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Scene II. — In a cross-road. Enter Justice Lee

Justice Lee. The devil take highways. On my soul I wish he would, and lose half of his fare for doubling and twisting. This main road is every man's servant and calls at every man's door. If I had been as w T ise as I was stingy, I would have bribed the surveyor to run it plumb from the town to my gate. Now I must jog half a mile round or take this path. Some beggar first trod it, and all the world has since followed him ; a lazy beggar and a thrifty world in its own estimate. What's to hinder me from going? The path is as straight as if the plummet bee, the yellow surveyor of nature, had lined it, and nothing very rocky. In fact sheep are better road choosers than men. Then for a brave man this has no fear, but for a coward he might turn him back. Oh, damn my hired man for a lousy knave ! If he had come, I need not walk in meditation far. But bravery cares for nothing, not even its own kind. Pluck up, pluck up, there's nothing to fear ! There is no robber ; nor if there were, I have no cash, except a couple of eagles in my pocket, and four or five more, now methinks. Well that's no account for a brave man. If thieves were as thick as nettles, your brave man takes the alley and leaves the road to cowards. Then supposing I have three or four pieces, or on a pinch five or six more, who knows but I am a vagrant, and who would rob a beggar and get lice? This is night that dresses all men alike. Then who knows what I am? This is the way, and I will talk to myself for better company, but not a lisp of my money. Why does it clink so at every step? Is it fighting for values? 'Tis but little, one or two. If I stuff my handkerchief between them, can I go on in peace? Or had I not better sing, to drown their song? However, however — (Sings.)

If I were young again

And you were young with me,

We'd all so merry ; But now old age has ta'en My silver tops in fee,

I'm still merry, merry.

That's good. Do I know another? A blind man had them for sale and I bought one out of pity. The fellow had the best of me for that I could not cheat his eyes out of his head and he could mine. Loud for an echo now, while on I tramp. (Enter H. Buel.) Ho! what's that? A man, and a right tall one. Down in my pockets lucre. I'll not turn back, but speak.

A charming lass, she is my love, —

Ah ! neighbor, this is a little road for two large men.

H. Buel. (In disguise.) Give yourself no heed, friend. There will be one of us out of it e'er long.

Js. Lee. Nay, I beg you stand not aside, but come right on ; here's the best passage for a hundred rod.

H. Buel. Nay, I will spring back these laurels and we can pass here.

Js Lee. As it like you ; 'twill be foul tomorrow.

H. Buel. Not as foul as you, knave. Take that. (Strikes him down.)

Js. Lee. Oh, murder! I'm down.

H. Buel. In truth, and you might have said senseless, if you had sense enough to say it. Let's see. He's stiff and stark, but will come to shortly. If my stick had another foot 'twould be none too long. Now if you try your persuasion again on sweet Jane, I'll visit you in the same spot ; but I must straight to my friends to prove a dozen alibis, if any show of assault is patched up against me. (Exit.)

Scene III. — On a boat. . Enter Grim and Allen

Grim. I thought the skipper was not home last night.

Allen. Neither was he, or he would have knocked our heads together for being asleep. That's proof . He could float ashore like any other empty bottle, but not back so quick the same way.

Grim. Now look you! look you! The cable has slipped a turn. If he made a whack to board us last night, he has stepped between the wharf and plank. He's an angle worm in some pike by this time.

Allen. A malt worm would suit him better; but how you will, there's more than one drunken fish in the Ohio. Let us call Stewart, if he knows anything about our skeleton. Hi, there, you bagpipes ! Where's skipper moonbeam all in melancholy black, as he would attend his own funeral, or was craping himself for every dead knave, for fear 'twas his father.

Enter Stewart, from below.

Still asleep, with your eyes shut and your mouth open. Where's the captain?

Stewart. He's off, faith.

Grim. Ay ! drowned and off" forever. And there's his coffin.

