Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Parlor pastimes : acting chara...
 Pantomime Charades : Backgammo...
 Pantomime Charades : A Little...
 Dialogue Charades : Mend-I-Can...
 Dialogue Charades : Patriot
 Dialogue Charades : Rainbow
 Dialogue Charades : Witchcraft
 Dialogue Charades : Mis (S)...
 Fire-side Games : What is my Thought...
 Fire-side Games : Quotations
 Fire-side Games : The Traveller's...
 Fire-side Games : A Secret that...
 Fire-side Games : The Ten...
 Fire-side Games : Hunt the...
 Hunt the slipper
 Zoological recreations
 Fire-side Games : Paradoxes
 Fire-side Games : Cupid
 Fire-side Games : Poetical...
 Fire-side Games : The Initial...
 Fire-side Games : Characters ;...
 Fire-side Games : Consequences
 Fire-side Games : Ready Rhymes
 Fire-side Games : The Trade
 Fire-side Games : The Graceful...
 Fire-side Games : The Lawyer
 Fire-side Games : Questions
 Fire-side Games : Magic Music
 Fire-side Games : The Selected...
 Fire-side Games : Compliments
 Fire-side Games : I Love My...
 Fire-side Games : The Mock...
 Fire-side Games : Little Words
 Fire-side Games : The Puzzle...
 Fire-side Games : Rhyming...
 Fire-side Games : Capping...
 Fire-side Games : Blind Man's...
 How do you like it?
 Fire-side Games : Cento Verses
 Fire-side Games : The Universal...
 Then nosegay of flowers

Group Title: Sports and pastimes for in-doors and out. With additions by Oliver Optic, embracing physical and intellectual amusements for young people, the family circle and evening parties.
Title: Sports and pastimes for in-doors and out
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00016229/00001
 Material Information
Title: Sports and pastimes for in-doors and out
Physical Description: 431 p., <2> leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 18 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Optic, Oliver, 1822-1897 ( Author )
Cottrell, George W., d. 1895 ( Publisher )
J. Mayer & Co ( Lithographer )
Publisher: G.W. Cottrell
Place of Publication: Boston
Publication Date: c1863
Subject: Games -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Magic tricks -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Amusements -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Gymnastics -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Sports -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Outdoor recreation -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Fishing -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Acting -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Riddles -- 1863   ( rbgenr )
Puzzles -- 1863   ( rbgenr )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1863   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1863
Genre: Riddles   ( rbgenr )
Puzzles   ( rbgenr )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Statement of Responsibility: with additions by Oliver Optic embracing physical and intellectual amusements for young people, the family circle and evening parties; containing acting, pantomine, and dialogue charades, anagrams, puzzles, conundrums, transpositions, games, magic, forfeits, chess, draughts, backgammon, gymnastics, fishing, skating, rowing, etc.
General Note: Includes index.
General Note: Plates chromolithographed by J. Mayer & Co.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00016229
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002237760
oclc - 05934215
notis - ALH8253
lccn - 05029748

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter 1
        Front Matter 2
        Front Matter 3
        Front Matter 4
        Front Matter 5
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Parlor pastimes : acting charades
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
    Pantomime Charades : Backgammon
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
    Pantomime Charades : A Little Misunderstanding
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
    Dialogue Charades : Mend-I-Cant
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
    Dialogue Charades : Patriot
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
    Dialogue Charades : Rainbow
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
    Dialogue Charades : Witchcraft
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
    Dialogue Charades : Mis (S) Chief
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    Fire-side Games : What is my Thought Like
        Page 65
        Page 66
    Fire-side Games : Quotations
        Page 67
        Page 68
    Fire-side Games : The Traveller's Tour
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    Fire-side Games : A Secret that Travels
        Page 73
    Fire-side Games : The Ten Birds
        Page 74
    Fire-side Games : Hunt the ring
        Page 75
    Hunt the slipper
        Page 75
    Zoological recreations
        Page 75
    Fire-side Games : Paradoxes
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
    Fire-side Games : Cupid
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
    Fire-side Games : Poetical Dominoes
        Page 85
    Fire-side Games : The Initial Letters
        Page 86
        Page 87
    Fire-side Games : Characters ; Or, Who am I?
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
    Fire-side Games : Consequences
        Page 92
    Fire-side Games : Ready Rhymes
        Page 93
        Page 94
    Fire-side Games : The Trade
        Page 95
    Fire-side Games : The Graceful Lady
        Page 96
        Page 97
    Fire-side Games : The Lawyer
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
    Fire-side Games : Questions
        Page 102
    Fire-side Games : Magic Music
        Page 103
    Fire-side Games : The Selected Word
        Page 104
    Fire-side Games : Compliments
        Page 105
    Fire-side Games : I Love My Love
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
    Fire-side Games : The Mock Newspaper
        Page 109
    Fire-side Games : Little Words
        Page 110
    Fire-side Games : The Puzzle Word
        Page 111
    Fire-side Games : Rhyming Cards
        Page 112
    Fire-side Games : Capping Verses
        Page 113
    Fire-side Games : Blind Man's Buff
        Page 114
    How do you like it?
        Page 114
        Page 115
    Fire-side Games : Cento Verses
        Page 116
        Page 117
    Fire-side Games : The Universal Traveller
        Page 118
    Then nosegay of flowers
        Page 118
        Page 119
Full Text

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
In the Clerk's Office of the District court of Massachusetts.


OYS will be boys, and girls will be girls,
says Mrs. Partington, good humoredly,
when somebody complains of the mischief
and romping going on in the school-room and
garden. And it is well that it should be so;
for surely i is pleasanter to see children
amusing, themselves at children's games than to
make little men and women of them before their
time. The wise Son of David tells us that for every-
thing there is a season-a time to weep, and a time
to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
And there is, in this work-a-day world of ours, a
time to learn, so there is, or should be, a time to
play. Amusement, when properly regulated, is a
grand help-mate to study; and in order that boys
and girls may know how to amuse themselves in a
sensible manner, this Collection of Indoor and Out-
door Games has been compiled. In these pages will
'be found not only the good old-fashioned sports
which delighted our grandsires, but many, new and


diverting pastimes for sunny days and winter even.
ings; games which not only provide innocent amuse-
ment in the family circle, but exercise the memory,
wit, intelligence, and imagination of the players.
It has been the earnest endeavor of the Editor to
render this collection as complete as possible. He
has been careful to exclude everything objectionable
to sound morality and good home training, and trusts
that the present repertoire, will be acceptable alike to
children of all ages.
It may be as well to mention that he has produced
a companion volume, consisting of Scientific Recrea-
tions and Exercises for ingenuity, in which will be
found many of the most celebrated arithmetical puz-
zles, together with a large variety of chemical and
other experiments. For both books he seeks public
favor and appreciation.




F all in-door recreations, that of acting
Charades is the most amusing and the most
popular. Nor are these amateur performan-
ces at all difficult to manage. We will sup-
pose a party of young people assembled on a
winter's evening; nothing is easier than for
half a dozen of them to entertain the rest with an
impromptu drama. All that is necessary is a room
or part of a room, for a stage, a few old clothes for
dresses, and a little mother-wit. 'Where parlors open
into each other with folding doors, one room will
serve for the stage, and the other for the audience-
the folding doors serving both for curtain and side
scenes, behind which the actors can retire on leaving
the stage. Those of the company who are to act in
. the Charade withdraw and determine upon a word


or sentence, which may be either represented in dumb
show or dialogue, as suits the actors. Some word
or phrase should be selected, whose syllables possess
especial meanings independent of the sense of the
whole word. In the first Charade, for instance, the
word "backgammon" is used; here the first and
last syllables are made eacha scene, and the whole
acted word forms a key to the rest. Again, in the
word meiidicant" it will be observed that each of
its syllables has a meaning of its own, each syllable
forming a separate act of the Charade. In the first
act the word mend is shown by a young lady repair-
ing a lace veil; the pronoun i is played upon in the
second act; the word cant is made the subject of the
third act; and the whole word is shown in the fourth.
When the Charade or Drama is concluded, the audi-
tors endeavor to find out on what word it was found-
ed, and much amusement will be afforded by their
efforts to detect the covert meaning of each scene as
it proceeds.
It is by no means pretended that the actors shall
exactly follow the words here set down; if they play
with spirit, they will soon find that they can im-
provise language suitable to the situations introduc-
ed; and in the case of Pantomime Charades many
characters may be brought on the stage, and much
entertainment obtained at little cost of thought or


The following words will be found suitable for
either Pantomime or Dialogue Charades:-





B Etaiabe in three Bets.

Dramatis Personc.
SUSAN, a Servant Girl. OtD MOTHER.
SCENE I.-A Street.
This scene may be made by pinning several news-
papers, or large pieces of paper against the window
curtains, showing part of the window at back, and
placing cheese, butter, &c., on dishes, on a table be-
hind. A lamp-post may be shown by introducing a
straight prop, with a candle alight on top, &c.
Enter Two LITTLE BOYs, who take halfpence from
their pockets, and show them as if for odd and even.
The one who loses then makes a back, over which
the other jumps. The other boy then stands with
his head down as if to-make a back. "Higher!"


cries his playfellow; the boy makes a higher
and the other is just about to jump over it, w'
In rushes a BEADLE, and drives the boys out. Tho
dress of the Beadle may be made by an old great-
coat with a red collar, a cane in his hand, and a
cocked hat on his head. The Beadle shakes his cane
after the boys and exit.
Re-enter Boys, who point to where the Beadle has
gone, laugh, and re-commence their game at leap-
frog.-Exit Boys.
-They stand and talk to each other, and make signs,
as if the young people were going to be married.
Show wedding-ring, kiss each other, and so on.
Enter RECRUITING SERGEANT.-The dress of this
character may be easily iaade by fastening a red sash
round his waist, putting a ribbon in his hat, &c.
Recruiting Sergeant goes up to Footman, places a
shilling in his hand, and marches him off. The old
Mother and Girl express sorrow violently, wringing
thetr hands and pretending to weep'; old woman imi-
tates the act of firing a gun to express the office of a
soldier young girl puts out her finger, as if to show,
that her chance of marrying is lost. Both weep and
wail in comic pantomime.
Enter FOOTMAN running.-Old woman and girl ex-
press great astonishment at his return; and he ex-
hibits a large placard, on which is written, Sent
BACK.-Not shbrt enough." Scene closes.


Dramatis Personx.
SCENE.-A Parlor.
Enter RICH OLD LADY with a long purse in her
head. She begins to count her money, sighs deeply,
takes a letter from her pocket, and reads.
Enter SHABBY LOVER, who advances to the rich
old Lady, makes great protestations of affection, and
tries to take the purse from her hand. She resists,
when he drops on one knee, places his hand on his
heart, and pretends to be violently in love. Old lady
seems subdued, and gives him her purse. He kisses
her hand, rises, cuts a caper, and exit. Old lady
raises her hands in astonishment, and cries out-
He wants to gammon me, he does."-Scene closes.

Dramatis Persone.
SCENE.-A' Drawing-room.
Visitors arrange themselves in groups; one young
lady plays the piano, another looks over a book of
prints; a third amuses herself with the flowers on the
table, &c.
Enter YoUmN LADY and GENTLEMA, from opposite
sides of the room. They advance, shake hands, and

Ta-----.-_ ..


go to back of rodm. -oung gentleman comes for-
S ward with little table, which he places in centre.
He then brings two chairs, which he places on either
side of the table. One of the visitors brings a draft-
board, which he opens. The young lady and gentle-
man sit down to the table and commence rattling
dice-boxes and moving the draft-men. Visitors group
themselves round the players.-Scene closes.


a Qfgtarate in four %cts.

Dramatis Personce.
SCENE I.-Parlor in the house of the Mamma.
Enter MAID SERVANT, who dusts and arranges the
furniture, and exit.
Enter THREE SISTERS, bringing with them a quan-
tity of silk lace and other articles of dress. They
S sit down and begin working busily, one cutting out,
another sewing, &c.
Enter MAMMA with child of five in night-cap and
morning dress. The Sisters clap their hands, laugh,
Sand express surprise. They take the child's cap off,


and exhibit its rough, uncombed hair. One rings the
bell, and makes signs to the servant. who enters.
Servant goes out and presently returns with basin
and water, combs, brushes, and various articles of
toilette, which she sets down and exit. The sisters
then brush the child's hair, wash its face, and so on,
the mamma assisting. They then dress the child in
very fine clothes, a small bonnet and parasol, wlhte
lace handkerchief in her hand, &c. The child looks
pleased, kisses her sisters and mamma, and struts
about the room. Double knock heard at the door.
Enter servant introducing visitors. Sisters try to
,hide the litter, and mamma brings forward the little
miss in her finery. Visitors express delight. Little
miss takes her seat in centre of room, the rest group-
ing round her with various signs of homage and ad-
miration. Mamma exclaims, "Pretty little Miss."-
Scene closes.

