Author _. t ♦ o o Title •« **s^ Imprint. 1«— 47872 'i^I!y^i^!^!P*W>M>Fir^. N «? PEDESTIN: % intma, [N FOUE ACTS. BY J. W^. MEATH. WITH CAST OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC., ETC. Sfti yVlEMPHis, Jenn : GOODWYN & CO., PUBLISHERS A\D PRINTERS, 361 MAIN STREET. 1871. ^ ^ ^ ffS? The copy-right of this play is secured by J. W. Meath and Charles Petrie, who, in junction, hold the play for the term often years from date of publication — then it recedes to the author. ( PEDESTIN: 3i irama, FN rOUE ACTS. BY J. y^. MEATH. WITH CAST OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC., ETC. I yVlEMPHis, Jenn.: ■ GOODWYN & CO., PUBLISHERS AND PRINTERS, 361 MAIX STREET. 1871. M ^^X'^'' CAST OF CHARACTERS. Cute (the reliable.) Colonel Nortville. Joel Mertloff. Paris Desmer. Walter, Benson (alias Walter Bruce.) Lawyer Mason. Landlord of the Half- Way Inn. Sam Green (a sharper.) Officer. Russell. PEBESTIN. Rose Merview. Mrs. Desmer. Cxrany Swabs. COSTUMES. Of the present day. SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY. ACT 1. Scene I. — A Cotton- field. Scene II. — Plain Wood. Scene III. — A furnished apartment. Scene IV. — Plain Room. Scene Y. — A Garden. ACT II. Scene I. — Same as Scene III Act L Scene II. — A set Cottage. Scene III. — Plain Chamber. Scene IV.— J. Street. Scene V. — The Cabin of the Steamboat Reindeer. Scene VI. — The Rapids — Steamboat on fire — Storm. ACT III. Scene I. — A set Inn {Sign Half-way.) Scene II. — Interior of a Log House denoting strength. Scene III. — Same as Scene I. Act III. Scene IV. — A Precipice-high rocks on both sides, a foot path across. Cataract in the distance. ACT IV. Scene I. — Plain Room. Scene II. — A Set Cottage. Scene III. — A Street in the Village. Scene IV. — A furnished apartment. fed^stitt. ACT I. Scene I. — A Cotton Field in open boll The negroes at icork picking it in bags. Large baskets also full of cotton at the end of each row. They sing as they work. The back scene must also in addition to the stage show a cotton-field in view., in order to have the desired effect. ( The cotton field must be welt up stage so as to allow a walk around and dance of negroes in front.) Cute heard singing in the distance; all join in the chorus. Enters Cute still singing, r. Cute. Look haur, nigs, I'segot de best news to tell you dat you ebber did heai'. Yous got dig day fur a holiday, so quit 3'our workin. Missie Patavine has come home from de boardin- school, and Massa Kur- nel is gwine to gib all you nigs dis day for frolickin' 'count ob it. I'se so happy dat I — \_Ife dances.'] All the niggers. You's only gunimin', Uncle Cute. [ They leave work and come dow7i stage.] Cute. No, I isen't; for Missie Patavine is at home and looks so sweet and nice — de lobliest gal dat I'se eber seen wid dese two eyes — I'se so glad too, kase Massa Kurnel says I shan't do nuffin but wait on Missie Patavine ; so let's honor her comin' by habin' a good old dance. [J. general dance and walk- around, by all characters. Exit all singing, except Cute.] I'se seen Massa Paris in de woods yonder hunting, and I'se agwine and tell him dat Missie Patavine 'rived home dis mornin. Won't he be glad to hear it, dough, kase I knows dat he lubs her. \_Exit R, singing.] PEDESTIN. Scene II. — Plain Woods. Enter Paris Desmer, with gun, game-bag, etc., and Cute. Paris. What does all this rejoicing mean, Cute? Something uncommon must call forth this clamor. Is there going to be a double marriage at the quar- ters, to-night? Cute. Someting better dan dat, Massa Paris. Paris. It must be something very important, then ! Cute. Oh ! 3"es, for ebery nig on de plantation is gwine to get dis as a holiday. Paris. \_Mach interested.'] What is it, Cute ? Why not tell me ? Cute. Can't you guess, Massa Paris ? Paris. JSTo — how can I guess it? Cute. Colly, I knows dat you guesses it — does your heart goes pit-a-pat, Massa Paris? Paris. No — what would make it go pit-a-pat? (Jute. Well, I'll tell you — but is you ready ? Paris. Yes, I'm ready — why don't you out with it? Cute. Well — would you beliebe dat Missie Pata- vine 'rived home from school dis morning. Paris. \_Starts.'] Pedestin at home! Cute. Yes, and she look so sweet, too, Massa Paris, dat I hardly knows her — -jus like a picture — not de wile gal dat sire use to be. Paris. . JSJ'o, I dare say not. \_Aside.~\ Time has marked its course in more ways than one, I fear. Yet, why should I countenance a doubt, when I know naught to the contrary. Cute. Ain't you glad to hear ob her return, Massa Paris, kase I knows you lub de gal. Paris. As a friend, Cute. PEDE8TIN. Cute. More dan dat. Don't you 'member how you used to write letters to each odder, and dat I used to be de mail bag to tote dem for you. Paris. We were both young then, Cute. Cute. Ole folks has de same feelins, Massa Paris, kase I'se been dar mysef. Paris. So you have had experience in love mat- ters, have you, Cute? Cute. I has dat — I'se been a possum among de gals, in my days. Paris. Did she say anything as to — Cute. No, Massa Paris, she didn't — de kurnel was dar all de time, and also dat — Paris. That who? Cute. Joel Mertloff. Paris. ' Joel Mertloff, did you say ? Cute. Yes, you knows, Massa Paris, dat I don't like him — 'twas him dat told Massa Kurnel about me totin' letters for you and Missie Patavine, and got me whipped. Paris. Yes, Cute, I do remember that — and it re- mains yet to be adjusted with him — I hoj^e the da^^- is not far distant when I will — Cute. And so does I, Massa Paris, for he am ebery- tingbut agemman, and I hope Missie Patavine won't hab nuffin to do wid him. Paris. {_Aside.