Se

ie

DIALOGUES, NO. 11.

DRIES UN ae OER TR
| BEADI.E AND COMPANY. 98 WILLIAM ST.

Am, Sews Co,, 119 & 121 Nassau st., N, Y,

 

 

 
New Books for the Season!
DIME BOOK OF GAMES!

For Parties and Home Amusement, containing One Hundred Different Games
for Winter Evenings.
CONTENTS:

Touching an Article, Proverbs, Shouting Proverbs, Blindman’s Buff, Shadow Buff,
The Blindman’s Cane, Fox and Geese, Conversation Cards, The Shoemaker, The
Silent Orchestra, Harth, Air or Water. Hieroglyphics, Blowing the Feather, The
Trades, Confidential Answers, The Clairvoyant, Going to Jerusalem, Making up a
Cargo, Holding the Handkerchief, Post-office, Passing the Scissors, What and
Why, I’ve been Shopping, How, When and Where, What Did He Give You, The
Birdeatcher, The Bouquet, One old Ox, The Birds, Stage-coach, Imitation, Birds
Fly, The Hatchet, Buff, Pairs, The Grand Mufti, The Hidden Word, Acted Verbs,
What is My Thought Like, The Wild Beast Show, The Christmas Bag, The Board
of Trade, What’s the Price of Wheat, Uncle Zeb’s Dinner, Going on a Journey, —
Acting Rhymes, The Whistle, Animal, Vegetable or Mineral, A Simple Trick, The
Woodman, Orange and Lemon, A Literary Game, Puss in the Corner, The Revolvy-
ing Tea-table, Hats On, Presenting Gifts, Consequences, Aunt Sue’s Toilet, Green,

ellow and Pink, Noted Personages, Ship from China, Magic Numbers, The Bird

erchant, The Christmas ee Whisking the Handkerchief, Hot and Cold,
The Crow in the Farmer’s Field, Magic Numbers, ‘Che Apprentice, Forfeits, Co-
nundrums, etc., etc.

DIME DIALOGUES NUMBER ELEVEN!

A new collection of original Colloquies, Minor Dramas, Comediettes, Farces and
Dress Pieces for Schools, Exhibitions and Parlor use. Prepared expressly for the
Dime School and Home Series.

CONTENTS:

ae are very Deceitful. For six boys. By Dr. Louis Logan,
me

= Conundrum Family. For three males and three females. By ‘The Triant

oy.

laeinw Betsey. For three males and four females. By Frank S. Finn,

Jack and the Beanstalk. A dress piece and fairy tale drama. For five characters,
By S. Annie Frost.

The Way to Do It and Not to Do It, For three females. By Mrs. Mark Eas

How to Become Healthy, Wealthy and wise. For one male and one female. By
Wm. B. Fowle.

The Only True Life. For two girls. By Prof. J. T. Severance.

Classic Colloquies. Eor two boys. I. Gustavus Vasa and Cristiern. By Brooks,
IL. Tamerlane and Bajazet. By Rowe.

Fashionable Dissipation. For two little girls. By Mrs 8. G. Conant.

A School Charade, For two boys and two girls. By Miss S. Annie Frost

Jean Ingelow’s “ Songs of Seven.’? Arranged as a dress piece and recitaifve, for
seven girls,

A Debate. For four boys. ,

Ragged Dick’s Lesson. For three boys. “Sy Prof. E. S. Noyes.

School Charade with Tableau. By Mrs. Ji B.C. Slade, (From School Festival.)

A Very Questionable Story. Fortwo bo3». By‘ Bryant.”

A Sell. For three males.

The Real Gentleman For two boys,

MOLLIE DARLING SONGSTER,

(BEADLE’S DIME SONG BOOK SERIES, NO. 380.)

containing the latest comic and popular copyright songs of the popular anthors,
Will 8. Hays, W. H. Lingard, George Cooper, Sep Winner, Rollin Maward, Henry
C, Work, Sol, Smith Russell, Geo, Root, Frank Howard, etc.. etc., as sung by The
San Francisco Minstrels, L. P, Walker, W. F. Wellman, Jr., Frank Wilder, Simms
and Slocum’s Minstrels, Chapman Sisters, Annie Hindle, ete., etc.

For sale by all Newsdealers and Booksellers; or will be sent singly or in pack-
ages by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price—Tzn Cents each,

BEADLE AND COMPANY, Publishers, 98 Wm. St., N. Y.

 
THE DIME

DIATIOGULES .NOw TE

A NEW COLLECTION OF

ORIGINAL COLLOQUIES,

r :
MINOR DRAMAS,
4

COMEDIETTES, FARCES,

AND DRESS PIECES,

SCHOOLS, EXHIBITIONS, AND PARLOR USE.

PREPARED EXPRESSLY FOR THE
DIME SCHOOL AND HOME SEHERIES.

NEW YORK:

BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.

 
Entered according to Act of Congresa, in the year 1871, by
BEADLE AND COMPANY,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington,

(D. 11.)

 
 

  

CONTENTS.

 

PAGE.
APPEARANCES ARE VERY DECEITFUL. For six boys. By Dr.
Logis Legrand. \ rien en aes! Pea e ee
Tue ConunpRUM FAMILY. For three males and three fe-
males. By “The Truant Boy.” - - - - - > - bb
Cunine Betsry. For three males and tour females. By
messi SS, Pints 2 =f aA A OR I a wD
JACK AND THE BEANSTALK. A dress piece and fairy tale
drama. For five characters. By S. Annie Frost. - - - B
THE Way To Do Ir AnD Nor To Do It. For three females.
By Mrs. Mark Peabody. - - -  - - - - - - 8
How to BECOME HEALTHY, WEALTHY AND WISE. For one
mule and one female. By Wm. B. Fowle. - - -~ = 4f
THE ONLY TRUE Lire. For two girls. By Prof. J. T. Sever-
GERC. es ee a hee kw ee ae
CLAsstc CoLLoqurgs. For two boys.
L Gustavus Vasa and Cristiern. By Brooke. - - - - 47
Il. Tamerlane and Bajazet. By Rowe. ae fre Paha Fee
FASHIONABLE DISSIPATION. For two little girls. Py Mrs. 8.
GC Conette. 6 le pe i aby. ln tee a Bea - 53
A ScHooL CHARADE. For two boys and two girls. By Miss
Piingenoen eee = 8 Sak gL ON at Ty WERE, 55
JHAN INGELOW’s “Sones of SEVEN.” Arranged as a dress
piece and recitative, for seven girls. - - St SS ei ne: 64
A DEBATE, Forfour boys. - - - - - - - - - 73
RAGGED Dick’s Lesson. Kor three boys. By Prof, E. S. Noyes. 81
ScHOOL CHARADE WITH ‘TABLEAU. By Mrs. M. B. C. Slade.
Attnora School Pestival yee | a a BS RE - 84
A VERY QUESTIONABLE Story. For two boys. By “Bryant.” 86
ASELL. For three males. SF Get Lea ent t= - - 90
THE REAL GENTLEMAN. Fortwoboys. - - - = - - 92

  
 
conioatcs.

i Da gs Bl ms es Od BNA Od

DIALOGUES. NO."i1.

 

APPEARANCES ARE VERY DECEITFUL.
FOR SIX PERSONS (ALL MALWS, OR SIX MALES AND ONE FEMALE.)
(Enter boy, OSCAR, ragged and forlorn.)

Oscar. Well, here I am, dead-broke, gone up, collapsed.
Not enough in my pocket to buy a peanut and Jess in’ my
stomach. If the State Capitol was offered for twenty-five
cents I couldn’t make a first payment of interest in advance.
What shall I do? Steal? Not a’ steal! That isn’t my
style. This great wide world has enough in it for all, only
the few have got it and the many have nothing to speak of,
but big families and mortgages. But, the way to get from
the few some of their surfeit is not to filch it. Shall I work ?
Thavs just what I’'want—what every honest boy wants; but,
here in this great town, alone, wiihout friends, who'll give me
work? Nary a one! I’ve tried that on for two weeks and
everybody says no, and pretty sharply, too. But, oh, dear !
(Makes a grimace.) Ym hungry enough to eat soap-fat. I
shall have to beg, but it does go against the grain. Tl ask
the folks as they pass, and maybe some one will give me
enough to get out of this crowded hole. Won't I go back to
to the old farm again! (Hnter pompous Oud Gun'r.) TP try
it on this old codger.’ Say, old Beeswax, can’t you give a
boy work, money, nuts, clothes, et cetera, to be continued,
and so forth? (Hxtends his hand.)

OLD Gent. You young vagabond! How dare you! Pil
beeswax you. (Shakes his cane furiously at OSCAR.)

Oscar. Oh, that’s your style, is it? You're one of the
eock-a-doodle-doo’s ure you? Got plenty of the spondulicks,
I dare say, and, as a consequence, haven't yot as much
charity in your heart as there is milk in a brickbat.

 
   

10 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Otp Gent. You ragamuffin—you mudsill—Vl, P—

Oscar. There, dou't ruffle your shirt-bosom for nothing!
Ihavew’t so much scare in me as you would buy for a cent.
Nota scare! I’m a boy from the backwoods, d’ye see, and
out there we generally speak just what we mean. . We don't
cali a hogs a steed, nor a buggy a cliaise, and we does call all
such pompous old cocks as you Beeswax. But, I say; I’m
as hungry as an old. threshing-machine, and. I wants you to
give me a liff toward home—so again I suggest that, out of
your tens of thousands, you give me about one dollar and
fifty cents, less five per cent. for cash in advance.

Outp Gent. Didlever! Theimpudence! That it should
come to this!) That a gentleman of my yeurs, of my respect-
ability, of my family, of my—

Oscar. Oh, bah! I smell shoemaker's wax at the other
end of your family line and codfish on this end. You can
go! I guess I don’t want to vote for you for constable.
Travel! (Waves him away.)

Oup Gent. T—I'll have you arrested, you young—

Oscar. Scat, I say! (Makes towurd him menacingly and
Ovp Gent hurries off te stage.) So, that’s number one.
Didn’t make any thing there. Am just as hungry as. ever.
(Enter gayly-dressed Ouw Lapy.)* Oh, I say, Aunt Sally, can’t
you help a feller a little? A clean. shirt, a pair of socks, a
square meal—-I need ’em all as much as the heathen do tu
whom you give so much,

Oxp Lavy. Go away, gamin! (Sails off the stage.)

Oscar. “ Go.away, gamin?? If that isn’t cool then ’m a
Digger Indian. I’d give ten ceuts to kuow what church se
belongs to.. The Hardshells! Well, she'll have to fling dust
in old Peter's eyes before she gets in the golden gate. (Hn-
ter a For, cane in. hand, and mineing air.) Oh, my grandmo-
ther! Here is a swell! I say, Bandbox, can you talk ?

For. Tawk? Certainly! (Hlevating his eyeglasses and sur-
weying Oscar.) Demme, bnt.you're a pooty lookin’ fellah !

Oscar. That's just. what all the girls at home say. Give
us something original.

For. Ah! Isce! ,You’re a gweenhawn—verdant, you
Bee.

* This, of course, can be a boy dressed in woman's clothes, if no lady ts
attainable,

   

emmy
APPEARANCES ARE VERY DECEITFUL. 11

Oscar. Well, bu’st’ me if this isn’t rich! I say, what
does ‘verdant mean ?

For. Why, gween, to be shuah! That's it, you see; you
re a gweenhawn.

Oscar. Does your mother know you're out? -

For. Ov course she does !

Oscar. And you're a man?

For, Ov course I am! Bless me, wot did you take me
faw ?

Oscar. A cross between a kangaroo anda ribbed-nose ba-
boon. That's what's the matter.

For. Demme! Is that personal? (Shakes his cane.)

Oscar. Ob, you think the monkeys won't like it! Well,
I wouldn't blame ’em. But, Mr. Milliverouski—

For. Oh, no; my name’s not Millaw: it’s Percy Howard
De Rochfoucauld.

Oscar. Ha! hal ha! (Zaughs.) Percy Howard De
Catch-a-cold. Have you any cents about you ?

For. Sense? Demme, d’ye take me fora fool?  Jast say
it again ard ['ll show ye no quawtaw,

Oscar. Then I won’t say it again, for it’s a quarter I want,
Haven't had any thing to eat since last Christmas; am six
thousand miles away from home; mother is sittin’ up in bed
with the measles; dad, he’s got the hypernomis dislocated,
and Sis, she’s in convulsions. Is it in your tender heart and
superb person t» see me go to fits before your eyes ?

For. Demme, this is awful—howid! ‘There, don’t come
any nearaw. I—Tll give ye a dollah to keep away—yas, a
dollah.

Oscar. You're a Peter Patriarchibus! Give us your
anand! (Advances.)

For. Oh, Lawd! Don’t, don’'t/ Just think ov the mea-
sles, and the convulsions, and the other thing, you know! If
Vd catch them ail, ye see, ’d be spoiled, ruined—oh, Lawd,
yas! There, Vl Jay the dollah under this stone, and when
I'm gone you can pick it up. (Places a bill under a stone, und
retires backward from the stage.)

Oscar. A dollar? Whoop! I'm in Juck now. (Goes
to stone and takes wp bill.) A dolar? Ifthe idiot hasn’t left
& ten-dollar bill instead of one! Ten dollars! Blest if I

 
  

   

12 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

ain’t rich enough to buy the court-house! (Hnter Boorsiack,
crying “ Black yer butes!”) Black my boots? Of course you
shall, you dirty specimen of .a _rag-shop.. (Puts out his foot.)
There’s your timber ; go to work.

Boorsiuack. Yer don’t call them, butes, does yer ?

Oscar. Of course I do! What are they, if they ain’t
boots ?

Boorsiack. | Why, they're coal-scuttles, or two old valises,
J don't know which; an’ I doesn’t believe you’ve got any ten
cents for to pay for a shine.

Oscar. You don’t, hey? (Shows dill.).. What. do you
think of that?

Boorsiack. ( Whistles.) Just guy me yer butes. They’re
bully butes! Shine’em up like a nigger’s nose. (Proceeds
to black the boots.) Whar be ye from, cumrade ?

Oscar. From Spiketown, Indiana,

Bootsiack. What d’ye say ?

Oscar. From Spiketown, Indiana ;

BooTsBuack. — (Springs to his feet... Strikes a. theatrical atti-
tude.)

Do my ears hear aright ?
Do my eyes see ?

Oh, stars from thy far hight
Look down on me!

Oscar. (Interrupting.) What ye doing, looney? Go on
with the fiddle, and get my boots done, for I want to travel
for Spiketown.

BoorTBLack, Spiketown! Itismy own!

Name ever dear !

Sweet stars that on it shone
Again appear,

And light my weary feet
In their slow tread,

Back to thy sweet retreat
That deems me dead !

Oscar. Macready, Booth, Forrest all in one! »And all for

fen cents! Dog cheap. Give us more, rag-bag.
BoorBLack, And see ye stars of night,
That tear-dimmed eye,
Which watched me from its sight
With dear goed-by,

 
 

   

APPEARANCES ARE VERY DECEITFUL.

Again its sad watch keeps,
As if some one
From far-off treacherous deeps
Were coming home!
(Boo-hoo!  Ories.)

Oscar. I say, blackey, what are you driving at? Are
you crazy or tight?

Boorsiack. Neither, Mister Oc. White.

Oscar. Oc. White? Why, that’s my true name! How
came you to know it?

Boorsiack. And has yer brother Jack become so rummy
that yer don’t know him ?

Oscar. Bless my soul! Jack! Is it you? Jacky—dear
Jacky.

Bootsiack. As sure as a shoe. How ar’ ye, Oc.?  (He-
tends his hand.) How’s the old ’uns ?

Oscar. (Clasping his hand.) Ob, Jack! you most broke
mother’s heart running away, and I could stand it no longer,
so I run away, too, to see where you had gone to.

Boorsiack. And fetched up in this caravan, hey? Well,
it’s a hard hole, that this child is mighty sick of, and I'll go
snucks wi’ ye on that ere ten-dollar bill to git for home.

Oscar. Allright! We'll travel at once.

; (Enter POLICEMAN.)

Pontceman. No you don’t, my lark. Ive got an eye ou
yer. Whar d’ye git that ten-dollar bill, eh? "(Seizes Oscar
by the coat collar.)

Bootsiack. None o’ yer biz, old blue-shirt! Yer jist
comin’ the sly on us, but ye kin just skedaddle or I'll report
on ye. No halves in that bill, my cove. It’s honest In-
jun.

(Réenter OLD GENT.)

Op Gaunt. Ha! You've got the young villain, have you,
Mr. Policeman? Hope you'll send him up for three months,
He deserves six, the dirty little rapscallion.

Poniceman. ‘There, d’ye hear that, ye little thicf o’ the
pave? (Shakes him.)

Oscar. Oh, old Beeswax, git out! You smell! Your
daddy was a cowherder and you are a shoemaker. So peg
out or Pll wax your head for you.

Boorsnack. © An’ yer mavimy war a half-breed from the

 
  

   

14 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Tongo Islands, fer I sees it in yer eye, and sniffs it in the
breeze.

Ou Gent. Liars! Vl wreak satisfaction out of your
low-born bodies. (Rushes at Oscar with his cane upraised.
Boorsuack, seizing his box and blacking-brush, rushes in, and, in
the general scuffle, all fall to the floor together. Just then in
rushes For.)

For. Where is he? My ten dollars! I say, there.
Just hear me. IJ—I— made a mistake, yousee—I—  (Boot-
BLACK, crawling out, springs to his feet and shoves For down upon
the PoLIcEMAN and-OLD GENT, wile Oscar gels up.)

Boorsiack. Now, Oc., for it! Scat/ This way! (Both
start to run but strike against Otp Lany, who is just réentering,
with a big bundle in her hand. They knock her down and van-
ish, as she screams. All the others spring to their feet and they
look fiercely at one another. The Poticeman and the OLD GENT
both have got their faces well blackened in the scuffle.) *

O_p Lapy.  (Silling up on the floor.) Murder! Fire!
Robbers! Assassins! (Sereams again.)

PoricemAN. You old dolt, what did you strike me for?
(Shakes his fist at OLD GENT.) Old gal, ye jist dry up wi’
that screeching, or Pll take yer!

For. Why, demme, these are all niggahs! Where’s the
boy?

PourceMan. (Mercely.) What do yer want o’ the boy?

For. Oh, nawthing! I gave him ten dollahs, d’ye see,
and—and—I— (Oup Lapy sereams again.) Well, demme, T
guess ]"ll get the change some other time. (Dodges off the
stage.)

Oud Grn. Why, policeman, you are black as a negro.

PoxicEMAN. That’s a lie. I’m whiter’n you are!

Oxup Gent. (Pompously.) Vl not bandy words with a
rufian. (Zurns and bows to Op Lavy.) Madam, permit me
to assist you!

Oup Lavy. (Springing to her feet.) Certainly. 1 wanted
that wretch of a gamin to carry my bundle, but you will do
as well. 1’ll pay you a quarter to take—

Ox_p Gent. What do you take me for?

Oxp Lapy. For a nigger, to be sure !

* The blacking must be done with burnt cork, by the parties upon the
floor, or by powdered charcoal ina bag. Either will wash off readily.

 
 

  

THE CONUNDRUM FAMILY.

Op Gent. Ob, dear, has it come to this? First to be
insulted by the street vagabonds, and now to be called a nig-
ger by that old woman !

Outp Lapy. Old woman? How dare you? Me—Mrs.
Henri La Smith, of Grosvenor Place! How dare you?
(Rushes at him with the burdle upraised, and both disappear.)

Poiiceman: What a sct of fools we all are, to be sure!
Just let human nature, like a cat, out of its bag, and it will
make even so sensible and sober an audience as this smile at
its weaknesses and follies. (Exit.

THE CONUNDRUM FAMILY.
FOR s{X PERSONS, MALE AND FEMALE.
Characters.

GRANDMOTHER Joy, Mr. Anprew Joy, Mrs. Manta Joy,
GrEorGE, Susan AND HARRY.

Screnu.—A parlor, GRANDMOTHER Joy én easy-chair, knitting.
Mrs. Joy sewing. Mr. Joy with newspaper. GroraE and
Susan with books, Harry stands by his grandmother, empty-
ing her work-bag. He takes out a small box, which drops upon
the floor.

GRANDMOTHER. There, Harry, that’s enough.

Mrs. Joy. Snug’! I should think it was. You naughty
boy! always disobeying grandmother. What do you expect
to come to?

(HARRY sneezes.)
Mr. Joy. He's penitent ; he’s come to his knees already.
(HARRY sneezes again.)

Mns. Joy. I hear he has; ond if he don’t let that box
alone, he'll sneeze all his hair off some day. What’ll he say
then ?

Mr. Joy. Say ’twas a hair’s-breadih escape, of course.
(Harry sils down by his grandmother.)
GRaNpMorHER. Poor little dear ?

 

 

 

     
   

16 THE, DIME DIALOGUES,

Guoree. They’re making game of you, Harry.

Mr. Joy.. Now you’ve struck a trail, why are these Paris
balloonists like George’s hounds ?

Susan. Because they are good on a scent.

GxoreR. I wouldn’t give a cent for such an ascent as
that ; it’s only gassing.

Mxs. Joy. But why is Paris like a mollusk ?

Mr. Joy. Because there is no bony part.in it.

Guorce. Then why is King William like an umbrella?

Susan. Because he keeps Napoleon from the reign.

GRANDMOTHER. How foolish! Just as if that poor old
man hadn’t something else to do with all those fighting Dutch-
men on his hands. Why can’t. you talk sense?

Mr. Joy. I’m sure we do, mother—nonsense,

GRANDMOTHER. MHarry’s my boy; he’s the only quiet one
among you. ‘

GEORGE. Quiet animals can be aroused. Harry, what do
you call yourself?

Harry. (MMischievously.) An adder !

GRANDMOTHER. Dear me, child! Ain’t you ashamed ?

Harry. (Holding up his slate.) No, grandma—don’t you
sce? How could Ido my sum, if I wasn’t ?

GRANDMOTHER. Oh, I thought you meant a horrid snake.
J was afraid you were getting to talk like all the rest.

Susan. Why is Harry’s explanation to grandmalike spring? ~

Guorar. It relieves.

Harry. Grandmother, why am I like your chair?

GRANDMOTHER. | Fudge, child! low could you. be. like
this old-fashioned thing ? ‘

Harry. Why, haven’t I legs and arms ?

GranpMoTHER. Dear, dear! What do you talk so for?

Harry. 1 didn’t talk sofa.

GranpMoTuHER. I don’t see what there is to langh at, An- —

drew. In my young days I should have been ashamed if T
hadn’t been better bred.

Mr. Joy. Ask Maria if I haven’t always told her you had
better bread.

Mrs. Joy. That subject has been raised so often, I think
it’s high time it was done and put on the shelf.

Mr. Joy. Its still needing attention, though. But since

   
  

l=

 

THE CONUNDRUM FAMILY. 17

you're in the’kitchem department, why are muflins like chick
ens’ necks? ;

Mrs. Joy. Because you ring them. Now tell me why we
use lettuce for chicken salad ?

GranpmetuEr. Why, Maria! Haven't you kept house
long enough to know that?

Mx. Joy. I should say because it’s green enough to sacri-
fice its head for such a foul purpose.

Grorex, Ob, Susan! When mother moved the pales
in the nursery, where did she put it?

Susan. In the bed’s stead.

GRaNDMOTHER. Why, Susan! how ridiculous! She put
it in the corner where the cot used to stand. I don’t see what
you keep laughing at, Andrew. For my part I should think
you'd feel real bad to have your children growing up such a
set of whirligigs.

Mr. Joy. True, mother, it makes me giddy to think of
it. (oI ought to turn right around at. once.

GranpMoTHER. So I think. Why don’t you do it?

Mr. Joy. Because it would be a vane attempt.

GranpMoTHER. I don’t see why.

Susan. I suppose father thinks as teacher said one day,
that almost every weathercock teaches that it is vane to a
spire.

GranpMoruEr. (Indignanily.) Then he don’t tell the
truth, for it’s worth while vo aspire to something better all the
time. Such teaching! I wonder what the world’s coming to.

Groren. An end, to be sure,

Harry. How can it when it’s round ?

Susan. When you were cross yesterday, dind’t you find
an end:to your baw] ?

Harry. That's so. Give it up. Why is grandma’s room
the luciiest in the house ?

Mus. Joy. Because there’s a cricket on the oe

GranpMoruer. Sakes! Talk about a little three-legged
stool bringing luck! -It’s all moonshine, -When I was a girl,
they used to make believe it was lucky to see the new moon
over your right shoulder; but I never did.

Grorcn. Ob, gr randinia | Tuink of doing things over the
left.

 

  
   

18 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

GranpMorHER. I never saw it that way, 1 tell you. I
always looked straight up.

Harry. What if the.moon was down?

Susan. Then ’twould make a good pillow.

Grorce. That notion would be worse to take than the
green: cheese one.

Harry. -. Why ?

GEORGE. Because ’twould be'such a pill. Oh! grandmother
—Td like to know what in the name of sense you children
are talking about. If that’s ’stronomy it’s wasting time to
study it.

