Fa | DIALOGUES No. 25. | BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y. The Central News Co,, Philadelphia, Pa Two NEW BOOKS —FOR— Exhibitions and Home Entertainments. DIME DIALOGUES, NO. 25. The Societies of the Delectables and Les Miserables. A very So- cial Drama with a Reform Sug- gestion. For two ladies and two entlemen. at Each Would Have. A Rhym- ed Presentation of Wishes. six little boys and teacher. Sunshine Through the Clouds, A Business Affair. For four ladies. The Friend in Need. An Irish Ex- perience. For four males. The Hours. A Dress Fancy, in Verse. For twelve little gir! s. bai Doors and Out. A Dialogue in aor For five little boys. Dingbats. A Farce. For one female and three males. The Pound of Flesh. The Court Scene from “‘Merchant of Ven- ice.” For three boys. Beware of the Peddlers. A Donies- tic Drama. For seven mixed characters. Good Words. A Series Recitation. For a number of boys. For } A Friend. A Series Recitatiom. For a number of little girls. e True Use of Wealth. A Local citement. For a whole school. ester. An Illustrated Charade Action. For numerous char- acters. Put Yourself In His Place. Adapt- ed from Sanders’ Union Speaker. For two boys. Little Wise piles A Petite Par- lor Play. For four little girls. The Regenerators. A ‘*Fresh” Emeute. _ For five ae Crabtree’s Wooing. A Village Com- edy. For several characters. Irie rity the Basis of All Success. Adapted. For two males. A Crooked Way Made Straight. A Domestic Passage. Elaborated from McGuffey’s Fifth Reader. For one gentleman and one lady. How to “ Break In” Young Hearts. A Scene from Sheridan’s “‘ Ri- vals.” For two ladies and one gentleman. DIME JOLLY SPEAKER, NO. 22. A special collection of pieces, droll, laughable and humorous, from the best American wits and humorists, with numerous originals and adaptations. Grandfather’s Clock, The XIXth Century, Mary’s Von Little Ram, | A Familiar Lecture on | Science | Old and New Time, Wife, Clayfoot’s Spirit Race, This Side and That, | Nocturnal Mewsings, } The Village School, — tew Pik out a! An Awful Appeal, An Effective Ap How tow Pik out a) i — Sow it, How tew Pik out a aa y's Thanksgiv- uw | ing Turke; |The New F Essay On Man A Sener for the Sis- | The Lunatic’s Reverie, A Mow Declaration of De é Filosoty ob Fun |The Ear. The Disappointed Dis: | | Essay, coverer, | Backbone, A Heathen’s Score Der Dog und der Lob- | ster, The Young Tramp, The nate of the Perseus. | A Bathetic Ballad, A Talking The Jolly Old Fellow. A A Weak Case, Te, May Be Happy Ears g he Or pheus, A side View, | A “ Classic. 3} Independence, Christmas Welcome, | My First Coat, | The Fire-Brig: ade, urge.” Good ol Times, TH dood A Congratu- latory Reminder, Rigid Reformation, Josh Billings’s How tew Pik out a) Watermellon, tion, Seas The Deli thts of S ring, | | The Funny Man, iews, Don’t Give It Away, Beasteses, | A Dark Warni 4 | ** Colored ” Disertar| The on ‘Oi and the Pussy- Prometheus Modern- (8 The above books are sold by Newsdealers es or will be sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of price, ten cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William St., N. Y. THE DIME DIALOGUES No. 25. ak NEW, EFFECTIVE AND EASILY PERFORMED my. SCHOOLS, a - EXHIBITIONS AND PARLORS. “COMPRISING: BRIEF DRAMAS IN BURLESQUE AND FARCE, COLLO- QUIES, DIALOGUES AND RHYMED RECITATIONS, ODD, HUMOROUS AND WHIMSICAL ACTING EPISODES. FOR SCHOLARS AND ACTORS OF BOTH SEXES AND ALL AGES, AND CAREFULLY ARRANGED FOR STAGES OR PLATFORM, WITH OR WITHOUT THE UsSvAL STAGE. ACCESSORIES. —— NEW YORE; BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM STREET. * CONTENTS., ® PAGE, Tue Socreries oF THE Dacecriecdiine Les MisrraBLes. A very Social Drama with a. Reform Si Egedtion: For two ladies and two gentlemen. By the author of “The cee. — hp Psychometiser,”’ etc., etc, .. os Waar Eacu Wovutp Have. A Rhymed Presentation of Wishes. For six little boys and teacher, By Agnes Cary.. SunsHine THROUGH THE CLoups, THE DIME DIALOGUES NO. 25. * THE SOCIETIES OF THE DELECTABLES AND LES MISERABLES. — FOR TWO LADIES AND TWO GENTLEMEN, (SmiraeEers comes forward, looking around seared, as if expect- tng pursuit. In hand has a slip of paper.) Smirners. Alas me! What has it come to when a man | —a respectable man and good citizen, well qualified for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, can’t speak his mind at home? When he has got to play second fiddle to iis wife while she does all the talking, all the bossing, all the buying, spends all the money, it has come to a pretty puss. va stood it, and stood it, now for ten years, and [ ~ declare ['ll not stand it any longer. Tl strike! TH Yebel! “Wil stand for my rights though the heavens fall. Mus. Smrrners. (Outside.) Smithers! 5. Bless me! If she hasn’t come home! I thought she and that awful Mrs. Professor Peckhard had gone to’ their Delectable Sociable. What has brought her back? Mrs. 8. (Outside.) §-m-i-t-h-e-r-s! S. Bless me! That means business! She never cries ~ (imitates) S-m i-t-h-e-1-s! but she’s got an account to settle, or a sermon to preach. When a man is full and boiling over he lets it off in hard words, but a woman only hisses, or draws her mouth out thus, as a knife blade, and says, 5-m-i-t-h-e-r-s1 Mus. 8. (Outside.) §-m-i-t-h-e-r-s! ~ §. Bless me! (Puts paper hastily in side pocket of coat, leaving @ portion sticking out.) If she should see itt 1 wouldn't DavEg.R an appetite ed a week. Oh, dear, if. qT only 10 THE DIME DIALOGUES, could get out of her way! (Looks around. Sees table and gets under it.) € Mrs. 8. (Hntering:) Where can he be? Not in the house, and yet I told him distinctly to stay here, in my ab- sence. There is something wrong, I am sure. Mrs. Peck- hard says she knows there is something going on by the way the Professor acts. ll find out. Oh, if Smithers 7 weak euough to be led away into error, Pll make the air musical ©” for him. He must—he shall confess. (Smirrnrrs shakes Jist at her from under the table.) Mrs. Peckhard will force the secret from the Professor. (Enter Mrs. PECKHARD.) Mrs. Pecxnarp. Is the Professor here? Mrs. 8: No! Has he, too, disobeyed orders? Mrs. P. He is not at home, where I bade him stay till I returned from the Secret Session of the Delectables. Mrs. §. And Smithers, too, is gone! Mrs. P. Then I know something is up. We must act —promptly, decisively, or our authority is gone forever. Ah, if they should become masters farewell to our ascen- dency—to our mission as exemplars for the Delectables to follow. * Mrs. S. It must not—shall not be! Tl keep Smithers under control if I have io ies him arrested. (SmrraErs puts head out from under table and makes face but disappears Ss mw Bp ty (Advancing to table and sitting.) But, now that ‘we are here together, let us draw up the Delectable Pledge, as we are the Committee on ‘‘ Suppression of the Idea of Mastery Among Men.” I’ve here written out a preamble and resolution which embodies my idea; see what you think of it. (They both take seats at table and Mrs. P., unfolding a large piece of paper, reads :) _ ‘* Wuereas, for ages the idea that men are masters has prevailed; and whereas, it is wrong, wicked and mean; and whereas, it is a relic of barbarism; therefore— ss Resolved, That, as women, wives and mothers. we repu- | diate the mastery of men, and arrogate for ourselves an ~ equality in all authority at home, equality in property and THE DEDHOTABLES AND LES “MISERABLES. 11 | status, and ‘the right to do-every andjall ‘things that it is the right of men to-do. ‘© Resolved, That we pledge one*another to, in all manner, maintain our just authority in the household—to compel our fathers, brothers and husbands to admit our equality, and to insist upon their doing half’ the work of. the house- » hold—thereby giving us time and opportunity to go among ‘one another for our mutual comfort, advancement and dis- entbrullment.” a Mrs. 8. Excellent; but, don’t you think it, ought to have been a little stronger? Mrs. P. Well, we might have put ate more pepper in it, but, you see I go on the principle that I do in getting along with the Professor—not to threaten but to be kind but firm and unyielding, Mrs. 8. Oh, dear, that wouldn’t do with Mr. Smithers, for he is the most obstinate man, sometimes, you ever did see; you can’t drive, nor coax him, and have to threaten, Now, he’s gone and left the house against my express orders; he’s rebelled—defied me as it were, and do you think I’m going to coax or reason with him? Not I! Mrs. P. What can you do—what can I do if he and the Professor and other rs a husbands have put their heads together to suppress association and coerce us into tame submission to their mastery? Mrs. 8. (Ereitedly striking the table, which immediately bounds up a foot from the floor.) Do? Why, I'll break every bone in his body. (Strikes table again and table bounces up again.) Yll tie him hand and foot and starve him, if necessary, into submission—(Sirikes table savagely, and tabie ‘bounds up)—into submission to my authority. Mrs. P. I wish we all had your courage. I dare not o go so far with the Professor. He’s good and sensible and kind, and lets me do about as I please. Mrs. S. Lets you do? That’s an admission that he has a right to control you. Oh, Mrs. Peckhard, when so much | is depending upon you and I as exemplars, how can you show weakness like that? Lets you, indeed! Do you sup- pose J ever, for one moment, let Smithers see that he has any authority over me? No/ I'd as soon expect to see » 12 THER DIME DIALOGUES, this table get up and walk away as to see Smithers exercise any authority. (Zable rises slowly and walks away. Women scream. Table disappears behind screen.) Mrs. P. Oh—oh—oh! | (Looking amazedly at Mrs. 8.) Mrs. 8. W-w-what-do-you-think-it-was? (Looking fright- ened at Mrs. P.) Mrs. P. I—I—want-to-go-home! st Mrs. S. D-d-don’t be a we-weak woman. W-w-where’s y-you-your courage? : Mrs. P. I—I—don’t care! It was awful! Mrs. §. J—I—wish Smithers would come! Mrs. P. I—I—wish the Professor was here. (inter Prorzessor P. and SMITHERS, arm in arm, staggering.) Mrs. 8. B-b-be brave. Bb-be dignified! Here they come! (Ladies assume a dignified severity of expression.) 8. Lsay, 'fessor, this is (Ac) jolly! (Sings): “Oh, we won't go home till morning.” Mrs. 8. (Rising from chair.) Smithers! 8. Eh? Zat you, ole woman? Mrs,.S. Old woman? Oh, you miserable man! 8. Miz’ble? Never was s’appy ’nall my life. I say, "fessor, le’s go an’ get nother drink. Proressor. Delectable! Jess the thing to cure heart- ache an’ blue devils. Mrs. P. Professor? (Jtses.) Oh, this is horrible; these men are drunk—drunk, Mrs. Smithers! P. D-drunk? Nnotabbit! Only forgetting trouble, that’s all. Ain’t ’appy at home—y-you are away all y-your time, tendin’ to the Delectuble (Ac) yow-yows, an’ I an’ Smithers are so disgusted that we’re goin’ to the d-dogs jess for fun, ole gal, ’f you are goin’ to make it too hot for us at. home. 8. Jess so, fessor! Le’s go out an’ get ’nother drink! dare! 8. Isay, ole woman, you're too much (hic) for me when I’m sober, but I’m too much (héc) for you — T'm elevated; 60 (sings): “T won't go home till morning—’till morning—” Mra. 8. (Seizing him by coat collar.) You go if you . vtisel pe all THE DELECTABLES AND LES MISERABLES. Mrs. 8. Oh, you wretehed—wretched man! 8. Never s’appy (fic) in all my life. Mrs. 8. (Seizing paper sticking out of SmiTurrs’s vide pocket.) Smithers, you horrible man—what is this? (Un- Solds paper.) 