| “NEW YORE: BEADLE AND COMPANY.118 WILLIAM ST. Am, News 0o,, 119 @ 124 Nassau Bt,, a. » + BEADLE'S DIME POPULAR HAND-BOOKS ONE HUNDRED PAGES 130. DIME Book of ETIQUETTE. For Ladies and Gentlemen: being a Guide to True Gentility and Good-Breeding and a Complete Directory to the Usages and Observances of Society. Includin Entrance into Society; on Dress and Ornaments; on Visits, Introductions, etc. Evening Parties, Dances, etc.; Games of Cards, Chess, etc.; on Conversation; 0) Letter and Note Writing; how to Give and Receive Invitations; on Entertai ments ; on Personal Cleanliness, etc. DIME LETTER-WRITER. And Practical Guide to Composition. Embracing Forms, Models, Suggestions ar Rules for the use of all classes on all occasions; also a List of Improper Words an ape together with their correct forms. And also a Complete Diciiona o ottoes, Phrases, Idioms, etc. By Lovis Lkerannp, M. D, DIME Book of VERSES. omnes Kee for Albums; Mottoes and Couplets; St. Valentine Verse Bridal and Marriage Verses; Verses on Births and Infancy; Verses to send wi Flowers; Verses of Love and Affection; Holiday Verses ; Birthday Verses; Ey taphs and Mourning Verses ; the Lover’s Casket. DIME CHESS INSTRUCTOR. A Complete Hand-Book of Instruction, containing all that a beginner can requi to guide him to the entertaining mysteries of this most interesting and fascinatil of games, , DIME COOK BOOK. Or, the Housewife’s Pocket Companion. Embodying ‘what is most Econom! most Practical, most Excellent. By Mrs. M. V. Vicror. DIME RECIPE BOOK. A Companion to the Dime Cook Book. A Directory for the Parlor, Nursery, Si Room, Toilet, Kitchen, Larder, etc. By Mrs. M. V. Victor, DIME HOUSEWIFE’S MANUAL. Or, How to Keep House and Order a Home; How to Dye, Cleanse and Renovat How to Cut, Fit and Make Garments; How to Cultivate Plants and Flowers; H to Care for Birds and Household Pets, etc. A Companion to the Dime Cook a Recipe Books. By Mrs. M. V. Vicror. DIME FAMILY PHYSICIAN. And Manual forthe Sick Room. With Family Diseases and their Treatment, Hil on Nursing and Rearing, Children’s Complaints, Physiological Facts, Rules Health, Recipes for preparing well-known Curatives, etc., etc., based upon the! ‘hority of Drs, Warren, DONNA, PARKER, and others, z DIME DRESSMAKER. And Milliner’s Guide. A complete Manual of the art of Cutting, Fitting, aud M ing up the Female Wardrobe, with full direetions for Choice o ‘Materia » Hints Neglige Toitet, Traveling Toilet, Kvening Dresses, etc., Dictionary of Techni Terms, etc., etc. By MaDAME PULLAN. @F" The above books for sale by all newsdealers; or sent, post-paid, to any 4ress, on receipt of price, ten cents each, : BEADLE AND COMPANY Publishers, 98 William Street, New Yor! BEADLE’S DIALOGUES: CHOICE ORIGINAL COLLOQUIES, MINOR DRAMAS, FARCES, ETC. PREPARED EXPRESSLY FOR AND ADAPTED TO ANY ORDINARY SCHOOL STAGE OR ROOM. EDITED BY DR. LOUIS LEGRAND. NHW YORK: BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 119 WILLIAM STREET. Pss.isnens. Notr.—The publishers feel great satisfaction in presenting this work to scholars and teachers. The very general approbation ex- tended to the previous issues of their school series has encouraged them to spare no effort to render'this volume equal, if not superior, to the pre- vious issues. They hive again to repeat: As this series of books contains some of the best schc'»! and parlor pieces yet introduced to the public, it is their wish that the se ‘eral pieces contained herein shall be fonnd in the Dime DiaLoavEs No 4 exclusively. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by BEADLE AND COMPANY, In the Clerk’s office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. wren eo INTRODUCTORY. We have aimed, in this fourth volume of our DrsLogurs series, to present variety in the contents of work rather than elaboration. The usefulness of a work of this nature is de- termined by its adaptability. Bearing this in mind, the ed- itor has chosen his matter, first, with reference to its excel- lence, and, second, to its availability for use in any school. The table of contents will show how varied are the pieces given. Taken in connection with previous issues of the series, this volume will be found to give to scholars and schools more really useful and pleasing colloquial and stage matter than can be obtained from any other source The large number of contributions submitted by authors and teachers, proves the interest taken in these little companions for the ex- _ nibition room ; and the editor has to express his thanks there- for, in earnest terms. He always receives such contributions witk pleasure. L. Le G. CONTENTS. Paaw, Tue Frost Kine. A Scenic Drama. For ten or more persons. By Miss Annie D.Green,- - - - - - Startine wm Liry A_ Petite Farce. For three Males and two Fe- males. By Dr. Le Grand, - - - - - - - - - Farrn, Hope anp Caarity. A Colloquy, in verse. For three little Girls. By Marian Donglas, Sai ey ne. 5 nara a DarBy AND Joan. A Minor Drama. For two Males and one Female. By Edward Willett, - - a so aa ad - Tar May. A Floral Fancy. For six little Girls, By Marian Douglas, Tue ENCHANTED Princess. A Burlesque Divertissement. For two Males and several Females. By Edward Willett, - i eerie ot Honor ro Waom Honor 1s Duz. A Colloguy. For seven Males and one Female. By Dion Harper, - a Sg win " eae Purenotogy. A Discussion, For twenty Males. From Fowle’s “Familiar Dialognes,” Se on qa ta ae REE RRS OF» {ne STUBBLETOWN VOLUNTEER. A Farce. For three Males and one Female.’ By Hdward Willett,: = =" (sR eee ee A Sozne from ‘Paul Pry.” For four Males, - ser sty: agli - THe Cuarms. A Parlor Drama. For three Males and one Female, Bzx, CLock anp Broom. A Rhymed Fancy. For three little Girls. By Mrs, Victor, - em - - Ra. Fete sa, ae - Tar Rient War. A Colloquy. Fortwo Boys. By Dr. LeGrand, - Wuat tue Leper Says. A “ Negro” Burlesque. For two Males, TsE Crimes or Dress. A Colloquy. FortwoBoys, - - - - ‘uz Rewarp or BenzvoteNce. A Minor Drama. For four Males. By George Coleman, 50 «23 2 Ree Oe Tax Letter, Fortwo Males. By Anon., - ETE, he Sue See: ee: S RR RSA BRS BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES, No. 4. SUMMER AND THE FROST KING. FOR TEN OR MORE CHARACTERS. This brief drama, which was written expressly for a Fu Fair, or a School Festival, has the advantage, for those occasions, of bata an easily acted, and very showy piece. Some prudent housewives might object to its being performed in their back-parlors, as it introduces a throne anda quantity of garlands; but it requires less change of cos- tume, and labor of preparation, than many pieces which we have seen performed in country schools, and may be considered practicable, where- ever tableaux are deemed so. The throne need not to be very elaborate. A simple garden chair, with the legs hidden by green boughs, and wreathed with heavy gar- lands of evergreen, may be made both pretty and effective. he shield, which the first messenger carries, is made of a common ratan hoop, covered with coarse cambric, or even paper; which, in turn, is wreathed with green boughs, and real or artificial flowers. If the piece is acted in winter, quite pretty garlands may be made for the Queen, and her subjects, of red and white tissue paper, cut to imitate roses; and the seclaats for the Frost King may also be made of red and yel- low paper, cut in the form of leaves, and fastened together in long arlands. : The Frost King should be dressed as frostily as possible. A dress- ing-gown, hung with paper icicles, will do. He should carry a scepter, like the Queen, and should be pores by an attendant, bearing a ole, wreathed with red and yellow leaves. His followers should be ittle boys, also dressed in bright colors. The Summer (ueen and her attendants should be dressed in white or light muslin, so as to make the contrast greater. The part of the Summer Queen is the most difficult to act, and should be taken, of course, by the most skillful performer.] SCENE I. PLACE: The Palace of the Summer Queen, Time: Harly Morning. SUMMER [disclosed by lifting away % curtain. Background, a fora’ Ye Breezes of the early morn! The blossoms’ slumbers break ! Ye Dew-drops! kiss their folded eaves, And urge them to awake! BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES, Go where the forest shades are deep! Go to the bowers, and twine, In closer rings, from bough to bough, ; The tendrils of the vine. ' The gleaming stars have passed from sight, That in the sky had birth; | Tis time that we should awake again | The gentler stars of earth. | Unfold! unfold! ye lovely flowers, In beauty and in blooni! And on the trembling air set free Your long-inclosed perfume ! | BREEZES and DEW-DROPS, entering, Oh, Summer Queen! o’er hill and dale | We've wooed the lovely flowers ; I Bat, on their leaves was left a kiss, From colder lips than ours! They shrunk before our light caress, As if they fain would hide Their withered buds, that lately rose, In beauty and in pride, The first bright sunbeams shone for them-= | But shone, alas! in vain; ° | They were not burnt, as if by drought, ; g Or bent, as if by rain; But, everywhere, by rock and rill, 1 The buds were touched with blight ;— | They will look up again, sweet Queen! And smile before the night, SUMMER starting up. I know, I know the ruthless hand That on the flowers is laid! I know the foe, that rudely dares My kingdom to invade! 4. Oh, cling to me, my Fairy band, Or all my hopes are lost! And on my joyous throne shall reign The monarch of the Frost! BREEZES, Dew-DROPS and ATTENDANTS, kneecting. We'll jon with thee, oh Summer Queen! Against thine haughty foe! Where’er thy gentile footsteps lead, Attendant we will go. We'll be to thee, whatever shade The gloomy future fills, As faithful as the Amaranth That blossoms on thy hills, The gloomy future? What has one : Like thee, to do with gloom? Thy glance makes all around thee bright’ Pay presence sheds perfume. [Anter the Frost King.) | | | ex SUMMER AND THE FROST KING. SUMMER. Ob, who art thou, unushered guest ? What message hast thou brought, That, thus, thou dar’st to enter In My palace-gate unsought ? [She motions with her hand for her subiects to rtam.} Frost Kine, I come to thee, oh, Summer Queen! An uninvited guest; No homage at thy feet to pay, No favor to request. Iam the Monarch of the Frost; Thy scepter and thy throne { come to claim; for now, the land Is mine, and mine alone. SUMMER. 1t ts not so, oh, haughty King! For I will never yield to thy imperious demand, A blossom of the flelds, Frost KING, Oh, rash and foolish Summer Queen! "Twere wiser now to fly, Than to remain, to see thy ranks Forsake thy cause or die, For even now, thy strength declines; Thy power is on the wane; : The pomp, the beauty of the past Will never come again. The withered Daisy lightly sways Upon its airy stem, And dead the King-cup, that once glowed Like some bright, burnished gem, Their faded leaves the Poppies showered, In dreamy brilliance down; And withered are the Roses now, That formed thine early crown, SUMMER, "Tis true, the blossoms of the spring We saw in beauty fade; But where they died, now others stand, In richer robes arrayed, The Aster flower, empurpling deep The mountain’s rocky side; The queenly. Lily that unfolds Upon the rippling tide. The faintly perfumed scent, that marked The fiowers upon the vine— What was it to the clustered graper, The prisoned wealth of wine? There is a mellowed splendor now There has not been before; A glory, in the ripened fruit, blossom never wore, BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUE, Frost KING. A transient splendor, born to fade; The beauty of decay ; As clouds assume a brighter tinge, Around the dying day. \ Ah! useless all thy boasted strength, And impotent thy wrath; 7. joyous flowers, thy ripened fruit Shall strew thy victor’s path. Bid all thy flelds and all thy bowers Put on their best array ; Ihave a mogis of my own, To make the forests gay. Makeevery day a festal day— The happy earth endow With many a thickly clustered flower, And heavy hanging bough; Let the blue grape grow sweet and ripe; The field with Asters tinge; Hide the rough rocks with clambering vines ; The brooks with grasses fringe ; I wish for bright and beduteous things On which to show my power; Ican not harm the bitter fruit, Or blight the faded flower. Watch for me, when the earth is calm, Andhushed the wild-bird’s tune ; Watch for me, when the bright earth Bleepa, Beneath the broad, full moon, SUMMER, av Come in all thy boasted strength ; e scorn of thy reply But wakens courage in my heart Thy threat’ning to defy. The followers in my train have led A DapPe life and free; The full, bright, joyous earth is mine; I will not bow to thee. Frost Kine, Farewell, then, foolish Queen! farewell, We meet again e’er long ; Remember, flowery thrones are bright, But, oh! they are not strong, To-day each fragrant flower is thine, And every gleaming leaf; To-day, rejoice, and may thy reign Be brilliant as ’tis brief. For brief it shall be! Undismayed Thy challenge I receive; Soon, as their monarch, to return, Thy palace-gates I leave. (ie, ¥ (Curtain is drawn.) 4s. SUMMER AND THE FROST KING. SCENE It. {Oem tain rises, disclosing Attendant and Summer Queen.]} . ATTENDANT. Oh, Summer Queen! a messenger Is pie from the field ; But, drooping is his signal flag, And broken is his shield. (Messenger enters.] SUMMER, Oh, speak! what message hast thou brought, For evil or for good ? Is yet the longed-for victory won? he enemy subdued ? MESSENGER, 4 Not yet; for from our broken ranks The faithless we have lost; The traitor Maples proudly bear The banners of the Frost. New tints, rich dyes, and waving wood, Each wreathed bower receives; As if the dying flowers had left Their bright robes to the leaves, [inter Second Messenger.] SECOND MESSENGER, Oh brave, but stricken, Summer Queen, The Aster flower has died; I saw it, lying on the hill, In all its purple pride. I saw the Lily, on the wave, Its faded petals close; It sunk beneath the rippling tide, And never more arose. SUMMER. Oh mingled faith and treachery ! The coward Maples yield; The Asters struggle with the Frost, And perish on the field! [Lnter Third Messenger.)} THIRD MESSENGER. I come to thee, oh, Summer Queen! The weary strife is done— But, on the field, our cruel foe A victory has won, No longer, in the idle breeze, The lingering Daisies nod ; No longer, by the road-side, bloome The swaying Goldemrod, BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES, Thy victor seeks thy palace now, In his exuliant power ; And changed is every glistening leaf, And faded every flower. {Atéendants ofthe Frost King rushing in.