Susan. Do the best we can, we shall never begin to be
such good astronomers as‘the stars must be, grandma.

GRANDMOTHER: The stars! Goodness, child, what do
they know about any thing ?

Susan. Why, haven't they studded the heavens ever since
the world was made? Teacher said that.

GRANDMOTHER. Seems to me that! teacher of yours tells
you a great deal too much.

GrorcEe. That puts me in mind. Little Johnny Bates
thought he had a great eel. too much the other day, when he
went fishing. What do you suppose he did?

Mr. Joy. Hurried away with his: Bates.

Susan. Run on his own book.

Mrs. Joy. Sent a‘line to explain his officiousness.

Groree. Yes, all three; but what should he find, when
he got home but’ the rod !

GRANDMOTHER. How could he, when he’d just dropped
it in the water?

George. ’T was one his mother keeps in the pickle.

GRANDMOTHER. Preserve us! What‘ does she do that for?

Gores. Ob, to_make him face the music, and see sharp.

Susan. ‘That pitches his voice higher, [ll be bound.

Mr. Joy. ’Twould only be natural for him to be flat, be-
fore she’s done with him.

GRANDMOTHER. Then I think she’sa terrible woman. To
think of whipping a boy till he falls down. Why don’t you
go to the police office, and make a report of her.

Mir. dow. Becanse T don’t like to discharge my neighbor’s

titlaiss,

   

pl
th
th
w

fi

hi

th
    

SlCr

 

THE CONUNDRUM PAMELY. 19

Mrs. Joy. They’d be sure to make him go off, if he did.
Susan. And it would be noised all over town.
Georer. If you don't stop pretty soon, grandma’s patience

| will be compleiely riddled.

GRANDMOTHER. Yes; and, Andrew, you really ought to

puta stop to this kind of talk in your family. I know where
they get it; it’s pottering over these newspapers every hour in
the day, and their mind’s °l] never have strength. Once a

week is as often as you ought to allow them.

Mr. Joy. But, mother, how can you expect to get strong
from a weekly paper ?

GRANDMOTHER. Take a monthly, then. ‘Something that

_hasn’t that Mr. Marquain in it.

Mrs. Joy. It's Mark Twain, mother, and I like him.
Mr. Joy. Then, oh, Joy! You two must be twain.
GranpMoTuER. Andrew, too! Why, Maria. And’ to

| think you're pleased at it.

Susan. What would he say to your remarkable assertion ?
Mrs. Joy. Oh, I'll trust to his Clemency for pardon.
Mr. Joy. If grandmother is tired, the best thing’ ‘you

children can do is to retire to the library, with your books.

You and I will put a check upon oursélves, Maria, in'a game
of chess,

Grorgx. A good knight to you both.
(Curtain is drawn.)

  
   

THE DIME DIALOGUES

CURING BETSEY.

FOR THREE MALES AND FOUR FEMALES,

Characters :
Dr. TAKEITEASY. Mr. Manocany SpLinTers.
Bogs Squasss. Brersry Morean.
Mrs. MoreGan. SALLy SocraBLE.

Miss GumcuEw.

Scunn.—A iiichen. Dr. Taxnrreasy und Mrs. Morean dis-
covered talking very earnestly. é

Mrs. Moraan. Laws, doctor, this reading of love-stories
and horrible romances has about turned Betsey’s brain, and
she hain’t fit for no kind of work. One minute she'll want to
throw herself out of the winduw in hopes of falling into the
arms of some passing nobléman, and the next moment she'll
want to throw off her shoes and stockings, «nd go wandering
about, like Mary of the Wild Arab.

Dr. TakerrEasy. Moor, my dear madam.

Mrs. Morean. Well, an Arab is something like a Moor,
anyway. To continue about Betsey: some new freak enters
her head every day. Yesterday she wanted me to read the
marriage-service, while she plighted her troth to same invisi-
ble person.

Dr. TaxerrEasy. Well, and what is the freak she is up to
to-day ?

Mrs. Moraan. She has dressed herself all in white, and
says she’s heard the angels calling her to their blissful
home, but I tell her it’s only the fishmen hollering out “ oys-
ters.”

Dr. Taxerreasy. A singular malady, truly, and one
would think she had rooms to let in her upper story.

Mrs. Morgan. Well, she hain’t. It’s as much as we can
do to get along now for room, ’specially on washing days. If
you mean by the upper story the attic, that’s crammed full of
old rubbish now,

Dr. Taxerreasy. I merely spoke figuratively.

| Mrs. Morean. I never was no great hand at figures.
But hain’t you got any medicine?
Dr, Taxerreasy. She don’t want any medicine. You

   
OURING BETSEY. 21

must humor her in her caprice, make every preparation in
your power to induce her to think she is really going to die,
and, take my word for it, she’ll be cured.

Mrs. Morean. Wouldn’t that have a disastrous effect upon
her nervous system ?

Dr. Taxerreasy. No, she will be so fretted into believ-
ing her time is drawing near, that she'll live, just to spite us
all

Mrs. Morean. ~ I wouldn’t wonder if such was the case,
precisely. But, here she comes. Only look at her. (Brersny
enters, languidly, and fal/s into a chair.)

Brrsby. Camille died young, and why should not 1?

Dr. Taxerreasy. That's just it. Why shouldn’t you?
Assert your rights!’ Stand up for your rights !

Bersry. But, they won't let me die. Its cruel to. pre-
vent me, when I’ve made up my mind to do so.

Dr. Taxerreasy. It's downright tyranny. Are women
to have no rights in this world? Ifa person wants to die,
who has any right to say any thing against it ?

Mrs. Morgan. — I don’t know who Camille was, but [
guess her name was Camomile, Frenchified and fricasseed
up. ;
Betsey. All the interesting heroines in the novels pine
away and fill an early grave. Even in my dreams last night
it seemed as if two angelic spirits sat at my bed-room win-
dow, calling me to the other world.

Mrs. MoreGan. Them war two Tom-cats making the most
pestiferous noise I ever heerd. I had to get up and throw
the coal-hod at them.

Bersey. ‘Tom-cats don’t wear white robes, and they don’t
beckon to me.

Mrs. Morcan. That was the new sheets hanging out air-
ing. ;

Dr. Taxerreasy. I understand you, perfectly. “You are
doubtless true in your remarks ; you must have the premoni-
tion of dissolution upon you. You see angels where your mo-
fher only sees T'om-cats.

Brgsey. Joan of Arc heard voices.

Mrs. Morean. Well; she must have been a drefful deaf
eritter if she didn’t.

   
 
   
   
     
   
   
   
    
   
   
 
 
   
    
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
 

  

22 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Dr. TaxeiTEAsy. I understand your case, exactly, Betsey.
Medicine will not avail you. What you want is an under-
taker to measure you, and friends to sympathize with you. I
will send them in. Farewell, Betsey, if I do not see you
again. (Hivit.)

Bersry. You see I was right, mother.

Mrs. Morgan. Wal, I suppose 1 must submit, but it comes
pretty hard on me, after I have had all the trouble of rearing
and raising on you. Why didn’t you think of this afore you
made me buy that spotted dress?

Betsey. Ah! mother, Iam sorry to see you are so taken
up with the pomps and vanities of this world. (Sings.)

**T hear the angels calling,
They summon me away.”

(Bos sings outside.)

I hear the hens a-squalling,
I think they’ve been to lay.

(Enter Bon.)

Bos. So, Miss Betsey, the doctor tells us you are going
away. Your decease will be a blessing to our trade. We
haven't had the pleasure of making a coffin for anybody fora
length of time. Master’s got.a note to take up by next
Wednesday, and if you could conveniently die before that
time, or pay for your coffin in advance, it would greatly oblige
us. We don’t want to hurry you, but if you are determined
to die, I don't. suppose it makes much difference to you when
you hop the twig.

Bersry. Do you want to hurry me out of the world?

Bos. No, ofcourse I. doesn’t; but, business is business,
you know, miss, and one has to look out for number one.
I’m sure if. you only, knew how your decease would. benefit
master, and then he can pay me a trifle on what is owing me,
you wouldn’t object to going off at once.

Betsey... Robert, I will die as soon as possible, and be
sure you have the very, best turnuut.at my funeral,

Bos. Yes, miss, I will. Mebbe master'll give me a half-
dollar to buy goodies with. (Hizit.)

Betsey. I wish people wouldn’t; be guite so anxious to
have me die.

 

  
CURING BETSEY. 23

Mrs. Morean. Law sakes, you mustn’t fret about that.
It ain’t noways right to go ag’in’ the wishes of the dying.

Betsey. They don’t do so in novels.

(Enter Manocany SPLINTERS and Miss GumMcuEw.)

Mr. Sriinrers. Glad to see that you are prepared to
shuffle off this mortal coil. Nothing pleasant is there in
this world to live for. Miss Gumchew, are you not of my
opinion ?

Miss Gumcuew. Onions is good for a cold.

Mr. Spiinrers. Miss Gumchew -is hard of hearing, I
think.

»  Berrsey. To die we were all made.

{ Miss Gumcuew. No, we ain’t to die old maids. I said
to the deacon, the other day, I said—but I forget just now
what it was.

Mr. Spuinrers. Was it not,“ Every wound we should
run to heal?”

Miss Gumcnew. No, I didn’t say any thing about his
stockings run down to heel.

Mr Spuiinrers. We are all food for the worm. The
world thinks of naught but money. I am sure that in consid-
eration of the benefit I am to the society for propagating
chewing-gum into the benighted regions of Black Holler, they
ought to raise my salary. But the world is only a matter o’
money.

Miss Gumcuew. Well, matrimony is a very good thing to
live on. The deacon said to me the other day—but I forget
just now what it was.

Bersky. Don’t talk of matrimony to a dying woman,
like me. Go on, Mr. Splinters, with your delightful, doleful
talk.

Mr. Spiinrers. I could do so ali the time.

Mrs. Morcan. Well, if that’s so, I can’t stop to hear
he (Eait.)

Mr. Sprivrers. I think, Miss Betsey, an appropriate tomb-
stone for you would be a charming death’s-head, with the
cross-bones sticking out of the eyes; in the mouth could be
hung a seroll on which could be engraved :

x

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the benver-dame of life,

 
 

  

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Be not like dumb-driven muskrats—
Be a hero in blue stripes.

Bersry. Isn’t that something like Longfellow ?

Mr. Spuinters. Longfellow and I may have had the same
ideas, but we expressed them differently.

Miss Gumcuew. Yes, there’s a good deal of difference
when you send a thing by express than by. mail. Deacon
said to me the other day—

(Réenter Bos.)

Bos. Beg parding, Miss Betsey, but master says he’s all
out of silver nails, and wants to know if he’ll have time to
send to the city to get some, before you die ?

Bersey. You all seem to want to get rid of. me. (Hnter
Dr, Taxerressy and Miss Morcan.) Not one tear have you
shed for me yet.

(All present pretending to cry: “Oh! oh! oh! oh !”)
Boz. (Weeping on a very rugged handkerchief.) “ Ob Y?
(Enter Saniy SocraBLeE.)

Satty. Hallo! What's the matter here?

3uTsEY. Iam going to die. To leave the world and all
its fleeting visions. Heroines have an idea of dying at times,
and why should not, 1?

Sauiy. . Laws, Betsey, I wouldn’t die, if I was you. I’m
sure you ought to live long enough to be a grandmother.
And, all you people arcund here, don’t pucker up your faces
into such awful frowns.

Mr. Spurntrers. It’s an awfully solemncholy occasion.

Sauiy. As long as I have known you, Betsey, I didn’t
think you'd go und act so, as to die when we're going to have
such a nice time on the village green, and Sam Gardner
wanted you for his partner.

Betsry. Sally, the inducement you hold out tu. live, for
‘me, is very great, and I’ve got about tired of hearing about
death, and I guess [ll live after all. (Jumps up from chatr.)

Dr, Taxerreasy.. That’s just what we've been trying 40
accomplish.. Ridicule has cure! you, and I’d advise you in
future to read works like history, and follow the example
of our American women of the Revolution. rather. than
the silly twaddle of the Laura Matildas of the sensational
novels.

 

  
  

JACK. AND THE BEAN STALK. 25

Mrs. Moraan. That’s the» best prescription the doctor’s
ever given.

Bos. It may be fun to you, but, Miss Betsey’s living will
be death to me.

Sauiy. Isn’t the doctor right, Betsey ?

Bersry. He is indeed; and I shall follow his advice.
(To audience.) Are there any here to whom the advice would
be welcome? We give it gratis. Not a bitter pill to take.
It effects a sure cure, for it has been the means of Curing

1 Betsey. (Curtain drops.)
v — Cs Seas ee
JACK AND THE BEAN STALK.
A FAIRY TALE DRAMA.
Characters +
y Mrs. TwApDDLb, JACK’s mother.
HELPALONG, a fairy.
HOoRRIDHEAD, @ giant.
ScaREDTODEATH, the giants wife.
Pe. Jack, @ dreadful boy.

Custumes :
Mrs. Twappix. Short dress of striped chintz, overskirt
) of gay flowered chintz, white muslin apron, and sacque of red
stuff, with white muslin kerchief.. White muslin cap, buckled
shoes, and black mittens.

Hutpatone. Dress of white tarlatane, short and full;
white satin slippers; wreath of white flowers: wand with a
star at top. Dress, slippers, wreath, and wand. covered with
gold spangles. Hair in curls, or crimped and flowing. —

Horripyeap. A. giant, made by carrying a pole under a
long, flowing cloak of scarlet. . The head may be made by the
largest and ugliest mask to be found, anda wig of coarse
black yarn in long locks. The cloak buttoning from throat
to hem can cover the whole figure, but the legs should be
stuffed, and the boots of a size to match the head and hight
of the figure.

 

 

  
   

   

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

ScaREDTODEATH. Dress of blue woollen, made short;
kerchief, apron, and cap of white muslin ; buckled shoes.

Jack. Jacket and pants of gray woollen, low shoes, blue
yarn socks, straw hat with blue ribbons, scarlet necktie, and
striped shirt,

Scene I—A room in a cottage, poorly furnished. Curtain
rises, discovering Jack seated on a@ low stovl, whittling a stick.
Mrs. Twapvie making a coarse garment of any kind.
JACK is whistling a gay tune.

Mrs. TwappLe. Heigho! Dear me! (Wipes her eyes.)

Jack. When will dinner be ready, mammy ?

Mrs. Twappie. Dinner, you dreadful boy! Dinner!
You know very well I gave you the last cent in the house to
buy a peg-top.

Jack. And it split the first time I tried to spinit. I wish
I had bought marbles.

Mrs. Twappiye. Oh, dear! What are we to do?

Jack. I’m sure I don’t know. I say, mammy, didn’t
father have any money ?

Mrs. Twappie. Hush! hush! Don’t say a word about
your father. Don’t, don’t, Jack. You frighten me to death.

Jack. I won't, I won't. Dear me! you are trembling all
over. But to return to the dinner question. Is there nothing
to eat in the honse?

Mrs. Twappie. Nota scrap of food. We ate the last
loaf for breakfast this morning.

Jack. And no money?

Mrs. Twappiye. Not one cent.

Jack. ‘That's a lively prospect. Nothing we can sell?

Mrs. Twappiz. Nothing but the cow. I suppose she
will have to go next market day, if you won’t work.

Jack. Work! I have an idea I was horn to be a gentle-
man, for I hate the very name of work. (2isting.) Well, I
will go sell the cow, and buy some dinner, for I am hun-
gry.

Mrs. Twappie. - No, no. T’ll sell her myself. You'll be
sure to be cheated. ;
  

JACK AND THE BEAN STALK. 27

Jack. Nonsense! You'd look pretty selling cows. That

ain’t woman’s work. T’ll make a good bargain, never fear.
- (Exit Jack, whistling )

Mrs. Twappire. Oh,dear me! He'll certainly be cheated.

Jack. (Lvoking in at door.) I say mammy, are cows dear
or cheap just now.

Mrs. Twappie. (Crying.) Ob, you wicked boy! ‘Your
Jaziness and idle ways have brought us to beggary and ruin.
Cruel boy! My poor, poor cow! To have to sell the poor
thing breaks my heart, and you are making a jest of it.

Jack. (Kissing her.) There, mammy, don’t cry. Tl be

@so industrious afier this that we will live on turtle soup and

ound-cake.. Don’t cry, that’s a darling mammy. PII sell
the cow for present expenses, and I'll go to work to-morrow
like a man.

Mrs. TwappLE. Will you, dear, really, really ?

Jack. Really. There, now, cheer up. I'l go sell the
cow. ; (Heit Jack.)

»  Mns. Twappir. Dear fellow! He grows more and more
like his poor father. If only he would go to work, now, we
might, with my sewing, be quite comfortable. But who can
blame him? Little did I think when he was a baby that he
would ever be obliged to work /  Heigho }

(Enter Jack with his hat in his hand, carrying tt carefully, as
if afraid of spilling the contents.)

Jack. Oh, mammy, mammy, see what a bargain!

} Mrs. Twappie. Why, Jack, haye you been to market al-
ready?

Jack. Oh, no, indeed! Just at the dvor I met a farmer,
and he bought the cow.

Mrs. Twapp.Le. Bought the cow! How much did you
get for her, Jack ?

Jack. (Showing his hat.) All these beans.

Mrs. Twappie. What! Beans! . Oh, you bad; wretched
boy! Sold the cow, our only cow, for beans /

Jack. But see, mammy, they are blue, and red, and white,
and yellow, and green. I never saw such beautiful beans in
my life.

Mrs. Twappin. (Rocking herself and crying.) Yowll
break my heart! You'll kill me with your wicked ways!

   

 

   
  

   

 

28 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

When we have cooked your paltry beans, we may starve to
death.

Jack. Cook them! Cook my beautiful beans!

Mrs. Twapprie. No, you don’t deserve any dinner.
There! (Snatches the hat from Jacx, and throws it out of the
window.)

Jack. Oh, mammy! Oh, my beautiful beans! (Runs to
the window.) ‘They are all scattered on the ground. Oh, how
could youdoso? (Looks out for a moment, then ertes suddenly.)
Oh, mammy, look, look! They are growing! Oh, see, see!’
The stalk is as thick as a tree and as high as the house al-
ready. (Looking up.) See how it grows.

Mrs. Twappin. (Looking out.) Oh, Jack, what can it be ?
They must be fairy beans.

Jack. Now the top is out of sight. I must climb up and
see where it goes.

Mrs. Twappuin. (llding him back.) No, no. You will
be killed.

Jack. I must go. Let me go, mammy. Who knows but
my fortune is at the top?

Mrs. Twappie. No, you shan’t go. Jack, you must not
go.

Jack. Vl come back soon. Til come back to-night.
(Breaks wibay foom her.) Good-by! (Hait Jack.) Good-by!
(Calling, his voice growing fainter and fainter, as tf he was
climbing up, tall it is lost entirely.) Good-by! Tl come back
soon. Don’t fret; mammy. Good-by !

Mrs. Twappie. (Who has been wringing her hands, and
aoalking up and down.) Oh, he'll be killed! Ob Jack, Jack !
(Crying and sitting down again.) Oh, Til never see my boy
again !

(Curtain falls.)

Scenn IL—A large, handsomely-furnished room, with a long
sofa across background. (Two lounges, placed foot to foot and
covered, will mike a good sofa for the giant.) Curtain rises,
dixeovering JACK looking about him.

Jack I wonder where Iam. I began to think I never

should get to the top of that bean stalk, and such a walk as I

had afterward. Not a tree, shrub, or living creature have I
 
 

  

JACK AND THE BEAN STALK. 29

-eeen since I came to this strange country at the top of a bean

stalk. When I saw this great castle, I came in, hoping some-
body would give me a mouthful to eat. Jam so hungry I
could eat a live cat. Nobody here ? :

(inter HELPALONG.)

Hetratone. Jack! Jack! Jack !

Jack. (Aside) Ob, what a beautiful lady! (Aloud.)
Servant, ma’am. (Bovs.)

Hetpatone. I will not ask you how you came here, Jack,
for I am the fairy who promised at your birth to protect you,
and I have myself guided you here.
© Jack. . Indeed, ma’am-?

HeLpatone. It was I who sent the beans to you, and I
who made the giant bean stalk for you to come here.

Jack. Well, ma’am, now that I am here, may I inquire
what you want of me?

HxeLpatone. I was about to explain that to you. Do you
remember your father, Jack ?

Jack. No, ma’am. Whenever I ask mother any thing,
she trembles and looks frightened, and sometimes, if I repeat
« question, she will cry and sob all day, and seem actually
afraid to answer me.

Heipatone. She is afraid, and I will tell you the reason.
Your mother can not answer you, but I may. But before I
begin my story, L require from you a solemn promise to obey
my commands. Jam a fairy, and, if you do not obey me, I
will destroy you, }

Jack. Oh, Pll do whatever you say !

rtpatone. Listen, then. Your father was avery rich
aud a very good man, and made ita rule every day to relieve
some poor person, Onee a week he gave a great dinner to
people who had been-rich and lost their money.

Jack. That was good.

HmLpaLona. The rich and great were very seldom his
guests, but the poor were treated at his table as if they pos-
sessed both riches and honor. All his servants worshiped
him, and, although he was only a private gentleman, he was
treated! and lived like a prince.

Jack. But how is it that we are so poor, then?

liubpaLone., Patience. I will tell you. A’very hideous

 

 

  
   

  

80 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

and powerful giant, hearing of your father’s wealth, resolvec
to, gain possession of it. He was as wicked as your father
was good, and determined upon a plan to kill and rob him.

Jack. The monster!

HeLPaLonc. He was, indeed, a monster, as you will hear,
He came to your father’s castle, and. represented himself as
having lost all his possessions in a terrible earthquake, and as
barely escaped with his own and his wife’s life. Your father
believed him, and gave him a home at the castle, treating
himself and his wife like visitors of distinction.

Jack. Ob, what a pity! What did he do?

Hetratone. It was a long time before he had any chance
to carry out his plans, but one day a terrible shipwreck oc-
curred. Your father’s castle stood at some distance from the
coust, but with a spyglass vessels could be seen. The giant
saw the shipwreck, and ran to your father, begging’ him to
send relief to the coast. Every servant was sent; but’ your
father was ill, and not able to jom them. As‘ soon as the
house was. empty, the giant went to the study, wheré your
father was reading, and began to chat. Your father ‘recom-
mended some particular book, and reached up to get it when
the giant stabbed him in the back and killed’ him,

Jack. The wretch!

HeLpatone. Wretch, indeed... You were then only three
months old. Your mother had you in a remote. part of the
house ; but, coming to the study, fancy her horror at’ finding
your father lying dead and in a pool of blood.

Jack. The poor mammy! No wonder she criés so much.

Hrntpatone. The giant rushed upon her, and would have
killed you both, but she begged so hard for your life’ and her
own that the giant consented to let: you live. He made her
promise in the most solemn manner never to tell) you any
thing of your father, and threatened her with instant death if
she did so. Your mother fled with you instantly, and she
has lived in your present house ever since. The giant loaded
himself with your father’s treasures, loaded every cart in the
stables and the horses, and then set the castle on fire, and also
fied with his wife, leaving the people to suppose your parents
an] yourself perished in the flames.

Jack. But where were you?

 
 

  

JACK AND THE BEAN STALK. 31

Hetpatone. Alas, Juck! your mother called for me in
vain. Know that fairies have their laws and punishments as
well as mortals. . Just before your father’s death I transgress-
ed, and my power was suspended from that time until to-day.

Jack. What a pity!

HeLpatone. A pity, indeed. But since I could not help
your parents, I wish now to help you. You are the person
appointed to regain your father’s treasures and punish the
giant. You came here by my magic power, and you must re-
main till the giant returns. You must not be alarmed, for I
will aid you. Seize on all you can, for all in this castle was

“stolen from your father, and is rightly yours. Remember,
while you obey me, I will protect you; but, as soon as you
disobey me, I will severely punish you.

Jack. I will obey you. 1 long to avenge my father.

HeLpatone, Courage, then, and farewell !

(Lvit WuLPALonG.)

Jack. I wonder what Iam todo. She did not tell me
how I was to regain these stolen treasures of my father’s.
Oh! if I could only give the giant what'he deserves, I would
not care for the treasure. But w® are so poor, and the dear
mammy frets so much, that it would be jolly to take her
what belongs to her.

(Enter SCAREDTODEATH.)

Scarepropgatu. <A boy! A live boy!

Jack. Yes, ma’am. Is there any thing very wonderful in
the sight of a live boy? They were plenty enough where I
came from.

ScaREDropEATH. You wretched child! How did you
come here?

Jack. You'll never guess, so. I'll tell you. I came on a
bean stalk.

SGaAkkDTODEATH. Do you know where you are ?

Jack. Ihave not the faintest idea.

ScarkEDToDEATH. You are where your Jife is not worth
two cents.

Jack. Ma’am!

SCAMEDTODEATH, — You asked me if there was any thing
wonderful in the sight of a live boy. It.is a most marvelous

sight to see any human being within ten miles of this castle.

 

  
  

   

 

82 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Jack. Indeed, ma’am. May I inquire the reason ?

ScaREDTODEATH. Because this is the castle of the great
giant, Horridhead, who has devoured all’ the people within
ten miles, and who will walk fifty miles any day to get a nice,
tender boy for dinner.