8. Is-say, ole woman— ; Mrs. 8, You ‘old woman” me again and T’N—I’ll— *ilal what’s this? Smithers—Smithers! You wretch! (Reads -) % “SOCIETY OF THE MISERABLES. ‘* For the better protection of our common and individual happiness and comfort, we hereby associate ourselves in fel- lowship, secret, but in sacred honor bound. ‘*Our homes no longer being enjoyable, and our wives, having interests and ambitions incompatible with their duties and relations to us as wives, we agree to substitute the Club for home, and, by such laws as the Club shall enact, to asso- ciate for mutual enjoyment and entertainment. “Tt is understood that no woman shall be competent to ; membership, nor admissible to the sessions or entertainments t of the Club. ; ‘*Tt is also further agreed and hereby pledged that all h members whose wives are members of the ‘‘ Delectables” { | | { ; t shall sustain one another in abjuring and despising the house- » hold authority and absurd pretensions of the said ‘‘ Delecta- bles,” whose principles and practices are inimical to love, are an enemy to peace, at war with all social usage and fatal to the family comfort and happiness. “To maintain these ideas, we agree to associate, and for the purposes of organization, will meet at the private rooms -of the West End Hotel, on Thursday evening, the 21st. “ Signed—Jusrus Smrruers, Pror, D. D. PeckHarD, OBED Jones, Darrus Jounson, SPENCER BENSON, JACOB ie Doremus, Isaac E, Seetey, Grrarp Hunt, EBen Anprews, Epwarp Ascorr, ARTHUR C. Mason, Henry Exuiorr.” os (Pauses, holding paper out and staring at, it.) Monstrous! Infamous! Detestable! And twelve men can subscribe to it—twelve well-known men! P. - Certain’s you’re born—twelve good-fellows who don’t 14 3 THE DIME DIALOGUES. mean to play the milksop to a set of women who have banded together to conspire against their husbands’ happi- ness and comfort. 8. Jess so! I say, ’fesser, le’s go an’ mak an afternoon of it. P. Good idea, Smithers. The women ’l] know how to be happy without us; they’re going to have a world of their own, anyhow, so we'll go it alone. (Starts to leave.) Mrs. P. (Putting her hand on the Proressor’s arm.) Oh, don’t go, Professor—please don’t! (Lays head on his shoulder and 808. $ P. Why, madame, have you any serious objection to my having a good time, once a week? Isn’t six days of cold comfort at home enough to purchase one day’s freedom from your petty tyranny? S. Good lick, ’fesser! Le’s go! Mrs. 8. Smithers! 8. M-r-s, S-m-i-t-h-e-r-s! (Hie /) Mrs. S. (Crying.) © Oh, Smithers, how can you? ‘S. How can I? Jess as easy as spendin’ a dollar for six jolly-boy smashes. Come, ’fesser. (Moves toward door.) Mrs. 8. You shall not go—dear, dear, Smithers, don’é go! Mrs. P. Iam so unhappy. Mrs. 8. And so am I. S. Uuhappy? Why, I thought (ic /) you was ’s’appy as I was the other thing! I’m off. (Tries to go.) ° Mrs. §. Oh, Smithers, indeed—indeed— (Cries.) Mrs, P. Oh, Professor, indeed—indeed— (Orves.) S. Well, fesser, *f here ain’t a pretty go! Why, we must go an’ meet the others, you know, this afternoon, to— Mrs, 8. You shall not go to meet those men, It is simply dreadful. S. Oh, orders are played out! Vive Les Miserables / Mrs. 8. Husband—dear Smithers, do hearme, I’m— Tl'm— Mrs. P: So am TI. ‘$. Hey? (Winks at Prom) P. Hey? (Winks at SurrHEnrs:) Mrs. 8) I’m willing to—to— THE DELECTABLES AND LES MISKRABLES, 15 Mrs, P. So am I. 8. You don’t say! (Winks.again at Prova P. Is it possible! (Winks again at 8.) Mrs. 8. To be a-good:and dutiful wife— Mrs. P. To love, honor and obey my husband— Mrs. 8. If this Club of ‘yours can be given up; and. 1’ll promise, ever so solemnly, to make :your home a happier place than any club can be. Mrs. P. And I'll here téar up my Report and never again attend a meeting of the Delectables, (Tears Report in pteces and scatters on the floor.) Will you not forgive the folly and mistaken idea of our relative rights that impelled me to form that society? I mever béfore sdw my duty so plainly as now, and I crave:the ‘privilege of proving to you that home, sweet home, is the dearest placein all the world for the good husband. : P. And I would be a fool to refuse you the privilege, and a mean man for a husband if I fail to appreciate the virtues and love of'a ‘good wife. (They clasp hands.) S. Hear—hear! Mrs. Smithers, here is my heart and hand on the New Dispensution! Thus I destroy (tears _ Agreement to pieces and scatters on the floor) every vestige of my rebellion to a wife’s just authority, and proclaim The Miserables miserable no’more! (Théy allyoin hands and ad- vance to front of stage.) each P. And may all who are pursuing diverging paths, or | sowing the seeds of ill-content, through a misconception of life’s true relations ‘and duties, be as fortunate as we have been—to see the error ere it is too late to save the hearth- stone from the blight of separated lives. (Curtain falls.) & THE DIME DIALOGUES. WHAT EACH WOULD HAVE. FOR 8IX LITTLE BOYS AND TEACHER. ; TOM. Oh, dear! I hate this horrid rain That keeps us in from play; What shall we do from now till dark A whole long holiday? WILL, I wish it never had to rain, Or, if it did, it made Something so nice we wouldn’t mind— Such as soda, or lemonade, CARL, Oh, yes, how jolly it would be To have all we could wish! I'd drink, and drink, and drink until— TOM. You'd turn into a fish! SEN ‘oa JOE. Id rather have nice things to eat, And, if I could, ’'d make Our houses out of cocoanut All lined with jelly-cake. The furniture ’d be sweet chocolate; The woodwork candy white, So when you’d come to visit me I'd say: ‘‘ Just take a bite!” TOM. I wish the rain would bring me down A lovely great big kite, ' That could fly high up in the sky, Entirely out of sight! WHAT EACH WOULD HAVE. 17 Or else a new velocipede, With wheels all shiny red, That when Israce with other boys I'd always be ahead! ROB. And T should like to have it hail A perfect shower of toys; “Tops, marbles, sleds, and everything That’s nice for little boys! Yes, for my sisters too, ’d wish Dolls, hoops, and pretty things, As sashes, ribbons for their hair, Gold-pins, and finger-rings. ED. Id rather lave than anything, Nice books of stories true, About Queen Bess, George Washington, And wars, and soldiers too. Oh, then I wouldn’t mind the rain, I'd busy be all day, For when I’ve books of stories real, What do J care for play. (Hnter TEACHER.) TEACHER. What's that I hear? Not care for play? That sounds like Master Ed;— ' Now, boys, let’s hear what you have done, ’ And what has just been said. TOM. I said Bhated horrid rain; « And then the boys begun, And if their wishes could come true Oh! wouldn’t it be fun! TEACHER. Well, tell them.all, my boys, and see If'time has been well«spent, In wishing for good things and true eee As doubtless you have meant. (A pause.) What, no one speaks! I can guess why: Your wishes were for joys; No. harm, my lads, if they were good; Boys always will be boys! ; H WILL. I wished the rain were lemonade— A foolish wish I think, For if we’d do without our rain We'd have nothing to drink. JOE. And I for houses: made of! cake; A greedy wish I know. ROB. And I for toys of every sort Our big store window’s show. PR pe an ED. I wished for books; a better wish Than toys, or food, or drink; TEACHER. _ And yet, my boy, the other ones Were just as good, I think. Theirs were but made in harmless jest, ‘ While you made yours in pride; But we'll not spoil the holiday The rain has too much tried. But, one thing, boys, remember well, That others may wish, too; 80 share your good things all around, And all will wish them true. A SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. FOR FOUR FEMALES, Characters :—Mra. Morton; Mrs. Parcnrr; Aticr; Miriam. The scene vepresents the interior of a small fancy goods store. A counter ts placed in the center of the stage, behind which ALIcE and Miriam are standing. Mrruam. How the rain does pour! It does not seem as though it would ever cease, and I don’t believe customers will be very plenty.. I always hate rainy days, even if we do not have to work so hard, because there are so few good- looking young men pass the windows, and I doubt if Dick will call to take me to the concert to-night. Anyway, I don’t. think that our employer will _ hurry back from her visit up town. Autcr. Now J do love to see it rain. It will do so much good to the country, and I know the farmers have been needing the showers so much. How the earth will drink up the nourishing draught and every tiny. bit of Na- ture will seem to rejoice. A shower in the country is one of the most beautiful sights I -have ever witnessed. It is really ‘‘ just splendid!” M. The country! Don’t mention it! Ugh! the very name makes me shiver and gives me the horrors. A. What! You don’t like the country? M. No, I don't! I was there. one week and I thought it the dullest, dreariest, pokiest place in the world. Id sooner be obliged to live in the Mammoth Cave than be compelled to take up my residence among the cows and vegetables and dwell among the country gawks. A. Well, Miriam, I was born and brought up there, sol must be one of those ‘‘country gawks” you appear to de- spise so heartily. But, for me, the quiet country has more charms than the crazy city. bo M. Ah well! Every one to their’ tastes, but my taste. certainly does notlie in the direction of the country. But- tercups and daisies are very pretty to read about or to look at in a chromo, but to have to dwell among them all * e F ————— ae ge SEA THE DIME DIALOGUES. through the: summer wouldn’t suit me one atom. Didn’t you get awful lonely and poky in the country, at times? _ A. No, indeed, for there was always so much to see, to admire; to love, that the time seemed to pass almost to quickly. There was no monotony. Such glorious sun- rises, such magnificent sunsets, the pleasant rides in the hay-cart, the gathering of the harvest in the Autumn, so liany, many sweet delights that he must have a discon- tented nature who lives in the country and does not appre- ciate its enjoyments. I often feel sad that I am not among my native hills and dales. (Wipes away a tear.) M. I do not see how any one can have such thoughts, for there is so much going on here, so much passing, so much excitement, such good chances to see new fashions and’ have your beaux take you to concerts and dances, and then one has such a multiplicity of amusements to pick and choose from that one ig never at a loss where to go. »°A. One hour in the country to me is worth more than ten in the town. M. If you were so fond of the country, why did you leave it? I should think you would have stayed where your heart was. A. And so I would have = had matters been differ- ent. There may come atime when I can return. There were circumstances that compelled. me to do what I would | have avoided. ~ _M. There! I always thought you had a secret and now - I know I'can guess it. Your rustic swain found some one else he liked better than he did you and so you left him in Jisgust. Am I not right, Alice? A. You are one hundred miles out of the way. There i; no secret about it. I never thought to tell you because I did not think it would have any interest for you or that yee would care to hear it. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. — 21 “‘amberill.” What a guy! I shall kill myself laughing at her. r% / A. Hush, Miriam. She is coming in and may hear you. ' (Enter Mrs. Pancrer.) Mrs. Parcurer. (Seating herself in a chair.) Wall! I am about beat out, and this ambrill won’t be. worth nothing *tall when I get back hum. Ebenezer didn’t want me to fetch it for he said ’twould be sure to.rain if I did. — M. Is Ebenezer your young man? Mrs. P. Why, no, bless your soul; ]’ve been married to him for over thirty odd years and I’ve never repented of my bargain. When folks gets*married I believe they should stay married, for so the good Book informs us, and I'll never go back on that. M. Maybe they manage matters differently in the coun- try frony what they do in the city. You see we are more enlightened here. “ Mrs. P. Are ye? Well, I never should have guessed it. But, from all [ve hearn tell, there’s just as happy marriages in the city as in the country. It isn’t the place that makes married folks unhappy so much as the folks themselves;—at least, so l’ve hearn tell. M. (Aside to Autcr.) ‘Hearn tell!” Did you ever hear such grammar? ; ; A. Hush, Miriam. (Zo Mrs. Parcner.) My com- panion here doesn’t like the country and one cannot make her believe it has any attractions. M. And I don’t like it. I perfectly detest it, and the people that dwell in it are so commonplace and do not, and cannot, have the elegance of those who dwell in the cit). One is coarse, the other is fine, so I think, and I prefer tle fine. Mrs. P. Wall, wall! You're pretty frank and plain spoken, at any rate, I must say. I don’t know much about the elegance of city folks but I do know that country folks -have got common sense, and { don’t think they’d insult, or hurt-a human critter’s feelings. A. (Aséde.) I think she rather nad? you. there, Miriam, _ M. Thope you don’t think I took you for a representa- "THE DIME DIALOGUES. tive of the country people, “ I always do like to speak my mind. Mrs. P. No harm done. I hope you don’t think I took you for a representative of the city people. I always like to speak my mind, too. (Zo Auice.) And do you, my dear, have the same opinion of us country folks? A. Oh, no; no, indeed! I love the country and Jove Tits people. Nearly all of my young life has been passed among the dwellers in the country and I hope to return to my mountain home one of these days. Mrs. P. Pity you ever left it, dear. A. Yes, it was a pity, but I could not help it. I did not leave it from choice. Mrs. P. Isn’t there some oes back of all this? I do love to hear a story when it’s a really true one. A. I do not know as mine would interest you. There isn’t much to tell, but what there is I shall be glad to tell you, for I have taken quite a fancy to you, you look so honest and good, M. What taste! Mrs. P. And 1 ae taken pt a fancy to you, my dear. A. It may seem oda that I sbentl tell my troubles to one who is an entire stranger, but you do not seem like a stranger to me. Before father died he became a little in- ‘volved and borrowed some money of. one of our neighbors, ‘and which, I have often heard my father say, had been re- paid, and that he held the receipt for the same. Father was stricken with paralysis and died quite suddenly. When his estate came to be settled this man brought in bis elaim, ‘much to my surprise, but we had only father’s word that the debt had been liquidated, as the receipt could not be found. And now comes the most disagreeable point: this man said he would relinquish the claim, upon the condition ~ that I would give him my hand in marriage, but that I never would consent to. He was old’ enough to be my father; I did not love him; he was miserly and I did not deem him honest, so I then and there refused him. ‘Mrs. P. And right you were in doing so, my dear. - M. How like a romance. Was he well off? Hee SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. 23 A. He had enough and he knew how to keep it. M. You ought to have had him. You might have overlooked his deficiencies; you might have had a fine house in town and kept your carriage. You were very foolish to throw away so good a chance. A. I told him I would sooner work my fingers to the bone, and so I would. I sought and found employment here, and when I have earned sufficient to liquidate the debt then I shall return home. Mrs. P. My dear, good girl, it seems to me that you are made of the right stuff. There’s no shoddy about you; I like you and your spirit, and thank you for the confidence you've placed in me. But you shall go home sooner than you think for. As I said afore, I’ve taken a fancy to you, and though—as you say—we are strangers, that will not hinder me from helping you. J’ve got money put away in my old stocking at home for just such cases and I want you to accept of a part-of it, pay off the old skinflint, go back to your home and bring the roses back to your cheeks. A. How can I—? Mrs. P. There, there, don’t say nothin’ ’tall "bout thanks, It’s our duty to help one another when we can. You've ‘treated me respectful and polite and you sha’n’t be no loser by it. A. You are goodness itself. How glad I shall be to pay Giles Slocum the money, but I shall work and repay you; all the same it is a debt to be honorably liquidated. Mrs. P. What name did you say? © A. Giles Slocum. Mrs. P. Is he a lantern jawed man, with eyes like two jtaller dips stuck into a punkin? and with his mouth all puckered up as if he’d swallered a sour apple and it didn’t set easy onto his stummick? A. Yes, the very same, You have drawn his picture to a dot. Mrs. P. I saw him a good many times and his is not a face one is apt to forget. He used,to live in our deestreect, ‘aud we didn’t shed any amount of tears when he left. The sooner you pay that old skinflint off the better. The rain is THE DIME DIALOGUES. holding up and I’ll just go over to the bank and draw some money and come back again soon. (Kit.) M. (Laughing.) What an old guy she was, to be sure! The idea of her having money in the bank! Jt must be a sandbank. Better look around and see if she hasn’t stolen something. I'll bet almost anything that she is a confidence woman, — A. Well, I shall place confidence enough in her to be- Jieve she will return. M. TI hope, in my heart, that she will not. I prefer to have genteel customers come here; it gives more ‘‘ tone” to the establishment. (Znter Mrs. Moron.) Mrs. M. Well, young ladies, I have returned, as you perceive. Ishould have been back before but for the rain. 1 presume you have not been overburdened with customers, during my absence? M. Only one old dowdy of a country woman has been _ in, and one couldn’t have called her a customer, for she never bought anything. I guess she merely wanted to make this a stopping place until the shower was over. I wish you could have seen her! She had clothes that must have come out of the ark, and her bonnet looked as though it had been made in the year one, while her umbrella appeared to have been in the forty wars; doubtless she used it to drive away the cows. Alice took quite a fancy to her, but I did not; she wasn’t my style at all. A. I did like her, for she seemed real good. She may prove an angel in disguise. M. She was disguised beyond all recognition then. She was a pretty big angel, if so, and the largest of wings couldn’t have borne her up, Angel indeed! She was more like some country gawk. You may have a chance to see her, for she said she was coming back, but I don’t believe she will. (Re enter Mus. Pancier.) Mrs. P. ‘Well, I’ve kept my word and I have come back. Mrs. M. Why, mother dear! are you in town to day? Mrs. P. Don’t you see that I am, Ellen? You know I~ like to go about when and where | choose. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. 25 M. Mother! Mrs. Morton, do you mean to say that that lady is your mother? Mus. M. Of course I do; and a dear good mother she is, too. M. If I had known that, I should— Mrs, P. Been a leetle more respectful to the country gawk, eh? Young woman, be respectful to everybody, no matter what their dress or station in life may be, and then you won't be liable to make mistakes but always be on the safe side. Mrs. M. Is it possible, Miriam, that you could a any one with disrespect? M. I didn’t know she was your mother—indeed and i in- ~ deed I didn’t. Mrs. M. You knew she was some one’s mother. Mrs. P. There, there; Ellen; don’t be too hard on the girl. Mrs. M. I ought to discharge her. Mrs. P. No, don’t do that. Give her another chance. M. Please to keep me, Mrs. Morton, and I'll promise to be more careful in the future, and, what’s more, I will keep my promise. (Zo Mrs, Parcuer.) Pardon me for my im- pertinence and I will strive to be a wiser girl. Mrs. P. Well, now, that’s honestly spoken, I dare say, and I could ask no more. M. (Zo Mrs. Morton.) Aud may I retain my place here? Mrs. M. . It shall be just as mother says. Mrs. P. Then I say, she had better stay, for I never bear any malice. M. Oh, thanks, a thousand times! Alice gave you the right name, for you are, indeed, an angel in disguise. Mrs. P. (Zo Auice.) Now, my good girl, I have a word to say to you. I’ve been to the bank, and if you’ll just tell me how much is needed to clear off that old hunk’s score, Vil see what I can do for you. By the way, I met the old miser at the bank, and he had an awful cold; he kept a- ~ snivelling and a-using of his handkercher fearful. Just after he left, I see’d a piece a paper just where he stood, and I tried to foller him and hand it to him, but he had disap. 26 s THE DIME DIALOGUES. peared. He must have pulled it out with his handkercher. As you are going home soon, if you meet him, you might hand it to him: Mebbe it’s of some importance. (ALICE comes forward, and Mrs. Parcuer hands her a slip of paper.) A. (Looking at slip.) Why, this is the very receipt my father received from Giles Slocum! You have indeed proyed to be my good angel. How can I ever thank you? Mrs. P. ‘Why, I don’t deserve any thanks at all. I’m powerful glad to aid you. If I have done any good, it’s been quite by accident. : A. There was Providence in all this. I haye always had faith that the wrong would be righted. Mrs, P: And the Lord will always help those who put their trust in Him. Mrs. M. Well, I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about. Mrs. P._ It’s a long story, Ellen, and we will tell you all about it while we are eating dinner. It is going to be a pleasant day, after all, and the sun is shining finely, at last. A. ‘The sun in my life has again shone forth. Mrs. P. Now, if you want a little ready money, why I— A. Say nothing about that.. I shall not need it, now that I can once more dwell with the dear ones in ‘‘ Home, sweet ‘home.” (Curtain falls.) THE FRIEND IN NEED. FOR, FOUR MALES. Characters ;—Mr. Nuv Connors; Micnart Sutirvan; Par Scutiy; Tim Brapy, a deformed boy. The scene;is supposed to represent. the inside of a small hut, in Ireland, with everything in a state of destitution. MIKE dis- covered seated in a chair, with his hands before his Sefte while Tim sits at, his feet, plaiting straws, Mrxz. And the whole amount of the matter is jist this, and it’s no use to be afther talking or argyfying | on the sub- TNE PRIEND IN NEED. - 2 ject at all, at all. One might as well die as live for the mat- ter of that.. When one is dead and gone what does he be afther caring for food or warmth? D’ye mind that? Tr. Td rather live awhile longer, if it’s the will of Providence I should do so. “M. And where's the playsure in life, any way? T. I think there’s a whole pile of it. You are ‘strong, healthy, and have the use of your limbs, but here am TJ, only a feeble, sickly boy, wid a hump on me back and one foot crippled, and J find playsures; so why shouldn't sheets Answer me that, now! ; M. Mebbe young folks has more to live for than middle- aged men. Faix, I'don’t see the