an old maid;
JOHN JENKINS, @ widower ; SAMUEL SPLUTTER, @ bachelor;
- BENJAMIN BATTER, @ widower.
BcENE.—A room. EMELINE discovered. She is dressed e&
travagantly.
Emeruine. Me heart palpitates and flies about in me bosom.
{am all in a flutter of excitement and anticipation. I have
takea a step and I cannot back out; but it makes me feel kind
af antepenultimated when I realize that me fate is so soon to :
oe decided. Me heart is all in a flutter and me nerves are al } (
inatremor. I have written to three men, and invited them to
call upon me, so that we could talk over the matters which
atand in the way of a happy union. Each of these men has
visited me up’ards of a few times. In other words, all of } 1
’em have laid siege to me heart, and it is only right and propet
that I should look before I leap. They evidently intend t0
propose, and I think it is my duty to interview each cf theM | ]
separately, and decide into whose keeping it will be thé
safest for me to place me heart and me hand. 4
Now, there is Johan Jenkins, the widower. He isa noble
man, and he has a farm, six cows and a multitudinous amount
of sheeplets. He is well off, as this worid goes, and me heat!
iells me that he would make a kind husband. I think I coul
jean against him just the way a vine leans against an oak or #
eugar-tree. But, he has one failing: he goes out hunting most
of the time with a dog, and 4 gun on his shoulder. Now
haven’t anything to say against hunting. I suppose it is e™ 7 a
hilarating and vocabulating; but, ah, if a man sticks to it au
doesn’t attend to business, he is liable to come out of thé] %;
Jnfintessimal end of the horn. I should shudder somewhat! 7 g
John should propose, and me ‘heart would no doubt feel sa
for a few days, but, after awhile, the depression or the col] k
gussion would wear off. He is a widderer, with four robust!”
susses of boys, and they should have a mother set over the
to keep them from running into diffikilties and parallelogram® | W
Sf I should be called upon to take that position, me heat
would probably shrink some; but, then, I suppose it would Dé
my duty to go bravely forward. It would be me duty, in si@
fa
—t—~g “im
a case, to try and be resigned. But, ah, I hear a step! Som’ | ak
one is coming. Yes, one of the three is coming, and me hea!
can scarcely keep within its constitutional limits. (Knock. / an
door.) There! he’s at the door! Be still, me heart, be still? | Ye
(Opens door.) Ah, good-morning, Mr. Jenkins. Come in.
I i EO i a a a ee le
ss
Seen ® Gaie Wee Fe er er
7
=
SAT Seaeh eT
—
|
19
(Enter
A OATCH AT LAST.
Jounx. (Outside.) Good-mornin’, Miss Punkerton.
Joun.) How’s all the folks?
E. Mr. Jenkins, you forget. I live all alone. As the poet
Says, ‘‘ I have no one to love, no one to caress.”
J. Well, that’s a mighty bad situation to be in.
E. (Places chair.) Be seated, Mr. Jenkins, and I will take
Your hat.
_ J. No, not by along shot. Tl hold on to my hat. This
is jist a new hat, and I want to take purty good care of it
But Pll sit down. (Seats himself.)
—E. This is a delightful morning. The balmy breezes blow
and all nature smiles.
J. Yes, she does more’n that—she snickers right out.
E. ‘‘The flowers they bloom and the birds they sing.”
J. Yes, I heard a woodpecker a-tootin’ as I cum along,
ou writ me a letter, Miss Punkerton, and said for to come
Over. What’s up, anyhow?
E. Well, Mr. Jenkins, an epoch has come.
J. What? ;
E. An epoch. Yes, Mr. Jenkins, it may be an epoch in
thy life, and it may be an epoch in your life.
You don't say! Will it bite?
E. You don’t quite understand. Anepochisan important
Point. Webster says that it is a remarkable period of time.
J. Well, I spose Webster knows. When you got to talkin’
about it I s’posed it was mebbe somethin’ like a ground hog.
uess there’s some other name for a ground hog, isn’t there?
. Yes, I believe there is—woodchuck.
J. Well, that’s what I thought you were talkin’ about.
round hogs are fat and purty plenty this year. I tell you I
Opped one, slick, yesterday. He was sittin’ on the end of a
Og and I fired and over he went kerwhop.
E. Poor thing! Didn’t your heart ache when the innocent
animal fell?
J Well, no, 1 think not. Ground hogs are a pesky nui-
Sance, and I’d kill every one in the United States if I could
it a whack at ’em.
- You do a great deal of hunting, don’t you, Mr. Jen
ns?
J. Yes, consid’able.
E. Pon’t you think it would be more profitable if you
Would smite the soil with the hoe of industry? ;
Do what-with the hoe of which?
E. Smite the soil with the hoe of industry.
a: You’ve got me now. I don’t know what you're talkin‘
ut.
