ALOGUE BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., NEW YORK. General Dime Book Publishers, THE DIME DIALOGUES NO. 10: TAS, ACTING -CHARADES, 1 ETO. } aoe AUTHORS AS QLBERT Ww. nee AUGUSTA, MRS. MARY SLADE, JOHN P. REEVES, MRS. EB. Me. . ~COGGESHALL, DR, LEGRAND, NEW YORK: BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, “8 WILLIAM STREET. CONTENTS. Pa ‘Ang, Manx Twarn’s SHOR. For one male and one female. By Mark 2 Sais eS A ea sus SAP casas ana snahoseeeseacch 8 = Tue OrpFtae. For three boys. By M. G. Kennedy. (Schoo: Fes- EE bis. « deka g EnveRuc Gris nee ec ah sD ly Rae 0s-o'na-s Canin. sh. 1a Tue Court or Forty. For many girls. By Dr. Louis Legrand..... 16 -~Gxeat Lives. For six boys and six girls. By Mrs. Mary Slade..... Scanpau. For numerous males and females. By Clara Augusta .... Tue Licut or Love. Fortwo boys. By Mrs. Hemans.............. THe FLowER CurpREN. For twelve girls. School Festival......... Tax Dear Uncux. For threetboys.. By A. B. ........-....6.,..0b ee _ 4 Discussion. For two boys, By C. 8. ae - Tre | REHEARSAL. For a School. BGODSCD...« o-Znayi sis cpg ees fn _ Tax Truz Way. For thiee boys and one set Adapted from ‘* Tem- DOMENICO VIDIO oes coke peor. cSes ahs \orcoetnecpbepherscsae A Practicar Lirz Lusson. For three girls. By John P. Reeves.... : Taz Monk AND THE SotpreR. Fortwo boys. Adapted from Kras- SAMA cs. castes MOUs. once: «be SRM RIS « SPE aMET ASS sak oe oes RG we Ow Troms ann Naw Tres; or, 1776—1876. Fortwo girls. By Mrs. E. M. Coggeshall (School Festival),.... ris «a ) LORD DUNDREARY’S Visit. For two males and ‘two females. By A.- Rete Ws AIR thoy JA ads we Fbageneuls Fetus iettve ss Trsdeceeg tee 68 WironEs IN THE CREAM; or, Allis Fair in Love. For several maies +. A . ~ and females. By Frank 8, Finn.. idan so tdbnakapabtastandacat «+o ii} ‘Wrencuman. An Acting Charade. For numerous characters. By M, 8. 8, Pons .s irks CetesbeBROGiRedace sss giles eee: veeecs. ee Eutered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, is BEADLE AND COMPANY, iim che office of the Librarian of Congress, at Wasningten. & THE DIME. DIALOGUES NO. 10 7 ‘ MRS. MARK TWAIN'S SHOE. FOR ONE MALE AND ONE FEMALE. ; 3 (Hnter Marx Twarn and Mrs. Twat, talking.) gee Mrs. T. Mr. Twain, I am surprised and grieved to—” Mr. T. Don’t interrupt me, woman! I tell you, it’s ab: surd—yow learn to skate! You'll be wanting to play fairy the ‘ Black Crook’ next. I tell ‘ima is an accomplish- ment suited only to youth and comeliness au of figure. Nothing is so charming as tos ue in the coquettish costume of the Rinks, with cheeks rosy with _ exertion, and eyes beaming with excitement, skimming the ic . like a bird—and swooping down upon a group of gentlemen, ae pretending she can’t stop herself, and landing in the arms. the very young man her father don’t allow her to know—_ - ~~ and darting away again and falling on her head and exposing” 5 ’ herself to remarkg ¢ ~her carelessness. 3 (Mrs. T. tries to speak, saying: “I—I—”) © y Mr. T. Madam, hold your tongue. And ‘always taking ae _ care to fall when that young man is close by to pick her up. Oh! it is charming ! They look pretty, and interesting, !30,when — they are just learning—when they stand still a long time in one place, and then start one foot gingerly, (shows how,) and it makes a break for the other side of the pond, and leavea. é the balance of the gir] sprawling on this side! But you' ig You look fat and awkward and dismal enough at any time; # 4 and when you are on skates you waddle off as stuffy, and stupid and ungainly, as a buzzard that’s had a half horse for a dinner. e (Mars. T. again tries to speak: “ Oh—Oh— Ma—” Ni. Mr. T. I won't have it, madam! And you get under a little precarious headway, and then put your feet together and Sie . : ‘about my shoé? What did he do? ~ Quick! (Bristling upts 10 "THE DDE DIALOGUES. drift along, stoping your head and shoulders, (shows hoz, and holding your arms out like you expected a church was going to fall on you; it aggravates the life out of me! And Tuesd2y, when I was ass enough te get on skates myself, and kicked the Irish Giant’s eye out the first dash, and lit on my head and cracked the ice-so that it looked like the sun with al! 4 its rays had dropped where I struck, and they fined.me ninety two dollars for ruining the man’s pond, I was terrified with } the conviction that Thad gone through to the inside of the ¥ world, because I saw the parallels of latitude glimmering all around me; and what was it but you, in your awkwardness, fetching up over me with your confounded ‘tilters’ on? I can’t stand the pew rent, and I won't. Mrs. T. Mr. Twain, I am surp— Mr. T. Hold your clatter. I tell you, you shan’t bring odium upon the family by your disgraceful attempts to skate, y ‘sprawling around with your big'feet like a cow plowing her ‘way down-hill in slippery weather. (Shows how.) Maybe you -- wouldn’t be so handy about displaying those feet of yours if you knew what oceutred ‘when I took your shoes we to get mended. Mrs. T. What was it? Tell me what it was ?*tell me what it was this minute? I just know it’s one of your lies. 4 “ “Mr. T Oh! don’t mind; it lige g> any consequence ; go to bed. Mrs. T. But it is of consequence. ‘You've got to tell : me; you shan’t aggravate me cad way ; I won't goto bed till I . A know what it was. Mr. T. Oh! it wasn’t any thing! (Zurning onary.) Mrs. T. Mr. Twain, I'kmow better !... You're just doing this to drive me to distraction. What did that shoemaker say him with clenched hands.) Mr. T. Well, if you must know, he—he—however, it’s of no consequence. Mrs. T. Mr. Twain. (Shaking fist in his face.) _ Mr. T. Well, he—he took it and gazed upon it a long time in silence, and then put his handkerchief to his eyea and burst into teara (Shows how.) a + 7 x Se »_into milk—into all sorts of things, ‘you know; but he got dis- MRS, MARK TWAIN'S SHOE. “i Mrs. T. Why, you born fool! ae, are you going stark, staring crazy ? break. poor devil! There, now, let’s xe) oe Mrs. T. Bed, you lunatic ! Pl never. close my eyes till I know what that idiot was crying about—and you won'! either, I can tell you that. ComeL Mr. T. Oh! it don’t matter. ay Mrs. T. Mr. Twain, if you say that » again, I say I'll make you sorry for it. What was that numskull crying about ? Mr. T. “Well, he—he— Mrs. T. W-e-l-l, he. Out with it! Do you want me to —to—Twain! Ill snatch them pet ear-locks off till the sides of your head ’s as bald as the top ‘of my hand. Mr. T. Well, he—poor fellow—he said he doted on his grandmother—fairly doted on her. She had nursed him, you | know, because his mother was so feeble, and so— Well, he came to this country fifteen’ years ago, and . first he set upain the vegetable line, and got along: pretty well, and was ab to send to England for the old lady, when hard times ¢ame and he got broke. He went into the fruit then, and after that ~ appointed every time, till this present business fetched him out at last all right, and he sent right offfor the old woman. She ~ landed here foursvetké, ago, but died the very same night. . It was hard, very hard, after all his waiting and toiling for fifteen years, to get her over here at last and “have her die on his hands. He—he—well, he was disgusted. However, he’ her out, and he and his friends sat up with her, anlby .. and by the memory of her virtues softened his bifterness and turned it to a tender grief—a -settled melancholy that hung about hus spirits like a pall for many days. However, by patiently striving to keep sad thoughts out of his mind, hy was finally beginning to regain some of his old-time cheer. fulness, when your shoe reminded him so painfully of ne poor’ — painted grandmother’s coffin— Mrs. T. Take that, you brute ! (slaps his face) and if you dare to come back here Pll kickyou out again. You degraded - old ruffian! Out of the house with you! (Heit, lading Mark - out by the ear. ow THE DIME DIALOGUES THE OLD FLAG. Characters : JOHN. WILLIAM. GEORGE. (Enter the three boys, all carrying flags.) “Wroiyam. (Sing or speak.) ~ Lift the flag, and join the song, : One united nation; Union now, and evermore, Hear it all creation. Wave the starry banner high: a Strike our colors, never, Here we stand to live or die, The stripes and stars forever. ‘ony. | (sn't it a beautiful flag, boys? We have a chart of ‘te flags ot ad nations at hiome, but I think none can equal _ gar dear slar-spangled banner. =. 7 Wiusam. Always beantiful—always graceful. I wonder “when it was first. used? Guonen. It was ordered by Congress, June 14, 1777, “That the flag of the thirteen United States be thirteen stripes, white im a blue field, representing a new constellation ;” but -it was not used until the surrender of Burgoyne, in October of the same year. “Seeiet Jon. Hurrah 1 Baptized in “vietory over the tyrant. What wonder wherever it waves freedom is triumphant ? Wim. Had we no flag before that, George ? Bats aa Guorce. Of course. Previous to the passage of the efitinp get, the ordinary English, ensign was used. The first distinct one I know any thing about, was in the year 1775. It bore a, eethe inscrip:ion, . George Rex, and the liberties of America.” eer Joun. Rather a contradiction, that. GrorGE. -You know that the colonies were not united at curious emblem, to show the necessity of union. Wi11amM. What wasit? I never heard of it. Gzorar. A rattlesnake, divided into thirteen parts, with the motto, “ Join, or die.” After the union of the es it was changed into a eee about to strike. alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, - + that time. The newspapers of the day were headed with a YM OLD FLA@ Joux. How curious! é “ Gores. Paul Jones adopted the rattlesnake on a yellow ; field, with the motto, “ Don’t tread on me,” for 2 flag for hia fleet. But, before he sailed, George Washington had assumed | command of the young army of the colonies; and on the first | of January, 1776, flung to the breéze, on Boston Hights, the 1 flaz known as the great Union. a Wui1am. Was that our glorious Stars and Stripes ? £ * Gores. The stripes, but not the stars. In their place were the crosses of St. Andrew and St: George. Joun. I should not have thought that Washington would have tolerated any thing so British. Gzoren. You must remember that we were then British subjects. After our fathers so gallantly threw off the yoke of the tyrant, those emblems were no longer appropriate, and a the stars and stripes were adopted. — er Wim. I wonder how, in those ng times, aoe ever . came to do any thing so romantic as to ga ' Stripe its pure celestial Serie, , ; nae With streakings of the morning | light. dhe: Guorcr. The flag used by the army was red, and that by. ; he the navy white; and I suppose they united the two. : 4 fiw? JOHN. Good ! Union ever seemed to be their motto,even in comparatively little things. ~ . Wiii1aM. Well,they could not have a better, for it haa been gloriously ee in “ union there is ene Fi Joun. Yes. 278% United we stand, and divided we fall, . Lhe Has made and preserved us a nation, and has “nearly quadrupled the - ey of stars on the flag, — a which now I shall love more dear ly, th an ever from having . gained so much information about it, ; Wim. By-the-by, it was a good idea that of ad ding a star ee for every new State. I wonder they did not add ae epeve too GrorGE. That was the original idea. e _Joun. Why was it not carried out? ; GrorcE. In 1794, after Vermont and Kentucky had been admitted into the Union, the flag was changed to fifteen stripes and fifteen stars, and remained so aatil 1818, although five * eix new States hal been added. — (4 THE DIME DIALOGUES. Wituram. I suppose they did not anticipate the addition of so many stripes, and it would have made our flag too farge ? Grorexn. Yes; but that was not the reason. They wished to recall the past, and recognize the original thirteen States which had gained our independence, and at the same time to show the progress which the infant repultic had made since then. _- dows, And the result is our gallant banner. Who would not rally round svch a flag? I feel as though I should like to give a hearty three times three for it. Wim. How could any one dishonor it? It makes my blood boil to think of its ever having been trampled in the dust. Grorce. It is known and honored all over the world, _ from the north pole to thesouth—from the rising to the set- | ting sun, And it is known, not as the flag of Massachusetts, _ > New York or South Caroli but a8 the’ Americun standard. It is an emblem, not of the ‘growth of cotton or corn, or the , development of iron, but of a gigantic strength—of unparal- leled resources, of tmexampled activity, of an undying pro- gress, which knows neither North, South, East or West, but i “ta tion of many States—the Union. “Wu. How it must make one’s be swell to behold it, after having long been denied the sight. . << * SON, IS “have heard some who were” a prisoners-of- war away from home, describe, in the most touching language, their feelings when they again beheld it. Geogge. Yes; it is no longer a mere piece of bunting, but it is fraught with sacred memories of ail that they hold most dear, and is an earnest of friends, and home, ar1 country. Winiram, (Waving his flag.) Vainly the prophets of Baal had rended it, Vain.y his worshipers prayed for its fall, Thougands have died for it, millions defended it, = Emblem of justice and mercy to all. ; But I pray that from this time forth forevermore, it may in- deed be « symbol of unity, and that no more blood of mar where each is swallowed up in the great whole—the one na- we hy ‘THE OLD FLAG. 15° tyrs may be needed to hallow its memory or defend ita x purity. Grores. With all my heart I echo. the wish that never more shall national sins need to be -w ed out-in national blood. I believe we are God's nation. ~ Our free. institutions proclaim it—our free religion proclaims it; but thete are sev. ral remarkable coincidences. Did it never strike you that our old flag was significant of this? — ~ JOHN. ‘How do you make that out ? GrorcE. The red, white and blue are ‘typical colors we meet with all through the Bible. The zed, the blood of the Lamb, slain for our ransom; the white, the garments of the glorified saints; the lve, the firmament which his hand has spread over us, to conceal the glories which await the final vie- tor. + WIL. Or take them in their figurative sense. AD ties love of God toward his people and the purity and devotion which he requires of them, _ pe SS ee Joun. Bravo! Will. Til have to help.you | out, too, _ My. little brother asked mother, the other day, whether the star in the middle of the union was” not. the. same one that 5 xed the shepherds to where the baby Jesus Tay ; eae whether ie all the little stars were not going there too. GreorcE. That’s not a bad idea. If we place Sionad in our “midst for a leader, apa gather round Him, the country will be safe enough. : + WruiaM. Do itot the stripes represent the’ chastisement which has been inflicted on us, wherewith we are healed: and the stars show the final brightness to which we ne at- tain ? « Joun. You are coming rapidly on, Will } Wurm. I hope so, for I have-made up my mind tc ep deavor, by serving this Captain with all my heart, to be ready to serve my country, should any peril threaten her,when man: hood brings the proper strength. Gorge. Did all do so, we would find that," even as God delivered Israel from the Red sea, guided them by the white cloud, or Shekinah, through the dreary wilderness to the bitis waters of the Jordan, so would he deliver us from all peril. guide the ship of state safely over the troubled waters of party — THE DIME DIALOGUES. politics, and bring her at last, tried and strengthénen, to a place at the head of the nations. Joun. I sce now that without purity and devotion to God, mere love to our country will not make us truly brave. Grorce. No; but we can unite these; and even as wa are commanded to have “One Lord, one faith, one baptism,” # may we lave “ One people, one ct nstitution, and one ig ks _) Witt1am Flag of the free heart’s hope and home, P By angel hands to valor given, Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven! Forever float that standard sheet Where breathes the foe that falls before us, With Freedom’s soil beneath our feet, And Freedom’s banner streaming o’er us! Z ying QUEEN oF FouLy seated on throne tn lin hand. She is elegantly dressed with govd er (paper crown on head.) ‘Now will I hold again my court Far—far ins eye i d see, as I see, behind the thin vail of fort and pretense which men and women draw around them, how they would shrink and stare at the loathsome forms they would then behold! ButT am not to moralize over human weakness: J am queen of the realm of Folly, and my wor- shipers are countless. To-day I hold my court that I may behold what new forms my devotees have adop‘ed to express their sense ‘of my power. Whom shall Isummon? The s0- called Queen of Fashion? Bah! she is electrotyped in her folly. She repeats, over and over again, just what others have done before her. She flirts, fibs, dissimulates, deceives, paints, powders, and toys with dangerous things just as her predeces- sors have done. She is not only not new, but is in sooth, so = the hi” > s f GE choked with wre aborers is in keeping with that con cep: THE COURT OF FOLLY. 17 great a bungler that every man of sense sees through the thin © vail of her deceit, and only fools are caught byher art. I want —but, who comes unbidden to my Pregence ? (Later girl thinly clad, etc.) And who are you? Poor G. I ama most miserable girl, oh Queen. I 80 long to change my circumstances that I have no heart longer iv struggle for the pittance that my labor brings, and I came to seek counsel of you. What shall I do?” QurEN. And what have you done? Poor G. I have had to work for a living. I lost my ‘fa- ther, who always supplied my wants with a liberal hand, and then had to seek labor. I was willing to work, and found it, but oh, I was so poorly paid that day by day I have grown poorer. , QueEN. I see. You sought work in channels that were already overcrowded witn others like yourself—who varie. what was deemed respectable work, * Poor G. I sought for-work in shops, of course, for, being a respectable person, I could not : stoop to house service, which I know would have paid far better, _ QuEEN. Could not stoop to housework r Ab, you are a A subject for Folly’s Queen. I can not advise you to folly than you have committed. To regard. mak comfortable as not respectgble work \ a fool’s conception. .To _crow into avenue tion. Go! You are, in truth, one of the f virgins. (Bait Poor G.) Of all the follies this is the “strange. Wo- — men calling home labor disreputable, and giving up, from a pride that is'slaying its tens of thousands, health, happiness, comfort! I am ashamed of sich folly. If— but here is another unbilden guest. My devotees are prompt—coming even before I call. (Znter Miss Pust, a Jauntily-dressed woman.) Who are you ? Pe Miss Pest. I am—myself! I own no lord an mastic ! I believe in acting out human nature, and my human nature leads me to repel the restraints so long imposed on my sex. I am a progressivist. I believe in regaining some of our lost zights by obtaining the elective franchise. I— : Qumxn. There, that will do. Some are born fools; suma 5 18 THE DIME DIALOGUES, are fools of circumstance. I think you can claim relationship with both. She who deems it: essential to her happiness to unsex herself has already run through folly’s curriculum of study. All you have to do to win my warmest encomiums is to persevere in actirg out what you call your human nature. Whe. you are fifty years old; when you have disturbed th present order of: sobiety;: of the family and the church by your * reform ;” when homes are no longer abodes of love an? quie*, but are the childless dwellings of discontent and indiffer- ence, you will then see that, of all votaries, you are the most ‘ efficient. You are already too wise in your own conceit te need advice or instruction from your Queen. Go! (Hit Miss Pest, and enter Mrs. CHANGELESS, a woman of siaty.). What, again a visitor without warning? Why, truly, Folly’s affairs have progressed in my absence! Well, old lady, what is it - you want? Mrs. C. I don’t know as I want any thing. In fact I _ don’t want any thing, except tobe let alone. I am daily and hourly tormented with the changes going on around me. Our old farm has become a thriving town; my old friends uave become rich and live houses; our old church has ‘and another with a high steeple and expen- sive organ has*taken its ‘place. I can no longer wear the old homemade garments, but must ebase spinning flax and buy store goods. My old man no longer affectionately «alls me “Mammy,” as he used to, but formally addresses me as Mrs. Changeless. I want all this changed. I want old times, old homes, old friends restored. I ask— Query. You ask what is not in my power togrant. The world rolls onward, not backward. Change is as inevitable as the years axe ceaseless in their coming. In resisting this change you are acting well the part of a devotee at my altar, Resist the resistless—refuse to acknowledge the new ideas, new tastes#new forms which come in with each generation, and ycu will not fail of securing from me a cordial welcome. (Zvit Mrs. C.) What fatuity possesses some people to resist what might become sources of true happiness—to overlook the good there i is in the present for,some dreamed-of good in the past? What other singular shapes of folly’s pursuit am I to ses on this occasion? Tll wave my wand and sec what THE COURT OF FOLLY. 319. who deem themselves to be amgng the beautiful and good o earth. (In come women of all ages and conditions, dressed in a manner of costumes, who shove and jolt one another, and eye euch other sorutinizincly. Hach one seems to struggle to get to the trone, erying, “ O% Queen!” “ Oh, most st potent § sovereign |” “ Oh, Lady, of the Signet!’ Peace! Are yo from Bedlam, or 8 the world so overfull of fools that. _ id of others as mad as you ? ner ‘ ' First SPEAKER (@ woman, holding a little chitd by the hand). Oh, most wise Queen, I am not mad; I have no affinity for the man who calls me husband. I seek to be free from the bonds, that I may seek from among men a mate congenial, sympa- thetic, progressive. Seconp Speaker. The hateful thing! She has made a good man wretched by her sentimentalism and weakness listening to designing men. She has carried off with her that innocent whom I would save—hence have followed her" hither. QueEN. Away with you, then! This is not the atmos-. phere for childish purity, but for worldings who substitute self — for law. Run with the innocent while there is yet escape | (SEcoND SPEAKER seizes child and “ewits,) - And you (area First SPEAKER), are on the highway to > the Go on with your “ affinital ’gtadies ; scorn, _ Scatter to the winds the faith which men have in your woman’s nature, and I'll warrant you a preferred seat in my ene Be Waves her away.) ~ 4 Turrp Speaker (a belle dressed in the hight of styl). eer Queen, I have beaux a dozen at least; I have money; I have youth; I do not want to give up my life of pleasure. I come to your court to claim your countenance while I devote yet a. few years to pampering my tastes and enjoying my means. QuzEN. That is natural. z belle and an heiress ought not to give up too soon, Make the men feel. ‘your power ; make the other belles’ envy you; be the talk. of the sum- mer resorts ; get your name in the papers as the captivating heiress—all this will make you neither more beloved, nor more of a Christian ; nor more likely to obtain happiness in- after life ; but it is Folly’s Glass Railroad ; so ride in its palace car while you may. (Belle courtesies low and retires.) twas her wand) worshipers I still can claim among of ~ # THE DIME DisLOGUES. = Fourtu SPEAKER (a girl of fourteen). Oh, Qtevo, I am x fired of my parents! They won’t let me do as I please. Per make me go to school They make me come home Tom parties at ten o’clock. They won’t give me a new dress every month. Oh, I am sotired of them! Dear Queena, what can I do to do as I please? Quran. Do? Why, rebel against their reasonable authority They are wiser than you, but you don’t want to be wise. You only want to fritter life away in folly’s pursuit. No matter if you grow up both ignorant and rude; no matter if your youthful mistakes affect your whole after life. Solong as you find a present happiness in the way of disobedience and folly, goon. I shall behold in you a missionary among the young, fo win me many a follower; and though your mother weeps, and your father storms over your waywardness, it will not do to yield, for then you might become as staid and sober-minded as they, which would be absurd. (Waves her away, and a child .. of seven years comes forward.) Bless me, little one, what can you want of Folly’s a Surely you are not old i : every time I goon the streets ; and I want to sit up every night just as long as anybody; and like sister Kate; and I want money of my own to spend just like big folks. That’s what I want, and somebody told me _. that you would teach me how. even babes can come here— Cutup. Tain’ta babe. I’m a big, big girl. Querzn. A big, big girl? Why, you little sprite, sou are » 40t ten years old! _ CHILD. No, in indeed! I’m only six, but I won’t be spanked any more, nor sent to bed at sev@n, ahste ee I won't. And I want miy rights like other women. ~ 5 - Queen. Your rights? Sees : ice indeed! My rights! I want to smoke, and chew and stand on tke street and vote like other women are going to! : I want to smoke cigars like papa ;* and I want to see the beaux, — ~~ Queen. Ha! ha! ha! Well, this age is progressive, when - “tng on all kinds of “ airs,” goes out, person by person.) = mene GREAT LIVES. & QuEEN. Bless me! What is the world coming to, when % children’s heads are so full of reform? Another decade, and I shall have to classify Folly’s fools by ages, for no court can give audience to the multitudes which I plainly see Time is qualifying for my worship. Little one: you are very smart ‘or your years I see in you the elements of a foo. as great as any before me “a Camp. A fool? Why I'l. ge home and tel: John, the atadle boy what ycu call me, and he'll ren the horse over you, sext time he sees you—see if he don’t, you old, cross-eyed, snuff-taking, key-hole peeping old maid you! There, now! (Exit, showing her anger. Crowd of applicants again press forward, erying: “Oh, Queen!” “ Hear me ae f? “ Oh, Lady most Worshipful !” etc.) QurEn. Away with you all! Im tired of this court to folly. When even little children must come to my a tire of the crown which weak humanity has put“ : brow. I can bear folly in alls! but that of childhi } see it perverted and warped eee vanities, toa sing of the day, is too sad a sight even for one- “accustomed to ‘the perversions of human nature, Away with: you all, for to-day at least. Away ! ( Waves her wand, and the motley crowd, Be {The curtain slowly drops or fails around the throne as the crowd is pasa : ing off.. A pretty effect will be produced if a canopy is. erected over the throne, apparently richly hung with lace. As mosquit netting can be used for the lace, this can be dropped, fold by fold, so tthe Queen will, as it were, fade away ; from sight. This effect will be furthe~ hightened by.2*: baving, during the action, strong lights behind and around the throne, and. then semoving these lights as the curtain begins to fall.] 3 e GREAT LIVES. lives of greatest men, a A id find some grand and worthy name, ‘to he p and ¢ when, Ps tn coming life, we try our best some noble work to:d Bay, Harry, Kate, snd all the rest, what name is dear to” 7) ? a HE DIME DIALOGUES First Boy. TI can tell you how Columbus sailed unknowsa X oceans o’vr, To find this lovely continent no sail had sought before, So brave, so strong, so firm of will, so patient and so true; Shall not Columbus be a name, a model, boys, for you? Ssconp Gm. You know for him the daughter of the proud Castilian kings gol: all her shining jewels, her diamonds, gems and rings; If Isabella had not been so kind, so wise, so brave, LY 2 Columbus vever might have crossed the broad Atlantic wave.. Sxconp Boy. I love to think how Howard his life of mercy spent ; How months and years, thro’ gloomy cells and dungeons dark he went. The prison cell, the house of pain, the dreary haunts of woe, . Are-with us still; as Howard went, some time our feet should mx . Ah! Europe a a sweeter voice above her aes wail, — _ When through her “hospitals of sung Florence Night- impale aac q ~ And by her European name, Bice girl will fix _ High on the lists of woman's ‘fame, our Dorothea Dix. _ res And I will tell how Judson left his home tive land h the heathen, far off on India’s strand. {f God should say to us, “ Arise, and thither go!” : The saintly life of Judson would light the way, I know. cet 4] Fourra Gree... That saintly life of Judson beams like a glorious star, 5 shines and glows and purely gle: afar. But close high i in the heavens ‘ht I see ; For, sharin; ‘ Judson, three! % ~ won bor i Fourts Boy. I bring the name of Lindolnf’ the man we ed so well; His strong, true, noble ats, no words its + worth can tell : GREAT LIVES. 28 He showed us how to firmly stand, to wisely do and dare. Oh, brothers, is not his true life a model pure and fair ? Firra Girt. So pure, so strong and high he stands, J bring no woman’s claim To set beside our martyred one, to share his cloudless fame. A million women lift their hands, chainless and free t)-day, yAnd bless the great Deliverer who swent their chains away. Firta Boy. Now, Yankee boys and Yankee girls, is all the > story done? And have you failed to find the name of our Breal _ Washing: ton ? The Father of his Country, who made his country free, Through childhood, boyhood, manhood’s prime, a model is for me. a Srxra Girt. And she who made him what, he a I honor none the less ; Her country’s daughters | her sweet, name Sacer shew bless. Far down our nation’s glorious years, high on the lists of . - fame, # Oh, Martha i ee we write ‘ty fair and ek ite Pm pee xf : ee : _ Srxra Boy. And so we ‘wreathe the nob 5 garland bright, a pee To cheer our hearts, to light our steps, to guide our ways aright. i So skall the lives of noble men, and noble women; too, 42% Teach us to “ make our lives ne, ” and grand, and — : and true. Por all the good of every soul, within each soul may dwell ; And highest work that man has done, each man may do, aa well; And not a soul is | crowned on high a true 2 ‘ful sony But we may Eee he has worked, andy same “ We: en THE DIME DIALOGUES. SCANDAL. Characters : Mrz. Saw, Mrs. Prime, Deacon BorDen, Parson Sronm, and A CROWD OF MEN AND WOMEN. Scuns I—Mrs. Prom’s kitchen. Mrs. PRmme paring applea at a table. Mrs SHaw (entering in great haste). Good-morning, Mra. you heard of it? Mrs. Prime (seating herself and readjusting her glasses). Of what, Mrs. Shaw ? Mrs..8. Why, the dreadful news; deary me, how out of breath I am; my forehead is dripping with sweat. This has _ been an awful hot summer. -. Mrs. P. Do speak, Mrs. Shaw. Don’t be afeard. I'll never tell on it as long as I live and breathe. Mrs. 8. Oh! it is an awful—awful thing to happen rite -nere in our community! TI told_ Sister Susan I hadn’t had ich a shock sence our hen-h jas burnt, and fourteen hens s and six turkeys into it. It’s I the strength out of me, and I feel as weak as a rag. ; - Mrs. P. Good land, Mrs. Shaw, what can it be ? Mrs 8S. Ah, me! it’s enough to make a body doubt poor Saman natur more than ever. I vum! I told Sister Susan I never should dare to put my confidence in anybody ag’in. pot, have you? - Mrs. P. Land, yes—a plenty of it; the kittle’s a-biling now, and I'll make make you a good, strong cup. (Proceeds & do 80.) Mrs. 8. Well, I vum, Mrs. Prime, I didn’t mean to put you to all that trouble, but I felt so overcome, and tea is such a resto’tive tome. And no wonder Pm weak! it’s terrible ; above all things, and desprit wicked. Mrs. P. You may as well say that. It’s astonishing to in my shoes to think of it. But you hain’t told me all aheut this ’ere new break-out, Mrs. Shaw Prime ; I declare I’m e’ena’most beat out, it’s so warm and sul , try. But I thought I must come over—roast or not. Have It’s completely upsot me. You hain’t got a little tea in your a leading church member, too! Ah, the heart is desateful ae see how some foigs go on. Good land! it makes me tremble SCANDAL. 28 Mrs. 8. Well, you see it’s about Deacon Borden! Mrs. P. My soul and body! you don’t say the deacon’s deen and done any thing ? Mrs. 8. Humph! I guess you'll think so when you come to hear! I declare, I'd about as soon expected our Isaac to have been guilty of such a thing. Mrs. P. Well, I never! but your tea is steeped, now ; jus st up and try it; don’t be afeard of the sugar because there aain’t but a little; there’s enough more in the baled firkin. Mrs. 8. (lasting with great deliberation). This teais nice—- first rate! what was it a pound ?—tea is awful high nowadays Mrs. P. Dreadful! I give two dollars a pound for this ‘ere; I got it over to Squire Lane’s and paid for it in butter. Butter’s master high, ain’t it? Mrs. §. Yes, it is; and folks ort to be equinomical of it, and sell all they can. I don’t think we've eat two ounces in our house for six weeks, Sister Susan’s Benny is i and butter is desprit bad for humors. Mrs. P. So ’tis, But tell me about the deacon. Mrs. 8. No, to be sure; but ’m gwineto. I think it ort to be told of, and carried abroad to the ends of the earth, on t four winds of heving! Only think of the bewtiful pray _ and the stirring exhortations that man’s made! and how he’ *. _,.» talked to us of original sin, and now he’s been and showed his 5 original sin rite out! : : Mrs. P. Well, I never! eA Mrs. 8. (confidentially). Now, Mrs. Prime, jest between us, didn’t it never strike you that Mrs. Deacon Borden has looked », -s.» ®inder disconsolatory and melancholic like, for considerable Pak of a spell back along? Mrs. P. (reflectively): Well, yes, seems to me I have noticed it, _ yes, I’m sure that I have, and spoke to Nehemiah about it ; oa Nehemiah he flopped out of the house as mad asa hornet. He’s allus been dreadfully took with the deacon’s folks, ever since he bought the ‘striped pig of the deacon. And I must say} it - did the best of any pig we ever had. Weighed nigh onto five hundred without the fat and sassenger meat. Yes, Mrs. Shaw, ~~ T have noticed that Mrs. Borden has been rather down lately ~ and she’s dressed a eee) in green, too, and green’s forsaken, you know. 2 83 THE DIME DIALOGUES. Mus. 8. Humph! no wonder she’s dressed in green—cause enough for it, I guess. Mrs. P. What! you don’t mean to say— Mrs. §. Yes, I do mean to say that Deacon Borden is playin’ sweet on other women ! Mrs. P. (sinking back with uplifled hands). Well, I vum te g 0dness ! Mrs. 8. Yes, und what’s more, it’s a young gal! Mrs. P. Worse and worse, and more of it! I declare; if it was anybody that had told me but you, I should misdoub1 it. Mrs. 8. There, that’s just what I said tosister Susan. But TI see’d it with my own eyes! 7 Mrs. P. Mercy! you don’t say so! Mrs. 8. Yes, and I blush to think of it. You are sure there hain’t no men-folks round to hear me tell of it, hain’t _» ye? I should sink to have any man know that I ever wit- nessed such a scandalous performance. Mrs. P. No, there hain’t a soul; Nehemiah’s mowing iu tue Downing lot, and Asa has ‘eens: down go the mill. You a go rite on. . Mrs. 8. Well, yesterday, I. sd Deacon Borden drive past our house in that ’ere new buggy of his, with a gal alongside of him. It was just after sunset, but my eyes are good oncs, and I see’d ’em jest. as plain as if it was day ; and as sure as Tm a living woman, that dreadful man had his arm round her! And his wife has been gone to Alton moye’n a week, to see her sister. Mrs. P. Oh, poor Mrs Borden! I'd be divorced rite off, if T was her—I vum I would. Mrs. S. Well, I felt jest as if it was duty to see the send of 1t; I was dreadful busy, but I put it all by to attend to what I thought was iny duty. So I whipped on my things, and started across the fields for the deacon’s house. I got there jest as he carried that jade into the entry ; for I’m will- ‘ng to take my Bible ‘oath that he actilly carried her! I of the shetter and—my soul and body ! Mrs. P. (¢mpatiently). What was it ? Mus S. There they sot on a sofy, he had his arm arowad climbed up on a box, and peeked into the winder, over the = Sass SCANDAL. 27 her, and her head was a laying on his black westkitt, and her yeller hair a-streaming all over his buzzum. Aiud as true as I'm alive, she had it curled, and a blue ribbon in it. Mrs P_ The land of goodness ! Mrs 8. To be sure; and while I was looking, what did tie depraved man do but kiss her. Mrs P. Why, Mrs. Shaw! Mrs. 8. Yes, and it overcome me so that I lost my balance and fell rite over onto a hive of bees, and from there into a tuk of rain water; it took all the glazing out of my new blue gownd, and peeled my elbows dreadfully. The bees they come at me, and before I could get on my feet I was stung in seventeen places. But I didn’t mind it—I’d satisfied myself. Mrs. P. Well, I never heard the like! What are you gwine to do? Something ort to be done. It ain't rite for such a man as that to be a pillow of the church. Mrs. 8. To be sure; and I’ve decided to see Parson Stone about it this morning. I shall recommend a meeting, at once, to investigate the deacon’s conduct. I shouldn’t won der a particle if the deacon should leave for Canady when he | heard of it; of course, he’d never brave it out. : Mrs. P. Of course not: Don’t hurry, Mrs. Shaw, douies I hain’t sed half I sot out to, I’m all struck up so. “wy e Mrs. 8. And no wonder at it. It's enough to strike ‘up : anybody. But do come down—it’s an age —_— you was there. Mrs. P. Yes, I will; and you call ag’in. < Mrs. §. Thank you, ae will ,good-mornin’, ed - Mrs. P. Good-morning. (Ourtain drope,) Scene Il.—The vestry of achurch, Parson Srone in the fore. ground, wearing an expression of grave concern. DEACON BorvDENn near. Mre. Saaw and Mrs. Prime whispering to- gether on a front seat. Several persons standing about in pri- ~ vate conversation. ‘ : : — _ Parson STonE (very gravely). Deacon Borden, you are pro ~ bably aware of the purpose of this meeting? Deacon Borpen. I have not that honor. Parson Strong. You shall not remain in ignorance. You are charged by a member of our congregation with improper THE DIME DIALOGUES. conjuct, unbecoming a married man, with a young lady at present unknown to us. (Great stir near the door. Enter a young lady in straw Yat and curls.) Mrs. 8. Good gracious massy! there she is! Mxs. P. The shameless hussy ! Deacon B. May I ask the nature of my offense ? Mrs. 8. You hugged her and kissed her! I see’d you Deacon B. Who upset my bee-hive ? Mrs. 8. (spitefully). I don’t know what that has to do wth t. Parson §. What have you to say to this accusation ? Deacon B. I say the old lady is correct. Parson 8. What? do I hear aright ? Deacon B. I think so. I will repeat it. Mrs. Shaw ta correct. Mrs. P. Well, I vum to goodness! Mrs. §. Jest what I told sister Susan. Parson §. I had hoped, Deacon Borden, that you would have been able to disprove this charge. _ Deacon B. On the contrary, Tam very happy to prove it. ~Ada, come here, dear. (Draws the girl with curls to his side.) Mrs. B. Good gracious! did anybody ever? Deacon B. I am pleased to confess to you, my friends, that I did kiss the young lady now beside me, as stated by _ Mrs. Shaw, and what is more, I will take this opportunity to her again. (He kisses her.) : - Parson §. Deacon Borden, I am— Dragon B. Allow me, Parson Stone, and you, brethren and sisters, and all others who feel so very anxious relative to jmy welfare, to introduce to you Miss Adelaide Anne Borden --the beloved daughter of my first wife. I have just taken ner home from boarding school, and shall claim the right to kiss her whenever I please! ~~ (The gossips seater, oa crestfallen Si ea as the curtain falls.) : w= > THE LIGHT OF LOVE. 23 THE LIGHT OF LOVE. i This is a piece of exquisite quality. At least one such shcald be given en each Exhibition Day. Too much nonseuse will surfeit even more quickly than too much soberness. This is a simple dialogue, between a Missionary ir the Wilderness and an Indian Warrior. All the Stage ad- junct necessary, is a hut or canvas tent erected in the backgrour1. Even ‘his, however, may be dispensed witn, for one of the entrance ,aress roum) dvors can be made tc serve as the door to the imaginary “but in tha woods "’—an illusion easily attained by throwing an arck. of evergrse:@ or other trees overthe door ‘The characters should try to dress en cos tume. An Indian Warrior’s dress is not difficult to extemporize. Have the stage-lights turned well down, if possible, as a little gloom will add to the effect.) (Enter HERRMANN 4 missivnary, i from iis cabin-door, taking a seat.) HERRMANN. Was that the light from some lone swift canoe ; Shooting across the waters ?—No, a flash ee From the night's first quick fire-fly, lost again eee In the deep bay of cedars. — _ Not a bark x Is on the wave; no rustle of a breeze : Comes through the forest. In this new, strange world. Oh, how mysterious, how eternal, seems ; The wighty melancholy of the woods | The desert’s own great spirit, infinite! = ss Little they know, in mine own father-land, Along the castle< Rhine, or e’en amidst * The wil Hartz’ mountains, or the silvan glades ey Deep in the Odenwald, they little know : Of what is solitude! In: hours like this, There from a thousand nooks, the cottage-hearths Pour forth red light turough vine-hung lattices, Te guide the peasant, singing cheerily, On the home path; while round his lowly porck, Witb eager eyes awaiting his return, * + me a ' The clustered faces of his children shine Se To the clear Harvest moon. Be still, fond thoughts ! Melting my spirit’s grasp from heavenly hope By your vain earthward yearnings. Oh,my Gods ‘Draw me still nearer, closer unto Thee, Till all the bellow of these deep desires 80 : THE DIME DIALOGUES May with Thyself be filled! Be it enoagh At once to gladden and to solemnize My lonely life, if for Thine altar here In this dread temple of the wilderness, By prayer, and toil, and watching, I may win The offering of one heart, one human heart, Bleeding, repenting, loving ! ) Hark! a step— ~~, An Indian tread! I know the stealthy sound— ae "Tis on some quest of evil, through the grass : : Gliding so serpent-like. (He comes forward, and meets an Indian warrior, armed.i Enonio, is it thou? I see thy form Tower stately through the dusk, yet scarce mine eye Discerns thy face. : Enonto. My father speaks my name. £ 2 Herr. Are not the hunters from the chase returned ? _ The night-fires lit ? Why i is my son abroad ? - Eno. The warrior’s arrow knows of nobler prey Than elk or deer. ~ Now let my father leave - The lone path free. — “* Herr. The forest way is ng the red chieftain’s home. Rest thee awhile ~ “ > | my sycamore, and we will speak - Of these things further. Eno. ~~ Tell me not of rest.! My heart is sleepless, and the dark night swift— I must begone. Herr. (solemnly). No, warrior, thou must stay pm The Mighty One hath given me power to search ‘Thy soul with piercing words—and thou must stay, And hear me, and give answer! If thy heart Be grown thus restless, is it not because - Within its dark folds thou hast mantled up Some burning thought of ill ?— : Eno. (with sudden impetuosity). How should I rest Last night the spirit of my brother came, e An angry shadow in the moonlight streak, And said: “ Avenge me /”—In the clouds this mors I saw the frowring color of his blood— -THE LIGHT OF LOVE. And that, too, had a voice—TI lay at noon, Alone beside the sounding waterfall, And through its thunder-music spake a tone~ A low tone piercing all the roll of waves— And said: “ Avenge me /”—'Therefore have I raised The tomahawk, and strung the bow again, That I may send the shadow from my couch, And take the strange sound from the cataract, And sleep once more. HERR A better path, my son, Unto the stil: and dewy land of sleep, My hand in peace can guide thee—e’en the way Thy dying brother trod. Say, didst thou love That lost une well? Eno. Knowest thou not we grew up Even as twin roses amidst the wilderness ? Unto the chase we journeyed in one path ; We stemmed the lake in one canoe ; we lay Beneath one oak to rest. When fever hung Upon my burning lips, my brother's hand Was still beneath my head; my brother’s robe Covered my bosom from the chill night air. Our lives were girdled by one belt of love, — Until he turned him from his fathers’ gods, ; And then my soul fell from him—then the gras@ < ~ Grew in the way between our parted homes, And wheresoe’er I wandered, then it seemed That all the woods were silent—awwent forth— T journeyed, with my lonety heart, afar, And so returned—and where was he ?—the earth Owned him ao more. Herr. But thou thyself, since then Hast turned thee from the Idols of thy tribe, . And, like thy brother, bowed the suppliant knee To the one God. — . Eno. Yes, I have learned to pray ~. ‘With my white father’s words, yet all the more My heart that shut against my brother's love, Hath been within me as an arrowy fire, Burning my sleep away. In the night hush, :