use of living, and it’s me own opinion I'd be better off ‘intirely jist to step out of life by the back door and ax no questions nor bother me head as to what'll meet me on the other side. ~ cannot be a bad exchange, at the worst. T. Why, Mike, you surely wouldn’t be afther going to kill yerself, would ye? M. Where’s the harrum? And who would care? Who'd miss mé, I'd like to know? Not a living sowl, as sure as I’m Mike Sullivan, the peat-digger — T. J should care, and J should miss you, because you have always been kind and good to me, and you never let any one abuse me or hurt me because I’m feeble like. M. Faix and I’d just like to see the chap as would hurt ye. I’m thinking, wake as I am for lack of food, there’d be strength enough in me arm to-léy the wretch flat on his back as would dare to touch ye roughly, Tim. T. And doesn’t that show your good heart? And mebbe there’s others 1s would miss ye, too. Mebbe you could raise a helping hand for.thim, and thin others ’d raise a helping hand for ye. Besides, didn’t the good praste be saying, last Sunday, that the lives we have are not ours to take, and didn’t he say it was as much of a mortal sin to kill oneself as to kill others, and didn’t he spake beautifully, that the wakest has something to live for as well as the strongest? Sure it made me forget all me sufferin’s, and didn’t some- thing seem to say to me that even Jmight be of use to some- body? THE DIME DIALOGUES. M. Sure, Tim, it’s aisy enough preaching fasting on a full stomach; which, to spake more plainly, manes it’s aisy for those widout troubles to tell those as does have thim not to complain. T. Now, Mike! It’s not for the likes.of ye to spake against the good praste; for, d’ye mind, how kind he was to ye all when yer little girl, Mary, was sick, and wasn’t he ever ready to come and talk to the poor crachure, and it Was many a bit and sup he brought to her and you. And when the last spadeful of earth covered the wee coffin and "ye turned away, wid tears in yer eyes and a lump at your heart, who was it comforted ye like Father O’Brien? Ye’vo no call to speak ag’in’ him, Mike; ye’ve no call to do it. M. Hivin bless his rivirence; I meant him no harrum.- I don’t know what I be afther talking about, sometimes. T. That’s just the trouble wid ye, Mike; ye are not yer- self at times, and ye spake words that yer heart often tells _ ye is wrong. And don't ye be afther thinking, Mike, that yer spache is too thick and yer breath too strong, and if ye -drank less, and tried harder to: get. work, there might be others more willing to help ye? You’re good to others, but not good enough to yerself. I'd rather far see ye at the top of the hill than at the bottom of it. M.._ Tim, when ye’ve lived as long as I have and seen the troubles and sorrows pouring down upon ye, you'd be glad to drown yer misfortins in a social glass of drink wid a a friend. It warms the heart and it. makes one feel like a new man. I'll not go back on the drink, and as long as it is offered, by me faith, I'll not refuse it. (Enter Pat Scu.y.) ! Pat. Troth and yer right there, Mike; niver go back on w friend. It’s the whisky as warms ye up of a could day and cools ye off when the sun makes ye like to melt. Come down to Widow Malone’s place and shake off yer sorrers in a game of cards and a drink from the stune jug, and let it . be at me own expinse. _M. Im wid ye there, me boy. (Going.) T. Oh, Mike, don’t go, don’t go! For my sake, don’t be afther going! - M. What's the matter wid ye, anyhow? Are you ill? THE FRIEND IN NEED. . RO T. No, it’s not sick I am, but there’s a pain in me heart, and there’s something comes before me mind that it’s ill will come to ye both if ye go. Stay here, both of you, an’ stain not yer sowls wid the widow’s whisky! ; M. Nevir mind the lad, Pat, it’s strange fancies he is al- ways having, and it’s pr’aching against the drink he always bees at. ji T. It’s not the drink I’m talking about this time—though the good Lord knows there’s harm enough in that—it’s som- ~ thing worse, it’s something far worse; it’s like a big black cloud, and it manes death. P. Sure and I’ll not be atther minding the lad at all, and it’s a fool ye are if ye do. Come, let’s be going and not palaver here. (They are about to leave when NED CoNNERS enters.) Nep. Can you inform me where I can find one Michael Sullivan? M. That’s me own name, and, though I may be ashamed of me actions, I never am of ine name N. I was told he lived here—the Mike Sullivan T wished to see—but the man I am in search of is a much older per- son than you. M. It must be me father ye mane; he’s beat dead these five years, Heaven rist his soul! Put, Pll be wid ye | soon. Tim, stay outside the door a bit. The stranger may have private business wid me. (Par exits. Tim limps off.) N. We were speaking of your father, sir. A good, honest, noble, upright man as ever lived. M. It’s right ye are there. I-wish I inherited some of his good traits. E N. Excuse the question I am about to ask, but will you tell me What your circumstances are? M. TI'll not disguise the facts nor tell you a lie, for ye can see for yerself, that me circumstances are in a purty bad fix. N. Tam sorry to hear that. But, to my business. As I cannot aid your father, perhaps I can the son. . Did you never hear of your father saving the life of a young man near the docks of Dablin, say, about ten years back? THE DIME DIALOGUES. + M. Niver.a word; he wasn’t one of the kind ‘to bray of his good deeds. N. Let me tell you just how the matter stands. A young fellow, out of work, out of elbows, out of spirits, who had come near wrecking his life through his love for strong drink, wandered down to the wharves, thinking that the waters might end all and blot all out. Just as he was about to make the ‘fatal “plunge, a hand was laid upon his shoulder and he was dragged back. It was your father’s hand, guided and directed by a good Providence, that saved - that life, saved it morally as well, for he gave him.a severe talking to, told him each life was given ‘to make a good use of and made him give his word never to taste another drop of liquor; he got him a chance to slip on a vessel bound for America. The young fellow found that if he could let liquor alone he had the making of a man in him. M. Maybe if he could lave it it would be betther for him, but he can’t. N. ,Yes,.he-can. ‘The young man, I am telling you of, kept his pledge; he fought against the rum fiend and con- quered; he found friends in America and he found work there, too; he had a taste for invention and got a patent on a labor-saving machine that has just made him independent for life. J was that young man and it was your father who saved my life. In my prosperity I did not forget your father or his kindness, and came all the way here to aid him; but, as fe.is beyond earthly help, I will transfer that aid to the son. M. I don’t deserve it. I am nothing but a shiftless, drunken vagabond at the best. I might be better if I could ,but let the liquor alone, but I can’t AR that and it's no use ‘of me a trying. £ N. Yes, there #s as much use as there was for me. Pray for strength, fight against the passion and you will conquer. Only be a man again and not even the rum fiend can con- quer you. (Re enter Tru.) T. Oh, Mike! Such an accident has happened! Just as Pat Scully was going inter the Widder’s hut, the big stone, that bees over the front door, fell upon the poor fel- THB FRIEND IN NEED, st * é ler and it’s crushed and dead intirely he is. | But, he wouldn't heed me warning, an’ now the black cloud has come and it meant death, just as I told ye both. M. Shure, sir, how strange things. do turn out in this life! Me father saved yer life and ye came jist in time to save his son’s. Jist as ye was a-comin’ in I was going for drink wid the same Pat, the boy here tells on, and if I'd gone, faix, it’s a corpse I’d been by this time. N. Are not these warnings you should heed? Come with me to America and there I will find for you honest and steady employment. Keep clear of the broad road and be an honor to the name ye bear. M. It’s good and kind ye are, and I'd“ be glad to go, but I couldn’t leave this poor lad here; he is an orphan, and it’s many the kind word and good advice he has had for me, and it’s him as is always urging me to steer clear of the bottle. N.° He shall go with ug and have a home with you. He and I will strive our best to keep you in the right path; won't we, lad? P. Indade, I'll do me best. If I can’t work for him I can pray for him. M. And sich good prayers will yet be heard. It’s wicked I’d be, when Heaven has sent me so good a friend as ye, to slight your offer. Ill go wid ye and so will little Tim, here. [I'll &ry to shun the drink. I may stumble and fall on the way but I’ll have hands and prayers to help me to me feet”again. Wid the blessin’ of Providence I'll strive to be # man once more. (Shakes hands, warmly, with Mr. Conners, while Tim kneels, clasps his hands as in grate- Sul prayer, and the curtain falls.) >» THE DIME DIALOGUES. THE HOURS. A RHYMED FANCY, FOR TWELVE LITTLE GIRLS. (At the rise of curtain, twelve little girls, supposed to represent the Hours, are discovered. ) ALL. We are Hours, telling time, * Wedding thoughts to simple rhyme, And we tell, throughout the day, Time for work and time for play. And we watch, while others sleep, Often our lone vigils keep. FIRST GIRL. I am little number One, Telling you what may be done. One good deed is not despised; One good action’s dearly prized; If but one you ne’er can do, \ Do that one—'twill prove you true. © a‘ SECOND GIRL. If one good act will prove you true, , Do another—make it Two; . Two kind deeds, good fruit will wild ‘Two strong hands can till the field; : Two bright eyes can cheer the way, Me And turn to light the darkest day. ; * THIRD GIRL. I am the mystic number Three; These are deeds I tell to thee; Faith and Hope and Charity :— Have Faith in God, our Father, kind; Have Hope, but always be resigned; Have Charity for all mankind. THE HOURS. FOURTH GIRL. Four good sisters, hand in hand, Wander up and down the land:— Patience, waiting what is sent; Thoughtful, on some mission bent; Thankful, for her lot, gives praise, Contentment, singing cheerful lays. FIFTH GIRL. Five good maxims that should. be learned: Spend not your money before it is earned; To keep your wits, forswear the wine; - A stitch in. time will oft save nine; Always look well before you leap; . For the rainy day some pennies keep. SIXTH GIRL. Six days are given for work and play, ‘ To study each lesson without delay. And then, when the time for study is done, The more we'll enjoy our frolic and fun; Six days in the week for work and play, But always rest on the seventh day. SEVENTH GIRL. Let me tell you what says Seven:— Show you precious gifts from Heaven. Wisdom, Sense and Counsel true, Firmness, Knowledge, given you, And Piety; these virtues scan Love of God and fellow-man. EIGHTH GIRL. Eight merry little folks, riding in a sleigh, Eight little happy hearts, full of life so gay, Eight cheerful voices singing in the air, Hight jolly youngsters, knowing not a care; Twice eight eager hands at this house will knock, All arrive at Grandpa’s at just Eight o’clock! ’ ‘ NINTH GIRL, Our studies begin, in the morn, at Nine; To be prompt at these duties 7s a good sign— A sign that we love new lore to find, To seek for wisdom, improve the mind. At nine o’clock, when the stars shine bright, Is a time for rest and to bid one ‘‘ Good-night.” TENTH GIRL. Ten good