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ESPECIALLY FITTED FOR SCHOOLS, ACADEMIES, SOCIABLE GATH- ERINGS, HOLIDAY MEETINGS, ANNIVERSARIES, COMMENCEMENTS, PARLOR ENTER- TAINMENTS, ETC, ETC. NEW YORK: ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER, No. 33 Rose Stbeet. Copyright, 1876, by Robert M. De Witt. ^\n 3 The "Webster" Standard Serib* WEBSTER'S PRACTICAL LETTER WRITER WEBSTER'S RECITER ; or, Elocution Made East. WEBSTER'S BUSINESS MAN ; or, Counting-housb Correspondent. WEBSTER'S CHAIRMAN'S MANUAL and Speak- ers' Guide. WEBSTER S READY-MADE LOVE-LETTERS. WEBSTER'S LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER. WEBSTER'S YOUTHFUL SPEAKER. WEBSTER'S PROGRESSIVE SPEAKER. %* The above books are all handsome l2mos. Price, in boards, 90 each. In cloth, gilt lettered, 75 cents each. THE " WEBSTER " STANDARD SERIES contains five of the very best practical works on the different subjects to which they are devoted. 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CONTENTS OP MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. Name. Author. Page. Agility (Dickens Charade) G. B. Bartlett 87 America's Birthday Party George B. Bartlett. . . 165 Army and Navy, The Anon 97 Apron (an Acting Charade) L. Annie Frost 19 Bluebird and Oriole Anon '. 72 Candidate for Congress, The Anon 74 Centennial Drama, A Mrs. E. D. Cheney 155 Chief's Resolve, The Anon 116 City and Country Mrs. E. B. P 40 Columbia's Daughters John Keynton 167 Consider the Lilies M. B. C. Slade. ... 70 Discontented Girls, The Anon 192 Excitement at Kettleville, The Epes Sargent 63 Gridiron, The Anon 189 Hard to Suit All Anon 53 Imaginary Possessions Anon v 187 Little Red Riding-Hood George Cooper 78 Love of Country Anon 93 Lochiel's Warning Campbell 147 6 OONTENTS. Name. Author. Page. Maine (Acting Charade) M. B. C. Slade 43 May -Basket Army, The Anon 182 Mistletoe Bough, The Anon 13 Money-Digger, The H. Elliot M'Bride 30 Nature's Heroes Beaumont & Fletcher 44 Old Flag, The Anon 107 Our Centennial Anon 136 Our Country's Seasons Anon 178 Peterkins, The Lucretia P. Hale 8 Play of the Alphabet Ellen O. Peck 7 Sailor Boy's Return, The Anon 152 Sailor's Mother, The Anon 26 Shall our Mothers Vote ? Anon 102 Spirit of '76, The Anon 123 Story, The Anon 33 The Bee, the Ant, and the Spider Mrs. Louisa P. Hopkins 16 True to His Colors Anon 95 Seven Anon 92 Uncle Nathan's Indian Anon 179 Uncle Sam Anon 150 Veteran, The Anon 120 Visions of Freedom, The Anon 129 William Tell Anon 125 1776-1876 Anon 112 MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOE YOUNG PEOPLE. PLAY OP THE ALPHABET. ELLEN O. PECK. [An exercise for twenty-six small children, the letter each repre- sents being pinned in front of him. The last half is ad- dressed to the audience. They take their places one by one.] First (taking place on stage). A advances. Second (boy coming to A y s side and bowing). B bows. Third (girl coming into line and dropping a courtesy). C courtesies. Fourth (dancing into line). D dances. Fifth (eating). E eats. Sixth (coming on slowly and thoughtfully). F forgets. Seventh (crying). G- grieves. Eighth (coming on very fast). H hurries. Ninth (scrutinizing the others). I inspects. Tenth (jumping along). J jumps. Eleventh (coming forward and kneeling in line). K kneels. Twelfth (coming quickly, lifts K up). L lifts. Thirteenth (marching promptly). M marches. Fourteenth (bowing). N nods. Fifteenth (glancing about). observes. Sixteenth (playing on mouth-organ or jewsharp). P plays. Seventeenth (holding in one hand an interrogation point), Q questions. macaulay's dialogues for young people. Eighteenth {running into line). R runs. Nineteenth {looking very pleasantly). S smiles. Twentieth {coming on awkwardly, falls down). T tumbles. Twenty-first {following quickly, helps him up). U upholds. Twenty-second {sauntering in). V visits. Twenty-third {bringing a book). W works. Twenty-fourth {bringing two books). X excels. Twenty-fifth {handing a book to X). Y yields. Iwenty -sixth {coming in an irregular course). Z zigzags. First. Amuse us. Fourteenth. Nourish us. Second. Bless us. Fifteenth. Oblige us. Third. Care for us. Sixteenth. Pet us. Fourth. Defend us. Seventeenth. Question us. Fifth. Educate us. Eighteenth. Rouse us. Sixth. Forgive us. Nineteenth. Steady us. Seventh. Guide us. Twentieth. Trust us. Eighth. Help us. Twenty-first. Use us. Ninth. Interest us. Iwenty -second. Value us. lenth. Judge us. Twenty -third. Warn us. Eleventh. Know us. Twenty -fourth. Excuse us. Twelfth. Love us. Twenty -five. Yearn over us. Thirteenth. Mould us. Twenty-sixth. Zest our work. All in concert. And together we will do Almost everything for you. THE PETEREItfS. LUCRETIA P. HALE. Dramatis Personal. — Amanda, Amanda's Mother, Girls of the Graduating Class, Mrs. Peterkin, Elizabeth Eliza. Amanda {coming in with a few graduates). Mother, the ex- hibition is over, and I have brought the whole class home to the collation. Mother. The whole class ! But I only expected a few. MAOAULAY S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. y Amanda. The rest are coming. I brought Julie and Clara and Sophie with me. ( a voice is heard) Here are the rest. Mother. Why, no. It is Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza! Amanda. Too late for the exhibition. Such a shame ! But in time for the collation. Mother ( to herself). If the ice-cream will go round ! Amanda. But what made you so late 7 Did you miss the train 1 This is Elizabeth Eliza, girls — you have heard me speak of her. What a pity you were too late ! Mrs. Peterkin. We tried to come ; we did our best. Mother, Did you miss the train 1 Didn't you get my postal- card 1 Mrs. Peterkin. We had nothing to do with the train. Amanda. You don't mean you walked 1 Mrs. Peterkin. Oh no, indeed ! Elizabeth Eliza. We came in a horse and carryall. Julia. I always wondered how anybody could come in a horse ! Amanda. You are too foolish, Julie. They came in the carry- all part. But didn't you start in time 1 Mrs. P. It all comes from the carryall being so hard to turn. I told Mr. Beterkin we should get into trouble with one of those carryalls that don't turn easy. Elizabeth. They turn easy enough in the stable, so you can't tell. Mrs. P. Yes ; we started with the little boys and Solomon John on the back seat, and Elizabeth Eliza on the front. She was to drive, and I was to see to the driving. But the horse was not faced toward Boston. Mother. And you tipped over in turning round ! Oh, what an accident ! Amanda. And the little boys — where are they 1 Are they killed 1 Elizabeth. The little boys are all safe. We left them at the Pringles', with Solomon John. Mother. But what did happen 1 Mrs. P. We started the wrong way. Mother. You lost your way, after all 1 Elizabeth. No ; we knew the way well enough. 10 MACATJLAY's dialogues for young people. Amanda. It's as plain as a pike-staff ! Mrs. P. No ; we had the horse faced in the wrong direction, toward Providence. Elizabeth. And mother was afraid to have me turn, and we kept on and on till we should reach a wide place. Mrs. P. I thought we should come to a road that would veer off to the right or left, and bring us back to the right direction. Mother. Could not you all get out and turn the thing round 1 Mrs. P. Why, no ; if it had broken down we should not have been in anything, and could not have gone anywhere. Elizabeth. Yes, I have always heard it was best to stay in the carriage whatever happens. Julia. But nothing seemed to happen. Mrs. P. Oh, yes ; we met one man after another, and we askecl the way to Boston. Elizabeth. And all they would say was, " Turn right round— you are on the road to Providence." Mrs. P. As if we could turn right round ! That was just what we couldn't. Mother. You don't mean you kept on all the way to Providence 1 Elizabeth. dear, no ! We kept on and on, till we met a man with a black hand-bag — black leather I should say. Juha. He must have been a book-agent. Mrs. P. I dare say he was ; his bag seemed heavy. He set it on a stone. Mother. I dare say it was the same one that came here the other day. He wanted me to buy the " History of the Aborigines, brought up from earliest times to the present date," in four vol- umes. I told him I hadn't time to read so much. He said that was no matter, few did, and it wasn't much worth it — they bought books for the look of the thing. Amanda. Now, that was illiterate : he never could have gradu- ated. I hope, Elizabeth Eliza, you had nothing to do with that man. Elizabeth. Very likely it was not the same one. Mother. Did he have a kind of pepper-and-salt suit, with one of the buttons worn 7 Mrs. P. I noticed one of the buttons was off. MACAULAX'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 11 Amanda. We're off the subject. Did you buy his book 1 Elizabeth. He never offered us his book. Mrs. P. He told us the same story — we were going to Provi- dence ; if we wanted to go to Boston, we must turn directly round. Elizabeth. I told him I couldn't ; but he took the horse's head, and the first thing I knew Amanda. He had yanked you round ! Mrs. P. I screamed ; I couldn't help it ! Elizabeth. I was glad when it was over ! Mother. Well, well ; it shows the disadvantage of starting wrong. Mrs. P. Yes, we came straight enough when the horse was headed right, but we lost time. Elizabeth. I am sorry enough I lost the exhibition, and seeing you take the diploma, Amanda. I never got the diploma myself. I came near it. Mrs. P. Somehow, Elizabeth Eliza never succeeded. I think there was partiality about the promotions. Elizabeth. I never was good about remembering' things. I studied well enough, but, when I came to say off my lesson, I couldn't think what it was. Yet I could have answered some of the other girls' questions. Julia, It's odd how the other girls always have the easiest ques- tions. Elizabeth. I never could remember poetry. There was only one thing I could repeat. Amanda. Oh, do let us have it now ; and then we'll recite to you some of our exhibition pieces. * Elizabeth. I'll try. Mrs. P. Yes, Elizabeth Eliza, do what you can to help entertain Amanda's friends, (all stand looking at Elizabeth Eliza, who re- mains silent and thoughtful) Elizabeth. I'm trying to think what it is about. You all know it. You remember, Amanda — the name is rather long. Amanda. It can't be Nebuchadnezzar, can it 1 — that is one of the longest names I know. Elizabeth. Oh dear, no ! Julia. Perhaps it's Cleopatra. 12 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Elizabeth, It does begin with a " C " — only he was a boy. Amanda. That's a pity, for it might be " We are seven," only that is a girl. Some of them were boys. Elizabeth. It begins about a boy — if I could only think where he was. I can't remember. Amanda. Perhaps he " stood upon the burning deck 1 " Elizabeth. That's just it ; I knew he stood somewhere. Amanda. Casabianca ! Now begin — go ahead ! Elizabeth. " The boy stood on the burning deck, When — when ' ' I can't think who stood there with him. Julia. If the deck was burning, it must have been on fire. I guess the rest ran away, or jumped into boats. Amanda. That's just it. " Whence all but him had fled." Elizabeth. I think I can say it now. " The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled — " {she hesitates) Then I think he went Julia, of course, he fled after the rest. Amanda. Dear, no ! That's the point. He didn't. " The flames rolled on, he would not go Without his father's word." Elizabeth. Oh, yes, Now I can say it. " The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled ; The flames rolled on, he would not go Without his father's word." But it used to rhyme. I don't know what has happened to it. Mrs. P. Elizabeth Eliza is very particular about the rhymes. Elizabeth. It must be " without his father's head" or, perhaps, " without his father said " he should. Julia. I think you must have omitted something. macaux-ay's dialogues for young people. 13 Amanda. She has left out ever so much ! Mother. Perhaps it's as well to omit some, for the ice-cream has come, and you must all come down. Amanda. And here are the rest of the girls ; and let us all unite in a song ! {Exeunt, singing.) THE MISTLETOE BOUGH. [Arranged for Parlor or School Representation as a Ballad with Living Pictures.] The well-known story of " Ginevra," as told in Rogers' poem of " Italy," and in the ballad of " The Mistletoe Bough," is very suitable for parlor rep- resentation, especially during the Christmas holidays. To give it with the best effect, a temporary stage and drop-curtain are needed ; better still if the curtain be hung at the wide opening between two rooms. As an expedient, two large clothes-horses, draped and stood so as to form the back and sides of the stage — thus, , ,, answer the purpose admirably. The flooring of the stage should, if practicable, be raised about fourteen inches. A large pine frame covered with gilt or " black walnut " paper, if placed close to the stage so as to form a picture-frame to each scene, will add very much to the illusion ; and the effect will be still finer if a very thin black gauze or tarle- tan be stretched across the back of the frame over the entire opening. But both the frame and gauze may be dispensed with if they involve too much pamstaking. In any case, a sliding curtain can be hung on a wire stretched across the front, and so arranged as to be drawn back, when necessary, by persons concealed at each end of the screen. A space can be left in the rear, between the two clothes-horses, where the actors, by parting the dra- peries, may go in and out. Somebody behind the screen recites or sings the ballad, which at proper intervals is illustrated by tableaux vivants. Every- thing must be arranged in advance, and the actors dressed ready to appear. A large wooden chest should be at hand. It may stand in the rear of the stage in the first scene, concealed by gay draperies or the wedding guests. A capital chest may be made of large sheets of pasteboard sewed together and covered with oak wall-paper. Great iron hinges and locks should be painted upon it. The lid, bent down around the edge, can be tied on at the back, so as to open and shut. The mistletoe bough and holly, if necessary, can be made of green paper ; or almost any green boughs with small leaves will answer the purpose. The costumes, which in detail may be left to the taste of the performers, should have an old-time effect and be in harmony with each other. The chief requirements are powdered heads, knee-breeches, and great shoe-buckles for the gentlemen ; high-heeled and rosetted slippers, farthingales, trains, puffed, curled and powdered heads, with flowers, 14 macaulay's dialogues fob young people. wreaths, and showy jewelry for the ladies. Twenty-five cents 1 worth of tinsel paper, crinkled and creased, will greatly assist in the jewelry and shoe-buckle effects, when better things are not at hand. Old chintz cur- tains for the guests, and muslin or lace curtains for the bride, will make capital trains and mantles ; white wool-wadding and horse-hair will serve for the ladies' and gentlemen's wigs, when powder is not used, and knee- breeches may be easily produced by cutting the bottoms off of old trousers, lapping them tightly at the knee, and concealing the lap by a rosette. Two persons may be required to represent Lovel — one as a young, the other as an old man. For the latter part, a long white beard may be made of goat's- hair fringe or white wool-wadding. A few charcoal shadows about the face (studied from nature) will produce the look of old age. In the last scene, the wedding guests, with a few slight changes of costume, and with char- coal shadows on some of the faces, will serve as the old man's friends. Children can personate all the characters as easily as grown persons. A spinning wheel and a few old-style pieces of furniture will be found useful. Very pleasing results, however, can be secured with far less preparation than we have suggested. The main thing is to try for harmonious effects of color and grouping, and the proper lighting up of the tableaux. All the lights should be in front of the performers, and hidden from the spectators. If the scenes are carefully rehearsed there will be no difficulty in arranging each tableau silently and swiftly in its proper succession. Actual experi- ment will be the best guide in deciding at which points the curtain is to be raised and lowered. When practicable, the singing or reciting of each stanza should accompany its tableau to the fall of the curtain, and the mu- sic accompaniment can run on between the stanzas during the brief time allowed for arranging each scene. Tableau I. The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, The holly branch shone on the old oak wall ; And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay, And keeping their Christmas holiday. The baron beheld with a father's pride His beautiful daughter, young Lovel' s bride, "While she with her bright eyes seemed to be The star of that goodly company. Oh ! the mistletoe bough ! Oh ! the mistletoe bough ! Tableau. Scene. — The castle hall. The happy old baron and bar mess are seated in state ; the bride and groom, with the wed- MACAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 15 ding guests, may be represented as dancing, or in the act of play- ing some merry game. Tableau II. "I'm weary of dancing now," she cried ; 11 Here tarry a moment — I'll hide, I'll hide ! And Lovel be sure thou'rt the first to trace The clue to my secret lurking-place." Away she ran, and her friends began Each tower to search, and each nook to scan ; And young Lovel cried, " Oh, where dost thou hide % I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride." Oh ! the mistletoe, etc. Tableau. Curtain rises at " Away she ran.''' Scene. — A dim old garret. When there are no painted scenes, this effect is pro- duced by lowering the lights and displaying dimly a few old chair 'S, garments, and stray articles, crowded together at one side ; while at the other, nearer to the centre, stands the large open chest. The floor should be of dark boards or covered with some dull ma- terial. Ginevra, drawing her wedding drapery around her, and looking merrily back, is about stepping into the chest. The light should be arranged so as to fall only upon the form of Ginevra. Tableau III. They sought her that night, and they sought her next day, And they sought her in vain when a week pass'd away ; In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot, Young Lovel sought wildly, but found her not. And years flew by, and their grief at last Was told as a sorrowful tale long past ; And when Lovel appeared, the children cried : " See ! the old man weeps for his fairy bride! " Oh ! the mistletoe, etc. Pantomime. Curtain rises at " And years flew by." An out- of-door scene. {If the trunk and various articles are pushed back and covered with green baize, and groups of children, with hats on, are arranged to partially conceal the background, c- painted scene can be dispensed with.) Lovel, now an old man 16 MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. with long white beard, with cocked hat, and big cane, is seen walk- ing slowly across the stage from l. His head is bowed and his manner very sad. The children, looking pityingly at him, whis- per together, and, finally, two or three steal up to him, as if to at- tract his attention, as the curtain falls. Tableau IV. At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid, Was found in the castle — they raised the lid, And a skeleton form lay mouldering there, In the bridal wreath of the lady fair ! Oh ! sad was her fate ! in sportive jest She hid from her lord in the old oak chest. It closed with a spring, and her bridal bloom Lay withering there in a living tomb ! Oh ! the mistletoe, etc. Tableau. Curtain rises at "Sad was her fate. V Scene. — TJie garret as before. Lovel, the old man, stands near the open chest, grief-stricken, with a necklace in his hand. A group of friends stand by in amazement and pity. One young girl has her arm on Lovel's shoulder, as if to gently draw him away. (Curtain fall while the music is playing.) THE BEE, THE ANT, AND THE SPIDER MRS. LOUISA P. HOPKINS. JSpider. How pleasant, while upborne on airy wave, To spread my laces, spin my threads, and save The pearly dews that glisten in the morn, My fairy robes of gossamer to adorn. How nice to weave my cunning, spiral trap, And then, with one eye open, take my nap. Bee, Buzz ! buzz ! I am well called the busy Bee ; The sun comes up, the flowers bloom for me. I'll fly about, and load my hairy legs With pollen-dust, to feed my larvae eggs, macaulay's dialogues for young people. 17 Then pack it in my saddle-bags, and tax The generous flowers again, for plates of wax, And suck up honey from their nectared wells, To hoard within my curious, six-walled cells. Ant, There goes the noisy Bee ; what endless hum Announces all his pompous folks ! they come With fuss and wings, while I, more modest, creep Quiet and business-like, about my heap ; Mine out my galleries, and raise my dome, Patient and tireless, while I rear my home. Well, flying is my pastime once a year ; I'll take my wedding-flight when July's here. All over, then the useless wings I doff, And go to work when I have pulled them off. Spider, Now, starting from my hiding-place, so nimble, I'll take my thread and needle (where's my thimble ?) , A fly is struggling through my breaking net ; As I'm alert, I hope to have him yet. I'll tie him down, laugh at his frantic buzz, And suck his blood, as every victor does ! Then, at my leisure, knit my silken bag To hang my eggs in, while the seasons wag. Bee, I'll rifle all the roses, this bright day, My brother takes the tulips on his way ; For each wise bee seeks only kindred flowers, Conserving one pure nectar through the hours ; From like corolla to corolla flies, Till, with his honeyed burden, home he hies. Ant. Such hosts of sweet Aphides we have found, We'll drive them to our safe folds, underground ; We see them crowded, green beneath the leaves, To gather juices for us lucky thieves ! Or on the oak-trees, sucking sap so good, We follow them, and tap them for our food. Bee, What social, happy, thriving tribes are we, With fanning wings and talking antennae ! 18 MAOAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOB YOTJNG PEOPLE. We meet in merry flight, and homeward go ; How far so'er our hives, the way we know, Take the bee-line, nor drop our precious load, But haste, like courtiers, on our sunny road. Ant. In Africa our legionaries rear Their towering palaces, and brave men fear Their hosted swarms, marching o'er wasted leagues; With military skill, and fierce intrigues, They storm, besiege, attack, and capture foes, With slaves reward their generalissimos, Honor their Caesars and Napoleons, Attend their living, or caress their bones. They knew the tactics ere the schools had taught, And do by instinct what world-heroes wrought. Spider. I can show men true patience and cantrivance, What may be done by art and wise connivance. Better than looms my wondrous spinning-pockets, Swifter than weaver's shuttle, or than rockets, I twist my shining threads, and shoot my lines, Till nadir with circumference,, all entwines, And fine and firm my castle walls are made, With outworks and defences truly laid. Bee. How learned we then the secret of our art, To build our perfect cells, to play our part, Our eggs to nourish rightly, and prepare Just what each needs, with such sagacious care 1 What voice directs our Queen to ardent fight, And calls to tournament each eager knight ? What clarion notes draw forth the lively swarm, In loyal zeal new colonies to form 1 Ant. How swiftly fly the hazy summer days ! Each rosy hour rolls on its busy ways, While some kind power our lesson to us reads, And gives each one the wisdom that he needs, Informs the Bee, and Ant, and Spider, too, Its own best life to live and truest work to do. macaulay's dialogues for young people. 19 APEON (an Acting Charade). L. ANNIE FEOST. Characters. — Clarence Baldwin, Charlotte Baldwin, Victor Somerset, Walter Baldwin, and Victor's Ape.* SCENE I. {Ape.) Scene. — A sitting-room. In one corner a stand offloioers. Up- on a table, writing materials and a work-basket, with sewing materials. Over a chair is throicn a long cloak, and a bon- net upon it. An etagere, with the usual ornaments. A large mirror in background, and a sham window, thrown open. Everything is arranged in a very orderly manner. Curtain rises, discovering Clarence seated, ciphering upon a slate ; Charlotte draicing a map upon paper. Charlotte. There ! I have finished my map. I think Maine is the most tiresome of all the States to draw, the coast is so irreg- ular. Clarence. I wish my sum was finished. I can't make it come right. Enter Walter. Walter. Oh, Claire ! Lottie ! Victor Somerset is coming in a few minutes to bring Jocko. Clarence. Jocko ] Walter. Oh! I forgot, Claire, that you had been away since Jocko came. Clarence. But who is Jocko 1 I never heard of anything but a monkey being named Jocko. Walter. You've guessed it the first time. Jocko is a Barbary * The costume for an ape can easily be obtained in a city at a costumer's ; but in the country some ingenuity will be required to make a flexible mask and a plain-fitting "suit of brown shaggy cloth for the character. 20 macaulay's dialogues fok young people. ape, as tall as his master. Victor's uncle sent him to him, and he has been taught all sorts of funny tricks. Charlotte. I shall be afraid of him. Walter. Pshaw ! he wont hurt you. He is perfectly tame. Enter Victor and ape ; the ape has a string around his waist, by which Victor leads him. Victor. Good morning ! Walter, Good morning ! We are very glad to see you. So this is Jocko 1 Victor. Yes. Shake hands, Jocko. ( Jocko shakes hands, in monkey style, with Walter and Clarence.) Charlotte. I'm afraid ! (runs out of reach of Jocko, leaving her map on her chair. Jocko tugs at the string to follow her.) Victor. For shame, sir ! Kiss your hand to the lady. (Jocko kisses his hand to Charlotte.) Charlotte. Oh, what a funny fellow ! Walter. Isn't he splendid % Make him do something else, wont you, Victor 1 Clarence (putting his slate and pencil on table). yes! please make him, Victor. Victor. Make a bow, sir. (Jocko bows wry low.) Walter. Would he mind me 1 Shake hands, Jocko. (Jocko puts both paws behind his back.) Clarence {laughing). He knows his master, Walter. Victor. Sit down in that chair (Jocko sits down.) Clarence. What a grand pet ! Victor. Go to sleep. (Jocko lies doicn on the floor and shuts his eyes. Victor sits doion near him.) Clarence. Have you had him long, Victor ? Victor. Nearly a month. Uncle John had him trained express- ly for me. I don't think he has one vicious trick. (Jocko slyly picks an apple from Victor s pocket, bites a piece out, and puts it back, luiperceived ) Walter. Do you have to keep him tied up 7 Victor. I do now, but I hope to train him to respect property, so that he can run at large (Jocko steals another bite of apple.) Charlotte. Does he never bite you 1 MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 21 Victor. Never. He tears and destroys furniture and clothing, but he is never savage. (Jocko again steals the apple, and eats it all.) Victor. Sit up, sir. Hulloo ! Where did you get that apple 1 (Jocko grins, and hastily munches and swallows the last bite.) Charlotte. He stole it out of your pocket. Victor. I owe you a whipping, sir. ( Jocko makes gestures of fear. ) Walter. Oh, don't whip him ! I'll give him an apple. Victor. I wont whip you this time then. (Jocko makes gestures of delight. ) Clarence. What else can he do, Victor 1 Victor. Oh, he can walk on all fours ! Walk like a dog, sir ! (Jocko walks on all fours, and runs at Charlotte, who retreats into a corner. Jocko chattering at her.) Victor. Here, come back, sir. ( Jocko tugs at string. ) Victor. Shake hands with him, Lottie. He wont hurt you. Charlotte. Are you sure he wont bite 1 Victor. Certain of it. (Charlotte comes fortcard, timidly) Stand up, and shake hands with the lady, sir, (Jocko stands up, takes Charlotte's hand, and kisses it, chattering his teeth at her.) Victor. Sit down life a tailor. (Jocko sits on the floor, cross- legged) Smoke a pipe, {hands a pipe to Jocko, who pretends to smoke it. Bell rings. ) Walter. Oh, there's the dinner bell ! Do stay to dinner, Victor ! Clarence. Yes, stay, Victor ! Can't you tie Jocko 1 Victor. Certainly I can. (ties Jocko to the handle of the door) There, he cannot do any mischief now. I will show you the rest of his tricks after dinner, (curtain falls.) SCENE II. (Run.) Scene. — Same as before. Curtain rises, discovering Jocko alone, pulling the string on the door. The string snaps, leaving him free Jocko walks all round the room, grinning and chattering his teeth. He takes Clarence's slate, and rulys the sum all out with with his paw. He puts Charlotte's map over his head, tearing a hole and wearing it like a ruff. 22 macaulay's dialogues for young people. He turns all the flower-pots upside down. He spies himself in the mirror, and dances before it, bowing and grinning. He upsets all the chairs, and finally, after removing the ar- ticles from the etagere, and putting them on the middle of the floor with many a monkeyish motion, turns it over with a grand crash. Clarence, Victor, and Walter run in. Clarence. Oh, Victor ! he has broken loose. Victor {sternly). Come here, sir. (Jocko grins and chatters.) Walter (laughing). You said you would show us some more of his tricks after dinner ! Just look at the room ! Clarence. I think he has been his own showman. Victor (stamping his foot). Come here, sir. (Jocko jumps on the sofa.) Walter. How can you catch him 1 Victor. Oh, I can catch him ! Come here, sir, or I will whip you. (Jocko jumps down behind the sofa, and grins over the back at Victor. Victor runs toward him) I'll teach you to act so. (Jocko runs round the room, Victor after him, overturning furniture and making all the confusion possible.) Walter. Go it ! Catch him, Victor Run, Jocko ! Clarence. Can't he run 1 (Jocko jumps through the window ; Victor folloics him.) Walter (running to window). Oh, see them, Claire ! There goes Jocko right into the fountain ! Now he is out ! (shouting) Run, Victor, run ! Clarence (looking from window). Oh, Walter, he has broken mamma's china jars with the lemon trees ! Did you ever see any- thing run so fast 1 He has been all round the garden four or five times already. Walter. There he goes up a tree ! Victor is all out of breath, but he is coaxing him down. Clarence. Jocko wont be coaxed. Walter. There goes Victor up the tree. Clarence. But not so quickly as Jocko jumps down. Now for another run ! macaulay's dialogues fob young people. 23 Walter (laughing). Ha ! ha ! ha ! I never saw such a race. {claps his hands) Victor is no match for Jocko ! Clarence. There ! He has jumped over the fence. See him run down the road ! He will be out of sight before Victor gets the gate open ! Walter. No, it is open now. He is turning the wrong way. (calling from window) Run to the right ! run to the right ! Clarence. He hears you. Run, Victor, run ! Both (clapping their hands and shouting). Run! run! run! (curtain falls.) SCENE III. (Apron.) Scene. — Same as Scene I. Curtain rises, discovering Charlotte folding an apron. Charlotte. I believe the room is all in order now. What a mess Jocko did make ! I will fold this apron and put it on mamma's work-basket. How fortunate it was he did not touch that ! (folds apron and puts it on basket) I wonder if mamma has done with her cloak and bonnet 1 I will go ask her, before I put them away. (Exit Charlotte.) Walter (be7iind the scene). Oh, Victor, I hope you have not lost him ! Come to my room, and rest. A moment's pause, then Jocko climbs upon the window-seat and looks in. He peeps all round the room, and filially comes in, very slowly and cautiously. He goes all over the room, look- ing under the chairs and table, and finally sits down facing audience, and fans himself with Clarence's slate. After sitting gravely a moment he pulls the icork-basket toward. Mm, and begins to pull the things out ; unwinds the spools of cotton, throws the emery-bag and pin-cushion on the floor, and takes out the scissors. First he pricks his fin- gers with them, then smells them and pricks his nose ; then takes a book off the table, punches holes in the cover, and snips the leaves. He unrolls the apron and surveys it; finally bundles it up and throws it at the chair where the cloak and bonnet are lying. He springs up suddenly and 24: macaulay's dialogues for young people. runs to the chair, puts on the cloak and bonnet, and goes to the mirror ; here he lows, smirks, and strikes attitudes. He takes up the apron again, and the scissors, Clarence {behind the scenes). Come in here, Victor, and we will hold a consultation. Jocko runs into a corner and sits down in a chair, face to wall, drawing the cloak close around him. During the conversa- tion following he turns his face occasionally toward audience and grins, unperceived by the speakers, who must sit facing audience. Enter Victor, Clarence, and Walter, Victor. I am afraid he jumped upon some cart that was pass- ing, and so I have lost him entirely. Walter. Oh, I hope not. Clarence. You will have to advertise him. Walter. You may get him then if you offer a handsome reward. Victor. And pay expenses. Who knows how much mischief he has done ! Just think of the confusion he made here ! Clarence. Oh, that's no matter ! Lottie said there was not much real harm done. My sum and her map will have to be copied again ; but I am sure the amusement he gave us paid for that trouble. Victor. Sitting here will not find him ; but I am almost tired out. I shall be stiff for a week after that race. Walter. You must rest a little while. Victor. If I ever do catch Jocko he shall have a chain, and a good strong one too. (Jocko shakes his fist at Victor.) Clarence. Oh, I do hope you will catch him ! Perhaps he will come home himself. Dogs do sometimes when they are lost. Enter Charlotte. Charlotte. Why ! who upset mamma's work-basket 7 ( picks up the things and puts them in basket.) Walter {rising). I must go. I have an errand to do for father before dark. MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. 25 Victor. I must go too, and consult father about Jocko. (Exeunt Walter, Clarence, and Victor.) Charlotte (seeing Jocko). What is mamma sitting over there for 1 Is she going out again ? Mamma ! mamma ! (Jocko be- gins to cut the apron with scissors) Oh, mamma ! what are you cutting my new apron all to pieces for ! (Jocko turns and grins at her. Charlotte screams) Oh, it's that horrid ape ! Victor ! Walter ! (runs toward door. Jocko jumps up and catches her. Charlotte screams, and Jocko ties up her mouth with the apron, Charlotte struygles) Oh, let me go ! let me go ! Enter Walter, Clarence, and Victor. Victor runs quickly behind Jocko, and catches his arms. Charlotte (untying the apron). Have you got him fast 1 Clarence. Here, tie him with this piece of string he left on the door until you get a chain. Victor (tying Jocko). You won't escape me again in a hurry. What have you got to say for yourself, sir 1 (Jockj^ hangs his head) Are you sorry, sir 1 (takes off the cloak and bonnet. Jocko nods two or three times.) Walter. I really believe he understands every word you say. (Jocko nods and grins.) Victor. Now come home, sir, and stay in your cage until I buy you a chain. Make a bow to the lady and gentlemen, Jocko. (Jocko bows.) Victor. Good-bye, all ! All. Good-bye ! Walter. I will go with you. It is in my way. (Exeunt Victor, Walter, and Jocko.) Clarence. Why, Lottie ! what makes you look so doleful 1 Did he hurt you 1 Charlotte. No. But just look at this ! holds up apron to show the holes cut by Jocko.) Clarence. Whew ! rather spoiled, Lottie ! But never mind ; we've had fun enough with Jocko to more than make up for it # (Curtain falls.) 26 macaulay's dialogues for young people. THE SAILOE'S MOTHER [The woman to be represented dressed as an elderly person. She displays emotion.] Woman. Sir, for the love of God, some small relief To a poor woman ! Traveller. Whither are you bound 1 'Tis a late hour to travel o'er these downs — No house for miles around us, and the way Dreary and wild. The evening wind already Makes one's teeth chatter ; and the very sun, Setting so pale behind those thin white clouds, Looks cold. 