BonnE.—) air, ONcCLE SHARPER reading the paper, ear-trumpel _ beside him. Rogert. 1 say, Paul, how much longer do you think old Stick-in-the-mud is going to honor us with a visit ? Pavt. Why, Rob, how can you speak so of kind uncle Sharper? I would aeageee treo him with disrespect than I _ would father; a , if he can take any comfort here, I shall do all I can to make him happy. : _ Rosert. Oh, you're coming your pieus game. What you ean see to like in that old dried squash, deaf as a post into tho bargain, I don’t see. You can’t play that on me, Paul ; 3, sir. teat Berti Paut. But, Rob, the time may come wher you will be old, and friendless, and homeless, and deaf into the bargain ; and how would you like to called old Squash ? Rosrert. But I will be rich, then; and money will buy friends. What's the use of his going to California and dig- ging for a dozen years, and then coming home here to quarter ae THE DEAF UNCLE. Bs himself upon us, wit that old seedy coat, and not a red to help himself with? He borrowed a postage-stamp of father this morning. Pauu. If he has met with misfortune, that is the greater reason why we, his only living relatives, should befriend him, Rozrert. Well, I’m disappointed. I thought he was com. ing home with a pocketful of rocks, to do the handsome thing by his relations. You may shout your lungs out doing the agreeable to him, if you want to; but I shan’t put myself out to entertain him. If he had half a million now— Pav. Robert Maxwell, ’'m ashamed to own you for a brother. Did our mothe . w-io is now in heaven, and who was uncle Sharper’s only sisver, 79 teach you to bow down to the god of gold, and turn away irom old age and distress? I trust I shall not forget her precepts so soon. Rosert. Oh, save your sermons till you get into the pul- pit, young apostle Paul; for my part, " ~1sh the deaf old ad- der had stayed in California among the ladians. UncLe SHARPER. Tell your uncle all about your dispute, my boys; perhaps the old man can settle it for you. Rosert. (In a high key.) Paul says he thinks it is money thrown away to consult physicians about your hear- ing, now that you are so old; but I think you should try all you can to get help. You may outlive the rest of us now. Uncie SHARPER. ‘True, true, my] lad. Did Paul think I should spend his father’s money ? » Pavt. Oh, Rob, how could you t so? ; ‘Roserr. You needn't set-up f then, ‘and preach Unciz Snarrer. No, Paul, my dear ios I shall not con sult any doctors about my hearing; I don’t think it will ever be any better, and I hope it will never be any worse In fact, I can hear as well as you can ;and I hope that Mas- ter Robert will forgive old sii for using a littin harmless deception, to answer a very wise purpose. - Pavut. Do you mean you can really hear, dear uncle ? Uncie Saarrer. As well as you can, my good nephew You see I’m amold man now, my lads, with no children to brighten up my lonely hours and to spend my money, = I aave eet back a few thousands. Pha 4 eee Sta THE DIME DIALOGUES. Rozert. (Aside) Played out by crackey ! Uncie Saarrer. So I tried tLis little game ta find out if either of my nephews were worthy of my love and confidence. If I had found them both true, ther would have shared alike in my esteem; but, henceforth, my little champion Pauli shaii be as my own son; and if I should happen to possess half a million, he will be my heir; for one with so kind a hear} “ean not be dishonest, ungrateful or untrue; and [ am sure this news does not give him so much pleasure as to lear: thai [ have not the misfortune to be deaf. Pavut. I can not tell how glad I am you can really hear. Unciz SHarPeR. Come, let us find your father, and tell him all about it. (Zxeunt.) Rozert. Sold again, and lost my money! I wonder if there isn’t something, after all, in that old saying about do- ing unto others as you would that they should do to you. (Zziit.) A DISCUSSION, (Jonn and CHARLES, studying.) Joun. (Laying down his book.) Well, Charley, I’ve finished my Latin lesson. CHarius. (Laying his book down.) And ’'m through with my algebra lesson. some debatable quest Joun. Well, let u Society next Wednesday night. ]} Crartes. What is the question ? Joun. “Is Man a free agent?” Cuarues. A very good iat eee ‘What are your views on it? Joux. Ihave no hesitation in pronouncing man a free agent. Of course, whichever side take you take the other. Cuarixs. Certainly, or we could not have a discuesion Joun. Well, why isn’t man a free agent? tis have a little conversation on fires. the subject of debate before the ~ Caaries. You have the affirmative. Let us hear you al Fv > “a * of this dile A DISCUSSION. . 4 Joun. Well, if man is not a free agent he is nothing more than a slave. If God has predestinated him to do just what he does, then he should not be punished or even blamed for huv- ing done wrong. Calvinism, which denies man’s free agency has always been repulsive to me. If God has decreed a cer tain fixed number of men to be saved, and the rest to be lor how will you reconcile that theory with the general beliet that the good will be saved and the wicked lost? I suppose you will say that God, by the exercise of his power, makes or compels the favored ones to be good, and the rejected ones to ba wicked. In that case the wicked are not to be blamed—but only pitied. Cuartes. I am not going into the theological view of the question. I will not enter into the inquiry whether you rep- — resent the Calvinistic theory correctly or not. I propose to examine this subject in a philosophical and not a theological point of view. ; Joun. Oh, you are a greut fellow for moral philosophy metaphysics, transcendentalism, etc. ; you ought to have been — a German student and not an American. But to the point: you say man is not a freea gent. Now, sir, I will puta question to you which-I conceive you will be unable to answer. If ™ man is not a free agent, why are penal laws enacted and ex- ecuted which punish him for violating those laws? If he can’t help doing that which he does, why should he be pun- ished for it? If your theory be ‘correct, punishing him fcr _ doing wrong is unjust. In fact, there can be no such terms “right” a “ wrong.” ‘te 0 ms hear you get out et and enforce pena! laws?” I answer, that man acts a the impulse of motive, - In every thing he does he has a motive for so doing. I taka — the view that { the mind does not act as a unit, but that it pos. gesses many faculties, several af which are in action at the same time. Whether a man will be a kind, gentle, well-h- haved and honest citizen, or whether he will be a rough, coarse, repulsive villain, depends upon the question whether the intellectual and moral faculties predominate over the animal _ propensities -or whether the latter have the controlling powes ne a Sirs, «3 THE DIME DIALOGUES. Joun. If the animal propensities compel him to do wrong, why punish him? Now, come to the point. Caries. I will. When man is tempted to do wrong by the animal part of his nature, and the intellect and moral sen- - timents are endeavoring to hold him back from the commis- sion of the wrong, they are greatly- assisted by his knowledge that he will be punished if he commits the offease. I will il- tustrate. Suppose a man pinched by poverty were to step inte my room when I am absent and see my watch lying on the table The thought occurs to him: “I can take that watch and sell it and I will have money to buy that which will make me comfortable.” He moves toward the table, takes it in his hand; conscience says: “This watch is not yours; let it alone.’ Hunger says: “Take it.” Here is a struggle between hunger and conscience. We will suppose hun- ger the stronger powcr. The man is about to go away with the watch, but, just now, conscience is assisted by a friend. The man suddenly recollects that, if he takes the watch he may be detected and punished. Caution says, “ Beware.” Conscience and the fear of punishment combined restrain him, and he goes his way, leaving the watch in possession of ita owner. Now, sir, have I reconciled my theory with the ob- ject of enactment of criminal law ? - Jonn. Charley, you haveso much sophistry and metaphysics about you I hate to argue with you on any question of this sort. Your argument is ingenious, but I still can’t see that it is just that men should be papPhed. for doing that which they couid not avoid. os Caries. I have to you. that the fear of punishment pperates as a restraining power, or motive. There is anothcr reason why bad men, who prey on their fellows, should be arrested and confined. Society must protect dseif. Men who wish for peace and order must enact laws for their own pro- tection. ‘For this reason we arrest and confine a thief or an incendiary, just as we would put out of the way of mischief, _ & wild beast. Joun. I have been thinking to-day whether I had better ~ go home Friday evening or not. Do you say whichever way I decide the question—* Go or stay ”—that I will be compelled to decide as Ido? THE REHEARSAL. 45 Cuartes. That is just what I say. Joun. Iwill go or stay, just as I please, Cartes. Precisely ; but you will “ please” to go or stay just as the reasons for going or staying predominate. Your will will be inflamed to act the ,one way or the other by the strongest motive power. Joun. (Looking at his watch. Well; I haven’t time ts argue the matter any longer just now, but I can’t and won't believe that I am a slave. CHARLES. If to live in conformity to the laws of the land and to the laws of your nature, constitute you a slave, then so be it; a slave you are. Jou. I will come at you again to-morrow, on this svb- ject. CHARLES. Very well, John, Pll be quite ready for you. (Heeunt. Ourtain falls.) THE REHEARSAL. [This piece is a burlesque on school plays. It needs for adjunct a side scene or curtain behind which some of the players can be heard but not seen. In the stage background must be gathered a crowd of children, all dressed fantastically, as they are supposed to sustain characters in the scene from Macbeth to be performed.» In the foreground must be the visitors, Principal, speakers, etc. If arent timed, this Piece will prove very amusing. | : (Bell rings. Curtain rises and 860 Principat. Now, young indie t hope you'll keep within ~ bounds ; gh you're breaking up, you are not absolutely to break t. As Mademoiselle de la Maigre, our French teacher, has kindly undertaken to be stage manager, I hope you'll attend to her instructions, I give up all authority my- self; you mustn’t consider me as your Principal now. Routan. No, ma'am, we won’t. Princran. Now, girls, I shall merely be one of the spectators ; as you've all had tickets for your friends, I trust youll do your best to please them. “Act well your part, there all the merit lies!’ Eh, the audience are beginning to sasemble. Yes, some of the papas and mammas are coming 4 THE DIME DIALOGUES. already. . (HZnter several visitors.) Your most obedient, mem Very happy to see you, sir. This way, this way!” Otp Man. Sarvant, ma’am, ee where is this » play-house of yours ? Principat, The theater is in the school-room, sir. Oxtp Lapy. In the school-room is it? Well now, do you know, we usel to have our theater in the little back garre ‘vhen we had our plays at home. Pretty little dears, I long to see them; it does put one in mind so of when one was young emvself. { declare I always feel quite a child again when I see them amusing themselves. Orp Man. Ah, you're foolish enough for any thing. Whiere’s the bill of what they are going to do? Ouv Lapy. Here, (evhibiting long strip of manuscript, and beautifully written it is, too—all German text and crow-quill, I declare. Oup Man. Hum—not a morsel like a play-bill—don’t like it at all—ought to be a sheet of print—all red and black— let’s hear what it says. Oxp Lapy. “ Rosemary School-room. Mrs, Flank’s Com- pany of young Ladies will perform the Castle Specter, in which will be introduced several scenes from Macbeth.” De. lightful! I wouldn’t have missed the sight for any money. Op Man. And I wouldn’t have missed the money for all the sights in the world—a parcel of nonsense, costing so - much; three hundred dollars have you turned into Dutch metal already. - Oup Lavy. Ah! you deren when you were a little inne cent yourself. : Oup Man. Never was a little innocent in my life ; always cooked after the main chance. Om Lapy. Pretty littledear! Sce, here’s our Euy hemia’s name in the bills, as large as life. I quite long to see her. Principat, You'll find her in excellent health, mem— pretty love! I often say she’s the best girl I have in the school, so clever and amiable. She’s quite an ir Tcan as pure you. ~ Oxtp Man. All gammon! the very spit of her mother, and Y’m sure she’s no angel ; a plaguey sight more like— : Oxp Lapy. Hush, hush, my dear! they’re going to be THE REHEARSAL. a gin. Would you have the goodness, ma’am, to clap when m, little girl comes on? It does encourage them so like. Frencu TeacHer. Now den, mes petites, are you all read,, to commencez ? Scnotar. Ali ready mademoiselle ? Frenca Tracuer, Den, two or tree of you, ma.foi, must | assist La Cuisiniere de Cook pour lever le rideau, make the curtain go up high. Oup Lapy. Very pretty, very pretty indeed. Let me see, what’s first? Oh, “The Prologue! to be spoken by Miss Chitty, Jr., written by Mr. Hak, writing-master to the academy, expressly for the occasion.” Oup May. Hook—pot*hook, you mean—don’t know what business girls have to learn to write atall. Only teaches them to write love-letters, and all that nonsense. Oup Lapy. Hush, hush, my love! here she is, pretty little dear—bravo! bravo! (Clapping.) LitTLE Gir. “The Poet said avery long time ago, That mankind only wanted little giris below, And in their speeches, that they mightn’t be wrong, They didn’t want that little very long. As our speeches are short, and we’re not very tall, We hope you'll all be pleased, and that’s all.” Oup Lapy. Sweet words! Innocent dove! Now, then, for the play. I long to see our dear little Euphemia come on Frencu Teacner. Vot for you wait, mes enfans—who is de beginning of de play ? _ Scnonar, Earl Osmond, mademoiselle. Frencu Tracer. Who is ; de Earl of de Osmond? | ScHoLar: “Miss Marriot, mademoiselle. Frenco TEAcHER. Vy she no commencez den? ScHouar. She can’t come, on; the two blacks ain’t ready yet, mademoiselle. Frencu Teacuer. Ma foi—who is de two black? Scoonar. Miss Fairfax and Miss White are the twe bsacks, mademoiselle. Oh, she is ready now. Lisprine Gru. “The devil blast thee black, thou cream-faced loon ! Where got thee that goose- ook? oh ! I could drink hot blood And do such bitter business, a3 day would blusb to look on.” + THE DIME DIALOGUES. O.uw Man. Well, I don’t know, but if that’s the language they teach young ladies at boarding-school, I can only say they might learn quite as good at home. Otp Lapy. Pretty dears, don’t you think now they do it Letter here than at Niblo’s Garden or the Bowery ? O_> Man. No, I don’t, and that’s flat. Otr Lapy. Then I pity your taste. Frencu Tracuer. Now for commencez de act seconde ou est la yop ay Jackson dat she no entrez in de Kendrick ? Scnotar. She can’t come on yet, mademoiselle, because she’s got no blood for her wounds. Frencn Teacuer. No blood? Scuotar. No, mademoiselle, they've mislaid the red ink bottle. Frenes Teacuer. Mon Dieu, vot vill she do, pauvre en- fant, without any blood? She must have some rouge. Who shall play de premier villain—de first ruffian ? Scuotar. Miss Mildmay is the first ruffian, mademoiselle she’s coming on now. Frence Teacner. Ah, c'est bon—brayo, bravo, bravo ! FRIGHTENED LITTLE GIRL, ** Approach thou like the rugged Hyrcan bear, The armed rhinoceros or roaring tiger, And my firm nerves shall never tremble.” Op Lapy. Poor little dear, she’s a little frightened, but ble does it very well. Op Man. What the-deuce is that thing they’re shoving ou there? (In backgr und scholars are seen rage in a big eradle.) Outp Lavy. That’s a boat, my love. Op Man. A boat! nonsense, it looks exactly like a cradle, Op Lavy, It 2 a’cradl2, my dear, but then, you see, you must fancy it a boat—they are but children, you know It’s the prison scene. 5 Otp Man. Prison scene? I don’t see any prison at all. Otp Lavy. That high chair is the window that Earl Percy’s to jump out of. OLD Man. How can « chair be a windy ‘you foolish woman ? Es THE REHEARSAL. 47 Oup Lapy. Hark! they’re singing the escape song now. Screamina ScHonar. (Singing very much out of tune.) ** Sleep you or wake you, lady bright, Sing megen-oh! oh megen-Ee! Now is the fittest time for flight, Sing megen-oh! oh megen-He!”’ Oup Lapy. Pretty dears. Now she’s clambering up tha chair. Oh! mercy on me. (Girl tumbles from the chuir in ths dackground.) I declare if she isn’t down ! : - Oup Man. Sarve her right—no business to climb at all. Oup Lapy But it’s a part of the play, my love. Otp Man. Part of the play—breaking thu gurls nose ze Better be left out. What's coming next? Gru. (Prompting. “If I may trust.” Scuotar. + (Behind scenes.) Ym not ready yet. Grin. (Prompting.) ‘Tf I may trust.” ANOTHER ScHoLaR. There, if there isn’t that Miss Liggs prompting Miss Simmonds before she comes on—a nasty s pite- ful thing! Wants to have all the play to herself! Sne’s only mad because instead of giving her the principal cha ac- ter, they've made her prompter. If she’s not seen sxe’s le- termined to be heard. : GirL. (Prompting.) “T£I may trust.” Scuotar. There, she’s at it again. Oh, here Miss Sim- monds is—bravo, bravo, bravo ! WHINING GIRL. ‘“* Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by the sun of York; And all the clouds that lower’d upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.” FRENCH TEACHER. Dat is all wrong, you ro say him » all right quite entirely. You have no de bon accent; you no understand de Shakspeare a little bit ; I shall teach you how te speak de Shakspeare in him proper way. “Now it was winter—and our discontent Is glorious summer—for de sun is at York, And all de clouds are lower dan de house, And my deep bosom, and de ocean is both buried !” Dat is some sense. Eh! mon Dieu! vot is de matter now ? Scnonar. Oh, mademoiselle, the ghost has fainted. Frenco TEACHER. Quel horreur de ghost faint! vot for she make de faint ? : 8 THE pIME DIALOGUFS. Scaotar. Laced too tight, mademoiselle. Frenco Tracuer. Ah, ciel, set de paper on fire and put ft to her nose, make her alive directly, and tell her to come on dis minute. Scnou~ar, She says she can’t, mademoiselle, she’s so ill that she positively must give wp the ghost. Frencon Teacuer. Dieu me'n garde, such spirit as she was in just now. Eh bien! dere is de end to de play den; ao we must cut de end out and let de curtain fall down. Oxtp Man. What! is it all over ?—is there any entertain- ment after it f Oup Lapy. Yes, my love, there’s a little cake and wine. Oup Man. A little wine and cake is there ?—hum ! I don’t care how soon it makes its appearance then, for it strikes me I shall like the entertainment better than the play. Oup Lapy. Ah! y-v're all for your inside, but that’s not my opinion. For there’s more delight in a play at school, Than at Niblo’s Garden or Bowery. (Curtain falls.) THE TRUE WAY. Characters : Mr. Fuint anp Mr. ‘Easy, merchants, Mr. Grimy, book-keeper. Liuy Easy, a young lady. Scune—The counting-room of a wholesale store Mr. Fut and Mr. Easy in conversation. Mr. Furr. TI tell you, Mr. Easy, there are no young men you can trust nowadays. I had a clerk who was my right- hand man. He knew what book-keeping was, I assure you, Just look at these books. There's the strictest kind of double entry for you; and, did you ever see neater penmanship ? Mr. Easy. I declare I should hate to give up such a book- keeper as that. What did you say was the trouble? _ Furr. Got drunk; late nights; found him here i in the morning too much intoxicated to attend to business. I dis charged him on the spot. Sees. THE TRUE WAY. : 8 Easy. Too bad! Too bad! Fuint. So it is too bad, when good book-keepe s are so hard to find. Easy. I was thinking at the young man; too bad to lose a good siluation. Furmt. Too bad, to make a beast of himself. Easy. Was he honest ? 7 Exrmt. He appeared to be. But, there is no reliance to be placed upon a young man who drinks. Intemperance was not so prevalent in my day. Easy. Badrum. Radrum. Why, Flint, a man couldn’t get drunk on the prime liquors you and I used to get down at the old Exchange. I’ve drank more to an evening with you there, than would serve to get two or three fellows drunk nowadays. Ha! ha! you haven't forgotten it, have you? Dort be too hard on the young folks. Fuit. (Uneasily.) We didn’t make fools of ourselves though. (A knock. Enter Gray.) Gray. I have come, as you requested, to settle with you Fut. Certainly. Thirty-five dollars. Here it is. Good lay. Gray. (Hesitatingly.) I suppose it would be useless for naw .d refer to you for a recommendation, Mr. Flint ? Fut, I have nothing to say against your qualifications for keeping books, but, if any one asks why you left me, my conscience would not permit me to withhold the truth. Gray. Then, of course, I must do the best I can. I have tried to be faithful to your interests; I have tried to do the best I could for you. But for one error—well, it is severe— perhaps just. oA a : Easy, Certainly, young man. When a man hires a clerk, he wants him to be steady; honest, and reliable. Ifa young man would prosper he should let liquor alone. Gray. Your remark does | not apply to old men. For the most prosperous often imbibe the most freely. _ Easy. Ha! ha! ha! Flint, that’s a hard hit. Ha! ha! ba! I don’t know but you're right. But, we can’t change things. _ Supposing you sign the pledge? ; advice has come too late. a4 oh | It’s never too late to mend, my boy. Here, 3 THH DIME DIALOGUES Flint, draw up a pledge and let the young man sign it; then take him back. Furmr. With pleasure! Shall I draw up a pledge for you, George? Gray. I said it was too late. Ihave already signed the pledge. : , Furr. Why did you not say so at once? You can go yack to your books. . Gray. No, I thank you. I consider myself discharged, I prefer to try my luck elsewhere. Fuuvr. I shall not recommend you. Indeed, since you propose to reform, I shall be too happy to take you back. Gray. I think you might have given me a chance before this. You have been too hard with me. You know it was my first offense. 