} ATTENDANTS, Make way! Make way! The Frost King comes? Yield scepter up, and throne! The kingdom he has fairly won, Is nevermore thine own! [Mnier Frost King with train of Attendants, all clad in white,] Frost KIna, We meet again, my Queenly foe! The prophecy I made Is now fulfilled; and, at thy feet, Thy treasures have been laid, Where now is thy defiant strength? Where now thy scornful pride ? Behold, thy victor's banners wave, Around, on eyery side, Where now are all the beauteous flowers On every sunny hill? In every shadow-haunted vale, Say, dost thou see them still? Thou hast them yet; upon my way, I stayed, for thee to twine The very flowers that won thy love ;-~ Fair Sovereign, these are thine! "Tis a proud garland! for thy brow ’Tis a more fitting crown. Than the fresh buds that rlisten there ;~ Take this, and lay those down, (He presents wreaths of dead flowers.) SUMMER, Alas! oh, cruel conqueror! Alas! my reign is o’er! The fragrant flowers, I cherished long, Shall meet my gaze no more! Thy hand has made each hill-side waste And desolate each field ; ae Fam haye perished, and, for me, only left to yield. [She kneels and presents her crown } [Ourtain falls, or is dronon,] AS AS STARTING IN LIFE. 16 STARTING IN LIFE. FOR THREE MALES AND TWO FEMALES. {In the production of this semi-comedietta, only follow stage diroo- tions as given, and a happy effect will be produced. If the points im- plied are clearly made, it will not fail to send the laugh around. It is entirely new.] (Enter JAmus, soliloguizing.) I must choose my calling. Ready to go forth upon the world, I must decide what I shall be. (Stops, musingly.) Is it not an awful responsibility to make this decision? _ It is cast- ing the die for lifetime—for good or for evil, for my own advancement or my own destruction. Ah, how few’ realize this when they step out in life, to carve their way! How many choose unwisely—how many choose willfully wrong—how ma- ny misjudge their own talents and tastes—how many misjudge the world and the real value of its rewards! I feel oppressed with these thoughts, for may I, too, not make the same mis- take which I know many of those around me have made ? Oh, would that I could meet with some safe, wise, good coun- selor, to direct my steps aright, and make my choice one sure to bring me happiness and prosperity. But, who is capable of giving the advice I need? Not the minister, for he, I know, is so little skilled in worldly affairs that his business discern- ment can not be trusted. Not lawyer Hardcastle, for he is too worldly, seeing life only in its two forms of money and power getting. He certainly will not do. Not the successful mer- chant, Sharpson, for his ideas of life, I know, are all confined to bargain and trade. (Pauses and thinks.) No, I must decide for myself, and I will— (A voice without, singing.) A life on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep, Where the scattered waters rave And the winds their revels— Enter Kitty Breeze, jauntily dressed, with haw flying, and hat on shoulders, etc.) Krrry. What, you here, James, my boy! I thought you 16 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. were off at the regatta, where all boys with spirit are. Why, youlook as demure as a clock justrun down, without a spark of spring in you. Let me put my hands over your face just to see what hour it is! (She spreads her hands over his face.) Ha-ha! It is time to get up—to aro1use—to be wide awake; 40, my boy, turn out! James. Ah, you little witch, you aze good for something—~ ood to wake us up. I was not drowsy, however, but some- what sobered with serious thinking. Kitty, as my dear, good friend, tell me, what ought I to do for a living ? Kirry. Do for a living? What a question to ask of me! Why, Pd be a sailor. (Sings.) Like an eagle caged I pine On this dull, unchanging shore, Oh, give me the flashing brine, The spray and the tempest’s roar. A life so wild, so free, so jolly—Jimmy, do be a sailor! James. (Smiling.) And.smell of tar and tobacco, and drink grog, and sleep in the forecastle with a lot of men as beastly in their habits as hogs! Krrry. (Jn anger.) My father was a sailor—my brother is a sailor, and J am going to be a sailor’s wife; so, good-by, my boy, and don’t you be a sailor! (Heit with a flourish.) James. That advice is disinterested, and Pm off of Kitty’s books, that is certain, All right, for she zs a wild creature— (Kitiy’s head is thrust in at the door, or from behind curtain, as may be arranged.) Kirry, Jimmy, my boy, you be a tailor. (Hvit.) James, tion it attaches to the word science. Johnson, sir, tells us that acieuce is “ knowledge.” Gibbon says it is synoynmous with “ speculation.” I would propose, therefore, sir, that, before We proceed uny further, we ascertain in what sense the word science is to be understood. Phusivent. The chairman of the committee who proposed the question is present, and will be good enough to answer the gentleman’s inquiry. Mu. Wanpen. Sir, the committee were aware that the term ae coo PHRENOLOGY. 5 science is often loosely applied to knowledge of all sorts ; but they believed that there was a stricter sense in which it should be used ; and in behalf of the committee, I would propose that the definition of science ‘shall be, “ certain knowledge—know- ledge founded on faets.” Mr. Craney. Mr President! Presment. Mr. Craney, gentlemen. Mr. Craney. The definition, sir, that the gentleman has given, is certainly very strict; but I shall not vbject to it, if we be required to prove no more than can be proved of ‘tlie other sciences. ‘To open a debate, therefore, sir, I assert that phrenology ts a science, founded on facts, and as certain as any human knowledge. It is founded on facts, sir, inasmuch as most of the important discoveries in anatomy are the basis of it; and its truths are demonstrable to the senses. It is certivin, sir, in so far as its principles, if understood, may he uncrrinely applied to estimate the mental power by the size, and form, and other peculiarities of the head. I think, sir, no one will be bold enough to deny that Doctors Gall and Spurzheim were skillful anatomists, and that they examined the structure of the brain, of the nerves, and ofthe skull, more carefully than any other had done; and this, surely, did not disqualify them for judging of the uses of the brain and nerves. It is customary for quacks and impostors, sir, to-start with ess knowledge than those who are called regular practitioners ; but they started, sir, with more. And if their opponents, whom I may also call their enemies, have since confessed that their discoveries in ana tomy are real and important, we have reason to hope, sir, that : they will, ere long, be also compelled to confess, that the ap- plication of their facts to the illustration of mind, is only tool: ish, because it is above the comprehension of fools. Mr. Stirrup. Mr. President! Present. Mr. Stifflip, gentlemen. Mn. Srurrire. I rise, sir, to reply to the gentleman last up ; and I shall endeavor to do so effectually in a few words. I acknowledge, sir, that the researches of Gall and Spurzheim threw some light upon the structure and operations of the brain and nerves. But, sir, this acknowledgment inay be made, without any obligation to follow them into the mazes whither they wandered after they left the sure basis of facts, to BEADLE’S Dich DIALOGUES. soar into the regions of fancy. I may believe, sir, in the number, and magnitude, and movements of the planets, as taught by astrologers; but, sir, ] am not bound’ to believe all their nonsense about the influence of these bodies upon the destiny of men. While Gall and Spurzheim confined them- selvcs to anatomy, they did well; but when they began to specilate upon tie mind, they went beyond their depth, and could not expect any reasonable man to follow them. I never will believe, sir, that the flights of the almost infinite mind de- pend upon the size and operations of the brain. Why, sir, some animals that-have no brain, astonish us by their perform- ances. tLow will the gentlemen in the affirmative get over this fatal objection ? Mr. Occrpur. Mr. President ! f. Presipent. Mr. Occiput, gentlemen. Mr. Occrevur. The gentleman asks, sir, how we shall get over his fatal objection. As the Indian got over the rain- bow, sir, by getting wnder it. When the gentleman asserts, sir, that some animals astonish us by their performances, does he mean that they perform any intellectual operations like those performed by man? No, sir; no. Their performances are confined to eating, continuing their species, and dying. The gentleman must know, sir, that. the lower animals, to which he alludes, are not, as he asserted, without brain. But, sir their brain, like the god of some of our own species, is in their stomachs. I believe no animal has yet been found, sir, without a nervous system, and bundles or knots of nerves, which, though not in the head, are the seat of what intelligence they possess. If the gentleman will bring us a human being without any brains in his skull, and yet possessing as much intelligence as if his skull was large and full, then we must confess that phrenology is all a lie. Dr. LrrrneeEad, (in a squeaking voice). Mr. President! Preswwent. Dr. Littlehead, gentlemen. Dr. Litrienkap. I should like to ask, Mr. President, whether the gentleman will pretend, as some have done, that the intel- lect depends upon the size of the cranium, and, of course, up- am. that of the cerebrum and cerebellum. Mr. Occreur. We do pretend so, Mr. President. 5 Dr. Lrrriencap. Then, Mr. President, [ must protest against re PHRENOLOGY. 53 any such preposterous method of measuring the illimitable in tellect. Sir, I maintain, myself apart, sir, that I have seen as many start men with small heads as with large ones, sir. And whence have we the proverb, “A great head and little wit, A little head and full of it,” if it be not a fact, sir, that a great head is no evidence of in- tellectual superiority ? Sir, I protest, with all the intellectuai power I possess, against the injustice and folly of the gentle- man’s position. bs Dr. Sururz. Mr. President! Presipent. Dr. Suture, gentlemen. Dr. Surure. I rise, sir, to calm the fear of the gentleman last up, by assuring him that, although a large head is general- ly an index of powerful intellect, and a small one of inferior capacity, still there are exceptions to the general rule, and I pray the gentleman to consider himself as one of them. The fact is, sir, there are three sorts of large heads—the diseased head, which is often monstrous, even in children; the large head whose chief bulk is behind the ears, in which the animal propensities predominate; and the large head whose chief bulk is above and before the ears, in which the intellect pre- dominates. I might add that there are several kinds of little heads, but I do not wish to be personal. I will remark, how- ever, that sometimes a small head is connected with great ner- vous irritability ; and, in such cases, the little head is sometimes a match for a large head that is attached to a sluggish body ; but this, as I said before, is an exception. Deacon Stenper. Mr. President! PresmDENT. Deacon Slender, gentlemen. __ DEACON SLENDER (in a nasal, drawling tone). Mr. President, we live in strange times, sir. When I was a boy, sir, we l’arnt every thing from the Bible, and the Bible threw light upon every kind of knowledge. But now, sir, it seems as if the chief object of science was to prove that the Bible is wrong, and that it is contradicted by science and by facts. I want to know, sir, what we are coming to; for if the effect of Varning is to destroy the Bible, I shall vote against laying any more taxes to support public schools. Mr. Greatrsout. Mr. President! BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. Prusipent. Rev. Mr. Greatsoul, gentlemen. M. Greatsovn. I rarely take any part in your debates, Mr. President; but the inquiry of my worthy friend, just up, in duces me to make a remark upon an error which, I fear, is too prevalent among many whose heartsare right, but whose fears are wrong. He seems to think, sir, that the sciences, and es- pecially some new sciences of our day, havea ‘tendency to de- stroy the authority of the Scriptures. Now, sir, I will ven- ture the remark, that the system of religion taught us in the Bible derives much of its beauty from the illustrations of sei- ence, and depends upon science for some of its strongest points of defense. Natural science,can not alter the revelations of God to man—a revelation of spiritual truths to the spirit. It has happened, to be sure, that the discoveries of science have been thought not to agree with some statements in the Scrip- tures; but, sir, these statements relate to physical facts, to which the Bible only alludes as the prevailing belicf of the day. There is no treatise upon geology, geography, astronomy, or metaphysics, in the Bible; nor does the Bible pretend to teach these sciences, or any other. Jt leaves them where it found them. Now, sir, I am no phrenologist; but I am prepared to say that, if this science is founded upon facts, and is true, it musi aid the cause of revelation; for it must enlarge the hu- man mind, and enable it better to understand those truths which, while they are lowered to the comprehension of the simplest mind, are able also to stretch to its utmost reach the intellect of angels. TI hope my worthy neighbor will cease to look with fear upon the progress of any science; for, if it is of man, it will come to naught without his assistance ; but if it is true, or, what is the same thing, if it is of God, man ean not overthrow it. Mr. FeArruu. Mr. President ! PRESIDENT. Mr. Fearful, gentlemen. Mr. FeArruu. (He has his hat on.) I hopeT shall be excus- ed, sir, for wearing my hat; but I have no idea of having my head inspected, sir, and turned to ridicule for the amusement of this audience. Not that I believe, sir, that the professors of this pretended science can tell my character any better from the outside of my head than they can from the outside of my hat; but they have a habit, sir, of ridiculing the person whose « Rimage PHRENOLOGY. 55 argument they can not answer, and I am not to be ridiculed, sir, by them. Mr. Wirree. Does the gentleman mean, sir, that we may not exercise our, Yankee privilege of guessing what is conceal- ed under his hat ? Mr. Fearruut. The gentleman may guess, sir, for it is all guess-work ; and I dare say, sir, that, if he judges of my char- acter by the bumps of my hat, he will come as near to the truth as they generally do. - Mr. Wrrrne. I guess, then, sir, the gentleman has a sinall head, and is ashamed of it. His hat is pretty large at the ears, where it should not be, and very small at the top, where the nobler faculties lic. His hat will not save him, sir. Mr. Fearru. (taking off hisehat with some vehemence). Sir, I have as good a head as the gentleman himself, sir. Mr Wirree. I dare say he has, sir. I only made my re- marks to see if his self-esteem would let him keep his hat on, under the imputation that his head was a diminutive one. I knew he could not do it, sir, if there is any truth in phrenolo- gy, any more than the crow of old could help singing when old Reynard flattered her. Mr. Fearruu. I rose at first, sir, to remark, that phrenolo- gy can never be true, because the Creator would never so ex- pose our characters that others could read them on our heads, This would subvert the whole system of society, sir ; for those who were gifted would despise their less fortunate neighbors, and those who were marked with criminal propensities would not dare to show their heads. This is the remark I wished to make, sir; and I assert, that no man can know what is in man except from his actions. Mr. Convorute. Mr. President ! Presipent. Mr. Convolute, gentlemen. Mr. ConvotutTs. The gentleman’s remarks, sir, prove tco uch, in my opinion; but, at any rate, they are founded in error. He pretends, sir, that the Creator has never given us any other means of judging of minds than the outward ac- tions; and he goes so far as to say, that it would be unjust for the Deity to do so. Now, sir, I would ask the gentleman, if he can not often form a correct judgment of men from their personal appearance, their guit, and especially from their 56 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. features? _ I would ask if he can not tell a proud man by his hauteur, a sycophant by his cringing, an humble man by his modesty, a cautious man by his stealthy step? I would ask whether he does not form a judgment of every man he meets, whether right or wrong, from his face? Now, is he always deceived? No, I think not. Then the Creator does some times enable him to judge of his neighbor’s character. Does his subvert the whole system of society, as the gentleman’ as- serts it would, sir? Does this induce the gentleman to look down upon his less gifted neighbor? or does it prevent wicked men from showing their faces in public? ‘No, sir; no such thing. I shall not hesitate to maintain, sir, that, if the bumps in- dicated the true character, they would prove a safeguard to so- ciety; for the hypocrite may disguise his features, and even his actions, but he can not raise, and sink, and alter the bumps at pleasure. He must show what he is, and men will fix his rank accordingly. Rogues, sir, would be very likely to keep their hats on; and the worthy Quakers, finding themselves in such company, would be very likely to take theirs off. Dr. Powwow. Mr.