'Twill be a bitter night ! Woman. Aye, sir, 'Tis cutting keen ! I smart at ev'ry breath : — Heaven knows how I shall reach my journey's end; For the way is long before me, and my feet — God help me ! — sore with travelling. I would gladly, If it pleased God, at once lie down and die. Traveller. Nay, nay, cheer up ! a little food and rest Will comfort you ; and then your journey's end May make amends for all. You shake yotlr head, And weep. Is it some mournful business, then, That leads you from your home 1 Woman. Sir, I am going To see my son at Plymouth, sadly hurt In the late action, and in the hospital Dying, I fear me, now. MAOAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 27 Traveller. He yet may live. But if the worst should chance, why, you must bear The will of Heaven with patience. Were it not Some comfort to reflect your son has fallen Fighting his country's cause 1 and for yourself, You will not in unpitied poverty Be left to mourn his loss. Your grateful country, Amid the triumph of her victory, Remembers those who paid its price of blood, And with a noble charity relieves The widow and the orphan. Woman. God reward them ! God bless them ! It will help me in my age. But, sir, it will not pay me for my child ! Traveller. Was he your only child % Woman. My only one — The stay and comfort of my widowhood ! — A dear good boy ! When first he went to sea, I felt what it would come to : — something told me I should be childless soon. But tell me, sir, If it be true that for a hurt like his There is no cure. Please God to spare his life, Though he be blind, yet I should be so thankful ! I can remember there was a blind man Lived in our village — one, from his youth up, Quite dark ; — and yet he was a merry man ; And he had none to tend on him so well As I would tend my boy ! Traveller. Of this be sure : His hurts are looked to well ; and the best help The land affords — as rightly is due — 28 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Ever at hand. How happened it he left you 1 Was a seafaring life his early choice 1 Woman. No, sir : poor fellow ! — he was wise enough To be content at home ; and 'twas a home As comfortable, sir, even though I say it, As any in the country. He was left A little boy, when his poor father died — Just old enough to totter by himself, And call his mother's name. We two were all ; And as we were not left quite destitute, We bore up well. In the summer-time I worked Sometimes afield. Then I was famed for knitting, And in long winter nights my spinning-wheel Seldom stood still. We had kind neighbors too, And never felt distress. So he grew up A comely lad, and wondrous well disposed. I taught him well : there was not in the parish A child who said his prayers more regular, Or answered readier through his catechism. If I had foreseen this ! — but 'tis a blessing We don't know what we're born to ! Travller. But how came it He chose to be a sailor 1 Woman. You shall hear, sir. As he grew up, he used to watch the birds In the corn — child's work, you know, and easily done— 'Tis an idle sort of task ; so he built up A little hut of wicker-work and clay Under the hedge, to shelter him in rain ; And then he took, for very idleness, To making traps to catch the plunderers — All sorts of cunning traps that boys can make — Propping a stone, to fall and shut them in, Or crush them with its weight — or else a spring macaulay's dialogues for young people. 29 Swung on a bough. He made them cleverly ; And I — poor foolish woman ! — I was pleased To see the boy so handy. You may guess What followed, sir, from this unlucky skill. He did what he should not when he was older. I warned him oft enough ; but he was caught In wiring hares at last, and had his choice — The prison or the ship. Traveller. The choice at least Was kindly left him ; and ior broken laws This was, methinks, no heavy punishment. Woman. So I was told, sir, and I tried to think so ; But 'twas a sad blow to me. I was used To sleep at nights as sweetly as a child ; — Now, if the wind blew rough, it made me start, And think of my poor boy, tossing about Upon the roaring seas. And then I seemed To feel that it was hard to take him from me For such a little fault. But he was wrong. 0, very wrong — a murrain on his traps ! See what they've brought him to ! Traveller. Well ! well ! take comfort ; He will be taken care of, if he lives ; And should you lose your child, this is a country Where the brave sailor never leaves a parent To weep for him in want. Woman. Sir, I shall want No succor long. In the common course of years I soon must be at rest ; and 'tis a comfort, When grief is hard upon me, to reflect It only leads me to that rest the sooner. 30 maoaulay's dialogues foe young people. THE MOUEY-DIGGEB. H. ELLIOT M'BRIDE. Characters. — Jonathan Holliday, Susannah Holliday. PART I. Scene. — A room in Jonathan Holliday' s house. Jonathan reading a dream-book. Susannah. I declare, Jonathan, you are making a right-down fool of yourself. If you would stick to your work, you would make a sight more money than you'll ever make by running after constrologists, and dreaming about chests of gold, and caves in the ground, and all such shaller things. Jonathan. Now you're going on again. I tell you, Susannah, I am almost sure to find it. All the astrologists, and the fortune- tellers, and the dream-books agree that if a person dreams of money the first night of two successive months, and if he dreams of it again some time in the third month, he is sure to find it if he will only dig for it, and a pretty good pile too. Now, on the first night of last month I dreamed about a huge iron chest containing five hundred thousand dollars in gold ; and on the fiirst night of this month I dreamed about the same iron chest, but I didn't see the money. Susannah. No ; nor never will. Jonathan. Yes, I will ; I'm sure I will. If I dream about it any time next month I'm a rich man. And I know I will dream about it, for my mind will be running on it, and I can't help but dream about it. 0, Susannah, then we'll go to the city and build a marble palace, and we'll ride in our carriage, and never do a bit of work. Susannah. I declare, Jonathan, you're the greatest goose I ever did see. Who do you suppose would be fool enough to hide a chest of five hundred thousand dollars in these hills 1 Jonathan, Why, the people who lived here before us might MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 31 have done it ; or there might have been a great miser in this country, at one time ; and he might not have wanted any person to get his money, and so he might have hid it, and never said anything about it. Susannah. Such a thing isn't probable at all, Jonathan ; and I would advise you to give it up and go to work ; for I tell you plainly, if you don't, we'll soon be in a starving condition. Here I have to work my hands off every day to keep you alive, while you are doing nothing but running round hunting up fortune-tell- ers and reading dream-books. Jonathan. Now, Susannah, don't go on so. Susannah. Yes, but I will go on so ; and I tell you you'll have to get down to your work again, or I'll raise a rumpus. Jonathan. Do be quiet a little while, Susannah. Susannah. I won't be quiet ; I'm going to give you a piece of my mind. I've been wanting to do it for three or four days ; and now I've got a good chance at you, and I'm going to tell you just what you are, and what you've got to do. There's got to be no more sightin' round over the country in search of caves and chests of gold, and running after fortune-tellers, and buying up dream- books. Aren't you ashamed of yourself 1 Now take your ham- mer and awl again, and peg away, and you'll make more money than you'll ever dig out of the ground, if you should dig until you are as old as Methuselah. Jonathan. But I know I'll get the money ; I feel sure of it. Where's the spade 1 I'm off. (Exeunt.) PART II. Scene. — Same as first. Jonathan in a chair, half asleep, nod- ding. Susannah clearing away dinner-table. Susannah. Wake up, now, Jonathan ; you've had your dinner, and you had better get those boots finished. Jonathan. Yes. (nods) All gone, (nods) All gone. Susannah. What's all gone 1 Wake up, I say. Jonathan (waking). 0, Susy, don't pester a body so. You know I was digging last night. 32 MACAUIiAY'S DIALOGUES FOE YOUNG PEOPLE. Susannah. Yes. I know ; digging after a wild-goose chase. Wake up, and get to work. Jonathan. 0, Susy, can't you let a fellow have a nap, and not be whoopin' round the house in that kind of style 1 Susannah. 0, yes, if I'd let you alone, you'd sleep till supper- time ; and goodness knows you'd better earn your supper before you eat it. Since you've been diggin' in the hills, we've got scarce of victuals and everything else. Jonathan {yawning). Well, Susy, let me have a nap now, and I promise you there'll be no more digging for money. Susannah. What ! Will you really give it up 1 Jonathan. Yes, Susy ; I've come to my senses at last. I'll dig no more. Susannah {with a sigh of relief). Well, well ; I thought you intended to dig all the year ; but I'm glad you've given it up. Jonathan. I was a fool, Susy. Susannah. That's true. You've blistered your hands, and tired your bones, and lost your sleep ; but you have learned a les- son. Do you remember the proverb, Jonathan 1 Jonathan {yawning'). Yes, a dozen on 'em. Susannah. Yes ; but the one particularly applicable in your care 1 Jonathan. 0, I suppose it is, " All is not gold that glitters." Susannah. No ; think again. Jonathan {yawning). 0, you bother me so ! Well, I reckon it is, " Dig not for money in the mountains." Susannah. Why, Jonathan ! that isn't a proverb. You are so dull ! Here it is, and it is good advice to you {turning to audi- ence) as well as to our friends here before us — "Never make haste to be rich." {Exeunt) macaulay's dialogues for young people. 33 THE STOKY. [Joseph, Samuel, Rebekah, and three or four others.] Joseph. Have we not had " Button-Button " enough, And " Forfeits," and all such silly stuff"? Samuel. Well, we were playing " Blindman's-Buff " Until you fell, and rose in a huff, And declared the game was too rude and rough. Poor boy I What a pity he isn't tough ! All. Ha ! ha ! ha ! what a pretty boy ! Papa's delight, and mamma's joy ! Wouldn't he like to go to bed, And have a cabbage leaf on his head 1 Joseph. Laugh, if you like to ! Laugh till you're gray ; But I guess you'd laugh another way If you'd hit your toe, and fallen like me, And cut a bloodly gash in your knee, And bumped your nose, and bruised your shin, Tumbling over the rolling-pin That rolled to the floor in the awful din That followed the fall of the row of tin That stood upon the dresser. Samuel. Guess again — dear little guesser ! You wouldn't catch this boy lopping his wing, Or whining over anything. So stir your stumps, Forget your bumps, Get out of your dumps, 34: MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIdB. And up and at it again ; For the clock is striking ten, And Ruth will come pretty soon and say, " Go to your beds, You sleepy heads !" So — quick ! What shall we play 1 Bebekah, I wouldn't play any more, For Joseph is tired and sore "With his fall upon the floor. AIL Then he shall tell a story. Joseph. About old Mother Morey 1 All. No ! Tell us another. Joseph, About my brother 1 Bebekah. Now, Joseph, you shall be good, And do as you'd be done by ; We didn't mean to be rude When you fell and began to cry ; We wanted to make you forget your pain ; But it frets you, and we'll not laugh again. Joseph. Well, if you'll all sit still, And not be frisking about, Nor utter a whisper till You've heard my story out, I'll tell you a tale as weird As ever you heard in your lives, Of a man with a long blue beard, And the way he treated his wives. MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 35 All Oh, that will be nice ! We'll be still as mice. Joseph {relates the old story of Bluebeard), Centuries since there flourished a man (A cruel old Tartar, as rich as the Khan), Whose castle was built on a splendid plan, With gardens and groves and plantations ; But his shaggy beard was as blue as the sky, And he lived alone, for his neighbors were shy, And had heard hard stories, by-the-by, About his domestic relations. Just on the opposite side of the plain A widow abode with her daughters twain ; And one of them— neither cross nor vain — Was a beautiful little treasure ! So he sent them an invitation to tea, And having a natural wish to see His wonderful castle and gardens, all three Said they'd do themselves the pleasure. As soon as there happened a pleasant day, They dressed themselves in a sumptuous way, And rode to the castle as proud and gay As silks and jewels could make them ; And they were received in the finest style, And saw everything that was worth their while, In the halls of Bluebeard's grand old pile, Where he was so kind as to take them. The ladies were all enchanted quite ; For they found old Bluebeard so polite That they did not suffer at all from fright, And frequently called thereafter ; Then he offered to marry the younger one, Atfcl as she was willing the thing was done, And celebrated by all the ton With, feasting and with laughter. 36 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. As kind a husband as ever was seen Was Bluebeard then, for a month, I ween ! And she was as proud as any queen, And as happy as she could be, too ; But her husband called her to him one day, And said, " My dear, I am going away ; It will not be long that I shall stay ; There is business for me to see to. " The keys of my castle I leave with you ; But if you value my love, be true, And forbear to enter the Chamber of Blue ! Farewell, Fatima ! Remember ! " Fatima promised him ; then she ran To visit the rooms with her sister Ann ; But when she had finished the tour, she began To think about the Blue Chamber, Well, the woman was curiously inclined, So she left her sister and prudence behind (With a little excuse) and started to find The mystery forbidden. She paused at the door ; — all was still as night ! She opened it : then through the dim, blue light There blistered her vision the horrible sight That was in that chamber hidden. The room was gloomy and damp and wide, And the floor was red with the bloody tide From headless women, laid side by side, The wives of her lord and master ! Frightened and fainting, she dropped the key, But seized it and lifted it quickly ; then she Hurried as swiftly as she could flee From the scene of the disaster. She tried to forget the terrible dead, But shrieked when she saw the key was red, And sickened and shook with an awful dread MACAUIiAY'S DIALOGUES FOE YOUNG PEOPLE. 37 When she heard Bluebeard was coming. He did not appear to notice her pain ; But he took his keys, and seeing the stain, He stopped in the middle of the refrain That he had been quietly humming. 11 Mighty well, madam ! " said he, " mighty well ! What does this little blood-stain tell 1 You've broken your promise ; prepare to dwell With the wives I've had before you ! You've broken your promise, and you shall die. " Then Fatima, supposing her death was nigh, Fell on her knees and began to cry, " Have mercy, I implore you ! " "No ! " shouted Bluebeard, drawing his sword; "You shall die this very minute," he roared. " Grant me time to prepare to meet my Lord," The terrified woman entreated. " Only ten minutes," he roared again ; And holding his watch by its great gold chain, , He marked on the dial the fatal ten, And retired till they were completed. " Sister, oh, sister, fly up to the tower ! Look for release from this murderer's power ! Our brothers should be here this very hour ; — Speak ! Does there come assistance V 1 " No : I see nothing but sheep on the hill." " Look again, sister i" " I'm looking still, But naught can I see, whether good or ill, Save a flurry of dust in the distance." " Time's up ! " shouted Bluebeard, out from his room. " This moment shall witness your terrible doom, And give you a dwelling within the room Whose secrets you have invaded." " Comes there no help for my terrible need 1 " " There are horsemen twain riding hither with speed." "Oh ! tell them to ride very fast indeed, Or I must meet death unaided. " 38 macaulay's dialogues for young people. "Time's fully up. Now have done with your prayer,' 1 Shouted Bluebeard, swinging his sword on the stair ; Then he entered, and grasping her beautiful hair, Swung his glittering weapon around him ; But a loud knock rang at the castle-gate, And Fatima was saved from her horrible fate, For, shocked with surprise, he paused too late ; And then the two soldiers found him. They were her brothers, and quick as they knew What the fiend was doing, their swords they drew, And attacked him fiercely, and ran him through, So that soon he was mortally wounded. With a wild remorse was his conscience filled When he thought of the hapless wives he had killed ; But quickly the last of his blood was spilled, And his dying groan was sounded. As soon as Fatima recovered from fright, She embraced her brothers with great delight ; And they were as glad and as grateful quite As she was glad and grateful. Then they all went out, from that scene of pain, And sought in quietude to regain Their minds, which had come to be quite insane, In a place so horrid and hateful. 'Twas a private funeral Bluebeard had ; For the people knew he was very bad, And, though they said nothing, they all were glad For the fall of the evil-doer ; But Fatima first ordered some graves to be made, And there the unfortunate ladies were laid, And after some painful months, with the aid Of her friends, her spirits came to her. Then she cheered the hearts of the suffering poor, And an acre of land around each door, And a cow and a couple of sheep, or more, macaulay's dialogues for young people. 39 To her tenantry she granted. So all of them had enough to eat, And their love for her was so complete They would kiss the dust from her little feet, Or do any thing she wanted. Samuel, Capital ! Capital ! Wasn't it good ! I should like to have been her brother ! If I had been one, you may guess there would Have been little work for the other. I'd have run him right through the heart, just so ! And cut off his head at a single blow, And killed him so quickly he'd never know What it was that struck him, wouldn't I, Joe 7 Joseph. You are very brave with your bragging tongue ; But if you had been there, you'd have sung A very different tune. Poor Bluebeard ! He would have been afraid Of a little boy with a penknife blade, Or a tiny pewter spoon ! Samuel. It makes no difference what you say, (Pretty little boy, afraid to play !) But it served him rightly any way, And gave him just his due. And wasn't it good that his little wife Should live in his castle the rest of her life, And have all his money too 1 Bebekah. I'm thinking of the ladies who Were lying in the Chamber Blue, With all their small necks cut in two. I see them lying, half a score, In a long row upon the floor, Their icold, white bosoms marked with gore. 40 MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. I know the sweet Fatima would Have put their heads on if she could ; And made them live — she was so good ; And washed their faces at the sink ; But Bluebeard was not sane, I think : I wonder if he did not drink ! For no man in his proper mind Would be so cruelly inclined As to kill the ladies who were kind. OITT AND COUNTRY. MRS. E. B. P. Characters. — Jennie Flash, a City Girl. Mary Jones, a Coun- try Girl. Mr. and Mrs. Flash. Mr. and Mrs. Jones. SCENE — A Parlor. Jennie, dressed very finely, reclining lan- guidly in an easy chair. Mary, dressed plainly, sitting at a table, taking flowers from a basket for two vases standing near. Jennie. How terribly tiresome it must be always to live in the country ! I've hardly been here an hour, yet it seems like an age. Mary. I'm sorry you find it so dull. Wouldn't you like to help me arrange these flowers 1 Jennie. No, I thank you ; it fatigues me to work. Mary. Work ! Why, this is nothing but play. I thought you would enjoy it. These are all wild flowers I gathered this morn- ing in the woods. Jennie. Mercy on me ! You don't wander round in the woods alone after flowers — do you 1 Mary. Yes, indeed. Why not, pray 1 You have no idea how pleasant it is ; but you shall go with me to-morrow, if you like. Jennie. 0, no ; not for the world. I should die of fright. The wild beasts and reptiles, you know. hacaulay's dialogues for young people. 41 Mary (she laughs so heartily that she drops her flowers). You must excuse me for laughing; but the idea of wild beasts in our wood-lot is so amusing ! We should certainly see nothing more ferocious than a gray squirrel, or perhaps a rabbit. And as for reptiles — well, to be sure, I did kill three snakes this morning — two green ones and a stripped one ; but they were harmless lit- tle things ; and I don't know what I did it for, unless it's because I've got into the habit of killing all the snakes I see. Jennie (fanning - herself violently). How horrid ! Killing snakes ! It makes me sick to think of it. I should faint away at the bare sight of one. Mary. 0, no; I hope not. See what a lovely bird's egg I found, (takes one from the basket) It was in a nest almost at the top of a pine tree. Some birds like pines better than any other tree to build in. I was determined, when I saw the nest, to add to my collection. Jennie (clasping her hands in horror). Climb a tree ! Mary (smiling). Yes, indeed; it's fine sport, I assure you. I will teach you while you are here. Jennie. No, I thank you ; I have no ambition to learn such un- ladylike sport. Mary. How sorry I am ! Look at these rose-colored flowers. (passing them to her) Brother Johnny and I used to call them "Whip-poor-will's shoes," when we were little. Is it not beau- tiful? Jennie. Very pretty. You admire these wild flowers so much, I don't know what you icould think if you were to go into our garden. We have a greater variety of rare plants and flowers than any one near us. Mary. You find a great deal of pleasure in cultivating them, no doubt. Jennie. I seldom go into the garden. Mamma and the gar- dener attend to that. I should burn and tan, and look frightfully countrified, if I did. And then too, I have no time. Mary. Indeed, you are very industrious. Jennie. 0, no, I am not ; but I attend so many parties that it is usually very late when I rise. Then, I practise a long time every day. I suppose you have never seen a piano. I have an elegant 4:2 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Steinway rose-wood, with pearl keys. I preferred the keys pearl, my hands are so delicate, {looking at them and then at Mary's.) Mary. Well, mine are brown enough ; but I flatter myself they are useful hands, for they have got well tanned this summer help- ing father rake and load hay. Jennie. How very strong and healthy you are ! All country people are so, I believe. I should not care to be so, it is so vul- gar, you know. Mary. That is just as one thinks, (voices approaching. Mary rises and opens the door.) Mr. Jones and Mr. Flash enter. You have got home, father, at last. This is Miss Jennie Flash. Mr. Jones (shaking hands with her). Well, well, well ! I want to know if this is the Mary Jane that I have seen so many times making mud pies when you lived down in Pumpkin Valley. I declare, friend Flash, I never should have guessed this fine young lady and that little girl, with brown freckles all over her nose, were the same. Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Flash enter. Well, mother, what do you think 1 this is friend Flash's daughter. Jennie, they call her now, I believe. Mrs. Jones (takes her hand and kisses her). I want to know. And this is really that little barefooted girl that I used to see play- ing round out doors 1 I can hardly realize it. But then, " fine feathers make fine birds " — don't they, my dear 1 Mr. Jones. Ah yes ; that's t. That oil speculation of yours was a lucky thing, friend Flash. Mr. Flash. I don't know about that. Wife and I have about concluded that it was a most unlucky " strike," it has made such a very fine lady of our little girl here. We are almost afraid that she won't know her father and mother soon. Mrs. Jones. 0, not so bad as that. You are going to leave her here, and we will get all those foolish fine notions out of her in a little while. macaulay's dialogues fok young people. 43 Jennie. I didn't know you were ashamed of nie, papa. I'm sure you spent enough on my education. Mr. Flash. Too much, too much, my dear. You have lost your roses, and I have lost my little freckled, barefooted girl that made such nice mud pies. If you were only plump and fresh, like Mary here, what a proud father I should be ! Jennie. Well, papa, I do think you have retained some very vul- gar tastes, with all your wealth. But I see that no one cares any- thing about style, and grace, and the Grecian bend, here in the country. To be thought anything of, a young lady must be freckled, and climb trees, and rake hay. All my city friends would cut my acquaintance. Mrs. Flash. Don't quarrel with your father, dear. He is older than you are, and knows just what a good and true woman should be. Mr. Jones. No, no, no ; don't tease the little lady ; just let her alone, and she will come round to our side herself in a week or two. Let her alone. That's the way I do with my ducks and chick- ens, and they allurs come out all right. Come, Mary; give us a song, and that will brighten us up again. (Mary goes to a piano, which a screen had concealed. Jennie performs pantomimic ges- tures of surprise and shame, and goes and seats herself beside her father, leaning her head against his shoulder. Curtain falls at close of song.) MAINE (Acting Charade). M. B. C. SLADE. A little girl with long curls enters, tossing her hair and running across the stage as she recites her couplet. The Word, Mane [Maine). Girl. If I were a colt I should toss it so, As I cantered along the shore. 4A macatjlay's dialogues for young people. The Word, Main (Maine). Boy. If I were a sailor boy o'er it I'd go, And for months not come back any more. Both (in concert). 'Tis the farthest first of a glorious number, And like an old garret, is full of lumber. We'll help you by saying it is a State, And now for your answer you see us wait. Girl. Now, while you are guessing, I'll make it plain ; For, do you see, I am making Maine ? At the closing couplet the little girl draws the outlines of Maine rapidly upon the board. UATUEE'S HEKOES. CHARACTERS. • Caratach, General of the Britons. Hengo, a brave boy, nephew to Caratach. Macer, a Roman Officer. Judas, a cowardly Roman Corporal. Roman Soldiers, two or more, INTRODUCTORY. The following stirring and affecting scenes are from the Bonduca of Beau- mont and Fletcher. They present fine illustrations of the heroic temper dis- played by Caratach, King of Britain, and his nephew, Hengo, when driven to bay by the invading Romans. The time in which the action is supposed to take place is in the first century of the Christian era. The two Britons can be attired somewhat like Scottish Highlanders, with short cloaks instead of plaids ; the three Romans as seen in pictures of Julius Caesar's legions. Of course scenery and special costumes may be dispensed with, where the performance takes place in parlors and other places unfitted for theatrical display. SCENE I.— A Forest. Enter Caratach and Hengo. They pause at c. Caratach. How does my boy 1 Hengo. I do not fear. macaulay's dialogues fob young people. 45 Car. My good boy 1 Hengo. I know, uncle, We must all die ; my little brother died. I saw him die, and he died smiling ; sure, There's no great pain in't, uncle. But pray tell me Whither must we go when we're dead 1 Car. Strange questions ! Why, to the blessed' st place, boy. Ever sweetness And happiness dwell there. Hengo. Will you come to me 1 Car. Yes, my sweet boy. Hengo. Mine aunt, too, and my cousins 1 Car. All, my good child. Hengo. No Romans, uncle 1 Car. No, boy. Hengo. I should be loath to meet them there. Car. No ill men, That live by violence and strong oppression, Come thither; 'tis for those the gods love, good men. Hengo. Why, then, I care not when I go, for surely I am persuaded they love me ; I never Blasphemed them, uncle ; nor transgressed my parents ; I always said my prayers. Car. Thou shalt go, then, Indeed thou shalt. Hengo. When they please. Car. That's my good boy ! Art thou not weary, Hengo 1 Hengo. Weary, uncle 1 I've heard you say you've marched all day in armor. Car. I have, boy. Hengo. Am not I your kinsman 1 Car. Yes. Hengo. And am not I as fully allied unto you In those brave things as blood 7 Car. Thou art too tender. Hengo. To go upon my legs 1 They were made to bear me. I can play twenty miles a day ; I see no reason. 4:6 MACAUIjAY's dialogues fob young PEOPIJE. But to preserve my country and myself, I should march forty. Car. What wouldst thou be, living To wear a man's strength ! Hengo. Why, a Caratach, (with fire) A Roman-hater, a scourge sent from heaven To whip these proud thieves, from our kingdom. Hark ! {drum) Hark, uncle, hark ! I hear a drum. Enter at l. Judas and soldiers. Caratach retires to r., shield- ing Hengo, and sternly eyeing soldiers. Judas. Beat softly ; Softly, I say ; they're here. Who dares charge 1 First Sol. He That dares be knocked o' the head ; ill not come near him. Judas. Retire again, and watch, then How he stares! He has eyes would kill a dragon. Mark the boy well ; If we could take or kill him. A curse on ye, How fierce ye look ! See how he broods the boy ! The devil dwells in's scabbard. Back, I say ! Apace, apace ! he has found us. (they retire.) Car. Do ye hunt us 1 Hengo. Uncle, good uncle, see ! the thin, starved rascal, The eating Roman, see where he thrids the thickets ; Kill him, dear uncle, kill him ! Car. Do ye make us foxes ? — Here, hold my charging-stafF, and keep the place, boy ! I am at bay, and, like a bull, I'll bear me. Stand, stand, ye rogues, ye squirrels ! (draws and rushes after them, l.) Hengo. Now he pays them ; Oh, that I had a man's strength ! Enter at l. Judas. MACAUIiAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. 47 Judas, Here's the boy ; Mine own, I thank my fortune. Hengo. Uncle, uncle ! Famine is fallen upon me, uncle. Judas. Come, sir, Yield willingly ; your uncle's out of hearing. Hengo. I defy thee, Thou mock-made man of mat. Charge home, sirrah ! Hang thee, base slave, thou shak'st. Judas. Upon my conscience, The boy will beat me ! how it looks, how bravely, How confident the worm is ! a scabbed boy To handle me thus ! Yield, or I cut thy head off. Hengo. Thou darest not cut my finger ; here 'tis, touch it. Judas. The boy speaks sword and buckler ! Pr'ythee yield, boy ; Come, here's an apple ; yield. Hengo {aside). By Heaven, he fears me ! I'll give you sharper language. When, ye coward, When come ye up 1 Judas. If he should beat me Hengo. When, sir'? I long to kill thee ! Come, thou Canst not 'scape me ; I've twenty ways to charge thee, twenty deaths Attend my bloody staff. Judas. Sure, 'tis the devil, A dwarf devil in a doublet ! Hengo. I have killed A captain, sirrah, a brave captain, and when I've done, I've kicked him thus. Look here ; see how I charge This staff ! {threatens to charge.) Judas. Most certain this boy will cut my throat yet. Enter ', r., two Soldiers, running. They rush past Hengo. First Sol. Flee, flee, he kills us. Sec. Sol. He comes, he comes ! 48 macaulay's dialogues for young people Judas. The devil take the hindmost ! {Exeunt, l., Judas and soldiers.) Hengo. Run, run, ye rogues, ye precious rogues, ye rank rogues ! 'A comes, 'a comes, 'a comes' a comes ! that's he. boys ! {goes to extreme l.) What a brave cry they make ! Enter Caratach, r. Car. How does my chicken 1 Hengo. Faith, uncle, grown a soldier, a great soldier ; (meets Caratach in c.) For, by the virtue of your charging-stafT, And a strange fighting face I put upon it, I've out-braved Hunger. Car. That's my boy, my sweet boy. Come, chicken, let's go seek some place of strength (The country's full of scouts) to rest awhile in ; Thou wilt not else be able to endure The journey to my country. Fruits and water Must be your food awhile, boy. Hengo. Anything ; I can eat moss — nay, I can live on anger, To vex these Romans. Let's be wary, uncle. Car. I warrant thee ; come cheerfully. Hengo. And boldly. (Exeunt, l.) SC.ENE II.— Another part of the forest Enter Macer and Judas, l. Macer. What news 1 Judas. I've lodged him ; rouse him, he that dares. Macer. Where, Judas ? Judas. On a steep rock i' th' woods, the boy, too, with him ; And there he swears he'll keep his Christmas, Macer, But he will come away with full conditions, Bravely, and like a Briton. He paid part of us ; Yet I think we fought bravely. For mine own part, macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 49 I was four several times at half-sword with him, Twice stood his partizan ; but the plain truth is, He's a mere devil, and no man. I' th' end he swinged us, And swinged us soundly, too ; he fights by witchcraft ; Yet for all that I saw him lodged. Macer. Take more men, and scout him round. What victuals has he 1 Judas. Not a piece of biscuit, Not so much as will stop a tooth, nor water. They lie Just like a brace of bear-whelps, close and crafty, Sucking their fingers for their food. His sword by his side, plumbs of a pound weight by him, Will make your chops ache. You'll find it more labor To win him living than climbing of a crow's nest. Macer. Away, and compass him ; we shall come up, I'm sure, within these two hours. Watch him close. {Exit.) Judas. He shall fly through the air if he escape me. Enter a Soldier with meat and a bottle.- Sol. Here, Judas, I have brought the meat and water. Judas. Hang it on the side of the rock, as though the Britons Stole hither to relieve him. Who first ventures To fetch it off is ours. I cannot see him. Sol. He lies close, in a hole above, I know it, Gnawing upon his anger, — Ha ! no ; 'tis not he. Judas. Make no noise ; if he stirs, a deadly tempest Of huge stones falls upon. Soldier goes out, r., leaves provisions behind scene, and returns to Judas. Sol. 'Tis done ! Away, close ! (Exeunt.) SCENE II. — Caratach discovered, with Hen go sleeping on the ground. Car. Sleep still, sleep sweetly, child ; 'tis all thou feed'st on. 50 macaulay's dialogues for young people. No gentle Briton near, no valiant charity, To bring thee food 1 Poor knave, thou'rt sick, extreme sick, Almost grown wild for meat ; and yet thy goodness Will not confess nor show it. All the woods Are double lined with soldiers ; no way left us To make a noble 'scape. I'll sit down by thee, And, when thou wak'st, either get meat to save thee, Or lose my life i' th' purchase ; good gods comfort thee. The boy begins to stir ; thy safety made, Would my soul were in heaven. Hengo {waking). Oh, noble uncle, Look out ; I dreamed we were betrayed. Car. No harm, boy ; 'Tis but thy emptiness that breeds these fancies.; Thou shalt have meat anon. Hengo. A little, uncle, And I shall hold out bravely. (Hengo rises. Caratach espies the meat and water outside.) Car. Courage, my boy ! I have found meat. Look, Hengo. {joyously) Look where some blessed Briton, to preserve thee, Has hung a little food and drink ; Cheer up, boy ; Do not forsake me now ! Hengo. Oh, uncle, uncle, I feel I cannot stay long ; yet I'll fetch it. To keep your noble life. Uncle, I'm heart-whole, And would live. Car. Thou shalt, long, I hope. Hengo. But my head, uncle ! Methinks the rock goes round. Enter stealthily Judas, with bow and arrow, l. Do not you hear The noise of bells 7 Car. Of bells, boy 1 'Tis thy fancy. MACAULAY S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 51 Hengo. Methinks, sir, They ring a strange sad knell, a preparation To some near funeral of state. Nay, weep not, Mine own sweet uncle ! you will kill me sooner. Car, Oh, my poor chicken ! Hengo. Fie ! faint-hearted uncle ! Car. I'll go myself, boy. Hengo. No, as you love me, uncle ! I will not eat it if I do not fetch it. The danger only I desire. When I have brought it, uncle, We'll be as merry Car, Go, i' th' name of Heaven, boy ! Hengo (exit, r.). I have it. (Judas shoots) Oh ! Car. What ail'st thou 1 Re-enter Hengo", with an arrow in his side. Hengo. Oh, my best uncle, I am slain ! Car, (seeing Judas). I see j r ou, And Heaven direct my hand ! (Judas steals off, £. Cara- tach hurls a stone after him) Destruction Go with thy coward soul ! How dost thou, boy 1 (supports Hengo.) Hengo. Oh, uncle, uncle, Oh, how it pricks me — am I preserved for this ? — Extremely pricks me. Car. Coward, rascal, coward ! Dogs eat thy flesh ! Hengo. Oh, I bleed hard ; I faint too ; out upon't, How sick I am ! — The lean rogue, uncle ! Car. Look, boy ! I've laid him sure enough. Hengo. Have you knocked his brains out ? Car. I warrant thee, for stirring more. Cheer up, child. Hengo. Hold my sides hard ; stop, stop ; oh, wretched fortune, Must we part thus 1 Si ill I grow sicker, uncle. Car. Heaven look upon this noble child ! Hengo, I once hoped 52 MACAUIjAY's dialogues for young people. 4 I should have lived to have met these bloody Romans At my sword's point, to have revenged my father, To have beaten them. Oh. hold me hard ! But, uncle Car. Thou shalt live still, I hope, boy. Shall I draw it 1 Hengo. You draw away my soul, then ; I would live A little longer — spare me, Heavens ! — but only {tries to stand alone) To thank you for your tender love. Good uncle, Good, noble uncle, weep not ! Car. Oh, my chicken, My dear boy, what shall I lose 1 Hengo. Why, a child, That must have died, however ; had this 'scaped me, Fever or famine — I was born to die, sir. Car. But thus unblown, my boy 1 Hengo. I go the straighter My journey to the gods. Sure I shall know you When you come, uncle 1 Car. Yes, boy. Hengo. And I hope We shall enjoy together that great blessedness You told me of. Car. Most certain, child. Hengo. I grow cold ; Mine eyes are going. Car. Lift them up. Hengo. Pray for me \ And, noble uncle, when my bones are ashes, Think of your little nephew. Mercy ! Car, Mercy ! You blessed angels, take him. Hengo. Kiss me. So. Farewell, farewell ! (dies.) Car. Farewell the hopes of Britain ! Thou royal graft, farewell forever ! Time and death You've done your worst. Fortune, now see, now proudly Pluck off thy veil, and view thy triumph. Look, Look what thou hast brought this land to. Oh, fair flower, MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. 