fingers—counting thumbs— e Much of work to their lot oft comes. Ten good fingers, the seed to sow, : “Ten good fingers, the field to mow, ; Ten good fingers, the crop to reap, Ten good fingers, busy to keep. ELEVENTH GIRL. a Eleven! Eleven! How fast time flies! ; An hour comes soon, and how soon it dies. } We never can find the time that is gone, But we may improve the time that comes on, Let the good deeds increase from seven, But let them not stop when they, reach eleven, TWELFTH GIRL. ‘ Twelve o’clock! And all is well!” ; a These are the words the watehmen tell; f ‘ May it be well with all of you here, { May you all be spared for many a year, May blessings be ever your lot in life, Filled with sweet concord and free from strife, ALL, We are spirits, dark and light, Keeping watch both day and night; Some bring sadness, some bring cheer, Some bring courage, some bring fear, S Weaving thoughts in simple rhyme, ; Coming, going, all the time. (Curtain falls slowly.) pciigudchtaps ates a % . _IX DOORS OR. OUT, Es) IN DOORS OR OUT. A RYHMED DIALOGUE, FOR FIVE LITTLE Boys, JAMES, Johnny, my lad, come, stir your stumps, Don’t sit in the house all day; You always look as if you had the ‘“‘ dumps”, Come, and join us in a good play. You never should wish in the house to be tied When the lessons are over and done; Come, take up your sled and have a fine slide, And join in the boys’ rousing fun. JOHN. But the weather s so cold, and it makes one’s nose freeze To be out in the bitter cold snow; Tm all of a shiver just at thought of the breeze, I’m sure 1 should freeze all my toes. THOMAS. Never fear that; come, take up your hat, And join Jim and Harry and Bill, Just take my advice, have a slide on the ice, Or have a good coast down the hill. _ To buckle each skate, whether early or late;; You can skim like:a bird on the wing, So never delay; youth’s given for play, You don’t know the pleasure sports bring JOHN. But this room is so warm, and the fire is so nice, I like to stop here all the day. I might crack my head, if I went on the ice, And study is better than play. I read all the time till I make my head ache, And folks wonder why I look pale, But if I went out all my bones would soon shake; I don’t like to skate, coast or sail THE DIME DIALOGUES. NED, ‘* All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy;” Tis exercise, air that you need; There’s life in the air, and health everywhere, Oh! do not grow up like a weed: Your cheeks would be red like the roses in June, And your heart would soon beat with full health; If in frolic you’d go through the clear white snow, You'd find ‘‘ Health is better than wealth.” BILL. We tell you, in brief, to turn a new leaf If you’d grow to be manly and strong We’re given each day for study and play; i Play helps us our lives to prolong. To tell you the truth, you can’t enjoy youth os If you always ‘‘ snug up” to the fire, ~ . i So run for your skates; join us and our mates, For strength, health and long life aspire. JOHN. You speak for my good and I’ll heed your advice; ‘ For there’s truth in all that you say, a I'll try my new skates on the clear, erystal ice; lll join you in all of your play. In the future I’ll strive more pleasure to find, ; And of Winter more profit to make; “4 I thank you, good friends, for being so kind ' As to show me the right road to take. (AU run off.) | j | i | j j tie x DINGBATS. 37 DINGBATS. FOR ONE FEMALE AND THREE MALES. (Enter Dan Dicxey—a toper, and a hard-looking case.) Dan. I say, f-f-eller-cit’zens (ic), in m-m-my ’pinion, a gen’leman’s one who (fic) s-s-stands up for the (hic) r-r-rights 2f—the rights of—or any other woman. M-m-my proud posishun, an’ the ’spectability of the c-c-cause I present (zc) —or any other woman. I say, seein’ the proud posishun (enter Miss PLuNxKITT, a maiden lady) eh? How’re you, ole lady? How’re Mister §-s-smith (Zic) or any other woman? Give’s yer hand! Miss P. (Moving back and raising folded parasol as if to strike.) Go away, you drunken loafer; I’m not Mrs. Smith. I’m not old. I’m Miss Aretliusa Plunkitt, and am trying to find the Reverend Mr. Dingbats’s residence; have you got sense enough to tell me where he lives? Dan. Dingbats? W’otd’ye want of Dingbats, Arethusa- lem, say? Miss P. None w S your business what I want of him. Do you know him? : Dan. Know Dingbats? Ha-ha! (ic) or any other woman! G-g-guess I do know Dingbats, an’ he knows me, the mis’ble bummer. ‘Miss P. What do you mean by calling Aim a miserable bummer? « ; Dan. D-d-did I s-s-say Dingbats was a mis’ble bummer? ~F I did, then I'll stick to it (Ade) or any other woman. But, , say, Arethusalem, d’ye ever see Dingbat? Miss P. No; he oceupied the Reverend Mr. Pixley’s pulpit, in Small Lots, one summer—the church I belong to —but I happened to be away from home that summer. As. I was in town, I thought I would call and let Mr. Dingbats know how all the people were, and— Dan. Jes’ hol’ on a minit! Lemme see jes’ where I stan’ (hie). You say P-p-pixley got the small-pox one sum- mer and you w-w-went away. Sensible gal! §-s-small-pox _ jolly fan fer t-t-temp’rance people. 88 THE DIME. DIALOGUES. Miss P. Oh, you idiot! I didn’t say a word about small- pox. I said Small Lots. : Dan. Eh? Lall Spots? Jes’ so; an’ Dingbats (hic) Dingbats he g-g-got up in the pulpit and preached all sum- mer. Miss P. I didn’t say so! Stop your jabber and tell me do you know Dingbats? Dan. Know Dingbats? Well, I guess I (fic) do know Dingbats, J’m Dingbats. (Straightens up and tries to look dignifiedly.) Reverend (fic) Arthur Dingbats, at your service. Miss P. You? Oh, you impostor! You scamp! His name isn’t Arthur, but Oscar. You Dingbats, indeed! Dan. Certainly! Reverend Arthur Oscar Dingbats, at your service. Used to p-p-preach, you see, Arethusalem, b-b-but that kind of spirits didn’t pay (Ade), so‘ took to the ll-aw (hic); but, blest if the dar didn’t have more spirits than I could stand up to, an’ that’s what’s the matter of Dingbats! Miss P. Oh, can it be possible! You the man all the girls so worshiped! You the sweet-tongued minister whose — silver voice filled so many hearts with music and love and expectations! Oh,.didv’tI make a happy escape in being away that summer and not to have been captivated by that siren voice! Oh, Dingbats—Dingbats, how could you so fall from grace? Dan. D-d-didn’t fall (tic). s-slid down like a feller on a sled with a purty gal ahind him s-s-sayin’—‘‘ D-d-ding- bats, go clear down, Dingbats” (/zc), an’ here I am, Arethu- salem—clear down to the bottom of the hill. Miss P. Oh, this is shocking. (Ories and covers up face with handkerchief.) Dan. Why, Arethusalem—d-don’t, don’t; you hurt me here. (Slaps hand-on heart, when hat falls off. Looks a mo- ment at it; then commences to try to pick it up and not fall over. Almost succeeds, when he suddenly tumbles against ARE- THUSA, knocks her down to @ sitting position, and goes. sea : himself on the floor.) Miss P. Oh, Dingbuts—Dingbats—to have fallen solow! (Cries again. Enter. Bon, a bootblack.) Bos. Hi, there! Here’s. a hoopee! I say, if here ain’t DINGBATS. ; 89 that old bum, Dan Dickey, drunker’n,: a Dutchman, an’ a *spectable-lookin’ woman a-sittin’ on the walk, cryin’ drunk, too. Miss P.. (Springing to her feet, suddenly.) You lie, little vagabond! I’m not that kind of a woman, Bos. (Whistles) Phew! Who'd ’a’ thort the gal would *a’ resurrected that way? I say, what’s up—whose funeral is this, any way? Miss P. Whose funeral? Is he dead—Dingbats dead? Oh, Dingbats—Dingbats! (Cries loudly.) Bos. Dingbats? Nary a Dingbat! What ’r’ ye drivin’ at, missus? Miss P. Driving at? Oh, I’m driven ’most crazy to think that that is all that is left of Oscar Dingbats. ( Cries.) Bos. Look a-here, you! What d ye mean? That ain’t Dingbats, so dry up an’ let a feller know what’s in the wind. ae P. (Eecitedly.) That not Oscar Dingbats? . Not a Dingbat, much. He’s Dan Dickey, dead ate or I'ma Peter Funk, an’ if 70M ain’t a looney then Pm a junk man’s bell-knob. Miss P. Oh dear—oh dear! I’m clean beat out. He said he was Dingbats—Reverend Oscar Dingbats and—and —I was fool enough to believe him. Bos. Haha! Here’s a go! Reverend Oscar Ding- bats—the preacher as wakes ’em up every Sunday in the Avenue Church! Oh, this is wuth a ticket to the min- strels! Miss P. Go away, boy—go away! No—don’t go. Stay! Do you know where Mr. Dingbats lives? Is he a married man? Bos. Go ahead, ole lady; I hears ye. Miss P. Tm not old; I’m a stranger here; I came to town to call on Reverend Oscar Dingbats; I must see him, . if you will show me the way to his house I’ll give you ten cents. © Bos. Tencents! How munificent! That’s two blacks, four boots! I’m ee huckleberry, mum; so trot along! (Zeeunt.) 40 THE DIME DIALOGUES. {Hnter Drxesats,) Dine. Why, what’s here? (Approaches Day.) It is Dan Dickey, dead drunk again, Poor fellow. (Shakes Dan.) Dar! Dan! 3 Dan. Yes, Gabriel! Tine. Dan, I say! . Dan. ‘Toot your horn, ole feller, an’ I'l! be along perty soon. : . Dtne. Get up, Dan' You'll catch your death lying here. (Helps him up toa sitting position.) Day. An’ this is the Resurrection! Where’s the other boys? (Looks at audience.) Ah, there they ar’, sittin’ in the witmess-box to testify ag’in? me. (Shakes fist at audi- ence.) You mean, ornery sneaks! If Dan Dickey wasn’t a temperance man it wasn’t fer any good ye ever did hin. - Blow yer horn, Gabe, an’ let’s have the trial over! Dine. Why, Dan, don’t you know me? “Dan. (Rubbing his eyes.) Dingbats, as sure as Ym a gentleman. (Hzxtends hand.) UHow’r’ ye, Dingbats! Got a loose dime about ye? My hat’s about gone in, ye see. (Holds up heat, on which he has been tying.) Must have “another before I can go to church. : Dive. All right, Dan. Get up now. {Helps him to his feet.) Now, Dan, come along home with me and sober off; then we'll see what can be done for you. Dan. Is that so? Pm yer mother-in-law, Dominie. (They lock arms and begin to move off, when re enters Miss P.} Hullo! Arethusalem, how’re ye? Brother Dingbats, "low me ter interdooce my wife, Aretbusalem! Miss P.. You scamp! you loafer! you vagabond! How rdare yout (Shakes parasol at him.) You've mortified me enough—you’ve disgraced me too much to bear. Oh, I could punch your eyes out! Dan. Ah, Arethusalem, you always was high tempered; ‘but I deserve igh Here, (pulls open coat)—here is my heroic heart that beats only for thee—shoot/ When a wife gets tired ov her beloved husband it’s time fer one to go; so let her pop! Miss P. Your wifet You are an impostor, a cheat, a rascal! : : Sale Nc ae sid nintieeinictirei Me blak: ce Minaetio es, *- THE POUND OF FLESH, 41 Dan. Now don’t go back on me that way, wifey. It’s onkind, - : Miss P.. Dou’t “ wifey” me! Don’t dare to speak to me again, or ’H—I'll— Dine. There—there—good. folks: let dogs delight to ; bark and bite, but not two people who ought to be friends, Go home, madame, and when Dan has sobered off then you and he can reconcile your differences, (Hveunt Dine. a» and Dax—Dan throwing kisses to Mass P., as he is led away suddenly gives one sharp scream.) Miss P. To be thought fés wife! Arethusa Plunkitt, you're a fool. I hate the men—I hate ’em. Good-by, Dingbats, and if I’m ever again caught trapsing around fer one of the male sex may I be yoked to a mule an’ made to re do piowin’ in stony land. The men—ugh! how T hate ’em! . an’ if anybody at home says Dingbats to me T'l—Vl— (Sereams and eit) ee THE POUND OF FLESH. FOR THREE BOYS. : ‘ (No examples in dramatic delivery and colloquial expression compare with that of scenes fromthe great dramatists. Every bey ought to read, tina Poy ‘ SF oft acted trial scene from “ Merchant of Venice” is a fine piece to put on the school or exhibition stage, and we give it place here, hoping to see our boys make use of it on the very first good ‘occasion. No -costumes really are necessary, an tarbyatneeee mis meee Jupex. What! is Antonio here? ANTONIO. Ready, so please your grace. : Ju. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch, Incapable of pity. | Anr. [am armed to suffer. < (Hater SxyLocx.) Ju. Dost thou now exact the penalty, ~ Which is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh? — Miss P. stands staring like one stupefied, for a moment, then r study and try to repeat passages from Shakspeare. This celebrated and : \ Sry. Ju. Say. Jv. Sry. ANT. Sry, Jv. Say. Jv. ANT. Jv. Suy. Ju. - THE DIME DIALOGUES, By our holy Sabbath, I have sworn, To have the due and forfeit of my bond. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Iam not bound to please thee with my answer “You'll ask me why I rather chose to have A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive Three thousand ducats. I'll not answer that: But say it is my humor. Is it answered? What if my house be troubled with a rat, And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats To have it baned? What, are you answered yet? Some men there are, love not a gaping pig; Some, that are mad if they behold a cat; As there is no firm reason to be rendered, Why one can not abide a gaping pig; Another, a harmless, necessary cat; So can I give no reason, and I will not, More than a lodged hate, and a certain loathing I bear Antonio, that I follow thus A losing suit against him. Do all men kill the things they do not love? Hates any man the thing he would not kill? For thy three thousand ducats, here are six. If every ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts, and every part a ducat I would not draw them, I would have my bond. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none? The pound of flesh which I demand of him, Js dearly bought; is mine; and I will have it: If you deny me, fie upon your law! T stand for judgment; answer; shall IT have it? Antonio, do you confess the bond? I do-43 Then must the Jew be merciful. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. as chaenaty | Biel j 4 Say. Ju. ANT. Suy. JU. Sry. Jv. Suy. Ju. Say. Jv. Suy. ANT. Jv. Sry. Ju. Sry. Ju. Say. Ju. a A POUND OF FLESH. 48 My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, oe The penalty and forfeit of my bond. i Is he not able to discharge the money? Yes, here I tender it to him in the court; Yea, twice and thrice the sum. * et I'll have my bond, I will not take thy offer. There is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established. Oh wise, wise Judge, how do I honor thee! I pray you let me look upon the bond. (Gives it to the Jovan.) Here it is, most reverend doctor, here it is. Shylock, there ’s thrice thy money offered thee, _ An oath, an oath, I have in heaven; Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? No, not for Venice. Why, this bond is forfeit; And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant’s heart: be merciful; Take thrice the money; bid me tear the bond, When it is paid according to the tenor. You know the law, your exposition Hath been most sound. There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me: I stand here on my bond. 4% - Most heartily do I beseech the court To give the judgment. Why, then, thus it is. You must prepare your bosom for his knife. Oh noble Judge! For the intent and purpose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due unto the bond. » Tis very true: oh wise and upright Judge! Therefore, lay bare your bosom. ——_—- (Zo ANTONIO.) Ay, his breast: So says the bond; does it not, noble Judge? Nearest his heart, those are the very words: It isso. Are there balance here, to weigh & ‘THR DIME DIALOGUES, * The flesh? I have them ready. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. Is it so nominated in the bond? Tt is not so expressed ; but what of that? ’T were good you do so much in charity. I can not find it; ’tis not in the bond. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say? But little; Iam armed, and well prepared. [thine; — Shylock! A pound of that same merchant’s flesh is The court awards it, and the law doth give it. Most rightful Judge! And you must cut the flesh from. off his breast; The law allows it, and the court awards it, Most learned Judge! A sentence: come, prepare. Tarry a little; there is something else. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood: The words expressly are, a pound of flesh; But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the law of Venice, confiscate ; Unto the State of Venice. Is that the law? Thyself shalt see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. I take his offer, then; pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go. The Jew shall have all justice! soft! no haste! - He shall have nothing but the penalty. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou not blood; nor cut thou Jess nor more, Than just one pound; be it but so much As makes it light or heavy, in the substance, . Or the division. of the twentieth part Of one poor scrupte; nay, if the scale do turn ,. But in the estimation of a hair, - Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. “ae » Fa abe + Shane Slide,“ oni Suy. Jv. Say. Ju. A POUND OF FLESH, Give me my principal, and let me go. Thou hast refused it in the open court; Thou shalt have merely justice, and the bond. Shall I not barely have my principal? Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. Why, then, the devil give him good of it! Tl stay no longer question. Tarry, Jew: The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice, If it be proved against an alien, That by direct or indirect attempts, He seeks the life of any citizen, The party ’gainst the which he doth contrive, ‘Shall seize one-half his goods; and the other half Comes to the privy coffer of the State, And the offender’s life lies in the merey Of tle court only, Take my life, then, and all, and pardon, not that. You do take my house, when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life, ‘When you do take the means by which I live. The court in mercy spares thy life, But the forfeiture. of thy estate Comes not within our power to remedy; The law is strict in its demands of justice. Are you contented, Jew? what dost thou say? _I pray you, give me leave to go from hence; I am not well; ob, give me leave to go Where I may die in peace: Since what I hold dearer than my life, Is taken from me. The court has mercy. on your life; go repent, and live, nd with a softer heart, nomember gn ‘ THE DIME DIALOGUES. BEWARE OF THE PEDDLERS! FOR SEVEN MIXED CHARACTERS. Characters :—Mrs. Susan Rrppe, @ young lady; Miss Jann FREEMAN, an aunt of the former ; Nep Rippin, a small boy ; Tom Stuvur, also a small boy; Mr. Stnver, father of Tom; PreppiEeR; PoLiceman. Scenn.—T he sitting-room of Mrs. Rrwpur’s house. Ourtain rises, discovering Mrs. RDLR seated, attired in her morn- ing dress, apparently much fatigued by callers. JANE. (Enters by the only door and takes a seat on the opposite side of the stage.) So you are all alone, Sue. Why I thought you were entertaining callers. Mrs. Rippie. (Fretfully.) Oh, please don’t mention callers to me again, aunt Jane, for I am completely worn out by them. It seems that this house has not been free before since the sun rose. Before I was dressed suitably to meet any one, who should come in but those saucy minxes that lately moved onto the Hubbard place, and, just as soon as they were outside of the gate, Mrs. Quimby and Mrs. Splinter came to return a call which I was secretly hoping they had forgotten. It is perfectly horrid to be troubled so, and what would a stranger think but that we kept a cheap variety store, seeing such a constant stream of people passing in and out at all hours. Then such a place as it is for organ-grinders! There has been a row of them in front of the house all day. Then the tin-peddlers that have stopped, and the soap-boilers, and the fish-carts, and vegetable wagons driving up constantly to annoy us. I positively can’t stand it. (Interrupted by a knock at the door.) Jane. Hush, Sue! Perhaps some one is coming this time that you will be delighted to see. (Mrs. Ripe answers the knock and coldly stands before the ; stranger.) ‘ PrppiER. Good-afternoon, ladies. Will you permit me to show a very distinguished work that I am honored to have in my possession? It is a great and gvod book en- "titled “The Pilgrimage of the Immortal Soul.” o BEWARE OF THE PEDDLERS! 47 Mrs. R. It will hardly be an object, sir, for you to show it, as we have a very good supply of books and might not care to buy. Prep. It will be a pleasure to me to show and explain to you some of the special features of this wonderful book. Let me tell you, madam, that, next to the Bible, this = the pook to prize. ; Mrs, R. But I cannot spare the time to attend to it to- day, sir. Prep. (Advancing a step or two into the room, while Mrs. R. keeps her position directly in front of him, as tf to contest his right to enter.) Cannot.spare the time to attend to ‘‘ The Pilgrimage of the Immortal Soul!” It is your bounden duty, ma’am, to make it the supreme object of your life— it should be the first thing to enliven your thoughts in the morning, and the last on the mind before closing your eyes in sleep at night. © JANE. Do offer the man a chair, Sue; he seems real earnest for us to see his book. Mrs. R. If you are so disposed,-aunt Jane, you can examine it, but I must be engaged about other duties, of more consequence to me at least. . PED. (Crowding a step further into the room.) Of more consequence than ‘‘ The Pilgrimage of the Immortal Soul!” Impossible! (Opens book and holds up for inspection.) Did you ever see engravings that could begin to compare with * these in excellence? For works of art they have been pro- nounced by the most eminent judges to be unsurpassed: Look at this beautiful colored engraving illustrating the christening of the Immortal Soul. The scene is laid in an humble cottage near the bank of the Jordan, Mrs. R. (Aitempis to leave the room, but is prevented by the PEDDLER, who steps in front of her and advances, turning the pages and showing the engravings.) Please to let me pass. The book may be well enough but I must persist in saying that my time is needed just now for other duties. JANE. Oh! Sue, don’t be so impatient. Stop and hear what the man has to say about it. (Zo te PEDDLER.) You haven’t told what the price will be. Pep. No, ma’am; but I was coming to that presently. ‘ THE DIME DIALOGUES. T can sell you that book very low, especially if you do not . wish for the expensive binding. My aim is merely to get the bare cost of the work. The vast good it will do the reader fully pays for the time and labor necessary to intro- duce it. In handsome cloth covers you can have it for six dollars, and in elegant morocco binding the price will be - one dollar more. A work of six hundred and forty-nine pages; did you ever know anything as cheap? Jang. Oh! Sue; of course you will take one kind or — the other, but I would have the morocco covers. Mrs. R. Let it be plainly understood that I shall take neither. I have no use for the book, and now I want the privilege of doing as I please-in my own house. (Makes another effort to leave the