Dramatis Personae.
ScENE.-Kitchen in the house of the Lady, with
table in centre, discovers maid-servant nicely dressed.
Clock strikes nine, and three gentle taps are heard
on the wall outside. Maid goes out, and returns
cautiously with a policeman on her arm; they look
lovingly on each other. Maid prepares supper;
spreads a large cloth on the table so as nearly to



touch the ground, and places dishes and plates,
knives and forks, &c.; they sit down and eat, the
maid-servant daintily, the policeman ravenously.
Just in the middle of the feast a loud double knock
is heard at the front door. They rise in confusion,
the maid calling out Master-!" Policeman hides
under the table, from which the maid hastens to clear
the things. Knocking continues impatiently. Po-
liceman puts his head out from under the cloth, the
maid kisses him, and runs up stairs to open the
door. Noise heard in the passage as if the Master
and Mistress were remonstrating at being kept so
long at the door. Policeman is creeping cautiously
from under the table, when steps are heard outside,
which cause him instantly to hide again.
Enter MASTER, MISTRESS, and SERVANT, all disput-
ing with many gestures. Mistress looks about the
room, goes to the cupboard, and at last approaches
thefW and is about to lift the cloth. At this mo-
ment the maid servant rushes up to her master and
* aifaiinting in his arms. Mistress lifts up side of
t -cloth and discovers policeman under the table.
T' ne policeman then looks up from his knees, bran-
'dishes his staff, and inquires in a loud voice, Does
MR. UNDERDOWN live here?"-Scene closes.




Dramatis Personae.
SCENE--Bar of a Public House-Publican discovered behind,
and Customers in front.
This Scene may be made by laying a shutter across
a couple of chairs, and placing another shutter in
front. Place pewter pots, glasses, &c., on counter.
Enter TRAVELLER and CABMAN.-They go up to
counter and drink. Various persons close up to the
Traveller and request him to treat them. He nods,
and publican serves out glasses and mugs to all.
They all drink, and appear very merry. Publican
holds out his hand for the money after counting up
the sum. Traveller pulls out a very long purse and
pays-Cabman and company dance for joy.-Scene

Dramatic Personce.
SCENE.-A drawing-room-Curtain rises, and discovers a
lady sitting with her two daughters, and the Little Miss,
finely dressed, as before. The young ladies are engaged in
crochet work, and the Little Miss admires her figure in the
(A double knock is heard at thot outer door.)
Enter SERVANT, bringing bouquet, which she t
to the little ~Iiss. The Sisters and Mamma exl
great surprise.



Enter LOVER, gaily dressed, with a crush hat un-
der his arm. He advances to the Mamma, who bows
and shakes hands with him. He then goes up to the
"young ladies, and begins to make himself agreeable.
They turn away from him and pout their lips, at the
same time pointing to the Little Miss, who is admir-
ing the bouquet. The Lover starts, and rushes from
the room.
The Mamma and Sisters look angrily at the Little
Miss, and endeavor to obtain the bouquet. She re-
sists and begins to cry; stamps on the floor, and
turns over the chairs, and pulls about the curtains.
Servant rings the bell, and calls "Police!"
Enter LOVER with POLICEMAN, who brandishes his
staff, and looks very important. Lover produces
three large bouquets, one of which he give o each of
the young ladies. Policeman takes a great doll
out of his pocket and presents it to the Little Miss.
Maidevant goes up to Policemanvand boxes his
ears; the Policeman immediately shows her a
wedding-ring, when she kisses him, and appears much
leased. Little Miss comes forward, nursing the
oll. Lover takes bouquet from her hand, and gives
it to the eldeiyoung lady. Young ladies and Moth-
er smile gralisly upon him. The whole party then
S form a group ut the lover and the young lady,
and the little runs up to her Mother and kisses
her. Policemna daid Maid-servant in the back-ground
spring, and, admiring the wedding-ring. Lover
d lady join hais, and all bow to the audience.
Curtain falls.




SQ Cbarate in gfour ct$s

Dramatis Personce.
BRowN, the BUTLER.
MRS. SEYMOUR's' dressing-room. Flowers and green-house
plants arranged about. MARIA seated on a low repair-
ing a torn lace veil.
.Maria. Well, people may talk as they will about
black slaves; but I know no slavery can be wor
than that of a finished lady's maid by profession.
Slaves indeed! look at me, expected by my lady to
do everything for her. Did ever anybody see such a
ragged, jagged rent as this ? andlie will expect to
see the veil look as good as new dbfore she goes out;
and after all I shall be reproached if her things are
not laid out, her lunch brought up, the lap-dog
washed, the flowers renewed, and the carriage prop,
16 *


early heated. Well, mend I can't, nor won't. Then
all day long I have to sit and work in this dreadful
hot-house, and dare not open a window, just because
my lady never feels warm. How can she feel warm,
indeed, with such a cold heart? A pretty bargain
Mr. Seymour made when he married her for the
money; she is always telling him about it. But he
was right served: he is as bad as she is with his fine
talk, talk, talk-all gammon! and don't I see that
while they are both as smooth as oil with their grand,
rich old uncle, they wish him in his coffin! I have
half a mind to open his eyes, for I am vexed to see
S him cheated: he's a real gentleman, and always has
a civil word for a respectable upper servant. And
here he comes.
Colonel Seymour. Where's my niece-my pretty,
gentle Emily? I wish to..bil her good morning be-
fore Ioet out on my ride.
SMaria. My lacy never rises so early as this, sir.
Col. S. Very bad plan; people should always rise
with the sun in this fine climate. Might as well be
in India if we indulge in bed so long. There-there
goes my glove. Sew it up, my good girl. I would
4ot trouble you, but I am in a hurry to be out. I
S 1l sit down and watch your pretty, nimble fingers.
But, 'hew (whistles) how can you live in this atmo-
sphere ? Well seasoned as I am, I can't stand this
heat; I must open the window, my little woman.
[Opens a window.]



Maria. Oh, sir, how refreshing the air is! but 1
fear my lady will be displeased. She insists on the
window being at all times shut.
Col S. Poor thing poor thing Quite a mistake.
I must see her doctor; I must have-lim prescribe
to her early rising and fresh air. I must hint to my
worthy nephew, without alarming him. that such
habits may endanger her precious health.
(Maria sighs deeply.)
Col. S. Why do you sigh, my good creature9
Have you any fears about my dear niece's health ?
Maria. Oh, no, sir; she is in excellent health.
I am sorry I sighed, sir-I was only thinking about
myself; and I couldn't have anything more unhappy
to think about. I ask your pardon, sir; you are al-
ways considerate to poor servants; I wish there were
more like you; and sew your glove I will, that I am
determined, though I should be discharged, on the
spot for not having finished mending her veil.
Col. S. But surely, Maria, you need have no fear
of the reproofs of Imy gentle niece.
Maria. I know very well what she will say, sir, if
she orders a thing to be done, and it isn't done.
Col. S. Why, that -is certainly a vexation; but
you need not dread her words, child, they are so few
-so soft and sweet.
Maria. No doubt,'she can be sweet enough when
it pleases her; and you, sir, have little chance of
seeing her as I see her, as my fellow-servants see
her, and as poor folks see her, when they get a chance



of it, which isn't often. Bless you, sir, certainly
servants should see all and say nothing; but she is
a hard lady to please.
Col. S. I am. sorry to hear this from you, young
woman; I would not have suspected it, and I would
gladly believe you are mistaken. If her words are
unkind to those beneath her, what pain it must give
to my virtuous and philanthropic nephew to hear
the feelings of a fellow-creature wounded in his
house; for his every thought, word, and act, are for
the good of his fellow-creatures.
Maria. To.speak the truth, sir, I think Mr. Sey-
mour is the worst of the two. My lady does not
mind for saying out down right that she cares for
nobody but herself: but he talks like an angel about
his fee4ngs, and never does one good deed. He
feeds and clothes the poor with fine words, and
blinds great folks with his preaching. I'm but a
poor, silly servant girl; but I can see through them
both, sir; I can see how they dupe you, and I made
up my mind to speak and tell you; for it's a sin to
let such a kind-hearted gentleman be cheated.
There's your glove, sir.
Col. S. You have shocked me very much, girl;
I must think over this; and I will certainly find out
the fact. Thank you for your work and your words;
both were meant in kindness. (Gives her money.)
Nay, don't refuse. You have doAe me a favtr, and
I can afford to do one to you. Now, good morning,
and go on with your tiresome work. (Exit.)




Maria. There, now! I have gone and done it!
See if I don't lose my place for my prattling Not
that I should call that any loss, if they'll only give
me a character; and after all I feel as if I had done
right, though I haven't finished mending the veil.
I must go and see what cook can send up for mj la-
dy's lunch. (Exit.)

The same dressing-room. MARIA at work.
Mrs. S. How wretched everything seems! Noth-
ing is as it ought to be: nothing as I ordered it.
My silk mantle laid out for this chilly day! And
bless me who has taken the liberty to open my
windows ?
Maria. It was I that did it, madam. I was near
fainting with the heat, and I thought -
Mrs. S. I have no wish to hear your thoughts.
If you chose to be faint, was that any reason why
my windows should be set open to endanger my life?
You know I never suffer the air to be admitted here;
but my delicate constitution is perfectly shattered
in this comfortless house. Everybody here is oppos-
ed to me-all do their own way: I am nobody-no
one cares for me I am miserable. Who was that
making so much noise, and trotting the horses be-
neath my windows?
Maria. Colonel Seymour, setting out for a ride.
Mrs. S. Colonel Seymour! I hate to hear his


name. How selfish of Edward to bring that old bru-
tal, vulgar, East Indian uncle of his to my house!
He continually offends my eyes and ears and taste.
Did you inquire, as I ordered you, of Mrs. Norris,
what soup she intends to send to table to-day?
Maria. I did, maa'm; it is to be mulligatawny.
Mr. Seymour ordered it himself, because, as he told
Mrs. Norris, it was the colonel's favorite soup.
Mrs. S. And my feelings never consulted! Ed-
ward knows-Mrs. Norris knows-that mAlligatawny
is poison to me; but I am never considered. Go
down immediately, Maria, and tell Mrs. Norris that
I insist on it, that my soup, the white soup, be sub-
stituted for the mulligatawny. How can I possibly
dine without soup? And, at the same time, tell
Brown to give out some of the rich old Madeira, the
same as we had yesterday. I choose to have some
for my lunch. (Exit Maria, with a curtsy.) The
mulled Madeira may perhaps restore the circulation
which has been quite checked by the chill occasioned
by that selfish young woman opening the windows.
Servants think only of themselves. What wretched
creatures we are, to be compelled to depend for every
comfort, on such heartless beings!
Enter MARIA.
Have you ordered my soup ?-and when am I to
have my lunch?
S Maria. Please, ma'am, Mrs. Norris says she has
no objection to send two soups, as you wish for the



white; but Mr. Seymour was positive in his orders
for the mulligatawny.
Mrs. S. And they will enjoy it, though they see
I cannot touch it. Selfish and unfeeling men! But
when will my lunch be ready ?
Maria. Please, ma'am, about the wine-Mr.
Mrs. S. What does the girl mean? What has
Brown to do with my lunch ?
Maria. Here he comes, madam.
Enter BROWN in a cotton Jacket.
Mrs. S. What is the meaning of this intrusion
into my apartments, unsummoned, and in that ex-
traordinary dress? Am I to be insulted by all my
Brown. Please ma'am, Miss Maria was so prem-
tery, insisting on having the wine directly; and I
was quite out of my head, and never thought of my
jacket, but came off all in a fluster, to say as how
Mr. Seymour ordered me, strict, to keep the Madeira
number thirtyrseven-only one dozen of it left-to
keep it all for the colonel, who is remarkable fond of
that Madeira; as well he may, after the four long
voyages it made before it came into our cellars.
Mrs. S. Our cellars, man! the cellars are mine;
the contents of the cellars are mine; you are my
servant; and I order you to keep the wine for me.
I shall have some of the wine every day as long as it
lasts; because I like the wine, and I choose to be


obeyed. Go immediately, and give out the wine.
(Exit Brown.) Come and arrange my hair again; it
is quite discomposed with the agitation I have under-
gone this morning, from the presumption, imperti-
nence and selfishness of my servant. Exeunt.