53 How lovely yet thy ruins show, how sweetly Even death embraces thee ! The Peace of Heaven, The fellowship of all great souls, be with thee ! {mournful music.) {Curtain.) HAKD TO SUIT ALL. Characters. — Schoolmaster ; Isaac, a school-boy ; Mr. Fosdick ; Bill, his son ; Mrs. O'Clary, Irish ; Patrick, her son ; Esq. Snyder; Jonas, his son; Saunders, drunken; Jabez, Ms son ; some half-dozen school-boys. Master {setting copies, alone). Well, so here I am again, after another night's sleep. But, sleep or no sleep, I feel about as much fatigued in the morning as I do at night. It is impossible to get the cares and anxieties of my profession out of my mind. It does seem to me that the parents of some of my pupils are very unfeeling ; for I know I have done my very best to keep a good school — and, however I may have failed in some instances, I have the satisfaction of feeling, in my conscience, that my best endeav- ors have been devoted to my work. A merry lot of copies here, to be set before school-time, {looking at his icatch) But "a dili- gent hand will accomplish much ;" by the way, that will do for a copy for Jonas Snyder — little culprit ! he was very idle yesterday. {thinking and writing) What can that story mean, which Mr. Truetell told me this morning 1 Five or six ! — who could they be 1 — five or six of the parents of my scholars dreadfully offended ! Let me see ; what have I done ! Nothing very lately, that I recol- lect. Let's see — yesterday 7 no. there was nothing yesterday, ex- cept that I detained the class in geography till they got their lessons. Oh, yes ; Jonas Snyder was punished for idleness. But I spoke to him four or five times, and he would do nothing but whisper, and whittle his bench ; and, when at last he half eat up an apple, and threw the rest at Jacob Beadslow, I thought he deserved it. . Let's see ; I gave him six claps — three on each hand ; well, he did not get more than his deserts. 54 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Enter one of the scholars, with his books under his arm, walking slowly, and eyeing the master, to his seat. Master, still busy, and thinking, by and by says : Isaac, you may come to me. Isaac {walks along, and says). Sir ! Master. Do you remember (placing Ids pen over his ear, and turning earnestly and portentously round) whether I punished any scholars yesterday 1 Isaac. Yes, sir ; you feruled Jone Snyder for playing and laughing. Master. Did I punish any one else 1 Isaac. Not as I recollect. Master. Think, Isaac ; think carefully. Isaac. You kept a lot of us after school for not saying our les- sons Master (quickly). You mean, Isaac, rather, I kept you to get your lessons, which you had neglected % Isaac. Yes, sir ; and you made Patrick O'Clary stop and sweep, because he stayed out too late after recess. Master. Oh, yes ! I remember that. Isaac. He was as mad as a hop about it. He said he meant to tell his mother that you made him sweep for nothing. Master. Hush ! hush ! You shouldn't tell tales ! Do you re- member any other punishments 1 Isaac. No, sir ; not yesterday. You hit Jabe Saunders a clip over the knuckles with the cowskin, day before yesterday ; — don't you remember 1 — Just as he stretched out his hand to hook that old rag upon Tom Willis' collar, you came along behind him, and clip went the old whip right across his fingers, and down went the old rag. There, I never was more glad to see anything in my life ! Little dirty, mean fellow ! — he's always sticking things upon fel- lows. I saw him once pin an old dirty rag upon a man's coat, just as he was putting a letter into the post-office. I never saw such a fellow ! (the other boys coming in gradually, the master rings his little bell.) Master. Boys, come to order, and take your books. Now, boys, I wish to see if we can't have a good school to-day. Let's see; are we all here 1 macaulay's dialogues fok YOUNG PEOPLE. 55 Boys. No sir ! No sir ! Master. Who is absent 1 Boys. Jone Snyder ! Jabe Saunders ! Patrick O'Clary ! and Master. Speak one at a time, my boys. Don't make confusion, to begin with ; and — (looking around them) oh ! Bill Fosdick — only four ! One of the boys. Pat O'Clary is late. I saw him down in Ba- ker-street, poking along ! He always comes late Master. Did he say he was coming 1 Same Boy. I asked* him if he was coming to school, and he shook his head, and muttered out something about his mother, and I ran along and left him. Master. Well, boys, now let us try to have a still school and close study to-day, and see if it is not more pleasant to learn than to play. (Hses and walks to and fro on the stage) Take the ge- ography lesson, James and Samuel, first thing this morning ; and, Isaac, I don't wish to detain you again to-day. (loud knock at the door.) Enter Bill Fosdick, walking importantly and consequentially up to the master. Bill. Here ! father wants to see you at the door ! (master turns to go to the door, followed by Bill, who wishes to hear all that's said, and Mr. Fosdick, looking quite savage, steps right inside — the master politely bowing, with a "good-morning") Fosdick. Here, sir ; I want to see you about my boy ! I don't like to have you keep him after school every day ; I want him at home — and I should like to have you dismiss him when school is done. It he wants lickin', lick him — that's all ; but don't you keep him here an hour or two every day after school — I don't send him here for that ! Master. But, my good sir, I have not often detained him ; not more than twice within a fort Fos. Well, well, sir ! don't you do it again ! — that's all I have to say ! If he behaves bad, you lick him — only do it in reason ; but, when school is done, I want him dismissed ! Master. Sir, I do what I conceive to be my duty ; and I serve all my scholars alike ; and, while I would be willing to accommo- 56 MAOAIJIjAY's dialogues foe young people. date you, I shall do what I think is my duty, {gathering spirit and gravity, and advancing) Sir, do 1 understand you wish me to whip your son for not getting his lesson 1 Fos. Yes — no — yes — in reason; I don't want my children's bones broke ! Master {taking from the desk a cowhide). Do you prefer your son should be whipped to being detained 1 Fos. I don't think not getting his lessons is such a dreadful crime. I never used to get my lessons, and old Master Pepper- mint never used to lick me, and I am sure* he never kept me after school; but we used to have schools good for sumfin in them days. Bill, go to your seat, and behave yourself! and, when school is done, you come home ! That's all I have to say ! Master. But stop, my boy ! {speaking to Bill, decidedly) There happen to be two sides to this question ! There is something fur- ther to be said, before you go to your seat in this school. Fos. What ! you don't mean to turn him out of school, du ye 7 {somebody knocks. A boy steps to the door, and in steps Mrs. O'Clary, who approaches Mr. Fosdick.) Mrs. O'Clary. Is it you that's the schoolmaster, sure? It's I that's after spaking to the schoolmaster, {courtesying.) Fos. No ; I'm no schoolmaster. Master. What is your wish, madam ? Mrs. O'Clary. I wants to spake with the schoolmaster, I do, sir. {court esys.) Master. Well, madam, ^rapping to keep the, boys still, who are disposed to laugh) I am the schoolmaster. What is your wish 1 Mrs. O'C. Why, sir, my little spalpeen of a son goes to this school, he does ; and he says he's made to swape every day, he is ; and it's all for nothing, he tills me ; and sure I don't like it, I don't ; and I'm kim to complain to ye, I have ! It's Patrick O'Clary that I'm spaking of; and it's I that's his mither, I be; and his poor father was Paddy O'Clary from Cork, it was — rest his sowl ! Master. Well, madam, he has never swept but once, I believe ; and that, surely, was not without a good reason. Mrs. O'C. But himself tells a different story, he x does; and I niver knew him till but one lie, in my life, I didn't ; and that was MACAUIjAY's dialogues for young people. 57 as good as none. But the little spalpeen shall be after tilling his own story, he shall ! for it's he that's waiting in the entry, and will till ye no lie, at all, at all — upon that ye may depind ! though it's his mither that says it, and sure ! {calls) Patrick ! Patrick j come in, and till master how it's you that's kept to swape ivry day, and it's all for nothing, it is ! Come in, I say, in a jiffy ! (Patrick, scratching his head, enters) Here's your mither. dear ! now till your master — and till the truth — didn't ye till your mither that ye had to swape ivry day for nothing ; and it's you that's going to be kept swaping ivry day for a month to come, and sure 1 Master. Now tell the truth, Patrick. Patrick (looking at his mother). No ; I niver said no such words, and sure ! I said how I's kept to swape yisterday, for staying out too late ; and that's all I said 'bout it all, at all ! Mrs. O'C. " Cush la macree ! " Little sonny, how you talk! He's frightened, he is, and sure ! (turning to Fosdick) He's al- ways bashful, before company, he is. But, master, it's I that don't like to have him made to swape the school, indade ; and, if you can do nothing else, I shall be in sad taking, I shall, and sure ! If you should be after bating him, I should make no com- plaint. For I bates him myself, whiniver he lies to his mither — a little spalpeen that he is ! But I can't bear to have him made to do the humbling work of swaping, at all, at all ; and it's I that shall make a " clish ma claver," an' it's not stopped — indade I shall ! (somebody knocks.) Isaac (steps to the door } and, returning, says :). Esq. Snyder wishes to see you, sir. Master [smiling). Well, ask Mr. Snyder to step in; we may as well have a regular court of it ! (Isaac waits upon him in, lead- ing Jonas with his hands poulticed.) Master (smiling). Good-morning, Mr. Snyder; walk in, sir! Mr. Snyder (rather gentlemanly). I hope you will excuse my interrupting your school ; but I called to inquire what Jonas, here, could have done, that you bruised him up at such a rate. Poor little fellow ! he came home, taking on as if his heart would break ! and both his hands swelled up bigger than mine ! and he said you had been beating him for nothing ! I thought I'd come 58 MACAUIjAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. up and inquire into it ; for I don't hold to this banging and abus- ing children, and especially when they haven't done anything ; though I'm a friend to good order. Master. I was not aware that I punished him very severely, sir. Mr. Snyder. Oh ! it was dreadfully severe ! Why, the poor little fellow's hands pained him so that his mother had to poul- tice them, and sit up with him all night ! And this morning she wanted to come up to school with him herself; but I told her I guessed she better let me come. Jonas, do your hands ache now, dear 1 Jonas {holding them up together). Oh ! dreadfully ! They feel as if they were in the fire ! Mr. Snyder. Well, dear, keep composed ; don't cry, dear. Now sir, {addressing the master) this was all for nothing ! Master. No, sir ! It was for something, I am thinking ! Jonas. I say I did not do nothing ! so there, now I {somebody knocks.) Master. Gentlemen, sit down, {looking perplexed) Sit down, madam. Give me a little time, and I'll endeavor to set the matter right, {all sitting down but the boys.) Mr. Snyder. Why, I don't wish to make a serious matter of it. I shan't prosecute you. I was only going to ask if you couldn't devise some other kind of punishment than pommelling. If you'd make him stop after school, or set him to sweeping the house, or scouring the benches, or even whipped him with a cowhide or switchstick, I should not have complained ; but I don't like this beating boys ! {knocking again.) Master. Isaac, go and see who is at the door. (Isaac goes, and in stalks Saunders and his son Jabez.) Saunders {bowing and flourishing). Here ! hallo ! Here, I say, Mr. Schoolmaster ! settle up the score as ye goes along ! I say, {snatching a cowhide) you have been horsewhipping my boy here, ha' n't you 1 By the fifteen gallon law ! you don't come that game over the son of Nehemiah Saunders, you see ! you pale-faced, good-for-nothing ! but pardon me, master ; I ax your pardon ; for 'Mian Saunders always was, and always will be, a gentleman! Ye see — don't ye seel — {hiccoughing — lifts off the hat) — ye see — I'll tell ye what, master, if I'd only known it yesterday, ye see, MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 59 I'd a been here and — but — ye see — yesterday — I was very par- ticularly engaged ; but now, {approaching, and switching the cow- hide) ye see, we'll know who's the strongest ! I'll give you Mrs. O'G. (screeching). La ! what shall I do? If there's a go- ing to be fighting, by St. Patrick, I shall go into hysterics ! Oh dear ! dear ! dear ! Master, Oh! don't be frightened, madam. Saunders (looking at the woman). Oh ! ha ! ha ! Why, Cath- leen 'Clary — ye see — why, have you left your wash-tubs to go to school 1 Why, bless my heart ! Why, ye see. bless me ! — the master here will have a most tractable pupil in you, Cathleen ! Why, my stars ! ye see — and here is my neighbor Fosdick ! why, how de du, neighbor Fosdick 1 (bowing very low to Snyder) How do you do, Esq. Snyder? Why, I hope I han't been disturbing a court, nor nothing ! (nebbing his head, etc.) The truth is, I felt dreadfully provoked, when I heard that master here had been whipping my son with a rawhide, like a horse ; and says I, I don't sleep till I have whipped him — and all for nothing, too ! I've nothing against licking, Mr. Schoolmaster, if you use the right kind of licking. Ferule a boy, or give him a stick, till he cries " Enough ! : ' but none of your horsewhipping, I say ! — ye see — I can't stand that ! (during this speech, Jabe archly hangs an old rag upon his father's coat, and steps back, and laughs at it.) Mr. Fosdick (who saw it). Mr. Saunders, what is that youVe got upon your coat \ (examining.) Saunders. On my coat 1 — where ? (looks, and after a while finds it, and says, in awful rage) Who did that 1 Fos. It was your hopeful son, there. Saunders. You little villain of a scamp ! (attempting to hit him with the ichip, but staggering, falls) I'll whip the hide all off you, I will ! Master, he's in your house ; order him to me, and I'll show you how to use the cowhide ! Master. Be calm, sir ; be calm. Will you be good enough to sit down 1 You are a gentleman, you say ; then oblige me by sitting down between these two gentlemen. Saunders. That I will. I'll oblige any gentleman, (after many attempts, gets to the seat.) Master. And now, gentlemen, and, (bowing) madam, I think we 60 macaulay's dialogues fob young people. may each of us begin to see the beauty of variety, especially in the matter of opinion. That you may all undestand the whole case, I will state, in a few words, the facts, as they actually occur- red. Day before yesterday, our young friend Jabez {pointing to Mm) was playing his favorite trick of hanging his rag-signal upon a school-mate, after the fashion in which he has here so filially served his father, within a few minutes ; and standing near him at the time, with my whip in hand, I could not resist the temptation to salute his mischievous knuckles with a well-directed stroke, which, however effectually it may have cut his own fingers and his father's sensibilities, it seems has not cut off his ruling pro- pensity. Yesterday was emphatically a day of sinning on my part. Jonas Snyder, whose little hands have swelled to such enormous magnitude, for constant idleness was often reproved ; and, after all this, when he threw a portion of an apple at a more industrious boy, thus disturbing many of those well-disposed boys, he was called and feruled, receiving six strokes — three on each hand — with the rule I now show you. Little Patrick O'Clary was re- quired to sweep the school-room floor, for a strong instance of tar- diness at recess ; and this punishment was given, because I did not wish to inflict a severer one upon so small a lad. And last, this little fellow {pointing to Bill Fosdick) was detained, in com- mon with seven others, to learn a lesson which he neglected to learn at the proper time. Such are the facts. And yet each of you has assured me that I have incurred your displeasure by using a punishment you dis- approve, and " all for nothing." You have each one taken the trouble to come to this room, to render my task — already sufficient- ly perplexing — still more so, by giving parental support to child- ish complaints, and imparting your censure, in no measured terms, upon the instructor of your children. But this is a most interest- ing case. You all happen to be here together, and you thus give me the opportunity I have long wished, to show you your own in- consistencies. It is easy to complain of your teacher ; but perhaps either of you, in your wisdom, would find it not quite so easy to take my place and escape censure. How would either of you have got along in the present instance 1 Mr. Fosdick, who is displeased macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 61 with detention after school, would have, according to his own rec- ommendation, resorted to " licking," either with ferule or whip. In this case he would have incurred the censure of his friends, Esq. Snyder and Mr. Saunders. The " squire," in turn, would have raised the displeasure of both his friends, by resorting to his favorite mode of detaining and cowhiding. Mistress O'Clary would give the li spalpeens " a " bating," as she says, after her own pe- culiar fashion, with which the squire and Mr. Saunders could not have been overmuch pleased. And Mr. Saunders — aye, Mr. 'Miah Saunders — if we may judge from the exhibition he has just given us, would have displeased even himself by proving to be what he most of all things detests — a champion of the cowhide. But what is a little curious, as it appears, is that, while I have not carried out the favorite scheme of either one of you — which, we have already seen, would be objectionable to each of the others — but have adopted a variety of punishments, and the very variety which your own collective suffrage would fix upon, I have got myself equally deep into hot water ; and the grand question is now, What shall I do 1 If I take the course taken by you collectively, the result is the same. I see no other way but to take my own course, performing conscientiously my duties, in their time and after their manners, and then to demand of you, and all others, the right of being sustained ! Saunders (jumping up). Them is my sentiments, exactly | Ye see — I say — ye see — you go ahead, and — ye see — whip that little rascal of mine— ye see — just as much as you've a mind to — (turning to the squire, who is rising) and you shall have this whip to do it with, (handing it to the master.) Mr. Snyder. Well, gentlemen, my opinion is that we have been tried and condemned by our own testimony, and there is no ap- peal. My judgment approves the master ; and hereafter I shall neither hear nor make any more complaints. Jonas, (turning to Jonas) my son, if the master is willing, you may go home and tell your mother to take off those poultices, and then do you come to school as you are told * and, if I hear any more of your complaints, I will double the dose you may receive at school. Mrs, O'C. And sure, master, the wife of Paddy O'Clary is not the woman to resist authority in the new country j and, bless 62 macaulay's dialogues fok young people. your sowl, if yon'll make my little spalpeen but a good boy, it's I that will kindly remember the favor, though ye make him swape until next Christmas ! Here, Patrick, down upon your little knees of your own, and crave the master's forgiveness ; for it's not Cathleen 0' Clary — — Master. No, madam ; that I shall not allow. I ask no one to kneel to me. I shall only require that he correct his past faults, and obey me in future. Mrs. O'G. It's an ungrateful child he would be, if ever again he should be after troubling so kind a master. St. Patrick bless ye ! (taking little Pat by the hand, they go out.) Fos. {taking the master by the hand, pleasantly). Sir, I hope I shall profit by this day's lesson. I have only to say, that I am perfectly satisfied we are all wrong ; and that is, perhaps, the best assurance I can give you that I think you are right. That's all I have to say. Saunders. Right ! right ! neighbor Fosdick. We are all — ye see — we are all come out on the wrong side this time ; a'nt we, squire 1 I tell ye what, Mr. Schoolmaster — 'Miah Saunders never is ashamed to back out (suits the action, etc when he's wrong ! I says, I — ye see — 'Miah Saunders is all for good order ! Whip that boy of mine — ye see — as much as you please ! I'll not com- plain again — ye see ; whip him — says I — ye see — whip him, and I — tell ye — if 'Miah Saunders don't back ye up — then, ye see — \nay I be chosen president of— cold water society ! (Exeunt.) macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 63 THE EXCITEMENT AT KETTLEVILLE. EPES SARGENT. Characters. — Bodkins, late in the employ of Messrs. Flimsy and Gauze; Ditto, a Young Man about Town, famous in private theatricals ; Tincture, a Man with a Diploma; Moper, a dis- appointed Candidate; Ponder, a Man who thinks before he speaks ; Tommy, a Youthful Bill-sticker ; Miss Haver way, a Popular Young Lecturer. Enter Bodkins and Ditto, right, and. Tincture, Moper, and Ponder, one after the other, from the opposite side. Bodkins. Well met, gentlemen, well met ! We are all of one way of thinking, I presume, in regard to the business of to-night 7 Ditto. I hope, gentlemen, that Kettleville will do her duty, and her whole duty, on this occasion. Tincture. We must put a stop to this woman's rights move- ment, or it will put a stop to us. Action, heroic action, as we doctors say, is the only remedy. Now's the time. Moper. How will you do it 1 That's the question. It can't be done. Bodkins. Brother Moper, you are always looking on the dark side of things. Why can't it be done 1 Moper. Because the women carry too many guns for us. Bodkins. Guns 1 Guns 1 Does this little Miss Haverway carry a gun? Moper. She doesn't carry anything else. That little morocco roll, or cylinder, in which she pretends to carry her lecture, is an air-gun, — a deadly weapon. Bodkins. Possible 1 But that's a matter for the police to look into. Ha, ha ! We are not to be intimidated, gentlemen, — eh 1 We are true Americans. No cowards among us, — eh 1 The blood of seventy-six does not, — does not Ditto. Stagnate in our veins. 64 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Bodkins. Thank you, sir. Does not stagnate in our veins. Surely not in mine, — not in mine ! Ponder. May I be allowed to ask a question 1 All. Certainly. Ponder. What are we here for 1 Bodkins. We are here, Mr. Ponder, to protest against allowing the town hall to be used to-night by one Miss Haverway for her lecture on woman's rights. I appeal to every young man in the land, ought it not to make our blood — our blood — — Ditto. Boil with indignation. Bodkins. Thank you, sir. Boil with indignation, to see these attempts, on the part of certain audacious women, to oppress us, and take the bread out of our mouths, just as we are entering on our several careers 1 Ditto. Gentlemen, what could be more — more — more — Excuse this burst of feeling. There are chords — Well, sir, go on. Bodkins. Consider my own case, gentlemen. I had a snug sit- uation in the store of Messrs. Flimsy and Gauze, the great dealers in muslins, laces, and such. An easy berth. All I had to do was to stand behind a counter and show the lady customers the new- est styles of collars. All at once I am told that my services are not wanted. And, gentlemen, as if to add insult to injury, I am advised that the spade and the plough expect me, — me, with my delicate physique. Gentlemen, why were my services no longer required 1 Ditto. Yes, why, gentlemen, — why, — why 1 If, gentlemen, one single reminiscence of Lexington and Bunker Hill lingers in your minds, — if — if — Excuse me. I was carried away by my feelings. Go on, Mr. Bodkins. Bodkins. My dismissal was accompanied with the information that a young lady — a young lady — (sarcastically) had been select- ed to take my place. Tincture and Moper. Shame ! Shame ! Too bad ! Too bad ! Ditto. Atrocious ! Yes, abominable ! Moper. I tell you we are all going to the bad just as fast as we can go. The world isn't the world it used to be. Ditto. Gentlemen, there was a time when the whole business of making and trimming bonnets, and of making female dresses, was macaulay's dialogues for young people. 65 in the hands of men. Any reader of Shakespeare must be aware of this. That time must be revived. The case of my friend Bod- kins calls for redress. — re-dress, gentlemen. Tincture. Hear me, sir. and you will admit that my case still more eloquently cries — cries Ditto. Aloud for vengeance. Tincture. Ay, that's it. I was, as you may be aware, bred a physician. My father, agent for the sale of Plantation Bitters, gave me a diploma. It hangs framed over my mantel-piece. You may see it, any of you, without charge. No sooner had I settled down in the nourishing village of Onward, no sooner had I begun to physic and bleed the enterprising inhabitants, than a young woman calling herself a doctress — ha, ha ! a doctress — made her appearance. Ditto. Shame ! Shame ! Humbug, thy name is — woman ! Bodkins. There it is again ! Woman ! Always woman ! Moper. I tell you it's no use. We've got to come to it. We may as well be resigned, and put our noses peaceably down to the grindstone. Ditto. Never ! Never ! No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! False Douglas, thou hast lied. Moper. You'll see, sir, — you'll see. Gentlemen, I can relate a still more exasperating case. The humble individual who ad- dresses you studied for the ministry. I was a candidate to fill the pulpit in that same village of Onward. I had the reputation of being the most depressing preacher ever heard in those parts. Ditto. Not poppy, nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the East — Go on, sir, I was only musing aloud. Moper. Everything looked encouraging. On one occasion, after I had preached, not a man, woman, or child of the congregation was seen to smile for a week. Everything, I say, looked encour- aging, when, all at once Ditto. When all at once there appeared a woman ! Moper. You are right, sir ; there appeared a woman. Will you believe it 7 The infatuated people of Onward have settled her over their first religious society. A woman ! Ditto. A female woman ! Be ready, gods, with all your thun- derbolts ! Dash her in pieces ! Must we endure all this 3 66 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Bodkins. Why, sir, in a degenerate city of degenerate New Eng- land, the city of Worcester Ditto. Three groans for Worcester ! Bodkins. They have actually elected women to serve on the school-committee. Ditto. Enough ! Enough ! I have supped full of horrors. Moper. 0, that's nothing to what we shall have to swallow. Ditto. Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind. Bodkins. I had a brother Ditto. I had a brother once — a gentle boy. Bodkins. Mine went into a printing-office to learn to set type. He hadn't been there a week when a girl was admitted ; and now — now — just because she can set type twice as fast as any of the men, she is allowed equal wages. Ditto. There i£* is again ! The irrepressible woman ! Why didn't they tear down the printing-office 1 Equal wages indeed ! Bodkins. Well, my brother, who is. a brave little fellow, did the best thing he could : he helped snow-ball the girl, and succeeded in hitting her on the head with a piece of ice. Ditto. He shall have a pension. Served her right. Equal wa- ges indeed ! Tincture. And yet there are men — fiends, rather, in human shape, libels on their sex — who pretend to see no reason why women shouldn't be doctors, ministers, lawyers, architects, build- ers, merchants, manufacturers, — in short, whatever they please, or chance to have a faculty for. Bodkins. See how they are crowding us men out of the paths of literature and art! Look at Mrs. Stowe ! She is paid more for a single page than my friend Vivid, author of " The Beauty of Broadway," gets for a whole volume. Tincture. Look at Rosa Bonheur, painter of beasts ! Ditto. Let's all go and have her take our likenesses. Tincture. See her rolling in wealth, while my friend Daub, with a family to support, sees his splendid productions, so rich in all the colors of the rainbow, unsold in the auction-rooms ! Moper. What are we going to do about it ! That's the ques- tion. Ditto. Awake, arise, or be forever fallen. MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 67 Bodkins. And they are talking now of giving women the suffrage, — letting them vote. Ditto, When that time comes, find me on"Torno's cliff or Pam- bamarca's side Ponder. May I be permitted to ask a question 1 Bodkins. Certainly. We all go for free speech ; that is, for free masculine speech. Ponder. Aren't we all in favor of the principle of no taxation without representation ? Answer me that. All. Certainly. No doubt of it. Of course we are. Ponder. Well, then, if women are taxed, ought they not Ditto. Gag him. Stop him. He has said enough. Ponder. I say if woman are taxed, ought they not Bodkins. Silence ! We've had enough of that sort of talk. Ditto. He's a woman's rights man. I thought as much. How like a fawning publican he looks ! Tincture. Kettleville is no place for you, sir. Ditto. No, sir. Mount a velocipede and strike a bee-line for Worcester. That's your safe plan. Hence, horrible shadow ! Unreal mockery, hence ! Moper. Gentlemen, strike but hear. You'd admit, I suppose, that women must live. What, then, would you have them do 1 Bodkins. Do % Why, tend the children, and wash clothes. Tincture. I don't know about that. I don't like to see our pri- mary schools kept by young women, whilst there are so many de- serving young men out of employment. Ditto. That's the talk. And as for washing clothes, how many good, honest fellows are hard pushed, through the absurd custom of giving these jobs of washing and ironing to women ! Ponder. But, gentlemen, be reasonable. Women must live, — must have some means of support, — must Ditto. Tr-r-r-raitor to thy sex ! Don't we come first 1 Are they not our born thralls 1 Are not we their natural lords and masters 1 Wretch, whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to ven- geance ! Ponder. Really, Mr. Ditto, I am not accustomed to be treated in this most extraordinary, most vituperative, most ungentleman- ly 68 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Bodkins, Peace, gentlemen ! Let everything be harmonious, I beg you, on this occasion. We have met informally to consider the means of preventing the spread in Kettleville of these wild, heretical notions concerning women's rights, now so prevalent. Miss Haverway shall not lecture in Kettleville. Are we all agreed opon that 1 Ditto. Are we all agreed ? Enter Tommy, a bill-poster. Tincture takes one of the bills. Tommy prepares to paste up another. Tincture. Ha ! What have we here 1 A poster ! An an- nouncement of the lecture, (reads) " The celebrated Miss Haver- way, lecturer on woman's rights — " (to Tommy) Youth, forbear ! Tommy. I'm not a youth, and I'll not forbear. Touch me, and I'll daub you with paste. Bodkins. Boy, stop that, or you'll rue the day. We shall tear down that bill. Tincture. Save your paste, youth, and vanish. (Tommy threat- ens then with his brush; they retreat.) Ditto. Punch him, jam him, down with him ! He's nothing but an orphan, and there's no one to help him. Moper. I think I may safely hit him with my cane. As he draws near to strike, enter Miss Haverway with a cylin- drical roll for papers in her hand. Moper, Bodkins, and Tincture, show great alarm as she points it at them. Miss H. What's all this 1 Tommy, what's the matter ? Tommy. These fellows talk of pitching into me. I should like to see them do it, that's all. Miss H. So would I. Tommy. They threaten to tear down your poster. Miss H. Do they 1 We'll see. Tommy. I'll paste 'em all up against the wall, if you say so, miss. Miss H. Leave them to me, Tommy, and proceed with your work. (Exit Tommy, singing " 0, I wish I was in Dixie.") macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 69 Bodkins (aside). I don't quite like the looks of things. Miss H. (approaching Bodkins). Well, sir, have you any objec- tion to my bill 1 Have you any objection to me, sir 1 Bodkins. My dear lady Miss H. Don't dear me, sir ; and don't lady me, sir. Call me plain woman. (Bodkins, Tincture, and Moper watch the roll in- ker hands, and manifest alarm when she points it at them.) Bodkins. Well, then, plain woman, I — I — I — that is, ice — my friends here — Moper, Tincture, and the rest — not being quite able to see this matter of woman's rights in the light that you— your ladyship — I mean you plain woman — see it in Miss H. (explosively). And why not, sir 7 Why not, I should like to know 1 (Bodkins gets behind Tincture. Miss Haver- way paces the stage in an excited manner.) Tincture. We only thought, madam, there would be no harm in yentilating — that is, discussing — the points at issue, and so Miss H. {stopping suddenly before him). Points 1 Points'? (pointing the roll at him) Tell me the truth. What have you been plotting'? No evasion! (Bodkins and Tincture get behind Moper.) Tincture (thrusting Moper forward). This gentleman, madam, will explain. Moper. If you'll have the goodness, madam, just to lower the point of your air-gun — (she thrusts the roll at Moper, and he re- treats behind Bodkins and Tincture.) Miss H. (to Ditto). Well, sir — and you 1 Ditto (laughing). I, Miss Haverway 1 In me behold your very humble servant. These gentlemen, conservative citizens of Ket- tleville, all except my friend Ponder here, I reget to say, have been making rare fools of themselves. They met for the prepos- terous purpose of devising some way of preventing you from lec- turing this evening. To learn their plans, and, at the same time, to have some fun on my own account, I pretended to be one of the conspirators, and it is only now that I throw off the mask, and de- clare to them and to you that the booby who lifts a voice or a hand to prevent your lecturing as you propose will have to measure arms in set pugilistic encounter with your true knight to command, Mr. Frederick Ditto. 70 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. Miss H. Who says the days of chivalry are gone 1 Sir, I thank you. Ditto. I have but one demand to make of these gentlemen, and that is, that they all attend your lecture. Mr. Ponder will come, I know. Ponder. That was my intention from the first. Miss H. {to Bodkins). You will come, sir 1 (as he hesitates, she lifts her roll.) Bodkins. Really — 0, yes, I'll come. Shall be most happy. (examining her collar) Real point lace, I declare ! Miss H. (to Tincture). And you, sir 1 Tincture. Unless my patients Miss H. No excuse, sir. Tincture. I will come, (aside) I wish I could prescribe for her just once. Miss H. (to Moper). You will follow their example, sir, of course. Moper. Excuse me, but — (seeing her roll levelled at him) I will not fail, madam, to be present. Miss H. I thought so. Ditto. Allow me to escort you, Miss Haverway, to your hotel. Mr. Ponder, will you join us 1 (Ponder bows assent.) (As the three go off right, Miss H. turns, and goes toward the others with the roll extended, when Bodkins, Tincture, and Moper go off abruptly left. Exeunt Omnes.) CONSIDER THE LILIES. MARY B. C SLADE. The First Girl holds and shoics a lily bulb. The Third shows leaves, stem and budding stalk. The Seventh a perfect crown of blossoms. Class in concert. Consider- First Girl. Let us consider them : Just down below the stem, MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOX YOUNG PEOPLE. 71 Within the brown, warm ground, The lily's bulb is found. All winter long it slumbers so, Beneath its covering of snow. In Concert. The lilies of the field ; — Second Girl. Along Judea's rills, And o'er its fields and hills, Grew scarlet lilies fair. When Jesus saw them there, From lilies of the field he drew The lesson we shall bring to you. In Concert. How they groio : — Tliird Girl. Two little leaves, at first, Must through the soft mold burst ; Next, tender, smooth and green, The growing stem is seen ; And soon a tall, straight stalk is grown, Where buds the lovely lily crown. In Concert. They toil not, — Fourth Girl. Ah, no, they never toil ; Fed by the moist, sweet soil, Drinking the dews of night, Nourished by sunbeams bright, Fanned by the gentlest winds that blow, In happy ease, the lilies grow. In Concert. Neither do they spin ; — Fifth Girl. The lilies spin 1 Not they ! Spiders and silk-worms may, But lilies bloom for joy ! No cares their time employ. Stem, leaf and bud and blossom bright, Just grow for beauty and delight. In Concert. .And yet I say unto you that even Solomon, in all his glory,— 72 MACAULAY S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. Sixth Girl. To Solomon, the king, The people came, to bring Gold, and each precious gem, To deck his diadem. With scarlet and with purple shone The royal robes of Solomon. In Concert. Was not arrayed like one of these I — Seventh Girl. Behold them now, and see,— Could kingly raiment be So beautiful, so rare, So gloriously fair 1 No human hand can learn the way , Such tints of beauty to display. In Concert. Wherefore, if God clothe the grass of the field,- Eighth Girl. Ah ! 'tis the hand divine That makes the lilies shine ! His rain, His dew, His light, Weave all their colors bright : I am so happy that I know 'Tis God arrays the lilies so. In Concert. Will he not much more clothe you ? — Ninth Girl. Oh, yes ! and so we must The lesson learn of trust. For lilies careth He ! Much more His care for me ! And this is why with joy we so Consider how the lilies grow. BLUEBIKD AND OEIOLE, [For two girls.] Bluebird. What swift, bright thing Is on the wing, macaulay's dialogues foe young people. Singing out his soul 1 'Tis the oriole In colors bold, All black and gold ; His deep nest swung High boughs among Of the tall elm's shade. Oriole. Yes, I was made Of a sunbright beam In the dark shade's gleam. My song is loud, My flight is proud To my queenly mate As she swings in state. Bluebird. Chirp, chirp, chiree ! Trill gay and free. The sky is blue, And the water too, And I flit between As blue. I ween, While I dip and sing On azure wing, Golden Oriole ! 