;V ^^ O '' 5 N o "^ , -. -^-o ''-./^'SikS.. -. 4 O ■aAMA'. -^^..^^ o' Issued Monthly Extra Number E December, 1888 ^a^mmm^&^mm DIALOGUES AND SCENES FROM THE WRITINGS OF HARRIET BEECHER STOWE BY EMILY WEAVER ( ( HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY ^ Boston: 4 Pakk Street ^ New York: ii East 17TH Street STije EibcrsiUf IDirss, (lambriDge f £ntered at the Post Office, Boston, Mass., as second-class matter 'm^^ Single Numbers FIFTEEN CENTS. { ,6^?f:l^e"sflo'«n, cents Edmund Clarence Stedman. POEMS. Farrnvj/ord Edition. 16rao, gilt top, $2.00; half calf, $4.00 ; morocco, $5.00. Household Edition. With Portrait. 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, $2.25; half calf, $3.00; morocco, or tree calf, $4.50. VICTORIAN POETS, llevised and enlarged. Crown 8vo, gilt top, $2.25; half calf, $3.50. POETS OF AMERICA. Revised. A companion volume to " Victorian Poets." Crown 8vo, gilt top, $2.25 ; half calf, $3.50. PROSE AND POETICAL WORKS. 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HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN &, CO., 4 Park Street, Boston. %\)t Hitersiue ^literature &erie0 DIALOGUES AND SCENES FROM THE WRITINGS OF HARRIET , BEECHER STOWE ARRANGED BY EMILY WEAVER HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY Boston: 4 Park Street; New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 1889 -^ '^^ ^'^ r>^ Copyright, 1888, Bt HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. All rights reserved. O ly -J The Riverside Press, Cambridge : Electrotyped and Trinted by 11. 0. Houghton & Co. PEEFATORY NOTE. The use to which the following little work may be put is twofold. It offers to schools which desire to hold some special exhibition material for simple and easily- effected dramatic representation ; and it provides classes also with lively and spirited dialogue for reading exer- cises. Great care has been taken to adhere to the original text as closely as possible ; and in order to make the dia- logue clear and to explain the action, explanatory pas- sages from the book in which the dialogue occurs are added from time to time. They are distinguished from the parts to be acted by being printed in smaller type and enclosed in brackets [ ]. The costumes and properties for the scenes will not generally be found hard to procure, and a little ingenuity will often remove apparent difficulties. It is not the elaborate, but the simple and inexpensive setting of dra- matic scenes which gives most pleasure on the school- stage. It will often be found, however, that a spirited and attractive representation will be secured, simply by as- signing the several parts to different pupils, and ex- pecting them by their fidelity in reading the parts to convey to the school or audience the effect intended by the author to be produced. In this manner the dialogues will offer a pleasing change in reading exercises, and the readers will become familiar with the writing of one of the most eminent of American authors. CONTENTS. ♦ PAGE Senator Bird. In Five Scenes. From "Uncle Tom's Cabin" 5 The Way she "was Raised." In Two Scenes. From "Old Town Folks" 30 Dinah's Kitchen. In Two Scenes. From "Uncle Tom's Cabin" 47 Who would Marry a Minister ? In Two Scenes. From "The Minister's Wooing" 59 The Art of Bediviaking. In One Scene. From "Uncle Tom's Cabin" 68 The Power of Love. In One Scene. From " Uncle Tom's Cabin" 76 The Practical Test. In One Scene. From "The Min- ister's Wooing " 82 The Village Do-nothing. In One Scene. From "Old Town Folks" 88 Sam Lawson's Thanksgiving Dinner. In One Scene. From "Old Town Folks" 93 CHARACTERS. Mr. Bird, the senator. Mrs. Bird, a little, blue- eyed, rosy-cheeked woman. Tom, ) Jim, > children of Mr. and Mrs. Bird. Mary, ) Eliza, a good-looking- quadroon (very nearly white), with black eyes and hair. Harry, her son, a boy of between four and five years of age, with black hair and dark eyes. CuDJOE, an old negro, servant to Mr. Bird. Dinah, an old negress, servant to Mrs. Bird. John van Trompe, a very big, sandy-haired, rough-looking COSTUMES. Mr. Bird. A dark-colored suit of clothes ; a pair of worked slippers ; spectacles ; and in Scenes IV. and V. an overcoat and boots. Mrs. Bird. A full-skirted black dress; hair parted in the middle, and arranged very low on the temples, and coiled or twisted at the back of the head. Tom and Jim, in short trowsers and blouses fastened round the waist with a belt. Mary, in short frock and white pinafore. Eliza, in Scenes II. and III. in a torn dress, soiled and splashed, only one shoe, and torn stockings. In Scene IV. a neat dark dress, a shawl, and a bonnet. Harry, " a gay robe of scarlet and yellow plaid, carefully made and neatly fitted." Cudjoe and Dinah, neatly and plainly dressed. Dinah with apron. John van Trompe must wear a red flannel shirt, and no collar or tie. ANALYSIS OF SCENES: PROPERTIES. ANALYSIS OF SCENES: PROPERTIES. ScE^'E I. A parlor in Mr, Bird's house, with exit. Mrs. Bird denounces the new law against helping escaped slaves, and an- nounces her intention of breaking it as soon as she gets a chance Her husband defends the law, and says that he has voted for it. Properties. Chairs, table, rocking-chair, rug, and carpet suit- able for parlor ; cups and saucers, teapot, etc., camphor-bottle ; newspaper ; boots. Pictures on the walls, and curtains. Scene II. Kitchen in Mr. Bird's house, with exit. Eliza begs Mrs. Bird to protect her, and the senator suggests that they should give her some clothes. Properties. Plain chairs and table, settle. (Bright tins and dish-covers may be hung on the walls, or a shelf holding plates and dishes may be shown ; in fact, any articles that will assist to give the idea of a kitchen will be appropriate to this scene.) Scene III. Same as in Scene II. Eliza gives an account of her escape. Properties. Same as in Scene II. Scene IV. Same as in Scene I. Mr. Bird decides to take Eliza to a place of safety. Properties. Same as in Scene I., omitting the teapot, cups and saucers. Also a dress and some clothes for little boy ; needle, scissors, thimble, etc. Scene V. Kitchen in Van Trompe's house, with exit. Mr. Bird puts Eliza under the protection of John van Trompe. Properties. Rough furniture ; two or three rifles on the walls. Two candles and candlesticks. Ten-dollar bill. SENATOR BIRD. Scene I. A parlor, [The light of the cheerful fire shines on the rug and carpet of a cosy parlor, and glitters on the sides of the teacups and well-brightened teapot, as Senator Bird is drawing off his boots, preparatory to inserting his feet in a pair of new handsome slippers, which his wife has been working for him while he was away on his senatorial tour. Mrs. Bird, look- ing the very picture of delight, superintends the arrangements of the table, ever and anon mingling admonitory remarks to a number of frolicsome juveniles, who are effervescing in all those modes of untold gambol and mischief that have astonished mothers ever since the Flood.] Curtain rises on Mr. and Mrs. Bird and their children. MRS. BIRD. Tom, let the door-knob alone ; there 's a man ! Mary, Mary ! don't pull the cat's tail. Poor pussy ! Jim, you must n't climb on that table ; no, no ! You don't know, my dear [to her husband] , what a surprise to us all to see you here to-night ! MR. BIRD. Yes, yes, I thought I 'd just make a run down, spend the night, and have a little comfort at home. I 'm tired to death, and my head aches ! 