^ Heaven forbid it ! what means his presence ere her own home has had time to bid her welcome ? Cute. \_Aside.'] I don't believe dat I ought to tell him, kase he'll feel so bad. I spec dat I'll hab to, . dough. lAloud.'] 'Twas he, Massa Paris, dat fotched Missie Patavine home, dey say — Paris. \_Bewildered.'] He brought her home — it cannot be — ^you are jesting, Cute. Cute. I wish I was, Massa Paris, but I ain't, kase I seen dem come in de carriage. Paris. Oh, deception ! can thee have so fair a de- 8 PEDESTIN, ceiver to wear thy ignoble crown ? Leave me, Cute. Speak not of me to her. Cute. I'se sorry, Massa Paris, dat I told you, but don't tink so hard ob her, kase I knows dat its her fadder dat's all to blame — he is de cause ob it all — I knows dat de gal likes you. But I'll go, and hope to hab better news de next time. [Exit l.] Paris. Likes me — yes, may be with the same at- tachment that the child holds it's toys — to be cast at each succeeding fancy, xlnd yet, she is not wholly at fault, though she has consented to become the wife of Joel Mertloff ; for the solicitations of a par- ent on the affections of a devoted child are not easity denied. No, Pedestin, I will not accuse you of the willful retrogression of thy vow ; my own heart would feign tell me that I am yet thought of by thee ; I would be less worthy to charge thee with fault — it is I who by mislead reason have been shad- owing my own light with the fallacious claims of love. To Aiave thee link thy life with that of mine, in defiance of thy parental will, would be robbing Justice to sanctify Crime. Oh, poverty! thou art a sacrilegeous grave to Love. Many is the heart thou hast broken. Oh, Pedestin — I free thee — I bless thee. May heaven be my valediction ! \_Exit R.] Scene III. — A furnished apartment in the residence of Colonel JVortville. Enter Pedestin and Cute, r. Fed. Now, Cute, come tell me the truths Have you not really seen Paris Desmer and told him that I am at home. Cute. No, indeed, Missie Patavine, I didn't see him since — Fed. Since when ? PEDESTIN. Cute. Dat long time dat I was gwine to cle mill wid de grist and I met him hiintin'. Fed. [LooJiUKj in his eyes.'] Now, Cute, I really can't believe that you have not seen Paris Desmer to- day. Now, look me straight in the face and say you did not. Cute.. \_Looks at her.'] Dar, now, T'se not seen him. JPed. Cute, you don't know that I brought you a nice present from Baltimore. Cute. No, I didn't, Missie Patavine. Fed. O, yes, I have. \_Gets knife and pocket- book off the table.] Cute. [^Aside.] I'se a notion to tell her dat I seen Massa Paris. Fed. Now, Cute, these are yours, and here is five dollars for your pocket-book, so that it will not be empty. \_Gives them.] Cute. Lor' bless yo' soul, Missie Patavine, yous not gwine to gib me all dese tings. Fed. Yes, Cute, they are all for 3'ou — I hope that you like them. Cute. I does, Missie Patavine, but I'se not earned dem yet. You had better keep dem till I do. \_OffeTS tliem back.] Fed. No, no. Cute, they are yours — you have more than paid for them by your faithfulness long ago. Cute. Tankee, missie ; but long as I can do good for i:ny one, I'se gwine to do it for you. Fed", Thank you, Cute. \_Gets letter from her basket.] Cute. [Aside.] Oh, golly, [^Looking at knife.] I'se got jus as nice a knife now as Massa Kurnel. Fed. Cute, do you think that you could find Paris Desmer and give him this letter, without any one knowing anj^thing about it. Cute. I tinks I can. Massa Paris will be so glad to get it, kase I knows dat he — 10 PEDE8TIN. Fed. That— what,? Cate. Lubs you ! i • • Fed. Loves me. [^Aside.'\ Heaven grant that it is true. '[_Aloud.'] You are jesting, Cute ? Cute. No, I'se not. Fed. How do you know it ? C/ate. Kase I do — and dat he's all de time wurrin' bout you. Oh, its easy tellin'— I'se often seed him go and set under de old tree dat you and him used to play by — and not go wid udder gals at all. Fed. ^Feelingly.'] And this was all for me, you sav. . , , Cute. Yes, Missie Patavine. He is so good to eb- ery one— not Hke dat Massa Joel Mertloff. Fed. lAside.l No, heaven forbid that he was. \ Aloud.'] Don't you like him, Cute? Cute. No, I dosn't. I'se got no use for him, dar none ob de gem men round him. Fed. What does Paris say of him ? Cute. I doesn't know. Massa Paris keeps dat to hisself, do I suspeck dat his 'pinion is like mine. Kase he couldn't tink oderwise, and tink right. Fed. Here, Cute, is the letter, give it to no one but him, I will await your return. [G-ives letter.'] Cute. I will, Missie 'Patavine. Pll be off in tree flutters ob a possum's tail, and see Massa Paris. [Aside.] Won't he be glad to getdis letter, do'. Oh, P-olly ' I feel like de ole time when I was de mail- bag before. \_Going, sees Col. JSfortville, and hides letter.] Enter Nortville, r. Col. Well, Cute, I am sorry to part withyou— I intend giving you away ; but I think you will have a more lenieiit master than I have been. Fed. Oh, father ! you would not part with poor old Cute, who has given you a life time's service, and whose fidelity has never been wanting? PEDESTTN. 