Miscellaneous Selections

Miscellaneous SelectionsCOMPRISINGDramatic, Humorous and Tragic Pieces from the most Celebrated Authors, adapted to the use of Public Schools, Academies and Higher Institutions of Learning, for Public and Social Entertainments.Wit and Wisdom Represented by a Great Variety of Entertaining Characters.

COMPRISING

Dramatic, Humorous and Tragic Pieces from the most Celebrated Authors, adapted to the use of Public Schools, Academies and Higher Institutions of Learning, for Public and Social Entertainments.

Wit and Wisdom Represented by a Great Variety of Entertaining Characters.

Characters.

Scene—Exterior view of a planter’s cabin, with practicable door.George Peytondiscovered, seated on a bench, under veranda, reading a newspaper.

EnterUncle Pete, a limp noticeable in his left leg, the knee of which is bowed outward, hoe on his shoulder.

Uncle Pete.(Pausing as he enters, shading his eyes with his hand, going towardsGeorge Peyton.) Yes, dar he is; dar is Marse George, a sittin’ on the porch, a readin’ his papah. Golly, I cotch him at home! (Advancing and calling) Marse George, Marse George, I’s come to see you once mo’, once mo,’ befo’ I leabes you fo’ebber. Marse George, I’se gwine to de odder shoah; I’se far on de way to my long home, to dat home ober acrost de ribber, whar de wicked hab’ no mo’ trouble, and where water-millions ripen all the year! Youns has all bin berry kine to me heah, Marse George, berry kine to de ole man, but I’s gwine away, acrost de dark ribber. I’s gwine ober, an’ dar, on dat odder shoah, I’ll stan’ an’ pick on de golden hawp among de angels, an’ in de company of de blest. Dar I’ll fine my rest; dar I’ll stan’ befo’ de throne fo’ ebber mo’ a singin’ an’ a shoutin’ susannis to de Lord!

George Peyton.Oh, no, Uncle Pete, you’re all right yet—you’re good for another twenty years.

Uncle P.Berry kine o’ you to say dat, Marse George—berry kine—but it’s no use. It almos’ breaks my hawt to leab you, and to leab de missus and de chillun, Marse George, but I’s got my call—I’s all gone inside.

George P.Don’t talk so, Uncle Pete; you are still quite a hale old man.

Uncle P.No use talkin’, Marse George, I’s gwine to hebben berry soon. ’Pears like I can heah the singin’ on de odder shoah. ’Pears like I can heah de voice of ol’ “Aunt Liza” an’ de odders dat’s gone befoah. You’s bin berry kine, Marse George—de missus an’ de chillun’s bin berry good—seems like all de people’s been berry good to poor ole Pete—poor cretur like me.

George P.Nonsense, Uncle Pete (kindly and encouragingly), nonsense, you are good for many years yet. You’ll see the sod placed on the graves of many younger men than you are, before they dig the hole for you. What you want just now, Uncle Pete, is a good square meal. Go into the kitchen and help yourself—fill up inside. There is no one at home, but I think you know the road. Plenty of cold victuals of all kinds in there.

Uncle P.(A smile illuminating his face.) ’Bleedged t’ye, Marse George, ’bleeged t’ye, sah, I’ll go! For de little time I has got to stay, I’ll not go agin natur’; but it’s no use. I’s all gone inside—I’s got my call. I’m one o’ dem dat’s on de way to de golden shoah.

(ExitUncle Petethrough door, his limp hardly noticeable. His manner showing his delight.)

George P.Poor old Uncle Pete, he seems to be the victim of religious enthusiasm. I suppose he has been to camp-meeting, but he is a cunning old fox, and it must have taken a regular hard-shell sermon to convert the old sinner. He was raised on this plantation, and I have often heard my father say, he hadn’t a better negro on the place. Ever since the war, he has been working a little, and loafing a good deal, and I have no doubt he sometimes sighs to be a slave again at work on the old plantation. (Starts and listens.)

Uncle P.(Singing inside:)

Jay bird, jay bird, sittin’ on a limb,He winked at me, an’ I at him;Cocked my gun, an’ split his shin,An’ left the arrow a-stickin’.

Jay bird, jay bird, sittin’ on a limb,He winked at me, an’ I at him;Cocked my gun, an’ split his shin,An’ left the arrow a-stickin’.