E. I wanted to say that it would be better to go to work
8nd work hard than to run around with a gun and a dog on
Your shoulder.
80 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
J. Miss, I don’t run around witha dog on my shoulder,
The dog runs on his own shoulder,
oe Well, we'll drop that matter and talk about something
else.
J. Yes, we might talk about ’coons or ’possums, or skunks.
1) IT have something more important than that to speak
of.
J Well, go ahead. I can’t stay long. I think the dog
has got somethin’ treed. Don’t you hear his yeip?
E. You've got five children, haven’t you, Mr. Jenkins?
J. Yes, I guess it’s five. We'll call it five, anyhow.
E. And the dear olive branches have no one to look after
them and take care of them?
J. Yes, oh, yes! Didn’t you know? Why, old Betsey
Jones has been takin’ care of the children for more’n three
months!
E. Ah, Mr. Jenkins, but the sweet little cherubs should
have a mother to look after them,
J. (Rising.) Yes, 1 s’pose so, but (edging away) 1. can’t
stop to talk any longer. Sam Wheeler says there’s a fox up
in Thompson’s woods. 1 guess I’d better go and run it out.
E. Mr. Jenkins, don’t de in a hurry, Let us converse
yet a little longer. If I should become your wife don’t you
think we could live happily together? Don’t you think you
could lay your hand on your heart and say:
**No clouds shall e’er come o’er thy brow,
But pleasures wait for thee?”
dg. (Aside.) Jehosophat! Jsn’t she a bu’ster? (Jo Emp-
LINE.) I shot two ’coons in less’n half an hour last Thursday.
I tell you they were snorters! Well, good‘by. (Puts his hat
on and walks toward the door.)
E. Oh, Mr. Jenkins, you are not going, are you?
J. Yes, 1'V) have to go. I’ve got to hunt up that fox, you
know. (Evit JouN.)
E. Oh, isn’t that too provoking and distressing? I thought
f was bringing him right up to the point. He is such an
ignorant man! Doesn’t care for anything but ‘possums and
coons. I shudder for his poor children. But, I have written
to Samuel Sputter and Benjamin Batter. I think I could be
happier with either of them than with John Jenkins. Samuel
is a bachelor, and I think I would prefer to be linked to 4
bachelor rather than to a widower who has five ignorant chil-
dren, and who doesn’t care for anything but foxes and ’coons
and ’possums, Ah, I bear some one at the door now! be
still, me heart, be sti. (Knock at door.) Oh, how me pulses
throb! (Opens door.) Why, Mr. Splutter, is it you? I am
pron to see you. (Hatends her hand,) Come in, come
A CATCH AT LAST,
i (4inter SAMUEL.)
SamureL. How’ve you been?
E. Oh, very well, very well! This is a beautiful spring
morning. The air is laden with the balm of a thousand
flowers. All Nature smiles, and the birds are singing joy
fully and melodiously, 1 feel as happy as a linnet or a night
ingale.
You do!
3e seated, Mr. Splutter. (Places chair.)
Yes, [ don’t care if Ido. (Seats himself and then springs
up.) Je—hos—o—phat!
E. Oh, Mr. Splutter, what is it? What has happened?
8. What did you put that pin on that chair for?
E. Oh, dear Mr. Splutter, I did not put a pin on the chair.
S. Don’t dear Mr. Spiutter me! if you didn’t put that pin
on that chair, who did do it? Answer me that,
#. Imsure [ don’t know. Oh, Mr. Splutter, don’t break
me heart! But do you think I would treat you so, when I
respect and esteem you so bighly.?
S Well, somebody must have put a pin on that chair, any-
how. Go and sweep that chair off, and then, perhaps, I will
sitdown. But, if you will not sweep it off, Miss Punkerton,
let me assure you that { will never darken your door again.
fi, Oh, Mr. Splutter, ’l do that. (Gets a small broom and
sweeps the chair.) Now then, Mr, Splutter, you can sit
down. :
8. Yes, I suppose I can sit down now. (Stands beside
chair, as if to sit down.) I suppose I need not hesitate, and
yet I do hesitate, They say that a burnt child dreads the ‘ire.
(Declaims:)
In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale
Are around and above, and you kinder feel pale,
Go cautiously forward and travel with care,
Keep your eye peeled, look around and mind what you’re
doing or you may find, ah, alas! a pin on your
chair. (Sits down, and springs up suddenly.) Je-~
hos—o—phat!
E. Oh, Mr. Splutter, what 7s the matter?
§. Madam, shall I murder you on the spot? Or, is it your
intention to murder me by putting crooked pins on my chair?
