Dialogues for the amusement and instruction of young persons

Front matter

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Preface

These Dialogues, as their title imports, are intended for the instruction as well as for the amusement of the readers of them.

One of the chief advantages of the book, will be the useful practice which it will afford in learning to read. It is difficult to read dialogue well, on account of the many and various intonations of voice which are required.

These dialogues will also serve as lessons of elocution, by being committed to memory and spoken, in private parlors, or on the stage in schools and academies, with different persons, of course, to take the different parts. In cases where there are not children enough to represent all the persons of a dialogue, or when for any reason the attempt to represent the whole would seem to be too great an undertaking, single scenes may be selected, in which two or three characters only appear, and they maybe committed to memory and spoken, as complete dialogues in themselves.

Contents

DIALOGUE PAGE

I. TAKING A MIFF ' 13

II. THE LOST RING 26

Scene I. Jane, Francisco

A Library room. Francisco is at a table, preparing to write. Jane is sitting at a window, sewing. She appears to be not in good humor.

Francisco. Come Jane, I advise you to write to Laura by this opportunity.

Jane. {Sullenly.} No.

Francisco. It is an excellent opportunity. Roger is going right back to Glenfield. / am going to write to William, and I advise you to write to Laura.

Jane. No. I 'm not going to write to her.

Scene I. Francisco thinks that Jane has taken a miff.

Francisco. It is a week now since William and Laura went away to school, and we promised that we would write to them very often, and tell them all that happens here. There's a great deal to tell.

Jane. {Positively.) Well, at any rate, /'m not going to write to Laura.

Francisco. You 've taken a miff, I expect, at something or other.

Jane. No, I haven't taken a miff.

Francisco. Then I don't see why you don't write to her. It is a week since she went away ; you have an excellent opportunity to send to her, and you have plenty to say. And moreover, you promised her that you would write. So I can't see why you don't do it, unless you have taken a miff

Jane. How do you know that I have so much to say ?

Francisco. Because you said you had, yesterday. You said that you had ever so much to say, and that you meant to write a letter of four full pages, to send by Roger when he went back.

Jane. Well, I don't care, I can't write now. I 'm busy. I 've got this work to do.

Francisco. Oh, nonsense ! I know that that is not the real reason. You had better come up here to the table with me and write. It will do Laura so much good to get a long letter from you. Remember that when girls go away to school the first week is the worst one. It is then that they are most homesick, and then of course that they need most to be cheered and comforted by letters from their friends.

Jane, I can't help it. I 'm not going to write to her.

Francisco. Well, all I can say is that I think it i3 very strange.

Scene I. James's ground of complaint.

Especially with such a lofty and exalted friendship for each other as you have always professed to have. But that 's the way with girls' friendship. They are so affectionate and so loving toward each other when there is nothing to be done — but let a time of test and trial come, and it all proves to be nothing but emptiness and vanity.

Jane. It 's no such thing, Francisco. I 'm as true and faithful a friend to Laura as ever. It is she that has deserted me, not I her.

Francisco. Deserted you ! How has she deserted you ?

Jane. Why, she has not written to me. She sent notes by Roger to all the other girls, and a letter to her mother, but nothing to me — not so much as the least bit of a message.

Francisco. Ah ! I thought it was something of that sort. I knew that you had taken a miff at something or other.

Jane. No, I have not taken a miff either — but I think it is a shame that she did not write to me.

Francisco. But Jane, it seems to me that it is very foolish to take offense at such a thing as that. Besides, perhaps you have got a letter somewhere. Perhaps Roger brought you one, and it is on its way to you now by somebody.

Jane. No ; I was there when Roger came. All the notes and letters that he had were in one package and I saw them open it. There were notes in it for almost all the other girls — but nothing for me.

Francisco. But perhaps Roger had a letter for you separate from the package.

Jane. No. I asked him and he said that there was nothing at all for me, only just the book.

Scene II. The party at the summer-house

Francisco. The book. What book ?

Jane. Why, a book that I lent her to read on the journey. She sent me that back, and nothing else. She did not even thank me for it. It was tied up in a paper and my name was on the outside of it, and that was all.

Francisco. How did you know that it was the book ?

Jane. Why, I tore the paper open a little at one end, and saw.

Francisco. {Drawing a long breath^) Well, I think it's very foolish to take offense at such a thing as that, especially when, as likely as not, there is some mistake. But it is just like a girl. A girl's friendship is just about as substantial as a thistle down. When it 's calm and sunny it lies tolerably still, and looks like something — but the first puff of a miff that comes, blows it all away.