5 Easy. Young man,*you better come back. Mr. Flint can’t get along without you. Fut. I tell you I need your services. Gray. You must excuse me; I will try elsewhere. (Turns to go out.) Easy. If you are really in earnest about leaving Flint, why, you may go down to my place and go to work. (Mr. FLint 7s called out.) Gray. Thank you, sir. Nothing would afford me greater pleasure. Easy. And, as long as you keep your pledge— (Linum Easy rushes in, without noticing GRAY.) Littm. Oh, papa! Pye found you. I’ve been down to she store and all around after you, and here you are, and I’ve got something so important to say to you. Let me sit by you &m so tired. Easy. The dickens you have, Miss Fluttcrbudget! But. don’t you see here is— , Loum. No,I don’t see any thing about it. You can’t stop me with any of your nonsense, good old papa Easy; so T must hurry and tell you before that horrid old grim Flint comes hack, for it’s about him. You know his clerk, George Gray, papa? They say he is the best book-keeper in the town, and— . em _Kasy, But, don’t you sec, Flyaway, that-— ’ aod] eee THE TRUE WAY Lim. No, I don’t see any thing, and don’t, you stop me again. Well, Mr. Gray had some friends who were a little fast—but Mr. Gray wasn’t ; he never went into bad company tili they enticed him *o their club-room, and, on purpose to have some sport with him, induced him to drink several kinds of liquor. ‘ Easy. And got drunk as the— Lim, Oh, papa! Made him sick; and Mr. Flint they tay discharged him without asking him any thing about it. Easy. How do you know so much? Lium. Why, don’t you know, his sister Abbie—she told Bess and me all about it, and we went and found him, the most ridiculously disconsolate piece of humanity you ever saw in your life, and he said he had forfeited his self-respect, and the respect of all who knew him, and he would not look at us. Well, you know we girls belong to the Reform Band that try to get all the young men they can to sign the pledge. Easy. And leave the old ones to their destruction ? Lui. No; we are bound to have papa Easy on our books, yet, in spite of himself. So we got George to sign the pledge, and now I want you to give Mr. Gray a place in your store. Now don’t say no, will you, darling papa ? Easy. Did you bribe him to sign the pledge by promising to get him a situation in my store 2 Gray. (Coming forward indignantly.) No, Mr. Easy— Linum. O-h-h! Mr. Gray! Papa! Hew long haye you been here, Mr. Gray ? Easy. Ever since you came in, , you rattle-brained harum- scarum wild Indian. I’ve tried to tell you half a dozen times that: he was here, but you wouldn’t let me. ~ You are too late w:'b your plea; I have just offered Mr. Gray the situation. Litt. Oh, papa! Tam delighted! Gray. Miss Easy, you are very kind. If all young ladies were half as thoughtfu and considerate as you, and would exer’ their influence to lead young men in the right paths, fewer of them would go down to ruin. I can never forget your kindness. I shall try to prove that it has not been mis- placed. Easy. There; no more nonsense! If vor. want to talk soft nonsense, Gray, come up to the house when I am not af bome. J can’t bear it (Ourtain falia, er exe’ THE DIME DIALOGUES. A PRACTICAL LIFE LESSON. i? FOR THREE FEMALES. Heren. Well, Mary,I do think that Charles Gordcn is the most Cisgusting fellow J ever met in society, and the thuught of his entering our circle is shocking. For my part, I will not countenance him, or give him any encouragement to call upen us. I know none other of the respectability intend to receive his calls or invite him to the course of parties for the coming winter. Mary. Why, dear sister? What has occurred that you zhould so estimate his character ? HELEN. What has occurred ? Had you been at the party, last evening, you would not ask. - His old, well-worn coat, and gloveless hands. What a figure for the parlor ! Mary. But you do not condemn him because of lis coa and boots ? ieten. Is not that enough? But, to add to this, he is a ship-carpenter, having, as I understand, served a regular ap- _prenticeship, and has now come to our village for the purpose of pursuing Azs vocation. Now, shall he pass or not ? Mary. I can, as yet, see no reason why he should not be as welcome to our circle as Mr. Stapleton, the young lawyer, whose arrival set the girls of our place all in mcotion—each striving to see who should honor him first with an invitation to a tea company. Herren. As welcome as Mr. Stapleton! Surely you do not bring him on a level with Charles Gordon? Place the son of a rich merchant on a level with a mechanic, wity nothing but what he must gain by the labor of his hands ? Mary, I do indeed, dear sister, estimate his true worth much higher than that of Mr. Stapleton. I have studied both men, and by my own obseryations and inquiries I think I can aow form a correct opinion of their respective worth and their probable success in future life. — Heten. Their probable success? Do you mean to say that there is any doubt of Mr. Stapleton’s success? or that he is to be superseded by Mr. Ship-carpenter? If your good sense prompts you to judge thus, I must say that your decision w aqueer one. Only ‘hink-—a refined young lawyer, highly A PRACTICAL LIFE UESSON, 62 educated, azd probably of noble blood, to be placed on a level with a poor, self-educated mechanic. Is not the very idea it. self enough tc excite ridicule, and to pronounce four study xf people as yerfect folly ? * Many. If I were to judge from appearances, and abide by your notions as to what constitutes a gentleman, I might then Jarenounce Mr. Stapleton a superior of Mr. Gordon. But,sve ‘ng that you have condemned Mr. Gordon as unworthy of no- fice, let me ask you if his being poor and a mechanic are th? oaly reasons for your calling him undeserving of the attention cf any young lady? Hetzmn. My only reasons? Are not these two sufficient to deprive him of the society of the aristocratic and rich? - Mary. Sufficient and conclusive they may seem to you; but carrying out this principle, where would it end? Four years ago would you have submitted to be deprived of the pleasure of the young society in this place? Could you have associated -with the vulgar poor, because the laws of aristo- cracy shut the doors of the rich against the poorer-clad ? Woul¢ you have been willing to be shunned by the respectability, when, although your dress was not of silk, you possessed al! the fine feelings of a lady, possessed a character irreproachable and a heart as sensible to feeling as the most wealthy? An- swer me these questions candidly, and then you are prepared w judge Mr. Gordon.” Hewtex. . Would you place me also on a level with im ? Mary. I certainly would not make any difference if he is a gentleman, possessed of as good sense and as sensible a heart as you had four years ago, when you were as poor as he is aow: when you, with the rest of us, had to work for our support, as he does now. But you have evaded the answe* to my questions, and I again ask you if you would have been willing to have been slighted, four years ago, as you intend slighting Mr. Gordon? + Heten. As to that, I do not think I would. Mary. Then you own that he ought not be debarred from our society ? HeiEen. I think he is not so deserving of attention as Mr. Stapleton. /_ 54 THE DIME DIALOGUES, Many. Let us hear your reasons for so thinking. Heten. My reasons are, because Mr. Stapleton is highly educated, and, as 1 said before, of noble birth, being descended from the old Lord of Hertford, by his mother’s side, and conse- quently may some day lay claim to the title of Lord Hertford. Oh, I wish I could form a marriage with such a person! But he is going to make an afternoon call, and then you van. see how unjust you were in drawing a comparison be- tween him and Charles Gordon. §o, good-by, dear sister, foz it is now two o’clock, and I must put on my new blue satin to receive him, as, by chance, I might excite his admiration ; and —and—what a happy life-I would lead as his lady, and every- body would— Mary. Why, you aie certainly beside yourself, Helen. What are you thinking of ? Before you have had time to form a correct estimation of his character, let it be good or bad—for you know that he is an almost entire stranger, and that his habits are said to be bad—I say, before you can dis- cern his faults, you are plotting for an alliance with him. But I see it is no use to converse longer on this topic, as you are too excited to reason or think as you should. HELEN. Well, think as you may about Mr. Ship-carpenter, as long as I can keep Mr. Stapleton’s company, away with mechanics. So, again, good-by—I to receive Mr. Stapleton, . and you to con over your book, or perchance to receive a call from your friend, if I may so call him. (Eait.) Mary. Foolish—foolish girl What may not come of this infatuation! So. all powerful, even with an -American _ woman, are wealth and titles, that we are slighting honest merit, and accepting, in its stead, tainted hands and polluted ‘lips because tliey are anointed with the graces of wealth. Oh, t is so wicked—so wrong—so disastrous to all goodness and purity ; but who can ‘stem the current? What young woman is strong enough in her purity to refuse the touch of a known bad man’s hand? I know of none! Even our mothers in- vite the man of questionable morals to visit their homes, and to-day, in this village [or city], the men most favored and popular in society are those known to lead highly objection- able lives. (Hnter BrrneEt, looking fluszed and excited.) Whst is it, Bridget ? oe A PRACTICAL LIFE LESSON. 65 Bripget He’s in the parlor. Mary. Who is in the parlor ? Bripeet. It’s Mr. Stapleton he called himself, mam; but sorra a gintleman he is! Mary. What has happened? Briocer. Why, he met me on the street to-day, he did, and said, “ How pretty ye are, my maid; and where do ye live 2?” an’ I just towled him to go abc vt his businéss, an’ when I opened the door jist now, to answer the bell, he jist steps in * an’—an’ he tried to kiss me, he did—the livin’ fool ! Mary. Whom did he ask for? Brmwpeet. He said, “ Say to Miss Helen that Mr. Stapleton is in the parlor.” (Enter HELEN.) Heten. Has he come? Oh, I’m not dressed in my blue satin! Ob, what shall I do? Brooeer. Td sind him away, in a hurry, if it was left to me. He’s no good company for the likes ov ye, Mics Helen. ae Heuten. Did I ever! How dare you! Mary. He insulted Bridget. He attempted to kiss her at the door. 4 HeiLeN. He insulted Bridget / A gentlernan honors whom he attempts to kiss. Bringer. No gentleman takes sich liberties. My word for it,. he’s a blackguard. (Evit.) M-ry. And my word for it, he is no proper associate for you. HELEN. What nonsense! MHere’s a gentleman that the first families are all glad to welcome; and J’ll give him a cordial greeting. (Exit.) Mary. Now, more than ever, I feel ¢ certain thas Mr. Staple- ton is what I have suspected him to be—a man of bad _ princi ples. No person of true honor accosts servant girls on the streets, and a man who outrages all propriety by taking liberties with helpless maids in the house whose guest he is, is a scoun- dre] just as surely as a thief is a thief. (Re-enter BRIDGET.) Brmeer. Plase, Miss Mary, the coachman says as how Gordon saw Mr. Stapleton’s insult to me on the street, to-day 58 THE DIME DIALUGUFS. an’ they had high words about it. Mr. Stajileton he called Mr. Gordon a wood-sawyer, and flirted his cane in his face. Mary. Ah! What then? Brineet, Why, Mr. Gordon he jist stepped-up an’ he twisted Mr. Gordon’s ear, an’ then slapped his face, an’ says, *Ef iver ye crosses my path innywhere, Pll kick ye as I ’ wu'd kick any puppy,” an’—an’-- Mary. Well, what is it? Briparr. An’ the coachman says, please may he pull the gintleman’s nose whin he goes away from the parlor? (A bell rings.) Bless me; there’s another caller! (zit. Mary. I hope it is not Mr. Gordon. It would be very unpleasant to have a collision here, and I’m sure, if he meets Mr. Stapleton that he’ll keep his word, at any cost. (Enter HEiEn, tn haste.) Heten. As [I live, if that great fool of a ship-carpenter is not at the door. He shall not come in the parlor. Mr. Stapleton says he must not. I won’t see him; so, have Bridget show him in here. (A noise outside, and voice, “ Go! you cur and impostor, or Pl help you out.”) What does this mean? (fe-enter Brmpcet.) Tell me what this noise means ? Briweet. It manes, miss, that a thrue gentleman, Mr. Gor- don, has tuk the thrue spalpeen, Mr. Stapleton, be the ear and led him to the door and helped him down the front steps wid his boots—that’s what it manes, mum { Heten. Oh, the insulting wretch—the base-born mudsill —the greasy mechanic! To do such a thing in this house! Tl have him arrested ; PU—T— ; Bripeer. Here’s a card fut yees, miss. (Hands HELEN a card, and exit.) Heiter, What, bis card? Adding insult to injury (Flings tt on the floor.) Oh, Mary, now see what comes of your encouraging the attentions of mechanics. (Mary picks up card und reads something thereon.) This is a lesson to you, which I trust will, in future— Mary. (Reads aloud). ‘ Ladies, I am sorry to inform you that the man calling himself Stapleton, is a professional gam- bler and pickpocket, for whom there is a requisition in the hands of the sheriff, at whose solicitation I followed the scoun- dre! hither end kicked him out of your doora in order tha s A PRACTICAL LIFE LES8OX. |. 87 you might be spared the lisgrace of his urrest under your roof. Pray excuse my seeming rudeness, and permit me to call again, this evening, to explain all about the impostor. “ Yours, Cartes Gordon.” (HELEN and Mary look at one another.) Hetmn. What! That elegantly dressed man a gamlJer and pickpocket? Impossible! Your friend, Mr. Gordon, is 4, traducer He is a low fellow, as such working persons always are. : (Enter BRDGET.) : Browwcet. Miss Helen, where’s yer illegant diamond cluster pin, that I saw on yer neck whin ye wint in the parlor? Hexen. (Clasping hand up to her neck.) It is gone! I must have dropped it on the floor. Briverr. An’ wasn't Mr. Stapleton’s arm near yer neck ? HELEN. How dare you? Mary. She asks for a purpose, I infer. Now, J ask, was his arm or hand near you ? HELEN. (Hesitatingly.) Why, J. sat on the sofa, and he soon came and sat by me, and—and—after awhile he put his arm on the back of the sofa, and his fingers just touched my shoulder—that was all. ‘Bripaet. The coachman is just in, and says yer pin was found in the rogue’s pocket, and that, in his trunk, at his boarding place, there were found ever so many rings, au’ pins . an’ bracelets, an’ one lady’s watch; all of which the illegant gintleman stole from the ladies in town. Heten. Oh, this must be a mistake. So splendid a man can not be a common thief! It is a conspiracy of that vile mechanic to get rid of one he hates. I know it is! { Broeer, Well, Miss Helen, as they've found your own breastpin in his pocket, you'll be called upon soon by the sheriff, to go to the justice’s office to prove your property and jell the circumstances of this afternoon’s call upon you by the thief. ; HELEN. Oh, Heaven help me! Appear in court, and tell a gaping crowd about his-—his—putting his arm—on the back of the—the sofa, and—and— Oh,I shall die of mortifica tion. What shall I do? Bringer. I’ve arranged stan for ye, Miss Helen Jotm ‘ ail 53 THE DIME DIALOGUES. the coachman, has the carriage at the side decr to drive you away, so that the sheriff cannot summon ye. JU go to court and swear thai the pin is yours, for I know it as well as me own. So now, hurry, for ye’ve got to ride mighty fast to get out of the county before the subpeena can catch ye Ye’! jist go to your Uncle Haddam’s, sure, on a visit, an’ there yell be safe. John "ll keep mum as to where ye are. HELEN Oh, Bridget, I thank you! How wise you are! Forgive me for my blindness and folly, and my hard words tu you. ; = Brivcer. An’ it’s that same T’ll do. But, no more talk now. Hurry on yer things, while I pack a few clothes for ye. (Zizit.) HELEN. Oh, sister, how I-have been deceived. Mary. Live and learn. This is but another lesson that all is not gold that glitters, and that the most pretentious per- sons are not the most worthy. _How much nobler is poverty with honor unsullied, than riches with honor stained or ost ! HELEN. How much, indeed! And, how wicked are we foolish women, who are so readily blinded by appearances and vur detestable pride, as to favor meh whose ways are dark and whose words are poisoned ; all because they are received by our best society. Oh, never, never again will I make this miserable mistake. This has been a life-lesson to me. Mary. Would that all women could see as clearly as you do now, and seeing, would have the courage to act! But let us not tarry. The carriage awaits, (Hveunt, and re-enter Briveer with a well-filled carpet-bag.) Brocer. Ah, but these min are desavin’ cr’athers! Oily tongued, purthy.faced, wid illegant eyes and imposin’ mus- taches--it’s no wonder that romantic girls like Miss Helen are clean carried away—no wonder, indade, whin all their mothers are crazy to have their girls catch these illegant chaps fur a beau. But, it’s me own belafe—wid John’s hilp you know— that these dashin’ young men are to be watched, for the young faymales are the birds, an’ these men are the cats to prey on them; sn’ she only is wise, who knows every thing about » very man whose visits she resaves, an’ she is wiser yit, who «ks at the heart an’ soul of her suitor rather than at the * ee A PRACTICAL LIFE LESSON. 58 f.othes he wears or the money he has in his purse; an’ she is wisest of all who, scorning the humbug and pretense of our best society, (best society indade !) will choose the best man, be oe ship-carpenter or lawyer, poet or peasant. That’s my gonest opaynion. (Exit ) THE MONK AND THE SOLDIER. FOR TWO MALES. [Dress -.. costume of a monk in white and soldier in tattered garments.) (Enter SOLDIER and Monx, talking.) Sotprer. Good-morning, sir. Monk. The same to you, my dear sir. SotpieR. I scarcely know you! Monk. Is my person so altered in the space of two years? Sorprer. No; but a strange garb makes you a new man, Monx. And would not you know your wife if she had on anew gown? : Sotprer. No, if the gown were such a one as you wear. Mons. And yet I know you, though you have a strange dress, and a new face; why, you are decked out in such gay colors, the birds don’t exceed you—the hair clipped close, the chin shorn, the upper lip covered with whiskers, like certain animals of the feline race; your face also has undergone a change by the addition cf two or three marks of formidable wounds. Sotprer. This is just the way in which a man should return from the wars. But, tell me, are there*no good physi cians in these parts? " Monk. Why do you ask? SotpreR Because your brain was not set to rights before you entered upon this way of life. Mons. Does this seem a mark of madness ? Sotprer. Yes, truly. What need had you of heing buried before you were dead? You might have lived in the world very well. y Monxx. Do not I live in the world now? THE DIME DIALOGUES. SoLprer. No, Monx. cw so? Sorprmr. You can’t walk when you like, but are as one shus up inacave. Then, again, there is the shorn head, the mon- sirous garb, with no food but fish ; I wonder I don’t see fins sprouting from your sides! Monx. If men may be supposed to acquire the nature of the food they eat, you should be covered with bristles, for yon were always fond of pork. Sonprer. I have no doubt you are heartily tired of your choice ; there are few monks who do not need penance on that account. : Mons. Perhaps so, when men become monks just as the frogs in the fable were about to throw themselves into the well; but, for myself, I entered on this mode of life deliber- ately, first examining myself, duly weighing my reasons for the measure; and at the age of twenty-eight I think I was capable of considering the matter well. As for the narrow- ness of my limits, any place is narrow, compared with the ex: tent of this world; and every place is large enough that pos. sesses the conveniences of life. In these things, more depends on fancy, than perhaps you are aware. Men have been known to live very contentedly in the place of their birth until they were ordered not to remove from it, and then they began tc feel a desire to go away. I am not troubled with this folly. I regard the vicinity of my convent as well as all the world; and I survey every part of my district with as much pleasure as the navigator his newly discovered lands—and with a great deal more safety, let me tell you. ' Sonpmr. The latter part is true, at least. j Monx. You can’t condemn my shorn head, when your own hair is cut short; and the Cleanliness and health which I enjoy from it furnish as good a reason for me, as your con. venience for you. At Venice, you know, most of the noble men shave the whole head. And why make so much to do about my cloak? does it not cover the body, and protect it from the weather? The cclor should not offend, for white ia the emblem of innocency; and at baptisim it is usual for Christians to be clothed in white garments. As for solitude, sea it not the revwrt of the old vrophets? Philosophers, poets, ¢ 3 THE MONK AND "HE SOLDIER, 61 and learned men resort to it as a means of attairing the end 2f their labors. But why call you it solitude ? the.conversation cf a single friend disperses the gloom of loneliness; here I tave the company of several. My relatives visit me occasion- a:ly—oftener, indeed, than I could wish: thus circumstanced, do I seem to live in solitude ? Sonprer. But you are not always permitted to converse with those who visit you? Monk. Nor is it proper that I should; in fact, I find that ' these little interruptions considerably increase the pleasure of intercourse. SoupreR. That I can readily conceive; for I havi experi- enced somewhat like it myself. Monk. And in those intervals when I appear to be most alone, I enjoy a converse more sweet than any thing company - can supply. Sotprzer. What is that? Monk. Here is the New Testament. When reading this I commune with Him, who condescended to join the company of two poor travelers, and caused them to forget the length of the jcurney, while their hearts burned within them at his words. Here I converse with the Prophets and the Apostles and -vith those who have been their followers, in the meekness end patience of Christ. Ican enjoy this company when I please ; how then can I ever complain of solitude? Sotprer. Such conversation might not be so interesting to me. Monk. Why then find fault with that food which you must admit is capable of nourishing and supporting the body ? Fish will do this as well as pheasants and partri¢ges. Sotprer. A fish diet will not enable a body to endure fatigue. x Monk. Plain food, and a less quantity than is generally aupposed, will prove sufficient for this purpose. ‘ Sonprer. But you put your trust in monkish habits, ab- stinence from food, and ceremonious worship, forgetting the chief thing, which is Christian piety. Mons. The conduct of others I may not judge; but for myself I can say, | place no dependence on» these things, brri on Christ alone, earnestly seeking after holincas of heart. € THE DIME DIALOGUES. So~prmr, Why then are you so scrupulous in the obser ance of the.things I have mentioned: Monx. In -order that I may maintain peace with my brethren, and avoid occasions of offense; of which there is sume danger, in the neglect of trivial things; for we are but men, and agreement or contrariety in small matters will con- ciliate or interrupt brotherly love. Neither shorn head, ez white garments commends us to God. How should I appear in the eyes of the world if I affected long hair or a soldier's coat? I have given you the reasons of my conduct; now, iu return, give me an explanation of yours; and surely I may retort the compliment, and say there are no good physiciaus in the country, or you would not have left ycur atuiable wife and charming babes, and, for the sake of a little gold, have forsaken your country to knock your fellow-men un the head, at the risk of being served in the like manne. in return, And, which do you think is worse, for a little lacre to take away the lives of men, professing the same faith with yourself, who never did you any harm, or to consign your own body and soul to eternal destruction ? Souprer. It is certainly lawful to kill one’s own enemy ? Monx. Perhaps so—if he invades your country. It is then well to fight for your wife, your children, friends, and parents, your religious rights and civil liberties, and the pub- lic tranquillity. But, what has this to do with your services .