11 Cute, I'se berry sorry, Massa Kurnel, to leab you, for I isn't got many more days to lib no how. You'se always been a good massa to me. [^Appears sad.'] Col. Yes, Cute, you have been faithful, that is the reason I feel sorry to part with you. I now give you to — Fed. Oh, father! You won't part with him! See, the poor old man is already stooped with age — his hair is while by years of toil. Col. If you are not satisfied, Pedestin, I will lake him back again. Fed. Then 1 am not. Col. Yes, but I have not given him to you yet. Ped. \Belighted.'] To ??ie, dear father ! Col. To you, and nobody else. Ped. Oh, it is me then, that you intend giving Cute to ? Col. Yes — but you said that you would object to it. Ped. Ko I won't, father, when it is to me you are going to give him. Will I, Cute? trite. No, indeed, Missie Patavine, and I'se more den satisfied. Col. Well then, if you are both satisfied, I am. Now, Cute, you belong hereafter to Pedestin ; you have but to obey her, and I think that you will not be sorry after all for the change. Cute. I'se sure to do dat, massa Kurnel, and I won't be sorry eider. Ped. No, Cute, you will have no cause to regret it. Cute. I knows it, Missie Patavine. Ped. You can go now Cute and saddle my pony, for I intend to go riding this morning. \_Aside to him.] The letter, I mean. Cute. [To her.] Yes, I knows dat. [Aloud.] I'll hab de pony ready, missie. IPJxit singing^ r.] Ped. How am I to thank you, for all that you have done for me — not a wish — not a fancy that 12 PEDESTIN. you have not gratified ; and now you give me a prize I value more than all— Uncle Cute. ^ ^They sif] Col Your love and obedience, Pedestin, have more than repaid me. Fed. Yes, father, and I will always be so. I have no one to love and obey but you. Col \_Aside.'] I will soon test it. lAloud.'] Pedestin, 1 wish to speak to jon on a matter that now absorbs my whole attention. My only wish now is to see you happy and well provided for. Fed. i am happy, father, and wish for no other happiness than to live with and love you. Col Yes, my child, but you won't have me Avith you always, that is why I look forward to your mar- riage. Fed. [Much surprised.'] My marriage ? Col Yes, daughter. Fed. But I have never as yet given it a moment's thought. Col That is the reason, Pedestin, I speak of it now. I am getting infirm with age, and should I be taken away, 1 would wish to leave you to a husband's care, and one that would be faithful. Fed. You are in good health, father — not suffer- ing from any indisposition— and my prayer will be for its continuance. Col Bless you, my child. Pedestin, there is another reason that I would argue in favor of your early marriage. You know I am soon to leave for England, having been appointed arbitrator in the settlement of your uncle's estate. And as my stay may be for some months there, I would wish to see you married before I go. You have arrived at that age in which a protector, one that you can trust in all things, becomes indispensable. I know of none to whose charge I could better leave you than that of a husband's. You, who never had a mother's care, know not the anxiety, the uneasiness of mind that PEDESTIN. 13 fall to a father's lot, to care for a daughter. If I am too persistant in my jnirpose. it is because your hap- piness and we'lfare are hoth involved. I have none but you, Pedestin; 3'ou were my early hope — now be the comfort of my declining years — and a father's blessing will be yours. Fed. I thought not but to please your slightest wish. I know of no privation, no toil — no matter how laborious or self denying that I am not willing to endure for you. But when you summon my affec- tion, my love for he whom I know nauglit of, I must deny thee. Col. But my daughter, you know not who I mean. Why si)eak so resolutely, it may be that his name will meet with the approval of your heart ere my tongue has fully told it. Fed. If it is your wish I vrill hear it, father. Col. Then, my dear Pedestin, 1 will tell you it, and one whose wealth and station calls forth envy from many. His age and appearance are both in keeping with his manly bearing — Joel Mertloff. Fed. \_Starts.'\ Joel Mertloff! Can you be serious, father? Col. Yes, I am. Why should I not; he is worthy ot the best lady in the country. Fed. Then father, I am sorry that you have en- couraged this in thought, for it can never be. Col. Never be ! but you are forgetting his integ- rity — his high position, and his great wealth. Fed. I am forgetting nothing, father, for sooner would I be free — and beo- in the tattered o-arbs of poverty, than be a slave in chains of gold ! Col. Then if such is your resolve, Pedestin, it behooves me to tell you the truth, that I would wish to keep from you. Know then, that I am bankrupt, and indebted most to him. Fed. \_Startled.