- President ! Presipent. Dr. Powwow, gentlemen Dr. Powwow. The concluding remark of the gentleman last up, sir, seems to me to furnish one of the strongest argu ment against the truth of phrenology ; for, sir, if the features sometimes betray the mind; they do not always do so; but if the bumps invariably expose the mind, I think the Cre- ator could not have been more unjust than to give one man bumps or organs that would lead him to virtue, and another organs that would infallibly lead him to vice and ruin. I should like to know, sir, how the gentleman can get over this objection Dr! Braarre. Monsicur le President! : Present. Dr. Begarre, gentlemen. Dr. Bra@arrn. Monsieur le President, I me up get, rise to cespond to de gentilhomme who has just himself seated down, Ma foi! Monsieur le President, what for why he tink our sci- ence noble do make mey coquins, rogues, any more as de old system! ef I fine out by de cranium, and he by de actions, dat one man is grand rogue, I no keep de man so, any no more dan he. He tink de Créateur to de man have give one \ PHRENOLOGY. 5? ver bad mind, and, ma foi! I tink so too. Eh bien, well now, he tink de man wid de mind unfc-tunate can himself reform, mike bettare. Ma foi, 1 tink so too. Mais, but de gentil- homme say you fix de bump so de man bad must be man bad toujours, always. Now, Monsieur le President, how de buinp come on de head? Because de faculty of de mind want him to work wiz. If de faculty work hard, great deal, wiz him, he grow large, he grow strong, like de littell boy when he work, eat like any ting, till he grow great man, grand homme. Den, if de oder good bonnes faculties say to de bad faculty : “You mus reform, you mus work not any more ;” den he mus stop to grow, and one dese day he grow littell encore, again. Dr. Powwow. Does the gentleman mean that when his lee- tell boy has become a great man, if he leaves off working, he will become a leetell boy again ? Dr. BEGARRE. Oui, monsieur, I mean dat de organ will grow weak, feebell, as de littell gargon, boy, what you call. De exercise of de faculty make de organ bump strong, and de non-exercise of him make him weak, again. I hope de gen- tihnens, all two of dem, understand dat de bump no- fix de faculty, but de faculty fix de bump, or unfix him, as he please, I sensible, Monsieur le President, dat I no speak de langue Anglaise propare, and 1 demand pardon. I tank you. I myself sit down. Mr. Wrrrer. Mr. President, I rise to ask if we are not de- parting from the question before us? The question is,“ Is phrenology entitled to the rank of a science?” But we are speculating upon other subjects. Presiwent. If we are inquiring as to the truth of facts, and the certainty of knowledge, we can hardly avoid discussing all the incidental questions to which phrenology has given rise. But as our time has nearly expired, I hope the gentle- men will confine themselves as strictly as. possible to the question. Dr, SNEAEER. Mr President ! Prusipent. Dr. Snedker, gentlemen. Dr. SNEAKER. I rise, sir, to remark, that, in my opinion, nothing can be more absurd than for the friends of phrenolo- gy to pretend thai there is any thing certain in any of their speculations. Go to one professor, and he will tell you that 58 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. yov are arogue; and go to another, and he will tell you that you area fool. If any thing could be told by the bumps, ag bunips never deceive, like features, there could not be such a discrepancy. I have had all sorts of thingssaid about my head. Mr. Lancer. Mr. President ! Presipent. Mr. Lancet, gentlemen. Mr. Lancet. I rise, Mr. President, to ask the gentleman laat up if it is any more absurd to believe in phrenology, be- cause its professors differ in regard to particular cases, than to believe that medicine is a science, when doctors so generally disagree, that nothing is certain in medicine, except that the patient must die? The gentleman says that some professors have told him that he was a rogue, and others that he was a fool; I would ask, Mr. President, if it is impossible for both to be right ? Squire Sponer. Mr. President! PRESIDENT. Squire Sponge, gentlemen. Squire Sroner. The gentleman seems to think that the science of medicine is uncertain, and really something must be conceded to him on this point; but, for a moment, I should like to contrast the uncertainty of phrenology with the estab- lished principles of my profession. The great principles of law, sir, are so well settled, that no one can be in doubt about them ; and until phrenology attains to something like the sume stability, it must lay aside all pretensions to the rank of a science. Dr. Beaarre. Monsieur le President, I stand myself up again to say to de gentilhomme up at last, that if the phrenolo- gie was no more certan dan his law, I should be much sorry. Ma foi! Monsieur le President, you cut off de head of your frin, and de lawyer tell you all just, all propare. Hh bien, you go wid your head cut off- no, your frin go wid his head cut off to de oder lawyare, and he say de ting is injuste. De one lawyare show to you de case, de decision, ten, five, dozan, all for you. Den de oder lawyare, he have five, ten dozan tuzzer way. Eh bien, well den, de juge say all two ways parfaitement juste, and de juree dey no gree. Vcila! what you call certainty? Ma foi! dare is notting certan but dat both partees will be sheeted out of all de Vargent, what you call sponge. It must be allow dat de law is certainement one grand science, I have hear dat dey throw de Salem vish eo) PHRENOLUGY. 59 in de vautare, and if he swim, he vsh, certan, and he have de body squeeze out of his breath ; but if he himself drown under de vautare, he have de consolation tu Jearn dat he is na ish. Monsieur le President, de vish is de man who go to de law ; if he swim, he is ruin; if he no swim (shrugging his shoulders), den dat is all. Dr. Noppie. I must confess, Mr. President— Preswwent. The Rev. Dr. Noddle, gentlemen. Dr. NopptE. I must confess, Mr. President, that the charge of uncertainty lies with some force against the two sciences of law and medicine; but will the friends of phrenology haz- ard a comparison of their science with that of theology, that sure word of prophecy, as unerring as it is eternal and un- changeable? I think the gentlemen in the affirmative must concede that their science has no claims to certainty compar- ed with those of theology. Dr. BeGArRE. Ah, Monsieur le Ministére, I am great much sorry to myself oppose to you. Mais, but, I can not hold on to my tongue, when you make comparaison between téolo- gie and my science. Certan! Ah, ma foi! what you ‘call certan? Monsieur le President, pardon; what sex, you are ? : Present. Sex ! Dr. BEGARRE. Oui, what religion party you belong ? Preesmpnt. Oh! Jam an Episcopalian. Dr. BeGarre. Eh bien. (Speaking to Doctor Noddle.) Et yous, Monsieur le Docteur Noddell ? Dr. Noppuz. It is well known that I am a Presbyterian. Dr. Brearre. Eh bien. (Looking at Dr. Powwow.) Et yous, Monsieur le Docteur Powwow ? Dr Powwow. [am a Baptist, I suppose. Dr. BEGARRE. Trés bien. Et vous, Monsieur le Reverend Greatsoul, what sex you follow ? Mr. Grearsouu. I am called a Methodist. Dr. BeGarrE. Enough (Shrugging his shoulders.) Par- con. You have prove de certainty of de science of téologie. Ma foi! dere is notting certan but dat you all diffare now neyare, all time. TI vil not spokes no more. PresiDENT. Gentlemen, the hour to which your debate is limited by the by-laws, has elapsed, and the debate must be 60 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. arrested. Is it your mind that the question be put in the usual manner? If so, please to manifest it. (All hold up hands.) Presiwent. It is a vote. Such, then, as are of opinion that phrenology is entitled to the rank of a science, will please to hold up their hands. (Some hold up.) Presmpenr. Such as are otherwise minded. (Some hold up.) Present. The question is decided in the affirmative. (Several ery out, Doubted ! doubted !) Presmpent. The decision is doubted, gentlemen. Will you be good enough— Mr. Srraricnarway. Mr. President, I would ask, whether the decision of this question here, will settle the question even here. I move that the meeting be adjourned. Dr. Buearre. I will be his second. a Presmpent. It is moved and seconded, that this meeting : be adjourned. If this be your mind, gentlemen, you will please to signify it. (All hands up.) PrEsipen’. The meeting, then, is adjourned. (Heit all.) THE STUBBLETOWN VOLUNTEER. A FARCE IN ONE ACT. FOR THREE MALES AND ONE FEMALE, Cuaractirs :—Frank Mercer ; Carrie Mercer, his sister ; Joe Myers, the Volunteer ; Captain Ketchum. DRESSES. ” Franx and Carrie. Plain boys’ and girls’ attire. Jow Myers. An old U. 8. uniform, or part of one, with a handker. chief tied around his left leg. Caprain Kurcuum. A captain’s uniform, or as near like it as possible. (Frank and Carrie discovered seated at a table. Frank read- ing, Carrie sewing. A knock is heard at the door.) Frank. Walk in (Anter Joe Myers, limping, and with his cap in his hand.) jou. ’Scuse me, sir and miss. Hope I don’t intrude. Jest THE STUBBLETOWN VOLUNTEER. 61 thought Pd make bold to ask if you could give a poor and erippled so.dier something to eat and drink. Frank. We can and will, with pleasure, especially if you have fought in the Union army. Jozn. Wish I had as many dollars as the times I’ve fit in those ranks. It was there I was crippled mister, and, I tell you, I do miss the use of that left leg. Frank. I suppose you do, poor fellow! Sit down, and make yourself comfortable. (Hands him achatr.) Carrie, will you get some refreshments for our friend, including some of our new sweet cider ? Carnriz. Certainly—anything for the defenders of the Union, (Hatt Carrie) Frank. Were you in the army a long time, my friend? Jon. Long? Iwas all through the war. I’ve been in pret- ty nigh every battle that was fit, sir. Frank. You must haye seen a great deal? Jon. Seen? If you had seen a quarter of what I have, it would last you a lifetime. (Enter Carrie with a watter, containing refreshments, which she places on the table.) Frank. Move up your chair, and help yourself, sir. I sup- pose you had a pretty hard living in the army ? Jon. Hard? You may well say that. You've heard tell of hard-tack, I suppose? (Cramming himself from the waster.) Well, sir, ’'ve known my biscuits to be so hard that I couldn’t cut ’em with a hatchet, or break ’em with a fig stone. Carrie. Of course, then, you were unable to eat them. Joz. But I was. Let a Stubbletown volunteer alone for that! I used to take ’em one by one, set ’em up ag’inst a stump, and fire into ’em with my rifle. That was sure to fetch ’em. Carris. Youmust have had good teeth to eat them, even then, Joz. Good teeth? If I hadn’t had good teeth, miss, the colo- nel of the 41st Cabbagers wouldn’t have been living at this minnit. Frank. Is it possible? Please explain. Jorn, Easy done. We had been making a terrible charge, ag’inst my adyice to the colonel, andwere surrounded by ten times our number. The colonel and I agreed to cut our way * 62 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. out, but his korse was shot, and he was wounded and fell. 1 saw two enormous fellows, with sabers and pistols, standing over him. It took me but a minnit to rush to his aid, and to grab the two fellows, one with each hand, when T picked up the colonel by the collar of his coat, with my teeth, and ran off with all three, until I was safe within our tines. Frank. Really! You must have possessed great strength and speed at that time. Jor. That was before my leg was wounded, you see. Carriz, And how were you wounded, pray? Jon. That's a pretty hard story for me to tell. By the way, miss, have you nothing stronger than this cider ? Carriz. No, sir; if you mean liquor. Father never keeps any thing in his house that is stronger than our sweet cider. Jon. ’Scuse me for speaking of it. I contracted a little habit in the army, but it was all the fault of the surgeon. I was down with the tiefoot fever—you have heard of that ? Franx. Something like it, I think. Jon. It’s so called because it ties your foot to the bed, and - it’s ten chances to one whetber it ever Jets you get up ag’in. It tied me down for six weeks, and all that time the doctor would let me have nothing to eat but raw brandy and apple- sass. §o, you see, I sorter formed a habit. Carrim, Astonishing! I should think such a diet would have killed you. Jor, I suppose it would have killed any other man, but I am tougher than the common run. After I had drank a keg ; of the brandy, and had eaten a barrel of the apple-sass, I was sete quite stout and hearty, and marched thirty miles before break- fast. FRANK. You surprise me. It is strange that the brandy did not lay you in your grave. But you haven’t told us how your leg was hurt. Jou. That happened down in Virginny. We were having an awful battle, and I was up at old Grant’s tent, talking with him— : Frank. Did you know the General ? Jon. Know old Grant? Jest ask him, and he will tell you what Joe Myers has done for him. Well, the fight was going ag’inst us, and the old chap was mighty puzzled what to do, THE STUBBLETOWN VOLUNTEER. 63 “t@rant, says I, ‘jest move a column into ’em on the left, and we'll win. ‘Joe, my boy, says the General, ‘you're right, as you always are, and I’ll do it. I only wish I had yon to lead ‘he column.’ So the General sat down tc write an order, and jest then one of those five-hundred-pound shells come along, aud struck right in front of him. In a minnit he and his whole staff would have been killed, but I picked up the shell, and ran away with it. It busted, of course, and I knew no- thing more for three months, and then old Grant was sitting by my side, holding my head, and telling me that I had saved the army. Carry. What a wonderful feat ! Frank. What a wonderful leg/ It seems strange that you were not promoted. Jon. Might have had any thing I wanted, but I was modest, and said I didn’t have education enough for a major-general. By the way, couldn’t you let a poor, crippled soldier have a little small change ? Frank. We would gladly give to a defender of the Union, but our father does not allow us to spend money without his permission. He will soon return, and then— Jon. Never mind, my good friends. I take the will for the deed. Good-by, and don’t forget poor Joe Myers. (He rises, and limps toward the door.) Carrig. Wait a moment, my brave suldier! I have a little money that I have saved, and you will be welcome to it. Frank. (Aside.) Carrie, I am rather afraid— Carri. ( Aside.) Afraid of what, brother? Frank, (Aside.) I am rather afraid that this fellow is a humbug. Carrig. (Aside.) What an unworthy thought! (While the “ aside” goes on, Joe puts the rest of the lunch, includ- ing the spoons, in his pocket.) Frank. Here comes my father. I hear his step on the stair, Sit down, my friend, and you will soon have what you deserve. Jou. (Aside, as he edges toward the door.) What 1 deserve? That’s what [’'m afraidof. Can that young chap have guessed any thing? Carri. Frank, that is not father’s step. Who can it be? Hark, there is a knock at the door 64 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. FRANK (rising, and going to the door). I will see, Carrie (To Joe.) Stand aside, sir, and don’t try to leave this room. (He opens the door, and enter Captain Ketchum.) Caprain Kercuum. | beg your pardon for intruding. J am looking fora man, named Joe Myers, who, as I understood, has entered this house. Ah! Isee him! Myers, you are my prisoner. (Lays his hand on Joe's shoulder.) Jou. (Sulkily.) Go to thunder ! Captain Kercuum. I have no desire to go to thunder, but you must go with me. (He produces a pair of handcuffs, [a stout cord would answer the purpose,| and puts them on Joe's wrists.) - Carrie. What do you mean, sir? Why do you treat a sol- dier in that way ? Caprany Kercomum. He is no soldier, my kind young lady, but a deserter from the Stubbletown Volunteers. He has nev- er been within three hundred miles of a battle, and has jumped the bounty three times since he deserted. Carriz. His wounded leg is proof that he has fought. CapraiIn Kercaum. You are mistaken, bless your kind heart. He is no more lame than youor I. Have you missed any articles of value since he entered the house ? Carrik. (Looking around.) Bless us, Frank! where are the spoons ? Frank. I will soon show you. (He feels in Joe's pocket, and produces spoons, etc.) Captain Keronum. Good-evening, Master Mercer and Miss Mercer. Have you any thing to say, Myers? Jon. Nothing. I ’spect my game’s up. Lead on, cap’n. Thank you folks for that feed. (Hait both.) Carrig. (Advancing with Frank.) Who would have thought it, Frank ? Franx. Perhaps I would. I told you I was rather afraid, Carrie. There is one thing certain, Frank—that neither of us will be afraid now, if our friends here (bowing to the audi: ence) will not consider us ail humbugs, but will grant us their gracious approval for our humb.e effort$to amuse them. (Curtain falls.) | . . | A SCENE FROM PAUL PRY. A SCENE FROM PAUL PRY.