(Strikes aititude.) ‘Answer me; let me not blush in iguo-
rance,” Miss Punkerton; such things are unaccountable. Not
only unaccountable, but inexpressibly mean. Didn't you
write me a letter, and didn’t you ask me to come here to day,
to propose to you?
E. Oh, Mr. Splutter, do not break me heart! You would
not accuse me of that.
8. Yes, I would! I would accuse you now of anything
B2 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
when you would put pins on my chair. (Strikes attitude.)
‘Oh, what a rash and bloody deed it was!” And then juss
think of the absurdity of the act. You want me to propose te
you and yet you put crooked pins on my chair!
E. Jassure you, Mr. Splutter, I did not do it. Oh, do not
accuse me of sucha wicked act. You will break me heart!
S. But, look at the case. Who is here to put pins on the
chair but Miss Emeline Punkerton? Nobody. And then,
when I demanded that you sweep off the chair you swept it
off, apparently, but put more pins on,
E. Ob. Mr. Splutter, you accuse me falsely. Be seated
and we will—
8. Beseated! Do you think I would try to be seated
again? You might as well try to dig down the Rocky Moun-
tains with a jack knife or todam up the Mississippi with a
chip as to try to get me to sit down again. (Mercely) Wo-
man, would you murder me? (Strikes attitude.) ‘* Give me
a horse, bind up my wounds and let me go!” (Stalks out
tragically.)
E. Well, it’s my opinion that man’s going crazy. They'll
have to send him to a lunatic asylum before many days. [’m
glad he’s gone. Itisn’t safe to be in the house with a crazy
man, Well, it’s one disappointment after another. Mr. Jen-
kins wouldn’t talk about matrimony and Mr. Splutter
couldn’t. He imagined I had been putting pins on his chair.
The idea! He is either a fool or he’s going crazy. Now I
have only one string to my bow and that is Benjamin Batter.
He may come to see me in answer to the note I sent him;
but if he does come I must treat him gently—I will not be
harsh with him. He is said to be a very close man. Of
course I would prefer not to be joined to a stingy man, but
it will be better to be joined to a stingy man than not to be
joined at all. I think I hear a s'ep now. Yes, I do heara
step! Ihave no doubt it is Benjamin. Be still, me heart—
oh, do be still! (Knock at door. EMELINE opens tt.)
BENJAMIN. (Outside.) Ah, good-morning, Miss Punkin
head.
Good-morning, Mr. Batter. Come in, come in,
Yes, that was what I was a-goin’ to do.
(Hnter BENJAMIN )
E {am delighted to see you, Mr. Batter.
B. AndI am delighted to see you, Miss Punkinhead.
E. You make a slight mistake, Mr. Batter. My name is
Punkerton, not Punkinhead;
B._ Yes, I s’pose it is, but ’ve got into the hang of callin’
you Punkinhead, and, somehow, I can’t get over it.
Be seated, Mr. Batter, and we'll have a good talk.
B. Yes, that'll suit me. I hain’t got nothin’ to do to-day,
and I'd jist as lief gab awhile as not, (Seats himself.) You
we
4
A CATCH AT LAST, 88
writ me a letter, Miss Punkerton, and you axed me to coms
over. Lreckon you’ve got somethin’ partic'lar to say to me.
E. (Seating herself.) Well, yes. You have a family of
children? :
B. Yes, boys and gals, principally.
E. Do you think you can bring up your family in the right
way without some assistance?
B. Well, I don’t know ’bout that. I s’pose I could get
along better if I had some one to assist me. How'd yow like
the position?
E. Oh, you’re so sudden, Mr. Batter. I reckon I ought to
have a little time to consider the matter.
B. Well, I can give you two months.
E. Oh, I only wanted a few minutes.
B. Oh! is that all? Well, go ahead and think the matter
over. I'll not talk any to you until you have decided.
E. (Aside.) He has said it—oh, he bas said it. He has
asked me, and me heart is ail in a flutter of excitement. But,
perhaps, [ should hang back, as it were, and not be too easily
won. Hewill prize me more if Iam not too easily won. (Zo
Bengamin.) Well, Mr. Batter, I hardly know what to say.
I shrink some, for I know it is a responsible position.
B. You shrink, do you? Well, it’s allright. I caa get
somebody else, I recon, if I try.
E. Oh, Mr. Batter, I do not mean to cruelly turn you
away. I only wish to say that I shrink somewhat from taking
such a responsible position. But I think 1 can nerve myself
and get through. You will be near me, and I can lean upon
you.
B. Yes, I s’pose that would do.
E. With your assistance | think I could discharge the duties
of the position. (Z'hey rise.)
B. Well, then, it’s settled and you'll be a wife to me and
a mother to my boys and gals?
E. I will, dear Benjamin.
B. Then— (Zurning to Emerg.) I guess you’d better
Say it.
y. (To audience.) Then we can say that the matter has
been amicably adjudicated and that I will exchange the single
blessedness of Punkerton for the double blessedness of Batter.