Jack. Oh, oh! Let me hide.

ScarepropratH. Hide! I expect Horridhead in every
moment. You will be sure to meet him if you run out, and
I dare not keep you in here. He would kill us both.

Jack. Oh, please hide me! I[ will keep very still, and if
he does find me, il never tell him you hid me.

ScaREDTODEATH. I dare not.

Jack. Oh, you won’t send a poor little boy out to be eaten
up for a giant's supper! Dear, good Mrs. Horridhead, please
hide me! I'll be as still as a mouse. \

ScarEpTopEATH. Oh, I hear Horridbead coming!

Jack. How the room shakes !

ScAREDTODEATH. That’s his steps! Oh, he'll swallow you
like a pill, and kill me for not cooking you! Here! hide un-
der the sofa, quick! (Jack erals under the sofa.)

Jack. I wish I was at home! Ugh! I’m scared almost
to death !

ScarEDTODEATH. Stop chattering, and lie still.

(Enter HORRIDHEAD.)

HorRmDuEAD, (Snuffing the atr.) Wife, I smell fresh meat.

ScaAREDTODEATH. Oh, my love, it is only the man you ate
for breakfast.

Horurmxeap. I tell you I smell fresh meat.

ScarepropEATH. Oh, I remember, now! The crows left
a piece of sheep on the roof this morning.

Horripieap. I tell youl smell fresh meat here, in this
room! Tl find if, too! (Begins to hunt about the room.)
It’s here!

ScarEeDTopEATH. It must be outside, my dear. You can
find it in the morning.

HorrmwasKxap. Well, bring me my money bags, and my
harp, and my hen. Tl eat my supper after I have had a nap.
(Hxit ScarEDTODEATH.)

Jack. (Peeping out.) Oh, what a monster! Tf he should
find me, Pina dead boy.
  

>

a

 

JACK AND THE BEAN STALK. 83.

HoRRHEAD. (Sitting on the sofa.) tis very curious
what a strong smell of fresh meat is in this room.

Enter SCAREDTODEATH, with a hen (or any large stuffed bird,)
two bags, one marked silver and one gold, and a small harp.)
Horrmarap. (Putting them on a table, which he draws

near to him.) An! here is my pretty hen! How many gold-

en eggs has she laid to-day, wife ?

ScargepropEatH, Fifteen.

Horripurap, Good hen! Have you counted the money
to-day, wife ?

ScarepropEaTH. Yes. It is all right.

HorrmuEaD. Then go and cook my supper. (Zit
SCAREDTODEATH.) 1’Jl have some music, and take a little nap.
(Lies down on sofa.) Where is my harp? Ah, here you are !
Play! ‘

(Soft musie behind the scenes, during which HoRRIDHEAD covers
his face and seems sleeping. When the musie ceases, Jack
creeps out.)

Jack. Is he asleep? Sound as a rock, I believe. (Hor-
RIDHEAD snores.) Ugh! thunder is nothing to that noise. I
must be off now before he wakes, and these little articles, I
presume, are mine. My friend, the fairy, told me to take all I
could carry, so I will appropriate these. A hen that) lays
golden eggs is surely a good commencement for a poultry yard
and will console dear mammy for'the loss of her cow. (Jukes
the hen under his arm.) Then these bags of gold and silver
will not come amiss for present expenses, and I could never
leave a harp that plays without fingers. (Takes the bags and
harp.) Good-night, Mr. Horridhead! Pleasant dreams to
you! (Runs off.)

(After a moment, a voice behind the scenes culls Master / Master /)
HlorrmuEaD. (Jumping up.) Who calls? That is the

fairy in my harp!

Vorcr. Master! Help! Master!

HorrmxEAD. What is this? My hen gone! My money
not here! My harp stolen! Thieves! Murder! © Thieves!
Pm coming! TP’m coming! (Rune off stage.)

(Curtain falls.)

 

  
 

84 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

 

   

Scene Tl.—Sgme as Scenn I. Mrs. Twavpur disconered-split
ting some wood with an aa.

Mrs. Twappun. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What has be.
come of my poor boy? Why did he ever try to climb that
dreadful bean stalk? Ill make a fire, and cook the beans }
picked up from the ground, for he’s sure to come home hun-
gry.

(Enter HELPALONG.)

Heipatone.. Mrs. Twaddle!

Mrs. Twappix. Ob! who is this? Jack’s fariy god-
mother! Bless me, ma’am, I was afraid you had forgotten us.

Heipatong. Not atall, I saw Jack this morning, and
sent him to avenge his father.

Mus. Twappie. | Sent my boy to that dreadful giant! Oh,
he'll be killed to a certainty !. Oh, miserable woman that. I
am.

Hextpatonc. He won't be killed. He is on his way home
now. Hark! he is coming down the bean stalk.

(Hnter Jack, with the hen, bags, and harp.)

Jack. Here, mammy! Look what I haye got! (Zhroms
them. down.) Where's the ax! The gaint is on the bear stalk,
and I mean to bring him down faster than I[eame, (Zukes the
ax and runs off.)

Mrs. Twappie. What doI see? My husband’s magic
hen! The fairy harp he gave to me for a wedding present!
The bags of money he kept for charity! Oh, Jack! Jack!
But he said the giant was on the beanstalk! Oh, if he comes
here, we are ruined !

Henparone. Never fear; Jack is chopping down the lad-
der. (Sounds like chopping behind the scenes.)

Jack. (Behind the.scenes.) IM have him down presently,
mammy. Never fear. .He won't eat any more tender little
boys for supper. (A heavy crash behind scenes)

Mrs. Twappie. Oh! what's that? Oh, Iam frightened
to deat, [

Hetrauonc. Brave boy! Hehas brought down the giant.

(Hnter Jack with HorRDHEAD’s head.)

Jack. Wuzza! Here's the head of Horridhead! ‘He'll
do no more mischief,
Hexparona, Jack!

 

  

   
 

  
 

THE WAY TO DO If AND NOT TO DO IT. 35

Jack. I beg your pardon, ma’am. I did not see you be-
fore. I hope I have pleased you!

Hevpatone. You have obeyed me faithfully. Be dutiful
to your mother, and try to follow the noble example of your
father, and count upon my assistance and friendship. Your
enemy is dead, and you will soon have immense wealth. Be
just and charitable. Farewell! (Soft musie.)

(Curtain falls.)

THE WAY TO DO IT AND NOT TO DOTTY '
FOR THREE FEMALES,
Characters :
Mrs. Proerusstve, Miss Conservative, Mrs. Common
SENSE.
scene.—Parlor. Miss Conservative calling upon Mrs. Com-
MON SENSE.

(Bell rings. Mass ©. looks toward window, and cries :)

Miss ConsprvATIVE. Heaven preserve us, my dear Ella,
here 7s an infliction !

Mrs. Common Srnsz. What is it, my love? Another
one of those Chicago sufferers? We average eleven a day
now.

Miss C. Worse than that! Mrs. Progressive is coming
to call on you. I see her on the steps with her yellow um-
brella and man’s hat,

Mrs. C. 8. Is that all ?

Miss C, Anu!

Mrs. C. 8. Why, I find her very amusing. One may as
well laugh as cry, you know, and she makes me laugh.

Miss C. She does not amuse me, Ella—she shacks me.
But look ! here she comes.

(Enter Mrs. PROGRESSIVE.)

Mrs. C. 8 How do you do? So happy to see you. out
again. J heard you were quite ill.

Mrs. Procresstve. How do? How do, Miss Conserva-

=

 
 

36 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

tive? Yes, I have been confined. to my bed with cold in
my head and neuralgia. I took them, I suppose, from sitting
too long on the peak of the roof of my stately mansion these
damp nights. :

Mrs. C. S._ Sitting on the peak of the roof! What do
you mean, my dear madain ?

Mrs. P. Oh, I always go up onthe roof when I wish
counsel or advice from my friends in the Summer Land. Ah!
you can not imagine how I enjoy this communion! Some-
times, it is true, the cats annoy me; but I become so rapt, af-
ter a time, that I do not mind their earthly wranglings.
Cats are a cross, but I must endure it. I have the choicest
society up there. Spirils sail about on clouds, and I am priv-
ileged to converse with them. Why, my dear Mrs. Common
Sense, I am as familiar with Julius Cesar, Plato, Sappho,
Horace, Judas Iscariot, Homer, Aspasia, Cleopatra, Nero,
Ptolemy, Philadelphus, and Caligula as I am with George
Francis Train this minute—or you/ I assure you we have
no society in our parlors to compare with it—only I think it
is giving mea confirmed catarrh. (Sneczes.)

Miss ©. Society in our parlors!) Thank goodness J have
decent, respectable people, members of the church, in #y par-
lors! I would no more allow a, servant of mine to bring
in the card of one of those ancient demireps you mention,
than I would—than I would—would—go to the polls and
vote !

Mrs. P, And would you not do that

Miss C. J vote!

Mrs. P. (Looking at her compassionately.) Poor dear! you
should have been born a hundred years ago! (Sotlo voce.)
Periaps she was! (dyes her critically, then turns carelessly to
her hostess, and continues.) The night upon which I took my
had cold I had a most entrancing interview with my friend

lomer. He was so good as to dictate a few lines of poetry
in his best vein. Shall I read them to you?

Mrs. C. 8. By all means. Something new from Homer
will be a boon to the whole reading world.

Mrs. P. (Draws paper from pocket, hems and begins :)

The fiery race-horse, champing golden grain.
Stood on the marble floor without a stain,

      
    

   
  
    
  
 
 
    
 

  
 

 

    

   
   

THE WAY TO DO-IT AND NOT TO DO IT.

 

Until the stable-boy rushed in with wild ‘* Hooroigh ;
We're sent for, quick, to take the boat for Troy,
From thence to Saratoga, swift, by rail,
Where Vanderbilt is waiting, stern and pale,
For us. °Tis said that he has sworn an oath
That we shal] make 2:12 or he will break the necks of both,
Because Prince Erie has a bully nag,
That makes 2:18, and old Van. don’t like his brag.”
Thus speaking, oer the steed he threw the glittering rein.
The galley reached and disembarked on Troy's plain,
Or close at Albany, and sped where he was sent.
The world looked on, the Indians pitched their tent
By Congress Springs, and worked their beads in peace,
While many a beile, with gold hair, ale Grease,
Wended her way to where the bencues rose,
And Morrissey displayed a gold chain end new clothes.
Then pranced the rvial steeds! they rubbed them down—
Meantime had blankets ready. AH the town—
The clouds sailed by—a souud of revelry by night—
Of all sad words of tongue or pen—“ they fight ! they fight!”
Just then I unfortunately sneezed, my cold getting the better
of me, and Homer, either disturbed by tlie cats or by my inat-
tention, wrapped his cloud about him and silently stole away.
He was evidently disturbed in his mind toward the last. The
eats bothered him; and I think the line of communication
was broken by Sappho biting it in flying past; or I was not
in a perfectly receptive mood. J am puzzled to know if he
referred to the cats when he spoke of their fighting. At all
events, [ consider the fragment, broken as it is, a glorious ad-
dition to our wealth of poetic gems. It proves, conclusively,
that Our Epic Bard has not deteriorated during his four or five
thousand years’ residence in the Summer Land. He
takes a great interest in horses still, and deems Troy a
growing village. He weighs all his opinions by Troy
weight. I have shown this to Theodore Tilton, and he thinks
it magnificent. How do you like the poem, Mrs. Common
Sense,
Mrs. ©. S. Oh, it is delightful—only so incomplete and
a little mixed. But I am no judge. You should ask my
friend, Miss Conservative.
Miss C. Mrs. Hemans is my model, madam. I consider
that stuff as simply absurd !
Mrs. P. Ha! ha! indeed! (Seizes her yellow umbrella, ar
11 2

  
   

  

33 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Ff to attack the enemy, but lowers it, and turns away with a sniff,
addressing her hostess.) Wave you heard whu is to be our next
President ?

Mrs. C. 8. No. I am not aware that the candidates
have been declared.

Mrs. P. Oh, that is no Jonger necessary. Our political
matters are all arranged for us, now, in the Spirit World. I
have been informed in advance on the subject. Demosthenes.
my dear, is to be our next President.

Born Laprms. Drmosrunnss !

Mrs. P. Yes. In a female form, however

Bors Lapres. In a female form !

Mrs. P. Exactly. He is to inhabit the form of Mrs. Re-
gina Chanticleer, who has already announced herself as ean-
didate for the Presidential chair. She will be elected, too, for
“it bas been assured her by her friends in the Summer Land.
When she takes her seat as our Chief Executive she will im-
mediately go into a spasm. Demosthenes will then assume
the control of her faculties, and all that she says or does will
be the same as if he said or did it. Hurral: for the good time
coming! We shall then have a little practieal wisdom in
the conduct of our Government. He has told us a few of the
changes he intends to make. He will abolish, as offensive
and tyrannical, the Laws of Marriage. Any woman con-
victed of taking care of ber own baby shall be fined one
thousand dollars. No man shall be tolerated in Wall street.
All boys shall be taught, from their infaney, to stay at home,
where they belong, and sew on their own buttons. All de-
clarations of love shall come from the female. No woman
shall take a husband who can not support him. All women
shall wear their hair short, after the fushion set by their Pres-
identess, because, if they do the work of men and women
both, there will be no time left to waste in the vanity of crimp-
ing and curling. All boy-babies, not particularly handsome,
shall be thrown to the alligators in the Mississippi. Old
things shall be gotten rid of—especially old people who have
outlived their usefulness—these sre to be starved thin and
sent up in balloons to the Summer Land. Atl persons who
can not fly in and out of second-story windows, like Mr.
Howe, shall be burned as witches. These are but a few of

>

 

 

 
 

 

   

(

THE WAY TO; DO If' AND NOT! TO DO IT. 89

the modern improvements which we hope to introduce in the
next four years.

Miss C.. (Who has been gradually raising her hands and ris-
ing from her seat, with gestures indicative of increasing disgust
and horror, exclaims :) Wicked! shocking ! abominable! Mrs.
Common Sense, may I ask you, do you tolerate such doc-
trines ?

Mrs. ©. 8. (Smiling. Hardly. Still, I admit that there
is room for us to improve. J, for one, would like to see wo-
man where Tennyson places her :

“Not like to man, but like in difference,
The man be more of woman, she of man—
He gain in sweetness, she in moral breadth.”

Miss C. For my part I don’t believe in that trash. I am
man’s inferior. I glory in it. Here I atm, for—twenty-five
years old and might have been married these twen—two
years if I had been so bold, so immodest, so sinful as 10 ask
sonie man to have me. Thank goodness! I never popped
the question yet! i

Mrs. P. (Aside) She'll have to come to it.

Miss C. I used to make my admirers take a seat on the
other side of theroom. <A gentleman friend of mine squeezed
my hand once, while assisting me out of a buggy, bud he never
did it again, I can tell you!

Mrs. P.- (Aside) I should think not!

Miss ©. (Continuing.) He never paid me any attention
afterward.

Mrs. P. (Aside) I believe it—only I can’t think she ever
had an admirer.

Miss ©. (Sharply. What's that?

Mrs. P. I was saying how many admirers you must have
had.

Miss ©. (Flattered.) Hem! yes, thirty, if I can count.
Let me advise you, asa friend, Mrs. Progressive, to give up
your indeliente notions and return to woman’s sphere.

Mrs. P. > Pray will you define that sphere ?

Miss ©. ‘With pleasure. Never spin street-yarn. | If your
health demands exercise take it in the back-yard, with a high
fence around it. Always smile on your husband when he
comes home to his meals. No matter if he has been loung-

   
 

40 TIE DIME DIALOGUES,

ing with a lot of good fellows all day, while you have nad
the toothache, and the baby has been cross, and cook given
warning, greet him with a smile. Always smile—smile al-
ways. You will then be called amiable, and to be called
amiable by the other sex should be the hight of a woman’s—

Mrs. P.. (/nterrupting.) Allow me! Have you always
smiled ?

Miss C, (Meekly.) I have tried to. 3

Mrs. P. Heavens! and is this the result? Excuse me.
To change the subject, how is it that you, my dear Mrs. Com-
mon Sense, keep so rosy and dimpled and happy-looking, mar-
ried—ound to.a man who tramples upon your—

Mrs. C. 8. Tramples! He is not in the habit, I assure
you, of doing any thing of the kind—as Mrs. Gamp says,
“ quite the contrairy.”

Mrs. P You need not seek to deceive me. It’s pride
keeps you up.

Mrs. 0.5. No, indeed! | It’s happiness—downright con-
tent, love and happiness. My husband thinks me a darling,
and I know he is a duck. . He respects and honors as well as
loves me; and we hope to pass our days in mutually aiding
and counseling each other.

Miss C. (Aside.) Little fool!

Mrs. P. (Aside) Idiot! Won’t be unhappy when she
can!

Miss C... Well, I must be going, my dear Ella. Before I
leave allow me to say that I disapprove of some of your senti-
ments. I suppose you are under bad influence. (Looks at
Mrs. P.) Take my advice—never be drawn an inch outside
of woman’s sphere. Confinegyour reading to Mrs. Hemans,
Mrs. Sigourney, Miss Edgeworth and your Bible. Good-by,
dear. (Iisses her.) Good-morning, Mrs. Progressive. I trust
the roof will agree with you better the next time you try
it. (Hait.)

Mrs. P.. Ialso must depart. What a ridiculous creature
your friend is! Fifty or sixty years old, I take it! Come,
I want you to promise to vote for Regina Chanticleer. It
will be the same as voting for Demosthenes, you see!

Mrs. C. 8. (Zaughing.) Oh, then you depend on a man,

after all!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

  

    
   
   
  
  
 

 

   

 

 

  
   
   

 
   
 

 

  
   
  

 

 
 
   
      
   
   
    
   
  
  
   
      
       
 
        
     
   
  

HOW TO BECOME HEALTHY, WEALTHY AND WISE. 41 |

Mrs. P.. I am working in Mrs. Chanticleer’s interest: If |
she is elected I am to have the Treasury Department. Come,
say you will vote! |

Mrs. C.8. (Stl laughing.) If 1 vote at all, it must be
for some native-born American—not for that musty old Greek.
_ Mrs. P. Dear, dear! I’m afraid you are incorrigible. I
had hopes of you. But, really, I must run home. Cleopatra |
is coming in this evening, along with Aspasia. The last time
I saw them they told me that Miss Anthony was going to get
married and give up lecturing. Between oursélves, I think
they were misinformed, I shall ask them about it to-night.

( If Horace Greeley were disengaged there might be some truth
in the rumor. I can’t think who else would be a suitable
match. By-by, dear—be sure and vote on our side. (Hvit.)
Mrs. ©. 8. (Sinking down in a chair.) Hal ha! ha!
what a pair! Extremes meet. Ha! ha! ha! I would have
given a dollar if my husband could have been behind the
door. But, now to work. A busy life is a happy life to all
women whe love home with a true love. ( Heit.)

prea

 

HOW TO BECOME HEALTHY, WEALTHY AND. WISE.

FOR ONE MALE AND ONE FEMALE,

  
   
     
         
      
     
      
   

(Enter Mr. and Mrs. Quin, talking.)

Mr. Quip. My dear, notwithstanding all I have said,
Molly has boiled one potato more than I directed to-day.

Mrs. Quip. Mr Quid should have attended to this great
concern himself.

Mr. Q. No, my dear, it is your duty to do so ; and thongh
it pains me to complain of any neglect of yours, a sense of
duty compels me to say, that the last quarter of a pound of
tea has disappeared much too rapidly. There were twenty-
five thimblefuls, and we have made tea but twenty-four times,
by my memorandum.

Mrs. Q. Indeed, Mr. Quid, you calculate very closely. “Per-
  

  

42 THE DIME DIALOGUES

haps Molly's thimble is larger than yours ; but I do not think
the matter worth a moment’s consideration.

Mr. Q. Ah, there lies your error. No man can be exact
in great things who does not attend to trifles. Atoms consti-
tute worlds,amy dear, and give a form to them. And, now I
think of it, you gave Joseph seven spoonsful of sowp to-day,
when, you know, I never allow him but siz.

Mrs. Q. He was very hungry, and one spoonful could not
hurt. him. S

Mr. Q. That is a fatal mistake, my dear.

Mrs..Q. Why, how do you know so exactly how many
spoonsful our boy can contain ?

Mr. Q. My father never allowed his children but six, or
six and a half at the utmost.

Mrs. Q. And your stomach is to regulate Joseph's!
Well, poor boy ! I do not blame him for disliking you.

Mr. Q. The welfare of my child must be consulted, even
if at the expense of his affection. Now,1 do not love to find
fault, but I observed that he did not change his shoes this
morning. I never wore the same shoe on one foot two days
in succession, in my life; it runs them down to the heel.

Mrs. Q. I fear that your precision will so disgust Joseph,
that he will rush to the other extreme; for I have often no-
ticed that children who are denied all reusonable indulgences
are apt to become -licentious.

Mr. Q. Joseph must be looked after. I intend immedi-
ately to send him to another school.

Mrs. Q. Why so, my dear? I thought Mr. B. was an ex-
cellent teacher.

Mr. Q.' He may be so, but he is not particular enough for
our Joseph. Why, I understand, he allows his pupils a re-
cess of ten minutes, and even plays with them himself! My
master allowed but five minutes’ recess, and would as soon
have died as stoop to play with us. Besides, I think he does
not shape'the tai! of lis G’s as I should.

Mus. Q.  Perliaps, if you were to mention these important
objections to Mr. B., he would obviate them at once. For my
part, I wish the recess was twice as long. As to the letter G,
I did not know that its tail Aad any precise length.

Mr. Q. You have much to learn, Mrs. Quid. By the way,

 

 

 

 
 

HOW TO BECOME HEALTHY, WEALTHY AND WISE. 43

I noticed to-day that Joseph called you mother, and you did
not reprimand him

Mrs. Q. Reprimand him !

Mr. Q. Such familiarity will lessen, if not destroy, your
authority over him. If he were to call me father, 1 should
chastise him.

Mrs. Q. Poor boy! there is no fear of his being chas-
tised, then ; for he does not feel toward you as if you were
his father.

Mr. Q. I like to preserve a wholesome distance, that he
may pay me proper respect.

Mrs. Q. The respect of fear can not be relied on; and
such overnicety—

Mr. Q. Do you know that to what you call my overnicety,
I owe all my health and wealth ?

Mrs. Q. I know that to preserve your health you have
sacrificed the happiness, and to accumulate your wealth you
have forfeited the respect, of all around you.

Mr. Q. Can it be that you are serious ?

Mrs. Q. I never was more so. I have told you the tru:h
at the risk of your displeasure.

Mr. Q. Well, well—if it is so bad as. that, I must alter
my conduct. Iwill doso from this moment. (Stoops and picks
up a pin.) There, this is the fifth pin, besides a headless one,
that I have picked up to-day! But, as I was saying, I intend
to reform. Oh, if you send Joseph to the shop, tell him not
to give four-pence-half-penny for six cents ; for you know, my
dear, it is six cents and a quarter. I certainly must watch my
conduct. . But where is dinner? . It. is more. than a minute
after the time. My dear, do see to it. There is another pin!
Well, it is amazing to me how eareless some folks are! Mrs.
Quid, tell Molly to bring her thimble to me, that ,1 may see
whether it holds more than mine! I must think of what you
told me. (Bell rings.) Ha! there is the bell. Promptness
saves time, which is wealth. Come. Mrs. Quid! , (Gives her
his arm and they hurry off the stage.)

 
    

   

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

THE ONLY TRUE LIFE.
FOR TWO GIRLS.

(Enter Lortrs and Lovise.)

Lorrm. And we'll have such nice times! We'll play,
and read books, and have no pestering boys around.

Louise. No pesteriag boys? Why, J like good boys!

Lor. Good boys? I don’t know any who are not mean
and selfish.

Lov. Why, Lot! Is my brother Fred mean and selfish ?
Is your cousin Jim a bad boy? What makes you talk so?

Lor. Well, they are only two, and they have had such
good training that they are as good as boys can be; but, I
tell you, Lou, that there is something in boys’ and men’s na-
tures that is to be dreaded. They are so coarse and rude;
they talk so loud and play so hard; they want to do such
outlandish things; and then, as soon as they can get away
from their mothers and sisters they just go and smoke and
swear and run out nights—that’s what they all do when they
can. So now! , :

Lov. Well, did I ever! I don’t see where you got such
ideas. One would suppose that you had seen nothing but
bad boys and men. Why, you talk just like that woman who
anoke the other night in the Academy room. ‘We all went to
hear her address on “Tome and Its Influences,” and she
talked just such stuff as you’ve been saying.

Lot. Indeed! Then you don’t believe in Woman’s
Rights ?

Lov. ‘Woman’s fiddlesticks. If by “ Woman’s Rights”
you mean the right to degrade the other sex, I don’t believe
in them.

Lor. Oh, I see; you’ve got a mother who is so mild and
weak that she submits to take a servant’s place, and teaches
her girls to be meck and lowly, I suppose.