Jay bird, jay bird, sittin’ on a limb,He winked at me, an’ I at him;Cocked my gun, an’ split his shin,An’ left the arrow a-stickin’.

Jay bird, jay bird, sittin’ on a limb,

He winked at me, an’ I at him;

Cocked my gun, an’ split his shin,

An’ left the arrow a-stickin’.

George P.(Starting up.) Zounds! if that old thief hasn’t found my bitters bottle! Pete! Pete, you rascal!

Uncle P.(Continues singing:)

Snake bake a hoe cake,An’ set the frog to mind it;But the frog fell asleep,An’ the lizard come an’ find it.

Snake bake a hoe cake,An’ set the frog to mind it;But the frog fell asleep,An’ the lizard come an’ find it.

Snake bake a hoe cake,An’ set the frog to mind it;But the frog fell asleep,An’ the lizard come an’ find it.

Snake bake a hoe cake,

An’ set the frog to mind it;

But the frog fell asleep,

An’ the lizard come an’ find it.

George P.Pete! you rascal, come out of that.

Uncle P.(Who does not hear the planter, continues singing, and dances a gentle, old-fashioned shuffle.)

De debbil cotch the groun’ hogA-sittin’ in de sun,An’ kick him off de back-log,Jes’ to see de fun.

De debbil cotch the groun’ hogA-sittin’ in de sun,An’ kick him off de back-log,Jes’ to see de fun.

De debbil cotch the groun’ hogA-sittin’ in de sun,An’ kick him off de back-log,Jes’ to see de fun.

De debbil cotch the groun’ hog

A-sittin’ in de sun,

An’ kick him off de back-log,

Jes’ to see de fun.

George P.(Furious.) Pete; you infernal nigger, come out of that, I say.

Uncle P.(Still singing and dancing.)

De ’possum up de gum tree,A-playin’ wid his toes,An’ up comes de ginny pig,Den off he goes.

De ’possum up de gum tree,A-playin’ wid his toes,An’ up comes de ginny pig,Den off he goes.

De ’possum up de gum tree,A-playin’ wid his toes,An’ up comes de ginny pig,Den off he goes.

De ’possum up de gum tree,

A-playin’ wid his toes,

An’ up comes de ginny pig,

Den off he goes.

George P.(Thoroughly aroused, throwing down his paper.) You, Pete; blast the nigger.

Uncle P.(Continues singing:)

De weasel went to see de polecat’s wife,You nebber smelt such a row in all yer—

De weasel went to see de polecat’s wife,You nebber smelt such a row in all yer—

De weasel went to see de polecat’s wife,You nebber smelt such a row in all yer—

De weasel went to see de polecat’s wife,

You nebber smelt such a row in all yer—

George P.(Rushes in the cabin, interrupts the singing, and dragsPeteout by the ear.) Pete! Pete, you infernal old rascal, is that the way you are crossing the river? Are those the songs they sing on the golden shore? Is this the way for a man to act when he has got his call—when he is all gone inside?

Uncle P.(Looking as if he had been caught in a hen-roost.) Marse George. I’s got de call, sah, an’ I’s gwine acrost de dark ribber soon, but I’s now braced up a little on de inside, an’ de ’scursion am postponed—you see, de ’scursion am postponed, sah!

George P.(Folding his arms, looking at Pete, as if in admiration of his impudence.) The excursion is postponed, is it? Well,thisexcursion is not postponed, you old scoundrel. (SeizesPeteby the coat-collar and runs him off stage, L.) [CURTAIN.]

Characters:

Curtain rises.—DiscoversNorain kitchen, peeling potatoes.

Nora.Och! it’s deceivin’ that all men are! Now I belaved Pat niver would forsake me, and here he’s trated me like an ould glove, and I’ll niver forgive him. How praties make your eyes water. (Wipes tears away.) Almost as bad as onions. Not that I’m cryin’; oh, no. Pat Murphy can’t seemecry. (Knock without.) There is Pat now, the rascal. I’ll lock the door. (Hastens to lock door.)

Pat(without). Arrah, Nora, and here I am.

Nora.And there ye’ll stay, ye spalpeen.

Pat(without). Ah, come now, Nora,—ain’t it opening the door you are after? Sure, I’m dyin’ of cold.

Nora.Faith, you are too hard a sinner to die aisy—so you can take your time about it.