room.) Pep. (Advances, pointing to the engravings as he turns the pages.) Stop, ma’am, and notice a few of its many beauties before you decide. Here you see the ‘“Immortal Soul in Childhood.” Here again you see it ‘‘In Repose.” Here you see it ‘‘ Closeted with Kindred Spirits in the Temple of . Mirth.” Here you behold it in still more imminent/danger, “Held by the Snares of the Wicked.” Still another illus- tration shows you it ‘‘ Freed from Thralldom and Clothed in White Raiment.” This, madam, is a beautiful picture of its quiet ‘* Ascent of Mount Teneriffe.” And what could be more inspiring than this last, ‘‘ The Immortal Soul Tak- ing its Flight to the Celestial City?” Mrs. R. Well, now, if that is the last, I wish you would ~ take your flight to the celestial city, or any other place outside of this house, and let me attend to my own affairs. Prep. Madam, you underestimate the value of this work. Let me read a few of the many testimonials that have been given by eminent subscribers. Here is one from the Right, Rev. Peppergrass, of Lower Squashville, Nova Scotia: ‘I am happy to sone that I have critically examined the work entitled, ‘The Pilgrimage of the Immortal Soul,’ and find it the swmmum dbonwm of all that is — and pure in the field of sacred literature.” Mrs. R. (Moving toward the door, excitedly.) I tell you, sir, to let me pass! I don’t care to know the opinion of the Rev. Pepper srass, oa 49 BEWARE OF THE PEDDLERS! Jann. Do, Sue, allow him to finish the letter. I want very much to hear it. Now, mister, if you'll proceed, we’ll not disturb you again. Pep. Perhaps, my dear lady, your. religious views are not the same as those of that gentleman. Well, here is what old Father Hennelong has to say:—‘‘ To whom it may concern: This may certify that it has, been my, pleasure——” Mrs. R. Stop this minute! I won’t be so imposed upon! If my husband would only come, you’d. pay dearly for all this. : JANE. Husb, Sue, and let the dear man go on. We weren’t to disturb him again, you know. Pep. Since I have been interrupted, I. will call your at- tention to the admirable words of approval from the learned Bishop Doesticks. Mrs. R. I will leave the room. (Makes an ineffectual attempt to step past him.) What do you mean, sir, by oppos- ing me in my own house? Pep. Pardon, lady. If your time is in such demand, Tt will only detain you to hear a few of the names signed. to these papers. (Unfolding one by one a. number of letters ) Rev. Sweetwater, presiding elder of Pumpkin Road Confer- ence, says, “It ought to be studied by old and young, mat: — ried and single.” Deacon Clampickle writes, that it does for the troubled conscience what oil does for the troubled sea, and advises every one to secure a copy while they are going. And here is a line from your own darling towns- man, the saintly Elder Snoodle. Will you not hear what he has to say? Mrs. R. Not another word! I'd sooner read the life of Tom Hyer than a book that that long faced hypocrite. re- commended, and I want you to carry it. away instantly. (Retreating behind a chair in the corner of the stage furthest Srom the entrance, closely Follewen by the Pepper.) Pep. Oh! certainly, ma’am, if you desire it; but I feel it to be my duty to explain a few of the pringtp.l headings, First— Mrs. R. Oh, do have sufficient merey not to torture me any longer! I'll buy it without any more words if that will only satisfy you. Pay him from my_pocket-book, aunt. THE DIME DIALOGUES. Jane, whatever he asks, so that I need not be detained a second longer. (Puts pocket-book into Jann’s hand and goes out.) JANE. Now do take a chair and rest yourself a few min- utes, for you must be very tired. (PEDDLER takes a seat by her side.| My niece doesn’t have nearly such a passion for reading as I, or you would have found it easier to persuade her. (Hands him money.) Prep. Yes, I perceived that you possess much more of a ; literary taste than she, but I mustn’t neglect my duty. They all yield after a little urging and then they have found such a prize. It cannot be valued too highly. _ Janz. Don’t you carry any other books to sell? Pep. Well, occasionally I do. (Pulls from his pocket a handkerchief and with it a large bosom-pin, that falls upon the Jjloor.) Zounds! what if anything had happened to that breast-pin? Are you fond of handsome jewelry, ma’am? (Taking it from the floor and holding it up before her.) JANE. Oh, isn’t that charming! Do let me take and ex- amine it. 3 Pep. Certainly, and then there will be two charmers to- gether, JANE. You are trying to flatter me now. Pep. It’s true. J never was more serious in my life, and now I must tell you the history of that beautiful pin. Three weeks ago to-day, I called to see Widow Queen Vic- tory over the water. You see I’ve just been over there sell- ing books, and she was a right-down good customer, and I took quite a liking to the old lady. Well, after holding on to my hand till I thought she never would let go, she said she wanted to send a bosom-pin to my Jady-love, expecting, as I have thought since, that I would talk sort of friendly - to her and give it back, but I didn’t, and here’s the bosom- pin now. The fact is 1 haven’t any lady-love, and, as tue as preaching, I’ve never before seen quite as good stock for one as you. The old lady is well enough in her place, but .she never saw the day she could hold a candle to you, maam; now that’s a fact. : Jayne. Why I never knew before that I was so very -attractive. en J BEWARE OF THE PEDDLERS! 51 Pep. Well you be, and if I could be informed that you weren’t some other fellow’s girl and just one thing more, I'd like to write a letter to the widow to-night telling her how tickled you were with the bosom-pin. Jane. How sudden all this has happened. — I shall prize this lovely pin, next to you, till my dying day. Prep. Now that one thing more that I spoke of is this: I have just got ashore and haven’t money enough to get home and so must raise twenty-five dollars on this pin for a week. Ten times that sum wouldn’t buy it, for when I come to see you next week I shall redeem it, and then it will be yours. JANE. Do let me advance the small sum that you need; it will be such a pleasure. Pep. Well, if that isn’t fortunate. Now you take pos- session of the pin at orce, and consider it a present from the widow and your Josiah. JANE. Oh, ever so many thanks! (Puts pocket-book into his hand.) Now won’t you be counting out the money while I just show this to my niece? (Evit.) (Enter Nev.) Pep. Well, my lad, can’t I sell you a nice little pistol that you can shoot anything with from a potato-bug to a grizzly bear flying? Nev. Don’t believe you can. Haven’t any money. Pep. It won’t take much money to buy this one , (Holds up a small pistol.) It’s a three-shooter, silver-mounted, breech-loading, and- good any time for a quarter of a mile. Come and examine it. Nev. (Zakes it.) Is this like the one you sold Tom Silver? Pep. No. It’s worth four of. that kind and will only cost you a trifle more. Seeing ’tis you, I’ll sell it for five dollars and throw in twenty cartridges. Nev. But I tell you I can’t raise the money. Prev. (Jn @ low tone.) Look here. Don’t you know where the governor’s cash-box. is? Just draw out five dol- lars for a few days until you can kill wild ducks enough to - make up the sum again. Tom Silver and every smart. boy does that way and asks no favors of anybody. THE DIME DIALOGUKS. Nev. (Hesitates.) Perhaps I can do so, as I sha’n’t want it but a day or two. I'll go and see what [ can find. Pouiceman. (Back of the stage.) Wm in search of a book-agent that’s been selling the boys firearms. Is he sheltered in your house, ma’am? Prep. (Hacited.) What did I hear? In search of me! Where is there a chance to escape? (Hastens to the win- dow.) (Enter the ladies with the PouiceMan, Mr. Sriver and Tom . SILVER, i confusion.) Tom. (His eye bandaged and his face blackened with pow- der, groans and points at the PeppLER.) That’s the one, father—oh—oh—oh! Pou. You’re wanted, sir, on a charge of endangering the lives of the youth, by selling to them worthless fire- arms, encouraging theft, and abusing the confidence of the community. ; Pep, It’s false, absolutely false. My mission is to in- troduce the holy book, ‘‘ The Pilgrimage of the Immortal Soul!” JANE. What a scandal to treat a dear innocent man so cruelly. Mrs. R. Dear innocent man, indeed! Look at this breast-pin. (Holds up pin.) The scoundrel actually wheedled aunt Jane into loaning him twenty-five dollars on it, saying it was a present to him from Queen Victoria. It is, of course, brass and glass, and worth about twenty-five cents. JANE. Oh, is that so? ‘You rascal! (Facing him ex- citedly.) You miserable impostor, to deceive me so! Where is the pocket-book? _“* Pou. Where other thefts of his are, I dare say—in his capacious pockets. We'll search and see, (PEDDLER re- sists, but Mr. 8., the boys, with the ladies, help hold him, while the PoLIcEMAN pulls things out of his pockets and throws them on the floor.) _Mr. Stiver. Things from my house, as sure as I live. “Mrs. R. Things from my mantle, as sure as I live. Jane. And my own ring. Why, the scoundrel must have taken it off my hand when—when— Pou. When what, madam? Ee as et GOOD WORDS. 538 Jang. When he took my hand in his and made me think he loved me. Oh-oh! (Cries) To think I should have been such a fool! Pot. Enough. We'll put him where he won’t make love very soon to credulous women, nor pilfer any more from unwary customers of his pious books. Come, sir, trot along; and you, his victims, will please follow to make charges against him. (Forces PEDDLER out. Hxeunt Pxv- DLER and POLICEMAN.) Mrs. R. Never again shall a strange peddler enter my doors. (Hait.) Jang. And never—wnever will I put faith in men. (Hait.) Mr. 8. (Zo boys.) And now, you see, boys, how dan- gerous it is to listen to the advice and to put confidence in these wandering vagabonds, I hope you never again will be so foolish as to be led away by what they say. me. Born. We never will. Mr. §. Come, we must go to the police court to appear against the rascal. A very disagreeable duty we should have been spared if you boys had been less anxious to pos- sess a pistol. : (Ezeunt.) GOOD WORDS. FOR A NUMBER OF BOYS, [This is a mere recitation. Each boy comes forward in succession and recites and retires. Any number of boys can be thus introduced—the teacher making selection of the sentiments from the poets.]