Scene II.

George, Egbert, Francisco. Afterward Jane and Lucy.

A summer-home on a gentle elevation in a garden. Children playing in and around it. A broad path ascending to the entrance. At the foot of the path, near the spectator, a rustic seat. George and Egbert are sitting upon this seat, having fishing apparatus in their hands. At the door of the summer-house are seen Jane and Lucy, sauntering about together, with their arms round each other's waists, talking apparently in a confidential manner*

George. I would not wait for Francisco any longer, Egbert. Let us go along. Remember he would not wait for us the other day, when he was going out to fly his kite.

* See Frontispiece.

Scene II. It is generous to overlook small injuries.

Egbert. That is true, but that was only once. Francisco is a good fellow, and he has done me a great many good turns. I 'm not going to forsake him for one little offense. No, nor for two ; nor for three.

George. Ah, here he comes !

Enter Francisco.

Francisco. Ah ! boys, here you are. I 've made you wait. I had to finish my letter to William Herbert. Roger was going back this afternoon, and I wanted him to carry it. I just had time to finish it and seal it up before he came. But now I 'm all ready. Only I have not got my fishing-line.

Egbert. You '11 have time enough to go and get it. We will go on slowly to the little pasture-gate, and wait there till you come.

Francisco. So do. I '11 be as quick as I can.

( The boys go out at one side, and at the same time Jane and Lucy come slowly down the walk from the summer-house, talking toget her.)

Lucy. Ah, you are too sensitive, Jane. Some people call it touchy, but I think sensitive is a more polite word.

Jane. But she might have written to me as well as to the others ; and I think it was a great slight that she did not.

Lucy. It seems to me that you ought not to decide in your mind that it was a slight, for you don't know yet what the cause of it was. There are plenty of ways of accounting for it, besides supposing that it was a slight.

Jane. Why, how can you account for it ?

Lucy. It may be an accident. You see it is possible that Laura 24 B

Scene II. There are many accidents that might have happened.

actually did write to you, and that by some accident the note did not come.

Jane. I don't see how there could be any accident.

Lucy. Yes, accidents of that kind often happen. The letter may have got separated from the rest on the table, and hid under a paper or something ; and so Laura may have supposed that it was put in the parcel. Then perhaps she found it out after Roger had gone, and now she may be in great trouble because your letter was left behind.

Jane. I don't think that that is at all likely.

Lucy. Nor do I think that that particular accident is likely to have occurred ; but it is very likely indeed that some accident may have occurred. You see there are ever so many others which might have happened besides that.

Jane. I can't think of any other.

Lucy. Why, she may have given your letter separately to Roger, and he may have forgotten to give it to you.

Jane. No ; I asked Roger expressly if he had any letter for me, and he said no.

Lucy. Yes, but he may have been mistaken. He may have taken the letter and put it in his pocket, and then forgotten all about his having a separate letter. Didn't you ever know a boy to forget ?

Jane. Yes, indeed. But I don't believe that Roger forgot to give me my letter.

Lucy. Nor do I, exactly. I don't think it is very probable that we can think precisely what the accident was, if indeed there was an

Scene II. Lucy defends the absent.

accident. All I mean to say is, that there are a great many accidents that might have happened, and so, until you know certainly how it was, you ought not to take a miff.

Jane. I don't believe it was any accident at all. I believe she did it on purpose.

Lucy. Very well ; even if it was on purpose, there is no proof that you have any reason for taking offense. She may have reasoned in this way : She may have said to herself, Now I have not time to write to all my friends, and so I will write to my most common ones first ; for they don't know me so well, and they might be offended. But Jane is too faithful and tried a friend, and she is too true to me, to be shaken by such a thing as not getting the first letter. So I '11 write all my little notes by this opportunity, and then write a good long letter afterward to Jane, when I have more time.

Jane. Well, I don't think that she ought to have done so.

Lucy. Perhaps she ought not to have done so. Suppose it was a mistake, and that she ought to have acted differently. What sort of friendship is that which wilts right down, and is gone, just because the person you love has made a mistake ?

Jane. But I think it was a real slight.

Lucy. Do you mean that you suppose she is offended with you for any thing, and that she has taken this way to show her displeasure ?

Jane. I don't know. If it is not that, I am sure I don't know what it is.

Lucy. Very well, then ; let us suppose that it is that. Even then, I think that you ought to have written to her.

Scene II. True and false friendship.

Jane. What ! when she put a slight upon me on purpose.