And further; that we are as happy as circumstances will per-
mit.
B. Yes, that’s so! Now for the justice!
E. Yes, now for justice!
(ait, arm in arm, as curtain falls.)
THE DIME DIALOGUES.
THE BOGUS DOCTOR.
Characters :—Sam, Jox, Dr. Perkins, PATIENT, Guost.
ScrneE I.—Dr. Perks. (Seated at table.) Sam! (Gets no
answer.) SAm!! (No answer. Goes tothe door.) SAMI!
You black rascal are you deaf?
Sam. Yes, sah, I’s jist a-comin’, sah.
(Hniter Sam.)
Dx. Sam, where is that other lazybones, Joe?
8. Doan’ know, doctah; I'll go an’ ax ’im. (Goes to doo?
and calls:) Joc! Oh, Joe!! Joe, you brack imp, whah is yo"?
(Zait Doctor.)
JOE. (As if from a distance.) Be cabful, boy, I’s heah
a-fishin’, an’ 1’s jist got a bite.
8. Well, you'll haf to let yer bite go, *kaze de boss wants
yo”. (Tuxes seat in the vacant chair and is trying the Doctor’s
glasses on when door opens.)
(Enter Jon.)
J. Say, Sam, what do yo’ s’pose de boss wants wid us now?
8S. Doan’ know, but he want us, dat’s shuh.
J. Well, I wish he’d ’a’ let me alone, ’kase I nebber see’d
no purtier bite den what [ was a-gittin’, dat’s all.
(Re-enter Dr. PERKINS.)
Dr. Well, boys, here you are!
S. Heah 1 is, massa.
J. Heah I is, massa.
Dr., Iam going away now, maybe to be gone a long time,
so, Sam, you may go and take in the sign. (Sam retires, and
soon returns with the sign, a large pasteboard containing thé
words ‘‘ Hrasmus Perkins, M. D., A. 8S, D —Ph, Med.)
Dr. There, that is all right. Now, Sam, you may put the
sign away, and while I am gone I want you boys to see efter
everything; but, above all, boys, don’t meddle with any of
the medicines. You are as apt to get hold of poison as any-
thing else. Be good boys and I will bring something nice
when | return home, (Zxit.}
J. Sam, de ole gent am a nice kind ob a man, ain’t he?
8. Yes, sah, he am a berry nice boss, fo’ shuh:
J. See heah, chile; gib me your detention fo’.awhile; I’s
done struck a scheme.
8. Did yo’ hurt de scheme much when yo’ struck it?
J. Go’way, chile! Squit yo’ foolness! Why doan’ yo’ ax
me what kind ob a scheme I struck?
- Well, den, what kind ob a machine was it dat struck
0
4 J. Hit am dis: let’s me an’ you be Doctah Puckins,
THE BOGUS DOCTOR. 85
8. (Laughing.) Yah, yah! Dat am de boss machine,
honey! But, which one ob usis gwine to be doctah? We
can’t bofe be Doctah Puckins.
J. Sho, chile, your fustermost l’arnin’ must ’a’ bin bigly
delected! Why, 1’/ be de doctah, an’ you’ll be Sam, ob
course} Hain’t I de oldest, de biggest and de best lookin’?
*Sides dat, I hab de infernalist edification.
8. Dat’s a good machine, an’ seein’ dat yo’ hab de ’fernalist
‘cation, yo’ be de doctah an’ I'll be Sam. :
J. Dat’s a good boy, Sambo! Hang out de ole bacon
sine, den. Fahwell, homey, I’s gwine to ]’arn de practice ob
Medicine, an’ when I come ergin Tl be de oncomrlicated
octah Erasmus Puckins. (Huit Jon.)
8. Golly, dat ama pow’ful fine nigger—nebber see’d de
like 0’ Yarnin’, nohow. Wish I had de ’ferior indication w’at
he hab. Sakes alive, I’d cl’ah fo’got dat ole shingle! Golly,
Won’t de sick folks be s’prized when dey find dat Doctah
Puckins is two cullud gemmans! (Heit Sam, with sign.)
(Rz-enter Jon, attired in the Docror’s clothes. Re-enter
: Sam.)
8S. (Hxamining Jon’s clothes.) Joe, dat’s a mou’ty nice
Suit of clo’ze yo’ hab on. Jest like some Doctah Puckins
' Uster hab.
J. Hold yo’ big mouf erbout my clo’ze, I’s a-gwine to git
MIhy ‘‘pianyforte.”
S. Sho, chile, yo’ hain’t got no ‘ pianyfourt.”
J. ’Deed I has, honey, an’ I’se gwine to p’rambulate de
Conbention right squah unto dis berry sanction.