~\ You bankrupt! Col. Yes daughter, I am. My estate is mort- 14 PEDESTIN. gaged, and were I pushed by my creditors, I would not own a dollar. Joel Mertloff is my sole one. JPed. \_Aside.'] And it could not be to a worse one. [^Aloiid,'] Oh, father, -would that this could be averted, for your sake. I care not for myself; life is all be- fore me ; but 3^ou, who has been so kind a father to me, I will unceasingly toil — labor to support you — beg, were it necessary ; but ask me not to become the wife of Joel Mertloff. Col. Then you close the only means of escape that is left us from beggary — '^our marriage with him is the last and only resource. I will give you until to-morrow to decide, and let us not be cast upon the world penniless. \_CToing.'] [Aside.'] 1 think that will have the desired effect. \_Exitij.'] Ped. 'Till to-morrow to decide between ignomin- ious slavery and poverty. The preference is momen- tious for one's life. One adds reproach by silence, and mockery by smiles; in the other, there is hope, that gives cheer in the most trying moments. But can I see my father, worn by care, whose hair is whi'ened by the sorrows of time, become a beggar — an outcast — he that has lavished luxury and wealth upon me; never yet denied me aught? No, I cannot see him suffer — I am not ungrateful — I am his daugh- ter. \_Weeps.'] Enter Eose Merview, l. Hose. Why, my dear Pedestin, you have been crying. What in the w^orld could have affected your gentle heart — you look so pale, too — won't you tell me, dear ? [Sits.'] Ped. I am grieved to hear of father leaving so soon for England, and be absent so long. Rose. Why — is he going so soon as that? I thought he would not leave for a month yet. Bed. Yes, he will leave immediately. PEDESTIN. 15 Rose. But why take it so much to heart, dear cousin ? He certainly will not be yqyj long absent — and besides, you have been so long awa}' from home that you will find much enjoyment in reviewing your early haunts and pass-times, that will in a great de- gree obviate the tediousness that would follow. Now, be cheerful, and imagine that he — \_Laughs.~\ jovl know who I mean — was looking at you. I warrant that 3''ou would look sweet then. Ah ! cousin. Fed. Those days are past, Rose, — they were life's happiest hours. Rose. Yes, and just as happy ones to come. Ped. [^Aside.l I hope so. Rose- But why don't you take pattern after me, cousin. For my part T would not care if all the young men in the country were off ballooning and never returned, you would not catch me studjnng astronomy — no indeed — I would not look at the stars for a month after. Ped. Yes, cousin, I wish I was as free from care as you are. Time makes no change in you — the same free, wild Rose. Rose. Yes, and I am going to be. If every one was like me there would be no inquests held on vic- tims of blighted love that are now becoming so epi- demic. I believe in every one loving themselves best. But then, if one has a superfluous quantity of it, let them divide it equally among their fellow creatures serving one and all alike. Ped. {^Laughing .'\ Why,|what a philanthropist you are becoming. Rose. Rose. Oh, yes. I am quite a prodigy, I assure you. Ped. Cousin, you often promised me that you would tell me all about that early love you had for a certain young man, and I have yet to learn his name, too. Rose. I will tell you now, providing you say noth- ing about it. 16 PEDESTIN. Fed. I will readily promise that. Rose. I was engaged to a very nice young man at the early age of sixteen. He was four years older than myself. We were school-mates, and raised, you might say, beneath the same roof. His father was a sea captain, and on his last voyage to China died there. Walter, my intended, went after his father, and on his return home, one year after, he broke off the engagement, apparently without any cause at the time; but since, I heard that it was occasioned by some family troubles. His people moved from our town two years previous ,and I never heard definitely of them since, and not at all of him. He was the noblest of his sex — and though I have not seen him in four long ^ ears, 1 am still susceptible to the belief that I will. Fed. I hope that you will — but you forgot to tell me his name. Rose. Walter Benson. Fed. I don't remember of ev6r having heard the name. Rose. I dare say not. But did I tell jow the news I heard in the village. . Fed. ISTo— what is it ? Rose. Why, I heard that Paris Desmer is going to the gold regions. Fed. What gold regions? Rose. The gold regions in California, I suppose. Fed. \_8tarts.'] Oh, cousin, are you bot jesting? He would not leave the country without seeing me, when he knows that I am at home. Rose. How can he see you, when your father for- bids his entering the house? Fed. Oh, I must see him — 1 would have him know all, and not think that I ever deceived him. Rose. All what, cousin ? I fear you have some secret of no pleasing nature, that you would keep from me — why not confide in me? — but I will not press you more. PEDESTIN. 