Lucy. Yes. Let me ask you : Do you know of any body that does not sometimes do wrong ?

Jane. Why, no — of course not.

Lucy. Do you know of any body that does not sometimes get put out without just reason, and then act impatiently, and in an illhumored manner? Don't you sometimes do so yourself?

Jane. Why, yes ; I suppose I do.

Lucy. Certainly, you do. So do I. So does every body. Now I wish to know what is such friendship worth, as that which gives up, and turns into enmity the first time we do any thing that is wrong ? When we have been led away to do any thing wrong, then is the very time that we want our friends to stand faithful and true to us. What is friendship worth that is very warm and loving when there is nothing depending upon it, but is chilled and killed the moment that it is put to a test? It is not worth any thing at all. Here you and Laura have been such great friends and you have made so many promises to love each other always, and to be always faithful and true ; and now here, the first time that your love for her is put to the test, see how it stands. You condemn her unheard ; you abandon her in the hour of need, and you turn against her just because you suspect that she has done wrong.

Jane. Oh, Lucy, I think it is more than suspicion.

Lucy. Very well then ; then we will say that she has actually done wrong. You turn against her when she does wrong ; and that is the very time of all others, when true and genuine friendship is most firm and reliable. What is a friend worth that turns against us

Scene II. The test of true friendship. Reflection.

when we have done wrong ? For my part, that is when I want my friend to cling to me the closest.

Jane. What, when the wrong that you have done is against her?

Lucy. Yes, exactly. Then is the time of all others that I want her to show herself true. If I have been deceived, and have been told any thing against her that is not true, and have got put out with her, and have put a slight upon her, or shown my ill-humor toward her in any other way, I don't wish her to get put out too, and forsake me. Then is the very time that I want her most to stand by me, and be my friend. Then is the time for her to show whether there is any thing real and substantial in her love. If there is any thing real and substantial in it, she will stand by me then. She will overlook my fault, and make excuses for me, and come to me, and show me kindness, and so help to bring me back to my senses.

{A voice is heard calling from the summer-house.)

Voice. Lucy !

Lucy. {Calling.) Yes in a minute. {To Jane.) I must go. The children are calling me. I promised to play Hunt the Rabbit with them.

Voice. Lucy !

Lucy. {Rising.) There they are calling again ; and I must go. Think of what I have said, and see if it is not so.

{She goes out. leaving Jane sitting on the seat in a thoughtful attitude.)

Scene III. A sober second thought. Johnny. Scene III

Jane, afterward Johnny and Francisco.

The library ; the same as in Scene I. Jane is sitting before the table, where Francisco was writing. She has a sheet of paper before her, and a pen in her hand, which she holds in an irresolute manner.

Jane. I almost wish that I had written a little note to her to send by Roger. But it is too late now. He has gone. I might begin a note though now, and send it by mail — or by the next opportunity.

Enter Johnny.

Johnny. Ah ! Jane, are you here ? What are you doing ?

Jane. I am not doing any thing. I'm thinking a little of beginning a letter.

Johnny. I wish I was big enough to write letters. How soon shall I be big enough ?

Jane. I don't know, Johnny. How do you suppose I can tell ? It depends upon how soon you begin to learn. {To he? self .) 1 wish I had written to her. She must be very lonesome there now among so many strangers ; and if it is true that she is offended with me for something or other, it must be from some mistake ; for I am sure I have not done any thing to offend her. At least, I have not intended to.

Johnny. Jane, what is this ? He holds up a parcel for Jane to see.

Scene III. Jane resolves to write to Laura.

Jane. It is nothing but a book.

Johnny. What is it tied up for, then ?

Jane. Why, it is a book that Laura sent back to me. But you must not talk now, Johnny. You interrupt me. I'm very much perplexed.

Johnny. I don't see what there is to perplex you.

Jane. ( To herself.') I wish I had written her a note.

Johnny. Just let me speak to you this once, Jane. May I untie this book, and take it out ? It is torn open a little at one end already. See !

Jane. I did that to see what it was. Yes ; you may untie it if you can, and take the book out, and put it up in its place on the shelf.

Johnny. Good ! That 's just what I shall like to do.

Jane. ( To herself.) At any rate I '11 begin a note to her now.

(Johnny unties the string and takes the paper off the book, and then gets down from his chair, and carries the book to the back side of the room to put it on a shelf. While he is in the act of reaching the book up, to put it on the shelf a letter falls out from it on the floor.)

Johnny. Jane, here 's a letter.