73 Oriole. Your sweet trill and troll On the ether float From your fair blue throat ; But where's your nest And your mate's gray breast 1 Is it builded close In the deep repose Of a hollow tree 1 Will you show it me ? Bluebird. In the linden shade, Where a little maid 74: macaulay's dialogues for young people. Reared a tiny house, Broods my darling spouse. Sing low, sing sweet, By that blest retreat. We come and go With a song, you know, Sing low, sing low. Both. Sing sweet, sing clear, High tide of the year ! Love's tale is told By blue or gold, In cosy nests To brooding breasts. For hearts 1 delight All days are bright, While the eggs, — pale blue Or white, — break through, And the birdlings come For our waiting home ! THE CANDIDATE POK COMEESS. Mr. MarJcman (walking alone in his counting-room). This is really quite an unexpected event — to be nominated for Congress. How surprised the old folks at home will be ! Who would have thought that I, the poor counting-house clerk, would one day be sent to Congress. No doubt my wealth and standing as a mer- chant have induced the party to select me ; for I have never been much engaged in political affairs, and am very far from being a demagogue. My friends, however, urge me to accept the nomi- nation, saying that our party will fail if I do not. Well, if I am elected, I will do the best in my power ; but there is the difficulty. Suppose I am defeated. What if I am, though ? it is no disgrace. I will, however, use every honorable means not to be defeated. macaulay's dialogues for young people. 75 Enter Mr. Puff. {aside) One of the committee, I suppose, {aloud) I am happy to see you, sir. Pray be seated. Mr. Puff {speaking rapidly.) Thank you, but can't stay — in a great hurry, you know. I am sent by the committee, to announce your nomination as our candidate for Congress. You have heard of it, no doubt, and are ready to join us. Mr. Markman. I feel highly honored by the choice of our no- ble party, but have really had no time to reflect upon Mr. Puff. 0, you must accept — your friends expect it. Our party will be ruined if you refuse. Mr. Markman. That is a very poor reason for assuming such a great responsibility ; but on the whole I have concluded to accept the nomination, and do the best in my power. Mr. Puff. I am rejoiced to hear it, sir ; allow me to congratu- late you on this event, {they shake hands) Mr. Markman. Thank you ; but we have not yet gained our object. We may lose our election. Mr. Puff. No, indeed, we must not lose it — we shall not lose it ; every wire must be pulled. That is my object in calling upon you this evening. I am to make a great speech in your favor to- morrow night, at the Hall ; and I wish to ascertain some facts in relation to your private history, that I may rouse up the people in your behalf. Mr. Markman {laughing). Ha, ha! Upon my word, Mr. Puff, I think the wisest way will be to say nothing about me ; for very little can be said in praise of a quiet merchant like me, except, indeed, that I have always paid my debts. Mr. Puff. Oh! that wouldn't be a circumstance. We must liave something to shout about, or we shall lose the election. Were you ever a fireman 1 Mr. Markman. Never in my life. Mr. Puff. Did you ever save the life of some poor emigrant's child, by jumping into the water, or, in other words, the briny deep 1 \ % Mr. Markman. Never ; for I never learned to swim. Mr, Puff. Did you never save any body's life, in any manner ? 76 macaulay's dialogues fop. young people. Mr. Markman. Not to my knowledge ; unless an occurrence last night be so called ; but it is not worth mentioning. Mr. Puff (eagerly). Let us hear it, by all means (takes out a memorandum book and pencil.) Mr. Markman. I was riding home from from my office last night, through the darkness and rain, when the carriage suddenly stopped, and the coachman told me that a drunken man had fall- en in the gutter, directly across the road. I ordered him to lift the man up, and call a policeman to take care of him. Had we left him there, he might have drowned j but any person would have done the same thing. Mr. Puff. Never mind that, sir. It was done by your orders, and is a great credit to you. (writes) Friend of the poor ; pro- tects the unfortunate ; raises the poor inebriate from the lowest depths of — of Mr. Markman. Of the gutter. Mr. Puff. Of his degradation. That will make an excitement. But is there nothing warlike about you ? Perhaps you were en- gaged in our glorious struggle for independence. Mr. Markman, How could that be, as I was not born till long after that war ? Mr. Puff. Ah ! true — I forgot. That's very unlucky. I should like to make a revolutionary hero of you. But, perhaps your fa- ther was in that war 7 Mr. Markman. No ; our family did come from England until the war closed. Mr. Puff. What ! were you British 1 How unfortunate ! That will be against you. Mr. Markman. Our family, like your own and many others, came from England ; but how can that make any difference 1 We always liked the Americans, and sided with them — which was one reason why we came here. Mr. Puff. That makes no difference. If your father came from England, it will prejudice the public somewhat against you. Mr. Markman. Then the public is very unreasonable. Mr. Puff. Yes ; but it is very powerful, and we must respect its opinion. Can you not think of some relative who shared in the toil and danger of the Revolution 1 MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 77 Mr. Markman. My grandfather's cousin held the rank of ser- geant among the militia. Mr. Puff. That will do. {writes) Was he wounded 1 Mr. Markman. I heard my grandfather say that his right heel was shattered by foolishly putting out his foot to stop a cannon- ball, which he supposed was nearly spent. Mr. Puff. Good, good ! Of course there is but one way of speaking of that circumstance ; it is a remarkable historical fact. {icrites) Your ancestry poured out their blood like water upon the ensanguined field of — of — what battle was it 1 Mr. Markman. I really don't recollect. Mr. Puff. Well, never mind — upon the ensanguined battle- field will do. Did you not engage in the last war 1 You surely must have been drafted to serve. Mr. Markman. I was ; but I hired a substitute. Mr. Puff. All the same as though you went yourself. Was your substitute in any engagement 1 Mr. Markman. I had the curiosity to make some inquiries about him, and found that he deserted the first time he heard the report of the enemy's musket, and Mr. Puff. Never mind about telling any further — he was in ac- tual service ; it will make a beautiful point in my speech. I wish he had taken a standard ; it would produce a most thrilling effect to wave it over the heads of the people in the Hall. Mr. Markman. I really wish he had taken one. Mr. Puff. We have enough in the military line. I shall make a splendid speech. Good evening, sir ; we shall soon be able to assure you of complete success {they shake hand*: Mr. Markman, I cannot see what you have learned about me to-night to insure success. Pray do not exaggerate my virtues. Mr. Puff. Oh ! no fear of that, {goes out.) Mr. Markman. What nonsense ! I really dread the scene of confusion and intrigue that I must pass through ; but I will pre- serve my own integrity through everything. 78 macatoay's dialogues fob young people. LITTLE BED EIDING-HOOD. GEORCE COOPER. Characters. — Red Riding-Hood ; Her Mother ; The Wolf ; Fairy Queen ; Attendants. DRESSES. Red Riding-Hood. — Scarlet cloak and hood. Her Mother. — Old style woman's dress. The Wolf.— A buffalo robe, and animal's head, if possible. Fairy Queen and Attendants to be dressed in bright colors, as varied as possible. Wands, bearing silver and golden stars, made of pasteboard, are appropriate. If necessary, a curtain may be dropped at the end of each scene. Where the scenery is scanty, imagination must make up the deficiency., SCENE.!.— A Wood. Enter Fairy Queen and her attendants. The Queen takes her seat in the centre of the stage, and Iter attendants range them- selves on each side. Attendants {in concert). Hail, all hail our lovely queen ! Trip it lightly o'er the green ! Come from roses, dewy fair, To her radiant court repair. From the lily's swinging bell, From the deep and ferny dell, Trip it lightly o'er the green, Hail, all hail our lovely queen ! Queen (rising and coming forward). Good subjects, whom we call together here, Unto our mandate every one give ear. I know your loyalty is tried and true, And for your aid this very hour I sue. Know then, that in this forest, deep and wide, A wicked wolf doLh daily, nightly hide, — MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 79 Some truant fairy, from our band estranged, And by my power to a monster changed. To watch his steps, and guard from deadly harm All mortals he may meet, be yours the charm. Now, let me warn you, ere we speed away, A little lady passes here to-day ; Red Riding-Hood, to many fays well known ; Watch o'er her while she treads these pathways lone. Attendants (in concert). Gentle queen, we all obey, Near each mortal we will stay ; And our fairy watch we'll keep When the world is hushed in sleep. Naught shall harm the good of earth, We will watch them from their birth ; Over sea and land we stray, — Gentle queen, we all obey ! Queen. Worthy subjects, fare you well ! For the night is waning fast ; Weave round every heart your spell, Ere the lovely time be past. Give to mortals pleasant dreams, Stay each tear-drop that would fall ; Till the morning's golden beams, Joy and beauty reign with all. Attendants. Gentle queen, we all obey, (as before.) (Tlie Queen retires, followed by attendants.) SCENE II.— A Room. Red Riding-Hood's mother sewing at a table, and little Red Rid- ing-Hood sitting at her feet. Mother. My child, you've said your lessons perfect quite, And all your sums are figured up all right. 80 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. Now, you may have a recess until noon ; The flowers are bright, the meadows are in tune. Bed Riding-Hood. Thank you, mamma, but will you let me go To grandmamma's, she's very sick, you know 1 May I not take her something nice to eat, Some luscious fruit, a pat of butter sweet 1 Mother. I'd like to have you go ; but I'm afraid You'll lose your way, o'er tangled hill and glade ; Then there are gipsies who might steal away My little daughter, if alone she'd stray. Bed Biding-Hood. Oh ! no, mamma, I'll take the best of care When in the woods, and shun all gipsies there. To grandmamma's I'll gayly trot along, And sing to birds and bees my merry song. Mother. Well, you may go ; but do haste quickly back ; Should any harm befall, — alas ! alack ! Your basket is all ready, pretty pet ; My warning I am sure you'll not forget. Bed Biding-Hood. To do what you command, I'll always try, So, mother dear, I bid you sweet good-bye. Bed Riding-Hood puts on her bonnet, and takes up basket. She embraces her mother \ kissing her repeatedly, and they depart in opposite directions. SCENE III.— A Wood. Enter the Wolf, growling. Wolf. I've wandered up and down, but find no prey ; No delicate fat muttons hither stray. MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 81 These gloomy woods the pigs have e'en forsaken ; Should one pop in, I then might save my bacon. My claws are aching for some morsel nice, Ten meals a day for me don't half suffice. I'll growl a bar, your spirits to delight, Tho' " bars '' best known to me " bar" sleep at night. Prowling, howling, up and down, When the moon is in the sky ; While asleep is all the town, Monarch of the woods am I. Nestled in the woolly fold, Tender lambs know when I'm near ; E'en the shepherd's heart so bold Quakes and shakes with nightly fear ! Laughing at each bolt and bar — I'm the king by night, ha ! ha ! Creeping, sleeping, out of sight, In the forest deep and lone, Unto me the day is night ; All these regions round I own. When the sun has gone to rest, Then my lips with joy I smack ; Silver moonlight I love best, Dainty fare I never lack ! Laughing at each bolt and bar — I'm the king by night, ha ! ha ! Hark ! I think I hear a footfall near ; I'll just withdraw until it doth appear. My coat if seen would make folks turn aside, I'll go this way, and hide my ragged hide. {retires up stage.) Enter Red Riding-Hood. Red Riding-Hood. Oh, my ! I'm wearied out, I do declare ; The sun is high — I must be almost there. 82 MACAULAY'S dialogues foe young people. I hope I haven't missed my way ; indeed, These feet of mine must put on greater speed. Wolf {aside). A little girl ! and rosy, fresh and nice ! I'll speak to her, and eat her in a trice ! Red Riding-Hood. Oh, dear ! I thought I heard somebody speak ! I'll wander on, my granny's cot to seek ! Wolf (coming forward). Good morning, little girl ! don't haste away ; Come here to me ; why in such hurry, pray 1 Bed Riding-Hood. Good day, Sir Wolf ; I'm going to grandmamma's ; I had to foot it, for I missed the cars. Wolf. You're going to granny's, hey ; what is your name 1 Red Riding-Hood. " Red Riding-Hood," I'm called, — are you quite tame 1 Wolf. As gentle as a lamb ! (aside) The pretty crieter ! I really haven't got the heart to eat her ! Red Riding-Hood. Well, I must go, for I must be back soon, My ma expects me to return by noon. Wolf. Where does your granny live, my little dear 1 Red Riding-Hood, (aside) He's very civil, tho' his voice is queer ! Where does she live 1 about a mile from here. Wolf. Well, good-bye, for I won't detain ; I hope we both, some day, shall meet again. macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 83 Red Riding- Hood. Good-by ! {aside) I think the fellow's quite polite. There is the cottage yonder, just in sight. {Exit.) Wolf. But I'll these woods and marshes hurry thro', And get to granny's house before you do ! Although there is a river to be met, What do I care 1 My appetite 'twill whet ! 11 Laughing at each bolt and bar, — I'm a king by night, ha ! ha !" (Exit.) Enter the Fairy Queen and her attendants. Queen. 'Twas here I heard their voices ; so away ! Some thro' the woods, some o'er the marshes stray. To that sweet fay who does our bidding best, We promise evermore delightful rest. Fairies. Swift as the silver lightning we are gone ! (Exeunt Fairies.) Queen. Do as I bid ; I'll follow you anon. Oh, I am a fairy queen ; My throne is the greenwood fair ; I follow the birds and bees, I sail thro' the wand'ring air. My heart has no care nor pain, For these only mortals know ; I sleep in the lily's breast, I live in the summer's glow. My days are a lovely dream, My nights are a sweet delight ; I dance on the moonlit sward ; My sceptre is one of might. I watch o'er each mortal need, And charm away weary care ; Wherever I gayly roam, No life is so sweet and fair 1 (Exit.) 84 macaulay's dialogues foe young people, SCENE IV.— A Boom. The Wolf is discovered in bed. Wolf. I've eaten up the granny that was here, A tough old soldier, quite a " granny dear." So now, you see, I'm in the proper mood To finish up with nice Red Riding- Hood, (knock at the door) Hush ! I must imitate the feeble voice Of grandmamma, for that's my only choice, (imitation) Who's that so early knocking at the door 1 Bed Biding- Hood (outside). It's I, dear granny, and I've got a store Of cakes and fruit, and such a dainty pat Of butter mother sent you ; think of that ! Wolf. Come in, my darling, and we both shall sup ; Just pull the bobbin and the latch flies up. Enter Red Riding-Hood. Bed Biding-Hood. Good morning, granny ; why, you're still in bed ! Wolf. Yes, dearie dear, I've such an aching head! Do come and sit down by my side awhile, And sing a song my troubles to beguile. How is your mother, and the cow and chickens 1 This strong east wind has played with me the dickens. Bed Biding-Hood (seated by the bed). What shall I sing you 1 tell me, granny dear. Wolf Oh, anything my rheumatiz to cheer ! Bed Biding-Hood (sings. Air — " Viva la Compagnie"). There was a wee chicken, just out of the shell — Chickery. chickery, chick ! Along with her mother this chicken did dwell — Chickery, chickery, chick! macaulay's dialogues for young people. 85 That good lady told her by night or by day That far from her home she must nevermore stray ; The daughter then promised that she would obey — Chickery, chickery, chick ! One morn, when the mother was out of her sight — Chickery, chickery, chick ! This daughter went out in the greatest delight — Chickery, chickery, chick I She wandered along till she came to a brook, Quite proud at her face in the water to look ; But there sat a frog in a green mossy nook — Chickery, chickery, chick ! " Oh ! you're such a beauty ! " the froggie then said, — Chickery, chickery, chick ! This flattered her so that it quite turned her head, — Chickery, chickery, chick! " You're queen of the birds, and should wear a gold crown ! " Said sly little froggie, " pray on me don't frown ! " She dropped in the brook, and sank down, derry down ! Chickery, chickery, chick! Wolf. You see, my sweet, the chicken got in danger Because from home she liked to be a ranger. Bed Biding-Hood. But, granny love, the fact to me appears, That you have got two such tremendous ears ! Wolf. They're better far for hearing, don't you see 7 They're necessary for a dame like me. Bed Biding-Hood. But, granny love, what staring eyes you've got. What are those good for 1 tell me, granny, what 7 Wolf. Why, they are best to see with, little one, — How chitter-chatter goes my darling's tongue ! SQ macaulay's dialogues for young people Bed Riding-Hood. Then what a voice you have ! you mustn't scold : Wolf. I'm getting hoarse, I've caught a shocking cold I Bed Biding-Hood. Why, granny, you have got such ugly claws ! Wolf. The better these to do my daily " chores." Bed Biding-Hood. Oh, granny ! why your teeth are long and white ! Wolf. The better, girl, to eat with : you I'll bite ! TJie Wolf rises and springs at Red Riding-Hood, who screams and kneels imploringly. Enter the Fairy Queen and her attendants. The Wolf crouches in alarm. Fairy Queen. Hold, monster ! back unto your woodland den ! Within the darkest cave your limbs we'll pen ! What ! would you this bright innocent devour 1 Know we have watched her from her birthday hour. With her dear blood would you your hands imbrue 7 If she were killed what would the children do? Away ! nor let your ugly face be seen ! Go hide your head far from these meadows green. Wolf I go, fair Queen, in manner most emphatic ; Thus easy to escape is most ecstatic i (Growls and exits.) Queen (to Red Riding-Hood, who rises). Arise, sweet girl, whom we have saved from harm ; Still round thy way we weave our mighty charm. Still may thy mem'ry live in glowing story, Thy name still be each child's delight and glory. With dance and song, we'll bear thee to thy home, Then to the hills and valleys we must roam. macaulay's dialogues for young people. 87 Thus may all fairies use each varied charm To shield the good and innocent from harm ! Attendants {in concert). Follow, follow, in delight, "When the earth is silver bright ! Wander to the moon afar, — Look in every golden star ! Rock the birdies in their nest, Chase the sun adown the west. Dance our merry roundelay, — Fairy sisters, now away ! {Exeunt.) AGILITY (Dickens Charade). G. B. BARTLETT. SCENE I. Little Nell, short calico dress, apron, rustic hat. Grandfather, powdered hair, ragged coat, knee-breeches, old white hat, cane. Grandfather, enters, leaning on Nell's shoulder with his left hand, and on a cane with his right. Nell. We have nothing to fear now, dear grandfather. G. Nothing to fear ! Nothing to fear ! If they took me from thee ! Nobody is true to me. No, not one. Not even Nell. Nell. Oh, do not say that, for if ever any one was true at heart, I am sure you know I am. G. Then how can you bear to think we are safe, when they are searching for me everywhere % Nell. Because I am sure we have not been followed. Look around, and see how quiet and still it is ; we are alone together, and may ramble where we like. Not safe ! could I feel easy when any danger threatened you % G. True, true ; what noise was that 1 Nell. Only a bird flying into the wood, and leading the way for us to follow. You remember that we said we would walk in woods and fields, and by the side of rivers, and how happy we would be ; 88 macaulay's dialogues for young people. but here, while the sun shines above our heads, and everything is bright and happy, we are sadly loitering here and losing time. See what a pleasant path. Come on, dear grandpa. SCENE II. Sarah Gamp, enormous bonnet, old black dress, red shawl tied over shoulders. Patient, covered with bed-clothes on a couch, his arms and head in rapid motion, tossing from side to side. Mrs. Gamp sits at a table at her supper, eating ravenously, espec- ially of cucumbers, taking up the vinegar on the blade of her knife. After eating a while she says : What a blessed thing it is, living in a world, to be able to make sick people happy in their beds. I do not belive a finer cucumber was ever growed. I'm sure I never see one. {she then clutches the patient's throat, and makes him swallow the medicine she pours down) I almost forgot the piller, I declare, (she pulls the pillow from under the patients head, and puts it in her chair) There now, he is comfortable as he can be, I am sure, and I'll try to make myself as much so as I can. (she then goes to sleep and is suddenly awakened by a cry from the patient.) Mrs. G. Hold your tongue ! P. Don't drink so much ; don't you see how the sparkling water sinks in the fountain ? Mrs. G. Sparkling, indeed. I'll have a sparkling cup of tea. Just you hold your tougue. P. One — two — Mrs. G. Buckle my shoe. P. Three — four — Mrs. G. Shut the door. P. That makes 522 men all dressed alike. Do you see them 7 Mrs. G. I see them ; all numbered like hackney coaches, ain't they? P. 528— 529— 530— Look here ! Mrs. G. What's the matter now "? P. They are coming, four abreast. What's that upon the arm of each ? Mrs. G S*piders, perhaps. macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 89 P. Crape ! black crape ! Why do they wear it outside 1 Mrs. G. Would you have them weare it inside 1 Hold your noise ! SCENE III. Dolly Varden, red skirt, bright chintz overdress, laced bodice, cap. Sim Tappertit, long, bright waistcoat, knee-breeches. Joe, dark waistcoat, knee-breeches. Sim and Joe at table, waiting for breakfast. Sim gets up, goes to glass. Sim. I tell yer, Joe, there never was a person yet who could stand my eye. I can bring down any one with one of my power- ful glances. I have only to eye them over and they give in at once. Dolly enters with tea-tray and they sit down. Sim twists his face into grotesque contortions, looking lovingly at Dolly. Joe (stops eating and observes Sim). Why, what's the matter with the lad 1 Is he choking 1 Sim. Who? Joe. Who? why, you. What do you mean by making those horrible faces over your breakfast 1 Sim. Faces are matters of taste, sir. Joe. Don't be a fool, Sim. Sim. Fools are matters of taste, sir. Joe. Why, what's the matter, Dolly 1 you are making faces now. The girls are as bad as the boys, now-a-days. Dolly. It is the tea. Joe. Is that alH Put some more milk in it. (Dolly runs out laughing.) Joe. That girl seems bewitched this morning. Sim. It is all the effect of my eye. I eyed her over ; no girl can stand my eye. SCENE IV. Mr. Bumble, high-collared coat, with cape trimmed with red braids cane, cocked hat, knee-breeches. Mrs. Corney, black dress, high cap, white apron, white kerchief. 90 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. JS/ie sits at a smalt, round table with dishes on it, and holds a small, black tea-pot. Mrs. G. Drat the pot ! Stupid little thing, it only holds enough for one or two cups. What use is it to anybody but a poor, des- olate widow like me 1 (knock) Oh, come in with you. Don't stay there letting the cold air in. What's amiss now 7 Mr. B. Nothing, marm, nothing. Mrs. G. Dear me; is that Mr. Bumble 1 Mr. B. At your service, madam. Mrs. G. Hard weather. Mr. B. Hard, indeed, marm. It blows hard enough to cut one's ears off. Mrs. G. Won't you stay and have a cup of tea 7 Mr. B. Oh, thank you, Mrs. Corney, thank you. Mrs. B. Sweet, Mr. Bumble 1 Mr. B. Very sweet, indeed. Mrs. Corney, you have a cat, I see, and kittens too, I declare ! Mrs. G. Oh, yes. I'm so fond of them ; they are so happy, so cheerful, they are quite companions for me. Mr. B. Very nice animals, mum, and so domestic. Mrs. G. Oh, yes ; and so fond of their home, too. Mr. B. The cat or the kitten that could live in the house with you, Mrs. Corney, and not be fond of its home, must be an ass, madam. Mrs. G. Oh, Mr. Bumble ! Mr. B. Yes, it would, and I'd drown it myself with pleasure. Mrs. G. Then you are a cruel man, and very hard-hearted, be- side. Mr. B> Hard-hearted ! Mrs. Corney, are you hard-hearted 1 Mrs. G. What a curious question from a single man ! What can you want to know for 7 Mr. B. Don't tremble, my dear Mrs. Corney. What's the mat- ter ? Mrs. C. Oh, nothing. Only I'm a poor, foolish, weak creetur. Mr. B. Are you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney 1 Mrs. C, We are all weak creeturs. Mr. B. So we are, so we are. This is a very nice apartment, Mrs, Corney. With one more added to it, it would be complete. macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 91 Mrs. C. It would be too much for one, Mr. Bumble. Mr. B. But not too much for two, Mrs. Corney. Does the board furnish you with coals, Mrs. Corney 1 Mrs. G. And candles ! Mr. B. Coals, candles, and house rent free ! Oh, Mrs. Corney, what an angel you are. Compose your feelings, my dear Mrs. Corney, to say the little — little — word yes ! One word more, my blessed angel, when shall it be 1 Mrs. 0. Whenever you please, you irresistible duck ! SCENE V. — The whole word of the Charade. The Savage and the Maiden, from Nicholas Nickleby, to be acted in panto- mime. The Maiden wears a short tarleton dress, covered with gold pa- per, and a wreath of paper roses. The Savage, a red flannel skirt and lands over his shoulders made of red flannel trimmed with many -colored carpet yarns, leg- gins and cap of the same. The savage, becoming ferocious, makes a slide toward the mai- den ; but she avoids him in six twirls, and comes down at end of the last one upon the points of her toes. The savage relents and strokes his face with his right thumb as if struck with admiration for the beauty of the maiden. He thumps his chest and seems desperately in love. The maiden falls asleep on a sloping bank, and the savage leans his left ear on his left hand and nods. He then dances alone ; the maiden wakes, rubs her eyes and also dances alone ; the savage looking on in delight. After which he hands her a rose, which she at first refuses, and then accepts. The savage jumps for joy, the maiden follows suit, and both dance violently together, and finally he drops on one knee and the mai- den stands on one foot upon his other knee. 92 macatoay's pialqotes for young people, SEVEN. [For seven little girls and the class.] 1. Strike ends of the fingers npon the desk. 2. Point to the heavens. 3. Move right hand in an arch from right to left. 4. Clasp hands. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven ! 1 Count the lovely arch of heaven. 2 Seven bright colors make the bow,3 Brightest, fairest things I know,2 See the rainbow in the heaven ! 2 One, two, three, four, five, six seven ! 1 Concert Recitation. — And God said, I do set my bow in the cloud. — Gen. ix. 13. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! 1 Hear the promise God hath given A Seven troubles I may see, But the Lord will care for me ! Hear the promise he hath given : One, two, three, four, five, six, seven ! 1 Concert Recitation. — He shall deliver thee in six troubles ; yea, in seven there shall no evil touch thee. — Job v. 19. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven ! 1 Nightly go across the heaven,3 Seven bright stars, the Pleiades ;2 And the Lord created these,4 Nightly go across the heaven, 3 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven ! 1 Concert Recitation. — Seek Him that maketh the seven stars, and Orion. The Lord is His name. — Amos v. 8. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven ! 1 Hear the rule by Jesus given ;3 Law of kindness, teaching me That forgiving I must be. Hear the rule by Jesus given, 2 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.l Concert Relation. —\i thy brother trespass against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again to thee saying, I repent ; thou shalt forgive him.— Luke xvii, 4. macaulay's dialogues fob young people, 93 LOVE OP OOUNTEY. [For three boys, John, James and Henry.] John. I have been thinking, boys, what a glorious thing it is to lay down one's life for the flag. James. Why, you are in a patriotic mood this morning. Henry. A glorious thing indeed ! Look at young Charles Stan- ford, who came home from the war with one leg and an arm. Who cares for him now 1 John. Who cares for himl Has he not the consciousness of knowing that he offered his life in the defence of the nation 1 James. Yes, and what has his country done for him in return for what he sacrificed 1 Henry. I think all this talk about the flag and the nation bosh ! John. Bosh! I am ashamed of you! Whose heart does not leap up at the sight of our national emblem streaming in triumph up in yonder sky % Go ask the wanderer in a foreign land how he feels to see his native flag floating from the mast of some good ship. Bosh, indeed! James. Why, you would make an excellent stump-speaker. Henry. I'd rather stay at home, and not run the risk of losing an arm or a leg. John. And I would glory to surrender both to save my country ! Have you ever heard The Incident of the French Camp 1 Henry. No ! James. Give it to us, General. John. I will, and may it stir some patriotism in your breasts. (declaims) You know we French stormed Eatisbon : A mile or so away, On a little mound Napoleon Stood on our storming day ; 94 MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOE TOUNG PEOPLE. With neck out-thrust — you fancy how — Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow, Oppressive with its mind. Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army-leader, Lannes, Waver at yonder wall," — Out 'twixt the battery smoke there flew A rider, bound on bound, Full gallopping ; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. Then off there flung in careless joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy ; You hardly could suspect (So tight he kept his lips compressed Scarce any blood came thro') — You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. " Well," cried he, " Emperor ! by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon ! The marshal's in the market-place, And you'll be there anon, To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him !" The child's eye flashed ; his plans Soared up again like fire ! The chief's eye flashed ; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes : MACAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 95 " You're wounded !" " Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said : "I'm killed, sire ! " and his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead ! Henry. Bravo ! James. I do feel more patriotic. John. Was not that a glorious death 1 Let us give three cheers for the dear old flag of our country ! AIL Hip ! hip ! hurrah ! {Exeunt.) TEUE TO HIS COLOKS. [For two boys, John and Henry.] John. How cold it is — ugh ! How cold ! And I haven't a cent to buy something to eat with. I am sure I don't see how mother and I are to get through the long winter. It is only December now ; and three or four long dreary months must pass before we can look for anything like moderate weather again. Dear me ! dear me ! how I wish I could get money in some way or another ! Now if I could only find some sort of employment, I'd be willing to work ; but that is out of the question. I've tried and. tried and tried ; but it's all in vain. No one wants me, and no -one cares for or believes a word of my story. I am too shabby to be re- spectable, they think ; they have all provided for themselves. It's hard, hard, hard ! Then I have a mother depending upon me. How can I see her suffer 1 To be sure I am offered a situation if I will denounce the stars and stripes, and deny my principles. But I shall not ! Never ! My dear mother would not allow me to do that. I would rather die first. Here in my breast have I carried this bright emblem of our country, {shows flag) and I shall never, never deny it. Woe unto those who would trail it in the dust! {sees a purse on the ground) Why, what is this 7 {picks it up) A purse, as I am alive ! How fortunate ! How lucky I was to see it ! Surely kind Providence watches over me. How much 96 macaulay's dialogues for young people. is there in it 1 Whew ! A tremend — Ha ! there comes some one. I'll hide it. I'll — no ; there's no one. It was but the wind. Dear me ! how frightened I am ! My nerves are all of a tremble. I quake and start at every noise. My head swims. Let me have another look. What a great roll of bills ! I'll count them. Mother, dear mother, you are saved. Ah ! One, two, three, four five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. Dear, dear, this is getting exciting. Twelve, thirteen — oh, my ! — fourteen, fifteen — fifteen hundred dollars ! What a fortune ! Mother will be a grand lady yet! Fifteen hundred dollars ! But have I a right to keep if? Is it mine 1 Ought I not to hunt out the real owner and return him the money 1 Pshaw ! what nonsense ! Of course I ought not. In spite of the temptation, I will stick to my colors and do the right. Ah ! there is some one, in good earnest. Where can I hide the money 1 Dear me, I hope he won't notice me, I am so confused ! Enter Henry. Henry (aside). Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! What shall I do 1 I am afraid I shan't be able to find it at all. I have been to so many places this morning that I really can't remember them all ; and nobody I have spoken with has seen it. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! What shall I do 1 Ah, here is some one ; he may have seen it. My good man, have you seen anything like a purse lying any- where in, the street] I have lost mine; and — and — No; I see you haveii&lrom your face. I John (aside). What shall I say 1 If I give it up I must lose all. If I keep it mother and I need never want. Oh, what shall I say ] What shall I do ) (aloud) N-no, sir; I — I — have not seen your purse, (aside) Oh, why did I not tell the truth 1 I wish — But it is too late now ! Too late ! (aloud) I am very sorry for you, I assure you, sir ; but I have not seen it. Henry. Then I am lost ! lost ! It was my earnings on my last cruise on board of a man-o'-war. Prize money and all. All was earned in the service of Uncle Sam. Every cent I could get I added to my little store ; and it was with joy that I watched the sum increasing day by day in hope that some time — But no, no ! it's all gone now — all gone now ! Poor mother ! poor mother ! macaulay's dialogues for young people. 97 John {aside). I can no longer conceal my deceit. I must tell him, let the consequences be what they may. Oh. sir, forgive me ! I have deceived you. I have told you a falsehood ! I did find the money ; and God forgive me for not resisting the temptation sooner. I intended to keep it. I am a poor man, sir ; it was a great temptation ; hut God be praised, I have conquered at last ! I will be true to my colors ! Here is your purse ; take it ! I have wronged you ! Will you not forgive me 1 Henry. What do I hear? My money? Thank God! thank God ! Forgive you 7 Sir, you are a noble man ! Forgive you 1 boy, heartily do I. It was indeed a great temptation, but you re- sisted it ; and — But will you not let me know your name ? John. Do not ask me, I beseech you. Henry. Surely you have no reason to be ashamed of it. John. John Sedley is my name. Henry. John Sedley ! Surely my ears deceive me ! John Sedley ! Why, then you are my own cousin ! I have been away fighting for the flag for four years. No wonder I didn't know you before. John. Is it so indeed % Then once again I thank God for this temptation resisted ; and I shall ever have faith in my motto : Stick to vour colors through all temptations ! {Exeunt.) THE AEMY AND H AYT. [For two boys and a number of girls.] Enter a boy dressed in a soldier's uniform, bearing the American flag. If possible the Star-Spangled Banner or any other national air should precede his entrance. Army. 'Tis mine to bear these stripes and stars Amid our country's glorious wars ! 'Tis mine to guard her sacred rights ; To bear her fame my heart delights. y» MACAULAY S DIALOGUES TOR YOUNG PEOPLE. What noble names have graced her cause ! With deeds that won the world's applause 1 Go back with me and count again The names inscribed on history's fane. Brave Warren — hear his last reply : " 'Tis sweet for native land to die ! " Then hearken to the words of Hale (Beneath his glance the tyrants quail !) " 'Tis my regret that I can give But one life that this flag may live ! *" Last, but not least, in glory won, Behold the name of Washington ! Equal in war as well as peace, His hallowed fame shall never cease. His name inspires to noble deeds, His lesson now each patriot heeds. The army be my love and pride ; I'd fall this glorious flag beside ! Enter a boy dressed in sailor costume, bearing the flag, and pre- ceded by a national air as before. Navy. Beneath this flag of stars so true I wander o'er the waters blue ! 