17 Fed. I will tell you all some other time. I do Dot wish to cause you unnecessary solicitude now, for it would be of no avail. Rose. As 3"ou wish, dear cousin ; but be more cheerful, you are too sensitive — your kind heart is too open and too apt to magnify trifles, for your bodily comfort. But, come, let us take a walk in the garden, and, if I mistake not, the morning zephyrs will lure that ill-meaning spirit aAvay. Fed. I look for Cute's return from the village ev- ery moment — I sent him there w^ith a letter to — Ri ""., To Paris Dcsmer. [i>aw^/is.] O, you rogue, befoj m hour, you will be as happy as a lark. {Exit L.] Enter Col. Nortville and Joel Mertlofp. Col. Leave that to me Joel, I have already brought a little artifice to my aid and I think from present prospects that it will work admirably. Joel. Yes, that's it. Colonel, one ounce of strategy is worth a regiment of bayonets. But as long as that worthless skulking cur, Paris Desmer, stays in the neighborhood I fear that he will revert her attention. Col. Why, he is gone — gone to the gold regions, I was told to-day by those who know. Joel. \_Asider\ I wish it was to the devil. {Moud^ Gone there, ah ! Col. Yes, he made his farewell bow to the villagers last evening. I never knew that Pedestin had any particular liking for this fellow, but women are so devilish odd that there is no accounting for their fancy. Joel. They are, indeed, a pack of insolvable mys- teries, Colonel, every one of them. I was aware of Pedestin liking this Desmer; but, as love in the young is but a fancied idea, it can easily be fright- ened out. However, I will leave that to you. 18 PEDESTIN. Gol. Well 3'ou may, I have things now pretty much as I wish them — the greatest obstacles are ^ir- mounted. Joel. Does she know of your going to England, Golonel ? Col. Yes, I so informed her, but said nothing in regard to the estate my Uncle left me, and I would warn you on that point, also. Joel. Ha, ha, a little more device, Colonel; there is nothing like it. Col. It takes persistance in an affair of this kind. I have never undertaken anything that 1 did not ac- complish. I have set my lieart on this marriage, and unless I am greatlj^ astray I will bring it to a suc- cessful issue. What think you, Joel ? Joel. I hope so. Colonel. Col. Joel, as much as I dote on her, and were she to marry any worthless fellow, hang me if would not disinherit her — cut her off without a dollar. It is well for you that I hold you in such high favor. Joel. Thank you, Colonel, for that. I suppose it is not necessary for me to make any suggestions now as to preparations for our nuptials. Col. ]^o, not now. That is like paying the fiddler before the dance. But what say you if you stop in and see her. Speak not of your marriage to her — to- day, at all events. Joel. As you wish Colonel, [cjoing'\ I will see you presently. \Aside.'] J^ow to feast my eyes upon her beauty. \_Exit l.] Col. What better man could she expect to get than he is. He is rich, young, noble looking, and certainly of good parentage. Hang me if I can see what is getting into the marriageable daughters now days. Their fancy is as peculiar as the fool who wanted to marry his own mother \_Cute opens door in c, and is about to come in, letter in hand, sees Colonel Wortville, stands at door and listens.'] Ha, ha, I PEDESTIN. 19 have the best of it so far. Telling her that I was bankrupt will have more influence to induce her to marry \_Cvte puts his head inside of door.'] Joel Mertloff than all other stories I could coin. B}^ to- morrow 1 will have the gentle yes trom her — I will take no other answer. I am better pleased than a thousand dollars to hear of that scamping fel- low, Desmer, leaving the countr}^, [^Cute shoivs the audience letter'] and if he never returns until I bid him welcome, this locality will be free from his presence for a while. \_Exit r.] Enter Cute. Cute. Golly, wouldn't Massa Kurnel gib my ear a pullin' if he ketched me heear'n on him. Dar is some flicker in de wind when he talks dat way 'bout Miss Patavine. I guess dat he's kind o' 'stakin if he tinks dat she's gvvine to marry Massa Mertlofl:'. Not as long as dis ere chile' knows hisselfj bank- ruckery or no bankrukery, kase I knows it as well as Massa Kurnel. I'se got de letter here for Miss Patavine, and Massa Paris is not gone yet. He is gwine to see her to-morrow night. \_Looks at the letter.] Jus de same marks dat was on dem before. Oh, I'll bet dat dar is lots of lub in dat letter. 'Tis de white folks dat can talk de lub, kase dey larn it in de books. [^Exit r, singing.] Scene 1Y. — Pkwi Boom. Enter Cute and Eose. Bose. Well, then, what is the reason. Cute, that the young gentlemen, as you are pleased to term them, don't like me ? Cute. I'se don't know Missie Eose, 'less 'tis — 20 PEDE8TIN. Rose. Unless what, Cute ? Cute. Dat dey tink you talk too much, Missie Eose. Rose. Me talk too much, you rascal. [Going for him; Cute hacking away.'] How dare have you the impudence to say that I talk too much? Cute. No, I mean dem oder fellers, Missie Eose, dat said it. [Aside.] Oh, laws, I wouldn't ker about her mysef. Rose. You say that again and I will — Cuce. Yes, I knows you would. Rose. What is my tongue for but to use it ? Cute. Yes, I knows dat. [Aside.] You does, and your hands sometimes, too. Rose. It is of little difference whether the young men fancy my talking or not. You tell them so for me. Cute. [Aside.] No, I'se gwine to tell dem nothing. [Aloud.] 