— for hire? If you had been killed in this war, I would not have given a bad nut for your soul. Sotprer. Indeed! Moxx. Then, which do you think the hardest, to obey the vrior, who is a good man, and calls us to prayers, to the read. ng of the Scriptures, and to the singing of praises to God, or to obey a barbarian of a captain, who places ysu in the way cf a cannon-ball, and bids you stand there till you either kill your adversary or are slain yourself ? Sonprer. Your description falls short of the truth. Monk. If I am so unfortunate as to transgress any of the rules of my order, the penalty is a reproof or perhaps some light penance. If you are not obedient to the commands of your superior officers, you will be hanged, or at the best suffer some grievous punishment. THE MONK AND THE 301.DIER. 22: OE Souprer. All this is true. Moyx. Then, your appearance bears witness that you do not return Jaden with riches. Sotprer, Not acopper. Ihave had the handling of much, but it is gone; and one great reason why I turned aside from — the road is, that you might help me on my way. Monx. I wish you had turned aside hither when you went to the wars, as well as on your return. But, how came you so bare ? Sorprer. It requires no great stretch of ingenuity to guess. What I have received for pay, prize-money, plunder, and ‘hievery, has been spent in wine and gambling. Monk. WNobly done, to be sure! And in the meanwhile your wife, for whose sake God commanded you to leave father and mother, is left at home with her poor little orphans, in a destitute condition. And this you call enjoying life, in the midst of innumerable miseries and vices | Sotprer. ‘The sense of these evils has been blunted by the sight of so many who have shared them with me. Monk. Iam much afraid your wife will not know you. Sotprer. How so? Mon. Because these scars have totally altered your face What a furrow you have in your forehead. It seems as if a horn had been extracted from thence. Sotprer. That mark isa cause of rejoicing. It was*a narrow escape from death, through the bursting of a cannon ; the splinter struck me on the forehead, Monx. There is another on the cheek, two or three inches long. : Sotprer. That is from the cut of a swor Monk. In battle, I suppose? 2 Sotprer. It was in a squabble that arose at a gambling table. Monk. Besides this, you are so bent together, as if you were ninety years old, or like a man mowing, or rather like one with his loins out of joint. Sotpimr. Camp scurvy has so contracted the nerves. Monk. And has thereby brought about « pretty metamor- phosis : once you were a horse; now from 8 centaur you ere changed into a reptile. \ GA THE DIME DIALOGUES. Sorpmr. Such is the fortune of war. Monk. Rather say it is the consequence of your madness What a noble prize do you carry home to your wife and children ! the leprosy ; for the disease is nothing less. This is your order of merit, the promotion you have attained to by service in war, and which you are about to communicate te your wife «nd children; with the additional comfortable re- flection that you must carry it about with you so long as you live. Soutprer. Enough, enough, friend, I have a sufficiency of. evils without your reproaches. Monx. I have mentioned but the lesser half of your mis- fortunes ; besides these of the body, which are visible to every one, what a leprosy does your soul labor under, more offensive to God and good angels than your bodily disease to your fellow-men ! SoLprer. Enough of this. Now to the more important concern; what can you give me to help me on my journey ? Mons. I have nothing; but I will see what the prior is inclined to bestow. Sotprer. Where there is any thing to be given, I have hands to receive it. Monx. I have no hands to give or to receive; but, let us proceed to our repast, for this is just the time. (EZzeunt.) 1776—1876. FOR TWO GIRLS. [Try and dress en costume of the period. A full dress of the old Revo tionary period would be an oddity.] (Enter 76, advancing to the front of the stage. 1876 follows at a little distance, when "76, turning and catching sight of her, ex- claims :) 1776. Laws me! What horrible lookin’ creetur’s this ? 1876. Horrible looking, indeed! What a Ddlessing some folks can’t see themselves as others see them. Such a want of style! (looking ’%6 all over); such ignorance of fashion! and { de think our present modes are perfectly a (inepecting 1378—1876 her own dress genet ly). Why, you poor old fossil, what are you doing here ? 1776. Doin’? why, lookin’ round, to be sure; it runs in our blood to want to be lookin’ round. Ever sence an old ancestor of mine took a twenty years’ sleep, ana waked up to find the whole airth turned topsy-turvy, some of us has come back every few years to find how things is goin’ on, Tm Mistress Rip Van Winkle, mum. (Jerking a low courtesy.) 1876. Mrs. Rip Van Winkle! Ah! I didn’t know such a troublesome habit ran in your family. . i776. Didn’t know! Thank fortin there’s somethin’ 1876 don't know. Here [ve been wanderin’ east, west, north and south, lookin’ on and sighin’ over the times runnin’ back’ard so, but never till now have I met man, woman or child that owned up there was anythin’ on this universe they didn’t know. Young woman, I’ve hopes of you! But be you young ? 1876. Young! Don’t you perceiveI am? ‘What do you ask such a question as that for? 1776. ’Cause, between the ésn’ts and the ought-to-be’s I’m all mixed up. I’ve followed gay-lookin’ young creetur’s, with their doll’s bonnets on their top hairs, and a long curl hangin’ over their shoulders, pretty near the same color as their hair, and [ve thought, “ Well, that gal’s mother’s taken a deal of pains to rig her out, sure! only it’s a pity she’s run off with her sister’s gownd on, two or three yards too long ;” when, Jo and behold! she’d turn, and if her face wasn’t forty or fifty, it ought tobe. Laws! in my day, children used to make believe they was growd folks, but growd folks didn’t play they was children. We spun and wove, and kept the wolf from the door, and the Indians too, while our men fought for a free home. We didn’t keep our hair in a box, and put it on arter- noons, and try to pass off for sweet sixteen. So look er here, be you young ? 1876. Dear me! how excruciating to one’s auricular organs to hear such ungrammatical language! Don’t you know it is not proper to say, “de you” ? 1776. Yes, there you go ag’in. Sich talkin’! - Why, half the time I don’t know, what new-fangled tongue pe ple’s got, Somebody says to me, “ When did you arrive?” I didn’t ax waa) 63 THE DIME DIALOGUES. rive at all; I come. Why couldn’t they ask me straight? “How is your marm?!”’ I said. “ Well, she’s convalescing.” “ Conva—what.? dear me! is it ketchin’?” says I. Do yon think, the woman was just a-gittin well, and that child didn’t know how to tell it. “ Where’s your dad?” says I to the ’pot’- eary’s boy. “ He’s engaged in a consultation, ma’am.” Land alive! didn’t I pity tne poor creetur that had to have tha done to him? And after all he just meant his father wa a-talkin’ with another man. : 1876. You seem to be entirely oblivious to the extraordi nary progress of the age. Philology has become a popular avience, and language improves proportionately. 1776. Dear suz! don’t it kinder make your mouth ache to say all that? I don’t calkerlate on understandin’ it, no more ’n I do that thing the lightnin’ travels on. 1876. The telegraph, I presume you refer to. 1776. The tell-a-lie’d be nearer it. Maybe Ill give in you've got some new things; but no airthly powerll ever make me believe a body at one end of a string can hear what’s said at t/other, three miles off. 1876. I don’t think you understand the principle. 1776. No, there can’t be no principle to people who gu on so. Why, when I was a gal, I had my picter painted—took a man three weeks, and used a power of paint; and here to- day some onprincipled feller told me to set down, and he'd do my likeness in five minutes, and never do a livin’ thing himself but walk round the room with a watch in his hand. 1876. Did you comply with his request ? 1776. Comply! I guess I didn’t! I jest sot right down and waited till he’d fixed up a little brass cannon and p’inted it at me, and then I left. I said I’d be shot if I staid. 1876. Excuse me, but we call such expressions as that, * slang.” ' 1776. Slang! I didn’t say “slang,” I said “shot,” and meant it, too. I allers say what I mean. I never put cn no airs. Some of the girls in my. time—you know there’s fools in every age—when they was goin’ out to tea, used to think twas pretty to lisp; so they'd keep sayin’, “ thsoft thsoft thsoap,” to get their tongues right; but I didn’t 1 never scft soaped nobody, to my knowir’. 1776—1876. 67 s 1876. Then you con.in’t have taken much interest in the political partisans of the day, or you’d founds abundant need - of saponaceous literature. 1776. My! that’s poetry, isn’t it? I can’t say I ever took to that, much. I tried once to make a verse, and the first line ended with pilgrim. I tried four weeks to find a rhyme, and couldn’t think of any thing but Uncle Jim, and I didn’t want him in, so I had to give it up. 1876. Women were not so universally bluestockings then as now ? 1776. Well, no; we wore gray, most.y Sundays. 1876. I mean, women did not write, as they do nowa- days. 1776. Well, I dunno; there’sa difference inhands. Mostly they could write their names pretty fair. 1876. Dear me! there’s no such thing as making such an antediluvian petrifaction understand. I mean, women did not compose books and have them published, as they do now. 1776. Laws! I guess they’d been put in the pillory for any thing half so disgraceful. Why, our minister writ a book. "Twas the greatest thing! You couldn’t sense a bit of it; and I guess no woman ’d ’a’ dared say-she was equal to that in them days. 1876. Man’s fancied superiority, I am happy to say, is giv- ing way before woman’s assertion of equal rights. . 1776. Equal rights! Why, I believe in that. I believe & woman has just as much right to be a woman as a man has to be aman. I believe a woman has just as much right to mind her Bible and obey her husband, as he has to mind his and honor her. I don’t see what more you want. 1876. More! Pretty equal rights that would be! But with your old-fashioned notions, you can not be expected to understand the strides of an age that has progress written on its banners, and claims for women just the same privileges it does for men. i776. Oh, that’s what it means, is it? I saw an old flag as 1 came along, with “ Woman’s Rights” and “ Woman’s Votes” on it, but I thought ’twas some new kind of riggin’ they had to sell I didu't s’pose it meant womenkind votin’, sometimes white, ‘ & THE DIME DIALOGUES. 1876. Well, tt did mean just that. Ifa woman hasn’t a4 good a right to vote as a man, I’d like to know the reason. 1776. Should you, dear? I'm sorry I can’t tell you; but- tlus ’ere progress is gittin too much for my nead, altogether. I dunno any reason, ’cept it | take an awful time to git through votin’ when that day comes, 1876. I don’t knw why it should. 1776. Why, you see, things ’l git to that pitch, a womar Al want her say first-—‘twou in’t be havin’ her rights if sic didn’t—-so he'll have to stay home and ’tend the babies, while she goes to the polls. Then he'll jest run into the neighbor's for a minit—that's half a day, you know; and when his turn eomes, he'll get—to argufyin’ on the nashunal debt, and that "take up tothe: half, And there'll be Bridget goin’ ou like #id Ireland, ’cause she’s got to wait till next day for her shance. Why, there’s no calkerlatin’ when they'll get through, chat fashion. 1876. No need worrying about that. Of course there will be some improved method of casting votes devised, when the ladies take hold of it, 1776. Ts’pose so. Some patent fixin’, like enough, runnin’ round pickin’ up votes by steam. It won’t have my breath to take away, though. 1876. No, you belong tc a slow age. How gladI am I didn’t live in 76. 1776. Bless you, dear! { hope you'll enjoy your rights. But what a mercy I wasn’t torn in 18—. (Zreunt.) LORD DUNDREARY’S VISIT. Characters : Lorp DunDREARY. Gorpon Exwoop. Miss Betitz Exwoop, Gerdon’s sister. Miss Linum Asuron, cousin to Belle. Scanr—~Hiwood Grange, a country-house in Devonshire, England, (Enter Bax and Liritre—*morning d-esses.) OA SE? ORES 9 eas LORD DUNDR#ARY’S VISIT. 69 Bre1z. On, Lille, 1’m so gfad you’ve come! [ve beea expecting you for the last three days. Liu. Papa did not return from London until yesterday, end of course I waited for his return; mamma did not like te be left-alone. But where’s Gordon? Bette. He’s dressing, but will be down presently Do you know, Lillie, my brother is getting to be as mysterious as the Grand Turk? He’s been as nervous and restless all the morning as ie could be. And when I asked him what the matter was, te looked confused and stammered out, “Oh no- thing at all!” (Jmitates his manner.) Liu. Why, Belle, you make me quite curious. Ber1e. But Pl find out what it is. I defy any one to keep a secret from me. (GORDON speaks outside.) Gorpon. John, have Dandy harnessed to the dog-cart, and bring it round to the front door. Bette. There he is now. He's going out, too; probably ‘o the station. Oh, I know now! he expects some friend from London, though I can’t understand why that should make him act so strangely. (Enter Gorpon.) Gorpon. Why, Lillie, ’m delighted to see you! (Shakes hands with her, warmly.) Betz. And now, sir, come and look me right in the face and tell me where you are going and what you are going to do. (Gorpon crosses to ©., 80 as to be between the two girls.) Gorpon. Why, sister, I—J— Betiz. Al! (holds xp her finger warningly), prisoner at'the bar, no hesitation; you are upon trial; answer at once. GorDon. - Well, Belle, if I must confoss, Im going to tae station to meet a friend from London. Bei1e. There, Lillie, didn’t Itellyouso? Prisoner at the bar, who is your friend ? Gorpon. Most learned judge, it is the celebrated Lord Dundreary. Bertin. (Jn astonishment. Lord Dundreary ! Luaum. Lord Dundreary! Gempox, Yes; of course you've heardofhim. Dundreary re 4 79 THE DIME DIALOGUES. and I were at Oxford college together. I met him a month ago in London, and made him promise to come down and spend a weck with us. He is a capital fellow, and as I have @ certain mad-cap sister, I thought that perhaps my lord might take a fancy to her, and by making her ‘ my lady,’ relieve mé of a great deal of care. Beiie. Oh, Lillie! did you ever hear such impudence before? Tl have you to know, sir, that I am not going to be put up for insnvction like a horse for sale, and when yuur friend comes Y’ll tell him so. Gorpvon. He'll admire you very much, I’m sure, for he likes lively, high-spirited girls. But, excuse me for the pres- ent; it is nearly time for the train. Tl be back ina few minutes with Lord Dundreary. (Hait.) Luum. Now you know all about it. Beuie. Yes, and I’m sure I don’t like it a bit. I'd like to know what business my brother has to go and talk about te to his gentlemen friends? I feel real angry! My Lord Dundreary comes down here expressly to take a look at me. Lum. Why, Belle, you ought to be proud of the honor. BELLE. Well, ’'m not a bit proud, and I’ve half a mind not to see Lord Dundreary at all. (Pouting.) Lui. Oh, that would be too bad. Just think: he’s come 211 the way from London to see you. Brute. I wish he had stayed in London. I don’t like it et all. I wish I could think of some trick to play him. Linum. A trick? ; Betrx. Yes; just to convince Gordon that the next time he invites one of his friends from London to see me, it will be advisable to ask my permission first. Loum Oh, Belle, what a girl you are! BeLLE. I don’t like being treated as if I was made of dough, aj aadn’t a will of my own. Oh, Lillie, I’ve thought of a plin; will you help me? Ilmim. Yes, of course. Evie. (Looking off) There they are now. Come to my room, and if Lord Dundreary isn’t heartily sick of his visit to Elwood Grange, before the next hour is over, my name isn’t Belle. (Hzownt) Gowpon (outside). Come along, old fellow. = bao LORD DUNDREARY’S VISIT. Ws: (Enter Gorpon and Lord DuNDREARY.) Gorpon. Welcome, my lord, to Elwood Range. DunpREARyY (with a lisp). Yas—of course; delighted at the honab, and all that sort of thing, you know; that’s the fdea. Gorvon. I want to introduce you to my sister, my lord; ene of the prettiest and best girls in all Devonshire, although I say it who should not. Dunpreary. Yas, of course. I always like pretty girls,’ ard all that sort of thing, you know. A pretty girl always reminds me of a sunflower. GoRDON (astonished). A sunflower ? DunprEary. No, no,I don’t mean that. I mean ah— ab—hollyhock ! : Gorvon (still more astonished). A hollyhock ! Dunpreary. No, no,I don’t mean a hollyhock; no, of course not. I mean a thingumy— what-d’ye-call-it ?—grows on the sides of houses, you know ? GorpDon. Grows on the sides of houses ? DuNDREARY. Yas, sometimes it’s white and sometimes wed (red); it’s got what-do-ye-call~em, you know, that stick into you when you take hold of it. Gorpon. Oh, a rose! DunprEAky. Yas, that’s it! that’s the idea—~all that sort of thing, youknow! Yas,a wose. A pretty girl always puta me in mind of a wose. I say, Gordon, old boy, what’s that little house out there on the top of a pole? Is that the cow- huuse ? Gorpon. Cow-house! No; that’s a pigeon-house, DunprearRy. A pigeon-house! What's a pigeon? Gorpon. Why, a little bird. DonprEaRy. Oh, yas, of course—I know; wings, you know— flaps ’em ! (Imitates with hands the flapping of wings.) Yas, of course, that’s the idea! I thought that house couldn’t be a cow-house, because it’s on top of a pole, and how could the cows get into it? that’s the idea. Gorpon. No, the cows are down by the barn. Dunpreary. Yas, of course; I must go and take a look at them; and I say, Gordon, I've always had a great curiosity to see the cow that gives the buttermilk. 3 THE DIME DIALOGUES. Gorpon (laughing). You shall see every thing my lori By the way, here comes a cousin of ours, Miss Lillie Ashton T'll introduce you. Donpreary. I shall be delight-d! It’s a most astonish. ing fact, the more people I get acquainted with, the more people I know. (Enter Linu.) Gornon. Miss Ashton, Lord Dundreary. (Introduces whem They bow.) Dounpreary. Really delighted—I am, ’pon my soul—that’s the idea—all that sort of thing, you know! GorpDon. Where is Belle ? Luu. In the drawing-room. . Gorpon. Excuse me fora moment, my lord. I leave Miss Ashton to do the honors, (Zzit Gorpon.) Dunpreary. Yas, of course. Delightful place, the coun- try is, isn’t it, Miss Ashton? Oh, Miss Ashton, do you like widdles ? (riddles). Linim. Riddles? Dunpreary. Yas, that’s the idea. I know a first-rate widdle. Can you tell me why a dog wags his tail ? Lititz. Why a dog wags his tail? DunpRrEARY. Yas, that’s the idea. Linum. No; I give it up. Dunpreary. The reason why a dog wags his tail, is be- cause the dog is bigger than the tail. If he wasn’t, you know, the tail would wag the dog, you see? That’s the idea. Linus (laughs). I never should have guessed that. Donpreary. Do you like cheese ? Liam. No. DounpDREARY. Does your brother like cheese ? Jauuiz. I hayen’t any brother. Nonpresry. If you had a brother, would he like checse f Littm. I really don’t know. (Laughs.) (Enter BELLE, quickly, small riding-whip in her hand.) BeLiu. Oh, Lillie- -(sees DUNDREARY, pavses)—a stranger | Lit11. Miss Elwood, Lord Dundreary (introduces them). DounpDREAry (bowing). Really delighted. Lim. Excuse me, my lord. (He bows; she speaks avid Batrz.) Oh, Belle, he’s cuch a stupid! . a ran ae — LORD DUNDREARY'S VISIT. 3 (iitum ertis. Brie places two chairs tn center of stage.) Bruix. Pray be seated, my lord. DuNnDREARY. I am really much obliged, but I had rathea stand. BELLE (imperiously). And I "prefer that you should sit down. a DtUNDREARY (siéting down quickly). Yas, of course. ‘Asids} Good gracious, she’s a regular Tartar ! (BELLE takes a seat by his side.) BELLE (very pleasanily and softlj). Do you shoot, my lord ? DonpreaRy. Shoot? Oh yas—of course;. once in a while. The last time I went shooting it was in America. I took the horse cars out of New York, you know, to shoot a buffalo. I came across one of the ferocious beasts, and after I shot it, it turned out to be acow. Most laughable joke, you know (laughs). BELLE (severely). Joke! I don’t see any joke in it! DuNDREARY (very grave and alarmed). No, of course not! Not a bit of ajoke! (Aséde.) Good gracious! I never open my mouth but what I put my foot in it. BELLE (changing her manner—very pleasant again). Do you ride, my lord ? ¢ Dunpkgary. Ride? Oh, yas—of course—once in a while —when the horse will let me, you know. That’s the idea. BELLE. When the horse will let you? DunpDREARY. Yas; the last time I went to ride, the ani- mal rubbed me off against a tree. Betz. It did? Dunpreary. Yas, of course; and then, when I grt on again, it started at a gallcp and then stopped suddenly. BELLE. What did you do? Dunpreary. I got off— over its head, quick ; I never was % astonished in all my life; that’s the idea. Bette. What is your favorite color? DunpreEAky. Well, I really don’t know. Bette. Why, you must have some favorite color? Dunpreary (timidly). 1I—I don’t think I have. Beiiz. How absurd! You must have a favorite color (angrily). . - (frightened), Yas, of course I have. . v4 THE DIME DIALOGUES. Bette. What is it? Dunpreary. I really don’t know. Betie. You do! (Quickly and violently raises whip.) Dunpreary. Yas-—yas; of course I do. (Aside) Good gracious! I’ve made some mistake and got into a private iu tatic asylum, Bew1E. Is it red, blue or—( pauses), Dunprrary. Oh, wed! (red). I doat on wed. BreLiE. You don’t! (violently again). DunprEary. No, of course I don’t! (Aside) I wish I was back in London. BELLE (very pleasantly and softly). I like blue best; you know you do. DuUNDREARY (smiling again, reassured). Yas, of course. I always did like blue best. BELLE. I’m so glad we agree, because when any one if- fers from me it makes me angry (gradually getting violent), and when I get angry ’m mad; aud when I’m mad, I’m a tem- pest—a hurricane. I rage, I storm, I scratch, I bite! DUNDREARY. (Jumps up in alarm and gets behind chair.) Good gracious, don’t bite me! I ’pologize—’pon my soul I do! BELLE (rises). Bite you! (very pleasantly). Why could you think of such a thing, my lord? I’m sure that we shall al- -ways agree, and I hope that you'll stay a long time with us.. Excuse me for the present? (Bows and exits very ceremoni- ously.) Dunpreary. By George, she’s a perfect tiger! that’s the idea; all that sort of thing, you know. (Enter Gordon. DuUNDREARY runs to him.) D'mspreary. My dear boy, I want to go home. Gorpon. Want to go home! Why, my lord, you’vs hardly been ten minutes in the house. Besides, you haven't . seen my sister. . Dounpreary. Oh, yas, I have. Important business calls me back to London, you know ; come some other time—that's the idea. (Aside. I don’t intend that she shall have the chance to bite me! (Aloud.) Adieu, ta, ta, that’s the idea. (Hvit DuNDREARY. Znter BELLE and Linus.) Gorpon. I can’t understand it. Lord Dundreary has gone back to London, Belle. ‘i WITCKES IN THR CREAM. 7 Briiz. Perhaps he didn’t like the lady that you brought hin down expressly to see? Ah, Gordon, you’re avery clever young man, but you’re no match for feminine wits. Lillie and I have already had a hearty laugh at the success of our scheme, and it will be a long time before either of us will for- get Lord Dundreary’s visit. GorpDon. What have you done? BELLE. Oh,never mind. When a brother of mine thinks his sister a commodity to be exhibited to an admiring pur- chaser or guest, he will find that his sister is a Darwinian. Gorvon. A Darwinian ! ' Beiie. Yes: she adopts the philosophy of Natural Selec- tion, and therefore never can select either a fool or a puppy. In fact, she only will select just what she wll. That’s a wo man’s way. Good-morning! We are off for a ride. : (Hxeunt.) Gorpon. A woman’s way! Well, I should think ss much! WhenTI plot again for my own advancement, I’ll- Tl give the fair ones a wide berth. (Hait.) WITCHES IN THE CREAM; on, ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE. Characters : Harry HOonysTone, Full of love and mischief. Hezextsn Rackorzonss, Full of aches. QGrorGE GAYLOVE, Full of frolic, Mrs. CHURNDASHER, Full of spite. CLEMENTINA, Full of love for Harry. Miss Pickspmers, - Full of gossip. » Scxnz—-A country kitchen. Chairs, table, and all the furniture appropriate to the same—the most prominent thing being tha churn, at which Mrs, CHURNDASHER is at work. The person who plays this character must leave off every moment, and ad no time work the dasher very fast. Miss PIcksPrIpERs 8 mak- ing a call. She is a stiff and angular single lady. Mrs. CrurnpasHer. ‘You don’t never mean for to go te gay that Hezekiah Rackofbones keers for my Clementina? 