Lov. This is insulting, but it is simply an evidence of
the wicked spirit of discontented woman. My mother is self-
> sacrificing and anxious to make her home happy, as every
true mother should do, and in doing so is very happy herself.
My dear papa never goes anywhere else for his company, for
his own home is so charming to him; and Fred never wants
anenees

THE ONLY TRUE LIFE. 45

to go out on the street to learn bad things. from the. street
loafers, because we all are happy in our own house ; and what
you say about men and boys may apply to your own father
or cousins, but it is false as false can be as regards most all
the men and boys in our circle.

Lor. Bah! My father is no better nor worse than yours.
He smokes his cigar and spends his evening just where he
pleases. I have no brother, for which I am truly glad, and
so is mamma, for she says boys are nuisances. Ma and my-
self have our own way; we go where and when we please.
That is true independence, and when all women learn to prac-
tice it it will do away with woman’s. subjection, and teach
men that they have no rights that women should not have.

Lov. Do away with woman's purity, modesty and, moral
beauty, and teach men that there is nothing in, this world
higher and nobler than self-gratification—that is really what
you mean. Yours is a debasing idea of life, and if. practiced
will break up your home, will drive your father to associa-
tions and pleasures that must destroy him, will render you un-
fit for the holy place of wife and mother, and make your so-
ciety shunned by all who believe that woman’s true sphere, as
you term it, is in conserving the. interests of home and enno-
bling the blessed wifehood and motherhood that God, in, His
Infinite wisdom, has assigned wholly to her.

Lor. . Well, what a preacher you are, to. be sure! One
can easily see that you have well studied Tuz Goop. Giri
Sunday-school book, and that you will become that model
wife and mother of whom the old-style preachers are always
talking. But, this day needs something else—it demands that
women shall not be the mere seryants of men as they have
been.

Lov. To what end?

Lor. Why, to their own advancement.

Lov. Advancement—in what ?

Lor. In what? Well, you are a goose. Why, to do as
they please—to vote—to go to Congress, if they want to.

Lov. Well?

Lor. Well? Isn’t that something to be desired ?

Lov. Something that woman is neither fitted for, nor, if
she does her shere—the share imposed on her by an All-Wise

 
  

  

46 THE DIME DIALOCTES.

Creator—has she time for. Her place to rule and reign is in
men’s hearts, in homes, in her children’s affections. When
she does well her part there she can do no more—needs to
do no more, for it is the work of a good angel she is then
performing. To shake off her womanliness in order to as-
sume the duties which custom, and the fitness of things, have
assigned to man, is to be utterly at the mercy of the stronger
sex. Having lost their reverence and love to become their
competitors, or mere business aysociates, we must go to the
wall: we have staked all and lost all. No, a thousand times
no, to all such ideas. Give me home! A father and brother
to care for and to love, and after awhile a husband’s strong
arm to lean upon, and my mission is fulfilled. Your path, if
you pursue it, is over thorns, and when your youth has fled
you will find life a burden ‘and a failure. Oh, Lottie, as you
value your own happiness, as you hope to retain your power
as @ woman, as you want love and the precious power which
it gives, oh ! abjure your ideas of change, of independence, of
advancement, and be a woman—ovly a woman, and God will
see that your ways are toward the Heaven that awaits those
who doeth His work well!

Lor. Lou—Lou—you are an angel.

Lov. No, only a girl striving to be a true woman, worthy
the love and admiration of ull. That is my ambition.

Lor. And a noble ambition it is. My eyes see things
more clearly now. TI have, of late, listened too much to what,
in my heart, I knew was both unwise and untrue, but as your
motto is so shall mine be to win the love and admiration of
all.

Lov. Then indeed you will not live in vain. (Zivit.)

 

 

  
 

  

, CLASSIC COLLOQUIES.

CLASSIC COLLOQUIES.*
L—FOR I'WO BOYS.

(Enter Gustavus Vasa and Cristmrn, talking.)

Crist. Tell me, Gustavus, tell me why is this,
That, as a stream diverted fromthe banks
Of smooth obedience, thou hast drawn these men
Upon a dry, unchanneled enterprise
To turn their inundation? Are the lives
Of my misguided people held so light,
That thus thou ’dst push them on the keen rebuke
Of guarded majesty ; where justice waits,
All awful and resistless, to assert
The impervious rights, the sanctitude of kings ;
And blast rebellion ?

Gust. Justice, sanctitude, :
And rights! Oh, patience! Rights! what rights, thou

tyrant ?

Yes, if perdition be the rule of power,
If wrongs give right, oh! then, supreme in mischief,
Thou wert the lord, the monarch of the world—
Too narrow for thy claim. But if thou think’st
That crowns are vilely propertied, like coin,
To be the means; the speciality of lust.
And sensual attribution ; if thou think’st
That empire is of titled birth or blood;
That nature, in the proud behalf of one,
Shall disenfranchise all her lordly race,
And bow her general issue to the yoke
Of private domination ; then, thou proud one,
Here know me for thy king! Howe’er be told,
Not claim hereditary, not the trust
Of frank election ;
Not e’en the high anointing hand of Heaven,
Can authorize oppression, give a law

*In — these no costuming is absolutely essential, but where the
old Eastern (or Roman) habit can be extemporized or secured from the cos-
tumer’s it will give a better effect to the pieces,

Boys ought to use these Classic Extracts more frequently, because, in
them are found a more sustained dignity of demeanor and a more elabor-
ate dixplay of elocutionary powers than in lighter pieces. No Exhibition
—— omit to produce at least one Classic at each day’s session or exer-
cise.

 

  
  

   

 

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

.

For lawless power, wed faith to violation,
On reason build misrule, or justly bind
Allegiance to injustice. Tyranny
Absolves all faith ; and who invades our rights,
Howe’er his own commence, can never be
But an usurper. But for thee, for thee
There is no name! Thou hast abjured mankind,
Dashed safety from thy bleak, unsocial side,
And waged wild war with universal nature.
Crist. Licentious traitor! thou canst: talk it largely.
Who made thee umpire of the rights of kings,
And power, prime attribute; as on thy tongue -
The poise of battle lay, and arms of force
To throw defiance in the front of duty ?
Look round, unruly boy ! thy battle comes,
Like raw, disjointed, mustering feeble wrath,
A. war of waters, borne against a rock
Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe,
And shiver in the toil:
Gust. Mistaken man!
I come empowered and strengthened in thy weakness.
For though the structure of a tyrant’s throne
Rise on the necks of half the suffering world,
Fear trembles in the cement; prayers, and tears,
And secret curses, sap its moldering base,
And steal the pillars of allegiance from it;
Then let a single arm but dare the sway,
Headlong it turns, and drives upon destruction.
Crist. Profane, and alien to the love of Heaven !
Art thou still hardened to the wrath divine,
That hangs o’er thy rebellion ?, Know’st thou not
Thou art at enmity with grace, cast out,
Made an anathema, a curse enrolled
Among the faithful, thou and thy adherents,
Shorn from our holy church, and offered up
As sacred to perdition ?
Gust. Yes, I know,
‘When such as thou, with sacrilegious hand,
Seize on the apostolic key of heaven,
It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves
  

ga

 

CLASSIC: COLLOQUIES.

To shut out virtue, and unfold those gates
That Heaven itself had barred against the lusts
Of avarice and ambition. Soft and sweet,
As looks of charity or voice of lambs
That bleat upon the mountain, are the words
Of Christian meekness! mission all divine!
The law of love, sole mandate. But your gall,
Ye Swedish prelacy, your gall bath turned
The words of sweet but undigested peace,
To wrath and bitterness. Ye hallowed men,
In whom vice sanctifies, whose precepts teach
Zeal without truth, religion without virtue ;
Sacked towns, and midnight howlings, through the realm
Receive your sanction! Oh! tis glorious mischief !
When vice turns holy, puts religion on,
Assumes the robe pontifical, the eye
Of saintly elevation, blesseth sin,
And makes the scal of sweet offended Heaven
A sign of blood.
Orist. No more of this!
Gustavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace,
And hold thy motions in the sphere of duty,
Acceptance might be found.
Gust. Imperial spoiler !
Give me my father, give me back my kindred,
Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans,
Give me the sons in whom thy ruthless sword
Has left our widows childless. Mine they were,
Both mine and every Swede’s, whose patriot breast
Bleeds in his country’s woundings. Oh! thou canst not
Thou hast outsinned all reckoning! Give me, then,
My all that’s left, my gentle mother there,
And spare yon little trembler.
Crist... Yes, on terms
Of compact and submission.
Gust. Ha! with thee!
Compact with thee! and mean’st thou for my country,
For Sweden? No—so bold my heart but firm,
Although it wring for it, though blood drop for tears,
And at the sight my straining eyes dart forth—
They both shall perish first ! ‘ (Exeunt.

e

 

  
   

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

I.—FOR TWO BOYS.

(Enter TAMERLANE and Basazer, talking. Basazut has his

   

hands tied as a prisoner of war.)

Tam. When I survey the ruins of this field,
The wild destruction, which thy fierce ambition
Has dealt among mankind; (so many widows
And helpless orphans has thy battle made,
That half our Eastern world this day are mourners ;)
Well may I, in behalf of heaven and earth,

Demand from thee atonement for this wrong.

Bas. Make thy demand of those that own thy power !
Know, I am still beyond it; and though fortune
Has stript me of the train and pomp of greatness,

That outside of a king; yet still my soul,

Fixed high, and of itself alone dependent,

Is ever free and royal; and even now,

As at the head of battle, does defy thee.

I know what power the chance of war has given,
And dare thee to the use of it. This vile speeching,
This after-game of words, is what most irks me:
Spare that, and for the rest "tis equal all,

Be it as it may.

Tam. Well was it for the world,

When, on their borders neighboring princes met,
Frequent in friendly parle, by cool debates

Preventing wasteful war: such should our meeting
Have been, hadst thou but held in just regard

The sanctity of leagues so often sworn to.

Canst thou believe thy prophet, or, what’s more,

That Power Supreme, which made thee and thy prophet,
Will, with impunity, let pass that breach

Of sacred faith given to the royal Greek?

Bas. Thou pedant talker! ha! art thou a king
Possessed of sacred power, Heaven’s darling attribute,
And dost thou prate of leagues, and oaths, and prophets ¢
I hate the Greek, (perdition on his name !)

As I do thee, and would have met you both,
As death does human nature, for destruction.
Tam. Causeless to hate, is not of human kind:
 

  

CLASSIC COLLOQUTES.

The savage brute that haunts in woods remote
And desert wilds, tears not the fearful traveler
If hunger, or some injury provoke not.

Bas. Can a king want a cause, when empire bids

Go on? What is he born for, but ambition ?

It is his hunger—it is his call of nature,

The noble appetite which will be satisfied,

And, like the food of gods, makes him immortal.

Tam. Henceforth, I will not wonder we were foes,
Since souls that differ so by nature, hate,

And strong antipathy forbid their union.

Bas. The noble fire, that warms me, does indeed
Transcend thy coldness. I am pleased we differ,

Nor think alike.

Tam. No: for I think like a man,

Thou like a monster; from whose baleful presence
Nature starts back; and though she fixed her stamp
On thy rough mass, and marked thee for a man,
Now, conscious of her error, she disclaims thee,
As formed for her destruction.

*Pis true, 1 am a king, as thou hast been ;

Honor and glory too have been my aim ;

But though I dare face death, and all the dangers
Which furious war wears in its bloody front,

Yet would I choose to fix my name by peace,

By justice, and by mercy; and to raise

My trophies on the blessings of mankind :

Nor would I buy the empire of the world

With rain of the people whom I sway,

On forfeit of my honor.

Bas. Confusion! wouldst thou rob me of my glory ?
While I, (oh! blast the power that stops my ardor,)
Would, like a tempest, rush amid the nations,

Be greatly terrible, and deal, like Allah,
My angry thunder on the frightened world.

Tam. The world! ’twould be too little for thy pride:
Thou wouldst scale heaven.

Bas. I would. Away! my soul
Disjains thy conference.

Tam. Thou vain, rash thing,

 

  
   

   

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

That, with gigantic insolence, hast dared
To lift thy wretched self above. the stars,
And mate with power Almighty, thou art fallen!
Bas. ’Tis false! I am not fallen from anght I have
heen!
At least, my soul resolves to keep her state,
And scorns to make acquaintance with ill-fortune.
Tam. Almost beneath my pity art thou fallen !
To what vast hights had thy tumultnous temper
Been hurried, if success had crowned thy wishes!
Say, what had I to expect, if thou hadst conquered ?
Bas. . Oh! glorious thought! Ye powers! I will en-
Joy it,
Though but in fancy : imagination shall
Make room to entertain the vast idea.
Oh! had I been the master but of yesterday,
The world, the world had felt me; and for thee,
I had used thee, as thou art to me, a dog,
The object of my scorn and mortal hatred.
I would have caged thee for the scorn of slaves.
I would have taught thy neck to know my. weight,
And mounted from that footstool to the saddle :
Till thou hadst begged to die; and e’en that mercy
J had denied thee. Now thou knowst my mind,
And question me no further.
Tam. Well dost thou teach me
What justice should exact from thee. Mankind,
With one consent, cry out for. vengeance on thee ;
Loudly they call to cut off this league-breaker,
This wild destroyer, from the face of earth.
Bas. Do it, and rid thy shaking soul at once
Of its worst fear.
Tam. Why slept the thunder
That should have armed the idol deity,
And given the power, ere yester sun was set, d
To shake the soul of Tamerlane? Hadst thou an arm
To make thee feared, thou shouldst have proved it on me,
Amid the sweat and blood of yonder field,
When, through the tumult of the war I sought thee,
Fenced in with nations.
FASHIONABLE DISSIPATION. 53

Bas. Ob! blast the stars
That fated us to different scenes of slaughter !
Ob! could my sword have net thee !
Tam. Thou hadst then,
As now, been in my power, and held thy life
Dependent on my gift. Yes, Bujazet,
I bid thee live. So much my soul disdains
That thou shouldst think I can fear aught but Heaven.
Nay, more; couldst thou forget thy brutal fierceness,
And form thyself to manhood, I would bid thee
Live and be still a king, that thou mayst learn
What man should be to man: "
This royal tent, with such of thy domestics
As can be found, shall wait upon thy service ;
Nor will I use my fortune to demand
Hard terms of peace; but such as thou mayst offer
With honor, I with honor may receive. (Eeunt.)

q

FASHIONABLE DISSIPATION.
FOR TWO VERY SMALL MISSES.
(They meet on the street.)

Be.in. Good morning, Laura. Going to school ?
Thank you. I don’t feel well at all—
My head aches. We all missed you so
Last night at Dolly Sparkle’s ball.

‘We had a splendid time. Full dress,
And not a soul arrived til) nine.
The music and the supper, too,
Were tip-top—lots of ice and wine.

Lavra. My mamma thought the hours too late;
So papa wrote “regrets” and said
I had my bread-and-milk at six—
And that at seven I went to bed.

 
  

b4

BELLE.

LARA.
BELLE.

LAurRA

BELLE.

LAURA.

Bryn.

LAURA.

BELue.

LAuRA.

BEwue.

    
   
    
   
 
 
 
    
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
  
    

THRE DIME DIALOGUKS,

Oh, horrible! I should expire

With shame, if I were treated so !
I wore a new pink satin dress,

And, Laura dear—I caught a beau !

A. bow? Who lost it?
Little dunce!
I mean a friend, who waits on one ;
His manner was so marked, the girls
Were dead with envy, Loll—such fun
His father’s awful rich, ma says,
-We danced together eleven times.
Oh, dear, you would have laughed to see
The get-up of poor Bertha Grimes.

Bertha’s a real sweet girl, I think,
And the best student in the school.
I’m sorry if some accident,
Exposed her to your ridicule.

It’s only that she has no taste,
She makes herself a perfect fright !
She’s worn that overskirt tiree times
I’m certain, that she wore last night.

I’m sorry, Belle, I was not there—

But mamma thinks these midnight hours
Are bad for little girls like us,

Who need to sleep, like birds and flowers.

Don’t call me, please, a litile girl,
That term’s entirely out of date

In good society. Why, Loll, :
On my next birthday Tl be eight.

Well, I'am nine; but papa says—
What an old fogy he must be!
If he were mine, I’d let him know
I knew about as much as he.

Oh, Belle! there’s no one in the world
As good and kind as papa dear!

Tut, Loll! all old folks are a bore,

And in the background should appear.
    

  

A SCHOOL CHARADE.—MASTER PINCH.
There’s Charlie, now—my friend, you. know,
Drinks a whole bottle of champagne—

Ties his cravats in such a bow,

And twirls the prettiest. little cane.

Lavra. Ah! there’s the bell, and I must go,
Not once, this session, I've been late.
Come, Belle. Not going? Miss your school ?
Good-by, then, for I dare not wait. (Passes on.)

Breuie. T[ ought to go with her to school,
But not a lesson have I jearned.
m, That “ fancy-dress ” comes off to-night,
And with them all my head is turned.

I’m tired of grammar and of slate,

All school-books are but stupid stuff—
When I have learned the Boston Dip,

I really think Pl know enough {

A SCHOOL CHARADE.—MASTER-PIECE.
Characters :

; GEORGE CuRTIS, a young artist,
NELLIE Curtis, George's sister.
Harry Howe tt, tn love with Nellie.
Titty Jongs, a colored servant.

MASTER-

Scenz 1.—Artisi’s studio. An easel with a picture upon tt.
Pictures and books scattered on a table.

(Enter Goren, holding an open letter.)

GrorGr. That is the twenty-third application I have re-
fused this morning! A pretty task Nellie has given me.
She writes that she will be at home to-day, and wishes me to
have an efficient servant ready for her. I advertised, think-
ing the request simple enough, but such a set as have. called

 

  

  
  

56 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

here this morning! Yet a servant T must find, to-day. J
will accept the next one, be she black or white, stupid or
wise. (A knock at the door.) Come in. Now to see what is
destined for Nellie’s servant! Come in, I say!

(Enter 'Truy.) y

Tiny. (Courtesying.) Sarvent, massa !

Gro. Have you called in answer to the advertisement
in to-day’s Ledger ?

Tiuuy. (Courtesying again.) Dat ar’s a true fac’, for sure,
massa! I cum to ’ply for dat ar’ place, true ‘nuff.

Gro. (Looking at the letter.) What are your qualifica-
tions ?

Trty. Dun’ no, massa. Neber heard tell of dem ar’.

Guo. (Aside) Here’s a case! (Aloud.) What can you
do?

Titty. ‘Spec's dis chile make massa comfo’ble! I does
ebery t?ing a’most. Do all de work dis yere house, sartin.

Gro. Are you an efficient cook ?

Tinuy. Bress you, massa, dis chile cook fish, for sure.
Cook ebery ting, corn-dodgers, pies, all sorts of cookin’, ’deed
now, I kin! Is massa ’speciallumly fond of jish ?

Gro. Can you wait?

Titty. ’Pends on how long, massa. Dis yere chile wants
a place mighty bad, ’deed now she does! 'Spects you and
T’'ll jest persactly suit, massa !

Gro. (Looking at the letter.) What a string of qualifi-
cations Nellie requires! (Zo Tilly.) Can you wait on a ta-
ble?

Tin1y. Sakes a massy, massa! Did yer mean dat ar’?
(Laughing.) Don’t mean no disrespect, massa. Ki! yi! guess
dis gal kin wait. My land, Massa, dis gal kin do ebery ting,
scrub, most scrub dis yere house frou’ inter holes, and wash all
de clothes till dey all shiny clean, do all de work in gineral ;
dis chile ain’t ’fraid of work, nohow! Neber hab gout, nor
rheumatiz, nor nuramsey, neber hab nuffin.- *Spects you bet-
ter take dis gal, massa!

Gro. Where have you lived ?

Tiutuy. Well, round ’bout, massa.

Guo. But where?

Truuy. , Well, ’mong quality folks. Neber libed wid none

   

 
A SCHOOL CHARADE,——MASTER-PIECE. 57

of your poor white trash. ’Ciare to gracious, can’t ’member
all dare names.

‘Gro. But where were you brought up ?

Titty. ’Fore goodness, massa, dis yere chile neber had no
broughten up. Come up myself, deed T did !

Gro. What is your name ?

Titty. Glorianny Sophiy Julianny Sophonisby Animary
Pertilda Jones.

GEO. No more?

Ty. Dat ar’s all, massa. Mostways dey calls me Tilly,
for short.

Gro. (Aside) I said I'd take the next one. (Aloud.)
You may stay, Matilda. Your mistress will be at home to-day.

Tuy. Ki! yi! tinks you my missus all dis yere time!
You bin got pretty lilly wife ?

Gro. No, my sister is your mistress ; I am your master.

Tirnuy. °Spec’s I knowed dat ar’! What’ll I do- fustus,
massa ?

Gro. You will find the marketing on the kitchen table.
Have dinner ready by two o'clock.

Try. I’se gwine. ‘You find dis gal de ’grediennes, and
she’ll make good dinners, ’deed, now, she will. Sarvent,
inassa. (Courtesies and exit.)

Guo. So, that is settled! Now for my great picture.
Ab! that I could claim the title of master from the world as
cusily as from this poor girl—to add new luster to the glorious
art by my pencil, and send my name down to posterity with
that of Rubens and Titian! I will! No labor shall discour-
age me, no study daunt me, till I stand master among my fellow-
artists. Raphael, Angelo, Murillo, look to your laurels! I will
spend life in the endeavor to rival you! (Begins to paint.)

(Curtain falls.)

PIECE (PEACE.

Scenz II.—Same as Scent I. Ne ture walking up and down.

Nexium. Will Harry never come? Surely, it does not
take so long to ask George that simple question, “ Can I marry
your sister Nellie?” Yet they have been closeted together
for two mortal hours. I’ve half a mind to listen at the door.

 
   

  

58 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Won’t I torment Harry when he does come! He is getting
entirely too conceited because I let him see I Joved: him, yes-
terday morning, and [J] just take the nonsense out of him.
My husband may, perhaps, rule me, but he shan’t do it till we
come home from church, that’s certain. Ihave a good chance
to pay Harry for keeping George so Jong. He went to Miss
Smith’s ball, last evening, when I coulda’t go, and paid des-
perate attention to a Mrs. Leslie all the evening. | Pretty con-
duct! Oh, will he never come! (Looks at her watch.) Two
hours and ten minutes! , Hark! there he is! It will never
do to let him see my anxiety. (Stts down.)
(Znter Harry.)

Harry. Dear Nellie, are you there ?

Newz. (Covlly.) Are you back again already ?

Harry. Already! The time has seemed an age (tenderly)
away from you.

New. (Zuking up a book.) What were you talking about ?
National affairs ?

Harry. (Astonished... Why, have you forgotten that, yes-
terday, you gave me permission to ask your brother's consent
to our marriage ?

Neu. (Carelessly.) Did 1?

Harry. Why, of course you did! Why, Nellie—

Neu. Gentlemen generally address. me as Miss Curtis,
Mr. Howell,

Harry. Miss Curtis! Mr. Howell! Why, Nell!

NEL. Miss Curtis, sir, if you please.

Harry. ButI don't please. 1 ain't at all pleased ; I’m
very much displeased. What have I done since yesterday
morning to change you so ?

Neu. Done?

Harry. Yes, what have I done, Nellie?

New. Miss Curtis.

Harry. (Passionately. Oh, confound it all.

Neu. (Rising.) Mr. Howell, if you wish to swear, I'll
leave the room. ’

Harry. Swear? It is enough to make a saint swear !
Didn’t you promise to be my wife, yesterday morning ?

Nuwu. (Carelessly.) Did 12 I have really quite forgot-
ten.

 
 

  

A 8CHOCL CHARADE.— MASTER-PIECKH. 59

Harry. Forgotten! Perfidious girl! Tsee it all! You
wished to trifle with an honest love, to break a true heart. I
will leave you! May you never feel as Idonow! I forgive
you.

Neitz. Don’t be dramatic, or I shall laugh.

Ilarry. Dramatic! Oh, Nellie, what have I done? Do
I not idolize you, love you beyond expression ?

Newtyu. Do you?

Harry. Shall I swear it? Darling— (Attempts to tuke
her hand.)

Neuu. Mr. Howell, do not be dramatic.

Harry. (Ffuriously.) You have no heart—no feeling !

Netz. Ah, indeed! Then, perhaps, you had better seek
a wife who has both—Mrs. Leslie, for instance.

Harry. Mrs. Leslie! Jealous! (Bursts out laughing.)
Mrs. Leslie. Oh, that’s too rich!

Neuu. I can’t see the joke.

Harry. (Still laughing.) So you think Mrs. Leslie would
suit me? She is a lovely woman, I know, but— Oh, dear, I
shall die laughing !

Net. (Provoked.) What is there so funny in your per-
fidy ?

Harry. Perfidy! Don't be dramatic, Nell.

Neuu. (Walking to the door.) Good-morning, Mr. Howell.

Harry. (Stopping her.) No, no, don’t go; Vl tell you all
about it. Why, Nellie, Mrs. Leslie is my sister. You have
heard me speak of Laura?

Ney. Your sister?

Harry. Yes. I took her to Miss Smith’s, 10 introduce
her to you. Now, darling, don’t let’s quarrel any more. You
don’t let mé have any peace.