'Twas dem dat said it, Missie Eose. I was only tellin' it ober. Rose. Oh, well, if that is it, I will forgive. But, now, tell me what Harry Ward said about me, and I will give you a nice present. Cute. Oh, yes, dat one 3"0u didn't gib me, and was gwin' to gib me last Christmas. Rose. Yes, that one. Cute. I'se 'fraid dat you will forgit it as you did dat one, Missie Eose. Rose. Oh, no, you can remind me of it. Cute. Cute. Well, but my new rules is for work like dis is git paid in 'vance, den you won't forgot it. Rose. Pay in advance, eh? Why, Cute, you are realty up to the times. Cute. I'd rather have a dollar, if it is de same to you, Missie Eose. Rose. Why, I didn't say dimes, but then I believe I have a little change [takes out coppers] about me. Cute. [Aside.] Yes, 'tis little too. PEDESTIN. 21 Rose. There, I hope that will satisfy you. Cute. Yes, to look at, but I can't buy nuffin wid dem, dey are, [looking at theiii] are — Rose. They are pennies, what we use East for change. Cate. Yes, I taught dat dey come from dar. Rose. Well, now, tell me w4iat Harry said. Cute. Oh, yes. Well, he said dat you war — Rose. What? Cute. \_Look off l.] Oh, here comes Massa Kur- nel, and I must make mysef skarce 'bout dis time. Rose. But, tell me, what did he say, Cute. Cute. \_Groing.'] Dat you was too old. [Exit r.] Rose. I, too old. Well, what contemptible, un- principled bigots men are — big and little, old and young — to call me old, and I have not seen my twen- ty-first year yet — Enters Col. Nortville, l. they are all a chip of the one block. Col. Good morning, Cousin Eose. What is it that now disturbs the tranquility of your peacable mind. Some new breakers, eh ? Rose. Breakers, yes. You men are a clOg to every woman's happiness. Col. Me ? Rose. No, not you, now, Uncle. You have passed that age. You were once a man. Col. [Aside.'] Hang me if that ain't complimen- tary — I was " once a man " — [Aloud.'] And what am I now. Cousin Eose ? Rose. [Coaxingly.] A nice, quiet, old gentleman, Uncle. Col. [Aside.] That's an improvement, but still not exactly the thing. [Aloud.] I am not so very old, Cousin Eose. Rose. No, Uncle, you are not quite eighty, I be- lieve. 22 PEDESTIN. Col. Eighty! Why, bless you, I have not seen fifty yet. I was just twenty years old when you were born. I remember the night well. So that brings you close on to thirty. Hose- Uncle, what an unfeeling wretch you are. Me thirty. Not for nine years yet. \_(TOing^ and stands on Ms toes.l I will be even with you yet for — Col. Oh ! my toes, my toes — Rose. Don't wear such tight boots, uncle. \_Exit r.] Col. I had better wear iron ones when your cor- poration feet are around. Whoever has the fortune of getting her will get a tartar. Her small fortune is un sufficient to keep up and I am the sufferer. Now, for Pedestin and her yes. It must be seriously comtemplated by her, for she has not left her room to-day. Enter Joel Mertloff, l. Joel. Good- evening, colonel, I come for your com- pany in that drive you promised to take with me this evening. Col. Oh, yes, I'd quite forgotten it, Joel. Joel. How is Miss Pedestin — anything demon- strative ? ' Col. No — not as yet. Eeally, I have not seen her to-day — she has kept her room. Joel. She is inclined to be self-willed, colonel! Col. Not to control her. I was on the point of calling on her when you came in. If you will spare me for a few moments, I will see her. \_Exit both, l.] Enter Pedestin, r., looking pale. Fed. The hour is already at hand when I ^am to give my father an answer. May heaven direct me in giving it ; I cannot see my good father, now in his declining years, deprived of a home — cast upon PEDESTIN. 23 the charity of a merciless world. Yet — death is ]-)referable — than to be the wife of Joel Mertloif. Enter Cute, l. Cute. Missie Patavine, joii has been crj^ing — I hope dat you isn't sick. Fed. Cute, I have good cause to shed tears. C\ite. Can't I do nuffin for you, Missie Patavine? Is dar been any one saying something to you ? Fed. No, Cute — not that, but far worse. I will tell 3^ou, for I know I can trust you. Cide. Yes, missie, you can dat — for I'll neber de- seebe, dough I is a poor ole nigger. Fed. You are faithful. My ftither wants me to marry Joel Mertloff, for, in so- doing, I will save him from bankruptcy — beggary — for he is now on the verge of both. Cute. I tells you, Missie Patavine, don't marry him, kase I know^s better dan dat — 'tis all smoke, kase I knows it — don't marry him, 'twould wurry poor Massa Paris. \_Much moved.'] Fed. What do you mean by your knowing better? Cute. I'se heard Massa Kurnel talking to hissef — don't marry him, Missie Patavine, kase dar is no bankruckery at all. Fed. No — bankruptcy ! Cute. No, dar isn't. Fed. 1 believe 3^ou, Cute, your honesty is expres- sive in every word. O, heaven, I thank thee for my deliverance — I now comprehend all — my eyes are open to the deception that would have deprived me of life and liberty. Still more galling is the thought that my own father would be the extortioner. \_Ste'ps heard, coming.'] Here comes my father — leave. Cute, I would not have him see you here now. Cute. I'se gwine, Missie Patavine, but don't marry him, kase dar is no bankruckery at all. \_Exit, r.] 24 PEDESTIN. Enter Colonel Nortville, l. Col. My dear da"ghter, I was becoming uneasy at your absence, all day. I hope you are not unwell. Fed. No, father, not that. Col. Ah ! I see you think that your non-appear- ance is in keeping with the sad news of yesterday. You are right, daughter, it is. Ped. Yes, father, such was my motive. Col. I hope, Pedestin, that you have fully decided. Fed. I have. Col. To marry him, of course. Fed. Who ? Col. Joel Mertloff— who else ? Fed. Father — Joel Mertloff, I can not and — will not marry. Col. [Surprised. '\ What, daughter, not to save your father from ruin and disgrace. Fed. Father, I will do anj^thing that a child can do to save a parent. 