8 SENATOR BIRD. [Mrs. Bird casts a glance at a camphor-bottle which stands in the half -open closet, and appears to meditate an ap- proach to it, but her husband interposes.] No, no, Mary, no doctoring! A cup of your good hot tea and some of our good home living is what I want. It 's a tiresome business, this legis- lating ! [And the senator smiles as if he rather liked the idea of considering himself a sacrifice to his country.] MRS. BIRD. Well, and what have they been doing in the Senate ? MR. BIRD. [opening his eyes in surprise at the question. ] Not very much of importance. MRS. BIRD. Well ; but is it true that they have been passing a law forbidding people to give meat and drink to those poor colored folks that come along ? I heard they were talking of some such law, but I did n't think any Christian legislature would pass it ! MR. BIRD. Why, Mary, you are getting to be a politician all at once. MRS. BIRD. No, nonsense ! I would n't give a fig for all your politics generally, but I think this is something SENATOR BIRD. 9 downright cruel and unchristian. I hope, my dear, no such law has been passed. MR. BIRD. There has been a law passed forbidding people to help off the slaves that come over from Ken- tucky, my dear. So much of that thing has been done by these reckless Abolitionists, that our breth- ren in Kentucky are very strongly excited, and it seems necessary, and no more than christian and kind, that something should be done by our State to quiet the excitement. MRS. BIRD. And what is the law? It doesn't forbid us to shelter these poor creatures a night, does it ; and to give 'em something comfortable to eat and a few old clothes, and to send them quietly about their business ? MR. BIRD. Why, yes, my dear ; that would be aiding and abetting, you know. [Mrs. Bird is a timid, blushing little woman about four feet in height, with mild blue eyes and a peach-blow com- plexion, and the gentlest, sweetest voice in the world. . . . There is only one thing that is capable of arousing her, and that provocation comes in on the side of her unusually gentle and sympathetic nature : anything in the shape of cruelty will throw her into a passion which is the more alarming and inexplicable in proportion to the general soft- ness of her nature. On the present occasion, Mrs. Bird rises 10 SENATOR BIRD. quickly, with very red cheeks, which quite improve her gen- eral appearance, and walks up to her husband, with quite a resolute air, and speaks in a determined tone.] MRS. BIRD. Now, John, I want to know if you think such a law as that is right and Christian ? MR. BIRD. You won't shoot me, now, Mary, if I say I do ! MRS. BIRD. I never could have thought it of you, John ; you did n't vote for it ? MR. BIRD. Even so, my fair politician. MRS. BIRD. You ought to be ashamed, John ! Poor, home- less, houseless creatures ! It 's a shameful, wicked, abominable law, and I '11 break it, for one, the first time I get a chance ; and I hope I shall have a chance, I do ! Things have got to a pretty pass, if a woman can't give a warm supper and a bed to poor starving creatures, just because they are slaves and have been abused and oppressed all their lives, poor things ! MR. BIRD. But, Mary, just listen to me. Your feelings are all quite right, dear, and interesting, and I love you SENATOR BIRD. 11 for them ; but then, dear, we must n't suffer our feelings to run away with our judgment ; you must consider it 's not a matter of private feeling, — there are great public interests involved : there is such a state of public agitation rising that we must put aside our private feelings. MRS. BIRD. Now, John, I don't know anything about politics, but I can read my Bible ; and there I see that I must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and com- fort the desolate ; and that Bible I mean to follow. MR. BIRD. But in cases where your doing so would involve a great public evil — MRS. BIRD. Obeying God never brings on public evils. I know it can't. It 's always safest, all round, to do as He bids us. MR. BIRD. Now listen to me, Mary, and I can state to you a very clear argument, to show — MRS. BIRD. Oh, nonsense, John ! you can talk all night, but you would n't do it. I put it to you, John : would you now turn away a poor, shivering, hungry crea- 12 SENATOR BIRD. ture from your door, because he was a runaway ? Would you now ? [Now, if the truth must be told, our senator has the misfor- ^ tune to be a man who has a particularly humane and acces- sible nature, and turning away anybody that is in trouble never has been his forte. So he has recourse to the usual means of gaining time for such cases made and provided ; he says "ahem," and coughs several times, takes out his pocket-handkerchief, and begins to wipe his glasses.] I should like to see you doing that, John, I really should ! Turning a woman out of doors in a snow- storm, for instance ; or, maybe you 'd take her up and put her in jail, would n't you ? You would make a great hand at that ! MR. BIRD. [in a moderate tone.] Of course, it would be a very painful duty. MRS. BIRD. Duty, John ! don't use that word ! You know it is n't a duty — it can't be a duty. If folks want to keep their slaves from running away, let 'em treat 'em well, — that 's my doctrine. If I had slaves (as I hope I never shall have), I 'd risk their wanting to run away from me, or you either, John. I tell you folks don't run away when they are happy ; and when they do run, poor creatures ! they suffer enough with cold and hunger and fear, without everybody turning against them ; and, law or no law, I never will, so help me God ! SENATOR BIRD, 13 MR. BIRD. Mary! Mary! My dear, let me reason with you. MRS. BIRD. I hate reasoning, John, — especially reasoning on such subjects. There 's a way you political folks have of coming round and round a plain right thing ; and you don't believe in it yourselves when it comes to practice. I know you well enough, John. You don't believe it 's right any more than I do ; and you would n't do it any sooner than I. [At this critical juncture, old Cud joe, the black man-of- all-work, puts his head in at the door.] Missis, would you come into the kitchen ? [Our senator, tolerably relieved, looks after his little wife with a whimsical mixture of amusement and vexation, and seating himself in the arm-chair, begins to read the papers. After a moment, his wife's voice is heard at the door, in a quick, earnest tone.] MRS. BIRD. John ! John ! I do wish you 'd come here a mo- ment. Curtain falls. 