All around the house they were whispering, "Oh! how lovely! how beautiful!" and the orchestra let himself out again: There was a big audience that night-rebukes the angry waves, and walks semostly middle-aged and old people who curely upon the bosom of the deep!" belonged to the church and took a strong interest in Bible matters, and the balance were pretty much young bucks and heifers-they always come out strong on panoramas, you know, because it gives them a chance to taste one another's mugs in the dark. "Oh! a life on the ocean wave, And a home on the rolling deep!" There was a good deal of honest snick thought he would make one more stagger Well, the showman began to swell himself up for his lecture, and the old mud-ering turned on this time, and considerable groaning, and one or two old deacons dobber tackled the piano, and run his got up and went out. The showman fingers up and down once or twice to see that she was all right, and the fellows gritted his teeth and cursed the piano man behind the curtain commenced to grind out knot on a log, and seemed to think he was to himself; but the fellow sat there like a the panorama. The showman balanced his weight on his right foot, and propped doing first-rate. his hands on his hips, and flung his eye over his shoulder at the scenery, and says: "Ladies and gentlemen, the painting now before you illustrates the beautiful and touching parable of the Prodigal Son. Observe the happy expression just breaking over the features of the poor suffering youth-so worn and weary with his long march; note also the ecstasy beaming from the uplifted countenance of the aged father, and the joy that sparkles in the eyes of the excited group of youths and maidens, and seems ready to burst in a welcoming chorus from their lips. The lesson, my friends, is as solemn and instructive as the story is tender and beautiful." The mud-dobber was all ready, and the second the speech was finished he struck up: "Oh! we'll all get blind drunk When Johnny comes marching home!" Some of the people giggled, and some groaned a little. The showman couldn't say a word. He looked at the pianosharp; but he was all lovely and serene -he didn't know there was anything out of gear. The panorama moved on, and the showman drummed up his grit and started in fresh: 66 Ladies and gentlemen, the fine picture now unfolding itself to your gaze exhibits one of the most notable events in Bible history-our Saviour and his disciples upon the Sea of Galilee. How grand, how awe-inspiring are the reflections which the subject invokes! What sublimity of faith is revealed to us in this lesson from the sacred writings! The Saviour "Ladies and gentlemen, this exquisite painting illustrates the raising of Lazarus from the dead by our Saviour. The subject has been handled with rare ability by and tenderness of expression has been the artist, and such touching sweetness thrown into it, that I have known peculiarly sensitive persons to be even affected to tears by looking at it. Observe the half-confused, half-inquiring look, upon the countenance of the awakening Lazarus. Observe, also, the attitude and expression of the Saviour, who takes him gently by the sleeve of his shroud with one hand, while he points with the other toward the distant city." Before anybody could get off an opinion in the case, the innocent old ass at the piano struck up: "Come, rise up, William Ri-i-ley, And go along with me!" It was rough on the audience, All the solemn old flats got up in a huff to go,and everybody else laughed till the windows rattled. The showman went down and grabbed the orchestra, and shook him up, and says: "That lets you out, you know, you chowder-headed old clam! Go to the doorkeeper and get your money, and cut your stick! vamose the ranche! Ladies and gentlemen, circumstances over which I have no control compel me prematurely to dismiss--" MARK TWAIN, OUR AMERICAN CHARLES LAMB. [MR. WILLIAM M. TRAVERS, of New York, resembles Charles Lamb, not only in a slight hesitancy of speech which adds to his drollery as a raconteur, but also in the quaintness of his humor for which he is justly celebrated among his acquaintances. Many good stories are told of him, and many droll things attributed to him, of which he may be wholly innocent.] ONE morning, it is said, he walked into his club with an amused smile on his lips and said: "B-b-boys, I'm afraid I t-t-took m-more wine last n-n-night than a ch-ch-church member should t-t-take." "Why so?" said one of his friends. Well, you s-s-see, this m-m-morning when I c-came to b-b-breakfast my wife s-s-said-William Travers what was the m-m-matter with you last n-n-night? You stood beside the b-b-bed for sometime 1-1-looking at me and finally s-s-said - Well Is-s-swear you two girls look enough alike to-to-to be sisters.' A PARROT STORY. MR. TRAVERS, went into a bird-fancier's in Centre street, to buy a parrot. "H-h-have you got a-a-all kinds of bb-birds?" asked Mr. T. "Yes, sir, all kinds," said the birdfancier politely. "I w-w-want to b-buy a p-p-parrot," hesitated Mr. T. "Well, here is a beauty. See what glittering plumage!" Travers as he poked a little, shivering pup with his cane. Yes, sir; splendid! I'll show you how he'll go for a rat,' said the dogfancier-and then he put him in a box with a big rat." "How did it turn out?" I asked Mr. Gould. "Why, the rat made one dive and laid out the frightened terrier in a second, but Travers turned around, and sez he-I say, Johnny, w-w-what'll ye t-t-take for the r-r-rat?"'" TRAVERS AND CLEWS. HENRY CLEWs, the well-known baldheaded banker, who always prides himself on being a self-made man, during a recent talk with Mr. Travers had occasion to remark that he was the architect of his own destiny-that he was a self-made man. "W-w-what d-did you s-ay, Mr. Clews?" asked