* Cuanactzrs :—Tunkard, Billy, Oldbutton, Paul Pry. (Enter Tankard and Billy.) Tanxarp. Now, Billy, as this is the first week of your ser yice, you must stir about you, look well to the customers, anc see they want nothing. Buy. I warrant me, sir; though the folks say I look harm- less, ’m sharp; I carry my wits about me in a case, as my grandmother carries her scissors; but, sir, when I like, I can draw and cut, I can assure you. TANKARD. Well, this is to be proved; now you know what you have to do, to-day. Bruxy. First, there’s to attend to Captain Hawkesley, in the blue room; he that locks himself up all day, and only comes out with the stars. Then there’s to look to the fire-works, when the company arrives. Then there’s to get ready the room that you call the Elephant, for the new company, Mr. Oldbut- ton, and—and the last of all— Tanxkarp. To get rid of that impudent Paul Pry. Bry. [ll do it, sir TANKARD. Will you? it’s more than I can; I have only taken this inn six months, and he’s been here every day. First he asked me where I got the money to take the house; then, if I was married; whether my wife bore an excellent character ; whether my children had had the measles; and, as I wouldn’t answer any of these questions, he hoped he didn’t intrude, but begged to know how many lumps of sugar I pat into a crown bowl of punch. Buuy. Oh, sir, that’s nothing to what he asked me last pight; he asked me whether you gave me good wages. TANKARD. Well, and I hope you gave him an answer. Btuy. Yes, I did, sir. TJANKARD. What did you say, sir? Bruty. Why, I told him my wages were like his good man prs, very little of ’eth; but I hoped they would both soon y snd, This exceedingly comical scene from Poole’s well known play “ Paul ©" can be produced on any school stage with the directions here given. 66 BEADLE’S DIME. DIALOGUES. TANKARD. Well; Billy, only rid me of this intolerable Paul, and your wages shall mend. Here has this Mr. Pry, although he has an establishment of his own in the town, been living and sleeping here these six days! But ’m determined to get rid -f him; and do you instantly go, Billy, and affront him; do azy thing with him, so as you make him turn his back upon the house. But, a coach is driven up; it is surely Mr. Oldbutton ; run, Billy, run. (Hatt Billy.) Roaring times, these. (Billy enters, showing in Mr. Oldbutton.). Welcome, sir, most welcome to the Golden Chariot. Mr. Otpsutrron. Landlord, I have some letters to answer ; which is my apartment ? TANKARD, Why, sir, (aside) confound that Paul Pry, he bas tlre gentleman’s room, and I can’t get him out of it ; (aloud) why, sir, I did not expect you some hours yet ; if you'll have the kind- ness to step into this apartment for a few minutes, your own room shall be properly arranged. I really beg ten thousand— . Mr. Otpgurron. No compliments, Mr. Landlord, and when you speak to me in future, keep yourself upright; I hate men with backs of whalebone. TankarD. Why, civility, Mr. Oldbutton— Mr. Otpsurron. Is this the room? (Tankard bows. Heit Oldbution by door on the left of stage, or in the rear.) TankArD. Now such a customer would deeply offend a man, if he had not the ultimate satisfaction of making out his bill. (Hnter Billy.) Oh, you've just come in time; ask no questions; there’s Mr. Pry’s room; if you get him out of the house, ['ll raise your wages; if you do not, you shall go your- self; now you know the terms. (Hzit.) Buy. Then it’s either you or myself, Mr.Pry; so here goes. (Hinter Paul Pry.) Paut Pry. Hope I don’t intrude; I say, Billy, who is that old gentleman, who just came in? Bruty. Old gentleman ?—why, there’s nobody come in. Pau. Don’t fib, Billy; I saw him. Bruty. You saw him !—why, how could you see him, when there’s no window in the room? Panu. I always guard against such an accident, and carry a gim.et with me. (Producing one.) Nothing like making a little hole in the wainscot. oes SS i A SCENE FROM PAUL PRY. 6? Bruty. Why, surely you haven’t— Pauw. It has been a fixed principle of my life, Billy, never to take a lodging or a house with a brick wall to it. I say tell me who is he? Bruxy. (Aside.) Well, Vil tell him something. (Aloud.) Why, #{ you must know,I think he’s an army lieutenant, on half pay. Pauw. An army lieutenant! half pay! ah! that will never afford ribbons and white feathers. Bruty. Now, Mr. Pry, my master desires me to say, he can’t accommodate you any longer; your apartment is wanted, and really, Mr. Pry, you can’t think how much you'll oblige me by going. Pau. To be sure, Billy, I wouldn’t wish to intrude for the world—your master’s doing a great deal of business in this house—what did he give for the good-will of it ? Tankard. ( Without.) Billy! Bruty. There, now, I’m called—and I’ve to make ready the room for the Freemasons, that meet te-night—they that wouldn’t admit you into their society. Pau. Yes, I know; they thought I should intrude. TANKARD. ( Without.) Billy! ; Bruty. Now you must go—good-by, Mr. Pry—I’m called. Paun. Oh, good-by—good-morning. ' (Heit.) Bitty. He’s gone! Im coming, sir, (Hvit.) (Reénter Paul Pry.) Pav. An army lieutenant! Who can it be? Ishouldn’t wonder if it’s Mrs. Thomas’ husband; who, she says, was kill- ed in India, If it should be, it will break off her flirting with Mr. Cinnamon, the grocer; there’s pretty doings in that quar- ter, for I caught the rheumatism watching them in a frosty night last winter! An army lieutenant! Mrs. Thomas has a daughter; Pll just peep through the key-hole, and see if there’s a family likeness between them. (Ges to the deor on left side, and peeps.) Bless me! why, there certainly is something about the nose—oh! he’s writing. (The door is suddenly opened by Oldbution, who discovers Paui.) Paun. I hope I don’t intrude—I was trying to find my apartment. Mr. OLpsurron.' Was it necessary to look through the key- hole for it, sir ? — 68 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES, Pavuu. Pm rather short-sighted, sir; sad affliction! my poor mother was short-sighted, sir; in fact, it’s a family failing; al the Prys are obliged to look close. Mr. Otpsurron. While | sympathize with your distresses, sir, I trust to be exempt from the impertinence you may attach tu them, Patu. Would not intrude for the world, sir. What may be yeur opinion, sir, of the kingdom? How do you like peace? It must press hard upon you gentlemen of the army; a lipu- tenant’s half pay now is but little to make both ends meet. Mr. Ouppsurron. Sir ! Pau. Especially when a man’s benevolent to his poor rela- tions. Now, sir, perhaps you allow something out of your five-and-six-pence a-day, to your mother or maiden sister. Be- tiveen you and me, I must tell you what I have learnt here. Mr. O_psurron. Between you and me, sir, I must tell you what I have learnt in India. Pauv. What, lave you been in India? Wouldn’t intrude an observation for the world; but I thought you hada yel- lowish look; something of an orange-peeling countenance. You've been in India? Although Pm a single man, [ wouldn’t ask an improper question; but is it true that the blacks employ no tailors nor milliners? If not, what do they do to keep off the flies ? 4 Mr. Oupsurron. That is what I was about to inform you; they carry canes. Now, sir, five minutes’ conversation with you has fully convinced me that there are flies in England as well as in India; and that a man may be as impertinently inquisitive at Dover, as at Bengal. All I have to add is—I carry a cane. Pau. In such a case, I’m the last to intrude. [ve only one question to ask—Is your name Thomas? whether you have a wife? how old she is? and where you were married ? Mr. Oupsurron. Well, sir, aman may sometimes play with a puppy as well as kick him; and, if it will afford you any satisfaction, learn, my name is Thomas. Paun. Oh! poor Mr. Cinnamon! This is going to India! Mr. T., I’m afraid you'll find that somebody here has intruded in your place—for between you and me—(Olg@bution surveys hain contemptuously, and while Paul is talking, Oldbutton stalka THE CHARMS. 69 of. Paul, on looking round.) Well, it isn’t that I interfere much in people’s concerns ; if I did, how unhappy I could make that man This Freemason’s sign puzzles me; they wouldn't make me a member; but I have slept six nights in the next room to them; and, thanks tomy gimlet, I know the business. There was Mr. Smith, who was only in the Gazette last week, taking his brandy and water; he can’t afford that, I know. Then there was Mr. Hodgkins, who makes his poor wife and children live upon baked potatoes six days out of the week, (for I know the shop where they are cooked) calling, like a lord, for a Welch rarebit; I only wish his ereditors could see him; but I don’t trouble my head with these matters; if I did—eh! Why, there is one of the young Joneses going again to Mr. Notick, the pawnbroker’s; that’s the third time this week; well, I’ve just time enough to run to Notick’s, and see what he’s brought, before I go to inquire at the post-office who in the town has letters. ‘ (Haxit.) THE CHARMS. A PARLOR DRAMA IN TWO ACTS. CHARACTERS : DAME GOODMAN, @ wise woman ; Joun GiEs, an old farm er; Mistress Atice THorrs, wife of the squire; Puasn, a young peasant, lately married. Scune. The outside of Dame Goodman's cottage in the village of Thorge Combe. Tm. The latter part of the eighteenth century. ASOT, (Znter John Giles and Phabe from opposite sides of the stage.) Joun Gites. A good-day to you, pretty Phebe! What brings you in this direction, if a body may ask? Puar. I might answer your question by another, if I wished 40 be pert, Gaffer Giles. Joun Girus. Oh! °Tis easy for young people to talk; but 4 3 70 BEADLE’8 DIME DIALOGUES, a truth’s a truth, and ’tis truth that an old man like me, that the cares of the world has pressed heavily on for many a long day, may have difficulties and drawbacks that ’ud, maybe, make hiin glad of a little assistance from a wise woman like Dame Goodman—hem! But as for you, Phebe, that’s only twenty years old come Martinmas, and married this. very blessed year to. a husband of your own choosing— Paap. Nonsense, Gaffer Giles! we ail have our troubles; and, for certain sure, you didn’t live to be Sita years old to have me teach you that ! Joun Gries. You're about right there, lass. But still you may hearken to a word from an old man, that knew all your kith and kin fifty years and more before you were born. A word in your ear. (Draws near her, and speaks in a low tone.) Whatever av old man like me may do, I don’t rightly like to see your father’s daughter going to take counsel from a witch. Puapr. You shouldn’t call her such a name, John Giles. ‘Tis well known to all the country round that Dame Goodman is no witch, but a wise woman, that understands the uses of herbs, and—and many other things, and from her own know- ledge can make charms to cure the ills of body and mind. JonN Gites. And what's that but a witch, Id like to know? Prass. Nay, Gaffer; you know «us well as I do that a witch only works by unlawful means. Now this honest dame is a real good woman. For the six months she’s been at Thorpe Combe we've seen her regular at church, and charita- ble, out of her scanty means, to the poor. And what's more, she never refuses her time or her trouble to the sick and the sorrowful. Ask yourself if such as she could be in league with them we shoulda't name. Mistrucs Anice (who has entered unperceived) You are a good girl, Pheebe; I am glad to hear you take the part of the absent. Puape (turning ro.nd ia confusion and curtseying). _Mad- am ‘Thorpe! I- beg pardon, ma’am; I didn’t see you coming. I was only saying— Joun Giums (making a low bow). My duty to you, madam, and to honor, the squire. I hope he’s well? Misrruss Auicn. Bravely, I thank you, my good friend. I ° THE CHARMS. 7 suppose that you, like myself, have come hither to seck the advice of the ‘‘wise woman.” I trust that nothing of any moment has gone wrong with you or your young neighbor. But, indeed, her pale face tells its own story ; aud, now that 1 think of it, I have heard rumors about you, lately—rumors which, I must say, surprised me not a little. Joun Ginus. Ah, madam, people don’t consult a witch without a good cause. Misrruss Anice. This good woman is no witch, John Giles. x Do you think that, if she were, you would see me at her door? No; she is a true Christian—pious, humble, and charitable, and her experience and advice are at the service of all who re- quire them. (Enter Dame Goodman, from the house.) Dame Goopman. Good-day to you, my friends! Madam Thorpe, I take shame to myself that you should stand here awaiting me. Will it please you to enter my poor dwelling! ity Mistress Antcn. I beg of you, good dame, to take no troub le about me. TI like to breathe the sweet air of the morning among your roses and honeysuckles. Nevertheless, as these good folks may wish to huld converse with you on matters in- tended only for your private hearing, I will, with your per- mission, retire into the porch, where I may rest for a few mo- ments, while you attend to them. (Retires into the porch. F Dame Goodman is about to accompany her, but Mistress Alice a \ signs to her to remain.) Dame Goopman (to John Giles). And now, neighbor, what can I do to sarve you? Joun Gites. Iam come, good Dame, toask you for a charm. Dame Goopman. A charm, my good friend! what 2an make you think that I possess a charm? Joun Giius. I hear from many in the village that you know of a sovereign remedy against-— Dame GoopMan. Against what ? Joun Gres. Against drink, then, if you must have it. Not that I was evera drunkard. JI never, until lately, went beyond a can of ale in the day, and no one could ever say that John Giles disgraced his name ; but you see that of late, feeling my- ; self weaker, as was only nat’ral like in a man of my years— ; eighty-one on Midsumer-eve of all days in the year—I 92 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES, began to take alittle thimbleful of spirits—gin or brandy, asthe case might be-—anud soon, not finding that enough, I came to taking a glass full; and now— Dame GoopMan. Now, I suppose, you take two glasses full? Joun Gites. Just so. The goblet, at home, that my grand- son brought me from Lunnun, holds just two glasses; and I must have that full every day. They tell me that I show for i of an odd time, and that ’'m getting a bad name through it ip the village; and you see, Dame, it’s not worth while for 3 man of my age to lose his good character at the very last If you'd give me the charm—leastways, if that ‘ud do—but then, you see, I must have the goblet full every day. Dame GoopMan. And so you shall. If you use my charm, you may take as much brandy as the goblet will hold. Joun Gries. Come, that'll make all square ! DaME GoopMAN. The charm will, in a short time, do away with the injurious effect of the spirit, and is quite simple. . (Goes into the house, and returns ina moment with a small leath- er bag.) See, I