(Hrit, stepping proudly.)
8. Dat ar’ nigger must ’a’ l’arned bookshunary on de foot-
log, *kase I nebber see’d no sich ’spression what he talks,
Nohow.
(Reenter Jon, carrying an old banjo, on which he proceeds to
make a noise. This part may be accompanied by any frag-
ment of negro song which the actor happens to know.)
_S. (Unierrupting.) Say, Joe, I’se got one ob dem t’ingg
00,
J. One ob what t’ings?
. One ob dem “ pianycourts.”
J. Has yo’, now, fo’ shuh?
8. ‘Deed T has, honey. I'l go an’ tote it rightin. (Sam
| foes out and returns, carrying a good-sized sack, which seems
Full of bundles of old rags.) Yl mou’ty soon show yo’ if I
hain’( got a ‘‘pianycourt.” (Zakes out bundles and unrolls
them, while talking.) Jist wait tell I gits my pianycourt outen
#€ box, an’ I’ll show yo’ some music what ¢ music. (Still wn-
Tolling bundles.) Golly, | put dat pianycourt in dis box, sar- —
“tn, an she’s boun’ ter be in heah somewhah. (Zurns sack
86 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
upside down, and a jewsharp falls upon the floor.
triumphantly.) Dar, I tole yo’ I'd find it!
J. (Laughing.) Yah, yah! Dat ar’ is a mou’ty queer
“pianycourt.” Is de ole t’ing in chune?
S. Yes, sah, she’s in ordah fer wuck,
J. Gib usa rest den.
8. Dat I will, doctah, but I play by note. (Pins a piece
of paper to the wall, roughly draus some notes, and has begun to
play when a knock is heard, Both scramble to hide their in-
strumenis ; Jon sits at the table and Sam shows in a PATIENT.)
PATIENT. Is this the office of Doctor Perkins?
J. Yes, sah, an’ we is de doctah. What’s de matter wid
0’?
: P. Well, I hardly know what is the matter. I guess it’s
a general prostration of the system.
J. Doan’ yo’ hab powerful bad aches erbout de head an’
face?
P. Yes, the jaw hurts me—my face aches and I feel bad
all over.
J. Am yo’ deflicted wid a bad appertite, sah?
P. No; I have a very good appetite, :
J. Well, sah, it’s de teef dat's de mattah; you want a tooth
pulled, (PATIENT shows signs of protest.) Doan’ yo’ git flam-
bergasted, sah. Sit down, sah. Tl put some stuff in yo"
mouf dat won’t let it hurt none.
P. (Sitting down.) Perhaps you know the best.
J. Obcourse I knows de best. Ain’t I de doctah? Sam,
you hold de gemman’s head.
S. (Tuking hold.) Yes, sah, if dey is anyt’ing in dis wo'ld
{can do, it’s hold a man’s head. (Jon brings a bottle and
spoon, and gives a spoonful of water to the patient. Then, a8
he approaches with a large pair of pincers, the patient falls from
his chair apparently dead. Both darkies seem horrified.)
J. Sam, you done killed de gemman, yo’ squeezed his head
too hard.
§. Didn’t do no sich ting. He got scared to def at yo’
big pullers, or else dat medicine was p’izen. I see’d on de
bottle dat it was dibolical axid, an’ anybody knows dat’s p’izen
ob de wu’st kind.
J. We's not gwine to quarrel erbout cho killed him. He’s
dead, an’ dat’s a tack! What we hab to do now is to cover
him up so nobody won’t find him. Sam, you go right o
an’ take dat sign down. Guess ‘you an’ me won't be Doctal
Puckins no moah. (Hit Sam.) Golly, I’s all flustercated,
an’ clean flambergasted. Doan’ know what to do wid dat
gemman nohow. Can’t t’ink ob nuffin’ but de ole well all dé
time. Guess dat’s de bestermost t’ing todo, anyhow. (Re em
ter SAM, with sign.) Sam, gib mea lift. We'll bury de gem’
nan ia de ole well
Holds it up
~om
aon Dm Ee
PREPARING FOR AN EXHIBITION. 87
8. (Horrified.) Now, de good Lordy, I neber can do dat,
Nohow. What if de gemman’s spook comes back?
J. Go long wid yo’! Dey ain’t no spook a-comin’ back.
Take a holt an’ he’p, now. (Zhey take hold of the body.)
Joe, you take disend. (They change.) Joe, won't you
Please take dis end. (Z'hey change again.) Joe.
J. What yo’ want now?
S. I nebber did like to carry dis end.
J. Sam, yo’ is a low nigger! Now you take a holt, or 1’?
frow you ih de ole well, an’ fro’ de gemman on yo’.
(They carry the body out and curtain falls.)
Scenn I].—Lights turned low. The two darkies discovered,
sitting.