1 will deny myself — toil — drudge — beg — for you ; but to marry Joel Mertloff, before heaven, do I attest that I never will ! Col. Listen, Pedestin, you have had your choice, and this is your decision. JS^ow. I will have mine and I will act accordingly. Not a dollar of mine will you receive until you consent to marry Joel Mertloff, and should that not be before my death, I will disinherit you, you disobedient, ungrateful hussy. This is your thanks for all I have done for you. Mark me — ^you shall be the sufferer. [Exit, r. Fe- destin weeps.'] Fed. It is all passed now, and I trust to heaven that it is for the better. His own words tell me that it was a snare to jrob me of what earth cannot re- store — its wealth can never buy my love and my honor— for, to become the wife of Joel Mertloff, would be a stigma on both. [Exit, l.] PEDESTIN. ^ 25 Scene IV. — A Garden; moon seeji through the trees. Enter Paris Desmer, l. Paris. Her letter says that she would meet me here at nine, \_Looks at his wmtch.~\ it wants but five minutes of the time. Why does she ask this meet- ing, when every tongue proclaim the da}^ of her marriage with another? There can be but one alter- native — the dreams of youth are no longer sug- gestive of reality. It would be madness to per- sist in them longer — baseness in me, to link her with my poverty — no ! no ! the thought is too preproster- ous. It would be plucking the rose, bathed in bloom, to be witness of its death. Enter Pedestin, r. Peel. Oh, Paris, jow are here — thank you for this. \_She rushes into his arms.'] Paris. I came at your request, dear Pedestin. Ped. Oh, dear Paris, forgive me if I have acted wrong in bringing j'ou here; but I could not help it — I heard that you were about to leave the country. I could not suffer you to go Avithout first seemg you. Faris. Why should I stay? — poverty is all that seem to greet me here — our vows of love have long since ceased — they were but the idle dreams of our young hearts — wanting better judgment, for we were both, then, in child-like innocence. But that is all now passed — we have grown in years, and should exercise more considerate discrimination ; in the future, let our motives be governed by reason, for our paths in life will be far apart. It is the same love that en- tered my heart for you when a boy that now counsels this ; it has grown too deep — too holy — too infinite — to have you linked with my misfortune — I alone can 26 PEDESTIN. suffer my privations — but to have you share them — no — never ! Fed. \_Aside.'\ You are too noble. Paris. But let me hope that in your new condi- tion you will become happy — reconciled to heaven's will. Fed. \_8tarts.'] "What means that new condition you speak of? Paris. Is it not on every tongue that is able to speak your name ? Ped. I can not understand you, Paris. Paris. Would you be married — and yet — not know it — when the rumor is afloat that you soon will — Ped. Me — no — 'tis impossible — that rumor is false — to whom does it say ? Paris. To Joel Mertloif. Ped. It is a falsehood — a malicious and unmiti- gated falsehood! Never have I, in word or act, given encouragement to his suit — and I will afiirm — that I never will. It is true he accompanied me home from school, but that was the express wish of my father, and I could not reasonably object to it. Paris, think not for an instant that my love for you has undergone any change, for it has not — I would have you know me as I am. Could you but read my lacerated heart, it would reveal you all. What think you, when a father would become identical with a scheme to rob his own child of heaven's holiest gift ; to destroy that love it gave as a blessing, to be free, holy and un defiled ; to cast an odium upon it — be- come instrumental in the annihilation of its sanctity? Paris. Is it possible that you accuse your father of this? Ped. Such is my fear that he is so disposed. Blame me not if I lose faith in all, when he whose blood runs in my veins would barter his own child. Paris. Be more hopeful, Pedestin : the future will yet bestow on you the brightest hues of its glory. PEDESTIN. 27 Ped. I have one hope left me still, and that is you, Paris. Do not turn away from me — I would be with you — beggar — outcast — all that jon might be. \_Falls ill his arms weeping.'] Paris. This must not — cannot be — my strength is failing me. Pedestin, my angel, my love, [Kisses her.'] may heaven care thee until we meet there. IGoijig.] Ped. Oh ! Paris, lover, you will not leave me — Paris. No, my heart ever remains with you. [Exit L.] Ped. Paris — lover — [Starts after him.] you will not leave me. Oh ! God, he is gone — he is gone, and life is worthless without him. [Sinks weeping. Quick fall of curtain.] END OF ACT I, ACT 11. Scene I. — Same as Scene III, Act I. Pedestin seated at table, reading ; Rose drawing. Ped. [Putting dow7i paper.] I cannot read ; my sight wanders over its pages and discerns nothing. I fear I will never see him again. Rose. Cousin, I would exhort you to hope more. The vexatious taunts that every bereaved heart is heir to should not be indulged in. Be more inflexible, then, I'll warrant you more happiness. Ped. [Aside.] Advice is easier given than taken. [Aloud.] It is now two months, and yet no tidings come from him. He may be dead ! 