14 SENATOR BIRD. Scene II. A kitchen. [Mr, Bird lays down his paper and goes into the kitchen, and starts, quite amazed at the sight that presents itself : A young and slender woman, with garments torn and fro- zen, with one shoe gone, and the stocking torn away from the cut and bleeding foot, lies back in a deadly swoon upon two chairs. There is the impress of the despised race on her face, yet none can help feeling its mournful and pathetic beauty, while its stony sharpness, its cold, fixed, and deathly aspect, strikes a solemn chill over him. He draws his breath short, and stands in silence. His wife and their only colored domestic, old Aunt Dinah, are busily engaged in restorative measures ; while old Cudjoe has got the boy (Eliza's son) on his knee, and is busy pulling off his shoes and stockings and chafing his little cold feet.] Curtain i-ises. DINAH. [compassionately.] Sure, now, if slie ain't a sight to behold! — 'pears like 't was the heat that made her faint. She was tol'able peart when she cum in, and asked if she couldn't warm herself here a spell ; and I was just a-askin' her where she cum from, and she fainted right down. Never done much hard work, guess, by the looks of her hands. MRS. BIRD. Poor creature ! [The woman slowly uncloses her large dark eyes, and looks vacantly at Mrs. Bird. Suddenly an expression of agony crosses her face and she springs up.] SENATOR BIRD. 15 ELIZA. Oh, my Harry ! Have they got him ? [The boy at this jumps from Cudjoe's knee, and running to her side, puts up his arms.] Oh, he 's here ! he 's here I Oh, ma'am ! do pro- tect us ! don't let them get him. MRS. BIRD. [encouragingly.] Nobody shall hurt you here, poor woman. You are safe ; don't be afraid. ELIZA. God bless you ! [The woman covers her face, and sobs ; while the boy, see- ing her cry, tries to get into her lap. With many gentle and womanly offices, which none know better how to render than Mrs. Bird, the poor woman is in time rendered more calm. A temporary bed is provided for her on a settle, and in a short time she falls into a heavy slumber, with the child, who seems no less weary, soundly sleeping on her arm ; for the mother resists with nervous anxiety the kindest attempts to take him from her, and even in sleep her arm encircles him with an unrelaxing clasp.] MR. BIRD. [aside, to his wife.] I wonder who and what she is ? MRS. BIRD. When she wakes up and feels a little rested, we will see. 16 SENATOR BIRD. MR. BIRD. [after musing in silence.] I say, wife ! MRS. BIRD. Well, dear? MR. BIRD. She could n't wear one of your gowns, could she, by any letting down, or such matter ? She seems to be rather larger than you are. [with a smile.] We '11 see. MRS. BIRD. MR. BIRD. [after a pause.] I say, wife ! MRS. BIRD. Well ! What now ? MR. BIRD. Why, there 's that old bombazine cloak that you keep on purpose to put over me when I take my afternoon's nap ; you might as well give her that ; she needs clothes. MRS. BIRD. Very well, dear ! I '11 see what I can do ! Exeunt Mr. and Mrs. Bird. Curtain falls. SENATOR BIRD. 17 Scene III. The same. [The woman sits upon the settle, looking steadily into the fire with a calm, heart-broken expression, very different from her former agitated wilduess.] Curtain rises on Eliza, the boy, Dinah and Cudjoe. Enter Mr. and 3Irs. Bird. MRS. BIRD. [in gentle tones.] Did you want me ? I hope you feel better now, poor woman ! [A long-drawn, shivering sigh is the only answer ; but Eliza lifts her dark eyes and fixes them on Mrs. Bird with such a forlorn and imploring expression, that the tears come into the little woman's eyes.] You need n't be afraid of anything ; we are friends here, poor woman! Tell me where you came from, and what you want. ELIZA. I came from Kentucky. When? MR. BIRD, ELIZA, To-night. MR. BIRD. How did 3^ou come ? 18 SENATOR BIRD. ELIZA. I crossed on the ice. MR. and MRS. BIRD, DINAH, and CUDJOE [together.] Crossed on the ice ! \ ELIZA. [slowly.] Yes, I did. God helping me, I crossed on the ice ; for they were behind me — right behind — and there was no other way ! CUDJOE. Law, missis, the ice is all in broken-up blocks, a-swinging and a-tetering up and down in the water ! ELIZA. [wildly.] I know it was ; I know it ! but I did it ! I would n't have thought I could. I did n't think I should get over ; but I did n't care ! I could but die if I did n't. The Lord helped me ; nobody knows how much the Lord can help 'em till they try. MR. BIRD. Were you a slave ? ELIZA. Yes, sir ; I belonged to a man in Kentucky. SENATOR BIRD. 19 MR. BIRD. Was lie unkind to you ? ELIZA. No, sir ; he was a good master. MR, BIRD. And was your mistress unkind to you ? ELIZA. No, sir ; no ! My mistress was always good to me. MR. BIRD. What could induce you to leave a good home, then, and run away, and go through such dangers ? [The woman looks at Mrs. Bird with a keen, scrutinizing glance, and it does not escape her that she is dressed in deep mourning.] ELIZA. [suddenly.] Ma'am, have you ever lost a child ? [The question is unexpected, and it is a thrust on a new wound ; for it is only a month since a darling child of the family was laid in the grave. Mr. Bird turns round and walks to the window, and Mrs. Bird bursts into tears, but recovers her voice.] MRS. BIRD. Why do you ask that? I have lost a little one. !20 SENATOR BIRD. F-1.I7.A. Then you will feel for mc. I have lost two, one afrer another : left them buried there when 1 eame away : and I had only this one left. 1 never slept a night without him : he was all I had. He was my comfort and pride, day and night : and. ma'am, they were going to take him away from me, — to sell him : sell him down