George M. Baker

“ When I was marching along, I felt so drawn towards this house, sez I to myself, sez I, here, Bijah, is the place to find rest for your weary bones, and rations for an aching void. And, behold, I find you, my long-lost treasure. (Tries to embrace Polly, who steps aside.) Ah, Polly Primrose, the way you've played tag with that vital organ of my being, the heart that beats for you alone, would frighten any other man, but I've jest made up my mind,—
“A sweetheart's a sweetheart,
As all the world knows,
And Polly's my Polly,
Wherever she goes.”
Polly. Don't be so sure of that, Mr. Bright. ”

“ Kitty. Ahem! Tom, to save people: just so. Well, Tom, you can be that hero, if you choose.
Tom. Me? How, pray?
Kitty. Harry Maynard has got into trouble in the city; he's a drunkard and a gambler, and every thing that is bad.
Tom. You don't mean it!
Kitty. It's true. Now, he must be saved, brought back here, or Jessie will die. Tom, go and find him, and when you come back, I'll sacrifice myself.
Tom. Sacrifice yourself?
Kitty. Yes, marry you.
Tom. You will consider him found. O Kitty, Kitty,—but hold on a minute. Have you given Nat Harlow a chance to be a hero?
Kitty. No, Tom: I'm serious now. ”

“ If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. Scrooge. My very words, when I was asked to give a trifle for the poor! Spirit. Man,—if man you be in heart, not adamant,—forbear that wretched cant until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may be, that, in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless, and less fit to live, than this poor man's child. Scrooge. He must live! he must live! Poor Bob! poor Bob! Spirit. ”

“ But, remembering the friends she must meet with the story of her defeat, remembering the captain patiently waiting in the street for her return, she yet lingered, hoping that a little reflection might produce a change in the temper of this gruff proprietor, and gain her a hearing. Profound silence; eyes glued to their sockets; not even the tools of the workmen broke the stillness, for these woodpeckers tapped no hollow oak tree, but pecked at solid boxwood, which emits no sound. Her eyes roved about the room until they fastened on the cricket-bat above the desk. ”

“ I’m in the Ring now.
Marcus. The Circus Ring?
Simon. Do I look like an acrobat?
Marcus. The Prize Ring?
Simon. Prize humbug! Do I look like a bruiser? No, Mark: I’m a member of one of those mysterious rings, you know, which surround the government, keep it in its place, without which this glorious union would go to smash. Where’s Mr. Manning? I must see him at once.
Bess. He’s out, but will soon return.
Simon. Then I will wait.
Marcus. Look here, Simon, it’s rather queer that you want to see Mr. Manning. I should say Nancy would suit you better. ”

“ Silas. What a fool I have been! For a few hours’ fun I’ve got myself into this scrape. Why, ’twill ruin me. I can never raise the money.
Harry. O, yes, you can, Mr. Somerby. I have plenty. You’d better settle this matter at once, and draw on me freely for money.
Silas. Draw on you? What right have I to do that?
Harry. Give your consent to my marriage with Sally, and I shall consider you have the right. More, I will hunt up these claims, and settle them at once.
Silas. Will you? You’re a splendid fellow! Help me out, if you can; and, if I can get rid of that elephant—
Harry. ”

“ If it gave you pleasure I should be satisfied, though my heart is heavy, and the waltz had little inspiration for me.
Eva. Dear me, Mr. Dasher, you look as melancholy as an owl. What has gone wrong?
Dasher. Nothing—everything—Miss Eva. I am on the verge of a precipice, a frightful precipice. (Mulligrub’s head appears above screen.)
Mulligrub (aside) . There’s “Dip” and—Eva, as I live!
Eva. I don’t understand you, Mr. Dasher.
Dasher. Upon the verge of a frightful precipice I totter. Beneath me are the whitened bones of many a mortal. If I fall not a tear will be shed for me. ”