28 PEDESTIN. Rose. Dead? ISTo — why — if you keep in that way you will soon become an anatomist of mortality. Fed. Even his mother does not hear from him, which is more strange, and she is too, apprehensive of his safety. Rose. There is uncle, who has been absent almost as long, and he has written but once — and that was not to us. Red. Father was in poor health when he wrote: that may have prevented him from writing since. Rose. And, if Paris went to the gold regions, as the report said, he would not be apt to write until he got there — and that will take him some months ; for, in that part of Uncle Sam's dominion, they don't travel by lightning express trains — no — indeed. Red. I did not think of that, cousin. Rose. As to uncle not writing, that is quite easily solved. You know he was much displeased on ac- count of your refusal to marry that obtrusive jack-a- napes, Joel Mertloff, Esq. Red I didn't think he would remember that when abroad. Rose. Men will remember anything. For my part, I have but little faith in any of the amiable creatures. There is not one of them that has not as many faces as a dodecagon, and a color for each, l^o man can be trusted until he is a father — that is a grandfather — and then some of them are not reliable. Red. I hope, dear cousin, you don't class all men alike. Rose. Oh, no — once in a while you will meet one, whose insipidness is a passport to morality. Red. You are too severe, cousin. I do wish Oute would return — I sent him to the village for the mail. Enter Cute, r. Gute. Missie Patavine, I'se been to de village and PEDESTIN. 29 dar ain't no letters dar. De letter man looked in all de holes and coiildn't find one for you. I met Massa Mertloif comin' dis way, I speck dat he am comin' hyar. Fed. Joel Mertloff coming here again ? Hose. I suppose to show us his pugnacious coun- tenance, which is equal to a dose of physic. Cute. Missie Patavine, I'se agwine to stay close by, and if he say anyting dat's gruby, I'll club him like I would a snake. Hose. And with your permission, cousin, I will withdraw for a few moments. [_Exit L.] Cute. I hears him comin', so I'll stow^ mysef way hyar. [Jlides back of wing l.] Fed. There is no alternative for me but to see him. I would avoid the meeting, though I fear him not. Enter Joel Mertloff, r. Joel. Ah! Miss Nortville, this is an unlooked-for pleasure. May I indulge in the belief that I do not intrude? Fed. Mr. Mertloif, I am not disposed to deny any one who desires an interview, much less a friend of m}' father. Joel. Thank you for the honor. Miss Nortville. [^Aside.l That is the reason you tolerate me, I sup- pose. \_Aloud.'] Have you heard of late from jowv father ? Fed. ISTo sir — not for some weeks. Joel. You are aware that that he was in very poor health on his arrival in London. Fed. Yes — it was from there he wrote. Joel. \_Aside.'] 'Tis well you know no more. [_Aloud.'] Miss Nortville, I cannot forbear the temptation of broaching to you again the subject of our last inter- view. I fear that I was too imperious at the time ; now, with your permission, I would exonerate myself 30 PEDESTIN. Fed. That, sir, is as you wish it. Joel. I would wish you to believe that it never was my intention to be instrumental in the restrain- ment of your better feelings, for, I believe not in the repression of one's choice. Love should never be- come a sacrifice on the altar of hymen. I must con- fess that I was — and I am as yet — zealous in the marriage your father was so anxious to bring about ; I hoped to win your affections, your love, which I prize above all, and until I do, I would lay no claim to your hand; for, it would be but to smite ray own conscience. Let me hope that the change will come, if it has not ah^eadv, and the loni>:-cherished attach- ment I have ever entertained for you will be the re- alization of my fond hopes. \_Advances to her.'] Here let me pledge you my sincerity, my love, and seal it with a — \_Tnes to kiss her.'] Fed. Back, ruffian! \_They tussle.] Help — help: l^Gute appears from behind, scene — dashes Mertloff off — catches Pedestin, who has fainted, and sits her in chair.] Cute. How dare joi\ lay your flippers on dis lady ! You is no man — no gemman — to do it. I'll grub you like a puppy, if you dare tink ob dat again. Joel. You black, infernal imp — how dare you in- terrupt a gentleman ! I'll punish your impudence as it deserves. \_I)raws a pistol, is about to fire at Cute, Pedestiri recovers.] Fed. Oh ! don't shoot him, I pray you — he is not to blame — spare his life for my sake! Cute. Don't be skeer, Missie Patavine, kase dar is no danger — he's not courage to shoot — I'se not 'larmed ob his pistol. Joel. For your sake, I will spare his life. [Aside.] For it is not worth taking. [Aloud.] Miss Nortville, I wish you a good day, and I hope this will not be thought of seriously. [Going.] [Aside.] Before heaven, I swear that you will yet be my wife, or feel the weight of n.y ven