Pat.Open the door, cushla; the police will be takin’ me up.

Nora.He won’t kape you long, alanna!

Pat.Nora, if you let me in, I’ll tell you how I came to lave you at the fair last night.

Nora(relenting). Will you, for true?

Pat.Indade I will.

(Nora unlocks door. EnterPatgayly. He snatches a kiss from her.)

Nora.Be off wid ye! Now tell me how you happened to be wid Mary O’Dwight last night?

Pat (sitting down).Well, you see it happened this way; ye know Mike O’ Dwight is her brother, and he and me is blatherin’ good friends, ye know; and as we was going to Caltry the ither day, Mike says to me, says he: “Pat, what’ll you take fur that dog?” and I says, says I—

Nora (who has been listening earnestly).Bother you, Pat, but you are foolin’ me again.

Pat (coaxingly takes her hand).No—no—Nora—I’ll tell ye the truth this time, sure. Well, as I was sayin’, Mike and me is good friends; and Mike says, says he: “Pat, that’s a good dog.” “Yis,” says I, “it is.” And he says, says he. “Pat, it is a blatherin’ good dog.” “Yis,” says I; and then—and then—(Scratches his head as if to aid his imagination.)

Nora(angrily snatching away hand). There! I’ll not listen to another word!

She Sings.

(Tune—Rory O’Moore.)Oh, Patrick Murphy, be off wid you, pray,I been watching your pranks this many a day;You’re false, and ye’re fickle, as sure as I liveAnd your hateful desaivin’ I’ll niver forgive.Ouch! do you think I was blind yester night,When you walked so fine with Mary O’Dwight?You kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own,And left me to walk down the dark lane alone.

(Tune—Rory O’Moore.)Oh, Patrick Murphy, be off wid you, pray,I been watching your pranks this many a day;You’re false, and ye’re fickle, as sure as I liveAnd your hateful desaivin’ I’ll niver forgive.Ouch! do you think I was blind yester night,When you walked so fine with Mary O’Dwight?You kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own,And left me to walk down the dark lane alone.

(Tune—Rory O’Moore.)

(Tune—Rory O’Moore.)

Oh, Patrick Murphy, be off wid you, pray,I been watching your pranks this many a day;You’re false, and ye’re fickle, as sure as I liveAnd your hateful desaivin’ I’ll niver forgive.Ouch! do you think I was blind yester night,When you walked so fine with Mary O’Dwight?You kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own,And left me to walk down the dark lane alone.

Oh, Patrick Murphy, be off wid you, pray,

I been watching your pranks this many a day;

You’re false, and ye’re fickle, as sure as I live

And your hateful desaivin’ I’ll niver forgive.

Ouch! do you think I was blind yester night,

When you walked so fine with Mary O’Dwight?

You kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own,

And left me to walk down the dark lane alone.

Pat(taking up song).

Oh, Nora, me darlint, be off wid your airs,For nobody wants you, and nobody cares!For you do want your Patrick, for don’t you see,You could not so well love any but me.When my lips met[1]Miss Mary’s, now just look at me,I shut my eyes tight just this way, don’t you see?And when the kiss came, what did I do?—I shut my eyes tight, and made believe it wasyou!

Oh, Nora, me darlint, be off wid your airs,For nobody wants you, and nobody cares!For you do want your Patrick, for don’t you see,You could not so well love any but me.When my lips met[1]Miss Mary’s, now just look at me,I shut my eyes tight just this way, don’t you see?And when the kiss came, what did I do?—I shut my eyes tight, and made believe it wasyou!

Oh, Nora, me darlint, be off wid your airs,For nobody wants you, and nobody cares!For you do want your Patrick, for don’t you see,You could not so well love any but me.When my lips met[1]Miss Mary’s, now just look at me,I shut my eyes tight just this way, don’t you see?And when the kiss came, what did I do?—I shut my eyes tight, and made believe it wasyou!

Oh, Nora, me darlint, be off wid your airs,

For nobody wants you, and nobody cares!

For you do want your Patrick, for don’t you see,

You could not so well love any but me.

When my lips met[1]Miss Mary’s, now just look at me,

I shut my eyes tight just this way, don’t you see?

And when the kiss came, what did I do?—

I shut my eyes tight, and made believe it wasyou!

Nora.