“ Well, sir, proceed, as you consider yourself aggrieved; only remember that I trust to your feelings as a gentleman, and your discretion.
Cha. Madam, you may depend upon it. (Wheeling arm-chair to door, and speaking through keyhole.) Are you married?
Luc. (affronted and aside) . Upon my word! (Aloud.) Do you call that discretion, sir?
Cha. Most certainly; as a subject of conversation I see nothing against it. Society prescribes certain forms of conversation; and, to ascertain what forms to use, one must know whether one is speaking to a widow or a young girl, to an old maid or a married woman. ”

“ Mary, I wish I had not come here. There’s a power in the old house that makes my heart ache, it awakens such memories! And mother, dear soul, how sadly her bright hopes of her boy have been shattered! Though I have dashed into the city, and been swept along by its hurry and whirl, I have often thought of this quiet house, and ached, fairly ached, to feel mother’s arms around my neck, and her goodnight kiss upon my brow. O, Mary, be tender, very tender with her. Don’t let her hear a word against me. Sometimes I think that fierce temptation will overwhelm me, ruin me, body and soul ”

“ You are right. Your house is no longer a fit place for a gambler. I can claim no friends here now.
Mrs. L. Oh, don’t say that, Harry!
Doctor. Silence! Who bandies words with that villain is no longer an inmate of my home.
Dilly. Then you can set my bandbox outside the door at once. Dr. Harlem, you’re a mean old doctor, so you are! O Harry, Harry! I don’t know what it’s all about; but I know there isn’t a better Harry in this world than you. (Rushes into his arms.)
Harry. Hush, hush, Dilly! ’Twill all come right some day. ”

“ You like plain speaking. I know he left her free to choose her own mate, and bade you, as her guardian, to respect her choice. Rowell. I am her choice. Already she trusts me, with a confidence that only love can bring; and I, I love her, dearer than all else in the world. Rob. Except her fortune. You love her, Wilder Rowell, and she is in your power. Poor Gaylie! You shall not win her. She is too good, too pure, to mate with such as you, an adventurer, a fortune-hunter. Rowell. Indeed! Come, we are rivals. ”

“ When the war is over and Roger comes back—he will come back, won't he, Pinky?
Potts. Indeed he will. Never doubt his loyalty, and some day you will have your reward. Roger is under a heavy cloud, but penetrated by the warmth of your love it will in time disperse. Then, Miss Dorothy, you will say “good-by” to tears, and revel in the happiness and sunshine about you.
Dor. Pinky, you were wrongly named. You are true blue every time. (Goes to window.) Pinky, come here. Do you see that man walking with the Colonel and Mrs. Graham? That is Mr. Randolph Newcomb—and—I don't like him. ”

“ Soon people began to come in crowds, and there was amusement for every one. Those who liked archery found bows and arrows waiting for them; those who liked croquet had only to pick out their mallets and begin a game. The tennis balls flew back and forth, and even the older ladies found comfortable chairs in the shade of tents or arbors where they could chat away the afternoon. As for the little people who came there was no end to their fun. They played “oats, peas, beans,” and tag and every sort of delightful game.
But the best of all was to see the cake and lemonade disappear. ”

“ The captain stared at her. It was evident to him she did love Harry; and his hatred of Miss Alice Parks grew stronger. But it was no time for a scene; and he sat himself down beside Becky, put his arm around her, and penitently promised to be quiet, and not interfere. He gradually succeeded in bringing Becky into a lighter mood; and as the refreshed company from the dining-room drifted that way, the party on the sofa were hugely enjoying a joke the captain had perpetrated for the benefit of his companion. ”

“ When I dropped into this camp, a stranger, without a penny, you took me by the hand, let me in to your claim, an equal partner,—the best paying claim in the camp,—till I struck it; since then we haven't panned enough to pay for bacon. It's my infernal luck. I wouldn't care for myself, but to blast your prospects of a rich find—
Tom. Hold on, Dick. You complain of bad luck,—you whom Moselle loves.
Dick. That's another matter.
Tom. Right. The pure ore of a loving heart is not to be compared to the glittering lie we take to ourselves with which to purchase happiness. ”