Neti. Well, as she was your sister—

Harry. Kiss me to make up, and ’ll tell you what George
said. (Attempts to kiss her.)

Newu. (Holding out her hand.) My note of hand will do
for a peace-offering.

Harry. (Kissing her hand.) Now for George. (Offers
Nellie a chair. They sit.) Perhaps you would like to know
what your brother said.

Netu. Upon what subject ?

 

  
  

60 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

Harry.  (Aside.). Provoking little witeh! Will she never
cease tormenting me? (Aloud. The subject of our marriage,
to. be sure.

Newu. Well, what did he say?

Harry. He said he wished his sister to marry an artist ;
that I must give up law, and study painting with him, and
when I could paint a perfect portrait of you, and so prove my
skill, I should have your hand as my reward. Fortunately, I
can draw pretty well.

Neuui. Study here! That will be delightful. Ahem! I
don’t meat that; I—

Harry.. Yes, you do. Oh, Nell, why won’t you let me
see you love me?

Neutu. Are you sure I do?

Harry. Why, did you not promise to be my wife ?

NELL. (Quieily.) Well, one must marry somebody, I sup-
pose, and I had as lief marry you as anybody else.

Harry. | (Rising, provoked.) Thank you! Really, your
enthusiasm is quite refreshing,

(Enter GEORGE.)

Gro, Well, Harry, when will you commence a piece of
painting? Hey-dey! pouting! Are you and Nell quarrei-
ing again? You are always fighting. Can’t you make love
in peace?

Harry, I ain’t quarreling.

Newu. Nor I, IL am sure.

Geo. Oh, then, I was mistaken. .I am very glad my ser-
vices are not required to keep the peace. Shake hands and
run off, for I want to paint.

(HARRY folds out his hand to Newum. After a moments
hesitation, she takes it. THWaRrRy throws his arm round her, and
they go out.)

Guo. (Looking afler them.) How odd it is! They love
each other—that is evident; yet they quarrel all the time. . I
will stay a bachelor, for, once admit a woman to your heart,
and farewell to all peace. (Curtain falls.)

    

   

 
 

 

  

A SCHOOL CHARADE.— MASTER-PIECE.

MASTERPIECE.

Screnr III.—Same as ScenwI. and Il. A large picture-frame,
empty, with a dark background, stands facing the audience.
Harry arranging a table in front of the frame.

Harry. What a capital idea that was of Nellie’s! Find-
ing my portrait was a miserable failure, she proposed to stand
herself in the frame, and so deceive George into the belief
that my portrait was a perfect likeness, indeed. We ap-
pointed this evening for the exhibition, in order to have gas-
light instead of sunlight to examine it by.

(Enter NELLIE.)

Nett. Well, is your frame all ready? I am afraid I
shall laugh ; but I think I can manage George, even if he does
discover the cheat. His own picture has just come home
again from the Academy with many commendations, so he is
in a good humor.

Harry. Is that his picture in the great box in the entry ?

Newu. Yes. He has just taken the cover off. It is his
masterpiece, and he may well be proud of it.

Harry. Did it draw a prize ?

Netzi. The prizes will not be awarded till to-day, but we
shall know this evening.

Harry. Come, Nellie, step into the frame. Tam all im-
patience to try our scheme. (NELLIE stands in the frame.) So.
Turn your face a little this way. Perfect !

Newt. Lower the gas a little. (HArry lowers the light.)
Now call George. Quick! for I shall soon tire of standing
here. (zit Harry.) I hope he won’t stay long. Hark!
some one is coming.

(Enter GEORGE.)

Gro. My picture is uninjured. Oh, I am all impatience
to hear from the judges their opinion. (Sees Nenim.) Ah!
Harry’s picture! I am amazed! T never dreamed he could
paint like that. Paint! why, it seems fairly to breathe! THe
has indeed won his reward. Heigh-ho! 1 shall miss my lit-
tle sunbeam of a sister! Even this picture will not console
me. It seems almost as if it could speak! ‘This is in-
deed a masterpiece. I must find Harry and congratulate
him. (Hait.)

 

  
  

   

 

62 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Neti. §o0! that is over! Ah! he is coming back! I
must not move yet !

(inter Troy.)

Truty. (Crying.) Ob, Lor! ob, I's a missible nigger,
‘deed Lis! Marse George ’l] half kill me, ’deed he will!
Qh, ny stars! (Sees picture.) Ki! yi! dat ar Miss Nellie,
for sure. Dem eyes is orful nateral, follers dis chile all ’round.
(Begins to ery again.) Oh, what will Marse George say ’bout
dat ar’ picter ?

Nexium. (Aside.) I wonder what the new mischief is.
Til have some fun. (In a hollow, deep voice.) Matilda! Ma-
tilda! Matilda !

Tiruiy. (TZrembling.) Oh, sakes a massy! What’s dat?

Newtu. Matilda Jones!

TruLy. | Oh, dat ar’ picter’s a-talkin’! Oh, I’m. most
skeered to def! Oh, my! (Zrembles violently.)

New. Matilda Jones, listen to me!

Titty. Ob, Missy Spook, I been listening all dis yere time.
(Kneels.) Oh, if you please, Missy Spook, let dis yere nigger
off dis time.

Newu. Matilda, confess your sins!

Tu.ry. Oh, Missy Spook, what kind of ’rangement is
dat ar’, Oh, my heart’s a-palpitationing orful. Oh, dis
yere nigger good, for sure, all her days, you let her go dis yere
time.

Neti. Why were you troubled just now ?

Titty. Been frowed stuff all over dat ar’ picter in the en-
try. Oh, Missy Spook, don’t look at dis yere chile dat ar’ way,
please. Oh, I most skeered to def !

Neu. Matilda!

Titiy. Yes, Missy Spook, dat ar’s my name! Oh, if you
please, I’s de most fearfulest nigger ’maginable Let me go
jest dis onct !

Ney. Do not interrupt me.

Titty Neber, Missy Spook; wouldn’t do dat ar’ fer nuffin.
Oh, Ler’ how dem eyes is rolling.

Nett. (Slowly raising her arm.) Matilda, beware! I
know all your most secret thoughts!

Tiuty. Does yer, Missy Spook! Oh! it’s a-moving
(Stands up.) p
      
 
    
  
   
     
  
   
    
   
    
    
   
    
    
   
  
    
 
   
 

A SCHOOL CHARADE,—MASTER-PIECE. 63

(NELLIE slowly steps out of the frame, and, with both arms
raised, goes toward Tiuiy, who, trembling, retreats as she ad-
vunces.)

Titty. Oh, let me go dis onct! Oh, I shall die frightful,
for sure! Oh, dis yere chile neber did nuffin to nobody, Missy
Spook. Oh, I skeered to def !

Neti. (Waving her arm toward door.) Go! Leave me!

Titty. I'll go, ’deed I will! (Berit, hastily.)

Neuyi. (Laughing.) How frightened she was. I must
cover this frame before George returns. (Throws a cloth over the

~ frame.)
(inter Harry.)

Harry. Eureka! we’ve won! George has consented to
our marriage.

(Enter GEORGE.)

Gro. Why, Nellie, are you here? I have been searching
the whole house for you.

(Enter Try.)

Truuy. Jf you please, Marse George, I'll ’fess, for sure. I
bin done spiled dat ar big pieter in the hall.

Gro. My masterpiece! (Rushes out.)

Try. Dat ar’ picter’s kivered up. If dem ar’ lovyers
knowed what I does, dey’d neber stay here, I sartin sure.

(Eeit.)

Netu. I forgot poor George’s picture. I hope it ig not
entirely ruined.

Harry. I hope not. Mine, I fear, can never take its
place.

(Enter GroreE, laughing.)
Gro. That stupid nigger upset a bucket of soapsuds on
my picture. Fortunately, no harm: is done.
(Enter Try with a letter.)
Truiy. Dis yere for you, Marse George.
Gro. (Opening it. Uurrah! the first prize for my
picture! Admitted by all the judges to be a masterpiece !
Neti. Oh, I am so glad!
Gro. Harry, you must exhibit yours. It will be sure to
draw a prize. :
4 Harry. (Zaking Nellie’s hand.) It has drawn « prize;
and, if those here present will give it their praise, I shall

  
   

6+ THE DIME DIALOGUES,

surely congratulate myself upon haying painted a master-

piece. (Curtain falls.)
Position of Characters.
TILLY. Harry. NELLIE. GEORGE.

SONGS OF SEVEN.

These poems of Miss Ingelow form a beantiful series of recitations for
an evening's entertainment. They should be given in character, and, if
practicable, with scenery, This might be arranged quite simply, aud
would need but little variation.

SEVEN TIMES ONE. . CHILDHOOD.

Arrange as for a tableau—a garden scene, which you may prepare with
evergreens and pots of flowers, which may be borrowed or made up for
the occasion, a rustic chair, a large garden vase, with trailing vines, and
any thing elve suitable and available. There must bea background of
evergreen trees, or such other greenery as you can command. If it is in
the winter, a few artificial flowers can be fastened to the plants. The cur-
tain rises upon this scene, and immediately a little girl enters and recites
the first poem:

‘*There’s no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There’s no rain left in heaven ;
T’ve said my ‘ seven times’ over and over—
Seven—times—one—are—seven,”’ etc.

In selecting a child for this recitation, have regard to talent rather than
beauty. Any child will look well enough, but few have the talent to recite
this poetry. Take some little girl with a clear, flexibl voice, good nat-
ural! intonation, and genius forreading. In training her, the first requisite
is that she speak every word distinctly, and loud enough to be audible
to the Tisteners; and with this accuracy of pronunciation, there must
be nothing stiff or mechanical in rendering the sentiment of the poem.
If you can make the child feel that she is that little girl among the
flowers, she will do it all sweetly and naturally. The recitation will be
the most effective if she can be taught to recite as if talking to herself,
with some appropriate action. For instance. She enters with askipping
rope, or hoop, in her hands, or drawing a doll’s wagon. As she comes down
the path, to the foot of the stage, she drops her playthings, looks closely
at the leaves—brushes her hand over them to see if they are wet, then says
the first line—

‘«'There’s no dew left on the daisies and clover ;”
then looking up at the sky—

   
 

  

SONGS OF SEVEN,

‘There’s no rain left in heaven ;”
then, in a congratulatory way, as if she had got done her work for that day,
aud was glad of it—
“V’ve said my ‘seven times’ over and over ’—
then the Jast line, with a nod of the head at each word, and the invariable
sing-song that accompanies the multiplication table—
“ Seven—times—one—are—seven.””
In the same manner through all the stanzas. When she says, ‘t Oh, velvet
bee, you’re a dusty fellow,” let her peer into some flower, and then start
back, as if she saw the bee in the flower. Atl such pretty gestures add
much to the effect. But unless the child can do these gracefully and nat-
urally, they had better not be attempted.
There’s no dew left on the daises and clover,
There's no rain left in heaven :
T’ve said my ‘“ seven times” over and over,
Seven times one are seven,
I am old, so old, I can write a letter ;
My birthday lessons are done ;
The jambs play always, they know no better;
‘They are only one times one.
Oh moon!.in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low;
You were bright! ah bright! but your light is faiting—
You are nothing now but a bow.
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face ?
I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.
Oh velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow,
‘You’ve powdered your legs with gold!
Oh brave marsh-mary buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!
Oh columbine, open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell !
Oh cuckso-pint, toll me the purple clapper
That hangs in your clear green bell!
And show me your nest with the young ones in its
T will not steal them away ;
Iam old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet—
I am seven times one to-day.

 

  
   

   

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

SEVEN TIMES TWO. ROMANCE.

The same garden scene. A disordered pile of school-books and slates
on the rustic seat. The garden vase should be standing near the front,
and near it, perhaps lounging carelessly upon it, the school-girl of four-
teen. She should be dressed in white, a garden hat ora long-stemmed
flower in herhand, She stacds there when the curtain rises, then lifting
her head, looking upward and away, as if she heard the bells and saw the
steeple, she begins :

“You belis in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes,
How many soever they be,
And let the brown meadow-lark’s note, as he ranges,
Come over, come over to me.”

This poem, as indeed the whole series, is soliloquy, and the perfect ef-
fect can not be obtained unless it be recited as if unconscious of the au-
dience, This unconsciousness is one of the finest effects of genius, and
must be, in a certain way, real, and not assumed. If the girl reciting
thinks more of herself than of the poetry, it will be impos-ible to do it well ;
but if she has genius to appreciate the poem, to hecome imbued with its
spirit, she will interpret it truly. Very few gestures are necessary ; a lovk-
ing up toward the steeple when she speaks to the bells, or a careless
swinging of her garden hat, a toss of her head or a shrug of her shoul-
ders, when it comes in naturally, will be appropriate and pretty.

You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes,
How many soever they be,

Andlet the brown meadow-lark’s note as he ranges
Come over, come over to me,

Yet birds’ clearest carol by fall or by. swelling
No magical sense conveys,

And bells have forgotten their old art of telling
The fortune of future days.

“Turn again, turn again,” once they rung checrily,
While a boy listened alone ;

Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily
All by himself on a stone.

Poor bells! I forgive you ; your good days are over.
And mine, they are yet to be;

No listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover:

You leave the story to me.

 

 
 

 

 

 

  

SONGS OF SEVEN. G7

The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather,
And hangeth her hoods of snow ;

She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather ;
Oh children take long to grow,

I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster,
Nor long summer hide so late ;

And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster,
For some things are ill to wait.

I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover,
While dear hands are Jaid ou my head;

“The child is a woman, the book may close over,
For all the lessons are said.”

I wait for my story——the birds can not sing it,
Not one, as he sits on the tree;

The bells can not ring it but long years, oh bring it!
Such as I wish it to be.

SEVEN TIMES THREE. LOVE.

Same garden scene, with subdued light, as near like moonlight as pos-
sible. A young lady, dressed in white, recites the poem. The same care
must be taken that, while the audience hear every word distinctly, she
does not seem to speak to the audience. Let her remember she is talking
to herself, to the night, to the flowers, and to the absent lover, who is late
in coming.

I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover,
Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate ;
“Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover—
Hush, nightingale, hush! Oh, sweet nightingale, w. dt
Till I listen and hear
If a step draweth near,
For my love he is late!

“The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer,
A cluster of stars bangs like fruit in the tree,
The fall of the water comes sweeter comes clearer :
To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see
Let the star-clusters glow, _
Let the sweet waters flow,
And eross quickly to me,

 

  
   
 
    
      
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 
    
   
       
 
     
      
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
    

THE DIME DIALOGUES,

“You night-moths that hover where honey brims over
From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep ;
You glow-worms shine out, and the pathway discover
To him that comes darkling along the rough steep.
Ah, my sailor, make haste,
For the time runs to waste,
And my love lieth deep—

“Too deep for swift telling: and yet my one lover
Ive conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night.”
By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover,
“ Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight ;
But Pl love him more, more
Than e’er wife loved before,
Be the days dark or bright.

SEVEN TIMES FOUR. MATERNITY.

   

  

The garden scene, brilliantly lighted. Seated upon the garden bench,
the mother in a white dress aid matronly cap, weaving a garland of flow-
ers; one or two little children are seated at her feet; two others, with
flowers in their aprons, stand at her knee. They hand the flowers to the
mother, one by one. As she takes them, she exclaims to the children:

“Weigh ho! Daisies and buttercups !
Mother shall thread them a daisy chain ;
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow,” etc.
The words, “‘ Heigh ho!” occur several times. She speaks them with \
archness and vivacity, laughing and smiling, and nodding at the children,
as if talking baby talk and nonsense to the little ones. Sometimes, at the
“ Heigh ho!’ she holds up her garland, throws back her head, as if look-
ing at the effect, then shaking it at the children, she laughs out the words,
“‘Heigh ho!” etc. Sometimes she leans down and gives one of the chil-
dren a merry little pat, or a sudden kiss:
“Oh, bonnie brown sons ! oh, sweet little daughters,
Maybe he thinks on you now.”
It is impossible to specify particular gestures; the whole tone and
action of the reciter must illustrate what the words so perfectly express,
the sweetness and rich content of happy motherhood.
Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups,
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall,
When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses,
And dance with the cuckoo-buds, slender and small:

 
        
     
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
     
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
     
   

SONGS OF SEVEN. 69

Here’s two bonny boys, and here’s mother’s own lasses,
Eager to gather them all,

Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups:
Mother shall thread them a daisy chain:
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow,
That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain ;
Sing, “ Heart thou art wide though the house be but nar-
row—"
Sing once, and sing it again.
Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups,
Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow ;
hoe A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters,
And haply one musing doth stand at her prow.
Oh, bonny brown sons, oh, sweet little daughters,
Maybe he thinks on you now!

Heigh hot daisies-and buttercups,
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall;
* A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure,
And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall,
Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure—
God that is over us all. ;

   

SEVEN “TIMES FIVE. WIDOWKOOD,

In sharp contrast to the preceding-merry scene, comes the desolation of
widowhood, The lights should be somewhat subdued; the garden scene
as before; but to the woman in widow’s weeds all things seem changed.
Alone and desolate she leans upon the garden vase, her accents broken,
her gestures slow and painful, As she speaks the first words, she draws
her hand slowly across her forehead, as if to wipe out the pain and sad re-
membrance:

“T sleep and rest, my beart makes moan
Before J am well awake;””

 

The genius of the reciter must prompt the tones and action that best in-
terpret the exquisite pathos of this poem.
I sleep and rest, my heart makes’ moan
Before J ani well awake;
«“ Let me bleed ! oh, let me alone,
Since IT must not break !”
3
    
 

THE DIME DIALOGUES,

For children wake, though fathers sleep,
With a stone at foot and at head:

Oh sleepless God, forever keep,
Keep both living and dead !

      
   
    

I lift mine eyes, and what to see

But a world happy «nd fair ;
I have not wished it to mourn with me—
Comfort is not there,

    
   
 

Oh what anear but golden brooms,
And a waste of reedy rills;

Oh what afar but the fine glooms
On.the rare blue bills!

 
   
      
  
   
  
 
 
 
    
 
   
  
   
  

T shall not die, but live forlore—
How bitter it is to part!

Ob to meet thee, my love, once more l—
Oh my heart, my heart }

Ob that an echo might wake
And waft one note of thy psalm to me
Ere my beart-strings break ! \

f . |

No more to hear, no more to see!
|

/

I should know it how faint soe’er, ;
And with angel voices blent ;
. Ob once to fee} thy spirit anear,
I could be content! j

Or once between the gates of gold,
While an angel entering trod,

But once—thee sitting to behold |
On the hills of God.

SEVEN TIMES SIX. GIVING IN MARRIAGE.

The garden scene. <A lady richly dressed, as for a daughter’s wedding
enters and recites the poem. As she retires, the curtain falls ; but rises a
few moments later upon the tableau of a bridal, the mother standing in
the sroup. If this tableau is shown twice, the positions should be changed
the second time, the bride and groom kuecling, instead of standing.

  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
  

SONGS OF SEVEN.

To bear, to nurse, to rear,
To watch, and then to lose:

To see my bright ones disappear,
Drawn up like morning dews—

To bear, to nurse, to rear,
To watch; and then to lose ;

This have I done when God drew near
Among his own to choose.

To hear, to heeed, to wed,
And with thy lord depart
In tears that he, as soon as shed,
: Will Jet no longer smart—
oS To hear, to heed, to wed,
This while thou didst I smiled,
For now it was not God who said,
“Mother give ms thy child.”

Oh fond, oh fool, and blind,

To God I gave with tears,

| But when a man like grace would find

. My soul put by her fears—

| Oh fond, oh fool, and blind,

| God guards in happier spheres

That man will guard where he did bind
Is hope for unknown years.

To hear, to heed, to wed,
Fair lot that maidens choose,
Thy mother’s tenderest words are said,
| Thy face no more she views;
| Thy mother’s lot, my dear,
| She doth in naught accuse ;
Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear,
To love—and then to Jose.

 

”
SEVEN TIMES SEVEN. LONGING FOR HOME.

The curtain rises upon the garden scene, the same as at first. A lady,
dressed in plain black, with a white cap, enters, and comes slowly down
the path to the front of the stage. Her form is slighiiy bowed, her hair is

     
     
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

72 THR DIME DIALOGUES.

white, her face bears marks ofiage and suffering; ber hands are feeble and
old, As she begins the poem, her voice is. tremulous, but gathers strength
as she goes on, until at last it. becomes clear and beautiful, as the vision
of her heavenly home lights up her dim sight. As she speaks the last
words, the chorus of:
“Home, home—sweet, sweet home,
Vm waiting, dear Savior, for Heaven, myhome,”

should be softly-sung by'a concealed choir. The lady stants with surprise,
stands mute and listening, until the last notes die away and the curtain |

falls,
A song of a boat:

There was once.a boat on a_billow,
Lightly she tocked to her port remote,
And the foam was white in her wake like snow,
And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow,
And bent like a iwand. of willow.
I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat
Went courtesying over the billow,
I marked her course till a, dancing mote
» She faded out on the moonlit foam,
And I stayed )ehind in the dear loved home ;
And my thoughts all day were about the boat,
And my dreams upon the pillow.
I pray you hear my song of a boat,
For it is but short:
My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat,
In river or port. 3
Long I looked out for the lad she bore,
On the open desolate sea, i i
And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore, /
For he came not back to me—
Ah me!

oo A song of a nest : |
There was once a nest in a hollow, |
Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed,
Soft and warm, and full to the brim ;
Vetches leaned over it purple and dim,
With. buttercup buds to follow, —

I pray you hear my song of a nest,

For it,is not long: |
You shall never light in a summer quest
The bushes among —

  
   

   

A DEBATE.

Shall never light on a prouder sitter,
A. fairer nestful, nor ever know

A softer sound than their tender twitter,
That wind-like did come and go.

T had a nestful once of my own,
* Ah happy, happy I
Right dearly I loved them: but when they were grown
They spread out their wings to fly—
Oh, one after one they flew away
Far up to the heavenly blue,
To the better country, the upper day,
And—T wish I was going too

I pray you; what is the nest to. me,
My empty nest ?

And what is the shore where I stood to see
My boat sail down to.the west?

Can I call that home where I anchor yet,
Though my good man has sailed ?

Can I call that home where my nest was set,
Now all its hope bath failed 2

Nay, but the port where my. sailor, went,
And the land where my nestlings be:

There isthe home where my thoughts, are sent,
The. only home. for me!

Ah me!

A DEBATE. Z

QurstTion: Which was the greatest General, General Napoleon

Bonaparte or General Andrew Jackson?

For Grn. BoNAPARTE: For Gen. JACKSON:
Mr. SNAFFLES. Mr. MuLimns.
Mr. Skype. Mr. Tornorr.

Snarries. Ladies and gentlemen, it devolves upon me on
this important eccasion to open the debate. I am for Gen-
eral’ Bonaparte on this important oceasion. » History says, sir,
that General Bonaparte was the greatest man, sir, that the world
 

   

14, “THE DIME DIALOGUES.

ever saw. History says, sir, that when General Bonaparte had
conquered the world he wept that there was no more worlds
to be conquered. ‘Mr President, sir, I have often thought, sir,
what a grand picture for a:painter to draw, sir, was the great
General Napoleon Bonaparte standing on the rock-bound coast
of St. Helena, and weeping that he had no more worlds to
conquer. Sir, if the Science of Astronomy had, been far
enough advanced to have moved the planet. Jupiter and an-
nexed it to the earth, then, sir, General Bonaparte would have
been in his glory. Then, sir, would he have had something
to rouse his energies, for Jupiter is several hundred times larger
than the earth. But alas, sir, he couldn’t get his army there ; and
s0, folding his arms, and leaning gracefully against a rock,
while the calm zephyrs blowed his coat-tail. behind him, he
wept! The allusion, sir, is a sorrowful one, and nearly moves
me to tears. I need not particularize on his numerous vic-
tories. I leave that for other and abler speakers on my side.
Now, sir, let me ask the question what great things did Gen-
eral Jackson ever do? “It is said he fit the battle of New Or-.
leans. Mr. Président, J deny it/ My grandfather, sir—Obed
Snaffles—was in that battle, he was a Major of the 97th Cali-
fornia—the bravest regiment, without any exception, that ever
went into a battle. Well, sir, my grandfather—Major Snaffles,
sir, told his son—my father, sir—that General Jackson never
was in the battle of New Orleans. Now, sir, I have given
you the testimony of an eye witness—the very best testimony
that can be given on any subject—better even than history—
that General Jackson was not in the battle of New Orleans.
With these remarks, Mr, President, I leave the floor for other
orators,

Muiiens. Mr. President, and fellow citizens generally :
I am for General Jackson on this occasion. I am a Jackson
man and always expect to be. My father and mother before
me were both Jackson men. I must confess my surprise to
hear General Jackson slandered to-day, sir; yes, I say slun-
dered | |The gentleman says that his grandfather said that
General Jackson was not in the battle of New Orleans. Isay,
sir, that if his grandfather and General Jackson were both
alive, General Jackson would have good grounds for a slander
suit against his grandfather. General Jackson, sir, is dead,

 

   
C

¢

   

   

A DEBATE, "5

sir; but, sir, while Z live his fame shall ever have a, defender
against the slanders of his enemies, it don’t. matter who they
are!.. As to Mr. Bonaparte he ain’t to he named in the same
breath with General Jackson.. He was, I suppose, a very nice
sort of a man, and wore very good clothes—you see, Mr. Pres-
ident; Lam candid and truthful, and don’t want to say an un-
just thing against Mr. Bonaparte; but, I say, he is no more
alongside of General Jackson than a little nigger is to a dark
night. Having answered all my opponent’s,arguments I re-
sign the floor to abler bands.

