With. Sir, the attempts to disgrace her in my esteem, though I doubt not ingeniously concerted, have failed. It remains with you to determine by your conduct towards her, whether I am to continue your friend. Hardy. My determination is taken. Good morning to you. I had prepared a surprise for you, which would have rendered you a happy man for life. You shall nou enjoy it, till you know better how to deserve it. Good day. Enter PAUL PRY. Pry. I come to wish Mrs. Subtle joy. You must have been dreadfully alarmed when you discovered your loss. Mrs. S. What loss-what? Pry. I saw you drop them, and called after you, but you didn't hear me. Mrs. S. What are you speaking of? Pry. Poor Mrs. Subtle, thought I, if these had been her own, it wouldn't so much have grieved her; but to lose a packet belonging to her master Hardy. Eh, what's that? Papers? Pry. A heavy package she let fall into the dry well, up yonder. It took me nearly half an hour to hook them out again-and here they are. Mrs. S. [About to seize them.] They are mine. With. Say but you are innocent in any participation in this, and Hardy. Say it! Confound her, she'll say it, and swear it too. But are you so blind as not to perceive the drift of her artful speech? Why need you be desolate? why need you be solitary? It has been her wicked policy to render you so. Recall the friends whom nature has provided for you. If you won't, I will; and if you don't like them-give them over to me. With. What mean you? Hardy. To restore an injured nephew to you; and if Somers and his wife have suffered through the calumnies this good lady has heaped upon them, your own judgment has done them right in its true estimate of the virtues of Willis and Marian. Come in. Enter WILLIS and MARIAN. I hate the parade of sentiment. There they are, so take them at once to your heart. They have nothing to be ashamed of, except having an old fool for an uncle. [WILLIS and MARIAN throw themselves at WITHERTON'S feet. With. No, not there-not there. [Rises and clasps them in his arms.] To what vile treachery have I been subjected? Mrs. Subtle, you may perceive that your presence here is no longer desirable. Mrs. S. Think not I desire to remain; and if I feel a pang at parting with you, it is at the reflection that a few hours more would have made me mistress of that fortune, which now-may it carry misery wherever it is bestowed. [Exit. Hardy. There! If you could entertain the slightest regret at the departure of that good lady, I trust that her farewell speech will serve to extinguish it. Pry. [To HARDY.] Tis best for him as it is. He'd have caught a tartar; besides he can be no chicken. Now what age would you take him to be? Hardy. At a random guess, turned of twenty. Give me your hand. [To WITHERTON.] I congratulate you on your accession to your senses. I am happy in what I have done here. I feel in good humour with myself, and every body else. Will no one ask a favour, that I may enjoy the pleasure of granting it? Will no one offend me, to afford me the gratification of forgiving him? Enter FRANK HARDY. Frank. If you are in that mood, sir, I can furnish you with employment. Hardy. So, Mr. Snooks, is it you? [To WITHERTON.] The son of our old friend Stanley, with whom you and I have cracked many a bottle in our young days. He thinks I don't know him. Pry. The travelling gentleman. from his father. Hardy. What the deuce! break off his engagement with me; and has he encouraged you in this? Frank. Upon my word, sir, he is a very rational old gentleman, and made no sort of scruple in relinquishing his share in the treaty. Hardy. So then it appears that my daughter is not agreeable to you, and your father is mad enough to Frank. My father, sir! Hardy. Aye, sir, and I consider the conduct of old Mr. Stanley in this affair Frank. One word, sir. Is the gentleman I have just scen, old Mr. Stanley, the father of Harry Stanley? Hardy. Why this is stretching the proverb with a vengeance; and do you pretend that you did not know your own father? Frank. Ha, ha, ha! So then Harry Stanley is the person you have all along intended for your son-in-law? Hardy. Why who the devil else do you think it was? Sir, do you persist in refusing my daughter? Frank. I do, sir. Yet, nevertheless your own intentions will be fulfilled. sir. Enter SERVANT. Serv. [To WITHERTON.] Mr. Stanley, Frank. Ha, ha, ha! I foresee a warm explanation here. Enter STANLEY. my old friend! I have made a fruitless journey down to this place, but I would not return to town, without shaking you by the hand. What, Hardy! I had resolved not to see you, but since we have met, your hand. Your daughter may be all the happier for the exchange. Hardy. So then you countenance your son in his refusal? You allow him to come here, look at my daughter, turn up his cursed impudent nose at her, and coolly march off again. Stan. What, and has my Hal been here? What has become of him? Hardy. Why, don't you see him before you? Turn about, you dog. [To FRANK.] Stan. Ha, ha, ha! He's no son of mine. Hardy. Tell me, if that is