'Tis mine our commerce great to guard, And o'er our shores keep watch and ward. What noble names are here enshrined, What deeds of glory here we find ! Columbia's march is o'er the sea, Dear flag, our hopes we place in thee ! Within my ears I hear once more, Amid the din of cannon's roar, Brave Lawrence, as he bids his men Go rally for the fight again ! I hear him speak with blood-stained lip, " Fight on ! Oh, don't give up the ship ! " Such words as these the heart inspire, And re-illume proud Freedom's fire ! MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOE YOUNG PEOPLE. 99 How many's dying gaze hath set Upon thy folds, with no regret, Save that their hands could strike no more The blow that would thy life restore ! My heart and hand I give to thee, Flag of the land and of the sea ! Army, First in the van the soldier stands, The sailor next, I own ! Navy. To go where'er this flag commands The sailor's first, alone ! Army. Who guards the people's sacred rights When battle's call is loud 1 Navy. Who o'er the howling billow fights When rises battle's cloud 1 Army, ! Tis I protect the homes of all From tyrants far and near. Navy. You on the land, I on the sea — That from their grasp I clear. Army. When drums awake, then sword in hand I march to join the fray, Where come the bold insulting foe In battle's stern array ! Navy. When piped to action, who so brave As he, the sailor true 7 He sweeps the bounding wave to save The red, the white, the blue ! Army. The army first, I hold it true ! Navy. No ! no ! the navy first ! Enter a girl dressed as the Goddess of Liberty, Liberty. Hold, boys in blue ! What means this cry of first or last 1 I heard both, as this way I passed. My sons are you, in word and deed, Allow me, pray, to intercede, And stop this quarrel here begun, I hope you only meant in fun. I 100 macaulay's dialogues fob young people. You both have equal been to me, One on the land, one on the sea. 'Twas you that won my worthy cause, 'Twas you that first maintained my laws. To you I owe my life and breath, You rescued me from wreck and death. When first I called upon you both, Each flew to guard me, nothing loth. The names you honor I place high Beneath the dome of Freedom's sky ! My hands were weak, when first assailed, To do my work ye never failed. Thro' suffering and pain and woe, Thro' summer's sun and winter's snow, Ye overthrew the tyrants foul, And gave the pangs of war release ; Bringing to me, from land and sea, The heavenly olive branch of Peace ; Thro' you the silver stars here strewn, Have, one by one, in numbers grown. Behold the States, in proud array appear, Each State is symboled by the bright stars here. {pointing to the flag.) Enter a number of girls, each representing a State in the Union. Each one may bear a small banner bearing the name of the State she represents. The girls march and countermarch, then form on each side of the platform. If possible some patri- otic march should be played. Army. See what a proud array in Union bound ! Navy. All, all with peace and golden plenty crowned ! Liberty. Thirteen was all, when first your might was shown ; Behold to what a number they have grown ! Enter Columbia. Columbia. All here, my children, as I see, — I bid you welcome, sweet, sweet Liberty. (Liberty and Columbia shake hands.) MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 101 Without your smiles these States had never thrived, See how they now are blest ! how each has strived. There's little Rhody by the great New York. My family is large ! Here now you see North, South, and East, And West, — all neath my charge. Do you remember when I sought your aid To help me in the strife that tyrants made 1 Columbia. I do ; and these I gave {pointing to Army a?i^NAYY) to nobly fight, And win for you the battle for the Right ! Forever may they stand, united still, With earnest zeal to proudly do your will. The ooe on land to guard the homes we love, The one on sea, o'er billows wild to rove. United still, oh, may they ever be, To fight the battles of the brave and free ! AU join in singing this stanza to the air of " Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.'" We pledge them our love and devotion, Our Army and Navy so grand ; The one is the pride of the ocean, The other the boast of the land. May the service united ne'er sever, But always to their colors prove true, The Army and Navy forever, — Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue ! Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue ! Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue ! The Army and Navy for ever. — Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue ! {Exeunt omnes.) 102 macaelay's dialogues fob young people. SHALL OUE MOTHERS VOTE ? Characters. — John Ready, James Rose, Tom Slowboy, Sam Sly, Frank Wilson, Charley Boardman, Frank Black {col- ored), Isaac Pearl, Percy Kimball, Norval Young, Mike Shea. John Ready enters, followed by Slowboy. Beady. Treasury entirely empty, you say, Slowboy 1 Slowboy. Not a dollar, not the minutest particle of scrip, not even that very small specimen of hard money, a nickel. Heady. Where has it gone 1 It was only a month ago we col- lected the annual assessment. Stoivboy. And it was only last week we had our great debate on " The Influence of Peace," in which our members became so much interested that four panes of glass were broken, the look- ing-glass smashed, one chair received a broken back, and another received a compound fracture of one of its legs. Of course all these little eccentricities of genius must be paid for; and the treasury is empty. If this is one of the influences of peace, we had better change the subject. Ready. The members were a little emphatic on that occasion ; but it was a glorious debate; and the question, " Resolved, that Peace is the foundation of prosperity," was carried before we broke up. Slowboy. Yes ; and 'twas the peace party broke up the furni- ture, and smashed the windows. Ready. Ah, Slowboy, I fear you bear malice ; for you, if I rec- ollect aright, were one of the war party. Slowboy. My voice is still for war. Ready. We must find some way to fill the treasury. I fear the members will not stand taxation. Slowboy. With the storied memories of their plucky forefathers before them in this centennial year, I should say not a cent. It MACAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 103 must be raised by fines. The peace party have carried the day. Let us have peace. Ready. I do not understand you. Slowboy. My plan is very simple. We are constantly inter- rupted in debate. There's that Sam Sly, for instance. Hereto- fore you have tried to suppress the interruption with the remark, "The gentleman is out of order!" Whereupon the gentleman subsides until he feels like breaking out again. And they do break out often, especially Sam. Now, I propose to fine a mem- ber for each and every interruption five cents. Some of them will find it impossible to keep quiet, and our treasury will fill rapidly. Ready. That's quite an idea, if it can only be made to work. Slowboy. I think it can. And if we succeed Sam Sly will pay dear for this night's debate. Ready. Sam Sly again. Slowboy, I fear you are malicious. Sly is one of our best debaters ; and because you do not agree on all points Slowboy [angrily). We agree on no point. He's a saucy, con- ceited chap that's forever interrupting. I never attempted to de- claim in school but what he was at my elbow with his insult- ing Sly {who has entered, stands at Slowboy' s elbow). Charcoal ! Slowboy. Oh. confound you, here you are. Sly. Yes, here I am, Slowboy, ready to be confounded, if not convinced, by your arguments against mother suffrage. Good evening, Mr. President, (to Ready.) Ready. Good evening, Sam. Are the boys coming ? Sly. Yes, sir, close at hand. ' c All saddled, all bridled, all fit for the fight." (they retire up.) Enter Isaac Pearl and Frank Wilson. Isaac. Lew Bunker caught him out on the fly. Frank. Ah ! what did he say to that 7 (they pass to the left and ichisper.) Enter Percy Kimball and Charley Boardman. Percy, Does your mother know you're out 1 104 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. Charley. He said that, did he 1 {they pass to left and ichisper.) Enter Norval Young and Mike Shea, followed by Frank Black. Norval {speaking as they enter). Well done, brave archer. Mike. He was out on the fly. Black. Out on de fly ! Away wid yer nonsense. Dat are Bunker can't fly — ain't got de wings. Ready {takes chair, and raps on table). The meeting will please come to order, {all sit) In the absence of our secretary, with the minutes, it will be necessary James Rose {outside). Hold on a minute. Here I am. Enter Rose. Slowboy. Seems to me the secretary is behind time. He should be fined. (Rose drops the book and stoops to pick it up.) Sly. Don't you see he is picking up the minutes he has lost 1 Slowboy. Puns should be fined. Ready. Order, gentlemen. The first business in order is the reading of records of the last meeting. Sly {jumping up). I move, Mr. President, the reading be dis- pensed with, {sits.) Slowboy {jumping up). Mr. President, I hope the motion will not prevail, {sits.) Sly {rising). Mr. President, the records of our regular were read at our last special, when we voted to adjourn immediately after the reading. I don't see any necessity of reading them again, unless the gentleman who objects was unable to understand them at the last meeting, {sits.) Slowboy {jumping up). Mr. President, does Sam Sly mean Ready {rapping). The gentleman is out of order. The calling of names is unparliamentary. Is the motion to omit the reading seconded 1 Frank. Second the motion. Sly. Question ! Slowboy. Mr. President All {except Slowboy, president, and secretary). Question ! question ! Black. Question afore de meetin' house. macaulay's dialogues foe young peoele. 105 Mike. Oh, hush your pate ! Ready. It is moved and seconded that the reading of the rec- ords be dispensed with. All those in favor will manifest it by the usual sign, (all raise hands except Slowboy) Contrary minded. (Slowboy' s hand up) It is a vote. Black (to Mike). Dat are fellow's just like a mule. Mike. Always kicking up. Slowboy. Mr. President, in view of the many interruptions by which the more orderly have been made to suffer, and in conse- quence of the low state of our treasury, I move, sir, that during our deliberations and discussions this evening any member inter- rupting another during the progress of debate, shall be fined for each and every offence the sum of five cents, (sits. All groan.) Sly {rising). Mr. President, although I seldom agree with the views of the gentleman, yet I am willing. Several. Question ! question ! Beady. The question is called for. Those in favor of the mo- tion will manifest it. (all hands up) Carried. We will now pro- ceed with the debate, (reads) " Resolved, that the good of man- kind, the purity of the ballot-box, and the interest of society de- mand that our mothers shall vote." Mr. Isaac Pearl will open in the affirmative, Mr. Percy Kimball in the negative, (sits.) Pearl. Mr. President, this is the age of progress, and I think the literary debaters of this society in the selection of the resolu- tion on which I have the honor to speak in the affirmative here, have shown a commendable spirit of enterprise, which will be rewarded by the grateful plaudits of a ransomed nation, when woman, granted her rights, shall wield with man an equal power in the government of this enlightened community, (cries of "Good! good!") Slowboy. Fines ! fines ! Mr. President, this is out of order. Put down Sly and Heady. Order! Pearl. And who should have the first place in the march of reform 1 Who are best fitted to have a voice in the government ^ Who are heaven-born electors 7 Our mothers, sir. Is not their first duty government 1 Who have governed the greatest men that ever lived'? Mothers. They teach our infant lips the Ian- 106 MACAULAY's dialogues for young people. guage of our country. They lead our infant steps in the path of duty. Give them the ballot, and their influence will make better laws. Give them the ballot, and the ward-room and the election- boxes will be cleansed of corruption. Give them the ballot, and society will be an ever-changing spectacle of wrongs crushed out, and reforms working goodness, purity, and peace, while justice, exalted to the highest place, shall ever crown the earnest worker with the laurels of victory ! (cries of " Good ! " Pearl sits.) Blade (to Mike). Dat's so. It jes takes de bullets to crush de spe'tacles, an — an Mike. Whist yer blarney. Ye's on the other side. Heady. Mr. Percy Kimball has the floor. Percy (rising). Mr. President and gentlemen, are we prepared to accept the views of the gentleman who has preceded me, and forever submit to petticoat government ? He has spoken elo- quently, I admit ; but, sir, truth is above the rapid utterances of an impassioned harangue, which, I doubt not, has been compiled from all the speeches of the last fifty years. What are we to be forever tied to our mothers 1 are we to give up our coats and beavers 1 (cries of " Good ! "from speakers on negative side.) Sly (rising). Mr. President Slowboy (jumping up). An interruption ! fine him. Mr. Sec- retary, put down Sam Sly five cents. Sly. Mr. President, I rise to a point of order. Beady. State your point, Mr. Sly. Sly. The gentleman who has the floor has introduced such wild fashions — strifF- crowned coats and long-tailed beavers — as to seri- ously affect the aspect of the question. I respectfully ask that he stick to the question. Sly (rising). Mr. President, sir ; I should be ungrateful to the mother that bore me did I not pronounce her worthy to stand forth, clothed with the right to raise her voice and cast her vote in the government of our glorious land. What has man accom- plished for the good of mankind, the purity of the ballot-box, and the welfare of society, that women, and, foremost of all, our mo- thers, could not accomplish, but give them the opportunity'? What have they not done already 1 Ask the millions of heroes who fought and bled for freedom where they caught their first macaulay's dialogues for young people. 107 inspiration. They will tell you at their mother's knee. Ask the free and enlightened voter who taught him. to carefully probe political qnestions, and pluck the wheat from the chaff. He will tell you 'twas a wife's, a mother's, or a sister's influence. Can anj r work prosper without their aid ? Is not society purified by their presence 1 Are they not in this movement gathering to their aid the eloquence and energy of the best and noblest of men? Be just! Be generous! Stand by the mothers who always stand by us ; who guard and guide and teach us. We knew none better in our youth ; we can choose none better when we reach the summit of a boy's ambition — the right to vote ! (sits. Applause.) Sloicboy. I move we vote on the merits of the question. Sly. Second the motion. Ready. All in favor of adopting the resolution will manifest it in the usual manner, (all but those icho speak in the negative hold up hands) Contrary minded, (negative vote) It is a vote. Black. Say, Mike, was she guilty or not guilty 1 Mike. Oh, whist your blarney. Sloicboy. Mr. President, I'd like to have the secretary read the list of fines. Rose {reads). Mike Shea five cents ; Tom Slowboy forty cents. Sloicboy. Just my luck. Sly. Mr. President, I move we now adjourn. Boardman. Second the motion. Ready. Carried. (Exeunt all.) THE OLD FLAG. Characters. — John, William, and George. Enter the three boys, all carrying flags, William (sing or speak). Lift the flag, and join the song, One united nation ; Union now, and evermore, Hear it all creation. 108 MACAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. Wave the starry banner high ; Strike our colors, never, Here we stand to live or die, The stripes and stars forever. John. Isn't it a beautiful flag, boys ! We have a chart of the flags of all nations at home, but I think none can equal our dear star-spangled banner. William. Always beautiful — always graceful. I wonder when it was first used \ George. It was ordered by Congress, June 14, 1777, " That the flag of the thirteen United States be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white ; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation ;" but it was not used until the surrender of Burgoyne, in October of the same year. John. Hurrah! Baptized in victory over the tyrant. What wonder wherever it waves freedom is triumphant 1 William. Had we no flag before that, George 1 George. Of course. Previous to the passage of the stamp act, the ordinary English ensign was used. The first distinct one I know anything about was m the year 1775. It bore the inscrip- tion, " George Rex, and the liberties of America." John. Rather a contradiction, that. George. Fou know that the colonies were not united at that time. The newspapers of the day were headed with a curious em- blem, to show the necessity of union. William. What was it ] I never heard of it. George. A rattlesnake, divided into thirteen parts, with the motto, "Join, or die.'' After the union of the colonies it was changed into a snake about to strike. John. How curious George. Paul Jones adopted the rattlesnake on a yellow field, with the motto, ' Don't tread on me," for a flag for his fleet. But, before he sailed, George Washington had assumed command of the young army of the colonies ; and on the first of January, 1776, flung to the breeze, on Boston Heights, the flag known as the great Union. William. Was that our glorious Stars and Stripes ? MAOAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOB YOUNG PEOPLE. 109 George. The stripes, but not the stars. In their place were the crosses of St. Andrew and St. George. John. I should not have thought that Washington would have tolerated anything so British. George. You must remember that we were then British sub- jects. After our fathers so gallantly threw off the yoke of the tyrant, those emblems were no longer appropriate, and the stars and stripes were adopted. William. I wonder how, in those prosaic times, they ever came to do anything so romantic as to Stripe its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light. George. The flag used by the army was red, and that by the navy white ; and I suppose they united the two. John. Good ! Union ever seemed to be their motto, even in comparatively little things. William. Well, they could not have a better, for it has been gloriously proved that in "union there is strength." ' John. Yes. United we stand, and divided we fall, Has made and preserved us a nation, and has nearly quadrupled the galaxy of stars on the flag, which now I shall love more dearly than ever from having gained so much information about it. William. By-the-bye, it was a good idea that of adding a star for every new State. I wonder they did not add a stripe too. George. That was the original idea. John. Why was it not carried out 1 George. In 1794, after Vermont and Kentucky had been admit- ted into the Union, the flag was changed to fifteen stripes and fifteen stars, and remained so until 1818, although five or six new States had been added. William. I suppose they did not anticipate the addition of so many stripes, and it would have made our flag too large 1 George. -Yes ; but that was not the reason. They wished to recall the past, and recognize the original thirteen States which 110 macaulay's dialogues for young people. had gained our independence, and at the same time to show the progress which the infant republic had made since then. John. And the result is our gallant banner. Who would not rally round such a flag 1 I feel as though I should like to give a hearty three times three for it. William. How could any one dishonor it 1 It makes my blood boil to think of its ever having been trampled in the dust. George. It is known and honored all over the world, from the north pole to the south — from the rising to the setting sun. And it is known, not as the flag of Massachusetts, New York or South Carolina, but as the American standard. It is an emblem, not of the growth of cotton or corn, or the development of iron, but of a gigantic strength — of unparalleled resources, of unexampled ac- tivity, of an undying progress, which knows neither North. South, East, or West, but where each is swallowed up in the great whole — the one nation of many States — the Union. William. How it must make one's heart swell to behold it, after having long been denied the sight. John. I have heard some who were long prisoners of war away from home describe, in the most touching language, their feelings when they again beheld it. George. Yes ; it is no longer a mere piece of bunting, but it is fraught with sacred memories of all that they -hold most dear, and is an earnest of friends, and home, and country. William (waving his flag). Vainly the prophets of Baal had rended it, Vainly his worshippers prayed for its fall, Thousands have died for it, millions defended it, Emblem of justice and mercy to all. But I pray that from this time forth forevermore, it may indeed be a symbol of unity, and that no more blood of martyrs may be needed to hallow its memory or defend its purity. George With all my heart I echo the wish that never more shall national sins need to be washed out in national blood. I believe we are God's nation. Our free institutions proclaim it — our free religion proclaims it ; but there are several remarkable macaulay's dialogues for young people. Ill coincidences. Did it never strike you that our old flag was sig- nificant of this ] John. How do you make that out 1 George. The red, white and blue are typical colors we meet with all through the Bible. The red, the blood of the Lamb, slain for our ransom ; the white, the garments of the glorified saints ; the blue, the firmament which his hand has spread over us. to con- ceal the glories which await the final victor. William. Or take them in their figurative sense. The love of God toward his people and the purity and devotion which he re- quires of them. John. Bravo ! Will. I'll have to help you out, too. My little brother asked mother, the other day, whether the big star in the middle of the union was not the same one that led the shepherds to where the baby Jesus lay ; and whether all the little stars were not going there too. George. That's not a bad idea. If we place Jesus in our midst for a leader, and gather round Him, the country will be safe enough. William. Do not the stripes represent the chastisement which has been inflicted on us, wherewith we are healed ; and the stars show the final brightness to which we shall attain ] John. You are coming rapidly on, Will. William. I hope so, for I have made up my mind to endeavor, by serving this Captain with all my heart, to be ready to serve my country, should any peril threaten her, when manhood brings the proper strength. George. Did all do so we would find that, even as God delivered Israel from the Red Sea, guided them by the white cloud, or She- kinah, through the dreary wilderness to the blue waters of the Jordan, so would he deliver us from all peril, guide the ship of state safely over the troubled waters of party politics, and bring her at last, tried and strengthened, to a place at the head of the nations. John. I see now that without purity and devotion to God mere love to our country will not make us truly brave. George. No ; but we can unite these j and even as we are com- 112 macaulay's dialogues fob young people manded to have " One Lord, one faith, one baptism," so may we have " One people, one constitution, and one flag." William. Flag of the free heart's hope and home, By angel hands to valor given, Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven ! Forever float that standard sheet Where breathes the foe that falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! 1776-1876. [For two girls.] [Try and dress en costume of the period. A full dress of the old Revolu- tionary period would be an oddity.] Enter 76. advancing to the front of the stage. 1876 follows at a little distance, when 76, turning and catching sight of 7ier, exclaims : 1776. Laws me ! What horrible-looking creetur's this ? 1876. Horrible looking, indeed ! What a blessing some folks can't see themselves as others see them. Such a want of style ! (looking 76 all over) such ignorance of fashion ! and I do think our present modes are perfectly lovely ! {inspecting Iter own dress generally) Why, you poor old fossil, what are you doing here % , 1776. Doin' \ why, lookin' round, to be sure ; it runs in our blood to want to be lookin' round. Ever sence an old ancestor of mine took a twenty years' sleep, and waked up to find the whole airth turned topsy-turvy, some of us has come back every few years to find how things is goin' on. I'm mistress Rip Van Winkle, mum. {jerking a low courtesy.) 1876. Mrs. Rip Van Winkle ! Ah ! I didn't know such a trou- blesome habit ran in your family. 1776. Didn't know ! Thank fortin' there's somethin' 1876 don't MACAULAX's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 113 know. Here I've been wanderin' east, west, north, and south, lookin' on and sighin' over the times runnin' back'ard so, but never till now have I met man. woman, or child that owned up there was any thin' on this universe they didn't know. Young woman, I've hopes of you ! But be you young 1 1876. Young I Don't you perceive I am 1 What do you ask such a question as that for 7 1776. 'Cause, between the isrtts and the ought-to-be 1 s, I'm all mixed up. I've followed gay-looking young creeturs, with their doll's bonnets on their top hairs, and a long curl hangin' over their shoulders, pretty near the same color as their hair, and I've thought, " "Well, that gal's mother has taken a deal of pains to rig her out, sure! only it's a pity she's run off with her sister's gownd on, two or three yards too long;" when, lo and behold! she'd turn, and if her face wasn't forty or fifty, it ought to be ! Laws ! in my day children used to make believe they was growd folks, but growd folks didn't play they was children. We spun and wove, and kept the wolf from the door, and the Indians too, while our men fought for a free home. We didn't keep our hair in a box, and put it on arternoons, and try to pass off for sweet sixteen. So look er here, be you young % 1876. Dear me ! how excruciating to one's auricular organs to hear such ungrammatical language ! Don't you know it is not proper to say "be you " 1 1776. Yes, there you go ag'in. Sich talkin' ! Why, half the time I don't know what new-fangled tongue people's got. Some- body says to me, " When did you arrive 1 " I didn't arrive at all ; I come. Why couldn't they ask me straight ] ' : How is your marmV'I said. '-Well, she's convalescing." "Conva — what] dear me ! is it ketchin' 1 " says I. Do you think, the woman was just a-gittin' well, and that child didn't know how to tell it. " Where's your dad ] " says I to the 'pot'cary's boy. " He's en- gaged in a consultation, ma'am." Land alive ! didn't I pity the poor creetur that had to have that done to him 1 And after all he just meant his father was a-talkin' with another man. 1876. You seem to be entirely oblivious to the extraordinary progress of the age. Philology has become a popular science, and language improves proportionately. 114 macaulay's dialogues for young people. 1776. Dear suz ! don't it kinder make your mouth ache to say all that? I don't calkerlate on understandin' it, no mor'n I do that thing the lightnin' travels on. 1876. The telegraph I presume you refer to. 1776. The tell-a-lie'd be nearer it. Maybe I'll give in you've got some new things ; but no airthly power'll ever make me be- lieve a body at one end of a string can hear what's said at t'other, three miles off. 1876. I don't think you understand the principle. 1776. No, there can't be no principle to people who go on so. Why, when I was a gal, I had my picter painted — took a man three weeks, and used a power of paint ; and here to-day some onprincipled feller told me to set down, and he'd do my likeness in five minutes, and never do a livin' thing himself but walk round the room with a watch in his hand. 1876. Did you comply with his request 1 1776. Comply ! I guess I didn't ! I jest sot right down and waited till he'd fixed up a little brass cannon and p'inted it at me, and then I left. I said I'd be shot if I staid. 1876. Excuse me, but we call such expressions as that " slang." 1776. Slang! I didn't say "slang," I said "shot," and meant it, too. I allers say what I mean. I never put on no airs. Some of the girls in my time — you know there's fools in every age — when they was goin' out to tea, used to think 'twas pretty to lisp ; so they'd keep sayin',/' thsoft thsoap, thsoft thsoap," to get their tongues right ; but I didn't. I never soft soaped nobody, to my knowin'. 1876. Then you couldn't have taken much interest in the po- litical partisans of the day, or you'd found abundant need of saponaceous literature. 1776. My ! that's poetry, isn't it? I can't say I ever took to that much. I tried once to make a verse, and the first line ended with pilgrim. I tried four weeks to find a rhyme, and couldn't think of anything but Uncle Jim, and I didn't want him in, so I had to give it up. 1876. Women were not so universally blue stockings then as now ? •• MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 115 1776. Well, no ; we wore gray mostly — sometimes white, Sun- days. 1876. I mean, women did not write as they do nowadays. 1776 Well, I dunno ; there's a difference in hands. Mostly they could write their names pretty fair. 1876. Dear me ! there's no such thing as making such an ante- diluvian petrifaction understand. I mean, women did not com- pose books and have them published as they do now. 1776.: Laws ! I guess they'd been put in the pillory for any- thing half so disgraceful. Why, our minister writ a book. 'Twas the greatest thing ! You couldn't sense a bit of it ; and I guess no woman'd 'a' dared say she was equal to that in them days. 1876. Man's fancied superiority, I am happy to say, is giving way before woman's assertion of equal rights. 1776 Equal rights ! Why, I believe in that. I believe a wo- man has just as much right to be a woman as a man has to be a man. I believe a woman has just as much right to mind her Bible and obey her husband as he has to mind his and honor her. I don t see what more you want. 1876. More ! Pretty equal rights that would be ! But with your old-fashioned notions you cannot be expected to understand the sirides of an age that has progress written on its banners, and claims for women just the same privileges it does for men. 1776. Oh, that's what it means, is it ] I saw an old flag as I came along with "Woman's Rights " and "Woman's Votes " on it, but I thought 'twas some new kind of riggin' they had to sell. I didn't s'pose it meant womenkind votin'. 1876. Well, it did mean just that. If a woman hasn't as good a right to vote as a man, I d like to know the reason. 1776. Should you, dear 1 I'm sorry I can't tell you; but this 'ere progress is gittin' too much for my head altogether. I dunno any reason, 'cept it'll take an awful time to git through votin' when that day comes. 1876. I don't know why it should. 1776. Why, you see, things'll git to that pitch a woman'll want her say first — 'twouldn't be havin' her rights if she didn't — so he'll have to stay home and 'tend the babies while she goes to the polls. Then she'll jest run into the neighbor's for a minit — that s 116 MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE half a day, you know ; and when his turn comes he'll get to ar- gufyin' on the nashunal debt, and that'll take up t'other half. And there'll be Bridget goin' on like old Ireland 'cause she's got to wait till next day for her chance. Why, there's no calkerlatin' when they'll get through, that fashion. 1876. No need worrying about that. Of course there'll be some improved method of casting votes devised when the ladies take hold of it. w 1776. I s'pose so. Some patent fixin' like enough, runnin' round pickin' up votes by steam. It won't have my breath to take away, though. 1876. No, you belong to a slow age. How glad I am I didn't live in '76. 1776. Bless you, dear ! I hope you'll enjoy your rights. But what a mercy I wasn't born in 18 — . {Exeunt.) THE CHIEFS BESOLVE. Characters. — Carabasset, an Indian; Father Rasles {pro- nounced Bawl.) Carabasset {alone). The night is on the wane, and man now sinks Into forgetf ulness. It is the hour When e'en the pale-face ceases to molest, And, like the dreaded catamount when gorged, Doth slumber heavily. A fitting time To blot out with their blood all memory Of wrong — if to blot out were possible. How many now lie down to dream of prey That never can be theirs — of valued furs — And of the scalps of red men, the reward Of perfidy, to be exchanged for gold ! Soon must ye pass into a dreamless sleep ! Yes, it is time we raised the tomahawk In defence of this our native land ! maoaulay's dialogues fob young people. 117 Enter Rasles. Bastes {aside). Ill-fated warrior, doomed, alas ! too soon To drain that bitter cup which all must drain, When the companion, nearest and most loved, Lives but in memory. I'll speak to thee, {to Carabasset) My Carabasset ! one, whose feeble hand Was once retained by thine in friendly pressure, Comes to assuage thy sorrows. Son, look up, And ease this troubled heart. Carabasset. Away, and leave me ! Who mourns for Carabasset 7 Is he not Like the scathed pine on which the flame hath fed Till it is sapless, naked, and decaying 1 Easles. Oh, say not thus ! for it shall bloom again, Nourished with the dew from heaven. Come, behold me ! Carabasset. Ha ! of the pale-faced race ! I hate ye all. What, art thou tired of life, to venture thus Beneath my deadly grasp 1 Easles. Strike, if thou canst ! My son, my son, hast thou forgotten Rasles 1 He on whose knees it was thy joy to climb In thy young days ? — who gave thee Rena, too 1 Carabasset. , Rena ! — and was it thou 1 — yes — I remember — One was the friend of red men ; one — and but one. Old man, I will not harm thee — go in peace. Basics. And leave thee here in wretchedness ! I cannot. Come, be thyself again, nor waste the hours 118 macaulay's dialogues fob young people. In brooding o'er thy wrongs. It is in love That the Great Spirit chastens. Come, return. Carabasset. Return ! who now will welcome Carabasset 1 Where is the hand that bathed his aching temples, And spread fresh rushes for his weary limbs 1 Where is the eye that lighted at his coming 1 Where is the form that welcomed his embrace 1 What monsters are ye all to leave me thus ! Rasles. Again, let me entreat thee to return. Let not the bravest of the Norridgewocks, He who for fortitude hath been so famed, Give way to this excess. Thy warriors wait Impatient to behold thee. Ah, the sound That comes upon the breeze denotes too well How high they prize the noble Carabasset. Would it were less ; for now, inflamed with rage. They all would madly rush where you direct. Carabasset. Ha ! is it thus 1 Then they are truly brothers. Rasles. Forbear, my son ; give up thy cruel purpose. Let not the act of one abandoned wretch Bring ruin on the innocent. Forbear. We will demand the assassin ; rest assured They will not dare refuse to give him up. Thus justice can be satisfied, and still The cradle's sleep be quiet as before. Carabasset. As well go ask the fierce and ravenous bear To yield her young : they'll mock at your petition. They hold their blood too precious to be shed For that which flows within a red man's veins. No — all shall perish ! macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 119 Basks. Hear me, Carabasset ! Hear me — if not in pity to the whites, In pity to your race. Your foes are mighty. They will not idly sit, and bare their heads To the uplifted tomahawk. Their bands, Well armed and numerous, will seize each pass, And hem ye in. Courage availeth not Against a host ; and, when your warriors fall, Their wives, their children, all that they hold dear, Must perish with them. Carabasset. Well, then, be it so. Better to perish thus than breathe as slaves. Talk not of mercy — they have shown us none ; And should we spare them, they would call it fear. Yet often have I spared them. Who can say That Carabasset slew except in battle 1 Oft through the snow, for many a weary day, The trembling, helpless captive have I borne Back to its mother's arms, nor asked for ransom. Oft struck aside the tomahawk's keen edge, That the red warrior brandished o'er their young; Ay, plunged into their dwellings, wrapped in flames, And drew them forth to life and liberty. And yet for this what hath been the return 1 Basles. Son, thou hast acted nobly — act so still ; Forgive e'en this, and Carabasset Hast thou ever loved 1 And was the loved one torn from thy embrace 1 Basles. Oh, spare me, spare me ! Thou hast touched a chord That now for years hath slumbered, (turns from' him with emotion.) 