Jane. {Surprised.) A letter. Where? Did it come out of the book ? Bring it here.

{She rises from her seat hastily and runs to meet Johnny and get the letter.)

Johnny. It is a real letter ; all sealed up.

Jane. Give it to me, quick. Yes, it is really a letter for me — and from Laura. How stupid I was not to look in that book !

Scene III. Jane makes a discovery. The letter.

{She breaks the seal of the letter very eagerly and unfolds the sheet.}

Johnny. Is it for you ?

Jane. A nice good long letter ! Four pages — all full ! What a dear girl ! She sits down at the table greatly delighted, and spreads out the letter before her, in order to read it. Enter Francisco.

Francisco. Well, Jane, have you got over your miff with Laura yet ?

Jane. Laura! She's the sweetest girl that ever was known. I love her dearly.

Francisco. Hi-yi ! what has happened now? There seems to be a great change come over your feelings. What has happened ?

Jane. {Holding up the letter.} See !

Francisco. What is it ?

Jane. A good long letter of four pages from her.

Francisco. Ah ! That explains it. I thought it was something like that. Whenever there 's a sudden revival of a girl's friendship, you may depend upon it that there is always some favor received that is at the bottom of it.

Jane. It is no such a thing.

Francisco. Yes it is exactly such a thing. It is always so with a girl's friendship. The blaze of a gas-light is not any more dependent on the continual coming of the gas through the tube, than a girl's friendship is upon attentions and favors. If the attentions and favors stop for an instant, or even if they seem to stop, the friendship drops dead that moment like a bird that is shot.

Jane. Oh, Francisco !

Scene III. Francisco's invectives. A good resolution.

Francisco. Yes. That 's it. Two hours ago, just because, from some accident or other, you did not get a letter, you gave up your friend. You dropped her. You abandoned her. You would not write even a line to cheer her in her loneliness. But now, since you 've got a letter four pages long from her — now, how loving you are ! she 's the sweetest girl in the world. You love her dearly ! How precious such fair-weather love as that must be ! I wonder where / could find such a friend.

Jane. Oh, Francisco. You 're too bad.

Francisco. How well I could rely upon him when I was not in any need, and so did not want him. And when I was in any need, then he would fail me, and turn against me. But that would not be of any consequence, you know. I wish I could find such a friend !

Jane. Francisco ! you must be still. I will not have you talking so.

Francisco. If I could just get such a friend as that, and also a horse that would always stop and lie down when he came to a hill, and a dog that would turn against me and bite me whenever he saw robbers coming, and a roof over my house that would look like a good roof in fair weather, but always let the wet in everywhere when it rains — then I should be completely provided for. Jane. Francisco !

{He boivs to Jane with mock politeness, and goes out.) Jane. ( To herself.) Francisco is the greatest tease that I ever knew. But there's one thing I'm determined upon, and that is, that I never mean to take another miff as long as I live — not if I can help it.

THE LOST RING.

Scene I. Picture of the pretended old woman

DIALOGUE II.

THE LOST RING.

PERSONS.

Mr. and Mrs. "Williams.

Mary Jane, their daughter.

Lucy, Mary Jane 1 s friend.

Anne, a young girl, a domestic.

Scene I.

Mary Jane ; and afteriuard Lucy.

A room in a house.

Mary Jane. (Looking at some things in a drawer.) How

THE LOST KING. 27

Scene I. The birth-day presents. Question about a ring.

pretty they are ! I like them very much indeed. I did not think they would be so pretty.

Enter Lucy.

Lacy. Mary Jane !

Mary Jane. Ah, Lucy, is that you ? I 'm very glad to see you. Come and look at my presents.

Lucy. Have you got some presents ?

Mary Jane. Yes, they are my birth-day presents ; good, useful presents. See ! There are my gloves, and here is a little muff for me in the winter. And here — this is the prettiest of all.

Lucy. A ring !

Mary Jane. Yes, a gold ring — real gold.

Lucy. {Trying it on her finger^) But it is too large.

Mary Jane. Yes, it is a little too large now, but that is because I am growing. (Mary Jane takes the ring and puts it on her own finger.} It is rather loose now, but I shall grow pretty soon to fit it. You see, a gold ring is a thing that we keep a long while. I expect to keep this one all my life.

Lucy. The gloves are pretty.

Mary Jane. Yes, and they fit me exactly. You see the gloves will not last so long. I shall wear them out before I grow much bigger; but the ring will never wear out. (Mary Jane puts on one of the gloves over the hand which has the ring upon it.)