23 THE DIME DIALOGUES. Miss Picksprmers. He do indeed. He’s full of luve for her; his heart has already beat out one waistcoat, and he haa had to order a new one. Mrs. C. He must be awful old. Miss P. Not so very awful. He’s about my age, and every ene knows that I’m a damsel. Mrs. C. Well, don’t go for to swear about it. I guess Ulementina won’t like so old a swine—- Miss P. Swain, you mean. Mrs. C. But remember, he’s full of aches. Miss P. Yes, but think of his acres of land! Mrs. C. He’s much too old. Miss P. Tack the little letter g to Se and it will spell gold quite prettily. Mrs. C. Why on airth don’t this ’ere butter come ? Miss P. D-on’t call Mr. Rackofbones a butter. Mrs. C. I didn’t refereet him. I wish this butter would come. I’ve been a-churning ..ad a-churning all this forenoon, and there ain’t no sign of it coming. Miss P. Take my word tor it, there’s witches in it, and until those are exorcised you imight work all day. Mrs. C. Witches? Miss P. Yes, witches. I knew Sally Scroggins to have *em in her cream, and she had to throw it all away. But, speaking of witches, have you ever heard of Harry Holy- stone ? Mrs. C. No, I haven’t. And what’s more, I don’t want to. He’s off at sea, and I kind of hope he’ll never come back He was all but crazy to marry Clementina. But I expect her to marry in a higher station of life than that. But you kind of worry me about these ’ere witches, and I don’t seem to want to waste so much good cream. Miss P. I'l tell you what to do. There’s an astrologer near here, and maybe he can tell us what to do. Let’s go to him and see what he has to say about it. Mrs. C. (Cualls.) Clementina, come down here and ’tend to the churn. [ve got to go out for a spell. (Hvits with Miss P.) (Enter CLEMENTINA.) Crmm. Oh, dear dear! It’s just one year to-day since Pe Ss: seein WITCHES IN THE CREAM. . rod poor Harry went off to sea, and I don’t believe he'll ever come back. I dream sometimes that I see a great ship in the midst of a foaming sea, and Harry’s hands are reached forth as it imploring me to aid him. Mother says I must never think of him more.. But, I can not forget him. He was good, let people say what they will to the contrary. Poor, poor Harty | (Hides her head in her hands and weeps.) (Harry enters.) Harry. Well, here I am, in the home of my darling Clem: éntina. I wonder if the little dear still carries my imuge next to her heart? What if she should have forgotten me anG given her hand to another? If such should be the case, { shall wish I had found a grave in the briny ocean. But no, no, I will not think so hardly of her. Crem. Oh! Harry, Harry, come back to me. Harry (starting). That voice! ’Tis Clementina ! Cem. (starting). Oh, Harry, Harry! (Both embrace.) Harry. What a joyous meeting this is. But why do I find you weeping ? Crem. I thought you must be dead. [t seems so long since I have seen you or heard of you. 3 Harry. I have had no chance to write. Come, chase away the tears. I have gained some little money, and we can now look forward to a quick wedding. Cusm. But, I can not think that my mother will ever con sent. Harry. I think I can manage a plan wee she will consent, and yet unknowingly. Ciem. How, Harry? Haxry. Simply by working on her credulity, I have got into Miss Pickspiders’ good graces, and have induced her to speak a good word in behalf of Hezekiah Rackofbones for your future husband. Ciem. Oh, Harry! how could you? Harry. I regret to say that your mother acts on the rule of contrary, and if a man is proposed as your future husband she will decidédly object to it. Hezekiah will soon visit you, and you must play the agreeable to him and make him think you are madly and wildly in love with him, Curm. Oh, Harry! How can I? 73 THE DIMM DIALOGUES. Harry I know it will be hard, yet it is a part of my scheme, and it will make us happy in the end. Cuem. And for that I would do almost any thing, Harry. (Knock heard.) Who can that be ? Harry (going to window). It’s old Hezekiah. Ciem. Oh, Harry, fly. Go into this room; there is a ducr leading to the road, and you can pass out unobserved (He kisses her and eviisR.D. She opens c. dD. and ushers in Hz EKIAH.) Crem, Oh, Mr. Hezekiah, pray sit down. I am so glad to see you. Hxz. (aside). She certainly said she was so glad to see me. (Aloud.) And so am I to see you. Almost as glad as when I got rid of the neurology. It’s a dreary world for a man who has the gout and the headache, the earache and the toothache, the limbs-ache and the lumbago, corns on his feet and a crick in his back, to live alone. Ciem. And why not get married, Mr. Hezekiah ? Hez. Who would have an old man like me, with his thousand of aches? By the way, Miss Clementina, were you ever in love ? Crem. I don’t know what kind of love you allude to. How does a person act when in love—such love as you refer to? Hz. Like a fool—no, I mean as if the world was all cold and dark, and you wanted to be put in your grave, with a weeping widow mourning over you. Ciem. Are you sure it is a widow? Hez. Well, it’s either willow or widow. Cuem. I guess it must have been willow, but I’ve felt so, sicen. I sometimes sit by the window and sigh like this: Geigho! And then I feel my heart go bumpity-bump when ~ omebody goes by; something like this: (churns vigorously ead continues doing so for some time.) Hez. And may I be so bold as to ask you who that some- body is ? LEM. I always fee. my heart do so when you are under the window. baz. Ah ! indeed! Crem. (aside), For fear that you will stop. (Aloud) Yea you. < °C eee oo WITCHES IN THE CREAM. Hez. (groaning). Ough! Crem. Was that a sigh of love? Herz. No, it was caused by a pain in my side Cirm. I thought it came from your heart. Herz. No, I had the heart complaint yesterday Crem. And can it be possible that a man of your wealth and standing can look upon a poor girl like me with eyes of love? Hez. It is possible Crem. And you really love me? Herz. On my honor. Crem. Then get down on your knees at my feet and swear it. i Huz. (after mnch stumbling, finally drops on his knees an¥ ev- # ims): I swear that I love you, dearest Clementina. * (Enter Mrs. C. and Miss P.) . Mrs. C. What's this I see ? Miss P. Didn't I tell you so? " Mrs. ©. What does this mean, Mr. Rackofbones ? Hez. It means that I madly love your daughter. Mrs. C. This takes me all of a surprise. Herz. And I have every reason to believe that she lover me quite as madly. Miss P. There, didn’t I tell you so? Mrs. OC. . Clementina, is this true? Crem. Can you doubt the word of my Hezekiah ? Mrs. C. But I thought you were in love with Harry Holy- stone. Crem. I was once. Mrs. C. Well, I’ve allus said no child of mine should marry where she wishes, and it strikes me it would be no more than a motherly duty not to accede to your wishes. Crem. How can you break my heart, mother, by being so cruel? * Miss P. (aside). Here’s a good chance for me. (Albud} My dear Hezekiah—I should say, respected ‘Mr. Rackofbones— as Mrs. Churndasher does not seem inclined to allow you to wed Clementina, can’t you think of some one else who would be glad to have you? Hz. (who has arisen). No; can you? > ey THZ DIME DIALOGUES Miss P. Well, I’ve always thought I should like to have she care of another. Hez But, I don’t wish for a nurse. Miss P. I meant as a wife. Hez. But you are too old. Miss P. And what are you, ’d like to know? An old, withered, dried-up specimen of humanity called man, a bun- ale of aches walking abroad and cheating the undertaker and the grave-maker. But, in cheating them, you only are making the fortunes of the venders of. quack medicines with your’ thousand aches. Hez. Miss Pickspiders, you astonish me. - Miss P. Perhaps if I do, it will cure your rheumatiz. Hxz. Miss Pickspiders, you electrify me. Miss P. You're a canting o.d hypocrite, that’s what you are. Mrs. C. Good people, don’t carry on at this heathenish rate or you'll alarm the neighborhood. Herz. Had I given Miss Pickspiders cause for this abuse, { shouldn’t wonder at her wholesale vituperation. Miss P. Given me cause indeed! Didn’t he look at me and wink, as though he was about asking me to be his ? Herz. 1 vow I never— Ciem. How can you crush my thoughts of ever hoping to be the adored of one who you would wish me to believe loved another? Oh, Miss Pickspiders, and have you ever thought of my Hezekiah with feelings of love? (Knock at aoor. Mrs. C. runs to window and looks out.) Mrs. C. It’s the astrologer come to exorcise the witches fn my cream, {Unter at door Harry, disguised as an astrologer, in a long, flew ing robe, on which are painted cabalistic characters, followed by GEORGE GAYLOVE.) Harry, Is this the abode of her who goeth — nams a¢ Mrs. Churndasher.? Mrs. ©. It is, and I am that lady. Harry. I hear that you are troubled with witches. Mrs. C. Which the same you are right in guessing. Harry. And you desire ue to exorcise them ? Mua C If you can. are 1d, In- nd ng ty ur i | . | | % WITCHES IN THE CREAM 61 Harry. Skould I consent, you must follow strictly my commands. Mrs. C. They shall be obeyed. Harry, First, allow me to place the charm most. potent ia its workings in the churn. (Puls a piece of paper in the shurn, pinning tt on the inside.) Now, from this moment cast your eyes up to the ceiling, and repeat the mystic words: “ Hickery, ee snackery, snum, I really wish my butter’d come; For here [’ll churn until I’m sore— Witches away and come no more.” (Mrs. C. repeats.) Geo. (aside), Now is our time. Miss P.. How romantic. Herz. Did you say rheumatic ? Miss P. No; romantic, you old dolt! Harry. And you will consent to all, Mrs. Churndasifer ? Mrs. C. Yes, to every thing. E®arry. And you will promise not to interrupt our incan- tations ? 5: Mrs. C. I promise. Gro. Then I can proceed. Henry Holystone, do you promise to love; honor and cherish Clementina Churndasher as your wedded wife ? . Harry. I do. Gro. And Clementina Churndasher, do you promise to love, honor, cherish and obey Henry Holystone as your wed- ded husband ? Cuz. I do. : Gxo. Then, as justice of the peace, I here pronounce you man and wife. Harry. The charm’s complete. You may now speak, Mrs. Churndasher. Mrs. ©. (boiling with rage). What's this I see? What's this I hear? What does all’ this mean ? Harry (throwing off astrologer’s costume), It means, my dear madam, that your butter is come. Mrs. C. Married, under my very nose! Gro. But you must acknowledge that it was not without your consent. Mza C. If that Harry Holystone is mean enough to marry 33 THE DIME DIALOGUES. my child in that way, he is mean enough to poison my cream and I wouldn’t a bit wonder if he put arsenic into the churn, Harry. To convince you to the contrary, behold! (Goee to the churn and takes out paper, which he reads :) “ Patience and perseverance conquer all things.” Mus. C. Well, I must confess I have been taken in, but Jl never acknowledge you as my son-in-law. Harry. What? not if I had my pocket lined with rocks ? (Takes out bag of gold and shows it.) Mrs. C. There, I always did say that you'd turn out a brave fellow, Harry. (Hmbraces him.) Geo. (aside). Ah, “ Money makes the mare go.” Harry. Come, come, Mr. Rackofbones and Miss Pick- spiders, don’t lookso glum. Take pattern by Clementina and me, and steer your bark into the haven of matrimony and the port 6f wedded bliss. Hez. What say you, Anastasia ? Miss P. Hezekiah, I am thine. (They embrace.) Gro. Now I believe we have exorcised all the witches. (To audience.) And if we have cheered up an otherwise dull hour, then we have not labored in vain, and to some purpose nave we expelled the Witches in the Cream. (Curtain drops.) ACTING CHARADE—‘“ FRENCHMAN.” Characters : CHARLES, @ young student Mrs. GLENN, is aunt AMELIA, her daughter. Scene .—FRENcH pcene— A parlor ; sofa, table, chairs. Enter AMELIA, in a morn ing costume, with a book in her hand. AMELIA (yawning). Was ever girl’s life more harassed or urain more tormented than mine is by this tiresome study called French? Tl be the victim of mamma’s ambition, I’m sure, and drop off one of these days, and the verdict will be an overtaske’’ head—a lesson te cruel, aspiring mothers Mb ACTING CHARADn, “ FRENCHMAN.” - Mamma thinks I’m afflicted with what she calls an unrefined disgraceful indispositicn to intellectual improvement. And aunt Prue (spiteful old thing!) accuses me of suffering from ® disordered imagination and most unbecoming fancies on the shocking subject of beaux, love, and so on. As if (contemptu- ously) any girl in her senses ever listened to the crvakings of an old maic in the sere and yellow leaf. Oh, dear! (Leam wearily back om the sofa.) Mamma might as well discard all hopes cf making me a French scholar, for it is clear that what ; ever my mind does run on, it is not French. Oh, me! oh, me! (Sighs.) (Enter CHARLES.) Cuas. Dearest cousin, what troubles the fair Amelia? Frowns are foreign to her brow. AMELIA. Oh, cousin Charles, ’tis this dull, tiresome Frenck. which upsets me so. Cus. (taking a seat by her on the sofa). Let’s see the diffi- sulty, coz. (Reads.) Aimer, to love. (Aséde.) A most aus- picious circumstance. (Aloud.) My charming Amelia, call me a dolt if I do not lead you through the mazes of this in- teresting verb, and— ; AMELIA. (joyfully). You are a dear, delightfwl cousin. Cuas. (admiringly). And you the most adorable, beautiful little girl in Charleston. AMELIA (simperingly). Now, Charles, I—I declare you are— Cuas. (kissing her hand). The most infatuated adorer of cousin Amelia’s charms. AMELIA (coquettishly). How very tiresome -and stupid you are to-day, Charles. Cuas. Well, cousin, a truce to nonsense, and I will en deavor to be more agreeable, And let us begin now to un ravel this “inextricable tangle” in your brain. My name is not Charles Grey if I do not prove myself a capital teacher. Trust to your cousin, and your delicate comprehension wil! soon understand the state of my affee— Ahem !—of—of— the case. ( Zhey read together.) Now, cousin, repeat after me, J’aime—I love. AmetiA. (Repeats. Paime—I love. Cuan, (very tenderly). Je t’aime—I love thea 84 THE DIME DIALOGUUS. - ~*~ AmE IA (as of very much astonished). Why, Charles, that’s not right. Cuas. (in astonéiament), What! not right? I assure you it is as true as.#ae sun shines. AMELIA (aectedly). How very foolish and ridiculous. Caas. (varmly). Why, dearest, I really flattered myself that I was giving the most lucid of explanations and agrecable ? lessons. Now, cousin, you must learn by heart, and impresa upon your memory this important fact, viz.: Je vous aime— {love you. One point conceded, we will go on to the next. (They read together aloud until they come to “ nous aimons,’ whea Caantes falls upon his knees and takes AMELIA’S hand.) Say, beloved Amelia, that nous aimons—we love. If I have not been presumptuous and mistaken, those flattering smiles, ten der looks, and tell-tale blushes—do we not Jove indeed ? AmeEita (very much confused). This is—is most improper, most unbecoming. Cus. (vehemenily). I will never rise until your sweet lips have confirmed my hopes by an entrancing yes, or blasted them by a cruel no! Say, Amelia, say ! AMELIA (softly). Yes, Charles. : Cuas. (rising gayly). Truly, cousin? Don’t you agree that I am a capital teacher, and that French is a most agreeable study? Iam delighted and so elated by my success as jn- structor, that I am of the opinion I merit a richer reward than this cold pressure of the hand. (Attempis to kiss her, while she resists.) : (Enter Mrs. GLENN.) Mus. G. (with uplifted hands and eyes). Charles! Amelia! Cras. (starting forward). 'This—this is a—a—most unex- pected pleasure, my dearest aunt Harriett. Mrs. G. (sarcastically). And a most unwelcome intrusion (To Ametra.) Leave the room. (Zo Cmarixs.) Well; cir? (sternly}. E (Hit AMELIA.) Onas. Dear aurt, you—you see I have been assisting Amelia in her French lesson. My aid has been most efficient, I assure you. Mrs. G, (scornfully). And the occupation of the most satis- factory nature, I presume. You will adjourn to the parlor, wa, where I will follow to learn the meaning of this most cut AUTING CBARADE, “ FRENCIMIAN ” 3 rageous, ungentlemanly conduct. (Hatt Cuan xs, bowing low.) Mrs. G. I see very well how matters are tending with those two simpletons. All efforts on my part to make Amelia an accomplished French scholar will be nipped in the bud, if 1 do not resolutely and at once put a veto on that sentimental sepinjay’s advances. Amelia has inherited all her father’s “ebeian ideas about love. Love and marriage, indeed! | Mar- cigge and money has a more comfortable sound now, A merci noy, won’t come into his inheritance for at least two years, and Amelia but fifteen. Ill stop it, Pil stop it! (with deter mination.) French and nothing but French is the order of th: day in this house. (Hat. (Curtain falls.) . Scene IL—Man. Sum2—The same parlor. Mrs. GLENN and Cuar.us sitting at @ little distance apart. Mas. G. (sneeringly). I am prepared to hear what you have ty say, sir. : Cus. (boldly). Ill just tell the truth, dear aunt, and say that I love Amelia. Mus. G. (in great astonishment). Love! Amelia! What next, young sir? Cuas. The fact is, dear madam, Amelia loves me. Mrs. G. (indignanily). You are a presumptuous coxcomh, sir! Both of you are in the incipient stages of insanity, and fit subjects for Bedlam. My daughter was an unsophisticated, vbedient, studious girl until ‘she became contaminated by your teachings, boy. t Cras. You astonish me, dearest aunt. My conduct has been throughout our intercourse most manly, my conversation marked by the utmost discretion and affection of which a man— ; Mrs. G. (impatiently and sarcastically). You a man, or act ssa man] That presupposes the brains of one, sir, and the years of one. You a man! Ha! ha! The boy’s concuil amuses me. 86 THE DIME DIALOGUES. Cras. (aside). What in the fiend’s name does the old hax ridan understand me to be? (Aloud) Mrs. Glenn, I beg leave to say that your language is perfectly incomprehensible. Tt I am not a man at this moment, there will be no period at which I can arrive at that state of dignity. I stand six feet in my boots, an elevation few attain to (dramatically).. A generous, manly soul ; a tender, loving spirit. Mrs. G@. Cease your superfluous raptures, boy. Cuas. Boys love as warmly and vehemently as men do. Jmpatiently.) Ard, my deluded aunt, what film of mist ob- scares your vision, that you persist in the absurd fol— the— the delusive fancy that I am no man ? Mrs. G. (rising). No more of this. My will is as unchange able as the law of the Medes and Persians. Cuas. (earnesily). But, beloved aunt Harriett, you would not surely be so cruel as to blight two loving spirits by the “black frost” of a heartless, brutal separation? Oh, listen to my beseeching, and give Amelia to my arms! Mrs. G. Patience assist me. Hear this eighteen-year-old stripling, with the slight suspicion of down upon his lip, a very Tyro in love, ha! ha! Two love-sick nonentities, with heads full of groves and love, moonlight and starlight. The maudlin sentiments of— i Cnas. Stop, aunt; I will not suffer my heart and its sa- ered affections to be the football of your relentless sarcasm. Mrs. G. Enough, sir. You set not foot within the portals of this house until you are old enough— Cuas. (aside). To come into my property. Mrs. G. -—By years, and a correspondent improvement in ‘mind and manners, to merit the much desired appellation of ‘man. : (Eeit.) Cas. Jupiter and Mars, what an old Jezebel! Tl blow up with indignation, like a balloon. To tell me to my very face that I’m not a man. Why, I've been a man, in my own estimation at least, and that’s something, for the last five years. I believe (Il marry Sally Jones, to spite her. But no, that would be most unmanly, to thus break poor Amelia’s heart. So I will set to work and outwit old Zantippe, and will prove myself a craven if I’m daunted by the raillery of 8 woman. Pshaw! the weaker inferior creature. My pro ACTING CHARADE, “ FRENCHMAN.” a? cious auntie, yeu are pleased to call me a boy, but in -ess than a week [li prove to you that I possess the brains of a man, if not the years of one. (Exit) (Curtain falls.) Scene II.—Frencuman. _Scene—The same parlor. Hnter Monsteur PERSIFLAGE, Mons. P. Je suis sharmed zo ze madame zis matin. Mrs. G. Take a seat, monsieur. I presume that you are the French teacher in answer to my advertisement ? Mons. [. (bowing very low). Monsieur Persiflage at vutre service, ma chére madame. Mrs. G. (aside). There is quite a finish about his style, and such elegance in pronunciation. (Alouwd.) You see, monsieur, it’s my dearest wish to see my daughter an accomplished French scholar, and to that end it is absolutely necessary to place her under the superintendence of a Frenchman. Mons. P. C'est ca,madame. One who is familaire viz ze langue, and vraiment, ze education of ze female exige ze pro- fundity and ze firmness of ze esprit masculine zo guide zem in ze manaire comme il faut. Mrs. G. (delightedly). Monsieur, my own sentiments are completely in accordance with yours. Mons. P. (aside). For the first time in our lives, then (Aloud.) I’m enchanté to hear ze madame say so. Mes, G. We agrce precisely on that point. In order that my daughter may be entirely devoted to her studies, ’'ve de barred her all society until such time as with refined judg — ment and matured vision she may understand life as it is, and not see it with the eyes of fifteen, to whom every thing seems-— Mons. P. Couleur de rose, madame, couleur de rose. Mrs. G. Exactly. Now, monsieur, it is with entire satis faction that I yield my daughter’s education to one like your self, who has arrived-at that dignified age which leaves youth ful follies behind. Mons. P. (sviemnly). As you zay, madame, ze society of m young man is zo very— Ins. G. Ob, very detrimental, indeec THE DIME DIALOGUES Mons. P. Ah, madame. (Sigis.) Ze storms of troubles and ze weight of care have changed zese locks. Mrs. G. (sympathizingly). That’s the experience of us all, poor earth-worms. Teaches experience, my friend, teaches experience. Mors. P Certainement, of course. (Hnter AMELIA.) Mrs. G. Here is my daughter. Amelia, Mons. Persiflaye, a Frenchman of scientific attainments, and an instructor of no, common merit. Ame ta (side). An odious, bewhiskered Frenchman, and as old as the hills, too. Mons. P. (bowing). Tam from Paris, mademoiselle, where I took ze first honneur for ze belles-lettres, and evaire since I have been devoted to ze interest and enseignment of ze de moiselles. AMELIA (aside). Conceited old jackanapes ! ‘Mrs. G. I go to order lunch; in the mean time, Amelia, you can improve your acquaintance with your future in- siructor. (Zzit Mrs. G.) Mons. P. (goes up to AMELIA and takes off his wig and mus cache), Ametia. Charles! Is it possible! How could you be so rash? What will mamma say ? Cuas. My dearest, she will know nothing of it until after iuncheon, for I’m as hungry as a horse, having traveled twenty miles today. After ve partaken of the good cheer, I'll make every thing all right. Trust me, my darling; but here comes madame ! ? (Enter Mrs. G., followed by a servant bearing refreshments ) AMELIA (aside). I know I'll betray myself. Mrs. G. Will monsieur partake of some refreshments glhey all sit around the table.) Mons. P. Madame is one vraie Lady Bountiful, and zis is one wondrous contree, where ze ladies (looking at AMELIA with admiration) is zo beautiful and ze productions zo bountiful (Helps the ladies and himself largely.) Mrs. G. (aside). Monsieur certainly appreciates the latter. Mows. P. As I said, madame, zo teach and direct ze femai‘e mind was my forte, my stag point; ze sujet is vraim--+ aCTING CHARADE, “ FRENCHMAN.” 