The dressing-room. MRS. SEYMOUR reclining on a couch.
Mrs. S. What unheard-of tyranny : with my fortune,
not to be allowed to choose my own dinner, or my own
lunch! Edward is abominably selfish. I'm glad I in-
sisted on having the Maderia, though I do think it is
rather heating, and injurious to the complexion [rising
and looking at herself in a mirror]; but I should be
pushedd to the earth if I did not sometimes make a
' struggle to obtain a small share of attention in a house
Which it is supposed is mine. What does Edward.
Want? I shall be wearied with long speeches now.
Mr. S. My sweet Emily! what is this that Brown
tells me, that my Emily wishes the bin of Maderia
thirty-seven to be reserved for her? My discrimin-
i ting angel must surely have perceived the pure and
holy motive which induced me to set apart this fatal
liquor, ever a snare of the evil one, for our worthy
and respected uncle.
Mrs. S. You know perfectly well, Edward, that I
I have no respect for the vulgar, unfeeling old fellow;
~nd I see no reason why he should have the wine I
want for my own use.




Mr. S. But, my love, you are aware that my good
uncle, with his usual wisdom, has announced his de-
cided intention of bequeathing his vast wealth to us,
-in trust, of course,-in trust for the unfortunate!
for the poor! the widow and the orphan! A rich
Pool of Bethesda! from which I will lave the pre-
cious waters to a needy world.
Mrs. S. What absurdity, Edward! You will in-
vest it all in railway shares, I have no doubt; and
very probably make more widows and orphans than
you will relieve.
Mr. S. Alas! alas! it is the misfortune of the
benevolent never to be comprehended by the chil-
dren of this world-! It is the crook in the lot" to
which we, whose affections are devoted to our fellow-
creatures, are exposed. I bow to my martyrdom.
I glory in the contumely of the world.
Mrs. S. But I have no desire for the glory of
martyrdom; I do not wish to deny myself the nec-
essaries of life, and I do not see yet why I should
give up any of my few comforts to please this ex-
acting old uncle of yours.
Mr. S. This trifle might offend him, my -love;
and I would not willingly cast away the means of
benefitting my fellow-creatures. I must have this
dangerous juice of the vine for the frail old man; it
is his foible to rejoice in the delusive draught of evil
and sorrow. My Emily knows I wish it not for my-
Mrs. S. Certainly not; because you always drink


Mr. S. It is indeed my painful duty to d6 so;
left to myself, the simplest diet-the fruits, the roots
that the bounty of nature scatters round, the pure
water from the spring-would supply all my wants;
but Dr. Wiseman, as you know, my dear, says im-
peratively, Do this, or die." He commands me to
eat rich food, to drink generous wine, if I desire to
retain that life which is granted to.me solely to do
good to. all that surround me.
Mrs. S. You may fancy you are swallowing phys-
ic when ybu take your turtle and your port, Mr. Sey-
mour; but you seem to enjoy it more than any one
else at the table.
Mr. S. I am resigned, my love; I abhor the means,
but I sacrifice my inclinations to the duty of preserv-
ing my life. To the world it seems that I eat and
Shrink and live like a bon vivant, but they know me
not; my heart is far from the festive board, in the
lowly hut of privation and sorrow.
Mrs. S. I pray Edward, cease your preaching.
In all your sympathy for the unhappy, I am quite
sure I am never considered; Anl your plausible words
will not deceive me now. I know that you did once
Sdpe me: now you want to dupe your uncle; you
fancy you can dupe the whole world; but one thing
is sure, you know what you are about-you do not
dupe yourself. Now I shall go down to lunch, and
you can have bread and water if you desire it. (Ex.

Mr. S. (holding up his hands).-Unfortunate wo-
anal (Exit.)




The dressing-room. MARIA arranging -the wig of COL. SEY-
MOUR, disguised as an old Beggar.
Maria. That will do excellently. Now step into
this closet till I can introduce you, and you will pb-
ably hear your own character.
(COL. SEYMOUR letters the closet. MARIA sits down to her
Enter MR. and MRS. SEYMOUR.
Mrs. S. How painful to me is this miserable life!
I cannot comprehend, Edward, how you can be so
barbarous as to compel me to tolerate the provoking
eccentricities of that ill-bred, unfeeling, hideous old
man. When will he go away ?
Mr. S. I venture to hope, my love, that he may
never leave us. I have carefully studied his consti-
tution; I have remarked in him a fulness of habit,
a redness in the face, a short neck-all sad, sad symp-
toms. In short, my love, I caution you not to be
alarmed if te should be suddenly carried off by apo-
Mrs. S. I should not be the least alarmed or
troubled to hear that he was dead, but I cannot al-
low him to die in my house; it would be a most un-
pleasant circumstance for me.
Mr. S. Emily, how can you be blind to the fact
that his death while staying with us would be of im-
mense advantage to us! If he were to leave us he
might be induced to alter his will. He has left all to


us-a beautiful arrangement of Providence! Al-
swady i1el in possession of his coffers, which might
then be truly inscribed Treasury of the Poor."
Mrs. S. (Impatiently.) A treasury never to be
opened for the poor, I dare to say. Maria, go and
bring me a shawl, to protect me from the draught
when I descend the cold staircase. (Maria goes.)
SYou may as well speak the truth before the servants,
SEdward, for they must have long ago discovered that
you never give to the poor or the rich.
Mr. S. Mrs. Seymour, you" are mistaken-you
do not comprehend my character. A thick veil con-
oeale my charities from the million, and I am ever
studious that my right hand should not know what
my left hand does. My tender heart-(sharply)-
What does that ragged old vagabond want here?
F#ter MARI with the shawl, introducing Old Man.
[. Maria. (Putting on Mrs, Seymnour's shawl.) Please,
sir, Brown begged me to bring up the old man, who
has said he must see you immediately. on a case of
life or death.
SMr. S. What can he want? Perhaps some acci-
&ent has happened to the colonel, my dear. Speak,
old man, and at once declare the cause of this intru-

Old Man. Your own words, humane and exalted
tan. I was waiting in the hall at the meeting of
' tie magistrates yesterday, and shed tears to hear
:'ou declare before that crowded assembly that all
&x~ wealth belonged to the poor. I am the poor-



est of the poor: for I have been rich, and I feel more
keenly the cold and deadly pressure of poverty and
Mr. S. Do you belong to our parish? I know
nothing of you.
Old Man. I am a stranger. When sudden and
total ruin fell upon me, I set out, accompanied by an
aged wife and a sick and helpless daughter, wirh the
hope of reaching the home of my early days, where
some might still be living who would remember and
befriend me. When we arrived at your city our
strength and our scanty means were alike exhausted.
We took shelter in the humblest hut we could find,
hoping to be able to earn, by our labor, the small
pittance necessary to support life.
Mr. S. Well, old man, I suppose somebody would
give you work.
Old Man. Alas! sir, ny wife and child are pros-
trated by an attack of fever. I cannot even pay for
a shelter for their dying bed. Encouraged by your
noble sentiments, I come to ask of you, from your
abundance, the single piece of gold that may save
the lives of those dear to me, or at all events, render
their death-bed less miserable.
Mrs. S. Send him away, Edward: he may have
brought infection: I may take this fever. I shall.
faint if he remains in my dressing-room.
Mr. S. Go away,1 good man; I am myself very,
very poor; the demands of charity have completely
drained my purse. My ardent desire to bless the



needy with a share of my humble means, must be
reined ndw by prudence. I subscribe largely to all
benevolent societies, those blessed fountains for the
support of the respectable poor; what more can char-
ity require from me? Depart in peace; the union-
bouse is already crowded; leave this poor and heavi-
ly-rated parish. Proceed. forward to another town,
'where there are many men of larger means, though,
perhaps, with less feeling hearts than I possess.
There, old man, you will be received into a spacious
and commodious union-house: go, without delay.
Mrs. S. Why do you waste your words on such a
wretch? Send him to prison if he will not leave.
Old Man. My wife and child cannot travel; I
will not be separated from them, Give me but a tri-
te; they surely ought not to perish for want while
any of their fellow-creatures are revelling in luxury.
Mr. S. Strict principle forbids me to bestow
moneyon unknown beggars. I give you my prayers.
Maria. Please, sir, I think the colonel is riding
up the avenue; he is very rich, and perhaps he may.
be able to do something for the poor man.
Mr. S. However rich he may be, he gives noth-
i g, and has a great aversion to beggars. Go imme-
Sdiately, man; for if Col. Seymour enters, I shall be
reluctantly compelled to commit you as vagrant.
Old Man. Will you not bestow a shilling on me ?
X Mrs. S. Carry him off, girl, before the colonel
*a mes up. I would not have such a miserable object
seen in my apartment.



Mr. S. Be careful to take him out through the
back yard: not a moment longer, stubborn and im-
portunate offender; be grateful for my leniency, and
go quickly.
Old Man. Farewell, admirably-mated pair! And
in taking the liberty of removing my night-cap in
your ladyship's luxurious abode (throwing off his dis-
guise) I will drop into the P. P. C. card of Colonel
Seymour. You may well be amazed; for much as I
abhor deception, I have stooped to practice it in or-
der to discover the truth. I have other nephews
and nieces, whom I shall now seek; and after reward-
ing this honest girl, I shall take leave of this house
forever; hoping to be more successful in my next ex-
periment. I will search over half the world for a
worthy object, rather than bestow my wealth on sel-
fishness and falsehood.-Scene closes.



Dramatis Personc.

i XMr'. Arundd. And now, my dear Geraldine, that
you are restored to me, I hope you will forget speed-
ily your Irish manners and customs.
S.Geraldine. Never, mamma; remember that the
seventeen years of my life have been passed almost
. entirely in dear Ireland.
I Mr. A. And remember, too, my lady, the drop
ef pureI M ilesian blood that runs in Geraldine's veins.
ilty mother is proud of her country, and we can
eiarcelYv expect "her adopted child should have d'.i-
," .~hliart feelings.
M.frs. A. But I would not have the world believe
he cherishes such feelings; Mr. Dellington, whose
.4tbtenti:,us to her last night were gratifying, has, I
know, a peculiarr antipathy to Ireland.
f. |


Enter LuCAs.
Lucas. A man, sir, about the footman's place;
but I am afraid he is Irish.
Geraldine. Do let him come up, papa.
Mr. A. Well, we are really in immediate need of
a servant? we will see him at all events. Show him
up, Lucas.
LUCAS ushers in O'BRALLAGAN, and retires.
O'Brallagan. Bless yer honors, and its a beauti-
ful parlor ye're havin' to yerselves. I'm the boy,
shure, that's come to take the place, for want of a
better; and by the same token, it's a capital servant
yer honors will get, musha!
Mr. A. You are premature, my friend.
O'Brallagan. Will it be well-looking yer honor is
meaning? arrah! and that's thruly what all the girls
are saying.
Mr. A. I mean, young man, that I must hear
something more of you before I engage you.
O'Brallagan. No offence in the world, yer honor,
and, if agraable to their lady-ships, I'll tell the his-
thory of all the root and stock of the O'Brallagans.
Mrs. A. No, no, it is quite unnecessary, O'Bral-
lagan, if that is your name.
O'Brallagan. Is it the name that's on me, yer
ladyship? sure it's Patrick O'Brallagan: Terence,
he's the boy that comes next to me-and then there's
Nora, our sister, a sweet purty girl, she that died i'
the famine faver. Then--


S.11r. A. You must not talk so much, O'Brallagan,
before the ladies. Be content to answer my ques-
-4ione. Where did you last live?
O'Brallagan. It would be in the steerage, yer
.:bo.nor, aboard of the stamer; and a very dacent
pilac-e it was to lie down in, saving yer ladyship's
,.pr~-u.e ce.
Mr. A. You misunderstand me; I wish to know
in whose service you have lived.
.-iO'Brallagan. Och! sure wasn't I at any gintle-
Sel'aMservice that wanted a nate job done.
'*.Mr. A. I am perfectly puzzled; I believe Ger-
aldiue, I shall need your services to question the wit-
Geraldine.-(laughing.)-Tell me, Pat, what can
*you do?
6 O'Brallagan. And is it yer honorable ladyship
asks me that with your own beautiful mouth? Sure
y im ight ask the thing that Patrick O'Brallagan is
*- brt of knowing, and if I don't answer yer ladyship,
fi*ve ever seen the boy that will do that thing at
aul, at ailt.
'itIfrs. A. I do hope, James, you will not think of
'e agiun this ignorant Irishman. I am positively
e'aJiimed, he appears so eccentric.
S'O'Brallagan. Not a bit of the same, yer ladyship.
. N 'the quietest boy in the world ye'll find me, and
Statl- t'he thruth; barring any spalpeen blackens me
Wsu hthlry, and thin me blood is riz, and no help for
6't, at all, at all.


