her a goose. I shall retire, sir, and decline to receive you in my house again till you apologize. A goose, indeed! Next you'll be calling me a gander-no, I mean you'll call me an elderly female goose. I bid you good-evening, sir. [Exit Mrs. R., at left. MR. J. (looking from one door to the other.) Well! I must say! They're a couple of lunatics. Do they take me for a baby? No. I was an infant at one time, but a real crowing baby, alas! never. (Looks at toys.) Stay! There is a deep significance in these things. (Picks up toys.) Perhaps Clara was right. Bless her dear heart. She only wanted to make a baby of me. (Looks from one toy to the other.) Which is the most interesting? (Clara enters, unperceived, and looks on. He shakes the rattle.) How sweetly gay! (Works the jack.) Its airy gambols fill me with a strange delight. If I could only watch its playful antics long enough-I should smile. CLARA (aside). Dear little man! He will soon learn to play. MR. J. Ah! Stay a moment. I have an idea. CLARA (coming to him). Dear Roysterous! how glad I am. MR. J. Oh! You here? Why are you glad? CLARA. You said you had an idea. MR. J. Why is this jumping-jack like a politician? CLARA. Why is a jumping-jack like a politician? I give st up. MR. J. Because (laughs) --because (laughs louder)-be cause CLARA (embracing him). Saved! Saved at last! MR. J. (working the toy and smiling broadly.) My poor starved brain yields to these soothing charms. I've forgotten the answer, but it was quite funny. CLARA. Never mind the answer, love. You have learned to smile, and it's plain you're quite a baby. [Curtain falls. NOTE.-An excellent prose reading by the author of the above will be found in "One Hundred Choice Selections No. 21," entitled "THE TELEGRAPHIC SIGNAL." Another in No. 24, entitled, "PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE." Both of these articles originally appeared in Scribner's Magazine. SCENE. A handsomely furnished parlor; a bridal company assembled; bridegroom and bride and Judge Harvey, father of the bride. On a marble table are standing decanters and glasses of wine, which are being distributed to the guests. The bride should be beautifully attired in white, and the appearance of the whole company imposing. GUESTS. Pledge with wine! Pledge with wine! JUDGE HARVEY (in a low tone, advancing toward his daughter). Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples for once; the company expect it. Do not so seriously infringe upon the rules of etiquette. In your own home act as you please; but in mine, for this once, please me. Every eye turns toward the bride. BRIDE (smilingly accepting a brimming beaker, and raising it to her lips; then, suddenly starting back, with a piercing voice, exclaims:). Oh, how terrible! GUESTS (in alarm). What is it? What can it be? BRIDE (holding the glass from her and regarding it with horror). Wait! Wait! I will tell you! I see (pointing her jeweled finger at the wine) a sight that beggars descriptionand yet listen, I will paint it for you if I can. It is a lonely spot,-tall mountains, crowned with verdure, rise in awful sublimity around; a river runs through, and bright flowers grow on the water's edge. There is a thick, warm mist, that the sun seeks vainly to pierce. Trees, lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion of the birds; but there a *From "Excelsior Dialogues," which contains a pleasing variety of original material (for advanced speakers only), combining humor, tragedy, and satire, in ample profusion. It has over a score of bright, sparkling plays, representing familiar scenes and ludicrous situations, arranged especially for easy presentation in the School-room or Lyceum Hall. 376 pages, cloth, price $1.00. Dramatic Supplement No. 8 is composed entirely of Temperance matter, containing six different articles, including a fine melodrama, by Geo. M. Vickers. No. 16 is especially for Sabbath-Schools, and has also a Temperance play. In fact, the whole list has a generous share of moral and religious instruction, notwithstanding the great abundance of the light and joyous,-as found in the Comedies, Farces, Operettas, etc. Send for Catalogue. group of Indians is gathered-they flit to and fro, with something like sorrow on their dark brows. In their midst lies a manly form; but his cheek, how deathly! his eyes wild with the fire of fever! One friend stands beside