am going to give you this little bag of round white pebbles; and you must promise me to drop one every day into your goblet, and to take care that the pebble, once dropped in, is never removed from it. Will you make me this promise ? Joun Gites That’s easy enough! You may depend on me, Dame. Dame GoopMAN. You will return ina month, and tell me if my prescription*has been of service to you. I shall be anx- ious to hear. Joun Gites. That I will! Witch or no witch, I like your advice, and I’ll be sure to follow it. Dame GoopmMan. And now, Phcebe, what has gone wrong with you? ; Puarse. Ah, good mother! I’m afraid you won’t find it 80 easy to help me. ’Tisn’t for myself, but for another, that J seek a charm. Dame GoopMan. Well, let me hear all about it. Puasy. You know that it isn’t quite a year since I mar- ried Will Davis. Well, at first he was as kind as kind could be, and we were as happy as the days were long; but by and by he changed—his real temper showed itself, and now he » | 2% 7) = 4 5 t . ptf — THE CHARME. | 73 does nothing but scold and jar at me from morning till night. My life is miserable with him ! Dame GoopMAN. Yours is a commoner case than you fan- cy, my dear child; but we must see if any thing can be done for yo. Does your husband drink ? is he a miser? or yet a spendthrift ? ; Puasn. No, Dame; there couldn't be a more honest or a better man, except for his temper. Defend us! If you saw him knocking about, and breaking every thing in the house when the passion gets the better of him, and twice he beat me toa mummy. (Cries) Pm sure he'll kill me some day ! Damp GoopMan. Does this fit of passion come on him sud- denly ? , Pumps. No. He begins by getting vexed about some trifle, He says a hasty word—I answer hini—and then it goes on from bad to ‘worse. . Dame Goopman. I see it all now! Well, I will give you something to cure your husband’s temper. Puopy. There’s no use in it. He won’t take it, ’m sure. Dame GoopMman. We'll not ask him. You shall use the charm, and you will see its effect on hem. Prase. How strange ! Dame GoopMAN. Strange, but yet true. (Goes into the house, as before, and returns with a long-necked bottle.) Tere is a flask of charmed liquor. Whenever your husband begins to lose his temper, you must take a little of this in your mouth; but it will lose its virtue, if you swallow it until all appearance of ill-humor has vanished. You must continue this for a month, and at the end of that time come back and tell me if things are any better. Puase. It seems strange to me, but I will try it, and if the charm succeeds, I will bless you forever. : (Reénter Mistress Alice, from the porch.) Mistress Antce. And now, my good Dame, it is my turn. Iam come to ask your advice, for unless you can do some- thing for me, I see nothing but ruin before me. My lius- band’s income ought to be sufficient to meet the demands of our family, and still from day to day we are falling into new difficulties, Our expenditure has increased in an unaccounta- ble manner, and yet I am not extravagant. It seems to me 94 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. that I incur no unnecessary expense, and yet I know families who live comfortably and respectably on half our income, while ruin stares us in the face. Can you, my good tiend, give me any advice in such a difficulty ? Dame GoopMan. I have met with similar cases, madam ; and while I pity you from my heart, I still bid you hope that you may yet see a way out of your difficulties. It may be necessary for you to reduce your establishment, but we will first try an easier and simpler method. I will lend you a casket which I have known to be useful in circumstances simi- lar to yours. If you obey my directions, you will find it a blessing to yourself and your family. (Hvit, and presently re- turns with the casket.) I only require a promise from you that you will, every day, between sunrise and sunset, carry it into all the rooms of your house, so that it may rest for five min utes in each apartment, from the highest garret to the darkest cellar. Will you promise me this ? Mistress Aticy. I can not see the use of it, but as I feel sure that you mean well by me, I will obey you implicitly. In one month I will return; so, for the present, fare you well! (Heit Mistress Alice.) (Dame Goodman retires into the house.) ACT II. (Dame Goodman sitting at the door, a distaff in her hand. Sings while spinning.) inter Phebe. Puase. Good-day to you, good mother! You see I didn’t forget my appointment, and ’m come to thank you from my heart. Dame Goopman. (rising). I rejoice to hear you say so, my child; I need scarcely ask if my prescription has heen of service. ; Prape. Oh, the greatest, Dame! You wouldn’t know vs to be the same people. Will’s temper is so much improved, that we rarcly ever have a word, now; and if he does begin to ‘ get a little cross, I have only to run to the bottle, and it is all right ir a minute. Dame GoopMan. (smiling) Iexpected no less. It is a rem: edy that I have never known to fail. THE CHARMS. %6 Puan. But, dear Dame Goodman, the bottle is just empty —surely you will give me a little more of it. But that I know you never take money, I would offer to buy it from you ; but at least I may coaw you to fill the bottle once more. Dame GoopMAn. That I can easily do for you—but no, you are younger and more active. The well is in the field, there, under the hawthorn tree (points). Go and fill the flask your- self. : Puase (looking round in amazement). What well? Where is it, Dame? DaME GoopMAN. The well at which you draw water every day of your life, child. The flask was filled with common water of that well, and I solemnly assure you that neither drug nor charm had any thing to do with it. Puan. Now, Dame, you are laughing at me! Damm Goopman. If I am, it is at your simplicity. Don’t you understand that the water in your mouth prevented you from answering your husband when he was vexed? His anger, instead of being fanned into a flame by your retorts, had time to cool. There must always be two parties to a quarrel. Pras. Yes, and sometimes three and even four; for when I complained, my mother or my aunt often came to take my part, and then you may fancy what uproar we had in the house. Dame Goopman. And now that peace is restored, you see that it, rests with yourself, to prevent future disagreements. The sovereign charm is silence. (Hnter John Giles.) Good- morning, neighbor Giles! I need not ask you how you are, for you seem to me to be growing young again. Joun Gites. Young and gay, young and gay, I say, Dame Goodman! And if I am, it’s thanks to you and to your good advice. But don’t think you’ve made a fool of me,Dame. I soon found out what sort of charm was in your bag of pebbles TI didn’t live to be eighty-one, as I told you last midsummer ‘ave, without learning that the more stones was in a glass, the jess brandy it would hold. Ah, Dame, you won’t catch an old Lird with chaff. Dame GoopMAN. But did you not use the charm ? Joun Gries. I promised you that I would, and John Giles never yet broke his word. I did use them all to the very last, and I’ve brought myself, through their means, to do with one » BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. teaspoonful of spirit in the day. ‘’Tisn’t worth my while to stop at that, so from this time forth I mean not to touch it at all. I feel so much better since I used the charm, that I know will agree with me to do without it altogether. But why didn’t you tell me plainly to lessen the quantity every day, in+ stead of giving me a bag of pebbles as if I was a child ? Dams GoopMaN. You wouldn’t have taken my advice, Gaf- fer Giles Joun Gitus. Well, maybe not; I suppose you're right. However, ’tis all for the best, and I’ll keep my word now. Puase. Here’s Madam Thorpe. Ill be wishing you a good-day, Dame. Jonn Gites. And TI too. I suppose she’ll have something for your private ear. Good-day to you, Dame! (Haeunt John Giles and Phebe on one side of the stage. Enter Mistress Alice on the other.) Dame GoopMan. You are welcome, Madam Thorpe! I gee you have brought me back the casket. Misrruss Anice. Yes, Dame, I have brought it back to you with many thanks; but I am going to ask you to lend it to me again for a little while. Dame GoopMan. I suppose, then, you found it useful ? Misrress Anicu. Oh, most useful! It has enabled me te remodel my entire household, In every corner of the estab- lishment I found robbery, discord, and waste. In the cellar were wine and ale turning sour in the casks, while the butler never found time to bottle them. In the larder I saw provi- sions lying waste, or heaped in baskets for the pigs and fowls. which, with proper management, would have lasted the family for two or three days, In the kitchen the cook and housemaid were entertaining their friends while the business of the house was left undone; and in the press, clothes and house-linen were going to. ruin, because no one would put a stitch or a patel where they were needed. I should never haye done if I wer to tell you of all the misconduct which I haye discovered by means of this precious casket; but of this, much already har been remedied. I have dismissed incorrigible offenders, but these were the lesser number. Most of the people in my em ployment had fallen into bad habits through being left to them selves, and these I haye now set myself steadily to correct, BEE, CLOCK AND BROOM.. vy The result {s a diminution of at least one-third of my household expenses, and { hope, if you will be good enough to leave me the casket for another month or two, to have every thing in such good order that I need have no fears for the future. It must contain some very valuable charm, else it could not have worked such wonders. ee oe Dame GoopMaAN. The only charm was the necessity it im- posed on you of paying a daily visit to every corner of your douse. If you persevere in this vigilance you will have no further need of the casket. (Unlocks it, and takes out a slip of yuichment.) It only contains this slip of parchment, on which ‘you will find a motto, which all heads of families would do well to bear constantly in mind: “A watchful eye keeps all things straight. Riches are the stones of which a dwelling is constructed ; but care and vigilance are the cement, without which they would fall to the ground.” (Curtain falls.) BEE, CLOCK AND BROOM. FOR THREE LITTLE GIRL. Bre. Look at me! look at me! I'm that very ‘ busy bee’ Whom Dr. Watts did so approve; Constantly [mm on the move. Gathering honey, making wax, All my energies doth tax. If little girls would only try As industriously as I To lay up sweets for future daysy They'd get wisdom, and get praise, Who works as Bee, the Busy, does? Buz-a-buz! Buz-a-buz! Leok at me! look at me! Tm the type of Industry ! BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES, CLocK. Type of Industry, indeed | All winter long you sleep and feed; Even in summer’s dulcet hours You lie, all night, in rocking flowers ZJ’m the worker !— night and day, Without food or drink or pay, Through the sunshine and the s*orm, Winter cold, and summer warm, At the midnight’s stillest time, And the morning’s earliest chime, My hands are ever busy found— Days and years, a ceaseless round,— While you lie dreaming on your back, Tick-a-tack! tick-a-tack ! Self-loving Bee, in me you see A striking type of Industry. Broom. It gives one’s ears a neryous shock To hear that prating, dull, old clock, ‘Who hasn’t stirred a foot for years, Put on such egotistic airs. Who has such hard times as the Broom? On the jump from room to room. As Up and down, and o’er and o’er Every inch of wall and floor. “I scarcely in the corner go To rest myself an hour or so, When some one drags me out again To brush the crumbs or beat the men / Who ‘kicks up such a dust’ as I? And would you know the reason why ? Pm woman's weapon, and her friend, Ready a helping hand to lend. So many calls are made on me, I'm quite worn out, as you may see, Sweep-a-swop ! sweep-a-swop ! I always go upon the hop. Pd THE RIGHT WAY. 38 Stand-still clock and boasting Bee, I'm the type of Industry. f BEE. Hum! hum! did you ever? hum! To what a pass the world has come! Thiugs must be waxing worse, when bees Are flouted by such things as these ! CLOCK. Tick-a-tack! I'll tell fhe town The Broom has tried to run me down. Such sweeping statements come with grace From that old stick—and to my face / Broom. Oh! oh! I may be an old stick, But then, J never go on tick ; So, just wind up/ your sentiments Can have no weight with men of sense. All know you for a hard old case— BExz. Hum! hum! I'd better leave this place. That Broom throws dust in people’s eyes ; The Clock’s a vain, pretentious thing. Good-by, my friends, Pm on the wing ; Birds and blossoms welcome me, Type of Joy and Industry. This happy tittle conception is from the pen of Mrs. Victor. It neede 20 special BisHntioris as to dress, but, if the teacher or scholars would like to produce any thing particularly novel, they can exercise their ingenuity ia devising dresses and insignia suitable to each character. Where this ig happily conceived, it can not fail of adding much to the good effect of the p'oce. BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUEA THE RIGHT. WAY. FOR TWO BOYS. ALBERTUS. (Walking to front of stage.) I am tired of this village life. Every thing is so coarse and stupid. The boys talk eternally of horses, and the girls of cows. I do wish father had not sent. me here. I want, to see the city 1gain— its fine sights, its big crowds, its great stores. Heigho! when will father come? (Enter Patrick, an Irish lad, raggedly clad.) Patrick. It’s the top 0’ the afternoon ter ye, masther Cit An’ whin de yees ixpict to be afther Pavin’, AIBERTUS. Just as soon as I can get away. Parrick. An’ will ye takes me along fur a companion ? ALBERTUS. Take you along, you ragamuffin! What in cre- ation would I do with you? Parrick. (Straightening himself up.) Make a gintleman ov me, to be sure! ALBERTUS, Ha-ha-ha! Now, that’s good! I've heard of making whistles of pigs’ tails, but never of making a gentle- map out of a Paddy. Parrick. Be me picther, but yees got to arn many things yit. Many’s the great mon what comes from the rags or the cabins. An’ do ye know where yer own daddy sprung from ? Tl bet a raal cint that ef the trail. be followed back, you’d run into the mud hovel of some Dutchman’s garden—yer name shows that. Aupertus. (Drawing himself up proudly, and looking con temptuously on the Irish lad.) My progenitors were noble men— the name of De Haas is above all smell of the soil. PatTRIcK. (With moon dignity.) An’ the name of Mulloney ia very noble, an’ smells ov the Emerald Isle—the jewel ov the ocean. . ArsrrtTos. And are you really proud of your paternity ? I didn’t know such chaps as you had any pride of birth any more than the pigs. Parrick. Now, masther Cit, don’t be afther sayin’ that ag’in, fur it might excite me Limerick blood, an’ a fight, ye must know, is niver amiss in a good cause. JI love me ould ccunthry THE KIGHT WAY. 81 wid a love like as if it was me nurse. It is there me mother and me baby sister died—died of starvation; and over their graves I cursed the men who made our swate land a land ov mourning. Sorry’s the day whin an Irish lad shall say his counthry is not dear to him. ( Wipes. his eyes with the sleeve of his coat, as if crying.) ALBERTUS. Really, Pat, you give me a new idea of human “nature. I believe you poor people have some feelings just like us rich folks. Parrick. Go to the poor an’ downtrodden fur raal feelings. What do you know ov life as it is—the life ov hard struggle, ov suffering, ov wrong, ov insult, ov disgrace that comes like a wolf to the poor man’s door? What do you know ov the tinder ties which bind the poor togither, an’ make even fellow- ship in poverty swate? Nothing! You are a pampered son of a rich father, who has got some sinse, or he niver would have sent you out here to Parn the ways.of workin’ people. AxBertus, I wish he would take me away again. I don’t like this life, nor