(Aloud.) I've been thinking of smothering a baby or two in an elegant, gentlemanly fashion. Have you ever done it? TOM. Innumerable times.

They approach nearer and nearer to the door, Uncle Toby retreating toward it. They close on him and are about to pass by him, when he suddenly throws them forward, falls upon his knees, taking from his pockets the two wallets which he offers to the men.

UNCLE T. Mercy, mercy, gentlemen, mercy! You are great villains, and I am a great villain also. They say there is honor among thieves; prove it-I offer you these wellfurnished pocket-books. Only don't murder me! Take my ill-gotten gains; only don't murder me! I am not a professional thief, it is true, only an amateur pick-pocket, but I dare say I could improve and become a professional if I gave my whole mind to it. This morning, by way of a practical joke I abstracted these wallets from the pockets of two gentlemen, and

TOM AND JIM. My pocket-book!

TOM. A practical joke, do you call it! Are we in a burglar's den?

JIM (catching hold of Uncle Toby). You old rascal, it was you who relieved us of our money, was it?-and sent us to your inn, perhaps to murder us!

Uncle Toby crouches upon the floor.

TOM (to Jim). I don't believe he's very harmful after all; I think he's a little daft.

UNCLE T. Mercy, mercy, gentlemen! I'll never do so again. You are superior scoundrels and ought to know how awkward a first attempt is. Oh, the misery of being a funny

man!

Том. Superior scoundrels!

Calling names, are you? Have you, too, heard of that ridiculous will that you should accuse us of being scoundrels?

UNCLE T. I heard your confidential talk just now.

JIM. Our confidential talk?

UNCLE T. You confessed to having committed that which an unfinished state of society insists upon stigmatizing as crime.

Tom and Jim laugh.

Tом. Our joke redounds to our credit, Jimmy.

UNCLE T. (angrily, and rising hastily to his feet.) A joke! Do you dare to joke?—and with me? A part of the joke is to take what does not belong to you, is it? Give me those wallets!

TOм. This one is mine!

JIM. And this is mine!

UNCLE T. You are thieves, murderers! Those wallets do not belong to you! (Fights.) Help! help!

Enter Letty and Emily with their brooms. ́

EMILY (running to Jim and defending him). You shall not hurt him, you wicked old man!

LET. (defending Tom.) Let him alone, you terrible old Uncle. Have you not sufficiently disgraced us without this?

They keep him off with the brooms.

UNCLE T. I tell you they are thieves and murderers. Even though they deny the latter, they are the former; they have in their possession two wallets which do not belong to them, and which I shall return to their rightful owners; for in those books I have found the names and addresses of the persons to whom they belong.

TOM (to Jim). We dare not own who we are. Remember all that we have said and heard said about Tom Ashbrook and Jimmy Culverin-and, oh, remember the sunset on the. White Mountains.

UNCLE T.

Give me the wallets! give me the wallets!

Emily and Letty keep him at bay.

EMILY. Behave yourself, Uncle Toby!

TOM AND JIM. Uncle Toby!

UNCLE T. Let me at him, Letty; let me at him, Emily! TOM. Letty!

JIM. Emily!

UNCLE T. I tell you that those wallets belong to Tom Ashbrook and Jimmy Culverin. I thought I had made a mistake and taken them from as entire strangers as those two men are; but I found their cards inside the wallets, and

11

TOм. This is my wallet; I am Tom Ashbrook. I am sorry to say so, but I am.

JIM. This is my wallet; I am Jimmy Culverin, if you will excuse the liberty.

Emily drops her broom, and becomes limp. Letty drops her broom, and becomes limp.

Том. She loves me and thinks I am intended for Letitia Ten Eyck. (To Letty.) Don't, don't give up. I own to caring deeply for you-have cared for you ever since I saw you in that sunset on the White Mountains. I shall never care for Letitia Ten Eyck, only for you, my White Mountain maid, and Uncle Jeremy's fortune shall never be mine.

JIM (to Emily). Nor shall that other Emily, that Emily Ten Eyck, tear me from you; Uncle Jeremy's fortune may go to the dogs.

UNCLE T.

Uncle Jeremy! What!-what do I hear! Ho! ho (laughing)! of all my practical jokes, this is the very best. Oh, the happiness of being a funny man! Ho! ho! So you are Tom Ashbrook?

Tом. I am.

UNCLE T. And you are Jimmy Culverin?

JIM. I am.