Be off wid your nonsense—a word in your ear,Listen, my Patrick, be sure that you hear;Last night when Mike Duffy came here to woo,We sat in the dark, and made believe it was you—And when the kiss came, now just look at me,—I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don’t you see?And when our lips met, what did I do,But keep my eyes shut, and make belave it was you!

Be off wid your nonsense—a word in your ear,Listen, my Patrick, be sure that you hear;Last night when Mike Duffy came here to woo,We sat in the dark, and made believe it was you—And when the kiss came, now just look at me,—I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don’t you see?And when our lips met, what did I do,But keep my eyes shut, and make belave it was you!

Be off wid your nonsense—a word in your ear,Listen, my Patrick, be sure that you hear;Last night when Mike Duffy came here to woo,We sat in the dark, and made believe it was you—And when the kiss came, now just look at me,—I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don’t you see?And when our lips met, what did I do,But keep my eyes shut, and make belave it was you!

Be off wid your nonsense—a word in your ear,

Listen, my Patrick, be sure that you hear;

Last night when Mike Duffy came here to woo,

We sat in the dark, and made believe it was you—

And when the kiss came, now just look at me,—

I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don’t you see?

And when our lips met, what did I do,

But keep my eyes shut, and make belave it was you!

(Nora, laughing; Pat, disconcerted.)

[QUICK CURTAIN.]

[1]From the asterisk they sing only the first strain of “Rory O’More”—omitting the minor strain, with which Nora finishes her first stanza.

[1]From the asterisk they sing only the first strain of “Rory O’More”—omitting the minor strain, with which Nora finishes her first stanza.

[1]From the asterisk they sing only the first strain of “Rory O’More”—omitting the minor strain, with which Nora finishes her first stanza.

EnterSir Lucius O’Triggerto left, with pistols, followed byAcres.

Acres.(L.[2]) By my valor, then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and aims!—I say it is a good distance.

Sir Lucius.(R.) Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon my conscience Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me.—Stay, now—I’ll show you. (Measures paces along the floor.) There, now, that is a very pretty distance—a pretty gentleman’s distance.

Acr.(R.) Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry-box! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the further he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim.

Sir L.(L.) Faith! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if he was out of sight!

Acr. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think forty or eight-and-thirty yards—

Sir L.Pooh! pooh! nonsense! Three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile.

Acr.Odds bullets, no!—by my valor! here is no merit in killing him so near! Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot:—a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me!

Sir L.Well, the gentlemen’s friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you?

Acr.I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius—but I don’t understand—

Sir L.Why, you may think there’s no being shot at without a little risk; and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it—I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters.

Acr.A quietus!

Sir L.For instance, now—if that should be the case—would you choose to be pickled and sent home?—or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey?—I’m told there is very snug lying in the Abbey.

Acr.Pickled!—Snugly in the Abbey!—Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don’t talk so!

Sir L.I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before.

Acr.No, Sir Lucius, never before.

Sir L.Ah! that’s a pity!—there’s nothing like being used to a thing. Pray, now, how would you receive the gentlemen’s shot?

Acr.Odds files!—I’ve practiced that—there, Sir Lucius—there. (Puts himself in an attitude.) A side front, hey? I’ll make myself small enough: I’ll stand edgeways.

Sir L.Now—you’re quite out—for if you stand so when I take my aim—(Leveling at him.)

Acr.Zounds! Sir Lucius—are you sure it is not cocked?

Sir L.Never fear.

Acr.But—but—you don’t know—it may go off of its own head!

Sir L.Pooh! be easy. Well, now, if I hit you in the body, my bullet has a double chance; for, if it misses a vital part of your right side, ’twill be very hard if it don’t succeed on the left.

Acr.A vital part!

Sir L.But, there, fix yourself so—(placing him)—let him see the broadside of your full front, there, now, a ball or two may pass clean through your body, and never do any harm at all.

Acr.Clean through me!—a ball or two clean through me!

Sir L.Ay, may they; and it is much the genteelest attitude into the bargain.

Acr.Look’ee, Sir Lucius! I’d just as lieve be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel one; so, by my valor! I will stand edgeways.

Sir L.(Looking at his watch.) Sure, they don’t mean to disappoint us. Ha! no, faith; I think I see them coming. (Crosses to R.)

Acr.(L.) Hey!—what!—coming!—

Sir L.Ay. Who are those yonder, getting over the stile?