120 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. Cardbasset. Ha! thou hast. I too have loved, and those I loved were murdered. The voice that pleads for others failed to move Their flinty hearts — the child, too — none were spared ; And yet the coward lives who gave the blow ! My warriors call me ! Basles. Where shall we meet again 1 Cardbasset. Where meet the brave ! for there the red man rests, When he hath sung his death-song, and gone down To the dark valley. There we shall renew Our song of joy and triumph; there rejoin Our brothers, who have perished in the battle. Yes, there we'll meet again ! for who would live, When all he loved were torn from his embrace And he was deemed so vile, that 'twas denied him Even to guard the sod that wrapped their bones ! {he goc* out.) Basles. Gone ! deaf to my entreaties ; then 'tis over ! Would that a single victim might suffice ! Though few the drops that creep within these veins, They should flow freely, could they flow for all. {Exit.) THE VETEKAN. [For two boys, Captain Hardy and Nathan.] Nathan. Good morning, Captain. How do you stand this hot weather 1 Captain. Lord bless you, boy, it's a cold-bath to what we had at Monmouth. Did I ever tell you about that air battle 1 Nathan. I have always understood that it was dreadful hot that day ? macaulay's dialogues fok young people. 121 Captain. Lord bless you, boy, it makes my crutch sweat to think on't — and, if I didn't hate long stories, I'd tell you things about that air battle sich as you wouldn't believe, you rogue, if I didn't tell you. It beats all natur how hot it was. Nathan. I wonder you did not all die of heat and fatigue. Captain. "Why, so we should if the reg'lars had only died first ; but, you see, they never like the Jarseys, and wouldn't lay their bones there. Now, if I didn't hate long stories, I'd tell you all about that air business, for you see they don't do things so nowa- days. Nathan. How so 1 Do not people die as they used to 1 Captain. Lord bless you, no. It beat all natur to see how long the reg'lars would kick after we killed them. Nathan. What ! kick after they were killed 1 That does beat all natur, as you say. Captain. Come, boy, no splitting hairs with an old continental ; for, you see, if I didn't hate long stories, I'd tell you things about this ere battle that you'd never believe. Why, Lord bless you, when Gineral Washington telled us we might gin it to 'em, we gin it to em, I tell you. Nathan. You gave what to them 7 Captain. Cold lead, you rogue. Why, bless you, we fired twice to their once, you see ; and, if I didn't hate long stories, I'd tell you how we did it. You must know the reg'lars wore their close- bodied red coats, because they thought we were afeard on 'em ; but we didn't wear any coats, you see, because we hadn't any. Nathan. How happened you to be without coats 1 Captain. Why, Lord bless you, they would wear out, and the States couldn't buy us any more, you see, and so we marched the lighter and worked the freer for it. Now, if I did not hate long stories, I could tell you what the Gineral said to me next day, when I had a touch of the rheumatiz from lying on the field without a blanket all night. You must know it was raining hard just then, and we were pushing on like all natur arter the reg'lars. Nathan. What did the General say to you 1 Captain. Not a syllable says he, but off comes his coat, and ho throws it over my shoulders. " There, Captain," says he, " wear 122 MACATTLAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. that, for we can't spare you yet." Now don't that beat all natur, hey % Nathan. So you wore the General's coat, did you 1 Captain. Lord bless your simple heart, no. I didn't feel sick arter that, I tell you. "No, Gineral," says I, "they can spare me better than they can you jest now ; and so I'll take the will for the deed," says I. Nathan. You will never forget this kindness, Captain. Captain. Not I, boy ! I never feel a twinge of the rheumatiz, but what I say, God bless the Gineral. Now, you see, I hate long stories, or I'd tell you how I gin it to a reg'lar that tried to shoot the Gineral at Monmouth. You know we were at close quarters, and the Gineral was right between the two fires. Nathan. I wonder he was not shot. Captain. Lord bless your ignorant soul, nobody could kill the Gineral ; but, you see, a sneaking reg'lar didn't know this, and so he levelled his musket at him ; and, you see, I seed what he was arter, and I gin the Gineral's horse a slap on the haunches, and it beats all natur how he sprung, and the Gineral all the while as straight as a gun-barrel. Nathan. And so you saved the General's life. Captain. Didn't I tell you nobody could kill the Gineral ; but, you see, his horse was in the rake of my gun, and I wanted to get the start of that cowardly reg'lar. Nathan. Did you hit him 7 Captain. Lord bless your simple soul, does the thunder hit where it strikes 1 though the fellow made me blink a little, for he carried away part of this ear. See there ■ {showing his ear) now don't that beat all natur 7 Nathan. I think it does. But tell me how is it that you took all these things so calmly. What made you so contented under your deprivations and hardships 1 Captain. 0, bless your young soul, we got used to it. Besides, you see, the Gineral never flinched nor grumbled. Nathan. Yes, but you served without being paid. Captain. So did the Gineral ; and the States, you know, were poor as all natur. Nathan. But you had families to support. macaulay's dialogues fob young people. 123 Captain. Aye, aye ; but the Gineral always told us that God and our country would take care of them, you see. Now, if I didn't hate long stories, I'd tell you how it turned out jest as he said, for he beat all natur for guessing right. Nathan. Then you feel happy and satisfied with wat you have done for your country, and what she has done for you 1 Captain. Why, Lord bless you, if I hadn't left one of my legs at Yorktown, I wouldn't have touched a stiver of the States' mo- ney ; and, as it is, I am so old that I shall not need it long. You must know, I long to see the Gineral again; for, if he don't hate long stories as bad as I do, I shall tell him all about America, you see ; for it beats all natur how things have changed since he left us. THE SPIRIT OP 76 [For two boys, Harry and Israel ; one represents an old soldier.'] Harry (brings a chair and seats himself by side of Israel). Good-morning, grandfather. In your regimentals, I see. Israel. Ah ! Harry, my boy, ever anxious for the old man's comfort. Good boy ! {patting his head) Yes, I am in my regi- mentals, in my armor, Harry — in my armor. Do you know what day this is 1 ' Harry. Yes, grandfather ; your birthday. There is no danger of my forgetting that, — the 19th of April, your 95th birthday. Why, you are getting to be quite a man. Israel. Ha ! ha ! ha ! yes, Harry, I am growing, — Harry, I'm growing. My mother was wont to say she should never be able to raise me. Poor mother ! what would she say to see me now 1 Harry. She would say what we all do ; that there's many a younger in years, older in feeling and appearance, than you. Israel. Yes, Harry, this is my birthday ; but that is not why I wear my uniform. This is a birthday more memorable than mine, 124 macaulay's dialogues foe young people — April 19th, 1775. You remember Lexington, Harry, where the first Yankee blood was shed for freedom 1 Harry. Ay, that I do, grandfather ! Israel. My father was there, Harry, and at Bunker Hill too, be- side the brave Warren. That is why I wear the uniform. But there is a sadder remembrance this day brings. It recalls tho time when I first knew what it was to be an orphan. It was three years after the battle of Lexington, at Valley Forge. My mother died two years before, and through camp and battle I had follow- ed my father, often without food for days ; our uncovered feet leaving streaks of blood along the snow as we marched to winter quarters at Valley Forge. That dreadful winter of privation and suffering, boy ! in all my life, I have never witnessed its equal. My father lay dying before the smouldering embers of the scanty watch-fire. His comrades were gathered about him, for he was a favorite with them all ; but disease had overtaken him, and he was dying. He called me to him, placed his hand upon my head, blessed me, bade me be true to my country and my God, and without a struggle died. I threw myself upon the body of my only friend, deaf to all the kindly consoling words of my father's comrades, — those noble veterans, — when a commanding voice caused me to raise my head. There, with the last faint light of the dying fire playing on his face, stood Washington. Shall I ever forget that scene ? I have followed to the grave the wife of my early manhood ; I have stood beside the dying-bed of your mother, my darling daughter ; but through all the long years of battle, of peace, of mourning, and of joy, I see our noble leader as he stood with uncovered head beside the body of my dead father. He spoke kind words to me, and bade me follow to his tent. . I watched beside my dead until the frozen earth opened to receive it. then made my way to the tent of the General. As I drew near it, I heard his voice raised in prayer. Softly approaching, I looked in. There on his knees, with upraised hands, was Washington, pouring out his soul to Heaven. Harry, I never realized until then what all this fighting was for. I was but a boy then ; but that scene struck the fire in my soul that has never slumbered. Harry, I remember your reading to me, but a few days ago, the raising of " Old Glory " in Fort Sumter by the brave Major Anderson ; of his macaulay's dialogues fob young people. 125 kneeling, and asking the protection of Heaven for that flag. And I thought then, that our country could have no braver defender in the hour of danger than that prayerful man. Harry. Yes, grandfather ; Anderson is indeed noble, daring, and faithful. But Valley Forge was but the beginning of your experience 7 Israel. Yes, Harry ; when we left Valley Forge I, for the first time, shouldered a musket. I was near the General when he met Lee returning from Monmouth ; 'twas there I struck the first blow for liberty. When the General checked the retreat, and bade Lee return, we knew there was to be warm work. How our hearts leapt ! And on we went ; Washington leading, with his sword gleaming in the air, as we rushed upon the foe. Rank after rank met us, and down they went. No retreat then, (stag- gering to Ms feet) No retreat when a Yankee bayonet is fixed and a Yankee heart beats warm in the cause of liberty, (sets lack into chair.) Harry. Ah, grandfather, those were patriots in heart and deed ; would we had as true now in this hour of our country's peril ! Israel. As true now 1 We have as true and warm patriots now as then. Let but a hand be raised against that flag, and young and old will spring from every section of our country to protect it. The spirit of 76 is not dead, and can never die in the hearts of a free people. WILLIAM TELL. [For two males and one female.] Tell. Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again. I hold to you the hands you first beheld, To show they still are free. Methinks I hear A spirit in your echoes answer me, And bid your tenant welcome to his home Again. sacred forms, how proud you look ! How high you lift your heads into the sky ! 126 macaulay's dialogues for young people. How huge you are ! how mighty, and how free ! Ye are the things that tower, that shine ; whose smile Makes glad ; whose frown is terrible ; whose forms, Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, I'm with you once again. I call to you With all my voice. I hold my hands to you, To show they still are free. I rush to you As though I could embrace you. Erni enters. Erni. You're sure to keep the time That comes before the hour. Tell. The hour Will soon be here. 0, when will Liberty Be here, my Erni 1 That's my thought, which still I find beside. Scaling yonder peak, I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow O'er the abyss ; his broad-expanded wings Lay calm and motionless upon the air, As if he floated there without their aid, By the sole act of his unlorded will, That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively I bent my bow ; yet kept he rounding still His airy circle, as in the delight Of measuring the ample range beneath And round about ; absorbed, he heeded not The death that threatened him. I could not shoot ! 'Twas liberty ! I turned my bow aside, And let him soar away. Enter Emma. Emma. 0, the fresh morning ! Heaven's kind messenger, That never empty-handed comes to those Who know to use its gifts. Praise be to Him Who loads it still, and bid it constant run The errand of his bounty ! Praise be to Him ! MACAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. 127 We need his care, that on the mountain's cliff Lodge by the storm, and cannot lift our eyes, But piles on piles of everlasting snows, O'erhanging us, remind us of His mercy. Tell. Why should I, Emma, make thy heart acquainted With ills I could shut out from it 1 — rude guests For such a home ! Here only we have had Two hearts ; in all things else — in love, in faith, In hope, in joy, that never had but one ! But, henceforth, we must have but one here also. Emma. 0, William, you have wronged me — kindly wronged me. Whenever yet was happiness the test Of love in man or woman 1 Who'd not hold To that which must advantage him 7 Who'd not Keep promise to a feast, or mind his pledge To share a rich man's purse 7 There's not a churl, However base, but might be thus approved Of most unswerving constancy. But that Which loosens churls ties friends, or changes them, Only to stick the faster. William ! William \ That man knew never yet the love of woman, Who never had an ill to share with her. Tell. Not even to know that would I in so Ungentle partnership engage thee, Emma, So will could help it ; but necessity, The master yet of will, how strong soe'er, Commands me. When I wedded thee The land was free ! With what pride I used To walk these hills, and look up to my God, And bless Him that it was so ! It was free — From end to end, from cliff to lake, 'twas free ! Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks, And plough our valleys, without asking leave ; Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow In very presence of the regal sun. How happy was it then ! I loved 128 mac aul ay's dialogues for young people. Its very storms. Yes, Emma, I have sat In my boat at night, when, midway o'er the lake, The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, And think I had no master save his own. You know the jutting cliff round which a track Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow To such another one, with scanty room For two abreast to pass 1 O'ertaken there By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along, And, while gust followed gust more furiously, As if to sweep me o'er that horrid brink, I have thought of other lands, whose storms Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just Have wished me there — the thought that mine was free Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, " Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ! " Emma. I almost see thee on that fearful pass, And yet, so seeing thee, I have a feeling Forbids me wonder that thou didst so. Tell. 'Tis A feeling must not breathe where Gesler breathes, But may within these arms. List, Emma, list ! A league is made to pull the tyrant down, E'en from his seat upon the rock of Altorf. Four hearts have staked their blood upon the cast, And mine is one of them. macaulay's dialogues for young people. 129 THE VISIONS OF FREEDOM. Characters. — Gloria, Goddess of Freedom; Rubina, her Coun- sellor of War ; Serena, her Counsellor of Peace ; Queen Mab of Dreamland ; Drowsa, Oblivia, Somna. Sootha, Bream Spirits ; Art, Industry, Music, Plenty, Serena's Attends ants ; Revenge, Discord, Cruelty, and Hatred, Rubina's Attendants. Action supposed to have occurred in Dream- land. Green bank, c. Behind this a small platform about six inches high. Scholars seated r. and l. of stage* Scholars {repeat in concert). Slumber o'er earth is sending Its realm of sweet repose ; The stream of life, rest-tending, In peace through Dreamland flows ; Where waiting and caressing, With varied visions blessing, Dream Spirits vigils keep ; Dream Spirits vigils keep ; Their vigils keep, their vigils keep. Enter, r., Drowsa and Oblivia ; l., Somna and Sootha; then, r.j Queen Mab, who stands c Queen Mab. Spirits of Dreamland, once again we meet, Our round of nightly revel to repeat. O'er earth when locked in sleep's warm, close embrace ; Since time began the genius of our race Has had the power fearlessly to sway The visionary sceptre all obey. The mighty monarch, who, with* tyrant frown, Upholds the burden of his weighty crown $ The fierce-browed warrior who relentless slays, And, bathed in blood, his vows to Moloch pays ; 130 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Haughty and lowly, powerful and weak, Under mysterious spells our guidance seek. Sweet sister spirits, Dreamland opens wide, Yet Justice guards it well on every side j Over the pure we rosy visions throw, Around the base a sea of troubles flow. Ere forth you glide to ply your happy arts, Your Queen would learn the secrets of your hearts ; Who hie to sport, with mischievous intent, And who on graver ministries are bent. Sootha. I've an old miser under watchful care, With sordid soul, of generous impulse bare, Who nightly feasts, with avaricious eyes, Where treasured gold in rare profusion lies ; Who revels o'er his fast- in creasing store, Chuckles with glee, yet wistful sighs for more. Starvation's image in a den so bare, It seems a fit abode for dark despair. Into his sleep I glide, disturb his rest, Battle his treasure, till with fear possest, As frightful visions thick and thicker press, He trembling wakes his idol to caress. (Mima. Fair Queen, a toiling student I enchain, And with my art refresh his weary brain j Up Wisdom's heights I lead him by the hand, And show him visions of the promised land ; Fair fields of learning spread before his gaze ; For him the realm of science set ablaze ; Ope Fame's grand temple, Honor's scroll unroll, And tell the triumphs of the trusting soul, Till hope reanimates the wasting fire With earnest zeal and conquering desire. Somna. I guard a trusting maiden, young and fair, Whom Love has tangled in his silken snare ; Spread rosy dreams amid her sleeping hours, And lead her captive through a land of flowers ; MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 131 Adorn her hero with true manly pride, And of the future ope the portal wide, While smiles of pleasure o'er her sweet face creep, And blissful words betray her secret deep. With rare delight her day-dreams I repeat, And make her young life's round of love complete. Drowsa. Oh, I've a task, fair Queen, will love secure. Last night I visited, with visions pure, A weary mother, who, for many a day, Watched o'er the cradle where her dear babe lay, Wasting with fever, till the unseen Hand Took it in kindness to a better land. Long has she mourned its loss, with wakeful eyes, Fast-falling tears, low, sad, and bitter cries. Last night she slept, and then, in vision's charms, I crept, and laid her babe within her arms. Content she rested, with a smile so sweet, I go to-night this comfort to repeat. Queen Mob. Your zeal, industrious spirits, we applaud ; Your chosen missions meet with full accord ; Yet for this night we have a task so grand, Your Queen would all your energies command. Somna. We wait your pleasure. Oblivia. All our arts employ. Drowsa. Set us what tasks you will. Sootha. We'll serve with joy. Queen Mob. Thanks, sisters ! To our confidence draw near, And list our secret with attentive ear. Freedom's fair Goddess, Gloria, in doubt, Her fair Republic, restless, roams about, Seeking a talisman to life prolong, And make her youthful charge wax brave and strong. Close at her side Rubina — crafty maid — Whose fire-lit eyes gloat over War's dread trade, Plies her bold speech, unchecked by fear of frown, Counselling deeds of conquest and renown j 132 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. While calm Serena, long to Peace allied, Whose gentle influence stretches far and wide, Recounts the glories of a land at rest, With sterling Industry's rich harvests blest. Wavering betwixt the gentle and the bold, By turns rebellious, and by turns controlled, Poor Gloria wanders long, in dire distress, Which counsellor to choose her realm to bless. Old Custom gives to us prophetic power, To guide by vision in the trying hour. And so to-night, o'er Gloria's doubting heart, Fair sister spirits, we will ply our art, Lure her to Dreamland, and in phantom light Illume her path, and guide her to the right. Stand close ! she comes ! the light winds bear along The martial burden of her triumph song. (retire, and form behind lank.) Scholars (in concert). Blest is the land where Freedom rears, 'Neath heaven's blue arching dome For Labor's sons of every clime, Her proud and happy home ! Beyond the reach of tyrant rule, Free are the hands we raise ! Onward we move, with joyous song Of thankfulness and praise. Blest is the land, etc. Enter, l., Gloria, attended by Rubina and Serena, followed by Attendants, c. Gloria, r. Rubina. Serena, l. gfc * * g: § * * § si * * 8. macaulay's dialogues for young people. 133 Gloria. Yes, mine, all mine, this bounteous land, So rich in varied blessings that command Homage from all. The mighty of the earth Must stoop to thee, land of lowly birth ! Thy mountains rise in majesty and pride ; In royal state thy valleys open wide ; Thy broad, expansive waters, spreading free, Embrace the bosom of the mother sea. Out of a fruitful earth thy harvests rise ; Out leaps the golden ore with glad surprise ! Over thy broad domains, with ceaseless hum, Labor's grand armies ever conquering come, While rare Invention opes its secret heart, And Genius rears its monumental art ! 0, land of promise ! Gloria's inmost prayer Could ask no more than thy fair fate to share. Sweet counsellors, let Wisdom quick contrive Some plan this happy state to keep alive. RvMna. A nation's life, fair mistress, action craves ; Cold, sluggish apathy the blood enslaves. Renown's the rock on which to rear a state. Rubina's counsel is for conquest straight. Gloria. Conquest, Rubina ! Thine's a sorry jest. We have no quarrels ; friends with all we rest. RvMna. Ay ; but to win renown, with fair excuse, Strike at the shadow of some old abuse Among our neighbors ; or, with slight parade Of justice, boldly on their borders raid. Quick to revenge, their warlike hearts upspring — 11 To arms ! to arms ! " they cry. Their weapons ring ; On us they march, a fast-increasing band, Till in the confines of our realm they stand. "Quick ! to repel invasion !" then our cry ; Alarming signals flash out fierce and high. From east and west, from north and south, outpour The sons of Freedom, in their strength secure, 134 macaulay's dialogues fok young people. Drive back the foe ; in turn invade their fold ; Until their fate victoriously we hold. Gloria. And then — Rubina. And then, boldly for ransom claim A portion of their realm in Freedom's name. Gloria. What says Serena 1 Serena. 'Tis a crafty plot, And full of wickedness. I like it not. Freedom's a name too sacred to enfold A hungering appetite for greed and gold. What conquest gains is ne'er enriched by toil ; Ensanguined earth is but a sterile soil. Rubina's counsel, and her bold device, Would purchase glory at a bloody price. Rubina. Serena, pause ! thou hast no right to frown, With thy cold-hearted words, my counsel down. No crafty plot I weave to bring disgrace, But loftly plans to glorify the race. Let War once set his standard in the field, With strength and valor blazoned on his shield, The roar of cannon and the clash of steel, Shall glad the nation with triumphant peal, And strong and mighty conquerors enroll Heroic deeds on her historic scroll. Serena. While o'er the land the blood of her dear sons- Conquest's sad recompense — in horror runs. Forbear, Rubina. Gracious mistress, Might Should ever wield its strong arm for the Right. Let not Rubina's counsel carry weight, Lest angry discord rend your lofty state. Rubina. Insult again Gloria. Nay, nay, Rubina. Pause ; Thou hast had ample time to urge thy cause. With patience curb a while thy fiery mood ; We'll ponder well thy influence for good. macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 135 Speak thou, Serena. Canst thou find release For our perplexity in ways of peace 1 Serena* Ay, Peace, fair mistress, is the fount of health, Whence flow the streams of happiness and wealth That bless a nation. In its waters fair, Drowned are the pangs of life-corroding care \ Cheered and refreshed is Duty's faithful heart, In Labor's trials strong to take its part. 0, happy Gloria ! o'er this blest domain, With Peace thy minister forever reign. She has all charms affection to inspire — Heart, warm with honesty and generous zeal ; Brain, strong to contrive and mighty to reveal ; Soul, full of teeming virtues. All outflow, Blessings of joy and Love to free bestow. Henceforth to guide us by thy loving arts, We crown her sovereign in our heart of hearts. Tableau. — The Crowning of Peace. Dream Spirits. Attendants. Queen Mab. Rubina. Gloria. Bank. Industry. Serena. Art. Music. Plenty. r. l. Serena sits on bank, c, facing audience, hands folded across her breast. Gloria stands behind her, placing the crown upon her head. Industry r. of Serena, seated on bank, facing r., distaff in her left hand resting against shoulder. Art in the same positson l. of Serena, facing l., with pallet in her left hand. Music kneeling in front of Art, facing audience, playing upon lyre. Plenty kneeling on right knee, front of Industry, outpouring her horn of plenty. Rubina, l., back, with her attendants grouped behind her. Queen Mab enters, b., with her Dream Spirits, and group. 136 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. All (repeat in concert). On thee, Freedom, grand and great ! In confidence we lean, Our land to bless, with fond caress, Of Happiness serene. To hail thy crowning, gentle Peace, Let Music joyous soar, While harvests wave and blessings lave Thy realm from shore to shore. OTIK CENTENNIAL. The Genius op Universal Peace represented sitting upon a globe, the sceptre of authority in her hand, laurel wreath about her brow. Insignia. On either sides parties repre- senting Agriculture, Commerce, Mechanic Arts, Educa- tion, Music, Art. Four Heralds in front of these, two on each side. Genius of Universal Peace. My council — ministers of human weal — For your best offices I make appeal. The world at peace, sheathed battle's direful brand, With golden promise crowning every land ; The stains of bloody strife and bitter tears Changed to sweet flowers, by chemistry of years, And hate, subsided, stirs not by a breath The air late dark with violence and death, — ■ Will ye not aid, by influence your own, To plant Peace firmly on her regal throne, That evermore unshaken it remain, Without one spot its 'scutcheon fair to stain ? Men were not made to worry and to kill, But a far nobler destiny to fill, In which shall love and intellect combine, On earth's great field, to soften and refine. MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 137 And yours the mission, in all lands displayed, The car of Progress on its course to aid ; To give to Virtue grander power and zest That may in ripened fulness manifest. What say you, sisters of the Peaceful Muse 1 Can you these offices of love refuse 1 Agriculture. My aim shall be to aid the cause of Peace, My wish to bid all notes of discord cease, And, in the fields of family or state, The generous qualities to cultivate. My shares are honest, in which men invest, And never lose their consciences or rest. Though hardened hands my votaries possess, Their hearts are filled by thoughts of tenderness ; And e'en the seeds they on earth's bosom fling React in good, and in their natures spring. These on the side of Peace will e'er be found, With Strife and Hatred never taking ground. Commerce. Be mine the duty peaceful claims to spread, And beams of kindly interest to shed ; To lands remote fruits beneficial show Of mutual intercourse from peace that flow ; O'er all the earth, through rough or kindly gales, My flag shall float, and gleam my snowy sails ; Embodiment of missionary might, I preach through trade, and spread the gospel light That leads men, through necessity, to see The need of each to each continually ; And thus for Peace — a paradox — maintain Its blest dominion ever— in the main. Mechanic Arts. " My voice is still for war," and arts of Peace Thrive 'neath my aiding with a grand increase. 138 macaulay's dialogues for young people. For good of man I'm e'er on the alert, His cup to fill, his evil to avert. I bear him safely on the flying train ; I reap his barley, and I grind his grain ; I turn his spindles, print his daily news, Sew up his garments, peg his boots and shoes. In every circumstance of busy life My hand is seen with benefaction rife. True, when there's war I do a little aid In killing off and maiming, I'm afraid ; But here I bid such recollection cease, And pledge my best, and all I can, for Peace. Education. Be mine of sovereign Peace the loftiest praise ! We strive together fallen man to raise. Mine is the province mental seed to sow ; Hers is the sun and dew to make it grow. These, my fair temples, where they proudly rear Their graceful turrets in the upper air, Are citadels of Peace, 'gainst Ignorance And Vice, to check them in their vile advance ; My banner on their walls, in pride unfurled, The joy and admiration of the world ! Where men are wise, and honest judgment rules, Is Education honored in her schools. And Education, closest friend of Peace, With a devotion that shall never cease, Pledges its power to evermore maintain The state and glory of her gentle reign. Music. Be mine the task to pour the joyous song That may to Peace and her estate belong ; The " airs of peace," about which poets prate Whene'er melodious horns they elevate, Lo ! all resources to the cause I lend In one grand anthem to euphonious blend, MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOB YOUNG PEOPLE. 139 Till through the charmed channels of the air Its note ecstatic is heard everywhere. Sweet Melody shall do its level best, And Harmony, sonorous, manifest, Until the world delightedly shall see Another Universal World's Peace Jubilee. Art. And mine the province kindly to restore The fading glories that have gone before. I give to Peace the trophies Valor won On field of strife, when turbulence is done, And the pale moon looks from the skies o'er-head Upon the upturned faces of the dead. I lay my offerings at her gracious feet, And catch her smile of inspiration sweet, Turning to win new glories for her trust, And reappear in picture or in bust. And glad to greet her, with a brimming heart Will rush the mighty family of Art, To do your bidding, honors meet to pay To Peace, whose sceptre all the world doth sway. Genius of Universal Peace. Then let our heralds give our feeling voice, And bid the world in halcyon peace rejoice ; Forgetting hate and sanguinary strife In the amenities of peaceful life. Here let the nations their productions bring, For our fair shrine a fitting offering, That, through a generous, emulative mood, Each one may see another's greatest good. Sound, Heralds of the North, South, East, and West, This proclamation of our high behest. (Cornet.) Herald of the North. To the North's remotest home Let these presents quickly come : 140 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Hither bring your best increase, Offering to sovereign Peace ! (Comet.) Herald of the South. Peoples of the Southern land, Hear our sovereign's high command : Bring the fruits of loom or vine To adorn her sacred shrine. (Cornet) Herald of the East, From the wealth of Orient clime Bring meet tribute for the time, On the altar grand to lay- Peace erects this happy day. (Cornet.) Herald of the West. From the West we bid you bring Brain and nerve as offering, Into wood and iron wrought, With a nation's genius fraught. The voice of the nations heard. The whole school in monotone saying, — The mustering nations quickly wake to hear the welcome sound, And o'er the seas and continents its stirring echoes bound ; From montain peak to mountain peak it wakas its glad acclaim, With Peace ! the burden of the tone, and Peace ! the conquering name ! It swells, it swells exultantly on every human tongue, And every breeze extends it, like a benediction flung ; The glory of its summons grand encircles sea and shore, And hope takes heart that woe and strife shall curse the world no more. Sweden (advances). The North responds, and Sweden brings its gift, A humble product of industrial thrift — A few salt fishes, silver and copper ore, An iron pig or so, and little more. macaulay's dialogues for YOUNG PEOPLE. 14:1 But, could we bring our glorious boreal lights, That flash across the northern sky o' nights, And the long twilights of the wintry days, That follow on the sun's withholden rays, No glory wrought of Art could rival ours, Or speak for Peace with more exalted powers. Russia {a boy costumed in fur advances). Russia, the " Great Bear " of the frozen North, Brings here for Peace his choicest treasures forth, Leaving awhile his steppes for other climes, And his sledge-bells for more mellifluous chimes. Rough as the R ussian air the gift he brings — Hemp, needed where the guilty felon swings ; Duck, — canvas- back, — and cordage very strong, And Russia leather, — not the penal thong ; Soap, linseed, fish, and wool, salt, wax, and honey, And other useful articles for money. Give Russia place. Substantial things are- these That she for honoring gentle Peace decrees. Though he put on cold airs at times and storm, Depend upon it, Russia's heart is warm. Italy {advances). Land of the olive and the teeming vine, Italia brings her offering to the shrine ; Her fruits and grains, her silks of richest worth, Her art, the pride and glory of the earth ; Coral and macaroni. — sea and soil, — And sardines — " little fishes boiled in oil." .So much for Peace ; and more she'd gladly bring Upon the cairn of votive gifts to fling ; But more is really beyond her scope, Unless she add a temporary pope. Spain {advances). Alas ! poor Spain ! but little can she bring For such a scene as this an offering. 14:2 MACAUIjAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. A little wine in which to quaff its health ; A little wool as sample of her wealth. Her glory all has waned she had of yore, To rest upon her palaces no Moor ! But yet a product she has lately grown, That may for much that's lacking still atone : Her people, tired of kingly rule and ban, Have broke their bonds, and turned republican ; And this she brings, an offering more fine Than baled merino or commercial wine. Switzerland {advances). To your appeal responds the land of Tell, — Though some pretend he's but a myth, a sell ; But, if a myth, the people are not so, Who have a world of " nick-nax " here to show — Geneva watches, carving, jewelry, Hand-organs, — on whose merits all agree, — Toys for the babies, dolls as large as life, And wooden plates for bread and carving-knife. Not much for wealth and luxury ; but, then, We give the world a splendid line of men, Who there amid our mountains have their birth, Then, like our glacial streams, to bless go forth. 'Tis not in wealth that riches most are shown : One Agassiz were worth a mint, alone. France (advances). What, room for France ! Give her an ample space In which to show her jewelry and lace, Her silks unrivalled, and her Sevres wares, Her tapestry, that imitation dares, Her porcelains, without a flaw or fault, Her claret, prunes, and truffles, wool, and salt ; — France, proudest of the European train, That boasts of chivalry and Charlemagne ! Disliking lager, yet the German cup Compelled to take and drink its contents up. MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 143 A bitter dose, but in it virtue lies ; For, like the housewife's yeast, 'twill make her rise, Until, attaining old-time power again, She'll reinstate her Alsace and Lorraine. Germany (advances). From her wide forests and her sunken mines Germany kindly to this scene inclines. She's had her fill of war, and beat her foe, And now she'd fain in peaceful furrows sow. She brings her tribute, from the loom and field, Of cloths to which the whole world honor yield, Of German iron and Germanic wine, Of German toys and German music fine, Of German silver that makes bright appeal, But which thieves manage somehow not to steal. She feels serene, her flag of warfare furled, And cousin-german owns to all the world. For competition here she brings her fruits, . And joins the ranks of Peace's proud recruits. Austria (advances). Make way for Austria, and her glittering ware From fair Bohemia, beyond compare ; Her linen goods, her famous meerschaum pipes, Her damasks of the most enchanted stripes ; Her gloves — assortment always kept on hand — Her glauber salts — admired in every land ! Of Art the patron, Austria takes advance, And for the palm would risk a friendly lance. She brings her gifts the shrine of Peace to crown, And with her loyalty gracefully comes down. China (advances. Costume). In broken China I my tongue surcease, And say encouraging a word of Peace. I pour my tea-cup to the very brim, And drink the happiness and health of him. 144 MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE Of Peace I say, he well doth pleasure me, And suits my taste and fancy to one T. How sweet to sit in peace, with tranquil eye, Enjoying Oolong tea and chicken pie — A four- legged chicken with a wiry tail — Without a foe to worry or assail, To threaten with an act injurious you, Or bang your head, or cut quite off your queue. India (advances. Veiled, dark gloves). I am the dusky daughter of the sun, Am " black, but comely "-—see King Solomon — And here would fain my offering outpour, Meet tribute to this consecrated hour. My camels, with their bulkiest of traps, I've left below here at a livery chap's. But here are shawls of exquisite design, Wrought by the busy hands of maidens mine ; Here are rare gems and wealth of Orient pearls, And graceful fabrics for your graceful girls, Any of which, I think, would fitly pass To decorate a graduating class. Here are choice fruits of flavor most refined, And flowers of every quality and kind. My country's custom bids me not reveal The face this modest drape doth thus conceal ; So, spare my blushes, and restrain your stares, And judge my graces by my graceful wares. England (advances. A boy dressed with top boots, if possible of burly make-up, broad-brimmed hat). Look here, you know, just give me ample length And breadth, and room according to my strength. I always have an eye to peace, you know, And make whate'er I can by doing so. I'm peaceable myself, because it pays, But money make of other people's frays — MACAUIiAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 145 Though I confess, with shame, to little wit That by the Alabama I was bit. I should have blustered free from that expense If these Yanks hadn't forced me to the fence. And I am bound in this grand scene, you know, To make a great and overwhelming show, And let the world see what John Bull can do, If left his peaceful business to pursue. I'll crowd your shelves with such rare merchandise, That envy will enkindle in your eyes ; Dry goods, machinery, cutlery and slate, Dyestuffs and chemicals, earthenware and plate. As rich as Jason's most auriferous fleece Are these, you know, the gifts I bring for Peace. Brother Jonathan {heard whistling " Yankee Doodle " before he is seen, advances, dressed as the conventional Yankee, though not overdone, large black bag in his hand marked " Uncle Sam, City Hall, Boston "). So, you've all got here now, I guess I 1 11 come, And, with your leave, will make myself to hum. I've got a carpet-bag of " notions" here, To represent the western hemisphere, Or the best part of it, without a doubt, With Canada, at present, counted out. (looking round) Well, this display does beat all natur, shore ; It seems jest like a Boston " dollar store. ' Sech heaps of things, and they're all well enough ; But we don't make sech ornamental stuff. Our eagle isn't handsome, and can't sing, But he has talons, and a mighty wing, Which soars so far up in the azure sky, That folks, even here, take hope to see him fly ; And so we, like our own imperial chick, To usefulness far more than beauty stick ; Don't brag a bit, but let the world find out Jest what the Yankee land has been about. 