not your son, whose son is he? pray Stan. That's more than I can say. All I know about him, is that he is the gentleman in whose favour I have just relinquished my boy's claim to your daughter. Hardy. So, sir, you have dared to im pose upon me, by telling me that Frank. You wrong me, sir. I told you nothing. The error was of your own creating. Pry. There, you see, I was right. Hardy. Ay, and you putting me on my guard has led to this misunderstanding. But here comes my nephew. I shall leave it to him to revenge this affront. Enter HARRY, ELIZA, and PHEBE. With. My dear friend, be temperate. Hardy. For all misunderstanding, that has occurred here, sir, I alone am-the devil, my father! Pry. The devil his father! Well, I thought he did not come of a good family, from the first moment I saw him. Stan. Come hither, sir, and answer your father. Hardy. Listen to your uncle, I say. Stan. You his uncle! Why zounds, are you mad, or do you think I don't know my own son? Hardy. There is some confounded roguery in this. If one of these is not your son, and the other an impudent rascal of a lover, what am I to do for a nephew? Phebe. [Leading FRANK to him.] For want of another, take this. Hardy. I begin to perceive. So then you were the bird-catcher after all, and Stan. [Crosses to WITHERTON.] Ah, were already acquainted with my daugh ter. And pray, Miss Phebe, how did you dare Phebe. Why, sir, if hot-headed gentlemen will ask questions with pistols in their hands, what is one to do? With. Come, come, say no more. You have your own way. Hardy. True, I have my own way, but not in my own way of having it. Her obedience is not quite so evident in this, as I could have desired; however, there [Crosses to HARRY, passes him over to ELIZA, and joins their hands. There, you bird catcher, you. You've caught a goldfinch. Eliza. Thank you, 'pa, and if ever I marry again, you shall have the choice all your own way. Harry. I am in no hurry to give your 'pa an opportunity of putting your obedience to the test. Hardy. Frank, my boy, you do take after the family, and I forgive you on that account. Phebe. I hope, sir, you'll forgive meif not-[Turns to WITHERTON.] I hear sir, that you have dismissed your housekeeper, and [Curtsies.] should I lose my place in the Colonel's family. With. Ah, my dear, you are too young for a housekeeper, and I have abandoned my intention to marry. Celibacy is an error, which at my age it is too late to repair. I have been foolish enough to live single all my life, but to marry now, would be but to exchange a great folly for a greater. In this is now my refuge for life. [Taking his nephew's and MARIAN'S hand. Hardy. All you that are single, take warning by him, and marry as fast as you can. Pry. [To PHEBE.] A broad hint to you and me, Miss Phebe. Phebe. Lord help me. You are too inquisitive for a husband. Pry. Pooh, pooh! A spirit of inquiry is the great characteristic of the age we live in. Hardy. It is a spirit which now and then leads you to fish in troubled waters. Pry. I flatter myself I have fished to some purpose to-day though-the papers, you know. Hardy. So you have; and in consideration of that, I will tolerate you for the remainder of it. You shall dine with me. Pry. You'll tolerate me-no, will you? Well, that's very polite, and I accept your invitation. Hardy. But if you dare ask a single question, even what it is o'clock, I'll toss you out of the window. Pry. I must ask one question more. Ladies and gentlemen, if I am not impertinent, will you, will you overlook the many faults of Paul Pry? THE END OF PAUL PRY. HE DIDN'T KNOW THE COURT. HOW CHIEF JUSTICE WAITE WAS SNUBBED BY A RAILWAY TICKET AGENT. Chief Justice Waite, of the Supreme Court, had a funny experience the other day, and as he has related it to any number of friends, the story has had a wide circulation in society. Several weeks ago he had an imperative engagement in Baltimore. Like all great men he is proverbially absent-minded. He went up to the Court, and after a few moments' session adjourned the Court and came down leisurely to the Baltimore and Ohio Depot, which is only a short distance from the Capitol. As he got out of the streetcar he found he had ten minutes in which to purchase a ticket and get a seat on the train. As he went up to the ticket office he discovered, to his surprise, that he had only a few pennies in his pocket. He had neglected to provide himself with "scrip for his journey." He looked around the waiting-room, but saw no one he knew. What was to be done must be done quickly; his engagement was an important one. So he filed up in the line to the ticket office, and when he reached the window the Chief Justice smiled an awful smile across the full width of his ample mouth, and asked the ticket agent if he knew him. "No, I don't," snarled the agent; "and what is more I don't want to. What do you want?" "I want a ticket to Baltimore and return. I am the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and I have no money with me; it is purely accidental. I can' give you my personal check." 