Sxyspetr. Mr. Chairman, ladies, gentlemen and fellow
countrymen: I am proud to appear before you to-night as the
defender of General Bonaparte. The gentleman what has
jest set down admits, sir, that he can’t say nothin’ ag’in the
fair name and fame of General Bonaparte. I wish he had said
somethin’ ag’in him. It would have done: my heart good to
have had the opportunity to have nailed the li—mistakes—to
the counter. No, sir, the gentleman didn’t dare to come out
with any charges! He knowed if he did 1 would have tore
him into a million anda half of flinders, and thrown. his
worthless carcass to the dogs. I mean, of course, as to arger-
ment. 1 don’t mean sure enough for surtain. General Bona-
parte’s reputation stands high, sir. What says history ?
“ Tell me, then, reverend chronicler of the grave.” History, sir,
says that at the terrible battle of Austerlitz, General Bonaparte
with three hundred men, stood ag’in the whole force of Gen-
eral Xerxes, amounting to five million nine hundred thousand
four hundred and thirty-two men. History says, sir, that Mr.
Bonaparte’s litle army killed three million one hundred and
twenty-five thousand eight hundred and ninety-six, and the
rest were wounded and captured; not a man. escaped to tell
the tale. Now, sir, who can name New Orleans in the same
breath with sich a battle as Hat? Whatelse does history say ?
History says that N. Bonaparte was the first man that marched
over the bridge of Lodi. Holding the star-spangled banner
in one hand and his sword in the other, he rushed over the
dead bodies on the bridge, right plumb. into the mouth of a
cannon, killing one hundred and thirty-four men with his
single hand! What else did he do, sir? Look at him at'the
great battle of Marengo, sir, where he fit the hosts of Santa
   

  

%6 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Anna fifteen to one! Look at the battle of Borodino, where
he met and conquered the great Hannibal! Look at Water-
loo, where he fit against Julius Ceesar seventeen days, weither
army stopping a minute to eat or sleep! The result of this
battle, sir, was a dog-fall ; nary army whippin’ the other. But
it has been unjastly said that General Bonaparte was whipped.
ZF am able to say it is a slander, Ceasar never claimed the vic-
tory, sir. ~ Now, sir, what are the claims of General Jackson ?
How he ever got the tittle of General Tam unable to say. I
can’t learn that he ever smelt gunpowder in his life. It’s true,
sir, he happened to be in command of the army at the time
the battle of New Orleans was fit; but he wasn’t in the fight
at all. ‘He was six miles in the rear, hid in the cellar of an
old tavern, dressed in woman’s clothes, and nearly scared to
death for fear the enemy would cotch him. ‘This I know to
be a fact. . Now, sir, what else has he ever done? It’s true
he was President of the United States, but he got there by
trickery. He cheated General Anthony Wayne out of the
oflice. He was the man who ought to have had it, sir, at the
time that Jackson got it. What else did he do? It is said
he fit the Injuns. What proof is there of it? If it was so,
wouldn’t there have been’ some proof? T’ve eamined into
that matter; I s’arched Hume’s History of England clean
through and there ain’t a word of it there. If it had been
true that Jackson fit the Indians wouldn’t Hume’s History have
mentioned it? Of course it would. I know some little paper-
back histories’ says he’ fit the Indians, but there ain’t no
big standard. history like Huime’s says so. The gentleman
last on the floor says he is a defender of Jackson (I doubt of
he’s bein’ a real General and I won’t call him so.) Well, sir,
let him defend him against the charge brought against him of
breakin’ into the United States bank with a crowbar, and
carryin’ a dark lantern, and, at the hour of midnight, when
good men were asleep, this great General Jackson stole forty-
four billions of dollars. This'I know to be a fact. Let him
defend Mr. Jackson of the charge I now bring against him of
stealin’ a valuable imported bull belongin’ to General Grant.
I caa prove that, sir, by General Grant himself. General
Grant told me if it hadn’t been that he felt sorry for his
family he would have sent him up for ninety. Now, sir, the

 
   

   

A DEBATH.

absurdity of comparin’ sich a ran with the great conqueror N.
Bonaparte, Esq., is easily seen. .Why, sir, it is; enough .to
make Mr. Bonaparte come up out of his grave. I’ve no doubt
his bones are rattlin’ with indignation to-night. Having
poured my hot shot into the enemies’ camp, if tney can de-
fend themselves let them now pitch in. Let them clear up
the charges ag’in’ Jackson’s character. Ladies and gentlemen,
I thank you for your attention, and I now vanish from the
stage of action and take my seat. | (Amid great applause.)

Toriorr. Mr. President, gentlemen and ladies of the

fair sex: Lam thankful that the gentleman has concluded. I
Ca not contain myself longer. My veins have been b’ilin’ with
indignation and concentrated wrath for some time... To. sit
here quietly, and be compelled to listen to sich a speech as
you have just heard, is the hardest thing I. ever done in my
life. The gentleman seems anxious to have his name wrote
on the the roll of eternal infamy, alongside of Benedict Ar-
©Pnold, by bringin’ sich charges ag’in’ General Jackson. [rise
here, gentlemen and ladies of the fair sex, to say.that every
word that the gentleman has said from Alpher to Homeger
is as unvarnished a ]—

Cuairman. The speaker will please not indulge in person-
alities.

Topiort, Well, then, I will say it is as unvarnished, flat-

footed and squar’ out a “ sine gua non” as I ever heard in my
life. If I can’t give the proper name to the speech in Mnglisi
I will in Latin. The gentleman names General Grant, our
President, as his main witness ag’in’. the character of General
Jackson. Sir, I intend to sift this matter. I intend to go to
Washington and az General Grant if he ever told him_ so.
General Jackson, sir, never stole the bull, sir! History don’t
say so, sir. He says General Jackson robbed the United States
bank. I deny that too. .. Where's his proof? He didn’t give
any. He had none to give, sir.. Ladmit that the bank .20as
robbed ; but he is mistaken in the, man, sir; the robbery be-
longs to his side of the house, sir, It was Louis Napoleon,
sir, the present Emperor of France, that robbed the United
States bank. And he, sir, is the uncle of the man the gentle-
man is fightin’ for in this debate.

SkyBent. (Rising.) I ask for the proof.

>.
 

%8 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Toriorr. You ask for the proof, do you? Well, sir, you
shall have it. You will find it, sir, in the Life of L. Napoleon,
written by Voltaire, on page 1952. (Mr. SkyBexr takes his seat.)
There, sir, I've squelched him, sir. The charge agin General
Jackson has recoiled on his own head, sir. When I make a
statement, sir, in public, Tam eble to give the proof when de-
manded. The gentleman says that General Jackson cheated
Mad Anthony Wayne out of the Presidency. Tin surprised
at his ignorance of histery, sir. Why, sir Anthony Wayne
was dead long years before General Jackson was President.
It was General Putnam that tried to git the office when Jack-~
son got it; but he was beat in a fair race. He didn’t belong
to the party that came out ahead. He belonged to the Know
Nothin’s. Now, sir, I have answered every charge ag’in’ the
character of General Jackson. Now, sir, let us take an am-
brotype view of Avs hero, Mr. General N. Bonaparte, Esq.
Now, sir, what claims has he to be called a great man? I

submit the question in all uncandor. Tt

I am surprised at the gentleman’s ignorance of history.
He says that General Xerxes fit Bonaparte at Austerlitz! Why,
sir, Xerxes had been dead twenty-nine thousand years when
that battle was fit. I am surprised to see any one so igno-
rant of history standing up to debate a historical question. TI
will inform the gentleman what it is high time for him to
know: that it was Pompey the Great that fit Bonaparte at
Austerlitz, and, what is more, he would have whipped Bona-
parte, if Bonaparte hadn't taken a mean advantage of him;
besides, Bonaparte had eighteen to one ag’in’ Pompey.

The gentleman says Bonaparte’s opponent at the battle of
Marengo was Santa Anta! There’s more of his ignorance of
history.

Sxypett. _Who was it, then?

Torrorr. Why, sir, it was General Win field Scott.

Sxypetr. Let’s have the proof.

Topitorr. ‘You'll find it in Gibbon’s History of Rome,
page 3254. Yes, sir, hunt up the book and you'll find it thar.
And the history says further that General Scott thrashed Bona-
parte in that battle. General Scott never lost a battle, sir, in
his life. The geutleman further says that the battle of Water-
loo ended ina dog-fall. History don’t say so, sir; history

*

   

 
 
 

  

A DEBATE. 79

says that Bonaparte got most incontinentally and dephogisti-
cally and diametrically squelched out and lammed to death in
that battle, and that General Cesar took Bonaparte prisoner,
and kept him in an iron cage, and sent him around all over
South America for a show.

SxysBett. Where’ll you find that?

Tortorr. If I must be interrupted, I will:inform you that
it can be found in Josephus’ History of—of—of Mexico. 1
hope I won’t be interrupted any more. . I will further inform
the gentleman that it wasn’t Hannibal that fit Bonaparte at
Borodino, It is a shame to see a man so ignorant. of history.
Why, Hannibal died at least forty thousand years before Bona-
parte‘ever saw the light of day. It was Alexander} sir, Alex-
ander the Great that commanded the Russians in that battle ;
and he would have whipped Bonaparte if his men hadn’i run.
The gentleman had better thought of the old saying, “Those
what live in glass houses had better not throw stones,” before
he made his owdacious charges ag’in’ General Jackson. The
gentleman must have forgot-about Bonaparte divorcin’:of his
wife, Josephine, and drivin’ her off with a butcher-knife in
his hands, threatening to cut her throat from ear to ear, be-
eause she gave away to a poor man a ten-cent piece. He was
that stingy of his money. He never cume to any good after
that time. That ain’t all; sir: He had another wife named
Desdemona ; he smothered her in a feather-bed’ because he
was jealous. Call sich aman.a hero? Nor is that. all, sir;
he whipped his oldest daughter to death because she wouldn't
agree to marry Oliver Cromwell, one of -his: generals, and. as
mean a man as his master. I reckon by this time the gentleman
wishes he had kept his tongue from waggin’ on the character
question. L-have done with’ Bonaparte, sir. The subject is
too odorous. | I will return to the other side of the question,
Ah, Mr. President, thar you see a hoss of another color. Does
the gentleman presume to ask me What great things he lias *
done? Sir, the man that can fight one bundred and seventy-
five men ag’in’ him at one time, and have nothing but a pocket-
knife about him at the time, ain’t to be sneezed at. Gen-
eral Jackson done that. Look at him fightin’ the four Indian
chiefs, Philip; Blackhawk, Tecumseh and Red Jacket all on
him at once, and he killed’ them all. He: skirmished with

 

 

   
   

80 THE DIME! DIALOGUES.

them till he got: them dna dine; and then: he cut all‘ four heads
off by one lick of his sword: Mr. President, of all the names
that are'wrote in the book of fame the name of Andrew Jack-
son is by along shot ahead of any other one. There is no
other that can approach him with aforty-foot pole: Sir, the
name of General Jackson glitters'in the firmament. of eternal
renown so undazllin’ bright that it puts out the eyes:of com-
mon men to look at it: Look at him, sir, when he was Pres-
ident. Look at him takin’ hold of South Carolina and shakin’
her over the furnace of fire and brimstone to let her know
what she must expect if she was: obstropulous. Look at him
when he stands up and: stretches himseif to his full statute,
and gnashing his teeth, till they could ‘be heard a quarter of a
mile, and his eyes’ flashin’ like two bits of fox-fire inia dark
night, he took his Bible-oath that the “ Union must and shall be
preserved.” ‘Falk about your pictures’ fer painters! Lhereé’s
one for ’em: to draw that: will pay a little better than Bony.on
the rock. --Bonaparte’s: name,"sir, is fast dying, out; but the
name of Andrew Jackson is as ‘bright \asy a+-the blade: of a
new pocket-knife. It fills the heavin’ bosom of. the’. orator
with ranklin’ and. b’ilin’ emotions that nearly bu’st bim in
pieces, like néw cider does when you barrel it up. » Sir, bis
name will never be forgotten. Forty thousand years from
now wailin’ infants will be named after him, the same as they
are now. Andrew Jackson! Sir, the name is so great I can
hardly have the boldness to pronounce it. Sir, the ethereal
galaxy that concentrates in the eternal’ firmament of the: cir-
cumpolar concavity— (Aside. Liam gettin’ im puity deep wa-
ter.) I say, sir, that the glorious‘and all-superfluous and. unra-
diating magnificin’ of the fame of Andrew Jacksom sparkles
in the convexity of the everlasting equatorial: and elliptical
concavity like the moon when ‘she: sinks behind the western
hills. And-the unlimbered fame of the hero:of) New Orleans
will continué to shine away up there among them celestial or-
biculars that go whirlin’ round eternal space, eircumnavigatin’
the mighty ocean of stupendous ethereality as long asthe ne:
cromantic ponderosity of the nebular sphericity diglutinates' its
gyrations in contemplative ephulgena and’ royal magnificina
around the-a—tlie diaphontic sphericity of the mundane
system of the planetary orbits. Ladies of the fair sex: and

   

 
  

RAGGED DICK’S LESSON,

geutlemen,.I thank you for your, kind attention, and will now
disconclude. (Tremendous applause.)

CHAIRMAN. In view of the convincing arguments and the
irresistibleyeloquence of the last. speech, I am constrained to
decide this question in favor of General Jackson.

(The Jackson speakers take up the Chairman on their shoulders
and carry him out amid applause.)

(Curtain fails.)

RAGGED DICK’S LESSON.
FOR THREE BOYS.

(Enter Bun, in.a-hurry. Has bundle of clothes in hand.)

Ben. Oh, dear! Too late! The train is gone and I
must wait until I can try it again. Leave home Iam bound
to, for I'm tired of this dull-life, and» want to see the world.

(Banter CHARLES with books.in hand.)

CuarLies. What, cousin Ben; you here? Have you come:
to town to visit me ?

Ben. Not to-day. I’m going home again.

Omas. ; Home again? Why have you that bundle, then?

Ben, I—I— .

Cuas. There, you. needn’t, tell, but. you shall, just. go
home with me, for, after your walk of ten miles you must; be
tired.

Bren. Oh, no, 1 must go home.  Father’ll miss me,.and
mother'll be anxious, and sister Mary will.run down the road
to see if Lam coming. I must go home... (Starts.)

Cuas. Now, Ben, this is queer. . Just. tell me why you
won't go home with me.

Brn.) I—I+guess I’m homesick. (Starts again and meets
Racerp Diox, just entering.)

Raaenp Dick. How are you, boys? Can you give, a fel-
ler a lift?

Cuas:. What do you mean ?

Racerp Dick. I mean ae eee to do.

Cras. Where are you from?

-

 

 
   

  

82 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Ragarp Dick. From the city, where boys grow up to be
thieves, and men grow up to be prison-birds.

Cuas. And what made you leave the city?

Raaeep Dick.’ Look at me! Do you think I owe the
city any thing? It las starved me and clothed me in rags,
and I come to the country to get’ work and lead an honorable
life.

Brn. Do you mean to say that all boys in the city look
as ragged as you?

Racemp Dick. Oh, no: some are rich and some are poor ;
but, when a boy is poor, and down, and no one toe care for
him, he fares hard enough.

Bren. Have you no parents?

Racerp Dick. Parents? JI had a mother, and she died
of a fever, all alone, in an old rickety house. <A father
I never knew. “He strayed away and never was ‘heard of
again.

Brn. I’m sorry for you.

Racerp Drow. Oh, if you've got a home you've reason to
be happy. How good it must be to have a home and a mo-
ther!

Cuas. And a father and a sister, as cousin Ben, ‘here,
has.

RaGexrp Dick. <A father and sister! Oh, boy, if you’ve
‘got a home with them in if as loves you, you must be %
happy chap. If T had such a home wouldwt I be made! Td
be the happiest boy in all the world.

Ben. I wish you had. Now, Charley, Pll tell you all.
You asked me why I came to town with this bundle. I-
came to run away from home.

Cuas. Why, Ben! Run—away—from—your—dear—old
-—home! How could you? :

Bren. There—don’t make me cry. - I’m ashamed enough
of it now; but, I thought of the great city, and how I would
like to see it, and become rich and great, too; and’ I thought
the farm was’a tiresome place, so 1 saved up my money until
T had ten dollars, and then, early this morning, I stole away
and came here to take the cars, but eame too late to catch the
train.

Cuas. <A fortunate thing, indeed !

 
 

 

 
 

RAGGED DICK’S LESSON, 83

RaeeEp Dick. <A lucky strike, I say! Why, you musta
been crazy. What, leave the beautiful country for the great,
noisy city where it is crowd and jam and. rush alli.day, and
sleep in a garret all night? . Leave a dear old home, where
those who love you are, to go to the city where you might
starve and no one would give you a crust? You must be
crazy, I say.

Ber. Not crazy, but deceived. T’ll not go there, now;
but will go back to the dear old home.

Raaoep Dies. That’s the talk |

Bren. And you shall come with me.

Raceup Dicx. Oh, Pm a ragged cove, and not fit to go
into a nice house like yours must be.

Brn. You shall go, nevertheless, You've learncd me a
lesson that has saved me from a false step, and I can but. re-
pay it by finding you a home in the country.

Racerp Dick. God bless you, chum! I’m a_ happy
boy. A lome/ Just think of Ragged Dick having a home.
Whoop !

Cras. Oh, Ben, I'm glad for you—and I'll just go along
to see uncle, you know.

Ben. Why, Charley, it’s a ten miles’ walk !

Cuas. Td go if it was twenty miles. Tl just run home,
leave my books and tell mother, and then Tl meet you on
the way. (Hvit.)

Raceep Dick. Lead the way, my chief! You're the
king and I’m the horse! Give us that bundle! Hooray! A
home in the country! No more fighting the wolf—no more
steps to crime—no more nights on the pavement! I’m a
man now! Good-by, Ragged Dick! How are you, Mr.
Richard Noyes, farmer and gentleman! Whoop!
(Eeunt.)

 

  
   

 

 

84 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

SCHOOL CHARADE, WITH TABLEAU.—WASHINGTON,

DeLinEAToR.—Our subject is an historic name. The first scene uses two

syllables: the second, ote syllable; the third, the whole name.
WASHING-

Scent I.—A parlor, with two or three ladies, seated. Enter
BRIDGET, a washerwoman.
Briverr. I called to see if.a wash I can get, if any lady
knows.
First Lapy. The Codperative Laundry takes and washes
all our clothes.
Bringer. And could ye ask me a chance there? I'd rub
and scrub them clean.
Seconp Lavy. No; for they do the rubbing with Excel-
sior washing-machines.
Briwwert. And could ye get me the chanee, I'd do the
rinsing right.
Turmp Lapy. The Rotary rinsing-machine they use; it
makes the clothes so white.
Brower. I like a chance to wring; my wrists are strong
and stout. :
First Lavy, _ They use the Patent Wringer there to take
the moisture out.
Briwcer. (Turning to go out.)
Indade! an’ ’m like a crater
I saw once at the theater!
A big, black, murtherin’ fellow ;
And his name was Mister Othello
An’ I feel jist like him—all forlorn—
For, alas! me “ occupation’s gone !”
An’ it went, without givin’ me warnin’!
That’s the worst of it all! Good-morning.
(BripeerT goes out. Curtain falls.)

TON.

Scenz IL.—A parlor, with a table, on which are the popular Lit-
erary and fashion magazines. ANGELINA and ADOLPHUS
are dressed in the extreme of fashion.

Apotpuus. I must ask you, my dear Angelina, to help
me adjust my tie!
  

SCHOOL CHARADE, WITH TABLEAU.—WASHINGTON. 85

I can not endure the harrowing thought, it may be one thtead

awry !

I wouldn’t for any thing in the world, or this whole earth

upon,

Have any one see me wear a thing a particle out of Ton.

ANGELINA. (Adjusting his necktie.)

I hope you admire my bonnet, ’tis exquisite style, you know ;
I wouldn’t for any thing in this world wear a hat. that was

not so!

To keep at the very top of the ‘ron just takes one all one’s

while ;

€ But I wouldn’t for any thing in this world bea particle out

of style |

Apvotpuus. Will you go and take a drive with me upon
the avenue?

Anoenina. My dear/ It isn’t the elegant hour! you
know it-would never do!

Apotpuus. Let us look at the fashion, then, in Peterson
and the rest.

AneeLina. I really think I prefer the style in Madame
Demorest.

Apvoupuus. (Handing chairs.) Come, let us examine them
at our ease, for style is with me a passion,

ANGELINA. ‘“ One might as well be out of the world,” they
say, “as out of fashion !” (Curtain falls.)

WASHINGTON.

Scenz Ill.—A room in the White House. President Grant

 

receiving. Groups of ladies and gentlemen conversing.

A Gentirman. (Jo a lady) Shall I present you, madem-
ciselle, to Mrs. and General Grant ?

Lapy. Oh! thank you; if you please, sir, ’tis just the
thing I want.

Anotaer Lapy. (Zo a gentleman.) In Pennsylvania ave-
nue I looked for you to-day.

Gent. A very important Cabinet mecting kept me, alas!
away.

Turrp Gent. (Zo a lady.) Have you been to the Smith-
sonian? No! Then some cards J’ll borrow,

 

  
   

   

86 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

And, if you fike, ll attend you there, if the weather is: fine,
to-morrow.

Lapy. The Patent Office I want to see; such curious
things are there.

Gent. Allow /me your escort, then, to be, the very first
day that is fair.

Lapy. Thanks, if your country from Congress halls your
service so long can spare.

Fourta Gent. Have you seen the Treasury) building ?
One office therein is mine.

Lapy. I never have been inside its walls; the structure I
think is fine.

AnotuEr Lapy. I like the dome of the Capitol; the city
is new to me.

Awnotner Lapy. The city is full of beautiful things, it is
worth one’s while to see. (Curtain falls.)

Scenz IV.— Tableau, Wasnineron. Let the curtain rise, dis-
playing a bust or portrait of WaAsHINGTon, with flags and
other national emblems.

A VERY QUESTIONABLE STORY.*
FOR TWO BOYS.

Proressor Well, Peter, where were you going the other
day ?

Prerer. I was gwoine down to de depot to ax de gem’lem
what time de five o’clock cars went; yes, an he said a quarter
before six. Professor, dere was de awfullest confusion dat
day you eber seen in all yer life. You see dis train ob cars
wa’t I was in, an’ anoder train ob cars wa’t somebody else was
in—an’ you know, both ob dese trains ob cars came togeder
—an’ you sce, before dey come togeder dey was comin’
down de road from de opposite direction from. one anoder,
an’ w’en dey struck, eugh—it actually—it actually made me
feel sick, an’ you see—de mocusslotion bu’sted, an’ kind o” raised
all de passengers up in de elephants—

* This should be spoken by one white and one colored boy. Of course
a@ white boy can be blacked ap for the occasion.
 

é

 

  

A VERY QUESTIONABLE STORY. 87

 

Pror. In the elements, sir.

Peter. Eh, eh! an’ wen I was twenty miles up in de
elements I met a man cummin’ down, wid a valise under his
arm, an’ axed him how much furder it was, and he. sed, “gs
on, I’ve been.” So, Professor, I went up twenty miles furder,
an’ w’en I got up dere—I—I was at a loss to conceit where-
fore I should be precipitated widout habin’ any notice ob de
forthcomin’—dat is to say, widout habin’ any little hint ob it,
you see, by which I might—might defend. myself to protest
aguinst any such proceedings dat: would elevate a man’s’ con-
degriffs ob de privateer; an’ so, ob course, w’en TI was up dere
it looked rader gloomy dere. You see de moon had just
broke forf as I reached dere. I discubbered Barnum ’ere—I
speak false, he was dere—hangin’ on de moon by his coat-tail.
As I passed him he wanted to know if I wouldn’t be so kind
as to black his boots, an’I ‘told’ him no, I guessed not; I
didw’t hab time, as my intentions was to go a few stories
higher to see if I could see any thing ob de American Cousin.

Pror. Ah, Peter, what do you mean by the American
Cousin ? ?

Perer. I don’t mean dat—I mean—Bu‘cusin, Bu-cusin.

Pror. No, Buchansn. ;

Prrer. TI think so. Wal, as I had heard from foreign re-
ports dat-he was somewhar’ in de Medatorial Sea—

Pror. Mediterranean Sea.

Pretur. Yeth,I-see.. While I was dere 1 felt’ rader  sin-
gular, because it-had been rainin’ for four years, an’ I felt ra-
der damp ; but den you know a feller must not notice “any
sich trifles, you know, when he am on de descendency, be-
cause it would hab a course to frow dem’ back, whereby dey
would:enable demselbes to look froo a4 microscope wid dimin-
utive courage; an’ as I) was passin’ through de visions ob
hope a squeal ob mine struck me—

Prov. <A squall of wind.