south, ma'am, to go all alone, — a baby that had never been away from his mother in his life ! I could n't stand it, ma'am. I knew I never should be good for anything if they did : and when I knew the papers were signed, and he was sold, I took him and came off in tlio night : and they chased me, — the man that bought him and some of Mas'rs folks ; and they were com- ing down right behind me, and I heard 'em. I jumped right on to the ice ; and how 1 got across I don't know : but, lirst I knew a man was hel}ung me up the bank. [Tlie woman Joes not sob nov weep ; but ovorv one mound her is showing -signs of hearty sympathy. The two little boTS, after a desperate rummaging in their pockets in search of those pocket-handkerchiefs which mothers know iu:e never to be found there, throw themselves into the skii-ts of their mother's gown, where they sob and wipe their eyes to their hearts' content. Mrs. Bird had her face fairly hidden in her pocket-handkerchief, and old Dinali, letting the tears stream down her black, honest face.] DIXAU. Lord, have mercy on us ! [Old Cudjoe, rubbing his eyes very hard with his cuflfs, SEN AT on I'.lhlK 21 an/1 making ft Jnoit nwmnmmi vAvlhty of wry fa/>is, rx^^ sionally respond* in the »am<; k^ry with gr^at f^;rvf/r.] Lorrl, liavo mercy on u.h I [Oor mnAifff in a fttatesrnan, ami of eoorse eaanot be ex- pected to cry like r/ther rnortala ; and «o he tarM \m back to the company and »eemi» partieolarly biwy in clearing bis thrr^t anrl wipinj/ his »pf;etacle glaiwe«, occasionally blov- ing hia nr/5W5 in a manner that is calcniated to excite »a»- picion.] MR. BIRD. [taming suddenly ronnd np\.re. Eva St. Clare, cousin to Miss Ophelia. ToPSY, a little negress. Rosa, a quadroon g-irl. COSTUMES. Miss Ophelia. A plain full-skirted dress. Eva. a short, white, full-skirted dress, and a coral necklace. ToPSY. A printed cotton dress, clean, well-starched apron, and short hair. Rosa. A neat but g-ay cotton dress. Apron and coral ear- rings. ANALYSIS OF SCENE : PROPERTIES. Scene. A bedroom with exit. INIiss Ophelia instructs Topsy in the art of bedmaking. Properties. Table, chairs, bed, and bedclothes. Ribbon and gloves. Basket of clothes. Scene. A bedroom. [Miss Ophelia takes Topsy into her chamber, and solemnly commences a course of instruction in the art and mystery of bedmaking. Behold, then, Topsy, washed and shorn of all the little braided tails wherein her soul delighted, arrayed THE ART OF BEDMAKING. 69 in a clean gown with well-starched apron, standing reverently before Miss Ophelia, with an expression of solemnity well befitting a funeral.] Curtain rises on Miss Ophelia and Topsy, MISS OPHELIA. Now, Topsy, I 'm going to show you just how my bed is to be made. I am very particular about my bed. You must learn exactly how to do it. TOPSY. [with a deep sigh and a face of wofiil earnestness.] Yes, ma'am. MISS OPHELIA. Now, Topsy, look here : this is the hem of the sheet, this is the right side of the sheet, and this is the wrong ; will you remember ? TOPSY. [with another sigh.] Yes, ma'am. MISS OPHELIA. Well now, the undersheet you must bring under the bolster, — so, — and tuck it clear down under the mattress, nice and smooth, — so ; — do you see ? TOPSY. [with profound attention.] Yes, ma'am. 70 THE ART OF BEDMAKING. MISS OPHELIA. But the upper sheet must be brought down in this way, and tucked under firm and smooth at the foot, — so, — the narrow hem at the foot. TOPSY. Yes, ma'am. [Miss Ophelia does not see that, during the time when the good lady's back is turned, in the zeal of her manipulations, the young disciple has contrived to snatch a pair of gloves and a ribbon, which she has adroitly slipped into her sleeves, and stands with her hands dutifully folded as before.] MISS OPHELIA. [pulHng off the clothes and seating herself.] Now, Topsy, let 's see you do this. [Topsy with great gravity and adroitness goes through the exercise completely to Miss Ophelia's satisfaction, smoothing the sheets, patting out every wrinkle, and exhibiting through the whole process a gravity and seriousness with which her instructress is greatly edified. By an unlucky slip, however, a fluttering fragment of the ribbon hangs out of one of her sleeves, just as she is finishing, and catches Miss Ophelia's attention.] MISS OPHELIA. [pouncing upon the ribbon.] What 's this ? You naughty, wicked child ! — you Ve been stealing this ! [The ribbon is pulled out of Topsy's own sleeve, yet she is not in the least disconcerted ; she only looks at it with an air of the most surprised and unconscious innocence.] THE ART OF BEDMAKING. 71 TOPSY. Laws ! why, that 'ar 's Miss Feely's ribbon, ain't it ? How could it a-got caught in my sleeve ? MISS OPHELIA. Topsy, you naughty girl, don't you tell me a lie, — you stole that ribbon ! TOPSY. Missis, I declare for 't I did n't ; never see'd it till dis yer blessed minit. MISS OPHELIA. Oh, Topsy ! Topsy ! don't you know it 's wicked to tell lies ? TOPSY. I never tells no lies, Miss Feely ; it 's jist the truth I 've been a-telling now, and ain't nothin' else. MISS OPHELIA. Topsy, I shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so. TOPSY. [beginning to blubber.] Laws, missis, if you 's to whip all day, could n't say no other way ; I never see'd dat 'ar, — it must have got caught in my sleeve. 72 THE ART OF BED.MAKING. MISS OPHELIA. [indignantly catching the child and shaking her.] Don't you tell me that again ! [The shake brings the gloves on to the floor from the other sleeve.] There, you ! will you tell me now you did n't steal the ribbon ? TOPSY. No, missis, I'se never touched the ribbon ! I did take them gloves, but I never see'd dat 'ar ribbon till dis yer minit. MISS OPHELIA. Now, Topsy, if you '11 confess all about it, I won't whip you this time. TOPSY. [with many sighs and tears.] Laws ! Miss Feely, den, I did take 'em, but I '11 never do so no more. I know I 'se wicked. MISS OPHELIA. Well, now, tell me, — I know you must have taken other things since you have been in the house. Now tell me if you took anything, and I shan't whip you. TOPSY. Laws, missis ! I took Miss Eva's red thing, she wa'ars on her neck. THE ART OF BEDMAKING. 73 MISS OPHELIA. You did? You naughty child! Well, what else ? TOPSY. I took Eosa's yer-rings — them red ones. MISS OPHELIA. Go bring them to me this minute, both of 'em. TOPSY. Laws, missis ! I can't — they 's burnt up ! MISS OPHELIA. Burnt up ! — what a story ! Go get 'em, or I '11 whip you ! TOPSY. [with tears and groans.] I can't. Miss Feely, I can't ! They 's burnt up, they is. MISS OPHELIA. What did you burn 'em for ? TOPSY. 