8. Joe, £ feel pow’ful skeery. What if dat gemman’s
Spook should come back. (Guost enters and silently glides up
behind.)
J. ‘Sho, chile! Doan’ yo’ nebber let sich t’ings git in yo’
head. Dey ain’t no spooks, nohow. Ef dey is I’d jist like to
See one, dat’s all. (Catches sight of Guosy, and with a yell
tumbles over SAM, and. the two fall over each other in their wild
*cramble to get out. The Guosr stands silent till the curtain
falls.)
—_———_—_¢—-2—___—_—_—
PREPARING FOR AN EXHIBITION.
FOR A TEACHER AND THREE CHILDREN,
Scenr l.—Ordinary sitting-room. Mrs. Ray discovered, seated
Loud noise outside.
Mrs. Ray. Mercy me! Whataracket! What have thosc
‘hildren got in their heads now?
: (Enter CHILDREN.)
Grorar. Say, ma, teacher’s goin’ to—
Kare. (Interrupting.) Let me tell her! he teacher sa:-
this afternoon—
Prep. (Smalt boy.) Yes, and she said she'd give me a
Penny if I’d learn one, and she didn’t say she’d give the others
anything, so now!
. Pho! I guess we ain’t babies!
F. Lhain’t a baby, nuther. So now!
y tes R. Speak one at a time, chi'dren, and J will listen.
Ow, George, what is it? Did the teacher flog you?
| G. Why, no! She’s goin’ to have an Exhibition!
Mrs. R. Oh, is that it?
88 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
G. Yes, and she wants me to learn a good piece, with wax
in, or else something awful funny.
Mrs. R. Now, Kate, what had you to tell that was so im-
portant?
K. Nothing, only what George has told; and can’t I find
a piece about an angel or a fairy, so I can dress up in my new
white dress and blue sash? 4
G. Pshaw! Angels don’t wear blue ribbons! Where
would they get them?
K. I guess they could just as easy get ribbons as dresses,
and you know they do wear white dresses, so they must get
them somewhere.
G. Why, they get them off of folks’ clothes’ lines of +}
course! That’s the reason, my little sister, that they always 4%
wear white. You dont wash your dark dress, except—
K. Smarty! You know you’e telling what ain’t so, and
it’s wicked to talk so. 4
G. Yes. You are so much of an angel yourself I s’posé ©
you know all about them. ;
Mrs. R. Stop! stop! children! This is naughty.
‘* Birds in their little nests agree
And ’tis a shameful sight
When children of one family
Fall out and chide and fight.”
a. Let dogs delight to bark and bite
For ’tis their nature too!
And i believe it’s boys and girls’ nature too, so leb
us, can’t you?
Mrs. R. My son. I am ashamed of you! What a spirit!
What will it lead you to, and where shall I begin to check this
constant flow of ili feeling?
G. Itisn’t an ili feeling! J enjoy it!
F. Mamma, will you find me a piece so I’li get the penny?
Teacher said she’d give me one.
Mrs. R. Yes, dear; mamma will find you a sweet little
piece.
F. 1|’d rather have a sour one, I guess. 4
Mrs. R. . Oh, dear me! you children will kill your mothet =
yet, you are all so cross-grained and contrary—just like you!
father for ali the world, and not a bit as my children ough! 7
to be!
G. (Having taken off school coat and cap, and put on véry
ragged coat and slouch hat.) Well, 11 scoot for the barn a®
do the chores and then hunt me up a piece, and half-learn
by bed-time. (Hed ; he is heard whistling loudly outside.)
K. What do you suppose J’l/ speak, mother? >
Mrs. R. Oh, we will see this evening. There is a grea! |
stack of newspapers up in the garret and you can look the —
PREPARING FOR AN EXHIBITION, 89
over; you will be sure to find something. Now, run out and
start supper. I'll be out in a few minutes,
ih bio hope J’ll find a piece about angels. I know I'd
look just too sweet. (Kvit )
F. Now she’s gone can’t you teach me a piece so I can
*sprise them by saying mine first? They’reawful mean to me
cause J ain’t old, but Pll get big and then [ll show ’em! [
want a little piece or I can’t remember the hull of it.
Mrs. R. Say whole, Freddie. I presume you meant ta
F. No, I-don’t mean hole, either.
Mus. R. Yes, you do.
F. No, I don’t, neither! Why, a hole is a—a—hole—a
hole in the floor, hole in the fence, hole in my breeches. I
don’t mean them; I mean the hull piece.
Mrs. R. Yes, but it is whole—w-h-o-l-e, whole.
F. Oh, I can’t spell big,words! I spell three letters—cat—
dog—pig—iien.
Mrs. R. Well, I suppose you are too young to distinguish
the difference, so we'll find youa piece. Here is something
cute, if you could learn it, (Reads from pauper )
“A FLIRT.