Prrer. I think so. It struck me, an’ it knocked me off
ob my innocent perseverence, dat’ is to say, it hit me on my
larboard hatch, an’ it raised me ober carelessly, an’ my heart
fluttered in de breezes, because I had been leanin’ against an
oak tree dat was on my left.

Pror. \ There are no trees up there.

  

  
    

   

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Perer. Did I say a tree?

Pror, Yes; you said an, oak tree.

Prrer. I did—I did! Did Imention de wood oak tree;

Pror. . Of course you-did, sir,

Peter. Eugh!. As an alderman, Iam, unawares ob eber
makin’ such a remark which would lead you to tink dat for
de last half hour. Ihab tole you one word which would decip-
ate from my affidavit: I hab serbed in de Tweed cabinet an’
a member, ob select, cirele neber told a lie:

Pror. . My dear sir, I.don’t doubt you in the least; I was
only astonished at such,an anomaly in nature.

Prrer. Asa lawyer, what was dat last remark you made
use ob, sir?

Pror, Anomaly, I.suppose you refer to.

Prrer., A nomaly—a nomily! ha! golly! dat’s madc one
ob wy teeth loose. Well, as I was'a sayin’, when'I saw Bu-
chanan he. was. sittin’ on, de. moon playin’ de ole banjo; I
think he was singin’ “ blow ye winds ob mornin’,” an’ it sas
berry high,.and ob course he was pooty high himself, as he
might suppose, an’ While we was talkin’ ’bout our former
years, ete; “ an’ beats dere a heart,” dere, was a Mediterranean
streak ob wind dat raised us, and landed us on de oder side
ob, de,Gulf ob,Mexico, ‘an’ all. was calm!” but: to our aston-
ishment we accidentally met Queen Vic., an’ she was. singin’
a fling. I told Buchanan dat I would rader sling a gin.

Pror.. Peter; be as reasonable as you can.

Prrer. Oh, yeh, ob course you know I wouldn’t say any:
thing dat wasn’t ob. course correct. De fact is my parients
always, says po.

Pror. Oh, I. know you wouldn’t.

Perer. . Oh, no, ob, course! We met dese folks.’way up
dar on Pike’s Peak, you know; Massa Strakosh, de Hutchin-
sou family, Nilsson, Mrs. Parepa, Ole Bull; Signor Mush an’
Madam Greesi, Smith O’Brien an’ Massa Train—an’ me an’
Buke.

Pror. You and Buke—why, who do you call Buke ?

Perer. Why, Buke—cannon!

Pror... Peter, you should be more respectful. to the dead
President.

Peter. Why, he is as. good asI am if he only behave
A VERY QUESTIONABLE STORY. 89
hissef up dar. Buchanan, he had his’ banjo wid him; an’ I
axed him. if he had any tar. so we could black up... Well, I
sent. Buke ’round de corner—de Dutch grocery, you know—to
get some tar, an’ he said he couldn’t find any tar, so he
brought mea dark-eyed sailor, an’ dis) dark-eyed sailor he
fotched some tar and we were all blacked up.

Pror. Well, Peter, with such great talent, I presume you
formed a band ? :

Perper. Oh, yeth. Miss Vic., she played a solo on a glass
of half-an’-half; Smith O’Brien played a solo on de harp, wid
whisky accompaniments; Strakosh, he sung a duett on a pair
ob tongs, with a coal-scuttle quartette ; Julien, he played a
solo on a pair ob apple dumplin’s, with sourkraut accompani-
ments ; Nilsson, she sung a fling; de Hutchinson family sung
a quartette on four wooden hams, an’ drew it ‘out wid cotton
shoe-laces in a minor key, wid a shoe-peg sharp; Ole Bull
sung.“ Beats dere a heart,” an’ one;man got up. an’ hit him
wid a stone ; Signor Mush played a solo on a plate ob ‘hash,
an’ took a chaw ob tobarchy accompaniment; Madame:Greesi
sung a trio.on a barrel ob soap-fat; Massa Train, he played
a triangle on a bottle ob ink, wid steel pen accompaniment ;
Mrs. Parepa, she gabe de Herald seben hundred t’ousan’ dollars
to—notice her spe-lendid,

Pror, You must have given a fine entertainment.

Prrer. Yeth, an’ as de performance was all ober; we
went to supper.

Pror.. What did you have for supper?

Peter. Well, we had two boiled door-mats; twenty-seben
scrubbin’-brushes, some steel-filin’ soup, and den we had ainice
meerschaum jelly. We took.a bottle ob Nova: Scotia black
ink, an’ went to bed. :

Pror. That is rather a strange story, Peter; Ican hardly
make up my mind to give credence to. it.

PETER. Why,,don't you believe it ?

Pror. No, sir; it’s absurd—all moonshine—gas!

Peter. . What's absurd moonshine? Gas?

Pror. Your story is absurd, I say.

. Perer.. ’Tis, eh—maybe it is.. Don’t you believe it?

Pror. I can’t believe one word you say, sir.

Prrer. Can’t, eh? (Scratching his head.) Neither do 1.
Let’s sojourn to de refractory.

 
  

 

90 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Pror.. Refectory, I suppose you mean.

Perer. Yeth!\ De place war de wittles is kept, for, you
see dey don’t keep any cooks up dar, an’ I’s come down ’ca’se
I heard de dinner-bell ring. It: makes a*man hungry to be
blowed up. Let’s hurry.

(Locks arms with Pror., and both hurry off.)

A * SELL.”
Characters : i
Con. SHARP, an inn-keeper. 3
Furxus, bar-lender.
VERBUM SAPHEAD, @ countryman.
(Enter Cou, Sxarpe and Furexins, talking.)
Con. Suarr. I say, Flipkins, where’s that free-nologist
gone?
Fripximys. He went up to Mackerelville this morning, to
examine the skull of the sweet poetess that lives there.
Con. 8. Well, here comes a countryman, and Tl warrant
he wants his brains overhauled. ‘What shall we do?
Furr. Why, give him a benefit, yourself.
Cou. §. Will you help along?
Furie. Yes, sir-ree !
(Enter Sarwan.)
SapueEap. Is this the place where the free-nologist holds

out, who'cin tell'a man’s character by the bumps ‘onto his
skull?

Cou. 8.) (With dignity.) Tt is.

Sar. Wal, I want my potato-trap looked into a little.
Where is the puff-essor ?

Cou. 8. JZ am the man.

Sap. Oh! you ve, eh? Wal, put in: feel o’ my lumps,
and give us a map. What’s the swindle ?

Cou. 8. There is no swindle, sir. Phrenology is a science,
sir—a liberal science.

Sap. Oh, yas! ’spect so: but what’s the price fur feelin’
a feller’s head ?

Cor. 8. One dollar, with a chart.

   
 

(*

 

  

A “S$RLL.” 91

 

Sap. Wal, go it: what must J do? Lay down, or stand
up? Say, mister, does it hurt?

Cox. §. Not in the least, sir. Take your seat in that
chair, (SAPHEAD removes his coat, vest, and cravat ; then Cou.
Snarr runs his fingers through Sav.s hair, making it stand up
in all directions. Then to Furr.) Mr. Flipkins, take a sbeet
of paper, draw four lines down its whole Jength, and put
down my figures under the heads I mention to you.

ELIP. -.. Yes,-Sit,

Cou. S. Have you done it?

Furr. | Yes—all right.

Cou. § Very well. (Punches and pinches Sav.’s head
roughly.) Put down Philo-progenitiveness, sixty.

Furr. — Down, sir.

Cou. 8. Very well—reverence, tewo-forty.

Furie. Booked, sir.

Cou. 8. Combativeness, too hundred. «

Sar. What's that ?

Cou. § No matter, sir; you'll see it on the chart.
Caution, one ; Credulity, four hundred.

Sar. What on airth’s that last lump ?

Con. 8. . Never mind, now ; you'll understand it by-and-by.
Courage, one-eighth. Mr. Flipkins, you’ve put these in separ-
ate columns, as usual ?

Furi. ‘Yes, sir.

Cou. §. Very well: add ’em up!

Sap. Add’emup/ Is that the way you dew?

Con §. Of co-wr-s-e! How else could we get your bal-
ance of mind—of intellect ?

Sap. Dew tell! Wal, go ahead!

Cox. §. How far does it accumulate, Mr. Flipkins ?

Furr. . The three columns are equal—they foot up precisely
the same.

Cou. 8. (Solemnly and sympathizingly.) It is very strange!
but it 7s so. Phrenology never lies. You have no predomi-
nant character, sir; you have no intellectual status ; you don’t
know any thing, sir. Excuse me, my dear friend, but I must
state the fact, whether you take a chart or not; but as sure
as there’s any truth in phrenology, yow’re a confounded goose |

Under the circumstances, sir, J can scarcely expect you to

  

  
   

92 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

desire a chart, which you have contracted for: that is a mat-
ter of no importance, as it will be a valuable illustration of a
unique species, which I can use in my lectures hereafter. I
authenticate all my lectures, sir, with real name and residence.
The charge of deception in science, is one which was never
brought against me, sir, and never will be, sir—never /

Sap. Oh, never mind! give us the map—here’s the swin-
dle. (Handing him a dollar.) Yd rather pay it than have you
goin’ ’round the country makin’ a fool of me everywhere else,
as you have here—you wicked, philo-pro-genitive, two-forty
humbug, you ! (xeunt.)

THE REAL GENTLEMAN.
FOR TWO BOYS.

Harry. Tom, when are you going to begin your dancing ?
You will be so old in a short time as to be ashamed to be seen
taking your five ‘positions.

Tom. I don’t know as I shall begin at all. Father says
he don’t care a fig whether I learn to jump any better than I
do now; and, as I am to be a tradesman, he is determined, at
present, to keep me at the reading and writing schools.

Harry. That must be very dull and ‘dry for you. And
what good will all such learning do you, so long as you make
the awkward appearance you do at present? TI am surprised
at your father’s folly. So, because you are to be a tradesman,
you are not to learn the graces! I expect to learn a trade,
too. But my papa says I shall first learn the dancing trade ;
and then, if I never learn any other, I shall make my way
through the world well enough.

Tom. I don’t know which discovers the most folly, your
father or mine. Old folks certainly know more than young
ones; and my father is much the oldest man.

Harry. I don’t believe that doctrine. There’s Jack Up-
start knows more than his father and mother both. And he
is but nineteen yet. And he says the present generation, un-
der five-and-twenty years of age, knows more than fifteen
generations that have gone before us. }
Tom. I don’t know how that is. But father early taught

   
 

 

  

THE REAL GENTLEMAN. 93

me this proverb, “Young folks think old folks are fools ; -but
old folks know young ones'to be so.” But to return to
school. Pray how far have you gone in your arithmetic ?

Harry. Arithmetic? I have not begun that yet; nor
shall I till I have completed dancing. That is a nurly study ;
I know I shall never like it.

Tom. Writing I suppose you are fond of.

Harry. Ican’t say 1am, Tom: I once had a: tolerable
fondness for it. But since I began dancing, I have held it in
utter contempt. It may be well enough for a person to write
a legible hand; but it is no mark of a gentleman to write ele-
gantly.

Tom. ‘You would have a gentleman spell well, I. suppose.

Harry. IJ would have him spell so wellas to be under-
stood; anf that is enough for any man.

Tom. What say you to grammar and geography ?

Harry. Don’t name them, I entreat you. There is noth-
ing [so much abhor, as to hear your learned: scbool-boys
jabbering over their nouns, their pronouns, their  werbs, their
parables, their congregations, their imperfections, and confluc-
tions. I'll tell you what, Tom, I had rather be master, of one
hornpipe, than to understand all the grammars which have
been published since the art of printing was discovered.

Tom. Iam sorry, friend Harry, to hear you speak so con-
temptuously of the solid sciences. I hope:you:don’t mean to
neglect them entirely. If you do, you must expect,to live in
poverty, and die, the scorn and: derision: of all wise men.

Harry. Never fear that, Tom. I shall take care of my-
self, I warrant:you. You are much mistaken in’ your prog-
nostications. Why, there's Tim Fidvlefaddle—he can’t even
write his name ; and as for reading, he scarcely knows B from
a broomstick; and yet he can dance a minuet with any mas-
ter of the art in Christendom. And the ladies all love him
dearly, He is invited to their balls, routs, assemblies, card-
parties, etc., etc., and he diverts them like any monkey.

Tom. And does he expect it will be the sime through
life? How ishe to be maintained when he becomes old?
and how is he to amuse himself after he is unable to dance ;
as you say he can neither read nor write.

Harry. Why, in fact, I never thought of these things be-

 

  
 

 
 

94 THE DIME. DIALOGUES.

fore. I confess there appears to be some weight in these
queries. I don’t know but it will be best for me to spare a
day or two in the week from my dancing, to attend to the
branches you are pursuing.

Tom. You will make but little progress in that way. My
master always told me that the solid sciences ought to be se-
cured first, and that dancing might come in by and by. He
says, when his scholars have once entered the dancing-school,
their heads, in general, are so full of balls, assemblies, minuets
and cotillions, that he never can find much roem for any thing
else.

Harry. I will still maintain it, notwithstanding all you
can say in favor of your solid sciences, as you call them, that
the art of dancing is the art of all arts. It will, of itself,
carry a man to the very pinnacle of fame. Whereas, without
it, all your writing, arithmetic, grammar, and geography, will:
not raise one above the common level of a clown.

Tom. I am no enemy to dancing, I assure: you, friend
Harry. It is an accomplishment suitable enough for those to
learn who expect to have but little else to do. But for you
and me, who are destined to get our living by some mechani-
cal profession, there are doubtless many pursuits more advan-
tageous. I think we ought to employ but a very small part
of our time in learning to dance. We will suppose, for in-
stance, that you learn the trade of a carpenter, I would ask
you, if it would not be necessary to understand figures, so that
you might be able to keep your own aceounts; and so much
geometry as to be able to measure hights and distances, super-
ficies and solids? Would it not be very convenient to know
a little of history, in order to acquaint yourself with the
various orders of architecture, and where they had their ori-
gin? If you were shown. a picture of St. Peter’s Church, or
a plan of Grand Cairo, would you not like to: know enough
of geography to tell in what part of the world they are situ-
ated ?

Harry. These are subjects which cousin Tim says never
are agitated in the fa hionable circles which he visits. And
s0 I bid you good-by. . (Zeeunt.)
THE END.

 

  
 

  

 
 

DIME SCHOOL SERIES.

$EADLE AND COMPANY have now on their list the following highly attractive and desirm,
Ltacocurs and Speakers, prepared expressly for schools, families, etc.; printed from clear, ops?
t pe. comprising the best collection of humorous, burlesque and pathetic Dialogues, Dramas and
isecitations publisned, Each volrme 100 120 pages. Sent postage paid on rece'pt of price, tes |

cwuts each.
DIME DIALOGUES, No. 1.

Mocting of the Muses; or the Crowning of Flor-;The Mission of theSpirite. For five voung Isdise

 

ence Nightingale. For nine young ladies. Honobbbing.. For five speakers.
Sa.ting a Live Englishman. For three boys. The Secret of Success. For three male speakers.
Taaso’s Coronation. For male and female. Young America. For three males and two females,
Fashion. For two ladies, The Destiny of the Empress Josephine, For fow

he Rehearsal. “or six aan females and one male. .

"hich will you Choose? For two boys. The Folly of the Duel, For three male speake.s,

26 Queen of May. For two little girls. Dogmatism. For three male speakers,

The Tea Party. For four ladies. The Year’s Reckoning. For twelve females and
Three Scenes in the Wedded Life of Mr. Bradley.! one mate,

For mile and female. {The Village with One Gentleman, For eight fe
Mrs. Sniffles’ Confession. For male and femalé. © males and one male, a

DIME DIALOGUES, No. 2,

The Geniuawf Liberty. For two males and one The Happy Family, For several ‘animals,’

fomale. |The Rainbow. For several characters.
Linderella, or the Little Glass Slipper, 'How to Write‘ Popular’ Stories, For two mules
The Society for Doing Good and Saying Bad, For The New and the Ola. For two males,

several characters, iA Sensation at Last, For two males,

The Golden Rule, Fortwo males and two fe-'The Greenhorn. For two males.
8. The Three Men of Science, For four malea,
ill, For four maies.

 

males.
The Gift of the Fairy Queen For several fe-'The Old Lady

   

males. |The Little Philosophers, For two little girl.
Taken in and Dons For. For two characters. | How to Find an Heir, For five males.
The Country Aunt’s Visit to the City. For sev-/The Virtues. For six young ladies,

eral characters. The Public Meeting, For five males and one te
The Two Romana, For two males. male,
Trying the Characters, For three males. |The English Traveler. For two males.

DIME DIALOGUES, No. 3.

The May Queen, Musical and Floral Drama, as The Gentee! Cook. A Humorous Colloguy, For
performed at the Convent of Notre Dame, Cin- — two males.
cinnati. For an entire school. Masterpiece. A Dramatic Charade. For twe
The Dress Reform Ccnvention, For ten female males and two females.
Keeping Bad Company. A farce. For five males.| The Two Romans...A Colloquy en costume. For
Courting under Difficulties. A Comedietta. For; two males.

 

 

two males and one female. |The Same. Second scene. For two males.
National Representatives, A Burlesque. For|Sbowing the White Feather. A Farce. For fuar
four males. | males and one female,

Keeping the Draft. A Comedietta. For numer-)The Battle Cali, A Recitative, For one male.

eas male characters.
DIME DIALOWUES, No. 4.

The Frost King. ASceuic Drama. For ten or The Stubbletown Volunteer. A Farce. For twe
more persons. | psles and one female.

3tarting in Life. A Petite Farce. For three A Scane from ‘‘ Paul Pry.” For four malos.
males and two females. ‘The Charms. A Parlor Drama. For three malee

frith, Hope a. Charity, A Colloquy in verse.) ana one female,

For three lite! girls, Bee, Glock and Broom. A Rhymed Fancy. For
Darby and Joan. A Minor Drama. For two! three little gir's,
males and one female. (The Rignt Way. A Colloquy. For two boys.
ibe May. AFloral Fancy. For six little girls. |What sse Ledger Says. A ‘‘ Negro’? Burlesqua

Se Enchanted Princess. A Burlesque Divertisse-| For two males.
sent. Fortwo males and evera! females. The Crimes of Dress. A Colloquy. Fortwo boys
movorto whom Honoris Du», AColloquy. For The Rewari of Benevolence, A Minor Drama
seven males and one female. For four males,
Phrenology. A Discussion, For twenty males. The Letter, For two males.

DIME DIALOGUES, Nov, 5.
The Three Guensees. A Fairy Extravaganza. For| Interlude, For severa male and female char
school or parlor. acters.

Sentiment. A ‘ Three Persone’? Farce. How Not to Get an Aniwer, A Colloquy. Fo
Bebiud the Curtain. A Domestic Comedietta.) two females, a“
For severe: characters, male and female. Putting on A A Co:foguy. For two malos,
The Eta Pi Society. A Juvenile Farce. For five|The Straight Mark. A School Experience. Fo

toya and a teacher, several boys,
fx snination Day at Madame Savante’s. A droll Two Idena of Life. A Colloquy. For ten girls,
Vpiscde. For several female characters. Extract from Marino Feliern
Trsuinz in “ Traps.” A Serio-comic Passage. Ma-try-Money, An Actiag Charade. A Parhog
Ror veral male characters, Drama,
The # eool-Boys’ Tribunal, A Dramatic Ept-|The Six Virtues. For alx roung Indies.
es. — For ten or more boys. Fashionable Requir-ments. Wo. three girlie
re mes of a loose tongue A Dumestic!A Bevy of I’a(Ryves). Woretgnt ‘or Jom Littlnm = &

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 
  

DIME DIALOGUES, No. 6.

the a9 ry Acpta Secret, For seven females hen R ea For three females and one male,

wnt 0 ut ely The Two Counsellors, For three males,
The Powt under Ditculties, For five males, The Votaries of Folly. For a number of fomales,
William Tell. @ors whole school. Aunt Betsy’ Beaux. For four females and twe
Worrsn’s Rights. Fer seven females and two! males

  

 

metea, The Libel Suit. For two females and one male
All is not Gold that Gliwers. For three females|Sayta Claus. For a number of boys.

and one male, Christmas Fairies, For several little girls,
The Generous Jew. For erm males. The Three Rings. For wwe males.

DIME. DIALOGUES, No, 7.

The a Beste, A Minor rama. For fourteen, Two Views of Life. Colloany For two females.
fem: {The Rights of Music. A Colloquy and something
The Tantecthild in, Fairy-Laod.. A Fairy-Land ee For two females.
Court Scene. For numero. girls, A Hopeless Case. A Query. in Verse. For two
Twenty Years Hence, A Seric Comical Passage.) girls.
For two females and one male. The Would-be School-Teacher. A School Ex
The Way to Windham. A Collequy., Fortwo! aminer’s Experience. For two males.
males. Come.to Life too Soon. A Humorous Passage.
ae A Poatic Passage at Words, Fortwo) For three males.
Eight O'clock. A Little Girls’ Colloquy. For

 

 

The *Oilogien A Colloquy. For tyro males. two little children.
How to Get Rid of a Bore. A &kool Drama.|True Dignity. A Colloquy. For two bo

For several boys, Grief 9 Expensive. A Colloquy. ‘or two
Boarding-School Accomplishments, A School| male:

Drama. For two mules and two fe.n sles, Ho et and the Ghost. A Burlesque, For two
A Piaa tor the Pledge. A Colloguy. For two! pers:

males, Little, Red Riding Heod. A Nursery Lesson.
The {lls of Dramw-Drinking. A Colloyuy. For| For two females.

three boys. A New Application of an Old Rule. A Collgquial
Trve Pride. A Colloquy. For two females. Passage. For two, boys and one girl.
The Two Lecturers, For nuinerous males Colored Cousins. A Colloguy, For two males.

DIME DIALOGUES, No, 8.

The Fairy School. For a number of girls. By, Getting a Photograph. For two males and twe
Mrs. Mark Peabody. | females, Adapted from “ American Miscel-
The Enroljing Officer. For a number of charac-!  Juny.”’

    

ters, male'and féinale. By Clara Augusts |The Society for General Improvement. For a
The Base-ball Enthusiast. For three boys. By number of girls. By O. J. Victor.
Lou

 

Legrand. |A Nobleman in Disguise. For a number of char-

The Girl of the Perlod, Forthree'pirls.” By¥ame.| Actirs, Hate and feraulel “By Clara Aapusta-

The Fowl Rebellion, For two males and on, Expectations, For two boys. Adapted
male, By Ajax Axtell. | rn he Schoolmate.”

Slow but'Sure, For several males and two fe-!Playing School. For five females and four males

   

  

males. “BY COA, A. Adapted from sume,
Paudle’s aloe tein For one male and one fe-|Clothes for the Heathen. For one male and ope
mals, Altered’ from The Original.” female. By Ajax Axtell.
ibe ecin For several small children, By! A Hard Case. For several male characters, By
|, same.
me. etal of Peter Sloper, For several male’ Ghosts. For ten females and one male. By K.
characters: By Lucy A. Oaband. A. P,

DIME DIALOGUES, No. 9.

Advertising for Help. For a number of females,(The Law of Humes Kindness. For two females,
As perforined in the’ Woodward High School. |Spoiied Children, For a mixed School.
America to maelands Greeting. “Por two 'boys,| Brutus and Cadsivs,
with an'episode for the wholo school. Coriolanus and Aufidius,
a tp and the New, Por four females and one) The New Scholar. Fora number of girls.
The Self-made Man, For three males,
Cc} nang ‘ofTrades. For twelve little boys. The May Queen (No. 2). Fora school, A fancy
TheiLap-Dog. For two females, dress and musical piece, with costume and stage

The Victim. For four females and one male, directions.
The Duelist. For two boys, Mrs. Lackland’s Economy. For four boys and
The True Philosophy. For several females and| » three givis,

two males, Sh

 

ould Women be Given the Ballot? A Debate.
ood Education, For two-females, 1 Por several boys.

DIME DEBATER AND ‘CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE, No. 11.

J. Tae Uenatine Socrety.—Its Office and Use-) ings and Assemblies; Deliberative Bodies, Con
fulneas; Formation; Rules; Constitution, et ventions, e Comninittees ; Miscellaneous,
IL. How to Dewate. —Prerequisites to Orat ¥ Dunares. — Debate in full; Debates in
cal Success ; Logte; Rhetoric, Maxime, ete. |
Hi. Tax CraresAw's Guk,—Ordinary Meet-; v aiooruHiene axp Purasxs.—Latin.

   

 

kar” The shove books are sold by Newsdealers everywhere, or will be sent, Post-paid, op ~calpt
© sice, Ton conte gach, BEADLE. AND COMPANY, Pablishore. 9% William St, D ¥.