'Cause I 'se wicked, I is. I 'se mighty wicked anyhow — I can't help it. [Just at that moment little Eva comes into the room with the identical coral necklace on her neck.] 74 THE ART OF BEDMAKING. MISS OPHELIA. Why, Eva ! where did you get your necklace ? EVA. Get it ? Why, I had it on all day MISS OPHELIA. Did you have it on yesterday ? EVA. Yes ; and what is funny, aunt}^, I had it on all night. I forgot to take it off when I went to bed. [Miss Ophelia looks perfectly bewildered, the more so, as Rosa, at that instant, comes into the room, with a basket of newly-ironed linen on her head, and the coral eardrops shak- ing in her ears.] MISS OPHELIA. [in despair.] I 'm sure I can't tefll what to do with such a child! What in the world did you tell me you took those things for, Topsy ? TOPSY. Why, missis said I must 'fess ; and I could n't think of nothin' else to 'fess. MISS OPHELIA. But, of course, I did n't want you to confess things you did n't do ; that 's telling a lie, just as much as the other. THE ART OF BEDMAKING. 75 TOPSY. [with an air of innocent wonder.] Laws, now, is it ? ROSA. [looking indignantly at Topsy.] La, there ain't any such thing as truth in that limb. If I was Mas'r St. Clare, I 'd whip her till the blood run. I would — I 'd let her catch it ! EVA. [with an air of command.] No, no, Rosa ; you must n't talk so, Rosa ; I can't bear to hear it. ROSA. La sakes ! Miss Eva, you 's so good ; you don't know nothing how to get along with niggers. There 's no way but to cut 'em well up, I tell ye. EVA. Rosa ! hush ! Don't say another word of that sort I [Rosa is cowed in a moment and goes away. Eva stands looking at Topsy with a perplexed and sorrowful expression.] Poor Topsy, why need you steal ? You 're going to be taken srood care of now. I 'm sure I 'd rather give you anything of mine, than have you steal it. Curtain falls. THE POWER OF LOVE. (in one scene.) CHARACTERS. Augustine St. Clare. Miss Ophelia St. Clare, cousin to Augustine. Eva St. Clare, a little girl, daughter to Augustine. TopsY, a little negress, slave to Augustine St. Clare. COSTUMES. St. Clare. A cool and old-fashioned suit of clothes, such as ■was worn by gentlemen in the morning, about 1850. Miss Ophelia. A handsome, full-skirted dress, lace shawl, " coal-scuttle " straw bonnet, trimmed with ribbons, etc. Eva. a white dress. TopsY. Bright cotton dress and white apron. ANALYSIS OF SCENE: PROPERTIES. Scene. A parlor with exit. Miss Ophelia finds Topsy in mis- chief and declares she will trouble herself with her no longer. Eva tries to persuade her to be good. Properties. Parlor furniture, mats, etc. Scene. A parlor. Curtain rises on St. Clare and Eva. [Eva comes at St. Clare's call, and sits on his knee. They soon hear loud exclamations from the next room and violent reproof addressed to somebody.] THE POWER OF LOVE. 77 MISS OPHELIA (within). You naughty, wicked, wasteful child ! ST. CLARE. What new witchcraft has Tops been brewing? That commotion is of her raising, I '11 be bound. [And in a moment after, Miss Ophelia, in high indignation, comes dragging the culprit along.] Enter dfiss Ophelia with Topsy. MISS OPHELIA. Come out here, now ! I loill tell your master ! ST. CLARE. What 's the case now ? MISS OPHELIA. The case is, that I cannot be plagued with this child any longer ! It 's past all bearing ; flesh and blood cannot endure it. Here I locked her up and gave her a hymn to study ; and what does she do but spy out where I put my key, and has gone to my bureau, and got a bonnet trimming, and cut it all to pieces to make dolls' jackets. I never saw anything like it in my life ! I 'm sure, Augustine, I don't know what to do. I 've taught and taught, I 've talked till I 'm tired ; I 've whipped her ; I 've punished her in every way I can think of, and still she 's just what she was at first. 78 THE POWER OF LOVE. ST. CLARE. [amused at the child's expression.] Come here, Tops, you monkey ! What makes you behave so ? TOPSY. [demurely.] 'Spects it's my wicked heart; Miss Feely says so. ST. CLARE. Don't you see how much Miss Ophelia has done for you ? She says she has done everything she can think of. TOPSY. Lor' yes, mas'r and old missis used to say so too. She whipped me a heap harder and used to pull my har and knock my head agin the door ; but it did n't do me no good. I 'sjDccts, if they 's to pull every speam o' har out o' my head, it would n't do no good, neither, I 's so wicked. Laws, I 's nothin' but a nigger, noways. MISS OPHELIA. Well, I shall have to give her up ; I can't have that trouble any longer. ST. CLARE. [rising from his seat.] Well, I 'd just like to ask one question. THE POWER OF LOVE. T9 MISS OPHELIA. What Is it ? ST. CLARE. Why, if your gospel is not strong enough to save one heathen child that you can have at home here all to yourself, what 's the use of sending one or two poor missionaries off with it among thousands of just such ? I suppose this child is about a fair sample of what thousands of your heathen are. [Miss Ophelia does not make an immediate answer, and St. Clare leaves the room. His cousin follows him, a minute later, and the children are left alone.] Exeunt St. Clare and 3Iiss Ophelia. EVA. What does make you so bad, Topsy? Why won't you try and be good? Don't you love any- body, Topsy ? TOPSY. Dunno nothing 'bout love ; I loves candy and sich, that 's all. EVA. But you love your father and mother ? TOPSY. Never had none, ye know. I telled ye that, Miss Eva. 80 THE POWER OF LOVE. EVA. [sadly.] Oh, I know ; but had n't you any brother, or sister, or aunt, or — TOPSY. No, none on 'em ; never had nothing nor no- body. EVA. But, Topsy, if you 'd only try to be good, you might — TOPSY. Could n't never be nothin' but a nigger, if I was ever so good. If I could be skinned and come white, I 'd try then. EVA. But people can love you, if you are black, Topsy. Miss Ophelia would love you if you were good. [Topsy gives a short blunt laugh, expressive of incredu- lity.] Don't you think so ? TOPSY. [beginning to whistle.] No, she can't bar me 'cause I 'm a nigger I she 'd 's soon have a toad touch her ! There can't nobody love niggers, and niggers can't do nothin' ! / don't care ! THE POWER OF LOVE. 81 [with a sudden burst of feeling, and laying her little, thin, white hand on Topsy's shoulder.] Oh, Topsy, poor child, / love you ! I love you because you have n't any father, or mother, or friends, because you have been a poor abused child. I love you, and I want you to be good. It really