14:6 MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOB YOUNG PEOPLE. Perhaps these things are not so grand and bright, But I'll bet high that you can't beat 'em quite ; Steam-engines, rat-traps, locomotives, schools, Clothes-dryers, apple-pearers, farmers' tools, Church organs, lemon-squeezers, stitch machines, Pianos, gimlets, pots for baking beans, Suspender buckles, nest-eggs, patent chair, Varnish for boots, and garnish for the hair, Et cetera — and so forth — cetera — Enough to crowd your shanty, if you say. Give me some place wherein to stow my traps, And I'll not bother these ere fancy chaps ; Though some of 'em I hold in high respect, From native admiration of the sect. Now, hold on, France ! don't elevate your nose At my quaint talking and my quainter clo'es ; Remember, 'tis not by the dress alone That what is called a gentleman is shown. With us the genteel term is understood When men are courteous, and kind, and good. I've said my say. Please give my nick-nax shelves, And they will speak in honor of themselves. Genius of Universal Peace, Welcome the whole, without a bound or stint, Proclaimed with all the power of voice and print. Here mingle kindly, thoughts and notes compare, And in the feast of union each one share. We give the meed of honor where 'tis due. By arbitration liberal and true ; And from this scene, exalted and sublime, Shall spread a glory lighting every clime. The different nations shall then advance to the foot of the throne, and plant their banners at the feet of the Genius, the whole school singing, — macaulay's dialogues fob young people. 147 Live the dominion We crown to-day ; Peace spreads her pinion ; Wide be her sway. Pure the sky o'er us Smiles in its light ; Glad be our chorus This season bright. Peace, gentle Peace, May she increase, Her glory abound, and her reign never cease! War's desolation, Father, we pray, Spare every nation Here met to-day. Prosper and bless them, Happy and free ; No ills distress them, Cherished by Thee. Peace, gentle Peace, May she increase. Her glory abound, and her reign never cease ! [Each young lady who personates a character can herself make a flag, rep- resenting her nationality, the material immaterial. The globe, or throne, can be very easily constructed of boards sawed and erected edge-wise, cov- ered with cloth on which the geometrical lines are traced. LOOHIEL'S WAKNING. [Lochiel, a Highland chieftain, while on his march to join the Pretender, is met by one of the Highland seers, or prophets, who warns him to return, and not incur the certain ruin which awaits the unf ortunate prince and his fol- lowers, on the field of Culloden.] Seer. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day When tfre Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 148 macaulay's dialogues for young people. For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight : They rally, they bleed, for their country and crown ! Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down ! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far 1 'Tis thine, Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair ! Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! ! weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead, For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave — Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave ! Lochiel. Go preach to the crowd, thou death-telling seer ! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright ! Seer. Ha ! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn 1 Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn . Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the North 1 Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! "Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast 1 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 0, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, macaulay's dialogues for young people. 149 Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood ! Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my clan ! Their swords are a thousand — their bosoms are one ! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed td the shock! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! But woe to his kindred and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ! When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array Seer, Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day ! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal. 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight ; Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! — 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors, Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. But where is the Iron-bound prisoner 1 Where ^ For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ? Ah ! . no ; for a darker departure is near ; The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; 150 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. His de'ath-bell is tolling. ! mercy, dispel Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs, And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims ! Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet, Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale LochieL Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale ! For never shall Albin a destiny meet So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore Like ocean- weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame ! UNOLE SAM. [For one male and two female characters] Old Fashion and New Fashion meeting {one dressed in the cos- tume of 76 and the other as a modern belle.) Old Fashion. Well, I do declare ! Sakes alive ! What is this I see before me. {turns New Fashion around) A train, a bustle, and such a bonnet ! New Fashion. You seem to think I am dressed rather odd. Please look in the glass, ma'am, and criticise your own outland- ish attire. Old Fashion. Outlandish indeed ! Why, this is the pink of fashion. New Fashion. Yes, it might have been a hundred years since ; but this is the prevailing style nowadays. MACAUIjAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. 151 Old Fashion. What good is that little hat perched on your head like an old hen on a chimney 1 New Fashion. And pray tell me if you think a bonnet big enough to take lodgings in so very becoming to your style of beauty. If you do, I don't. Old Fashion. Don't be saucy, miss. In my days a young girl as pert as you was whipped and sent to bed. New Fashion. And in my days an old woman like you would be shut up in a menagerie. Old Fashion. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. New Fashion. So had you. Old Fashion. You're a saucy thing. New Fashion. Ditto. Enter Uncle Sam. Uncle Sam. Ladies, this is not exactly 0. K. What's the row 1 I can't see two young damsels like you, fighting it out here on this line, without hitchin > in myself. Old Fashion. She began it. New Fashion. I didn't ! Old Fashion. You did ! New Fashion. She made fun of my dress. Old Fashion. And quarreled with my bonnet. New Fashion. She's ridiculous ! Old Fashion. There she goes again ! Uncle Sam. Stop ! stop ! Ladies, I insist. State your case, and I will decide upon its merits. Who speaks first ? Old Fashion. I, by the right of priority. In my day we used to go about in homespun, and were not ashamed of it — male and female. Uncle Sam. Jest so ! Old Fashion. We hadn't the facilities nor the money to get ourselves up in these new-fangled fol-de-rols. Uncle Sam. Jest so ! Old Fashion. We did the house work, and didn't go gadding about. Uncle Sam. 'Spect you're right. Go ahead. 152 macatjlay's dialogues fob young people. Old Fashion, We helped our mothers to do the chores. Uncle Sam. I reckon. Old Fashion. And we didn't care for style. Uncle Sam. That's your side of the case, (to New Fashion) What do you wish to promulgate *? New Fashion. We don't wear homespun, for it's out of exist- ence. Uncle Sam. Jest so ! New Fashion. We have all the facilities to get ourselves up regardless. Uncle Sam. Navigate. New Fashion. As to the house work, if we don't do it, why somebody else does. In fact, Young America is entirely different from Old America in everything. Uncle Sam. Except one. New Fashion. What is that *? Uncle Sam. They both love Uncle Sam ! New Fashion. And the stars and stripes ! Old Fashion. And the American Eagle ! Uncle Sam. Now, Old Fashion and New Fashion, I beg of you to shake hands and be friends. Old Fashion. With all my heart. New Fashion. And mine, (they shake hands.) Uncle Sam. Now, ladies, take my arm. (they take his arm) Gosh ! I feel so proud ! Two such pretty gals to tote around. I'm going to take you both to Philadelphia to my house, — called the Centennial. I'm going to introduce you to the whole world and the rest of creation. If they don't say you're the smartest, prettiest, cutest, chipperest pair of gals they ever laid eyes on, then you can call me an Ingin ! (They go off walking wry proudly.) THE SAILOE BOY'S EETUEN. [For four hoys, John, Will, Tom, Paul.] Paul (enters, dressed in sailor's costume). Here, I am, safe and sound, after having served my country for three years. For that MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOE YOUNG PEOPLE. 153 time I have undergone perils without number. Battles have I been in; but, strange to say, I have escaped without a scratch. Many a time has my heart leaped up to behold our starry banner flying at the peak ! Often in foreign ports have I longed to see my home again ; duty, whichever way I turned, stared me in the face and whispered, " Your country, my boy, before everything else ! " How often have I dreamed of the dear ones at home — sisters and brothers, and last, though not least, my father and mother. I have received no letter from them for the last year. I wonder how they all are ! In coming up from town I heard that they were all alive. How I long to see them. There's mo- ther with her dear soft eyes and kindly smile. There's father with his ever-welcome words, and sister, the household pet. Then come my three brothers, Tom, Will, and John. Many a time I have thought of them as I tossed about on the raging seas. I wonder if they have thought as much of me ? How willful I was to run away to sea. But they would not let me go to fight for the dear old flag, and so I went without their consent. It was wrong, I know, and bitterly has my conscience tortured me for my error. As I live, here come my three brothers, saunter- ing down the lane. Let me keep out of sight and surprise them. {goes off to one side.) Enter Will, Tom, and John. Will. As you say, Tom, in these times I think it is the duty of everybody, man and boy, to do the best in his power for the welfare of his native land. Tom. That's so ; think of what our native land has done for us. Our country is our^second mother. She has protected us, taught us, and nurtured us, and we would be basely ungrateful to turn aside when she needs our services. John. I should like to be where our dear brother Paul is. He ran away from home to help fight the battles of his country, and I should like to do the same. Tom. But would that be doing our duty to our parents 1 Will. They say we are too young to go. Tom. And they know best. 154 macaulay's dialogues for young people. John. How I should long to sail the seas, and strike my feeble blow in defence of the flag ! Tom. Let us run away like Paul did. Will. It would break mother's heart. See how she has mourned over our Paul. Why, she has not heard a word from him in a year, although she has written repeatedly. John. I should like to go ; but something tells it would be wrong. Tom. Think of the honor we should gain. Will. Think of the weeping ones at home. John. Think of the flag in peril. Tom. I shall go for one ! Will. I will join you, Tom ! John. Boys, I think you will have to take me along ! Tom. Let us arrange matters. We will go quietly home, as if nothing unusual were the matter. We will collect all the clothes we need, and meet at this place about dusk. Then good-bye to this dull place, and hie for honor and glory ! John. Hurrah ! Will {tossing his hat). Hurrah ! Tom. Let me see ! how much money can we raise between us T John. I have a dollar. Will. And I. Tom. And I have two. That will pay our way to the navy yard, I think. Then we can write home, and calm the fears of mother and father and sister. John. Many a great admiral ran away from home. Will. True. Mothers are so careful of their boys. Tom. What should we do if they were not 1 John. Who denies thatl But, boys, remember, at dusk to- night. Tom. I shall be here. Will. And I. John. Who knows, perhaps we shall meet our dear brother Paul. (Paul comes from Ms hidirig place.) Paul. You needn't go far to do that! Don't you know me boys ? Tom. Paul ! MACAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOB YOUNG PEOPLE. 155 John. Brother Paul ! Will. Did you spring from the earth 1 Paul {embracing them). Safe at home, boys ! Safe and sound. The war is all over, too ! So you were about to follow my exam- ple and run away, were you ? Fie, for shame. I did a coward's action, although I mistook it for one of great bravery. It was my place to obey my father and mother, and bitterly have I repented. Although I loved my country and would lay down my life for her, yet I could have served her here at home, if it were against the wishes of the dear ones at home. But I know they will forgive me. Tom. Yes, indeed, Paul. They honor you now for your patri- otism. Paul. I am longing to see them. Hurrah, the war is over ! No more fighting ! No more running away, boys. Tom. We were only about to follow your illustrious example. Paul. I am glad I overheard you, and spoiled your project. Will. Three cheers for sailor Paul ! T , ' { Hip, hip, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah I John. ) Paul. And, boys, allow me to propose three cheers for the stars and stripes, and may the old flag wave forever ! AIL Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! (Exeunt.) A CENTEOIAL DKAMA. MRS. E. D. CHENEY. Scene. — A country town near Boston, Period — 1775. CHARACTERS. Gen. Washington.— Old Continental costume. Mr. Baxter, a Tory.— Old-fashioned full dress. Henry Bradford, a young soldier.— Soldier's costume. Zeke and Nat, soldiers.— Countrymen's dress, with some attempt at sol* dier's dress. Moll Pitcher, a sibyl. — Red cloak, dark skirt, hat and straight feather, staff. Mrs. Baxter, a female Tory.— Full dress, old style. Grace, their supposed daughter.— Blue dress, simple and pretty. Mrs. Bradford. — Plain, nice widow's dress. Soldiers, Young Girls, General's Aides. 156 MACAULAY's dialogues for young people SCENE I. — A green in front of Mr. Baxter's house, sitting on a bench or bank. Enter Moll Pitcher. Grace Grace. ! my dear good Molly, say, Is my lover brave and true 1 Moll. As the sun is to the day Is your lover unto you. But, maiden, are you brave and strong 7 For a struggle comes ere long. If a higher duty call, Will you bid him give up all, Even your love 1 Grace. Ah ! my heart, Can it be that we must part 1 Moll. Tell me, maiden, are you true To your country 1 Grace. Hush ! to you I may confess. I'm no Tory. But my father, hard and stern, Nor my mother, must not learn That I help the patriot band With my heart and with my hand, Praying daily for their glory. Moll, Hark, then : soon a struggle comes — In the air I hear the drums. Enter Mr. Baxter. Mr. B. You here, old witch ? I'll have you hung For your vile, mischievous tongue. (to Grace) Away, you minx ! your needle mind, And don't be prating here. (to Moll) You beldam, go, or much I fear The ducking-pond you'll find. Moll. Proud fool ! you cannot make me bend, Or own your haughty power, macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 157 Which, like your king, shall shortly end — Quick conies the fatal hour. (half chanting) The swords shall cross, The blood shall flow, And England's mighty power lie low. Mr. B. What mean you, witch % Now, by my life — (aside) 0, dear ! methinks I hear my wife. Miter Mrs. Baxter. Mrs. B. Pray, sir, why do you speak so loud ? I thought you must harangue a crowd. Who is this woman 1 Mr. B. 0, my dear, Don't blame me. Mrs. B. Speak out, sir. I fear You plot some mischief, (to Moll) Who are you 7 Moll. One to whom the past and the future are known ; One to whom sorrow and blessings are shown ; Who readeth your riddle, and knows why the wife Rules over the husband. Mrs. B. 0, hush ! on your life ! Here's money — quick ! Leave me ; the child must not know. 'Moll. (refuses money). No, madam ! but listen, before I will go, This fate I must speak: No honor to you can there come ; No luck to your child, and no peace to your home, Till the red-coat shall yield to the Red, White, and Blue, And the loving and loyal shall wed with the true. (Exit Moll.) Mrs. B. (aside). Ah ! if Grace should know that she is not our child, » And the fortune is hers, I should die or go wild. (Exit Mr. and Mrs. Baxter.) Enter Henry Bradford. Henry. Darling Grace, I'm loth to grieve you, But I fear that I must leave you. 158 MACAULAY S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. Grace. Leave me, dearest 1 Say not so ; Let me follow where you go. Henry. Hark ! a secret : To-night the patriots will Encamp on and fortify Bunker Hill. I must be there with my followers brave, I must be there my country to save, — To conquer or fill up a true soldier's grave. Grace. ! Henry, my lover, this deed will you dare 1 And I can do nothing but give you my prayer. But my heart and my love shall be with you there. Enter Mr. Baxter. Mr. B. How — you rascal, rebel sneak ! — Dare you to my daughter speak 7 She is not for such as you. Henry. Sir ! my love for her is true, And I pray you bless her choice. Mr. B. No, sir. I will give my voice Only to a soldier brave, Loyal to his rightful king. (Exit.) Henry. Ah ! we must the country save, Though our joy it may not bring. We must be true To the Red, White, and Blue. Music, " Yankee Doodle." Hark to that noise ! Yes, my brave boys Are calling for me. Grace. 0, let them come in, that I may bless The banner bright for which you fight. Enter Soldiers wit7i banner and drums, and playing "Yankee Doodle." Grace goes and shakes hands with them, then takes off a blue scarf and binds it about the drum* As true as the blue, And as pure as the white, MACAULAY'S dialogues for young people. 159 And as brave as the red, May you go to the fight. Enter Moll. I bless the banner and bless the cause ; Fight for your country, her freedom and laws ; And when you have driven the foe from the track, Your mothers and maidens shall welcome you back. Zeke. Well, Captain Henry, we'll all fight, With such a pretty girl to bless the right. Nat. And blessing will come with old Molly's good will, So gladly we'll march to defend the old hill. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Baxter. Mr. B. What the fiend is this all about 1 You rebel rascal — take your men out ! At the first fire of King George's gun The question will be how fast they can run. Grace, No, father, no ; they are brave and true. Mr. B. You impudent girl, what's that to you ? Moll. Beware, old tyrant, to her what you say ! She'll be prouder and higher than you some day. Mr. B. Hush ! hush ! Good Molly, not a word ! Grace. What is this strange speech I've heard 1 Mrs. B. Silence, you fool ! let her triumph to-day. Her rash young fool will be soon out of the way, And then it will be our turn for the play. Soldiers form and march off. Henry takes a silent farewe^ of Grace, and puts himself at their head. Curtain falls. SCENE II. — After the battle. Same green — or a room in Mr. Baxter's house. Mr. and Mrs. Baxter and Grace. Mrs. B. My child, this British colonel woos you ; No nobler suitor e'er will choose you ; 160 MACAULAY S DIALOGUES FOE YOUNG PEOPIjE. He'll take you to his English home Of splendor. Grace. I will not come. My heart is here, mother dear, With my poor wounded hero. Mrs. B. 0, foolish girl ! These feeble bands that sought the fight, And quailed before King George's might, Will all be scattered. He will die, Or else be forced from home to fly. Grace. Then I'll go with him, well or ill. Mr. B. No, girl ! I am your father still. You won't be free for many a day, And by my right I'll bar the way. Consent to wed as I've declared, Or I'll hold you under watch and ward. Enter Moll. Moll. You will, vilest man of men ! Have you forgotten Moll Pitcher, then ? Grace. 0, good woman, tell me, pray, Aught that may my heart relieve, Else 'twill surely break to-day, So for Henry do I grieve. Moll. You are not the child Of this cruel pair, But your father was brave and your mother was fair. The blood of old Plymouth ran in his veins, A fortune he gathered by labor and pains, And dying he left you in charge to this friend, Who claims you his child, to the end He may seize on your fortune ; but I loved him well, And I've watched o'er his child that this tale I might tell. Mrs. B. Mr. B. Moll. b she is crazy, don't believe her. No, you can no more deceive her. The right will stand. (to Grace) Your father's dying hand macaulay's dialogues for young people. 161 Gave me this ring. (to Mr. and Mrs. Baxter) To you I'll bring Full many a proof I speak the truth. Mr. B. Nay ! nay ! good Molly, we can't deny The tale you tell, and will not try. We sought her good. Mrs. B. Hush,, hush, old fool ! Your hasty tongue and temper school. (to Moll) We sought our own, and hoped when grown To woman's age, to wed her far away, And keep her fortune ; but, ah me ! to-day Our plots are vain. Forgive me, child, I pray. Mr. B. I am her guardian, and she must obey. For two years yet I can her rule. Mrs. B. You rule a woman, you stupid fool 1 You'd better coax her to hush up this story. Grace. I will, when you cease to act as a Tory. If you'll give your consent I shall be Henry's wife, And will join the good cause. I'll support you thro' life. Moll. Grant it, or to-morrow morn Of wealth and honor you'll be shorn. Mrs. B. noble maiden, we grant all you say, And feel freer in heart than for many a day ; For ill-gotten plunder will never succeed, And who fights 'gainst his country is wretched indeed. (Cur tain falls.) SCENE III. — A room in Henry's mother's house. Henry, pale and languid, lying on couch, his mother sits at his head. Young girls sewing, spinning, and weaving. Mother. Ah, my poor boy ! will you never revive 7 I'd give up my life if you only might live. Why should you despair ! Our defeat on the hill Was a triumph — our men gather still ; And- hark you, they say The commander-in-chief will be with them to-day. 162 MAC AUL AY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. Henry. And here I lie, But I must try At least to die Where every brave man ought to lie — Upon the battle field. I will not to the British yield. But 0, my heart ! I could have died without a groan Upon the battle-field alone Had Grace been true. That she could leave me, That she could treacherously deceive me, To wed her country's foe, Is harder than the hireling's blow. But, sisters dear, who patient weave The thread, to clothe our soldiers brave, You teach me all my strength to save And to my country's cause to cleave. Let me lean on you, mother dear ; I'll walk a little, {rises and walks, supported by his mo- ther.) Enter Zeke. Zeke. you here ! Zeke, 0, Captain Henry, you must get well. The troops are mustering everywhere. Let old Moll Pitcher try her spell, And the blessed old parson put up a prayer. Enter Moll. Yes, my hero, young and brave, Cast this wretched gloom away. Rise, your country's cause to save, Washington comes here to-day. All (exclaim). Washington, our noble chief ! We will serve him night and day. (Henry lies down.) Enter Grace. MACAULAY S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. 163 Grace. Mother, where is Henry dear 1 0, what struggles I have known ! Harassed by each bitter fear, In my chamber dark and lone ; For my cruel father held me there, And would not answer to my prayer, Till this true and noble friend (to Moll) Came her powerful aid to lend. Henry. 'Tis her voice ! What have I heard 1 Can I trust this blessed word ! Grace, my darling, are you true 1 Grace. How could I be false to you, Whom I love more than my life 1 Henry. 0, my joy, my love, my wife. Mother. I am strong again : I feel no wounds, I know no pain, I am strengthened by your word. (to Zeke) Brave fellow, bring me my musket and sword ; Let the drum beat, I am ready to fight. Grace, though I leave you, I'll never deceive you ; ' We are wedded for life, And are one in the strife For the true and the right. Call in the boys. I long to see The trusty men who follow me. Enter Soldiers. First Soldier. Hurrah ! for our captain so noble and high. Second Soldier. Hurrah ! for the women so trusty and true. Third Soldier. Hurrah ! for the girls for whom gladly we'd die. AIL Hurrah ! one and all, for the red, white, and blue. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Baxter. Mrs. B. Neighbors, we ask your pardon all, If we have seemed both hard and stern, We have found King George is in the wrong, Which proves that we may live and learn. 164 macaulay's dialogues fok young people. Mr. B. This loving pair, We fondly bless, And wish them health And happiness. Zeke. Hark ! hark ! I hear a drumming : Listen — Washington is coming 1 Enter Washington, with Aides, etc. Washington. Good friends, I'm glad to greet you all Here, ready for your country's call. Our cause needs all the men to light, The women working for the right. With men so brave, with girls so true, We cannot fail — I pledge my life to you i All. And ours to you with heart and hand. Moll. God bless this noble patriot band ! The flame that rose on Bunker Hill Shall glow and blaze until it fill Our glorious land from shore to shore, And Freedom's mighty song shall rise Free and triumphant to the skies. And when a hundred years are o'er, Its mighty echoes shall be heard ; And men and women gather still About the base of Bunker Hill, To tell again the old, old story Of Washington and all our glory — To wave again the flag so true, The stars above — red, white, and blue. But then not war, but peace shall claim The brightest crown, the dearest name, And England claim her mighty son As owing birth to her alone ; And North and South, and West and East, Shall all unite in Freedom's feast, And with loud cheers of right good will. Hail to the day of Bunker Hill ! Tableau. Song, " Hail Columbia." Curtain falls. macaulay's dialogues for young people. 165 AMEEIOA'S BIETHDAY PAETT. GEORGE B. BARTLETT. CHARACTERS. America.— Blue waist trimmed with gilt paper stars, skirt made of flags ; a pointed crown of blue paper with golden stars. She stands upon a table draped with flags, and leans with her left hand upon a tall staff sur- mounted by a liberty cap. The other characters stand in a semi-circle around her. Each advances to the centre as she speaks or sings, and kneels before America and presents her gift, then retires to her place. America acknowledges each present, which she places on a small table at her side. Industry.— Long brown robe. Gift, horn of plenty. Agriculture. — Long green robe. Gift, sheaf of wheat. Electricity.— Long red robe. Gift, coil of wire. Science. — Long black robe. Gift, a map. Wealth.— Long yellow robe. Gift, casket of jewels. Literature. — Dark blue robe. Gift, roll of manuscript. Commerce. — Light blue robe, trimmed with cotton wadding. Gift, a ship. Integrity— Long white robe. She presents no gift. All join in singing, to the tune of " Auld Lang Sync" this open- ing chorus : A hundred years have swiftly rolled in endless round away, Since our beloved country first beheld the light of day ; And now we bring as birthday gifts our choicest treasures here, To celebrate the glorious Fourth and this Centennial year. America. Beloved ones ! with joy I see your smiling faces here, And listen to your full report of each progressive year. Stand forth and tell what each has done, my children strong and true — Industry ! as your time is short, suppose we hear from you. Industry. Where the primeval forest stood a thousand cities rise ; Ten thousand churches upward point in warning to the skies ; 166 MACAULAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPIiE. Millions of looms are weaving fast with tireless, rapid hands ; Railroads now bind the continent with solid iron bands. Agriculture. I've made the howling wilderness to blossom as the rose ; Where once the sand blew hot and fierce the wheat now freely grows ; And cattle, from the western plains, go forth in herds to feed The hungry poor in distant lands, wherever there is need. Electricity. I've placed a girdle round the world, and underneath the deep ; Without regard to time or space, from pole to pole I leap ; The darkest places of the world now shine with flashing light, And, more than all of this, in truth, I've learned to read and write. Science. All things on earth and in the air I measure, small and great ; The orbits of the starry hosts with ease I calculate; I heal the sick, and teach the wise, and banish every pain ; And things that seemed a useless waste I bring to use again. Wealth. From California's golden shore to realms of crystal ice, The nations multiply their gains by taking my advice ; Your bonds are known in every land ; and treasured near and far, And by the next Centennial year your bills may be at par. Literature. New books are published every day, some worthy of the name ; Our authors now in foreign lands are slowly getting fame ; Our magazines are wide awake, the children's joy and pride ; Our schools the best the sun can see in all his journey wide. Commerce. Our flag now floats in every breeze, our prows all waves divide ; Our goods are sent to every land, and scattered far and wide ; We gather gems from Afric's shores, where golden torrents roll, And oil from where the freezing waves defend the northern pole. hacaulay's dialogues for young people. 167 America. I hear with joy your welcome words of faithful duty done, But in your noble company I see a silent one. Approach, my dearest, purest child, and fearlessly proclaim The progress made by honest truth, the best-enduring fame. Integrity. Alas ! I sadly must confess my labors are in vain, — For public men too often fall before the greed of gain ; The thirst for fame has been too much for many a noble soul, And self, of many a patriot heart, has gained the full control. America. With sorrow and distress I hear this story, sad, but true, — But next Centennial year shall be a brighter one for you ; The faithless ones shall bow in dust before your warning voice, And our next set of public men shall make your heart rejoice. All kneel before America and sing the closing chorus. We hail the age of truth and right, when patriots shall be Like those of old, from selfish aims and low ambitions free ; And truth and progress onward go, forever hand in hand, And our beloved country make the greatest, purest land. Note.— These verses can be spoken, if preferred, singing only the open ing and closing chorus. COLUMBIA'S DAUGHTERS. JOHN KEYNTON. [For a flag raising.'] Massachusetts and Virginia, meeting. Massachusetts. Well, there, Virginia, who would think to meet You here so early, looking smart and sweet 7 168 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Virginia. Why, sister Massachusetts, I'm on hand To take my part this day so proud and grand. You know that in the past we labored side by side, And the name and fame of Washington Was Massachusetts' pride. Thy sister's heart with pride will ever thrill When Warren's name is mentioned, And grand old Bunker Hill. Massachusetts. True, sister dear, our sons fought side by side, Yorktown and Concord must ever be allied. Your Washington and Jefferson, and all the brilliant throng, Though born upon your virgin soil, to us as w r ell belong. ' But here come sisters New Hampshire and the rest, Thirteen in all ; make each a welcome guest. The remainder of the original Thirteen States appropriately dressed in white with red and blue scarfs, bearing a shield, upon which is the name of the State they represent, here enter and take their appropriate place upon the platform. Rhode Island. Though I'm the smallest State in all the lot Yet I, good sisters, must not be forgot. My sons on many a well-contested field Have nobly fought, and been the last to yield ! Therefore, my sisters, on this festal day Let me unite with you in sisterly array. New Fork. Brave little Rhody, we'll take care of you Along with old Connecticut, forever staunch and true; We welcome you as proudly as did our sires of old Our patriot sires of " 76 : ' when the din of battle rolled ! New Hampshire. Here's North and South Carolina, as I live, To each of them a loving welcome give j maoaulay's dialogues for young people. 169 For Marion's name and Sumpter's still will shine, Both in our hearts forever we enshire. New Jersey. Georgia, Delaware, and Maryland here are seen, With proud old Pennsylvania — the whole Thirteen. Thrice welcome, sisters, in your grand array, We greet you all upon our natal day. Each one is proud of what her sons have done, On history's page still shines the fame they've won. Monmonth and Saratoga, Trenton and Valley Forge, Mad old Wayne at Stony Point leaps up its rocky gorge, Unfurls the flag, and on its ramparts proudly sets Our symbol stars, whose radiant beams no sister e'er forgets. Maryland ('pointing to flag). Hail sacred flag, to sons of Freedom dear, Our Country's valor reared thine honors here. Eternal blessings crown thy rich increase, Thy bands of Union, and thy stars of Peace. In years gone by amid the iron hail My sons upheld thee ; thy stars shall never pale j Upon my wave-washed shore was found A spot where God could be adored — around Whose altars Freedom, Happiness and Peace Could linger, blest with large increase. Hail, blest asylum ! happy country, hail ! O'er thee may truth and virtue, but never foe, prevail. Pennsylvania. I come, dear sisters, this Centennial year to bring A hearty welcome, for around us fondly cling The dearest memories. " Our Bell of Liberty " sublime Peals forth to-day as grand a strain as in the olden time ; Upon my soil, a century ago, this very day, The truth was told with bated breath, that flew on winds away. Our Union then was born ; the assurance then was given That a new star in the firmament of Freedom had arisen, Whose light for ever more should shine upon our history's pages, The symbol bright of Hope and Fame throughout the endless ages. 170 macaulay's dialogues foe young people Connecticut {pointing). But, sisters, see Columbia fair appears, Crowned with her radiant diadem of stars. Georgia. Her brow is laurelled with a hundred years ; Young Neptune stands upon her right—upon her left old Mars. Delaware. A song of welcome let us sing, The joyous notes prolong ; North Carolina. Our voices on the air shall ring, And this shall be our song. South Carolina (advances to the front and sings). Columbia, the gem of the ocean ! The home of the brave and the free ! The shrine of each Patriot's devotion, A world offers homage to thee ; Thy mandates make heroes assemble, When Liberty's form stands in view, Thy banners make Tyranny tremble, When borne by the Red, White and Blue. When borne by the Red, White and Blue, When borne by the Red, White and Blue, Thy banners make Tyranny tremble When borne by the Red, White and Blue. Columbia here enters, attended on the right by a sailor and on the left by a soldier. The remaining States group appropri- ately. South Carolina (sings). Ye sons of Columbia, come hither, And join in our songs of delight, May the wreath you have worn never wither, May the stars of your glory grow bright ; MACAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOB YOUNG PEOPIiE. 