these people who work all the time, nor this talk of horses and cows and crops and the weather. Parrick, So I supposed. An’ I say I'd like to go to the city wid you—not to play the gintleman, however, but to ‘arn more money than I can ’arn-here, for, ye see, ’m afther sindin’ over to the ould counthry for me darlint sisther Bridget, an’ would like to be in NewYork whin she comes. Now, do take me along wid ye, and I'll be a good servant, attendin’ on ye like a mon. But, be me sowl, Pll not go wid ye to hear any thing insultin’ to. me counthry or me poor. people. AuBuRtus. Well, I really like you, Pat. You've once or twice stood by me against the village boys; and I do. believe you have taught mea respect for the poor that, I am. sure, 1 never felt. If father will consent, you shall go with me, and I shall be happy to assist you in your commendable purpose to send for your sister. Patrick. (Jumping up, and clapping hts heels. togeth..) Whoop! Now I’m in luck, sure. Give us yer hand on, it, an’ may good come to ye for the liftin’ oy the load off me oeart. Whoop! I’m off to get me clothes ready for a start. (Hzit.) AiseRtus Truly a little thing makes some people happy 88 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. But, is it a little thing to him? Ah, now I begin to see how much good I might do—how many I might render happy if I did but use what fortune has given me. I feel happier, my- self, because Pat is happy. Would not my visit here be of some use if I could render others the gladder for my coming ? Tll see, and, mayhap, will yet learn the right use to make of my mvans and time. (Retires.) WHAT THE LEDGER SAYS. FOR TWO MALES, [This most ridiculcus colloquy we give for variety. We do not ap. prove the introduction of the “ fictitious negro” upon the school-stage, though we concede the fact that a good “ burlesque in black” is a very laughable affair. If two real negro boys could render the piece, it would be quite acceptable. As a piece of satire it is a capital thing.] (Enter the two, talking.) SamurL Jounson. Mr. Wite, does you eber dispill de ex- bresshun ob spirits w’en you’s laborin’ under lusination of car- nivorous detractions wid literary pussoots ? Brupper Wirr. Wha’—wha’—wha’ dat ? SaMUEL JOHNSON. Do you eber, Mr. Wite, read de maga- zines, de newspapers, and dem like scarificators of de mental- lects? Jist you gib fo’ cents for de Ledger. I's been a-read- in’ sich a putty story in da’. Sich a story. It wag jist de most interestinest dat eber was, and dat’s a fac’ doe gone for sartain. Brupper Wire. Bound tohyar dat story. Jist am. SamvueL Jonnson. Nuf to make a feller trimmle all ober, Dem stories are allers so harrerin’. Lo’ bless you, honey, dey cluws you and scar’s you like a cat does de mice, dat's a fac’, dist Uink of a feller’s bein’ in a battle, killin’ all de enemy wid de hannle of an ole broom, catchin’ up de bloody willin ob a Fitz Clarum de Snortolio, an’ flinging him up more’n eleben miles. Brupprr Wits. Jis’-—jis-—jis’ you shut up. Yah! yab Who you s’pose gwine to b’lieve— WHAT THE LEDGER SAYS8. 88 Samugn Jonnson. Dat’s wot de Ledger says, anyhow. Well den, arter killin’ de willin, de feller tuck one tremendnous leap arter de flying foe from de atmusfear, p’intin’ his r;etils at de ‘treatin’ enemy, w’en de flints strike fiah in his ’volver, blow- in’ up de percussion -caps— Brupper Wits. Wa-w’at dat? How could a’volver pistil hab flints an’ percussion-eaps, too? SamugL Jounson. Anyhow, dat’s wat de Ledger says Well den, de feller got, participated in de briny deep. Broupprer Wire. W’y don’t you say de ocean ? SamugEL Jonson. Kase he didn’t fall into de oceah. ’Twaa into de briny deep. Anyhow, dat’s w’at de Ledger says. Well, den, arter dat de sun cums into his eyes, xn’ he git bland an’ swim for fo’teen thousand miles— Bropper Wirs. Oh, shaw. You git out. Who—who's a-gwine to swaller dat? Blind man swim fo’teen thousand miles. Yah! yah! yah! Guess dat’s a fish siory. Samve. Jounson. (netiled). Dat’s wot de Ledger says, any- how. Well den, de chap cums to a dessert island wha’ dar’ wasn’t nuffin’ to eat, un’ nobody to tauk to ob any conse- quense, un’ no s’iety wuf mentionin’, un’ dar’ he libs for fo’teen years, BruppeR Wire. See hyar. Just tell ushow dat man live] for fo’teen years wid nuffin’ to eat. SamuEL Jounson. Dat’s wot de Ledger says, anyhow. Well (len, de man’s true lub whot he hadn’t seen for nineteen years— BruppER Wirt. Now—now, how you gwan to tell me any gal ‘mained true for nineteen years, an’ she neber see’d no mau in de whole time ? Samus Jounson. Well, dat’s wot de Ledger says; ani de chap he started one mornin’ fur to swim after a wessil, kasa he see’d hes sweeth’art abo’d up in de riggin’, You see she'd gon’ to sea, dispised as a sailor. Broupper Wire. ’Sguised, you mean. SamueL Jonnson. Yes, yes—skized; dat’s wot de Ledger says. An’ only tink, it shows jis’ wot true love kin do, an’ ain’t it wond’ful now, an’ dat’s jis’ a fac’—dat gal iis’ went an’ dressed hissilf up in sailor clothes, an’ dere wasn’t won sol¢ abo’rd—ner de captain neither, didn’t know she was a gal She look splen-did—she did, asa woman man. 84 BEADLES DIME DIALOGUES. BRuDDER Wit. How de worl’ den. did dat chap dar’, way off-on de deseret islan’, kno’ she war’ « she, hey ? SAMUEL JOHNSON. Well, dat’s wot de Ledger says. An’ de chap he jumps into de sea to swim to de wessel, but jis’ den dere sprung up a tremendjus gale, an washed him off eber so far, till he cumis to de foot ob a fortyfiedication; an’ kase it, was arter dark, an’ de front do’ was shut, he jist clim’ed up to one ob de cannins, an’ crep into de mouf ob de caunin, an’ lay down an’ went to sleep. Bruppik Wits. Now stop dar’. I should jis’ like to hab you cxpressify to me how a man’s gwan to git into de mouf ob de cannin! ‘You's inconsistent, sab ! SamugnL Jonnson. Well, dat’s wot de Ledger says; an’ wile he was asleep, dere cum on a war in de night tween de two countries, an’ de cannizis were all fiahed off. Bropver Wire. Wot!! Wid de manin ’em? SamveL Jounson: Dat’s wot de Ledger says. An’ he got shooted back into de werry dientical island ag’in. Well, durin’ de night de ship had got racked, an’ eberybody got drownded ‘cept de gal, an’ she swum asho’, and cum to where de feller lay soun’ asleep. Broupprer Wire. Now you mean to say dat dat feller hadn’t got waked up when he was fired from de cannin, an’ fell on de islan’ ? SamvuEL Jounson. Dat’s wot de Ledger says—neber wok- ed up at all; an’ de gal she see’d her lubber, an’ grate big tears cum in her eyes, un’ she creeped up eber so sof’ly, an’ layed down. by his side, an’ jis’ put her putty w’ite arms roun’ his neck, an’ was jis’ goin’ to kiss him, w’en all at wunst— Brupprer Wire. Well, go on, go on! SamMvuEL Jonnson. Dar’ itsays, “To be continyed”—dat’s wot de Ledger says. Brupper Wire. Now, jis’ look heah; dat’s wot I calls a sell. What's your prepinion ? Samus Jounson. Wal, dat’s de most wot I can’t cay. Tl jis’ wait for de nex’ week, w’en, if you'll come aroun’ to de shanty, Pll hab anoder chapter ob wot de Ledger says. (Hatt both.) THE CRIMES OF DRESS. THE CRIMES OF DRESS.* FOR TWO BOYS. (Enter, from opposite sides of the stage, George and Richard. George very “ flashily” dressed, sporting a cane, with cigar te- tween his fingers, ete. ; Richard plainly clad, as if poor.) Gronres. How are you, Dick? Why, what's the matter, boy ? Whose sins are you lamenting now ? Ricwarp. Yours, George. I can not but tremble for you, when I consider what must be the inevitable consequence of your present line of conduct. Gro. Pshaw, Dick! Now don’t, my good fellow, distress yourself on my account; for I am determined to enjoy life, and I should be sorry to have my enjoyment the source of pain to an old friend. Ricw. What do you mean by enjoyment ? Go. Enjoyment! Why, plenty of all the good things of this world, and a comfortable sit down, now and then, with one’s friends. Ricw. But, do you not recollect that your resources are by no means equal to your dress and other extraordinary ex- penses ? / Gro. We bloods look to our dress for resources, and not to our resources for dress, as you do. Ricw. Can you do this honestly ? Gro. Hon-est-ly! (Drawling it out.) We have no such word in our vocabulary. Rica. So it would seem, But, tell me, how do you con- trive to keep up such an appearance of wealth and fashion, when I can barely subsist? What is the chief requisite ? imo. Assurance, my dear. Lay in a good stock of assur- ance, and you have a mine at your disposal. Ricu. But will assurance clothe me ? Gro. Yes, and feed you, too. Hark ye, Dick. If your clothes are worn out, or unfashionable, go to a tailor, an 1 order a suit of the best cloth, to be sent to your lodgings. Say nothing about the price, mind you—say nothing about that * From Prof. Fowle’s * Familiar Dialogues.” Sh BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. None but the vulgar, who intend to pay, ever say any thing about the price. Ricw. Well, but must not I pay for them ? Geo. Pay for them? No, man. When prick-louse calls for his money, order another suit. Try this expedient till he refuses to work for you; then swear at him for a troublesome puppy, and forbid him your house. Rice. Clothes, however, are not all I shall need. Guo. That’s true, Dick. But they will procure every thing else. What's a man without clothes? A smooth shilling, that hardly passes for what it really weighs, while every body gives currency to one fresh from the mint. Clothes, Dick, are a sine qua non with us bloods. Rion. How so? Everybody appears to laugh at your fashionable trim, and to wonder how you dare appear so ridi- culous. Go. Yes; and yet the same people do us homage. No door is closed against a fine coat. Few tradesmen inquire how we came by it ;—and where is the lady who does not prefer it to an old, unfashionable one, let who will be in it? Ric. But still I should appear awkward in company. Gro. Not if you have assurance. An impudent fellow may do a thousand awkward things, that would ruin a modest man. Nay, Dick, we sometimes have our blunders imitated. You recollect the story of Lord Spencer, who, losing the skirts of bis coat accidentally, had assurance enough to wear what was left on his shoulders, and obtained the honor of introducing the garment which bears his name. Rica. He was more successful than the fox we read of in the fable, who, having lost his tail, wished to persuade his brethren of the inutility of that appendage. Gro. He was ashamed of his loss, Dick. Depend upon it, .that fox wanted assurance. But, my principles are gaining ground fast; or how else can you account for the fact ‘that men of threescore are turning fops, and most of the rising generation attend to nothing but dress. Time was when the cloak and surtout were the peculiar garb of manhood. Now no boy is without them. Ryom. You might add, that drinking and tobacco, gaming THE CRIMES OF DRESS. — oF and debt, were once the vices of men; but now every fash- icnable urchin can drink his bottle, smoke his cigar, and bet like a gamester. Of debts, I have nothing to add ‘to the description you have just given me. Gro. You have omitted one accomplishment, ‘however. The lad of fashion must swear a little. Nothing will show one’s consequence like a volley of oaths, now and then. But dress is the remote cause of all this. I am sorry to own it, but you seldora see a man of sense who isa fop. When you dress a culf’s head, you must always take out the brains. Rica. But Low do all these consequences. proceed from dress ? ; Guo. I will tell you, since I have begun to reveal our se- crets. Time was, Dick, when modesty was considered an accomplishment in children, and deference to their superiors a duty. But now, almost as soon as they can walk, children are expected to get rid of their modesty, and learn to disre- gard the presence of their elders ind superiors. Ricu. How does this affect their dress? Gro. The competition commences at school; and then, ag the tuition will all be lost without practice, and there is some fear of the lad’s relapsing isto his fo...er modesty, he must be introduced into company, ard frequent balls and assem- blies, where dress is indispensable. And uss with a genteel coat, and a thorough knowledge of the ea + ‘y of his heels, he meets with a better reception than rea: worth dees in a plain garb, it is no wonder that so many of sur young men decorate their persons, instead of adorning .3«ir minds, and parade at the corners of our streets, instead 1 «tending to their business or studies. ; Ricu. But is not all this an argument against dress ? Gro Yes, Dick; but what has argument to do with fashion? You might as well talk of reason to the idiot, who is not a subject of it. Ricu. Do you ever consider what the end of all this souy must necessarily be? Go, O,no! Futurity is another word we have othing to do with. But I have made my confessions, and have no idea of hearing a lecture upon them. So, good-by to you 88 BEADLE’8 DIME DIALOGUES. The first. glass I drink, shall be to your health and reforma- tion. Ricw. You had better continue thirsty, and promote your own. I thank: you, however, for the hints you have given me; and, I trust, in future, I shall remain contented with my obscurity, and no longer envy those whose exterior is their Only recommendation. REWARD OF BENEVOLENCE.*—Colman. CHARACTERS: Job Thornberry, John Bur, Peregrine. Bur. Don’t take on so—don’t you now! Pray listen to reason, Jos. I won't. Bur. Pray do. Jos. I won’t. Reason bid me love my child and help my. friend; what’s the consequence? My friend has run one way. and broke up my trade; my daughter has run another; and broke my: no, she shall never have it to say, she broke my heart. If I hang myself for grief, she shan’t know she made me. Bur. Well, but master— Jos. And reason told me to take you into my shop when the fat. churchwarden starved you, at the workhouse—hang their want of feeling for it!