him, nay, I should say, kneels, for see, he is pillowing that poor head upon his bosom. Genius in ruin! Oh, the high, holylooking brow! Why should death mark it, and he so young? Look, how he throws back the damp curls! See him clasp his hands! hear his thrilling shriek for life! mark how he clutches at the form of his companion, imploring to be saved! Oh, hear him call piteously his father's name! See him twine his fingers together as he calls for his sister, the twin of his soul, weeping for him in his distant land! (The bridal party shrink back, and the Judge sinks, overpowered, to his seat at her side, bowing his head.) See, his arms are lifted to heaven; he prays, how wildly, for mercy.. Hot fever throbs in his veins. The friend beside him is weeping, awe-stricken, the dark men move silently away, and leave the living and dying together. (Smothered sob from some one. The bride stands upright, with quivering lip and tearful eyes. She draws the glass toward her, and, in a low but awfuliy distinct voice, goes on.) It is evening now; the great white moon is coming up, and its beams lie gently on his forehead. He moves not-his eyes are set in their sockets, dim are their piercing glances; in vain his friends whisper the name of father and sister. Death is here!-Death! and no soft hand, no gentle voice, to bless and soothe him. His head sinks back-one convulsive shudder-he is dead! (A groan runs through the assembly. The bridegroom covers his face and weeps.) Dead (in a more broken voice)! Dead! And there they scoop him a grave, and there, without a shroud, they lay him down on that damp, reeking earth. The only son of a proud father; the only idolized brother of a fond sister (the Judge groans bitterly), and he sleeps in that distant country, with no stone to mark the spot. There he lies, my father's son, my own twin-brother, a victim to this deadly poison. Father (turning suddenly to Judge H.), father, shall I drink it now? JUDGE H. (in a smothered voice.) No, no, my child! in God's name, no! The bride lifts the goblet and drops it to the floor. The guests transfer silently their glasses to the table, without tasting the wine. Looking at the fragments, she turns to the company, saying: BRIDE. Let no friend, hereafter, who loves me, tempt me to peril my soul for wine. Not firmer are the everlasting hills than my resolve, God helping me, never to touch or taste that terrible poison. And he (turning to the bridegroom) to whom I have given my hand, who watched over my brother's dying form in the last solemn hour, and buried the dear wanderer there by the river in that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in that resolve. Will you not, my husband? BRIDEGROOM. Yes, Marion, God helping me, I will ! NOTE. [Tableau as curtain falls. The above is dramatized from a reading in "One Hundred Choice Selections No. 2," entitled "PLEDGE WITH WINE." MAY COURT IN GREENWOOD.-LAURA U. CASE. MAY QUEEN-White dress; crown, scepter and garland of flowers SYLVA-White dress, with overdress of green tarletan, looped with light vines; wreath, and bouquets of green leaves. LYRA - White dress; a silver bugle hangs at her side; she wears a silver coronet. FLORA-White dress, trimmed with flowers; a wreath of flowers upon her head. UNDINE-White dress, with a long veil of sea-green tissue, like a bridal-veil, dotted with white glass beads, like dew-drops. She wears a coronet of sea-shells. SCENE. A forest; a rustic bower, or arbor, at the end of the stage; in the centre a moss-covered throne, in front of which stands Sylva and Lyra. SYLVA. Go, Lyra, and from out thy bugle's throat Send forth a call whose silvery tones shall float Thy sister nymphs, in grotto, cave and dell, When morning flung her roseate portals wide, The May Queen comes this day, in state, to hold Lyra goes out; a bugle blast is heard, first clear, then softly, as though dying in the distance. Sylva passes to the bower, arranging festoons and trailing vines from its arches. While overhead, through lattice-work of green, Enter Lyra, Undine, and Flora. UNDINE. And has the May-day come? FLORA. LYRA. The Queen was seen This very morn, upon the village green, To lead the dance. The magpie, chattering dame, I heard the rarest strains of melody; Each bird was warbling forth, from bush and tree, UNDINE. Adown the glen, last night, Ah, yes, like petted child, LYRA. Ha ha! the gay retreat |