Acr.There are two of them, indeed! Well—let them come—hey, Sir Lucius! we—we—we—we—won’t run!

Sir L.Run!

Acr.No,—I say,—we won’t run, by my valor!

Sir L.What’s the matter with you?

Acr.Nothing—nothing—my dear friend—my dear Sir Lucius! but I—I don’t feel quite so bold, somehow, as I did.

Sir L.O, fy! Consider your honor.

Acr.Ay—true—my honor. Do, Sir Lucius, edge in a word or two every now and then about my honor.

Sir L.Well, here they’re coming. (Looking R.)

Acr.Sir Lucius, if I wa’n’t with you, I should almost think I was afraid! If my valor should leave me!—Valor will come and go.

Sir L.Then pray keep it fast while you have it.

Acr.Sir Lucius, I doubt it is going!—yes—my valor is certainly going!—it is sneaking off! I feel it oozing out, as it were, at the palms of my hands!

Sir L.Your honor! your honor! Here they are.

Acr.O mercy!—now—that I was safe at Clod Hall! or could be shot before I was aware! (Sir Luciustakes Acres by the arm, and leads him reluctantly off, R.)

Sheridan.

[2]L.signifiesleft;R.,right, andC.,centreof stage.

[2]L.signifiesleft;R.,right, andC.,centreof stage.

[2]L.signifiesleft;R.,right, andC.,centreof stage.

Characters:

EnterSwipes, R.,[3]Currie, L.

Swipes.A sober occasion this, brother Currie! Who would have thought the old lady was so near her end?

Currie.Ah! we must all die, brother Swipes. Those who live longest outlive the most.

Swipes.True, true; but, since we must die and leave our earthly possessions, it is well that the law takes such good care of us. Had the old lady her senses when she departed?

Cur.Perfectly, perfectly. ’Squire Drawl told me she read every word of her last will and testament aloud, and never signed her name better.

Swipes.Had you any hint from the ’Squire what disposition she made of her property?

Cur.Not a whisper! the ’Squire is as close as a miser’s purse. But one of the witnesses hinted to me that she has cut off her graceless nephew with a shilling.

Swipes.Has she? Good soul! Has she? You know I come in, then, in right of my wife.

Cur.And I in myownright; and this is, no doubt, the reason why we have been called to hear the reading of the will. ’Squire Drawl knows how things should be done, though he is as air-tight as one of your own beer-barrels, brother Swipes. But here comes the young reprobate. He must be present, as a matter of course, you know. (EnterFrank Millington, R.) Your servant, young gentleman. So, your benefactress has left you, at last!

Swipes.It is a painful thing to part with old and good friends, Mr. Millington.

Frank.It is so, sir; but I could bear her loss better, had I not so often been ungrateful for her kindness. She was my only friend, and I knew not her value.

Cur.It is too late to repent, Master Millington. You will now have a chance to earn your own bread.

Swipes.Ay, ay, by the sweat of your brow, as better people are obliged to. You would make a fine brewer’s boy, if you were not too old.

Cur.Ay, or a saddler’s lackey, if held with a tight rein.

Frank.Gentlemen, your remarks imply that my aunt has treated me as I deserved. I am above your insults, and only hope you will bear your fortune as modestly, as I shall mine submissively. I shall retire. (As he is going, R., enter’Squire Drawl, R.)

’Squire.Stop, stop, young man! We must have your presence. Good-morning, gentlemen: you are early on the ground.

Cur.I hope the ’Squire is well to-day.

’Squire.Pretty comfortable for an invalid.

Swipes.I trust the damp air has not affected your lungs.

’Squire.No, I believe not. You know I never hurry.Slow and sureis my maxim. Well, since the heirs-at-law are all convened, I shall proceed to open the last will and testament of your deceased relative, according to law.

Swipes.(While the’Squireis breaking the seal.) It is a trying scene to leave all one’s possessions, ’Squire, in this manner!

Cur.It really makes me feel melancholy when I look round and see everything but the venerable owner of these goods. Well did the preacher say, All is vanity!

’Squire.Please to be seated, gentlemen.

(All sit.—The’Squireputs on his spectacles, and reads slowly.) “Imprimis: Whereas my nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience and ungrateful conduct, has shown himself unworthy of my bounty, and incapable of managing my large estate, I do hereby give and bequeath all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, moneys and property, both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt street, brewer, and Christopher Currie, of Fly Court, saddler.” (’Squiretakes off his spectacles to wipe them.)