Stewart. God 'a mercy. I have thought of that often. Who will be master now?

Grim. None of us, mind you ; but some pampered monkey that has ne'er had the rough and tar of office, -who has sat o'er his quills and grown fat on warm meals. But like enough he's not drowned, barring his insides, which are so perpetual. A gin bottle is more natural in his mouth than his tongue. But heave ho ! catch up the loop and make thiugs tight. He'll be here presently. Office-holders never resign, and few 7 die.

Allen. If he were dead in good earnest, I could saj r a fair word for him.

Stewart. Keep it to yourself. I would see him first in his coffin. Such a villain deserves it to be already made for him. If he has one good trait, 'tis freeness of his cash, the more as I think 'tis stolen, but otherwise he deserves to be hanged for the worst poker of mischief I know of.

Grim. Ay, there are such fashions going about and no good hints. What's good of a man is spoken, and what's bad is whispered. This Lance has more said under breath about him than all the remainder of gossip. I cannot go into a shop but some half drunken fellow pulls me by the coat with such things as, Beware ! Grim hast arms, and Be true to thy name. But when I strike them fo,r something plain, they fall to generals, for drunken men and philosophers td,ke the same road.

Allen. Truth, I have been jogged myself, and more of late than ever. In most by a pilot of Louisville, who should know the wickedness of all men, he's so bad himself. Such are up to others' crimes for no more than selfprotection. But w 7 hen I would probe him to the point, he saith the census-taker has missed the three former hands on this vessel. Theu mum, except as his liquor talks to him.

Stewart. For that matter the captain is no saint, and I'd not like to be on the prickly side of him. But, mind you, these fellows tell more than they can prove. He was half drunk, which means whole drunk for any man out of Kentucky. 'Tis good reason you have on your coat, united we stand, divided we fall, for there's not one of you can stand alone, at a respectable time.

Allen. Well, so much the better.

Grim. Ay, will you slander religion? You were born out of your state in Missouri. They can make you a man here, and a citizen everywhere else.

Stewart. I'd have taken papers here, if there had been no law against honest men. You know villains will thrive where decent cattle starve.

Allen. All of us are like to starve in this condition. Where's Meg?

Grim. Ay, she can sleep, I'll not wake and want. Meg ! Meg ! get our breakfast !

Allen. Or we'll break thy maiden-head, virgin, and utterly spoil you with your twenty-seven lawful husbands. Get out, platter!

Stewart. Why call her platter?

Allen. For reason of her variety.

Grim. I'll throw this maul and wake her with the clatter. Now for it. ( Throws malletJ)

Meg {from below). Let me alone, lads. Cannot let a poor body sleep? There's salt and bacon in the locker, and meal. Make mush.

Grim. Make mush of thee, old sow, unless you come a-deck.

Stewart. Let her alone; you will waste your breath and make no better.

Allen. Not I. She must have been the only daughter of a fat devil. But I have it. Let her think that the skipper, her Moses, her rod is come. Then she will out.

Grim. Ay, go ahead.

Allen. O Meg, hush and quick! We would not have called you, but the skipper is a-coming.

Meg" (from below). Oh, oh, oh! Tell him I'm down here for to get his bed ready.

Allen. There's time and again, if you bestir.

Enter Meg.

Meg. Where is he? Where is master?

Grim. It's to be hoped he's in the bottom of the river ; but now you have hoisted up, you can go about our mess.

Meg. Oh, you dogs! Your bellies w ill never be done barking. You could not let a poor woman have a nap, but you pull her out to feed your paunches. Get thy own and be thankful for it. I'll not make porridge for your like.

Grim. Nay, bitch. We know that cookery is not your trade, but you can do it on a pinch.

Stewart. The skipper will tune this loose fiddle.

Allen. She'll play another, and Lance comes.

Meg. And you shall be blabbed for wishing the captain in the mud. He would make you ache for't, if he served you like the rogues before you. {Exit below.)