171 May the service united ne'er sever, But hold to their colors so true, The Army and Navy forever, Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue. Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue, Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue, The Army and Navy forever, Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue. South Carolina. Thrice welcome, sister, brave in peace and war, Thrice welcome ! and there's room for many more ! Though older sisters, yet our love's the same, With you we link our heritage and fame \ Divided once, oh weak is our alliance ! United, we can bid the world defiance! All repeat slowly in concert Our Country ! 'tis a glorious land ! With broad arms stretched from shore to shore, The proud Pacific chafes her strand, She hears the dark Atlantic roar ; And nurtured on her ample breast, Now many a goodly prospect lies In Nature's noblest grandeur drest, Enamelled with a thousand dyes. Great God ! we thank thee for this home, This bounteous birth-land of the free, Where wanderers from afar may come, And breathe the air of liberty ! Still may her flowers untrampled spring, Her harvests wave, her cities rise, And yet, till time shall fold her wing, Remain Earth's loveliest paradise. Columbia. Welcome, daughters, brave and fair and true, As welcome as to flowers the morning dew : We meet to celebrate the glorious morn, When Liberty, sweet Liberty was born. 172 macaulay's dialogues for young people. A little child she was, long, long ago, 'Twas you who fostered her and marked her grow ; Your hands first wove the precious flag I bear, Your sons upheld it midst the battle's glare, This banner, with its bright and starry field. To Friends we give — to Foes we never yield! This flag we bring in fair Columbia's name, Our stars and stripes — bright emblem of her fame! Unto the breeze its folds are now unfurled, And 'neath its stars we greet the new-born world ! Our fathers in the dim and shadowy past Fought, bled and died — their lives and fortunes cast Into the scale — that we this natal year Might on this spot a glorious shrine uprear To Liberty, where pilgrims from distant lands might come And with Columbia's sons and daughters, The air of Freedom breathe, And quaff its life-renewing waters ! One hundred years have come and gone Since first the truth was told, That Man was to the King an equal born ! This truth to-day we firmly hold ! God bless the name of Washington, And may his sacred fame Linked with that of Jefferson, Imperishable remain ! To the committee receiving the flag* Accept this flag, the gift of hands so fair, Long may it stream upon the sunny air ! Proud be its march upon the land and sea, The emblem of our Country's Liberty ! Upon the field each State hath wrought its star — Let no rude hand its bright effulgence mar ! And, in the future, may it brightly shine, More radiant glowing with the lapse of time, And when another natal day shall come, Oh, may our land still be bright Freedom's home! macaulay's dialogues for young people. 173 To the States. Fair daughters ! now forever great and free, This be our song — " The Emblem of our Liberty," And may its strains, so resonant and grand, Be long the anthem of our native land ! All sing (Air — " Viva V America.") Unfurl our standard of stars to the breeze, Still may it nutter o'er land and o'er seas ; Our flag we'll honor till our latest breath, Shield and defend it till death. Long as the stars in the welkin shall shine, Honor, and Freedom, and Beauty be thine. Float thou forever, o'er land and o'er sea, Emblem of fair purity. Hurrah for our flag, the flag of the free ! The flag of our Fathers, our banner shall be ; Long may it wave o'er land and o'er sea, Symbol of sweet Liberty. Emblem thou art of the good and the true, Heaven-born banner of Red, White and Blue ; Still we'll protect thee from tyrannous scars, Rallying here 'neath thy stars. North and South meet this jubilee day, And with the East our bright ensign display, Proudly the West joins the jubilant strain, Brothers united again. Hurrah for our flag, etc. Flag of our Fathers ! the Blue of thy field, With the White and the Red forever shall shield Millions of earth-born, who shall in thy name Kinship and brotherhood claim. God still our Union protect and defend, Thy choicest blessing forever extend ; 174 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Make of our land in the future to be A refuge where all shall be free. Hurrah for our flag, etc. God of our fathers ! to thee sounds our cry, Echoed by millions to Thy throne on high, Strengthen our Union and prosper our land, Make us as brothers to stand ! Still humbly bending to Thee we would pray That thou, in Thy wisdom, may'st speed the day When all the wide world in our flag shall see The symbol of their liberty. Hurrah for our flag, the flag of the free ! The flag of our fathers our banner shall be ; Long may it float o'er land and o'er sea, Symbol of their liberty. Old Mother Colony addresses Columbia. A glorious shrine thou hast upreared, Where once the savage trod. The Pilot who has safely steered Thy " Ship of State " is God ; 'Tis He who has so prospered thee, And to thy daughters given This glorious banner of the free, Whose hues were born in heaven. God's blessed book let each child read, Its teachings never scorn, Its precepts they must ever heed, If they would breast the storm. "In God we trust" — this motto be The watchword and the sign, And peoples yet unborn shall see Thy stars more brightly shine. New York {advances to front of platform). When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, MACAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 175 She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there ; She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And «triped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light •, Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle-bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. Majestic monarch of the cloud ! Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, And see the lightning lances driven, Where strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder drum of heaven — Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar, Like rainbows on the cloud of war, The harbinger of victory ! Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on. Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Had dimmed the glistening bayonet, Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn ; And, as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance ; And when the cannon mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, And gory sabres rise and fall, Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, There shall thy meteor glances glow, 176 macaulay's dialogues for young people. And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. Flag of ihe seas ! on ocean wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; When Death careening on the gale. Sweeps darkly around the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free hearts hope and home, By angel hands to valor given ! Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet ! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner waving o'er us. All repeat in concert. Forever float that standard sheet ! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner waving o'er us. After Columbia and Iter daughters have left the platform^ Min- nehaha advances and thus soliloquizes : Minnehaha. Westward, westward, further westward, Oh, my people, to the sunset, Go into the purple shadows, From the rising sun go westward : Like the new moon slowly, slowly Sinking in the purple distance. Farewell ! farewell ! Oh, my people, macaulay's dialogues for young people. 177 We must leave our sparkling waters, Our green fields and waving cornfields, And our forests dark and lonely. Gitchie Manitou, the Mighty, The Great Spirit — the Creator Sent a message in a vision. Of the greatness of the stranger ; And he spake to me in this wise : Minnehaha — Laughing Water, Take your people further westward, In the dim and purple distance Where the sunset lingers longest. You must go there with your people, For the strong and mighty white man Your old hunting ground inhabits, And from many, many wigwams Smoke curls up in cloudy vapors. Thus beheld I, in my vision ; "All the secrets of the future — Of the distant days that shall be. I beheld the westward marches Of the unknown crowded nations. All the land was full of people. Restless, struggling, toiling, striving, Speaking many tongues, yet feeling But one heart beat in their bosoms. In the woodlands rang their axes, Smoked their towns in all the valleys ; Over all the lakes and rivers Rushed their great canoes of thunder. Then a darker, drearier vision Passed before me. I beheld your nation scattered, Weakened, warring with each other ; Saw the remnants of our people Like the withered leaves of Autumn Scattered/' So, my people, further westward, This alone remains unto us. We must say unto the white man, 178 maoaulay's dialogues foe young people. Spare to us and to our children — Spare to us one little corner In the distant land of sunset, Where our wives and little children Can sit down beneath the shadow Of Gitchie Manitou, the Mighty ; Where our braves can in the sunset, In the shadow of their wigwams, Smoke their pipes of peace together. OUE COUNTKY'S SEASONS. [For four Girls or Boys.] Spring. With March comes in the pleasant Spring, When little birds begin to sing ; To build their nests, to hatch their brood, With tender care provide them food. Summer. And Summer comes with verdant June : The flowers, then, are in full bloom ; All nature smiles, the fields look gay ; The weather's fine to make the hay. Autumn. September comes : the golden corn By many busy hands is shorn ; Autumn's ripe fruits, an ample store, Are gathered in, for rich and poor. Winter. Winter's cold frost, and northern blast — This is the season that comes last: The snow has come, the sleigh-bells ring, And merry boys rejoice and sing. hacaulay's dialogues foe young people. 179 TOOLE NATHAFS INDIAN. Characters. — Uncle Nathan, an Old Settler ; Uncle Chris, Ms Brother ; Tom, aged 12, Bill, aged 10, their Nephews. SCENE. — Room in Uncle Nathan's house. Tom. Uncle Nathan, you promised us boys that if we wouldn't pester you when j^ou were husking corn, you would take an even- ing and answer our questions about settling up the backwoods. Now, here it is almost Christmas and we haven't heard from you yet. Uncle Nathan. Who is to blame, Tom, you or I, eh ] Tom. No matter now, expect we boys are. Well, were there Indians here when you came % Uncle Nathan. Indians ! Guess there were. Right across the river, not more than a mile from here, there was a camp of over two hundred. Tom. What — real wild Indians 1 Uncle Nathan. To be sure they were. Tom. And did they ever scalp anybody 1 Weren't you afraid 1 Did they have bows and arrows and tomahawks and scalping- knives 1 Uncle Nathan. Nobody was ever scalped to my knowledge. We used to be somewhat fearful at first, but we soon found out that they were either afraid, or had no disposition to hurt us. They had bows and arrows, and some guns, and tomahawks, and long knives which they used for dressing game. Bill. 0, Tom, wouldn't you like to see an Indian — a real bloody, wild Indian 1 A rap at the door, ichich Uncle Nathan opens, and Uncle Chris enters, disguised as an Indian, Ms face colored a red- dish oroion. Uncle Chris {stepping back a little into the darkness). Who- o-o-o-o-p ! 180 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Tom and Bill (starting for the stairs) Oh, dear ! he's an In- dian. Uncle Nathan. Come back, boys, he wont hurt you. Come in, Wild Cat. Uncle Chris (laughing). Pappoosies big scare, oogh ! Big In- jun no kill pappoosie — no kill squaw — kill schmaukie man, oogh ! Bill [whispering to his uncle). Oh, I'm afraid he'll kill you, 'cause you smoke. Hide your pipe, uncle, for fear he does. Uncle Nathan (taking the pipe from his pockets and handing it to Uncle Chris) Have a smoke, Wild Cat 1 Uncle Chris. Oh ! schmaukie man much good. Heap tobacco, big pipe. Any iciskee? Uncle Nathan. No whiskey to-night. Uncle Chris [sorrowfully). Oogh ! Wild Cat much cold. Moc- casin no good. Blanket, oh, much hole. Wiskee make warm, come — make no shiver. Leetle much wiskee, eh? Uncle Nathan (shaking his head). No whiskey. Uncle Chris. Schmaukie man no good. Poor Injun want wis- kee — make warm come — Injun much money — much fight. No wiskee 1 Injun take pappoosies, eh 1 Schmaukie man give wis- kee, get pappoosies back (makes a spring, catches Tom and Bill and starts for the door.) Tom. Murder! Murder! MURDER! Bill. Oh ! toe'll be scalped ! Uncle Nathan. Hold on, Chris, enough, enough ; let them go. Uncle Chris. How do you like a real, bloody, wild Injun, Bill 1 Bill (a little sulky). You aint an Indian. Indians wouldn't scare little boys like you did me. Uncle Chris. Come now, Bill, let us be friends again. Here is a book about the Indians, that I bought for you the other day. Wont that pay for your big scare 1 And I'll sit down and behave myself the rest of the evening. Come, let us make up. Tom. All right. Hurrah for Wild Cat, the celebrated Flat-head Chief! Had any roasted dog to-day, Wild Cat ] Uncle Nathan. Now, boys, don't be too hard on Uncle Chris, for I engaged him to favor us with an Indian performance to- night, and he has done nobly. Old Wild Cat himself couldn't macaulay's dialogues fok young people. 181 have surpassed him in playing his part. Come, Billy, let us have your opinion of a real, bloody, wild Indian. Bill. I've got over my scare now, and I want to know if that was the way the Indians used to talk, and did they yell like that ] Uncle Nathan. When we came here forty years ago, the In- dians had traded with the white people enough to understand the English language, and speak it about as well as your uncle did to- night. Some, of course, got hold of it more readily, and others again were very hard to be understood. Uncle Chris is a fair, average Indian. Tom. What did they live on 1 Did they farm any 1 Uncle Nathan. Many years ago they had some cornfields on the river bottom. Wherever they had a village, there was usual- ly a small field close by, where the squaws raised corn, beans, and sometimes pumpkins. Tom. The squaws/ Hey, Wild Cat. does your squaw raise your corn for you? Wouldn't Aunt Em. "raise cane" if her " big Injun " wanted her to hoe corn 1 Bill. Hush, Tom, Uncle Nathan is full of talk ; let us hear what he has to say. Uncle Nathan. They depended on their guns and bows for most of their living. I have seen a young Indian shoot a blue- bird with his bow and arrow, pull a few feathers off, and roast it on a rod over the smoke and fire, and then eat it. Tom. Mighty nice, Uncle Wild Cat. How'll you take your blue- bird 1 feathers off, or roasted whole 1 Uncle Chris. Tom, I'm afraid you are not truly thankful to me for showing off the Indian to-night. Tom. Oh yes ! Much obliged to you, Mr. Wild Cat, for scaring me out of a year's growth. Wont you oblige me by taking off my scalp 1 Would it be too much trouble to roast me to death, and dance around me while I'm burning 1 Would you have some " wiskee " to get drunk on % Now please do favor us with one of your delightful whoops before going to your wigwam to beat your squaw, and scare your poor orphanless pappoosies to death. Uncle Chris. I give it up, Tom ; and if I didn't see the fun in your eyes, I should feel sorry that I had come over here to-night to play the Indian, or the fool, whichever you please to call it. 182 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Tom {laughing). There, now Uncle Chris, I'm even with you. You made me believe you were an Indian, and I made you believe I was mad about it. so after we've had one a-piece of Uncle Na- than's bell-flower apples we'll go home, and leave an appointment to hear the rest next week. Uncle Nathan (passing the apples). In order to make you prompt next week, I will tell you that I bought the tree on which these apples grew of " Old Johny Appleseeds," who was a great character in the early day. (Curtain.) THE MAT-BASKET AEMY. Characters. — Lucy White, Jane Blue, Mary Pink, Dolly Black, John Dix, Joseph Ray, Thomas Dike. [Four little girls, dressed in WJiite, Pink, Blue, and Black, seated at a table strewn with tissue paper. Each little girl has a May-basket.] Enter their Teacher. The children rise and approach her with their baskets. Teacher. My dear girls, I am delighted to see you all together here. 'Tis pleasanter and more social making your baskets in company. Are they complete 1 Pink. We had just finished them as you came in ; and we have been so happy in making them. Are they not pretty 1 Teacher. They are very beautiful. Please hold them all up so that I can see them. The pattern is the same, but the colors dif- ferent. Pink. Yes ; I made mine pink, or perhaps it is red, because that is my favorite color. You know the sun is always red when it is warm ; and blushes are red, and blushes come straight from the heart, and love is in the heart, so I think love is red, and love is the best thing in the world : the Bible says so. Teacher. Where did you find that in the Bible 1 Pink. Well, the Bible says, " God is love." ' MACAUIiAY's DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 183 Teacher. Yes, my dear child, " God is love," and love is the best thing in the world ; and 'tis love makes heaven. Pink. I know that. Grandma and our baby are all love ; and Auntie says they are our heaven. Blue. I made mine blue, teacher, because the sky is blue, and blue is the most beautiful color there is. Teacher. And why do you think blue the most beautiful color 7 Blue. I cannot tell. But I never tire looking at the beautiful sky. I see the sun there, and all the stars, and the moon. And when those light, fleecy clouds go sailing by. I think bright an- gels are in them. White. I made mine white because you told me innocence and purity were clothed in white. Then white, you know, always looks so bright and clean. Little lambs are white, and little ba- bies are dressed in white, and I love them. Everything white looks so pure. Teacher. You three have made a good selection of colors ; but how is it with Blackey? She looks like a dark shadow here. Black. 0, teacher, I made my basket black on purpose. You see 'tis made of coarse paper, and just put together anyway. I am going to give it to Phoebe Doler. Phoebe is a coarse girl, and rough in her manners, and she has an ugly face, and they are poor people. Teacher. Is this a good reason for giving her a coarse, ugly May-basket 1 Black. I should think so ; it looks just like her. Teacher {takes the basket and examines it). What an ugly basket this is ! Who could have made a thing so entirely devoid of all beauty 1 Black. I made it. But then I made it for Phoebe Doler. Teacher. Blackey, I do not understand you. You are not a bad girl : you have not a bad heart ; and I do not understand how you could have made so bad a basket. Black. 0, I made it for Phoebe Doler. Teacher. It makes no difference who you made it for, since it is a gifi ; and a gift is a child of the heart. I did not think your heart could send forth into the world such an ugly child. Black. But it is for Phoebe Doler. 184 MAOAULAY'S DIALOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. Teacher. Phoebe Doler didn't make this basket. It is your child ; you made it ; and I am pained that you should allow such a bad feeling in your heart to take form and come forth into the world. Do you think it as pretty as Pinkey's. Black. Not half; but then, it is for Phoebe Doler. Teacher. Do you think Phoebe Doler is pretty % Black. No, she has an ugly face ; 'tis covered with freckles. Teacher. And, you say, your basket looks just like her. I saw this morning, an ugly weed growing in my garden. I pulled it up and burned it. Black. And would you burn this basket 1 Teacher. I would, by all means ; and then I would watch my heart very closely, and never again let it give form to anything that was not beautiful. {Exit Black.) Enter three Boys, with bonnets and shawls on. John. Teacher, we heard of this May army, and so we procur- ed ourselves uniforms, and have come to ask your permission to enlist as soldiers. Teacher. The addition of so many u braves " to our army would increase our strength. Your uniform may answer ; but there are other things necessary to fit you for a place in our ranks. Joseph. We were aware of this, and have come prepared. Ques- tion us, if you please. Teacher. Do you know we are a May-basket army 1 All. We do. Teacher. Are you prepared with baskets for an evening's march ? All. We are. Teacher. The spirit of our army is, to bless. Is there a bless- ing in your baskets ? All. We believe so. Teacher. I see no objections to your entering our ranks, but I will leave the decision to Pinkey. Pink. We will not accept them until we see their baskets. {Exeunt Boys.) Blue. That was a wise decision, Pinkey : those boys looked full of mischief, with their bonnets on. maoaulay's dialogues foe young people. 185 White. But they are good boys. Sammy Ray would never do a wicked thing. Be- enter Boys. John (with a basketful of potatoes). Will not this basket of roots be a blessing to poor Mrs. Castaway 1 Teacher. Indeed it will. You have complied with the spirit of our army ; and though we see no delicate beauty in your rough basket, we know a living beauty is in the heart of it. Joseph. My basket has a turkey in it. It is to go with the po- tatoes to Mrs. Castaway, for a bit of a relish. Teacher. A double blessing for the poor woman. You " braves " will give strength to our army. Your baskets are sub- stantial. Now for Soldier Third. Tliomas. My basket is a small one, and yet it contains what may be converted into tea, coffee, candles or snuff, as poor Mrs. Castaway may choose, (he pours upon the table a hundred pen- nies.) Teacher. The poor woman will not think she is a castaway when she finds this trio of gifts at her door. Now, Pinkey, what is your decision 1 Shall we receive these bonneted volunteers into our army or not ? Pink. 0, yes, we will receive them, but not their bonnets. I fear mischief in those comical bonnets. Blue. Don't be over-particular, Pinkey. You mistake a little innocent fun for mischief. Since their baskets are all right, don't mind their bonnets. Thomas. There is no mischief in our bonnets. Are they not after the same pattern as your own 1 Are they not in uniform 1 Pink. Uniform is not always harmony. Bonnets do not har- monize with your heavy baskets, neither do they harmonize with your boy-nature. Teacher, order them to take off their bonnets. Teacher. Pinkey, since you and Bluey differ in this matter of bonnets, we will let Whitey decide. White. I am so much pleased with this addition of substantial- ity to our army, that I would like to indulge these generous vol- unteers in all their sportive whims. Thomas. White fairy! your wish is our law. You have only to speak, and we obey. 186 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. White: Thank you. good soldier. We girls do* not like apes ; but we like boys, {the boys lay their bonnets at her feet.) Pink. Bravo, boys ! that is well done. Now all is right. I'll pick up your bonnets, and keep them for some poor girls that have none. Enter Black, smiling, dressed in scarlet with a scarlet basket ; all gently applaud. Teacher. The dark cloud has given place to a warm, glowing sunbeam. Now you have a beautiful basket ; the heart is all right ; this one will please poor Phoebe Doler. Black. I know it will. I don't think she ever had a pretty thing given to her in all her life. Perhaps it will do her good. I will try it any way. Teacher. This trying it will do you good. Black. And don't you think it will do Phoebe Doler good too 1 Teacher. Certainly I do. Every kind word spoken, and every beautiful or useful gift carries a blessing in its heart. Pink. I am delighted with our May-basket army. Susie Blackey has changed to Scarlet. All is right ; and I know how to manage the affair. We must hang our baskets on the door knob, then ring the bell and run. We must go in the evening, so that the darkness will conceal us. Blue. That's the way to do it, Pinkey — angels never show them- selves when they leave a gift. Ihomas. When shall we commence our march 1 Pink. As soon as you have gathered up your pennies. We are all ready. I shan't tell who I am going to hang my basket for — 'tis somebody that will be pleased with it.. White. I am going to hang mine for grandpa ; he is so good, and I know it will please him. Pink. Grandpa ! He is an old man. Why don't you hang it for some boy that you like 1 White. Grandpa isn't old. He has lived a great many years, but that don't make him old ; and I like him better than I do any of the boys. Thomas. That is a hard cut, Fairy. I wish I were grandpa.^ Wliite. Can't I hang mine for grandpa 1 macaulay's dialogues foe young people. 187 Teacher. To be sure you can. if you think it would give him pleasure. White. I know it would. Bluey, who are you going to hang yours for 1 Blue. 'Tis for some one that I like very much, but I had rather not tell her. Pinkey would only laugh at me. But he is a good boy, and he is sick. Thomas. I wish I were a good boy and sick. My pennies are all picked up. Are we ready to commence our march \ Teacher. You are all ready, and I wish you a pleasant even- ing. {Exeunt.) IMAGINAKY POSSESSIONS. Characters. — Bill Bumpkin. Sol Blunt. Clem Clodpoll. SCENE. — A road. Enter Bill and Clem, meeting. Bill. Hi, Clem, that you 1 You're late. Clem. So be you ; what kep' you 1 Bill. I've been a-mOwin' for Farmer Nabob ; and I was bound to get done, if it took till bed-time. Where have you been 1 Clem. Drivin' Uncle Jake's ox^team to the saw-mill. Ain't it a pretty night ? Bill. 'Tis that. Nary cloud to be seen. Clem. Plenty of stars, though. Bill. There's a mighty wide stretch of blue up there. I wonder how many acres there be in the sky. I wish it was all one big field of blue-grass, and I owned it. Clem. Tell you what I wish. I wish all them stars was fat cat- tle, and they belonged to me. Bill. Cattle ! What in creation would you do with so many cattle 1 Where would you keep 'em 1 Clem. Wall, I reckon I'd leave 'em in your big pasture. Bill. Guess you'd better ask me about that ; what rent would you pay 1 Clem. I sha'n't pay at all, and I sha'n't ask leave. Bill. Won't pay for pasterin' all them cattle'? 188 macaulay's dialogues for young people. Clem. Not a nickel. Bill. Then, I'll shoot your blamed old cattle ; every skin of 'em ! Clem. Shoot ! I'd like to catch you at it ; I'd kick you till you couldn't stand up ! Bill. Kick me ! You, Clem Clodpoll, kick me 1 No, sir-ee ; you're not the man to kick Bill Bumpkin. I'll shoot your cattle, old and young, horned and muley, — and if I ever see you within a hundred yards of my pasture, I'll Clem. I dare you to ! Who's afraid of you ? I'll tear down the fence ; I'll burn your blue-grass ; I'll haul stones all over your pasture-field ! Bill. You miserable, low-lived ox-driver. You're mean and sneakin' enough to steal or do any thing contemptible. Clem. You're a liar, and a fightin' liar, and you daresn't take it up. Bill. Take that, (strikes Clem ; they tussle and fight in the most boorish manner, and finally roll on the ground together.) Enter Blunt. Blunt. What's all this 1 Get up, here, you young grizzly bears. Why are you fighting 1 (he parts them. They stand, locking fool- ish, and rubbing their bruises) Can't one of you speak % What was the cause of this moonlight encounter 1 Clem. He said he'd shoot my cattle. Bill. He said he'd burn my blue-grass. Clem. He called me a thief. Bill. He said he'd turn his cattle into my meadow without ask- ing me. Blunt. Cattle ? Blue-grass f Meadow t What are you talk- ing about 1 I didn't know that you owned any cattle. Clem (looking confused). No, I don't ; but, if I did Blunt. If you did? Ha, ha, — You don't mean to say you have been pommelling each other about an if! How is it, Bill ; where is your meadow upon which Clem has been trespassing 7 Bill (scratching his head). I'll tell you how it was, Sol ; I said I wished the sky was a big pasture, and that it was mine ; and Clem said he wished all the stars were cattle, and belonged to him. macaulay's dialogues for young people. 189 Blunt. Yes. Bill. Then we went on from one thing to another, till we got to thinking that sky was mine, and the stars his'n. Then we got to quarrelin' about our property, and I as good as called Clem a thief, and he as good called me a liar Clem. And so we fit. Blunt. Well, that's the queerest cause of war that I ever heard about. You are more foolish than the men who disputed about the color of the chamelion. Shake hands, you blockheads, and go home, [to audience) Ladies and gentlemen, I don't wonder that you laugh at the absurd spectacle just exhibited before you. But I leave it to you, who are judges of human nature, to pardon the extravagance of our play, in view of the moral it conveys to those who are tempted to contend about Imaginary Possessions. (Curtain.) THE GBIDIBOU. [The Captain, Patrick, and the Frenchman.] Patrick. Well, Captain, whereabouts in the wide world are we 1 Is it Roosia, Proosia, or Jarmant oceant 1 Captain. Tut, you fool, it's France. Pat. Tare an' ouns ! do you tell me so 1 And how do you know it's France, Captain dear'? Capt. Because w T e were on the coast of the Bay of Biscay when the vessel was wrecked. Pat. Troth, I was thinkin' so myself. And now, Captain, jewel, it is I that wishes we had a gridiron. Capt. Why, Patrick, what puts the notion of a gridiron into your head 1 Pat. Becase I'm starving with hunger, Captain dear. Capt, Surely, you do not intend to eat a gridiron, do you 1 Pat. Ate a gridiron ! bad luck to it ! No. But, if we had a gridiron we could dress a beefsteak. Capt. Yes ; but where's the beefsteak, Patrick 7 Pat. Sure, couldn't we cut it off the pork 1 Capt. I never thought of that. You are a clever fellow, Pat- rick, (laughing.) 190 macaulay's dialogues fok young people Pat. There's many a thrue word said in joke, Captain. And now, if you'll go and get the bit of pork that we saved from the wrack, I'll go to the house there beyant, and ax some of them to lind me the loan of a gridiron. Capt. But, Patrick, this is France, and they are all foreigners here. Pat. Well, and how do you know but I am as good a furriner myself as any o' them ? Capt. What do you mean, Patrick 1 Pat. Parley voo frongsay ? Capt. 0, you understand French then, is it 1 Pat. Troth, you may say that, Captain dear. Capt. Well, Patrick, success to you. Be civil to the foreign- ers, and I will be back with the pork in a minute, (he goes out.) Pat. Aye, sure enough, I'll be civil to them ; for the French are always mighty p'lite intirely, and I'll show them I know what good manners is. Indade, and here comes munseer himself, quite convaynient. (as the Frenchman enters Patrick takes off his hat, and, making a low bow, says) God save you, sir, and all your children. I beg your pardon for the liberty I take, but it's only being in disthress in regard of ateing, that I make bowld to trou- ble ye; and, if you could lind me the loan of a gridiron, I'd be intirely obleeged to ye. Frenchman {staring at him). Comment ! Pat. Indade, it's thrue for you, I'm tathered to paces, and God knows I look quare enough ; but it's by rason of the storm, that dhruv us ashore jist here, and we're all starvin 5 . French. Je m'yt (pronounced je meet.) Pat. ! not at all ! by no means ! we have plenty of meat our- selves, and we'll dhress it, if you'd be plased jist to lind us the loan of a gridiron, sir. (making a low bow.) French, (staring at him, but not understanding a word.) Pat. I beg pardon, sir ; but may be I'm undher a mistake, but I thought I was in France, sir. Ain't you all furriners here 1 Parley voo frongsay 1 French. Oui, monsieur. Pat. Then, would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, if you plase ? (the Frenchman stares more than ever, as if anxious to MACAUIiAT's DIAIiOGUES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 191 understand) I know it's a liberty I take, sir ; but it's only in the re- gard of bein' cast away ; and, if you plase, sir, parley voo frongsay ] French. Oui, monsieur ; oui. Pat. Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, sir, and you'll obleege me. French. Monsieur, pardon, monsieur Pat. (angrily). By my sowl, if it was you was in disthress, and if it was to owld Ireland you came, it's not only the gridiron they'd give you, if you axed it, but something to put on it too, and a dhrop of drink into the bargain. Can't you understand your own language ? (very sloicly) Parley — voo — frongsay — munseer ?- French. Oui, monsieur ; oui, monsieur, mais Pat. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, I say, and bad scram to you. French, {bowing and scraping). Monsieur, je ne l'entend Pat. Phoo ! the divil sweep yourself and your long tongs ! I don't want a # tongs, at all at all. Can't you listen to rason ? French. Oui, oui, monsieur ; certainement, mais Pat. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, and howld your prate. (the Frenchman shakes his head, as if to say he did not under- stand; but Patrick, thinking he meant it as a refusal, says, in a passion) Bad cess to the likes o' you ! Troth, if you were in my counthry, it's not that-a-way they'd use you. The curse o' the crows on you, you owld sinner ! The divil another word I'll say to you. (the Frenchman puts his hand on his heart, and tries to express compassion in his countenance) Well, I'll give you one chance more, you owld thafe ! Are you a Christhian, at all at all 7 Are you a furriner that all the world calls so p'lite 7 Bad luck to you ! do you understand your mother-tongue 1 Parley voo frongsay 1 (very loud) Parley voo frongsay 3 French. Oui, monsieur ; oui. oui. Pat. Then, thunder and turf ! will you lind me the loan of a gridiron 7 (the Frenchman shakes his head,, as if he did not under- stand ; and Pat says vehemently) The curse of the hungry be on you, you owld nagurly villain ! the back of my hand and the sowl of my fut to you ! May you want a gridiron yourself, yet ! and, wherever I go, it's high and low, rich and poor, shall hear of it, and be hanged to you. 192 macaulay's dialogues fok young people. THE DISCONTENTED GIELS. Characters. — Jennie, Flora, two little girls. SCENE. — Flora and Jennie standing, with dirty faces, tangled Jiair, shoe-strings untied; one with a bonnet on, and the other swinging hers in her hand ; and each carrying a load of school books. Jennie. So, you are ready for school, are you ? I see you have got your bonnet and books. Flora. Yes, I s'pose I've got to go, whether I want to or not. The plagued old school ! I don't care a cent for it. All I do is get scolded ! When I am at home mother scolds all the time ; and when I am at school the teacher scolds. It's scold, scold, scold, all the whole time, from daylight till darkness. I am glad when it's time to go to bed, so I won't hear any more scolding ; and I tell you, I lie as late in the morning as possible. Mother keeps calling me to get up, but I know how to fix Jier. I just stuff the bed-clothes in my ears, just as tight as I can ; and then she calls and calls, and I never hear a single word ! Jennie. That's just the way I do too ! I look out how I get up before breakfast ! I can do work enough afterwards, and get scolding enough too. I have to hold the baby all the time, and all he does is squall, and then mother scolds ; but I don't care ! I make him squall sometimes on purpose ! I hate babies, and I wouldn't take care of them if I could help it ! I am glad when school-time comes, so as to get away from them. It's not quite so bad there, but it's bad enough, for it's study, study, study ! I can't look off the book a single minute but the teacher sees me ; and then those terrible geography lessons, with all those long hard names. I can never learn them. I suppose I shall have to stay after school every night, but I don't know as I care. Flora. I just know what I wish. I wish I was a grown-up young lady. I would go to all the dances and parties I wanted to. I guess I'd do as I pleased then ! I'd have just as many dresses as I wanted. I'd not wear an old flannel dress like this ; and I'd have such beautiful feathers and ribbons ! Oh, I'd cut a dash, I tell you ! (Exit both together.) DE WITT'S ACTING FLAYS. (CONTINUED.) 103. Faust and Marguerite. A Drama, in three Acts. By T. W. Robertson Nine Male, Seven Female Characters. Price 15 ets. 104. No Name.— A Drama, in lour Acts. By Wilkie Collins. Seven Male, five Female Charac- ters. Price 15 cts. 105. Which of tlie Two.-A Comedietta, in one Act. By J ohn M. Morton Two Male, ten Fe- male Characters. Price. . . .15 cts. 106. Up for tlie Cattle Show, — A Farce, in one Act. By Harry Lemon. Six Male, two Female Characters. Price. 15 cts. 107. Cupboard Love, — A Farce, in one Act. By Frederick Hay. Two Male, one Female Character. Price 15 cts. 108. Ufr. Scroafgins.— A Farce, in one Act. By William Han- cock. 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