Swipes.(Dreadfully overcome.) Generous creature! kind soul! I always loved her.

Cur.Shewasgood, shewaskind! She was in her right mind. Brother Swipes, when we divide, I think I will take the mansion-house.

Swipes.Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Currie! My wife has long had her eye upon that, and must have it. (Both rise.)

Cur.There will be two words to that bargain, Mr. Swipes! And, besides, I ought to have the first choice. Did not I lend her a new chaise every time she wished to ride? And who knows what influence——.

Swipes.Am I not named first in her will? And did I not furnish her with my best small beer for more than six months? And who knows——.

Frank.Gentlemen, I must leave you.

(Going.)

’Squire.(Wiping his spectacles, and putting them on.) Pray, gentlemen, keep your seats. I have not done yet. (All sit.) Let me see; where was I?—Ay,—“All my property, both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt street, brewer——”

Swipes.Yes!

’Squire.“And Christopher Currie, Fly Court, saddler——”

Cur.Yes!

’Squire.“To have and to hold in trust, for the sole and exclusive benefit of my nephew, Francis Millington, until he shall have attained the age of twenty-one years; by which time I hope he will have so far reformed his evil habits, as that he may safely be intrusted with the large fortune which I hereby bequeath to him.”

Swipes.What’s all this? You don’t mean that we are humbugged?In trust!—how does that appear? Where is it?

’Squire.(Pointing to the parchment.) There! In two words of as good old English as I ever penned.

Cur.Pretty well, too, Mr. ’Squire, if we must be sent for to be made a laughing-stock of! She shall pay for every ride she had out of my chaise, I promise you!

Swipes.And for every drop of my beer. Fine times, if two sober, hard-working citizens are to be brought here to be made the sport of a graceless profligate! But we will manage his property for him, Mr. Currie! We will make him feel that trustees are not to be trifled with!

Cur.That will we!

’Squire.Not so fast, gentlemen; for the instrument is dated three years ago, and the young gentleman must already be of age, and able to take care of himself. Is it not so, Francis?

Frank.It is, your worship.

’Squire.Then, gentlemen, having attended to the breaking of this seal according to law, you are released from any further trouble in the premises.

(ExitSwipesandCurriein earnest conversation.)

Sargent.

[3]R., signifiesright;L.,leftandC.,centreof stage.

[3]R., signifiesright;L.,leftandC.,centreof stage.

[3]R., signifiesright;L.,leftandC.,centreof stage.

EnterRemnant, R.[4]

Remnant.Well, I am resolved I’ll collect my bill of Col. Blarney this time. He shan’t put me off again. This is the twentieth time, as I’m a sinner, that I have dunned him! His smooth words shan’t humbug me now. No, no! Richard Remnant is not such a goose as to be paid in fine words for fine clothes. (Takes out a long bill and unrolls it.) A pretty collection of items, that! Why, the interest alone would make a good round sum. But hark! He is coming. (Hastily rolls up the bill and returns it to his pocket.)

EnterCol. Blarney, R.

Blarney.Ah! my dear Remnant, a thousand welcomes! How delighted I am to see you! And what stupidity on the part of my people not to make you enter at once! True, I had given orders that they should admit nobody; but those orders did not extend to you, my dear sir, for to you I am always at home.

Rem.Much obliged, sir. (Fumbling in his pocket for his bill.)

Blar.(calling to his servants.) What, ho!John! Martha! confound you! I will teach you to keep my friend Remnant kicking his heels in the entry! I will teach you to distinguish among my visitors!

Rem.Indeed, sir, it is no sort of consequence.

Blar.But itisconsequence! To tell you—you, one of my best friends—that I was not in!

Rem.I am your humble servant, sir. (Drawing forth bill.) I just dropped in to hand you this little—

Blar.Quick, there, quick! A chair for my friend Remnant!

Rem.I am very well as I am, sir.

Blar.Not at all! I would have you seated.

Rem.It is not necessary. (Servant hands a common chair.)

Blar.Rascal!—not that! An arm-chair!

Rem.You are taking too much trouble. (An arm-chair is placed for him.)

Blar.No, no; you have been walking some distance, and require rest. Now be seated.