68 vharming (glancing admiringly at Ametia, who drops her hand: kerchief. Mons. P. drops on one knee to return it, and slyly kisses her hand, which Mrs. G. perceives.) Mars. G. (stéfly). © Will Monsieur Persiflage resume his seat ? Monsieur forgets himself. Mons. P. Madame, I zee you not understand ze manairs Frangaise, si demonstratife, si enthusiastique, is ze muanuaite 4"rangaise, ha! ha! Mars. G. (aside). J must keep my eyes on this demonsira- tive Frenchman, who has transgressed the rules of propriety by kissing Amelia’s hand, and the rules of decency by eating like a gourmand. (Zhe servant, in adjusting something on the table, knocks off Mons. P.’s wig.) Mons. P. (starting wp). Scelerat! Villain! (Aside) Aw dacity befriend me, for the game is up now! ; Mrs. G. (surprised). Charles, what does this mean ? Cas. That I’m Monsieur Persiflage, a Frenchman, teacher ~ to ecusin Amelia, or plain Charles Grey, if you so desire it. Mrs. G. (rising in great anger). Leave the house, sir! this moment, sir! How dare you steal this thief’s milrch upon two virtuous, unprotected women ? Cas. I’m sure, dear aunt, that I took a most legitimate course. You advertise for a Frenchman, I personate him to your entire satisfaction ; for I think we agreed exacily a few moments ago. , : Mrs. G. Leave my presence, sir! Your conduct has been scandalous. You have outraged every principle of decency and honor. I discard you henceforth from my house and heart. From my house, sh, which you have entered like a— a burglar, a vagabond; and from my heart, as I would uproot from my affection any iniquitous scion of my honored name. Cuss. Reflect, dear aunt, on your cruel words, which, at this time of affliction, Jeave a sting of untold bitterness. You are now the only near relative I have left to me in this world, Poor uncle Tom Hilton died last week. a Mrs. G. What! your father’s brother dead? Cas. Alas! it is too true; and, indeed, my trials are not over yet; for, to one of your superior wisdom, you will un- derstand how embarrassing the management of his large estate will be tome. A mere boy. At my tender age! THE DIME DIALOGUES. Mu. &. (latghing). Don’t speak of it, you rogue. Yor Fave eccu'tt-d yourself of the charge of a lack of brain, and roust forg'va cud forget, my dear boy. Cuas. (asa. How tender she is. I always knew she Lad @ substratum o. softness in, the granite of her heart, which I have touched at last. Mns, G. (deligtnta\. My dearest nephew. What a gk si- ous fortune ! Cuas. A cool tre thousand a year, besides my own for, ‘ tune when I’m a men.’ au Hillside farm, too. Mrs. G. Don’t sprak ct %, you amusing scamp. As if J could ever refuse you any ting for long. How you did act the part of a Frenchman! You are a clever fellow, Che.cles. Ha! ha! hat Cuas. (modesily). And you en.' give me the dear Amelia, aunt ? Mrs. G. Most undoubtedly. deat boy, for you have ac- quitted yourself of a want of ability. ‘To be sure you both are rather young, but that is a matter ave/y cot over. Cuas. (kissing her hand joyously). Weaver. bess you, beloved aunt Harriette! You have made two hearts biest, and { be- gin to think that, with a few hints and a litile seneidle advice from yourself, I may really undertake my respen~4i ities, and if I play my part as husband as well as I have dura that of Frenchman, do you think, dear folks, that Amelia need regret the venture ? Ure (Curtain falls.) THE HARDSCRABBLE MEETING. Characters : Esquire Mier, Chairman. Mr. JARvIS, Wuson, Monroz, BLUNDERBUsS, SCHWEITZE* Matooney, Apams, DonkEYPATH, BENTON. JARvIs. I move that Squire Miller be chosen as chairmas of this mecting. Wuson. I cond the motion. Janvia It is mcved and seconded that Squire Miller set. 4 THE HARDSCKABBLE MEETING i) ef chairman of this meeting; you that are in faye: ot the mo tion will say, ay. (All say “ Ay.”) Those who are opposed will say, no. (le response.) Will Squire Millcr please take the chair.as President of this meeting? (MR. M. takes the chair.) *Squire M. Fellow-citizens of the village of Hardscrabble f have not language adequate to the expression of the pro: found emotions which glow within my bosom in receiving this exalted and unexpected honor at your hands. Gentl- men, while I am preud of the honor, it is with many fears” that I enter upon the arduous duties of my high office, con- ~scious as I am of my many imperfections. I can only assure you, gentlemen, that I will discharge my duties to the best of my ability ; trusting that you will forgive my errors; assuring you that whatever they may be, they will be errors of the head and not those of the heart. The object of our meeting + is, to take into consideration means for erecting a building to he used as a school-house, and also as a meeting-house. The meeting is now ready to enter into the business for which it was convoked. (Sits down.) Wison. I move that Mr. Adams act as secretary. Monroe. I second the motion. CHAIRMAN (in a pompous and deliberate tone). Gentlemen, 1t {s moved and seconded that Mr. Adams act, as secretary of this meeting. You that are of that mind will make it mani- fest by saying, ay. (Voices say “ Ay.”) Contrary, no. (Wo response.) Mr. Adams will take his place as secretary. (MR. A. takes secretary's place.) ‘The first question for the meeting _ te decide is, whether the house shall be brick, frame, or log. 7 Jarvis. I move that we build a brick house, as it will be more durable than a frame, and look much better than a log house. : Monroe. I second the motion. BLUNDERBUSS. Gentlemen, I can’t see why we should go to the enormous expense of building a brick house, or even a frame house. We can easily get logs. We live in a heavy- timbered. country. We can go to work in the woods with our axes, haul the logs to the place, and so all jine together and put up the house without much espense. But if we de- tarmine to have a brick house, we will have to send twelve THE DIME DLALOGUES. miles for bries, and brick is very high! I can’t see why a log house won’t do as well as any. Mr. Jarvis talks about looks f Who cares for looks? 1t’s only silly, dainty people that cara about looks. I move to lay Mr. Jarvis’ motion on.the table, T was eddicated in a log house. Jsauvis. I may be “silly” and “ dainty,” but I still ad. here to the belief-that we should have a brick house. When we go to the trouble and expens.: of building, let us put up a house that will be an ornament to the village. SCHWEITZER. I koes in vor a brick house, too. Ven we puilds a house, let us puild a Xoot one. Vot for de use foolen apout it? I puts mine hant in mine pocket, ant pays ming share, unt der odder beples doos schoost de same; unt den der house vil pe put up unt no much atoo apout it. -Matoonzy. Faith and be jabbers, it’s meself goes in for a log house, too. It’s nothin’ but the likes of pride that makes the big-bugs want a brrick house. I live in a log house me silf, and if a log house is good enough for Dennis Malooney, faith its good enough for other paple, and that’s no lie. The Dutchman that had the flure beforre me makes a great drow of bein’ willin’ to pay out money for a brrick house. To say the airs he puts on about his money, a body would think he was goin’ to build the house himself. ScHweEiTzER. Misther Chairman, vill you blease make ter Trishman pehave himself? I shoost said I pease villin’ to pay mine share. I calls ter Irishman to orter. Apawus. Mr. Chairman, I move that we build a frame house. , Jarvis. There is a motion before the meeting now. Apams. What is it? ; Jaxvis. The motion for a brick house. ; _ Buonpersuss. No, sir; the motion before the meeting to lay Mr. Jarvis’ motion on the table. CnamrMAN. Mr. Blunderbuss is right. Gentlemen, are you ready for the question? (Ories of “ Question.”) CuATRMAN: » Those who are in favor of the motion ‘3 lay Mr, Jarvis’ motion on the table wil) make it known by saying, ay. (Several voices say,‘ Ay.”) Those opposed to laying the mo- tion on the table will say, no. (Several voices, “ No.”) The “ ayes” have it Mr. Jarvis’ motion is laid on the table VHE HARDSCRABBLE MEETCAG. $3 Apams I now move that we build a frame hc 1se, twenty by thirty. : Jarvis I second the motion. = CHAIRMAN, Gentlemen, you have heard the motion; has any gentleman any thing to say ? Jarvis. Having failed in convincing the meeting that we eught to build a good brick house, for school and religious parposes, I now go in for the next best thing—a frame house By all means let us have a meeting and school-house that wil be a credit to the place. BuiunperBuss. A log house will look well enough for plain people, and will last longer than a frame. Mawoonty. Be jabers! thim’s me sentiments, inthirrely. Deacon Donxeypats. I rise to inquire whether the Uni- tarians and the Univarselers are to have the use of the house? Matoonzy. If it comes to that, thim paple have as much right to it as the Baptists. CHAIRMAN. Come back to the question, gentlemen. BiuneRBuss. I move to amend by striking out the word frame and inserting log. Mauoongy. I sicond the motion. CHARMAN. Gentlemen, the question is on the amend- ment. D. Donxeypate. Before I vote on the question, I’d like to know whether people are to come in on Sundays and preach unscriptural doctrines, for, if that is to be the case, J am going to vote against building a house at all. Jarvis. If you are opposed to building, I am surprised to sce you here. I thought this was going to be an assemblage of those who are in favor of u new house. D. Donxerpare. TI am in favor of building if the Anti Christ people are kept out. Matooney. Be jabbers, Pll jine ye there. But that'll kape yees Dut, yersilf. D. Donkeypate. Mr. Chairman, I demand that this fellow Le called to order. CHarRMAN. Gentlemen, come back to the question. Jarvie. I move to lay the motion to amend on the rable. Wuson I second the motion e4 TAR DIME DIALOGUES. = D. DongeypaTtz. Mr. Chairman, I want to say a few words. I— : Jarvis. I move the previous question. Winson. I second the motion. D. Donxrypate. Mr. Chairman, I desire to say— Jarvis. I cali the gentleman to order. D. DonkEYPATE. You have no right to call me to order. Jarvis. Yes, I have, when you are out of order. CHAIRMAN.. Gentlemen, you have made se many motions and counter-motions that you have got my head in a sort of muddle. ; JARvis. The motion for the previous question is seconded, and the question before the meeting now is, “ Shall the main question be now put ?” CuatrMan. Thank you, Mr. Jarvis; you are right. Gen tlemen, shall the main question be now put? ‘You that are in favor of putting the main qu~stion will say, ay. (Voices, “ Ay.”) Contrary, no. (One or tw» say,“ No.”) The ayes have it. The main question is now ordered; but, gentlemen, you have mixed things so that I can hardly tell what 2 the main question. Jarvis. The main question is to lay the motion to amend on the table. > CHAIRMAN. Thank you, Mr. Jarvis. You helped to make this muddle, and it is but fair that you help me to see my way through it. Gentlemen, you who are in favor of laying the motion to amend on the table will say, ay. (Voices, “ Ay.”) Contrary, no. (Voices, ““ No.”) The nays have it. The ques- tion is now on the amendment, Shall the original motion be amended by striking out the word “ frame” and inserting the vord “log”? You that are in favor of the amendment will aay, ay. (Voices,“ Ay.”) . Contrary, no. (Votces,“No.”) The ayes have it. The motion now before the meeting is to build a log house for school and church purposes. Benton. I voted in the affirmative on the last motion; I now move a reconsideration. CHAIRMAN. The question is on reconsidering. Those in favor of reconsidering will say, ay. (Voices, “ Ay.”) Those opposed will say, no. (Voices, “No.”) The noes have it The motion to reconsider is lost. Gentlemen, the question THE HARDSCRABBLE MEETING, e fs, shall we build a log school-house and meeting-house? You that are in favor of the motion will say, ay. (Many wices, * Ay.”) Those opposed will say, no. (No response.) The ayes have it. D. Donxeypats. Mr. Chairman, I move that the Univer. galians be kept out. Witson. Mr. Chairman, I am a Universalist, and I claim ss inuch right to a house I help to build as Deacon Donkey- pate. CuatrMAN, Is the motion seconded ? Benron. I second the motion. (Aside) I seconded it te see the fight it will raise. Dy DonxeypatTe. I don’t consider the Universalians, Chris- | tians; aud therefore I don’t go in for lettin’ em have meetin’ in our house. GBLuNDERBUsS. I move to amend by inserting hocus-pocus performers after the word “ Universalists.” D. Donknypate. I accept the amendment. Wuson. Well, as it has come to this, “ Universalists and hocus-pocus performers,” I move to amend by adding “ Hard- shell Baptists and Negro Minstrels.” (Aside.) I hit the dea- con there, right between the eyes. : D. DoNKEYPATE (in great anger). Mr. Chairman, [ don’t come here to be insulted, or to see my church insulted. I trust, Mr. Chairman, that you will not entertain Mr. Wilson’s motion. Wuson. In that case, I trust that yours will not be en- tertained, Let “ what is sauce for the goose be sauce for the gander.” 3 Matoonny. I move that the nagur equality people—the bloody aberlishiners—be kaped out. ScuweiTzeR. I move that the Copperhets pees kept out. CaarrMaN. Gentlemen, you are mixing things again, padly. : Jarvis. Mr. Chairman, you see what a pretty “ fix” or “muddle” we get in whenever we pretend to say who shall have meetings in the house we propose to build, and who shall pot. For my part, am not a Universalist nor a hard-shel{ Baptist. Brt, sir, I take broad ground on this question. I aia in favor of every denomination of Christians and every THE DIME DIALOGUES. party having the use of the house. In 4 house built by the voluntary contributions of all, everybody has a right to come. Therefore I move that the whole subject relating to interdict- ing certain denominations from the use of the house, be laid on the table. (Voice: “I second the motion.”) CHAIRMAN. Gentlemen, you have heard the motion. You who are fo favor of it will say, ay. (Many voices, “ Ay.”) Opposed, no. (Zwo or three say, “ No.”) Jarvis. I move that a committee of three be appointed by the Chair to_raise contributions. (Votce, “ Second.”) CrarRMAN. It is moved that a committee of three be ap- pointed by the Chair to raise contributions to build the house. Those in favor of the motion will say, ay. (Many voices, “‘ Ay.”) Those opposed, no. (One or two say, “ No.”) The motion is carried. The Chair appoints Mr. Jarvis, Mr. Wilson, and Mr. Schweitzer. Jarvis. I move we adjourn. (Voice,“I second the me tion.”) CHarrnman. You who are in favor of the motion will say, ag. (A unanimous “ Aye.” Meeting breaks up, and svewnt) to wm ne ae , Standard Dime Dialogues, . vo 17 INCLUSIVE. 40 TO 30 POPULAR DIALOGUES AND DRAMAS IN EACH BOOK: For School Exhibitions and Parlor Entertainments, BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLIS!\ERS, NEW YORK. Hach volume 100 12mo pages, sent post-paid on receipt of price, ten cents. These volumes have been prepared with especial reference to their availibility for Exhibitions, being adapted to x¢hools and parlors with or without the furnituro of a stuge, and suited to SCHOL- ° ARS AND YOUNG PEOPLE of every age, both male and female. It is fair to asgume that no ether books in the market, at any price, contain so many useful and available dialogues aud dramas of wit, pathos, humor aud sentiment. DIME DIALOGUES, No. 1. Meeting of the Muses. For nine young ladies. )Hobnobbing. For five speakers. Baiting a Live Euglishman. For three boys. |The Secret of Suesess. For three speakers. Tasso’s Coronation. For male and female, Young Ameriea, Three males and two females, Fashion. For two ladies. Josephine’s Destiny. Four females, one male. The Rehearsal, For six boys. The Folly of the Duel, For three male speakers. Which will you Choose? lor two boys. Doginatism. For three male speakers. ‘The Queen of May. For two little girls, The Ignorant Corfounded. For two boys. The Tea-Purty. For four ladies. The Fast Young Man. For two males. Three Scenes in Wedded Life. Male and female,|The Year's Reckoning. 12 females und 1 malo. Mrs. Sniffles’Confession. For male and feinale. |[he Village with One Gentleman, For eight fe- The Mission of the Spirits, Five young ladies. | males and one male, DIME DIALOGUES No. 2. . ‘The Genius of Liberty. 2 males and 1 female, )How to Write Popular? Stories. Two mal Cinderella; or, the Little Glass Slipper, ‘The New and the Old. For two males. Doing Good and Saying Bad, Several charncters.|A Sensation at Last, For two males. The Golden Rule, Two males and two females. |The Greenhorn. For two males. The Gift of the Fairy Queen, Several feinales, |The Three Men of Science, For four males.« Taken in and Done For, For two characters. |The Old Lady’s Will, For four males, The Country Aunt’s Visit to the City. Vor sev-|The Little Philosophers. For two little girla. eral characters. How to Find an Heir. For five males. ‘The Two Romans, For two males, Che Virtues, For six young ladies, Trying the Characters. For three males, A Connubial Eelogue. The Happy Family, For several ‘animals. The Public Meeting. Five males and one female, The Rainbow, For several charasters. The English Traveler. For two males. DIME DIALOGUES No. 3. ‘The May Queen, For an entire school. ‘The Genteel Cook. For two males. Dress Reforin Convention. For ten females, Masterpiece. For two males and two females, Keeping Bad Company. A Farce. For five males|The Two Romans. For two males. Courting under Difficulties. 2 males, 1 fem The Same. Second scene. For two males. National Representatives, A Burlesque. 4 males.|Showing the White Feather. 4 males, 1 females Xseaping the Draft. For numerous males, ‘The Battle Call, A Recitative. For one mal DIME DIALOGUES No. 4. The Frost King. For ten or more persons. The Stubbletown Volunteer. 2 males, 1 female. Starting in Life. Three males and two females, |A Scene from ‘ Paul Pry.’”? For four males. Faith, Hope and Charity. Forthree little girls, |The Charms. For three inales and one female, Darby and Joan. For two males and one female. Bee, Clock and Broom. For three little girls. ‘The May. AFloral Fancy. For six little girls.|The Right Way. A Colloquy. For two boys, ‘The Enchanted Princess. 2 males,several females|What the Ledger Says. For two males. Honor to whom Honor is Due, 7 males, 1 female|The Crimes of Dress. A Colloquy, For two boys. The Gentle Client. For several males, one female|The Reward of Benevolence, For four males, Phrenology. A Discussion. For twenty males, ‘The Letter, For two males DIME DIALOGUES No. 5. ’ The Three Gueases. For school or parlor. Putting on Airs, Colloquy. For two males, Sentiment. A “‘ Three Persons’ ” Farce. The Straight Mark. For soveral boys, Behind the Curtain. For males and fema Two Idexs of Life, A Colloquy. For ten girls, The Eta Pi Society, Five boys and a tea Extract from Marinv Faliero, Examination Day. For several female characters,|Ma-try-Money, An Acting Charade, ‘Trading in “ Traps.” For several males. The Six Virtues, For six young ladies, The School Boys’ Tribunal, For ten boys. The Irishman at Home. For two males, A Loose Tongue. Several males and females, {Fashionable Requirements. For three girls, > How Not to Get an Answer. For two females, |A Bevy of I’s (Eyes). For eight or less little girlas DIME DIALOGUES No. 6. The Way they Kepta Secret. Male and females.|The Two Counselors. For three males, he Poet under Difficulties. For five males, The Voturies of Folly. Fora number of females, William Tell, For a whole school. Aunt Betsy’s Beaux. Four females and twe males. ‘Wo.nan’s Rights. Seven females and two males.|The Libel Suit. .‘or two females and one wale All is notGold that Glitters, Male and females.|Santa Claus. For a number of boys. Tre Genarous Jew. For six males, Christmas Fairies, For several little girls, fropp:nyg. For tree females and one malo, The ‘Three Rings. For two males, # Dime School Series=--Dial.gues. DIME DIALOGUES No, 7. The Two Beggars. For fourteen females. The Karth-Child in Vairy-Land. For girls, Twenty Years Hence. Two feinales, one male, Lhe Way to Windham. For two males. Woman. A Poetic Passage at Words. Two boys. The ’Ologies. A Colloquy. For two male: How to Get Rid of a Bore. For several bo: Boarding-Sctiool, Two males and two females. Plea for the Pledge. For two males. Jue Lils of Dram-Drinking. For three boys. ‘True Pride. A Colioquy. For two females. Jue Two Lecturers, For numerous males. Two Views of Life. Colloquy. For two females, The Rights of Music. For two females. A Hopeless-Cuse. A Query in Verse. ‘I'wo girly The Would-be School-Teacher. For two nales Come to Life too Soon. For three males. Eight O’clock. For two little girls. ‘Lrue Dignity. A Colloquy. For two boys Grief too Expensive. For two males. Hamle: and the Ghost. For two persons. Little Red Riding Hood, For two females. New Application of an Old Rule. Boys and gir Colored Cousins, A Coiloquy. For two males, DIME DIALOGUES No. 8. Jie Fairy School. For a number of girls. due Eurolling Officer. ‘Vhree girls and two boys. The Base-bali Enthusiast. For three boys. The Girl of the Period. For tiree girls. ‘Lhe Fowl Rebellion. Two males and one female Slow but Sure. Several males and two females. Cuudle’s Velocipede, One male and one female. The Figures. For several small children, The Trial of Peter Sloper. For seven boys. Getting a Photograph. Males and females. The Society for General Improvement. For girls A Nobleman in Disguise. Three girls, six boys Great Expectations, For two boys. Playing School. Five females and four males, Clothes for the Heathen, One male, one female A Hard Case. For three boys, Ghosts. For ten females and one male. DIME DIALOGUES No. 9. Advertising for Help. For a number of females, America to England, Greeting, For two boys, ‘The Old and the New, Four females, one male. Choice of Trades, For twelve little boys. The Lap-Dog. _For two females. The Victim. For four females and one male. The Duelist. For two boys, ‘ The True Philosophy. For females and males, A Good Education, For two females. The Law of Human Kindness. For two femalen Spoiled Children, For a mixed School, Brutus and Cassius. Coriolanus and Aufidius. The New Scholar. For a number of girls. The Self-made Man. For three males. The May Queen (No. 2). Fora school. ‘ Mrs. Lackland’s Economy. 