“A flirt is a fool, that delights in fooling fools, and any
fool that is fool enough to be fooled by a fool, is the foolishest
Kind of a fool.”
F. Thats just right! Now, teach it to me,
Mrs. R. I'll teach it to you while we are getting supper,
and while the others are looking up their pieces.
(Curtain.)
Scene II.—TVie same room. Mrs. R. knitting. Grorer at
table in center of stage, absorbed in reading, elbows on table,
head on hands. Kate seated on floor, side front, with an
enormous pile of papers all around her. Frep, near his
mother, lying on his face, kicking the floor and learning his
piece. $
K. (Reading from paper.) ‘Ye have need of patience.”
That’s you, George.
G. Shut up, will you, till I see which of these pieces suite
me best
-K. (Reads.) ‘‘ Kind words at home.”
Mrs. R. That would suit you all, my children.
F. A fool’s a flirt. 5
Mrs. R. (Correcting.) A flirt is a fool.
F. Yes, I know it frontways; now I am learning to say it
backward.
K. [| can’t find a thing about angels with white dresses and
blue sashes.
he Ea
90
THE DIME DIALOGUES,
G. I tell you there ain’t any such thing!
K. Here is something about a fairy: ‘‘I come from my
home in the deep sylvan glades, all dressed in my spring-time
green.” Bah! green!
G. There, didn’t I tell you?
K. You shut up, snarley!
Mrs. R. Oh, children!
G. Here is ‘‘ Sword of Bunker Hill.” . I wonder if I hadn't
better speak that?
K. Pshaw! Everybody knows that; better speak ‘‘ Old
Rover ” and done with it.
G. Well, I'd rather have something funny—but good boys’
pieces are hard to find. I do wish I had the little book called
the Dime Funny Speaker. li is just full of funny speeches.
K> Here is a good one for you—‘* The Crazy Quilt Mania.”
G. That’s for girls.
K. No, it ain’t; it's making fun,of it.
G. Give it here! Let’ssee! (Reads :)
“Oh, say, can you see by the dawn’s early light
What you failed to perceive by the twilight’s last gleam-
ing,
A cranky concern that through the long night
On the bed where you slept was so saucily sheaming?
The silk patches so fair, round, three-cornered and square,
Gives proof that the lunatic bed-quilt is there.
Oh, the crazy quilt mania triumphantly waves,
And maid, wife and widow are bound as its slaves.”
K. Read the rest to yourself. I don’t want to hear it.
G. You needn’t listen. I can sense it better if I read
aloud. (Continues reading :)
‘On that quilt dumbly seenas you rise from your sleep,
Your long missing necktie in silence reposes,
And the filoselle insects that over it creep
A piece of your vest half-conceals, half-discloses.
There is Kensington stitch, in designs that are rich,
Snow flake, avasene, point russe and all sich!
Oh, the crazy quiit mania, how long will it rave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”
G. That’s splendid! now see sec how soon I'll learn it.
K. Oh, here it is—one about a fairy!
“Lam a fairy! I come from above,
From the region of angels
The home of true love.
See the shimmering folds
Of myrobe pure and white,
Not a trace of a color
It’s beauty to blight!”
PREPARING FOR AN EXHIBITION. 91
G. Ha! ha! didn’t I tell you they didn’t ever wear dlue
ribbons?
K. (Crying.) Oh, yes, you feel awful smart now you have
a piece, and I'd like to know who found it for you? I will
wear my. blue sash or I won't speak; so, now /
Mrs. R. Why, Kate, there’s plenty of nice pieces you can
speak, and your white dress and blue sash will be all right for
almost any nice piece.
K. That’s so! Here is one about Learning to Knit that is
teal cute.
“Grandma says that I must try
To knit myself a stocking,
But, oh, the wretched work I make
I’m sure is truly shocking.
My needles bend, my yarn will break,
And sadly do my: fingers ache.
But, stil Vl try, for soon must I
Knit all my stockings till I die.”
F. Now hear me say mine.
Mrs. R. Allright. Begin!
K, You must bow first.
F. (Bows and puts finger in his mouth and laughs.)
Mrs. R. Now commence. A flirt—
F. ‘A flirt is a fool that ‘lights in fooling fools, and any
fool that is fool enough to be fooled by a fool is the foolishest
kind of a fool.”
G. 'That’s good, ‘cause it’s true.
Mrs. R. What do you know about flirts?
K. Oh, he’s flirted, he has, with Susie Spence and Mollie—
G. ‘Tain’t so! You've flirted with Joe Stub and Josh—
K. ’Tain’t so! (Makes mouths at GmORGE.)
G. Jllslap you! (Dashes at her. Mrs. R. interferes.)
Mrs. R. Why,children, Iam astonished! This is an exhibi-
tion which shows that merely sending children to school is not
all that is required to educate them--—that something else is
necessary to make good boys and girls. Parents cannot com-
mit everything to teachers; and hereafter I’ll see that the
necessary home schooling is done to supplement the school-
teacher’s hard task of directing and developing character as
well as mind,
( Curtain.)