Geraldine. Oblige me, dear papa, by hiring Pat
O'Brallagan. He looks honest; Mary will teach him
his duty; and in truth, papa, my heart warms to the
brogue-it is home language to me.
Mrs. A. Geraldine, I quite shudder at your inel-
egant vehemence. I must entreat you to control this
Irish impetuosity before the refined Mr. Dellington.
Geraldine. Oh, mamma! I hate to hear of Mr.
Mr. A. That is an improper expression, my child.
Mr. Dellington is a good man in the world, a man of
fortune, of large estates, and above all, he admires
m little wild Irish girl.
Geraldine. But he is nearly as old as you are,
papa; and I should really like to choose a husband
Mrs. A. James, I am in despair; this is indeed
Mr. A. We will discuss the matter afterwards;
in the meantime we must endeavor to extract some
information of Patrick's abilities. Can you perform
the duties of a house servant ?
O'Brallagan. Musha! is it the work? Sure I'll
do all the work of the house beautiful! Will yer la-
dyship be kaping pigs, and won't I engage to make
them so fat they'll bate the parson's?
Geraldine. But we don't keep pigs, Pat; we want
a footman.
O'Brallagan. And that's mighty lucky, my lady.
Where will yer two beautiful eyes see a nater foot-


.'man, if I was having but the fine coat? Would yer
ladyship be agreeable to me having' a green coat,
':in regard of would Ireland; may the sun never set
on her But maybe yer ladyship would be wantin'
a choice about the coat: and faith! I'm aisy about
the color, barring it wouldn't be orange, bad-luck to
S; it! And now, long life to yer ladyship, will I go
down to yer illigant kitchen and set to work?
Mr. A. However unpromising our first acquaint-
s dancee is,.I think I must oblige you, Geraldine, by giv-
'- iug this man a trial, as we really need a servant.
_4you may stay, O'Brallagan: Lucas and the maids
will teach you your duty.
/.s O'Brallagan. Sure and they will! and my blessing'
1 Ajan-yer honors, and the beautiful young cratur you
.own, and she will be having the handsomest husband
* tin Ireland, and free of his money, long life to him,
:and not an honester boy nor Pat O'Brallagan ever
.ta.derk-ni.I yer door, and quiet, barring the sup of
|* rbiskey, when the heart's heavy. And a good day
S41i&t has turned up for us all, by the powers (Exit.)
Mrs. A. I am by no means satisfiedd with your
4itec'isio. James. We might surely have engaged a
earre respectable servant than this extraordinary

p'f GEraldine. Do not think so harshly of him, mam-
-.a-yo ,u are not accustomed to the Irish: but be-
-. eve me, they are true and faithful. (Aside with a
~i'ghy.) Dear, dear, O'Brien!


Mr. A. He is certainly a wild Irishman; but
with a little training, we may make a good servant
of Pat O'Brallagan. [Exeunt.

O'Brallagan. Faith and troth, it's an illigant place,
and plenty to ate, and your purty face to comfort me,
and long may it last. And didn't I tell you before,
och! mavourneen, it would do yer bright eyes good
to look on the fine, grand captain, the thrust of lov-
erst-when would an Irishman not be thrue?-one
of the would race, a raal O'Brien; the blood runs right
down from the would, ancient kings, thrue for him.
Isn't it all to see on paper, and made out in Latin,
as would Corney O'Neil can show, musln a musha!
So darling of me heart, the captain comes to me
and says,-Patrick O'Brallagan, you'll be the bach-
elor of purty Mary.
Mary. What assurance, indeed!--and what did
you say to that, Mr. O'Brallagan?
O'Brallagan. Wouldn't I tell the captain the
thruth? how we came together, and how I was proud
to get a sight of yer face; and by the same token, it
was not your fault that ye were not known me, in
regard that we had niyer met since we were born, at
all, at all. Then says the captain, wouldn't your
purty Mary be the girl to put the bit of paper to
Miss Geraldine, and the mother that owned her niv-


er be the wiser. And didn't I spake for you, mavour-
neenf and give yer consint, and take the captain's illi-
gant letter and the gold piece, for you entirely.
Few it is of them same gold pieces iver rests with
the O'Briens, in regard of their being remarkable free
in parting wid them, blessins on them for iver and
iver, it is them that are the raal thrue race. May
the heavens shower gold upon their heads.
Mary. And I must give Miss Geraldine the letter,
Patrick ?
.O'L' n,'. r:. In course ye will, my darlin; and
/when they are married, you are my choice to be Mrs.
Patrick O'Brallagan, and then we will apply for the
place of lady's maid to the captain and his bride,
seeing that same would shute us entirely.
Mary. Well, I :)'.-: '.:, I will do it, if you say it is
Right; but I feel rather shy about it, for Mr. Lucas
Shas been watching us all along from his pantry win-
dow; and Patrick, you know he is jealous about you.
Then Cook, she is jealous of him, and treats me like
a slave, .and I cannot help being better looking than
she is.
SO'Brallagan. Not a bit of it, you beauty o' the
"World, and if ye were wishin' the fairies to make you
Sfl-lookin', they couldn't find it in their hearts to do
it. Here comes Mrs. Cook, so lave me to discourse
her nately, and go in with the letter, ye good cratur.
Exit MARY.
Enter Cook with a plucked fowl.
O'Brallagan. Shure I knowed that would be your
purty foot making' the music on the flore. Och, by


the powers, it is a wonderful woman ye are, Mrs.
Cook. I'm thinking ye jewel, ye would aisily make
a roasted goose out of a prater, musha. A raal clev-
er cratur ye are wi' the pans and gridirons.
Cook. You say so, Mr O'Brallagan, and you is
altogether a gentleman, but there's bothers that
thought to be the first to speak them words that 'old
their tongues and run after other girls as thought to
be hashamed o' theirselves to be hinviggling other
people's sweetarts, and making their hinny benders
hagen them as is their betters.
O'Brallagan. And sure, it woldun't be purty Mary
you. would mane, Mistress Cook. Bad luck to him
that would make her out to be a rogue, and me here
to let that word be said, and Mary my own counthry-
woman, and that's the thruth entirely.
Cook. There hagan, Mr. O'Brallagan, you're a
standing' up for her, and the girl's hinsensed you as
she's a Hirisher. No such a thing! My lady never
'ires no Hirishers.
O'Brallagan. Och! only to see that same! But
be aisy, my jewel. Isn't Mary my own lawful cous-
in? Leastways, her own born mother, which was
Biddy O'Neal, was second cousin to my Aunt Honor
Delaney, which same was born at Cilfinane, and ber-
red i' the thrubbles, and it follows quite natural that
Mary would be cousin to me. And sure Biddy 0'
Neal was a Kilkenny woman, and anyhow her daugh-
ter would be a born Irishwoman.
Cook. Really, Mr. O'Brallagan, you talk a deal


'f nonsense. I stand to it as Mary's Hinglish, and
'old up 'er 'ed, and perk.'erself about 'er beauty, sich
as it his, and him encouraging 'er as thought to
S know better, and telling'er he admire black heyes-
.. : more shame hon 'im, when, he knows my heyes is
surillen blue, hand that he swear with his hown
tongue, till she tice 'im hoff, a himperent 'ussy.
O'Brallagan. Be aisy now, my fine woman, arrah !
what would ye be having ? It's Patrick O'Brallagan
that's her sworn bachelor, and will be thrue to her,
SAndbe the friend of her and hers foriver and iver, and
b / ad luck to the spalleen that lays his eyes on her at
all atall, without my lave from this day out.. (Sees
Lucas enter behind.) And you'd be hearing my words,
.Mr. Lucas, long life to you for a snake, stalen be-
hind to listen to our discourse. Maybe it'll not be
.. plasin' to you.
Lucas. I hadvise you, O'Brallagan, not to forget
that you are speaking to a hupper servant, and to re-
spect your betters, and to keep a civil tongue in your
*ed. I 'ear what you say of me and Miss Mary, and
I hadvise you to mind your own affairs.
OBrallagan. Shure now! and a fine bit of advice
it is, and grand words; maybe it would be the Mas-
ther that said them words to you, and you being such
.a mighty fine gentleman! (Enter Mary.) Och?
Mary, mavourneen, it wouldn't be thrue that you'd
be lettin' him come round you with his grand dis-
coorse: ye wouldn't be shaming them that come
afore you. Shure it's not for your mother's daugh-
ter to-demane herself to an Englishman.


Lucas. What do you mean, you low Hirish feller?
I allays say you to be quite inferior to us; and I take
care that this housee is too 'ot to 'old ye. I say to
Mr. Arundel as how you hinsults the hupper servants,
and as you conways cladderintestine letters to our
Miss, which inference I'se make it my dooty to re-
port to my lady hin honor.
O'Brallagan. By the powers, and that's what ye
mane to do, ye would rogue o' the world ; and it's a hul-
labaloo ye'll riz, ye will! Arrah then what'll Patrick
O'Brallagan be doing, musha! musha I To blazes
wi' ye, ye schamer o' life, ye slave of a Saxon, may
ye get yer desarvins, Booner or later. Hoorah! for
the rights of Ireland !
Cook.-(Shrieks.)-Poles! poles 'elpl 'elp! Oh,
the willun will murder poor innocent Mr. Lucas!
Cook and Mary hold O'Brallagan back.
Lucas.-'Old 'im Cook, 'old 'im: get back to Hire-
land, you poor hignorant savage. Hall them Hirish
is rogues and beggars.
O'Brallayan. Wisha, girls, let me be. (Breaks
away.) Arrah, you spalpeen, wait till we git our
rights, and won't we driv' all ye venomous Saxons be-
fore us into the wide say, and dare you out of our
own country, outright. Wisha! wisha! '(Dances
about, waving his arms; the women scream.)
Mr. A. What means all this noise? Are you all
drunk or mad? You have terrified the ladies into


1' AZl together. Please, sir-
SMr. A. I must understand the matter thoroughly;
i I command you all to follow me to the library, that
I may learn the truth. (Exeunt.)