} LETTERS. Sage Cadmus, hail! To thee the Grecians owed The art and science that from letters flowed: To thy great mind indebted sages stand, ‘And grateful learning owns thy guardian hand. PRINTING. Hail, printing, mystic art! which sagelike men have taught To speak to eyes and paint unbodied thought! =~ _ Though deaf and dumb, blest skill, relieved by thee, We make one sense perform the task of three. THE DIME DIALOGUES. WORDS. Tn all your words let energy be found, And learn to rise in sense and sink in sound. Harsh words, though pertinent, uncouth appear; None please the fancy which offend the ear. EDUCATION, Youth, like the softened wax, with ease will take Those images that first impressions make: If these are fair their lives will all be bright, If dark, they’ll cloud it all with shades of night. WISDOM. Oh, blessed hour! the ‘‘ Day-spring from on high ” Dawns on the darkened world: long-brooding night Rolls back, and morning breaks along the sky; While Wisdom, stooping from her heavenly hight, © . Spreads o’er the earth her robe of dazzling light. FAME, Fame’s generous ardor boils within my breast, Eager of action, enemy to rest: This urges me to fight, and fires my mind To leave a memorable name behind. SELF-CONCEIT. Conceited thoughts indulged without control, Exclude all future knowledge from the soul; For he who thinks himself already wise, Of course, all future knowledge will despise. HONOR. Not all the threats or favors of a crown, A prince’s whisper, or a tyrant’s frown, Can awe the spirit or allure the mind Of him who to strict Honor is inclined, SWEARING, Maintain your rank: vulgarity despise: To swear is neither brave, polite, nor wise. You would not swear upon a bed of death: - Reflect: your Maker now may stop your breath. i GOOD WORDS. SOLITUDE. Oh, solitude! thou gentle nurse of pleasing woe; To thee, from crowds, and noise, and show, With eager haste I fly: Thrice welcome, friendly Solitude! Oh, let no busy feet intrude, Nor listening ear be nigh. HATRED. Go, Hatred, and may misery haunt thee From morn till dewy night— And untold terrors daunt thee _ In all thy dreams till light; May all thy hopes be smitten, Thy brightest hours be gloom, . An infamy be written In lightning on thy tomb. KINDNESS, I would not enter on my list of friends— Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility—the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. WASHINGTON. Rome had its Cesar, great and brave, but stain was on his wreath; He lived the heartless conqueror, and died the tyrant’s death; France had its eagle, but his wings, though lofty they might soar, - Were spread in false ambition’s flight, and dipped in murder’s gore. Those hero-gods, whose mighty sway would fain have chain’d the waves; Who flesh’d their blades with tiger zeal, to. sues a world of _ slaves; Who, though their kindred barr’d the path, still fiercely waded on; Oh, where shall be their “ glory ” by the side of Wasutne- TON? = THE DIME DIALOGUES. A FRIEND. FOR A NUMBER OF LITTLE GIRLS. [This, like the previous series of extracts, is a recitative en series. Take any requisite number of little girls—either twelve, or six, or four—and let each repeat a verse in order, or succession. pretty exhibition piece.] When the sad mind, oppressed with care, Stands tottering with a load of grief, And prospects black point to despair, What form is that which holds relief? A Friend. When pain and anguish rack the frame, Extort the groan, or heave the sigh; When fever sucks the vital flame, . What can illume the deep-sunk eye? A Friend. When doubt or fear o’erwhelms the miud, And darkness thick obscures the ray, ‘Whose kind ‘advice will help to find, Who mark the road to wisdom’s way? A Friend. When calumny base, with snaky tongue And poisonous slander, slime the name; What soul starts forth to share the wrong: Who’s champion then for injured fame? A Friend. Is beauty gone? are riches fled? Do adverse gales blow bleak and fast? Who'll pillow poverty’s lone head, _ And fondly lull each care to rest? . A Friend. Does folly taint old age or youth? Do foul affections clog the soul? Who kindly points the path to truth: Who dares our errors to control? A Friend. | It will make a very + A FRIEND, And who, in sweetest hours of mirth— Who, who can highten every joy, Add bliss to: bliss, make heaven of earth, Give pleasure zest without alloy? : A Friend. Who, in retirement’s lonely shade, Can give to Nature charms more sweel; Enchantment add to every glade, And fill with life each soft retreat? é A Friend. At length, when death, with sturdy gloom, And meager aspect, stalks in view, Who'll smooth the passage to the tomb, And kiss a sweet—a sad adieu? A Friend. Say, every heart—-say, angels, say, Is there a name than FrreEND more dear? When guilty man despairing lay, What name did then the Savior bear? A Friend. . A Friend!—oh God; a Friend most dear, Though others false, or change to dust, Or distant far—still Thou art near, Forever kind, and true, and just— A Friend, Then come, dear Jesus! seize my heart, And other friends no more I’ll mourn; Content with all for Thee to part, Till death safe lands me in Thy bourne— My precious Friend! = © ae THE DIME DIALOGUES, THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH. FOR A WHOLE SCHOOL, (Enter Crassus, reading letters.) C. Letters—letters! By the dozen, by the score. Ask- ing for money, for this, that and the other thing—for sick- ness, for poverty, for distress—for religious purposes, for hospitals, for asylums—for churches, for Sunday-schools, for chapels—for the lame, halt and blind— Ha, what’s this? (Reads -) “Mr. Crassus—Dear Sir: Your well-known kindness, goodness, charity, benevolence, humanity, justice, love of right and desire to promote the best interests of society impel me to appeal to you for the means whereby to found a Society for the Suppression of Pipes. The great and grow- ing evil of tobacco-smoking shows an alarming increase; the cigar is rapidly giving way for the pipe, and if something is not done to arrest the evil, our husbands, sons and brothers will soon be on the level of the Dutchman, which, God for- bid! With your help I can arrest the evil. Fifty thousand dollars would place the society in working order—rent a building, furnish reception parlors, committee rooms and -Jecture room—salary the president, vice-president, six di- rectors, secretary, treasurer, three secret agents or informers, a janitor and bootblack for one year. Fifty thousand more would enable us to buy up and place in the archives of the society all the pipes in town, open a series of lectures by the most eminent divines, publish tracts and otherwise to aryuse public sentiment to the degradation, demoralization and danger sure to follow the use of the pipe; while I my- self, for a salary of, five thousand dollars per year and ex- penses, will travel—” Oh the good Lord! What idiotic cupidity—what ef- frontery—what rascality! And yet, every day brings me propositions as absurd and scheming. (Rings table bell.) Tl have no more of these pests. (Hnter the servant, JOHN.) Here, John, take and burn all these letters, and say to every applicant to-day that I am not at home. . J. But, sir, the reception room is already full: four widows, six lame men, ten orphans, thirteen maiden ladies, THE TRUB USE OF WEALTH. 59 who represent as many city charities, seven ministers, nine book-agents, a committee of citizens delegated to confer with you about the new college, and various others—all are await- ing your attention. ; C. Are they? Well, show them in—every one of them —all together, and T’ll deal with them in the lump. (Hit J.) There is only one way to stop this thing—just let them know I’m going to give away only five thousand dollars, this year, all told, and that to the most deserving—leaving them . to determine, Ah, here they come! (Enter crowd, with a — rush and tussle for places. They besiege C. on all sides and each one for himself or herself clamors for notice, or puts in peti- tion. It is a perfect Babel, struggling, quarreling, and some fighting.) “You born idiots (shouting), is it thus you prefer your claims to my generosity? Is it thus you dare to— (Crowd howl and clamor and struggle anew.) Is it thus you dare to invade my privacy? (Additional howls.) 1 have but five thousand dollars (crowd groan), which shall only be distri- buted to the most deserving. (Crowd shouts ‘I! “ Me!” “College!” ‘« Schools !” ‘* Ministers!” ‘‘ Orphans !”—all_ press- ing forward and extending their hands, while C., to escape them, gets up on table.) Go away, I say! Clear out! Ill order in the police! John! John! call the police! J. (Shouts) ve called ’em; they’re a-comin’, an’ the Mayor. (Crowd howl and start for door and soon all are gone.) (Enter Mavor—Mnk. C. still standing on table.) M. Why, my dear Mr. Croesus, what does all this excite- ment mean? C. Mean? That I’m the most miserable man in town— that my wealth is a source of torment—that even in my own house I am pursued by harpies, from college committees down to beggar’s brats, who demand money. What shall I do, Mr. Mayor, to escape this persecution? M. Do? Why, get down from the table. (C. descends.) Now, authorize me to announce that hereafter not one dol- lar will you donate to any person or charity, unless the ap- plicant first lays the petition for aid before me, that I may determine if the case is a worthy one; and then, if so, I will give the person or committee a recommend to your consid- eration, leaving you to determine the amount proper to be- stow. This you will find will relieve you of the impostors and actooaly have got a millyon dollars-—all tew yourself? — 60 THE DIME DIALOGUES. and harpies—as you very justly characterize them—who beset you, and yet commend to your notice the deserving, whom to aid will be a proper and gracious act. C. Capital! Why has this never before been thought of? (Shakes M’s hand.) Thank you for the suggestion. Vl order John to direct all applicants to you and so escape importunities which— (Hnter Joun, backing in, pursued by Mrs. Tupss, who threatens him with her upraised wmbrella.) Bless me, what 7s the trouble now? J. Why, sir, this old woman— Mrs. T. Old woman? Oh, you miser’ble critter ov a baboon! (Shakes umbrella.) Yl have you to know ’spec- table people isn’t to be resulted in their own faces! M. Why, John, how could you make such a mistake? This lady old? Never! Right in the bloom of youth! Mrs. T. La, now! That’s perlite. Ye see (turning to Joun) what-a differdence eddicashun makes! J. Certainly, madame, certainly. In the bloom of youth, madame! (Bows.) M. And what, my dear lady, is the special occassion of this call? ' Mrs. T. Oh, ye ‘see, sir, I came to taown to see the sights. I went to the Mare’s office— J. The Mayor's office, madame. (Bows.) Mrs. T. None of your inflections, sir. I went to his oftice and they said as how he’d gone to call on Mr. Creesus, the man who actooally has one millyon dollars in hard cash, so I jis’ come along to see sich a man, to take a'good look at him, an’ see if he is like other folks; so now, that’s what brought me here. C, And you don’t want my money? ‘ Mrs. T. Want yer money? What for, pray? Dye think I’m a beggar? Would you effront me! C. By no means, If you come to ask no favor, no alms —to give no advice—to plead the cause of no benevolent project that salaries a fat retinue of retainers—then you’re a curiosity; I respect you. Here’s my hand. (Hetends pee John, wine for this lady! J. Yes, sir: wine for the young lady. (Bows and retiree Mrs. T. La now, how perlite you be! Au’ you really THE TRUE USE OF WEALTH. C. °Yes, two million. Mrs. T. La! How you talk! An’ ye ar’n’t proud, nor stuck up, nor ashamed ov honesi folks? C. “I trust not. (Hater Joun, with wine on server.) Here is a glass of sherry, madame? I drink your good health. (Drinks.) - Mrs. T. La,now! J—I—can’t; I’m temperance! But, I say, Mister Mayor, as I’ve come to town ter see the sights can’t you jest beau me around like and show ’em to mg? [ll be ever so much obleeged. | M. (Aside.) Well, if this isn’t rich. But, I’ve got to make myself popular with all classes if I ever expect office again. Direct.) Certainly, my dear young lady; certainly. Good-day Croesus! Hope you'll be as happy as a_hod- carrier on two dollars a day, and have as good an appetite as a sailor on twenty dollars a month. Good-day.. (Hvewnt Mayor and Mrs. T., who makes an old-fashioned “ courtesy ” as she leaves. JOHN stands at door and bows low as they pass out. é There, I declare, if that isn’t a good old soul—actu- ally didn’t come to beg—a good old soul. J.