Lucy. Yes, Mary Jane, a ring will wear out in time. It grows slenderer and slenderer, until at last it is nothing but a little gold thread around your finger.

28 THE LOST KING.

Scene I. 'Wrong to ridicule old age.

Mary Jane. Oh Lucy, what a story !

Lucy. Yes, it will, truly. My grandmother has got a ring which she had when she was a little girl, and now it is nothing but a thread. She showed it to me the other day. She 's about seventy-two ; and when you are seventy-two, your ring will be almost worn out.

Mary Jane. Seventy-two ! Think of my being seventy-two. (Mary Jane takes an umbrella which stands near, and, using it for a staff, begins to hobble about the room, in imitation of an infirm old woman.) Oh dear me ! Oh dear me ! What shall I do ? I 've got the rheumatis', dre' fully. {They laugh heartily?)

Lucy. {Sudderily sobering herself.) Mary Jane, you must stop. You must not laugh at old people. It is wicked.

Mary Jane. Well, I won't. But now let me show you my muff.

Enter little Anne.

Anne. Miss Mary Jane, your mother sent me to tell you that the stage is coming.

Mary Jane. Is it ? Come, Lucy, let 's go and see. We expect father in the stage. Let 's go and see if he has come. And Anne, you must put my things away for me. I can't stop. (Mary Jane and Lucy run out.)

Anne. Yes, I '11 put away the things carefully. These are the gloves. I must touch them very carefully, for fear I might tumble them. I '11 put them in the drawer, so. And this muff — this must go in too. Now if I shut the drawer, it will all be right. {She shuts the drawer, sets the furniture in order, and goes out.)

I

Scene II

Mrs. Williams, Mary Jane.

Another room. Mrs. Williams sitting by a work table, sewing. Enter Mary

Jane.

Mary Jane. Oh, mother ! mother ! What do you think ? "My ring is gone !

Mrs. Williams. Gone?

Mary Jane. Yes, my beautiful ring ; and I 'm almost sure that Anne has stolen it.

Mrs. Williams. Oh no, Mary Jane, Anne would not steal it. You 've dropped it somewhere, or lost it in some other way.

Mary Jane. No, mother, indeed I have not. Really and truly I have not. I had it in the other room, with my muff and my gloves, to show it to Lucy. I had them all there. I remember that I had the ring perfectly well, for I remember that I was showing Lucy how nice and big it was for me, so as to be ready for me when I grow a little older.

Mrs. Williams. I have no doubt that you had the ring ; but I can not believe that Anne would take it. Have you felt in all your pockets ?

Mary Jane. {Feeling in her pockets.) Ah, mother, it 's of no use for me to feel in my pockets. I'm sure it is not there.

Mrs. Williams. Are you sure that Lucy did nottake it away by mistake ?

Scene II. Mrs. Williams believes that Jane is innocent.

Mary Jane. Oh, yes. mother, how could she ?

Mrs. Williams. Why, she might possibly have had it on her finger, or in her hand ; and then when you were called away suddenly, she might have taken it away without being aware of it.

Mary Jane. Oh, no, mother, I'm sure she did not. She had it a minute I know ; but she gave it back to me.

Mrs. Williams. Then it must be in your drawer, or somewhere about there. Perhaps it dropped on the carpet, and rolled away.

Mary Jane. No, mother. I am almost sure that Anne has taken it.

Mrs. Williams. And what do you suppose she has done with it?

Mary Jane. Oh, perhaps she has got it in her pocket, or perhaps she has put it in her chest up stairs, or hid it away somewhere. She would not dare to put it on her finger. I think we ought to search among her things, and see.

Mrs. Williams. Well ; you may go and tell your father, and ask him what you shall da

Mary Jane. Yes that will be a good plan. I'll run now and meet him coming in. (Mary Jane goes out.)

Mrs. Williams. (Alo?ie.) I can not think that Anne can have taken the ring. There are some people that we think are honest, and some people that we know are honest. Anne is one of those that we seem to know are honest. Still, she may have been tempted by the ring, poor child ! It would break her heart to know that we suspected her of stealing.

(Enter Mary Jane, leading her father, who is dressed as if just

Sceno IIL Plans for putting Jane to the test.

coming in from a drive. He converses with Mary Jane while he is putting away his hat and coat.)

Mary Jane. I suppose she will be very angry when we tell her that we think she has taken it.

Mr. Williams. No ; not if she is innocent. She will be frightened, and very much pained — but she will not be angry. It is guilty people that are indignant and angry, not the innocent, when they are suspected of any crime.