seated at a table; the SERVANTS standing, the WOMEN weep-
ing, LuCAS and O'BRALLAGAN making gestures of anger.
S Mr. A. Now, I must insist upon knowing the
I bause of this strange uproar. You appeared to be a
quiet young man, O'Brallagan; what has thus pro-
v. oked you to such violence ?
O'Brallagan; It's me country, yer honorable wor-
ship! That desaving thaif o' the world, what does
'he do but turn his black tongue to abuse me country!
SIreland, yer honor, the finest would country o' the
world. And by the same token, isn't it every inch
of the ground is blessed, in regard of St. Patrick
'himself that walked without a shoe to his foot from
one end to another, and left it to us for iver and iver,
T hat the boys would be the bravest, and the girls the
S'purtiest, of all the world, and that's thrue of it, and
no lie, at.all at all, as Corney knows, and-
SMrs. A. Pray be silent, young man, your words
are perfectly distracting to me.
O'Brallagan. Ochone! see that now! what will
I do at all, wisha? Sorra a bit would Patrick 0'-
SBrallagan-be the boy to give the -fear to her beauti-


ful honorable ladyship; and the illegant young miss
with the smile on her purty mouth, and one, too, that
knows the captain, him that's the thruest of lovers,
and wanted to go off to fight the Rooshins, barring
he wouldn't displease the jewel that owned his heart
altogether. Wisha! wisha! what will I be saying
now? That's the way wid me iver, the truth always
comes out; and if it wer' the killing o' me, my heart
gets the better o' me.
Mrs. A. What does the man mean by these im-
pertinent allusions to lovers?
Lucas. Please, my lady, them were the very words
I say which aggravate O'Brallagan. I think it my
dooty, my lady, to infer, when I see O'Brallagan give
Miss Mary a .cladderintestine letter to take to Miss
O'Brallagan. Arrah, then, bad luck to yez, for a
maker of mischief! it's the saints themselves that ye
would provoke, let alone a civil-spoken boy like me,
that cannot put up with yer ways. Musha! it's thrue
for the master that yer all alike, and it's divarshun
from morn till night, and nothing else in the world
ye think on, down below in the jintale kitchen, where
there's plinty and no stint, and niver a pig durst
show his purty face at all.
Mr. A. Do not look alarmed, my dear Mrs. Ar-
undel. The cladderintestine letter enclosed one to
me, which Geraldine dutifully delivered, and told me
the tale which she has yet been too timid to commu-
nicate to her mother. It was my mother who sanc-


toned and approved the addresses of Captain
O'Brien, a gallant soldier who has already earned
laurels--the nephew and heir of our old friend, Lord
O'Brien. The letter was from him, making such pro-
posals for our daughter as I think even you will not
reject, though the captain is Irish. I expect the
gentleman to call himself this morning-and proba-
bly that may be his knock. Go, Lucas, and usher in
the visitor.
LucAs retires, and returns, announcing CAPTAIN O'BRIN,
MR. ARUNDEL goes forward, and shakes hands, and intro-
duces him to MRs. ARUNDEL.
Capt. O'Brien. Truly, an introduction to your
gentle lady encourages me to hope. Who can be-
hold her and not see at once that she must be the
mother of the lovely Geraldine if they did not de-
cide that one so young andeautifulould only be
her sister.
Mrs. A. You gentlemen of Ireland certainly ex-
cel in the art of flattering the matrons, and winning
the maidens.
Capt. O'Brien. So the world say; but then, where
are there such sons and such husbands as the true-
hearted sons of Erin? Make me your devoted ser-
vant forever, dear lady, by granting me the hand of
.your fair image, my lovely Geraldine.
Mrs. A. I had other views for my daughter, but
I leave all in the hands of her father: for though
usually I have somewhat of prejudice against the
Irish, there is a nobility about your manner, worthy


of the nephew of Lord O'Brien, whom I knew well
many years ago-in fact-I thought him too old.
Capt. O'Brien. How fortunate, dear Mrs. Arun-
del for if you had not thought so, the world would
not have seen the flower of beauty, Geraldine Arun-
del, and I should not have been the heir of the
Mr. A. We will know you a little more, O'Brien,
and then I think you need not despair.
Capt. O'Brien. And blessed will be the day when
I shall carry my little pearl of the world back to the
land of love and beauty, dear Erin!
O'Brallagan. And would ye be wanting a lady's
maid, Captain?
Capt. O'Brien. Arrah, Patrick, is that you?
What in the world have you been brought up for?-
you surely haven't been breaking the peace here?
O'Brallagan. Wisha! wish I what will I do? It
was me blood was up wasn't it the innemies of our
country, Captain, 'ud provoke me?
Capt. O'Brien. And so you wished to go out as a
lady's maid to Ireland?
O'Brallagan. Plase your honor, that was in re-
gard to purty Mary and Miss Geraldine, and she
willing' to take me entirely, if Miss Geraldine will
want us for the lady's maid, or the lodge at the grand
gate, when we would be having a praty all the year
round, and maybe a pig on the floor and not a penny
of rint to pay. And isn't Mary the girl that'll make
me come home straight, niver looking at the shebeen
at all at all.


Capt. O'Brien. Well, O'Brallagan, I believe we
Irish boys are best at home: so, if Mr. Arundel will
allow it, and Mrs. Arundel will pardon your trespass-
es, you must return with me to the would country,
good luck to it I
O'Brallagan. God bless your honor's glory. You're
a raal patriot! Erin go bragh! [Scene closes.


SfJlavab iin jtree i entrs.,

Dramatis Personce.
LOMONT, Scottish officers.
DUGALD, aScottish soldier.
FLORA, the soldier's sister.
ScENE, about th river Carron.-Time, towards sunset.
V 'SCENE The border of a wood,
Lom. All, then, is los
. Alas! long injured c,''uiitry Wallace down,
Who will redress thine evils I
* -Haw. Wallace,
Tho' doubtless deeply grieved, will not so sink
As to be lost to Scotland, but will rise
Heroic--like her thistle downward bent-
After a suiting space.


Lom. Our troops dispers'd,
Dispirited! severe is our late loss I
Oh, fatal Falkirk !
Haw. Let us not despond;
But seeking Wallace, plan re-union wise
With our dislodg'd array!
Lom. Well urged! Eve glooms
As she advances, threatening us with rain;
But storm of combat renders reckless.
Haw. Ay!
Nevertheless, we'll hail lone cot, to glean
News of our missing men!

SCENE II.-Front of Recluse Cottage.
Flora. Oh, Dugald! Dugald!
Thou'st brought us dreadful, dark intelligence I
Our country, then, is lost?
Dug. 'Twould seem so now:
But our commander, coining ever good,
Will, while we speak, be active.
Flora. But, Dugald,
He will be shorn of every needful aid
In this sad juncture!
Dug. r trust not, Flora!
But I must soon depart to join his fate--
My country calls!


Flora. Ilow could our noble troops
.Be beaten so?
Dug. Dissension-linked unto the Saxon bow-
SProv'd our dissolving bane.
S-Flora. Alas! 'tis oft
The fate of ardent soldiers, trusty, firm,
Tjo fall thro' leading envy.
Dug. Too true, indeed!
Now Flora, seek with me the edge of wood,
SWhen I must quit thee. [Exeunt.]

SCENE III.-Side of Carron.
Wall. The sun is low!
SSo certainly, is Wallace's fortune-star,
That hath been erewhile bright Yon swift rainbow,
:;,panuning -thereal spaces, in the east,
Remind' mIe of my It; sunshine awhile,
To close in sudden sombrousness. Yet I,
e son of wild variety, ill trust
ain, a~ heretofore, in heavenly aid;
*: like a tyro in the freak of war,
ld my strong spirit, school'd in peril's field,
'the deluding demon of despair,
ron the watch, like an insidious foe
*t settles in the bush. Here, by Carron,
goingg so wildly to.the quiet Forth,
many meet retreats, wherein to plant


Our thistle-garnish'd standard. Lov'd Scotland.
Altho' to-day thou'rt down, another hour,
I do invoke, with all a Patriot's zeal,
Shall scan thee rais'd again; else Wallace will
Be borne from Hope to that depressing doom
That dark Despondence weaves, never to toil
Again for liberty I [Scene closes.


2[ pastoral (Sbarate in tjree Scents.

Dramatis Persons.
ALERTO, a gentleman resident by Deeside.
CLoDIo, a sensible shepherd.
UaSINo, a skeptical shepherd.
REGISA, a lady resident by Deeside.
ERIcA, daughter of Clodio.
OVINA, sister to Erica.

Erica. How sweetly smiles the morning's rising
Piercing the mist upon the mountain gray.
The flock, Ovina, scents the fragrant air,
Grateful for Nature's ever active care;
The deer, delighting in the healthy hill,
Are thankful to enjoy their simple will.


Ovina. Ay! these, the creatures gifted less than
Do yet appear to move more gratefully.
Man, lordling over all, is ever lax
In his discharge of gratitude's just tax:
None other seems to meet with less regard,
Fjom the bold biped of the terrene sward.
Erica. Nay, sister? sure thou gett'st little stern;
I know we all have very much to learn.
'"r ancestors old dame for witch would burn,
'Then, for applause, to youthful damsel turn.
QOiina. Well, I do own I am a bit severe;
yet men do silly, certes, oft appear.
SErica. So do the maids-but see, the sheep do
Let us fast check them on their roving way.

Sb m II-A Meadow.
4to r CLoDIo. URsnmo.

Smooth, Ursino, I must really say,
.%a!ic of an\arly day.
topk a little il
m, that world credit kill.
thi, if Heaveu resented so,
ekfedness of Earth wold after go!
SThou think'st of Crathie! I am a little

ct doth move the common-minded herd.


The churchyard stalker conning o'er a tomb,
May fill his heart with fear-arraying gloom;
Not so Ursino acts-hears he a tale
Unmoved, where craft can mightily prevail.
SClodio. So sceptics ever talk; but even these
Find fear disposed their hearts sometimes to freeze.
Ursino. So do discourse, oft seasons, old divines;
But I take sermon by our open pines.
Clodio. Thoul't rue this doctrine, bred by snaring
If not before, at least by close of life.
Ursino. So says our clerk; but I will persevere,
At least till closure of this solar year.
Clodio. Then will I leave thee, never to return!
Ursino. I care not; for I such advices, spurn I

Regisa. How lik'st thou faithful friend, to wander
While old Autumnus rules, amid the north?
Where the deer-stalker seeks soul-stirring sport,
'Twould seem desirable to pleasure court*
Yet when I look upon the graceful train,
I hope the antler may escape o'er plain.
Alerto. Lady rever'd! there are more scenes to
Here, than such as one nigh the antlers sees;


STho' I do own, a sportsman must enjoy
His skill, in such Iil_-ii. sport, to employ.
SThere seems a sort of witchcraft in the spell
That leads the step to th' antler-hunted dell.
Regisa. It doth appear so! Well we subject
SHow lik'st thou, then, thro' birchen groves to range?
There, to the Muses meet, in Autumn day,
is, sure, sage manner to wile time away!
Alerto. Ay, truly madam, so I do desire,
That I was favor'd with Parnassus fire.
R'egisa. But are not poets, when they have but
S zeal,
Sy deep devotion led to greatly feel?
.44erto. It is so surmis'd, yet I dare to doubt,
. "bgisa. 'Well, let us try to draw some users out ?
Scene closes.

ir,i i



T Cfbatrabi in birez acts.

Dramatis Personce.

Jacob. "All the world's a stage," and I must say
my performances in this old highland castle have
been very successful. First, I succeeded in releasing
the young lady's hawk unperceived and unsuspected;
and then I recover it, of course, at the peril of my
life, and restore it to its fair mistress. How charm-
ingly she thanked me for my rash and dangerous ex-
ploit; overcome by her matchless beauty, I revealed
my love. She blushed and trembled; and then re-
vealed to me, with a deep sigh, that she had the mis-
fortune to be the heiress of Glenallin; which dis-
closure naturally filled me with grief and despair.
In my distraction I threatened to terminate my
wretched life ; but at her urgent entreaties, I consent-
ed to live for her sake. By accident, we have met
again and again; and I have acted Romeo to the


:' life, and have I trust, captivated my admiring Juliet.
L- 'it has become necessary to take a bolder step, and
-having opportunely to-day found the falcon's silver
S chain, I have'ventured into the very den of the lion,
I't order to restore the young lady's property, but
above all to have a peep into the interior of the es-
tablishment, to rub down the governor, and then, if
the cards are in my fivor, to present the happily-
worded letter bf my Lord Glasgow.
Enter JESSY.