UNCLE T. Somebody hold me, or do something with me, for I shall die of the joke of it all. Girls, sweep me out as they do in Egypt-do anything you please with me. Ho! ho! And Tom Ashbrook and Jimmy Culverin came to this house and thought it was an inn! This is the greatest family for jokes that ever existed on the crust of the habitable globe,—and Jeremy has made the best joke of us all. For that (pointing to Emily) is a young woman who has been sighing ever since she returned from the White Mountains, -Miss Emily Ten Eyck, the gift of her Cousin Jeremy to Jimmy Culverin. And that (pointing to Letty) is her sister, another sighing young woman, Miss Letitia Ten Eyck, the gift of her Cousin Jeremy to Tom Ashbrook. And-oh, ho! ho! ho!-that such-ho! ho!-good results-ho! ho!should come from-ho! ho!-practical jokes! Ho! ho! ho! He holds his sides; Letty and Emily sweep him with their brooms the men shake his hands, and all laughing as curtain falls.

ART AND ARTIFICE.

A PLAY FOR PORTRAITS, POSTURES, AND PICTURES.

CHARACTERS.

ANGELO EASEL, a portrait painter.

MR. PLIABLE, his father, and a man of wealth.

SCENE-A Painter's studio. A table, containing brushes, palette, sketches of faces, figures, etc. In the centre are curtains to part, and discover a large picture frame, etc. An old sofa, or settee, with a mattress on it. Enter Angelo, disguised as a Yankee, followed by Mr. Pliable.

PLIABLE. So, this is my erratic son's studio.

ANGELO.

Yes, sir; this is, or was, our studio, bedchamber, bath-house, picture-gallery, parlor, kitchen, library, dining-room, and drawing-room.

PLI. And you were in his employ, eh?

ANG. Yes, sir-ee; and a universal humanater crittur I was, too; I fetched colors, ground paints, peddled picturs, fed his kitten, made his bed (pointing to settee), slept in it when he didn't, went to market when there was any money, went without when there wasn't, cooked his victuals when there was anything to cook, and helped him to fast when there wasn't.

PLI. And do you mean to say that my son's mouth lacked a meal?

ANG. Yes, and it made him look quite mealy-mouthed, too, you may well cal'ate.

PLI. Well, where do you suppose he has gone to?

ANG. Gone to Europe, I reckon, where he can get a leetle more to do, an' a good deal more for doin' it, an' where he hopes to find more patrons an' more of a pappy.

PLI. More of a what, sir?-Zounds! what d'ye mean? Haven't I given him hundreds upon hundreds of dollars to enable him to pursue his favorite study, and become an Angelo the Second; and after all what has he done? I lon't see a solitary painting! No, not enough of colored canvas to stop up the pipe-hole over my mantel-piece.

ANG. Very true, sir. Jist you stay here an' look when I draw an' close up yonder little pieces o' calico (pointing to

curtain) an' I cal'ate I'll make you open your eyes. I'll show you what he's painted. (Aside.) And I hope your pockets too. (Exit behind curtains.)

PLI. I shall be happy to hear of it, and happier to see it.

Here the curtain parts and discovers Angelo, who has changed his appearance entirely, standing in the large picture frame. The old gentleman starts in astonishment-takes out his glasses, rubs them with his pocket handkerchief, and gazes in admiration.

PLI. Why, bless me-why that's really as natural as life, and

The curtain closes. Here a succession of pictures are in like manner represented by Angelo, with the assistance of such ladies, gentlemen, and children as may be in readiness for the occasion. The subjects or characters being according to the taste and resources of the company,—either historical, comical, or fanciful, The intervals of closing the curtain being filled up by Mr. Pliable in remarks, critical or commendatory. The last picture is that of Angelo, standing in the frame in his own proper costume of an artist, with a brush and palette, in the attitude of a painter.

etc.

PLI. Eh? what! why-bless my soul!-if the dear boy hasn't painted his own portrait to the life. What genius! -what industry!-what triumph of art! If the original were only as near to me now, I'd give—I'd give the half of my fortune!

ANG. (springing out of frame.). And I'll take it, father, on the instant.

PLI. (starts, trembling.) A miracle! What! a living picture! Here, here, Joshua, where the mischief's that Yankee man? ANG. (in the Yankee dialect.) Cal'ate I'm abeout, squire! PLI. Eh? the mischief-what, have I been duped—eh? sold. No matter-I'm so glad that you're really here-I'll keep my promise.

ANG. And I'll redeem mine by proving myself a real artist, if our friends will forgive my artifice to-night.

[Curtain falis.