Mr. Travers. "I say with pride, Mr. Travers, that I am a self-made man-that I made myself-" "Hold, H-henry," interrupted Mr. Travers, as he dropped his cigar, "w-while devil d-did-didn't you p-put some more you were m-m-making yourself, why the hair on the top of y-your h-head?" TRAVERS ON FISK AND GOuld. ONE day last summer, Colonel Fisk was showing Mr. Travers over the Ply "I-i-is he a g-g-good t-talker?" stam-mouth Rock, the famous Long Branch boat. After showing the rest of the vessel, mered Travers. "If he can't talk better than you can he pointed to two large portraits of himI'll give him to you," exclaimed the shop-self and Mr. Gould, hanging, a little diskeeper. tance apart, at the head of the stairway. William bought the parrot. THE RAT STORY. "MR. TRAVERS," says Jay Gould, once went down to a dog-fancier's in Water street, to buy a rat-terrier. "Is she a g-g-good ratter?' asked There," says the Colonel," "what do you think of them?" "They're good, Colonel-you hanging on one side and Gould on the other; f-i-r-s-t rate. But, Colonel," continued the wicked Mr. Travers, buried in thought, "w-w-where's our Saviour?" Mr. Travers, who is a vestryman in Grace Church, says he knows it was wicked, but he couldn't have helped it if he'd been on his dying bed. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER; OR, THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. WHATEVER be the relative merits of the two Comedies that Goldsmith has left us-and each has its advocates for the superiority—there is no doubt that "She Stoops to Conquer" is that upon which his character as a dramatic writer most securely rests. It was produced for the first time on the 15th March, 1773, at Covent Garden; was received with a heartiness of applause that carried everything-even the solitary hiss of an envious enemy-before it, and secured its triumph-a triumph that was nightly renewed till the end of the season. The main incident in the piece, round which all the others revolve, is the mistaking Squire Hardcastle's house for a country inn, an idea suggested by a joke played off on Goldsmith in his sixteenth year by a wag in Ardagh, who directed him to Squire Fetherstone's, as the village inn, where the joke was humored and undiscovered till night. The play is full of broad, farciful humor, relieved with some passages of a senti mental nature; and, with one or two exceptions, there is no violation of decorum. Tony Lumpkin is a character sui generis; one that has come to have an individual reality, as well known to us as " Bob Acres" or " Scrub." Old Hardcastle, with all his old-fashioned whimsicalities, is true to nature-overdrawn just enough for stage effect; and the extravagances of his wife are highly entertaining. There is a constant vivacity in the dialogue that amuses, and a frequent recurrence of the ludicrous, which is irresistibly provocative of laughter, and mak s us feel the truth of Dr. Johnson's criticism: "I know no comedy, for many years, that has so much exhilarated an audience; that has answered so much the great end of comedy, making an audience merry." Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month's polish. ing every winter. Hard. Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home. the town crept slowly among us, but now In my time, the follies of they travel faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down, not only as inside passengers, but in the very basket. Mrs. Hard. Ay, your times were fine times, indeed; you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we never see company. Our best Visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master; and all our entertainment, your old stories of Prince Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough. I hate such old-fashioned trumpery. Hard. And I love it. I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and, I believe, Dorothy (taking her hand), you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old wife. Mrs. Hard. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your Dorothys, and your old wives. You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I promise you. I'm not so old as you'd make me, by more than one good year. Add twenty to twenty, and make money of that. Hard. Let me see; twenty added to twenty, makes just fifty and seven. Mrs. Hard. It's false, Mr. Hardcastle: I was but twenty when Tony, that I had by Mr. Lumpkin, my first husband, was born; and he's not come to years of discretion yet. Hard. Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. Ay, you have taught him finely. Mrs. Hard. No matter, Tony Lump kin has a good fortune. My son is not to live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much learning to spend fifteen hundred a year. Hard. Learning, quotha! a mere composition of tricks and mischief. Mrs. Hard. Humor, my dear; nothing but humor. Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humor. Hard. I'd sooner allow him a horsepond. If burning the footman's shoes, frightening the maids, worrrying the kittens-be humor, he has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs. Frizzle's face. Mrs. Hard. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him? Hard. Latin for him! A cat and fiddle. No, no, the ale-house and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to. Mrs. Hard. Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I believe we shan't have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his face may see he's consumptive. Hard. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms. Mrs. Hurd. He coughs sometimes. Mrs. Hard. You shan't venture out this raw evening, my dear; you look most shockingly. Tony. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons expects me down every moment. There's some fun going forward. Hard. Ay; the ale-house, the old place; I thought so. Mrs. Hard. A low, paltry set of fellows. Tony. Not so low neither. There's Dick Muggins the excise man, Jack Slang the horse-doctor, little Aminadab that grinds the music-box, and Tom Twist that spins the pewter platter. Mrs. Hard. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at least. Tony. As for disappointing them, I should not so much mind; but I can't abide to disappoint myself. Mrs. Hard. (Detaining him.) (Detaining him.) shan't go. Tony. I will, I tell you. You Mrs. Hard. I say you shan't. Tony. We'll see which is the strongest, you or I! (Exit, hauling her out.) HARDCASTLE, solus. Hard. Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each other. But is not the whole age in a combination to drive sense and discretion out of doors? There's my pretty darling Kate; the fashions of the times have almost infected her too. By living a year or two in town, she is as fond of gauze, and French frippery, as the best of them. Enter MISS HARDCASTLE. Hard. Blessings on my pretty innocence! Drest out as usual, my Kate. Goodness! What a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou got about thee, girl! I could never teach the fools of this age that the indigent world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain. Miss Hard. You know our agreement, sir. You allow me the morning to receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and in the evening, I put on my housewife's dress to please you. Hard. Well, remember I insist on the terms of our agreement; and, by the bye, I believe I shall have occasion to try your obedience this very evening. Miss Hard. I protest, sir, I don't comprehend your meaning. Hard. Then, to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young gentleman Í have chosen to be your husband from town this very day. I have his father's letter, in which he informs me his son is set out, and that he intends to follow himself shortly after. Miss Hard. Indeed! I wish I had known something of this before. Bless me, how shall I behave? It's a thousand to one I shan't like him; our meeting will be so formal, and so like a thing of business that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem. Hard. Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of excellent understanding. Miss Hard. Is he? Hard. And to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and reserved young fellows in the world. Miss Hard. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word reserved has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband. Hard. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his character that first struck me. Miss Hard. He must have more striking features to catch me, I promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so everything, as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have him. Hard. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It's more than an even wager, he may not have you. Miss Hard. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so? Well, if he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only break my glass for its flattery, set my cap to some newer fashion, and look out for some less difficult admirer. Hard. Bravely resolved! In the meantime I'll go prepare the servants for his reception; as we seldom see company, they want as much training as a company of recruits the first day's muster. (Exit.) MISS HARDCASTLE, sola. Miss Hard. This news of papa's puts me all in a flutter. Young-handsome; these he puts last; but I put them foremost. Sensible-good-natured: I like all that. But then-reserved, and sheepish: that's much against him. Yet, can't he be cured of his timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes; and can't I-But, I vow, I'm disposing of the husband, before I have secured the lover. Enter MISS NEVILLE. Miss Hard. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance: how do I look this evening? anything whimsical about me? of my well-looking days, child? face to-day? Is there Is it one Am I in Yet, Miss Nev. Perfectly, my dear. now I look again-bless me !-sure no accident has happened among the canary birds, or the gold fishes. Has your brother or the cat been meddling? Or, has the last novel been too moving? Miss Hard. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened-I can scarce get it out-I have been threatened with a lover. Miss Nev. And his nameMiss Hard. Is Marlow. Miss Nev. Indeed! Miss Hard. The son of Sir Charles Marlow. Miss Nev. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him when we lived in town. Miss Hard. Never. Miss Nev. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among women of reputation and virtue, he is the modestest man alive; but his acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of another stamp: you understand me. Miss Hard. An odd character, indeed. I shall never be able to manage him. What shall I do? Pshaw, think no more of him, but trust to occurrences for success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear? Has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony, as usual? Miss Nev. I have just come from one of our agreeable tête-à-têtes. She has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection. Miss Hard. And her partiality is such, that she actually thinks him so. A fortune like yours is no small temptation. Besides, as she has the sole management of it, I'm not surprised to see her unwilling to let it go out of the family. Miss Nev. A fortune like mine, which chiefly consists in jewels, is no mighty temptation. But at any rate, if my dear Hastings be but constant, I make no doubt to be too hard for her at last. However, I let her suppose that I am in love with her son, and she never once dreams that my affections are fixed upon another. Miss Hard. My good brother hold |