Rem.There is no need of it—I have but a single word to say. I have brought—

Blar.Be seated, I say. I will not listen to you till you are seated.

Rem.Well, sir, I will do as you wish. (Sits.) I was about to say—

Blar.Upon my word, friend Remnant, you are looking remarkably well.

Rem.Yes, sir, thank heaven, I am pretty well. I have come with this—

Blar.You have an admirable stock of health—lips fresh, skin ruddy, eyes clear and bright—really—

Rem.If you would be good enough to—

Blar.And how is Madam Remnant?

Rem.Quite well, sir, I am happy to say.

Blar.A charming woman, Mr. Remnant! A very superior woman.

Rem.She will be much obliged, sir. As I was saying—

Blar.And your daughter, Claudine, how is she?

Rem.As well as can be.

Blar.The beautiful little thing that she is! I am quite in love with her.

Rem.You do us too much honor, sir. I—you—

Blar.And little Harry—does he make as much noise as ever, beating that drum of his?

Rem.Ah, yes! He goes on the same as ever. But, as I was saying—

Blar.And your little dog, Brisk,—does he bark as loud as ever, and snap at the legs of your visitors?

Rem.More than ever, sir, and we don’t know how to cure him. He, he! But I dropped in to—

Blar.Do not be surprised if I want particular news of all your family, for I take the deepest interest in all of you.

Rem.We are much obliged to your honor, much obliged. I—

Blar.(Giving his hand.) Your hand upon it, Mr. Remnant. Don’t rise. Now, tell me, do you stand well with the people of quality?—for I can make interest for you among them.

Rem.Sir, I am your humble servant.

Blar.And I am yours, with all my heart. (Shaking hands again.)

Rem.You do me too much honor.

Blar.There is nothing I would not do for you.

Rem.Sir, you are too kind to me.

Blar.At least I am disinterested; be sure of that, Mr. Remnant.

Rem.Certainly I have not merited these favors, sir. But, sir,—

Blar.Now I think of it, will you stay and sup with me?—without ceremony, of course.

Rem.No, sir, I must return to my shop; I should have been there before this. I—

Blar.What ho, there! A light for Mr. Remnant! and tell the coachman to bring the coach and drive him home.

Rem.Indeed, sir, it is not necessary. I can walk well enough. But here— (Offering bill.)

Blar.O! I shall not listen to it. Walk? Such a night as this! I am your friend, Remnant, and, what is more, your debtor—your debtor, I say—all the world may know it.

Rem.Ah! sir if you could but find it convenient—

Blar.Hark! There is the coach. One more embrace, my dear Remnant! (Shakes hands again.) Take care of the steps. Command me always; and be sure there is nothing in the world I would not do for you. There! Good-by.

(ExitRemnant, conducted byCol. B.)

Altered from Molière.

[4]The initialsR.andL.stand for theRightandLeftof the stage, facing the audience.

[4]The initialsR.andL.stand for theRightandLeftof the stage, facing the audience.

[4]The initialsR.andL.stand for theRightandLeftof the stage, facing the audience.

EnterDoubledotandSimon, L.[5]

Doubledot.Plague take Mr. Paul Pry! He is one of those idle, meddling fellows, who, having no employment themselves, are perpetually interfering in other people’s affairs.

Simon.Ay, and he’s inquisitive into all matters, great and small.

Doub.Inquisitive! Why, he makes no scruple of questioning you respecting your most private concerns. Then he will weary you to death with a long story about a cramp in his leg, or the loss of a sleeve-button, or some such idle matter. And so he passes his days, “dropping in,” as he calls it, from house to house at the most unreasonable times, to the annoyance of every family in the village. But I’ll soon get rid of him.

EnterPry, L., with umbrella, which he places against the wall.

Pry.Ha! how d’ye do, Mr. Doubledot?

Doub.Very busy, Mr. Pry, and have scarcely time to say, “Pretty well, thank ye.” (Turns from him as if writing in memorandum book.Simonadvances.)

Pry.Ha, Simon! you here? Rather early in the morning to be in a public house. Been taking a horn, eh? Sent here with a message from your master, perhaps? I say, Simon, when this wedding takes place, I suppose your master will put you all into new liveries, eh?

Simon.Can’t say, sir.

Pry.Well, I think he might. (TouchesSimon’ssleeve.) Between ourselves, Simon, it won’t be before you want ’em, eh?