   

 
 

 

  

DIME AMERICAN SPEAKER, Wo. 1,

  
 

  

                 

   

Yoong America, {The truly great, }3. Jeboom’s oration, |The p1.phecy for the 94

Birthday of Washington! Early retiring and ris’g,! A Dutch cure, lUntisised problema,

Phen for tho Maine law,|A- Ward’s oration, /The weather, (Honor,to the dead,

Not on the battlefield, [True nationality, 'The heated term, Immortality of patriote

The Italian struggle, lO rnatal day, ' Pai! osophy applled, | Webst’s po. “it’] system,

Independence, |e nti sco the basin of Peony wise, pound fool-'A vision in the forum,

Sur country, |The v liberty, |True ‘cleanlinesa, {ish, |The press,

The equality. of man, ICharge of light, brigade, | (Sat’d’y nights enjoy’ta, | Woman’s righta,

een of the Revo'’n After the battle, | In a just cause,’ jRight of the governed
The fruits of the war, No peace with oppres-|My ladder,

The sswing-machine, Caso of Mr. Macbeth, sion, Woman,

Tye manhood, |Prof. on phreaol gs, A thanksgiving RATEION FEE PAs

The mystery of life, iw ashington’s name, \The cost of riches, The rebellion of 186k,

‘Vhe upa awd downs, — | Tie sailor boy's syren, 1G eat lives imperishable! Disunion,

DIME NATIONAI SPEAKER, No, 2.

Uniow and {ts results, {Territorial expansion, |Ohbio, | Marder will out,
Our country’s future, | Martha Hopkins Oliver Hazard Peryr Strive for the beat,
The statesman’s labors, |The bashful man’s story |Our domain, Early rising,

Let the childless weep, he matter- of-fact man, Sy stems of belief, Deeds of kindness,
ur country’s glory, ich and poor, The Indian chief, Gates of sleep,

  

Tinton « household, Seeing the eclipse, The independent farmer,!The buple
Independence bell, |Benuties of the law, Mrs. Grammar’s ball, |The Hoouish gem,
How the money, comes, | Purity of the struggle,

The scholar’s dignity, \Go- Jang! git up,

A Christmas chant, Phe rete of life,
Btability of Christianity, Creowning glory of U.S,
Sine trve higher Jaw, {Three fools,

Future of the fashions, Old age,
Our country first, last, Beautiful and true,
and always, jin worm of the stil,

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

The one great need, (Ww ashington, British influence, Man and the Infinite.
The ship and the bird, [Our great inheritance, |Defense of Jefferson, aghieeot the Waa b,
Mycunweb’s speech, \Eulogium on H’y Clay, |National hatreds, \Washington.

DIME PATRIOTIC SPEAKER, No. 3. ©
America to the world, The Irish element, |History of our mar, \The ends of peace

Love of country, chi, | I Fy Meagher’s areas roeonn the ‘watchworé

 

Right of self-preserva-;Christy’s speech, We owe to the Union, of our nation,
Dur cause, {tiou, Let me alone, |Last speech of Rea ia sty of Christian ‘pat
4A Kentuckian’s appeal, Brigand-ier-Gener A. Douglass, riots,
Kentucky steadfast, |The draft, Lincoln’s pera |Turkey Dan’s oration,
Cimidit# is treason, nare spzeches, tara Bell Roland. |A fearless plea, -

on, he

   
 
  

Phe alarnm,
ape 16th, 1861,
@ spirit of 61, @ story
t he precious heritage, 1-e-g on iny leg,

DIME COMIC SPEAKER, No, 4.

ew Year and the/The onus of slavery,
sion, \A foreignar’s tribute,
Cotton, ag c cathedral,

Ba nitle anthems, ec Speculators. »

    

   

Klebcyergoss on the war) Po: 1A song of woe, Political stump speech,
* eee bluntly considered, lA" xan Enlogium, |Ward’s trip to Richm'd, : omic Gram! eee
Eurly rising, How to be a fireman, |Parody, Farewell to the cae
The wasp and the bee, |The United States, | |The Fou iaases iy The cork leg,
ae Griimmar No. 1, |Puil’s acc’t of himself, {Compound interest, ‘The smack in echool,
cy nt aéin he man, [Practical phrenology, A sermon on the feet, |Slick’s definition of wifs
Ward's advice, Beautiful, Old dog Jock, ‘Tale of a hat,
tian on Pickwick, Onbbage, |The fisuee’ toilet, ‘The debating club,
R neo and Juliet, Disngreenble p19, ‘Brian O}Linn, A Dutch sermon,
npinesd, What isa bachelor like? g rockett to office-seekers| Lecture on locomotion
Funny folka, Who is my oppovert! |Mrs,Caudleon umbr’la

 

DIME ELOCUTIONIST, No. 5,

Bec. t. Priveiprers or Teo Exuncration.— Oxation.—Rules of Compos‘tion as Ey ee hs
Faults in enunciation; how to avoid them, et Words, Phrases, Sentences, etc., etc, e

sEC. I]. Tux Ant or Onatory.—Sheridan eC. TV. Representative EXercians 1 Prone
List of the Passions, etc., etc., ete, anD Vense.+Falstafl; Byron; Humiet, ete,

SEC. WL Tas Comrovent Eraugnts cr ax SEC. V. Oxsservations or Goop AcTHonitiag

DIME HUMOROUS SPEAKER, No, 6.

  
   
   

 

 

 
 

sad atory, |How the mopes goes, Poetry run mad, The mysterions guezt,
x of oniona, Han-ki-do-ri’s Fourth of Right naines, ep be bump,
A tragic story, July oration, Scientific lectures, |The sea-aerpent,
Yate, {If you mean no, say no,|The ager, |The secret,
Courtehip, |Jo Bows on leap year, |The cockney, ithe sbosmaker,

 

\Lay of the Reh pot ked, |The codfiah, The wseful doctor,
Lot Skinner’s elegy, —|T’ a fute of Sergeant/The waterfali,
i

 

Dow, jr.’s lectures, Matrimony, in, To vhe bachelors’ anion
Ego and echo, Nothing to do, |The ‘eatoer’s quarrel, league,

Fashionable women, Old Caudle’s tmbrella, |The Hamerican yood-|Vayaries of popping the
Fern thistl ‘Old Grimes’s gon, | chuck, qnestion,

Gord nature, “Paddle your owa oe sp of a thousand) Wrat f wouldn’t be,

 

Goithied Klebeyerg as, noe,” Yaukee doodle Aladdly,
& or konile mers Seat Parody ae Araby'a' The | Tae of the aarp'ota.|Ze Moakestare,
Yosea Biglow’s oplnisus Daughter,” ‘The xarch to Moscow "1932.

 

  
  

fhe world we live in,
W oman’s claims
Authors of our liberty,
The real conqueror,
The citizen’s heritage
Itale,

The mechanic,

Independ

 

 

Mo sect In hea¥en,
Miza Prade’s teu-party,

on the situation,

woman’s suffrage,
All for a nomination,
Old ocean, [vea,
The sea,tho

 

Sta
Lifé fs what you make it,
Where’s my money,

A boy’s philosophy,
Hoe out your row,
Bix-year-old’s protest,
The auicidal cat,

A valediction,
Popping corn,

The editor,

The sarne, in rhyme,
The fairy shoemaker,
hat was learned,

Press on,

The horse,

The snake in the grass,
Tale of the tropics,
Bromley’s speech,

The father’s child,
Shaksperian scholar,
Maiden’s psalm of life,
A mixture,

Plea for skates,

Ben Buster’s oration,
Hans Von Spiegel’s 4th,
Josh Billings’ advice,
A hard-shell sermon,
The boots,

Phe squeezer,

Noxh and the devil,

A rs luck,
Hifalutin AesIDnes
Digestion and Paradise,
Distinction’s disadvant-
Smith {ages.
Gushalina Bendibus,

A stock of notions,

 

 

price, Ten conta oach

Thestar bangled spanner’ Cranbed folks,

The same, second extract

DIME STANDARD SPEAKER, Ko, 7.

 

The power of an idea, (Thu two lives, The Bible,

The beneficence of the|The true scholar, The purse ard the sword
Suffrage, [sea,| Judges not infallible, My COM Ls

Dream of the revelers, | fanaticism, True moral courage,

HowCyrus laid the cabl
The pretiieat band,
|Paradoxical

|The idler,
|The unbeliever,

DIME STUMP

Hon. J.M. Stubbs’ views|Good-nature a blessing,
Sermon from hard-she!l
Hans Schwackheimeron |Tuil-endera,

(Baptist,
The value of money,
Meteoric disquisition,

,|Be sure you are right,

the open| Be of gi od'cheer,

| {shrew

where you belong, Taming a masculine

; Farmers, [country

|The true greatness of our
Speech from conscience, |N.
daniieatntion.t6 society |The unseen battle-field,
The limitete happiness, |Plea for the Republic,

England & the Union.

Playing ball,

Ah, why,

Live for something,
Lay of the henpecked,
The outside dog,

Wolf and lamb,

Lion in love,

Frogs asking fora king,
Sick lion,

Man and woman,
Honor,

Lotus-planter,

Little things,

Baby’s soliloquy,
Repentance,

Plea for Eggs,

Humbug patriotism,
Night after Christmas,
Short legs,

Shrimps on amusements,

Speaking for the sheriff,
Daking « shweat,

Then and now,

Josh Billings’ lecturing,
Doctor DeBlister’s ann’t
Consignments,

Hard lives,

Dan Bryant’s speech,

A colored view,
Original Maud Muller,
Nobody,

Train of circumstances,
Good advice,

The itching palm,

 

Country and town mice,

(crime.
|Instabitity of successful, What is war,
jAgriculture, | Butter, :

id. [quer,|My Deborah Lee,

? lTreland,
Nature & Nature’s God, |/Little Jerry, the miller, The people always con-!The race,
The modern good, [sun,'The neck,
Orsian’s address to the Foggy thoughts,
bell, 1771,/The ladies’ man,
Ichn Burns)Gettysburg, | Life,

Music of labor,
|Prussia and Austria,
| Wishing,

|The pin and needio,
|The modern Puritan
Immortality of the souk.
|The Blarney atone, Occupation,

The atudent of Bonn, Heroism and daring,
‘The broken household, | A shot at the decanter.

SPEAKER, No. 8.

America, {fallacy,; Temptations of cities,
“Right of secession” a! Broken resolutions,
,|Life’s sunset, There is no death,
Human nature, Races,

Lawyers, A fruitful discourse,
‘Wrongs of the Indians, |A Frenchman’s dinner,

;|Miseriea of war, (liberty) The amateur cr achman,
Lay Sermon, |The cold-water pian,

»|A dream, |Permanency of States,

Astronomical, |Liberty of speech,

|The moon, {zens, |Jno.Thompson’s danger,
\Duties of American citi- House cleaning,

\The man, \It is not your busines

 

DIME JUVENILE SPEAKER, No. 9.

Nothing to do,
Honesty best policy,
Heaven,

Ho for the fields,
Fashion on the br
On Shanghais,

| A smile,

‘ood turn deserves! Casabianca

How the raven ana

black,
A mother’s work,
The same,
Who rules,
A sheep story,
Little correspondent,
One

 

My dream, — (another, Homeopathic soup,
Rain, Nose and eyes,

Pll never use tobacco, | Malt, (coma,
A mossic, A hundred years te

The old bachelor, The madman and bi

  

 

Prayer to light, Little sermons, _ [razor,
Little Jim, Snuffles on elestricity,
Ange! ’s lament, The two cradlee,
Jolin’y Shrimps on boats/The ocean storm,
Mercy, Do thy little, do it wel
Choice of hours, Little puss,

Poor Richard’s sayings, Base-ball, [fever,

Who killed Tom Roper,'Prescription for spring

DIME SPREAD-EAGLE SPEAKER, No. 10,

;Drum-head sermons, _ ;II trovatore
|Schnitzerl’s philosopede| Kissing in the street,
| Woman’s rights,’ |Scandaloua,

[Luke Lather, Slightly Mixed,

|The hog, The office seeker,

|Jack Spratt, Old bachelors,

|New England tragedy, | Woman,

|The ancient bachelor, |The Niam Niams,
jJacob Whittle’s speech, | People will talk,
|Jerks prognosticates, ackhamer’s ball

|A word with Snooka, |Who wouldn’t be fre,
Sut Lovengood, \ion’t depend on duddy
Amule ride, [buzzers,| Music of labor,

Josh Billings on the|The American ensign

 

   

Tho above books are sold by Nowsdealera everywhere, or will be sent, Post-paid,on receipt wf

BEADLE AND OOMPANY, Publishers,

98 William Street. New York

wet

   
  
   
     
   
  
   
       
  
   
 
     
   
   
   
  
   
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
     
     
  
  
  
   
   
  
   
     
    
  
   
 
  
    

Appeal in behalf of Am.) Unjust national acqul’nsflll

<*>

 
 

  

BEADLE S DIME HAND-BOOKS FOR HOUSEWIVES.

BEADLE’S DIME COOK BOOK;

Ge, the Houewife’s Pocket Companion. Embodying what is most Ecor omic, most Practical, mom
fkxcellent. Hevised and enlarged edition. 100 pp. 12mo. By Mra, Vioron,
EXTRACTS PROM CONTENTS.
BREAD,.—Potato, Brown, Bran Water, Rye snd Indian, Wheat and Rye, Milk Rising, Buitia
g@ilk Bread, Bread Biscuit or Rolle, French Rolls, Soda Biscuits, otc., ets,
HOT BREAD AND CAKES,—-Short, Corn, Jobnny, Apple Johnny, Griddle, Rich Griddle
Backwhost, Rice Griddle, Corn Griddle, and Tomato Griddle Cakes, Bannock, Wafer, Mufiaa,

Apple Fritters, Rye Fritters, etc., etc.
OTHKR BREAXT&st DISHES.—Toast, Dry Toast, Buttered Toast, Milk Toast, Frisd Rios
Smolet, Scrsmbled, Poached, and Boiled Eggs, Whesten Gritts, Hominy, Samp, Hasty Pudding
MEATS.—Roasting, Boiling, ae sixteen varions methods for preparing eame.
VEAL.—Bolled Veal, Fried Chepa, Veal Pie, Leg of Voal, Loin of V a Shoulder of Veal, Calvwa
‘pot, Calf's Head and Liver.
MUTTON.—Muston Chops, Chops as Beof Steaks, Neck of Mutton, Shoulder ot Mutton, Leg o?
@{utton, Haunsh of Mutton, Saddle of Mutton, Mutton Cutlets, Irish Stow, Leg of Lamb, etc.
PORK.—Pork Stenke, To Fry Pork, To Roast Pork, Spare Ribs of Pork, To Holl a Hani, Pig's
Feet, Souse, Head Cheese, Fine Sausages, Pickle for Hams, Salting Pork, To Melt Lard.
POULTRY AND GAME.—Roast and Boiled Turkey, Roast snd’ Baked Goose, Ducks, Roast
z fowl, Chickens Boiled, For] Broiled, To Fricassee a Fowl, Chicken Pie, To Cook Pigeor a, et
p FISH.—To Fry Fresh Fish or Eels, Baked Shad, To Broil Fresh Fish, Fresh Codish, Salt Cod.
feb, Codfish Balls, Stewed Oysters, Fried Oysters, Pickled Oystera, Chowder,
WICK BREAKFAST DISHFS.—Fresh Meat Griddles, Clam Griddles, Oyster Pancakes, Fish
falls, Codfish Toast, Rice Balla. hed Mutton, Head Cheese, A New Breakfoat Dish.
RO UPS.—Beof, Vermicelll, Pea, Ezan, Split Peas end Barley, Vegetable and Rice, Tomato,
YEGETABLES.—Twenty different varieties,
84. UCES.—White, Caper for Fish, Egg, Plain Butter, Cranberry, Apple, Sweet, %
SALADS.—Rudishes, Celery.
PIES,—Twenty-five different varieties.
PUDDINGS.—Christmas Plum Pudding, and eighteen other recipes,
JAKES,—Thirty-four recipes,
TEA, COFFEE, CHOCOLATE.—RBight recipes,
JELLIES, PRESERVES, Ere.—Forty-one recipes,
PICKLES.—To Pickle various kinds of Vegetables and Fruit,
Yo CREAM.— dow to make ft
¢ METERS ANT OTHER SHELL-FISH.
) "THE CA LVER’S, MANUAL.—General directions for Carving.
Chicken and Plum Pudding, Potato Mafins, Drop Biscuit, ote, ete.

 

 

  
  

 

La TEOUS.

 

sane,

BEADLE’S DIME RECIPE BOOK:

B Companion to the Dime Coox Book. A Directory for the Parlor, Nursery, Sick Room, To!

Kitchon, Larder, etc, Revised and enlarged edition. 100 pp. “mo, By rs, Views” —

Sites E aoa ee CONTESTS,

TRE —To choose Carpets, Directions for Carpets, To clean Turkey Carpets, Moth tn
Carpeta, To extract Oil or Spermaceti from Carpets, etc., To make Stair ous is fant, Chaks Car-
it ‘To wash Carpets, To sweep Carpets, House Cleaning, To clean Looking Glasses, O11 Paintings,

ahogeny, etc., To preserve G ae clean it, To take Stains out of Mahogany, To clean Brace
Ornaments, Marble, Lamps, Paint, To polish Mah ny, To remove Grease from Books, to prevent
Mold in Books, Paste, Iuk, and Leather, To ciean Silver-plated Candlesticks, To remove Rust, ete,
i THE NURSERY AND SICK ROOM.—Clothing of Infants, Waking Suddenly, Restlessnees at
Night, Ointment for Scurf in the Heads of Infants, Teething, Vaccination, Worms in Chikirsn,
About Children, Hair of Children, Hoo, ing Cough, Dysentery, Scarlet Fever, Putrid Sore Throat,
etc., A core for Burn’ Scalds, Body in Flames, and seventy more recipes,

FOOD FOR THE SICK.—-A Strengthening Jelly for Invalids, Mutton Custard for Bowel Com-

laints or Consumptive Cases, Chicken, Beef, evc., Toast Water, Rice Jolly, Bread Jelly, Calvee
Fost Broth, Panada, Boof Tou Wine Whey, Water Grnel, Milk’ Porridge, Rice Grasl, Medicated

Prunes.

THE TOILET: THE HAIR.—To femove Dandroff, A capital Poma y Rece! o
Bee eee ase SL RASC, O' of Hoses, erate aes

% TEETH.—To clean the Teeth and Gums, Quinine Tooth Powde: © Peru:

vtax Bark Powder, Homeopathic Chalk, Cuttle Fish Powder, Lip Salve. Hitech

THE HANDS.—To remove Stains from the Hands, To improve the Hands and Arma, Ointment
for the Hands, Chapped Hands.

THE COMPLEXION.—To preserve “t, Wash for a SJotched Face, To remove Sunharn, Blotchea,
Pimploa, Kalydor for Complexton, : 7
ETICS, bar UMES, Erc.—Face Powder Pearl Powder, Rowland’s Macagnar Otl, aad

¥F CLOT
THE RICHES : Mold.
prasorve Fruit Jellies from Mot
MNLANGE,
ROW TO MAKE BUTTER AND CHEESE,
PROCESS SE ON ee i
MISCELLAN —To men na, To get rid of Bedpugs and Cockrosc! T
Yo manufactare Candia, To ropair Broken Glass, aad a hundred otber usefal pak meet

    

11.4G, —Fure, Woolen, Silk, Gloves, Ribbova, Lace, Bonnet:
To can Frult, Pears, Quinc es, Berries, Peas, Boane, inesnsnaiateeas Cora, Te
‘o prevent “ Graining,” and seventy-five moro recipes,

 

 

 

  
SHA DL'S DIME #SHILY HAND BUCKS.
DIME DRESS-MAKER,

CONTEN YA,

PATRODUCTION. WORK. MATERIALS AND IMPLEMENTS
XHE CORSAGE, WAIST OR BODY. URCHASE OF MATERIALA.

THE SLEZVES., DICTIONS ®¥ OF MILLINERY AND DRE&Z&
MOURNING, MATING,

NEGLIGEEK TOILET, TECHNICAL TERMS IN DRESSMAROVG
RIBBONS. AND MILLINERY.

TRAVELING TOILET. LACES AND EMBROIDERIES,
CLUAK-MAKING, COLORS

SONNETS, FLOWERS, Ero.

PATIERNS FORK CUTTING OUT DRESSES. |CORBEILLA DE MARIAGE.

 

 

BHEADLE’S DIME HAND-BOOKS OF GAMES,

DIME CHESS INSTRUCTOR.

& cowplets Land-book of instruction, containing all that ¢ heginner can require to guide hie to tne

e:teriaining mysteries of this moat Interesting and fascinxitny of games. Part [ comprizes, tn « :

highly compact yet perspicuous form, all the introductory eiewents of the game that can be im.
parted: by tiitkie PAPE LT CON CEINa ENG geby Greats ofa. lace outeveleele Rute NBAEY apt
Ti contalne brief, brilliaut, entertaining and instructive garue. Ky Minow J. Hazmusnrn, ¥
Chess Editor N. Y. Clipper. It is especially adapted for the vws of learners; and yet baa, In ii
Parte 11 and III, much matter for the amateur and professional , (vye..

DIME BOOK OF CRIIKET.

& desirable Cricketer’s Companion, containing covpiete instructione tr ‘ts elements G Howstug,
Batting and Fielding; also the Revised Laws of the game; Rema isan she Duties of Uniptres
the Mary-le-Bone Cricket Club Rules and Regulations; Bows, etc., ek. Gy Hexny Caspwien,
euthor of “ Base-Ball Plaver,”

DIME GUIDE TO SWIMMUTG.

Binbracing a1] the rales of the art for both sexes. ODlnatrawa, By Caphas Pauw Prisnsas,

The followlag is the contenta:

Advisory [natructione ; Rules opon entering the waver; Temperature of the x1'er; Tegiperatura
of the body , Tne for the relia, tbe Siart;, Learning the Haud-Stroke ; Lacs cng the Thy. Stroke;
Gonora) Directions for Aniteds; Management of the Breath; Planging , tes Deader; Leaph
fom a Hoight ; 8 Shallow Dive; Deep Diving; how to come to the su.lece; ewlroming on te
Rack; the ‘‘ Steamer”; Floating ; seicitatded Swimming ; swimming frox a Prat; Precow
tiene for a short swim; theyCramp; how to swim ix times of Danger; th. “ Washing-tub”?
*Croeping’”’; Sea-bathing-—how to manage the waves, the tides, aby; a Chapter i (Ww Ladies
Bzeelmen Female Swimming-Schoa} ; how to manage canes of Drowning; Dr. Fre. vin'c ' Code
for Bwimmors; Concluding Remarks

DIME HAND-BOOK OF CROQUK".

& aoraplete Guide to the Principles aad Practice of the games, By E>at xp Rovruupa, @ir>a
also, the rules prop sad by varios American writers on the game, Ini germaTeD.

GUIDE TO CURLING AND SKATIN 1,

> Complete Mannal for the Ice; giving all the lewnof the populer g.me ot *
Geexplote Diagrams ; aleo explicit instructions for Skating, wltt a Galds te al
tovemonta_ made on skutess, anc embracing also the laws af the Sknsr's
tiited by Banry Chadwick.

 
Jime Hafid-Books ‘tor‘the Season*”
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DIME LOVERS’ CASKET—A Treatise onand Guide to Friendship, Love, Court-

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twenty-six volumes, viz. :

SPEAKERS.

. 1—Dime. American SpEaKnr.

. 2—Dime Natronay SPEAKER.

. 3—Dore- Parrioric SPEAKER.

. 4—Die Comic SPEAKER.

. 5—Diae ExLocurionrsr.

. 6—Dime Humorous Speaker.

. 7T—Dime SraAnDARD SPEAKER.

. 8—Dimiz Srump SPEAKER.

. 9—Dink JUVENILE SPEAKER.

. 10-Diae SpreAD-Eacin: SPEAKER.
. 11-Dime DerparerR AND CHATRMAN’S GUIDE.
. 12-Dime Exnierrron SPEAKER.

. 13-Dime Scnoon. SpraKur.

These books are replete with choice pieces for the School-room, the Exhibition,
for Homes, etc. They are drawn from FRESH sources, and contain some ef fhe
choicest oratory of the times.

DIALOGUES.

Divs
Dime
DME
Dime
Dime
Dmg
Dine
Dime
Dime
Dare
DimME

DIALOG UES
DIALOGUES
DIALOGUES
DIALOGUES
DIALOGUES
DIALOGUES
DIALOGUES
DIALOGUES
DiALoaugs
DIALOGUES
DIALOGUES

NUMBER
NuMBER
NUMBER
NUMBER
NuMBER
NUMBER
NUMBER
NUMBER
NUMBER
NUMBER
NUMBER

ONE.
Two.
THREE,
Four.
Frvr.
Srx.
SEVEN.
Eau.
Nive.
TEN.
ELEVEN.

These volumes have been prepared with especial reference to their availability
inal school-rooms. They are adapted to schools with or without the furniture of
a stage, and introduce a range of characters suifed to scholars of every grade, both
male andfemale. It is fair to assume that no volumes yet offered to schools, at any
price, contain so many available and useful dialogues and dramas, serious and comic.

Diaz Schoo. Mexopist, (Music and Words.)
Drie MeEtoprst, MS

Yar For sale by all newsdealers ;
of price—TEN OENTS each.

BEADLE AND COMPANY, Publishers, 98 William Street, N. Y..

or sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt

 

 

 

 

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