grieves me to have you be so naughty. I wish you would try to be good for my sake. [The round, keen eyes of the black child are overcast with tears ; large, bright drops roll heavily down, one by one, and fall on the little white hand. She lays her head down between her knees, and weeps and sobs, while the beautiful child bends over her.] Poor Topsy ! don't you know that Jesus loves all alike ? He is just as willing to love you as me. He loves you just as I do, only more because He is better. He will help you to be good ; and you can go to heaven at last, and be an angel forever, just as much as if you were white. Only think of it, Topsy! You can be one of those spirits bright, Uncle Tom sings about. TOPSY. Oh, dear Miss Eva, dear Miss Eva ! I will try, I will try ! I never did care nothin' about it before. Curtain falls. THE PRACTICAL TEST. (in one scene.) CHARACTERS. Dr. Hopkins, a minister, Mb. Marvyn. Mrs. Marvyn, his wife. C AND ACE, a negress aiid slave to Mr. Marvyn. COSTUMES. Dr. Hopkins. Full coat and small-clothes of broadcloth, black silk stocking's, shoes with buckles. Cocked hat, full-bottomed wig. " White wrist ruffles " and " plaited shirt-bosom." Mr. Marvyn. Plain but neat coat and small-clothes. Mrs. Marvyn. Full stuff skirt and white "short-gown." Cap and apron. Candace. Linsey petticoat and bodice, clean white apron, and red and yellow turban, arranged " so as to give to her head the air of an immense butterfly." ANALYSIS OF SCENE : PROPERTIES. Scene. A parlor with exit. Dr. Hopkins proposes to Mr. Mar- vyn to offer freedom to his slaves. Peopebties. Furniture, mats, etc. , suitable for a sitting-room. THE PRACTICAL TEST. 83 Scene. A parlor. Curtain rises on Mr. and Mrs. Marvyn and Dr. Hopkins, DR. HOPKINS. My mind labors with this subject of the enslav- ing o£ the Africans, Mr. Marvyn. We have just been declarino^ to the world that all men are born with an inalienable right to liberty. We have fought for it, and the Lord of Hosts has been with us ; and can we stand before Him with our foot upon our brother's neck? MR. MARVYN. [Mr. Marvyn's face flushes, his eye kindles, and his com- pressed respiration shows how deeply the subject moves him. Mrs. Marvyn's eyes cast on him a look of anxious inquiry.] Doctor, I have thought of the subject myself. Mrs. Marvyn has lately been reading a pamphlet of Mr. Thomas Clarkson's, on the slave trade, and she was saying to me only last night, that she did not see but the argument extended equally to hold- ing slaves. One thing, I confess, stumbles me : Was there not an express permission given to Israel to buy and hold slaves of old ? DR. HOPKINS. Doubtless ; but many permissions were given to them which were local and temporary, for if we hold them to apply to the human race, the Turks might quote the Bible for making slaves of us, if 84 THE PRACTICAL TEST. they could, — and the Algerines have the Scripture all on their side, — and our own blacks, at some fu- ture time, if they can get the power, might justify themselves in making slaves of us. MR. MARVYN. I assure you, sir, if I speak, it is not to excuse myself. But I am quite sure my servants do not desire liberty, and would not take it if it were of- fered. DR. HOPKINS. Call them in and try it. If they refuse, it is their own matter. MR. MARVYN. [calmly.] Cato is up at the light-acre lot, but you may call in Candace. My dear, call Candace, and let the Doctor put the question to her. Exit 3Irs. Marvyn, reentering in a minute or two followed by Candace. [Candace sinks a dutiful curtsy, and stands twirling her thumbs, while the Doctor surveys her gravely.] DR. HOPKINS. Candace, do you think it right that the black race should be slaves to the white ? [The face and air of Candace present a curious picture at this moment ; a sort of rude sense of delicacy embarrasses her, and she turns a deprecating look, first on Mrs. Marvyn and then on her master.] THE PRACTICAL TEST. 85 MR. MARVYN. Don't mind us, Candace ; tell the Doctor the exact truth. CANDACE. [After a moment's pause, ber immense person heaving with her labored breathing.] Ef I must speak, I must. No, — I neber did tink 't was right. When Gineral Washington was here, I hearn 'em read de Declaration ob Indepen- dence and Bill o' Rights ; an' I tole Cato den, says I, " Ef dat ar' true, you an' I are as free as any- body." It stands to reason. Why, look at me, — I ain't a critter. I 's neider huffs nor horns. I 's a reasonable bein' — a woman — as much a woman as anybody. [holding up her head with an air as majestic as a palm-tree.] An' Cato, he 's a man born free an' equal, ef dar 's any truth in what you read. Dat 's all. MR. MARVYN. But, Candace, you 've always been contented and happy with us, have you not ? CANDACE. Yes, Mass'r, — I ha'n't got nuffin to complain ob in dat matter. I could n't hab no better friends 'n you an' Missis. MR. MARVYN. Would you like your liberty, if you could get it, though ? Answer me honestly. 86 THE PRACTICAL TEST. CANDACE. Why, to be sure I should ! Who would n't ? Mind ye, [earnestly raising her black, heavy hand.] ta' on't dat I want to go off, or want to shirk work ; but I want to feel free, Dem dat is n't free has nuffin to gib to nobody ; ' — dey can't show what dey would do. MR. MARVYN. [solemnly.] Well, Candace, from this day you are free. [Candace covers her face with both her fat hands, and shakes and trembles, and finally, throwing her apron over her head, makes a desperate rush for the door, and throws her- self down in the kitchen in a perfect torrent of tears and sobs.] Exit Candace. DR. HOPKINS. You see what freedom is to every human crea- ture. The blessing of the Lord will be upon this deed, Mr. Marvyn. " The steps of a just man are ordered by the Lord, and he delighteth in his way." Eeenter Candace. [her butterfly turban somewhat deranged with the violence of her prostration.] CANDACE. [with a clearing-up snuff.] I want ye all to know, dat it 's my will an' pleas- ure to go right on doin' my work jes' de same ; an', THE PRACTICAL TEST. 87 Missis, please, I '11 allers put three eggs in de crul- lers, now ; an' I won't turn de wash-basin down in de sink, but hang it jam-up on de nail ; an' I won't pick up chips in a milkpan, ef I 'm in ever so big a hurry; — I'll do eberyting jes' as ye tells me. Now you try me an' see ef I won't. MR. MARVYN. I intend to make the same offer to your husband, when he returns from work to-night. CANDACE. Laws, Mass'r, — why, Cato, he '11 do jes' as I do, — dere ain't no kind o' need o' askin' him. Course he will ! Curtain falls. THE VILLAGE DO-NOTHING. (in one scene.) CHARACTERS. Sam Lawson, the " do-nothing," " a tall, shambling, loose- jointed" man. Aunt Lois. COSTUMES. Sam Lawson, in loose, shabby, untidy clothes. Aunt Lois, a stuff petticoat and printed cotton '"short-gown," and apron. ANALYSIS OF SCENE: PROPERTIES. Scene. A kitchen with exit. Sam Lawson comes to mend the clock, and is reproved by Aunt Lois for his dilatoriness. Properties. Plain chairs, and other kitchen furniture. Table with clock-weights, wheels, etc. upon it. Scene. A kitchen. Curtain rises on Aunt Lois and Sam Lawson smoking. SAM LAWSON. Why, ye see, Miss Lois, clocks can't be druv ; that 's jest what they can't. Some things can be druv, and then again some things can't, and clocks is that kind. They 's jest got to be humored. THE VILLAGE DO-NOTHING. 