—and you were thumped about, a poor, unoffending, ragged boy, as you were—I wonder you hayen’t run away from me, too. Bur. That’s the first real unkind word you ever said to me. ITve sprinkled your shop two-and-twenty years, and never missed a morning. Joz. The bailiffs are below, clearing the goods ;—you wun’t have the trouble any longer. Bur. Trouble! look ye, old Job Thornberry— Jos, Well! Are you going. to be saucy to me, now ’m ruined ? * This episode, from one of Colman’s excellent dramas, we introduce to give the exhibition one piece demanding the best qualities of acdihg. Itis et piece for study, and will take well with an audience if properly pro uced. REWARD OF BENEVOLENCE. Bur. Don’t say one cutting thing after another. You have been as noted all around cur town, for being a kind man as a blunt one Jos. Bluut or sharp, Pye been honest. Let them look at my ledger——they’ll find it right. I began upon a little: I made that little great by industry; I never cringed at a cus- tomer, to get him into my books, that I might hamper him with an overcharged bill for long credit; I earned my fair profits; I paid my. fair way; I break by the. treachery of a friend. Bur. I don’t want to brag, but I hope I’ve been found faithful. It’s rather hard to. tell poor John Bur, the work- house boy, after clothing, feeding, and making him your man of trust for two-and-twenty years, that you wonder he don’t run away from you, now you're in trouble, Jos. (Affected.), John—(Stretching out his hand)—I beg your pardon. Bur. Pray, now, master, don’t say any more! Come, bea aman! get on your things, and face the bailiffs that are rum- maging the goods. Come, here’s your coat and waistcoat. This is the waistcoat young mistress worked, with her own hands, for your birthday, five years ago. Come, get into it as quick as you can. Jos. (Throwing it on the floor violently.) Td as lieve get into my coffin. She’ll have me there soon. Pshaw! rot it! I'm going to snivel. Bur, go and get me another. Bur. Are you sure you won’t put it on? Jos. No, I won't. No, I tell you. (Hvit Bur.) How proad I was of that waistcoat, five years ago! I little thought what would happen now, when I sat in it, at the top.of my table with all my neighbors, to celebrate the day ; there was Collop on one side of me, and hig wife on the other; and my daughter Mary sat at the further end, smiling so sweetly, like an artful good-for-nothing. I shouldn’t like to throw away a waistcoat neither. I may,as well put it on, Yes, it would be poor spite not to put it on, (putting his arms into it.) She's breaking my heart; but I'll wear it. I'll wear it; Quttoning tt as he speaks, and erying involuntarily ;) its my. child’s— shé’s undutiful, ungrateful, barbarous—but she’s my child, and she'll never work me another. BHADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES. (Reénter Bur.) Bur. Here’s another waistcoat ; but it has laid by so iong T think it’s damp. Jos. I was thinking so myself, Bur, and so— Bur. Eh-—what, you've got on the old one! Well, now I declare, ?m glad of that. Here’s your coat. (Putting it on him.) This waistcoat feels a little damp about the bosom. Jox. (Confused.) Never mind, Bur, never mind—a littie water has dropped on it; but it won’t give me a cold, I be- lieve. (A noise of voices in altercation without.) Bor. Heigh! they are playing up old Harry below! Tl run and see what's the matter. Make haste after me, do, now! (Hatt Bur.) Jos. I don’t care for bankruptcy now. I can face my creditors like an honest man; and I can crawl to my grave afterward, as poor as a church mouse. What does it signify ? Job Thornberry has no reason now to wish himself worth a groat; the old ironmonger and brazier has nobody to hoard his money for now! JI was only saving for my daughter ; and she has run away from her doating, foolish father, and struck down my heart—flat—fiat. (Enter Peregrine.) Jos. Well, who are you? Pere. A friend. Jos. Then I’m sorry to see you. I have just been ruined by a friend, and never wish to have another friend again, as long as I live. No, nor any ungrateful, undutiful—poh ! T don’t recollect yoar face. Peru. Clima‘e und years have been at work on’it. While Europeans are scorching under an Indian sun, time is doubly busy in fanning their features with his wings. But, do you remember no traces of me ? Jos. No, 1 tell you. If you have any thing to say, say it. I have somethiny to settle below with my daughter—I mean with the people in the shop; they are impatient; and the morning has half run away, before she knew I shculd be up —I mean before I had time to get on my coat and waistcoat she gave me-—I mean-—I mean, if you have any business, tel) it at once. REWARD OF BENEVOLENCR. 91 Pere. I will tell it at once. You seem agitated. The harpies whom I passed in your shop, informed me of your sadden mis ir yet. Jos. Ay, I’m going to be a bankrupt—-but that don’t sig- nify. Go on: it isn’t that: theyll find all fair—but go on. Pere. I will. "Tis just thirty years ago since I left Eng sand, Jos. That’s a little after the time I set up in the hardware business. Pere. About that time a lad of fifteen years entered your shop; he had the appearance of a gentleman’s son, and told you he had heard by accident, as he was wandering through the streets of Penzance, some of your neighbors speak of Job ™hornberry’s goodness to persons in distress. Jos. I believe he told a lie there. Pere. Not in that instance, though he did in another. Jos. I remember him; he was a bluff boy. Pere. He had lost his parents, he said; and, destitute of friends, money, and food, was making his way to the next port, to offer himself to any vessel that would take him on board, that he might work his way abroad, and seek a liveli hood. Jos, Yes, yes, he did. I remember. Pere. You may remember, too, when the boy had finished his tale of distress, you put ten guineas in his hand. They were the first earnings of your trade, you told him, and could not be laid out to better advantage than inrelieving a helpless orphan; and, giving him a letter of recommendation to a sea- captain at Falmouth, you wished him good spirits and pros- perity. He left you with a promise, that, if fortune ever smiled upon him, you should one day hear news of Peregrine. Jos. Ah! poor fellow! poor Peregrine! he was a pretty boy ; I should like to hear news of him, I own. Pere. I am that Peregrine. Jos. Eh! what—you are? No: let me look at you again. Are you the pretty boy that—hbless us, how you are altered ! Pere. I have endured many hardships since I saw you— many turns of fortune; but I deceived you, (it was the cunning of a truant lad,) when I told you I had lost my parenta but, do not des BEADLE’S DIME DIATOGUES. From a romantic folly, the growth of boyish brains, I had fixed my fancy on being a sailor, and had run away from my father. Jos. (With great emotion.) Run away from your father} If I had known that, I’d have horsewhipped you, within ar inch of your life! Perse. Had you known it, you had done right, perhaps. Jos. Right! Ah! you don’t know what it is for a child to run away from a father! Rot me, if I wouldn’t have sent you back to him, tied neck and heels, in the basket of the stage-coach. Perez. I have had my compunctions; have expressed them by letter to my father; but.I fear my penitence had no effect. dos. Served you right. Pere. Having no answers from him, he died, I fear, with- out forgiving me. Jos. (Starting.) What! died without forgiving his child! Come, that’s too much; I couldn’t -have done that neither. But go on: Ihope you’ve been prosperous. But you shouldn’t —you shouldn’t have quitted your father. Pere. I acknowledge it; yet, I have seen prosperity, though I traversed many countries on my outset, in pain and poverty. Chance, at length, raised me a friend in India, by whose in- terest, and my own industry, I amassed considerable wealth in the factory at Calcutta. Jos. And have just landed it, I suppose, in England. Pere. I landed one hundred pounds last night, in my purse, as I swam from the Indiaman, which was splitting on a rock, half a league from the neighboring shore. As for the rest of my property—bills, bonds, cash, jewels—the whole amount of my toil and application, are, by this time, I doubt not, gone to the bottom; and Peregrine is returned, after thirty years, to pay his debt to you, almost as poor as he left you. Jos. I won't touch a penny of your hundred pounds—-not a penny. Perez. I do not desire you. I only desire you to take you own. Jos. My own? | | } | | | } REWARD OF BENEVOLENCE. 83 Pure, Yes; I plunged with this box, last night, inte the waves. You see it has your name on it. Jos. “Job Thornberry” sure enough; and what’s in it? Pers. The harvest of a kind man’s charity—the produce of your bounty to one whom you thought an orphan. I haye traded these twenty years on ten guineas, (which fiom the first I had set apart as yours,) till they have become ten thousand; take it; I could not, I find, come more oppor- tunely. Your honest heart gratified itself in administering to my need, and I experience that burst of pleasure a grateful man enjoys, in relieving my reliever. (Giving him the bow.) Jos. (Squeezes Peregrine’s hand, returns the box, and seems almost unable to utter.) Take it again. PrerE. Why do you reject it ? Jon. I'll tell you as soon as I’m able. T’other day, I lent a friend—pshaw! rot it! DTman old fool! (Wiping his eyes.) I jent a friend, t’other day, the whole profits of my trade, to save him from sinking. He walked off with them, and made me a bankrupt. Don’t you think he is a rascal? Prre. Decidedly so. Joz. And what should I be, if I took all you have saved in the world, and left you to shift for yourself? Pure. But the case is different. This money is in fact your own. I am inured to hardships; better able to bear them, and am younger than you. Perhaps, too, I still have prospects of— Jos. I won't take it. T’m as thankful to you as if I left you to starve; but I won't take it. .Prrx. Remember, too, you have claims upon you, which I have not. My guide, as I came hither, said you had married in my absence ; ’tis true, he told me you were now a widow- er; but, it seems, you have a daughter to provide for. Jos. I have no daughter to provide for, now! Pere. Then he misinformed me. Jos. No, he didn’t. I had one last night; but she’s gone. : PerE. Gone! Jos. Yes; gone to sea, for what I know, as you did. Run away from a good father, as you did. This is a morning to ~ 94 BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES, ii remember ;—my daughter has run out, and the bailiffs have | run in. [I shan’t soon forget the day of the month. | Pere. This morning, did you say ? ) Jos. Ay, before daybreak—a hard-hearted, base— | Pere. And could she leave you during the derangement of your affairs ? Jos. She didn’t know what was going to happen, poor soul! I wish she had, now. I don’t think my Mary would have left her old father, in the midst of his misfortunes. Pere. (Aside) Mary! it must be she! (Aloud) What | is the amount of the demands upon you? Jos. Six thousand. But I don’t mind that; the goods can 24 nearly cover it—let ’em take ’em—a fig for the gridirons and warming-pans! I could begin. again; but now my Mary’s gone, I hayen’t the heart; but I shall hit upon some- thing PERE. Tet me make a proposal to you, my old friend. | Permit me to settle with the officers, and to clear all demands | 3 upon you. Make it a debt,>if you please. I will havea hold, if it must be so, on your future profits in trade; but do this, aud I promise to restore your daughter to you. | Jos Whet! bring back my child! Do you know where ! she is; Is sne safe? Is she far off? Pere. Will you receive the money ? Jon. Yes, yes, on those verms—-on tl ‘se conditions. But | where is Mary ? Pern. Patience. I must not tell you yet; but in four- ¥ and-twenty bours, I pledge myself to bring her back to you. Jos. What! here? to her father’s house? and safe? Oh, *sbud! when I see her safe, what a thundering passion I'll be in with her! But you are not deceiving me? You know the first time you came into my shop, what a bouncer you told me, when you were a boy. Pare. Believe me, I would not trifle with you now. Come, come down to your shop, that we may rid it of its present visitants. | Jox. I believe you dropped from the clouds, all on a sud- den, to comfort an old, broken-hearted brazier. Purs, I rejoice, my honest friend, that I arrived at so j j | | | | | | | | ; | } } } | | THE LETTER. 98 eciical a juncture ; and, if the hand of Providence be in it, tig Wevanse heaven ordains that benevolent actions, like yours, Zooher or iater, must ever meet their recompense. (Hceusit.) . THE LETTER. ¥ FOR TWO MALES. (Enter Squire Hyan, end his Irish servant, Andy.) Squire. Well, Andy, you went to the post-office, as I or. dered you? Anpy. Yis, sir. Squire. Well, what did you find? Anpy. A most imperthinent fellow, indade, sir. iy SqurrE. How so? Anpy. Says I, as dacent like as a genthieman, “I want a letther, sir, if you plase.” “ Who do you want it for?” said the posth-masther, as ye call him, “J want a letther, sir, if you plase,” said I. “And whom do you want it for?” said he again. ‘“ And what’s that to you?” said 1. Squire. You blockhead, what did he say to that? Anpy. He laughed at me, sir, and said he could not tell what letther to give me, unless Y told him the direction. a * Squire. Well, you told nim, then, did you? Anpy. “ The directions I got,” said I, “ was to get a Jetther here—that’s the directions.” “Who gaye you the direc- tions?” says he. “ The masther,’ said I. “And wno’s your masther?” said he. “What consarn is that o’ yours?” said L Squire. Did he break your head, then? Anpy. No, sir. “Why, you stupid rascal,” said he, “if you don’t tell me his name, how can I give you his letther f” “You could give it if you liked,” said 1; “ only you are fond of axing impident questions, becase you think I’m simple.” “Get out o’ this!” said he. ‘“ Your masther must be as great & goose as yourself, to send such a missinger.” Squimz. Well, how did you save my honor, Andy ? BEADLE’S DIME DIALOGUES Anpy. “Bad luck to your impidence !” said I. “Is it Squire Egan you dare say goose to?” “Oh, Squire Egan’s your tmasther?” said he. “ Yis,” says I, “ have you any thing to say agin it ?” Squire. You got the letter, then, did you ? Anpy. “ Here’s a letther for the Squire,” says he. “ You are to pay me eleven pence posthage.” “ What ’ud I pay ‘leven pence for?” said I. “ For posthage,” says he. “ Didn't I see you give that genthleman a letther for fourpence, this blessed minit ?” said I; “and a bigger letther than this? Do you think I’m a fool ” says I. “ Here’s a fourpence for you —and give me the letther.” Squrre. I wonder he did not break your skull, and let some light into it. Anpy. “Go along, you stupid thafe!” says he, because I wouldn’t let him chate your honor. Squrre. Well, well; give me the letter. Anpy. I-hayen’t it, sir. He wouldn’t give it to me, sir. Squire. Who wouldn’t give it to you? Anpby. That old chate beyant in the town. Squire. Didn’t you pay what he asked ? Anpy. Arrah, sir, why would I let you be chated, when he yas selling them before my face for fourpence apiece ? SquirE. Go back, you scoundrel, or I'll horsewhip you! Anpy. He'll murther me, if I say another word to him about the letther; he swore he would. Squrre. J’ll do it, if he don’t, if you are not back in less than an hour. (Hatt) Anpby. Oh that the like of me should be murthered for de- finding the charrackter of my masther! It’s not [ll go ta dale with that bloody chate again. Tl off to the counthry, eure, and let the letther rot on his dirty hands, bad luck te aim | (Hat. BHADLE’S DIME SUHOOL AND HOME HAND-BOOKS. “DIME AMERICAN SPEAKER, No. 1. ly al, |J. Jevoorn’s oration, "he prophecy for they» x and ris’g,/A Dutch cure, Unfinished problem, |The weather, Honor to the dead, {The ed-term, Immortality of patrivta " | Philosophy applied, Webst’s politi’! system, “basis of |Penny wise,pound fool’h|A vision in the forum, Yoang America, f" Birthday of Washington! Ples for the Maiae law, | Not on the battle-field, |T The Italian straggle, jOur n. Independence, Our country, {The war, [liverty,) True cleanliness, The press, The equality of man, {Charge of light brigade,|Saturd’y night’s enjoy’s,| Woman's rights, Character of the Revo’s {After the bu le, |" In a just cause,” Right of the Govern’t, The fruits of the war Tho glass railroad |No peace with’ oppres-My ladder, The sewing-machine, ‘Case of Mr. Macbeth, | sion, 3 Woman, True manhood, on phrenology, | A thankagiving sermon,| Alone, The maystery of life, |Washington’s nanie, | The cost of riches, iThe rebellion of 1863, Ube aps and downs, The sailor boy’s syren, |Great lives imperishable] Disunion. DIME NATIONAL SPEAKER, No. 2. Union and its results, Territorial expansion, [Ohio, Murder will ont, Onr country’s future, | Martha Hopkins, |Oliver Hazard Perry, [Strive for the best, The statesmen’s labors,|The bashful man’s story/Our domain, Earl rising, Let the childless weep, |The matter-of-fact man,|Systems of belief, Deeds of kindness, Our country’s glory, Rich and poor, |The Indian chief, Gaten of sleep, Union a household, Seeing the eclipse, |The independent farmer! The bugle, Independence bell, Beauties of the law, |Mra. Grammar’s ball, |The Hoodleh gem, The scholar’s dignity, |Ge-lang! git up, |How the money comes, | Purity of the struggle, A Christmas chant, The rats of life, |Future of the fashions, |Old age, Btability of Christiantty|Creowning glory of U.8.|Our country first, lust, Beautifal and true, The true higher law, — | Three foola, | and always, The worm of the itil, Tho one great need, Washington, |British Influence, Man and the Infit tte, The ship and the bird, |Our great inheritance, |Defense of Jefferson, {Language of the agle, Tecumseh’s speech, ‘Eulogiuin on H’y Clay, ‘National hatrods, Washington. DIME PATRIOTIC SPEAKER, No. 8. America to the world, |The Irish élement, |History of our tag, The ends of Pontes Love of country, |Train’s speech, T. F. Meagher’s addreas|/Freedom the watchword Right of self-preserva-|Christy’s speech, We owe to the Union, | Crisis of our nation, Our cause, {tion,|Let me alone, Last speech of S, A.