Simon.That’s master’s business, sir, and neither yours nor mine.

Pry.Mr. Simon, behave yourself, or I shall complain of you to the colonel. By the way, Simon, that’s an uncommon fine leg of mutton the butcher has sent to your house. It weighs thirteen pounds five ounces.

Doub.And how do you know that?

Pry.I asked the butcher. I say, Simon, is it for roasting or boiling?

Simon.Half and half, with the chill taken off. There’s your answer.

(ExitSimon, R.)

Pry.That’s an uncommon ill-behaved servant! Well, since you say you are busy, I won’t interrupt you; only, as I was passing, I thought I might as well drop in.

Doub.Then you may now drop out again. The railway ’bus will be in presently, and—

Pry.No passengers by it to-day, for I have been to the hill to look for it.

Doub.Did you expect any one by it, that you were so anxious?

Pry.No; but I make it my business to see the coach come in every day. I can’t bear to be idle.

Doub.Useful occupation, truly!

Pry.Always see it go out; have done so these ten years.

Doub.(Going up.) Tiresome blockhead! Well; good morning to you.

Pry.Good-morning, Mr. Doubledot. Your tavern doesn’t appear to be very full just now.

Doub.No, no.

Pry.Ha! you are at a heavy rent? (Pauses for an answer after each question.) I’ve often thought of that. No supporting such an establishment without a deal of custom. If it’s not an impertinent question, don’t you find it rather a hard matter to make both ends meet when the first of the month comes round?

Doub.If it isn’t asking an impertinent question, what’s that to you?

Pry.O, nothing; only some folks have the luck of it: they have just taken in a nobleman’s family at the opposition house, the Green Dragon.

Doub.What’s that? A nobleman at the Green Dragon!

Pry.Traveling carriage and four. Three servants on the dickey and an outrider, all in blue liveries. They dine and stop all night. A pretty bill there will be to-morrow, for the servants are not on board wages.

Doub.Plague take the Green Dragon! How did you discover that they are not on board wages?

Pry.I was curious to know, and asked one of them. You know I never miss any thing for want of asking. ’Tis no fault of mine that the nabob is not here, at your house.

Doub.Why, what had you to do with it?

Pry.You know I never forget my friends. I stopped the carriage as it was coming down the hill—brought it to a dead stop, and said that if his lordship—I took him for a lord at once—that if his lordship intended to make any stay, he couldn’t do better than to go to Doubledot’s.

Doub.Well?

Pry.Well,—would you believe it?—out pops a saffron-colored face from the carriage window, and says, “You’re an impudent rascal for stopping my carriage, and I’ll not go to Doubledot’s if there’s another inn to be found within ten miles of it!”

Doub.There, that comes of your confounded meddling! If you had not interfered I should have stood an equal chance with the Green Dragon.

Pry.I’m very sorry; but I did it for the best.

Doub.Did it for the best, indeed! Deuce take you! By your officious attempts to serve, you do more mischief in the neighborhood than the exciseman, the apothecary, and the attorney, all together.

Pry.Well, there’s gratitude! Now, really, I must go. Good-morning.

(ExitPaul Pry.)

Doub.I’m rid of him at last, thank fortune! (Pryre-enters.) Well, what now?

Pry.I’ve dropped one of my gloves. Now, that’s very odd—here it is in my hand all the time!

Doub.Go to confusion!

(Exit.)

Pry.Come, that’s civil! If I were the least of a bore, now, it would be pardonable—But—Hullo! There’s the postman! I wonder whether the Parkins’s have got letters again to-day. They have had letters every day this week, and I can’t for the life of me think what they can—(Feels hastily in his pockets.) By the way, talking of letters, here’s one I took from the postman last week for the colonel’s daughter, Miss Eliza, and I have always forgotten to give it to her. I dare say it is not of much importance. (Peeps into it—reads.) “Likely—unexpected—affectionate.” I can’t make it out. No matter; I’ll contrive to take it to the house—though I’ve a deal to do to-day. (Runs off and returns.) Dear me! I had like to have gone without my umbrella.

[CURTAIN.]

John Poole.

[5]L.signifiesleft;R.,right, andC.,centreof stage.

[5]L.signifiesleft;R.,right, andC.,centreof stage.

[5]L.signifiesleft;R.,right, andC.,centreof stage.

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