89 Now this 'ere 's a 'mazin' good clock ; give me my time on it, and I '11 have it so 't will keep straight on to the Millennium. AUNT LOIS. [with a snort of infinite contempt.] Millennium ! SAM LAWSON. [letting fall his work in a contemplative manner.] Yes, the Millennium : that 'ere 's an interestin' topic. Now Parson Lothrop, he don't think the Millennium will last a thousand years. What's your 'pinion on that pint, Miss Lois ? AUNT LOIS. [in her most nipping tones.] My opinion is, that if folks don't mind their own business, and do with their might what their hand finds to do, the Millennium won't come at all. SAM LAWSON. Wal, you see, Miss Lois, it 's just here : — one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. AUNT LOIS. I should think you thought a day was a thousand years, the way you work. 90 THE VILLAGE DO-NOTHTXG. SAM LAWSON. [sitting down with his back to his desperate litter of wheels, weights, and pendulums, and meditatively caressing his knee as he watches the sailing clouds in abstract meditation.] Wal, ye see, ef a thing 's ordained, why it 's got to be, ef you don't lift a finger. That 'ere 's so now, ain't it ? AUNT LOIS. Sam Lawson, you are about the most aggravat- ing creature I ever had to do with. Here you 've got our clock all to pieces, and have been keeping up a perfect hurrah's nest in our kitchen for three days, and there you sit maundering and talking with your back to your work, fussing about the Millennium, which is none of your business, or mine, as I know of ! Do either put that clock to- gether or let it alone ! SAM LAWSON. Don't you be a grain uneasy. Miss Lois ! Why, I '11 have your clock all right in the end, but I can't be druv. Wal, I guess I '11 take another spell on 't to-morrow or Friday. AUNT LOIS. [horror-stricken, but seeing herself actually in the hands of the imperturbable enemy, now essays the task of concilia- tion.] Now do, Lawson, just finish up this job, and I '11 pay you down, right on the spot ; and you need the money. THE VILLAGE DO-NOTHING. 91 SAM LAWSON. I 'd like to 'blige you, Miss Lois ; but ye see money ain't everything in this world. E£ I work tew long on one thing, my mind kind o' gives out, ye see ; and besides, I 've got some 'sponsibilities to 'tend to. There 's Mrs. Captain Brown, she made me promise to come to-day and look at the nose o' that 'ere silver teapot o' hern ; it 's kind o' sprung a leak. And then I 'greed to split a little oven- wood for the Widdah Pedee, that lives up on the Shelburn road. Must visit the widdahs in their affliction, Scriptur' says. And then there 's Hepsy : she's allers a-castin' it up at me that I don't do nothing for her and the chil'en ; but then, lordy massy, Hepsy hain't no kind o' patience. Why jest this mornin' I was a-tellin' her to count up her marcies, and I 'clare for 't if I did n't think she 'd 'a' throwed the tongs at me. That 'ere woman's temper railly makes me consarned. Wal, good day, Miss Lois, I '11 be along again to-morrow or Friday or the first o' next week. Exit Sam singing. Thy years are an Etarnal day, Thy years are an . Etarnal day. AUNT LOIS. [with a snap.] An Eternal torment ! I 'm sure, if there 's a mortal creature on this earth that I pity, it 's Hepsy 92 THE VILLAGE DO-NOTHING. Lawsoii. Folks talk about her scolding. That Sam Lawson is enough to make the saints in heaven fall from grace. And you can't do any- thing with him ; it 's like charging bayonet into a woolsack. Curtain /alls on Aunt Lois. SAM LAWSON'S THANKSGIVING DINNER. (in one scene.) CHARACTERS. Sam Lawson. Mrs. Badger. Miss Lois, her daughter. Horace and Harry, two little boys. COSTUMES. Sam Lawson. A loose, untidy suit of clothes. Mrs. Badger. A plain skirt and bodice of dark stuff, -white cap, apron and handkerchief, pinned round her neck. Miss Lois. Stuff skirt, cotton " short-gown," and apron. The boys. Knickerbockers and blouses, belted round the waist. ANALYSIS OF SCENE: PROPERTIES. Scene. Kitchen with exit. Mrs. Badger rebukes Sam for his idleness and gives him a turkey. Properties. Plain furniture, a turkey, and two pies. Also apples, raisins, etc. Scene. A kitchen. Curtain rises on Mrs. Badger, Miss Lois, Harry and Horace, chopping mince- meat, paring apples, etc. MISS LOIS. There, to be sure, — there comes Sam Lawson down the hill, limpsy as ever. Now he '11 have his 94 SAM LAWSOiYS THANKSGIVING DINNER. doleful story to tell, and mother '11 give him one of the turkeys. Enter Sam Lawson . [Sam comes in with his usual air of plaintive assurance, and seats himself a contemplative spectator in the chimney- corner, regardless of the looks and signs of unwelcome on the part of Aunt Lois.] SAM LAWSON. [in musing tones.] Lordy massy, how prosperous everything does seem here ! so different from what 't is t' our house. There 's Hepsy, she 's all in a stew, an' I 've just been an' got her thirty-seven cents wuth o' nut- megs, yet she says she 's sure she don't see how she 's to keep Thanksgiving, an' she 's down on me about it, jest as ef 't was my fault. Yeh see, last winter our old gobbler got froze. You know. Mis' Badger, that 'ere cold night we hed last winter. Wal, I was off with Jake Marshall that night. Ye see, Jake, he hed to take old General Dearborn's corpse into Boston to the family vault, and Jake he kind o' hated to go alone, 't was a drefful cold time, and he ses to me, " Sam, you jes' go 'long with me ; " so I was sort o' sorry for him, and I kind o' thought I 'd go 'long. Wal, come 'long to Josh Bissel's tahvern, there at the Halfway House, you know, 't was so swinging cold we stopped to take a little suthin' warmin', an' we sort o' sot an' sot over the fire, till, fust we knew, we kind o' got asleep ; an' when we woke up we found we 'd left the old SAM LAWSON'S THANKSGIVING DINNER. 