|Duty of Christian pe A Kentuckian’s appeal, Brigand-ier-General, Douglas, triots, Kentucky steadfast, {The draft, Lincoin"s message Turkey Dan’s oration, ‘Timidity 1s treason, Union Square speeches, |Great bell Rolund, A fearless plea, The alarum, 'The Union, The New Year ‘and the|The onus of slavery, ape 16th, 1861, |Our country’s call, Union, A foreigner’s tribute, The spirit of 76), The story of an oak-tree|King Cotton, Catholic cathedral, The precious heritage, |L-e-g on my leg, Battle anthem, The ‘ speculators, DIME COMIC SPEAKER, No. 4. Flebovetrce on the war|Pop, A song of woe, ;Political etump spesch, Age bluntly considered,|A Wasa eulogium, Ward’s trip to Richmond|Couile ammar, No. 4, Early rising, How to be x fireman, |Parody, \Frrewell to the bottle, The wasp and the bee, {The United States, The mountebank, The cork leg, Comic grammar, No, 1, |Pnf"s account of himself!Compound interest, The pererc te school, Pm nota single man, {Practical pbrenology, |A sermon on the feet, |Slick’s detinition of wife, A. Ward’s advice, Beautiful, Old dog Jock, Tale of # hat, Buzfuz on Pickwick, Cabbage, |The fishes’ tollet, The deb:.ting club, Romeo and Juliet, [Disagreeable peop.t, Brian O’Linn, A Dutch sermon, Happiness, [What isa backrel Aket Crockett to oflice-seekers) Lecture on locomotion, Dogs, Funny folks, ‘Who fe my opponent! |Mrs,Caudle on umbrolias DIME ELOCU "IONIST, No. 5. Szorion I. PRINCIPLES OF TRUK ENUN-ISxcrion II]. THE COMPONENT ELEMENTS CIATION.—Faolts in Enunciation; how to| OF AN ORATION.—Rules of Composition, avoid them; Special Rajes and Observances 3] as applied to Words and Phrases, viz. : Purity, Complementery Rules, Propriety, Precision. As applied to Sentences, Sacrion I, THE ART OF ORATORY,—Sherl-| viz.: Length of Sentences, Clearness, Unity, dan’s List of the Passions: Tranguillity,| Strength, Figures of Speech; the Exordium, Chee Mirth, Raillery, Buffoonery, Joy,| the Naenon ae Pepe b gn is Confirma- Delight, Gravity, Inquiry, Attention, Modesty, tion, the Refutat jon, the Peroration. Perplexity, Vexath n, Pity, Grief, Melancholy, |Sxorion 1V. REPRES N'TATIVE EXERCISES Despair, Fear, Shame, Remorse, Courage,) IN PROSE AND VERSE, —Tranaltion , a Boasting, Pride, Obstinacy, Authority, Com-| Plea forthe Ox ; Falataff’s Soliloquy on Honor; Manding, Forbiddirg, Affirming, Denying,| the Buria! ef Lixcoln, the Call and Response Difference, Agreeing, Rshowia’ Judging, Ap-' the Bayonet pete o History of a Life; the roving, Acquitting, Condemning, Teaching, Bugle; the Bells; Byron; Macbeth and the ardoning, Arguing, Dismissing, Refusing,| Dagger; Hamlet’s Soliloyuy; Old Thinge; Granting, Dependexce, Veueration, Hope, De-| Look Upward; King William Rufus ; ete. tlre, Love, Respect, Giving, Wonder, Admira-!Sxerros Y, OBSERVATIONS OF GOO 4® “on, Gratitcde, Curiosity, Persuasion, otc. | THORITINS, BEADLE’S DIME SCHOOL AND HOME HAND-BOOKS. Anad story, A string ot onions, ie Sane story, eee: Debt, Devils, Dow, jr’s, lectures, Ego and echo, Fashionable women, Fern thistles, Good nature, Schlackenlichter’s sna. The world we live in, Women’s claims, ‘The real conqueror, Thec sidlaan?h Italy, ‘The mechanic, Independence bell—17 John Burns, Gettysb No sect in Heaven, Hon, J. Mosew Stubb woman’s 6u: All for a necinauion Old ocean, Thostar bangled spaun 5 Life is what you make Where’s ny money ! A speech from the cons’ A man’s relation to soc’ A boy’s philosophy, Hoe out your row, yme, ‘airy shoemaker, WwW = was learned, v in the grass, A tale of the tropics, aperin n scholar, A maiden’s psalm of i A mixture, A plea for skates, tender age. Gottlieb Klebeyergosa, Hosea Biglow’s opinio Avthors of our liberty, heritage, Nature & Nature’s God,| Little The modern good, {sun,|The neck, Onsian’s address to the views on the situation.| A sermon from the hard. Hans ee on|Te y where you belong, DIME HUMOROU How the money goes, Hun-ki-do-ri’s Fourth o Jaly oration, Jo Bows on leap year, Lay of the henpecked, Lot Skinner's akeay, Matrimony, Nothing to do, Old Catdle’s umbrella, Old Grimes’s son, canoe,” », Parody on ‘ daughter,” The power of an idea, ey Be, {sea n of the revelers, Tho prettiest hand, Parndoxteal, erry, the miller, “y thoughts, ladies’ man, 17 The idler, Miss Prude’s tea party, |The unbeliever, DIME STUMP S. bs’|Good-nature a blessing, he value of money, A meteoric disquisition, »| Be sure you are right, The sea, the sea, the open| Be of good cheer, er|Crabied folks, ‘shrew, it,| Farmers, {country, y|The unseen battle-field, The limits to happiness,!A plea for -he Re public, anne ball Ah why! Live for something, Lag of the henpecked, The outside dog, nd lamb, u love, ga asking for » bung Sick lon, Country aud tow micr Man and woman, Honor, » |The lotus-planter, Little thinga, A baby’s soliloquy, Repentance, A plea for eggs, Humbug patriotism, fe| Night after Christmar Short lega, Shrimps on amuseme If you mean no, say no, “ Araby’s| The last of the sarpints, he beneficence of the|The true scholar, . How Cyrus laid the cable Instability pat successfu ~endart, [ahall BaptelLitels sunset, Taming a masculine|A iy sermon, he true gre: satness of our| As’ ond aideats *e,|N, England & the Union|‘The moon, 8 SPEAKER, No. 6. Poetry run mad, ‘The mysterious guest, ‘The pump, 2 sen-serpont, he secret, |The shoemaker, recent, IThe ueeful doctor, 7 ba fate of Sergeant'The waterfall, Thin, |To the bac. helor’ ‘8 unto The fenther'squarrel, |. league, The Hamerican Vood-|Vagaries of popping thy chuck uestion, f “Paddle your own}The hurp of a thousand) What I wouldn’t be, strings, Yankee-doodle Aladin 'Ze Moskeetare, The march to Moscow, ‘1933, DIME STANDARD SPEAKER, No. 7. The two lives, |The Bible, |The purse and the a infallible, |My country, [crime,/True moral courage, 1) What is wart Agriculture, | Butter, Ireland, [quer,| My Deborah Lee, The people always con- Music of labor, Prussia and Austria, |Jud, Fan he race, |The pin and needle, |The modern puritan, \Immortality of the sov |Oceupation, | Heroism and daring, [A shot at the decanter ng, The blarney stone, The student of Bonn, A broken household, PEAKER, No. 8. j\A pees [a fallacy,| Temptations of cities, “right of secession ”| Broken resolutions, |'There is no death, | ne ature, Races, |Le A fruitful discourse, |W rath a the Indians, | A Frenchman’s dinner, in behalf of Am.| Unjust national acqui’a of war, [liberty|7 ur couchman |The cold-water man, nency of States, |Liberty of speech, [vens, John Thompson’s dans Duties of "American citi-| House-cleaning, !The man, \It is not your buainesa, Int er! |A di | DIME JUVENILE SPEAKER, No. 9. Mow the raven became Nothing to do, black, Honesty hest policy, A mother’s work, |Heaven, ‘he same, jHo f for the fields, j Who rules? |Fashion on the brain, | é sheep ars |On ehanghais, abiaaca, taaciken| Bi meopathic coup, My creat; Iain ny |Nose and eyes, Vi never use tobacco, | Malt, Toome A mosaic, hundred years te The old bachelor, |The madman and bia Prayer to light, |Little sermons, [ragor, Little Jim, |Snufiles on electricity, Angelina’s Lament. {The two ci radles, JohnnyShrimps on boats! The ocean storm, Merc Do thy little—do tt welL Choice of hours, Little puss, Poor Richard's eayings, | Base-buil, [fever, 8! Who killed Tom Roper, | Prescription foes spring THE DIME St HOOL MELODIST. by Gzorcx idea the music and words of fanviliar and beautiful Songs, Duets, Trioa, etc., arranged ta ie @ manner, for School Singing, with elementary introductions suited to children of the most Compiled and arranged ©. Rexvorn, eal ~ 5 Bieta ct ee at v Y BHADLE’S DIMH HaND-BOOKS FOR YCONG PEOPLE. BEADLE’S DIME BOOK OF ETIQUETTE. Por Ladies and Gentlemen ; being a guide to wue gentility and good breeding, and a ecmplota di rectory to the usages and observances of soclety. Evening Perty, the Dinner Party, the Card and etc., etc. Prepared expressly for the “ Dime Serie: ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY.- bashfulness; kindness vs, rudene how to treat ESS AND ORNAMENTS. garity of ‘flash ” attire; simplicity in dress a mark of good-breed) H N VISITS, INTRODUCTIONS, Ero.—The law of politeness » law of kindness; when visite ~ he diag introductions, presentations, 8tc., and forms. &YENING PARTIES, DANCES, Ero.—The et-| 0. iquette of the ball-room; gonerai directions| for the same. SAMES OF CARDS, CHE! Per and how conducted ; ral rules of*the ‘ames; the {ll-breeding of betting or bragging.! 9N CONVERSATION.—Ite usefulness and good} ne. — When pro- ON Including etiquette of the Ball-room, of tha Chess Table, of Huet of the Home Circle, ”? by a Committee of Three. yE INVITA 3 age in all cases. ENTERTAIN MENTS.— Etiquette of th ; how to serve a guest, and bow to be ed; apesial directions, N PERSONAL CLEANLINESS—A word tc the laborer; on religion and respect for ege; on theaters, promonades, étc.; on love, court- ge; the laws of home etiquette ; special advice to ladies; general observations and closing chapter, DIME LETTER-WRITER, And Practical Guide to Composition, embracing fo: of al} classes, on all occasions ; also a list of impr Correct forms; and aleo a complete dictionary o: @nanp, M. D, OONTEN COMPOSITION.—The secret of a good letter; rm s and rules for the use ‘oper Ww pressions, together with their { mottoee, phrases, idioms, etc, By Lovis Ls- 18, at silence; communicating distressing news; directions to a novice; the rules of compoai-| to ‘ents, informing of thelr eon, etc. tion, ete. LETTERS OF RELATIONSHIY.—Family cor- GENERAL ADVICE TO LETTER-WRITERS.| respondeuce; its sacred character and proprle- LETTERS OF BUSINE tles; examples of real letters, etc. LETTERS Of PLEASURE AND FRIEND-;| LETTERS or VARIOUS OCCASIONS. A SHIP. LETTERS OF LOVE.—Hinte and suggestions; & declaration , answer; # briefer declaration of attachment; answer; real love-letvers of emi- nent personages, etc, LETTERS OF DUTY, OF TRUST, Exe.—What|WRITID they are and how to write them; forma, etc. ;|/IME x Advice from a lady to her friend; = complaint |PHRASES, MOTTOES, IDIO. certificate of character; another, for a maid; another, for a clerk; application for s school- teacher’s place ; soliciting a vote; declining a nomination; a girl applying fora place; an- other; application for a governess’ situation, ete. G FOR THE PR oS) ESSION OF £. . MS, Ero. ROPRIETI DIME BOOK OF DREAMS. ‘heir Romance and Mystery ae ® complete Interpreting Dicticnary. Compiled from the most secredited sour -ea for the “* Dime Series. OONTEN’ INTRODUCTORY. THE ROMANCE OF DREAMS.—Embodying drearos of all kinds and conatraction piased upon them by {nent anthoril os, aud narratives of the extraor- dinary fulfillment of them. CHE PHENOS ENA OF DREAMS.—A ph clan’s views o» the aubject, giving « rational solution of the phenomena, with instances cit- 4d in proof, ATHARINE CROWE’S TESTIMO: characters, with the} DICTIONARY OF DREAM 18. —Favorlng the supernatural nature of dreams, and @ belief in-their evelations. S.—Comprising the most complete Interpretation-Dictionary ever prepared, embracing the whole Alphabot of tubjecta. tas~ It is a volume full of intereat even to the goneral reader, being, {n that respect, some thing lke Mra, Crowe’s “Night Side of Na- ture,” and Robert Dale Owen’s “ Footfalls os the Boundary of Another World.” DIME BOOK OF VERSES. overs ard Friends; Valentines, Album Pieces, Gti ja, Births, Mourning, Epltapba, etc. CONTENTS. EPITAPHS AND MOURNING VERSES, Fe: all ages and clas THE LOVER’S EQ This little volume fs # veritable pocket com- panion, It ls everybody's post. It is for ail occasions, for old and young, for male and fe male. It will be treasured like # keepsake aad used like « dictionary. ttoes, 'y for enreen Rhymes, Lines and & Verses, Birthday Lines, and poor VERSES FOR ALBUMS. MOTTOES AND COUP 8T. VALENTINE VERS BRIDAL AND MARRIAGE VERSES. } VERSES ON BIRTHS AND INFANCY. | { 5 VERSES TO SEND WITH FLOWERS. VERSES OF LOVE AND AFFECTION. BOLIDAY VERS! BIRTHDAY VERS BEADLE’S DIMP VAMILY HAND. BOUKS. DIME DHESS-MAEER, CONTENYS. INTRODUCTION. “ORK MATERIALS AND IMPLEMENTS THE CORSAG . PURCHASE OF MATERIALS. C VES, ICT!ON 4” OF MILLINERY AND DRESS i AVING. NEG TOILET, TECHNICAL TERMS IN DRESSMAKING RIBBONS. AND MILLINERY,. TRAVELING TOILET. LACES AND EMBROIDERIES, CLOAK-MAKING, 'COLORS. SONNETS SONNETS, (FLOWERS, Exo. PATTERNS FOR CUTTING OUT DRESSES. |CORBEILLE DE MARIAGE, BEADLE’S DIME HAND-BOOKS OF GAMES. DIME CHESS INSTRUCTOR, 4 complete hand-book of instruction, containing all that e deginner can require to guide him to tne entertaining mvyasterice of this most interesting and fascinvfing of games. Part I comprises, in & highiy com yet perspicuous form, all the introductory ¢\ewente of the game that can be im- P b Part II contains the very cream of a large ind valuable chess library. Pest ns br brilliaat, entertaining and instructive geuw, By Mizon J. Hazmisinm, a Chess Editor N. ¥..Clipper. It ie especially adapted for the ves of learners; and yet bas, in i Parta II and III, much matter for the amateur aud professional , < vye.. DIME BOOK OF CRISKET. @ desirable Cricketer’s Companion, containing complete instructione tr ‘us elements of Bowling, Batting and Fielding; also the Revised Laws of the game; Rema yor the Duties of Umpires 9 Mary-le-Bone Cricket Clab Rules and Regulations; Bets, etc., et. Yy Henny Caapwiox, euthor of “ Base-Ball Player.” DIME GUIDE TO SWIMM\ (TG. mbractng all the rules of the art for both sexes, Mlustrated. By Capt Pam Prigmszs, The following is the contents : Advisory Instructions ; Rules upon pusetng the water; Temperature of (Jim \aier; Temporaturs of the body; Time for the ewim; the Start; Learning the Hand-Stroke ; Lass «ug the Leg-Stroke; General Directions for Attitude; Management of the Breath; Plunging, m4 lA eder; Leaping om a Height; a Shallow Dive; Deep Diving; how to come to the su.lece, switoming on the Beck ; the “Steamer”; Flosting ; Hand-over-hand Swimming; swimmisy fro \ (oat; Precan- sions for a short swim; the Cramp; how to awim im times of Dangyr; th: “ Washing-tub “Crooping”; Sea-bathing—how to manage the waves, the tides, etc.; a //hapter £4 (\) Lad Bpecimen Female Swimming-Schog! ; how to manage cases of Drowning ; Dr, Frrea \thv’s “ Codi for Swimmers ; Concluding Remarks. DIME HAND-BOOK OF CROQU"" 4 complete Guide tothe Principles .ud Practice of the game. By Epminp Routiepe, Giving. also, the rules provosed by varior. American writera on the game, 11) paTRaTED, GUIDE TO CURLING AND SKATIN }. 4 Complete Menual for the Ice; giving all the laws of the popniar g ms of “Corliny vith Complete Diagrams ; also explicit instructions for Skating, wit) @ Guid to al) ov “fant ved tmovemente made on skstes, and embracing slao the lawa of the Skwsar’s Jud of We Sdited by Henry Chadwick. et Bp ASD TES, rie SPREAD‘EAGLE SPEAKER! OS ae OS Tale eres A rare collection of characteristic American Orations, Addresses, Speeches, Harangues, Electioneer Splurges, etc., ete., offering an infinite fund of Humorous Recitations for the School and Exhibition, BEADLH’S DIME SPEAKERS AND DIALOGUES are the cheapest and very best series of such volumes ever offered to Schools and students. Pre- pared with great care, by most competent hands, the several issues are eharacterized by rare excellence, novelty and originality—a large propor- tion of the matter having been prepared expressly for the series, t~ This comprises No. 10 of the Speaker Series. Specimen copies sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of price—TEN CeNTs EAcH, BEADIEVS DIME DIALOGUES, No. 8, NOW IN PRESS, Comyrising Dialogues, Colloquies, Minor Dramas, Farces, Burlesques, Commediettas, etc., for male and female, from. the hands of the most popular writers for the School Stage. All expressly prepared for this vol- ume, Several of these new pieces are bound to a great popularity—being inimitably good (ay The above bool for sale by all Newsdealers and Booksellers; or Rent, POST-PAID, to any address, on receipt of price—TuN CENTS EACH, BEADLE AND COMPANY, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. fae alia ae a ee AND Co; attractive nate peared