.Tessy. Oh, Montague, rash and thoughtless man,
S omw could yon di:.obL:,y m ? how could you-venture
to enter the castle uniinvired ? Glenallin is fiery in
.emper, and you hn e -ll the pride and bravery of an
ZM Jsh knight. I tlremlle to think on yourmeeting;
you quarrel, what would be my misery !
,u.ontague, not to resent any hasty words
Happy, gentle maiden, your soft wish-
ield to protect your parent. Could I
ceate a pang in that valued heart?
gh he insult me: but though he should
his clan. he cannot stop me; for, Jessy,
e~.ies more peril in thine-eyes, than twenty of
0, gentle JMolta,,ue! it is very strange al-
garvellouIS how nll my dreams of fancy have been
ed. Would you believe it, that when my sweet
end Augusta Victoria Siith,andIused to speculate


on our future prospects-for we shared the same dormi-
tory at Mount Ida House, at Hampstead, and used
to solace the long hours of our nocturnal watchfulness
by planning charming romances of love-would you
believe it, that I then vowed I would tolerate no lov-
er unless he was named Montague?
Jacob. Happy, prophetic inspiration and did that
ideal Montague resemble-r--
Jessy. I must confess that my fancied adorer
spoke very much as you do, and except for the uni-
form, the personal resemblance is striking. But alas !
Glenallin wishes to betroth me to his constant ally
and fast friend; and his name is unfortunately Alex-
ander. Besides, his accent is Scottish, and I am
persuaded he would be laughed at and ridiculed at
Mount Ida House. I allow that he is noble and
rich, tall and handsome; but he has no sentiment,
no romance in his character; he laughs so loudly
that I am convinced Miss Primley would faint to
hear him, and I fear many of his habits would be
thought low at Mount Ida House Academy.
Jacob. Then cast him from you; noble maiden,
" Love is all gentle words, or sighs, or tears."
Jessy. What would Augusta Victoria Smith think
of such a rude and unfashionablefutur? She is already
betrothed; but sad to say, her lover, though a captain
in the Hampshire Militia, is named John Thompson.
This was ever a painful fact to her, till I suggested
that we should always name him Giovanni; she was
enchanted with the idea, and ever after addressed


him R mio caro Giovanni. Beloved, highly gifted,
Augasta Victoria !
Jacob. Oh, say to your charming friend that Mon-
tague Fit-z'Alan, throws himself at her feet, entreat-
ing her to intercede with the peerless Jessy to accept
the devoted love of her slave. "Turn not away,
light of my soul, from my bold words. 0 beauty !
till now I.never knew thee i "
* Jessy. I am weak and blamable to listen to your
wild vows; besides I cannot accept you-there is
one insuperable objection; the hero of my school
fancies was a soldier. Why, Montague, with your
noble nature, and distinguished figure, have you not
adopted the graceful and honorable uniform that
marks the defender of his country, in this her hour
of need?
Jacob. Alas fair maiden, family reasons have re-
strained my ardent desire to join the brave band.
But -no.w, sweet Jessy, I am your slave; Call me
but love, I will forsake my name;" Decide for me,
fair mistress of my fate; name your favorite regi-
ment ; and such is the influence of the name of Fitz-
Alan, that my. commission will be secured.
Jessy. Not on-any-account, Montague: in truth,
I fear I am wrong. I tremble at the thoughts of
your meeting with Glenallin; that is, with papa.
You have no idea how absolute and imperious papa
can be, Montague; and probably he will insist on
knowing your business at the Castle.
Jacob. And I am fully prepared to reply to him.


Glenallin is no more formidable to me than Derby,
Aberdeen, or any of my noble friends at the Court
of England.
Jessy. But I am not sure that I should like to ap-
pear at the Court of England, among your great
friends. I am but a simple Scottish lassie. And
then papa is so anxious that I should marry M'Lom-
Jacob. M'Lomond! Is he in the Castle?
Jessy. No, he is gone off on a hunting party; and
besides, he was so offended with my indifference, that
it will be long before he comes here again.
Jacob.-(Aside)-I trust it may.
Jessy. But why do you ask? Do you know him?
Jacob. I have hunted with him at Lord Glasgow's.
Jessy. Glasgow is papa's great friend; therefore,
his name will be your introduction. We will go to
him in his study. [Exeunt.

A room in the castle, with books, trophiesof the chase, 4c. GLEN.
ALL N seated, with papers before him.

What can have become of my bonnie spoilt lassie?
Ah I my lady Glenallin, it was a dark day for me
when you lay on your death-bed, and urged me to
promise to send my heartsome lassie to learn English
manners at a southron school. And what has come
of the deed; it will be long before she bounds over


theheath again with the free step of the Gael. It
will be long before she forget the mincing, sickening
tongue of the south: nay, worse than all, I fear it
will be long before her wayward fancy will see the
worth of -the gallant, faithful young M'Lomond.
My winsome Jessy! I would not have her to give
her hand till he has-won her heart: but I have again
urged him to come, unknown to her; and this day I
trust to see him at the head of his brave clansmen;
then I ken little of a young lassie's fancy, if the bold
M'Lomond, towering above his clan, clad in his gray
kilt and plaid, and wearing his eagle plume above
his noble brow, does not win my Jesys. I hear the
music of her foot; but who is this stranger ?

Enter JACOB and JESSy.

Jessy. Dear papa-Glenallin, I mean-this gen-
tleman, an English traveller, was so obliging as to
secure my fugitive falcon; and he has now kindly
come to restore to me the silver chain which he has
found. This is Mr. Montague Fitz-Alan, papa.
Glenallin. I thank Mr. Montague Fitz-Alan for
his exploit, and I make no doubt that you have also
thanked him, my-aughter. The halls of Glenallin
are ever open to the ranger: he is welcome.
S Jacob. My lord, I co e to claim more from you
than your hospitality; I wquld not be a stranger in
these honored halls. I have long, unknown to her,
admired and loved your fair daughter. Deem it not
presumption; I am the heir of a noble house, and I


come forward boldly to beseech you to accept me as
your son-in-law. I have set my life upon the cast,
yet dare not to urge my passion to the lovely maid
without your sanction. I rest all my hopes on your
generosity-I ask but the maid; wealth I need not.
"My love, more noble than the world, prizes not
quantity of dirty lands." She alone is my attraction.
That miracle !-that queen of gems !
Glenallin. But who, and what are you, young
Englishman? Your words are many and beyond the
comprehension of our northern simplicity. You are
welcome to the hospitality of my castle, as a stran-
ger; but, as the wooer of my daughter I would know
more of you.
Jacob. I stand for judgment." Know you not
the high-born Lord Glasgow?
Glenallin. Well I know the heroic Glasgow; but he
is no longer in Scotland; ten days ago, at the head of
the bravest of his clan, he sailed to fight the battles
of his country in the East. Even if you knew him,
he cannot appear to certify who you are.
Jacob. Doubt not mine honor." The noble
Glasgow has ever been my firm friend; we parted
on the strand, and at that anxious moment, I poured
into his friendly bosom my tale of silent love. He
heard and pitied me; nay, more, he urged me to seek
you, his noble friend, and declare my passion; he
even wrote a few brief words, before he left the shore,
to advocate my cause. Behold the letter! (Gives


Glenallin. I am satisfied that you are honorable
by the sight of my friend's writing; it is scarcely
needful to read his letter. (Opens and reads it.)
"Will you, for my sake, dear Glenallin, grant the
bearer, if-possible, the favor he asks from you; he
will prove all you can wish.
Ever yours,
Truly, Mr. Fitz-Alan, this is high testimony, and
had I not built my hopes on my little lassie becom-
ing the bride of the brave M'Lomond, I should have
proudly welcomed you -as my son. Now, I must
perforce disappoint you, for-
Jacob. Yet, stay, Glenallin. Hear the lady !-
let the lady speak I" I will abide by her decision.
"If she love me not,
Let me be no assistant to a state,
Sut keep a farm and carters!"

Sa. oung Englishman, it is not usual for
agaidens to dictate to their parents. I am
'f a clan, of which my daughter forms an
a. I require obedience, though I am' no
jp9Qt. My clansmen give me their services; I do
iiat hold them in s9very. My daughter must yield
5 .pe her duty; butI do not wish her to forfeit her hap-
pp s.a. s Speak, then, my' essy: is it true that you
have- so soon bestowed yotr heart on this stranger;
-nd would you be his bride?
.: Jessy. Oh, Montague,_lcannot leave Glenallin. I


believe I never meant seriously to leave home. But,
papa, Augusta Victoria wrote to assure me that you
would compel me to marry M'Lomond; and I thought
that would be terrible.
Glenallin. And you thought your silly English
correspondent knew your father better than you did
yourself. No, Jessy; I would not force you to mar-
ry my friend, though I shall expect that the daughter
of Glenallin wed only her equal. But you shall not
decide hastily, my child. We will descend to the
dining hall, and introduce the noble Saxon to High-
land Hospitality. [Exeunt.


A hall in the Castle. Table covered with jugs, glasses, <4c.

Glenallin. Leave us not yet, my Jessy. (Aside)
I shall weary of this stranger's fantastic words, if I
am left alone with him. (Aloud.) Ihave some hopes
of a visit from an old friend to-day; when he arrives,
you can seek your bower, and consider over the
grand question.
Jacob. (Aside.) I should like to know whom the
old fellow expects; it would be advisable to cut him
in time. (Aloud.) And I must tear myself awhile
from all I love. I expect important despatches from
Government, and must be at my inn to receive them.


Servant. There's a puir sonsie English lassie,
clamoring for justice fra ye, Glenallin.
Glenallin. Take her to my study, Andrew.
Servant. But there's no haulding her, Glenallin,
she is greetin' just ahint me.
Jessy. Let the poor woman come here, papa, if
she be in sorrow. [Exit Servant.

Enter MARTHA, who rushes up to JACOB.
Martha. Oh, Jacob Hodges, shame on you!
you're at your play-actor tricks again; getting' into
grand folks' houses wi' your rigmarole speechifying.
How dar' ye lift up your head, man, after swearing
to marry a poor lass, and then running off an' leav-
ing her altogether.
S Jacob. Woman, avaunt! I know thee not. "This
S is mere madness."
Martha. Not know me, Martha Willans? Heav-
en forgi' thee Jacob (sobbing) and oh, miss sic a
bonny, quiet lad he was down i' Yorkshire, when we
were bits of bairns together; but nought wad sarve
him, but gang off wi' t' player folks; and it was
nobbit last Martinmas was a twelvemonth, that he
'ittled down, and we cam' together into yan house.
Glenallin. Young man, what means this woman's
violence? Are not you a Fitz-Alan?
'~ *Azcob. You are abused, my lord."
Glenallin. I fear indeed that I am; and you must
* certainly have greatly imposed on Lord Glasgow.


Martha. That he never did, I'll stand to it. Ja-
cob there, wi' all his bits of fine duds, and his silly
ways, is as good a groom as ever rubbed down a
horse, and that's what my lord couldn't but say on
Jessy. A groom! can it be possible?
Martha. Yes, miss, we baith lived wi' my lord,
till he sat off a soldering, and then Jacob, he had no
mind for fighting, so my lord sits down and writes
him a character, to get him a good place. Then
Jacob he 'ticed me on to gi' warning, and he telled
me he would be sartain to meet me at Glasgow
town-end last Monday was a week, and he would
wed me. And I went, like a fule that I was, and
saw none on him, not I, and some folks we kenned
tuik me in, and there I fell bad wi' crying and fret-
ting, till our folks heard on him seeking for a place
at Glenallin, and after him I cam' and-
Jacob. Amazing The woman labors under a
strong mental delusion. Believe her not.
Mine honor is my life; both grow in me;
Take honor from me, and my life is done.

M'Lomond-(Taking Jessy's hand.)-How fares my
bonnie Jessy? What! in tears, my winsome lassie?
What means this?
Jessy. Oh, do not ask me, M'Lomond! I am
ashamed to look on you.
M'Lomond. I am in a mist. Speak Glenallin,


my good friend. You seem to be holding a court of
justice in your banqueting hall. Who is this weep-
*ing woman and the gentleman?- Why, Hodges I
what in the world has brought you in this gay attire
to Glenallin?
Jacob. "A truant disposition, good my lord."
[ M'Lomond. Oh, I see, then the lass you left be-
hind you has followed to claim her property; a com-
mon case. But yet I cannot understand how Lord
Glasgow's groom happens to be seated at Glenallin's
Jessy. I will tell you all afterwards, M'Lomond;
my romantic folly has produced this vexatious scene.
Entreat Glenallin to pardon his English school-girl,
who promises in future to act like Glenallin's daugh-
Jacob. Oh, woman! woman! ".Now could I drink
hot blood." But no, I will not. -Would you please,
Glenallin, to return me my character, out of holy
pity?" I must needs resume the duties of my pro-
fession. See,'girl what a pretty kettle of fish thou
hast made, but I forgive thee, and-
"Mark but my fall and that which ruined pe!
Martha, I charge thee, fling away ambition."
Let us leave the gorgeous palaces of the proud.
"Not a frown more;" forgive my brief inconsistency,
All my fortune at thy feet Ilay,
And follow thee, my love, through all the world."
[Exeunt JAcoB and MARTHA.


M'Lozond. (Laughing.) And now for explana-
tipns of all this mischief. I am anxious to discover
the meaning of Martha's Kettle of fish."

Scene closes.