Allen. What shall we do for our food, unless I cook it myself? Though there is hardly nothing in the larder, rotten potatoes, mangy bacon smoked with the door half open, and bran which a trader would call meal. As I live, this skipper puts our bellies into his pockets, for I have it straight, that is from old Lee's son, that our allowance is fair and hearty.

Grim. Belike he has gone ashore for solicitation of us better fare, and that's what wakes him up nights. Oh! he has our welfare in mind.

Allen. Ay, he will say it, but is it true? A question not to be asked. Then if 'tis a lie, what's the truth of it?

Grim. Mischief, mischief ! He has it always on foot.

Stewart. Well, let him walk on. I will have nothing to do with him, nor he with me.

Grim. So has many a sparrow said, and been clawed by the hawk. But, look you, I pounce foremost. If he handles me as I have suspicion he has men before me, I will on a night throw a windlass chain over his neck and put both into the river. He has been before the law on a charge of murder, ay, and of his boatmen, but in another state. I have heard the juror could not agree for sympathy. No twelve sane men can e'er unite, and I know not why they chose that number, unless goods are sold more often in that measure. The right for a hanging is one out of a dozen, and in common cases ten.

Stewart. What would you with his little honor, the cock in the pit?

Grim. Oh, the money-box! I'd hang him for an example to the jury. He's nothing but a scarecrow to frighten the apostles with, or the bird that picks up what the dog lawyers have left ; or, save me, he's that tower that

110 poor man can build to, but is touched easy enough from the high windows of the rich. If they were turned out every year and knocked about on election day, they would be more use than a pair of tongs.

Allen. Why, mate, has any used you scurvily? Grim. No ; and may I be damned if they do. But my stomach calls me to account. Is there nothing in the pantry, that a fire can make into a man?

Allen. The fire is not a thing to do with it. Ask what sort of a cook we have and 'twould be reason, for so as the cook, so is the larder.

Grim. Who will be the spoon in the dough? Stewart. Not I.

Allen. Tis I and no other. I am no pastry by hand but

a cook by nature. I have had but little practice, and that

not fine, but I can beat your Frenchman in and out at it.

Grim. Come, how did you come by this knack of

poisoning nature?

Allen. Why, truth I got a broken leg, being a lumberman in the upper Wisconsin, and was forced of it to lie on my back and watch a lousy Chinaman cater our food. Whereby I fell a-thinking and kicked him out with my able leg, and set up in the pan for myself. Stewart. That was hard on the Chinese. Allen. And for a time on the choppers, but I soon got the hang —

Grim. Ay, you deserved nothing better. Allen. Fie! fie! till I had the hand for't. Then I was counted the best cook in the, region. No beggar but would come a mile to try me, and not a one but went away to my honor. I tell you what, I am no Frenchman, no dauber. I lay it down that there is meat, vegetables, and fruit. If you can get only meat, you will live; if only vegetables, you will be best off; if only fruit, you will be pleasant; but no uniting of these in one pie. As I live, a man should eat this, and that, and not this and that together. Oh ! if I took to cooking, doctors would have to live on my charity.

Stewart. Stop prating. Methinks that is the skipper coming down the path. Ay, and sober. Now there's mischief afoot.

Grim. Get to work !

Stewart. Hoist! hoist! Now the big ones, lads! {They lift at bales.) Grim. Troll away !

Enter Lance.

Lance. What's this?

Stewart. All a load for three, sir. "Tis marked cotton, but I think 'tis rum.

Lance. Get along ! You make a load out of nothing. All of these should be on the landing before this time. What ! but one ! You are the three laziest sons of whores ! Take that ! Now rub thyself. I will kick you a dozen next time.

Grim. An' if you do it, I will empty your knave's skull with this skid. Oh, you murderer! I should save the sheriff a dirty job.

Allen. Ay, lean guts. How many have you stabbed? How many have you robbed, pirate?