4 boys.and 3 girls, Should Women be Given the Ballot! For boy» ‘DIME DIALOGUES No, 10. Mrs. Mark Twain’s Shoe. One male, one female. The Old Flag. For three Boys. School Festival. ‘The Court of Folly. For many girls. — Great Lives. *For six boys and six girls. Scandal. For numerous males and females, The Lightof Love. For two Boys. The Flower Children. For twelve girls. The Deaf Uncle. For three boys. A Discussion. For two boys. The Rehearsal. For a School. : The True Way. For three boys and one girl. A Practical Life Lesson. For three girls, The Menk and the Soldier. For two boys. 1176-1876. For two girls. School Festival. Lord Dundreary’s Visit, 2 males and 2 females. Witches in the Cream. Three girls and three boy Frenchinan, Charade. Numerous characters, DIME DIALOGUES No. 11, Appearances are very Deceitful. The Conundrum Family. For male and female. Curing Betsey. Three males and four females. ack and the Beanstalk. Yor five characters. he Way to Do it and Not to Do it. 3 females. How to Become Healthy, etc. Male and female. The Only True Life. For two girls. oi Colloquies, For two boys. I, Gustavus Vasa and Cristiern. Ii. Tamerlane and Bajazets For six boys. Clas Fashionable Dissipation. For two little girls. A School Charade. For two boys and two girl Jean Ingelow’s “Songs of Seven.” Seven girle A Debate. For four boys. Ragged Dick’s Lesson. For three boys, School Charade, with Tableau. A Very Questionable Story. For two boys. | A Sell. For three males. |The Real Gentleman. For two boys. 1 DIME DIALOGUES No, 12. Yinkee Assurance, For several characters. Boarders Wanted. For several cheracters. When I was Young. For two girls. Lhe Most Precious Heritage. sor two boys. The Double Cure. ‘o males and four females. The Flower-garden Fairies, For five little girls Jemima’s Novel. Three males und two females. Beware of the Widows. For three girls. A Family not-to Pattern After. Ten characterg How to Man-age. An acting charade. The Vacation Escapade. Four boys and teachet, That Naughty Boy. Three females avd a male Mad-cap. An Acting Charnde. 1 is not Gold that Glitters. Acting Proverb. ¢ Transit Gloria Mundi. , Acting Charade. DIME DIALOGUES No, 13. Two O’cloek in the Morning. For three males. An Indignation Meeting. For several females. Before and Behind the Scenes, Several charact’s The Noblest Boy. A number of boys and teacher Blue Beard. A Dress Pieee. For girls and boys. Not so Badas it Seems. For several characters.| A Curbstone Moral. For two males and female. vs, Seusiment. For Parlor and Exhibition, Worth, not Wealth. For four boys and a teachen No stich Word as Fail. For several males. The Sleeping Beauty. For a school. An Innocent [fitrigue. Two males and a female Old Nably, the Fortune-teller. For three girls. Boy-talk, For several little boys. Mother is Dead. For several little girls, A Practical [Justration, For two boys and girl, Ni i AREA A TOE a — i ete ih alea, rirlg, leg ae Dime School Series--Dialognes. , 3 7 §DIME DIALOGUES No, 14, Mrs. Jonas Jones. Three gents and two ladies. The born genius. For four gents, More than one listener. For four gents and lady. Who on airth is he? For three girls. The right not to bea pauper For two boys. Woman nature will out. Fora girls’ school. Benedict and Bachelor. For two boys. The cost of a dress. For five persons, The surprise party. For six little girls. A practical demonstration. For tree boys, Refinement. Acting charade. Several charact’s Conscience the arbiter. For lady and vent. , How to make mothers happy. . Kor two girls. A conclex~~ argument. Jor two boy speakers. Awonf' ~ UWindne’s. For three girls. Rum’s .,,. » (Temperance.) For four gents, The fatai mistake. For two young ladies, Eyes and nose. For one gent and one ladys Retribution. For a number of boys. DIME DIALOGUES No, 15. The Fairies’ Escapade. Numerous characters. A Poet’s Perplexities. For six gentlemen. A Home Cure, - For two ladies and one gent. The Good there is in Each. A number of boys. Gentleman or Monkey. For two boys. The Little Philosopher. For two little girls. Aunt Polly’s Lesson. For four ladies. A Wir d-fall. Acting Charade. For a number. Will it Pay? For two boys. The Heir-at-Law. For numerous males. Don’t Believe Wnat You Hear, For three ladies. A Safety Rule. For three ladies. The Chief’s Resolve. Extract. Fortwo mal Testing her Friends. For several characte The Foreigner’s Troubles. For two ladies. The Cat Without an Owner, Several characters Natural Selection. For three gentlemen. DIME DIALOGUES No. 16. Polly Ann. For four ladies and one gentleman, he Meeting of the Winds. For a school, The Good They Did. Forsix ladies. The Boy Who Wins. For six gentlemen. Good-by Day. A Colloquy. For three girls. The Sick Well Man. For three boys. The Investigating Committee. For nine ladies, A “Corner” in Rogues. For four boys. The Imps of the Trunk Room. ¥or five girls. The Bousters, A Colloquy. For two little girls Kitty’s Fuueral. For several little girls. Stratagem. Charade, For several characters, Testing Her Scholars. For nunierous scholars. The World is What We Make It. Two girls. The Old and the New. For gentleman and lady. DIME DIALOGUES No, 17, LITTLE FOLKS’ SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES, To Be Happy You Must be Good. For two lit tle girls and one boy. Evanescent Glory. For a bery of boys. _ The Little Peacemaker. For two little girls. Vhat riends. For two little girls. Martha Washington Tea Party. For five little! girls in old-time costume. The Evil There is in It. For two young boys. Wise and Foolish Little Girl. For two girls. A Child’s Inquiries. For sinall child and teacher. The Cooking Club. Fortwo girls and others. How to do It. For two boys. “ A Hundred Years to Come. For boy and girl. Don’t Trust Faces. For several small boys. bove the Skies. For two small girls. he Trie Heroism. For three little boys. jive Us Little Boys a Chance ; The Story of the Plum Pudding; Pll Be a Man; A Little Girls Rights Speech ; Johnny’s Opinions of Grand- mothers; The Boasting Hen; He Knows der Rest; A Small Boy’s View of Corns; Robby’s sermon ; Nobody’s Child ; Nutting at Grandpa! Gray’s; Little Boy’s View of How Columbus Discovered America ; Little Girl’s View Lit- tle Boy’s Speech on Time; A Little Boy’s Pocket; The Midnight Murder; Robby Rob’s Second Sermon; How the Baby Came; A Boy’s Observations; The New Slate; A Mo- ther’s Love; The Creownin’ Glory; Baby Lutu; Josh Billingson the Bumble-bee, wren, alligator; Died Yesterday; The Chicken’s Mistake; The Heir Apparent; Deliver Us From Evil; Don’t Want to be Good; Only a Drunken Fellow; The Two Little Robins; Be Slow to Condemn ; ‘A Nonsense Tale; Lit- tle’ Boy’s Declamation; A Child’s Desire; Bogus; The Goblin Cat; Rub-a-dub; Calum- ny; Little Chatterbox; Where are They? A Boy’s View; The Twenty Frogs; Going to School; A Morning Bath; The Girl of Dan- dee; A Fancy; In the Sunlight; The New- laid Egg; The Little Musician; Idle Bens Pottery-man ; Then Now. | TWENTY CENT EDITION OF DRAMAS AND READINGS, 164 PaaEs 12mo,; PRICE TWENTY CENTS. DRAMAS. The hypochondriac. For five characters. The retrieved name. For fifteen characters. A moonlight masquerade. For fourteen ladles. Matches made in attics. For five characters, Dandelions. Tor seven characters. Lottie’s leap year victory. or four characters, The friend in dis tise. For several characterse Stage struck. For four characters. READINGS AND RECITATIONS, Parrhasius and captive, | A rambl How to practice medic’e| Gran Ramon, ) Naming the baby, The Bridge of sighs, Address to the comet, ein the wood, Lecture on niatrimony, |The Last of Little Nell,{Which shall it be? ther’s notions, |Mary’s lamb, The raven, Go feel what T have felt Hamlet and Ophelia, Wm. Brown of Oregon, {Scene in 2 mad-house, Larry O’Leary’s Ghost, |The new babv, Red Riding Hood. BEADLE AND APAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. STANDARD DIME SPEAKERS--50 to 80 Pieces in Each Volume, Young Amerlcs, Birthday of Washington Plea for the Maine law, Not on the battlefield, _ The Italian struggle, Independence, Our country, The equality of man, Character of the Revo’n The fruits of the war, ‘The sewing-machine, ‘True manhood, The mystery of life, The ups and downs, The truly great, DIME NATIONAL SPEAKER, No, )Tecumseh’s speech, Union and its results, Our country’s future, The statesman’s labors, True immortality, Let the childless woep, Onr country’s glory, Union « household, Independence bell, ‘The scholar’s dignity, The cycles of progress, A Christmas chant, Stability of Christianity The true higher law, The one great need, The ship and the bird, DIME AMERICAN SPEAKER, No. 1. Earl; A. Ward’s oration, True nationality, Our natal day, The heated term, Solfering, Philosophy applied, Intelligence the basis of|An old ballad, The war, [liberty,| Penny wise, pound fool- Charge of light brigade,/True cleanliness, — [ish,| After the battle, Sat’d’y night’s enjoy’ts,| The glass railroad, “In a just cause,” Case of Mr. Macbeth, |No peace with oppres- Prof. on phrenology, sion, Annabel Lee, A tale of a mouse, Washington’s name, A thanksgiving sermon, The sailor boy’s syren, |The cost of riches, retiring and ris’g,)J. Jeboom’s oration, A Dutch cure, 'The weather, Ohio, Territorial expansion, loliver Hazard Perry, Martha Hopkins, |Our domain, ‘The bashful man’s story | Systems of belief, The matter-of-fact man, The Indian chief, Rich and poor, The independent farmer, Seeing the eclipse, Mrs, Grammar’s ball, Beauties of the law, How the money comes, Ge-lang! git up, Future of the fashions, The rate of life, Loyalty to liberty, Creowning glory of U.S.|Our country first, last, Three fools, and always, Washington. British influence, Our great inheritance, Defense of Jefferson, fulogy on Henry Clay, | National hatreds, Great lives imperishable The prophecy for the y’s Unfinished problems, Honor to the dead, Immortality of patriots, Webster’s polit’l system A vision in the forum, The press, Woman’s rights, cight of the Governed My ladder, oman ,i Alone, — The rebellion of 1861, Disunion. 2. ‘Murder will out, Strive for the best, Early rising, Deeds of kindness, Gates of sleep, The bugle, A Hoodish gem, Purity of the struggle, Old age, Beautiful and true, The worm of the still, Man and the Infinite, Language of the Eagle, Washington. The Deluge. DIME PATRIOTIC SPEAKER, No. 3. eas to the world, ve of country, Right of self-preserva- Our cause, [tion, A Kentuckian’s appeal, Kentucky steadfast, Timidity is treason, The alarum, April 15th, 1861, The spirit of 61, Ths precious heritage, Klebcyergoss on the war’ Age bluntly considered, Early rising, The wasp and the bee, Comic Grammar, No. 1, I’m not a single man, A. Ward’s advice, Buzfuz on Pickwick, Romeo and Juliet, History of our flag, T. F. Meagher’s address, Christy’s Speech, We owe to the Union, ‘Let me alone, Last speech of Stephen Brigand-ier-General, A. Douglas, The draft, Lincoln’s message, Union Square speeches, Great Bell Roland, The Union, The New Year and the Our country’s call," King Cotton, [Union, The story of an oak tree,| Battle anthem, L-e-g on my leg, |The ends of peace, DIME COMIC SPEAKER, No, 4, A. song of woe, Ward Parod: (The Irish element, Train’s speech, Fop A Texan Eulogium, How to be a fireman, Freedom the watchword Crisis of our nation, Duty of Christian pa triots, Turkey Dan’s oration, A fearless plea, The onus of slavery, A foreigner’s tribute, The little Zouave. Catholic cathedral, The “ Speculators,” Political stump speech, 8 trip to Richm’d,| Comic Grammar, No. 2, Farewell to the bottle, Y: The United States, The mountebank, Puff’s acc’t of himself, |Compound interest, Practical phrenology, |A sermon on the feet, autiful, Old dog Jock, Cabbage, The fishes’ toilet, Disagreeable eople, Brian O’Linn. What isa bachelor like ?' Crockett to oftice-seekers| |Who is my opponent? [. (DIME ELOCUTIONIST,: No, 5, ‘The cork leg, The smack in school, Slick’s definition of wife, Tale of a hat, The debating club, A Dutch sermon, Lecture on locomotion, Mrs.Caudle on umbr’lla SEC. Il. * “Atfeciation,Sloth, Intoxtca , Anger, etc. Happiness, Dogs, Funny folks, EC. I. Prrxotretes or True Enuncrarion. —Faults in enunciation; how to avoid them, Special rules and observances. Tue Art ov Oratory—Sheridan’s List of the Passions- eat Cheerful- ness, Mirth, Raillery, Buffoonery, Joy, Delight, Gravity, Eoquiry. Attention, Modesty, Per-' lexity, Pity, Grief, Melancholy, Despair, ‘ear, Shame, c Boasting Pride, Obstinacy, Authority, Commanding,| Forbidding. acai , Denying, Difference, Agreeing, Exhorting, fi udging, Approving, Ac- quitting, Condemning, Teac! hing, Pardoning, Arguing, Dismissing, Refusing, Granting, De- pendence, Veneration, Hope, Desire, Love, Re- Ce es Wonder, Admiration, Gratitude, uriosity, Persuasion, Tempting, Promising, R * +, . s z SEC, III. Tuk Component Evements oF an Onation.—Rules of Composition as applied to Words and Phrases, viz.: Purity, Propriety, Precision. As applied to Sentences, viz. : Length of Sentence, Clearness, Unity, strength. Figures of Speech; the Exodium, the Narra- tion, the Proposition, the Confirmation, the Refutation, the Peroration. IV. R NTATIVE Ex AnD Vrrss.--Transition; A Plea for Falstaff’s Soliloquy on Honor; the Burial o: Lineoln; the Call and Response; the Bayonet Charge; History of a Life; the Bugle; the Bells; Byron; Maebeth and the Dagger; Hamlet’s eee Old Things; Look Up- ward; King William Rufus; the Eye; an Essa onto Musik; Discoveries of Galileo, etc. SEC. V. Oxgsznvations ov AvTHORITIEG, 1x Pros# the Ox tid SHOP PP hable le y’s n8, lots, stem dy Dime School Series--Speakers. DIME HUMOROUS SPEAKER, No. 6. A sad story, A string of onions, A tragic story, Cats, Courtship, Debt, Devils, Dow, jr.’s lectures, Ego and echo, Fashionable women, Fern thistles, Good-nature, Gottlieb Klebeyergoss. Schlackenlichter’s snake Mosea Biglow’s opinions] DIME STANDARD The world we live in, ‘Woman’s claims, Authors of our liberty, | The real conqueror, The citizen’s heritage, Italy, | The mechanic, Nature & Nature’s God, The modern good, [sun,| Ossian’s address to the Independence bell—1177 John Burns, Gettysburg, | No sect in heaven, _ Miss Prude’s tea-party, | Hon.J.M.Stubbs’ Views |Good-nature & blessing,! America, {Sermon from hard-shell on the situation, Hans Schwackheimer on woman’s suffrage, All for a nomination, Old ocean, [sea, The sea,the sea,the open __ Thestar bangled spauner Stay where you belong, Life’s what you make it, _ Where’s my money, % Seng from conscience, ‘an’s relation to society i The limits to happiness, * + Ja boy’s philosophy, Hoe out your row, Six-year-old’s protest, The suicidal cat, Sy yalediction, ‘opping corn, The editor, The same, in rhyme, The fairy shoemaker, What was learned, ress on, The horse, » The snake in the grass, Tale of the tropics, Bromley’s speech, The same, second extract The fisher’s child, |The idler DIME JUVENILE How the money goes, | Haun-ki-do-ri’s Fourth of July oration, If you mean no, say no, Jo Bows on leap year, Lay of the henpecked, Lot Skinner’s elegy, Matrimony, Nothing to do, Old Caudle’s umbrella, Old Grimes’ son, “Paddle your own ca- noe,”? Parody on “ Araby’s Daughter,” The power ofan idea, | The beneficence of the Suffrage, sea, Dream of the revelers, HowCyrns laid theeable The prettiest hand. Paradoxical, Little Jerrv, the .iller, The neck, Foy thoughts, The ladies’ maz, Life, » The unbeliever, Tail-enders, [Baptist, The value of money, Meteoric disquisition, Be sure you are right, Be of good cheer, Crabbed folks, [shrew, Taming a masculine Farmers, [country, The true greatness of our’ N.England & the Union, The unseen battle-fleld, Plea for the Republic, | Playing ball, ‘Al . ? ? Live for something, Lay of the hen-pecked, The outside dog, Wolf and lamb, Lion in love, , Frogs asking fora king, Sick lion, t Man and.woman, Home, — The Lotus-planter, Little things, A Baby’s soliloquy, Repentance, Ab lea for Eggs, Humbug patriotiam, Shakspearian scholar, A Maiden’s psalm of life A mixture, ‘Plea for akates, Night after Christmas, Short legs, Shrimps on amusements ‘JThe broken household, Country and town mice, | Rain, Poetry run mad, Right names, Scientific lectures, The ager, The cockney, The codfish, Fate of Sergeant Thin, The features’ quarrel, Hamerican voodchuck, | ‘The harp of a thousand} strings, ‘The last of the sarpints,! The march to Moscow, | The mysterious guest, | The pump, | SPEAKER, No, The two lives. The true scholar, Judges not infallible, Fanaticisin, [crime. Instability of suceessful Agriculture, Ireland, [quer, The people always eon- ap ° ee fe ‘russia and Aus! : Wishing, a The Blarney stone, — The student of Bonn, [fallacy, | ** Right of secession.” A Life’s sunset, Human nature, Lawyers, Wrongs of the Indians, ee in behalf of Am, Misories of war, [liberty A Lay Sermon, A dream, Astronomical, ‘The moon, [zens, Duties of American citi- The man, SPEAKER, No. How the raven became} A mother’s work, The same, Who rules, A sheep story, A little correspondent, One good turn deserves My dream, —_[another, ’ Pll never use tobacco, A mosaic, The old bachelor, Prayer to lighy, Little Jim, Angelina’s lament, JolmnyShrimps on boats Mercy, Choice «f hours, Poor Richard’s sayings, ‘The sea-serpent, 'The ress fi The shoemaker, The useful doctor, The waterfall, To the bachelors’ union league, United States Presidents Vagaries of popping the question, What | wouldn’t be, Yankee doodle Aladdin, Ze Moskeesare, 1933, Fe The Bible, The purse ani the sword My country, tm True moral courage, What is war, Butter, My Deborah Lae, The race, The pin and needle, The modern Puritan, Immortality of the soul, Occupation, Heroism and daring, A shot at the decanter, = DIME STUMP SPEAKER, No, 8. Temptations of cities, Broken resolutions, There is no death, Races, A fruitful discourse, A Frenchman’s dinner, Unjust national acqui’n, /The amateur coachman, _|The cold-water man, ~ Permanency of States, Liberty of speech, Jolin Thompson’s dau’r, House-cleaning, .t is not your business. 9. Nothing to do, Honesty best policy, Heaven, Ho for the fields, Fashion on the brain, On Shanghais, A smile, Casabianca, Homeopathic soup, Nose and eyes, alt = [come, A hundred yenrs to The madman and his Little sermons, [razor, Snufiles on electricity, The two cradles, ‘fhe ocean storm, Do thy little, do it well, Little puss, Base-ball, [fever. Who killed Tom Roper, Prescription for spring Dime School Series--Speakers. DIME SPREAD-EAGLE SPEAKER, No. 10. |Speaking for the sheriff) Drum-head sermons, Hans Von Spiegel’s 4th,/Daking a shweat, Schnitzer!’s philosopede Tosh Billings’ advice, |Then and now, “Womaw” rights,’? A hard-shell sermon, [Josh Billings’ lecturing,|Luke Lnile. Ben Buster’s orution, Vhe boots, Che squeezer, ~ Nosh and the devil, A lover’s luck Hifalutin Adolphus, Digestion and Paradise, Distinction’s disadvant- Smith, {ages, Gushalina Bendibus, A stock of notions, Doctor DeBlister’sann’t| The hog, Consignments, 2 Hard lives, ack $ ’ New land tragedy, Dan Bryant’s spaech, The ancient bachelor, |A solorad view, Jacob Whittle’s speech,| Original Maud Muller, | Jerks prognostieates, | Nobody, A word with Snooks, Train of circumstances, |Sut Lovengood, | |Good advice, mule ride, [buzzers, 'The itehing palm, Tl Trovatore, Kissing in the street, ndalous, The Niam Niams, People will talk, Swackhamer’s ball, Who wouldn’t be fire’n, Don’t depend on daddy Music of labor, : Josh Billings on the!The American ensign DIME DEBATER AND CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE No. 11. Summary, {Preliminary organiza- UI.--CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE] . tion, Ordinary meetings aud Permanent Assemblies, tion, The organization, The order of business, Order of business ani Considering reports, pa- Proceedings, | Fox ete., The “Question.” How Of subsidiary motions, it ean be treated, |The due order of eon- The * Question.” How! sidering questions, to be considered, Committees, |Rights to the floor, {Objects of a committee, Rights of a spesker as|Their powers, against the chair, |How narned, Calling yeas and nays, | When not to sit, Interrupting a vote, {Rules of order and pro- Organisation! of Delib-| cedure, erative Bodies, Con-|How to report, ventions, Annual or/The committee of the General Assemblies. ! whole, 7 ¥.— DEBATING SOCIETY. Its orflee and usefulness, Formation of, Constitution of, By-Laws of, Rules of government, Local rules of order, Local rules of debate, Subjects for discussion. Il,—HOW 70 DEBATE. Why there are few good r debaters, Prerequisites to orator- ical suceess, The logic of debate, The rhetoric of debate, Maxims to observe, The preliminary pre- organiza- DIME EXHIBITION SPEAKER, No. The orator of theday, |The critical moment, | |Gravelotte, The heathen Chines, |The east and the west, |All hail! The land we love, Ts there any money in it?| Kmancipation of science Jim Bludso, Are we a nation? Spirit of forgiveness, Be true to yourself, Social science Amnesty and love, Ah Sin’s reply, Influences of liderty, Beauty, : A plea for smiles, The patriot’s choice, Song of iabor, The Stanislaus selenti-|The right of the people,| Manifest destiny, fic society, The crowning glory, | Let it alone! Free Italy, The pumpkin, Diseoneerted eandidate, Italy’s alien ruler, When you’re down, Maud Muller. After The eurse of one man|What England has done}, Hans Breitman, The right of neutrality, | What is true happiness, Tho national flag, The Irish of it. A par- Our true future, ody, mise, e Order of the argument, power, — The treaty of pence (i814), On keeping at it, |The dread secret, The treasures of the Civil service reform, deep, The true gentleman, Keep cool, The tragic pa. The preeious freight, A sketch, POPULAR ORATOR, Fanny Butterfly’s ball, Tropies uneongenial to greatness, Live for something, Civil and religious liber- ty, Beeond review of the! grand army, Dishonesty of polities, he great commoner, Character and achieve- ment, “T ean’t,” |SABBATH ScHOoL PregES ‘ | A ery for life, The sword the true ar-|The Sabbath, biter, |Gnarled. tives, Aristocraey, A good life, Baron Grimalkin’s death|To whom shall we give Obed Snipkins, | thanks? ‘ A eatastrophe, Cheerfulness, Never mind, Mountains, The Bibl Rorolution, DIME SCHOOL SPEAKER, No, 13. | Miscellaneous, | Treatment of petitions, | The deeorum of debate, Hinte to a chairman. 1V.—DEBATES. Dabate in full: Which isthe greatest benefit to his country —the warrior, states- man, or poet? Debates in brief: I, Is the reading of works of ficiion to be condeined ? II, Are lawyers a bene- fit or a curse to ‘so- ciety ? V.—QUOTATIONS AND PHRASES. Latin. 12, What wesee in the sky, A lecture, What I wish, Good manners, A ballad ot Lake Erie, i ey The Caueasian race, A review of situation, Little Breeches, | Hans Donderbeck’swede ding, A vietim of toothache, Story of the twins, A eold in the nose, My uncle Adolphus The midnight train, The better view, Do thy little—do it well, Jesus forever, The heart, he world, Beautiful thoughts, A picture of life, Be true to yourself young man. Time is passing, The gospel of autumn, Speak not harshly, Courage, e, The last Iay of the Christianity our bul- Minstrel, wark, ‘The unlueky lovers, (The want of the hour, « T+ might have been,” Don’sstrike a man when down, The eternal hymn, [Live for good, The silent city. 1776. 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