The leader of the game, having thought of some
object, asks her companions, What is my thought
like?" "
As all are ignorant of what she is thinking about,
their answers can of course be but random ones.
When she has questioned them all, they must give a
reason why the answers given resemble the thought;
for instance:
"I have a thought and what ig it like ?
1 "It is like the sea."
2. "Like a family."
3. Like a tree."
4. Like a troop of soldiers."
5. Like a dinner-bell."
6. "Like General Williams."
7. Like this play."
8. Like a person of nobility."
Then she gives her thought, which was a book, and
proceeds to question each one as to the resemblance


between that thought and the objects they selected-
as thus:
"Why is a book like the sea?"
"Some are of great depth."
"Why is it like a family?"
"Because it contains different characters."
"Why is it like a tree?"
"Oh, it is full of leaves."
"Why is it like a.troop of soldiers?"
"Because both should be reviewed."
"Why is it like a dinner-bell?"
"It calls us to a feast."
"Why is it like General Williams? "
"Because both have a title."
." Why is it like this play?"
"They both must come to an end."
"Why is it like a person of nobility?"
Because both have titles."
Then another player declares that she has a
thought, and collects these answers.
1. "It is like a garden."
2. "It is like a ship."
3. "Like a rose."
4. "Like paper."
5. "Like a coat."
6. "Like mud."
7. "Like a child."
8. Like cloth."
Then she says her thought was a carpet.


"Why is a carpet like a garden?"
"Because some have borders."
"Why is a carpet like a ship?"
Because both require tacking."
"Why is a carpet like a rose?"
"Both.are liable to fade."
Why is it like paper?"
"Some kinds are made of rags."
"Why is it like a coat?"
"Both need brushing."
"Why is it like mud?"
Some are so soft that the feet sink into them."
"Why is it like a child?"
"When a child is naughty it is often shaken."
"Why is it like cloth?
"Because both are sold by the yard."
If the answers are given quickly it will enhance
the pleasure of the game. Many other questions of
this character will suggest themselves to our young


This game is instructive as well as pleasing, some-
times extending. one's knowledge of literature, and
often refreshing the memory in cases where disuse
had produced a partial forgetfulness.
* A well-known quotation is repeated by one of the
party; and the one who can tell the author immedi-


ately, gives another quotation to be guessed as bc-
fore. For instance, one commences with:

"The quality of mercy is not &train'd;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown."

The one who first says Shakspeare, might give a
passage from Moore:

O! ever thus from childhood's hour,
I've seen my fondest hopes decay;
I never loved a tree or flower,
But 'twas the first to fade away.
I never nursed a dear gazelle,
To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well,
And love me, it was sure to die!"

The one who can name the author, might give this
selection from Burns:

O, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It wad frae manie a blunder free us
And foolish notion."

The one who guesses the name of this last author,
might give a quotation from Lessing, the German
'Tis better to sit in Freedom's hall,
With a cold, damp floor and a mouldering wall,
Than to bow the neck or to bend the knee
In the proudest palace of slavery."


This game may be played by any number of per-
One of the party announces himself as a traveller,
about to take a little. tour. He calls upon any of
the party for information respecting the objects of
the greatest interest to be noticed in the different
cities and towns through which he intends to pass.
An empty bag is given to him, and to each of the
persons joining in the game are distributed sets of
counters with numbers on. Thus, if twelve persons
were playing, the counters required would be up to
the number twelve, and a set of ones would be given
Sto the first person, twos to the second, threes to the
third, and so on.
When the traveller announces the name of the
place at which he intends to stop, the first person is
at liberty to give any information, or make any re-
marks respecting it; if he cannot do so, the second
person has the chance, or the third, or it passes on
until some one is able to speak concerning it. If the
traveller considers it correct information, or worthy
of notice, he takes from the person one of his count-
1 ers, as a pledge of his obligation to him; the person
next in order is to proceed, so as not each time to
begin with No. 1. If no one of the party speaks, the
traveller may consider there is nothing worthy of
notice at the place he has announced, and he then
passes on to another.


After he has reached his destination, he turns out
his bag to see which of the party has given him the
greatest amount of information, and that person is
considered to have won the game, alid is entitled to
be the Traveller in the next game.
If it should happen that two or more persons should
have given the same number of counters, those per-
sons are to be allowed in succession to continue to
assist the traveller and deposit their pledges until
one alone remains.

Traveller. I intend taking a little excursion this
summer, and shall shortly start from London for
Bridport; but as I wish to stop at several places, I
shall travel chiefly by post. As Windsor is only
twenty-two miles from London I shall first stop there.
No. 1 Then pray go and see the castle. It is a
noble building originally built by William the Con-
queror: but it has been so altered and added to by
'other sovereigns, that little if any, of the original
building remains."
Traveller. Thank you for this information;
pray deposit a counter in my bag, that I may re-
member to whom I owe it.- I should like to know
who formed the noble terraces."
No. 2 and 3 not answering,
No. 4 said, "Queen Elizabeth," and deposited a
No 7. Pray notice a long walk from Windsol Cas.


tie to the top of Snow Hill; it is a perfectly straight
line, above three miles in length, and considered the
finest thing of the kind in Europe." A counter of
No. 7 was put in the bag.
Traveller. "I cannot stop longer at Windsor, but
must proceed with my journey. Where shall I stop
next ?"
No. 9. Do not pass Reading without seeing the
ruins of the abbey, which was built by Henry I., who
was interred there in 1135, as they are very beauti-
ful, especially the remains of one of the gates." No.
.9 deposits a counter.
No. 12. Will you pass Marlborough? for at that
place the royalists, in the time of Charles I., were
successful, and took the town, which was guarded by
the Parliamentarians." No 12 puts a counter in the
traveller's bag.
Traveller. "Would you advise my stopping at
No. 2. "By all means, as the natural ht springs in
that city are very curious and well worthy your no-
tice. These waters are of incalculable benefit in
many diseases, and have often cured the sufferer
when all other remedies have failed." No. 2 depos-
its a counter. P
Traveller. "I think I shall now take tile train for
No. 3. "The inhabitants of Bridgewater supported
the claims to the throne of the Duke of Monmouth,
and he was proclaimed king by. the Mayor and cor-


portion. There is a fine painting in the parish
church dedicated to St. Mary, representing the de-
scent from the cross, which was found on board a
French privateer, which you had better go and see."
No. 3 deposits a counter.
Traveller. "I think that I have heard that a cel-
ebrated admiral was born at Bridgewater. Who can
tell me his name?"
No. 7. Admiral Blake, in 1599." No. 7 puts a
counter in the bag.
No. 8. As you approach Bridport, pray observe
the beautiful castle and park at Dunster; it has been
in the Luthell family ever since the reign of Edward
III. It was a military post of the royalists in the
civil war of Charles I." No 8 deposits a counter.
No. 9. When you reach Bridgport, I beg, after
resting, you will walk over that lovely North Hill,
when I am sure you will thank me for giving you a
treat. Observe also, the fine statue of Queen Ann
in the church carved in white alabaster." No. 9 de-
posits a counter.
The traveller having reached the place of his des-
tination, examines his bag, when he finds that 7 and
9 are equal as to the counters they have deposited,
so he asks those two to give him some further infbr-
No. 7. Pray go to Selworthy, near Bridport,
and observe the beautiful little cottages for the poor
which have been built there of late years by Sir
Thomas Acland; you will, I am sure, be delighted
with them."


This decided that No 7 had won the game.
It must be perfectly evident that many more
places might have been stopped at, and a great deal
more information collected respecting the places now
slightly touched upon; but as it was only to give an
example of the pastime, it was not necessary to go
into more particular details; but, it may easily be
perceived that endless amusement and information
may be gained by varying not only the ultimate des-
tination of the traveller, but also the different routes


This is a short game, but rather amusing; it is to
be played with either a circle or line formed of the
players. When all are ready, one person begins by
whispering a secret to her left-hand neighbor, who
repeats it to the next, and so on until all have heard
it; then the last one to whom it is told, tells it aloud,
and the one who commenced must repeat what his
Sor her secret was exactly as she worded it, and then
all the party will know whether it returned as it was
given, or how much it gained, or lost, while travelling.
If the players are told to pass on the secret with-
out knowing that it will be exposed, they will not be
so careful to repeat it exactly as when they know the
game, and by this means greater amusement will be



The company sit in a circle, and the leader of the
game says, A good fat hen," then each in their turn
repeat the words. The leader says, Two ducks and
a good fat hen," which is also repeated by each of
the company separately ; then, Three squeaking wild
geese, two ducks and a good fat hen;" then, Four
plump partridges, three squeaking wild geese, two
ducks and a good fat hen;" then," Five pouting
pigeons, four plump partridges, three squeaking wild
geese, two ducks and a good fat hen;" then, Six
long-legged crows, five pouting pigeons, four plump
partridges, three squeaking wild geese, two ducks-
and a good fat hen;" then, Seven green parrots,
six long-legged crows, five pouting pigeons, four
plump partridges, three squeaking wild geese, two
ducks and a good fat hen;" then, Eight screeching
owls, seven green parrots, six long-legged crows,
five pouting pigeons, four plump partridges, three
squeaking wild geese, two ducks and a good fat
hen;" then-, Nine ugly buzzards, eight screeching
owls, seven green parrots, six long-legged crows, five
pouting pigeons, four plump partridges, three squeak-
ing wild geese, two ducks and a good fat hen;"
then, Ten bald eagles, nine ugly buzzards, eight
screeching owls, seven green parrots, six long-legged
crows, five pouting pigeons four plump partridges,
three squeaking wild geese, two ducks and a good fat


The player must repeat all this separately after the
loader, and if any omissions or mistakes are made, a
forfeit must be paid.


All the company are seated in a circle, each one
holding a ribbon, which passes all round. A large,
brass or other ring is slipped along the ribbon; and
while all hands are in motion, the hunter in the cen-
tre must try and find out where it is. The person
with whom it is caught becomes the hunter.


This game is similar to the last, the players sit on
the ground in a circle, and the slipper is passed from
hand to hand, the hunter trying all the time to find
who has it. It is a very amusing game.


The names of each member of the party must be
written on slips of paper, and the whole placed to-
gether in a hat. Each person is then to choose a
beast, or bird, and write his name on a slip of paper,
its size and colors on another, and its habits on a


The player must repeat all this separately after the
loader, and if any omissions or mistakes are made, a
forfeit must be paid.


All the company are seated in a circle, each one
holding a ribbon, which passes all round. A large,
brass or other ring is slipped along the ribbon; and
while all hands are in motion, the hunter in the cen-
tre must try and find out where it is. The person
with whom it is caught becomes the hunter.


This game is similar to the last, the players sit on
the ground in a circle, and the slipper is passed from
hand to hand, the hunter trying all the time to find
who has it. It is a very amusing game.


The names of each member of the party must be
written on slips of paper, and the whole placed to-
gether in a hat. Each person is then to choose a
beast, or bird, and write his name on a slip of paper,
its size and colors on another, and its habits on a


The player must repeat all this separately after the
loader, and if any omissions or mistakes are made, a
forfeit must be paid.


All the company are seated in a circle, each one
holding a ribbon, which passes all round. A large,
brass or other ring is slipped along the ribbon; and
while all hands are in motion, the hunter in the cen-
tre must try and find out where it is. The person
with whom it is caught becomes the hunter.


This game is similar to the last, the players sit on
the ground in a circle, and the slipper is passed from
hand to hand, the hunter trying all the time to find
who has it. It is a very amusing game.


The names of each member of the party must be
written on slips of paper, and the whole placed to-
gether in a hat. Each person is then to choose a
beast, or bird, and write his name on a slip of paper,
its size and colors on another, and its habits on a


third. The names, the sizes, and the habits are to
be placed each by themselves, in different lots. This
being arranged, one of the party draws out a name
from the first hat, and reads it aloud, and then
drawsfiut and reads a slip from each of the other
hats, and much merriment will be caused by the odd
associations; as when Mr. Smith, for instance, is de-
scribed as Ten inches long, with a green head and
brilliant eyes, and prettily marked yellow and purple,
with a tail. f beautiful blue feathers, and lives on
slugs and snails. The hat containing the names of
-the animals should be placed aside until the conclu-
sion of the game, when some knowledge .may be
gained by the attempts to arrange the descriptions
under their proper heads.


Each letter of the alphabet should be taken in turn,
and a paradoxical verse be made upon it, by the play-
ers. For instance; the first one commences with A.

It is in the Apple, but not in the Seed,
It is in an Act, but not in a Deed.

It is in a Bonnet, but not in a Hood,
It is in a Block, but not in Wood.



It is in the Centre, but not in the Middle,
It is in a Conundrum, but not in the Riddle.