66 Oh, I know you. I know all the bloods, but that dodge won't work on me. I have just had two members of the Cabinet try to bilk' me out of tickets, and no Chief Justice dodge gets me Take your ugly mug out of the window, and get out of the way of people who have money." The Chief Justice glared. He could not fine the young man for contempt of Court. He felt cheaper and worse than if he had been a real fraud. He blushed and perspired so that the agent had his firm belief strengthened. The Chief Justice dashed out of the station to see if he could not find some one to identify him. He had only five minutes left. It was too short a time to run to the Capitol. He saw no one. Across the street there was a saloon and eating-house. The Chief Justice made a rush across the road, but he stopped at the door. What if he should be seen going into a common ginmill? What would people say, and it was a bare chance if any one in there should know him! Spying a private entrance, he rushed in and accosted the proprietor with the frantic inquiry of Do you know me?" "Yes, bet yer head, I do, yer honor," said the short-haired, freckled-faced man behind the bar. "Ye are the boss av the Shuprame Coort. I see ye every day going by here on the cars.' "Will you cash my check? I have no time to explain." Here the Chief Justice grabbed a piece of paper upon a desk near' by and began to write hurriedly. A REPORT FROM BELOW. Suppose the couple standing so, Poor Mary May, the servant. Lord! how the couple's teeth did chatter, Till Mary getting breath, "We was both, ma'am, in the wash-house, ma'am, a standing at our tubs, And Mrs. Round was seconding what little things I rubs; Mary,' says she to me, 'I say,' and there she stops for coughin', "Shure I will. I've seen ould byes off' That on a tear before get out of money. Trusht me, sorr. Is it a twenty ye want? Here it is. Will ye have a drop before ye run?" But dratted copper flue has took a smokin' very often, please the pigs,' for that's her way of swearing in a passion, 'I'll blow it up, and not be set a coughin' in this fashion!' But, before any further explanation could be made, the Chief Justice had grabbed the money and was running across the street. In some way the ticket | And agent had learned of his blunder during the Judge's absence, and was all polite-Lawk, ness when he saw the money. Mr. Waite barely made the train, but he has not had such a shock to his dignity since he went upon the bench of the Supreme Court. "My dear doctor," said an Irishman, "it's no use your giving me an emetic. I tried it twice in Dublin, and it would not stay on my stomach five minutes." I'm Mrs. Round!' says I, and stares, that quantum is unproper, sartin sure it can't not take a pound to sky a copper; You'll powder both our heads off, so I tells you, with its puff,' But she only dried her fingers, and she takes a pinch of snuff. Well, when the pinch is over, 'Teach your grandmother to suck powder-horn,' says she. 'Well,' says I, 'I wish you luck.' A Them words sets up her back, so with her | Thinks I, well there she lies, as dead as my hands upon her hips, 'Come,' says she, quite in a huff, 'come Well, I shall put it in the grate, and let it burn So in it goes, and bounce, O Lord! it gives us such a rattle, I thought we both were cannonized, like sojers in a battle! Up goes the copper like a squib, and us on both our backs, And bless the tubs, they bundled off, and split all into cracks. Well, then I fainted dead away, and might have been cut shorter, But Providence was kind, and brought me to with scalding water. I first looked round for Mrs. Round, and sees her at a distance, As stiff as starch, and looked as dead as All scorched and grimed, and more than Well, I crooks her little fingers, and crumps As humanity pints out, and burnt her nostrums with a feather: But for all as I can do, to restore her to mortality, She never gives a sign of a return to sensuality. own late departed mother, she'll wash no more in this world, whatever she does in t'other. So I gives myself to scramble up the linens for a minute, Lawk, sich a shirt! thinks I, it's well my master wasn't in it. O! I never, never, never, never, never, never, see a sight so shockin'; Here lay a leg, and there a leg, I mean, you know, a stocking, Bodies all slit and torn to rags, and many a tattered skirt, And arms burnt off, and sides and backs all scotched and black with dirt: But as nobody was in 'em-none but—nobody was hurt! Well, there I am, a scrambling at the things, all in a lump, When, mercy on us! such a groan makes my heart to jump. And there she is, a-lying with a crazy sort of eye, A-staring at the wash-house roof, laid open to the sky; Then And she beckons with a finger, and so down to her I reaches, put my ear to her mouth to hear her dying speeches, For poor soul! she has a husband and young orphans, as I knew; ma'am, you won't believe it, but it's Gospel fact and true, Well, But these words is all she whispered"Why, where is the powder blew ?” END OF VOL. II. THOMAS HOOD. |