Lance. What ! I could kill you all if I but put my hand on my hip, and 'twould pass in the law for selfdefence.

Grim. I tell you if you make a grab for't, I will break your head and your arm, and let out your gin-soaked brains.

Lance. What does this mean, Stewart? Has Grim gone mad and clean claft?

Stewart. Nay, sir. He was witty enough a while ago.

Grim. And so am not I now. I will tell you a bit of it. First you abuse us most damnably, steal our rations, threaten us with bullets, give us the thanks of kicks, and stand ready drawn if we make a voice against it. Satisfy us with better fare and finer treatment, or we tell tales of you on sworn evidences. You shall swing and waver in the wind for your pains ; that's flat.

Lance. Now get this out of thy noddle, Grim. You were always a firm man, an honest man, e'er since I knew you. Why should you come with your dog-eared complaints of starvation? What I have given, I give; what I have not to give, you must ask of his honor, not of me.

Grim. We are hungry, no matter who robs our food.

That's warranted to be no mimic. If 'tis bis honor, 'tis not your fault. But there's no question that you abuse us like curs, and that you can make an end of when you will.

Lance. Nay, do not say 'tis I, Grim. 'Tis not I myself, but another man, that mistreats you, under a drug, a pagan influence, as it were. You know that all of us have our fallings off, but in earnest, 'tis out of my nature, and you know it. For the food, I fare as you, but our bellies are no creatures of reason, and the judge has no reason whatsoever in his purse. 'Tis sewn up as tight as a sow's skin, and there's no getting inside, but you rip the swine open. So there's thorn against thorn.

Allen. Then you shall lay this before his honor.

Lance. That I will! and anything else that you have trouble in. Your pay is too small ; your quarters are too narrow; and above all, your food is stale. Though I hired you but shortly ago. I can remember yon long, for time has no power over our memory, but only things unusual. You deserve more than can here be got; that is, if you will earn it yourselves, for I reckon you have the right quantity of villainy to success. There must needs be a bit to every fortune, and most, the golden secret of silence.

Grim. Av, we have it. That's all men's without an effort.

Lance. No; 'tis the worst effort in all men. If I were sure that you had made and overcome it, I could put you on the direct way to fortune.

Allen. We are mum.

/Stewart. Ay, as still as a wink.

Lance. Keep so, and you are made. Say nothing and you lose nothing. But ail your part is to wait and let affairs come to you. Now, let us eat what little we have. Where's Meg? Has the bitch not ordered our rations?

Allen. No; she is asleep.

Lance. Wake her up, the lark of the seven sleepers.

Allen. Meg! Meg! Meg! the captain is here already.

Meg (from belovj). Oh! boys, let me alone. Let me alone, and go to bed early.

Lance. You butter ! I will churn ye. (Descends, and reappears driving Meg.) Now how does that hand feel, and this one? (Strikes her.)

Meg. Oh! oh! oh! I was sick, master.

Lance. You will need more medicine of the same kind.

Scene IV. — In a wood. Enter Julia Lee and Jane Dor

Jane Dor. This is so sweet a morning, I could say- No sweeter e'er tuned earth. What birds do sing Thorough their shuttles, which anon they play Amid their web. Or some that's ready done Fly to their little ones with insects fluttering Between their lips. From which I'd fain imagine With rosy fancy, that they poured forth love Instead of bragging song. What cause is there To prove the contrary?

Jul. Lee. I never heard any.

And sure it is in autumn they grow shy And leave the orchards. Then in heavy woods They perch on the low branches, where before, All high exultant in the tops they sang. So it would seem that they are made of love. There is no better stuff to prove a man Or bird.

Jane Dor. Oh, yes ! If one is true to love He's true to all the world.

Jul. Lee. No, but I think

Love is particular and of its kind, For some are good in that who otherwise Are false as sin. Some that wrong all mankind Except their wives, aud very wondrous little In sympathy, still keep their sweethearts true As on their marriage eve.