It is in a Dress, but not in a Frock,
It is in a Door, but not in the Lock.


It is in the Elbow, but not in the Arm,
It is in the Earth, though not in a Farm.


It is in the Flour, but not in Bread,
It is in Fear, though not in Dread.


It is in the Globe, but not in the Land,
It is in Gravel, but not in Sand.


It is in the Hour, but not in the Day,
It is found in the Happy, but not in the Gay.


It is in an Instrument, but not in a Tool,
It is in the Ignorant, but not in a Fool.


'Tis found in June, but not in the Year,
'Tis not in Taunt, but it is in a Jeer,


It is in the Knee, but not in the Leg,
'Tis .not in a Barrel, but 'tis in a Keg.


It is in a Laugh, but not in a Noise,
It is found in Lads, but not in Boys.


'Tis found in Magnolia, but not in a Flower,
'Tis found in Might, but not in Power.


'Tis in the beginning of Nephew and the end of Son.
It is found in None, yet it is in every One.


It is in the Ocean, but not in the Main,
It is found in Oats,though not in Grain.


'Tis always in Pear, but not in Fruit,
'Tis found in a Plant, but not in the Root.


It is in Queerness, but not in Oddness,
It is in Quietness, but not in Stillness.


'Tis always in a Road, but never in a Path,
It will be found in Water, but not in a Bath.


It is in a Speech, though not a in Word,
It is in a Sparrow, but not in a Bird.


It is in a Tavern, but not in an Inn,
It is in a Tumult, but not in a Din.


It is in an Uncle, but not in a Brother,
It's not in a Niece, nor yet in a Mother.


'Tis in the Visage, though not in the Face,
'Tis found in Vacuum, though not in Space.


It is in a Window, but not in the Sash,
It is in a Whip but not in the Lash.



'Tis seen in a Box, and in a Fix,
'Tis not in Number, yet 'tis in Six.


It's,in the beginning of Year, and the end of Day,
It's never in Decline, but always in Decay.


It is never in Flame, but always in Blaze,
It is never in Mist, but always in Haze.


One of the players is seated at the end of the room,
as Head, or Leader-VENUS, we would propose
as the title, if a lady. The players range themselves
in a row, and each one represents a letter .f the al-
phabet, and comes forward in turn before Venus to
personate Cupid, by the sentiment expressed in any
word they may choose that commences with the let-
ter they respond to-taking care that the countenance,
ge -ltre, and manner, express the idea of the word
For instance the first one in the row begins with
A, and says, Cupid comes Awkward, and at the same
time walks across the room towards the person seat-


ed, in a very awkward manner, and takes her station
behind her; then the next one says Cupid comes
Begging, and acts accordingly while walking across
* the room: the next one takes C, and so they proceed
until the alphabet is exhausted; and then if there
are more persons, they can begin the alphabet again,
or if but a few players, when the last one has played,
the one who commenced the game can take the next
letter, and so proceed again.
As all may not think of words as quickly as they
should, they will find here a variety from which they
can choose.
A. Cupid. comes Affectionately-Afflicted-Aston-
B. Cupid comes Boisterously-Bravely-Bending-
.C. Cupid comes Carefully-Carelessly-Crossly-
D. Cupid comes Daringly-Disdainfully-Dancing
E. Cupid comes Elegantly-Earnestly-Exhausted
F. Cupid comes Fearfully-Foolishly-Furiously-
G. Fidgeting.
G. Cupid comes Gracefully-Grumbling-Gallant-
H. Cupid comes Humbly-Hopping-Halting-Hum-
L Cupid comes Idly-Impatiently-In'dignantly-


J. Cupid comes Joyously-Jerking-Jumping-
K. Cupid comes Kindly-Kicking-Knocking-Kiss-
L. Cupid comes Lively-Listlessly-Laughing-
M. Cupid comes Mischievously-Madly-Marching
N. Cupid comes Nimbly-Napping-Nobly-Nib-
O. Cupid comes Officiously-Observant-Originally
P. Cupid comes Proudly-Patiently-Pleadingly-
Q. Cupid comes Quietly-Qheerly-Quaking-
R. Cupid comes Reading-Rapidly-Rudely-Ri-
S. Cupid comes Scornful-Steadily-Shivering-
T. Cupid comes Tediously-Talking-Tipping-
U. Cupid comes Undaunted-Urgent-Unevenly-
V. Cupid comes Vainly-Vindictive-Vehemently-
W. Cupid comes Wildlyr-Waltzing-Whispering-
X. Cupid comes Xhalting-or the letter may be


Y. Cupid comes Yelling-Yielding-Youthful-
Z. Cupid comes Zealously-Zigzagging.
The one who fails to make the proper expression
or attitude, must do so at the command of Venus.
Cupid can be performed under these various as-
pects, and many more that are not given here, and
the alphabet can be gone over several times, by al-
ways using different words. It will be found to be a
very amusing game, especially if the players are
quick in thinking of their words, so as to avoid de-


SThis game may be played by any number of per-
sons. One, by arrangement, is to leave the room.
Meanwhile, the rest, with the knowledge of one an-
other, are each to fix on some celebrated character.
The absent person is then admitted, and is to address
the following questions to each, beginning at the

1. What countryman was he?
2. What was his calling?
3. For what is he chiefly remarkable?

SSuppose Robert Fulton be fixed upon, the answers
may be:-1. An American.' 2. An inventor and


navigator. 3. For bringing steam to perfection in
propelling boats. Or suppose Edmund Burke, the
replies may be:-1. An Englishman. 2. A states-
man. 3. For his Essay on the Sublime and Beauti-
ful. It must be borne in mind that the last ques-
tions will require some decided.and not general an-
swer, which must refer to some particular act, event,
or thing.
If, from the answers to the queries, the questioner
is enabled to guess the character referred to, he or
she must pronounce it, and should it be correct, takes
the seat of the one questioned, who must then leave the
room, the others each furnishing themselves with a
fresh character. The new questioner is then admit-
ted and puts the same three queries,always comment
ing with the person sitting on the right hand of the
previous questioner, so that allmay thus be question-
ed in turn.
Should the first person questioned baffle the in-
quiries, the questioner must address them to the
next on the right hand, and so on through the com-
pany, until a correct name is guessed, when the one
who had fixed upon it, must leave the room, and be-
come the questioner. If the queries have been put
to all without success, the same questioner leaves the
room and a new name is chosen as before. It may
be made a game of forfeits, where parties are guilty
of anachronism, or false answers (which should be
at once exposed by the rest of the company), and al-
so where the'questioner addresses the queries to all
u 4%suces fully.


Among young people it may be made a game of
reward, some older person being present to decide
who among those questioned evinces the most cor-
rect biographical knowledge, and which among the
questioners is the cleverest at discovering the names


Provide some clean fine pasteboard and cut it up
in slips rather longer than they are wide, about the
shape of dominoes, but they will need to be a little
Then divide them in half, with a mark of ink, and
on one half of each piece write a quotation or verse
of poetry, and on the other half write the names of
one of the authors from whom you have made your
selections; but be careful not to put a quotation and
its author's name both on the same card;-for in-
stance, if one of your selections be, If it were done,
when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quick-
ly; do not write Shakespeare on the other half of
that card, but Byron, Milton, or some other author
you have chosen from. Shakespeare must be writ-
'ten on another card where there is a selected passage
from another author.
As many selections as you take from one author so
many times must his name be written on the cards.
Suppose you select three different passages from


Moore, his name must be written an equal number
of times on separate cards.
When all is arranged, then shuffle and deal them
to the players, and let one commence by laying one
of his cards in the centre of the table, reading the
quotation written upon it. His left hand neighbor
must then look over his cards, and if he has the name
of the author of the passage read, he will announce
it, and then read the selection that is on the other
half of his card, and put it down by the one on the
table, matching the author's name to his production;
but if the player has not the name of the author, he
must look for a passage that was written by the
author whose name is on the card first laid down,
read it, and also the name that is on the card, and
put it by the other, taking care to adjoin the quota-
tion with the author's name to whom it belongs.
Then the first player's left-hand neighbor must
look for the author's name, and so the game pro-
The one who first exhausts his cards, wins the

Let one withdraw while a word is selected by the
remaining players, which being done, the absent
player is recalled, who, upon re-entering, walks up
to the person, to the right or left hand, as may be
agreed upon, and there stops until that person names


something that begins with the first letter of the
word that was chosen.
The guesser then stops before the next one, who
says a word that must commence with the second
letter of the selected word, and so proceeds until the
word is finished, and then by remembering what each
one said, and putting the first letter of each word
together, is enabled to find out the word determined
upon. For instance, fire-side is fixed upon as the

First one says Flower.
Second, Ink.
-Third, River.
Fourth, Eagle.
Fifth, Sunshine,
Sixth, India.
Seventh," Date.
Eighth, Emery.

The player then puts the initial letters of each
word together, and exclaims it is Fire-side." The
next one in order then goes out, while another word
is proposed.
If most of the players are unacquainted with this
game, it would mak eit more diverting, perhaps, if not
explained to them at once, the head one or leader
merely telling eahb one what word they must use
when the.guesser comes to them in turn. They will
be quite surprised at the readiness with which the
S word is detected, little dreaming how it is'done.



One of the party is sent out of the room; some
well-known hero, or equally well-known character
from abook, like Dickens's novels, or Shakspeare's
plays, is selected, and when the absentee returns to
the assembly, he or she is greeted as the person fix-
ed upon, and he must reply in such a manner as to
elicit more information, as to the character he has
unconsciously assumed.
Suppose the game has commenced, and when the
player enters the room, he is thus accosted:
"Your military ardor must have been very great,
and you had a very adventurous spirit, when you left
your home in England, and set out with a determin-
ation of fighting the Turks."
Yes, I was always very fond of adventure."
Well, you had plenty of them: and when you
were taken prisoner and sold to the Bashaw, your
mistress to whom he presented you, felt so much
sympathy and affection for you that you were sent to
her brother, but he not being so well pleased with
you, treated you cruelly."
"He did; and although I suffered much from his
treatment, I suffered more in the idea of being a
"The thought must have been terrible to you,"
remarks another of the players, or you would not
have killed your master, hid his body, clothed your-


self in his attire, mounted his horse and galloped to
the desert, where you wandered about for many days,
until at last you reached the Russian garrison, where
you were safe."
"And well pleased was I to reach there in safety;
but was I then content with my travels?"
For a while, but the spirit of enterprise, so great
within you, caused you to set sail for the English
colony of Virgina, when you were taken a prisoner
again by the Indians, and your head placed upon a
large stone, in order to have your brains beaten out
with clubs."
"What a dreadful situation I was in, with only en-
emies around me."
"But there was one who proved a friend, the
young 'and beautiful princess, finding that her en-
treaties for your life were useless, rushed forward,
laid her head upon yours, and thus resolved to share
your fate, or save your life."
I am deeply grateful to Pocahontas for her noble
act, and I am also glad to find myself so renowned
a person as Captain John Smith."
Or suppose a lady has left the room and on re-
entering she is thus addressed:-
Your Majesty's many remarkable adventures
seem more like romance than reality. Accomplish-
ed, beautiful, spirited, and very courageous, you com-
mand our respect, especially for the vigorous and en-
ergetic action you displayed in trying to aid your
royal husband, who was preparing to maintain his

__ _____ __


just rights to the crowii of England. After purchas-
ing aid and military stores in Holland, you set sail
for EnglAnd, when there arose a great storm which
increased in violence until at length the danger be-
come so imminent, that all the self-possession of the
passengers was entirely gone, and you alone were
quiet and composed, rebuking their panic and telling
them not to fear, for Queens of England were never
drowned.' "
"That was a terrible storm, and we were all
thankful when we reached land in safety."
But you had to put back to the port from which
you sailed, which caused some delay, but the second
voyage was more prosperous, although you were
closely pursued by an English squadron, which came
into port the night after you landed, and the next
morning the village was bombarded by your enemies'
ships. You and your attendants escaped into the
open fields, stopped at a trench, and were obliged to
remain there for two hours, the balls passing over
your heads and covering you with dirt; but there
soon came an army to your relief,-at the head of
which you marched. triumphantly on, stopping on
your way to take a town held by your husband's en-
emies. Thus was added the glory of a conquest to
your other triumphs."
Well, was I enabled to reach my husband after
so many adventures?"
"Yes, but in a short time you were obliged to
separate again, as you were accused of treason, for

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