95 General hitched up t' th' post pretty much all night. Wal, did n't hurt him none, poor man ; 't was allers a favorite spot o' his'n. But takin' one thing with another, I did n't get home till about noon next day, an', I tell you, Hepsy she was right down on me. She said the baby was sick, and there had n't been no wood split, nor the barn fastened up, nor nothin'. Lordy massy, I did n't mean no harm ; I thought there was wood enough, and I thought likely Hepsy 'd git out an' fasten up the barn. But Hepsy, she was in one o' her contrary streaks, an' she would n't do a thing ; an' when I went out to look, why, sure 'nuff , there was our old tom-turkey froze as stiff as a stake, — his claws jest a-stickin' right straight up like this. [Here Sam strikes an expressive attitude, and looks so much like a frozen turkey as to give a pathetic reality to the picture.] MRS. BADGER. Well now, Sam, why need you be off on things that 's none of your business? I Ve talked to you plainly about that a great many times, Sam. ' [continuing in tones of severe admonition,] Hepsy is a hard-working woman, but she cannot be expected to see to everything, and you oughter have been at home that night to fasten up your own barn and look after your own creeturs. [Sam takes the rebuke all the m-ore meekly as he perceives the stiff black legs of a turkey poking out from under my grandmother's apron, while she is delivering it.] 96 SAM LAWSON'S THANKSGIVING DINNER. See now, Sam, take these to Hepsy, and the chil- dren. [giving him the turkey and taking two pies from the table.] Poor things ! they ought to have something good to eat Thanksgiving day ; 't ain't their fault tliat they 've got a shiftless father. Here^ hoys, you' carry these pies down to Hepsy ! [giving one to each boy.] SAM LAWSON. Thanks, Mis' Badger. A body 'd think that Hepsy 'd learn to trust in Providence, but she don't. She allers hes a Thanksgiving dinner pervided; but that 'ere woman ain't grateful for it, by no man- ner o' means. Now she '11 be jest as cross as she can be, 'cause this 'ere ain't our turkey, and these 'ere ain't our pies. Folks does lose so much that hes sech dispositions. EzU Sam, followed by the two boys carrying the pies. Curtain falls. C]^e ISibemue literature ^eriejs. ^A list of the first twenty-seven numbers is given on the next page."] 28. John Burroughs's Birds and Bees.t 29. Hawthorne's Little Daffydovrndilly, and other Stories. [29 and 10 also in one volume, board covers, 40 ceiits.] 30. Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal, and Other Pieces. 31. Holmes's My Hunt after the Captain, and other Papers. 32. Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech, and Other Papers. 33. 34, 35. Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. In three parts. [The three parts also in one volume, board covers, 50 cent?.] 36. John Burroughs's Sharp Eyes, and other Papers.! t 28 and 36 also in one volume, board covers, 40 cents. EXTRA NUMBERS. A American Authors and their Birthdays. PiOjrrammes and Sugi^estions for the Celebration of the Birthdays of Authors. With a Record of I'our Years' Work in the Study of American Authors. By Alfred S. K0£, Pria- cipal of the High School, Worcester, Mass. £ Portraits and Biographical Sketches of Twenty American Authors. C A Longfellow Night. A Short Sketch of the Poet's Life, with songs and recitations from his works. For the use of Catholic Schools and Cath- olic Literary Societies. By Katherine A. 0"KjiJiFK. PARTIAL PROSPECTUS FOR THE SCHOOL YEAR 1888-9. To be published as indicated below. Single numbers 15 cents each. Subscription for the six ntw numbers, SO cents. 1888. Oct. 3. 37. Charles Dudley Warner's A-Hunting of the Deer, and Other Papers. Nov. 7. 38. Longfellow's The Building of the Ship; Pandora's Box ; and Other Poems. With Notes. Dec. 5. 39. Lowell's Books and Libraries, and other Papers. 1889. ' Feb. 6. 40. Hawthorne. Selections to be announced later. Mar. 6. 41. To be announced. Apr. 5. -42. To be announced. EXTRA NUMBERS. 1883. Oct. 3. Z> Literature jn School; Tho rjjice of T.itemtnre in Com- mon Schonl K lii.ation : Nnrsi-rv riiissics in f^choyl ; Anieric;in Clas- sics in s^choui. By Horace E. ScuDDER. Dec. 5. E Dialogues and Scenes from the "Writings of Harriet Beecher Stowe. By Emilv Weaver. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 4 Park Sxrekt. Boston, Mass. *Cl)e ISiticrsiiDe Uttxatmz ^mt$, Wtth Introductions, Notes, Historical Sketches, and Biographical Sketches* Each number, tn paper covers, 15 cents. 1. Longfellow's Evangeline. 2. Longfellow's The Courtship of Miles Standish. 3. Longfellow's The Courtship of Miles Standish. Dramatized for private theatricals in schools and families. 4. Whittier's Snow-Bound, and Among the Hills. 5. Whittier's Mabel Martin, Cobbler Keezar, Maud Muller, and other Poems. 6. Holmes's Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle, and other Poems. 7, 8, 9. Hawthorne's True Stories from New England History. In three parts.f 10. Hawthorne's Biographical Stories. Sir Isaac Newton, Samuel Johnson, Oliver Cromwell, Benjamin Franklii, Queen Christina. With Questions. [29 and 10 bound together in board covers, 40 cents.] 11. Longfellow's The Children's Hour, and other Se- lections. 12. Studies in Longfellow. Containing Thirty-two Topics for Study, with Questions and References relating to each Topic. IS, 14. Longfellow's The Song of Hiawatha. In two parts.j 15. Lowell's Under the Old Elm, and other Poems. 16. Bayard Taylor's Lars ; a Pastoral of Norway. 17, 18. Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. In two parts.j 19, 20. Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography. With a chap- ter completing the Life. In two parts.} 21. Benjamin Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac, and other Papers. 22, 23. Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales. In two parts.} 24. Washington's Rules of Conduct, Letters, and Ad- dresses. 25, 26. Longfellow's The Golden Legend. In two parts.} 87. Thoreau's Succession of Forest Trees, and Wild Apples. With a Biographical Sketch by Rajlph Waldo Emersox. t Also in one volume, board covers, 45 cents. t Also in one volume, board covers, 40 cents. Continued on the inside of this cover. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 4 Pakk Street, Boston, Mass. H121.74 « h>! ^oV ^ V .J ' /"^^ v>^ .v4i:^^» •%,/ /^-^ ^%' .0 ^^>6^ --■ ■» .0 't. '".'iSi^'/V.^' :, • 4 O - .^^ -7^ •' .<^ °o -^^o^