Jane Dor. Yes, there are such.

At least, I hear of them. But they are mated With women of their nature.

Jul. Lee. But you cannot

For that say love is not a thing alone, And not dependent e'en upon the world,

The showing, or an afterthought; the first And grand exception in our nature.

Jane Dor. Yes,

In yours, my sweetest Julia. Your lover Can see that any time. If he were not The proper pattern of a good young man, And fully as much loved you as you do him, I would pity you. You are the fondest child That father ever darkened, and best love That e'er made a- man glad. Oh ! 'tis a shame You should not wed and wear him. If I ever Am mother of a daughter, I will tell her What makes a man, and point out such and such As well reputed and within my knowledge Suited for husbandry. Then if she will To choose another, I'll show forth the faults And flaws in him. That he is over-prim In cloth and manner, and appears to me A fop without and fool within; or spends Too much in luxury, which makes men selfish, And thereby worth no woman's consideration. Also robs from the household, but I count That secondary. But if she yet would have him Against my grain, she should, in peace and comfort, Not given o'er with reproof.

Jul Lee. Oh ! if my father

Had done as reasonable by me, I would not ' Now be so sad.

Jane Dor. Well, cast it off, at least Until you know that they have hit a plan, As Conway and your brother promised to us. They will be here ere long, for lovers' watches Are always fast, and cannot on the tick Equal their hearts. We'll hot sit here in gloom, Like sad, unwedded mermaids on their coast, That I've heard tell. Come, cheer up, and be pleasant.

Jul. Lee. I will, but there's small joy in common pleasures.

Good health and independence are let to us Each minute, only left, we feel their want. I'd rather be one moment with my love Than dreaming of him for an absent month.

Jane Dor. They will be here anon, and should have been Before this time. Hark ! was not that their voices? We shall have hours instead of moments, love.

Jul. Lee. Hither they come.

Enter M. Lee, H. Buel, and Conway.

Con. Ho! are you here?

Jane Dor. Yes, before you.

Con. Our shame,

Bat not our will. We were kept late by talking Among ourselves if you were cold or warm Unto our plans.

Jane Dor. Why, we will hear them first.

H. Buel. No, I will kiss you first.

Con. Yes, I'll sit here

Where I can rob you, love, a thousand kisses, And make of them sweet points unto my discourse.

H. Buel. Wilt thou the same, Jane?

Jane Dor. Oh ! a little stinted.

H. Buel. No, my share is all. (Kisses her.)

Jane Dor. You will leave none for to-morrow, if kisses Were spent like purses.

M. Lee. The morning is going;

We must determine here what we shall do, And not be idly dallying. We have plans, If they shall meet with your consent, will work To match your loves, and get me well away From my disgraces. Tell the matter to them, Conway. Maids hear lovers sooner than brothers.

Con. Nay, help me out.

M. Lee. Two at a truth make it

A lie. Go on, and I will listen to you.

Con. Oh ! I fear you will not approve of it.

Jul. Lee. If 'tis to prove my love, 'tis all f oreproved, Consented, and ordained. I will listen to you Like one wrapt in your reason.

Con. To be short,

We met with Lance, and after full concern, Devised no better way than the blunt method Of leaving your father outright, to go Upon his boat.

Jane Dor. That's rash.

Con. But necessary.

We have tried every honest ways and means And found but this one. Then the pluck of reason Calls us to take it. Did I not have the promise Of Julia a year ago or more?

And her false father sat smiling on us, And all his words were new, and all his eyes Followed our motions, or at least he said so; But now, methinks, I can recall the scene, And in't his face, on which the roads of mirth "Were travelled well, but in sooth his gray eyes Sat grim as milestones, which you could not pass But you must look at them, to see how far In his good graces you had journeyed on ; Deep dens of policy, and all for what? To break our hearts, which at that time he hoped Were firmly locked with the key of love. That was his very words.