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379 Pearl Street, New York City.
x
~~ CONTENTS @
Entrance Into Society—General Observances
for Visits, etc.—Special Observances for All Occa- a
sions—The Formula of Introductions-On Dress
and Ornaments—On Cleanliness and Fastidious-
ness -Conversation and Personal Address—Writ-
ing of Letters, etc.- Balls, Evening Parties, Re-
ceptions, etc.—Card-Table, Entertainments, Din-
ner-Parties, etc.— Etiquette. of the Street —The
Politeness of Business - Love, Courtship, and
Marriage—Respect for Religion and Old Age—A
Special Word to Ladies -Impolite Things—Phre-
nology of Courtship—Laws of Home Etiquette
—Confidential Advice to Young Men—Cards of
Invitation for all Occasions—Language of Rings.
BY MAIL, POSTPAID, 12 CENTS PER COPY.
1e, and 2c, Stamps Taken.
Address M. J. [VERS & CO., Publishers,
379 Pearl Street, New York City.
Tue STANDARD LETTER WRITER
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.
ONTAINING A Compete CoLLEctrion oF Bust-—
Ness Lerrers, Lerrers OF Crepir, Lerrers
oF Inrropuction, Lerrers oF APPLICATION FOR
EmpLoyMent, Lerrers OF RecomMENDATION, So-
crAL Lerrers, Lerrers of CONGRATULATION AND
ConDOLENCE, NOTES OF CEREMONY AND COMPLI-
MENT, RuLEs ror Conpuctine Pusiic DEBaAtEs
AND MEETINGS, ETC., ETO. ; .°. . ss eV
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Y 1c. and 2c,.Stamps Taken,
Address M. J. LVERS & CO., Publishers,
379 Pearl Street, New York City,
ales da
—:
oe arr
peek oF
VERSES.
COMPRISING
LINES, RHYMES,
AND
MOTTOES
FOR
LOVERS AND FRIENDS.
*
enses for Albums, Mottoes, and couplets,
Epitaphs and Mourning Verses,
Bridal and Marriage Verses,
Holiday and Birthday Verses,
Verses of Love and Affection,
Verses to Send with Flowers,
Verses on Births and Infancy, —
St. Valentine Verses,
AND
foe LOVERS: CASE Py
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: 1c, and 2c. Stamps Taken.
Address M. J. IVERS & C0., Publishers,
379 Pegrl Street, New York City.
PEEPS INTO FUTURITY.
BY LOUISE A. LAWFORD.
| FORTUNE TELLER:
FortuNE TELIING BY CARDS:
Dealing the Cards by Threes.
Dealing the Cards by Sevens.
Dealing the Cards by Fifteens.
The Twenty-one Cards.
The Italian Method.
Present, Past, and Future.
Another Method of Consulting the
Cards,
To Know if You will Get Your
Wish.
The English Method of Consulting
the Cards,
How to Tell a Person’s Character by Means of
Cabalistic Calculations.
Palmistry ; or, Telling Fortunes by the Lines of
the Hand,
Fortune Telling by the Grounds in a Tea or Cof-
fee Cup.
How to Read Your Fortune by the White of an
Egg. ;
Dreams and their Interpretation.
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le. and 2c. Stamps Taken,
#4 Address M. fe IVERS & CO., Publishers,
379 Pearl Street, New York City
CREEL LLL FEELS
[COOK BOOK |
. BERERERER RRR 1] SEPDESESESELESPSD
MS
EMBODYING WHAT IS
Most Econoniic,
Most Practical,
Most Excellent. \
* |
ie
4
CONTENTS:
Bread: ¥arious Kinds of Hot Bread and Cakes— }
Various other Breakfast Dishes—Meats: Beef, \
Veal, Mutton, Pork, Venison—Poultry and
Game—Fish—A few nice Breakfast Dishes—
Soups, Vegetables, Sauces, Salads, Pies, Pud-
dings, Cakes—Tea, Coffee, and Chocolate—_
Jellies, Preserves, Dried Fruits, etc.—Pickles,
Ice Cream, Oysters, and other Sheil Fish—The
Carvers’ Manual—Miscellaneous.
BY MAIL, POSTPAID, 12 CENTS PER COPY.
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Address M. J. ILVERS & CO., Publishers,
379 Pearl Street. New Vork City.
GENTS’
LETTER-WRITER, |
A PERFECT GUIDE TO
All Kinds of Correspondence.
SS EES
4 CONTENTS :