Jul. Lee. Oh ! this was once,

But he persuades me now, that 'tis no love. But maiden fancy that possesses me, And quotes a thousand cases where young girls Have wed disaster. Thus stands opposite And shakes his finger at me, which does waver As grass blown by an angry gust of wind; And calls up like lawyers for precedents All unknown, barbarous bygones. It were best To take direct, plain things to argue on, Instead of generations I know not, All maidens of his youth. So I must either Call him the liar of these made-up proofs. Or else allow they are my own condition, Which I will not. But Conway, here's my hand And pledge, that I will always be with you In this endeavor. I am sick of waiting, Which ever tarries. He's immovable And glued to his opinions.

Con. What's so quick

To change men's minds as their own lookout, love? So do not wonder at it. There's bright time For us ahead.

H. Buel. But not for me ; wise Jane's So circumspect to take our flight like that. I would choose her and leave the world ; be off, Away!

Jane Dor. Fie, Fie!

H. Buel. Nay, Jane, in love and truth,

If you will go along with me.

Jane Dor. But I

Will not. You should have taken Julia Instead of me, for she would go with you, Or the desire of your parents both Gave let to you to love and live together.

Jul. Lee. We never were together, or e'er we came My heart was given away ; but the cold closet Of friendship, that's next mason unto love, Is always open to you.

H. Buel. I enter it,

And may I never go out.

M. Lee. What, of friendship?

H. Buel. Ay, the mild passion.

M. Lee. Mild ! that's mockery

And parrot's talk. I'd rather cry for crackers Than take my cue from maudlin auctioneers Of sound opinion. Friendship is no dove ; And if she were, I'd swap her for an hawk, Or change acquaintances. Who is my friend Is none but mine, or he's a whore of friendship ; For 'tis as monitory, dear as love ; And who has more than one friend, if you note it, Will leave all for himself.

Jane Dor. Your friends are scarce.

M. Lee. So are lovers, that is of proper ways, For lovers are attracted by the body, And some by mind; but what does friendship dote Save the pure, glorious mind? Love has its conquests At glances of the eyes, but friendship probes Clear to the bottom of a man ; and look you, He does not pass twixt man and woman, but only Like as a godly messenger he flies s/

From man to man, and there's a reason for it. At least 'tis so, and there must be a reason.

Jul. Lee. One of those more hard to prove than show.

M. Lee. Nay, something all men know but rarely speak. But haste ! I have set time with Lance to-day To make the stroke and place of our departure, If you are willing in the event. I know, Sweet sister, that you are prepared and ready, But I know not what to say for our Jane.

Jane Dor. If you know not, you know my mind.

M. Lee. You will not?

II. Buel. Nay, I will answer for her. Oh, my love, Think on the weary days and wearier nights That we must lie alone, with our cold thoughts For bedfellows. Then in each other's company Before the world, how we must set ourselves To hard deception, which cannot defy The eyes of gossip ; so all will come out In secret, and my parents feel the harder Towards both of us. Secrets are more a sin Than crimes they cover with those that love us. Fie on a little wealth ; no man is poor Whose heart is strong, and I doubt that my father Would disinherit me for so small fault, Though he has set his soul on Julia By some connivance with his honor, which I cannot bottom, or perhaps a whim To have his way. A reason conquers reason, But nothing here can beat a prejudice. Then, love, go with me, for you see that waiting Will rather make our case stand worse than better.

Jane Dor. No, your father is stubborn clay, and for your sake More than for mine, I am positive to stay.

H. Buel. I tell you he could not disinherit me, Being an only son, so he must forfeit To charity, which holds no foot in court to blood, And all arise to me, save a small pittance To th' object of his wish, for poverty Is a poor dog contented with small bones. Moreover, there's no juror in this county But would be twelve for me against the church, Or any of his favors ; for all call me Harry, And I them the like.